GEORGE HERBERT

286. Love

T OVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

• ~* Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lack'd anything.

• A guest,' I answer'd, ' worthy to be here : '

Love said, ' You shall be he/

• I, the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on Thee/ Love took my hand and smiling did reply, ' Who made the eyes but I ? '

• Truth, Lord ; but I have marr'd them : let my shame

Go where it doth deserve/

• And know you not,' says Love, ' Who bore the blame ? '

'My dear, then I will serve/

• You must sit down,' says Love, ' and taste my meat/

So I did sit and eat.

JAMES SHIRLEY

287. A Hymn

FLY, my Soul ! What hangs upon Thy drooping wings, And weighs them down With love of gaudy mortal things ?

The Sun is now i' the east : each shade

As he doth rise

Is shorter made, That earth may lessen to our eyes.

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