Joyn'd with the Horrour of a dismal Night To keep his word the brave Leander strove Honour his Convoy and his Pilot Love He long resists the envious Billows Rage Whose Malice would his generous Flame asswage At last his weary Limbs o'ercome with Pain No longer could the mighty Force sustain Then Thoughts of losing Hero made him grieve Only for Hero could he wish to live With feeble Voice a while to respite Fate He with his Foes would fain capitulate Whilst they against him still their Fury bend Nor these his dying Accents would attend Since to your greater Powers I must submit Ye VVinds and Seas at least this Prayer admit That with my Faith I may to her comply And at return let me your Victim dy To SLEEP When sick of a Fever HAppy are we who when our Senses tire Can slack the Chain of Thought check Desire Nature her Works does in Perfection frame Rarely producing any weak or lame She looks on Man with kindest Influence Does for one Ill a thousand Goods dispence Sleep blessed Sleep she gave our lab'ring Eyes Oh how I now those happy Minutes prize This Rest our Life's Cessation we may call The Ease of Toil of Care the Intervall For such Refreshment we from Sleep obtain That we with Pleasure fall to work again To Minds afflicted Sleep a Cure imparts Pouring its Sov'reign Balsom on our Hearts When Wounds or sharp Distempers rage and sting Kind Slumbers then some welcome Respites bring But waking kept by an Excess of Grief We from Eternal Sleep expect Relief So wretched I tormented to Despair With Pain my Body and my Soul with Care Implore thy Comfort Gentle Deity Whom none could e'er but with clos'd Eye-lids see An EPIGRAM On WOMAN SINCE Man's a Little World to make it great Add Woman and the Metaphor's compleat Nature this Piece with utmost Skill design'd And made her of a Substance more refin'd But wretched Man compos'd of Dust and Clay Must like all Earthly Things with Time decay While she may justly boast of what 's Eternal A Heav'nly Count'nance and a Heart Infernal A PARAPHRASE On CALLIMACHVS 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Of LEARNING Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 THE Rosy Chaplets which my Head adorn And richest Garments on my Body worn â—n Beauty and in Substance must decay And by Degrees shall all consume away The Meats and Drinks which do my Life sustain Nature in certain hours expels again We of no outward Blessings are secure They cannot time 's nor Fortune's Shocks endure For all my Worldly Goods are subject still To a Thief 's Mercy or Oppressour's VVill But Sacred Learning treasur'd in the Mind VVhen all things else forsake me stays behind Cynthia returned from the Country IS Cynthia happily return'd Whose Absence I so long have mourn'd Or do I dream or is it she My Life's Restorer 't is I see Ah Fugitive that hadst the Heart Body and Soul so long to part Thy Presence is a sweet Surprize A welcome Dream to waking Eyes Who can such Joy in Bounds contain My Cynthia is come back again No notice of your Coming This Is just to surfeit me with Bliss You are as when you went unkind With such Extreams to charge my Mind This suddain Pleasure might destroy E'er Sorrow could make way for Joy The Eye is struck before the Ear VVe Lightning see e'er we the Thunder hear A Paean or Song of Triumph translated into a Pindaric supposed to be of Alcaeus of Sappho or of Praxilla the Sycionian Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 THIS Sword I 'll carry in a Myrtle Bough It is my Trophy now Aristogiton and Harmodius They bare it thus VVhen they the Tyrant had destroy'd Restoring Athens to those Liberties VVhich she so much does prize And which she anciently enjoy'd O Dear Harmodius Thou art not dead But in the Island of the Blest Dost live in Peace and Rest For so 't is sed Thou happy art in Company Of swift Achilles and fierce Diomede And dost Tydides see Therefore this Sword in a Green Myrtle Bough I carry as in Triumph now The brave Harmodius And fam'd Aristogiton bare it thus For when they had perform'd the Sacrifice To our great Patroness Minerva due They as he in his Grandeur sate The Tyrant Proud Hipparchus slew Who o'er th' Athenian State Without Pretence of Right did tyrannize Eternal Honours you on Earth shall gain Aristogiton and Harmodius You have the bloody Tyrant slain By which you do restore Your City to the Laws which govern'd it before Beauty makes us happy HAppy 's the Man who does thy Beauty see Yet Happier he who sees and sighs for thee But he does greatest Happiness obtain Who sighs for thee and makes thee sigh again Some powerful Star did govern at his Birth Who for the lov'liest Creature upon Earth Shall in Content his Eye and Wishes join And safely say of thee That Heart is mine To John Dryden Esq Poet Laureat and Historiographer Royal his Honoured Friend MY Muse when heated with Poetic Flame Longs to be singing thy exalted Name The noble Task she sets before my Eyes And prompts me to begin the Enterprise My eager Hand no sooner takes the Pen But seiz'd with Trembling lets it fall agen My tim'rous Heart bids stop and whisp'ring says What canst thou sing that may advance his Praise His Quill's Immortal and his Flights are higher Than Eye of Humane Fancy can aspire A lasting Fountain from whose Streams do â—low â—ternal Honours where his Works shall go â—rom Him the Wits their Vital Humour bring â—s Brooks have their first Currents from the Spring â—ould my unskilful Pen augment his Fame â— should my own eternize with his Name â—â—t hold my Muse thy Theme too great decline â—emember that the Subject is Divine â—â—s Works do more than Pen or Tongues can say â—â—ch Line does Beauty Grace and Wit display To a Singing BIRD DEAR prison'd Bird how do the Stars combine To make my am'rous State resemble thine Thou happy thou dost sing and so do I Yet both of us have lost our Liberty For him thou sing'st who Captive thee detains And I for her who makes me wear her Chains But I alas this disproportion find Thou for Delight I sing to ease my Mind Thy Heart 's exalted mine depress'd does lye Thou liv'st by Singing I by Singing dye The Happy LOVER HARK Lovers hark and I shall tell A Wonder that will please you well She whom I lov'd as my own Heart For whom I sigh'd and suffer'd Smart Whom I above the World admir'd When I approach'd who still retir'd Was so reserv'd but yet so fair An Angel to what others are Her self from Love escapes not free The Man belov'd 'T is happy I am He. The Paean of Bacchylides 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 On PEACE Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 GReat Goddess PEACE does Wealth on us bestow From her our Sciences and Learning slow â—ur Arts improve and we the Artists prize â—ur Altars
love A Sonnet The Rose and Lily COurted by Cupids and the Amorous Air Upon a shady Throne at her Repose She sate than whom none e're so sweet or fair It was the Queen of Flowers the Blushing Rose With no less pride upon his Bed of State A Lily pale with Envy look'd that way With humble Flowers encompass'd round he sate And scorn'd the Scepter at her Feet to lay To Arms with Thorns and Prickles they prepare And each designs to try it out by War Till on good Counsel they in Rule combine So in your Face the lovely White and Red Cynthia I see all Quarrels banished And Rose and Lily do in Empire joyne A Defiance returning to the Place of his past Amours A Heart of Ice did here my Heart inflame Bound with loose Hairs a Pris'ner I became â—ere first sweet Love thô bitter in the end â—latter'd with Spight with Kindness did offend â—ut from Assaults a new Defence I 'm taught â—nd my past Ills an Antidote have brought â—o the poor Bird that once escape has made â—eturns with caution where the Net is laid â—ith my late Damp all Sparks of Love expire My Feet approach yet does my Soul retire â—hô near her Presence I can justly say My Eyes and Mind tend quite another way With her my Lute could no Attention find â—ow will I please my self not sing to th' Wind With Laurel here where Cypress late I wore â—ll triumph more than e're I griev'd before DISTANCE FAR from the Fire I burn and run in vain Slowly from winged Love to 'scape the Pain So the swift Arrows flying quick as Wind Wound them that run when th'Archer stays behind Love tho' I strive with Art to shun the Blow Fiercely assaults my Heart where e're I go As he can best a mortal Stroak command Who has most compass for his striking Hand Hoping to 'scape I as the Bird do fare That has his Foot entangled in a Snare Fears Death or in a Prison to be cast Flutters its Wings and strives but still is fast So I with all my Toyl no Ease have got My Strugling does but faster tye the Knot For Cynthia imitating Heavens swift Ray Near or at distance can her Flames convey A Sonnet On Signor Pietro Reggio his setting to Music several of Mr. Cowley's Poems â—F Theban Pindar rais'd his Country's Fame Whilst its great Deeds he does in Odes rehearse And they made greater by his Noble Verse Gratitude are Trophies to his Name â—hen English Pindar shall for ever live Since his Divine and Lofty Poetry Secur'd Great Reggio by thy Harmony â—all to it self Immortal Glory give â—he World 's amaz'd to hear the sweet Consent â—â—wixt thy charming Voice and Instrument They 'd stop the Bays which from Apollo fled â—â—y skilful Notes would make in full Carreer â—â—â—ebus the God of Musick stay to hear And with his Daphne crown thy Rival Head From a Drinking Ode of Alcaeus Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 DRink on thô Night be spent and Sun do shine Did not the Gods give anxious Mortals Wine To wash all Care and Sorrow from the Heart Why then so soon should Jovial Fâ—llows part Come let this Bumper â—or the next make way Who 's sure to live and drink another Day An EPITAPH On a Dutch CAPTAIN HERE lies a Souldier not oblig'd to Fame Being forc'd his own Atchievements to reherâ—â— He dy'd not rich yet I would tell his Name Could I but comprehend it in my Verse On Cynthia singing a Recitative Piece of Musick O Thou Angelick Spirit Face and Voice Sweet Syren whose soft Notes our Souls rejoice â—et when thou dost recite some Tragick Verse Thy Tone and Action make it sweetly fierce â—â— thou soft loud sad or brisk Note dost hit â—â— carries still our Hearts along with it Thou canst heat cool grieve us or make us smile â—ay stab or kill yet hurt us not the while Thy Gesture Shape and Mien so pleasing are With thee no Humane Being can compare Thy Passions all our Passions do excite And thy feign'd Grief does real Tears invite â—â—istning to thee our Bodies seems as dead â—or our rapt Souls then up to Heav'n are fled â—o great a Monarch art thou that thy Breath â—as power to give us either Life or Death A Sonnet On the Picture of Cavalier Guarini Author of Il Pastor Fido painted by the Famous Borgianni and set up in his Funeral Pile at Rome YOU who to Fam'd Guarini now he 's dead Your Verses consecrate and Statues reare For that sweet Padan Swan your Tears have shed Sweetest that ever did or will sing here Behold this Picture on his Fun'ral Pile Your mournful Spirits 't will with Joy revive Tho' th'Artist cheats your Senses all the while For 't is but Paint which you would swear does live This serves to keep our Friend in Memory Since Death hath robb'd us of his better Part And that he so might live as ne're to dye He drew himself too but with diff'rent Art Judge which with greatest Life and Spirit looks Borgianni's Painting or Guarini's Books On old Rome HERE was old Rome that stretch'd her Empire far In Peace was fear'd triumphant was in War Here 't was for now its place is only found All that was Rome lyes buried under Ground These Ruines hid in Weeds on which Man treads Were Structures which to Heav'n rais'd their proud Heads Rome that subdu'd the World to Time now yields With Rubbish swells the Plains and strews the Fields Think not to see what so Renown'd has been Nothing of Rome in Rome is to be seen Vulcan and Mars those wasting Gods have come And ta'ne Romes Greatness utterly from Rome They spoyl'd with Malice e're they would depart What e're was rare of Nature or of Art It s greatest Trophies they destroy'd and burn'd She that o're turn'd the World to Dust is turn'd Well might she fall 'gainst whom such Foes conspire Old Time Revengeful Man and Sword and Fire Now all we see of the Great Empress Rome Are but the Sacred Reliques of her Tomb. A SONG Revenge against Cynthia SEE Cupid we have found our lovely Foe Who slights thy Pow'r and does my Flame despise Now thou art arm'd with all thy Shafts and Bow And she at Mercy 'twixt two Enemies Asleep she 's laid upon this Bed of Flowers Her Charms the sole Defence to save her Breast Thoughtless of injur'd me or of thy Powers Oh that a Guilty Soul can take such rest Now may'st thou eas'ly with a single Dart Revenge thy self and me upon her Heart A Sonnet Love's Contrariety I Make no War and yet no Peace have found With heat I melt when starv'd to death with cold I soaâ— to Heav'n whilâ— groveling on the Ground Embrace the World yet nothing do I hold I 'm not confin'd yet cannot I depart Nor loose the Chain thô not a Captive led Love kills me not yet wounds me to the Heart Will neither have m' alive nor have me dead
learn of you to sing Then went away and I to gain her Praise Would fain have taught him all my Rural Lays How Pan found out the Pipe Pallas the Flute Phoebus the Harp and Mercury the Lute These were my Subjects which he still would slight And â—ill my Ears with Love-Songs Day and Night Of Mortals and of Gods what Tricks they us'd And how his Mother Venus them abus'd So I forgot my Pupil to improve And learn'd of him by Songs the Art of Love An EPITAPH On a Foolish Boaster HERE to its pristine Dust again is hurl'd Of an Inconstant Soul the little World He liv'd as if to some great things design'd With substance small boasting a Princely Mind Of Body crooked and distorted Face But Manâ—ers that did much his form disgrace In Broâ—ls his â—age pusht him beyond his Art Was kick'd would face again but wanted heart In his whole course of Life so swell'd with Pride That fail'd in all 's Intriegues for grief he dy'd Thus with ambitious Wings we strive to soar Flutter a while fall and are seen no more The Danger of the Sea From the Thirteenth Book of the Macaronics of Merlinus Cocalius Beginning Infidum arridet saepe imprudentibus Aequor THE treacherous Seas unwary Men betray Dissembling Calms but Storms in ambush lay Such who in bounds of safety cannot keep Flock here to see the Wonders of the Deep They hope they may some of the Sea Gods spy With all their Train of Nymphs and Tritons by But when their Eyes lose the retiring Shore Joyn Heaven with Seas and see the Land no more Then wretched they with Brains are swimming round Their undigested Meats and Choler drown Nor yet their boiling Stomachs can restrain Till they the Waters all pollute and stain When Aeolus inrag'd that Humane Race Should his old Friend the Ocean thus disgrace To punish it he from their hollow Caves With rushing noise le ts loose the Winds his Slaves Who up tow'rds Heav'n such mighty Billows throw You 'd think you saw from thence Heâ—â—s Vaults below Fools To whom Wrecks have of no Caution been By other Storms you might have this foreseen E'er your bold Sailers lanch'd into the Main Then y' had ne'er strove to reach the Shore in vain An Expostulation with Love THY Laws are most severe Oh Winged Boy For us to love and not enjoy What Reason is 't we should this Pain abide If love we must you might provide Either that our Affections we restrain From her we 're sure to love in vain Or after our Desires so Guide our Feet That where we love we may an equal Passion meet On the Art of Writing SURE 't was some God in kindness first to Men Taught us the Curious Art to use the Pen. â—Tis strange the speaking Quill should without Noise Express the various Tones of Humane Voice Of loudest Accents we no Sound retain Voice to its Native Air resolves again Yet thô as Wind Words seem to pass away By Pen we can their very Echoes stay When we from other Converse are confin'd This can reveal the Secrets of the Mind All Authors must to it their Praises own For 't was the Pen that made their Labours known Good Acts with bad Tradition would confound But what we writ is kept intire and sound Of this Ingenious Art Fame loudly sings Which gives us lasting Words and lasting Things The MORN WHEN Light begins the Eastern Heav'n to grace And the Nights Torches to the Sun give place Diana leaves her Shepherd to his Sleep Griev'd that her Horns cannot their Lustre keep The Boughs on which the wanton Birds do throng Dance to the Musick of their Chirping Song Whilst they rejoyce the Duskey Clouds are â—led And Bright Aurora rises from her Bed Then Fools and Flatterers to Courts resort Lovers of Game up and pursue their Sport With last Nights Sleep refresh'd the Lab'ring Swain Cheerfully settles to his Work again Pleas'd Hobb unfolds his Flocks and whilst they feed Sits and makes Musick on his Oaten Reed Then I wake too and viewing Lesbia's Charms Do glut my self with Pleasure in her Arms. To his Ingenious Friend Mr. N. Tate THRO' various paths for Pleasures have I sought Which short Content and lasting Trouble brought These are the Clouds obscure my Reasons Light And charge with Grief when I expect Delight Spight of all Letts thou Honour's Hill dost climb Scorning to spend in Empty Joys thy Time Thou in the foremost List of Fame dost strive Whose present Virtues Future Glory 's give With Myrtle I with Bays thou crown'st thy Head Thine still is verdant but my Wreath is dead The Trees I plant and nurse with so much Care Are barren thine the Glory of the Year â— only â—une my Pipe to Cynthia's Fame With Verse confin'd but constant as my Flame â—n thousand Streams thy plenteous Numbers fall Thy Muse attempts all Strains excels in all Less Security at Sea than on Shore An Idyllium of Moschus Englished Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 WHEN Seas are calm tost by no angry Wind What roving Thoughts perplex my easy Mind My Muse no more delights me I would fain Enjoy the tempting Pleasures of the Main But when I see the blust'ring Storms arise Heaving up Waves like Mountains to the Skies The Seas I dread and all my Fancy bend To the firm Land my Old and Certain Friend In pleasant Groves I there can Shelter take 'Mongst the Tall Pines the Winds but Musick make The Fisher's Boat 's his House on Seas he strives To cheat poor Fish but still in danger lives Sweetly does gentle Sleep my Eyes invade While free from Fear under the Plane-trees Shade I lye and there the Neighb'ring Fountains hear Whose Purling Noise with Pleasure Charms the Ear. A Sonnet PLATONIC LOVE CHAST Cynthia bids me love but hope no more Ne'er wish Enjoyment which I still have strove T' obey and ev'ry looser Thought reprove Without desiring her I her adore What Humane Passion does with Tears implore The Intellect Enjoys when 't is in Love With the Eternal Soul which here does move â—n Mortal Closet where 't is kept in Store Our Souls are in one mutual Knot combin'd Not Common Passion Dull and Unrefin'd Our Flame ascends That smothers here below The Body made of Earth turns to the same â—s Soul t' Eternity from whence it came My Love 's Immortal then and Mistress too Translated from Iovianus Pontanus Praises the Fountain Casis CASIS where Nymphs and where the Gods resort Thou art a Friend to all their am'rous Sport Often does Pan from his Lycaeus run In thy cool Shades to 'scape the Mid-days Sun With Musick he thy neighb'ring Hills does fill On his sweet Syrinx when he shews his Skill To which the Naïdes Hand in Hand advance And in just Measures tread their Graceful Dance By thee the Goats delight and browsing stray Whilst on the Rocks the Kids do skip and play Hither Diana chasing Deer does hye For on thy Banks
and blow the Fire 'Gainst their Assaults let us our Forces join Dissolve the Weather by the strength of VVine A COMPLAINT WHEN first I here to Cynthia spake my Mind Near these sweet Streams which to our thoughts were kind â—h then in perfect Harmony we met â—nd to our Concert joyn'd the Rivulet â—he Flowers Plants Echo's Craggy Rocks and Dales â—he pleasant Meads proud Hills and humble Vales â—em'd then o're-joy'd at my Felicity Which now condole with me in Misery â—t still the wing'd Inhab'tants of the Wood â—g as my Change they had not understood â—ô sure the Melancholy Tunes they vent â—e rather Notes of Grief than Merriment â— Nymphs that in these Crystal Streams do dwell â—d after Sport rest quiet in your Cell â—ce clear as yours a Happy Life I led â—ô now o'erwhelm'd with Grief and live as dead Thus we through various Turns of Fortune run And sind no certain Rest till Life be done Love's Garden Translated from Girolamo Preti I To Love's Garden came with my Attire Was wove with Herbs of Hope and of Desire Branches of Trouble too by me were worn VVhose Flowers and Fruit were Prejudice and Scort 'T was wall'd with Pain and Anguish round about And from a thousand places issu'd out VVater of Grief and Air of Sighs beside Deceit and Cruelty did there reside Pride was the Keeper and to cultivate VVas Jealousie who still with mortal Hate Tare up my Happiness e're it could grow VVhilst like a Madman thus I strive to sow Under the Shadow of a Thought that 's kind I plow in Stone dig VVater stop the VVind Seeing his own Picture discourses of his Studies and Fortune â—HIS which the Shadow of my Face does give VVhose Counterfeit seems true and Art alive â—ows but the part of Man's Infirmity â—hich to Age subject must decay and dye â—t the Internal Nature's Excellence â—hich does this Earthly Shadow influence 〈◊〉 haps some Image may on Paper draw 〈◊〉 ose Essence ne'er of Time shall stand in awe 〈◊〉 by my Muses Help I hope to build 〈◊〉 Monuments as ne'er to Time shall yield 〈◊〉 er than from these Colours can be had 〈◊〉 to my Years shall greater Numbers add â— when some Noble VVork I enterprize â—t might advance my Honour to the Skies â—envious Fortune strikes a thousand ways 〈◊〉 royes my Labours and so blasts my Bays A Sonnet of Petrarc On the Death of Laura I Fill with Sighs the Air when e're I stand On yon' high Hill and thence survey the Plain Where Laura she who could my Heart command Did in her Earthly Paradise remain For now she 's dead and left me here alone Griev'd for her loss that I could gladly dye Drowning my Eyes in making of my Moan My Tears have left no space about me dry There is no Stone upon that craggy Hill Nor these sweet Fields an Herb or Plant do bring Nor Flower 'mongst all that do the Valleys â—ill Nor any drop of Water from the Spring Nor Beasts so wild that in the Woods do dwell But of my Grief for Laura's Death can tell Another of Petrarc On Laura's Death OH Death How has thy utmost Malice sped Thou hast Love's Kingdom quite impov'rished â—ropt Beauty's Flower put out our chiefest Light â—nd one small Stone deprives us of her sight â—ur Joy's extinct we 're left in Discontent â—ript of our Honour and our Ornament â—ut to her Fame thou ne're canst put an end â—hy Power but o're her Body did extend â—â—r her pure Soul above is glorify'd â—s brightest Star she 's there the Heaven's Pride â—nd here her Vertuous Deeds shall never dye â—t be admir'd by all Posterity 〈◊〉 w Glorious Angel thou that dwell'st above 〈◊〉 d with more powerful Charms attractest Love 〈◊〉 y'st thou be vanquish'd by my Piety 〈◊〉 here thy Beauty triumph'd over me Complains of the Court. IN a Great Court near a Fam'd River's side With Hopes of Greatness sed I still reside But where to fix I ne'er shall understand Foll'wing what flies and shunning what 's at hand Others from me the Gifts of Heav'n retain The lucky Fool does still the Purchace gain At Air I grasp and after Shadows strive Live for my Foes if this be said to live I slight my self love him that injures me And in soft Words find greatest Treachery I Mortal Hatred under Smiles behold And starve for want amidst great heaps of Gold Now Envy's Stroaks then Fortune's I sustain And want a Friend to whom I might complain I see th' ensuing Storm and no Help nigh Grieve for one Loss and straight another spy Being retired complains against the Court. REmote from Court where after Toil we get More Hopes than Fruit I now have chang'd my Seat And here retir'd with calmer Thoughts abide As Lea more smooth than troubled Thames does glide I need not Great Men here with Flatt'ry please No Pride nor Envy shall disturb my Ease If Love ensnares my Heart I from its Net Or servile Chain at least my Freedom get Since my new Flame brake out my old is death With Falshood kindled and with Scorn 't was fed And here the greatest Rigour pleases more Than all dissembled Favours could before There Love 's all Counterfeit and Friendship too And nothing else but Hate and Malice true If here my Nymph be cross or prove unkind Vanquish'd I triumph fighting Peace I find To Cynthia HARK how the little Birds do vie their Skill Saluting with their Tunes the welcome Day Spring does the Air with fragâ—ant Odours fill And the pleas'd Fields put on their best Array With great Serenity the Heavens move The Amorous Planet rules in fullest power All things their Cruelty away remove And seem to know of Joy the Time and Hower Only my Cynthia still this Glorious Morn Retains the frozen Temper of her Heart Of Birds and Flowers does imitation scorn Nor from her wonted Rigour will depart Ah change my Fair that harsh and cruel Mind Why should your Looks and Humour disagree Let not my Love such Opposition find You 're wo'd by Heav'n and Earth to favour me The Withered Rose GO Fading Rose a Present to my Fair To whose ungrateful Breast I gave my Heart And thô my Grief could ne'er affect her Care To her do thou my dying Mind impart I late have seen thee Lovely Sweet and Gay Perchance the influence of her Looks on thee Now pale as Death thy Beauty 's gone away Thou art the Emblem of my Misery Say if to cast an Eye on thee she deign Since no Relief from her my Life receives My Body soon as Bloodless will remain As thy once fresh but now decaying Leaves And thou perchance the Benefit may'st find For thy pale Looks and Message understood To cure thy dying Spoils she may be kind With Water of my Tears or with my Blood A Sonnet On the Death of Sylvia OH Death without regard to wrong or right All things at will thy boundless Rage devours This tender Plant
To interweave the Olive with the Bays When tir'd with Arts to tune Apolo's Lyre To merit Honours e're he them desire These Fruits which others bring with Art and Time Your Blooming Age does yield before your Prime Love's New Philosophy I. WHO'e're a Lover is of Art May come and learn of me A New Philosophy Such as no Schools could e'er impart â—ove all my other Notions does controul â—nd reads these stranger Lectures to my Soul II. This God who takes delight to lye Does Sacred Truths defame And Aristotle blame Concluding all by Subtilty â—is Syllogisms with such Art are made â—ot Solomon himself could them evade III. So wondrous is his Art and Skill His Reasons pierce like Darts Mens Intellects and Hearts Old Maximes he destroys at will â—nd blinded Plato so he made him think â—was Water when he gave him Fire to drink IV. That Water can extinguish Fire All Ages did allow But Love denyes it now And says it makes his Flame rage higher Which Truth my self have prov'd for many Years Wherein I 've wept whole Deluges of Tears V. At the Sun's Rays you Cynthia know The Ice no more can melt Nor can the Fire be felt Or have its wonted Influence on Snow By your relentless Heart is this exprest Your Eyes are Suns the Fire is in my Brest VI. When Soul and Body separate That then the Life must dye This too I must deny My Soul 's with her who rules my Fate Yet still my Organs move a Proof to give That Soul and Body can divided live VII Remove the Cause th' Effects will cease This is an Errour too And found by me untrue My Fair when near disturbs my Peace But when she 's furthest off no Tongue can tell The raging Pangs of Love my Heart does feel VIII All Creatures Love not their own Kind I this new Axiom try And that all fear to dye By Nature a Mistake I find â—or I a Man do a Fierce Creature love â—nd such I know that will my Murd'ress prove IX Here two Extreams are eas'ly join'd Joy and Grief in my Brest VVhich give my Soul no Rest Both to torment me are combin'd â—or when I view the Source of all my Wrong â— sigh my Musick mix with Tears my Song X. That all things like Effects produce I readily can prove A Paradox in Love And my Conclusion hence deduce Cold Cynthia to my Zeal yields no Return Though Ice her Heart she makes my Heart to burn XI Whilst in this Torment I remain It is no Mystery To be and not to be I dye to Joy and live to Pain So that my Fair I may be justly sed To be and not to be Alive and Dead XII Now go my Song yet shun the Eyes Of those ne'er felt Love's Flame And if my Cynthia blame Thy Arguments as Sophistries Tell her this is Love's New Philosophy Which none can understand but such as try The Vanity of Unwarrantable Notions Done out of Portugueze from Lewis de Camoëns TRUTH Reason Love and Merit may endure Some Shocks to make us think our selves secure But Fortune Time and Destiny do still Dispose all Humane Matters at their Will What various strange Effects perplex the Mind For which we can no certain Causes find We know we live but what succeeds our End Man's Understanding cannot comprehend Yet Doctors will their Notions justify And vouch for Truths what no Man e'er could try Doubt Real Things as if no such had been And Things believe which never yet were seen These Men are proud to have their Madness known Believe in Christ and let the rest alone To the NIGHTINGALE Why Little Charmer of the Air Dost thou in Musick spend the Morn Whilst I thus languish in Despair Opprest by Cynthia 's Hate and Scorn Why dost thou sing and hear me cry Tell wanton Songster tell me why I. WILT thou not cease at my Desire Will those small Organs never tiâ—e Nature did these close Shades prepare Not for thy Musick but my Care Then why wilt thou persist to sing Thou Beautiful Malitious Thing When Kind Aurora first appears She weeps in pity to my Tears If thus thou think'st to give Relief Thou never knew'st a Lover's Grief Then Little Charmer c. That dost in Musick c. II. Thou Feather'd Atome where in thee Can be compris'd such Harmony In whose small Fabrick must remain What Composition does contain All Griefs but mine are at a stand When thy surprising Tunes command How can so small a Tongue and Throat Express so loud and sweet a Note Thou hast more various Points at VVill Than Orpheus had with all his Skill Then Little Charmer c. That dost in Musick c. III. Great to the Ear thô Small to Sight The Happy Lovers dear Delight Fly to the Bow'r where such are lade And there bestow thy Serenade Haste from my Sorrow haste away Alas there 's Danger in thy Stay Lâ—st hearing me so oft complain Should make thee change thy cheerful Strain Thy Songs cannot my Grief remove Thou harmless Syren of the Grove Then cease thou Charmer of the Air No more in Musick spend the Morn With me that languish in Despair Opprest by Cynthia 's Hate and Scorn And do not this Poor Boon deny I ask but Silence whilst I dye APOLLO and DAPHNE PAnting for Breath towards her Parent Brook Like the tyr'd Deer before an eager Chase Fair Daphne ran nor durst behind her look With winged Feet and with a blub'red Face The Beardless God who taken with her Charms Had long pursu'd by his hot Passion led Straight saw her stop and upward stretch her Arms On Pencus Banks where she for Aid had sled He saw her Nimble Feet take Root and grow And a rough Bark her Tender Limbs enclose Her Hairs which once like Curls of Gold did show Chang'd Green and in a Shade of Boughs arose To the resistless Tree He Courtship makes And wâ—th vain Kisses his Fond Love deceives Then of her Bays by force a Chaplet takes So stead of Fruit He only gathers Leaves A Sestina In Imitation of Sig. Fra. Petrarca I. SO many Creatures live not in the Sea Nor e'er above the Circle of the Moon Did Man behold so many Stars at Night Nor little Birds do shelter in the Woods Nor Herbs nor Flow'rs e'er beautify'd the Fields As anxious Thoughts my Heart feels ev'ry Day II. â— wishing Death pray each may be the Day And seek in vain for Quiet in the Fields My Griefs succeed like Waves upon the Sea â—uch Torments sure no Man beneath the Moon â—'er felt as I 'T is known amongst the Woods Where to complain I oft retire at Night III. â— never could enjoy a quiet Night And do in Pain and Sorrow spend the Day â—ince Angry Cynthia drove me to the Woods â—et e'er I quit my Love I 'll weep a Sea The Sun his Light shall borrow of the Moon And May with Flowers refuse to deck the Fields IV. Restless I wander
the Pain To love as you may be belov'd again All things should contribute to the Lover's Assistance An Idyllium of Moschus Englished Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 OF Loving Venus O Coelestial Light Hesperus Usher of the sable Night Thô paler than the Moon thou dost as far Transcend in Brightness ev'ry other Star To my Dear Shepherdess my Steps befriend â—â— Luna's stead do thou thy Conduct lend With waining Light not long before the Sun â—he rose and now by this her Course has run No base Intriegue this Night I undertake No Journey I for Common Bus'ness make Love and bear within me Cupid's Fire And all things should to Lovers Aid conspire CUPID turn'd Plowman An Idyllium of MOSCHUS 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ONCE for his Pleasure LOVE would go Without his Quiver Toâ—ch or Bow He took with him a Ploughman's Whip And Corn as much as fill'd his Scrip Upon his shoulders hung the Load And thus equipp'd he went abroad With Bulls that often Yoaks had worn He plow'd the Ground and sow'd his Corn Then looking up to Heav'n with pride Thus mighty Iove he vilify'd Now scorch my Field and spoil my Seed Do and you shall repent the deed Europa's Bull I 'll make you bow Your haughty Neck and draw my Plow Love's Subtilty An Idyllium of Moschus Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 BY Pisa's Walls does Old Alpheus flow To Sea and thence to 's Arethusa goe With Waters bearing Presents as they move â—eaves Flowers and Olive-Branches to his Love And of the Sacred Dust the Heroes raise When at Olympic Games they strive for Bays â—e sinks and dives with Art beneath the Sea â—nd to Sicilia does his Streams convey â—â—t still will he his Purity retain â—or is his Course obstructed by the Main â—Twas Love whose subtil Tricks will ne'er be done That taught the Am'rous River thus to run Love makes the best Poets An Idyllium of BION Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 DArts Torch or Bow the Muses do not fear They love and follow Cupid ev'ry where And him whose Breast His Arrows cannot reach They all avoid refusing him to teach But if Love's Fire begin to warm a Heart They straight inspire it with their Sacred Art Let none with subtil Logick this deny For I too well the Truth can testify If Men or Gods I strive to celebrate My Musick 's Discord and my Verse is flat For Love or Lyciâ— when my Vein I show My Viol 's tun'd and sweetest Numbers flow The Death of ADONIS 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Of Theocritus Englished WHEN VENVS her ADONIS found Just slain and weltring on the Ground With Hair disorder'd gastly Look And Cheeks their Roses had forsook She bad the Cupids Fetch with speed The Boar that did this horrid Deed They to revenge Adonis Blood As quick as B0irds search'd all the Wood And straight the murd'rous Creature found Whom they with Chains securely bound And whilst his Net one o'er him flung â—o drag the Captive Boar along Another follow'd with his Bow â—ushing to make him faster go Who most unwillingly obey'd â—or he of VENVS was afraid No sooner she the Boar espy'd â—ut Oh! Thou cruel Beast she cry'd That hadst the Heart to wound this Thigh How couldst thou kill so sweet a Boy Great Goddess said the Boar and stood Trembling I swear by all that 's Good By thy Fair Self by Him I 've slain These pretty Hunters and this Chain I did no Harm this Youth intend Much less had Thought to kill your Friend I gaz'd and with my Passion strove For with his Charms I fell in Love At last that naked Thigh of his With Lovers Heat I ran to kiss Oh Fatal Cause of all my Woe 'T was then I gave the heedless Blow These Tusks with utmost Rigour draw Cut break or tear them from my Jaw 'T is just I should these Teeth remove Teeth that can have a Sense of Love Or this Revenge if yet too small Out off the Kissing Lips and all When Venus heard this humble Tale Pitty did o'er her Rage prevail She bad them straight his Chains unty And set the Boar at Liberty Who ne'er to Wood return'd again But follow'd Venus in her Train And when by Chance to Fire he came His Am'rous Tusks sing'd in the Flame Love a Spirit I Told Iacinta t'other Day As in a pleasant Bow'r we sate Sporting and Chatting Time away Of Love and of I know not what That Love 's a Spirit some maintain From whom say they we 're seldom free He gives us both Delight and Pain Yet him we neither touch nor see But when I view said I your Eyes I can perceive he thither skips He now about them hov'ring flyes And I can feel him on your Lips Commends the SPRING A Paraphrase on an Idyllium of BION Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 CLEODEMVS and MYRSON CLEO. WHICH Season Myrson does most Pleasure bring The Summer Autumn Winter or the Spring Does not the SUMMER When the Joyful Swain Pays Ceres Rights and fills his Barns with Grain Or is the AUTUMN best in your Esteem That drives no Shepherd to the distant Stream To quench his Thirst Or wanting common Food To range for Nuts and Acorns in the Wood. For then our Vines their Nectar Juice afford And Orchards with Ambrosian Fruits are stor'd Or can you the Cold WINTER more admire When Frost and Snow confine you to the Fire With Wine and Feasting Musick and Delights And pleasant Tales to shorten tedious Nights Or give you for the Flowry SPRING your Voice Pray tell me for I long to hear your Choice MYR SINCE God at first as we from Poets hear Distinguish'd these Four Seasons of the Year â—acred to Deities to whom we bow Our Judgment of them they will scarce allow Yet Cleodemus answ'ring your Request â—'ll tell my Thoughts which I esteem the best â—UMMER offends when Sol with fiercest Ray â—n my tir'd Limbs does Fainting Heats convey â—nd me as little can moist AUTUMN please â—ngendring Fogs That Season's all Disease â—uch less could I delight in WINTER's Snow 〈◊〉 Nipping Frosts or Tempests when they blow â—â—t Oh the SPRING Whose Name delights the Ear. Would a Continual Spring were all the Year 〈◊〉 th'others brought no Damage yet the Spring With purer Air makes Birds in Concert sing â—cloaths our Fields our Gardens and our Bowers Fresh Array adorn'd with various Flowers makes the Fruitful Earth when pregnant long â—ing forth and kindly nurse her Tender Young â—â—ds leave their Fodder and in Pastures keep â—â—d Day is equal to the Time of Sleep When God from Nothing made the Heav'ns and Earth And first gave all his Creatures Life and Birth Sure it was Spring and gentle Winds did blow And all Earth's Products full Perfection show To sweet Meat soure Sauce An Imitation of Theocritus or Anacreon AS Cupid from the Bees their Hony-stole Being stung he in the Anguish of his Soul Fled with his Dear-bought Purchace which he laid On Cynthia's
Lips and thus in Anger said Here I 'm resolv'd shall a Memorial be Of this my sweet but punish'd Robbery Let him endure as great a Pain as this Who next presumes these Nectar Lips to kiss Their Sweetness shall convey revenging Smart Honey to 's Mouth but Torment to his Heart The Young Fowler that mistook his Game An Idyllium of BION 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 A Brisk Young Archer that had scarce his Trade In search of Game alone his Progress made To a Near Wood and as he there did rove Spy'd in a Box-Tree perch'd the God of Love For Joy did he his lucky Stars adore Ne'er having seen so large a Bird before Then in due Order all his Lime-twigs set Prepar'd his Arrows and display'd his Net Yet would the Crafty Bird no Aim allow But flew from Tree to Tree and Bough to Bough At which his strange Success for Grief he cry'd In Anger throwing Bow and Toyls aside And to the Man that taught him ran in Hast To whom he gave Account of all that past Making him leave his Plow to come and see And shew'd him Cupid sitting in the Tree The good Man when he saw it shook his Head Leave off Fond Boy leave off he smiling sed Hast from this Dang'rous Fowl that from you flies And follow other Game let me advise For when to riper Age you shall attain This Bird that shuns you now you 'll find again Then use your Skill 't will all your Art abide Sit on your Shoulders and in Triumph ride CUPID 's Nest. AH Tell me Love thy Nesting Place Is 't in my Heart or Cynthia's Face For when I see her Graces shine There art thou perch'd with Pow'r Divine Yet strait I feel thy pointed Dart And find thee flutt'ring in my Heart Then since amongst us thou wilt show The many Tricks thou Love canst doe Prithee for sport remove thy Nest First to my Face and then to Cynthia's Brest An Ode of ANACREON To HIMSELF 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 WHEN Fumes of Wine ascend into my Brain Care sleeps and I the Bustling World disdain Nor all the Wealth of Croesus I esteem â—â—ng of Mirth for Jollity's my Theme With Garlands I my Ruby Temples crown Keeping Rebellious Thoughts of Business down â—n Broyls and Wars while others take Delight 〈◊〉 with choice Friends indulge my Appetite Then fetch more Bottles Boy and charge us round We 'll fall to Bacchus Victims on the Ground Nor value what dull Moralists have sed I 'm sure 't is better to be drunk than dead An Ode of ANACREON To his Mistress 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 NEAR Latona's Rival makes her Mone Chang'd by the Gods into a Weeping Stone And ravish'd Philomel they say 't is true Became a Bird stretch'd out her Wings and flew But I could wish to be your Looking-Glass Thence to admire the Beauties of your Face Or Robe de Chambrè that each Night and Morn On those sweet Limbs undrest I might be worn Or else a Crystal Spring for your Delight And you to bathe in those cool Streams invite Or be some precious Sweets to please the Smell That in your Hand I near your Lips might dwell Or String of Pearls upon your Neck to rest Or Pendent Gem kissing your Snowy Brest E'en to your Feet would I my Wish pursue A Shoe I 'd be might I be worn by you To LOVE An Ode of ANACREON 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 'T IS sad if Love should miss a Heart Yet sadder much to feel the Smart But who can Cupid's Wounds indure And have no Prospect of a Cure We Lovers are not look'd upon For what our Ancestors have done Wit and good Parts have slight Regard No Vertue can obtain Reward They ask what Coyn our Purses hold No Object 's like a Heap of Gold But doubly be the Wretch accurst Who taught us to esteem it first This Thirst of Gold incites one Brother To ruine or destroy another Our Fathers we for Gold despise Hence Envy Strife and VVars arise And Gold 's the Bane as I could prove Of all that truly are in Love A Sonnet Out of Spanish from Don Luis de Gongora On a Death's-Head covered with Cobwebs kept in a Library and said to be the Scull of a King THIS Mortal Spoil which so neglected lies Death's sad Memento now where Spiders weave Their Subtil Webs which Innocence deceive Whose Strength to break their Toyls cannot suffice Saw it self Crown'd it self Triumphant saw With Mighty Deeds proclaiming its Renown Its Smiles were Favours Terrour was its Frown The World of its Displeasure stood in Awe Where Pride ordaining Laws did once preside Which Land should Peace enjoy which Wars abide There boldly now these little Insects nest Then raise not Kings your Haughty Plumes so high For in Death's cold Embraces when you lye Your Bones with those of common Subjects rest From an Imperfect Ode of Hybrias the Cretan Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 MY Riches are a Trusty Sword and Spear And a tough Shield which I in Battel wear This as a Rampart its Defence does lend Whilst with the others I my Foes offend With these I plow with these my Crops I reap With these for VVine I press the Juicie Grape These are unless I fall by Fickle Chance Machines which me to Dignities advance Oh thrice Beloved Target Spear and Sword That all these Heav'nly Blessings can afford Those who the Havock of my Weapons fear And tremble when of Blood and VVounds they hear They are the Men which me my Treasures bring Erect my Trophies stile me Lord and King And such while I my Conquests spread abroad Fall and adore me as they do their God Complains of the Shortness of Life An Idyllium of BION 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 THO' I had writ such Poems that my Name Deserv'd Enrollment in the Book of Fame Or thô my Muse could ne'er acquire the Bays VVhy thus in drudging do I spend my Days For should indulgent Heav'n prolong our Date Doubling the Term of Life prescrib'd by Fate That we might half in Care and Toyl employ And spend the other in Delights and Joy VVe then this sweet Assurance might retain To reap in Time the Fruits of all our Pain But since none can the Bounds of Life extend And all our Troubles have a speedy End VVhy do we wrack our Brains and waste our Health To study Curious Arts or heap up VVealth Sure we forget we came of Mortal Seed And the short Time Fate has for us decreed Out of Latine from Iovianus Pontâ—â—â—s Being sick of a Fever complains of the Fountain CASIS CASIS to craving Fields thou lib'ral Flood Why so remote when thou should'st cool my Blood From Mossie Rocks thy Silver Streams do glide By which the soultry Air is qualifi'd Tall Trees do kindly yield thy Head their Shade Where Choirs of Birds their sweet Retreats have made But