Tudor and Stuart Love Songs - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, s.h.i.+nes fair Samela;
Her tresses gold, her eyes like gla.s.sy streams, Her teeth are pearl, the b.r.e.a.s.t.s are ivory Of fair Samela;
Her cheeks, like rose and lily, yield forth gleams, Her brows, bright arches fram'd of ebony; Thus fair Samela
Pa.s.seth fair Venus in her bravest hue, And Juno in the show of majesty, (For she's Samela!)
Pallas in wit,--all three, if you well view, For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity Yield to Samela.
Robert Greene.
KINDS OF LOVE.
Foolish love is only folly; Wanton love is too unholy; Greedy love is covetous; Idle love is frivolous; But the gracious love is it That doth prove the work of wit.
Beauty but deceives the eye; Flattery leads the ear awry; Wealth doth but enchant the wit; Want, the overthrow of it; While in Wisdom's worthy grace, Virtue sees the sweetest face.
There hath Love found out his life, Peace without all thought of strife; Kindness in Discretion's care; Truth, that clearly doth declare Faith doth in true fancy prove, l.u.s.t the excrements of Love.
Then in faith may fancy see How my love may construed be; How it grows and what it seeks; How it lives and what it likes; So in highest grace regard it, Or in lowest scorn discard it.
Robert Greene.
LOVE AND BEAUTY.
Pretty twinkling starry eyes, How did Nature first devise Such a sparkling in your sight As to give Love such delight, As to make him like a fly, Play with looks until he die?
Sure ye were not made at first For such mischief to be curst; As to kill Affection's care That doth only truth declare; Where worth's wonders never wither, Love and Beauty live together.
Blessed eyes, then give your blessing, That in pa.s.sion's best expressing; Love that only lives to grace ye, May not suffer pride deface ye; But in gentle thought's directions Show the power of your perfections.
Robert Greene.
LOVE'S SERVILE LOT.
Love mistress is of many minds, Yet few know whom they serve; They reckon least how little hope Their service doth deserve.
The will she robbeth from the wit, The sense from reason's lore; She is delightful in the rind, Corrupted in the core.
May never was the month of love, For May is full of flowers; But rather April, wet by kind; For love is full of showers.
With soothing words inthralled souls She chains in servile bands!
Her eye in silence hath a speech Which eye best understands.
Her little sweet hath many sours, Short hap, immortal harms; Her loving looks are murdering darts, Her songs bewitching charms.
Like winter rose, and summer ice, Her joys are still untimely; Before her hope, behind remorse, Fair first, in fine unseemly.
Plough not the seas, sow not the sands, Leave off your idle pain; Seek other mistress for your minds, Love's service is in vain.
Robert Southwell.
THE HEART OF STONE.
Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose!
It was from cheeks that shame the rose, From lips that spoil the ruby's praise, From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze: Whence comes my woe? as freely own; Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.
The blus.h.i.+ng cheek speaks modest mind, The lips befitting words most kind, The eye does tempt to love's desire, And seems to say, "'Tis Cupid's fire;"
Yet all so fair but speak my moan, Since nought doth say the heart of stone.
Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blus.h.i.+ng cheek,-- Yet not a heart to save my pain?
O Venus, take thy gifts again!
Make not so fair to cause our moan, Or make a heart that's like your own.
John Harrington.
A SHEPHERD'S SONG TO HIS LOVE.
Diaphenia, like the daffa-down-dilly, White as the sun, fair as the lily, Heigh-ho, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as my lambs Are beloved of their dams: How blest I were if thou would'st prove me!
Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, Fair sweet, how I do love thee!
I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power; For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.
Diaphenia, like to all things blessed, When all thy praises are expressed, Dear joy, how I do love thee!
As the birds do love the spring, Or the bees their careful king: Then, in requite, sweet virgin, love me!
Henry Constable.
