Volume Ii Part 79 (2/2)

William Browne [1591-1643?]

TO DIANEME

Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes, Which, star-like, sparkle in their skies; Nor be you proud that you can see All hearts your captives, yours yet free; Be you not proud of that rich hair, Which wantons with the love-sick air; Whenas that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty's gone.

Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

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 lived unknown, Had not my verse extolled thy name, And with it imped the wings of Fame.

That killing power is none of thine; I gave it to thy voice and eyes; Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine; Thou art my star, s.h.i.+n'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere Lightning on him that fixed thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more, Lest what I made I uncreate; Let fools thy mystic form adore, I know thee in thy mortal state.

Wise poets, that wrapped Truth in tales, Knew her themselves through all her veils.

Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?]

DISDAIN RETURNED

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.

But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires:-- Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

No tears, Celia, now shall win My resolved heart to return; I have searched thy soul within, And find naught but pride and scorn; I have learned thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou.

Some power, in my revenge, convey That love to her I cast away.

Thomas Carew [1598?-1639?]

”LOVE WHO WILL, FOR I'LL LOVE NONE”

Love who will, for I'll love none, There's fools enough beside me: Yet if each woman have not one, Come to me where I hide me, And if she can the place attain, For once I'll be her fool again.

It is an easy place to find, And women sure should know it; Yet thither serves not every wind, Nor many men can show it: It is the storehouse, where doth lie All woman's truth and constancy.

If the journey be so long, No woman will adventer; But dreading her weak vessel's wrong, The voyage will not enter: Then may she sigh and lie alone, In love with all, yet loved of none.

William Browne [1591-1643]

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