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So much good so truly tried,

Some for less were deified.

Wit she has without desire

To make known how much she hath; And her anger flames no higher

Than may fitly sweeten wrath.

Full of pity as may be,

Though perhaps not so to me.

Reason masters every sense,

And her virtues grace her birth;

Lovely as all excellence,

Modest in her most of mirth:
Likelihood enough to prove
Only worth could kindle love.

Such she is; and if you know
Such a one as I have sung:
Be she brown, or fair, or so,

That she be but somewhile young,
Be assured 't is she, or none,

That I love, and love alone.

XXXIX.

William Browne.

LOVE'S ATTIRE.

A SWEET NEGLECT.

STILL be neat, still to be drest
As you were going to a feast,
Still to be powdered, still perfumed;
Lady, it is to be presumed,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free.
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art;

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Ben Jonson.

XL.

LOVE'S ATTIRE.

NOT TOO PRECISE.

A SWEET disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness:-
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction,-

An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher,-
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribbands to flow confusedly, —
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat,-
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie

I see a wild civility,

Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.

Robert Herrick.

XLI.

LOVE'S ATTIRE.

JULIA IN SILKS.

WHEN as in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows

That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see
That brave vibration each way free;
O how that glittering taketh me!

XLII.

Robert Ilerrick.

LOVE'S ATTIRE.

BEAUTY'S Selr.

My Love in her attire doth shew her wit, 1t Goth so well become her:

For every season she hath dressings fit, For Winter, Spring, and Summer.

No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on: But beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone.

Anonymous.

XLIII.

LOVE'S RESTING PLACE.

LOVE in my bosom, like a bee,
Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,

His bed amidst my tender breast;

My kisses are his daily feast,

And yet he robs me of my rest :
Ah, wanton, will you?

And if I sleep, then pierceth he
With pretty slight,

And makes his pillow of my knee
The livelong night.

D

Strike I the lute, he tunes the string;
He music plays if I but sing;

He lends me every lovely thing,

Yet, cruel, he my heart doth sting:
Ah, wanton, will you?

Else I with roses every day

Will whip you hence,

And bind you when you long to play,
For your offence.

I'll shut my eyes to keep you in,

I'll make you fast it for your sin,

I'll count your power not worth a pin :
Alas! what hereby shall I win,

If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod?

He will repay me with annoy,

Because a god

Then sit thou softly on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in my eyes, I like of thee,
O Cupid, so thou pity me;

Spare not, but play thee.

Thomas Lodge.

XLIV.

LOVE OMNIPRESENT.

TURN I my looks unto the skies,

Love with his arrows wounds mine eyes;

If so I gaze upon the ground,

Love then in every flower is found;

Search I the shade to fly my pain,

Love meets me in the shade again;
Want I to walk in secret grove,
Even there I meet with sacred love;

If so I bathe me in the spring,
E'en on the brink I hear him sing;
If so I meditate alone,

He will be partner of my moan;
If so I mourn, he weeps with me,
And where I am there will he be !

Thomas Lodge.

XLV.

LOVE EVER-PRESENT.

THE stars are with the voyager,
Wherever he may sail;

The moon is constant to her time,
The sun will never fail,

But follow, follow, round the world,
The green earth and the sea;
So love is with the lover's heart,
Wherever he may be.

Wherever he may be, the stars
Must daily lose their light,
The moon will veil her in the shade,
The sun will set at night;

The sun may set, but constant love
Will shine when he's away,

So that dull night is never night,

And day is brighter day.

Thomas Hood..

XLVI.

LOVE'S ASPIRATION.

FOR HER DEAR SAKE.

IF doughty deeds my lady please,

Right soon I'll mount my steed; And strong his arm, and fast his seat That bears frae me the meed.

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