Part 15 (1/2)

116. TO HIS MISTRESS, OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING

You say I love not, 'cause I do not play Still with your curls, and kiss the time away.

You blame me, too, because I can't devise Some sport, to please those babies in your eyes; By Love's religion, I must here confess it, The most I love, when I the least express it.

Shall griefs find tongues; full casks are ever found To give, if any, yet but little sound.

Deep waters noiseless are; and this we know, That chiding streams betray small depth below.

So when love speechless is, she doth express A depth in love, and that depth bottomless.

Now, since my love is tongueless, know me such, Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much.

117. IMPOSSIBILITIES: TO HIS FRIEND

My faithful friend, if you can see The fruit to grow up, or the tree; If you can see the colour come Into the blus.h.i.+ng pear or plum; If you can see the water grow To cakes of ice, or flakes of snow; If you can see that drop of rain Lost in the wild sea once again; If you can see how dreams do creep Into the brain by easy sleep:-- --Then there is hope that you may see Her love me once, who now hates me.

118. THE BUBBLE: A SONG

To my revenge, and to her desperate fears, Fly, thou made bubble of my sighs and tears!

In the wild air, when thou hast roll'd about, And, like a blasting planet, found her out; Stoop, mount, pa.s.s by to take her eye--then glare Like to a dreadful comet in the air: Next, when thou dost perceive her fixed sight For thy revenge to be most opposite, Then, like a globe, or ball of wild-fire, fly, And break thyself in s.h.i.+vers on her eye!

119. DELIGHT IN DISORDER

A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility;-- Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.

120. TO SILVIA

Pardon my trespa.s.s, Silvia! I confess My kiss out-went the bounds of shamefacedness:-- None is discreet at all times; no, not Jove Himself, at one time, can be wise and love.

121. TO SILVIA TO WED

Let us, though late, at last, my Silvia, wed; And loving lie in one devoted bed.

Thy watch may stand, my minutes fly post haste; No sound calls back the year that once is past.

Then, sweetest Silvia, let's no longer stay; True love, we know, precipitates delay.