University of Virginia Library

ELEGIA. 6. Ad Ianitorem, vt fores sibi aperiat.

Vnworthy porter, bound in chaines full sore,
On mooued hookes set ope the churlish dore.
Little I aske, a little entrance make,
The gate halfe ope my bent side in will take.
Long loue my body to such vse make slender,
And to get out doth like apt members render.
He shewes me how vnheard to passe the watch,
And guides my feete least stumbling falles they catch
But in times past I fear'd vaines shades, and night,
Wondring if any walked without light.
Loue hearing it laug'd with his tender mother,
And smiling sayd, be thou as bold as other.
Forth-with loue came, no darke night flying spright,
Nor hands prepar'd to slaughter, me affright.
Thee feare I too much: onely thee I flatter,
Thy lightning can my life in pieces batter.
Why enuiest me, this hostile dende vnbarre,
See how the gates with my teares wat'red are.
When thou stood'st naked ready to be beate,
For thee I did thy mistresse faire intreate.
But what entreates for thee some-times tooke place,
(O mischiefe) now for me obtaine small grace.
Gratis thou maiest be free giue like for like,
Night goes away: the dores barre backward strike.
Strike, so againe hard chaines shall binde thee neuer,
Nor seruile water shalt thou drinke for euer,
Hard-hearted Porter doest and wilt not heare,
With stiffe oake propt the gate doth still appeare.
Such rampierd gates besieged Citties ayde,
In midst of peace why art of armes afrayde?
Exclud'st a louer, how would'st vse a foe?
Strike back the barre, night fast away doth goe.
With armes or armed men I come not guarded,
I am alone, were furious loue discarded.
Although I would, I cannot him cashiere,
Before I be deuided from my geere.
See loue with me, wyne moderate in my braine,
And on my haires a crowne of flowers remaine.
Who feares these armes? who will not goe to meet them,
Night runnes away, with open entrance greete them?
Art carelesse? or ist sleepe forbids thee heare,
Giuing the windes my words running in thine eare.
Well I remember when I first did hire thee,
Watching till after mid-night did not tire thee.
But now perchaunce thy wench with thee doth rest,
Ah how thy lot, is aboue my lot blest:
Though it be so, shut me not out therefore,
Night goes away: I pray thee ope the dore.
Erre we? or do the turned hinges sound,
And opening dores with creaking noyse abound?
We erre: a strong blast seem'd the gates to ope:
Aie me how high that gale did lift my hope!
If Boreas beares Orithyas rape in minde,
Some breake these deafe dores with thy boisterous winde.
Silent the citie is: nights deawie hoast,
March fast away: the barre strike from the poast.
Or I more sterne then fire or sword will turne,
And with my brand these gorgeous houses burne.
Night, loue, and wine to all extreames perswade:
Night, shamelesse wyne, and loue are fearelesse made.
All haue I spent: no threats or prayers moue thee,
O harder then the dores thou gardest I proue thee.
No pretty wenches keeper may st thou be,
The carefull prison is more meete for thee.
Now frosty night her flight beginnes to take,
And crowing Cocks poore soules to worke awake.
But thou my crowne from sad haires tane away,
On this hard threshold till the morning lay.
That when my mistresse there beholds thee cast,
She may perceiue how we the time did wast.
What ere thou art, farewell, be like me pain'd,
Carelesse farewell, with my fault not distain'd.
And farewell cruell posts rough thresholds block,
And dores conioyn'd with an hard iron lock.