Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou, whose sole Name all Passions doth comprize,
Youngest and Eldest of the Deities,
Born without Parents, whose unbounded Raign
Moves the firm Eearth, fixeth the floating Main,
Inverts the Course of Heav'n; and from the Deep
Awakes those Souls that in dark Lethe sleep,
By thy mysterious Chains seeking t'unite
Once more, the long-since torn Hermaphrodite.
He who thy willing Pris'ner long was vow'd
And uncompell'd beneath thy Scepter bow'd,
Returns at last in thy soft Fetters bound,
With Victory, though not with Freedom crown'd:
And, of his Dangers past a grateful Signe,
Suspends this Tablet at thy numerous Shrine.

The Gloworme.

Stay fairest Chariessa, stay and mark
This animated Gem, whose fainter spark
Of fading light, its birth had from the dark.

A Star thought by the erring Passenger,
Which falling from its native Orb dropt here,
And makes the Earth (its Centre,) now its Sphere.

Should many of these sparks together be,
He that the unknown light far off should see
Would think it a terrestrial Galaxie.

Take't up fair Saint; see how it mocks thy fright,
The paler flame doth not yield heat, though light,
Which thus deceives thy Reason, through thy sight.

But see how quickly it (ta'ne up) doth fade,
To shine in darkness onely being made,
By th' brightness of thy light turn'd to a shade;

And burnt to ashes by thy flaming eyes
On the chaste Altar of thy hand it dies,
As to thy greater light a sacrifice.

The Breath.

Favonius the milder breath o'th' Spring,
When proudly bearing on his softer wing
Rich odours, which from the Panchean groves
He steals, as by the Phenix pyre he moves,
Profusely doth his sweeter theft dispence
To the next Roses blushing innocence,
But from the grateful Flower, a richer scent
He back receives then he unto it lent.
Then laden with his odours richest store,
He to thy Breath hasts! to which these are poor;
Which whilst the amorous wind to steal essaies,
He like a wanton Lover 'bout thee playes,
And sometimes cooling thy soft cheek doth lie,
And sometimes burning at thy flaming eye:
Drawn in at last by that breath we implore,
He now returns far sweeter then before,
And rich by being rob'd, in Thee he finds
The burning sweets of Pyres, the cool of Winds.

Desiring her to burn his Verses.

These Papers Chariessa, let thy breath
Condemn, thy hand unto the flames bequeath;
'Tis fit who gave them life, should give them death.

And whilst in curled flames to Heaven they rise,
Each trembling sheet shall as it upwards flies,
Present it self to thee a sacrifice.

Then when about its native orb it came,
And reacht the lesser lights o'th' sky, this flame
Contracted to a Star should wear thy name.

Or falling down on earth from its bright sphear,
Shall in a Diamonds shape its lustre bear,
And trouble (as it did before) thine ear.

But thou wilt cruel even in mercy be,
Unequal in thy justice, who dost free
Things without sense from flames, and yet not Me.

The Night.

A Dialogue.

Chariessa.
VVhat if Night
Should betray us, and reveal
To the light
All the pleasures that we steal?

Philocharis.
Fairest, we
Safely may this fear despise;
How can She
See our actions who wants eyes?

Chariessa.
Each dimne starre
And the clearer lights we know
Nights eyes are;
They were blind that thought her so:

Philocharis.
Those pale fires
Onely burn to yield a light
T'our desires,
And though blind, to give us sight.

Chariessa.
By this shade
That surrounds us might our flame
Be betraid,
And the day disclose its name.

Philocharis.
Dearest Fair,
These dark witnesses we finde
Silent are,
Night is dumb as well as blinde.

Chorus.

Then whilst these black shades conceal us,
We will scorn
Th' envious Morn,
And the Sun that would reveal us.
Our flames, shall thus their mutual light betray,
And night, wth these joys crown'd outshine the day.

Excuse for wishing Her lesse Fair.

Why thy passion should it move
That I wisht thy Beauty lesse?
Fools desire what is above
Power of nature to expresse;
And to wish it had been more,
Had been to outwish her store.

If the flames within thine eye
Did not too great heat inspire,
Men might languish yet not die,
At thy lesse ungentle fire,
And might on thy weaker light
Gaze, and yet not lose their sight.

Nor would'st thou lesse fair appear,
For detraction addes to thee;
If some parts lesse beauteous were
Others would much fairer be:
Nor can any part we know
Best be styl'd, when all are so.

Thus this great excesse of light,
Which now dazles our weak eyes,
Would, ecclips'd, appear more bright;
And the onely way to rise,
Or to be more fair, for thee
Celia, is lesse fair to be.

Chang'd, yet Constant.

Wrong me no more
In thy complaint,
Blam'd for Inconstancy;
I vow'd t'adore
The fairest Saint,
Nor chang'd whilst thou wert she:
But if another Thee outshine,
Th' Inconstancy is onely Thine.

To be by such
Blind Fools admir'd
Gives thee but small esteem,
By whom as much
Thou'dst be desir'd
Didst thou lesse beautious seem;
Sure why they love they know not well,
Who why they should not cannot tell.

Women are by
Themselves betray'd,
And to their short joyes cruel,
Who foolishly
Themselves perswade
Flames can outlast their fuel;
None (though Platonick their pretence)
With Reason love unlesse by Sence.

And He, by whose
Command to Thee
I did my heart resigne,
Now bids me choose
A Deity
Diviner far then thine;
No power can Love from Beauty sever;
I'me still Loves subject, thine was never.

The fairest She
Whom none surpasse
To love hath onely right,
And such to me
Thy Beauty was
Till one I found more bright;
But 'twere as impious to adore
Thee now, as not t'have don't before.

Nor is it just
By rules of Love
Thou should'st deny to quit
A heart that must
Anothers prove
Ev'n in thy right to it;
Must not thy Subjects Captives be
To her who triumphs over Thee?

Cease then in vain
To blot my name
With forg'd Apostasie,
Thine is that stain
Who dar'st to claim
What others ask of Thee?
Of Lovers they are onely true
Who pay their Hearts where they are due.

The Self-Deceaver.

[_]

Montalvan.

Deceav'd and undeceav'd to be
At once I seek with equal care,
Wretched in the discovery,
Happy if cozen'd still I were:
Yet certain ill of ill hath lesse
Then the mistrust of happinesse.

But if when I have reach'd my Aime.
(That which I seek less worthy prove,)
Yet still my Love remains the same,
The subject not deserving Love;
I can no longer be excus'd
Now more in fault as less abus'd.

Then let me flatter my Desires,
And doubt what I might know too sure,
He that to cheat himself conspires,
From falsehood doth his Faith secure
In Love uncertain to believe
I am deceiv'd, doth undeceive.

For if my Life on Doubt depend,
And in distrust inconstant steer,
If I essay the strife to end
(When Ignorance were Wisdom here;)
All thy attempts how can I blame
To work my Death? I seek the same.

The Cure.

Nymph.
VVhat busie Cares too timely born
(Young Swain!) disturb thy sleep?
Thy early sighs awake the Morn,
Thy tears teach her to weep.

Shepherd.
Sorrows fair Nymph are full alone
Nor counsel can endure.

Nymph.
Yet thine disclose, for until known
Sickness admits no Cure.

Shepherd.
My Griefs are such as but to hear
Would poyson all thy Joyes,
The Pitty which thou seem'st to bear
My Health, thine own destroyes.

Nymph.
How can diseased Minds infect?
Say what thy Grief doth move!

Shepherd.
Call up thy vertue to protect
Thy Heart, and know 'twas Love.

Nymph.
Fond Swain!

Shepherd.
By which I have been long
Destin'd to meet with Hate.

Nymph.
Fy Shepherd fy: thou dost Love wrong,
To call thy Crime thy Fate.

Shepherd.
Alas what Cunning could decline,
What Force can Love repel?

Nymph.
Yet, there's a Way to unconfine
Thy Heart.

Shepherd.
For pitty tell.

Nymph.

Choose one whose Love may be allur'd
By thine: who ever knew
Inveterate Diseases cur'd
But by receiving new?

Shepherd.
All will like her my Soul perplex.

Nymph.
Yet try.

Shepherd.
Oh could there be,
But any softness in that Sex,
I'd wish it were in Thee.

Nymph.

Thy Prayer is heard: learn now t'esteem
The kindness She hath shown
Who thy lost freedom to redeem
Hath forfeited her own.

Celia Singing.

Roses in breathing forth their scent,
Or Stars their borrowed ornament;
Nymphs in the Watery Sphear that move,
Or Angels in their orbs above;
The winged Chariot of the Light,
Or the slow silent wheels of Night;
The shade, which from the swifter Sun,
Doth in a circular motion run;
Or souls that their eternal Rest do keep,
Make far less noise then Celia's Breath in sleep.

But if the Angel which inspires
This subtile Flame with active fires
Should mould this Breath to words, and those
Into a Harmony dispose;
The Musick of this heavenly sphear,
Would steal each soul out at the Ear,
And into Plants and Stones infuse
A life that Cherubins would choose;
And with new Powers invert the Laws of Fate,
Kill those that live, and dead things animate.

The Returne.

Beauty whose soft Magnetick chains
Nor time nor absence can unite,
Thy power the narrow bounds disdains
Of nature or Philosophie,
That canst by unconfined laws
A motion, though at distance, cause.

Drawn by the sacred influence
Of thy bright eyes, I back return;
And since I no where can dispence
With flames that do in absence burn,

I rather choose 'midst them t'expire
Then languish by a hidden fire.

But if thou insulting pride
Of vulgar beauties dost despise,
Who by vain triumphs Deifide,
Their votaries do sacrifice,
Then let those flames, whose magick charm
At distance scorch'd, approch'd but warm.

Song.

[VVhen I lie burning in thine eye]

VVhen I lie burning in thine eye,
Or freezing in thy brest,
What Martyrs, in wish'd flames that die,
Are half so pleas'd or blest?

When thy soft accents, through mine ear
Into my soul do fly,
What Angel would not quit his sphear,
To hear such harmony?

Or when the kisse thou gav'st me last
My soul stole in its breath,
What life would sooner be embrac'd
Then so desir'd a death?

Then think no freedom I desire,
Or would my fetters leave,
Since Phenix-like I from this fire
Both life and youth receave.

The sick Lover.

[_]

Guarini.

My sickly breath
Wasts in a double flame;
Whilst Love and Death
To my poor life lay claim;
The feavour in whose heat I melt
By her that causeth it not felt.

Thou who alone
Canst, yet wilt grant no ease,
Why slight'st thou one
To feed a new disease?
Unequal fair! the heart is thine;
Ah, why then should the pain be mine!

Song.

[Celinda, by what potent art]

Celinda , by what potent art
Or unresisted charm,
Dost thou thine ear and frozen heart
Against my passion arm.

Or by what hidden influence
Of powers in one combin'd
Dost thou rob love of either sense,
Made deaf as well as blind.

Sure thou as friends united hast
Two distant Deities,
And scorn within thy heart hast plac'd,
And love within thine eyes.

Or those soft fetters of thy hair,
A bondage that disdains
All liberty, do guard thine ear
Free from all other chains.

Then my complaint how canst thou hear,
Or I this passion fly,
Since thou imprisoned hast thine ear
And not confin'd thine eye?

Song.

[Fool take up thy shaft again]

Fool take up thy shaft again;
If thy store
Thou profusely spend in vain,
Who can furnish thee with more?
Throw not then away thy darts,
On impenetrable hearts.

Think not thy pale flame can warm
Into tears,
Or dissolve the snowy charm
Which her frozen bosom wears,
That expos'd unmelted lies
To the bright suns of her eyes.

But since thou thy power hast lost,
Nor canst fire
Kindle in that breast, whose frost
Doth these flames in mine inspire,
Not to thee but Her I'le sue,
That disdains both me and you.

Delay.

Delay? Alas there cannot be
To Love a greater Tyrannie;
Those cruel Beauties that have slain
Their Votaries by their disdain,
Or studied torments, sharp and witty,
Will be recorded for their pitty,
And after-ages be misled
To think them kind, when this is spred.

Of deaths the speediest is despair,
Delayes the slowest tortures are;
Thy cruelty at once destroyes,
But Expectation starves my Joyes,
Time and Delay, may bring me past
The power of Love to cure, at last;
And shouldst thou wish to ease my pain,
Thy pitty might be lent in vain;
Or if thou hast decreed, that I
Must fall beneath thy cruelty,
O kill me soon! Thou wilt expresse
More Mercy, ev'n in shewing lesse.

Commanded by his Mistris to woe for her.

Strange kind of Love! that knows no President,
A Faith so firm as passeth faiths Extent,
By a Tyrannick Beauty long subdu'd,
I now must sue for her to whom I su'd.
Unhappy Orator! who though I move
For Pitty, Pitty cannot hope to prove.
Employing thus against my self my Breath,
And in anothers Life begging my Death.

But if such moving Powers my Accents have,
Why first my own Redresse do I not crave?
What hopes that I to pitty should encline
Anothers Brest, who can move none in thine?
Or how can the griev'd Patient look for ease
When the Physitian suffers the dsease?
If thy sharp Wounds from me expect their Cure,
'Tis fit those first be heald that I indure.

Ungentle fair one! why dost thou dspence
Unequally thy sacred Influence?
VVhy pining me, offer'st the precious Food
To one by whom nor priz'd, nor understood;

So some clear Brook to the full Main, to pay
Her needlesse Christal Tribute hastes away,
Profusely foolish; whilst her niggard Tide
Starves the poor Flowres that grow along her side.

Thou who my Glories art design'd to own
Come then, and reap the Joyes that I have sown:
Yet in thy pride acknowledge, though thou bear
The happy Prize away, the Palm I wear.
Nor the obedience of my Flame accuse,
That what I sought, my self conspir'd to loose:
The haplesse state where I am fix'd is such,
To love I seem not, cause I Love too much.

The Repulse.

Not that by this disdain
I am releas'd,
And freed from thy tyrannick chain,
Do I my self think blest;

Nor that thy Flame shall burn
No more; for know
That I shall into ashes turn,
Before this fire doth so.

Nor yet that unconfin'd
I now may rove,

And with new beauties please my mind;
But that thou ne'r didst love:

For since thou hast no part
Felft of this flame,
I onely from thy tyrant heart
Repuls'd, not banish'd am.

To loose what once was mine
Would grieve me more
Then those inconstant sweets of thine
Had pleas'd my soul before.

Now I have not lost the blisse
I ne'r possest;
And spight of fate am blest in this,
That I was never blest.

The Tombe.

When, cruel Fair one, I am slain
By thy disdain,
And, as a Trophy of thy scorn,
To some old tombe am born,
Thy fetters must their power bequeath
To those of death;
Nor can thy flame immortal burn,
Like monumental fires within an urn;

Thus freed from thy proud Empire, I shall prove
There is more liberty in Death then Love.

And when forsaken Lovers come
To see my tombe,
Take heed thou mix not with the croud,
And (as a Victor) proud
To view the spoils thy beauty made
Presse near my shade,
Lest thy too cruel breath or name
Should fan my ashes back into a flame,
And thou, devour'd by this revengeful fire,
His sacrifice, who dy'd as thine, expire.

But if cold Earth, or Marble must
Conceal my dust,
Whilst hid in some dark ruines, I
Dumb and forgotten lie,
The pride of all thy victory
Will sleep with me;
And they who should attest thy Glory,
Will, or forget, or not believe this story:
Then to increase thy Triumph, let me rest,
Since by thine Eye slain, buried in thy Breast.

The Enjoyment.

[_]

St. Amant.

Far from the Courts ambitious noise
Retir'd, to those more harmlesse Joys
Which the sweet Country, pleasant fields,
And my own Court, a Cottage, yields;
I liv'd from all disturbance free,
Though Prisoner (Sylvia) unto Thee;
Secur'd from fears, which others prove,
Of the inconstancie of Love;
A life, in my esteem, more blest,
Thene're yet stoopt to deaths Arrest.

My senses and desires agreed;
With joynt delight each other feed:
A blist, I reach'd, as far above
VVords, as her Beauty, or my Love;
Such as compar'd with which, the Joyes
Of the most happie seem but Toyes:
Affection I receive and pay,
My pleasures knew not griefs allay:
The more I tasted I desir'd,
The more I quencht my Thirst was fir'd.

Now in some place where Nature showes
Her naked Beauty we repose;

VVhere she allures the wandring eye
With colours, which fains Art out-vye;
Pearls scatter'd by the weeping Morn,
Each where the glitt'ring Flowres adorn;
The Mistresse of the youthful year
(To whom kind Zephyrus doth bear
His amorous Vows and frequent Prayer)
Decks with these Gems her Neck and Hair.

Hither, to quicken Time with sport,
The little sprightly Loves resort,
And dancing o're th' enamel'd Mead,
Their Mistresses the Graces lead;
Then to refresh themselves, repaire
To the soft Bosome of my faire;
Where from the Kisses they bestow
Upon each other, such sweets stow
As carrie in their mixed Breath
A mutual Power of Life and Death.

Next in an Elms dilated shade
We see a rugged Satyre laid,
Teaching his Reed in a soft strain
Of his sweet Anguish to complain;
Then to a lonely Grove retreat,
Where day can no admittance get,
To visit peaceful solitude;
Whom seeing by Repose pursu'd,
All busie Cares, for fear to spoïle
Their calmer Courtship we exile.

There underneath a Myrtle, thought
By Fairies sacred; where was wrought
By Venus hand Loves Mysteries;
And all the Trophies of her eyes,
Our Solemn Pray'rs to Heaven we send,
That our firm Love might know no End;
Nor time its Vigor er'e impaire:
Then to the winged God we sware,
And grav'd the Oath in its smooth Rind,
Which in our Hearts we deeper find.

Then to my Dear (as if afraid,
To trie her doubted faith) I said,
Would in thy Soul my Form as cleer
As in thy Eyes I see it, were.
She kindly angry saith, Thou art
Drawn more at large within my Heart,
These Figures in my Eye appear
But small, because they are not near,
Thou through these Glasses seest thy Face,
As Pictures through their Chrystal Case.

Now with delight transported, I
My wreathed Arms about her tie;
The flatt'ring Ivie never holds
Her Husband Elme in stricter Folds,
To cool my fervent Thirst, I sip
Delicious Nectar from her lip.
She pledges, and so often past
This amorous health, till Love at last,
Our Souls did with these pleasures sate,
And equally in briate.

A while, our senses stoln away,
Lost in this Extasie we lay,
Till both together rais'd to Life.
We reingage in this kind strife,
Cythæra with her Syrian Boy,
Could never reach our meanest Joy.
The Childish God of Love ne're try'd,
So much of Love with his cold Bride,
As we in one embrace include,
Contesting each to be subdu'd.

To Celia pleading want of Merit.

Dear urge no more that killing cause
Of our divorce;
Love is not fetter'd by such laws,
Nor bows to any force:
Though thou deniest I should be thine,
Yet say not thou deserv'st not to be mine.

Oh rather frown away my breath
With thy disdain,
Or flatter me with smiles to death;
By joy or sorrow slain,
'Tis lesse crime to be kill'd by thee,
Then I thus cause of mine own death should be.

Thy self of beauty to devest
And me of love,

Or from the worth of thine own breast
Thus to detract, would prove
In us a blindnesse, and in thee
At best a sacrilegious modestie.

But (Celia) if thou wilt despise
What all admire,
Nor rate thy self at the just price
Of beauty or desire,
Yet meet my flames and thou shalt see
That equal love knows no disparity.

Loves Innocence.

Se how this Ivy strives to twine
Her wanton arms about the Vine,
And her coy lover thus restrains,
Entangled in her amorous chains;
See how these neighb'ring Palms do bend
Their heads, and mutual murmurs send,
As whisp'ring with a jealous fear
Their loves, into each others ear.
Then blush not such a flame to own
As like thy self no crime hath known;
Led by these harmlesse guides, we may
Embrace and kisse as well as they.
And like those blessed souls above,
Whose life is harmony and love,
Let us our mutual thoughts betray
And in our wils our minds display;

This silent speech is swifter far,
Then the ears lazy species are;
And the expression it affords
(As our desires) 'bove reach of words.
Thus we (my Dear) of these may learn
A Passion others not discern;
Nor can it shame or blushes move,
Like Plants to live, like Angels love:
Since All excuse with equal Innocence
What above Reason is, or beneath Sence.

The Bracelet.

[_]

Tristan.

Now Love be prais'd! that cruel Fair,
Who my poor Heart restrains
Under so many Chains,
Hath weav'd a new one for it of her Hair.

These threads of Amber us'd to play
With every courtly wind,
And never were confin'd,
But in a thousand Curls allow'd to stray.

Cruel each part of her is grown,
Nor lesse unkinde then She
These fetters are to Me,
Which to restrain my Freedome, loose their own.

The Kisse.

VVhen on thy lip my soul I breath,
Which there meets thine,
Freed from their fetters by this death
Our subtile Forms combine;
Thus without bonds of sence they move,
And like two Cherubins converse by love.

Spirits to chains of earth confin'd
Discourse by sence;
But ours that are by flames refin'd
With those weak ties dispence;
Let such in words their minds display,
We in a kisse our mutual thoughts convey,

But since my soul from me doth flie,
To thee retir'd,
Thou canst not both retain; for I
Must be with one inspir'd;
Then, Dearest, either justly mine
Restore, or in exchange let me have thine:

Yet if thou dost return mine own,
Oh tak't again!
For 'tis this pleasing death alone
Gives ease unto my pain:
Kill me once more, or I shall find
Thy pity then thy cruelty, lesse kind.

Apollo and Daphne.

[_]

Garcilasso Marino.

VVhen Phæbus saw a rugged Bark beguile
His Love, and his Embraces intercept,
The Leaves instructed by his Grief to smile,
Taking fresh Growth and verdure as he wept:
How can, saith he, my woes expect Release,
When Tears, the Subject of my Tears, increase!

His chang'd yet scorn-retaining Fair he kist,
From the lov'd Trunk plucking a little Bough;
And though the Conquest which he sought he mist,
With that Triumphant spoil adorns his Brow.
Thus this disdainful Maid his aim deceives,
Where he expected Fruit he gathers Leaves.

Speaking and Kissing.

The air which thy smooth voice doth break
Into my soul like lightning flies,
My life retires whil'st thou dost speak,
And thy soft breath its room supplies.

Lost in this pleasing Extasie
I joyn my trembling lips to thine,

And back receive that life from thee,
Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, Platonick fools, t'enquire
What numbers do the soul compose;
No harmony can life inspire
But that which from these accents flows.

The Snow-ball.

Doris , I that could repell
All those darts about thee dwell,
And had wisely learn'd to fear,
Cause I saw a Foe so near;
I that my deaf ear did arm,
'Gainst thy voices powerful charm,
And the lightning of thine eye
Durst (by closing mine) defie,
Cannot this cold snow withstand
From the whiter of thy hand;
Thy deceit hath thus done more
Then thy open force before:
For who could suspect or fear
Treason in a face so clear,
Or the hidden fires descry
Wrapt in this cold out-side lie;
Flames might thus involv'd in ice
The deceiv'd world sacrifice;
Nature, ignorant of this
Strange Antiperistasis,

Would her falling frame admire,
That by snow were set on fire.

The Deposition.

Though when I lov'd thee thou were fair,
Thou art no longer so,
Those glories all the pride they wear
Unto Opinion ow;
Beauties, like stars, in borrow'd lustre shine,
And 'twas my Love that gave thee thine.

The flames that dwelt within thine eye,
Do now, with mine, expire;
Thy brightest Graces fade, and die
At once with my desire;
Loves fires thus mutual influence return,
Thine cease to shine, when mine to burn.

Then (proud Celinda) hope no more
To bee implor'd or woo'd;
Since by thy scorn thou dost restore
The wealth my love bestow'd;
And thy despis'd Disdain too late shall find
That none are fair but who are kind.

To his Mistresse in Absence.

[_]

Tasso.

Far from thy dearest self, (the Scope
Of all my Aims)
I waste in secret Flames;
And onely live because I hope.
O when will Fate restore
The Joyes, in whose bright fire
My Expectation shall expire,
That I may live because I hope no more!

Loves Heretick.

He whose active thoughts disdain
To be Captive to one foe,
And would break his single chain,
Or else more would undergo;
Let him learn the art of me,
By new bondage to be free.

What tyrannick Mistresse dare
To one beauty love confine?
Who unbounded as the aire
All may court but none decline:

Why should we the Heart deny
As many objects as the Eye?

Wheresoe're I turn or move
A new passion doth detain me:
Those kind beauties that do love,
Or those proud ones that disdain me;
This frown melts, and that smile burns me;
This to tears, that ashes turns me.

Soft fresh Virgins not full blown,
With their youthful sweetnesse take me;
Sober Matrons that have known
Long since what these prove, awake me;
Here staid coldnesse I admire,
There the lively active fire.

She that doth by skill dispence
Every favour she bestows,
Or the harmlesse innocence
Which nor Court nor City knows,
Both alike my soul enflame,
That wilde beauty, and this tame.

She that wisely can adorn
Nature with the wealth of art,
Or whose rural sweets do scorn
Borrow'd helps to take a heart,
The vain care of that's my pleasure,
Poverty of this my treasure.

Both the wanton and the coy
Me with equal pleasures move;
She whom I by force enjoy,
Or who forceth me to love;
This because she'l not confesse,
That not hide, her happinesse.

She whose loosely flowing hair,
Scatter'd like the beams o'th' Morn,
Playing with the sportive Air,
Hides the sweets it doth adorn,
Captive in tharnet restrains me,
In those golden fetters chains me.

Nor doth she with power lesse bright
My divided heart invade,
Whose soft tresses spread like Night,
O're her shoulders a black shade;
For the star-light of her eyes
Brighter shines through those dark Skies.

Black, or fair, or tall, or low,
I alike with all can sport;
The bold sprightly Thais woo,
Or the frozen Vestal court;
Every beauty takes my minde,
Tied to all, to none confin'd.

La belle Confidente.

You earthly Souls that court a wanton flame,
Whose pale weak influence
Can rise no higher then the humble name
And narrow laws of Sence,
Learn by our friendship to create
An immaterial fire,
Whose brightnesse Angels may admire,
But cannot emulate.

Sicknesse may fright the roses from her cheek,
Or make the Lilies fade,
But all the subtile wayes that death doth seek
Cannot my love invade:
Flames that are kindled by the eye,
Through time and age expire;
But ours that boast a reach far higher
Can nor decay, nor die.

For when we must resign our vital breath,
Our Loves by Fate benighted,
We by this friendship shall survive in death,
Even in divorce united.
Weak Love through fortune or distrust
In time forgets to burn,
But this pursues us to the Urn,
And marries either's Dust.

La belle Ennemie.

I yield, dear Enemy, nor know
How to resist so fair a Foe;
Who would not thy soft yoke sustain,
And bow beneath thy easie chain,
That with a bondage blest might be
Which far transcends all liberty.

But since I freely have resign'd
At first assault my willing mind,
Insult not o're my captiv'd heart
With too much tyrannie and art,
Lest by thy scorn thou lose the prize,
Gaind by the power of thy bright eyes,
And thou this conquest thus shalt prove,
Though got by Beauty, kept by Love.

The Dream.

[_]

Lope de vega.

To set my jealous Soul at strife
All things maliciously agree,
Though sleep of Death the Image be,
Dreams are the Portraiture of Life.

I saw, when last I clos'd my Eyes,
Celinda stoop t'anothers Will;
If specious Apprehension kill,
What would the truth without disguise?

The joyes which I should call mine own
Me thought this Rival did possesse:
Like Dreams is all my happinesse;
Yet Dreams themselves allow me none.

To the Lady D.

Madam,
The Blushes I betray,
When at your Feet I humbly lay
These Papers, beg you would excuse
Th' obedience of a bashful Muse,
Who (bowing to your strict command)
Trusts her own Errours to your hand,
Hasty Abortives, which (laid by)
She meant, ere they were born should die:
But since the soft power of your Breath
Hath call'd them back again from Death,
To your sharp Judgement now made known,
She dares for Hers no longer own;
The worst she must not, these resign'd
She hath to th' fire, and where you find
Those your kinde Charity admir'd,
She writ but what your Eyes inspir'd.

Love Deposed.

You that unto your Mistresse eyes
Your hearts do sacrifice,
And offer sighs or tears at Loves rich shrine,
Renounce with me
Th' Idolatrie,
Nor this Infernal Power esteem divine:

The Brand, the Quiver, and the Bow,
Which we did first bestow,
And he as tribute wears from every Lover,
I back again
From him have ta'ne,
And the Impostor now unvail'd discover.

I can the feeble Child disarm,
Unty his mystick charm,
Devest him of his Wings, and break his Arrow,
We will obey
No more his sway,
Nor live confin'd to laws or bounds so narrow.

And you bright Beauties that inspire
The Boyes pale torch with fire,
We safely now your subtil power despise,

And (unscorch'd) may
Like Atoms play
And wanton in the sun-shine of your eyes.

Nor think hereafter by new arts
You can be witch our hearts,
Or raise this Devil by your pleasing charm;
We will no more
His power implore,
Unlesse like Indians, that he do no harm.

The Divorce.

Dear, back my wounded heart restore,
And turn away thy powerful eyes;
Flatter my willing soul no more,
Love must not hope what Fate denies.

Take, take away thy smiles and kisses,
Thy Love wounds deeper then Disdain,
For he that sees the Heaven he misses,
Sustains two Hels, of losse and pain.

Shouldst thou some others suit prefer,
I might return thy scorn to thee,
And learn Apostasie of her
Who taught me first Idolatry.

Or in thy unrelenting breast
Should I disdain or coynesse move,
He by thy hate might be releas't,
Who now is prisoner to thy love.

Since then unkind Fate will divorce
Those whom Affection long united,
Be thou as cruel as this force,
And I in death shall be delighted.

Thus whilst so many suppliants woe
And beg they may thy pitty prove,
I onely for thy scorn do sue,
'Tis charity here not to love.

Time Recover'd.

[_]

CASONE.

Come (my dear) whilst youth conspires
With the warmth of our desires;
Envious Time about thee watches,
And some Grace each minute snatches:
Now a spirit, now a Ray
From thy Eye he steals away,
Now he blasts some blooming Rose
Which upon thy fresh Cheek grows;

Gold now plunders in a Hair;
Now the Rubies doth impair
Of thy lips; and with sure hast
All thy wealth will take at last;
Onely that of which Thou mak'st
Use in time, from time Thou tak'st.

The Bracelet.

Rebellious fools that scorn to bow
Beneath Loves easie sway,
Wose stubborn wils no laws allow,
Disdaining to obay,
Mark but this wreath of hair and you shall see
None that might wear such fetters would be free.

I once could boast a soul like you
As unconfin'd as aire;
But mine, which force could not subdue,
Was caught within this snare;
And (by my self betray'd) I for this gold,
A heart that many storms withstood, have sold,

No longer now wise Art enquire
(With this vain search delighted)
How souls that humane breasts inspire
Are to their frames united;
Material chains such spirits well may bind,
When this soft brayd can tie both Arm and Mind.

Now (Beauties) I defie your charm,
Rul'd by more powerful Art,
This mystick wreath which crowns my Arm,
Defends my vanquisht Heart;
And I, subdu'd by one more fair, shall be
Secur'd from Conquest by Captivity.

The Farewell.

Since Fate commands me hence, and I
Must leave my soul with thee, and die,
Dear, spare one sigh, or else let fall
A tear to crown my Funeral,
That I may tell my grieved heart
Thou art unwilling we should part,
And Martyrs that imbrace the fire
Shall with lesse joy then I expire.

With this last kiss I will bequeath
My soul transfus'd into thy breath,
Whose active heat shall gently slide
Into thy breast, and there reside,
And be in spight of Fate thus blest
By this sad death of Heaven possest;
Then prove but kind, and thou shalt see
Love hath more power then Destinie.

Claim to Love.

[_]

Guarini.

Alasse! alasse! thou turnst in vain
Thy beauteous Face away,
Which (like young Sorcerers) rais'd a Pain
Above its Power to lay.

Love moves not as thou turnst thy Look,
But here doth firmly rest;
He long ago thy Eyes forsook
To revel in my Breast.

Thy Power on him why hop'st thou more
Then his on me should be,
The Claim thou lay'st to him is poor
To that he owns from Me.

His Substance in my Heart excells,
His shadow in thy Sight;
Fire where it burns more truly dwells,
Then where it scatters Light.

To his Mistress who dreamed He was wounded.

[_]

Guarini.

Thine Eyes (bright Saint) disclose
And thou shalt find,
Dreams have not with illusive showes
Deceiv'd thy Mind,
What Sleep presented to thy view,
Awake, and thou shalt finde is true.

Those mortall Wounds I bear
From thee begin,
Which though they outward not appear
Yet bleed within,
Loves Flame like active Lightning flies,
Wounding the Heart, but not the Eyes.

But now I yeeld to die
Thy sacrifice,
Nor more in vain will hope to flie
From thy bright Eyes;
Their killing Power cannot be shunn'd
Open or clos'd alike they wound.

The Echange.

Dialogue.

Phil.
That kisse which last thou gav'st me, stole
My fainting Life away,
Yet (though to thy Breast fled) my Soul
Still in mine own doth stay;

Char.
And with the same warm Breath did mine
Into thy Bosom slide,
There dwell contracted unto thine,
Yet still with me reside;

Chor.
Both Souls thus in desire are one,
And each is two in Skill,
Doubled in Intellect alone
United in the Will.
Weak Nature no such Power doth know,
Love only can these Wonders show.

Unaltred by Sicknesse.

Sicknesse, in vain thou dost invade
A Beauty that can never fade.
Could all thy Malice but impair
One of the sweets which crown this fair,
Or steal the spirits from her Eye,
Or kisse into a paler dye.
The blushing Roses of her Cheek,
Our drooping hopes might justly seek,
Redress from thee, and thou mightst save
Thousands of Lovers from the Grave:
But such assaults are vain, for she
Is too divine to stoop to thee;
Blest with a Form as much too high
For any Change, as Destiny;
Which no attempt can violate;
For what's her Beauty, is our Fate.

On His Mistresse's Death.

[_]

PETRARCH.

Love the Ripe Harvest of my toils
Began to cherish with his Smiles
Preparing me to be indued
With all the Joyes I long pursued,

When my fresh Hopes fair and full blown
Death blasts ere I could call my own.

Malicious Death why with rude Force
Dost thou my fair from me divorce?
False Life why in this loathed Chain
Me from my fair dost thou detain?
In whom assistance shall I finde?
Alike are Life and Death unkinde.

Pardon me Love thy power outshines,
And laughs at their infirm designes.
She is not wedded to a Tomb,
Nor I to sorrow in her room.
They what thou joyn'st can nere divide:
She lives in me in her I dy'd.

The Exequies.

Draw neer
You Lovers that complain
Of Fortune or Disdain,
And to my Ashes lend a tear;
Melt the hard marble with your grones,
And soften the relentlesse Stones.
Whose cold imbraces the sad Subject hide
Of all Loves cruelties, and Beauties Pride.

No Verse
No Epicedium bring,
Nor peaceful Requiem sing,
To charm the terrors of my Herse;
No prophane Numbers must flow neer
The sacred silence that dwells here;
Vast Griefs are dumb, softly, oh softly mourn
Left you disturb the Peace attends my Urn.

Yet strew
Upon my dismall Grave,
Such offerings as you have,
Forsaken Cypresse and sad Ewe;
For kinder Flowers can take no Birth
Or growth from such unhappy Earth.
Weep only o're my Dust, and say, Here lies
To Love and Fate an equal Sacrifice.

The Silkworm.

This Silk-worm (to long Sleep retir'd)
The early Year hath re-inspir'd,
Who now to pay to thee prepares
The Tribute of her pleasing cares;
And hastens with industrious toyl
To make thy Ornament her Spoyl:
See with what pain she spins for thee
The thread of her own Destinie,
Then growing proud in Death, to know
That all her curious Labours thou

Wilt, as in Triumph, deign to wear,
Retires to her soft Sepulchre.

Such, Dearest, is that hapless State,
To which I am design'd by Fate,
Who by thee (willingly) o'recome,
Work mine own Fetters and my Tomb,

A Ladie weeping.

[_]

MONTALVAN.

As when some Brook flies from it self away,
The murm'ring Christal loosely runs astray.
And as about the verdant Plain it windes,
The Meadows with a silver ribband bindes,
Printing a kisse on every Flower she meets,
Loosing her self to fill them with new sweets,
To scatter frost upon the Lilies Head,
And Scarlet on the Gilliflower to spread;
So melting sorrow, in the fair disguise
Of humid Stars, flow'd from bright Cloris Eyes,
Which watring every Flower her Cheek discloses,
Melt into Jesmines here there into Roses.

Ambition.

I must no longer now admire
The coldnesse which possest
Thy snowy Breast,
That can by other Flames be set on Fire;
Poor Love to harsh Disdain betray'd
Is by Ambition thus out-weigh'd.

Hadst thou but known the vast extent
Of Constant Faith, how farre
'Bove all that are
Born slaves to Wealth, or Honours vain ascent;
No richer Treasure couldst thou finde
Than hearts with mutual Chains combin'd.

But Love is too despis'd a name,
And must not hope to rise
Above these ties.
Honour and Wealth out-shine his paler Flame;
These unite Souls, whilst true desire
Unpitied dies in its own Fire.

Yet, cruel Fair one, I did aim
With no less Justice too,
Than those that sue
For other hopes, and thy proud Fortunes claim,
Wealth honours, honours wealth approve,
But Beauty's only meant for Love.

Song.

[VVhen (Dearest Beauty) thou shalt pay]

VVhen (Dearest Beauty) thou shalt pay
Thy faith and my vain hope away
To some dull soul that cannot know
The worth of that thou dost bestow;
Lest with my sighs and tears I might
Disturb thy unconfin'd delight,
To some dark shade I will retire,
And there forgot by all expire.

Thus whilst the difference thou shalt prove,
Betwixt a feign'd and real Love,
Whilst he, more happy, but lesse true,
Shall reap those joyes I did pursue,
And with those pleasures crowned be
By Fate, which Love design'd for me,
Then thou perhaps thy self wilt finde
Cruel too long, or too soon kinde.

The Revenge.

[_]

RONSARD.

Fair Rebell to thy self, and Time,
Who laughst at all my tears,

When thou hast lost thy youthfull prime
And age his Trophie rears,

Weighing thy inconsiderate pride
Thou shalt in vain accuse it,
Why Beauty am I now deni'd
Or knew not then to use it?

Then shall I wish ungentle Fair
Thou in like flames may'st burn;
Venus, if just will hear my prayer
And I shall laugh my turn.

Song.

[I will not trust thy tempting graces]

I will not trust thy tempting graces,
Or thy deceitful charms,
Nor pris'ner be to thy embraces,
Or fetter'd in thy arms;
No, Celia, no, not all thy art
Can wound or captivate my heart.

I will not gaze upon thy Eyes,
Or wanton with thy Hair,
Lest those should burn me by surprize,
Or these my soul ensnare:
Nor with those smiling dangers play,
Or fool my Liberty away.

Since then my wary heart is free,
And unconfin'd as thine,
If thou would'st mine should captiv'd be,
Thou must thine own resigne,
And gratitude may thus move more
Then Love or Beauty could before,

Song.

[No, I will sooner trust the Wind]

No, I will sooner trust the Wind,
When falsely kind
It courts the pregnant Sails into a storm,
And when the smiling Waves perswade
Be willingly betray'd,
Then thy deceitful Vows or Form.

Go and beguile some easie heart
With thy vain art;
Thy smiles and kisses on those fools bestow,
Who only see the Calms that sleep
On this smooth flatt'ring Deep,
But not the hidden dangers know.

They that like me thy Falsehood prove,
Will scorn thy Love.
Some may deceiv'd at first adore thy Shrine
But He that as thy sacrifice
Doth willingly fall twice,
Dies his own Martyr, and not thine.

To a blinde Man in Love.

[_]

MARINO.

Lover than Love more blinde, whose bold thoughts dare
Fix on a Woman is both young and fair:
If Argus with a hundred Eyes not one
Could guard, hop'st thou to keep thine, who hast none?

Answer.

I'm blinde, 'tis true, but in Loves rules, defect
Of sence, is aided by the Intellect.
And senses by each other are suppli'd,
The touch enjoyes what's to the sight deni'd.

Song.

[I prethee let my heart alone]

I prethee let my heart alone
Since now tis rais'd above thee
Not all the Beauty thou dost own
Again can make me love thee:

He that was shipwrack'd once before
By such a Syrens call,
And yet neglects to shun that shore,
Deserves his second fall.

Each flatt'ring kiss, each tempting smile
Thou dost in vain bestow,

Some other Lovers might beguile
Who not thy falsehood know.

But I am proof against all art,
No vowes shall e're perswade me
Twice to present a wounded Heart
To her that hath betray'd me.

Could I again be brought to love
Thy form though more divine,
I might thy scorn as justly move,
As now thou sufferest mine,

The Losse.

Yet ere I go,
Disdainful Beauty thou shalt be
So wretched, as to know
What Joys thou fling'st away with me.

A Faith so bright,
As Time or Fortune could not rust;
So firm, that Lovers might
Have read thy story in my dust.

And crown'd thy Name
With Laurel verdant as thy Youth,
Whil'st the shrill voice of Fame
Spread wide thy Beauty and my Truth.

This thou hast lost;
For all true Lovers, when they finde
That my just aims were crost,
Will speak thee lighter then the winde.

And none will lay
Any oblation on thy shrine,
But such as would betray
Thy faith, to faiths as false as thine.

Yet if thou chose
On such thy freedom to bestow,
Affection may excuse,
For love from Sympathy doth flow.

The Self-cruel.

Cast off for shame ungentle maid
That mishecoming Joy thou wear'st,
For in my Death (though long delay'd)
Unwisely cruel thou appearst.
Insult o're Captives with disdain,
Thou canst not triumph o're the slain.

No, I am now no longer thine,
Nor canst thou take delight to see
Him whom thy Love did once confine
Set, though by Death, at Liberty
For if my fall a smile beget,
Thou gloriest in thy own Defeat.

Behold how thy unthristy pride
Hath murthered him that did maintain it;
And wary Souls who never tride
Thy Tyrant Beauty, will disdain it:
But I am softer, and that me
Thou wouldst not pity, pity thee.

Song.

[Wert thou yet fairer then thou art]

By M. W. M.

Wert thou yet fairer then thou art,
Which lies not in the power of Art,
Or hadst thou in thine Eyes more Darts
Then ever Cupid shot at Hearts;
Yet if they were not thrown at me
I would not cast a Thought on Thee.

Ide rather marry a Disease,
Than court the thing I cannot please:
She that will cherish my Desires
Must meet my Flames with equal Fires.
What pleasure is there in a Kisse
To him that doubts the Hearts not his?

I love thee not because th' art fair
Softer then down smoother then Air;
Nor for the Cupids that do lie
In either Corner of thine Eye:

Wouldst thou then know what is might be?
'Tis I love you, cause you love me.

Answer.

[Wert thou by all Affections sought]

Wert thou by all Affections sought,
And fairer then thou wouldst be thought:
Or had thine Eyes as many Darts
As thou believ'st they shoot at Hearts,
Yet if thy Love were paid to me,
I would not offer mine to thee.

Ide sooner court a Feavers heat,
Then her that owns a Flame as great,
She that my Love will entertain,
Must meet it with no lesse disdain.
For mutual Fires themselves destroy,
And willing Kisses yield no Joy.

I love thee not because alone
Thou canst all Beauty call thine own,
Nor doth my passion fuel seek,
In thy bright Eye or softer Cheek:
Then fairest if thou wouldst know why
I love thee cause thou canst deny.

The Relapse.

Oh turn away those cruel Eyes,
The stars of my undoing.
Or death in such a bright disguise,
May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blindly impious Pride,
Who dare contemn thy glory;
It was my fall that deifi'd
Thy name, and seal'd thy Story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepare
A higher praise to crown thee;
Though my first death proclaim thee fair,
My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice
No other for thy fuel,
And if thou burn one Victime twice,
Both think thee poor and cruel.

To the Countess of S. with the holy Court.

Madam,

Since every place you blesse, the name
This Book assumes may justlier claim,
(What more a Court then where you shine?
And where your soul, what more divine?)
You may perhaps doubt at first sight,
That it usurps upon your right;
And praising vertues that belong
To you in others, doth yours wrong;
No, 'tis your self you read, in all
Perfections earlier Ages call
Their own; all Glories they e're knew
Were but faint Prophecies of you.
You then have here sole Int'rest whom 'tis meant
As well to entertain, as represent.

Song. DE VOITURE.

I languish in a silent Flame;
For she to whom my vowes encline

Doth own perfections so divine,
That but to speak were to disclose her Name.
If I should say that she the Store
Of Natures Graces doth comprize,
The Love and wonder of all Eyes,
Who will not guesse the Beauty I adore?

Or though I warily conceal
The Charms her looks and Soul possess;
Should I her cruelty expresse,
And say she smiles at all the Pains we feel,
Among such suppliants as implore
Pitty, distributing her Hate,
Inexorable as their Fate:
Who will not guesse the Beauty I adore?

Drawn for Valentine by the L. D. S.

Though 'gainst me Love and Destiny conspire,
Though I must waste in an unpitied fire,
By the same Deity, severe, as fair,
Commanded adoration and despair:
Though I am mark'd for Sacrifice to tell
The growing age what dangerous Glories dwell
In this bright dawn, who when she spreads her raies
Will challenge every heart, and every praise;

Yet she who to all hope forbids my claim
By Fortune's taught indulgence to my Flame.

Great Queen of chance! unjustly we exclude
Thy Power an int'rest in Beatitude:
Who, with mysterious judgement dost dispence
The Bounties of unerring Providence;
Whilst we, to whom the causes are unknown,
Would stile that blindness thine, which is our own,
As kinde in Justice to thy self as me,
Thou hast redeem'd thy Name and Votarie:
Nor will I prize this lesse for being thine,
Nor longer at my Destinie repine,
Counsell and choice are things below thy State,
Fortune relieves the cruelties of Fate.

The modest Wish.

[_]

BARCLAY.

Reach Incense Boy! Thou pious Flamen pray
To genial Deities these Rites we pay.
Fly far from hence such as are only taught
To fear the Gods by guilt of Crime or Thought.
This is my Suit, grant it Celestial Powers,
If what my will Affects oppose not yours.

First, pure before your Altars may I stand,
And practise studiously what you command.
My Parents Faith devoutly let me prize,
Nor what my Ancestors esteem'd despise.
Let me not vext enquire, (when thriving Ill
Depresseth good) why thunder is so still?
No such ambitious knowledge trouble Me;
Those curious Thoughts advance not Piety:
Peaceful my House, in Wife and Children blest,
Nor these beyond my Fortunes be increast.
None couzen me with Friendships specious Glosse.
None dearly buy my Friendship with their Losse.
To Suits nor wars my quiet be betray'd;
My quiet, to the Muses justly pay'd:
Want never force me court the rich with Lies,
And intermix my suit with Flatteries:
Let my sure friends deceive the tedious Light,
And my sound sleeps, with Debts not broke, the Night.

Cheerfull my Board, my Smiles shar'd by my Wife,
O Gods! yet mindful still of humane Life,
To die nor let me wish nor fear; among
My Joyes mix Griefs, Griefs that not last too long.
My Age be happy, and when Fate shall claim
My thread of Life, let me survive in Fame.
Enough: the Gods are pleas'd; the Flames aspire,
And crackling Laurel triumphs in the Fire.

E Catalectis vet. Poet.

A small well-gotten Stock and Countrey seat
I have, yet my content makes both seem great.
My quiet Soul to fears is not inur'd,
And from the sins of Idlenesse secur'd:
Others may seek the Camp, others the Town,
And fool themselves with pleasure or renown;
Let me unminded in the common crowd
Live Master of the time that I'm allow'd.

On the Edition of M. Fletchers Works.

Fletcher , (whose Fame no Age can ever wast;
Envie of ours, and glory of the last)
Is now alive again; and with his Name
His sacred ashes wak'd into a Flame;
Such as before did by a secret Charm
The wildest Heart subdue, the coldest warm,
And lend the Ladies Eyes a power more bright,
Dispensing thus to either, Heat and Light.

He to a sympathie those Souls betray'd
Whom Love or Beauty never could perswade;
And in each mov'd Spectator could beget
A real passion by a Counterfeit:
When first Bellario bled, what Ladie there
Did not for every drop let fall a tear?
And when Aspasia wept, not any Eye
But seem'd to wear the same sad Livery;
By him inspir'd the feign'd Lucina drew
More streams of melting sorrow then the true;
But then the Scornful Ladie did beguile
Their easie griefs, and teach them all to smile.

Thus he Affections could, or raise or lay;
Love, Grief, and Mirth thus did his Charms obey:

He Nature taught her passions to out-do,
How to refine the old, and create new;
Which such a happy likenesse seem'd to bear,
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were.

Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept
In the same Urn wherein his Dust hath slept,
Nor had he ris' the Delphick Wreath to claim,
Had not the dying Scene expir'd his Name.
O, the indulgent Justice of this Age,
To grant the Press, what it denies the Stage!
Despair our Joy hath doubled; He is come
Twice welcome by this Postliminium;
His losse preserv'd him; They that silenc'd Wit
Are now the Authors to eternize it:
Thus Poets are in spight of Fate reviv'd,
And Playes by intermission longer liv'd.

To Mr. W. Hammond.

Thou best of friendship, knowledge and of Art!
The charm of whose lov'd name, preserves my heart
From female vanities (thy name, which there
Till time dissolves the Fabrick, I must wear)
Forgive a Crime which long my soul opprest,
And crept by chance in my unwary Brest,
So great, as for thy pardon were unfit,
And to forgive were worse then to commit,
But that the fault and pain were so much one,
The very act did expiate what was done.

I (who so often sported with the flame,
Plaid with the Boy, and laught at both as tame)

Betray'd by Idlenesse and Beauty, fell
At last in love, love both the sin and Hell:
No punishment great as my fault esteem'd,
But to be that which I so long had seem'd.
Behold me such, a Face, a Voice, a Lute,
The sentence in a Minute execute.
I yield, recant, the Faith which I before
Deny'd, professe; the Power I scorn'd, implore.
Alas in vain! no prayers, no vowes can bow
Her stubborn heart, who neither will allow:
But see how strangely what was meant no lesse
Then torment, prov'd my greatest happinesse;
Delay, that should have sharpned, starv'd desire,
And cruelty not fann'd, but quench'd my fire.
Love bound me, now by kinde disdain set free,
I can despise that Love as well as she.
That sin to friendship I away have thrown,
My heart thou may'st without a rival own,
While such as willingly themselves beguile,
And sell away their freedoms for a smile,
Blush to confesse our joyes as far above
Their hopes, as friendship's longer liv'd then Love.

On M. Shirley's Poems.

When dearest Friend, thy verse doth re-inspire
Loves pale decaying Torch with brighter fire,
Whilst every where thou dost dilate thy flame,
And to the World spread thy Odelias Name,
The Justice of all Ages must remit
To Her the Prize of Beauty, Thee of Wit.

Then like some skilful Artist, that to wonder
Framing a peece, displeas'd, takes it asunder,
Thou Beauty dost depose, her Charms deny,
And all the mystick chains of Love untie;
Thus thy diviner Muse a power 'bove Fate
May boast, that can both make and uncreate.

Next thou call'st back to life that Love-sick Boy,
To the kinde-hearted Nymphs lesse fair then coy,
Who, by reflex Beams burnt with vain desire,
Did Phœnix-like, in his own flames expire:
But should he view his shadow drawn by thee,
He with himself once more in love would be.

Eccho (who though she words pursue, her hast
Can only overtake and stop the last)
Shall her first Speech and human veil obtain
To sing thy softer numbers o're again.
Thus into dying Poetry, thy Muse
Doth full perfection and new life infuse.
Each line deserves a Laurel, and thy praise
Asks not a Garland, but a Grove of Bayes:
Nor can ours raise thy lasting Trophies higher,
Who only reach at merit to admire.

But I must chide thee Friend, how canst thou be
A Patron, yet a Foe to Poetrie?
For while thou dost this Age to Verse restore,
Thou dost deprive the next of owning more;
And hast so far even future Aims surpast,
That none dare write; Thus being first and last,
All, their abortive Muses will suppresse,
And Poetry by this increase grow lesse.

On M. Sherburn's Translation of Seneca's Medea, and vindication of the Author.

That wise Philosopher, who had design'd
To life the various passions of the Minde,
Did wrong'd Medea's Jealousie prefer
To entertain the Roman Theater;
Both to instruct the Soul, and please the Sight,
At once begetting Horrour and delight.

This cruelty thou dost once more expresse
Though in a strange, no lesse becoming dress;
And her revenge hast rob'd of half its pride,
To see it self thus by it self outvi'd,
That boldest Ages past may say, our times
Can speak, as well as act their highest Crimes.

Nor was't enough to do his Scene this right,
But what thou gav'st to us, with equal light
Thou wouldst bestow on him, nor wert more just
Unto the Authors work, then to his Dust;
Thou dost make good his title, aid his Claim,
Both vindicate his Poem and his Name,
So shar'st a double wreath; for all that we
Unto the Poet owe, he owes to thee.
Though change of tongues stoln praise to som afford,
Thy Version hath not borrow'd but restor'd.

On M. Halls Essayes.

Wits that matur'd by time have courted praise,
Shall see their works outdone in these Essayes;
And blush to know, thy earlier years display
A dawning, clearer then their brightest day.
Yet I'le not praise thee, for thou hast outgrown
The reach of all mens praises, but thine own.
Encomiums to their objects are exact;
To praise and not at full is to detract.
And with most justice are the best forgot,
For praise is bounded when the Theam is not:
Since mine is thus confin'd, and far below
Thy merit, I forbear it, nor will show
How poor th' Autumnal Pride of some appears,
To the ripe fruit thy vernal season bears.
Yet though I mean no praise, I come t'invite
Thy forward Aims still to advance their flight;
Rise higher yet, what though thy spreading wreath
Lessen to their dull sight who stay beneath?
To thy full Learning how can all allow
Just praise, unless that all were learn'd as thou?
Go on in spight of such low souls, and may
Thy growing worth know Age, though not decay:
Till thou pay back thy theft; and live to climbe
As many years as thou hast snatch'd from Time.

On Sir J. S. his Picture and Poems.

Suckling, whose numbers could invite
Alike to wonder, and delight,
And with new spirit did inspire,
The Thespian Scene, and Delphick Lyre.
Is thus exprest in either part,
Above the humble reach of Art.
Drawn by the Pencil, here you finde
His Form, by his own Pen his Minde.

The Union.

Μια ψυχη δυο σωματα.

By Mr. William Fairfax.

As in the Chrystal Center of the sight
Two subtle beams make but one Cone of light,
Or when one flame twin'd with another is,
They both ascend in one bright Pyramis;
Our spirits thus into each other flow,
One in our being, one in what we know,
In what we will, desire, dislike, approve,
In what we love, and one is that pure love.
As in a burning glasse th' aerial Flame,
With the producing Ray is still the same:

We to Loves purest quintessence refin'd,
Do both become one undefided minde.
This sacred fire into it self converts
Our yielding spirits, and our melting hearts,
Till both our souls into one spirit run,
So several lines are in their center one.
And when thy fair Idea is imprest,
In the soft tablet of my easier breast,
The sweet reflexion brings such sympathie,
That I my better self behold in thee;
And all perfections that in thee combine,
By this resultance are intirely mine;
Thy Rayes disperse my shades who only live
Bright in the Lustre thou art pleas'd to give.

Answer.

If we are one dear friend! why shouldst thou be
At once unequal to thy self and me?
By thy release thou swell'st my debt the more,
And dost but rob thy self to make mee poor.
What part can I have in thy luminous Cone?
What Flame (since my loves thine) can call my own?
The palest star is lesse the son of night,
Who but thy borrow'd know no native light:
Was't not enough thou freely didst bestow
The Muse, but thou wouldst give the Laurel too?
And twice my aims by thy assistanc raise,
Conferring first the merit, then the praise?

But I should do thee greater injurie,
Did I believe this praise were meant to me,
Or thought, though thou hast worth enough to spare
T'enrich another soul, that mine should share,
Thy Muse seeming to lend calls home her fame,
And her due wreath doth in renouncing claim.

Pythagoras his moral Rules.

First to immortal God thy duty pay,
Observe thy Vow, honour the Saints: obey
Thy Prince and Rulers, nor their Laws despise
Thy Parents reverence, and neer allies:
Him that is first in Vertue make thy Friend,
And with observance his kind speech attend:
Nor (to thy power) for light faults cast him by,
Thy power is neighbour to necessity.

These know, and with intentive care pursue;
But Anger Sloth, and Luxury subdue.
In sight of others or thy self forbear
What's Ill; but of thy self stand most in fear.
Let Justice all thy words and actions sway,
Nor from the even course of reason stray;
For know that all men are to die ordain'd,
And riches are as quickly lost as gain'd.
Crosses that happen by divine decree
(If such thy Lot) bear not impatiently.
Yet seek to remedie with all thy Care
And think the just have not the greatest share.

'Mongst men discourses good and bad are spread,
Despise not those, nor be by these misled.
If any some notorious falshood say,
Thou the report with equal judgement weigh.
Let not mens smoother promises invite,
Nor rougher threats from just resolves thee fright.
If ought thou wouldst attempt, first ponder it,
Fools only inconsiderate acts Commit.
Nor do what afterward thou may'st repent,
First learn to know the thing on which th' art bent.
Thus thou a life shalt lead with joy repleat.

Nor must thou care of outward health forget:
Such Temperance use in exercise and diet
As may preserve thee in a setled quiet.
Meats unprohibited, not curious, chuse,
Decline what any other may accuse:
The rash expence of vanity detest,
And sordidnesse: a Mean in all is best.
Hurt not thy self; act nought thou dost not weigh;
And every businesse of the following day
As soon as by the Morn awak'd dispose,
Nor suffer sleep at night thy Eyes to close
Till thrice that Diary thou hast orerun,
How slipt? what Deeds? what duty left undone?
Thus thy account summ'd up from first to last
Grieve for the Ill, joy for what good hath past.

These if thou studie, practise, and affect,
To sacred Vertue will thy steps direct.
Natures eternall Fountain I attest,
Who did the soul with fourfold power invest.
Ere thou begin pray well thy work may end,
Then shall thy knowledge to all things extend

Divine and humane; where enlarg'd, restrain'd,
How nature is by generall likenesse chain'd.
Vain hope nor ignorance shall dim thy sight,
Then shalt thou see that haplesse men invite
Their Ills, to good (though present) Deaf and Blinde,
And few the cure of their Misfortunes finde;
This only is the fate that harms and rowls
Through miseries successive, humane souls.
Within is a continual hidden fight,
Which we to shun must study, not excite;
Good God! how little trouble should we know
If thou to all men wouldst their Genius show.

But fear not thou; Men come of heav'nly Race,
Taught by diviner Nature what t'embrace,
Which if pursu'd, Thou all I nam'd shalt gain,
And keep thy soul cleer from thy Bodies stain;
In time of Pray'r and cleansing meats deny'd
Abstain from; Thy mindes rains let reason guide:
Then rais'd to Heaven, thou from thy Bodie free
A deathlesse Saint, no more shalt mortal be.

FINIS.