To Lucina.
BLACK eyes, in your dark orbs doth lie
My ill or happy destiny.
If with clear looks you me behold,
You give me treasures full of gold;
If you dart forth disdainful rays,
To your own dye you turn my days.
That lamp which all the stars doth blind
To modest Cynthia is less kind,
Though you do wear, to make you bright,
No other dress than that of night.
He glitters only in the day;
You in the dark your beams display.
The cunning thief, that lurks for prize,
At some dark corner watching lies;
So that heart-robbing God doth stand
In those black gems, with shaft in hand,
To rifle me of what I hold
More precious far than Indian gold.
Ye pow'rful necromantic eyes,
Who in your circles strictly pries
Will find that Cupid with his dart
In you doth practise the black art;
And by those spells I am possest,
Tries his conclusions in my breast.
Though from those objects frowns arise,
Some kind of frowns become black eyes,
As pointed diamonds being set
Cast greater lustre out of jet.
Those pieces we esteem most rare,
Which in night-shadows postured are.
Darkness in churches congregates the sight;
Devotion strays in open daring light.
From Robert Jones' Second Book of Songs and Airs, 1601.
METHOUGHT[24] the other night
I saw a pretty sight
That pleased me much;
A fair and comely maid,
Not squeamish nor afraid
To let me touch,
Our lips most sweetly kissing,
Each other never missing;
Her smiling looks did show content
And that she did but what she meant.
And as her lips did move
The echo still was love,
"Love, love me, sweet!"
Then with a maiden blush,
Instead of crying "Push!"[25]
Our lips did meet:
With music sweetly sounding,
With pleasures all abounding,
We kept the burthen of the song,
Which was that love should take no wrong.
And yet, as maidens use,
She seemed to refuse
The name of love,
Until I did protest
That I did love her best,
And so will prove:
With that, as both amazed,
Each at the other gazed,
My eyes did see, my hands did feel,
Her eyes of fire, her breast of steel.
O when I felt her breast
Where love did rest,
My love was such
I could have been content
My best blood to have spent
In that sweet touch:
But now comes that which vext us,
There was a bar betwixt us,
A bar that barred me from that part
Where nature did contend with art.
If ever love had power
To send one happy hour,
Then show thy might,
And take such bars away
Which are the only stay
Of love's delight.
All this was but a dreaming,
Although another meaning.
Dreams may prove true as thoughts are free;
I will love you, you may love me.
From The Academy of Compliments, 1650.