University of Virginia Library

Occasional Copies upon several SUBJECTS.

To a Mistris that told me, I could not live without her Love.

To a simply Coy Mistress.

To an imperiously proud Mistress, swell'd with my Praises.

Vpon the acquaintance of a Gallant Gentlewoman. To my self.

She is exactly glorious. On her eye
Lovers may read better Philosophie
Than e're th' Athenians taught, she's high in Name,
higher in Beauty than the reach of Fame.
But highest in her Virtue, and her Mind,
and yet she wants not Nature to be kind,
But ev'n unto the meanest Creature she
shoots Lustre through a sweet humility.
Shee's great, but yet not greater than my Love,
nor higher than my Flame: then on, and prove
The temper of her Brest; try if it be
arm'd against Love, and his Artillery.
But (oh) I feel my heart consume like fire,
that wasts it self in seeking to aspire.

Crying and Laughing.

To Meritricia.

To Mistress S. W.

To Silvia

To a timorously willing Mistress.

Vpon my Noble friend, Richard Lovelace Esquire, his being in Holland. An Invitation.

A Song.

To a Mistresse that thinks the sight without other enjoyment is Love sufficient.

To a vertuous Lady, on whom Envy had thrown a Scandal, for which she Mourned, and hung her Chamber with Blacks.

Let not the Sables so benight your eys,
nor yet entomb your Beauty ere it dies;
Envy doth from this Sorrow gather strength,
and grows more huge and monstrous in length:
He gluts himself upon your Discontent,
and raiseth from your Sighs his Merriment.
The giddy people, that nought understands;
Strangers to Truth, will like to firebrands,
Kindle a hot suspicion in each other,
till they your Honour and your Fame do smother.
A Stream that may be stopt at the Springs head,
if let alone may overflow a Mead,
Nay drown a League of Earth. Now Envy sings;
and t'paint his Falshood like to Truth, he brings
This inference; Sorrow doth Guilt imply,
and your offence makes you so often die.
Then Madam tear those Death-like-Sables thence,
in th' stead set up your Flags of Innocence:
And brave Defiance that Truth's light may be
no longer hid by Envies Trechery.
Thus reassuming your Hearts jollity,
Envie will want his food, so starving die.

Spying Splendora through a Casement.

'Twas late and dark, and yet the early Day
in her Springs pride, ne're shot a brighter Ray
Than met my eyes. So doth the Queen of light
dart through the Ebon Casements of the Night
Her comfortable Splendor, to redeem
The world from darknesse, lost in our esteem.
If You shoot such Beams through Obscurity,
how full of Glory would your Presence be?

My Friend Paul Squire.

Thou lent'st me twenty shillings, (true) and ten,
which thou would'st have me pay thee back agen;
And for the speed of it thou bid'st me baul,
and borrow, or rob Peter to pay Paul.
Rare Christian Counsel I commend thee now,
I'l gang about it,—but—I ken not how:
Comfort thy self with hopes, I prithee do;
I have a Friend will do't,—I—ken not who;
Perhaps he's at the Indies with his Ware,
Constantinople,—or—I know not where:
Yet I an honest mind bear, thou seest then,
and thou art like t' be paid—I—know not when,
Take this my Paul in the Exchange of thine;
I'm confident it is far better Coin.

Seeing a Lady ------

Oh she is fair: Fair as the Eastern Morn,
when she is pleas'd the Summer to adorn
With her Springs Glory: Sweet as ------
Leave begging-Muse, thy praise gains no Relief,
since from her glory I derive my grief.

An Occasional Frolick to an unknown Friend.

Sir, By my life I know not what to write:
Iack Ager swears your wit is infinite;
As boundlesse as his praises, or the seas,
or our swell'd Caps that Elboe-in with these.
Of such a fervent Fancy it might win
an Anchorite to fall in love with sin.
Our Healths, that clip Times wings, and swifter passe
than his dwarff-Minutes, or his spacious glass
Disburthens her big Womb of Pigme-sands,
to you we dedicate: whil'st our Commands
As weighty as our Liquor, fals on's head,
that dares but hope that he can grope to Bed.
As our Gorge fils, we give our bodies ease.
and gush forth Flouds, as Seas do combat Seas:
That as an Inundation plaies its pranks,
we make the Ioraanes to o'reflow their Banks.
If any Nod under fell, Morpheus weight,
our waking Iustice takes him Napping straight;
And in Contempt we let the Stinckard sink
in his own puddle, though we swim in drink.
To stand is out of use; to walk upright
doth savour too much of the Hypocrite.
But, like mad Greeks, we fight upon the knee,
'till to the chin in blood of Grapes we be,
And him we count a most Herculean Asse,
that wants the Art to multiply a glasse,
That so our Opticks may with little trouble,
take quarts for pottles, and see all things double.
If any shrink 'cause money he doth lack,
wee'l drown his Hogshead in a But of Sack.
But by th' addition of my Cups, I feel
my Muse is drunk, and now my Verses reel;
I'm sure they have the Staggers; then (Sir) think
what I have done amiss was in my drink.
Your Healths our Healths preserve, and hearty Sack
is Belly-food, and Raiment for the Back:
Nor want we Musick to maintain the Season;
our Pottle pots do keep their Diapazon.
Thus much as I am Mortal; but the sire
that Courts your Knowledge of me, reacheth high'r,
And cannot be less powerfull than the Flame
circled Prometheus, till I meet the same.
I rest, as you please to stile

To a Gentlewoman that Loved me, and I not her.

Another upon the same.

A Dialogue.

1
Tell me fair Nymph, canst thou love me?

2
No, 'tis a breach to Liberty:
I yet enjoy a free Estate,
Neither a slave to Love nor Hate.

1
Thou art mis-inform'd in this,
For without Love, no Ioy there is.

2
Alas we know, you Men have skill,
To guild the poyson of the Pill;
But 'tis beyond your utmost Art,
To make the practise on my Heart.

1
True, not in mine; but his that can
Aw ev'n the heart of Mighty Pan,
Soften the rigid Satyres Brest,
And to each troubled Soul give rest:
To Discord he can Concord give,
And teach Society to live;
For wheresoever he doth come,
The Place is made Elizium.

2
What place is that?

1
The place of Rest,
Where Love's in every Sense exprest;
There dying Hearts he doth revive,
And makes them All their Cares survive.
There are no Sighs, nor sign of Tears,
No jealous thoughts, nor panting fears.
But such a lasting Spring of Ioy,
That Age nor Death cannot destroy.
Oh that I might those joys possess!
Love me, and here thou'lt find no less.

2
I would, but know not how.

1
That's fine;
Come warm thy softer Palm in mine,
Now meet a kiss.

2
I'm all one flame.

1
'Tis in Loves pow'r to quench the same.

2
Say Shepherd, say, Canst thou love me?

1
No, 'tis a breach to liberty.

2
Oh do not mock me,

1
Oh do not mock me,

2
Indeed I love.

1
And so do I.

Chorus
There's nothing like Loves liberty.
To which wee'l win the heart of many a Swain,
who knowing not his sweets, their good refrain:
And flinty brested Nymphs soften, till they
by our Example, learn who to obey.
Since Love hath the instinctive Pow'r alone
to tie and fasten thus two Hearts in one.

To ------

I may revoke each Vow I made to thee,
without the guilt of wilfull Perjury.
I swore I'd Wed thee, and I meant no lesse,
had'st thou but prov'd the same thou did'st profess:
But being not what thou did'st seem to be,
it were a sin to keep my Faith with thee.
Our Fancie's oft deceived by the sight
of some far Object, some exhaled Light,
That seems a Star, but falling to the Ground,
the falsenesse of th'admired thing is found.
So though thou didst mislead my eyes, thoul't find
thy fair illusion cann't my Judgement blind.
I'd rather marry one resembles Night,
that hath an inward part can make her bright.
For Lapidaries value not alone
the make, but secret Virtue of the Stone.
I care not for the whites of Shape or Face:
a black Heart's oft hid in a Christall Case,
A Rose, whose Virgin Beauty casts a sent,
passing through many hands, is quickly spent:
So is a Picture, though as neatly Limb'd
as Art could fancy, breath'd on too much dimm'd.
Sure that man then is void of Reason quite
that binds his faith unto a stale delight,
Thus Hellen like a Cancel'd bond I leave thee,
thy Date is out, thou shalt no more deceive me:
For thou hast wasted so thy Youthfull fires
thou canst not thaw the Ice of my Desires.
Then Glow-worm know, I'le not admire that light
cann't yield me Comfort in the frostiest Night.

To a Mistresse that bid me make another Choice.

To my self.

To the Deceiving Mistress.

To Cupid

Cvpid to Arms, or th'art betraid,
there is a Cold Complexion'd Maid,
That teacheth to ascribe to Thee
a Deity is Heresie;
That thou art made of Wood or Stone,
set up in Fairs, admir'd by none
But Children, who do Idolize
thy Golden Locks, and smoother Thighs;
And at a slender rate may buy
thy Godhead and Artilery.
Cupid lest thou should'st not know her,
these are tokens that will shew her:
Her Beams are such, though blind they say
thou art, thou need'st not grope thy way:
An awfull Brow, a piercing Eye,
presaging Signs of Sovereignty.
Her Language smooth, of weighty Sense,
which seems as fair as her pretence;
Whose specious Beauties do infer,
There is no Sweetnesse but in her.
And this assumes her Virtual Breath
hath pow'r to send us Life or Death:
Which will be credited by all,
and Thou, thy Fame, and Altars fall,
Unless thou dost by force beat down
these rising Evils 'gainst thy Crown,
Arm then thy self, and thou wilt get
by wounding her more Praise than yet
Tradition ere pil'd up for thee;
Be now One, or no Deity.
Pursue the Game, and thou shalt prove
the force of Beauty, I of Love.

Lycoris a Rapture.

In vain thou striv'st Lycorice to defeat
my purposes, thy blushes may retreat,
But not my Love, nor can they easie flight
pass unpursu'd, or scape the Eagles sight;
Thou canst not fly my Love, for it hath wings
swifter then Swallows, so the Falcon sings,
When he hath seiz'd the Dove, and vainly she
with feeble force strives her poor self to free.
Art thou not mine? did not my Love surprize,
thee and thy Faith, and didst not thou devise;
An equal Snare for mine? since they agree,
why should our pleasures then at difference be?
That I do love thee, I must needs confess,
and I am confident thou thinkst no less:
But he that loves to talk and not to do,
looseth his Time, his Oyl and Labour too.
What man can love the thing hee'd not possess
or by his mind express his willingness,
Who spares to speak must never hope to speed
The heart that seeks not help may ever bleed:
Who onely look's, and loves but to admire,
smothers his flames ere they imbrace a fire.
The Face is but the Index to invite
our Eyes to view the thing of more delight;
So Painters set their peeces forth to win
us to survey their better Works within,
And I could be content with all my heart
to give my judgement on the inward part.
'Tis not the Face (alone) that men adore,
Love softly whispers, 'tis for something more,
And hath so well that secret-sweet exprest;
we ought to love that part amongst the rest.
Who values Lutes, but for the Ayres they make?
or who the Grape but for the Juyces sake?
Who slaves himself to love, not to enjoy
surrenders up his Freedom for a toy.
And she that out of simple modesty
denies Love Tenets, can no Lover be.
Love answers Love, and in that Language best,
when he is truly by himself exprest,
Nor put me off with such your queint delayes,
as heretofore, to hope for After-dayes.
Delayes are dang'rous, and my hopes may be
like Physick mis-apply'd to poyson me.
What thanks can she deserve that shews us meat,
with this proviso that we must not eat?
He must be Mad-man, or a Fool at least,
that starv's himself with hoping for a Feast.
And he recorded be a Fool at last,
that stayes for Meat until his Stomack's past.
Or shall against Gods Benefits repine,
and drink cold Water when he may have Wine.
What pleasure can there be in this or this?
we use to flatter Children with a kiss.
And sure more flames do from my heart arise,
when I salute those sweet Babies thy Eyes.
Thou smil'st, but like the Sun before a storm,
so violent fires decay ere scarce they warm.
Thou lett'st me kiss thy hand to raise my flame,
then leav'st me to be ruin'd in the same.
Can this be judged Love, or can there be,
'twixt Love and Beauty such Antipathy?
How should I know my Friend from Enemy,
but by the secrets he intrusted me;
But thou art so severe none can discover,
whether thou writ'st thy self, or Friend or Lover.
Happy were they that liv'd in Ages past,
when nature ty'd both Love and pleasure fast:
Blest were those Dayes, when Brest with Brest did meet,
and the stol'n sweets of Love not held unmeet.
When Man had Licence given him with his Eyes,
to search into Loves profound Mysteries.
When I do court thee to't thou plead'st a sin,
so putt'st a period to't ere I begin.
Tell'st me that Chastity's as cold as Snow,
and by that Metaphor you must be so.
But says Experience when the Sun appears,
he straight dissolves its Body into tears.
To mourn its own Condition, and it turns
by often handling, so you'd think it burns.
Think me the Sun my Dear, and by my Art,
I'le thaw the Snow congeal'd about thy Heart.
For know Lycoris there's no greater Vice,
in Woman, then to be so over nice.
What though the Fruits forbidden and the Tree,
Points death to others? it speaks life to me.
Our fears deceive us, he whose poor heart dare
not stand the peril must not hope to share
I'th prize or profit: So the Merchants gain
doth recompence his Travel and his pain.
That thing that is with greatest danger won,
brings greatest pleasures when the doubts are gone.
So's fame and Honour purchas'd, and by this
We make our Acts the Authors of our Bliss.
For ne're would Souldier any Siege begin,
did not his hopes perswade him he should win.
Nor ere did Army (onely) lye before
a Fort to look on't, and to give it o're,
If there were hopes of Batt'ry, and all know
long Siege the strongest Fort doth overthrow;
For violent Outward storms the In-works break,
and Confidence may make the strongest weak.
Thou art but Woman dearest, and canst do
no more then what the strength directs thee to,
Thou hast endeavour'd strongly to resist
but still the Seige continues, all things mist
Thy aime, thou shot'st in vain, thy force is spent,
yield on Free-quarter then, no Treason's meant.
No noise but such as Turtles sigh shall fill
thy Eares my dear, and I thy victor will
Become thy Captive, then who'd shun to be
o'recome by such a loving Enemy.
The Bed shall be our Field, and our Alarms
shall be soft kisses, though we fight in Arms;
Which I will sow faster then thou canst reap,
who would no purchase Amity so cheap?
They say Love Conquers all things if't be true,
'tis possible that mine may Conquer you,
And if no Fable that accounted be
I will oppose my Love 'gainst destiny.
I'le steal the Fruit from the Hesperides
spight of the watchful Draggon, when I please,
And more, to further our Content I'le charm
those Argoes Eyes about thee, no Ear harm
Our whispers by a listning, nor a light
but thine shall lead me to that blest delight
That pure Elizer, that All-happyness
whose Sweets none can but he that tasts express.
Nor think it desp'rate to be undergone
the Will doth make the difficulty none.
She that yields up her Reason to her Fear,
looseth her Joy, and finds her Ruin neer.
For when thy coyness hath me Murdered,
thy Pitty proves bad Physick to the dead.
Or could that Pitty me to life restore,
it cures but one wound to make thousands more,
Unless it carry with't express consent,
and liberty to warrant my content.
Then he so merciful to let me be
o'recome in Love by my o'recoming thee.
And let your understanding reach at this,
none hunts the Game but when the Season is.
Make use of Time, Flow'rs ne're so fair decay,
and Love may turn his course another way.
Then while our youths do last and Loves agree,
let not our Pleasures at such difference be;
The Sweets where of will lengthen out our time,
and never fade, but still be in their prime:
The breath of Love shall make our kisses sweet,
till we conceit our very souls do meet.
And as our Limbs do lovingly entwine,
we'le grow together like the am'rous Vine;
And wantonly our fancies shall invent
fresh Pleasures, when our old grow stale or spent.
We'le fright Age from us, and force Nature to
supply our wants, till she her self undo;
Revive our Pleasures with each Breath, and taste
the sweets as often, and yet find no waste.
Thus we will build an Altar, to delight
on eithers lips, and with a flaming sp'rit,
Our Actions shall be offer'd full of fire,
first kindled from a mutual desire;
That Poets now and in the Age to come,
shall fancy ours the true Elizium.

Lycoris weeping.

Weep not Lycoris, 'tis not meant
thou should'st for this one Act repent;
For, where such constant Love hath bin,
it were a Crime to think a Sin.
When sin doth bid thee love, love not at all,
but Love to bid thee sin is naturall.

A Smile.

Who would not think to see that Glance
the sprightly Genious of a flame,
But from the heat of Love it came;
and meant some dead Heart to advance
With warmth to Life? but oh! the ill
it onely shews its power can kill.
Who would believe, that hath the Eye
of Reason to direct his sence,
A Hill of rigid Ice could sence
the Sun, and so dissolveless lye
So neer the torrid Zone? but oh,
that is the frigid one below:
So eithers Natures works upon excess,
as they excel in either more or less.

To Mrs. J. H. upon my recovery of a fit of sickness.

Song.

To Mrs. I. H. upon the sight of a Marble Coverture or Statue in the Church.

Observe Ostella how it weeps,
As though it griev'd for what it keeps,
And seems a pitteous sense to owne
Because its empty guess hath none,
Or that it should not be the same,
In sense it seems to be in Fame,
And can thy Brests be harder far
Then Rocks of Flint or Marble ar?
Is't not a shame thou shouldst be known
To have less pitty then a stone;
But since thy Heart of flesh Tears can't perswade
My prayes shall be to have it Marble made.

A Frown.

Indeed I am the same I was last night,
My wit's as safe, and have a heart as light
As Air in'ts subtlist Motion, and I swear
I have not wrong'd the least Curl of my hair
With violence, nor hath my manly Brest
with any thumps (ridiculous) been oprest
My Buttons and my Button-holes are firm,
so is my shirt: my Eyes did need no term
Of Art or Charm to close them: but soft sleep
did in her bosome safe my sences keep,
I wak'd this Morning in so good a mind,
I would not drown myself, and have design'd
This day for Mirth, not to fright Sorrow hence,
That should from thee have any Influence
Upon my free-born soul; 'tis not a Frown
Can my aspiring Heart kill, or cast down;
Should ev'ry Frown your Sex casts, slay man Pat,
He'd need of Ninety nine lives more than a Cat.

Vpon my leaving off the Company of Hellena.

I go from thee with a more willing Heart,
than Pris'ners from their shackles can depart:
Or Camels from the Burthens they lay down,
or Men to fly Infection leave the Town.
I go from thee as from a house of Sin,
a Saint doth fly h'had been betrayed in.
I leave thee, as I'd leave my Robe of Woe,
or as I would my Misery forgo.
I leave thee with as hearty a Desire
as Sinners do there sins, when th' holy fire
Of Grace doth Beam into their Brests. Or they
when mounting Heaven-ward leave their Gaol of Clay.
I go (shame to thy Sex) I do, nor shall
Oceans of tears, or Gaoles of sighs recall
Me or my vows, the Crocodile I'le trust,
sooner than thee, and yield my self to dust;
I, and will first at the Hyæna's call
return to Death, with life end woes and all.
Yet i'le not leave behind me any Curse.
on thee, least I anticipate a worse
Which the just Gods intend to showre on thee,
for th' violation of thy vows to me
My Charity not love bidds thee repent;
the Gods, though slow, throw home their Punishment.

Songs in a Masque.

1 Song: Fortune Descending.

Chorus.
Then you that are from envy free
Come and make up a Simphony.

Chorus.
Then you that are from envy free
Come and make up a Simphony.

2 The poor Schollers Song.

3 Song. The Country-life.

4. Song. Ambition.

5. Song.

A Prologue spoken at the Cock-pit, at the coming of the Red-Bull Players thither.

I am amaz'd! So one long kept from Light,
'Twixt Joy and Wonder, trembles at the sight;
The Blind thats cur'd by accident, doth pay
In such Distraction, Duty to the Day,
As we present to you: 'tis long since here
So many Glorious bodies did appear,
Whose Beams gave Life to Action, as the Sun
Gives growth to th' Infant Plants he Smiles upon.
Then flourisht here those Roscio's of the Age,
That trod the perfect measure of the Stage,
Who from your eys took Motion; such as drew
Encouragement to them, Content to you.
Yet those so exquisite in Comedies,
Have Acted since their own sad Tragedies.
Who could have di'd more bravely? Yet we must
Leave to Opinion that; our onely Trust
Is in your Favours: Nor think cause your share
Of Sweets are gone, that all things bitter are.
If you'l shoot equal Beams on us wee'l strive
To make you think that They in Vs survive
Imagination's strong; but if your eye
Dart a dislike, 'tis time to yield or die.

A Prologue spoken at the Red-Bull to a Play called the Whisperer, or what you please.

Now bless my eye-sight! what! the house so thin,
And we upon preparing to begin!
Whence comes this strange Neglect? have you injoy'd
Of late so much variety y' are cloi'd?
Or do you think you pay too dear for Wit,
And so would grosly take your leave of it.
Grosly indeed; for hither you do come,
Like so many Churls, and leave your Wives at home,
Our Author likes the Women well, and says,
You do 'em wrong to hinder 'em from Plays.
And therefore wishes you to be more kind,
And on his Day to leave them not behind.
The more the merrier, rather than come alone
For once make use of what is not your own,
And bring your Neighbours Wife, which if you do
'Tis ten to one hee'l do as much for you;
And if our Mirth cannot your Anger smother,
You may go home, and Laugh at one another.
If what we fancy, you like in the Play,
'Tis a good sign that good Wits jump, you'l say.
But though Detraction's become a Disease,
In spight of It, you shall have what you please.

On the Report of Master William Lawes his Death.

VVho says Will Lawes is dead? had not his breath
Virtue enough to charm the Spleen of Death?
He that to Discord could pure Concord give,
instructing all Society to live,
Doth 't come within your Reason he can die,
who bears a part in Friendships Harmony?
Let not such thoughts abuse you; for the Earth
receives no Musick but what was his Mirth.
He dead, the melancholly World must be
brought straight into a general Lethargie:
Yet this I guesse, finding his Health impair,
He made this change but for a better Air.

To my Mother, Mris. Dorothy Tatham, one of the Daughters of Christopher Percy of Manson in the County of Dorset, Esquire, then Iustice of Peace and Quorum, and High Sheriff of that County.

See the inconstancy of things,
the Revolutions of this life,
That ev'n appears in th' State of Kings,
and nothing's constant but our Strife.
The Court, the Ages wonted Pride,
hath put her Beauty off, and now,
Her very Glass doth her deride,
and shews the wrinkles on her Brow.
Then though y' are not so great as good,
yet far more happy than y'are poor;
None can defile your Name or Blood,
then let that Comfort Guild thee o're.
At first or last, alike all People fares.
And Kings themselves are not exempt from Cares.

Vpon the Death of my Father.

The youthfull bloud that beat the winding Maze
Within your veins, gave length unto my daies;
The active heat distil a crimson Dew
Through those warm Limbecks, and made Me of You:
That to such full proportion I am grown,
People do still Me for Your figure own.
Then since I have deriv'd a part from Thee,
Thou canst not die whil'st Thou hast part in Me.

Song.

Define a Woman! who can do't?
'less you put the Divel to't.
He that first she yeelded to,
best knows how with her to do.
To their treacherous smiles he's known,
and promotes them as his own:
They can turn as he can do
Divels into Angels hue.
When they prattle he directs them,
when they Raunt it he protects them:
In all points of Sophistry
They are skill'd as well as He.
When they make themselves so trim,
what do they but ev'n Act him?
Not for Air their Brests are bare,
but some poor Soul to ensnare.
For the Spots upon their Faces,
tell you what the tother place is,
And when for some prey he watches,
he lies sculking in their Patches:
Since then they so well agree,
Pitty they should parted be.

To Cupid.

Set me to tame a Tyger, melt a Rock,
Number the Sands, Plough up the Seas, or knock
Both Poles together, I with as much ease
Dare enterprize these Wonders, as to please
A Woman. Lay thou any Plague on me,
But to Love them, I'le deem it Clemencie;
For they are Riddles past Mans finding out,
No task so difficult to go about;
For in that one Act I have labour'd more
Than Hercules did in his twelve before.

To the ------

Song.