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SHAKESPEARE

WHO WILL BELIEVE MY VERSE

WHO will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were filled with your most high deserts ?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes

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And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, 'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:

II

But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice-in it and in my rhyme.
W. SHAKESPEARE.

THERE IS A GARDEN

THERE is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
There cherries grow, which none may buy
Till Cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose

Of orient pearl a double row ;

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CAMPION

Which, when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rosebuds filled with snow.
Yet them nor peer nor prince can 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 attempt with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till Cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

T. CAMPION.

ROSE-CHEEKED LAURA

ROSE-CHEEKED Laura, come;

Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's
Silent music, either other

Sweetly gracing.

Lovely forms do flow

From consent divinely framèd;

Heaven is music, and thy beauty's

Birth is heavenly.

These dull notes we sing

Discords need for helps to grace them;

Only beauty purely loving

Knows no discord,

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IO

But still moves delight,

Like clear springs renewed by flowing,
Ever perfect, ever in them-

selves eternal.

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T. CAMPION.

A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS

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 enamoured, do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,

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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

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As love's star when it riseth!
Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

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Than words that soothe her; And from her arched brows such a grace

Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. 20

JONSON

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touched it ?
Have you marked but the fall o' the snow
Before the soil hath smutched it ?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver?
Or swan's down ever?

Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier?
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!

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B. JONSON.

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 of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered 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.

B. JONSON.

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ΙΟ

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30

HERRICK

TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM

ANYTHING

BID me to live, and I will live
Thy Protestant to be;

Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,

A heart as sound and free,

As in the whole world thou canst find,
That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,

To honour thy decree;

Or bid it languish quite away,

And 't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep,

While I have eyes to see;
And, having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair,

Under that cypress tree;

Or bid me die, and I will dare

E'en Death, to die for thee.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me;

And hast command of every part,

To live and die for thee.

R. HERRICK.

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