The Treasury of Musick :: :: University of Virginia Library

Why, Lovely Boy, why fly'st thou me, that languish in these flames for thee? I'm Black, 'tis true; why, so is Night, and Love doth in Dark shades delight. The whole world, do but close thine eye, will seem to thee as Black as I; or op't, and see what a Black shade is by thine own fair body made, that follows thee where ere thou go: O who allow'd would not do so? Let me for ever dwell so nigh, and thou shalt need no other Shade than I.

The Boys Answer to the Blackmore Maid.

Black Maid, complain not that I fly

Black Maid, complain not that I fly, since Fate commands Antipathy: Prodigious might that Union prove, where Night and Day together move; and the Conjunction of our Lips, not Kisses make, but an Ecclipse; in which the mixed Black and White pretends more Terrour than Delight: Yet, if my Shadow thou wilt be, enjoy thy dearest wish: But see thou take my Shadows property, that hastes away when I come nigh. Else stay till Death hath blinded me; and then I will bequeath my self to thee.

A Sacrificed Heart.

When I am Dead, and thou wouldst try the truth of Loves great Mysterie

When I am Dead, and thou wouldst try the truth of Loves great Mysterie, When thou a Sparkle dost espie Dancing before thy brighter Eye, O! do not doubt that Sparkle came from the Fervour of my Hearts flame; which thus to prove, open the Urn wherein my restless Ashes burn: Then rake that Dust, and thou shalt see the Fire remains that burns for thee.

Cupid Scorned.

Boast not, Blind Boy, that I'm thy prize;
'Twas not thy Dart,
But these that feather'd with her Eys
First took my heart.
Th'ill tutor'd Shafts, and childish Bow
On faintly Loving hearts bestow.

I vaunt my Flames, and dare defie
Those Bug-bear Fires
Which only serve to satisfie
Fools fond Desires:
Hord up for such thy Painted flame
As tremble when they hear thy Name.

My Heart thy Fires nor Shafts could peirce,
But holy Flashes
Swifter than Lightnings, or more fierce,
Burnt mine to Ashes;
Where let them sleep in unknown rest,
Since Fate concludes thy Urn her Breast.

On a Proud Lady.

Still to be Neat, still to be Drest
As you were going to a Feast:
Still to be powder'd still perfum'd!
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though Arts hid Causes are not found,
All is not sweet, All is not sound.

Give me a Look, give me a Face
That makes Simplicity a Grace;
Robes Loosly flowing, Hair as Free;
Such sweet neglects more taketh me
Then all th'Adult'ries of Art;
They strike my Eyes, but not my Heart.

To an Inconstant Lover.

Wilt thou be gone, thou Heartless man?
Here's none seeks to do thee wrong:
Here's food would warm the Coldest blood,
Joys would make an old man young:
Here are Eyes that would move Stones
To pity, Rocks to Love,
Cheeks of a Vermilion hew
Sweet as Roses in a dew.
Who but a silly Swain, or foolish Guest,
For homely Cates would leave so dainty a feast.

Wilt thou begon, thou Frosty man,
Is not Beauty a fair prize;
Dost rate thy pelf with true Loves wealth:
Foolish man, where are thine Eyes?
Here are Lips both fresh and fair,
Red as Cherries in their prime,
Globe-like Breasts both smooth and white,
Full of pleasure and delight:
Who but Ass would leave such dainty store
To feed on Thistles, when better meat's before.

Go get thee gone, thou Senseless man,
And make Marts with such as she
Who, both in Kind and Currish mind
Ev'ry way's as base as thee;
That hath Eyelids like some Witch,
Wrinkled Cheeks as black as pitch,
Lips as pale; and for her Breast,
Lank and loathsome as the rest:
May she disgrace her Sex, and thee so far
That thou mayst languish t'death with Loathing her

The Marigold.

[1.]

Mark how the Blushful morn in vain
Courts the Amorous Marigold
With sighing Blush, and weeping Rain,
Yet she refuses to unfold.
But when the Planet of the Day
Approacheth with his powerful Ray,
Then She spreads, then She receives his
Warmer beams into her Virgin Arms.

2.

So may'st thou thrive in Love, fond Boy,
If silent tears and sighs discover
Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy
The just reward of a bold Lover.

3.

But when with moving accent thou
Shalt constant Faith and Service vow,
Thy Cælia shall receive those charms
With open Ear, and with unfolded Arms.

Loves Constancy.

No more shall Meads be deckt with flowers

No more shall Meads be deckt with flowers, nor Sweetness live in Rosie Bowers; nor greenest Buds on Branches spring, nor warbling Birds delight to sing; nor April Violets paint the Grove, when once I leave my Cælia's Love, when once I leave my Cælia's Love. THE Fish shall in the Ocean burn, and Fountains sweet shall bitter turn; the humble Vail no Floods shall know, when Floods shall highest Hills ore-flow: Black Læthe shall Oblivion leave, before my Cælia I deceive, before my Cælia I deceive. LOVE shall his Bow and Shafts lay by,

and Venus Doves want wings to fly: The Sun refuse to show his Light, and Day shall then be turn'd to Night; and in that Night no Star appear, when ere I leave my Cælia dear, when ere I leave my Cælia dear. LOVE shall no more inhabit Earth, nor Lovers more shall love for Worth; nor Joy above in Heaven dwell, nor pain torment poor Souls in hell: Grim Death no more shall horrid prove; when ere I leave bright Cælia's Love, when ere I leave bright Cælia's Love.

Love Enflamed.

[1.]

Fire, Fire; Lo here I burn in such desire,
That all the tears that I can strain
Out of my Love-sick empty brain,
Cannot allay my scorching pain.
Come Humber, Trent, and silver Thames:
Dread Ocean haste with all thy Streams,
And if thou canst not quench my Fire,
O drown both me and my Desire.

2.

Fire, Fire, there is no Hell to my desire;
See all the Rivers backward fly,
For fear my Heart should drink them dry;
Come Heavenly showers, come pouring down,
Come you that once the World did Drown;
And if you cannot quench my Fire,
O Drown both me and my Desire.

Unwilling Parting.

No no, I tell thee no

No no, I tell thee no; though from thee I must go, yet my Heart says not so: It swears by Stella's eys, in whose daz'ling surprize it in Loves fetters lies: It swears by those Roses and Lillies so white, and those Rubies so bright, ne'r to part, ne'r to part from my dear dear Delight.

The Dying Lover.

[1]

Stay, Silly Heart, and do not break,
But give a Lover leave to speak,
To tell a Tale that Stones may move
To pity me that dies for Love.

2

Thy Heart is harder far than flint,
And will not suffer Cupid's print;
But beats his Arrows back to Jove,
By which, alas! I die for Love.

3

When I am gone, true Lovers mourn,
Deck all your heads with Wither'd Corn;
Wear on your Hand a Sable Glove,
To testifie I dy'd for Love.

4

Then bear me softly by her dore,
And there with Mourning Heads deplore,
Cry loud, look down you Pow'rs above,
On her that slew me for her Love.

5

Then in an unfrequented Cave
Where Fairies haunt, prepare my Grave
Among wilde Satyrs in a Grove,
That they may sing, I dy'd for Love.

6

Last, build my Tombe of Lovers bones,
Set round about with Marble-stones;
My Scutch'on bearing Venus Dove;
My Epitaph, I dy'd for Love.

The Lilly.

White though you be

White though you be, yet Lillies know from the first ye were not so: But Ile tell ye what befell ye; Cupid and his Mother lay in a Cloud while both did play: He with his prety finger prest the Ruby Nipple of her Breast; out of the which the Cream of Light like to a dew fell down on you, and made you White.

Wounded in Love.

For that one glance I wounded lie,
O look again, and let me die:
Kill me outright; I cannot brook
To live like one that's Planet strook.
Bless me again with those bright rays
That shorten, yet make sweet my days.

O shoot more Glances with thine Eyes
To shew th'accept'st the Sacrifice
Of my poor Heart, which now doth burn
Whilest I both Priest and Offering turn.
Ile blame no more those Eyes that prove
My ruin, since they caus'd my Love.

Loves Affection.

Be not proud, Pretty one, for I must love thee;
Thou art Fair, but Unkind, yet dost thou move me.
Red is thy Lips, and Cheeks like to thy Blushes:
The Flame that's in thine Eye burns mine to Ashes.
And on thy Breast, the place of Loves abiding,
Sits Cupid high enthron'd my pain deriding.
O! if a god thou art, wound Her that scorns me,
Or fall from that bright Sphere which so adorns thee.

Then might my Sighs and Tears move her Compassion,
And on her Heart of Flint make some Impression;
Knowing her Beauty hath so far insnar'd me,
And all the Joys of Peace hath quite debarr'd me.

O Gentle Nymph! thy Frown now would destroy me,
Having liv'd but in hope Once to injoy Thee:
And sure my Death would add nought to thy Glory,
But rather all your Fame die in the Story.

Cupid's Doomsday.

Wake all ye dead: What hoo! What hoo!
How soundly they sleep whose pillows lie low?
They mind not poor Lovers who walk above
On the Decks of the world in storms of Love:
No whisper now or Glance can pass
Through Wickets, or through Panes of Glass;
For our Windows and Dores are shut and barr'd,
Lie close in the Church, and in the Church-yard:
In ev'ry Grave make room, make room;
The World's at an End, and we Come, we Come.

The State is now Loves Foe, Loves Foe,
T'has seiz'd on his Arms, his Quiver and Bow;
T'has pinion'd his Wings, and fetter'd his Feet,
Because he made way for poor Lovers to meet:
But oh sad chance! his Judge was old;
Hearts cruel grow, when blood grows cold:
No Man being young, his Process would draw;
Oh Heav'ns! that Love should be subject to Law;
Lovers go Wooe the Dead, the Dead l
Lye two in a Grave, and to Bed, to Bed.

Madness in Love.

[I.]

Sure 'twas a Dream: How long, Fond Man, have I
Been lull'd into Captivity?
My Newgate was my Want of Wit,
I did my Self commit, my Bonds I Knit:
I my own Gaoler was, my only Foe
That did my freedome disallow:
I was a Prisoner 'cause I would be so.

II.

'Twas a fine life I liv'd when I did dress
My self to Court your peevishness;
When I did at your foot-stool lye,
Expecting from your eye to live or dye.

Now frowns or smiles, I care not which I have;
Nay, rather than I'le be your slave,
I'le Court the Plague to send me to my grave.

III.

And now I will shake off my chains, and prove
Opinion built the Gaol of Love;
Made all his Bonds, gave him his Bow,
His bloody Arrows too which murder so.

May all the Oaths which idle Lovers dream,
Be all contriv'd to make a Theam
For some carousing Poets drunken Flame.

Love and Honour.

That Herald he was but a dull Ass
Who before Love gave Honour the place;
For Nature and Love are both of a date,
And Honour but yesterday set up her State.

Honour we grant's the Daughter of Love,
And this doth them their Precedess prove;
For Honour's but Heat, 'tis Love is the Fire;
This may Preserve, but that Kindles Desire.

If you take away Love, then Dame Honour must
Come down a degree, and lie in the Dust:
'Tis a Green-sickness fancy to famish Love,
And feed upon Honour, which fatal may prove.

Then you may leave off, for 'tis Labour in vain
By Reason to Cure a True Lovers pain:
Then farewell dull Mortall, since it is most true
That with Honour and Love thou hast nothing to doe.

Cupid's Monarchy.

If you will Love, know this to be
The Laws of Cupid's Monarchy;
That to Refuse
Is to abuse
Loves Government; and I declare,
That such Loves Rebels, not his Subjects are.

To Love is not to be your Owne,
Love studies to please them alone
Whom it affects
With most respects
Of ought beside; for Love confin'd
Is but by Usurpation Love defin'd.

If you did Love as true as I,
You nothing would or cold deny,
But would conceive
That you receive
What you bestow: If this were true,
Your Heart would dwell in me as I in you.

The Vicissitude of Love.

[I]

Ah! Cloris, would the Gods allow
We still might Love as we Love now,
What Joys had all the world in store,
Or Heav'n it self to give us more;
For nothing sure so sweet can prove
As pleasures of beginning Love.

II

But Love when to its height arrivd
Of all our Joys is shortest liv'd;
His Morning past, he Sets so soon
That none can find an Afternoon:
And of that little time is lent
Half in Unkindness is misspent.

III

Since Fate to Love such short Life gives
And Love so tender whilest he lives,
Let us remove Mean fears away,
So to prevent his first decay:
For Love, like blood, let out before,
Will lose his pow'r, and Cure no more.

Loves Hue and Cry.

Oft have I searcht both Court and Town, and Country Village too,
The Black, the Fair, the lovely Brown, Bold, Coy and Simple too;
Yet amongst all I ne'r could find
One that's more Constant than the Wind.

If nobly born, She scorns to be Confined in her Love;
If Riches make her melt, we see varietie she'l prove:
And She whom Want betrays, no less
Counts Change her only happiness.
Since all will try, Ile now no more court dangerous Constancy,
But Ile change Objects, and adore this sweet Variety:
For, taught by their Example, I
Love nothing now but Liberty.

Cupid's Progress.

Vp Ladies, Up; prepare your Taking faces;
For Cupid rides a Hunting to day in Secret places;
His Bow is ready bent, to shew you his Intent;
His Quiver full of Darts, to wound the chiefest Hearts:
Then follow follow me all you that Gamesome be.

See where he comes with all his Am'rous Train!
Mark how the Ladies do trip it or'e the Plain!
His Gallants and his 'Squires, all clad in warm desires;
And those that did retire, Come on with fresh desire:
Then follow follow me, all you that Gamesome be.

Endymion's Dream.

Fall dew of Slumbers in a gentle Stream,
And my Endymion bless;
That he i'the Banquet of a Dream
May taste his future Happiness.
Softly, softly;
O let no rude affright
As he lies!
Break up his eyes,
But open them to real new Delight.

Drest Seraphins, put on your softest wings;
Glide eas'ly from above:
With blisses Heavens fruition brings
Refresh the panting hopes of Love.
Charm him, Charm him:
Then with a Bee-like Hum
Gently wake
For Hero's sake
Leander from Elizium.

Love admits no Rivall.

[I]

Indeed I never was but once so mad
To dote upon the Beauty of a Face;
And then, alas! my fortune was so bad,
To see another chosen in my place;
And yet I courted Her I'm very sure
With Love as true as his, and full as pure.

II

But if I ever be so fond again
To undertake the second part of Love;
Or reassume that most unhappy pain,
Or after Shipwrack do the Ocean prove:
She shall be tender-hearted, kind and free;
Or I'le be as Indifferent as She.

Transparent Love.

Cloris , 'twill be for eithers rest
Timely to know each others Breast:
I'le make the Obscure parts of mine
Cleer as your Charming Beauty shine:
And if you'l deal but so with me,
We soon shall part, or soon agree.

1

Know then, though you were twice as fair,
If it could be, as now you are;
Or if the Graces of the Mind
With a supportant Beauty shin'd;
Yet if you love me not, you'l see
I value those as you do me.

2

Though I a thousand times have sworn,
My Passion should transcend your Scorn;
Or that your bright triumphant Eyes
Creates a flame that never dyes;
Yet if to me you prove untrue,
Those Oaths should prove as false to you.

3

Though I should Love, and you should Hate,
'Twas (I confess) a meer Deceit;
And that my Flames should Deathless prove,
'Twas but to render so your Love.
I brag as, Cowards use to do,
Of Danger, they ne'r run into.

4

But now my Tenets I have told,
If you should them too rigid hold;
T'attempt the Change would be but vain,
The Conquest not being worth the pain:
With those I'le other Nymphs persue,
Cloris too much to lose Time and You.

Love without Flattery.

Admit, thou Darling of mine Eyes,
I serve some Idol lately fram'd;
That underneath a false disguise,
Our true Loves might the less be fam'd:
Canst thou that know'st my Heart suppose

I fall from Thee to worship Those.

Remember Dear how loth and slow
I was to cast a Look or Smile;
Or on Love, Lines to misbestow,
Till thou hadst chang'd both Face and Stile:
And art thou now affraid to see
That Mask put on thou mad'st for mee.

I cannot call these Childish fears
That come from Love, much less from Thee;
But wash away with frequent Tears
That Counterfeit Apostacie:
And henceforth kneel to ne'r a Shrine,
To blind the World, but only Thine.

The Crafty Lover.

No more will I contemplate Love,
Nor yet implore the Pow'rs above
To cast their Influence on a Mind
That can profess, and not be Kind.
If good Examples will not do,
I must decline the Practice too.

My Mistress I'le no more admire,
Her Beauty or her Love desire;
Though in proportion both agree,
When neither doth reflect on me:
I may without a guilty thought
Esteem those faculties from nought.

Let those who love to spend their days
In speaking Women, or their praise;
Apply their Virtue to their use,
As if 'twere real such abuse:
I can but scorn, 'twill never take;
I honour Virtue for its sake.

I will no longer sacrifice
To such unsacred Miseries,
Nor yet contribute to a pow'r
Exacts Obedience ev'ry hour:
No no, my thoughts are too too free
To fancy Her that Loves not me.

Love in a Riddle.

She that would not, I would chuse

She that would not, I would chuse; She which would, I would refuse: Venus could my Mind but Tame, but not satisfie the same. Inticements offer'd I despise; and deny'd, I slightly prize: I would neither glut my mind, nor yet too much torment find. Thrice girt Diana do not take me, nor Venus naked, Joyful make me: The first no pleasure hath to Joy me, and the last enough to Cloy me. But a Crafty Lass I'de have, that will grant the Love I crave; and Joyn at once in one these two, I will, and yet I will not doe.

Cassandra in Mourning.

[I]

Awake my Lute, arise my String,
And to my sad Cassandra sing;
like the old Poets, when the Moon
Had put her Sable Mourning on,
Aloud they sounded with a merry strain,
Until her brightness was restor'd again.

II

Too well I know from whence proceeds
Thy wearing of these Mourning weeds;
In cruel flames for thee I burn,
And thou for me do'st therefore mourn.
So sits a glorious Godess in the Skies,
Clouded i'th' Smoak of her own Sacrifice.

III

Wear other Virgins what they will!
Cassandra loves her Mourning still:
Thus the milky way so white
Is never seen but in the Night;
The Sun himself, although so bright he seem,
Is black as are the Moors that worship him

IV

But tell me, thou deformed Cloud,
How dar'st thou such a Body shroud?
So Satyres with black hideous Face
Of old did lovely Nimphs embrace:
That mourning e're should hide such glorious Maids
Thus Deities of old did live in shades.

V

Her Words are Oracles, and come
(Like those) from out some dark'ned room:
And her Breath proves that Spices do
Only in Scorched Countries grow:
If she but speak, an Indian she appears;
Though all o're black, at Lips She Jewels wears.

VI

Methinks I now do Venus spy
As she in Vulcan's arms did lye;
Such is Cassandra and her Shroud:
She looks like Snow within a Cloud:
Melt then, and yield! throw off thy mourning Pall!
Thou never can'st look white, until thou Fall.

The Desparing Lover.

[I]

Cruel Cælia, did you know,
Or at the least, but think my Woe,
Your fairer Mind
Would prove
So kind, that ev'ry Passion then would move
To pity, where you cannot love.

II

Could a Sigh, a Tear, a Grone,
Things pale Passion feeds upon;
A Midnight Grove,
Place fit for Love:
Could these but enter in your thought,
Youl'd then confess Love dearly sought.

III

Cruel Fairest, there you sit
As unconcern'd, as if my Wit
To Mirth did move,
Not to plead Love:
You'r like the Deer, which list'ning stand
To hear me Play, but slight the Hand.

IV

Fairest, like them, you admire
The Musick, but neglect the Fire,
The Air that beats
And gives me heat:
To tell you, Cruel Beauty, you
Have out-done Him that worships You.

Cloris Yielding.

Will Cloris cast her Sun-bright Eye,
Upon so mean a Swain as I?
Can she affect my Oaten Reed,
Or stoop to wear my Shepherds Weed.

What Rural Sport can I devise
To please her Ears, to please her Eyes;
Fair Cloris sees, fair Cloris hears,
With Angels Eyes, and Angels Ears.

On a Crowned Heart.

Thou sent'st to me a Heart was Crown'd

Thou sent'st to me a Heart was Crown'd, I thought it had been Thine; but when I saw it had a Wound, I knew that Heart was mine. A Bounty of a strange conceit, to send mine Own to me; and send it in a worse estate than it was sent to Thee. The Heart I sent, it had no stain, but was entirely sound; yet thou hast sent it back again sick of a deadly wound. O Heav'ns! How wouldst thou use a Heart that should Rebellious be, as thus to slay Him with a Dart that ever honour'd Thee.

Loves Enquiry.

[1]

Yes, I could Love, could I but find
A Mistress fitting to my mind;
Who neither Pride nor Gold could move
To buy her Beauty, sell her Love:
Were Neat, yet car'd not to be Fine;
And love me for my self, not mine:
Not Lady proud, nor City coy;
But full of freedom, full of joy.

2

Not wise enough to rule a State,
Nor so much Fool to be laugh'd at;
Nor Childish young, nor Beldam old,
Not Fiery hot, nor Icy cold;
Not richly Proud, nor basely Poor;
Not Chast, yet no reputed Whore.
If such a one I chance to find
I have a Mistress to my mind.

The Prudent Lover.

[1]

Not that I wish my Mistress
Or more, or less than what She is,
Write I these Lines, for 'tis too late,
Rules to prescribe unto my Fate.

2

But as the tender Stomachs call
For choice of Meats, yet brook not all;
So queasie Love may here impart
What Mistress 'tis best takes the Heart.

3

First, I would have her richly spread
With Natures Blossom, White and Red;
For flaming heat will quickly dye,
Where is no Jewel for the Eye.

4

Yet this alone will never win,
Unless some Treasure be within;
For where the Spoil's not worth the Prey,
Men raise the Siege and March away.

5

I care not much if she be proud,
A little pride may be allow'd;
The amorous Youth will pray and prate
Too freely, where he finds no state.

6

Then would I have her full of wit,
So she knows how to huswife it;
For she whose insolence will dare
To cry her Wit, will shew her ware.

7

Last, I would have her Loving be,
(Mistake me not) to none but me;
She that loves one, and loves one more,
She'le love a Kingdom o're and o're.

The Humorous Lover.

[1]

Well well, 'tis true,
I now am faln in Love, and 'tis with you:
And now I plainly see whilst
Y'are enthron'd by me above, You
All your arts and pow'rs improve
To tyrant over me,
And make my flames th'incentives of your scorn,
Whilst you rejoyce and feast your eyes
To see me quite forlorn.

2

But yet be wise,
And don't believe that I did think your Eyes
More bright than the Stars can be;
Or that your Face Angels out-vies
In their Celestial Liveries:
'Twas all but Poetry:
I could have said as much by any She;
You are not Beautious of your Self,
But are made so by Me.

3

Though we (like Fools)
Fathom the Earth, and drain the Schools
For Names t'express you by;
Out-rant the loudest Hyperboles
To dub you Saints and Deities
By Cupid's Heraldry:
We know y'are flesh and blood as well as Men,
And when we please can Mortalize,
And make you so agen.

4

Yet since my Fate
Hath drawn me to that Sin which I did hate,
I'le not my labour lose,
But will love on, as I begin,
To th'purpose, now my hand is in,
Spight of the Art you use;
And let you know the world is not so bare,
There's things enough to love besides
Such Toys as Ladies are.

5

I love good Wine,
I love my Book, and Muse, nay all the Nine;
I love my real Friend;
I love my Horse; and could I chuse
One that would not my Love abuse,
To Her my Love should bend:
I will love those that laugh, and those that sing,
And scorn to pine away my self
For any Female thing.

Lukewarmness in Love.

[I]

No more, no more,
Fond Love, give o're;
Dally no more with me:
Strike home and bold,
Be hot or cold,
Or leave thy Deitie.

II

In Love Lukewarm,
Will do more harm,
Then can Feavers heat:
Cold cannot kill,
So soon as will
A fainting dying Sweat.

III

I cannot tell,
When Sick or Well
Physick or Poyson give:
Still in my Grief,
There's no Relief,
Oh let me Dye or Live!

IV

If I must be
Thy Votarie,
Be thou my Friend or Foe:
If thou wilt have
Me be thy Slave,
Hold fast, or let me go.

The Triumphs of Death.

The Glories of our Birth and State Are shadows, not substantial things

The Glories of our Birth and State Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no Armor 'gainst our fate; Death layes his Icy-hand on Kings: Scepters and Crowns must tumble down, And in the Dust be equall layd With the poor crooked Syth & Spade. Some men with Swords may reap the Field, And plant fresh Lawrels where they kill'd; But their strong Nerves at last must yield, They tame but one another still. Early or late they bend to fate, And must give up their murm'ring breath While the pale Captive creeps to Death. The Garland withers on your brow, Then boast no more

your mighty deeds: Upon Death's purple Altar now, See where the Victor Victim bleeds. All heads must come to the cold Tomb, Only the Actions of the Just Smell sweet, and Blossom in the Dust.

Venus Hue and Cry after Cupid.

[1]

Beauties, have ye seen a Toy,
Called, Love a little Boy;
Almost Naked, Wanton, Blind,
Cruel; now and then as kind:
If he be amongst you, say,
He is Venus run away.

2

She that will now but now discover
Where this Winged-wag doth hover,
Shall to night receive a kiss,
How, or where her self would wish;
But who brings him to his Mother,
Shall have that kiss and another.

3

Marks he hath about him plenty,
You shall know him among twenty,
All his body is a fre,
And his breath a flame entire,
That brings shot (like light'ning) in
Wounds the Heart but not the skin.

4

Wings he hath which though you clip,
He will leap from Lip to Lip;
Over Liver, Lips, and Heart,
But ne're stay in any part:
And if by chance his Arrow misies,
He will shoot himself in kisses.

5

He doth bear a golden Bow,
And a Quiver hanging low,
Full of Arrows that out-brave
Dians Shafts; what if he have
Any head more sharp than other?
With that kiss he strikes his mother.

6

Still the fairest are his fuel,
When his daies are to be cruel,
Lovers hearts are all his food,
And his Bath's their warmest Blood:
Nought but wounds his hands doth season,
And he hates none like to reason.

7

Trust him not, his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet;
All his practice is deceit,
Ev'ry gift is a bait,
Not a kiss but poyson bears,
And most treason in his tears.

8

Idle minutes are his reign,
Them the stragler makes his gain,
By presenting Maids with toys,
And would have ye think 'em toys;
'Tis the ambition of the Else,
To have all childish as himself.

9

If by these you please to know him,
Beauties be not nice, but show him,
Though you had a will to hide him,
Now I hope ye'le not abide him:
Since ye hear his falser play,
And that he's Venus Ran-away.

Youths Vanity.

Though you are young, and I am old:
Though your veyns hot, and my blood cold:
Though Youth is Moist, and Age is Dry;
Yet Embers live when Flames do die.

The tender Graff is Easily broke,
But who shall shake the sturdy Oke?
You are more Fresh and Fair than I;
Yet Stubs do live when Flowers do die.

Thou that thy Youth dost vainly boast,
Know Buds are sooner nipt with Frost:
Think that thy Fortune still doth cry,
Fond Youth, To morrow thou must die.

And if to morrow thou Dy'st not,
To Die ere long will be thou lot:
Though thou of late didst Age deny,
Must welcome Death, and learn to Die.

Cupid Embraced.

I never knew what Cupid meant,
Nor what his Arrows were;
And yet I have been Discontent,
And shed many a Tear.

I have seen a Woman has been Fair,
And yet could never be
Caught in the Net-work of her Hair,
Or Faces Pagentry.

But then considering how in her
Virtue and Sweetness dwelt,
I wondred not at any stir,
That in my Heart I felt.

I wondred that my stubborn Heart,
That hath so long held out,
Should, by the piercing of his Dart
Unseen, be brought about.

But Cupid with a reverend Knee
I worship now, like those
That rank him as a Deity;
And Thank him for my Blows.

On a Stolen Heart.

What conscience say is it in Thee

What conscience say is it in Thee, when I'ave a Heart but one to take away that Heart from me, and so to leave me none: For shame or pity now encline to act a loving part, either to send me kindly Thine, or give me back my Heart: Covet not both: But if thou dost resolve to part with neither, why yet to shew that thou art Just, take Me take Me and Mine take Me and Mine together.

A Despairing Lover.

Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le love no more

Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le love no more; of Death I'm not afraid, my poor Heart is betray'd; She that disdains my Love, must I adore. Farewell, Farewell despairing Hopes, I'le live no more, I'le love no more. To crave from Cruel Eyes compassion, 'tis in vain; and with Laments and Cryes to sob out Tears, the witness of my pain. No Death shall cure my Sore: Farewell, Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le live no more to see when I complain a Cruel Soul disdain, that to my grief I love, when Her no tears can move, but rival tears: Ah! 'twas ne're heard before.

Farewell, Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le live no more: Ne're flatter more my sense with sweet and courteous Breath, 'twixt outrage and offence I am condemn'd, I am condemn'd to Death. No more on Joys I dote, but with a doleful Note my Life and Death deplore. Farewell, Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le live no more, Ile live no more.

To his Theora.

If still Theora you wear this disguise of Scorn up on your Eyes

If still Theora you wear this disguise of Scorn up on your Eyes, and suffer not one smile approve th'obedience of my Immortal Love: Two Hells at once my Soul must try;

my own Affections, and your Cruelty. But if some kinder Aspect shall encline your Heart to pity mine, I'le breath such Joys no envious Fate shall blast with a surprize, or Time translate. Strange Providence! that Lovers still find Lips to Kiss as well as Eyes to Kill. Thus have you seen Waves chac'd by th'troubled Ayr, move nothing but Despair, till some more friendly Winds do stay their Murmers, and lead up a Beautious day. Great penances do make us prize (with greater sense) our hopes of Paradice.

To a Stream.

Cleer Stream, who dost with equal pace both thy self fly

Cleer Stream, who dost with equal pace both thy self fly, and thy self chace; forbear a while to flow, and listen to my woe: Then go and tell the Sea that all his Brine is fresh, compar'd to mine. Inform him that the gentle Dame who was the life of all my flame, i'th' glory of her bud hath past the dismal flood: Death by this only stroke Triumphs above the gentle pow'r of Love. Alas, Alas! I must give o're, my sighs will let me add no more. Go on, cleer Stream, but rest no more my troubled breast: And if my sad Complaint hath made thee stay, ther's Tears ther's Tears to mend thy way.

Loves Triumph.

Ah, ah, mighty Love! what pow'r unknown

Ah, ah, mighty Love! what pow'r unknown hast thou now us'd more then thy own? It was thy Conduct and Designe, but not thy Pow'r that vanquish'd mine: As a great Captain to his Name of ev'ry Conquest joyns the Fame; though 'twas not by his Power got, but Armies by his Conduct brought: So when thou could'st not do't alone, thou lead'st his troops of Virtues on And I now feel by my surprize, thou hast not only Darts; not only Darts, but Eyes. Just god, now take again thy Arms, and rally all I have of Charms: What Pow'r and Conduct

cannot doe, make his Belief contribute too: So when the Earth some promise shows that she does yet more Wealth enclose: Believing men search her rich Veins, and crown their hopes with unknown gains: May he but at the first incline to Love, then by my Faith and Time, his Justice after the surprize shall be more fetter'd, shall be more fetter'd than his Eyes.

On the soft and gentle Motions of Eudora.

Strike, Strike sweet Licoris

Strike, Strike sweet Licoris, strike th'harmonious Lute; but with a stroke so gentle as may sute the silent glyding of the Hours, or the yet calmer growth of Flow'rs, th'ascending

or the falling dew, which none can see, yet all find true. For thus alone can be shown how downy, how smooth Eudora doth move. How Ev'n her Actions appear: the Air of her Face of a gentler grace than these that do stroke the Ear: Her address so sweet, so becoming meet, that 'tis not the Loud, though Melodious string, can shew forth so soft, so noysless a thing. This, O this to express from thy Hand must fall than Musicks self something more Musicall.

[OMITTED]

The Dying Lover.

O fairest Lights!

O fairest Lights! whose cleer Aspect taught me Loves lesson at first sight, when on me those rays reflect, which awe my Love to deep respect; whilest Joy and Grief whilest Joy and Grief dispute their Rights: Ah how I die, Ah how I die, crown'd crown'd with Delight.

An old Knight to a young Lady.

Madam, your Beauty (I confess)
May our young Gallants wound or bless;
But cannot warm my frozen Heart,
Not capable of Joy or Smart;
'Cause neither Wit, nor Looks, nor Kindness
Can make Young a Superannuated man.

Those sparks that every minute fly
From your bright Eyes, do falling die;
Not kindle flames, as heretofore,
Because old I can love no more:
Beauty on wither'd Hearts no Trophy gains;
For Tinder over us'd, no Fire retains.

If you'l indure to be admir'd
By an old Dotard new Inspir'd,
You may enjoy the Quintessence
Of my past Loves without Expence:
For I can wait, and prate, I thank my Fate,
I can do all, but no new Fire Create.

Cupid's Power.

Disdain not, Fair one, since we know
Your Heart's a Mark for Cupid's Bow:
The Scorns you cast at Love will turn
Like Lightning back, and make you burn.

Let those whom Age hath set aside
To Court the Grave for their next Bride;
Or let the frigid Matron say
They will no god of Love obey.

But you who want nor Youth, nor Fire
To kindle Altus of Desire;
I doubt not but ere long you'l be
Loves Proselite as well as we.

To a Friend who desired no more then to admire the Mind, and the Beauty of Silvia.

[I]

Though Silvas Eyes a flame could raise
More fit for wonder then for praise;
And though her wit were cleer and high,
That 'twere resistless as her Eye;
Yet without Love she still shall find
I'm deaf to one, to the other blind.

II

Those Fools that think Beauty can prove
A cause sufficient for their Love,
I wish they never may have more,
To try how Looks can cure their sore:
'Tis such the Sex so high have set,
They take it not for gift, but debt.

III

If Love were unto Sight confin'd,
The god of it would not be Blind;
Nor would the pleasure of it be
So often in obscuritie:
No, to know Joys each sense hath right,
Equal at least to that of Sight.

IV

The gods, who knew the noblest part
In Love, sought not the Mind, but Heart;
And when hurt by the winged Boy,
What they admir'd, they did enjoy;
Knowing a Kindness Love could prove
The hope, reward, and cure of Love.

V

I'le rather my Affections keep
For Nimphs only injoy'd in sleep,
Then cast away an houre of Care
On any, 'cause she's only fair:
Nay, Sleep more pleasing Dreams do move
Then are your waking ones of Love.

VI

The Frensie's less love to endure,
Then after to decline the Cure;
Yet you do both, aiming no higher
Then for to see, and to admire,
An Idol you'l not only frame,
But you will too adore the same.

VII

Had therein Silvia nothing shin'd
But the unseen charms of her Mind,
You would have had the like esteem
For her that I have still for them:
If flesh and blood your flame inspire,
Then make those only your desire.

VIII

And Friend, that you may cleerly prove
'Tis not her Mind alone you love;
Let her 'twixt us her self impart,
Give you her Mind, and me her Heart:
As little cause then you will find
As I do now, to love her Mind.

The Earl to the Countess of Carbery.

You ask, my Dear, if I be well;
Feel thine own pulse, and that will tell:
Vain is all other Art
That beats the Temper of my Heart;
If I may call that mine
Is so entirely thine.
Dearest, then tell me how I doe;
For both my Health and Heart's in You.

When first I view'd thee, I did spy
Thy Soul stand beck'ning in thine Eye;
My Heart knew what it meant,
And at the very first Kiss went,
Two Balls of Wax so run
When melted into one:
Mix'd now with thine, my Heart now lies,
And much Loves Riddle as thy Prize.

For, since I can't pretend to have
That Heart, which I so freely gave;
Yet now 'tis Mine the more,
Because 'tis thine, then 'twas before:
Death will unriddle this;
For when thou 'rt call'd to bliss,
He needs not throw at me his Dart,
'Cause piercing thine, he kills my Heart.

Constancy in Love.

Love me no more, or else with scorn despise
All other Loves, though made your Sacrifice:
A Prince for Rivall should not share a bliss,
Till Fate decide it either mine or his.

In Love and Courage, Titles has no Claim,
Merit and Virtue give the highest Name.

Let then thy Cupid soar on Honours wings,
Thy Constancy and Love appear like Twins;
So shall thy Mind excell thy Shape much more
Than thou all other Beauties didst before,
Crowning with glory both thy self and me,
And when thou dy'st be thought a Deitie.

Cupid Discovered.

Cupid 's no god, a wanton Childe,
His Arts are weak, his Pow'rs are milde;
No active heat or nobler fire
Feathers his Arrows with Desire:
'Tis not his Bow or Shaft, 'tis Venus Eye
Makes him ador'd, and crowns his Deitie.

Each Amorous glance creates this Fire,
As Coyns dulls and chills Desire;
'Tis then the Face and Eyes we see,
Not the fond Boys Artillerie:
'Tis the Consentive nimbler Sense creates
Love's subtler piercing Fires, not the Fates.

Inconstancy in Love.

[I]

If thou wilt know the reason why
I hate thee now once held so Deer,
Upon thy Glass but cast thine Eye,
And thou shalt find it written there;
For as in that thou mayst survey
Thy fair, false Eyes, and lovely Face;
So nothing in thy Glass will stay,
When thou art parted from the place.

II

So when my Love did first pretend,
Me thought I saw my self in thee;
And therefore chose thee for a Friend,
That ought Anothers self to be:
All Vows and Oaths I made to Love
Thou shouldst repeat when I had done,
And by a sweet reflection prove
We were (though seeming Two) but One.

III

But when I absent was a while,
And others came to look in thee,
As they would laugh, so wouldst thou smile,
And no impression left of mee:
Now, though to have a Friend were best,
That might reflect thoughts as they pass,
My Mind shall rather go ill-drest
Than mind it self by such a Glass.

For a Bass.

When I taste my Goblet deep

When I taste my Goblet deep, all my Cares are rock'd a Sleep: Then I'm Crœsus, Lord of th'Earth, Singing Odes of Wit and Mirth; and with Ivy Garlands crown'd, I can kick the Globe round, round. Others Fight, but let me Drink; Boy, my Goblet fill to the brink; for when I lay down my head, better to be Drunk, better to be Drunk, Dead Drunk, than Dead.

The Greek's Song.

The thirsty Earth sucks up the Rain, and drinks, and gapes for Drink again: The Plants suck in the Earth, and are with constant drinking fresh and fair: The Sea it self which one would think should have but little need to drink, drinks ten thousand Rivers up, so fill'd they overflow flow the Cup: The busie Sun, and one would guess by's drunken fiery Face no less, drinks up the Sea; and when that's done, the Moon and Stars drinkes up the Sun.

They Drink and Dance, by their own light, they Drink and Revel all the Night. Nothing in Nature's sober found, but an Eternal Health goes Round.

CHORUS.

Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high; Fill all the Glasses there; for why should ev'ry Creature drink but I? Why Man of Mortals, tell me why?

Cælia's Complaint.

[I]

Poor Cælia once was very fair,
A quick bewitching Eye she had;
Most neatly look'd her braided Hair,
Her dainty Cheek would make you mad;
Upon her Lips did all the Graces play
And on her Breasts ten Thousand Thousand Cupids lay.

II

Then many a doting Lover came
From Seventeen till Twenty one;
Each told her of his mighty slame,
But She, forsooth, affected none:
One was not Handsome, th'other was not Fine;
This of Tobacco smelt, and that of Wine.

III

But t'other day it was my fate
To walk along that way alone;
I saw no Coach before her gate,
But at her dore I heard her moan:
She dropt a Tear, and sighing seem'd to say,
Young Ladies, Marry, Marry while you may.

Here Endeth the Ayres for One Voice to the Theorbo or Bass Viol.