Wind up
the slackened strings of thy lute,
Never canst thou want matter to sing;
For love thy breast does fill with such a fire,
That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire.
Sweetest! you know, the sweetest of things
Of various flowers the bees do compose;
Yet no particular taste it brings
Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose;
So love the result is of all the graces
Which flow from a thousand several faces.
Hylas! the birds which chant in this grove,
Could we but know the language they use,
They would instruct us better in love,
And reprehend thy inconstant Muse;
For love their breasts does fill with such a fire,
That what they once do choose, bounds their desire.
Chloris! this change the birds do approve,
Which the warm season hither does bring;
Time from yourself does further remove
You, than the winter from the gay spring;
She that like lightning shined while her face lasted,
The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted.
IN ANSWER OF SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S VERSES.
STAY here, fond youth! and ask no more; be wise; Knowing too much, long since lost Paradise.
And, by your knowledge, we should be bereft
Of all that paradise which yet is left.
The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldst should still
Last in their pride; and wouldst not take it ill
If rudely from sweet dreams, and for a toy,
Thou waked; he wakes himself that does enjoy.
How can the joy, or hope, which you allow
Be styled virtuous, and the end not so?
Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire!
'Tis true, he wakes that feels this real fire;
But to sleep better; for whoe'er drinks deep
Of this Nepenthe,* rocks himself asleep.
Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys,
And while it pleaseth much, yet still it cloys.
Who thinks he should be happier made for that,
As reasonably might hope he might grow fat
By eating to a surfeit; this once passed,
What relishes? even kisses lose their taste.
Blessings may be repeated while they cloy;
But shall we starve, 'cause surfeitings destroy?
And if fruition did the taste impair
Of kisses, why should yonder happy pair,
Whose joys just Hymen warrants all the night,
Consume the day, too, in this less delight?
Urge not 'tis necessary; alas! we know
The homeliest thing that mankind does is so.
The world is of a large extent we see,
And must be peopled; children there must be :
* An anodyne frequently mentioned by the Greek and Roman writers. Petit, quoted by Fenton, supposes that it was the plant called by Pliny anothera, which had a short stem, and flowers resembling a rose. The soothing quality ascribed to it resided in the root, which had a powerful effect infused in wine.
So must bread too; but since there are enough
Born to that drudgery, what need we plough?
I need not plough, since what the stooping hine
Gets of my pregnant land, must all be mine;
But in this nobler tillage 'tis not so;
For when Anchises did fair Venus know,
What interest had poor Vulcan in the boy,
Famous Æneas, or the present joy?
Women enjoyed, whate'er before they've been,
Are like romances read, or scenes once seen;
Fruition dulls or spoils the play much more
Than if one read, or knew, the plot before.
Plays and romances read and seen, do fall
In our opinions; yet not seen at all,
Whom would they please? To an heroic tale
Would you not listen, lest it should grow stale?
"Tis expectation makes a blessing dear;
Heaven were not heaven if we knew what it were.
If 'twere not heaven if we knew what it were, "Twould not be heaven to those that now are there.
And as in prospects we are there pleased most,
Where something keeps the eye from being lost,
And leaves us room to guess; so here, restraint
Holds up delight, that with excess would faint.
Restraint preserves the pleasure we have got,
But he ne'er has it that enjoys it not.
In goodly prospects, who contracts the space,
Or takes not all the bounty of the place?
We wish removed what standeth in our light,
And nature blame for limiting our sight;
Where you stand wisely winking, that the view
Of the fair prospect may be always new.
They, who know all the wealth they have, are poor; He's only rich that cannot tell his store.
Not he that knows the wealth he has is poor,
But he that dares not touch, nor use, his store.
AN APOLOGY FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE.
THEY that never had the use
Of the grape's surprising juice,
To the first delicious cup
All their reason render up;
Neither do, nor care to know,
Whether it be best or no.
So they that are to love inclined,
Swayed by chance, not choice, or art,
To the first that's fair, or kind,
Make a present of their heart;
'Tis not she that first we love,
But whom dying we approve.
To man, that was in the evening made,
Stars gave the first delight,
Admiring, in the gloomy shade,
Those little drops of light;
Then at Aurora, whose fair hand
Removed them from the skies,
He gazing toward the east did stand,
She entertained his eyes.
But when the bright sun did appear,
All those he 'gan despise;
His wonder was determined there,
And could no higher rise;
He neither might, nor wished to know
A more refulgent light;
For that (as mine your beauties now)
Employed his utmost sight.
THE NIGHT-PIECE;
OR, A PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARK.
ARKNESS, which fairest nymphs disarms,
Defends us ill from Mira's charms;
Mira can lay her beauty by,
Take no advantage of the eye,
Quit all that Lely's art can take,
And yet a thousand captives make.
Her speech is graced with sweeter sound
Than in another's song is found;
And all her well-placed words are darts,
Which need no light to reach our hearts.
As the bright stars, and Milky Way,
Showed by the night, are hid by day;
So we, in that accomplished mind,
Helped by the night, new graces find,
Which, by the splendour of her view,
Dazzled before, we never knew.
While we converse with her, we mark
No want of day, nor think it dark;
Her shining image is a light
Fixed in our hearts, and conquers night.
Like jewels to advantage set,
Her beauty by the shade does get;
There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain,
All that our passion might restrain,
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