The Workes of Benjamin Jonson

Let it not your wonder move,
Lesse your laughter; that I love.
Though I now write fiftie yeares,
I have had, and have my Peeres;
Poëts, though devine are men:
Some have lov'd as old agen.
And it is not alwayes face,
Clothes, or Fortune gives the grace;
Or the feature, or the youth:
But the Language, and the Truth,

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With the Ardor, and the Passion,
Gives the Lover weight, and fashion.
If you then will read the Storie,
First, prepare you to be sorie,
That you never knew till now,
Either whom to love, or how:
But be glad, as soone with me,
When you know, that this is she,
Of whose Beautie it was sung,
She shall make the old man young.
Keepe the middle age at stay,
And let nothing high decay.
Till she be the reason why,
All the world for love may die.

2. How he saw her.

I Beheld her, on a Day,
When her looke out-flourisht May:
And her dressing did out-brave
All the Pride the fields than have:
Farre I was from being stupid,
For I ran and call'd on Cupid;
Love if thou wilt ever see
Marke of glorie, come with me;
Where's thy Quiver? bend thy Bow:
Here's a shaft, thou art to slow!
And (withall) I did untie
Every Cloud about his eye;
But, he had not gain'd his sight
Sooner, then he lost his might,
Or his courage; for away
Strait hee ran, and durst not stay,
Letting Bow and Arrow fall,
Nor for any threat, or Call,
Could be brought once back to looke,
I foole-hardie, there up tooke
Both the Arrow he had quit,
And the Bow: which thought to hit
This my object. But she threw
Such a Lightning (as I drew)
At my face, that tooke my sight,
And my motion from me quite;
So that there, I stood a stone,
Mock'd of all: and call'd of one
(Which with griefe and wrath I heard)
Cupids Statue with a Beard,
Or else one that plaid his Ape,
In a Hercules-his shape.

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3. What hee suffered.

After many scornes like these,
Which the prouder Beauties please,
She content was to restore
Eyes and limbes; to hurt me more
And would on Conditions, be
Reconcil'd to Love, and me
First, that I must kneeling yeeld
Both the Bow, and shaft I held
Unto her; which love might take
At her hand, with oath, to make
Mee, the scope of his next draught
Aymed, with that selfe, same shaft
He no sooner heard the Law,
But the Arrow home did draw
And (to gaine her by his Art)
Left it sticking in my heart:
Which when she beheld to bleed,
She repented of the deed,
And would faine have chang'd the fate,
But the Pittie comes too late.
Looser-like, now, all my wreake
Is, that I have leave to speake,
And in either Prose, or Song,
To revenge me with my Tongue,
Which how Dexterously I doe
Heare and make Example too.

4. Her Triumph.

See the Chariot at hand here of Love
Wherein my Lady rideth!
Each that drawes, is a Swan, or a Dove
And well the Carre Love guideth
As she goes, all hearts doe duty
Unto her beauty;
And enamour'd, doe wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were, to run by her side,
Through Swords, through Seas, whether she would ride.

Doe but looke on her eyes, they doe light
All that Loves world compriseth!
Doe but looke on her Haire, it is bright
As Loves starre when it riseth!
Doe but marke her forhead's smoother
Then words that sooth her!

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And from her arched browes, such a grace
Sheds it selfe through the face,
As alone there triumphs to the life.
All the Gaine, all the Good, of the Elements strife.

Have you seene but a bright Lillie grow,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Ha'you mark'd but the fall o'the Snow
Before the soyle hath smutch'd it?
Ha'you felt the wooll of Bever?
Or Swans Downe ever?
Or have smelt o'the bud o'the Brier?
Or the Nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the Bee?
O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

5. His discourse with Cupid.

Noblest Charis, you that are
Both my fortune, and my Starre!
And doe governe more my blood,
Then the various Moone the flood!
Heare, what late Discourse of you,
Love, and I have had; and true.
'Mongst my Muses finding me,
Where he chanc't your name to see
Set, and to this softer straine;
Sure, said he, if I have Braine,
This here sung, can be no other
By description, but my Mother!
So hath Homer prais'd her haire;
So, Anacreon drawne the Ayre
Of her face, and made to rise
Just about her sparkling eyes,
Both her Browes, bent like my Bow.
By her lookes I doe her know,
Which you call my Shafts. And see!
Such my Mothers blushes be,
As the Bath your verse discloses
In her cheekes, of Milke, and Roses;
Such as oft I wanton in?
And, above her even chin,
Have you plac'd the banke of kisses,
Where you say, men gather blisses,
Rip'ned with a breath more sweet,
Then when flowers, and West-winds meet.
Nay, her white and polish'd neck,
With the Lace that doth it deck,

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Is my Mothers! Hearts of slaine
Lovers, made into a Chaine!
And betweene each rising breast,
Lyes the Valley, cal'd my nest,
Where I sit and proyne my wings
After flight; and put new stings
To my shafts! Her very Name,
With my Mothers is the same.
I confesse all, I replide,
And the Glasse hangs by her side,
And the Girdle 'bout her waste,
All is Venus: save unchaste.
But alas, thou seest the least
Of her good, who is the best
Of her Sex; But could'st thou Love,
Call to mind the formes, that strove
For the Apple, and those three
Make in one, the same were shee.
For this Beauty yet doth hide,
Something more then thou hast spi'd
Outward Grace weake love beguiles:
Shee is Venus, when she smiles,
But shee's Juno, when she walkes,
And Minerva, when she talkes.

6. Clayming a second kisse by Desert.

Charis guesse, and doe not misse,
Since I drew a Morning kisse
From your lips, and suck'd an ayre
Thence, as sweet, as you are faire.

What my Muse and I have done:
Whether we have lost, or wonne,
If by us, the oddes were laid,
That the Bride (allow'd a Maid)
Look'd not halfe so fresh, and faire,
With th'advantage of her haire,
And her Jewels, to the view
Of th'Assembly, as did you!

Or, that did you sit, or walke,
You were more the eye, and talke
Of the Court, to day, then all
Else that glister'd in White-hall;
So, as those that had your sight,
Wisht the Bride were chang'd to night,
And did thinke, such Rites were due
To no other Grace but you!

Or, if you did move to night
In the Daunces, with what spight

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Of your Peeres, you were beheld,
That at every motion sweld
So to see a Lady tread,
As might all the Graces lead,
And was worthy (being so seene)
To be envi'd of the Queene.
Or if you would yet have stay'd,
Whether any would up-braid
To himselfe his losse of Time;
Or have charg'd his sight of Crime,
To have left all sight for you:

Guesse of these, which is the true;
And, if such a verse as this,
May not claime another kisse.

7. Begging another, on colour of mending the former.

For Loves-sake, kisse me once againe,
I long, and should not beg in vaine,
Here's none to spie, or see;
Why doe you doubt, or stay?
I'le taste as lightly as the Bee,
That doth but touch his flower, and flies away.
Once more, and (faith) I will be gone
Can he that loves, aske lesse then one?
Nay, you may erre in this,
And all your bountie wrong:
This could be call'd but halfe a kisse.
What w'are but once to doe, we should doe long,
I will but mend the last, and tell
Where, how it would have relish'd well;
Joyne lip to lip, and try:
Each suck others breath.
And whilst our tongues perplexed lie,
Let who will thinke us dead, or wish our death.

8. Urging her of a promise.

Charis one day in discourse
Had of Love, and of his force,
Lightly promis'd, she would tell
What a man she could love well:
And that promise set on fire
All that heard her, with desire.
With the rest, I long expected,
When the worke would be effected:

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But we find that cold delay,
And excuse spun every day,
As, untill she tell her one,
We all feare, she loveth none.
Therefore, Charis, you must do't,
For I will so urge you to't
You shall neither eat, nor sleepe,
No, nor forth your window peepe,
With your emissarie eye,
To fetch in the Formes goe by:
And pronounce, which band or lace,
Better fits him, then his face;
Nay I will not let you sit
'Fore your Idoll Glasse a whit,
To say over every purle
There; or to reforme a curle;
Or with Secretarie Sis
To consult, if Fucus this
Be as good, as was the last:
All your sweet of life is past,
Make accompt unlesse you can,
(And that quickly) speake your Man.

9. Her man described by her owne Dictamen.

Of your Trouble, Ben, to ease me,
I will tell what Man would please me.
I would have him if I could,
Noble; or of greater Blood:
Titles, I confesse, doe take me.
And a woman, God did make me.
French to boote, at least in fashion,
And his Manners of that Nation.

Young Il'd have him to, and faire,
Yet a man; with crisped haire
Cast in thousand snares, and rings
For Loves fingers, and his wings:
Chestnut colour, or more slack
Gold, upon a ground of black.
Venus, and Minerva's eyes
For he must looke wanton-wise.

Eye-brows bent like Cupids bow,
Front, an ample field of snow;
Even nose, and cheeke (withall)
Smooth as is the Billiard Ball:
Chin, as woolly as the Peach;
And his lip should kissing teach,
Till he cherish'd too much beard,
And make Love or me afeard.

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He would have a hand as soft
As the Downe, and shew it oft;
Skin as smooth as any rush,
And so thin to see a blush
Rising through it e're it came;
All his blood should be a flame
Quickly fir'd as in beginners
In loves schoole, and yet no sinners.

'Twere to long to speake of all,
What we harmonie doe call
In a body should be there.
Well he should his clothes to weare;
Yet no Taylor help to make him
Drest, you still for man should take him;
And not thinke h'had eat a stake,
Or were set up in a Brake.

Valiant he should be as fire,
Shewing danger more then ire.
Bounteous as the clouds to earth;
And as honest as his Birth.
All his actions to be such,
As to doe nothing too much.
Nor o're-praise, nor yet condemne;
Nor out-valew, nor contemne;
Nor doe wrongs, nor wrongs receave;
Nor tie knots, nor knots unweave;
And from basenesse to be free,
As he durst love Truth and me.

Such a man, with every part,
I could give my very heart;
But of one, if short he came,
I can rest me where I am.

10. Another Ladyes exception present at the hearing.

For his Mind, I doe not care,
That's a Toy, that I could spare:
Let his Title be but great,
His Clothes rich, and band sit neat,
Himselfe young, and face be good,
All I wish is understood
What you please, you parts may call,
'Tis one good part I'ld lie withall.

University of Virginia Library

A Celebration of Charis in ten Lyrick Peeces.

1. His Excuse for loving.