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Madness his sorrow, gout his cramp may he
The world's whole sap is sunk: Make, by but thinking who hath made them such: The general balm th’ hydroptic earth hath drunk, And may he feel no touch
Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk, Of conscience, but of fame, and be
Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh, Anguish'd, not that 't was sin, but that 't was she: Compar'd with me, who am their epitaph.
Or may be for her virtue reverence
Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring :
For I am a very dead thing, May he dream treason, and believe that he
In whom love wrought new alchymy. Meant to perform it, and confess, and die,
For his art did express And no record tell why:
A quintessence even from nothingness, His sons, which none of his may be,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness :
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death; things which art not. And at the last be circumcis'd for bread.
All others from all things draw all that's good, The renom of all step-dames, gamester's gall,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have; What tyrants and their subjects interwish,
I, by love's limbec, am the grave What plants, mine, beasts, fowl, fish,
Of all, that 's nothing. Oft a flood Can contribute, all ill, which all
Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two; oft did we grow Prophets or poets spake; and all, which shall B' annex'd in schedules unto this by me,
To be two chaoses, when he did show Fall on that man; for if it be a she,
Care to aught else; and often absences · Nature before hand hath out-cursed me.
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know; I should prefer,
If I were any beast, Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee;
Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones
And love, all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.
But I am none; nor will my sun renew!
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser Sun Send home my harmless heart again,
At this time to the Goat is run Which no unworthy thought could stain ;
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night's festival,
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour ber vigil and her eve, since this
Both the year's and the day's deep midnight is.
WITCHCRAFT BY A PICTURE.
I FIX, mine eye on thine, and there
Pity my picture burning in thine eye,
My picture drown'd in a transparent tear,
Hadst thou the wicked skill,
How many ways might'st thou perform thy will ! NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCIE'S DAY,
But now I've drunk thy sweet salt tears,
And though thou pour more, I'll depart:
My picture vanished, vanish all fears,
One picture more, yet that will be,
Being in thine own heart, from all malice free.
Who will believe me, if I swear
That I have had the plague a year?
Who would not laugh at me, if I should say, Come, live with me, and be my love,
I saw a flash of powder burn a day? nd we will some new pleasures prove Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
Ah! what a trifle is a heart, With silken lines and silver hooks,
If once into Love's hands it come!
All other griefs allow a part There will the river whisp'ring run,
To other griefs, aud ask themselves but some. Warm'd by thine eyes more than the Sun: They come to us, but us Love draws, And there th' enamour'd fish will play,
He swallows us and never chaws : Begging themselves they may betray,
By him, as by chain's shot, whole ranks do die;
He is the tyrant pike, and we the fry.
If 't were not so, what did become
Of my heart, when I first saw thee? Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
I brought a heart into the room,
But from the room I carried none with me: If thou to be so seen art loath
If it had gone to thee, I kpow By Sun or Moon, thou darken'st both;
Mine would have taught thine heart to show And if myself have leave to see,
More pity unto me: but Love, alas, I need not their light, having thee.
At one first blow did shiver it as glass.
Let others freeze with angling reeds,
Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
Nor any place be empty quite,
Those pieces still, though they do not unite:
My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
“ Now his breath goes," and some say, “ No;"
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move, 'T were profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead,
And thou shalt think thee free
Thou call'st for more,
A verier ghost than 1;
Moving of th’ Earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose sonl is sense) cannot admit Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.
But we by a love so far refin'd,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Careless eyes, lips, and hands, to miss.
He is stark mad, whoever says:
That he hath been in love an hour, Yet not that love so soon decays,
But that it can ten in less space devour ;
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
Like gold to airy thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
But, 0, alas! so long, so far As stiff twin compasses are two,
Our bodies why do we forbear? Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
They are ours, though not we, we are To more, but doth, if th' other do.
Th’ intelligences, they the spheres,
We owe them thanks because they thus And though it in the ceotre sit,
Did us to us at first convey, Yet when the other far doth roam,
Yielded their sense's force to us, It leans and hearkens after it,
Nor are dross to us, but allay. And grows erect, as that comes home.
On man Heaven's influence works not so,
But that it first imprints the air, Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
For soul into the soul may flow, Like th' other foot, obliquely run,
Though it to body first repair. Thy firmness makes my circle just,
As our blood labours to beget
Spirits, as like souls as it can,
That subtle knot, which makes us man;
Taffections and to faculties,
Else a great prince in prison lies;
T' our bodies turn we then, and so
Weak men on love reveal'd may look ; WHERE, like a pillow on a bed,
Love's mysteries in souls do grow, A pregnant bank swelld up, to rest
But yet the body is the book ; The violet's declining head,
And if some lover, such as we, Sat we on one another's breast.
Have heard this dialogue of one, Our hands were firmly cemented
Let him still mark us, he shall see By a fast balm, which thence did spring,
Small change, when we 're to bodies grown. Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
Our eyes upon one double string: So to engraft our hands as yet
Was all the means to make us one,
LONG to talk with some old lover's ghost, Our souls (which, to advance our state,
Who dy'd before the god of love was born : Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me.
I cannot think that he, who then lov'd most, And whilst our souls negotiate there,
Sunk so low, as to love one which did scorn. We like sepulchral statues lay,
But since this god produc'd a destiny,
And that vice-nature custom lets it be;
I must love her that loves not me.
Sure they, which made him god, meant not so much, And by good love were grown all mind,
Nor he in his young godhead practis'd it. Within convenient distance stood,
But when an even flame two hearts did touch, He (though he knew not which soul spake, His office was indulgently to fit
Because both meant, both spake, the same) Actives to passives, correspondency Might thence a new concoction take,
Only his subject was; it cannot be And part far purer than he came.
Love, till I love her that loves me. This ecstasy doth unperplex
(We said) and tell us what we love, We see by this, it was not sex,
But every modern god will now extend We see, we saw not what did move :
His vast prerogative as far as Jore, But as all several souls contain
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, Mixture of things they know not what,
All is the purlieu of the god of love. Love these mix'd souls doth mix again,
Oh, were we waken'd by this tyranny And makes both one, each this and that.
Tungod this child again, it could not be
I should love her, who loves not me. A single violet transplant,
The strength, the colour, and the size (All which before was poor and scant)
Rebel and atbeist too, why murmur I Redoubles still and multiplies.
As though I felt the worst that Love could do? When love with one another so
Love may make me leave loving, or might try Interanimates two souls,
A deeper plague, to make her love me too, That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
Which, since she loves before, l 'm loath to see; Defects of loveliness controls.
Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be, We then, who are this new soul, know,
If she whom I love should love me.
Are soul, whom no change can invade.
I give my reputation to those
Which were my friends; mine industry to foes:
To schoolmen i bequeath my doubtfulness; To what a cumbersome unwieldiness
My sickness to physicians, or excess ; And burthenous corpulence my love had grown; To Nature all that I in rhyme have writ; But that I did, to make it less,
And to my company my wit. And keep it in proportion,
Thou, Love, by making me adore Give it a diet, made it feed upon,
Her, who begot this love in me before, That which love worst endures, discretion.
Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I do
To him, for whom the passing-bell next tolls, A she-sigh from my mistress' heart,
I give my physic books; my written rolls And thought to feast on that, I let him see
Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give: 'T was neither very sound, nor meant to me.
My brazen medals, unto them wbich live
In want of bread; to them, which pass among If he wrung from me a tear, I brin'd it so
All foreigners, mine English tongue. With scorn or shame, that him it nourish'd not; Thou, Love, by making me love one, If he suck'd her's, I let him know
Who thinks her friendship a fit portion 'I' was not a tear which he had got.
For younger lovers, dost iny gifts thus disproporHis drink was counterfeit, as was his meat ;
tion. Her eyes, which roll towards all, weep not, but sweat. Whatever she would dictate, I writ that,
Therefore I 'll give no more, but I'll undo But burnt my letters, which she writ to me; The world by dying ; because Love dies too. And if that favour made him fat,
Then all your beauties will be no more worth I said, “If any title be
Than gold in mines, where none doth drawit fortb; Convey'd by this, ah! what doth it avail
And all your graces no more use shall have, To be the fortieth man in an entail ?"
Than a sun-dial in a grave.
Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me Thus I reclaim'd my buzzard love to fly
Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee, At what, and when, and how, and where I chose ;
To invent and practise this one way, t'annibilate all Now negligent of sport I lie,
WHOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much
For 't is my outward soul,
Will leave this to control,
Before I sign my last gasp, let me breathe,
To women, or the sea, my tears;
Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore
My money to a capuchin.
My patience let gamesters share.
For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall
Through every part,
By this should know my pain,
demn'd to die.
Whate'er she meant by 't, bury it with me,
For since I am
As 't was humility
So 't is some bravery,
Be more than woman, she would get above
All thought of sex, and think to move
My heart to study her, and not to love; LITTL2 think'st thou, poor flower,
Both these were monsters; since there must reside Whom I have watch'd six or seven days,
Falsehood in woman, I could more abide,
With thy true number five;
And women, whom this flower doth represent, To morrow find thee fall’n, or not at all.
With this mysterious number be content;
Ten is the furthest number, if half ten Little think'st thou (poor heart,
Belongs onto each woman, then That labourest yet to nestle thee,
Each woman may take half us men: And think'st by hovering here to get a part Or if this will not serve their turn, since all In a forbidden or forbidding tree,
Numbers are odd or even, since they fall
Little think'st thou,
When my grave is broke up again "Alas ! if you must go, what's that to me?
Some second guest to entertain, Here lies my business, and here I will stay:
(For graves have learn'd that woman-head, You go to friends, whose love and means present
To be to more than one a bed) Various content
And he that digs it, spies To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part,
A bracelet of bright hair about the bone, If then your body go, what need your heart?”
Will he not let us alone,
And think that there a loving couple lies? Well, then, stay here: but know,
Who thought that this device might be some way,
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?
Where mass-devotion doth command,
Then he that digs us up, will bring But, take my word, she doth not know a heart.
Us to the bishop, or the king,
To make us reliques; then Meet me at London then
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A something else thereby;
Apd since at such time miracles are sought,
I would have that age by this paper taught
What miracles we harmless lovers wrought.
First we lov'd well and faithfully,
No more than guardian angels do;
Coming and going we
Perchance might kiss, but yet between those meals BLING AT MOUNTGOMERY CASTLE, UPON THE HILL ON Our hands ne'er touch'd the seals,
Which Nature, injur'd by late law, set free:
These miracles we did; but now, alas! Upon this primrose hill,
All measure and all language I should pass, (Where, if Hear'n would distin
Should I tell what a miracle she was.
I walk to find a true love; and í see WHEN I am dead, and doctors know not why, That 't is not a mere woman, that is she,
And my friends' curiosity But most or more or less than woman be.
Will have me cut up, to survey each part,
And they shall find your picture in mine heart; Yet know I not, which lower
You think a sudden damp of love
Will through all their senses more,
WHICH IT IS SITUATE.