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VALERIUS ON WOMEN
She that denies me I would have; Who craves me I despise: Venus hath power to rule mine heart, But not to please mine eyes.
Temptations offered I still scorn; Denied, I cling them still; I'll neither glut mine appet.i.te, Nor seek to starve my will.
Diana, double-clothed, offends; So Venus, naked quite: The last begets a surfeit, and The other no delight.
That crafty girl shall please me best, That no, for yea, can say; And every wanton willing kiss Can season with a nay.
Thomas Heywood [?-1650?]
DISPRAISE OF LOVE, AND LOVERS' FOLLIES
If love be life, I long to die, Live they that list for me; And he that gains the most thereby, A fool at least shall be.
But he that feels the sorest fits, 'Scapes with no less than loss of wits.
Unhappy life they gain, Which love do entertain.
In day by feigned looks they live, By lying dreams in night; Each frown a deadly wound doth give, Each smile a false delight.
If't hap their lady pleasant seem, It is for others' love they deem: If void she seem of joy, Disdain doth make her coy.
Such is the peace that lovers find, Such is the life they lead, Blown here and there with every wind, Like flowers in the mead; Now war, now peace, now war again, Desire, despair, delight, disdain: Though dead in midst of life, In peace, and yet at strife.
Francis Davison [fl. 1602]
THE CONSTANT LOVER
Out upon it, I have loved Three whole days together!
And am like to love three more, If it prove fair weather.
Time shall moult away his wings, Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover.
But the spite on't is, no praise Is due at all to me: Love with me had made no stays, 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 in her place.
John Suckling [1609-1642]
SONG From "Aglaura"
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't?
Prithee, why so mute?
Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: This cannot take her.
If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her!
John Suckling [1609-1642]
WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS
Whoe'er she be, That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me:
Where'er she lie, Locked up from mortal eye In shady leaves of destiny:
Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her fair steps tread our earth:
Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to s.h.i.+ne;
Meet you her, my Wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses, And be ye called my absent kisses.
I wish her Beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire, or glistering shoe-tie:
Something more than Taffeta or tissue can, Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
More than the spoil Of shop, or silkworm's toil, Or a bought blush, or a set smile.
A Face that's best By its own beauty dressed, And can alone commend the rest
A Face, made up Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope.
A Cheek, where youth And blood, with pen of truth, Write what the reader sweetly ru'th.
A Cheek, where grows More than a morning rose, Which to no box its being owes.
Lips, where all day A lover's kiss may play, Yet carry nothing thence away.
Looks, that oppress Their richest tires, but dress And clothe their simplest nakedness.
Eyes, that displace The neighbor diamond, and outface That suns.h.i.+ne by their own sweet grace.
