For shee's to her selfe untrue,
Who delights i' th' publicke view.
Such is her beauty, as no arts
Have enricht with borrowed grace.
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.
Folly boasts a glorious blood,
She is noblest being good.
Cautious she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant ;
Not speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence eloquent.
Of her self survey she takes,
But' tweene men no difference makes.
She obeys with speedy will
Her grave parents' wise commands.
And so innocent, that ill,
She nor acts, nor understands.
Women's feet runne still astray,
If once to ill they know the way.
She sailes by that rocke, the court,
Where oft honour splits her mast:
And retir'dnesse thinks the port,
Where her fame may anchor cast.
Vertue safely cannot sit,
Where vice is enthron'd for wit.
She holds that daye's pleasure best,
Where sinne waits not on delight,
Without maske, or ball, or feast,
Sweetly spends a winter's night.
O'er that darknesse, whence is thrust
Prayer, and sleepe oft governs lust.
She her throne makes reason climbe,
While wild passions captive lie.
And each article of time,
Her pure thoughts to Heaven flie:
All her vowes religious be,
And her love she vowes to me.
UPON THOUGHT OF AGE AND DEATH.
THE breath of time shall blast the flow'ry spring,
Which so perfumes thy cheeke, and with it bring
So dark a mist, as shall eclipse the light
Of thy faire eyes in an eternal night,
Some melancholy chamber of the earth,
(For that like Time devours whom it gave breath)
Thy beauties shall entombe, while all who ere
Lov'd nobly, offer up their sorrowes there.
But I, whose griefe no formal limits bound,
Beholding the darke caverne of that ground,
Will there immure my selfe. And thus I shall
Thy mourner be, and my owne funerall.
Else by the weeping magicke of my verse,
Thou hast reviv'd to triumph o'er thy hearse.
THE REWARD OF INNOCENT LOVE.
We saw and woo'd each other's eyes,
My soule contracted then with thine,
And both burnt in one sacrifice,
By which our marriage grew divine.
Let wilder youth, whose soule is sense,
Prophane the temple of delight,
And purchase endlesse penitence,
With the stolne pleasure of one night.
Time's ever ours, while we despise
The sensuall idol of our clay,
For though the Sunne doe set and rise,
We joy one everlasting day.
Whose light no jealous clouds obscure,
While each of us shine innocent,
The troubled stream is still impure,
With vertue flies away content.
And though opinions often erre,
Wee'le court the modest smile of fame,
For sinne's blacke danger circles her,
Who hath infection in her name.
Thus when to one darke silent roome, Death shall our loving coffins thrust; Fame will build columnes on our tombe, And adde a perfume to our dust.
GIVE me a heart where no impure ·
Disorder'd passions rage,
Which jealousie doth not obscure,
Nor vanity t' expence ingage,
Nor wooed to madnesse by queint oathes,
Or the fine rhetoricke of cloathes,
Which not the softnesse of the age
To vice or folly doth decline;
Give me that heart (Castara) for 'tis thine..
Take thou a heart where no new looke
Provokes new appetite:
With no fresh charme of beauty tooke,
Or wanton stratagem of wit;
Not idly wandring here and there,
Led by an am'rous eye or eare.
Aiming each beautious marke to hit;
Which vertue doth to one confine :
Take thou that heart, Castara, for 'tis mine.
And now my heart is lodg'd with thee,
Observe but how it still
Doth listen how thine doth with me;
And guard it well, for else it will
Runne hither backe; not to be where
I am, but 'cause thy heart is here.
But without discipline, or skill.
Our hearts shall freely 'tweene us move; [love. Should thou or I want hearts, wee'd breath by
NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM.
So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appeare:
My soule her wings doth spread,
And heaven-ward flies,
The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shootes forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.
No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a character,
Remov'd far from our humane sight:
But if we stedfast looke
We shall discerne
In it, as in some holy booke,
How man may heavenly knowledge learne.
That farre stretcht powre,
Which his proud dangers traffique for,
Is but the triumph of an houre.
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