E'en so we met; and after long pursuit, For I was flax and he was flames of fire: Our firm-united souls did more than twine; CXXIV TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING Bid me to live, and I will live Or bid me love, and I will give A heart as soft, a heart as kind, As in the whole world thou canst find, Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, Bid me to weep, and I will weep Bid me despair, and I'll despair, II Thou art my life, my love, my heart, And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. R. Herrick CXXV Love not me for comely grace, No, nor for my constant heart,— Keep therefore a true woman's eye, Anon. CXXVI 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 For the whole sex can but afford Why then should I seek further store, When change itself can give no more, Sir C. Sedley CXXVII TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON When Love with unconfinéd wings When flowing cups run swiftly round Our careless heads with roses bound, When, (like committed linnets), I Stone walls do not a prison make, Colonel Lovelace I 2 CXXVIII TO LUCASTA, GOING BEYOND THE SEAS If to be absent were to be Or that when I am gone You or I were alone; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. But I'll not sigh one blast or gale Or pay a tear to 'suage The foaming blue-god's rage; Or no, I'm still as happy as I was. 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, Can speak like spirits unconfined In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. Colonel Lovelace CXXIX ENCOURAGEMENTS TO A LOVER Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Will, if looking well can't move her, Prythee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Prythee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move, If of herself she will not love, Sir J. Suckling CXXX A SUPPLICATION Awake, awake, my Lyre! And tell thy silent master's humble tale Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire : 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, A kind of numerous trembling make. Now all thy charms apply; Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure 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. |