Andrew Marvell [1621-1678]
A DEPOSITION FROM BEAUTY
Though when I loved thee thou wert fair, Thou art no longer so; These glories all the pride they wear Unto opinion owe. Beauties, like stars, in borrowed luster shine; And 'twas my love that gave thee thine.
The flames that dwelt within thine eye Do now with mine expire; Thy brightest graces fade and die At once with my desire. Love's fires thus mutual influence return; Thine cease to shine, when mine to burn.
Then, proud Celinda, hope no more To be implored or wooed, Since by thy scorn thou dost restore Thy wealth my love bestowed: And thy despised disdain too late shall find That none are fair but who are kind.
Thomas Stanley [1625-1678]
"LOVE IN THY YOUTH, FAIR MAID"
Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise, Old Time will make thee colder, And though each morning new arise, Yet we each day grow older.
Thou as heaven art fair and young, Thine eyes like twin stars shining; But ere another day be sprung, All these will be declining;
Then winter comes with all his fears, And all thy sweets shall borrow; Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, And I, too late, shall sorrow.
Unknown
TO CELIA
When, Celia, must my old day set, And my young morning rise In beams of joy so bright as yet Ne'er blessed a lover's eyes? My state is more advanced than when I first attempted thee: I sued to be a servant then, But now to be made free.
I've served my time faithful and true, Expecting to be placed In happy freedom, as my due, To all the joys thou hast: Ill husbandry in love is such A scandal to love's power, We ought not to misspend so much As one poor short-lived hour.
Yet think not, sweet, I'm weary grown, That I pretend such haste; Since none to surfeit e'er was known Before he had a taste: My infant love could humbly wait When, young, it scarce knew how To plead; but grown to man's estate, He is impatient now.
Charles Cotton [1630-1687]
TO CELIA
Not, Celia, that I juster am Or better than the rest! For I would change each hour, like them, Were not my heart at rest.
But I am tied to very thee By every thought I have; Thy face I only care to see, Thy heart I only crave.
All that in woman is adored In thy dear self I find - For the whole sex can but afford The handsome and the kind.
Why then should I seek further store, And still make love anew? When change itself can give no more, 'Tis easy to be true!
Charles Sedley [1639-1701]
A SONG
My dear mistress has a heart Soft as those kind looks she gave me; When with love's restless art, And her eyes, she did enslave me. But her constancy's so weak, She's so wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder.
Melting joys about her move, Killing pleasures, wounding blisses; She can dress her eyes in love, And her lips can arm with kisses. Angels listen when she speaks; She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; But my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder.
John Wilmot [1647-1680]
LOVE AND LIFE
All my past life is mine no more; The flying hours are gone, Like transitory dreams given o'er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone.
The time that is to come is not; How can it then be mine? The present moment's all my lot; And that, as fast as it is got, Phillis, is only thine.
Then talk not of inconstancy, False hearts, and broken vows; If I by miracle can be This live-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that Heaven allows.
John Wilmot [1647-1680]
CONSTANCY
I cannot change as others do, Though you unjustly scorn; Since that poor swain that sighs for you For you alone was born. No, Phillis, no; your heart to move A surer way I'll try; And, to revenge my slighted love, Will still live on, will still live on and die.
When, killed with grief, Amyntas lies, And you to mind shall call The sighs that now unpitied rise, The tears that vainly fall - That welcome hour that ends this smart, Will then begin your pain; For such a faithful tender heart Can never break, can never break in vain.
John Wilmot [1647-1680]
SONG
Too late, alas! I must confess, You need not arts to move me; Such charms by nature you possess, 'Twere madness not to love ye.
Then spare a heart you may surprise, And give my tongue the glory To boast, though my unfaithful eyes Betray a tender story.
John Wilmot [1647-1680]
SONG
Come, Celia, let's agree at last To love and live in quiet; Let's tie the knot so very fast That time shall ne'er untie it. Love's dearest joys they never prove, Who free from quarrels live; 'Tis sure a god like part of love Each other to forgive.
When least I seemed concerned I took No pleasure, nor had rest; And when I feigned an angry look, Alas! I loved you best. Say but the same to me, you'll find How blest will be our fate; Sure to be grateful, to be kind, Can never be too late.
John Sheffield [1648-1721]
THE ENCHANTMENT
I did but look and love awhile, 'Twas but for one half-hour; Then to resist I had no will, And now I have no power.
To sigh and wish is all my ease; Sighs which do heat impart Enough to melt the coldest ice, Yet cannot warm your heart.
O would your pity give my heart One corner of your breast, 'Twould learn of yours the winning art, And quickly steal the rest.
Thomas Otway [1652-1685]
SONG
Only tell her that I love: Leave the rest to her and Fate: Some kind planet from above May perhaps her pity move: Lovers on their stars must wait. - Only tell her that I love!
Why, O why should I despair! Mercy's pictured in her eye: If she once vouchsafe to hear, Welcome Hope and farewell Fear! She's too good to let me die. - Why, O why should I despair?
John Cutts [1661-1707]
"FALSE THOUGH SHE BE"
False though she be to me and love, I'll ne'er pursue revenge; For still the charmer I approve, Though I deplore her change.
In hours of bliss we oft have met: They could not always last; And though the present I regret, I'm grateful for the past.
William Congreve [1670-1729]
TO SILVIA From "The Cautious Lovers"
Silvia, let us from the crowd retire, For what to you and me (Who but each other do desire) Is all that here we see?
Apart we'll live, though not alone; For who alone can call Those who in deserts live with one If in that one they've all?
The world a vast meander is, Where hearts confusedly stray; Where few do hit, whilst thousands miss, The happy mutual way.
Anne Finch [? -1720]
"WHY, LOVELY CHARMER"
Why, lovely charmer, tell me why, So very kind, and yet so shy? Why does that cold, forbidding air Give damps of sorrow and despair? Or why that smile my soul subdue, And kindle up my flames anew?
In vain you strive with all your art, By turns to fire and freeze my heart; When I behold a face so fair, So sweet a look, so soft an air, My ravished soul is charmed all o'er, I cannot love thee less or more.
Unknown
AGAINST INDIFFERENCE
More love or more disdain I crave; Sweet, be not still indifferent: O send me quickly to my grave, Or else afford me more content! Or love or hate me more or less, For love abhors all lukewarmness.
Give me a tempest if 'twill drive Me to the place where I would be; Or if you'll have me still alive, Confess you will be kind to me. Give hopes of bliss or dig my grave: More love or more disdain I crave.
Charles Webbe [c. 1678]
A SONG TO AMORET
If I were dead, and, in my place, Some fresher youth designed To warm thee, with new fires; and grace Those arms I left behind:
Were he as faithful as the Sun, That's wedded to the Sphere; His blood as chaste and temperate run, As April's mildest tear;
Or were he rich; and, with his heap And spacious share of earth, Could make divine affection cheap, And court his golden birth;
For all these arts, I'd not believe (No! though he should be thine!), The mighty Amorist could give So rich a heart as mine!
Fortune and beauty thou might'st find, And greater men than I; But my true resolved mind They never shall come nigh.
For I not for an hour did love, Or for a day desire, But with my soul had from above This endless holy fire.
Henry Vaughan [1622-1695]
THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL
On Richmond Hill there lives a lass More bright than May-day morn, Whose charms all other maids surpass, - A rose without a thorn.
This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet, Has won my right good-will; I'd crowns resign to call her mine, Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.
Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air, And wanton through the grove, O, whisper to my charming fair, I die for her I love.
How happy will the shepherd be Who calls this nymph his own! O, may her choice be fixed on me! Mine's fixed on her alone.
James Upton [1670-1749]
SONG From "Sunday Up the River"
Let my voice ring out and over the earth, Through all the grief and strife, With a golden joy in a silver mirth: Thank God for life!
Let my voice swell out through the great abyss To the azure dome above, With a chord of faith in the harp of bliss: Thank God for Love!
Let my voice thrill out beneath and above, The whole world through: O my Love and Life, O my Life and Love, Thank God for you!
James Thomson [1834-1882]
GIFTS From "Sunday Up the River"
Give a man a horse he can ride, Give a man a boat he can sail; And his rank and wealth, his strength and health, On sea nor shore shall fail.