Before we know our liberty. As fast away as does the sun : — Lies drown'd with us in endless night. THE POETRY OF DRESS I A SWEET disorder in the dress An erring lace, which here and there Do more bewitch me, than when art 2 WHENAS in silks my Julia goes Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows Next, when I cast mine eyes and see GATHER YE ROSE-BUDS WHILE YE MAY GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may, And this same flower that smiles to-day, The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, The sooner will his race be run, That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; Then be not coy, but use your time; THOMAS CAREW (1595-1639) SONG Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more whither do stray Ask me no more whither doth haste Ask me no more where those stars 'light Ask me no more if east or west THE UNFADING BEAUTY He that loves a rosy cheek, Or from star-like eyes doth seek But a smooth and steadfast mind, Where these are not, I despise SIR JOHN SUCKLING (1609-1642) WHY SO PALE AND WAN WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Will, if looking well can't move her, 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! RICHARD CRASHAW (1613-1649) WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS WHOE'ER She be, That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me; Where'er she lie, Lock'd up from mortal eye In shady leaves of destiny: Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her fair steps tread our earth; Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine: Meet you her, my Wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses, And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. I wish her beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie: Something more than Taffata or tissue can, Or rampant feather, or rich fan. A face that's best By its own beauty drest, And can alone commend the rest: A face made up Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. Sidneian showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. Whate'er delight Can make day's forehead bright Or give down to the wings of night Soft silken hours, Open suns, shady bowers; 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers; Days, that need borrow No part of their good morrow From a fore-spent night of sorrow; Days, that in spite Of darkness, by the light Of a clear mind are day all night; Life, that dares send A challenge to his end, And when it comes, say, "Welcome, friend." |