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Tell her that's young
And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired :
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired.
Then die ! that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee:
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine ;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine ;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not wither'd be ;
But thou thereon didst only breathe
And sent'st it back to me ;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee!
CHERRY-RIPE There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ;
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow :
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still ;
Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that approach with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh, — Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry!
A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness :-
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction,-
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher,-
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly, -
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat, ---
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility,
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.
Whenas in silks my Julia goes
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.
Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!
My Love in her attire doth shew her wit,
It doth so well become her :
For every season she hath dressings fit,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No beauty she doth miss
When all her robes are on :
But Beauty's self she is
When all her robes are gone.
ON A GIRDLE
That which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind :
No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has done.
It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer :
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love
Did all within this circle move.
A narrow compass ! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair :
Give me but what this ribband bound,
Take all the rest the Sun goes round.
TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM
Bid me to live, and I will live
Thy Protestant to be :
Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.
A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
A heart as sound and free
As in the whole world thou canst find,
That heart I'll give to thee.
Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,
To honour thy decree :
Or bid it languish quite away,
And 't shall do so for thee.
Bid me to weep, and I will weep
While I have eyes to see :
And having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.
Bid me despair, and I'll despair,
Under that cypress tree :
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en Death, to die for thee.
Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me,
And hast command of every part,
To live and die for thee.
Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart, -
For those may fail, or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever :
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why-
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever !
Not, Celia, that I juster am
Or better than the rest ; For I would change each hour, like them,
Were not my heart at rest. But I am tied to very thee
By every thought I have ; Thy face I only care to see,
Thy heart I only crave.
All that in woman is adored
In thy dear self I find –
For the whole sex can but afford
The handsome and the kind.
Why then should I seek further store,
And still make love anew ?
When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easy to be true.
Sir C. Sedley