The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper

No more, you sectaries of the game,
No more of your calcining flame.
Women commence by Cupid's dart,
As a king hunting dubs a hart;

Love's votaries inthrale each other's soule,
Till both of them live but upon parole.

Vertue's no more in women kind,
But the green sicknesse of the mind.
Phylosophy, their new delight,
A kind of charcoale appetite.
There is no sophistry prevailes
Where all-convincing love assailes;
But the disputing petticoat will warp,
As skilfull gamesters are to seek at sharp.

The souldier, that man of iron,
Whom ribs of horrour all inviron;
That's strung with wire instead of veines,
In whose embraces you're in chaines;
Let a magnetic girle appeare,
Straight he turnes Cupid's cuiraseer.

Love stormes his lips, and takes the fortresse in,
For all the bristled turn-pikes of his chin.

Since love's artillery then checks

The breast-works of the firmest sex,

Come let us in affections riot,

Th'are sickly pleasures keep a diet.
Give me a lover bold and free,

Not eunucht with formality:

Like an embassadour that beds a queen,
With the nice caution of a sword between.

SONG.

SAY, lovely dreame, where couldst thou find Shades to counterfeit that face?

Colours of this glorious kind

Come not from any mortall place.

In Heaven it selfe thou sure wert drest
With that angel-like disguise:
Thus deluded am I blest,

And see my joy with closed eyes.

But, ah! this image is too kind
To be other than a dreame,

Cruell Sacharissa's mind

Never put on that sweete extreame.

Faire dreame, if thou intend'st me grace, Change this heavenly forme of thine;

Paint despis'd love in thy face,

And make it to appeare like mine.

Pale, wan, and meager, let it looke,
With a pitty-moving shape,

Such as wander by the brooke

Of Lethe, or from graves escape.

Then to that matchlesse nymph appeare,
In whose shape thou shinest so,
Softly in her sleeping care,

With humble words expresse my woe.

Perhaps from greatnesse, state and pride, Thus surprised she may fall;

Sleep does disproportion hide,

And death resembling equals all.

SONG II.

BEHOLD the brand of beauty tost;

See how the motion does dilate the flame,
Delighted love his spoiles does boast,
And triumph in this game :

Fire to no place confin'd,

Is both our wonder, and our feare, Moving the mind

Like lightning hurled through the aire. High Heaven the glory doth increase

Of all her shining lamps this artfull way; The Sun in figures such as these

Joies with the Moone to play;

To these sweet straines they advance,
Which do result from their own spheares,
As this nymph's dance

Moves with the numbers which she heares.

AN ELEGY.

HEAVEN knows my love to thee, fed on desires
So hallowed, and unmixt with vulgar fires,
As are the purest beames shot from the Sun
At his full height, and the devotion
Of dying martyrs could not burne more cleare,
Nor innocence in her first robes appeare
Whiter than our affections; they did show
Like frost forc'd out of flames and fire from snow.
So pure the phoenix, when she did refine
Her age to youth, borrow'd no flames but mine.
But now my day's so 're cast, for I have now
Drawn anger, like a tempest, o're the brow
Of my faire mistris; those your glorious eyes
Whence I was wont to see my day-star rise
Thereat, like revengefull meteors; and I feele
My torment, my gilt double, my Hell.
'Twas a mistake, and might have veniall been,
Done to another, but it was made sin,
And justly mortall too, by troubling thee,
Slight wrongs are treasons done to majesty.
O all ye blest ghosts of deceased loves,
That now lie sainted in the Eclesian groves,
Mediate for mercy for me; at her shrine
Meet with full quire, and joine your prayers with
[mine:
Conjure her by the merits of your kisses,

By your past sufferings, and your present blisses.
Conjure her by your mutuall hopes and feares,
By all your intermixed sighs and teares,
To plead my pardon: go to her and tell
That you will walke the guardian sentinell,
My soule's safe Genii, that she need not feare
A mutinous thought, or one close rebell there;
But what needs that, when she alone sits there
Sole angell of that orbe? in her own spheare
Alone she sits, and can secure it free
From all irregular motions; only she,
Can give the balsome that must cure this sore,
And the sweet antidote to sin no more*.

VPON MR. CHARLES BEAUMONT,

WHO DIED OF A CONSUMPTION.

WHILE others drop their teares upon thy hearse, Sweet Charles, and sigh t' increase the wind, my verse,

*These lines occur among Randolph's poems. N.

Pious in naming thee, cannot complaine
Of death, or fate, for they were lately slaine
By thy own conflict; and since good men know
What Heaven to such a virgin saint doth owe;
Though some will say they saw thee dead, yet I
Congratulate thy life and victory:

Thy flesh, an upper garment, that it might
Aide thy eternall progresse, first grew light;
Nothing but angel now, which thou wert neere,
Almost reduc'd to thy first spirit here:

But fly, faire soule, while our complaints are just, That cannot follow for our chaines of dust".

FIE ON LOVE.

Now fie on foolish love, it not befits

Or man or woman know it.

Love was not meant for people in their wits,

And they that fondly shew it

Betray the straw, and feathers in their braine,

And shall have Bedlam for their paine:

If single love be such a curse,

To marry is to make it ten times worse.

THE

WILLING PRISONER TO HIS MISTRIS.

LET fooles great Cupid's yoake disdaine,
Loving their own wild freedome better,
Whilst proud of my triumphant chaine
I sit, and court my beautious fetter.
Her murd'ring glances, snaring haires,
And her bewitching smiles, so please me,
As he brings ruine that repaires

The sweet afflictions that displease me.

Hide not those panting balls of snow
With envious veiles from my beholding;
Unlock those lips, their pearly row

In a sweet smile of love unfolding.
And let those eyes whose motion wheeles
The restlesse fate of every lover,
Survey the paines my sick heart feeles,

And wounds themselves have made discover.

SECRESIE PROTESTED.

FEARE not (deare love) that l'le reveale Those hours of pleasure we two steale; No eye shall see, nor yet the Sun Descry, what thou and I have done; No eare shall heare our love, but we Silent as the night will be;

The god of love himselfe (whose dart

Did first wound mine, and then thy heart)

Shall never know that we can tell

What sweets in stoln embraces dwell:
This only meanes may find it out,

If when I die physicians doubt

A MASKE OF THE GENTLEMEN OF GRAIES INNE, AND

THE INNER TEMPLE.

BY MR. FRANCIS BEAUMONT.

Enter Iris running, Mercury following and catching hold of her.

MERCURY.

STAY light-foot Iris, for thou striv❜st in vaine,
My wings are nimbler than thy feet;
IRIS. Away,

Dissembling Mercury, my messages

Aske honest haste, not like those wanton ones Your thundring father sends.

MER. Stay foolish maid,
Or I will take my rise upon a hill
When I perceive thee seated in a cloud
In all the painted glory that thou hast,
And never cease to clap my willing wing,
Till I catch hold on thy discolour'd bow,
And shiver it beyond the angry power
Of your mad mistris to make up againe.

IRIS. Hermes forbeare, Juno will chide and strike:
Is great Jove jealous that I am imployed?
On her love errands she did never yet
Claspe weak mortality in her white armes,
As he hath often done; I only come
To celebrate the long-wish'd nuptials
Here in Olympia, which are now perform'd
Betwixt two goodly rivers that have mix'd
Their gentle winding waves, and are to grow
Into a thousand streames, great as themselves:
I need not name them, for the sound is loud
In Heaven and Earth, and I am sent from her,
The queene of marriage, that was present here,
And smil'd to see them joyne, and hath not chid
Since it was done; god Hermes, let me go.

MER. Nay you must stay. Jove's message is the same, [thunder, Whose eyes are lightning, and whose voice is Whose breath is airy wind, he will, who knowes How to be first in Earth as well as Heaven.

IRIS. But what hath he to do with nuptiall rites? Let him sit pleas'd upon his starry throne, And fright poore mortals with his thunder-bolts, Leaving to us the mutuall darts of eyes.

WER. Alas, when ever offer'd he t'abridge Your ladie's power, but only now in these, Whose match concernes the generall government: Hath not each god a part in these high joyes? And shall not he the king of gods presume Without proud Juno's lycence? let her know, That when enamour'd Jove first gave her power To linke soft hearts in undissolving bands, He then foresaw, and to himselfe reserv'd The honour of this marriage; thou shalt stand Still as a rock, while I to blesse this feast, Will summon up with my all-charming rod The nymphs of fountains, from whose watry locks (Hung with the dew of blessing and encrease) The greedy rivers take their nourishment. Ye Nymphs, who, bathing in your loved springs, Beheld these rivers in their infancy,

And joy'd to see them when their circled heads
Refresh'd the aire, and spread the ground with
flowers;

Pise from the wels, and with your nimble feet
Performé that office to this happy paire
Which in these plaines you to Alpheus did,
When, passing hence through many seas unmix'd,
He gain'd the favour of his Aretheuse.

The Nymphs rise and dance a little and then make a stand.

IRIS. Is Hermes grown a lover? by what power Unknown to us calls he the maids?

MER. Presumptuous Iris, I could make thee Till thou forget'st thy ladie's messages, [dance, And runn'st back crying to her: thou shalt know My power is more, only my breath and this Shall move fix'd stars, and force the firmament To yield the Hyades, who governe showers, And dewy clouds, in whose dispersed drops Thou form'st the shape of thy deceitfull bow;

IRIS. Great wit and power hath Hermes to conA lively dance which of one sex consists. [trive MER. Alas poore Iris, Venus hath in store A secret ambush of her winged boyes, Who lurking long within these pleasant groves, First stuck these flowers with their equall darts; Those Cupids shall come forth and joyne with these, To honour that which they themselves began. The Cupids come forth and dance, they are weary with their blind pursuing the Nymphs, and the Nymphs weary with flying them.

IRIS. Behold the statues which wise Vulcan Under the altar of Olympian Jove, [plac'd And gave to them an artificiall life; See how they move, drawn by this heavenly joy, Like the wild trees which followed Orpheus' harpe.

The Statues come down, and they all dance till the Nymphs out-run them and lose them, then the Cupids go off, and last the statues.

MER. And what will Juno's Iris do for her?
IRIS. Just match this show, or mine inventions

faile;

Had it been worthier I would have invok'd
The blazing comets, clouds, and falling stars,
And all my kindred, meteors of the aire,
To have excelled it, but I now must strive
To imitate confusion, therefore thou,
Delightfull Flora, if thou ever felt'st
Increase of sweetnesse in those blooming plants
On which the hornes of my faire bow decline,
Send hither all that rurall company
Which deck the maygames with their clownish
Juno will have it so.
[sports,

The second Antimasque rusheth in, they dance
their measure, and as rudely depart.
MER. Iris we strive,

Like winds at liberty, who should do worst
E're we returne. If Juno be the queen
Of marriages, let her give happy way
To what is done in honour of the state
She governs.

IRIS. Hermes so it may be done.
Meerly in honour of the state, and those
That now have prov'd it; not to satisfie
The lust of Jupiter in having thanks
More than his Juno, if thy snaky rod
Have power to search the Heaven, or sound the sea,
Or call together all the buds of earth,
To bring thee any thing that may do grace
To us, and these, do it, we shall be pleas'd;
They know that from the mouth of Jove himselfe,
Whose words have winks, and need not to be borne,
I took a message, and I bore it through
A thousand yeelding clouds, and never staid

THE FIFTH SONG

Till his high will was done. The Olympian And not a creature nigh 'em,
games

Might catch his sigh as he doth passe,
Which long had slept at these wish'd nuptials And clip his wings, and breake his glasse,
He pleas'd to have renewed, and all his knights And keep 'em ever by 'em.
Are gathered hither, who within their tents
Rest on this hill, upon whose rising head
The Alter is discovered, with the Priests about it,

When all is done as they ascend.
and the Statues under it, and the Knights lying
in their tents on each side neere the top of the Peace and silence be the guide
hill.

To the man, and to the bride:

If there be a joy yet new Behold Jove's altar and his blessed priests In marriage, let it fall on you, Moving about it: come you holy men,

That all the world may wonder: And with your voices draw these youths along, If we should stay we should do worse, That till Jove's music call them to their games, And turne our blessings to a curse, Their active sports may give a blest content

By keeping you asunder. To those for whom they are againe begun.

THE FIRST SONG.

When the priests descend, and the knights follow

them.

PROLOGUES, EPILOGUES, AND SONGS TO

SEVERALL PLAIES.

WRITTEN BY MR. FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

Suake off your heavy trance
And leape into a dance,
Such as no mortals use to tread,
Fit only for Apollo
To play to, for the moon to lead,
And all the stars to follow.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAD LOVER.

THE SECOND SONG

At the end of the first dance,

On, blessed youths, for Jove doth pause,
Laying aside his graver laws

For this device:
And at the wedding such a paire
Each dance is taken for a prayer,
Each song a sacrifce.

To please all's impossible, and to despaire
Ruines our selves, and damps the writer's care :
Would we knew what to do, or say, or when
To find the minds here equall with the men !
But we must venture; now to sea we go,
Faire fortune with us, give us roome and blow :
Remeinber y'are all venturers ; and in this play
How many twelvepences ye have stowed this day;
Remember for returne of your delight,
We lanch and plough through stormes of feare and

spight:
Give us your forewinds fairely, fill our wings,
And steere us right, and as the sailers sing,
Loaden with wealth on wanton seas, so we
Shall make our home-bound voyage cheerefully :
And you our noble merchants, for your treasure,
Share equally the fraught, we run for pleasure.

THE THIRD SONG

THE EPILOGUE.

After their many dances, when they are to take

the ladies single.
More pleasing were these sweet delights,
If ladies mov'd as well as knights;
Run every one of you and catch
A nymph in honour of this match,
And whisper boldly in her eare,
Jove will but laugh if you forsweare.

ALL.
And this daie's sins he doth resolve,
That we his priests should all absolve.

Here lies the doubt now, let our plaies be good,
Our own care sayling equall in this floud;
Our preparations new, new our attire,
Yet here we are becalm'd still, still i'th' mire;
Here we stick fast, is there no way to cleare
This passage of your judgment, and our feare?
No mitigation of that law? brave friends,
Consider we are yours, made for your ends,
And every thing preserves it selfe, each will,
If not perverse and crooked, utters still,
The best of that it ventures in : have care
Even for your pleasure's sake, of what you are,
And do not ruine all ; you may frowne still
But 'tis the nobler way to check the will.

THE FOURTH SONG
When they have parted with the ladies, a shrill

mus que sounds, supposed to be that which cals
them to the Olympian games, at which they all

make a seeming preparation to depart.
You should stay longer, if we durst,
Away, alas, that he that first
Gave Time wild wings to fly away,
Has now no power to ipake him stay;
And though these games must needs be played,
I would these paire wben they are layed,

FIRST SONG TO THE MAD LOYER.

STRE. ORPHEUS, I am come from the deeps below
To thee, fond man, the plagues of love to show,
To the faire fields, where loves eternall dwell,
There's none that come, but first they passe

through Hell.

Harke and beware, unlesse thou hast lov'd ever,
Belov'd againe, thou shalt see those joyes never.
Barke how they groane that dyed despairing,
O take heed then:

Harke how they houle for ever daring,
All these were men:

They that be fooles and dye for fame,
They lose their name,

And they that bleed,

Harke how they speed.

Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires,
They sit and curse their lost desires:

Nor shall their soules be free from pains and feares,
Till women waft them over in their teares.

My courage cracks when such great sins are neare, No wind blows faire, nor I my selfe can steare. ORPH. What lovers passe and in Elysium raigne? CHA. Those gentle loves that are belov❜d againe. ORPH. This souldier loves, and faine would dye Shall he go on?

CHA. No, 'tis too foule a sin,

[to win,

He must not come aboard; I dare not row,
Stormes of despaire and guilty bloud will blow.
ORPH. Sball time release him, say?
CHA. No, no, no, no,

Nor time, nor death can alter us, nor prayer;
My boat is destiny, and who then dare,
But those appointed, come aboard? Live still
And love by reason, mortall, not by will.
ORPH. And when thy mistris shall close up thine
CHA. Then come aboard and passe.
ORPH. Till when be wise.
CHA. Till when be wise.

THE THIRD SONG TO THE MAD LOVER.

O FAIRE, Sweet goldesse, queen of loves,
Soft and gentle as thy doves,
Humble eyed, and ever ruing

Those poore hearts their loves pursuing.
O thou mother of delights,
Crowner of all happy nights,

Star of deare content and pleasure,

Of mutuall love the endlesse treasure,
Accept this sacrifice we bring;

Thou continuall youth and spring,
Grant this lady her desires,

And every houre wee'l crown thy fires.

THE FOURTH SONG TO THE MAD LOVER.

[eyes.

ARME, arme, arme, arme, the scouts are all come in,
Keep your rankes close, and now your honour win.
Behold from yonder hill the foe appeares,
Bows, bils, glaves, arrows, shields, and speares,
Like a darke wood he comes, or tempest powring;
O view the wings of horse the meadows scowring.

THE PROLOGUE TO THE SPANISH
CURATE.

To tell ye (gentlemen) we have a play,
A new one too, and that 'tis lanch'd to day,
The name ye know, that's nothing to my story;
To tell you 'tis familiar, void of glory,
Of state, of bitternesse of wit you'l say,
For that is now held wit that tends that way,
Which we avoid to tell you too, till merry,
And meane to make you pleasant, and not weary:
The streame that guides ye easie to attend
To tell you that 'tis good is to no end,
If you beleeve not; nay to go thus far,
To sweare it, if you sweare against it, were
To assure you any thing, unlesse you see,
And so conceive, is vanity in me;
Therefore I leave it to it selfe, and pray
Like a good barque it may warke out to day,
And stem all doubts; 'twas built for such a proofe,
And we hope highly, if she lie aloofe

For her own vantage, to give wind at will;
Why, let her worke, only be you but still,
And sweet opinion'd, and we are bound to say,
You are worthy judges, and you crown the play.

THE EPILOGUE

THE play is done, yet our suite never ends,
Still when you part you would still part our friends,
Our noblest friends; if ought have falne amisse,
Oh let it be sufficient that it is,

And you have pardon'd it; in buildings great
All the whole body cannot be so neat
But something may be mended; those are faire,
And worthy love, that may destroy, but spare.

THE

PROLOGUE TO THE FRENCH LAWYER. To promise much before a play begin, And when 'tis done aske pardon, were a sin

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The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper: Including ..., Nide 6