The card of courtship: or the language of love; fitted to the humours of all degrees, sexes, and conditions. Made up of all sorts of curious and ingenious dialogues, pithy and pleasant discourses, eloquent and winning letters, delicious songs and sonnets, fine fancies, harmonious odes, sweet rhapsodies.

Songs and Sonnets.

Song 1.

TAke, O take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworth; And those eyes, like break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn. But my kisses bring again; Seals of love, though seal'd in vain.

2.

Hide, O hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen blossoms beares; On whose tops, the pinks that grow Are of those that April weares. But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those joy-chaines by thee.

Song 2.

O for a Bow I of rich Canary, Fat Aristippus, sparkling Sherry, Some Nectar else, from June's dairy: O these draughts would make us merry!

O for a wench! I deal in faces, And in other daintier things: Tickled am I, with her imbraces: Fine dancing in such fairy rings.

O for a plump fat leg of Mutton, Veal, Lamb, Capon, Pig, and Coney: None is happy, but a Glutton; None an Ass, but who wants money.

Wines indeed, and Girles are good; But brave victuals seast the blood. For wenches, wine, and lusty cheere, Jove would come down, to surfeit here.

Song 3.

Tell me, Jove, should she disdain, Whether it were greater pain, Silent in thy flames to dye, Or say I love, and she deny?

Flames supprest, do higher grow: Should she scorn, when she does know Thy affection, thou shalt prove A glorious martyrdom for love.

Better to loves mercy bow; She may burn as well as thou. Oh then, tim'rous heart, proceed: For wounds are death, that inward bleed.

Song 4.

Charm, O charm, thou God of sleep, Her fair eyes, that waking mourn; Frightful visions from her keep, Such as are by sorrowes born. But let all the sweets that may Wait on rest, her thoughts obey.

Fly, O fly, thou God of love, To that brest thy dart did wound: Draw thy shaft, the smart remove; Let her wonted joyes be found. Raise up pleasure to a flood Never ebbing; new joyes bud.

Song 5.

When that I poor soul was borne, I was born unfortunate; Presently the Fates had sworne To foretel my hapless state.

Titan his fair beams did hide; Phaebe clipt her Silver light: In my birth my mother dide, Young and fair, in heavy plight.

And the nurse that gave me suck Hapless was, in all her life; And I never had good luck, Being maid, or married wife.

I lov'd well, and was belov'd; And forgetting was forgot: This a hapless marriage mov'd; Greiving, that it kills me not.

With the earth would I were wed, Then in such a grave of woes Daily to be buried, Which no end nor number knows.

Song 6. The Fisher-mans Ditty.

THough the weather jangles With our hooks and angles; Our nets be shaken, and no fish taken; Though fresh Cod and Whiting

Are not this day biting Gurnet nor Cunger, to satisfie hunger; Yet look to our draught.

Hale the main bowling, The Seas have left their rowling, The waves their huffing, the winds their puffing; Up to the top-mast, Boy, And bring us news of joy! Here's no demurring; no fishes stirring; Yet something we have caught.

Song 7.

What motions, times, and changes? What waies? what uncouth ranges? What slights? what delusions? What gladness (in conclusions) Have risen of such sorrows? One faith yet all these borrowes; And one good love assureth, And all misfortune cureth. And since from griefe they vary, Good Fortune, come, and tarry.

Song 8.

My heart in flames do fry Of thy beauty, While I Dye: Fie; And why Shoulst thou deny Me thy sweet company?

My braines to teares do flow, While all below Doth glow: Foe; If so, How canst thou go About to say me no?

Song 9.

1.

THis Lady ripe, and calm, and fresh, As Eastern Summers are, Must now forsake both time and flesh, T'add light to some small star.

2.

Whil'st that alive each star decay'd She may relieve with light; But death sends beauty to a shade More cold, more dark then night.

3.

The sawcy faith of man doth blind His pride, till it conduce To destine all his abject-kind For some eternall use.

4.

But ask not bodies doom'd to die, To what abode they go: Since knowledge is but sorrows Spy, It is not safe to know.

Song 10. The constant Lover.

TImes change, and shall (as we do see) And life shall have an end;

But yet my faith shall ever be Whereon mine eyes depend.

The days and moments, and their scope; The hours, with their changes wrought, Are cruel enemies to hope, And friends unto a loving thought.

Thoughts still remain, (as we do see) And hope shall have an end: But yet my Faith sha'n't wanting be, My hope for to defend.

Sonnet I.

Cupids craft. I Play'd with Love, Love play'd with me again; I mock'd at him, but he mock'd me indeed: He would not let my heart his art exceed; For (though a boy) yet mocks he doth disdain. A friend he is to those that do not fain. My jests (it seems) do true affection breed: And now if Love is not reveng'd with speed, My heart can witness it with earnest pain, That one may love, and jest it out again.

Song II. Being a Pastoral Ditty.

1.

IN this green mead, Mine eyes, what do you see; The Bagpipe of my Nymph, so passing fair? Unless my senses dream, so should it be; For sure this is the Oak, where, with despair, She lean'd unto; and here the grass yet lies, And field, which she did water with her eyes.

2.

Jove, I thee pray, if this I do but fear, And if my dream do fall out sure or no, By all the love to Nympths that thou didst bear, Open mine eyes, the truth that I may know. Help me to pray him, green and flow'ry Mead; Help me to pray him, Oak, with branched head.

3.

This Bagpipe of my Nymph I will devise, To hang it here (fair Oak) to honour thee: A worthy Trophee, though before mine eyes Lying disgrac'd; For tears they cannot see. If it be sure, or if I dream in vain, Spoil'd in this mead with parching sun and rain.

4.

That gracious Nymph, who gave my heart the stroak, In this green Mead I saw (a heav'nly Prize) And (if I dream not) leaning to that Oak; Nay sure I did behold her with mine eyes. O that she had but seen me then again, Or that I had but seen, and dream'd in vain!

Sonnet II.

CƲpid was angry with my merry face, Because I ever laughed him to scorn; And all his followers (hapless and forlorn) I mockt in publike and in private place: Wherefore he arm'd himself to my disgrace, When time a fit occasion did suborn: But I despis'd his flames, his power did scorn.

Nor did I any of his hests embrace: Who seeing that he built upon the sand; Since by a face he could me not devour, He shew'd me, then, a fine and dainty hand;

Which once beheld, it lay not in my power For to remaine unconquer'd; no, nor would I be deliver'd now, although I could.

Song 12. An invitation to love.

PLeasures, beauty, youth attend ye, Whiles the spring of nature lafteth: Love and melting thoughts befriend ye; Use the time, ere Winter hasteth. Active blood and free delight, Place, and privacie, invite: Do, do, be kind as fair; Loose not opportunity for air.

She is cruel, that denies it: Bounty best appears in granting. Stealth of sport as soon supplies it, Whiles the dues of love are wanting. Here's the sweet exchange of bliss, When each whisper proves a kiss. In the game are felt no paines; For in all, the loser gaines.

Sonnet III.

THey say love sware, he never would be friend, If mortal jealousie were not in a place; And beauty never be in any face, Unless that pride did on her thoughts attend: These are two hags, which hideous hell doth send, Our sweet content to troube and disgrace: The one, the joy of love, to pain doth chase; The other pity from the heart defend.

Beauty, and love, were both forsworne by me And thee; my making my unsure estate In joy and happiness so fortunate; Because since first thy figure I did see, Being so faire, yet prouder wast thou never, Nor I in love, that could be jealous ever.

Song 13.

LOve, if a God thou art, Then evermore thou must Be mercifull and just. If thou be just, O wherefore doth thy dart Wound mine alone, and not my Mistress heart?

If merciful, then why Am I to pain reserv'd? Who have thee truely serv'd, While she, that for thy power cares not a flie, Laughs thee to scorn, and lives in liberty.

Then if a God thou woulst accounted be, Heal me like her, or else wound her like me.

Sonnet IIII.

THe Bat, that lurketh in a stony wall, Flies here and there, assured of her sight; When that the signes of darksome night she sees Approaching on; contented therewithall: But when she spies Apollo's beames so bright, Her fault she doth acknowledge, and recal. So now of late it did to me befal; And with my wandring mind it well agrees.

For I did think there was no other light, Nor beauty, but in her who did invite

My senses first to love: but, to my thrall, When I beheld my Mirabel, bedight With beauties, and such grace angelical; Then by and by I knew that heretofore I plainly err'd, but never could do more.

Song 14.

ARe women fair? yes wond'rous fair to see too; Are women sweet? yea, passing sweet they be too. Most fair, and sweet, to them that inly love them; Chaste & discreet, to all save those that prove them

Are women wise? not wise, but they be witty: Are women witty? yea, the more the pitty. They are so witty, and in wit so wily, That be you ne'er so wise, they will beguile ye.

Are women fools? not fools, but fondlings many: Can women fond, be faithful unto any? When snow-white Swans do turn to colour sable, Then women fond will be both firm and stable.

Are women Saints? no Saints, nor yet no Devils: Are women good? not good, but needful evils. So Angel-like, that Devils I do'n't doubt them; So needful Ills, that few can live without them.

Are women proud? I, passing proud, & praise them: Are women kinde? I, wond'rous kind, & please them; Or so imperious, no man can endure them; Or so kind-hearted, any may procure them.

Sonnet V.

AS many stars as heav'n containeth, strive To frame my harm, and luckless hap to show; And in the earth, no grass nor green doth grow,

That to my grief the least of comfort gives. "Love unto fear subjected, ever drives "A soul to coldest ice. O bitter wo, That he whom Fortune contradicteth so, Continually, with Jealousie, must live! The fault (dear Mistress) I must lay on thee, And all my grief; on thee I do complain (O cruel soul) that pity dost disdain: For if thou hadst but taken part with me, I would not care, though 'gainst me did conspire Heav'n, Earth, and Love, and Fortune, in their ire.

Song 15. All woman are not evil.

1.

THey meet but with unwholesome Spring, And Summers, which infectious are: They hear, but when the Mer-maid sings, And onely see the falling star; Whoever dare Affirm no woman chaste and fair.

2.

Go cure your Fevers, and you'll say The Dog-days scorch not all the yeer: In Copper-mynes no longer stay, But travel to the West, and there The right ones see, And grant all Gold's not Alchymie.

3.

What mad-man (canse the glo-worm's flame Is cold, swears there's no warmth in fire? 'Cause some make forseit of their name, And slave themselves to mans desire; Shall the sex free From guilt, damn'd to the bondage be?

Sonnet. 6.

Written to the Authors first Love.

IS't, that my pocl-hol'd face doth beauty lack? No. Your sweet sex sweet beauty praiseth; Ours, wit and valour chiefly raiseth. Is't, that my muskless cloaths are plain and black? No. What wise Ladies love fine noddies, With poor-clad mindes, and rich-clad bodies?

Is't, that no costly gifts mine Agents are? No. My free heart, which I present you, Should more then Gold or Peal content you. Is't, that my Verses want invention rare? No. I was never skilful Poet: I truly love, and plainly show it.

Is't, that I vaunt, or am effiminate? O scornful Vices, I abhor you: Dwell still in Court, the place fit for you. Is't, that you fear my love soon turns to hate? No. Though disdain'd, I can hate never; But lov'd, where once I love, love ever.

Song 16. A Pastoral Dialogue,

Penned at the command of my noble freind, M. Theodo∣rus Loe Esquire, on the attaining his Mistress love.

MELIBEUS, ERGASTUS

Mel.

SHepherd, why dost thou hold thy peace? Sing, and thy joy to us report.

Erg.

My joy (good Shepherd) would be less, If it were told in any sort.

Mel.

Though such great savours thou dost win, Yet deigne thereof to tell some part.

Erg.

The hardest thing is to begin, In enter prises of such art.

Mel.

It is not just we should consent That thou should'st not thy joys recite.

Erg.

The soul that felt the punishment, Can onely feel this great delight.

Mel.

That joy is small, and doth not shine, That is not told abroad to many.

Erg.

If it be such a joy as mine, It cann't be pensill'd out by any.

Mel.

How can that heart of thine contain A joy that is of so great force?

Erg.

I have it, where I did retain My passions of so great remorse.

Mel.

So great and rare a joy as this, No man is able to withhold.

Erg.

But that the greatest pleasure is, That in low language cann't be told

Mel.

Yet I have heard thee heretofore, Thy joys in open songs report.

Erg.

I said I had of joy some store; But not how much, or in what sort.

Mel.

Yet when a joy is in excess, It self it will unfold.

Erg.

Thus then my joies I do express; I clip my Arnageld.

Sonnet VII.

SHe that denies me, I would have Who craves me, I despise: Venus hath power to rule my heart, But not to please my eyes.

Temptations offer'd, still I scorn; Deny'd I wish them still: I'll neither glut my appetite, Nor seek to starve my will. Diana double cloath'd, offends; So Venus naked quite: The last begers a surfet, and The other not delight. That crafty girl shall please me best, That No for Yea can say; And ev'ry wanton willing kiss Can season with a Nay.

Song 17.

1.

WHen to her Lute Althea sings, Her voice revives the leaden strings; And doth in highest notes appear, As any chaleng'd eccho clear. But when she doth of mourning speak, Ev'n then her sighs the strings do break.

2.

And as her Lute doth live or die, (Led by her passions) so must I: For when of pleasure she doth sing, My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring. But if she do of sorrow speak, Ev'n fresh my heart the strangs do break.

Sonnet VIII.

1.

LIke the Violet, which alone Prospers in some happie shade,

My dear Mistress lives unknown, To no looser eye betray'd: "For she's to her self untrue, "Who delights i' th' publike view.

2.

Such her beauty, as no arts Hath enrich'd with borrow'd grace: Her high birth no pride imparts; For she blushes in her place. Folly boasts a noble blood: She is noblest, being good.

3.

She's cautious, and ne'er knew yet What a wanton courtship meant, Nor speaks loud, to boast her wit; In her silence eloquent. Of her self survey she takes; But 'tween men no diff'rence makes.

Song 18.

A Country-Courtship, written during my abode at S.r. E. D's house in Wilishire.

1.

CHloris, my onely Goddess, and my good; Whiter then is th' untrodden snowie way, And redder then the rose but late a bud, Half blown, and pluckt with dew by break of day. To view, more comely then the Plane-tree's shape, And sweeter then the ripe and swelling grape; More pleasant then the shade in summer-time, Or the sun-beams in winters coldest prime.

2.

More fresh then any cool and trembling winde, Morenoble then the fruit that Orchards yeeld;

More jocund then the tender Kid by kind, When full it skips, and traverseth the fields; More flowry then the rich and pleasant mead, With painted flowers in midst of May bespread; More sost then spotless down on Cygnets brest, Or the sweet milk, and cheese-curds yet unprest.

3.

Clusters of Grapes do beautify my Vines, Some golden purple-red, all fair and full; Of part whereof I make most dainty wines, And part of them I keep for thee to pull: And with thy hands, most delicate and fair, Gather thou may'st ripe Plums, by goodly pairs, Under the shadow of thy boughes, to ease thee.

4.

Here I have Damsens, Nuts, and colour'd Peares, With Peaches fine, that would each eye invite; And every tree, and fruit this Island bears, All for thy service, pleasure, and delight. And as my heart, to please thee, I have bowed; So have all these, the self-same office vowed, In Autumn (if thy husband I might be) Chesnuts and Medlers I would keep for thee.

Sonnet. IX.

The Lover imbracing his Mistress.

A Bout the husband-Oak the Vine Thus wreaths to kiss his leavy face; Their streams thus Rivers joyn, And lose themselves in the mbrace: But Trees want sense, when they infold; And waters, when they meet, are cold. Thus Turtles, bill, and groan, Their loves into each others eare;

Two flames, thus burn in one, When their curl'd heads to heaven they reare: But Birds want soul, though not desire; And flames material, soon expire.

Song 19.

Sung by three Beggers. IRUS, BRUNELLO, FURBO.

IRUS.

BRight shines the Sun, play Beggers, play, Here's seraps enough to serve to day. What noise of Vials is so sweet, As when our merry clappers ring? What mirth doth want, where Beggers meet? A Beggers life is for a King. Eat, drink, and play, sleep when we list, Go where we will, so stocks be mist. Bright shines the Sun, play Beggers, play; Here's scraps enough to serve to day.

BRUNELLO.

The world is ours, and ours alone, For we alone have world at will; We purchase not, all is our own; Both fields and streets we Beggers fill. Nor care to get, nor fear to keep, Did ever break a Beggers sleep. Bright shines the Sun, &c.

FURBO.

A hundred head of black and white, Upon our downes securely feed; If any dare his Master bite, He dies therefore, as sure as creed:

Thus Beggers lord it as they please; And none but Beggers live at ease. Bright shines the Sun, &c.

Sonnet X.

DIsdain, that so doth fill me, Hath surely sworn to kill me; And I must die. Desire, that still doth burn me, To life again will turn me; And live must I. O kill me then, Disdain, That I may live again.

2.

Thy looks are life unto me, And yet those looks undo me: O death and life. Thy smile some rest doth shew me, Thy frown doth soon o'erthrow me: O peace and strife. Nor life nor death is either; Then give me both, or neither.

3.

Life onely, cannot please me; Death onely, cannot case me: Change is delight. I live, that death may kill me, And die that life may fill me Both day and night. If once Desire decay, Despair will wear away.

Song 20.

Sung by a Shepherd and a Shepherdess: AMYNTAS, AMARILLIS.

Amynt.

THe cause why that thou dost deny To look on me, sweet Fo, impart.

Amar.

Because that doth not please the eye, Which doth offend and grieve the heart.

Amynt.

What woman is, or ever was That when she looketh, was not mov'd?

Amar.

She that resolves her life to pass, Neither to love, nor to be lov'd.

Amynt.

There is no heart so fierce or hard, That can so much torment a soul;

Amar.

Nor Shepherd of so small regard, That Reason will so much controul.

Amynt.

How falls it out, love doth not kill Thy Cruelty with some remorse?

Amar.

Because that Love is but a Will; And Free-will doth admit no force.

Amynt.

Behold what reason now thou hast To remedy my loving smart.

Amar.

The very same bindes me as fast To keep such danger from my heart.

Amynt.

Why dost thou thus torment my minde, And to what end thy beauty keep?

Amar.

Because thou call'st me still unkinde, And pitiless, when thou dost meet.

Amynt.

Is it because thy cruelty, In killing me, doth never end?

Amar.

No; but because I mean thereby My heart from sorrow to defend.

Sonnet XI.

1.

Amphion, O thou holy shade, Bring Orpheus with thee; That wonder may you both invade, To hear my melody. You who are soul (not rudely made) Up with material ears, Are fit to hear the musick of these spheares.

2.

Hark, when my Mistress Orbes do move, By my first moving eyes: How great's the Symphonie of love? But 'tis the destinie Will not so far my pray'rs approve, To bring you hither; here Is a true heaven, and Elizium there.

Song 20.

LOose your lids, unhappy eyes, From the sight of such a change; Love hath learned to despise; Self-conceit, hath made him strange: Inward now, his sight he turneth, With himself, in love he burneth.

If abroad he beauty spie, As by chance he looks abroad; Or it is wrought by his eye, Or forc'd out by Painters fraud: Save himself, none fair he deemeth, That himself too much esteemeth.

Coy disdain, hath kindness place, Kindness forc'd to hide his head, True desire is counted base; Hope with hope, is hardly fed: Love is thought a fury needless; He that hath it, shall dye speedless.

Then mine eyes, why gaze you so? Beauty scornes the tears you shed; Death you seek to end my woe; O that I of death were sped! But with love, hath death conspired, To kill none whom Love hath fired.

Sonnet XII.

LEt the silence of the night, At my will, her duty show, Harken to me, every wight, Or be still, or speak but low: Let no watching dog, with spight, Bark at any, to or fro, Nor the Cock (of Titan bright The foreteller) once to crow. Let no prying Goose excite All the Flock to squeak a-vow: Let the windes retain their might, Or a little while not blow, Whil'st all eares I do invite, To hear the Ditty I bestow; In the which, I nill recite Her deserts, which ever grow, Nor her beauties, so bedight, Fairer then the Rose, or snow; Nor her vertues exquisite, Which no man deserves to know;

For into Seas infinite, With a small Bark, it were to go.

I will onely sing and write In what miseries I flow; That in sorrows I delight, Praising Love's all-conqu'ring bow: Wishing to eternal night, (To end my sorrows) I might go.

Song 22.

THine eyes so bright Bereft my sight, When first I view'd thy face: So now my light Is turn'd to night; I stray from place to place.

Then guide me, of thy kindness; And I will bless my blindness.

Sonnet XIII.

NOw do the birds, in their warbling words, Welcome the year; With sugred notes, they chimup through their throtes, To win a Phear.

Sweetly they breathe the wanton love That Nature in them warms; And each to gain a mate doth prove, With sweet inchanting charms.

He sweetly sings, and stays the nimble wings Of her in the aire:

She hov'ring stays, to hear his loving lays, Which wooe her ther.

She becomes willing, hears him woo; Gives ear unto his song: And doth (as Nature taught her) do; Yeelds, su'd unto not long.

But my Dear stays, she feeds me with delays, Hears not my mone: She knows the smart, in time will kill my heart, To live alone.

Learn of the birds, to chuse thee a Phear, But not like them to range. Have they their mate but for a year? Yet let us never change.

Song 23. A Riddle.

I Saw a hill upon a day, Lift up above the air; Which watered with blood alway, And tilled with great care. Herbs it brought forth, Of mickle worth.

Pulling a handful from that ridge, And touching but the same; Which leaving neer unto a bridge, Doth cause much sport and game, (A thing scarce of belief) Lamenting without grief.

Sonnet XIIII.

IN heav'n the blessed Angels have their being, In hell, the Fiends appointed to damnation; To men and beasts, earth yeilds firm habitation; The wing'd Musitians, in the aire are fleeing. With fins, the people gliding, Of water have th' enjoyning; In fire all else destroying, The Salamander findes a strange abiding; But I (O wretch) since I did first aspire, To love a beauty, beauties all excelling, Have my strange adverse dwelling, In heaven, hell, earth, water, aire, and fire.

Song 25. Loves Labyrinth, to Mistress Mary Loe.

LOvers do make themselves like conquer'd slaves; Sometimes themselves most valiant they do fain, Sometimes great Lords, with many other braves; Sometimes throwne down, and vanquished again. Their wounds, their joys, their pains their pleasures make: And happy comfort in their prisons take. A thousand times they curse their hapless stars, Despising life, and happy death Implore, Yet in the end, so valiant in those wars Of life and death, and other passions more, That thousand deaths, they say they pass and try, And yet they never make an end to dye. They give, They gain, They heal, They wound, They ply Their soul, Their life, Their harms, Their hearts, Their tears: They joy, They live, They burn, They plain, They dy With hap, With hope, With heat, With griefe, With fears.

And so in all their lives, and what they say, There is a strange confusion every day.

Epithalamium, Or A nuptial-song.

LEet now each field, with flowers be painted Of sundry colours, sweetest odours glowing; Roses yeild forth your smell, so finely tainted; Calm windes, the green leaves move, with gentle blowing. The Christal rivers flowing. With waters, be increased; And since each one, from sorrow now hath ceased, (From mournful plaints and sadness) Ring forth, fair Nimphs, your joyful songs for glad∣ness. Of that 'sweet joy, delight you with such measure, Between you both, fair issue to ingender; Longer then Nestor, may you live in pleasure, The Gods to you, such sweet content surrender, That may make milde and tender The Beasts in every mountain, And glad the fields, and woods, and every fountain, A bjuring former sadness. Ring forth fair Nymphs, your joyful songs for glad∣ness. Let amorous birds, with sweetest notes delight you; Let gentle winds refresh you, with their blowing; Let Ceres with her best of goods requite you, And Flora deck the ground where you are going; Roses and Lilies strowing, The Jasmine, and the Gillow-flower, With many more; and never in your bower Taste of houshold-sadness. Ring forth; fair Nymgps, your joyful songs for glad∣ness.

Sonnet XV.

ANother Cupid raigns within my brest Then Venus son, that blind and frantick boy: Divers his work, intent, and interest; His fashions, sports, his pleasures, and his joy. No sleights, deceits, nor woes, he doth inspire; He burns not like to that unseemly fire. From Reason, Will cannot my love entice, Since that it is not pleased in this vice.

Song 26.

In praise of the Country-life, to my noble friend Mr. Jennings.

AMbition here no snares nor nets regards, Nor Avarice for Crowns doth lay her baits: The people here aspire not to etates, Nor hunger after favours and rewards. From guile, and fraud, and passions, as we see, Their hearts are ever free. Their faith's not vain, Both good and plain: Their malice small, They just to all: Which makes them live in joy and quiet peace, And in a mean sufficient for their ease.

Sonnet XVI.

ONce early, as the ruddy bashful morn Did leave Apollo's Purple-streaming bed, And did with Scarlet-streams the East adorn; I unto my dear Mistress chamber sped:

She (Goddess-like) stood kombing of her hair, Which like a sable veil did cloathe her round: Her Iv'ry Komb was white, her hand more fair; She strait and tall, her tresses trail'd to ground. Amaz'd I stood, thinking my Dear had been Turn'd Goddess, ev'ry sense to Sight was gone. With bashful blush she fled, I once be'ng seen, Left me transformed (almost) into stone: Yet did I wish so ever t'have remained, Had she but stay'd, and I my sight retained.

Song 27. The Insatiate Lover.

AS soon may water wipe me dry, And fire my heat allay; As you with favour of your eye Make hot desire decay. The more I have, The more I crave: The more I crave, the more desire, As piles of wood increase the fire.