John Suckling
United Kingdom (Great Britain)The Siege
'Tis now, since I sat down before
That foolish fort, a heart,
(Time strangely spent) a year and more,
And still I did my part:
Made my approaches, from her hand
Unto her lip did rise,
And did already understand
The language of her eyes;
Sonnet I
Dost see how unregarded now
That piece of beauty passes?
There was a time when I did vow
To that alone;
But mark the fate of faces;
The red and white works now no more on me
Than if it could not charm, or I not see.
And yet the face continues good,
I prithee spare me gentle boy
I prithee spare me gentle boy,
Press me no more for that slight toy,
That foolish trifle of an heart;
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy pow'r and art.
For through long custom it has known
The little secrets, and is grown
Sullen and wise, will have its will,
A Song to a Lute
Hast thou seen the down in the air,
When wanton blasts have tossed it?
Or the ship on the sea,
When ruder waves have crossed it?
Hast thou marked the crocodile's weeping
Or the fox's sleeping?
Or hast viewed the peacock in his pride,
Or the dove by his bride,
When, Dearest, I But Think of Thee
When, dearest I but think of thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul delighted:
For beauties that from worth arise
Are like the grace of deities,
Still present with us, tho’ unsighted.
Thus while I sit and sigh the day
With all his borrow’d lights away,
If you refuse me once, and think again
If you refuse me once, and think again,
I will complain.
You are deceiv'd, love is no work of art,
It must be got and born,
Not made and worn,
By every one that hath a heart.
Or do you think they more than once can die,
Whom you deny?
Song - No, no, fair heretic - from Aglaura
No, no, fair heretic, it needs must be
But an ill love in me,
And worse for thee.
For were it in my power
To love thee now this hour
More than I did the last,
'Twould then so fall
I might not love at all.
A Doubt of Martyrdom
O FOR some honest lover's ghost,
Some kind unbodied post
Sent from the shades below!
I strangely long to know
Whether the noble chaplets wear
Those that their mistress' scorn did bear
Or those that were used kindly.
For whatsoe'er they tell us here
Sonnet III - A Doubt of Martyrdom
O! for some honest lover’s ghost,
Some kind unbodied post
Sent from the shades below!
I strangely long to know
Whether the noble chaplets wear
Those that their mistress’ scorn did bear
Or those that were used kindly.
For whatsoe’er they tell us here
A Supplement of an Imperfect Copy of Verses of Mr William Shakespeare
One of her hands one of her cheeks lay under,
Cosening the pillow of a lawful kiss,
Which therefore swell'd, and seem'd to part asunder,
As angry to be robb'd of such a bliss!
The one look'd pale and for revenge did long,
While t'other blush'd, 'cause it had done the wrong.
Out of the bed the other fair hand was
On a green satin quilt, whose perfect white
Sonnet II - Of thee, kind boy, I ask no red and white,
Of thee, kind boy, I ask no red and white,
To make up my delight;
No odd becoming graces,
Black eyes, or little know-not-whats in faces;
Make me but mad enough, give me good store
Of love for her I court;
I ask no more,
'Tis love in love that makes the sport.
A Ballad upon a Wedding
I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen,
O, things without compare!
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,
Be it at wake or fair.
At Charing Cross, hard by the way
Where we, thou know'st, do sell our hay,