When I lie tangled in her hair
And fettered to her eye,

The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free-
Fishes that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King;
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage;

If I have freedom in my love

And in my soul am free,

Angels alone, that soar above,

Enjoy such liberty.

Richard Lovelace [1618-1658]

WHY I LOVE HER

'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.

To His Coy Mistress

607

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 [1620–1666]

TO HIS COY MISTRESS

HAD we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way.
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For, Lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear

Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.

Thy beauty shall no more be found,

Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound

My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honor turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:

The grave's a fine and private place,

But none, I think, do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
! Our sweetness up into one ball,

And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life:

Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Andrew Marvell [1621-1678]

A DEPOSITION FROM BEAUTY

THOUGH When I loved thee thou wert fair,
Thou art no longer so;

These glories all the pride they wear

Unto opinion owe.

Beauties, like stars, in borrowed luster shine;
And 'twas my love that gave thee thine.

The flames that dwelt within thine eye
Do now with mine expire;

Thy brightest graces fade and die

At once with my desire.

Love's fires thus mutual influence return;
Thine cease to shine, when mine to burn.

Then, proud Celinda, hope no more
To be implored or wooed,

Since by thy scorn thou dost restore
Thy wealth my love bestowed:

And thy despised disdain too late shall find

That none are fair but who are kind.

Thomas Stanley [1625–1678]

To Celia

"LOVE IN THY YOUTH, FAIR MAID"

Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise,
Old Time will make thee colder,
And though each morning new arise,
Yet we each day grow older.

Thou as heaven art fair and young,
Thine eyes like twin stars shining;
But ere another day be sprung,
All these will be declining;

Then winter comes with all his fears,
And all thy sweets shall borrow;

Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,

And I, too late, shall sorrow.

609

Unknown

TO CELIA

WHEN, Celia, must my old day set,
And my young morning rise

In beams of joy so bright as yet

Ne'er blessed a lover's eyes?

My state is more advanced than when

I first attempted thee:

I sued to be a servant then,

But now to be made free.

I've served my time faithful and true,

Expecting to be placed

In happy freedom, as my due,

To all the joys thou hast:

Ill husbandry in love is such

A scandal to love's power,

We ought not to misspend so much.
As one poor short-lived hour.

Yet think not, sweet, I'm weary grown,

That I pretend such haste;,

Since none to surfeit e'er was known [
Before he had a taste::

My infant love could humbly wait
When, young, it scarce knew how
To plead; but grown to man's estate,
He is impatient now.

Charles Cotton [1630 -1687]

TO CELIA

NOT, Celia, that I juster am

Or better than the rest!

For I would change each hour, like them,

Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee
By every thought I have;
Thy face I only care to see,
Thy heart I only crave.

All that in woman is adored
In thy dear self I find-

For the whole sex can but afford
The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek further store,
And still make love anew?

When change itself can give no more,

'Tis easy to be true!

Charles Sedley [1639 -1701]

A SONG

My dear mistress has a heart

Soft as those kind looks she gave me;

When with love's resistless art,

And her eyes, she did enslave me.

But her constancy's so weak,

She's so wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder. !