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Th'adorning thee with so much art
| I cut my love into his gentle baik, Is but a barbarous skill;
And in three days, behold ! 'tis dead : Tis like the poisoning of a dart
My very written flames so violent be, Too apt before to kill.
They ’ve burnt and wither'd-up the tree. The ministering angels none can see;
How should I live myself, whose heart is found 'Tis not their beauty or their face,
Deeply graven every where For which by men they worship'd be;
With the large history of many a wound, But their high office and their place.
Larger than thy trunk can bear? Thou art my goddess, my saint she;
With art as strange as Homer in the nut, . I pray to her, only to pray to thee,
Love in my heart has volumes put.
The leaves and beauties all,
As a strong poison with one drop does make
The nails and hairs to fall :
Love (I see now) a kind of witchcraft is,
Or characters could ne'er do this.
Pardon, ye birds and nymphs, who lov'd this To one that dies with thirst?
And pardon me, thou gentle tree; A little puff of breath, we find,
I thought her name would thee have bappy made, Small fires can quench and kill;
And blessed umens hop'd from thee: But, when they're great, the adverse wind
“ Notes of my love, thrive here,” said I, " and Does make them greater still.
grow; Now whilst you speak, it moves me much,
And with ye let my love do so." But straight I'm just the same;
Alas, poor youth ! thy love will never thrive! Alas! th' effect must needs be such
· This blast d tree predestines it; Of cutting through a flame.
Go, tie the dismal knot (why should'st thou live?)
And, by the lines thou there hast writ,
To that unlucky history.
Come, doctor! use thy roughest art,
'Tis a strange kind of ignorance this in you, There is no danger, if the pain
That you your victories should not spy, : Should me to a fever bring;
Victories gotten by your eye! Compar'd with heats I now sustain,
That your bright beams, as those of comets do, A fever is so cool a thing,
Should kill, but not know how, nor who ! (Like drink which feverish men desire)
That truly you my idol might appear, That I should hope 'twould almost quench my
Whilst all the people smell and see
The odorous flames I offer thee,
Thy constant, zealous worshipper.
They see 't too well who at my fires repine ;
Nay, th' unconcern'd themselves do prove
Quick-ey'd enough to spy my love; . Ask me not what my love shall do or be
Nor does the cause in thy face clearlier shine, (Love, which is soul to body, and soul of me!) When I am separated from thee;
Than the effect appears in mine. Alas! I might as easily show,
Fair infidel ! by what unjust decree What after death the soul will do;
Must I, who with such restless care "Twill last, 1 'm sure, and that is all we know. Would make this truth to thee appear,
Must I, who preach it, and pray for it, be
Damn'd by thy incredulity?
|I, by thy unbelief, am guiltless slain: Not that my love will fly away,
Oh, have but faith, and then, that you But still continue; as, they say,
May know that faith for to be true, Sad troubled ghosts about their graves do stray. It shall itself by a miracle maintain,
And raise me from the dead again!
Meanwhile my hopes may seem to be o'erthrown; THE TREE.
But lovers' hopes are full of art, .
And thus dispute-That, since my heart, I caose the fourishing'st tree in all the park, Though in thy breast, yet is not by thee known, With freshest boughs and fairest head;
Perhaps thou may’si not know thine oyun
HONOUR. Come, let's go on, where love and youth does She loves, and she confesses too; I've seen too much, if this be all. [call;
| There's then, at last, no more to do: Alas ! how far more wealthy might I be
The happy work's entirely done; With a contented ignorant poverty!
Enter the town which thou hast won; To show such stores, and nothing grant,
The fruits of conquest now begin; Is to enrage and vex my want.
lö, triumph! enter in. For Love to die an infant is lesser ill, Than to live long, yet live in childhood still.
What's this, ye gods! what can it be?
Remains there still an enemy? We’ave both sat gazing only, hitherto,
Bold Honour stands up in the gate, As man and wife in picture do:
And would yet capitulate; The richest crop of joy is still behind,
Have I o'ercome all real foes,
And shall this phantom me oppose ?
Noisy nothing ! stalking shade!
By what witchcraft wert thou made ? And so at last, my dear, should you do too. Empty cause of solid harms !
But I shall find out counter-charms, Beauty to man the greatest torture is,
Thy airy devilship to remove
From this circle here of love.
Sure I shall rid myself of thee
By the night's obscurity, I would not, salamander-like,
And obscurer secrecy!
Unlike to every other sprite,
Nor appear'st but in the light.
And gently kisses every thing!
THE INNOCEVT ILL.
Then on the earth, with bridegroom-heat, Though all thy gestures and discourses bé He does still new flowers beget.
Coin'd and stamp'd by modesty; The Sun himself, although all eye he be,
Though from thy tongue ne'er slipp'd away Can find in love more pleasure than to see. One word which nuns at th' altar might not say;
Yet such a sweetness, such a grace,
That what to th' eye a beauteous face,
That thy tongue is to th’ear:
So cunningly it wounds the heart, I TRY'D if books would cure my love, but found
It strikes such heat through every part, Love made them nonsense all;
That thou a tempter worse than Satan art. . I apply'd receipts of business to my wound,
Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracks have But stirring did the paiu recall.
So much as of original sin,
been As well might men who in a fever fry,
Such charms thy beauty wears, as might Mathematic doubts debate;
Desires in dying confess'd saints excite: As well might men who mad in darkness lie,
Thou, with strange adultery, Write the dispatches of a state.
Dost in each breast a brothel keep; I try'd devotion, sermons, frequent prayer,
Awake, all men do lust for thee,
And some enjoy thee when they sleep
Who to such multitudes did give
The root and cause of sin, but only Eve.
Though in thy breast so quick a pity be,
That a Ay's death 's a wound to thee; Did double the desire.
Though sarage and rock-hearted those
Appear, that weep not ev'n romance's woes; I try'd what mirth and gaiety would do,
Yet ne'er before was tyrant known, And mix'd with pleasant companies;
"Whose rage was of so large extent; My mirth did graceless and insipid grow,
The ills thou dost are whole thine own; And ’bove a clinch it could not rise.
Thou’rt principal and instrument: Nay, God forgive me for 't! at last I try'd,
In all the deaths that come from you, 'Gainst this, some new desire to stir,
You do the treble office do
Thou lovely instrument of angry Fate,
Tbou pleasant, universal ill, As wirolesome med'cines the disease improve Which, sweet as health, yet like a plague dost There where they work not well.
Thou kind, well-natur'd tyranny!
And thou in pity didst apply Thou chaste committer of a rape!
The kind and only remedy: Thou voluntary destiny,
The cause absolves the crime ; since me Which no man can, or would escape!
So mighty force did move, so mighty goodness So gentle, and so glad to spare,
thee. So wondrous good, and wondrous fair,
She, Curse on thine arts! methinks I hate the (We know) ev'n the destroying-angels are.
I'm angry; but iny wrath will prove
More innocent than did thy love. She. What have we done? what cruel passion
Thou hast this day undone mr quite;
Yet wilt undo me more should'st thou not come
VERSES LOST UPON A DAGER. So soon is spent, and gone, this thy ill-götten AS soon hereafter will I wagers lay treasure !
'Gainst what an oracle shall say ;
Fool that I was, to venture to deny
A tongue so us'd to victory!
A tongue so blest by Nature and by Art,
That never yet it spoke but gain'd an heart : I'll the well.gotten pleasure
Though what you said had not been true, Safe in my memory treasure: • What though the flower itself do waste,
If spoke by any else but you; The essence from it drawn does long and
Your speech will govern Destiny,
| And Fate will change rather than you should lye. sweeter last.
'Tis true, if human Reason were the guile, She. No: I'm undone; my honour thou hast slain,
Reason, methinks, was on my side;
But that 's a guide, alas ! we must resign,
When th' authority's divine.
She said, she said herself it would be so;
And I, bold unbeliever! answer'no:
Never so justly, sure, before,
Errour the name of blindness bore;
There's no man that has eyes would bet for me.
If Truth itself (as other angels do
When they descend to human view)
In a material form would deign to shine,
"Twould imitate or borrow thine: She. Thou first, perhaps, who didst the fault So dazzling bright, yet so transparent clear, • commit,
So well-proportion'd would the parts appear ! Wilt make thy wicked boast of it;
Happy the eye which Truth could sce
Cloath'd in a shape like thee;
But happier far the eye
Than what I ow'd to thee before:
Which he were bound howe'er to pay?
If Nature gave me power to write in verse,
Thy wondrous beauíy and thy wit
Hlas such a sorereign right to it, gagg'd me too.
That no man's Muse for public vent is free, She. Though public punishment we escape, the
e. the Till she has paid her customs first to thee,
BATHING IN THE RIVER. That worm which now the core does The fish around her crowded, as they do waste,
| To the false light that treacherous fishers shew, When long 't has gnaw'd within,will break the | And all with as much ease might taken be, skin at last.
As she at first took me; He. That thirsty drink, that hungry food, 1 For ne'er did light so clear songht,
Among the waves appear,
Why to mute fish should thou thyself discover, | Alas! what comfort is 't that I am growd
Secure of being again o'erthrown?
Şince such an enemy needs not fear
Lest any else should quarter there,
Who has not only sack'd, but quite burnt down,
the town. (Poor ignorants !) they're mermaids all below. The amorous waves would fain about her stay,
THE FORCE OF LOVE. But still new amorous waves drive them away,
PRESERVED FROM AN OLD MANUSCRIPT. And with swift current to those joys they haste,
Throw an apple up an hill,
Down the apple tumbles still; ! I laugh'd the wanton play to view;
Roll it down, it never stops
Till within the vale it drops :
So are all things prone to Love,
Up ascends the lambent flame;
Smoke and vapour mount the skies;
All preserve their unities;
Nought below, and nought above,
Seems averse, but prone to Love. Tell her, her beauties and her youth, like thee,
Stop the meteor in its flight, Haste without stop to a devouring sea;
Or the orient rays of light; Where they will mix'd and undistinguish'd lie
Bid Dan Phæbus not to shine,
Did the planets not incline;
'Tis as vain, below, above,
To impede the course of Love. Above th' impurest streams that thither flow.
Salamanders live in fire, Tell ber, kind Flood ! when this has made her sad,
| Eagles to the skies aspire, Tell her there's yel one remedy to be had: [find
Diamonds in their quarries lie,
Rivers do the sea supply:
Thus appears, below, above,
A propensity to Love.
Metals grow within the mine,
Still the needle marks the pole;
Parts are equal to the whole:
'Tis a truth as clear, that Love
Quickens all, below, above.
Man is born to live and die,
Snakes to creep, and birds to fly
Doves are mild, and lions grim :
Pushes all things on to Love.
Does the cedar love the mountain?
Or the thirsty deer the fountain ? Have all been burnt in love, and all been drown'd | Does the shepherd love his crook? in tears.
Or the willow court the brook?
Thus by nature all things move,
Like a running stream, to Love.
Is the valiant hero bold?
Does the miser doat on gold?
Breathes the rose-bud scented air
Should you this deny, you'll prove
Nature is averse to Love.
As the friar loves his cowl,
Or the miller loves the toll,
So do all, below, above,
Fly precipitate to Love.
When the Moon out-shines the Stany
JF a man should undertake to translate Pindar , almost without any thing else, makes an excet. word for word, it would be thought, that one mad lent poet; for though the grammarians and critics man had translated another; as may appear, have laboured to reduce his verses into regular when he that understands not the original, reads feet and measures (as they have also those of the verbal traduction of him into Latin prose, the Greek and Latin comedies) yet in effect they than which nothing seems more raving. And are little better than prose to our ears. And I sure, rhyme, without the addition of wit, and would gladly know what applause our best pieces the spirit of poetry, (quod nequeo monstrare & of English poesy could expect from a Frenchsentio tantum) would but make it ten times man or Italian, if converted faithfully, and word more distracted than it is in prose. We must for word, into French or Italian prose. And consider in Pindar the great difference of time when we have considered all this, we must needs betwixt his age and ours, which changes, as in confess, that, after all these losses sustained by pictures, at least the colours of poetry; the no Pindar, all we can add to him by our wit or in. less difference betwixt the religions and customs vention (not deserting still his subject) is not of our countries; and a thousand particularities like to make him a richer man than he was in his of places, persons, and manners, which do but own country. This is in some measure to be onfusedly appear to our eyes at so great a dis applied to all translations ; and the pot observing tance. And lastly (which were enough alone of it, is the cause that all which ever I yet saw for my purpose) we must consider, that our are so much inferior to their originals. The fars are strangers to the music of his numbers, like happens too in pictures, from the same root which, sometimes (especially in songs and odes) of exact imitation; which, being a vile and un.