CAREW, Thomas


Ingrateful Beauty Threatened

Know Celia, since thou art so proud,

'Twas I that gave thee thy renown;

Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd

Of common beauties, liv'd unknown,

Had not my verse exhal'd thy name,

And with it imp'd the wings of fame.

That killing power is none of thine,

I gave it to thy voice, and eyes;

Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies;

Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere

Lightning on him that fix'd thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more,

Lest what I made, I uncreate;

Let fools thy mystic forms adore,

I'll know thee in thy mortal state;

Wise poets that wrapp'd Truth in tales,

Knew her themselves, through all her veils.


A Crual Mistress

We read of kings and gods that kindly took

A pitcher fill'd with water from the brook ;

But I have daily tender'd without thanks

Rivers of tears that overflow their banks.

A slaughter'd bull will appease angry Jove,

A horse the Sun, a lamb the god of love,

But she disdains the spotless sacrifice

Of a pure heart, that at her altar lies.

Vesta is not displeased, if her chaste urn

Do with repaired fuel ever burn ;

But my saint frowns, though to her honour'd name

I consecrate a never-dying flame.

Th' Assyrian king did none i' th' furnace throw

But those that to his image did not bow ;

With bended knees I daily worship her,

Yet she consumes her own idolater.

Of such a goddess no times leave record,

That burnt the temple where she was adored.


The Rapture
…..
Now in more subtle wreaths I will entwine

My sinewy thighs, my legs and arms with thine ;

Thou like a sea of milk shalt lie display'd,

Whilst I the smooth calm ocean invade

With such a tempest, as when Jove of old

Fell down on Danaë in a storm of gold ;

Yet my tall pine shall in the Cyprian strait

Ride safe at anchor and unlade her freight :

My rudder with thy bold hand, like a tried

And skilful pilot, thou shalt steer, and guide

My bark into love's channel, where it shall

Dance, as the bounding waves do rise or fall.

Then shall thy circling arms embrace and clip

My willing body, and thy balmy lip

Bathe me in juice of kisses, whose perfume

Like a religious incense shall consume,

And send up holy vapours to those powers

That bless our loves and crown our sportful hours,

That with such halcyon calmness fix our souls

In steadfast peace, as no affright controls.

There, no rude sounds shake us with sudden starts ;

No jealous ears, when we unrip our hearts,

Suck our discourse in ; no observing spies

This blush, that glance traduce ; no envious eyes

Watch our close meetings ; nor are we betray'd

To rivals by the bribed chambermaid.

No wedlock bonds unwreathe our twisted loves,

We seek no midnight arbour, no dark groves

To hide our kisses : there, the hated name

Of husband, wife, lust, modest, chaste or shame,

Are vain and empty words, whose very sound

Was never heard in the Elysian ground.

All things are lawful there, that may delight

Nature or unrestrained appetite ;

Like and enjoy, to will and act is one :

We only sin when Love's rites are not done.
…..


Mark how the blushful morn

Mark how the blushful morn in vain

Courts the amorous marigold

With sighing blush and weeping rain,

Yet she refuses to unfold.

But when the planet of the day

Approacheth with his pow'rful ray,

Then she spreads, then she receives

His warmer beams into her virgin leaves.

So may'st thou thrive in love, fond boy,

If silent tears and sighs discover

Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy

The just reward of a bold lover.

But when with moving accent thou

Shalt constant faith and service vow,

Thy Celia shall receive those charms

With open ear, and with unfolded arms.


Ask Me No More

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,

When June is past, the fading rose;

For in your beauty's orient deep

These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray

The golden atoms of the day;

For in pure love heaven did prepare

Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste

The nightingale when May is past;

For in your sweet dividing throat

She winters and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more where those stars 'light

That downwards fall in dead of night;

For in your eyes they sit, and there

Fixed become as in their sphere.

Ask me no more if east or west

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.


To my inconstant Mistris

When thou, poore excommunicate

From all the joyes of love, shalt see

The full reward, and glorious fate,

Which my strong faith shall purchase me,

Then curse thine owne inconstancy.

A fayrer hand than thine, shall cure

That heart, which thy false oathes did wound;

And to my soul, a soul more pure

Than thine, shall by Loves hand be bound,

And both with equall glory crown'd.

Then shalt thou weepe, entreat, complain

To Love, as I did once to thee;

When all thy teares shall be as vain

As mine were then, for thou shalt bee

Damn'd for thy false Apostasie.


No more shall meads be deck’d with flow’rs,

No more shall meads be deck’d with flow’rs,

Nor sweetness live in rosy bow’rs,

Nor greenest buds on branches spring,

Nor warbling birds delight to sing,

Nor April violets paint the grove,

When once I leave my Celia’s love.

The fish shall in the ocean burn,

And fountains sweet shall bitter turn;

The humble vale no floods shall know,

When floods shall highest hills o’erflow:

Black Lethe shall oblivion leave,

Before my Celia I deceive.

Love shall his bow and shafts lay by,

And Venus’ doves want wings to fly:

The sun refuse to show his light,

And day shall then be turned to night;

And in that night no star appear,

Whene’er I leave my Celia dear.

Love shall no more inhabit Earth,

Nor lovers more shall love for worth;

Nor joy above in Heaven dwell,

Nor pain torment poor souls in hell:

Grim Death no more shall horrid prove,

Whene’er I leave bright Celia’s love.