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
and thence dispers'd again Seem like a Cloud burst into Showres of Rain As once Enceladus our Architect Great Heaps on Heaps of Marble does erect And like a second Moses when that 's done Commands fresh Springs of Water â—rom the Stone When Heav'ns are clear this Man a second Iove From Earth exhales the Waters up above And thence in Cataracts can make them pour When iâ— the Sky there 's neither Cloud nor Showr Describes the place where Cynthia is sporting her self BEhold you ' Hill how it is swell'd with pride And that aspiring Oak upon its side With how much scorn they overlook the Plain Proud of the lovely Guest they entertain See with what hast those Crystal Springs do flow T' incorporate with the Silver Brook below There does my wanton Cynthia sporting stand Printing her Footsteps on the yielding sand Look Thyrsis how she fills with Joy the place She Baths her Feet and views her Angels Face Sure I've a Rival of that amorous Hill And those are streams of tears which thence distill His RETIREMENT A Purling Brook glides by this place away It 's Tribute to the Royal Thames to pay Nature makes Arbours here and ev'ry Tree Disposes all it's Boughs to favour me The Birds sweet Notes here Echo's do repeat Here gentle Winds do moderate Summers heat Clear is the Air and verdant is the Grass My Couch of Flowers the Stream's my Looking-glass Ah Cynthia All the Birds that hear and see Seem in their Language to condole with mee And as I mourn they pretty Songs do sing T' express thy Rigour and my Suffering Whilst to the list'ning Air I make my moan And sigh and murmur sitting here alone The very Air sighs at my misery The Waters murmur too in Sympathy A Character of his Friend W. B. Esq TO raise up Vertue when 't is sinking down Toyâ— less for Wealth than to acquire Renown T' inrich the Mind and crown the Head with Bays Subdue the Passions and the Soul to raise T' increase in Glory as in years he grows To bear ripe Fruit e'en e're his Blossom blows Faster than Honours Merits to repeat Keep the Sense cold but â—ill the Soul with heat Not Arts neglect nor slight Apollo's Lute Whilst of Astrea he 's in hot pursute In antient Tongues new Eloquence rehearse To master both the Greek and Latine Verse 'Gainst Sloth perpetual Hatred to maintain But with the Muses Friendship still retain Here upon Earth all others to transcend 〈◊〉 still the labour of my Noble Friend A Sonnet Of LOVE IF Love it be not what is this I feel If it be Love what Love is fain I 'd know If good why the effects severe and ill If bad why do its torments please me so If willingly I burn should I complain If 'gainst my will what helps it to lament Oh living Death oh most delightful Pain How comes all this if I do not consent If I consent 't is madness then to grieve Amidst these storms in a weak Boat I 'm tost Upon a dangerous Sea without relief No help from Reason but in Error lost Which way in this distraction shall I turn That freeze in Summer and in Winter burn On the Picture of Lucretia stabbing her self LVcrece inflam'd with Anger Grief and Shame Despising Life yet careful of her Fame Wounds her fair Breast thô arm'd with Innocence Could suffer Death but could not the Offence Her Steel was sharp her End with Glory Crown'd She sought Revenge and valu'd not the Wound This so appeas'd her rage that being Dead She look'd like one reveng'd not injured 'T was Beauty sinn'd said she then let it dye That forc'd me to this last extremity Were 't not for Beauty I had guiltless been For it was that made lustful Tarquin sin So I to Violence a Prey was made No Tears avail'd when Vertue was betray'd Haughty he was my Beauty proud as he They made me Slave but thus my self I free Complains being hindred the sight of his Nymph TO view these Walls each night I come alone And pay my Adoration to the Stone Whence Joy and Peace are influenc'd on me For 't is the Temple of my Deity As Nights and Days an anxious Wretch by stealth Creeps out to view the place which hoards his Wealth So to this House that keeps from me my Heart I come look traverse weep and then depart She 's fenc'd so strongly in on ev'ry side Thought enters but my Footsteps are deny'd Then sighs in vain I breathe and Tears let fall Kiss a cold Stone sometimes or hugg the Wall For like a Merchant that rough Seas has crost Near home is shipwrack'd and his Treasure lost So toss'd in storms of sorrow on firm ground I in a Sea of mine own Tears am drown'd The Pleas'd Captive A SONG A Glorious Angel coming on the Wing From Heav'n descended near a River side Where me alone my Destiny did bring To view the pleasant Fields without a Guide A Net she 'd laid drawn by a silken String So hid in Grass it could not be espy'd There was I captive taken in her Snare But Cynthia's chains who would not chuse to wear The Incurable A SONG ONE amongst Flowers green Leaves and the cool Grass Takes his delight and pleasant hours does pass This in a Cave can rest or quiet Grove And that in Wars forgets the Thoughts of Love Some vent their Sighs to th' Air and ease do find A Spring may quench the fever of the Mind But to my Grief no Remedy can bring Flowers Leaves Grass Cave Grove Wars the Air nor Spring On a Fair Beggar BArefoot and ragged with neglected Hair She whom the Heavens at once made poor and fair With humble voice and moving words did stay To beg an Alms of all who pass'd that way But thousands viewing her became her Prize Willingly yielding to her conquering Eyes And caught by her bright Hairs whilst careless she Makes them pay Homage to her Poverty So mean a Boon said I what can extort From that fair Mouth where wanton Love to sport Amidst the Pearls and Rubies we behold Nature on thee has all her Treasures spread Do but incline thy rich and pretious Head And those fair Locks shall pour down showres oâ— Gold A Sonnet Out of Italian from Claudio Achillini Written by a Nymph in her own Blood SINCE Cruel Thyrsis you my Torments slight And take no notice of my Amorous Flame â—n these Vermilion Letters thus I write My bloody Reasons to confirm the same These of my Passion are the lively Marks Which from my Veins you here in Blood see writ Touch them your Breast will kindle with the Sparks The ardent Characters are reâ—king yet Nor can my Pen alone my Heart explain My very Soul o're-charg'd with grief I fain Would send enclos'd herein the truth to prove And if I 've been too sparing of my Blood This is the Reason why I stopp'd the Flood I would not spoil the Face I 'd have you
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
thou hast cut down in spight And scatter'd on the Ground its Fruit and Flowers Our Love 's extinct that with such Ardour burn'd And all my Hope of future Pleasure dyes Nature's chief Master-piece to Earth's return'd Deaf to my Passion and my grievous Cryes Sylvia the Tears which on thy Sepulchre Hereafter shall be shed or those now are Thô fruitless yet I offer them to thee Until the coming of th' Eternal Night Shall close these Eyes once happy with thy Sight And give me Eyes with which I thee may see To the WINDS A SONG I. YE Winds that in your hasty Flight Just kiss the Leaves and then away The Leaves that tremble with Delight And murmur at so short a stay Stop here and e're you further goe Give audience to a Lover's Woe II. Condoling Air to you I speak Since she is deaf to all my Grief You see my Heart will quickly break If careless She gives no Relief I 'm sure you 're troubled at my Pain For when I sigh you sigh again III. Go gentle Air fly to my Dear That thus with Love inflames my Breast And whisper softly in her Ear 'T is she that robs my Soul of Rest Express if possible such Moans May imitate my dying Groans IV. Or with thy rougher Breath make bold To toss the Treasure of her Hair Till thou dost all those Curls unfold Which cunningly Mens Hearts ensnare Try all thy Skill to break the Net That I like thee may Freedom get V. Then let some thicker Blasts arise And with her Face so sport and play Till the bright Rays of her fair Eyes Be qualify'd or ta'en away Make all those Charms which Men assail Of lesser force and less prevail The Silent Talkers PEACE Peace my Dear Corinna said To her enamour'd Corydon Lest we by Listners be betray'd And this our Happiness undone Our wishes answer ev'ry way And all my Thoughts center in thine If thou hast any thing to say Speak with thy Eyes I 'll speak with mine 'T is dangerous jesting with LOVE A SONG I. VEnture not with Love to jest Though he 's blind and but a Boy Whosoe'er would live at rest Must not dare with him to toy If you play he 'll seem to smile But conspire your Death the while II. â— my self was such a Sot Once to act a Lover's Part â—â—em'd to love but lov'd her not Sigh'd but sigh'd not from my Heart Long I did not this maintain E're my Play was turn'd to Pain III. â—s I gaz'd upon my Fair And of Love shew'd ev'ry Sign â—â—e play'd too the Flatterer With her Glances answering mine Till his Arrows Cupid took Pierc'd me with each Flatt'ring Look IV. Love the Jester will assail And when scorn'd the Mastry get Art I see can ne'e avail Him that plays the Counterfeit For I find now time is past Jest to Earnest turn'd at last V. Cupid drew with more desire Seeing me his Net despise Was more active with his Fire While he â—ound my heart was Ice Now my Sighs no pity â—ind But are scatter'd in the Wind. On WINE From a Fragment of Hesiod Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 WINE chears our Hearts and makes us glad When Grief and Cares have left us sad But more than Nature does suffice Will cast a Cloud before our Eyes 'T will bind the Tongue the Feet and Hands E're we perceive with strongest Bands And us its Drunken Slaves will keep Till we our Freedom get by Sleep A DREAM ONE Night with Sleep my Senses being opprest Fixt on that Thought which still o'er rul'd my Brest â— Mourning Dress with Silence did appear â—â—e of her Sex was to my Soul most Dear â—ynthia methought I said and gaz'd awhile Where 's thy accustom'd Look and cheerful Smile What sad Occasion thus disturbs thee now â—nd hangs that gloomy Sadness on thy Brow â—e only sigh'd and off'ring to depart â—natch'd her Hand and laid it to my Heart â—nd whilst I in this trembling Rapture stand â—e took and held me by my other Hand â—hought my Heart 'twixt Joy and Grief would break â—dding with Tears My Dear I prithee speak â—nd grasp'd her fast she struggling to be gone â—ll wak'd but then I found my self alone Oft have I griev'd to think what this might prove And gather'd hence ill Omens to my Love But since I may too soon the Mischief find I 'll strive to chase the Fancy from my Mind The Restless Lover THE Birds to wanton in the Air desire The Salamander sports himself in Fire The Fish in Water plays And of the Earth Man ever takes possession at his Birth Only unhappy I who born to grieve In all these Elements at once do live Grief does with Air of Sighs my Mouth supply My wretched Body on cold Earth does lye The Streams which from mine Eyes flow Night and Day Cannot the Fire which burns my Heart allay The RESOLUTION A Sonnet of Petrarc out of Italian OH Time Oh rowling Heavens that fly so fast And cheat us Mortals ignorant and blind Oh fugitive Day swifter than Bird or Wind Your Frauds I see by all my Suff'rings past But pardon me 't is I my self must blame Nature that spreads your Wings and makes you fly To me gave Eyes that I my Ills might spy Yet I retain'd them to my Grief and Shame Time was I might and Time is still I may Direct my Steps in a securer way And end this sad Infinity of Ill Yet 't is not from thy Yoke O Love I part But the Effects I will reclaim my Heart Vertue 's no Chance but is acquir'd by Skill Invokes DEATH COME Terrour of the Wise and Valiant Come And with a Sigh let my griev'd Soul have room Amongst the Shades then shall my Cares be gone All there drink Waters of Oblivion So went the Heroes of the World and so Or soon or late all that are born must go Thou Death to me art welcome as a Friend For thou with Life putt'st to my Griefs an End Of this Poor Earth and Blast of Breath ally'd How easily by thee the Knot 's unty'd This Spring of Tears which trickles from mine Eyes Is Natural and when I dye it dryes Matter for Sighs I drew with my first Breath And now a Sigh ushers my Soul to Death So Cares and Griefs determine by Consent This Favour owe I to my Monument A Hint from the Beginning of the Third Satyr of Juvenal Laudo tamen vacuis quod sedem figere Cumis Destinet atque unum Civem donare Sibyllae c. A Neighbour now shall Aged Sibyl have For I 'll withdraw to Cuma's Sacred Cave Where I Vesuvius like when Years attire My Head with Snow shall still maintain my Fire In Hatred of the World my Days I 'll spend Till with Despight my wretched Life shall end My haughty Plumes I 've clipp'd I 'll soar no more So the Fates cut what they had spun before I was when Bad of Vertuous Men despis'd And by the Scourge
up and down the Fields And scarce can close my Eyes to sleep at Night So that my Life 's unstable as the Moon The Air I fill with Sighs both Night and Day My Show'rs of Tears seem to augment the Sea Make the Herbs green and to refresh the VVoods V. I hating Cities ramble in the VVoods And thence I shift to solitary Fields I rove and imitate the troubled Sea And hope most Quiet in the silent Night So that I wish at the Approach of Day The Sun would set and give his place to th' Moon VI. Oh that like him who long had lov'd the Moon I could in Dreams be happy in the VVoods I 'd wish an End to this most Glorious Day Then should I meet my Cynthia in the Fields Court her and entertain her all the Night The Day should stop and Sol dwell in the Sea But Day nor Night Sea Moon nor Wood nor Field Now Cynthia frowns can Ease or Pleasure yield A Sonnet of Sig. Francesco Petrarca Giving an Account of the Time when he fell in Love with Madonna Laura WILL spurs me on Love wounds me with his Dart. Pleasure does draw me Custom pulls me too Hope flatters that I should my Ends pursue And lends her Right Hand to my Fainting Heart My wretched Heart accepts nor yet espyes The Weakness of my blind disloyal Guide My Passions rule long â—ince my Reason dyde And from one fond Desire still others rise Vertue and Wealth Beauty and Graceful Meen Sweet Words and Person fair as e'er was seen Were the Allurements drew me to her Net 'T was Thirteen hundred twenty sev'n the Year April the sixth this Nymph did first appear And ty'd me so I ne'er shall Freedom get A Sonnet of Petrarc Shewing how long he had lov'd Madonna Laura PLeasure in Thought in Weeping Ease I find I catch at Shadows grasp Air with my Hand On Seas I float are bounded with no Land Plow Water sow on Rocks and reap the Wind. The Sun I gaz'd so long at I became Struck with its Dazling Rays and lost my Eyes I chase a Nimble Doe that always flyes And hunt with a Dull Creature Weak and Lame Heartless I live to all things but my Ill Which I 'm sollicitous to follow still And only call on Laura Lovâ— and Death Thus Twenty Years I 've spent in Misery Whilst only Sighs and Tears and Sobs I buy Under such hard Stars first I drew my Breath A Sonnet of Petrarc Going to visit M. Laura remembers she is lately dead OH Eyes Our Sun 's extinct and at an End Or rather glorify'd in Heav'n does shine â—here shall we see her there does she attend â—nd at our long Delay perchance repine Alas my Ears the Voice you lov'd to hear Is now rais'd up to the Coelestial Choire And you my Feet she 's gone that us'd to stear Your Course where you till Death can ne'er aspire Cannot my Soul nor Body yet be free 'T was not my Fault you this Occasion lost That Seeing Hearing Finding her y' are crost Blame Death or rather blest be ever He Who binds and looses makes and can destroy And when Life 's done crowns with Eternal Joy A Sonnet Petrarc laments for the Death of M. Laura THIS Nightingale that does so much complain Robb'd of her tender Young or dearest Maâ—â—â— And to the Fields and Heav'ns her Tale relate In such sad Notes but yet Harmonious Strain Perhaps this Station kindly does retain To join her Griefs with my unhappy State 'T was may Assurance did my Woe create I thought Death could not have a Goddess slain How soon deceiv'd are those who least mistrust I ne'er could think that Face should turn to Dust Which than all Humane Beauties seem'd more pure But now I find that my malicious Fate Will to my Sorrow have me learn too late Nothing that pleases here can long endure A Sonnet Petrarc on Laura's Death HOLD Treacherous Thoughts that dare my Rule despise Is 't not enough 'gainst me in War are join'd Love Fortune and Grim Death but I must find Within me such Domestick Enemies And thou my Heart that dost my Peace oppose Disloyal thou wilt give my Soul no Rest But harb'ring still these Thoughts within my Brest Keep'st Correspondence with my Deadly Foes To thee Love all his Messages conveys Fortune my now departed Pomp displays Death in my Mind does all my Grieâ—s express That my Remains fall by Necessity My Thoughts with Errors arm themselves in thee Thou art the Cause of my Unhappiness CONSTANCY PLace me where Sol dryes up the Flow'ry Fields Or where he to the Frosty Winter yields Place me where he does mod'rate Heat dispense And where his Beams have a kind Influence Place me in humble State or place me high In a dark Clime or a serener Sky Place me where Days or Nights are short or long In Age mature or be it Old or Young Place me in Heav'n on Earth or in the Main On a high Hill low Vale or lâ—vel Plain Let me have vigorous Parts or Dulness have Place me in Liberty or as a Slave Give me a Black or an Illustrious Fame As I have liv'd I 'll ever live the same Where I at first did fix my Constant Love Nothing from Cynthia can it e'er remove To his VIOL I Tun'd my Viol and have often strove In MARS's Praise to raise his humble Verse And in Heroick Strain his Deeds reherse â—ut all my Accents still resound of Love â—n Foreign Countries or on English Ground Love for my Theme does dictate Cynthia's Charms Nor will he let me sing of other Arms Than those with which he Lovers Hearts does wound This Viol then unfit for rougher Notes My Muse shall tune to its accustom'd Way So shall it may Harmonious Points obey â—or it to Cynthia all its Tunes devotes Then to my Soft and Sweetest Stroakes I keep Whilst angry Mars his Fury may lay by He listning to my Song will quietly And in his Cytherea's Bosome sleep HOPE Out of Italian from Fra. Abbati I. GRieve no more Mortals dry your Eyes And learn this Truth of me Fate rowls and round about us flyes But for its Ills carries a Remedy The Leaveless Boughs on all those Stocks With Green shall beautifie their Locks And straight Such Store â—f various Fruits shall yield That then â—ough Backs shall truckle with the weight For in a little space Winter shall give to Spring its Place And with Fresh Robes Hopes Emblem cloath the Field CHORVS He has no Faith who sighs and whines And at his present Ill repines For we should strive 'Gainst all Afflictions to apply This Vniversal Remedy To hope and live II. Hope does our Future Joys anticipate It eases all our Pains For in the present Ill that raigns Endurance only triumphs over Fate Young Colts fierce and untaught In time submit For they to yield are brought Their Backs to Burdens and their Mouths to th' Bit With Patience also will the Country Swain
His Conquest gain And make the stubborn Heifer bow â—ts Neck to th' Yoke and labour at the Plow CHORVS Then he wants Faith who sighs and whines And at his present Ill repines For Man should strive 'Gainst all Afflictions to apply This Vniversal Remedy To hope and live III. Thus sang a Smiling Courtier t' other Day Under the Covert of a Spreading Tree And to his Song upon his Lute did play By whom an Ass you might attentive see The Ass in Scorn drew nearer him and bray'd And arguing thus methought in Answer sayd If this Green Grass on which I fed but now To be of Hope the Symbol you allow And if the Asses proper Meat be Grass Sure He that lives on Hope feeds like an Ass. Finding Cynthia in Pain and crying A Sonnet WHY Idol of my Heart these mournful Cryes And so much Grief on those fair Cheeks appears From whence proceed those envious Showres of Tearâ— Dark'ning the Lustre of thy Beautious Eyes How dares bold Sorrow labour to remove So many Graces from their proper Place Ah Cynthia Pain endeavours in thy Face To poyson all the sweetest Charms of Love Sense of thy Grief my Soul with Anguish fills Which out of Pity into Tears distills And for thy Ease would sain endure thy Woe But this Affliction sure thy Heart sustains That Cruel Thou being sensible of Pains May'st to thy Constant Martyr Pity show Cynthia sleeping in a Garden A Sonnet NEAR a cool Fountain on a Rose-bed lay My Cynthia sleeping in the open Air Whom Sol espy'd and seeing her so Fair Gaz'd till his wanton Coursers lost their Way The proudest Flowers were not asham'd to find Their Scent and Colour rivall'd in her Face Her bright curl'd Hairs were toss'd from Place to Place On Neck and Bosom by the Amorous Wind. Her Smiles were animated by her Breath Which still as soon as born receiv'd their Death Being Mortal made in Pity to Mens Hearts Poor Lovers then did lye and take their Rest For the Blind Boy who does our Peace molest Had in her sleeping Eyes hid all his Darts Lesbia's Complaint against Thyrsis his INCONSTANCY A Sonnet I Lov'd thee Faithless Man and love thee still Thou Fatal Object of my Fond Desires And that which nourishes these Amorous Fires Is Hope by which I love against my Will Great was the Passion thou didst late express Yet scorn'st me now whom long thou didst adore Sporting with others her thou mind'st no more Whom thou hast call'd thy Heav'n and Happiness Think not by this thy Lesbia thee invites To spend thy Years in Dalliance and Delights 'T is but to keep her Faith in Memory But if to grieve my Soul thou only strive To thy Reproach and to my Boast I 'll live A Monument of thy INCONSTANCY On Lydia distracted A Sonnet WIth Hairs which for the Wind to play with hung With her torn Garments and with naked Feet Fair Lydia dancing went from Street to Street Singing with pleasant Voice her foolish Song On her she drew all Eyes in ev'ry Place And them to Pity by her Pranks did move Which turn'd with gazing longer into Love By the rare Beauty of her charming Face In all her Frenzyes and her Mimickries While she did Natures richest Gifts despise There active Love did subt'ly play his part Her antick Postures made her look more gay Her Ragged Cloaths her Treasures did display And with each Motion she insnar'd a Heart The Four Seasons SPRING WHEN Winter 's past then ev'ry Field and Hill The SPRING with Flowers does fill Soft Winds do cleanse the Air Repel the Fogs and make the VVeather fair Cold Frosts are gone away The Rivers are at Liberty And their just Tribute pay Of liquid Pearls and Crystal to the Sea To whom each Brook and Fountain runs The stable Mother of those stragling Sons CHORVS But then In a short space WINTER returns agen E're Sol has run his annual Race But Ah! When Death 's keen Arrow flyes And hits Poor MAN Do what he can He dyes Returns to Dust a Shadow and a Nothing lyes SUMMER WHEN Flow'ry May is past The Spring is o're Then our cool Breezes end For Aeolus does send His soultry Blasts from off the Southern Shore The Sun bows down his Head And darts on us his siery Rays Plants droop and seem as dead Most Creatures seek for Shade their diff'rent ways All things as if for Moisture cry Even Rivers with the common Thirst grow dry CHORVS But then In a short space The SPRING returns agen E're Sol has run his Annual Race But Ah! When Death 's keen Arrow flyes And hits Poor MAN Do what he can He dyes Returns to Dust a Shadow and a Nothing lyes AUTUMN WHen Summer 's done green Trees begin to yield Their Leaves with Age decay They 're stript of their Array Scarce can the Rains revive the Russet Field The Flowers run up to Seed Orchards with Choice of Fruit abound Which Sight and Taste do feed The grateful Boughs even kiss their Parent Ground The Elm's kind Wife the tender Vine Is pregnant with her Heavenly Burden Wine CHORVS But then In a short Space SVMMER returns agen E're Sol has run his Annual Race But Ah! When Death 's keen Arrow flies And hits Poor MAN Do what he can He dyes Returns to Dust a Shadow and a Nothing lyes WINTER WHen Autumn's past sharp Eastern Winds do blow Thick Clouds obscure the Day Frost makes the Currents stay The Aged Mountains Hoary are with Snow Althô the Winter rage The wronged Trees Revenge conspire Its Fury they asswage Alive they serve for Fence when dead for Fire All Creatures from its Out-rage fly Those which want Shelter or Relief must dye CHORVS But then In a short Space AVTVMN returns agen E're Sol has run his Annual Race But Ah! When Death 's keen Arrow flyes And hits Poor MAN Do what he can He dyes Returns to Dust a Shadow and a Nothing lyes A Sonnet Translated out of Italian Written by Sig. Fra. Gorgia who was born as they were carrying his Mother to her Grave UNhappy I came from my Mother's Womb As She Oh Blessed She who gave me Breath Having receiv'd the Fatal Stroak of Death By weeping Friends was carryed to her Tomb. The Sorrow I exprest and grievous Cries Love's Tribute were for her to Heav'n was gone My Coffin and my Cradle both were one And at her Sun-set mine began to rise Wretch how I quake to think on that sad Day Which both for Life and Death at once made way Being gave the Son and Mother turn'd to Earth Alas I dye Not that Life hasts so fast But that to me each Minute seems the last For I in Death's cold Arms receiv'd my Birth The Scholar of his own Pupil The Third Idyllium of Bion Englished Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I Dreamt by me I saw Fair Venus stand Holding Young Cupid in her Lovely Hand And said Kind Shepherd I a Scholar bring My Little Son to