Women in frail beauty trust,
Only seem you fair to me:
Still prove truly kind and just,
For that may not dissembled be.
Sweet, afford me then your sight,
That, surveying all your looks,
Endless volumes I may write,
And fill the world with envied books:
Which, when after-ages view,
All shall wonder and despair,—
Woman, to find a man so true,
Or man, a woman half so fair!
Thomas Campion [?—1619]
OF CORINNA'S SINGING
When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear,
As any challenged echo clear:
But when she doth of mourning speak,
E'en with her sighs, the strings do break.
And as her lute doth live or die,
Led by her passion, so must I!
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring:
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
E'en from my heart the strings do break.
Thomas Campion [?—1619]