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Fair was that face as break of dawn,
When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn
Like a thin veil which half concealed
The light of soul and half revealed.

thy hushed heart with visions wrought
Each trembling eyelash moved with thought,
And things we dream, but ne'er can speak,
Like clouds come floating o'er thy cheek-
Such summer clouds as travel light
When the soul's heaven lies calm and bright ;-
Till thou awak'st,—then to thine eye
Thy whole heart leapt in ecstacy!
And lovely is that heart of thine,
Or sure those eyes could never shine
With such a wild, yet bashful glee,
Gay, half-o'ercome timidity.

J. WILSON (“CHRISTOPHER NORTH').

1071. AMARYLLIS I DID WOO

AMARYLLIS I did woo ;
And I courted Phillis too ;
Daphne for her love I chose ;
Chloris, for that damask rose
In her cheek I held as dear ;
Yea, a thousand liked, well near ;
And, in love with all together,
Feared the enjoying either,
'Cause to be of one possessed,
Barred the hope of all the rest.

G. WITHER (The Mistress of Philarete).

1072. BEHOLD THE SUN THAT SEEMED BUT NOW

BEHOLD the sun, that seemed but

now

Enthronèd overhead, Beginning to decline below

The globe whereon we tread ;
And he, whom yet we look upon

With comfort and delight,
Will quite depart from hence anon,

And leave us to the night.

Thus time, unheeded, steals away

The life which nature gave ;
Thus are our bodies every day

Declining to the grave;
Thus from us all our pleasures fly

Whereon we set our heart;
And when the night of death draws

nigh
Thus will they all depart.

Lord ! though the sun forsake our sight,

And mortal hopes are vain,
Let still thine everlasting light

Within our souls remain ;
And in the nights of our distress

Vouchsafe those rays divine,
Which from the Sun of Righteousness
For ever brightly shine !

G. WITHER.

now,

1073. I LOVED A LASS, A FAIR ONE I LOVED a lass, a fair one,

In summer time or winter As fair as e'er was seen ;

She had her heart's desire ; She was indeed a rare one,

I still did scorn to stint her Another Sheba Queen !

From sugar, sack, or fire ; But, fool as then I was,

The world went round about, I thought she loved me too : No cares we ever knew : But now, alas ! she's left me, But now, alas ! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo.

Falero, lero, loo. Her hair like gold did glister, As we walked home together

Each eye was like a star, At midnight through the town, She did surpass her sister, To keep away the weather

Which passed all others far; O'er her I'd cast my gown. She would me honey call, No cold my love should feel,

She'd,-oh she'd kiss me too : Whate'er the heavens could do ; But now, alas ! she's left me, But alas ! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo.

Falero, lero, loo.

Like doves we should be billing, Many a merry meeting

And clip and kiss so fast ; My love and I have had ;

Yet she would be unwilling She was my only sweeting,

That I should kiss the last. She made my heart full glad ; | They're Judas-kisses now, The tears stood in her eyes Like to the morning dew :

Since that they proved untrue ;

For now, alas ! she's left me, But now, alas! she's left me,

Falero, lero, loo. Falero, lero, loo.

To maidens' vows and swearing Her cheeks were like the cherry, Henceforth no credit give

Her skin as white as snow; You may give them the hearing When she was blithe and merry, But never them believe ;

She angel-like did show ; They are as false as fair, Her waist exceeding small,

Unconstant, frail, untrue : The fives did fit her shoe : For mine, alas ! hath left me, But now, alas ! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo. Falero, lero, loo.

G. WITHER.

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LET who list, for me, advance Let all times, both present, past, The admired flowers of France, And the age that shall be last, Let who will praise and behold Vaunt the beauties they bring The reserved marigold ;

forth. Let the sweet-breathed violet now I have found in one such worth, Unto whom she pleaseth bow; That content I neither care And the fairest lily spread What the best before me were ; Where she will her golden head ; Nor desire to live and see I have such a flower to wear Who shall fair hereafter be ; That for those I do not care. For I know the hand of Nature

Will not make a fairer creature. G. WITHER (The Mistress of Philarete).

.

1075. SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR

SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman 's fair ?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosy are ?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May,

If she be not so to me
What care I how fair she be ?

Should my heart be grieved or

pined
'Cause I see a woman kind ?
Or a well-disposèd nature
Joined with a lovely feature ?
Be she meeker, kinder than
Turtle-dove, or pelican,

If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she

be ?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love ?
Or her well-deserving, known,
Make me quite forget my own ?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of best,

If she be not such to me

What care I how good she be? 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool, and die ? Those that bear a noble mind, Where they want of riches find, Think what with them they would

do
That without them dare to woo ;

And unless that mind I see,
What care I though great she

be ?

Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair :
If she love me, this believe
I will die ere she shall grieve :
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go ;

For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be ?

G. WITHER.

1076. SWEET BABY, SLEEP

SWEET baby, sleep! what ails my dear,

What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear

To hear me sing thy lullaby :
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.

The King of kings, when He was born,

Had not so much for outward ease ;
By Him such dressings were not worn,

Nor such like swaddling-clothes as these.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord,

Where oxen lay, and asses fed :
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,

An easy cradle or a bed.
Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.

G. WITHER.

1077. WHAT PEARLS, WHAT RUBIES

What pearls, what rubies can See if all of them presents
Seem so lovely fair to man, To your mind such sweet con-
As her lips whom he doth love,

tents; When in sweet discourse they Or, if you from them can take move,

Aught that may a beauty make, Or her lovelier teeth, the while Shall one half so pleasing prove, She doth bless him with a smile ? As is hers whom you do love.

Stars indeed fair creatures be ; Yet amongst us where is he

Note the beauty of an eyeJoys not more the while he lies

And if aught you praise it by Sunning in his mistress' eyes,

Leave such passion in your mind, Than in all the glimmering light

Let my reason's eye be blind. Of a starry winter's night?

Mark if ever red or white

Anywhere gave such delight Look on moon, on stars, on sun, As when they have taken place All God's creatures overrun, In a worthy woman's face.

G. WITHER (The Mistress of Philarete).

1078. TO A KISS
SOFT child of love, thou balmy bliss,
Inform me, 0 delicious kiss,
Why thou so suddenly art gone,
Lost in the moment thou art won ?
Yet go! For wherefore should I sigh ?
On Delia's lips, with raptured eye,
On Delia's blushing lips I see
A thousand full as sweet as thee.

J. Wolcot.

1079. TO A FISH OF THE BROOKE
Why flyest thou away with fear ?
Trust me there's naught of danger near,

I have no wicked hooke
All covered with a snaring bait,
Alas, to tempt thee to thy fate,

And dragge thee from the brooke.
O harmless tenant of the flood,
I do not wish to spill thy blood,

For Nature unto thee
Perchance hath given a tender wife,
And children dear, to charm thy life,

As she hath done for me.
Enjoy thy stream, O harmless fish ;
And when an angler for his dish,

Through gluttony's vile sin, Attempts, a wretch, to pull thee out, God give thee strength, O gentle trout, To pull the raskall in !

J. WOLCOT.

1080. TO MARY If I had thought thou couldst have died,

I might not weep for thee ;
But I forgot, when by thy side

That thou couldst mortal be:
It never through my mind had past

The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look my last,

And thou shouldst smile no more !
And still upon that face I look,

And think 'twill smile again ;
And still the thought I will not brook,

That I must look in vain.
But when I speak—thou dost not say

What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ;
And now I feel, as well I may,

Sweet Mary, thou art dead !

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