So long I have my tongue and pen constrained,
To praise, dispraise, complain, and pity crave,
That now nor tongue, nor pen, to me, her slave,
Remains, whereby her grace may be obtained.
Yet you, my sighs, may purchase me relief;

And ye, my tears, her rocky heart may move : Therefore, my sighs, sigh in her ear my grief; And in her heart, my tears, imprint my love. But cease, vain sighs; cease, cease, ye fruitless tears; Tears cannot pierce her heart, nor sighs her ears.

HIS FAREWELL,

TO HIS UNKIND AND INCONSTANT MISTRESS.

Sweet, if you like and love me still,
And yield me love for my good will,-

And do not from your promise start,

When your fair hand gave me your heart;
If dear to you I be,

As you are dear to me;

Then yours

I am and will be ever,

Nor time nor place my love shall sever;

But faithful still I will persever,

Like constant marble stone,

Loving but you alone.

But if you favour more than me,
Who love thee, dear, and none but thee,

If others do the harvest gain,

That's due to me for all my pain;

If you delight to range,

And oft to chop and change;

Then get you some new-fangled mate;
My doating love shall turn to hate,
Esteeming you, though too, too late,
Not worth a pebble stone,
Loving not me alone.

BEN JONSON.

1573-1637.

["The Poetaster." 1601.]

SONG.

IF I freely may discover

What would please me in my lover, I would have her fair and witty, Savouring more of court than city; A little proud, but full of pity; Light and humorous in her toying; Oft building hopes, and soon destroying; Long, but sweet in the enjoying; Neither too easy, nor too hard, All extremes I would have barred.

She should be allowed her passions,
So they were but used as fashions;
Sometimes froward, and then frowning,
Sometimes sickish, and then swooning,
Every fit with change still crowning.
Purely jealous I would have her,
Then only constant when I crave her;

"Tis a virtue should not save her.

Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me,
Nor her peevishness annoy me.

["Epicone; or, The Silent Woman." 1609.]

SONG.

Still to be neat, still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed :
Lady, it is to be presumed,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all the adulteries of art;

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

["The Forest." 1616.]

ΤΟ CELIA.

Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we may, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever:
He, at length, our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain:
Suns that set, may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
"Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Can not we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removed by our wile?

"Tis no sin love's fruit to steal,

But the sweet theft to reveal:

To be taken, to be seen,

These have crimes accounted been.

TO THE SAME.

Kiss me, sweet: the wary lover
Can your favours keep, and cover,
When the common courting jay
All your bounties will betray.
Kiss again! no creature comes;
Kiss, and score up wealthy sums
On my lips, thus hardly sundered,
While you breathe. First give a hundred,
Then a thousand, then another
Hundred, then unto the other
Add a thousand, and so more;
Till you equal with the store,
All the grass that Rumney yields,
Or the sands in Chelsea fields,

Or the drops in silver Thames,

Or the stars that gild his streams,

In the silent summers-nights,

When youths ply their stolen delights;

That the curious may not know

How to tell 'em as they flow,

And the envious, when they find

What their number is, be pined.

TO CELIA.

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.