Poems, Poem 71 – Poem 87
The Extaſie.
WHere, like a pillow on a bed,
A Pregnant banke ſwel'd up, to reſt
The violets reclining head,
Sat we two, one anothers beſt;
Our hands were firmely cimented
With a faſt balme, which thence did ſpring,
Our eye-beames twiſted, and did thred
Our eyes, upon one double ſtring,
So to'entergraft our hands, as yet
Was all the meanes to make us one,
And pictures in our eyes to get
Was all our propagation.
As 'twixt two equall Armies, Fate
Suſpends uncertaine victorie,
Our ſoules, (which to advance their ſtate,
Were gone out,) hung 'twixt her, and mee.
And whil'ſt our ſoules negotiate there,
Wee like ſepulchrall ſtatues lay,
All day, the ſame our poſtures were,
And wee ſaid nothing, all the day.
If any, ſo by love refin'd,
That he ſoules language underſtood,
And by good love were growen all minde,
Within convenient diſtance ſtood,
He (though he knowes not which ſoule ſpake,
Becauſe both meant, both ſpake the ſame)
Might thence a new concoction take,
And part farre purer then he came.
This Extaſie doth unperplex
(We ſaid) and tell us what we love,
Wee ſee by this, it was not ſexe
Wee ſee, we ſaw not what did move:
But as all ſeverall ſoules containe
Mixture of things, they know not what,
Love, theſe mixt ſoules, doth mixe againe,
And makes both one, each this and that.
A ſingle violet tranſplant,
The ſtrength, the colour, and the ſize,
(All which before was poore, and ſcant,)
Redoubles ſtill, and multiplies.
When love, with one another ſo
Interanimates two ſoules,
That abler ſoule, which thence doth flow,
Defects of lonelineſſe controules.
Wee then, who are this new ſoule, know,
Of what we are compos'd, and made,
For, th'Atomies of which we grow,
Are ſoules, whom no change can invade.
But O alas, ſo long, ſo farre
Our bodies why doe wee forbeare?
They are ours, though not wee, Wee are
The intelligences, they the ſpheares.
We owe them thankes, becauſe they thus,
Did us, to us, at firſt convay,
Yeelded their ſenſes force to us,
Nor are droſſe to us, but allay.
On man heavens influence workes not ſo,
But that it firſt imprints the ayre,
For ſoule into the ſoule may flow,
Though it to body firſt repaire.
As our blood labours to beget
Spirits, as like ſoules as it can,
Becauſe ſuch fingers need to knit
That ſubtile knot, which makes us man:
So muſt pure lovers ſoules deſcend
T'affections, and to faculties,
Which ſenſe may reach and apprehend,
Elſe a great Prince in priſon lies.
To'our bodies turne wee then, that ſo
Weake men on love reveal'd may looke;
Loves myſteries in ſoules doe grow,
But yet the body is his booke.
And if ſome lover, ſuch as wee,
Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him ſtill marke us, he ſhall ſee
Small change, when we'are to bodies gone.
Loves Deitie.
I Long to talke with ſome old lovers ghoſt,
Who dyed before the god of Love was borne:
I cannot thinke that hee, who then lov'd moſt,
Sunke ſo low, as to love one which did ſcorne.
But ſince this god produc'd a deſtinie,
And that vice-nature, cuſtome, lets it be;
I muſt love her, that loves not mee.
Sure, they which made him god, meant not ſo much:
Nor he, in his young god head practis'd it.
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to paſſives. Correſpondencie
Only his ſubject was; It cannot bee
Love, till I love her, that loves mee.
But every moderne god will now extend
His vaſt prerogative, as far as Jove.
To rage, to luſt, to …, to commend,
All is the purlewe of the God of Love.
Oh were wee wak'ned by this Tyrannie
To ungod this child againe, it could not beo
I ſhould love her, who loves not mee.
Rebell and Atheiſt too, why murmure I,
As though I felt the worſt that love could doe?
Love may make me leave loving, or might trie
A deeper plague, to make her love mee too,
Which ſince ſhe loves before, I'am loth to ſee;
Falſhood is worſe then hate; and that muſt bee,
If ſhee whom I love, ſhould love mee.
Loves diet.
TO what a comberſome unwieldineſſe
And burdenous corpulence my love had growne,
But that I did, to make it leſſe,
And keepe it in proportion,
Give it a diet, made it feed upon
That which love worſt endures, diſcretion.
Above one ſigh a day I'allow'd him not,
Of which my fortune, and my faults had part;
And if ſometimes by ſtealth he got
A ſhe ſigh from my miſtreſſe heart,
And thought to feaſt on that, I let him ſee
'Twas neither very ſound, nor meant to mee;
If he wroung from mee'a teare, I brin'd it ſo
With ſcorne or ſhame, that him it nouriſh'd not;
If he ſuck'd hers, I let him know
'Twas not a teare, which hee had got,
His drinke was counterfeit, as was his meat;
For, eyes which rowle towards all, weepe not, but ſweat.
What ever he would dictate, I writ that,
But burnt my letters; When ſhe writ to me,
And that that favour made him fat,
I ſaid, if any title bee
Convey'd by this, Ah, what doth it availe,
To be the fortieth name in an entaile?
Thus I redeem'd my buzard love, to flye
At what, and when, and how, and where I chuſe;
Now negligent of ſports I lye,
And now as other Fawkners uſe,
I ſpring a miſtreſſe, ſweare, write, ſigh and weepe:
And the game kill'd, or loſt, goe talke, and ſleepe.
The Will.
BEfore I ſigh my laſt gaſpe, let me breath,
Great love, ſome Legacies; Here I bequeath
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can ſee,
If they be blinde, then Love, I give them thee;
My tongue to Fame; to'Embaſſadours mine eares;
To women or the ſea, my teares;
Thou, Love, haſt taught mee heretofore
By making mee ſerve her who'had twenty more,
That I ſhould give to none, but ſuch, as had too much before.
My conſtancie I to the planets give,
My truth to them, who at the Court doe live;
Mine ingenuity and openneſſe,
To Jeſuites; to Buffones my penſiveneſſe;
My ſilence to'any, who abroad hath beene;
My mony to a Capuchin.
Thou Love taught'ſt me, by appointing mee
To love there, where no love receiv'd can be,
OnelyOnly to give to ſuch as have an incapacitie.
My faith I give to Roman Catholiques;
All my good works unto the Schiſmaticks
Of Amſterdam; my beſt civility
And Courtſhip, to an Univerſitie;
My modeſty I give to ſouldiers bare;
My patience let gameſters ſhare.
Thou Love taughtſt mee, by making mee
Love her that holds my love diſparity,
OnelyOnly to give to thoſe that count my gifts indignity.
I give my reputation to thoſe
Which were my friends; Mine induſtrie to foes;
To Schoolemen I bequeath my doubtfulneſſe;
My ſickneſſe to Phyſitians, or exceſſe;
To Nature, all that I in Ryme have writ;
And to my company my wit;
Thou love, by making mee adore
Her, who begot this love in mee before,
Taughtſt me to make, as though I gave, when I did but reſtore.
To him for whom the paſſing bell next tolls,
I give my phyſick bookes; my writen rowles
Of Morall counſels, I to Bedlam give;
My brazen medals, unto them which live
In want of bread; to them which paſſe among
All forrainers, mine Engliſh tongue.
Thou, Love, by making mee love one
Who thinkes her friendſhip a fit portion
For yonger lovers, doſt my gifts thus diſproportion.
Therefore I'll give no more; But I'll undoe
The world by dying; becauſe love dies too.
Then all your beauties will bee no more worth
Then gold in Mines, where none doth draw it forth.
And all your graces no more uſe ſhall have
Then a Sun dyall in a grave,
Thou Love taughtſt mee, by making mee
Love her, who doth neglect both mee and thee,
To'invent, and practiſe this one way, to'annihilate all three.
The Funerall.
WHo ever comes to ſhroud me, do not harme
Nor queſtion much
That ſubtile wreath of haire, which crowne, my arme;
The myſtery, the ſigne you muſt not touch,
For'tis my outward Soule
Viceroy to that, which unto heaven being gone,
Will leave this to controule,
And keepe theſe limbes, her Provinces, from diſſolution.
For if the ſinewie thread my braine lets fall
Through every part,
Can tye thoſe parts, and make mee one of all;
Thoſe haires which upward grew, and ſtrength and art
Have from a better braine,
Can better do'it; except ſhe meant that I
By this ſhould know my pain,
As priſoners then are manacled, when they'are condem'nd to die.
What ere ſhee meant by'it, bury it by me,
For ſince I am
Loves martyr, it might breed idolatrie,
If into others hands theſe reliques came;
As 'twas humility
To afford to it all that a Soule can doe,
So, 'tis ſome bravery,
That ſince you would have none of mee, I bury ſome of you.
The Bloſsome.
LIttle think'ſt thou, poore flower,
Whom I have watch'd ſixe or ſeaven dayes,
And ſeene thy birth, and ſeene what every houre
Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raiſe,
And now doſt laugh and triumph on this bough,
Little think'ſt thou
That it will freeze anon, and that I ſhall
To morrow finde thee falne, or not at all.
Little think'ſt thou poore heart
That labours yet to neſtle thee,
And think'ſt by hovering here to get a part
In a forbidden or forbidding tree,
And hop'ſt her ſtiffeneſſe by long ſiege to bow:
Little think'ſt thou,
That thou to morrow, ere that Sunne doth wake,
Muſt with this Sunne, and mee a journey take.
But thou which lov'ſt to bee
Subtile to plague thy ſelfe, wilt ſay,
Alas, if you muſt goe, what's that to mee?
Here lyes my buſineſſe, and here I will ſtay:
You goe to friends, whoſe love and meanes preſent
Various content
To your eyes, eares, and taſt, and every part.
If then your body goe, what need your heart?
Well then, ſtay here; but know,
When thou haſt ſtayd and done thy moſt;
A naked thinking heart, that makes no ſhow,
Is to a woman, but a kinde of Ghoſt;
How ſhall ſhee know my heart; or having none,
Know thee for one?
Practiſe may make her know ſome other part,
But take my word, ſhee doth not know a Heart.
Meet mee at London, then,
Twenty dayes hence, and thou ſhalt ſee
Mee freſher, and more fat, by being with men,
Then if I had ſtaid ſtill with her and thee.
For Gods ſake, if you can, be you ſo too:
I will give you
There, to another friend, whom wee ſhall finde
As glad to have my body, as my minde.
The Primroſe.
VPonUpon this Primroſe hill,
Where, it Heav'n would diſtill
A ſhoure of raine, each ſeverall drop might goe
To his owne primroſe, and grow Manna ſo;
And where their forme, and their infinitie
Make a terreſtriall Galaxie,
As the ſmall ſtarres doe in the skie:
I walke to finde a true Love; and I ſee
That 'tis not a mere woman, that is ſhee,
But muſt, or more, or leſſe then woman bee.
Yet know I not, which flower
I wiſh; a ſixe, or foure;
For ſhould my true-Love leſſe then woman bee,
She were ſcarce any thing; and then ſhould ſhee
Be more then woman, ſhee would get above
All thought of ſexe, and thinke to move
My heart to ſtudy her, and not to love;
Both theſe were monſters; Since there muſt reſide
Falſhood in woman, I could more abide,
She were by art, then Nature falſify'd.
Live Primroſe then, and thrive
With thy true number five;
And women, whom this flower doth repreſent,
With this myſterious number be content;
Ten is the fartheſt number, if halfe ten
Belongs unto each woman, then
Each woman may take halfe us men,
Or if this will not ſerve their turne, Since all
Numbers are odde, or even, and they fall
Firſt into this five, women may take us all.
The Relique.
WHen my grave is broke up againe
Some ſecond gheſt to entertaine,
(For graves have learn'd that woman-head
To be to more then one a Bed)
And he that digs it, ſpies
A bracelet of bright haire about the bone,
Will he not let'us alone,
And thinke that there a loving couple lies,
Who thought that this device might be ſome way
To make their ſoules, at the laſt buſie day,
Meet at this grave, and make a little ſtay?
If this fall in a time, or land,
Where miſ-devotion doth command,
Then, he that digges us up, will bring
Us, to the Biſhop, and the King,
To make us Reliques; then
Thou ſhalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I
A ſomething elſe thereby;
All women ſhall adore us, and ſome men;
And ſince at ſuch time, miracles are ſought,
I would have that age by this paper taught
What miracles wee harmeleſſe lovers wrought.
Firſt, we lov'd well and faithfully,
Yet knew not what wee lov'd, nor why,
Difference of ſex no more wee new,
Then our Guardian Angells doe,
Comming and going, wee,
Perchance might kiſſe, but not between thoſe meales
Our hands ne'r toucht the ſeales,
Which nature, injur'd by late law, ſets free,
Theſe miracles wee did; but now alas,
All meaſure, and all language, I ſhould paſſe,
Should I tell what a miracle ſhee was.
The Dampe.
WHen I am dead, and Doctors know not why,
And my friends curioſitie
Will have me cut up to ſurvay each part,
When they ſhall finde your Picture in my heart,
You thinke a ſodaine dampe of love
Will through all their ſenſes move,
And worke on them as mee, and ſo preferre
Your murder, to the name of Maſſacre.
Poore victories; But if you dare be brave,
And pleaſure in your conqueſt have,
Firſt kill th'enormous Gyant, your Diſdaine,
And let th'enchantreſſe Honor, next be ſlaine,
And like a Goth and Vandall rize,
Deface Records, and Hiſtories
Of your owne arts and triumphs over men,
And without ſuch advantage kill me then.
For I could muſter up as well as you
My Gyants, and my Witches too,
Which are vaſt Conſtancy, and Secretneſſe,
But theſe I neyther looke for, nor profeſſe,
Kill mee as Woman, let mee die
As a meere man; doe you but try
Your paſſive valor, and you ſhall finde than,
In that you'have odds enough of any man.
The Diſſolution.
SHee'is dead; And all which die
To their firſt Elements reſolve;
And wee were mutuall Elements to us,
And made of one another.
My body then doth hers involve,
And thoſe things whereof I conſiſt, hereby
In me abundant grow, and burdenous,
And nouriſh not, but ſmother.
My fire of Paſſion, ſighes of ayre,
Water of teares, and earthly ſad deſpaire,
Which my materialls bee,
But ne'r worne out by loves ſecuritie,
Shee, to my loſſe, doth by her death repaire,
And I might live long wretched ſo
But that my fire doth with my fuell grow.
Now as thoſe Active Kings
Whoſe foraine conqueſt treaſure brings,
Receive more, and ſpend more, and ſooneſt breake:
This (which I am amaz'd that I can ſpeake)
This death, hath with my ſtore
My uſe encreas'd.
And ſo my ſoule more earneſtly releas'd,
Will outſtrip hers; As bullets flowen before
A latter bullet may o'rtake, the pouder being more.
A Ieat King ſent
THou art not ſo black, as my heart,
Nor halfe ſo brittle, as her heart, thou art;
What would'ſt thou ſay? ſhall both our properties by thee bee ſpoke,
Nothing more endleſſe, nothing ſooner broke?
Marriage rings are not of this ſtuffe;
Oh, why ſhould ought leſſe precious, or leſſe tough
Figure our loves? Except in thy name thou have bid it ſay
I'am cheap, & nought but faſhion, fling me'away.
Yet ſtay with mee ſince thou art come,
Circle this fingers top, which did'ſt her thombe.
Be juſtly proud, and gladly ſafe, that thou doſt dwell with me,
She that, Oh, broke her faith, would ſoon breake thee.
Negative love.
I Never ſtoop'd ſo low, as they
Which on an eye, cheeke, lip, can prey,
Seldome to them, which ſoare no higher
Then vertue or the minde to'admire,
For ſenſe, and underſtanding may
Know, what gives fuell to their fire:
My love, though ſilly, is more brave,
For may I miſſe, when ere I crave,
If I know yet, what I would have.
If that be ſimply perfecteſt
Which can by no way be expreſt
But Negatives, my love is ſo.
To All, which all love, I ſay no.
If any who deciphers beſt,
What we know not, our ſelves, can know,
Let him teach mee that nothing; This
As yet my eaſe, and comfort is,
Though I ſpeed not, I cannot miſſe.
The Prohibition.
TAke heed of loving mee,
At leaſt remember, I forbade it thee;
Not that I ſhall repaire my'unthrifty waſt
Of Breath and Blood, upon thy ſighes, and teares,
By being to mee then that which thou waſt;
But, ſo great Joy, our life at once outweares,
Then, leaſt thy love, by my death, fruſtrate bee,
If thou love mee, take heed of loving mee.
Take heed of hating mee,
Or too much triumph in the Victorie.
Not that I ſhall be mine owne officer,
And hate with hate againe retaliate;
But thou wilt loſe the ſtile of conquerour,
If I, thy conqueſt, periſh by thy hate.
Then, leaſt my being nothing leſſen thee,
If thou hate mee, take heed of hating mee.
Yet, love and hate mee too,
So, theſe extreames ſhall ne'r their office doe;
Love mee, that I may die the gentler way;
Hate mee, becauſe thy love is too great for mee;
Or let theſe two, themſelves, not me decay;
So ſhall I live thy ſtay, not triumph bee;
Leſt thou thy love and hate and mee undoe
To let mee live, Oh love and hate mee too.
The Expiration.
SO, ſo, breake off this laſt'lamenting kiſſe,
Which ſucks two ſoules, and vapors Both away,
Turne thou ghoſt that way, and let mee turne this,
And let our ſelves benight our happieſt day,
Wee aske none leave to love; nor will we owe
Any, ſo cheape a death, as ſaying, Goe;
Goe; and if that word have not quite kil'd thee,
Eaſe mee with death, by bidding mee goe too.
Oh, if it have, let my word worke on mee,
And a juſt office on a murderer doe.
Except it be too late, to kill me ſo,
Being double dead, going, and bidding, goe.
The Computation.
FOr the firſt twenty yeares, ſince yeſterday,
I ſcarce beleev'd, thou could'ſt be gone away,
For forty more, I fed on favours paſt,
And forty'on hopes, that thou would'ſt, they might laſt.
Teares drown'd one hundred, and ſighes blew out two,
A thouſand, I did neither thinke, nor doe.
Or not divide, all being one thought of you;
Or in a thouſand more, forgot that too.
Yet call not this long life; But thinke that I
Am, by being dead, Immortall; Can ghoſts die?
Elegie.
LAnguage thou art too narrow, and too weake
To eaſe us now; great ſorrow cannot ſpeake;
If we could ſigh out accents, and weepe words,
Griefe weares, and leſſens, that tears breath affords,
Sad hearts, the leſſe they ſeeme the more they are,
(So guiltieſt men ſtand muteſt at the barre)
Not that they know not, feele not their eſtate,
But extreme ſenſe hath made them deſperate,
Sorrow, to whom we owe all that we bee;
Tyrant, in the fift and greateſt Monarchy,
Was't, that ſhe did poſſeſſe all hearts before,
Thou haſt kil'd her, to make thy Empire more?
Knew'ſt thou ſome would, that knew her not, lament,
As in a deluge periſh th'innocent?
Was't not enough to have that palace wonne,
But thou muſt raze it too, that was undone?
Had'ſt thou ſtaid there, and look'd out at her eyes,
All had ador'd thee that now from thee flies,
For they let out more light, then they tooke in,
They told not when, but did the day beginne;
She was too Saphirine, and cleare to thee;
Clay, flint, and jeat now thy fit dwellings be;
Alas, ſhee was too pure, but not too weake;
Who e'r ſaw Chriſtall Ordinance but would break?
And if wee be thy conqueſt, by her fall
Th'haſt loſt thy end, for in her periſh all;
Or if we live, we live but to rebell,
They know her better now, that knew her well;
If we ſhould vapour out, and pine, and die;
Since, ſhee firſt went, that were not miſerie;
Shee chang'd our world with hers; now ſhe is gone,
Mirth and proſperity is oppreſſion;
For of all morall vertues ſhe was all,
The Ethicks ſpeake of vertues Cardinall;
Her ſoule was Paradiſe; the Cherubin
Set to keepe it was grace, that kept out ſinne;
Shee had no more then let in death, for wee
All reape conſumption from one fruitfull tree;
God tooke her hence, leſt ſome of us ſhould love
Her, like that plant, him and his lawes above,
And when wee teares, hee mercy ſhed in this,
To raiſe our mindes to heaven where now ſhe is;
Who if her vertues would have let her ſtay
Wee'had had a Saint, have now a holiday;
Her heart was that ſtrange buſh, where, ſacred fire,
Religion, did not conſume, but'inſpire
Such piety, ſo chaſt uſe of Gods day,
That what we turne to feaſt, ſhe turn'd to pray,
And did prefigure here, in devout taſt,
The reſt of her high Sabaoth, which ſhall laſt;
Angels did hand her up, who next God dwell,
(For ſhe was of that order whence moſt fell)
Her body left with us, leſt ſome had ſaid,
Shee could not die, except they ſaw her dead;
For from leſſe vertue, and leſſe beautiouſneſſe,
The Gentiles fram'd them Gods and Goddeſſes.
The ravenous earth that now woes her to be,
Earth too, will be a Lemnia; and the tree
That wraps that chriſtall in a wooden Tombe,
Shall be tooke up ſpruce, fill'd with diamond;
And we her ſad glad friends all beare a part
Of griefe, for all would waſte a Stoicks heart.
Elegie to the Lady Bedford.
YOu that are ſhe, and you that's double ſhee,
In her dead face, halfe of your ſelfe ſhall ſee;
Shee was the other part, for ſo they doe
Which build them friendſhips, become one of two;
So two, that but themſelves no third can fit,
Which were to be ſo, when they were not yet
Twinnes, though their birth Cuſco, and Muſco take,
As divers ſtarres one Conſtellation make,
Pair'd like two eyes, have equall motion, ſo
Both but one meanes to ſee, one way to goe;
Had you dy'd firſt, a carcaſſe ſhee had beene;
And wee your rich Tombe in her face had ſeene;
She like the Soule is gone, and you here ſtay
Not a live friend; but thother halfe of clay;
And ſince you act that part, As men ſay, here
Lies ſuch a Prince, when but one part is there;
And do all honour: and devotion due;
Unto the whole, ſo wee all reverence you;
For, ſuch a friendſhip who would not adore
In you, who are all what both was before,
Not all, as if ſome periſhed by this,
But ſo, as all in you contracted is;
As of this all, though many parts decay,
The pure which elemented them ſhall ſtay;
And though diffus'd, and ſpread in infinite,
Shall recollect, and in one All unite:
So madame, as her Soule to heaven is fled,
Her fleſh reſts in the earth, as in the bed;
Her vertues do, as to their proper ſpheare,
Returne to dwell with you, of whom they were;
As perfect motions are all circular,
So they to you, their ſea, whence leſſe ſtreames are;
Shee was all ſpices, you all metalls; ſo
In you two wee did both rich Indies know;
And as no fire, nor ruſt can ſpend or waſte
One dramme of gold, but what was firſt ſhall laſt,
Though it bee forc'd in water, earth, ſalt, aire,
Expans'd in infinite, none will impaire;
So, to your ſelfe you may additions take,
But nothing can you leſſe, or changed make.
Seeke not in ſeeking new, to ſeeme to doubt,
That you can can match her, or not be without;
But let ſome faithfull booke in her roome be,
Yet but of Iudith no ſuch booke as ſhee.
Elegie.
TO make the doubt cleare, that no woman's true,
Was it my fate to prove it ſtrong in you?
Thought I, but one had breathed pureſt aire,
And muſt ſhe needs be falſe becauſe ſhe's faire?
Is it your beauties marke, or of your youth,
Or your perfection, not to ſtudy truth?
Or thinke you heaven is deafe, or hath no eyes?
Or thoſe it hath, ſmile at your perjuries?
Are vowes ſo cheape with women, or the matter
Whereof they are made, that they are writ in water,
And blowne away with winde? Or doth their breath
(Both hot and cold) at once make life and death?
Who could have thought ſo many accents ſweet
Form'd into words, ſo many ſighs ſhould meete
As from our hearts, ſo many oathes, and teares
Sprinkled among, (all ſweeter by our feares
And the divine impreſſion of ſtolne kiſſes,
That ſeal'd the reſt) ſhould now prove empty bliſſes?
Did you draw bonds to forfet? ſigne to breake?
Or muſt we reade you quite from what you ſpeake,
And finde the truth out the wrong way? or muſt
Hee firſt deſire you falſe, would wiſh you juſt?
O I prophane, though moſt of women be
This kinde of beaſt, my thought ſhall except thee;
My deareſt Love, though froward jealouſie,
With circumſtance might urge thy'inconſtancie,
Sooner I'll thinke the Sunne will ceaſe to cheare
The teeming earth, and that forget to beare,
Sooner that rivers will runne back, or Thames
With ribs of Ice in June would bind his ſtreames;
Or Nature, by whoſe ſtrength the world endures,
Would change her courſe, before you alter yours;
But O that treacherous breaſt to whom weake you
Did truſt our Counſells, and wee both may rue,
Having his falſhood found too late, 'twas hee
That made me caſt you guilty, and you me,
Whilſt he, black wrech, betray'd each ſimple word
Wee ſpake, unto the cunning of a third;
Curſt may hee be, that ſo our love hath ſlaine,
And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain,
Wretched as hee, and not deſerve leaſt pitty;
In plaguing him, let miſery be witty;
Let all eyes ſhunne him, and hee ſhunne each eye,
Till hee be noyſome as his infamie;
May he without remorſe deny God thrice,
And not be truſted more on his Soules price;
And after all ſelfe torment, when hee dyes,
May Wolves teare out his heart, Vultures his eyes,
Swine eate his bowels, and his falſer tongue
That utter'd all, be to ſome Raven flung,
And let his carrion coarſe be a longer feaſt
To the Kings dogges; then any other beaſt;
Now have I curſt, let us our love revive;
In mee the flame was never more alive;
I could beginne againe to court and praiſe,
And in that pleaſure lengthen the ſhort dayes
Of my lifes leaſe; like Painters that do take
Delight, not in made worke, but whiles they make;
I could renew thoſe times, when firſt I ſaw
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law
To like what you lik'd; and at maskes and playes
Commend the ſelfe ſame Actors, the ſame wayes;
Aske how you did, and often with intent
Of being officious, be impertinent;
All which were ſuch ſoft paſtimes, as in theſe
Love was as ſubtilly catch'd, as a diſeaſe;
But being got it is a treaſure ſweet,
Which to defend is harder then to get:
And ought not be prophan'd on either part,
For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.
NO Lover ſaith, I love, nor any other
Can judge a perfect Lover;
Hee thinkes that elſe none can or will agree,
That any loves but hee:
I cannot ſay I lov'd, for who can ſay
Hee was kill'd yeſterday.
Love with exceſſe of heat, more yong then old,
Death kills with too much cold;
Wee dye but once, and who lov'd laſt did die,
Hee that ſaith twice, doth lye:
For though hee ſeeme to move, and ſtirre a while,
It doth the ſenſe beguile.
Such life is like the light which bideth yet
When the lifes light is ſet,
Or like the heat, which, fire in ſolid matter
Leaves behinde, two houres after.
Once I love and dyed; and am now become
Mine Epitaph and Tombe.
Here dead men ſpeake their laſt, and ſo do I;
Love-ſlaine, loe, here I dye.
A Hymne to Chriſt, at the Authors laſt going into Germany.
IN what torne ſhip ſoever I embarke,
That ſhip ſhall be my embleme of thy Arke;
What ſea ſoever ſwallow mee, that flood
Shall be to mee an embleme of thy blood;
Though thou with clouds of anger do diſguiſe
Thy face; yet through that maske I know thoſe eyes,
Which, though they turne away ſometimes,
They never will deſpiſe.
I ſacrifice this Iland unto thee,
And all whom I lov'd there, and who lov'd mee;
When I have put our ſeas twixt them and mee,
Put thou thy ſeas betwixt my ſinnes and thee.
As the trees ſap doth ſeeke the root below
In winter, in my winter now I goe,
Where none but thee, th'Eternall root
Of true Love I may know.
Nor thou nor thy religion doſt controule,
The amorouſneſſe of an harmonious Soule,
But thou would'ſt have that love thy ſelfe: As thou
Art jealous, Lord, ſo I am jealous now,
Thou lov'ſt not, till from loving more, thou free
My ſoule: Who ever gives, takes libertie:
O, if thou car'ſt not whom I love
Alas, thou lov'ſt not mee.
Seale then this bill of my Divorce to All,
On whom thoſe fainter beames of love did fall;
Marry thoſe loves, which in youth ſcattered bee
On Fame, Wit, Hopes (falſe miſtreſſes) to thee.
Churches are beſt for Prayer, that have leaſt light:
To ſee God only, I goe out of ſight:
And to ſcape ſtormy dayes, I chuſe
An Everlaſting night.