When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses crown'd,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free

Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.

When, linnet-like confinéd, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage:

If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,

Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

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,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet.

So then we do anticipate
Our after-fate,

And are alive i' the skies,
If thus our lips and eyes

Can speak like spirits unconfined

In heaven, their earthy bodies left behind.

Colonel Lovelace

CI

ENCOURAGEMENTS TO A LOVER

HY so pale and wan, fond lover?

WHY

Prythee, why so pale?

Will, if looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail?

Prythee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prythee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do 't?

Prythee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,

This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,

A SUPPLICATION

AWAKE, awake, my Lyter's humble tale

In sounds that may prevail;
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire:
Though so exalted she

And I so lowly be

Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony.

Hark! how the strings awake:

And, though the moving hand approach not near,
Themselves with awful fear

A kind of numerous trembling make.
Now all thy forces try;

Now all thy charms apply;

Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye.

Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure
Is useless here, since thou art only found
To cure, but not to wound,

And she to wound, but not to cure.

Too weak too wilt thou prove

My passion to remove;

Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love.

Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre!

For thou canst never tell my humble tale

In sounds that will prevail,

Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire;

All thy vain mirth lay by,

Bid thy strings silent lie,

Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die.

CIII

A. Cowley

THE MANLY HEART

HALL I, wasting in despair,

SHA

Die because a woman 's fair?

Or my cheeks make pale with care
'Cause another's rosy are?

Be she fairer than the day
Or the flowery meads in May
If she be not so to me

What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman kind;
Or a well disposéd nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove or pelican,

If she be not so to me

What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move

Me to perish for her love?

Or her merit's value known

Make me quite forget mine own?

Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of Best;
If she seem not such to me,

What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind

Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do
Who without them dare to woo ;

And unless that mind I see,
What care I though great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair;
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;

For if she be not for me,

What care I for whom she be?

G. Wither

CIV

MELANCHOLY

HENCE, all you vain delights,

As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly :

There's nought in this life sweet

If man were wise to see 't,

But only melancholy,

O sweetest Melancholy !