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MY MISTRESS,

COMMANDING ME TO RETURN HER LETTERS.

So grieves th' advent'rous merchant, when he throws
All the long-toil'd-for treasure his ship stows
Into the angry main, to save from wrack
Himself and men; as I grieve to give back
These letters: yet so powerful is your sway,
As if you bid me die, I must obey.

Go then, blest papers, you shall kiss those hands
That gave you freedom, but hold me in bands;
Which with a touch did give you life, but I,
Because I may not touch those hands, must die.
Methinks, as if they knew they should be sent
Home to their native soil from banishment,

I see them smile, like dying saints, that know
They are to leave the Earth, and tow'rd Heav'n go.
When you return, pray tell your sovereign,
And mine, I gave you courteous entertain;
Each line receiv'd a tear, and then a kiss;
First bath'd in that, it scap'd unscorch'd from this:
kist it, because your hand had been there;
But, 'cause it was not now, I shed a tear.
Tell her no length of time nor change of air,
No cruelty, disdain, absence, despair,
No, nor her stedfast constancy can deter
My vassal heart from ever hon'ring her.
Though these be pow'rful arguments to prove
love in vain; yet I must ever love.

ay, if she frown when you that word rehearse,
ervice in prose is oft call'd love in verse:
Then pray her, since I send back on my part
Her papers, she will send me back my heart.
f she refuse, warn her to come before
The god of love, whom thus I will implore:
Trav'ling thy country's road (great god) I spy'd
By chance this lady, and walk'd by her side
?rom place to place, fearing no violence,
For I was well arm'd, and had made defence
n former fights, 'gainst fiercer foes than she
Did at our first encounter seem to be:
But going farther, every step reveal'd
Some hidden weapon, till that time conceal'd.
Seeing those outward arms, I did begin

To fear some greater strength was lodg'd within.
Looking unto her mind, I might survey
An host of beauties that in ambush lay;
And won the day before they fought the field:
For I, unable to resist, did yield.
But the insulting tyrant so destroys

My conquer'd mind, my ease, my peace my joys;
Breaks my sweet sleep, invades my harmless rest,
Robs me of all the treasure of my breast;
Spares not my heart, nor yet a greater wrong;
For having stol'n my heart, she binds my tongue.
But at the last her melting eyes unseal'd
My lips, enlarg'd my tongue, then I reveal'd
To her own ears the story of my harms,
Wrought by her virtues, and her beauty's charms.
Now hear (just judge) an act of savageness:
When I complain, in hope to find redress,
She bends her angry brow, and from her eye
Shoots thousand darts. I then well hop'd to die;
Tut in such sovereign balm love dips his shot,
Bhat, though they wound a heart, they kill it not:
She saw the blood gush forth from many a wound,
Yet fled, and left me bleeding on the ground,
Nor sought my cure, nor saw me since; 't is true,
Absence and time (two cunning leeches) drew
VOL V.

The flesh together, yet sure though the skin
Be clos'd without, the wound festers within.
Thus hath this cruel lady us'd a true
Servant and subject to herself and you;
Nor know (great Love) if my life be lent
To show thy mercy, or my punishment;
If this inditement fright her, so as she
Seem willing to return my heart to me,
But cannot Gnd it, (for perhaps it may,
'Mongst other trifling hearts, be out of the way)
If she repent, and would make me amends,
Bid me but send me her's, and we are friends."

SECRECY PROTESTED.

FEAR not (dear love) that I'll reveal
Those hours of pleasure we two steal;
No eye shall see, nor yet the Sun
Descry, what thou and I have done;
No ear shall hear our love, but we
Silent as the night will be;

The god of love himself (whose dart
Did first wound mine, and then thy heart):
Shall never know, that we can tell,
What sweets in stol'n embraces dwell:
This only means may find it out;

If, when I die, physicians doubt
What caus'd my death; and there to view
Of all their judgments which was true,
Rip up my heart: O then I fear
The world will see thy picture there.

A PRAYER TO THE WIND. Go, thou gentle whispering Wind, Bear this sigh; and if thou find Where my cruel fair doth rest, Cast it in her snowy breast; So, inflam'd by my desire, It may set her heart a-fire: Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain, Will reward thee for thy pain. Boldly light upon her lip, There suck odours, and thence skip To her bosom; lastly, fail Down, and wander over all; Range about those ivory hills From whose every part distils Amber dew; there spices grow, There pure streams of nectar flow There perfume thyself, and bring ⚫ All those sweets upon thy wing: As thou return'st, change by thy pow'r Every weed into a flow'r; Turn each thistle to a vine, Make the bramble eglantine; For so rich a booty made, Do but this, and I am paid. Thou canst, with thy pow'rful blast, Heat apace, and cool as fast: Thou canst kindle hidden flame, And again destroy the same: Then, for pity, either stir Up the fire of love in her, That alike both flames may shine, Or else quite extinguish mine.

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SONG.

MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED.

GIVE me more love, or more disdain,

The torrid, or the frozen zone Bring equal ease unto my pain;

The temperate affords me uone: Either extreme, of love or hate, Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love,

Like Danae in that golden shower, I swim in pleasure; if it prove

Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture-hopes; and he 's possess'd Of Heaven that 's but from Hell releas'd: Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; Give me more love, or more disdain.

Now doth she with her new love play,
Whilst he runs murmuring away.
Mark how she courts the banks, whilst they
As amorously their arms display,
T'embrace and clip her silver waves:
See how she strokes their sides, and craves
Au entrance there, which they deny;
Whereat she frowns, threatning to fly
Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim
Backward, but from the channel's brim
Smiling returns into the creek,
With thousand dimples on her cheek.

Be thou this eddy, and I'll make
My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take
Secure repose, and never dream

Of the quite forsaken stream:

Let him to the wide ocean haste,
There lose his colour, name and taste;
Thou shalt save all, and, safe from him,
Within these arms for ever swim.

SONG1.

GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID.

GAZE not on thy beauty's pride,
Tender maid, in the false tide
That from lovers' eyes doth slide.

Let thy faithful chrystal show,
How thy colours come and go:
Beauty takes a foil from woe.

Love, that in those smooth streams lies
Under Pity's fair disguise,
Will thy melting heart surprise.

Nets of passion's finest thread,
Snaring poems, will be spread,
All to catch thy maidenhead.

Then beware; for those that cure Love's disease, themselves endure For reward a calenture.

Rather let the lover pine,
Than his pale cheek should assign
A perpetual blush to thine.

SONG.

CONQUEST BY FLIGHT.

LADIES, fly from love's smooth tale,
Oaths steep'd in tears do oft prevail;
Grief is infectious, and the air
Inflam'd with sighs will blast the fair:
Then stop your ears when lovers cry,
Lest yourself weep, when no soft eye
Shall with a sorrowing tear repay
That pity which you cast away.

Young men, fly, when beauty darts
Amorous glances at your hearts:
The fixt mark gives the shooter aim,
And ladies' looks have power to maim;
Now 'twixt their lips, now in their eyes,
Wrapt in a smile, or kiss, love lies;
Then fly betimes, for only they
Conquer love that run away.

TO MY MISTRESS, SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE.

AN EDDY.

MARK how yon eddy steals away From the rude stream into the bay; Then lock'd up safe, she doth divorce Her waters from the channel's course, And scorns the torrent that did bring Her headlong from her native spring.

1 We shall observe, once for all, that elegance characterises all our poet's love pieces. This song, with the Persuasions to Love, and several other poems which the judicious reader will easily distinguish, are incontestable proofs of it.

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SONG.

PERSUASIONS TO ENJOY.

the quick spirits in your eye low languish, and anon must die; ev'ry sweet, and ev'ry grace Iust fly from that forsaken face: Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.

r, if that golden fleece must grow or ever, free from aged snow; those bright suns must know no shade, or your fresh beauties ever fade; hen fear not, Celia, to bestow 'hat still being gather'd still must grow. Thus, either Time his sickle brings Ir vain, or else in vain his wings.

A DEPOSITION FROM LOVE.

WAS foretold, your rebel sex
Nor love nor pity knew;

id with what scorn you use to vex
Poor hearts that humbly sue;
t I believ'd, to crown our pain,
Could we the fortress win,

e happy lover sure should gain
A paradise within:

hought love's plagues like dragons sate, ly to fright us at the gate.

it I did enter, and enjoy What happy lovers prove;

r I could kiss, and sport, and toy, And taste those sweets of love, hich, had they but a lasting state, Or if in Celia's breast

e force of love might not abate, Jove were too mean a guest. it now her breach of faith far more Hlicts, than did her scorn before.

ard fate! to have been once possest,

As victor, of a heart

chiev'd with labour and unrest,

And then forc'd to depart!

the stout foe will not resign

When I besiege a town,

lose but what was never mine: But he that is cast down

rom enjoy'd beauty, feels a woe, nly deposed kings can know.

INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.

NOW, Celia (since thou art so proud)
'T was I that gave thee thy renown:
Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties, liv'd unknown,
Had not my verse exhal'd thy name,
And with it impt the wings of Fame.

This technical phrase is borrowed from falconry. Falconers say, To imp a feather in a hawk's wing, i. e, to add a new piece to an old stump.

That killing power is none of thine,

I gave it to thy voice and eyes: Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere Lightning on him that fix'd thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate:
Let fools thy mystic forms adore,

I'll know thee in thy mortal state.
Wise poets, that wrap truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her veils.

DISDAIN RETURNED.

He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,

Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combin'd, Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

No tears, Celia, now shall win

My resolv'd heart to return;

I have search'd thy soul within,
And find nought but pride and scoru:
I have learn'd thy arts, and now
Can disdain as much as thou.
Some pow'r, in my revenge, convey
That love to her I cast away.

A LOOKING-GLASS.

THAT flattering glass, whose smooth face wears Your shadow, which a sun appears,

Was once a river of my tears.

About your cold heart they did make

A circle, where the briny lake
Congeal'd into a chrystal cake.

Gaze no more on that killing eye,
For fear the native cruelty
Doom you, as it doth all, to die;

For fear lest the fair object move Your froward heart to fall in love, Then you yourself my rival prove.

Look rather on my pale cheeks pin'd;
There view your beauties; there you'll find
A fair face, but a cruel mind.

Be not for ever frozen, coy,
One beam of love will soon destroy

And melt that ice to floods of joy.

AN

ELEGY ON THE LADY PEN'.

SENT TO MY MISTRESS OUT OF FRANCE.

LET him, who from his tyrant mistress did
This day receive his cruel doom, forbid
His eyes to weep that loss, and let him here
Open those flood-gates to bedew this bier;
So shall those drops, which else would be but brine,
Be turn'd to manna, falling on her shrine.
Let him, who, banish'd far from her dear sight
Whom his soul loves, doth in that absence write
Or lines of passion, or some pow'rful charnis,
To vent his own grief, or unlock her arms,
Take off his pen, and in sad verse bemoan
This general sorrow, and forget his own:
So may those verses live, which else must die;
For though the Muses give eternity,
When they embalm with verse, yet she could give
Life unto that Muse by which others live.
Oh pardon me (fair soul) that boldly have
Dropt, though but one tear, on thy silent grave;
And writ on that earth, which such honour had
To clothe that flesh wherein thyself was clad.
And pardon me, sweet saint, whom I adore,
That I this tribute pay out of the store
Of lines and tears, that 's only due to thee;
"Oh, do not think it new idolatry!
Though you are only sovereign of this land,
Yet universal losses may command
A subsidy from every private eye,
And press each pen to write, so to supply
And feed the common grief: if this excuse
Prevail not, take these tears to your own use,
As shed for you; for when I saw her die,
I then did think on your mortality:
For since nor virtue, wit, nor beauty, could
Preserve from Death's hand this their heav'nly
mould,

Where they were framed all, and where they dwelt,
I then knew you must die too, and did melt
Into these tears: but thinking on that day,
And when the gods resolv'd to take away
A saint from us, I that did know what dearth
There was of such good souls upon the Earth,
Began to fear lest Death, their officer,
Might have mistook, and taken thee for her;
So hadst thou robb'd us of that happiness
Which she in Heaven, and I in thee possess.
But what can Heaven to her glory add?
The praises she hath dead, living she had.
To say she's now an angel, is no more
Praise than she had, for she was one before.
Which of the saints can show more votaries
Than she had here? E'en those that did despise
The angels (and may her, now she is one)
Did, whilst she liv'd, with pure devotion

The time is too distant to trace out this lady's name with any certainty; probably she belonged to the Pennington family, who were then well known. Our poet is not so successful in grave elegy as in love sonnets. Perhaps he was not so sincere in his grief as in his love. When the fancy wanders after frivolous pointedness and epigrammatic donceit, it shows too well that the heart is at ease.

Adore and worship her; her virtues had
All honour here, for this world was too bad
To hate or envy her; these cannot rise
So high, as to repine at deities:

But now she's 'mongst her fellow saints, they may
Be good enough to envy her: this way [if she
There's loss i' th' change, 'twixt Heav'n and Earth,
Should leave her servants here below, to be
Hated of her competitors above;
But sure her matchless goodness needs must move
Those blest souls to admire her excellence;
By this means only can her journey hence
To Heav'n prove gain, if as she was but here
Worship'd by men, she be by angels there.
But I must weep no more over this urn,
My tears to their own channel must return;
And having ended these sad obsequies,
My Muse must back to her old exercise,
To tell the story of my martyrdom.
But oh! thou idol of my soul, become
Once pitiful, that she may change her stile,
Dry up her blubber'd eyes, and learn to smile:
Rest then, blest soul; for as ghosts fly away,
When the shrill cock proclaims the infant day;
So must 1 hence-for lo, I see from far,
The minions of the Muses coming are,
Each of them bringing to her sacred hearse
In either eye a tear, each hand a verse.

ΤΟ

MY MISTRESS IN ABSENCE.

THOUGH I must live here, and by force Of your command suffer divorce; Though I am parted, yet my mind (That's more myself) still stays behind; I breathe in you, you keep my heart; 'T was but a carcase that did part. Then though our bodies are disjoin'd, As things that are to place confin'd; Yet let our boundless spirits meet, And in love's sphere each other greet; There let us work a mystic wreath, Unknown unto the world beneath; There let our claspt loves sweetly twine; There our secret thoughts unseen, Like nets be weav'd and intertwin'd, Wherewith we catch each other's mind: There, whilst our souls do sit and kiss, Tasting a sweet and subtle bliss (Such as gross lovers cannot know, Whose hands and lips meet here below;) Let us look down, and mark what pain Our absent bodies here sustain, And smile to see how far away The one doth from the other stray; Yet burn, and languish with desire To join and quench their mutual fire. There let us joy, to see from far Our emulous flames at loving war, Whilst both with equal lustre shine, Mine bright as your's, your's bright as mine. There seated in those heavenly bowers, We'll cheat the lag and ling'ring hours, Making our bitter absence sweet, Till souls and bodies both may meet.

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TOST in a troubled sea of griefs, I float
Far from the shore in a storm-beaten boat,
Where my sad thoughts do (like the compass) show,
The several points from which cross winds do blow.
My heart doth, like the needle, touch'd with love,
Still fix'd on you, point which way I would move.
You are the bright pole-star which in the dark
Of this long absence guides my wand'ring bark.
Love is the pilot, but o'ercome with fear
Of your displeasure, dares not homewards steer;
My fearful hope hangs on my trembling sail;
Nothing is wanting but a gentle gale; [lip;
Which pleasant breath must blow from your sweet
Bid it but move, and quick as thought, this ship
Into your arms, which are my port, will flie,
Where it for ever shall at anchor lie.

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A misty cloud of anger hides the light
Of my fair star, and every where black night
Usurps the place

Of those bright rays, which once did grace
My forth-bound ship; but when it could no more
Behold the vanish'd shore,

In the deep flood she drown'd her beamy face.

GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID. WHEN you the sun-burnt pilgrim see,

Fainting with thrist, haste to the springs;
Mark how at first with bended knee
He courts the chrystal nymphs, and flings
His body to the earth, where he
Prostrate adores the flowing deity.

But when his sweaty face is drench'd
In her cool waves, when from her sweet
Bosom his burning thirst is quench'd;

Then mark how with disdainful feet
He kicks her banks, and from the place
That thus refresh'd him, moves with sullen pace.
So shalt thou be despis'd, fair maid,

When by the sated lover tasted; What first he did with tears invade,

Shall afterwards with scorn be wasted; When all the virgin springs grow dry, When no stream shall be left, but in thine eye1.

CELIA BLEEDING.

TO THE SURGEON.

FOND man, that canst believe her blood
Will from those purple channels flow,
Or that the pure untainted flood

Can any foul distemper know;
Or that thy weak steel can incise
The chrystal case whorein it lies:
Know, her quick blood, proud of his seat,
Runs dancing through her azure veins;
Whose harmony no cold nor heat

Disturbs, whose hue no tincture stains;
And the hard rock wherein it dwells,
The keenest darts of love repels.

But thou reply'st, "Behold she bleeds."
Fool, thou 'rt deceiv'd, and dost not know
The mystic knot whence this proceeds,
How lovers in each other grow;
Thou struck'st her arm, but 't was my heart
Shed all the blood, felt all the smart.

TO T. H.

A LADY RESEMBLING MY MISTRESS.

FAIR Copy of my Celia's face,
Twin of my soul, thy perfect grace
Claims in my love an equal place.

This little poem is entirely worthy of Carew's sense and elegance.

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