Pigmaleons fate revers'd is mine,
His marble love took flesh and blood,
What late I worship'd, I decline;
Your Beauty now is understood
To have no more in it of life,
Then that whereof he framed his wife.
As women yet who apprehend
Some suddain cause of causelesse fear,
Although that seeming cause take end;
And they behold no danger neer,
A shaking through their limbs they find
Like Leaves saluted by the wind.
So though your beauties do appear
No Beauties which amaz'd me so,
Yet from my Breast I cannot teare
The passion which from thence did grow,
Nor yet out of my fancy race
The print of that supposed face.
A Real Beauty though too neer
The fond Narcissus did admire,
I dote on that which is no where
The sign of Beauty feeds my fire :
No mortall flame was ere so cruell
As mine which thus survives the fuell.
The Reply on the Contrary.
Not caring to observe the wind,
Or the unfaithful Sea explore,
I now no painted colours find,
But settled stand upon the shoar;
And may not here new dangers lye
To conquer and deceive the eye?
No, for she looks so pure, so cleer
That her rich Bottom doth appear
Pav'd all with precious things, not torn
From shiprack'd Vessels, but there born;
Here Sweetness, Truth, and every Grace
Which time and youth are wont to teach
The eye may in a moment reach
And read distinctly in her face;
Some other Nymph with colours faint
And with slow Pensils we may paint;
And a weak heart in time destroy,
But she alone can print the Boy,
Can with a single look inflame
The coldest Breast, the rudest tame.
Then Painter say, where couldst thou find
Shades to counterfeit that face?
For colours of this glorious kind,
Come not from any mortal race.
In heaven it self she sure was drest,
With that Angel-like guise,
Thus not deluded, we are blest
And see with clearest eyes.
The Melancholy Lover.
It is not that I love you lesse
Then when before your feet I lay,
But to prevent the sad increase
Of hopelesse love, I keep away:
In vain (alas) for every thing
Which I have known, belongs to you:
Your form doth to my fancy bring,
And makes my old wounds bleed anew.
He in the Spring who from the Sun
Already hath a feaver got,
Too late begins those heats to shun,
Which Phoebus through his veins hath shot;
Too late he would the pain asswage,
And to his chamber doth retire;
About with him he bears the rage,
And in his tainted blood the fire;
But vowd I have, and never must
Your banish'd servant trouble you.
For if I break, you may mistrust!
The Vow I made to love you too.
But tell me Lady, Dearest foe,
Where your lovely strength doth lye;
Is the Power that charms me so
In your Soul, or in your Eye,
In your snowy neck alone?
Or is that Grace in motion seen,
No such wonders can be done,
But in your voyce that's Musicks Queen ;
Whilest I do listen to that Voyce
I do feel my life decay
For that sweet and powerful noise
Calls my flitting soul away;
Oh suppresse that Magick sound
That destroyes without a wound,
Peace Lady, peace, or singing dye
That together you and I
May arm in arm to Heaven go,
For all the story we do know,
That the blessed do above
Is that they sing, and that they love.
The Variable Lover; or a Reply to the Melancholy
Lover.
Thrice happy paire, of whom we cannot know
Which first began to love, and which to woe,
Faire course of passion where two loves impart,
And run together, heart still yoakt in heart;
Successefull Love, whom Love hath taught the way
To be victorious in the first assay:
Sure Loves an Art, best practised at first,
And where the sad and pining prosper worst:
Some with a different fate pursue in vain
Their Ladyes loves, while others just disdain
Of their neglect, above their passion born,
Do pride to pride oppose, and scorn to scorn;
Then they relent, but all too late to move
A heart diverted to a nobler Love,
The scales are turn'd, her beauties weigh no more
Then th'others Vowes, and services before;
So in some well wrought hangings we may see
How Hector leads, and how the Gracians flee;
Here the fierce Mars his courage so inspires,
That with bold hand the Argive Fleet he fires;
But there from Heaven the blew-ey'd Virgin falls,
And frighted Troy retires within her walls;
They who are foremost in that bloody place,
Retire anon, and give the Conquerours chase;
So like the chances are of Love and War,
That they in this alone distinguished are;
In love the Victors from the vanquish'd flye,
They fly that wound, and they pursue that dye.
The Ladyes Slave to his Mistresse.
Fairest piece of well form'd Earth,
Urge not thus your haughty birth;
The power which you have o're us lyes
Not in your face, but in your eyes;
None but a Lord! Alas that voice
Confines you to a narrow choice;
Should you no Honey vow to tast,
But what the master Bees have plac'd
In compasse of their Cells, how small
A portion to your share would fall?
Nor all appear amongst those few
Worthy the stock from whence they grew ;
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