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Aurelian Townshend's Poem and Masks

Edited by E. K. Chambers
Townshend, Aurelian (fl. 1601-1643)

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Poems from Songbooks.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II. To the Countesse of Salisbury.
 III. 
III. Youth and Beauty.
 IV. 
IV. A Dialogue betwixt Time and a Pilgrime.
 V. 
V. A Bacchanall.
 VI. 
VI. In praise of his Mistress.
 VII. 
VII. Sufferance.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX. On his hearing her Majesty sing.
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Poems from Manuscripts.
 X. 
X. To the Lady May.
 XI. 
XI
 XII. 
XII.
 XIII. 
XIII. Pure Simple Love.
 XIV. 
XIV. A Paradox.
 XV. 
XV.
 XVI. 
XVI. An Elegie made by Mr Aurelian Townshend In remembrance of the Ladie Venetia Digby.
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Commendatory Poems.
 XVII. 
XVII. To the Right Honourable, the Lord Cary, eldest sonne to the Earle of Monmouth.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. To the Incomparable Brothers, Mr. Henry, and Mr. William Lawes (Servants to His Majestie) upon the setting of these Psalmes.
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Doubtful Poems.
 XIX. 
XIX. Mr. Townsends Verses to Ben Johnsons, in answer to an Abusive Copie, crying down his Magnetick Lady.
 XX. 
XX.
 XXI. 
XXI. La Boiuinette.
 XXII. 
XXII. Upon kinde and true Love.
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ALBIONS TRIVMPH.
  
The first Song.
  
The first Chorus.
  
The second Song.
  
The second Chorus.
  
The third Song.
  
The Dialogue betweene Cvpid and Diana.
  
The Chorus below sing.
  
The fourth Song.
  
The fift Song.
  
The sixth Song sung by the five Deities.
  
Peace Sings alone the seventh Song.
  
The Five.
  
The eighth Song.
  
The last generall Chorus.
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TEMPE RESTORD
  
The fugitive Favourite.
  
The Song of Circe, represented by Madam Coniacke.
  
Harmony presented by Mris Shep.
  
A Saraband.
  
The Highest Sphere represented by Mr. Laneere.
  
The Song.
  
[It is but Iustice, to torment a heart]

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11

VII. Sufferance.

Delicate Beauty, why should you disdaine
With pity at least to lessen my pain?
Yet if you purpose to render no cause,
Will and not Reason is Judge of those Lawes.
Suffer in silence I can with delight
Courting your Anger to live in your sight,
Inwardly languish, and like my disease,
Alwaies provided my sufferance please.
Take all my comforts in present away,
Let all but the hope of your favour decay,
Rich in reversion Ile live as content,
As he to whom Fortune her fore lock hath lent.
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