Page:Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics.djvu/87

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lxxxiii

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honour more. Colonel Lovelace


lxxxiv

ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA

You meaner beauties of the night,Which poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light,You common people of the skies, What are you, when the Moon shall rise?
Ye violets that first appear,By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year As if the spring were all your own,— What are you, when the Rose is blown?
Ye curious chanters of the wood That warble forth dame Nature’s lays,Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what’s your praise When Philomel her voice doth raise?
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