'Till at last this love in jest
Proved in earnest my unrest.

When I saw my fair one first,
In a feigned fire I burn'd;

But true flames my poor heart pierced
When her eyes on mine she turn'd :
So a real wound I took

For my counterfeited look.

None who loves not then make shew,

Love's as ill deceived as fate;

Fly the boy, he'll cog and woo;

[2 st.

Mock him, and he wounds thee straight.

Ah! who dally boast in vain ;

False love wants not real pain.

Edward Sherburne.

GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID.

HEN you the sun-burnt pilgrim see,

Fainting with thirst, haste to the springs ; Mark how, at first with bended knee

He courts the crystal nymphs, and flings

His body to the earth, where he
Prostrate adores the flowing deity.

But when this sweaty face is drench'd
In her cool waves, when from her sweet
Bosom his burning thirst is quench'd;

Then mark how with disdainful feet
He kicks her banks, and from the place,
That thus refresh'd him, moves with sullen pace.

So shalt thou be despised, fair maid,
When by the sated lover tasted;
What first he did with tears invade,

Shall afterwards with scorn be wasted:
When all thy virgin-springs grow dry,

When no streams shall be left, but in thine eye.

Thomas Carew.

TO CASTARA.

IVE me a heart where no impure
Disorder'd passions rage;

Which jealousy doth not obscure,
Nor vanity t' expense engage;
Nor woo'd to madness by quaint oaths,
Or the fine rhetoric of clothes,

Which not the softness of the age

To vice or folly doth decline:

Give me that heart, Castara, for 'tis thine.

Take thou a heart, where no new look

Provokes new appetite:

With no fresh charm of beauty took,
Or wanton stratagem of wit;
Not idly wandering here and there,
Led by an amorous eye or ear;

Aiming each beauteous mark to hit;

Which virtue doth to one confine:

Take thou that heart, Castara, for 'tis mine. [1 st.

William Habington.

CONSTANCY.

HO is the honest man?

He that doth still and strongly good pursue,
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true:
Whom neither force nor fawning can
Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due.
Whose honesty is not

So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind
Can blow away, or glittering look it blind :
Who rides his sure and even trot,

While the world now rides by, now lags behind.
Who, when great trials come,

Nor seeks, nor shuns them; but doth calmly stay,
Till he the thing and the example weigh:

All being brought into a sum,

What place or person calls for, he doth pay.
Whom none can work or woo,

To use in any thing a trick or sleight;

For above all things he abhors deceit :

His words and works and fashion too
All of a piece, and all are clear and straight.
Who never melts or thaws

At close temptations: when the day is done,
His goodness sets not, but in dark can run:
The sun to others writeth laws,

And is their virtue; virtue is his sun.

Who, when he is to treat

With sick folks, women, those whom passions sway,
Allows for that, and keeps his constant way:
Whom others' faults do not defeat;

But though men fail him, yet his part doth play.

Whom nothing can procure,
When the wild world runs bias, from his will
To writhe his limbs, and share, not mend the ill.
This is the marksman, safe and sure,

Who still is right, and prays to be so still.

George Herbert.

觀

LOVING AND BELOVED.

HERE never yet was honest man

That ever drove the trade of love;

It is impossible, nor can

Integrity our ends promove:

For kings and lovers are alike in this,

That their chief art in reign dissembling is.
Here we are loved, and there we love,
Good nature now and passion strive
Which of the two should be above,
And laws unto the other give.

So we false fire with art sometimes discover,
And the true fire with the same art do cover.
What rack can fancy find so high?
Here we must court, and here engage,
Though in the other place we die.

Oh! 'tis torture all, and cozenage;

And which the harder is I cannot tell,

To hide true love, or make false love look well.

Since it is thus, God of desire,

Give me my honesty again,

And take thy brands back, and thy fire:
I am weary of the state I am in.

Since (if the very best should not befall)
Love's triumph must be Honour's funeral.

Sir John Suckling.

TO THE KING.

IVE way, give way; now, now my Charles shines
here,

A public light, in this immensive sphere;
Some stars were fix'd before, but these are dim,
Compared, in this my ample orb, to him.
Draw in your feeble fires, while that he
Appears but in his meaner majesty ;

Where, if such glory flashes from his name,
Which is his shade, who can abide his flame!
Princes, and such-like public lights as these,
Must not be look'd on but at distances;

For, if we gaze on these brave lamps too near,
Our eyes they'll blind, or if not blind, they 'll bleer.
Robert Herrick.

TO THE QUEEN.

[ 10 ll.

N whom th' extremes of power and beauty move,
The Queen of Britain and the Queen of Love.
As the bright sun (to which we owe no sight

Of equal glory to your beauty's light)

Is wisely placed in so sublime a seat,
T'extend his light, and moderate his heat:
So happy 'tis you move in such a sphere
As your high majesty with awful fear
In human breasts might qualify that fire,
Which, kindled by those eyes, had flamed higher
Than when the scorched world like hazard run,
By the approach of the ill-guided sun.

No other nymphs have title to men's hearts,
But as their meanness larger hope imparts:

C