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
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
Husband a vexatious Thing Yet these Advantages to him she gives By her in his Posterity He lives She takes of him when sick a prudent Care In his Misfortunes bears an equal share To her for Ease he does his Griefs impart Her pleasant Converse often chears his Heart And when if she survive he ends his Life She does the Office of a pious Wife Set these against her Ills and you will find Reasons to quiet your uneasy Mind But if you 'll strive her Temper to reclaim Slight these good Things the bad expose to Shame And no Compliance to her Humour lend To your Vexations ne'er shall be an End Simonides 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 On Man's LIFE Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 NO Humane thing in Constancy will stay The Learned Chian us'd of old to say Our Life was frailer than the Fading Leaves Which Man â—orgets and scarce its Flight perceives He harbours Idle Fancies in his Brain Many which he from Childhood did retain And whilst his Vigour lasts he 's still inclin'd To fill with Trifles his unsetled Mind On Age or Death ne'er thinks nor takes he care Health to preserve or Active Limbs to spare We to more serious Things our Minds should give Youth hasts and we have little time to live To weigh this well is a Material Part This Thought 's of VVorth record it in thy Heart From two Elegies of Mimnermus 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 The Contempt of Old Age. The first being imperfect begins 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 'T IS a short time our precious Youth will stay Like some delightful Dream it steals away And then comes on us creeping in its stead Benumming Old Age with its hoary Head Which Beauty spoils our Nerves with Crampings binds It clouds our Eyesight and disturbs our Minds When Iove to Tithon endless Old Age gave 'T was sure of greater Terrour than the Grave Some have in Youth been for their Beauty pris'd Which when deform'd by Age become despis'd Then peevish grown and vex'd at Childrens Slight Take not abroad nor at their Homes delight Bed-rid and scorn'd with Pains and Rheums they lye The Gods on Age throw all this Misery From Anaxandrides the Rhodan Poet. In Praise of Old Age. Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 OLD-Age which we both hope and fear to see Is no such Burden as it seems to be But it uneas'ly if we undergo 'T is then our selves take pains to make it so A yielding Patience will create our Ease So do the VVise compound in Youth for Peace VVho thus complies both to himself is kind VVhilst he secures the Quiet of his Mind And to his Friends a just Respect does show VVhich gains him Love and Veneration too From Crates the Philosopher on the same Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 SOME giddy Fools do Rev'rend Age deride But who enjoy'd it not untimely di'd VVe pray we may to good Old Age attain And then of its Infirmities complain But their insâ—tiate Minds I must admire VVho Old Infirm and Poor can longer Life desire The timely MEMENTO THE shipwrack'd Bark cannot more sure convey Our Humane Life into the Raging Sea Nor Darts to Mark can more directly fly Nor Floods to th' Ocean than we post to dye Then happy thou who dost so well begin And so thy Race hold on the Palm to win Blest Runner that when tyr'd and lying down Dost rise possess'd of an Eternal Crown Only by closing here thy Mortal Eyes Opens the Passage to Coelestial Joys Then let him take the Earth who loves to raign Yet a small Tract e'er long shall him contain Where he as Monarch cannot be obey'd For sawcy Worms his Limits shall invade â—f all must dye why should we fear and grieve â—ince Dying is the only way to live On Good Friday The Day of our Saviour's Passion WEep this great Day Let Tears oreflow your Eyes When Father gave his Son in Sacrifice This Day for us his pretious Blood was spilt Whose Dying made Atonement for our Guilt He on a Cross with Shame gave up his Bâ—eath E'en He who could not dye did suffer Death Closing his Eyes to Heav'n He op'd a way And gave those Life who then expiring lay Death did against our Souls those Arms prepare But He the Fury of the Conflict bare To guard our Lives his Body was the Shield And by our Gen'ral's Fall we gain the Field When Graves shall open Temples Vail be torn The El'ments weep Heav'ns themselves shall mourn O Hearts more hard than Stones not to relent May we shed pious Tears and of our Sins repent Rhianus the Cretan 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Of IMPRUDENCE 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 WHat is 't that thus frail Men with Errour blinds Who bear Heav'n's Gifts in such imprudent Minds The Poor with Eyes and Hearts dejected go Charging the Gods as Authors of their Woe They suit their Habit to their humble State And scarce their Minds with Vertues cultivate How they should speak or move they stand in fear When 'mongst the Rich and Pow'rful they appear They ev'ry Gesture do to Sadness frame And blushing Faces shew their inward Shame But he whom Heav'n has blest with lib'ral Hand And giv'n him o'er his Fellow Men Command Forgets he on the Earth his Feet does place Or that his Parents were of Mortal Race He swell'd with Pride in Thunder speaks like Iove Does in a Sphere above his Betters move But thô so Rich so Stately and so Grave Has not more stock of Brains than others have Yet would he climb to Heav'n to find a Seat Amongst the Gods and at their Banquets eat Till swift-wing'd Ate Mischief's Deity Light on his Head e'er he her Coming spy Who can her self in various Shapes disguize When Old or Young she would in Snares surprize She on Poor Fools as well as those in Height Does to great Iove and to Astraea Right Timocles the Athenian His Remedies against the Miseries of Man's LIFE More at large exemplified 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 COnsider well this Truth for 't is of Use Nature did ne'er a Thing like Man produce So charg'd with Ills from which so seldome free Sometimes his Life 's a Scene of Misery Nor Humane Industry can Respite gain For his Soul's Anguish or his Body's Pain But by reflecting what some Men endure Which to himself may present Ease procure And Tales of what in former times was done Laid in the Scale and weigh'd against his own Art thou reduc'd to beg from door to door When Telephus was young he suffer'd more In Woods expos'd without Relief he lay For some devouring Beasts a Royal Pray If thou with his thy Miseries compare Thou wilt confess he had the greatest share Have Troubles turn'd thy Brain to make thee rage Thoughts of Alâ—maeon may thy Griefs asswage By Fury's scourg'd he Mad in Torments di'd Yet justly suffer'd for his Parricide Wert thou by chance or made by others blind Call OEdipus the Theban
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
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