Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 32

177. A Nosegay

SAY, crimson Rose and dainty Daffodil, With Violet blue; Since you have seen the beauty of my saint, And eke her view; Did not her sight (fair sight!) you lonely fill, With sweet delight Of G.o.ddess' grace and angels' sacred teint In fine, most bright?

Say, golden Primrose, sanguine Cowslip fair, With Pink most fine; Since you beheld the visage of my dear, And eyes divine; Did not her globy front, and glistering hair, With cheeks most sweet, So gloriously like damask flowers appear, The G.o.ds to greet?

Say, snow-white Lily, speckled Gillyflower, With Daisy gay; Since you have viewed the Queen of my desire, In her array; Did not her ivory paps, fair Venus' bower, With heavenly glee, A Juno's grace, conjure you to require Her face to see?

Say Rose, say Daffodil, and Violet blue, With Primrose fair, Since ye have seen my nymph's sweet dainty face And gesture rare, Did not (bright Cowslip, blooming Pink) her view (White Lily) s.h.i.+ne-- (Ah, Gillyflower, ah Daisy!) with a grace Like stars divine?

teint] tint, hue.

Sir Henry Wotton. 1568-1639

178. Elizabeth of Bohemia

YOU meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light, You common people of the skies; What are you when the moon shall rise?

You curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, Thinking your pa.s.sions understood By your weak accents; what 's your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise?

You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own; What are you when the rose is blown?

So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th' eclipse and glory of her kind.

Sir Henry Wotton. 1568-1639

179. The Character of a Happy Life

HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose pa.s.sions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise, Nor vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumours freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who G.o.d doth late and early pray More of His grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend;

--This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall: Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all.

Sir Henry Wotton. 1568-1639

180. Upon the Death of Sir Albert Morton's Wife

HE first deceased; she for a little tried To live without him, liked it not, and died.

Sir John Davies. 1569-1626

181. Man

I KNOW my soul hath power to know all things, Yet she is blind and ignorant in all: I know I'm one of Nature's little kings, Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.

I know my life 's a pain and but a span; I know my sense is mock'd in everything; And, to conclude, I know myself a Man-- Which is a proud and yet a wretched thing.

Sir Robert Ayton. 1570-1638

182. To His Forsaken Mistress

I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee, Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could move, had power to move thee; But I can let thee now alone As worthy to be loved by none.

I do confess thou'rt sweet; yet find Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Thy favours are but like the wind That kisseth everything it meets: And since thou canst with more than one, Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.

The morning rose that untouch'd stands Arm'd with her briers, how sweet she smells!

But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, Her sweets no longer with her dwells: But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one.

Such fate ere long will thee betide When thou hast handled been awhile, With sere flowers to be thrown aside; And I shall sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love to every one Hath brought thee to be loved by none.

Sir Robert Ayton. 1570-1638

183. To an Inconstant One

I LOVED thee once; I'll love no more-- Thine be the grief as is the blame; Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same?

He that can love unloved again, Hath better store of love than brain: G.o.d send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away!

Nothing could have my love o'erthrown If thou hadst still continued mine; Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own, I might perchance have yet been thine.

But thou thy freedom didst recall That it thou might elsewhere enthral: And then how could I but disdain A captive's captive to remain?

When new desires had conquer'd thee And changed the object of thy will, It had been lethargy in me, Not constancy, to love thee still.

Yea, it had been a sin to go And prost.i.tute affection so: Since we are taught no prayers to say To such as must to others pray.

Yet do thou glory in thy choice-- Thy choice of his good fortune boast; I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice To see him gain what I have lost: The height of my disdain shall be To laugh at him, to blush for thee; To love thee still, but go no more A-begging at a beggar's door.

Ben Jonson. 1573-1637

184. Hymn to Diana

QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, G.o.ddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's s.h.i.+ning orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, G.o.ddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-s.h.i.+ning quiver; Give unto the flying hart s.p.a.ce to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st a day of night-- G.o.ddess excellently bright.