love poems for her

THE strange effects of my tormented heart,
Whom cruel love hath woeful prisoner caught,
Whom cruel hate hath unto bondage brought,
Whom wit no way of safe escape hath taught,
Enforce me say in witness of my smart:
There is no pain to foul disdain in hardy suits of love. Shep.:
There is no pain &c. Thest.:
Cruel farewell. Shep.: Cruel farewell. Thest.:
Most cruel thou, of all that nature framed. Shep.:
Most cruel &c. Thest.:
To kill thy love with thy disdain. Shep.:
To kill thy love with thy disdain. Thest.:

O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed,
Thou makest my heart
A bloody mark
With piercing shot to bleed.
Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss,
For fear too keen
Thy arrows been,
And hit the heart where my belovid is.
Too fair that fortune were, nor never I
Shall be so blessed,
Among the rest,
That Love shall seize on her by sympathy.
Then since with Love my prayirs bear no boot,
This doth remain
To cease my pain,
I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.

ACT III.

SCENA I.

Enter Colin , who sings his passion of love .

O gentle L OVE , ungentle for thy deed,
Thou mak'st my heart
A bloody mark
With piercing shot to bleed!
Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss,
For fear too keen
Thy arrows been,
And hit the heart where my beloved is.

Oh would to God he would but pitty mee,
That love him more than any mortall wight!
Then he and I with love would soone agree,
That now cannot abide his sutors sight.
O would to God, so I might have my fee,
My lips were honey, and thy mouth a bee.

Then shouldst thou sucke my sweete and my faire flower,
That now is ripe and full of honey-berries;
Then would I leade thee to my pleasant bower,
Fild full of grapes, of mulberries, and cherries:
Then shouldst thou be my waspe or else my bee,

Scarce had the morning star hid from the light
Heaven's crimson canopy with stars bespangled,
But I began to rue th'unhappy sight
Of that fair boy that had my heart entangled;
Cursing the time, the place, the sense, the sin;
I came, I saw, I viewed, I slipped in.

If it be sin to love a sweet-faced boy
(Whose amber locks trussed up in golden trammels
Dangle adown his lovely cheeks with joy,
When pearl and flowers his fair hair enamels)
If it be sin to love a lovely lad,
Oh then sin I, for whom my soul is sad.

If thou wilt love me, thou shalt be my boy,
My sweet delight, the comfort of my mind,
My love, my dove, my solace, and my joy;
But if I can no grace nor mercy find,
I'll go to Caucasus to ease my smart,
And let a vulture gnaw upon my heart.

Yet if thou wilt but show me one kind look,
A small reward for my so great affection,
I'll grave thy name in Beauty's golden book,
And shroud thee under Helicon's protection,
Making the muses chant thy lovely praise,
For they delight in shepherds' lowly lays.

Unless with my Amanda blest,
In vain I twine the woodbine bower;
Unless to deck her sweeter breast,
In vain I rear the breathing flower.

Awaken'd by the genial year,
In vain the birds around me sing;
In vain the freshening fields appear; —
Without my love there is no Spring.

Unless with my Amanda blest,
In vain I twine the woodbine bower;
Unless to deck her sweeter breast,
In vain I rear the breathing flower.

Awaken'd by the genial year,
In vain the birds around me sing;

WHO WAS BORN ON VALENTINE'S DAY .

Thine is the gentle day of love,
When youths and virgins try their fate;
When, deep retiring to the grove,
Each feathered songster weds his mate.

With tempered beams the skies are bright,
Earth decks in smiles her pleasing face;
Such is the day that gave thee light,
And speaks as such thy every grace.

WHO WAS BORN ON VALENTINE'S DAY .

I Paint so ill, my peece had need to bee
Painted againe by some good Poesie.
I write so ill, my slender Line is scarce
So much as th' Picture of a well-lim'd verse.
Yet may the love I send be true, though I
Send nor true Picture, nor true Poesie:
Both which away, I should not need to feare,
My Love, or Feign'd or painted should appeare.

Lo here the faire Chariclia! in whom strove
So false a Fortune, and so true a Love.
Now after all her toyles by Sea and Land,
O may she but arrive at your white hand,
Her hopes are crown'd, onely she feares that than,
Shee shall appeare true Ethiopian.