"KIND ARE HER ANSWERS"

Kind are her answers, But her performance keeps no day; Breaks time, as dancers From their own music when they stray.

All her free favors And smooth words wing my hopes in vain.

O, did ever voice so sweet but only feign?

Can true love yield such delay, Converting joy to pain?

Lost is our freedom When we submit to women so: Why do we need 'em When, in their best, they work our woe?

There is no wisdom Can alter ends by fate prefixed.

O, why is the good of man with evil mixed?

Never were days yet called two But one night went betwixt.

Thomas Campion [?--1619]

TO CELIA From "The Forest"

Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee!

Ben Jonson [1573?-1637]

SONG From "The Forest"

O, do not wanton with those eyes, Lest I be sick with seeing; Nor cast them down, but let them rise, Lest shame destroy their being.

O, be not angry with those fires, For then their threats will kill me; Nor look too kind on my desires, For then my hopes will spill me.

O, do not steep them in thy tears, For so will sorrow slay me; Nor spread them as distract with fears; Mine own enough betray me.

Ben Jonson [1573?-1637]

SONG

Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root, Tell me where all past years are, Or who cleft the Devil's foot; Teach me to hear mermaid's singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging, And find What wind Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible go see, Ride ten thousand days and nights Till Age snow white hairs on thee; Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me All strange wonders that befell thee, And swear No where Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know; Such a pilgrimage were sweet.

Yet do not; I would not go, Though at next door we might meet.

Though she were true when you met her, And last till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two or three.

John Donne [1573-1631]

THE MESSAGE

Send home my long-strayed eyes to me, Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee: But if from you they've learned such ill, To sweetly smile, And then beguile, Keep the deceivers, keep them still.

Send home my harmless heart again, Which no unworthy thought could stain: But if it has been taught by thine To forfeit both Its word and oath, Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes, For I'll know all thy falsities; That I one day may laugh, when thou Shalt grieve and mourn-- Of one the scorn, Who proves as false as thou art now.

John Donne [1573-1631]

SONG

Ladies, though to your conquering eyes Love owes his chiefest victories, And borrows those bright arms from you With which he does the world subdue, Yet you yourselves are not above The empire nor the griefs of love.

Then rack not lovers with disdain, Lest Love on you revenge their pain: You are not free because you're fair: The Boy did not his Mother spare.

Beauty's but an offensive dart: It is no armor for the heart.

George Etherege [1635?-1691]

TO A LADY ASKING HIM HOW LONG HE WOULD LOVE HER

It is not, Celia, in our power To say how long our love will last; It may be we within this hour May lose those joys we now do taste: The Blessed, that immortal be, From change in love are only free.

Then since we mortal lovers are, Ask not how long our love will last; But while it does, let us take care Each minute be with pleasure pa.s.sed: Were it not madness to deny To live because we're sure to die?

George Etherege [1635?-1691]

TO AENONE

What conscience, say, is it in thee, When I a heart had one, To take away that heart from me, And to retain thy own?