Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Poems

By Thomas Carew

Carew, Thomas (1595?-1639?)

My mistris commanding me to returne her letters.

Secresie protested.

A prayer to the Wind.

Mediocritie in love rejected.

Good counsel to a young Maid.

To my Mistris sitting by a Rivers side.

SONG.

A deposition from Love.

Ingratefull beauty threatned.

Disdaine returned.

A Looking-Glasse.

An Elegie on the La: Pen: sent to my Mistresse out of France.

To my Mistresse in absence.

To her in absence.

SONG.

Upon some alterations in my Mistresse, after my departure into France.

Good counsell to a young Maid.

Celia bleeding, to the Surgeon.

To T.H. a Lady resembling my Mistresse.

To Saxham.

Upon a Ribband.

To the King at his entrance into Saxham, by Master Io, Crofts.

Upon the sicknesse of (E.S.)

A New-yeares Sacrifice.

SONG.

Upon the Kings sicknesse.

SONG.

A flye that flew into my Mistris her eye.

SONG. Celia singing.

SONG.

In the person of a Lady to her inconstant servant.

Truce in Love entreated.

To my Rivall.

Boldnesse in love.

A Pastorall Dialogue.

Griefe ingrost.

A Pastorall Dialogue.

Red, and white Roses.

To my Cousin (C.R.) marrying my Lady (A.)

A Lover upon an Accident necessitating his departure, consults with Reason.

Parting, Celia weepes.

A Rapture.

Epitaph on the Lady Mary Villers.

An other.

Epitaph on the Lady S. Wife to Sir W.S.

Maria Wentworth. Thomæ Comitis Cleveland, filia præmortuæ prima Virginiam animam exhaluit. An. Dom. Æt.suæ.

On the Duke of Buckingham.

Siste Hospes sive Indigena sive Advena vicissitudinis rerum memor pauca pellege.

Foure Songs by way of Chorus to a play, at an entertainment of the King and Queene, by my Lord Chamberlaine

The first of Ieælousie. Dialogue.

2. Feminine Honour.

3. Separation of Lovers.

4. Incommunicabilitie of Love.

Songs in the Play.

A Lover in the disguise of an Amazon, is dearly beloved of his Mistresse.

Another. A Lady rescued from death by a Knight, who in the instant leaves her, complaines thus.

To Ben. Iohnson.

An Hymeneall Dialogue. Bride and Groome.

Obsequies to the Lady Anne Hay.

To the Countesse of Anglesie upon the immorderatly-by-her-lamented death of her Husband.

An Elegie upon the death of Doctor Donne, Deane of Pauls.

In answer of an Elegiacall Letter upon the death of the King of Sweden from Aurelian Townsend, inviting me to write on that subject.

Vpon Master W. Mountague his returne from travell.

To Master W. Mountague.

On the Mariage of T.K. and C.C. the morning stormie.

For a Picture where a Queen Laments over the Tombe of a slaine Knight.

To a Lady that desired I would love her.

Upon my Lord Chiefe Iustice his election of my Lady A.W. for his Mistresse.

To A.D. unreasonable distrustfull of her owne beauty.

To my friend G.N. from Wrest.

A New-yeares gift.

To the Queene.

To the New-yeare for the Countesse of Carlile.

To my Honoured friend, Master Thomas May, upon his Comedie, The Heire.

To my worthy friend Master Geo. Sands, on his translation of the Psalmes.

To my much honoured friend, Henry Lord Cary of Lepington, upon his translation of Malvezzi.

To my worthy Friend, M. D'avenant, Vpon his Excellent Play, The Iust Italian.

To the Reader of Master William Davenant's Play.

TO MY FRIEND, Will. D'avenant.

On sight of a Gentlewomans face in the water.

To his Mistris confined.

On a Damaske rose sticking vpon a Ladies breast.

The protestation a Sonnet.

The tooth-ach cured by a kisse.

To his jealous Mistris.

The Dart.

The mistake.

Collapse All | Expand All expand section

205

The mistake.

When on faire Celia I did spie,
A wounded heart of stone,
The wound had almost made me cry,
Sure this heart was my owne.

But when I saw it was enthron'd,
In her celestiall brest:
O then I it no longer own'd,,
For mine was ne're so blest.

Yet if in highest heavens doe shine,
Each constant Martyrs heart:
Then shee may well give rest to mine,
That for her sake doth smart.

Where seated in so high a blisse,
Though wounded it shall live:
Death enters not in Paradise,
The place free life doth give.

Or if the place lesse sacred were,
Did but her saving eye;

206

Bath my sicke heart in one kind teare,
Then should I never dye.

Slight balmes may heale a slighter sore,
No medicine lesse divine,
Can ever hope for to restore,
A wounded heart like mine.