SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE
Reading edition
1635-1691
404.
Song
LADIES, though to your conquering eyes Love owes his chiefest victories, And borrows those bright arms from you With which he does the world subdue, Yet you yourselves are not above The empire nor the griefs of love. Then rack not lovers with disdain, Lest Love on you revenge their pain: You are not free because you’re fair: The Boy did not his Mother spare. Beauty’s but an offensive dart: It is no armour for the heart.
405.
To a Lady asking him how long he would love her
IT is not, Celia, in our power To say how long our love will last; It may be we within this hour May lose those joys we now do taste; The Blessèd, that immortal be, From change in love are only free. Then since we mortal lovers are, Ask not how long our love will last; But while it does, let us take care Each minute be with pleasure past: Were it not madness to deny To live because we’re sure to die?