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Ay! though each thought that is tender and
glowing Hath yet no errand save only to herShe may forget thee, while Time is thus flow
ing; Thou waste thy worship-fond idolater!
Cruel Amynta! can you see
A heart thus torn, which you betray'd ? Love of himself ne'er vanquish'd me,
But through your eyes the conquest made. In ambush there the traitor lay,
Where I was led by faithless smiles ; No wretches are so lost as they
Whom much security beguiles !
IS LOVE SO LIGHT?
the green, Or, like a nymph, with long dishevell’d hair, Dance on the sand, and yet no footing seen.
Love is a spirit all compact of fire,
Witness this primrose bank whereon I lie ;
me; Two strengthless doves will draw me through
the sky, From morn to night, even where I list to sport
me: Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be That thou should'st think it heavy unto thee?
Now each creature joys the other,
Passing happy days and hours !
In the fall of silver showers;
Hath her bosom decked with flowers.
Whilst the greatest torch of heaven
With bright rays warms Flora's lap, Making nights and days both even,
Cheering plants with fresher sap; My field of flowers, quite bereaven,
Wants refresh of better hap.
Echo, daughter of the air,
Babbling guest of rocks and hills, Knows the name of my fierce fair,
And sounds the accents of my ills : Each thing pities my despair,
Whilst that she her lover kills.
Whilst that she, O cruel maid
Doth me and my love despise,
That depended on her eyes :
S. DANIEL, 1582.
Love in my bosom, like a bee,
Doth suck his sweet ;
Now with his feet.
Ah! wanton, will ye !
And if I sleep, then pierceth he
With pretty slight,
The live-long night.
Ah, wanton !- will ye !
Else I with roses every day
Will whip ye hence,
For your offence.
If he gainsay me?
What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod ?
Because a god.
Spare not, but play thee.
OF HIS MISTRESS' FACE.
And would you see my mistress' face?
It is a sweet delicious morn,
It is the heaven's bright reflex,
It is face of death that siniles,
It is fair Beauty's freshest youth: