Therefore, Madam! wear no cloud, Yet, though truth has this confess'd, When I next begin to court CASTARA. Like the violet, which alone For she's to herself untrue Who delights i' the public view. Such is her beauty as no arts Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace; Cautious, she knew never yet Of herself survey she takes, But 'tween men no difference makes. She obeys with speedy will Her grave parents' wise commands ; And so innocent, that ill She sails by that rock, the Court, She holds that day's pleasure best She her throne makes Reason climb, Her pure thoughts to heaven fly. SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 1605-6-1668. DAY-BREAK. The lark now leaves his watery nest And to implore your light he sings. Awake! awake! the Morn will never rise Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. The merchant bows unto the seaman's star ; The ploughman from the sun his season takes ; But still the lover wonders what they are Who look for day before his Mistress wakes. Awake! awake! break through your veils of lawn ; Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn! EDMUND WALLER. 1605-1687. ON A GIRDLE. That which her slender waist confined It was my heaven's extremest sphere, A narrow compass, and yet there THE ROSE. Go, lovely Rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be! Tell her, that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, In deserts where no men abide Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired! Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare How small a part of time they share STAY, PHEBUS! Stay, Phœbus! stay! The world to which you fly so fast, From us to them, can pay your haste With no such object nor salute your rise With no such wonder as De Mornay's eyes. Well does this prove The error of those antique books About the world: Her charming looks Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, Did not the rolling earth snatch her away. TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY. Into a world which, wanting thee, That time should me so far remove Yet, Fairest Blossom! do not slight That age which you may know so soon: The rosy morn resigns her light Hope waits upon the flowery prime; Of declination or decay : For with a full hand that does bring SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 1608-9-1642. A BALLAD OF A WEDDING. I tell thee, Dick! where I have been, At Charing-Cross, hard by the way And there did I see coming down Among the rest One pest'lent fine, Our Landlord looks like nothing to him ; The King, God bless him! 'twould undo him Should he go still so dress'd. |