I do not love thee for that fair
Rich fan of thy most curious hair;
Though the wires thereof be drawn
Finer than the threads of lawn,
And are softer than the leaves
On which the subtle spinner weaves.
I do not love thee for those flowers
Growing on thy cheeks-Love's bowers;
Though such cunning hath them spread,
None can part their white and red;
Love's golden arrows thence are shot:
Yet for them I love thee not.
I do not love thee for those soft
Red coral lips I've kiss'd so oft;
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard
To speech, whence music still is heard :
Though from those lips a kiss being taken
Would Tyrants melt, and Death awaken.
I do not love thee, O my fairest !
For that richest-for that rarest
Silver pillar which stands under
Thy round head, that globe of wonder:
Though that neck be whiter far
Than towers of polish'd ivory are.
I do not love thee for those mountains Hill'd with snow; whence milky fountains (Sugar'd sweets, as sirup'd berries,)
Must one day run, through pipes of cherries: O how much those breasts do move me! Yet for them I do not love thee.
I do not love thee for that belly,
Sleek as satin, soft as jelly;
Though within that crystal Mound
Heaps of treasure may be found,
So rich, that for the least of them
A king might leave his diadem.
I do not love thee for those thighs,
Whose alabaster rocks do rise
So high and even, that they stand
Like sea-marks to some happy land:
Happy they, whose eyes have seen them,
But happier he that sails between them.
I love thee not for thy moist palm,
Though the dew thereof be balm;
Nor for thy pretty leg and foot,
Although it be the precious root
On which this goodly cedar grows :
Sweet, I love thee not for those.
Nor for thy wit, though pure and quick,
Whose substance no arithmetic
Can number down; nor for the charms
Thou makest with thy embracing arms :
Though in them one night to lie,
Dearest, I would gladly die.
I love not for those eyes, nor hair,
Nor cheeks, nor lips, nor teeth so rare,
Nor for thy speech, thy neck, nor breast,
Nor for thy belly, nor the rest;
Nor for thy hand nor foot so small :
But, would'st thou know, dear sweet?-for All !
SK me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose?
For in your Beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more, whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day?
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The Nightingale, when May is past?
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more, where those stars 'light,
That downwards fall in dead of night?
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.
Ask me no more, if east or west
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest?
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.
ON SIGHT OF A GENTLEWOMAN'S FACE, IN THE
TAND still, you floods! do not deface
That image which you bear;
So votaries from every place
To you shall altars rear.
No winds but Lovers' sighs blow here,
To trouble these glad streams,
On which no star from any sphere
Did ever dart such beams.
To crystal then in haste congeal,
Lest you should lose your bliss ;
And to my cruel Fair reveal
How cold, how hard she is!
But if the envious Nymphs shall fear
Their beauties will be scorn'd,
And hire the ruder winds to tear
That face which you adorn'd,-
Then rage and foam amain, that we
Their malice may despise ;
When from your froth we soon shall see
A second Venus rise.
LD you
Not bring you to the down, or air;
know what's soft? I dare
Nor to stars, to show what's bright ;
Nor to snow, to teach you white.
Nor, if you would Music hear,
Call the Orbs to take your ear;
Nor, to please your sense, bring forth
Bruised Nard, or what's more worth.
Or, on food were your thoughts placed,
Bring you Nectar for a taste:
Would you have all these in one?
Name my Mistress, and 'tis done.
THE HUE AND CRY.
N Love's name you are charged hereby
To make a speedy 'Hue and Cry'
After a face, which, t'other day,
Stole my wand'ring heart away.
To direct you, these, in brief,
Are ready marks to know the Thief.
Her hair a net of beams would prove
Strong enough to captive Jove,
In his Eagle's shape; her brow
Is a comely field of snow;
Her eye so rich, so pure a grey,
Every beam creates a day :
And, if she but sleep (not when
The sun sets), 'tis Night again.
In her cheeks are to be seen
Of flowers both the King and Queen,
Thither by the Graces led,
And freshly laid in nuptial bed ;
On whose lips, like-Nymphs do wait,
Who deplore their virgin state:
Oft they blush, and blush for this,
That they one another kiss.
But observe, besides the rest,
You shall know this Felon best
By her tongue; for if your ear
Once a heavenly music hear,
Such as neither gods nor men—
But from that voice-shall hear again,
That, that is she. O straight surprise,
And bring her unto Love's Assize.
If you let her go, she may
Ante-date the Latter Day,
Fate and Philosophy controul,
And leave the world without a soul.
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