A Little Book of Old Time Verse Part 2

Song

If the quick spirits in your eye Now languish, and anon must die; If ev'ry sweet and ev'ry grace Must fly from that forsaken face: Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.

Or, if that golden fleece must grow For ever, free from aged snow; If those bright suns must know no shade.

Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; Then fear not, Celia, to bestow What still being gathered still must grow.

Thus, either Time his sickle brings In vain, or else in vain his wings.

--_Thomas Carew_

Love Will Find the Way

Over the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves; Under the floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey; Over the rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie; Where there is no s.p.a.ce For receipt of a fly; Where the midge dares not venture, Lest herself fast she lay; If Love come, he will enter And soon find out his way.

You may esteem him A child for his might; Or you may deem him A coward for his flight; But if she whom Love doth honour Be concealed from the day, Set a thousand guards upon her, Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him By having him confin'd, And some do suppose him, Poor thing, to be blind; But if ne'er so close you wall him, Do the best that you may; Blind Love, if so ye call him, Will find out his way.

You may train the eagle To stoop to your fist; Or you may inveigle The Phoenix of the East; The lioness, you may move her To give o'er her prey; But you will ne'er stop a lover-- He will find out his way.

--_Unknown_

To Daffodils

Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon.

Stay, stay, Until the lasting day Has run But to the evensong And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along.

--_Robert Herrick_

Phillida Flouts Me

Oh, what a plague is love!

I cannot bear it.

She will inconstant prove, I greatly fear it; It so torments my mind, That my heart faileth.

She wavers with the wind, As a s.h.i.+p saileth; Please her the best I may, She looks another way; Alack and well a-day!

Phillida flouts me.

I often heard her say That she loved posies; In the last month of May I gave her roses, Cowslips and gilly flow'rs And the sweet lily, I got to deck the bow'rs Of my dear Philly; She did them all disdain, And threw them back again; Therefore, 'tis flat and plain Phillida flouts me.

Which way, soe'er I go.

She still torments me; And whatso'er I do, Nothing contents me: I fade, and pine away With grief and sorrow; I fall quite to decay, Like any shadow; Since 'twill no better be, I'll bear it patiently; Yet all the world may see Phillida flouts me.

--_Thomas Carew_

Song to Flavia

'Tis not your beauty can engage My wary heart: The Sun, in all his pride and rage, Has not that art; And yet he s.h.i.+nes as bright as you, If brightness could our souls subdue.

'Tis not the pretty things you say, Nor those you write, Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey; For that delight, The graces of a well-taught mind, In some of our own s.e.x we find.

No, Flavia! 'tis your love I fear; Love's surest darts, Those which so seldom fail him, are Headed with hearts; Their very shadows make us yield; Dissemble well, and win the field.

--_Edmund Waller_

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: This cannot take her.

If for herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her!

--_Sir John Suckling_

Unless with my Amanda blest, In vain I twine the woodbine bower; Unless to deck her sweeter breast, In vain I rear the breathing flower:

Awaken'd by the genial year, In vain the birds around me sing; In vain the freshening fields appear: _Without my love there is no Spring_.

--_James Thomson_

Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow, As pa.s.sion did them move, Once did I hope, straight fear again,-- And then I was in love.

Once did I waking spend the night, And tell how many minutes move, Once did I wis.h.i.+ng waste the day,-- And then I was in love.

Once, by my carving true love's knot, The weeping trees did prove That wounds and tears were both our lot,-- And then I was in love.