A FARDLE OF FANCIES, OR, A MEDLEY OF MUSICK, Stewed in three ounces of the Oyle of Epigrams.
1. The new Helicon.
WHat's this advanceth our poetick strains,
And breeds a sea of fancies in our brains?
Frames us more high then fortune, and doth keep
Our mindes contented in distresses deep?
Is it the pimping water that doth flow
From poetasters Helicon, or no?
[Page 2]Is't the Pierian well? the font that uses
To be attributed unto the Muses?
Is that so lofty in each puny quill
That's on the insteps of Parnassus hill?
Pau [...], [...]a [...] it not, it's odious; and I tell ye,
Such liquor will breed chill-blains in the bellie,
And pimples in the brains; and never clime
Up to the feeble honour of a rime:
Much lesse a Poem. But the only stream
That turnes all horrid sorrowes to a dream
Of paradise, and makes a Poet shine,
Is Bacchus, bounded in a Pipe divine.
Here's Helicon in hoops, which doth convince
A Princes frown, and make a pleasant Prince.
I told my friend this story, but he swore
He nere knew Helicon had hoops before:
But hee's a foolish Imp, and for his pains,
I dig'd a whirl-pit in his greasie brains,
And fill'd it with this liquor▪ which began
To make him stand t' his armes like any man.
Zounds, he began to swear. And swearing sayes,
His bloud is up in armes, and he can raise
A whole Brigade of thoughts, which will not doubt
(If thought could do it) to give him the rout,
That routed great Darius, or orecome
The world with one poor finger and a thumb.
He cals Apollo skip-jack; and abuses
Cleio, Urania, yes, and all the Muses;
Spits into Helicon, and then looks sower:
Disclaims its vertue, and denies its power.
He swears it poysons Poetry. And then
He scratches Pallas, till she bleed agen.
And now he fals to swearing by the Lord,
Hee'l run Parnassus thorough with the sword
[Page 3]Of his invention. And hee'd have you know it
Wine is the Helicon that makes a Poet.
2. Opportunity.
I.
WHy should I not dally (my Dear) in thine eye,
and chace the dull hours away?
He that lets such a fair opportunity flie,
he loses, his aime by delay.
And it's pity he ever sh [...]uld sip
Electar and Nectar, that flowes from thy lp.
II.
Upon thy fair tresses (which Phoebus excell)
my diligent fingers I'le twist.
O there's my desire for ever to dwell,
and I hope thou wilt never resist.
And ere and anon, &c.
III.
Upon thy fair breasts I'le be mounted aloft,
and there in my charet I'le feel
The grain of thy body, more precious and soft
then the web of Arachne's wheel.
And ere and anon, &c.
IV.
I'le wander abroad in thy veins; and Ile seek
the mazes of pleasure and love.
[Page 4]The garden of Venus it is in thy cheek,
And thither my fancy shall move.
And ere and anon, &c.
V.
There, upon the lillies and roses I'le light,
And gather my sweets like the Bee.
And I will not go far for a lodging at night,
For surely the hive shall be thee.
And ere and anon, &c.
VI.
Where, when I am hurl'd, my nest I will build,
Of Hony-combs all in a rank.
I'le buz in each corner untill it be fill'd,
And make thee more full in the flank.
And ere and anon, &c.
VII.
Come then with a Cornish let us combine.
(I know thou canst easily doe't)
Thou shalt take my heart, and I will take thine.
And I'le give thee my hand to boot.
And ere and anon I will sip
Electar and Nectar that growes on thy lip.
3. To his Rivall.
I.
ANd wherefore do thy darts arise
To her sweet eyes?
[Page 5]What though shee's fair? and others are
Not of a magnitude so rare
In vertue and in beauty? yet
Me thinks to quell
Those emulating thoughts, that swell
Beyond thy reason, would be wit.
II.
Tell me, what though her fame
Has rais'd her name
Above the crest of all the rest
Of her own sex, and doth invest
Her with desert of princely love?
What's that to thee?
Why shouldst thou swell with enmity?
Or from the square of prudence move?
III.
What though her face a copy were,
More bright and clear
Then all the theams and wanton dreams
Of Poets in their am'rous streams?
A president for future daies?
Must thou therefore
Repine at my successe? and roar
'Cause fate for me this lot did raise?
IV.
Did she ere court thee with delight?
Or lend least sight
(By smiles) that she affected thee?
Or would renounce her faith from me,
And of thy presents be possest?
The Gordian knot
[Page 6]W' have ti'd by Hymen's leave, and lot:
Then rob's not of loves interest.
V.
Or were't not for that sponsal bond;
She's not so fond
To unbequeath her heart till death
Shall (nolens volens) stop her breath.
She alters not like nights and noons:
Lais and she
Were not of one triplicitie,
Shee'l not change suiters with new Moons.
VI.
Cease then t' importune. And withhold
Thy showre of gold,
Mock thou not Jove in lustfull love.
In vain thou seekst the rock to move:
Call home thy folly, and refrain;
Or else who knowes
But thou (in spight of fate) mayst lose
Thy hopes, thy Charges, and thy pain.
4. The Irony to Phillis.
PHillis, O Phillis, shall I raise
Some lively sonner in thy praise?
Shall I confesse it is my duty,
To vail my bonnet to thy beauty▪
And sacrifice to thee (alone)
[...] Hecatomb, composed on
[Page 7]Ten thousand scraps of rimes that be
Scrap't from old ruin'd Poetry:
Take wit at interest up, and use
Some mercenary Jugling muse,
That may uncase to you and me,
Not what you are, but fain would be.
And let her spend (at least) an age,
To trim you ready for the stage
Of faine, where you shall have progression
Not for the truth, but the expression.
Stifly affirming you more sweet and fair
Then fresh Aurora, or the air
In cloudy daies, and testifie
How many [...]overs from your eye
Took flame, and burnt both flesh and soules
To ashes, or at least to co [...]les.
And justifie how many passe
To you, as to the Corinth Lasse.
And would not fear the infernal grove,
So they might but enjoy your love;
And warm their chiller spirits by
The sun-shine of your sacred eye.
With thousands more such words as these
(The marrow of Hyperbolts)
Say, Shall I thus endevour? No
This were t' applaud my mortall foe.
'Twas her false beauty, too too free,
That like a tyrant martyr'd me.
5. Cruelty.
GO little Archer, to another zone,
And there display thy power: make it known
To savage brutes, whose truculent desires
Give ground to fury, and enhaunce the fires
Of cruell onsets. Chaunt the wilder crew
Of sensuall creatures, such as never knew
One thought beneath a rigor. Go, and set
The conquering pile on the Rhinoceret.
Charm thou the Lion, and the Leopards fume:
Refrain the subtle foxes with thy plume.
This were a work of charity, an act
Of meer necessity; and would be backt
With popular applause. What though you can
Not temper them with reason, as a man
Is by divine instinction? yet you may
Prohibit their distempers, and alay
Their desperate madnesse: for we sadly prove
No shackle so restringent is as love.
Then fly away from me, and do not use
Thy tyranny my freedome to abuse;
Since it is needlesse. I was tame before,
Needing no instigation to adore,
Where duty bids. Go seek another shaft,
That may divert the former: and and by craft,
Reduce me to my reason, that doth lie
Dazl'd and martyr'd by a virgins eye.
O clasp those lids, and let my senses turn
To their own vertue, or to coals I burn.
6. The cruel Boy.
NOr Boreas blasts, nor Vulcane bellowes;
Nor fortunes low, nor lofty followes;
Nor outward care, nor inward sorrow,
Nor newes of ill shall come to morrow,
Could make my intellects more stupid,
Then has the pregnant bow of Cupid.
Proud Mars his lusty blowes will smart
Not half so much as his small dart.
He conquers all men by his quiver,
And he himself is conquer'd never.
And who would think a childe should doe
Such noble feats? Consider too
What aid he hath to hold the fort;
They are but of the weaker sort.
His Counter-scarps, half-moons, and trenches,
Are manag'd all by wanton wenches;
And yet they are not volunteers,
For they must all be prest he swears:
Yet sure if wisdome would but pause,
In little time she'd finde the cause
Why they so strong their turrets keep,
'Tis cause their trenches are so deep;
So deep dame Nature did alot um,
That never man could finde the bottome.
Unlikely then that we should win,
That sink so low at entring in.
7. A walk in a summer-morning.
I.
JUly inviting in a morning sweet,
(when fair Aurora plaid
With golden Phoebus in a crimson sheet,
Untill they were betraid)
Florina (whom the gods applaud
For beauty) went with me abroad.
But Oh the blisses, the Seraphick blisses
I found, to feed my soul, in her sweet kisses!
II.
Such the perfections of Florina were,
Such pleasure in her love,
That every verdant Arbor did appear
As mansions all above
The Crystalline, where Jove attends
To welcome all his jovial friends.
But Oh, &c.
III.
Bright were the heavens, and their houses swept:
Virgo began to rise.
Agnus a galliard danc't, and Hireus leapt,
While Philomell defies
The sleeping Bubo: every sweet,
To blend loves harmony did meet.
But Oh, &c.
IV.
When I had poysed every pleasant show,
And summ'd up all in jest,
I found the totall object too too low
To entertain tho guest.
For if the Poets had her seen,
Then deifi'd she should have been.
But Oh the blisses, the Seraphick blisses,
I found to feed my soul, in her sweet kisses.
8. Thalius and Clarena.
Thalius.
What new discu [...]esie has prest,
To be Clarena's bosom guest?
What policy has over-aw'd,
(What th' publique eye did once applaud,
And glory in) the chearfull beam
Of thy curl'd brow? (loves copious theam).
Clarena.
Ah wofull wretch, distressed soul,
Deluded maid, sweet Mars did toul
My passing bell, for I have found
With this with this destroying wound,
I am already pierc'd; and why
Should I (poor heart [...]) whose constancy
Is crost by love, and whose ill fate
Sees her sad destiny too late
O [...]ce think to live▪ or own the strife
Of action, which assisteth life?
Thalius.
[Page 12]Sweet star, let fall thy influence,
And learn me to unlock the sense
Of thy invellop't words, let's see
What in these Hieroglyphicks be.
Display the emblemes of dark ire,
And light my limped eyes with fire
Of thy expression.
[Clarena]
Charon come,
I'de fain be at Ellzium.
I loath to live. I'le not indure
My thought should feed on what's impure.
Tha.
Alas this this is no satisfaction:
No antidote to my distraction.
Some sullen fate has lately flown
Into thy contentation,
Whose tenure to thy Thalius show,
That he may aid thee in thy woe.
Clarena.
Charon where's thy transporting boat?
Ore Stygian waves I'de gladly float
Thalius be silent, let me die,
And never ask the reason why.
Tha.
Charon keep back, and come not here
To rob me of my dearest deer:
Let not her absence me prevent,
But let me know her discontent.
Clarena.
[Page 13]Imperfect soul, (whose painted mask
Shrouds meer deceit) how canst thou ask
The tenure of my toyle, when thou
Procuredst it but even now?
Thalius.
Heaven aid my weaknesse, and declare
In what respect my failings are.
Could my Clarena sink as low
As ere my basest thoughts did grow;
She, in that depth should not discover
The least of a deceiving lover.
Clar.
I but too sadly I am told
How thou art brib'd by lust and gold,
To violate thy vowes, and stain
Thy fair pretences with foul gain.
Thal.
To th' gods I swear it is untrue,
I never lov'd a she but you;
Nor did I ere imbrace a she
For lust or gold: gods what say ye?
Clar.
Report saies otherwise.
[Tha.]
Report,
Is more uncertain then the Court.
And will you build your faith upon
Feeble Reports foundation?
Heaven can witnesse I was never
Shot by a dart from Cupid's quiver:
[Page 14]Whose bow was not your brow, whose pile
Was not your own subduing smile.
Some sad assaults indeed have bin
Acted by these whose loathsome sin
Is impudence: and they, whose aime
Is lesse interess'd then their fame
In goodnesse, flowing with more passion
Then is receiv'd with acceptation.
Such, such whose ill ambitions are
To catch in their malicious snare,
Those that are free; such as would shoot
And batter down all good repute.
Cause there might none unspotted be
To rail at their iniquity.
'Tis true, by these I have been face't,
And in a single sense disgrac't:
But unto these I nere inclin'd,
Nor gave the hostage of my minde.
Nor did I think Clarena cou'd
Have once suspected that my bloud
Was so unworthy as to please,
Or take impress from such as these.
If I should once be lesse then thine,
Alas I should be none of mine.
Should I (in passion) once agree
To play upon another shee,
I should suppose my sin most great,
And (like a Hermite) nere retreat
To see thy face; but end my years
In deserts, where no sign appears
Of love, and beauty. Clarena,
Speak thou thy self, thy self, and say,
I know thou lov'dst me passing well:
Thy fancy had no parallell.
[Page 15]And where most love doth reign (we see)
Thee alwaies is most jealousie;
And where most jealousie's in fashion,
There's most critick observation.
Say the [...] Clarena, thou, whose eyes
Have peept in all my secrecies;
And out of conscience, say if you
Ere found what now report doth shew.
Did not your self (with more intent
Then they, whose words and complement
Proceed from idlenesse, which drawes
A large discourse from any cause)
Inspect my life? yet never saw
The smallest breach in Cupids law.
Clarena.
'Tis true.
[Tha.]
O clear the heavens then,
And let thy cheeks return agen
To their first splendor. Call no more
For Charon's boat to cast thee ore.
But let's renew our faith, and so
Wee'l finde Elizium ere we go,
Place'd in our loves.
[Cla.]
Pardon, I've done;
I'le court thee with an orison.
Pardon, O pardon, I confesse
My own, my own unworthinesse.
Tha.
Can she unworthy be, whose face
And vertuous temper, and whose grace,
The glorious angels, nay yet higher,
The gods (inrag'd with earnest fire)
Wax warm by courting? I'le give ore,
Thy pardon's seal'd, I'le say no more.
Clarena.
[Page 16]With kisses then, my own I'le cherish:
Dumps get you gone; let sorrow perish.
I'le live and love. Charon avoyd,
More nobly are my thoughts imploy'd.
Thalius is mine, and boast I may,
That I am his true Clarena.
9. The Complaint.
I.
AH mee! I faint, I fall, I perish,
Unlesse my Claria come and cherish
My blew lips with a balmy kisse
Sacred blisse,
That recovers
The infatuate souls of lovers.
Come and feed
Me at need.
II.
Where art thou gone, th' art alwaies void,
When thou shouldst be the best imploy'd.
Empty, airy, easie, gentle thing,
Let us cling.
'Tis an action,
Gives love-sick spirits satisfaction,
And doth rout
Pining doubt.
II.
Come let us twinde, let's clip and close,
And drink Nectarian juice, that flowes
[...]rom the fresh riv'lets of thy lips;
Where there skips
Many a Cupid
To revive a soul that's stupid.
And relieve
Us that grieve.
10. The Refusal.
NAy do not urge thines eyes: no tear
shall rear
[...] recantation in my heart,
No art
[...]hall disresolve my fixed minde;
Nor binde
[...]o over to anothers will.
I'le fill
[...]o fancies but my own, where love
Doth move
[...]e to solicite in this sute,
I'le do't.
[...]hall thy untempered tears recall,
And thrall
[...] heart that's free, to fry and tire
In fire
Of vexing fancy? No, I'le first
Be curst
[Page 18]With each pernicious and ill fate,
But that,
When I was first polluted in
The sin
Of serving thee, thou hadst no purse;
Nay worse,
Thou hadst not one poor spark of grace,
Nor face
That might intice me, no desert
Thou wert
Indow'd with. All thy breast within
Was sin,
Yet though thou hast no coyne nor grace,
Nor face;
And though thy sins are manifold,
Untold:
It is not this provokes my heart
To part
With thine; only my will (I vow)
Sayes, Goe,
Or otherwise I could have staid,
And plaid
The fool. I could dispend with all
Those small
Defects, and could have born what ere
Was there
Of sin too much, only I must
Be just
Unto my will, which has forsook
Loves book;
Then do not welter at my change,
Think strange
At no mischance. 'Tis the lame cause
Withdrawes
[Page 19]My love as won it. Both my love and loathing
Spring only hence, I love and loath for nothing.
11. The Check.
DOwn ye aspiring thoughts, where would ye mount?
What? would ye veil proud Atlas brow, or count
The countlesse lights of heaven? Do you strive
(With Polyphemus) to unthrone, and drive
Great Jupiter from his imperial seat?
Alas, alas, your power is not so great.
Review your weaknesse, span your selves again,
I am but dust and ashes; O refrain
This frailty, and self-flattery, and see
The inside of thine imbecillitie.
I'm but a pondrous clod, and cannot rise
Above the stage of earth, each thought that flies
Higher then that, is haughty, and doth prance,
And may (with its excelsity) advance
My finall ruine. He that looks to sit
Above his fellowes, deals with pride, not wit:
His guide is Folly, and his friend a stranger;
The Life-guard of his safety is but Danger.
Then die conceits, and rest within the tombe
Of earth, polluted earth, from whence ye come.
12. The Query.
SAy; Shall I love her? I, or no?
Her that has left me wounded so,
So wounded that I must indure
An endlesse wound, a wound past cure;
Past all the cure of physicks art,
That art works nothing on a heart,
A grieved heart, a heart that groans,
That groans for love, whom love disowns.
Whom love (for spite) did set on fire;
Did set on fire, and then retire;
Retire (like Nero) to some mont,
And there in scorn did look upon't,
Upon the heart she had betraid;
Upon the flame that she had made.
Oh, shall I still her eyes adore?
Adore her eyes that have giv'n ore,
Giv'n ore to heal me, or recruite
My faintings, when one look would do't?
Say, Shall I at her absence grieve?
Or pin my love upon her sleeve?
No, all's but passion, and there needs
No such endevour, no such deeds.
Then farewell love, thou restlesse guest,
And lodge no longer in my breast.
I'le walk no more in beauties light,
Since 'tis more dangerous then night;
Full of deceitfull Crannies: and
Will scarcely let good tempers stand
[Page 21] [...] day in peace. And hardly knowes
At best) how to pay half it owes,
[...]ur offered souls it takes in vain,
[...]nd payes our favours with disdain.
13. The Wish.
I.
O That I had by Gyges ring,
Or Daedalus his well-flegd'd wing,
[...]r Europ's Bull; or any thing
II.
[...]hat would convey me to that Zone,
[...]here my heart (imp't by love) is flown,
[...]nd left me dying all alone.
III.
[...]et speaking tears expresse my woes.
[...]h heartlesse man! Oh fortune! Oh!
[...]ve, bring my heart, or let me go,
IV.
[...]o fetch that tyrant's that possesses
[...]ine in her bosome, and neer guesses
[...]he large extent of my distresses.
V.
[...]et since th' hast stoln (by thy sweet power)
[...]y heart, and keep'st it in thy tower.
[...]nd leav'st me in despair to louer.
VI.
I'le count such fortune but a bubble:
And to revenge me of this trouble,
I'le say thou hast a heart that's double.
14. The Petition.
I.
O Pity, pity him that fryes
Upon the grid-irons of thine eyes.
What greater plague could hell devise?
II.
No Juniper has such a coal:
No torture can torment a soul
So bad as love when't doth controul.
III.
The Sun growes warmer by my fire:
And by my sighs the winds retire.
My tears advance the Ocean higher.
IV.
O turn, thou Antidote alone,
And mollifie thy heart of stone,
Before I perish flesh and bone.
V.
Change thou thy Marble into mosse:
And do not smell of Charing-crosse.
To lose a hard heart is no losse.
VI.
O cool me in thy shady grove:
And from my senses quite remove
The sulph'rous odour of a stove.
VII.
Or else a tyrant thou wilt bee,
That hast the heart to stand and see
The wofull martyrdom of mee.
VIII.
Of me, whose labour and endever,
Was prone to be thy slave for ever,
And to resist thy fancy never.
IX.
Of me, whose solace, and whose rest
Could not suppose it self more blest,
Then when I thought thou lov'dst me best.
X.
Of me, of me, and only me,
That fanci'd once, I ne're could be
Happy, but in thy companie.
XI.
And now that thou shouldst be my bane,
Retorting such reward again,
Is grief too great for me t' explain.
XII.
But since I must be thus withstood,
And none may quench my boyling blood;
My passion shall produce a flood.
XIII.
A flood of tears shall flow so free,
That they shall quench these flames in mee:
And then I'le scorn thy Love, and thee.
15. A brave temper.
I.
YOu lumps of the earth, will you never be wise?
Go barter your plumbets for plumes, and arise.
Your spirits you tire, like Dun in the mire.
The gold and the silver that Fortune hath lent you,
Hold your freedoms in chace, and disfigure the face;
And in stead of a pleasure, are toyles that torment you
II.
And these are the blessings your labours beget,
Y' are clear of the Compters, yet ye are in debt,
For sadly you finde you have prison'd your minde;
And nothing can baile out your hearts from your purses▪
Besides you induce Panick fear, and abuse,
Well riveted in by the poor, in their curses.
III.
Now as for the Poets, they feel no such weight:
What they gain in the morning▪ they spend at the night▪
[Page 25]And when they haue done, they lie down with the sun,
Commending their bodies to heavens protection.
And they fear not the thief that disturbs your relief;
That keeps you awake, and your joyes in subjection.
IV.
There's none wil break through our wals (we presume)
To rifle our coss [...]rs, and ransack our room.
We have no such things as J [...]wels and rings.
No St—thief nor high-way man arms at our treasure.
We do what we please, and our selves keep the keyes
Of our own inlargement: and take' [...] at our pleasure.
V
Each man is a Consull t' himself, and doth sit
Sole Judge in the Courts of Canary and wit.
We build not our hopes on the pardons of Popes.
Our hearts they are clear, and we will not imbrue um
With corruptible crimes, and errors of times,
We never fall out about meum and tuum.
VI
While we in the lofts of our liquor do lie,
The eyes Astronomy reach not so high;
For then we have more of riches in store,
Then they which have purchast Episcopal livings:
With the lands, and the means of Chapters and Deans,
Which now's their fee simple for only thanks-givings.
16. The Search.
OUt she's gone, and I will follow:
Help me, help me good Apollo.
Come Lucina, bring thy taper:
Lusty Mars lend me thy rapier.
I'le not stay for time nor danger;
Nor be dasht by friend or stranger.
Night and day I'le not be quiet;
Nor receive my rest, nor diet,
Till I finde
What my minde
Feeds upon. No frowning rigor,
No fierce Wolf, nor furious Tyger
Shall repeal me, or refrain me;
No ingagement shall constrain me.
No false pleasure shall me flatter;
No tempestuous storm shall batter
Down my fixed resolution;
Nor affront my prosecution,
Till my breath
Fails by death.
But who shall be my attendant,
Presbyter or Independant?
Pages, sure I need not any,
Though I might be serv'd by many.
With no rivall I will mingle;
Love is best when it is single:
Ergo I alone will wander,
Till alone I understand her
[Page 27]That doth sway
Night and day
My vext fancy. Oh but whither
Shall I ramble to be with her?
If among the gods I enter,
There I shall not circumvent her.
She's not so devoutly given,
As to lodge her soul in heaven.
She conceiv'd it not her duty
To trust more to zeal then beauty.
Nor could I
Ere discry
Any cause why she should do it,
When I nicely look into it:
Beauty (natures prize and potion)
Got more profit then devotion.
Is't not true then? judge you of it,
We love that most yeelds most profit;
Therefore I will never minde her
In coelestial orbs to finde her;
It would be
Hard for me:
Yet perhaps she took her station
In some apparent Constellation,
Which, if sea-men did but know it,
They would point their staffe unto it:
And for observations, follow
Her in stead of bright Apollo.
If among the birds she gathers,
She'l be noted by her feathers,
Such as are
Richly fair
And will quite forsake loves fountains,
For the sweet Arabian mountains,
[Page 28]Where the Phenix lately burned,
To whose nature she is turned.
If with Pluto she abideth,
And within those groves resideth;
Then I am resolv'd to think it,
That she is in every Pinket,
That is seen
On the green.
But why are my thoughts extended
To such breadth? she's comprehended
On the surface of the centre
Where earth's globe doth complement her.
She's apparent in each flower,
And therein displayes her power.
Smell but on the sweetest posies:
Look upon the blushing roses;
There thine eye
Shall discry
Her, but 'tis too faint and weakly,
And in them she looketh sickly.
Th' are but types, and cannot shew her
As she is, one half so pure.
She is the prop of natures glory;
Beauty far exceeding story,
That may teach perfection better
By her golden rule and letter.
Such is she
Sought by me.
Now if any man discryes her,
For loves sake let him surprise her;
Let him take her by the finger,
And to Cupid's palace bring her.
And of her take twice two kisses,
And hee'l need no greater blisses.
[Page 29]'Tis sufficient to requite all
His endevours. So good night all
You that know
Lovers woe.
17. A Woman.
I
A Woman is a wanton thing,
And only serves to dandle,
A bow that bends without a string:
A knife without a handle;
For if thereon your hand you put,
It's ten to one but you are cut.
II.
A woman is a lighted taper,
She burneth as she sings:
Lovers (like flies) while there they vapour,
They scorch away their wings;
Then down they fall into her pit,
And there they drown both joy and wit.
III.
A woman for her constancy,
I'le worship and adore:
For she is bad, and she will be
The same for evermore:
Or if she change from doing ill,
Be sure 'tis done against her will.
IV.
A woman is a mysterie,
The learned scan
Whose bottom ne're could fathom'd be
By all the art of man:
And she is one that can adorn
Her husbands forehead with a horn.
V.
A woman's a Theorbo Lute,
That's alwaies set in tune:
And if you put your pen unto't
From mid-night untill noon;
Yet shee'l be loath to let you go,
Because she loves the musick so.
VI.
A woman is a Hartichoak;
Whose leaves are only good:
Her pleasant outside doth provoak
Our veins and vernall bloud;
But if you touch her to the core,
It's ten to one you finde a wh—re.
18. Disdain.
IS this Loves court of Conscience, to infer
So many darts on one poor sufferer?
No triple Gerion, or fierce Hydra found
So many heads, so many stings to wound
The Trojan Prince unfortunate. There flies
Not half so many beamlings from the eyes
Of well-stor'd Argus, as my wanton foe
Hath unlaborious projects to orethrow.
O you unworthy Nature, for your tricks,
I'me bound to curse you: you that love to mix
A pride with beauty, you that interlace
A curst condition with a comly face;
That make such active engines, to surprise
Your friends, and make them suffer sacrifice.
You that are fair without, but all within
Foul with ambition, that contains a gin,
First ticing in idolatry to erre,
And then to prize on the Idolater.
When first this Circe had my senses charm'd
I mounted Cap a pee, most stoutly arm'd
T'oppose the adversary, and orethrow
His wanton fury, but he brings his bow
Unto her hand, and bids her to be sure
She shoot at such a heart, and stand secure.
Then in a fury, she began to throw
Her witchcrafts to increase my former woe.
A scornful smile upon me then she threw,
And seconds it with a quick pish or two.
[Page 32]So spritefully upon me she did fall
You'd think her body were a soul and all.
More subtle was she to inlarge my grief
Then Cacus, or Prometheus (that brave thief)
To gain coelestial fire. Shee increases
Her doubled blushes, and sets out her tresses;
Makes every burnisht hair upon her browes,
A mortall shaft to slay me, but allowes
No thought of love, no fancy, nor desire
T' allay the fervour, and asswage the fire
Her beauty kindled. But (disdaining high)
Displayes a brighter banner to my eye,
As who should say, Thou fondling, if I can,
I'le triumph in thy misery (poor man!)
But hang't, I care not, I will act a part
With resolution; since I finde my heart,
The more it hovers, and with care implores,
The more it's wounded with disdainfull sores.
I'le call my fancy home, and bid her rest
Within the private Cottage of my brest,
And I will be its nurse, and care no more
For beauty, then she car'd for me before.
19. Commendation.
I.
MY Mistresse is fair, my Mistresse is rare;
Her beauty's a matchlesse treasure,
In every part, for nature and art,
Fair Venus her self doth measure.
[Page 33]And upon my soul she has not the mole
That on dame Venus cheek did grow;
Her beauty no blot doth know.
II.
Fair Helen of Greece, that Amorous piece,
That pleasant and notable sinner,
Although such a floud of rational bloud
Was spilt by her rivals to win her;
Yet could she not be so lovely as she,
Whom fortune hath elected forth,
To conquer me by her worth.
III.
So neatly she moves, so swiftly she loves;
Her glance is enough to ravish.
Her sanctifi'd eye shines moderately;
'Tis neither too close, nor lavish:
Her smile (if she please) can cure each disease
Where profound Empericks may fail,
Her courtesie can prevail.
IV.
An armfull of blisse, so sacred as this,
Jove never composed nor courted;
With angels so bright, and full of delight,
The poetick pens never sported.
Don Quixot would be in combate with me,
Did his quick knowledge but discry
My fancy had flown so high.
V.
Come then my fair Gem, and value not them
That can not indure to be quiet.
[Page 34]In mine armes be thou hurl'd while the troublesome world
makes war and rebellion its diet;
And then my desire shall ramble no higher:
My heart from care I will set free;
Thy love is enough for me.
20. A Letter sent into the Countrey.
Friend,
I Give an answer, as it is my duty;
Because ye wrote to know of Grizels beauty.
O Monstrous! Beauty I to thee petition,
Thou art more wondrous then an Apparition:
More bright then scoured Andirons, and more clear
Then new Stepony; and as brown as Beer.
Thou art as blew as starch in every vein;
Enough to make a Monkey break his chain.
Her hair (wherein my tangled heart doth lie)
Shines far more bright then whip cord to mine eye:
Her breath's a Champion, for it's mighty strong;
Her eye-brow hair is nigh three inches long▪
Her eyes, (I vow, I almost had forgot um)
Are broader then a sawcer at the bottom:
Her nose (that Gem which nature did allow)
Stands jetting, like the coulter of a plow:
Thy lips (alas too light a word to show
Their heavy worth) like dri'd bull-pizles grow
Both round and riv'led: furrow'd deep (together)
As blew as Azure, and as tough as leather.
But shall I speak a word unto her mouth?
It goes from pole to pole, from north to south,
[Page 35]Incompassing a cell, that's full as deep
As th' Devils arse of Peak; where they that peep
For bottom, lose their labour; and are fain
To come away (repenting) back again,
Her teeth (those bead-rowes that so much have grac't (her)
Are not of Ivoury, not of Alabaster:
Hast thou ere seen a mouse-trap, that is made
With steel indented? (art thou not afraid
To hear the dreadfull rapture?) such they be,
But are not set with such equality.
Park▪pales they do resemble. (Help, O heaven I
My fainting Muse, when theams are so uneven.
Help good Apollo, raise me ten notes higher.
[...]end down Ʋrania: or do thou inspire
Me with the dregs of Poetry, and sense,
Let me not write with vulgar eloquence,
On pieces so imperfect, where doth lie
In every wrinkled fold, some mystery.)
Oh the majestick visard of her chin,
That bears her chops away through thick and thin.
[...]obtail'd thou art, contex [...]d like a knot,
Th'art just like something, but I know not what:
Thy cheeks fall back, as though for some ill cause,
Thou went'st to hide them safe, between thy Jawes.
Thy neck shall not be placed in our rime,
We'l keep the neck-verse till another time.
But Oh thy back, thy shoulders and thy wast,
Thy bouncing buttocks, and thy thighes, ore-cast
With Canopies of Canvase, and of Sarge,
[...]'le not speak much of them, they are too large
For ten-feet verses: But I've seen them stand
Like great Colossus in another land.
Her inner part's so holy, that I dare
Not own so proud a thought as t'enter there;
[Page 36]Lest I blaspheme the Idol; and become,
For that offence, barr'd from Elizium.
Thus I, in part, have told you what I know,
Of things above, and things that are below:
And for what's wanting, I must needs refer
Unto the next return o'th Carrier.
21. The invitation to walk.
CLarena, Come and let's repair
Into the fields to take the air.
And in what place so ere we come,
Thy presence makes Elizium.
Let rurall swains adore thy fame;
And Courtiers comment on thy name:
And let the world thy beauty see,
That Poets may eternize thee.
Step out with me to yonder bower,
And there we'l pluck the fairest flower:
And when w'have done, we'l view, and see,
Which is the fairest, it or thee:
See'st thou those blossom'd trees (that shine
With common glory, not with thine,
With thine that did receive a glose
Beyond the lustre of a rose,
From heavens bounty) how they wait
To wanton in their happy fate
Of thy sweet presence? where in passion
Of love, and joy, and emulation,
They may conspire themselves, and see
Their own despis'd deformity.
And set thy lustre on his cheeks.
And he no sooner will espie
The heavenly tulip of thine eye,
But in a passion he will run
[...] As Owles avoid the light of sun)
[...]nto a corner, and will powr
[...]own tears more lavish then a show'r,
To see himself exceeded so,
And must become a theam below
[...]nothers worth. Me thinks I see
The bushes becken unto thee.
The dewy morn has shed a tear,
[...]ecause she wants thy presence there.
Then prethee let's go to the plain,
Or else let's go to bed again.
22. A Mole on Celia's Cheek.
I.
WHat's that (fair Celia) doth presume
To th' mansion of (that heavenly room)
Thy cheek? Doth beauty bud or bloom?
II.
Or else did Nature place it there,
[...]n emulation, and for fear
Thou shouldst above her self appear?
III.
And so she thought (as well she might)
She were not th'author of so bright
A Gem, as on thy cheeks did light.
IV.
Or were it by a power divine?
That so that lively face of thine,
Might not without a blemish shine.
V.
Nor might appear beyond the Moon,
Which is for earth too high a boon;
For nothing's perfect that's sublune.
VI.
And so each Idolizing eye
(That in so bright a Zone doth lie)
Should take thee for a Deity.
VII.
On this account 't might haply be,
For goddesses do strive (we see)
In beauty for priority.
VIII.
Yet how so ere it came, I wot,
It serves her for a beauty spot,
And to her splendor is no blot.
IX.
Venus had one, or else I dare,
Be so audacious as to swear,
Sh'had nere been counted half so fair.
X.
'Tis poverty that plenty prizes;
The worth of health by sicknesse rises;
And beautie's better'd by disguises.
XI.
White, with black spots, doth whiter show;
And she no woman is (I trow)
That has not one, 'bove or below.
23. The Bitter-Sweeting.
I.
SAw you Aurora, in her morning dresse,
Ere sable clouds approach
Her burnisht tresses to oppresse,
And vail her crimson Coach?
So fair, and fairer Claria shines,
Whose heavenly glance injoynes
All eyes that view her,
To praise her and persue her.
II.
Ah! but thou serpent of infernall breed,
Ambition, that do'st rest
[Page 40]With restlesse actions, and dost feed
Within so fair a breast.
Thou spoyl'st the glory of this star,
With thy deforming scar:
Th' hast blurr'd her rayes,
Like spotted Cynthia's.
III.
Has never fame created in thine ears
Pallas her pregnant wit?
Tush, tush, my Claria's fancy rears
More lively works then it,
Whence Poets must their phrases draw
And Satyrs stand in aw;
And dare not louer
Against so strange a power.
IV.
Ah! but thou seed of pestilential race,
Incontinency, sprung
From Pluto's Cave, or some such place,
My Claria thou dost wrong:
Poysnest the prudence of her brain
With infamy, and stain;
And gainest more
Hate, then wit gain'd love before.
V.
And now my Claria, for so clear a beauty,
And wit so pure and free,
I must imbrace it as my duty
To love and honour thee:
Yet from those vices that arise,
[Page 41]I've learned to despise
A thing that's foul,
With all, with all my soul.
24. The Cheat.
I.
ONce I did love, and loved true,
Ah! but it prov'd in vain.
Claria, I fell in love with you,
You vow'd to love, and more you said,
Your love should be divine.
What prank soever fortune plaid,
Yet still you would be mine.
II.
This re-inforc't my new born zeal,
And did ingage me more
Loves charming blisses to reveal,
Then ere I durst before.
I fetcht expressions lovers use
To court their Ladies by,
From Helicon; and every Muse
Claria did deifie.
III.
With Indian pearl, and gifts the best
Of nature and of art,
I fed this love, and with the rest
[Page 42]I gave my wounded heart;
And then I thought thou hadst been mine,
No reason urg'd my doubt,
My fate was rich, my joyes divine,
With blessings wall'd about.
IV.
Because she did my presents take,
And own me as her own,
I little thought she would forsake
him she had pitcht upon:
I thriv'd in Confidence; and said,
Fortune had chose for me
The prettiest and the wittiest maid
That ever eyes did see.
V.
But when I had conceived so,
Then I was most deceiv'd:
Oh little, little did I know
Of thee I was bereav'd.
Coelestial beauty! How couldst thou
Commit so foul a fact,
As to infringe a sacred vow
With ceremony backt?
VI.
Unconstant fate, unconstant love;
Unconstant Lady too.
I'le scorn you all, and will remove
My love away from you.
And since unblemisht love must be
rewarded in such sort,
Henceforth I'le fix my love on thee
But for an hours sport.
25. The Catch.
I.
COme to the brim (boy) fill our bouls,
'Tis wine new vamps our heart:
And sets a glosse upon our souls
Beyond the power of Art.
II.
'Tis wine that drowns corrupting woes;
And Fortunes fury quenches:
The poor man whilest in sack he flowes,
He feels no want but Wenches.
26. The Weather-cock.
I.
Z'Life I reach my sword, for in my rage,
In thousand bits I'le slash
The Gnatho [...]s that defile our age,
And break their bones to mash.
Those that will turn
Ere they will burn,
And slink at every slash.
II.
Those that their Prince and Peers adore
For interest of their own:
Those, when their fortunes are blown ore,
Will vanish, and are gone.
And basely will,
Like swallowes, still
Seek out the warmest Zone.
III.
Those that have learned to divide
Their hearts and tongues in two;
That will abet on either side,
Serve both the false and true.
And you that can
Praise every man
That keeps a bribe for you.
VI.
If Caesar daign to smile on such,
No paradise so sweet:
But if he frowns and frowneth much,
Their fortune's under feet;
And then their bliss
And pleasure is
Lapt in a winding sheet.
V.
If Caesar prayes to Mahomet,
Then thou wilt be a Turk;
Or if Popes pardons he will get,
Thou'lt do the self-same work.
[Page 45]Thus doth thy zeal
To his appeal,
And in his lap doth lurk.
IV.
Shall Caesars frown, or Caesars smile
Ring change in my devotion?
Or shall I pawn my faith a while
To amplifie my potion?
No, no I hate
To wheel with fate,
Or move with every motion.
VII.
Poor is his faith, and poor his friend,
And poorer his renown,
Whose joy and sorrow must depend
On Caesars smile or frown.
Such fabricks stand
On sliding sand,
And soon are tumbled down.
VIII.
'Tis you professe Religion right;
And hate to hear of evill;
Yet in the darkest caves you'l light
A candle to the Devill.
'Tis you whose paint
Sets forth a Saint,
Yet you are most uncivill.
IX.
'Tis you that act a double Scene;
Ye seem to be profound,
[Page 46]To this or that side ye will lean,
And stand on any ground.
'Tis you (I swear)
That run with th' hare;
And follow with the hound.
X.
My resolution is a rock
Of steel, and doth disdain
To yeeld unto the proudest knock,
Inchantments are in vain.
I'le never prove
To fall in love
For fear or filthy gain.
27. The Upstart.
WHy should I humour every critick fool,
Whose law's his will, whose ignorance his rule;
Whose prying censure seldome keeps at home;
Whose tongue talks only of great things to come;
Whose heart forgets his unde, and looks higher
Then the low fabricks of desert aspire:
Whose arrogancy does abhorre the newes
Of quondam poverty, and does refuse
To honour those who formerly did blesse
Him with old suits, and cloath his nakednesse
For pities sake. 'Cause now by fate he's risen,
And hoyst upon a Cock-horse from a prison:
[Page 47]Shall he therefore that once was so absurd,
Now think to claim acquaintance with the bird
Of worthy Jove? or shall my breath applaud him?
For by respect of lucre, shall I laud him?
No, let him perish with his pride, and fall.
The Devil give him reverence, and all
His damned crew, for they have reason for't
Cause he is Vice-roy of their sable Court:
▪Tis not th' extention of his new swoln fate
That shall allure me to lick up the bait.
Nor yet the fury of his pride and passion
Shall ere unhasp my temper from its station.
Do what he can, yet I on no condition,
Will be a servant unto his ambition.
Though he's incourag'd by an ample fee
Of nimble Fortune, and has outrun mee
That had the best on't once, yet I will swim
Through every plague before I'le creep to him.
Not that I murmur at his good successe,
But laugh and scorn at his unworthinesse.
He that has chang'd his fleece, and now thinks fit,
By changing of his flesh to better it.
He's the true object of the purest hate
That alters his conditions with estate.
18. The Declaration.
I.
CLara, th'art absolutely wise:
Clara, th' art fair and fine,
And thou wouldst perfect all my joyes
If thou wouldst but be mine.
In truth I love thee with my heart,
Though others tell thee so;
And say thy love shall nere depart,
Yet still thou seest they go.
II.
O trust them not, they'l work thy woe;
Their love is all in tongue
Their fiery zeal at first doth show
It will not tarry long.
Their love's attended with a curse,
'Tis barb'rous and injust;
They only love thee for thy purse;
Or else their love is lust.
III.
They promise Joyntures fair and good,
Their hearts will be thy debter:
All this is 'cause th' have understood
Thy fortune is the better,
Is better then their own, (they know)
And hence it is they move thee;
But my affection is not so,
It is for love I love thee.
IV.
Wert thou as poor as ere was girl,
Yet I abhorre to halt;
For in mine eyes thou art a pearl,
And so thou ever shalt.
I love those jewels in thy brest,
Thy vertue and thy wit.
And all the gods shall me attest,
I only love for it.
29. To her Friend.
'TIs not with haughty malice I aspire
To court your sense: nor arm'd with Cupid's fire.
No wanton philtre does inforce my quill,
The sacred orbs of your blest ears to fill.
I'm no rejected Echo, who to gain
Narcissus favour, takes a world of pain,
Divides the winde, the brambles, and the briers;
Hoping to kindle his untempered fires.
I mean not thus: 'tis reason doth invade,
'Tis she that acts, and she that would perswade,
She (mov'd with friendship) bids me, if I may,
Unveil your eyes, and drive those mists away,
That shroud the genius of your soul, and draw
Your frantick fancie to another law,
Then that of reason: tainted and unjust,
Created not of honesty, but lust.
What can you see of vertue, or of art
In her you love, that may exact your heart
[Page 50]To yeeld obedience to her frowns and smiles?
She's all deceit, and where she comes, beguiles.
Is it her beauty only, that doth move
Thy cogitations to the flames of love?
Shall that frail Gem (when haply it may be
But counterfeited out by subtilty)
Be rank't among the vertues? and be thought
Worthy with souls destruction to be bought?
What purblinde? what misconceived good
With-holds the nobler practice of thy bloud?
Has Circe charm'd you? and will you but please
To judge the Mine by the Superficies?
Search home, and see if her alluring skin,
Can smother the deformities within.
This done, you'l finde (poor soul) she doth impart
Nothing that's counted rich, but undesert.
Then curb thy sallies, and thy self inspect.
Survey these ample errors; and correct
Them by discretion, purge thy putrid brain
From this corruption; then begin again.
With this quaint Siren do not thou be charm'd,
Pity, good nature were no better arm'd
With prudent weapons, that they might improve
Their worthier fortunes in the wars of love.
Call back thy forces, lay thy siege no more
Against a garrison that's won before:
Poor prize, it renders triumph unto no man.
It's won with too much ease: it's too too common,
Therefore refuse to storm it, and retire
If thou intendest to be honour'd by her
Who is thine in all friendship.
20. Chance.
I.
WHat's my offences that my fortunes be
Inshrined in the tomb of poverty?
But dust I am, from dust I came;
And unto dust return I must;
And he whom fate doth blesse
With health, and wealth, and worthinesse,
Is nothing more: and he must do no lesse.
II.
Man, in the noontide of his glorie's but
A lump of Clay, where a quick soul is put.
All this you know, he is but so;
And he that can but say he's man,
Though fame and fortune say
He's Prince or Pope, yet here I may
Presume to match with him: we both are clay.
III.
O me! How comes it then to passe that he
Whose corps were gendred in the dirt with me,
Should rise so high? and I, poor I
Should fall so low as now I do?
Is't art? no, that's not it,
Our knowledge no such thoughts admit;
'Cause some mens worship are beyond their wit.
IV.
'Tis neither art nor desert that doth bring
This man to be a begger, that a King.
No vertuous hearts, nor morall parts:
But that which still drives up the hill,
And daily doth inhaunce
Mans greatnesse, and his worth advance,
Can be no other then auspicious chance.
V.
Since then by chance we either fall or stand,
And fortune playes with such a partial hand;
No heart of mine shall ere repine:
Nor will I guesse unworthinesse
The more in me to rest,
Though I conceive I am not blest
With Princely honours, or a golden Chest.
31. A tear over Orania's Tomb.
I.
OH let me weep, weep out mine eyes
Upon the Tomb-stone where [...]e lies
Embalmed and enshrin'd.
Let not my senses lead me home,
And leave Orania in the tombe.
Why should I stay behinde?
II.
What hope have I of life or blisse,
Under so dire a fate as this?
What's man without a heart?
There was but one 'twixt she and me,
And that away from me did flee,
When hence she did depart.
III.
And though the life of sense I kept,
'Twere better in the urn I slept;
For sleeping there, I rest.
And then my heart and I should be
Fomented in tranquillity;
And both for ever blest.
32. A voyage to the Canaries; or the Sack-pilgrimage.
I.
Farewell false pleasures, vain delights;
Deluding stories, and bewitching glories.
Farewell false measures and false weights;
Farewell false glosses and false lights:
Farewell you Tory-rories;
But welcome Sack; for I will be
Ingaged unto none but thee.
II.
Farewell you streamed cheeks of ore▪
You rich attires, and you vain love-sick fires:
The world's a witch; beauty's a whore;
Curst may he be that loves it more,
Or to its vein aspires,
My youthfull rivals I resign,
And now go pilgrim to the Vine.
III.
Farewell you Castles, Towns, and Towers:
Farewell relations; and fare ye well fond fashio [...] ▪
You morall rights, and formal powers,
Wherein I've wasted many howers,
Be gone away in passion;
No aid at all from you I lack,
In this my pilgrimage of Sack.
IV.
Aureous and argent Mines avoid:
Be gone ye rubies, and also you great boobie,
In this your privie search imploy'd.
Blinder then Cupid may the guide,
That still directeth you, be.
What mettle, earthly or divine,
Is not ingendered by the Wine?
V.
Cuckolds farewell, and Cuckolds Curres:
Farewell trunk-breeches, and fare ye well long speeches;
Farewell you Lords, Dukes, Knights, and Sirs:
Farewell you dalliance and demurres,
Farewell you oaks and beeches.
[Page 55]I neither value man nor tree,
But such as in the Vineyard bee.
VI.
Farewell Kings, Princes, Lords, and Popes:
Farewell false Latins, farewell deluded Satins:
Halters I'le change for Cable-ropes;
Imbracing Stars and Horoscopes.
Farewell high heels and pattins.
Let no dull actor shame the stage;
The scene is a Sack-pilgrimage.
33. The Retreat.
I.
TEll me Tyresias, was it thou
Bewitch'd me unto Cupids bow?
Why should I hold this Deer in chace?
Or wrack my fancy on her face?
What hope is there to win the prize
That still refuses and denies?
II.
With weary labours night and day,
Early and late, through clods and clay,
In health and sicknesse, blisse and bale
I wo'd her, but 't would not prevail.
My time, my coyn and spirits too
I spent, but yet all would not do.
III.
I manacled each strugling thought,
And my aspiring soul I brought
Into subjection; and did spill
Full seas of tears to gain her will:
All this I did, and more; but yet
Her marble heart would not submit.
IV.
Therefore I will decline the suit,
And pluck up fancy by the root.
I'le bid my stragling heart go home,
And leave thee to the next that come.
But may I perish for my pain,
If ere I cringe to thee again.
34. Deformity.
GIve me the Maul of Hercules; the triple
Head of stern Cerberus: and (thou Disciple)
Grim Gueryon come, and bring thy furies here.
Up Hydra, up: Parca, do you appear;
Call up the damn'd deformities, and chace
Each rosie and each purple from the place.
Bring not loves arrowes, nor th' Idalian dart,
To gall my senses, or love-wound my heart:
But help, Oh help, I am beset about
With snakie-hair'd Medusa, and I doubt
I shall be frantick: Heaven grant me aid
To back my weaknesse, or I am betraid.
[Page 57]Blesse me! What eyes be these? what flaming sawcers?
What speech is this, more rustical then Chaucers?
What Tytian lump is here? what form? what fashion?
What monster in my breast would make invasion?
Jove shield me from't, and for succession-sake,
(With sinfull Ixion) let me not mistake
A cloud for Juno, lest my heirs should be
Exceeding Centaurs in deformity.
Shield me, good Venus, from this ugly ghost.
Else I am ruin'd, and for ever lost,
Yet, if by force I must be thrown upon her,
(To save my reputation and my honour)
I will imbrace her with a formall shew
Of affectation: but (believe it you)
Those nuptial duties which from me should flow,
Shall be performed by I care not who.
Let Incubus the Night-Mare be her mate,
Or he that loves to wallow in such fate:
But if no devil, nor no man will do't
For love, her lovely gold shall presse them to't.
They shall be mercenary, I'le not scorn
With her own dowry to exalt my horn:
Although her body be deform'd, and foul,
Her gold is fair, and may delight a soul.
Who then but fools (whom nature hath control'd)
Would not incurre the horn, to gripe the gold?
35. The true beauty.
I.
TEmpt not my thoughts with powder'd hair,
With Sattin, or with Lawn.
This cannot make a Lady fair,
Whose honour lies at pawn.
Bring not thy jewels unto me,
I neither value them nor thee.
II.
Look not so high though fortune please
Fairly to set thee forth;
Thy own ambition's thy disease,
And bridle of thy worth;
Thy beautie's blur'd, thy fame destroy'd,
Thy honour's strangled in thy pride.
III.
'Tis she that's fair, and only she,
Whose minde does not advance
With fate, above her pedigree;
That glories not in chance.
Whose beauty has more brightly shone
To others senses then her own.
IV.
Such is my Claria, she that holds
My heart within her brest:
Whose parallel, in Cupid's folds,
Or flocks, did never rest.
[Page 59]She whose ambitious smoke doth smother,
Aspiring not above another.
V.
She whose own merits might transport
Her love beyond my case;
Is humbly pleas'd my flames to court,
And offerings to imbrace.
With me she'l laugh, with me she'l sing,
With me she will do any thing.
VI.
She knowes no scorn, she'l not deny
Her lips at my request.
She nere saw me in misery,
But she would be opprest.
Therefore my Claria, only thou
Must rule my soul and fortunes now.
36. Sept. 1655. The downfal of the black Boy, and the white Girle in Budge-row.
I.
COme lend a heart-destroying tear,
A sigh, a sob, a groan;
You Black-boy lads, that lately were
More radiant then the Sun,
You that did use to crown your pates
With Beer and Ale divine,
[Page 60]Come now, and curse your clouded fates,
As I have cursed mine.
II.
You sons of Cypria, that were wont
There to maintain your games;
That were devoted to the font
Where pleasure flowes and flames;
Come mourn with me, and sadly cry,
The Black-boy is a going:
Which needs must be (infallibly)
To our eternall ruin.
III.
Ring out our sisters passing-bell;
And let your tears increase:
Spin out your daies in some dark Cell,
Where sorrow nere may cease.
What will you doe? where will you rest?
And where will you repose?
Where will you finde so fair a nest,
Where love and beauty growes?
IV.
There, when my money all was spent;
I went upon the score;
But now alas I must lament,
I shall do so no more.
Sweet Nan (whose soul and vertues are
For Princely thoughts a shrine)
O how unblest thy neighbours are
In this sad change of thine!
V.
Why would you leave us? What distaste
Did harbour in your minde?
How came your fancy over-cast?
Why were you so inclin'd?
The Black-boyes oyl no more will flow,
His Cruce is all exhaust:
And he that there to drink doth go,
His labour will be lost.
VI.
The black Boy, and the white Girl, both
Have lost their powers there:
Which story to unfold I'm loath;
Nor can without a tear.
Yet though Budge-row they have forsook,
And left that throne behinde them,
All you that please for them to look,
In Abchurch-lane may finde them.
37. The Soliloquie.
I
OH let me die; and to Elizium goe.
Let me not languish in my woe.
What glorie's here
That's permanent, or dear?
That may inchant a soul (with reason blest)
To tarry in't, or take one minutes rest.
II.
Love is forgotten; and the world is grown
Like to the Smirnian Actor, who ('tis known)
When Heaven's name
O'th' stage he did proclaime,
Would paint his finger on the earth: and there
Seem to set his affections, as it were.
III.
Society, the darling of delight,
That turned bale to blisse, made day of night,
Is quite destroy'd
By avarice and pride.
Whereas our vertues had extent before,
Now each regards his own worth, and no more.
IV.
Oh let me then lay down my vernall head
Upon those groves prepared for the dead.
Good heaven grant
To death a Pursivant;
That he may bring me to the Stygian shore,
Where Charon with his boat may waft me ore.
V.
There shall I see my Doroclea's brow:
Which sight I've lost, which losse brought me so low.
She, whose fair eyes
Might be a Princely prize.
She that lov'd true, and to maintain her vow,
Was forc't to fly unto those fields below.
VI.
There shall I see her, there shall I enjoy her;
There will the gods give me a mansion by her;
Where with sweet kisses,
Smilings, and sweeter blisses,
We'l feast: and there (in spight of fate and foe)
We'l do those Orgies here we left to doe.
VII.
There shall I see my brethren and my sires,
That warm'd my fancy with Pierian fires,
That found my Muse
With buskin'd hose and shooes;
And such a spirit on my genius hurl'd,
That, for a minde free, I could change the world.
VIII.
There Ben would bid me welcome, and his mates,
Whose fruitfull brains, and whose ingenious pates,
I've crown'd with bayes
Of Sack, in former dayes.
I was their Ganymede, and they would be
As jovial as a Jupiter to me.
IX.
There should I reign, and bid a rush for Kings,
Popes, Lords and Princes, or such mighty things.
All high 'descents,
Grim looks, or Parliaments.
All care to gain, or fear to lose estates;
Guns, Pikes, or Pistols; Swords, or Counter-gates.
38. The Gender.
WHy should her beauty thus inchant
Poor me her wofull supplicant?
Why do I follow with a tear,
Her various steps? is she more dear
Then others are? What though she's cri'd
Up to be natures only pride.
That is no solid cause to summon
A choice affection, while she's common.
'Tis true, she is both young and tender;
And she is of the female gender.
Were she but so, it would be well;
But more then this, she doth excell:
For if the thing discussed bee,
She's common both to two and three;
Or if to number we must fall;
You'l finde she's common unto all.
39. To the Nymph.
I.
COme, leave this dull retired life,
And now assume the name of wife
Ere i [...] be more then time.
Why should that flower fall alone
That might be pull'd by every one?
its glorie's now in prime.
II.
Hold not your beauty in suspence;
But in loves Innes of Courts commence
To be a Student fair,
With him that is resolv'd to be
Your unrelenting Votary,
While he is mov'd with air.
III.
Why startle you from man so much?
Despising him, whose every touch
Is th' author of your blisses?
Why will you unto him allow
A sullen and tempestuous brow?
And formalize your kisses?
IV.
'Tis man you ought to look upon
As th' end of your perfection;
But if you die in scorn,
[Page 66]Your urn, your issue doth compose
Heaven's abus'd: and you must lose
The end for which y' are born.
40. Her Reply.
I.
YEs, I could follow Cupid's tents;
But when I see such presidents
Of woe ingendered there,
I check my fancies, and recall
My looser resolutions all,
And sleck my flames with fear.
II.
What shall poor tempted Ladies doe?
Into whose bosomes shall they throw
The Lotteries of their love?
When every moment we may see
How unresolv'd their servants bee;
And how awry they move.
III.
Their fat professions are most free:
Phrases flow fast, of constancy,
Expression doth excell.
Now their swift fancy flies as high
As Titan in the towring skie;
Then sinks as low as hell.
IV.
Bright as the taper of the night,
At first they do extend their light:
Exposing love enough.
And then become ere they have done,
More odious then comparison:
Their exit makes a snuffe.
V.
Give me the solid Lover then,
That goes away and comes agen;
And breaks no spousal vow:
That's not by every smile ore-thrown,
Nor dasht aside by every frown,
Nor answers every bow.
VI.
If such invite me with his flame,
With equall heat I'le meet the same
Through every case and state,
To him my bosome I'le unlace;
His love and him I will imbrace
In spite of foe or fate.
41. The Club.
COme my hearts and alter Cases,
Burnish all with Sack your faces.
Light the world with copper Noses,
Redder then the damask roses:
Or the torch held out by Hero.
Strike up voices: sing Fa-lero,
Since our lives can not be ever,
Short and sweet delights the liver.
Yesterday is past returning,
Quench your spirits from worldly burning:
Pine you not away with sorrow,
Nor be carefull for to morrow:
Let your zealots take up quarters
In their Abbies, and their Dorters.
We'l drive out the drousie summers
With renowned cups and rummers;
Shun Physitians, and their stories,
And despise their Purgatories.
Let Galen say what he pleases,
Sack will sink down all diseases:
Colick, Dropsie, Teeth or Ptisick;
There's no such approved physick.
This is that the gods affected;
And for their own use selected.
This is that sets anguish flying,
Cheers the heart that lies a dying:
Rinces nature from distemper;
Invests each man in an empire.
[Page 69]Bids the Taylor draw his dagger,
And the slow-tongu'd Changeling swagger.
Here's the cream of the Creation;
Here's the habit most in fashion.
Foolish glory's but a bubble;
Riches may consume as stubble:
Hang the world, and save the Liquor;
Play about, and booz it quicker:
Here's a health to him that's loyall
To the cup, and stands the triall
Of a vine-disburthening showre,
And makes Wine his only dowre.
That's not with new follies lur'd
But drink healths to'th quondam St—
42. The Stand.
I.
UNdone, Alas, undone,
My will my wisdome hath outrun,
My roving soul hath vainly wrought
A hainous crime, a grievous fau't,
In seeking where my folly sought.
II.
False zeal, how can it be
That fortune ere should favour thee?
When to good fortune thou hast been
Unfavourable, what a sin
And sorrow, art thou plunged in?
The Return.
I.
THe weary footman having past
Ore many a hill, and many a dale:
Through many a storm and many a vale,
With full desire returns (at last)
Unto his native bed, and there
Sucks in his rest with full career.
II.
Recalling then into his minde
The horrid tempests he has known,
The Alpie grades that he has gone?
Then pleasantly he begins to finde
The preeminence of that same place
Where first his life began the race.
III.
And having by experience found
No orb more dulcid then his own,
No soyl so soft to tread upon;
He re-implants upon this ground,
And having well resolved, then
He'l die before he'l leave't agen.
IV.
Lady, my love's this traveller,
Its native Countrey is your Brest,
And there it found a native rest:
[Page 71]Till led by fancie, it did erre:
And being gall'd by fancie's fraud,
It by all means would go abroad.
V.
Then out it went, and stray'd about
In every hedge, and every hole;
And scan'd the clifts of many a soul.
It peep't within, and spi'd without:
Making a serious inquisition
Through every region, and condition.
VI.
Some love I found, but thin and sad;
For every calm and gentle look,
That from my Mistresse eyes I took,
Ten times ten thousand frowns I had:
Then did I sigh, and sighing say,
I will return to Claria.
VII.
There's zeal refin'd, there's love enough;
There's morall parts, and sacred grace;
There's good conditions and good face;
There's not a glance that's rough.
Then Claria open thou love's dore;
And I will nere forsake thee more.
43. The Entertainment.
THalius the story thou hast told,
Is Cupid's bow; and I can hold
In no repulse, the winged boy
Has quickly won the victory.
The willing prize 'tis thou dost win;
The door is open, enter in.
44. Claria's Blot.
WHat's amiable that my Claria needs?
Be it for feature, fortune, or for deeds,
Or charitable vertues: can you say
What is defective in my Claria?
Survey her beauty, read the story ore
Of her chaste life; go open every dore.
Thus having done, return again, and see
If ere you found a sweeter soul then she.
One that can dally soft, yet not degrade
From modesty; nor basely be betray'd.
One that loves honour, yet in each condition,
Is an antagonist unto ambition.
Whose tongue (more shrill then Philomels) may be
The Hieroglyphick of humilitie:
Whose garb's the embleme of a decent maid;
One that can trade with love, yet lust evade.
[Page 73]One that is courteous, yet doth scorn to fall
Into a vein that's hypocritical.
One that is lovely, yet doth still deny
To be apparent in each vulgar eye:
One that is nobly born; and yet is one
That scornes to call descent in question.
One that is fair, and yet performs the task
To veil her modest beauty with a mask.
Though many fortunes court her, yet they are
No props of pride; nor cited as a snare
To trap her lovers. Every thing she does,
Expresses vertue: liberally she flowes
With wholsome counsell: she retains in store,
A hand for every work: for every sore
A proper Salve: she's a sure Physician
For every accident, and each condition.
But here's the main perfection that she lacks;
She (payes her rent, but) will not pay her tax.
Loves souldiers labour under Claria's ray;
But my Claria will allow no pay.
Ah Claria, Claria, if so be you would
Content your souldiers as (indeed) you should,
With smiles and kisses, and imbraces too,
You'd nere want souldiers to contend for you.
But here's our woe, when we our armes erect,
And yet you will allow us no respect.
45. To the Venerean Cow-herd.
I.
FAll on, fall on, (fond Cow-herd) fall
And hold thy deer in chase.
The man that never moves at all,
Is alwaies where he was.
He playes no play, the fencer knowes,
That keeps his guard and makes no blowes.
II.
Go arm'd with courage, and the sin
Of Cupid, and assault her.
At one essay I'd either win
The Mare or lose the halter.
It is no progresse unto honour,
Only to stand and gaze upon her.
III.
It was not Alexanders wit,
To dally and delay:
For had he ever practis'd it,
He had not born away
The worship'd wreath of fame, nor hurl'd
Reports of conquest ore the world.
IV.
Despair not thou at thy descent,
Nor th' weaknesse of thy strength:
Though now she's flinty to relent,
[Page 75]She may grow soft at length.
Perpetual and accustom'd knocks,
Will bruise and break the hardest rocks.
V.
What though the glistering lumps of fame
Upon her beauty strove?
Ev'n such whose sparks might yee inflame,
Yet could not gain her love.
Hold thou thy course, and forward run,
A torch burns hotter then the sun.
VI.
The wanton Goats warm bloud will part
The Diamond in two,
Which neither Vulcans fiery art
Or steell could ever doe.
Some Girles choose rather swaines in rags,
Then mighty Bashawes and their bags.
46. The shattered Heart.
I.
LOve put his bow into my hand,
Charg'd with a golden dart;
And gave, withall, a strict command
To shoot into thy heart.
Moreover unto me he said,
He would assist me with his aid.
II.
Now on the pile of this my dart
(As lovers use to doe)
I fixt my own aspiring heart,
And then I shot at you.
And shooting hit your breast of flint,
But 'twas so hard it stuck not in't.
III.
My heart was shattered at this blow;
It fell so fierce thereon.
Thus seeking Claria's heart (I trow)
My own was overthrown.
And like a hawk that strikes beside
The game, my heart fell down and di'd.
47. The Jubile.
I.
TEll me no more of Jubiles
Esteemed by the Jewes;
Olympick games, and such as these,
Which ancient Rome did use:
And did destroy their cares upon
The racks of recreation.
II.
O tell me not of Turkish glories,
Great Mah'met and his pride.
[Page 77]Nor touch me with tyrannick stories,
How men for zeal have di'd
With an implicite faith; to prove
His blasphemie, and their blinde love.
III.
All triumph humane thoughts require,
My Claria's breast doth keep:
She warmes chill comfort by her fire,
And charmes the gods to sleep:
What Roman, Turk, or Jew hath found
Of blisse, in Claria doth abound.
IV.
She is my Jubile alone,
Lets captiv'd thoughts go free;
Restoring joyes doubt seized on,
To long'd for liberty.
Here may I bath each wearied limb,
And in the pool of Beauty swim.
V.
Whose silver streams all griefs allay,
And make all torments light,
While I injoy her smiles by day,
And sport with her at night,
What undigested thought shall rest
Within the angle of my brest?
VI.
Let pilgrims seek St. Peters shrine,
And Saints, Saints rags adore,
I'le Idolize thy face divine,
For ever, ever more.
[Page 78]Let misers and their bags unite,
Thou art my treasure and delight.
VII.
Let they whose airy wills request
To blow ambitious bellowes,
Lift up the Owle to th' Eagles nest,
And sore above their fellowes.
Yet while I graft upon thy stem,
I would not change my fate with them.
48. The Leveller.
I.
ALL mortall men are born to dye:
The earth is each mans mother.
O then my genius tell me why
One man's above another?
From dust we came,
And to the same
Our tribute's paid: then we resign our powers;
When death shall strike, we are no longer ours.
II.
Why then should one man be a Prince?
Another poor as Job?
One clad in Velvet to convince
Him that has scarce a robe?
Thus freedom's curb'd,
And we disturb'd.
[Page 79]Shall humane statutes gage our recreation?
The Law is void since Gospel came in fashion.
III.
Where all's alike, who should obey?
Or who should be attended?
Or who our failings shall repay,
Where all men have offended?
When Cain was try'd
For fratricide,
It was his God condemn'd him, I assure ye,
No man was Judge, nor no man on the Jury.
IV.
Yet now our custome's grown so base,
That he whom fortune blesses,
Is pearcht on some commanding place,
Though he no reason guesses,
And then this man
Must pry and scan
Into my life, and if he findes an error,
His word shall be my bane, his frown my terror.
V.
Since then poor mortals must be led
By custome, not by reason,
One step awry I will not tread,
Then I shall know no treason.
They shall not see
One blot in me,
And then for pardon I'le not vex my senses:
He needs no mercy that has no offences.
VI.
I'le not contrive with State-designes,
Nor squeeze my brains by thinking.
I'le presse my grapes, and prune my vines,
And passe my time in drinking.
Then gallant soul
Fill up the boul,
Whilest full-grown Bacchus blowes delightful bellowes,
And here's a health to all true hearted fellowes.
49. Thorando and Clara.
Thorando.
I Prethee (Clara) let me know
Whether thou lovest me, or no.
Clara.
Love thee Thorando, prethee why?
Tho.
Not for my wealth, but loyalty.
Cla.
She that loves all that Loyal be,
Must love whole Myriads more then thee;
And then how feeble are those rayes
That branch into so many wayes?
One of the which I yeeld to you,
Because I think your story true.
Thorando.
[Page 81]Alas, alas, such love as this
Will not boy up a lovers blisse;
There is a love like Juniper,
Which loyall Cupid doth confer
In Ladies breasts, and it is such
As burns the heart at every touch.
And when we are thus heated, then
This Juniper cools us agen.
Such is the love that I would have:
Such is the love that Hero gave
Unto Leander, and beside,
In the same faith she liv'd, she di'd.
Such is the love as goes alone:
And only shoots her darts at one.
Such is the love as ought to be
Adored for monopoly.
Oh! tell me then, and let me know
Whether thou lov'st Thorando so?
Clara.
Me thinks I feel my sparks begin,
To sieze upon my soul within:
But they are feeble, and I doubt,
For want of breath, they will go out.
Tho.
Oh! fear not Clara; I will blow
Loves bellowes, and will make them grow:
Thy smoking spirits I will rouze
With kisses, glances, and my Vowes.
Then from his budget he did pull
His lusty bellowes, fraighted full.
[Page 82]And on her sparks he blew so fast,
That all became on fire at last.
And ere from thence he could retreat,
His bellowes were consum'd with heat.
50. Forc'd Love.
I.
O Do not urge me with an idle tone,
For my resolved thoughts to own
What my fixt fancie'd not imbrace,
Were a preposterous thing:
I can not cling
The [...]e, where affection will not interlace.
II.
Forc't love is fretfull, and a heart thus snar'd
Against its will, proves afterward
Irregular, and will not stay
In its own sphere, but glides
On other sides
With crooked motions; and will not obey.
III.
The toyle is tedious; and to her that will
Only pretend love, to fulfill
A disposition; must indure
A soul-offending curse,
And sorrowes worse,
Because she's branded with a love impure.
IV.
Then call thy fancy from th' intended scope;
Thy labour's void; in vain thy hope.
No talent here thou canst improve.
I have no art to shroud
Love in a cloud.
And where I can not, there I will not love.
51. To Thraso.
SIlence, (bold Thraso) let our wits alone,
They are no theams to whet thy follies on.
Cease Mongrill, cease thy vanity: 'twere fitter
Thou shouldst be howling in the currish litter
Of thy own whelps: where with a doggish look,
Thou might'st be poring on the Parish-book
Of Ignorance, and never dare to spye
Into our Casket with an envious eye.
Rail not at rimes, lest Poetry become
Thy bane, and bring thee to a dunghill tombe
Of infamy. Poor worm, how dar'st thou follow
The Peers and Chaplains of the great Apollo,
With snarling, whining voyce? Canst thou not tell
Their genii are beyond a parallel?
We scorn equality, tell me what powers
Are known to man, that we account not ours?
Who can exceed us? who can go beyond us?
Where's he that dares assault us? or command us?
We vie with gods, (then let not men disclaim us)
'Tis they make men, and we that make them famous,
[Page 84]'Tis we that lift up to the stars; and there
We file the records of their praise, and rear
A ruin'd progeny, and do translate
The feeble rags of a declining fate,
Into new suits of dignity, and then
With as much ease we can pull down agen
Their high flown fame, and cut their glory short,
If once we but conceive a reason for't.
Then cease (I say) and do not thou assail
To strive against the strength, that will prevail
Above thy perisht power. Are not we
The pinnacles of Soveraignty?
To us Kings veil their bonnets; and confesse
Our sacred blessings, and our worthinesse
In all imployments; it is we that tread·
Down every verbal foe, and daring head.
We are the parents of the gods: if we
Keep Poems dormant, where's the Deity?
Jove we invented, Mars and Bacchus too;
Then are we not their fathers? how think you?
Our Charter is divine, I'd have you know it,
No priviledge to th' Painter and the Poet.
'Tis we that crush your vices; and that can
Conjure the fury of the proudest man
Into a shittle-cock. 'Tis we that rise
(With undepressed raptures) to the skies,
Triumphing there ore every snarling foe
That (in a currish humour) barks below.
Vain hopes then cease, or else Apollo must
(By th' Organ-bellowes) blow thee unto dust:
We span the world, the Misers we defie,
Their gold's an eye-sore to a Poets eye;
We scorn such drosse. And he that shall subscribe
Unto the incantation of a bribe,
[Page 85]Is but Apollo's bastard, and must be
For ever branded with indignity.
We hisse down all his honour, and we hate him;
And from our covent excommunicate him,
He's none of us: 'tis only such as finde
An unsuppressed, uncontrolled minde,
Transcending fortune, with a face that charmes
All grieving sorrowes and afflicting harmes;
That pines not in the study, nor contracts
His cheeks into live Mumma by his acts,
That over-looks small injuries; and still
Thinks puny-rogues unworthy of his quill.
52. Phorco amd Parlio.
1. Phorco.
FAirer then beauty in her pomp descri'd,
Or Venus tri'd
Unto the third degree,
Is that Seraphick she,
That vowes her love and constancy to me.
2 Parlio.
Such splendor cannot but amate thy sense:
Such influence
Sure't cannot choose but cloy
All thy felicity;
And make thee make a footstool of thy Joy.
3. Phorco.
[Page 86]O no it cannot, but her beauty brings
A pair of wings
To me, as to the flies
Gives Titan from the skies,
Whereby (as they do) I (poor I) arise.
4 Parlio.
So, then it seems th' art but a fly at best,
And here's the jest:
Untill thy Mistresse bring
(By her sweet beams) a wing,
Th' art but a cripl'd fly: Alas poor thing!
53. The Retired Lady.
I.
ANd why devoted to the Cave?
Is this the end?
The finall end? hath nature gave
You Gems to hide, and not extend?
Or (like Narcissus) are you bent
With your sweet self to complement?
II.
When you were born sure Nature meant
some other thing:
Whose meaning (by your discontent)
You'ld peevishly to ruine bring.
The Sun doth shine, the stars hold forth,
And so should you expose your worth.
III.
Why should a face whose magick may
weak souls recrute,
The vallons and the veils obey?
Or wherefore should that tongue be mute,
Whose harmony to mortall ears,
Sings high, and sweeter then the Spheres?
IV.
[...]uch, for her Countreys welfare, came
into the earth.
Part of her best parts we may claim,
As truly forfeit at her birth;
Yet since forc't boons are not so kinde,
We'l beg your face, and vertuous minde.
V.
As did Medusa, by her eyes,
To stones convert
Each daring look; so thine surprise;
But 'tis not with Medusa's art.
As flesh to stones transformed she,
So stony hearts are broke by thee.
VI.
Thy sacred lips, where cherries grow,
Set round with spice,
Whence loves Electars freely flow;
Why in recesse constrain'd so nice?
Sure he shall die unblest that misses
The famous booty of your kisses.
VII.
Will thy bright beams be ere the lesse
For lightning me?
Or will it blur thy comlinesse?
Or stigmatize thy dignitie?
Then lie no longer in the Mines:
Diana's chast, and yet she shines.
VIII.
Pray what avails Danae's tower?
Or what content
Is Couched in the golden shower,
While she receives imprisonment?
The life of beautie's by resort,
Not in the prison, but the Court.
IX.
Then bring thine Eastern cheeks abroad;
And hide no more
Those Gems each judgement would applaud,
And with a reverence adore.
So both your self and we in this
Shall have the greater share in blisse.
54. Loves outside.
I.
NO more of love, away,
Avoid fond Girl:
Seek not our wits to slay
Only with shels of pearl.
That was begotten of a lump of earth;
Spew'd from corrupted bowels, so took birth.
II.
Shut up thy Magazeen
In velvet masks,
Leave not thy beauty seen:
Nor put fond thoughts to tasks;
For all the pleasures to our eyes you bring,
Are but loves wanton shadow, not the thing.
III.
What if thine ivory hand
(Which we adore)
I boldly durst command,
Ten thousand times and more,
To kisse, alas, what were it to suffice
The thirst of love? or quench the flames that rise?
III.
Nay could my license yet
More freely slip,
If Caelia would commit
The bounty of her lip
Unto my pleasure, there to play and sport,
All this is but the Lobby of Loves Court.
IV.
Or should my bended armes
Thy wast confine,
And thou (with equall charmes)
Shouldst lie impaling mine,
These cannot ravish; nor reside upon
A heart that presseth at perfection.
V.
No fainting breath, no glance,
Nor leering smile,
Nor motion shall advance
My fancy; or beguile
A thought that's fixt, for I have tri'd the pain,
And am resolv'd I'le nere love so again.
55. To Caelia, in the fields.
WHy wilt thou go? (fair Caelia) why?
What's needfull, of importancy,
That can without thee, not be done?
Why wilt thou leave me all alone?
I have but seen thy face: as yet
We had no time to speak, nor sit.
Good Caelia stay, and do not lower,
Let's couch in this Eglantine bower.
Behold the quavering sprigs, how they
Move almost in a sensual way,
With morall action, seeming too
Through invitations unto you.
Come, come, with folded armes, let's lie
In a proportion'd symmetrie:
See you the birds in yonder tree,
How loving and how peart they bee?
How they from sprig to sprig remove,
And with their bills decipher love?
Let me upon thy golden tresses,
And veins, (those Azure wildernesses)
Hop like these birds: and let my hand
Wander along thy unknown land,
To finde how well the fruit doth rise,
(As in Canaan Israels spies)
And if the same I do approve,
Therein Ile plant my vine of love:
[Page 92]And with a pleasant pain I'le frame
A fertile vineyard in the same.
Come, do not weep; 'twill do thee good:
It will refine corrupted bloud.
Then struggle not, nor do not shriek,
I have no weapon that can strike
A deadly blow. 'Twill not disease thee
With greater wounds then what shall please thee.
See yon big-bellied ewe, that (late)
Receiv'd the marrow of her mate:
She looks most lovely; so will you
Now you receive your lovers too.
Then have at all, upon't I'le enter,
And plant my vine there at a venter.
56. Her Reply.
HE that nere drank was nere a dry:
And he that nere knew liberty,
Regards it not: and she that can
Not by experience say what's man,
Desires him not: but when she knowes
What vertue from his nature flowes,
She's mad t'imbrace him, and doth guesse
His presence her best happinesse.
Before I tri'd thee, I abhorr'd
Thy proffer'd love, and could afford
No wanton thought; but now I see
Thy spirits, and their energie;
My soul to thee I will resigne,
There is no pleasure like thy vine.
[Page 93]'Twill make me fruitfull, and I swear,
Plant thou alwaies, I'le alwaies bear.
And though this fruit too ponderous grow,
I'le gladly die in bearing so
57. The unequall Match.
ANd why unto this stump would you be ti'd,
That were so hopefull and so fair a bride?
How dull? how dead? how drowsie? and how cold
Are all your amplectations? and how old?
How crasie? crouched? and how feeble is
He that should surfeit you with Hymens blisse?
Better you never had the smallest sense
Of love, then not in joy its influence.
What can expected be from him, whose head
Is fleec'd with snow-bals; and imbattered
With sixty years assaults: whose breath affords
Him language but in groans, and not in words.
Pity, thrice pity, that so sweet a she
Should lose her teeming time, and barren be
For want of agriculture: what's the cause
You derogate so far from Cupid's lawes?
And spoyle his tenets? why should Gems that shine
Quite through the surface of your sacred Mine,
Perish for want of gathering? and decay
By wrong perusals in an unknown way?
58. Her Reply.
'TIs true, he's aged, and therefore we bring
His well experienc'd years unto the thing:
In former times he did the work, and than
He was well known to be a knowing man.
And now he's worthy, though his office be
To digitate, and gravely to ore-see.
This makes him happy: (and in him my self
Bright shining in his lucubrated pelf)
What ever's planted by anothers sweat,
Drest, prun'd and water'd by his wholsome heat,
Yeelds him the issue. Hence it then remains;
He has the profit, others take the pains;
And I the pleasure: no defect doth come
For want of husbandry unto my womb.
Or, though he eyes me with a jealous care;
I've time enough to horn him, and to spare.
Age is no watchman, but his eyes give ore
At five a clock ith' even (or before)
T'incite the heart with jealousie: or see
The least attempt on his propriety.
His age-dry'd limbs dull Morpheus doth confine,
While youthfull Cupid is unfolding mine.
59. To the Academick.
THink not to daunt us with a daring eye,
The Maze of Logick, or maturity
Of your taught science, and intangled rules,
(The scum and dregs of Academick pools)
Boast not of these, nor strive with censure nice)
T' esteem your deer-bought wisdome by the price.
Think no excesse you have; no power doth dwell
In this accustom'd way, to mak't excell.
This can create no wonder: we disclaim
All sorts of admiration at the same.
Who findes by seeking, a concealed treasure,
Payes equall pains for's profit and for's pleasure.
He has no novelty: he gains no more
Then what his fancy did expect before.
Is this a wonder if it's wisely view'd?
Or does it savour of beatitude?
He that's apprentice, though the veriest fool,
Doth (by instruction) learn his Masters rule.
He keeps his folly still, although he's made
A skilfull artist in his Masters trade;
He learn'd by teaching, hence it came about,
But he's ingenious gets the trade without.
Come then my spark: thou of th' Oxonian race,
And let a word of reason interlace
With thy ambition. Grammar is thy sphere,
And thou canst travell in no path but there:
That's all thou hast; why, thou hast bookt it fair,
Thou canst scarce tell us what the Morals are.
[Page 96]Thou, of Philosophy, no more hast known
Then what tradition, and the books have shown.
Thou keepst the track, and only goest by course.
And I must tell thee, that each Carriers horse
Performs thy task; and has as much to bee
Ador'd for, or admired at, as thee.
Th' adventuring Merchant, that is wasted ore,
To seek for jewels on the Indian shore,
Is not so happy in his far-fetcht geer,
As he that stayes at home and findes it here.
What think'st thou now? Sayes not th'impartial test,
That Art's but feeble? Nature is the best.
Suppose your fancy leads you unto court,
Perhaps you are able to speak Latine for't;
And now and then spew out a phrase of Greek;
But for invention you are far to seek.
You to the book must go if you would ken
The customes and Moralities of men.
We do not so; our method is divine;
We go by inspiration, nor by line.
And we can tell you in our modern tongue,
We know our right, and can revenge our wrong
Without your Edicts: we can work or play,
We do not value what the Schoolmen say.
But you grave wits, (where art and nature meet)
I humbly worship, and with reverence greet:
Because I know, where these united are,
The motion there will be more regular.
But you it is, 'gainst whom my Muse doth rore,
That have been taught each science, and no more;
And of a little make as great a show,
As if your knowledge had no more to know.
60. The Drawer to his Lady.
I.
THe God of love to me is come,
And in my fancy flew;
And bids me seek Elizium
In nothing else but you.
The oracle has told me so,
My vine alone in you will grow.
II.
Then let your flames reflex agen
On him, whose glory 'tis
To Court your eye-beams now and then,
And steal from you a kisse.
Let our two hearts move in one sphere;
And so we will the vineyard rear.
III.
The vines we'l prune, the grapes we'l presse,
With secrecy and sport:
'Twill ask no toyl, nor heavinesse:
Taste, and you'l thank me for't.
Come then, and with the Drawer close,
And see the juice that from him flowes.
IV.
Apollo's Nectar is an Asse:
Nepenthe's nothing worth,
If match'd with our Canary-glasse,
When love doth set it forth,
Come then and with the Drawer joyne,
His love and liquor is divine.
V.
And if we see our labours yeeld
Issues and profits deep,
Thy Tunne shall once a year be fill'd,
And we'l a Tavern keep.
Good Lady then be pleas'd to shape
Your love unto the Drawers grape.
VI.
Your belly shall the Cellar be,
The upper room's your face;
Whose bright and painted bravery,
Who cannot but imbrace?
Come then and with the Drawer mix,
And we will live by Mere-trix.
VII.
Thy legs are gallond-pots (my Deer,
I prethee do not blush)
The door of entrance, shall be where
Already hangs a bush.
Come then, and with the Drawer cling,
And see the profit of the thing.
VIII.
Thy folded armes shall be the Bar,
Thy nod shall be the Sign;
Thy words shall serve for Bels that are
In rooms to ring for Wine:
This done, I dare presume that we
Shall never out of custome be.
61. The Mysterie.
I.
BEwitching Boy, how can it be
That gods and men should bow to thee?
Thou hast a dart
Strikes many a heart.
And yet no Seeker ere could know,
Or how, or why it should be so
In love we live, in loue we die;
But we conceive no reason why.
II.
This is a mystery that has [...]in
Ere since the age the gods liv'd in.
Each age and sex
This ghost doth vex:
Jove hurried on by Cupid, he
To gain the prize, a beast will be.
In love we live, &c.
III.
He's chang'd unto a Bull, and so,
Europa must a bulling go;
And lest he misse
Soft Leda's kisse,
Or she should want dame Natures use,
He'l be a Swan, and she a Goose.
In love we live, in love we die,
But we conceive no reason why.
IV.
Neptune we rank among the rest,
As savouring grosly of the beast,
Before that he
Depriv'd will be
Of Theophanes love (his Dear)
A pair of Rams hornes he will wear.
In love we live, &c.
V.
Why to hell did Orpheus goe?
Hercules, and Aeneas too?
Did not it prove
To be for love?
But here's the thing that startles me,
What reason for such love may be.
In love we live, &c.
VI.
Some say it's beauty that injoynes
Our roving thoughts, and them confines.
But Jove I know
It is not so.
[Page 101]Our Mistresses deformed were,
Till love and Poems made them clear.
Then by this argument we prove,
Love creates beauty that not love.
VII.
Some tell us riches is the goad
That rules our fancy in this road:
My Genius cries
It's otherwise:
'Cause with Quotidian eyes we see
Love practising on poverty.
In love we live, &c.
VIII.
Some say its vertue we adore,
And wisely fall in love therefore:
But I forbear
To settle here,
'Cause Cyprian lads I've seen rejoyce
In the polluted armes of vice.
In love we live, &c.
IX.
No face, nor fate, nor vertues are,
Love's sole-illaqueating snare.
No cause can be
Found out by me,
Why for a she we take such pains,
We bruise our limbs, and break our brains:
Only in love we live and die,
But never know the reason why.
62. The Countrey Girl.
I.
AP-x on your Dames that scorch with their flames,
And fire us alive in the city:
I would they might go to the devil below;
For they are most wickedly witty.
II.
The Jewels they wear in their ears and their hair,
And their breasts that are open and naked,
Are as bills that are set on a house to be let,
And who ever pleases may take it.
III.
Their faces do shine like the Sun in the line:
God a mercy the colours they laid on.
But did you but see how ugly they be
When th' are off, them you would be afraid on.
IV.
I am for the lasse that doth pisse on the grasse,
Though the Courtiers unworthy esteem her:
She is pleasant and neat, and her carriage compleat,
And her cheeks are as brown as a leemer.
V.
You freely may sip on her sanctified lip,
Although she be easily danted:
The snow on her brow did nature allow,
She's neither perfumed nor painted.
VI.
She learns not to cheat in the School of deceit;
Her heart is dissolv'd in her speeches.
She scornes that while you the matter shall do,
One should run away with your breeches.
VII.
Her glances they be out of innocency,
Yet blow for blow she will give duly.
She gives you your fill, and lets you lie still;
For she scornes to be counted unruly.
63. Reproof.
O You inchanting fairest fair;
Whose powers more then Magick are,
Upon a mortall breast, forbear
For want of love, to slay me.
Let not one ray upon me light,
Unlesse affection you unite
With every aspect, beams so bright
Cannot but over sway me.
How could the Africans abide
To look upon Apollo's pride,
And to that fiery zone be ti'd
In toyle exhausting sweat?
Did not Apollo's power extend,
Causing earths bowels to ascend;
And unto every native lend
His nourishment with heat?
Your beauty is this torrid flame,
Whose colours scorch where ere they came,
And browes with furrowes do unframe
And galls me with despair.
But the Eglantine spicie grove,
That's in your sacred breast and love,
Can mitigate that fire above,
And sun-burnt souls make fair.
Then shut those eyes of Juniper;
And let them not their heat transfer
To me your sad Idolater;
Unlesse you mean to love.
Or else beneath these beams I die,
You gain the guilt of tyranny;
And so impawn your dignity,
And grieve the gods above.
64. Bacchus.
I.
AND why such a drouth has infested my mouth?
Is my lip and the cup faln asunder?
And do they intend nere to end
Their dissension? Oh it were a wonder
If I should fall out with so cordial a friend.
II.
Fill the boul, do not think I'le be bauk'd of my drink;
He that will, falleth lower then folly:
I will liquor my brains, that my strains
[Page 105]May with triumph tread down melancholly:
And this will be freedome in fetters and chains.
III.
Had the fool Icarus laid his policy thus,
His wings (made of wax) had not melted;
But he well might have flown to the Zone
Whereto his desires ambitiously pelted:
And then his Catastrophe nere had been known.
IV.
Had the sack made him moist, he might have rejoyc't,
And sung his P-wit like a Plover:
But alas he fell short, and paid for't;
He was drown'd in the sea, and he could not get over:
Thus 'twixt fire and water he spoyled the sport.
V.
Or if Phaeton in this method had gone;
Lesse harm he had done, & more wit he had learned.
Had he fixed his sack on the back
Of the Sun, sure the world it would never have burned,
Nor he and his credit indured the wrack.
VI.
Take a soul that is sous't in the Sack he caroust,
He has wings that advance at his pleasure:
He's indow'd with a minde drives the winde,
And vaults ore the flouds of affliction at pleasure;
His heart in a dungeon is never confin'd.
VII.
Take a man in his wine, he's for any design;
He looks in the face of the proudest imployment:
[Page 106]And his will does not roave, nor remove
The greatest of Princes has no such injoyment▪
He dwels where the Deity resteth above.
VIII.
He defies the base fear of a Parliamenteer,
And scorneth the frowns of the high man:
All his care is, to think on his drink;
And smilingly biddeth a pox on the dry man
That wastes in his cell, and consumes with his chink.
IX.
Then again fill the boul, let it merrily troul:
Play out with your Rummikins quicker,
Let the cares of the world, all be hurl'd
In your cups, and be drown'd in your liquor,
And drink till your noses with rubies are pearl'd.
X.
Let it fall to your lot to be plung'd in the pot;
And suffer your brains to be sacked with drinking;
From the merry merry glasse do not passe,
You'l finde it is better, if weighed in your thinking,
Then for to be sackt as Jerusalem was.
65. The Rejection.
I.
ALL in vain turn again,
Why should I love 'r?
Since she can love no man,
I will give over,
[Page 107]I'le not stay to obey,
But will retire.
Why should I thither slie,
And not injoy her?
II.
Let her still please her will
With a deniall:
She shall be unto me
As the Sun-diall.
Let her bloud raise the mud:
All in good season.
I'le not gaze on her face
Till I have reason.
66. Loves Arrant.
I.
ARme Cupid, arme:
Gird on thy quiver, take thy bow
And numbly go
And seek a she that thou maiest charme.
Flie thou into the myrtle grove,
And there shoot down some pretty dove.
II.
For I am flush,
Big-belli'd with desire to prove
The pain of love,
And feel the Sun-shine of a blush.
[Page 108]Yet will I not ingage in heart,
Unlesse the object have desert.
III.
Go then and seek
Some glorious brow, some sacred eye,
From whence doth flie
Rayes all divine, some rosie cheek,
Wherein such lively grace is carv'd,
As may recall a spirit starv'd.
IV.
Shoot such a heart
As innocency doth controul:
Pierce such a soul
That loves in love, and not in art.
Such, if she findes my love divine,
Melts all her pleasures into mine.
V.
Bring not the coy,
That starts and kicks at every touch;
There's grace too much,
She has more zeal then honesty.
Bring not the proud deformed witches,
That missing rocks, fall down in ditches.
VI.
Bring not the sad
That seem to thaw the stones with tears,
Wherein appears
Some Crocodilish bloud they had.
Nor shoot thou down a fawning she,
Lest with her smiles she ruin me.
VII.
But bring a girl
Whose mirth is of a heavenly dresse;
Whose wantonnesse
Is not a pick-lock, but a pearl;
That will no common trader be,
Though sh' has a good commodity.
67. The evil Temper.
ALwaies sighing, alwaies pining,
Alwaies out of frame;
Alwaies puling, alwaies whining;
Evermore the same.
Alwaies fill'd with lamentation;
Love is not feasted so:
Continual tears, continuall passion
Is but continual woe.
I hold her temper in derision,
Since she is guided thus,
Depart from me with expedition,
And hug Heraclitus.
If ere I dally with a lover,
I'le have a pleasant she,
That with a chearful smile blowes over
The proudest injury.
'Tis vain to mourn for sliding blisse
That is already gone;
And full as vain, as vain it is
With tears to think upon
[Page 110]Approaching woes; hereby they creep
Up to more ample sums:
It's time enough for thee to weep
For mischief when it comes.
And since thy weeping will not aid
Thee of the smallest thrall,
When ere thy sorrowes thee invade,
Thou need'st not weep at all.
Remember this, and then repent,
And sweetly thou shalt finde
The peacefull Phoenix of content
Will build within thy minde;
And then I could my soul allow
To thee (my dearest dear)
But when I see a stormy brow,
I think the Devil's there.