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So he on me; refus'd and made away,
Though willing she pleaded a weary day :
I found my miss, struck hands, and pray'd him tell
(To hold acquaintance still) where he did dwell;
He barely nam'd the street, promis'd the wine;
But his kind wife gave me the very sign.

ELEGY XVII.

THE EXPOSTULATION.

To make the doubt clear, that no woman 's true,
Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?
Thought I, but one had breathed purest air,
And must she needs be false, because she 's fair?
Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth,
Or your perfection not to study truth?
Or think you Heav'n is deaf, or hath no eyes,
Or those it hath smile at your perjuries?
Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter
Whereof they're made, that they are writ in water,
And blown away with wind? Or doth their breath
(Both hot and cold) at once make life and death?
Who could have thought so many accents sweet
Form'd into words, so many sighs should meet,
As from our hearts, so many oaths, and tears
Sprinkled among (all sweet'ned by our fears)
And the divine impression of stol'p kisses,
That seal'd the rest, should now prove empty blisses?
Did you draw bonds to forfeit? sign to break?
Or must we read you quite from what you speak,
And find the truth out the wrong way? or must
He first desire you false, who 'ld wish you just?
O, I profane: though most of women be
This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee,
My dearest love; though froward jealousy
With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy,
Sooner I'll think the Sun will cease to cheer
The teeming Earth, and that forget to bear:
Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames
With ribs of ice in June will bind his streams;
Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures,
Would change her course, before you alter yours.
But oh! that treacherous breast, to whom weak you
Did trust our counsels, and we both may rue,
Having his falsehood found too late, 't was he
That made me cast you guilty, and you me;
Whilst he (black wretch) betray'd each simple word
We spake unto the cunning of a third.

Curs'd may he be, that so our love hath slain,
And wander on the Earth, wretched as Cain,
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity;
In plaguing him let misery be witty.

Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye,
Till he be noisome as his infamy;
May he without remorse deny God thrice,
And not be trusted more on his soul's price;
And after all self-torment, when he dies
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes;
Swine eat his bowels; and his falser tongue,
That utter'd all, be to some raven flung;
And let his carrion-corse be a longer feast
To the king's dogs, than any other beast.
Now I have curs'd, let us our love revive;
In me the flame was never more alive;
I could begin again to court and praise,
And in that pleasure lengthen the short days
Of my life's lease; like painters, that do take
Delight, not in made works, but whilst they make.

I could renew those times, when first I saw
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law
To like what you lik'd; and at masks and plays
Commend the self-same actors, the same ways;
Ask how you did, and often, with intent
Of being officious, be impertinent;

All which were such soft pastimes, as in these
Love was as subtily catch'd, as a disease;
But being got it is a treasure sweet,
Which to defend is harder than to get:
And ought not be profan'd on either part,
For though 't is got by chance, 't is kept by art.

ELEGY XVIII.

WHOEVER loves, if he do not propose

The right true end of love, he 's one that goes
To sea for nothing but to make him sick:
Love is a bear-whelp born, if we o'er-lick
Our love, and force it new strong shapes to take,
We err, and of a lump a monster make.
Were not a calf a monster, that were grown
Fac'd like a man, though better than his own?
Perfection is in unity: prefer

One woman first, and then one thing in her.
I, when I value gold, may think upon
The ductilness, the application,
The wholesoinness, the ingenuity,
From rust, from soil, from fire ever free:
But if I love it, 't is beause 't is made
By our new nature (use) the soul of trade.

All these in women we might think upon
(If women had them) and yet love but one.
Can men more injure women than to say
They love them for that, by which they 're not they a
Makes virtue woman? must I cool my blood
Till I both be, and find one, wise and good?
May barren angels love so. But if we
Make love to woman, virtue is not she:

As beauties, no, nor wealth: he that strays thus
From her to hers, is more adulterous
Than if he took her maid. Search every sphere
And firmament, our Cupid is not there:
He's an infernal god, and under ground,
With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound;
Men to such gods their sacrificing coals
Did not on altars lay, but pits and holes:
Although we see celestial bodies move
Above the earth, the earth we till and love:
So we her airs contemplate, words and heart,
And virtues; but we love the centric part.

Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit
For love, than this, as infinite as it.
But in attaining this desired place
How much they err, that set out at the face
The hair a forest is of ambushes,

Of springs and snares, fetters and manacles:
The brow becalms us, when 't is smooth and plain;
And when 't is wrinkled, shipwrecks us again.
Smooth, 't is a paradise, where we would have
Immortal stay; but wrinkled, 't is a grave.
The nose (like to the sweet meridian) runs
Not 'twixt an east and west, but 'twixt two suns;
It leaves a cheek, a rosy bemisphere

On either side, and then directs us where
Upon the Islands Fortunate we fail,
Not faint Canaries, but ambrosial.

Unto her swelling lips when we are come,
We anchor there, and think ourselves at home,

1

For they seem all: there syrens' songs, and there
Wise Delphic oracles do fill the ear;
Then in a creek, where chosen pearls do swell
The remora, her cleaving tongue doth dwell.
These and (the glorious promontory) her chin
Being past the straits of Hellespont, between
The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts,
(Not of two lovers, but two loves the nests)
Succeeds a boundless sea, but yet thine eye
Some island moles may scatter'd there descry;
And sailing towards her India, in that way
Shall at her fair Atlantic navel stay;
Though there the current be the pilot made,
Yet ere thon be where thou should'st be embay'd,
Thou shalt upon another forest set,
Where many shipwreck and no further get.
When thou art there, consider what this chase
Misspent, by thy beginning at the face.

Rather set out below; practise my art;
Some symmetry the foot hath with that part
Which thou dost seek, and is thy map for that,
Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at:
Least subject to disguise and change it is;
Men say the Devil never can change his.
It is the emblem, that hath figured

Firmness; 't is the first part that comes to bed.
Civility we see refin'd: the kiss,

Which at the face began, transplanted is,
Since to the band, since to th' imperial knee,
Now at the papal foot delights to be.

If kings think that the nearer way, and do
Rise from the foot, lovers may do so too:
For as free spheres move faster far than can
Birds, whom the air resists; so may that man,
Which goes this empty and ethereal way,
Than if at beauty's enemies he stay.
Rich Nature hath in women wisely made
Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid :
They then, which to the lower tribute owe,
That way, which that exchequer looks, must go:
He which doth not, his errour is as great,
As who by clyster gives the stomach meat.

ELEGY XIX.

TO HIS MISTRESS GOING TO BED.

COME, madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.

The foe oft-times having the foe in sight
Is tir'd with standing, though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like Heaven's zone glittering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopp'd there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you, that now it is bed-time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand, so nigh.
Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals,
As when through flow'ry meads th' hill's shadow
steals.

Off with that wiry coronet, and show

The hairy diadem, which on your head doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then softly tread
In this Love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes Heaven's angels us'd to be
Reveal'd to men: thou angel bring'st with thee

A Heav'n like Mahomet's paradise; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we eas'ly know
By this these angels from an evil sprite;
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
License my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my Newfoundland !
My kingdom's safest when with one man man'd.
My mine of precious stones: my empery,
How am I bless'd in thus discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! all joys are due to thee;

| As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth'd must be,
To taste whole joys. Gems, which you women use,
Are like Atlanta's ball, cast in men's views;
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul may court that, and not them:
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings, made
For laymen, are all women thus array'd.
Themselves are only mystic books, which we
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see reveal'd. Then since that I may know;
As liberally as to thy midwife show
Thyself: cast all, yea, this white linen hence;
There is no penance due to innocence.

To teach thee, I am naked first; why, then, What need'st thou have more covering than a man?

AN EPITHALAMIUM

ON

FREDERICK COUNT PALATINE OF THE RHYNE, AND THE LADY ELIZABETH,

BEING MARRIED on st. valentINE'S DAY.

HAIL bishop Valentine, whose day this is,
All the air is thy diocese,

And all the chirping choristers
And other birds are thy parishioners:

Thou marry'st every year

The lyric lark, and the grave whispering dove;
The sparrow, that neglects his life for love;
The household bird with the red stomacher;

Thou mak'st the blackbird speed as soon,
As doth the goldfinch or the halcyon;
The husband cock looks out, and straight is sped,
And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed.
This day more cheerfully than ever shine.
This day, which might inflame thyself, old Valentine.

Till now thou warm'dst with multiplying loves
Two larks, two sparrows, or two doves;
All that is nothing unto this,
For thou this day couplest two phenixes.
Thou mak'st a taper see

What the Sun never saw, and what the ark
(Which was of fowl and beasts the cage and park)
Did not contain, one bed contains through thee

Two phenixes, whose joined breasts Are unto one another mutual nests; Where motion kindles such fires, as shall give Young phenixes, and yet the old shall live: Whose love and courage never shall decline, But make the whole year through thy day, O Valentine.

Up then, fair phenix bride, frustrate the Sun;
Thyself from thine affection

Tak'st warmth enough, and from thine eye
All lesser birds will take their jollity.

Up, up, fair bride, and call

Thy stars from out their several boxes, take
Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make
Thyself a constellation of them all:

And by their blazing signify,

That a great princess falls, but doth not die:
Be thou a new star, that to us portends
Ends of much wonder; and be thou those ends.
Since thou dost this day in new glory shine,
May all men date records from this day, Valentine.

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For since these two are two no more, There's but one phenix still, as was before. Rest now at last, and we

(As satyrs watch the Sun's uprise) will stay Waiting when your eyes opened let out day, Only desir'd, because your face we see ;

Others near you shall whispering speak, And wagers lay, at which side day will break,

Come forth, come forth, and as one glorious flame, And win by observing then whose hand it is
Meeting another, grows the same:

So meet thy Frederick, and so

To an unseparable union go;

Since separation

Falls not on such things as are infinite,

Nor things, which are but once, and disunite;

You 're twice inseparable, great, and one.

Go then to where the bishop stays,

To make you one, his way, which divers ways

Must be effected; and when all is past,

That opens first a curtain, her's or his;
This will be tried to morrow after nine,
Till which hour we thy day enlarge, O Valentine.

ECLOGUE,

DECEMBER, 26, 1613.

And that y' are one, by hearts and hands made fast; ALLOPHANES FINDING IDIOS IN THE COUNTRY IN CHRIST

You two have one way left yourselves t' entwine,
Besides this bishop's knot, of bishop Valentine.

But oh! what ails the Sun, that hence he stays
Longer to day than other days?
Stays he new light from these to get?
And finding here such stars, is loath to set?
And why do you two walk

So slowly pac'd in this procession?
Is all your care but to be look'd upon,
And be to others spectacle and talk?

The feast with gluttonous delays

Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise. The maskers come late, and I think will stay, Like fairies, till the cock crow them away. Alas! did not antiquity assign

A night as well as day to thee, old Valentine ?

They did, and night is come: and yet we see
Formalities retarding thee.

What mean these ladies, which (as though
They were to take a clock in pieces) go

So nicely about the bride?

A bride, before a good-night could be said,
Should vanish from her clothes into her bed;
As souls from bodies steal, and are not spy'd.

But now she's laid: what though she be?
Yet there are more delays; for where is he?
He comes and passeth through sphere after sphere;
First her sheets, then her arms, then any where.
Let not this day then, but this night be thine,
Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.

Here lies a she Sun, and a he Moon there,
She gives the best light to his sphere,
Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe;

And yet they do, but are

So just and rich in that coin which they pay, That neither would, nor needs, forbear nor stay, Neither desires to be spar'd, nor to spare:

They quickly pay their debt, and then Take no acquittances, but pay again;

MAS TIME, REPREHENDS HIS ABSENCE FROM COURT, at THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET; IDIOS GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF HIS PUrpose therein, AND OF HIS ACTIONS THERE.

ALLOPHANES.

UNSEASONABLE man, statue of ice,

What could to country's solitude entice
Thee, in this year's cold and decrepid time?
Nature's instinct draws to the warmer clime
Ev'n smaller birds, who by that courage dare
In numerous fleets sail through their sea, the air.
What delicacy can in fields appear,
Whilst Flora herself doth a frize jerkin wear?
Whilst winds do all the trees and hedges strip
Of leaves, to furnish rods enough to whip
Thy madness from thee, and all springs by frost
Having tak'n cold, and their sweet murmurs lost?
If thou thy faults or fortunes would'st lament
With just solemnity, do it in Lent:

At court the spring already advanced is,
The Sun stays longer up; and yet not his
The glory is; far other, other fires:
First zeal to prince and state; then love's desires
Burn in one breast, and like Heav'n's two great lights,
The first doth govern days, the other nights.
And then that early light, which did appear
Before the Sun and Moon created were,
The prince's favour, is diffus'd o'er all,
From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall;
Then from those wombs of stars, the bride's bright
eyes,

At every glance a constellation flies,

And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent
In light and power the all-ey'd firmament.
First her eyes kindle other ladies' eyes,
Then from their beams their jewels' lustres rise,
And from their jewels torches do take fire;
And all is warmth, and light, and good desire.
Most other courts, alas! are like to Hell,
Where in dark plots fire without light doth dwell:
Or but like stoves, for lust and envy get
Continual but artificial heat;

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As Heav'n, to men dispos'd, is ev'ry where;
So are those courts, whose princes animate,
Not only all their house, but all their state.
Let no man think, because he 's full, h' hath all,
Kings (as their pattern, God) are liberal
Not only in fulness but capacity,
Enlarging narrow men to feel and see,
And comprehend the blessings they bestow.
So reclus'd hermits oftentimes do know
More of Heav'n's glory, than a worldling can.
As man is of the world, the heart of man
Is an epitome of God's great book

Of creatures, and men need no further look;

So 's the country of courts, where sweet peace doth

As their own common soul, give life to both.
And am I then from court?

ALLOPHANES.

Dreamer, thou art.
Think'st thou, fantastic, that thou hast a part
In the Indian fleet, because thou hast
A little spice or amber in thy taste?
Because thou art not frozen, art thou warm?
Seest thou all good, because thou seest no harm?
The Earth doth in her inner bowels hold

Stuff well dispos'd, and which would fain be gold:
But never shall, except it chance to lie
So upward, that Heav'n gild it with his eye.
As for divine things, faith comes from above,
So, for best civil use, all tinctures move
From higher powers; from God religion springs;
Wisdom and honour from the use of kings:
Then unbeguile thyself, and know with me,
That angels, though on Earth employ'd they be,
Are still in Heav'n; so is he still at home
That doth abroad to honest actions come:
Chide thyself then, O fool, which yesterday
Might'st have read more than all thy books be-
Hast thou a history, which doth present
A court, where all affections do assent
Unto the king's, and that, that kings are just?
And where it is no levity to trust,
Where there is no ambition but t' obey,
Where men need whisper nothing, and yet may;
Where the king's favours are so plac'd, that all
Find that the king therein is liberal

[wray:

To them, in him, because his favours bend
To virtue, to the which they all pretend?
Thou hast no such; yet here was this, and more,
An earnest lover, wise then, and before.
Our little Cupid hath sued livery,
And is no more in his minority;
He is admitted now into that breast
Where the king's counsels and his secrets rest.
What hast thou lost, O ignorant man!

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Of his own thoughts; I would not therefore stay
At a great feast, having no grace to say.
And yet I 'scap'd not here; for being come
Full of the common joy, I utter'd some.

Read then this nuptial song, which was not made
Either the court or men's hearts to invade ;
But since I am dead and buried, I could frame
No epitaph, which might advance my fame
So much as this poor song, which testifies
I did unto that day some sacrifice.

I. THE TIME OF THE MARRIAGE.

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But, undiscerning Muse, which heart, which eyes,
In this new couple dost thou prize,
When his eye as inflaming is

As her's, and her heart loves as well as his?
Be tried by beauty, and then
The bridegroom is a maid, and not a man;
If by that manly courage they be try'd,
Which scorns unjust opinion; then the bride
Becomes a man: should chance on envy's art
Divide these two, whom Nature scarce did part,
Since both have the inflaming eye, and both the
loving heart.

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VI. GOING TO THE CHAPEL.

Now from your east you issue forth, and we,
As men, which through a cypress see
The rising Sun, do think it two;
So, as you go to church, do think of you:
But that vail being gone,

X. THE BRIDEGROOM'S COMING.

As he that sees a star fall runs apace,
And finds a gelly in the place,
So doth the bridegroom haste as much,
Being told this star is fall'n, and finds her such.
And as friends may look strange

By a new fashion, or apparel's change:
Their souls, though long acquainted they had been,
These clothes, their bodies, never yet had seen.
Therefore at first she modestly might start,
But must forthwith surrender every part [or heart.
As freely, as each to each before gave either hand

XI. THE GOOD-NIGHT.

Now, as in Tullia's tomb one lamp burnt clear,
Unchang'd for fifteen hundred year,
May these love-lamps, we here enshrine,
In warmth, light, lasting, equal the divine.
Fire ever doth aspire,

And makes all like itself, turns all to fire,
But ends in ashes; which these cannot do,
For none of these is fuel, but fire too.

By the church rites you are from thenceforth one.
The church triumphant made this match before,
And now the militant doth strive no more.
Then, reverend priest, who God's recorder art,
Do from his dictates to these two impart
All blessings which are seen, or thought, by angel's One fire of four inflaming eyes, and of two loving
eye or heart.

VII. THE BENEDICTION.

Bless'd pair of swans, oh may you interbring
Daily new joys, and never sing:
Live, till all grounds of wishes fail,
Till honour, yea till wisdom grow so stale,
That new great heights to try,

It must serve your ambition, to die,
Raise heirs, and may here to the world's end live
Heirs from this king to take thanks, you, to give.
Nature and grace do all, and nothing art;
May never age or errour overthwart [this heart.
With any west these radiant eyes, with any north

VIII. FEASTS AND REVELS.

But you are over-bless'd. Plenty this day
Injures; it causeth time to stay;

The tables groan, as though this feast
Would, as the flood, destroy all fowl and beast.
And were the doctrine new

That the Earth mov'd, this day would make it true;
For every part to dance and revel goes,
They tread the air, and fall not where they rose.
Though six hours since the Sun to bed did part,
The masks and banquets will not yet impart
A sun-set to these weary eyes, a centre to this heart.

IX. THE BRIDE'S GOING TO BED.

What mean'st thou, bride, this company to keep?
To sit up, till thou fain would sleep?
Thou may'st not, when thou 'rt laid, do so,
Thyself must to him a new banquet grow,
And you must entertain,

And do all this day's dances o'er again.
Know, that if Sun and Moon together do
Rise in one point, they do not set so too.
Therefore thou may'st, fair bride, to bed depart,
Thou art not gone being gone; where'er thou art,
Thot leav'st in him thy watchful eyes, in him thy
loving heart.

This is joy's bonfire then, where Love's strong arts
Make of so noble individual parts

IDIOS.

As I have brought this song, that I may do
A perfect sacrifice, I'll burn it too.

ALLOPHANES.

No, sir, this paper I have justly got,
For in burnt incense the perfume is not
His only, that presents it, but of all;
Whatever celebrates this festival

Is common, since the joy thereof is so.
Nor may yourself be priest: but let me go
Back to the court, and I will lay 't upon
Such altars, as prize your devotion.

EPITHALAMIUM

MADE AT LINCOLN'S INN.

[hearts.

THE sun-beams in the east are spread,
Leave, leave, fair bride, your solitary bed,
No more shall you return to it alone,
It nurseth sadness; and your body's print,
Like to a grave, the yielding down doth dint;
You and your other you meet there anon:
Put forth, put forth, that warm balm-breathing
thigh,
[smother,
Which when next time you in these sheets will
There it must meet another,

Which never was, but must be oft more nigh;
Come glad from thence, go gladder than you came,
To day put on perfection, and a woman's name.

Daughters of London, you which be
Our golden mines, and furnish'd treasury;

You which are angels, yet still bring with you
Thousands of angels on your marriage days,
Help with your presence, and devise to praise

These rites, which also unto you grow due;

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