The Works of Thomas Campion Complete Songs, Masques, and Treatises with a Selection of the Latin Verse: Edited with an introduction and notes by Walter R. Davis |
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| 2. | THE SECOND BOOKE OF AYRES. Containing Light Conceits of Lovers. |
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 | The Works of Thomas Campion |  |
83
THE SECOND BOOKE OF AYRES. Containing Light Conceits of Lovers.
84
TO THE RIGHT NOBLE, AND VERTUOUS, HENRY LORD CLIFFORD,
Sonne and Heyre to the Right Honourable, FRANCIS, Earle of CUMBERLAND.
Such dayes as weare the badge of holy red
Are for devotion markt, and sage delight;
The vulgar Low-dayes, undistinguished,
Are left for labour, games, and sportfull sights.
Are for devotion markt, and sage delight;
The vulgar Low-dayes, undistinguished,
Are left for labour, games, and sportfull sights.
This sev'rall and so diff'ring use of Time
Within th'enclosure of one weeke wee finde;
Which I resemble in my Notes and Rime,
Expressing both in their peculiar kinde.
Within th'enclosure of one weeke wee finde;
Which I resemble in my Notes and Rime,
Expressing both in their peculiar kinde.
Pure Hymnes, such as the seaventh day loves, doe leade;
Grave age did justly chalenge those of mee:
These weeke-day workes, in order that succeede,
Your youth best fits, and yours, yong Lord, they be:
As hee is, who to them their beeing gave;
If th'one, the other you of force must have.
Grave age did justly chalenge those of mee:
These weeke-day workes, in order that succeede,
Your youth best fits, and yours, yong Lord, they be:
As hee is, who to them their beeing gave;
If th'one, the other you of force must have.
Your Honors, THOMAS CAMPIAN.
85
TO THE READER.
That holy Hymnes with Lovers cares are knitBoth in one Quire here, thou maist think't unfit;
Why do'st not blame the Stationer as well,
Who in the same Shop sets all sorts to sell?
Divine with stiles prophane, grave shelv'd with vaine;
And some matcht worse, yet none of him complaine.
[Songs of 3. Parts.]
I.
[Vaine men, whose follies make a God of Love]
Vaine men, whose follies make a God of Love,
Whose blindnesse beauty doth immortall deeme:
Prayse not what you desire, but what you prove,
Count those things good that are, not those that seeme:
I cannot call her true that's false to me,
Nor make of women more then women be.
Whose blindnesse beauty doth immortall deeme:
Prayse not what you desire, but what you prove,
Count those things good that are, not those that seeme:
I cannot call her true that's false to me,
Nor make of women more then women be.
How faire an entrance breakes the way to love!
How rich of golden hope, and gay delight!
What hart cannot a modest beauty move?
Who, seeing cleare day once, will dreame of night?
Shee seem'd a Saint, that brake her faith with mee,
But prov'd a woman, as all other be.
How rich of golden hope, and gay delight!
What hart cannot a modest beauty move?
Who, seeing cleare day once, will dreame of night?
Shee seem'd a Saint, that brake her faith with mee,
But prov'd a woman, as all other be.
So bitter is their sweet, that true content
Unhappy men in them may never finde;
Ah, but without them, none; both must consent,
Else uncouth are the joyes of eyther kinde.
Let us then prayse their good, forget their ill:
Men must be men, and women women still.
Unhappy men in them may never finde;
Ah, but without them, none; both must consent,
Else uncouth are the joyes of eyther kinde.
Let us then prayse their good, forget their ill:
Men must be men, and women women still.
86
II.
[How eas'ly wert thou chained]
How eas'ly wert thou chained,
Fond hart, by favours fained!
Why liv'd thy hopes in grace,
Straight to dye disdained?
But, since th'art now beguiled
By Love that falsely smiled,
In some lesse happy place
Mourne alone exiled.
My love still here increaseth,
And with my love my griefe,
While her sweet bounty ceaseth,
That gave my woes reliefe.
Yet 'tis no woman leaves me,
For such may prove unjust:
A Goddesse thus deceives me,
Whose faith who could mistrust?
Fond hart, by favours fained!
Why liv'd thy hopes in grace,
Straight to dye disdained?
But, since th'art now beguiled
By Love that falsely smiled,
In some lesse happy place
Mourne alone exiled.
My love still here increaseth,
And with my love my griefe,
While her sweet bounty ceaseth,
That gave my woes reliefe.
Yet 'tis no woman leaves me,
For such may prove unjust:
A Goddesse thus deceives me,
Whose faith who could mistrust?
A Goddesse so much graced
That Paradice is placed
In her most heav'nly brest,
Once by love embraced;
But love, that so kinde proved,
Is now from her removed,
Nor will he longer rest
Where no faith is loved.
If Powres Celestiall wound us
And will not yeeld reliefe,
Woe then must needs confound us,
For none can cure our griefe.
No wonder if I languish
Through burden of my smart;
It is no common anguish
From Paradice to part.
That Paradice is placed
In her most heav'nly brest,
Once by love embraced;
But love, that so kinde proved,
Is now from her removed,
Nor will he longer rest
Where no faith is loved.
If Powres Celestiall wound us
And will not yeeld reliefe,
Woe then must needs confound us,
For none can cure our griefe.
No wonder if I languish
Through burden of my smart;
It is no common anguish
From Paradice to part.
88
III.
[Harden now thy tyred hart with more then flinty rage]
Harden now thy tyred hart with more then flinty rage;
Ne'er let her false teares henceforth thy constant griefe asswage.
Once true happy dayes thou saw'st, when shee stood firme and kinde,
Both as one then liv'd, and held one eare, one tongue, one minde.
But now those bright houres be fled, and never may returne:
What then remaines, but her untruths to mourne?
Ne'er let her false teares henceforth thy constant griefe asswage.
Once true happy dayes thou saw'st, when shee stood firme and kinde,
Both as one then liv'd, and held one eare, one tongue, one minde.
But now those bright houres be fled, and never may returne:
What then remaines, but her untruths to mourne?
Silly Tray-tresse, who shall now thy carelesse tresses place?
Who thy pretty talke supply? whose eare thy musicke grace?
Who shall thy bright eyes admire? what lips triumph with thine?
Day by day who'll visit thee and say, th'art onely mine?
Such a time there was, God wot, but such shall never be:
Too oft, I feare, thou wilt remember me.
Who thy pretty talke supply? whose eare thy musicke grace?
Who shall thy bright eyes admire? what lips triumph with thine?
Day by day who'll visit thee and say, th'art onely mine?
Such a time there was, God wot, but such shall never be:
Too oft, I feare, thou wilt remember me.
89
IV.
[O what unhop't for sweet supply!]
O what unhop't for sweet supply!
O what joyes exceeding!
What an affecting charme feele I,
From delight proceeding!
That which I long despair'd to be,
To her I am, and shee to mee.
O what joyes exceeding!
What an affecting charme feele I,
From delight proceeding!
That which I long despair'd to be,
To her I am, and shee to mee.
Shee that alone in cloudy griefe
Long to mee appeared,
Shee now alone with bright reliefe
All those clouds hath cleared.
Both are immortall, and divine,
Since I am hers, and she is mine.
Long to mee appeared,
Shee now alone with bright reliefe
All those clouds hath cleared.
Both are immortall, and divine,
Since I am hers, and she is mine.
90
V.
[Where shee her sacred bowre adornes]
Where shee her sacred bowre adornes,
The Rivers clearely flow:
The groves and medowes swell with flowres,
The windes all gently blow:
Her Sunne-like beauty shines so fayre,
Her Spring can never fade:
Who then can blame the life that strives
To harbour in her shade?
The Rivers clearely flow:
The groves and medowes swell with flowres,
The windes all gently blow:
Her Sunne-like beauty shines so fayre,
Her Spring can never fade:
Who then can blame the life that strives
To harbour in her shade?
Her grace I sought, her love I wooed;
Her love though I obtaine,
No time, no toyle, no vow, no faith
Her wished grace can gaine.
Yet truth can tell my heart is hers,
And her will I adore:
And from that love when I depart,
Let heav'n view me no more.
Her love though I obtaine,
No time, no toyle, no vow, no faith
Her wished grace can gaine.
Yet truth can tell my heart is hers,
And her will I adore:
And from that love when I depart,
Let heav'n view me no more.
Her roses with my prayer shall spring;
And when trees I praise,
Their boughs shall blossome, mellow fruit
Shall straw her pleasant wayes.
The words of harty zeale have powre
High wonders to effect;
O why should then her Princely eare
My words, or zeale neglect?
And when trees I praise,
Their boughs shall blossome, mellow fruit
Shall straw her pleasant wayes.
The words of harty zeale have powre
High wonders to effect;
O why should then her Princely eare
My words, or zeale neglect?
If shee my faith misdeemes, or worth,
Woe-worth my haplesse fate:
For, though time can my truth reveale,
That time will come too late.
And who can glory in the worth
That cannot yeeld him grace?
Content in ev'ry thing is not,
Nor joy in ev'ry place.
Woe-worth my haplesse fate:
For, though time can my truth reveale,
That time will come too late.
And who can glory in the worth
That cannot yeeld him grace?
Content in ev'ry thing is not,
Nor joy in ev'ry place.
91
But, from her bowre of Joy since I
Must now excluded be,
And shee will not relieve my cares,
Which none can helpe but shee:
My comfort in her love shall dwell,
Her love lodge in my brest;
And though not in her bowre, yet I
Shall in her temple rest.
Must now excluded be,
And shee will not relieve my cares,
Which none can helpe but shee:
My comfort in her love shall dwell,
Her love lodge in my brest;
And though not in her bowre, yet I
Shall in her temple rest.
92
VI.
[Faine would I my love disclose]
Faine would I my love disclose,
Aske what honour might denye;
But both love and her I lose,
From my motion if shee flye.
Worse then paine is feare to mee:
Then hold in fancy, though it burne;
If not happy, safe Ile be,
And to my clostred cares returne.
Aske what honour might denye;
But both love and her I lose,
From my motion if shee flye.
Worse then paine is feare to mee:
Then hold in fancy, though it burne;
If not happy, safe Ile be,
And to my clostred cares returne.
Yet, o yet, in vaine I strive
To represse my school'd desire;
More and more the flames revive,
I consume in mine owne fire.
She would pitty, might shee know
The harmes that I for her endure:
Speake then, and get comfort so:
A wound long hid growes past recure.
To represse my school'd desire;
More and more the flames revive,
I consume in mine owne fire.
She would pitty, might shee know
The harmes that I for her endure:
Speake then, and get comfort so:
A wound long hid growes past recure.
Wise shee is, and needs must know
All th'attempts that beauty moves:
Fayre she is, and honour'd so
That she, sure, hath tryed some loves.
If with love I tempt her then,
'Tis but her due to be desir'd:
What would women thinke of men,
If their deserts were not admir'd?
All th'attempts that beauty moves:
Fayre she is, and honour'd so
That she, sure, hath tryed some loves.
If with love I tempt her then,
'Tis but her due to be desir'd:
What would women thinke of men,
If their deserts were not admir'd?
Women, courted, have the hand
To discard what they distaste:
But those Dames whom none demand
Want oft what their wils imbrac't.
Could their firmnesse iron excell,
As they are faire, they should be sought:
When true theeves use falsehood well,
As they are wise, they will be caught.
To discard what they distaste:
But those Dames whom none demand
Want oft what their wils imbrac't.
Could their firmnesse iron excell,
As they are faire, they should be sought:
When true theeves use falsehood well,
As they are wise, they will be caught.
93
VII.
[Give beauty all her right]
Give beauty all her right,
Shee's not to one forme tyed;
Each shape yeelds faire delight,
Where her perfections bide.
Hellen, I grant, might pleasing be;
And Ros'mond was as sweet as shee.
Shee's not to one forme tyed;
Each shape yeelds faire delight,
Where her perfections bide.
Hellen, I grant, might pleasing be;
And Ros'mond was as sweet as shee.
Some the quicke eye commends,
Some smelling lips and red;
Pale lookes have many friends,
Through sacred sweetnesse bred.
Medowes have flowres that pleasure move,
Though Roses are the flowres of love.
Some smelling lips and red;
Pale lookes have many friends,
Through sacred sweetnesse bred.
Medowes have flowres that pleasure move,
Though Roses are the flowres of love.
Free beauty is not bound
To one unmoved clime:
She visits ev'ry ground,
And favours ev'ry time.
Let the old loves with mine compare,
My sov'raigne is as sweet, and fayre.
To one unmoved clime:
She visits ev'ry ground,
And favours ev'ry time.
Let the old loves with mine compare,
My sov'raigne is as sweet, and fayre.
94
VIII.
[O deare, that I with thee might live]
O deare, that I with thee might live,
From humane trace removed:
Where jealous care might neither grieve,
Yet each dote on their loved.
While fond feare may colour finde, Love's seldome pleased;
But much like a sicke mans rest, it's soone diseased.
From humane trace removed:
Where jealous care might neither grieve,
Yet each dote on their loved.
While fond feare may colour finde, Love's seldome pleased;
But much like a sicke mans rest, it's soone diseased.
Why should our mindes not mingle so,
When love and faith is plighted,
That eyther might the others know,
Alike in all delighted?
Why should frailtie breed suspect, when hearts are fixed?
Must all humane joyes of force with griefe be mixed?
When love and faith is plighted,
That eyther might the others know,
Alike in all delighted?
Why should frailtie breed suspect, when hearts are fixed?
Must all humane joyes of force with griefe be mixed?
How oft have wee ev'n smilde in teares,
Our fond mistrust repenting?
As snow when heav'nly fire appeares,
So melts loves hate relenting.
Vexed kindnesse soone fals off, and soone returneth:
Such a flame the more you quench, the more it burneth.
Our fond mistrust repenting?
As snow when heav'nly fire appeares,
So melts loves hate relenting.
Vexed kindnesse soone fals off, and soone returneth:
Such a flame the more you quench, the more it burneth.
95
IX.
[Good men, shew, if you can tell]
Good men, shew, if you can tell,
Where doth humane pittie dwell?
Farre and neere her would I seeke,
So vext with sorrow is my brest.
She (they say) to all is meeke,
And onely makes th'unhappie blest.
Where doth humane pittie dwell?
Farre and neere her would I seeke,
So vext with sorrow is my brest.
She (they say) to all is meeke,
And onely makes th'unhappie blest.
Oh! if such a Saint there be,
Some hope yet remaines for me:
Prayer or sacrifice may gaine
From her implored grace reliefe,
To release mee of my paine,
Or at the least to ease my griefe.
Some hope yet remaines for me:
Prayer or sacrifice may gaine
From her implored grace reliefe,
To release mee of my paine,
Or at the least to ease my griefe.
Young am I, and farre from guile;
The more is my woe the while:
Falshood with a smooth disguise
My simple meaning hath abus'd,
Casting mists before mine eyes,
By which my senses are confus'd.
The more is my woe the while:
Falshood with a smooth disguise
My simple meaning hath abus'd,
Casting mists before mine eyes,
By which my senses are confus'd.
Faire he is, who vow'd to me
That he onely mine would be:
But, alas, his minde is caught
With ev'ry gaudie bait he sees.
And too late my flame is taught
That too much kindnesse makes men freese.
That he onely mine would be:
But, alas, his minde is caught
With ev'ry gaudie bait he sees.
And too late my flame is taught
That too much kindnesse makes men freese.
From me all my friends are gone,
While I pine for him alone;
And not one will rue my case,
But rather my distresse deride:
That I thinke there is no place
Where pittie ever yet did bide.
While I pine for him alone;
And not one will rue my case,
But rather my distresse deride:
That I thinke there is no place
Where pittie ever yet did bide.
96
X.
[What harvest halfe so sweet is]
What harvest halfe so sweet is,
As still to reape the kisses
Growne ripe in sowing?
And straight to be receiver
Of that which thou art giver,
Rich in bestowing?
Kisse then, my harvest Queene,
Full garners heaping;
Kisses, ripest when th'are greene,
Want onely reaping.
As still to reape the kisses
Growne ripe in sowing?
And straight to be receiver
Of that which thou art giver,
Rich in bestowing?
Kisse then, my harvest Queene,
Full garners heaping;
Kisses, ripest when th'are greene,
Want onely reaping.
The Dove alone expresses
Her fervencie in kisses,
Of all most loving:
A creature as offencelesse
As those things that are sencelesse
And void of moving.
Let us so love and kisse,
Though all envie us:
That which kinde, and harmelesse is,
None can denie us.
Her fervencie in kisses,
Of all most loving:
A creature as offencelesse
As those things that are sencelesse
And void of moving.
Let us so love and kisse,
Though all envie us:
That which kinde, and harmelesse is,
None can denie us.
99
XI.
[Sweet, exclude mee not, nor be divided]
Sweet, exclude mee not, nor be divided
From him that ere long must bed thee:
All thy maiden doubts Law hath decided;
Sure wee are, and I must wed thee.
Presume then yet a little more:
Here's the way, barre not the dore.
From him that ere long must bed thee:
All thy maiden doubts Law hath decided;
Sure wee are, and I must wed thee.
Presume then yet a little more:
Here's the way, barre not the dore.
Tenants, to fulfill their Land-lords pleasure,
Pay their rent before the quarter:
'Tis my case, if you it rightly measure;
Put mee not then off with laughter.
Consider then a little more:
Here's the way to all my store.
Pay their rent before the quarter:
'Tis my case, if you it rightly measure;
Put mee not then off with laughter.
Consider then a little more:
Here's the way to all my store.
Why were dores in loves despight devised?
Are not Lawes enough restrayning?
Women are most apt to be surprised
Sleeping, or sleepe wisely fayning.
Then grace me yet a little more:
Here's the way, barre not the dore.
Are not Lawes enough restrayning?
Women are most apt to be surprised
Sleeping, or sleepe wisely fayning.
Then grace me yet a little more:
Here's the way, barre not the dore.
100
XII.
[The peacefull westerne winde]
The peacefull westerne winde
The winter stormes hath tam'd,
And nature in each kinde
The kinde heat hath inflam'd.
The forward buds so sweetly breathe
Out of their earthy bowers,
That heav'n, which viewes their pompe beneath,
Would faine be deckt with flowers.
The winter stormes hath tam'd,
And nature in each kinde
The kinde heat hath inflam'd.
The forward buds so sweetly breathe
Out of their earthy bowers,
That heav'n, which viewes their pompe beneath,
Would faine be deckt with flowers.
See how the morning smiles
On her bright easterne hill,
And with soft steps beguiles
Them that lie slumbring still.
The musicke-loving birds are come
From cliffes and rockes unknowne,
To see the trees and briers blome
That late were over-flowne.
On her bright easterne hill,
And with soft steps beguiles
Them that lie slumbring still.
The musicke-loving birds are come
From cliffes and rockes unknowne,
To see the trees and briers blome
That late were over-flowne.
What Saturne did destroy,
Loves Queene revives againe;
And now her naked boy
Doth in the fields remaine:
Where he such pleasing change doth view
In ev'ry living thing,
As if the world were borne anew
To gratifie the Spring.
Loves Queene revives againe;
And now her naked boy
Doth in the fields remaine:
Where he such pleasing change doth view
In ev'ry living thing,
As if the world were borne anew
To gratifie the Spring.
If all things life present,
Why die my comforts then?
Why suffers my content?
Am I the worst of men?
O beautie, be not thou accus'd
Too justly in this case:
Unkindly if true love be us'd,
'Twill yeeld thee little grace.
Why die my comforts then?
Why suffers my content?
Am I the worst of men?
O beautie, be not thou accus'd
Too justly in this case:
Unkindly if true love be us'd,
'Twill yeeld thee little grace.
102
XIII.
[There is none, O none but you]
There is none, O none but you,
That from mee estrange your sight,
Whom mine eyes affect to view
Or chained eares heare with delight.
That from mee estrange your sight,
Whom mine eyes affect to view
Or chained eares heare with delight.
Other beauties others move,
In you I all graces finde:
Such is the effect of love,
To make them happy that are kinde.
In you I all graces finde:
Such is the effect of love,
To make them happy that are kinde.
Women in fraile beauty trust,
Onely seeme you faire to mee;
Yet prove truely kinde and just,
For that may not dissembled be.
Onely seeme you faire to mee;
Yet prove truely kinde and just,
For that may not dissembled be.
Sweet, afford mee then your sight,
That, survaying all your lookes,
Endlesse volumes I may write,
And fill the world with envyed bookes:
That, survaying all your lookes,
Endlesse volumes I may write,
And fill the world with envyed bookes:
Which when after ages view,
All shall wonder, and despaire,
Woman to finde man so true,
Or man a woman halfe so faire.
All shall wonder, and despaire,
Woman to finde man so true,
Or man a woman halfe so faire.
103
XIV.
[Pin'd I am, and like to die]
Pin'd I am, and like to die,
And all for lacke of that which I
Doe ev'ry day refuse.
If I musing sit, or stand,
Some puts it daily in my hand,
To interrupt my muse.
The same thing I seeke, and flie,
And want that which none would denie.
And all for lacke of that which I
Doe ev'ry day refuse.
If I musing sit, or stand,
Some puts it daily in my hand,
To interrupt my muse.
The same thing I seeke, and flie,
And want that which none would denie.
In my bed, when I should rest,
It breeds such trouble in my brest
That scarce mine eyes will close:
If I sleepe, it seemes to be
Oft playing in the bed with me,
But, wak't, away it goes.
Tis some spirit, sure, I weene,
And yet it may be felt, and seene.
It breeds such trouble in my brest
That scarce mine eyes will close:
If I sleepe, it seemes to be
Oft playing in the bed with me,
But, wak't, away it goes.
Tis some spirit, sure, I weene,
And yet it may be felt, and seene.
Would I had the heart and wit
To make it stand, and conjure it,
That haunts me thus with feare.
Doubtlesse tis some harmlesse spright,
For it by day, as well as night,
Is ready to appeare.
Be it friend, or be it foe,
Ere long Ile trie what it will doe.
To make it stand, and conjure it,
That haunts me thus with feare.
Doubtlesse tis some harmlesse spright,
For it by day, as well as night,
Is ready to appeare.
Be it friend, or be it foe,
Ere long Ile trie what it will doe.
105
XV.
[So many loves have I neglected]
So many loves have I neglected
Whose good parts might move mee,
That now I live of all rejected,
There is none will love me.
Why is mayden heate so coy?
It freezeth when it burneth,
Looseth what it might injoy,
And, having lost it, mourneth.
Whose good parts might move mee,
That now I live of all rejected,
There is none will love me.
Why is mayden heate so coy?
It freezeth when it burneth,
Looseth what it might injoy,
And, having lost it, mourneth.
Should I then wooe, that have been wooed,
Seeking them that flye mee?
When I my faith with teares have vowed,
And when all denye mee,
Who will pitty my disgrace,
Which love might have prevented?
There is no submission base
Where error is repented.
Seeking them that flye mee?
When I my faith with teares have vowed,
And when all denye mee,
Who will pitty my disgrace,
Which love might have prevented?
There is no submission base
Where error is repented.
O happy men, whose hopes are licenc'd
To discourse their passion,
While women are confin'd to silence,
Loosing wisht occasion.
Yet our tongues then theirs, men say,
Are apter to be moving:
Women are more dumbe then they,
But in their thoughts more roving.
To discourse their passion,
While women are confin'd to silence,
Loosing wisht occasion.
Yet our tongues then theirs, men say,
Are apter to be moving:
Women are more dumbe then they,
But in their thoughts more roving.
When I compare my former strangenesse
With my present doting,
I pitty men that speake in plainenesse,
Their true hearts devoting;
While wee with repentance jest
At their submissive passion:
Maydes, I see, are never blest
That strange be but for fashion.
With my present doting,
I pitty men that speake in plainenesse,
Their true hearts devoting;
While wee with repentance jest
At their submissive passion:
Maydes, I see, are never blest
That strange be but for fashion.
106
XVI.
[Though your strangenesse frets my hart]
Though your strangenesse frets my hart,
Yet may not I complaine:
You perswade me, 'tis but Art,
That secret love must faine.
If another you affect,
'Tis but a shew t'avoid suspect.
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.
Yet may not I complaine:
You perswade me, 'tis but Art,
That secret love must faine.
If another you affect,
'Tis but a shew t'avoid suspect.
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.
Your wisht sight if I desire,
Suspitions you pretend;
Causelesse you your selfe retire,
While I in vaine attend.
This a Lover whets, you say,
Still made more eager by delay.
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.
Suspitions you pretend;
Causelesse you your selfe retire,
While I in vaine attend.
This a Lover whets, you say,
Still made more eager by delay.
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.
When another holds your hand,
You sweare I hold your hart:
When my Rivals close doe stand
And I sit farre apart,
I am neerer yet then they,
Hid in your bosome, as you say.
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.
You sweare I hold your hart:
When my Rivals close doe stand
And I sit farre apart,
I am neerer yet then they,
Hid in your bosome, as you say.
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.
Would my Rival then I were,
Some els your secret friend:
So much lesser should I feare,
And not so much attend.
They enjoy you, ev'ry one,
Yet I must seeme your friend alone.
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.
Some els your secret friend:
So much lesser should I feare,
And not so much attend.
They enjoy you, ev'ry one,
Yet I must seeme your friend alone.
Is this faire excusing? O no, all is abusing.
108
XVII.
[Come away, arm'd with loves delights]
Come away, arm'd with loves delights,
Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee:
When loves longing fights,
They must the sticklers be.
Come quickly, come, the promis'd houre is wel-nye spent,
And pleasure, being too much deferr'd, looseth her best content.
Thy sprightfull graces bring with thee:
When loves longing fights,
They must the sticklers be.
Come quickly, come, the promis'd houre is wel-nye spent,
And pleasure, being too much deferr'd, looseth her best content.
Is shee come? O, how neare is shee?
How farre yet from this friendly place?
How many steps from me?
When shall I her imbrace?
These armes Ile spred, which onely at her sight shall close,
Attending as the starry flowre that the Suns noone-tide knowes.
How farre yet from this friendly place?
How many steps from me?
When shall I her imbrace?
These armes Ile spred, which onely at her sight shall close,
Attending as the starry flowre that the Suns noone-tide knowes.
109
XVIII.
[Come, you pretty false-ey'd wanton]
Come, you pretty false-ey'd wanton,
Leave your crafty smiling:
Thinke you to escape me now
With slipp'ry words beguiling?
No; you mock't me th'other day,
When you got loose, you fled away;
But, since I have caught you now,
Ile clip your wings for flying:
Smothring kisses fast Ile heape,
And keepe you so from crying.
Leave your crafty smiling:
Thinke you to escape me now
With slipp'ry words beguiling?
No; you mock't me th'other day,
When you got loose, you fled away;
But, since I have caught you now,
Ile clip your wings for flying:
Smothring kisses fast Ile heape,
And keepe you so from crying.
Sooner may you count the starres,
And number hayle downe pouring,
Tell the Osiers of the Temmes,
Or Goodwins Sands devouring,
Then the thicke-showr'd kisses here
Which now thy tyred lips must beare.
Such a harvest never was,
So rich and full of pleasure,
But 'tis spent as soone as reapt,
So trustlesse is loves treasure.
And number hayle downe pouring,
Tell the Osiers of the Temmes,
Or Goodwins Sands devouring,
Then the thicke-showr'd kisses here
Which now thy tyred lips must beare.
Such a harvest never was,
So rich and full of pleasure,
But 'tis spent as soone as reapt,
So trustlesse is loves treasure.
Would it were dumb midnight now,
When all the world lyes sleeping:
Would this place some Desert were,
Which no man hath in keeping.
My desires should then be safe,
And when you cry'd then would I laugh;
But if ought might breed offence,
Love onely should be blamed:
I would live your servant still,
And you my Saint unnamed.
When all the world lyes sleeping:
Would this place some Desert were,
Which no man hath in keeping.
110
And when you cry'd then would I laugh;
But if ought might breed offence,
Love onely should be blamed:
I would live your servant still,
And you my Saint unnamed.
111
XIX.
[A secret love or two, I must confesse]
A secret love or two, I must confesse,
I kindly welcome for change in close playing:
Yet my deare husband I love ne'erthelesse,
His desires, whole or halfe, quickly allaying,
At all times ready to offer redresse.
His owne he never wants, but hath it duely,
Yet twits me, I keepe not touch with him truly.
I kindly welcome for change in close playing:
Yet my deare husband I love ne'erthelesse,
His desires, whole or halfe, quickly allaying,
At all times ready to offer redresse.
His owne he never wants, but hath it duely,
Yet twits me, I keepe not touch with him truly.
The more a spring is drawne, the more it flowes;
No Lampe lesse light retaines by lighting others:
Is hee a looser his losse that ne're knowes?
Or is he wealthy that wast treasure smothers?
My churle vowes no man shall sent his sweet Rose:
His owne enough and more I give him duely,
Yet still he twits mee, I keepe not touch truly.
No Lampe lesse light retaines by lighting others:
Is hee a looser his losse that ne're knowes?
Or is he wealthy that wast treasure smothers?
My churle vowes no man shall sent his sweet Rose:
His owne enough and more I give him duely,
Yet still he twits mee, I keepe not touch truly.
Wise Archers beare more then one shaft to field,
The Venturer loads not with one ware his shipping:
Should Warriers learne but one weapon to weilde?
Or thrive faire plants ere the worse for the slipping?
One dish cloyes, many fresh appetite yeeld:
Mine owne Ile use, and his he shall have duely,
Judge then what debter can keepe touch more truly.
The Venturer loads not with one ware his shipping:
Should Warriers learne but one weapon to weilde?
Or thrive faire plants ere the worse for the slipping?
One dish cloyes, many fresh appetite yeeld:
Mine owne Ile use, and his he shall have duely,
Judge then what debter can keepe touch more truly.
112
XX.
[Her rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes]
Her rosie cheekes, her ever smiling eyes,
Are Spheares and beds where Love in triumph lies:
Her rubine lips, when they their pearle unlocke,
Make them seeme as they did rise
All out of one smooth Currall Rocke.
Oh, that of other Creatures store I knew
More worthy, and more rare:
For these are old, and shee so new,
That her to them none should compare.
Are Spheares and beds where Love in triumph lies:
Her rubine lips, when they their pearle unlocke,
Make them seeme as they did rise
All out of one smooth Currall Rocke.
Oh, that of other Creatures store I knew
More worthy, and more rare:
For these are old, and shee so new,
That her to them none should compare.
Oh, could she love, would shee but heare a friend,
Or that shee onely knew what sighs pretend.
Her lookes inflame, yet cold as Ice is shee.
Doe or speake, all's to one end,
For what shee is, that will shee be.
Yet will I never cease her prayse to sing,
Though she gives no regard:
For they that grace a worthlesse thing
Are onely greedy of reward.
Or that shee onely knew what sighs pretend.
Her lookes inflame, yet cold as Ice is shee.
Doe or speake, all's to one end,
For what shee is, that will shee be.
Yet will I never cease her prayse to sing,
Though she gives no regard:
For they that grace a worthlesse thing
Are onely greedy of reward.
[Songs of 2. Parts.]
XXI.
[Where shall I refuge seeke, if you refuse mee?]
Where shall I refuge seeke, if you refuse mee?
In you my hope, in you my fortune lyes;
In you my life, though you unjust accuse me,
My service scorne, and merit underprise.
Oh bitter griefe, that exile is become
Reward for faith, and pittie deafe and dumbe.
In you my hope, in you my fortune lyes;
In you my life, though you unjust accuse me,
My service scorne, and merit underprise.
Oh bitter griefe, that exile is become
Reward for faith, and pittie deafe and dumbe.
Why should my firmnesse finde a seate so wav'ring?
My simple vowes, my love you entertain'd,
Without desert the same againe disfav'ring;
Yet I my word and passion hold unstain'd.
Oh wretched me, that my chiefe joy should breede
My onely griefe, and kindnesse pitty neede.
My simple vowes, my love you entertain'd,
Without desert the same againe disfav'ring;
Yet I my word and passion hold unstain'd.
Oh wretched me, that my chiefe joy should breede
My onely griefe, and kindnesse pitty neede.
FINIS.
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