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Though laded, to put forth upon the stage,
Affrighted by the critics of this age.
It is a party numerous, watchful, bold;
They can from nought, which sails in sight, with-
hold;

Nor do their cheap, though mortal, thunder spare;
They shoot, alas! with wind-guns charg'd with air.
But yet, gentlemen-critics of Argier,
For your own interest I'd advise ye here,
To let this little forlorn-hope go by

Safe and untouch'd. "That must not be" (you'll cry.)

If ye be wise, it must; I'll tell you why.
There are seven, eight, nine-stay-there are
behind

Ten plays at least, which wait but for a wind,
And the glad news that we the enemy miss;
And those are all your own, if you spare this.
Some are but new trimm'd up, others quite new ;
Some by known shipwrights built, and others too
By that great author made, whoe'er he be,
That styles himself" Person of Quality.”

All these, if we miscarry here to-day,
Will rather till they rot in th', harbour stay;
Nay, they will back again, though they were come
Ev'n to their last safe road, the tyring-room.
Therefore again I say, if you be wise,
Let this for once pass free; let it suffice
That we, your sovereign power here to avow,
Thus humbly, ere we pass, strike sail to you.

ADDED AT court.

STAY, gentlemen: what I have said was all
But forc'd submission, which I now recall.
Ye 're all but pirates now again; for here
Does the true sovereign of the seas appear,
The sovereign of these narrow seas of wit;
'Tis his own Thames; he knows and governs it.
'Tis his dominion and domain: as he
Pleases, 'tis either shut to us, or free.
Not only, if his passport we obtain,
We fear no little rovers of the main;
But, if our Neptune his calm visage show,
No wave shall dare to rise or wind to blow.

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THE REQUEST.

PAVE often wish'd to love; what shall I do?
Me still the cruel boy does spare;
And I a double task must bear,
First to woo him, and then a mistress too.
Come at last and strike, for shame,
If thou art any thing besides a name;
I'll think thee else no god to be,

But poets rather gods, who first created thee.
I ask not one in whom all beauties grow;
Let me but love, whate'er she be,
She cannot seem deform'd to me,
And I would have her seem to others so.
Desire takes wings and straight does fly,

It stays not dully to inquire the why.
That happy thing, a lover, grown,

Virg.

Th' excess of heat is but a fable; We know the torrid zone is now found habitable. Among the woods and forests thou art found, There boars and lions thou dost tame; Is not my heart a nobler game? Let Venus, men; and beasts, Diana, wound! Thou dost the birds thy subjects make; Thy nimble feathers do their wings o'ertake:

Thou all the spring their songs dost hear; Make me love too, I'll sing to thee all the year ! What service can mute fishes do to thee? Yet against them thy dart prevails, Piercing the armour of their scales; And still thy sea-born mother lives i' th' sea. Dost thou deny only to me

The no great privilege of captivity?

I beg or challenge here thy bow;

I shall not see with others' eyes, scarce with Either thy pity to me, or else thine anger, show.

mine own.

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Come! or I'll teach the world to scorn that bow

I'll teach them thousand wholesome arts

Both to resist and cure thy darts,

More than thy skilful Ovid e'er did know.
Music of sighs thou shalt not hear,

Nor drink one wretched lover's tasteful tear :
Nay, unless soon thou woundest me,

My verses shall not only wound, but murder,theez

THE THRALDOM.

I CAME, I saw, and was undone;
Lightning did through my bones and marrow rung
A pointed pain pierc'd deep my heart;
A swift cold trembling seiz'd on every part;
My head turn'd round, nor could it bear
The poison that was enter'd there.

So a destroying-angel's breath
Blows in the plague, and with it hasty death:
Such was the pain, did so begin,
To the poor wretch, when Legion enter'd in.
"Forgive me, God!" I cry'd; for I
Flatter'd myself I was to die.

But quickly to my cost I found, 'Twas cruel Love, not Death, had made the wound; 'Death a more generous rage does use; Quarter to all he conquers does refuse:

Whilst Love with barbarous mercy saves
The vanquish'd lives, to make them slaves.

I am thy slave then; let me know,
Hard master! the great task I have to do:
Who pride and scorn do undergo,

In tempests and rough seas thy galleys row;
They pant, and groan, and sigh; but find
Their sighs increase the angry wind.
Like an Egyptian tyrant, some
Thou weariest out in building but a tomb;
Others, with sad and tedious art,
Labour i' th' quarries of a stony heart:
Of all the works thou dost assign,
To all the several slaves of thine,
Employ me, mighty Love! to dig the mine.

THE GIVEN LOVE.
I'LL on; for what should hinder me
From loving and enjoying thee?
Thou canst not those exceptions make,
Which vulgar, sordid mortals take,
That my fate's too mean and low;
'Twere pity I should love thee so,
If that dull cause could hinder me
In loving and enjoying thee.

It does not me a whit displease,
That the rich all honours seize;
That you all titles make your own,
Are valiant, learned, wise, alone:
But, if you claim o'er women too
The power which over men ye do;
If you alone must lovers be;

For that, sirs, you must pardon me.
Rather than lose what does so near
Concern my life and being here,
I'll some such crooked ways invent,
As you, or your forefathers, went:
I'll flatter or oppose the king,
Turn Puritan, or any thing;
I'll force my mind to arts so new:
Grow rich, and love as well as you.

But rather thus let me remain,
As man in Paradise did reign;
When perfect love did so agree
With innocence and poverty,
Adam did no jointure give;
Himself was jointure to his Eve:
Untouch'd with avarice yet, or pride,
The rib came freely back t' his side.
A curse upon the man who taught
Women, that love was to be bought;
Rather doat only on your gold,
And that with greedy avarice hold;
For, if woman too submit
*To that, and sell herself for it,

Fond lover! you a mistress have
Of her that's but your fellow-slave.
What should those poets mean of old,
That made their god to woo in gold?
Of all men, sure, they had no cause
To bind Love to such costly laws;
And yet I scarcely blame them now;
For who, alas! would not allow,
That women should such gifts receive,
Could they, as he, be what they give.

If thou, my dear, thyself shouldst prize,
Alas! what value would suffice?
The Spaniard could not do 't, though he
Should to both Indies jointure thee.
Thy beauties therefore wrong will take,
If thou shouldst any bargain make;
To give all, will befit thee well;
But not at under-rates to sell.
Bestow thy beauty then on me,
Freely, as Nature gave 't to thee;
'Tis an exploded popish thought
To think that Heaven may be bought.
Prayers, hymns, and praises, are the way,
And those my thankful Muse shall pay:
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.
So faithfully will I declare
What all thy wondrous beauties are,
That when, at the last great assize,
All women shall together rise,

Men straight shall cast their eyes on thee,
And know at first that thou art she.

THE SPRING.

THOUGH you be absent here, I needs must say
The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay,
As ever they were wont to be;
Nay, the birds' rural music too
Is as melodious and free,

As if they sung to pleasure you:

I saw a rose-bud ope this morn-I 'll swear
The blushing Morning open'd not more fair.
How could it be so fair, and you away?

How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay?
Could they remember but last year,
How you did them, they you, delight,
The sprouting leaves which saw you here,
And call'd their fellows to the sight,
Would, looking round for the same sight in vain,
Creep back into their silent barks again.
Where'er you walk'd, trees were as reverend

made,

As when of old gods dwelt in every shade.
Is 't possible they should not know,
What loss of honour th y sustain
That thus they smile and flourish now,
And still their former pride retain ?
Dull creatures! 'tis not without cause that she,
Who fled the god of wit, was made a tree.
In ancient times, sure, they much wiser were,
When they rejoic'd the Thracian verse to hear;
In vain did Nature bid them stay,
When Orpheus had his song begun
They call'd their wondering roots away,
And bade them silent to him run,

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

you!

You would have drawn them and their poet too.

But who can blame them now? for, since you're
gone,

They're here the only fair, and shine alone;
You did their natural rights invade;
Wherever you did walk or sit,

The thickest boughs could make no shade,
Although the Sun had granted it:

The fairest flowers could please no more, near

you,

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

hene'er then you come hither, that shall be he time, which this to others is, to me. The little joys which here are now, The name of punishments do bear; When by their sight they let us know How we depriv'd of greater are: 'Tis you the best of seasons with you bring; This is for beasts, and that for men, the Spring.

WRITTEN IN

JUICE OF LEMON.

WHILST what I write I do not see,
I dare thus, ev'n to you, write poetry.
Ab, foolish Muse! which dost so high aspire,
And know'st her judgment well,

How much it does thy power excel,
Yet dar'st be read by, thy just doom, the fire.

Alas! thou think'st thyself secure, Because thy form is innocent and pure: Like hypocrites, which seem unspotted here; But, when they sadly come to die, And the last fire their truth must try, Scrawl'd o'er like thee, and blotted, they appear. Go then, but reverently go,

And, since thou needs must sin, confess it too:
Confess 't, and with humility clothe thy shame;
For thou, who else must burned be
An herctic, if she pardon thee,
May'st, like a martyr, then enjoy the flame.

But, if her wisdom grow severe,
And suffer not her goodness to be there;
If her large mercies cruelly it restrain;
Be not discourag'd, but require
A more gentle ordeal fire,

And bid her by Love's flames read it again,

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Strange power of heat! thou yet dost show
Like winter-earth, naked, or cloath'd with snow:
But as, the quickening Sun approaching near,
The plants arise up by degrees;
A sudden paint adorns the trees,
And all kind Nature's characters appear:

So, nothing yet in thee is seen;

But, when a genial heat warms thee within,
A new-born wood of various lines there grows;
Here buds an A, and there a B,
Here sprouts a V, and there a T,
And all the flourishing letters stand in rows.

Still, silly Paper! thou wilt think,
That all this might as well be writ with ink:

Thou now may'st change thy author's name, And to her hand lay noble claim;

For, as she reads, she makes, the words in thee.
Yet, if thine own unworthiness

Will still that thou art mine, not her's, confess,
Consume thyself with fire before her eyes,
And so her grace or pity move:

The gods, though beasts they do not love, Yet like them when they 're burnt in sacrifice.

INCONSTANCY.

FIVE years ago (says story) I lov'd you,
For which you call me most inconstant now.
Pardon me, madam, you mistake the man,
For I am not the same that I was then;
No flesh is now the same 'twas then in me,
And that my mind is chang'd, yourself may see.
The same thoughts to retain still, and intents,
Were more inconstant far; for accidents
Must of all things most strangely inconstant
prove,

If from one subject they t' another move;
My members then the father members were,
From whence these take their birth which now
are here.

If then this body love what th' other did,
'Twere incest; which by Nature is forbid.
You might as well this day inconstant name,
Because the weather is not still the same
That it was yesterday-or blame the year,
'Cause the spring flowers, and autumn fruit, does
bear.

The world's a scene of changes; and to be
Constant, in Nature were inconstancy;
For 'twere to break the laws herself has made;
Our substances themselves do fleet and fade;
The most fix'd being still does move and fly,
Swift as the wings of Time 'tis measur'd by.
T'imagine then that love should never cease
(Love, which is but the ornament of these)
Were quite as senseless, as to wonder why
Beauty and colour stays not when we die.

NOT FAIR.

'Tis very true, I thought you once as fair As women in th' idea are;

Whatever here seems beauteous, seem'd to be But a faint metaphor of thee:

But then, methoughts, there something shin'd, within,

Which cast this lustre o'er thy skin;
Nor could I chuse but count it the Sun's light,.
Which made this cloud appear so bright.
But, since I knew thy falsehood and thy pride,
And all thy thousand faults beside,

A very Moor, methinks, plac'd near to thee,
White as his teeth would seem to be.
So men (they say) by Hell's delusions led,,
Have ta'en a succubus to their bed;
Believe it fair, and themselves happy call,
'Till the cleft foot discovers all :
Then they start from 't, half ghosts themselves
with fear;

And devil, as 'tis, it does appear.

4

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.

PLATONIC LOVE.

INDEED I must confess,

When souls mix 'tis an happiness; But not complete till bodies too combine, And closely as our minds together join: But half of Heaven the souls in glory taste, Till by love in Heaven, at last, Their bodies too are plac'd. In thy immortal part,

Man, as well as I, thou art;

But something 'tis that differs thee and me;
And we must one even in that difference be.
I thee, both as a man and woman, prize;
For a perfect love implies

Love in all capacities.

Can that for true love pass,

When a fair woman courts her glass?
Something unlike must in Love's likeness be;
His wonder is, one, and variety:

For he, whose soul nought but a soul can move,
Does a new Narcissus prove,

And his own image love.

That souls do beauty know,

'Tis to the bodies' help they owe;

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.
FAIREST thing that shines below,
Why in this robe dost thou appear?
Would'st thou a white most perfect show,
Thou must at all no garment wear:
Thou wilt seem much whiter so,

Than Winter when 'tis clad with snow.

'Tis not the linen shows so fair;

Her skin shines through, and makes it bright:
So clouds themselves like suns appear,
When the Sun pierces them with light:

So, lilies in a glass enclose,

The glass will seem as white as those.
Thou now one heap of beauty art;
Nought outwards, or within, is foul:
Condensed beams make every part;
Thy body's cloathed like thy soul;
Thy soul, which does itself display,
Like a star plac'd i' th' milky-way.
Such robes the saints departed wear,
Woven all with light divine;
Such their exalted bodies are,
And with such full glory shine:
But they regard not mortals' pain ;.
Men pray, I fear, to both in vain.

If, when they know 't, they straight abuse that Yet, seeing thee so gently pure,

trust,

And shut the body from 't, 'tis as unjust As if I brought my dearest friend to see My mistress, and at th' instant he Should steal her quite from me.

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 oh! 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 eyes,
Despair and paleness in my face appears,
And grief, and fear, Love's greatest enemies;

My hopes will needs continue still;
Thou would'st not take this garment, sure,
When thou hadst an intent to kill!
Of peace and yielding who would doubt,
When the white flag he sees hung out?

LEAVING ME, AND THEN LOVING
MANY.

So men, who once have 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 flee
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.

But as, when the Pellaan conqueror dy'd,',
Many small princes did his crown divide;
So, since my love his vanquish'd world forsook,
Murder'd by poisons from her falsehood took,
An hundred petty kings claim each their part,
And rend that glorious empire of her heart.

MY HEART DISCOVERED.

HER body is so gently bright,
Clear and transparent to the sight,
(Clear as fair crystal to the view,
Yet soft as that, ere stone it grew)
That through her flesh, methinks, is seen
The brighter soul that dwells within:
Our eyes the subtile covering pass,
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;
I see light in 't, but find no heat.
Within, like angels in the sky,
A thousand gilded thoughts do fly;
Thoughts of bright and noblest kind,
Fair and chaste as mother-mind.
But oh! what other heart is there,
Which sighs and crouds to her's so near?
Tis all ou flame, and does, like fire,
To that, as to its Heaven, aspire!
The wounds are many in 't and deep;
Still does it bleed, and still does weep!
Whose-ever wretched heart it be,
I cannot choose but grieve to see:
What pity in my breast does reign!
Methinks I feel too all its pain.
So torn, and so defac'd, it lies,

That it could ne'er be known by th' eyes;
But oh! at last I heard it groan,

And knew by th' voice that 'twas mine own.
So poor Alcione, when she saw

A shipwreck'd body tow'rds her draw,
Beat by the waves, let fall a tear,
Which only then did pity wear:

But, when the corpse on shore were cast,
Which she her husband found at last,
What should the wretched widow do?
Grief chang'd her straight; away she flew,
Turn'd to a bird: and so at last shall I
Both from my murder'd heart and murderer fly.

ANSWER TO THE PLATONICS.

So angels love; so let them love for me;
When I'm all soul, such shall my love too be:
Who nothing here but like a spirit would do,
In a short time, believe 't, will be one too.
But, shall our love do what in beasts we see?
Ev'n beasts eat too, but not so well as we:
And you as justly night in thirst refuse
The use of wine, because beasts water use:
They taste those pleasures as they do their food;
Undress'd they take 't, devour it raw and crude:
But to us men, Love cooks it at his fire,
And adds the poignant sauce of sharp desire.
Beasts do the same: 'tis true; but ancient Fame
Says, gods themselves turn'd beasts to do the

same.

The Thunderer, who, without the female bed,
Could goddesses bring-forth from out his head,
Chose rather mortals this way to create;
So much h' esteem'd his pleasure 'bove his state.
Ye talk of fires which shine, but never burn;
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.
The Sun does his pure fires on Earth bestow
With nuptial warmth, to bring-forth things be-
low;

Such is Love's noblest and divinest heat,
That warms like his, and does, like his, beget.
Lust you call this; a name to yours more just,
If an inordinate desire be lust:

Pygmalion, loving what none can enjoy,
More lustful was, than the hot youth of Troy.

THE VAIN LOVE.

LOVING ONE FIRST BECAUSE SHE COULD LOVE NO-
BODY, AFTERWARDS LOVING HER WITH DESIRE

WHAT new found witchcraft was in thee,
With thine own cold to kindle me?
Strange art! like him that should devise
To make a burning-glass of ice :
When Winter so, the plants would harm,
Her snow itself does keep them warm.
Fool that I was! who, having found
A rich and sunny diamond,
Admir'd the hardness of the stone,
But not the light with which it shone.
Your brave and haughty scorn of all
Was stately and monarchical;
All gentleness, with that esteem'd,
A dull and slavish virtue seem'd;
Should'st thou have yielded then to me,
Thou 'dst lost what I most lov'd in thee;
For who would serve one, whom he sees
That he can conquer if he please?
It far'd with me, as if a slave
In triumph led, that does perceive
With what a gay majestic pride
His conqueror through the streets does ride,
Should be contented with his woe,
Which makes up such a comely show.
I sought not from thee a return,
But without hopes or fears did burn;
My covetous passion did approve
The hoarding-up, not use, of love.
My love a kind of dream was grown,
A foolish, but a pleasant one:
From which I'm waken'd now; but, oh
Prisoners to die are waken'd so;
For now th' effects of loving are
Nothing but longings, with despair:
Despair, whose torments no men, sure,
But lovers and the damn'd, endure.
Her scorn I doated once upon,
Ill object for affection;
But since, alas! too much 'tis prov'd,
That yet 'twas something that I lov'd;
Now my desires are worse, and fly
At an impossibility:

Desires which, whilst so high they soar,
Are proud as that I lov'd before,

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