But the spite on't is, no praise Is due at all to me: Love with me had made no staies Had it any been but she. Had it any been but she And that very Face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place. Sir John Suckling. D To Cynthia. On concealment of her beauty. O not conceale thy radiant eyes, The starre-light of serenest skies, Do not conceale those brests of thine, Do not conceale that fragrant scent, Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent No spices growe in all the East. ΤΟ ΤΟ Do not conceale thy heavenly voice, The Nightingale forget to sing. Do not conceale, not yet eclipse Least that the Seas cease to bring forth Do not conceale no beauty grace, Make men beleeve no Paradice. Sir Francis Kynaston. Ν Song. Oe more unto my thoughts appeare, For crazy tempers justly feare Whilst your pure Image hath a place In my impurer Mynde, Your very shaddow is the glasse 20 No, no, your picture doeth impart Such valew I not wish The native worth to any heart Though poorer in desert I make The fuell which from hope I take If this flame lighted from your Eyes The subject doe calcine, A Heart may bee your sacrifice Too weake to bee your shrine. Song. Sidney Godolphin. To the tune of, In fayth I cannot keepe my fathers sheepe. Loris, it is not thy disdaine CLO Can ever cover with dispaire Or in cold ashes hide that care Which I have fedd with soe long paine, I may perhaps myne eyes refraine And fruiteless wordes noe more impart, But yet still serve, still serve thee in my What though I spend my haplesse dayes In finding entertainements out, hearte. Unto my Heart, my heart is still the same. 10 Tis true that I could love noe face Taking delight in others paine. Thy lookes are full of native grace; Since then by chance scorne there hath place, Tis to be hop't I may remove This scorne one day, one day by Endless Love. Sidney Godolphin. 20 Upon Phillis walking in a morning before Sun-rising. "He sluggish morne as yet undrest, The My Phillis brake from out her East; As if shee'd made a match to run To chirp their Mattins: and the Fan Untill their Voluntaries made Start, and raise up their drowsie heads; May find it vaulting in her cheekes, These miracles had cramp't the Sunne, The trembling leaves through which he plai'd, To force us a new fashion'd day. But what religious Paulsie's this Which makes the boughs divest their bliss? Should wed October unto May; 20 30 40 50 |