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And every sea-god pays a gem
Yearly out of his watery cell,
To deck great Neptune's diadem.
The Tritons dancing in a ring,
Before his palace gates do make
The water with their echoes quake,
Like the great thunder sounding :
The sea-nymphs chaunt their accents shrill,
And the Syrens taught to kill

With their sweet voice,
Make every echoing rock reply,
Unto their gentle murmuring noise,
The praise of Neptune's empery.

T. Campion

CII

HYMN TO DIANA

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair,

Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair
State in wonted manner keep :

Hesperus entreats thy light,

Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade

Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close :

Bless us then with wished sight,

Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart

And thy crystal-shining quiver ;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever :

Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright !

B. Jonson

CIII

WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS

Whoe'er she be,
That not impossible She
That shall command my heart and me;
Where'er she lie,
Lock'd up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny :
Till that ripe birth
Of studied Fate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps tread our earth;
Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine :
-- Meet you her, my Wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.

I wish her beauty
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie :
Something more than
Taffata or tissue can,
Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
A face that's best
By its own beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest :
A face made up
Out of no other shop
Than what Nature's white hand sets ope.
Sidneian showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.

Whate'er delight
Can make day's forehead bright
Or give down to the wings of night.
Soft silken hours,
Open suns, shady bowers ;
'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.
Days, that need borrow
No part of their good morrow
From a fore-spent night of sorrow :
Days, that in spite
Of darkness, by the light
Of a clear mind are day all night.
Life, that dares send
A challenge to his end,
And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend.'
I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish-

Now, if Time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;
Her that dares be
What these lines wish to see :
I seek no further, it's She.

no more.

'Tis She, and here
Lo! I unclothe and clear
My wishes' cloudy character.
Such worth as this is
Shall fix my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.
Let her full glory,
My fancies, Ay before ye ;
Be ye my fictions :--but her story.

R. Crashaw

CIV

THE GREAT ADVENTURER

Over the mountains
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves ;
Under floods that are deepest,
Which Neptune obey ;
Over rocks that are steepest
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie ;
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
Where the midge dares not venture
Lest herself fast she lay ;
If love come, he will enter
And soon find out his way.

You may esteem him
A child for his might ;
Or you may deem hım
A coward from his flight ;
But if she whom love doth honour
Be conceald from the day,
Set a thousand guards upon her,
Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him
By having him confined ;
And some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind ;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that you may,
Blind love, if so ye call him,
Will find out his way.

You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist ;
Or you may inveigle
The phoenix of the east ;
The lioness, ye may move her
To give o'er her prey ;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover ;
He will find out his way.

Anon.

CV

THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T.C. IN A

PROSPECT OF FLOWERS
See with what simplicity
This nymph begins her golden days !
In the green grass she loves to lie,
And there with her fair aspect tames
The wilder flowers, and gives them names :
But only with the roses plays,

And them does tell
What colours best become them, and what smell.

Who can foretell for what high cause
This darling of the Gods was born ?
Yet this is she whose chaster laws
The wanton Love shall one day fear,
And, under her command severe,
See his bow broke, and ensigns torn.

Happy who can
Appease this virtuous enemy of man !

O then let me in time compound
And parley with those conquering eyes,
Ere they have tried their force to wound;
Ere with their glancing wheels they drive
In triumph over hearts that strive,
And them that yield but more despise :

Let me be laid,
Where I may see the glories from some shade.

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