John Donne

The Lover's Request

(ANOTHER VERSION)

SEND home my long stray'd eyes to me,
Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee;
But if they there have learn'd such ill,
Such forc'd fashions

And false passions,
That they be

Made by thee

Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

Send home my harmless heart again, Which no unworthy thought could stain; But if it be taught, by thine,

To make jestings

Of protestings,

And break both

Word and oath,

Keep it still-'tis none of mine.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes,
That I may know and see thy lies;
And may laugh and joy when thou

Art in anguish,

And dost languish

For some one

That will none,

Or prove as false as thou dost now.

Ben Jonson

was the son of a clergyman, at whose death his mother married a master bricklayer. Ben Jonson deserted his step-father's trade and enlisted, serving with the English troops in Flanders. In London he became actor and author, and numbered Shakespeare among his friends. After the accession of James 1. he was employed a good deal about Court. In 1617 he obtained a pension from the King, and was regarded as poet laureate. Successors in the pension appropriated the title. Ben Jonson was born in 1574, and died in 1637.

Song to Celia

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there

It could not withered be.

Ben Jonson

But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.

The Kiss

O, THAT joy so soon should waste!

Or so sweet a bliss

As a kiss

Might not for ever last!

So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, The dew that lies on roses,

When the morn herself discloses,

Is not so precious.

O rather than I would it smother,

Were I to taste such another;

It should be my wishing
That I might die kissing.

Begging another Kiss

ON COLOUR OF MENDING THE FORMER

FOR Love's sake, kiss me once again,
I long, and should not beg in vain.

Here's none to spy, or see;

Why do you doubt, or stay? I'll taste as lightly as the bee, That doth but touch his flower, and flies away.

Once more, and, faith, I will be gone;

Can he that loves ask less than one?
Nay, you may err in this,

And all your bounty wrong:

This could be called but half a kiss ; What we're but once to do, we should do long!

I will but mend the last, and tell
Where, how, it would have relished well;

Join lip to lip and try :

Each suck the other's breath,

And whilst our tongues perplexèd lie, Let who will think us dead, or wish our death.

Charis

HER TRIUMPH

SEE the chariot at hand here of Love,

Wherein my lady rideth !

Each that draws is a swan or a dove,

And well the car Love guideth.

Ben Jonson

As she goes all hearts do duty

Unto her beauty;

And enamour'd, do wish, as they might

But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side,

Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light

All that Love's world compriseth!

Do but look on her, she is bright

As Love's star when it riseth!

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
Than words that soothe her!

And from her arch'd brows, such a grace

Sheds itself through her face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Before rude hands have touch'd it?

Have you marked but the fall o' the snow
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver?

Or swan's down ever?

Or have smell'd o' the bud of the briar?

Or the 'nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?

O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she !