That the hot people burnt even from their birth,
Do creep againe into their mother earth:
When Mercury did take his powerfull wand,
His charming caduceus in his hand,
And the thick beaver which he us'd to weare
When ought from Jove he to the Sun did beare,
That did protect him from the piercing light
Which did proceed from Phœbus' glittering sight;
Clad in these powerfull ornaments he flies
With out-stretcht wings up to the azur skies,
Where seeing Phoebus in his orient shrine,
He did so well revenge the god of wine,
That whil'st the Sun wonders his chariot reeles,
The crafty god had stoln away his wheeles;
Which when he did perceive he down did slide
(Laying his glittering coronet aside)
From the bright spangled firmament above
To seek the nymph that Bacchus so did love,
And found her looking in her watry glass,
To see how cleare her radiant beauty was:
And (for he had but little time to stay,
Because he meant to finish out his day)
At the first sight he 'gan to make his moane,
Telling her how his fiery wheels were gone;
Promising her if she would but obtaine
The wheeles that Mercury had stol'n againe,
That he might end his day, she should enjoy
The heavenly sight of the most beautious boy
That ever was: the nymph was pleas'd with this,
Hoping to reape some unaccustom❜d blisse,
By the sweet pleasure that she should enjoy
In the blest sight of such a melting boy.
Therefore at his request she did obtaine,
The burning wheels that he had lost againe;
Which when he had receiv'd, he left the land,
And brought them thither where his coach did stand,
And there he set them on, for all this space
The horses had not stirr'd from out their place;
Which when he saw he wept, and 'gan to say,
"Would Mercury had stoln my wheels away,
When Phaeton, my haire-brain'd issue, try'd
What a laborious thing it was to guide
My burning chariot, then he might have pleas'd me,
And of a father's griefe he might have eas'd me:
For then the steeds would have obey'd his will,
Or else at least they would have rested still."
When he had done, he took his whip of steele,
Whose bitter smart he made his horses feele,
For he did lash so hard to end the day,
That he was quickly at the westerne sea.
And there with Thetis did he rest a space,
For he did never rest in any place
Before that time; but ever since his wheels
Were stoln away, his buruing chariot reeles
Towards the declining of the parting day,
Therefore he lights and mends them in the sea.
And though the poets faine that Jove did make
A treble night for faire Alcmena's sake,
That he might sleep securely with his love,
Yet sure the long night was unknown to love:
But the Sun's wheels one day disordered more,
Were thrice as long a mending as before.
Now was the Sun inviron'd with the sea,
Cooling his watry tresses as he lay,
And in dread Neptune's kingdome while he sleeps
Faire Thetis clips him in the watry deeps;
There Mair-maids and the Tritons of the west,
Straining their voices to make Titan rest:
The while the black night with her pithy hand
Took just possession of the swarthy land,
He spent the darksome houres in this delight,
Giving his power up to the gladsome night;
For ne'er before he was so truly blest
To take an houre, or one poore minute's rest.
But now the burning god this pleasure feels
By reason of his newly crazed wheels;
There must she stay untill lame Vulcan send
The fiery wheeles which he had took to mend;
Now all the night the smith so hard had wrought,
That ere the Sun could wake his wheels were brought;
Titan being pleas'd with rest and not to rise,
And loath to open yet his slumbring eyes;
And yet perceiving how the longing sight
Of mortals waited for his glittering light,
He sent Aurora from him to the skye
To give a glimpsing to each mortall eye.
Aurora, much asham'd of that same place.
That great Apollo's light was wont to grace,
Finding no place to hide her shamefull head
Painted her chaste cheeks with a blushing red;
Which ever since remain'd upon her face
In token of her new receiv'd disgrace:
Therefore she not so white as she had been,
Loathing of every mortall to be seen;
No sooner can the rosie fingred morne
Kisse every flower that by her dew is borne;
But from the golden window she doth peep
When the most part of earthly creatures sleep.
By this bright Titan opened had his eyes,
And 'gan to jerk his horses through the skies,
And taking in his hand his fiery whip
He made Æous and swift thou skip
So fast, that straight he dazled had the sight
Of faire Aurora, glad to see his light;
And now the Sun in all his fiery haste
Did call to mind his promise lately past,
And all the vows and oaths that he did passe
Unto faire Salmacis the beautious lasse:
For he had promis'd her she should enjoy
So lovely, faire, and such a well-shapt boy,
As ne're before his own all-seeing eye
Saw from his bright seat in the starry skie;
Remembring this he sent the boy that way
Where the cleare fountaine of the faire nymph lay;
There was he come to seck some pleasing brook,
No sooner came he but the nymph was strook,
And though she longed to embrace the boy,
Yet did the nymph a while defer her joy,
Till she had bound up her loose flagging haire,
And well order'd the garments she did weare,
Faigning her count'nance with a lover's care,
And did deserve to be accounted faire;
When thus much spake she while the boy abode,
"O boy! more worthy to be thought a god,
Thou maiest inhabit in the glorious place
Of gods, or mai'st proceed from humane race;
Thou mai'st be Cupid, or the god of wine,
That lately woo'd me with the swelling vine:
But whosoe're thou art, O happy he
That was so blest to be a sire to thee!
Thy happy mother is most blest of many,
Blessed thy sisters, if her wombe bare any;
Both fortunate, O and thrice happy she,
Whose too much blessed brest gave suck to theez
If anie's wish with thy sweet bed he blest,
O she is far more happy than the rest!
If thou hast any, let her name be known,
Or else let me be she, if thou hast none."
Here did she pause a while, and then she said,
"Be not obdurate to a silly maid;
A flinty heart within a snowy breast
Is like base mold lock'd in a golden chest.
They say the eye's the index of the heart,
And shews th' affection of each inward part:
Then love plaies lively there, the little god
Hath a cleare cristall pallace of abode;
O bar him not from playing in thy heart,
That sports himselfe upon each outward part."
Thus much she spake, and then her tongue was husht;
At her loose speeches Hermaphroditus blusht;
He knew not what love was, yet love did shame him,
Making him blush, and yet his blush became him.
Then might a man his lively colour see,
Like the ripe apple on a sunny tree,
Or ivory dy'd o're with a pleasing red,
Or like the pale morne being shadowed.
By this the nymph recovered had her tongue,
That to her thinking lay in silence long,
And said, "Thy cheek is mild, O be thou so,
Thy cheeke saith I, then do not answer no, [said,
Thy check doth shame, then do thou shame", she
"It is a man's shame to deny a maid:
Thou look'st to sport with Venus in her tower,
And be belov'd of every heavenly power;
Men are but mortals, so are women too,
Why should your thoughts aspire more than ours do:
For sure they do aspire; else could a youth,
Whose countenance is full of spotlesse truth,
Be so relentlesse to a virgin's tongue?
Let me be woo'd by thee but halfe so long;
With halfe those termes, do but my love require,
And I will easly grant thee thy desire;
Ages are bad when men become so slow,
That poore unskilfull maids are forc'd to wooe."
Her radiant beauty, and her subtill art,
So deeply struck Hermaphroditus' heart,
That she had won his love, but that the light
Of her translucent eye did shine too bright,
For long he look'd upon the lovely maid,
And at the last Hermaphroditus said,
"How should I love thee, when I do espie
A far more beautious nymph hid in thy eye; [thee,
When thou dost love let not that nymph be nigh
Nor when thou woo'st let that same nymph be by
Or quite obscure her from thy lover's face, [thee:
Or hide her beauty in a darker place;"
By this the nymph perceiv'd he did espy
None but himselfe reflected in her eye.
And for himselfe no more she meant to shew him,
She shut her eyes, and blindfold thus did wooe him:
"Faire boy, think not thy beauty can dispence
With any paine due to a bad offence;
Remember how the gods punisht that boy,
That scorn'd to let a beautious nymph enjoy
Her long wisht pleasure, for the peevish elfe,
Lov'd of all others, needs would love himself:
So maiest thou love perhaps; thou maiest be blest
By granting to a lucklesse nymph's request,
Then rest a while with me amidst these weeds,
The Sun that sees all winks at lovers' deeds.
Phoebus is blind when love sports are begun,
And never sees untill their sports be done;
Beleeve me boy, thy bloud is very staid,
That art so loath to kisse a youthfull maid:
Wert thou a maid and I a man, l'le shew thee
With what a manly boldnesse I could wooe thee:
'Fairer than love's queen' (thus I would begin)
• Might not my over-boldnesse be a sin,
I would intreat this favour if I could.
Thy roseat cheeks a little to behold;'
Then would I beg a touch, and then a kisse,
And then a lower, yet a higher blisse;
Then would I aske what Jove and Leda did,
When like a swan the crafty god was hid;
What came he for? why did he there abide?
Surely I think he did not come to chide;
He came to see her face, to talke, and chat,
To touch, to kisse, came he for nought but that?
Yes something else, what was it he would have?
That which all men of maidens ought to crave."
This said, her eye-lids wide she did display,
But in this space the boy was run away:
The wanton speeches of the lovely lasse
Forc'd him for shame to hide him in the grasse;
When she perceiv'd she could not see him neere her,
When she had call'd, and yet he would not heare her,
Look how when Autumne comes, a little space
Paleth the red blush of the Summer's face,.
Tearing the leaves, the Summer's covering,
Three months in weaving by the curious Spring..
Making the grasse his green locks go to wrack,
Tearing each ornament from off his back;
So did she spoile the garments she did weare,
Tearing whole ounces of her golden haire;
She thus deluded of her longed blisse,
With much adoe at last she uttred this:
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Thus did she dally long, till at the last
In her white palm she lockt his white hand fast;
Then in her hands his wrist she 'gan to close,
When though his pulses straight his warme bloud
Whose youthfull music fanning Cupid's fire, [glows,
In her warme brest kindled a fresh desire;
Then did she lift her hand unto his brest,
A part as white and youthfull as the rest,
Where as his flowry breath still comes and goes,
She felt his gentle heart pant through his cloaths;
At last she took her hand from off that part,
And said it panted like another heart;
"Why should it be more feeble, and lesse bold?
Why should the bloud about it be more cold?
Nay sure that yields, only thy tongue denies,
And the true fancy of thy heart belies."
Then did she lift her hand unto his chin,
And prais'd the pretty dimpling of his skin.
But straight his chin she 'gan to overslip,
When she beheld the rednesse of his lip;
And said, "Thy lips are soft, presse them to mine.
And thou shalt see they are as soft as thine."
Then would she faine have gone unto his eye,
But still his ruddy lip, standing so nigh,
Drew her hand back, therefore his eye she mist,
'Ginning to claspe his neck, and would have kist:
But then the boy did struggle to be gone,
Vowing to leave her in that place alone;
But the bright Salmacis began to feare,
When young Hermaphroditus, as he stands
Clapping his white side with his hollow hands,
Leapt lively from the land whereon he stood
Into the maine part of the christall floud;
Like ivory then his snowy body was,
Or a white lilly in a christall glasse;
Then rose the water-nymph from where she lay
As having won the glory of the day,
And her light garments cast from off her skin,
"He's mine," she cry'd, and so leapt sprightly in;
The flatt'ring ivy who did ever see
Inclasp'd the huge trunke of an aged tree,
Let him behold the young boy as he stands
Inclaspt in wanton Salmacis' pure hands;
Betwixt those ivory armes she lockt him fast,
Striving to get away, till at the last,
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Fondling she said, Why striv'st thou to be gone?
Why shouldst thou so desire to be alone?
Thy cheeke is never faire when none is by,
For what is red and white but to the eye?
And for that cause the Heavens are dark at night,
Because all creatures close their weary sight:
For there's no mortall can so early rise,
But still the morning waits upon his eyes;
The early rising and soon singing lark
Can never chant her sweet notes in the dark;
For sleep she ne'r so little or so long,
Yet still the morning will attend her song.
All creatures that beneath bright Cinthia be
And said, "Faire stranger, I will leave thee here, Have appetite unto society;
And these so pleasant places all alone;"
So, turning back, she fained to be gone:
But from his sight she had no power to passe,
Therefore she turn'd, and hid her in the grasse;
When to the ground bending her snow-white knee,
The glad earth gave new coats to every tree.
He then, supposing he was all alone,
Like a young boy that is espy'd of none,
The overflowing waves would have a bound
Within the confines of the spacious ground,
And all their shady currents would be plae'd
In hollow of the solitary vaste:
But that they loath to let their soft streams sing
Where none can heare their gentle murmuring."
Yet still the boy, regardlesse what she said,
Strugled apace to overswim the maid;
Runs here and there, then on the banks doth look, Which when the nymph perceiv'd, she 'gan to say,
Then on the christall current of the brook,
Then with his feet he toucht the silver streames,
Whose drowzie waves made music in their
And, for he was not wholly in, did weep,
Talking aloud, and babling in their sleep,
Whose pleasant coolenesse when the boy did feele,
He thrust his foot down lower to the heele,
O'recome with whose sweet noise, he did begin
To strip his soft cloaths from his tender skin,
When streight the scorching Sun wept teares of
brine,
(Because he durst not touch bith with his shine)
For feare of spoiling that same ivory skin,
Whose whitenesse he so much delighted in;
And then the Moon, mother of mortall ease,
Would faine have come from the Antipodes,
To have beheld him naked as he stood
Ready to leap into the silver floud,
But might not, for the laws of Heaven deny
To shew men's secrets to a woman's eye;
And therefore was her sad and gloomy light
-Confin'd unto the secret keeping night.
When beautious Salmacis a while had gaz'd
Upon his naked corps, she stood amaz'd,
And both her sparkling eyes burnt in her face
Like the bright Sun reflected in a glasse;
Scarce can she stay from running to the boy,
Scarce can she now defer her hoped joy:
So fast her youthfull bloud plaies in her veines,
That, almost mad, she soarce her selfe containes;
Struggle thou maiest, but never get away;
So graut, just gods, that never day may see
The separation 'twixt this boy and me."
The gods did heare her prayer, and feele her woe,
And in one body they began to grow:
She felt his youthfull bloud in every veine,
And he felt hers warm his cold breast againe;
And ever since was woman's love so blest,
That it will draw bloud from the strongest breast.
Nor man, nor maid, now could they be esteem'd,
Neither and either might they well be deem'd;
When the young boy Hermaphroditus said,
With the set voice of neither man nor maid,
"Swift Mercury, thou author of my life,
And thou, my mother, Vulcan's lovely wife,
Let your poore off-spring's latest breath be blest
In but obtaining this his last request:
Grant that whoe're, heated by Phoebus' beams,
Shall come to coole him in these silver streams,
May never more a manly shape retaine,
But halfe a virgin may returne againe."
His parents hark'ned to his last request,
And with that great power they the fountaine blest;
And since that time who in that fountaine swims
A maiden smoothness se, eth halfe his limbs.
But spare (oh, Love!) to tax thy poet so,
Who oft hath born thy ensign 'gainst thy fo;
I am not 'he by whom thy mother bled,
When she to Heaven on Mars his horses fled.
I oft, like other youths, thy flame did prove,
And if thou aske, what I do still; I love.
Nay, I have taught by art to keep love's course,
And made that reason which before was force.
I seek not to betray thee, pretty boy,
Nor what I once have written to destroy.
If any love, and find his mistris kind,
Let him go on, and saile with his own wind;
But he that by his love is discontented,
To save his life my verses were invented ;
Why should a lover kill himselfe ? or why
Should any, with his own griefe wounded, die?
Thou art a boy, to play becomes thee still,
Thy reign is soft, play then, and do not kill;
Or if thou'lt needs be vexing, then do this,
Make lovers meet by stealth, and steale a kisse :
Make them to feare, least any over-watch them,
And tremble when they thinke some come to catch
them :
And with those teares that lovers shed all night
Be thou content, but do not kill out-right,
Love heard, and up his silver wings did heave,
And said, "Write on, I freely give thee leave.”
Come then, all ye despis'd, that love endure,
I, that have felt the wounds, your love will cure;
But come at first, for if you make delay
Your sicknesse will grow mortall by your stay;
The tree, which by delay is grown so big,
In the beginning was a tender twig.
That which at first was but a span in length,
Will, by delay, be rooted past man's strength.
Resist beginnings, med'cines bring no curing,
Where sicknesse is grown strong by long endur-
ing.
When first thou seest a lasse that likes thine eye,
Bend all thy present powers to descry
Whether her eye or carriage first would show
If she be fit for love's delights, or no;
Some will be easie, such an one elect;
But she that beares too grave and sterne aspect
Take heed of her, and make her not thy jewell,
Either she cannot love, or will be cruell.
If love assaile thee there, betime take heed,
Those wounds are dangerous that inward bleed;
He that to day cannot shake off love's sorrow,
Will certainly be more unapt to morrow.
Love hath so eloquent and quick a tongue,
That he will lead thee all thy life along;
And on a sudden claspe thee in a yoke,
Where thou must either draw, or striving choak.
Strive then betimes, for at the first one hand
May stop a water drill that weares the sand;
But, if delayed, it breakes into a floud,
Mountaines will hardly make the passage good;
But I am out for now I do begin
To keep them off, not heale those that are in.
First therefore (lovers) I intend to show
How love came to you, then how he may go.
You that would not know what love's passions be,
Never be idle, learne that rule of me.
Ease makes you love, as that o'recomes
Fase is the food and cause of all your ills.
Turne ease and idlenesse but out of doore,
Love's darts are broke, his flame can burne no more.
As reeds and willows love the water's side,
So Love loves with the idle to abide.
If then at liberty you faine would be,
Love yeelds to labour, labour and be free.
Long sleeps, soft beds, rich vintage, and high feed-
Nothing to do, and pleasure of exceeding, Ling,
Dulls all our senses, makes our vertue stupid,
And then creeps in that crafty villaine Cupid.
That boy loves ease of life, hates such as stir,
Therefore thy mind to better things prefer.
Behold thy countrie's enemies in armes,
At home Love gripes thy heart in his slie charmes
Then rise and put on armour, cast off sloath,
Thy labour may at once o'recome them both.
If this seem hard, and too unpleasant, then
Behold the law set forth by God and men,
Sit down and study that, that thou maiest know
The way to guide thy selfe, and others show.
Or if thou lov'st not to be shut up so,
Learne to assaile the deere with trusty bow,
That through the woods thy well-mouth'd hounds
may ring,
Whose eccho better joyes, than love, will sing.
There maiest thou chance to bring thy love to end,
Diana unto Venus is no friend.
The country will afford thee meanes enough;
Sometimes disdaine not to direct the plough;
To follow through the fields the bleating lambe,
That mournes to misse the comfort of his dam.
Assist the harvest, help to prune the trees
Graft, plant, and sow, no kind of labour leese.
Set nets for birds, with hook'd lines bait for fish,
Which will imploy thy mind and fill thy dish;
That being weary with these paines, at night
Sound sleeps may put the thoughts of love to flight.
With such delights, or labours, as are these,
Forget to love, and learne thy selfe to please.
But chiefly learne this lesson, for my sake,
Fly from her far, some journey undertake;
I know thou'lt grieve, and that her name once told,
Will be enough thy journey to with-hold:
But when thou find'st thy selfe most bent to stay,
Compell thy feet to run with thee away,
Nor do thou wish that raine or stormy weather
May stay your steps, and bring you back together;
Count not the miles you passe, nor doubt the way,
Lest those respects should turne you back to stay,
Tell not the clock, nor look not once behind,
But flie like lightning, or the northerne wind;
For where we are too much o'rematcht in might,
There is no way for safeguard, but by flight.
But some will count my lines too hard and bitter,
I must confesse them hard; but yet 'tis better
To fast a while that health may be provok'd,
Than feed at plenteous tables and be choak'd.
To cure the wretched body, I am sure,
Both fire and steele thou gladly wilt endure:
Wilt thou not then take paines by any art
To cure thy mind, which is thy better part?
The hardnesse is at first, and that once past,
Pleasant and casie waies will come at last.
I do not bid thee strive with witches' charmes,
Or such unholy acts, to cease thy harms:
Ceres her selfe, who all these things did know,
Had never power to cure her own love so:
No, take this medicine, (which of all is sure)
Labour and absence is the only cure.
But if the Fates compell thee, in such fashion,
That thou must needs live neere her habitation,
And canst not flie her sight, learne here of me,
That thou would'st faine, and canst not yet be
Set all thy mistris' faults before thine eyes,
And all thy own disgraces well advise ;
Say to thy selfe, that "she is covetous,
Hath ta'ne my gifts, and us'd me thus, and thus;
Thus hath she sworne to me, and thus deceived;
Thus have I hope, and thus have been bereaved.
With love she feeds my rivall, while I starve,
And poures on him kisses, which I deserve:
She follows him with smiles, and gives to me
Sad looks, no lover's, but a stranger's fee.
All those embraces I so oft desired,
To him she offers daily unrequired,
Whose whole desert, and halfe mine, weigh'd to-
Would make mine lead, and his seem corke and
feather."
Then let her go, and since she proves so hard,
Regard thy selfe, and give her no regard.
Thus must thou schoole thy selfe, and I could wish
Thee to thy selfe most eloquent in this.
But put on griefe enough, and do not feare,
Griefe will enforce thy eloquence t' appeare.
Thus I my selfe the love did once expell
Of one whose coynesse vex'd my soule like Hell.
I must confesse she touch'd me to the quick,
And I, that am physitian, then was sick.
But this I found to profit, I did still
Ruminate what I thought in her was ill;
And, for to cure my selfe, I found a way,
Some honest slanders on her for to lay:
Quoth I, "How lamely doth my mistris go!"
(Although, I must confesse, it was not so ;)
I said, her armes were crooked, fingers bent,
Her shoulders bow'd, her legs consum'd and spent:
Her colour sad, her neck as darke as night,
(When Venus might in all have ta'ne delight,)
But yet because I would no more come nigh her,
My selfe unto my selfe did thus belye her.
Do thou the like, and though she faire appeare,
Thinke, vice to vertue often comes too neere;
And in that errour (though it be an errour)
Preserve thy selfe from any further terrour.
If she be round and plumpe, say shee's too fat;
If brown, say black, and think who cares for that;
If she be slender, sweare she is too leane,
That such a wench will weare a man out cleane,
If she be red, say, shee's too full of bloud;
If pale, her body nor her mind is good;
If wanton, say, she seeks thee to devoure;
If grave, neglect her, say, she looks too sowre.
Nay, if she have a fault, and thou dost know it,
Praise it, that in thy presence she may show it:
As if her voice be bad, crack'd in the ring,
Never give over till thou make her sing,
If she have any blemish in her foot,
Commend her dancing still, and put her to't.
If she be rude in speech, incite ber talke;
If haulting lame, provoke her much to walke.
Or if on instruments she have small skill,
Reach down a viall, urge her to that still.
Take any way to ease thy own distresse,
And when thine is at ease, cause hers to smart.
If thy love's rivall stick so neere thy side,
Thinke, women can copartners worse abide.
For though thy mistris never meane to love thee,
Yet from the other's love she'l strive to move thee:
But let her strive, she oft hath vex'd thy heart,
Suffer her now to beare her selfe a part.
And though thy bowels burne like Ætna's fire,
Seeme colder far than ice, or her desire;
Faigne thy selfe free, and sigh not over much,
But laugh aloud when griefe thy heart doth touch.
And think those faults be, which are nothing lesse; I do not bid thee breake through fire and fiame,
Then meditate besides, what thing it is
That makes thee still in love to go amisse.
Advise thee well, for as the world now goes
Men are not caught with substance, but with
shows;
Women are in their bodies turn'd to French,
That face and body's least part of a wench.
I know a woman hath in love been troubled
For that which taylors make, a fine neat doublet.
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