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CUPID AND CAMPASPE

From "

Alexander and Campaspe

CUPID and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses; Cupid paid:

"

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws

The coral of his lip, the rose

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple on his chin;
All these did my Campaspe win:
And last he set her both his eyes-
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?

John Lyly [1554?-1606]

APOLLO'S SONG

From "Midas "

My Daphne's hair is twisted gold,
Bright stars apiece her eyes do hold,
My Daphne's brow enthrones the Graces,
My Daphne's beauty stains all faces,

On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry,
On Daphne's lip a sweeter berry,

Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt,
And then no heavenlier warmth is felt,
My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres,

My Daphne's music charms all ears.
Fond am I thus to sing her praise;

These glories now are turned to bays.

John Lyly [1554?-1606]

"FAIR IS MY LOVE FOR APRIL'S IN HER FACE"

From "Perimedes "

FAIR is my love for April's in her face,

Her lovely breasts September claims his part,

And lordly July in her eyes takes place,

But cold December dwelleth in her heart;

Samela

501

Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire,
Accurst that month that hindereth my desire.

Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle both her eyes,
As air perfumed with amber is her breath,
Like swelling waves her lovely breasts do rise,

As earth, her heart, cold, dateth me to death:
Aye me, poor man, that on the earth do live,
When unkind earth death and despair doth give!

In pomp sits mercy seated in her face,

Love 'twixt her breasts his trophies doth imprint, Her eyes shine favor, courtesy, and grace,

But touch her heart, ah, that is framed of flint! Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain; The rock will wear, washed with a winter's rain. Robert Greene [1560?-1592]

SAMELA

From "Menaphon"

LIKE to Diana in her summer weed,

Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
Goes fair Samela;

Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,
When washed by Arethusa's Fount they lie,
Is fair Samela.

As fair Aurora in her morning-gray,
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love,
Is fair Samela;

Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day,

Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,
Shines fair Samela.

Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory
Of fair Samela;

Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams;

Her brows bright arches framed of ebony:

Thus fair Samela

Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,
And Juno in the show of majesty,
For she's Samela;

Pallas, in wit,—all three, if you well view,
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity

Yield to Samela.

Robert Greene [1560?-1592]

DAMELUS' SONG OF HIS DIAPHENIA

DIAPHENIA like the daffadowndilly,

White as the sun, fair as the lily,

Heigh ho, how I do love thee!

I do love thee as my lambs

Are beloved of their dams;—

How blest were I if thou would'st prove me.

Diaphenia like the spreading roses,

That in thy sweets all sweets encloses,
Fair sweet, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as each flower
Loves the sun's life-giving power;

For dead, thy breath to life might move me.

Diaphenia like to all things blessed,
When all thy praises are expressed,

Dear joy, how I do love thee!
As the birds do love the spring,
Or the bees their careful king:

Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me!

Henry Constable [1562-1613]

ROSALINE

LIKE to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,

Of selfsame color is her hair

Whether unfolded or in twines:

Rosaline

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!

Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Resembling heaven by every wink;
The gods do fear whenas they glow,
And I do tremble when I think

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora's face,
Or like the silver crimson shroud
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace:
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!

Her lips are like two budded roses
Whom ranks of lilies neighbor nigh,
Within whose bounds she balm encloses
Apt to entice a deity:

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Her neck like to a stately tower
Where Love himself imprisoned lies,
To watch for glances every hour
From her divine and sacred eyes:

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!

Her paps are centres of delight,

Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,
Where Nature moulds the dew of light
To feed perfection with the same:
Heigh ho, would she were mine!

With orient pearl, with ruby red,

With marble white, with sapphire blue,

Her body every way is fed,

Yet soft to touch and sweet to view:

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!

Nature herself her shape admires;
The gods are wounded in her sight;
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires
And at her eyes his brand doth light:

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

503

Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan

The absence of fair Rosaline,

Since for a fair there's fairer none,

Nor for her virtues so divine:

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!

Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine!

Thomas Lodge [1558?-1625]

SONG

From "The Elder Brother "

BEAUTY clear and fair,

Where the air

Rather like a perfume dwells;

Where the violet and the rose

Their blue veins and blush disclose,

And come to honor nothing else.

Where to live near,

And planted there,

Is to live, and still live new;

Where to gain a favor is

More than light, perpetual bliss,

Make me live by serving you.

Dear, again back recall

To this light

A stranger to himself and all;

Both the wonder and the story
Shall be yours, and eke the glory:
I am your servant, and your thrall.

John Fletcher [1579-1625]

MADRIGAL

My love in her attire doth show her wit,

It doth so well become her;

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

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