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.

81

ANON.

CHILD AND MAIDEN

Ah, Chloris! that I now could sit
As unconcern'd as when
Your infant beauty could beget
No pleasure, nor no pain!
When I the dawn used to admire,
And praised the coming day,

5

I little thought the growing fire
Must take my rest away.

Your charms in harmless childhood lay

Like metals in the mine;

10

Age from no face took more away

Than youth conceal'd in thine.

But as your charms insensibly
To their perfection prest,

Fond love as unperceived did fly,
And in my bosom rest.

My passion with your beauty grew,
And Cupid at my heart,
Still as his mother favour'd you,
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,

To-morrow will be dying.

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,

5

When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times, still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry :

For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

10

15

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
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore ;

I could not love thee, Dear, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

84

COLONEL LOVELACE.

ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA

You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes

More by your number than your light,
You common people of the skies,

What are you, when the Moon shall rise?

You 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 shall raise ?

You 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 ?

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.

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10

5

10

15

20

85

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY

Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Of England's Council and her Treasury,
Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,

Till the sad breaking of that Parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty,

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent ;

Though later born than to have known the days
Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet;

So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.
J. MILTON.

10

86

THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE

It is not Beauty I demand,

A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair:

Tell me not of your starry eyes,
Your lips that seem on roses fed,

Your breasts, where Cupid trembling lies
Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed :—

5

A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks

Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours,

10

A breath that softer music speaks

Than summer winds a-wooing flowers,

These are but gauds: nay, what are lips?
Coral beneath the ocean-stream,
Whose brink when your adventurer sips
Full oft he perisheth on them.

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 ;
They are but empty cells for pride;
He who the Syren's hair would win
Is mostly strangled in the tide.
Give me, instead of Beauty's bust,
A tender heart, a loyal mind
Which with temptation I could trust,
Yet never link'd with error find,-

One in whose gentle bosom I

Could pour my secret heart of woes,

Like the care-burthen'd honey-fly

35

That hides his murmurs in the rose,

My earthly Comforter! whose love
So indefeasible might be

That, when my spirit won above,
Hers could not stay, for sympathy.

40

G. DARLEY.

87

THE TRUE BEAUTY

He that loves a rosy cheek
Or a coral lip admires,

Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;