Roses out-red their lips and cheeks,
Lilies their whiteness stain:
What fool is he that shadow seeks,

And may the substance gain!
Then if thoul't have me love a lass,
Let it be one that's kind,

Else I'm a servant to the glass
That's with Canary lined.

A. BROME.

TO A BEAUTY.

WHAT mean those amorous curls of jet?
For what heart-ravished maid

Dost thou thy hair in order set,

Thy wanton tresses braid?

And thy vast store of beauties open lay,
That the deluded fancy leads astray.

For pity hide thy starry eyes,

Whose languishments destroy;

And look not on the slave that dies

With an excess of joy,

Defend thy coral lips, thy amber breath;

To taste these sweets, alas! is certain death.

168

THE CRUEL FAIR.

Forbear, fond charming Youth, forbear,

Thy words of melting love:

Thy eyes thy language well may spare,

One dart enough can move.

And she that bears thy voice, and sees thy eyes, With too much pleasure, too much softness, dies.

Cease, cease, with sighs to warm my soul,

Or press me with thy hand:

Who can the kindling fire controul,

The tender force withstand?

Thy sighs and touches like wing'd lightning fly, And are the God of Love's artillery.

A. BEHN.

THE CRUEL FAIR.

Ask not the cause why sullen Spring
So long delays her flowers to rear?
Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year?
Chloris is gone; and fate provides
To make it Spring where she resides.

Chloris is gone.-The cruel Fair,

She cast not back a pitying eye,
But left her Lover in despair;

To sigh, to languish, and to die.

Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they cannot cure!

Great God of Love! why hast thou made
A face that can all hearts command,
That all religions can invade,

And change the laws of every land? Where thou hadst plac'd such power before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.

When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall;
She can restore the dead from tombs,
And every life but mine recall:

I only am by Love design'd

To be the victim for mankind!

DRYDEN.

LOVE'S REVENGE.

LADIES, though to your conquering eyes
Love owes his 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.

170

LOVE AND BEAUTY.

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.

G. ETHEREGE.

LOVE AND BEAUTY.

GENTLE nymphs, be not refusing,
Love's neglect is time's abusing,

They and beauty are but lent you;
Take the one, and keep the other:
Love keeps fresh what age doth smother,
Beauty gone, you will repent you.

"Twill be said, when ye have proved,
Never swains more truly loved:

O, then, fly all nice behaviour!
Pity fain would (as her duty)
Be attending still on Beauty,

Let her not be out of favour.

BROWNE.

THE ATTEMPT.

WHY should I blush and be dismayed,
To tell you I adore you ?

Since love's a power that can't be stay'd,
But must by all be once obey'd.

And you as well as those before you.
Your beauty hath enchain'd my mind,
O let me not then cruel find

You which are fair, and therefore should be kind.

Fair as the light, pure as the ray That in the grey-ey'd morning Leaps forth and propagates a day, Those glories which in others stray Meet all in you for your adorning. Since nature built that goodly frame, And virtue has inspir'd the same,

Let love draw yours to meet my raging flame.

Joy of my soul, the only thing

That's my delight and glory,

From you alone my love doth spring,
If one love may another bring

"Twill crown our happy story.

Those fires I burn with all are pure
And noble, yet too strong t' endure;

'Twas you did wound,—'tis you that ought to

cure.

A. BROME.