BEA HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID. EAUTIES, have ye seen a toy, She that will but now discover How and where herself would wish: And his breath a flame entire: Which, being shot like lightning in, Still the fairest are his fuel, When his days are to be cruel; Lovers' hearts are all his food, And his baths their warmest blood: Nought but wounds his hand doth season, And he hates none like to reason. Trust him not; his words, though sweet, Seldom with his heart do meet: All his practice is deceit, Every gift is but a bait: Not a kiss but poison bears, And most treason's in his tears. Idle minutes are his reign, Then the straggler makes his gain, To have all childish as himself. If by these ye please to know him, WILLIAM BROWN. SONG. SHALL I tell you whom I love? Hearken then a while to me: And if such a woman move Nature did her so much right, As e'er yet embraced a heart; Wit she hath, without desire To make known how much she hath: And her anger flames no higher Than may fitly sweeten wrath. Full of pity as may be, Though, perhaps, not so to me. Reason masters every sense, Modest in her most of mirth; Such she is; and if you know BEAUMONT and FLETCHER. SONG In the Nice Valour. HENCE all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Welcome folded arms and fixed eyes, A look that's fasten'd to the ground, Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley, SONG In the Queen of Corinth. WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow recalls not time that's gone; Violets pluck'd, the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again; Trim thy locks, look cheerfully, Gentlest fair! mourn, mourn, no moe. SONG In a Wife for a Month. LET those complain that feel love's cruelty, With roses gently he corrected me; My war is without rage or blows; My mistress' eyes shine fair on my desires, No more an exile will I dwell, With folded arms and sighs all day, And flinging my sweet joys away. Yet what is living in her eye, Or being blest with her sweet tongue, If these no other joys imply? A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong. To be your own but one poor month, I'd give My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live. |