William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.
The CallJohn Hall (16271656)
R
And run not thus like a young roe away;
No enemy
Pursues thee (foolish girl!), ’tis only I:
I’ll keep off harms,
If thou’ll be pleased to garrison mine arms;
What, dost thou fear
I’ll turn a traitor? may these roses here
To paleness shred,
And lilies stand disguisèd in new red,
If that I lay
A snare, wherein thou would’st not gladly stay.
See, see, the Sun
Does slowly to his azure lodging run;
Come, sit but here,
And presently he’ll quit our hemisphere:
So, still among
Lovers, time is too short or else too long;
Here will we spin
Legends for them that have love-martyrs been;
Here on this plain
We’ll talk Narcissus to a flower again.
Come here, and choose
On which of these proud plats thou would repose;
Here may’st thou shame
The rusty violets, with the crimson flame
Of either cheek,
And primroses white as thy fingers seek;
Nay, thou may’st prove
That man’s most noble passion is to love.