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Groom.-Then I perceive, when from the flame
Of love my scorched soul did retire,
Your frozen heart in that place came,
And sweetly melted in that fire.

Bride.-"Tis true, for when that mutual change Of souls was made, with equal gain, I straight might feel diffused a strange But gentle heat through every vein.

Bride.-Thy bosom then I'll make my nest,

Since there my willing soul doth perch. Groom.-And for my heart, in thy chaste breast, I'll make an everlasting search.

O blest disunion, that doth so

Our bodies from our souls divide;
As two to one, and one four grow,
Each by contraction multiplied.

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 lived unknown,
Had not my verse exhaled thy name,
And with it imped 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 borrowed sphere
Lightning on him that fixed thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate !

Let fools thy mystic forms adore ;

I'll know thee in thy mortal state.
Wise poets, that wrapped the truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her veils.

THOMAS DEKKER

Circa 1570-1641

LULLABY

GOLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.

Rock them, rock a lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.

Rock them, rock a lullaby.

SWEET CONTENT

ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!

Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed?
O punishment!

Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers?

O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;

Honest labour bears a lovely face;

Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
O sweet content!

Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O punishment!

Then he that patiently want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king!
O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace;

Honest labour bears a lovely face;

Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

THOMAS HEYWOOD

--1649?

GOOD-MORROW

PACK, clouds, away, and welcome day
With night we banish sorrow;
Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft
To give my Love good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow;
Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale sing,

To give my Love good-morrow;

To give my Love good-morrow,
Notes from them both I'll borrow.

Wake from thy nest, Robin-red breast,
Sing, birds, in every furrow;
And from each hill, let music shrill

Give my fair Love good-morrow!
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow!
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves,
Sing my fair Love good-morrow;
To give my Love good-morrow
Sing, birds, in every furrow!

ROBERT HERRICK

1591-1674

TO DIANEME

SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes
Which star-like sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud, that you can see
All hearts your captives; yours yet free.
Be you not proud of that rich hair
Which wantons with the love-sick air;
Whenas that ruby which you wear,
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,

Will last to be a precious stone
When all your world of beauty's gone.

TO MEADOWS

YE have been fresh and green,

Ye have been filled with flowers;

And ye the walks have been

Where maids have spent their hours.

Ye have beheld how they

With wicker arks did come To kiss and bear away

The richer cowslips home.

You've heard them sweetly sing, And seen them in a round, Each virgin, like a Spring,

With honeysuckles crowned.

But now we see none here

Whose silvery feet did tread,

And with dishevelled hair

Adorned this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent

Your stock, and needy grown,

You're left here to lament

Your poor estates alone.

TO BLOSSOMS

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

Why do ye fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What, were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? "Twas pity Nature brought ye forth

Merely to show your worth,

And lose you quite!

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