« السابقةمتابعة »
He that question would anew,
What fair Eden was of old?
Let him rightly study you;
And a brief of that behold!
Welcome! Welcome! do I sing! &c.
LOVE who will; for I'll love none!
There's fools enough beside me!
Yet if each woman have not one;
Come to me, where I hide me!
And if she can the place attain;
For once, I'll be her fool again!
It is an easy place to find;
And women, sure, should know it! Yet thither serves not every wind; Nor many men can show it!
It is the Storehouse, where doth lie
All women's truth and constancy.
If the journey be so long,
No woman will adventure!
But dreading her weak vessel's wrong;
The voyage will not enter!
Then may she sigh, and lie alone!
In love with all; yet loved of none!
THYRSIS' PRAISE OF HIS MISTRESS.
On a hill, that graced the plain,
THYRSIS sat, a comely Swain;
Comelier Swain ne'er graced a hill!
Whilst his flock, that wandered nigh,
Cropped the green grass busily;
Thus he tuned his oaten quill!
'VER hath made the pleasant field
Many sev'ral odours yield,
From fair ASTRA's cherry lip,
Sweeter smells for ever skip!
They, in pleasing, passen all.
'Leavy groves now mainly ring
With each sweet bird's sonneting,
Notes that make the echoes long;
But when ASTRA tunes her voice,
All the mirthful birds rejoice,
And are list'ning to her Song.
'Fairly spreads the damask rose;
Whose rare mixture doth disclose
Beauties, pencils cannot feign;
Yet if ASTRA pass the bush,
Roses have been seen to blush!
She doth all their beauties stain.
'PHŒBUS, shining bright in sky,
Gilds the floods, heats mountains high,
With his beams' all-quick'ning fire;
ASTRA's eyes, most sparkling ones!
Strike a heat in hearts of stones,
And inflames them with desire.
'Fields are blest with flow'ry wreath;
Air is blest, when she doth breathe!
Birds make happy ev'ry grove;
She each bird, when she doth sing!
PHOEBUS' heat to earth doth bring;
She makes marble fall in love!
'Those, blessings of the earth! we Swains do call: ASTRA can bless those blessings, earth, and all!'
Not long agone a youthful Swain,
Much wrongèd by a Maid's disdain,
Before Love's altar came, and did implore,
That he might like her less; or She love more!
The God him heard; and She began
To dote on him. He, foolish man! [before, Cloyed with much sweets, thus changed his note 'O let her love me less; or I like more!'
SHALL I tell you, whom I love?
Hearken then a while to me!
And if such a woman move,
As I now shall versify;
Be assured, 'tis She, or none,
That I love, and love alone!
Nature did her so much right,
As She scorns the help of Art;
In as many virtues dight
As e'er yet embraced a heart!
So much good, so truly tried,
Some for less were deified!
Wit She hath; without desire
To make known how much She hath! And her anger flames no higher Than may fitly sweeten wrath! Full of pity as may be; Though perhaps not so, to me!
Reason masters every sense;
And her virtues grace her birth!
Lovely, as all excellence!
Modest, in her most of mirth!
Likelihood enough to prove
Only Worth could kindle Love!
Such She is! and if you know
Such a one as I have sung;
Be She brown! or fair! or so
That She be but somewhile young:
Be assured, 'tis She, or none,
That I love, or love alone!
VENUS, by ADONIS' side,
Crying kissed, and kissing cried,
Wrung her hands, and tore her hair;
For ADONIS dying there.
'Stay!' quoth she, 'O, stay and live!
Nature, surely, doth not give
To the earth her sweetest flowers,
To be seen but some few hours!'
On his face, still as he bled,
For each drop, a tear she shed!
Which she kissed, or wiped, away;
Else had drowned him where he lay.
'Fair PROSERPINA,' quoth she,
'Shall not have thee yet from me!
Nor thy soul, to fly begin;
While my lips can keep it in!'
Here she ceased again. And some
Say, APOLLO would have come
To have cured his wounded limb;
But that she had smothered him!