Thomas Campion[1567(?)-i62o]Cherry-ripe
¶THERE is a garden in her faceWhere roses and white lilies blow;A heavenly paradise is that place,Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:There cherries grow which none may buyTill 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
¶Those cherries fairly do encloseOf orient pearl a double row,Which when her lovely laughter shows,They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;Yet them nor peer nor prince can buyTill 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
¶Her eyes like angels watch them still;Her brows like bended bows do stand,Threat'ning with piercing frowns to killAll that attempt with eye or handThose sacred cherries to come nigh,Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.
Follow.your Saint
¶FOLLOW your saint, follow with accents sweet!Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet!There, wrapt in cloud of sorrow, pity move,And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love:But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain,Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return againl
¶All that I sung still to her praise did tend;Still she was first, still she my songs did end;Yet she my love and music both doth fly,The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy:Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight!It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for herdelight.
When to Her Lute Corinna Sings
¶WHEN to her lute Corinna sings,Her voice revives the leaden strings,And doth in highest notes appear,As any challenged echo clear;But when she doth of mourning speak,E'en with her sighs, the strings do break,
¶And as her lute doth live or die,Led by her passion, so must I:For when of pleasure she doth sing,My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring,But if she doth of sorrow speak,E'en from my heart the strings do break.
Follow Thy Fair Sun
¶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 livest 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 scorched 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 nightThat will dim all her light;And this the black unhappy shade divineth.
¶Follow still, since so thy Fates ordained!The sun must have his shade,Till both at once do fade;The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained!
Turn All Thy Thoughts to Eyes
¶TURN all thy thoughts to eyes,Turn all thy hairs to ears,Change all thy friends to spiesAnd all thy joys to fears:True love will yet be freeIn spite of jealousy.
¶Turn darkness into day,Conjectures into truth,Believe what th' envious say,Let age interpret youth:True love will yet be freeIn spite of jealousy.
¶Wrest every word and look,Rack every hidden thought,Or fish with golden hook;True love cannot be caught:For that will still be freeIn spite of jealousy.
Integer Vitae
¶THE man of life upright,Whose guiltless heart is freeFrom all dishonest deeds,Or thought of vanity;
¶The man whose silent daysIn harmless joys are spent,Whom hopes cannot delude,Nor sorrow discontent;
¶That man needs neither towersNor armour for defence,Nor secret vaults to flyFrom thunder's violence:
¶Thus, scorning all the caresThat fate or fortune brings,He makes the heaven his book,His wisdom heavenly things;
¶Good thoughts his only friends,His wealth a well-spent age,The earth his sober innAnd quiet pilgrimage.