Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE) THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE? III. The rheth'rick of my hand Woo'd you to understand; Nay, in our silent walk My very feet would talk; My knees were eloquent, And spake the love I meant; But deaf unto that ayr, They, bent, would fall in prayer. Cho. YET UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE) THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE? IV. No? Know, then, I would melt On every limb I felt, And on each naked part Spread my expanded heart, That not a vein of thee But should be fill'd with mee. Whilst on thine own down, I Would tumble, pant, and dye. Cho. YOU UNDERSTAND NOT THIS (FAIR CHOICE); THIS LANGUAGE WANTS BOTH TONGUE AND VOICE. COURANTE<68.1> MONSIEUR. That frown, Aminta, now hath drown'd Thy bright front's pow'r, and crown'd Me that was bound. No, no, deceived cruel, no! Love's fiery darts, Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts. Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see! Thy angry flames meant me,<68.2> Retort on thee: For know, it is decreed, proud fair, I ne'r must dye By any scorching, but a melting, eye. <68.1> COURANTE was a favourite dance and dance-tune. It is still known under the same name. <68.2> i.e. THAT meant me, which was intended for me. A LOOSE SARABAND. I. Nay, prethee, dear, draw nigher, Yet closer, nigher yet; Here is a double fire, A dry one and a wet. True lasting heavenly fuel Puts out the vestal jewel, When once we twining marry Mad love with wild canary. II. Off with that crowned Venice,<69.1> 'Till all the house doth flame, Wee'l quench it straight in Rhenish, Or what we must not name. Milk lightning still asswageth; So when our fury rageth, As th' only means to cross it, Wee'l drown it in love's posset. III. Love never was well-willer Unto my nag or mee, Ne'r watter'd us ith' cellar, But the cheap buttery. At th' head of his own barrells, Where broach'd are all his quarrels, Should a true noble master Still make his guest his taster. IV. See, all the world how't staggers, More ugly drunk then we, As if far gone in daggers And blood it seem'd to be. We drink our glass of roses, Which nought but sweets discloses: Then in our loyal chamber Refresh us with love's amber. V. Now tell me, thou fair cripple, That dumb canst scarcely see Th' almightinesse of tipple, And th' ods 'twixt thee and thee, What of Elizium's missing, Still drinking and still kissing; Adoring plump October; Lord! what is man, and<69.2> sober?