When from your well-wrought cabinet you take it,

And your bright looks awake it,
Ah! be not frighted if you see
The new-soul'd picture gaze on thee,

And hear it breathe a sigh or two;
For those are the first things that it will do.
My rival-image will be then thought bless'd,

And laugh at me as dispossess’d;
But thou, who (if I know thee right)
['the substance dost not much delight,

Wilt rather send again for me,
Who then shall but my picture's picture be.

THE CONCEALMENT. No; to what purpose should I speak ? No, wretched heart! swell till


break. She cannot love me if she would ; And, to say truth, 'twere pity that she should.

No; to the grave thy sorrows bear;

As silent as they will be there :
Since that loved hand this mortal wound does give,

So handsomely the thing contrive,
That she may guiltless of it live;
So perish, that her killing thee
May a chance-medley, and no murder, be.

'Tis nobler much for me, that I
By' her beauty, not her anger, die :

, This will look justly, and become An execution; that, a martyrdom.

The censuring world will ne'er refrain
From judging men by thunder slain.

She must be angry, sure, if I should be

So bold to ask her to make me,
By being hers, happier than she!

I will not; 'tis a milder fate
To fall by her not loving, than her hate.

And yet this death of mine, I fear,
Will ominous to her

appear; When, sound in

Her sacrifice is found without a heart;

For the last tempest of my death
Shall sigh out that too with my

breath. Then shall the world


noble ruin see, Some pity and some envy me; Then she herself, the mighty she,

Shall grace my funerals with this truth; “ 'Twas only Love destroy'd the gentle youth!”

other part,


What mines of sulphur in my breast do lie, That feed the' eternal burnings of my heart! Not Etna flames more fierce or constantly, The sounding shop of Vulcan's smoky art:

Vulcan his shop has placed there,

And Cupid's forge is set up here.
Here all those arrows' mortal heads are made,
That fly so thick unseen through yielding air;
The Cyclops here, which labour at the trade,
Are Jealousy, Fear, Sadness, and Despair.

Ah, cruel God! and why to me
Gave you this cursed monopoly?

I have the trouble, not the gains, of it:-
Give me but the disposal of one dart,
And then (I'll ask no other benefit)
Heat as you please your furnace in my heart:

So sweet's revenge to me, that I,

Upon my foe would gladly die. Deep into’ her bosom would I strike the dart, Deeper than woman e’er was struck by thee; Thou givest them small wounds, and so far from

the heart,
They flutter still about, inconstantly:

Curse on thy goodness, whom we find
Civil to none but womankind !

Vain God! who woman dost thyself adore !
Their wounded hearts do still retain the powers
To travel and to wander, as before:
Thy broken arrows 'twixt that sex and ours

So’unjustly are distributed,
They take the feathers, we the head.


I've followed thee a year, at least,
And never stopped myself to rest;

But yet can thee o’ertake no more
Than this day can the day that went before.

In this our fortunes equal prove
To stars, which govern them above;

Our stars, that move for ever round,
With the same distance still betwixt them found.

In vain, alas ! in vain I strive
The wheel of Fate faster to drive;

Since, if around it swiftlier fly,
She in it mends her pace as much as I.

Hearts by Love strangely shuffled are,
That there can never meet a pair!

Tamelier than worms are lovers slain;
The wounded heart ne'er turns, to wound again.

I THOUGHT, I'll swear, I could have loved no more

Than I had done before;
But you as easily might account
Till to the top of numbers you amount,
As cast up my

love's score.
Ten thousand millions was the sum ;
Millions of endless millions are to come.
I'm sure her beauties cannot greater grow;

Why should my love do so?
A real cause at first did

But mine own fancy now drives on my love,

With shadows from itself that flow.

My love, as we in numbers see,
By cyphers in increased eternally.
So the new-made and untry'd spheres above

Took their first turn from the’hand of Jove ;

But are, since that beginning, found
By their own forms to move for ever round.
All violent motions short do prove;

But, by the length, 'tis plain to see
That Love's a motion natural to me.

With much of pain, and all the art I knew,

Have I endeavoured hitherto
To hide my love, and yet all will not do.
The world perceives it, and, it may be, she;

Though so discreet and good she be,
By hiding it, to teach that skill to me.
Men without love have oft so cunning grown,

That something like it they have shown;
But none who had it ever seem'd to have none.
Love's of a strangely open, simple kind,

Can no arts or disguises find,
But thinks none sees it 'cause itself is blind.

very eye betrays our inward smart;
Love of himself left there a part,
When thorough it he pass’d into the heart.
Or if by chance the face betray not it,

But keep the secret wisely, yet,
Like drunkenness, into the tongue 'twill get.


WITH, HIS MISTRESS. These full two hours now have I gazing been,

What comfort by it can I gain?
To look on heaven with mighty gulfs between

Was the great miser's greatest pain;
So near was he to heaven's delight,

As with the bless'd converse he might,
Yet could not get one drop of water by 't.

« ElőzőTovább »