GIFT OF THOMAS RUTHERFORD BACON ME; LIBRARY LYRA ELEGANTIARUM A COLLECTION OF SOME OF THE BEST SPECIMENS VERS DE SOCIETY AND VERS D'OCCASION IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE BY DECEASED AUTHORS EDITED BY FREDERICK LOCKER *^Jay settlement faict icy un atnas de jleurs, N^y ay ant fourny du mien que le Jilet a les Her" MICHEL DE MONTAIGN, NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES & BROTHER MDCCCLXXXIX DEDICATION. TO THE VERY REVEREND THE DEAN OF ST. PAUL'S. DEAR MR. DEAN: You have given me great pleasure in allowing me tw dedicate this little work to yourself. I hesitated to ask the favor, because the book might seem to be of too trifling a character, to be connected with so venerable a name ; but then I remembered your universal appreciation of every branch of our literature, and also the kindly interest which you took in the scheme when I first mentioned it to you. I trust that the principle of my selection will meet your approval. I feel sure you will make allowance for many shortcomings, and will charitably believe that the Editor tried to do his best. I am, Dear Mr. Dean, Yours very faithfully, FREDERICK LOCKER. 284780 "THESE pieces commonly go under the title of poetical amusements; but these amusements have sometimes gained as much reputation to their authors, as works of a more serious nature. " It is surprising how much the mind is entertained and enlivened by these little poetical compositions, as they turn upon subjects of gallantry, satire, tenderness, politeness, and everything, in short, that concerns life, and the affairs of the world." PLINY TO Tuscus. PREFACE So many collections of favorite poetical pieces have appeared of late years, appealing to nearly every variety of taste, that some apology may seem due to the public for adding another volume to the number already in existence. But although there have been sentimental, hu- morous, lyrical, descriptive, and devotional col- lections, there is another kind of poetry which was more in vogue in the reign of Queen Anne, and indeed in Ante-Reform-Bill times, than it is at the present day ; a species of poetry which, in its more restricted form, bears somewhat the same relation to the poetry of lofty imagination and deep feeling, that the Dresden China Shepherds and Shepherd- esses of the last century do to the sculpture of Donatello and Michael Angelo ; namely, smoothly written vers de soctiti, where a boudoir decorum is, or ought always to be, preserved ; where senti- ment never surges into passion, and where humor never overflows into boisterous merriment. The Editor is not aware that a collection of this peculiar species of exquisitely rounded and polished verse, vi PREFA C. which, for want of a better title, he has called Lyra Elegantiarum, has ever yet been offered to the public. Hitherto this kind of poetry has remained diffi- cult of access to the majority of ordinary readers, because its most finished specimens have often lain scattered among masses of verse, more ambitious in aim, but frequently far less worthy of preserva- tion. It seems only reasonable, then, that those people who delight in this lighter kind of verse should be enabled to study their favorite pieces in a single volume. In commencing his task the Editor's first endea- vor was to frame a correct definition of vtrs de societe and vers d' occasion ^\\\\ sufficient clearness to guide him in making his selection, and he has been desirous of giving them their broaaest signification. His second endeavor was to choose those pieces which most completely reached this ideal standard. But it will be easily understood that no exact line of demarcation can in all cases be maintained, and that such verse frequently approximates closely to other kindred species of poetry, such as the song, the parody, the epigram, and even the riddle. Lest any reader who may not be familiar with this description of poetry should be misled by the adoption of the French title, which the absence of any precise English equivalent renders necessary, it may be as well to observe, that vers de societe need by no means be confined to topics of artificial PREFA CE. vii life. Subjects of the most exalted, and of the most trivial character, may be treated with equal success, provided the manner of their treatment is in accordance with the following characteristics, which the Editor ventures to submit as expressive of his own ideas on this subject. In his judgment ' genuine vers de soriete and vers d 1 occasion should be short, elegant, refined, and fanciful, not seldom distinguished by chastened sentiment, and often playful. The tone should not be pitched high ; it should be idiomatic, and rather in the conversa- tional key ; the rhythm should be crisp and spark- ling, and the rhyme frequent and never forced, while the entire poem should be marked by taste- ful moderation, high finish, and completeness ; for, however trival the subject-matter may be, indeed rather in proportion to its triviality, subordination to the rules of composition and perfection of ex- ecution should be strictly enforced. The defini- tion may be further illustrated by a few examples of pieces which, from the absence of some of the foregoing qualities, or from the excess of others, cannot be properly classed as vers de soci'cte, though they may bear a certain generic resemblance to that species of poetry. The ballad of "John Gilpin," for instance is too broadly and simply humorous ; Swift's " Lines on the Death of Marl- borough," and Byron's "Windsor Poetics," are too savage and truculent ; Cowper's " My Mary " is far too pathetic ; Herrick's lyrics to " Blossoms " viii PREFACE. and " Daffodils " are too elevated ; " Sally in our Alley " is too homely, and too entirely simple and natural ; while the " Rape of the Lock," which would otherwise be one of the finest specimens of vers de socicte in any language, must be excluded on account of its length, which renders it much too important. Every piece which has been selected for this volume cannot be expected to exhibit all the char- acteristics above enumerated, but the two quali- ties of brevity and buoyancy are absolutely essen- tial. The poem may be tinctured with a well-bred philosophy, it may be gay and gallant, it may be playfully malicious or tenderly ironical, it may dis- play lively banter, and it may be sarcastically face- tious ; it may even, considering it merely as a work of art, be pagan in its philosophy, or trifling in its tone, but it must never be ponderous or common- place. Having thus fixed upon a definition, the Editor proceeded to put it to a practical use, by submit- ting it as a touchstone to the various pieces which came under his notice. In the first place it is scarcely necessary to say that all poetry of a strictly religious character, on account of the singleness and earnestness of its tone, is inadmissible in a collection where jest and earnest are inextricably intermingled. All pieces of quasi fashionable jingle have been excluded, because they are usually pre- tentious and vulgar. Some of our best writers of PREFACE. i x vers de socitteaxz not merely tinged with coarseness, they seem to revel in it, and often show much ra- ciness in their revelry, but they are hardly ever vulgar. Vulgarity appears to be a rock on which so many would-be writers of this species of verse have suffered, and will continue to suffer, ship- wreck. Fables, prologues, rhymed anecdotes, and pieces of purely ephemeral interest, such as satirical or po- litical squibs, have been generally avoided, as well as those specimens which expand into real song or crystallize into mere epigram, though in these cases, as already observed, the border line is often extremely difficult of definition. Riddles, para- doxes, and punning couplets are for the most part omitted ; not as some readers may suppose, be- cause they are contemptible, for nothing is con- temptible that is really good of its kind ; but be- cause they do not, strictly speaking, come within the scope of this work. The few which are insert- ed possesses a breadth of feeling, or a delicacy of treatment, which elevate them beyond the range of mere epigram, riddle, and parody. Some epitaphs have been admitted, their epi- grammatic character rendering them more elegant and ingenious than solemn or affecting; and a few pieces of gracefully turned nonsense will be found towards the end of the volume, of which "The Broken Dish " may be cited as a fair specimen. Mr. Hood was very happy in this kind of compo- x PREFACE. sition, where a conceit is built up on some pointed absurdity. The chief merit of vers de soctite is, that it should seem to be entirely spontaneous ; when the reader says to himself, " I could have written that, and easily, too," he pays the poet the highest possible compliment. At the same time it is right to ob- serve, that this absence of effort, as recognized in most works of real excellence, is only apparent ; the writing of vers de societe'is a difficult accom- plishment, and no one has fully succeeded in it without possessing a certain gift of irony, which is not only a much rarer quality than humor, or even wit, but is altogether less commonly met with than is sometimes imagined. At the same time this description of poetry seems so easy to write that a long catalogue of authors, both famous and ob- scure, have attempted it, but in the great majority of cases with very indifferent success. This fre- quent liability to failure will excite less surprise if it be borne in mind that the possession of the true poetic faculty is not sufficient of itself to guarantee capacity for this inferior branch of the art of ver- sification. The writer of vers desociete, in order to be genuinely successful, must not only be more or less of a poet, but he must also be a man of the world, in the most liberal sense of the expression ; he must have mixed throughout his life with the most refined and cultivated members of his species, not merely as an idle bystander, but as a busy actor PREFACE. x i in the throng. A professed poet, however exalted his faculty, will seldom write the best vers de soci'ete, just because writing is the business of his life ; for it appears to be an essential characteristic of these brilliant trifles, that they should be thrown off in the leisure moments of men whose lives are de- voted to graver pursuits. Swift was an ardent po- litician ; Prior a zealous ambassador; Suckling, Praed, and Landor were essentially men of action ; even Cowper was no recluse, but a man of the world, forced by mental suffering into a state of modified seclusion. Indeed, it may be affirmed of most of the authors quoted in this volume and it is curious to see what a large proportion of them are men of a certain social position that they submitted their intellects to the monotonous grind- stone of worldly business, and that their poetical compositions were like the sparks which fly off and prove the generous quality of the metal thus ap- plied ; and it must be remembered, to pursue the simile, that but for the dull grindstone, however finely tempered the metal might be, there would be no sparks at all ; in other words, the writer of vers de societc needs perpetual contact with the world. The Editor trusts that he has gathered together nearly all the vers de socicte of real merit in the English language, at the same time he almost hopes that the cultivated reader will find hardly anything altogether unknown to him. The Editor x ii PREFACE. is of opinion that verse of real excellence a buoyancy is seldom long lost sight of; in oil words, that an unknown piece of vers de sod probably does not deserve to become better knov The contents of the volume have been select and winnowed from an enormous mass of infer verse of the same kind, the great bulk of wh did not appear of sufficient merit to deserve sertion. Many pieces, however, have been pondered ov and at last discarded with regret. Several inck have been found, whose rejection was especia tantalizing, because, though otherwise perfect s cimens, their aim and execution was just above i range of vers de societe. Thus, " The Milkmai Song," commencing " Come live with me, and be my love," appears to be too highly poetical for admiss into this collection, while the less beautiful, 1 almost as charming, " Reply," has been admitt because it is depressed to the requisite level the tinge of worldly satire which runs through Something of the same kind may be said of W ler's " Lines to a Rose," and his " Lines t( Girdle," and on this account only the last will found here. Isaac D'Israeli, in his Miscellanies, has so interesting remarks on vers de societe., " The p sions of the poet," he says, " may form the subje PREFACE. xiii of his verse. It is in his writings he delineates himself ; he reflects his tastes, his desires, his hu- mors, his amours, and even his defects. In other poems the poet disappears under the feigned char- acter he assumes ; here alone he speaks, here he acts. He makes a confidant of the reader, inte- rests him in his hopes, and his sorrows. We ad- mire the poet, and conclude with esteeming the man. In these effusions the lover may not un- successfully urge his complaints. They may form a compliment for a patron or a congratulation for an artist, a vow of friendship or a hymn of grati- tude ... It must not be supposed that because these productions are concise they have therefore, the more facility ; we must not consider the genius of a poet diminutive because his pieces are so, nor must we call them, as a fine sonnet has been called, a difficult trifle. A circle may be very small, yet it may be as mathematically beautiful and perfect as a larger one. To such compositions we may apply the observation of an ancient critic, that though a little thing gives perfection, yet perfec- tion is not a little thing. " The poet to succeed in these hazardous pieces must be alike polished by an intercourse with the world, as with the studies of taste, to whom labor is negligence, refinement a science, and art a nature. Genius will not always be sufficient to impart that grace of amenity which seems pecu- liar to those who are accustomed to elegant xiv PREFACE. society. . . . These productions are more the effu- sions of taste than genius, and it is not sufficient that the poet is inspired by the Muse, he must also suffer his concise page to be polished by the hand of the Graces." A reviewer in The Times newspaper has made the following noteworthy remarks on the subject of vers de sotiete, more especially of a certain kind : " It is the poetry of men who belong to society, who have a keen sympathy with the lightsome tone and airy jesting of fashion ; who are not disturbed by the flippances of small talk, but on the contrary, can see the gracefulness of which it is capable, and who, nevertheless, amid all this froth of society, feel that there are depths in our nature, which even in the gayety of drawing-rooms cannot be forgotten. Theirs is the poetry of bitter-sweet, of sentiment that breaks into humor, and of solemn thought, which, lest it should be too solemn, plunges into laughter ; it is in an especial sense the verse of so- ciety. When society ceases to be simple it be- comes sceptical. Nor are we utterly to condemn this sceptical temper as a sign of corruption. It is assumed in self-defence, and becomes a neces- sity of rapid conversation. When society becomes refined, it begins to dread the exhibition of strong feeling, no matter whether real or simulated. If real, it disturbs the level of conversation and of manners if simulated, so much the worse. In such an atmosphere, emotion takes refuge in jest, PREFACE. XV and passion hides itself in scepticism of passion : we are not going to wear our hearts upon our sleeves, rather than that we shall pretend to have no heart at all ; and if, perchance, a bit of it should peep out, we shall hide it again as quickly as pos- sible, and laugh at the exposure as a good joke In the poets who represent this social mood there is a delicious piquancy, and the way they play at bo-peep with their feelings makes them a class by themselves." Suckling and Herrick, Swift and Prior, Cowper, Landor, and Thomas Moore, and Praed and Thack- eray, may be considered the representative men in this branch of literature. Unfortunately, the copyright of Mr. Thackeray's poems has become the property of his publishers, and they have declined to allow any extracts from his works to be printed here ; but the Editor has given a list in the table of contents of those pieces of vers de soriete by which he thinks Mr. Thackeray will hereafter be honorably remembered. Thanks are due to the other proprietors of the respective copyright pieces, for their courtesy and liberality in allowing their insertion. This collection has been arranged more or less chronologically, but to give it variety, the works of contemporary writers have been mixed, and where two authors have written on the same sub- ject, though at different epochs, it has been thought interesting to bring them side by side. For this xvi PREFACE, reason the epitaphs, epigrams, political squibs, and convival pieces, etc., have been kept together, and occur at intervals throughout the volume. The collection has been restricted to the writ- ings of deceased authors, and as this kind of me- trical composition is little cultivated at the present day, the Editor hopes that his book will not much suffer in consequence, although he regrets that the rule which he has laid down prevents his giv- ing specimens from the writings of Messrs. Brown- ing and Tennyson, of Lord Houghton, of Messrs. C. S. Calverly, George Cayley, Mortimer Collins, and Planche, and of Dr. O. W. Holmes, the Ame- rican poet, and perhaps the best living writer of this species of verse ; and of some others who have written anonymously. Much difficulty has been encountered in fixing the correct reading of several of the poems, which varies in different collections; and wherever the Editor has felt a doubt about the authorship of a poem, he has preferred leaving the question open. He has taken great care to make the selection as complete as possible, still he trusts to the indul- gence of his readers for any omissions or errors which it may exhibit. FREDERICK LOCKER. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. To MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. MERRY Margaret, As Midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower; With solace and gladness, Much mirth and no madness All good and no badness j So joyously, So maidenly, So womanly, Her demeaning, In everything, Far, far passing, That I can indite, Or suffice to write Of merry Margaret, As Midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower ; As patient and as still, And as full of good will, As fair Isiphil, Coliander, Sweet Pomander, Good Cassander; Steadfast of thought, Well made, well wrought Far may be sought, L YRA EL E GA N TIA R UM. E r 'e }ou can f.i;d So courteous, so kind, As merry Margaret This Midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower. John Skelton. THE ONE HE WOULD LOVE. A FACE that should content me wondrous well Should not be fat, but lovely to behold ; Of lively look, all grief for to repel With'right good grace, so would I that it should Speak without words, such words as none can tell ; Her tress also should be of crisped gold. With wit, and these, perchance, I might be tried, And knit again with knot that should not slide. Sir Thomas Wyat. THE SERENADE. 44 WHO is it that this dark night Underneath my window plaineth?" It is one who from thy sight Being (ah !) exiled, disdaineth Every other vulgar light " Why, alas ! and are you he f Are not yet these fancies changed ? " Dear, when you find change in me, Though from me you be estranged, Let my change to ruin be. " What if you new beauties see ? Will not they stir new affection ? w ~ I will think they pictures be (Image-like of saint perfection) Poorly counterfeiting thee. L YRA EL EG A NT I A R UM. " Peace ! I think that some give ear, Come, no more, lest I get anger." Bliss ! I will my bliss forbear, Fearing, sweet, you to endanger; But my soul shall harbor there. " Well, begone : begone, I say, Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you." O ! unjust is Fortune's sway, Which can make me thus to leave you, And from louts to run away ! Str Philip Sydney. IV. LOVE is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing ; A plant that most with cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so ? More we enjoy it, more it dies, If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries Heigh-ho ! Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting ; And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, nor full, nor fasting. Why so ? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries Heigh>ho ! Samuel Daniel. V. A DITTY. My true love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one to the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven: My true love hath my heart, and I have his. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides ; My true love hath my heart, and I have his. Sir Philip Sydney. VI. MY flocks feed not, my ewes breed not, My rams speed not, all is amiss : Love is dying, Faith's defying, Heart's denying, causer of this. All my merry jigs are quite forgot, All my lady's love is lost, God wot: Where her faith was firmly fix'd in love, There a nay is placed without remove. One silly cross wrought all my loss ; O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame I For now I see inconstancy More in women than in men remain. In black mourn I, all fears scorn I, Love hath forlorn me, living in thrall ; Heart is bleeding, all help needing, (O cruel speeding!) fraughted with gall. My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal, My wether's bell rings doleful knell ; My curtail dog, that wont to have play'd, Plays not at all, but seems afraid ; With sighs so deep procures to weep, In howling wise, to see my doleful plight How sighs resound through heartless ground, Like a thousand vanquish'd men in bloody fight ! Clear wells spring not, sweet birds sing not, Green plants bring not forth ; they die ; Herbs stand weeping, flocks all sleeping, Nymphs back peeping fearfully: Ail our pleasure known to us poor swains, All our merry meetings on the plains, All our evening sport from us is fled, All our Love is lost, for Love is dead. LYRA ELEGANT/ARUM. Farewell, sweet lass, thy like ne'er was For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan ; Poor Coridon must live alone; Other help for him I see that there is none. William Shakesgere. VII. A RENUNCIATION, IF women could be fair, and yet not fond, Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, I would not marvel that they make men bond By service long to purchase their good will; But when I see how frail those creatures are, ^ I muse that men forget themselves so far. To mark the choice they make, and how they change, How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan ! Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, These gentle birds that flv from man to man ! Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list ? Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, To pass the time when nothing else can please, And train them to our lure, with subtle oath, Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease; And then we say when we their fancy try, To play with fools, O what a fool was I ! Edward Vere y Earl of Oxford, VIII. HAPPY AS A SHEPHERD. AH ! what is love ! It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king, And sweeter, too ; For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, And cares can make the sweetest loves to frown ! Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? L YRA EL EG A NTIA R UM. His flocks are folded ; he comes home at night As merry as a king in his delight, And merrier, too; For kings bethink them what the State require, Where shepherds careless carol by the fire ; Ah then, &c. He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat His cream and curd, as doth the king his meat, And blither too ; For kings have often tremors when they sup, Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup : Ah then, &c. Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound As doth the king upon his bed of down, More sounder, too ; For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill : Ah then, &c. Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe As doth the king at every tide or syth, And blither, too ; For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, Where shepherds laugh, and love upon the land; Ah then, &c. Robert Greene, IX. PHILLIDA AND CORYDON. IN the merry month of May, In a morn by break of day, With a troop of damsels playing, Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying, When anon by a woodside, Where as May was in his pride, I espied, all alone, Phillida and Corydon. Much ado there was, God wot t He would love, and she would not : L YRA EL E GA N 7 7 A K UM. She said, never man was true : He says, none was false to you. He said, he had loved her long: She says, Love should have no wrong. Corydon would kiss her then, She says, maids must kiss no men, Till they do for good and all. Then she made the shepherd call All the heavens to witness, truth Never loved a truer youth. Thus with many a pretty oath, Yea, and nay, and faith and troth ! Such as silly shepherds use When they will not love abuse ; Love, which had been long deluded, Was with kisses sweet concluded : And Phillida, with garlands gay, Was made the lady of the May. Nicholas Breton. x. SEND back my long-stray'd eyes to me, Which, O ! too long have dwelt on thee : But if from you they've learnt such ill, To sweetly smile, And then beguile, Keep the deceivers, keep them still. Send home my harmless heart again, Which no unworthy thought could stain ; But if it has been taught by thine To forfeit both Its word and oath, Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, For I'll know all thy falsities; That I one day may laugh, when thou Shalt grieve and mourn Of one the scorn, Who proves as false as thou art now. John Donne. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. XI. WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY. I LOVED thee once, I'll love no more, Thine be the grief as is the blame ; Thou art not what thou wast before, What reason I should be the same ? He that can love unloved again, Hath better store of love than brain : God send me love my debts to pay, While unthrifts fool their love away 1 Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, If thou hadst still continued mine ; Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own, I might perchance have yet been thine. But thou thy freedom didst recall, That if thou might elsewhere inthrall And then how could I but disdain A captive's captive to remain ? When new desires had conquer'd thee, And changed the object of thy will, It had been lethargy in me, Not constancy to love thee still. Yea, it had been a sin to go And prostitute affection so, Since we are taught no prayers to say To such as must to others pray. Yet do thou glory in thy choice, Thy choice of his good fortune boast ; I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice To see him gain what I have lost ; The height of my disdain shall be To laugh at him, to blush for thee ; To love thee still, but go no more A-begging to a beggar's door. Sir Robert Ayton. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. XII. A VALENTINE. WHEN slumber first unclouds my brain, And thought is free, And sense refresh'd renews her reign, I think of thee. When next in prayer to God above I bend my knee, Then when I pray for those I love, I pray for thee. And when the duties of the day Demand of me To rise and journey on life's way, I work for thee, Or if, perchance, I sing some lay, Whatever it be ; All that the idle verses say, They say of thee. If of an eye whose liquid light Gleams' like the sea, They sing, or tresses brown and bright, They sing of thee. And if a weary mood, or sad, Possesses me, One thought can all times make me glad, The thought of thee. And when once more upon my bed, Full wearily, In sweet repose I lay my head, I dream of thee. In short, one only wish I have, To live for thee ; Or gladly if one pang 'twould save, I'd die for thee. Unknown. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. XIII. SINCE first I saw your face I resolved To honor and renown you ; If now I be disdain' d, I wish My heart had never known you. What ? I that loved, and you that liked Shall we begin to wrangle ? No, no, no, my heart is fast, And cannot disentangle ! If I admire or praise you too much, That fault you may forgive me; Or if my hands had stray 'd to touch, Then justly might you leave me. I ask'd you leave, you bade me love, Is't now a time to chide me ? No, no, no, I'll love you still, What fortune e'er betide me. The sun, whose beams most glorious are, Rejecteth no beholder ; And thy sweet beauty, past compare, Made my poor eyes the bolder. Where beauty moves, and wit delights, And signs of kindness bind me, There, oh ! there, where'er I go, I leave my heart behind me. Unknown, XIV. As at noon Dulcina rested In her sweet and shady bower, Came a shepherd, and requested In her lap to sleep an hour. But from her look A wound he took So deep, that for a further boon The nymph he prays, Whereto she says, '" Forego me now, come to me soon." LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. \ But in vain she did conjure him To depart her presence so; Having a thousand tongues to allure him, And but one to bid him go : Where lips invite, And eyes delight, And cheeks, as fresh as rose in June, Persuade delay; What boots she say, " Forego me now, come to me soon." Unknown. XV. O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming ? O stay and hear ! your true love's coming, That can sing both high and low ; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, Journeys end in lovers' meeting Every wise man's son doth know. What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure ; In delay there lies no plenty, Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. William Shakspere xvr. I DO confess thou'rt smootii and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee ; Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could speak had power to move thee : But I can let thee now alone, As worthy to be loved by none. I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Thy favors are but like the wind, That kisses everything it meets : A "rl since thou canst with more than one r \ h-w'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. The morning rose, that imtouch'd stands, ArmM with her briars, how sweet her smell I But pluck'd, and strain'd through ruder hands, Her sweets no longer with her dwell ; But scent and beauty both are gone, And leaves fall from her, one by one. Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, When thou hast handled been awhile, Like sere flowers to be thrown aside ; And I will sigh, while some will smile, To see thy love for more than one Hath brought thee to be loved by none. Sir Robert Ayton. XVII. A STOLEN Kiss. Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe ; And free access unto that sweet lip lies, From whence I long the rosy breath to draw. Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal From those two melting rubies one poor kiss ; None sees the theft that would the theft reveal, Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss ; Nay, should I twenty kisses take away. There would be little sign I would do so ; Why then should I this robbery delay ? O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow ! Well, if she do, I'll back restore that one, And twenty hundred thousand more for loan. George Wither. XVIII. To CELIA. DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I 6f Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. 13 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not wither' d be : But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me ; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee ! Ben Jonson. XIX. A MADRIGAL. AMARYLLIS I did woo, And I courted Phillis too; Daphne for her love I chose, Chloris, for that damask rose In her cheek, I held so dear, Yea, a thousand liked well near ; And in love with all together, Feared the enjoying either : 'Cause to be of one possess'd, Barr'd the hope of all the rest. George Wither. XX. CHARTS. Her Triumph. 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, as they might But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. LYRA ELEGANT/ARUM. Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth 1 Do but look on her, she is bright As Love's star when it riseth ! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother Than words that soothe her f And from her arch'd brows, such a grace Sheds itself through 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 o' the sno Before the soil hath smutch'd it ? Have you felt the wool of the beaver? Or swan's down ever ? Or have smell'd 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 I O so sweet is she ! Ben Jonson. XXI. A FRAGMENT. HE that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires ; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away'. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires ; Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. Thomas Carrw. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. XXII. A LOVER of late was I, For Cupid would have it so ; (The boy that had never an eye As every man doth know. ) I sigh'd, and sobb'd, and cried " alas," For her that laugh' d and cali'd me ass. Then knew not I what to do, When I saw it was in vain A lady so coy to woo, Who gave me the ass so plain ; Yet would I her ass freely be, So she would help, and bear with me. An' I were as fair as she, Or she were as kind as me, What pair could have made, as we So pretty a sympathy : I was as kind as she was fair ; But for all this we could not pair. Pair with her that will for me ! With her I will never pair That cunningly can be coy, For being a little fair The ass I'll leave to her disdain ; And now I am myself again. Unknown. xxin. FAIN would I, Chloris, ere I die, Bequeath you such a legacy. That you might say, when I am gone, None hath the like : my heart alone Were the best gift I could bestow, But that's already yours, you know: So that till you my heart resign, Or fill with yours the place of mine, And by that grace my store renew, J shall have nought worth giving you 16 LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. Whose breast has all the wealth I have, Save a faint carcass and a grave. But had I as many hearts as hairs, As many loves as love hath fears, As many lives as years have hours, They should be all and only yours. Unknown. XXIV. THE WILLOW TREE. WILLY. How now, shepherd, what means that ? Why that willow in thy hat ? Why thy scarfs of red and yellow, Turn'd to branches of green willow? They are changed, and so am I ; Sorrows live, but pleasures die : Phillis hath forsaken me, Which makes me wear the willow-tree. WILLY. Phillis ! she that loved thee long ? Is she the lass hath done thee wrong ? She that loved thee long and best, Is her love turn'd to a jest ? CUDDY. She that long true love profest, She hath robb'd my heart of rest : For she a new love loves, not me ; Which makes me wear the willow-tree, WILLY. Come then, shepherd, let us join, Since thy hap is like to mine : For the maid I thought most true, She hath also bid adieu. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. CUDDY. Thy hard hap doth mine appease, Company doth sorrow ease : Yet, Phillis, shall I pine for thee, And still must wear the willow-tree. WILLY. Shepherd, be advised by me, Cast off grief and willow-tree ; For thy griefs bring her content, She is pleased if thoa lament. CUDDY. Herdsman, I'll be ruled by thee, There lie grief and willow-tree ; Henceforth I will do as they, And love a new love every day. Unknown. XXV. THE INQUIRY. AMONGST the myrtles as I walk'd Love and my sighs, thus intertalk'd : " Tell me," said I, in deep distress, " Where may I find my shepherdess ? " " Thou fool," said Love,, " know'st thou not this In everything that's good, she is ? In yonder tulip go and seek, There thou may'st find her lip, her cheek ; In yon enamell'd pansy by, There thou shalt have her curious eye ; In bloom of peach, in rosy bud, There wave the streamers of her blood ; In brightest lilies that there stand, The emblems of her whiter hand ; In yonder rising hill there smell Such sweets as in her bosom dwell "; " *Tis true," said I. And thereupon I went to pluck them one by one, To make of parts an union : But on a sudden all was gone. 1 8 LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. With that I stopt. Said Love, " these be, Fond man, resemblances of thee; And as these flowers, thy joy shall die, E'en in the twinkling of an eye ; And all thy hopes of her shall wither. Like these short sweets thus knit together." Thomas Carew. XXVI. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HIMSELF AND MISTRESS ELIZA WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF AMARILLIS. (H.) MY dearest love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee ; For love or pity, let me know The place where I may find thee. (A) In country meadows, pearl'd with dew, And set about with lilies; There, filling maunds with cowslips, you May find your Amarillis. (H.) What have the meads to do with thee, Or with thy youthful hours ? Live thou at Court, where thou may'st be The queen of men not flowers. Let country wenches make 'em fine With posies, since 'tis fitter For thee with richest gems to shine, And like the stars to glitter. (A.) You set too high a rate upon A shepherdess so homely. (II.) Believe it, dearest, there's not one I' th' Court that's half so comely. I prithee stay. (A.) I must away; Let's kiss first, then we'll sever ; (AMBO.) And tho' we bid adieu to-day, We shall not part for ever. Robert Herrick. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. XXVII. THE PRIMROSE. ASK me why I send you here This firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you " This primrose all bepearl'd with dew ; I straight will whisper in your ears, The sweets of love are wash'd with tears ; Ask me why this flower doth show So yellow, green, and sickly too; Ask me why the stalk is weak, And bending, yet it doth not break ; I must tell you, these discover "What doubts and fears are in a lover. Thomas Carnu. THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE. " SHEPHERD, what's love ? I pray thee, tell I " It is that fountain, and that well, Where pleasure and repentance dwell ; It is, perhaps, that passing bell That tolls us all to heaven or hell ; And this is love, as I heard tell. " Yet, what is love ? I pray thee, say I n It is a work on holiday : It is December match'd with May, When lusty woods, in fresh array, Hear, ten months after, of the play ; And this is love, as I hear say. " Yet, what is love ? good shepherd, saine ! " It is a sunshine mix'd with rain ; It is a tooth-ache, or like pain ; It is a game where none doth gain, The lass saith, No, and would full fain I And this is love, as I hear saine. 2O LYAA ELEGANT! A RUM. " Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray ? " It is a *' yea," it is a " nay," . A pretty kind of sporting fray; It is a thing will soon away ; Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may, And this is love, as I hear say. " Yet, what is love ? good shepherd, show ! " A thing that creeps, it cannot go, A prize that passe th to and fro, ' A thing for one, a thing for inoe ; And he that proves shall find it so ; And, shepherd, this is love 1 trow. Sir Walter Ralegh. To His MISTRESS OBJECTING TO His NFITHER TOYING NOR TAKING. You say I love not, 'cause T do not play Still with your curls, and kiss the time away. You blame me, too, because I can't devise Some sport to please those babies in your eyes; ]>y Love's religion, I must here confess it, The most I love, when I the least express it, Some griefs find tongues ; full casks are ever found To give, if any, yet but little sound. Deep waters noiseless are ; and this we know, That chiding streams betray small depth below. So when Love speechless is, she doth express A depth in love, and that depth bottomless. Now since my love is tongueless, know me such, Who speak but little, 'cause I love so much. Robert Herrick. XXX. ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauties, orient deep, These flowery as in their causes, 5"-leep, L VRA ELEGA NTIA R UM. 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 ceacl of night ; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere. Ask me no more if cast or west, The phoenix builds her spicy nest ; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies ! Thomas Carcw. XXXI. JULIA'S BED. SEE'ST thou that cloud as silver clear, Plump, soft, and swelling everywhere ? Tis Julia's bed, and she sleeps there. Robert Herrick* XXXII. UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES. WHEN as in silks my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes. Next when I cast mine eves, and see That brave vibration each way free ; Oh how that glittering taketh me ! Rclvrt Ilerrick. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. XXXIII. DELIGHT IN DISORDER. A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness ; A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction ; An erring lace, which here and there Enthralls the crimson stomacher ; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons 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. XXXIV. MY Love in her attire doth show her wit, It doth so well become her ; For every season she hath dressings fit, For winter, spring, and summer. No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on : But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. Unknown. xxxv. CHERRY RIPE. THERE is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that none may buy, Till cherry-ripe themselves p!o cry. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. 23 Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearls a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow ; Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still ; Her brows like bended bows do stand Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill All that approach with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh, Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry ! Unknown. XXXVI. THE CARELESS LOVER. NEVER believe me if I love, Or know what 'tis, or mean to prove, And yet in faith I lie, I do, And she's extremely handsome too. She's fair, she's wondrous fair, But I care not who knows it, Ere I die for love, I fairly will forego it. This heat of hope, or cold of fear, My foolish heart could never bear : One sigh imprisoned ruins more Than earthquakes have done heretofore. When I am hungry I do eat, And cut no fingers 'stead of meat ; Nor with much gazing on her face, Do e'er rise hungry from the place. A gentle round, fill'd to the brink, To this and t'other friend I drink ; And if 'tis named another's health, I never make it hers by stealth. Black Fryars to me, and old Whitehall, Is even as much as is the fall Of fountains or a pathless grove, And nourishes as much my love. L 1 'RA EL EG A N TIA R UM. I visit, talk, do business, play, And, for a need, laugh out a day ; Who does not thus in Cupid's school, He makes not love, but plays the fool : She's fair, she's wondrous fair, But I care not who knows it, Ere I die for love, I fairly will forego it. Sir Joh n Suckling. XXXVII. WHY so pale and wan, fond lover ? Prithee why so pale ? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail ? Prithee why so pale ? Why so dull and mute, young sinner ? Prithee why so mute ? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee why so mute ? Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move, This cannot take her ; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her Sir John Suckling. XXXVIII. . SHALL I, wasting in despair. Die because a woman's fair ? Or my cheeks make pale with care 'Cause another's rosy are ? Be she fairer than the day Or the flowery meads in May If she be not so to me What care I how fair she be ? Shall my foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind ; LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. 25 Or a well disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtue move Me to perish for her love ? Or her merit's value known Make me quite forget mine own ? Be she with that goodness blest Which may gain her name of Best ; If she seem not such to me, What care I how good she be ? 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die ? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find, Think what with them they would do W T ho without them dare to woo: And unless that mind I see. What care I tho' great she be? Great or good, or kind or fair, I will ne'er the more despair ; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve If she slight me when I woo I can scorn and let her go For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be ? George Wither. XXXIX. THE NIGHT PIECE. To JULIA. HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee ; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow, Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee, LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. No will-othe-wisp mis-light thee, Nor snake nor slow worm bite thee But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright the Let not the dark thee cumber ; \Vhat tho' the moon do slumber, The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear, without number. Then Jnlia. let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto thee; And when I shall meet Thv silv'ry feet, My soul I'll pour unto thee. Robert Plerrick. XL. To THE VIRGINS TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying ; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blcod are warmer But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while you may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry. Robert Herrick. LYRA ELEGANTIARUM. XLI. THE HEADACHE. MY head doth ache, O, Sappho ! take Thy fillet, And Di nd the pain ! Or bring some bane To kill it. But less that part Than my poor heart, Now is sick: One kiss from thee Will counsel be, And physic. Robert Herrkk. XLIl. THE SIEGE. 'Tis now, since I sat down before That foolish fort, a heart, (Time strangely spent !) a year, and more; And still I did my part. Made my approaches, from her hand Unto her lip did rise ; An