Is she come? O, how near is she!
How far yet from this friendly place!
How many steps from me!

When shall I her embrace?

ΙΟ

These arms I'll spread, which only at her sight shall

close,

Attending as the starry flower that the sun's noontide

knows.

XVIII

COME, you pretty false-eyed wanton,

Leave your crafty smiling!

Think you to escape me now

With slipp'ry words beguiling!
No; you mocked me th'other day;
When you got loose, you fled away;
But, since I have caught you now,
I'll clip your wings for flying:
Smoth'ring kisses fast I'll heap,
And keep you so from crying.

Sooner may you count the stars,

And number hail down pouring,
Tell the osiers of the Thames,

Or Goodwin sands devouring,
Than the thick-showered kisses here

Which now thy tired lips must bear.
Such a harvest never was,

So rich and full of pleasure,
But 'tis spent as soon as reaped,
So trustless is love's treasure.

10

20

Would it were dumb midnight now,

When all the world lies sleeping!
Would this place some desert were,
Which no man hath in keeping!
My desires should then be safe,

And when you cried then would I laugh :
But if aught might breed offence,

Love only should be blamed :

I would live your servant still,
And you my saint unnamed.

XIX

A SECRET love or two I must confess

I kindly welcome for change in close playing, Yet my dear husband I love ne'ertheless,

His desires, whole or half, quickly allaying,
At all times ready to offer redress :

His own he never wants but hath it duly,
Yet twits me I keep not touch with him truly.

The more a spring is drawn the more it flows,

No lamp less light retains by light'ning others :
Is he a loser his loss that ne'er knows?

Or is he wealthy that waste treasure smothers?
My churl vows no man shall scent his sweet rose :
His own enough and more I give him duly,
Yet still he twits me I keep not touch truly.

ΙΟ

Wise archers bear more than one shaft to field,

The venturer loads not with one ware his shipping; Should warriors learn but one weapon to wield,

Or thrive fair plants e'er the worse for the slipping? One dish cloys, many fresh appetite yield.

Mine own I'll use, and his he shall have duly : 20 Judge then what debtor can keep touch more truly.

XX

HER rosy cheeks, her ever-smiling eyes,

Are spheres and beds where Love in triumph lies :
Her rubine lips, when they their pearl unlock,
Make them seem as they did rise

All out of one smooth coral rock.

O that of other creatures' store I knew

More worthy and more rare!

For these are old, and she so new,

That her to them none should compare.

O could she love! would she but hear a friend !

ΙΟ

Or that she only knew what sighs pretend !
Her looks inflame, yet cold as ice is she.
Do or speak, all's to one end,"

For what she is that will she be.

Yet will I never cease her praise to sing,

Though she gives no regard :

For they that grace a worthless thing
Are only greedy of reward.

XXI

WHERE shall I refuge seek, if thou refuse me?
In you my hope, in you my fortune lies,
In you my life! though you unjust accuse me,
My service scorn, and merit underprize :

O bitter grief! that exile is become

Reward for faith, and pity deaf and dumb!

Why should my firmness find a seat so wav'ring?
My simple vows, my love you entertained;
Without desert the same again disfav'ring;
Yet I my word and passion hold unstained.

O wretched me! that my chief joy should breed
My only grief and kindness pity need!

FINIS

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The Third and Fourth Booke of Ayres: Composed by Thomas Campian. So as they may be expressed by one Voyce, with a Violl, Lute, or Orpharion. London: Printed by Thomas Snodham. Cum Priuilegio. n.d. [circ. 1617]. fol.