Take, O take those lips away That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again, Bring again-- Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, Seal'd in vain! _W. Shakespeare_ XLIX _LOVE'S FAREWELL_ Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part,-- Nay I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, --Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover! _M. Drayton_ L _IN IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HOMO_ Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! Though thou be black as night And she made all of light, Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth! Though here thou liv'st disgraced, And she in heaven is placed, Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth! Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth, That so have scorchéd thee As thou still black must be Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. Follow her, while yet her glory shineth! There comes a luckless night That will dim all her light; --And this the black unhappy shade divineth. Follow still, since so thy fates ordainéd! The sun must have his shade, Till both at once do fade,-- The sun still proved, the shadow still disdainéd. _T. Campion_ LI _BLIND LOVE_ O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head Which have no correspondence with true sight: Or if they have, where is my judgment fled That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: No, How can it? O how can love's eye be true, That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? No marvel then though I mistake my view: The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find! _W. Shakespeare_ LII Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me! For who a sleeping lion dares provoke? It shall suffice me here to sit and see Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke: What sight can more content a lover's mind Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind?