1 Why came I so untimely forth
    Into a world which, wanting thee,
  Could entertain us with no worth
    Or shadow of felicity? 
  That time should me so far remove
  From that which I was born to love!

2 Yet, fairest blossom! do not slight
    That age which you may know so soon;
  The rosy morn resigns her light
    And milder glory to the noon;
  And then what wonders shall you do,
  Whose dawning beauty warms us so?

3 Hope waits upon the flow’ry prime;
    And summer, though it be less gay,
  Yet is not look’d on as a time
    Of declination or decay;
  For with a full hand that does bring
  All that was promised by the spring.

[1] ‘Lady Lucy Sidney’:  the younger sister of Lady Dorothea; afterwards
    married to Sir John Pelham.

TO AMORET.[1]

Fair! that you may truly know
What you unto Thyrsis owe,
I will tell you how I do
Saccharissa love and you.

Joy salutes me, when I set
My bless’d eyes on Amoret;
But with wonder I am strook, 7
While I on the other look.

If sweet Amoret complains,
I have sense of all her pains;
But for Saccharissa I
Do not only grieve, but die.

All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret! is thine;
Saccharissa’s captive fain
Would untie his iron chain,
And, those scorching beams to shun,
To thy gentle shadow run.

If the soul had free election
To dispose of her affection, 20
I would not thus long have borne
Haughty Saccharissa’s scorn;
But ’tis sure some power above,
Which controls our wills in love!

If not love, a strong desire
To create and spread that fire
In my breast, solicits me,
Beauteous Amoret! for thee.

’Tis amazement more than love,
Which her radiant eyes do move; 30
If less splendour wait on thine,
Yet they so benignly shine,
I would turn my dazzled sight
To behold their milder light;
But as hard ’tis to destroy
That high flame, as to enjoy;
Which how eas’ly I may do,
Heaven (as eas’ly scaled) does know!

Amoret! as sweet and good
As the most delicious food, 40
Which, but tested, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart.

Saccharissa’s beauty’s wine,
Which to madness doth incline;
Such a liquor as no brain
That is mortal can sustain.

Scarce can I to heaven excuse
The devotion which I use
Unto that adored dame;
For ’tis not unlike the same 50
Which I thither ought to send;
So that if it could take end,
’Twould to heaven itself be due
To succeed her, and not you,
Who already have of me
All that’s not idolatry;
Which, though not so fierce a flame,
Is longer like to be the same.