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 extolled thy name,...
In Celia's face a question did arise, Which were more beautiful, her lips or eyes ? We, said the eyes, send forth those pointed darts Which pierce the hardest adamantine hearts....
Give me more love or more disdain; The torrid, or the frozen zone, Bring equal ease unto my pain; The temperate affords me none; Either extreme, of love, or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate. ...
So grieves th' adventurous merchant, when he throws All the long toil'd-for treasure his ship stows Into the angry main, to save from wrack Himself and men, as I grieve to give back...
Fear not, dear love, that I'll reveal Those hours of pleasure we two steal; No eye shall see, nor yet the sun Descry, what thou and I have done. No ear shall hear our love, but we...
If when the sun at noon displays His brighter rays, Thou but appear, He then, all pale with shame and fear, Quencheth his light, Hides his dark brow, flies from thy sight, And grows more dim,...
How ill doth he deserve a lover's name, Whose pale weak flame Cannot retain His heat, in spite of absence or disdain; But doth at once, like paper set on fire, Burn and expire;...
I'll gaze no more on her bewitching face, Since ruin harbours there in every place; For my enchanted soul alike she drowns With calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns....
If the quick spirits in your eye Now languish and anon must die; If every sweet and every grace Must fly from that forsaken face; Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys....
Ask me why I send you here The firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you This primrose all bepearled with dew: I straight will whisper in your ears,...
Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;...
He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires: As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. ...
Now you have freely given me leave to love, What will you do? Shall I your mirth, or passion move, When I begin to woo; Will you torment, or scorn, or love me too? ...
'Tis true, dear Ben, thy just chastising hand Hath fix'd upon the sotted age a brand To their swoll'n pride and empty scribbling due; It can nor judge, nor write, and yet 'tis true...
When thou, poor excommunicate From all the joys of love, shalt see The full reward and glorious fate Which my strong faith shall purchase me, Then curse thine own inconstancy. ...