Well does this prove

The error of those antique books

Which made you move

About the world: her charming looks Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, Did not the rolling earth snatch her away.

JAMES SHIRLEY, The Witty Fair
One, 1633; acted 1628.

LOVE'S HUE AND CRY.

IN Love's name you are charged hereby
To make a speedy hue and cry
After a face, who t' other day,

Came and stole my heart away.

For your directions in brief

These are best marks to know the thief :

Her hair a net of beams would prove

Strong enough to captive Jove
Playing the eagle; her clear brow

Is a comely field of snow;

A sparkling eye, so pure a gray

As when it shines it needs no day;

Ivory dwelleth on her nose;

Lilies, married to the rose,

Have made her cheek the nuptial bed;
[Her] lips betray their virgin's weed,
As they only blushed for this,
That they one another kiss.
But observe, beside the rest,
You shall know this felon best

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By her tongue; for if your ear
Shall once a heavenly music hear,
Such as neither gods nor men

But from that voice shall hear again,
That, that is she, O take her t'ye,

None can rock heaven asleep but she.

JOHN FORD, The Lover's Melan-
choly, 1629; acted 1628.

FLY HENCE, SHADOWS.

FLY hence, shadows, that do keep
Watchful sorrows charmed in sleep.
Though the eyes be overtaken,
Yet the heart doth ever waken
Thoughts, chained up in busy snares
Of continual woes and cares :
Love and griefs are so exprest
As they rather sigh than rest.
Fly hence, shadows, that do keep
Watchful sorrows charmed in sleep.

JOHN FORD, The Broken Heart,
1633; acted about 1629.

A BRIDAL SONG.

COMFORTS lasting, loves increasing,
Like soft hours never ceasing;
Plenty's pleasure, peace complying,
Without jars, or tongues envying;
Hearts by holy union wedded,
More than theirs by custom bedded;

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Fruitful issues; life so graced,
Not by age to be defaced;
Budding as the year ensu'th,

Every spring another youth:
All what thought can add beside,

Crown this bridegroom and this bride.

SONG.

O, No more, no more, too late

Sighs are spent; the burning tapers Of a life as chaste as Fate,

Pure as are unwritten papers, Are burnt out; no heat, no light Now remains; 't is ever night.

Love is dead; let lovers' eyes,
Locked in endless dreams,
Th' extremes of all extremes,
Ope no more, for now Love dies.

Now Love dies - implying

Love's martyrs must be ever, ever dying.

DIRGE.

GLORIES, pleasures, pomps, delights, and ease
Can but please

Outward senses, when the mind
Is untroubled or by peace refined.

Crowns may flourish and decay,
Beauties shine, but fade away.
Youth may revel, yet it must
Lie down in a bed of dust.
Earthly honors flow and waste,
Time alone doth change and last.

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Sorrows mingled with contents prepare
Rest for care;

Love only reigns in death; though art
Can find no comfort for a broken heart.

THOMAS GOFFE, The Careless Shepherdess, 1656; written before 1629.

SYLVIA'S BOWER.

COME, shepherds, come, impale your brows
With garlands of the choicest flowers
The time allows;

Come, nymphs, decked in your dangling hair,

And unto Sylvia's shady bower

With haste repair;

Where you shall see chaste turtles play,

And nightingales make lasting May,

As if old Time his useful mind
To one delighted season had confined.

ROBERT HERRICK, Hesperides, 1648; written before 1629.

TO DIANEME.

SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes,
Which, star-like, sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud that you can see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free;

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Be you not proud of that rich hair,
Which wantons with the love-sick air;
Whenas that ruby which you wear,
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,
Will last to be a precious stone,

When all your world of beauty's gone.

CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING.

GET up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn.
See how Aurora throws her fair
Fresh-quilted colors through the air!
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herb and tree.

Each flower has wept, and bowed toward the east,
Above an hour since; yet you not drest,
Nay! not so much as out of bed?

When all the birds have matins said,
And sung their thankful hymns; 't is sin,
Nay, profanation to keep in,

Whenas a thousand virgins on this day
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.

Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen

To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green
And sweet as Flora. Take no care
For jewels for your gown or hair;
Fear not, the leaves will strew

Gems in abundance upon you;

Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,

Against you come, some orient pearls unwept;
Come, and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night,

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