SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes
Which star-like sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free.
Be you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the love-sick air;
Whenas that ruby which you wear
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,
Will last to be a precious stone
When all your world of beauty's gone.
DRY those fair, those crystal eyes,
Which like growing fountains rise
To drown their banks; grief's sullen brooks
Would better flow in furrowed looks.
Thy lovely face was never meant
To be the shore of discontent.
Then clear those waterish stars again,
Which else portend a lasting rain;
Lest the clouds which settle there
Prolong my winter all the year,
And thy example others make
In love with sorrow for thy sake.
Welcome, welcome! do I sing—
Far more welcome than the spring:
He that parteth from you never,
Shall enjoy a spring forever.
Love, that to the voice is near,
Breaking from your ivory pale,
Need not walk abroad to hear
The delightful nightingale.
Love, that looks still on your eyes,
Though the winter have begun
To benumb our arteries,
Shall not want the summer's sun.
Love, that still may see your cheeks,
Where all rareness still reposes,
Is a fool if e'er he seeks
Other lilies, other roses.
Love, to whom your soft lip yields,
And perceives your breath in kissing,
All the odors of the fields
Never, never shall be missing.
Love, that question would renew
What fair Eden was of old,
Let him rightly study you,
And a brief of that behold.
WHO WISHED HERSELF YOUNG
ENOUGH FOR ME.
CHLOE, why wish you that your years
Would backwards run till they met mine,-
That perfect likeness, which endears
Things unto things, might us combine?
Our ages so in date agree,
That twins do differ more than we.
There are two births: the one when light
First strikes the new awakened sense;
The other when two souls unite;
And we must count our life from thence:
When you loved me, and I loved you,
Then both of us were born anew.
Love then to us did new souls give,
And in those souls did plant new powers:
Since when another life we live,
The breath we breathe is his, not ours;
Love makes those young whom age doth chill,
And whom he finds young, keeps young still.
Love, like that angel that shall call
Our bodies from the silent grave,
Unto one age doth raise us all;
None too much, none too little have;
Nay, that the difference may be none,
He makes two not alike, but one.
And now, since you and I are such,
Tell me what's yours, and what is mine? Our eyes, our ears, our taste, smell, touch, Do, like our souls, in one combine:
So, by this, I as well may be
Too old for you, as you for me.
William Cartwright.
WHEN, dearest, I but think on thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul 's delighted;
For beauties that from worth arise
Are like the grace of deities,
Still present with us, though unsighted.
Thus while I sit and sigh the day
With all his spreading lights away,
Till night's black wings do overtake me,
Thinking on thee; thy beauties then,
As sudden lights do sleeping men,
So they by their bright rays awake me.
Thus absence dies, and dying proves
No absence can consist with loves
That do partake of fair perfection;
Since in the darkest night they may,
By their quick motion, find a way
To see each other by reflection.
The waving sea can with such flood
Bathe some high palace that hath stood
Far from the main up in the river;
Oh, think not then but love can do
As much, for that's an ocean too
That flows not every day, but ever.
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