Collection of Poems, Elegy

Collection of Poems · Elegy

An Elegiacall Epiſtle of Fidelia, to her vnconſtant Friend.

THE ARGVMENT.

This Elegiacall Epiſtle, being a fragment of ſome greater Poeme, diſcouers the modeſt affections of a diſcreet and conſtant Woman, ſhadowed vnderunder the name of Fidelia; wherein you may perceiue the height of their Paſſions, ſo farre as they ſeeme to agree with reaſon, and keepe within ſuch decent bounds as beſeemeth their Sex, but further it meddles not. The occaſion ſeemes to proceed from ſome mutability in her friend, whoſe obiections ſhee heere preſuppoſing, confuteth, and in the perſon of him iuſtly vpbraideth all that are ſubiect to the like change, or ſickleneſſe in minde. Among the reſt, ſome more weightie Arguments then are (perhaps) expected in ſuch a ſubiect, are briefly, and yet ſomewhat ſeriouſly handled.

OFt I hauehave heard tel, and now for truth I finde,

Once out of ſight, and quickly out of minde.

And that it hath been rightly ſaid of old,

LoueLove that's ſoon'ſt hot, is euer ſooneſt cold.

Or elſe my teares at this time had not ſtain'd

The ſpotleſſe paper, nor my lines complain'd.

I had not now, been forced to hauehave ſent

Theſe lines for Nuncio's of my diſcontent;

Nor thus, exchanged, ſo vnhappily,

My ſongs of Mirth, to write an Elegie.

But, now I muſt; and, ſince I muſt doe ſo,

Let mee but craue, thou wilt not flout my woe:

Nor entertaine my ſorrowes with a ſcoffe,

But, reade (at leaſt) before thou caſt them off.

And, though thy heart's too hard to hauehave compaſſion,

Oh blame not, if thou pitty not my Paſſion,

For well thou know'ſt (alas, that er'e 'twas knowne)

There was a time (although that time be gone)

I, that for this, ſcarce dare a beggar bee,

Preſum'd for more to hauehave commanded thee.

Yea, the Day was, (but ſee how things may change)

When thou, and I, hauehave not been halfe ſo ſtrange;

But oft embrac'd each other, gently greeting,

With ſuch kinde words, as Turtle, Doue, or Sweeting.

Yea, had thy meaning, and thoſe vowes of thine,

Prou'd but as faithfull, and as true as mine,

It ſtill had been ſo: for (I doe not faine)

I ſhould rejoyce it might be ſo againe.

But, ſith thy LoueLove growes cold, and thou vnkinde,

Be not diſpleas'd I ſomewhat breath my minde;

I am in hope, my words may proue a mirrour,

Whereon thou looking, may'ſt behold thine error.

And yet, the Heauen, and my ſad heart doth know,

How griu'd I am, and with what feeling woe

My minde is tortured, to thinke that I

Should be the brand of thy diſloyalty:

Or, liue to be the Author of a line

That ſhall be printed with a fault of thine;

(Since if that thou but ſlightly touched be,

Deepe wounds of griefe, and ſhame, it ſtrikes in me:)

And yet I muſt; ill hap compels me to

What I nere thought to hauehave had cauſe to do.

And therefore, ſeeing that ſome angry Fate

Impoſes on mee, what I ſo much hate:

Or, ſince it is ſo, that the Powers diuine

Mee (miſerable) to ſuch cares aſſigne;

Oh that Loues patron, or ſome ſacred Muſe,

Amongſt my Paſſions, would ſuch Art infuſe,

My well-fram'd words, and aiery ſighs might proue

The happy blaſts to re-inflame thy louelove.

Or, at leaſt, touch thee with thy fault ſo neere,

That thou might'ſt ſee thou wrong'ſt, who held thee deere:

Seeing, confeſſe the ſame, and ſo abhorre it,

Abhorring, pitty, and repent thee for it.

But (Deare) I hope that I may call thee ſo,

(For thou art deare to mee, although a foe)

Tell mee, is't true, that I doe heare of thee,

And, by thy abſence, true appeares to bee?

Can ſuch abuſe be in the Court of LoueLove,

Falſe and inconſtant now, thou Hee ſhould'ſt proue?

He, that ſo wofull, and ſo penſiue ſate,

Vowing his ſeruice at my feete of late?

Art thou that quondam louer, whoſe ſad eye

I ſeldome ſaw yet, in my preſence dry?

And from whoſe gentle-ſeeming tongue I know

So many pitty-mouing words could flow?

Was't thou, ſo ſoughtſt my louelove, ſo ſeeking that

As if it had been all th'hadſt aymed at?

Making me think thy Paſſion without ſtaine,

And gently quite thee with my louelove againe?

With this perſwaſion I ſo fairely plac'd it,

Nor Time, nor Enuy, ſhould hauehave ere defac'd it?

Is't ſo? hauehave I done thus much? and art thou

So ouer-cloyed with my fauours now?

Art wearſed ſince with louing, and eſtranged

So far? Is thy affection ſo much changed,

That I of all my hopes muſt be deceyued,

And all good thoughts of thee be quite bereaued?

Then true I finde, which long before this day

I fear'd my ſelfe, and heard ſome wiſer ſay;

That there is nought on earth ſo ſweet, that can

Long reliſh with the curious taſte of Man.

Happy was I; yea, well it was with mee,

Before I came to be bewitch'd by thee.

I ioy'd the ſweet'ſt content that euer Maid

Poſſeſſed yet; and truely well-a-paid,

Made to my ſelfe (alone) as pleaſant mirth

As euer any Virgine did on earth.

The melody I vſ'd was free, and ſuch

As that Bird makes, whom neuer hand did touch;

But, vn-allur'd, (with Fowlers whiſtling) flies

Aboue the reach of humane treacheries.

And (well I doe remember) often then

Could I reade o're the pollicies of men;

Diſcouer what vncertainties they were;

How they would ſigh, looke ſad, proteſt, and ſweare;

Nay, faigne to die, when they did neuer proue

The ſlendreſt touch of a right-worthy louelove:

But had chil'd hearts, whoſe dulneſſe vnderſtood

No more of Paſſion, then they did of good.

All which I noted well, and in my minde

(A generall humour amongſt women-kinde)

This vow I made; (thinking to keepe it than)

That neuer the faire tongue of any man,

Nor his complaint, though neuer ſo much grieu'd,

Should moue my heart to liking whil'ſt I liu'd.

But, who can ſay, what ſhe ſhall liue to do?

I hauehave beleeu'd, and let in liking to,

And that ſo farre, I cannot yet ſee how

I may ſo much as hope, to helpe it now;

Which makes mee thinke, what e're we women ſay,

Another minde will come another day.

And that men may to things vnhop'd for clime,

Who watch but Opportunity and Time.

For 'tis well knowne, we were not made of clay,

Or ſuch courſe, and ill-temper'd ſtuffe as they.

For he that fram'd vsus of their fleſh, did daigne

When 'twas at beſt, to new refine't againe.

Which makes vsus euer ſince the kinder Creatures,

Of farre more flexible, and yeelding Natures.

And as wee oft excell in outward parts,

So wee hauehave nobler and more gentle hearts.

Which, you well knowing, daily doe deuiſe

How to imprint on them your Cruelties.

But doe I ſinde my cauſe thus bad indeed?

Or elſe on things imaginary feed?

Am I the laſſe that late ſo truly iolly,

Made my ſelfe merry oft, at others folly?

Am I the Nymph that Cupids fancies blam'd,

That was ſo cold, ſo hard to be inflam'd?

Am I my ſelfe? or is my ſelfe that Shee

Who from this Thraldome, or ſuch falſhoods free,

Late own'd mine owne heart, and full merry then,

Did fore-warne others to beware of Men?

And could not, hauing taught them what to doe,

Now learne my ſelfe, to take heede of you to?

Foole that I am, I feare my guerdon's iuſt,

In that I knew this, and preſum'd to truſt.

And yet (alas) for ought that I could tell,

One ſparke of goodneſſe in the world might dwell:

And then, I thought, If ſuch a thing might be,

Why might not that one ſparke remaine in thee?

For thy faire out-ſide, and thy fayrer tongue,

Did promiſe much, although thy yeares were young.

And Vertue (whereſoeuer ſhe be now)

Seem'd then, to ſit enthron'd vponupon thy brow.

Yea, ſure it was: but, whether 'twere or no,

Certaine I am, and was perſwaded ſo.

Which made me loth to thinke, that words of faſhion,

Could be ſo fram'd, ſo ouer-laid with Paſſion;

Or ſighes ſo feeling, fain'd from any breſt.

Nay, ſay thou hadſt been falſe in all the reſt;

Yet from thy eye, my heart ſuch notice tooke,

Me thought, guile could not faine ſo ſad a looke.

But now I'ue try'd, my bought experience knowes,

They oft are worſt that make the faireſt ſhowes.

And howſoe're men faine an outward grieuing,

'Tis neither worth reſpecting, nor belieuing:

For, ſhe that doth one to her mercy take,

Warmes in her boſome but a frozen ſnake:

Which heated with her fauours, gather ſence,

And ſtings her to the heart in recompence.

But tell me why, and for what ſecret ſpight

You in poore womens miſeries delight?

For ſo it ſeemes; elſe why d'yee labour for

That, which when 'tis obtained, you abhor?

Or to what end doe you endure ſuch paine

To win our louelove, and caſt it off againe?

Oh that we either your hard hearts could borrow,

Or elſe your ſtrengths, to helpe vsus beare our ſorrow:

But we are cauſe of all this griefe and ſhame,

And we hauehave none but our owne ſelues to blame:

For ſtill we ſee your falſhood for our learning.

Yet neuer can hauehave power to tak't for warning;

But (as if borne to be deluded by you)

We know you truſtleſſe, and yet ſtill we try you.

(Alas) what wrong was in my power to doe thee?

Or what deſpight hauehave I er'e done vntounto thee?

That thou ſhouldſt chuſe Me, aboue all the reſt,

To bethy ſcorne, and thus be made a ieſt?

Muſt mens il natures ſuch true villaines proue them,

To make thē wrong thoſe moſt that moſt do louelove them;

Couldſt thou finde none in Countrey, Towne or Court,

But onelyonly Me, to make thy Foole, thy ſport?

Thou knowſt I hauehave no wanton courſes runne,

Nor ſeemed eaſie vntounto lewdneſſe wonne.

And (though I cannot boaſt me of much wit,)

Thou ſaw'ſt no ſigne of fondneſſe in me yet.

Nor did ill nature euer ſo ore-ſway me,

To flout at any that did woe or pray me,

But grant I had been guilty of abuſage,

Of thee I'me ſure I ne're deſeru'd ſuch vſage.

But thou wert grieued to behold my ſmilings.

When I was free from louelove, and thy beguilings.

Or to what purpoſe elſe didſt thou beſtow

Thy time, and ſtudy to delude me ſo?

Haſt thou good parts? and doſt thou bend them all

To bring thoſe that ne're hated thee in thrall?

Prethee take heed, although thou yet inioy'ſt them

They'l be tooke from thee, if thou ſo imploy'ſt them.

For though I wiſh not the leaſt harme to thee,

I feare, the iuſt Heauens will reuenged be.

Oh! what of Mee by this time had become,

If my deſires with thine had hapt to rome,

Or I, vnwiſely, had conſented to

What (ſhameleſſe) once thou didſt attempt to doe?

I might hauehave falne, by thoſe immodeſt trickes,

Had not ſome power beene ſtronger then my Sex.

And if I ſhould hauehave ſo been drawne to folly,

I ſaw thee apt enough to be vnholy.

Or if my weakeneſſe had beene prone to ſinne,

I poorely by thy ſtrength had ſuccour'd bin.

You Men make vsus belieue you doe but try,

And that's your part, (you ſay) ours to deny.

Yet I much feare, if we through frailty ſtray,

There's few of you within your bounds will ſtay;

But, maugre all your ſeeming Vertue, be

As ready to forget your ſelues, as we.

I might hauehave fear'd thy part of louelove not ſtrong,

When thou didſt offer me ſo baſe a wrong:

And that I after loath'd thee not, did proue

In mee ſome extraordinary LoueLove.

For ſure had any other but in thought,

Preſum'd vnworthily what thou haſt ſought,

Might it appeare, I ſhould doe thus much for him,

With a ſcarce reconciled hate abhorre him.

My young experience neuer yet did know

Whether deſire might range ſo farre, or no,

To make true Louers careleſly requeſt,

What raſh enioyning makes them moſt vnbleſt,

Or blindly thorow frailty giuegive conſenting

To that, which done brings nothing but repenting.

But in my iudgement it doth rather proue

That they are fir'd with luſt, then warm'd with louelove.

And if it be for proofe men ſo proceed,

It ſhewes a doubt, elſe what doe tryals neede?

And where is that man liuing euer knew

That falſe diſtruſt, could be with louelove that's true?

Since the meere cauſe of that vnblam'd effect,

Such an opinion is, that hates ſuſpect.

And yet, thee and thy louelove I will excuſe,

If thou wilt neither me, nor mine abuſe.

For, Ile ſuppoſe thy paſſion made thee proffer

That vntounto me, thou to none elſe wouldſt offer,

And ſo, thinke thou, if I hauehave thee deni'd,

Whom I more lou'd then all men elſe beſide;

What hope hauehave they ſuch fauour to obtaine,

That neuer halfe ſo much reſpect could gaine?

Such was my louelove, that I did value thee

Aboue all things below eternity.

Nothing on Earth vntounto my heart was nearer

No Ioy ſo prized, nor no Iewell dearer.

Nay: I doe feare I did Idolatrize;

For which Heauens wrath inflicts theſe miſeries,

And makes the things which were for bleſſings lent,

To be renewers of my diſcontent.

Where was there any of the Naiades,

The Dryad's, or the Hamadryades?

Which of the Brittiſh ſhires can yeeld againe,

A miſtreſſe of the Springs, or Wood, or Plaine?

Whoſe eye enioy'd more ſweet contents then mine,

Till I receiu'd my ouerthrow by thine?

Where's ſhe did more delight in Springs and Rils?

Where's ſhe that walk'd more Groues, or Downs, or Hils?

Or could by ſuch faire artleſſe proſpect, more

Adde by conceit, to her contentments ſtore

Then I; whilſt thou wert true, and with thy Graces

Didſt giuegive a pleaſing preſence to thoſe places?

But now What is? What was hath ouerthrowne,

My Roſe deckt allies, now with Rue are ſtrowne;

And from thoſe flowers that honyed vſe to be,

I ſucke nought now but iuyce to poyſon mee.

For eu'n as ſhe, whoſe gentle ſpirit can raiſe,

To apprehend Loues noble myſteries,

Spying a precious Iewell richly ſet,

Shine in ſome corner of her Cabenet,

Taketh delight at firſt to gaze vponupon

The pretty luſtre of the ſparkling ſtone,

(And pleas'd in mind, by that doth ſeeme to ſee

How vertue ſhines through baſe obſcurity;)

But prying neerer, ſeeing it doth proue

Some relique of her deere deceaſed LoueLove,

Which to her ſad remembrance doth lay ope,

What ſhe moſt ſought, and ſees moſt far from hope:

Fainting almoſt beneath her Paſſions weight,

And quite forgetfull of her firſt conceit:

Looking vpon't againe, from thence ſhe borrowes

Sad melancholy thoughts to feed her ſorrowes.

So I beholding Natures curious bowers,

Seel'd, ſtrow'd, and trim'd vp with leaues, hearbes, and flowers.

Walke pleaſed on a while, and doe deuize,

How on each obiect I may moralize.

But er'e I pace on many ſteps, I ſee

There ſtands a Hawthorne that was trim'd by thee:

Here thou didſt once ſlip off the virgin ſprayes,

To crowne me with a wreath of liuing Bayes.

On ſuch a Banke I ſee how thou didſt lye,

When viewing of a ſhady Muthery,

The hard miſhap thou didſt to me diſcuſſe

Of louing Thysbe, and young Piramus:

And oh (thinke I) how pleaſing was it then,

Or would be yet, might he returne agen.

But if ſome neighbouring Row doe draw me to

Thoſe Arbors, where the ſhadowes ſeeme to wooe

The weary louelove-ſicke Paſſenger, to ſit

And view the beauties Nature ſtrowes on it;

How faire (thinke I) would this ſweet place appeare,

If he I louelove, were preſent with me heere.

Nay, eueryevery ſeuerall obiect that I ſee,

Doth ſeuerally (me thinkes) remember thee.

But the delight I vſ'd from thence to gather,

I now exchange for eares, and ſeeke them rather.

But thoſe whoſe dull and groſſe affections can

Extend but onelyonly to deſire a Man,

Cannot the depth of theſe rare Paſſions know:

For their imaginations flagge too low.

And cauſe their baſe Conceits doe apprehend

Nothing but that whereto the fleſh doth tend;

In Loues embraces they neere reach vntounto

More of content than the brute Creatures do.

Neither can any iudge of this, but ſuch

Whoſe brauer mindes for brauer thoughts doe touch.

And hauing ſpirits of a nobler frame,

Feele the true heate of Loues vnquenched flame.

They may conceiue aright what ſmarting ſting

To their Remembrances the place will bring,

Where they did once enioy, and then doe miſſe,

What to their ſoules moſt deere and precious is.

With mee 'tis ſo; for thoſe walkes that once ſeem'd

Pleaſing, when I of thee was more eſteem'd,

To me appeare moſt deſolate and lonely,

And are the places now of torment onelyonly.

Where I the higheſt of contents did borrow,

There am I paid it home with deepeſt ſorrow.

VntoUnto one place, I doe remember well,

We walkt the eu'nings to heare Phylomel:

And that ſeemes now to want the light it had,

The ſhadow of the Groue's more dull and ſad,

As if it were a place but fit for Fowles,

That ſcreech ill-lucke; as melancholy Owles,

Or fatall Rauens, that ſeld' boding good,

…ke their blacke Auguries from ſome darke wood.

Then if from thence I halfe deſpairing goe,

Another place begins another wo:

For thus vntounto my thought it ſemes to ſay,

Hither thou ſaw'ſt him riding once that way:

Thither to meete him thou didſt nimbly haſt thee,

You he alighted, and eu'n there embrac'd thee:

Which whilſt I ſighing wiſh to doe againe,

Another obiect brings another paine.

For paſſing by that Greene, which (could it ſpeake)

Would tell it ſaw vsus run at Barly-breake;

There I beheld, what on a thin rin'd tree

Thou hadſt engrauen for the louelove of me;

When we two, all one in heate of day,

With chaſte imbraces draue ſwift houres away.

Then I remember to (vntounto my ſmart)

How loath we were, when time compel'd to part;

How cunningly thy Paſſions thou couldſt faine,

In taking leaue, and comming backe againe:

So oft, vntill (as ſeeming to forget

We were departing) downe againe we ſet?

And freſhly in that ſweet diſcourſe went on,

Which now I almoſt faint to thinke vponupon.

Viewing againe thoſe other walkes and Groues

That hauehave beene witneſſes of our chaſte loues;

When I beheld thoſe Trees whoſe tender skin

Hath that cut out, which ſtill cuts me within.

Or come, by chance, vntounto that pretty Rill

Where thou wouldſt fit, and teach the neighbouring hill

To anſwere, in an Eccho, vntounto thoſe

Rare Problems which thou often didſt propoſe.

When I come there (thinke I) if theſe could take

That vſe of words and ſpeech which we partake,

They might vnfold a thouſand pleaſures then

Which I ſhall neuer liue to taſte agen.

And thereupon, Remembrance doth ſo racke

My thoughts, with repreſenting what I lacke,

That in my minde thoſe Clerkes doe argue well,

Which hold Priuation the great'ſt plague of hell.

For there's no torment gripes mee halfe ſo bad,

As the Remembrance of thoſe joyes I had.

Oh haſt thou quite forgot, when ſitting by

The bankes of Thame, beholding how the Fry

Play'd on the ſiluer-waues? There where I firſt

Granted to make my Fortune thus accurſt;

There where thy too-too earneſt ſuit compeld

My ouer-ſoone beleeuing heart to yeeld

One fauour firſt, which then another drew

To get another, till (alas) I rue

That day and houre, thinking I nere ſhould need

(As now) to grieue for doing ſuch a deed.

So freely I my curteſies beſtow'd,

That whoſe I was vnwarily I ſhow'd:

And to my heart ſuch paſſage made for thee,

Thou canſt not to this day remoued be,

And what breaſt could reſiſt it, hauing ſeene

How true thy louelove had in appearance beene?

For (I ſhall ne're forget) when thou hadſt there

Laid open eueryevery diſcontent and care,

Wherewith thou deeply ſeem'dſt to me oppreſt,

When thou (as much as any could proteſt)

Had'ſt vow'd and ſworne, and yet perceiu'dſt no ſigne

Of pitty-mouing in this breſt of mine:

Well LoueLove (ſald'ſt thou) ſince neither ſigh nor vow,

Nor any ſeruice may auaile me now:

Since neither the recitall of my ſmart,

Nor thoſe ſtrong Paſſions that aſſaile my heart;

Nor any thing may moue thee to beliefe

Of theſe my ſufferings, or to grant reliefe:

Since there's no comfort, nor deſert, that may

Get mee ſo much as Hope of what I pray;

Sweet LoueLove farewell; farewell faire beauties light,

And eueryevery pleaſing obiect of the ſight:

My poore deſpayring heart heere biddeth you,

And all Content, for euermore, adue.

Then eu'n as thou ſeemd'ſt ready to depart;

Reaching that hand, which after gaue my hart,

(And thinking this ſad Farewell did proceed

From a ſound breaſt, but truely mou'd indeed)

I ſtayed thy departing from mee ſo,

Whilſt I ſtood mute with ſorrow, thou for ſhow.

And the meane while as I beheld thy looke,

My eye th'impreſſion of ſuch Pitty tooke,

That, with the ſtrength of Paſſion ouercome,

A deep-fetcht ſigh my heart came breathing from:

Whereat thou (euer wiſely vſing this

To take aduantage when it offered is)

Renewd'ſt thy ſute to mee, who did afford

Conſent, in ſilence firſt, and then in word.

So that for yeelding thou maiſt thanke thy wit,

And yet when euer I remember it,

Truſt me, I muſe, and often (wondring) thinke,

Thorough what craney, or what ſecret chinke

That LoueLove, vnwares ſo like a ſlye cloſe Elſe,

Did to my heart inſinuate it ſelfe.

Gallants I had, before thou cam'ſt to woo,

Could as much louelove, and as well court me to;

And, though they had not learned ſo the faſhion,

Of acting ſuch well counterfeited Paſſion;

In wit, and perſon, they did equall thee,

And worthier ſeem'd, vnleſſe thoul't faithfull be.

Yet ſtill vnmou'd, vnconquer'd I remain'd:

No, not one thought of louelove was entertain'd:

Nor could they brag of the leaſt fauour to them,

Saue what meere curteſie enioyn'd to doe them.

Hard was my heart: But would't had harder bin,

And then, perhaps, I had not let thee in;

Thou, Tyrant, that art ſo imperious there,

And onelyonly tak'ſt delight to Dominere.

But held I out ſuch ſtrong, ſuch oft aſſailing,

And euer kept the honour of preuailing?

Was this poore breaſt from loues allurings free,

Cruell to all, and gentle vntounto thee?

Did I vnlocke that ſtrong affections dore,

That neuer could be broken ope before,

OnelyOnly to thee? and, at thy interceſſion,

So freely giuegive vp all my hearts poſſeſſion:

That to my ſelfe I left not one poore veine,

Nor power, nor will, to put thee from't againe?

Did I doe this, (and all on thy bare vow)

And wilt thou thus requite my kindneſſe now?

Oh that thou eyther hadſt not learn'd to faine,

Or I had power to caſt thee off againe!

How is it that thou art become ſo rude,

And ouer-blinded by Ingratitude?

Swar'ſt thou ſo deeply that thou wouldſt perſeuer.

That I might thus be caſt away for euer?

Well, then 'as true, that Louers periuries,

Among ſome men, are thought no iniuries:

And that ſhe onelyonly hath leaſt cauſe of griefe,

Who of your words hath ſmal'ſt, or no beliefe.

Had I the wooer bin, or fondly won,

This had bin more tho, then thou couldſt hauehave don;

But, neither being ſo, what Reaſon is

On thy ſide, that ſhould make thee offer this?

I know, had I beene falſe, or my faith fail'd,

Thou wouldſt at womens fickleneſſe hauehave rail'd;

And if in mee it had an error bin,

In thee ſhall the ſame fault be thought no ſin?

Rather I hold that which is bad in mee,

Will be a greater blemiſh vntounto thee:

Becauſe, by Nature, thou art made more ſtrong,

And therefore abler to endure a wrong.

But 'tis our Fortune, you'le hauehave all the power,

OnelyOnly the Care and Burden muſt be our.

Nor can you be content a wrong to do,

Vnleſſe you ſay the blame vponupon vsus to.

Oh that there were ſome gentle minded Poet

That knew my heart, as well as now I know it;

And would endeare me to his louelove ſo much,

To giuegive the world (though but) a ſlender touch

Of that ſad Paſſion which now clogs my heart,

And ſhew my truth, and thee how falſe thou art:

That all might know, what is beleeu'd by no man,

There's fickleneſſe in men, and faith in woman.

Thou ſaw'ſt I firſt let Pitty in, then liking,

And laſtly, that which was thy onelyonly ſeeking:

And, when I might hauehave ſcorn'd that louelove of thine,

(As now vngently thou deſpiſeſt mine,)

Among the inmoſt Angles of my breſt,

To lodge it by my heart I thought it beſt:

Which thou haſt ſtolne to, like a thankeleſſe Mate,

And left mee nothing but a blacke ſelfe hate.

What canſt thou ſay for this, to ſtand contending?

What colour haſt thou left for thy offending?

Thy wit, perhaps, can ſome excuſe deuiſe,

And faine a colour for thoſe iniuries;

But well I know, if thou excuſe this treaſon,

It muſt be by ſome greater thing then reaſon.

Are any of thoſe vertues yet defac'd,

On which thy firſt affection ſeemed plac'd?

Hath any ſecret foe my true faith wronged,

To rob the bliſſe that to my heart belonged?

What then? ſhall I condemned be vnheard,

Before thou knoweſt how I may be clear'd?

Thou art acquainted with the times condition,

Know'ſt it is full of enuy, and ſuſpition,

So that the war'eſt in thought, word, and action,

Shall oft be iniur'd, by foule-mouth'd datraction:

And therefore thou (me-thinkes) ſhould'ſt wiſely pauſe

Before thou credit rumors without cauſe.

But I hauehave gotten ſuch a confidence

In thy opinion, of my innocence:

It is not that, I know, with-holds thee now,

Sweet, tell mee then; is it ſome ſacred vow?

Haſt thou reſolued, not to ioyne thy hand

With any one in Hymens holy band?

Thou ſhouldſt hauehave done it then, when thou wert free,

Before thou hadſt bequeath'd thy ſelfe to mee.

What vow doſt deeme more pleaſing vntounto Heauen,

Then what is by vnfained louers giuen?

If any be, yet ſure it frowneth at

Thoſe that are made for contradicting that.

But, if thou wouldſt liue chaſtely all thy life,

That thou maiſt do, though we be man and wife:

Or, if thou long'ſt a Virgin-death to die,

Why (if it be thy pleaſure) ſo doe I.

Make mee but thine, and I'le (contented) be

A Virgin ſtill, yet liue and lie with thee.

Then let not thy inuenting braine aſſay

To mocke, and ſtill delude mee eueryevery way;

But call to minde, how thou haſt deepely ſworne

Nor to neglect, nor leaue mee thus forlorne.

And if thou wilt not be to mee as when

Wee firſt did louelove, doe but come ſee mee then.

Vouchſafe that I may ſometime with thee walke,

Or ſit and looke on thee, or heare thee talke;

And I that moſt content once aymed at,

Will thinke there is a world of bliſſe in that.

Doſt thou ſuppoſe that my Deſires denies

With thy affections well to ſympathize?

Or ſuch peruerſneſſe haſt thou found in me,

May make our Natures diſagreeing be?

Thou knowſt when thou didſt wake I could not ſleepe;

And if thou wert but ſad, that I ſhould weepe.

Yet (euen when the teares my cheeke did ſtaine)

If thou didſt ſmile, why I could ſmile againe:

I neuer did contrary thee in ought:

Nay, thou canſt tell, I oft hauehave ſpake thy thought.

Waking; the ſelfe-ſame courſe with thee I runne,

And ſleeping, oftentimes our dreames were one.

The Dyall-needle, though it ſence doth want,

Still bends to the beloued Adamant;

Lift the one vp, the other vpward tends;

If this fall downe, that preſently deſcends:

Turne but about the ſtone, the ſteele turnes to;

Then ſtraight returnes, if ſo the other do;

And, if it ſtay, with trembling keepes one place,

As if it (panting) long'd for an imbrace.

So was't with mee: for, if thou merry wert,

That mirth of thine, mou'd ioy within my heart:

I ſighed to, when thou didſt ſigh or frowne:

When thou wert ſicke, thou haſt perceiu'd me ſwoone;

And being ſad, hauehave oft, with forc'd delight,

Striu'd to giuegive thee content beyond my might.

When thou wouldſt talke, then hauehave I talk'd with thee,

And ſilent been, when thou wouldſt ſilent be.

If thou abroad didſt goe, with ioy I went;

If home thou lou'dſt, at home was my content:

Yea, what did to my Nature diſagree,

I could make pleaſing, cauſe it pleaſed thee.

But, if't be either my weake Sex, or youth,

Makes thee miſdoubt my vndiſtained truth,

Know this; as none (till that vnhappy hower,

When I was firſt madethine,) had euer power

To moue my heart, by vowes, or teares expence;

No more (I ſweare) could any Creature ſince.

No lookes but thine, though aim'd with Paſſions Art,

Could pierce ſo deepe to penetrate my hart.

No name but thine, was welcome to my care;

No word did I ſo ſoone, ſo gladly heare:

Nor euer could my eyes behold or ſee,

What I was ſince delighted in, but thee.

And ſure thou wouldſt beleeue it to be ſo,

If I could tell, or words might make thee know,

How many a weary night my tumbled bed

Hath knowne me ſleepeleſſe: what ſalt-teares I'ue ſhed;

What ſcalding-ſighes, the markes of ſoules oppreſt,

HaueHave hourely breathed from my carefull breſt.

Nor wouldſt thou deeme thoſe waking ſorrowes …

If thou mightſt ſee how ſleeping I am paind.

For if ſometimes I chance to take a ſlumber,

Vnwelcome dreames my broken reſt doth cumber.

Which dreaming makes me ſtart, ſtarting with feares

Wakes; and ſo by waking I renew my cares:

Vntill my eyes ore-tir'd with watch and weeping,

Drownd in their owne flouds fall againe to ſleeping.

Oh! that thou couldſt but thinke, when laſt wee parted,

How much I, grieuing for thy abſence, ſmarted:

My very ſoule fell ſicke, my heart to aking,

As if they had their laſt Farewels beene taking;

Or feared by ſome ſecret Diuination,

This thy reuolt, and cauſeleſſe alteration.

Didſt thou not feele how loth that hand of mine,

Was to let goe the hold it had of thine?

And with what heauy, what vnwilling looke

I leaue of thee, and then of comfort tooke?

I know thou didſt; and though now thus thou doe,

I am deceiu'd, but then it grieu'd thee to.

Then, if I ſo with Loues fell paſſion vext

For thy departure onelyonly was perplext,

When I had left to ſtrengthen me ſome truſt;

And hope, that thou wouldſt nere hauehave prou'd vniuſt:

What was my torture then, and hard endurance,

When of thy falſhood I receiu'd aſſurance.

Alas, my Tongue, a-while, with griefe was dumbe,

And a cold ſhuddering did my ioynts benumme,

Amazement ſeiz'd my thought, and ſo preuailed,

I found me ill, but knew not what I ailed.

Nor can I yet tell, ſince my ſuffering then

Was more then could be ſhowne by Poets Pen;

Or well conceiu'd by any other hart

Then that which in ſuch care hath borne a part.

Oh me; how loth was I to hauehave beleeu'd

That to be true, for which ſo much I grieu'd?

How gladly would I hauehave perſwaded bin,

There had bin no ſuch matter, no ſuch ſin.

I would hauehave had my heart thinke that (I knew

To be the very truth) not to be true.

Why may not this, thought I, ſome viſion be,

Some ſleeping dreame, or waking phantaſie,

Begotten by my ouer-blinded folly,

Or elſe engendred through my Melancholy?

But finding it ſo reall (thought I) then

Muſt I be caſt from all my hopes agen?

What are become of all thoſe fading bliſſes,

Which late my hope had, and now ſo much miſſes?

Where is that future fickle happineſſe

Which I ſo long expected to poſſeſſe?

And, thought I to; where are his dying Paſſions,

His honied words, his bitter lamentations?

To what end were his Sonnets, Epigrams,

His pretty Poſies, witty Anagrams?

I could not thinke, all that might hauehave been fain'd,

Nor any faith, I thought ſo firme, bin ſtain'd.

Nay, I doe ſure and confidently know,

It is not poſſible it ſhould be ſo:

If that rare Art and Paſſion was thine owne,

Which in my preſence thou haſt often ſhowne.

But, ſince thy change, my much-preſaging heart

Is halfe afraid, thou ſome impoſtor wert:

Or that thou didſt but (Player-like addreſt)

Act that which flow'd from ſome more gentle breſt.

Thy puft inuention, with worſe matter ſwolne,

Thoſe thy conceits from better wits hath ſtolne:

Or elſe (I know) it could not be, that thou

Shouldſt be ſo ouer-cold as thou art now;

Since thoſe, who hauehave that, feelingly, their owne,

Euer poſſeſſe more worth conceal'd, then knowne.

And if LoueLove euer any Mortals touch,

To make a braue impreſſion, 'tis in ſuch,

Who ſworne loues Chaplaines, will not violate

That, whereunto themſelues they conſecrate.

But oh you noble brood, on whom the World

The ſlighted burthen of neglect hath hurl'd,

(Becauſe your thoughts for higher obiects borne,

Their groueling humors and affection ſcorne)

You, whom the Gods, to heare your ſtraines, will follow,

Whilſt you doe court the ſiſters of Apollo.

You, whom there's none that's worthy, can neglect,

Or any that vnworthy is, affect.

Oh let not thoſe that ſeeke to doe you ſhame,

Bewitch vsus with thoſe ſongs they cannot frame:

The nobleſt of our Sexe, and faireſt to,

Doe euer louelove and honour ſuch as you.

Then wrong vsus not ſo much to giuegive your Paſſion

To thoſe that hauehave it but in imitation:

And in their dull breaſts neuer feele the power

Of ſuch deepe thoughts as ſweetly moue in your.

As well as you, they vsus thereby abuſe,

For (many times) when we our Louers chuſe,

Where we thinke Nature, that rich Iewell, ſets

Which ſhines in you, we light on counterfets.

But ſee, ſee whither diſcontentment beares me,

And to what vncoth ſtraines my Paſſion reares me:

Yet pardon me, I here, againe repent,

If I hauehave erred through that diſcontent.

Be what thou wilt, be counterfeit or right,

Be conſtant, ſerious, or be vaine, or light,

My louelove remaines inuiolate the ſame,

Thou canſt be nothing that can quench this flame,

But it will burne as long as thou haſt breath

To keepe it kindled (if not after death)

Nere was there one more true, then I to thee,

And though my faith muſt now deſpiſed be,

Vnpriz'd, vnualued at the loweſt rate,

Yet this Ile tell thee, 'tis not all thy ſtate,

Nor all that better-ſeeming worth of thine,

Can buy thee ſuch another LoueLove as mine:

Liking it may, but oh there's as much oddes,

Twixt louelove and that, as betweene men and Gods.

It is a purchaſe not procur'd with treaſure,

As ſome fooles thinke, nor to be gaind at pleaſure:

For were it ſo, and any could aſſure it,

What would not ſome men part with, to procure it?

But though thou weigh't not, as thou ought'ſt to do,

Thou knowſt I louelove; and once didſt louelove mee to.

Then where's the cauſe of this diſlike in thee?

Suruey thy ſelfe, I hope there's none in mee.

Yet looke on her from whom thou art eſtranged?

See, is my perſon, or my beauty changed?

Once thou didſt praiſe it, prethee view't agen,

And marke ift be not ſtill the ſame twas then:

No falſe Vermilion-dye my cheeke diſtaines,

'Tis the poore bloud diſperſt through pores and vaines,

Which thou haſt oft ſeen through my fore-head fluſhing,

To ſhew no dawby-colour hid my bluſhing:

Nor neuer ſhall: Vertue, I hope, will ſaue mee,

Contented with that beauty Nature gaue mee.

Or, ift ſeeme leſſe, for that griefes-vaile had hid it,

Thou threwſt it on mee, 'twas not I that did it,

And canſt againe reſtore, what may repaire

All that's decay'd, and make me far more faire.

Which if thou doe, I'le be more wary than

To keep't for thee vnblemiſht, what I can:

And cauſe at beſt 'twill want much of perfection,

The reſt ſhall be ſupply'd with true affection.

But I doe feare, it is ſome others riches,

Whoſe more abundance that thy minde bewitches,

That baſer obiect, that too generall aime,

Makes thee my leſſer Fortune to diſclaime.

Fie, canſt thou ſo degenerate in ſpirit,

As to prefer the meanes before the merit?

(A though I cannot ſay it is in mee)

Such worth ſometimes with pouerty may be

To equalize the match ſhe takes vponupon her;

Tho th'other vaunt of Birth, Wealth, Beauty, Honour:

And many a one that did for greatneſſe wed,

Would gladly change it for a meaner bed.

Yet are my Fortunes knowne indifferent,

Not baſely meane, but ſuch as may content:

And though I yeeld the better to be thine,

I may be bold to ſay thus much, for mine;

That if thou couldſt of them and me eſteeme,

Neither thy ſtate, nor birth, would miſ-beſeeme:

Or if it did; how can I help't (alas)

Thou, not alone, before knew'ſt what it was.

But I (although not fearing ſo to ſpeed)

Did alſo diſinable't more than need,

And yet thou woo'dſt, and wooing didſt perſeuer,

As if thou hadſt intended LoueLove for euer:

Yea, thy account of wealth thou mad'ſt ſo ſmall,

Thou had'ſt not any queſtion of't at all;

But hating much that peaſant-like condition,

Did'ſt ſeeme diſpleas'd I held it in ſuſpition.

Whereby I thinke, if nothing elſe doe thwart vsus,

It cannot be the want of that will part vsus.

Yea, I doe rather doubt indeed, that this

The needleſſe feare of friends diſpleaſure is.

Yes, that's the barre which ſtops out my delight,

And all my hope and ioy confoundeth quite,

But beares there any in thy heart ſuch ſway

To ſhut mee thence, and wipe thy louelove away?

Can there be any friend that hath the power,

To diſvnite hearts ſo conioyn'd as our?

E're I would hauehave ſo done by thee; I'de rather

HaueHave parted with one deerer then my father.

For though the will of our Creator bindes

Each Childe to learne and know his Parents mindes;

Yet ſure I am, ſo iuſt a Deitie,

Commandeth nothing againſt Pietie.

Nor doth that band of duty giuegive them leaue,

To violate their faith, or to deceiue.

And though that Parents hauehave authority,

To rule their children in minority:

Yet they are neuer granted ſuch power on them,

That will allow to tyrannize vponupon them;

Or vſe them vnderunder their command ſo ill,

To force them, without reaſon, to their will.

For who hath read in all the Sacred-writ,

Of any one compeld to marriage (yet?)

What father ſo vnkinde (thereto requir'd)

Denide his Childe the match that he deſir'd,

So that he found the Lawes did not forbid it?

I thinke thoſe gentler ages no men did it.

In thoſe daies therefore for them to hauehave bin

Contracted without licence had been ſin?

Since there was more good Nature among men,

And eueryevery one more truly louing then.

But now (although we ſtand obliged ſtill

To labour for their liking, and good-will)

There is no duty whereby they may tie vsus

From ought which without reaſon they deny vsus:

For I do thinke, it is not onelyonly meant,

Children ſhould aske, but Parents ſhould conſent:

And that they erre, their duty as much breaking,

For not conſenting, as we not for ſpeaking.

"It is no maruell many matches be

"Concluded now without their priuity;

"Since they, through greedy Auarice miſled,

"Their intereſt in that hauehave forfeited.

For, ſome reſpectleſſe of all care, doe marry

Hot youthfull-May, to cold old-Ianuary.

Some, for a greedy end, doe baſely tie

The ſweeteſt-faire, to ſoule-deformitie.

Forcing a louelove from where 'twas placed late,

To re-ingraffe it where it turnes to hate.

It ſeemes no cauſe of hindrance in their eyes,

Though manners nor affections ſympathize.

And two Religions by their rules of ſtate,

They may in one made body tolerate;

As if they did deſire that double ſtemme,

Should fruitfull beare but Neuters like to them.

Alas, how many numbers of both kindes

By that hauehave euer diſcontented mindes:

And liue (though ſeeming vntounto others well)

In the next torments vntounto thoſe of hell?

How many, deſprate growne by this their ſinne,

HaueHave both vndone themſelues and all their kinne?

Many a one, we ſee, it makes to fall

With the too-late repenting Prodigall.

Thouſands (though elſe by nature gentler giuen,)

To act the horridſt murthers oft are driuen.

And (which is worſe) there's many a careleſſe elſe,

(Vnleſſe Heauen pitty) kils and damnes his ſelfe.

Oh what hard heart, or what vnpittying eyes,

Could hold from teares to ſee thoſe Tragedies,

Parents, by their neglect in this, hauehave hurld

VponUpon the Stage of this reſpectleſſe World?

'Tis not one Man, one Family, one Kinne,

No nor one Countrey that hath ruin'd bin

By ſuch their folly, which the cauſe hath prou'd,

That forraine oft, and ciuill warres were mou'd

By ſuch beginnings many a City lies

Now in the duſt, whoſe Turrets brau'd the skies:

And diuers Monarchs by ſuch fortunes croſt,

HaueHave ſeene their Kingdomes fir'd, and ſpoil'd, and loſt▪

Yet all this while, thou ſeeſt, I mention not,

The ruine, ſhame, and chaſtity hath got;

For 'tis a taske too infinite to tell

How many thouſands that would hauehave done well,

Doe, by the meanes of this, ſuffer deſires

To kindle in their hearts vnlawfull fires:

Nay ſome, in whoſe could breaſt nere flame had bin,

HaueHave onelyonly for meere vengeance falne to ſin.

My ſelfe hauehave ſeene, and my heart bled to ſee't,

A wit-leſſe Clowne enioy a match vnmeet.

She was a Laſſe that had a looke to moue

The heart of cold Diogenes to louelove:

Her eye was ſuch, whoſe eueryevery glance did know

To kindle flames vponupon the hils of Snow;

And by her powerfull piercings could imprint,

Or ſparkle fire into a heart of flint:

And yet (vnleſſe I much deceiued be)

In very thought did hate immodeſtie.

And (had ſh'enioyd the man ſhe could hauehave lou'd)

Might, to this day, hauehave liued vn-reprou'd:

But, being forc'd, perforce, by ſeeming▪ friends,

With her conſent, ſhe her contentment ends.

In that, compel'd, her-ſelfe to him ſhee gaue,

Whoſe Bed, ſhee rather could hauehave with… her Graue;

And ſince, I heare, what I much feare is true,

That ſhee hath hidden ſhame and fame adue.

Such are the cauſes now that Parents quite

Are put beſide much of their ancient right:

Their feare of this, makes children to with-hold

From giuing them thoſe dues which elſe they would:

And theſe thou ſee'ſt are the too-fruitfull ils,

Which daily ſpring from their vnbridled wils.

Yet they, forſooth, will hauehave it vnderſtood,

That all their ſtudy, is their childrens good.

A ſeeming-LoueLove ſhall couer all they do:

When, if the matter were well look't into,

Their carefull reach is chiefly to fulfill

Their owne foule, greedy, and inſatiate will:

Who, quite forgetting they were euer young,

Would hauehave the Children dote, with them, on dung.

Grant, betwixt two, there be true louelove, content,

Birth not miſ ſeeming, wealth ſufficient,

Equality in yeares, an honeſt fame,

In eueryevery-ſide the perſon without blame,

And they obedient too: What can you gather

Of LoueLove, or of affection, in that father,

That but a little to augment his treaſure,

(Perhaps, no more but onelyonly for his pleaſure,)

Shall force his Childe to one he doth abhor,

From her he loues, and juſtly ſeeketh for;

Compelling him (for ſuch miſ-fortune grieu'd)

To die with care, that might with ioy hauehave liu'd?

This you may ſay is LoueLove, and ſweare as well,

There's paines in Heauen, and delights in Hell:

Or, that the Diuels fury and auſterity

Proceeds out of his care of our poſterity.

Would Parents (in this age) hauehave vsus begin

To take by their eyes, our affections in?

Or doe they thinke we beare them in our fiſt,

That we may ſtill remoue them as wee liſt?

It is impoſſible it ſhould be thus,

For we are rul'd by LoueLove, not LoueLove by vsus:

And ſo our power ſo much ner'e reached to,

To know where we ſhall louelove, vntill we doe.

And when it comes, hide it awhile wee may,

But 'tis not in our ſtrengths to driu't away.

Either mine owne eye ſhould my chuſer be,

Or I would ner'e weare Hymens Liuery.

For who is he ſo neare my heart doth reſt,

To know what 'tis, that mine approued beſt?

I hauehave my ſelfe beheld thoſe men, whoſe frame

And outward perſonages had nought of blame:

They had (what might their good proportion grace)

The much more mouing part, a comely face,

With many of thoſe complements, which we

In common men, of the beſt breeding ſee.

They had diſcourſe, and wit enough to carry

Themſelues in faſhion, at an Ordinary;

Gallants they were, lou'd company and ſport,

Wore fauours, and had Miſtreſſes in Court.

And eueryevery way were ſuch as well might ſeeme

Worthy of note, reſpect, and much eſteeme;

Yet hath my eye more cauſe of liking ſeene,

Where nought perhaps by ſome hath noted beene:

And I hauehave there found more content, by farre,

Where ſome of thoſe perfections wanting are;

Yea ſo much, that their beauties were a blot

To them (me thought) becauſe he had them not.

There ſome peculiar thing innated,

That beares an vncontrouled ſway in this;

And nothing but itſelfe knowes how to fit

The minde with that which beſt ſhall ſuit with it.

Then why ſhould Parents thruſt themſelues into

What they want warrant for, and power to doe?

How is it they are ſo forgetfull growne,

Of thoſe conditions, that were once their owne?

Doe they ſo dote amidſt their wits perfection,

To thinke that age and youth hath like affection?

(When they doe ſee 'mong thoſe of equall yeares,

One hateth what another moſt endeares.)

Or doe they thinke their wiſedomes can inuent

A thing to giuegive, that's greater than Content?

No, neither ſhall they wrap vsus in ſuch blindneſſe,

To make vsus thinke the ſpight they doe, is kindneſſe.

For as I would aduiſe no childe to ſtray

From the leaſt duty that he ought to pay:

So would I alſo hauehave him wiſely know,

How much that duty is which he doth owe:

That knowing what doth vntounto both belong,

He may doe them their right, himſelfe no wrong.

For if my Parents him I lothe ſhould chuſe,

Tis lawfull, yea my duty to refuſe:

Elſe, how ſhall I leade ſo vpright a life,

As is enioyned to the Man and Wife?

Since that we ſee ſometime there are repentings,

Eu'n where there are the moſt, and beſt contentings.

What, though that by our Parents firſt we liue?

Is not life miſery enough to giuegive;

Which at their births the children doth vndo,

Vnleſſe they adde ſome other miſchiefe to?

Cauſe they gaue being to this fleſh of our,

Muſt we be therefore ſlaues vntounto their power?

We nere deſir'd it, for how could we tell,

Not being, but that not to be was well:

Nor know they whom they profit by it, ſeeing

Happy were ſome, if they had had no being.

Indeed, had they produc'd vsus without ſin,

Had all our duty to hauehave pleas'd them bin:

Of the next life, could they aſſure the ſtate,

And both beget vsus and regenerate;

There were no reaſon then we ſhould withſtand

To vndergoe their tyrannou'ſt command:

In hope that either for our hard endurance,

We ſhould, at laſt, hauehave comfort in aſſurance:

Or, if in our endeauours we miſ-ſped,

At leaſt feele nothing when we ſhould be dead.

But what's the Reaſon for't that we ſhall be

Inthral'd ſo much vntounto Mortality?

Our ſoules on will of any Men to tye

VntoUnto an euerlaſting miſery.

So farre, perhaps to, from the good of either,

We ruine them, our ſelues, and altogether.

Children owe much, I muſt confeſſe 'tis true,

And a great debt is to the Parents due:

Yet if they hauehave not ſo much power to craue

But in their owne defence the liues they gaue:

How much leſſe then, ſhould they become ſo cruell

As to take from them the high-prized Iewell

Of liberty in choyce, whereon depends

The maine contentment that the heauen here lends?

Worth life, or wealth, nay far more worth then either

Or twenty thouſand liues put all together.

Then howſoeuer ſome, ſeuerer bent,

May deeme of my opinion, or intent,

With that which followes thus conclude I doe:

(And I hauehave Reaſon for't, and Conſcience to)

No Parent may his Childes iuſt ſute deny

On his bare will, without a reaſon why:

Nor he ſo vs'd, be diſobedient thought,

If vnapprou'd, he take the match he ſought.

So then if that thy faith vncrazed be,

Thy friends diſlike ſhall be no ſtop to me:

For, if their will be not of force to doe it,

They ſhall hauehave no cauſe elſe to driue them to it.

What is it they againſt vsus can alleage?

Both young we are, and of the fitteſt age,

If thou diſſembledſt not, both louelove; and both

To admit hinderance in our loues are loth.

'Tis prejudiciall vntounto none that liues;

And Gods, and humane Law our warrant giues.

Nor are we much vnequall in degree,

Perhaps our Fortunes ſomewhat different be.

But ſay that little meanes, which is, were not,

The want of wealth may not diſſolue this knot.

For though ſome ſuch prepoſterous courſes wend,

Preſcribing to themſelues no other end,

Marr'age was not ordain'd t'enrich men by,

Vnleſſe it were in their poſterity.

And he that doth for other cauſes wed,

Nere knowes the true ſweetes of a marriage bed:

Nor ſhall he by my will, for 'tis vnfit

He ſhould hauehave bliſſe that neuer aym'd at it.

Though that bewitching gold the Rabble blindes,

And is the obiect of all Vulgar mindes:

Yet thoſe, me-thinkes, that graced ſeeme to bee,

With ſo much good as doth appeare in thee,

Should ſcorne their better-taught deſires to tye

To that, which fooles doe get their honour by.

I can like of the wealth (I muſt confeſſe)

Yet more I prize the man, though mony-leſſe.

I am not of their humour yet, that can

For Title, or Eſtate, affect a Man;

Or of my ſelfe, one body, deigne to make

With him I lothe, for his poſſeſſions ſake.

Nor wiſh I euer to hauehave that minde bred

In me, that is in thoſe; who, when they wed,

Thinke it enough, they doe attaine the grace

Of ſome new honour, to fare well, take place,

Weare coſtly cloathes, in others ſights agree,

Or happy in opinion ſeeme to bee.

I weigh not this: for were I ſure before

Of Spencers wealth, or our rich Suttons ſtore;

Had I therewith a man, whom Nature lent,

Perſon enough to giuegive the eye content:

If I no outward due, nor right did want,

Which the beſt Husbands in appearance grant:

Nay, though alone we had no priuate iarres

But merry liu'd from all domeſticke cares;

Vnleſſe I thought his Nature ſo incline,

That it might alſo ſympathize with mine,

(And yeeld ſuch correſpondence with my mind…

Our ſoules might mutually contentment find,

By adding vntounto theſe which went before,

Some certaine vnexpreſſed pleaſures more,

Such as exceed the ſtreight and curb'd dimenſions

Of common mindes, and vulgar apprehenſions)

I would not care for ſuch a match, but tarry

In this eſtate I am, and neuer marry.

Such were the ſweets I hop'd to hauehave poſſeſt,

When Fortune ſhould with thee hauehave made me bleſ…

My heart could hardly thinke of that content,

To apprehend it without rauiſhment.

Each word of thine (me-thought) was to my eares

More pleaſing then that muſicke, which the Spheares

(They ſay) doe make the gods, when in their chime,

Their motions Diapaſon with the time,

In my conceit, the opening of thine eye.

Seem'd to giuegive light to eueryevery obiect by,

And ſhed a kinde of life vntounto my ſhew,

On eueryevery thing that was within it view.

More ioy I'ue felt to hauehave thee but in place,

Then many doe in the moſt cloſe embrace

Of their beloued'ſt friend, which well doth proue,

Not to thy body onelyonly tends my louelove:

But mounting a true height, growes ſo diuine,

It makes my ſoule to fall in louelove with thine.

And ſure now whatſoe're thy body doe,

Thy ſoule loues mine, and oft they viſit too.

For late I dream'd they went I know not whither,

Vnleſſe to Heauen, and there play'd together;

And to this day I nere could know or ſee,

'Twixt them or vsus the leaſt Antipathy,

Then what ſhould make thee keepe thy perſon hence,

Or leaue to louelove, or hold it in ſuſpence?

If to offend thee I vnawares was driuen,

Is't ſuch a fault as may not be forgiuen?

Or if by frownes of Fate, I hauehave beene checkt,

So that I ſeeme not worth thy firſt reſpect,

Shall I be therefore blamed and vpbraided,

With what could not be holpen, or auoyded?

Tis not my fault: yet cauſe my Fortunes doe,

Wilt thou be ſo vnkinde to wrong me too?

Not vntounto Thine, but thee I ſet my heart,

So nought can wipe my louelove out while thou art:

Though thou wert poorer both of houſe and meat,

Then he that knowes not where to ſleepe or eat:

Though thou wert ſunke into obſcurity.

Become an abiect in the worlds proud eye,

Though by peruerſeneſſe of thy Fortune croſt,

Thou wert deformed or ſome limbe had'ſt loſt,

That louelove which Admiration firſt begot,

Pitty would ſtrengthen, that it failed not:

Yea, I ſhould louelove thee ſtill, and without blame,

As long as thou couldſt keepe thy minde the ſame;

Which is of Vertues ſo compact (I take it)

No mortall change ſhall hauehave the power to ſhake it.

This may, and will (I know) ſeeme ſtrange to thoſe

That cannot the Abyſs of louelove diſcloſe,

Nor muſt they thinke, whom but the out-ſide moues

Euer to apprehend ſuch noble Loues;

Or more coniecture their vnſounded meaſure,

Then can we mortals of immortall pleaſure.

Then let not thoſe dull vnconceiuing braines,

Who ſhall hereafter come to reade theſe ſtraines,

Suppoſe that no loues fire can be ſo great,

Becauſe it giues not their cold Clime ſuch heate;

Or thinke m'inuention could hauehave reached here

VntoUnto ſuch thoughts, vnleſſe ſuch louelove there were:

For then they ſhall but ſhew their knowledge weake,

And iniure me, that feele of what I ſpeake.

But now my lines grow tedious, like my wrong,

And as I thought that, thou think'ſt this too long.

Or ſome may deeme, I thruſt my ſelfe into

More then beſeemeth modeſty to do.

But of the difference I am not vnwitting,

Betwixt a peeuiſh coyneſſe, and things fitting:

Nothing reſpect I, who pries ore my doing:

For here's no vaine allurements, nor ſond wooing,

To traine ſome wanton ſtranger to my lure;

But with a thought that's honeſt, chaſte, and pure,

I make my cauſe vntounto thy conſcience knowne,

Suing for that which is by right my owne.

In which complaint, if thou doe hap to finde

Any ſuch word, as ſeemes to be vnkind:

Miſtake me not, it but from Paſſion ſprung,

And not from an intent to doe thee wrong.

Or if among theſe doubts my ſad thoughts breed,

Some (peraduenture) may be more then need

They are to let thee know, might we diſpute,

Theres no obiections but I could refute;

And ſpight of Enuy ſuch defences make,

Thou ſhouldſt embrace that louelove thou doſt forſake.

Then do not (oh forgetfull man) now deeme,

That 'tis ought leſſe then I hauehave made it ſeeme.

Or that I am vntounto this Paſſion mou'd,

Becauſe I cannot elſe-where be belou'd:

Or that it is thy ſtate, whoſe greatneſſe knowne,

Makes me become a ſuter for my owne:

Suppoſe not ſo; for know this day there be

Some that wooe hard for what I offer thee:

And I hauehave euer yet contented bin

With that eſtate I firſt was placed in.

Baniſh thoſe thoughts, and turne thee to my heart;

Come once againe, and be what once thou wert.

Reuiue me by thoſe wonted ioyes repairing,

That am nigh dead with ſorrowes and deſpairing:

So ſhall the memory of this annoy,

But adde more ſweetneſſe to my future ioy;

Yea, make me thinke thou meantſt not to deny me,

But onelyonly wert eſtranged thus, to try me.

And laſtly, for that loues ſake thou once bar'ſt me,

By that right hand thou gau'ſt, that oath thouſwar'ſt me,

By all the Paſſions, and (if any be)

For her deare ſake that makes thee iniure me;

I here coniure thee; no intreat and ſue,

That if theſe lines doe ouer-reach thy view,

Thou wouldſt afford me ſo much fauour for them,

As to accept, or at leaſt not abhorre them.

So though thou wholly cloake not thy diſdaine,

I ſhall hauehave ſomewhat the leſſe cauſe to plaine:

Or if thou needs muſt ſcoffe at this, or me,

Do't by thy ſelfe, that none may witneſſe be.

Not that I feare 'twill bring me any blame,

OnelyOnly I am loth the world ſhould know my ſhame.

For all that ſhall this plaint with reaſon view,

Will iudge me faithfull, and thee moſt vntrue.

But if Obliuion, that thy louelove bereft,

Hath not ſo much good nature in thee left,

But that thou muſt, as moſt of you men doe,

When you hauehave conquer'd, tyrannize it too:

Know this before, that it is praiſe to no man

To wrong ſo fraile a Creature as a woman.

And to inſult or'e one, ſo much made thine,

Will more be thy diſparagement then mine.

But oh (I pray that it portend no harmes)

A chearing heate my chilled ſenſes warmes:

Iuſt now I flaſhing feele into my breſt,

A ſudden comfort, not to be expreſt;

Which to my thinking, doth againe begin

To warne my heart, to let ſome hope come in;

It tels me 'tis impoſſible that thou

Shouldſt liue not to be mine, it whiſpers how

My former feares and doubts hauehave, beene in vaine,

And that thou mean'ſt yet to returne againe.

It ſaies thy abſence from ſome cauſe did grow,

Which, or I ſhould not, or I could not know.

It tels me now, that all thoſe proofes, whereby

I ſeem'd aſſur'd of thy diſloyalty,

May be but treacherous plots of ſome baſe foes,

That in thy abſence ſought our ouerthrowes.

Which if it proue; as yet me thinkes it may,

Oh, what a burden ſhall I caſt away?

What cares ſhall I ſay by? and to what height

Towre in my new aſcenſion to delight?

Sure er'e the full of it I come to try,

I ſhall eu'n ſurfet in my ioy and die.

But ſuch a loſſe might well be call'd a thriuing

Since more is got by dying ſo, then liuing.

Come kill me then, my deare, if thou thinke fit,

With that which neuer killed woman yet:

Or write to me before, ſo ſhalt thou giuegive

Content more moderate that I may liue:

And when I ſee my ſtaffe of truſt vnbroken,

I will vnſpeake againe what is miſ-ſpoken.

What I hauehave written in diſpraiſe of Men,

I will recant, and praife as much agen;

In recompence Ile adde vntounto their Stories,

Encomiaſticke lines to ymp their glories.

And for thoſe wrongs my louelove to thee hath done,

Both I and it vntounto thy Pitty runne:

In whom, if the leaſt guilt thou finde to be,

For euer let thine armes impriſon me.

Meane while I'le try if miſery will ſpare

Me ſo much reſpite, to take truce with care.

And patiently await the doubtfull doome,

Which I expect from thee ſhould ſhortly come

Much longing that I one way may be ſped,

And not ſtill linger 'twixt aliue and dead.

For I can neither liue yet as I ſhould,

Becauſe I leaſt enioy of that I would;

Nor quiet die, becauſe (indeed) I firſt

Would ſee ſome better daies, or know the worſt.

Then haſten Deare, if to my end it be,

It ſhall be welcome, cauſe it comes from thee.

If to renew my Comfort ought be ſent,

Let me not looſe a minute of Content.

The precious Time is ſhort, and will away,

Let vsus enioy each other while we may.

Cares thriue, Age creepeth on, Men are but ſhades,

Ioyes leſſen, Youth decaies, and Beauty fades;

New turnes come on, the old returneth neuer,

If we let our goe paſt, 'tis paſt for euer.

FINIS.