LUNATICUS INAMORATUS OR, The Mad Lover.
HArk how the Welkin Thunders; Hark! stand, stand.
Dire Flames Belch forth, the Fury's are at hand.
Pluto by Stix! Foul Tysiphon avant:
Ho Proserpine! beaut'ous Proserpine, grant
Me a Boon; Command that Cerberus lye still:
Tell the low'd Curr, 'tis Amarantha's Will:
My Amarantha; She, who's now at Play
With Ariadne, in the Milky-way.
The Studded-Crown is stak't; O unkind part,
Against a Crown to wage thy Lovers-Hart:
Why Covets Amarantha such a Gemm?
Jove shall present thee with his Diadem.
But, that these curs'd-Manacles forbid;
I'd mount the Globe, and place it on thy Head.
Aurora speak; What! ha's my Angel Won ?
'Tis so, 'tis so; now give it, to th' Sun,
Th' dayes proud-Post; He'll drink thy Health at Night,
In Sweets extracted from his Thetis sight.
What Plagues are these Cold-Chains? Why, Ixion!
Sysiphus, Sysiphus! lay by that Stone;
Pledge Me, and Tantalus: This Glass to Her
Who Tinds the Stars, keeps Me a Prisoner.
Come, ye smoky Cyclops, come, Drink apace:
That, to your Mistriss; next, to Juno's Grace:
To Neptune now, quaf't off yee frolick Slaves;
For Neptune Tipples the Impostum'd Waves.
Sirrah Boy, Ganimede, fill up their Boules:
'Tis well; the Horned-God keeps thirsty-Souls.
More Nectar still, A Tun to him that sits
Collecting Notions from a Bedlams Witts,
Arme, arme Alcides! Sooty Feinds Invades
The Flowry-borders of the Elizian-Shades.
Charon, Scull, Ferriman, Steer towards Shoar;
Stem that proud Wave; Bear-up, now waft me o're.
Whence blowes that Gust? be calme, be calme; rude Wind
Obey; Love, and my thoughts are unconfin'd.
Bold slave forbear to touch it; know that Rose,
Only to deck my Amarantha Grows.
The Ruddy-Morne has strung of Dewy-Pearl;
A double Carkanet for thee, my Girl.
Look, where She comes; Hyperion stay,
And strow thy Golden-Attoms in Her way.
Venus, thy Charriot; quick, How dar'st thou see
Her walk on foot, that is more fair than Thee?
Attendance there; the Graces I'le prefer;
'Twould Grace the Sacred-Nine to wait on Her,
Jove, Tune the Whirling-Sphears; Arion come,
And Sing my Sweet a Lovers Requium.
Ha Squalled Villain! Scourge me; hold,
I'm still, I'm still; Dear Heart, I was too bold:
Forbear, I'm quiet now: the God's can tell,
My Amarantha does not take this well.
These Ginn's oppress. 'Tis Gold, pure Gold; the Stone,
Dropt from the Ringlet of an Amazone.
Hyppolita, perhaps, a Pilgrim might
Do Adorations to't, it looks so bright.
VVho Hollows there, Rogue, Captive, Lunatique;
If Molops hear, he'll lash thee to the quick.
SINGS
Her Hair upon Her Shoulders spread;
Each curle, a Fringe for Beauties Bed:
Jun's-Roses in Her Checks are born:
From either Eye,
A Serene Skie,
Ope's like the Windows of the Morn.
Where is my Angel? Ah! to sleep shrunk in;
To'th fragrant Bud of some choice Jessamin:
Or rests in Flora's Lap.
Hark, silence there, does not yon, doleful Bell,
Sound hollow as it were a mourning knell;
What sad departing Soul with lingring breath,
Disturbs the drowsie Bed-maker of Death.
For Amarantha, ha, and would she go,
Not once farwel; unkind, not let me know.
Dead, Amarantha dead, draw o're the Light,
The fullen Curtains of the gloomy Night:
Aurora's blushes, darkest Clouds Eclipse,
Grow pale, as now my Amarantha's lips.
My Glory dead? Her Tenement resigne,
Why would she not, an Inmate, dwell in mine.
See where she hovers, like a Cherubim,
Hast, hast, bright Soul, to thy Caelestial Inn.
Stay not to Banquet, these insatiate Eyes,
That must do service at thine Obsequies:
Ye purer Spirits of the Aire attend,
My wandring Angel to her journeys end:
With Sable cloath, the spangled Canopie,
That every Star may mourn as well as I:
And as ye pass, her Legacies proclaim,
To me her heart, to th' World her Vertuous, name.
Come swift wing'd Mercury, 'tis thou must be
The Messenger, betwixt my Love and me.
Where have you hid her Reliques? Let me clime,
And fix them 'bove the reach of wrinckled Time.
Go, tell her Hermes, how my thoughts are bent,
On Parian Clifts, to raise her Monument.
Plutus, base Miser, it is thou detaines
My Jewels Cabinet; thy hollow Veins,
I'le rend in sunder; search the Infenced Deeps,
Break-up the Cells, where all thy Treasures sleeps.
Discover what thy Avaritious mind,
Since the Proleptick Age, hath close confin'd;
Black-warders, of your fordid Masters o're
By Dis, and Hell, I conjure you to restore
His Theft; How dare you keep what must be set,
With Columnes double Archt on Arraret?
Ho, Light-heel'd Boy, What hast thou brought me there?
A Letter, ha, a Letter from my Dear
Seal'd with a Kiss.
Who would not over Rapid Torrents wade,
To kiss the Lips, that this Impression made.
A curled Lock and Diamond too, by Stix,
The wanton Archers strange Hyrogliphicks.
My Amarantha deems me still as wife,
As when I guest her meaning by her Eyes;
To read these Characters, writ by her looks,
The gravest Cato, would have left his Books.
From the Region of the Moon.
Inhabits Amarantha there? A place,
Beseeming such a Beauty, such a Grace.
Tarquin with-draw thy lustful Fancy from her,
She's now Diana's chiefest Maid of Honor.
The sportful Goddess often takes delight,
To let her wear the Cressent of the Night;
And with her smiling Nymphs attending, stray
O're Latmos, Ephesus, and Cayria.
Ovid, thy Courtship She'l no more approve,
She must be courted with, Platonique Love,
Such as the holy Virgin Nun may pant,
When ended prayers to her Indulgent Saint.
Chast Votress, I will offer at thy Shrine,
Flames, for their purity, shall equal thine.
Permit me though, when under Morpheus charms,
To dream I kiss, and keep Thee in mine Arms.
Soft Rest approach, polluted thoughts be gone,
Thou shalt be Cynthia, I, Endyminon.
With ALLOWANCE.
LONDON, Printed by Sarah Griffin. 1667.