Du Bartas His Divine Weekes And Workes with A Compleate Collectio[n] of all the other most delight-full Workes: Translated and written by yt famous Philomusus: Iosvah Sylvester |
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AN ODE TO ASTRÆA. |
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 | Du Bartas |  |
609
AN ODE TO ASTRÆA.
Sacred Peace, if I approue thee,
If more then my life I loue thee,
'Tis not for thy beautious eyes:
Though the brightest Lampe in skies
In his highest Sommer-shine,
Seems a sparke compar'd with thine,
With thy paire of selfe-like-Sunnes,
Past all else-comparisons.
If more then my life I loue thee,
'Tis not for thy beautious eyes:
Though the brightest Lampe in skies
In his highest Sommer-shine,
Seems a sparke compar'd with thine,
With thy paire of selfe-like-Sunnes,
Past all else-comparisons.
'Tis not (deere) the dewes Ambrosiall
Of those pretie lips so Rosiall,
Make me humble at thy feet:
Though the purest honey sweet
That the Muses birds do bring,
To Mount Hybla euery spring,
Nothing neere so pleasant is,
As thy liuely louing kisse.
Of those pretie lips so Rosiall,
Make me humble at thy feet:
Though the purest honey sweet
That the Muses birds do bring,
To Mount Hybla euery spring,
Nothing neere so pleasant is,
As thy liuely louing kisse.
'Tis not (Beauties Emperesse)
Th'Amber circlets of thy tresse;
Curled by the wanton windes,
That so fast my freedom bindes:
Though the pretious glittering sand
Richly strow'd on Tagus Strand,
Nor the graines Pactolus rol'd,
Neuer were so fine a gold.
Th'Amber circlets of thy tresse;
Curled by the wanton windes,
That so fast my freedom bindes:
Though the pretious glittering sand
Richly strow'd on Tagus Strand,
Nor the graines Pactolus rol'd,
Neuer were so fine a gold.
'Tis not for the polisht rowes
Of those Rocks whence Prudence flowes,
That I still my sute pursue;
Though that in those Countries new
In the Orient lately found
(Which in precious Gemmes abound)
'Mong all baytes of Auarice
Be no Pearles of such a price.
Of those Rocks whence Prudence flowes,
That I still my sute pursue;
Though that in those Countries new
In the Orient lately found
(Which in precious Gemmes abound)
'Mong all baytes of Auarice
Be no Pearles of such a price.
610
'Tis not (Sweet) thine yuorie neck
Makes me worship at thy beck;
Nor that prettie double Hill
Of thy bosome panting still:
Though no fairest Lædas Swan,
Nor no sleekest Marble can
Be so smooth or white in showe,
As thy Lillies, and thy Snowe.
Makes me worship at thy beck;
Nor that prettie double Hill
Of thy bosome panting still:
Though no fairest Lædas Swan,
Nor no sleekest Marble can
Be so smooth or white in showe,
As thy Lillies, and thy Snowe.
'Tis not (O my Paradise)
Thy front (euener than the yee)
That my yeelding heart doth tye
With his mild-sweet Maiestie:
Though the siluer Moone be faine
Still by night to mount her waine,
Fearing to sustain disgrace,
If by day shee meet thy face.
Thy front (euener than the yee)
That my yeelding heart doth tye
With his mild-sweet Maiestie:
Though the siluer Moone be faine
Still by night to mount her waine,
Fearing to sustain disgrace,
If by day shee meet thy face.
'Tis not that soft Sattin limme,
With blew trailes enameld trimme,
Thy hand, handle of perfection,
Keeps my thoughts in thy subiection:
Though it haue such curious cunning,
Gentle touch, and nimble running,
That on Lute to heare it warble,
Would mooue Rocks and rauish Marble.
With blew trailes enameld trimme,
Thy hand, handle of perfection,
Keeps my thoughts in thy subiection:
Though it haue such curious cunning,
Gentle touch, and nimble running,
That on Lute to heare it warble,
Would mooue Rocks and rauish Marble.
'Tis not all the rest beside,
Which thy modest vaile doth hide
From mine eyes (ah too iniurious!)
Makes me of thy loue so curious:
Though Diana being bare,
Nor Leucothoe passing rare,
In the Crystall-flowing springs
Neuer bath'd so beautious things.
Which thy modest vaile doth hide
From mine eyes (ah too iniurious!)
Makes me of thy loue so curious:
Though Diana being bare,
Nor Leucothoe passing rare,
In the Crystall-flowing springs
Neuer bath'd so beautious things.
What then (O diuinest Dame)
Fires my soule with burning flame,
If thine eyes be not the matches
Whence my kindling Taper catches?
And what Nectar from aboue
Feeds and feasts my ioyes (my Loue)
If they taste not of the dainties
Of thy sweet lips sugred plenties?
Fires my soule with burning flame,
If thine eyes be not the matches
Whence my kindling Taper catches?
And what Nectar from aboue
Feeds and feasts my ioyes (my Loue)
If they taste not of the dainties
Of thy sweet lips sugred plenties?
611
What fell heat of couetize
In my feeble bosome fries;
If my heart no reckoning hold
Of thy tresses purest gold?
What inestimable treasure
Can procure me greater pleasure
Then those Orient Pearles I see
When thou daign'st to smile on mee?
In my feeble bosome fries;
If my heart no reckoning hold
Of thy tresses purest gold?
What inestimable treasure
Can procure me greater pleasure
Then those Orient Pearles I see
When thou daign'st to smile on mee?
What? what fruit of life delights
My delicious appetites,
If I ouer-passe the messe
Of those apples of thy brests?
What fresh buds of scarlet Rose
Are more fragrant sweet than those,
Then those Twins thy Straw-berrie teates,
Curled-purled Cherrylets?
My delicious appetites,
If I ouer-passe the messe
Of those apples of thy brests?
What fresh buds of scarlet Rose
Are more fragrant sweet than those,
Then those Twins thy Straw-berrie teates,
Curled-purled Cherrylets?
What (to finish) fairer limme,
Or what member yet more trimme,
Or what other rather Subiect
Makes me make thee all mine obiect?
If it be not all the rest
By thy modest vaile supprest
(Rather) which an enuious cloud
From my sight doth closely shroud.
Or what member yet more trimme,
Or what other rather Subiect
Makes me make thee all mine obiect?
If it be not all the rest
By thy modest vaile supprest
(Rather) which an enuious cloud
From my sight doth closely shroud.
Ah 't is a thing more diuine,
'Tis that peere-less Soule of thine,
Master-peece of Heav'ns best Art,
Made to maze each mortall heart.
'Tis thine all-admired wit,
Thy sweet grace and gesture fit,
Thy milde pleasing curtesie
Makes thee triumph ouer me.
'Tis that peere-less Soule of thine,
Master-peece of Heav'ns best Art,
Made to maze each mortall heart.
'Tis thine all-admired wit,
Thy sweet grace and gesture fit,
Thy milde pleasing curtesie
Makes thee triumph ouer me.
But, for thy faire Soules respect,
I loue Twin-flames that reflect
From thy bright tra-lucent eyes:
And thy yellow lockes likewise:
And those Orient-Pearly Rocks
Which thy lightning Smile vn-lockes:
And the Nectar-passing blisses
Of thy honey-sweeter kisses.
I loue Twin-flames that reflect
From thy bright tra-lucent eyes:
And thy yellow lockes likewise:
And those Orient-Pearly Rocks
Which thy lightning Smile vn-lockes:
And the Nectar-passing blisses
Of thy honey-sweeter kisses.
612
I loue thy fresh rosie cheeke,
Blushing most Aurora-like:
And the white-exceeding skin
Of thy neck and dimpled chin,
And those Iuorie-marble mounts
Either, neither, both at once:
For, I dare not touch, to know
If they be of flesh or no.
Blushing most Aurora-like:
And the white-exceeding skin
Of thy neck and dimpled chin,
And those Iuorie-marble mounts
Either, neither, both at once:
For, I dare not touch, to know
If they be of flesh or no.
I loue thy pure Lilly hand
Soft, and smooth, and slender: and
Those fiue nimble brethren small
Arm'd with Pearle-shel helmets all.
I loue also all the rest
By thy modest vaile supprest
(Rather) which an enuious cloud
From my longing sight doth shroud.
Soft, and smooth, and slender: and
Those fiue nimble brethren small
Arm'd with Pearle-shel helmets all.
I loue also all the rest
By thy modest vaile supprest
(Rather) which an enuious cloud
From my longing sight doth shroud.
FINIS.
| Du Bartas | |