So, when my mistress shall be seen WILLIAM SMITH, Born about 1571, died SONNET. THY beauty subject of my song I make, To please thy rage, and to appease my strife; Give not my lowly muse, new-hatch'd the foil, As best my Chloris' seemly face befits : Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam, Which face of thine, hath made my love extreme. BEN JONSON, Born 1574, died 1637. SONG. TO CELIA. [From "The Forest."] DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I sent thee late a rosy wreath, It could not withered be; Since when it grows and smells, I swear, SONG. [From "The Silent Woman."] STILL to be neat, still to be drest, Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd: Though art's hid causes are not found, Give me a look, give me a face, They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. THOMAS CAMPION, Born about 1575, died about 1640. [From F. Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," 1602.] OF HIS MISTRESS' FACE. AND would you see my mistress' face? It is a flow'ry garden place, Where knots of beauty have such grace, That all is work, and no where space. It is a sweet delicious morn, Where day is breeding, never born; Which thousand flowers do adorn. It is the heaven's bright reflex, Envy of whom doth world perplex. It is a face of death that smiles, It is fair Beauty's freshest youth; It is the feign'd Elisium's truth; The spring that wintered hearts renew'th, THOMAS CAREW, Born about 1577, died 1634. GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID. WHEN you the sun-burnt pilgrim see, Fainting with thirst, haste to the springs; Mark how, at first, with bended knee He courts the crystal nymphs, and flings His body to the earth, where he Prostrate adores the flowing deity. G But when his sweaty face is drench'd In her cool waves, when from her sweet Bosom his burning thirst is quench'd, Then mark how with disdainful feet He kicks her banks, and from the place, So shalt thou be despised, fair maid, When by the sated lover tasted! What first he did with tears invade Shall afterwards with scorn be wasted: When all thy virgin springs grow dry, When no streams shall be left but in thine eye. INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED. KNOW, Celia, (since thou art so proud,) 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown! Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name, And with it imp'd the wings of fame. That killing power is none of thine; Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies : |