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Black Friars to me, and old Whitehall,
She's fair, &c.
She's fair, &c.
But love is such a mystery
in bis eyes.
TO A LADY THAT FORBAD TO LOVE
BEFORE COMPANY. LOVE AND DEBT ALIKE TROUBLESOME. What! no more favours, not a ribbon more,
Not fan, not muff, to hold as heretofore? This one request I make to him that sits the clouds Must all the little blisses then be left, above,
And what was once love's gift, become our theft? That I were freely out of debt, as I am out of love; May we not look our selves into a trance, Then for to dance, to drink and sing, I shou'd be Teach our souls parley at our eyes, not glance, very willing;
[a shilling. Not touch the hand, not by soft wringing there, I should not owe one lass a kiss, nor ne'er a knave Whisper a love, that only yes can bear? 'Tis only being in love and debt, that breaks us of Not free a sigh, a sigh that's there for you, our rest;
[is blest : Dear, must I love you, and not love you too? And he that is quite out of both, of all the world Be wise, nice fair : for sooner shall they trace He sees the golden age wherein all things were free The feather'd choristers from place to place, and common;
(man nor womar. By prints they make in th' air, and sooner say He eats, he drinks, he takes his rest, he fears no By what right line the last star made his way Tho Cræsus compassed great wealth, yet he still That fled from Heav'n to Earth, than guess to know craved more,
[to door. How our loves first did spring, or how they grow. He was as needy a beggar still, as goes from door Love is all spirit: Fairies sooner way Tho’Ovid was a merry man, love ever kept him sad; Be taken tardy, when they night-tricks play, He was as far from happiness, as one that is stark Than we ; we are too dull and lumpish rather: mad.
(and treasure ; | Would they cou'd find us both in bed together. Our merchant he in goods is rich, aud full of gold But when he thinks upon his debts, that thought
destroys his pleasure. [man envies; Our courtier thinks that he's preferr'd, whom every
THE GUILTLESS INCONSTANT. When love so rumbles in his pate, no sleep comes
y first love, whom all beauties did adorn, Our gallant's case is worst of all, he lies so just
Firing my heart, supprest it with her scorn, For he's in love, and he's in debt, and knows not Since like the tinder in my breast it lies, which most vex him.
[is so brown,
By every sparkle made a sacrifice, But he that can eat beef, and feed on bread which
Each wanton eye can kindle my desire, May satisfie his appetite, and owe no man a crown: And that is free to all which was entire; And he that is content with lasses cloathed in plain Desiring more by the desire I lost, woollen,
(be sullen, As those that in consumptions linger most. May cool his heat in every place, he need not to And now my wand'ring thoughts are not coufin'd Nor sigh for love of lady fair ; for this each wise Unto one woman, but to woman kind: man knows,
(cloaths. This for her shape I love, that for her face ; As good stuff under flannel lies, as under silken This for her gesture, or some other grace:
And where that none of all these things I find,
And so I hope, since my first hope is gone,
To find in many what I lost in one ;
And like to merchants after some great loss, I PRS PRYTUBE send me back my heart,
Trade by retail, that cannot do in gross. Since I cannot bave thine:
The fault is hers that made me go astray; Por if from yours you will not part,
He needs must wander that has lost his way: Why then shou’d'st thou have mine?
Guiltless I am ; she does this change provoke,
And made that charcoal, which to her was oak. Yet now I think on't, let it lie;
And as a looking glass from the aspect,
Whilst it is whole, does but one face reflect,
But being crackt or broken, there are grown Wou'd steal it back again.
Many less faces, where there was but one: Why should two hearts in one breast lie,
So love unto my heart did first prefer And yet not lodge together?
Her image, and there placed none but her; Oh Love, where is thy sympathy,
But since 'twas broke and martyr'd by her seom, If thus our breasts thou sever?
Many less faces jn ber place are born.
So all his lovely looks, his pleasing fires,
He does into one pair of eves convey,
and there begs leave that he himself may stay. And a here be brings me where his ambush lay, Secure, and careless to a stranger land : And never warning me, which was foul play, Does make vie close by all this beauty stand.
Where first struck dead, I did at last recover,
To know that I might only live to love her.
If other ey s invite the boy to tarry,
U PON THE
BLACK SPOTS WORN BY MY LADY D. E.
LOVE'S REPRESENTATION, LEANING her hand upon my breast, There on Love's bed she lay to rest ; My panting heart rock'd her asleep, My heedful eyes the watch did keep; Then Love by me being harbour'd there, Chose Hope to be his harbinger; Desire, his rival, kept the door; For this of him I begg'd do more, But that, our mistress t'entertain, Some pretty fancy he wou'd fraine, And represent it in a dream, Of which my self shou'd give the theam. Then first these thoughts I bid hiin show, Which only he and I did know, Array'd in duly and respect, And not in fancies that reflect ; Then those of valne next present, Approv'd by all the world's consent ; But to distinguish mine asunder, Apparell'd they inust be in wonder. Such a device then I wou'd have, As service, not reward, shou'd crare, Attir'd in spotless innocence, Not self-respect, por no pretence : Then such a faith I wou'd have shown, As heretofore was never kuown, Cloth'd with a constant clear intent, Professing always as it meant. And if Love no such garments have, My mind a warurobe is so brave, That there sufficient he may see To clothe impossibility. Then beamy fettcrs he shall find, By acimiration subt'ly twin'd, That will keep fast the wanton'st thought, That e'er imagination wrought : There be shall find of joy a chain, Framı'd by despair of her disdain, So curiously, that it can't tie The sniallest hopes that thoughts now spy. There acts as glorious as the Sun, Are by her veneration spun, To one of which I wou'd have brouglit. A pure unspotted alsstract thouglit. Considering her as she is good, Not in her frame of Aesh and blood. These attoms then, all in her sight, I bad him join, that so he might Discern between true Love's creation, And that love's forin that's now in fashion. Love granting unto my request, Began to labour in my breast; But with the motion he did make, It heav'd so high that she did wake; Blush'd at the favour she had done, Then smil'd, and then away did run.
KNOW your heart cannot so guilty be, That you should wear those spots for vanity; Or as your beauty's trophies, put on one For every murther which your eyes have done ; No, they're your mourning-weeds for hearts forlorn, Which tho’you must not love, you cou'd not scorn; To whom since cruel bonour do's deny Those joys cou'd only cure their misery, Yet you this noble way to grace 'em found, Whilst thus your grief their martyrdom has crown'd: Of which take heed you prove not prodigal; For if to every common funeral, By your eyes martyr'd, such grace were allow'd, Your face would wear not patches, but a cloud.
I will complain,
It must be got and born,
Not made and worn,
Whom you deny?
Like the old poets feign
And tell the pain
And quit the field ?
Once one may crave for love,
But more wou'd prove
For you as lit a love,
Either my wild unruly heart to tame,
I told her that I thought it then
You are all etherial, there's in you no dross,
Nor any part that's gross: Your coarsest part is like a curious lawn, The vestal relics for a covering drawn. Your other parts, part of the purest fire
Tba: e'er Heav'n did inspire, Make every thought that is refin'd by it,
A quintessence of goodness and of wit. Thus have your raptures reach'd co that degree
In Love's pbilosophy,
you go less,
You think, and you profers,
The motions of my mind
As joyful as our hearts.
But will not, to my end.
Our bodies may draw near:
DISDAIN. A Quoy servent d'artifices Et serments aux vents jettez, Si vos amours & vos services Me sont des importunitez! L'amour a d'autres aux m'appelle, Entendez jamais reio de moy, Ne pensez nous rendre infidele, A me tesmoignant vostre fog. L'amant qui mon amour possede Est trop plein de perfection, Et doublement il vons excede De merit & d'affection. Je ne puis estre refroidie, Ni rompre un cordage si dous, Ni le rompre sans perfidie, En d'estre perfidi pour vous. Vos attentes sont toutes en vain, Le vous dire est nous obliger, Pour vous faire epergner vos peines Du vous & du temps mesnager.
ENGLISHED THUS BY THE AUTHOL.
PROFFERED LOVE REJECTED, It is not four years ago, I offer'd forty crowns, To lie with ber a night or so: She answer'd me in frowns. Not two years since, she meeting me Did whisper in my car, That she wou'd at my service be, If I contented were. I told her I was cold as snow, And had no great desire ; But should be well content to go To twenty, but no higher. Some three months since, or thereabout, She thuat so coy had been, Bethought her self, and found me out, And was content to sin.
To what end serve the promises
I smil'd at that, and told her, I
PORJURY EXCUSED, As as it is too late! I can no more Love now, than I have lov'd before: My Flora, 'tis my fate, not l; And what you call contempt, is destiny. I am no monster snre, I cannot show Two hearts; one I already owe: And I have bound myself with oaths, and von'd Oftner, I fear, than Heaven has e'er allor'd,
That faces now shou'd work no more on me, Thy piety is stich, that Heav'n by merit,
Tempted as Eve, thou wou'd'st have shann'd her sin Oh no, 'tis equally impossible that I
So lovely fair thou art, that sure dame Nature Shou'd love again, or you love perjury.
Meant thee the pattern of the female creature:
For woman-kind: shou'd envy look thee oʻer,
It wou'd confess thus much, if not much more.
I love thee well, yet wish some bad in thee,
For, sure I am, thou art too good for me.
When ruder winds have crost it?
On a still silent night, scarce cou'd I number
One of the clock, but that a golden slumber When he courts for his leachery?
Had lock'd my senses fast, and carry'd me
I know not how: First to a garden, where
Betwixt the goddesses, and tempted more
Than fair Atlanta's ball, tho' gilded oer: Wonder not much if this amaz'd I look : A silver stream ran softly gliding by; Since I saw you, I have been planet-strook:
Upon whose banks, lillies more white than snow A beauty, and so rare, I did descry,
New fallin froin Heav'n, with violets mix'd, did As shou'd I set her forth, you all, as I,
grow; Wou'd lose your hearts likewise; for he that can
Whose scent so chaf'd the neighbour-air, that you Know her and live, be nust be more than man.
Won'd surely swear Arabic spices grew An apparition of so sweet a creature,
Not far froin thence, or that the place had been Thai, credit me, she had not any feature
With musk prepar'd to entertain love's queen. That did not speak her angel. But 10 more:
Whilst I admir'd, the river past away, Such heav'nly things as these we must adore,
And up a grove did spring, green as in May,
The pretty rohins, nightingals, and thrushes
Into the place which I most long'd to see,
My mistress' bed; who, some fr:w blushes past, WHOEVER was the cause your tears were shed,
And smiling frowns, contented was at last May these my curses light upon his head :
To let me touch her neck; I not content May be be first in love, and let it be
With that slipt to her breast, thence lower went, With a most known and black deformity,
And then I awak'd.
UPON A. M.
Yield all, my love; but be withal as coy, May him impenitent to th' gallows bring!
As if thou knew'st not how to sport and toy: Then might he for one tear his pardon bave, The fort resign'd with ease, men cowards prore, But want that single grief his life to save!
And lazy grow. Let inc besiege my love,
If I but ask a kiss, straight blush as red
That face which Nature sure never intended
Shou'd e'er be marr’d, because 't could ne'er be
mended, Tnou think'st I fatter, when thy praise I tell. Take no corruption from thy grandame Eve; But thou dost all hyperboles excel :
Ratber want faith to save thee, than believe For I am sure thou art no mortal creature, Too soon: for, credit me, 'tis true, But a divide one thron'd in buman feature. Med most of all enjoy, when least they do.
NON EST MORTALE QUOD OPTO.
THE METAMORPHOSIS. The little boy, to show bis might and pow'r, Turn'd lo to a cow, Narcissus to a flow'r; Transform'd Apollo to a homely swain, And Jove himself into a golden rain. These shapes were tolerable; but by th' mass H' as metamorphos'd me into an ass.
No woman under Heav'n I fear,
may prove me.
yet love me.
TO B. C.
But I despair; for now, alas, I find,
TO MY LADY E. C.
AT HER GOING OUT OF ENGLAND.
UPON SIR JOHN LAURENCE'S
BRINGING WATER OVER THE HILLS TO MY LORD
MIDDLESEX'S HOUSE AT WITTEN.
And is the water come? sure't cannot be;
Then 'twas the water's love that made it flow,
I must confess, when I did part from you,
A BARBER I am a barber, and I'd have you know, A shaver too sometimes, no mad one tho'. The reason why you see me now thus bare, Is 'cause I always trade against the hair: But yet I keep a state, who comes to me, Who e'er he is, he must uncover'd be. When I'm at work, I'm bonnd to find discourse 'To no great purpose, of great Sweden's force, Of Witel, and the burse, and what 'twill cost To get that back which was this summer lost. So fall to praising of his lordship’s hair, Ne'er so deform', I swear 'tis sans compare: I tell him that the king's does sit no fuller, And yet his is not half so good'a colour: Then reach a pleasing glass, that's made to lye Like to its master, most notoriously : And if he must his mistress see that day, I with a powder send himn straight away.
AN ANSWER TO SOME VERSES MADE IN
HIS PRAISE. The ancient poets and their learned rhimes, We still admire in these our latter times, And celebrate their fames. Thus tho' they die, Their names can never taste mortality: Blind Homer's Muse, and Virgil's stately rerse, While any live, shall never need a herse. Since then to these such praise was jastly due For what they did, what shall be said to you? These had their helps; they wrote of gods and
kings, Of temples, battles, and such gallant things: But you of nothing; how cou'd you haye writ, Had you bat chose a subject to your wit? To praise Achilles, or the Trojan crew, Show'd little art, for praise was but their due. To say she's fair that's fair, this is no paias : He shows himself most poet, that most feigns: To find out virtues strangely bid in me; Ay there's the art, and learned poetry!
A SOLDIER. I am a man of war and might, And know thus much, that I can fight, Whether I am i'th' wrong or right,