ELEGY XI. Death. LANGUAGE! thou art too narrow and too weak To afe us now; great forrows cannot speak. If we could figh out accents and weep words, Grief wears and leffens that tear's breath affords. Sad hearts, the lefs they feem the more they are; (So guiltieft men stand muteft at the bar) Not that they know not, feel not, their estate, But extreme fense hath made them desperate. Sorrow, to whom we owe all that we be, Tyrant i' the fifth and greatest monarchy, Was 't that he did poffefs all hearts before Thou haft kill'd her, to make thy empire more? Knew'st thou fome would, that knew her not, law ment,

As in a deluge perish th' innocent?

Was 't not enough to have that palace won,
But thou must raze it too, that was undone ?
Had thou stay'd there, and look'd out at her
eyes.

All had ador'd thee that now from thee flies;
For they let out more light than they took in,
They told not when, but did the day begin.
She was too faphirine and clear for thee;
Clay, flint, and jet, now thy fit dwellings be.
Alas! fhe was too pure, but not too weak;
Whoe'er faw crystal ordnance but would break?
And if we be thy conquest, by her fall

Thou haft lost thy end, in her we perish all :
Or if we live, we live but to rebel,
That know her better now who knew her well.
If we should vapour out, and pine and die,
Since the first went, that were not mifery:
She chang'd our world with her's; now fhe is
gone,

Mirth and profperity's oppreffion :
For of all moral virtues fhe was all
That ethics speak of virtues Cardinal.
Her foul was Paradife; the cherubim

Set to keep it was Grace, that kep: out Sin:
She had no more than let in Death, for we
All reap confumption from on fruitful tree.
God took her hence, left fome of u- fhould love
Her, like that plant, him and his laws above:
And when we tears, he mercy thed in this,
To raife our minds to heav'n, where now the is;
Whom if her virtues would have let her stay,
We had had a faint, have now a holiday.

Her heart was that range bush, where facred fire,

Religion, did not confume but inspire
Sach piety, fo chafte ule of God' day,
That what we turn'd to feaft fhe turn'd to pray,
And did prefigure here, in devout tafte,
The rest of her high Sabbath, which shall last.
Angels did hand her up, who next God dwell;
(For fhe was of that order whence mot fell)
Her body's left with us, left fume had faid
She could not die, except they faw her dead :
For from lefs virtue and leis beauteousness
The Gentiles fram'd them gods and goddeffes;
The ravenous earth, that w woos her to be
Farth too, will be Leminia; and the tree

That wraps that crystal in a wooden tomb, Shall be took up spruce, fill'd with diamond;. And we her fad glad friends all bear a part Of grief, for all would break a Stoic's heart.

ELEGY XII.

Upon the lafs of his mistress's chain, for which be made fatisfaction.

NoT that in colour it was like thy hair,
Armelets of that thou may'ft ftill let me wear;
Nor that thy hand it oft embrac'd and kift,
For fo it had that good which oft' I mist;
Nor for that filly old morality,

That as thefe links were knit our loves fhould be,
Mourn 1, that I thy fevenfold chain have loft;
Nor for the luck's fake, but the bitter coft.
O' fhall twelve righteous angels, which as yet
No leaven of vile folder did admit;
Nor yet by any way have ftray'd or gone
From the first state of their creation;
Angels which Heaven commanded to provide
All things to me, and be my faithful guide;
To gain new friends, t' appeafe old enemies,
To comfort my foul when I lie or rife:
Shall thefe twelve innocents, by thy fevere
Sentence, (dread Judge) my fins great burden
bear?

Shall they be damn'd, and in the furnace thrown,
And punisht for offences not their own?

They fave not me, they do not ease my pains, When in that hell they're burnt and ty'd in chains:

Were they but crowns of France, I cared not,
For moit of them their natural country rot
I think poffeffeth; they come here to us
So pale, fo lame, fo lean, fo ruinous;
And howfee'er French kings Most Christian be,
Their crowns are circumcis'd mott Jewishly;
Or were they Spanish ftamps, ftill travelling,
That are become as catholic as their king,
Thofe unlickt bear-whelps unfil'd pistolets,
That (more than cannon-fhot) avai's or lets,
Which, negligently left unrounded, look
Like many angled figures in the book
Of fome dread conjurer that would enforce
Nature, as thefe do Juftice, from her courfe;
Which, as the foul quickens head, feet, and heart,
As ftreams like veins run through th' carth's ev'ry
part,

Vifit all countries, and have flily made
Gorgeous France ruin'd; ragged and decay'd
Scotland, which knew no state, proud in one day,
And mangled leventeen-headed Be gia:
Or were it fach g'ld as that wherewithal
Almighty chemics from each mineral,
Having by fubtile fire a loul out-pull'd
Are dirtily and defperately gull'd;

I would not fpit to quench the fire they're in,

ļ

For they are guilty of much heinous fin.

Bu fhall my harmlef as gels perish? shall

lofe my guard, my cale, my food, my ad

Much hope, which they fhould nourish, will be

dead;

Much of my able youth and luftyhead
Will vanifh, if thou, Love, let them alone,
For thou wilt love me lefs when they are gone;
And be content that fome loud fqueaking crier,
Well pleas'd with one lean thread-bare groat for
hire,

May like a devil roar through every street,
And gall the finder's confcience if they meet:
Or let pie creep to fome dread conjurer,
That with phantaftic fcenes fills full much paper;
Which hath divided heaven in tenements,
And with whores, thieves, and murd'rers, ftuft
his rents

So full, that though he pass them all in fin,
He leaves himself no room to enter in.

Bet if, when all his art and time is spent,
He fay 't will ne'er be found, yet be content,
Receive from him the doom ungrudgingly,
Because he is the mouth of Destiny.

Thou fay'ft (alas!) the gold doth still remain,
Though it be chang'd, and put into a Chain;
So in the first fall'n angels refteth still
Wisdom and knowledge, but 't is turn'd to ill:
As these should do good works, and should pro-
vide

Neceflities, but now muft nurfe thy pride;
And they are ftill bad angels; mine are none;
For form gives being, and their form is gone:
Pity thefe angels yet; their dignities
País Virtues, Powers, and Principalities.
But thou art refolute; thy will be done;
Yet with fuch anguish as her only fon
The mother in the hungry grave doth lay,
Unto the fire thefe martyrs I betray.
Good fouls! (for you give life to every thing)
Good angels (for good meffages you bring)
Deftin'd you might have been to such an one
As would have lov'd and worshipp'd you alone;
One that would fuffer hunger, nakedness,
Yea death, ere he would make your number lefs.
But I am guilty of your fad decay:
May your few fellows longer with me ftay.

But oh thou wretched finder, whom I hate
So, that I almost pity thy eftate,
Gold being the heaviest metal amongst all,
May my moft heavy curfe upon thee fall:
Here fetter'd manacled, and hang'd in chains,
First may'st thou be; then chain'd to hellish pains;
Or be with foreign gold brib'd to betray
Thy country, and fail both of it and thy pay.
May the next thing thou ftoop'ft to reach con-
tain

Poifon, whofe nimble fume rot thy moist brain;
Or libels, or fome interdicted thing,
Which, negligently kept, thy ruin bring.
Luft-bred diseases rot thee; and dwell with thee
Itching defire, and no ability.

May all the evils that gold ever wrought,
All mifchief that all devils ever thought,
Want after plenty, poor and gouty age,
The plague of travellers, love and marriage,
Afia thee; and at thy life's last moment
May thy fwoln fins themselves to thee present,

But I forgive; repent, thou honest man! Gold is restorative, reftore it then; But if that from it thou be'ft loth to part, Becaufe 'tis cordial, would 'twere at thy heart,·

ELEGY XIII.

COME, Fates! I fear you not all whom I owe
Are paid but you; then reft me ere I go.
But Chance from you all fovereignty hath got;
Love wounded none but thofe whom Death dares
not:

True if you were and juft in equity,

I fhould have vanquifh'd her as you did me,
Elfe lovers fhould not brave Death's pains and
live:

But 't is a rule, Death comes not to relieve:
Or pale and wan Death's terrors, are they laid
So deep in lovers they make Death afraid?
Or (the leaft comfort) have I company?
Or can the Fates love Death as well as me?
Yes, Fates do filk unto her diftaff pay
For ransom, which tax they on us do lay,
Love gives her youth, which is the reason why
Youths, for her fake, fome wither and fome die.
Poor Death can nothing give; yet, for her fake
Still in her turn he doth a lover take;

And if Death should prove falfe the fears him not;

Our Mufes to redeem her fhe hath got.
That fatal night we laft kifs'd I thus pray'd,
(Or rather thus despair'd, I should have faid)
Kiffes, and yet defpair. The forbid tree
Did promife (and deceive) no more than she:
Like lambs that feed their teats and must cat hay,
A food whofe tafte hath made me pine away.
Dives, when thou faw'ft blifs, and crav'dst top
touch

A drop of water, thy great pains were fuch.
Here grief wants a fresh wit, for mine being

fpent,

And my lighs weary, groans are all my rent.
Unable longer to endure the pain,

They break like thunder, and do bring down rain.
Thus till dry tears folder mine eyes, I weep,
And then I dream how you fecurely fleep,
And in your dreams do laugh at me. I hate,
And pray Love all may; he pities my flate,
But fays I therein no revenge fhall find;
The fun would fhine though all the world were
blind.

Yet, to try my hate, Loye fhew'd me your tear,
And I had dy'd had not your smile been there.
Your frown undoes me; your fmile is my wealth,
And as you please to look I have my health.
Methought Love pitying me, when he faw this,
Gave nie your hands, the backs and palms to kifs:
That cur'd me not, but to bear pain gave ftrength,
And what is loft in force is took in length.
I call'd on Love again, who fear'd you fo,
That his compaffion ftill prov'd greater woe:
For then I dream'd I was in bed with you,
But durft not feel, for fear 't fhould not be true.

This merits not our anger, had it been;
The queen of Chastity was naked feen:
And in bed not to feel the pain I took
Was more than for Acteon not to look;
And that breaft, which lay ope, I did not know,
But for the clearness, from a lump of fnow.

ELEGY XIV.

His Parting from Her.

SINCE the must go and I must mourn, come,

Night!

Environ me with darkness whilst I write;
Shadow that hell unto me which alone
I am to fuffer when my love is gone.
Alas! the darkest magic cannot do it,
And that great hell to boot are fhadows to it.
Should Cynthia quit thee, Venus! and each ftar,
It would not form one thought dark as mine are!
I could lend them obfcureness now, and fay
Out of myself: there should be no more day :
Such is already myself-want of fight,
Did not the fire within me force a light.
Oh, Love! that fire and darkness fhould be mixt,
Or to thy triumphs fuch strange torments fixt!
Is 't because thou thyself art blind, that we,
Thy martyrs, muft no more each other fee?
Or tak'ft thou pride to break us on thy wheel,
And view old Chaos in the pains we feel?
Or have we left undone fome mutual right,
That thus with parting thou feek'st us to spite?
No, no the fault is mine; impute it to me,
Or rather to confpiring Destiny,

Which (fince I lov'd) for me before decreed
That I fhould fuffer when I lov'd indeed;
And therefore fooner now than I can fay
I faw the golden fruit 't is wrapt away:
Or as I had watch'd one drop in the vast stream,
And I left wealthy only in a dream.
Yet, Love thou'rt blinder than thyself in this,
To vex my dove-like friend for my amiss,
And where one fad truth may expiate
Thy wrath, to make her fortune run my fate.
So blinded Justice doth, when favourites fall,
Strike them, their houfe, their friends, their fa-
vourites all.

Was 't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires
Into our bloods, enflaming our defires,
And mad'st us figh, and blow, and pant, and burn,
And then thyfelf into our flames didft turn?
Was't not enough that thou didst hazard us
To paths in love fo dark and dangerous,
And those fo ambush'd round with household fpies,
And over all thy husband's tow'ring eyes
Inflam'd with th' ugly fweat of jealousy,
Yet went we not still on in conftancy?
Have we for thi kept guards, like spy o'er spy?
Had correfpondence whilft the foe flood by?
Stola (more to sweeten them) our many bliffes
Of meetings, conference, embracements, kiffes?
Shadow'd with negligence our beft refpects?
Varied our language through all dialects

Of becks, winks, looks, and often under boards
Spoke dialogues with our feet far from our words
Have we prov'd all the fecrets of our art,
Yea, thy pale inwards and thy panting heart?
And after all this paffed Purgatory,

Muft fad divorce make us the vulgar story?
First let our eyes be riveted quite through
Our turning brains, and both our lips grow to:
Let our arms clafp like ivy, and our fear
Freeze us together, that we may stick here;
Till Fortune, that would ruin us with the deed,
Strain his eyes open, and yet make them bleed.
For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto

I have accus'd, fhould fuch a mischief do.
Oh, Fortune! thou'rt not worth my least exclain
And plague enough thou haft in thy own name
Do thy great worft, my friends and I have arms,
Though not against thy ftrokes, against thy harm
Rend us in funder, thou canst not divide
Our bodies fo, but that our fouls are ty'd,
And we can love by letters ftill and gifts,
And thoughts, and dreams: Love never wantet
fhifts.

[nigh

I will not look upon the quick'ning fun,
But ftraight her beauty to my fense shall run;
The air fhall note her foft, the fire most pure,
Waters fuggeft her clear, and the earth fure;
Time thall not lofe our paffages; the spring
How fresh our love was in the beginning;
The fummer, how it enripened the year;
And autumn what our golden harvests were:
The winter I'll not think on to fpite thee,
But count it a loft feafon, fo fhall fhe.
And, dearest Friend! fince we must part, drow
With hope of day; burdens well borne are ligh
The cold and darkness longer hang somewhere,
Yet Phœbus equally lights all the sphere;
And what we cannot in like portion pay,
The world enjoys in mafs, and fo we may.
Be ever then yourself, and let no woe
Win on your health, your youth, your beauty fo
Declare yourself bafe Fortune's enemy;
No lefs be your contempt than her inconftancy;
That I may grow enamour'd on your mind,
When my own thoughts I here neglected find.
And this, to th' comfort of my dear I vow,
My deeds fhall ftill be what my deeds are now;
The poles fhall move to teach me ere I start,
And when I change my love I'll change my heart
Nay, if I wax but cold in my defire,

Think heav'n hath motion loft, and the work

Is her continual practice, does her beit,
To tear opinion ev'n out of the breaft
Of dearest friends, and (which is worse than vile)
Sticks jealousy in wedlock. Her own child
'Scapes not the show'rs of envy. To repeat
The monftrous fafhions, how, were alive to eat
Dear reputation. Would to God the were
But half fo loth to act vice as to hear
My mild reproof! Liv'd Mantuan now again,
That female maflix to limn with his pen,
This fhe Chimera, that hath eyes of fire,
Burning with anger, (anger feeds defire)
Tongu'd like the night-crow, whofe ill-boding

cries

Give out for nothing but new injuries,
Her breath like to the juice in enarus,

That blasts the springs, though ne'er fo profper

ous:

Her hands, I know not how, us'd more to fpill
The food of others than herself to fill.

But, oh! her mind, that Orcus, which includes
Legions of mischief, countless multitudes
Of former curfes, projects unmade-up,
Abuses yet unfashion'd, thoughts corrupt,
Mishapen cavils, palpable untruths,
Inevitable errors, felf-accufing lothes:
Thefe, like thofe atoms fwarming in the fun,
Throng in her bofom for creation.
I blush to give her half her due, yet fay
No poison's half so bad as Julia.

ELEGY XVI.

A Tale of a Citizen and bis Wife.

1 SING no harm, good footh, to any wight,
To lord, to fool, cuckold, beggar, or knight,
To peace-teaching lawyer, proctor, or brave,
Reformed or reduced captain, knave,
Officer, jugler, or justice of peace,

Juror or judge; I touch no fat fow's grease;
I am no libeller, nor will be any,

But (like a true man) fay there are too many:
I fear not Ore tenus, for my tale

Nor count, nor counsellor, will red or pale.
A Citizen and his Wife the other day,
Both riding on one horse, upon the way
I overtook; the wench a pretty peat,
And (by her eye) well fitting for the feat:
I faw the lech'rous Citizen turn back
His head, and on his Wife's lip fteal a smack;
Whence apprehending that the man was kind,
Riding before to kifs his Wife behind,
To get acquaintance with him I began,
And fort difcourfe fit for fo fine a man.
I afk'd the number of the Plaguy Bill,
Afk'd if the custom-farmers held out ftill?
Of the Virginian plot, and whether Ward
The traffic of the midland feas had marr'd?
Whether the Britain Burfe did fill apace,
And likely were to give th' Exchange difgrace?
Of new-built Aldgate and the Moorfield croffes,
Of flore of bankrupts and poor merchant's loffes,

I urged him to fpeak; but he (as mute
As an old courtier worn to his last fuit)
Replies with only Yeas and Nays. At laft
(To fit his clement) my theme I cast
On tradefmen's gains: that fet his tongue an
going.

Alas! good Sir, (quoth he) there is no doing
In court nor city now. She fmil'd, and I,
And (in my conscience) both gave him the lie
In one met thought. But he went on apace,
And at the prefent times with fuch a face
He rail'd as fray'd me; for he gave no praife
To any but my Lord of Effex's days;
Call'd thofe the Age of Action. True, (quoth he)
There's now as great an itch of bravery,
And heat of taking up, but cold lay down,
For put to push of pay away they run:
Our only city-trades of hope now are
Bawds, tavern-keepers, whore, and fcrivener;
The much of privileg'd kinfmen, and the store
Of fresh protections make the rest all poor :
In the first state of their creation

Though many floutly stand, yet proves not one
A righteous pay-mafter. Thus ran he on
In a continued rage: fo void of reafon
Seem'd his harfh talk, I fweat for fear of treason.
And troth (how) could I lefs? when in the prayer
For the protection of the wife Lord Mayor
And his wife brethren's worships, when one prayeth,
He fwore that none could fay Amen with faith.
To get him off from what I glow'd to hear,
(In happy time) an Angel did appear,
The bright fign of a lov'd and well-try'd inn,
Where many citizens with their wives had been
Well us'd and often: here I pray'd him stay
To take fome duc refreshment by the way.
Look how he look'd that hid his gold, his hope,
And at his return found nothing but a rope;
So he on me: refus'd, and made away,
Though willing the pleaded a weary day:

I found my mifs, ftruck hands, and pray'd him tell
(To hold acquaintance ftill) where he did dwell;
He barely nam'd the street, promis'd the wine;
But his kind wife gave me the very sign.

ELEGY XVII.

The Expoftulation.

To make the doubt clear, that no woman's true
Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?
Thought I, but one had breathed pureft air,
And muft fhe needs be falfe because she's fair?
Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth,
Or your perfection, not to study truth?
Or think you Heav'n is deaf, or hath no eyes,
Or those it hath fmile at your perjuries?
Are vows fo cheap with women, or the matter
Whereof they're made, that they are writ in water,
And blown away with wind? or doth their breath
(Both hot and cold) at once make life and death?
Who could have thought fo many accents sweet,
Form'd into words, fo many fighs fhould meet.

E Dj