In that enamelled pansy by,
There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloom of peach and rose's bud,
There waves the streamer of her blood.
'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 were gone.
At which I stopt; said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;
For as these flowers, thy joys must die,
And in the turning of an eye;
And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets ere knit together.
Every thing doth pass away;
There is danger in delay.
Come, come gather then the rose,
Gather it, or it you lose.
All the sand of Tagus' shore
Into my bosom casts his ore;
All the valleys' swimming corn
To my house is yearly borne;
Every grape of every vine
Is gladly bruised to make me wine;
While ten thousand kings, as proud
To carry up my train, have bowed;
And a world of ladies send me,
In my chambers to attend me.
All the stars in heaven that shine,
And ten thousand more are mine.
Only bend thy knee to me,
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
Panglory's Wooing Song.
LOVE is the blossom where there blows
Every thing that lives or grows.
Love doth make the heavens to move,
And the sun doth burn in love.
Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
And makes the ivy climb the oak;
Under whose shadows lions wild,
Softened by love, grow tame and mild.
Love no med'cine can appease;
He burns the fishes in the seas;
Not all the skill his wounds can stench;
Not all the sea his fire can quench.
Love did make the bloody spear
Once a heavy coat to wear;
While in his leaves there shrouded lay
Sweet birds, for love that sing and play:
And of all love's joyful flame,
I the bud and blossom am.
Only bend thy knee to me,
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.
See, see the flowers that below
Now as fresh as morning blow;
And of all, the virgin rose,
That as bright Aurora shows-
How they all unleavéd die,
Losing their virginity:
Like unto a summer-shade,
But now born, and now they fade.
LIKE the violet, which alone
Prospers in some happy shade,
My Castara lives unknown,
To no ruder eye betrayed;
For she's to herself untrue
Who delights i' the public view.
Such is her beauty as no arts
Have enriched with borrowed grace.
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.
Folly boasts a glorious blood;
She is noblest being good.
Cautious, she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant;
Nor speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence, eloquent.
Of herself survey she takes,
But 'tween men no difference makes.
She obeys with speedy will
Her grave parents' wise commands;
And so innocent, that ill
She nor acts, nor understands.
Women's feet run still astray
If to ill they know the way.