William Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle.

I SWEAR, by Muscadel!

That I do love thee well,
And more than I can tell!

By the White, Claret, and Sack,
I do love thy black! black! black!
I do love thy black! black! black!

No Goddess, 'mongst them all,
So slender, and so tall,

And grateful too withal!

Which makes my sinews to crack
For thy black! black! black!
For thy dainty black! black!

So lovely, and so fair;
Though shadowed with thy hair!
So nimble, just like air!

All these set me on love's rack
For thy black! black! black!
For thy dainty black! black!

Thy kind and cunning eye,
When first it did espy,

Our love it did descry,

Dumb, speaking, 'What d' you lack?'
Mine answered, 'Thy black! black!
Thy dainty black! black! black!'

INVEST my head with fragrant rose
That on fair FLORA's bosom grows!
Distend my veins with purple juice,
That mirth may through my soul diffuse!
'Tis Wine and Love, and Love in Wine,
Inspires our Youth with flames divine!

Thus, crowned with Paphian myrtle, I
In Cyprian shades will bathing lie!
Whose snow, if too much cooling, then
BACCHUS shall warm my blood again!

'Tis Wine and Love, and Love in Wine, &c.

Life 's short; and wingèd Pleasures fly!
Who mourning live; do living die!
On down and floods, then, swan-like, I
Will stretch my limbs; and, singing, die!

'Tis Wine and Love, and Love in Wine, &c.

A SONG TO AMORET.

IF I were dead, and, in my place,
Some fresher Youth designed

To warm thee, with new fires; and grace
Those arms I left behind:

Were he as faithful as the Sun,
That 's wedded to the Sphere;

His blood as chaste and temp'rate run,
As April's mildest tear;

Or were he rich; and, with his heap
And spacious share of earth,
Could make divine affection cheap,
And court his golden birth:

For all these arts, I'd not believe,
(No! though he should be thine!)
The mighty Amorist could give
So rich a heart as mine!

Fortune and Beauty, thou might'st find;
And Greater Men than I:

But my true resolvèd mind,
They never shall come nigh!

WHAT IS LOVE?

'Tis a child of Fancy's getting,

Brought up between Hope and Fear, Fed with Smiles, grown by uniting Strong, and so kept by Desire.

'Tis a perpetual Vestal Fire, Never dying!

Whose smoke, like incense, doth aspire, Upwards flying!

It is a soft magnetic stone,

Attracting hearts by sympathy:
Binding up close, two souls in one;
Both discoursing secretly.

'Tis the true Gordian Knot that ties;
Yet ne'er unbinds!
Fixing thus, two Lovers' eyes
As well as minds.

'Tis the Spheres' heavenly harmony, Where two skilful hands do strike; every sound expressively

And

Marries sweetly with the like! 'Tis the World's everlasting Chain, That all things tied;

And bid them, like the fixèd Wain,
Unmoved to bide!

'Tis Nature's law inviolate,

Confirmed by mutual consent:
Where two dislike, like, love, and hate;
Each to the other's full content.

'Tis the caress of every thing!
The turtle-dove!

Both birds and beasts do offerings bring
To mighty Love!

'Tis th' Angels' joy! the Gods' delight! Man's bliss! 'Tis all in all! Without Love, nothing is!

TO CUPID.

THOU that hast shot so many hearts,
With thy enchanted darts!

Young Archer! if thou hast one more
In all thy store,

Send it, O, send it to my Love,
Winged with the feathers of thy mother's dove!

Or head it with the same desire,
Thou didst my shaft inspire;

Or take thine arrow back from me!
'Tis cruelty,

Sometimes, not to be cruel! O,

Or smite both hearts; or else unbend thy bow!