He to whom your soft lip yields,

And perceives your breath in kissing, All the odors of the fields

Never, never shall be missing.

He that question would anew
What fair Eden was of old,
Let him rightly study you,

And a brief of that behold.

Welcome, welcome, then I sing,
Far more welcome than the spring;
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a spring forever.

William Browne [1591-1643?]

THE COMPLETE LOVER

FOR her gait, if she be walking;
Be she sitting, I desire her

For her state's sake; and admire her
For her wit if she be talking;

Gait and state and wit approve her;
For which all and each I love her.

Be she sullen, I commend her
For a modest. Be she merry,

For a kind one her prefer I.
Briefly, everything doth lend her

So much grace, and so approve her,

That for everything I love her.

William Browne [1591-1643?]

RUBIES AND PEARLS

SOME asked me where the rubies grew,

And nothing I did say,

But with my finger pointed to

The lips of Julia.

To Cynthia

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where;

Then spoke I to my girl,

To part her lips, and showed them there

511

The quarrelets of pearl.

Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES

WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows
The liquefaction of her clothes!
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free,

-O how that glittering taketh me!

Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

TO CYNTHIA ON CONCEALMENT OF HER

BEAUTY

Do not conceal those radiant eyes,
The starlight of serenest skies;

Lest, wanting of their heavenly light,
They turn to chaos' endless night!

Do not conceal those tresses fair,
The silken snares of thy curled hair;
Lest, finding neither gold nor ore,
The curious silk-worm work no more.

Do not conceal those breasts of thine,
More snow-white than the Apennine;
Lest, if these be like cold and frost,
The lily be for ever lost.

Do not conceal that fragrant scent,
Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent
Perfumes; lest, if being suppressed,
No spices grow in all the rest.

Do not conceal thy heavenly voice,
Which makes the hearts of gods rejoice;
Lest, music hearing no such thing,
The nightingale forget to sing.

Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse,

Thy pearly teeth with coral lips;

Lest that the seas cease to bring forth
Gems which from thee have all their worth.

Do not conceal no beauty, grace,
That's either in thy mind or face;
Lest virtue overcome by vice

Make men believe no Paradise.

Francis Kynaston [1587-1642]

SONG

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars 'light
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?]

Castara

513

A DEVOUT LOVER

I HAVE a mistress, for perfections rare

In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair.
Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes;
Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice;
And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin,
Still her perfection lets religion in.

We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours
As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers:
I touch her, like my beads, with devout care,
And come unto my courtship as my prayer.
Thomas Randolph [1605-1635]

ON A GIRDLE

THAT which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind;
No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has done.

It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer:
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass! and yet there

Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair!
Give me but what this ribbon bound,

Take all the rest the sun goes round!

Edmund Waller [1606-1687]

CASTARA

LIKE the violet, which alone
Prospers in some happy shade,

My Castara lives unknown,
To no looser eye betrayed:

For she's to herself untrue
Who delights i' the public view.

Such is her beauty as no arts
Have enriched with borrowed grace.
Her high birth no pride imparts,

For she blushes in her place.

Folly boasts a glorious blood;
She is noblest, being good.

Cautious, she knew never yet

What a wanton courtship meant; Nor speaks loud to boast her wit, In her silence, eloquent.

Of herself survey she takes,

But 'tween men no difference makes.

She obeys with speedy will

Her grave parents' wise commands;

And so innocent, that ill

She nor acts, nor understands.
Women's feet run still astray
If to ill they know the way.

She sails by that rock, the court,
Where oft virtue splits her mast;
And retiredness thinks the port
Where her fame may anchor cast.
Virtue safely cannot sit

Where vice is enthroned for wit.

She holds that day's pleasure best
Where sin waits not on delight;
Without mask, or ball, or feast,
Sweetly spends a winter's night.

O'er that darkness whence is thrust
Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust.

She her throne makes reason climb,
While wild passions captive lie;
And, each article of time,

Her pure thoughts to heaven fly;
All her vows religious be,
And she vows her love to me.

William Habington [1605-1654]