FROM THE THIRD BOOK OF LAWES'S AYRES.
FAIN Would I love, but that I fear
I quickly should the willow wear;
Fain would I marry, but men say
When love is tied he will away;
Then tell me, love, what shall I do,
To cure these fears, whene'er I woo?

The fair one she 's a mark to all,
The brown each one doth lovely call,
The black's a pearl in fair men's eyes,
The rest will stoop at any prize ;
Then tell me, love, what shall I do,
To cure these fears whene'er I woo?
DR. R. HUGHES.

WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS.

WHOE'ER she be,

That not impossible She

That shall command my heart and me;

Where'er she lie,

Locked up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny:

Till that ripe birth

Of studied Fate stand forth,

. And teach her fair steps to our earth;

Till that divine

Idea take a shrine

Of crystal flesh, through which to shine :

- Meet you her, my Wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses,

And be ye called, my absent kisses.

I wish her beauty

That owes not all its duty

To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie :

Something more than
Taffeta or tissue can,

Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

A face that's best

By its own beauty drest,

And can alone command the rest :

Sylvia, for all the pangs you see
Are lab'ring in my breast;
I beg not you would favor me,
Would you but slight the rest!
How great soe'er your rigors are,
With them alone I'll cope;
I can endure my own despair,
But not another's hope.

WILLIAM WALSH.

THE MAIDEN'S CHOICE.

GENTEEL in personage, Conduct, and equipage; Noble by heritage; Generous and free;

Brave, not romantic;
Learned, not pedantic ;
Frolic, not frantic,
This must he be.

Honor maintaining,
Meanness disdaining,
Still entertaining,

Engaging and new;

Neat, but not finical; Sage, but not cynical; Never tyrannical,

But ever true.

HENRY FIELDING.

THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE.

Ir is not Beauty I demand,

A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid's yellow p ide of hair :

Tell me not of your starry eyes,

Your lips that seem on roses fed, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed,

A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks

Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooing flowers ;These are but gauds: nay, what are lips? Coral beneath the ocean-stream, Whose brink when your adventurer slips Full oft he perisheth on them.

And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft That wave hot youth to fields of blood? Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, Do Greece or Ilium any good?

Nature did her so much right

As she scorns the help of art. In as many virtues dight

As e'er yet embraced a heart. So much good so truly tried, Some for less were deified.

Wit she hath, without desier

To make known how much she hath; And her anger flames no,higher

Than may fitly sweeten wrath.
Full of pity as may be,
Though perhaps not so to me.

Reason masters every sense,

And her virtues grace her birth; Lovely as all excellence,

Modest in her most of mirth.
Likelihood enough to prove
Only worth could kindle love.

Such she is; and if you know
Such a one as I have sung;
Be she brown, or fair, or so
That she be but somewhat young;
Be assured 't is she, or none,
That I love, and love alone.

LOVE ME LITTLE, LOVE ME LONG.

ORIGINALLY PRINTED IN 1569.

LOVE me little, love me long!
Is the burden of my song:
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.

Still I would not have thee cold,
Not too backward, nor too bold;
Love that lasteth till 't is old
Fadeth not in haste.
Love me little, love me long!
Is the burden of my song.

If thou lovest me too much,

'T will not prove as true a touch;
Love me little more than such,
For I fear the end.

I'm with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent
To be steadfast, friend.

Say thou lovest me, while thou live
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive

While that life endures;

Nay, and after death, in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth,

As now when in my May of youth:
This my love assures.

Constant love is moderate ever, And it will through life persever; Give me that with true endeavor, I will it restore.

No matter how or where we loved,

Or when we 'll wed, or what befall;
I only feel she 's mine at last,
I only know I'll hold her fast,
Though to dust crumbles Moreton Hall.

Her pedigree — good sooth, 't is long!
Her grim sires stare from every wall;
And centuries of ancestral grace
Revive in her sweet girlish face,

As meek she glides through Moreton Hall.

Whilst I have-nothing; save, perhaps,
Some worthless heaps of idle gold
And a true heart, the which her eye
Through glittering dross spied, womanly;
Therefore they say her heart was sold !

I laugh; she laughs; the hills and vales
Laugh as we ride 'neath chestnuts tall,
Or start the deer that silent graze,
And look up, large-eyed, with soft gaze,
At the fair maid of Moreton Hall;

We let the neighbors talk their fill,

For life is sweet, and love is strong, And two, close knit in marriage ties, The whole world's shams may well despise, Its folly, madness, shame, and wrong.

And this new loving sets the groove Too much the way of loathing.

IX.

"Unless he gives me all in change,

I forfeit all things by him: The risk is terrible and strange

I tremble, doubt, . . . deny him.

X.

"He's sweetest friend, or hardest foe, Best angel, or worst devil;

I either hate or... love him so,

I can't be merely civil !

XI.

"You trust a woman who puts forth

Her blossoms thick as summer's?

You think she dreams what love is worth, Who casts it to new-comers?

XII.

"Such love's a cowslip-ball to fling, A moment's pretty pastime;

I give... all me, if anything,

The first time and the last time.

XIII.

"Dear neighbor of the trellised house,

A man should murmur never, Though treated worse than dog and mouse, Till doted on forever!"

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

That thou hast kept a portion back,

While I have staked the whole,
Let no false pity spare the blow,
But in true mercy tell me so.

Is there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfil?
One chord that any other hand
Could better wake or still?
Speak now, lest at some future day
My whole life wither and decay.
Lives there within thy nature hid
The demon-spirit, change,
Shedding a passing glory still

On all things new and strange?
It may not be thy fault alone,

But shield my heart against thine own.

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day
And answer to my claim,

That fate, and that to-day's mistake,
Not thou, had been to blame?

Some soothe their conscience thus; but thou
Wilt surely warn and save me now.

Nay, answer not, — I dare not hear,
The words would come too late ;
Yet I would spare thee all remorse,
So comfort thee, my fate :
Whatever on my heart may fall,
Remember, I would risk it all!

ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.

A WOMAN'S QUESTION.
BEFORE I trust my fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
Before I let thy future give
Color and form to mine,
Before I peril all for thee,
Question thy soul to-night for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feel
A shadow of regret :

Is there one link within the past
That holds thy spirit yet?

Or is thy faith as clear and free
As that which I can pledge to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreams
A possible future shine,

Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,
Untouched, unshared by mine?

If so, at any pain or cost,

O, tell me before all is lost!

Look deeper still: if thou canst feel, Within thy inmost soul,

THE LADY'S "YES."

"YES," I answered you last night; "No," this morning, sir, I say. Colors seen by candle-light

Will not look the same by day. When the viols played their best,

Lamps above, and laughs below, Love me sounded like a jest,

Fit for yes or fit for no.

Call me false or call me free,

Vow, whatever light may shine, No man on your face shall see Any grief for change on mine. Yet the sin is on us both;

Time to dance is not to woo; Wooing light makes fickle troth

Scorn of me recoils on you.

Learn to win a lady's faith

Nobly, as the thing is high, Bravely, as for life and death, With a loyal gravity.