If love come, he will enter You may esteem him Or you may deem him A coward from his flight; But if she whom love doth honour Be conceal'd from the day, Set a thousand guards upon her, Love will find out the way. Some think to lose him By having him confined; And some do suppose him, But if ne'er so close ye wall him, Do the best that you may, Blind love, if so ye call him, Will find out his way. You may train the eagle To stoop to your fist; Or you may inveigle The phoenix of the east ; The lioness, ye may move her To give o'er her prey ; But you'll ne'er stop a lover: He will find out his way. ANON 81. CHILD AND MAIDEN. Ah, Chloris! could now but sit When I the dawn used to admire, Your charms in harmless childhood lay Like metals in a mine; Age from no face takes more away Than youth conceal'd in thine. But as your charms insensibly My passion with your beauty grew, Threw a new flaming dart: Each gloried in their wanton part; To make a lover, he Employ'd the utmost of his art— To make a beauty, she. SIR C. SEDLEY 82. COUNSEL TO GIRLS. Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day, The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a-getting The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer Then be not coy, but use your time; R. HERRICK. 83. TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; Yet this inconstancy is such I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more. COLONEL Lovelace. 84. ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA. You meaner beauties of the night, More by your number than your light, What are you, when the Moon shall rise? Ye violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year As if the spring were all your own,— What are you, when the Rose is blown? Ye curious chanters of the wood That warble forth dame Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what's your praise When Philomel her voice doth raise? So when my Mistress shall be seen SIR H. WOTTON. 85. TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY. Till the sad breaking of that parliament Kill'd with report that old man eloquent ;— Though later born than to have known the days So well your words his noble virtues praise, J. MILTON. 86. THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE. It is not Beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Tell me not of your starry eyes, A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks These are but gauds: nay what are lips? And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft That wave hot youth to fields of blood? Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, Do Greece or Ilium any good? Eyes can with baleful ardour burn; Poison can breath, that erst perfumed; There's many a white hand holds an urn With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. For crystal brows there's nought within; |