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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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58

SONG.

To her againe, she burning in a Feaver.

Now she burnes as well as I,
Yet my heat can never dye;
She burnes that never knew desire.
She that was yce, she that was fire.
Shee whose cold heart, chaste thoughts did arme
So, as Loves flames could never warme
The frozen bosome where it dwelt,
She burnes, and all her beauties melt;
She burnes, and cryes, Loves fires are milde;
Feavers are Gods, He's a childe.
Love; let her know the difference
Twixt the heat of soule, and sence.
Touch her with thy flames divine,
So shalt thou quench her fire, and mine.