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Parthenophil and Parthenophe

Sonnettes, Madrigals, Elegies and Odes [by Barnabe Barnes]

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ODE 16.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


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ODE 16.

[Before bright Titan rais'de his teame]

Before bright Titan rais'de his teame,
Or louely morne with rosie cheeke
VVith scarlette did'e the Easterne streame,
On Phoebes day first of the weeke
Early my goddesse did arise
VVith breathe to blesse the morning ayer:
Oh heauens which made deuine mine eyes
Glauncing on such a Nymphe so faire.
VVhose heare (downe-spredde in curled tresses)
Phoebus his glitter and beames withstood,
Much like him when through Cypresses
He daunceth on the siluer flood:
Or like the golden purled downe
Brooched vpon the palm-flowrd wyllowes,
VVhich downeward scattred from her crowne
Loosely disheuel'd on loues pillowes,
Couering her swan-like backe below
Like Iuorie match'te with purest gold,
Like Phoebe when on whitest snow
Her guilded shadow taketh hold.
Her forhead was like to the rose
Before Adonis prick'te his feete:
Or like the path to heauen which goes
VVhere all the louely graces meete.
Cupids rich chariotte stood vnder,
Moyst perle about the wheeles was set,
Gray Achate spokes not much a funder:
The Axeltree of purest iett.
Her seemely nose the rest which grac'de,

131

For Cupid's trophye was vprear'de:
T'imperiall thrones where loue was plac'de,
VVhen of the world he would be fear'de,
VVhere Cupid, with sweet Venus sate:
Her cheekes with rose, and lillyes deck'te,
Nature vpon the coache did wate,
And all in order did direct.
Her cheekes to Damas eroses sweet
In sent, and colour, weare so like:
That honnie-bees in swarmes would meete
To sucke, and sometimes she would strike
VVith daintie plume the bees to feare,
And being beaten they would sting:
They founde such heauenly honny theare,
Cupid (which there sate triumphing)
VVhen he perceiu'd the bee did sting her,
VVould swell for greefe, and curse that bee
More then the bee that sting'd his finger:
Yet still about her they would flee.
Then loue to Venus would complaine
Of nature, which his chariot drest:
Nature would it excuse againe
Saying she then shew'd her skill best.
VVhen she dronke wine vpon her face
Bacchus would daunce, and spring to kisse,
And shadow with a blushing grace
Her cheekes, where louers build there blisse:
VVho when she dranke would blush for shame,
That wanton Bacchus she should vse,
VVho Venus brother might defame
Her, that should such acquaintance chuse.
What glosse the scarlet curtaines cast

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On a bed-steede of Iuorie,
Such like, but such as much surpast
All glosse, her cheekes did bowtisie.
Her roseate lippes, soft louely swelling,
And full of pleasure as a Cherry:
Her breath of deuine spices smelling,
Which with toung broaken, would make merry
Th' infernall soules, and with her voyce
Set heauen wide open, hell gates shut,
Moue melancholye to reioyce,
And thrall'de in Paradice might put.
Her voyce not humaine when she speaketh,
I thinke some Angell or goddesse
(Into cœlestiall tunes which breaketh)
Speakes like her, with such chearefulnesse.
All byrdes, and instrumentes may take
There notes deuine, and excellent,
Mellodious harmonie to make
From her sweet voyces least accent.
This we loues sanctuarie call:
Whence sacred sentences proceede
Rould vp in soundes Angelicall,
Whose place sweet nature hath decreede
Iust vnder Cupids' trophye fixt:
Where musique hath his excellence,
And such sweetes, with loues spirite mixt,
As please farre more then frankincense,
Thence issew forth loues Oracles
Of happinesse, and lucklesse teene,
So straunge be loues rare miracles
In her, as like haue neuer beene.
Her necke that curious axeltree,

133

Pure Iuorie like, which doth support
The gloabe of my Cosmographie,
Where, to my Planettes I resort
To take Iudiciall signes of skill,
When tempestes to myne hart will turne,
When shoures shall my fountaines fill,
And extreame droughtes mine hart shall burne:
There in that gloabe, shall I perceiue,
When I shall finde cleare element,
There, gloomie mistes shall I conceiue
Which shall offende the firmament,
On this my studies still be bent,
VVhere euen as riuers from the seaes
In braunches through the land be sent,
And into crooked sinewes prease
Throughout the gloabe such-wise the vaynes
Cleare Christalline throughout her necke,
Like sinuous, in their crooked traines
VVildely the swelling waues did checke.
Thence rise her humble seemely shoulders,
Like two smooth pullish't Iuory toppes,
Of loues cheefe frame, the chief vphoulders
VVhiter then that was of Pelops.
Thēce Cupids fiue-graind-mace out braūcheth,
VVhich fiue-fold, the fiue sences woundeth,
VVhose sight, the minde of lookers launcheth,
VVhose force, all other force astoundeth.
Thence to that bed, where loues proude Queene
In silent maiestie sweet sleepeth:
VVhere her soft louely pillowes beene,
VVhere Cupid through loues conduictes creepeth.
Pillowes, of Venus turtles downe

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Pillowes, then Venus turtles softer,
Pillowes, the more where loue lyes downe,
More couetes to lye downe, and ofter:
Pillowes on which two sweet rose buddes,
Dew'de with Ambrosiall nectar lye,
VVhere loues milke-way, by springs, & floodes
Through violet pathes, smooth slideth by.
But now with feares, and teares proceede
Loues place of torture to declare,
VVhich such calamitie doth breede
To those, which there imprisoned are.
VVhich once in cheanes are neuer free,
Which still for want of succour pyne,
Dry sighes, salte-watrie teares which bee
For daintie cates, and pleasant wine:
Immur'de with pure white Iuorye,
Fetters of Adamant to draw
Euen steele it selfe (if ir be nye)
A bondage without right, or law:
With poore Actæon ouerthrowne
But for a looke: and with an eye
(In his cleare armes) loues sergeant knowne
Arrestes each louer that goes by.
This is her hart, loues prison call'de,
Whose conquest is impregnable,
Whence who so chaunce to be in thrall'de,
To come forth after are vnable.
Further to passe then I haue seene,
Or more to shew then may be told,
Were too much impudence I weene:
Here therefore take myne anchor hold,
And with the Romaine Poet deeme

135

Partes vnreueal'de to be most sweete:
Which here describ'de might euill beseeme,
And for a modest muse vnmeete.
Such blessed morninges seldome bee,
Such sightes, too rare when men goe by:
Would I but once, the like might see,
That I might dye, before I dye.