Yet some there be that take delight, To judge folks' thought for envy and spite; But whether they judge me wrong or right, I am as I am, and so do I write. Praying you all that this do read, But how that is I leave to you; Ye know no more than afore ye knew, And from this mind I will not flee, SIR THOMAS WYATT. SONNET. HAVING this day my horse, my hand, my lance Guided so well, that I obtain'd the prize, Both by the judgment of the English eyes, And of some sent from that sweet enemy France; Horsemen my skill in horsemanship ad vance; Townfolks my strength; a daintier judge applies His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise; Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; Others, because of both sides I do take 'Twas this deprived my soul of rest, My bosom glow'd; the subtle flame In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd; AMBROSE PHILIPS. ASK ME No More. Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; But, oh too fond, when have I answer'd thee? Ask me no more. Ask me no more: what answer should I give? I love not hollow cheek or faded eye; Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; Ask me no more. My blood from them who did excel in this, Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are Think Nature me a man of arms did make. How far they shot awry! the true cause is seal'd. I strove against the stream, and all in vain. Stella look'd on, and from her heavenly No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; Let the great river take me to the main. Like Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone, My thoughts shall evermore disdain He either fears his fate too much, But I must rule and govern still, Thou shun'st the prize so sore If in the empire of thy heart, Another do pretend a part, And go on such a score, But if thou wilt be constant then,. And famous by my sword. I'll serve thee in such noble ways Was never heard before; I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, And love thee evermore. PART SECOND. My dear and only love, take heed, Lest thou thyself expose, And let all longing lovers feed Upon such looks as those. A marble wall then build about, Beset without a door; But if thou let thy heart fly out, I'll never love thee more. Let not their oaths, like volleys shot, Nor smoothness of their language plot I think thy virtues be too strong Those victuall'd by my love so long, Or if by fraud, or by consent, Thy heart to ruine come, Nor march by tuck of drum; Thy falsehood to deplore, I'll do with thee as Nero did, And scorn to shed a tear to see I'll never love thee more. Yet, for the love I bare thee once, Lest that thy name should die, A monument of marble-stone The truth shall testifie: That every pilgrim passing by May pity and deplore My case, and read the reason why I can love thee no more. The golden laws of love shall be Upon this pillar hung, A simple heart, a single eye, A true and constant tongue; Let no man for more love pretend Than he has hearts in store; True love begun shall never end; Love one and love no more. Then shall thy heart be set by mine, But mine was true, so was not thine, For as the waves with every wind, And leav'st my constant heart behind,- My heart shall with the sun be fix'd For constancy most strange, As doth the turtle, chaste and true. And when all gallants ride about Thou traitorous and untrue; Never to love thee more." And when that tracing goddess Fame How thou hast loved me: JAMES GRAHAM, Marquis of Montrose. CH, HAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF OUR OWN! OH, had we some bright little isle of our own, In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone, Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers, And thine shall with the moon be mix'd, And the bee banquets on through a whole Delighting aye in change. Thy beauty shined at first more bright, And woe is me therefore, That ever I found thy love so light The misty mountains, smoking lakes, year of flowers; Where the sun loves to pause With so fond a delay, That the night only draws Where simply to feel that we breathe, that we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give. There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the clime, We should love as they loved in the first golden time; 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 wither'd be; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, (From the Greek.) BEN JONSON. AT SETTING DAY AND RISING MORN. AT setting day and rising morn, With soul that still shall love thee, Where first thou kindly told me Sweet tales of love, and hid thy blush, Whilst round thou didst enfold me. To all our haunts I will repair, By greenwood shaw or fountain, Or where the summer day I'd share With thee upon yon mountain; There will I tell the trees and flowers, From thoughts unfeign'd and tender, By vows you're mine, by love is yours A heart that cannot wander. ALLAN RAMSAY. SONG OF MARGARET. AY, I saw her, we have met;- Than you might have been with me? Silence! make no more ado! Did she think I should forget? Matters nothing, though I knew, Margaret, Margaret. Once those eyes, full sweet, full shy, Told a certain thing to mine; What they told me I put by, Oh, so careless of the sign. Such an easy thing to take, And I did not want it then; Fool! I wish my heart would break; Scorn is hard on hearts of men. |