Thomas Stanley: His Original Lyrics Part 9

I prithee let my heart alone!

Since now 'tis raised above thee: Not all the beauty thou dost own Again can make me love thee.

He that was s.h.i.+pwreck'd once before 5 By such a Siren's call, And yet neglects to shun the[55:1] sh.o.r.e, Deserves his second fall!

Each flattering kiss, each tempting smile Thou dost in vain bestow, 10 Some other lovers might beguile Who not thy falsehood know.

But I am proof against all art: No vows shall e'er persuade me Twice to present a wounded heart 15 To her that hath betray'd me.

Could I again be brought to love Thy form, though more divine, I might thy scorn as justly move As now thou sufferest mine. 20

THE LOSS.

Yet ere I go, Disdainful Beauty, thou shalt be So wretched as to know What joys thou fling'st away with me:

A faith so bright, 5 As Time or Fortune could not rust, So firm, that lovers might Have read thy story in my dust,

And crown'd thy name With laurel verdant as thy youth. 10 Whilst the shrill voice of Fame Spread wide thy beauty and my truth.

This thou hast lost!

For all true lovers, when they find That my just aims were crossed, 15 Will speak thee lighter than the wind;

And none will lay Any oblation on thy shrine, But such as would betray Their[56:1] faith to faiths as false as thine. 20

Yet if thou choose On such thy freedom to bestow, Affection may excuse: For love from sympathy doth flow.

THE SELF-CRUEL.[57:1]

Cast off, for shame, ungentle maid, That misbecoming joy thou wear'st!

For in my death (though long delay'd), Unwisely cruel thou appear'st.

Insult o'er captives with disdain: 5 Thou canst not triumph o'er the slain.

No, I am now no longer thine; Nor canst thou take delight to see Him whom thy love did once confine Set, though by death, at liberty; 10 For if my fall a smile beget, Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.

Behold how thy unthrifty pride Hath murthered him that did maintain it; And wary souls who never tried 15 Thy tyrant beauty, will disdain it: But I am softer, and, (though[57:2] me Thou wouldst not pity,) pity thee.

AN ANSWER TO A SONG, "WERT THOU MUCH [?] FAIRER THAN THOU ART," BY MR. W. M.[58:1]

Wert thou by all affections sought, And fairer than thou wouldst be thought, Or had thine eyes as many darts As thou believ'st they shoot at hearts, Yet if thy love were paid to me, 5 I would not offer mine to thee.

I'd sooner court a fever's heat, Than her that owns a flame as[58:2] great.

She that my love will entertain Must meet it with no less disdain; 10 For mutual fires themselves destroy, And willing kisses yield no joy.

I love thee not because alone Thou canst all beauty call thine own, Nor doth my pa.s.sion fuel seek 15 In thy bright eye or softer cheek.

Then, Fairest! if thou wouldst know why: I love thee 'cause thou canst deny.

THE RELAPSE.[59:1]

O turn away those cruel eyes, The stars of my undoing!

Or death, in such a bright disguise, May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blindly impious[59:2] pride, 5 Who dare contemn thy glory!

It was my fall[59:3] that deified Thy name, and seal'd thy story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepare A higher praise to crown thee; 10 Though my first death proclaim thee fair, My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice No other for thy fuel, And if thou burn one victim twice, 15 Both think thee poor and cruel!

APPENDIX

A SHEAF OF TRANSLATIONS.

THE REVENGE.

[Ronsard.]

Fair rebel to thyself and Time, Who laugh'st at all my tears, When thou hast lost thy youthful prime, And Age his trophy rears,

Weighing thy inconsiderate pride, 5 Thou shalt in vain accuse it: 'Why beauty am I now denied, Or knew not then to use it?'

Then shall I wish, ungentle Fair, Thou in like flames may'st burn! 10 Venus, if just, will hear my prayer, And I shall laugh my turn.

CLAIM TO LOVE.

[Guarini.]

Alas! alas! thou turn'st in vain Thy beauteous face away, Which, like young sorcerers, rais'd a pain Above its power to lay.

Love moves not as thou turn'st thy[60:1] look, 5 But here doth firmly rest: He long ago thine[60:2] eyes forsook To revel in my breast.

Thy power on him why hop'st thou more Than his on me should be? 10 The claim thou lay'st to him is poor To that he owns from me.

His substance in my heart excels, His shadow, in thy sight: Fire where it burns more truly dwells 15 Than where it scatters light.

THE SICK LOVER.

[Guarini.]