LOVE.

BEN JONSON.

Though I am young and cannot tell
Either what Death, or Love, is well,
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at human hearts:
And then again, I have been told,

Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold;
So that I fear they do but bring
Extremes to touch and mean one thing,

As in a ruin we it call

One thing to be blown up, or fall;
Or to our end, like way may have,
By flash of lightning, or a wave;
So Love's inflamed shaft or brand
May kill as soon as Death's cold hand,
Except Love's fires the virtue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.

[Sung by Karolin in the Sad Shepherd.]

THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS.

BEN JONSON.

See the chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my Lady rideth!

Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.

As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;

And enamour'd, do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side,

Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth!
Do but look on her hair it is bright

As Love's star when it riseth!

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

Than words that sooth her :

And from her arched brows, such a grace

Sheds itself thro' her face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Before rude hands have touch'd it?

Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?

Have you

felt the wool of the bever?

Or swan's down ever?

Or have smelt o' the bud of the briar ?

Or the nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?

O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

BEGGING ANOTHER KISS.

BEN JONSON.

For love's sake, kiss me once again,
I long, and should not beg in vain,
Here's none to spy, or see;
Why do you doubt or stay?

I'll taste as lightly as the bee,

That doth but touch his flower and flies away.

Once more, and, faith, I will be gone,

Can he that loves ask less than one?

Nay, you may err in this,

And all your bounty wrong:

This could be called but half a kiss ;
What we're but once to do, we should do long.

I will but mend the last, and tell
Where, how, it would have relished well;

Join lip to lip, and try,

Each suck the others breath,

And whilst our tongues perplexed lie,
Let who will think us dead, or wish our death

[From the Celebration of Charis.]

GO, TELL AMYNTA.

JOHN DRYDEN.

Go, tell Amynta, gentle swain,
would not die, nor dare complain;
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join,
Thy voice will more prevail than mine;
For souls oppress'd, and dumb with grief,
The Gods ordain'd this kind relief,
That music should in sounds convey
What dying lovers dare not say.

A sigh, or tear, perhaps, she'll give,

But love on pity cannot live.

Tell her, that hearts for hearts were made,

And love with love is only paid.
Tell her, my pains so fast encrease,
That soon they will be past redress;
For ah! the wretch that speechless lies,
Attends but death to close his eyes.

ADDRESS TO BRITAIN.

JOHN DRYDEN.

Fairest isle, all isles excelling,

Seat of pleasure and of love, Venus here will choose her dwelling, And forsake her Cyprian grove.

Cupid, from his fav'rite nation,
Care and envy will remove,
Jealousy that poisons passion,
And despair that dies for love.

Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining,
Sighs that blow the fire of love,
Soft repulses, kind disdaining,
Shall be all the pains you prove.

Every swain shall pay his duty,
Grateful every nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in beauty,

Those shall be renowned for love.

LOVE IN WORD AND ACTION.

APHRA BEHN.

'Tis not your saying that you love,
Can ease me of my smart :
Your actions must your words approve
Or else you break my heart.

In vain you bid my passion cease,

And ease my troubled breast,
Your love alone must give me peace,
Restore my wonted rest.

But if I fail your heart to move,
And 'tis not yours to give,

I cannot, will not cease to love,
But I will cease to live.