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ON A GIRDLE
That which her slender waist confined
It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,
A narrow compass! and yet there
Take all the rest the sun goes round! 1645.
HEAR, YE LADIES
Hear, ye ladies that despise
What the mighty Love has done;
Disdain Returned Leda, sailing on the stream
To deceive the hopes of man,
Hear, ye ladies that are coy,
What the mighty Love can do; Fear the fierceness of the boy:
The chaste Moon he makes to woo; Vesta, kindling holy fires,
Circled round about with spies, Never dreaming loose desires, Doting at the altar dies;
Ilion, in a short hour, higher
He can build, and once more fire. 1647.
He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Fuel to maintain his fires;
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires :-
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. . 1632.
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
Ask me no more whither doth haste
Ask me no more where those stars light
Ask me no more if east or west
The Phænix builds her spicy nest;
And in your fragrant bosom dies. 1640.
TO HIS INCONSTANT MISTRESS
WHEN thou, poor Excommunicate
From all the joys of Love, shalt see
Which my strong faith shall purchase me,
A fairer hand than thine shall cure
That heart which thy false oaths did wound; And to my soul a soul more pure
Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound,
Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain
To Love, as I did once to thee;
As mine were then : for thou shalt be
ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA
You meaner beauties of the night,
Which poorly satisfy our eyes
You common people of the skies,
Ye curious chanters of the wood
That warble forth dame Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood
By your weak accents; what 's your praise When Philomel her voice doth raise?
Ye violets that first appear,
By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year
As if the spring were all your own,What are you, when the Rose is blown?
So when my Mistress shall be seen
In form and beauty mind,
Tell me, if she were not design'd The eclipse and glory of her kind? 1620? 1624.
Sir Henry Wotton.
GO, LOVELY ROSE
Go, lovely Rose-
That now she knows,
Tell her that's young,