Thou Art Not Fair-Thomas Campion (1575?-1620?)

Thou art not fair for all thy red and white,

For all those rosy ornaments in thee,--

Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight,

Nor fair, nor sweet, unless thou pity me.

I will not soothe thy fancies; thou shalt prove

that beauty is no beauty without love.

Yet love not me, nor seek thou to allure

My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine;

Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure,

I'll not be wrapp'd up in those arms of thine:

Now show it, if thou be a woman right--

Embrace and kiss and love me in despite.

Poem and Song, There is a Garden-Thomas Camppion (1575?-1620?)

There is a garden in her face,

Where roses and white lilies grow;

A heavenly paradise is that place,

Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.

There cherries grow, which none may buy

Till Cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly'do enclose

Of orient pearl a double row;

Which when her lovely laughter shows,

They look like rose buds fill'd with snow.

Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,

Till Cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still;

Her brows like bended brows do stand,

Treat'ning with piercing frowns to kill

All that attempt with eye or hand

Those sacred cherries to come nigh,

 Till  Cherry-ripe  themselves do cry.

Sleep, Angry Beauty-Thomas Campion (1575?-1620)

Sleep angry beauty, sleep and fear not me.

For who a sleeping lion dares provoke?

 It shall suffice me here to sit and see

 Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke.

What sight can more content a lover's mind

Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind?

My words have charm'd  her, for secure she sleeps,

Though guilty much of wrong done to my love;

And in her slumber, see, she, close-ey'd, weeps:

Dreams often more than waking passions move.

Plead, sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee: 

That she in peace may wake and pity me.