No Past on my way; I lash'd through thick and thin, View'd every plot; spent some delightful hours Thus having stepp'd and travell'd every stair Love's bow in his bent eye-brows bended lies, And in his eyes a thousand darts of loving: Her shining stars, which (fools) we oft call eyes, As quick as Heav'n itself in speedy moving; And this in both the only difference being, Other stars blind, these stars endued with secing. That mak'st one soul as two and two as one : Yoke lightning burdens; love's foundation : Hymen, come Hymen, now untie the maiden zone. Thou that mad'st man a brief of all thou mad'st, were: [here, Hymen, send Hymen from thy sacred bosom See where he goes! how all the troop he cheereth, Clad with a saffron coat, in's hand a light; In all his brow not one sad cloud appeareth: His coat all pure, his torch all burning bright. Now chant we Hymen, shepherds; Hymen sing; See where he goes, as fresh as is the spring. Hymen, oh Hymen, Hymen, all the valleys ring. Oh happy pair, where nothing wants to either, Both having to content, and be contented; Live each of other firmly lov'd, and loving; Hymen, come Ïlymen; all is for thy rites agreeing. Moving like Heav'n still in the self-same moving ; His breast a shelf of purest alabaster, Where Love's self sailing often shipwreckt sitteth: Her's a twin rock, unknown but to th' shipmaster; Which though him safe receives, all other splitteth: [unbeaten, Both Love's high-way, yet by Love's self Most like the milky path which crosses Heaven. [even. Hymen, come Hymen; all their marriage joys are And yet all these but as guilt covers be ; To shrine the graces in their silver plate : Come Hymen, Hymen come, these temples consecrate. Hymen, the tier of hearts already tied : Hymen, the end of lovers never ending; Hymen the cause of joys, joys never tried; Joys never to be spent, yet ever spending : Hymen, that sow'st with men the desert sands; Come, bring with thee, come bring thy sacred Hymen, come Hymen, th' hearts are join'd, join Warrant of lovers, the true seal of loving, Sign'd with the face of joy; the holy knot, That binds two hearts, and holds from slippery moving; A gainful loss, a stain without a blot; In motion ne'er forgetting constancy. Be all your days as this: no cause to plain: Free from satiety, or (but lovers') pain. Hymen, so Hymen still their present joys maintain. TO MY BELOVED COUSIN, W. R. ESQUIRE. CALEND. JANUAR. COUSIN, day birds are silenc't, and those fowl Which ush'ring into Heav'n their mistress Night, Hallow their mates, triumphing o'er the quick spent night. The wronged Philomel hath left to plain Tereus' constraint and cruel ravishment: All so my frozen Muse, hid in my breast, Then till the Sun, which yet in fishes hasks, Or watry urn, impounds his fainting head, "Twixt Taurus' horns his warmer beam unmasks, And sooner rises, latter goes to bed, Calling back all the flowers, now to their mother fled: Till Philomel resumes her tongue again, And Progne fierce returns from long exiling; Till the shrill blackbird chants his merry vein ; And the day-birds the long liv'd Sun beguiling, Renew their mirth, and the years pleasant smiling : Here must I stay, in sullen study pent, [ing; Among our Cambridge fens my time mispendBut then revisit our long long'd for Kent. Till then live happy, the time ever mending : Happy the first o' th' year, thrice happy be the ending. TO MASTER W. C. WILLY, my dear, that late by Haddam sitting, Ah! much I fear that those so pleasing toys Have too much lull'd thy sense and mind in slumb'ring joys. Now art thou come to nearer Maddingly, Which with fresh sport and pleasure doth enthral thee; There new delights withdraw thy ear, thy eye; Return now, Willy; now at length return thee: Will sit and sing among the Muses' nine; And, safely covered from the scalding shine, We'll read that Mantuan shepherd's sweet com[daining. plaining, Whom fair Alexis griev'd with his unjust disAnd, when we list, to lower notes descend; Hear Thirsil's moan, and Fusca's cruelty: He cares not now his ragged flock to tend; Fusca his care, but careless enemy: Hope oft he sees shine in her humble eye, But soon her angry words of hope deprives him : So often dies with love, but love as oft revives him. TO MY EVER HONOURED COUSIN, W. R. ESQUIRE. Of every place, and now I fully eye it ; I shut mine eyes again, and wish back such a night: Ah! might I in some humble Kentish dale For ever eas'ly spend my slow-pac'd hours: Much should I scorn fair Eton's pleasant vale, [Alie Or Windsor, Tempe's self, and proudest towers There would I sit, safe from the stormy showers, And laugh the troublous winds and angry sky! Piping (ab!) might I live, and piping might I die. And would my lucky fortune so much grace me, As in low Cranebrooke or high Brenchly's-hill, Or in some cabin near thy dwelling place me, There would I gladly sport and sing my fill, And teach my tender Muse to raise her quill; And that high Mantuan shepherd's self to dare; If ought with that high Mantuan shepherd mought compare. There would I chant either thy Gemma's praise, And much bewail such woful heaviness; But seeing now I am not as I would, But here, among th' unhonour'd willow's shade, The muddy Chame doth me enforced hold; Here I forswear my merry piping trade : My little pipe, of seven reeds ymade, (Ah pleasing pipe!) I'll hang upon this bough: Thou Chame, and Chamish nymphs, bear witness of my vow. TO E. C. IN CAMBRIDGE, MY SON BY THE UNIVERSITY. WHEN first my mind call'd itself in to think, There fell a strife not easy for to end; [brink, Which name should first crown the white paper's An awing father, or an equal friend: Fortune gives choice of either to my mind; Both bonds to tie the soul, it never move; That of commanding, this of easy love. The lines of love, which from a father's heart Are drawn down to the son: and from the son STRANGE power of home, with how strong-twisted Ascend to th' father, drawn from every part, arms, And Gordian-twined knot, dost thou enchain me Never might fair Calisto's doubled charms, Nor powerful Circe's whisp'ring so detain me, Though all her art she spent to entertain me ; Their presence could not force a weak desire; But, oh thy powerful absence breeds still growing fire. By night thou try'st with strong imagination To force my sense 'gainst reason to belie it; Methinks I see the fast-imprinted fashion Each other cut, and from the first transition Still further wander with more wide partition: But friends, like parallels, run a level race, In just proportion, and most even space. Then since a double choice, double affection Hath plac'd itself in my twice loving breast; No title then can add to this perfection, Nor better that, which is already best: So naming one, I must imply the rest, The same a father, and a friend; or rather, Both one; a father friend, and a friend father. No marvel then the difference of the place Love's fire is thought; and thought is never thence, Where it feels want: then where a love is dear, The mind in farthest distance is most near. Me Kent holds fast with thousand sweet embraces; (There mought I die with thee, there with thee live?) All in the shades, the nymphs and naked Graces Of two fair lovers (fairer were there never) [ing; Then do not marvel Kentish strong delights, Stealing the time, do here so long detain me: Not powerful Circe with her Hecate rites, Nor pleasing Lotos thus could entertain me, As Kentish powerful pleasures here enchain me. Meantime, the nymphs that in our Brenchly use, Kindly salute your busy Cambridge Muse. TO MY BELOVED THENOT, IN ANSWER OF HIS VERSE. THENOT, my dear, how can a lofty hill To lowly shepherds' thoughts be rightly fitting? An humble dale well fits with humble quill: There may I safely sing, all fearless sitting, My Fusca's eyes, my Fusca's beauty dittying; My loved loneness, and hid Muse enjoying: Yet should'st thou come, and see our simple toying, [joying. Well would fair Thenot like our sweet retired But if my Thenot love my humble vein, (Too lowly vein) ne'er let him Colin call me; He, while he was, was (ah!) the choicest swain, That ever grac'd a reed: what e'er befal me, Or Myrtil, (so 'for Fusca fair did thral me, Most was I known) or now poor Thirsil name me, Thirsil, for so my Fusca pleases frame me: But never mounting Colin; Colin's high style will shame me. Two shepherds I adore with humble love; waves His well grown wings at first did lowly prove, Where Corydon's sick love full sweetly raves; But after sung bold Turnus' daring braves: And next our nearer Colin's sweetest strain; Most, where he most his Rosalind doth plain. Well may I after look, but follow all in vain. Why then speaks Thenot of the honour'd bay? Apollo's self, though fain, could not obtain her; She at his melting songs would scorn to stay, Though all his art he spent to entertain her: Wild beasts he tanı'd, yet never could detain her. Then sit we here within this willow glade: Here for my Thenot I a garland made With purple violets, and lovely myrtle shade. UPON THE PICTURE OF ACHMAT THE TURKISH TYRANT. SUCH Achmat is, the Turks' great emperor, Third son to Mahomet, whose youthly spring But now with blossom'd cheeks begins to flow'r; Out of his face you well may read a king: Which who will throughly view, will eas❜ly find A perfect index to his haughty mind. Within his breast, as in a palace, lie Wakeful ambition leagu'd with hasty pride; Rests hate, in which his father living dy'd: His pleasure (far from pleasure) is to see His navy spread her wings unto the wind; His greener youth, most with the heathen spent, TO MR. JO. TOMKINS. THOMALIN, my lief, thy music strains to hear, More raps my soul than when the swelling wind On craggy rocks their whistling voices tear; Or when the sea, if stopt his course he finds, With broken murmurs thinks weak shores to fear, Scorning such sandy cords his proud head binds: More than where rivers in the summer's ray, Through covert glades cutting their shady way, Run tumbling down the lawns, and with the pebbles play. Thy strains to hear, old Chamus from his cell Comes guarded with an hundred nymphs around; An hundred nymphs, that in his rivers dwell, About him flock, with water-lillies crown'd. For thee the Muses leave their silver well, And marvel where thou all their art hast found: |