Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/68

48 A gentle round fill'd to the brink To this and t' other friend I drink; And when 'tis nam'd another's health, I never make it hers by stealth: She's fair, etc.

Black-Friars to me, and old Whitehall, Is even as much as is the fall Of fountains on a pathless grove, And nourishes as much my love: She's fair, etc.

I visit, talk, do business, play, And for a need laugh out a day: Who does not thus in Cupid's school, He makes not love, but plays the fool: She's fair, etc.

one request I make to him that sits the clouds above, That I were freely out of debt, as I am out of love. Then for to dance, to drink and sing, I should be very willing, I should not owe one lass a kiss, nor ne'er a knave a shilling. 'Tis only being in love and debt that breaks us of our rest; And he that is quite out of both, of all the world is blest: He sees the golden age, wherein all things were free and common; He eats, he drinks, he takes his rest, he fears no man nor woman. Though Crœsus compassed great wealth, yet he still craved more, He was as needy a beggar still, as goes from door to door. Though Ovid were a merry man, love ever kept him sad; He was as far from happiness as one that is stark mad. Our merchant he in goods is rich, and full of gold and treasure;