The Snowball.

Doris, I that could repel All those darts about thee dwell, And had wisely learn’d to fear ’Cause I saw a foe so near; I that my deaf ear did arm
’Gainst thy voice’s powerful charm; And the lightning of thine eye Durst, by closing mine, defy; Cannot this cold snow withstand From the winter[42:1] of thy hand.
Thy deceit hath thus done more Than thy open force before: For who could suspect or fear Treason in a face so clear, Or the hidden fires descry
Wrapt in this cold outside lie? Flames might thus, involv’d in ice, The deceiv’d world sacrifice; Nature, ignorant of this Strange antiperistasis,
Would her falling frame admire, That by snow were set on fire!

Love’s Innocence.[4:1]

See how this ivy strives to twine[4:2] Her wanton arms about the vine, And her coy lover thus restrains, Entangled in her amorous chains; See how these neighb’ring palms do bend
Their heads, and mutual murmurs send, As whispering with a jealous fear[4:3] Their loves into each other’s ear.

}

And like those blessed souls above, Whose life is harmony and love, Let us our mutual thoughts betray,
And in our wills our minds display. This silent speech is swifter far Than the ears’ lazy species are; And the expression it affords (As our desires,) ’bove reach of words.
Thus we, my Dear, of these may learn[4:5]

A passion others not discern; Nor can it shame or blushes move, Like plants to live, like angels love: Since all excuse with equal innocence
What above reason is, or beneath sense.

V.

On this verdant lotus laid, Underneath the myrtle’s shade, Let us drink our sorrows dead, Whilst Love plays the Ganymed.

Life like to[66:1] a wheel runs round:
And, ere long, we underground Ta’en by death asunder, must Moulder in forgotten dust.

Why then graves should we bedew, Why the ground with odours strew?
Better, whilst alive, prepare Flowers and unguents for our hair.

Come, my Fair,[66:2] and come away!

All our cares behind us lay, That these pleasures we may know,
Ere we come to those below.

Delay.

Delay! Alas, there cannot be To Love a greater tyranny: Those cruel beauties that have slain Their votaries by their disdain, Or studied torments sharp and witty.
Will be recorded for their pity, And after-ages be misled To think them kind, when this is spread. Of deaths the speediest is despair; Delays the slowest tortures are;
Thy cruelty at once destroys, But expectation starves my joys. Time and Delay may bring me past The power of Love to cure, at last; And shouldst thou wish to ease my pain,
Thy pity might be lent in vain. Or if thou hast decreed that I Must fall[36:1] beneath thy cruelty,

O kill me soon! Thou wilt express More mercy, ev’n in showing less.

The Blush.

So fair Aurora doth herself discover (Asham’d o’ th’ aged bed of her cold lover,) In modest blushes, whilst the treacherous light Betrays her early shame to the world’s sight. Such a bright colour doth the morning rose
Diffuse, when she her soft self doth disclose Half drown’d in dew, whilst on each leaf a tear Of night doth like a dissolv’d pearl appear; Yet ’twere in vain a colour out to seek To parallel my Chariessa’s cheek;
Less are compar’d[16:1] with greater, and these seem To blush like her, not she to blush like them. But whence, fair soul, this passion? what pretence Had guilt to stain thy spotless innocence? Those only this feel who have guilty been,
Not any blushes know, but who know[16:2] sin. Then blush no more; but let thy chaster flame, That knows no cause, know no effects of shame.

Answer [to “The Union,” Poem addressed to Stanley by his Friend and Tutor, William Fairfax].[15:1]

If we are one, dear Friend! why shouldst thou be At once unequal to thyself and me? By thy release thou swell’st my debt the more, And dost but rob thyself to make me poor. What part can I have in thy luminous cone,
What flame, since my love’s thine, can call my own, (The palest star is less the son of night,) Who but thy borrow’d know no native light?[15:2] Was’t not enough thou freely didst bestow The Muse, but thou must[15:3] give the laurel too,
And twice my aims by thy assistance raise, Conferring first the merit, then the praise? But I should do thee greater injury, Did I believe this praise were meant to me, Or thought, though thou hast worth enough to spare
T’enrich another soul, that mine should share. Thy Muse, seeming to lend, calls home her fame, And her due wreath doth, in renouncing, claim.

Unalter’d by Sickness.

}

Could all thy malice but impair
One o’ th’ sweets which crown her fair;[28:2] Or steal the spirits from her eye; Or kiss into a paler dye The blooming[28:3] roses of her cheek; Our suffering[28:4] hopes might justly seek
Redress from thee, and thou mightst save Thousands of lovers from the grave. But such assaults are vain, for she Is too divine to stoop to thee, Blest with a form as much too high
For any change, as[28:5] Destiny, Which no attempt can violate: For what’s her beauty is our fate.

The Tomb.

When, cruel fair one, I am slain By thy disdain, And as a trophy of thy scorn To some old tomb am borne, Thy fetters must their power bequeath
To those of Death; Nor can thy flame immortal burn Like monumental fires within an urn. Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall prove There is more liberty in Death than Love.

And when forsaken lovers come To see my tomb, Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, And, as a victor, proud To view the spoils thy beauty made,
Press near my shade! Lest thy too cruel breath, or name, Should fan my ashes back into a flame.

}

Or should my dust thy pity move That could not, love, Thy sighs might wake me, and thy tears Renew my life and years; Or should thy proud insulting scorn
Laugh at my urn, Kindly deceiv’d by thy disdain, I might be smil’d into new life again. Then come not near: since both thy love and hate Have equal power to kill[39:2] or animate.

But if cold earth or marble must Conceal my dust, Whilst, hid in some dark ruins, I Dumb and forgotten lie, The pride of all thy victory
Will sleep with me; And they who should attest thy glory Will or forget, or not believe this story. Then, to increase thy triumph, let me rest, (Since by thine eye slain,) buried in thy breast!

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

The Farewell.

Since Fate commands me hence, and I Must leave my soul with thee, and die, Dear, spare one sigh, or else let fall A tear to crown my funeral, That I may tell my grieved heart
Thou art unwilling we should part; And martyrs that embrace the fire Shall with less joy than I expire.

With this last kiss I will bequeath My soul, transfus’d into thy breath,
Whose active heat shall gently slide Into thy breast, and there reside, And may, (in spite of Fate thus blest,) Be, in this death, of heaven possess’d.[48:1] Then prove but kind; and thou shalt see
Love hath more power than Destiny.

Song.

When, dearest Beauty, thou shalt pay Thy faith and my vain hope away To some dull soul that cannot know The worth of that thou dost bestow; Lest[53:1] with my sighs and tears I might
Disturb thy unconfin’d delight, To some dark shade I will retire, And there, forgot by all, expire.

Thus, whilst the difference thou shalt prove Betwixt a feign’d and real love,
Whilst he, more happy, but less true, Shall reap those joys I did pursue, And with those pleasures crowned be By Fate, which Love design’d for me, Then thou perhaps thyself wilt find
Cruel too long, or too soon kind.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

The Revenge.

[Ronsard.]

Fair rebel to thyself and Time, Who laugh’st at all my tears, When thou hast lost thy youthful prime, And Age his trophy rears,

Weighing thy inconsiderate pride,
Thou shalt in vain accuse it: ‘Why beauty am I now denied, Or knew not then to use it?’

Then shall I wish, ungentle Fair, Thou in like flames may’st burn!
Venus, if just, will hear my prayer, And I shall laugh my turn.

Song.

Foolish Lover, go and seek For the damask of the rose, And the lilies white dispose To adorn thy mistress’ cheek;

Steal some star out of the sky,
Rob the phœnix, and the east Of her wealthy sweets divest, To enrich her breath or eye!

We thy borrow’d pride despise: For this wine to which we are
Votaries, is richer far Than her cheek, or breath, or eyes.

And should that coy fair one view These diviner beauties, she In this flame would rival thee,
And be taught to love thee too.

Come, then, break thy wanton chain, That when this brisk wine hath spread On thy paler cheek a red, Thou, like us, may’st Love disdain.

Love, thy power must yield to wine! And whilst thus ourselves we arm, Boldly we defy thy charm: For these flames extinguish[20:1] thine.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

A Lady Weeping.

[Montalvan.]

As when some brook flies from itself away, The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray, And, as about the verdant plain it winds, The meadows with a silver ribbon binds, Printing a kiss on every flower she meets,
Losing herself to fill them with new sweets, To scatter frost upon the lily’s head. And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread,— So melting sorrow, in the fair disguise Of humid stars,[63:1] flow’d from bright Chloris’ eyes,
Which, watering every flower her cheek discloses, Melts into jasmines here, there into roses.

The Glow-Worm.

Stay, fairest Chariessa, stay and mark This animated gem,[6:1] whose fainter spark Of fading light, its birth had from the dark:

A star thought by the erring[6:2] passenger Which falling from its native orb, dropped here,
And makes the earth, its centre, now its sphere.

Should many of these sparks together be, He that the unknown light far off should see Would think it a terrestrial galaxy.

Take ’t up, fair Saint; see how it mocks thy fright;
The paler flame doth not yield heat, though light, Which thus deceives[6:3] thy reason, through thy sight.

But see how quickly it, ta’en up, doth fade, (To shine in darkness only being made), By th’ brightness of thy light turn’d to a shade,

And burnt to ashes by thy flaming eyes! On the chaste altar of thy hand it dies, As to thy greater light a sacrifice.

On Mr. Fletcher’s Works [1647].[8:1]

Fletcher, whose fame no age can ever waste, (Envy of ours, and glory of the last,) Is now alive again; and with his name His sacred ashes wak’d into a flame Such as before could[8:2] by a secret charm
The wildest heart subdue, the coldest warm, And lend the ladies’ eyes a power more bright, Dispensing thus, to either, heat and light. He to a sympathy those souls betray’d Whom love or beauty never could persuade;
And in each mov’d spectator did[8:3] beget A real passion by a counterfeit. When first Bellario bled, what lady there Did not for every drop let fall a tear? And when Aspasia wept, not any eye
But seem’d to wear the same sad livery; By him inspir’d, the feign’d Lucina drew More streams of melting sorrow than the true; But then The Scornful Lady did[8:4] beguile

Their easy griefs, and teach them all to smile.
Thus he affections could or raise or lay; Love, grief, and mirth thus did his charms obey: He Nature taught her passions to out-do, How to refine the old, and create new; Which such a happy likeness seem’d to bear,
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were. Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept In the same urn wherein his dust hath slept; Nor had he risen[8:5] the Delphic wreath to claim, Had with[8:6] the dying scene expir’d his name.
O the indulgent justice of this age, To grant the press what it denies the stage! Despair our joy hath doubled: he is come Twice welcome by this post liminium. His loss preserv’d him; they that silenc’d wit
Are now the authors to eternize it. Thus poets are in spite of Fate reviv’d, And plays, by intermission, longer liv’d.

On this Swelling Bank.

On this swelling bank, once proud Of its burden, Doris lay: Here she smil’d, and did uncloud Those bright suns eclipse the day; Here we sat, and with kind art
She about me twin’d her arms, Clasp’d in hers my hand and heart, Fetter’d in those pleasing charms.

Here my love and joys she crown’d, Whilst the hours stood still before me,
With a killing glance did wound, And a melting kiss restore me. On the down of either breast, Whilst with joy my soul retir’d, My reclining head did rest,
Till her lips new life inspir’d.

Thus, renewing of these sights Doth with grief and pleasure fill me, And the thought of these delights Both at once revive and kill me!

Expectation.

Chide, chide no more away The fleeting daughters of the day, Nor with impatient thoughts outrun The lazy sun, Nor[25:1] think the hours do move too slow;
Delay is kind, And we too soon shall find That which we seek, yet fear to know.

The mystic dark decrees Unfold not of the Destinies,
Nor boldly seek to antedate The laws of Fate; Thy anxious search awhile forbear, Suppress thy haste, And know that Time at last
Will crown thy hope, or fix thy fear.

Love’s Heretic.

He whose active thoughts disdain To be captive to one foe, And would break his single chain, Or else more would undergo, Let him learn the art of me,
By new bondage to be free!

What tyrannic mistress dare To one beauty Love confine? Who, unbounded as the air, All may court, but none decline.
Why should we the heart deny As many objects as the eye?

Wheresoe’er I turn or move, A new passion doth detain me: Those kind beauties that do love,
Or those proud ones that disdain me. This frown melts, and that smile burns me; This to tears, that, ashes, turns me.

Soft fresh virgins not full-blown With their youthful sweetness take me;
Sober matrons that have known, Long since, what these prove, awake me; Here, staid coldness I admire, There, the lively active fire.

She that doth by skill dispense
Every favour she bestows, Or the harmless innocence Which nor court nor city knows;— Both alike my soul inflame, That wild beauty, and this tame.

She that wisely can adorn Nature with the wealth of Art, Or whose rural sweets do scorn Borrow’d helps to[44:1] take a heart;— The vain care of that’s my pleasure;
Poverty of this, my treasure.

Both the wanton and the coy Me with equal pleasure[44:2] move; She whom I by force enjoy, Or who forceth me to love:
This, because she’ll not confess, That, not hide, her happiness.

She whose loosely flowing hair, (Scatter’d like the beams o’ th’ morn.) Playing with the sportive air,
Hides the sweets it doth adorn, Captive in that net restrains me, In those golden fetters chains me;

Nor doth she with power less bright My divided heart invade,
Whose soft tresses spread, like night, O’er her shoulders a black shade; For the starlight of her eyes Brighter shines through those dark skies.

Black, or fair, or tall, or low,
I alike with all can sport, The bold sprightly Thaïs woo, Or the frozen vestal court: Every beauty takes my mind, Tied to all, to none confin’d.

The Parting.

I go, dear Saint, away, Snatch’d from thy arms By far less pleasing charms, Than those I did[21:1] obey; But if hereafter thou shalt know
That grief hath kill’d me, come,[21:2] And on my tomb Drop, drop a tear or two; Break with thy sighs the silence of my sleep, And I shall smile in death to see thee weep.

Thy tears may have the power To reinspire My ashes with new fire, Or change me to some flower, Which, planted ’twixt thy breasts, shall grow:
Veil’d in this shape, I will Dwell with thee still, Court, kiss, enjoy thee too: Securely we’ll contemn[21:3] all envious force, And thus united be by death’s divorce.

Song.

Faith, ’tis not worth thy pains and care To seek t’ensnare A heart so poor as mine:[24:1] Some fools there be Hate liberty,
Who[m] with more ease thou may’st confine.

Alas! when with much charge thou hast Brought it at last Beneath thy power to bow, It will adore
Some twenty more, And that, perhaps, you’d[24:2] not allow.

No, Chloris, I no more will prove The curse of love, And now can boast a heart
Hath learn’d of thee Inconstancy, And cozen’d women of their art.

The Cold Kiss.

Such icy kisses, anchorites that live Secluded from the world, to dead skulls give; And those[17:1] cold maids on whom Love never spent His flame, nor know what by desire is meant, To their expiring fathers such bequeath,
Snatching their fleeting spirits in that breath: The timorous priest doth with such fear and nice Devotion touch the Holy Sacrifice.

Fie, Chariessa! whence so chang’d of late, As to become in love a reprobate?
Quit, quit this dulness, Fairest, and make known A flame unto me equal with mine[17:2] own. Shake off this frost, for shame, that dwells upon Thy lips; or if it will not so be gone, Let’s once more join our lips,[17:3] and thou shalt see
That by the flame of mine ’twill melted be.

To his Mistress in Absence.

[Tasso.]

Far from thy dearest self, the scope Of all my aims, I waste in secret flames; And only live because I hope.

O when will Fate restore
The joys, in whose bright fire My expectation shall expire, That I may live because I hope no more!

To the Lady D[ormer].[9:1]

Madam! the blushes I betray, When at your feet I humbly lay These papers, beg you would excuse Th’ obedience of a bashful Muse, Who, bowing to your strict command,
Trusts her own errors to your hand, Hasty abortives, which, laid by, She meant, ere they were born, should die: But since the soft power of your breath Hath call’d them back again from death,
To your sharp judgement now made known, She dares for hers no longer own; The worst she must not: these resign’d She hath to th’ fire; and where you find Those your kind charity admir’d,
She writ but what your eyes inspir’d.

An Answer to a Song, “Wert thou much [?] Fairer than thou art,” by Mr. W. M.[58:1]

Wert thou by all affections sought, And fairer than thou wouldst be thought, Or had thine eyes as many darts As thou believ’st they shoot at hearts, Yet if thy love were paid to me,
I would not offer mine to thee.

I’d sooner court a fever’s heat, Than her that owns a flame as[58:2] great. She that my love will entertain Must meet it with no less disdain;
For mutual fires themselves destroy, And willing kisses yield no joy.

I love thee not because alone Thou canst all beauty call thine own, Nor doth my passion fuel seek
In thy bright eye or softer cheek. Then, Fairest! if thou wouldst know why: I love thee ’cause thou canst deny.

The Bracelet.

Rebellious fools that scorn to bow Beneath Love’s easy sway, Whose stubborn wills no laws allow, Disdaining to obey, Mark but this wreath of hair, and you shall see
None that might wear such fetters would be free.

I once could boast a soul like you, As unconfin’d as air; But mine, which force could not subdue, Was caught within this snare;
And by myself betray’d, I for this gold Have to mine enemy my freedom sold.[47:1]

No longer now, wise Art, inquire, (With this vain search delighted,) How souls that human[47:2] breasts inspire
Are to their frames united: Material chains such spirits well may bind, When this soft braid can tie both arm and mind.

Now, Beauties, I defy your charm, Rul’d by more powerful art:
This mystic wreath which crowns my arm Defends my vanquish’d heart;[47:3]

And I, subdu’d by one more fair, shall be Secur’d from conquest by captivity.

The Hasty Kiss.

[Secundus.]

A kiss I begg’d, and thou didst[64:1] join Thy[64:2] lips to mine; Then, as afraid, snatch’d[64:3] back their treasure, And mock’d[64:4] my pleasure. Again, my Dearest![64:5]—for in this
Thou only gav’st[64:6] desire, and not a kiss.

Song.

Celinda, by what potent art Or unresisted charm, Dost thou thine ear and frozen heart Against my passion arm?

Or by what hidden influence
Of powers in one combin’d, Dost thou rob Love of either sense, Made deaf as well as blind?

Sure thou as friends[38:1] united hast Two distant deities,
And scorn within thy heart hast plac’d, And love within thine eyes;

Or those soft fetters of thy hair, (A bondage that disdains All liberty,) do guard thine ear
Free from all other chains.

Then my complaint how canst thou hear, Or I this passion fly, Since thou imprison’d hast thine ear, And not confin’d thine eye?

To Chariessa,

Beholding herself in a Glass.[34:1]

Cast, Chariessa, cast that glass away; Not in its crystal face thine own survey. What can be free from Love’s imperious laws, When painted shadows real flames can cause? The fires may burn thee from this mirror rise,
By the reflected beams of thine own eyes; And thus at last fall’n with thyself in love, Thou wilt my rival, thine own[34:2] martyr, prove. But if thou dost desire thy form to view, Look in my heart, where Love thy picture drew,
And then, if pleas’d with thine own shape thou be, Learn how to love thyself by[34:3] loving me.

Dear, fold me once more.

Dear, fold me once more in thine arms! And let me know Before I go There is no bliss but in those charms. By thy fair self I swear
That here, and only here, I would for ever, ever stay: But cruel Fate calls me away.

How swiftly the light minutes slide! The hours that haste
Away thus fast By envious flight my stay do chide. Yet, Dear, since I must go, By this last kiss I vow, By all that sweetness which dwells with thee,[3:1]
Time shall move slow, till next I see thee.

Song: ’Tis no kiss.

[Secundus.]

’Tis no kiss my Fair bestows! Nectar ’tis, whence new life flows. All the sweets which nimble bees In their osier treasuries With unequall’d art repose,
In one kiss, her lips disclose. These, if I should many take, Soon would me immortal make, Rais’d to the divine abodes, And the banquets of the gods.
Be not, then, too lavish, Fair! But this heavenly treasure spare, ’Less thou’lt, too, immortal be: For without thy company What to me were the abodes
Or the banquets of the gods?

The Sick Lover.

[Guarini.]

My sickly breath Wastes in a double flame, Whilst Love and Death To my poor life lay claim; The fever in whose heat I melt
By her that causeth it[61:1] not felt.

Thou who alone Canst, yet wilt grant no ease, Why slight’st thou one, To feed a new disease?
Unequal Fair! the heart is thine: Ah, why then should the pain be mine?

To Chariessa,[7:1]

Desiring her to Burn his Verses.

These papers, Chariessa, let thy breath Condemn, thy hand unto the flames bequeath; ’Tis fit who gave them life, should give them death.

And whilst[7:2] in curled flames to heaven they rise, Each trembling sheet shall, as it upwards flies,
Present itself to thee a sacrifice.

Then when above[7:3] its native orb it came, And reach’d the lesser lights o’ th’ sky, this flame, Contracted to a star, should wear thy name,

Or falling down on earth from its bright sphere,
Shall in a diamond’s shape its lustre bear, And trouble (as it did before) thine ear.

But thou wilt cruel even in mercy be, Unequal in thy justice, who dost free Things without sense from flames, and yet not me!

Time Recover’d.

[Casone.]

Come, my Dear, whilst youth conspires With the warmth of our desires! Envious Time about thee watches, And some grace each minute snatches: Now a spirit, now a ray
From thy eye he steals away; Now he blasts some blooming rose Which upon thy fresh cheek grows; Gold now plunders in a hair; Now the rubies doth impair
Of thy lips; and with sure haste All thy wealth will take at last; Only that of which thou mak’st Use in time, from Time thou tak’st.

The Night: A Dialogue.

Chariessa.[27:1]   What if Night Should betray us, and reveal To the light All the pleasures that we steal?

Philocharis.         Fairest! we
Safely may this fear despise: How can she See our actions, who wants eyes?

Chariessa.           Each dim star, And the clearer lights, we know,
Night’s eyes are: They were blind that thought her so!

Philocharis.         Those pale fires Only burn to yield a light T’ our desires;
And, though blind, to give us sight.

Chariessa.           By this shade That surrounds us, might our flame Be betray’d! And the day disclose its name.

Philocharis.         Dearest Fair! These dark witnesses, we find, Silent are: Night is dumb, as well as blind.

Chorus.

Then whilst these black shades conceal us,
We will scorn Th’ envious morn, And the sun that would reveal us. Our flames shall thus their mutual light betray, And night, with these joys crown’d, outshine the day.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

The Dedication.[5:1]

To Love.

Thou whose sole name all passions doth comprise: Youngest and eldest of the Deities, Born without parents, whose unbounded reign Moves the firm earth, fixeth the floating main, Inverts the course of heaven, and from the deep
Awakes those souls that in dark Lethe sleep, By thy mysterious chains seeking t’unite, Once more, the long-since-torn hermaphrodite! He who thy willing prisoner long was vow’d, And uncompell’d beneath thy sceptre bow’d,
Returns at last in thy soft fetters bound, With victory, though not with freedom, crown’d: And, (of his dangers past a grateful sign,) Suspends this tablet at thy numerous shrine.

Song: Torment of Absence and Delay.

[Montalvan.]

Torment of absence and delay That thus afflicts my memory! Why dost thou kill me every day, Yet will not give me leave to die? Why dost thou suffer me to live
All hope of life in life denying, Or to my patience tortures give Never to die, yet ever dying?

To fair Narcissa’s brighter eyes I was by Love’s instruction guided,
(A happiness I long did prize,) But now am from their light divided. Favours and gifts my suit obtain’d, But envious Fate would now destroy them, Which if to lose I only gain’d,
What greater pain than to enjoy them?

Translated from Anacreon.

I. The Chase.

With a whip of lilies, Love Swiftly me before him drove: On we cours’d it through deep floods, Hollow valleys, and rough woods, Till a snake that lurking lay
Chanc’d to sting me by the way.

Now my soul was nigh to death, Ebbing, flowing, with my breath, When Love, fanning with his wings, Back my fleeting spirit brings:
‘Learn,’ saith he, ’another day, Love without constraint t’obey!’

The Divorce.

Dear, back my wounded heart restore, And turn away thy powerful eyes; Flatter my willing soul no more: Love must not[46:1] hope what Fate denies.

Take, take away thy smiles and kisses!
Thy love wounds deeper than disdain; For he that sees the heaven he misses, Sustains two hells of loss and pain.

Shouldst thou some other’s suit prefer, I might return thy scorn to thee,
And learn apostasy of her Who taught me, first, idolatry.[46:2]

Or in thy unrelenting breast Should I[46:3] disdain or coyness move,

}

Since, then, unkind Fate will divorce Those whom affection long united, Be thou as cruel as this force, And I in death shall be delighted.

}

I only for thy scorn do sue: ’Tis charity here not to love.

On Sir J[ohn] S[uckling] his Picture and Poems [1646].[14:1]

Suckling, whose numbers could invite Alike to wonder and delight, And with new spirit did inspire The Thespian scene, and Delphic lyre, Is thus express’d in either part,
Above the humble reach of Art. Drawn by the pencil, here you find His form; by his own pen, his mind.

To the Countess of S[underland?] with the Holy Court.[1:1]

Since every place you bless, the name This book assumes may justlier claim. (What more a court than where you shine? And where your soul, what more divine?) You may perhaps doubt at first sight
That it usurps upon your right; And praising virtues that belong To you, in others, doth you wrong. No, ’tis yourself you read, in all Perfections earlier ages call
Their own; all glories they e’er knew Were but faint prophecies of you. You then have here sole interest, whom ’tis meant As well to entertain, as represent.

The Picture.

Thou that both feel’st and dost admire The flames shot from a painted fire, Know Celia’s image thou dost see: Not to herself more like is she. He that should both together view
Would judge both pictures, or both true. But thus they differ: the best part Of Nature this is; that of Art.

Song.

No, I will sooner trust the wind, When, falsely kind, It courts the pregnant sails into a storm, And when the smiling waves persuade, Be willingly betray’d,
Than thy deceitful vows or form.

Go, and beguile some easy heart With thy vain art; Thy smiles and kisses on those fools bestow Who only see the calms that sleep
On this smooth flattering deep, But not the hidden dangers know.

They that, like me, thy falsehood prove, Will scorn thy love, Some may, deceiv’d at first, adore thy shrine;
But he that as thy sacrifice Doth willingly fall twice, Dies his own martyr, and not thine.

III. The Spring.

See, the Spring herself discloses, And the Graces gather roses; See how the becalmed seas Now their swelling waves appease; How the duck swims; how the crane
Comes from ’s winter home again; See how Titan’s cheerful ray Chaseth the dark clouds away!

Now in their new robes of green Are the ploughman’s labours seen;
Now the lusty teeming earth Springs, each hour, with a new birth; Now the olive blooms; the vine Now cloth with plump pendants shine, And with leaves and blossoms now
Freshly bourgeons every bough.

On Mr. Sherburne’s Translation of Seneca’s Medea, and Vindication of the Author [1647-8].[12:1]

That wise philosopher who had design’d To [th’] life the various passions of the mind, Did wrong’d Medea’s jealousy prefer To entertain the Roman theatre; Both to instruct the soul, and please the sight,
At once begetting horror and delight. This cruelty thou dost once more express Though in a strange, no less becoming dress; And her revenge hast robb’d of half its pride, To see itself thus by itself outvied,
That boldest ages past may say, our times Can speak, as well as act, their highest crimes. Nor was’t enough to do his scene this right, But what thou gav’st to us, with equal light Thou wouldst bestow on him, nor wert more just
Unto the author’s work, than to his dust. Thou dost make good his title, aid his claim, Both vindicate his poem and his name, So shar’st a double wreath; for all that we Unto the poet[12:2] owe, he owes to thee.
Though change of tongues stol’n praise to some afford, Thy version hath not borrow’d, but restor’d.

The Return.

Beauty, whose soft magnetic chains Nor time nor absence can untie,[32:1] Thy power the narrow bound[32:2] disdains Of Nature or Philosophy; Thou[32:3] canst by unconfined laws
A motion, though at distance, cause.

Drawn by the powerful[32:4] influence Of thy bright eyes, I back return; And since I nowhere can dispense With flames that[32:5] do in absence burn,
I rather choose ’twixt[32:6] them t’expire,

Than languish by a hidden fire.

But if thou th’[32:7] insulting pride Of vulgar beauties dost despise, Who, by vain triumphs deified,
Their votaries do sacrifice, Then let those flames, whose magic charm At distance scorch’d, approach’d, but warm.

Despair.

No, no, poor blasted Hope! Since I (with thee) have lost the scope Of all my joys, I will no more Vainly implore The unrelenting Destinies:
He that can equally sustain The strong assaults of joy and pain, May safely laugh at their decrees.

Despair, to thee I bow, Whose constancy disdains t’allow
Those childish passions that destroy Our fickle joy; How cruel Fates so e’er appear, Their harmless anger I despise, And fix’d, can neither fall nor rise,
Thrown below hope, but rais’d ’bove fear.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

Claim to Love.

[Guarini.]

Alas! alas! thou turn’st in vain Thy beauteous face away, Which, like young sorcerers, rais’d a pain Above its power to lay.

Love moves not as thou turn’st thy[60:1] look,
But here doth firmly rest: He long ago thine[60:2] eyes forsook To revel in my breast.

Thy power on him why hop’st thou more Than his on me should be?
The claim thou lay’st to him is poor To that he owns from me.

His substance in my heart excels, His shadow, in thy sight: Fire where it burns more truly dwells
Than where it scatters light.

The Cure.

Nymph.

What busy cares, too timely born, Young swain! disturb thy sleep? Thy early sighs awake the morn, Thy tears teach her to weep.

Shepherd.

Sorrows, fair nymph, are full alone,
Nor counsel can endure.

Nymph.

Yet thine disclose; for, until known, Sickness admits no cure.

Shepherd.

My griefs are such as but to hear Would poison all thy joys;
The pity which thou seem’st to bear My health, thine own destroys.

Nymph.

How can diseased minds infect? Say what thy grief doth move!

Shepherd.

Call up thy virtue to protect
Thy heart, and know—’twas love.

Nymph.

Fond swain!

Shepherd.

By which I have been long Destin’d to meet with hate.

Nymph.

Fie! shepherd, fie! thou dost love wrong, To call thy crime thy fate.

Shepherd.

Alas! what cunning could decline, What force can love repel?

Nymph.

Yet there’s a way to unconfine Thy heart.

Shepherd.

For pity, tell.

Nymph.

Choose one whose love may be assur’d
By thine: who ever knew Inveterate diseases cur’d But by receiving new?

Shepherd.

All will, like her, my soul perplex.

Nymph.

Yet try.

Shepherd.

Oh, could there be
But any softness in that sex, I’d wish it were in thee!

Nymph.

Thy prayer is heard: learn now t’esteem The kindness she hath shown, Who, thy lost freedom to redeem,
Hath forfeited her own.

On a Violet in her Breast.

See how this violet, which before Hung sullenly her drooping head, As angry at the ground that bore The purple treasure which she spread, Doth smilingly erected grow,
Transplanted to those hills of snow.

And whilst the pillows of thy breast Do her reclining head sustain, She swells with pride to be so blest, And doth all other flowers disdain;
Yet weeps that dew which kissed her last, To see her odours so surpass’d.

Poor flower! how far deceiv’d thou wert, To think the riches of the morn Or all the sweets she can impart.
Could these or sweeten or adorn, Since thou from them dost borrow scent, And they to thee lend ornament!

The Self-Cruel.[57:1]

Cast off, for shame, ungentle maid, That misbecoming joy thou wear’st! For in my death (though long delay’d), Unwisely cruel thou appear’st. Insult o’er captives with disdain:
Thou canst not triumph o’er the slain.

No, I am now no longer thine; Nor canst thou take delight to see Him whom thy love did once confine Set, though by death, at liberty;
For if my fall a smile beget, Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.

Behold how thy unthrifty pride Hath murthered him that did maintain it; And wary souls who never tried
Thy tyrant beauty, will disdain it: But I am softer, and, (though[57:2] me Thou wouldst not pity,) pity thee.

The Relapse.[59:1]

O turn away those cruel eyes, The stars of my undoing! Or death, in such a bright disguise, May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blindly impious[59:2] pride,
Who dare contemn thy glory! It was my fall[59:3] that deified Thy name, and seal’d thy story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepare A higher praise to crown thee;
Though my first death proclaim thee fair, My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice No other for thy fuel, And if thou burn one victim twice,
Both think thee poor and cruel!

Expostulation with Love, in Despair.

}

Must all are to thy hell condemn’d sustain
A double torture of despair and pain? Is’t not enough vainly to hope and woo, That thou shouldst thus deny that vain hope too? It were some joy,[23:2] Ixion-like, to fold

The empty air, or feed on thoughts as cold;[23:3]
But if thou to my passion this deny, Thou may’st be starv’d to death as well as I; For how can thy pale sickly flame burn clear When death and cold despair inhabit here?[23:4] Then let thy dim heat warm, or else expire;[23:5]
Dissolve this frost, or let that quench the[23:6] fire. Thus let me not desire, or else possess! Neither, or both, are equal happiness.[23:7]

Ambition.

I must no longer now admire The coldness which possess’d Thy snowy breast, That can by other flames be set on fire; Poor Love, to harsh Disdain betray’d,
Is by Ambition thus outweigh’d.

Hadst thou but known the vast extent Of constant faith, how far ’Bove all that are Born slaves to wealth, or honours’ vain ascent;[52:1]
No richer treasure couldst thou find Than hearts with mutual chains combin’d.

But Love is too despis’d a name, And must not hope to rise Above these ties.
Honours[52:2] and wealth outshine his paler flame! These unite souls, whilst true desire Unpitied dies in its own fire.

Yet, cruel fair one, I did aim With no less justice too,
Than those that sue For other hopes, and thy proud fortunes claim. Wealth honours, honours wealth, approve; But Beauty’s only meant for Love.

Song: When thou thy pliant arms.

[Secundus.]

When thou thy pliant arms dost wreathe About my neck, and gently breathe Into my breast that soft sweet air With which thy soul doth mine repair; When my faint life thou draw’st away,
(My life which scorching flames decay,) O’ercharg’d, my panting bosom boils, Whose fever thy kind art beguiles, And with the breath that did inspire Doth mildly fan my glowing fire.
Transported, then I cry: ‘Above All other deities is Love! Or if a deity there be Greater than Love, ’tis only thee.’

The Silkworm.

The[51:1] silkworm, to long sleep retir’d, The early year hath re-inspir’d, Who now to pay to thee prepares The tribute of her pleasing cares; And hastens with industrious toil
To make her ornament thy spoil.[51:2] See with what pains[51:3] she spins for thee The thread of her own destiny, Then, (growing proud in death, to know That all her curious labours thou[51:4]
Wilt, as in triumph, deign to wear!) Retires to her soft sepulchre.

Such, Dearest, is that hapless state To which I am design’d by Fate, Who, by thee willingly o’ercome,
Work mine own fetters and my tomb.

The Magnet.

Ask the empress of the night How the Hand which guides her sphere, Constant in unconstant light, Taught the waves her yoke to bear, And did thus by loving force
Curb or tame the rude sea’s course.

Ask the female palm how she First did woo her husband’s love; And the magnet, ask how he[19:1] Doth th’ obsequious iron move;
Waters, plants, and stones know this: That they love; not what Love is.

Be not thou[19:2] less kind than these,

Or from Love exempt alone! Let us twine like amorous trees,
And like rivers melt in one. Or, if thou more cruel prove, Learn of steel and stones to love.

The Loss.

Yet ere I go, Disdainful Beauty, thou shalt be So wretched as to know What joys thou fling’st away with me:

A faith so bright,
As Time or Fortune could not rust, So firm, that lovers might Have read thy story in my dust,

And crown’d thy name With laurel verdant as thy youth.
Whilst the shrill voice of Fame Spread wide thy beauty and my truth.

This thou hast lost! For all true lovers, when they find That my just aims were crossed,
Will speak thee lighter than the wind;

And none will lay Any oblation on thy shrine, But such as would betray Their[56:1] faith to faiths as false as thine.

Yet if thou choose On such thy freedom to bestow, Affection may excuse: For love from sympathy doth flow.

Song.

[De Voiture.]

I languish in a silent flame: For she to whom my vows incline Doth own perfections so divine, That but to speak were to disclose her name. If I should say that she the store
Of Nature’s graces doth comprise, (The love and wonder of all eyes,) Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?

Or though I warily conceal The charms her looks and soul possess,
Should I her cruelty express, And say she smiles at all the pains we feel, Among such suppliants as implore Pity, distributing her hate, Inexorable as their fate,—
Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?

Speaking and Kissing.

The air which thy smooth voice doth break Into my soul like lightning flies; My life retires whilst thou dost speak, And thy soft breath its room supplies.

Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,
I join my trembling lips to thine, And back receive that life from thee, Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, platonic fools! t’inquire What numbers do the soul compose:
No harmony can life inspire, But that which from these accents flows.

Celia, Sleeping or Singing.[30:1]

Roses, in breathing forth their scent, Or stars their borrowed ornament; Nymphs in the watery sphere that move, Or angels in their orbs above; The winged chariot of the light,
Or the slow silent wheels of night; The shade which from the swifter sun Doth in a circular motion run, Or souls that their eternal rest do keep, Make far more[30:2] noise than Celia’s breath in sleep.

But if the angel which inspires This subtle frame[30:3] with active fires, Should mould this[30:4] breath to words, and those Into a harmony dispose, The music of this heavenly sphere
Would steal each soul out at the ear, And into plants and stones infuse A life that cherubim[30:5] would choose, And with new powers[30:6] invert the laws of fate: Kill those that live, and dead things animate.

The Exequies.

Draw near, You lovers, that complain Of Fortune or Disdain, And to my ashes lend a tear. Melt the hard marble with your groans,
And soften the relentless stones,

}

No verse, No epicedium, bring;
Nor peaceful requiem sing, To charm the terrors of my hearse; No profane numbers must flow near The sacred silence that dwells here. Vast griefs are dumb: softly, oh softly mourn!
Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn.

Yet strew Upon my dismal grave Such offerings as you have: Forsaken cypress, and sad yew;
For kinder flowers can take no birth Or growth from such unhappy earth. Weep only o’er my dust, and say: “Here lies To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice.”

The Exchange: Dialogue.[49:1]

Phil[ocharis].

That kiss which last thou gav’st me, stole My fainting life away; Yet, though to thy breast fled, my soul Still in mine own doth stay.

}

Char[iessa].

And with the same warm breath did mine Into thy bosom slide, There dwell, contracted unto thine, Yet still with me reside.
Weak Nature no such power doth know: Love only can these wonders show.

Chor[us].

Both souls thus in desire are one, And each is two in skill, Doubled in intellect alone,
United in the will. Weak Nature no such power doth know: Love only can these wonders show.

Opinion.

Whence took the diamond worth? the borrow’d rays That crystal wears, whence had they first their praise? Why should rude feet contemn the snow’s chaste white, Which from the sun receives a sparkling light, Brighter than diamonds far, and by its birth
Decks the green garment of the richer earth? Rivers than crystal clearer, when to ice Congeal’d, why do weak judgements so despise? Which, melting, show that to impartial sight Weeping than smiling crystal is more bright.
But Fancy those first priz’d, and these did scorn, Taking their praise the other to adorn. Thus blind is human sight: opinion gave To their esteem a birth, to theirs a grave; Nor can our judgements with these clouds dispense,
Since reason sees but with the eyes of sense.

Song.

Fool! take up thy shaft again. If thy store Thou profusely spend in vain, Who can furnish thee with more? Throw not then away thy darts
On impenetrable hearts.

Think not thy pale flame can warm Into tears, Or dissolve the snowy charm Which her frozen bosom wears,
That expos’d unmelted lies To the bright suns of her eyes.

But since thou thy power hast lost, Nor canst fire Kindle in that breast, whose frost
Doth these flames in mine inspire; Not to thee but her I’ll sue, That disdains both me and you!

Song.

When I lie burning in thine eye, Or freezing in thy breast, What martyrs, in wish’d flames that die, Are half so pleas’d or blest?

When thy soft accents through mine ear
Into my soul do fly, What angel would not quit his sphere, To hear such harmony?

Or when the kiss thou gav’st me last My soul stole in its breath,
What life would sooner be embrac’d Than so desir’d a death?

}

Then think not[35:2] freedom I desire, Or would my fetters leave, Since, phœnix-like, I from this fire Both life and youth receive.

Love Deposed.

You that unto your mistress’ eyes Your hearts do sacrifice, And offer sighs or tears at Love’s rich shrine, Renounce with me Th’ idolatry,
Nor this infernal power esteem divine!

The brand, the quiver, and the bow, Which we did first bestow, And he as tribute wears from every lover, I back again
From him have ta’en, And the impostor now unveil’d discover.

I can the feeble Child disarm, Untie his mystic charm, Divest him of his wings, and break his arrow;
We will obey No more his sway, Nor live confin’d to laws or bounds so narrow

And you, bright Beauties, that inspire The Boy’s pale torch with fire,
We safely now your subtle power despise, And unscorch’d may, Like atoms, play And wanton in the sunshine of your eyes.

Nor think hereafter by new arts
You can bewitch our hearts, Or raise this devil by your pleasing charm: We will no more His power implore, Unless, like Indians, that he do no harm.

Counsel.

When deceitful lovers lay At thy feet their suppliant hearts, And their snares spread to betray Thy best treasure[22:1] with their arts, Credit not their flatt’ring vows:
Love such perjury allows.

When they with the[22:2] choicest wealth

Nature boasts of, have possess’d thee; When with flowers (their verses’ stealth), Stars, or jewels they invest thee,[22:3]
Trust not to their borrow’d store: ’Tis but lent to make thee poor.

When with poems[22:4] they invade thee, Sing thy praises or disdain; When they weep, and would persuade thee
That their flames beget that rain; Let thy breast no baits let in: Mercy’s only here a sin!

Let no tears or offerings move thee, All those cunning charms avoid;
For that wealth for which they love thee, They would slight if once enjoy’d.

}

Transcriber’s Notes

1. Obvious punctuation errors outside of the poems have been fixed without further note, but punctuation within poems remains as printed.

2. As an aid to the reader this text uses a different style for references to the author’s textual notes than the printed edition used.

   References to the notes are marked within the text as [number:number] and within the textual notes section as "number:number." For example, [2:1] represents the first note in the second poem that has notes; [3:2] represents the second note in the third poem that has notes.

3. Line numbers in the poems are as printed in the original book, even in cases where they may seem inconsistent.
4. Page 36: The reference to note 2 (29:2) in ‘To Celia’ (at line 10) was missing and has been added.
5. Page 79: In ‘IV. The Combat,’ the line numbering should have probably restarted at 1, rather than continuing from III. The printed numbering has been retained.
6. Page 81: The reference to note 2 (66:2) in ‘V.’ (at line 13) was missing has been added.
7. Page 100: The reference in note 66:1 to line 5 of No. IV has been corrected to refer to No. V instead.
8. Page 100: The note numbers in the notes for ‘Translations from Anacreon’ were inconsistent with the numbers actually used in the poems, and have been corrected.
9. The book has a number of inconsistencies in spelling, word usage, or style of citation in the List of Editions, all of which have been retained. Some of them are noted here:
   • church yard, church-yard, and churchyard
   • Princes-Arms and Princes Armes
   • St. Pauls and S. Pauls
   • Fo. and F^o.
   • re-inspire and reinspire
   • James Allestrey and James Allestry

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

II.

Vex no more thyself and me With demure philosophy, Hollow precepts, only fit To amuse the busy wit. Teach me brisk Lyæus’ rites;
Teach me Venus’ blithe delights. Jove[65:1] loves water: give me wine,

That my soul ere I resign May this cure of sorrow have. There’s no drinking in the grave!

To Celia.

PLEADING WANT OF MERIT.[40:1]

Dear, urge no more the killing cause Of our divorce: Love is not fetter’d by such laws, Nor bows to any force. Though thou deniest I should be thine,
Yet say not thou deserv’st not to be mine!

Oh, rather frown away my breath With thy disdain, Or flatter me with smiles to death; By joy or sorrow slain,
’Tis less crime to be kill’d by thee, Than I thus cause of mine[40:2] own death should be.

Thyself of beauty to divest, And me of love, Or from the worth of thine own breast
Thus to detract, would prove In us a blindness, and in thee At best a sacrilegious modesty.

But, Celia,[40:3] if thou wilt despise What all admire,
Nor rate thyself at the just price Of beauty or desire, Yet meet my flames! and thou shalt see That equal love knows no disparity.

Palinode.[31:1]

Beauty, thy harsh imperious chains As a scorn’d weight, I here untie, Since thy proud empire those disdains Of reason or philosophy, That would[31:2] within tyrannic laws
Confine the power of each free cause.

Forc’d by the potent[31:3] influence Of thy disdain, I back return: Thus with those flames I do dispense Which, though they would not light, did burn,
And rather will through cold expire, Than languish at[31:4] a frozen fire.

But whilst I the insulting pride Of thy vain beauty do despise, Who gladly wouldst be deified
By making me thy sacrifice, May Love thy heart which to his charm Approach’d, seem’d cold, at distance warm!

The Kiss.[41:1]

When on thy lip my soul I breathe, Which there meets thine, Freed from their fetters by this death, Our subtle forms[41:2] combine: Thus without bonds of sense they move,
And like two cherubim converse by[41:3] love.

Spirits to chains of earth confin’d Discourse by sense; But ours, that are by flames refin’d, With those weak ties dispense.
Let such in words their minds display: We in a kiss our mutual thoughts convey.[41:4]

But since my soul from me doth fly, To thee retir’d, Thou canst not both retain; for I
Must be with one inspir’d; Then, Dearest,[41:5] either justly mine Restore, or in exchange let me have thine.

Yet if thou dost return mine own, O tak’t again!
For ’tis this pleasing death alone Gives ease unto my pain. Kill me once more, or I shall find Thy pity than thy cruelty less kind.

Song.

I prithee let my heart alone! Since now ’tis raised above thee: Not all the beauty thou dost own Again can make me love thee.

He that was shipwreck’d once before
By such a Siren’s call, And yet neglects to shun the[55:1] shore,

Deserves his second fall!

Each flattering kiss, each tempting smile Thou dost in vain bestow,
Some other lovers might beguile Who not thy falsehood know.

But I am proof against all art: No vows shall e’er persuade me Twice to present a wounded heart
To her that hath betray’d me.

Could I again be brought to love Thy form, though more divine, I might thy scorn as justly move As now thou sufferest mine.

The Repulse.

Not that by this disdain I am releas’d, And, freed from thy romantic[37:1] chain, Do I myself think blest;

Not that thy flame shall burn
No more; for know That I shall into ashes turn Before this fire doth so.

Nor yet that unconfin’d I now may rove,
And with new beauties please my mind; But that thou ne’er didst love!

For since thou hast no part Felt of this flame, I only from thy tyrant heart
Repuls’d, not banish’d, am.

To lose what once was mine Would grieve me more Than those inconstant sweets of thine Had pleas’d my soul before.

Now I’ve not lost that[37:2] bliss I ne’er possessed; And, spite of Fate, am blest in this: That I was never blest.

The Dream.

That I might ever dream thus! that some power To my eternal sleep would join this hour! So, willingly deceiv’d, I might possess In seeming joys a real happiness. Haste not away: O do not dissipate
A pleasure thou so lately didst create! Stay, welcome Sleep; be ever here confin’d: Or if thou wilt away, leave her behind.

The Idolater.

Think not, pale lover, he who dies Burnt in the flames of Celia’s eyes, Is unto Love a sacrifice;

Or, by the merit of this pain, Thou shalt the crown of martyrs gain!
Those hopes are, as thy passion, vain.

For when, by death, from[18:1] these flames free,

To greater thou condemn’d shalt be, And punish’d for idolatry,

Since thou, Love’s votary before,
(Whilst she[18:2] was kind,) dost him no more, But, in his shrine, Disdain adore.

Nor will this fire the gods prepare To punish scorn, that cruel Fair, Though now from flames exempted, spare;

But as together both shall die, Both burnt alike in flames shall lie, She in thy heart,[18:3] thou in her eye.

Drawn For Valentine by the L[ady] D[orothy] S[pencer?].[2:1]

Though ’gainst me Love and Destiny conspire, Though I must waste in an unpitied fire, By the same deity, severe as fair, Commanded adoration and despair; Though I am mark’d for sacrifice, to tell
The growing age what dangerous glories dwell In this bright dawn, who, when she spreads her rays, Will challenge every heart, and every praise; Yet she who to all hope forbids my claim, By Fortune’s taught indulgence to my flame,
Great Queen of Chance! unjustly we exclude Thy power an interest in beatitude, Who with mysterious judgement dost dispense The bounties of unerring Providence; Whilst we, to whom the causes are unknown,
Would style that blindness thine, which is our own. As kind, in justice to thyself, as me,
Thou hast redeem’d thy name and votary: Nor will I prize this less for being thine, Nor longer at my destiny repine.
Counsel and choice are things below thy state: Fortune relieves the cruelties of Fate.

The Breath.

Favonius, the milder breath o’ th’ Spring, When proudly bearing on his softer wing Rich odours, which from the Panchean groves He steals, as by the phœnix-pyre he moves, Profusely doth his sweeter theft dispense
To the next rose’s blushing innocence; But from the grateful flower, a richer scent He doth receive[26:1] than he unto it lent. Then, laden with his odour’s richest store, He to thy breath hastes, to which these are poor;
Which, whilst the amorous wind[26:2] to steal essays, He like a wanton lover ’bout thee plays, And sometimes cooling thy soft cheek doth lie, And sometimes burning at thy flaming eye: Drawn in at last by that breath we implore,
He now[26:3] returns far sweeter than before, And rich by being robb’d, in thee he finds The burning sweets of pyres, the cool of winds.

On Mr. Hall’s Essays [Horae Vacivae, 1646].[13:1]

Wits that matur’d by time have courted praise, Shall see their works outdone in these essays, And blush to know thy earlier years display A dawning clearer than their brightest day.[13:2] Yet I’ll not praise thee, for thou hast outgrown
The reach of all men’s praises but thine own. Encomiums to their objects are exact: To praise, and not at full, is to detract. And with most justice are the best forgot; For praise is bounded when the theme is not:
Since mine is thus confin’d, and far below Thy merit, I forbear it, nor will show How poor the autumnal pride of some appears,[13:3] To the ripe fruit thy vernal season bears! Yet though I mean no praise, I come t’invite
Thy forward aims still to advance their flight. Rise higher yet; what though thy spreading wreath Lessen, to their dull sight who stay beneath? To thy full learning how can all allow Just praise, unless that all were learn’d as thou?
Go on, in spite of such low souls, and may Thy growing worth know age, though not decay, Till thou pay back thy theft, and live to climb As many years as thou hast snatch’d from Time.

E. Catalectis Vet[erum] Poet[arum].

A small well-gotten stock, and country seat I have, yet my content makes both seem great. My quiet soul to fears is not inur’d, And from the sins of idleness secur’d. Others may seek the camp, others the town,
And fool themselves with pleasure or renown; Let me, unminded in the common crowd, Live, master of the time that I’m allow’d!

The Lazy Hours.

The lazy hours move slow, The minutes stay; Old Time with leaden feet doth go, And his light wings hath cast away. The slow-pac’d spheres above
Have sure releas’d Their guardians, and without help move, Whilst that the very angels rest.

The number’d sands that slide Through this small glass,
And into minutes Time divide, Too slow each other do displace; The tedious wheels of light No faster chime, Than that dull shade which waits on night:
For Expectation outruns Time.

How long, Lord, must I stay? How long dwell here? O free me from this loathed clay! Let me no more these fetters wear!
With far more joy Shall I resign my breath, For, to my griev’d soul, not to die Is every minute a new death.

Chang’d, Yet Constant.

Wrong me no more In thy complaint, Blam’d for inconstancy: I vow’d t’ adore The fairest Saint,
Nor chang’d whilst thou wert she: But if another thee outshine, Th’ inconstancy is only thine!

To be by such Blind fools admir’d
Gives thee but small esteem, By whom as much Thou’dst be desir’d, Didst thou less beauteous seem. Sure, why they love they know not well,
Who why they should not, cannot tell!

Women are by Themselves betray’d, And to their short joys cruel, Who foolishly
Themselves persuade Flames can outlast their fuel; None (though platonic their pretence), With reason love, unless by sense.

And he,[33:1] by whose
Command to thee I did my heart resign, Now bids me choose A deity Diviner far than thine;
No power can Love from Beauty sever: I’m still Love’s subject; thine was, never.

The fairest she Whom none surpass, To love hath only right;
And such to me Thy beauty was, Till one I found more bright; But ’twere as impious to adore Thee now, as not to have done ’t before.

Nor is it just By rules of Love, Thou shouldst deny to quit A heart that must Another’s prove
Even in thy right to it; Must not thy subjects captives be To her who triumphs over thee?

Cease, then, in vain To blot my name
With forg’d apostasy! Thine is that stain Who dar’st to claim What others ask of thee. Of lovers they are only true
Who pay their hearts where hearts[33:2] are due.

La Belle Ennemie.

I yield, dear enemy, nor know How to resist so fair a foe. Who would not thy soft yoke sustain, And bow beneath thy easy chain, That with a bondage blest might be
Which far transcends all liberty? But since I freely have resign’d, At first assault, my willing mind, Insult not o’er my captiv’d heart With too much tyranny and art,
Lest by thy scorn thou lose the prize Gain’d by the power of thy bright eyes; And thou this conquest thus shalt prove, Though got by beauty, kept by love.

To Mr. W[illiam] Hammond.

Thou best of Friendship, Knowledge, and of Art! The charm of whose lov’d name preserves my heart From female vanities, (thy name, which there Till time dissolves the fabric, I must wear!) Forgive a crime which long my soul oppress’d,
And crept by chance in my unwary breast, So great, as for thy pardon were unfit, And to forgive were worse than to commit, But that the fault and pain were so much one, The very act did expiate what was done.
I, who so often sported with the flame, Play’d with the Boy, and laugh’d at both as tame, Betray’d by idleness and beauty, fell At last in love, love both the sin and hell: No punishment great as my fault esteem’d,
But to be that which I so long had seem’d. Behold me such: a face, a voice, a lute; The sentence in a minute execute. I yield, recant; the faith which I before Deny’d, profess; the power I scorn’d, implore.
Alas, in vain! no prayers, no vows can bow Her stubborn heart, who neither will allow. But see how strangely what was meant no less Than torment, prov’d my greatest happiness; Delay, that should have sharpen’d, starv’d Desire,
And Cruelty not fann’d, but quench’d my fire. Love bound me; now, by kind Disdain set free, I can despise that Love as well as she. That sin to friendship I away have thrown! My heart thou may’st without a rival own,[10:1]
While such as willingly themselves beguile, And sell away their freedoms for a smile, Blush to confess our joys as far above Their hopes, as friendship’s longer-liv’d than love.

La Belle Confidante.

You earthly souls that court a wanton flame, Whose pale weak influence Can rise no higher than the humble name And narrow laws of sense! Learn by our friendship to create
An immaterial fire, Whose brightness angels may admire But cannot emulate.

Sickness may fright the roses from her cheek, Or make the lilies fade,
But all the subtle ways that Death doth seek Cannot my love invade. Flames that are kindled by the eye Through time and age expire, But ours, that boast a reach far higher,
Cannot decay or die.[45:1]

For[45:2] when we must resign our vital breath, Our loves by Fate benighted,[45:3] We by this friendship shall survive in death, Even in divorce united:
Weak love, through fortune or distrust, In time forgets to burn, But this pursues us to the urn, And marries either’s dust.

Apollo and Daphne.

[Marino.]

When Phœbus saw a rugged bark beguile His love, and his embraces intercept, The leaves, instructed by his grief to smile, Taking fresh growth and verdure as he wept, ‘How can,’ saith he, ‘my woes expect release,
When these,[62:1] the subject of my tears, increase?’

His chang’d yet scorn-retaining Fair he kiss’d, From the lov’d trunk plucking a little bough, And though the conquest which he sought he miss’d, With that triumphant spoil adorns his brow.
Thus this disdainful maid his aim deceives: Where he expected fruit he gathers leaves.

To Celia.

EXCUSE FOR WISHING HER LESS FAIR.[29:1]

Why thy passion should it move That I wished thy beauty less? Fools desire what is above Power of nature to express; And to wish it had been more
Had been to outwish her store.

If the flames within thine eye Did not too great heat inspire,

}

And might on thy weaker light Gaze, and yet not lose their sight.

Nor wouldst thou less fair appear, For detraction adds to thee; If some parts less beauteous were,
Others would much fairer be; Nor can any part we know Best be styl’d, when all are so.

Thus this great excess of light, Which now dazzles our weak eyes,
Would, eclips’d, appear more bright; And the only way to rise, Or to be more fair, for[29:3] thee, Celia! is less fair to be.

Song.

I will not trust thy tempting graces, Or thy deceitful charms, Nor prisoner be to thy embraces, Or fetter’d in thy arms; No, Celia, no: not all thy art
Can wound or captivate my heart.

I will not gaze upon thy eyes, Or wanton with thy hair, Lest those should burn me by surprise, Or these my soul ensnare;
Nor with those smiling dangers play, Or fool my liberty away.

Since, then, my wary heart is free And unconfin’d as thine, If thou wouldst mine should captiv’d[54:1] be,
Thou must thine own resign; And gratitude may thus move more Than love or beauty could before.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

IV. The Combat.

Now will I a lover be! Love himself commanded me. Full at first of stubborn pride, To submit, my soul denied.
He his quiver takes, and bow, Bids defiance: forth I go. Armed with spear and shield we meet: On he charges: I retreat,

Till, perceiving in the fight
He had wasted every flight, Into me, with fury hot, Like a dart himself he shot. And my cold heart melts; my shield Useless, no defence could yield;
For what boots an outward screen, When, alas, the fight’s within?

On Mr. Shirley’s Poems [1646].[11:1]

When, dearest Friend, thy verse doth re-inspire Love’s pale decaying torch with brighter fire, Whilst everywhere thou dost dilate thy flame, And to the world spread thy Odelia’s name, The justice of all ages must remit
To her the prize of beauty, thee of wit. Then, like some skilful artist, that to wonder[11:2] Framing some[11:3] piece, displeas’d, takes it asunder, Thou Beauty dost depose, her charms deny, And all the mystic chains of Love untie.
Thus thy diviner Muse a power ’bove Fate May boast, that can both make and uncreate. Next, thou call’st back to life that love-sick boy, To the kind-hearted nymphs less fair than coy, Who, by reflex beams burnt with vain desire,
Did, phœnix-like, in his own flames expire; But should he view his shadow drawn by thee, He with himself once more in love would be. Echo, (who though she words[11:4] pursue, her haste

Can only overtake and stop the last,)
Shall her first speech and human voice[11:5] obtain, To sing thy softer numbers o’er again. Thus, into dying poetry, thy Muse Doth full perfection and new life infuse. Each line deserves a laurel, and thy praise
Asks not a garland, but a grove of bays; Nor can ours raise thy lasting trophies higher, Who only reach at merit to admire. But I must chide thee, friend: how canst thou be A patron, yet a foe to Poesy?[11:6]

}

And hast so far all future times surpass’d,[11:8] That none dare write: thus, being first and last, All their abortive Muses will suppress,
And Poetry, by this increase, grow less.

The Deposition.[43:1]

Though when I lov’d thee thou wert[43:2] fair, Thou art no longer so: Those glories do[43:3] the pride they wear Unto opinion owe. Beauties, like stars, in borrow’d lustre shine;
And ’twas my love that gave thee thine.

The flames that dwelt within thine eye Do now with mine expire; Thy brightest graces[43:4] fade and die At once, with my desire.
Love’s fires thus mutual influence return: Thine cease to shine when mine to burn.

Then, proud Celinda, hope no more To be implor’d or woo’d, Since by thy scorn thou dost restore
The wealth my[43:5] love bestow’d; And thy despis’d disdain too late shall find That none are fair but who are kind.

12:2. P. 20, line 20. 1647: ‘author.’

13:3. P. 21, line 13. 1647 has:

6:3. P.  ”  line 12. 1647:

10:1. P. 18, line 30. 1647 reads:

6:1. P. 13, line 2. 1647 has:

8:2. P. 15, line 5. 1651: ‘did.’

8:1. On Mr. Fletcher’s Works (p. 15).

11:2. P. 18, line 7. 1647:

11:3. P.  ”  line 8. 1651 has ‘a piece.’

2:1. Drawn for Valentine, etc. (p. 7).

4:3. P.  ”  line 7. 1647: ‘To one another whispering there.’

11:6. P.  ”  line 30. 1651: ‘poetry.’

13:1. On Mr. Hall’s Essays (p. 21).

16:2. P. 24, line 16. ‘Knows’: 1647.

13:2. P. 21, line 4. Here ends the prologue-like poem, in the edition of 1647. Then, as a separate piece on another page, under a new title, ‘To Mr. I. H.,’ follow these lines:

11:4. P. 19, line 19. 1647: ‘speech.’

11:8. P.  ”  line 33. Thus, 1647. 1651, erroneously:

8:5. P.  ”  line 29. 1647 has ‘ris’’; 1651, ‘rise.’

1:1. To the Countess of S. with ‘The Holy Court’ (p. 6).

4:1. P. 12. The 1647 title is ‘The Innocence of Love.’

15:2. P. 22, line 8. i.e. ‘I [who] know no native light but light borrowed from thee.’ The rather obscure phrase is obscured the more by its slovenly original punctuation.

7:2. P. 14, line 4. 1647: ‘as.’

4:4. P.  ”  lines 9-12. 1647:

8:3. P.  ”  line 11. 1651: ‘could.’

8:6. P.  ”  line 30. ‘With’ reads ‘not’ in all texts: clearly a misprint.

4:2. P.  ”  line 1. 1647 reads:

3:1. P. 10, line 15. A final couplet difficult to scan. If correctly printed, it has a dissyllable rhyme, with the accentual stress on ‘wi’ thee.’

7:3. P. 15, line 7. 1651: ‘about.’

12:1. On Mr. Sherburne’s Translation, etc. (p. 20).

5:1. The Dedication (p. 13).

9:1. To the Lady D[ormer]. Sic 1651 (p. 16).

4:5. Pp. 12-13, lines 20-21. 1647:

14:1. On Sir John Suckling, etc. (p. 22).

15:3. P. 22, line 10. ‘Wouldst’: 1651.

11:5. P.  ”  line 21. ‘Voice’ tentative. Original texts have ‘veil.’

7:1. To Chariessa (p. 14).

11:7. P. 19, lines 31-32 omitted in 1647.

6:2. P. 14, line 4. 1647: ‘deceiv’d.’

16:1. P. 24, line 11. ‘Conferr’d’ in 1647; ‘comferd’ in Gamble’s Ayres, 1657. The right word is obvious.

15:1. Answer.

11:1. On Mr. Shirley’s Poems (p. 18).

8:4. P. 16, line 19. 1647: ‘doth.’

35:2. P. 42. line 17. ‘No’: 1651 and 1657.

30:6. P.  ”  line 19. ‘Power’: 1647.

18:3. P.  ”  line 18. ‘Breast’: 1647.

32:3. P.  ”  line 5. ‘That’: 1647.

32:5. P.  ”  line 10. ‘Which’: 1657.

23:7. P.  ”  lines 17-18. The closing couplet of 1647 reads:

19:1. P. 26, line 9. ‘She’: 1657.

28:1. P. 35, lines 1-4. The editions of 1647 and 1651 start off:

17:3. P.  ”  line 15. ‘Lip’: 1657.

34:2. P. 41, line 8. ‘One’: 1657.

30:3. P. 37, line 12. ‘Flame,’ by error, in 1651 and 1657.

22:1. P. 29, line 4. ‘Creature’: 1647.

29:3. P.  ”  line 23. ‘Than’: 1657.

34:3. P.  ”  line 12. The reading of 1657. ‘In’: 1647.

21:1. P. 29, line 4. ‘Do’: 1647.

28:3. P. 35, line 9. ‘Blushing’ in the earlier versions.

23:4. P. 31, line 14. 1647:

26:2. P.  ”  line 11. 1647 and 1657 have: ‘Which, while he sportively.’

26:1. P. 33, line 8. Sic in 1647 and 1657. ‘He back receives’: 1651.

25:1. P. 32, line 5. 1647: ‘or.’

23:5. P. 31, line 15. 1647:

23:3. P.  ”  line 10. 1647: ‘hopes as cold’; 1657: ‘thoughts that’s cold.’

31:1. Palinode (p. 37).

22:4. P.  ”  line 13. ‘Powers’: a misprint of 1647.

17:2. P.  ”  line 12. ‘My’: 1657.

22:3. P.  ”  line 10. This line is a tangle of misprints in 1657, viz.:

17:1. P. 25, line 3. ‘These’: 1657.

32:6. P. 39, line 11. ‘Midst’: 1647, 1651.

30:2. P. 37, line 10. By a wickedly diverting mishap, ‘more’ reads ‘less’ in 1651 and 1657!

24:1. P. 31, lines 2-3. 1657, blunderingly:

28:4. P.  ”  line 10. ‘Drooping’ in the earlier versions.

31:4. P.  ”  line 12. ‘In’: 1657.

26:3. P. 33, line 16. 1647 and 1657: ‘back.’

18:2. P.  ”  line 11. ‘He’ in 1647: the later text must be right.

30:4. P.  ”  line 13. ‘His’: 1647.

21:3. P.  ”  line 19. ‘Condemn’: 1647; ‘contain’: 1657. ‘Contemn’ is Stanley’s word, if one is to judge from the context.

33:1. P. 40, line 25. Eros.

31:2. P. 38, line 5. The Editor has ventured to print ‘That would,’ though against all three texts, which give ‘That wouldst.’ The meaning seems to be that the ‘proud empire’ of Beauty is rebellions to Reason or Philosophy, the restraints of which, (‘chains’) ‘would within tyrannic laws confine,’ etc.

27:1. P. 34, line 1. ‘Chariessa’ is misprinted, in 1651, ‘Charissa.’ The names are placed over the speeches. 1647 has for title: ‘Amori Notturni: A Dialogue between Philocharis and Chariessa.’

31:3. P. 38, line 7. ‘Powerful’: 1657.

24:2. P.  ”  line 12. 1647: ‘you’ll.’

21:2. P.  ”  lines 5-6. 1647:

28:5. P.  ”  line 16. ‘But’ in 1657, to the confusion of the sense.

23:1. P. 30, lines 1-4. 1647:

18:1. P. 26, line 7. ‘By’ in other texts, but ‘from’ in Gamble, 1856.

34:1. To Chariessa: Beholding herself, etc. (p. 41).

28:2. P. 35, line 6. 1647, 1651:

32:7. P.  ”  line 13. ‘Th’’ dropped out in 1651.

30:5. P.  ”  line 18. ‘Cherubins’ in all three texts.

32:1. P. 38, line 2. ‘Unite,’ by a misprint: 1651.

22:2. P. 30, line 7. ‘Their’: 1657.

35:1. P. 42, lines 13-16. This stanza, probably by inadvertence, is not included in the edition of 1651. ‘Eye,’ line 14, is ‘eyes’ in 1657; and ‘than,’ line 16, is misprinted ‘them’ in 1647.

32:2. P.  ”  line 3. ‘Bounds’: 1651, 1657.

19:2. P. 27, line 13. ‘Then’: 1647.

36:1. P. 44, line 18. ‘Be’: 1657.

33:2. P. 41, line 56. May the Editor be forgiven for altering, with no explicit help from printed texts, one word of this splendid lyric, in the very best impudent spirit of the time? The second ‘hearts’ in the closing line reads ‘they’ in all editions of Stanley. It is possible that this word ‘they’ has been caught from the line just before, after a fashion only too familiar to copyists and printers. Even so, it would mean not ‘lovers’ but ‘hearts.’ The word ‘hearts,’ one is tempted to think, may be the right word.

30:1. Celia, Sleeping or Singing (p. 37).

29:1. To Celia: Excuse for Wishing her less Fair (p. 36).

23:2. P. 31, line 9. 1657: ‘hope.’

22:5. P.  ”  lines 23-24. The final couplet in 1647 is:

32:4. P.  ”  line 7. ‘Sacred’: 1647, 1651.

29:2. P. 36, lines 9-10. 1647:

20:1. P. 28, line 24. ‘Distinguish,’ by printer’s error, in 1657.

23:6. P.  ”  line 16. 1647: ‘thy.’

40:2. P. 48, line 12. ‘My’: 1647.

44:1. P. 53, line 34. ‘That’: 1647.

43:5. P.  ”  line 16. ‘Which’: 1647.

43:4. P. 51, line 9. ‘Glories’: 1651.

51:2. P.  ”  line 6. All editions read:

40:3. P.  ”  line 19. The name in 1651, 1657; but ‘Dearest’ in 1647.

45:3. P.  ”  lines 18, 20. 1647:

51:3. P. 62, line 7. 1651: ‘pain.’

52:1. P. 63, line 10. Misspelt ‘assent’ in 1657.

49:1. The Exchange: Dialogue (p. 60).

51:1. P. 62, line 1. ‘This’: 1651, 1657.

41:3. P. 49, line 6. ‘And’: 1651; ‘by’ (which carries out the context) in the others.

37:2. P. 45, line 21. ‘The’: 1651, 1657.

43:2. P. 51, line 1. ‘Were’: 1651.

41:4. P. 49, line 12. 1647:

40:1. To Celia, pleading want of merit (p. 48).

42:1. P. 50, line 10. ‘Whiter’ in all; but ‘winter’ must be the word.

46:5. P. 58, lines 21-22. 1647:

39:1. P. 47, lines 19-20. In the version of 1647, these lines read:

43:1. The Deposition (p. 50).

48:1. P. 59, lines 13-14. The text as given is 1657 only. 1647 has:

47:2. P. 58, line 15. 1647: ‘souls that do our life inspire.’ ‘Human’ in 1651, but ‘humane,’ in the commoner spelling of the time, in 1657.

54:1. P. 64, line 15. ‘Captive’: 1657; the older form in 1647, 1651.

41:2. P. 49, line 4. ‘Forms’ may be a misprint of 1651, 1657. This line in 1647 reads:

45:2. P. 55, line 17. ‘And’: 1647.

38:1. P. 45, line 9. ‘Friend’: 1647, 1651.

44:2. P.  ”  line 38. ‘Pleasures’: 1651, 1657.

37:1. P. 44, line 3. The reading of 1657. ‘Tyrannic’: 1647, 1651.

41:5. P. 49, line 17. 1647: ‘Doris.’

41:1. The Kiss. (p. 49).

43:3. P.  ”  line 3. ‘Do’: 1647; somewhat clearer than ‘all,’ in the texts of 1651, 1657.

50:1. P. 61, lines 7-8. Text as given in 1651, 1657. 1647 has:

46:4. P.  ”  lines 15-16. 1647:

46:2. P.  ”  line 12. 1647:

51:4. P.  ”  line 10. 1647:

53:1. P. 63, line 5. ‘Left’: 1651; ‘least’: 1657.

49:2. P. 60, lines 5-6. This refrain is omitted after the speeches in 1651, but figures in other editions, earlier and later.

52:2. P.  ”  line 16. ‘Honour,’ in all texts, obviously wrong.

46:1. P. 57, line 4. 1657: ‘cannot.’

47:3. P. 59, line 22. Thus in 1651, 1657. 1647 has:

46:3. P. 57, line 14. ‘Cold’: 1647.

47:1. P. 58, line 12. 1651 and 1657 have the line revised to its detriment:

45:1. P. 55, line 16. ‘Can nor decay nor die’: 1651.

39:2. P. 47, line 30. ‘Love’: 1647; a manifest befogging duplication of the ‘love’ in the preceding line. ‘Kill’ seems to be called for, or perhaps ‘slay,’ a word less in favour with Stanley.

Such as before could[8:2] by a secret charm

63:1. P. 76, line 10. ‘Stars’ in both texts; but this may be in error for ‘tears.’

57:1. The Self-Cruel (p. 67).

56:1. P. 67, line 20. This word reads ‘thy’ in all editions of Stanley. The right reading is almost certainly ‘their.’

64:4. P.  ”  line 4. 1651: ‘mock.’

55:1. P. 66, line 7. ‘That,’ 1647, 1651.

59:3. P. 69, line 7. ‘Fall’: 1657; in the earlier versions ‘name,’ caught up by the compositor, in error, from the succeeding line. But the 1647 copy of Stanley in the Bodleian Library, which belonged to William Fairfax, has ‘name’ erased, and ‘fall’ written, in a seventeenth-century hand, above it.

On Mr. Fletcher’s Works [1647].[8:1]

Thou best of Friendship, Knowledge, and of Art! The charm of whose lov’d name preserves my heart From female vanities, (thy name, which there Till time dissolves the fabric, I must wear!) Forgive a crime which long my soul oppress’d,
And crept by chance in my unwary breast, So great, as for thy pardon were unfit, And to forgive were worse than to commit, But that the fault and pain were so much one, The very act did expiate what was done.
I, who so often sported with the flame, Play’d with the Boy, and laugh’d at both as tame, Betray’d by idleness and beauty, fell At last in love, love both the sin and hell: No punishment great as my fault esteem’d,
But to be that which I so long had seem’d. Behold me such: a face, a voice, a lute; The sentence in a minute execute. I yield, recant; the faith which I before Deny’d, profess; the power I scorn’d, implore.
Alas, in vain! no prayers, no vows can bow Her stubborn heart, who neither will allow. But see how strangely what was meant no less Than torment, prov’d my greatest happiness; Delay, that should have sharpen’d, starv’d Desire,
And Cruelty not fann’d, but quench’d my fire. Love bound me; now, by kind Disdain set free, I can despise that Love as well as she. That sin to friendship I away have thrown! My heart thou may’st without a rival own,[10:1]
While such as willingly themselves beguile, And sell away their freedoms for a smile, Blush to confess our joys as far above Their hopes, as friendship’s longer-liv’d than love.

To the Countess of S[underland?] with the Holy Court.[1:1]

66:1. No.

V.

Which thus deceives[6:3] thy reason, through thy sight.

64:3. P. 76, line 3. 1651: ‘snatch.’

And in each mov’d spectator did[8:3] beget

Nor had he risen[8:5] the Delphic wreath to claim,

Had with[8:6] the dying scene expir’d his name.

When, dearest Friend, thy verse doth re-inspire Love’s pale decaying torch with brighter fire, Whilst everywhere thou dost dilate thy flame, And to the world spread thy Odelia’s name, The justice of all ages must remit
To her the prize of beauty, thee of wit. Then, like some skilful artist, that to wonder[11:2] Framing some[11:3] piece, displeas’d, takes it asunder, Thou Beauty dost depose, her charms deny, And all the mystic chains of Love untie.
Thus thy diviner Muse a power ’bove Fate May boast, that can both make and uncreate. Next, thou call’st back to life that love-sick boy, To the kind-hearted nymphs less fair than coy, Who, by reflex beams burnt with vain desire,
Did, phœnix-like, in his own flames expire; But should he view his shadow drawn by thee, He with himself once more in love would be. Echo, (who though she words[11:4] pursue, her haste

Can only overtake and stop the last,)
Shall her first speech and human voice[11:5] obtain, To sing thy softer numbers o’er again. Thus, into dying poetry, thy Muse Doth full perfection and new life infuse. Each line deserves a laurel, and thy praise
Asks not a garland, but a grove of bays; Nor can ours raise thy lasting trophies higher, Who only reach at merit to admire. But I must chide thee, friend: how canst thou be A patron, yet a foe to Poesy?[11:6]

59:2. P. 69, line 5. ‘Blind and impious’: 1647.

64:2. P.  ”  line 2. 1647: ‘her.’

To Chariessa,[7:1]

64:1. P. 76, line 1. 1647: ‘she did.’

}

And whilst[7:2] in curled flames to heaven they rise,

To the Lady D[ormer].[9:1]

Love’s Innocence.[4:1]

Fletcher, whose fame no age can ever waste, (Envy of ours, and glory of the last,) Is now alive again; and with his name His sacred ashes wak’d into a flame Such as before could[8:2] by a secret charm
The wildest heart subdue, the coldest warm, And lend the ladies’ eyes a power more bright, Dispensing thus, to either, heat and light. He to a sympathy those souls betray’d Whom love or beauty never could persuade;
And in each mov’d spectator did[8:3] beget A real passion by a counterfeit. When first Bellario bled, what lady there Did not for every drop let fall a tear? And when Aspasia wept, not any eye
But seem’d to wear the same sad livery; By him inspir’d, the feign’d Lucina drew More streams of melting sorrow than the true; But then The Scornful Lady did[8:4] beguile

Their easy griefs, and teach them all to smile.
Thus he affections could or raise or lay; Love, grief, and mirth thus did his charms obey: He Nature taught her passions to out-do, How to refine the old, and create new; Which such a happy likeness seem’d to bear,
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were. Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept In the same urn wherein his dust hath slept; Nor had he risen[8:5] the Delphic wreath to claim, Had with[8:6] the dying scene expir’d his name.
O the indulgent justice of this age, To grant the press what it denies the stage! Despair our joy hath doubled: he is come Twice welcome by this post liminium. His loss preserv’d him; they that silenc’d wit
Are now the authors to eternize it. Thus poets are in spite of Fate reviv’d, And plays, by intermission, longer liv’d.

Drawn For Valentine by the L[ady] D[orothy] S[pencer?].[2:1]

}

58:1. An Answer to a Song: ‘Wert thou much [?] Fairer’ (p. 68).

By all that sweetness which dwells with thee,[3:1]

And like those blessed souls above, Whose life is harmony and love, Let us our mutual thoughts betray,
And in our wills our minds display. This silent speech is swifter far Than the ears’ lazy species are; And the expression it affords (As our desires,) ’bove reach of words.
Thus we, my Dear, of these may learn[4:5]

A passion others not discern; Nor can it shame or blushes move, Like plants to live, like angels love: Since all excuse with equal innocence
What above reason is, or beneath sense.

Shall her first speech and human voice[11:5] obtain,

64:5. P.  ”  line 5. 1647: ‘my Chariessa!’

See how this ivy strives to twine[4:2]

A star thought by the erring[6:2] passenger

Framing some[11:3] piece, displeas’d, takes it asunder,

66:2. No. V. P. 81, line 13. So 1657. ‘My fair one’ elsewhere.

60:2. P.  ”  line 7. ‘Thy’: 1651.

62:1. P. 74, line 6. ‘Tears,’ manifestly wrong, in the text; ‘these’ as relating to ‘leaves,’ is inserted at a venture, and may or may not be the right word.

As whispering with a jealous fear[4:3]

A patron, yet a foe to Poesy?[11:6]

Then, like some skilful artist, that to wonder[11:2]

60:1. P. 72, line 5. ‘To’: 1651.

58:2. P. 68, line 8. ‘So’: 1647, 1651.

64:6. P.  ”  line 6. 1651: ‘gavest.’

67:1. Seven. Epigrams: Plato. From Laertius and the Anthology. (p. 81.)

On Mr. Sherburne’s Translation of Seneca’s Medea, and Vindication of the Author [1647-8].[12:1]

And hast so far all future times surpass’d,[11:8]

The Dedication.[5:1]

This animated gem,[6:1] whose fainter spark

61:1. P. 72, line 6. ‘It’ in all texts, possibly a misprint for ‘is.’

Then when above[7:3] its native orb it came,

59:1. The Relapse (p. 69)

57:2. P. 68, line 17. ‘That’ in all texts: but presumably a misprint.

65:1. No. II. P. 79, line 7. ‘Love,’ in both originals, is self-contradictory.

On Mr. Shirley’s Poems [1646].[11:1]

On Sir J[ohn] S[uckling] his Picture and Poems [1646].[14:1]

Neither, or both, are equal happiness.[23:7]

She in thy heart,[18:3] thou in her eye.

Beauty, thy harsh imperious chains As a scorn’d weight, I here untie, Since thy proud empire those disdains Of reason or philosophy, That would[31:2] within tyrannic laws
Confine the power of each free cause.

Now, Beauties, I defy your charm, Rul’d by more powerful art:
This mystic wreath which crowns my arm Defends my vanquish’d heart;[47:3]

And I, subdu’d by one more fair, shall be Secur’d from conquest by captivity.

Must all are to thy hell condemn’d sustain
A double torture of despair and pain? Is’t not enough vainly to hope and woo, That thou shouldst thus deny that vain hope too? It were some joy,[23:2] Ixion-like, to fold

The empty air, or feed on thoughts as cold;[23:3]
But if thou to my passion this deny, Thou may’st be starv’d to death as well as I; For how can thy pale sickly flame burn clear When death and cold despair inhabit here?[23:4] Then let thy dim heat warm, or else expire;[23:5]
Dissolve this frost, or let that quench the[23:6] fire. Thus let me not desire, or else possess! Neither, or both, are equal happiness.[23:7]

}

Be, in this death, of heaven possess’d.[48:1]

And that, perhaps, you’d[24:2] not allow.

Than languish at[31:4] a frozen fire.

Should mould this[30:4] breath to words, and those

(Whilst she[18:2] was kind,) dost him no more,

Now I’ve not lost that[37:2] bliss

Our suffering[28:4] hopes might justly seek

Thy best treasure[22:1] with their arts,

The empty air, or feed on thoughts as cold;[23:3]

Then, Dearest,[41:5] either justly mine

Sickness may fright the roses from her cheek, Or make the lilies fade,
But all the subtle ways that Death doth seek Cannot my love invade. Flames that are kindled by the eye Through time and age expire, But ours, that boast a reach far higher,
Cannot decay or die.[45:1]

Delay! Alas, there cannot be To Love a greater tyranny: Those cruel beauties that have slain Their votaries by their disdain, Or studied torments sharp and witty.
Will be recorded for their pity, And after-ages be misled To think them kind, when this is spread. Of deaths the speediest is despair; Delays the slowest tortures are;
Thy cruelty at once destroys, But expectation starves my joys. Time and Delay may bring me past The power of Love to cure, at last; And shouldst thou wish to ease my pain,
Thy pity might be lent in vain. Or if thou hast decreed that I Must fall[36:1] beneath thy cruelty,

O kill me soon! Thou wilt express More mercy, ev’n in showing less.

Make far more[30:2] noise than Celia’s breath in sleep.

Have equal power to kill[39:2] or animate.

For any change, as[28:5] Destiny,

For these flames extinguish[20:1] thine.

A flame unto me equal with mine[17:2] own.

}

The Exchange: Dialogue.[49:1]

Thy power the narrow bound[32:2] disdains

Who but thy borrow’d know no native light?[15:2]

On Mr. Hall’s Essays [Horae Vacivae, 1646].[13:1]

}

When with poems[22:4] they invade thee,

Borrow’d helps to[44:1] take a heart;—

But if thou th’[32:7] insulting pride

And those[17:1] cold maids on whom Love never spent

And the magnet, ask how he[19:1]

Dissolve this frost, or let that quench the[23:6] fire.

EXCUSE FOR WISHING HER LESS FAIR.[29:1]

The Kiss.[41:1]

Those glories do[43:3] the pride they wear

A dawning clearer than their brightest day.[13:2]

Should I[46:3] disdain or coyness move,

Me with equal pleasure[44:2] move;

For when, by death, from[18:1] these flames free,

To greater thou condemn’d shalt be, And punish’d for idolatry,

Drawn by the powerful[32:4] influence

See with what pains[51:3] she spins for thee

And with new powers[30:6] invert the laws of fate:

Chariessa.[27:1]   What if Night

The[51:1] silkworm, to long sleep retir’d,

Thy brightest graces[43:4] fade and die

Securely we’ll contemn[21:3] all envious force,

}

Than I thus cause of mine[40:2] own death should be.

Forc’d by the potent[31:3] influence

Palinode.[31:1]

With flames that[32:5] do in absence burn,

A heart so poor as mine:[24:1]

Or to be more fair, for[29:3] thee,

The blooming[28:3] roses of her cheek;

Then think not[35:2] freedom I desire,

Then let thy dim heat warm, or else expire;[23:5]

Beholding herself in a Glass.[34:1]

Unto the poet[12:2] owe, he owes to thee.

That all her curious labours thou[51:4]

Love must not[46:1] hope what Fate denies.

Though when I lov’d thee thou wert[43:2] fair,

This subtle frame[30:3] with active fires,

PLEADING WANT OF MERIT.[40:1]

And like two cherubim converse by[41:3] love.

He now[26:3] returns far sweeter than before,

One o’ th’ sweets which crown her fair;[28:2]

That grief hath kill’d me, come,[21:2]

Sure thou as friends[38:1] united hast

Who taught me, first, idolatry.[46:2]

The wealth my[43:5] love bestow’d;

Thou[32:3] canst by unconfined laws

Our subtle forms[41:2] combine:

A life that cherubim[30:5] would choose,

And, freed from thy romantic[37:1] chain,

And he,[33:1] by whose

Drawn by the powerful[32:4] influence Of thy bright eyes, I back return; And since I nowhere can dispense With flames that[32:5] do in absence burn,
I rather choose ’twixt[32:6] them t’expire,

Than languish by a hidden fire.

Our loves by Fate benighted,[45:3]

Have to mine enemy my freedom sold.[47:1]

}

When they with the[22:2] choicest wealth

Nature boasts of, have possess’d thee; When with flowers (their verses’ stealth), Stars, or jewels they invest thee,[22:3]
Trust not to their borrow’d store: ’Tis but lent to make thee poor.

But, Celia,[40:3] if thou wilt despise

When death and cold despair inhabit here?[23:4]

Let’s once more join our lips,[17:3] and thou shalt see

Stars, or jewels they invest thee,[22:3]

Not any blushes know, but who know[16:2] sin.

}

We in a kiss our mutual thoughts convey.[41:4]

He doth receive[26:1] than he unto it lent.

How souls that human[47:2] breasts inspire

}

Be not thou[19:2] less kind than these,

Or from Love exempt alone! Let us twine like amorous trees,
And like rivers melt in one. Or, if thou more cruel prove, Learn of steel and stones to love.

}

Celia, Sleeping or Singing.[30:1]

Which, whilst the amorous wind[26:2] to steal essays,

To make her ornament thy spoil.[51:2]

Learn how to love thyself by[34:3] loving me.

The Muse, but thou must[15:3] give the laurel too,

}

Who pay their hearts where hearts[33:2] are due.

}

Nor[25:1] think the hours do move too slow;

Less are compar’d[16:1] with greater, and these seem

Nor time nor absence can untie,[32:1]

Answer [to “The Union,” Poem addressed to Stanley by his Friend and Tutor, William Fairfax].[15:1]

The Deposition.[43:1]

How poor the autumnal pride of some appears,[13:3]

Than those I did[21:1] obey;

For[45:2] when we must resign our vital breath,

Thou wilt my rival, thine own[34:2] martyr, prove.

From the winter[42:1] of thy hand.

The Snowball.

Doris, I that could repel All those darts about thee dwell, And had wisely learn’d to fear ’Cause I saw a foe so near; I that my deaf ear did arm
’Gainst thy voice’s powerful charm; And the lightning of thine eye Durst, by closing mine, defy; Cannot this cold snow withstand From the winter[42:1] of thy hand.
Thy deceit hath thus done more Than thy open force before: For who could suspect or fear Treason in a face so clear, Or the hidden fires descry
Wrapt in this cold outside lie? Flames might thus, involv’d in ice, The deceiv’d world sacrifice; Nature, ignorant of this Strange antiperistasis,
Would her falling frame admire, That by snow were set on fire!

Their[56:1] faith to faiths as false as thine.

Love’s Innocence.[4:1]

See how this ivy strives to twine[4:2] Her wanton arms about the vine, And her coy lover thus restrains, Entangled in her amorous chains; See how these neighb’ring palms do bend
Their heads, and mutual murmurs send, As whispering with a jealous fear[4:3] Their loves into each other’s ear.

}

And like those blessed souls above, Whose life is harmony and love, Let us our mutual thoughts betray,
And in our wills our minds display. This silent speech is swifter far Than the ears’ lazy species are; And the expression it affords (As our desires,) ’bove reach of words.
Thus we, my Dear, of these may learn[4:5]

A passion others not discern; Nor can it shame or blushes move, Like plants to live, like angels love: Since all excuse with equal innocence
What above reason is, or beneath sense.

V.

On this verdant lotus laid, Underneath the myrtle’s shade, Let us drink our sorrows dead, Whilst Love plays the Ganymed.

Life like to[66:1] a wheel runs round:
And, ere long, we underground Ta’en by death asunder, must Moulder in forgotten dust.

Why then graves should we bedew, Why the ground with odours strew?
Better, whilst alive, prepare Flowers and unguents for our hair.

Come, my Fair,[66:2] and come away!

All our cares behind us lay, That these pleasures we may know,
Ere we come to those below.

Delay.

Delay! Alas, there cannot be To Love a greater tyranny: Those cruel beauties that have slain Their votaries by their disdain, Or studied torments sharp and witty.
Will be recorded for their pity, And after-ages be misled To think them kind, when this is spread. Of deaths the speediest is despair; Delays the slowest tortures are;
Thy cruelty at once destroys, But expectation starves my joys. Time and Delay may bring me past The power of Love to cure, at last; And shouldst thou wish to ease my pain,
Thy pity might be lent in vain. Or if thou hast decreed that I Must fall[36:1] beneath thy cruelty,

O kill me soon! Thou wilt express More mercy, ev’n in showing less.

The Blush.

So fair Aurora doth herself discover (Asham’d o’ th’ aged bed of her cold lover,) In modest blushes, whilst the treacherous light Betrays her early shame to the world’s sight. Such a bright colour doth the morning rose
Diffuse, when she her soft self doth disclose Half drown’d in dew, whilst on each leaf a tear Of night doth like a dissolv’d pearl appear; Yet ’twere in vain a colour out to seek To parallel my Chariessa’s cheek;
Less are compar’d[16:1] with greater, and these seem To blush like her, not she to blush like them. But whence, fair soul, this passion? what pretence Had guilt to stain thy spotless innocence? Those only this feel who have guilty been,
Not any blushes know, but who know[16:2] sin. Then blush no more; but let thy chaster flame, That knows no cause, know no effects of shame.

Answer [to “The Union,” Poem addressed to Stanley by his Friend and Tutor, William Fairfax].[15:1]

If we are one, dear Friend! why shouldst thou be At once unequal to thyself and me? By thy release thou swell’st my debt the more, And dost but rob thyself to make me poor. What part can I have in thy luminous cone,
What flame, since my love’s thine, can call my own, (The palest star is less the son of night,) Who but thy borrow’d know no native light?[15:2] Was’t not enough thou freely didst bestow The Muse, but thou must[15:3] give the laurel too,
And twice my aims by thy assistance raise, Conferring first the merit, then the praise? But I should do thee greater injury, Did I believe this praise were meant to me, Or thought, though thou hast worth enough to spare
T’enrich another soul, that mine should share. Thy Muse, seeming to lend, calls home her fame, And her due wreath doth, in renouncing, claim.

Than her that owns a flame as[58:2] great.

Thy[64:2] lips to mine;

Honours[52:2] and wealth outshine his paler flame!

Unalter’d by Sickness.

}

Could all thy malice but impair
One o’ th’ sweets which crown her fair;[28:2] Or steal the spirits from her eye; Or kiss into a paler dye The blooming[28:3] roses of her cheek; Our suffering[28:4] hopes might justly seek
Redress from thee, and thou mightst save Thousands of lovers from the grave. But such assaults are vain, for she Is too divine to stoop to thee, Blest with a form as much too high
For any change, as[28:5] Destiny, Which no attempt can violate: For what’s her beauty is our fate.

The Tomb.

When, cruel fair one, I am slain By thy disdain, And as a trophy of thy scorn To some old tomb am borne, Thy fetters must their power bequeath
To those of Death; Nor can thy flame immortal burn Like monumental fires within an urn. Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall prove There is more liberty in Death than Love.

And when forsaken lovers come To see my tomb, Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, And, as a victor, proud To view the spoils thy beauty made,
Press near my shade! Lest thy too cruel breath, or name, Should fan my ashes back into a flame.

}

Or should my dust thy pity move That could not, love, Thy sighs might wake me, and thy tears Renew my life and years; Or should thy proud insulting scorn
Laugh at my urn, Kindly deceiv’d by thy disdain, I might be smil’d into new life again. Then come not near: since both thy love and hate Have equal power to kill[39:2] or animate.

But if cold earth or marble must Conceal my dust, Whilst, hid in some dark ruins, I Dumb and forgotten lie, The pride of all thy victory
Will sleep with me; And they who should attest thy glory Will or forget, or not believe this story. Then, to increase thy triumph, let me rest, (Since by thine eye slain,) buried in thy breast!

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

Stanley gives the title inaccurately.

Mr. W. M.’s Wither-like song (the author of which the Editor has not identified), appears only in the edition of 1651:—

Wert thou yet fairer than thou art, (Which lies not in the power of art,) Or hadst thou in thine eyes more darts Than ever Cupid shot at hearts; Yet if they were not thrown at me,
I would not cast a thought on thee.

I’d rather marry a disease, Than court the thing I cannot please: She that will cherish my desires Must meet my flames with equal fires.
What pleasure is there in a kiss, To him that doubts the heart’s not his?

I love thee not because thou’rt fair, Softer than down, smoother than air; Nor for the Cupids that do lie
In either corner of thine eye. Wouldst thou then know what it might be? ’Tis I love you, ’cause you love me.

58:2. P. 68, line 8. ‘So’: 1647, 1651.

The Farewell.

Since Fate commands me hence, and I Must leave my soul with thee, and die, Dear, spare one sigh, or else let fall A tear to crown my funeral, That I may tell my grieved heart
Thou art unwilling we should part; And martyrs that embrace the fire Shall with less joy than I expire.

With this last kiss I will bequeath My soul, transfus’d into thy breath,
Whose active heat shall gently slide Into thy breast, and there reside, And may, (in spite of Fate thus blest,) Be, in this death, of heaven possess’d.[48:1] Then prove but kind; and thou shalt see
Love hath more power than Destiny.

Song.

When, dearest Beauty, thou shalt pay Thy faith and my vain hope away To some dull soul that cannot know The worth of that thou dost bestow; Lest[53:1] with my sighs and tears I might
Disturb thy unconfin’d delight, To some dark shade I will retire, And there, forgot by all, expire.

Thus, whilst the difference thou shalt prove Betwixt a feign’d and real love,
Whilst he, more happy, but less true, Shall reap those joys I did pursue, And with those pleasures crowned be By Fate, which Love design’d for me, Then thou perhaps thyself wilt find
Cruel too long, or too soon kind.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

The Revenge.

[Ronsard.]

Fair rebel to thyself and Time, Who laugh’st at all my tears, When thou hast lost thy youthful prime, And Age his trophy rears,

Weighing thy inconsiderate pride,
Thou shalt in vain accuse it: ‘Why beauty am I now denied, Or knew not then to use it?’

Then shall I wish, ungentle Fair, Thou in like flames may’st burn!
Venus, if just, will hear my prayer, And I shall laugh my turn.

Song.

Foolish Lover, go and seek For the damask of the rose, And the lilies white dispose To adorn thy mistress’ cheek;

Steal some star out of the sky,
Rob the phœnix, and the east Of her wealthy sweets divest, To enrich her breath or eye!

We thy borrow’d pride despise: For this wine to which we are
Votaries, is richer far Than her cheek, or breath, or eyes.

And should that coy fair one view These diviner beauties, she In this flame would rival thee,
And be taught to love thee too.

Come, then, break thy wanton chain, That when this brisk wine hath spread On thy paler cheek a red, Thou, like us, may’st Love disdain.

Love, thy power must yield to wine! And whilst thus ourselves we arm, Boldly we defy thy charm: For these flames extinguish[20:1] thine.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

A Lady Weeping.

[Montalvan.]

As when some brook flies from itself away, The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray, And, as about the verdant plain it winds, The meadows with a silver ribbon binds, Printing a kiss on every flower she meets,
Losing herself to fill them with new sweets, To scatter frost upon the lily’s head. And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread,— So melting sorrow, in the fair disguise Of humid stars,[63:1] flow’d from bright Chloris’ eyes,
Which, watering every flower her cheek discloses, Melts into jasmines here, there into roses.

The Glow-Worm.

Stay, fairest Chariessa, stay and mark This animated gem,[6:1] whose fainter spark Of fading light, its birth had from the dark:

A star thought by the erring[6:2] passenger Which falling from its native orb, dropped here,
And makes the earth, its centre, now its sphere.

Should many of these sparks together be, He that the unknown light far off should see Would think it a terrestrial galaxy.

Take ’t up, fair Saint; see how it mocks thy fright;
The paler flame doth not yield heat, though light, Which thus deceives[6:3] thy reason, through thy sight.

But see how quickly it, ta’en up, doth fade, (To shine in darkness only being made), By th’ brightness of thy light turn’d to a shade,

And burnt to ashes by thy flaming eyes! On the chaste altar of thy hand it dies, As to thy greater light a sacrifice.

On Mr. Fletcher’s Works [1647].[8:1]

Fletcher, whose fame no age can ever waste, (Envy of ours, and glory of the last,) Is now alive again; and with his name His sacred ashes wak’d into a flame Such as before could[8:2] by a secret charm
The wildest heart subdue, the coldest warm, And lend the ladies’ eyes a power more bright, Dispensing thus, to either, heat and light. He to a sympathy those souls betray’d Whom love or beauty never could persuade;
And in each mov’d spectator did[8:3] beget A real passion by a counterfeit. When first Bellario bled, what lady there Did not for every drop let fall a tear? And when Aspasia wept, not any eye
But seem’d to wear the same sad livery; By him inspir’d, the feign’d Lucina drew More streams of melting sorrow than the true; But then The Scornful Lady did[8:4] beguile

Their easy griefs, and teach them all to smile.
Thus he affections could or raise or lay; Love, grief, and mirth thus did his charms obey: He Nature taught her passions to out-do, How to refine the old, and create new; Which such a happy likeness seem’d to bear,
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were. Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept In the same urn wherein his dust hath slept; Nor had he risen[8:5] the Delphic wreath to claim, Had with[8:6] the dying scene expir’d his name.
O the indulgent justice of this age, To grant the press what it denies the stage! Despair our joy hath doubled: he is come Twice welcome by this post liminium. His loss preserv’d him; they that silenc’d wit
Are now the authors to eternize it. Thus poets are in spite of Fate reviv’d, And plays, by intermission, longer liv’d.

On this Swelling Bank.

On this swelling bank, once proud Of its burden, Doris lay: Here she smil’d, and did uncloud Those bright suns eclipse the day; Here we sat, and with kind art
She about me twin’d her arms, Clasp’d in hers my hand and heart, Fetter’d in those pleasing charms.

Here my love and joys she crown’d, Whilst the hours stood still before me,
With a killing glance did wound, And a melting kiss restore me. On the down of either breast, Whilst with joy my soul retir’d, My reclining head did rest,
Till her lips new life inspir’d.

Thus, renewing of these sights Doth with grief and pleasure fill me, And the thought of these delights Both at once revive and kill me!

Expectation.

Chide, chide no more away The fleeting daughters of the day, Nor with impatient thoughts outrun The lazy sun, Nor[25:1] think the hours do move too slow;
Delay is kind, And we too soon shall find That which we seek, yet fear to know.

The mystic dark decrees Unfold not of the Destinies,
Nor boldly seek to antedate The laws of Fate; Thy anxious search awhile forbear, Suppress thy haste, And know that Time at last
Will crown thy hope, or fix thy fear.

Love’s Heretic.

He whose active thoughts disdain To be captive to one foe, And would break his single chain, Or else more would undergo, Let him learn the art of me,
By new bondage to be free!

What tyrannic mistress dare To one beauty Love confine? Who, unbounded as the air, All may court, but none decline.
Why should we the heart deny As many objects as the eye?

Wheresoe’er I turn or move, A new passion doth detain me: Those kind beauties that do love,
Or those proud ones that disdain me. This frown melts, and that smile burns me; This to tears, that, ashes, turns me.

Soft fresh virgins not full-blown With their youthful sweetness take me;
Sober matrons that have known, Long since, what these prove, awake me; Here, staid coldness I admire, There, the lively active fire.

She that doth by skill dispense
Every favour she bestows, Or the harmless innocence Which nor court nor city knows;— Both alike my soul inflame, That wild beauty, and this tame.

She that wisely can adorn Nature with the wealth of Art, Or whose rural sweets do scorn Borrow’d helps to[44:1] take a heart;— The vain care of that’s my pleasure;
Poverty of this, my treasure.

Both the wanton and the coy Me with equal pleasure[44:2] move; She whom I by force enjoy, Or who forceth me to love:
This, because she’ll not confess, That, not hide, her happiness.

She whose loosely flowing hair, (Scatter’d like the beams o’ th’ morn.) Playing with the sportive air,
Hides the sweets it doth adorn, Captive in that net restrains me, In those golden fetters chains me;

Nor doth she with power less bright My divided heart invade,
Whose soft tresses spread, like night, O’er her shoulders a black shade; For the starlight of her eyes Brighter shines through those dark skies.

Black, or fair, or tall, or low,
I alike with all can sport, The bold sprightly Thaïs woo, Or the frozen vestal court: Every beauty takes my mind, Tied to all, to none confin’d.

But I am softer, and, (though[57:2] me

66:1. No.

V.

The Parting.

I go, dear Saint, away, Snatch’d from thy arms By far less pleasing charms, Than those I did[21:1] obey; But if hereafter thou shalt know
That grief hath kill’d me, come,[21:2] And on my tomb Drop, drop a tear or two; Break with thy sighs the silence of my sleep, And I shall smile in death to see thee weep.

Thy tears may have the power To reinspire My ashes with new fire, Or change me to some flower, Which, planted ’twixt thy breasts, shall grow:
Veil’d in this shape, I will Dwell with thee still, Court, kiss, enjoy thee too: Securely we’ll contemn[21:3] all envious force, And thus united be by death’s divorce.

Song.

Faith, ’tis not worth thy pains and care To seek t’ensnare A heart so poor as mine:[24:1] Some fools there be Hate liberty,
Who[m] with more ease thou may’st confine.

Alas! when with much charge thou hast Brought it at last Beneath thy power to bow, It will adore
Some twenty more, And that, perhaps, you’d[24:2] not allow.

No, Chloris, I no more will prove The curse of love, And now can boast a heart
Hath learn’d of thee Inconstancy, And cozen’d women of their art.

The Cold Kiss.

Such icy kisses, anchorites that live Secluded from the world, to dead skulls give; And those[17:1] cold maids on whom Love never spent His flame, nor know what by desire is meant, To their expiring fathers such bequeath,
Snatching their fleeting spirits in that breath: The timorous priest doth with such fear and nice Devotion touch the Holy Sacrifice.

Fie, Chariessa! whence so chang’d of late, As to become in love a reprobate?
Quit, quit this dulness, Fairest, and make known A flame unto me equal with mine[17:2] own. Shake off this frost, for shame, that dwells upon Thy lips; or if it will not so be gone, Let’s once more join our lips,[17:3] and thou shalt see
That by the flame of mine ’twill melted be.

To his Mistress in Absence.

[Tasso.]

Far from thy dearest self, the scope Of all my aims, I waste in secret flames; And only live because I hope.

O when will Fate restore
The joys, in whose bright fire My expectation shall expire, That I may live because I hope no more!

To the Lady D[ormer].[9:1]

Madam! the blushes I betray, When at your feet I humbly lay These papers, beg you would excuse Th’ obedience of a bashful Muse, Who, bowing to your strict command,
Trusts her own errors to your hand, Hasty abortives, which, laid by, She meant, ere they were born, should die: But since the soft power of your breath Hath call’d them back again from death,
To your sharp judgement now made known, She dares for hers no longer own; The worst she must not: these resign’d She hath to th’ fire; and where you find Those your kind charity admir’d,
She writ but what your eyes inspir’d.

An Answer to a Song, “Wert thou much [?] Fairer than thou art,” by Mr. W. M.[58:1]

Wert thou by all affections sought, And fairer than thou wouldst be thought, Or had thine eyes as many darts As thou believ’st they shoot at hearts, Yet if thy love were paid to me,
I would not offer mine to thee.

I’d sooner court a fever’s heat, Than her that owns a flame as[58:2] great. She that my love will entertain Must meet it with no less disdain;
For mutual fires themselves destroy, And willing kisses yield no joy.

I love thee not because alone Thou canst all beauty call thine own, Nor doth my passion fuel seek
In thy bright eye or softer cheek. Then, Fairest! if thou wouldst know why: I love thee ’cause thou canst deny.

Lest[53:1] with my sighs and tears I might

}

The Bracelet.

Rebellious fools that scorn to bow Beneath Love’s easy sway, Whose stubborn wills no laws allow, Disdaining to obey, Mark but this wreath of hair, and you shall see
None that might wear such fetters would be free.

I once could boast a soul like you, As unconfin’d as air; But mine, which force could not subdue, Was caught within this snare;
And by myself betray’d, I for this gold Have to mine enemy my freedom sold.[47:1]

No longer now, wise Art, inquire, (With this vain search delighted,) How souls that human[47:2] breasts inspire
Are to their frames united: Material chains such spirits well may bind, When this soft braid can tie both arm and mind.

Now, Beauties, I defy your charm, Rul’d by more powerful art:
This mystic wreath which crowns my arm Defends my vanquish’d heart;[47:3]

And I, subdu’d by one more fair, shall be Secur’d from conquest by captivity.

The Hasty Kiss.

[Secundus.]

A kiss I begg’d, and thou didst[64:1] join Thy[64:2] lips to mine; Then, as afraid, snatch’d[64:3] back their treasure, And mock’d[64:4] my pleasure. Again, my Dearest![64:5]—for in this
Thou only gav’st[64:6] desire, and not a kiss.

Song.

Celinda, by what potent art Or unresisted charm, Dost thou thine ear and frozen heart Against my passion arm?

Or by what hidden influence
Of powers in one combin’d, Dost thou rob Love of either sense, Made deaf as well as blind?

Sure thou as friends[38:1] united hast Two distant deities,
And scorn within thy heart hast plac’d, And love within thine eyes;

Or those soft fetters of thy hair, (A bondage that disdains All liberty,) do guard thine ear
Free from all other chains.

Then my complaint how canst thou hear, Or I this passion fly, Since thou imprison’d hast thine ear, And not confin’d thine eye?

THE UNION.

Μία ψύχη, δυὸ σώματα

By Mr. William Fairfax.

As in the crystal-centre of the sight Two subtle beams make but one cone of light, Or, when one flame twin’d with another is, They both ascend in one bright pyramis; Our spirits thus into each other flow,
One in our being, one in what we know, In what we will, desire, dislike, approve, In what we love; and one is that pure love. As in a burning glass the aerial flame With the producing ray is still the same,
We to love’s purest quintessence refin’d, Do both become one undivided mind. This sacred fire into itself converts Our yielding spirits and our melting hearts, Till both our lines into one spirit run;
So several lines are in their centre one. And when thy fair idea is impress’d In the soft tablet of my easier breast, The sweet reflexion brings such sympathy, That I my better self behold in thee;
And all perfections that in thee combine, By this resultance are entirely mine. Thy rays disperse my shades, who only live Bright in the lustre thou art pleas’d to give,

To Chariessa,

Beholding herself in a Glass.[34:1]

Cast, Chariessa, cast that glass away; Not in its crystal face thine own survey. What can be free from Love’s imperious laws, When painted shadows real flames can cause? The fires may burn thee from this mirror rise,
By the reflected beams of thine own eyes; And thus at last fall’n with thyself in love, Thou wilt my rival, thine own[34:2] martyr, prove. But if thou dost desire thy form to view, Look in my heart, where Love thy picture drew,
And then, if pleas’d with thine own shape thou be, Learn how to love thyself by[34:3] loving me.

Dear, fold me once more.

Dear, fold me once more in thine arms! And let me know Before I go There is no bliss but in those charms. By thy fair self I swear
That here, and only here, I would for ever, ever stay: But cruel Fate calls me away.

How swiftly the light minutes slide! The hours that haste
Away thus fast By envious flight my stay do chide. Yet, Dear, since I must go, By this last kiss I vow, By all that sweetness which dwells with thee,[3:1]
Time shall move slow, till next I see thee.

Song: ’Tis no kiss.

[Secundus.]

’Tis no kiss my Fair bestows! Nectar ’tis, whence new life flows. All the sweets which nimble bees In their osier treasuries With unequall’d art repose,
In one kiss, her lips disclose. These, if I should many take, Soon would me immortal make, Rais’d to the divine abodes, And the banquets of the gods.
Be not, then, too lavish, Fair! But this heavenly treasure spare, ’Less thou’lt, too, immortal be: For without thy company What to me were the abodes
Or the banquets of the gods?

Vex no more thyself and me With demure philosophy, Hollow precepts, only fit To amuse the busy wit. Teach me brisk Lyæus’ rites;
Teach me Venus’ blithe delights. Jove[65:1] loves water: give me wine,

That my soul ere I resign May this cure of sorrow have. There’s no drinking in the grave!

The Sick Lover.

[Guarini.]

My sickly breath Wastes in a double flame, Whilst Love and Death To my poor life lay claim; The fever in whose heat I melt
By her that causeth it[61:1] not felt.

Thou who alone Canst, yet wilt grant no ease, Why slight’st thou one, To feed a new disease?
Unequal Fair! the heart is thine: Ah, why then should the pain be mine?

To Chariessa,[7:1]

Desiring her to Burn his Verses.

These papers, Chariessa, let thy breath Condemn, thy hand unto the flames bequeath; ’Tis fit who gave them life, should give them death.

And whilst[7:2] in curled flames to heaven they rise, Each trembling sheet shall, as it upwards flies,
Present itself to thee a sacrifice.

Then when above[7:3] its native orb it came, And reach’d the lesser lights o’ th’ sky, this flame, Contracted to a star, should wear thy name,

Or falling down on earth from its bright sphere,
Shall in a diamond’s shape its lustre bear, And trouble (as it did before) thine ear.

But thou wilt cruel even in mercy be, Unequal in thy justice, who dost free Things without sense from flames, and yet not me!

[*] Commencing: ‘Suckling, whose numbers could invite.’]

Time Recover’d.

[Casone.]

Come, my Dear, whilst youth conspires With the warmth of our desires! Envious Time about thee watches, And some grace each minute snatches: Now a spirit, now a ray
From thy eye he steals away; Now he blasts some blooming rose Which upon thy fresh cheek grows; Gold now plunders in a hair; Now the rubies doth impair
Of thy lips; and with sure haste All thy wealth will take at last; Only that of which thou mak’st Use in time, from Time thou tak’st.

The Night: A Dialogue.

Chariessa.[27:1]   What if Night Should betray us, and reveal To the light All the pleasures that we steal?

Philocharis.         Fairest! we
Safely may this fear despise: How can she See our actions, who wants eyes?

Chariessa.           Each dim star, And the clearer lights, we know,
Night’s eyes are: They were blind that thought her so!

Philocharis.         Those pale fires Only burn to yield a light T’ our desires;
And, though blind, to give us sight.

Chariessa.           By this shade That surrounds us, might our flame Be betray’d! And the day disclose its name.

Philocharis.         Dearest Fair! These dark witnesses, we find, Silent are: Night is dumb, as well as blind.

Chorus.

Then whilst these black shades conceal us,
We will scorn Th’ envious morn, And the sun that would reveal us. Our flames shall thus their mutual light betray, And night, with these joys crown’d, outshine the day.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

The Dedication.[5:1]

To Love.

Thou whose sole name all passions doth comprise: Youngest and eldest of the Deities, Born without parents, whose unbounded reign Moves the firm earth, fixeth the floating main, Inverts the course of heaven, and from the deep
Awakes those souls that in dark Lethe sleep, By thy mysterious chains seeking t’unite, Once more, the long-since-torn hermaphrodite! He who thy willing prisoner long was vow’d, And uncompell’d beneath thy sceptre bow’d,
Returns at last in thy soft fetters bound, With victory, though not with freedom, crown’d: And, (of his dangers past a grateful sign,) Suspends this tablet at thy numerous shrine.

The Relapse.[59:1]

Song: Torment of Absence and Delay.

[Montalvan.]

Torment of absence and delay That thus afflicts my memory! Why dost thou kill me every day, Yet will not give me leave to die? Why dost thou suffer me to live
All hope of life in life denying, Or to my patience tortures give Never to die, yet ever dying?

To fair Narcissa’s brighter eyes I was by Love’s instruction guided,
(A happiness I long did prize,) But now am from their light divided. Favours and gifts my suit obtain’d, But envious Fate would now destroy them, Which if to lose I only gain’d,
What greater pain than to enjoy them?

Translated from Anacreon.

I. The Chase.

With a whip of lilies, Love Swiftly me before him drove: On we cours’d it through deep floods, Hollow valleys, and rough woods, Till a snake that lurking lay
Chanc’d to sting me by the way.

Now my soul was nigh to death, Ebbing, flowing, with my breath, When Love, fanning with his wings, Back my fleeting spirit brings:
‘Learn,’ saith he, ’another day, Love without constraint t’obey!’

The Divorce.

Dear, back my wounded heart restore, And turn away thy powerful eyes; Flatter my willing soul no more: Love must not[46:1] hope what Fate denies.

Take, take away thy smiles and kisses!
Thy love wounds deeper than disdain; For he that sees the heaven he misses, Sustains two hells of loss and pain.

Shouldst thou some other’s suit prefer, I might return thy scorn to thee,
And learn apostasy of her Who taught me, first, idolatry.[46:2]

Or in thy unrelenting breast Should I[46:3] disdain or coyness move,

}

Since, then, unkind Fate will divorce Those whom affection long united, Be thou as cruel as this force, And I in death shall be delighted.

}

I only for thy scorn do sue: ’Tis charity here not to love.

On Sir J[ohn] S[uckling] his Picture and Poems [1646].[14:1]

Suckling, whose numbers could invite Alike to wonder and delight, And with new spirit did inspire The Thespian scene, and Delphic lyre, Is thus express’d in either part,
Above the humble reach of Art. Drawn by the pencil, here you find His form; by his own pen, his mind.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

Then, as afraid, snatch’d[64:3] back their treasure,

To the Countess of S[underland?] with the Holy Court.[1:1]

Since every place you bless, the name This book assumes may justlier claim. (What more a court than where you shine? And where your soul, what more divine?) You may perhaps doubt at first sight
That it usurps upon your right; And praising virtues that belong To you, in others, doth you wrong. No, ’tis yourself you read, in all Perfections earlier ages call
Their own; all glories they e’er knew Were but faint prophecies of you. You then have here sole interest, whom ’tis meant As well to entertain, as represent.

The Picture.

Thou that both feel’st and dost admire The flames shot from a painted fire, Know Celia’s image thou dost see: Not to herself more like is she. He that should both together view
Would judge both pictures, or both true. But thus they differ: the best part Of Nature this is; that of Art.

Song.

No, I will sooner trust the wind, When, falsely kind, It courts the pregnant sails into a storm, And when the smiling waves persuade, Be willingly betray’d,
Than thy deceitful vows or form.

Go, and beguile some easy heart With thy vain art; Thy smiles and kisses on those fools bestow Who only see the calms that sleep
On this smooth flattering deep, But not the hidden dangers know.

They that, like me, thy falsehood prove, Will scorn thy love, Some may, deceiv’d at first, adore thy shrine;
But he that as thy sacrifice Doth willingly fall twice, Dies his own martyr, and not thine.

III. The Spring.

See, the Spring herself discloses, And the Graces gather roses; See how the becalmed seas Now their swelling waves appease; How the duck swims; how the crane
Comes from ’s winter home again; See how Titan’s cheerful ray Chaseth the dark clouds away!

Now in their new robes of green Are the ploughman’s labours seen;
Now the lusty teeming earth Springs, each hour, with a new birth; Now the olive blooms; the vine Now cloth with plump pendants shine, And with leaves and blossoms now
Freshly bourgeons every bough.

On Mr. Sherburne’s Translation of Seneca’s Medea, and Vindication of the Author [1647-8].[12:1]

That wise philosopher who had design’d To [th’] life the various passions of the mind, Did wrong’d Medea’s jealousy prefer To entertain the Roman theatre; Both to instruct the soul, and please the sight,
At once begetting horror and delight. This cruelty thou dost once more express Though in a strange, no less becoming dress; And her revenge hast robb’d of half its pride, To see itself thus by itself outvied,
That boldest ages past may say, our times Can speak, as well as act, their highest crimes. Nor was’t enough to do his scene this right, But what thou gav’st to us, with equal light Thou wouldst bestow on him, nor wert more just
Unto the author’s work, than to his dust. Thou dost make good his title, aid his claim, Both vindicate his poem and his name, So shar’st a double wreath; for all that we Unto the poet[12:2] owe, he owes to thee.
Though change of tongues stol’n praise to some afford, Thy version hath not borrow’d, but restor’d.

Hadst thou but known the vast extent Of constant faith, how far ’Bove all that are Born slaves to wealth, or honours’ vain ascent;[52:1]
No richer treasure couldst thou find Than hearts with mutual chains combin’d.

He long ago thine[60:2] eyes forsook

The Return.

Beauty, whose soft magnetic chains Nor time nor absence can untie,[32:1] Thy power the narrow bound[32:2] disdains Of Nature or Philosophy; Thou[32:3] canst by unconfined laws
A motion, though at distance, cause.

Drawn by the powerful[32:4] influence Of thy bright eyes, I back return; And since I nowhere can dispense With flames that[32:5] do in absence burn,
I rather choose ’twixt[32:6] them t’expire,

Than languish by a hidden fire.

But if thou th’[32:7] insulting pride Of vulgar beauties dost despise, Who, by vain triumphs deified,
Their votaries do sacrifice, Then let those flames, whose magic charm At distance scorch’d, approach’d, but warm.

Despair.

No, no, poor blasted Hope! Since I (with thee) have lost the scope Of all my joys, I will no more Vainly implore The unrelenting Destinies:
He that can equally sustain The strong assaults of joy and pain, May safely laugh at their decrees.

Despair, to thee I bow, Whose constancy disdains t’allow
Those childish passions that destroy Our fickle joy; How cruel Fates so e’er appear, Their harmless anger I despise, And fix’d, can neither fall nor rise,
Thrown below hope, but rais’d ’bove fear.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

Claim to Love.

[Guarini.]

Alas! alas! thou turn’st in vain Thy beauteous face away, Which, like young sorcerers, rais’d a pain Above its power to lay.

Love moves not as thou turn’st thy[60:1] look,
But here doth firmly rest: He long ago thine[60:2] eyes forsook To revel in my breast.

Thy power on him why hop’st thou more Than his on me should be?
The claim thou lay’st to him is poor To that he owns from me.

His substance in my heart excels, His shadow, in thy sight: Fire where it burns more truly dwells
Than where it scatters light.

As when some brook flies from itself away, The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray, And, as about the verdant plain it winds, The meadows with a silver ribbon binds, Printing a kiss on every flower she meets,
Losing herself to fill them with new sweets, To scatter frost upon the lily’s head. And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread,— So melting sorrow, in the fair disguise Of humid stars,[63:1] flow’d from bright Chloris’ eyes,
Which, watering every flower her cheek discloses, Melts into jasmines here, there into roses.

The Cure.

Nymph.

What busy cares, too timely born, Young swain! disturb thy sleep? Thy early sighs awake the morn, Thy tears teach her to weep.

Shepherd.

Sorrows, fair nymph, are full alone,
Nor counsel can endure.

Nymph.

Yet thine disclose; for, until known, Sickness admits no cure.

Shepherd.

My griefs are such as but to hear Would poison all thy joys;
The pity which thou seem’st to bear My health, thine own destroys.

Nymph.

How can diseased minds infect? Say what thy grief doth move!

Shepherd.

Call up thy virtue to protect
Thy heart, and know—’twas love.

Nymph.

Fond swain!

Shepherd.

By which I have been long Destin’d to meet with hate.

Nymph.

Fie! shepherd, fie! thou dost love wrong, To call thy crime thy fate.

Shepherd.

Alas! what cunning could decline, What force can love repel?

Nymph.

Yet there’s a way to unconfine Thy heart.

Shepherd.

For pity, tell.

Nymph.

Choose one whose love may be assur’d
By thine: who ever knew Inveterate diseases cur’d But by receiving new?

Shepherd.

All will, like her, my soul perplex.

Nymph.

Yet try.

Shepherd.

Oh, could there be
But any softness in that sex, I’d wish it were in thee!

Nymph.

Thy prayer is heard: learn now t’esteem The kindness she hath shown, Who, thy lost freedom to redeem,
Hath forfeited her own.

On a Violet in her Breast.

See how this violet, which before Hung sullenly her drooping head, As angry at the ground that bore The purple treasure which she spread, Doth smilingly erected grow,
Transplanted to those hills of snow.

And whilst the pillows of thy breast Do her reclining head sustain, She swells with pride to be so blest, And doth all other flowers disdain;
Yet weeps that dew which kissed her last, To see her odours so surpass’d.

Poor flower! how far deceiv’d thou wert, To think the riches of the morn Or all the sweets she can impart.
Could these or sweeten or adorn, Since thou from them dost borrow scent, And they to thee lend ornament!

The Self-Cruel.[57:1]

Cast off, for shame, ungentle maid, That misbecoming joy thou wear’st! For in my death (though long delay’d), Unwisely cruel thou appear’st. Insult o’er captives with disdain:
Thou canst not triumph o’er the slain.

No, I am now no longer thine; Nor canst thou take delight to see Him whom thy love did once confine Set, though by death, at liberty;
For if my fall a smile beget, Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.

Behold how thy unthrifty pride Hath murthered him that did maintain it; And wary souls who never tried
Thy tyrant beauty, will disdain it: But I am softer, and, (though[57:2] me Thou wouldst not pity,) pity thee.

The Relapse.[59:1]

O turn away those cruel eyes, The stars of my undoing! Or death, in such a bright disguise, May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blindly impious[59:2] pride,
Who dare contemn thy glory! It was my fall[59:3] that deified Thy name, and seal’d thy story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepare A higher praise to crown thee;
Though my first death proclaim thee fair, My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice No other for thy fuel, And if thou burn one victim twice,
Both think thee poor and cruel!

Expostulation with Love, in Despair.

}

Must all are to thy hell condemn’d sustain
A double torture of despair and pain? Is’t not enough vainly to hope and woo, That thou shouldst thus deny that vain hope too? It were some joy,[23:2] Ixion-like, to fold

The empty air, or feed on thoughts as cold;[23:3]
But if thou to my passion this deny, Thou may’st be starv’d to death as well as I; For how can thy pale sickly flame burn clear When death and cold despair inhabit here?[23:4] Then let thy dim heat warm, or else expire;[23:5]
Dissolve this frost, or let that quench the[23:6] fire. Thus let me not desire, or else possess! Neither, or both, are equal happiness.[23:7]

Ambition.

I must no longer now admire The coldness which possess’d Thy snowy breast, That can by other flames be set on fire; Poor Love, to harsh Disdain betray’d,
Is by Ambition thus outweigh’d.

Hadst thou but known the vast extent Of constant faith, how far ’Bove all that are Born slaves to wealth, or honours’ vain ascent;[52:1]
No richer treasure couldst thou find Than hearts with mutual chains combin’d.

But Love is too despis’d a name, And must not hope to rise Above these ties.
Honours[52:2] and wealth outshine his paler flame! These unite souls, whilst true desire Unpitied dies in its own fire.

Yet, cruel fair one, I did aim With no less justice too,
Than those that sue For other hopes, and thy proud fortunes claim. Wealth honours, honours wealth, approve; But Beauty’s only meant for Love.

Song: When thou thy pliant arms.

[Secundus.]

When thou thy pliant arms dost wreathe About my neck, and gently breathe Into my breast that soft sweet air With which thy soul doth mine repair; When my faint life thou draw’st away,
(My life which scorching flames decay,) O’ercharg’d, my panting bosom boils, Whose fever thy kind art beguiles, And with the breath that did inspire Doth mildly fan my glowing fire.
Transported, then I cry: ‘Above All other deities is Love! Or if a deity there be Greater than Love, ’tis only thee.’

The Silkworm.

The[51:1] silkworm, to long sleep retir’d, The early year hath re-inspir’d, Who now to pay to thee prepares The tribute of her pleasing cares; And hastens with industrious toil
To make her ornament thy spoil.[51:2] See with what pains[51:3] she spins for thee The thread of her own destiny, Then, (growing proud in death, to know That all her curious labours thou[51:4]
Wilt, as in triumph, deign to wear!) Retires to her soft sepulchre.

Such, Dearest, is that hapless state To which I am design’d by Fate, Who, by thee willingly o’ercome,
Work mine own fetters and my tomb.

The Magnet.

Ask the empress of the night How the Hand which guides her sphere, Constant in unconstant light, Taught the waves her yoke to bear, And did thus by loving force
Curb or tame the rude sea’s course.

Ask the female palm how she First did woo her husband’s love; And the magnet, ask how he[19:1] Doth th’ obsequious iron move;
Waters, plants, and stones know this: That they love; not what Love is.

Be not thou[19:2] less kind than these,

Or from Love exempt alone! Let us twine like amorous trees,
And like rivers melt in one. Or, if thou more cruel prove, Learn of steel and stones to love.

The Loss.

Yet ere I go, Disdainful Beauty, thou shalt be So wretched as to know What joys thou fling’st away with me:

A faith so bright,
As Time or Fortune could not rust, So firm, that lovers might Have read thy story in my dust,

And crown’d thy name With laurel verdant as thy youth.
Whilst the shrill voice of Fame Spread wide thy beauty and my truth.

This thou hast lost! For all true lovers, when they find That my just aims were crossed,
Will speak thee lighter than the wind;

And none will lay Any oblation on thy shrine, But such as would betray Their[56:1] faith to faiths as false as thine.

Yet if thou choose On such thy freedom to bestow, Affection may excuse: For love from sympathy doth flow.

Song.

[De Voiture.]

I languish in a silent flame: For she to whom my vows incline Doth own perfections so divine, That but to speak were to disclose her name. If I should say that she the store
Of Nature’s graces doth comprise, (The love and wonder of all eyes,) Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?

Or though I warily conceal The charms her looks and soul possess,
Should I her cruelty express, And say she smiles at all the pains we feel, Among such suppliants as implore Pity, distributing her hate, Inexorable as their fate,—
Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?

Speaking and Kissing.

The air which thy smooth voice doth break Into my soul like lightning flies; My life retires whilst thou dost speak, And thy soft breath its room supplies.

Lost in this pleasing ecstasy,
I join my trembling lips to thine, And back receive that life from thee, Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, platonic fools! t’inquire What numbers do the soul compose:
No harmony can life inspire, But that which from these accents flows.

Celia, Sleeping or Singing.[30:1]

Roses, in breathing forth their scent, Or stars their borrowed ornament; Nymphs in the watery sphere that move, Or angels in their orbs above; The winged chariot of the light,
Or the slow silent wheels of night; The shade which from the swifter sun Doth in a circular motion run, Or souls that their eternal rest do keep, Make far more[30:2] noise than Celia’s breath in sleep.

But if the angel which inspires This subtle frame[30:3] with active fires, Should mould this[30:4] breath to words, and those Into a harmony dispose, The music of this heavenly sphere
Would steal each soul out at the ear, And into plants and stones infuse A life that cherubim[30:5] would choose, And with new powers[30:6] invert the laws of fate: Kill those that live, and dead things animate.

The Exequies.

Draw near, You lovers, that complain Of Fortune or Disdain, And to my ashes lend a tear. Melt the hard marble with your groans,
And soften the relentless stones,

}

No verse, No epicedium, bring;
Nor peaceful requiem sing, To charm the terrors of my hearse; No profane numbers must flow near The sacred silence that dwells here. Vast griefs are dumb: softly, oh softly mourn!
Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn.

Yet strew Upon my dismal grave Such offerings as you have: Forsaken cypress, and sad yew;
For kinder flowers can take no birth Or growth from such unhappy earth. Weep only o’er my dust, and say: “Here lies To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice.”

The Exchange: Dialogue.[49:1]

Phil[ocharis].

That kiss which last thou gav’st me, stole My fainting life away; Yet, though to thy breast fled, my soul Still in mine own doth stay.

}

Char[iessa].

And with the same warm breath did mine Into thy bosom slide, There dwell, contracted unto thine, Yet still with me reside.
Weak Nature no such power doth know: Love only can these wonders show.

Chor[us].

Both souls thus in desire are one, And each is two in skill, Doubled in intellect alone,
United in the will. Weak Nature no such power doth know: Love only can these wonders show.

When these,[62:1] the subject of my tears, increase?’

Opinion.

Whence took the diamond worth? the borrow’d rays That crystal wears, whence had they first their praise? Why should rude feet contemn the snow’s chaste white, Which from the sun receives a sparkling light, Brighter than diamonds far, and by its birth
Decks the green garment of the richer earth? Rivers than crystal clearer, when to ice Congeal’d, why do weak judgements so despise? Which, melting, show that to impartial sight Weeping than smiling crystal is more bright.
But Fancy those first priz’d, and these did scorn, Taking their praise the other to adorn. Thus blind is human sight: opinion gave To their esteem a birth, to theirs a grave; Nor can our judgements with these clouds dispense,
Since reason sees but with the eyes of sense.

It was my fall[59:3] that deified

Song.

Fool! take up thy shaft again. If thy store Thou profusely spend in vain, Who can furnish thee with more? Throw not then away thy darts
On impenetrable hearts.

Think not thy pale flame can warm Into tears, Or dissolve the snowy charm Which her frozen bosom wears,
That expos’d unmelted lies To the bright suns of her eyes.

But since thou thy power hast lost, Nor canst fire Kindle in that breast, whose frost
Doth these flames in mine inspire; Not to thee but her I’ll sue, That disdains both me and you!

Again, my Dearest![64:5]—for in this

Song.

When I lie burning in thine eye, Or freezing in thy breast, What martyrs, in wish’d flames that die, Are half so pleas’d or blest?

When thy soft accents through mine ear
Into my soul do fly, What angel would not quit his sphere, To hear such harmony?

Or when the kiss thou gav’st me last My soul stole in its breath,
What life would sooner be embrac’d Than so desir’d a death?

}

Then think not[35:2] freedom I desire, Or would my fetters leave, Since, phœnix-like, I from this fire Both life and youth receive.

Love Deposed.

You that unto your mistress’ eyes Your hearts do sacrifice, And offer sighs or tears at Love’s rich shrine, Renounce with me Th’ idolatry,
Nor this infernal power esteem divine!

The brand, the quiver, and the bow, Which we did first bestow, And he as tribute wears from every lover, I back again
From him have ta’en, And the impostor now unveil’d discover.

I can the feeble Child disarm, Untie his mystic charm, Divest him of his wings, and break his arrow;
We will obey No more his sway, Nor live confin’d to laws or bounds so narrow

And you, bright Beauties, that inspire The Boy’s pale torch with fire,
We safely now your subtle power despise, And unscorch’d may, Like atoms, play And wanton in the sunshine of your eyes.

Nor think hereafter by new arts
You can bewitch our hearts, Or raise this devil by your pleasing charm: We will no more His power implore, Unless, like Indians, that he do no harm.

Counsel.

When deceitful lovers lay At thy feet their suppliant hearts, And their snares spread to betray Thy best treasure[22:1] with their arts, Credit not their flatt’ring vows:
Love such perjury allows.

When they with the[22:2] choicest wealth

Nature boasts of, have possess’d thee; When with flowers (their verses’ stealth), Stars, or jewels they invest thee,[22:3]
Trust not to their borrow’d store: ’Tis but lent to make thee poor.

When with poems[22:4] they invade thee, Sing thy praises or disdain; When they weep, and would persuade thee
That their flames beget that rain; Let thy breast no baits let in: Mercy’s only here a sin!

Let no tears or offerings move thee, All those cunning charms avoid;
For that wealth for which they love thee, They would slight if once enjoy’d.

}

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

1. [Anonymous lines[*] to Sir John Suckling occurring beneath Marshall’s portrait of him in edd. 1646-1696 of Suckling’s Works.

II.

Vex no more thyself and me With demure philosophy, Hollow precepts, only fit To amuse the busy wit. Teach me brisk Lyæus’ rites;
Teach me Venus’ blithe delights. Jove[65:1] loves water: give me wine,

That my soul ere I resign May this cure of sorrow have. There’s no drinking in the grave!

To Celia.

PLEADING WANT OF MERIT.[40:1]

Dear, urge no more the killing cause Of our divorce: Love is not fetter’d by such laws, Nor bows to any force. Though thou deniest I should be thine,
Yet say not thou deserv’st not to be mine!

Oh, rather frown away my breath With thy disdain, Or flatter me with smiles to death; By joy or sorrow slain,
’Tis less crime to be kill’d by thee, Than I thus cause of mine[40:2] own death should be.

Thyself of beauty to divest, And me of love, Or from the worth of thine own breast
Thus to detract, would prove In us a blindness, and in thee At best a sacrilegious modesty.

But, Celia,[40:3] if thou wilt despise What all admire,
Nor rate thyself at the just price Of beauty or desire, Yet meet my flames! and thou shalt see That equal love knows no disparity.

If thou wouldst mine should captiv’d[54:1] be,

Palinode.[31:1]

Beauty, thy harsh imperious chains As a scorn’d weight, I here untie, Since thy proud empire those disdains Of reason or philosophy, That would[31:2] within tyrannic laws
Confine the power of each free cause.

Forc’d by the potent[31:3] influence Of thy disdain, I back return: Thus with those flames I do dispense Which, though they would not light, did burn,
And rather will through cold expire, Than languish at[31:4] a frozen fire.

But whilst I the insulting pride Of thy vain beauty do despise, Who gladly wouldst be deified
By making me thy sacrifice, May Love thy heart which to his charm Approach’d, seem’d cold, at distance warm!

The Kiss.[41:1]

When on thy lip my soul I breathe, Which there meets thine, Freed from their fetters by this death, Our subtle forms[41:2] combine: Thus without bonds of sense they move,
And like two cherubim converse by[41:3] love.

Spirits to chains of earth confin’d Discourse by sense; But ours, that are by flames refin’d, With those weak ties dispense.
Let such in words their minds display: We in a kiss our mutual thoughts convey.[41:4]

But since my soul from me doth fly, To thee retir’d, Thou canst not both retain; for I
Must be with one inspir’d; Then, Dearest,[41:5] either justly mine Restore, or in exchange let me have thine.

Yet if thou dost return mine own, O tak’t again!
For ’tis this pleasing death alone Gives ease unto my pain. Kill me once more, or I shall find Thy pity than thy cruelty less kind.

Song.

I prithee let my heart alone! Since now ’tis raised above thee: Not all the beauty thou dost own Again can make me love thee.

He that was shipwreck’d once before
By such a Siren’s call, And yet neglects to shun the[55:1] shore,

Deserves his second fall!

Each flattering kiss, each tempting smile Thou dost in vain bestow,
Some other lovers might beguile Who not thy falsehood know.

But I am proof against all art: No vows shall e’er persuade me Twice to present a wounded heart
To her that hath betray’d me.

Could I again be brought to love Thy form, though more divine, I might thy scorn as justly move As now thou sufferest mine.

The Repulse.

Not that by this disdain I am releas’d, And, freed from thy romantic[37:1] chain, Do I myself think blest;

Not that thy flame shall burn
No more; for know That I shall into ashes turn Before this fire doth so.

Nor yet that unconfin’d I now may rove,
And with new beauties please my mind; But that thou ne’er didst love!

For since thou hast no part Felt of this flame, I only from thy tyrant heart
Repuls’d, not banish’d, am.

To lose what once was mine Would grieve me more Than those inconstant sweets of thine Had pleas’d my soul before.

Now I’ve not lost that[37:2] bliss I ne’er possessed; And, spite of Fate, am blest in this: That I was never blest.

He that was shipwreck’d once before
By such a Siren’s call, And yet neglects to shun the[55:1] shore,

Deserves his second fall!

By her that causeth it[61:1] not felt.

The Self-Cruel.[57:1]

Love moves not as thou turn’st thy[60:1] look,

The Dream.

That I might ever dream thus! that some power To my eternal sleep would join this hour! So, willingly deceiv’d, I might possess In seeming joys a real happiness. Haste not away: O do not dissipate
A pleasure thou so lately didst create! Stay, welcome Sleep; be ever here confin’d: Or if thou wilt away, leave her behind.

Punish their blindly impious[59:2] pride,

The Idolater.

Think not, pale lover, he who dies Burnt in the flames of Celia’s eyes, Is unto Love a sacrifice;

Or, by the merit of this pain, Thou shalt the crown of martyrs gain!
Those hopes are, as thy passion, vain.

For when, by death, from[18:1] these flames free,

To greater thou condemn’d shalt be, And punish’d for idolatry,

Since thou, Love’s votary before,
(Whilst she[18:2] was kind,) dost him no more, But, in his shrine, Disdain adore.

Nor will this fire the gods prepare To punish scorn, that cruel Fair, Though now from flames exempted, spare;

But as together both shall die, Both burnt alike in flames shall lie, She in thy heart,[18:3] thou in her eye.

Drawn For Valentine by the L[ady] D[orothy] S[pencer?].[2:1]

Though ’gainst me Love and Destiny conspire, Though I must waste in an unpitied fire, By the same deity, severe as fair, Commanded adoration and despair; Though I am mark’d for sacrifice, to tell
The growing age what dangerous glories dwell In this bright dawn, who, when she spreads her rays, Will challenge every heart, and every praise; Yet she who to all hope forbids my claim, By Fortune’s taught indulgence to my flame,
Great Queen of Chance! unjustly we exclude Thy power an interest in beatitude, Who with mysterious judgement dost dispense The bounties of unerring Providence; Whilst we, to whom the causes are unknown,
Would style that blindness thine, which is our own. As kind, in justice to thyself, as me,
Thou hast redeem’d thy name and votary: Nor will I prize this less for being thine, Nor longer at my destiny repine.
Counsel and choice are things below thy state: Fortune relieves the cruelties of Fate.

The Breath.

Favonius, the milder breath o’ th’ Spring, When proudly bearing on his softer wing Rich odours, which from the Panchean groves He steals, as by the phœnix-pyre he moves, Profusely doth his sweeter theft dispense
To the next rose’s blushing innocence; But from the grateful flower, a richer scent He doth receive[26:1] than he unto it lent. Then, laden with his odour’s richest store, He to thy breath hastes, to which these are poor;
Which, whilst the amorous wind[26:2] to steal essays, He like a wanton lover ’bout thee plays, And sometimes cooling thy soft cheek doth lie, And sometimes burning at thy flaming eye: Drawn in at last by that breath we implore,
He now[26:3] returns far sweeter than before, And rich by being robb’d, in thee he finds The burning sweets of pyres, the cool of winds.

And mock’d[64:4] my pleasure.

On Mr. Hall’s Essays [Horae Vacivae, 1646].[13:1]

Wits that matur’d by time have courted praise, Shall see their works outdone in these essays, And blush to know thy earlier years display A dawning clearer than their brightest day.[13:2] Yet I’ll not praise thee, for thou hast outgrown
The reach of all men’s praises but thine own. Encomiums to their objects are exact: To praise, and not at full, is to detract. And with most justice are the best forgot; For praise is bounded when the theme is not:
Since mine is thus confin’d, and far below Thy merit, I forbear it, nor will show How poor the autumnal pride of some appears,[13:3] To the ripe fruit thy vernal season bears! Yet though I mean no praise, I come t’invite
Thy forward aims still to advance their flight. Rise higher yet; what though thy spreading wreath Lessen, to their dull sight who stay beneath? To thy full learning how can all allow Just praise, unless that all were learn’d as thou?
Go on, in spite of such low souls, and may Thy growing worth know age, though not decay, Till thou pay back thy theft, and live to climb As many years as thou hast snatch’d from Time.

E. Catalectis Vet[erum] Poet[arum].

A small well-gotten stock, and country seat I have, yet my content makes both seem great. My quiet soul to fears is not inur’d, And from the sins of idleness secur’d. Others may seek the camp, others the town,
And fool themselves with pleasure or renown; Let me, unminded in the common crowd, Live, master of the time that I’m allow’d!

Come, my Fair,[66:2] and come away!

All our cares behind us lay, That these pleasures we may know,
Ere we come to those below.

The Lazy Hours.

The lazy hours move slow, The minutes stay; Old Time with leaden feet doth go, And his light wings hath cast away. The slow-pac’d spheres above
Have sure releas’d Their guardians, and without help move, Whilst that the very angels rest.

The number’d sands that slide Through this small glass,
And into minutes Time divide, Too slow each other do displace; The tedious wheels of light No faster chime, Than that dull shade which waits on night:
For Expectation outruns Time.

How long, Lord, must I stay? How long dwell here? O free me from this loathed clay! Let me no more these fetters wear!
With far more joy Shall I resign my breath, For, to my griev’d soul, not to die Is every minute a new death.

Chang’d, Yet Constant.

Wrong me no more In thy complaint, Blam’d for inconstancy: I vow’d t’ adore The fairest Saint,
Nor chang’d whilst thou wert she: But if another thee outshine, Th’ inconstancy is only thine!

To be by such Blind fools admir’d
Gives thee but small esteem, By whom as much Thou’dst be desir’d, Didst thou less beauteous seem. Sure, why they love they know not well,
Who why they should not, cannot tell!

Women are by Themselves betray’d, And to their short joys cruel, Who foolishly
Themselves persuade Flames can outlast their fuel; None (though platonic their pretence), With reason love, unless by sense.

And he,[33:1] by whose
Command to thee I did my heart resign, Now bids me choose A deity Diviner far than thine;
No power can Love from Beauty sever: I’m still Love’s subject; thine was, never.

The fairest she Whom none surpass, To love hath only right;
And such to me Thy beauty was, Till one I found more bright; But ’twere as impious to adore Thee now, as not to have done ’t before.

Nor is it just By rules of Love, Thou shouldst deny to quit A heart that must Another’s prove
Even in thy right to it; Must not thy subjects captives be To her who triumphs over thee?

Cease, then, in vain To blot my name
With forg’d apostasy! Thine is that stain Who dar’st to claim What others ask of thee. Of lovers they are only true
Who pay their hearts where hearts[33:2] are due.

An Answer to a Song, “Wert thou much [?] Fairer than thou art,” by Mr. W. M.[58:1]

La Belle Ennemie.

I yield, dear enemy, nor know How to resist so fair a foe. Who would not thy soft yoke sustain, And bow beneath thy easy chain, That with a bondage blest might be
Which far transcends all liberty? But since I freely have resign’d, At first assault, my willing mind, Insult not o’er my captiv’d heart With too much tyranny and art,
Lest by thy scorn thou lose the prize Gain’d by the power of thy bright eyes; And thou this conquest thus shalt prove, Though got by beauty, kept by love.

To Mr. W[illiam] Hammond.

Thou best of Friendship, Knowledge, and of Art! The charm of whose lov’d name preserves my heart From female vanities, (thy name, which there Till time dissolves the fabric, I must wear!) Forgive a crime which long my soul oppress’d,
And crept by chance in my unwary breast, So great, as for thy pardon were unfit, And to forgive were worse than to commit, But that the fault and pain were so much one, The very act did expiate what was done.
I, who so often sported with the flame, Play’d with the Boy, and laugh’d at both as tame, Betray’d by idleness and beauty, fell At last in love, love both the sin and hell: No punishment great as my fault esteem’d,
But to be that which I so long had seem’d. Behold me such: a face, a voice, a lute; The sentence in a minute execute. I yield, recant; the faith which I before Deny’d, profess; the power I scorn’d, implore.
Alas, in vain! no prayers, no vows can bow Her stubborn heart, who neither will allow. But see how strangely what was meant no less Than torment, prov’d my greatest happiness; Delay, that should have sharpen’d, starv’d Desire,
And Cruelty not fann’d, but quench’d my fire. Love bound me; now, by kind Disdain set free, I can despise that Love as well as she. That sin to friendship I away have thrown! My heart thou may’st without a rival own,[10:1]
While such as willingly themselves beguile, And sell away their freedoms for a smile, Blush to confess our joys as far above Their hopes, as friendship’s longer-liv’d than love.

La Belle Confidante.

You earthly souls that court a wanton flame, Whose pale weak influence Can rise no higher than the humble name And narrow laws of sense! Learn by our friendship to create
An immaterial fire, Whose brightness angels may admire But cannot emulate.

Sickness may fright the roses from her cheek, Or make the lilies fade,
But all the subtle ways that Death doth seek Cannot my love invade. Flames that are kindled by the eye Through time and age expire, But ours, that boast a reach far higher,
Cannot decay or die.[45:1]

For[45:2] when we must resign our vital breath, Our loves by Fate benighted,[45:3] We by this friendship shall survive in death, Even in divorce united:
Weak love, through fortune or distrust, In time forgets to burn, But this pursues us to the urn, And marries either’s dust.

Apollo and Daphne.

[Marino.]

When Phœbus saw a rugged bark beguile His love, and his embraces intercept, The leaves, instructed by his grief to smile, Taking fresh growth and verdure as he wept, ‘How can,’ saith he, ‘my woes expect release,
When these,[62:1] the subject of my tears, increase?’

His chang’d yet scorn-retaining Fair he kiss’d, From the lov’d trunk plucking a little bough, And though the conquest which he sought he miss’d, With that triumphant spoil adorns his brow.
Thus this disdainful maid his aim deceives: Where he expected fruit he gathers leaves.

To Celia.

EXCUSE FOR WISHING HER LESS FAIR.[29:1]

Why thy passion should it move That I wished thy beauty less? Fools desire what is above Power of nature to express; And to wish it had been more
Had been to outwish her store.

If the flames within thine eye Did not too great heat inspire,

}

And might on thy weaker light Gaze, and yet not lose their sight.

Nor wouldst thou less fair appear, For detraction adds to thee; If some parts less beauteous were,
Others would much fairer be; Nor can any part we know Best be styl’d, when all are so.

Thus this great excess of light, Which now dazzles our weak eyes,
Would, eclips’d, appear more bright; And the only way to rise, Or to be more fair, for[29:3] thee, Celia! is less fair to be.

Thou only gav’st[64:6] desire, and not a kiss.

Song.

I will not trust thy tempting graces, Or thy deceitful charms, Nor prisoner be to thy embraces, Or fetter’d in thy arms; No, Celia, no: not all thy art
Can wound or captivate my heart.

I will not gaze upon thy eyes, Or wanton with thy hair, Lest those should burn me by surprise, Or these my soul ensnare;
Nor with those smiling dangers play, Or fool my liberty away.

Since, then, my wary heart is free And unconfin’d as thine, If thou wouldst mine should captiv’d[54:1] be,
Thou must thine own resign; And gratitude may thus move more Than love or beauty could before.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I. Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be, That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II. Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou, But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, years Were interwoven by the Fates with tears, But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d, Gods did a trophy of their power erect. Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,
Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV. On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said, When every one his eyes that way convey’d. My soul, as when some dog a bone we show Who snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V. On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d brow Love sits in triumph, I my service vow. If her declining graces shine so bright, What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI. Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady grove We saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love: He had nor bow nor quiver: these among The neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung. Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,
He smiling slept; bees with their noise invade His rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII. On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead, A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold; The little herd away long since had fled, Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

Life like to[66:1] a wheel runs round:

IV. The Combat.

Now will I a lover be! Love himself commanded me. Full at first of stubborn pride, To submit, my soul denied.
He his quiver takes, and bow, Bids defiance: forth I go. Armed with spear and shield we meet: On he charges: I retreat,

Till, perceiving in the fight
He had wasted every flight, Into me, with fury hot, Like a dart himself he shot. And my cold heart melts; my shield Useless, no defence could yield;
For what boots an outward screen, When, alas, the fight’s within?

On Mr. Shirley’s Poems [1646].[11:1]

When, dearest Friend, thy verse doth re-inspire Love’s pale decaying torch with brighter fire, Whilst everywhere thou dost dilate thy flame, And to the world spread thy Odelia’s name, The justice of all ages must remit
To her the prize of beauty, thee of wit. Then, like some skilful artist, that to wonder[11:2] Framing some[11:3] piece, displeas’d, takes it asunder, Thou Beauty dost depose, her charms deny, And all the mystic chains of Love untie.
Thus thy diviner Muse a power ’bove Fate May boast, that can both make and uncreate. Next, thou call’st back to life that love-sick boy, To the kind-hearted nymphs less fair than coy, Who, by reflex beams burnt with vain desire,
Did, phœnix-like, in his own flames expire; But should he view his shadow drawn by thee, He with himself once more in love would be. Echo, (who though she words[11:4] pursue, her haste

Can only overtake and stop the last,)
Shall her first speech and human voice[11:5] obtain, To sing thy softer numbers o’er again. Thus, into dying poetry, thy Muse Doth full perfection and new life infuse. Each line deserves a laurel, and thy praise
Asks not a garland, but a grove of bays; Nor can ours raise thy lasting trophies higher, Who only reach at merit to admire. But I must chide thee, friend: how canst thou be A patron, yet a foe to Poesy?[11:6]

}

And hast so far all future times surpass’d,[11:8] That none dare write: thus, being first and last, All their abortive Muses will suppress,
And Poetry, by this increase, grow less.

The Deposition.[43:1]

Though when I lov’d thee thou wert[43:2] fair, Thou art no longer so: Those glories do[43:3] the pride they wear Unto opinion owe. Beauties, like stars, in borrow’d lustre shine;
And ’twas my love that gave thee thine.

The flames that dwelt within thine eye Do now with mine expire; Thy brightest graces[43:4] fade and die At once, with my desire.
Love’s fires thus mutual influence return: Thine cease to shine when mine to burn.

Then, proud Celinda, hope no more To be implor’d or woo’d, Since by thy scorn thou dost restore
The wealth my[43:5] love bestow’d; And thy despis’d disdain too late shall find That none are fair but who are kind.

A kiss I begg’d, and thou didst[64:1] join