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At last, one frosty morning I did spy

Thinking that she with pittying sounds
This subtile wand'rer journeying in the sky; Whispers soft comfort to their wounds:
At sight of me it trembled, then drew neer, When 'tis perhaps some wanton wind,
Then grieving fell, and dropt into a tear :

That striving passage there to find,
I bore it to my saint, and pray'd her take Doth softly move the trembling leaves
This new born of-spring for the master's sake : Into a voice, and so deceives.
She took it, and prefer'd it to her eare,

Hither sad lates they nightly bring,
And now it hears each thing that's whisper'd there. And gently touch each querulous string,
O how I envy grief, when that I see

Till that with soft harmonious numbers
My sorrow makes a gem, more blest than me! They think th' have woo'd ber into slumbers ;
Yet, little pendant, porter to the eare,

As if, the grave having an eare,
Let not my rivall have admittance there;

When dead things speak the dead should hear. But if by chance a mild access he gain,

Here no sad lover, though of fame, Upon her lip inflict a gentle pain

Is suff'red to engrave his name, Only for admonition : so when she

Lest that the wounding letters may
Gives eare to hiun, at least shee'l think of me. Make her thence fade, and pine away :

And so she withering through the pain
May sink into her grave again.

O why did Pales the groves uneare?

Why did they envy wood should hear?

Why, since Dodona's holy oake, Whiles I this standing lake,

Have trees been dumb, and never spoke; Swath'd up with eve and cypress boughs,

Now lovers' wounds uncured lye, Do move by sighs and vows,

And they wax old in misery; Let sadness only wake;

When, if true sense did quicken wood, That whiles thick darkness blots the light,

Perhaps shee'd sweat a balsom floud, My thoughts may cast another night:

And knowing what the world endures, In which double shade,

Would weep her moysture into cures. By heav'n, and me made,

O let me weep,

And fall asleep,
And forgotten fade.
Heark ! from yond' hollow tree

MEMORY OF A SHIPWRACKT VIRGIA. Sadly sing two anchoret ow)

WHETHER thy well-shap'd parts now scattered far Whiles the bermit wolf howls,

Asunder into treasure parted are; And all bewailing me,

Whether thy tresses, now to amber grown, The raven hovers o'r my bier,

Still cast a softer day where they are shown; The bittern on a reed I hear

Whether those eyes be diamonds now, or make Pipes my elegy,

The carefull goddess of the flouds mistake,
And warns me to dye;

Chiding their ling'ring stay, as if they were
Whiles from yond' graves

Stars that forgot t' ascend unto their sphere;
My wrong'd love craves

Whether thy lips do into corall grow,
My sad company.

Making her wonder how 't came red below;
Cease, Hylas, cease thy call;

Whether those orders of thy teeth, nok sown Such, O such was thy parting groan,

In several pearls, enrich each chanoell one;
Breath'd out to me alone

Whether thy gentle breath in easie gales
When thou disdain'd didst fall.

Now fies, and chastly fils the pregnant sailrs ; Loe thus unto thy silent tomb,

Or whether whole, turn'd syren, thou dost joy In my sad winding sheet, I come,

Only to sing, unwilling to destroy ;
Creeping o'r dead bones,

Or else a nymph far fairer dost encrease
And cold marble stones,

The virgin train of the Nereides;
That I may mourn

If that all sense departed not with breath,
Over thy urn,

And there is yet some memory in death,
And appease thy groans.

Accept this labour, sacred to thy fame,
Swelling with thee, made pocim by thy name,

Hearken ( winds (if that ye yet hare eares

Who were thus deaf into my fair one's tears) CORINNA'S TOMB.

Fly with this curse; may cavernes you contain

Sitll strugling for release, but still in vain. Here fair Corinna buri'd lay,

Listen O Rouds; black night upon you dwell, Cloath'd and lock'd up in silent clay;

Thick darkness still enwrap you; may you swell But neighb'ring shepheards every morn

Ouly with grief; may ye to every thirst With constant tears bedew'd her urn,

Flow bitter still, and so of all be curst. Until with quickning moysture, she

And thou unfaithfull, ill-compacted pine, At length grew up into this tree:

That in ber nuptials didst refuse to shine, Here now unhappy lovers ineet,

Blaze in her pile. Wbiles thus her death I weep. And changing sighs (for so they greet)

Swim down, my murmuring lute; move thou the Each one unto some conscious bough

Into soft numbers, as thou passest by, [deep Relates this oath, and tels that row,

and make her fate become her elegy.


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THE GNAT. Such are your father's pictures, that we do

A gnat mistaking her bright eye Beleeve they are not counterfeits, but true;

For that which makes, and rules the day, So lively, and so fresh, that we may swear

Did in the rayes disporting fly,
Instead of draughts, he hath plac'd creatures there; Wont in the sun-beams so to play.
People, not shadows; which in time will be

Her eye whose vigour all things draws,
Not a dead number, but a colony: [arts, Did suck this little creature in,
Nay, more yet, some think they have skill and

As warmer jet doth ravish straws,
That th' are well-bred, and pictures of good parts;

And thence ev'n forc'd embraces win.
And you your self, faire Julia, do disclose

Inviting heat stream'd in the rayes,
Such beauties, that you may seem one of those; But hungry fire work'd in the eye;
That having motion gain'd at last, and sense, Whose force this captive gnat obeys,
Began to know it self, and stole out thence. And doth through it her martyr dye.
Whiles thus his æmulous art with Nature strives,
Some think h' bath none, others he hath two

The 'wings went into air; the fire

Did turn the rest to ashes there : If you love none, fair maid, but look on all,

But ere death, strugling to retire, You then ainong his set of pictures fall;

She thence enforc'd an easie teare. If that you look on all, and love all men,

Happy, O gnat, though thus made nought, The pictures too will be your sisters then,

We wretched lovers suffer more,
For they as they have life, so th' have this fate, Our sonnets are thy buzzings thought,
In the whole lump either to love or hate;

And we destroy'd by what w'adore.
Your choice must shew you're of another fleece, Perhaps would she but our deaths moum,
And tell you are his daughter, not his piece : We should revive to dye agen :
All other proofs are vain; go not about ;

Thou gain'd'st a tear, but we have scorn;
We two'l embrace, apil love, and clear the doubt. She weeps for fies, but laught at men.
When you've brought forth your like, the world

will know
You are his child; what picture can do so.

Brag not a golden rain O Jove; we see

Cupid descends in showers as well as thee.
Tell me not of joy: there's none
Now my little sparrow's gone;

He, just as you
Would toy and wooe,

Call for what wine you please, which likes you He would chirp and fatter me,

best; He would hang the wing awhile,

Some you must drink your venison to digest. Till at length he saw me smile,

Why rise you, sir, so soon : you need not doubt, Lord how sullen he would be ?

He that I do invite sits my meal out; He would catch a crumb, and then

Most true : but yet your servants are gay men, Sporting let it go agen,

I'I but step home, and drink, and come agen.
He from my lip

Would moysture sip,
He would from my trencher feed,
Then would bop, and then would run,

And cry Philip when h’ had done,


ct no strange, or puzzling meat, no pye O whose heart can choose but bleed?

Built by confusion, or adultery, O how eager would he fight?

Of forced nature; no mysterious dish
And ne'r hurt though he did bite:

Requiring an interpreter, no fish
No morn did pass

Found out by modern luxury: our corse board
But on my glass

Press'd with no spoyls of elements, dotb afford He would sit, and mark, and do

Meat, like our hunger, without art, each mess What I did, now rule all

Thus differing from it only, that 'tis less. His feathers o'r, now let 'em fall,

Imprimis, some rice porredge, sweet, and hot, And then straightway sleek 'em too.

Three knobs of sugar season the whole pot. Whence will Cupid get his darts

Item, one pair of eggs in a great dish,
Feather'd now to peirce our hearts ?

So ordered that they cover all the fish.
A wound he may,

Item, one gaping baddock's head, which will
Not love conveigb,

At least afright the stomach, if not fill. Now this faithfull bird is gone,

Item, one thing in circles, which we take Olet mournfull turtles joyn

Some for an cele, but th' wiser for a snake. With loving red-breasts, and combins

We have not still the same, sometimes we may To sing dirges o'r his stone.

Eat muddy plaise, or whcate; perhaps next day

Red, or white herrings, or an apple pye:

The ingredients were divers, and most of them sex, There's some variety in misery.

No vertue was judg'd in an antient thing: To this come twenty men, and though apace, In the garden of Leyden some part of them gter, We bless these gifts, the meal's as shurt as grace. And some did our own universities bring. Nor eat we yet in tumult; but the meat Is broke in order; hunger here is neat;

Imprimis, two handfull of long digressions, Division, subdivision, yet two more

Well squeezed and press'd at Ainsterdam, Members, and they divided as before.

They cured Buchanan's dangerous passions, O what a fury would your stomach feel

Each grocer's shop now will afford you the same. To see us vent our logick on an tele?

Two ounces of Calvinisme not yet refin'd, And in one herring to revive the art

By the better physicians not thought to be good; Of Keckerman, and shew the eleventh part?

But 'twas with the seal of a conventicle sign'd, Hunger in armes is no great wonder, we Suffer a siege without an enemy.

And approv'd by the simpling brotherhood. On Midlent Sunday, when the preacher told One quarter of practicall piety next, The prodigal's return, and did unfold

With an ounce and a half of bistrio-mastrix, His tender welcome, how the good old man

Three sponfull of T. C's confuted text, (Styx Sent for new rayment, how the servant ran

Whose close-noated ghost hath long ago past To kill the fatling calf, O how each ear List ned unto him, greedy ev'n to hear

Next stript whipt abuses were cast in the pot, The bare relation; how was every eye

With the worm eaten motto not now in fashion,

All these in the mouth are wondrous hot,
Fixt on the palpit; how did each man pry,
And watch, if, whiles he did this word dispence,

But approvedly cold in operation.
A capon, or a hen would fly out thence?

Next Clever and Doddisme both mixed and fine, Happy the Jews cry we, when quailes came down With five or six scruples of conscience cases, In dry and wholsome showers, though from the Three drams of Geneva's strict discipline, frown

All steept in the sweat of the silenc'd faces. Of Heaven sent, though bought at such a rate; To perish full is not the worst of fate;

One handfull of doctrines, and uses, or more, We fear we shall dye empty, and enforce

With the utmost branch of the fifteenth point, The grave to take a shaddow for a corse :

Then Juties enjoyn'd and motives yoord store, For, if this fasting hold, we do despair

All boyld to a spoonfull, though from a siz'd Of life; all needs must vanish into air;

piut. Air, which now only feeds us, and so be

These all have astringent and hard qualities,
Exhal'd, like vapours to eternity.

And for notable binders received be,
W' are much refin'd already, that dull house To avoid the costiveness thence might arise,
Of clay (our body) is diaphanous;

She allay'd them with Christian liberty.
And if the doctor would but take the pains
To read upon us, sinnews, bones, guts, veines,

The cruinbs of comfort did thicken the mess,
All would appear, and he might shew each one,

'Twas turn'd by the frownof a bowre fac'd brother, Without the help of a dissection.

But that you will say converts wickedness, In the aboundance of this want, you


'Twill serve for the one as well as the other.' Wonder perhaps how I can use my quill?

An ell London-measure of tedious grace, Troth I am like small birds, which now in spring,

Was at the same time conceiv'd, and said, When they have nought to eat do sit and sing.

'Twas eat with a spoon defii'd with no face,

Nor the imag'ry of an apostle's head.

Sir John after this could have stood down the Sun, THE CHAMBERMAID'S POSSET.

Dividing the pulpit and text with one fist,

The glass was compe!l'd still rubbers to run,
My ladie's young chaplain could never arrive And he counted the fift Evangelist.
More than to four points, or thereabout:

The pig that for haste, much like a devout
He propos'd fifteen, but was gravell’d at five,

Entranced brother, was wont to come in My lady stood up and still preach'd 'em out.

With white staring eyes, not quite roasted out, The red-hatted vertues in number but four,

Came now in a black persecution skin. With grief be rememb’red, for one was not: Stale mistris Priscilla her apron-strings straite The habits divine, not yet in our power,

Let down for a line just after his cure: Were faith, hope, and (brethren) the third I ha' Sir John did not nibble, but pouch'd the deceit: forgot.

An advouzon did bait him to make all sure. Sir John was resolved to suffer a drench,

To furnish his spirit with better provision A posset was made by a leviticall wench,

It was of the chambermaid's own composition. ON A GENTLEWOMAN'S SILK-ROOD. The milk it came hot from an orthodox cow Is there a sanctity in love begun

Ne'r rid by the pope, nor yet the pope's bull; That every wonian veils, and turns lay-nun? The heat of zeal boyled it, God knows how : Alas your guilt appears still through the dress;

'Twas the milk of the word; beleeve it who will. You do not so much cover as confess:

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To me 'tis a memoriall, I begin

If when her teares I haste to kiss,
Forthwith to think on Venus and the gin,

They dry up, and deceivę my bliss,
Discovering in these veyls, so subt'ly set,

May not I say the waters sink,
At least her upper parts caught in the net. And cheat my thirst when I would drink?
Tell me who taught you to give so much light If when her breasts I go to press,
As may entice, not satisfie the sight,

Instead of them I grasp her dress,
Betraying what may cause us to admire,

May not I say the apples then
And kindle only, but not quench desire ?

Are set down, and snatch'd up agen?
Among your other subtilties, 'tis one

Sleep was not thus Death's brother meant;
That you see all, and yet are seen of none ;

'Twas made an ease, no punishment.
"Tis the dark-lanthorn to the face; O then

As then that's finish'd by the Sun,
May we not think there's treason against men? Which Nile did only leave begun,
Whiles thus you only do expose the lips,

My fancy shall run o'r sleep's themes,
'Tis but a fair and wantonner eclipse.

And so make up the web of dreams:
Mean't how you will, at once to show, and bide, In vain fleet shades, ye do contest :
At best is but the modesty of pride;

Awak'd howe'r I'I think the rest.
Either unveil you then, or veil quite o'r,
Beauty deserves not so much foulness more.

But I prophane, like one whose strange desires
Bring to Love's altar foul and drossie fires :
Sink 0 those words t your cradles; for I know,

Mixt as you are, your birth came from below:
My fancy's now all hallow'd, and I find

Where is that learned wretch that knows
Poré vestals in my thoughts, priests in my mind.

What are those darts the veyl'd god throws ?
So Love appear’d, when, breaking out his way

O let him tell me ere I dye
From the dark chaos, he first shed the day;

When 'twas he saw or heard them fly;
Newly awak'd out of the bud so shows

Whether the sparrow's plumes, or dove's,
The half seen, half hid glory of the rose,

Wing them for various lores;
As you do through your veyls; and I may swear,

And whether gold, or lead,
Viewing you so, that beauty doth bud there.

Quicken, or dull the head:
So truth lay under fables, that the eye

I will annoiut and keep them warm,
Might reverence the mystery, not desery ;

And make the weapons heale the harm.
Light being so proportion'd, that no more

Fond that I am to aske! who ere
Was seen, but what might cause 'em to adore:
Thus is

Did yet see thought? or silence hear?
your dress so ord'red, so contriv'd,

Safe from the search of humane eye
As ʼtis but only poetry reviv'd.
Such doubtfull light had sacred groves, where rods These arrows (as their waies are) Rie:

The flights of angels part
And twigs, at last did shoot np into gods;

Not aire with so much art;
Where then a shade darkneth the beautuous face,

And snows on streams, we may
May not l pay a reverence to the place?

Say, louder fall than they.
So under-water glimmering stars appear,

So hopeless I must now endure,
As those (but nearer stars) your eyes do bere, And neither know the shaft nor cure.
So deities dark’ned sit, that we may find
A better way to see them in our mind.

A sudden fire of blushes shed
No bold Ixion then be here allow'd,

To dye white paths with hasly red;
Whert Juno dares her self be in the cloud. A glance's lightning swiftly thrown,
Methinks the first age comes again, and we Or from a true or seeming frown;
See a retrivall of siinplicity ;

A subt'le taking smile
Thus looks the country virgin, whose brown hue From passion, or from guile;
Hoods her, and makes her shew even veil'd as yon. The spirit, life, and grace
Blest mean, that checks our hope, and spurs our Of motion, limbs, and face;
Whiles all doth not lye hid, nor all appear: [fear, These misconceits entitles darts,
O fear ye no assaults from bolder men;

And tears the bleedings of our hearts.
When they assaile be this your armour then.
A silken helmet may defend those parts,

but as the feathers in the wing,
Where softer kisses are the only darts.

Unblemish'd are and no wounds bring,
And harmless twigs no bloodshed know,
Tiil art doth fit them for the bow;

So lights of Bowing graces
Sparkling in severall places,

Only adorn the parts,

• Till we that make them darts;
As Nilus sudden ebbing, here

Themselves are only twigs and guils :
Doth leave a scale, and a scale there,

We give them shape, and force for ills.
And somewhere else perhaps a fin,

Beautic's our grief, but in the ore,
Which by his stay had fishes been:

We mint, and stamp, and then adore;
So dreams, which overflowing be,

Like heathen we the image crown,
Departing leave half things, which we

And undiscreetly then fall down :
For their imperfectness can call

Those graces all were meant
But joyes i'tl' fin, or in the scale.

Our joy, not discontent;

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But with untaught desires

And beating back that false, and cruell name, We turn those lights to fires.

Did comfort and revenge my flame. Thus Nature's healing herbs we take,

Then faithless whither wilt thou ty?
And out of cures do poysons make.

Stones dare not harbour cruelty.
Tell me, you gods, who e'r you are,
Why, O why made you him so fair ?

And tell me, wretch, why thou

Mad'st not thy self more true ?
See thy Parthenia stands

Beauty from him may copies take,
Here to receive thy last commands.

And more majestique heroes make,

And falshood learn a wile,
Say quickly, say, for fear

From him too, to beguile.
Grief ere thou speaks, make me not hear.
Alas, as well I may

Restore my clew
Call to flowers wither'd yesterday.

'Tis here most due,
His beauties, O th'are gone;

Por 'tis a labyrinth of more subtile art,
His thousand graces none.

To have so fair a face, so foul a heart.
This, O ye gods, is this the due

The ravenous vulture tear his breast, Ye pay to nien more jitst than you

The rowling stone disturb his rest, O dye Parthenia, nothing now remains

Let him next feel Of all thy Argalus, but his wounds and stains.

Ixion's wheel,

And add one fable more
Too late, I now recall,

To cursing poets' store ;
The gods foretold me this thy fall;

And then-yet rather let him live, and twine I grasp'd thee in my dream,

His woof of daies, with some thred stolo from minez And loe thou meltd'st into a stream; But when they will surprise,

But if you'l torture him, how e'r, They shew the fate, and blind the eyes.

Torture my heart, you'l find him there.
Which wound shall I first kiss ?

Till my eyes drank up his,
Here ? there? or that? or this?

And his drank mine,
Why gave he not the like to me,

I ne'r thought souls might kiss,
That wound by wound might answer'd be?

And spirits joyn:
We would have joyntly bled, by griefs ally'd,

Pictures till then And drank each other's soul, and so have dy'd.

Took me as much as men,

Nature and art
In silent groves below
Thy bleeding wounds thou now dost show;

Moving alike my heart,
And there perhaps to fame

But his fair visage made me find
Deliver'st up Parthenia's name;

Pleasures and fears,
Nor do thy loves abate.

Hopes, sighs, and tears,

As severall seasons of the mind.
O gods! O stars! O death! O fate !
But thy proud spoyler here

Should thine eye, Venus, on his dwell,
Doth thy snatch'd glories wear;

Thou wouldst invite him to thy shell,
And big with undeserv'd success

And caught by that live jet

Venture the second net,
Sucis up his acts, and thinks fame less ;

And after all thy dangers, faithless he,
And counts my groans not worthy of relief,
O hate! () anger! O revenge ! O grief!

Shouldst thou but slumber, would forsake ev'n thee
Parthenia then shall live,

The streames so court the yeelding banks, And something to thy story give.

And gliding thence ne'r pay their thanks;

The winds so wooe the flow'rs,
Revenge inflame my breast
To send thy wand'ring spirit rest.

Whisp'ring among fresh bow'rs,
By our last tye, our trust,

And having rob'd them of their smels,
Our one mind, our one faith I must:

Fly thence perfum'd to other cels.

This is familiar hate to sinile and kill,
By my past hopes and fears,
My passions, and my tears ;

Though nothing please thee yet my ruine will By these thy wounds (my wounds) I vow,

Death, horer, hover o'r me then, And by thy ghost, my griefe's god now,

Waves, let your christall womb l'l not revoke a thouglit. Or to thy tomb

Be both my fate, and tomb,

l'l sooner trust the sea, than men. My off"ring he, or I bis crime will come.

Yet for revenge to Heaven l'l call

And breath one curse before I fall,

Proud of two conquests Minotaure, and me, ARIADNE DESERTED BY THESEUS, That by thy faith, this by thy perjury,

Mayst thou forget to wing thy ships with white, AS SHE SITS UPON A ROCK IN THE ISLAND NAXOS, THUS That the black say, may to the longing sight

Of thy gray father, tell thy fate, and be Theseus! O Theseus heark! but yet in vain, Bequeath the sea his name, falling like me: Alas deserted I complain,

Nature and love thus brand thee, whiles I dye It was some neighbouring rock, more soft than he, 'Cause thou forsak'st, Ægeus 'cause thou drawest Whose hallow bowels pittied me,



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