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Poems

By Thomas Carew

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A Pastorall Dialogue.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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72

A Pastorall Dialogue.

Celia. Cleon.
As Celia rested in the shade
With Cleon by her side;
The swaine thus courted the young Maid,
And thus the Nymph replide.
CL.
Sweet! let thy captive, fetters weare
Made of thine armes, and hands;
Till such as thraldome scorne, or feare,
envie those happy bands

CE.
Then thus my willing armes I winde
About thee, and am so
Thy pris'ner; for my selfe I bind,
Vntill I let thee goe.

CL.
Happy that slave, whom the faire soe
Tyes in so soft a chaine.

CE.
Farre happier I, but that I know
Thou wilt breake loose againe.


73

CL.
By thy immortall beauties never.

CE.
Fraile as thy love's thine oath.

CL.
Though beautie fade, my faith lasts ever.

CE.
Time will destroy them both.

CL.
I dote not on thy snow-white skin.

CE.
What then?

CL.
Thy purer mind.

CE.
It lov'd too soone.

CL.
Thou hadst not bin
So faire, if not so kind.

CE.
Oh strange vaine fancie!

CL.
But yet true.

CE.
Prove it.

CL.
Then make a brade
Of those loose flames, that circle you,
My sunnes, and yet your shade.

CE.
'Tis done.

CL.
Now give it me.

CE
Thus thou
Shalt thine owne errour find,
If these were beauties, I am now
Lesse faire, because more kind.


74

CL.
You shall confesse you erre; that haire
shall it not change the hue,
Or leave the golden mountaine bare?

CE.
Aye me! it is too true.

CL.
But this small wreathe, shall ever stay
In its first native prime,
And smiling when the rest decay,
The triumphs sing of time.

CE.
Then let me cut from thy faire grove,
One branch, and let that be
An embleme of eternall love,
For such is mine to thee.

CL.
Thus are we both redeem'd from time,
I by thy grace.

CL.
And I
Shall live in thy immortall rime,
Vntill the Muses dye.


75

CL.
By heaven!

CE.
Sweare not; if I must weepe,
Jove shall not smile at me;
This kisse, my heart, and thy faith keepe.

CL.
This breathes my soule to thee.

Then forth the thicket Thirsis rusht,
Where he saw all their play:
The swaine stood still, and smil'd, and blusht,
The Nymph fled fast away.