Too foon: For, credit me, 'tis true, Men most of all enjoy, when least they do.
THERE is a thing which in the light Is feldom us'd, but in the night It ferves the maiden female crew, The ladies, and the good wives too : They use to take it in their hand, And then it will uprightly stand; And to a hole they it apply, Where by its good will it would die. It fpends, goes out, and still within It leaves its moisture thick and thin.
THE little boy, to fhew his might and pow'r, Turn'd Io to a cow, Narciffus to a flow'r; Transform'd Apollo to a homely fwain, And Jove himself into a golden rain. Thefe fhapes were tolerable, but by th' mafs He's metamorphos'd me into an afs.
WHEN first, fair mistress, I did fee your face, I brought, but carried no eyes from the place: And fince that time god Cupid has me led, In hope that once I fhall enjoy your bed.
But I defpair; for now, alas, I find,
Too late for me, the blind does lead the blind.
Upon Sir JouN LAURENCE's bringing Water over the Hills to my Lord MIDDLESEX's House at Witten.
AND is the water come? fure't cannot be; It runs too much against philofophy; For heavy bodies to the centre bend, Light bodies only naturally afcend.
How comes this then to pals? The good knight's
Could nothing do without the water's will: Then 'twas the water' love that made it flow, For love will creep where well it cannot go.
Ì AM a barber, and I'd have you know, A fhaver too, fometimes no mad one though. The reafon why you fee me now thus bare, Is 'cause I always trade against the hair :
But yet I keep a ftate; who comes to me, Whoe'er be is, he must uncover'd be, When I'm at work, I'm bound to find difcourfe To no great purpose, of great Sweden's force, i Of Witel, and the burfe, and what 'twill coft To get that back which was this funimer loft. So fall to praifing of his lordship's hair, Ne'er fo deform'd, I fwear 'tis fans compare: I tell him that the king's does fit no fuller, And yet his is not half so good a colour : Then reach a pleafing glafs, that's made to lie Like to its mafter, most notoriously : And if he muft his mistress fee that day, I with a powder send him straight away.
I AM a man of war and might, And know thus much, that I can fight, Whether I am i' th' wrong or right, Devoutly.
No woman under heav'n I fear, New oaths I can exactly swear, And forty healths my brains will bear Moft ftoutly.
I cannot fpeak, but I can do As much as any of our crew; And if you doubt it, fome of you May prove me.
I dare be bold thus much to fay, If that my bullets do but play, You would be hurt so night and day, Yet love me.
To my Lady E. C. on her going out of England.
I MUST confefs, when I did part from you, I could not force an artificial dew Upon my cheeks, nor with a gilded phrafe Express how many hundred several ways My heart was tortur'd, nor with arms acrofe In difcontented garbs fet forth my lofs: Such loud expreffions many times do come From lighteft hearts, great griefs are always dumb; The fhallow rivers roar, the deep are still; Numbers of painted words may fhew much fkill; But little anguifh and a cloudy face
Is oft put on, to serve both time and place: The blazing wood may to the eye seem great, But 'tis the fire rak'd up that has the heat, And keeps it long. True forrow's like to wine, That which is good does never need a fign. My eyes were channels far too fmall to be Conveyers of fuch floods of mifery: And fo pray think; or if you'd entertain A thought more charitable, fuppofe fome ftrain Of fad repentance had, not long before, Quite empty'd for my fins, that wat'ry flore. So fhall you him oblige that fill will be Your lervant to his bett ability.
A PEDLAR I am, that take great care And mickle pains for to fell fmall ware: I had need fo, when women do buy, That in small wares trade fo unwillingly.
L. W. A looking-glafs, will please you madam, buy,
A rare one 'tis indeed; for in it I
Can fhew what all the world befides can't do, A face like to your own, so fair, so true.
L. E. For you a girdle, madam; but I doubt me Nature has order'd there's no waste about ye : Pray therefore be but pleas'd to search my pack, There's no ware that I have that you shall lack.
L. E. L. M. You ladies, want you pins? If that you do,
I have those will enter, and that stifly too: Its time you choose in troth, you will bemoan Too late your tarrying, when my pack's once gone. L. B. L. A. As for you ladies, there are thofe
An Anfwer to fome Verfes made in bis Praife.
THE ancient poets, and their learned rhimes, We fill admire in these our latter times, And celebrate their fames. Thus though they die, Their names can never tafte mortality: Blind Homer's mufe, and Virgil's stately verfe, While any live, fhall never need a hearfe. Since then to thefe fuch praife was juftly due For what they did, what fhall be faid to you? These had their helps; they write of Gods and Kings,
Of temples, battles, and fuch gallant things: But you of nothing; how could you have writ, Had you but chofe a fubject to your wit? To praife Achilles, or the Trojan crew, Shew'd little art, for praife was but their due. To fay fhe's fair that's fair, this is no pains: He fhews himself most poet, that most feigns: To find our virtues ftrangely hid in me; Ay there's the art, and learned poetry! To make one ftriding of a barbed steed, Prancing a ftately round: I ufe indeed To ride Bat Jewel's jade; this is the skill, This fhews the poet wants not wit at will.
I must admire aloof, and for my part Be well contented, fince you do't with art.
Love's Burning-Glass. WONDERING how long I could harmless fee Men gazing on those beams that fired mé;
At laft I found, it was the crystal love Before my heart, that did the heat improve : Which by contracting of those scatter'd rays Into itself, did fo produce my blaze. Now lighted by my love, I fee the fame Beam dazzle through, that we are wont t' inflame. And now I blefs my love, when I do think By how much I had rather burn than wink. But how much happier were it thus to burn, If I had liberty to choose my urn?
But fince thofe beams do promife only fire, This flame shall purge me of the dross, desire.
If thou be'ft ice, I do admire How thou could'st fet my heart on fire; Or how thy fire could kindle me, Thou being ice, and not melt thee; But even my flames, light at thy own, Have hard'ned thee into a flone! Wonder of love! that canft fulfil, Inverting nature thus, thy will; Making ice one another burn,
Whilft itself does harder turn,
El i underv 'A dã radÃv; Καὶ μὴ παθῶν Καλὸν ἦν τὸ μαθών Ei de dei ragav Α δε μαθῶν ; Ti des padev Xpñ yo wadev.
Scire filiceret que debes fubire, Et non n fubire, pulchrum eft fcire; Sed fi fubire debes quæ debes feire, Quorfum vis feire, nam debes fubire? Englished thus:
If man might know
The ill he must undergo, And fhun it fo,
Then it were good to know: But if he undergo it,
Though he know it, What boots him know it? He must undergo it.
WHEN, dearest, I but think of thee, Methinks all things that lovely be Are prefent, and my foul delighted; For beauties that from worth arife, Are like the grace of deities, Still prefent with us, though unfighted.
Thus whilft I fit, and figh the day With all his borrow'd lights away,
"Till night's black wings do overtake me, Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, As fudden lights do fleepy men,
So they by their bright rays awake me.
Thus abfence dies, and dying proves No abfence can fubfift with loves That do partake of fair perfection; Since in the darkest night they may, By love's quick motion, find a way To fee each other by reflection.
The waving fea can with each flood Bathe fome high promont, that has stood Far from the main up in the river: Oh! think not then but love can do As much. for that's an ocean too, Which flows not every day, but ever,
TELL me, ye jufter deities, That pity lovers miferies, Why thould my own unworthiness Light me to feek my happiness?
It is as natural, as just,
Him for to love whom needs I muft: All men confefs that love's a fire, Then who denies it to aspire?
Tell me, if thou wert fortune's thrall, Would't thou not raise thee from the fall? Seck only to o'erlook thy ftate Whereto thou art condemn'd by fate? Then let me love my Coridon, And by Love's leave, him love alone : For I have read in ftories oft, That love has wings, and foars aloft.
Then let me grow in my defire, Though I be martyr'd in that fire: For grace it is enough for me But only to love fuch as he; For never fhall my thoughts be bafe, Though lucklefs, yet without disgrace: Then let him that my love fhall blame,
Or clip Love's wings, or quench Love's flame.
Our thoughts, as pure as the chafte morning's breath,
When from the night's cold arms it creeps away, Where cloth'd in werds; and maiden's blush that hath
More purity, more innocence than they,
Nor from the water could'ft thou have this tale, No briny tear has furrow'd her fmooth cheek; And I was pleas'd, I pray what should he ail That had her love, for what elfe could he feek? We short'ned days to moments by Love's art, Whilft our two fouls in amorous ecstasy Perceiv'd no paffing time, as if a part Our love had been of still eternity, Much less could have it from the purer fire, Our heat exhales no vapour from coarse sense, Such as are hopes, or fears, or fond defire; Our mutual love itfelf did recompense, Thou haft no correfpondence had in heav'n, And th' elemental world, thou fee'ft, is free: Whence hadft thou then this, talking monfter?
From hell, a harbour fit for it and thee. Curst be th' officious tongue that did address Thee to her ears, to ruin my content: May it one minute tafte fuch happiness, Deferving loos'd unpitied it lament!
I muft forbear her fight, and fo repay
In grief, thofe hours joy fhort'ned to a dram; Each minute I will lengthen to a day, And in one year outlive Methufalem.
UNJUST decrees, that do at once exact From fuch a love as worthy hearts fhould So wild a paffion,
And yet fo tame a prefence
As holding no proportion, Changes into impoffible obedience.
Let it fuffice, that neither I do love In fuch a calm obfervance, as to weigh Each word I fay,
And each examin'd look t' approve That towards her does move, Without fo much of fire
As might, in time, kindle into defire.
Or give me leave to burf into a flame, And at the scope of my unbounded will Love her my fill,
No fuperfcriptions of fame,
Of honour or good name, No thought but to improve.
The gentle and quick approaches of my love.
But thus to throng and overlade a foul With love, and then to have a room for fear, That înal! ali that controul, What is it but to rear Our paffions and our hopes on high,
That thence they may defcry The nobleft way how to defpair and die?
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