Part 16
Dear, back my wounded heart restore, And turn away thy powerful eyes; Flatter my willing soul no more! Love must not hope what Fate denies.
Take, take away thy smiles and kisses! Thy love wounds deeper than disdain; For he that sees the heaven he misses, Sustains two hells, of loss and pain.
Shouldst thou some other's suit prefer, I might return thy scorn to thee, 10 And learn apostasy of her, Who taught me first idolatry.
Or in thy unrelenting breast Should I disdain or coyness move, He by thy hate might be releas'd, Who now is prisoner to thy love.
Since then unkind Fate will divorce Those whom Affection long united, Be thou as cruel as this force, And I in death shall be delighted. 20
Thus while so many suppliants woo. And beg they may thy pity prove, I only for thy scorn do sue: 'Tis charity here not to love.
[_The Divorce._] A rise from one or two preceding pieces.]
[Line: 12 Who] That _1647_.]
[Line: 14 I] cold _1647_.]
[Line: 15 He] I _1647_.]
[Line: 16 is] am _1647_.]
[Line: 21 while] whilst _1647_. woo] do _1647_.]
[Line: 22 'Implore thy pity they may prove' _1647_.]
_Time Recovered._
CASONE.
Come, my dear, whilst youth conspires With the warmth of our desires; Envious Time about thee watches, And some grace each minute snatches; Now a spirit, now a ray, From thy eye he steals away; Now he blasts some blooming rose, Which upon thy fresh cheek grows; Gold now plunders in a hair; Now the rubies doth impair 10 Of thy lips; and with sure haste All thy wealth will take at last; Only that of which thou mak'st Use in time, from time thou tak'st.
[_Time Recovered._] This 'very light and good' version is from Guido Casoni (so more usually), a poet of the Trevisan March (1587-1640), and founder of the Academy of the _Incogniti_ at Venice, to the Transactions of which he contributed most of his work.]
_The Bracelet._
Rebellious fools that scorn to bow Beneath Love's easy sway, Whose stubborn wills no laws allow, Disdaining to obey, Mark but this wreath of hair, and you shall see, None that might wear such fetters would be free!
I once could boast a soul like you, As unconfin'd as air; But mine, which force could not subdue, Was caught within this snare; 10 And, by myself betray'd, I, for this gold, A heart that many storms withstood, have sold.
No longer now wise Art inquire, With this vain search delighted, How souls, that human breasts inspire, Are to their frames united; Material chains such spirits well may bind, When this soft braid can tie both arm and mind
Now, Beauties, I defy your charm, Rul'd by more powerful art: 20 This mystic wreath which crowns my arm, Defends my vanquish'd heart; And I, subdu'd by one more fair, shall be Secur'd from Conquest by Captivity.
[_The Bracelet._] Almost certainly suggested by Donne. If so the suggestion was very rashly taken, but the result might have been worse.]
[Line: 7 soul] heart _1647_. l. 12 is an alteration--as Miss Guiney very rightly says to its detriment--of _1647_, which reads--
Have to mine enemy my freedom sold. ]
[Line: 15 _1647_ 'that do our life inspire'.]
[Line: 22 _1647_ 'Guards and defends my heart'.]
_The Farewell._
Since Fate commands me hence, and I Must leave my soul with thee, and die, Dear, spare one sigh, or else let fall A tear to crown my funeral, That I may tell my grievéd heart, Thou art unwilling we should part, And Martyrs, that embrace the fire, Shall with less joy than I expire.
With this last kiss I will bequeath My soul transfus'd into thy breath, 10 Whose active heat shall gently slide Into thy breast, and there reside, And be in spite of Fate, thus bless'd By this sad death, of Heaven possess'd. Then prove but kind, and thou shalt see Love hath more power than Destiny.
[_The Farewell._] In lines 13 and 14 of this all editions vary slightly. _1647_ has 'may' for 'be', which latter word opens the next line, turning out 'sad'. The text is _1651_, _1656_, keeping l. 13 of _1647_, has for l. 14 the text of _1651_.]
_Claim to Love._
GUARINI.
Alas! alas! thou turn'st in vain Thy beauteous face away, Which, like young sorcerers, rais'd a pain Above its power to lay.
Love moves not, as thou turn'st thy look, But here doth firmly rest; He long ago thy eyes forsook, To revel in my breast.
Thy power on him why hop'st thou more Than his on me should be? 10 The claim thou lay'st to him is poor, To that he owns from me.
His substance in my heart excels His shadow in thy sight; Fire, where it burns, more truly dwells, Than where it scatters light.
_To his Mistress, who dreamed he was wounded._
GUARINI.
Thine eyes, bright Saint, disclose, And thou shalt find Dreams have not with illusive shows Deceiv'd thy mind: What sleep presented to thy view, Awake, and thou shalt find is true.
Those mortal wounds I bear, From thee begin, Which though they outward not appear, Yet bleed within. 10 Love's flame like active lightning flies, Wounding the heart, but not the eyes.
But now I yield to die Thy sacrifice, Nor more in vain will hope to fly From thy bright eyes: Their killing power cannot be shunn'd, Open or closed alike they wound.
[_To his Mistress, &c._] _1647_ 'To Doris dreaming he was wounded'. Guarini is not there mentioned.]
_The Exchange._
DIALOGUE.
_Phil._
That kiss, which last thou gav'st me, stole My fainting life away, Yet, though to thy breast fled, my soul Still in mine own doth stay;
_Char._
And with the same warm breath did mine Into thy bosom slide; There dwell contracted unto thine, Yet still with me reside.
_Chor._
Both souls thus in desire are one, And each is two in skill; 10 Doubled in intellect alone, United in the will. Weak Nature no such power doth know: Love only can these wonders show.
[_The Exchange._] _1647_ 'Exchange of Souls'. In editions other than _1651_ there is a refrain after each stanza-speech:
Weak Nature no such power doth know, Love only can these wonders show. ]
_Unaltered by Sickness._
Sickness, in vain thou dost invade A Beauty that can never fade! Could all thy malice but impair One of the sweets which crown this fair, Or steal the spirits from her eye, Or kiss into a paler dye The blushing roses of her cheek, Our drooping hopes might justly seek Redress from thee, and thou might'st save Thousands of lovers from the grave: 10 But such assaults are vain, for she Is too divine to stoop to thee; Blest with a form as much too high For any change, as Destiny, Which no attempt can violate; For what's her Beauty, is our Fate.
[_Unaltered by Sickness._] Lines 1 and 2 are expanded in _1656_ to:
Pale, envious Sickness, hence! no more Possess our breast, too cold before. In vain, alas! thou dost invade Those beauties which can never fade. ]
[Line: 4 'On those sweets which crown the fair' _1656_.]
[Line: 7 blushing] blooming _1657_.]
[Line: 8 drooping] dropping _1647_: suffering _1656_.]
[Line: 14 For any] _1656_ _But_ any--nonsensically.]
_On his Mistress's Death._
PETRARCH.
Love the ripe harvest of my toils Began to cherish with his smiles, Preparing me to be indued With all the joys I long pursued, When my fresh hopes, fair and full blown, Death blasts, ere I could call my own.
Malicious Death! why with rude force Dost thou my Fair from me divorce? False Life! why in this loathéd chain Me from my Fair dost thou detain? 10 In whom assistance shall I find? Alike are Life and Death unkind.
Pardon me, Love; thy power outshines, And laughs at their infirm designs. She is not wedded to a tomb, Nor I to sorrow in her room. They, what thou join'st, can ne'er divide She lives in me, in her I died.
_The Exequies._
Draw near, You Lovers that complain Of Fortune or Disdain, And to my ashes lend a tear; Melt the hard marble with your groans, And soften the relentless stones, Whose cold embraces the sad subject hide, Of all Love's cruelties, and Beauty's pride!
No verse, No epicedium bring, 10 Nor peaceful requiem sing, To charm the terrors of my hearse; No profane numbers must flow near The sacred silence that dwells here. Vast griefs are dumb; softly, oh! softly mourn, Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn.
Yet strew Upon my dismal grave Such offerings as you have, Forsaken cypress and sad yew; 20 For kinder flowers can take no birth, Or growth, from such unhappy earth. Weep only o'er my dust, and say, Here lies To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice.
[_The Exequies._] A very good stanza, the rhythm rising and swelling admirably. In the final couplet of the first, _1647_ reads--
do a victim hide, That, paid to Beauty, on Love's altar died. ]
_The Silkworm._
This silkworm, to long sleep retir'd, The early year hath re-inspir'd, Who now to pay to thee prepares The tribute of her pleasing cares; And hastens with industrious toil To make thy ornament, her spoil: See with what pains she spins for thee The thread of her own destiny; Then growing proud in Death, to know That all her curious labours thou 10 Wilt, as in triumph, deign to wear, Retires to her soft sepulchre. Such, dearest, is that hapless state, To which I am design'd by Fate, Who by thee, willingly, o'ercome, Work mine own fetters and my tomb.
[_The Silkworm._] ]
[Line: 1 This] The _1647_.]
[Line: 6 Miss Guiney insists, in the teeth of all texts, upon changing over 'thy' and 'her', saying that 'facts and the context force' the reversal. I am afraid that the genius of seventeenth-century poetry did not care much for facts or context at any time. But here no violence is done to either. Nine men out of ten wishing to say 'to make out of the spoil of herself an ornament for thee' would have probably put it in the same way, especially if they wanted the rhyme 'spoil'.]
[Line: 10 'That _her rich work and_ labours' _1647_.]
[Line: 14 'I destined am' _1647_.]
_A Lady Weeping._
MONTALVAN.
As when some brook flies from itself away, The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray; And as about the verdant plain it winds, The meadows with a silver riband binds, Printing a kiss on every flower she meets, Losing herself to fill them with new sweets, To scatter frost upon the lily's head, And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread; So melting sorrow, in the fair disguise Of humid stars, flow'd from bright Cloris' eyes, 10 Which wat'ring every flower her cheek discloses, Melt into jasmines here, there into roses.
[_A Lady Weeping._] Few people, I think, will accept Miss Guiney's suggestion of 'tears' for 'stars' in l. 10, especially after 'humid'. The shooting star, which dissolved on reaching earth into dew or 'jelly', is very common with Carolines.]
_Ambition._
I must no longer now admire The coldness which possess'd Thy snowy breast, That can by other flames be set on fire. Poor Love, to harsh Disdain betray'd, Is by Ambition thus out-weigh'd.
Hadst thou but known the vast extent Of constant faith, how far 'Bove all that are Born slaves to Wealth, or Honour's vain ascent; 10 No richer treasure couldst thou find Than hearts with mutual chains combin'd.
But Love is too despis'd a name, And must not hope to rise Above these ties; Honour and Wealth outshine his paler flame; These unite souls, whilst true desire Unpitied dies in its own fire.
Yet, cruel fair one, I did aim With no less justice too, 20 Than those that sue For other hopes, and thy proud fortunes claim. Wealth honours, honours wealth approve, But Beauty's only meant for Love.
[_Ambition._] ]
[Line: 16 Miss Guiney thinks that the singular 'Honour', though in all texts, is obviously wrong. I should say that the plural would be more obviously wronger. The mistake, of course, comes from importing a modern distinction.]
_Song._
When, dearest beauty, thou shalt pay Thy faith and my vain hope away To some dull soul that cannot know The worth of that thou dost bestow; Lest with my sighs and tears I might Disturb thy unconfin'd delight, To some dark shade I will retire, And there, forgot by all, expire.
Thus, whilst the difference thou shalt prove Betwixt a feign'd and real love, 10 Whilst he, more happy, but less true, Shall reap those joys I did pursue, And with those pleasures crownéd be By Fate, which Love design'd for me, Then thou, perhaps, thyself wilt find Cruel too long, or too soon kind.
[_Song._] Not one of Stanley's worst.]
_The Revenge._
RONSARD.
Fair Rebel to thyself and Time, Who laugh'st at all my tears, When thou hast lost thy youthful prime, And Age his trophy rears,
Weighing thy inconsiderate pride Thou shalt in vain accuse it, Why beauty am I now denied, Or knew not then to use it?
Then shall I wish, ungentle fair, Thou in like flames mayst burn; 10 Venus, if just, will hear my prayer, And I shall laugh my turn.
[_The Revenge._] Not one of his best, even as a translation. The suspicion of _flatness_ which occurs too often in him could not be more fatal than in connexion with Ronsard's famous and beautiful sonnet. But Stanley has handicapped himself almost inconceivably. He has thrown away the half-sad, half-scornful burst of the opening 'Quand vous serez bien vieille'--the vivid picture of the crone half boasting, half regretting her love and her disdain, by the flicker of fire and candle, to the listening handmaiden, and the final touch as to the use of life. In fact I have sometimes wondered whether he really meant this masterpiece.]
_Song._
I will not trust thy tempting graces, Or thy deceitful charms; Nor pris'ner be to thy embraces, Or fetter'd in thy arms; No, Celia, no, not all thy art Can wound or captivate my heart.
I will not gaze upon thy eyes, Or wanton with thy hair, Lest those should burn me by surprise, Or these my soul ensnare; 10 Nor with those smiling dangers play, Or fool my liberty away.
Since then my wary heart is free, And unconfin'd as thine, If thou wouldst mine should captiv'd be, Thou must thine own resign, And gratitude may thus move more Than Love or Beauty could before.
[_Song._] Another capital stanza-mould, especially in 1. The next is even better.
This Song is also in _Select Airs and Dialogues, set by Mr. Jeremy Savill_, _1659_.]
_Song._
No, I will sooner trust the wind, When falsely kind It courts the pregnant sails into a storm, And when the smiling waves persuade, Be willingly betray'd, Than thy deceitful vows or form.
Go, and beguile some easy heart With thy vain art; Thy smiles and kisses on those fools bestow, Who only see the calms that sleep 10 On this smooth flatt'ring deep, But not the hidden dangers know.
They that like me thy falsehood prove, Will scorn thy love. Some may, deceiv'd at first, adore thy shrine; But he that, as thy sacrifice, Doth willingly fall twice, Dies his own martyr, and not thine.
[_Song._]
[Line: 12 the] thy _1647_.]
_To a Blind Man in Love._
MARINO.
Lover, than Love more blind, whose bold thoughts dare Fix on a woman is both young and fair! If Argus, with a hundred eyes, not one Could guard, hop'st thou to keep thine, who hast none?
[_To a Blind Man in Love._] 2 The ellipsis of 'who' before 'is' is one of the few grammatical licences which are really awkward in poetry. In _Oronta 1647_, where this poem also appeared with two other translations from Marino, the reading is 'woman that is young'; and in 7 'Senses too'.]
_Answer._
I'm blind, 'tis true, but, in Love's rules, defect Of sense is aided by the intellect; And senses by each other are supplied: The touch enjoys what's to the sight denied.
_Song._
I Prithee let my heart alone, Since now 'tis rais'd above thee, Not all the beauty thou dost own, Again can make me love thee:
He that was shipwreck'd once before By such a Syren's call, And yet neglects to shun that shore, Deserves his second fall.
Each flatt'ring kiss, each tempting smile, Thou dost in vain bestow, 10 Some other lovers might beguile, Who not thy falsehood know.
But I am proof against all art. No vows shall e'er persuade me Twice to present a wounded heart To her that hath betray'd me.
Could I again be brought to love Thy form, though more divine, I might thy scorn as justly move, As now thou sufferest mine. 20
[_Song._] Pretty, and the double rhymes in stanzas 1 and 4 well brought off.]
[Line: 7 _1656_ '_the_ shore'.]
_The Loss._
Yet ere I go, Disdainful Beauty, thou shall be So wretched, as to know What joys thou fling'st away with me.
A faith so bright, As Time or Fortune could not rust; So firm, that lovers might Have read thy story in my dust,
And crown'd thy name With laurel verdant as thy youth, 10 Whilst the shrill voice of Fame Spread wide thy beauty and my truth.
This thou hast lost; For all true lovers, when they find That my just aims were crost, Will speak thee lighter than the wind.
And none will lay Any oblation on thy shrine, But such as would betray Thy faith, to faiths as false as thine. 20
Yet, if thou choose On such thy freedom to bestow, Affection may excuse, For love from sympathy doth flow.
[_The Loss._] Still good. But I have once more to demur to Miss Guiney's opinion that 'Thy' in l. 20, though found in all texts, should 'almost certainly' be 'Their'. In the first place, conjectural emendations in the teeth of text-agreement are never to be made without absolute necessity. In the second, the hackneyed observation about the less obvious reading is never so true as of the Caroline poets. In the third, this particular correction, if obvious in one sense, is but specious in another, and '_Their_ faith' will be found on examination to make less, not more, sense than 'Thy'. The meaning is, 'Such faith as thou mightest repose in them after being false to me', i.e. 'They would leave thee for other light-o'-loves'.]
_The Self-Cruel._
Cast off, for shame, ungentle Maid, That misbecoming joy thou wear'st; For in my death, though long delay'd, Unwisely cruel thou appear'st. Insult o'er captives with disdain, Thou canst not triumph o'er the slain.
No, I am now no longer thine, Nor canst thou take delight to see Him whom thy love did once confine, Set, though by Death, at liberty; 10 For if my fall a smile beget, Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.
Behold how thy unthrifty pride Hath murder'd him that did maintain it! And wary souls, who never tried Thy tyrant beauty, will disdain it: But I am softer, and that me Thou wouldst not pity, pity thee.
[_The Self-Cruel._] Merely 'Song' in _1647_.
The observations in the preceding note apply to Miss Guiney's supposition that 'that' in the penultimate line is a misprint for 'though'. 'I pity thee _in_ (or 'for') that thou wouldst not pity me.']
_Song._
BY M. W. M.
Wert thou yet fairer than thou art, Which lies not in the power of Art; Or hadst thou in thine eyes more darts Than ever Cupid shot at hearts; Yet if they were not thrown at me, I would not cast a thought on thee,
I'd rather marry a disease, Than court the thing I cannot please; She that will cherish my desires, Must meet my flames with equal fires. 10 What pleasure is there in a kiss To him that doubts the heart's not his?
I love thee not because th' art fair, Softer than down, smoother than air; Nor for the Cupids that do lie In either corner of thine eye: Wouldst thou then know what it might be? 'Tis I love you, 'cause you love me.
[_Song._] In _1647_ the song itself is not given, and the title of Stanley's piece is '_In Answer to a Song_, Wert thou much fairer than thou art, &c.' I do not know who Master W. M. was--possibly Walter Montagu, Abbé de Saint-Martin, whom we have met once or twice in commendatory poems, and who was of the Cavalier literary set.]
_Answer._
Wert thou by all affections sought, And fairer than thou wouldst be thought; Or had thine eyes as many darts As thou believ'st they shoot at hearts; Yet if thy love were paid to me, I would not offer mine to thee.
I'd sooner court a fever's heat, Than her that owns a flame as great; She that my love will entertain, Must meet it with no less disdain; 10 For mutual fires themselves destroy, And willing kisses yield no joy.
I love thee not because alone Thou canst all beauty call thine own Nor doth my passion fuel seek In thy bright eye or softer cheek: Then, fairest, if thou wouldst know why I love thee, 'cause thou canst deny.
_The Relapse._
Oh, turn away those cruel eyes, The stars of my undoing! Or Death, in such a bright disguise, May tempt a second wooing.
Punish their blindly impious pride, Who dare contemn thy glory; It was my fall that deified Thy name, and seal'd thy story.
Yet no new sufferings can prepare A higher praise to crown thee; 10 Though my first Death proclaim thee fair, My second will unthrone thee.
Lovers will doubt thou canst entice No other for thy fuel, And if thou burn one victim twice, Both think thee poor and cruel.
[_The Relapse._] One of the author's best. Double rhymes often brought him luck. It was reprinted in Lawes's _Airs and Dialogues, the Second Book_, 1655, p. 7, with the heading 'He would not be tempted'. In _1647_ called 'Song' only. This edition also reads in l. 5 'blind and impious', and in l. 7 'thy name' for 'my fall'. This last, which doubtless is a slip, seems to occur in some copies of _1651_, but Brydges prints it correctly.]
_To the Countess of S. with the Holy Court._
MADAM, Since every place you bless, the name This book assumes may justlier claim, (What more a court than where you shine? And where your soul, what more divine?) You may, perhaps, doubt at first sight, That it usurps upon your right; And praising virtues, that belong To you, in others, doth yours wrong; No; 'tis yourself you read, in all Perfections earlier ages call 10 Their own; all glories they e'er knew Were but faint prophecies of you. You then have here sole interest whom 'tis meant As well to entertain, as represent.
[_To the Countess of S._] This lady has been supposed, probably enough, to be Dorothy Sidney or Spencer, Countess of Sunderland, and Waller's 'Sacharissa'. _The Holy Court_ was a manual of devotion by the Jesuit Caussin, translated into English as early as 1626.]
_Song._
DE VOITURE.
I languish in a silent flame; For she, to whom my vows incline, Doth own perfections so divine, That but to speak were to disclose her name If I should say that she the store Of Nature's graces doth comprise, The love and wonder of all eyes, Who will not guess the beauty I adore?