794

Looks, that oppress

Their richest tires, but dress

Themselves in simple nakedness.

Eyes, that displace

The neighbor diamond, and outface

That sunshine by their own sweet grace.

Tresses, that wear

Jewels but to declare

How much themselves more precious are:

Whose native ray

Can tame the wanton day

Of gems that in their bright shades play.

Each ruby there,

Or pearl that dare appear,

Be its own blush, be its own tear.

A well-tamed Heart,

For whose more noble smart

Love may be long choosing a dart.

Eyes, that bestow

Full quivers on Love's bow,

Yet pay less arrows than they owe.

Smiles, that can warm

The blood, yet teach a charm,

That chastity shall take no harm.

Blushes, that bin

The burnish of no sin,

Nor flames of aught too hot within.

Joys, that confess

Virtue their mistress,

And have no other head to dress.

Wishes to His Supposed Mistress

Fears, fond and slight

As the coy bride's, when night,
First does the longing lover right.

Days that need borrow

No part of their good-morrow

From a fore-spent night of sorrow.

Days that, in spite

Of darkness, by the light.

Of a clear mind, are day all night.

Nights, sweet as they,

Made short by lovers' play,

Yet long by the absence of the day.

Life, that dares send

A challenge to his end,

And when it comes, say, "Welcome, friend!"

Sydneian showers

Of sweet discourse, whose powers

Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.

Soft silken hours,

Open suns, shady bowers;

'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.

Whate'er delight

Can make Day's forehead bright,

Or give down to the wings of Night

In her whole frame

Have Nature all the name;

Art and Ornament, the shame!

Her flattery,

Picture and Poesy:

Her counsel her own virtue be,

795

I wish her store

Of worth may leave her poor

Of wishes; and I wish-no more.

Now, if Time knows

That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;

Her, whose just bays

My future hopes can raise,

A trophy to her present praise;

Her, that dares be

What these lines wish to see;

I seek no further, it is She.

'Tis She, and here,

Lo! I unclothe and clear

My Wishes' cloudy character.

May She enjoy it

Whose merit dare apply it,

But modesty dares still deny it!

Such worth as this is

Shall fix my flying Wishes,

And determine them to kisses.

Let her full glory,

My fancies, fly before ye;

Be ye my fictions--but her Story!

Richard Crashaw [1613?-1649]

THE CHRONICLE

MARGARITA first possessed,

If I remember well, my breast,

Margarita first of all;

But when awhile the wanton maid
With my restless heart had played,
Martha took the flying ball.

The Chronicle

Martha soon did it resign

To the beauteous Catherine.
Beauteous Catherine gave place
(Though loath and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)
To Eliza's conquering face.

Eliza till this hour might reign,
Had she not evil counsels ta'en;
Fundamental laws she broke,
And still new favorites she chose,
Till up in arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoke.

Mary then, and gentle Ann,
Both to reign at once began;

Alternately they swayed;

And sometimes Mary was the fair,
And sometimes Ann the crown did wear;
And sometimes both I obeyed.

Another Mary then arose,
And did rigorous laws impose;
A mighty tyrant she!
Long, alas! should I have been
Under that iron-sceptered Queen,
Had not Rebecca set me free.

When fair Rebecca set me free,
'Twas then a golden time with me:
But soon those pleasures fled;

For the gracious princess died
In her youth and beauty's pride,

And Judith reigned in her stead.

One month, three days, and half an hour
Judith held the sovereign power:
Wondrous beautiful her face!
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,

And so Susanna took her place.

797

But when Isabella came,
Armed with a resistless flame,
And the artillery of her eye;
Whilst she proudly marched about,
Greater conquests to find out,
She beat out Susan, by the by.

But in her place I then obeyed
Black-eyed Bess, her viceroy-maid,
To whom ensued a vacancy:
Thousand worse passions then possessed
The interregnum of my breast;
Bless me from such an anarchy!

Gentle Henrietta then,

And a third Mary, next began;

Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria;

And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Catherine,

And then a long et cetera.

But should I now to you relate
The strength and riches of their state,
The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things
That make up all their magazines;

If I should tell the politic arts
To take and keep men's hearts,

The letters, embassies, and spies, The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries, The quarrels, tears, and perjuries, Numberless, nameless mysteries!

And all the little lime-twigs laid
By Matchavil, the waiting-maid;
I more voluminous should grow