The works of Sr William Davenant ... Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed, and Those which he design'd for the Press: Now published Out of the Authors Originall Copies |
 |
|
| 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
|
To the Queen, presented with a Suit, in the behalf of
F. S. directed from Orpheus Prince of Poets.
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3-4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
 | The works of Sr William Davenant |  |
221
To the Queen, presented with a Suit, in the behalf of F. S. directed from Orpheus Prince of Poets.
To the Queen of Light; In favor of a young listner to his Harp.
I sing these numbers in the shady Land,
Where Ayrie Princes dwell, which I command
Some Spirit, or some Wind, gently convey
To you, whose breath is Spring, whose Eie beames day
'Gainst your arrival here, which must be late:
(Such pow'r the pray'rs of Mortals have with Fate)
Fields I have dress'd, so rich in scent, and show;
As if your influence taught our Flow'rs to grow
Where still delighted you shall nobly move,
Not like a sad Shadow, as they above
With learned falshood most unkindly dreame
Of ev'ry Ghost; but like a beautious Beame.
The Lilly, and the Rose; which Lovers seek,
Not on their stalkes, but on their Ladies Cheek;
Shall here not dare take root, nor yet the strange
And various Tulip; which so oft doth change
Her am'rous Colours to a different hew,
That yearly Men believe the Species new.
Instead of these; on ev'ry Bank I'le show
(Blith on his stemme) the nice Adonis grow;
Who though, in's beauties warm'th belov'd of old;
His transmutation only makes him cold;
For the amazed Goddesse now perceives,
Him scarce so fair in's Flesh, as is his Leaves.
Then proud Narcissus, whose rare beauty had
Far lesse excuse, and cause, to make him mad,
When in his own eyes, flourishing alive;
Than since he was become a Vegetive.
With these, the jealous Crocus, and the chaste
Anemone, whose blushes ever last.
Where Ayrie Princes dwell, which I command
Some Spirit, or some Wind, gently convey
To you, whose breath is Spring, whose Eie beames day
'Gainst your arrival here, which must be late:
(Such pow'r the pray'rs of Mortals have with Fate)
Fields I have dress'd, so rich in scent, and show;
As if your influence taught our Flow'rs to grow
Where still delighted you shall nobly move,
Not like a sad Shadow, as they above
With learned falshood most unkindly dreame
Of ev'ry Ghost; but like a beautious Beame.
The Lilly, and the Rose; which Lovers seek,
Not on their stalkes, but on their Ladies Cheek;
Shall here not dare take root, nor yet the strange
And various Tulip; which so oft doth change
Her am'rous Colours to a different hew,
That yearly Men believe the Species new.
Instead of these; on ev'ry Bank I'le show
(Blith on his stemme) the nice Adonis grow;
Who though, in's beauties warm'th belov'd of old;
His transmutation only makes him cold;
For the amazed Goddesse now perceives,
Him scarce so fair in's Flesh, as is his Leaves.
Then proud Narcissus, whose rare beauty had
Far lesse excuse, and cause, to make him mad,
When in his own eyes, flourishing alive;
Than since he was become a Vegetive.
With these, the jealous Crocus, and the chaste
Anemone, whose blushes ever last.
Now for a cooling Shade, what use have we
Of the delightful Lydian-Platan-Tree,
Which Xerxes so much lov'd? or of the Lime,
Or the tall Pine, which spreads, as it doth climbe?
Or Lovers Sicamore, or mine own Bay?
On which, since my Euridices sad day,
My Harpe hath silent hung? No Trees your Bowre
Shall need; the slender stalke of ev'ry flow'r,
When you arrive among us, and dispence
The lib'ral comfort of your influence,
Shall reach at Body, Rinde, and Boughs, then grow
Till't yield a shade, as well as Scent, and Show.
For your attendants here; Tomiris she
That taught her sex, the ways to victorie;
The Queen of Ithica, whose precious name
For chast desires, is dear to us and Fame:
And Artemisia whom truths best Record,
Declar'd a living Tombe unto her Lord,
Shall ever wait upon your sway, and when
The Destinies are so much vex'd with Men,
That the just God-like Monarch of your brest,
Is ripe, and fit to take eternal rest;
To court his spirit here, I will not call
The testy Pyrrhus, or malicious Hannibal;
Nor yet the fiery Youth of Macedon
Shall have the dignity t'attend his Throne:
But mighty Julias who had thoughts so high
They humble seem'd, when th' aim'd at Victorie;
And own'd a Soule so learn'd, Truth fear'd that she
Too naked were, near his Philosophie:
In anger valiant; gently calme in love:
He soar'd an Eagle, but he stoop'd a Dove!
Know Queen of Light, he only doth appeare,
Fit to imbrace your Royal Lover here:
Nor think my promise is the ayrie boast
Of a dead Greek, a thinne-light-talking-Ghost:
It shall be well perform'd; and all I dare
For those just toyles commend unto your care:
Is but a Poets humble suit; who now
With everlasting Wreaths may deck his Brow:
Since first your Poet call'd, and by that stile
He is my Deputy throughout your Isle.
Of the delightful Lydian-Platan-Tree,
Which Xerxes so much lov'd? or of the Lime,
Or the tall Pine, which spreads, as it doth climbe?
Or Lovers Sicamore, or mine own Bay?
On which, since my Euridices sad day,
My Harpe hath silent hung? No Trees your Bowre
Shall need; the slender stalke of ev'ry flow'r,
When you arrive among us, and dispence
The lib'ral comfort of your influence,
Shall reach at Body, Rinde, and Boughs, then grow
Till't yield a shade, as well as Scent, and Show.
For your attendants here; Tomiris she
That taught her sex, the ways to victorie;
The Queen of Ithica, whose precious name
For chast desires, is dear to us and Fame:
222
Declar'd a living Tombe unto her Lord,
Shall ever wait upon your sway, and when
The Destinies are so much vex'd with Men,
That the just God-like Monarch of your brest,
Is ripe, and fit to take eternal rest;
To court his spirit here, I will not call
The testy Pyrrhus, or malicious Hannibal;
Nor yet the fiery Youth of Macedon
Shall have the dignity t'attend his Throne:
But mighty Julias who had thoughts so high
They humble seem'd, when th' aim'd at Victorie;
And own'd a Soule so learn'd, Truth fear'd that she
Too naked were, near his Philosophie:
In anger valiant; gently calme in love:
He soar'd an Eagle, but he stoop'd a Dove!
Know Queen of Light, he only doth appeare,
Fit to imbrace your Royal Lover here:
Nor think my promise is the ayrie boast
Of a dead Greek, a thinne-light-talking-Ghost:
It shall be well perform'd; and all I dare
For those just toyles commend unto your care:
Is but a Poets humble suit; who now
With everlasting Wreaths may deck his Brow:
Since first your Poet call'd, and by that stile
He is my Deputy throughout your Isle.
| The works of Sr William Davenant | |