Thus while I sit and sigh the day Till night's black wings do overtake me, So they by their bright rays awake me. Thus absence dies, and dying proves That do partake of fair perfection: The waving sea can with each flood As much! for that's an ocean too, Which flows not every day, but ever! John Suckling [1609--1642] A DOUBT OF MARTYRDOM O FOR Some honest lover's ghost, Sent from the shades below! For whatsoe'er they tell us here And have our loves enjoyed. To Chloe What posture can we think him in Departs, and's thither gone For there the judges all are just, Be his whom she held dear, Not his who loved her here. The sweet Philoclea, since she died, Some bays, perchance, or myrtle bough For difference crowns the brow Of those kind souls that were The noble martyrs here: And if that be the only odds (As who can tell?), ye kinder gods, Give me the woman here! 581 John Suckling [1609-1642] TO CHLOE WHO FOR HIS SAKE WISHED HERSELF YOUNGER CHLOE, why wish you that your years Would backwards run, till they met mine? That perfect likeness, which endears Things unto things, might us combine. Our ages so in date agree, That twins do differ more than we. There are two births; the one when light First strikes the new awakened sense; The other when two souls unite, And we must count our life from thence: When you loved me and I loved you Love then to us new souls did give The breath we breathe is his, not ours: Love, like that angel that shall call None too much, none too little have; And now since you and I are such, Tell me what's yours, and what is mine? Our eyes, our ears, our taste, smell, touch, Do, like our souls, in one combine; So, by this, I as well may be Too old for you, as you for me. William Cartwright [1611-1643] "I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE" My dear and only Love, I pray This little world of thee Which virtuous souls abhor, Like Alexander I will reign, My thoughts did evermore disdain To Althea, From Prison He either fears his fate too much, That dares not put it to the touch But I must rule and govern still, But 'gainst my batteries if I find Or in the empire of thy heart, But if thou wilt be faithful, then, I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, And love thee evermore. 583 James Graham [1612-1650] TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON WHEN Love with unconfinèd wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair And fettered to her eye, When flowing cups run swiftly round Our careless heads with roses bound, When healths and draughts go free- When, like committed linnets, I When I shall voice aloud how good Stone walls do not a prison make, That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. Richard Lovelace [1618-1658] WHY I LOVE HER 'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure, Nor for that old morality Do I love her, 'cause she loves me. |