Chapter I: Pr'ythee Send Me Back My Heart

I pr'ythee send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
Why then shouldst thou have mine?

Yet now I think on't, let it lie;
To find it were in vain,
For thou'st a thief in either eye
Would steal it back again.

Why should two hearts in one breast lie,
And yet not lodge together?
O love! where is thy sympathy,
If thus our breasts you sever?

But love is such a mystery,
I cannot find it out;
For when I think I'm best resolved,
I then am most in doubt.

Then farewell love, and farewell woe,
I will no longer pine;
For I'll believe I have her heart
As much as she hath mine.

Sir John Suckling.

ORSAMES' SONG.

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?
Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move,
This cannot take her;
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
The devil take her!

Sir John Suckling.

SINCE FIRST I SAW YOUR FACE.

Since first I saw your face I resolved
To honour and renown you;
If now I be disdained
I wish my heart had never known you.
What! I that loved, and you that liked,
Shall we begin to wrangle?
No, no, no, my heart is fast
And cannot disentangle.

The sun whose beams most glorious are,
Rejecteth no beholder,
And your sweet beauty past compare,
Made my poor eyes the bolder.
Where beauty moves, and wit delights
And signs of kindness bind me,
There, oh! there, where'er I go
I leave my heart behind me.

If I admire or praise you too much,
That fault you may forgive me,
Or if my hands had strayed but a touch,
Then justly might you leave me.
I asked you leave, you bade me love;
Is't now a time to chide me?
No, no, no, I'll love you still,
What fortune e'er betide me.

Circa 1617.

THE GIVEN HEART.

I Wonder what those lovers mean, who say
They've given their hearts away.
Some good, kind lover, tell me how:
For mine is but a torment to me now.

If so it be one place both hearts contain,
For what do they complain?
What courtesy can Love do more,
Than to join hearts that parted were before?

Woe to her stubborn heart, if once mine come
Into the self-same room;
'Twill tear and blow up all within
Like a grenade shot into a magazine.

Then shall Love keep the ashes and torn parts
Of both our broken hearts;
Shall out of both one new one make,
From hers th' alloy, from mine the metal take.

For of her heart he from the flames will find
But little left behind:
Mine only will remain entire,
No dross was there to perish in the fire.

Abraham Cowley.

ICE AND FIRE.

Naked Love did to thine eye,
Chloris, once to warm him, fly;
But its subtle flame, and light,
Scorch'd his wings, and spoiled his sight.

Forc'd from thence he went to rest
In the soft couch of thy breast:
But there met a frost so great,
As his torch extinguish'd straight.

When poor Cupid (thus constrain'd
His cold bed to leave) complain'd:
"'Las! what lodging's here for me,
If all ice and fire she be."

Sir Edmund Sherburne.

AMARANTHA.

Amarantha, sweet and fair,
Forbear to braid that shining hair;
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee, let it fly:

Let it fly as unconfined
As its ravisher the wind,
Who has left his darling east
To wanton o'er this spicy nest.

Every tress must be confess'd
But neatly tangled at the best,
Like a clew of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.

Do not then wind up that light
In ribands, and o'ercloud the night;
Like the sun in his early ray,
But shake your head and scatter day.

Richard Lovelace.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

When love, with unconfined wings,
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her eye--
The birds that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.

* * * * *

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,--
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

Richard Lovelace.

A MOCK SONG.

Tis true I never was in love:
But now I mean to be,
For there's no art
Can shield a heart
From love's supremacy.

Though in my nonage I have seen
A world of taking faces,
I had not age or wit to ken
Their several hidden graces.

Those virtues which, though thinly set,
In others are admired,
In thee are altogether met,
Which make thee so desired.

That though I never was in love,
Nor never meant to be,
Thyself and parts
Above my arts
Have drawn my heart to thee.

Alexander Brome.

SPEAKING AND KISSING.

The air which thy smooth voice doth break,
Into my soul like lightning flies;
My life retires while thou dost speak,
And thy soft breath its room supplies.

Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,
I join my trembling lips to thine,
And back receive that life from thee
Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, Platonic fools! t' inquire
What numbers do the soul compose;
No harmony can life inspire
But that which from these accents flows.

Thomas Stanley.

LADIES' CONQUERING EYES.

Ladies, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes its chiefest victories,
And borrows those bright arms from you
With which he does the world subdue;
Yet you yourselves are not above
The empire nor the griefs of love.

Then rack not lovers with disdain,
Lest love on you revenge their pain:
You are not free because you're fair,
The Boy did not his mother spare:
Though beauty be a killing dart,
It is no armour for the heart.

George Etherege.

DORINDA.

Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes,
United, cast too fierce a light,
Which blazes high, but quickly dies,
Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight.

Love is a calmer, gentler joy,
Smooth are his looks and soft his pace;
Her Cupid is a blackguard boy
That runs his link full in your face.

Charles Sackville.

CELIA AND SYLVIA.

Celia is cruel. Sylvia, thou,
I must confess art kind;
But in her cruelty, I vow,
I more repose can find.
For, oh! thy fancy at all games does fly,
Fond of address, and willing to comply.

Thus he that loves must be undone,
Each way on rocks we fall;
Either you will be kind to none,
Or worse, be kind to all.
Vain are our hopes, and endless is our care;
We must be jealous, or we must despair.

Robert Gould.

TRUE LOVE.

Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid
Of sighs, nor aches, to make it known,
And to convince the cruellest maid,
Lovers should use their love alone.

Into their very looks 'twill steal,
And he that most would hide his flame,
Does in that case his pain reveal:
Silence itself can love proclaim.

Sir Charles Sedley.

TOO LATE!

Too late, alas! I must confess,
You need not arts to move me;
Such charms by nature you possess,
'Twere madness not to love ye.

Then spare a heart you may surprise,
And give my tongue the glory
To boast, though my unfaithful eyes
Betray a tender story.

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.

MY MISTRESS' HEART.

My dear mistress has a heart
Soft as those kind looks she gave me;
When with Love's resistless art,
And her eyes, she did enslave me.
But her constancy's so weak,
She's so wild and apt to wander;
That my jealous heart would break
Should we live one day asunder.

Melting joys about her move,
Killing pleasures, wounding blisses;
She can dress her eyes in love,
And her lips can arm with kisses.
Angels listen when she speaks,
She's my delight, all mankind wonder;
But my jealous heart would break
Should we live one day asunder.

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.

CONSTANCY.

I cannot change, as others do,
Though you unjustly scorn;
Since the poor swain that sighs for you,
For you alone was born.
No, Phillis, no, your heart to move
A surer way I'll try;
And to revenge my slighted love,
Will still love on and die.

When, killed with grief, Amyntas lies,
And you to mind shall call
The sighs that now unpitied rise,
The tears that vainly fall;
That welcome hour that ends his smart,
Will then begin your pain;
For such a faithful tender heart
Can never break in vain.

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.

MAN AND WOMAN.

Man is for woman made,
And woman made for man;
As the spur is for the jade,
As the scabbard for the blade,
As for liquor is the can,
So man's for woman made,
And woman made for man.

As the sceptre to be sway'd,
As to night the serenade,
As for pudding is the pan,
As to cool us is the fan,
So man's for woman made,
And woman made for man.

Peter Antony Motteux.

ACCEPT MY HEART.

Accept, my love, as true a heart
As ever lover gave:
'Tis free, it vows, from any art,
And proud to be your slave.

Then take it kindly, as 'twas meant,
And let the giver live,
Who, with it, would the world have sent
Had it been his to give.

And, that Dorinda may not fear
I e'er will prove untrue,
My vow shall, ending with the year,
With it begin anew.

Matthew Prior.

AN ANGELIC WOMAN.

Not an angel dwells above
Half so fair as her I love.
Heaven knows how she'll receive me:
If she smiles I'm blest indeed;
If she frowns I'm quickly freed;
Heaven knows she ne'er can grieve me.

None can love her more than I,
Yet she ne'er shall make me die,
If my flame can never warm her:
Lasting beauty I'll adore,
I shall never love her more,
Cruelty will so deform her.

Sir John Vanbrugh.