HY in this work did the Creation rest,
But that Eternal Providence thought you best
Of all his six days' labor? Beasts should do
Homage to man, but man shall wait on you.
You are of comelier sight, of daintier touch,
A tender flesh, and color bright, and such
As Parians see in marble; skin more fair,
More glorious head, and far more glorious hair,
Eyes full of grace and quickness; purer roses
Blush in your cheeks; a milder white composes
Your stately fronts; your breath more sweet than his
Breathes spice, and nectar drops at every kiss.
TO A LADY ADMIRING HERSELF IN A LOOKING
BY THOMAS RANDOLPH.
AIR lady, when you see the grace
Of beauty in your looking-glass;
A stately forehead, smooth and high,
And full of princely majesty ;
A sparkling eye no gem so fair,
Whose luster dims the Cyprian star;
A glorious cheek, divinely sweet,
Wherein both roses kindly meet;
A cherry lip that would entice
Even gods to kiss at any price;
You think no beauty is so rare
That with your shadow might compare ;
That your reflection is alone
The thing that men most dote upon.
Madame, alas! your glass doth lie,
And you are much deceived; for I
A beauty know of richer grace-
Sweet, be not angry-'tis your face.
Hence, then, O learn more mild to be,
And leave to lay your blame on me;
If me your real substance move,
When you so much your shadow love,
Wise Nature would not let your eye
Look on her own bright majesty ;
Which, had you once but gazed upon,
You could, except yourself, love none :
What then you can not love, let me,
That face I can, you can not see:
Now you have what to love, you'll say;
What then is left for me, I pray?
My face, sweet heart, if it please thee:
That which you can, I can not see:
So either love shall gain his due,
Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you.
THERE IS A GARDEN IN HER FACE.
BY RICHARD ALISON.
HERE 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 do cry.
Those cherries fairly do inclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which, when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled 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.
HAT which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind:
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.
It was my heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely dear;
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move!
A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair.
Give me but what this ribbon bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.
AIR! that you may truly know,
What you unto Thyrsis owe,
I will tell you how I do
Sacharissa love, and you.
Joy salutes me, when I set
My blest eyes on Amoret:
But with wonder I am strook,
While I on the other look.
If sweet Amoret complains,
I have sense of all her pains :
But for Sacharissa I
Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret! is thine,
Sacharissa's captive fain
Would untie his iron chain,
And, those scorching beams to shun,
To thy gentle shadow run.
If the soul had free election
To dispose of her affection,
I would not thus long have borne
Haughty Sacharissa's scorn:
But 'tis sure some power above,
Which controls our wills in love!
If not a love, a strong desire
To create and spread that fire
In my breast, solicits me,
Beauteous Amoret! for thee.
'Tis amazement more than love,
Which her radiant eyes do move:
If less splendor wait on thine,
Yet they so benignly shine,
I would turn my dazzled sight
To behold their milder light.
But as hard 'tis to destroy
That high flame, as to enjoy :
Which how easily I may do,
Heaven (as eas'ly scaled) does know !
Amoret! as sweet and good
As the most delicious food,
Which, but tasted, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart.
Sacharissa's beauty's wine,
Which to madness doth incline:
Such a liquor as no brain
That is mortal can sustain.
Scarce can I to Heaven excuse
The devotion which I use
Unto that adorèd dame:
For 'tis not unlike the same,
Which I thither ought to send.
So that if it could take end,
'Twould to Heaven itself be due,
To succeed her, and not you;
Who already have of me
All that's not idolatry :
Which, though not so fierce a flame,
Is longer like to be the same.
Then smile on me, and I will prove Wonder is shorter-lived than love.
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