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My passion with your beauty grew,
While Cupid at my heart,
Threw a new flaming dart :
To make a lover, he
Sir C. Sedley
I cannot change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn, Since that poor swain that sighs for you, For you
alone was born ;
A surer way I'll try,-
Will still love on, and die.
And you to mind shall call
The tears that vainly fall,
Will then begin your pain,
J. Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
COUNSEL TO GIRLS
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying : And this same flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a-getting
And nearer he's to setting.
When youth and blood are warmer ;
Times, still succeed the former.
And while ye may, go marry :
TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
That from the nunnery
To war and arms I fly.
The first foe in the field;
A sword, a horse, a shield.
As you too shall adore ;
ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA
You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
You common people of the skies,
That warble forth dame Nature's lays,
By your weak accents; what's your praise
By your pure purple mantles known
As if the spring were all your own, What are you, when the Rose is blown ? So when my Mistress shall be seen
In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen,
Tell me, if she were not design’d Th' eclipse and glory of her kind ?
Sir H. Wotton
TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY
Daughter to that good Earl, once President
THE TRUE BEAUTY
He that loves a rosy cheek
Or a coral lip admires,
Fuel to maintain his fires ;
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Kindle never-dying fires :-
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise ;
Old Time will make thee colder, And though each morning new arise
Yet we each day grow older.
Thou as Heaven art fair and young,
Thine eyes like twin stars shining ; But ere another day be sprung
All these will be declining. Then winter comes with all his fears,
And all thy sweets shall borrow; Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, --And I too late shall sorrow !
Go, lovely Rose !
That now she knows,
Tell her that's young
That hadst thou sprung
Small is the worth
Bid her come forth,
Then die! that she
May read in thee :