Selected quad for the lemma: fire_n
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A59169
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Hippolitus translated out of Seneca by Edmund Prestwich ; together with divers other poems of the same authors.; Phaedra. English. 1651
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Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, ca. 4 B.C.-65 A.D.; Prestwich, Edmund, fl. 1650-1651.
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1651
(1651)
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Wing S2512; ESTC R37364
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63,053
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170
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shot but spite of all his art His blow the little Archer spoil'd Out flew the Golden-headed dart But could not pierce her armed heart Almanna laugh'd and the God cry'd With fear of whipping terrfii'd And grieved for his broken Bow No hope of comfort he espi'd So that his tears which seem'd to flow If not then blind had made him so Another such he would have bought But there was none and if without He went or this should broken bring Venus would know that very thought Fresh flouds from the poor boy did wring Lest she should whip him with the string But th' Virgin not of Marble made All means to comfort him assay'd And oft his blubber'd cheeks did dry At last with pitty overswai'd She promis'd him that he should lie Among'st the Babyes of her eye There he the beams of those bright Twins With which all hearts all eyes he wins Hath both for Bow and Arrowes found And nothing now to think begins Since his own shafts did once rebound But selfe-love can Almanna wound The perfect Love VVHy should I hold my peace silent be when my life lies on the discovery Besides I know infallibly I know That thus a worser fate attends on me Than beasts for I unto the Altar goe And fall a sacrifice none knowes to who All other things with time and age receive That full perfection Nature could not give Them at the first when only wretched I Am the sole prodigy and downward thrive Doe grow into my grave and tongue-ti'd die A very'r child than in mine infancy Before I could have spoken sure I cou'd Have made a shrewd shift to be understood When now I stand like one with lightning strook And almost starv'd cannot make signs for food Only my wants are writ in a sad look Which for the rich is but too hard a book At first I could have prattl'd and have sed What ever my affection dictated Talk'd a far off of love and Hymen prais'd The Marriage and condemn'd the single Bed Extol'd that Beauty she her self debas'd And sworn the new-made Heav'ns not fairer fac'd How oft I then have took and gently strain'd A fragrant balm out of her melting hand And cherish'd it in that strict fellowship VVith mine her envious Glove could not withstand But my expiring Soul hung on my lip Would that rich Nectar up in kisses sip How have I then feasted my greedy eyes VVith the survey of that brave AEdifice Examin'd the dimensions of my heart To know if it were able to comprise VVhat I beheld admir'd the state and art And lost my self with wonder in each part Then with a blush or sigh I could have shown How much I wish'd the fabrick were mine own And she no question understood me too But now what a strange Lover am I grown Who can't so much as wish 't is strang but true Her ty'd to one so'unworthy of her view O Miracle of Love or let me be A lover of my self as well as she Or let this bright and immateriall fire Consume this dross which thus depresses me And so render me worthy my desire Or let me quickly in the flame expire To a Lady working a Bed with Crewell The Murther MAdam why should you thus mispend an honre Leave this uncharitable work Vnder the shaddow of each new-made flower There will a speckled Serpent lurk Which though they hurt not you wil us devour Alas how many too advent'rous hearts Will perish by their hidden stings One touch one look is worse than forty darts And far more speedy ruine brings A curse on them taught Beauty such black Arts What may we think your serious exercise If murther be your recreation Sure on the universe you then devise To bring a totall desolation And fire the World with your consuming eyes I say you might more noble pastimes find For to beguile the lazy time You answer Thrift on this had set your mind Iudging such sports indeed a crime But sure such thrift 's to narrow'r Souls confin'd Ah! cruell Wanton now your craft I spy Your riddle now is understood That you are covetous I 'l not deny But it is covetous of Blood And you are saving that you may destroy Now when this guilty peece shall reared be The Trophey of your Martyr'd Slaves It shall be stil'd by all that do it see Since fruitful with so many graves Not Crewell Bed but bed of Cruelty The Revenge THen let soft slumbers o'r your eyelids creep When your disquiet fancy spyes Men shipwrack'd in those Seas they Bleed and Weep Heare 's lulabyes compos'd of cryes And horror rocks your quaking limbs asleep And sure as death If I be one that fall As much I doubt my froward Stars Let the slain Lovers make me Generall I 'l find a means to heal their scarres And you at last shall bear the smart of all First such as of your sparkling eyes complain Vnder their clouds of flesh I 'l place To steal those beams wherewith themselves were slain And armed with those glorious rayes In the next fight they shall kill you again Then those were hanged in your jacynth hair Shall rob you of a lock or two Which heing twisted with a Lovers tear Shall make a chain to fetter you Or string the Bow the God of Love doth bear Next such as perish'd by a frown shall come Arm'd with the hand of time with which I 'l make them plough such furrows in the room May envy to your anger teach And all your Beauty'st find a grave at home He that drinks poyson in a kiss and dyes I 'l knead with your most Virgin breath Till he to such a noble structure rise Shake at the curse I now bequeath Wonder shall close your lips till death your eyes And since I am assured that no part Of yours will be assoil'd of Blood Thaw'd by a scalding sigh I will convert Your frost and snow into a floud And drown your Beauty with what guards your heart Then as th' asswaging waters left behind The Earth with slime and rubbish clad And the surviving Couple did it find But by themselves inhabited Till pregnant stones renewed lost mankind So you this inundation overpast Shall in no part appear the same But all this world of Beauty be lay'd wast Till pittying Love renew the frame And you your stony heart behind you cast But these are weak revenges fit for those Who could not stand a single charm Those feeble spirits beaten without blows And half-consum'd ere I was warm Yet never look'd beyond your lip or nose Then what shall I who have survey'd you round Read over all this Book of Love Yet still remain'd unconquer'd till I found How ev'ry line a chain did prove And ev'ry point thereof had made a wound Why first I 'l kisse you till my wounds be well And made of your inverted name Bind to your bosome such a powerfull spell As while I kisse shall you enflame Till your unslak'd desire burn hot