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Ah, le it is, an earthly heav'n and hell,
The white is beauty's native tapestry? Who thus hath charm’d my heart with sug'rd 'Tis crystal, friend, yc'd in the frozen fca: spell.
(ease The red is rubies; these two, join'd in one, Ease thou my wound: but, ah! what hand can Make up that beauteous frame; the difference none Or give a med'cine that such wound may please ; But this, she is a precious, living, speaking itone. When she, my sole physician, is my soul's disease? vit.
No gem fo costly but with cost is bought : Poor boy! the wounds which spite and love im The hardest tone is cut and fram'd by art; part,
A diamond hid ip rocks is found, if fought : There is no ward to feuce, no herb to ease. Be she a diamond, a diamond's wrought. Heaven's circling folds lie open to his dart : Thy fear congeals, thy fainting steels her heart Hell's Lethe's self cools not his burning smart : I'll be thy captain, boy, and take thy part: The fishes cold Aame with this strong disease,
Alcides' self would never combat two. Aod want their water in the midst of seas : Take courage, Algon; I will teach thee woo. All are his flaves, hell, earth, and heaven above. Cold beggars freeze our gifts : thy faint fuit breeds Strive not i' th' net, in vain thy force to prove.
her no. Give, woo, figh, weep, and pray: Love's only cur’d by love.
Speak to her boy.
Love is more deaf than blind. If for thy love no other cure there be,
Damon, Love, thou art cureless: gifts, pray'rs, vows, She must be woo'd. and art,
Algon. She Scorns both you and me : nay, Love, even
Love's tongue is in the eyes. Thou figh'ft her prisoner, while she laughs as free.
Silence beft fpeaks the mind. Art, pray'rs, vows, gifts, love, grief, the does
Daron. disdain :
Her eye invites. Grief, love, gifts, vows, pray’rs, art, ye all are
Algon. spent in vain,
Thence love and death I find.
Her smiles speak peace.
Algor. With hook and pet thou beat's the water
Storms breed in smiling fkics. round :
Whom speeth all hope denics. found
Damon. In desp'rate cures a falve for ev'ry wound. Why should'& thou fear? The fish, long playing with the baited hook,
Algor. At last is caught : thus many a nymph is took ;
To Love, Fear's near a-kin. Mocking the strokes of love, is with her friking
Well, if my cunning fail not, by a gin,
Spite of her scorn, thy fear, i'll make thee woo Algon.
and win. The marble's self is pierc'd with drops of rain :
Fires foften steel, and hardest metals try : What, ho! thou fairett maid, turn back thine oar, But she more hard than both : such her disdain, And gently deign to help a fisher's (mart. Thar seas of tears, Ætnas of love are vain.
Nicea. In her Atrange heart (weep I, burn, pine, or die ;) Are thy lines broke ? or are thy trammels tore ?
Still reigns a cold, coy, careless apathy. if thou desir'it my help, unhide the fore. The rock that bears her name, breeds that hard
Ah, gentlest nymph: oft have I heard, thy art With goats blood only soft'ned; she with none : Can sov'reign herbs to ev'ry grief impart : More precious the, and, ah! more hard than So may't thou live the fisher's long and joy, diamond.
As hou wilt deign to cure this fickly boy.
Unworthy they of art, who of their art are coy! That rock I think her mother : thence the took
Her name and nature. Damon, Damon, see! His inward grief in outward change appears; See where she comes, arm’d with a line and hook : His cheeks with sudden fires bright-fiaming Tell me, perhaps thou thiok't in that sweet look glow;
Which, queach'd, end all in alhes: Storms of
Thick rides of passions ever ebb and flow; Have their conjun&ions, spheres their mix'd
And mutual folds. Nothing can fingle last :
Nicea. Blind are mine eyes to see wounds in the soul Their joining perfects them, but us defaces, most blind.
That's perfe& which obtains his end : your Algon.
graces Hard maid ! 'tis worse to mock than make a Receive their end in love. She that's alone wound:
(sec Dies as the lives ; no number is in one : Why should't thou then (fair-cruel!) scorn to Thus while she's but herself, he's not herself, she's . What thou by seeing mad'ft ? my sorrow's ground nonc. Was in thy eye, may by thine eye be found : How can thine eye most sharp in wounding be,
Nicea, In seeing dull ? these two are one in thec, Why blam'st thou then, my stony hard confe&ion, To see and wound by fight : chine eye the dart. Which nothing loves? thou single nothing art. Fair-cruel maid, thou well haft learnt the art,
Algen . With the same eye to see, to wound, to cure my Love perfects what it loves; thus thy affcion, heart.
Married to mine, makes mine and thy perfection.
Well, then, to pass our Tryphon in his art, What cures thy wounded heart?
And in a moment cure a wounded heart;
If fairelt Darwin, whom I serve, approve
heart so wounded. Thy fuit, and thou wilt not thy heart remove,
I'll join my heart to thine, and answer thee ia Is't love to wound thy love?
'Tis set to me; Algon.
Thy parting is my ev'n thy presence light, Because thou art unwounded.
Thou giv'i thy with; it is in thee;
Come, Algon, cheerly home; the thievish night Algor.
Stcals on the world, and robs our eyes of sight. Scorn'd love is death; love's mutual wounds de The silver streams grow black : home let us coafto . lighting :
There of love's conquest may we safely boaft: Happy thy love, my love to thine uniting. Soonest in love he wins, that oft in love hack Love paying debts grows sich; requited in re lott. quiting.
A yster Boy, that never knew his peer How oft hath Thomalin to Thirfil vow'd,
That as his heart so he his love esteemed? With solded arms, deep fighs, and heavy cheer, Where are those oaths ? where is that heart beWhere hundred nymphs, and hundred muses in,
(deem'd, Sunk down by Chamus' briuks; with him his dear Which hides it from that breast which dear it
Dear Thirsil lay; oft times would he begin And to that heart room in his heart allow'd? To cure his grief, and better way advise ;
That love was never love, but only seem'd. But fill his words, when his fad friend he spies, Tell me, my Thomalin, what envious thief Forsook his filent tongue, to speak in wairy eyes. Thus rubs thy joy; tell me, my liefert lief:
Thou little lov'st me, friend, if more thou lov't, Under a sprouting vine they careless lie,
thy grief. Whose tender leaves bit with the eastern blast,
And winter storm prevent the summer's ray; Thus as they sat, Thirfil, embracing fast All as this vine, whose green the eastern spice His loved friend, feeling his panting heart
Hath dy'd to black, his catching arms decay, To give no reft to his increasing smart, [impart. And letting go their bold for want of night, At length thus fpake, while sighs words to his griefs Mar'l winter comes so soon, in firit of May.
Yet see, the leaves do freshly bud again; Thomalin, I see thy Thirlil thou negledest, Thou drooping till dy't in this heavy ftrain;
Some greater love holds down thy heart in fear Nor can I see or end or cause of all thy paio. Thy Thirfil's love and counsel thou rejedelt; "Thy foul was wont to lodge within my ear :
Yet hath it ftill been safely harbour'd there, This grief which in my heart lies deeply drown'd:
Thousand tond paflions in my breaft abound;
Fear leagu'd to joy, hope, and despair, together, Tbomalin.
Sighs bound to smiles, my heart, though prone to Thirsil, it is thy love that makes me hide (ear : either,
My smother'd grief from thy known faithful While both it would obey, 'twixt both, obeyetha May ftill my Thirfil safe and merry bide;
Enough is me my hidden grics to bear : Oft blushing flames leap up into my face,
As if they meant to quench those causeless fires. So thou art well; but ill my better part, My good I hate, my hurt I glad embrace:
MyThomalin, sinks laden with his smart :[heart. My heart though griev'd, his grief as jos dps Thusthou my finger cur'ft,andwound'ft mybleeding
I burn, yet know no suel to my firing;
Five nymphs to fee, five fairer faw I never, My wishes know no want, yet fill defiring : Upon the golden sand to dance and play : Hope knows not what to hope, yet fill in hope | The rest among, yet far above the rest, aspiring.
Sweet Melite, by whom my wounded breast,
Though rankling still in grief, yet joys in his unTbirfil.
reit. Too true my fears : alas no wicked sprite, No writheld witch, with spells of pow'rful There, to their sportings while I pipe and fing, charms,
Out from her eyes I felt a fiery beam,
Gives to the heart these oft and fierce alarms : From Sol, inn'd in the Bull, do kindly stream),
And spiteful pleasure, thus hath bred thy harms; Blow up desire; yet little did I dream And seeks thy mirth with pleasance to destroy. Such bitter fruits from such sweet roots could 'Tis love, my Thomalin, my liefet boy ;
grow, Tis love robs me of thee, and thee of all thy joy. Or from fo gentle eye such spite could flow;'
For who could fire expect hid in an hill of snow Thomalin. Thirfil, I ken not what is hate or love,
But when those lips (those melting lips) I prest, Thee well I love, and thou lov'st me as well; I lost my heart, which sure she stole away; Ye: joy, no torment, in this passion prove; For with a blush she foon her guilt confest, But often have I heard the fimers tell,
And sighs, which sweetest breath did loft convey, He's not inferior to the mighty Jove ; (hell; | Betray'd her theft: from thence my flaming breast,
Jove heav'n rules, love, Jove, heav'n, earth, and Like thund'ring Ælna burns both night and day:
Thirfil. As he is fancied by the idle fwain ;
Thomalin, too well those bitter sweets I know, With bow and thafts and purple feathers clad; Since fair Nicæa bred my pleasing smart : Such as Diana (with her buskin'd train
But bet:er times did better reason fhew, (art Of armed nymphs, along the forests glade
And cur'd those burning wounds with heav'nly With golden quivers,) in Theffalian plain, Those forms of looser fire are laid full low; In level race out ftrips the jumping deer,
And higher love safe anchors in my heart : With nimble feet; or with a mighty spear So now a quiet calm does safely reign. Flings down a briftled boar, or elle a squalid bear. And if my friend think not my counsel vain,
Perhaps my art maycure, or much affuage thy pain. Love's fooner felt than feen: his substance shin Betwist those fnowy mounts in ambush lies :
Tbomalin. Oit in the eyes he spreads his subtle gin; Thirsil, although this witching grief doth please
He therefore soonest wins that fafteit Nies. My captive heart, and love deth more detest Fly thence, my dear, fly fast: my Thomalin : The cure and curer than the sweet disease ; Who him encounters once, for ever dies :
Yet if my Thirsil doth the cure reqnest, (ease, But if he lurk between the ruddy lips,
This form, which rocks my heart in flumb'ring Unhappy soul that thence his nectar fips,
Spite of itself Thali yield to thy behest, While down into his heart the sugar'd poison slips!
Then hark how Tryphon's self did salve my painOfe in a voice he creeps down through the ear; While in a rock I sat, of love complaining;
Oft from a blushing cheek he lights his fire : My wounds with herbs, my grief with counsel Oft hrouds his golden flame in likcit hair:
fage restraining Oft in a soft fmooth kin doth close retire : Oft in a smile, oft in a silent tear:
But tell me first, why should thy partial mind And if all fail, yet virtue's self he'll hire:
Mire Melice than all the rest approve? Himself's a dart, when nothing else can move.
Tbomalin. Who then the captive foul can well reprove, Thirsil, her beauty all the rest did blind, When love and virtue's self become the darts of That she alone seem'd' worthy of my love. love.
Delight upon her face, and sweetness thin'd:
Her eyes do fpark as stars, as stars do move : Tbomalir.
Like those twin fires which on our maits appear; Sore love it is which breeds this burning fever : And promise calms. Ah! that those flames fo For late (yet all too soon), on Venus' day,
(fear. I chanc'd, (oh cursed chance ; yet blessed ever!) To me alone should raise such forms of hope and As careless on the filent shores I fray,
F f iiij
Base love, that to base earth fo basely clingi! Tbirfel.
Look, as the beams of that celeftial fire If that which to thy mind doth worthiest seem, Put out these carthly flames with purer ray;
By' thy well-temper'd soul is most affected; So shall that love this baser heat allay, Can'st thou a face worthy thy loye esteem ? And quench these coals of earth with his more
What in thy soul thap love is more respected ? heavenly day. Those eyes which in their sphere thou, fond, doft deem.
Raise then thy prostrate love withtow'ring thought; Like living stars, with some disease infected, And clog it not in chains, and prison here : Are dull as leaden dross : those beauteous rays, The god of fishers dear thy love hath bought; So like a rosc when she her breast displays,
Molt dear he loves : for shame, love thou as Are like a rose indeed; as sweet, as soon decays.
Nexe, love thou there, where beft thy love is sought; Art thou in love with words? her words are Myself, or else some other fitting peer. wind,
Ah, might thy love with me for ever dwell! As fleet as is their matter, fleetest air.
Why should'd thou hate thy heaven and love thy Her beauty moves; can colours move thy mind ? hell ?
Colours in scorned weeds more sweet and fair, She shall not more deserve, nor cannot love so well. Some pleasing quality thy thoughts doth bind ?
Love then thyself. Perhaps her golden hair? Thus Tryphon once did wean my fond affection ; False metal, which to silver soon descends !
Then fics a salve unto th'infected place, Is't pleasure then which so thy fancy bends? (A salve of sovereign and strange confection), Poor pleasure, that in pain begins, in forrow ends ! Nepenthe, mix'd with rue and herb-de-grace ;
So did he quickly heal this strong infection, What: is't her company so much contents thee? And to myself restor'd myself apace.
How would she present stir up stormy weather, Yet did he not my love extinguish quite : When thus in absence present she torments thee? I love with sweeter love, and more delight: Lov'lt thou not one, but all these join'd toge. But most I love that love, which to my love has ther?
right. All's but a woman. Is't her love that rents thee?
XXVI. Light winds, light air ;' her love more light
Tbomalin. than either.
Thrice happy thou that could'at!
weaker mind If then due worth thy true affection moves,
Can never learn to climb fo lofty flight. Here is no worth.
Who some old hag approves, And Scorns a beauteous spouse, he rather doats If from this love thy will thou canst unbind, than loves.
To will is here to can: will gives thee might:
'Tis done if once thou wilt ; 'tis done, I find. Then let thy love mount from these baser things, Now let us home: for fee, the creeping night
And to the highest love and worth aspire : Steals from those further waves upon the land. Love's born of fire, fitted with mounting wings, To morrow shall we fealt; then hand in hand,
That, at his highest, he might wind him higher ; j Free will we sing, and dance along the golden fand.