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TO A SWALLOW

BUILDING NEAR THE STATUE OF MEDEA.

FOND Progne, chattering wretch,
That is Medea! there

Wilt thou thy younglings hatch?

Will she keep thine, her own who could not spare? Learn from her frantic face

To seek some fitter place.

What other may'st thou hope for, what desire,

Save Stygian spells, wounds, poison, iron, fire?

DAPHNIS.

Now Daphnis' arms did grow

In slender branches; and her braided hair,
Which like gold waves did flow,

In leafy twigs was stretched in the air;
The grace of either foot
Transform'd was to a root;

A tender bark enwraps her body fair.
He who did cause her ill

Sore wailing stood, and from his blubber'd eyne
Did show'rs of tears upon the rind distil,
Which, water'd thus, did bud and turn more green.
O deep despair! O heart-appalling grief!

When that doth woe increase should bring relief.

VENUS ARMED.

To practice new alarms

In Jove's great court above,
The wanton queen of love

Of sleeping Mars put on the horrid arms;
Where gazing in a glass

To see what thing she was,

To mock and scoff the blue-eyed maid did move; Who said, "Sweet queen, thus should you have been dight

When Vulcan took you napping with your knight."

THE BEAR OF LOVE.

IN woods and desert bounds

A beast abroad doth roam;

So loving sweetness and the honey-comb,
It doth despise the arms of bees and wounds:
I, by like pleasure led,

To prove what Heav'ns did place
Of sweet on your fair face,
Whilst therewith I am fed,

Rest careless (bear of love) of hellish smart,
And how those eyes afflict and wound my heart.

THE BOAR'S HEAD.

AMIDST a pleasant green
Which Sun did seldom see,

Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian queen,
The head of a wild boar hung on a tree:
And, driven by Zephyrs' breath,

Did fall, and wound the lovely youth beneath;
On whom yet scarce appears

So much of blood as Venus' eyes shed tears.
But, ever as she wept, her anthem was,
"Change, cruel change, alas!

My Adon, whilst thou liv'd, was by thee slain ;
Now dead, this lover must thou kill again?"

TO AN OWL.

ASCALAPHUS, tell me,

So may night's curtain long time cover thee,
So ivy ever may

From irksome light keep thy chamber and bed;
And, in Moon's liv'ry clad,

So may'st thou scorn the choristers of day-
When plaining thou dost stay

Near to the sacred window of my dear,
Dost ever thou her hear

To wake, and steal swift hours from drowsy sleep?
And, when she wakes, doth e'er a stolen sigh creep
Into thy listening ear?

If that deaf god doth yet her careless keep,
In louder notes my grief with thine express,
Till by thy shrieks she think on my distress.

FIVE SONNETS FOR GALATEA.

I.

STREPHON, in vain thou bring'st thy rhymes and songs,
Deck'd with grave Pindar's old and wither'd flows;
In vain thou count'st the fair Europa's wrongs,
And her whom Jove deceiv'd in golden show'rs.
Thou hast slept never under myrtle's shed;
Or, if that passion bath thy soul oppress'd,
It is but for some Grecian mistress dead,

Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy breast;
How can true love with fables hold a place?
Thou who with fables dost set forth thy love,
Thy love a pretty fable needs must prove:
Thou suest for grace, in scorn more to disgrace.
I cannot think thou wert charm'd by my looks,
O no! thou learn'st thy love in lovers' books.

II.

No more with candid words infect mine ears;
Tell me no more how that you pine in anguish ;
When sound you sleep, no more say that you lan-

guish ;

No more in sweet despite say you spend tears.
Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see,
How those that are hair-brain'd boast of Apollo,
And bold give out the Muses do them follow,
Though in love's library, yet no lovers be.
If we, poor souls! least favour but them show,
That straight in wanton lines abroad is blaz'd;
Their names doth soar on our fame's overthrow;
Mark'd is our lightness, whilst their wits are prais'd.
In silent thoughts who can no secret cover,
He may, say we, but not well, be a lover.

III.

YB who with curious numbers, sweetest art,
Frame Dedal nets our beauty to surprise,
Telling strange castles builded in the skies,
And tales of Cupid's bow and Cupid's dart;
Well, howsoe'er ye act your feigned smart,
Molesting quiet ears with tragic cries,
When you accuse our chastity's best part,
Nam'd cruelty, ye seem not half too wise;
Yea, ye yourselves it deem most worthy praise,
Beauty's best guard; that dragon, which doth keep
Hesperian fruit, the spur in you does raise,
That Delian wit that otherways may sleep:
To cruel nymphs your lines do fame afford,
Oft many pitiful, not one poor word.

IV.

If it be love, to wake out all the night,
And watchful eyes drive out in dewy moans,
And, when the Sun brings to the world his light,
To waste the day in tears and bitter groans;
If it be love, to dim weak reason's beam
With clouds of strange desire, and make the mind
In hellish agonies a Heav'n to dream,
Still seeking comforts where but griefs we find;
If it be love, to stain with wanton thought
A spotless chastity, and make it try

More furious flames than his whose cunning wrought
That brazen bull, where he intomb'd did fry;
Then sure is love the causer of such woes,
Be ye our lovers, or our mortal foes,

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If thou wouldst see threads purer than the gold,
Where love his wealth doth show,

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But take this glass, and thy fair hair behold.
If whiteness thou wouldst see more white than snow,
And read on wonder's book,

Take but this glass, and on thy forehead look.
Wouldst thou in winter see a crimson rose,

Look but in glass how thy sweet lips do close.
Wouldst thou see planets which all good impart,
Or meteors divine?

Whose thorns do hurt each heart?

But take this glass, and gaze upon thine eyne.
With you, dear eyes, lips, brows, and amber hair!
No-planets, rose, snow, gold, cannot compare

V.

AND would you then shake off Love's golden chain,
With which it is best freedom to be bound?
And, cruel! do you seek to heal the wound
Of love, which hath such sweet and pleasant pain?
All that is subject unto Nature's reign
In skies above, or on this lower round,
When it its long and far-sought end hath found,
Doth in decadens fall and slack remain.
Behold the Moon, how gay her face doth grow
Till she kiss all the Sun, then doth decay!
See how the seas tumultuously do flow

ill they embrace lov'd banks, then post away:
o is 't with love: unless you love me still,
⇒ do not think I'll yield unto your will!

SONNET.

ARE'S charming sleep, son of the sable night, rother to death, in silent darkness born, estroy my languish ere the day be light, With dark forgetting of my care's return; nd let the day be long enough to mourn he shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth; et wat'ry eyes suffice to wail their scorn, ithout the troubles of the night's untruth. ease, dreams, fond image of my fond desires! model forth the passions of to morrow; Et never rising Sun approve your tears, add more grief to aggravate my sorrow: ll let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, ad never wake to feel the day's disdain, YOL. V.

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IDMON TO VENUS.

TO THAUMANTIA.

COME, let us live, and love, And kiss, Thaumantia mine;

IF, Acidalia's queen,

Thou quench in me thy torch,

And with the same Thaumantia's heart shalt scorch, I shall the elm be, he to me the vine;

Each year a myrtle tree

Here I do vow to consecrate to thee:

And when the meads grow green,

I will of sweetest flowers

Weave thousand garlands to adorn thy bow'rs.

Come, let us teach new billing to the dove:
Nay, to augment our bliss,

Let souls e'en other kiss.

Let love a workman be,

Undo, distemper, and his cunning prove,

Of kisses three make one, of one make three: Though Moon, Sun, stars, be bodies far more bright, Let them not vaunt they match us in delight.

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A LOVER'S DAY AND NIGHT.
BRIGHT meteor of day,

For me in Thetis' bow'rs for ever stay;
Night, to this flow'ry globe

Ne'er show for me thy star-embroidered robe,
My night, my day, do not proceed from you,
But hang on Mira's brow:

For when she low'rs, and hides from me her eyes,
'Midst clearest day I find black night arise;
When smiling she again those twins doth turn,
In midst of night I find noon's torch to burn.

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DAPHNIS VOW.

WHEN Sun doth bring the day

Or Moon her coach doth roll

Above the northern pole,
When serpents cannot hiss,
And lovers shall not kiss,

Then may it be, but in no time till then,
That Daphnis can forget his Orienne.

THE

STATUE OF VENUS SLEEPING.

BREAK not my sweet repose,

Thou, whom free will, or chance, brings to this place, Let lids these comets close,

O do not seek to see their shining grace:

For when mine eyes thou seest, they thine will blind, And thou shalt part, but leave thy heart behind.

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ANTHEA'S GIFT.

THIS virgin lock of hair
To Idmon Anthea gives,
Idmon, for whom she lives,

Though oft she mix his hopes with cold despair:
This now; but, absent if he constant prove,
With gift more dear she vows to meet his love.

ANOTHER.

THY Muse not-able, full, il-lustred rhymes Make thee the poetaster of our times.

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FLORA'S FLOWER.

VENUS doth love the rose;
Apollo those dear flow'rs
Which were his paramours;
The queen of sable skies
The subtile lunaries:

But Flore likes none of those;

For fair to her no flow'r seems save the lily;

And why? Because one letter turns it P

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at hath a light delight,

-r fool! contented only with a sight;

NIOBE.

WRETCH'D Niobe I am;

Let wretches read my case,

Not such who with a tear ne'er wet their face.
Seven daughters of me came,

And sons as many, which one fatal day,
Orb'd mother! took away.

Thus reft by Heavens unjust,

Grief turn'd me stone, stone too doth me entomb; Which if thou dost mistrust,

Of this hard rock but ope the flinty womb,

And here thou shalt find marble, and no dust.

CHANGE OF LOVE.

ONCE did I weep and groan,

Drink tears, draw loathed breath,
And all for love of one

Who did affect my death:

But now, thanks to disdain !

I live reliev'd of pain.

For sighs I singing go,

I burn not as before-no, no, no, no!

WILD BEAUTY.

en this doth sport, and swell with dearest food, Ip all but ice thou be,

, if he die, he knight-like dies in blood.

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How dost thou thus me burn?

Or how at fire which thou dost raise in me,
Sith ice, thyself in streams dost thou not turn?
But rather, plaintful case!

Of ice art marble made, to my disgrace.

O miracle of love, not heard till now!

Cold ice doth burn, and hard by fire doth grow.

CONSTANT LOVE.

TIME makes great states decay,

Time doth May's pomp disgrace,

Time draws deep furrows in the fairest face, Time wisdom, force, renown, doth take away;

Time doth consume the years,

Time changes works in Heaven's eternal spheres ;
Yet this fierce tyrant, which doth all devour,
To lessen love in me shall have no pow'r.

TO CHLORIS.

SEE, Chloris, how the clouds

Tilt in the azure lists;

And now with Stygian mists

Each horned hill his giant forehead shrouds. Jove thund'reth in the air;

The air, grown great with rain

Now seems to bring Deucalion's days again: I see thee quake: come, let us home repair; Come, hide thee in mine arms,

If not for love, yet to shun greater harms.

THYRSIS IN DISPRAISE OF BEAUTY.

THAT which so much the doating world doth prize,
Fond ladies' only care, and sole delight,
Soon-fading beauty, which of hues doth rise,
Is but an abject let of Nature's might;
Most woful wretch, whom shining hair and eyes
Lead to Love's dungeon, traitor'd by a sight,
Most woful! for be might with greater ease
Hell's portals enter and pale Death appease.

As in delicious meads beneath the flow'rs,
And the most wholesome herbs that May can show,
In crystal curls the speckled serpent low'rs;
As in the apple, which most fair doth grow,
The rotten worm is clos'd, which it devours;
As in gilt cups, with Gnossian wine which flow,
Oft poison pompously doth hide its sours;
So lewdness, falsehood, mischief them advance,
Clad with the pleasant rays of beauty's glance.

Good thence is chas'd where beauty doth appear;
Mild lowliness, with pity, from it fly;
Where beauty reigns, as in their proper sphere,
Ingratitude, disdain, pride, all descry;

The flow'r and fruit, which virtue's tree should bear,
With her bad shadow beauty maketh die: !
Beauty a monster is, a monster hurl'd

From angry Heaven, to scourge this lower world.

As fruits which are unripe, and sour of taste,
To be confect'd more fit than sweet we prove;
For sweet, in spite of care, themselves will waste,
When they long kept the appetite do move:
So, in the sweetness of his nectar, Love
The foul confects, and seasons of his feast:
Sour is far better, which we sweet may make,
Than sweet, which sweeter sweetness will not take.

Foul may my lady be; and may her nose,
A Tenerif, give umbrage to her chin;
May her gay mouth, which she no time may close,
So wide be, that the Moon may turn therein:
May eyes and teeth be made conform to those ;
Eyes set by chance and white, teeth black and thin:
May all that seen is, and is hid from sight,
Like unto these rare parts be framed right.

I shall not fear thus, though she stray alone,
That others her pursue, entice, admire;
And, though she sometime counterfeit a groan,
I shall not think her heart feels uncouth fire;
I shall not style her ruthless to my moan,
Nor proud, disdainful, wayward to desire:
Her thoughts with mine will hold an equal line,
I shall be hers, and she shall all be mine.

EURYMEDON'S PRAISE OF MIRA. GEM of the mountains, glory of our plains! Rare miracle of nature, and of love! Sweet Atlas, who all beauty's Heavens sustains, No, beauty's Heaven, where all her wonders move; The Sun, from east to west who all doth see, On this low globe sees nothing like to thee. One phenix only liv'd ere thou wast born, And Earth but did one queen of love admire, Three Graces only did the world adorn, But thrice three Muses sung to Phoebus' lyre; Two phenixes be now, love's queens are two, Four Graces, Muses ten, all made by you.

For those perfections which the bounteous Heaven

To divers worlds in divers times assign'd,
With thousands more, to thee at once were given,
Thy body fair, more fair they made the mind:
And, that thy like no age should more behold,
When thou wast fram'd, they after break the mould.
Sweet are the blushes on thy face which shine,
Sweet are the flames which sparkle from thine eyes,
Sweet are his torments who for thee doth pine,
Most sweet his death for thee who sweetly dies;
For, if he die, he dies not by annoy,
But too much sweetness and abundant joy.
What are my slender lays to show thy worth!
How can base words a thing so high make known?
So wooden globes bright stars to us set forth,
So in a crystal is Sun's beauty shown:
More of thy praises if my Muse should write,
More love and pity must the same indite.

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