Chapter I: WILL not do a sacrifice

To thy face or to thy eyes,
Nor unto thy lily palm,
Nor thy breath, that wounding balm;
But the part to which my heart
In vows is seal'd
Is that mine of bliss divine
Which is conceal'd.

What's the golden fruit to me
If I may not pluck the tree?
Bare enjoying all the rest
Is but like a golden feast,
Which at need can never feed
Our love-sick wishes:
Let me eat substantial meat,
Not view the dishes.

From _Wit at a Venture: or Clio's Privy Garden_, 1674.

THE SURPRISING LOVER.

LOVE, in rambling once astray,
Was benighted in his way;
With cold and tiresome cares opprest,
He creeps in fair Lucina's breast
To shelter there and take his rest.
The nymph, not dreaming of her fate,
And of an unexpected guess[45]
Much less,
To come so late,
Slep[t] on: the youth, recov'ring heat,
Prepares his arms to try a feat.
The deed scarce done, the nymph awakes
And in the act the youngster takes,
Strangely surprised, yet well contented too
That she enjoyed so sweet a bed-fellow.
Then, viewing well her guess all o'er,
She liked his presence more and more;
Telling him, rather than he should begone,
She'd nurse and keep him as her own;
And if he'd vow ne'er to depart,
She'd find him lodging next her heart.

[45] Old form of "guest."

From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.

PISH,[46] modest sipper, to't again!
My sweetest joy,
The wine's not coy
As women are.
My dearest puling, prithee then,
Prithee, my fair,
Once more bedew those lips of thine,
Mend thy draught and mend the wine.
Since it hath tasted of thy lip
(Too quickly cloy'd),
How overjoy'd
It cheerfully
Invites thee to another sip.
Methinks I see
The wine perfumed by thee, my fair:
Bacchus himself is dabbling there.
Once more, dear soul, nay prithee try;
Bathe that cherry
In the sherry,
The jocund wine
Which sweetly smiles and courts thy eye
As more divine;
Though thou take none to drink to me,
Takes pleasure to be drunk by thee.
Nay, my fair, off with't, off with it clean!
Well, I perceive
Why this you leave;
My love reveals
And makes me guess what 'tis you mean:
Because at meals
My lips are kept from kissing thee,
Thou needs wilt kiss the glass to me.

[46] There is an inferior version of this poem in _Wit's Interpreter_.

From _Choice Drollery_, 1656.

AGAINST FRUITION.

THERE is not half so warm a fire
In the fruition as desire.
When I have got the fruit of pain
Possession makes me poor again:
Expected forms and shapes unknown
Whet and make sharp tentation.
Sense is too niggardly for bliss,
And pays me dully with what is;
But fancy's liberal and gives all
That can within her vastness fall.
Veil therefore still, while I divine
The treasure of this hidden mine,
And make imagination tell
What wonders doth in beauty dwell.

From _The Bristol Drollery_, 1674.

TO A YOUNG LADY IN A GARDEN.

_The Rose's Speech._

FAIREST, if you roses seek,
Take the nearest like your cheek.
I, the damask, would presume
To tender you my sweet perfume;
I am young, like you, a bud,
Peeping thorough my green hood,
Blushing only 'cause I see
Fresher roses grow on thee.
Crop me then and let me lie
In the sun-shine of thine eye
Till full-blown; then let me grow
In thy bosom, next thy snow,
That I may find, when my leaves fall,
In that sweet place a funeral.
Then, Celia, be you like the rose,
Who its season wisely chose;
Do not keep your maiden flower
Beyond its time, its full ripe hour.
Like the rose, you need not offer;
But when a worthy hand doth proffer,
Refuse not, Celia: on my life
You'll wear as fresh when you're a wife.
Let not your beauties untouch'd die,
Or wither'd and neglected lie;
Rather let them thrive i' th' light
Of his am'rous eager sight,
That when at last they fall and spread
It may be sweetly on his bed.

From _The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence_, 1658.

LOSE NO TIME.

LOSE no time nor youth but be
Kind to men, as they to thee;
The fair lilies that now grow
In thy cheeks, and purely show,
The cherry and the rose that blow,
If too long they hang and waste,
Winter comes that all will blast.
Thou art ripe, full ripe for men;
In thy sweets be gather'd then.

From _Westminster Drollery_ (_Second Part_), 1672.

ONE AND HIS MISTRESS A-DYING.

SHALL we die
Both thou and I,
And leave the world behind us?
Come, I say,
And let's away,
For nobody here doth mind us.

Why do we gape?
We cannot scape
The doom that is assign'd us;
When we are in grave,
Altho' we rave,
There is nobody needs to bind us.

The clerk shall sing,
The sexton ring,
And old wives they shall wind us;
The priest shall lay
Our bones in clay,
And nobody there shall find us.

Farewell wits,
And folly's fits,
And griefs that often pined us!
When we are dead
We'll take no heed
What nobody says behind us.

Merry nights,
And false delights,
Adieu! ye did but blind us:
We must to mould,
Both young and old,
Till nobody's left behind us.

From JOHN COTGRAVE'S _Wit's Interpreter_, 1655.

A HEALTH TO HIS MISTRESS.

TO her whose beauty doth excel
Story, we toss these cups and sell
Sobriety a sacrifice
To the bright lustre of her eyes.
Each soul that sips here is divine:
Her beauty deifies the wine.

From _Harl. MS._ 6917. fol. 48.

A POEM OF SIR WALTER RAWLEIGH'S.[47]

NATURE that wash'd her hands in milk
And had forgot to dry them,
Instead of earth took snow and silk
At Love's request to try them,
If she a mistress could compose
To please Love's fancy out of those.

Her eyes he would should be of light;
A violet breath, and lips of jelly;
Her hair not black, nor over-bright;
And of the softest down her belly:
As for her inside he 'ld have it
Only of wantonness and wit.

At Love's entreaty such a one
Nature made, but with her beauty
She hath framed a heart of stone;
So as Love, by ill destiny,
Must die for her whom Nature gave him,
Because her darling would not save him.

But Time, which Nature doth despise,
And rudely gives her love the lie,
Makes Hope a fool, and Sorrow wise,
His hands do[th] neither wash nor dry;
But being made of steel and rust,
Turns snow and silk and milk to dust.

The light, the belly, lips, and breath,
He dims, discolours,[48] and destroys;
With those he feeds, but fills not, Death,
Which sometimes were the food of joys:
Yea Time doth dull each lively wit,
And dries all wantonness with it.

Oh cruel Time, which takes in trust,
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wander'd all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days.

[47] This is the heading in the MS. Archdeacon Hannah, in his valuable
edition of Raleigh's poems, makes no mention of this MS. poem. The
last stanza, with a couple of lines tacked on, was printed in
Raleigh's _Remains_, where it is stated to have been "found in his
bible in the Gatehouse at Westminster." The whole poem is very much in
Raleigh's manner; and I congratulate myself upon its discovery.

[48] MS. "discovers."

From _Add. MS._ 2218, fol. 32 (compared with a copy in _Wit and Drollery_, 1661).

CUPID'S HOLIDAY.

LADIES, whose marble hearts despise,
Love's soft impressions; whose chaste eyes
Ne'er shot glance but might beseem
Diana and her maiden team
Of icy virgins; hence, away!
Disturb not our licentious play,
For now 'tis Cupid's Holiday.

Go, glory in the empty name
Of virgin; let your idle flame
Consume itself, while we enjoy
Those pleasures which fair Venus' boy
Grants to those whose mingled thighs
Are trophies of his victories,[49]
From whence new pleasures still arise.

Those only are admitted here
Whose looser thoughts ne'er knew a fear
Of man's embraces; whose fair face
Can give enjoyment such a grace
As wipes away the hated name
Of lust, and calls their amorous flame
A virtue free from fear or shame.

With them we'll number kisses till
We pose arithmetic, and fill
Our hearts with pleasure[50] till it swells
Beyond those bounds where blushing dwells:
Then will we ourselves entomb
In those joys which fill the womb,
Till sleep possesseth Cupid's room.

At waking no repentance shall
With our past sweetness mingle gall;
We'll kiss again till we restore
Our strength again to venture more:
Then we'll renew again our play,
Admitting of no long delay
Till we end our holiday.

W. MUNSEY.[51]

[49] This line is omitted in the MS.

[50] Both the MS. and printed copy read "pleasures."

[51] I have at present no information about "W. Munsey," whose name is
attached to this (not very valuable) poem in the MS. In Rawlinson MS.
117, fol. 151, a copy of "I saw fair Chloris walk alone" (which has
been attributed, without evidence, by some to Carew, and by others to
Herrick) is subscribed "Munsey." The well-known poem, "In the nonage
of a winter's day," usually ascribed to Carew, is signed in _Rawlinson
MS. Poet._, 210, "W. Munsey."

From _Harl. MS._ 7332, fol. 47.

IN summer-time, when birds do sing,
And country maids are making hay,
As I went forth myself alone
To view the meadows fresh and gay,
The country maidens I espied
With fine lawn aprons as white as snow,
And crimson ribands about their arms,
Which made a pretty country show.
The young men fell a-prating,
And took the maidens from hay-making
To go and tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the green meadow.

The next day being holiday,
And country maids they would be seen,
Each took his sweet-heart by the hand
And went to dance upon the green:
The country maids incontinent[52]
Unto the green assembled were,
Adorned with beauty's ornament,[53]
Their cheeks like roses and lilies fair:
The young men fell a-skipping,
The maidens nimbly fell a-tripping,
They could not dance, but tumble, tumble, [tumble]
Up and down[54] the green meadow.

The old men that had lived long
And viewed full many a summer's day,
Came gently walking by themselves
To see them keep their holiday:
The married men of middle age
Brought forth their wives to see that sport,
And they put on their best array,
Unto the green they did resort:
There music sweetly sounding,
The maidens' hearts with joys abounding,
They could not dance, but tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the green meadow.
When they with tumbling well had sweat,
And tumbling joys had tasted well,
And Phoebus almost lost his heat,
Each did return where they did dwell:
Their wives unto their husbands said
The pretty sports which they had seen,
Wish'd them to teach them in their bed[55]
As did the lovers on the green:
The young men joyful-hearted
Each took his lass and so departed,
When they no more could tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the green meadow.

[52] Immediately, without delay.

[53] MS. "ornaments."

[54] MS. "vppon downe."

[55] MS. "beds."

From _Harleian MS._ 791, fol. 55.

IN summer time when grass was mown
And country maids were treading of hay,
Then forth walked I in a fair morning
Thinking to pass the time away.
Fair lovely nymphs might there be seen
With fine lawn aperns[56] white as snow,
And crimson ribbons 'bout their arms,
Which made a pretty summer show.
There young lovers fell a-prating,
And called their lovers from hay-making
To go and tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the meadow.
Then the old wives fell a-laughing,
And held their sides with extreme coughing,
To see them tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the meadows.

[56] Old form of _aprons_.

From _Wit Restored_, 1658.

WOMEN.

ONCE I must confess I loved
And expected love again,
But, so often as I proved,
My expectance was in vain.

Women joy to be attempted,
And do glory when they see
Themselves from love's force exempted,
And that men captived be.

If they love they can conceal it,
And dissemble when they please,
Whenas men will straight reveal it
And make known their heart's disease.

Men must beg and crave their favour,
Making many an idle vow,
Whilst they, froward in behaviour,
Fain would yield but know not how.

Sweet stol'n-sport to them is grateful,
And in heart they wish to have it;
Yet they do account it hateful
Upon any terms to crave it.

But, would men not go about it,
But leave off at all to woo,
Ere they would be long without it,
They would beg and crave it too.

From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.

GAZE[57] not on thy beauty's pride,
Tender maid, in the false tide
That from lovers' eyes do[th] slide.

Let thy faithful crystal show
How thy colours come and go;
Beauty takes a foil from woe.

Love, that in those smooth streams lies,
Under Pity's fair disguise,
Will thy melting heart surprise.

Nets of Passion's finest thread
(Snaring poems) will be spread
All to catch thy maidenhead.

Then beware: for those that cure
Love's disease, themselves endure
For a reward a calenture.

Rather let the lover pine
Than his pale cheek should assign
A perpetual blush to thine.

[57] Attributed to Thomas Carew.

From _Wit's Recreations_, 1640.

LOVE BEGOTTEN BY PITY.

'TIS true your beauty,[58] which before
Did dazzle each bold gazer's eye,
And forced e'en rebel hearts t' adore
Or from its conquering splendor fly,
Now shines with new increase of light,
Like Cynthia at her full most bright.

Yet, though you glory in th' increase
Of so much beauty, dearest fair,
They err who think this great access,
Of which all eyes th' admirers are,
Or art's or nature's gifts should be:
Learn then the hidden cause from me.

Pity in thee, in me desire
First bred: before I durst but aim
At fair respect: now that close fire
Thy love hath fann'd into a flame,
Which, mounting to its proper place,
Shines like a glory 'bout thy face.

[58] Old ed. "beauties."

From _The Windsor Drollery_, 1672.

BE[59] thou joyful, I am jolly;
In thy pleasure's my delight.
Art th' inclined to melancholy?
I am of that humour right;
For I can joy, or joys can slight.

Art thou liberal of embraces?
I can also lavish be.
Or dost thou scorn to yield such graces?
I can scorn as well as thee:
Of these I can be nice or free.

Dost thou joy I should attain thee?
Then I will thy servant be;
Or if my presence do disdain thee,
I will never wait on thee;
For I can love or let thee be.

If to singing thou'lt apply thee,
I can warble notes to thee:
Or if to[60] sighing, I'll sigh by thee;
To thy passions I'll agree,
For I'm to all thy humours free.

Dost thou joy I should come near thee
With a heart both firm and true?
Or dost thou fly my sight and jeer me?
Unto lovers that's not new;
For I can stay or bid adieu.

[59] There is a somewhat similar copy of verses in _Choice Drollery_,
1656:--

"If at this time I am derided,
And you please to laugh at me,
Know I am not unprovided
Every way to answer thee,
Love or hate, Whate'er it be," &c.

[60] Old ed. "by."

From WILLIAM CORKINE'S _Second Book of Airs_, 1612.

AWAY, away! call back what you have said
When you did vow to live and die a maid:
O if you knew what chance to them befell
That dance about with bobtail apes in hell,
Yourself your virgin girdle would divide
And put aside the maiden veil that hides
The chiefest gem of nature; and would lie
Prostrate to every peasant that goes by,
Rather than undergo such shame: no tongue can tell
What injury is done to maids in hell.

From _The Windsor Drollery_, 1672.

UNDER[61] the willow-shades they were
Free from the eye-sight of the sun,
For no intruding beam could there
Peep through to spy what things were done:
Thus sheltered they unseen did lie,
Surfeiting on each other's eye;
Defended by the willow shades alone,
The sun's heat they defied and cool'd their own.

Whilst they did embrace unspied,
The conscious willow seem'd to smile,
That them[62] with privacy supplied,
Holding the door, as 'twere, the while;
And when their dalliances were o'er,
The willows, to oblige them more,
Bowing, did seem to say, as they withdrew,
"We can supply you with a cradle too."

[61] Mr. Ebsworth reminds me that this is Theocles' song, by Sir
William Davenant, sung in Act iii. of "The Rivals," 1668.

[62] Old ed. "they."

From _The Treasury of Music_, 1669.

CÆLIA'S[63] COMPLAINT.

POOR Cælia once was very fair,
A quick bewitching eye she had;
Most neatly look'd her braided hair,
Her dainty cheek would make you mad:
Upon her lips did all the Graces play,
And on her breasts ten thousand Cupids lay.

Then many a doting lover came,
From seventeen till twenty-one;
Each told her of his mighty flame,
But she foresooth affected none:
One was not handsome, 'tother was not fine,
This of tobacco smelt and that of wine.

But 'tother day it was my fate
To walk along that way alone;
I saw no coach before her gate,
But at her door I heard her moan:
She dropt a tear, and sighing seem'd to say
"Young ladies, marry, marry while you may!"

[63] This poem is by Thomas Flatman, and is printed among his _Songs
and Poems_, 1669.

["Also in _Westminster Drollery_, _Windsor Drollery_, and _Pills to P.
Mel._, iii. 153. The music to it was composed by Roger Hill."--_J. W.
Ebsworth._]

From WILLIAM CORKINE'S _Second book of Airs_, 1612.

TWO lovers sat lamenting
Hard by a crystal brook,
Each other's heart tormenting,
Exchanging look for look,
With sighs and tears bewraying
Their silent thoughts delaying:
At last coth[64] one,
"Shall we alone
Sit here our thoughts bewraying?
Fie, fie, O fie,
O fie it may not be:
Set looking by,
Let speaking set us free."

Then thus their silence breaking,
Their thoughts too long estranged
They do bewray by speaking,
And words with words exchanged:
Then one of them replied,
"Great pity we had died
Thus all alone
In silent moan
And not our thoughts descried.
Fie, fie, O fie,
O fie that had been ill
That inwardly
Silence the heart should kill."

From looks and words to kisses
They made their next proceeding,
And as their only blisses
They therein were exceeding.
O what a joy is this
To look, to talk, to kiss!
But thus begun,
Is now all done?
Ah, all then nothing is!
Fie, fie, O fie,
O fie it is a hell
And better die
Than kiss and not end well.

[64] "Coth" = quoth.

From _Sportive Wit_, 1656.

CHLORIS,[65] forbear a while,
Do not o'erjoy me,
Urge not another smile
Lest it destroy me;
That beauty passeth most
And is best taking,
Which is soon won, soon lost,
Kind, yet forsaking:
I love a coming Lady, 'faith I do,
But now and then I'd have her scornful too.

O'ercloud those eyes of thine,
Bopeep thy features,
Warm with an April shine,
Scorch not thy creatures;
Still to display thy ware,
Still to be fooling,
Argues how rude you are
In Cupid's schooling:
Disdain begets a smile, scorn draws us nigh,
'Tis 'cause I would, and cannot, makes me try.

Chloris, I'd have thee wise:
When gallants view thee,
Courting do thou despise,
Fly those pursue thee:
Fast moves an appetite
Makes hunger greater;
Who's stinted of delight
Falls to't the better:
Be coy and kind betimes, be smooth and rough,
And buckle now and then, and that's enough.

[65] "This was written by Henry Bold; it is in his _Poems Lyrique_,
1664, p. 6."--_J. W. Ebsworth._ (I suspect Bold stole it: he was a
notorious pilferer.)

From _Songs and Poems of Love and Drollery_. By T. W., 1654.

FAIR Chloris in a gentle slumber lay,
Sleep taking rest
In her calm breast,
Whilst her veil'd eyes seem'd to eclipse the day

The wanton sun would court her fain,
Peep'd here and there, but all in vain.
The leafy boughs a guard had made,
Planting between their envious shade;
Whereat he chid his idle beams, that he
Should want an eye whereby himself might see.

From CAMPION and ROSSETER'S _Book of Airs_, 1601.

MY love hath vowed he will forsake me,
And I am already sped;
Far other promise he did make me
When he had my maidenhead.
If such danger be in playing
And sport must to earnest turn,
I will go no more a-maying.

Had I foreseen what is ensued,
And what now with pain I prove,
Unhappy then I had eschewed
This unkind event of love:
Maids foreknow their own undoing,
But fear naught till all is done,
When a man alone is wooing.

Dissembling wretch, to gain thy pleasure,
What didst thou not vow and swear?
So didst thou rob me of the treasure
Which so long I held so dear.
Now thou provest to me a stranger:
Such is the vile guise of men
When a woman is in danger.

That heart is nearest to misfortune
That will trust a feigned tongue;
When flatt'ring men our loves importune
They intend us deepest wrong.
If this shame of love's betraying
But this once I cleanly shun,
I will go no more a-maying.

From _Vinculum Societatis, or the Tie of Good Company_, 1687.

SILVIA, now your scorn give over
Lest you lose a faithful lover:
If this humour you pursue,
Farewell Love and Silvia too.
Long have I been unregarded,
Sighs and tears still unrewarded:
If this does with you agree,
Troth, good Madam, 'twon't with me.

From _The Marrow of Compliments_, 1655.

MAIDS[66] they are grown so coy of late
Forsooth they will not marry;
Though they be in their teens and past,
They say that they can tarry.
But if they knew how sweet a thing
It were in youth to marry,
They'd sell their petticoats, smocks, and all
Ere they so long would tarry.

The wench that is most coy of all,
If she had time and leisure,
Would lay by all her several thoughts
And turn to love and pleasure;
For even the wisest heads sometimes
Put on the face of folly,
And maids do nevermore repent
Than when they are too holy.

Winter nights are long, you know,
And bitter cold the weather;
Then who's so fond to lie alone
When two may lie together?
And is't not brave when summer's robes
Have all the fields encowled
To have a green gown on the grass
And wear it uncontroul'd?

[66] D'Urfey printed these verses in his _Pills to Purge Melancholy_,
1700, ii. 93, as "The Silly Maids."

From HENRY LAWES' _Airs and Dialogues_, 1653.

A[67] CAUTION TO FAIR LADIES.

LADIES, you that seem so nice,
And as cold in show as ice,
And perhaps have held out thrice;
Do not think but in a trice
One or other may entice,
And at last by some device
Set your honours at a price.

You whose smooth and dainty skin,
Rosy lips, or cheeks, or chin,
All that gaze upon you win,
Yet insult not: sparks within
Slowly burn ere flames begin,
And presumption still hath been
Held a most notorious sin.

[67] This poem is ascribed by Lawes to Henry Harrington, son to Sir
Henry Harrington. It is found among the _Fancies and Fantasticks_
appended to _Wit's Recreations_.

["It has also been accredited to Dr. Henry Hughes; the initials suggest
the ambiguity. It is also in Playford's _Select Ayres_, 1659, p.
26."--_J. W. Ebsworth._]

From THOMAS CAMPION'S _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1617).

IF any hath the heart to kill,
Come rid me of this woeful pain,
For while I live I suffer still
This cruel torment all in vain;
Yet none alive but one can guess
What is the cause of my distress.

Thanks be to heaven, no grievous smart,
No maladies my limbs annoy:
I bear a sound and sprightful heart
Yet live I quite deprived of joy;
Since what I had in vain I crave,
And what I had not now I have.

A love I had so fair, so sweet,
As ever wanton eye did see;
Once by appointment we did meet:
She would, but ah! it would not be.
She gave her heart, her hand she gave:
All did I give, she naught could have.

What hag did then my powers forespeak,
That never yet such taint did feel?
Now she rejects me as one weak,
Yet am I all composed of steel.
Ah! this is it my heart doth grieve:
Now, though she sees, she'll not believe.

From _The Academy of Compliments_, 1650.

WHEN doth Love set forth desire?
In prime of youth, men say.
And when again will it retire?
When beauty falls away.
Then you in youth that think on this,
Taste what the sweetness of love is.

The night comes not at lovers' call;
Being come, stays not their leisure;
Hours that are sweet are swift withall,
And attend not on our pleasure:[68]
Then you in youth, that think on this,
Taste what the sweet of beauty is.

[68] Old ed. "leasure."

From JOHN COTGRAVE'S _Wit's Interpreter_, 1655.

I[69] WALK'D abroad not long ago,
But will not tell you whither;
It is where flowers of beauty grow
And fair ones flock together.
And Cupid will great wonders show
If ever you come thither.

For like two suns, two beauties bright
Did shining sit together,
As tempted by their double light
Mine eyes were fix'd on either;
And both at once so show'd their might,
I loved, but knew not whether.

Such equal sweetness Venus gave
That she preferr'd not either;
That when for love I sought to crave,
I knew not well of whether:
For one while this I liked to have,
And then I that had rather.

A lover of the choicest eye
Might have been pleased with either,
And so I must confess should I,
Had they not been together:
Now both must love or both deny,
In one enjoy I neither.

But, happy chance, I feel no smart
To curse my coming thither;
For, since that my divided heart
I[n] choosing knew not whether,
Love angry grew and did depart:
And now I care for neither.

[69] I ought perhaps to omit this poem, for it is fairly well known.
The writer was George Wither, in whose _Fair Virtue_, 1622, it first
appeared. There are other versions in the _Marrow of Compliments_,
1655, and similar collections.

From _Melpomene; or the Muses' Delight_, 1678.

FADING BEAUTY.

TAKE Time, my dear, ere Time takes wing:
Beauty knows no second spring.
Marble pillars, tombs of brass,
Time breaks down, much more this glass.
Then ere that tyrant Time bespeak it,
Let's drink healths in't first, then break it.
At twenty-five in women's eyes
Beauty does fade, at thirty dies.

From _Comes Amoris_, 1687.

WHEN[70] first Amyntas sued for a kiss
My innocent heart was tender,
That though I pushed him away from the bliss,
My eyes declared my heart was won.
I fain an artful coyness would use
Before the fort I did surrender;
But Love would suffer no more such abuse,
And soon alas! my cheat was known.
He'd sit all day, and laugh and play;
A thousand pretty things would say;
My hand he'd squeeze, and press my knees,
Till further on he got by degrees.

My heart, just like a vessel at sea,
Would toss when Amyntas was near me.
But ah, so cunning a pilot was he,
Through doubts and fears he'd still sail on;
I thought in him no danger could be,
So wisely he knew how to steer me;
And soon, alas! was brought t'agree
To taste of joys before unknown.
Well might he boast his pain not lost,
For soon he found the golden coast,
Enjoyed the ore, and touched the shore
Where never merchant went before.

[70] This song is by Tom D'Urfey, and is printed in the first volume
of his _Pills to Purge Melancholy_. In _Comes Amoris_ the reading is
"Aminta."

From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.

SOME men desire spouses
That come of noble houses,
And some would have in marriage
Ladies of courtly carriage:
Fa la la!
But few desire, as I do,
The maidenhead of a widow.
Fa la la!

Some think fair youth will cherish
Strength that begins to perish;
I'll have no colts to taming,
Let me be young'st at gaming.
Fa la la!
I'll get o'er, I'll go nigh to,
The maidenhead of a widow.
Fa la la!

From _The Westminster Drollery_, 1671.

THE ADVICE.[71]

PHILLIS, for shame! let us improve
A thousand several ways
These few short minutes stol'n by love
From many tedious days.

Whilst you want courage to despise
The censure of the grave,
For all the tyrants in your eyes,
Your heart is but a slave.

My love is full of noble pride,
And never will submit
To let that fop Discretion ride
In triumph o'er our wit.

False friends I have, as well as you,
That daily counsel me
Vain friv'lous trifles to pursue
And leave off loving thee.

When I the least belief bestow
On what such fools advise,
May I be dull enough to grow
Most miserably wise.

[71] "With music by Pelham Humphrey, in Playford's _Choice Ayres_, i.
34. Twice given in _Windsor Drollery_. Believed to be by Charles, Earl
of Dorset."--_J. W. Ebsworth._

From _Songs and Poems of Love and Drollery_. By T. W., 1654.

TO SYLVIA,

_On a Bracelet of her Hair._

KNOW, Sylvia, that your curious twist,
Which charms my heart and decks my wrist,
On which I gaze so oft and pay
Thousands of kisses every day,
Is not so much my love and care
'Cause tis composed of your hair;
And yet it truly may be said
Sun-beams are woven of coarser thread;
Nor do I therefore like 't so much
Because I find the art is such
That if Arachne, when she strove
With Pallas, the like web had wove,
She had her skill and wrath o'ercome
And gain'd a triumph, not a doom:
No, Sylvia, I the truth will tell;
I do not therefore like 't so well
Because it is thy hair and art,
But that it is thy gift, dear heart.

From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.