SONG

How should I your true love know

From another one?

By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone;

At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

White his shroud as the mountain snow

Larded with sweet flowers;

Which bewept to the grave did go

With true-love showers.

William Shakespeare

DINNA ASK ME

O, dinna ask me gin I lo❜e ye:
Troth, I daurna tell!
Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye,
Ask it o' yoursel'.

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O, dinna look sae sair at me,
For weel ye ken me true;
O, gin ye look sae sair at me,
I daurna look at you.

When ye gang to yon braw braw town,
And bonnier lassies see,

O, dinna, Jamie, look at them,

Lest ye should mind na me.

For I could never bide the lass

That ye'd lo'e mair than me;

And O, I'm sure my heart wad brak,
Gin ye'd prove fause to me!

John Dunlop

SONG

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauties, orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

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
Fixèd become, as in their sphere.

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

Thomas Carew

THE POETRY OF DRESS

A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distractión, -

An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher,-
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly, —
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat,
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility,

Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.

Robert Herrick

WHENAS IN SILKS

Whenas in silks my Julia goes

Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

Robert Herrick

TO ONE IN PARADISE

Thou wast all that to me, love,
For which my soul did pine:
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine

All wreath'd with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!

Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise But to be overcast!

A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on!" but o'er the Past

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast.

For, alas! alas! with me

The light of Life is o'er!

No more no more -no more(Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore) Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar.

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams,

In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

--

Edgar Allan Poe