BRIDE.
Sonet XV.
1
It was a
night, a night as darke, as foule,
As that blacke Errour, that entranc'd my Soule,
When as my best beloved came and knockt
At my
dull gates, too too securely lockt;
Vnbolt (said he) these churlish doores (my Dove,)
Let not false
slumbers bribe thee from thy love;
Heare him, that for thy gentle sake came hither,
Long injur'd by this
nights ungentle weather.
2
I heard the voice, but the perfidious pleasure
Of my sweet slumbers, could not finde the leasure
To ope my drowsie dores; my Spirit could speake
Words faire enough; but ah, my flesh was weake,
And fond excuses taught me to betray
My sacred vowes to a secure delay:
Perfidious slumbers, how have you the might
To blinde true pleasures, with a false delight!
3
When as my Love, with oft repeated knocks
Could not availe, shaking his dewy locks,
Highly displeas'd, he could no longer bide
My slight neglect, but went away denyde;
No sooner gone, but my dull soule discern'd
Her drowzie error; my griev'd Spirit
yearn'd
To finde him out; these seiled eyes that slept
So soundly, fast, awak'd, much faster wept.
4
Thus rais'd, and rouz'd from my deceitfull rest,
I op'd my doores, where my departed Guest
Had beene; I thrust the churlish Portals from me
That so deny'de my dearest Bridegroome to me;
But when I smelt of my returned hand,
My soule was rapt, my powers all did stand
Amazed at the
sweetnesse they did finde,
Which my neglected Love had left behinde.
5
I op'd my doore, my Myrrhe-distilling doore,
But ah, my Guest was gone, had given me o're:
What curious pen, what Artist can define
A matelesse sorrow? Such, ah, such was mine;
Doubts, and despaire had of my life depriv'd me
Had not strong hope of his returne reviv'd me,
I sought, but he refused to appeare;
I call'd, but he would not be heard, nor heare.
6
Thus, with the tyranny of griefe distraught,
I rang'd a round, no place I left unsought,
No eare unask'd; The
watch-men of the City
Wounded my soule, without remorse of pity
To virgin teares; They taught my feet to stray,
Whose steps were apt enough to lose their way;
With taunts & scornes they checkt me, and derided
And call'd me Whore, because I walkt unguided.
7
You hallowed Virgins, you, whose tender hearts
Ere felt th'impression of
Loves secret darts,
I charge you all, by the deare faith you owe
To Virgin purenesse, and your vestall vowe,
Commend me to my Love, if ere you meet him,
O tell him, that his love-sick spouse doth greet him;
O let him know, I languish with desire
T'enjoy that heart, that sets this heart on fire.
