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DEEP IMPRESSION OF LOVE TO HIS MISTRESS. When first the cannon from her gaping throat
Whom a mad dog doth bite,
He doth in water still
Love, mad, perhaps, when he my heart did smite,
More to dissemble his ill,
Transform'd himself to thee:
No spring there is, no flood, nor other place
Where ), alas! not see thy heavenly face.
A CHAIN OF GOLD.
Sufficient chains the wildest hearts to hold ? But hundred things like those
Is not that ivory hard
A diamantine band,
But ye inust others find ?
O yes! why is that golden one then worn?
Thus free in chains, perhaps, Love's chaios to score Which I late got, sweet heart, Was it a sign of death, or was it lifa? Of life it could not be,
ON THE DEATH OF A LINNET.
Ir cruel death bad ears,
This wing'd musician had liv'd many years,
And Nisa mine had never wept these wrongs :
The Heavens their notes did unto it bequeath :
And if that Samian's sentences be true, When her dear bosom clips
Amphion in this body lived anew,
As he doth kings, kill'd it, O grief! O tears!
That I to thee return,
Nor do thou wound my heart
Who joys to love, yet makes of love a toy.
But, ah ! if I must prore thy golden dart,
Of grace, () let me find Strange wonders doth foretel ;
A sweet young lover with an aged mind.” But you whose wives excel,
Thus Lilla pray'd, and Idas did reply, And love to count their praise,
(Who heard) “Dear, have thy wish, for such am I.” Shut all your gates, your hedges plant with thorns, The Sun did threat the world this time with horns.
Enclosed lies the milk-white Armeline;
Once Cloris' only joy,
Now only her annoy;
That keep their socks in mountains, dales, or plains: I feed on fading leaves
For oft she bore the wanton in her arm, Of hope, which me deceives,
And oft her bed and bosom did he warm; And thousand webs do warp within my breast: Now when unkinder fates did him destroy, And thus in end unto myself I weave
Blest dog, he had the grace, A fast-shut prison, or a closer grave.
That Cloris for him wet with tears her face.
TIIE SILK-WORM OF LOVE.
The bawd of justice, he who laws controllid, Some ladies wed, some love, and some adore them,
APELLES ENAMOURED OF CAMPASPE, ALEXAN
Poor painter while I sought
And having limn'd each part,
Except her matchless eyes :
Scarce on those suns I gaz'd,
As lightning falls from skies,
When straight my hand grew weak,my mind amazd,
And ere that pencil half them had express’d, And only woods, caves, mountains, did them hold:
Love had them drawn, no, grav'd them in my breast. But now, when all is sold, Woods, mountains, caves, to good men be refuge, And do the guiltless lodge, And clad in purple gowns
On stars shall I exclaim,
Orshall I else revenge
Upon myself this shame,
Inconstant monarch, or shall I thee blame They Death thee hath beguild,
Who lets Apelles prove Alccto's first born child;
The sweet delights of Alexander's love? Then thou who thrall’d all laws,
No, stars, myself, and thee, I all forgive, Now against worms cannot maintain thy cause: And joy that thus I live ; Yet worms (more just than thou) now do no wrong, Of thee, blind king, my beauty was despis'd, Since all do wonder they thee spar'd so long; Thou didst not know it, now being known 'tis priz'd. For though from life thou didst but lately pass, Twelve springs are gone since thou corrupted was. Come, citizens, erect to Death an altar,
If for one only horn,
Whose head a lady brave
Doth with a goodly pair at once adorna
LOVE SUFFERS NO PARASOL.
Those eyes, dear eyes, be spheres
Where two bright suns are roll'd, His eyes, his mouth, his temples, breast did charm.
That fair hand to behold, Thus not content (strange worship hath no end)
Of whitest snow appears : To kiss the earth at last he did pretend,
Then while ye coyly stand And bowing down besought with humble grace,
To hide me from those eyes, An aged woman near to give some place:
Sweet, I would you advise She turn'd, and turning up her hole beneath,
To choose some other fan than that white hand; Said, “Sir, kiss here, for it is all but earth.”
For if ye do, for truth inost true this know,
PROTEUS OF MARBLE.
UNPLEASANT MUSICK. This is no work of stone,
[none, Thongh it seems breathless, cold, and sense hath | In fields Ribaldo stray'd, But that false god which keeps
May's tapestry to see,
And hearing on a tree
“ Lo! how, alas! even birds sit mocking me!”
And if the nymph, once held of him so dear, SLEEPING BEAUTY.
Dorine the fair, would bere but shed one tear, O sight, too dearly bought !
Thou should'st in nature's scorn,
A purple flow'r see of this marble born.
THE TROJAN HORSE.
Rein, rod, spur, do not fear;
When I my riders bear,
Within my womb, not on niy back they sit.
No streams I drink, nor care for grass or corn; What others at their ear,
Art me a monster wrought, Two pearls, Camilla at her nose did wear,
All Nature's works to scorn; Which Alcon, who nought saw,
A mother I was without mother born, (For Love is blind) robb’d with a pretty kiss;
In end all arm’d my father I forth brought : But having known his miss,
What thousand ships and champions of renown And felt what ore he from that mine did draw,
Could not do free, captiv'd I raz'd Troy's tow). When she to come again did him desire, He fed, and said, foul water quenched fire.
Sweet nymphs, if as ye stray Flow'r, which of Adon's blood
Ye find the froth-born goddess of the sea,
All blubber'd, pale, undone,
Whose goldeu shafts your chastest bosoms prore; So proud about thy crimson fold that grows, Who leaving all the Heavens hath run away: What doth it represent ?
[rent. If aught to bim that finds him she'll impart, Boar's teeth, perhaps, his milk-white flank which | Tell her he nightly lodgeth in my heart. O show, in one of unesteemed worth, That both the kill'd and killer setteth forth !
TO A RIVER.
A LOVER'S PRAYER.
Sith she will not that I Near to a crystal spring,
Show to the world my joy, With thirst and heat opprest,
Thou, who oft mine annoy Narcissa fair doth rest,
[bring, Hast heard, dear flood, tell Thetis, if thou can, Trees, pleasant trees, which those green plains forth | That not a happier man Now interlace your trembling tops above,
Doth breath beneath the sky. And make a canopy unto my love;
More sweet, more white, more fair,
Tell, none did ever touch;
Tell, never was embrac'd;
peace, siuce she forbids thee tell too much.
Through envy, or through love, straight dies.
THE CRUELTY OF RORA.
Aonian sisters, help my Phræne's praise to tell, Whilst sighing forth his wrongs,
Alexis sought to charm his Rora's ears,
(tears, [eyes, Trees, hardest trees, through rhind distill’d their Her cheeks with roses spreal, or her two sun-like And soft grew every stone : Her teeth of brightest pearl, her lips where sweet
But tears, nor sighs, nor songs could Rora move, ness lies:
[forth, For she rejoiced at his plaint and love. But those so praise themselves, being to all eyes set That, Muses, ye need not to say aught of their worth; Then her white swelling paps essay for to make known,
[are shown; But her white swelling paps through smallest veil Hark, happy lovers, hark, Yet sbe bath something else, more worthy than the This first and last of joys, rest,
This sweet'ner of annoys, Not seen; go sing of that which lies beneath her breast; This nectar of the gods, And mounts like fair Parnasse, where Pegase well
You call a kiss, is with itself at odds ; doth run
And half so sweet is not
At light of Sun, as it is in the dark:
Though I with strange desire
Kala, o!d Mopsus' wife,
Ix petticoat of green, Dear life, while I do touch
Her hair about her eine, These coral ports of bliss,
Phillis, beneath an oak, Which still themselves do kiss,
Sat milking her fair flock: And sweetly me invite to do as much,
'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture (rare delight) All panting in my lips,
Her hand seem'd milk, in milk it was so white,
To forge to mighty Jove
The thunderbolts above,
And make all gold I touch,
Do I desire ; it is for me too much:
Of all the arts practis'd beneath the sky, Maids can prove chaste, then chaste is Phæbe with. I would but Phillis' lapidary be.
Nisa, Palemon's wife, him weeping told Pool, still to be alone, all night in Heaven to wander, He kept not grammer rules, now being old; Would make the wanton chaste, then she's chaste For why, quoth she, position false make ye, without slander.
Putting a short thing where a long should be.
All only constant is in constant change ;
What done is, is undone, and whep undone,
Into some other figure doth it range; Those stars, nay suns, which turn
Thus rolls the restless world beneath the Moon: So stately in their spheres,
Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, place, And dazzling do not burn,
Aspire, and steps, not reach'd by nature, trace. The beauty of the morn Which on these cheeks appears, The harmony which to that voice is given,
A GOOD that never satisfies the mind, Makes me think you are Heaven.
A beauty fading like the April show'rs, If Heaven you be, a! that by powerful charms
A sweet with floods of gall that runs combin'd, I Atlas were, infolded in your arms!
A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A treasury which bankrupt time devours,
A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,
A vain delight our equals to command,
A servile lot, deck'd with a pompous name:
Are the strange ends we toil for here below,
Till visest death make us our errours knos.
Life a right shadow is;
For if it long appear, Black be her eyes, her eye-brows Cupid's inn: Then is it spent, and death's long night draus fear; Her locks, her body, bands do long appear, Shadows are moving, light, But teeth short, short her womb, and either ear, And is there ought so moving as is this? The space'twixt shoulders; eyes are wide, brow wide, When it is most in sight, Strait waist, the mouth strait, and her virgin pride. It steals away, and done knows how or where, Thick are her lips, thighs, with banks swelling there, So near our cradles to our coffins are. Her nose is small, small fingers, and her hair, Her sugar'd mouth, her cheeks, her nails be red, Little her foot, breast little, and her head.
Look as the flow'r, which ling'ringly doth fade, Such Venus was, such was that name of Troy, The morning's darling late, the summer's quern, Such Cloris is, mine hope and only joy.
Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green,
Or in their contraries but only seen,
With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,
And, blasted, scarce now shows what it bath bete. AMIDST the waves profound,
Therefore, as doth the pilgrim, whom the night Far, far from all relief,
Hastes darkly to imprison on his way,
Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright
Of what's yet" left thee of life's wasting day : The boards of which did serve him for a bier,
Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn,
And twice it is not given thee to be born.
The weary mariner so far not flies
As I (wing'd with contempt and just disdain)
Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize,
And sanctuary seek, free to remain
From wounds of abject times, and envy's eyes:
To me this world did once seem sweet and fair,
And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find :
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, And even what we write to keep our name, Of him who it corrects, and did it frame, Like spiders' cauls, are made the sport of days; We clear might read the art and wisdom rare,