XXI

SAMELA.

Like to Diana in her summer weed,

Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,

Goes fair Samela;

Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,
When washed by Arethusa faint they lie,

Is fair Samela ;

As fair Aurora in her morning grey,
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love,
Is fair Samela;

Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day,

Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,

Shines fair Samela;

Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory

Of fair Samela;

Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams,
Her brows' bright arches framed of ebony;

Thus fair Samela

Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,

And Juno in the show of majesty,

For she's Samela:

Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view,
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity

Rose-cheeked Laura, come!

Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's

Silent music, either other

Sweetly gracing.

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Lovely forms do flow

From concent divinely framed,

Heaven is music, and thy beauty's

Birth is heavenly.

These dull notes we sing

Discords need for helps to grace them;

Only beauty purely loving

Knows no discord;

But still moves delight,

Like clear springs renewed by flowing,

Ever perfect, ever in them

selves eternal.

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Thomas Campion.

XXIII

TRIUMPH OF CHARIS.

See the chariot at hand here of Love,

Wherein my lady rideth!

Each that draws is a swan or a dove,

And well the car Love guideth.

As she goes, all hearts do duty

Unto her beauty,

And enamoured do wish, so they might

But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side,

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Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. 10

Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth!
Do but look on her hair, it is bright
As Love's star when it riseth!
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

Than words that soothe her!

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And from her arched brows, such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Before rude hands have touched it?

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Have you marked but the fall o' the snow,
Before the soil hath smutched it?

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Have you felt the wool of the beaver?

Or swan's down ever?

Or have smelt o' the bud of the briar?

Or the nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag o' the bee?

O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

XXIV

30

Ben Jonson.

A BRIDAL SONG

Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;

Maiden-pinks, of odour faint;

Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;

Primrose, first-born child of Ver,

Merry spring-time's harbinger,
With her bells dim;

Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Lark-heels trim;

All, dear Nature's children sweet,

Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense!

Not an angel of the air,

Bird melodious, or bird fair,

Be absent hence!

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,
Nor chattering pie,

May on our bride-house perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,

But from it fly!

XXV

Beaumont and Fletcher.

SONNET.

You that do search for every purling spring,
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your posy wring;
You that do dictionaries' method bring

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Into your rhymes, running in rattling rows;

You that poor Petrarch's long deceased woes

With new-born sighs and wit disguisèd sing;

You take wrong ways: those far-fetched helps be such
As do bewray a want of inward touch:

And sure at length stoln goods do come to light.
But if (both for your love and skill) your name
You seek to nurse at fullest breasts of fame,

Stella behold, and then begin to' endite.

Sir Philip Sidney.

IO

XXVI

SONNET.

Come Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
The indifferent Judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof shield me from out the prease
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw.
Oh! make in me those civil wars to cease;
I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed,
A chamber deaf to noise, and blind of light,
A rosy garland, and a weary head:
And if these things, as being thine by right,
Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me
Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see.

Sir Philip Sidney.

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XXVII

SONNET.

To yield to those I cannot but disdain,

Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts;
It is the beauty of the better parts,

With which I mind my fancies for to chain.

Those that have nought wherewith men's minds to gain, 5
But only curled locks and wanton looks,

Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks,
Which may well take, but cannot well retain.
He that began to yield to the outward grace,
And then the treasures of the mind doth prove,
He who as 'twere was with the mask in love,
What doth he think whenas he sees the face?
No doubt being limed by the outward colours so,
That inward worth would never let him go.

Earl of Stirling.

IO