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Dula. I could never have the pow'r
To love one above an hour,
Venus, fix thou mine eyes fast,
FROM THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER.
Take, oh, take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn ; But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, tho' seal'd in vain. Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are yet of those that April wears; But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.
This way, this way, come and hear,
way, seek delight!
FROM THE CAPTAIN.
Hear ye, ladies that despise,
What the mighty love has done ; Fear examples, and be wise :
Fair Calista was a nun; Leda, sailing on the stream
To deceive the hopes of man, Love accounting but a dream, Doated on a silver swan;
Danaë, in a brazen tower,
Where no love was, lov'd a shower. Hear ye, ladies that are coy,
What the mighty love can do; Fear the fierceness of the boy;
The chaste moon he makes to wooe: Vesta, kindling holy fires,
Circled round about with spies,
Ilion, in a short hour, higher
1. Tell me, dearest, what is love!
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a boy they call Desire.
Gapes to have
Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men first taught to change.
Be in both,
And be wise, and delay,
When you men are as wise as they.
Then I see,
Faith will be
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly! There's nought in this life sweet, If man were wise to see't,
But only melancholy;
Oh, sweetest melancholy!
sigh that piercing mortifies,
A midnight bell, a parting groan !
These are the sounds we feed upon ; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley
: Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
FROM A MASQUE.
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
God Lyæus, ever young,
God of youth, let this day here
Such as no mortals use to tread,
And live! Therefore on this mould,
Lowly do I bend my knee,
In worship of thy deity.
Deign it, goddess, from my hand,
To receive whate'er this land
From her fertile womb doth send
Of her choice fruits; and but lend
Belief to that the Satyr tells:
Fairer by the famous wells,
To this present day pe'er grew,
Never better nor more true.
Here be grapes, whose lusty blood
Is the learned poets' good,
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of Bacchus ; nuts more brown
Than the squirrel whose teeth crack 'em;
Deign, oh, fairest fair, to take 'em.
For these black-ey'd Driope
Hath often-times commanded me
With my clasped knee to clime:
See how well the lusty time
Hath deck'd their rising cheeks iu red,
Such as on your lips is spread.
Here be berries for a queen,
Some be red, some be green ;
The great god Pan himself doth eat:
All these, and what the woods can yield,
The hanging mountain, or the field,
I freely offer, and ere long
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong;
Till when humbly leave I take,
Lest the great Pan do awake,
That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
Under a broad beech's shade :
I must go, I must run
Swifter than the fiery-sun.
River God. What pow'rful charms my streams do
(bring With such force, that I their God, FLETCHER.
Three times striking with my rod,
My fishes shoot into the banks ;
All have hid them in the weeds.
Here's a mortal almost dead,
Fall'n into my river-head,
Hallow'd so with many a spell,
That till now none ever fell.
'Tis a female young and clear,
Cast in by some ravisher.
See upon her breast a wound,
On which there is no plaister bound,
Yet she's warm, her pulses beat,
'Tis a sign of life and heat.
If thou be'st a virgin pure,
I can give a present cure:
Take a drop into thy wound,
FROM THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.
Shines more awful majesty,
See, she pants, and from her flesh
With his honour and his name The warm blond gusheth out afresh.
That defends our flocks from blame. She is an unpolluted maid;
He is great, and he is just, I must have this bleeding staid.
He is ever good, and must From my banks I pluck this flow'r
Thus be honour'd. Daffodillies, With holy hand, whose virtuous pow'r
Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, Is at once to heal and draw.
Let us fling, The blood returns. I never saw
Whilst we sing, A fairer mortal. Now doth break
Thus great Pan is ever sung.
God. Fear pot him that succour'd thee :
FORD. My waters to a river grow,
FROM THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. And 'twixt two banks with osiers set, That only prosper in the wet,
Fly hence, shadows, that do keep Thro' the meadows do they glide,
Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep! Wheeling still on ev'ry side,
Though the eyes be overtaken, Sometimes winding round about,
Yet the heart doth ever waken To find the even’st channel out.
Thoughts, chain'd up in busy snares And if thou wilt go with me,
Of continual woes and cares: Leaving mortal company,
Loves and griefs are so express'd, In the cool stream shalt thou lie,
As they rather sigh than rest. Free from harm as well as 1 :
Fly hence, shadows, that do keep I will give thee for thy food
Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep.
FROM THE BROKEN HEART.
Oh, no more, no more! too late
Sighs are spent; the burning tapers Orient pearl fit for a queen,
Of a life as chaste as fate, Will I give, thy love to win,
Pure as are unwritten papers, And a shell to keep them in:
Are burnt out: no heat, no light, Not a fish in all my, brook
Now remains ; 'tis ever night. That shall disobey thy look,
Love is dead; let lovers' eyes, But, when thou wilt, come sliding by,
Lock'd in endless dreams, And from thy white hand take a fly.
Th' extremes of all extremes, And to make thee understand
Ope no more, for now love dies, How I can my waves command,
Now love dies, implying They shall bubble whilst I sing,
Love's martyrs must be ever, erer dying. Sweeter than the silver string.
Do not fear to put thy feet
All ye woods, and trees, and bow'rs,
Move your feet
To our sound,
All this ground,
FROM ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE.
SONG TO CELIA.
What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
Ha' you felt the wool of beaver ? O'tis the ravish'd nightingale.
Or swan's down ever? Jug, jug, jug, jug, terue, she cries,
Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar?
Or the nard in the fire ?
O so white ! O so soft! O so sweet is she !
The morn not waking till she sings. 3 Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat,
Oh do not wanton with those eyes, Poor Robin Redbreast tunes his note ;
Lest I be sick with seeing : Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Nor cast them down, but let them rise, Cuckoo to welcome in the spring,
Lest shame destroy their being. Cuckoo to welcome in the spring.
O be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me ;
For then my hopes will spill me.
O do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me ;
Nor spread them as distract with fears;
Mine own enough betray me.
HYMN TO DIANA, IN CYNTHIA'S REVELS.
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver car,
State in wonted manner keep.
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose :
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear, when day did close ;
Bless us then with wished sight,
Goddess excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal shining quiver ;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever :
Thou that mak’st a day of night, And well the car Love guideth.
Goddess excellently bright.
Unto her beauty,
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt
Yet slower, yet, О faintly, gentle springs !(tears; Thorough swords, thorough seas,whither she would List to the heavy part the music bears;
Woe weeps out her decision, when she sings. Do but look on her eyes, they do light
Droop herbs and flowers; All that Love's world compriseth !
Fall grief in showers; Do but look on her hair, it is bright
Our beauties are not ours : As Love's star when it riseth !
O could I still Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
(Like melting snow upon some craggy hill), Than words that soothe her!
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since Summer's pride is now a wither'd daffodil.
HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID, IN THE MASQUE ON
LORD HADDINGTON'S MARRIAGE. Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Beauties, have you seen this toy, Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Call'd love, a little boy, Ha' you mark'd but the fall o' the snow
Almost naked, wanton, blind; Before the soil hath smutch'd it!
Cruel now, and then as kind?
SONG IN THE SAME.
If he be amongst ye, say ;
He is Venus' runaway.
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall have that kiss and another.
You shall know him among twenty.
Wounds the heart, but not the skin. At his sight, the sun hath turned,
Neptune in the waters burned :
Are his trophies reared high.
He will leap from lip to lip,
He will shoot himself, in kisses.
And a quiver hanging low,
Sleep, silence child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals briež Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, Sole comforter of minds which are opprest; Lo by thy charming rod all breathing things Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possest, And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings Thou sparist (alas !) who cannot be thy guest. Since I am thine, O come, but with that face To inward light which thou art wont to show, With fained solace ease a true-felt woe; Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace,
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath: I long to kiss the image of my death.
Fair moon, who with thy cold and silver stise
Now while she sleeps in doleful guise her shon
Still the fairest are his fuel,
When his days are to be cruel,
Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Seldom with bis heart do meet.
Dear quirister, who from those shadows sends, Ere that the blushing morn dare show ber light
, Such sad lamenting strains, that night attends (Become all ear), stars stay to hear thy plight; If one whose grief even reach of thought transcead. Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delights May thee importune who like case pretends, And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despight: Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, And long long sing) for what thou thus complains Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky Enamour'd smiles on woods and flow'ry plains !
The bird, as if my question did her move,
With trembling wings sigh'd forth, I love, I love. Alexis, here she stay'd among these pides ; Sweet hermitress she did alone repair: Here did she spread the treasure of her bair, More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines. Here sat she by those musket eglantines, The happy flow'rs seem yet the print to bear, Her voice did sweeten here my sugar'd lines, To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend an ear. She here me first perceiv'd, and here a mora Of bright carnations did o'erspread her face : Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were bor i, Here first I got a pledge of promis'd grace :
Idle minutes are his reign;
Then the straggler makes his gain,
To have all childish as himself.
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
hear his falser play, And that he's Venus' runaway.