Now each creature joys the other,
Passing happy days and hours;
One bird reports unto another,
In the fall of silver showers :
Whilst the earth, our common mother,
Hath her bosom decked with flowers.
Whilst the greatest torch of heaven,
With bright rays, warms FLORA's lap;
Making nights and days both even,
Cheering plants with fresher sap:
My field, of flowers quite bereaven,
Wants refresh of better hap!
ECHO, daughter of the Air,
Babbling guest of rocks and hills,
Knows the name of my fierce Fair;
And sounds the accents of my ills.
Each thing pities my despair;
Whilst that She, her lover kills.
Whilst that She, O cruel Maid!
Doth me and my love despise ;
My life's flourish is decayed,
That depended on her eyes:
But her will must be obeyed!
And well he ends, for love who dies!
IN this disguise and pastoral attire,
Without my saffron robe, without my torch,
Or other ensigns of my duty,
I, HYMEN, am come hither secretly,
To make Arcadia see a work of glory,
That shall deserve an everlasting story.
Here, shall I bring you, two the most entire
And constant Lovers that were ever seen,
From out the greatest suff'rings of annoy
That Fortune could inflict, to their full joy!
Wherein, no wild, no rude, no antic, sport;
But tender Passions, motions soft and grave,
The still spectators may expect to have!
For these are only CYNTHIA's recreatives
Made unto PHŒBUS, and are feminine:
And therefore must be gentle, like to her;
Whose sweet affections mildly move and stir.
And here, with this white wand, will I effect
As much as with my flaming Torch of Love!
And with the power thereof, affections move
In these fair Nymphs and Shepherds round about.
Stay, HYMEN! stay! You shall not have the day
Of this great glory! as you make account.
We will herein, as we were ever wont,
Oppose you, in the Matches you address;
And undermine them with disturbances!
Now, do thy worst, base ENVY, thou canst do! Thou shalt not disappoint my purposes!
Then will I, HYMEN! In despite of thee
I will make parents cross desires of love
With those respects of wealth, as shall dissolve
The strongest knots of kindest faithfulness!
Hence, greedy AVARICE! I know thou art
A hag, that dost bewitch the minds of men;
Yet shalt thou have no power at all herein!
JEALOUSY. Then will I, HYMEN! Do thou what thou canst; I will steal closely into linkèd hearts,
And shake their veins with cold distrustfulness!
And ever keep them waking in their fears,
With spirits, which their imagination rears.
Disquiet JEALOUSY, vile Fury! Thou
That art the ugly monster of the mind!
Avaunt! begone! Thou shalt have nought to do
In this fair work of ours! nor ever more
Canst enter there, where HONOUR keeps the door.
And therefore, hideous Furies! get you hence!
This place is sacred to Integrity
And clean desires! Your sight most loathsome is
Unto so well disposed a company!
Therefore, begone! I charge you, by my power!
We must have nothing in Arcadia sour!
HYMEN! Thou canst not chase us so away!
For look, how long as thou mak'st Marriages;
So long will we produce incumbrances!
And we will, in the same disguise as thou,
Mix us among these Shepherds; that we may
Effect our work the better, being unknown:
For Ills shew other faces than their own!
LOVE is a sickness, full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that, with most cutting, grows;
Most barren, with best using.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies!
If not enjoyed; it, sighing, cries,
'Hey-ho!'
Love is a torment of the mind!
A tempest everlasting!
And Jove hath made it of a kind,
Not well, nor full, nor fasting!
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies! &c.
EYES, hide my love! and do not show
To any but to her, my notes!
Who only doth that cypher know,
Wherewith we pass our secret thoughts.
Belie your looks in others' sight;
And wrong yourselves, to do her right!
Who, to sweet home retired,
Shuns glory so admired;
And to himself lives free!
Whilst he who strives, with pride, to climb the skies, Falls down, with foul disgrace, before he rise!
The Active Life commend;
And all his travails bend
Earth with his fame to fill!
Such fame, so forced, at last dies with his death; Which life maintained by others' idle breath !
To dearest home confined,
Shall there make good my mind;
Not awed with Fortune's spites!
High trees, heaven blasts! Winds shake and honours
When lowly plants, long time in safety dwell.
My worldly strife shall be,
They, one day, say of me,
'He died a good old man!'
On his sad soul, a heavy burden lies,
Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies!
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