Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day:
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past:
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars 'light,
That downwards fall in dead of night:
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west
The Phoenix build her spicy nest:
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

THOMAS CAREW.

A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING

I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen;
O, things without compare!
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,

Be it at wake or fair.

At Charing-Cross, hard by the way,

Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay,

There is a house with stairs;

And there did I see coming down
Such folk as are not in our town,

Forty at least, in pairs.

Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine

(His beard no bigger though than thine) Walked on before the rest :

Our landlord looks like nothing to him:

The King (God bless him) 't would undo him,
Should he go still so drest.

At Course-a-Park, without all doubt,
He should have first been taken out
By all the maids i' th' town:
Though lusty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the Green,

Or Vincent of the Crown.

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But wot you what? the youth was going
To make an end of all his wooing,

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The parson for him stay'd:

Yet by his leave (for all his haste)
He did not so much wish all past

(Perchance), as did the maid.

The maid (and thereby hangs a tale),
For such a maid no Whitsun-ale

Could ever yet produce:

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No grape, that 's kindly ripe, could be

So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.

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Her finger was so small, the ring

Would not stay on, which they did bring,

It was too wide a peck:

And to say truth (for out it must)

It looked like the great collar (just)
About our young colt's neck.

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Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice stole in and out,

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As if they fear'd the light;

But O she dances such a way!

No sun upon an Easter-day
Is half so fine a sight.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,

No daisy makes comparison,

(Who seeks them is undone),

For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Catherine pear

The side that 's next the sun.

Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin

(Some bee had stung it newly);

But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face:

I durst no more upon them gaze
Than on the sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak,

Thou 'dst swear her teeth her words did break

That they might passage get;

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60

But she so handled still the matter,

They came as good as ours, or better,

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And are not spent a whit.

Just in the nick the cook knocked thrice,
And all the waiters in a trice

His summons did obey;

Each serving man, with dish in hand,

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Marched boldly up like our trained band,

Presented and away.

When all the meat was on the table

What man of knife or teeth was able

To stay to be intreated?

And this the very reason was,
Before the parson could say grace,
The company was seated.

The business of the kitchen's great,
For it is fit that man should eat;

Nor was it there denied:

Passion o' me, how I run on!

There's that that would be thought upon
(I trow) besides the bride.

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse;
Healths first go round, and then the house,

The bride's came thick and thick:

And when it was nam'd another's health,
Perhaps he made it hers by stealth;

And who could help it, Dick?

On the sudden up they rise, and dance;
Then sit again, and sigh, and glance:

Then dance again and kiss:

Thus several ways the time did pass
Whilst ev'ry woman wished her place,

And every man wished his.

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95

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

WHY SO PALE AND WAN, FOND LOVER?

WHY SO pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

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Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move:

This cannot take her.

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her:

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