He's but a child (old men be children twice,)
And even a toothless one:

And when his lips yours touch in that delight,
Ye need not fear he will those cherries bite.

LOVE VAGABONDING.-CXVI.

SWEET nymphs, if as ye stray

Ye find the froth-born goddess of the sea,

All blubber'd, pale, undone,

Who seeks her giddy son,

That little god of love,

Whose golden shafts your chastest bosoms prove;
Who leaving all the heavens hath run away;
If aught to him that finds him she'll impart,
Tell her he nightly lodgeth in my heart.

TO A RIVER.-CXVII.

SITH she will not that I

Shew to the world my joy,

Thou, who oft mine annoy

Hast heard, dear flood, tell Thetis if thou can

That not a happier man

Doth breathe beneath the sky.

More sweet, more white, more fair,

Lips, hands, and amber hair,

Tell none did ever touch;

A smaller, daintier waist

Tell never was embrac'd;

But peace, since she forbids thee tell too much.

SUCH Lida is, that who her sees,

Through envy, or through love, straight dies.

PHRÆNE.-CXIX.

AONIAN sisters, help my Phræne's praise to tell,
Phrane, heart of my heart, with whom the Graces dwell;
For I surcharged am so sore that I not know

What first to praise of her, her breast, or neck of snow,
Her cheeks with roses spread, or her two sun-like eyes,
Her teeth of brightest pearl, her lips where sweetness

lies:

But those so praise themselves, being to all eyes set forth, That, Muses, ye need not to say aught of their worth.

KISSES DESIRED.-CXX.

THOUGH I with strange desire

To kiss those rosy lips am set on fire,

Yet will I cease to crave

Sweet kisses in such store,

As he who long before

In thousands them from Lesbia did receive:

Sweetheart, but once me kiss,

And I by that sweet bliss

Even swear to cease you to importune more;
Poor one no number is;

Another word of me ye shall not hear

After one kiss, but still one kiss, my dear.

DESIRED DEATH.-CXXI.

DEAR life, while I do touch

These coral ports of bliss,

Which still themselves do kiss,

And sweetly me invite to do as much,

All panting in my lips,

My heart my life doth leave,

No sense my senses have,

And inward powers do find a strange eclipse:

This death so heavenly well

Doth so me please, that I

Would never longer seek in sense to dwell,

If that even thus I only could but die.

THE CRUELTY OF RORA.-CXXII.

WHILST sighing forth his wrongs,

In sweet, though doleful songs,

Alexis sought to charm his Rora's ears;

The hills were heard to moan,

To sigh each spring appear'd,

Trees, hardest trees, through rine distill'd their tears,

And soft grew every stone:

But tears, nor sighs, nor songs could Rora move,

For she rejoiced at his plaint and love.

A KISS.-CXXIII.

HARK, happy lovers, hark,
This first and last of joys,

This sweet'ner of annoys,

This nectar of the gods,

You call a kiss, is with itself at odds;

And half so sweet is not

In equal measure got,

At light of sun, as it is in the dark :

Hark, happy lovers, hark.

PHILLIS.-CXXIV.

IN petticoat of green,
Her hair about her eine,
Phillis, beneath an oak,

Sat milking her fair flock :

'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture (rare delight) Her hand seem'd milk, in milk it was so white.

BEAUTY'S IDEA.-CXXV.

WHO would perfection's fair idea see,

On pretty Chloris let him look with me;

White is her hair, her teeth white, white her skin,
Black be her eyes, her eye-brows Cupid's inn:
Her locks, her body, hands do long appear,
But teeth short, short her womb, and either ear,

The space 'twixt shoulders; eyes are wide, brow wide, Her nose is small, small fingers, and her hair:

Her sugar'd mouth, her cheeks, her nails be red,

Little her foot, breast little, and her head.
Such Venus was, such was that flame of Troy,
Such Chloris is, mine hope, and only joy.

LALUS' DEATH.-CXXVI.

AMIDST the waves profound,

Far, far from all relief,

The honest fisher Lalus, ah! is drown'd,

Shut in this little skiff;

The boards of which did serve him for a bier,

So that when he to the black world came near,

Of him no silver greedy Charon got;

For he in his own boat

Did pass that flood, by which the gods do swear.

A PASTORAL SONG.

PHILLIS AND DAMON.-CXXVII.

PHIL. SHEPHERD, dost thou love me well?

DAM. Better than weak words can tell.
PHIL. Like to what, good shepherd, say?
DAM. Like to thee, fair cruel May.

PHIL. O how strange these words I find!
Yet to satisfy my mind,