Censure those Lovers so, whose will
Inferiour objects can entice,
Who changes for the better still,
Makes that a vertue you call vice.
Shall I hopelesse then pursue
A fair shaddow that still flyes me?
Shall I still adore and woe
A proud heart that doth despise me?
Yes, a constant love may so,
Yet 'tis but a fruitlesse show.
Shall I by the erring light
Of two crosser Starrs still sail ?
That do shine, but shine in spight,
Not to guide, but make me faile?
I a wandring course may steer,
But the harbour ne're come neer.
Whilst these thoughts my Soul possesse,
Reason passion would o'resway,
Bidding me my flames suppresse,
Or divert some other way;
But what Reason would pursue,
When my heart runs counter too?
So a Pilot bent to make
Search for some unfound-out Land,
Does with him his Loadstone take
Sayling to the unknown strand;
But sail he which way he will
The Loadstone to the North poynts still.
By my life I vow
That my life art thou;
By my Heart, and by my Eyes,
But thy faith denyes
To my juster oath t'incline,
For thou sayest, I swear by thine.
By this sigh I sweare,
By this falling teare,
By the undeserved paines,
My grieved soul sustains,
Thou mayest now believe my moan,
They are too too much my own.
On a Maid in love with a Youth blind of one Eye.
Though a Sable Cloud benight
One of thy fair Twins of light,
Yet the other brighter seems
As t'had rob'd his brothers beams,
Or both Lights to one were run,
Of two Starrs to make one Sun:
Cunning Archer! who knows yet
But thou winkst my heart to hit ;
Close the other too, and all
Thee the God of Love will call.
Love begotten by pitty.
'Tis true your beauties which before
Did dazle each bold Gazers eye,
And forc'd even rebell hearts t'adore,
Or from its conquering splendour fly;
Now shines with new increase of light,
Like Cynthia at her full most bright.
Yet though you glory in th'increase
Of so much Beauty, dearest Faire;
They erre who think this great accesse,
Of which all eyes th'admirers are ;
Or Arts or Natures gifts should be,
Learn then the hidden cause from me.
Pity in thee, in me desire,
First bred (before I durst but ayme
At fair respect) now that close fire
Thy love hath fann'd into a flame,
Which mounting to its proper place
Shines like a Glory 'bout thy face.
The Bag of a Bee
To have the sweet Bag of the Bee
Two Cupids fell at odds,
And whose the pretty prize should be,
They vow'd to ask the Gods;
Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldnesse stript them,
And taking from them each his flame,
With myrtle rods she whipt them;
Which done, to still their wanton cryes,
When quiet grown sh'had seen them,
She kiss'd, and wip'd their Dove-like eyes,
And gave the Bag between them.
To make much of Time.
Gather your Rose-buds whilst you may,
Old Time is still a flying;
And that same flower that smiles to day
Too morrow may be dying.
The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The higher he is getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And neerer to his setting.
That Age is best which is the first,
When youth, and blood are warmer;
And being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your Time,
And while you may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.
On the Picture of Icarus in Wax.
What once did unto thee impart
The means of death, by happy Art
Now thee restores to life again;
Yet still remember to refrain
Ambitious flights, nor soar too nigh.
The Sun of an inflaming eye;
For so thou mayst scorch'd by these beams,
In ashes dye, as once in streams.
The Farewell to Love, and to his Mistresse.
What conscience say, is it in thee,
When I a heart had one,
To take away that heart from me,
And to retain thy own?
For shame and pity now incline
To play a loving part,
Either to send me kindly thine,
Or send me back my heart;
Court not both, or if thou dost
Resolve to part with neither,
Why yet to show that thou art just
Take me, and mine together.
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