Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me; And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. Robert Herrick [1591-1674] THE BRACELET: TO JULIA WHY I tie about thy wrist, For what other reason is't I am bound and fast bound, so If I could, I would not so. Robert Herrick (1591-1674] TO THE WESTERN WIND SWEET western wind, whose luck it is, Made rival with the air, To give Perenna's lip a kiss, Bring me but one, I'll promise thee, Thy wings shall be embalmed by me, And all beset with flowers. Robert Herrick [1591-1674) Persuasions to Enjoy 597 TO MY INCONSTANT MISTRESS WHEN thou, poor Excommunicate From all the joys of Love, shalt see Which my strong faith shall purchase me, A fairer hand than thine shall cure That heart which thy false oaths did wound; Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound, Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain When all thy tears shall be as vain Damned for thy false Apostasy. Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] PERSUASIONS TO ENJOY If the quick spirits in your eye Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Or, if that golden fleece must grow For ever free from agèd snow; If those bright suns must know no shade, Nor your fresh beauties ever fade: Then fear not, Celia, to bestow What, still being gathered, still must grow. Thus either Time his sickle brings Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED GIVE me more love, or more disdain: The torrid, or the frozen zone The temperate affords me none: Give me a storm; if it be love, Disdain, that torrent will devour Then crown my joys, or cure my pain: Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?] THE MESSAGE YE little birds that sit and sing Go, pretty birds, about her bower; Ye pretty wantons, warble. Go tell her through your chirping bills, To her is only known my love, Which from the world is hidden. Go, pretty birds, and tell her so, See that your notes strain not too low, For still methinks I see her frown; Ye pretty wantons, warble. "How Can the Heart Forget Her" Go tune your voices' harmony every note O fly! make haste! see, see, she falls Sing round about her rosy bed That waking she may wonder: Say to her, 'tis her lover true 599 Thomas Heywood [ ? -1650?] "HOW CAN THE HEART FORGET. HER” AT her fair hands how have I grace entreated Yet still my love is thwarted: Heart, let her go, for she'll not be converted- O no, no, no, no, no! She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted. How often have my sighs declared my anguish, Yet still she doth procure it: Heart, let her go, for I cannot endure it— Say, shall she go? O no, no, no, no, no! She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it. But shall I still a true affection owe her, And shall she still disdain me? Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me— O no, no, no, no, no! She made me hers, and hers she will retain me. But if the love that hath and still doth burn me Out of my thoughts I'll set her: Heart, let her go, O heart I pray thee, let her! O no, no, no, no, no! Fixed in the heart, how can the heart forget her? Francis Davison [fl. 1602] TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA YE blushing virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her breasts— For he'd profane so chaste a fair, Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests. Transplanted thus how bright ye grow! In some close garden cowslips so In those white cloisters live secure From the rude blasts of wanton breath!Each hour more innocent and pure, Till you shall wither into death, Then that which living gave you room, Your glorious sepulcher shall be. There wants no marble for a tomb Whose breast hath marble been to me. William Habington [1605-1654] TO FLAVIA 'Tis not your beauty can engage My wary heart; The sun, in all his pride and rage, Has not that art; |