Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

Than words that soothe her!

And from her arch'd brows, such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow
Before the soil hath smutch'd it!

Have you felt the wool of the beaver,
Or swan's down ever?

Or have smell'd of the bud o' the brier?
Or the 'nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?

O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

HYMN TO DIANA.

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep;

Seated in thy silver chair,

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 heart,

Space to breathe, how short soever;

Thou that mak'st a day of night,

Goddess excellently bright!

THE SWEET NEGLECT.

Still to be neat, still to be drest,

As you were going to a feast;

Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,

That makes simplicity a grace;

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free;

Such sweet neglect more taketh me

Than all the adulteries of art:

They strike mine eyes, but not mine heart.

[Cynthia's Revels.]

[The Silent Woman.]

ADVICE TO A RECKLESS YOUTH.

Knowell. What would I have you do? I'll tell you, kinsman;

Learn to be wise, and practice how to thrive

That would I have you do: and not to spend
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that hamours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men's affections, or your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it,
And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.

I'd ha' you sober, and contain yourself;
Not that your sail be bigger than your boat;
But moderate your expenses now (at first)
As you may keep the same proportion still.
Nor stand so much on your gentility,

Which is an airy, and mere borrow'd thing

From dead men's dust, and bones; and none of yours,
Except you make, or hold it.

LOVE.

[Every Man in his Humour.]

Lov.

Lovell and Hosts of the New Inn.

There is no life on earth, but being in love!

There are no studies, no delights, no business,

No intercourse, or trade of sense, or soul

But what is love! I was the laziest creature,

The most unprofitable sign of nothing,
The veriest drone, and slept away my life
Beyond the dormouse, till I was in love!
And now I can out-wake the nightingale,
Out-watch an usurer, and out-walk him too,

Stalk like a ghost that haunted 'bout a treasure;
And all that fancied treasure, it is love!

Host. But is your name Love-ill, sir, or Love-well?
I would know that.

Lov. I do not know 't myself,

Whether it is. But it is love hath been

The hereditary passion of our house,
My gentle host, and, as I guess, my friend;
The truth is, I have lov'd this lady long,

And impotently, with desire enough,

But no success: for I have still forborne

To express it in my person to her.

Host. How then?

Lov. I have sent her toys, verses, and anagrams,

Trials of wit, mere trifles, she has commended,
But knew not whence they come, nor could she guess.
Host. This was a pretty riddling way of wooing!
Lov. I oft have been, too, in her company,
And look'd upon her a whole day, admir'd her,
Lov'd her, and did not tell her so; lov'd still,

Look'd still, and lov'd; and lov'd and look'd, and sigh'd;

But as a man neglected, I came off,

And unregarded.

Host. Could you blame her, sir,

When you were silent, and not said a word?

Lov. O, but I lov'd the more; and she might read it Best in my silence, had she been

Host. As melancholic

As you are. Pray you, why would you stand mute, sir?
Lov. O thereon hangs a history, mine host.

Did you e'er know or hear of the Lord Beaufort,
Who serv'd so bravely in France? I was his page,

And, ere he died, his friend: I follow'd him

First in the wars, and in the times of peace
I waited on his studies; which were right.
He had no Arthurs, nor no Rosicleers,

No Knights of the Sun, nor Amadis de Gauls,
Primalions, and Pantagruels, public nothings;
Abortives of the fabulous dark cloister,

Sent out to poison courts, and infest manners:
But great Achilles,' Agamemnon's acts,
Sage Nestor's counsels, and Ulysses' slights,
Tydides' fortitude, as Homer wrought them
In his immortal fancy, for examples

Of the heroic virtue. Or, as Virgil,
That master of the Epic poem, limn'd
Pious Æneas, his religious prince,

Bearing his aged parent on his shoulders,

Rapt from the flames of Troy, with his young son.
And these he brought to practice and to use.
He gave me first my breeding, I acknowledge,
Then shower'd his bounties on me, like the Hours,
That open-handed sit upon the clouds,

And pass the liberality of heaven

Down to the laps of thankful men! But then,

The trust committed to me at his death

Was above all, and left so strong a tie

On all my powers, as time shall not dissolve,

Till it dissolve itself, and bury all:

The care of his brave heir, and only son!

Who being a virtuous, sweet, young, hopeful lord,
Hath cast his first affections on this lady.
And though I know, and may presume her such,
As out of humour, will return no love,
And therefore might indifferently be made
.The courting stock for all to practice on,
As she doth practice on us all to scorn:
Yet out of a religion to my charge,

And debt profess'd, I have made a self-decree
Ne'er to express my person, though my passion
Burn me to cinders.

THE ALCHEMIST.

[Mammon. Surly, his Friend. The scene Subtle's House.]

Mam. Come on, sir. Now you set your foot on shore In novo orbe. Here's the rich Peru:

And then within, sir, are the golden mines,

Great Solomon's Ophir! He was sailing to 't

Three years, but we have reach'd it in ten months.

This is the day wherein to all my friends

I will pronounce the happy word, Be rich.

This day you shall be spectatissimi.

You shall no more deal with the hollow dye,

Or the frail card. No more be at charge of keeping

The livery punk for the young heir, that must
Seal at all hours in his shirt. No more,

If he deny, ha' him beaten to 't, as he is
That brings him the commodity. No more
Shall thirst of satin, or the covetous hunger
Of velvet entrails for a rude-spun cloak
To be display'd at Madam Agusta's, make
The sons of Sword and Hazard fall before

The golden calf, and on their knees whole nights
Commit idolatry with wine and trumpets;

Or go a-feasting after drum and ensign,

No more of this. You shall start up young viceroys,

And have your punques and punquetees, my Surly:
And unto thee I speak it first, Be rich.
Where is my Subtle there? within ho-

Sir, he'll come to you by and by.
Mam. That's his fire-drake,

[Face answers from within.]

His Lungs, his Zephyrus, he that puffs his coals

Till he firk nature up in her own centre.

You are not faithful, sir. This night I'll change

All that is metal in thy house to gold:

And early in the morning will I send

To all the plumbers and the pewterers,

And buy their tin and lead up; and to Lothbury

For all the copper.

Sur. What, and turn that too?

Mam. Yes, and I'll purchase Devonshire and Cornwall,

And make them perfect Indies! You admire now?

Sur. No, faith.

Mam. But when you see the effects of the great medicine !

Of which one part projected on a hundred

Of Mercury, or Venus, or the Moon,

Shall turn it to as many of the Sun;
Nay, to a thousand, so ad infinitum :
You will believe me.

Sur. Yes, when I see 't, I will.

Restore his years, renew him like an eagle,

To the fifth age; make him get sons and daughters,
Young giants, as our philosophers have done

(The ancient patriarchs afore the flood,)

By taking, once a-week, on a knife's point,

The quantity of a grain of mustard of it,

Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.

Sur. The decay'd vestals of Pickt-hatch would thank you, That keep the fire alive there.

Mem. 'Tis the secret

Of nature naturized 'gainst all infections,

Cures all diseases, coming of all causes;

A month's grief in a day; a year's in twelve;

And of what age soever, in a month:

Past all the doses of your drugging doctors,

I'll undertake withal to fright the plague

Out o' the kingdom in three months.

Sur. And I'll

Be bound the players shall sing your praises, then,

Without their poets.

Mam. Sir, I'll do 't. Meantime,

I'll give away so much unto my man,

Shall serve the whole city with preservative

Weekly; each house his dose, and at the rate

Sur. As he that built the water-work does with water!

Mam. You are incredulous.

Sur. Faith I have humour.

I would not willingly be gull'd. Your Stone

Can not transmute me.

Mam. Pertinax Surly,

Will you believe antiquity? Records?

I'll show you a book, where Moses, and his sister,

And Solomon, have written of the Art!

Ay, and a treatise penn'd by Adam.

Sur. How?

Mam. Of the Philosopher's Stone, and in High Dutch.

Sur. Did Adam write, Sir, in High Dutch?

Mam. He did,

Which proves it was the primitive tongue.

Sur. What paper?

Mam. Cedar-board.

Sur. O that, indeed, they say,

Will last 'gainst worms.

X