Imatges de pÓgina

The diamond; why 'twas beautiful and hard,
Whereto his invis'd properties did tend;
The deep-green emerald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend ;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold; each several stone,
With wit well blazon'd, smild or made some moan.
Lo! all these trophies of affections hot,
Of pensiv'd and subdued desires the tender,
Nature hath charg'd me that I board them not,
But yield them up where I myself must render,
Tbat is, to you, my origin and ender:
For these, of force, must your oblations be,
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.
O then advance of yours that phraseless band,
Whose wbite weighs down the airy scale of praise ;
Take all these similies to your own command,
Hallow'd with sighs that burning lungs did raise ;
What me your minister, for you obeys,
Works under you; and to your audit comes
Their distract parcels in combined sums.
Lo! this device was sent me from a nun,
Or sister sanctified of holiest pote;
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,
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, mastering what not strives?
Playing the place which did no form receive,
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves :
She that her fame so to herself contrives,
The scars of battle scapeth by the flight,
And makes hier 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 religion's eye:
Not to be tempted, would she be enmur'd,
And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd.

How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong,
Have emptied all their fountains io 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 nun,
Who disciplin’d and dieted in grace,
Believ'd her eyes when I the assail begun,
All vows and consecrations giving place.
O most potential love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, 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 inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame? [shame,
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst
And sweetens, in the suffering pangs 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,
And leave the battery that you make 'gainst mine,
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath,
That sball prefer and undertake my troth.”
This said, bis watery eyes he did dismount,
Whose sights till then were levelld on my face;
Each cheek a river running from a fount
With brinish current downward flow'd apace:
O how the channel to the stream gave grace!
Who, glaz’d with crystal, gate the glowing roses
That flame through water with their hue incloses,
O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear?
But with the inondation of the eyes
What rocky beart to water will not wear?
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
O cleft effect ! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture bath!

For lo! bis 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; though our drops this difference bore,
His poison'd me, and mine did him restore.
In him a plenitude of subtle matter,
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,
of burving blushes, or of weeping water,
Of swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,
In either's apiness 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 kind and tame;
And veil'd in them, would win whom he would maim:
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;
When be 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 cherubin, above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd ?
Ah me! I fell; and yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.
0, that infected moisture of his eye,
0, that false fire which in his cheek so glow'd,
0, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly,
0, that sad breath bis spongy lungs bestow'd,
o, all that borrowed motion, seeming ow'd,
Would yet again betray the fore-betray'd,
And new pervert a reconciled maid!


Printed by J. F. Dove, St. John's Square.

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