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SEVERAL COPIES OF LOVE VERSES.
“ Hæret lateri lethalis arundo.”
Me still the cruel boy does spare ;
And I a double task must bear,
Come at last and strike, for shame,
I'll think thee else no God to be,
I ask not one in whom all beauties grow;
Let me but love, whate'er she be,
She cannot seem deform’d to me;
Desire takes wings and straight does fly,
That happy thing, a lover, grown, [own. I shall not see with others' eyes, scarce with mine
If she be coy, and scorn my noble fire;
If her chill heart I cannot move;
Why I'll enjoy the very love,
Flames their most vigorous heat do hold,
So, when sharp winter means most harm, The springing plants are by the snow itself kept
But do not touch my heart, and so be gone ;
Strike deep thy burning arrows in !
Lukewarmness I account a sin,
prove All the extremities of mighty Love.
The' excess of heat is but a fable; We know the torrid zone is now found habitable. Among the woods and forests thou art found,
There boars and lions thou dost tame;
Is not my heart a nobler game?
Thou dost the birds thy subjects make;
Thou all the spring their songs dost hear; Make me love too, I'll sing to thee all the year! What service can mute fishes do to thee?
Yet against them thy dart prevails,
Piercing the armour of their scales;
Dost thou deny only to me
I beg or challenge here thy bow;
Come! or I'll teach the world to scorn that bow:
I'll teach them thousand wholesome arts
Both to resist and cure thy darts,
Music of sighs thou shalt not hear,
Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,
A pointed pain pierced deep my heart;
My head turn'd round, nor could it bear
Such was the pain, did so begin,
“Forgive me, God!" I cry'd; for I
But quickly to my cost I found, 'Twas cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound;
Death a more generous rage does use;
Whilst Love with barbarous mercy saves
I am thy slave then; let me know,
Who pride and scorn do undergo.
They pant, and groan, and sigh ; but find
wind. Like an Egyptian tyrant, some Thou weariest out in building but a tomb;
Others, with sad and tedious art, Labour i' the quarries of a stony heart:
Of all the works thou dost assign
To all the several slaves of thine, Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine.
THE GIVEN LOVE.
I'll on; for what should hinder me
fate's too mean and low;
all titles make your own, Are valiant, learned, wise, alone: But, if you claim o'er women too The power
which over men ye do;
alone must lovers be;
you, or your forefathers, went:
I'll flatter or oppose the king,
the man who taught
fellow-slave, What should those poets mean of old, That made their God to woo in gold ? Of all men, sure, they had no cause To bind love to such costly laws; And yet I scarcely blame them now; For who, alas ! would not allow, That women should such gifts receive, Could they, as he, be what they give ? If thou, my dear, thyself shouldst prize, Alas! what value would suffice ? The Spaniard could not do't, though he Should to both Indies jointure thee.