120

TEARS OF PRICE.

TEARS OF PRICE.

THE dew no more shall weep,
The primrose's pale cheek to deck
The dew no more shall sleep,
Nuzzled in the lily's neck:

Much rather would it tremble here,
And leave them both to be thy tear.

Not the soft gold which

Steals from the amber-weeping tree,
Makes sorrow half so rich,

As the drops distill'd from thee:
Sorrow's best jewels be in these

Caskets, of which Heaven keeps the keys.

When sorrow would be seen

In her bright majesty,

For she is a Queen!

Then is she dress'd by none but thee;

Then, and only then, she wears

Her richest pearls;-I mean thy tears

Not in the evening's eyes

When they red with weeping are

For the sun that dies,

Sits Sorrow with a face so fair:
No where but here doth meet,
Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.

Richard Crashaw.

SONETTO.

121

SONETTO.

FIRST shall the heav'ns want starry light,
The seas be robb'd of their waves,
The day want sun, the sun want bright,
The night want shade, the dead men graves,
The April flow'rs, and leaves, and tree,
Before I false my faith to thee.

First shall the top of highest hill
By humble plains be overpry'd,
And poets scorn the Muses' quill,
And fish forsake the water glide,
And Iris lose her colour'd weed,
Before I false thee at thy need.

First direful Hate shall turn to peace,
And Love relent in deep disdain,
And Death his fatal stroke shall cease,
And Envy pity every pain,

And Pleasure mourn, and sorrow smile,
Before I talk of any guile.

First Time shall stay his stayless race,
And Winter bless his brows with corn,
And snow bemoisten July's face,
And Winter sing, and Summer mourn,
Before my pen, by help of Fame,
Cease to recite thy sacred name!

Thomas Lodge.

122

THE SILENT LOVER.

THE SILENT LOVER.

PASSIONS are liken'd best to floods and streams,
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;
So when affections yield discourse, it seems

The bottom is but shallow whence they come;
They that are rich in words must needs discover
They are but poor in that which makes a lover.

Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart,
The merit of true passion,

With thinking that he feels no smart
That sues for no compassion.

Since if my plaints were not t'approve
The conquest of thy beauty,

It comes not from defect of love,
But fear t'exceed my duty.

For knowing that I sue to serve
A saint of such perfection
As all desire, but none deserve
A place in her affection,

I rather choose to want relief
Than venture the revealing;
Where glory recommends the grief,
Despair disdains the healing.

THE SILENT LOVER.

Silence in love betrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty;
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart,
My love for secret passion;

He smarteth most who hides his smart,

And sues for no compassion.

123

Sir W. Raleigh.

124 TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING.

TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM
ANY THING.

BID me to live, and I will live
Thy Protestant to be:

Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
A heart as sound and free

As in the whole world thou canst find-
That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,

To honour thy decree:

Or bid it languish quite away,
And 't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep
While I have eyes to see:
And having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair
Under that cypress tree:
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en Death, to die for thee.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me;

And hast command of every part,

To live and die for thee.

R. Herrick.