 | Poems (1872) |  |
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II. VOL. II.
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I. VERSE-LETTERS.
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UPON MR. THOMAS CORYAT'S CRUDITIES.
Oh, to what height will love of greatness driveThy learnèd spirit, sesqui-superlative!
Venice' vast lake thou' hast seen, and wouldst seek than
Some vaster thing, and foundst a courtizan;
That inland sea having discover'd well,
A cellar gulf, where one might sail to hell
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This book, greater than all, producest now.
Infinite work! which doth so far extend,
That none can study it to any end.
'Tis no one thing; it is not fruit nor root,
Nor poorly limited with head or foot.
If man be therefore man, because he can
Reason and laugh, thy book doth half make man.
One half being made, thy modesty was such,
That thou on th'other half wouldst never touch.
When wilt thou be at full, great lunatique?
Not till thou 'exceed the world? Canst thou be like
A prosperous nose-born wen, which sometimes grows
To be far greater than the mother-nose?
Go then, and as to thee, when thou didst go,
Munster did towns, and Gesner authors show,
Mount now to Gallo-Belgicus; appear
As deep a statesman as a garreteer.
Homely and familiarly, when thou com'st back,
Talk of Will Conqueror, and Prester Jack.
Go, bashful man, lest here thou blush to look
Upon the progress of thy glorious book,
To which both Indies sacrifices send;
The West sent gold, which thou didst freely spend,
Meaning to see 't no more upon the press:
The East sends hither her deliciousness;
And thy leaves must embrace what comes from hence,
The myrrh, the pepper, and the frankincense.
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To neighbor wares, when merchants do unhoop
Voluminous barrels; if thy leaves do then
Convey these wares in parcels unto men;
If for vast tons of currants and of figs,
Of med'cinal and aromatique twigs,
Thy leaves a better method do provide,
Divide to pounds, and ounces sub-divide;
If they stoop lower yet, and vent our wares,
Home-manufactures to thick popular Fairs;
If omni-pregnant there, upon warm stalls
They hatch all wares for which the buyer calls;
Then thus thy leaves we justly may commend,
That they all kind of matter comprehend.
Thus thou, by means which th'Ancients never took,
A Pandect mak'st and universal book.
The bravest heroes for their country's good
Scattered in divers lands their limbs and blood;
Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize,
Do public good, cut in anatomies:
So will thy book in peeces; for a lord,
Which casts at Portescue's, and all the board,
Provide whole books; each leaf enough will be
For friends to pass time, and keep company:
Can all carouse up thee? no, thou must fit
Measures, and fill out for the half-pint wit.
Some shall wrap pills, and save a friend's life so;
Some shall stop muskets, and so kill a foe.
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So much as once their hunger to assuage:
Nor shall wit-pirats hope to find thee ly
All in one bottom, in one Library.
Some leaves may paste strings there in other books,
And so one may which on another looks,
Pilfer, alas, a little wit from you;
But hardly much: and yet I think this true;
As Sibil's was, your book is mystical,
For every peece is as much worth as all.
Therefore mine impotency I confess,
The healths, which my brain bears, must be far less;
The gyant wit 'orthrows me, I am gone;
And rather then read all, I would read none.
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TO MY MOST FRIENDLY AND DESERVING BENJ. JONSON.
ON HIS ‘VOLPONE,’ OR THE FOX.
What thou hast dared with thy poetic pen,If ancient teachers of the laws of men
And God had dared to follow out like thee,
Wise to salvation all of us would be.
Those ancients, with what cobwebs they abound!
Nor is such follower of those ancients found
As thou, who, following, darest break new ground.
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Put on from their first moment reverend looks:
No literary effort childhood brooks.
Old at their very birth books needs must be
To which thou givest immortality.
Genius and toil thee on a level place
With ancients: them excel, that the new race
Rise from our wickedness, in which, alas,
Both past and future ages we surpass.
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Translation. TO MY VERY LEARNED FRIEND DR. ANDREWS.
CONCERNING A PRINTED BOOK, WHICH, WHEN IT WAS BORROWED BY HIM, WAS TORN TO PIECES AT HIS HOUSE BY THE CHILDREN, AND AFTERWARDS RETURNED IN MANUSCRIPT.
Damp from the press is born the current book,But manuscripts wear a more reverent look.
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From thence to Frankfort, in thy hands to roam.
The book which, dyed with printers' ink, is thrust
On shelves abandoned to the moths and dust,
If writ with pen it reach us, is respected,
And straight in ancient fathers' chests protected.
Apollo must explain how boys can pour
On a new book long years and aspect hoar.
No wonder that a doctor's sons we see
Able to give new book new destiny.
If boys make old the recent, their sire's art
To me an old man may new youth impart.
Ah, poor old men! harsh age turns us, forsooth,
To second childhood all, ne'er one to youth.
'Tis Thy prerogative, Ancient of Days,
With life and youth to crown who on Thee gaze.
The weariness of this frail life meanwhile
With books and love heaven-during we beguile;
Mid which that little book thou dost restore
Ne'er was so dear, so much my own, before.
II. FUNERAL ELEGIES.
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ELEGY ON MISTRISS BOULSTRED.
Death, be not proud; thy hand gave not this blow,
Sin was her captive, whence thy power doth flow;
The executioner of wrath thou art,
But to destroy the just is not thy part.
Thy comming, terrour, anguish, grief denounces;
Her happy state, courage, ease, joy pronounces.
From out the crystal palace of her brest
The clearer soul was call'd to endless rest—
Not by the thundering voice wherewith God threats,
But as with crownèd saints in heaven He treats—
And, waited on by angels, home was brought,
To joy that—it through many dangers sought—
The key of mercy gently did unlock
The doors 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock.
Sin was her captive, whence thy power doth flow;
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But to destroy the just is not thy part.
Thy comming, terrour, anguish, grief denounces;
Her happy state, courage, ease, joy pronounces.
From out the crystal palace of her brest
The clearer soul was call'd to endless rest—
Not by the thundering voice wherewith God threats,
But as with crownèd saints in heaven He treats—
And, waited on by angels, home was brought,
To joy that—it through many dangers sought—
The key of mercy gently did unlock
The doors 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock.
Nor boast, the fairest frame was made thy prey,
Because to mortal eyes it did decay;
A better witness than thou art assures
That, though dissolv'd, it yet a space endures;
No dram thereof shall want or loss sustain,
When her best soul inhabits it again.
Go, then, to people curst before they were,
Their souls in triumph to thy conquest bear.
Glory not thou thy self in these hot tears,
Which our face, not for her, but our harm wears:
The mourning livery given by Grace, not thee,
Which wills our souls in these streams washt should be;
And on our hearts, her memorie's best tomb,
In this her epitaph doth write thy doom.
Blind were those eyes saw not how bright did shine
Through fleshe's misty vail those beams divine;
Deaf were the eares not charm'd with that sweet sound
Which did i' the spirit's instructed voice abound;
Of flint the conscience, did not yeeld and melt
At what in her last act it saw and felt.
Because to mortal eyes it did decay;
A better witness than thou art assures
That, though dissolv'd, it yet a space endures;
No dram thereof shall want or loss sustain,
When her best soul inhabits it again.
Go, then, to people curst before they were,
Their souls in triumph to thy conquest bear.
Glory not thou thy self in these hot tears,
Which our face, not for her, but our harm wears:
The mourning livery given by Grace, not thee,
Which wills our souls in these streams washt should be;
And on our hearts, her memorie's best tomb,
In this her epitaph doth write thy doom.
Blind were those eyes saw not how bright did shine
Through fleshe's misty vail those beams divine;
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Which did i' the spirit's instructed voice abound;
Of flint the conscience, did not yeeld and melt
At what in her last act it saw and felt.
Weep not, nor grudg then, to have lost her sight,
Taught thus, our after-staye's but a short night:
But by all souls, not by corruption choaked,
Let in high-raisèd notes that power be 'invoked;
Calm the rough seas by which she sails to rest,
From sorrows here to a 'kingdom ever blest.
And teach this hymn of her with joy, and sing,
The grave no conquest gets, Death hath no sting.
Taught thus, our after-staye's but a short night:
But by all souls, not by corruption choaked,
Let in high-raisèd notes that power be 'invoked;
Calm the rough seas by which she sails to rest,
From sorrows here to a 'kingdom ever blest.
And teach this hymn of her with joy, and sing,
The grave no conquest gets, Death hath no sting.
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III. LYRICAL.
SONGS AND SONNETS, AND MISCELLANEOUS.
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TEN SONNETS TO PHILOMEL.
Sonnet I. Vpon Loue's entring by his Eares.
Oft did I heare, our Eyes the passage wereBy which Loue entred to auaile our hearts;
Therefore I guarded them, and voyd of feare
Neglected the defence of other parts.
Loue knowing this, the vsuall way forsooke,
And seeking, found a by-way by mine Eare:
At which hee entring, my Hart pris'ner tooke,
And vnto thee sweet Philomel did beare.
Yet let my hart thy hart to pittie moue,
Whose paine is great, although smal fault appeare:
First it lies bound in fettering-chaines of Loue,
Then each day it is rackt with hope and feare.
And with Loue's flame 'tis euermore consumed,
Only because to loue thee it presumed.
Sonnet II.
O why did Fame my Hart to Loue betray,By telling my Deare's vertue and perfection?
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That Syren-song, cause of my Hart's infection?
Had I bene deafe, or Fame her gifts concealed,
Then had my Hart been free from hopeles loue:
Or were my state likewise by it reuealed,
Well might it Philomel to pitty moue.
Then shold she kno how loue doth make me lāguish,
Distracting mee twixt hope and dreadful feare:
Then shold she kno my care, my pla[i]nts and anguish;
All which for her deere sake I meekely beare.
Yea I could quietly Death's paynes abide,
So that shee knew that for her sake I dide.
Sonnet III. Of his owne and his Mistris' sicknes at one time.
Sickenes entending my Loue to betrayBefore I should sight of my Deare obtaine,
Did his pale collours in my face display,
Lest that my Fauour might her fauour gaine.
Yet not content hërewith, like meanes it wrought
My Philomel's bright beauty to deface:
And Nature's glory to disgrace it sought,
That my conceiuèd Loue it might displace.
But my firme Loue could this assault well beare,
Which Vertue had, not beauty, for his ground:
And yet bright beames of beauty did appeare,
Throgh sicknes' vail, which made my loue aboūd.
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How matchlesse would it bee if shee were well?
Sonnet IV. Another of her Sicknes and Recouery.
Pale Death himselfe did loue my Philomel,When hee her Vertues and rare beutie saw:
Therefore hee Sicknesse sent, which should expell
His riuall, Life, and my Deere to him draw.
But her bright beauty dazeled so his Eyes,
That his dart Life did misse, though her it hitt:
Yet not therewith content, new meanes hee tries
To bring her vnto Death, and make Life flitt.
But Nature soone perceiuing, that hee meant
To spoyle her only Phœnix, her chiefe pride,
Assembled all her force, and did preuent
The greatest mischiefe that could her betide.
So both our liues and loues Nature defended,
For had shee dide, my loue and life had ended.
Sonnet V. Allusion to Theseus' Voyage to Crete against the Minotaure.
My Loue is sayl'd, against Dislike to fight,Which, like vild monster, threatens his decay;
The ship is Hope, which by Desire's great might,
Is swiftly borne towards the wishèd Bay:
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Though met in one, is a dissenting crew;
They are Ioy, Greefe, and neuer-sleeping Care,
And Doubt, which ne'r beleeues good news for true.
Black feare the Flag is which my ship doth beare,
Which, Deere, take downe, if my Loue victor be,
And let white Comfort in his place appeare,
When Loue victoriously returnes to mee,
Lest I from rocke Despayre come tumbling downe,
And in a Sea of Teares bee forc't to drowne.
Sonnet VI. Vpon her looking secretly out of a window as hee passed by.
Once did my Philomel reflect on meeHer christall-pointed Eyes as I passt by,
Thinking not to be seene, yet would mee see;
But soone my hungry Eyes their foode did spie.
Alas, my Deere, couldst thou suppose that face,
Which needs not enuy Phœbus' cheefest pride,
Could secret bee, although in secret place,
And that transparant glas such beams could hide?
But if I had beene blinde, yet Loue's hot flame
Kindled in my poore heart by thy bright Eye,
Did plainely shew when it so neere thee came,
By more then vsuall heate, the cause was mee:
So, though thou hidden wert, my hart and eye
Did turne to thee by mutuall Sympathy.
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Sonnet VII.
When time nor place would let me often viewNature's chiefe Mirror and my sole delight;
Her liuely Picture in my hart I drew,
That I might it behold both day and night.
But shee, like Phillip's Son, scorning that I
Should portray her wanting Apelles' art,
Commaunded Loue, who nought dare hir deny,
To burne the Picture which was in my Hart.
The more Loue burn'd, the more her picture shin'd;
The more it shin'de, the more my hart did burne;
So, what to hurt her picture was assign'd,
To my Hart's ruine and decay did turne.
Loue could not burne the Saint—it was diuine;
And therefore fir'd my hart, the Saint's poore shrine.
Sonnet VIII.
When as the Sun eclipsèd is, some sayIt thunder, lightning, raine and wind portendeth:
And not vnlike but such things happen may,
Sith like effects my Sun eclipsèd sendeth.
Witnes my throat made hoars with thundring cries,
And hart with Loue's hot-flashing lightnings fired:
Witnes the showers which stil fal from mine eies,
And brest with sighs like stormy winds neare riued.
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And with thy beames dissolue clouds of dispaire,
Whereof these raging Meteors framèd bee,
In my poore hart by absence of my faire.
So shalt thou proue thy Beames, thy heate, thy light,
To match the Sun in glory, grace, and might.
Sonnet IX. Vpon sending her a Gold Ring with this Posie ‘Pure and Endlesse.’
If you would knowe the loue which you I beare,Compare it with the Ring, which your faire hand
Shall make more pretious when you shal it weare;
So my loue's Nature you shal vnderstand.
Is it of mettal pure? so you shall proue
My loue, which ne're disloyal thought did stain.
Hath it no end? so endles is my loue,
Vnlesse you it destroy with your disdaine.
Doth it the purer waxe the more 'tis tride?
So doth my loue: yet herein they dissent,
That whereas Gold the more 'tis purifi'd,
By waxing lesse, doth shew some part is spent,
My loue doth wax more pure by your more trying,
And yet encreaseth in the purifying.
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Sonnet X.
My Cruell Deere hauing captiu'de my hart,And bound it fast in Chaynes of restles Loue,
Requires it out of bondage to depart;
Yet is shee sure from her it cannot moue.
Draw back, sayd shee, your hopelesse loue from me,
Your work requireth a more worthy place;
Vnto your sute though I cannot agree,
Full many will it louingly embrace.
It may bee so, my Deere; but as the Sun
When it appeares doth make the stars to vanish,
So when your selfe into my thoughts do run,
All others quite out of my Hart you bannish.
The beames of your Perfections shine so bright,
That straightway they dispell all others' light.
Melophilus.
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ON A FLEA ON HIS MISTRESS' BOSOM.
Madam, that flea which crept between your brestI envyde that there he should make his rest;
The little creature's fortune was soe good
That angells' feed not on so precious food.
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Madam, shall fleas before me tickle you?—
Oh, I not hould can; pardon if I kill yt!
Sweet blood, to you I aske this, that which fill'd it
Runne from my ladie's brest. Come, happie flea,
That dyde for suckinge of that milky-sea.
Oh, now againe I cold e'en wish thee there,
About her hart, about her any where:
I would vowe, deare flea, thou sholdst not dye,
If [that] thou couldst suck from her her crueltie.
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ODE.
[Absence, heere this my protestatyon]
Absence, heere this my protestatyon
Against thy strength,
Distance, and length.
Doe what thou canst for alteration,
For hearts of truest mettle
Absence doth joyne, and tyme doth settle.
Against thy strength,
Distance, and length.
Doe what thou canst for alteration,
For hearts of truest mettle
Absence doth joyne, and tyme doth settle.
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Who loues a mistris of such quallity,
His mynd hath fownd
Affection's grownd
Beyond tyme, place and mortallitie.
To harts that cannot varie
Absence is present, Tyme doth tary.
His mynd hath fownd
Affection's grownd
Beyond tyme, place and mortallitie.
To harts that cannot varie
Absence is present, Tyme doth tary.
My senses want their outward motyon,
Which now within
Reason doth wynn,
Redubled by her secret motion,
Like rich that take pleasure
In hyding more than handling treasure.
Which now within
Reason doth wynn,
Redubled by her secret motion,
Like rich that take pleasure
In hyding more than handling treasure.
By absence this good means I gaine,
That I can catch her
Where none can match her
In some close corner of my brayne.
There I imbrace, and there kisse her,
And soe enioye her and none mysse her.
That I can catch her
Where none can match her
In some close corner of my brayne.
There I imbrace, and there kisse her,
And soe enioye her and none mysse her.
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THE TOKEN.
Send me some tokens, that my hope may live,Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;
Send me some hony, to make sweet my hive,
That in my passions I may hope the best.
I beg nor ribbon wrought with thy own hands,
To knit our loves in the fantastic strain
Of new-touch'd youth; nor ring to show the stands
Of our affection, that, as that's round and plain,
So should our loves meet in simplicity;
No, nor the corals which thy wrist infold,
Laced up together in congruity,
To show our thoughts should rest in the same hold;
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And most desired, 'cause 'tis like the best;
Nor witty lines, which are most copious,
Within the writings which thou hast addrest.
Send me nor this, nor that, t' increase my score;
But swear thou think'st I love thee, and no more.
[[SELF-LOVE.]]
He that cannot chuse but love,And strives against it still,
Never shall my fancy move;
For he loves against his will.
Nor he which is all his own,
And cannot pleasure chuse;
When I am caught, he can be gone,
And, when he list, refuse.
Nor he that loves none but fair,
For such by all are sought;
Nor he that can for foul ones care,
For his judgment then is naught.
Nor he that hath wit, for he will
Make me his jest or slave;
Nor a fool, for when others [OMITTED]
He can neither [OMITTED]
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For she is thrall'd therefore;
Nor he that payes not, for he says
Within she's worth no more.
Is there then no kind of men,
Whom I may freely prove?
I will venture that humor then
In this mine own self-love.
THE LADY AND HER VIOL.
Why dost thou, deare, affect thy viol so,And let thy loue forlorne, wth anguish go?
Thou't kindly set him on thy lap, imbrace
And almost kis, while I must voide ye place.
Thou't string him truly, tune him sweetly, when
Thou't wrest me out of tune and crack me then:
Thou't stop his frets, but set no date to mine;
Thou't giue what ere he wants, but let me pine.
Thou knowest him hollow-harted, yet wilt heare
Him throughout wth an attentiue eare.
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Would charme hel's churlish porter's watchfull eye;
Keping true time wth him as true may be,
But finde no time to kepe ye true to me.
Deare as ye instrument woulde I were thine,
That thou mightst play on me, or thou wert mine.
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SLEEP.
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,Brother of Death! sweetly thy selfe dispose
On this afflicted Wight; fall like a cloud
In gentle showrs; give nothing yt is lowd,
Or painfull, to his slumbers: easy, sweet,
And like a purling wind, thou sonn of Night!
Passe by his troubled senses; sing his paine
Like hollow murmuringe windes, or silver raine:
Into his senses gently, O gently, slide,
And kisse him into slumber, like a Bride.
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A PARADOX.
Who soe termes Loue a fire, may like a poet
Ffaine what hee will, for certaine cannot showe it;
Ffor ffire nere burnes but when the fuell's neare,
But Loue doth at most distance most appeare:
Yet out of fire water did neuer goe,
But teares from Loue abundantly doe flowe;
Ffire still mounts vpward, but Loue oft descendeth;
Ffire leaues the midst, Loue to the center tendeth;
Ffire dryes & hardens, Loue doth mollifie;
Ffire doth consume, but Loue doth fructifie.
Ffaine what hee will, for certaine cannot showe it;
Ffor ffire nere burnes but when the fuell's neare,
But Loue doth at most distance most appeare:
Yet out of fire water did neuer goe,
But teares from Loue abundantly doe flowe;
Ffire still mounts vpward, but Loue oft descendeth;
Ffire leaues the midst, Loue to the center tendeth;
Ffire dryes & hardens, Loue doth mollifie;
Ffire doth consume, but Loue doth fructifie.
The powerfull Queen of Loue (faire Venus) came
Descended from the Sea, not from the flame;
Whence passions ebbe & flowe, & from the braine
Run to the hart, like streames, and back againe;
Yea Loue oft fills men's breasts wth melting snowe,
Drowning their loue-sick minds in flouds of woe.
What, is Loue water, then? it may be soe:
But hee saith truest yt saith hee doth not knowe.
Descended from the Sea, not from the flame;
Whence passions ebbe & flowe, & from the braine
Run to the hart, like streames, and back againe;
Yea Loue oft fills men's breasts wth melting snowe,
Drowning their loue-sick minds in flouds of woe.
What, is Loue water, then? it may be soe:
But hee saith truest yt saith hee doth not knowe.
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DR. DONNE'S FAREWELL TO Ye WORLD.
Farewell, you guilded follyes, pleasing troubles!Farewell, you honnered rages, you cristall bubbles!
Fame's but a hollow eccho; gould pure clay;
Honour is but ye darling of one day;
Beauty, the 'eyes' idoll, but a damaske skinne;
State but a goulden prison to keep in
And torture freeborne mindes; embroiderèd traines
But goodly pajants, proudly-swelling veines;
Fame, riches, honour, state, traines, beautyes, birth,
Are but ye fading blessings of ye earth.
I would bee great, but see ye sunne doth still
Levill his beames against ye rising hill;
I would bee rich, but see men too unkind
Dippe in ye bowels of ye richest minds;
I would bee faire, but see ye champian proud
The world's faire eye off-setting in a cloud;
I would bee wise, but yt ye fox I see
Suspected guilty when ye asse is free;
I would bee poore, but see ye humble grasse
Is trampl'd on by each unworthy asse.
Rich hated, wise suspected, scorn'd if poore;
Great fear'd, faire tempted, & high envyed more:
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Would Beautye's Queene entitle mee ye faire;
Fame speake mee Honour's mineon; could I vey
The blisse of angells; wth a speaking eye
Command bare-heads, bow'd-knees, strike Justice domb
As well as blind & lame; & give a tongue
To stones by epitaphes; bee callèd Master
In ye loose lines of every Poetaster;
Could I bee more then any man yt lives
Rich, wise, great, faire, all in superlatives;
I count one minute of my holy leasure
Beyond to much of all this empty pleasure.
Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, yee carelesse groanes!
These are my guests, this is yt courtage tones:
Ye wingèd people of ye skeyes shall sing
Mine anthems; bee my sellar, gentle spring;
Here dwells noe hopelesse loves, noe palsy feares,
Noe short joyes purchas'd wth eternall teares;
Here will I sit, & sigh my hot youth's folly,
And learne to 'affect a holy malancholy;
And if contentment bee a stranger, then
Ile never looke for't but in Heaven againe;
And when I dye Ile turne my cave
Even from a chamber to a silent grave:
The falling spring upon the rocke shall weare
Mine epitaph, & cause a breine teare
From him who askes who in this tomb doth lye:
The dolefull Eccho answeres: It is I.
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IF SHE DERYDE ME.
Great and good, if she deryde mee,
Let me walke, I'le not despaire;
Ere to morrow I'le provide mee
One as great, lesse prowd, more faire:
Thay that seeke loue to constraine
Haue their labour for their paine.
Let me walke, I'le not despaire;
Ere to morrow I'le provide mee
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Thay that seeke loue to constraine
Haue their labour for their paine.
They that strongly can impórtune,
And will never yeild nor tyre,
Gayne the pay in spight of Fortune;
But such gaine I'le not desyre:
Where they prize is shame or sinn:
Wynners loose, and loosers wynn.
And will never yeild nor tyre,
Gayne the pay in spight of Fortune;
But such gaine I'le not desyre:
Where they prize is shame or sinn:
Wynners loose, and loosers wynn.
Looke vpon the faithfull louer:
Grief stands painted in his face;
Groanes and teares and sighs discouer
That they are his only grace:
Hee must weepe as childrenn doe,
That will in ye fashion wooe.
Grief stands painted in his face;
Groanes and teares and sighs discouer
That they are his only grace:
Hee must weepe as childrenn doe,
That will in ye fashion wooe.
I, whoe flie these idle fancies
Which my dearest rest betraye,
Warn'd by others' harmfull chances,
Vse my freedome as I may.
When all the world says what it cann,
'Tis but—Fie, vnconstant mann!
Which my dearest rest betraye,
Warn'd by others' harmfull chances,
Vse my freedome as I may.
When all the world says what it cann,
'Tis but—Fie, vnconstant mann!
253
SUN, BEGONE.
Wherefore peepst thou, envyous Day?
Wee can kisse without thee;
Louers hate that golden raye
Which thou bearst about thee.
Wee can kisse without thee;
Louers hate that golden raye
Which thou bearst about thee.
Goe and give them light that sorrowe,
Or the saylor flyinge:
Our imbraces need noe morrowe,
Nor our kisses eyinge.
Or the saylor flyinge:
Our imbraces need noe morrowe,
Nor our kisses eyinge.
We shall curse thy envyous eye
For thy soone betrayinge;
Or condemne thee for a spye,
If thou findst vs playinge.
For thy soone betrayinge;
Or condemne thee for a spye,
If thou findst vs playinge.
Gett thee gone, and lend thy flashes
Where there's need of lendinge:
Our affections are not ashes,
Nor our pleasures endinge.
Where there's need of lendinge:
Our affections are not ashes,
Nor our pleasures endinge.
Were we cold or wyther'd heere,
We would stay thee by vs;
Or but one another's sphære,
Then thou shouldst not flye vs.
We would stay thee by vs;
Or but one another's sphære,
Then thou shouldst not flye vs.
254
We are younge, thou spoilst our pleasure;
Goe to sea and slumber;
Darknes only lends vs leasure
Our stolne joyes to number.
Goe to sea and slumber;
Darknes only lends vs leasure
Our stolne joyes to number.
MY HEART.
Thou sent'st to me a hart was sound,
I tooke it to be thine;
But when I saw it had a wound,
I knew that hart was myne.
I tooke it to be thine;
But when I saw it had a wound,
I knew that hart was myne.
A bountie of a stronge conceit,
To send myne owne to mee,
And send it in a worse estate
Then when it came to thee.
To send myne owne to mee,
And send it in a worse estate
Then when it came to thee.
The hart I sent thee had no stayne,
It was entyre and sound;
But thou hast sent it back againe
Sicke of a deadly wound.
It was entyre and sound;
But thou hast sent it back againe
Sicke of a deadly wound.
255
Oh heavens, how woldst thou use a hart
That should rebellyous bee,
Since thou hast slayne myne with a dart
That soe much honorde thee!
That should rebellyous bee,
Since thou hast slayne myne with a dart
That soe much honorde thee!
FORTUNE NEVER FAILS.
What if I come to my mistris' bedd,
The candles all ecclip'st from shyninge:
Shall I then attempt for her mayden-head,
Or showe my selfe a coward by declyninge?
Oh noe,
Fie, do not soe;
For thus much I knowe by devyninge,
Blynd is Love,
The darke it doth approve
To pray on pleasures pantinge;
What needs light
For Cupid in ye night,
If jealous eyes be wantinge?
The candles all ecclip'st from shyninge:
Shall I then attempt for her mayden-head,
Or showe my selfe a coward by declyninge?
Oh noe,
Fie, do not soe;
For thus much I knowe by devyninge,
Blynd is Love,
The darke it doth approve
To pray on pleasures pantinge;
What needs light
For Cupid in ye night,
If jealous eyes be wantinge?
Fortune neuer fayles, if she bidd take place,
To shroud all the faire proceedings:
Love and she, though blynd, yet each other embrace
To favor all their servants' meetings.
Venture, I say,
To sport and to play,
If in place all be fittinge;
Though she say fie,
Yet doth she not denie,
For fie is but a word of tryall:
Jealosie doth sleepe;
Then doe not weepe
At force of a faynt denyall.
To shroud all the faire proceedings:
Love and she, though blynd, yet each other embrace
To favor all their servants' meetings.
256
To sport and to play,
If in place all be fittinge;
Though she say fie,
Yet doth she not denie,
For fie is but a word of tryall:
Jealosie doth sleepe;
Then doe not weepe
At force of a faynt denyall.
Glorious is my loue, worth tryvmphs in her face;
Then too-too bould were I to ventvr:
Whoe loues, deserues to liue in princes' grace;
Why stand you then affraid to enter?
Lights are all out,
Then make noe doubt,
A louer bouldly may take chusinge.
Bewtie is a baite
For a princely mate.
Fye, why stand you then a musing?
Yow'le repent too late,
If she doe you hate
For love's delight refusinge.
Then too-too bould were I to ventvr:
Whoe loues, deserues to liue in princes' grace;
Why stand you then affraid to enter?
Lights are all out,
Then make noe doubt,
A louer bouldly may take chusinge.
Bewtie is a baite
For a princely mate.
Fye, why stand you then a musing?
Yow'le repent too late,
If she doe you hate
For love's delight refusinge.
257
THE PORTRAIT.
Painter, while there thou sitst drawing the sight
That her unkind regard hath dyed in grief,
Dip black thy pensill, and forgett the white
That thou bestow'st on lookes that win beliefe;
And when thy worke is done, then lett her see
The humble image of her crueltie.
That her unkind regard hath dyed in grief,
Dip black thy pensill, and forgett the white
That thou bestow'st on lookes that win beliefe;
And when thy worke is done, then lett her see
The humble image of her crueltie.
Or if t'unfold the sence of her disdaine
Exceeds the narrow limitts of thyne art,
Then blott thy table, and forgett thy paine,
Till thou hast learn'd the coulours of her hart;
And lett her then no sight or other show
But that void place where thou hast painted woe.
Exceeds the narrow limitts of thyne art,
Then blott thy table, and forgett thy paine,
Till thou hast learn'd the coulours of her hart;
And lett her then no sight or other show
But that void place where thou hast painted woe.
Tell her that those whome th'Heauens' inuries
Haue kept at sea in wandering disperation
Sitt downe at length, and brag of misseries,
The highest measure of their ostentation.
So hath she tost me till my latest glorie
Is her content, and my affliction's storie.
Haue kept at sea in wandering disperation
Sitt downe at length, and brag of misseries,
The highest measure of their ostentation.
So hath she tost me till my latest glorie
Is her content, and my affliction's storie.
Tell her that tears and sighs shall never cease
With flowing streames, to sinck her in conceite,
Till at the length shee pitty or release
The gentle hart that on her eyes did waite,
Pure lights imbracing in each other's scope
The strength of faith and weaknesses of hope.
With flowing streames, to sinck her in conceite,
Till at the length shee pitty or release
The gentle hart that on her eyes did waite,
Pure lights imbracing in each other's scope
The strength of faith and weaknesses of hope.
258
Thus doe I breathe forth my unhappines,
And play with rimes, as if my thoughts were free;
Wherein if I had power but to expresse
Her name, the world would with my griefs agree.
But, idle veine! consume thyself in this,
That I have sworn to bury what shee is.
And play with rimes, as if my thoughts were free;
Wherein if I had power but to expresse
Her name, the world would with my griefs agree.
But, idle veine! consume thyself in this,
That I have sworn to bury what shee is.
THREE LOVE-SONNETS.
[I.]
[Oh madam, you [only], of all women true]
Oh madam, you [only], of all women true,Nay, Virtue's selfe, that's more, for only you
Are that wch we imagine to be shee;
You, and but you, make virtue here to bee.
You, who by binding makes us truly free,
Whose only bondman lives in libertie.
You, in wch happie word all things are ment
Excepting wickedness and punishment.
You, that are you, wch I love more than I,
In whome my soule can rest, yett I not dye;
Nay, lives, by beeing those, for that's his place,
I, but a cabinet that keepes your face
Or model in my hart, for all that's I
May in your picture live, in you must dye.
259
II.
[Is there no day, madam, for you? is all]
Is there no day, madam, for you? is allA sullen night? it is not out of choice;
Ffor watchful virtue never did reioice
In darknes, when it subiect was to fall.
But you are ledd by some unluckie hand
That guids yo'r feet into a path obscure,
Yett lookes that you as steadily should stand
As at nooneday, and keep your feet as pure.
Oh, pardon mee; should I bee guided soe
From light, from truth, and from the sight of men,
My guides should to[o] late and [too] clearely know
That darkness was the way to Error's den;
And hee should feele, that bard me from ye light,
The best tyme to revenge my wrongs were night.
III.
[Thou art not faire, for all thy redd and white]
Thou art not faire, for all thy redd and white,
Nor all thy rosy ornaments in thee;
Thou art not sweete, though made of meere delight,
Nor fair nor sweete, unless thou pitty mee.
I will not sooth thy fancyes; thou shalt prove
That beauty is noe beauty without loue.
Nor all thy rosy ornaments in thee;
Thou art not sweete, though made of meere delight,
Nor fair nor sweete, unless thou pitty mee.
I will not sooth thy fancyes; thou shalt prove
That beauty is noe beauty without loue.
Yet love not mee, nor seeke thou to allure
My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine;
Thy smiles and kisses I can not indure;
I'le not be wrapt up in those armes of thine.
Now show it, if thou be a woman right,
Embrace and kiss and love mee in despight.
My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine;
Thy smiles and kisses I can not indure;
I'le not be wrapt up in those armes of thine.
260
Embrace and kiss and love mee in despight.
A WARNING.
Victorious beauty! though your eyes
Are able to subdue an host,
And therefore are unlike to boast
The taking of a little prize,
Doe not a single heart despise.
Are able to subdue an host,
And therefore are unlike to boast
The taking of a little prize,
Doe not a single heart despise.
It came alone, but yet so armd
With former loue, I durst have sworne
That when a privy coate was worne
With characters of beauty charmd,
Thereby it might have 'scapd unharmed.
With former loue, I durst have sworne
That when a privy coate was worne
With characters of beauty charmd,
Thereby it might have 'scapd unharmed.
But neither steele nor stony breast
Are proofe against those looks of thyne;
Nor can a beauty lesse divine
Of any heart be long possesst
When thou pretend'st an interest.
Are proofe against those looks of thyne;
Nor can a beauty lesse divine
Of any heart be long possesst
When thou pretend'st an interest.
261
Thy conquest in regard of me,
Alas, is small; but in respect
Of her that did my love protect,
Were it divulged, deserves to bee
Recorded for a victory.
Alas, is small; but in respect
Of her that did my love protect,
Were it divulged, deserves to bee
Recorded for a victory.
And such a one—as some that view
Her lovely face perhapps may say,
Though you have stolen my heart away—
If all your seruants prove not true,
May steal a heart or two from you.
Her lovely face perhapps may say,
Though you have stolen my heart away—
If all your seruants prove not true,
May steal a heart or two from you.
TO THE YOUNG GENTLEWOMEN AT COURT.
Beware, fair maide, of musky courtiers' oaths;
Take heed what gifts and favours you receive;
Let not the fading glosse of silken cloathes
Dazell thy virtues, or thy fame bereave:
For loose but once the hould thou hast of grace,
Who will respect thy favour or thy face?
Take heed what gifts and favours you receive;
Let not the fading glosse of silken cloathes
Dazell thy virtues, or thy fame bereave:
For loose but once the hould thou hast of grace,
Who will respect thy favour or thy face?
Each greedy hand doth catch to spoil the flower,
Where none regards the stalk it grew upon;
Each creature loues the fruit still to devoure,
And let the tree to fall or grow alone.
But this advise, faire creature, take from mee:
Let none take fruit, unless he take the tree.
Where none regards the stalk it grew upon;
262
And let the tree to fall or grow alone.
But this advise, faire creature, take from mee:
Let none take fruit, unless he take the tree.
Believe not oathes nor much-protesting men,
Creditt no vowes, nor no bewailing songs;
Let courtiers sweare, forsweare, and sweare agayne,
Their heart doth live two regions from their tongues;
And when with oathes the heart is made to tremble,
Believe them least, for then they most dissemble.
Creditt no vowes, nor no bewailing songs;
Let courtiers sweare, forsweare, and sweare agayne,
Their heart doth live two regions from their tongues;
And when with oathes the heart is made to tremble,
Believe them least, for then they most dissemble.
Take heed, lest Cæsar do corrupt thy mind,
And foul ambition sell thy modesty;
Say tho' a king thou euer curteous find,
He cannot pardon thy impurity;
For doe with king, to subject you will fall,
From lord to lackey, and at last to all.
And foul ambition sell thy modesty;
Say tho' a king thou euer curteous find,
He cannot pardon thy impurity;
For doe with king, to subject you will fall,
From lord to lackey, and at last to all.
263
BELIEVE YOUR GLASSE.
Beleeve your glasse, and if it tell you, Deare,
Your eyes inshrine
A brighter shine
Then faire Apollo; looke if there appeare
The milkie skye,
The crimson dye
Mixt in your cheeks; and then bid Phœbus sett:
More glory then hee owes appeares. But yet
Your eyes inshrine
A brighter shine
Then faire Apollo; looke if there appeare
The milkie skye,
The crimson dye
Mixt in your cheeks; and then bid Phœbus sett:
More glory then hee owes appeares. But yet
[OMITTED] Be not deceivèd with fond exultacon:
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
As Cynthia's globe,
A snow-white robe,
Is soonest spotted; a carnation dye
Fades and discolours, opened but to die.
As Cynthia's globe,
A snow-white robe,
Is soonest spotted; a carnation dye
Fades and discolours, opened but to die.
Make vse of yowth and bewty whilest they flourish:
Tyme never sleepes;
Though it but creeps,
It still gets forward. Do not vainly nourish
Them to selfe-vse,
It is abuse;
The richest grownds lying wast turn boggs and rott,
And soe beinge useles were as good were not.
Tyme never sleepes;
Though it but creeps,
It still gets forward. Do not vainly nourish
Them to selfe-vse,
It is abuse;
The richest grownds lying wast turn boggs and rott,
And soe beinge useles were as good were not.
264
Walke in a meddowe by a river side,
Vpon whose bancks
Growe milk-white ranks
Of full-blowne lyllies in their height of pryde,
Which downward bend,
And nothing tend
Save their owne bewties in the glassie streame:
Looke to your selfe; compare your selfe to them—
Vpon whose bancks
Growe milk-white ranks
Of full-blowne lyllies in their height of pryde,
Which downward bend,
And nothing tend
Save their owne bewties in the glassie streame:
Looke to your selfe; compare your selfe to them—
To them, in bewtie: marke what followes then;
Sommer must end,
The sunn must bend
His longe-abstracted beames to others: then,
Their Spring being crost
By Wynter's frost,
And snep'd by bytter stormes 'gainst which nought boots,
They bend their prowd topps lower then their roots.
Sommer must end,
The sunn must bend
His longe-abstracted beames to others: then,
Their Spring being crost
By Wynter's frost,
And snep'd by bytter stormes 'gainst which nought boots,
They bend their prowd topps lower then their roots.
Then none regard them but with heedles feet:
In durt each treads
Their declyn'd heads.
Soe when youth's wasted, Age and you shall meet:
Then I alone
Shall sadly moane
That interviewe; others it will not move;
So light regard we what we little love.
In durt each treads
Their declyn'd heads.
Soe when youth's wasted, Age and you shall meet:
Then I alone
Shall sadly moane
That interviewe; others it will not move;
So light regard we what we little love.
271
V. DIVINE POEMS.
273
TO VISCOUNT DONCASTER,
WITH SIX HOLY SONNETS.
See, Sir, how as the sun's hot masculine flameBegets strange creatures on Nile's durty slime,
In me your fatherly yet lusty ryme
(For these songs are their fruits) have wrought the same.
But though the ingendring force from whence they came
Be strong enough, and Nature doth admit
Seven to be born at once, I send as yet
But six; they say the seventh hath still some maim.
I choose your Judgment, which the same degree
Doth with her sister, your Invention, hold,
As fire, these drossie rhymes to purifie;
Or as elixar, to change them to gold.
You are that alchymist, which always had
Wit, whose one spark could make good things of bad.
274
TO THE LADY MAGDALEN HERBERT; OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN.
Her of your name, whose fair inheritanceBethina was, and jointure Magdalo;
An active faith so highly did advance,
That she once knew more than the Church did know,
The Resurrection; so much good there is
Deliver'd of her, that some Fathers be
Loth to believe one woman could do this,
But think these Magdalens were two or three.
Increase their number, Lady, and their fame;
To their devotion add your innocence;
Take so much of th'example as of the name,
The latter half; and in some recompence,
That they did harbour Christ Himself a guest,
Harbour these Hymns, to His dear name addrest.
J. D.
291
ON THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARIE.
In that, O Queene of queens, thy birth was free
From that which others doth of grace bereave,
When in their mothers' wombs they life receave,
God, as his sole-borne daughter, louèd thee.
From that which others doth of grace bereave,
When in their mothers' wombs they life receave,
God, as his sole-borne daughter, louèd thee.
To match thee like thy birth's nobilitie,
He thee his Spirit for his spouse did leaue,
By whom thou didst his only Sonne conceave,
And so wast linkt to all the Trinity.
He thee his Spirit for his spouse did leaue,
By whom thou didst his only Sonne conceave,
And so wast linkt to all the Trinity.
292
Cease then, O queens that earthly crowns do wear,
To glory in the pompe of earthly thinges;
If men such high respects unto you beare,
Which daughters, wiues, and mothers are to kinges,
What honor can unto that Queene bee done,
Who had your God for Father, Spowse, and Sonne?
To glory in the pompe of earthly thinges;
If men such high respects unto you beare,
Which daughters, wiues, and mothers are to kinges,
What honor can unto that Queene bee done,
Who had your God for Father, Spowse, and Sonne?
316
ODE.
[Vengeance will sitt aboue our faults; but till]
Vengeance will sitt aboue our faults; but till
She there do sytt,
We see her not, nor them. Thus blynd, yet still
Wee lead her way; and thus whilst we doe ill,
Wee suffer it.
She there do sytt,
We see her not, nor them. Thus blynd, yet still
Wee lead her way; and thus whilst we doe ill,
Wee suffer it.
Unhappy hee whom youth makes not beware
Of doinge ill:
Enough we labour under age and care;
In number th'errors of the last place are
The greatest still.
Of doinge ill:
Enough we labour under age and care;
In number th'errors of the last place are
The greatest still.
Yet wee, that should the ill we new begin
As soone repent—
Strange thing—perceiue not; our faults are not seene,
But past us, neither felt, but only in
Our punishment.
As soone repent—
Strange thing—perceiue not; our faults are not seene,
But past us, neither felt, but only in
Our punishment.
317
But we know ourselves least; meere outward showes
Our mynds so store,
That our sowles, noe more then our eyes, disclose
But forme and colour. Only hee who knowes
Himselfe knowes more.
Our mynds so store,
That our sowles, noe more then our eyes, disclose
But forme and colour. Only hee who knowes
Himselfe knowes more.
321
TRANSLATED OUT OF GAZÆUS,
VOTA AMICO FACTA, fol. 160.
God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine,Thou who dost, best friend, in best things outshine;
May thy soul, ever chearful, ne'r know cares;
Nor thy life, ever lively, know gray hairs;
322
Nor thy purse, ever plump, know pleits or folds;
Nor thy tongue, ever true, know a false thing;
Nor thy words, ever mild, know quarrelling;
Nor thy works, ever equal, know disguise;
Nor thy fame, ever pure, know contumelies;
Nor thy prayers know low objects, still divine.
God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine!
343
A SHEAF OF SNAKES USED HERETOFORE TO BE MY SEAL, THE CREST OF OUR POOR FAMILY.
Adopted in God's family, and soOur old coat lost, unto new arms I go.
The cross, my seal at baptism, spread below,
Does, by that form into an anchor grow.
Crosses grow anchors; bear, as thou shouldst do,
Thy cross, and that cross grows an anchor too.
But He that makes our crosses anchors thus,
Is Christ, Who there is crucifi'd for us.
344
God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old.
The serpent may, as wise, my pattern be;
My poison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.
And as he rounds the earth to murder sure,
My death he is; but on the cross, my cure.
Crucifie nature then, and then implore
All grace from Him, crucified there before;
When all is cross, and that cross anchor grown,
This seal's a catechism, not a seal alone.
Under that little seal great gifts I send,
Works and prayers, pawns, and fruits of a friend.
And may that saint, which rides in our Great Seal,
To you, who bear His name, great bounties deal.
345
IN SACRAM ANCHORAM PISCATORIS, G. HERBERT
THE SAME IN ENGLISH.
Although the Cross could not Christ here detain,
Though nail'd unto 't, but He ascends again,
Nor yet thy eloquence here keep Him still,
But only while thou speak'st, this Anchor will.
Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to
This certain Anchor add a seal, and so
The water and the earth both unto thee
Do owe the symbole of their certainty.
Though nail'd unto 't, but He ascends again,
Nor yet thy eloquence here keep Him still,
But only while thou speak'st, this Anchor will.
Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to
This certain Anchor add a seal, and so
The water and the earth both unto thee
Do owe the symbole of their certainty.
When Love, being weary, made an end
Of kind expressions to his friend,
He writ: when's hand could write no more,
He gave the Seal, and so left o're.
How sweet a friend was he, who, being griev'd
His letters were broke rudely up, believ'd
'Twas more secure in great Love's Common-weal,
Where nothing should be broke, to adde a Seal!
Of kind expressions to his friend,
346
He gave the Seal, and so left o're.
How sweet a friend was he, who, being griev'd
His letters were broke rudely up, believ'd
'Twas more secure in great Love's Common-weal,
Where nothing should be broke, to adde a Seal!
Let the world reel, we and all ours stand sure;
This holy cable's of all storms secure.
This holy cable's of all storms secure.
347
LAMENT FOR HIS WIFE.
[Is Death so greate a gamster, that he throwes]
Is Death so greate a gamster, that he throwes
Still at the fairest? must I ever lose?
Are we all but as tarriers, first begun,
Made, and togeather put, to be undone?
Will all the ranke of frendes in whom I trust,
Like Sodome's trees, yeild me no fruit but dust?
Must all I love, as carelesse sparkes that flye
Out of a flinte, but shew their worth and dye?
Still at the fairest? must I ever lose?
Are we all but as tarriers, first begun,
Made, and togeather put, to be undone?
Will all the ranke of frendes in whom I trust,
Like Sodome's trees, yeild me no fruit but dust?
Must all I love, as carelesse sparkes that flye
Out of a flinte, but shew their worth and dye?
O where do my-for-ever-losses tend?
I could already by some buried frend
Count my unhappy yeares: and should the sun
Leave me in darkenesse as her losse hath done,
By those few frendes I have yet to entombe
I might, I feare, account my yeares to come.
I could already by some buried frend
Count my unhappy yeares: and should the sun
Leave me in darkenesse as her losse hath done,
By those few frendes I have yet to entombe
I might, I feare, account my yeares to come.
What neede our canons then be so precise
In registers for our nativities?
They keep us but in bondes, and strike with feares
Rich parents, till their children be of yeares.
For should all lose and mourne, they might, as I,
Number their yeares by every elegie.
In registers for our nativities?
They keep us but in bondes, and strike with feares
Rich parents, till their children be of yeares.
348
Number their yeares by every elegie.
Those bookes to summe our dayes might well have stood
In use with those that liv'd before the Flood.
When she indeed that forceth me to write
Should have been borne, had Nature done her right,
And at five hundred yeares be lesse decayd
Than now at twenty is the fairest mayd.
But Nature had not her perfection then,
Or, being loath for such longe-liveinge men
To spend the treasure which she held so pure,
She gave them women apter to endure;
Or providently knowinge there were more
Countreyes which askd for people from her store,
Nature was thrifty, and did thinke it well
If for some one parte each one did excell—
As this for her neate hand, that for her hayre,
A third for her fine foote, a fourth was fayre.
And seld' all beauties mett in one, till she—
All others' lands els stor'd—came finally
To people our sweet Isle, and seeinge now
Her substance infinite, she 'gan to bowe
To Lavishnes in every nuptiall bed,
And she her fairest was that now is dead.
In use with those that liv'd before the Flood.
When she indeed that forceth me to write
Should have been borne, had Nature done her right,
And at five hundred yeares be lesse decayd
Than now at twenty is the fairest mayd.
But Nature had not her perfection then,
Or, being loath for such longe-liveinge men
To spend the treasure which she held so pure,
She gave them women apter to endure;
Or providently knowinge there were more
Countreyes which askd for people from her store,
Nature was thrifty, and did thinke it well
If for some one parte each one did excell—
As this for her neate hand, that for her hayre,
A third for her fine foote, a fourth was fayre.
And seld' all beauties mett in one, till she—
All others' lands els stor'd—came finally
To people our sweet Isle, and seeinge now
Her substance infinite, she 'gan to bowe
To Lavishnes in every nuptiall bed,
And she her fairest was that now is dead.
Dead, as my ioyes for ever, ever be!
And if a woman fayre and good as she
Tread on her, grant O may she there become
A statue like Lott's wife, and be her tombe!
And if a woman fayre and good as she
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A statue like Lott's wife, and be her tombe!
Or let the purple violett grow there,
And knowe no revolution of the yeare,
But full of dew with ever-droopinge head,
Shew how I live since my best hopes are dead.
And knowe no revolution of the yeare,
But full of dew with ever-droopinge head,
Shew how I live since my best hopes are dead.
Dead as the world to virtue. Murthers, theeves,
Can have their pardons, or at least repreives;
The sword of Iustice hath beene often won
By letters from an execution.
Yet vowes nor prayers could not keepe thee here,
Nor shall I see thee next returninge yeare;
Thee, with the roses, springe and live againe.
Th'art lost for ever as a drop of raine
Falne in a river: for as soone I may
Take up that drop, or meet the same at sea
And knowe it there, as e'er redeeme thee gone,
Or knowe thee in the grave when I have one.
Can have their pardons, or at least repreives;
The sword of Iustice hath beene often won
By letters from an execution.
Yet vowes nor prayers could not keepe thee here,
Nor shall I see thee next returninge yeare;
Thee, with the roses, springe and live againe.
Th'art lost for ever as a drop of raine
Falne in a river: for as soone I may
Take up that drop, or meet the same at sea
And knowe it there, as e'er redeeme thee gone,
Or knowe thee in the grave when I have one.
O had that hollow vault where thou dost lye
An eccho in it, my stronge phantasy
Would winne me soone to thinke her wordes were thine,
And I would howerly come, and to thy shrine
Talke, as I often did to talke with thee,
And frame my wordes, that thou shouldst answer me
As when thou livedst. I'd sigh and say I lov'd,
And thou shouldst doe so too, till we had mov'd,
With our complaints, to teares each marble cell
Of those dead neighbours which about thee dwell.
An eccho in it, my stronge phantasy
Would winne me soone to thinke her wordes were thine,
And I would howerly come, and to thy shrine
Talke, as I often did to talke with thee,
And frame my wordes, that thou shouldst answer me
As when thou livedst. I'd sigh and say I lov'd,
And thou shouldst doe so too, till we had mov'd,
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Of those dead neighbours which about thee dwell.
And when the holy Father came to say
His orisons, wee'd aske him if the day
Of miracles were past, or whether he
Knowes any one whose fayth and pietie
Could raise the dead; but he would answere, None
Can bringe thee backe to life: though many one
Our cursed dayes afford, that dare to thrust
Their hands prophane, to raise the sacred dust
Of holy saintes out of their beds of rest.
Abhorred crimes! Oh may there none molest
Thy quiet peace, but in thy arke remaine
Untoucht, as those the old one did containe;
Till He that can reward thy greatest worth
Shall send the peacefull Dove to fetch thee forth!
His orisons, wee'd aske him if the day
Of miracles were past, or whether he
Knowes any one whose fayth and pietie
Could raise the dead; but he would answere, None
Can bringe thee backe to life: though many one
Our cursed dayes afford, that dare to thrust
Their hands prophane, to raise the sacred dust
Of holy saintes out of their beds of rest.
Abhorred crimes! Oh may there none molest
Thy quiet peace, but in thy arke remaine
Untoucht, as those the old one did containe;
Till He that can reward thy greatest worth
Shall send the peacefull Dove to fetch thee forth!
| Poems (1872) | |