To Celia weeping. Fairest, when thine eyes did poure A chrystall shower; I was perswaded, that some stone And thus amazed; sure thought I When stones are moist, some raine is nigh. Why weep'st thou? cause thou cannot be More hard to me? So Lionesses pitty, so Do Tygers too : So doth that Bird, which when she's fed Yet I'le make better omens till Event beguile; Those pearly drops, in time shall be And thou shalt like thy Corall prove, Soft under water, hard above. An Hymne to Love. I will confesse With cheerfulnesse, Love is a thing so likes me, That let her lay On me all day, I'le kisse the hand that strikes me. I will not, I, Now blubb'ring cry, It (ah!) too late repents me, That I did fall To love at all, Since love so much contents me. No, no, I'le be In fetters free; While others they sit wringing Their hands for paine; I'le entertaine The wounds of love with singing. With flowers and wine And Cakes divine, To strike me I will tempt thee: Which done; no more I'le come before Thee and thine Altars empty. Loves Discoveryes. With much of paine, and all the Art I knew, To hide my love; and yet all will not do. The world perceives it, and it may be, she; Men without love have oft so cunning growne, That something like it they have showne, But none that had it ever seem'd t'have none. Love's of a strangely open, simple kind, But thinks none sees it cause it self is blind. The very eye betrayes our inward smart ; Or if by chance the face betray not it, Like drunkennesse into the tongue 'twill get. It gave a piteous groan, and so it broke; Like poyson put into a Venice Glasse. I thought that this some Remedy might prove, But, oh, the mighty Serpent Love, Cut by this chance in pieces small, In all still liv'd, and still it stung in all. And now (alas) each little broken part Feels the whole pain of all my heart : Lives with that torment which the whole did kill. Even so rude Armies when the field they quit, And into severall Quarters get; Each Troop does spoyle and ruine more Then all joyn'd in one body did before. How many loves reigne in my bosome now? How many loves, yet all of you? Thus have I chang'd with evill fate My Monarch Love into a Tyrant State. A Tear sent his Mistresse. Glide gentle streams, and bear To that coy Girle; Who smiles, yet slayes Me with delayes; And strings my tears as Pearle. See! see she's yonder set, Making a Carkanet Of mayden-flowers! There, there present This Orient, And pendant Pearl of ours. Then say, I've sent one more Jem, to enrich her store; And that is all Which I can send, Or vainly spend, For tears no more will fall. |