(Herrick.)
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?
Prithee, why so mute?
Quit, quit for shame, this will not move,
This cannot take her;
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
The devil take her.
(Suckling.)
As when a lady, walking Flora's bower,
Picks here a pink, and there a gilly-flower,
Now plucks a violet from her purple bed,
And then a primrose, the year's maidenhead,
There nips the brier, here the lover's pansy.
Shifting her dainty pleasures with her fancy,
This on her arms, and that she lists to wear
Upon the borders of her curious hair;
At length a rose-bud (passing all the rest)
She plucks, and bosoms in her lily breast.
(Quarles.)
[342]: Voyez surtout sa satire contre les courtisans. Ceci est contre les imitateurs:
But he is worst, who beggarly doth chaw
Other's witt fruits, and in his ravenous maw
Rankly digested, doth those things outspue
As his own things; and they are his owne, 't is true,
For if one eate my meat, though it be known
The meat was mine, th' excrement is his own.
When I behold a stream, which, from the spring,
Doth, with doubtful melodious murmuring,
Or in a speechless slumber calmly ride
Her wedded channels bosom, and there chide
And bend her brows, and swell, if any bough
Does but stoop down to kiss her utmost brow;
Yet if her often, gnawing kisses win
The traiterous banks to gape and let her in;
She rusheth violently and doth divorce
Her from her native and her long-kept course,
And roares, and braves it, and in gallant scorn
In flatt'ring eddies promising return,
She flouts her channel, which thenceforth is dry,
Then say I: That is she, and this I am.