« PreviousContinue »
For Adon's fake, a youngfter proud and wild,
Her ftand fhe takes upon a fteep-up hill.
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds,
She, filly queen, with more than love's good-will,
Forbad the boy he should not pafs thofe grounds:
Once (quoth fhe) did I fee a fair fweet youth
Here in these brakes, deep wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh a spectacle of ruth;
See in my thigh (quoth fhe) here was the fore:
She fhewed hers, he faw more wounds than one,
And blufhing fled, and left her all alone.
How can my mufe want subject to invent,
While thou doft breathe, that pour'ft into my verfe
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
Oh! give thyfelf the thanks, if ought in me,
Worthy perufal, ftand against thy sight;
For who's fo dull, that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth mufe, ten times more in worth,
Than thofe old Nine which rhimers invocate ;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to out-live long date.
If my light mufe do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine fhall be the praife.
Oh! how thy worth with manners may I fing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own felf bring?
And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this, let us divided live,
And our dear love lofe name of single one;
That by this feparation I may give
That due to thee, which thou deferv'ft alone.
Oh abfence! what a torment would't thou prove,
Were't not that thy four leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Who time and thoughts fo fweetly doft deceive;
And that thou teacheft how to make one twain,
By praifing him here, who doth hence remain.
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all,
What haft thou then more than thou hadft before?
No love, my love, that thou may'ft true love call,
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blam'd, if thou thyfelf deceiveft
By wilful tafte of what thyfelf refuseft.
I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief,
Altho' thou fteal thee all my poverty:
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lafcivious grace, in whom all ill well fhows,
Kill me with spite, yet we must not be foes.
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am fometimes abfent from thy heart,.
Thy beauty and thy years full well befit,
For ftill temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won;
Beauteous thou art, and therefore to be affailed,
And when a woman woos, what woman's fon
Will fourly leave her till he have prevailed?
Ah me! but yet thou might'ft my feat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy ftraying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there,
Where thou art forc'd to break a twofold truth:
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine by thy beauty being falfe to me.
That thou haft her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be faid I lov'd her dearly;
That the hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A lofs in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye,
Thou doft love her, because thou know'ft I love her;
And for my fake even fo doth fhe abuse me,
Suffering my friend, for my fake, to approve her,
If I lofe thee, my lofs is my love's gain,
And lofing her, my friend hath found that lofs:
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my fake lay on me this cross.
But here's the joy, my friend and I are one,
Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone.
Venus with Adonis fitting by her,
Under a myrtle fhade, began to woo him:
She told the youngling how god Mars did try her,
And as he fell to her, fhe fell to him.
Even thus (quoth fhe) the warlike god embrac'd me,
And then fhe clipt Adonis in her arms:
Even thus (quoth fhe) the warlike god unlac'd me,
As if the boy fhould ufe like loving charms.
Even thus (quoth fhe) he feized on my lips,
And with her lips on his did act the feizure a
And as fhe fetched breath, away he skips,
And would not take her meaning nor her pleasure.
Ah! that I had my lady at this bay,
To kiss and clip me till I run away.
Crabbed age and youth cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleafance, age is full of care;
Youth like fummer morn, age like winter weather;
Youth like fummer brave, age like winter bare.
Youth is full of fport, age's breath is fhort;
Youth is nimble, age is lame;
Youth is hot and bold, age is weak and cold;
Youth is wild, and age is tame.
Age I do abhor thee, youth I do adore thee
O! my love, my love is young:
Age I do defy thee, O! fweet fhepherd hie thee; For, methinks, thou stay'st too long.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A fhining glofs, that fadeth fuddenly;
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud;
A brittle glass, that's broken presently.
A doubtful good, a glofs, a glafs, a flower,
Loft, faded, broken, dead within an hour,
And as goods loft, are feld' or never found;
As faded glofs no rubbing will refresh ;
As flowers dead, lie withered on the ground;
As broken glass, no cement can redress:
So beauty blemish'd once, for ever's loft,
In spite of phyfic, painting, pain and cost.
If the dull fubftance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious diftance fhould not ftop my way;
For then, defpite of fpace, I would be brought
To limits far remote, where thou doft stay.
No matter then altho' my foot did stand
Upon the fartheft earth remov'd from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land,
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But, ah! thought kills me, that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone;
But that fo much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leifure with my moan;
Receiving nought by elements fo flow,
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
The other two, flight air, and purging fire,
Are both with thee, where-ever I abide;
The firft my thought, the other my defire;
These prefent, abfent, with swift motion flide.
For when these quicker elements are gone,
In tender embaffy of love to thee,
My life being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppreft with melancholy;
Until life's compofition be recured,
By those swift mellengers return'd from thee,
Who even but now come back again assured
Of their fair health, recounting it to me.
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I fend them back again, and ftrait grow fad,