POEM.a By Thomas Campion. * THOU shalt not love me; neither shall those eyes Than have my life by thy coy touch reviv'd! Slay me outright; no lovers are long-liv'd! As for those lips reserv'd so much in store, Their rosy verdure shall not meet with mine; Withhold thy proud embracements evermore; I'll not be swaddled in those arms of thine! Now shew it, if thou be a woman right; Embrace and kiss; and love me in despite. * Harl. MSS. 6910, f. 150. This MS. appears to have the date of 1596. Thomas Campion was author of "The Art of English Poesie, London, 1602." 12mo. "Relation of the Entertainment made by the the Lord Knowles for Queen Anne at Cawsame House, London, 1613.” 4to. "Masque at Whitehall, London, 1613." 4to. "Masque at the Marriage of the Earl of Somerset and Lady Frances Howard, London, 1614." 4to. &c. �� ANOTHER. By the same. THRICE toss those oaken askes in the air; And thrice three times tie up this true-love's-knot; Thice sit you down in this enchanted chair; And murmur soft, "she will, or she will not." Go, burn those poison'd weeds in that blue fire; This cypress gather'd out a dead man's grave; These screech-owls feathers, and the prickly brier, That all thy thorny cares an end may have! Then come, you Fairies, dance with me around; Dance in a circle; let my love be centre; Melodiously breathe an enchanted sound; Melt her hard heart, that some remorse may enter! In vain are all the charms I can devise; She hath an heart to break them with her eyes. BEAUTY WITHOUT LOVE, DEFORMITY. By the same. THOU art not fair, for all thy red and white, For all those rosy temperatures in thee; Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight; Thine eyes are black, and yet their glittering brightness Thy hands and bloody thoughts contriv'd of whiteness, I will not soothe thy follies: thou shalt prove ANONYMOUS.a LIKE Hermit poor, in pensive place obscure, I mean to spend my days of endless doubt; To wail such woes as time cannot recure, Where nought but Love shall ever find me out. My food shall be of care and sorrow made, My drink nought else but tears fall'n from mine eyes; And for my light in such obscured shade, The flames may serve that from my heart arise. Harl. MSS. 6910. A gown of grief my body shall attire, And broken Hope shall be my strength and stay; And late Repentance, link'd with long Desire, Shall be the couch whereon my limbs I'll lay. MENAPHON'S SONG. From "Robert Greene's Arcadia." * SOME say love, Foolish love, Doth rue and govern all the gods; I say love, Inconstant love, Sets mens' senses far at odds. Some swear love, Smooth'd face love, Is sweetest sweet that men can have: I say love, Sour love, Makes Virtue yield as Beauty's slave. A bitter sweet, a folly worst of all, That forceth Wisdom to be Folly's thrall. * Edition 1616. Love is sweet, Wherein sweet, In fading pleasure that do fain: Beauty sweet, Is that sweet, That yields sorrow for a gain: If Love's sweet, Herein sweet, That minute's joys are monthly woes; "Tis not sweet, That is sweet, No where but where repentance grows; Labour for me, Love rest in prince's bower! SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD. From the same. WEEP not my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee! Father's sorrow, father's joy, Such a boy by him and me, |