OH! for some honest lover's ghost, Some kind unbodied post, Sent from the shades below. I strangely long to know Whether the nobler chaplets wear, Those that their mistress' scorn did bear, Or those that were us'd kindly.
For whatsoe'er they tell us here
To make those sufferings dear, "Twill there I fear be found, That to the being crown'd, T have lov'd alone will not suffice, Unless we also have been wise,
And have our loves enjoy'd.
What posture can we think him in, That here unlov'd again Departs, and's thither gone, Where each sits by his own? Or how can that Elysium be, Where I my mistress still must see Circled in other's arms?
For there the judges all are just, And Sophronisba must
Be his whom she held dear; Not his who lov'd her here:
The sweet Philoclea, since she dy'd, Lies by her Pirocles his side,
Not by Amphialus.
Some bays (perchance) of myrtle bough, For difference, crowns the brow Of those kind souls that were The noble martyrs here;
And if that be the only odds, (As who can tell) ye kinder gods, Give me the woman here.
TO HIS MUCH honoured, THE LORD LEPINGTON,
UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF MALVEZZI HIS ROMULUS AND TARQUIN.
It is so rare and new a thing to see Aught that belongs to young nobility In print, (but their own clothes) that we must praise You, as we would do those first show the ways To arts or to new worlds: you have begun; Taught travell'd youth what 'tis it should have donc: For't has indeed too strong a custom been, To carry out more wit than we bring in. You have done otherwise, brought home (my lord) The choicest things fam'd countries do afford: Malvezzi by your means is English grown, And speaks our tongue as well now as his own. Malvezzi, he: whom 'tis as hard to praise To merit, as to imitate his ways.
He does not show us Rome great suddenly, As if the empire were a tympany, But gives it natural growth, tells how, and why, The little body grew so large and high. Describes each thing so lively, that we are Concern'd our selves before we are aware: And at the wars they and their neighbours wag'd, Fach man is present still, and still engag'd.
Like a good prospective he strangely brings Things distant to us; and in these two kings We see what made greatness. And what 't has been Made that greatness contemptible again. And all this not tediously deriv'd,
But like to worlds in little maps contriv'd. 'Tis he that doth the Roman dame restore, Makes Lucrece chaster for her being whore ; Gives her a kind revenge for Tarquin's sin; For ravish'd first, she ravisheth again. She says such fine things after't, that we must, In spite of virtue, thank foul rape and lust, Since 'twas the cause no woman would have had, Though she's of Lucrece' side, Tarquin less bad. But stay; like one that thinks to bring his friend A mile or two, and sees the journey's end, I straggle on too far: long graces do
But keep good stomachs off that would fall to.
STAY here, fond youth, and ask no more; be wise; Knowing too much long since lost Paradise: [still The virtuous joys thou hast, thou would'st should Last in their pride; and would'st not take it ill If rudely from sweet dreams (and for a toy) Thou wert wak'd? He wakes himself that does enjoy.
Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys; And while it pleaseth much the palate, cloys; Who thinks he shall be happier for that, As reasonably might hope he might grow fat By eating to a surfeit; this once past, What relishes? Even kisses lose their taste.
Urge not 'tis necessary; alas! we know The homeliest thing which mankind does, is so: The world is of a vast extent we see, And must be peopled; children there must be ; So must bread too; but since there are enough Born to the drudgery, what need we plough? Women enjoy'd (what c're before they've been) Are like romances read, or sights once seen: Fruition's dull, and spoils the play much more Than if one read or knew the plot before; 'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear; Heaven were not Heaven, if we knew what it were. And as in prospects we are there pleas'd most, Where something keeps the eye from being lost, And leaves us room to guess; so here restraint Holds up delight, that with excess would faint. They who know all the wealth they have, are poor, He's only rich that cannot tell his store.
Dearth of pure wit: since the great lord of it (Donne) parted hence, no man has ever writ So near him, in's own way: I would commend Particulars; but, then, how should I end Without a volume? Ev'ry line of thine Would ask (to praise it right) twenty of mine.
Love, Reason, Hate, did once bespeak Three mates to play at barley-break; Love, Folly took; and Reason, Fancy; And Hate consorts with Pride; so dance they: Love coupled last, and so it fell That Love and Folly were in Hell.
They break, and Love would Reason meet, But Hate was nimbler on her feet; Fancy looks for Pride, and thither Hies, and they too hug together: Yet this new coupling still doth tell That Love and Folly were in Hell. The rest do break again, and Pride Hath now got Reason on her side; Hate and Fancy meet, and stand Untoucht by Love in Folly's hand; Folly was dull, but Love ran well, So Love and Folly were in Hell.
I PR'YTHEE, 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 do'st thine, employ'st thy power and
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
WHAT mighty princes poets are! those things The great ones stick at, and our very kings Lay down, they venture on; and with great ease Discover, conquer, what, and where they please. Some flegmatick sea-captain would have staid For money now, or victuals; not have weigh'd Anchor without 'em; thou (Will.) do'st not stay So much as for a wind, but go'st away, Land'st, view'st the country; fight'st, put'st all to Before another could be putting out! And now the news in town is: Dav'nant's come From Madagascar, fraught with laurel, home; And welcome (Will.) for the first time; but pr'ythee, LADY CARLILE'S WALKING IN HAMPTON In thy next voyage, bring the gold too with thee.
That did invite; but seek another place.
Heardst thou not musick when she talk'd? And didst not find that as she walk'd, She threw rare perfumes all about, Such as bean-blossomes newly out, Or chafed spices, give?-
I must confesse those perfumes (Tom) I did not smell; nor found that from Her passing by, aught sprung up new ; The flow'rs had all their birth from you: For I pass'd o'er the self-same walk, And did not find one single stalk Of any thing, that was to bring This unknown after-after-spring.
Dull and insensible! could'st see A thing so near a deity
Move up and down, and feel no change?
None, and so great, were alike strange. I had my thoughts, but not your way: All are not born (sir) to the bay. Alas! Tom, I am flesh and blood, And was consulting how I could, In spite of masks and hoods, descry The parts deny'd unto the eye; I was undoing all she wore;
And had she walk'd but one turn more, Eve in her first state had not been More naked, or more plainly seen.
'Twas well for thee she left the place: There is great danger in that face: But hadst thou view'd her leg and thigh, And upon that discovery
Search'd after parts that are more dear (As fancy seldom stops so near) No time or age had ever seen
So lost a thing as thou hadst been.
AGAINST ABSENCE.
My whining lover, what needs all These vows of life monastical; Despairs, retirements, jealousies, And subtle sealing up of eyes? Come, come, be wise; return again; A finger burnt's as great a pain ; And the same physick, self-same art, Cures that, would cure a flaming heart: Would'st thou, whilst yet the fire is in, But hold it to the fire again.
If you (dear sir) the plague have got, What matter is't whether or not They let you in the same house lie, Or carry you abroad to die?
He whom the plague, or love once takes, Every room a pest-house makes. Absence were good, if 'twere but sense That only holds th' intelligence; Pure love alone no hurt would do; But love is love, and magic too; Brings a mistress a thousand miles, And the sleight of looks beguiles: Makes her entertaine thee there, And the same time your rival here: And (oh! the devil) that she should Say finer things now than she would; So nobly fancy doth supply What the dull sense lets fall and die. Beauty like man's old enemy's known To tempt him most when he's alone: The air of some wild o'er-grown wood, Or pathless grove, is the boy's food. Return then back, and feed thine eye, Feed all thy senses, and feast high. Spare diet is the cause love lasts; For surfeits sooner kill, than fasts.
WONDER not if I stay not here: Hurt lovers (like to wounded deer) Must shift the place; for standing still Leaves too much time to know our ill: Where there is a traytour eye That lets in from th' enemy All that may supplant an heart, 'Tis time the chief should use some art: Who parts the object from the sense, Wisely cuts off intelligence. O how quickly men must die, Should they stand all Love's battery! Persindae's eyes great mischief do, So do we know the cannon too; But men are safe at distance still: Where they reach not, they cannot kill. Love is a fit, and soon is past,
Il diet only makes it last; Who is still looking, gazing ever, Drinks wine i' th' very height o' th' ferer.
Out of the bed the other fair hand was
On a green sattin quilt, whose perfect white Look'd like a dazie in a field of grass,
And shew'd like unmelt snow unto the sight: There lay this pretty perdue, safe to keep The rest o' th' body, that lay fast asleep.
Her eyes (and therefore it was night) close laid, Strove to imprison beauty till the morn; But yet the doors were of such fine stuff made, That it broke through, and show'd itself in scorn: Throwing a kind of light about the place, Which turn'd to smiles still as't came near her face.
The bonds made there (like gypsies' knots) with ease Are fast and loose, as they that hold them please.
But was the fair nymph's praise or power less, That led him captive now to happiness; 'Cause she did not a foreign aid despise, But enter'd breaches made by others' eyes? The gods forbid :
There must be some to shoot and batter down, Others to force and to take in the town.
To hawkes (good Jack) and hearts There may
Be sev'ral ways and arts;
One watches them perchance, and makes them
Another, when they're ready, shows them game.
(Whether predestination,
Or reconciling three in one,
Or the unridding how men die, And live at once eternally,
Now take you up) know 'tis decreed
You straight bestride the college steed: Leave Socinus and the schoolmen,
(Which Jack Bond swears do but fool men) And come to town; 'tis fit you show Your self abroad, that men may know (Whate'er some learned men have guest) That oracles are not yet ceas'd: There you shall find the wit and wine Flowing alike, and both divine: Dishes, with names not known in books, And less amongst the college-cooks; With sauce so pregnant, that you need Not stay till hunger bids you feed. The sweat of learned Johnson's brain, And gentle Shakespear's eas'er strain, A hackney coach conveys you to, In spite of all that rain can do: And for your eighteen pence you sit The lord and judge of all fresh wit. News in one day as much we've here As serves all Windsor for a year, And which the carrier brings to you, After 't has here been found not true. Then think what company's design'd To meet you here; men so refin'd, Their very common talk at board, Makes wise or mad a young court-lord, And makes him capable to he Umpire in's father's company. Where no disputes, nor forc'd defence Of a man's person for his sense, Take up the time; all strive to be Masters of truth, as victory:
And where you come, I'd boldly swear A synod might as easily err.
TELL thee, Dick, where I have been, Where I the rarest things have seen;
At Course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i'th' town: Though lusty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the crown.
But wot you what? the youth was going To make an end of all his woing;
The parson for him staid : Yet by his leave (for all his haste) He did not so much wish all past
(Perchance) as did the maid. The maid (and thereby bangs a tale) For such a maid no Whitson-ale Could ever yet produce: No grape that's kindly ripe, could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juyce.
Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring; It was too wide a peck : And to say truth (for out it must) It look'd like the great collar (just) About our young colt's neck. Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice, stole in and out, As if they fear'd the light: But oh! she dances such a way! No sun upon an Easter day
Is half so fine a sight.
He would have kist her once or twice, But she would not, she was so nice, She would not do't in sight: And then she lookt, as who should say I will do what I list to day;
And you shall do't at night.
Her cheeks so rare a white was on, No daisie makes comparison;
(Who sees them is undone) For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Cath'rine pear,
(The side that's next the Sun.)
Her lips were red; and one was thin, Compar'd to that was next her chin; (Some bee had stung it newly.) But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze,
Than on the Sun in July.
Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou'd'st swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get;
But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit.
If wishing should be any sin, The parson himself had guilty been; (She look'd that day so purely :) And did the youth so oft the feat At night, as some did in conceit,
It would have spoil'd him, surely. Passion, oh me! how I run on! There's that that would be thought upon, I trow besides the bride.
The business of the kitchen's great, For it is fit that men should eat, Nor was it there denied.
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