ADVICE TO A LOVER..

149

ADVICE TO A LOVER.

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?

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!

Sir John Suckling.

150

LOVE OR DISDAIN.

LOVE OR DISDAIN.

GIVE me more love, or more disdain;
The torrid or the frozen zone
Brings equal ease unto my pain;
The temperate affords me none:
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love

Like Danaë in a golden shower,
I swim in pleasure; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture hopes; and he's possess'd
Of heaven, that's but from hell releas'd.
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain;
Give me more love, or more disdain.

T. Carew.

LITTLE BUT LONG.

151

LITTLE BUT LONG.

LOVE me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.

Still I would not have thee cold,
Not too backward or too bold;
Love that lasteth till 'tis old
Fadeth not in haste.

If thou lovest me too much,
It will not prove as true as touch;
Love me little, more than such,
For I fear the end.

I am with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent,
To be steadfast, friend.

Say thou lov'st me while thou live,
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive

While that life endures:
Nay, and after death, in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth,

As now, when in my May of youth,
This my love assures.

152

LITTLE BUT LONG.

Constant love is moderate ever,
And it will through life persever;
Give me that-with true endeavour
I will it restore.

A suit of durance let it be,

For all weathers; that for me,

For the land or for the sea,
Lasting evermore.

Winter's cold or summer's heat,
Autumn's tempests on it beat,
It can never know defeat,

Never can rebel.

Such the love that I would gain,
Such the love, I tell thee plain,
Thou must give, or woo in vain;
So to thee farewell.

Anonymous (1570).