Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

LXIX.

THOMAS MIDDLETON, 1580?-1627.

L

HIPPOLITO'S SONG.

OVE is like a lamb, and love is like a lion;

Fly from love, he fights; fight, then does he fly on.

Love is all on fire, and yet is ever freezing;

Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing;
Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying ;

Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying;

Love does dote in liking, and is mad in loathing;
Love indeed is anything, yet indeed is nothing.

[ocr errors]

LXX.

PHINEAS FLETCHER, 1581-1650.

A HYMN.

ROP, drop, slow tears,

DROP

And bathe those beauteous feet,

Which brought from heaven

The news and Prince of peace:

Cease not, wet eyes,

His mercies to entreat;

To cry for vengeance

Sin doth never cease:

In your deep floods

Drown all my faults and fears;

Nor let his eye

See sin, but through my tears.

LXXI.

THOMAS CAREW, 1589?-1639.

A

SONG.

SK me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west

The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.

LXXII.

GEORGE WITHER,

1590?-1667.

THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

HALL I, wasting in despair,

SHA

Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks 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?

Should my heart be grieved or pined,
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed 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?

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »