So, when my mistress shall be seen
In form and beauty of her mind;
By virtue first, then choice, a queen!
Tell me if she were not design'd
Th' eclipse and glory of her kind?

WILLIAM SMITH,

Born about 1571, died

SONNET.

THY beauty subject of my song I make,
O fairest fair, on whom depends my life!
Refuse not then the task I undertake

To please thy rage, and to appease my strife;
But with one smile remunerate my toil;
None other guerdon I of thee desire :

Give not my lowly muse, new-hatch'd the foil,
But warmth, that she may at the length aspire
Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes,
Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits;
From whence such glorious crystal beams arise,

As best my Chloris' seemly face befits :

Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam,

Which face of thine, hath made my love extreme.

BEN JONSON,

Born 1574, died 1637.

SONG. TO CELIA.

[From "The Forest."]

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me;

Since when it grows and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

SONG.

[From "The Silent Woman."]

STILL to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;

Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,

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 th' adulteries of art:

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

THOMAS CAMPION,

Born about 1575, died about 1640.

[From F. Davison's "Poetical Rhapsody," 1602.]

OF HIS MISTRESS' FACE.

AND would you see my mistress' face? It is a flow'ry garden place,

Where knots of beauty have such grace,

That all is work, and no where space.

It is a sweet delicious morn,

Where day is breeding, never born;
It is a meadow yet unshorn,

Which thousand flowers do adorn.

It is the heaven's bright reflex,
Weak to dazzle and to vex ;
It is th' Idæa of her sex,

Envy of whom doth world perplex.

It is a face of death that smiles,
Pleasing, though it kills the whiles;
Where Death and Love, in pretty wiles,
Each other mutually beguiles.

It is fair Beauty's freshest youth;

It is the feign'd Elisium's truth;

The spring that wintered hearts renew'th,
And this is that my soul pursu'th.

THOMAS CAREW,

Born about 1577, died 1634.

GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID.

WHEN you the sun-burnt pilgrim see,

Fainting with thirst, haste to the springs;

Mark how, at first, with bended knee

He courts the crystal nymphs, and flings

His body to the earth, where he

Prostrate adores the flowing deity.

G

But when his sweaty face is drench'd

In her cool waves, when from her sweet Bosom his burning thirst is quench'd,

Then mark how with disdainful feet

He kicks her banks, and from the place,
That thus refresh'd him, moves with sullen pace.

So shalt thou be despised, fair maid,

When by the sated lover tasted!

What first he did with tears invade

Shall afterwards with scorn be wasted:

When all thy virgin springs grow dry,

When no streams shall be left but in thine eye.

INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.

KNOW, Celia, (since thou art so proud,) 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown! Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd

Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name, And with it imp'd the wings of fame.

That killing power is none of thine;
I gave it to thy voice and eyes;
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies :
Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere,
Lightning on him that fix'd thee there.