Ayres and dialogues :: :: University of Virginia Library

Theseus going over into Creet to fight with the Minotaure, made his Father Ægeus this promise, that if he came off with Life and Victory, he would set up white sailes at his comming back, the Ship as he went out having black sailes in token of griefe: being come into Creet, Ariadne the Kings Daughter there fell in love with him, and gave him a Clew of thread, by which after he had slain the Minotaure he extricated himselfe out of that perplexed Labyrinth: having thus obtained the Victory, he carryed her along with him into the Island Naxos, where he tooke occasion to leave her as she was asleep, and so hasting homeward, forgot to hoist the white sails; his Father Ægeus; therefore, who stood upon a Rock, expecting his return, as soon as he perceived the black sailes, cast himselfe headlong into the Sea, from whom it was called the Ægean Sea. In this while, Ariadne complaining of Theseus his Infidelity, resolving to destroy her selfe, having made her own Epitaph, was comforted by Bacchus, who comming thither was enamoured of her Beauty, and took her to his protection.

Ariadne sitting upon a Rock in the Island Naxos, deserted by Theseus, thus complains.
Theseus , O Theseus, hark! but yet in vain

Theseus , O Theseus, hark! but yet in vain; Alas deserted I complain; it was some neighb'ring Rock, more soft then he, whose hollow bowels pitty'd me, and beating back that false & cruell name, did comfort and revenge my flame, then faithless whither wilt thou flye?

stones dare not harbour cruelty. Tell me ye Gods, who e're ye are, why, O why, made ye him so faire? & tell me wretch why thou mad'st not thy selfe more true? Beauty from him might copies take, & more majestick Heroes make, and falshood learn a wile from him too, to beguile: restore my Clue, 'tis here most due, for 'tis a Labrinth of more subtle Art, to have so faire a face, so fowle a heart: The rav'nous Vulter tear his breast, the rowling stone disturbe his rest; let him next feele Ixions wheel, & add one fable more to, cursing Poets store, & then yet rather let him live & twine his woof of

days with some thread stoln from mine; but if you'l torture him, how e're torture my heart, you'l find him there: Till mine eyes drank up his, and his drank mine, I ne'r thought souls might kiss, & spirits joyne: Pictures till then, took me as much as men, Nature and Art moveing alike my heart; but his faire visage made me find pleasures and fears, hopes, sighs and tears, as severall seasons of the mind. Should thine Eye Venus on his dwell, thou wouldst invite him to thy shell, & caught by that live jet, venture the second net, and after all thy dangers faithlesse he; shouldst thou but slumber, would forsake ev'n thee.

The streams so court the yielding bankes, and gliding thence ne're pay their thankes, the winds so woo the flowers, whisp'ring among fresh bowers, and having rob'd them of their smels, flye thence perfum'd to other Cels; this is familiar hate, to smile, & kill, though nothing pleas thee, yet my ruine will: Death hover, hover, o're me then, waves let your christall womb, be both my fate and tomb, I'le sooner trust the sea then men. Yet for revenge to heav'n I'le call, and breath one curse before I fall; proud of two Conquests, Minotaure and me, that by my faith, this by thy perjurie.

May'st thou forget to wing thy ships with white, that the black sails may to the longing sight of thy gray Father tell thy fate, and he bequeath that sea his name, falling like me. Nature & Love thus brand thee, whilst I dye, 'cause thou forsak'st Ægeus, 'cause thou draw'st nigh. And ye O Nimphs below, who sit, in whose swift floods his vows he writ, snatch a sharp Diamond from your richer Mines, & in some Mirror grave these sadder lines; which let some God convey to him, that so he may in that both read at once, and see, those lookes that caus'd my destiny.

Her Epitaph.

In Thetis Armes, I Ariadne sleep,

drown'd: First in mine own tears, then in the deep: Twice banish'd, first by love, and then by hate, the life that I preserv'd became my fate, who leaving all was by him left alone, that from a Monster fre'd, himselfe prov'd one: Thus then I F--- but looke, O mine eyes, be now true spies, yonder, yonder comes my dear, now my wonder, once my fear; see Satyrs dance along in a confused throng, whilst horns and pipes rude noice, do mad their lusty joyes; Roses his forehead crown, & that recrowns the flowers; where he walks up and down, he makes the Desarts Bowers; the Ivy and the

Grape hide not, adorne his shape, and green leaves cloath his waving Rod, 'tis he; 'tis either Theseus, or some God.

To his Inconstant Mistris.

When thou, poore Excommunicate

When thou, poore Excommunicate from all the joyes of Love shalt see the full reward and glorious fate, which my strong faith hath purchas'd me, then curse thine Owne Inconstancy: for thou shalt weepe, intreat, complaine to Love, as I did once to thee, when all thy teares, shall be as vaine as mine were then, for thou shalt bee damn'd for thy false Apostacy.

In the Person of a Lady to her inconstant servant.

When on the Altar of my hand
(bedew'd with many' a kisse and teare,)
thy now revolted heart did stand
an humble Martyr, thou didst swear,
thus, and the God of Love did hear;
By those bright glances of thine eye,
unlesse thou pitty me I dye.

When first those perjur'd lips of thine,
Bepal'd with blasting sighs, did seale
Their violated faith on mine,
From the bosome, that did heale
Thee, thou my melting heart didst steale:
My soule enflam'd with thy false breath,
Poyson'd with kisses, suck't in death.

Yet I nor hand nor lip will move,
Revenge or Mercy to procure
From the offended God of Love,
My curse is fatall, and my pure
Love shall beyond thy scorn endure,
If I implore the Godds, they'l find
Thee too ingratefull, me too kind.

To the same Lady, singing the former Song.

Cloris your selfe you so excell

Cloris your selfe you so excell, when you vouchsafe to breath my thought that like a spirit with this spell of mine own teaching I am caught. That Eagle's Fate and mine is one, that on the shaft that made him dye, espy'd a Feather of his own, wherewith he wont to soare so high. Had Eccho with so swete a grace, Narcissus lowd complaints return'd, not for reflection of his face, but of his voyce the boy had mourn'd.

To Amarantha, To dishevell her haire.

Amarantha sweet & fair,
forbear to brade that shining hair,
as my curious hand or eye,
hov'ring round thee let it flye;
let it flye as unconfin'd,
as it's calm ravisher the wind,
who ha's left his Darling the East,
to wanton o're this spicy Nest.

Ev'ry Tress must be confest,
But neatly tangled at best,
Like a clew of golden thread
Most excellently ravelled;
Do not then wind up that light
In Ribbands, and o're-cloud in Night,
Like the Sun in's early Ray,
But shake your head and scattter Day.

The Reform'd Lover.

Till now I never did believe
a man could love for vertues sake;
nor thought the absence of one Love could grieve
the man that freely might another take.
But since mine eyes betroth'd my heart to you,
I find both true,
thine Innocence hath so my Love refin'd.
I mourn thy body's absence for thy mind.

Tell now I never made an Oath
But with a purpose to forswear,
For to be fix'd upon one face were sloath,
When every Ladyes eye is Cupids sphear;
But if she merits faith from every brest
Who is the best
Of woman-kind? how then can I be free
To love another, having once lov'd thee?

Such is the rare and happy pow'r
Of Goodness, that it can dilate
It selfe to make one vertuous in an houre,
Who liv'd before, perhaps a reprobate;
Then since on me this wonder thou hast done,
Prithee work on
Upon thy selfe, thy Sex doth want that grace
My truth to love more then a better face.

The Cælestiall Mistress.

Cælia , thy bright Angels face

Cælia , thy bright Angels face may be cal'd a heav'nly place: the whiteness of the starry way nature did on thy forehead lay: but thine eyes have brightness woon, not from Stars, but from the Sun: the blushing of the Morn in thy Rosie cheek is worn, the Musick of the heav'nly Sphears in thy soul's winning voyce appears: happy were I, had I (like Atlas) grace, so faire a heav'n within mine Arms t'imbrace.

Love above Beauty.

Lovely Chloris though thine eyes
far out shine the jewels of the skies;
that grace which all admire in thee,
no nor the beauties of thy brest,
which far out-blaze the rest,
might e're compared be
to my fidelity.

Those alluring smiles that place
An eternall April on thy face;
Such as no Sun did ever see,
No, nor the Treasures of thy brest,
Which far out-blaze the rest,
Might e're compared be
To my Fidelitie.

The Bud.

Lately on yonder swelling Bush,
big with many a comming Rose,
this early Bud began to blush,
and did but halfe it selfe disclose:
I pluckt it though no better Grow'n,
yet now you see how full 'tis blow'n.

Still as I did the Leaves Inspire
With such a purple Light they shone,
As if they had been made of fire,
And spreading so would flame anon,
All that was meant by Ayre, or Sun,
To this yong Flow'r, my breath ha's done.

If our loose Breath so much can do,
What may the same in forms of Love?
Of purest Love and Musick too,
When Flavia it aspires to move:
When that which liveless Buds perswades
To wax more soft, her youth invades.

Cœlia singing.

Till I beheld fair Cælia's face,
where perfect Beauty keeps her Court,
a Lovers passion found no place
in me, who counted Love a sport:
I thought the whole world could not move
a well resolved heart to love.

Wounded by her I now adore
Those pow'rs of Love I have defi'd,
I court the flames I scorn'd before,
And am repayd with Scorn and Pride:
In such unpitty'd Flames to dwell,
Is not a Martyrdome, but Hell.

Cupid can't help me, nor wound her,
He'l rather prove my Rivall hence,
Though blind he'l turn Idolater,
For she hath Charms for ev'ry sence;
Should be her voyce's musick heare,
Soft Love would enter Love's own Eare.

Anacreon's Ode, call'd, The Lute, Englished and to be sung by a Basse alone.

I long to sing the seidge of Troy

I long to sing the seidge of Troy; or Thebe's which Cadmus rear'd so high; but though with hand & voice I strove, my Lute will sound nothing but Love. I chang'd the strings, but 'twould not do't; at last I took an other Lute; & then I tri'd to sing the praise of All-performing Hercules. But when I sung Alcide's name, my Lute resounds Love, Love again. Then farewell all ye Græcian Peers, and all true Trojan Cavalleers: Nor Godds nor men my Lute can move; 'Tis dumb to all but Love, Love, Love.

Desperato's Banquet.

Come heavy Souls, oppressed with the weight of crimes, and pangs

Come heavy Souls, oppressed with the weight of crimes, and pangs, or want of your delight; come drown in Lethes sleepy Lake, what ever makes you ake; drink healths from poys'ned bowls, breath out your cares together with your Souls; cool death's a salve that all may have, ther's no distinction in the Grave. Lay down your loads before death's Iron door; sigh, and sigh out, groan once, and groan no more.

To Cælia, inviting her to Marriage.

Tis true (Fair Celia) that by thee I live,
that every kisse, and every fond embrace
form's a new Soul within me, and doth give
a balsome to the wound made by thy face:
Yet still me thinks I misse
that blisse
which Lovers dare not name,
and only then described is,
when flame doth meet with flame.

Those favours which do blesse me every day,
Are yet but Empty, and Platonicall.
Think not to please your servants with halfe pay,
Good Gamesters never stick to throw at all.
Who can endure to misse
That blisse
Which Lovers dare not name,
And only then described is,
When flame doth meet with flame?

If all those sweets within you must remaine
Unknown, and ne'r enjoy'd, like hidden treasure,
Nature, as well as I, will lose her name;
And you, as well as I, your youthfull pleasure.
We wrong our selves to misse
That blisse
Which Lovers dare not name,
And only then described is,
When flame doth meet with flame.

Our Souls, which long have peep'd at one another
Out of the narrow Casements of our Eyes,
Shall now, by Love conducted, meet together
In secret Cavern's, where all pleasure lyes.
There, there we shall not misse
That blisse
Which Lovers dare not name,
And only then described is,
When flame doth meet with flame.

Youth and Beauty.

Thou art so fair, and yong withall,
thou kindl'st yong desires in me,
restoreing life to leaves that fall,
and sight to Eyes that hardly see,
halfe those fresh Beauties bloom in thee.

Those under sev'rall Hearbs and Flowr's
Disguis'd, were all Medea gave,
When she re[illeg.]al'd Times flying howrs,
And aged Ælon from his grave,
For Beauty can both kill and save.

Youth it enflames, but age it cheers,
I wou'd go back, but not return,
To twenty but to twice those yeers;
Not blaze, but ever constant burn,
For fear my Cradle prove my Urn.

Love and Musick.

Come my Sweet, whilst ev'ry strain
cals our souls into the Eare,
where the greedy listning fain
would turn into the sound they heare;
lest in desire
to fill the quire
themselves they tye
to harmony,
let's kiss & call them back again.

Now let's orderly convey
Our Souls into each other's Brest,
Where enterchanged let them stay
Slumb'ring in a melting rest:
Then with new fire
Let them retire,
And still present
Sweet fresh content
Youthfull as the early day.

Then let us a Tumult make,
Shuffling so our souls, that we
Careless who did give or take,
May not know in whom they be,
Then let each smother
And stifle the other,
Till we expire
In gentle fire.
Scorning the forgetfull Lake.

An Anniversary on the Nuptials of John Earle of Bridgewater, July 22. 1652.

[1]

The Day's return'd, and so are we, to pay
our Offering on this great Thanksgiving-day.
'Tis His, 'tis Her's, 'tis Both, 'tis All;
Though now it rise, it ne'r did fall;
Whose Honour shall as lasting prove,
as our Devotion or Their Love:
Then let's rejoyce, and by our Joy appear,
In this one Day we offer all the Year.

2

See the bright Pair, how amiably kind,
As if their Souls were but this Morning joyn'd:
As the same Heart in Pulses cleft,
This for the Right Arme, that the Left;
So His and Her's in sever'd parts
Are but two Pulses, not two Hearts:
Then Let's, &c.

3

Let no bold Forraign noise their Peace remove,
Since nothing's strong enough to shake their Love,
Blesse Him in Her's, Her in His Arms,
From suddain (true or fals) Alarms;
Let ev'ry Year fill up a score,
Born to be One, but to Make more:
Then let's, &c.

4

This Day Ten years to Him and Her did grant
What Angels joy, and Joyes which Angels want:
Our Lady-Day, and our Lord's too,
Twere sin to rob it of its due,
Tis of both Genders, Her's and His,
We stay'd twelve Months to welcome this.
Then let's rejoyce, and by our Joy appear
In this one Day we offer all the Year.

Staying in London after the Act for Banishment, and going to meet a Friend who fail'd the hour appoynted.

Two hundred minutes are run down,
since I and all my Grief sate here;
(Whom yet you will nor save nor drown)
In a long Gasp 'twixt Hope and Fear:
Thus Lucian's tortur'd Fool did cry,
He could not live, and durst not dye.

How full of Mischief is this Coast!
Villains and Fooles peep every way;
If once these Seekers find, I'm lost;
I dare not go, I dare not stay:
Here I am Rooted 'till the Sky
Be hung as full of Clouds as I.

All Islanders are prisoners Born,
We, Slaves to Slaves, in Five-mile Chaines;
I Theirs, and Yours, but most forlorn
Where Purgatory Hell out-pain's:
I'm in a new third Dungeon here,
Shackles on Shackles who can wear?

Sad and unseen I view the Rowt
Which through this Street do ebb and flow;
Some few have Business, most without;
Their Pace this trundling Rithm does go:
O tear me hence, for I am grow'n
As empty-base as all this Town!

No Constancy in Man.

Be gone, be gone thou perjur'd man,
and never more return,
For know that thy inconstancy
hath chang'd my Love to Scorn:
Thou hast awak'd me, and I can
see cleerly ther's no Truth in Man.

My Love to thee was chast and pure,
As is the Morning dew,
And 'twas alone like to endure,
Hadst thou not prov'd untrue;
But I'm awak'd, and now I can
See cleerly ther's no Truth in Man.

Thou mayst perhaps prevaile upon
Some other to believe thee,
And since thou canst love more then one,
Ne'r think that it shall grieve me;
For th'hast awak'd me, and I can
See cleerly ther's no Truth in Man.

By thy Apostasie I find
That Love is plac'd amiss,
And can't continue in the mind
Where Vertue wanting is:
I'm now resolv'd, and know there can
No constant Thought remain in Man.

Beauties Eclyps'd.

Ladies who gild the glitt'ring Noon,
and by reflection mend it's Ray,
whose lustre makes the sprightfull Sun
to dance as on an Easter Day:
What are ye? what are ye now the Queen's away?

Couragious Eagles which have whet
Your Eyes upon Majestick light,
And thence deriv'd such martiall heat
As still your Looks maintain'd the fight,
What are ye since the King's good night.

As an obstructed Fountain's head
Cut's the Intaile off from the streams,
All Brooks are Disinherited,
Honour and Beauty are but Dreams,
Since Charles & Mary lost their Beams.