Page:Works of Sir John Suckling.djvu/90

70 Let it suffice, that neither I do love In such a calm observance as to weigh Each word I say, And each examin'd look t' approve That towards her doth move, Without so much of fire As might in time kindle into desire.

Or give me leave to burst into a flame, And at the scope of my unbounded will Love her my fill— No superscriptions of fame, Of honour, or good name; No thought, but to improve The gentle and quick approaches of my love.

But thus to throng, and overlade a soul With love, and then to leave a room for fear That shall all that control, What is it but to rear Our passions and our hopes on high, That thence they may descry The noblest way how to despair and die?

not here a curious river fine: Our wits are short of that—alas the time! The neat refined language of the court We know not; if we did, our country sport Must not be too ambitious: 'tis for kings, Not for their subjects, to have such rare things. Besides, though, I confess, Parnassus hardly, Yet Helicon this summer-time is dry: Our wits were at an ebb, or very low; And, to say troth, I think they cannot flow. But yet a gracious influence from you May alter nature in our brow-sick crew. Have patience then, we pray, and sit awhile, And, if a laugh be too much, lend a smile.