With thankfull smiles, may read in her own daies;
Or, when shall I a breathing woman praise?
Never; I am ambitious in my strings,
They never sound but of eternall things,
Such as freed soules: but had I thought it fit
To praise a soul unto a body knit,
I would confesse, I spent my time amiss
When I was slow to give due praise to this.
Thus when all sleep my time is come to sing,
And from her ashes must my poems spring;
Though in the race I see some swiftly run,
I will not crown them till the goale be won.
They that have fought, not they that are to fight,
May claime the glorious garland as their right'.
SLEEP, old man,
let silence charme thee,
Dreaming slumbers overtake thee,
Quiet thoughts and darknesse arme thee,
That no creaking do awake thee.
Phoebe hath put out her light,
All her shadows closing; Phoebe lend her hornes to night
To thy head's disposing.
Let no fatall bell nor clock
Pierce the hollow of thy eare: Tongulesse be the early cock,
Or what else may adde a feare.
Let no rat, nor silly mouse,
Move the senselesse rushes, Nor a cough disturbe this house Till Aurora blushes.
Come, my sweet Corrinna, come;
Laugh, and leave thy late deplaring: Sable midnight makes all dumbe,
But thy jealous husband's snoring.
And with thy sweet perfumed kisses
Entertaine a stranger:
Love's delight, and sweetest blisse, is
Got with greatest danger.
A BEAUTIOUS YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN
WITH AN ANCIENT MAN.
FONDLY, too curious Nature, to adorne
Aurora with the blushes of the morne:
Why do her rosie lips breath gums, and spice,
Unto the east, and sweet to paradice?
Why do her eyes open the day? her hand,
And voice entrance the panther, and command
Incensed winds: her breasts, the tents of love,
Smooth as the godded swan, or Venus' dove;
Soft as the balmy dew, whose every touch
Is pregnant; but why those rich spoiles, when such
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.com.pr/books/content?id=2fQSAAAAIAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA184&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=related:ISBN0140092331&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U3Y4HfLhHki9Ls9wMdyDbjlNY0NYA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=66,1414,445,94)
Wonder and perfection must be led
A bridall captive unto Tithon's bed?
Ag'd, and deformed Tithon! must thy twine
Circle and blast at once what care and time
Had made for wonder? must pure beauty have
No other soile but ruine and a grave?
So have I seene the pride of Nature's store,
The orient pearle, chain'd to the sooty Moore.
So hath the diamond's bright ray been set
Iu night, and wedded to the negro-jet.
See, see,
how thick those flowers of pearle do fall
To weep her ransome, or her funerall,
Whose every treasur'd drop, congeal'd, might bring
Freedome and ransome to a fettered king,
While tyrant wealth stands by, and laughs to see
How he can wed, love, and antipathy.
Hymen, thy pine burnes with adulterate fire;
Thou and thy quiver'd boy did once conspire
To mingle equall flames, and then no shine
Of gold, but beauty, dress'd the Paphian shrine,
Roses and lillies kiss'd; the amorous vine,
Did with the faire and straight limb'd elme entwine.
COLD vertue guard me, or I shall endure
From the next glance a double calenture
Of fire and lust; two flames, two Semeleis
Dwell in those eyes, whose looser glowing raies
Would thaw the frozen Russian into lust,
And parch the negroe's hotter blood to dust.
Dart not your balls of wild-fire here, go throw
Those flakes upon the eunuch's colder snow,
Till he in active bloud do boile as high
As he that made him so in jealousie.
When the loose queene of love did dresse her eyes In the most taking flame to win the prize At Ida; that faint glare to this desire
Burnt like a taper to the zone of fire:
And could she then the lustfull youth have crown'd
With thee, his Hellen, Troy had never found
Her fate in Sinon's fire, thy hotter eyes
Had made it burne a quicker sacrifice
To lust, whilst every glance in subtile wiles
Had shot it selfe like lightning through the piles.
Go blow upon some equall blood, and let
Earth's hotter ray engender and beget
New flames to dresse the aged Paphians' quire,
And lend the world new Cupids borne on fire.
Dart no more here those flames, nor strive to throw
Your fire on him who is immur'd in snow:
Those glances werke on me like the weake shine
The frosty Sun throwes on the Appennine,
When the bill's active coldnesse doth go ncere
To freeze the glimmering taper to his spheare:
Each ray is lost on me like the faint light
The glow-wormne shoots at the cold breast of night.
Thus vertue can secure, but for that name
I had been now sin's martyr, and your flame.'
FLATTERING hope away and leave me, She'll not come, thou dost deceive me ;
Harke the cock crows, th' envious light
Therefore if I chance to meet Chides away the silent night;
With a mistris faire and sweet, Yet she comes not, oh how I tyre
She my service shall obtaine, Betwixt cold feare aad hot desire,
Loving her for love againe : Here alone enforc'd to tarry
Thus much liberty I crave, While the tedious minutes marry,
Not to be a constant slave. And get houres; those daies and yecres
But when we have try'd each other, Which I count with sighs and feares :
If she better like another, Yet she comes not, oh how I tyre
Let her quickly change for me, Betwixt cold feare and hot desire.
Then to change am I as free.
He or she that loves too long
Restlesse thoughts a while remove
Sell their freedome for a song.
Unto the bosome of my love,
Let her languish in my paine,
Feaæ, and hope, and feare againe ;
Then let her tell me in love's fire,
LOVE'S FREEDOME.
What torment's like unto Jesire.
Why should man be only ty'd
Endlesse wishing, tedious longing,
To a foolish female thing,
Hopes and feares together thronging;
Rich in dreames, yet poore in waking,
When all creatures else beside,
Birds and beasts, change every spring )
Let her be in such a taking
Then let her tell me in love's sire,
Who would then to one be bound,
What torment's like unto desire.
When so many may be found?
Why should I my sel'e confine Come then, love, prevent day's eyeing,
To the limits of one place, My desire would faine be Jying :
When I have all Europe mine, Smother me with breathlesse kisses,
Where I list to run my race. Let me dreame no more of blisses;
Who would then to one be bound, But tell me which is in love's fire
When so many may be found ? Best, to enjoy, or to desire.
Would you thinke him wise that now
Still one sort of meat doth eat,
When both sea and land allow
Sundry sorts of other meat?"
TRUE BEAUTY,
Who would then to one be bound,
May I find a woman faire,
When so many may be found? And her mind as cleare as aire,
E're old Saturne chang'd his throne, If her beauty goe alone,
Freedome raign’d and banish'd strife, 'Tis to me as if 't were none.
Where was he that knew his own,
Or who call'd a woman wife ? May I find a woman rich,
Who would then to one be bound,
And not of too high a pitch:
When so many may be found ?
If that pride should cause disdaine,
Tell me, lover, where's thy gaine?
Ten times happier are those men
That enjoy'd hose golden dajes : May I find a woman wise,
Untill time redresse 't againe And her falschood not disguise ;
I will never Hymen praise. Hath she wit as she hath will,
Who would then to one be bound,
Double arm'd she is to ill.
When so many may be found ?
May I find a woman kind,
And not wavering like the wind :
How should I call that love mine,
When 'tis his, and his, and thine ?
ON THE LIFE OF MAX.
May I find a woman true,
Like to the falling of a star, There is beauty's fairest hue ;
Or as the fights of eagles are, There is beauty, love, and wit,
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Happy he can compasse it.
Or silver drops of morning dew,
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood :
Even such is man, whose borrowed light
Is straight call'd in and paid to night:
THE INDIFFERENT.
The wind blowes out, the bubble dies,
Never more will I protest
The spring intomb'd in autumn lies :
The dew's dry'd up, the star is shot,
To love a woman but in jest:
The flight is past, and man forgot?.
For as they cannot be true,
So to give each man his due,
When the woing fit is past,
? These lines are in bishop King's poems, 1657. Their affection cannot last.
Ellis.
![[ocr errors]](https://books.google.com.pr/books/content?id=2fQSAAAAIAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA185&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=related:ISBN0140092331&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U37C3xY8CIsD1Z3Sb0JR_1ob-7faA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=645,1005,4,11)
HERE she lies, whose spotlesse fame,
Invites a stone to learne her name:
The rigid Spartan that denied
An epitaph to all that died,
Unlesse for war, on charity
Would here vouchsafe an elegie:
She died a wife, but yet her mind,
Beyond virginity refin'd,
From lawlesse fire remain'd as free,
As now from heat her ashes be:
Her husband, yet without a sin,
Was not a stranger, but her kin,
That her chaste love might seeme no other
To her husband than a brother.
Keep well this pawn, thou marble chest,
Till it be call'd for let it rest;
For while this jewell here is set,
The grave is like a cabinet.
LIKE a ring without a finger,
Or a bell without a ringer;
Like a horse was never ridden,
Or a feast and no guest bidden;
Like a well without a bucket,
Or a rose if no man pluck it:
Just such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a maid.
The ring, if worne, the finger decks,
The bell pull'd by the ringer speakes;
The horse doth ease if he be ridden,
The feast doth please if guest be bidden;
The bucket draws the water forth,
The rose when pluck'd is still most worth:
Such is the virgin, in my eyes,
That lives, loves, marries, e're she dies.
Like to a stock not grafted on,
Or like a lute not play'd upon;
Like a jack without a weight,
Or a barque without a fraight;
Like a lock without a key,
Or a candle in the day :
Just such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a maid.
The graffed stock doth beare best fruit,
There's music in the fingered lute;
The weight doth make the jack go ready,
The fraught doth make the barque go steady;
The key the lock doth open right:
The candle's usefull in the night:
Such is the virgin, in my eyes,
'That lives, loves, marries, e're she dies.
Like a call without Anon, sir,
Or a question and no answer;
Like a ship was never rigg'd,
Or a mine was never digg'd;
Like a wound without a tent,
Or civet boxe without a scent:
Just such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a maid,
Th' Anon, sir, doth obey the call,
The question answered pleaseth all;
Who riggs a ship sailes with the wind,
Who digs a mine doth treasure find;
The wound by wholesome tent hath case,
The boxe perfum'd the senses please:
Such is the virgin in my eyes,
That lives, loves, marries, e're she dies.
Like marrow bone was never broken,
Or commendations and no token;
Like a fort and none to win it,
Or like the Moone and no man in it:
Like a schoole without a teacher,
Or like a pulpit and no preacher:
Just such as these may she be said,
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a maid.
The broken marrow-bone is sweet,
The token doth adorne the greet;
There's triumph in the fort, being woon,
The man rides glorious in the Moon;
The schoole is by the teacher still'd,
The pulpit by the preacher fill'd:
Such is the virgin, in my eyes,
That lives, loves, marrics, e're she dies.
Like a cage without a bird,
Or a thing too long deferr'd;
Like the gold was never tryed,
Or the ground unoccupied ;
Like a house that's not possessed,
Or the book was never pressed:
Just such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a maid,
The bird in cage doth sweetly sing,
Due season prefers every thing;
The gold that's try'd from drosse is pur'd,
There's profit in the ground mannur'd ;
The house is by possession graced,
The book when press'd is then embraced :
Such is the virgin in my eyes,
That lives, loves, marrics, e're she dics.
A DESCRIPTION OF LOVE,
Love is a region full of fires,
And burning with extreame desires ;
An object seeks, of which possest,
The wheeles are fix'd, the motions rest,
The flames in ashes lie opprest;
This meteor striving high to rise,
The fewell spent, fals down and dies.
Much sweeter, and more pure delights
Are drawn from faire alluring sights,
When ravisht minds attempt to praise
Commanding eyes like heavenly raies,
Whose force the gentle heart obeys ;
Than where the end of this pretence
Descends to base inferiour sence.
Why then should lovers (most will say)
Expect so much th' enjoying day;
Love is like youth, he thirsts for age,
He scornes to be his mother's page;
But when proceeding times asswage
The former heat, he will complaine,
And wish those pleasant houres againe.
We know that hope and love are twins,
Hope gone, fruition now begins;
But what is this unconstant fraile,
In nothing sure, but sure to faile?
Which if we lose it we bewaile,
And when we have it still we beare
The worst of passions, daily feare.
When love thus in his center ends,
Desire and hope, his inward friends
Are shaken off, while doubt and griefe,
The weakest givers of reliefe,
Stand in his councell as the chiefe;
And now he to his period brought,
From love becomes some other thought.
These lines I write not to remove
United squles from serious love,
The best attempts by mortais made
Reflect on things which quickly fade;
Yet never will I men perswade
To leave affections where may shine
Impressions of the love divine.
THE SHEPHERDESSE.
A SHEPHERDESSE who long had kept her flocks
On stony Charnwood's dry and barren rocks,
In heate of summer to the vales declin'd
To seek fresh pasture for her lambs halfe pin'd;
She (while her charge was feeding) spent the houres
To gaze on sliding brooks, and smiling flowers.
A FUNERALL ELOGIE ON THE DEATH OF
THE LADY PENELOPE CLIFTON3.
SINCE thou art dead (Clifton) the world may see
A certaine end of flesh and bloud in thee;
Till then a way was left for man to cry,
Flesh may be made so pure, it cannot dye :
But now, thy unexpected death doth strike
With griefe the better and the worse alike;
The good are sad they are not with thee there,
The bad have found they must not tarry here.
Death, I confesse, 'tis just in thee to try
Thy power on us, for thou thy selfe must dye;
Thou pay'st but wages, Death, yet I would know
What strange delight thou tak'st to pay them so;
When thou com'st face to face thou strik'st us mute,
And all our liberty is to dispute
Thou art not prone to kill, but where th' intent
Of those that suffer is their nourishment;
If thou canst steale into a dish, and creep,
When all is still as though into a sleep,
And cover thy dry body with a draught,
Whereby some innocent lady may be caught,
And cheated of her life, then thou wilt come
And stretch thy self upon her early tombe,
And laugh, as pleas'd, to shew thou canst devoure
Mortality as well by wit as power.
I would thou hadst had eyes, or not a dart,
That yet at least, the cloathing of that heart
Thou strook'st so spightfully, might have appear'd,
To thee, and with a reverence have been fear'd:
But since thou art so blind, receive from me
Who 'twas on whom thou wrought'st this tragedy;
She was a lady, who for publique fame,
Never (since she in thy protection came,
Who sett'st all living tongues at large) receiv'd
A blemish; with her beauty she deceiv'd
No man, when taken with it they agree
'Twas Nature's fault, when from 'em 'twas in thee.
And such her vertue was, that although she
Receive as much joy, haying pass'd through thee,
As ever any did; yet hath thy hate
Made her as little better in her state,
As ever it did any being here,
She liv'd with us as if she had been there.
Such ladies thou canst kill no more, but so
For if thou dost, my pen shall make the rest
I give thee warning here to kill no moe;
Of those that live, especially the best,
Whom thou most thirstest for, t' abandon all
Those fruitlesse things, which thou wouldst have
us call
Preservatives, keeping their diet so,
As the long-living poore their neighbours do:
Then shall we have them long, and they at last
Shall passe from thee to her, but not so fast.
To find it out? far sooner would I go
To find a pearle covered with hills of snow;
'Twere buried vertue, and thou mightst me move
To reverence the tombe, but not to love,
No more than dotingly to cast mine eye
Upon the urne where Lucrece' ashes lye.
But thou art faire, and sweet, and every good
That ever yet durst mixe with flesh and blood:
The Devill ne're saw in his fallen state
An object whereupon to ground his hate
So fit as thee; all living things but he
Love thee; how happy then must that man be
When from amongst all creatures thou dost take?
Is there a hope beyond it? Can he make
A wish to change thee for? This is my blisse,
Let it run on now, I know what it is.
TO THE MUTABLE FAIRE,
HERE, Cœlia, for thy sake I part
With all that grew so neere my heart;
The passion that I had for thee,
The faith, the love, the constancy;
And that I may successefull prove,
Transforme myself to what you love.
Foole that I was, so much to prize
Those simple vertues you despise ?
Foole, that with such dull arrows strove,
Or hop'd to reach a flying dove;
For you that are in motion still
Decline our force, and mock our skill;
Who, like Don Quixote, do advance
Against a windmill our vaine lance.
Now will I wander through the aire,
Mount, make a stoope at every faire,
And with a fancy unconfin'd
(As lawlesse as the sea, or wind)
Pursue you wheresoe're you flie,
And with your various thoughts comply.
The formall stars do travell so
As we their names and courses know;
And he that on their changes looks
Would thinke them govern'd by our books;
But never were the clouds reduc'd
To any art the motion us'd,
By those free vapours are so light,
So frequent, that the conquer'd sight
Despaires to find the rules that guide
Those gilded shadows as they slide;
And therefore of the spatious aire
Jove's royall consort had the care,
And by that power did once escape
Declining bold Ixion's rape;
She with her own resemblance grac'd
A shining cloud, which he imbrac'd.
Such was that image, so it smil'd
With seeming kindness, which beguil'd
Your Thirsis lately, when he thought
He had his fleeting Coelia caught;
'Twas shap'd like her, but for the faire
He fill'd his armes with yeelding aire,
A fate for which he grieves the lesse
Because the gods had like successe:
For in their story one (we see)
Pursues' a nymph, and takes a tree;
A second with a lover's haste
Soone overtakes what he had chaste;
But she that did a virgin seeme,
Possess'd, appears a wand'ring streame.
For his supposed love a third
Laies greedy hold upon a bird;
And stands amaz'd to see his deare
A wild inhabitant of the aire.
To such old tales such nymphs as you
Give credit, and still make them new;
The amorous now like wonders find
In the swift changes of your mind.
But, Cœlia, if you apprehend
The Muse of your incensed friend:
Nor would that he record your blame,
And make it live, repeat the same;
Againe deceive him, and againe,
And then he sweares he'l not complaine;
For still to be deluded so
Is all the pleasures lovers know,
Who, like good falkners, take delight
Not in the quarrey, but the flight.
OF LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT.
NOT caring to observe the wind,
Or the new sea explore,
Snatcht from thy selfe, how far behind
Already I behold the shore.
May not a thousand dangers sleep
In the smooth bosome of this deep:
No, 'tis so rocklesse, and so cleare,
That the rich bottom does appeare
Pav'd all with precious things, not torne
From shipwrackt vessels, but there borue;
Sweetnesse, truth, and every grace
Which time and use are wont to teach,
The eye may in a moment reach,
And read distinctly in her face.
Some other nymph with colour faint,
And pencill slow may Cupid paint;
And a weake heart in time destroy,
She has a stampe and prints the boy,
Can with a single looke inflame
The coldest breast, the rudest tame.
THE ANTIPLATÒNIC.
For shaine thou everlasting wooer,
Still saying grace, and never falling to her.
Love that's in contemplation plac'd,
Is Venus drawn but to the waste?
Unlesse your flame confesse its gender,
And your parley cause surrender;
Y' are salamanders of a cold desire,
That live untoucht amid the hottest fire.
What though she be a dame of stone,
The widow of Pigmalion;
As hard and unrelenting she
As the new crusted Niobe;
Or what doth more of statue carry,
A nun of the Platonic quarry?
Love melts the rigour which the rocks have bred,
A flint will break upon a feather bed.
For shame, you pretty female elves.
Cease for to candy up your selves:
|