And when with envy time transported, Anon. 30 LXIV A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW. Stand still, and I will read to thee Along with us, which we ourselves produced : 5 We do those shadows tread, And to brave clearness all things are reduced. Disguises did and shadows flow From us and from our cares; but now it is not so. ΙΟ That love hath not attained the high'st degree, Except our loves at this noon stay, We shall new shadows make the other way. 15 Others, these which come behind Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes, To me thou falsely thine, 20 And I to thee mine actions shall disguise. But these grow longer all the day; John Donne. 25 LXV SONG. Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more, whither do stray Ask me no more, where those stars light, Ask me no more, if east or west, 5 ΙΟ 15 20 Thomas Carew. LXVI THE PRIMROSE. Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year? Ask me why I send to you This primrose, thus bepearled with dew? The sweets of love are mixt with tears. 5 Ask me why this flower does show What fainting hopes are in a lover. Robert Herrick. ΙΟ LXVII TRUE LOVELINESS. It is not beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Tell me not of your starry eyes, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, 5 A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, These are but gauds: nay, what are lips? Whose brink when your adventurer slips, 15 Full oft he perisheth on them. And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft Eyes can with baleful ardour burn; There's many a white hand holds an urn 20 For crystal brows there's nought within, 25 Give me, instead of beauty's bust, 30 One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes, 35 That hides his murmurs in the rose, My earthly comforter! whose love 40 Anon. That, when my spirit wonned above, LXVIII THE ROSE'S MESSAGE. Go, lovely Rose! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. 5 Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, In deserts where no men abide, Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Suffer herself to be desired, ΙΟ And not blush so to be admired. 15 Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare How small a part of time they share, LXIX 20 Edmund Waller. THE ROSE'S PRIDE. Thou blushing rose, within whose virgin leaves Blown in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon; 5 Sir Richard Fanshawe. LXX TO CASTARA. THE REWARD OF INNOCENT LOVE. We saw and wooed each other's eyes, By which our marriage grew divine. Let wilder youth, whose soul is sense, Time's ever ours, while we despise 5 IO For though the suns do set and rise, |