HE THAT LOVES A ROSY
CHEEK.

HE that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain its fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind,

Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combin'd,

Kindle never-dying fires; Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

ASK ME NO MORE.

Ask me no more, where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauties' orient deep, These flow's, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more, whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more, where those stars light,
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For, in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west,
The phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

MURDERING BEAUTY.

I'LL gaze no more on her bewitching face, Since ruin harbours there in every place; For my enchanted soul alike she drowns With calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns.

A PRAYER TO THE WIND.

Go, thou gentle whispering wind,
Bear this sigh; and if thou find
Where my cruel fair doth rest,
Cast it in her snowy breast;
So enflam'd by my desire,
It may set her heart a-fire :
Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain,
Will reward thee for thy pain.
Boldly light upon her lip,

There suck odours, and thence skip
To her bosom ; lastly, fall
Down, and wander over all;
Range about those ivory hills
From whose every part distils
Amber dew; there spices grow,
There pure streams of nectar flow:
There perfume thyself, and bring
All those sweets upon thy wing:
As thou return'st change by thy pow'r
Every weed into a flow'r;
Turn each thistle to a vine,
Make the bramble eglantine;
For so rich a booty made,
Do but this, and I am paid.

Thou canst with thy pow'rful blast,
Heat apace, and cool as fast:
Thou canst kindle hidden flame,
And again destroy the same:
Then, for pity, either stir
Up the fire of love in her,

That alike both flames may shine,
Or else quite extinguish mine.

UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY. KNOW, Celia, since thou art so proud, 'T was I that gave thee thy renown:

Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate:
Let fools thy mystic forms adore,

I'll know thee in thy mortal state.
Wise poets, that wrap truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her
veils.

RED AND WHITE ROSES. READ in these roses the sad story, Of my hard fate, and your own glory: In the white you may discover The paleness of a fainting lover; In the red the flames still feeding On my heart with fresh wounds bleeding. The white will tell you how I languish, And the red express my anguish : The white my innocence displaying, The red my martyrdom betraying: The frowns that on your brow resided, Have those roses thus divided.

Oh! let your smiles but clear the weather, And then they both shall grow together.

THE PRIMROSE.

Ask me why I send you here
This firstling of the infant year;
Ask me why I send to you

This primrose all bepearl'd with dew;
I straight will whisper in your ears,

The sweets of love are wash'd with tears:
Ask me why this flow'r doth show
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it doth not break;
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.

THE PROTESTATION.

No more shall meads be deck'd with flowers,

Nor sweetness dwell in rosy bowers;
Nor greenest buds on branches spring,
Nor warbling birds delight to sing;
Nor April violets paint the grove;
If I forsake my Celia's love.

The fish shall in the ocean burn,
And fountains sweet shall bitter turn;
The humble oak no flood shall know
When floods shall highest hills o'erflow;
Black Lethe shall oblivion leave;
If e'er my Celia I deceive.

Love thall his bow and shaft lay by,
And Venus' doves want wings to fly ;
The sun refuse to shew his light,
And day shali then be turn'd to night,
And in that night no star appear;
If once I leave my Celia dear.

Love shall no more inhabit earth,
Nor lovers more shall love for worth;
Nor joy above in heaven dwell,
Nor pain torment poor souls in hell;
Grim Death no more shall horrid prove;
If e'er I leave bright Celia's love.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON. WHEN love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her eye,

The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round,
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts are free,-
Fishes that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty.

And yet not lodge together? O Love! where is thy sympathy, If thus our breasts thou sever?

But love is such a mystery,

I cannot find it out;

For when I think I'm best resolv'd, Then I am most in doubt.

Then farewell care, and farewell woe;
I will no longer pine;
For I'll believe I have her heart,
As much as she has mine.

zones,

And those more frigid ones
It must not know:

For love grown cold or hot,
Is lust, or friendship, not
The thing we have.

For that's a flame would die
Held down, or up too high:
Then think I love more than I can ex-
press,

And would love more, could I but love thee less.

[SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 1639-1 J1]
THE GROWTH OF LOVE.
AH, Chloris! that I now could sit
As unconcerned, as when
Your infant beauty could beget
No pleasure nor no pain.

When I the dawn used to admire,
And praised the coming day,
I little thought the growing fire
Must take my rest away.

Your charms in harmless childhood lay,
Like metals in the mine :
Age from no face took more away,
Than youth concealed in thine.

But as your charms insensibly
To their perfection pressed,
Fond love as unperceived did fly,
And in my bosom rest.

My passion with your beauty grew, And Cupid at my heart,

Still, as his mother favoured you,
Threw a new flaming dart.

Each gloried in their wanton part :
To make a lover, he
Employed the utmost of his art-
To make a beauty she.

Though now I slowly bend to love,
Uncertain of my fate,

If your fair self my chains approve, I shall my freedom hate.