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

That 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 to that degree In Love's philosophy,

That you can figure to your self a fire
Void of all heat, a love without desire.

Nor in divinity do you go less,

You think, and you profess,

That souls ay have a plenitude of joy,
Altho' their bodjes meet not to employ.

But I must needs confess, I do not find
The motions of my mind

So purify'd as yet, but at the best
My body claims in them an interest.

I hold that perfect joy makes all our parts
As joyful as our hearts.

Our senses tell us, if we please not them,
Our love is but a dotage or a dream.

How shall we then agree? You may descend,
But will not, to my end.

I told her that I thought it then
Far dearer than I did,
When I at first the forty crowns
For one night's lodging bid.

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 vœux m'appelle,
Entendez jamais rein de moy,
Ne pensez nous rendre infidele,
A me tesmoignant vostre foy.
L'amant qui mon amour possede
Est trop plein de perfection,
Et doublement il vous excede
De merit & d'affection.

Je ne puis estre refroidie,

Ni rompre un cordage si doux,

Ni le rompre sans perfidie,

En d'estre perfidi pour vous.

I fain wou'd tune my fancy to your key, But cannot reach to that abstracted way.

There rests but this; that whilst we sorrow here, Our bodies may draw near:

And when no more their joys they can extend, Then let our souls begin where they did end.

PROFFERED LOVE REJECTED,

Ir is not four years ago,

I offer'd forty crowns,

To lie with her a night or sot
She answer'd me in frowns.

Not two years since, she meeting me
Did whisper in my ear,

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 shou'd be well content to go

To twenty, but no higher.

Some three months since, or thereabout, She that so coy had been,

Bethought her self, and found me out, And was content to sin.

I smil'd at that, and told her, I
Did think it something late:
And that I'd not repentance buy
At above half the rate,

This present morning early she,
Forsooth, caine to my bed,
And gratis there she offer'd me
Her high-priz'd maiden-head,

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 AUTHOR.

To what end serve the promises
And oaths lost in the air?
Since all your proffer'd services
To me but tortures are.

Another now enjoys my love.
Set you your heart at rest:
Think not me from my faith to move,
Because you faith protest.

The man that does possess my heart,
Has twice as much perfection,
And does excel you in desert,

As much as in affection.

I cannot break so sweet a bond,

Unless I prove untrue:

Nor can I ever be so fond,

To prove untrue for you.

Your attempts are but in vain,

To tell you is a favour:

For things that may be, rack your brain; Then lose not thus your labour.

PERJURY EXCUSED.

As it is too late! I can no more
Love now, than I have lov'd before:
My Flora, 'tis my fate, not 1;
And what you call contempt, is destiny.
I am no monster sure, I cannot show
Two hearts; one I already owe:

And I have bound myself with oaths, and row'd
Oftner, I fear, than Heaven has e'er allow'd,

Thy piety is such, that Heav'n by merit,
If ever any did, thou shou'd'st inherit;
Thy modesty is such, that hadst thou been
Tempted as Eve, thou wou'd'st have shunn'd her sin
So lovely fair thou art, that sure dame Nature
Meant thee the pattern of the female creature:
Besides all this, thy flowing wit is such,
That were it not in thee, 't had been too much
For woman-kind: shou'd envy look thee o'er,
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.

HIS DREAM.

On a still silent night, scarce cou'd I number
One of the clock, but that a golden slumber
Had lock'd my senses fast, and carry'd me
Into a world of blest felicity,

I know not how: First to a garden, where
The apricock, the cherry, and the pear,
The strawberry, and plumb, were fairer far
Than that eye-pleasing fruit that caus'd the jar
Betwixt the goddesses, and tempted more
Than fair Atlanta's ball, tho' gilded o'er:
I gaz'd a while on these, and presently
A silver stream ran softly gliding by;
Upon whose banks, lillies more white than snow
New fall'n from Heav'n, with violets mix'd, did
grow;

Whose scent so chaf'd the neighbour-air, that you
Won'd surely swear Arabic spices grew
Not far from thence, or that the place had been
With musk prepar'd to entertain love's queen.
Whilst I admir'd, the river past away,
And up a grove did spring, green as in May,
When April had been moist; upon whose bushes
The pretty robins, nightingals, and thrushes
Warbled their notes so sweetly, that my ears
Did judge at least the musick of the spheres.
But here my gentle dream conveyed me
Into the place which I most long'd to see,
My mistress' bed; who, some few blushes past,
And smiling frowns, contented was at last
To let me touch her neck; I not content
With that slipt to her breast, thence lower went,
And then I awak'd.

UPON A. M.

YIELD all, my love; but be withal as coy,
As if thou knew'st not how to sport and toy:
The fort resign'd with ease, men cowards prore,
And lazy grow. Let ine besiege my love,
Let me despair at least three times a day,
And take repulses upon each essay:
If I but ask a kiss, straight blush as red
As if I tempted for thy maidenhead:
Contract thy smiles, if that they go too far;
And let thy frowns be such as threaten war.
That face which Nature sure never intended
Shou'd e'er be marr'd, because 't could ne'er be
mended,

Take no corruption from thy grandame Eve;
Rather want faith to save thee, than believe
Too soon: for, credit me, 'tis true,

Men most of all enjoy, when least they do.

I AM

A BARBER.

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 bound 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'd, 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 him straight away.

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,
devoutly.

No woman under Heav'n I fear,
New oaths I can exactly swear,
And forty healths my brains will bear
most stoutly.

I cannot speak, but I can do
As much as any of our crew;
And if you doubt it, some of you
may prove me.

I dare be bold thus much to say,
If that my bullets do but play,
You wou'd be hurt so night and day,
yet love me.

TO MY LADY E. C.

AT HER GOING OUT OF ENGLAND.

I MUST Confess, when I did part from you,
I cou'd not force an artificial dew
Upon my cheeks, nor with a gilded phrase
Express how many hundred several ways
My heart was tortur'd, nor with arms acrosS
In discontented garbs set forth my loss:
Such loud expressions many times do come
From lightest hearts, great griefs are always dumb;
The shallow rivers roar, the deep are still;
Numbers of painted words may show much skill,
But little anguish; and a cloudy face

Is oft put on, to serve both time and place:
The blazing wood may to the eye seem great,
But 'tis the fire rak'd up that has the heat,
And keeps it long: true sorrow's like to wine,
That which is good does never need a sign.
My eyes were channels far too small to be
Conveyors of such floods of misery:

And so pray think; or if you'd entertain

A thought more charitable, suppose some strain ́
Of sad repentance had, not long before,
Quite empty'd, for my sins, that watry store.
So shall you him oblige that still will be
Your servant to his best ability.

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 verse,
While any live, shall never need a herse.
Since then to these such praise was justly 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 have writ,
Had you but 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 pains:
He shows himself most poet, that most feigns:
To find out virtues strangely hid in me;
Ay there's the art, and learned poetry!

To make one striding of a barbed steed,
Prancing a stately round: I use indeed
To ride Bat Jewel's jade; this is the skill,
This shows the poet wants not wit at will.
I must admire aloof, and for my part
Be well contented, since you do't with art.

LOVE'S BURNING-GLASS.

WONDERING long how I cou'd harmless see
Men gazing on those beames that fired me;
At last I found, it was the crystal love
Before my heart, that did the heat improve:
Which by contracting of those scatter'd rays
Into it self, did so produce my blaze.
Now lighted by my love, I see the same
Beams dazzle those, that me are wont t' inflame.
And now I bless my love, when I do think
By how much I had rather burn than wink.
But how much happier were it thus to burn,
If I had liberty to choose my urn?
But since those beams do promise only fire,
This flame shall purge me of the dross, desire.

SONG.

WHEN, dearest, I but think of thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be

Are present, and my soul delighted;
For beauties that from worth arise,
Are like the grace of deities,

Still present with us, tho' unsighted.

Thus whilst I sit, and sigh the day
With all his borrow'd lights away,

'Till night's black wings do overtake me, Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, As sudden lights do sleepy men,

So they by their bright rays awake me. Thus absence dies, and dying proves No absence can subsist with loves

That do partake of fair perfection; Since in the darkest night they may, By love's quick motion, find a way To see each other by reflection. The waving sea can with each flood Bath some high promont, that has stood Far from the main up in the river: Oh think not then but love can do As much, for that's an ocean too, Which flows not every day, but ever.

THE EXPOSTULATION.
TELL me, ye juster deities,
That pity lovers' miseries,
Why shou'd my own unworthiness
Light me to seek my happiness?
It is as natural, as just,

Him for to love whom needs I must:

All men confess that love's a fire,

Then who denies it to aspire ?

Tell me, if thou wert fortune's thrall,
Wou'd'st thou not raise thee from the fall?
Seek only to o'erlook thy state

Whereto thou art condemn'd by fate?
Then let me love my Corydon,

And by love's leave, him love alone:

For I have read in stories oft,

That love has wings, and soars aloft.

Then let me grow in my desire,
Though I be martyr'd in that fire:
For grace it is enough for me
But only to love such as he:

For never shall my thoughts be base,
Though luckless, yet without disgrace:
Then let him that my love shall blame,
Or clip love's wings, or quench love's flame.

ENGLISHED THUS.

IF man might know

The ill he must undergo, And shun it so,

Then it were good to know:
But if he undergo it,
Tho' he know it,

What boots him know it?
He must undergo it.

DETRACTION EXECRATED. THOU vermin Slander, bred in abject minds Of thoughts impure, by vile tongues animate, Canker of conversation! cou'dst thou find Nought but our love, whereon to show thy hate? Thou never wert, when we two were alone; What canst thou witness then? thy base dull aid Was useless in our conversation,

Where each meant more than cou'd by both be said.

Whence hadst thou thy intelligence, from earth?
That part of us ne'er knew that we did love:
Or from the air? Our gentle sighs had birth
From such swect raptures as to joy did move:
Our thoughts, as pure as the chast morning's
breath,

[hath

When from the night's cold arms it creeps away,
Were cloth'd in words; and maiden's blush that
More purity, more innocence than they.
Nor from the water cou'd'st thou have this tale,
No briny tear has furrow'd her smooth check;
And I was pleas'd, I pray what shou'd he ail
That bad her love, for what else could he seek?
We shortned days to moments by love's art,
Whilst our two souls in amorous ecstasy
Perceiv'd no passing time, as if a part
Our love had been of still eternity.
Much less cou'd have it from the purer fire;
Our heat exhales no vapour from coarse sense,
Such as are hopes, or fears, or fond desire;
Our mutual love it self did recompence,
Thou hast no correspondence had in Heav'n,
And th' elemental world, thou seest, is free:
Whence hadst thou then this, talking monster? even
From Hell, a harbour fit for it and thee.
Curst be th' officious tongue that did address
Thee to her ears, to ruin my content:
May it one minute taste such happiness,
Deserving loos'd unpitied it lament!
I must forbear her sight, and so repay
In grief, those hours joy shortned to a dram:
Each minute I will lengthen to a day,
And in one year out-live Methusalem.

SONG.

UNJUST decrees, that do at once exact

From such a love as worthy hearts shou'd own,

So wild a passion,

And yet so tame a presence

As holding no proportion,

Changes into impossible obedience.

Let it suffice, that neither I do love
In such a calm observance, as to weigh
Each word I say,

And each examin'd look t' approve
That towards her does move,
Without so much of fire

As might, in time, kindle into desire.
Or give me leave to burst into a flame,
And at the scope of my unbounded will
Love her my fil,

No superscriptions of fame,

Of honour or good name,

No thought but to improve

The gentle and quick approaches of my love.
But thus to throng and overlade a soul
With love, and then to have a room for fear,
That shall all that controul,
What is it but to rear

Our passions and our hopes on high,

That thence they may descrie

The noblest way how to despair and die!

A PROLOGUE OF THE AUTHOR'S
TO A MASQUE AT WITTEN.

EXPECT not here a curious river fine,
Our wits are short of that: alas the time
The neat refined language of the court
We know not; if we did, our country sport
Must not be too ambitious; 'tis for kings,
Not for their subjects, to have such rare things,
Besides tho', I confess, Parnassus hardly,
Yet Helicon this summer-time is dry:
Our wits were at an ebb, or very low,
And to say truth, I think they cannot flow,
But yet a gracious influence from you
May alter nature in our brow-sick crew;
Have patience then, we pray, and sit a while
And, if a laugh be too much, lend a smile.