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You that think Love can convey,
No other way
eyes, into the heart
His fatal dart,
casements, and but hear
This Syren sing,
And on the wing
Of her sweet voice it shall appear
That Love can enter at the ear:
But through the
Close up those
Then unveil your eyes, behold
The curious mould
Where that voice dwells; and as we know,
When the cocks crow,
We freely may
Gaze on the day;
So may you, when the music's done,
Awake, and see the rising Sun.
TO ONE THAT DESIRED TO KNOW MY MISTRESS.
SEEK not to know my love, for she
Hath vow'd her constant faith to me;
Her mild aspects are mine, and thou
Shalt only find a stormy brow:
For, if her beauty stir desire
In me, her kisses quench the fire;
Or, I can to Love's fountain go,
Or dwell upon her ills of snow:
But when thou burn'st, she shall not spare
One gentle breath to cool the air;
Thou shalt not climb those alps, nor spy
Where the sweet springs of Venus lie.
Search hidden nature, and there find
A treasure to enrich thy mind;
Discover arts not yet reveal'd,
But let my mistress live conceal'd;
Though men by knowledge wiser grow,
Yet here 'tis wisdom not to know.
TO MY RIVAL.
HENCE, vain intruder! hast away,
Wash not with unhallowed brine
The footsteps of my Celia's shrine;
Nor on her purer altars lay
Thy empty words, accents that may
Some looser dame to love incline:
She must have offerings more divine;
Such pearly drops, as youthful May
Scatters before the rising day;
Such smooth soft language, as each line Might stroake1 an angry god, or stay
Jove's thunder, make the hearers pine With envy do this, thou shalt be Servant to her, rival with me.
1 An ancient phrase for pacify.
BOLDNESS IN LOVE.
MARK how the bashful morn in vain
Courts the amorous marigold
With sighing blasts and weeping rain;
Yet she refuses to unfold:
But when the planet of the day
Approacheth with his powerful ray,
Then she spreads, then she receives
His warmer beams into her virgin leaves'.
So shalt thou thrive in love, fond boy;
If thy tears and sighs discover
Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy
The just reward of a bold lover: But when with moving accents thou Shalt constant faith and service vow, Thy Celia shall receive those charms With open ears, and with unfolded arms.
PARTING, CELIA WEEPS.
WEEP not, my dear, for I shall go
Loaden enough with my own woe:
Add not thy heaviness to mine;
Since fate our pleasures must disjoin,
Why should our sorrows meet? If I
Must go, and lose thy company,
I wish not theirs; it shall relieve
My grief, to think thou dost not grieve.
Yet grieve and weep, that I may bear
Every sigh and every tear
Away with me; so shall thy breast
And eyes, discharg'd, enjoy their rest:
And it will glad my heart, to see
Thou wert thus loth to part with me.
ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS'.
THE lady Mary Villiers lies
Under this stone: with weeping eyes
The parents that first gave her breath,
And their sad friends, laid her in earth.
If any of them, reader, were
Known unto thee, shed a tear:
Or if thyself possess a gem,
As dear to thee as this to them;
Though a stranger to this place,
Bewail in their's thine own hard case;
For thou perhaps at thy return
Mayst find thy darling in an urn.
'Daughter of George Villiers duke of Buckingham.
THE purest soul that e'er was sent
Into a clayey tenement
Inform'd this dust; but the weak mould
Could the great guest no longer hold;
The substance was too pure; the flame
Too glorious that thither came:
Ten thousand Cupids brought along
A grace on each wing, that did throng
For place there till they all opprest
The seat in which they sought to rest;
So the fair model broke, for want
Of room to lodge th' inhabitant.
THIS little vault, this narrow room,
Of love and beauty is the tomb :
The dawning beam, that 'gan to clear
Our clouded sky, lies darken'd here,
For ever set to us, by death
Sent to inflame the world beneath '.
'Twas but a bud, yet did contain
More sweetness than shall spring again;
A budding star that might have grown
Into a sun, when it had blown.
This hopeful beauty did create
New life in Love's declining state;
But now his empire ends, and we
From fire and wounding darts are free:
His brand, his bow, let no man fear;
The flames, the arrows, all lie here.
ON THE LADY S. WIFE TO SIR W. S.
THE harmony of colours, features, grace,
Resulting airs (the magic of a face)
Of musical sweet tunes, all which combin'd
To crown one sovereign beauty, lie confin'd
To this dark vault: she was a cabinet
Where all the choicest stones of price were set;
Whose native colours and pure lustre lent
Her eye, cheek, lip, a dazzling ornament;
Whose rare and hidden virtues did express
Her inward beauties and mind's fairer dress;
The constant diamond, the wise chrysolite,
The devout sapphire, em'rald apt to write
Records of mem'ry, cheerful agate, grave
And serious onyx, topaz that doth save
The brain's calm temper, witty amethyst;
This precious quarry, or what else the list
On Aaron's ephod planted had, she wore:
One only pearl was wanting to her store;
Which in her Saviour's book she found exprest;
To purchase that, she sold Death all the rest.
Politeness, as well as charity, must incline us to believe, that the bard alludes in this expression to the heathen mythology, and that by the words "world beneath" he means the Elysium of the ancients.
THOME COMITIS CLEVELAND FILIA
GENITA, VIRGINIAM ANIMAM EXHALAVIT. AN.
AND here the precious dust is laid, Whose purely tempered clay was made So fine that it the guest betray'd.
Else the soul grew so fast within, It broke the outward shel! of sin, And so was hatch'd a cherubin.
In height it soar'd to God above,
In depth it did to knowledge move,
And spread in breadth to gen'ral love.
Before, a pious duty shin'd
To parents; courtesy, behind;
On either side an equal mind.
Good to the poor, to kindred dear, To servants kind, to friendship clear, To nothing but herself severe.
So, though a virgin, yet a bride
To every grace, she justify'd
A chaste polygamy, and dy'd.
Learn from hence (reader) what small trust We owe this world, where Virtue must, Frail as our flesh, crumble to dust.
ON THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM2.
BEATISSIMIS MANIBUS CHARISSIMI VIRI ILLMA
WHEN, in the brazen leaves of fame,
The life the death of Buckingham
Shall be recorded, if Truth's hand
Incise the story of our land,
Posterity shall see a fair
Structure, by the studious care
Of two kings raised, that no less
Their wisdom than their pow'r express;
By blinded zeal (whose doubtful light
Made Murder's scarlet robe seem white,
Whose vain-deluding phantasms charm'd
A clouded sullen soul, and arm'd
A desperate hand thirsty of blood)
Torn from the fair earth where it stood;
So the majestic fabric fell.
His actions let our annals tell;
'She was the eldest daughter of sir Thomas Wentworth, who was afterwards raised to the title of Cleveland, and to several important dignities in the state, by the interest of archbishop Laud.
2 This was George Villiers, the first duke of Buckingham, who was introduced to the court of James I. as his favourite; and afterwards, in the reign of Charles I. ascended to the highest dignities. He was the admiration and terrour of his time.