Part 6

How many paltry, foolish, painted things, That now in Coaches trouble eu'ry Street, Shall be forgotten, whom no Poet sings, Ere they be well wrap'd in their winding Sheet? Where I to thee Eternitie shall giue, When nothing else remayneth of these dayes, And Queenes hereafter shall be glad to liue Vpon the Almes of thy superfluous prayse; Virgins and Matrons reading these my Rimes, Shall be so much delighted with thy story, That they shall grieve, they liu'd not in these Times, To haue seene thee, their Sexes onely glory: So shalt thou flye aboue the vulgar Throng, Still to suruiue in my immortall Song.

8

There's nothing grieues me, but that Age should haste, That in my dayes I may not see thee old, That where those two deare sparkling Eyes are plac'd, Onely two Loope-holes, then I might behold. That louely, arched, yuorie, pollish'd Brow, Defac'd with Wrinkles, that I might but see; Thy daintie Hayre, so curl'd, and crisped now, Like grizzled Mosse vpon some aged Tree; Thy Cheeke, now flush with Roses, sunke, and leane, Thy Lips, with age, as any Wafer thinne, Thy Pearly teeth out of thy head so cleane, That when thou feed'st, thy Nose shall touch thy Chinne: These Lines that now thou scorn'st, which should delight thee, Then would I make thee read, but to despight thee.

15

_His Remedie for Loue_

Since to obtaine thee, nothing me will sted, I haue a Med'cine that shall cure my Loue, The powder of her Heart dry'd, when she is dead, That Gold nor Honour ne'r had power to moue; Mix'd with her Teares, that ne'r her true-Loue crost, Nor at Fifteene ne'r long'd to be a Bride, Boyl'd with her Sighes, in giuing vp the Ghost, That for her late deceased Husband dy'd; Into the same then let a Woman breathe, That being chid, did neuer word replie, With one thrice-marry'd's Pray'rs, that did bequeath A Legacie to stale Virginitie. If this Receit haue not the pow'r to winne me, Little Ile say, but thinke the Deuill's in me.

21

A witlesse Gallant, a young Wench that woo'd, (Yet his dull Spirit her not one iot could moue) Intreated me, as e'r I wish'd his good, To write him but one Sonnet to his Loue: When I, as fast as e'r my Penne could trot, Powr'd out what first from quicke Inuention came; Nor neuer stood one word thereof to blot, Much like his Wit, that was to vse the same: But with my Verses he his Mistres wonne, Who doted on the Dolt beyond all measure. But soe, for you to Heau'n for Phraze I runne, And ransacke all APOLLO'S golden Treasure; Yet by my Troth, this Foole his Loue obtaines, And I lose you, for all my Wit and Paines.

27

Is not Loue here, as 'tis in other Clymes, And diff'reth it, as doe the seu'rall Nations? Or hath it lost the Vertue, with the Times, Or in this land alt'reth with the Fashions? Or haue our Passions lesser pow'r then theirs, Who had lesse Art them liuely to expresse? Is Nature growne lesse pow'rfull in their Heires, Or in our Fathers did the more transgresse? I am sure my Sighes come from a Heart as true, As any Mans, that Memory can boast, And my Respects and Seruices to you Equall with his, that loues his Mistris most: Or Nature must be partiall in my Cause, Or onely you doe violate her Lawes.

36

_Cupid coniured_

Thou purblind Boy, since thou hast been so slacke To wound her Heart, whose Eyes haue wounded me, And suff'red her to glory in my Wracke, Thus to my aid, I lastly coniure thee; By Hellish _Styx_ (by which the THUND'RER sweares) By thy faire Mothers vnauoided Power, By HECAT'S Names, by PROSERPINE'S sad Teares, When she was rapt to the infernall Bower, By thine own loued PSYCHES, by the Fires Spent on thine Altars, flaming vp to Heau'n; By all the Louers Sighes, Vowes, and Desires, By all the Wounds that euer thou hast giu'n; I coniure thee by all that I haue nam'd, To make her loue, or CUPID be thou damn'd.

48

Cupid, I hate thee, which I'de haue thee know, A naked Starueling euer may'st thou be, Poore Rogue, goe pawne thy _Fascia_ and thy Bow, For some few Ragges, wherewith to couer thee; Or if thou'lt not, thy Archerie forbeare, To some base Rustick doe thy selfe preferre, And when Corne's sowne, or growne into the Eare, Practise thy Quiuer, and turne Crow-keeper; Or being Blind (as fittest for the Trade) Goe hyre thy selfe some bungling Harpers Boy; They that are blind, are Minstrels often made, So may'st thou liue, to thy faire Mothers Ioy: That whilst with MARS she holdeth her old way, Thou, her Blind Sonne, may'st sit by them, and play.

52

What dost thou meane to Cheate me of my Heart, To take all Mine, and giue me none againe? Or haue thine Eyes such Magike, or that Art, That what They get, They euer doe retaine? Play not the Tyrant, but take some Remorse, Rebate thy Spleene, if but for Pitties sake; Or Cruell, if thou can'st not; let vs scorse, And for one Piece of Thine, my whole heart take. But what of Pitty doe I speake to Thee, Whose Brest is proofe against Complaint or Prayer? Or can I thinke what my Reward shall be From that proud Beauty, which was my betrayer? What talke I of a Heart, when thou hast none? Or if thou hast, it is a flinty one.

61

Since there 's no helpe, Come let vs kisse and part, Nay, I haue done: You get no more of Me, And I am glad, yea glad withall my heart, That thus so cleanly, I my Selfe can free, Shake hands for euer, Cancell all our Vowes, And when we meet at any time againe, Be it not scene in either of our Browes, That We one iot of former Loue reteyne; Now at the last gaspe of Loues latest Breath, When his Pulse fayling, Passion speechlesse lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of Death, And Innocence is closing vp his Eyes, Now if thou would'st, when all haue giuen him ouer, From Death to Life, thou might'st him yet recouer.

ODES

[from the Edition of 1619]

TO HIMSELFE AND THE HARPE

And why not I, as hee That's greatest, if as free, (In sundry strains that striue, Since there so many be) Th' old _Lyrick_ kind reuiue?

I will, yea, and I may; Who shall oppose my way? For what is he alone, That of himselfe can say, Hee's Heire of _Helicon_? 10

APOLLO, and the Nine, Forbid no Man their Shrine, That commeth with hands pure; Else be they so diuine, They will not him indure.

For they be such coy Things, That they care not for Kings, And dare let them know it; Nor may he touch their Springs, That is not borne a Poet. 20

Pyreneus, _King The _Phocean_ it did proue, of_ Phocis, Whom when foule Lust did moue, _attempting to Those Mayds vnchast to make, rauish the Muses._ Fell, as with them he stroue, His Neck and iustly brake.

That instrument ne'r heard, Strooke by the skilfull Bard, It strongly to awake; But it th' infernalls skard, And made Olympus quake. 30

Sam. lib. 1. As those Prophetike strings cap. 16. Whose sounds with fiery Wings, Draue Fiends from their abode, Touch'd by the best of Kings, That sang the holy Ode.

Orpheus _the_ So his, which Women slue, Thracian _Poet_. And it int' Hebrus threw, Caput, Hebre, Such sounds yet forth it sent, lyramque Excipis. The Bankes to weepe that drue, &c. Ouid. lib. 11. As downe the streame it went. 40 Metam. Mercury _inuentor That by the Tortoyse shell, of the Harpe, as_ To MAYAS Sonne it fell, Horace Ode 10. The most thereof not doubt lib. 1. _curuaq; But sure some Power did dwell, lyra parente_. In Him who found it out.

Thebes _fayned The Wildest of the field, to haue beene And Ayre, with Riuers t' yeeld, raysed by Which mou'd; that sturdy Glebes, Musicke._ And massie Oakes could weeld, To rayse the pyles of _Thebes_. 50

And diuersly though Strung, So anciently We sung, To it, that Now scarce knowne, If first it did belong To _Greece_, or if our Owne.

_The ancient_ The _Druydes_ imbrew'd, British _Priests_ With Gore, on Altars rude so called of With Sacrifices crown'd, their abode in In hollow Woods bedew'd, woods. Ador'd the Trembling sound. 60

Pindar _Prince of Though wee be All to seeke, the_ Greeke Of PINDAR that Great _Greeke_, lyricks, _of whom_ To Finger it aright, Horace: Pindarum The Soule with power to strike, quisquis studet, His hand retayn'd such Might. &c. Ode 2. lib. 4. Horace _first of Or him that _Rome_ did grace the_ Romans _in Whose Ayres we all imbrace, that kind_. That scarcely found his Peere, Nor giueth PHOEBVS place, For Strokes diuinely cleere. 70

_The_ Irish The _Irish_ I admire, _Harpe_. And still cleaue to that Lyre, As our Musike's Mother, And thinke, till I expire, APOLLO'S such another.

As _Britons_, that so long Haue held this Antike Song, And let all our Carpers Forbeare their fame to wrong, Th' are right skilfull Harpers. 80

Southerne, _an_ _Southerne_, I long thee spare, English _Lyrick_. Yet wish thee well to fare, Who me pleased'st greatly, As first, therefore more rare, Handling thy Harpe neatly.

To those that with despight Shall terme these Numbers slight, Tell them their Iudgement's blind, Much erring from the right, It is a Noble kind. 90

_An old_ English Nor is 't the Verse doth make, _Rymer_. That giueth, or doth take, 'Tis possible to clyme, To kindle, or to slake, Although in SKELTON'S Ryme.

TO THE NEW YEERE

Rich Statue, double-faced, With Marble Temples graced, To rayse thy God-head hyer, In flames where Altars shining, Before thy Priests diuining, Doe od'rous Fumes expire.

Great IANVS, I thy pleasure, With all the _Thespian_ treasure, Doe seriously pursue; To th' passed yeere returning, 10 As though the old adiourning, Yet bringing in the new.

Thy ancient Vigils yeerely, I haue obserued cleerely, Thy Feasts yet smoaking bee; Since all thy store abroad is, Giue something to my Goddesse, As hath been vs'd by thee.

Giue her th' _Eoan_ brightnesse, Wing'd with that subtill lightnesse, 20 That doth trans-pierce the Ayre; The Roses of the Morning The rising Heau'n adorning, To mesh with flames of Hayre.

Those ceaselesse Sounds, aboue all, Made by those Orbes that moue all, And euer swelling there, Wrap'd vp in Numbers flowing, Them actually bestowing, For Iewels at her Eare. 30

O Rapture great and holy, Doe thou transport me wholly, So well her forme to vary, That I aloft may beare her, Whereas I will insphere her, In Regions high and starry.

And in my choise Composures, The soft and easie Closures, So amorously shall meet; That euery liuely Ceasure 40 Shall tread a perfect Measure Set on so equall feet.

That Spray to fame so fertle, The Louer-crowning Mirtle, In Wreaths of mixed Bowes, Within whose shades are dwelling Those Beauties most excelling, Inthron'd vpon her Browes.

Those Paralels so euen, Drawne on the face of Heauen, 50 That curious Art supposes, Direct those Gems, whose cleerenesse Farre off amaze by neerenesse, Each Globe such fire incloses.

Her Bosome full of Blisses, By Nature made for Kisses, So pure and wond'rous cleere, Whereas a thousand Graces Behold their louely Faces, As they are bathing there. 60

O, thou selfe-little blindnesse, The kindnesse of vnkindnesse, Yet one of those diuine; Thy Brands to me were leuer, Thy _Fascia_, and thy Quiuer, And thou this Quill of mine.

This Heart so freshly bleeding, Vpon it owne selfe feeding, Whose woundes still dropping be; O Loue, thy selfe confounding, 70 Her coldnesse so abounding, And yet such heat in me.

Yet if I be inspired, Ile leaue thee so admired, To all that shall succeed, That were they more then many, 'Mongst all, there is not any, That Time so oft shall read.

Nor Adamant ingraued, That hath been choisely 'st saued, 80 IDEA'S Name out-weares; So large a Dower as this is, The greatest often misses, The Diadem that beares.

TO HIS VALENTINE

Muse, bid the Morne awake, Sad Winter now declines, Each Bird doth chuse a Make, This day 's Saint VALENTINE'S; For that good Bishop's sake Get vp, and let vs see, What Beautie it shall bee, That Fortune vs assignes.

But lo, in happy How'r, The place wherein she lyes, 10 In yonder climbing Tow'r, Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise; O IOVE! that in a Show'r, As once that Thund'rer did, When he in drops lay hid, That I could her surprize.

Her Canopie Ile draw, With spangled Plumes bedight, No Mortall euer saw So rauishing a sight; 20 That it the Gods might awe, And pow'rfully trans-pierce The Globie Vniuerse, Out-shooting eu'ry Light.

My Lips Ile softly lay Vpon her heau'nly Cheeke, Dy'd like the dawning Day, As polish'd Iuorie sleeke: And in her Eare Ile say; O, thou bright Morning-Starre, 30 'Tis I that come so farre, My Valentine to seeke.

Each little Bird, this Tyde, Doth chuse her loued Pheere, Which constantly abide In Wedlock all the yeere, As Nature is their Guide: So may we two be true, This yeere, nor change for new, As Turtles coupled were. 40

The Sparrow, Swan, the Doue, Though VENVS Birds they be, Yet are they not for Loue So absolute as we: For Reason vs doth moue; They but by billing woo: Then try what we can doo, To whom each sense is free.

Which we haue more then they, By liuelyer Organs sway'd, 50 Our Appetite each way More by our Sense obay'd: Our Passions to display, This Season vs doth fit; Then let vs follow it, As Nature vs doth lead.

One Kisse in two let's breake, Confounded with the touch, But halfe words let vs speake, Our Lip's imploy'd so much, 60 Vntill we both grow weake, With sweetnesse of thy breath; O smother me to death: Long let our Ioyes be such.

Let's laugh at them that chuse Their Valentines by lot, To weare their Names that vse, Whom idly they haue got: Such poore choise we refuse, Saint VALENTINE befriend; 70 We thus this Morne may spend, Else Muse, awake her not.

THE HEART

If thus we needs must goe, What shall our one Heart doe, This One made of our Two?

Madame, two Hearts we brake, And from them both did take The best, one Heart to make.

Halfe this is of your Heart, Mine in the other part, Ioyn'd by our equall Art.

Were it cymented, or sowne, 10 By Shreds or Pieces knowne, We each might find our owne.

But 'tis dissolu'd, and fix'd, And with such cunning mix'd, No diffrence that betwixt.

But how shall we agree, By whom it kept shall be, Whether by you, or me?

It cannot two Brests fill, One must be heartlesse still, 20 Vntill the other will.

It came to me one day, When I will'd it to say, With whether it would stay?

It told me, in your Brest, Where it might hope to rest: For if it were my Ghest,

For certainety it knew, That I would still anew Be sending it to you. 30

Neuer, I thinke, had two Such worke, so much to doo, A Vnitie to woo.

Yours was so cold and chaste, Whilst mine with zeale did waste, Like Fire with Water plac'd.

How did my Heart intreat, How pant, how did it beat, Till it could giue yours heat!

Till to that temper brought, 40 Through our perfection wrought, That blessing eythers Thought.

In such a Height it lyes, From this base Worlds dull Eyes, That Heauen it not enuyes.

All that this Earth can show, Our Heart shall not once know, For it too vile and low.

THE SACRIFICE TO APOLLO

Priests of APOLLO, sacred be the Roome, For this learn'd Meeting: Let no barbarous Groome, How braue soe'r he bee, Attempt to enter; But of the Muses free, None here may venter; This for the _Delphian_ Prophets is prepar'd: The prophane Vulgar are from hence debar'd.

And since the Feast so happily begins, Call vp those faire Nine, with their Violins; 10 They are begot by IOVE, Then let vs place them, Where no Clowne in may shoue, That may disgrace them: But let them neere to young APOLLO sit; So shall his Foot-pace ouer-flow with Wit.

Where be the Graces, where be those fayre Three? In any hand they may not absent bee: They to the Gods are deare, And they can humbly 20 Teach vs, our Selues to beare, And doe things comely: They, and the Muses, rise both from one Stem, They grace the Muses, and the Muses them.

Bring forth your Flaggons (fill'd with sparkling Wine) Whereon swolne BACCHVS, crowned with a Vine, Is grauen, and fill out, It well bestowing, To eu'ry Man about, In Goblets flowing: 30 Let not a Man drinke, but in Draughts profound; To our God PHOEBVS let the Health goe Round.

Let your Iests flye at large; yet therewithall See they be Salt, but yet not mix'd with Gall: Not tending to disgrace, But fayrely giuen, Becomming well the place, Modest, and euen; That they with tickling Pleasure may prouoke Laughter in him, on whom the Iest is broke. 40

Or if the deeds of HEROES ye rehearse, Let them be sung in so well-ord'red Verse, That each word haue his weight, Yet runne with pleasure; Holding one stately height, In so braue measure, That they may make the stiffest Storme seeme weake, And dampe IOVES Thunder, when it lowd'st doth speake.

And if yee list to exercise your Vayne, Or in the Sock, or in the Buskin'd Strayne, 50 Let Art and Nature goe One with the other; Yet so, that Art may show Nature her Mother; The thick-brayn'd Audience liuely to awake, Till with shrill Claps the Theater doe shake.

Sing Hymnes to BACCHVS then, with hands vprear'd, Offer to IOVE, who most is to be fear'd; From him the Muse we haue, From him proceedeth 60 More then we dare to craue; 'Tis he that feedeth Them, whom the World would starue; then let the Lyre Sound, whilst his Altars endlesse flames expire.

TO CVPID

Maydens, why spare ye? Or whether not dare ye Correct the blind Shooter? Because wanton VENVS, So oft that doth paine vs, Is her Sonnes Tutor.

Now in the Spring, He proueth his Wing, The Field is his Bower, And as the small Bee, 10 About flyeth hee, From Flower to Flower.

And wantonly roues, Abroad in the Groues, And in the Ayre houers, Which when it him deweth, His Fethers he meweth, In sighes of true Louers.

And since doom'd by Fate, (That well knew his Hate) 20 That Hee should be blinde; For very despite, Our Eyes be his White, So wayward his kinde.

If his Shafts loosing, (Ill his Mark choosing) Or his Bow broken; The Moane VENVS maketh, And care that she taketh, Cannot be spoken. 30

To VULCAN commending Her loue, and straight sending Her Doues and her Sparrowes, With Kisses vnto him, And all but to woo him, To make her Sonne Arrowes.

Telling what he hath done, (Sayth she, Right mine owne Sonne) In her Armes she him closes, Sweetes on him fans, 40 Layd in Downe of her Swans, His Sheets, Leaues of Roses.

And feeds him with Kisses; Which oft when he misses, He euer is froward: The Mothers o'r-ioying, Makes by much coying, The Child so vntoward.

Yet in a fine Net, That a Spider set, 50 The Maydens had caught him; Had she not beene neere him, And chanced to heare him, More good they had taught him.

AN AMOVRET ANACREONTICK

Most good, most faire, Or Thing as rare, To call you's lost; For all the cost Words can bestow, So poorely show Vpon your prayse, That all the wayes Sense hath, come short: Whereby Report 10 Falls them vnder; That when Wonder More hath seyzed, Yet not pleased, That it in kinde Nothing can finde, You to expresse: Neuerthelesse, As by Globes small, This Mightie ALL 20 Is shew'd, though farre From Life, each Starre A World being: So wee seeing You, like as that, Onely trust what Art doth vs teach; And when I reach At Morall Things, And that my Strings 30 Grauely should strike, Straight some mislike Blotteth mine ODE. As with the Loade, The Steele we touch, Forced ne'r so much, Yet still remoues To that it loues, Till there it stayes; So to your prayse 40 I turne euer, And though neuer From you mouing, Happie so louing.

LOVES CONQVEST

Wer't granted me to choose, How I would end my dayes; Since I this life must loose, It should be in Your praise; For there is no Bayes Can be set aboue you.

S' impossibly I loue You, And for you sit so hie, Whence none may remoue You In my cleere Poesie, 10 That I oft deny You so ample Merit.

The freedome of my Spirit Maintayning (still) my Cause, Your Sex not to inherit, Vrging the _Salique_ Lawes; But your Vertue drawes From me euery due.

Thus still You me pursue, That no where I can dwell, 20 By Feare made iust to You, Who naturally rebell, Of You that excell That should I still Endyte,

Yet will You want some Ryte. That lost in your high praise I wander to and fro, As seeing sundry Waies: Yet which the right not know To get out of this Maze. 30

TO THE VIRIGINIAN VOYAGE

You braue Heroique minds, Worthy your Countries Name; That Honour still pursue, Goe, and subdue, Whilst loyt'ring Hinds Lurke here at home, with shame.

_Britans_, you stay too long, Quickly aboard bestow you, And with a merry Gale Swell your stretch'd Sayle, 10 With Vowes as strong, As the Winds that blow you.

Your Course securely steere, West and by South forth keepe, Rocks, Lee-shores, nor Sholes, When EOLVS scowles, You need not feare, So absolute the Deepe.

And cheerefully at Sea, Successe you still intice, 20 To get the Pearle and Gold, And ours to hold, VIRGINIA, Earth's onely Paradise.

Where Nature hath in store Fowle, Venison, and Fish, And the Fruitfull'st Soyle, Without your Toyle, Three Haruests more, All greater then your Wish. 30

And the ambitious Vine Crownes with his purple Masse, The cedar reaching hie To kisse the Sky The Cypresse, Pine And vse-full Sassafras.

To whome, the golden Age Still Natures lawes doth giue, No other Cares that tend, But Them to defend 40 From Winters rage, That long there doth not liue.

When as the Lushious smell Of that delicious Land, Aboue the Seas that flowes, The cleere Wind throwes, Your Hearts to swell Approaching the deare Strande.

In kenning of the Shore (Thanks to God first giuen,) 50 O you the happy'st men, Be Frolike then, Let Cannons roare, Frighting the wide Heauen.

And in Regions farre Such Heroes bring yee foorth, As those from whom We came, And plant Our name, Vnder that Starre Not knowne vnto our North. 60

And as there Plenty growes Of Lawrell euery where, APOLLO'S Sacred tree, You may it see, A Poets Browes To crowne, that may sing there.

Thy Voyages attend, Industrious HACKLVIT, Whose Reading shall inflame Men to seeke Fame, 70 And much commend To after-Times thy Wit.

AN ODE WRITTEN IN THE PEAKE