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You common people of the skies,
That warble forth dame Nature's lays,
By your weak accents; what's your praise When Philomel her voice doth 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
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 Chaeroneia, 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.
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 ana young,
Thine eyes like twin stars shining ;
All these will be declining.
And all thy sweets shall borrow;
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:
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
And I'll not look for wine.
Doth ask a drink divine;
I would not change for thine.
Not so much honouring thee
It could not wither'd be ;
And sent'st it back to me ;
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ;
Of orient pearl, a double row,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow :
Her eyes like angels watch them still ;
Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threat’ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that approach with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh, Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry!
Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn
See how Aurora throws her fair
The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Nay! not so much as out of bed ?
Nay, profanation, to keep in,-
And sweei as Flora. Take no care
Gems in abundance upon you :
Come, and receive them while the light
Retires himself, or else stands sti?!
praying : Few beads are best. when once we go a Maying.