From Wit's Recreations, 1640.
Love Begotten by Pity.
'TIS true your beauty,[58] which before
Did dazzle each bold gazer's eye,
And forced e'en rebel hearts t' adore
Or from its conquering splendor fly,
Now shines with new increase of light,
Like Cynthia at her full most bright.
Yet, though you glory in th' increase
Of so much beauty, dearest fair,
They err who think this great access,
Of which all eyes th' admirers are,
Or art's or nature's gifts should be:
Learn then the hidden cause from me.
Pity in thee, in me desire
First bred: before I durst but aim
At fair respect: now that close fire
Thy love hath fann'd into a flame,
Which, mounting to its proper place,
Shines like a glory 'bout thy face.
From The Windsor Drollery, 1672.
BE[59] thou joyful, I am jolly;
In thy pleasure's my delight.
Art th' inclined to melancholy?
I am of that humour right;
For I can joy, or joys can slight.
Art thou liberal of embraces?
I can also lavish be.
Or dost thou scorn to yield such graces?
I can scorn as well as thee:
Of these I can be nice or free.
Dost thou joy I should attain thee?
Then I will thy servant be;
Or if my presence do disdain thee,
I will never wait on thee;
For I can love or let thee be.