Clarastella :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou'rt gone, and yet Thou'rt here, to let us see
The pow'r of verse, how't makes Ubiquitie:
Thus th'husbandman away the Harvest bears,
And leavs the Poor to glean som scatter'd ears;
Thus we enjoy the Tap-wort of thy Muse,
Whilst others quaff off thy Diviner juyce:
That thou wilt drop these Crums, 'tis Comfort yet
To them that Cann't deserve thy Cates to eat;
Thy Dainties are for forreign pallats, wee
Are bless'd with scraps, That too, no thank to thee;
For had not Fate, or Providence thrown us These,
Hunger had been our Fare—and without Ease.
But I have seen thy choycest cheer, and wish
Thy several Arts to th'making up one dish:
Thy rich Composures. I have seen Thee Frame
Varietie in that, which was the same:
But much-good-do't-you Friends! for Wee're not right,
Either in Pallat, or in Appetite.
Ne'r fewer Raptures in an Age, less wit,
Less Judgement, Fancie, Poetry, and yet
Th'unthrifty science ne'r more credit gain'd,
Nor Poesie in greater triumph raign'd:
The Laurel fades on Mercenary browes,
But on the neck of Honour spreads her boughes.

When Salary and profit rul'd the Age,
Some few, would, now and then, ride post, a stage;
But Now 'tis otherwise—the Nobler steed
Fames fleetest Coursers, Pegasus own breed
Do stately praunce 'bout Helicons Lov'd Brink,
And at the Muses-Well would daily drink.
The Alteration of the Times is such,
Great ones turn Poets now—and so grow rich.
All witt at Livery stood before, but now
The Gentry are at leisure, a Lord too
Can spare his great attendance, whilst hee sits
And Votes—Happy the man 'Can Live by's wits.
And such art Thou—
Had'st thou breath'd, then, thine Ayres, so pure and free
Th'adst won the VVench, that now enjoy'st the Tree;
Apollo, then, would ha' been forc'd t'resign,
His Courtship (friend) would have come short of Thine:
The greater favour, thine, I take to bee,
While Hee grasps Her, shee twines Her Arms 'bout Thee.

G.H.

POEMS, &c.

The Temple of Virtue.

Reach me an Eagles plume! or take
From Mercurie's Æthereal wing
Some highborn quil my pen to make,
Whilst I of Virtue sing!
Th'Imperial Bay which Poets wore
In Saturn's age, and humbly grew
From base ignoble earth, is poore;
My Temples some more new
Unheard-of garland shall invest;
One of Apollo's burnish'd hair
Twisted with threds of life, and drest
With Sol's bright raies, Ile weare.
Hence all prophaner ears! my Lyre
Exalted to Seraphick height,
Ecchoes streins worthy such a Quire,
And scorns a lower flight.
Mounted me thinks on Pegasus,
From the despised world I flie
Aloft in clouds, where soaring thus
I view this Deitie.
There sits she crown'd in glorious state,
And whitest robes of Innocence;
Not in that poore despis'd estate
As she was banisht hence.

I'th' midst of a fair temple, there
Unto her Honour consecrate,
Her handmaids 'bout her Royal chair
Adorn'd with Trophies wait.
Oh did blind mortals but behold,
How she dispenseth gifts each where
To her attendants, I'd be bold
They would with greater care
Serve at her Altars! but alas!
They fondly sleight her here below,
And think her nothing worth because
Shee doth so meanly go.
They do not know what Conquest 'tis
To have o'rcome one Rebel vice,
What crowns of joy he purchases
Who gets such victories.
Virtue rewardeth sure, though late;
Who growes soon rich by policie
And thriving Arts, doth purchase hate,
And robs his market, he
Thus by forestalling it. Light gains
Make heavie purses: Honestie
That doth it self reward, disdains
Boones oft in modestie.
For Virtues sake lets her affect
And not for praise or benefit
Accruing thence, such by-respect
Robs both our selves, and it.
Oh what a glorious Court doth there
Of all the Graces Virtues too
In female shape and dresse appear!
As if they would out-doe
The Heav'ns in splendour, and confine
All worth unto that sex! behold
Where Modestie in blush divine
With Roses set in gold
Triumphant shines! and close by her,
Silence that Pythagorean grace

Hee taught his scholars, but by far
More becomes female race.
Next her sits Innocence arrai'd
In snow-white robes, and on her head
A Chaplet wears of Love all made
And Lillies mingled.
Hard by this Peer sits Chastitie,
Her ears close bound about, for fear
(Though crown'd with Lillies too) lest she
Should ought offensive hear.
By her with book in hand, her eies
Fixt upwards sits true Pietie,
As she with Prai'r cou'd pierce the skies,
Crown'd with a Galaxie.
There Love, here Affabilitie,
And by her, noble Gentleness;
By whom sits faithful Constancie,
Each deckt in several dresse:
Lowest of all Humilitie
Stands gravely by, as who wou'd say
(Though She were crowned too) that shee
Serv'd waitingmaid that day.
More do I Laureate view among
These holy Nymphs: but oh! I see
High above all this sacred throng,
A richer Deitie,
To whom these homage did, so fair,
That I'l approach and neerer prie;
Chiefly our eies delighted are
With Curiositie.
Nor is't enough one Grace to know;
The way's all pav'd with stars, to blisse;
We must from one to th'other go,
And climb to perfectness.
I'l through each Glorie then, and see
What mighty Goddesse dwelleth there,
Ruling with so much Majestie
In this diviner sphere.

It must be she, and Shee alone,
(Unless my dazled eies mistake)
Whom all these Virtues wait upon,
And their Queen Regent make.
'Tis shee: lov'd Clarastella, she
These Virtues court: with whose faire store
All mankind might enriched be,
And yet not leave her poor.
Thy pardon yet dear Quintessence
Of all perfection! if I—
In this thy holy conference
Intruding presse too nigh.
'Twas Love did guide me to thy shrine,
Where I'l adoring serve alone
Thee, Virtues self, whose soul divine
doth make these all, but one.

On a dust got in Clarastella's eie.

Can I with patience this my rival see
Courting those flames so long ador'd by mee?
Forcing her shut her eies from me, and thaw
A tear, which all my sighes ne'r thence could draw?
Canst thou small crum of earth eclips my Sun,
And make it set in clouds e'r day be done?
Could ought but Atomes to this Orb aspire?
Durst ought but dust approach so great a fire?
Hence thou unluckie beam, but more unkind,
That mak'st at once me and my Stella blind!

What have I said? my pious rage hath burn'd
Too hot, and hath on the wrong object turn'd:
Forgive me little moat; I know thou'rt free;
How hath my angry zeale accused thee?
'Las thou wast thither onely sent by me,
My guiltless loves unhappy Mercurie.

Wouldst know then (Fairest?) whence this dust doth rise?
'Tis caus'd by th'flaming sparkles of thine eies,
Which like the lightning through my veins have shot
Such ardent flames of love, so scorching hot,
My heart's ev'n burnt to ashes; hence it flies,
Dust as you made it, back into your eies.

On Clarastella singing to the Eccho at Aythorn Church in Kent.

'Twas when the Sun had purpled all the West,
And newly stole into his Rosie nest
To bring the Tartars morn; our Nymph was grown
Weary with walking, and did lay her down
Upon the tender trefoiles, glad to yield
Unto so soft a pressure, in a field
Neer Aythorns holy Church, to satisfie
Our joynt requests with her sweet harmonie;
In a serene stil Summers evening,
Fair Stella did exalt her voyce and sing.

And as the torrent of her melodie
Did genly flow in new varietie
Of melting streins, in whose swoln rapsodies
Shee cool'd the dayes heat, and thus fann'd the skies,
The sacred walls, but streight was answer'd too;
As if her Angel voyce had eccho'd bin
By the blest musick of some Cherubin:
Whilst from the Church the listning Spirit there
Through envie of her phansies chirp't to her,
And with distinguisht tones in ev'ry mood
And skilful accent made her murmurs good.
'Twas in the Church this Rival dwelt; 'tis there
A better Eccho wil our sighings hear

And answer too, though ne'r so softly groand:
(Where live thou stil in this thy sphere enthron'd)

Soon as Shee did perceive her Art out-done
By the invisible division
Of the Reporters voyce, she stretcht her throat
And warbling daunced on a treble noat
In loftier measures. These th'Eccho likewise sent
More perfect back, than from her first they went.

Shame now 'twixt grief and anger plac'd, did raise
Our Stella, and provoke to second laies:
One whiles she soars like the morns Lark on high,
As with exalted voyce shee'd pierce the skie,
Then with a sullen flat and deeper base,
As she would marrie her Immortal laies
With her diviner Odes, she humbly dwels
O th'Gamut. Th'Eccho too this lesson spels,
And thus repeating descants on each strein
Much more distinctly relish'd and more plain.
How have I lov'd Church-musick e'r since I
First there heard this so heav'nly harmonie?

Thus by alternate strivings as they had
Ev'n sung the Sun asleep, and made us sad
In their behalf, scarce knowing which t'admire,
And count the Mistresse of this holy Quire:
Our Stella did attempt it once again
To get the conquest; but alas! in vain
She striving tir'd, and tir'd was fain to yield,
While the Church-Saint was heard the last i'th' field.

On Loving at first sight.

So smiles the Sun indeed with cheerful eie
On the bright gold his raies inform'd; and so
Doth that its borrow'd beams reflect. But why
Our hearts turn'd Solar, should each other wooe
In silence by aspect, I wonder, I.

The Heliotrope that marks with watchful eie
His Sol's beloved face, and gathers thence
Those am'rous features which he there did spie,
Preserving them by secret influence,
Waits on him with religious Loyaltie.

By sighes and groans so wooe the Turtles, and
Thus doe the Mutes by signes articulate
Mysteriously each other understand;
And in this Brachygrapie can relate
Their wils, with onely help of eie and hand.

Nature and Art doth these instruct, but we
Led with more reason do our loves expresse
By louder organs tongues: though the eie be
The souls true speaking index I confesse,
Yet do we more believe the ear, than eie.

Our formes in mirrours weep with us, or smile;
So at these christal casements of the eies,
Our other selves are represented, while
Each visual beam by repercussion is
First met, and so retort by joynt recoyle.

Thus from the sparkling beam of eithers eie,
Fann'd by their medium air, their hearts prepar'd,
Like tinder, catch Loves fire by sympathie,
And mingle flames. Let Lovers then award
Cupid his eies, since theirs so wel can see.

On a black mole on Clarastella's faire check.

How fair a Character hath Nature wrot!
And printed on her cheek in black and white!
While this i'th' fairer Copie is no blot,
But a ful period; that the Reader might
The better understand the sence, and know
That here Shee stopt, and could no further go.

As when the skilful Artist hath exprest
With lively colours a fair countenance,
Yet he at last doth shadow forth the rest,
And so with shades the beauty much advance:
So Nature having drawn this lovely piece,
VVith this last shade perfects her Artifice.

'Tis like the mark o'th' richer text: or hand
O'th' margent leading to some Paradise,
VVhere't points at some choise flow'r i'th' garden, and
Bids you there fix, and feast your greedie eies:
This molehil's Cupids throne, on which he sits,
And with his love-arm'd shafts each breast he hits.

Let meaner beauties patch their painted faces,
Studying the black art of complection,
Nature hath here without Arts helping Graces,
Firmly engraved all perfection.
Stella's the pattern which they imitate;
They have no form but what they do create.

Bleeding at the nose at Clarastella's approach.

So at the Murtherers approach we see
The Corps weep at its wounds again;
And I who first was slain
And rob'd of Reasons soul by thee,
Walk but a living Corps, and drawing nigh,
Thus doth my guiltless blood thy murther crie.
From my dead heart it flowes, and boldly there
It stares thee in thy guiltie face
(Fair cruel Murtheresse!)
Soon as I thee approach more neat:
While thus the spirits all emitted are,
And for thee blushing in my face appear.
Yet back thou smal remainder of my life
And bid my drooping heart revive
Which thus again may live,
Could it but some remorseful grief
Raise in thee at this horrid sight, that then
You may be quit, and I no Ghost agen.

Seeing Her Dancing.

Robes loosly slowing, and aspect as free,
A carelesse carriage deckt with modestie;
A smiling look, but yet severe:
Such comely Graces 'bout her were.
Her steps with such an evenness she wove,
As shee could hardly be perceiv'd to move;
Whilst her silk sailes displaied, shee
Swam like a ship with Majestie.

As when with stedfast eies we view the Sun,
We know it goes though see no motion;
So undiscern'd she mov'd, that we
Perceiv'd shee stirr'd, but did not see.

To her having got a great Cold.

What blasting dewes are these
That on thy active spirits seize?
And tie that tongue, did make
Musick to all that heard it speak?
As by the fire Ice is
Made by Antiperistasis;
So doth thy hearts flame within
And th'warm ayr ambient 'bout thy skin
And colder self, congeal it
To such a coldnesse you scarce feel it.
'Tis so: the heat is more intense
And glowes by th'numness of each sense.
But oh! that vital part
Kil not (thou cruel frost!) her heart!
May th'Elemental fire
That burns there purely through desire,
Scorch, like our fires below
More fiercely, for the frost and snow!

The Invocation to Cupid.

Oh do not look me dead, fair eies!
Do not allure and then despise!
Be kind but as your picture! that
Will look and smile, though you will not.

Ye Gods! or women make lesse fair!
Or else lesse cruell then they are!
Or strike me Cupid blind like thee,
So I my torment shal not see.

To one blaming my high-minded Love.

Too great? wherein? is it in wealth or bloud?
Or is she any way too good?
The sacred treasure that I bring, is Love,
Angels enjoy nor wish no more;
'Tis Sovereign too, and sans allay will prove
As rich as both her Indies doubled o're.

Love makes equality; nor wil admit
Finites should bound an Infinite:
Who sets no value on himself, shal ne'r
By others much esteemed be.
Blind Cupid doth assist the bold, while fear
Unman's the heart, and shuts the Lovers eie.

But she is high and wel-discended; true;
My birth stiles me as freeborn too;
No peasant bloud doth stein or chil my veins,
And the proud Youth that warms them, he
Was of a Goddesse born, and thus disdeins
I should adore lesse than a Deitie.

My loves diviner flames do upwards flie
By nature like their sparks on high;
Base heavy things do only downward tend
To the dull center gave them birth;
But heav'n-deduced spirits there ascend:
Whilst low ignoble minds fix to their earth.

Mans sight erected looks to Heav'n, that so
His thoughts he there might level too:

She is the Empyræum of my love;
Whose Glories though they blast mine eys,
Yet shall my Eagles singed feathers prove
Bright Trophæes of a gallant enterprise.

On Clarastella's Picture drawn very like her.

Fair shadow of a fairer substance! when
Thy lively second self I see,
Nature doth blush that by Arts pow'rful pen
Stella agen create should bee.
See where She all identifi'd appears
Except that soul we cannot see!
Whilst this, her eys, forme, shape, and colour wears,
And 'cud it breath, w'ud say 'twere She.
Bright Image of my Saint! to thee I'd bow,
Were it not flat Idolatrie,
To think thoult hear what scarce deaf she wil do,
In hope thy lips can answer, I.
Yet will I make this holy use of thee:
The looking oft on thee may mind
Me of that more respectfull Deitie
That to my prai'rs may be enclin'd.

On Mrs. E. H. having red haire on her head, and on her left side a pure white lock growing.

Tell me no more of Helen fair,
Of Daphne, or that famous pair

Of lovely Dames whom Jove did court
And tempted to his bed of sport.
Such a fair wonder I shal tel
The Golden age cann't paralel:
Her hair the richest Metal yields,
Whilst she like Ceres gilds the fields:
And her smooth flesh with red and white
So fitly mixt, so purely bright,
While the choise flow'rs there smile so gay,
She's fair as Flora fresh as May.
Lillie and Rose dwell in her face,
In ev'ry look and smile a Grace,
And in whom all is understood
What we count either Fair or Good.

As is the Saints more precious head
With gilded raies environed;
So 'bout this Comet you shal see
The Embleme of her Deitie.
Such light surrounds, that all may say
'Tis she not Phœbus rules the day;
While those loose flames about her spread,
Irradiate, not shade her head.
Let me adore this Saint-like Shrine,
Ther's treasure in this golden mine:
It was not Jason, no; 'twas She
That got the Golden Fliece, not he.
She whose sweet looks and glorious hair
Dart like warm lightning through the air:
That in this golden show'r of love
She seems like Danae fit for Jove;
And the gilt threads which twisted lie
Wreathed with Arts Embroaderie,
About her Temples, in her praise
A Garland and a Crown do raise.
Why should fond Phansie then compare
The sadder with the brighter haire?
Black tresses 'come the browner hue
To set it off the better: you

Need no such foile; your Angel face
Wants neither beauty, worth, nor grace.

But here! behold a silver beam
Which from this Blazing-star doth stream,
And in such curling waves doth flow
About her Ivory breast below;
White as the soul she wears within,
Doth speak her pure and free from sin!
Not the blancht snow or Pearly dew
Of Morn, affords a brighter hue.
Here is that Christal milky way
Which leads (like morning to the day)
To Heav'n: oh thither let me come
And climb to loves Elysium!
So fitly on her left side plac't,
And with such beauty it is grac'd,
That Nature sure when this she gave her,
Bid her there wear it as her favour.

As in our Heraldry we deem
These colors of the best esteem,
With Sol and Luna blazing forth
The nobler Arms of higher worth:
So Nature having drawn this piece
(Then which was never artifice
So neatly pen'd and polisht o'r
With skilful art and beauty more)
Resolv'd for its great worth and fame,
To put it in a Golden frame.
If in these outward parts we find
Such worth; what bears her richer mind?

May this fair grove then never fade!
Or be by blasting time decaid!
May age ne'r hoar that lovely hair,
Or leave that golden mountain bare!
May not thy envious kemb presume
To pluck from thee one precious plume!
But if you shed a hair let't prove
A chain to lead thy captiv'd love

Or let 't a holy Relique be
Preserv'd to after ages free.
That the succeeding times may tell,
This from the Queen of Beauty fell.

Amoris Somnium. To Clarastella.

Love is a waking dream, where both the mind
And all the senses drownd in sleep we find:
Only the Phansie worketh, that doth range
And to a thousand strange Idæas change.
For as in dreams we often turn, and sigh,
And groan, as if we were about to die,
Sometimes we startle as we were afraid,
Then breath distracted words, and cry for aid:
So in a trance true Lovers restles are,
Fraught with disorder'd thoughts, and ful of care,
So speechles too, when they with grief opprest
Speak somewhat, and in sighs do vent the rest.

Stella! when thus you see me, wake me pray;
You know what ayles me, though I nothing say.

On Clarastella singing.

Ye that in love delight
Approach this sacred Quire, and feast your ears!
Whilst she the sweetest Syren sings,
Whose musick equals the harmonious spheres,
And perhaps richer pleasure brings!
The dying Swan or Philomel
O'th' wood, not warble's half so wel;

Observe the cadence where each dying sound,
Creates new Eccho's to a sift rebound.
Here's musick to the sight:
She looks and sings with such Majestick grace,
That when I Clarastella hear,
She more than woman seems, her voice and face
Taking at once both eie and eare,
That which of these two senses may
Be most refresht, is hard to say.
To glorifie her after death, Shee'l ne'r
Need change; She's Angel now, and Heav'n is here.

A Love Dialogue between Damon and Stella.

Dam.
I prithee Stella why so coy?
Be free as fair, and wee'l enjoy
New pleasures to Eternitie.

Stel.
—O no: I dare not, I.

Dam.
Nature's Apostate wilt thou prove,
That cements all with love?
When all her creatures coupled are,
Will you be singular?

Stel.
Though all were Male and Female made,
Yet none shal me invade.

Dam.
View but our mother earth whose fruit
Ads all the glory to it!
Where all things generate with delight,
And feeling appetite.

Stel.
I don't abjure societie,
'Tis fate commands Antipathie.

Dam.
The Sun whose powr'full influence
Actuates each soul with sence,
Inflames chast Turtles with desires;
And can you want such fires?

Stel.
Yes: and that bird shal imitate
That lives without a mate.

Dam.
Th'Arabian foul is chast alone
Because it is but one:
For had wise Nature made them two,
They wu'd like Doves and Sparrows do.

Stel.
Yet the chast Phænix is admir'd,
And thought the rarest bird.

Dam.
No: she is Natures wonder, 'cause
She only breaks her laws;
For which a Martyr in desire,
She penance doth in fire.

Stel.
But I shall die with cold.

Dam.
How then
Can you inflame us men?

Stel.
Although mine eie may sparkle, yet
My heart is frozen quite.

Chorus.
With warm embraces, hot desires,
And with loves soft yet active fires,
Let's warme each other til we prove
One flaming sacrifice to Love.

Clarastella playing sweetly on the Lute.

That empty guts of beasts, and hollow wood,
So rare a sound should make, what mortal wu'd
Believe? did he not see what heav'nly hand
Made the strings move and breath, at whose command
They died, or Ecchoed from the sacred Quire
Lays, did our souls as wel as them, inspire?
His lost Euridice when Orpheus won,
Alas, his skil compar'd with thine, was none:
He only taught the rocks to dance, you move
Each stony heart, inflam'd by you, to love;

Then with your powr'ful and enchaunting hand
Turn us to stones agen, and make us stand
Like unmov'd Statues, whilst amazed we
Attend the voice of heav'ns blest harmonie,

How the Gods listen to her graceful ayrs
Attentive as to Saints devouter pray'rs?
Wishing shee'd in those dying sounds expire
In swanlike extasie, to fil their quire!
Hark how she whispers from that holy bow'r,
An Ep'taph for each wounded Auditour!
While from her sweeter hand the warbling lyre
Borrows that sweetnes we so much admire.
Toucht by her quickning joints the active strings
Leap to expresse their joys, whilst the sound brings
Such new delight; I could but wish this blisse,
That hearing her, I had no sense but this.

To Clarastella. Loves enterteinment.

When Love was exild Heav'n, and to and fro
For want of friends did here a begging go,
To seek relief, in this sad pilgrimage
I entertein'd the Youth my mænial page.
And though he was of many held in scorn,
Yet knew I he was of a Goddesse born.
For whose fair sake I took him home, and laid
Him in the fairest lodging that I had.
I cloath'd the hunger sterved wretch when he
Was almost dead for cold and misery:
Daily I fed him with my sighs, and in
My tears he quencht his thirst and bath'd his skin.
Encourag'd thus the lad-grew sawcie, he
Would from a servant now a Master be.

First he entic'd my thoughts and cuningly
Wrought their consent to the Conspiracie;
Then he fast bound my senses by surprise,
That so he might at th'Porthole of mine eys
Bring in's Associate; then set th'fort on fire,
Having betraid the breastworks to desire.

You are that Goddesse hatcht and sent this spie,
I therefore do forgive his treacherie.
(Fair Empresse) now y'have got it by a wile,
I'l teach you how to keep it: with a smile.

On Clarastella walking in the Snow that dissolved assoon as it came near her or the ground she trod on.

When Heav'ns Mercurial drops flew gently down,
As they would cloath not pierce the ground;
Yet they no sooner landed and faln near
Her Glories, but 'twixt grief and fear
Lest by her candor their's should be outvyd,
In Envies tears dissolving di'd.
So have I seen bright falling Stars in show,
Quench in dark gellies here below,
When they false Meteors did (descended) spie
A truer light in Stella's eie:
Thus not hearts only when her warmth is felt
But Snow and fire it self do melt.

To Clarastella. Loves Silence.

Ay me! when I
Am blind with passion why
Should my best reason speechlesse prove?
Doth joyes excesse
(Which words can nere expresse)
In silent Rhetorick speake my love?
If so; each smother'd sigh wil vent my smart,
And say, I love not with my tongue, but heart.
But oh! if She
(Blind boy!) should chance to be
As deaf, as my discourse is dumb,
Ile never more
Thy Deitie adore,
Or to thee 'ere for refuge come.
O when thou see'st me stand thus mute and blind,
For pitties sake (my Stella!) then be kind!
Know that such love
Like Heav'ns comes from above,
And is beyond expression large;
Language is weak,
And should I strive to speak
Words would but lessen not discharge.
My Loves deep Sea's as silent as profound:
Ful Caskes stand mute, only the empty sound.

Clarastella distrusting.

You say you love me, nay can swear it too,
But stay Sir t'wil not doe;
I know you keep your oathes
Just as you wear your cloathes;
Whilst new, and fresh in fashion;
But once grown old you lay them by,
Forgot like words you speak in passion,
I'le not believe you, I.

To Clarastella affrighted at the sight of a Cats fiery eies in the dark, which caused her to shreik.

Thy shril voyce pierc'd each apprehensive ear
Deep, as thy heart could smitten be with fear;
That, if I had not known the tongue, I could
Ha 'wisht it out: but since fate pleas'd I should
Be thus o'th' sudden thunder-strucken, why
Saw I no lightning from thy troubled eie?
Forewarnd thus had I been forearm'd, and though
Prevented not, I had foreseen the blow.
Ne'r weeping Stag, thus frighted, cry'd so loud
Though by his thirstie foes so close pursu'd,
As thou (fair) Stella at the sight of that
Some Heathen worship as their God, a Cat,
VVhose glaring eies did unexpected shine
But with like wonder for to gaze on thine.
And as they at ful Moon encrease: so now
The fulness of your glory swell'd them too.
Since lightning flew from each amazed eie,
I mar'l not such a clap did follow, I.

On a Fleabite espied on her fair hand.

Behold how like a lovely fragrant Rose
Midst a fair Lillie bed,
Or set in Pearl like a bright Rubie shows,
This little spot of red!
Art could not die a Crimson half so good
As this was made by th'tincture of her bloud.

The cunning Leech knew that the richest bloud
In azure veins did lie;
Choosing thy young soft tender flesh for food
Resolv'd thus to feed high:
Thus being Nectar-fill'd and swell'd with pride,
He thinks he's now to you by bloud alli'd.

O how I envy thee smal creature, and
Ev'n wish thy shape on me,
That so I might but kisse that sacred hand
That giveth life to thee!
That which I hardly now can cover'd kisse,
Then I might naked touch and tast my blisse.

And though for drawing so much guiltles bloud
Thou wel deserv'st to die,
With a gold chain about thy neck, I wu'd
Have thee kept daintilie
As Scaliger's was in a box; and shown
As Stella's gentle Fairie up and down.

On the taking of an Amethist ring from off Clarastella's finger as she was sleeping.

Thou sacred stone whose native heat preservs
Man as he was created, rational,
Infuse thy virtues through my Optick nervs!
Thus while thy temp'rance I behold, I shal
In stupid draughts my health and reason ne'r enthral.

Rubies that most resemble flames, are so
Devoid of heat no fire can warm them, wine
Thus though this cheerful stone resembles too
Scorns yet to stoop to Bacchus reeling Vine
Or let his Oppium prey upon his sprite divine.

Thou more enchanted than was Gyges ring
Keep then my souls eys ope while others lie
Steept, or transform'd in wild Lyæus sing
Io's to madness, yet do thou let me
Unseen but to my self approach this Deitie.

How't blushes for me at the guilt of this
High sacrilege! Yet though from her I got
This virtue sleeping, she not plundred is.
Fair Stella wears a better Antidote
Both for and 'gainst the falling sickness: wot you wat?

Loves Expiration.

By custom who so bold as he
That cannot see?
Yet I by sad experience find,
My love's most modest when mine eies are blind:
Why should my coward tongue else fear to tel
My she Physician I'm not wel,
Whose only art
Can cure the passion of the heart?

Why dost thou show such crueltie
(Young Boy) on me?
Wast not enough to wound my heart?
Then to add blindness to my former smart,
But make me speechless that I cann't complain?
Thus hopeless to be wel again?
What punishment
Is grief that cannot find a vent?

Ah Cupid! if thou wilt that I
For her must die
Let me but tel her first 'twas she,
She only that did cause my maladie.
Assist my tongue with so much courage, I
May tel her 'tis for her I die!
Perhaps my grief
May thus discharg'd, find some relief.

On a Christal Watch presented to Clarastella.

Thou careful Steward of my precious time
I now transmit thee to a hand sublime
And heav'nly, that wil guide thy measures wel,
See that to her thou truth dost alwaies tel.
When she lies down to rest, then Watch to chuse
Let thy soft motion quiet sleep infuse.
But when she waking turns her in her bed
Then be thou nimbly busie 'bout her head.
Put her in mind of me! and to her say
Though she lies stil, yet the time poasts away:
Charge her not lose it then! but to her show
When it is time to love! then let her know
That as thou so I restless watch her, and
My watchful thoughts a guard about her stand.
Stand, at that happy hour, I find her kind,
Then let thy speedy wings no motion find.
Go only fast when she retards in love,
Then poast to short the time, then nimble prove!

True Emblem of my love this Watch I send,
Which to your careful keeping I commend:
The ballance like my heart, when that beats slow
Then fast, doth my disorderd passions show:
The string that holds al, is from Cupids bow,
If that should break alas it would not go:
The Christal case that keeps it, is mine eie,
Through which you may the sev'ral motions spie.
The Wheels are my affections which wil stand,
If you not move them with your gentle hand:
Oh when it slowly goes then raise it higher,
That from thy touch it may new life acquire!

'Tis in your power to make it by a trick
Go fast or slow, by turning of the nick.
Let it not once go down! Watches you know
With little rest they oft forget to go:
Love like the Sun should ever active be,
Which when 't declins, it riseth instantly.

Of Love and Liking.

To like or not to like, doth lie
In the election of a curious eie:
But should I only what I see approve,
This were but liking and not love.

Or t'would be general, as Boys
At the first sight long for their glorious toys,
Which they embrace til fresh varietie
Shews fairer objects to the eie.

Go Muse! and let my Stella know
I like her person wel: but tel her too!
I love her soul with mine, and thus I find
When out of sight she's in my mind.

Dialogue between Sylvio and Mirtillo.

Syl.

Tel me (if ever you did feel
The pow'r of Cupids fatal steel)
Why the young Tyrant ads disdein
Thus to compleat a true loves pain?

Why faithful Lovers seldom prove
Belov'd again of those they love?

Myrt.

Oh 'tis because true Lovers are
Too servil fond, and Women care
For things though good if easie, lest:
The dear and hard to get please best.
For should we them but less adore,
They'd punish less and love us more.

Syl.

But when the Amorist doth find
His love rebukt by some unkind
Repulse, why doth he yet admire?
And with sick hopes stil feed desire?
Himself afflicting thus in vain
With hopes of what he cann't obtein?

Myrt.

Ah Sylvio! Love is a disease
That doth o'th' vital spirits ceaze,
Whose dregs time only must expel:
Hunger in sick folks doth foretel
Deaths sad approach, so lovesick men
When that's a dying rave agen.

Syl.

Why doth he not then strugling trie
Or to shake off this Lethargie,
Or as some peevish sick men use,
Deny'd what they would have, refuse
All comfort, and with like disdein
Since She despises hate again?

Myrt.

True lov's not like an Ague fit
That doth of cold and heat admit;
'Tis a quotidian feaver that
With constant heat doth thirst create.
That with its warmth doth make each day
Summer, and knows no Month but May.

Repent not then thy wel plac't love, though she
With the like coyness slight its modestie!
For who asks doubting lest he should obtein,
Instructs his Mistress to a coy disdein.

To Clarastella. Loves Constancie.

'Tis no terrestrial fire
Doth with such heat my brest inspire,
For then your beauties Sun
Had lookt it to pale ashes long agon.

'Tis a Promethean flame
Bright as the Orbs from whence it came,
So heav'nly and divine,
Immortal too, that feeds this heart of mine.

Think not (fair Stella) then
That I can be inconstant, when
That love can never die
That borrows flames from your celestial eie.

To Clarastella upon a favour received from her which she tied in my hat.

Madam! the favour I received from you
I have it in such high esteem
That men might justly deem
Me proud of it, 'cause to the open view,
I wear it alwaies in my hat,
There to be wondred at.

Ruling in chief there in bright Majestie
It doth command all caps to vail
And say to it, all hail:
As if they spi'd in that some Deitie,
The colours they are so divine
And with such raies do shine.

As forreign ships yield homage whey they see
Great Britains streamers spread on high
And purpling all the skie:
So when these Rosie royal colours be
Displaid, then each Spectatour knows
That they are yours, and bows.

Juno's gay bird boasts not so brave a plume
Nor in its greatest pride doth shine
Like this fair flow'r of thine.
Me thinks I look like Memnon, could assume
A generals place and overthrow
Englands resisting foe.

A Hector fit for Mars or Venus war
Under these colours I could fight
Me thinks both day and night;
Attempt bold deeds, kil those my rivals are,
And through revenge on each black tongue
That shal thy honour wrong.

Wonder not at this valour! for I know
Under your favour, I would conquer you.

Clarastella's Indictment.

My heart was slain when none was by
But only you and I:
Durst it self do this act?
No: a strange hand did shoot that dart
Which peirc'd so deep my heart,
Nor could I do the fact.
Then I'm o'th' fact acquitted, now
The guilt must lie on you;
I wil enquire no further;
The proof is plain, the Boy that lies
Hid in your cruel eies,
Did do this wicked murther.

Witness your lips all staind with red,
They speak who did the deed,
The Crimson bloud sticks there,
And makes them at each blush confess
(For they dare do no less)
And cry we guiltie are.
Your pale and self-accusing look
As soon as ere he strook
Proclam'd you accessorie:
And your distorted angry brow
Your ful assent did show,
To make my death a Storie.

In your hearts trembling doth appear
Your more than guilty fear:
You'r by your tongue bewraid,
Which silently accusing, tels
That 'twas by you, none els,
My heart was first betraid.

By signs thus murther's oft reveal'd
Though it lie long conceal'd:
This doom I wish you then,
If stil a cruel mind you bear,
May each man prove, when ere
You love, unkind agen.

On the loss of a Gold-open-ring in which some of Clarastella's hair was enclosed.

Dear Gold not in thy own self precious now,
But for that more intrinsic value thou
Enclosest, which rich treasure makes thee more
Refin'd, and hallow'd than thou wast before,
(Though had that finger dropt, thou once didst grace,
I had susteind that fatal loss with less
Regret) Farwel! Yet thou dear Relique that
Li'st here entombd and buried in this vaut
Of Indian clay, which now thy corps must hold,
Thou didst deserve a richer urn than gold.

May then that happy he shal find thee; kiss,
And then adore this unknown Shrine of bliss!
Whose worth, since he can never know, but fear
Some magick spels within, and so not dare
To wear thee: thus afflicted, may he bring
It back to me, and I'l uncharm the Ring.

But thee in vain on earth, I hope to see,
Ile search the Heavens, for there thou next wilt be:
And whereas Berenices hair was cut,
And at the Lyons seavn-stard tail was put,
Thy hair shal shine yet higher in his head,
And's neck shal with this Ring be collared.

To Clarastella saying she would commit her selfe to a Nunnerie.

Stay Clarastella, prithee stay!
Recal those frantick vows again!
Wilt thou thus cast thy self away
As wel as me in fond disdain?
Wilt thou be cruel to thy self? chastise
Thy harmless body, 'cause your pow'rful eies
Have charm'd my senses by a strange surprise?

Is it a sin to be belov'd?
If but the cause you could remove
Soon the effect wou'd be remov'd:
Where Beautie is, there wil be love.
Nature that wisely nothing made in vain,
Did make you lovely to be lov'd again:
And when such beauty tempts, can love refrain?

When Heav'n was prodigal to you,
And you with beauties glory stor'd,
He made you like himself for view,
To be beheld, and then ador'd:
Why should the Gold then fear to see that Sun,
That form'd it pure? why should you live a Nun,
And hide those raies Heav'n gave to you alone?

Oh do not exile Natures bliss!
Do not Eclipse so great a Sun!
Imprison not a Paradise
In a Religious dungeon!
Let the foul witch laze in her smokie cel;
Onely black toads in recluse vaults do dwel:
Fair Angels live in light, the soul in Hel.

I know 'twas you fair thief that stole
My heart away; nor thus content
Your cruel eies then pickt a hole
In that which ne'r before was rent.
And dost thou now this heart hence think to carrie?
Or being guilty darst no longer tarry,
And so to shreive thee, fly'st to Sanctuarie?

Nor is this all; your theft was higher
Than was Prometheus, who did take
From Heav'n that quick inspiring fire,
Of clods, us, living men to make:
You to Heav'ns treasurie did find a way
Where all the Beauties and the Virtues lay,
And thence by rapine didst them all convey.

Guiltie of which high sacrilege,
Dost thou now mean to satisfie
The Gods, and give thy body pledge
To expi'ate thy souls theeverie?
Stay Votresse! enter not this Nunnerie!
For thus thou wilt but draw more guilt on thee,
By tempting others to Idolatrie:

For when thy Glory they shal see,
Either they'l all forget to pray;
Or what's as bad, they'l pray to thee,
And turn devotion to play:
Nor wil the Gods unto thy prai'rs incline,
If thou shouldst stil continue deaf to mine.
Stay then fair Saint! and make my bed thy shrine!

Thy self a holy Temple art
Where Love shal teach us both to pray,
I'l make an Altar of my heart,
And Incense on thy lips wil lay.
Thy mouth shal be my Oracle; and then
For beads we'l tel our kisses o'r agen,
Til they breath'd from our souls, shal cry Amen.

The Quære. What is Love?

'Tis a child of Phansies getting,
Brought up between Hope and Fear,
Fed with smiles, grown by uniting
Strong, and so kept by Desire:
'Tis a perpetual Vestal fire
Never dying,
Whose smoak like Incense doth aspire,
Upwards flying.

It is a soft Magnetick stone,
Attracting hearts by sympathie,
Binding up close two souls in one,
Both discoursing secretlie:
'Tis the true Gordian knot that ties
Yet ne'r unbinds,
Fixing thus two Lovers eies
Aswel as minds.

'Tis the spheres heavenly harmonie
Where two skilful hands do strike;
And every sound expressively
Marries sweetly with the like:
'Tis the worlds everlasting chain
That all things ti'd,
And bid them like the fixed wain
Unmov'd to bide.

'Tis Natures law inviolate,
Confirm'd by mutual consent
Where two dislike, like, love, and hate,
Each to the others ful content:
'Tis the Caress of every thing;
The Turtle-dove;
Both birds and beasts do offrings bring
To mighty Love.

'Tis th'Angels joy, the Gods delight, Mans bliss,
'Tis all in all: without love nothing is.

To Clarastella on St. Valentines day morning.

Hark how the Lyrick Choristers o'th' wood
Warble their cheerful noats! which understood
Would make us think they woo'd and spake
In pure Tibullus phrase, when he did take
His Lesbia to him! how they sing
And chirp it merrily
To welcome in that verdant spring.
Which makes our blood run high!

Arise then heavy Muse! now winter's done
And the warm pleasant Summer is begun;
Arise! and charge Aurora wake,
And weare her best array for this daies sake!
Salute her first whom I'd injoy,
And then let all the nine
To their sweet musick dance and sing
That this daies Valentine.

Great Bishop! whose more sacred memorie
Crowns this blest day with due solemnitie,
Let me invoke thy holy Shrine
To guide me to another Valentine!
Lend me thy urns fair light awhile
With the Morns brighter eies,
To find that happy Shee, and steal
Upon her by surprise.

Assist me Jove! in thy gilt showrs convey
Me to the bed to my bright Danae!
Lest I be blasted or betrai'd
By the quick eies of some crackt chambermaid,
Got up on purpose to be seen;
And though she stand i'th' way,
Blind me t'all but my Valentine!
Til I approach her day!

Or lend me Gyges old enchanted ring
That I may walk invisible! and bring
Me thus lockt up in close disguise
To the blest place where this fair beauty lies!
Thus undiscern'd I'l pass the street,
Nor see, nor yet be seen
Of any until we two meet
(My dearest Valentine.)

Some draw their Valentines by lotterie
Whom they perhaps ne'r saw before, but I
Make a far wiser choice in mine,
Where Love elects discreetly by design:
Some on their hats in wafer scrowl
Their names have charact'red,
I on my heart thy name enroul,
More easie to be read.

See the true windows of the perfum'd East!
Breathing such odours that each sense may feast

To luxurie! oh 'twould suffice
To live but one hour in this Paradise!
Then haste to kisse her balmie hand,
To kiss her shal I fear?
I'l gently draw the curteins, and
Let the bright day appear.

Behold where Innocence her self doth lie
Clad in her white array! Fair Deitie!
I'l onely print upon her dewy lip
One loving kiss and so away will part.
Shee wakes, and blushes on each cheek
So red, that I may say
There on each side doth truly break
The dawning of the day.

Startle not Fairest! It is I am come
Like th'Persian to adore the rising Sun:
I'm come to view that sight wou'd make
The good old man ev'n for thy onely sake
Wish him alive agen, to see
Such a fair Saint of's name,
Whose virtues propagate in thee
To his eternal fame.

'Tis I am come, who but a Friend before
Am hap'ly now by fate adopted more,
A brother or what els you deem
To be more neer, or of more high esteem.
I'm come to joyn in sacrifice
To our dear Valentine;
Where I must offer to thine eies,
Knowing no other Shrine.

Large Hecatombs of kisses I wil lay
On th'altar of thy lips, that men may say
By their continuance we are true,
And wil keep so this year, nor change for new.

The birds instruct us to do so,
The season too invites;
When spring comes they a billing go,
As we to our delights.

Each am'rous Turtle now his Mate doth chuse,
Whom Nature for that year by pow'rful use
Taught to be constant: shal not wee
Who love with reason be as firm and free?
Here then our league let us begin,
And from this minute count
Thousands of kisses that within
This year shal thus amount.

How sweet shee breaths! the Zephyre wind that blows
Fresh fragrant odours on the modest Rose
Sends forth not half so pure a smel
As that which on thy chaster lips doth dwel:
Here in this holy Temple I
Could fix eternally,
And pay these vows until I die
Pitied of none but thee.

Me thinks my arms now grasp a treasure more
Worth than both Indies valued double o'r.
'Tis pitty we should ever part,
I should be poor, if rob'd of thee my heart:
The t'other kiss, and though I surfet on
The sweetness of thy breath,
The blame shal lie me on alone:
Who'd not die such a death?

To Clarastella in a storme at Sea.

Be not afraid (fair Venus of the Sea)
These waves but haste to view thy Majestie;
Glad to receive thee thus in shoals they croud
With plaudities expressing joys aloud:
Neptune results and with his watry lip
Gladly saluteth that more happy ship
That bears so rich a treasure; knowing that
He a more precious gem did ne'r create:
Thus Triton and the Seagreen Gods do wear
Their fresh and best array when you appear;
As Virgins welcom spring; whereas before
With sad stil blackness they stood clouded o'r:
Thus the proud billows come but to admire,
To raise thy worth and thus advance thee higher;
While they obsequiously about you throng
To guard your person, not to do you wrong:
Thus they approach with pure affection
Offering their backs for you to ride upon;
Where if the waters troubled do appear
'Tis 'cause they in your brow suspect a fear.
You great Commandress both by Sea and Land,
Why should you then fear ought? at whose command
Rough Boreas and the Ocean doth obey,
And to its Queen thus tribute strives to pay.

I am this Ship tost in the waves of fear,
You the Pole-star by which I only steer:
Love the unskilful Pilot cannot sail
Homewards if you not blow a gentle gale
From your sweet Zephire breath and send relief,
'Twil suffer shipwrack in a Sea of grief.
In your smooth face let but a calm appear,
Both shal be happy and both free from fear.

To her, the Storm ceasing.

How Neptune smiles to view this Deitie
Which all the hoarie Gods amaz'd to see,
Are at a stand and cannot move
When they behold this Queen of Love!

Thy brow not wrinkled now with fear, the sea
Resumes its smoothness by a Sympathie:
And whilst thou smil'st the rougher main
Is levell'd to a verdant plain.

A happy Halcyon calmness sits upon
The equal face of all the Ocean:
And not a wave his head dares show
While thus in triumph you do go.

With such fair Wind and Weather, oh let me
Sail alwaies! and I ne'r shal sea-sick be!

On Clarastella walking in her Garden.

See how Flora smiles to see
This approaching Deitie!
Where each herb looks young and green
In presence of their comming Queen!
Ceres with all her fragrant store,
Could never boast so sweet a flow'r;
VVhile thus in triumph she doth go
The greater Goddess of the two.

Here the Violet bows to greet
Her with homage to her feet;
There the Lilly pales with white
Got by her reflexed light;
Here a Rose in Crimson die
Blushes through her modestie;
There a Pansie hangs his head
'Bout to shrink into his bed,
'Cause so quickly she past by
Not returning suddenly;
Here the Currans red and white
In yon green bush at her sight
Peep through their shady leaves, and cry
Come eat me, as she passes by;
There a bed of Camomil,
VVhen she presseth it doth smel
More fragrant than the perfum'd East,
Or the Phœnix spicie nest;
Here the Pinks in rowes do throng
To guard her as she walks along,
There the flexive Turnsole bends
Guided by rhe raies shee sends
From her bright eies, as if thence
It suckt life by influence;
VVhilst She the prime and chiefest flow'r
In all the Garden by her pow'r
And onely life-inspiring breath
Like the warm Sun redeems from death
Their drooping heads, and bids them live
To tel us Shee their sweets did give.

On the loss of Clarastella's black fan.

Tel me (fair wonder!) when the gentle air
Courted your wanton hair,
And hov'ring 'bout your face did beg a kiss,
Proud of so great a bliss,
Why did your envious Fan to it denie
So chast a libertie?
Nor yet contented onely thus to do
Why did you hide it too?
Why did you blind those lamps which both adorn,
And can mislead the Morn?
Believe me 'twas unkindly done to skreen
That light was to be seen.
Though the bright lustre of your orient eies
Like the more pow'rful skies
Or dazles me or sets my heart on fire
When I so high aspire,
Your Bas'lisk look with its bewitching art
Though it strike dead my heart,
And I stand Planet-struck when e'r I view
So fair a star as you;
Yet do I languish like the drooping night
In absence of your light:
(For by your beams such warmth I do receive
By which alone I live)
That if you draw a cloud before this light,
'Tis with me darkest night.
VVhen Morpheus once had on my drowsie bed
His sable mantle spread
And drawn the curtains of Heav'ns Canopie,
Had veild the starry skie,
In this Cimmerian slumber as I lay,
Me thought I wisht for day,

Expecting when the rosie-fingred Morn
Should the black earth adorn,
When with his early raies he should affright
The mistie shades of night,
At last he came, and I beheld his steeds
Deckt in their Royal weeds,
And fair Aurora purpling all the skie,
Enlightned ev'ry eie,
How glad was I? and wisht that never night
Might mask so great a light.
You were that Phospher I thus long'd to see
Hid in obscuritie;
And now your lustre breaks forth like the day
Clad in her best array.
Oh happy loss! by which I gain a sight
As precious as the light!

To Clarastella on a Nosegay of flowers which she wore at her bosome.

If Bees extract their sweetness from each flow'r,
As these, theirs, from your breast; I thee devour
Alive then (Stella!) when I honey eat;
Rare food! than Attick-flow'rmel far more sweet!
Yet as rob'd flow'rs preserve their smel, stil fair,
So these fresh in thy bosomes garden are,
Though blown on, whose sweet dewes and Sun above,
Make them grow there feed us, stil fragrant prove.
There's scarce a sense, but those thy flow'rs delight,
They please the touch, the tast, the smel, the sight;
Yet thou the choisest dost this all, and moe,
Thou sweetly dost our hearing ravish too.

Since like those subtle Chymists then, you take
Sweetness from them too, one more exact to make,

Thy self, which Nectar art, oh hiv'd might I
Feed on thy Honey, and there melting lie!

Song.

[Invest my head with fragrant Rose]

Invest my head with fragrant Rose
That on fair Flora's bosome grows!
Distend my veins with purple juyce
That mirth may through my soul diffuse!
'Tis Wine and Love, and love in wine,
Inspires our youth with flames divine.

Thus crown'd with Paphian myrtle, I
In Cyprian shades wil bathing lie,
Whose snow if too much cooling, then
Bacchus shal warm my blood agen.
'Tis Wine and Love, &c.

Life's short, and winged pleasures flie;
Who mourning live, do living die:
On down and flouds then Swan-like I
Wil stretch my limbs, and singing die.
'Tis Wine and Love, and love in wine
Inspires our youth with flames divine.

On Clarastella discovered sleeping in her bed.

Sleep gentle soul! and may a quiet rest
Crown the sweet thoughts that harbour in thy brest!
Keep her ye pow'rs divine! let no foul sight
Afflict her mind! no horrours of the night,

No fearful shapes or Apparitions
Disturb her slumbers through sad visions!
I charge thee Morpheus thou pale God of sleep,
See thou from her distempers, startings keep!
Let all her dreams be Golden! let them taste
Of heav'nly pleasures! let them all be chast
Delights, Embraces, Wishes, and such new
And prosp'rous hopes, as may at length prove true!
Show her rich Crowns and Garlands! then let love
Chast as her sleep, such as the Gods above
Enjoy, steal in her mind, and represent
The perfect Image of her blest content!
There let her fix and entertain awhile
A parley with her thoughts! then let her smile
As pleas'd at th'conference, or some other way
By a soft sigh let her her love betray!
Thus please each sense with various delight
And with fresh sights prevent her appetite!
Thus let her sleep secure, that she may find
At once both ease in body and in mind!

I charge you wake her not! no noise draw neer
Her bed to whisper in her quiet ear!
See how my charms have workt! behold she lies
Like Innocence her self in white! her eies
Shut 'gainst all worldly vanitie, do show
How little she regards this earth below:
Her soul within, though active, yet is stil,
Which speaks the calmness of her inward will.
The Zephyre wind doth not more gently blow
Nor with so soft or stil a motion slow
As her sweet breath from her; here we may find
The even pace of a wel-temper'd mind.

Bless me! what thoughts possess my ravisht soul,
And stir my blood, I can them not controul!
I'm all enflam'd; and yet I dare not do
What the fair harmless object prompts me too.
She stirrs; Oh! I must vanish quickly hence,
Lest I should wake her, with some violence.

To her at departure.

They erre
That think we parred are
Two souls in one we carry,
Half of which though it travel far
Yet both at home do tarry.
The Sun
When farthest off at Noon
Our bodies shade draws higher:
My soul your's shadow, when I'm gone,
Waits closer through desire.
Dear heart
Then grieve not 'cause we part,
Since distance cannot sever:
For though my body walks apart
Yet I am with you ever.

Elegiack Song.

Lend me ye flouds your tears! oh more!
Lend me al Neptun's watry store
When he drownd all mankind! that I
May in this deluge drown and die!
She's dead to me: unhappy fate,
That love, which burnt so clear of late,
Is now extinct: oh help! and I
Wil weep hers and mine obsequie.

To Cupid. Song.

Thou that hast shot so many hearts
With thy enchanted darts!
(Young Archer!) if thou hast one more
In all thy store,
Send it, oh send it to my Love,
Wing'd with the feathers of thy Mothers Dove!

Or head it with the same desire,
Thou didst my shaft enspire!
Or take thine arrow back from me!
'Tis crueltie
Sometimes not to be cruel: Oh!
Or smite both hearts, or els unbend thy bow!

To a Lady wearing a Looking-glass at her girdle.

Gaze not on that fair Mirrour, where you see
Nought but the shadow of your frailtie lie,
VVhere beautie staies no longer then you look
On the gilt outside of that rotten look
Your self; where all's but dust without, and such
Foul leaves within: why then admir'd so much?
Since nothing can be lov'd but what hath been
Known to the sence, or to the eie bin seen,
VVhy should you doat upon that face which you
Never yet saw, nor have the pow'r to do?
VVhose very shape when you have often pri'd
And re-examin'd every part, and spi'd
VVith strictest eie each line, and symmetrie,
Is clean forgot, when you remove your eie:

Which usual instance may instruct you not
To studie that, which is so soon forgot.

Since you nor see your self, nor look upon
That form but thus by meer reflection:
How know you? or why think you are fair?
Is it, 'cause fond admirers say you are,
For want of judgement? or some flattring Asse,
Or this a great deal more dissembling glasse
Tels a fair storie to your cred'lous eie,
VVil you believe such Romance historie?
VVhen the spruce gallant courts your hand, and vows
Saluting it, he nothing whiter knows,
Then gazing upward on that heav'nly sphere,
Swears you are Angel-like beyond compare,
Excelling all your sex, can you conceive
That to be true, which he did least believe?
VVhen th'am'rous youth looks Babies in your eies
And through Loves flatt'ring optick he espies
At the wrong end a world of beautie there,
Blinded with passion thus 'twixt hope and fear,
VVhen he protests he thinks he sees in you
Some God-like form, can you believe it too?
VVhen knowing men dissemble truth; alas!
VVil you then trust a dumb deceitful glass?
Embrace your selfe? and like Narcissus pore
Upon that Chrlstal til you start a flow'r?
(VVhich fades as soon as blown,) admiring more
That part your selfe, then others all the store?
Then quit that coz'ning beam! nor imitate
The Mermaid to be onely upwards neat
VVith comb and glass in hand, when we all know
You'ar either fish or what is worse, below.

The blanched Swan with whitest plumes arrai'd
Til by her own black skin and legs betraid
Did think her self the fairest bird, do you
But look about you, you'l appear so too.
VVhat boots a comly presence, graceful eie,
If all be foul except the Phisnomie?

Wise men admire not beauty, birth or blood,
How rich or fair, they ask not, but how good?
First dresse your soul! see that be fair and clear,
And then you'l truly beautiful appear.

To Clarastella.

'Tis not your beautie I admire,
Nor the bright star-light of each eie,
Nor do I from their beams take fire
My loves torch to enlighten, I:
No: 'tis a Glorie more divine
Kindles my tapour at your shrine.

Your comly presence takes not me,
Nor your much more inviting meen;
Nor your sweet looks; the Graces be
(Fair Creature!) in your picture seen.
No: 'tis your soul to which I bow,
'Tis none of these I love, but you.

How blind is that Philosophie
Doth onely nat'ral bodies know?
That views each Orb o'th' glorious skie,
But sees not him that made it so.
I love thy informing part, i'th' whol
And every part, thy all; thy soul.

The Farewel to Clarastella.

Passion o' me! why melt I thus with griefe
For her whose frozen heart denies reliefe?
Find out some other way to punish me
Yee Gods! and let me not the Author be
Of mine own death! make me forget that e'r
I lov'd! at least that e'r I loved her!

Yet I must love her stil: O cruel Fate!
That dost true love so il requite with hate!
Why e'r I saw her didst not make me blind?
Then had she as before continued kind
Without pow'r to displease, her Charitie
Warm as my Love, and I had stil been I:
But now alas! my distant bliss I see,
Which like my courted shadow flieth mee
As fast as I pursue: ay mee! she's gone,
And with her all my winged hopes are flown.

But oh! if you one drop of mercy have,
Let me request you shed it at my grave
When y'hear I died for you! Oh let there be
One tear at least shed from your pious eies
In mem'ry that I fel your sacrifice!
Where though I cannot, yet my marble wil
'Gainst these soft show'rs for me some tears distil.

Fairest farewel! and by my living love,
Maist thou to me when dead thus loving prove!
Shed from your eies perhaps one faithful tear
May make my ashes quick again, how e'r
My shipwrackt love in these drops bath'd, at last
May drowning grasp what's next, and hold thee fast,
Which whilst I liv'd it could not; thus I wil
Alive and dead (my Stella!) love thee stil.

On the Report of Clarastella's death.

Shee dead? forgive me Heav'n! I'ad almost swore
That she 'bout her had nothing mortal wore:
Her soul's immortal, and her body too
Since't knew no actual sin, must needs be so.
Our sins do drag us to our graves, but she
Had no such harbingers; her Pietie
Made her a Monarch in Divinitie,
And taught her how to live eternally.
It is not likely, guilty death shou'd take
Such Innocence away from us, or make
Immortal Virtue die: old Adam sure
Had liv'd til now, could he have liv'd as pure
And free from either act or thought of vice,
Hee had surviv'd this age in Paradice.
Our sins are our diseases; onely they
Invoke pale death, whom we all must obey
When he arrests us for these debts, we know
Life's the cheap ransome for the sums we owe,
VVhich she ne'r forfeited 'cause no disease
Upon her body or her soul could seize,
She was so sound and perfect: why should I
Believe that Clarastella then could die?
If wantonnesse durst steal into her mind
'Midst her sweet dreams, leaving a touch behind
Of phansied pleasure, yet she wakt a maid,
And blushing, that she should be thus betrai'd,
By her own guiltlesse thoughts, she feard to tel
Ev'n what her visions were; nor knew she wel
What was their pleasant meaning; or if shee
Did but by chance two Lovers kissing see;
Shee thought they did but imitate the Dove
Thus to affect with chast Platonick love.
Her salutations deckt with modestie,
Did like her smiles expresse humilitie.

Thus was she perfect Virgin, whilst her love
Knew n'other object but the Gods above.
How then durst death, tow'rds her his dart advance,
Whose onely sin was harmless ignorance?
Why should I fondly drooping let mine eies
Yeild at the news, a liquid sacrifice?
Or let her dying rumour wound my years
Whose virtue did deserve a Nestors years?

I'l not believe then she is dead, since I
Know she hath merited Eternitie:
For were't, as envious Fame reports her gone,
'Twere but a happy transmigration,
To Heav'n; where stil she lives a Saint, and we
Do stil adore her living Deitie.

To a Painter limning a Curtezan.

Leave off fond Artist, can't your wanton eie
Glance on a pleasant face, but presently
You must go court her with your pencil, and
Thus spoil th'invention of a witty hand?
What need you paint her when the wicked Elfe,
Fearing no colours, daily paints her self?
What mean those naked dresses silks and lawn?
When shee's much fitter to be hang'd then drawn?
Wouldst thou expresse thy art and judgement? say
Wouldst thou be fam'd? I'l tel you; thus you may.

Paint me to life, a chast and virtuous Dame,
Whose spotless honour speaks her stil the same,
In whose smooth forehead let there be exprest
What Virgin thoughts she harbours in her breast!
Set forth her severall Graces! and her eie
Make to betray a cheerful modestie?
Her sober looks, and her aspect is free,
Let them both innocent and simple be!

Then in her cheeks express that blushing grace
Which Vestal vows have printed in her face!
Then let thy Phansie through her purer skin
Transparent make her chaster soul within!
When you have drawn this piece, then Painter see
You not expose it to each common eie
That cannot judge! to Lovers onely those,
And not to lustful eies this piece expose?

On the young and fair Mrs M.H. her hair being unfortunately burnt by chance in the candle as she was Combing her head at night.

Unluckie Traitour! could thy greedy flame
Feed on such fuel, and not devoure the same?
How durst thy dul pale flames so high aspire,
And mix its lazie heat with Vestal fire?
Oh how I grieve this direful chance? to see
These fresh leaves falling from the blooming tree,
And that the spring which was but now begun,
Should thus o'th' sudden into Autumne run!
Ah cruel Atropos! why so soon would you
Thus rudely cut those threads of life in two;
Those neat dishevel'd locks whose every grace
Scorning arts help, set forth a neater face?
With what pale horrour do I wondring see
This sight, and fear what the event will be!
Methinks it now portends some overthrow,
Threatens some great mans ruine, and doth show
Like lightning 'fore the thunder, bidding all
Be arm'd against the stroak: or now I call
To mind fair Helen Troy did so admire,
Me thinks it represents that town on fire.

Had this but Lillie seen he would have said
It was some blazing Comet; and that head
Which was thus crisped o'r with purest raies
Was all a heav'nly Meteor, that did blaze
Her Virtues forth to the worlds open eie
As Emblem of her rare divinitie.
Or had mistook thee in this borrow'd light
For brightest Phœbe Mistresse, of the night,
By those bright Star-like tapours of thine eies.
Oh may another lovely Phœnix rise
From these sweet ashes, whose sad fun'ral pile
With fragrant odours thus perfumes our Isle!
But thou curst light that wroughtst this Tragedie,
In thy own flames maist thou a martyr die.

Writ on Clarastella's Busk.

Might I o' nights in thy room lie
'Twixt Stella's warmer mounts of snow,
So neer her heart dissolving, I
No higher Paradise would know:
Such envi'd bliss would make me stray,
VVhither the Gods themselves would bow,
And leave heav'ns upper milkie way,
To breath in happier shades below.

Deploring Clarastella's Inconstancie.

Fair and yet cruel? strange me thinks that art
Should act amiss, where Nature plai's her part!
Can you a gentle Saint, a Tyrant prove?
Can your diviner soul forget to love?

Can Winter set in such a love-warm brest
Which was with so much heat but now possest?
Are the flames dying, and loves active fires
Congeal'd to frosts, and freez'd to cold desires?
And those fair Violet veins the verdant Spring
Did so enliven now no heat can bring?
Can you that carried Summer in your lips
Red as the Cherrie suffer an Eclipse?
That in the Apples of your cheeks did wear
A fertile Autumn now no fruit can bear?
All heat extinguisht? not one spark of fire—
Now left, but to inkindle new desire?
Strange mixture this, when I at once may view—
All the four seasons of the year in you!
Some health for pitty to my hopes restore?
Or love me not at all, or love me more!
Under this Equinox my shadows are
Quite round me; whilst I live in black despair;
Frigid nor torrid zones can I endure:
They bred cold Agues, these a Calenture.

Loves Hæsitation.

To Clarastella.

Why should I love that thing
Can no affection bring?
Since reason doth from liking draw
Reciproque friendship, shall I thaw
When her love freezeth? tel me why
When she disdaineth, should not I?
Yet Loves Religion
Bids me love, though she frown;
By whose more sacred lawes Heav'n knowes
We are enjoyn'd to love our foes:

Though she reject me then, yet I
Must love my Stella, til I die.
Love! I your pow'rs obey
True love can ne'r decay:
And since that Virtue lives in you
Which made me like, and love you too
At first; I am oblieg'd, and I
Must love thee to Eternitie.

To Clarastella admiring her black Eies and Hair.

Let others Court the Cyprian Queen,
Gilt tresses, or the Amber skin!
Give me black eies and hair,
Presum'd the face be fair,
And a Seraphick soul within!

The Swan though black below, above
Is the white object of our love,
So is Juno's prouder bird,
For her black eies admir'd
And 'cause they are so, I yours approve,

Apelles limning a faire maid,
Let fall by chance his pen, and said
That though he meant it not,
Yet could not mend the blot,
It did expresse so rare a shade.

If shadowes best set forth a face,
Adorning it with beauties grace,
Then are you onely fair,
Whose form beyond compare,
Excels the birth of humane race.

In your bright eies decipher'd are
The Ev'ning and same morning star,
Sole Glorie of the Night,
Deckt with such raies of light,
No day can boast so rich by far.

The Lovers Torch doth burn most bright
Like Comets in the darkest night;
And the black Boy stil roves,
In sap and shadie groves,
And like you crowns Loves sweet delight.

To Clarastella complaining of my long kisses.

Madam! I vow I never knew
One creature of your sex till you,
Find fault with what was long in men.
Oh do not geld my Phansie then!
Nor blame my pleasures extasie,
That when each sense is feasted, I
Thus tast each pure Ambrosiack kisse,
And by degrees melt down my blisse.

Oh those smooth, soft, and Rubie lips,
That fright the Sun to an Eclipse,
Whose Rosie and Virmilion hue
Betray the blushing thoughts in you:
Whose fragrant Amoratick breath
Wou'd revive dying Saints from death,
Whose Syren-like harmonious air
Speaks musick and enchants the ear;
VVho would not hang? and fixed there
VVish he might know no other sphere?
Oh for a charm to make the Sun
Drunk, and forget his motion!

Oh that some palsie or lame gout
Would cramp old times diseased foot!
Or that I might, or moult or clip
His speedy wings, whilst on her lip
I quench my thirsty appetite
With the life honey dwels on it!
Oh for a Crane-like neck that may
This Nectar slowly thence convey!
Then on this holy Altar, I
Would sacrifice eternally,
Offring one long continued mine
Of Golden pleasures to thy shrine.
I mean not Pompeys biting kiss
Flora did so commend: nor his
Venerious sip Catullus us'd
Where lip-salve was from each infus'd
No: a more holy chast impresse,
May th'image of each mind expresse
As perfect as the wax the seal:
Such kisses do not wound, but heal.

Kissing, thou sacred kissing art
Onely the intellective part
Of pleasure; by which union
Our souls discourse and meet in one
Fixt Center, whilst in a ful kiss
Each am'rous line concentred is:
Nor doth it violate Chastitie,
Or forfeit like Adulterie.
The dowry now, as heretofore,
(when but to speak, or see, was more
Immodest deem'd, at least as much,
A Woman; as 'tis now to touch.)
Thus with chast lips we blow Loves fire
To a live coal; thus fan it higher:
Thus do we seal affections band,
VVhich onely death can cancel: and
VVhilst both our hearts and lips do meet
Thus do our souls each other greet:

Thus we engender speaking Love
Peculiar only to the Dove:
Whereas all other bodies heat
Of Lust doth them incorporate
But only in the act; yet we
Thus renew love t'eternitie
With fresh unsated appetite,
And without shame or sad regret;
Which true experience doth prove
The difference betwixt Lust an Love.
Then let us kiss like Turtles, close
Until we both seem one: til those
That see our hearts saluting thus
Shal not disturb, but envy us.
Coyness in women makes men more
Suspect they'l do behind the door:
If thus you think I kiss too much;
Know that my love to you is such,
That whensoe'r it pleaseth you
I'l closer kiss, drink deeper too.

To Clarastella. Why Lovers walk round.

'Tis oft observ'd that those who are in love
Do, when they walk, in spherick circle move;
A motion to its nature genuine:
So move the Heav'ns and Love that is divine
And heav'n-deduced draws like that his gest
A round, because that figure is the best.
Love is a Labyrinth wherein wandring men
Tread the same pensive measur's o'r agen:
The Soul her feet th'affection guides, and moves
To the same object that she truly Loves.

Thus when I walk so often round, I move
To thee the Center Nature bids me love.

A Pastoral Protest of Love by Damon to Stella.

When I thee all o'r do view
I all o'r must love thee too.
By that smooth forehead wher's exprest
The candour of thy peaceful breast:
By those fair twin-like-stars that shine,
And by those apples of thine eyn:
By the Lambkins and the Kids
Playing 'bout thy fair eie-lids:
By each peachie blossom'd cheek,
And thy Sattin skin more sleek
And white then Flora's whitest Lillies
Or the maiden Daffadillies:
By that Ivorie porch thy nose:
By those double blanched rows
Of teeth, as in pure Coral set:
By each azure rivolet,
Running in thy temples, and
Those flowrie meadows 'twixt them stand:
By each Pearl-tipt ear by Nature, as
On each a Jewel pendant was:
By those lips all dew'd with bliss,
Made happy in each others kiss:
By those pure Vermilion cherries
Thy red nipples, and those strawberries
Swimming there as set in cream:
By those two curld locks, that seem
To wreath thy Lover in wav'd art
That from thee he ne'r should part:

By those silk tresses soft as down
Of tender Eunuches newly blown,
That vail your body round when e'r
In your own shades you'd less appear:
By that silver stately neck
Doth thy gems more grace and deck
Then they can it: by those two
Soft and wool-warme mounts of snow:
By each Alablaster hand,
And those slender joynts that stand
So streight and closely set, each palm
Seems a young tree, distilling balm:
Midst that pregnant Hemisphear
By the fair knot that's planted there:
By those moving columns bear
This Globe and the lov'd frame uprear:
By those pretty nimble feet
Wont in skilful measures meet:
By the neat fabrick of the whole,
Fair as the world from either Pole,
Whose each part is Paradise,
And Heav'n both in, and round, it is.
By thy self, when thee I view
I love thy all, and each part too.