SONG. Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more whither do stray For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Ask me no more if east or west A PRAYER TO THE WIND. Go, thou gentle whispering wind, Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain Boldly light upon her lip, There suck odours, and thence skip To her bosom; lastly fall Turn each thistle to a vine, And again destroy the same; Then, for pity, either stir Up the fire of love in her, That alike both flames may shine, Or else quite extinguish mine. THE CRUEL MISTRESS. We read of kings and gods that kindly took Do with repairëd fuel ever burn, But my saint frowns, though to her honoured name, I consecrate a never-dying flame. The Assyrian king did none i' the furnace throw But those that to his image did not bow, With bended knees I daily worship her, Of such a goddess no times leave record, A DEPOSITION FROM LOVE. I was foretold your rebel sex And with what scorn you use to vex The happy lover sure should gain I thought Love's plagues, like dragons, sate, But I did enter and enjoy What happy lovers prove, For I could kiss, and sport and toy, Or if in Celia's breast The force of love might not abate, Jove were too mean a guest. Hard fate to have been once possessed Achieved with labour and unrest, And then forced to depart; I lose but what was never mine, From enjoyed beauty, feels a woe DISDAIN RETURNED. He that loves a rosy cheek, But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts, with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires; Where these art not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. No tears, Celia, now shall win, My resolved heart to return; I have searched thy soul within And find nought but pride and scorn; I have learned thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou! CELIA SINGING. You that think love can convey But through the eyes, into the heart, Close up those casements and but hear And on the wing Of her sweet voice it shall appear Then unveil your eyes, behold The curious mould Where that voice dwells, and as we know, When the cocks crow, We freely may Gaze on the day, So may you, when the music's done, THE LADY TO HER INCONSTANT SERVANT. When on the altar of my hand, Bedewed with many a kiss and tear, Thy now revolted heart did stand An humble martyr, thou didst swear Thus, and the God of Love did hear :- When first those perjured lips of thine, From the soft bosom that did heal Thee, thou my melting heart didst steal; Yet I nor hand nor lip will move My curse is fatal, and my pure If I implore the gods, they'll find A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. Shepherd. Nymph. Chorus. She This mossy bank they pressed. Did canopy the happy pair All night from the damp air. Nym. That aged oak Cho. Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke, |