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G. W. SENIOR, TO THE AUTHOR.
is the day, when Phoebus face is shrouded,
And weaker sightes may wander soone astray :
But, when they see his glorious rays unclouded,
With steddy steps they keep the perfect way:
So, while this Muse in forraine Land doth stay,
Invention weeps, and pens are cast aside;
The time, like night, depriv'd of chearfull day;
And few do write, but (ah!) too soon may slide.
Then, hie thee home, that art our perfect guide,
And with thy wit illustrate England's fame,
Daunting thereby our neighbours ancient pride,
That do, for Poesie, challenge chiefest name:
So we that live, and ages that succeed,
With great applause thy learned works shall read.
Colin, whether on the lowly
Piping to shepheards thy sweet roundelays;
Or whether singing, in some lofty vaine,
Heroicke deeds of past or present dayes ;
Or whether, in thy lovely Mistresse praise,
Thou list to exercise thy learned quill;
Thy Muse hath got such grace and power to please,
With rare invention, beautified by skill,
As who therein can ever joy their fill!
O! therefore let that happy Muse proceed
To clime the height of Vertues sacred hill,
Where endlesse honour shall be made thy meed :
Because no malice of succeeding daies
Can rase those records of thy lasting praise.
leaves! when as those lilly hands,
Which hold my life in their dead-doing might, Shall handle you, and hold in loves soft bands, Lyke captives trembling at the victors sight. And happy lines! on which, with starry light, Those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look, And reade the sorrowes of my dying spright, Written with teares in harts close-bleeding book. And happy rymes! bath'd in the sacred brooke Of Helicon, whence she derived is;
When ye behold that Angels blessed looke,
My soules long-lacked food, my heavens blis;
Leaves, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone, Whom if ye please, I care for other none !
NQUIET thought! whom at the first I bred
Of th' inward bale of my love-pined hart;
And sithens have with sighes and sorrowes fed,
Till greater then my wombe thou woxen art:
Breake forth at length out of the inner part,
In which thou lurkest lyke to vipers brood;
And seeke some succour both to ease my smart,
And also to sustayne thy selfe with food..
But, if in presence of that fayrest Proud
Thou chance to come, fall lowly at her feet;
And, with meek humblesse and afflicted mood,
Pardon for thee, and grace for me, intreat :
Which if she graunt, then live, and my love cherish :
If not, die soone; and I with thee will perish.
THE soverayne beauty which I doo admyre,
Witnesse the world how worthy to be prayzed!
The light wherof hath kindled heavenly fyre
In my fraile spirit, by her from basenesse raysed;
That being now with her huge brightnesse dazed,
Base thing I can no more endure to view:
But, looking still on her, I stand amazed
At wondrous sight of so celestiall hew.
So when my toung would speak her praises dew,
It stopped is with thoughts astonishment;
And, when my pen would write her titles true,
It ravisht is with fancies wonderment:
Yet in my hart I then both speak and write
The wonder that my wit cannot endite.
yeare, forth looking out of Janus gate, Doth seeme to promise hope of new delight: And, bidding th' old Adieu, his passed date Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpish spright: And, calling forth out of sad Winters night Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheerlesse bower, Wils him awake, and soone about him dight His wanton wings and darts of deadly power. For lusty Spring now in his timely howre Is ready to come forth, him to receive; And warns the Earth with divers-colord flowre To decke hir selfe, and her faire mantle weave. Then you, faire flowre! in whom fresh youth doth raine, Prepare your selfe new love to entertaine.
thou wrongest my deare harts desire,
In finding fault with her too portly pride:
The thing which I doo most in her admire,
Is of the world unworthy most envide:
For in those lofty lookes is close implide,
Scorn of base things, and sdeigne of foul dishonor;
Thretning rash eies which gaze on her so wide,
That loosely they ne dare to looke upon her.
Such pride is praise; such portlinesse is honor;
That boldned innocence beares in her eies;
And her faire countenance, like a goodly banner,.
Spreds in defiaunce of all enemies.
Was never in this world ought worthy tride,
Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.
BE nought dismayd that her unmoved mind
Doth still persist in her rebellious pride:
Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser kynd,
The harder wonne, the firmer will abide.
The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet dride,
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre;
But, when it once doth burne, it doth divide
Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven aspire.
So hard it is to kindle new desire
In gentle brest, that shall endure for ever:
Deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire
With chaste affects, that naught but death can sever.
Then thinke not long in taking litle paine
To knit the knot, that ever shall remaine.
AYRE ! the
myrrour of mazed hart,
What wondrous vertue is contayn'd in you,
The which both lyfe and death forth from you dart
Into the object of your mighty view?
For, when ye mildly looke with lovely hew,
Then is my soule with life and love inspired:
But when ye lowre, or looke on me askew,
Then do I die, as one with lightning fyred.
But, since that lyfe is more then death desyred,
Looke ever lovely, as becomes you best;
That your bright beams, of my weak eies admyred,
May kindle living fire within my brest.
Such life should be the honor of your light,
Such death the sad ensample of your might.