IV. LYRICS PRINTED ONLY IN EDITIONS OF 1647 AND 1651.
Reading edition
Love’s Innocence.[4:1] See how this ivy strives to twine[4:2] Her wanton arms about the vine, And her coy lover thus restrains, Entangled in her amorous chains; See how these neighb’ring palms do bend5 Their heads, and mutual murmurs send, As whispering with a jealous fear[4:3] Their loves into each other’s ear. Then blush not such a flame to own As, like thyself, no crime hath known;10 Led by these harmless guides, we may Embrace and kiss as well as they. } [4:4] And like those blessed souls above, Whose life is harmony and love, Let us our mutual thoughts betray,15 And in our wills our minds display. This silent speech is swifter far Than the ears’ lazy species are; And the expression it affords (As our desires,) ’bove reach of words.20 Thus we, my Dear, of these may learn[4:5] A passion others not discern; Nor can it shame or blushes move, Like plants to live, like angels love: Since all excuse with equal innocence25 What above reason is, or beneath sense.
The Dedication.[5:1] To Love. Thou whose sole name all passions doth comprise: Youngest and eldest of the Deities, Born without parents, whose unbounded reign Moves the firm earth, fixeth the floating main, Inverts the course of heaven, and from the deep5 Awakes those souls that in dark Lethe sleep, By thy mysterious chains seeking t’unite, Once more, the long-since-torn hermaphrodite! He who thy willing prisoner long was vow’d, And uncompell’d beneath thy sceptre bow’d,10 Returns at last in thy soft fetters bound, With victory, though not with freedom, crown’d: And, (of his dangers past a grateful sign,) Suspends this tablet at thy numerous shrine.
The Glow-Worm. Stay, fairest Chariessa, stay and mark This animated gem,[6:1] whose fainter spark Of fading light, its birth had from the dark: A star thought by the erring[6:2] passenger Which falling from its native orb, dropped here,5 And makes the earth, its centre, now its sphere. Should many of these sparks together be, He that the unknown light far off should see Would think it a terrestrial galaxy. Take ’t up, fair Saint; see how it mocks thy fright;10 The paler flame doth not yield heat, though light, Which thus deceives[6:3] thy reason, through thy sight. But see how quickly it, ta’en up, doth fade, (To shine in darkness only being made), By th’ brightness of thy light turn’d to a shade,15 And burnt to ashes by thy flaming eyes! On the chaste altar of thy hand it dies, As to thy greater light a sacrifice.
To Chariessa,[7:1] Desiring her to Burn his Verses. These papers, Chariessa, let thy breath Condemn, thy hand unto the flames bequeath; ’Tis fit who gave them life, should give them death. And whilst[7:2] in curled flames to heaven they rise, Each trembling sheet shall, as it upwards flies,5 Present itself to thee a sacrifice. Then when above[7:3] its native orb it came, And reach’d the lesser lights o’ th’ sky, this flame, Contracted to a star, should wear thy name, Or falling down on earth from its bright sphere,10 Shall in a diamond’s shape its lustre bear, And trouble (as it did before) thine ear. But thou wilt cruel even in mercy be, Unequal in thy justice, who dost free Things without sense from flames, and yet not me!15
On Mr. Fletcher’s Works [1647].[8:1] Fletcher, whose fame no age can ever waste, (Envy of ours, and glory of the last,) Is now alive again; and with his name His sacred ashes wak’d into a flame Such as before could[8:2] by a secret charm5 The wildest heart subdue, the coldest warm, And lend the ladies’ eyes a power more bright, Dispensing thus, to either, heat and light. He to a sympathy those souls betray’d Whom love or beauty never could persuade;10 And in each mov’d spectator did[8:3] beget A real passion by a counterfeit. When first Bellario bled, what lady there Did not for every drop let fall a tear? And when Aspasia wept, not any eye15 But seem’d to wear the same sad livery; By him inspir’d, the feign’d Lucina drew More streams of melting sorrow than the true; But then The Scornful Lady did[8:4] beguile Their easy griefs, and teach them all to smile.20 Thus he affections could or raise or lay; Love, grief, and mirth thus did his charms obey: He Nature taught her passions to out-do, How to refine the old, and create new; Which such a happy likeness seem’d to bear,25 As if that Nature Art, Art Nature were. Yet all had nothing been, obscurely kept In the same urn wherein his dust hath slept; Nor had he risen[8:5] the Delphic wreath to claim, Had with[8:6] the dying scene expir’d his name.30 O the indulgent justice of this age, To grant the press what it denies the stage! Despair our joy hath doubled: he is come Twice welcome by this post liminium. His loss preserv’d him; they that silenc’d wit35 Are now the authors to eternize it. Thus poets are in spite of Fate reviv’d, And plays, by intermission, longer liv’d.
To the Lady D[ormer].[9:1] Madam! the blushes I betray, When at your feet I humbly lay These papers, beg you would excuse Th’ obedience of a bashful Muse, Who, bowing to your strict command,5 Trusts her own errors to your hand, Hasty abortives, which, laid by, She meant, ere they were born, should die: But since the soft power of your breath Hath call’d them back again from death,10 To your sharp judgement now made known, She dares for hers no longer own; The worst she must not: these resign’d She hath to th’ fire; and where you find Those your kind charity admir’d,15 She writ but what your eyes inspir’d.
To Mr. W[illiam] Hammond. Thou best of Friendship, Knowledge, and of Art! The charm of whose lov’d name preserves my heart From female vanities, (thy name, which there Till time dissolves the fabric, I must wear!) Forgive a crime which long my soul oppress’d,5 And crept by chance in my unwary breast, So great, as for thy pardon were unfit, And to forgive were worse than to commit, But that the fault and pain were so much one, The very act did expiate what was done.10 I, who so often sported with the flame, Play’d with the Boy, and laugh’d at both as tame, Betray’d by idleness and beauty, fell At last in love, love both the sin and hell: No punishment great as my fault esteem’d,15 But to be that which I so long had seem’d. Behold me such: a face, a voice, a lute; The sentence in a minute execute. I yield, recant; the faith which I before Deny’d, profess; the power I scorn’d, implore.20 Alas, in vain! no prayers, no vows can bow Her stubborn heart, who neither will allow. But see how strangely what was meant no less Than torment, prov’d my greatest happiness; Delay, that should have sharpen’d, starv’d Desire,25 And Cruelty not fann’d, but quench’d my fire. Love bound me; now, by kind Disdain set free, I can despise that Love as well as she. That sin to friendship I away have thrown! My heart thou may’st without a rival own,[10:1]30 While such as willingly themselves beguile, And sell away their freedoms for a smile, Blush to confess our joys as far above Their hopes, as friendship’s longer-liv’d than love.
On Mr. Shirley’s Poems [1646].[11:1] When, dearest Friend, thy verse doth re-inspire Love’s pale decaying torch with brighter fire, Whilst everywhere thou dost dilate thy flame, And to the world spread thy Odelia’s name, The justice of all ages must remit5 To her the prize of beauty, thee of wit. Then, like some skilful artist, that to wonder[11:2] Framing some[11:3] piece, displeas’d, takes it asunder, Thou Beauty dost depose, her charms deny, And all the mystic chains of Love untie.10 Thus thy diviner Muse a power ’bove Fate May boast, that can both make and uncreate. Next, thou call’st back to life that love-sick boy, To the kind-hearted nymphs less fair than coy, Who, by reflex beams burnt with vain desire,15 Did, phœnix-like, in his own flames expire; But should he view his shadow drawn by thee, He with himself once more in love would be. Echo, (who though she words[11:4] pursue, her haste Can only overtake and stop the last,)20 Shall her first speech and human voice[11:5] obtain, To sing thy softer numbers o’er again. Thus, into dying poetry, thy Muse Doth full perfection and new life infuse. Each line deserves a laurel, and thy praise25 Asks not a garland, but a grove of bays; Nor can ours raise thy lasting trophies higher, Who only reach at merit to admire. But I must chide thee, friend: how canst thou be A patron, yet a foe to Poesy?[11:6]30 For while thou dost this age to verse restore, Thou dost deprive the next of owning more; } [11:7] And hast so far all future times surpass’d,[11:8] That none dare write: thus, being first and last, All their abortive Muses will suppress,35 And Poetry, by this increase, grow less.
On Mr. Sherburne’s Translation of Seneca’s Medea, and Vindication of the Author [1647-8].[12:1] That wise philosopher who had design’d To [th’] life the various passions of the mind, Did wrong’d Medea’s jealousy prefer To entertain the Roman theatre; Both to instruct the soul, and please the sight,5 At once begetting horror and delight. This cruelty thou dost once more express Though in a strange, no less becoming dress; And her revenge hast robb’d of half its pride, To see itself thus by itself outvied,10 That boldest ages past may say, our times Can speak, as well as act, their highest crimes. Nor was’t enough to do his scene this right, But what thou gav’st to us, with equal light Thou wouldst bestow on him, nor wert more just15 Unto the author’s work, than to his dust. Thou dost make good his title, aid his claim, Both vindicate his poem and his name, So shar’st a double wreath; for all that we Unto the poet[12:2] owe, he owes to thee.20 Though change of tongues stol’n praise to some afford, Thy version hath not borrow’d, but restor’d.
On Mr. Hall’s Essays [Horae Vacivae, 1646].[13:1] Wits that matur’d by time have courted praise, Shall see their works outdone in these essays, And blush to know thy earlier years display A dawning clearer than their brightest day.[13:2] Yet I’ll not praise thee, for thou hast outgrown5 The reach of all men’s praises but thine own. Encomiums to their objects are exact: To praise, and not at full, is to detract. And with most justice are the best forgot; For praise is bounded when the theme is not:10 Since mine is thus confin’d, and far below Thy merit, I forbear it, nor will show How poor the autumnal pride of some appears,[13:3] To the ripe fruit thy vernal season bears! Yet though I mean no praise, I come t’invite15 Thy forward aims still to advance their flight. Rise higher yet; what though thy spreading wreath Lessen, to their dull sight who stay beneath? To thy full learning how can all allow Just praise, unless that all were learn’d as thou?20 Go on, in spite of such low souls, and may Thy growing worth know age, though not decay, Till thou pay back thy theft, and live to climb As many years as thou hast snatch’d from Time.
On Sir J[ohn] S[uckling] his Picture and Poems [1646].[14:1] Suckling, whose numbers could invite Alike to wonder and delight, And with new spirit did inspire The Thespian scene, and Delphic lyre, Is thus express’d in either part,5 Above the humble reach of Art. Drawn by the pencil, here you find His form; by his own pen, his mind.
Answer [to “The Union,” Poem addressed to Stanley by his Friend and Tutor, William Fairfax].[15:1] If we are one, dear Friend! why shouldst thou be At once unequal to thyself and me? By thy release thou swell’st my debt the more, And dost but rob thyself to make me poor. What part can I have in thy luminous cone,5 What flame, since my love’s thine, can call my own, (The palest star is less the son of night,) Who but thy borrow’d know no native light?[15:2] Was’t not enough thou freely didst bestow The Muse, but thou must[15:3] give the laurel too,10 And twice my aims by thy assistance raise, Conferring first the merit, then the praise? But I should do thee greater injury, Did I believe this praise were meant to me, Or thought, though thou hast worth enough to spare15 T’enrich another soul, that mine should share. Thy Muse, seeming to lend, calls home her fame, And her due wreath doth, in renouncing, claim.