There is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow, A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow. There cherries grow, which none may buy Till 'Cherry ripe!'themselves do cry.
1617 Fourth Book of Airs,'There is a Garden in her Face'.
Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee,That she in peace may wake and pity me.Thomas Campion
My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, And though the sager sort our deeds reprove, Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive Into their west, and straight again revive, But soon as once set is our little light, Then must we sleep one ever-during night. See Catullus 200:5.Thomas Campion
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, Ev'n from my heart the strings do break.Thomas Campion
I care not for these ladies that must be wooed and prayed. Give me kind Amaryllis, the wanton country maid.Thomas Campion
Rose-cheeked Laura, come, Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's Silent music, either other Sweetly gracing.Thomas Campion
Fain would I wed a fair young man that night and day could please me, When my mind or body grieved that had the power to ease me. Maids are full of longing thoughtsthat breed a bloodless sickness, And that, oft I hear men say, is only cured by quickness.Thomas Campion
Yet I would not die a maid, because I had a mother, As I was by one brought forth, I would bring forth another.Thomas Campion
I care not for these ladies,That must be wooed and prayed;Give me kind Amaryllis,The wanton country maid.Nature art disdaineth;Her beauty is her own.Thomas Campion
Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee,When the ev'ning beams are set?Thomas Campion
Good thoughts his only friends; His wealth a well-spent age; The earth his sober inn, And quiet pilgrimage.Thomas Campion
And I still onward haste to my last night; Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly; so every day we live, a day we die.Thomas Campion
I care not for these ladies, That must be wooed and prayed; Give me kind Amaryllis, The wanton country maid. Nature art disdaineth; Her beauty is her own.Thomas Campion
Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly; To every day we live, a day we die.Thomas Campion