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University of Virginia Library

Poems

By Thomas Carew

Carew, Thomas (1595?-1639?)

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A divine Mistris.

A cruell Mistris

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.

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.

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.

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.

A flye that flew into my Mistris her eye.

SONG. Celia singing.

In the person of a Lady to her inconstant servant.

Truce in Love entreated.

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.

Epitaph on the Lady Mary Villers.

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

Songs in the Play.

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57

SONG.

To my Mistris, I burning in love.

I burne , and cruell you, in vaine
Hope to quench me with disdaine;
If from your eyes, those sparkles came,
That have kindled all this flame,
What bootes it me, though now you shrowde
Those fierce Comets in a cloude?
Since all the flames that I have felt,
Could your snow yet never melt,
Nor, can your snow (though you should take
Alpes into your bosome) slake
The heate of my enamour'd heart;
But with wonder learne Loves art:
No seaes of yce can coole desire,
Equall flames must quench Loves fire:
Then thinke not that my heat can dye,
Till you burne aswell as I.