I press not to the quire, nor dare I greet
The holy place with my unhallowed feet;
My unwashed Muse pollutes not things divine,
Nor mingles her profaner notes with thine;
Here humbly at the porch she listening stays,
And with glad ears sucks in thy sacred lays.

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. To My Worthy Friend Master George Sands, on His Translation of th Psalms (l. 1-6). . . Poems of Thomas Carew. Arthur Vincent, ed. (1899; repr. 1972) Books for Libraries Press.)

When thou, poor Excommunicate
From all the joys of love, shalt see
The full reward and glorious fate
Which my strong faith shall purchase me,
Then curse thine own inconstancy!

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. To My Inconstant Mistress (l. 1-5). . . New Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1950. Helen Gardner, ed. (1972) Oxford University Press.)

Then give me leave to love, & love me too
Not with designe
To raise, as Loves curst Rebels doe,
When puling Poets whine,
Fame to their beauty, from their blubbr'd eyn.

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. To a Lady That Desired I Would Love Her (l. 11-15). . . Poems of Thomas Carew. Arthur Vincent, ed. (1899; repr. 1972) Books for Libraries Press.)

Welcome the comming of the long'd-for May.
Now all things smile; onely my Love doth lowre;
Nor hath the scalding noon-day sunne the power
To melt that marble yce, which still doth hold
Her heart congeal'd, and makes her pittie cold.

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. The Spring (l. 12-16). . . Poems of Thomas Carew. Arthur Vincent, ed. (1899; repr. 1972) Books for Libraries Press.)

Those cheerful beams send forth their light

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. To Saxham (l. 35). . . Poems of Thomas Carew. Arthur Vincent, ed. (1899; repr. 1972) Books for Libraries Press.)

Yet, Saxham, thou within thy gate
Art of thyself so delicate,
So full of native sweets that bless
Thy roof with inward happiness,
As neither from nor to thy store
Winter takes aught, or spring adds more.

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. To Saxham (l. 5-10). . . Poems of Thomas Carew. Arthur Vincent, ed. (1899; repr. 1972) Books for Libraries Press.)

For thou perhaps at thy return
May'st find thy Darling in an urn.

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. Epitaph on the Lady Mary Villiers (l. 11-12). . . Poems of Thomas Carew. Arthur Vincent, ed. (1899; repr. 1972) Books for Libraries Press.)

Know Celia, (since thou art so proud),
'Twas I that gave thee thy renowne:
Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties, liv'd unknowne,
Had not my verse exhal'd thy name,
And with it, ympt the wings of fame.

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. Ingrateful Beauty Threatened (l. 1-6). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.)

And here the precious dust is layd;
Whose purely temper'd Clay was made
So fine, that it the guest betray'd.

Else the soule grew so fast within,
It broke the outward shell of sinne,
And so was hatch'd a Cherubin.

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. Maria Wentworth (l. 1-6). . . Poems of Thomas Carew. Arthur Vincent, ed. (1899; repr. 1972) Books for Libraries Press.)

Then, Celia, let us reap our joys
Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys.

(Thomas Carew (1589-1639), British poet. Persuasions to Enjoy (l. 5-6). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.)