Emblemes (1635) and Hieroglyphikes (1638) :: :: University of Virginia Library

You holy Virgins, that so oft surround
The Cities Saphyre Wals, whose snowy feet
Measure the pearly Paths of sacred, ground,
And trace the new Jerus'lems Jasper street;
Ah, you whose care-forsaken hearts are crown'd
With your best wishes; that enjoy the sweet
Of all your Hopes; If ere you chance to spie
My absent Love, O tell him that I lie
Deep wounded with the flames, that furnac'd from his eye.

2

I charge you, Virgins, as you hope to heare
The heav'nly Musick of your Lovers voice;
I charge you by the solemne faith ye beare
To plighted vowes, and to the loyall choice
Of your Affections; or, if ought more deare
You hold; by Hymen; by your marriage joyes,
I charge you, tell him, that a flaming dart,
Shot from his Eye, hath pierc'd my bleeding heart;
And I am sick of love, and languish in my smart.

3

Tell him, O tell him, how my panting brest
Is scorch'd with flames, and how my soule is pin'd;
Tell him, O tell him, how I lie opprest
With the full torments of a troubled mind;
O tell him, tell him, that he loves in jest,
But I, in earnest; Tell him, hee's unkind:
But if a discontented frowne appeares
Upon his angry Brow, accoast his eares
With soft and fewer words, and act the rest in teares.

4

O tell him, that his cruelties deprive
My soule, of peace, while peace, in vaine, she seeks;
Tell him, those Damask roses, that did strive,
With white, both fade upon my sallow cheeks;
Tell him, no token does proclaime I live,
But teares, and sighs, and sobs, and sudden shreeks;

Thus if your piercing words should chance to bore
His harkning eare, and move a sigh, give ore
To speak; and tell him—Tell him, that I could do no more.

5

If your elegious breath should hap to rouze
A happy teare, close harb'ring in his eye,
The urge his plighted faith, the sacred vowes,
Which neither I can break, nor He deny;
Bewaile the Torments of his loyall Spouse,
That for his sake, would make a sport to die:
O blessed Virgins, how my passion tires
Beneath the burthen of her vaine desires!
Heav'n never shot such flames, Earth never felt such fires.

S. AUGUST. Med. cap. 40.

What shall I say? What shall I doe? Whether shall I goe? Where shall I seek him? Or when shall I find him? Whom shall I ask? Who will tell my beloved that I am sick of love?

GULIEL. in Cap. 5. Cant.

I live; But not I: It is my beloved that lives in me: I love my selfe, not with my owne love, but with the love of my beloved, that loves me: I love not my selfe in my selfe, but my selfe in him, and him in me.