CCVII TO CENONE WHAT Conscience, say, is it in thee To take away that heart from me, For shame or pity now incline Covet not both; but if thou dost Herrick. CCVIII THE BARGAIN My true love hath my heart, and I have his, My true love hath my heart, and I have his. THE MESSAGE His heart in me keeps him and me in one, 185 My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true love hath my heart, and I have his. Sir P. Sidney. CCIX THE MESSAGE SEND home my long-stray'd eyes to me, And false passions, That they be Made by thee Fit for no good sight, keep them still. Send home my harmless heart again, To make jestings Of protestings, And break both Word and oath, Keep it still, 'tis none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, That I may know and see thy lies, And may laugh and joy when thou And dost languish For some one That will none, Or prove as false as thou dost now. J. Donne. CCX THE EXCUSE CALLING to mind, my eyes went long about As who had been such traitors to my rest: What could they say to win again my grace?— Another time, my heart I call'd to mind, Thinking that he this woe on me had brought, For he my breast the fort of love, resign'd,1 When of such wars my fancy never thought: What could he say when I would have him slain? That he was hers, and had forgone my chain. At last, when I perceived both eyes and heart Excuse themselves as guiltless of my ill, I found myself the cause of all my smart, And told myself that I myself would kill : Yet when I saw myself to you was true, I loved myself, because myself loved you. Sir W. Raleigh. 1 v.l. 'Because that he to love his force resign'd.' AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND 187 CCXI AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND As ye came from the holy land Of Walsinghame, Met you not with my true love How should I know your true love, As I came from the holy land, That have come, that have gone? She is neither white nor brown, There is none hath her form divine Such a one did I meet, good sir, Such an angelic face, Who like a nymph, like a queen, did appear In her gait, in her grace. She hath left me here alone All alone, as unknown, Who sometime did me lead with herself, And me loved as her own. What's the cause that she leaves you alone And a new way doth take, That sometime did love you as her own, I have loved her all my youth, Know that Love is a careless child, His desire is a dureless content, He is won with a world of despair, Of womenkind such indeed is the love, Or the word love abused, Under which many childish desires And conceits are excused. But true love is a durable fire, In the mind ever burning, Never sick, never old, never dead, From itself never turning. Sir W. Raleigh (?). |