Such is her beauty, as no arts Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace; Her high birth no pride imparts, For she blushes in her place; She her throne makes reason climb, And, each article of time, Her pure thoughts to heaven fly. All her vows religious be, And her love she vows to me. [ 4 st. William Habington. HERRICK'S CAVALIER. IVE me that man that dares bestride Robert Herrick. TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON, HEN love with unconfined wings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, The birds, that wanton in the air, When flowing cups run swiftly round Our careless heads with roses bound, When-like committed linnets-I Stone walls do not a prison make, Richard Lovelace. TO AMARANTHA, THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVEL HER HAIR, MARANTHA sweet and fair, Hovering round thee, let it fly. Let it fly as unconfined Every tress must be confest Do not then wind up that light In ribands, and o'er-cloud in night, Like the sun in 's early ray; But shake your head, and scatter day. hair! [ 3 st. Richard Lovelace. TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER. HARM me asleep, and melt me so With thy delicious numbers, Away in easy slumbers. Ease my sick head, And make my bed, Thou power that canst sever From me this ill, And quickly still, Though thou not kill My fever. Thou sweetly canst convert the same From a consuming fire May think, thereby, I live and die 'Mongst roses. Fall on me like a silent dew, Or like those maiden showers, Melt, melt my pains With thy soft strains, That having ease me given, With full delight I leave this light And take my flight For heaven. Robert Herrick. TIME PASSES. IME is a feather'd thing; And whilst I praise The sparklings of thy looks, and call them rays, Takes wing; Leaving behind him, as he flies, An unperceived dimness in thine eyes. His minutes, whilst they're told, And every sand of his fleet glass, Whilst we do speak, our fire Flames turn to frost, And ere we can Know how our crow turns swan, Springs there where jet did grow, Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. Jasper Mayne. DESIRE CHANGES. O'ST see how unregarded now But mark the fate of faces; The red and white works now no more on me And yet the face continues good, And I have still desires, And still the self-same flesh and blood, As apt to melt And suffer from those fires; |