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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,
Against the Heaven her roaring sulphur shot,
Jove waken'd with the noise, did ask with wonder, That mad dog's image see:

He doth in water still
What mortal wight had stol'n from him his thunder:
His crystal tow'rs he fear’d, but fire and air

Love, mad, perhaps, when he my heart did smite,

More to dissemble his ill,
So high did stay the ball from mounting there.

Transform'd himself to thee:
For thou art present ever since to me.

No spring there is, no flood, nor other place

Where ), alas! not see thy heavenly face.
INTO Briareus huge
Thais wish'd she might change
Her man, and pray'd him not there at to grudge,

Nor fondly think it strange;
« For if,” said she, “ I might the parts dispose, Are not those locks of gold
I wish you not a hundred arms nor hands,

Sufficient chains the wildest hearts to hold ? But hundred things like those

Is not that ivory hard
With which Priapus in our garden stands."

A diamantine band,
Most sure to keep the most untamed min!,

But ye inust others find ?

O yes! why is that golden one then worn?
The kiss with so much strife

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,

For I by it did sigh my soul in thee :

Ir cruel death bad ears,
Nor was it death, death doth no joy impart.
Thou silent stand'st, ah ! what didst thou bequeath, or could be pleas'd by songs,

This wing'd musician had liv'd many years,
A dying life to me, or living death?

And Nisa mine had never wept these wrongs :
For when it first took breath,

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,
That little cur which fawns to touch her lips, But Death, who nothing spares, and nothing hears,
Or when it is his hap

As he doth kings, kill'd it, O grief! O tears!
To lie lapp'd in her lap,
O it grows noon with me;
With hotter-pointed beams

I burn, than those are which the Sun forth streams,
When piercing lightning his rays call'd may be; “ Love, if thou wilt once more
And as I muse how I to those extremes

That I to thee return,
Am brought, I find no cause, except that she, Sweet god! make me not burn
In love's bright zodiack having trac'd each room, For quivering age, that doth spent days deplore.
To the hot dog-star now at last is come.

Nor do thou wound my heart
For some inconstant boy,

Who joys to love, yet makes of love a toy.

But, ah ! if I must prore thy golden dart,
This strange eclipse one says

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.

Near to this eglantine

Enclosed lies the milk-white Armeline;
A DÆDALE of my death

Once Cloris' only joy,
Now I resemble that sly worm on earth,

Now only her annoy;
Which prone to its own harm doth take no rest : Who envied was of the most happy swains
For day and night opprest,

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.


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The bawd of justice, he who laws controllid, Some ladies wed, some love, and some adore them,
And made them fawn and frown as he got gold, I like their wanton sport, then care not for them.
That Proteus of our state, whose heart and mouth
Were farther distant than is north from sonth,
That cormorant who made himself so gross
On people's ruin, and the prince's loss,


Is gone to Hell; and though he here dill evil,
He there perchance my prove an honest devil.

Poor painter while I sought
To counterfeit by art
The fairest frame which Nature ever wrought,

And having limn'd each part,

Except her matchless eyes :

Scarce on those suns I gaz'd,
FIERCE robbers were of old
Exil'd the champaign ground,

As lightning falls from skies,
From hamlets chas'd, in cities kill'd, or bound,

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

The greatest thieves command within the towns.

On stars shall I exclaim,
Which thus my fortune change,

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,

Who keeps you from axe, fuel, timber, halter.

If for one only horn,
Which Nature to him gave,
So famous is the noble unicorn;
What praise should that man have,

Whose head a lady brave
In a most holy church, a holy man,

Doth with a goodly pair at once adorna
Unto a holy saint with visage wan,
And eyes like fountains, mumbled forth a prayer,
And with strange words and sighs made black the air.

And having long so stay'd, and long long pray'd,
A thousand crosses on himself he laid;

Those eyes, dear eyes, be spheres
And with some sacred beads hung on his arm,

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,
Those sunsere long must needs consume warm snow,



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,
The monstrous people of the raging deeps:

And hearing on a tree
Now that he doth not change his shape this while, A cuckow sing, sigh'd to himself, and said,
It is thus constant more you to beguile.

“ 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,
She sleeps, and though those eyes,

A purple flow'r see of this marble born.
Which lighten Cupid's skies,
Be clos'd, yet such a grace
Environeth that place,
That I, through wonder, to grow faint am brought:

Suns, if eclips'd you have such power divine,
What power have I t'endure you when you shine? A horse I am, who bit,

Rein, rod, spur, do not fear;

When I my riders bear,
Alcon's kiss.

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.

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Sweet nymphs, if as ye stray Flow'r, which of Adon's blood

Ye find the froth-born goddess of the sea,
Sprang, when of that clear flood,

All blubber'd, pale, undone,
Which Venus wept, another white was born, Who seeks her giddy son,
The sweet Cynarean youth thou lively shows; That little god of love,
But this sharp-pointed thorn,

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 !



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,
So in Heaven's highest house, when Sun appears, Lips, hands, and amber hair,
Aurora may you cherish with her tears.

Tell, none did ever touch;
A smaller, daintier waist

Tell, never was embrac'd;


peace, siuce she forbids thee tell too much.
Here dear lolas lies,
Who whilst he liv'd in beauty did surpass
That boy, whose heavenly eyes

Brought Cypris from above,
Or him to death who look'd in wat'ry glass, Such Lida, is, that who her sees,
Eren judge the god of love.

Through envy, or through love, straight dies.




Aonian sisters, help my Phræne's praise to tell, Whilst sighing forth his wrongs,
Phræne, heart of my heart, with whom the graces In sweet though doleful songs,

Alexis sought to charm his Rora's ears,
For I surcharged am so sore that I not know The hills were heard to moan,
What first to praise of her, her breast, or neck of To sigh each spring appear'd,

(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
Here Phræne stay'd my Muse ere she had well begun. In equal measure got,

At light of Sun, as it is in the dark:
Hark, happy lovers, hark.




Though I with strange desire
To kiss those rosy lips am set on fire,
Yet will I cease to crave
Sweet kisses in such store,
As he who long before
In thousands them from Lesbia did receive:
Sweetheart, but once me kiss,
And I by that sweet bliss
Even swear to cease you to importune more;
Poor one no number is;
Another word of me ye shall not hear
After one kiss, but still one kiss, my dear.

Kala, o!d Mopsus' wife,
Kala with fairest face,
For whom the neighbour swains oft were at strife,
As she to milk her snowy flock did tend,
Sigh'd with a heavy grace,
And said, “What wretch like me doth lead her life?
I see not how my task shall have an end:
All day I draw these streaming dugs in fold,
All night my empty husband's soft and cold.”



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,
My heart my life doth leave,
No sense my senses have,
And inward powers do find a strange eclipse :
This death so heavenly well

Doth so me please, that I
Would never longer seek in sense to dwell,

To forge to mighty Jove
If that even thus I only could but die.

The thunderbolts above,
Nor on this round below
Rich Midas' skill to know,

And make all gold I touch,

Do I desire ; it is for me too much:
If for to be alone, and all the night to wander,

Of all the arts practis'd beneath the sky, Maids can prove chaste, then chaste is Phæbe with. I would but Phillis' lapidary be.

out slander.



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 honour that more fickle is than wind,
A glory at opinion's frown that low'rs,

A treasury which bankrupt time devours,

A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,

A vain delight our equals to command,
Trus dear, though not respected earth doth hold A style of greatness, in effect a dream,
One, for his worth, whose tomb should be of gold. A swelling thought of holding sea and land,

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.
Who would perfection's fair idea see,
On pretty Cloris let him look with me;

Life a right shadow is;
White is her hair, her teeth white, white her skin,

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,
As high as it did raise, bows low the bead:
Just so the pleasures of my life being dead,

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,
The honest fisher Lalus, ah! is drown'd,
Shut in this little skiff;

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,
So that when be to the black world came near,
Of him no silver greedy Charon got;

And twice it is not given thee to be born.
For be in his own boat
Did pass that flood, by which the gods do swear.

The weary mariner so far not flies
An howling tempest, harbour to attain;
Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise,
So fast to fold, to save his bleating train,

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,
While sense's light mind's perspective kept blind;
Now like imagin'd landscape in the air,

And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find :
TRIUMPHANT arches, statues crown'd with bays, Or if aught here is had that praise should have,
Proud obelisks, tumbs of the vastest frame, It is an obscure life and silent grave.
Brazen Colosses, Atlases of fame,
And temples builded to vain deities' praise;
States which unsatiate minds in blood do raise, Op this fair volume which we world do rame,
From southern pole unto the arctic team,

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,

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