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Thou as Heaven art fair ana young,

Thine eyes like twin stars shining ;
But ere another day be sprung

All these will be declining.
Then winter comes with all his fears,

And all thy sweets shall borrow;
Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,-
And I too late shall sorrow !

Anon.

CXV

Go, lovely Rose !
Tell her, that wastes her me and me,

That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

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 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 !

E. Waller

CXVI

TO CELIA

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 !

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,
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!

Anon.

CXVIII

CORINNA’S MAYING
Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.

See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colours through the air :
Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see

The dew bespangling herb and tree.
Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east,
Above an hour since ; yet you not drest,

Nay ! not so much as out of bed ?
When all the birds have matins said,
And sung their thankful hymns : 'tis sin,

Nay, profanation, to keep in,-
Whenas a thousand virgins on this day,
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch-in May.
Rise ; and put on your foliage, and be seen
To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green

And sweet as Flora." Take no care
For jewels for your gown, or hair :
Fear not; the leaves will strew

Gems in abundance upon you :
Bes'des, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept :

Come, and receive them while the light
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
How each field turns a street ; each street a park

Made green, and trimm'd with trees : see how
Devotion gives each house a bough
Or branch : Each porch, each door, ere this,

An ark, a tabernacle is,
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove ;
As if here were those cooler shades of love.

Can such delights be in the street,
And open fields, and we not see't?
Come we'l abroad : and let's obey

The proclamation made for May :
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ;
But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.

There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day,
But is got up, and gone to bring in May.

A deal of youth, ere this, is come
Back, and with white-thorn laden home.
Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream,

Before that we have left to dream :
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth :

Many a green-gown has been given ;
Many a kiss, both odd and even :
Many a glance too has been sent

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 ;
And take the harmless folly of the time!

We shall grow old apace, and die
Before we know our liberty.
Our life is short ; and our days run

As fast away as does the sun :-
And as a vapour, or a drop of rain
Once lost, can ne'er be found again :

So when or you or I are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade ;

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.

Ř. Řerrick

CXIX

THE POETRY OF DRESS

I

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.

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
That brave vibration each way free ;
O how that glittering taketh me!

R. Herrick

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