Ah, charming maid! let not Ill-fortune see
Th' attire thy sorrow wears,
Nor know the beauty of thy tears;

For she 'll still come to dress herself in thee.

Who canst defend as well as get,

And never hadst one quarter beat-up yet;

Now thou art in, thou ne'er wilt part

With one inch of my vanquish'd heart; For, since thou took'st it by assault from me,

As stars reflect on waters, so I spy

'Tis garrison'd so strong with thoughts of thee

It fears no beauteous enemy.

Had thy charming strength been less,

I 'ad serv'd ere this an hundred mistresses:
I 'm better thus, nor would compound

To leave my prison to be a vagabond;
A prison in which I still would be,
Though every door stood ope to me.
In spite both of thy coldness and thy pride,
All love is marriage on thy lover's side,
For only death can them divide.

Close, narrow chain, yet soft and kind
As that which spirits above to good does bind,
Gentle and sweet Necessity,

Which does not force, but guide, our liberty!
Your love on me were spent in vain;
Since my love still could but remain
Just as it is; for what, alas! can be
Added to that which hath infinity
Both in extent and quality?

HER NAME.

WITH more than Jewish reverence as yet
Do I the sacred name conceal;
When, ye kind stars, ah when will it be fit
This gentle mystery to reveal?
When will our love be nam'd, and we possess
That christening as a badge of happiness?
So bold as yet no verse of mine has been,
To wear that gem on any line;
Nor, till the happy nuptial Muse be seen,
Shall any stanza with it shine.
Rest, mighty name! till then; for thou must be
Laid down by her, ere taken up by me.

Then all the fields and woods shall with it ring;
Then Echo's burthen it shall be;
Then all the birds in several notes shall sing,
And all the rivers murmur, thee;
Then every wind the sound shall upwards bear,
And softly whisper 't to some angel's ear.

Then shall thy name through all my verse be spread,

Thick as the flowers in meadows lie, And, when in future times they shall be read, (As sure, I think, they will not die)

If any critic doubt that they be mine,
Men by that stamp shall quickly know the coin.
Meanwhile I will not dare to make a name

To represent thee by;

Adam (God's nomenclator) could not frame
One that enough should signify:
Astrea or Celia as unfit would prove
For thee, as 'tis to call the Deity Jove.

WEEPING.

SEE where she sits, and in what comely wise Drops tears more fair than others' eyes!

In every drop, methinks, her eye.
The baby, which lives there, and always plays

In that illustrious sphere,
Like a Narcissus does appear,

Whilst in his flood the lovely boy did gaze.
Ne'er yet did I behold such glorious weather,
As this sun-shine and rain together.
Pray Heaven her forehead, that pure hill of snow,
(For some such fountain we must find,
To waters of so fair a kind)

Melt not, to feed that beauteous stream below!
Ah, mighty Love! that it were inward heat

Which made this precious limbeck sweat! But what, alas! ah, what does it avail, That she weeps tears so wondrous cold, As scarce the ass's hoof can hold, So cold, that I admire they fall not hail?

DISCRETION.

DISCREET! what means this word discreet?

A curse on all discretion!
This barbarous term you will not meet
In all Love's lexicon.
Jointure, portion, gold, estate,

Houses, household-stuff, or land, (The low conveniences of Fate)

Are Greek no lovers understand.
Believe me, beauteous one! when love
Enters into a breast.

The two first things it does remove
Are friends and interests.

Passion 's half blind, nor can endure
The careful, scrupulous eyes;
Or else I could not love, I'm sure,
One who in love were wise.
Men, in such tempests tost about,
Will, without grief or pain,
Cast all their goods and riches out,
Themselves their port to gain.

As well might martyrs, who do choose
That sacred death to take,

Mourn for the cloaths which they must lose,
When they 're bound naked to the stake.

THE WAITING-MAID.

THY Maid! ah! find some nobler theme
Whereon thy doubts to place;

Nor by a low suspect b'aspheme
The glories of thy face.

Alas! she makes thee shine so fair,
So exquisitely bright,
That her dim lamp must disappear
Before thy potent light.

Three hours each morn in dressing thee
Maliciously are spent;

And make that beauty tyranny,

That 's else a civil government.

THE SEPARATION.

Ask me not what my love shall do or be
(Love, which is soul to body, and soul of me!)
When I am separated from thee;
Alas! I might as easily show,

What after death the soul will do;

"Twill last, 1'm sure, and that is all we know. The thing call'd soul will never stir nor move, But all that while a lifeless carcase prove;

For 'tis the body of my love:

Not that my love will fly away,

But still continue; as, they say,

Sad troubled ghosts about their graves do stray.

THE TREE.

I CHOSE the flourishing'st tree in all the park, With freshest boughs and fairest head;

I cut my love into his gentle bark,
And in three days, behold! 'tis dead:
My very written flames so violent be,

They 've burnt and wither'd-up the tree. How should I live myself, whose heart is found

Deeply graven every where
With the large history of many a wound,
Larger than thy trunk can bear
With art as strange as Homer in the nut,
Love in my heart has volumes put.

What a few words from thy rich stock did take
The leaves and beauties all,

As a strong poison with one drop does make

The nails and hairs to fall:
Love (1 see now) a kind of witchcraft is,
Or characters could ne'er do this.

Pardon, ye birds and nymphs, who lov'd this

shade;

And pardon me, thou gentle tree; I thought her name would thee have happy made, And blessed omens hop'd from thee:

"Notes of my love, thrive here," said I, " and

HER UNBELIEF.

'Tis a strange kind of ignorance this in you, That you your victories should not spy, Victories gotten by your eye!

That your bright beams, as those of comets do,
Should kill, but not know how, nor who!

That truly you my idol might appear,
Whilst all the people smell and see
The odorous flames I offer thee,

1

i

Thou sitt'st, and dost not see, nor smell, nor hear,
Thy constant, zealous worshipper.

They see 't too well who at my fires repine;
Nay, th' unconcern'd themselves do prove
Quick-ey'd enough to spy my love;
Nor does the cause in thy face clearlier shine,
Than the effect appears in mine.
Fair infidel! by what unjust decree

Must I, who with such restless care
Would make this truth to thee appear,
Must I, who preach it, and pray for it, be
Damn'd by thy incredulity?

I, by thy unbelief, am guiltless slain:
Oh, have but faith, and then, that you
May know that faith for to be true,
It shall itself by a miracle maintain,

And raise me from the dead again!
Meanwhile my hopes may seem to be o'erthrown;
But lovers' hopes are full of art,
And thus dispute-That, since my heart,
Though in thy breast, yet is not by thee known,
Perhaps thou may'st not know thine own.

THE GAZERS.

COME, let's go on, where love and youth does

I've seen too much, if this be all. Alas! how far more wealthy might I bë With a contented ignorant poverty!

[call;

To show such stores, and nothing grant, Is to enrage and vex my want. For Love to die an infant is lesser ill, Than to live long, yet live in childhood still. We 'ave both sat gazing only, hitherto, As man and wife in picture do: The richest crop of joy is still behind, And he who only sees, in love, is blind, So, at first, Pygmalion lov'd, But th' amour at last improv'd; The Statue itself at last a woman grew, And so at last, my dear, should you do too. Beauty to man the greatest torture is,

Unless it lead to farther bliss,
Beyond the tyrannous pleasures of the eye;
I grows too serious a cruelty,

Unless it heal, as well as strike:
I would not, salamander-like,

HONOUR.

SHE loves, and she confesses too;
There's then, at last, no more to do!
The happy work's entirely done;
Enter the town which thou hast won
The fruits of conquest now begin;
Iổ, triumph! enter in.

What's this, ye gods! what can it be?
Remains there still an enemy?
Bold Honour stands up in the gate,
And would yet capitulate;
Have I o'ercome all real foes,
And shall this phantom ine oppose?

Noisy nothing! stalking shade!
By what witchcraft wert thou made?
Empty cause of solid harms!
But I shall find out counter-charms,
Thy airy devilship to remove
From this circle here of love.

Sure I shall rid myself of thee
By the night's obscurity,
And obscurer secrecy!
Unlike to every other sprite,

THE INCURABLE.

I TRY'D if books would cure my love, but found
Love made them nonsense all;

I apply'd receipts of business to my wound,
But stirring did the paiu recall.

As well might men who in a fever fry,
Mathematic doubts debate;

As well might men who mad in darkness lie,
Write the dispatches of a state.

I try'd devotion, sermons, frequent prayer,
But those did worse than useless prove;
For prayers are turn'd to sin, in those who are
Out of charity, or in love.

I try'd in wine to drown the mighty care;
But wine, alas! was oil to th' fire;
Like drunkards' eyes, my troubled fancy there
Did double the desire.

I try'd what mirth and gaiety would do,
And mix'd with pleasant companies;
My mirth did graceless and insipid grow,
And 'bove a clinch it could not rise.
Nay, God forgive me for 't! at last I try'd,
'Gainst this, some new desire to stir,
And lov'd again, but 'twas where I espy'd
Some faint resemblances of her.

The physic made me worse, with which I strove
This mortal ill t' expel;

As wholesome med'cines the disease improve There where they work not well.

Nor appear'st but in the light.

THE INNOCENT ILL.

THOUGH all thy gestures and discourses be
Coin'd and stamp'd by modesty;
Though from thy tongue ne'er slipp'd away
One word which nuns at th' altar might not say;
Yet such a sweetness, such a grace,
In all thy speech appear,

That what to th' eye a beauteous face,
That thy tongue is to th' ear:

So cunningly it wounds the heart,

It strikes such heat through every part, That thou a tempter worse than Satan art.

Though in thy thoughts scarce any tracks have [been

So much as of original sin,
Such charms thy beauty wears, as might

Desires in dying confess'd saints excite:
Thou, with strange adultery,
Dost in each breast a brothel keep;
Awake, all men do lust for thee,
And some enjoy thee when they sleep.
Ne'er before did woman live,

Who to such multitudes did give
The root and cause of sin, but only Eve.
Though in thy breast so quick a pity be,
That a fly's death's a wound to thee;
Though savage and rock-hearted those
Appear, that weep not ev'n romance's woes
Yet ne'er before was tyrant known,
Whose rage was of so large extent;
The ills thou dost are whole thine own;
Thou'rt principal and instrument:
In all the deaths that come from you,
You do the treble office do

Of judge, of torturer, and of weapon too.
Thou lovely instrument of angry Fate,

Which God did for our faults create!
Thou pleasant, universal ill,

Which, sweet as health, yet like a plague do

He. Whoe'er his secret joys has open laid,
The bawd to his own wife is made;
Beside, what boast is left for me,
Whose whole wealth 's a gift from thee?

'Tis you the conqueror are, 'tis you
Who have not only ta'en, but bound and
gagg'd me too.

She. Though public punishment we escape, the
Will rack and torture us within:
[sin

Guilt and sin our bosom bears;
And, though fair yet the fruit appears,

That worm which now the core does
waste,

When long 't has gnaw'd within, will break the

skin at last.

He. That thirsty drink, that hungry food, I sought, That wounded balm is all my fault;

VERSES LOST UPON A WAGER,

As soon hereafter will I wagers lay 'Gainst what an oracle sha'l say; Fool that I was, to venture to deny

A tongue so us'd to victory!

A tongue so blest by Nature and by Art,
That never yet it spoke but gain'd an heart:
Though what you said had not been true,
If spoke by any else but you;
Your speech will govern Destiny,

And Fate will change rather than you should lye.
'Tis true, if human Reason were the guide,
Reason, methinks, was on my side;
But that 's a guide, alas! we must resign,
When th' authority's divine.
She said, she said herself it would be so;
And I, bold unbeliever! answer'd no:
Never so justly, sure, before,
Errour the name of blindness bore;
For whatso'er the question be,

There's no man that has eyes would bet for me.
If Truth itself (as other angels do

When they descend to human view)
In a material form would deign to shine,
'Twould imitate or borrow thinę:
So dazzling bright, yet so transparent clear,
So well-proportion'd would the parts appear!
Happy the eye which Truth could see
Cloath'd in a shape like thee;

But happier far the eve

Which could thy shape naked like Truth espy. Yet this lost wager costs me nothing more

Than what I ow'd to thee before: Who would not venture for that debt to play, Which he were bound howe'er to pay? If Nature gave me power to write in verse, She gave it me thy praises to rehearse : Thy wondrous beauty and thy wit Has such a sovereign right to it, That no man's Muse for public vent is free, Till she has paid her customs first to thee.

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