Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

SONG.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For, in your beauty's orient deep, These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars light That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west
The phenix builds her spicy nest;

last she flies, And in your fragant bosom dies,

For unto you

DIALOGUE.

(From a MS. in the possession of Mr. Malone.)

Tell me, Utrechia, since my fate,
And thy more powerful form, decrees

My heart an immolation at thy shrine,

Where I am only to incline-
How I must love, and at what rate;
By what despairs, and what degrees,

I may my hopes enlarge, or my desires confine?

“ First, when thy flames begin, " See they burn all within ; “ And so, as lookers-on may not descry “ Smoke in a sigh, or sparkles in an eye. " I would have had my love a good while there, 6 Ere thine own heart had been aware : “ And I myself would chuse to know it, “ First, by thy care and cunning not to show it."

When my love is, your own way, thus betray'd,
Must it still be afraid ?
May it not be sharp-sighted then, as well,
And see, you know, that which it durst not tell,

And, from that knowledge, hope it may
Tell itself a louder way?

66 Let it alone awhile:
“ And so, thou may'st beguile
My heart, perhaps, to a consent
“ Long ere it meant.
« For whilst I dare not disapprove,
“ Lest I betray a knowledge of thy love,
“ I shall be so accustom’d to allow,
" That I shall scarce know how
“ To be displeas’d, when thou shalt it avow."

When, by love's powerful sympathy,
Our souls are got thus nigh,
And that, by one another seen,
They need no breath to go between,
Though, in the main agreement of our breasts,
Only our hearts subscribe as interests;
Yet, it shall need
Our tongues sign too, as witness to the deed.

Speak then: but when you whisper out the tale « Of what you ail, “ Let it be so disorder'd, that I

may. “ Guess, only thence, what you would say, VOL. III.

L

“ Then, to be able to speak sense, 16 Were an offence : ! And, 'twill thy passion tell the subtlest way, “ Not to know what to say."

WILLIAM STRODE,

Was born about 1600, and died in 1644. He became D. D.

and canon of Christ Church, having served the offices of proctor and public orator to the University, and had the reputation of being a good preacher, an exquisite orator,

and an eminent poet. The following specimens are extracted from a miscellany

called “ Wit restored,” 1658, duodecimo.

ANSWER TO

THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY."

(Vide p. 48 of this volume.]

Return, my joys! and hither bring
A tongue not made to speak, but sing;
A jolly spleen, an inward feast,
A causeless laugh without a jest;
A face which gladness doth anoint,
An arm, for joy, flung out of joint;
A spriteful gait that leaves no print,
And makes a feather of a flint;
A heart that's lighter than the air,
An eye still dancing in its sphere;

« ElőzőTovább »