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
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