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A stranger to it selfe. Those moneths that were Within, and all he saw was but the shrine.
What pompe is then in us? Who th’ other day Pure essence there inclos'd, which if it were
In its full lustre, would make Nature live
But sweetly that's obscur’d. Yet though our eye
In true perfection, by a glimmering light, O whither dost thou flye? cannot my vow
Your language ycelds us, we can guesse how bright Intreat thee tarry? Thou wert here but now,
The Sunne within you shines, and curse th' unkind And thou art gone? like ships which plough the sea,
Eclipse, or else our selves for being blinde. And leave no print for man to tracke their way.
How hastily doth Nature build up man
To leave him so imperfect? For he can
See nought beyond his sence; she doth controule Had beene a purchase for eternity!
For had yours beene the object of his eye;
It had turn'd wonder to idolatry.
THE HARMONY OF LOVE.
AMPHION, O thou holy shade!
Bring Orpheus up with thee:
That wonder may you both invade,
Hearing love's harmony.
Vp, with materiall eares,
Ho great the symphony of love, spheares;
But 'tis the destinies Whence hath the stone, magneticke force t'allure
Will not so farre my prayer approve, Th’ enamourd iron; from a seed impure
To bring you hither, here
Lest you meete heaven, for Elizium there.
'Tis no dull sublunary fame Compacter of; of what it's brightest eye
Burnes in her heart and mine. The ever flaming Sunne; what people are
But some thing more, than hath a name. In th' unknowne world; what worlds in every star;
So subtle and divine, Let curions fancies at this secret rove;
We know not why, nor how it came. Castara, what we know, wee'le practise, lore. Which shall shine bright, till she
And the whole world of love, expire with me.
OP THE KNOWLEDGE OP LOVE.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
TO MY HONOURED FRIEND
THE COUNTESSE OF C.
SIR ED. P. KNIGHT.
To listen to the noyse of warre;
Who by the number of the dead
Vnsafe, till it was built on blood.
(Abhorring war's so barb'rous pride,
Let's breath, thongh humble, innocen:.
See the fresh youth of the next yeare.
Againe, tout-blush th'æmulous rose,
To make us scorne wliat we possesse?
Can hope, is varied misery?
And gently 'mong their violets throw
Your weary'd limbs, and see if all those faire Be curious in pursuite of eyes
Enchantments can charme griefe or care? To procreate new loves with thine;
What superstition thought divine.
Quicke fancy, how.it mockes delight? Not cure yet the disease of mar,
As we conceive, things are not such, And banish your owne thoughts. Goe travaile
The glow-worme is as warme as bright, Another Sun and starres appeare,
Till the deceitfull dame we touch. And land not toucht by any covetous fleet,
And yet even there your selfe youle meete. When I have sold my heart to lust
I find the malice of my dust,
The rose yeelds her sweete blandishment
Lost in the fold of lovers' wreathes, Vnder the learn'd Thessalian shade.
The violet enchants the sent
When carely in the spring she breaths.
But winter comes and makes each flowre
Shrinke from the pillow where it growes,
To scorne the perfume of the rose.
Smooth beauty where bruwes wrinkled are,
And makes the cosen'd fancy glow.
Chaste vertue's onely true and faire.
Disorder'd passions rage,
TO MY NOBLEST FRIEND,
I. C. ESQUIRE.
SIR, To vice or folly doth decline;
Tuate the countrie's dort and manners, yet Give me that heart (Castara) for 'tis thine,
I love the silence; I etsbrace the wit
And courtsbip, flowing here in a full tide. Take thou a heart where no new looke
But loathe the expence, the vanity and pride. Provokes new appetite: With no fresh charine of beauty tooke,
No place each way is happy. Here I hold
Commerce with some, who to my eare unfold Or wanton stratagem of wit ;
(After a due oath niinistred) the height Not idly wandring here and there, Led by an am'rous eye or eare,
And greatnesse of each star shines in the state,
The brightnesse, the eclypse, the influence. Aiming each beautious marke to bit;
With others I commune, who tell me whence Which vertue doth to one confine:
The torrent doth of forraigue discord flow : Take thou that heart, Castara, for 'tis mine.
Relate each skirmislı, battle, overthrow, And now my heart is lodg'd with thee,
Soone as they happen; and by rote can tell Observe but how it still
Those Germane townes, even puzzle me to spell. Doth listen how thine doth with me;
The crosse or prosperous fate of princes, they And guard it well, for else it will
Ascribe to rashnesse, cunning or delay : Runne hither backe; not to be where
And on each action comment, with more skill I am, but 'cause thy heart is here.
Than upon Livy, did old Matchavill,
O busie folly: Why doe I my braine
Or quicke designes of France? Why not repaire
Thy thoughts to worth and vertue, that to live
Blest, is to trace thy wayes. There might not we
What-ere is earth in us, to grow all soule?
Knowledge doth ignorance ingender when That cunningly divides the ayre?
We study misteries of other men Why doth the pallate buy the choyce
And forraigne plots. Doe but in thy owne shade Delights o'th' sea, to enrich her fare?
(Thy head upon some flowry pillow laide, As soone as I my eare obey,
Kind Nature's huswifery) contemplate all The eccho's lost even with the breath.
His stratagems who labours to inthral And when the sewer takes away
The world to his great master, and youle finde Ime left with no more taste, than death.
Ambition mocks it selfe, and grasps the wind.
OF TRUE DELIGHT.
That musicke to the angels, this to fame,
Not conquest makes us great. Blood is to deare
WRAT LOVERS WILL SAY WHEN SHE AND HE ARE
I WONDER when w'are dead, what men will say;
Will not poore orphan lovers weepe,
The parents of their loves decay ; And envy death the treasure of our sleepe? Will not each trembling virgin bring her feares
To th' holy silence of my rrne?
And chide the marble with her teares, 'Cause she so soone faith's obsequie must mourne. For had Fate spard but Araphill (she'le say)
He had the great example stood,
And fore't unconstaut man obey
Will 10 Castara's shrine deplore
Thy sex (heele say) did onely move
By the chaste influence of a faire,
From donghills, doth amaze our eyes;
Not shining with a reall worth,
In one darke vault shall mingled be.
The world will fall a prey to lust, When love is dead, which hath one fate with me.
Is a man. For the free and open discovery of
thoughts to woman can not passe without an over licentious familiarity, or a justly occasion'd sispition; and friendship can veither stand with vice or infamie. He is vertuous, for love begot in sin is a mishapen monster, and seldome out-lives his birth. lle is noble, and inherits the vertues of all his progenitors; though happily unskilfuli to blazon his paternall coate; so little should nobility serve for story, but when it encourageth to action. He is so valiant, feare could never be listned to, when she whis. pered danger; and get fights not, unlesse religion confirmes the quarrel lawfull. He submits his actions to the government of vertue, not to the wilde decrees of popular opinion; and when his conscience is fully satisfied, he cares not how mistake and ignorance interpret bim. He hath so much foriitude he can forgive an injurie; and when hee hath overthrowne his opposer, not insult upon his weakenesse. Hee is an absolute governor; no destroyer of his passions, which he employes to the noble in. crease of vertue. He is wise, for who hopes to reape a harvest from the sands, may expect the perfect offices of friendship from a foole. He hath by a liberall education beene softened to civility; for that rugged honesty some rude men professe, is an indigested chaos; which may containe the seedcs of goodnesse, but it wants
forme and order. He is no flatterer; but when he findes his friend
any way imperfect, he freely but gently in: formes him, nor yet shall some few errours cancell the bond of friendship; because he remembers no endeavours can raise man above bis frailety. He is as s'ow to enter into tbat title, as he is to forsake it; a monstrous vice must disobliege, because an extraordinary ver. tue did first unite; and.when he parts, he doth it without a duell. He is neither effeminate, nor a cominon courtier; the first is so pas. sionate a doater upon himselfe, hee cannot spare love enough to bee justly named friendship: the latter hath his love so diffusive among the beauties, that man is not considerable. He is not accustomed to any sordid way of gaine, for who is any way mechanicke, will sell his friend upon more profitable termes. He is bountifull, and thinkes no treasure of fortune equall to the preservation of him he loves; yet not so lavish, as to buy friendship and perhaps after. ward finde himselfs overseene in the purchase. He is not exceptious, fo: jealousie proceedes from weakenesse, and his vertues quit him from suspitions. He freely gives advice, but so little peremptory is his opinion that he ingenuously submits it to an abler judgement. He is open in expression of his thoughts and easeth his melancholy by inlarging it; and no sanctuary preserves so safely, as he his friend afflicted.
TO HIS MUSE. Here virgin fix thy pillars, and command They sacred may to after ages stand In witnesse of love's triumph. Yet will we, Castara, find new worlds in poetry, And conquer them. Not dully following those Tame lovers, who dare cloth their thoughts in prose. But we will henceforth more religious prove, Concealing the high mysteries of love From the prophane. Harmonious like the spheares, Our soules shall move, not reacht by humanc eares.
He makes use of po engines of his friendship to | These vowes to thee! for since great Talbot's gone
Accustom'd to warme whispers, and thou'lt heare
Is but a beautious shrine, in which black sin
Is idoliz'd; thy eyes but spheares where lust
Hath its loose motion; and thy end is dust.
Great Atlas of the state, descend with me.
But hither, and this vault shall furnish thee
Thy sect receives, and though thy pallace swell "Twere malice to thy fame, to weepe alone :
With envied pride, 'tis here that ihou must dwell. And not enforce an universall groane
It will instruct you, courtier, that your art From ruinous man, and make the world complaine: But cheates your selfe, and all those subtill wayes
Of outward smoothnesse and a ragged heart Yet I'le forbid my griefe to be prophane
You tread to greatnesse, is a fatall maze (breath In mention of thy prayse; l'le speake but truth Yet write more honour than ere shiu'd in youth.
Where you your selfe shall loose, for though you I can relate thy businesse here on Earth,
Vpward to pride, your center is beneath.
And 'twill thy rhetorick false flesh confound; Thy mystery of life, thy noblest birth
Which flatters my fraile thoughts, no time can Out-shin'd by nobler vertue: but how farre
This unarm'd frame, here is true eloquence (sound Th' bast tane thy journey 'bove the highest star,
Will teach my soule to triumph over sence,
Which hath its period in a grave, and there
Showes what are all our pompous surfets here. Till thou hast reacht the place assign'd: we may
Great orator! deare Talbot! Still, to thee
May I an auditor attentive be:
And piously maintaine the same commerce
We held in life! and if in my rude verse
I to the world may thy sad precepts read;
I will on Earth interpret for the dead.
Let me contemplate thee (faire soule) and though That doth lye over thee: I had no roome
I cannot tracke the way, which thou didst goe For witty griefe, fit onely for thy tombe.
In thy celestiall journey, and my heart And friendship's monument, thus had I stood;
Expanssion wants, to thivke what now thou art, But that the flame, I beare thee, warm'd my
How bright and wide thy glories ; yet I may With a new life. I'le like a funerall Gire
Remember thee, as thou wert in thy clay.
Best object to my heart! what vertues be
In its leane looke; doth like a prince appeare,
Be thought a bank'rout that embraces thee?
In man's acquaintance, Mem'ry of thy fate
And now my sorrow followes thee, I tread
"The milkie way, and see the snowie head The last daye's summons, when Farth’s trophies lye Of Atlas, farre below, while all the high A scatter'd heape, and time it selfe must dye. Swolpe buildings seeme but atoms to my eyes What now hath life to boast of? Can I have' I'me heighten'd by my ruine; and while I A thought lesse darke than th' horrour of the grave Weepe ore the vault where thy sad ashes lye, Now thou dost dwell below? Wert not a fault My soule with thine doth hold commerce abore; Past pardon, to raise fancie 'bove thy vault? Where we discerne the stratagems, which love, Hayle sacred house in which bis reliques sleep! iate, and ambition, use, to cozen man; Blest marble give me leave t'approach and weepe, So iraile that every blast of honour can
Swell Sim above himselfe, each adverse gust, Probably one of the three younger sons of John Him and his glories shiver into dust. Talbot of LongfordSee Collins' Peerage, vol. 3. How small seemes greatnesse here! How not a span
His empire, who commands the Ocean.
P. 27. C.
Both that, which boasts so much it's mighty ore,
Nor ever showes her beauty, but to some And th' other, which with pearle, hath pav'd its Carthusian, who even by his vow, is dumbe ! shore.
So 'mid the yce of the farre northren sea, Nor can it greater seeme, when this great All
A starre about the articke circle, may For which men quarrell so, is but a ball
Than ours yeeld clearer light; yet that but shall Cast downe into the ayre to sport the starres.
Serve at the frozen pilot's funerall.
Which all we sinners traffique on, didst daigne And man's so reverend wiaedome but their play. The bounty of thy fire, which with so cleare From thee, deare Talbot, living I did learne And constant beames did our frayle vessels steere, The arts of life, and by thy light discerne
That safely we, what storm so e're bore sway, The truth which men dispute. But by thee dead Past o're the rugged Alpes of th' angry sea. I'me taught, upon the world's gay pride to tread: But now we sayle at randomd. Every rocke And that way sooner master it, than he
The folly doth of our ambition mocke To whom both th' Indies tributary be.
And splits our hopes : to every syren's breath
We listen and even court the face of death,
If printed o're by pleasure : every wave
Ir't hath delight wembrace though't prove a grave My name, deare friend, even thy expiring breath
So ruinous is the defect of thee, Did call upon : affirming that thy death
To th' undone world in gen'rall. But to me Would wound my poor sad heart. Sad it must be
Who liv'd one life with thine, drew but one breath, Indeed, lost to all thoughts of mirth in thec.
Possest with th'same mind and thoughts, 'twas My lord, if I with licence of your teares, [weares And now hy fate, I but my selfe survive, (death. (Which your great brother's hearse as dianionds
To keepe his mem'ry, and my griefes alive. l' enrich death's glory) may but speake my owne: Where shall I then begin to weepe? No grove I'le prove it, that no sorrow e're was knowne
Silent and darke, but is prophan'd by love: Reall as mine. All other mourners kcepe
With his warme whispers, and faint idle feares, In griefe a inethod : without forme 1 weepe.
His busie hopes, loud sighes, and caselesse teares The sonne (rich in his father's fate) hath eyes
Each care is so enchanted ; that no breath Wet just as long as are the obsequies.
Is list'ned to, wbich mockes report of death. The widow formerly a yeare doth spend
I'le turne my griefe then inward and deplore In her so courtly blackes. But for a friend
My ruine to my selfe, repeating ore
Not write, but am my selfe his elegie.
From the faire east of some bright beutie's eyes : 'Thy owne brave story; tell thy selfe how great Else vaunt not the proud miracle of verse. Thou wert iu thy minde's empire, and how all It hath no power. For mine from his blacke herse Who out-live thee, see but the funerall
Redeemes not Talbot, who cold as the breath Of glory: and if yet some vertuous be,
Of winter, coffin'd lyes; silent as death, They but weake apparitions are of thee.
Stealing on th’anch'rit, who even wants an eare So settled were thy thoughts, each action so
To breathe into his soft expiring prayer. Discretely ordered, that nor ebbe por flow
For bad thy life beene by thy vertues spun Was e're perceiv'd in thee, each word mature Out to a length, thou hadst out-liv'd the Sunne And every sceane of life from sinne so pure
and clos'd the world's great eye: or were not all That scarce in its whole history, we can
Our wonders fiction, from thy funerall Finde vice enough, to say thou wert but man,
Thou hadst received new life, and liv'd to be Horrour to say thou wert! Curst that we must The conqueror o're death, inspir’d by me. Addresse our language to a little dust,
But all we poets glory in, is vaine
One poore houre lost, nor reskew a small flye
Live then in thy true life (great soule) for set
Of time and fortune in yand' starry court
We patiently sustaine to serve our sence