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WISHING A SPEEDY PASSAGE TO CASTARA,
She sings Castara then. O she more bright, Should she to the cold northerne climates goe, Than is the starry senate of the night;
Force thy affrighted lillies there to grow, Who in their motion did like straglers erre, Thy roses in those gelid fields t'appeare, Cause they deriv'd no influence from her,
She absent, I have all their winter here. Who's constant as she's chaste. The Sunne hath Or if to th' torrid zone her way she bend, beene
Her the coole breathing of Paronius lend.
VPON CASTARA'S ABSENCE,
In some brest flegmaticke which would conforme And by my zeale to you (my lord) I vow,
Her life to your cold lawes: in vaine y'engage
Shee's gone, and I am lost. Some unknowne grove
By numbring every moment with a teare,
Where if Castara (to avoyd the beames (streames.
Shee'le feele a sudden flame, and burne like me: Thankes Cupid, but the coach of Venus moves
And thus distracted cry.“ Tell me thou cleere, Por me too slow, drawne but by lazie doves.
But treach'rous fount, what lover's coffin'd bere?” 1, lest my journey a delay should finde, Will leape into the chariot of the wind. Swift as the flight of lightning through the ayre, Hee'le hurry me till I approach the faire, But unkinde Seymors. Thus he will proclaime, What tribute winds owe to Castara's name.
ANSWERE TO CASTARA'S QUESTION. Viewing this prodigie, astonisht they,
'Tis I, Castara, who when thou wert gone, Who first accesse deny'd me, will obey,
Did freeze into this melancholly stone, With feare what love commands: yet censure me
To weepe the minutes of thy absence. Where As guilty of the blackest sorcery,
Can grecfe have freer scope to mourne than here? But after to my wishes milder prove :
The larke here practiseth a sweeter straine,
Aurora's early blush to entertaine,
The courteous turtle with a wandring zeale,
Saw how to stone I did ny selfe congeale, (move,
The language of my waters whispered, Love.
And thus transform'd Ple stand, till I sball see 'Twas anı'rong folly, wings ascrib'd to Love,
That heart so ston'd and frozen, thaw'd in thee. And ore th' obedient elements command. Hee's lame as he is blinde, for here I stand Fixt as the Earth. Throw then this idoll downe Yee lovers who first made it; which can frowne
V PON THE DISCUISING HIS AFFECTION
PRONOUNCE me guilty of a blacker crime,
The sad historian reades, if not iny art
Checkes my unusuall sadnesse: i pretend
To study vertue, which indeede I doe,
He must court verture who aspires to you.
Or that some friend is dead, and then a teare, Farre mistresse of the Earth, with garlands crown'd A sigh or groane steales from me: for I feare Rise, by a lover's charme, from the partcht ground, Lest death with love hath strooke my heart, and alt And shew thy flowry wealth: that she, where ere These sorrowes usher but its funerall. (mourner be, Her starres shall guide her, meete thy beauties Which should revive, should there you a there.
And force a nuptialt in an obsequie.
A martyr in your fames: O let your love
Be great and firme as his: Then nought shall move
Your setled faiths, that both may grow together: MY HONOURED KINSMAN MR. G. T'.
Or if by Fate divided, both may wither. THRICE hath the pale-fac'd empresse of the night, Harke! 'twas a groane. Ah how sad absence rends Lent in her chaste increase her borrowed light, His troubled thoughts! See, he from Marlow sends To guide the vowing marriner: since mute His eyes to Seymors. Then chides th' envious trees, Talbot th'ast beene, too slotbfull to salute
And unkinde distance. Yet his fancie sees Thy exil'd servant. Labour not t'excuse
And courts your beauty, joyes as he had cleav'd This dull neglect: love never wants a Muse. Close to you, and then weepes because deceiv'd. When thunder summons from eternall sleepe Be constant as y'are faire. For I fore-see Thi imprison'd ghosts and spreads o'th' frighted A glorious triumph waits o'th' victorie A veile of darknesse; penitent to be [deepe Your love will purchase, showing us to prize I may forget, yet still remember thee,
A true content. There onely Love hath eyes."
THE HOUSE IN WHICH CASTARA LIVED.
Blest temple, haile, where the chast altar stands,
Which Nature built, but the exacter hands
Of vertuie polisht. Though sad Pate deny
My propbane feete accesse, my vowes shall Aye. I once that world of beauty shall intwine.
May those musitjans, which divide the ayre
With their harmonious breath, their flight prepare, And on her lips print volumes of my love, Without a froward checke, and sweetely move
For this glad place, and all their accepts frame,
To teach the eccho my Castara's name.
The beautious troopes of Graces led by Love
In chaste attempts, possesse the neighb’ring grove, To give true life to th’ ayery counterfeito
Where may the spring dwell still. May every tree
Which shall in its first oracle divine,
ECCHO TO NARCISSUS.
IN HOPE TO SEE CASTARA WALKING
IN PRAISE OF CASTARA'S DISCREETE LOVE,
TO THE DEW,
BRIGIT dew which dost the field adorne
As th’ Earth to welcome in the morne, But should relenting Heaven restore thee sence,
Would hang a jewell on each corne. To see such wisedome temper innocence,
Did not the pittious night, whose eares In faire Castara's loves how shee discreet,
Have oft beene conscious of my fearts,
Distil you from her eyes as teares?
Or that Castara for your zeale,
If not your pity, yet how pre
But see she comes. Bright lampe o'th' skie,
Put out thy light: the world shall spie
A fairer Sunne in either eye.
And liquid pearle, hang heavje now
On every grasse that it may bow
In veneration of her brów.
Yet if the wind should curious be.
Our happy enterview betray;
Lest thou coufesse too, melt away. • George Talbot
The North's unruly spirit lay
In the disorder'd seas :
And give a lover ease.
NIGHT. Doth 'bout some taller tree her selfe intwine,
Yet why should feare with her pale charmes, And so growes fruitfull; teaching us her fate
Bewitch thee so to griefe ?
Since it prevents n'insaing harmes,
Nor yeelds the past reliefe. His coynesse wept, while strugling yet alive:
ARAPHIL. Now he repents and gladly would revive, (charmes, And yet such horrour I sustaine By th' vertue of your chaste and powerfull
As the sad vessell, when
Rough tempest have incenst the maine,
No conquest weares a glorious wreath,
Let tempests 'gainst the shipwracke breathe,
'Thou shalt thy harbour gaiye. Dare not too farre Castara, for the shade This courteous thicket yeelds, hath man betray'd
ARAPHIL. A prey to wolves to the wilde powers o'th' wood,
Truth's Delphos doth not still foretel, Oft travellers pay tribute with their blood,
Though Sol th' inspirer be. If carelesse of thy selfe of me take care,
How then should Night as blind as Hell, For like a ship where all the fortunes are
Ensuing truths fore-see?
One light those priests inspires.
While I though blacke am still the same.
And have ten thousand fires.
But those, sayes my propheticke feare,
As funerall torches burne,
While thou thy selfe the blackes dost weare,
To attend me to my vrne.
'Thy feares abuse thee, for those lights Life with her is gone and I
In Hymen's church shall sbine, Learne but a new way to dye.
When he by th' mystery of his rites,
Shall make Castara thine.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE,
THE LADY, E. P'.
Your judgment's cleere, not wrinckled with the Which as pearle, of dyamond like,
time, Swell upon her blushing chet ke.
On th' humble fate; which censures it a crime; All things mourne, but ob behold
To be by vertue ruin'd. For I koow How the withered marigold
Y are not so various as to ebbe and for Closeth up now she is gone,
l'th' streame of Fortune, whom each faithlesse winde Judging her the setting Sunne.
Distracts, and they who made ber, fram'd her
Should we obtaine
All those bright jems, for which i'th' wealthy maine,
The tann'd slave dives; or in one boundlesse chest BETWEENE NIGHT AND ARAPHIL.
Imprison all the treasures of the West,
We still should want. Our better part's immence, NIGIIT
Not like th' inferiour, Jimited by sence. LET silence close thy troubled eyes,
Rich with a little, mutuall love can lift Thy feare in Letbe steepe:
Vs to a greatnesse, whither chance nor thrift The starres, bright cent'nels of the skies, Watch to secure thy sleepe.
Elenor Powis, Castara's mother,
E're rais'd her servants. For though all were spent, | And dart its thunder at him, hee'le remaine
Vomov'd, and nobler comfort entertaine
Ere found in her fictitious paradise. Winne on her faith. For when I wondring stand Time mock3 our youth, and (while we number past At th' intermingled beauty of her hand,
Delights, and raise our appitite to taste (Higher I dare not gaze) io this bright veine Ensuing) brings us to unfatter'd age. I not ascribe the blood of Charlemaine
Where we are left to satisfie the rage Deriv'd by you to her. Or say there are
Of threatning death: pompe, beauty, wealth and In that and th'other Marmion, Rosse, and Parr Our friendships, shrinking from the funerall. (all Fitzhugh, Saint Quintin, and the rest of them The thought of this begets that brave disdaine That adde such lustre to great Pembroke's stem. With which thou view'st the world and makes those My love is envious. Would Castara were
Treasures of fancy, serious fooles so court, (vaine The daughter of some mountaine cottager
And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport. Who with his toile worne out, could dying leave What should we covet here? Why interpose Her no more dowre, than what she did receive A cloud twixt us and Heaven? kind Nature chose From bounteous Nature. Her would I then lead Man's soule th' exchecquer where she'd hoord her To th' temple, rich in her owne wealth; her head
The happy miracle of her rare birth,
That view the architecture of her nest.
Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestowe
Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow DEPARTING UPON THE APPROACH OF NIGHT. By age to dotage: while the sensitive What should we feare Castara? The cole aire,
Part of the world in it's first strength doth live. That's falne in love, and wantons in thy haire,
Folly? what dost thou in thy power containe Will not betray our whispers. Should I steale
Deserves our study? Merchants plough the maine A nectar'd kisse, the wind dares not reveale
And bring home th' Indies, yet aspire to more,
By avarice in the possession poore.
And yet that idoll wealth we all admit
Into the soule's great temple, busie wit > Like Bacchus from the grape, life from thy lip.
Invents new orgies, fancy frames new rites Nor thinke of night's approach. The world's great Are watcht to win its favour: while the beast
To show it's superstition, anxious nights
Let man then boast no more a soule, since he But should be set, what rebell-night dares rise,
Hath lost that great prerogative. But thee
(Whom fortune hath exempted from the heard
And though my fate conducts me to the shade
Of humble quiet, my ambition payde More welcome my Castara, than was light
With safe content, while a pure virgin fame To the disordered chaos. O what bright
Doth raise me trophies in Castara's name. Aod nimble chariot brought thee through the aire? No thought of glory swelling me above While the amazed stars to see so faire
The hope of being famed for rertuous love. And pure a beauty from the Earth arise,
Yet wish 1 thee, guided by the better starres Chang'd all their glorious bodies into eyes.
To purchase unsafe honour in the warres O let my zealous lip print on thy hand
Or envied smiles at court; for thy great race, The story of my love, which there shall stand
And merits, well may challenge th' highest place. A bright inscription to be read by none,
Yet know, what busie path so ere you tread But who as I love thee, and love but one.
To greatnesse, you must slepe among the dead. Why vanish you away? Or is my sense Deluded by my hope? O sweete offence Of erring Nature? And would Heaven this had Beene true; or that I thus were ever mad.
THE VANITY OP AVARICL.
HARKE! how the traytor wind doth court TO THE HONOURABLE MR. Wu. E.
The saylors to the maine ;
To make their avarice his sport?
Wee'le sit, my love, upon the shore,
Yet still they mutiny. If this man please And while proud billowes rise
His silly patron with hyperboles, To warre against the skie, speake ore
Or most mysterious non-sence, give his braine Our love's so sacred misteries.
But the strapado in some wanton straine; And charme the sea to th calme it had before. Hee'le sweare the state lookes not on men of parts, Where's now my pride t extend my fame
And, if but mention'd, slight all other arts.
Vaine ostentation! Let us set so just
A rate on knowledge, that the world may trust In the smooth court or rugged warre?
The poet's sentence, and not still aver
Each art is to it selfe a flatterer. My love hath layd the devill, I am tame.
I write to you sir on this theame, because I'de rather like the violet grow
Your soule is cleare, and you observe the lawes, Vnmarkt i'th' shaded vale,
Of poesie so justly, that I choose Than on the hill those terrors know
Yours onely the example to my Muse. Are breath'd forth by an angry gale,
And till my browner haire be mixt with gray, There is more pompe above, more sweete below. Without a blush, lle tread the sportive way,
My Muse directs; a poet youth may be,
But age doth dote without philosophie.
TO THE WORLD.
THE PERFECTION OF LOVL.
You who are earth, and cannot rise. Like starres in th' orbe of happinesse.
Above your sence,
Boasting the envyed wealth which lyes
That wbich doth joyne our soules, so light
And quicke doth move,
That like the eagle in his flight,
It doth transcend all humane sight,
Lost in the element of love.
You poets reach not this, who sing
The praise of dust
Tadorne the wrinckled face of lust.
When we speake love, nor art, nor wit
We glosse upon:
Our soules engender, and beget
Ideas, which you counterfeit
In your dull progagation.
While time seven ages shall disperse, Nor yet by riches flatter'd into pride.
Wee'le talke of love, Resolve me friend (for it must folly be
And when our tongues hold no commerse,
Our thoughts shall mutually converse.
And though we be of severall kind
Fit for offence: poore?
Yet are we so by love refin'd, Tis true, that Chapman's reverend ashes must
From impnre drosse we are all mind.
Death could not more have conquer'd sence.
Which scorch our clay?
Prometheus-like when we steale fire So seriously devont to poesie
From Heaven 'tis endlesse and intire,
It may know age, but not decay.
TO THE WINTER.