Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

A Monument to Fame.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetick foul
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the leafe of my true love controul,
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.

The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
And the fad augurs mock their own prefage :
Incertainties now crown themselves affur'd,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age..
Now with the drops of this moft balmy time,
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes;
Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhime,
While he infults o'er dull and fpeechlefs tribes.
And thou in this fhalt find thy monument,
When tyrants crefts and tombs of brass are spent.

What's in the brain, that ink may character,
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true fpirit?
What's new to speak, what now to register,
That may exprefs my love, or thy dear merit?
Nothing, fweet love but yet like prayers divine,.
I muft each day fay o'er the very fame;

Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
E'en as when first I hallow'd thy fair name..
So that eternal love, in love's fresh cafe,
Weighs not the duft and injuries of age,
Nor gives to neceffary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page :

Finding the first conceit of love there bred,

Where time and outward form would fhew it dead..

Perjury.

Love is too young to know what confcience is,

Yet who knows not confcience is born of love?

1

Then gentle cheater urge not my amifs,
Left guilty of my faults thy fweet self prove.
For thou betraying me, I do betray

My nobler part to my grofs body's treason;
My foul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason:
But rifing at thy name doth point out thee,
As his triumphant prize; proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To ftand in thy affairs, fall by thy fide.

No want of confcience hold it, that I call
Her love, for whofe dear love I rife and fall.

In loving thee, thou know'ft I am forfworn,
But thou art twice forfworn to me love fwearing;
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths breach do I accufe thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjur'd most;
For all my vows are oaths but to mifufe thee;
And all my honeft faith in thee is loft.
For I have fworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness;
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy conftancy;
And to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness;
Or made them fwear against the thing they fee.
For I have fworn thee fair; more perjur'd I,
'To fwear against the truth fo foul a lye.

The Tale of Cephalus and Procris.

Beneath Hymertus' hill, well cloth'd with flowers,
A holy well her foft fprings gently pours:
Where ftands a cops, in which the wood-nymphs fhrove,
(No wood) it rather feems a flender grove.

The humble fhrubs and bushes hide the grafs,
Here laurel, rofemary, here myrtle was:

Here grew thick box, and tam'rifk, that excels,
And made a mere confusion of sweet smells;
The triffoly, the pine; and on this heath
Stands many a plant that feels cold Zephyr's breath.
Here the young Cephalus, tir'd in the chace,
Us'd his repofe and reft alone t' embrace;
And where he fat, these words he would repeat,
Come air, fweet air, come cool my mighty heat!
Come, gentle air, I never will forfake thee,
I'll hug thee thus, and in my bofom take thee."
Some double duteous tell-tale hapt to hear this,
And to his jealous wife doth ftraitway bear this
Which Procris hearing, and withal the name
Of air, sweet air, which he did oft proclaim,
She ftands confounded, and amaz'd with grief,
By giving this fond tale too found belief.
And looks, as do the trees by winter nipt,
Whom froft and cold of fruit and leaves half ftript.
She bends like corveil, when too rank it grows,
Or when the ripe fruits clog the quince-tree boughs.
But when he comes t' herfelf, fhe tears

[ocr errors]

Her garments, eyes, her cheeks, and hairs;
And then the ftarts, and to her feet applies her,
Then to the wood (stark wood) in rage fhe hies her.
Approaching fomewhat near, her fervants they
By her appointment in a valley stay;
While the alone, with creeping paces, fteals

To take the ftrumpet, whom her lord conceals.

What mean'ft thou, Procris, in these groves to hide

thee?

What rage of love doth to this madness guide thee? Thou hop'ft the air he calls, in all her bravery,

Will ftrait approach, and thou shalt see their knavery.

And now again it irks her to be there,

For fuch a killing fight her heart will tear.

No truce can with her troubled thoughts difpenfe,
She would not now be there, nor yet be thence.
Behold the place her jealous mind foretels,
Here do they use to meet, and no where else:
The grafs is laid, and fee their true impreffion,
Even here they lay! aye, here was their tranfgreffion.
A body's print fhe faw, it was his feat,

Which makes her faint heart 'gainft her ribs to beat.
Phoebus the lofty eaftern hill had fcal'd,

And all moift vapours from the earth exhal'd.
Now in this noon-tide point he fhineth bright,
It was the middle hour, 'twixt noon and night.
Behold young Cephalus draws to the place,
And with the fountain-water fprinks his face.
Procris is hid, upon the grafs he lies,

And come fweet Zephyr, come fweet air he cries.
She fees her error now from where he stood,
Her mind returns to her, and her fresh blood;
Among the shrubs and briars fhe moves and ruftles,
And the injurious boughs away she justles,
Intending, as he lay there to repofe him,
Nimbly to run, and in her arms inclofe him.
He quickly cafts his eye upon the bush,
Thinking therein fome favage beaft did rush;
His bow he bends, and a keen fhaft he draws:
Unhappy man, what doft thou? stay, and pause,
It is no brute beast thou would'ft 'reave of life;
O! man unhappy! thou haft flain thy wife!
O heaven! he cries, O help me! I am flain;
Still doth thy arrow in my wound remain.
Yet tho' by timeless fate my bones here lie,
It glads me moft, that I no cuck-quean die.

Her breath (thus in the arms fhe most affected)
She breathes into the air (before fufpected)
The whilft he lifts her body from the ground,
And with his tears doth wash her bleeding wound.

Cupid's Treachery.

Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep;
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love kindling fire did quickly fteep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground:
Which borrow'd from his holy fire of love,
A datelefs lively heat fill to endure,

And grew a feething bath, which yet men prove
Againft ftrange maladies a fovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eyes love's brand new fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I fick withal the help of bath defired,
And thither hied a fad distemper'd gueft:

But found no cure, the bath for my help lies,
When Cupid got new fire, my miftrefs' eyes.

The little love god lying once afleep,

Laid by his fide his heart in flaming brand,
Whilft many nymphs that vow'd chafte life to keep,
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand,
The fairest votary took up that fire,

Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And fo the general of hot defite

Was fleeping, by a virgin hand difarm'd.
This brand the quenched in a cool well by,
Which from love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy

For men difeas'd; but I, my mistress' thrall,

« ПредишнаНапред »