Claraphil and Clarinda in a forrest of fancies. By Tho: Jordan |
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To Clarinda (his Love) upon Refusal of a Kiss.
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 | Claraphil and Clarinda |  |
To Clarinda (his Love) upon Refusal of a Kiss.
What not a Kiss? Clarinda, this is strange,What is the slender motive of this Change?
Nay, Ile not strive with you, 'tis no content
To me to take a Kiss by Ravishment:
Didst ever think I joyn'd my Lips to thine,
But when I thought thy Bliss as large as mine?
How strangely Curtesies mis-construed be;
That's thought Offence, which I meant Charity;
Not long time since, if I did once neglect
This kinde of Kissing-duty, I was check'd,
And not enforced onely to restore it,
But (as a fault) to pay a Million for it:
And let me never be recorded where
The little God unfolds his Register,
As much for your Delight, as for my own:
And must your self-conceit make you so rude,
To pay my Merit with Ingratitude?
Forgetfull Vanity, can you deride
The Man whose Folly gave you cause of Pride?
Was it not I who (when ye did despair
To have the last fruits of an undone Heir)
Saluted ye with love? though since indeed,
Ye are well-furnish'd Suitors ride full speed:
Who yet cannot conceive Merit in you,
But trust my Judgement, love ye 'cause I do:
Before I brought ye choice, you had not any;
I was that One Fool that hath made your Many:
Had not I been, your Maiden-head would be
Fifteen years hence, of some Antiquity;
Perhaps lead Apes (Virginities perdition,
According to the Country superstition)
I did not onely love you, but did strive
To make you worthy of me, did contrive
To mend Heav'ns work, changing that Eye, that Lip,
Controuling Nature's courser Workmanship:
I did applaud you 'bove a Deity
And make you Sacred, with my Heresie:
But now I see Fate will not be withstood:
Nature, nor I, nor both, can make you Good:
I stole a Constellation for you Eye:
Pollish'd you Brow with Indian Ivory:
Feign'd from your Lips, Nectar to Flow and Ebb;
Made your hair softer than Arachne's Webb;
Brought the red Morning from the early East,
To deck your Cheek; your Lips (that wanted bloud)
Had liquid Coral from the furious floud,
To make them ruddy; I perfum'd your breath
More sweet than is the Phœnix at her Death.
I sent you Summer spices from Sabea,
Arabian Aromats, Balm from Judea;
Such Odors for your Breath, I did invent,
Till they became a gluttony of Scent:
Your Voice, so full of Concord, some might be
Brought to beleeve, 'twas Heaven's Hierarchie.
Nor onely gave these to your Outward Feature,
Within I made ye a more glorious Creature;
I did conceit you Innocent to be,
As Angels in their immortality;
Chast as the Virgin Infant, newly hurl'd
From the warm Womb, to weep in th' treach'rous World;
Or the first Man, ere Misery made suit
He should know Eve, the Serpent, and the Fruit:
I thought Thee as constant (without variation)
As rising Titan to his declination.
And the great cause of thy Ambition, is
Thy Vanity made thee Beleeve all this:
But (by the Magick of that Poesie
That brought them to thee) from thee they shall flie,
And never see thee more, thy Glass shall be
The onely Mirror of Deformity;
This recompence I will return thy Ill,
Thou shalt have leave to say, I love thee still,
How thou quitt'st me) will quickly leave thee to,
Whil'st I with humbled Knees, in devout Prayer,
Purge out the sin that made me feign thee fair.
| Claraphil and Clarinda | |