Yet Kind and True have been long tried,
A[40] harbour where we may confide
And safely there at anchor ride:
From change of winds there we are free,
Nor need we fear storms' tyranny,
Nor pirate though a prince he be.
From Robert Jones' First Book of Songs and Airs, 1601.
SWEET Philomel in groves and desarts haunting
Oft glads my heart and ears with her sweet chaunting,
But then her tunes delight me best,
When perched with prick against her breast
She sings "Fy, fy!" as if she suffered wrong,
Till, seeming pleased, "Sweet, sweet!" concludes her song.
Sweet Jinny sings and talks and sweetly smileth,
And with her wanton mirth my griefs beguileth,
But then methinks she pleaseth best
When, while my hands move love's request,
She cries "Fy, fy!" and, seeming loth, gainsays,
Till better pleased "Sweet, sweet!" content bewrays.
From The Westminster Drollery. (The Second Part.) 1672.
The Valentine.
AS youthful day put on his best
Attire to usher morn
And she to greet her glorious guest
Did her fair self adorn,
Up did I rise, and hid mine eyes
As I went through the street,
Lest I should one that I despise
Before a fairer meet.
And why
Was I,
Think you, so nice and fine?
Well did I wot
(Who wots it not?)
It was Saint Valentine.
In fields by Phœbus great with young
Of flowers and hopeful buds,
Resembling thoughts that freshly sprung
In lovers' lively bloods,
A damsel fair and fine I saw,
So fair and finely dight,
As put my heart almost in awe
To attempt a mate so bright:
But O
Why so?
Her purpose was like mine,
And readily
She said as I
"Good morrow, Valentine."