But soft! where am I now? here I should stride,

Lest I fall in, the place must be so wide,

And pass unto her thighs, which shall be just

Like to an ant’s that’s scraping in the dust:

Into her legs I’d have love’s issues fall,

And all her calf into a gouty small:

Her foot both thick and eagle-like display’d,

The symptoms of a comely, handsome maid.

As for her parts behind, I ask no more:

If they but answer those that are before,

I have my utmost wish; and, having so,

Judge whether I am happy, yea or no.

To a Lady That Forbade to Love before Company

What! no more favours? Not a ribband more,

Not fan nor muff to hold as heretofore?

Must all the little blisses then be left,

And what was once love’s gift become our theft?

May we not look ourselves into a trance,

Teach our souls parley at our eyes, not glance,

Not touch the hand, not by soft wringing there

Whisper a love that only yes can hear?

Not free a sigh, a sigh that’s there for you?

Dear, must I love you, and not love you too?

Be wise, nice, fair; for sooner shall they trace

The feather’d choristers from place to place,

By prints they make in th’ air, and sooner say

By what right line the last star made his way

That fled from heaven to earth, than guess to know

How our loves first did spring, or how they grow.

Love is all spirit: fairies sooner may

Be taken tardy, when they night-tricks play,

Than we. We are too dull and lumpish rather:

Would they could find us both in bed together!

* * *

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale? —

Will, when looking well can’t move her,

Looking ail prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

Prithee, why so mute? —

Will, when speaking well can’t win her,

Saying nothing do’t?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,

This cannot take her —

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her:

The Devil take her!

Farewell to Love

Well-shadowed landskip, fare-ye-well:

How I have loved you, none can tell,

At least so well

As he that now hates more

Then e’er he loved before.

But my dear nothings, take your leave;

No longer must you me deceive,

Since I perceive

All the deceit, and know

Whence the mistake did grow.

As he whose quicker eye doth trace

A false star shot to a marked place

Does run apace,

And thinking it to catch

A jelly up does snatch,

So our dull souls, tasting delight

Far off, by sense, and appetite,

Think that is right

And real good, when yet

’Tis but the counterfeit.

Oh, how I glory now that I

Have made this new discovery!

Each wanton eye

Enflamed before; no more

Will I increase that score.

If I gaze now, ’tis but to see

What manner of death’s-head ’twill be,

When it is free

From that fresh upper skin,

The gazer’s joy, and sin.

The gum and glistening which with art

And studied method in each part

Hangs down the hair —‘t

Looks just as if that day

Snails there had crawled the hay.

The locks that curled o’er each ear be

Hang like two master-worms to me,

That (as we see)

Have tasted to the rest

Two holes, where they like ’t best.

A quick corse methinks I spy

In every woman; and mine eye,

At passing by,

Checks, and is troubled, just

As if it rose from dust.

They mortify not heighten me;

These of my sins the glasses be:

And here I see

How I have loved before.

And so I love no more.

A Ballad upon a Wedding