CXVI TO CELIA Drink to me only with thine eyes, But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I sent thee late a rosy wreath, But thou thereon didst only breathe Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee! B. Jonson CXVII 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, Her eyes like angels watch them still; Her brows like bended bows do stand, CXVIII Anon. CORINNA'S MAYING Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn Nay! not so much as out of bed? Whenas a thousand virgins on this day, Rise; and put on your foliage, and be seen Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: And Titan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying: Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark Or branch: Each porch, each door, ere this, Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove; There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day, Back, and with white-thorn laden home. And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, Many a kiss, both odd and even : From out the eye, Love's firmament: Many a jest told of the keys betraying This night, and locks pick'd:-Yet we're not a Maying. -Come, let us go, while we are in our prime ; We shall grow old apace, and die Our life is short; and our days run And as a vapour, or a drop of rain All love, all liking, all delight Lies drown'd with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna! come, let's go a Maying. CXIX R. Herrick THE POETRY OF DRESS I A sweet disorder in the dress An erring lace, which here and there Do more bewitch me, than when art R. Herrick CXX 2 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 R. Herrick CXXI 3 My Love in her attire doth shew her wit, 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. CXXII Anon. ON A GIRDLE That which her slender waist confined A narrow compass! and yet there E. Waller CXXIII A MYSTICAL ECSTASY E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks, That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, Where in a greater current they conjoin: Best-Belovéd's am; so He is mine. So I my |