POEMS, BY THOMAS STANLEY ESQUIRE.  
Quae n●ea culpa tamen, nisi si lusisse vocari  
Culpa potest: nisi culpa potest & amass, vocari?  
Printed in the Year, 1651.   

The Dedication  
To LOVE.  
THou, whose sole Name all Passions doth comprise,  
Youngest and Eldest of the Deities,  
Born without Parents, whose unbounded reign  
Moves the firm earth, fixeth the floating Main,  
Inverts the Course of heaven; and from the Deep  
Awakes those Souls that in dark Lethe sleep,  
By thy mysterious Chains seeking t'unite  
Once more, the long-since torn Hermaphrodite.  
He who thy willing prisoner long was vowed  
And uncompelled beneath thy sceptre bowed,  
Returns at last in thy soft Fetters bound,  
With Victory, though not with Freedom crowned:  
And, of his Dangers past a grateful sign,  
Suspends this Tablet at thy numerous Shrine.   

POEMS.  

The glow-worm.  

STav fairest Chariessa, stay and mark  
This animated Gem, whose fainter spark  
Of fading light, its birth had from the dark.   

A Star thought by the erring Passenger,  
Which falling from its native Orb dropped here,  
And makes the Earth (its Centre,) now its Sphere.   

Should many of these sparks together be,  
He that the unknown light far off should see  
Would think it a terrestrial galaxy.   

Take't up fair Saint; see how it mocks thy fright,  
The paler flame doth not yield heat, though light,  
●hich thus deceives thy Reason, through thy sight.   

But see how quickly it (Ta'en up) doth fade,  
To shine in darkness only being made,  
By th'brightness of thy light turned to a shade;   

And burnt to ashes by thy flaming eyes  
On the chaste Altar of thy hand it dies,  
As to thy greater light a sacrifice.    

The Breath.  
FAvonius the milder breath o'th' Spring,  
When proudly bearing on his softer wing  
Rich odours, which from the Panchean groves  
He steals, as by the phoenix pyre he moves,  
Profusely doth his sweeter theft dispense  
To the next Roses blushing innocence,  
But from the grateful Flower, a richer scent  
He back receives than he unto it lent.  
Then laden with his odours richest store,  
He to thy Breath hasts! to which these are poor;  
Which whilst the amorous wind to steal essays,  
He like a wanton Lover 'bout thee plays,  
And sometimes cooling thy soft cheek doth lie,  
And sometimes burning at thy flaming eye:  
Drawn in at last by that breath we implore,  
He now returns far sweeter than before,  
And rich by being robbed, in Thee he finds  
The burning sweets of Pyres, the cool of Winds.   

Desiring her to burn his Verses.  

THese Papers Chariessa, let thy breath  
Condemn, thy hand unto the flames bequeathe;  
'Tis fit who gave them life, should give them death.   

And whilst in curled flames to Heaven they rise,  
Each trembling sheet shall as it upwards flies,  
Present itself to thee a sacrifice.   

Then when about its native orb it came,  
And reached the lesser lights o'th' sky, this flame  
Contracted to a Star should wear thy name.   

Or falling down on earth from its bright sphere,  
Shall in a Diamonds shape its lustre bear,  
And trouble (as it did before) thine ear.   

But thou wilt cruel even in mercy be,  
Unequal in thy justice, who dost free  
Things without sense from flames, and yet not Me.    

The Night. A Dialogue.  CHARIESSA. 
What if Night  
Should betray us, and reveal  
To the light  
All the pleasures that we steal?  Philocharis. 
Fairest, we  
Safely may this fear despise;  
How can She  
See our actions who wants eyes?  Chariessa. 
Each dim star  
And the clearer lights we know  
Nights eyes are;  
They were blind that thought her so:  Philocharis. 
Those pale fires  
Only burn to yield a light  
T'our desires,  
And though blind, to give us sight.  Chariessa. 
By this shade  
That surrounds us might our flame  
Be betrayed,  
And the day disclose its name.  Philocharis. 
Dearest Fair,  
These dark witnesses we find  
Silent are,  
Night is dumb as well as blind.  Chorus. 
Then whilst these black shades conceal us,  
We will scorn  
Th'envious Morn,  
And the Sun that would reveal us.  
Our flames, shall thus their mutual light betray,  
And night, with these joys crowned outshine the day.   

Excuse for wishing Her less Fair.  

WHy thy passion should it move  
That I wished thy Beauty less?  
Fool's desire what is above  
Power of nature to express;  
And to wish it had been more,  
Had been to outwish her store.   

If the flames within thine eye  
Did not too great heat inspire,  
Men might languish yet not die,  
At thy less ungentle fire,  
And might on thy weaker light  
Gaze, and yet not lose their sight.   

Nor wouldst thou less fair appear,  
For detraction adds to thee;  
If some parts less beauteous were  
Others would much fairer be:  
Nor can any part we know  
Best be styled, when all are so.   

Thus this great excess of light,  
Which now dazzles our weak eyes,  
Would, eclipsed, appear more bright:  
And the only way to rise,  
Or to be more fair, for thee  
Celia, is less fair to be.    

Changed, yet Constant.  

WRong me no more  
In thy complaint,  
Blamed for Inconstancy;  
I vowed t'adore  
The fairest Saint,  
Nor changed whilst thou wert she:  
But if another Thee outshine,  
Th'Inconstancy is only Thine.   

To be by such  
Blind Fools admired  
Gives thee but small esteem,  
By whom as much  
Thou'dst be desired  
Didst thou less beauteous seem;  
Sure why they love they know not well,  
Who why they should not cannot tell.   

Women are by  
Themselves betrayed,  
And to their short joys cruel,  
Who foolishly  
Themselves persuade  
Flames can outlast their fuel;  
None (though Platonic their pretence)  
With Reason love unless by sense.   

And He, by whose  
Command to Thee  
I did my heart resign,  
Now bids me choose  
A Deity  
Diviner far than thine;  
No power can Love from Beauty sever;  
I'm still Loves subject, thine was never.   

The fairest She  
Whom none surpass  
To love hath only right,  
And such to me  
Thy Beauty was  
Till one I found more bright;  
But'twere as impious to adore  
Thee now, as not t'have don't before.   

Nor is it just  
By rules of Love  
Thou shouldst deny to quit  
A heart that must  
Another's prone  
Even in thy right to it;  
Must not thy Subjects Captives be  
To her who triumphs over Thee?   

Cease then in vain  
To blot my name  
With forged apostasy,  
Thine is that stain  
Who dar'st to claim  
What others ask of Thee?  
Of Lovers they are only true  
Who pay their Hearts where they are due.    

The self-deceiver.  
MONTALVAN.  

Deccaved and undeceaved to be  
At once I seek with equal care,  
Wretched in the discovery,  
Happy if cozened still I were:  
Yet certain ill of ill hath less  
Than the mistrust of happiness.   

But if when I have reached my Ainn.  
(That which I seek less worthy prove.)  
Yet still my Love remains the same,  
The subject not deserving Love;  
I can no longer be excused  
Now more in fault as less abused.   

Then let me flatter my Desires,  
And doubt what I might know too sure,  
He that to cheat himself conspires,  
From falsehood doth his Faith secure  
In Love uncertain to believe  
I am deceived, doth undeceive.   

For if my Life on Doubt depend,  
And in distrust inconstant steer,  
If I essay the strife to end  
(When Ignorance were Wisdom here;)  
All thy attempts how can I blame  
To work my 〈…〉 seek the same.    

The Cure.  Nymph. 
What busy Cares too timely born  
(Young Swain!) disturb thy sleep?  
Thy early sighs awake the Morn.  
Thy tears teach her to weep.  Shepherd. 
Sorrows fair Nymph are full alone  
Nor counsel can endure.  Nymph. 
Yet thine disclose, for until known  
Sickness admits no Cure.  Shepherd. 
My Griefs are such as but to hear  
Would poison all thy joys,  
The pity which thou seem'st to bear  
My Health, thine own destroys.  Nymph. 
How can diseased Minds infect?  
Say what thy Grief doth move!  Shepherd. 
Call up thy virtue to protect  
Thy Heart, and know 'twas Love.  Nymph. 
Fond Swain!  Shepherd. 
By which I have been long  
Destined to meet with Hate.  Nymph. 
Fie Shepherd fie: thou dost Love wrong,  
To call thy Crime thy Fate.  Shepherd. 
Alas what Cunning could decline,  
What Force can Love repel?  Nymph. 
Yet, there's a Way to unconfine  
Thy Heart.  Shepherd. 
For pity tell.  Nymph. 
Choose one whose Love may be alured  
By thine: who ever knew  
Inveterate Diseases cured  
But by receiving now?  Shepherd. 
All will like her my Soul perplex.  Nymph. 
Yet try.  Shepherd. 
Oh could there be,  
But any softness in that Sex,  
I'd wish it were in Thee.  Nymph. 
Thy Prayer is heard: learn now t'esteem  
The kindness She hath shown  
Who thy lost freedom to redeem  
Hath forseited her own.   

CELIA Singing.  

ROses in breathing forth their scent,  
Or Stars their borrowed ornament;  
Nymphs in the Watery sphere that move,  
Or Angels in their orbs above;  
The winged Chariot of the Light;  
Or the slow silent wheels of Night;  
The shade, which from the swifter Sun,  
Doth in a circular motion run;  
Or souls that their eternal Rest do keep,  
Make far less noise than Caelia's Breath in sleep.   

But if the Angel which inspires  
This subtle Flame with active fires  
Should mould this Breath to words, and those  
Into a Harmony dispose;  
The music of this heavenly sphere,  
Would steal each soul out at the Ear,  
And into Plants and Stones infuse  
A life that Cherubins would choose;  
And with new Powers invert the Laws of Fate,  
Kill those that live, and dead things animate.    

A la mesme.  
BElle voix, dont mes charmes desrobent mon ame,  
Et aulieu d'un esprit m'animent d'une flamme,  
Don't Iesens la subtile, & la douce chaleur,  
Enter par non oreille & glisser dans mon coeur;  
Me faisant esprever par cette aimable vie,  
Nos aims ne consistent que d'une harmonie;  
Que la vie m'est douce, la mort m'est sans peine,  
Puisq' on les trouve toutes deux dans ton haleine:  
Ne m'espargne donc pas satisfais tes rigueurs:  
Car si tu me souffres de viure, je me meurs.   

The return.  

BEauty whose soft magnetic chains  
Nor time nor absence can unite,  
●hy power the narrow bounds disdains  
Of nature or philosophy,  
That canst by unconfined laws  
A motion, though at distance, cause.   

Drawn by the sacred influence  
Of thy bright eyes, I back return;  
And since I nowhere can dispense  
With flames that do in absence burn,  
I rather choose 'midst them t'expire  
Than languish by a hidden fire.   

But if thou insulting pride  
Of vulgar beauties dost despise,  
Who by vain triumphs deified,  
Their votaries do sacrifice,  
Then let those flames, whose magic charm  
At distance scorched, approached but warm.    

Song.  

When I lie burning in thine eye,  
Or freezing in thy breast,  
What Martyrs, in wished flames that die,  
Are half so pleased or blessed?   

When thy soft accents, through mine ear  
Into my soul do fly,  
What Angel would not quit his sphere,  
To hear such harmony?   

Or when the kiss thou gav'st me last  
My soul stole in its breath,  
What life would sooner be embraced  
Then so desired a death?   

Then think no freedom I desire,  
Or would my fetters leave,  
Since Phenix-like I from this fire  
Both life and youth receive.    

The sick Lover.  
GUARINI.  

MY sickly breath  
Wastes in a double flame;  
Whilst Love and Death  
To my poor life lay claim;  
The fever in whose heat I melt  
By her that causeth it not felt.   

Thou who alone  
Canst, yet wilt grant no ease,  
Why slightest thou one  
To feed a new disease?  
Unequal fair! the heart is thine;  
Ah, why then should the pain be mine?    

Song.  

CElinda, by what potent art  
Or unresisted charm,  
Dost thou thine ear and frozen hair  
Against my passion arm.   

Or by what hidden influence  
Of powers in one combined  
Dost thou rob love of either sense,  
Made deaf as well as blind.   

Sure thou as friends united haste  
Two distant Deities,  
And scorn within thy heart hast placed,  
And love within thine eyes.   

Or those soft fetters of thy hair,  
A bondage that disdains  
All liberty, do guard thine ear  
Free from all other chains.   

Then my complaint how canst thou hear,  
Or I this passion fly,  
Since thou imprisoned hast thine ear  
And not confined thine eye?    

Song.  

FOol take up thy shaft again;  
If thy store  
Thou profusely spend in vain,  
Who can furnish thee with more?  
Throw not then away thy darts,  
On impenetrable hearts.   

Think not thy pale flame can warm  
Into tears,  
Or dissolve the snowy charm  
Which her frozen bosom wears,  
That exposed unmelted lies  
To the bright suns of her eyes.   

But since thou thy power hast lost,  
Nor canst fire  
Kindle in that breast, whose frost  
Doth these flames in mine inspire,  
Not to thee but Her I'll sue,  
That disdains both me and you.    

Delay.  
DElay? Alas there cannot be  
To Love a greater tyranny:  
Those cruel Beauties that have slain  
Their Votaries by their disdain,  
Or studied torments, sharp and witty,  
Will be recorded for their pity,  
And after-ages be misled  
To think them kind, when this is spread.  
Of deaths the speediest is despair,  
Delays the slowest tortures are;  
Thy cruelty at once destroys,  
But Expectation starves my joys,  
Time and Delay, may bring me past  
The power of Love to cure, at last;  
And shouldst thou wish to ease my pain,  
Thy pity might be lent in vain;  
Or if thou hast decreed, that I  
Must fall beneath thy cruelty,  
O kill me soon! Thou wilt express  
More Mercy, even in showing less.   

Commanded by his Mistress to woe for her.  
MARINO.  

STrange kind of Love! that know no precedent,  
A Faith so firm as passeth faith's Extent,  
By a tyrannic Beauty long subdued,  
I now must sue for her to whom I su'd,  
Unhappy Orator! who though I move  
For pity, pity cannot hope to prove.  
Employing thus against myself my Breath,  
And in another's Life begging my Death.   

But if such moving Powers my Accents have,  
Why first my own redress do I not crave?  
What hopes that I to pity should incline  
Another's breast, who can move none in thine?  
Or how can the grieved Patient look for ease  
When the physician suffers the dsease?  
If thy sharp Wounds from me expect their Cure,  
'Tis fit those first be healed that I endure.   

Ungentle fair one! why dost thou dspence  
Unequally thy sacred Influence?  
Why pining me, offerest the precious Food  
To one by whom nor prized, nor understood;  
So some clear Brook to the full Main, to pay  
Her needless Christ all Tribute hastes away,  
Profusely foolish; whilst her niggard Tide  
Starves the poor flowers that grow along her side.   

Thou who my Glories art designed to own  
Come then, and reap the joys that I have sown:  
Yet in thy pride acknowledge, though thou bear  
The happy Prize away, the Palm I wear.  
Nor the obedience of my Flame accuse,  
That what I sought, myself conspired to lose:  
The hapless state where I am six'd is such,  
To love I seem not, cause I Love too much.    

The Repulse.  

NOt that by this disdain  
I am released,  
And freed from thy tyrannic chain,  
Do I myself think blessed;   

Nor that thy Flame shall burn  
No more; for know  
That I shall into ashes turn,  
Before this fire doth so.   

Nor yet that unconfined  
I now may rove,  
And with new beauties please my mind;  
But that thou ne'er didst love:   

For since thou hast no part  
Felft of this flame,  
I only from thy tyrant heart  
Repulsed, not banished am.   

To lose what once was mine  
Would grieve me more  
Than those inconstant sweets of thine  
Had pleased my soul before.   

Now I have not lost the bliss  
I ne'er possessed;  
And spite of fate am blessed in this,  
That I was never blessed.    

The tomb.  

WHen, cruel Fair one, I am slain  
By thy disdain,  
And, as a Trophy of thy scorn,  
To some old tomb am born,  
Thy fetters must their power bequeathe  
To those of death;  
Nor can thy flame immortal burn,  
Like monumental fires within an urn;  
Thus freed from thy proud Empire, I shall prove  
There is more liberty in Death then Love.   

And when forsaken Lovers come  
To see my tomb,  
Take heed thou mix not with the crowd,  
And (as a Victor) proud  
To view the spoils thy beauty made  
Press near my shade,  
Lest thy too cruel breath or name  
Should fan my ashes back into a flame,  
And thou, devoured by this revengeful fire,  
His sacrifice, who died as thine, expire.   

But if cold Earth, or Marble must  
Conceal my dust,  
Whilst hid in some dark ruins, I  
Dumb and forgotten lie,  
The pride of all thy victory  
Will sleep with me:  
And they who should attest thy Glory,  
Will, or forget, or not believe this story:  
Then to increase thy Triumph, let me rest,  
Since by thine Eye slain, buried in thy Breast.    

The Enjoyment.  
St. AMANT.  

FAr from the Courts ambitious noise  
Retired, to those more harmless joys  
Which the sweet Country, pleasant fields,  
And my own Court, a Cottage, yields;  
I lived from all disturbance free,  
Though Prisoner (Sylvia) unto Thee;  
Secured from fears, which others prove,  
Of the inconstancy of Love;  
A life, in my esteem, more blessed,  
Then ere yet stooped to deaths Arrest.   

My senses and desires agreed  
With joint delight each other feed:  
A blessed, I reached, as far above  
Words, as her Beauty, or my Love;  
Such as compared with which, the joys  
Of the most happy seem but toys:  
Affection I receive and pay,  
My pleasures knew not griefs allay:  
The more I tasted I desired,  
The more I quenched my Thirst was fired.   

Now in some place where Nature shows  
Her naked Beauty we repose,  
where she allures the wandering eye  
With colours, which feigns Art outvie;  
Pearls scattered by the weeping Morn,  
Each where the glittering Flowers adorn;  
The Mistress of the youthful year  
(To whom kind Zephyrus doth bear  
His amorous Vows and frequent Prayer)  
Decks with these Gems her Neck and Hair.   

Hither, to quicken Time with sport,  
The little sprightly love's resort,  
And dancing o'er th'enameled Mead,  
Their Mistresses the Graces lead;  
Then to refresh themselves, repair  
To the soft bosom of my fair;  
Where from the Kisses they bestow  
Upon each other, such sweets flow  
As carry in their mixed Breath  
A mutual Power of Life and Death.   

Next in an Elms dilated shade  
We see a rugged satire laid,  
Teaching his Reed in a soft strain  
Of his sweet Anguish to complain;  
Then to a lonely Grove retreat,  
Where day can no admittance get,  
To visit peaceful solitude;  
Whom seeing by Repose pursued,  
All busy Cares, for fear to spoïle  
Their calmer Courtship we exile.   

There underneath a Myrtle, thought  
By Fairies sacred; where was wrought  
By Venus' hand Loves Mysteries;  
And all the Trophies of her eyes,  
Our Solemn prayers to Heaven we send,  
That our firm Love might know no End;  
Nor time its vigour ere impair:  
Then to the winged God we swore,  
And graved the Oath in its smooth Rind,  
Which in our Hearts we deeper find.   

Then to my Dear (as if afraid,  
To try her doubted faith) I said,  
Would in thy Soul my Form as clear  
As in thy Eyes I see it, were.  
She kindly angry saith, Thou art  
Drawn more at large within my Heart,  
These Figures in my Eye appear  
But small, because they are not near,  
Thou through these Glasses s●est thy Face,  
As Pictures through their crystal Case.   

Now with delight transported, I  
My wreathed Arms about her tie;  
The flattering lvy never holds  
Her Husband elm in stricter Folds,  
To cool my fervent Thirst, I sip  
Delicious Nectar from her lip.  
She pledges, and so often past  
This amorous health, till Love at last,  
Our Souls did with these pleasures sat,  
And equally in briate.   

A while, our senses stolen away,  
Lost in this ecstasy we lay,  
Till both together raised to Life.  
We reing age in this kind strife,  
Cythaera with her Syrian Boy,  
Could never reach our meanest joy.  
The Childish God of Love ne'er tried,  
So much of Love with his cold Bride,  
As we in one embrace include,  
Contesting each to be subdued.    

To Celia pleading want of Merit.  

DEar urge no more that killing cause  
Of our divorce;  
Love is not fettered by such laws,  
Nor bows to any force:  
Though thou deniest I should be thine,  
Yet say not thou deserv'st not to be mine.   

Oh rather frown away my breath  
With thy disdain,  
Or flatter me with smiles to death;  
By joy or sorrow slain,  
'Tis less crime to be killed by thee,  
Than I thus cause of mine own death should be.   

Thyself of beauty to divest  
And me of love,  
Or from the worth of thine own breast  
Thus to detract, would prove  
In us a blindness, and in thee  
At best a sacrilegious modesty.   

But (Celia) if thou wilt despise  
What all admire,  
Nor rate thyself at the just price  
Of beauty or desire,  
Yet meet my flames and thou shalt see  
That equal love knows no disparity.    

love's Innocence.  
See how this Ivy strives to twine  
Her wanton arms about the Vine,  
And her coy lover thus restrains,  
Entangled in her amorous chains;  
See how these neighbouring Palms do bend  
Their heads, and mutual murmurs send,  
As whispering with a jealous fear  
Their loves, into each others ear.  
Then blush not such a flame to own  
As like thyself no crime hath known,  
Led by these harmless guides, we may  
Embrace and kiss as well as they.  
And like those blessed souls above,  
Whose life is harmony and love,  
Let us our mutual thoughts betray  
And in our wills our minds display;  
This silent speech is swifter far,  
Then the ears lazy species are;  
And the expression it afford▪  
(As our desires) 'bove reach of words▪  
Thus we (my Dear) of these may learn  
A Passion others not discern;  
Nor can it shame or blushes move,  
Like Plants to live, like angel's love:  
Since All excuse with equal Innocence  
What above Reason is, or beneath sense.   

The Bracelet.  
TRISTAN.  

NOw Love be praised! that cruel Fair,  
Who my poor Heart restrains  
Under so many Chains,  
Hath weaved a new one for it of her Hair.   

These threads of Amber used to play  
With every courtly wind,  
And never were confined,  
But in a thousand Curls allowed to stray   

Cruel each part of her is grown,  
Nor less unkind than She  
These fetters are to Me,  
Which to restrain my freedom, lose their own.    

The kiss.  

When on thy lip my soul I breath,  
Which there meets thine,  
Freed from their fetters by this death  
Our subtle Forms combine;  
Thus without bonds of sense they move,  
And like two Cherubins converse by love.   

Spirits to chains of earth confined  
Discourse by sense;  
But ours that are by flames refined  
With those weak ties dispense;  
Let such in words their minds display,  
We in a kiss our mutual thoughts convey,   

But since my soul from me doth fly,  
To thee retired,  
Thou canst not both retain; for I  
Must be with one inspired;  
Then, Dearest, either justly mine  
Restore, or in exchange let me have thine:   

Yet if thou dost return mine own,  
Oh take't again!  
For 'tis this pleasing death alone  
Gives ease unto my pain:  
Kill me once more, or I shall find  
Thy pity then thy cruelty, less kind.    

Apollo and Daphne.  
GARCILASSO MARINO.  

When Phoebus saw a rugged Bark beguile  
His Love, and his Embraces intercept,  
The Leaves instructed by his Grief to smile,  
Taking fresh Growth and verdure as he wept:  
How can, saith he, my woes expect Release,  
When Tears, the Subject of my Tears, increase!   

His changed yet scorn-retaining Fair he kissed,  
From the loved Trunk plucking a little Bough▪  
And though the Conquest which he sought he missed,  
With that Triumphant spoil adorns his Brow.  
Thus this disdainful Maid his aim deceives,  
Where he expected Fruit he gathers Leaves.    

Speaking and Kissing.  

THe air which thy smooth voice doth break  
Into my soul like lightning flies,  
My life retires whilst thou dost speak,  
And thy soft breath its room supplies.   

Lost in this pleasing ecstasy  
I join my trembling lips to thine,  
And back receive that life from thee,  
Which I so gladly did resign.   

Forbear, Platonic fools, t'enquire  
What numbers do the soul compose;  
No harmony can life inspire  
But that which from these accents flows.    

The snowball.  
DOris, I that could repel  
All those darts about thee dwell,  
And had wisely learned to fear,  
'cause I saw a Foe so near;  
I that my deaf ear did arm,  
'Gainst thy voices powerful charm,  
And the lightning of thine eye  
Durst (by closing mine) defy,  
Cannot this cold snow withstand  
From the whiter of thy hand;  
Thy deceit hath thus done more  
Than thy open force before:  
For who could suspect or fear  
Treason in a face so clear,  
Or the hidden fires descry  
Wrapped in this cold outside lie;  
Flames might thus involved in ice  
The deceived world sacrifice;  
Nature, ignorant of this  
Strange Antiperistasis,  
Would her falling frame admire,  
That by snow were set on fire.   

The Deposition.  

THough when I loved thee thou were fair,  
Thou art no longer so,  
Those glories all the pride they wear  
Unto Opinion owe;  
Beauties, like stars, in borrowed lustre shine,  
And 'twas my Love that gave thee thine.   

The flames that dwelled within thine eye,  
Do now, with mine, expire;  
Thy brightest Graces fade, and die  
At once with my desire:  
Loves fires thus mutual influence return,  
Thine cease to shine, when mine to burn.   

Then (proud Celinda) hope no more  
To be implored or wooed;  
Since by thy scorn thou dost restore  
The wealth my love bestowed;  
And thy despised Disdain too late shall find  
That none are fair but who are kind.    

To his Mistress in Absence.  
TASSO.  
FAr from thy dearest self, (the Scope  
Of all my Aims)  
I waste in secret Flames;  
And only live because I hope.  
O when will Fate restore  
The joys, in whose bright fire  
My Expectation shall expire,  
That I may live because I hope no more!   

love's heretic.  

HE whose active thoughts disdain  
To be Captive to one foe,  
And would break his single chain,  
Or else more would undergo;  
Let him learn the art of me,  
By new bondage to be free.   

What tyrannic Mistress dare  
To one beauty love confine?  
Who unbounded as the air  
All may court but none decline:  
Why should we the Heart deny  
As many objects as the Eye?   

Wheresoever I turn or move  
A new passion doth detain me:  
Those kind beauties that do love,  
Or those pr●ud ones that disdain me;  
This frown melts, and that smile burns me;  
This to tears, that ashes turns me.   

Soft fresh Virgins not full blown,  
With their youthful sweetness take me;  
Sober Matrons that have known  
Long since what these prone, awake me;  
Here stayed coldness I admire,  
There the lively active fire.   

She that doth by skill dispense  
Every favour she bestows,  
Or the harmless innocence  
Which nor Court nor City knows,  
Both alike my soul inflame,  
That wild beauty, and this tame.   

She that wisely can adorn  
Nature with the wealth of art,  
Or whose rural sweets do scorn  
Borrowed helps to take a heart,  
The vain care of that's my pleasure,  
Poverty of this my treasure.   

Both the wanton and the coy  
Me with equal pleasures move;  
She whom I by force enjoy,  
Or who forceth me to love;  
This because she'll not confess,  
That not hide, her happiness,   

She whose loosely flowing hair,  
Scattered like the beams o'th' Morn,  
Playing with the sportive Air,  
Hides the sweets it doth adorn,  
Captive in that net restrains me,  
In those golden fetters chains me.   

Nor doth she with power less bright  
My divided heart invade,  
Whose soft tresses spread like Night,  
O'er her shoulders a black shade;  
For the starlight of her eyes  
Brighter shines through those dark Skies.   

Black, or fair, or tall, or low,  
I alike with all can sport;  
The bold sprightly Thais woo,  
Or the frozen Vestal court;  
Every beauty takes my mind,  
Tied to all, to none confined.    

La belle Confidente.  

YOu earthly Souls that court a wanton flame,  
Whose pale weak influence  
Can rise no higher than the humble name  
And narrow laws of sense,  
Learn by our friendship to create  
An immaterial fire,  
Whose brightness Angels may admire,  
But cannot emulate.   

Sickness may fright the roses from her cheek,  
Or make the Lilies fade,  
But all the subtle ways that death doth seek  
Cannot my love invade:  
Flames that are kindled by the eye,  
Through time and age expire;  
But ours that boast a reach far higher  
Can nor decay, nor die.   

For when we must resign our vital breath,  
Our Loves by Fate benighted,  
We by this friendship shall survive in death,  
Even in divorce united.  
Weak Love through fortune or distrust  
In time forgets to burn,  
But this pursues us to the Urn,  
And marries either's Dust.    

La belle enemy.  
I Yield, dear Enemy, nor know  
How to resist so fair a Foe;  
Who would not thy soft yoke sustain,  
And bow beneath thy easy chain,  
That with a bondage blessed might be  
Which far transcends all liberty.  
But since I freely have resigned  
At first assault my willing mind,  
Insult not o'er my captived heart  
With too much tyranny and art,  
Lest by thy scorn thou lose the prize,  
Gained by the power of thy bright eyes,  
And thou this conquest thus shalt prove,  
Though got by Beauty, kept by Love.   

The Dream.  
Lope de vega.  

TO set my jealous Soul at strife  
All things maliciously agree,  
Though sleep of Death the Image be,  
Dreams are the Portraiture of Life.   

I saw, when last I closed my Eyes,  
Celinda stoop t' another's Will;  
If specious Apprehension kill,  
What would the truth without disguise?   

The joys which I should call mine own  
Me thought this Rival did possess:  
Like Dreams is all my happiness;  
Yet Dreams themselves allow me none.    

To the Lady D.  
Madam,  
THe Blushes I betray,  
When at your Feet I humbly lay  
These Papers, beg you would excuse  
Th' obedience of a bashful Muse,  
Who (bowing to your strict command)  
Trusts her own errors to your hand,  
Hasty Abortives, which (laid by)  
She meant, ere they were born should die:  
But since the soft power of your Breath  
Hath called them back again from Death,  
To your sharp Judgement now made known,  
She dares for Hers no longer own;  
The worst she must not, these resigned  
She hath to th' fire, and where you find  
Those your kind Charity admired,  
She writ but what your Eyes inspired.   

Love Deposed.  

YOu that unto your Mistress eyes  
Your hearts do sacrifice,  
And offer sighs or tears at love's rich shrine,  
Renounce with me  
Th' idolatry,  
Nor this Infernal Power esteem divine▪   

The Brand, the Quiver, and the Bow,  
Which we did first bestow,  
And he as tribute wears from every Lover,  
I back again  
From him have ta'en,  
And the Impostor now unveiled discover.   

I can the feeble Child disarm,  
Untie his mystic charm,  
Divest him of his Wings and break his Arrow,  
We will obey  
No more his sway,  
Nor live confined to laws or bounds so narrow.   

And you bright Beauties that inspire  
The boys pale torch with fire,  
We safely now your subtle power despise,  
And (Unscorched) may  
Like Atoms play  
And wanton in the sunshine of your eyes.   

Nor think hereafter by new arts  
You can betwitch our hearts,  
Or raise this Devil by your pleasing charm;  
We will no more  
His power implore,  
Unless like Indians, that he do no harm.    

The Divorce.  

DEar, back my wounded heart restore,  
And turn away thy powerful eyes;  
Flatter my willing soul no more,  
Love must not hope what Fate denies.   

Take, take away thy smiles and kisses,  
Thy Love wounds deeper than Disdain,  
For he that sees the Heaven he misses,  
Sustains two hells, of loss and pain.   

Shouldst thou some others suit prefer,  
I might return thy scorn to thee,  
And learn apostasy of her  
Who taught me first Idolatry.   

Or in thy unrelenting breast  
Should I disdain or coyness move,  
He by thy hate might be released,  
Who now is prisoner to thy love.   

Since then unkind Fate will divorce  
Those whom Affection long united,  
Be thou as cruel as this force,  
And I in death shall be delighted.   

Thus whilst so many suppliants woe  
And beg they may thy pity prove,  
I only for thy scorn do sue,  
'Tis charity here not to love.    

Time recovered.  
CASONE.  
COme (my dear) whilst youth conspires  
With the warmth of our desires;  
Envious Time about thee watches,  
And some Grace each minute snatches:  
Now a spirit, now a Ray  
From thy Eye he steals away,  
Now he blasts some blooming Rose  
Which upon thy fresh Cheek grows;  
Gold n●w plunders in a Hair;  
Now the Rubies doth impair  
Of thy lips; and with sure haste  
All thy wealth will take at last;  
Only that of which Thou mak'st  
Use in time, from time Thou tak'st.   

The Bracelet.  

REbellious fools that scorn to bow  
Beneath love's easy sway,  
Whose stubborn wills no laws allow,  
Disdaining to obey,  
Mark but this wreath of hair and you shall see  
None that might wear such fetters would be free.   

I once could boast a soul like you  
As unconfined as air;  
But mine, which force could not subdue,  
Was caught within this snare;  
And (by myself betrayed) I for this gold,  
A heart that many storms withstood, have sold,   

No longer now wise Art inquire  
(With this vain search delighted)  
How souls that human breasts inspire  
Are to their frames united;  
Material chains such spirits well may bind,  
When this soft brayed can tie both Arm and Mind.   

Now (Beauties) I defy your charm,  
Ruled by more powerful Art,  
This mystic wreath which crowns my Arm▪  
Defends my vanquished Heart;  
And I, subdued by one more fair, shall be  
Secured from Conquest by Captivity.    

The Farewell.  

SInce Fate commands me hence, and I  
Must leave my soul with thee, and die,  
Dear, spare one sigh, or else let fall  
A tear to crown my Funeral,  
That I may tell my grieved heart  
Thou art unwilling we should part,  
And Martyrs that embrace the fire  
Shall with less joy than I expire.   

With this last kiss I will bequeathe  
My soul transfused into thy breath,  
Whose active heat shall gently slide  
Into thy breast, and there reside,  
And be in spite of Fate thus blessed  
By this sad death of Heaven possessed;  
Then prove but kind, and thou shalt see  
Love hath more power than destiny.    

Claim to Love.  
GUARINI.  

Alas! alas! thou turnst in vain  
Thy beauteous Face away,  
Which (like young Sorcerers) raised a Pain  
Above its Power to lay.   

Love moves not as thou turnst thy Look,  
But here doth firmly rest;  
He long ago thy Eyes forsook  
To revel in my Breast.   

Thy Power on him why hopest thou more  
Than his on me should be,  
The Claim thou layest to him is poor  
To that he owns from Me.   

His Substance in my Heart excels,  
His shadow in thy Sight;  
Fire where it burns more truly dwells,  
Than where it scatters Light.    

To his Mistress who dreamed He was wounded.  
GUARINI.  

THine Eyes (bright Saint) disclose  
And thou shalt find,  
Dreams have not with illusive shows  
Deceived thy Mind,  
What Sleep presented to thy view,  
Awake, and thou shalt find is true.   

Those mortal Wounds I bear  
From thee begin,  
Which though they outward not appear  
Yet bleed within,  
Loves Flame like active Lightning flies,  
Wounding the Heart, but not the Eyes.   

But now I yield to die  
Thy sacrifice,  
Nor more in vain will hope to fly  
From thy bright Eyes;  
Their killing Power cannot be shunned  
Open or closed alike they wound.    

The Echange.  
Dialogue.  Phil. 
THat kiss which last thou gav'st me, stole  
My fainting Life away,  
Yet (though to thy Breast fled) my Soul  
Still in mine own doth stay;  Char. 
And with the same warm Breath did mine  
Into thy Bosom slide,  
There dwell contracted unto thine,  
Yet still with me reside;  Chor. 
Both Souls thus in desire are one,  
And each is two in Skill,  
Doubled in Intellect alone  
United in the Will▪  
Weal Nature no such Power doth know,  
Love only can these Wonders show.   

Unaltered by sickness.  
Sickness, in vain thou dost invade  
A Beauty that can never fade.  
Could all thy Malice but impair  
One of the sweets which crown this fair,  
Or steal the spirits from her Eye,  
Or kiss into a paler dye.  
The blushing Roses of her Cheek,  
Our drooping hopes might justly seek,  
Redress from thee, and thou mightst save  
Thousands of Lovers from the Grave:  
But such assaults are vain, for she  
Is too divine to stoop to thee;  
Blessed with a Form as much too high  
For any Change, as Destiny;  
Which no attempt can violate;  
For what's her Beauty, is our Fate.   

On His Mistress' Death.  
PETRARCH.  

Love the Ripe Harvest of my toils  
Began to cherish with his Smiles  
Preparing me to be endued  
With all the joys I long pursued,  
When my fresh Hopes fair and full blown  
Death blasts ere I could call my own.   

Malicious Death why with rude Force  
Dost thou my fair from me divorce?  
False Life why in this loathed Chain  
Me from my fair dost thou detain?  
In whom assistance shall I find?  
Alike are Life and Death unkind.   

Pardon me Love thy power outshines,  
And laughs at their infirm designs.  
She is not wedded to a Tomb,  
Nor I to sorrow in her room.  
They what thou joynest can ne'er divide:  
She lives in me in her I died.    

The Exequies.  

DRaw near  
You Lovers that complain  
Of Fortune or Disdain,  
And to my Ashes lend a tear;  
Melt the hard marble with your groans,  
And soften the relentless Stones.  
Whose cold embraces the sad Subject hide  
Of all love's cruelties, and beauty's Pride.   

No Verse  
No Epicedium bring,  
Nor peaceful Requiem sing,  
To charm the terr●●rs of my hearse;  
No profane Numbers must flow near  
The sacred silence that dwells here;  
Vast Griefs are dumb, softly, oh softly mourn  
Lest you disturb the Peace attends my Urn.   

Yet strew  
Upon my dismal Grave,  
Such offerings as you have,  
Forsaken cypress and sad Ewe;  
For kinder Flowers can take no Birth  
Or growth from such unhappy Earth.  
Weep only o'er my Dust, and say, Here lies  
To Love and Fate an equal Sacrifice.    

The Silkworm.  
THis silkworm (to long Sleep retired)  
The early Year hath reinspired,  
Who now to pay to thee prepares  
The Tribute of her pleasing cares;  
And hastens with industrious toil  
To make thy Ornament her spoil:  
See with what pain she spins for thee  
The thread of her own destiny,  
Then growing proud in Death, to know  
That all her curious Labours thou  
Wilt, as in Triumph, deign to wear,  
Retires to her soft Sepulchre.  
Such, Dearest, is that hapless State,  
To which I am designed by Fate,  
Who by thee (willingly) o'ercome,  
Work mine own Fetters and my Tomb,   

A Lady weeping.  
MONTALVAN.  
AS when some Brook flies from itself away,  
The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray.  
And as about the verdant Plain it winds,  
The Meadows with a silver ribbon binds,  
Printing a kiss on every Flower she meets,  
Losing herself to fill them with new sweets,  
To scatter frost upon the Lilies Head,  
And Scarlet on the gillyflower to spread;  
So melting sorrow, in the fair disguise  
Of humid Stars, flowed from bright Cloris Eyes,  
Which watering every Flower her Cheek discloses,  
Melt into jesmines here there into Roses.   

Ambition.  

I Must no longer now admire  
The coldness which possessed  
Thy snowy Breast,  
That can by other Flames be set on Fire;  
Poor Love to harsh Disdain betrayed  
Is by Ambition thus outweighed.   

Hadst thou but known the vast extent  
Of Constant Faith, how far  
'Bove all that are  
Born slaves to Wealth, or Honours vain ascent;  
No richer Treasure couldst thou find  
Than hearts with mutual Chains combined.   

But Love is too despised a name,  
And must not hope to rise  
Above these ties.  
Honour and Wealth outshine his paler Flame;  
These unite Souls, whilst true desire  
Unpitied dies in its own Fire.   

Yet, cruel Fair one, I did aim  
With no less Justice too,  
Than those that sue  
For other hopes, and thy proud fortune's claim,  
Wealth honours, honour's wealth approve,  
But Beauty's only meant for Love.    

Song.  

When (Dearest Beauty) thou shalt pay  
Thy faith and my vain hope away  
To some dull soul that cannot know  
The worth of that thou dost bestow;  
Lest with my sighs and tears I might  
Disturb thy unconfined delight,  
To some dark shade I will retire,  
And there forgot by all expire.   

Thus whilst the difference thou shalt prove,  
Betwixt a feigned and real Love,  
Whilst he, more happy, but less true,  
Shall reap those joys I did pursue,  
And with those pleasures crowned be  
By Fate, which Love designed for me,  
Than thou perhaps thyself wilt find  
Cruel too long, or too soon kind.    

The Revenge.  
RONSARD.  

FAir rebel to thyself, and Time,  
Who laughst at all my tears,  
When thou hast lost thy youthful prime  
And age his trophy rears,   

Weighing thy inconsiderate pride  
Thou shalt in vain accuse it,  
Why Beauty am I now denied  
Or knew not then to use it?   

Then shall I wish ungentle Fair  
Thou in like flames mayst burn;  
Venus, if just will hear my prayer  
And I shall laugh my turn.    

Song.  

I Will not trust thy tempting graces,  
Or thy deceitful charms,  
Nor prisoner be to thy embraces,  
Or fettered in thy arms;  
No, Celia, no, not all thy art  
Can wound or captivate my heart.   

I will not gaze upon thy Eyes,  
Or wanton with thy Hair,  
Lest those should burn me by surprise,  
Or these my soul ensnare:  
Nor with those smiling dangers play,  
Or fool my Liberty away.   

Since than my wary heart is free,  
And unconfined as thine,  
If thou wouldst mine should captived be,  
Thou must thine own resign,  
And gratitude may thus move more  
Than Love or Beauty could before,    

Song.  

NO, I will sooner trust the Wind,  
When falsely kind  
It courts the pregnant Sails into a storm,  
And when the smiling Waves persuade  
Be willingly betrayed,  
Then thy deceitful Vows or Form.   

Go and beguile some easy heart  
With thy vain art;  
Thy smiles and kisses on those fools bestow,  
Who only see the Calms that sleep  
On this smooth flattering Deep,  
But not the hidden dangers know.   

They that like me thy Falsehood prove,  
Will scorn thy Love.  
Some may deceived at first adore thy Shrine  
But He that as thy sacrifice  
Doth willingly fall twice,  
Dies his own Martyr, and not thine.    

To a blind Man in Love.  
MARINO.  

LOver than Love more blind, whose bold thoughts dare  
Fix on a Woman is both young and fair:  
If Argus with a hundred Eyes not one  
Could guard, hopest thou to keep thine, who hast none?   

Answer.  
I'm blind, 'tis true, but in love's rules, defect  
Of sense, is aided by the Intellect.  
And senses by each other are supplied,  
The touch enjoys what's to the sight denied.    

Song.  

I prithee let my heart alone  
Since now 'tis raised above thee  
Not all the Beauty thou dost own  
Again can make me love thee:   

He that was shipwrecked once before  
By such a Sirens call,  
And yet neglects to shun that shore,  
Deserves his second fall.   

Each flattering kiss, each tempting smile  
Thou dost in vain bestow,  
Some other Lovers might beguile  
Who not thy falsehood know.   

But I am proof against all art,  
No vows shall e'er persuade me  
Twice to present a wounded Heart  
To her that hath betrayed me▪   

Could I again be brought to love  
Thy form though more divine,  
I might thy scorn as justly move,  
As now thou sufferest mine▪    

The loss.  

YEt ere I go,  
Disdainsul Beauty thou shalt be  
So wretched, as to know  
What Joys thou flingest away with me?   

A Faith so bright,  
As Time or Fortune could not rust;  
So firm, that Lovers might  
Have read thy story in my dust▪   

And crowned thy Name  
With Laurel verdant as thy Youth,  
Whilst the shrill voice of Fame  
Spread wide thy Beauty and my Truth.   

This thou hast lost;  
For all true Lovers when they find  
That my just aims were crossed,  
Will speak thee lighter than the wind.   

And none will lay  
Any oblation on thy shrine,  
But such as would betray  
Thy faith, to faiths as false as thine.   

Yet if thou choose  
On such thy freedom to bestow,  
Affection may excuse,  
For love from Sympathy doth flow.    

The Self-cruel.  

CAst off for shame ungentle maid  
That misbecoming Joy thou wear'st,  
For in my Death (though long delayed)  
Unwisely cruel thou appear'st.  
Insult o'er Captives with disdain,  
Thou canst not triumph o'er the slain.   

No, I am now no longer thine,  
Nor canst thou take delight to see  
Him whom thy Love did once confine  
Set, though by Death, at Liberty  
For if my fall a smile beget,  
Thou gloriest in thy own Defeat.   

Behold how thy unthrifty pride  
Hath murdered him that did maintain it;  
And wary Souls who never tried  
Thy Tyrant Beauty, will disdain it:  
But I am softer, and that me  
Thou wouldst not pity, pity thee.    

Song.  By M. W. M. 

WErt thou yet fairer than thou art,  
Which lies not in the power of Art,  
Or hadst thou in thine Eyes more Darts  
Then ever Cupid shot at Hearts;  
Yet if they were not thrown at me  
I would not cast a Thought on Thee.   

I'd rather marry a Disease,  
Than court the thing I cannot please:  
She that will cherish my Desires  
Must meet my Flames with equal Fires.  
What pleasure is there in a kiss  
To him that doubts the Hearts not his?   

I love thee not because th' art fair  
Softer than down smother then Air;  
Nor for the Cupids that do lie  
In either Corner of thine Eye:  
Wouldst thou then know what it might be?  
'Tis I love you, 'cause you love me.    

Answer.  

WErt thou by all Affections sought,  
And fairer than thou wouldst be thought:  
Or had thine Eyes as many Darts  
As thou believest they shoot at Hearts,  
Yet if thy Love were paid to me,  
I would not offer mine to thee.   

I'd sooner court a fever's heat,  
Then her that owns a Flame as great,  
She that my Love will entertain,  
Must meet it with no less disdain.  
For mutual Fires themselves destroy,  
And willing Kisses yield no Joy.   

I love thee not because alone  
Thou canst all Beauty call thine own,  
Nor doth my passion fuel seek,  
In thy bright Eye or softer Cheek:  
Then fairest if thou wouldst know why  
I love thee cause thou canst deny.    

The Relapse.  

OH turn away those cruel Eyes,  
The stars of my undoing.  
Or death in such a bright disguise,  
May tempt a second wooing.   

Punish their blindly impious Pride,  
Who dare contemn thy glory;  
It was my fall that deified  
Thy name, and sealed thy Story.   

Yet no new sufferings can prepare  
A higher praise to crown thee;  
Though my first death proclaim thee fair,  
My second will unthrone thee.   

Lover's will doubt thou canst entice  
No other for thy fuel,  
And if thou burn one victim twice,  
Both think thee poor and cruel.    

To the Countess of S. with the holy Court.  
Madam,  
SInce every place you bless, the name  
This Book assumes may justlier claim,  
(What more a Court then where you shine?  
And where your soul, what more divine?)  
You may perhaps doubt at first sight,  
That it usurps upon your right;  
And praising virtues that belong  
To you in others, doth yours wrong;  
No, 'tis yourself you read, in all  
Perfections earlier Ages call  
Their own; all Glories they e'er knew  
Were but faint Prophecies of you.  
You than have here sole interest whom 'tis meant  
As well to entertain, as represent.   

Song.  
DE VOITURE.  

I Languish in a silent Flame;  
For she to whom my vows incline  
Doth own perfections so divine,  
That but to speak were to disclose her Name.  
If I should say that she the Store  
Of nature's Graces doth comprise,  
The Love and wonder of all Eyes,  
Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?   

Or though I warily conceal  
The Charms her looks and Soul possess;  
Should I her cruelty express,  
And say she smiles at all the Pains we feel,  
Among such suppliants as implore  
Pity, distributing her Hate,  
Inexorable as their Fate:  
Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?    

Drawn for Valentine by the L. D. S.  
THough 'gainst me Love and Destiny conspire,  
Though I must waste in an unpitied fire,  
By the same Deity, severe, as fair,  
Commanded adoration and despair:  
Though I am marked for Sacrifice to tell  
The growing age what dangerous Glories dwell  
In this bright dawn, who when she spreads her rays  
Will challenge every heart, and every praise;  
Yet she who to all hope forbids my claim  
By Fortune's taught indulgence to my Flame.  
Great Queen of chance! unjustly we exclude  
Thy Power an interest in Beatitude:  
Who, with mysterious judgement dost dispense  
The Bounties of unerring Providence;  
Whilst we, to whom the causes are unknown,  
Would style that blindness thine, which is our own,  
As kind in Justice to thyself as me,  
Thou hast redeemed thy Name and votary:  
Nor will I prize this less for being thine,  
Nor longer at my destiny repine.  
Counsel● and choice are things below thy State,  
Fortune relieves the cruelties of Fate.   

The modest Wish.  
BARCLAY.  
REach Incense Boy! Thou pious Flamen pray  
To genial Deities these Rites we pay.  
Fly far from hence such as are only taught  
To fear the Gods by guilt of Crime or Thought.  
This is my Suit, grant it Celestial Powers,  
If what my will Affects oppose not yours.  
First, pure before your Altars may I stand,  
And practise studiously what you command.  
My parent's Faith devoutly let me prize,  
Nor what my Ancestors esteemed despise.  
Let me not vexed inquire, (when thriving Ill  
Depresseth good) why thunder is so still?  
No such ambitious knowledge trouble Me;  
Those curious Thoughts advance not Piety:  
Peaceful my House, in Wife and Children blessed,  
Nor these beyond my Fortunes be increased.  
None cozen me with Friendships specious gloss.  
None dearly buy my Friendship with their loss.  
To Suits nor wars my quiet be betrayed;  
My quiet, to the Muses justly paid:  
Want never force me court the rich with Lies,  
And intermix my suit with Flatteries:  
Let my sure friends deceive the tedious Light,  
And my sound sleeps, with Debts not broke, the Night.  
Cheerful my Board, my Smiles shared by my Wife,  
O Gods! yet mindful still of human Life,  
To die nor let me wish nor fear; among  
My joys mix Griefs, Griefs that not last too long.  
My Age be happy, and when Fate shall claim  
My thread of Life, let me survive in Fame.  
Enough: the Gods are pleased; the Flames aspire,  
And crackling Laurel triumphs in the Fire.   

E Catalectis vet. Poet.  
A Small wellgotten Stock and country seat  
I have, yet my content makes both seem great.  
My quiet Soul to fears is not enured,  
And from the sins of idleness secured:  
Others may seek the Camp, others the Town,  
And fool themselves with pleasure or renown;  
Let me unminded in the common crowd  
Live Master of the time that I'm allowed.   

On the Edition of M. Fletcher's Works.  
FLetcher, (whose Fame no Age can ever wast;  
Envy of ours, and glory of the last)  
Is now alive again; and with his Name  
His sacred ashes waked into a Flame;  
Such as before did by a secret Charm  
The wildest Heart subdue, the coldest warm,  
And lend the Lady's Eyes a power more bright,  
Dispensing thus to either, Heat and Light.  
He to a sympathy those Souls betrayed  
Whom Love or Beauty never could persuade;  
And in each moved Spectator could beget  
A real passion by a Counterfeit:  
When first Bellario bled, what Lady there  
Did not for every drop let fall a tear?  
And when Aspàsia wept, not any Eye  
But seemed to wear the same sad Livery  
By him inspired the feigned Lucina drew  
More streams of melting sorrow than the true;  
But then the Scornful Lady did beguile  
Their easy griefs▪ and teach them all to smile.  
Thus he Affections could, or raise or lay;  
Love, Grief, and Mirth thus did his Charms obey:  
He Nature taught her passions to outdo,  
How to refine the old, and create new;  
Which such a happy likeness seemed to bear,  
As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were.  
Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept  
In the same Urn wherein his Dust hath slept,  
Nor had he ris' the Delphic Wreath to claim,  
Had not the dying Scene expired his Name.  
O, the indulgent Justice of this Age,  
To grant the Press, what it denies the Stage!  
Despair our Joy hath doubled; He is come  
Twice welcome by this Postliminium;  
His loss preserved him; They that silenced Wit  
Are now the Authors to eternize it:  
Thus Poets are in spite of Fate revived,  
And plays by intermission longer lived.   

To Mr. W. Hammond.  
THou best of friendship, knowledge and of Art!  
The charm of whose loved name, preserves my heart  
From female vanities (thy name, which there  
Till time dissolves the fabric, I must wear)  
Forgive a Crime which long my soul oppressed,  
And crept by chance in my unwary breast,  
So great, as for thy pardon were unfit,  
And to forgive were worse than to commit,  
But that the fault and pain were so much one,  
The very act did expiate what was done.  
I (who so often sported with the flame,  
Played with the Boy, and laughed at both as tame)  
betrayed by idleness and Beauty, fell  
At last in love, love both the sin and Hell:  
No punishment great as my fault esteemed,  
But to be that which I so long had seemed.  
Behold me such, a Face, a Voice, a Lute,  
The sentence in a Minute execute.  
I yield, recant, the Faith which I before  
Denied, profess; the Power I scorned, implore.  
Alas in vain! no prayers, no vows can bow  
Her stubborn heart, who neither will allow:  
But see how strangely what was meant no less  
Than torment, proved my greatest happiness;  
Delay, that should have sharpened, starved desire,  
And cruelty not fanned, but quenched my fire.  
Love bound me, now by kind disdain set free,  
I can despise that Love as well as she.  
That sin to friendship I away have thrown,  
My heart thou mayst without a rival own,  
While such as willingly themselves beguile,  
And sell away their freedoms for a smile,  
Blush to confess our joys as far above  
Their hopes, as friendship's longer lived than Love.   

On M. Shirley's Poems.  
WHen dearest Friend, thy verse doth reinspire  
love's pale decaying Torch with brighter fire,  
Whilst everywhere thou dost dilate thy flame,  
And to the World spread thy Odelias' Name,  
The Justice of all Ages must remit  
To Her the Prize of Beauty, Thee of Wit.  
Then like some skilful Artist, that to wonder  
Framing a piece, displeased, takes it asunder,  
Thou Beauty dost depose, her Charms deny,  
And all the mystic chains of Love untie;  
Thus thy diviner Muse a power 'bove Fate  
May boast, that can both make and uncreate.  
Next thou call'st back to life that Love-sick Boy,  
To the kindhearted Nymphs less fair than coy,  
Who, by reflex Beams burnt with vain desire,  
Did phoenixlike, in his own flames expire:  
But should he view his shadow drawn by thee,  
He with himself once more in love would be.  
Echo (who though she words pursue, her haste  
Can only overtake and stop the last)  
Shall her first Speech and human veil obtain  
To sing thy softer numbers o'er again.  
Thus into dying Poetry, thy Muse  
Doth full perfection and new life infuse.  
Each line deserves a Laurel, and thy praise  
Asks not a Garland, but a Grove of bays:  
Nor can ours raise thy lasting Trophies higher,  
Who only reach at merit to admire.  
But I must chide thee Friend, how canst thou be  
A Patron, yet a Foe to poetry?  
For while thou dost this Age to Verse restore,  
Thou dost deprive the next of owning more;  
And hast so far even future Aims surpassed,  
That none dare write; Thus being first and last,  
All, their abortive Muses will suppress,  
And Poetry by this increase grow less.   

On M. Sherburn's Translation of Seneca's Medea, and vindication of the Author.  
THat wise Philosopher, who had designed  
To life the various passions of the mind,  
Did wronged Medea's jealousy prefer  
To entertain the Roman theatre;  
Both to instruct the Soul, and please the Sight,  
At once begetting horror and delight.  
This cruelty thou dost once more express  
Though in a strange, no less becoming dress;  
And her revenge hast robbed of half its pride,  
To see itself thus by itself outvied,  
That boldest Ages past may say, our times  
Can speak, as well as act their highest Crimes.  
Nor was't enough to do his Scene this right,  
But what thou gav'st to us, with equal light  
Thou wouldst bestow on him, nor wert more just  
Unto the author's work, then to his Dust;  
Thou dost make good his title, aid his Claim,  
Both vindicate his Poem and his Name,  
So shar'st a double wreath; for all that we  
Unto the Poet owe, he owes to thee.  
Though change of tongues stolen praise to some afford,  
Thy Version hath not borrowed but restored.   

On M. Hall's essays.  
WIts that matured by time have courted praise,  
Shall see their works outdone in these essays;  
And blush to know, thy earlier years display  
A dawning, clearer than their brightest day.  
Yet I'll not praise thee, for thou hast outgrown  
The reach of all men's praises, but thine own.  
Encomiums to their objects are exact;  
To praise and not at full is to detract.  
And with most justice are the best forgot,  
For praise is bounded when the theme is not:  
Since mine is thus confined, and far below  
Thy merit, I forbear it, nor will show  
How poor th' Autumnal Pride of some appears,  
To the ripe fruit thy vernal season bears.  
Yet though I mean no praise, I come t' invite  
Thy forward Aims still to advance their flight;  
Rise higher yet, what though thy spreading wreath  
Lessen to their dull sight who stay beneath?  
To thy full Learning how can all allow  
Just praise, unless that all were learned as thou?  
Go on in spite of such low souls, and may  
Thy growing worth know Age, though not decay:  
Till thou pay back thy theft; and live to climb  
As many years as thou hast snatched from Time.   

On Sir J. S. his Picture and Poems.  
SUCKLING, whose numbers could invite  
Alike to wonder, and delight,  
And with new spirit did inspire,  
The Thespian Scene, and Delphic Lyre.  
Is thus expressed in either part,  
Above the humble reach of Art.  
Drawn by the Pencil, here you find  
His Form, by his own Pen his mind.   

The union.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  By Mr. William Fairfax. 
AS in the crystal centre of the sight  
Two subtle beams make but one Cone of light,  
Or when one flame twined with another is,  
They both ascend in one bright pyramids;  
Our spirits thus into each other flow,  
One in our being, one in what we know,  
In what we will, desire, dislike, approve,  
In what we love, and one is that pure love.  
As in a burning glass th' aerial Flame,  
With the producing Ray is still the same:  
We to love's purest quintessence refined,  
Do both become one undefided mind.  
This sacred fire into itself converts  
Our yielding spirits, and our melting hearts,  
Till both our souls into one spirit run,  
So several lines are in their centre one.  
And when thy fair Idea is impressed,  
In the soft tablet of my easier breast,  
The sweet reflection brings such sympathy,  
That I my better self behold in thee;  
And all perfections that in thee combine,  
By this resultance are entirely mine;  
Thy rays disperse my shades who only live  
Bright in the Lustre thou art pleased to give.   

Answer.  
IF we are one dear friend! why shouldst thou be  
At once unequal to thyself and me?  
By thy release thou swellest my debt the more,  
And dost but rob thyself to make me poor.  
What part can I have in thy luminous Cone?  
What Flame (since my loves thine) can call my own?  
The palest star is less the son of night,  
Who but thy borrowed know no native light:  
Was't not enough thou freely didst bestow  
The Muse, but thou wouldst give the Laurel too?  
And twice my aims by thy assistanc raise,  
Conferring first the merit, than the praise?  
But I should do thee greater injury,  
Did I believe this praise were meant to me,  
Or thought, though thou hast worth enough to spare  
T'enrich another soul, that mine should share,  
Thy Muse seeming to lend calls home her fame,  
And her due wreath doth in renouncing claim.   

Pythagoras' his moral Rules.  

FIrst to immortal God thy duty pay,  
Observe thy Vow, honour the Saints: obey  
Thy Prince and Rulers, nor their Laws despise  
Thy parent's reverence, and near allies:  
Him that is first in virtue make thy Friend,  
And with observance his kind speech attend:  
Nor (to thy power) for light faults cast him by,  
Thy power is neighbour to necessity.  
These know, and with intentive care pursue;  
But Anger Sloth, and Luxury subdue.  
In sight of others or thyself forbear  
What's Ill; but of thyself stand most in fear.  
Let justice all thy words and actions sway,  
Nor from the even course of reason stray;  
For know that all men are to die ordained,  
And riches are as quickly lost as gained.  
Crosses that happen by divine decree  
(If such thy Lot) bear not impatiently.  
Yet seek to remedy with all thy Care  
And think the just have not the greatest share.  
'Mongst men discourses good and bad are spread,  
Despise not those, nor be by these misled.  
If any some notorious falsehood say,  
Thou the report with equal judgement weigh▪  
Let not men's smother promises invite,  
Nor rougher threats from just resolves thee fright.  
If ought thou wouldst attempt, first ponder it,  
Fools only inconsiderate acts Commit.  
Nor do what afterward thou mayst repent,  
First learn to know the thing on which th' art bent.  
Thus thou a life shalt lead with joy replete.  
Nor must thou care of outward health forget:  
Such Temperance use in exercise and diet  
As may preserve thee in a settled quiet.  
Meats unprohibited, not curious, choose,  
Decline what any other may accuse:  
The rash expense of vanity detest,  
And sordidness: a Mean in all is best.  
Hurt not thyself; act nought thou dost not weigh;  
And every business of the following day  
As soon as by the Morn awaked dispose,  
Nor suffer sleep at night thy Eyes to close  
Till thrice that Diary thou hast o'errun,  
How slipped? what Deeds? what duty left undone?  
Thus thy account summed up from first to last  
Grieve for the Ill, joy for what good hath past.  
These if thou study, practice, and affect,  
To sacred virtue will thy steps direct.  
Nature's eternal Fountain I attest,  
Who did the soul with fourfold power invest.  
Ere thou begin pray well thy work may end,  
Then shall thy knowledge to all things extend  
Divine and human; where enlarged, restrained,  
How nature is by general likeness chained.  
Vain hope nor ignorance shall dim thy sight,  
Then shalt thou see that hapless men invite  
Their Ills, to good (though present) Deaf and blind,  
And few the cure of their Misfortunes find;  
This only is the fate that harms and rolls  
Through miseries successive, human souls.  
Within is a continual hidden fight,  
Which we too shan must study, not excite;  
Good God how little trouble should we know  
If thou to all men wouldst their Genius show.  
But fear not thou; Men come of heavenly Race,  
Taught by diviner Nature what t'embrace,  
Which if pursued, Thou all I named shalt gain,  
And keep thy soul clear from thy Bodies stain;  
In time of prayer and cleansing meats denied  
At stain from; Thy minds reins let reason guide:  
Then raised to Heaven, thou from thy body free  
A deathless Saint, no more shalt mortal be.   
The common received Opinion that Pythagoras is not the Author of these verses, seems to be defended by Chrysippus in Agellius, Plutarch, Laertius, and Jamblichus, who affirm, that the rules and sense only were his, digested into Verse by some of his scholars. But it is not improbable, that they did no more than collect the verses, and so gave occasion to the mistake; for Laertius confesseth that Pythagoras used to deliver his precepts to his Disciples in verse, one of which was 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman};  
How slipped? what deeds? what duty left undone?  Of this Opinion I believe Clemens Alexandrinus, who citys one of these lines under his Name, and Proclus when he calls him {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, The Father of the golden verses.  
[thy duty pay]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}; Though Hierocles in another sense read {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
[thy Vow]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Hierocles, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, observance of religious Rules.  
[Honour the Saints]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Laertius on these words explains Souls whereof the Air is full. Hierocles, Angels, the sons of God, &c.  
[Thy Prince and Rulers]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Hierocles {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}; Capable of Government.  
[Nor their Laws despise]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Hierocles {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}; to obey their Commands.  
[With observance]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, that is, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}: Yet Hierocles otherwise.  
[Thy power is neighbour to necessity] Whatsoever necessity can force thee to bear, it is in thy power to bear voluntarily. If thy friend have wronged thee, how canst thou say, thou art not able to endure his Company, when Imprisonment might constrain thee to it? See Hierocles.  

['Mongst men discourses good and bad are spread,  
Despise not these, nor be by those misled.]   
So Hierocles, Marcilius reads {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} (that is {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}) for {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, which best agrees with this sense.  
[what any other may accuse]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} Hierocles interprets {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, Invidia; so taken sometimes by Cicero, Ma●cil:  

[And every business of the following day  
As soon as by the Morn awaked dispose]   
These two lines I have inserted upon the Authority of Porphyrius, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, &c.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  He advised every one before he slept to repeat these verses to himself, 
Nor suffer Sleep at Night, &c.  
And before he rose these,  
And every business, &c.  How much this confirms Pythagoras the Author, and his scholars but disposers of the Verses (who as it appears forgot these two) is evident enough; The main argument they insist upon who labour to prove the contrary is derived from these words,  

[Natures eternal fountain I attest  
Who did the soul with fourfold power invest]   
Where Marcilius expounds {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} illum a quo Scientiam {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} acceperant, is autem doctor eorum Pythagoras, as if it were  

Him who the Tetrad to our souls expressed  
(Natures eternal fountain) I attest;   
And then takes pains to show that his Scholars used to swear by Him. But {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} for {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} is not without a little violence to {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} (which makes Jamblicus read {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}) Marcilius in this being the less excusable for confessing immediately, Animae▪ vero nostrae dixerunt Pythagorei quoniam quaternarius animae numerus est, an explanation inconsistent with the other, but (as I conceive) truer; Macrobius expressly agreeth with it; juro tibi per eum qui dat animae nostrae quaternarium numerum, or as others Per qui nostrae animae numerum dedit ipse quaternum, By him who gave us Life, God. In which sense {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} much more easily will follow {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} than {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, The four powers of the soul are, Mens, Scientia, Opinio, Sensus, which Aristotle calls the four instruments of judgement, Hierocles {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. The mind is compared to an unite in that of many singulars it makes one. Science to the number two, (which amongst the Pythagoreans is numerus infinitatis) because it proceeds from things certain and granted to uncertain and infinite. Opinion to three, a number of indefinite variety. Sense to four, as furnishing the other three. In this exposition I am the more easily persuaded to dissent from Plutarch, Hierocles, Jamblichus and other Interpreters, since they differ no less amongst themselves.  
[Within is a continual hidden fight]  
Betwixt Reason and Appetite.  
[How little trouble]  
As Marcilius reads, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, &c.  
[Their Genius]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} Hierocles expounds {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Genius includes both.  
[what t'embrace]  
Hierocles, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, all that they ought to do.  
[from the body's stain]  
Hierocl. from the Infection of the body.  
[In times of Prayer  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, Meditation. See Plato in Phaedone.  
[and cleansing]  
Which extended (saith Hierocles) {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, to meat and drink, &c.  
[Meats denied]  
what they were is expressed by Laertius, Suidas, Hierocles, Agellius, &c. Hierocles affirms that in these words {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, he citys his sacred Apothegms: {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Concerning meat is particularly delivered in his holy Apothegms that which it was not lawful to make known to every one. Which is a great testimony that Pythagoras and not any of his Disciples writ these verses; for if the Author had cited him before in the third person (as they argue from {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}) he would have cited him now in the first.  
FINIS.