poem index

Loving and Beloved

Sir John Suckling
There never yet was honest man
That ever drove the trade of love;
It is impossible, nor can
Integrity our ends promove:
For Kings and Lovers are alike in this
That their chief art in reigne dissembling is.
Here we are lov'd, and there we love,
Good nature now and passion strive
Which of the two should be above,
And laws unto the other give.
So we false fire with art sometimes discover,
And the true fire with the same art do cover.
What Rack can Fancy find so high?
Here we must Court, and here ingage,
Though in the other place we die.
Oh! 'tis torture all, and cozenage;
And which the harder is I cannot tell,
To hide true love, or make false love look well.
Since it is thus, God of desire,
Give me my honesty again,
And take thy brands back, and thy fire;
I'me weary of the State I'me in:
Since (if the very best should now befal)
Loves Triumph, must be Honours Funeral.

This poem is in the public domain.

Sir John Suckling

by this poet

poem
I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen;
      Oh, things without compare!
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,
      Be it at wake, or fair. 

At Charing-Cross, hard by the way,
Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay,
      There is a house with
poem
Fye upon hearts that burn with mutual fire;
I hate two minds that breath but one desire:
Were I to curse th'unhallow'd sort of men,
I'de wish them to love, and be lov'd agen.
Love's a Camelion, that lives on meer ayre;
And surfets when it comes to grosser fare:
'Tis petty Jealousies, and little fears,
Hopes joyn
poem
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?   
    Prythee, why so pale?   
Will, if looking well can't move her,   
    Looking ill prevail?   
    Prythee, why so pale?
   
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?   
    Prythee, why so mute?   
Will, when speaking well can't win her,   
    Saying nothing do't?