Volume Ii Part 27 (2/2)

Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain To Love, as I did once to thee: When all thy tears shall be as vain As mine were then: for thou shalt be d.a.m.ned for thy false Apostasy.

Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?]

PERSUASIONS TO ENJOY

If the quick spirits in your eye Now languish and anon must die; If every sweet and every 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 [1598?-1639?]

MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED

Give me more love, or more disdain: The torrid, or the frozen zone Bring equal ease unto my pain; The temperate affords me none: Either extreme, of love or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love, Like Danae in that golden shower, I'll swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture-hopes; and he's possessed Of heaven, that's but from h.e.l.l released.

Then crown my joys, or cure my pain: Give me more love, or more disdain.

Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?]

THE MESSAGE

Ye little birds that sit and sing Amidst the shady valleys, And see how Phillis sweetly walks Within her garden-alleys; Go, pretty birds, about her bower; Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower; Ah me! methinks I see her frown!

Ye pretty wantons, warble.

Go tell her through your chirping bills, As you by me are bidden, To her is only known my love, Which from the world is hidden.

Go, pretty birds, and tell her so, See that your notes strain not too low, For still methinks I see her frown; Ye pretty wantons, warble.

Go tune your voices' harmony And sing, I am her lover; Strain loud and sweet, that every note With sweet content may move her: And she that hath the sweetest voice, Tell her I will not change my choice: --Yet still methinks I see her frown!

Ye pretty wantons, warble.

O fly! make haste! see, see, she falls Into a pretty slumber!

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