Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 52

His servants he with new acquist Of true experience from this great event With peace and consolation hath dismist, And calm of mind all pa.s.sion spent.

Sir John Suckling. 1609-1642

325. A Doubt of Martyrdom

O FOR some honest lover's ghost, Some kind unbodied post Sent from the shades below!

I strangely long to know Whether the n.o.ble chaplets wear Those that their mistress' scorn did bear Or those that were used kindly.

For whatsoe'er they tell us here To make those sufferings dear, 'Twill there, I fear, be found That to the being crown'd T' have loved alone will not suffice, Unless we also have been wise And have our loves enjoy'd.

What posture can we think him in That, here unloved, again Departs, and 's thither gone Where each sits by his own?

Or how can that Elysium be Where I my mistress still must see Circled in other's arms?

For there the judges all are just, And Sophonisba must Be his whom she held dear, Not his who loved her here.

The sweet Philoclea, since she died, Lies by her Pirocles his side, Not by Amphialus.

Some bays, perchance, or myrtle bough For difference crowns the brow Of those kind souls that were The n.o.ble martyrs here: And if that be the only odds (As who can tell?), ye kinder G.o.ds, Give me the woman here!

Sir John Suckling. 1609-1642

326. The Constant Lover

OUT upon it, I have loved Three whole days together!

And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover.

But the spite on 't is, no praise Is due at all to me: Love with me had made no stays, Had it any been but she.

Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place.

Sir John Suckling. 1609-1642

327. Why so Pale and Wan?

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do 't?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit for shame! This will not move; This cannot take her.

If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her!

Sir John Suckling. 1609-1642

328. When, Dearest, I but think of Thee

WHEN, dearest, I but think of thee, Methinks all things that lovely be Are present, and my soul delighted: For beauties that from worth arise Are like the grace of deities, Still present with us, tho' unsighted.

Thus while I sit and sigh the day With all his borrow'd lights away, Till night's black wings do overtake me, Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, As sudden lights do sleepy men, So they by their bright rays awake me.

Thus absence dies, and dying proves No absence can subsist with loves That do partake of fair perfection: Since in the darkest night they may By love's quick motion find a way To see each other by reflection.

The waving sea can with each flood Bathe some high promont that hath stood Far from the main up in the river: O think not then but love can do As much! for that 's an ocean too, Which flows not every day, but ever!

Sir Richard Fanshawe. 1608-1666

329. A Rose

BLOWN in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon.

What boots a life which in such haste forsakes thee?

Thou'rt wondrous frolic, being to die so soon, And pa.s.sing proud a little colour makes thee.

If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives, Know then the thing that swells thee is thy bane; For the same beauty doth, in b.l.o.o.d.y leaves, The sentence of thy early death contain.

Some clown's coa.r.s.e lungs will poison thy sweet flower, If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn; And many Herods lie in wait each hour To murder thee as soon as thou art born-- Nay, force thy bud to blow--their tyrant breath Antic.i.p.ating life, to hasten death!

William Cartwright. 1611-1643

330. To Chloe Who for his sake wished herself younger

THERE are two births; the one when light First strikes the new awaken'd sense; The other when two souls unite, And we must count our life from thence: When you loved me and I loved you Then both of us were born anew.

Love then to us new souls did give And in those souls did plant new powers; Since when another life we live, The breath we breathe is his, not ours: Love makes those young whom age doth chill, And whom he finds young keeps young still.

William Cartwright. 1611-1643

331. Falsehood

STILL do the stars impart their light To those that travel in the night; Still time runs on, nor doth the hand Or shadow on the dial stand; The streams still glide and constant are: Only thy mind Untrue I find, Which carelessly Neglects to be Like stream or shadow, hand or star.

Fool that I am! I do recall My words, and swear thou'rt like them all, Thou seem'st like stars to nourish fire, But O how cold is thy desire!

And like the hand upon the bra.s.s Thou point'st at me In mockery; If I come nigh Shade-like thou'lt fly, And as the stream with murmur pa.s.s.

William Cartwright. 1611-1643

332. On the Queen's Return from the Low Countries