Him the rich land, but barr'd his entry in :
Our slowness is our punishment and sin,
Perchance, these Spanish bus'nesses being done,
Which as the earth between the moon and sun
Eclipse the light which Guiana would give,
Our discontinued hopes we shall retrieve;
But if (as all th' all must) hopes smoak away,
Is not almighty Virtue an India?
If men be worlds, there is in every one
Something to answer in some proportion
All the world's riches; and in good men this
Virtue our form's form, and our soul's soul is.
Or that short roll of friends writ in my heart,
Which with thy name begins, since their depart,
Whether in th' English provinces they be,
Or drink of Po, Sequan, or Danuby,
There's none that sometimes greets us not; and yet Your Trent is Lethe', that past us you forget.
You do not duties of societies,
If from th' embrace of a lov'd wife you rise,
View your fat beasts, stretched barns, and labour'd
Eat, play, ride, take all joys, which all day yields, 10
And then again to your embracements go;
Some hours on us your friends, and some bestow
Upon your Muse; else both we shall repent,
I that my love, she that her gifts, on you are spent. 14
BLEST are your north parts, for all this long time
My sun is with you cold and dark's our clime.
Heav'n's sun, which stay'd so long from us this year,
Stay'd in your north, (I think) for she was there,
And hither, by kind Nature drawn from thence,
Here rages, chafes, and threatens pestilence;
Yet I, as long as she from hence doth stay,
Think this no south, no summer, nor no day.
With thee my kind and unkind heart is run,
There sacrifice it to that beauteous sun;
So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts,
As suddenly as lard, fat thy lean beasts;
So may thy woods, oft' poll'd, yet ever wear
A green and (when she list) a golden hair;
So may all thy sheep bring forth twins; and so
In chase and race may thy horse all out-go;
So may thy love and courage ne'er be cold,
Thy son ne'er ward, thy lov'd wife ne'er seem old;
But may'st thou wish great things, and them attain,
As thou tell'st her, and none but her, my pain.
MAD Paper! stay, and grudge not here to burn
With all those sons whom thy brain did create;
At least lie hid with me till thou return
To rags again, which is thy native state.
What tho' thou have enough unworthiness
To come unto great place as others do?
That's much, emboldens, pulls, thrusts, I confess;
But 't is not all; thou shouldst be wicked too.
And that thou canst not learn, or not of me,
Yet thou wilt go; go, since thou goest to her
Who lacks but faults to be a prince, for she
Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares prefer.
But when thou com'st to that perplexiug eye,
Which equally claims love and reverence,
Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die,
And having little now, have then no sense.
Yet when her warm redeeming hand (which is
A miracle, and made such, to work more)
Doth touch thee, (sapless leaf!) thou grow'st by this
Her creature glorify'd more than before.
Then as a mother, which delights to hear
Her early child mis-speak half-utter'd words,
Or because Majesty doth never fear
Ill or bold speech, she audience affords.
And then, cold speechless wretch! thou diest again,
And wisely; what discourse is left for thee?
From speech of ill and her thou must abstain,
And is there any good which is not she?
Yet may'st thou praise her servants, tho' not her,
And Wit, and Virtue, and Honour, her attend;
And since they're but her cloaths, thou shalt not err
If thou her shape, and beauty, and grace, commend.
Who knows thy destiny? when thou hast done,
Perchance her cabinet may harbour thee,
Whither all noble ambitious wits do run,
A nest almost as full of good as she.
When thou art there, if any whom we know
Were sav'd before, and did that heav'n partake,
When she revolves his papers, mark what show
Of favour she alone to them doth make.
Mark if, to get them, she o'erskip the rest;
Mark if she read them twice, or kiss the name;
Mark if she do the same that they protest;
Mark if she mark whither her woman came :
Mark if slight things be' objected and o'erblown;
Mark if her oaths against him be not still
Reserv'd, and that she grieves she 's not her own,
And chides the doctrine that denies freewill.
I bid thee not do this to be my spy,
Nor to make myself her familiar;'
But so much I do love her choice, that I
Would fain love him that shall be lov'd of her. 30152
SEE, Sir, how as the sun's hot masculine flame
Begets strange creatures on Nile's dirty slime,
In me your fatherly yet lusty rhyme
[same; (For these Songs are their fruits) have wrought the But tho' th' engend'ring force from whence they came Be strong enough, and Nature doth admit
Sev'n to be born at once, I send as yet
But six they say the seventh hath still some maim:
I chuse your judgment, which the same degree
Doth with her sister, your invention, hold,
As fire these drossy rhymes to purify,
Or as elixir to change them to gold.
You are that alchymist which always had
Wit, whose one spark could make good things of bad.
SIR H. WOTTON AND MR. DONNE,
Ir her disdain least change in you can move,
For when that hore gives fuel to the fire,
You sell desire.
Volume 111.
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