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ON THE LADY
WHO CAN SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASES.
No wonder sleep from careful lovers flies,
waits on her will, and wretches does forsake,
nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies in dark'ning clouds, the pow'r to close her eyes; eyes which so far all other lights controul, they warm our mortal parts, but these our soul!
Let her free spirit, whose unconquer'd breast hold such deep quiet and untroubled rest, know that tho' Venus and her son should spare her rebel heart, and never teach her care, yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep, and for another's joy suspend her sleep.
THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE
Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train,
such is the chase when Love and Fancy leads
or form some image of his cruel fair.
ON MY LADY ISABELLA
PLAYING ON THE LUTE.
Such moving sounds from such a careless touch!
Small force there needs to make them tremble so:
ON A GIRDLE.
That which her slender waist confin'd
It was my heav'n's extremest sphere,
AN APOLOGY FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE.
They that never had the use
So they that are to love inclin'd,
sway'd by chance, not choice, or art,
make a present of their heart:
To man, that was in th' ev'ning made,
stars gave the first delight,
admiring, in the gloomy shade
those little drops of light:
he gazing tow'rd the east did stand,
But when the bright sun did appear,
his wonder was determin'd there,
He neither might, nor wish'd to know
for that (as mine your beauties now)
Oh! how I long my careless limbs to lay under the plantain's shade, and all the day with amorous airs my fancy entertain, invoke the Muses, and improve my vein ! no passion there in my free breast should move, none but the sweet and best of passions, Love. There while I sing, if gentle Love be by,
that tunes my lute, and winds the string so high, with the sweet sound of Sacharissa's name, I'll make the list ning savages grow tame.— But while I do these pleasing dreams endite, I am diverted from the promis'd sight.
TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY, Why came I so untimely forth into a world which, wanting thee, could entertain us with no worth or shadow of felicity?
that time should me so far remove from that which I was born to love! Yet, fairest Blossom! do not slight that age which you may know so soon: the rosy Morn resigns her light and milder glory to the Noon: and then what wonders shall you do, whose dawning beauty warms us so ! Hope waits upon the flow'ry prime; and summer, tho' it be less gay, yet is not look'd on as a time (of declination or decay:
for with a full hand that does bring all that was promis'd by the spring.
Fair! that you may truly know
but with wonder I am struck
while I on the other look.
If sweet Amoret complains, :AVY I have sense of all her pains;
but for Sacharissa I