THE UNWILLING ONE And had she pity to conjoin with those, Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, 169 My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind. S. Daniel. CLXXXVIII THOU art not fair, for all thy red and white, Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine: Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, I'll not be wrapp'd up in those arms of thine : Now show it, if thou by a woman right,— Embrace and kiss and love me in despite. T. Campion. CLXXXIX THE UNWILLING ONE АH! were she pitiful as she is fair, Ah! were her heart relenting as her hand, So as she shows she seems the budding rose, Yet were she willing to be pluck'd and worn, R. Greene. CXC FIRE that must flame is with apt fuel fed; Fair! I confess there's pleasure in your sight: Churl that you are, t' enjoy such wealth alone! Prayers move the heavens but find no grace with you; As well as in your looks, Heaven in your mind. THE LOVER CURSETH FIRST LOVE 171 Saint of my heart, Queen of my life and love, CXCI THE LOVER CURSETH THE TIME WHEN FIRST HE FELL IN LOVE WHEN first mine eyes did view and mark And when mine ears 'gan first to hark The pleasant words that thou me told; I would as then I had been free And when my hands did handle oft, And when in mind I did consent To follow thus my fancy's will, To taste such bait myself to spill, Then should not I such cause have found Then should one will in both remain, To ground one heart which now is twain. W. Hunnis (?). CXCII O CRUDELIS AMOR O GENTLE Love, ungentle for thy deed, Thou mak'st my heart A bloody mark With piercing shot to bleed. Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss; For fear too keen Thy arrows been, And hit the heart where my Beloved is. Too fair that fortune were, nor never I Shall be so blest, Among the rest, That Love shall seize on her by sympathy. Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot, This doth remain To cease my pain, I take the wound and die at Venus' foot. Geo. Peele. A LOVER'S DIRGE 173 СХСІЇІ VOBISCUM EST OPE, VOBISCUM CANDIDA TYRO WHEN thou must home to shades of underground, The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, CXCIV A LOVER'S DIRGE COME away, come away, death, And in sad cypres1 let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, My part of death, no one so true 1 Cypres, crape. Cf. Autolycus' song and Milton's 'Lawn as white as driven snow, 'Sable stole of cypres-lawn.'-Il Penseroso. |