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Best Famous Sir John Suckling Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Sir John Suckling poems. This is a select list of the best famous Sir John Suckling poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Sir John Suckling poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Sir John Suckling poems.

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by Sir John Suckling | |

Out upon it I have lovd

 Out upon it, I have lov'd
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.
Time shall moult away his wings, Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again Such a constant lover.
But the spite on't is, no praise Is due at all to me; Love with me had made no stays, Had it any been but she.
Had it any been but she, And that very face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place.


by Sir John Suckling | |

I prithee spare me gentle boy

 I prithee spare me gentle boy,
Press me no more for that slight toy,
That foolish trifle of an heart;
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employ'st thy pow'r and art.
For through long custom it has known The little secrets, and is grown Sullen and wise, will have its will, And like old hawks pursues that still That makes least sport, flies only where't can kill.
Some youth that has not made his story, Will think perchance the pain's the glory, And mannerly sit out love's feast; I shall be carving of the best, Rudely call for the last course 'fore the rest.
And oh when once that course is past, How short a time the feast doth last; Men rise away and scarce say grace, Or civilly once thank the face That did invite, but seek another place.


by Sir John Suckling | |

Love Turned to Hatred

 I will not love one minute more, I swear!
No, not a minute! Not a sigh or tear
Thou gett'st from me, or one kind look again,
Though thou shouldst court me to 't, and wouldst begin.
I will not think of thee but as men do Of debts and sins; and then I'll curse thee too.
For thy sake woman shall be now to me Less welcome than at midnight ghosts shall be.
I'll hate so perfectly that it shall be Treason to love that man that loves a she.
Nay, I will hate the very good, I swear, That's in thy sex, because it doth lie there, - Their very virtue, grace, discourse, and wit, And all for thee! What, wilt thou love me yet?


by Sir John Suckling | |

The Constant Lover

 Out upon it, I have lov'd
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.
Time shall molt away his wings Ere he shall discover In such whole wide world again Such a constant lover.
But the spite on't is, no praise Is due at all to me: Love with me had made no stays Had it any been but she.
Had it any been but she And that very face, There had been at least ere this A dozen dozen in her place.


by Sir John Suckling | |

When Dearest I But Think of Thee

 When, dearest I but think of thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul delighted:
For beauties that from worth arise
Are like the grace of deities,
Still present with us, tho’ unsighted.
Thus while I sit and sigh the day With all his borrow’d lights away, Till night’s black wings do overtake me, Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, As sudden lights do sleepy men, So they by their bright rays awake me.
Thus absence dies, and dying proves No absence can subsist with loves That do partake of fair perfection: Since in the darkest night they may By love’s quick motion find a way To see each other by reflection.
The waving sea can with each flood Bathe some high promont that hath stood Far from the main up in the river: O think not then but love can do As much! for that’s an ocean too, Which flows not every day, but ever!


by Sir John Suckling | |

Why so Pale and Wan?

 WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? 
 Prithee, why so pale? 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 
 Looking ill prevail? 
 Prithee, why so pale? 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 
 Prithee, why so mute? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her, 
 Saying nothing do 't? 
 Prithee, why so mute? 

Quit, quit for shame! This will not move; 
 This cannot take her.
If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: The devil take her!


by Sir John Suckling | |

I prithee send me back my heart

 I prithee send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?

Yet now I think on't, let it lie,
To find it were in vain;
For thou hast a thief in either eye
Would steal it back again.
Why should two hearts in one breast lie, And yet not lodge together? O Love! where is thy sympathy, If thus our breasts thou sever? But love is such a mystery, I cannot find it out; For when I think I'm best resolved, I then am in most doubt.
Then farewell care, and farewell woe; I will no longer pine; For I'll believe I have her heart, As much as she hath mine.