I can't do that my soul abhors :
His faming eyes at last grown blood-shot red, Or, by your art's assistance, though I might By atoms spring from his hot horses' speed, Prevail upon my appetite,
Drives to that sea-green bosom of his love's, I durst not couple, though I swear,
And in her lap his fainting light improves :
With you, of all the world, for fear
So, Thyrsis, when at th' unresisted flame
Of cuckolding my ancestors.
Of thy fair mistress' eye thine dull became,
In sovereigu sack thou didst an eye-salve seek,
And stol'st a blest dew from her rosy cheek:
IN MENDACEM.
When straight thy lids a cheerful vigour wore,
More quick and penetrating than before.
I saw the sprightly grape in glory rise,
Mendax, 'tis said th’art such a liar grown,
And with her day thy drooping night surprise; That thou'st renounc'd all truth, and 'tis well done; So that, where now a giddy darkness dwells, Lying best fits our manners and our times : Brightness now breaks through liquid spectacles. But pr’ythee, Mendax, do not praise my rhymes. Had Adam known this cure in Paradise,
He'd’scap'd the tree, and drunk to clear his eyes.
Way, dearest, should'st thou weep, when I relate
The story of my woe?
Let not the swarthy mists of my black fate
O'ercast thy beauty so;
for each rich pearl lost on that score,
Adds to mischance, and wounds your servant more.
Quench not those stars, that to my bliss should
Oh, spare that precious tear! [guide,
Nor let those drops unto a delugt tide,
To drown your beauty there;
That cloud of surrow makes it night,
You lose your lustre, but the world its light.
How, Chloris, can I e'er believe
The vows of womakind,
Since yours I faithless find,
So faithless, that you can refuse
To him your shadow, t' whom, to choose,
You swore you could the substance give?
Is 't not enough that I must go
Into another clime,
Where feather-footed Time May turn my hopes into despair,
My downy youth lo bristled hair, But that you add this torment too? Perhaps you fear m'idolatry
Would make the image prove
A woman fit for love;
Or give it such a soul as shone
Through fond Pygmalion's living bone,
That so I may abandon thee.
Oh, no! 'twould fill my genius' room,
Mine honest one, that when
Frailty would love again,
And falt'ring with new objects burn,
Then, sweetest, would thy picture turn
My wand'ring eyes to thee at home.
THE GREAT EATER OF GRAY'S-INN.
On! for a lasting wind! that I may rail
At this vile cormorant, this harpey-male:
That can, with such an hungry haste, devour
year's provision in one short-livd hour.
Prodigious calf of Pharaoh's lean-ribbd kine,
That swallowest beef, at every bit a chine!
Yet art thyself so meagre, men may see
Approaching famine in thy phys’nomy.
The world may yet rejoice, thou wert not one
That shar'd Jove's mercy with Deucalion;
Had he thy grinders trusted in that hoat,
Where the whole world's epitome did float,
Clean and unclean had dy'd, th' Earth found a
Of her irrational inhabitant:
[want
"Tis doubted, there their fury had not ceas'd,
But of the human part too made a feast !
How fruitless then had been Heaven's charity ?
No man on Earth had liv'd, nor beast, but thee.
Hall'st thou been one to feed upon the fare
Stor'd by old Priam for the Grecian war,
He and his sons had soon been made a prey,
Troy's ten years' siege had lasted but one day;
Or thou mighit'st have preserv'ıl them, and at once
Chopp'd up Achilles and his Myrmidons.
Had'st thou been Bell, sure thou had'st sav'd
the lives
[wives ;
O'th' cheating priests, their children, and their
But at this rate, 'tould be a heavy tax
For Hercules himself to clean thy jakes. (please
Oh! that kind Heav'n to give to thee would
An estridge-maw, for then we should have peace,
Swords then, or shining engines, woull be none,
No guns, to thunder out destruction ;
No rugged shackles would be extant then,
Nor tedious grates, that limit free-born men.
But thy gnt-pregnant womb thy paws do fill
With spoils of Nature's good, and not her ill.
'Twas th’inns of court's improvidence to own
Thy wolfish carcase for a son o'th' gown :
The danger of thiy jaws they ne'er foresaw ;
For, faith! I think thou hast devour'd the law.
No wonder thou’rt complain'd of by the rout,
When very curs begin to smell thee ont.
The reasons Southwark rings with bowlings, are,
Because thou robb'st the bull dogs of their share.
Beastly consumer! not content to eat
The wholesome quarters destin'd for men's mcat,
But excrement, and all: nor wilt thou bate
One entrail, to inforın us of thy tate :
WHO SAID HE DNAYK TO CLEAR HIS EYES.
As Phæbus, drawing to his western seat,
His shining face bedewid with beamy sweat,
Which will, I hope, be such an ugly death,
As hungry beggars can in cursings breathe.
But I have done, my Muse can scold no more,
She to the bearward's sentence turns thee o'er;
And, since so great's thy stomach's tyranny,
For writing this, pray God, thou eat not me.
ON MY DEAR AUNT, MRS. ANN STANHOPE.
FORBEAR, bold passenger, forbear
The verge of this sad sepulchre !
Put off thy shoes, ner dare to tread
The hallowed earth, where she lies dead:
For in this vauit the magazine
Of female virtue's stor'd, and in
This marble casket is confin'd
The jewel of all womankind.
For here she lies, whose spring was crown'd
With every grace in beauty found;
Whose summer to that spring did suit,
Whose autumn crack'd with happy fruit:
Whose fall was, like her life, so spent,
Exemplary, and excellent.
For here the fairest, chastest maid,
That this age ever knew, is laid:
The best of kindred, best of friends,
Of most faith, and of fewest ends;
Whose fame the tracks of time survives;
The best of mothers, best of wives.
Lastly, which the whole sum of praise implies, Here she, who was the best of women, lies.
SET BY MR. COIEMAN.
SEE, how like twilight slumber falls
T'obscure the glory of those balls; And, as she sleeps,
See how light creeps
Thorough the chinks, and beautifies
The rayey fringe of her fair eyes.
Observe Love's feuds, how fast they fly
To every heart from her clos'd eye;
What then will she,
When waking be?
A glowing light for all t' admire,
Such as would set the world on fire.
Then seal her eye-lids, gentle sleep,
Whiles cares of her mine open keep :
Lock up, I say,
Those doors of day,
Which with the morn for lustre strive, That I may look on her, and live.
THE RETREAT.
I AM return'd, my fair, but see
Perfection in none but thee:
Yet many beauties have I seen, And in that search a truant been, Through fruitless curiosity.
I've been to see each blear-ey'd star, Fond men durst with thy light compare; And, to my admiration, find
That all, but I in love are blind,
And none but thee divinely fair.
Here then I fix, and, now grown wise, All objects, but thy face, despise :
(Taught by my folly) now I swear, If you forgive me, ne'er to err, Nor seek impossibilities.
WELL, cruel mistress, though you're too unkind,
Since thus my banishment's by you design'd,
I go, but with you leave my heart behind.
A truer heart, I'm sure, you never wore,
'Tis the best treasure of the blind go l's store,
And, truly, you can justly ask no more.
Then blame me not, if curious to know,
I ask, on what fair limb you will bestow
The token, that my zeal presents you now?
I shall expect so great an interest
For such a gift, as t' have that gem possest,
Not of your cabinet, but of your breast.
There fixt, 'twill glory in its blest remove,
And flaming degrees by a vigil prove,
Icy disdain to thaw, nay, kindle love.
Ask not, why sorrow shades my brow,
Nor why my sprightly looks decay?
Alas! what need I beauty now,
Since he, that lov'd it, dy'd to day!
Can ye have ears, and yet not know
Mirtillo, brave Mirtillo's slain?
Can ye have eyes, and they not flow,
Or hearts, that do not share my pain?
He's gone! he's gone! and I will go;
For in my breast such wars I have,
And thoughts of him perplex me so,
That the whole world appears my grave.
But I'll go to him, though he lie
Wrapt in the cold, cold arms of Death:
And under yon sad cypress tree
I'll mourn, I'll mourn away my breath.
PR'YTHEE, why so angry, sweet? 'Tis in vain
To dissemble a disdain; That frown i' th' infancy I'll meet, And kiss it to a smile again.
In that pretty anger is
Such a grace,
As Love's fancy would embrace,
As to new crimes may youth entice,
So that disguise becomes that face.
When thy rosy cheek thus checks
My offence,
I could sin with a pretence:
Through that sweet chiding blush there breaks,
So fair, so bright an innocence.
Thus your very frowns entrap
My desire,
And inflame me to admire
That eyes, diest in an angry shape, Should kindle as with amorous fire.
A JOURNEY INTO THE PEAK.
TO SIR ASTON COCKAIN.
SIR, coming home into this frozen clime,
Grown cold, and almost senseless, as my rhyme,
I found that winter's bold impetuous rage
Prevented time, and antedated age;
For in my veins did nought but crystal dwell,
Each hair was frozen to an isicle;
My flesh was marble, so that, as I went,
I did appear a walking monument:
'T might have been judg'd, rather than marble, Had there been any spark of fire in't.
My mistress looking back, to bid good night, Was inetamorphos'd like the Sodomite. Like Sinon's horse our horses were become,
And since they could not go, they slided home : The hills were hard, to such a quality,
So beyond reason in philosophy,
If Pegasus had kick'd at one of those,
Homer's Odysses had been writ in prose.
These are strange stories, sir, to you, who sweat
Under the warm Sun's comfortable heat;
Whose happy seat of Pooley far outvies
The fabled pleasures of blest Paradise :
Whose Canaan fills your house with wine and oil,
Till 't crack with burthens of a fruitful soil:
Which house, if it were plac'd above the sphere,
Would be a palace fit for Jupiter.
The humble chapel, for religious rites;
The inner rooms, for honest, free delights;
And Providence, that these miscarry loth,
Has plac'd the tower a centinel to both:
So that there's nothing wanting to improve
Either your piety, or peace, or love.
Without, you have the pleasure of the woods,
Fair plains, rich meadows, and transparent floods;
With all that's good and excellent, beside
The tempting apples by Euphrates' side;
But that which does above all these aspire,
Is Delphos, brought from Greece to Warwickshire.
But, oh, ungodly Hodge! that valued not
That saving juice o' th' enigmatic pot;
Whose charming virtue made me to forget
T' inquire of Fate; else I had staid there yet,
Nor had I then once dar'd to venture on
The cutting air of this our frozen zone.
But once again, dear sir, I mean to come,
And thankful be, as well as troublesome.
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UNLUCKY fire, which tho' from Heaven deriv'd,
Is brought too late, like cordials to the dead,
When all are of their sovereign sense depriv'd,
And honour, which my rage should warm, is fled.
Dead to heroic song this isle appears,
The ancient music of victorious verse;
They taste no, more than he his dirges hears,
Whose useless mourners sing about his herse.
Yet shall this sacred lamp in prison burn,
And through the darksome ages hence invade
The wondering world, like that in Tully's urn,
Which, tho' by time conceal'd, was not decay'd.
And, Charles, in that more civil century,
When this shall wholly fill the voice of Fame,
The busy antiquaries then will try
To find amongst their monarchs' coin thy name.
Much they will bless thy virtue, by whose fire
I'll keep my laurel warm, which else would fade;
And, thus enclos'd, think me of Nature's choir,
Which still sings sweetest in the shade.
To Fame, who rules the world, I lead thee now,
Whose solid power the thoughtful understand;
Whom, tho' too late weak princes to her bow,
The people serve, and poets can command.
And Fame, the only judge of empire past,
Shall to Verona lead thy fancy's eyes;
Where Night so black a robe on Nature cast,
As Nature seem'd afraid of her disguise.
TO SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT.
IN ANSWER TO THE SEVENTH CANTO, OF THE THIRD
BOOK OF HIS GONDIBERT, DIRECTED TO MY FATHER.
WRITTEN BY SIR WILLIAM, WHEN PRISONER IN THE
TOWER. 1652.
On, happy fire! whose heat can thus control
The rust of age, and thaw the frost of death,
That renders man immortal, as his soul,
And swells his fame with everlasting breath.
Happy's that hand, that unto honour's clime
Can lift the subject of his living praise;
That rescues frailty from the scythe of Time,
And equals glory to the length of days.
Such, sir, is yours, that, uncontrol'd as Fate,
In the black bosom of o'ershading Night
Can sons of immortality create,
To dazzle envy with prevailing light.
In vain they strive your glorious lamp to hide
In that dark lanthorn to all noble minds;
Which through the smallest cranny is descry'd,
Whose force united no resistance finds.
Blest is my father, that has found his name
Amongst the heroes by your pen reviv'd;
By running in Time's wheel, his thriving fame
Shall still more youthful grow, and longer liv'd.
Had Alexander's trophies thus been rear'd,
And in the circle of your story come,
The spacious orb full well he might have spar'd,
And reap'd his distant victories at home.
Let men of greater wealth than merit cast Medals of gold for their succeeding part; That paper monument shall longer last, Than all the rubbish of decaying art.
SHE, that I pursue, still flies me;
Her, that follows me, I fly;
She, that I still court, denies me:
Her, that courts me, I deny.
Thus in one web we're subtly wove,
And yet we mutiny in love.
She, that can save me, must not do it;
She, that cannot, fain would do:
Her love is bound, yet I still woo it:
Hers by love is bound in woe.
Yet, how can I of love complain.
Since I have love for love again?
This is thy work, imperious child,
Thine's this labyrinth of love, That thus hast our desires beguil'd,
Nor see'st how thine arrows rove. Then prythee, to compose this stir, Make her love me, or me love her. But, if irrevocable are
Those keen shafts, that wound us so, Let me prevail with thee thus far,
That thou once more take thy bow; Wound her hard heart, and by my troth, I'll be content to take them both.
How was I blest when I was free
From mercy, and from cruelty!
When I could write of love at ease,
And guess at passions in my peace;
When I could sleep, and in my breast
No love-sick thoughts disturb'd my rest;
When in my brain of her sweet face
No torturing idea was,
Not planet-struck with her eye's light,
But blest with thoughts as calm as night!
Now I could sit and gaze to death,
And vanish with each sigh 1 breathe;
Or else in her victorious eye
Dissolve to tears, dissolving die:
Nor is my life more pleasant than
The minutes of condemned men,
Toss'd by strange fancies, wrack'd by fears,
Sunk by despair, and drown'd in tears,
And dead to hope; for, what bold he
Dares hope for such a bliss as she?
And yet I am in love: ah! who
That ever saw her, was not so?
What tiger's unrelenting seed
Can see such beauties, and not bleed?
Her eyes two sparks of heavenly fire,
To kindle and to charm desire;
Her cheeks Aurora's blush; her skin
So delicately smooth and thin,
That you may see each azure vein
Her bosom's snowy whiteness stain :
But with so rich a tincture, as
China 'bove baser metals bas,
She's crown'd with unresisted light
Of blooming youth, and vigorous sp'rit;
Careless charms, unstudied sweetness,
Innate virtue, humble greatness,
And modest freedom, with each grace
Of body, and of mind, and face;
So pure, that men nor gods can find
Throughout that body, or that mind,
A fault, but this, to disapprove,
She cannot, or she will not love.
Ah! then some god possess her heart
With mine uncessant vows and smart;
Grant but one hour that she may be
In love, and then she'll pily me.
Is it not pity such a guest
As cruelty should arm that breast
Against a love assaults it so?
Can heavenly minds such rigour know?
Then make her know, her beauties must
Decay, and moulder into dust:
That each swift atom of her glass
Runs to the ruin of her face;
That those fair blossoms of her youth
Are not so lasting as my truth,
My lasting firm integrity:
Tell her all this; and if there be
A lesson to present her sense
Of more persuading eloquence,
Teach her that too, for all will prove
Too little to provoke her love.
Thus dying people use to rave,
And I am grown my passion's slave;
For fall I must, my lot's despair,
Since I'm so worthless, she so fair.
Yet knows she not what she has done,
She'll hear my prayers,
And see my tears ;
She's now a Nazarite
Robb’d of her vigorous light, For her resisting strength is gone. now could glory in my power.
And in pretence
Of my suspence,
Revenge, by kissing those
Twins, that Nature's pride disclose,
My languishing and tedious hours.
Yet I'll not triumph: but, since she
Will that I go
Thus wrapt in woe,
I'll tempt my prouder fate
T'inprove my estimate,
And justle with my destiny.
As well I may, thus being sure,
Whether on land
I firmly stand;
Or Fortune's footsteps trace,
Or Neptune's foamy face, Mischance to conquer, or endure. If on a swelling wave I ride,
When Eolus
His winds lets loose,
Those winds shall silent lic,
And moist Orion dry,
By virtue of this charming guide.
Or, if I hazard in a field,
Where Danger is
The sole mistress,
Where Death, in all his shapes,
Commits his horrid rapes,
And he, that but now slew, is kill'd :
Ο σλόκα μος υπερερενίκειος.
Welcome, blest symptom of consent,
More welcome far,
Than if a star,
Instead of this bright hair,
Should beautify mine ear,
And light me to my banishinent.
Methinks I'm now all sacred fire,
And wholly grown
Devotion :
Sensual love's in chains,
And all my boiling veins
Are blown with sanctify'd desire.
Sure, she is Heaven itself, and I,
In fervent zeal,
This lock did steal,
And each life-giving thread,
Snatch'd from her beamy head,
As once Prometheus from the sky.
No: 'tis a nobler treasure : she
(Won to believe)
Was pleas'd to give
These rays unto my care :
The spheres have none so fair, Nor yet so blest a deity.
Then in my daring crest I'll place
This plume of light
T'amaze the sight
O'th' fiercest sons of Mars,
That rage in bloody wars,
And make them fly my conquering face.
Thus in her favour I am blest ;.
And, if by these
Few of her rays,
I am exalted so,
What will my passions do
When I have purchas'd all the rest ?
They must continue in the same
Vigour and force,
Better nor worse :
I lov'd so well before,
I cannot love her inore,
Nor can I mitigate my flame.
In love then persevere I will
Till my hairs grow
As white as show:
And when in my warm veins
Nought but trembling cold remains, My youthful love shall nourish still.
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