But who brings him to his mother,
Shall have that kiss, and another.

He hath marks about him plenty:
You shall know him among twenty.
All his body is a fire,

And his breath a flame entire,

That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

At his sight, the sun hath turned,
Neptune in the waters burned;
Hell hath felt a greater heat;
Jove himself forsook his seat:
From the centre to the sky,
Are his trophies reared high.

Wings he hath, which though ye clip,
He will leap from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart,
But not stay in any part;
But if chance his arrow misses,
He will shoot himself in kisses.

He doth bear a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that outbrave
Dian's shafts; where, if he have

Any head more sharp than other,

With that first he strikes his mother.

Still the fairest are his fuel.

When his days are to be crucl,

Lovers' hearts are all his food,

And his baths their warmest blood:

Naught but wounds his hands doth season,

And he hates none like to Reason.

Trust him not; his words, though sweet,

Seldom with his heart do meet.

What is Love?

All his practice is deceit;
Every gift it is a bait;

Not a kiss but poison bears;

And most treason in his tears.

Idle minutes are his reign;

Then, the straggler makes his gain
By presenting maids with toys,
And would have ye think them joys:
'Tis the ambition of the elf

To have all childish as himself.

If by these ye please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though ye had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him;
Since you hear his falser play,

And that he's Venus' runaway.

465

Ben Jonson [1573?-1637]

WHAT IS LOVE?

From "The Captain "

TELL me, dearest, what is love?

'Tis a lightning from above;

'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,

'Tis a boy they call Desire.

'Tis a grave,

Gapes to have

Those poor fools that long to prove.

Tell me more, are women true?

Yes, some are, and some as you.
Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men first taught to change.
And till troth

Be in both,

All shall love, to love anew.

Tell me more yet, can they grieve?
Yes, and sicken sore, but live,
And be wise, and delay,

When you men are wise as they.

Then I see,

Faith will be

Never till they both believe.

John Fletcher [1579–1625]

LOVE'S EMBLEMS

From "Valentinian "

Now the lusty spring is seen;
Golden yellow, gaudy blue,
Daintily invite the view:
Everywhere on every green
Roses blushing as they blow,
And enticing men to pull,
Lilies whiter than the snow,
Woodbines of sweet honey full:

All love's emblems, and all cry,
"Ladies, if not plucked, we die."
Yet the lusty spring hath stayed;
Blushing red and purest white
Daintily to love invite

Every woman, every maid:
Cherries kissing as they grow,

And inviting men to taste,
Apples even ripe below,
Winding gently to the waist:

All love's emblems, and all cry,
"Ladies, if not plucked, we die."
John Fletcher [1579-1625]

THE POWER OF LOVE

From "Valentinian "

HEAR, ye ladies that despise

What the mighty Love has done; Fear examples and be wise:

Fair Callisto was a nun;

Advice to a Lover

Leda, sailing on the stream

To deceive the hopes of man, Love accounting but a dream, Doted on a silver swan;

Danaë, in a brazen tower,

Where no love was, loved a shower.

Hear, ye ladies that are coy,

What the mighty Love can do;

Fear the fierceness of the boy:

The chaste Moon he makes to woo;

Vesta, kindling holy fires,

Circled round about with spies, Never dreaming loose desires, Doting at the altar dies;

Ilion, in a short hour, higher

He can build, and once more fire.

467

John Fletcher [1579-1625]

ADVICE TO A LOVER

THE sea hath many thousand sands,
The sun hath motes as many;

The sky is full of stars, and Love

As full of woes as any:

Believe me, that do know the elf,
And make no trial by thyself!

It is in truth a pretty toy
For babes to play withal:

But O, the honies of our youth

Are oft our age's gall:

Self-proof in time will make thee know

He was a prophet told thee so:

A prophet that, Cassandra-like,

Tells truth without belief;

For headstrong Youth will run his race,
Although his goal be grief:--

Love's Martyr, when his heat is past,
Proves Care's Confessor at the last.

Unknown

LOVE'S HOROSCOPE

LOVE, brave Virtue's younger brother,
Erst hath made my heart a mother,
She consults the anxious spheres,
To calculate her young son's years;
She asks if sad or saving powers
Gave omen to his infant hours;
She asks each star that then stood by
If poor Love shall live or die.

Ah, my heart! is that the way?

Are these the beams that rule thy day?
Thou know'st a face in whose each look
Beauty lays ope Love's fortune-book,
On whose fair revolutions wait

The obsequious motions of Love's fate.
Ah, my heart! her eyes and she
Have taught thee new astrology.
Howe'er Love's native hours were set,
Whatever starry synod met,
'Tis in the mercy of her eye,
If poor Love shall live or die.

If those sharp rays, putting on
Points of death, bid Love be gone;-
Though the heavens in council sate
To crown an uncontrolled fate;
Though their best aspects twined upon
The kindest constellation,

Cast amorous glances on its birth,
And whispered the confederate earth
To pave his paths with all the good
That warms the bed of youth and blood:-
Love has no plea against her eye;
Beauty frowns, and Love must die.

But if her milder influence move,
And gild the hopes of humble Love;—
Though heaven's inauspicious eye
Lay black on Love's nativity;