 | Poems upon Several Occasions |  |
The Passionate Lover
Had I but winde and Lungs enough to tell
How much I Love; Had I a Stentor's voyce,
Had I ten thousand Tongues it would doe well,
To speak how much I Love my dearest Choyce,
Since wholly fill'd, If I should not impart
Loves might, its energy would break my Heart.
How much I Love; Had I a Stentor's voyce,
Had I ten thousand Tongues it would doe well,
To speak how much I Love my dearest Choyce,
Since wholly fill'd, If I should not impart
Loves might, its energy would break my Heart.
Say my five senses has not Love's delight
Bound all your powers with its amourous chains,
Disarm'd your Subjects? Spoyl'd and robb'd you quite?
Can you ought rellish but Love's pleasing paines?
You now disgust all objects of this Ball,
Phillis is th' only object of you all.
Bound all your powers with its amourous chains,
Disarm'd your Subjects? Spoyl'd and robb'd you quite?
Can you ought rellish but Love's pleasing paines?
You now disgust all objects of this Ball,
Phillis is th' only object of you all.
When that my eye has light on Phillis face,
It tells my amorous Heart news good, or bad;
By which or well th' alarm'd pulses Pace,
Or ill: my looks by it are light, or sad:
Doth sorrow dimm the Light of Phillis eye,
Joys, and Contentment from my Bosome fly.
It tells my amorous Heart news good, or bad;
By which or well th' alarm'd pulses Pace,
Or ill: my looks by it are light, or sad:
Doth sorrow dimm the Light of Phillis eye,
Joys, and Contentment from my Bosome fly.
Does threatning Anger, or disdaine appear
Cloath'd in the Tyrian blushes in her Cheeks,
No Poet's art in verse can paint my fear,
Nor th' Horror and dismay my vitalls strikes:
I dumb, and movelesse like a statue show
Struck with the Thunder of her Angry brow
Cloath'd in the Tyrian blushes in her Cheeks,
No Poet's art in verse can paint my fear,
Nor th' Horror and dismay my vitalls strikes:
I dumb, and movelesse like a statue show
Struck with the Thunder of her Angry brow
The fearfull Light'ning, nor the dreadfull voyce
Of roaring Thunder, nor the horrid Night,
Nor Ghosts, nor Goblins, nor tempestuous noise
Of windes, nor Earthquakes can my senses fright,
So much as when Phyllis with anger glows,
And from her quick Eyes scorn-tip't Arrows throws.
Of roaring Thunder, nor the horrid Night,
Nor Ghosts, nor Goblins, nor tempestuous noise
Of windes, nor Earthquakes can my senses fright,
So much as when Phyllis with anger glows,
And from her quick Eyes scorn-tip't Arrows throws.
If pleasing smiles sit on their rubie Throne,
If Joy is painted on her smoother brow,
My senses wrapt beyond the Sphears, are thrown
On bedds of pleasure; and forget all woe:
With lesse Content the Miser doth behold
His Stuffed Chests, and full-cram'd bags of Gold.
If Joy is painted on her smoother brow,
My senses wrapt beyond the Sphears, are thrown
On bedds of pleasure; and forget all woe:
With lesse Content the Miser doth behold
His Stuffed Chests, and full-cram'd bags of Gold.
My Eyes devou're each smile; the more they gaze
On Hers, the more Contentment still they draw;
Her smiles the clue that leads me in that maze:
Her eyes give my obsequious Heart a Law:
For by her smiles, or Frownes I meet delight
Or Woe; or mirth or Grief; or Day or Night.
On Hers, the more Contentment still they draw;
Her smiles the clue that leads me in that maze:
Her eyes give my obsequious Heart a Law:
For by her smiles, or Frownes I meet delight
Or Woe; or mirth or Grief; or Day or Night.
Seek all the World for pleasing objects, and
Dive to the bottom of the deepest Seas,
Fetch all the Treasures of the Indian strand,
The world's best Beauties, none my fancy please
Can, like the Heaven of a pleasing smile,
Which kills me with excesse of Joy the while.
Dive to the bottom of the deepest Seas,
Fetch all the Treasures of the Indian strand,
The world's best Beauties, none my fancy please
Can, like the Heaven of a pleasing smile,
Which kills me with excesse of Joy the while.
The sparkling Diamonds of the East I prize
Below the value of her pretty Starrs,
There comes far richer glances from her eyes,
Her lipps than Pegues, better Rubies wears;
Who round the World for daintest Roses seeks,
May finde them growing in my Phyllis cheeks.
Below the value of her pretty Starrs,
There comes far richer glances from her eyes,
Her lipps than Pegues, better Rubies wears;
Who round the World for daintest Roses seeks,
May finde them growing in my Phyllis cheeks.
The richest Treasures of the Earth seem poor;
Pearles, Gold, and Diamonds Natur's richest Gems,
The World's great Treasurie, and Neptunes store,
A Lover (such as I) far lesse esteems
Than th object of his Love: for more delight
Than in all these I take in Phyllis sight.
Pearles, Gold, and Diamonds Natur's richest Gems,
The World's great Treasurie, and Neptunes store,
A Lover (such as I) far lesse esteems
Than th object of his Love: for more delight
Than in all these I take in Phyllis sight.
But when the sweeter Musick of her tongue,
Like the blest voyce of Angels, strikes my ears,
I harken us to Oracles; a strang
Lute in the hands of Orpheus; the Spheares
Sweet Melody; the smooth tongu'd Orator,
Seem but a duller Harmonie to Her.
Like the blest voyce of Angels, strikes my ears,
I harken us to Oracles; a strang
Lute in the hands of Orpheus; the Spheares
Sweet Melody; the smooth tongu'd Orator,
Seem but a duller Harmonie to Her.
She charms me to a statue, and amaz'd
With so much Eloquence, dumb I return
No answers but by eyes; my soul is rais'd
Beyond the sphear of Words: though joy'd I mourn
To hear her pause, or periodize her speech:
I then her to begin ag'in beseech.
With so much Eloquence, dumb I return
No answers but by eyes; my soul is rais'd
Beyond the sphear of Words: though joy'd I mourn
To hear her pause, or periodize her speech:
I then her to begin ag'in beseech.
When in the sweetest quavers of a song
Her voyce she raises, and with matchlesse straines
Runs o're division with her warbling Tongue;
Hearts she (as stones. Amphion's musick) gaines.
Harps, Harpsicall, all Violls, Organes, Lute,
Trumpets, and all noyse else for shame be mute.
Her voyce she raises, and with matchlesse straines
Runs o're division with her warbling Tongue;
Hearts she (as stones. Amphion's musick) gaines.
Harps, Harpsicall, all Violls, Organes, Lute,
Trumpets, and all noyse else for shame be mute.
Cease duller straines, all other voyces cease,
Sweet Philomel, I pre'thee hold thy tongue;
You early Larkes, and Thrushes hold your peace;
The best of Musick, and of Birds among
The humane, and the feather'd Chores, your choyce
Layes, rev'rence doe unto her sweeter voyce.
Sweet Philomel, I pre'thee hold thy tongue;
You early Larkes, and Thrushes hold your peace;
The best of Musick, and of Birds among
The humane, and the feather'd Chores, your choyce
Layes, rev'rence doe unto her sweeter voyce.
Though all the Musick in the World should be
By Musick-masters of the rarest kinde
Finger'd, my eares would taste no Harmonie,
No joy my soul, nor no content my mind,
(Nor the Angelick Songs by me I feare
So priz'd) like that when I her Sonnets hear.
By Musick-masters of the rarest kinde
Finger'd, my eares would taste no Harmonie,
No joy my soul, nor no content my mind,
(Nor the Angelick Songs by me I feare
So priz'd) like that when I her Sonnets hear.
Had Sickness prison'd me in my Chamber long,
Or bound with closer fetters to my Bed,
As some by musick cur'd, I by a Song
Chaunted by her divine mouth, should be fed
With that Ambrosiack Essence, that would give
Ease to my paines, and dying make me live.
Or bound with closer fetters to my Bed,
As some by musick cur'd, I by a Song
Chaunted by her divine mouth, should be fed
With that Ambrosiack Essence, that would give
Ease to my paines, and dying make me live.
My Ear then ravish'd equal with my eye,
Counts all sounds harsh, but her sweet Musick, and
Commands all others to her melody
To vaile, and to her notes attentive stand;
As high Apollo to the Muses, she
(Or Philomel 'mong other Birds) must be.
Counts all sounds harsh, but her sweet Musick, and
Commands all others to her melody
To vaile, and to her notes attentive stand;
As high Apollo to the Muses, she
(Or Philomel 'mong other Birds) must be.
The fragrant blasts of spicy Arabie,
Panchæan Myrrh, Musk, Civet, Ambergreece,
All the perfumes of Indian Spicerie,
Must to the Sweetness of her breath give place:
Flora's sweet garlands in the Month of May,
No such delicious gales of sweetness pay.
Panchæan Myrrh, Musk, Civet, Ambergreece,
All the perfumes of Indian Spicerie,
Must to the Sweetness of her breath give place:
Flora's sweet garlands in the Month of May,
No such delicious gales of sweetness pay.
My Soul, as if exhal'd by her sweet breath,
Flies to that membrane which receieves the sent,
Raising the sluggish fantasie from Death,
Revives the braine, and gives my Genius vent:
The cherishing Odors her sweet Hybla yields,
Excel the Diapasma's of the fields.
Flies to that membrane which receieves the sent,
Raising the sluggish fantasie from Death,
Revives the braine, and gives my Genius vent:
The cherishing Odors her sweet Hybla yields,
Excel the Diapasma's of the fields.
My soul upon no other food can feed,
But the rich Banquet, and delicious fare
Of her sweet presence, when before her spread;
Then eas'd from trouble, free from duller care
She feeds: the Stomach can no dainties tast,
Nor hunger, whilst this better Banquet lasts.
But the rich Banquet, and delicious fare
Of her sweet presence, when before her spread;
Then eas'd from trouble, free from duller care
She feeds: the Stomach can no dainties tast,
Nor hunger, whilst this better Banquet lasts.
When that with ardent boldnesse I aspire
To touch with my profaner lips, her hand,
I think no blisses, in the World are higher,
No joys to that in competition stand:
My soul enflam'd, into my lips doth fly,
Whilst on that bed of Lillies soft they lye.
To touch with my profaner lips, her hand,
I think no blisses, in the World are higher,
No joys to that in competition stand:
My soul enflam'd, into my lips doth fly,
Whilst on that bed of Lillies soft they lye.
But when (a favour, seldome shown) I kiss
The seat of smiles, her tender rubie lips,
Joye spirits dilates, and I expire in blisse;
Call'd back again from Death by an ecclips
Of so great ravishment, through a withdraw,
As much as Joy did, grief now breaks the Law.
The seat of smiles, her tender rubie lips,
Joye spirits dilates, and I expire in blisse;
Call'd back again from Death by an ecclips
Of so great ravishment, through a withdraw,
As much as Joy did, grief now breaks the Law.
Thus my five senses banquet at that feast
Of beauty, which shines in my Phillis face;
My passionate Heart swells high within my breast,
And grows too tumid for its strickt embrace,
Oh! cloud my Phillis! hide her from my eye,
Of too much pleasure I with surfeit dye.
Of beauty, which shines in my Phillis face;
My passionate Heart swells high within my breast,
And grows too tumid for its strickt embrace,
Oh! cloud my Phillis! hide her from my eye,
Of too much pleasure I with surfeit dye.
| Poems upon Several Occasions | |