Tudor and Stuart Love Songs Part 10

And till truth Be in both All shall love to love anew.

Tell me more yet, can they grieve?

Yes, and sicken sore, but live: And be wise and delay, When you men are as wise as they.

Then I see Faith will be Never till they both believe.

Francis Beaumont.

PINING FOR LOVE.

How long shall I pine for love?

How long shall I sue in vain?

How long like the turtle-dove, Shall I heartily thus complain?

Shall the sails of my heart stand still?

Shall the grists of my hope be unground?

Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie, Let the mill, let the mill go round.

Francis Beaumont.

FIE ON LOVE.

Now fie on foolish love, it not befits Or man or woman know it.

Love was not meant for people in their wits, And they that fondly show it Betray the straw, and features in their brain, And shall have Bedlam for their pain: If simple love be such a curse, To marry is to make it ten times worse.

Francis Beaumont.

DAMOETAS' PRAISE OF HIS DAPHNIS.

Tune on my pipe the praises of my love, Love fair and bright; Fill earth with sound, and airy heavens above, Heavens Jove's delight, With Daphnis' praise.

Her tresses are like wires of beaten gold, Gold bright and sheen; Like Nisus' golden hair that Scylla poll'd, Scyll o'erseen Through Minos' love.

Her eyes like s.h.i.+ning lamps in midst of night, Night dark and dead: Or as the stars that give the seamen light, Light for to lead Their wandering s.h.i.+ps.

Amidst her cheeks the rose and lily strive, Lily snow-white: When their contest doth make their colour thrive, Colour too bright For shepherds' eyes.

Her lips like scarlet of the finest dye, Scarlet blood-red: Teeth white as snow, which on the hills do lie, Hills overspread By winter's force.

Her skin as soft as is the finest silk, Silk soft and fine: Of colour like unto the whitest milk, Milk of the kine Of Daphnis' herd.

As swift of foot as is the pretty roe, Roe swift of pace: When yelping hounds pursue her to and fro, Hounds fierce in chase To reave her life.

Cease to tell of any more compare, Compares too rude, Daphnis' deserts and beauty are too rare: Then here conclude Fair Daphnis' praise.

John Wootton.

SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR?

Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair?

Or my cheeks make pale with care, 'Cause another's rosy are?

Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind; Or a well-disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature?

Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love?

Or her merit's value known, Make me quite forget mine own?

Be she with that goodness blest Which may gain her name of Best; If she seem not such to me, What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die?

Those that bear a n.o.ble mind, Where they want, of riches find.

Think what with them they would do Who without them dare to woo: And unless that mind I see, What care I tho' great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair, I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve; If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be?

George Wither.

TO ONE WHO, WHEN I PRAISED MY MISTRESS'S BEAUTY, SAID I WAS BLIND.

Wonder not, though I am blind, For you must be Dark in your eyes, or in your mind, If, when you see Her face, you prove not blind like me; If the powerful beams that fly From her eye, And those amorous sweets that lie Scatter'd in each neighbouring part, Find a pa.s.sage to your heart, Then you'll confess your mortal sight Too weak for such a glorious light: For if her graces you discover, You grow, like me, a dazzled lover; But if those beauties you not spy, Then are you blinder far than I.

Thomas Carew.

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 his fires; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away.