But kept cold distance, and did thence remove,
To spend her living in eternal love.
But, O! my sweet, what labour is't to leave
The thing we have not, mast'ring what not strives?
Playing the place which did no form receive;
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gives!
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle 'scapeth, by the flight,
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.
O pardon me, in that my boast is true;
The accident which brought me to her eye,
Upon the moment did her force subdue,
And now she would the caged cloister fly;
Religious love put out religious eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be immured;
And now to tempt, all liberty procured.
How mighty then are you, O hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong,
Have empty'd all their fountains in my well;
And mine I pour your ocean all among.
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,
Must for your victory us all congest,
As compound love to physick your cold breast.
My parts had power to charm a sacred sun;
Tho' disciplin'd, I dieted in grace,
Believ'd her eyes, when they t' assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place.
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee had neither string, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
When thou impressest, what are precepts worth,
Of stale example? When thou wilt enflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame ?
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst
And sweetness in the suffering pang it bears,
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
Now all these hearts, that do on mine depend,
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,
And supplicant, their sighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design;
And credent soul to that strong bonded oath,
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.
This said, his wat'ry eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights, till then, were level'd on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount,
With brinish current downward flow'd apace.
Oh! how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who glaz'd with crystal gate the glowing roses,
That flame thro' water which their hue incloses.
Oh, father! what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold, that is not warmed here?
Oh, cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath!
Both fire from hence, and chill extincture hath.
For lo! his passion, but an art of craft,
Even there resolv'd my reason into tears;
There my white stole of chastity I daft,
Shook off my sober guards, and civil fears,
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting, tho' our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Apply'd to cautless, all strange forms receives
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness: and he takes and leaves
In either's aptness, as it best deceives:
To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,
Or to turn white, and swoon at tragick shows:
That not a heart which in his level came,
Could 'scape the hail of his all-hurting aim.
Showing fair nature is both wild and tame :
And veil'd in them, did win whom he would maim;
Against the thing he sought, he would exclaim;
When he most burnt in heart-wish'd luxury,
He preach'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity.
Thus merely with the garment of a grace,
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd ;
That the unexperienc'd gave the tempter place,
Which like a cherubim above them hover'd:
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd ?
Ah, me! 1 fell and yet do question make,
What I should do again for such a sake.
Oh! that infected moisture of his eye!
Oh! that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd!
Oh that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly!
Oh! that sad breath his spungy lungs bestow'd!
Oh! all that borrow'd motion, seeming ow'd!
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid.
THE AMOROUS EPISTLE OF PARIS TO HELEN.
Health unto Leda's daughter, Priam's son
Sends in these lines, whose health cannot be won
But by your gift, in whose power it may lie
To make me whole or sick; to live or die.
Shall I then speak? or doth my flame appear
Plain without index? Oh; 'tis that I fear!
My love without discovering smile takes place,
And more than I could wish, shines in my face;
When I could rather in my thoughts desire
To hide the smoke, 'till time display the fire :
Time, that can make the fire of love shine clear,
Untroubled with the misty smoke of fear.
But I dissemble it; for who, I pray,
Can fire conceal? that will itself betray.
Yet if you look I should affirm that plain
In words, which in my count'nance I maintain,
I ́burn, I burn, my faults I have confess'd,
My words bear witness how my looks transgress'd.
Oh! pardon me, that have confess'd my error,
Cast not upon my lines a look of terror;
But as your beauty is beyond compare,
Suit unto that your looks (oh! you most fair !)
That you my letter have receiv'd by this,
The supposition glads me, and I wish
By hope encourag'd, hope that makes me strong,
You will receive me in some sort ere long.
I ask no more, than what the queen of beauty
Hath promis'd me, for you are mine by duty.
By her I claim you, you for me were made,
And she it was my journey did persuade.
Nor, lady, think your beauty vainly sought;
I by divine instinct was hither brought:
And to this enterprize the heav'nly powers
Had given consent; the gods proclaim me yours.
I aim at wonders, for I covet you;
Yet pardon me, I ask but what's my due:
Venus herself my journey hither led,
And gives you freely to my promis'd bed.
Under her conduct safe the seas I past,
Till I arriv'd upon these coasts at last;
Shipping myself from the Sygean shore,
Whence unto these confines my course I bore.
She made the surges gentle, the winds fair;
Nor marvel whence these calms proceeded are;
Needs must she power upon the salt seas have,
That was sea-born, created from a wave.
Still may she stand in her ability,
And as she made the seas with much facility,
To be thro' sail'd; so may she calm my heat,
And bear my thoughts to their desired seat.
My flames I found not here; no, I protest,
I brought them with me closed in my breast;
Myself transported them without attorney;
Love was the motive to my tedious journey.
Not blust'ring winter when he triumph'd most,
Nor any error, drove me to this coast;
Not led by fortune where the rough winds please,
Nor merchant-like for gain cross'd I the seas.
Fulness of wealth in all my fleet I see,
I'm rich in all things, save in wanting thee.
No spoil of petty nations my ship seeks,
Nor land I as a spy among the Greeks.
What need we? See of all things we have store!
Compar'd with Troy, alas your Greece is poor.
For thee I come, thy fame hath thus far driven me,
Whom golden Venus hath by promise given me.
I wish'd thee ere I knew thee, long ago,
Before these eyes dwelt on this glorious show.
I saw thee in my thoughts; know, beauteous dame,
I first beheld you with the eyes of fame.
Nor marvel, lady, I was stroke so far,
Thus darts or arrows sent from bows of war,
Wound a great distance off; so was I hit
With a deep smarting wound, that rankles yet.
For so it pleas'd the fates, whom lest you blame,
I'll tell a true tale to confirm the same.
When in my mother's womb full ripe I lay,
Ready the first hour to behold the day,
And she at point to be deliver'd straight,
And to unlade her of her royal freight,
My birth-hour was delay'd, and that sad night
A fearful vision did the queen affright.
In a son's stead, to please the aged sire,
She dreamt she had brought forth a brand of fire.
Frighted she rises and to Priam goes;
To the old king this ominous dream she shows;
He to the priest; the priest doth this return,
That the child born shall stately Ilium burn.
Better than he was 'ware the prophet guess'd,
For lo! a kindled brand flames in my breast.
To prevent fate, a peasant I was held,
Till my fair shape all other swains excell'd,
And gave the doubtful world assurance good,
Your Paris was deriv'd from royal blood.
Amid the Idean fields, there is a place
Remote, full of high trees, which hide the face
Of the green-mantled earth, where in thick rows,
The oak, the elm, the pine, the pitch-tree grows.
Here never yet did browse the wanton ewe,
Nor from his plot the slow ox lick the dew.
The savage goat, that feeds among the rocks,
Hath not graz'd here, nor any of their flocks.
Hence the Dardanian walls I might espy,
The lofty towers of Ilium reared high.
Hence I the seas might from the firm land see,
Which to behold, I lean'd me on a tree.
Believe me, for I speak but what is true,
Down from the sky, with feather'd pinions, flew
The nephew to great Atlas, and doth stand,
With golden Caduceus in his hand.
This, as the gods to me thought good to show,
I hold it good that you the same should know.
Three goddesses behind young Hermes move:
Great Juno, Pallas, and the queen of love;
Who as in pomp and pride of gait they pass,
Scarce with their weight they bend the tops of grass.
Amaz'd I start, and endlong stands my hair,
|