LI.

TO CHLOE, WHO WISHED HERSELF YOUNG ENOUGH FOR ME.

A Fragment.

CHLOE, why wish you that your years

Would backwards run, till they meet mine,

That perfect likeness, which endears

Things unto things, might us combine?

Our ages so in date agree,

That twins do differ more than we.

'There are two births: the one when light
First strikes the new awakened sense;

The other, when two souls unite,

And we must count our life from thence:
When you loved me, and I loved you,
Then both of us were born anew.

Love then to us did new souls give,

And in those souls did plant new powers;
Since when another life we live,

The breath we breathe is his, not ours;

Love makes those young, whom age doth chill,
And whom he finds young, keeps young still.

And now since you and I are such,

Tell me what's yours and what is mine?
Our eyes, our ears, our taste, smell, touch,
Do, like our souls, in one combine;

So by this, I as well may be

Too old for you, as you for me.

William Cartwright

LII.

THE MERIT OF INCONSTANCY.
A Fragment.

WHY dost thou say I am forsworn,
Since thine I vow'd to be?
Lady, it is already morn;

It was last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.

Yet have I loved thee well, and long;
A tedious twelve-hours' space!
I should all other beauties wrong,
And rob thee of a new embrace,
Did I still doat upon that face.
Richard Lovelace.

LIII.

LOVE not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,

No, nor for my constant heart,—
For these may fail, or turn to ill,
So thou and I shall sever:

Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why-
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever!

Unknown.

LIV.

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND THE SEAS.

A Fragment.

IF to be absent were to be

Away from thee;

Or that when I am gone

You or I were alone;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave

Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave.

Though seas and land betwixt us both,
Our faith and troth,

Like separated souls,

All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet

Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.

So then we do anticipate

Our after-fate,

And are alive i' the skies,

If thus our lips and eyes

Can speak like spirits unconfined

In heaven, their earthly bodies left behind.

LV.

Richard Lovelace.

WERT thou yet fairer in thy feature,
Which lies not in the power of nature;
Or hadst thou in thine eyes more darts
Than ever Cupid shot at hearts;
Yet if they were not thrown at me,
I would not cast a thought on thee.

I'd rather marry a disease,

Than court the thing I could not please:
She that would cherish my desires,
Must meet my flame with equal fires:
What pleasure is there in a kiss

To him that doubts the heart's not his ?

I love thee not because thou'rt fair,

Softer than down, smoother than air;

Nor for the Cupids that do lie

In either corner of thine eye:

Would'st thou then know what it might be ?

'Tis I love thee 'cause thou lov'st me.

Unknown.

LVI.

'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure,

Nor for that old morality,

Do I love her 'cause she loves me.

Sure he that loves his lady 'cause she's fair,
Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her.
Something there is moves me to love, and I
Do know I love, but know not how, nor why.
Alexander Brome.

LVII.

The PEREMPTORY LOVer.

'Tis not your beauty not your wit
That can my heart obtain,
For they could never conquer yet
Either my breast or brain;
For if you'll not prove kind to me,
And true as heretofore,
Henceforth I'll scorn your slave to be,
And doat on you no more.

Think not my fancy to o'ercome
By proving thus unkind;

No smoothed sigh, nor smiling frown,
Can satisfy my mind.

Pray let Platonics play such pranks,

Such follies I deride;

For love at least I will have thanks,-
And something else beside!

Then open-hearted be with me,
As I shall be, I vow,

And let our actions be as free
As virtue will allow.

If you'll prove loving, I'll prove kind,—
If constant, I'll be true;

If Fortune chance to change your mind,
I'll turn as soon as you.

Since our affections, well ye know,
In equal terms do stand,
'Tis in your power to love or no,
Mine's likewise in my hand.
Dispense with your austerity,
Inconstancy abhor,

Or, by great Cupid's deity,

I'll never love you more.

Unknown.

LVIII.

I PR'YTHEE leave this peevish fashion,
Don't desire to be high-prized,
Love's a princely, noble passion,
And doth scorn to be despised.
Tho' we say you're fair, you know
We your beauty do bestow,-
For our fancy makes you so.

Don't be proud 'cause we adore you,
We do't only for our pleasure;
And those parts in which you glory,
We, by fancy, weigh and measure.
When for Deities you go,

For Angels, or for Queens, pray know
'Tis our own fancy makes you so!

Don't suppose your majesty

By tyranny's best signified,
And your angelic natures be

Distinguish'd only by your pride.
Tyrants make subjects rebels grow,
And pride makes angels devils below,
And your pride may make you so!

Alexander Brome.

LIX.

UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY TIIREA TENED.

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 impt the wings of Fame.