The poetical works of William Strode ... Now first collected from manuscript and printed sources: to which is added: The floating island a tragi-comedy: Now first reprinted from the original edition of 1655: Edited by Bertram Dobell with a memoir of the author |
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| DOUBTFUL PIECES |
 | The poetical works of William Strode |  |
122
DOUBTFUL PIECES
123
A SONNET
[Mourne, mourne, yee lovers: Flowers dying]
Mourne, mourne, yee lovers: Flowers dyingLive againe, the cold defying,
But Beauties floure once dead dyes ever,
Falls as soone, and riseth never.
Mourne, mourne, yee lovers: sadly singing
Love hath his Winter, and no springing.
124
A SONNET
[Sing aloud, harmonious sphears]
Sing aloud, harmonious sphears:Let your concord reach Jove's eares.
Play your old lessons ore againe,
And keepe time in every strayne,
For now the Gods are listning to your laies
As they are passing through the milky waies.
OBSEQUIES
Draw not too neare,
Unlesse you droppe a tear
On this stone,
Where I groane,
And will weepe,
Untill eternall sleepe
Shall charm my weary eyes.
Clora lyes heere,
Embalm'd with many a teare,
Which the swaines
From the plaines
Here have payde,
And many a vestall mayde
Hath mourn'd her obsequies;
Their snowy breasts they teare,
And rend theyr golden heare,
Casting cries
To celestiall dieties,
To returne
Her beauty from the urne,
To raigne
Unparaleld on earth againe:
When straight a sound
From the ground,
Piercing the ayre
Cryed Shee's dead,
Her soule is fledde
Unto a place most rare.
Unlesse you droppe a tear
On this stone,
Where I groane,
And will weepe,
Untill eternall sleepe
Shall charm my weary eyes.
Clora lyes heere,
Embalm'd with many a teare,
Which the swaines
From the plaines
Here have payde,
And many a vestall mayde
Hath mourn'd her obsequies;
Their snowy breasts they teare,
And rend theyr golden heare,
Casting cries
125
To returne
Her beauty from the urne,
To raigne
Unparaleld on earth againe:
When straight a sound
From the ground,
Piercing the ayre
Cryed Shee's dead,
Her soule is fledde
Unto a place most rare.
You spirits that doe keepe
The dust of those that sleepe
Under the ground,
Heare the sound
Of a swaine,
That folds his arms in vayne,
Unto the ashes he adores.
For pity do not fright
Him wandering in the night:
Whilst he laves
Virgins graves
With his eyes,
Unto their memoryes
Contributing sad showers:
And when my name is read
In the number of the dead,
Some one may
In Charity repay
My sad soul
The tribute which she gave,
And howle
Some requiem on my grave.
Then weepe no more,
Greife will not restore
Her freed from care.
Though she be dead,
Her soul is fledde
Unto a place more rare.
The dust of those that sleepe
Under the ground,
Heare the sound
Of a swaine,
That folds his arms in vayne,
Unto the ashes he adores.
For pity do not fright
Him wandering in the night:
Whilst he laves
Virgins graves
With his eyes,
Unto their memoryes
Contributing sad showers:
And when my name is read
In the number of the dead,
Some one may
In Charity repay
126
The tribute which she gave,
And howle
Some requiem on my grave.
Then weepe no more,
Greife will not restore
Her freed from care.
Though she be dead,
Her soul is fledde
Unto a place more rare.
UPON HEAVENS BEST IMAGE, HIS FAIRE AND VERTUOUS MISTRESSE, M.S.
The most insulting tyrants can but be
Lords of our bodies; still our minds are free.
My Mistress thralls my soul, those chains of gold,
Her locks, my very thoughts infettered hold.
Then sure she is a Goddesse, and if I
Should worship her 'tis no Idolatry.
Lords of our bodies; still our minds are free.
My Mistress thralls my soul, those chains of gold,
Her locks, my very thoughts infettered hold.
Then sure she is a Goddesse, and if I
Should worship her 'tis no Idolatry.
Within her cheeks a fragrant garden lies
Where Roses mixt with Lillies feast mine eyes:
Here's alwayes spring, no winter to annoy
Those heavenly flowers, onely some tears of joy
Doe water them, and sure, if I be wise,
This garden is another Paradice.
Where Roses mixt with Lillies feast mine eyes:
127
Those heavenly flowers, onely some tears of joy
Doe water them, and sure, if I be wise,
This garden is another Paradice.
Her eyes two heavenly lamps, whose ordered motion
Swayes all my senses, reason, and devotion;
And yet those beams did then most glorious shine
When passions dark had mask'd this soul of mine:
Now if the night her glory best declare,
What can I deem them but a starry paire.
Swayes all my senses, reason, and devotion;
And yet those beams did then most glorious shine
When passions dark had mask'd this soul of mine:
Now if the night her glory best declare,
What can I deem them but a starry paire.
Her brow is vertues court, where she alone
Triumphants sits in faultlesse beauties throne:
Did you but mark its purenesse you would swear
Diana's come from Heaven to sojourne there:
Onely this Cynthia dims not even at noon,
There wants a man (methinks) in such a Moone.
Triumphants sits in faultlesse beauties throne:
Did you but mark its purenesse you would swear
Diana's come from Heaven to sojourne there:
Onely this Cynthia dims not even at noon,
There wants a man (methinks) in such a Moone.
Her breath is great Jove's incense, sweeter far
Then all Arabian winds & spices are;
Her voice the sphear's best musick, & those twins
Her armes, a precious paire of Cherubs wings.
In briefe she is a map of Heaven, & there
O would that I a constellation were.
Then all Arabian winds & spices are;
Her voice the sphear's best musick, & those twins
Her armes, a precious paire of Cherubs wings.
In briefe she is a map of Heaven, & there
O would that I a constellation were.
128
ON HIS MISTRESSE
Gaze not on swans in whose soft breast
A full hatcht beauty seems to rest,
Nor snow which falling from the sky
Hovers in its virginity.
A full hatcht beauty seems to rest,
Nor snow which falling from the sky
Hovers in its virginity.
Gaze not on roses though new blown
Grac'd with a fresh complexion,
Nor lilly which no subtle bee
Hath rob'd by kissing chemistry.
Grac'd with a fresh complexion,
Nor lilly which no subtle bee
Hath rob'd by kissing chemistry.
129
Gaze not on that pure milky way
Where night vies splendour with the day,
Nor pearls whose silver walls confine
The riches of an Indian mine:
Where night vies splendour with the day,
Nor pearls whose silver walls confine
The riches of an Indian mine:
For if my emperesse appears
Swans moultring dy, snows melt to tears,
Roses do blush and hang their heads
Pale lillyes shrink into their beds;
Swans moultring dy, snows melt to tears,
Roses do blush and hang their heads
Pale lillyes shrink into their beds;
The milky way rides poast to shrowd
Its baffled glory in a clowd,
And pearls do climb unto her eare
To hang themselves for envy there.
Its baffled glory in a clowd,
And pearls do climb unto her eare
To hang themselves for envy there.
So have I seene stars big with light,
Proud lanthorns to the moone-ey'd night,
Which when Sol's rays were once display'd
Sunk in their sockets and decay'd.
Proud lanthorns to the moone-ey'd night,
Which when Sol's rays were once display'd
Sunk in their sockets and decay'd.
130
A SONG
[As I my flocks lay keeping]
As I my flocks lay keepingMine eyes they fell a-sleeping;
I wott I have neere wakte againe,
For when my head I raysde
I round about gazde
To seeke my love, but sought in vayne.
Let foulnesse now be saynted,
All beauty's tainted;
Since fayth she has none.
I wayle, I weepe,
I dye, I sleepe,
In sorrowes all alone.
A SONG
[Thoughts doe not vexe me whilst I sleep]
Thoughts doe not vexe me whilst I sleep,Griefe doe not thus disturbe mee:
Smile not false hope, whilst that I weepe,
Alas! she cannot love mee.
Had I been as cold and nice,
And as often turning,
Then as shee had I been ice,
And shee as I now burning.
Tears flow no more from my sadd eyes,
Sighes do not soe oppresse mee;
Stoppe not your ears at these my cryes,
But oh! for shame release mee.
131
And as full of mourning,
Very griefe would make you die,
Or at least cease scorning.
UPON A GENTLEWOMAN'S ENTERTAINMENT OF HIM
Whether, sweet Mistress, I should mostCommend your music or your cost:
Your well-spread table, or the choise
Banquet of your hand and voyce,
There's none will doubt: for can there be
'Twixt earth and heaven analogy?
Or shall a trencher or dish stand
In competition with your hand?
Your hand that turns men all to ear,
Your hand whose every joints a sphere:
For certainly he that shall see
The swiftnesse of your harmony,
Will streightwayes in amazement prove
The spheares to you but slowly move;
And in that thought confess that thus
The Heavens are come down to us,
As he may well, when he shall hear
Such airs as may be sung even there:
Your sacred Anthems, strains that may
Grace the eternal Quire to play:
132
By Angels only to be heard.
Then happy I that was so blest
To be yours and your music's guest,
For which I'd change all other cheer,
Thinking the best, though given, too dear.
For yours are delicates that fill,
And filling leave us empty still:
Sweetmeats that surfeit to delight,
Whose fullness is mere appetite.
Then farewell all our heavenly fare,
Those singing dainties of the air,
For you to me do seem as good
As all the consorts of the wood;
And might I but enjoy by choice,
My Quire should be your only voice.
ON ALMA'S VOYCE
What magick art
Compells my soul to fly away,
And leave desart
My poor composed trunk of clay?
Strange violence! thus pleasingly to teare
The soul forth of the body by the eare.
Compells my soul to fly away,
And leave desart
My poor composed trunk of clay?
Strange violence! thus pleasingly to teare
The soul forth of the body by the eare.
133
When Alma sings
The pretty chanters of the skie
Doe droop their wings
As in disgrace they meant to die,
Because their tunes which were before so rare
Compar'd to hers doe but distract the air.
The pretty chanters of the skie
Doe droop their wings
As in disgrace they meant to die,
Because their tunes which were before so rare
Compar'd to hers doe but distract the air.
Each sensitive
In emulation proudly stands,
Striving to thrive
Under the bliss of her commands,
Whose charming voyce doth bears & tigers tame,
And teach the sphears new melodies to frame.
In emulation proudly stands,
Striving to thrive
Under the bliss of her commands,
Whose charming voyce doth bears & tigers tame,
And teach the sphears new melodies to frame.
The Angells all
(Astonisht at her heavenly air)
Would sudden fall
From cold amazement to dispaire,
But that by nimble theft they all conspire
To steal her hence for to enrich their quire.
(Astonisht at her heavenly air)
Would sudden fall
From cold amazement to dispaire,
But that by nimble theft they all conspire
To steal her hence for to enrich their quire.
UPON A PICTURE
Behold those faire eyes, in whose sightSparkles a lustre no less bright
Than that of rising Stars when they
Would make the night outshine the day.
To those pure lips the humming be
May as to blooming Roses flee:
134
Courting in vain that lovely curle,
And makes a murmur in despaire,
To dally the unmooved haire.
View but the cheeks where the red Rose
And Lilly white a beauty grows,
So orient as might adorne
The flowing of the brightest morne.
Sure 'tis no Picture, nere was made
So much perfection in a shade:
Her shape is soule enough to give
A senseless Marble power to live.
this an Idol be, no eye
Can ever scape Idolatry.
[DEATH-SONG]
Come, let us howle some heavy note,Some deadly dogged howl,
Sounding as from the crying throate
Of beasts or fatal fowle,
As ravens, scrichowles, bulls, and bears,
Wee'l bell and bawl our partes:
Till irksome noise hath cloy'd our ears,
And corrosived our hearts,
And last when that our quire wants breth,
Our bodies being blest,
Wee'l sing like Swans to welcome death,
And dye in peace and rest.
135
TO HIS PAPER
Flye nimble paper, light upon those handsWhich have detained mee in perpetual bands:
Go count those ivory palmes whose lilly hewe
May represent thee to immortall view.
Mount upp unto her eyes that there may shine
Impressions of my love in every lyne;
Expresse with silent eloquence the rare
And true affection allwayes that I bare
To thy sweete reader: lett her there behold
The discontent and zealous payne enrolld
Within a lover's breast. Tell her how I
Am forc't to vent my sighes in poetry,
And pine away with pastime of a verse,
Making thee both my epicede and hearse.
Present unto her an eternal mapp
Of my disastrous fortune and mishapp:
Delineate my passion and my payne
Bredd with a deepe conceyt of her disdayne:
Perhapps her flinty hart will then strike fire,
And equall joyne her flames with my desire:
Perhapps her cheerful brow and starlike eye
Will lend a better aspect e'er I dye:
But if shee frown and thou neglected lye,
Thou know'st (deare paper) thy fowle destiny.
136
TO THE SAME
Goe happie paper and for ever restWithin the Paradise of Parthenia's breast:
Live there, O never lett thy lynes forsake her,
Tenne thousand times more happie than the maker:
Goe kisse her hands and in my name salute her,
And tell her thus that silence is her suitor;
Tell her that silence acts a sadder story,
Than oathes or vowes or frantic oratory.
The beggar that is dumbe an almes shall have
Greater than hee that hath a tongue to crave:
Be then the dailie object of her eye,
Crowd and gett uppermost wherere thou lye:
If high preferrment call thee as a guest
To lodge in the faire chamber of her breast,
Lye close and lett noe jealous eye behold thee,
If any doe lett none but her unfold thee:
And often as she reads thee smile upon her;
Tell her her dearest friend is thinking on her:
Tell her if you twoe chance to sleepe together—
[OMITTED]
| The poetical works of William Strode | |