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LOVE'S FAREWELL...FROM A CHILD...ON A GIRDLE.

For you, that are in motion still,
LOVE'S FAREWELL.

Decline our force, and mock our skill;
TREADING the path to nobler ends,

Who, like Don Quixote, do advance A long farewell to love I gave:

Against a windinill our vain lance. Resolv'd my country, and my friends,

Now will I wander through the air, All that remain'd of me should have.

Mount, make a stoop at every fair;

And, with a fancy unconfin'd, And this resolve, no mortal dame,

(As lawless as the sea or wind) None but those eyes, could have o'e n: The nymph I dare not, need not, name,

Pursue you wheresoe'er you fly,

And with your various thoughts comply. So high, so like herself alone.

The formal stars do travel so, Thus the tall oak, which now aspires

As we their names and courses know; Above the fear of private fires,

And he that on their changes looks, Grown and design'd for nobler use,

Would think them govern'd by our books: Not to make warm, but build the house,

But never were the clouds reduc'd
Though from our meaner flames secure,

To any art: the motions us'd
Must that which falls from Heaven endure. By those free vapours are so light,

So frequent, that the conquer'd sight
Despairs to find the rules, that guide

Those gilded shadows as they slide,
FROM A CHILD.

And therefore of the spacious air
MADAM, as, in some climes, the warmer sun Jove's royal consort had the care,
Makes it full summer ere the spring's begun, And by that power did once escape,
And with ripe fruit the bending bonghs can load, Declining bold Ixion's rape;
Before our violets dare look abroad:

She with her own resemblance grac'd
So, measure not, by any common nse,

A shining cloud, which he embrac'd.
The early love your brighter eyes produce.

Such was that image, so it smild
When lately your fair hand in woman's weed With seeming kindness, which beguil'd
Wrap'd my glad head, I wish'd me so indeed, Your Thyrsis lately, when he thought
That hasty time might never make me grow He had his fleeting Cælia caught.
Out of those favours you afford me now;

'Twas shap'd like her; but for the fair, That I might ever such indulgence find,

He fill'd his arms with yielding air.
And you not blush, or think yourself too kind, A fate for which he grieves the less,
Who now, I fear, while I these joys express, Because the gods had like success.
Begin to think how you may make them less : Por in their story, one, we see,
The sound of love makes your soft heart afraid, Pursues a nymph, and takes a tree:
And guard itself, though but a child invade, A second, with a lover's haste,
And innocently at your white breast throw

Soon overtakes whom he had chas'd;
A dart as white, a ball of new-fall’n snow.

But she, that did a virgin seem,
Possest, appears a wandering stream:
For his supposed love, a third

Lays greedy hold upon a bird ;
ON A GIRDLE.

And stands amaz'd to find his dear
That, which her slender waist confin'd,

A wild inhabitant of th' air. Shall now my joyful temples bind :

To these old tales, such nymphs as you No monarch but would give his crown,

Give credit, and still make them new; His arms might do what this has done.

The amorous now like wonders find, It was my Heaven's extremest sphere,

In the swift changes of your mind.

But, Cælia, if yon apprehend
The pale which held that lovely deer :
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,

The Muse of your incensed friend,
Did all within this circle move!

Nor would that he record your blame,

And make it live, repeat the same; A narrow compass! and yet there

Again deceive him, and again, Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair:

And then he swears he'll not complain : Give me but what this ribband bound,

For still to be deluded so,
Take all the rest the Sun goes round.

Is all the pleasure lovers know ;
Who, like good falconers, take delight,

Not in the quarry, but the flight.
TO THE MUTABLE FAIR.
Here, Cælia! for thy sake I part
With all that grew so near my heart;

TO FLAVIA.
The passion that I had for thee,

SONG.
The faith, the love, the constancy!
And, that I may successful prove,

'Tis not your beauty can engage Transform myself to what you love.

My wary heart: Fool that I was! so much to prize

The Sun, in all his pride and rage, Those simple virtues you despise :

Has not that art; Fool! that with such dull arrows strove,

And yet he shines as bright as you, Or hop'd to reach a flying dove.

If brightness could our souls subdue.

'Tis not the pretty things you say,

I pluck'd it, though no better grown;
Nor those you write,

And now you see how full 'tis blown.
Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey:
For that delight,

Still as I did the leaves inspire,
The graces of a well-taught mind,

With such a purple light they shone, In some of our own sex we find.

As if they had been made of fire, No, Flavia ! 'tis your love I fear:

And, spreading so, would Aame anon:

All that was meant by air or sin,
Love's surest darts,
Those which so seldom fail him, are

To the young flower, my breath has done.
Headed with hearts:

If our loose breath so much can do, Their very shadows make us yield;

What may the same in forms of love, Dissemble well, and win the field.

Of purest love, and music too,

When Flavia it aspires to move?

When that, which lifeless buds persuades
THE FALL.

To wax more soft, her youth invades?
Ser! how the willing earth gave way,
To take th' impression where she lay!
See! how the mould, as loth to leave

SONG.
So sweetí a burden, still doth cleave
Close to the nymph's stain'd garment! Here

Behold the brand of beauty tost !
The coming spring would first appear;

See how the motion does dilate the flame! And all this place with roses strow,

Delighted Love his spoils does boast, If busy feet would let them grow.

And triumph in this game. Here Venus smil'd, to see blind Chance

Fire, to no place confin’d, Itself, before her son, advance;

Is both our wonder, and our fear; And a fair image to present,

Moving the mind, Of what the boy so long had meant.

As lightning hurled through the air. "Tivas such a chance as this made all The world into this order fall.

High Heaven the glory does increase Thus the first lovers, on the clay,

Of all her shining lamps this artful way: Of which they were composed, lay:

The Sun, in figures, such as these, So in their prime, with equal grace,

Joys with the Moon to play: Met the first patterns of our race.

To the sweet strains they advance, Then blush not, fair! or on him frown,

Which do result from their own spheres, Or wonder how you both came down;

As this nymph's dance But touch bim, and he'll tremble strait :

Moves with the numbers which she hears. How could he then support your weight? How could the youth, alas! but bend, When his whole Heaven upon him'lean'd) If aught by him amiss were done, "Twas, that he let you rise so soon.

DISCOVERY OF A LADY'S PAINTING.

PYGMALEON's fate revers'd is mine;
OF SYLVIA.

His marble love took flesh and blood;
Our sighs are heard, just Heaven declares All that I worshipp'd as divine,
The sense it has of lovers' cares :

That beauty! now 'tis understood,
She, that has so far the rest outshin'd,

Appears to have no more of life,
Sylvia the fair, while she was kind,

Than that whereof he fram'd his wife.
As if her frowns impair'd her brow,
Seems only not unhandsome now.

As women yet, who apprehend
So when the sky makes us endure

Some sudden cause of causeless fear, A storm, itself becomes obscure.

Although that seeming cause take end,

And they behold no danger near, Hence 'tis, that I conceal my flame,

A shaking through their limbs they find,
Hiding from Flavia's self her name;

Like leaves saluted by the wind :
Lest she, provoking Heaven, should prove
How it rewards neglected love.

So, though the beauty do appear
Better a thousand such as I,

No beauty, which amaz'd me so; Their grief untold, should pine and die,

Yet from my breast I cannot tear Than her bright morning, overcast

The passion, which from thence did grow; With sullen clouds, should be defac'd.

Nor yet out of my fancy rase
The print of that supposed face.

A real beauty, though too near,
THE BUD.

The fond Narcissus did admire:
LATELY on yonder swelling bush,

I doat on that which is no where; Big with many a coming rose,

The sign of beauty feeds my fire. This early bud began to blush,

No mortal flame was e'er so cruel And did but balf itself disclose :

As this, which thus survives the fuel.

ON THE

May not a thousand dangers sleep
TO A LADY,

In the smooth bosom of the deep?

No: 'tis so rockless and so clear,
FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED A SILVER PEN.

That the rich bottom does appear
Madam! intending to have try'd

Pav'd all with precious things; not torn The silver favour which you gave,

From shipwreck'd vessels, but there bom. In ink the shining point I dy'd,

Sweetness, truth, and every grace, And drench'd it in the sable wave;

Which time, and use, are wont to teach, When, griev'd to be so foully stain'd,

The eye may in a moment reach, On you it thus to me complain’d.

And read distinctly in her face. “ Suppose you had deserv'd to take

Some other nymphs, with colours faint, From her fair hand so fair a boon ;

And pencil slow, may Cupid paint, Yet how deserved I to make

And a weak heart in time destroy ; So ill a change, who ever won

She has a stamp, and prints the boy : Immortal praise for what I wrote,

Can, with a single look, inflame Instructed by her noble thought ?

The coldest breast, the rudest tame. * I, that expressed her commands

To mighty lords and princely dames, Always most welcome to their hands,

THE SELF-BANISHED. Proud that I would record their names, Must now be taught an humble style,

It is not that I love you less, Some meaner beauty to beguile."

Than when before your feet I lay;

But, to prevent the sad increase
So I, the wronged pen to please,

Of hopeless love, I keep away.
Make it my humble thanks express
Unto your ladyship, in these:

In vain, alas! for every thing,
And now 'tis forced to confess,

Which I have known belong to you, That your great self did ne'er indite,

Your form does to my fancy bring, Nor that, to one more noble, write.

And makes my old wounds bleed anew.
Who in the spring, from the new sún

Already has a fever got,
TO CHLORIS.

Too late begins those shafts to shun,

Which Phæbus through his veins has shot. CALORIS! since first our calm of peace

Too late he would the pain assuage,
Was frighted hence, this good we find,
Your favours with your fears increase,

And to thick shadows does retire;
Aud growing mischiefs make you kind.

About with him he bears the rage,

And in his tainted blood the fire. So the fair tree, which still preserves

But vow'd I have, and never must
Her fruit and state, while no wind blows;

Your banish'd servant trouble you ;
In storms from that uprightness swerves,
And the glad earth about her strows

For if I break, you may mistrust

The vow I made-to love you too, With treasure, from her yielding boughs.

SONG, WHILE I listen to thy voice,

Chloris, I feel my life decay;
That powerful noise

Calls my fleeting soul away.
Oh! suppress that magic sound,
Which destroys without a wound !
Peace, Chloris, peace! or singing die,
That together you and I

To Heaven may go:

For all we know
Of what the blessed do above
Is, that they sing, and that they love.

SONG,
Go, lovely Rose !
Tell her, that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet, and fair, she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spy'd,

That hadst thou sprung
In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended dy'd.

Small is the worth
Of beauty, from the light retir'd:

Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desir'd,
And not blush so to be admir'd.

Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee:
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair !

OF LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT.
Nor caring to observe the wind,

Or the new sea explore,
Snatch'd from myself, how far behind

Already I behold the shore !

THYRSIS.

O fertile head! which every yrar
THYRSIS, GALATEA.

Could such a crop of wonder bear!
The teeming Earth did never bring,

So soon, so hard, so huge a thing :
As lately I on silver Thames did ride,

Which might it never have been cast, Sad Galatea on the bank I spy'd :

(Each year's growth added to "he last) Such was her look as sorrow taught to shine;

These lofty branches had supply'd And thus she grac'd me with a voice divine.

The Earth's bold sons' prodigious pride: GAL. You, that can tune your sounding strings so

Heaven with these engines had been scald, Of ladies' beauties, and of love, to tell, [well,

When mountains heap'd on mountains fail'd. Once change your note, and let your lute report The justest grief, that ever touch'd the court.

THYR. Fair nymph! I have in your delights no Nor ought to be concerned in your care; [share,

TO A LADY IN RETIREMENT. Yet would I sing, if I your sorrows knew; And to my aid invoke no muse but you.

Sees not my love, how Time resumes GAL. Hear then, and let your song augment our

The glory which he lent these flowers? Which is so great, as not to wish relief. [grief,

Though none should taste of their perfumes, She that had all which Nature gives, or Chance,

Yet must they live but some few hours : Whom Fortune join'd with Virtue to advance

Time, what we forbear, devours ! To all the joys this island could afford,

Had Helen, or th' Egyptian queen, The greatest mistress, and the kindest lord ;

Been near so thrifty of their graces; Who with the royal mixt her noble blood,

Those beauties must at length have been
And in high grace with Gloriana stood;

The spoil of age, which finds out faces
Her bounty, sweetness, beauty, goodness, such, In the most retired places.
That none e'er thought her happiness too much; Should some malignant planet bring
So well inclin'd her favours to confer,

A barren drought, or ceaseless shower,
And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her! Upon the autumn, or the spring,
The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife,

And spare us neither fruit nor flower;
So well she acted in the span of life,

Winter would not stay an hour. That, though few years (too few, alas!) she told,

Could the resolve of Love's neglect She seem'd in all things, but in beauty, old.

Preserve you from the violation As unripe fruit, whose verdant stalks do cleave

Of coming years, then more respect Close to the tree, which grieves no less to leave

Were due to so divine a fashion ;
The smiling pendant, which adorns her so,

Nor would I indulge my passion.
And until autumn on the bough should grow:
So seem'd her youthful soul not easily forc'd,
Or from so fair, so sweet, a seat divorc'd.
Her fate at once did hasty seem, and slow;

THE MISER'S SPEECH:
At once too cruel, and unwilling too.
THYR. Under how hard a law are mortals born!

Balls of this metal slack'd Atlanta's pace,
Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn:
What Heaven sets highest, and seems most to prize, Venus, (the nymph's mind measuring by her own)

And on the amorous youth 5 bestow'd the race: Is soon removed from our wondering eyes! But since the sisters 3 did so soon untwine

Whom the rich spoils of cities overthrown

Had prostrated to Mars, could well advise
So fair a thread, I'll strive to piece the line.

Th' adventurous lover how to gain the prize.
Vouchsafe, sad nymph! to let me know the dame, Nor less may Jupiter to gold ascribe :
And to the muses I'll commend her name:

For, when he tum'd himself into a bribe,
Make the wide country echo to your moan,

Who can blame Danaë, or the brazen tower, The listening trees, and savage mountains, groan.

That they withstood not that almighty shower ? What rock's not moved when the death is sung

Never till then did Love make Jove put on Of one so good, so lovely, and so young!

A form more bright, and nobler, than his own: gal. 'Twas Hamilton !-whom I had nam'd before, Nor were it just, would he resume that shape, But naming her, grief lets me say no more. That slack devotion should his thunder scape.

'Twas not revenge for griev'd Apollo's wrong,

Those ass's ears on Midas' temples hung,
ON THE HEAD OF A STAG.

But fond repentance of his happy wish,

Because his meat grew metal like his dish. So we some antique hero's strength

Would Bacchus bless me so, I'd constant hold Learn by his lance's weight, and length;

Unto my wish, and die creating gold.
As these vast beams express the beast,
Whose shady brows alive they drest.
Such game, while yet the world was new,
The mighty Nimrod did pursue.

UPON BEN JONSON.
What huntsman of our feeble race,

Mirror of poets! mirror of our age ! Or dogs, dare such a monster chase?

Which, her whole face beholding on thy stage, Resembling, with each blow he strikes,

Pleas'd, and displeas'd, with her own faults, endures The charge of a whole troop of pikes.

A remedy like those whom music cures. 3 Parcæ.

4 Cleopatra. 5 Hippomenes.

IN A MASQUE.

55

YEAR 1635.

ON MR. FLETCHER'S PLAYS... TO MR. SANDYS.
Thou hast alone those various inclinations, Wherewith they now assist the choir
Which Nature gives to ages, sexes, nations : Of angels, who their songs admire!
So traced with thy all-resembling pen,

Whatever those inspired souls
That whate'er custom has impos'd on men,
Or ill-got habit (which deforms them so,

Were urged to express, did shake
That scarce a brother can his brother know)

The aged deep, and both the poles;

Their numerous thunder could awake
Is represented to the wondering eyes

Dull Earth, which does with Heaven consent
Of all, that see or read thy comedies.

To all they wrote, and all they meant.
Whoever in those glasses looks, may find
The spots return'd, or graces, of his mind,

Say, sacred bard! what could bestow
And, by the help of so divine an art,

Courage on thee, to soar so high?
At leisure view and dress his nobler part.

Tell me, brave friend! what help'd thee so
Narcissus, cozen'd by that flattering well,

To shake off all mortality ?
Which nothing could but of his beauty tell,

To light this torch thou hast climb'd higher,

Than he 7 who stole celestial fire.
Had here, discovering the deform'd estate
Of his fond mind, preserv'd himself with hate.
But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad
In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had

TO MR. HENRY LAWES,
Beheld, what his high fancy once embrac'd,
Virtue with colours, speech, and motion grac'd. WHO HAD THEN NEWLY SET A SONG OP MINE, IN THE
The sundry postures of thy copious Muse
Who would express, a thousand tongues must use;

Verse makes heroic virtue live;
Whose fate's no less peculiar than thy art;

But you can life to verses give.
For as thou couldst all characters impart,
So none could render thine ; which still escapes,

As, when in open air we blow,
Like Proteus, in variety of shapes;

The breath (though strain'd) sounds flat and low,

But if a trumpet take the blast,
Who was, nor this, nor that; but all we find,

It lifts it high and makes it last :
And all we can imagine, in mankind.

So, in your airs our numbers drest,
Make a shrill sally from the breast

Of nymphs, who, singing what we penn'd,
ON MR. JOHN FLETCHER'S PLAYS.

Our passions to themselves commend ;

While Love, victorious with thy art,
FLETCHER! to thee we do not only owe

Governs at once their voice and heart.
All those good plays, but those of others too:

You, by the help of tune and time,
Thy wit repeated, does support the stage,

Can make that song, which was but rhyme:
Credits the last, and entertains this age.

Noy & pleading, no man doubts the cause,
No worthies, form'd by any Muse but thine, Or questions verses set by Lawes.
Could purchase robes, to make themselves so fine. As a church-window, thick with paint,

What brave commander is not proud, to see Lets in a light but dim and faint;
Thy brave Melantius in his gallantry?

So others, with division, hide
Our greatest ladies love to see their scorn

The light of sense, the poet's pride :
Outdone by thine, in what themselves have worn : But you alone may truly boast
Th' impatient widow, ere the year be done, That not a syllable is lost:
Sees thy Aspasia weeping in her gown.

The writer's and the setter's skill
I never yet the tragic strain assay'd,

At once the ravish'd ears do fill.
Deterr'd by that inimitable Maid 6.

Let those, which only warble long,
And, when I venture at the comic style,

And gargle in their throats a song,
Thy Scornful Lady seems to mock my toil. Content themselves with ut, re, mi :

Thus has thy Muse at once improv'd and marrd Let words and sense be set by thee.
Our sport in plays, by rendering it too hard !
So, when a sort of lusty shepherds throw
The bar by turns, and none the rest out-go
So far, but that the best are measuring casts,

TO SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT,
Their emulation and their pastime lasts :

UPON HIS TWO FIRST BOOKS OF CONDIBERT: WRITTEN IN
But, if some brawny yeoman of the guard
Step in, and toss the axletree a yard,
Or more, beyond the furthest mark, the rest,

Tuus the wise nightingale, that leaves her home,
Despairing stand; their sport is at the best.

Her native wood, when storms and winter come,
Pursuing constantly the cheerful spring,
To foreign groves does her old music bring.

The drooping Hebrews banish'd, harps, unstrung,
TO MR. GEORGE SANDYS,

At Babylon upon the willows hung :
ON HIS TRANSLATION OF SOME PARTS OF THE BIBLE.

Yours sounds aloud, and tells us you excel

No less in courage, than in singing well;
How bold a work attempts that pen,

While, unconcernd, you let your country know,
Which would enrich our vulgar tongue

They have impoverish'd themselves, not you:
With the high raptures of those men,

Who, with the Muses' help, can mock those Fates,
Who here with the same spirit sung,

Which threaten kingdons, and disorder states.
6 The Maid's Tragedy.

7 Prometheus. The attorney-general.

FRANCE.

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