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See, she pants, and from her fesh
With his honour and his name The warm blond gusheth out afresh.
That defends our flocks from blame. She is an unpolluted maid;
He is great, and he is just, I must have this bleeding staid.
He is ever good, and must From my banks I pluck this flow'r
Thus be honour'd. Daffodillies, With holy hand, whose virtuous pow'r
Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, Is at once to heal and draw.
Let us fling, The blood returns. I never saw
Whilst we sing, A fairer mortal. Now doth break
Thus great Pan is ever sung,
God. Fear not him that succour'd thee :
FROM THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY.
Fly hence, shadows, that do keep
Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep! Wheeling still on ev'ry side,
Though the eyes be overtaken, Sometimes winding round about,
Yet the heart doth ever waken To find the even'st channel out.
Thoughts, chain'd up in busy snares
Of continual woes and cares :
Loves and griefs are so express'd,
As they rather sigh than rest. Free from harm as well as I:
Fly hence, shadows, that do keep
Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep.
FROM THE BROKEN HEART.
Oh, no more, no more! too late
Sighs are spent; the burning tapers
Of a life as chaste as fate, Orient pearl fit for a queen,
Pure as are unwritten papers, Will I give, thy love to win,
Are burnt out: no heat, no light,
Now remains ; 'tis ever night.
Love is dead; let lovers' eyes,
Lock'd in endless dreams, And from thy white hand take a fly.
Th'extremes of all extremes, And to make thee understand
Ope no more, for now love dies, How I can my waves command,
Now love dies, implying They shall bubble whilst I sing,
Love's martyrs must be ever, ever dying. Sweeter than the silver string.
Do not fear to put thy feet
FROM ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE.
All ye woods, and trees, and bow'rs,
Move your feet
To our sound,
All this ground,
As E All
Ha' you felt the wool of beaver ?
Or swan's down ever? Or have smelt o'the bud o' the briar?
Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she !
What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
Oh do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing : Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being. O be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me ; Nor look too kind on my desires,
For then my hopes will spill me. O do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me ; Nor spread them as distract with fears;
Mine own enough betray me.
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
And I'll not look for wine.
Doth ask a drink divine :
I would not change for thine.
Not so much honouring thee,
It could not withered be.
And sent'st it back to me :
Not of itself, but thee.
HYMN TO DIANA, IN CYNTHIA'S REVELS.
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.
Bless us then with wished sight,
Goddess excellently bright.
Thou that mak’st a day of night,
FROM A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS.
SONG IN THE SAME.
See the chariot at hand here of Love,
Wherein my lady rideth!
And well the car Love guideth.
Unto her beauty, And enamour'd, do wish so they might
But enjoy such a sight, That they still were to run by her side, (ride. Thorough swords, thorough seas, whither she would Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that Love's world compriseth !
As Love's star when it riseth !
Than words that soothe her!
Sheds itself through the face,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt
Yet slower, yet, О faintly, gentle springs !(tears;
Droop herbs and flowers;
O could I still
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID, IN THE MASQUE ON
LORD AADDINGTON'S MARRIAGE.
Call'd love, a little boy,
If he be amongst ye, say;
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Sleep, silence child, sweet father of soft rest,
Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings
Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings,
Sole comforter of minds which are opprest;
Lo by thy charming rod all breathing things
Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possest,
And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings
Thou spar'st (alas !) who cannot be thy guest.
Since I am thine, O come, but with that face
To inward light which thou art wont to show,
With fained solace ease a true-felt woe;
Or if, deaf god, thou do deny tbat grace,
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath:
I long to kiss the image of my death.
Fair moon, who with thy cold and silver shine
Makes sweet the horror of the dreadful night,
Delighting the weak eye with smiles divise,
Which Phæbus dazzles with his too much light;
Bright queen of the first heaven, if in thy shrine
By turning oft, and heaven's eternal might,
Thou hast not yet that once sweet fire of thine
Endymion, forgot, and lover's plight:
If cause like thine may pity breed in thee,
And pity somewhat else to it obtain,
Since thou hast power of dreams as well as he
Who paints strange figures in the slumb'ring brain :
Now while she sleeps in doleful guise her show
These tears, and the black map of all my woe.
Dear quirister, who from those shadows sends,
Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light,
Such sad lamenting strains, that night attends,
(Become all ear), stars stay to hear thy plight;
If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends, Nought but wounds his hand doth season,
Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delight, And he hates none like to Reason.
May thee importune who like case pretends,
And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despight: Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, Seldom with his heart do meet.
And long long sing) for what thou thus complaius, All his practice is deceit;
Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky Every gift it is a bait;
Enamour'd smiles on woods and flow'ry plains? Not a kiss but poison bears ;
The bird, as if my question did her move,
With trembling wings sigh'd forth, I love, I love.
Alexis, here she stay'd among these pines ;
Sweet hermitress she did alone repair: And would have ye think 'em joys:
Here did she spread the treasure of her hair
, 'Tis th' ambition of the elf
More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines. To have all childish as himself.
Here sat she by those musket eglantines,
The happy flow'rs seem yet the print to bear, If by these ye please to know him,
Her voice did sweeten here my sugar'd lines, Beauties, be not pice, but show him,
To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend an ear. 'Though ye had a will to hide him,
She here me first perceiv'd, and here a morn
Of bright carnations did o'erspread her face :
Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were borin,
But ah! what serves't l'have been made happy so,
My lute, be as thou wert when thou did grow
But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear, 22,27Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear,
For which be silent as in woods before :
Or if that any hand to touch thee deign,
Shall I like an hermit dwell, On a rock, or in a cell Calling home the smallest part That is missing of my heart, To bestow it where I may Meet a rival every day? If she undervalues me, What care I how fair she be?
ess Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours,
Of winters past or coming void of care, var det Well pleased with delights which present are,
Fair seasons, budding sprays,sweet-smelling flow'rs: iesak To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leavy bow'rs UN: Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
Tel.: And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
Were her tresses angel-gold; If a stranger may be bold, Unrebuked, unafraid, To convert them to a braid, And, with little more a-do, Work them into bracelets too : If the mine be grown so free, What care I bow rich it be? Were her hands as rich a prize, As her hairs, or precious eyes ; If she lay them out to take Kisses for good-manner's sake, And let every lover skip From her hand unto her lip: If she seem not chaste to me, What care I how chaste she be? No; she must be perfect snow, In effect as well as show, Warming but as show-balls do, Not like fire by burning too: But when she, by change, hath got To her heart a second lot; Then, if others share with me, Farewell her, whate'er she be !
THE PASSIONATE SREPHERD,
Come live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountaivs yield. There will we sit upon the rocks, And see the shepherds feed their flocks; By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses, With a thousand fragrant posies; А cap of flowers, and a kirtle, Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle; A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Slippers lin’d choicely for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Then live with me, and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, For thy delight, each May morning : If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me, and be my love.
A VISION UPON THE CONCEIT OF THE FAERY QUEEN.
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.
There is no armour against fate;
SONG, TO LUCASTA.-ON GOING TO THE WARS.
Tell me not, sweet, I am unkinde,
That from the nunnerie
Of thy chaste breast and quiet minde,
To warre and armes I flee. With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
True ; a new mistresse now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith imbrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore ;
I could not love thee, deare, so much, When they, pale captives, creep to death.
Lov'd I not hononr more.
Since thine I vow'd to be?
Lady, it is already morn;
It was last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility.
Yet have I lov'd thee well, and long;
A tedious twelve hours space!
And rob thee of a new embrace,
Did I still doat upon that face.
When Love, with unconfined wings,
Hovers within my gates; And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates ; When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd with her eye,
Know no such liberty.
With no allaying Thames,
Our hearts with loyal flames ;
When healths and draughts go free; Fishes, that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty. When linnet-like confined, I
With shriller note shall sing,
And glories of my king:
He is, how great should be,
Know no such liberty.
Nor iron bars a cage,
That for a hermitage.
And in my soul am free,
Enjoy such liberty.
Amarantha, sweet and fair,
THE ABSTRACT OF MELANCHOLY.
[Prefixed to " the Anatomy of Melancholy.)
All my joys to this are folly,
Nought so sweet as Melancholy.