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The Siege

'Tis now, since I sat down before

That foolish fort, a heart,

(Time strangely spent) a year and more,

And still I did my part:

Made my approaches, from her hand

Unto her lip did rise,

And did already understand

The language of her eyes;

by John Suckling

Sonnet I

Dost see how unregarded now

That piece of beauty passes?

There was a time when I did vow

To that alone;

But mark the fate of faces;

The red and white works now no more on me

Than if it could not charm, or I not see.

And yet the face continues good,

by John Suckling

I prithee spare me gentle boy

I prithee spare me gentle boy,

Press me no more for that slight toy,

That foolish trifle of an heart;

I swear it will not do its part,

Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy pow'r and art.

For through long custom it has known

The little secrets, and is grown

Sullen and wise, will have its will,

by John Suckling

A Song to a Lute

Hast thou seen the down in the air,

When wanton blasts have tossed it?

Or the ship on the sea,

When ruder waves have crossed it?

Hast thou marked the crocodile's weeping

Or the fox's sleeping?

Or hast viewed the peacock in his pride,

Or the dove by his bride,

by John Suckling

When, Dearest, I But Think of Thee

When, dearest I but think of thee,

Methinks all things that lovely be

Are present, and my soul delighted:

For beauties that from worth arise

Are like the grace of deities,

Still present with us, tho’ unsighted.

Thus while I sit and sigh the day

With all his borrow’d lights away,

by John Suckling

If you refuse me once, and think again

If you refuse me once, and think again,

I will complain.

You are deceiv'd, love is no work of art,

It must be got and born,

Not made and worn,

By every one that hath a heart.

Or do you think they more than once can die,

Whom you deny?

by John Suckling

Song - No, no, fair heretic - from Aglaura

No, no, fair heretic, it needs must be

But an ill love in me,

And worse for thee.

For were it in my power

To love thee now this hour

More than I did the last,

'Twould then so fall

I might not love at all.

by John Suckling

A Doubt of Martyrdom

O FOR some honest lover's ghost,

Some kind unbodied post

Sent from the shades below!

I strangely long to know

Whether the noble chaplets wear

Those that their mistress' scorn did bear

Or those that were used kindly.

For whatsoe'er they tell us here

by John Suckling

Sonnet III - A Doubt of Martyrdom

O! for some honest lover’s ghost,

Some kind unbodied post

Sent from the shades below!

I strangely long to know

Whether the noble chaplets wear

Those that their mistress’ scorn did bear

Or those that were used kindly.

For whatsoe’er they tell us here

by John Suckling

A Supplement of an Imperfect Copy of Verses of Mr William Shakespeare

One of her hands one of her cheeks lay under,

Cosening the pillow of a lawful kiss,

Which therefore swell'd, and seem'd to part asunder,

As angry to be robb'd of such a bliss!

The one look'd pale and for revenge did long,

While t'other blush'd, 'cause it had done the wrong.

Out of the bed the other fair hand was

On a green satin quilt, whose perfect white

by John Suckling

Sonnet II - Of thee, kind boy, I ask no red and white,

Of thee, kind boy, I ask no red and white,

To make up my delight;

No odd becoming graces,

Black eyes, or little know-not-whats in faces;

Make me but mad enough, give me good store

Of love for her I court;

I ask no more,

'Tis love in love that makes the sport.

by John Suckling

A Ballad upon a Wedding

I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,

Where I the rarest things have seen,

O, 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,

by John Suckling