No more, you sectaries of the game, Love's votaries inthrale each other's soule, Vertue's no more in women kind, The souldier, that man of iron, Love stormes his lips, and takes the fortresse in, Since love's artillery then checks The breast-works of the firmest sex, Come let us in affections riot, Th'are sickly pleasures keep a diet. Not eunucht with formality: Like an embassadour that beds a queen, SONG. SAY, lovely dreame, where couldst thou find Shades to counterfeit that face? Colours of this glorious kind Come not from any mortall place. In Heaven it selfe thou sure wert drest And see my joy with closed eyes. But, ah! this image is too kind Cruell Sacharissa's mind Never put on that sweete extreame. Faire dreame, if thou intend'st me grace, Change this heavenly forme of thine; Paint despis'd love in thy face, And make it to appeare like mine. Pale, wan, and meager, let it looke, Such as wander by the brooke Of Lethe, or from graves escape. Then to that matchlesse nymph appeare, With humble words expresse my woe. Perhaps from greatnesse, state and pride, Thus surprised she may fall; Sleep does disproportion hide, And death resembling equals all. SONG II. BEHOLD the brand of beauty tost; See how the motion does dilate the flame, Fire to no place confin'd, Is both our wonder, and our feare, Moving the mind Like lightning hurled through the aire. High Heaven the glory doth increase Of all her shining lamps this artfull way; The Sun in figures such as these Joies with the Moone to play; To these sweet straines they advance, Moves with the numbers which she heares. AN ELEGY. HEAVEN knows my love to thee, fed on desires By your past sufferings, and your present blisses. VPON MR. CHARLES BEAUMONT, WHO DIED OF A CONSUMPTION. WHILE others drop their teares upon thy hearse, Sweet Charles, and sigh t' increase the wind, my verse, *These lines occur among Randolph's poems. N. Pious in naming thee, cannot complaine Thy flesh, an upper garment, that it might But fly, faire soule, while our complaints are just, That cannot follow for our chaines of dust". FIE ON LOVE. Now fie on foolish love, it not befits Or man or woman know it. Love was not meant for people in their wits, And they that fondly shew it Betray the straw, and feathers in their braine, And shall have Bedlam for their paine: If single love be such a curse, To marry is to make it ten times worse. THE WILLING PRISONER TO HIS MISTRIS. LET fooles great Cupid's yoake disdaine, The sweet afflictions that displease me. Hide not those panting balls of snow In a sweet smile of love unfolding. And wounds themselves have made discover. SECRESIE PROTESTED. FEARE not (deare love) that l'le reveale Those hours of pleasure we two steale; No eye shall see, nor yet the Sun Descry, what thou and I have done; No eare shall heare our love, but we Silent as the night will be; The god of love himselfe (whose dart Did first wound mine, and then thy heart) Shall never know that we can tell What sweets in stoln embraces dwell: If when I die physicians doubt A MASKE OF THE GENTLEMEN OF GRAIES INNE, AND THE INNER TEMPLE. BY MR. FRANCIS BEAUMONT. Enter Iris running, Mercury following and catching hold of her. MERCURY. STAY light-foot Iris, for thou striv❜st in vaine, Dissembling Mercury, my messages Aske honest haste, not like those wanton ones Your thundring father sends. MER. Stay foolish maid, IRIS. Hermes forbeare, Juno will chide and strike: MER. Nay you must stay. Jove's message is the same, [thunder, Whose eyes are lightning, and whose voice is Whose breath is airy wind, he will, who knowes How to be first in Earth as well as Heaven. IRIS. But what hath he to do with nuptiall rites? Let him sit pleas'd upon his starry throne, And fright poore mortals with his thunder-bolts, Leaving to us the mutuall darts of eyes. WER. Alas, when ever offer'd he t'abridge Your ladie's power, but only now in these, Whose match concernes the generall government: Hath not each god a part in these high joyes? And shall not he the king of gods presume Without proud Juno's lycence? let her know, That when enamour'd Jove first gave her power To linke soft hearts in undissolving bands, He then foresaw, and to himselfe reserv'd The honour of this marriage; thou shalt stand Still as a rock, while I to blesse this feast, Will summon up with my all-charming rod The nymphs of fountains, from whose watry locks (Hung with the dew of blessing and encrease) The greedy rivers take their nourishment. Ye Nymphs, who, bathing in your loved springs, Beheld these rivers in their infancy, And joy'd to see them when their circled heads Pise from the wels, and with your nimble feet The Nymphs rise and dance a little and then make a stand. IRIS. Is Hermes grown a lover? by what power Unknown to us calls he the maids? MER. Presumptuous Iris, I could make thee Till thou forget'st thy ladie's messages, [dance, And runn'st back crying to her: thou shalt know My power is more, only my breath and this Shall move fix'd stars, and force the firmament To yield the Hyades, who governe showers, And dewy clouds, in whose dispersed drops Thou form'st the shape of thy deceitfull bow; IRIS. Great wit and power hath Hermes to conA lively dance which of one sex consists. [trive MER. Alas poore Iris, Venus hath in store A secret ambush of her winged boyes, Who lurking long within these pleasant groves, First stuck these flowers with their equall darts; Those Cupids shall come forth and joyne with these, To honour that which they themselves began. The Cupids come forth and dance, they are weary with their blind pursuing the Nymphs, and the Nymphs weary with flying them. IRIS. Behold the statues which wise Vulcan Under the altar of Olympian Jove, [plac'd And gave to them an artificiall life; See how they move, drawn by this heavenly joy, Like the wild trees which followed Orpheus' harpe. The Statues come down, and they all dance till the Nymphs out-run them and lose them, then the Cupids go off, and last the statues. MER. And what will Juno's Iris do for her? faile; Had it been worthier I would have invok'd The second Antimasque rusheth in, they dance Like winds at liberty, who should do worst IRIS. Hermes so it may be done. THE FIFTH SONG Till his high will was done. The Olympian And not a creature nigh 'em, Might catch his sigh as he doth passe, When all is done as they ascend. To the man, and to the bride: If there be a joy yet new Behold Jove's altar and his blessed priests In marriage, let it fall on you, Moving about it: come you holy men, That all the world may wonder: And with your voices draw these youths along, If we should stay we should do worse, That till Jove's music call them to their games, And turne our blessings to a curse, Their active sports may give a blest content By keeping you asunder. To those for whom they are againe begun. THE FIRST SONG. When the priests descend, and the knights follow them. PROLOGUES, EPILOGUES, AND SONGS TO SEVERALL PLAIES. WRITTEN BY MR. FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Suake off your heavy trance THE PROLOGUE TO THE MAD LOVER. THE SECOND SONG At the end of the first dance, On, blessed youths, for Jove doth pause, For this device: To please all's impossible, and to despaire spight: THE THIRD SONG THE EPILOGUE. After their many dances, when they are to take the ladies single. ALL. Here lies the doubt now, let our plaies be good, THE FOURTH SONG mus que sounds, supposed to be that which cals make a seeming preparation to depart. FIRST SONG TO THE MAD LOYER. STRE. ORPHEUS, I am come from the deeps below through Hell. Harke and beware, unlesse thou hast lov'd ever, Harke how they houle for ever daring, They that be fooles and dye for fame, And they that bleed, Harke how they speed. Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires, Nor shall their soules be free from pains and feares, My courage cracks when such great sins are neare, No wind blows faire, nor I my selfe can steare. ORPH. What lovers passe and in Elysium raigne? CHA. Those gentle loves that are belov❜d againe. ORPH. This souldier loves, and faine would dye Shall he go on? CHA. No, 'tis too foule a sin, [to win, He must not come aboard; I dare not row, Nor time, nor death can alter us, nor prayer; THE THIRD SONG TO THE MAD LOVER. O FAIRE, Sweet goldesse, queen of loves, Those poore hearts their loves pursuing. Star of deare content and pleasure, Of mutuall love the endlesse treasure, Thou continuall youth and spring, And every houre wee'l crown thy fires. THE FOURTH SONG TO THE MAD LOVER. [eyes. ARME, arme, arme, arme, the scouts are all come in, THE PROLOGUE TO THE SPANISH To tell ye (gentlemen) we have a play, For her own vantage, to give wind at will; THE EPILOGUE THE play is done, yet our suite never ends, And you have pardon'd it; in buildings great THE PROLOGUE TO THE FRENCH LAWYER. To promise much before a play begin, And when 'tis done aske pardon, were a sin |