Her eyes like angels watch them still; 92. THE POETRY OF DRESS. I. A sweet disorder in the dress An erring lace, which here and there Do more bewitch me, than when art 93.-II. Whenas in silks my Julia goes ANON. R. HERRICK Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows Next, when I cast mine eyes and see R. HERRICK. 94.-III. My Love in her attire doth shew her wit, For every season she hath dressings fit, When all her robes are on: But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. ANON. 95. ON A GIRDLE. That which her slender waist confined It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, A narrow compass! and yet there E. WALLER. 96. TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING. Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be: Or bid me love, and I will give A heart as soft, a heart as kind, Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, To honour thy decree: Or bid it languish quite away, And 't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 'The very eyes of me, And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. R. HERRICK. 97. Love not me for comely grace, Keep therefore a true woman's eye, To doat upon me ever! ANON. 98. Not, Celia, that I juster am Or better than the rest; For I would change each hour, like them, But I am tied to very thee All that in woman is adored Why then should I seek further store, When change itself can give no more, 'Tis easy to be true. SIR C. SEDLEY. 99. TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. When Love with unconfinéd wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fetter'd to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses crown'd, When thirsty grief in wine we steep, Know no such liberty. When, linnet-like confinéd, I When I shall voice aloud how good Stone walls do not a prison make, And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. COLONEL Lovelace, 100. TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND THE SEAS. If to be absent were to be Away from thee; Or that when I am gone You or I were alone; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. Though seas and land betwixt us both, Our faith and troth, |