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8o a destroying-angel's breath

Fond lover! you a mistress have Blows in the plague, and with it hasty death: Of her that's but your fellow-slave. Such was the pain, did so begin,

What should those poets mean of oli, To the poor wretch, when Legion enter'd in.

That made their god to woo in gold? Forgive me, God!” I cry'd; for I

Of all men, sure, they had no cause Flatter'd myself I was to die.

To bind Love to such costly laws; But quickly to my cost I found,

And yet I scarcely blame them now; 'Twas cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound; For who, alas! would not allow, Death a more generous rage does use;

That women should such gifts receive, Quarter to all he conquers does refuse :

Could they, as he, be what they give. Whilst Love with barbarous mercy saves

If thou, my dear, thyself shouldst prize, The vanquish'd lives, to make them slaves.

Alas! what value would suffice? I am thy slave then; let me know,

The Spaniard could not do 't, though he Hard master! the great task I have to do: Should to both Indies jointure thee. Who pride and scorn do undergo,

Thy beauties therefore wrong will take, In tempests and rough seas thy galleys row;

If thou shouldst any bargain make; They pant, and groan, and sigh ; but find To give all, will befit thee weil; Their sighs increase the angry wind.

But not at under-rates to sell. Like an Egyptian tyrant, some

Bestow thy beauty then on me, Thou weariest out in building but a tomb; Freely, as Nature gave 't to thee; Others, with sad and tedious art,

'Tis an exploded popish thought Labour i'th' quarries of a stony heart :

To think that Heaven may be bought. Of all the works thou dost assign,

Prayers, hymns, and praises, are the way, To all the several slaves of thine,

And those my thankful Muse shall pay:
Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine, Thy body, in my verse enshrin'd,

Shall grow immortal as thy mind.
I'll fix thy title next in fame

To Sacharissa's well-sung name.
THE GIVEN LOVE.

So faithfully will 1 declare
I'll on ; for what should hinder me

What all thy wondrous beauties are, From loving and enjoying thee?

That when, at the last great assize, Thou canst not those exceptions make,

All women shall together rise, Which vulgar, sordid mortals take,

Men straight shall cast their eyes on thee, That my fate's too mean and low;

And know at first that thou art she. 'Twere pity I should love thee so, If that dull cause could hinder me

THE SPRING. In loving and enjoying thee.

Though you be absent here, I needs must say It does not me a whit displease,

The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay, That the rich all honours seize;

As ever they were wont to be ; That you all titles make your own,

Nay,'the birds' rural music too Are valiant, learned, wise, alone :

Is as melodious and free, But, if you claim o'er women too

As if they sung to pleasure you: The power which over men ge do;

I saw a rose-bud ope this mom-I'll swear If you alone must lovers be;

The blushing Morning open'd not more fair. For that, sirs, you must pardon me.

low could it be so fair, and you away? Rather than lose what does so near

How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay? Concern my life and being here,

Could they remember but last year, l'll some such crooked ways invent,

How

you did them, they you, delight, As you, or your forefathers, went:

The sprouting leaves which saw you here, I'll flatter or oppose the king,

And call'd their fellows to the sight, Turn Puritan, or any thing;

Would, looking round for the same sight in vain, I'll force my mind to arts so new:

Creep back into their silent barks again. Grow rich, and love as well as you.

Where'er you walk'd, trees were as reverend But rather thus let me remain,

made, As man in Paradise did reign;

As when of old gods dwelt in every shade. When perfect love did so agree

Is 't possible they should not know, With innocence and poverty,

What loss of honour they sustain Adam did no jointure give;

That thus they smile and flourish now, Himself was jointure to his Eve:

And still their former pride retain? Untouch'd with avarice yet, or pride,

Dull creatures ! 'tis not without cause that she, The rib came freely back this side.

Who fled the god of wit, was made a tree. A curse upon the man who taught

In ancient times, sure, they much wiser were, Women, that love was to be bought;

When they rejoic'd the Thracian verse to hear; Rather doat only on your gold,

In vain did Nature bid them stay, And that with greedy avarice hold;

When Orpheus had his song begunFor, if woman too submit

They call'd their wondering roots away, To that, and sell herself fuit,

And bude them silent to him run.

How would those learned trees have follow'd | Oh, no; there's sense in this, and mystery you !

'Thou now may'st change thy author's naine, You would have drawn them and their poet too. And to her hand lay noble claim ;

For, as she reads, she makes, the words in thee. But who can blame them now? for, since you're

Yet, if thrine own unworthiness gone,

Will still that thou art mine, not her's, confess, They're here the only fair, and shine alone You did their natural rights invade;

Consume thyself with fire before her eyes,

And so her grace or pity move:
Wherever you did walk or sit,
The thickest boughs could make no shade,

The gods, though beasts they do not love,

Yet like thein when they 're burnt in sacrifice. Although the Sun had granted it: The fairest flowers could please no more, near

you, Than painted flowers, set next to them, could do.

INCONSTANCY.

Five years ago (says story) I lov'd you, hene'er then you come hither, that shall be he time, which this to others is, to me.

For which you call me most inconstant now. The little joys which here are now,

Pardon me, madam, you mistake the man, The name of punishments do bear;

For I am not the same that I was then;

No flesh is now the same 'twas then in me,
When by their sight they let us know
How we depriv'd of greater are:

And that my mind is chang'd, yourself may see. 'Tis you the best of seasons with you bring;

The same thoughts to retain still, and intents, This is for beasts, and that for men, the Spring.

Were more inconstant far; for accidents
Must of all things most strangely inconstant

prove,

from one subject they t' another move; WRITTEN IN

My members then the father inembers were,

From whence these take their birth which now JUICE OF LEMON.

are here. WHILST what I write I do not see,

If then this body love what th' other did, I dare thus, ev'n to you, write poetry.

'Twere incest; which by Nature is forbid. Ab, foolish Muse! which dost so highespire,

You might as well this day inconstant name, And know'st her judgment well,

Because the weather is not still the same How much it does thy power excel,

That it was yesterday-or blame the year, Yet dar'st be read by, thy just doom, the fire.

'Cause the spring flowers, and autumn fruit, does

bear. Alas! thou think'st thyself secure,

The world's a scene of changes; and to be Because thy form is innocent and pure:

Constant, in Nature were inconstancy ; Like hypocrites, which seem unspotted here; For 'twere to break the laws herself has made: But, when they sadly come to die,

Our substances themselves do feet and fade; And the last fire their truth must try,

The most fix'd being still does move and fly, Scrawl'd o'er like thee, and blotted, they appear. Swift as the wings of Time 'tis measur'd by. Go then, but reverently go,

T'imagine then that love should never cease And, since thou needs must sin, confess it too: (Love, which is but the ornament of these) Confess 't, and with humility clothe thy shame; Were quite as senseless, as to wonder why For thou, who else must burned be

Beauty and colour stays not when we die.
An heretic, if she pardon thee,
May'st, like a martyr, then enjoy the flame.
But, if her wisdom grow severe,

NOT FAIR.
And suffer not her goodness to be there; 'Tis very true, I thought you once as fair
If her large mercies cruelly it restrain ;

As women in th' idea are
Be not discourag'd, but require

Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be A more gentle ordeal fire, And bid her by Love's fames read it again.

But a faint metaphor of thee :

But then, methoughts, there something shin'd, Strange power of heat! thou yet dost show

within, Like winter-earth, naked, or cloath'd with snow:

Which cast this lustre o'er thy skin; But as, the quickening Sun approaching near,

Nor could i chuse but count it the Sun's light, The plants arise up by degrees ;

Which made this cloud appear so bright. A sudden paint adorns the trees,

But, since I knew thy falschood and thy pride, And all kind Nature's characters appear:

And all thy thousand faults beside, So, nothing yet in thee is seen;

A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee, But, when a genial heat warms thee within,

White as his teeth would seem to be. A new-born wood of various lines there grows;

So men (they say) by Hell's delusions led, Here buds an A, and there a B,

Have ta'en a succubus to their bed; Here sprouts a V, and there a T,

Believe it fair, and themselves happy call, And all the flourishing letters stand in rows.

'Till the cleft foot discovers all :

Then they start from 't, half ghosts themselves Still, silly Paper! thou wilt think,

with fear; That all this might as well be writ with ink:

And devil, as 'tis, it does appear.

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So, since against my will I found thee foul,

Deform'd and crooked in thy soul,
My reason straight did to my senses show,

That they might be mistaken too:
Nay, when the world but knows how false you

are,

There's not a man will think you fair;
Thy shape will monstrous in their fancies be,

They'll call their eyes as false as thee.
Be what thou wilt, Hate will present thee so
As Puritans do the pope, and Papists Luther do.

But, like the Persian tyrant, Love within

Keeps his proud court, and ne'er is seen, Oh! take my heart, and by that means you'll

prove

Within too stor'd enough of love :
Give me but your's, I 'll by that change so

thrive,

That love in all my parts shall live.
So powerful is this change, it render can
My outside woman, and your inside man.

CLAD ALL IN WHITE.
PLATONIC LOVE.

Fairest thing that shines below, : Indeed I must confess,

Why in this robe dost thou appear?
When souls mix 'tis an happiness;

Would'st thou a white most perfect show,

Thou must at all no garment wear: But not complete till bodies too combine,

Thou wilt seem much whiter so,
And closely as our minds together join :

Than Winter when 'tis clad with snow.
But half of Heaven the souls in glory taste,
Till by love in Heaven, at last,

'Tis not the linen shows so fair ;
Their bodies too are plac’d.

Her skin shines through, and makes it bright:

So clouds theinselves like suns appear, In thy immortal part,

When the Sun pierces them with light: Man, as well as I, thou art;

So, lilies in a glass enclose,
But something 'tis that differs thee and me;

The glass will seem as white as those.
And we must one even in that difference be.
I thre, both as a man and woman, prize; Thou now one heap of beauty art;
For a perfect love implies

Nought outwards, or within, is foul:
Love in all capacities.

Condensed beams make every part ;
Can that for true love pass,

Thy body's cloathed like thy soul;

Thy soul, which does itself display,
When a fair woman courts her glass?

Like a star plac'd i'th' milky-way.
Something unlike must in Love's likeness be;
His wonder is, one, and variety :

Such robes the saints departed wear,
For he, whose soul nought but a soul can move, Woven all with light divine;
Does a new Narcissus prove,

Such their exalted bodies are,
And his own image love.

And with such full glory shine:

But they regard not mortals' pain; That souls do beauty know, 'Tis to the bodies' help they owe;

Men pray, I fear, to both in vain. If, when they know 't, they straight abuse that Yet, seeing thee so gently pure, trust,

My hopes will needs continue still;
And shut the body from't, 'tis as unjust Thou would'st not take this garment, sure,
As if I brought my dearest friend to see

When thou hadst an intent to kill !
My mistress, and at th’instant he

Of peace and yielding who would doubt, Should steal her quite from me.

When the white flag he sees hung out?

THE CHANGE.
Love in her sunny eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;
Love does on both her lips for ever stray,
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there:
In all her outward parts Love's always seen ;

But oli! he never went within.
Within, Love's foes, his greatest foes, abide,

Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride :
So, the Earth's face trees, herbs, and flowers, do

dress,

With other beauties numberless;
But at the centre darkness is, and Hell;
There wicked spirits, and there the damned,

dwell.
With me, alas ! quite contrary it fares;
Darkness and death lie in my weeping eves,
Despair an'l paleness in my face appears,
And grief, and fear, Love's greatest enemies ;

LEAVING ME, AND THEN LOVING

MANY.
So men, who once hare cast the truth away,
Forsook by God, do strange wild lusts obey';
So the vain Gentiles, when they left t'adore
One deity, could not stop at thousands more:
Their zeal was senseless straight, and boundless,

grown ;
They worship'd many a beast and many a stone.
Ah, fair apostate! couldst thou think to fee
From truth and goodness, yet keep unity?
I reign'd alone; and my blest self could call
The universal monarch of her all.
Mine, mine, her fair East-Indies were above,
Where those suns rise that cheer the world of

Love;
Where beauties shine like gems of richest price;
Where coral grows, and every breath is spice :
Mine too her rich West-Indies were below,
Where mines of gold and endless treasures grow.

low;

But as, when the Pellæan conqueror dy'd, The Thunderer, who, without the female bed, Many small princes did his crown divide; Could goddesses bring-forth from out his head, So, since my love his vanquish'd world forsook, Chose rather mortals this way to create; Murder'd by poisons from her falsehood took, So much h’esteem'd his pleasure 'bove his state. An hundred petty kings claim each their part, Ye talk of fires which shine, but never burn; and rend that glorious empire of her heart. In this cold world they 'll hardly serve our turn;

As useless to despairing lovers grown,

As lambent flames to men i' th’ frigid zone. MY HEART DISCOVERED. The Sun does his pure fires on Earth bestow

With nuptial warmth, to bring-forth things beHer body is so gently bright, Clear and transparent to the sight,

Such is Love's noblest and divinest heat, (Clear as fair crystal to the view,

That warms like his, and does, like his, beget. Yet soft as that, ere stone it grew)

Lust you call this; a name to yours more just, That through her flesh, methinks, is seen If an inordinate desire be lust: The brighter soul that dwells within :

Pygmalion, loving what none can enjoy, Our eyes the subtile covering pass,

More lustful was, than the hot youth of Troy.
And see that lily through its glass.
I through her breast her heart espy,
As souls in hearts do souls descry:
I see't with gentle motions beat;

THE VAIN LOVE.
I see light in 't, but find no heat.
Within, like angels in the sky,

LOVING ONE FIRST BECAUSE SHE COULD LOVE NO. A thousand gilded thoughts do fly ;

BODY, AFTERWARDS LOVING HER WITH DESIRE. Thoughts of bright and noblest kind, Fair and chaste as mother-mind.

W

Hat new-found witchcraft was in thee, But oh! what other heart is there,

With thine own cold to kindle me? Which sighs and crouds to her's so near? Strange art! like him that should devise 'Tis all on flame, and does, like fire,

To make a burning-glass of ice : To that, as to its Heaven, aspire !

When Winter so, the plants would harm, The wounds are many in 't and deep;

Her snow itself does keep them warm. Still does it bleed, and still does weep!

Fool that I was! who, having found Whose-ever wretched heart it be,

A rich and sunny diamond, I cannot choose but grieve to see:

Admir'd the hardness of the stone, What pity in my breast does reign!

But not the light with which it shone. Methinks I feel too all its pain.

Your brave and haughty scorn of all So torn, and so defac'd, it lies,

Was stately and monarchical ; That it could ne'er be known by th' eyes ;

All gentleness, with that esteein'd,
But oh! at last I heard it groan,

A dull and slavish virtue seu n'd;
And knew by th' voice that 'twas mine own. Should'st thou have yielded then to me,
So poor Alcione, when she saw

Thou ’dst lost what I most lov'd in thee;
A shipwreck'd body tow'rds her draw,

For who would serve one, whom he sees Beat by the waves, let fall a tear,

That he can conquer if he please ?
Which only then did pity wear :

It far'd with me, as if a slave
But, when the corpse on shore were cast, In triumph led, that dues perceive
Which she her husband found at last,

With what a gay majestic pride
What should the wretched widow do?

His conqueror through the streets does ride, Grief chang'd her straight; away she flew, Should be contented with his woe, Turn'd to a bird : and so at last shall I

Which makes up such a comely show, Both from my murder'd heart and murderer fly. I sought not from thee a return,

But without hopes or fears did burn;

My covetous passion did approve
ANSWER TO THE PLATONICS. The hoarding-up, not use, of love.

My love a kind of dream was grown,
So angels love; so let them love for me; A foolish, but a pleasant one:
When I'm all soul, such shall my love too be: From which I 'm waken'd now; but, oh!
Who nothing here but like a spirit would do, Prisoners to die are wakend so;
In a short time, believe 't, will be one too. For now th' ellects of loving are
L'ut, shall our love do what in beasts we see? Nothing but longings, with despair:
Ev'n beasts eat too, but not so well as we: Despair, whose torments no men, sure,
And you as justly might in thirst refuse

But lovers and the damn'd, endure.
The use of wine, because beasts water use: Her scorn I doated once upon,
They taste those pleasures as they do their food; | 11 object for affection;
Undress'd they take 't, devour it raw and crude: But since, alas! tou much 'tis prov'd,
Put to us men, Love cooks it at his fire, That yet 'twas something that I lov'd;
And adds the poignant sauce of sharp desire. Now my desires are worse, and fly
Beasts do the same: 'tis true; but ancient Fame At an impossibility:
Says, gods themselves turn'd bcasts to do the Desires wbich, whilst so high they soas,
same,

Are proud as that livvd bukvie.

Whatlover can like me complain, Who first lov'd vainly, next in rain!

If my Understanding do
Seek any knowledge but of you;
If she do near thy body prize
Her bodies of philosophies;
If she to the will do shew
Aught desirable but yon ;
Or, if that would not rebel,
Should she another doctrine tell;
If my Will do not resign
All her liberty to thine;
If she would not follow thee,
Though Fate and thou should'st disagree;
And if (for I a curse will give,
Such as shall force thee to believe)
My Soul be not entirely thine;
May thy dear body ne'er be mine!

THE PASSIONS.

THE SOUL. Is mine eyes do e'er declare They've seen a second thing that's fair; Or ears, that they have music found, Besides thy voice, in any sound; If my taste do ever meet, After thy kiss, with aught that 's sweet ; If my abused touch allow Aught to be smooth, or soft, but you ; If what seasonable springs, Or the eastern suinmer brings, Do my smell persuade at all Aught perfume, but thy breath, to call; If all my senses' objects be Not contracted into thee, And so through thee more powerful pass, As beams do through a burning-glass; If all things that in Nature are Either soft, or sweet, or fair, Be not in thee so' epitomis', That nought material's not compris'd; May I as worthless seem to thee, As all, but thou, appears to me! If I erer anger know, Till some wrong be done to you ; If gods or kings my envy move, Without their crowns crown'd by thy love; If ever I a hope admit, Without thy image stamp'd on it; Or any fear, till I begin To find that you 're concern'd therein ; If a joy e'er coine to me, That tastes of any thing but thee; If any sorrow touch my mind, Whilst you are well, and not unkind; If I a minute's space debate, Whether I shall curse and hate The things beneath thy hatred fall, Though all the world, myself and all; And for love, if ever I Approach to it again so nigh, As to allow a toleration To the least glimmering inclination; If thou alone dost not control All those tyrants of my soul, And to thy beauties ty'st them so, That constant they as habits grow; If any passion of my heart, Ey any force, or any art, Ee brought to move one step from thee, May'st thou no passion have for me! If my busy Imagination, Do not thee in all things fashion; S, that all fair species be Hieroglyphic marks of thee; If when she her sports does keep (The lower soul being all asleep) She play one dream, with all her art, Where thou hast not the longest part; If aught get place in my remembrance, Without some badge of thy resemblance, So that thy parts become to ma A kind of art of memory ;

From Hate, Fear, Hope, Anger, and Envy, free,

And all the passions else that be,
In vain I boast of liberty,
In vain this state a freedom call;

Since I have Love, and Love is all :
Sot that I am, who think it fit to brag
That I have no disease besides the plague !
Soin a zeal the sons of Israel

Sometimes upon their idols fell,
And they depos’d the powers of Hell;
Baal and Astarte down they threw,

And Acharon and Moloch too :
All this imperfect piety did no good,
Whilst yet, alas! the calf of Bethel stood.
Fondly I boast, that I have drest my vine

With painful art, and that the wine
Is of a taste rich and divine;
Since Love, by inixing poison thcre,

Has made it worse than vinegar.
Love ev'n the taste of nectar changes so,
That gods chuse rather water here below.
Fear, Anger, Hope, all passions else that be,

Drive this one tyrant out of me,
Aud practise all your tyranny !

The change of ills some good will do:

Th’ oppressed wretched Indians so, Being slaves by the great Spanish monarchi

made, Call in the States of Holland to their aid.

WISDOM.

'Tis mighty wise that you would now be thought,
With your grave rules from musty morals brought;
Through which some streaks too of divin'ty ran,
Partly of monk and partly puritan;
With tedious repetitions too you ’are ta'en
Often the name of Vanity in vain.
Things which, I take it, friend, you'd ne'er recite,
Should she i love but say t' you,

" Come at night." 'The wisest king refusèd all pleasures quite, Till Wisdom from above did him enlight; But, when that gif: his ignorance did remove, Pleasures he chose, and plac'u them all in love.

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