Chapter III (2)

_I'm no slave to such as you be!_
_Neither shall a snowy breast,_
_Wanton eye, or lip of ruby_
_Ever rob me of my rest!_
_Go! go! Display_
_Your beauty's ray_
_To some o'ersoon enamoured Swain!_
_Those common wiles_
_Of sighs and smiles_
_Are all bestowed on me in vain!_

_I have elsewhere, vowed a duty;_
_Turn away thy tempting eyes!_
_Show me not a naked beauty!_
_Those impostures I despise!_
_My spirit loaths_
_Where gaudy clothes_
_And feigned oaths may love obtain!_
_I love Her so,_
_Whose look swears "No!"_
_That all your labours will be vain!_

_Can he prize the tainted posies_
_Which on every breast are worn;_
_That may pluck the spotless roses_
_From their never-touchèd thorn?_
_I can go rest_
_On her sweet breast,_
_That is the pride of CYNTHIA's train._
_Then hold your tongues!_
_Your Mermaid songs_
_Are all bestowed on me in vain!_

_He's a fool, that basely dallies,_
_Where each peasant mates with him!_
_Shall I haunt the throngèd valleys,_
_Whilst there's noble hills to climb?_
_No, no! Though clowns_
_Are scared with frowns;_
_I know the best can but disdain:_
_And those I'll prove!_
_So shall your love_
_Be all bestowed on me in vain!_

_Yet I would not deign embraces_
_With the greatest fairest She;_
_If another shared those graces_
_Which had been bestowed on me!_
_I gave that One_
_My love, where none_
_Shall come to rob me of my gain._
_Your fickle hearts_
_Make tears and Arts!_
_And all bestowed on me in vain._

_I do scorn, to vow a duty,_
_Where each lustful lad may woo:_
_Give me Her, whose sun-like beauty,_
_Buzzards dare not soar unto!_
_She! She it is_
_Affords that bliss!_
_For which, I would refuse no pain._
_But such as you!_
_Fond fools! adieu!_
_You seek to capture me in vain!_

_Proud she seemed, in the beginning,_
_And disdained my looking on;_
_But that "Coy One in the winning,_
_Proves a True One, being won!"_
_Whate'er betide_
_She'll ne'er divide_
_The favour She to me shall deign;_
_But your fond love_
_Will fickle prove!_
_And all that trust in you, are vain!_

_Therefore know! When I enjoy One,_
_And for love employ my breath;_
_She I court, shall be a Coy One,_
_Though I win her with my death!_
_A favour there,_
_Few aim at, dare._
_And if, perhaps, some lover plain;_
_She is not won_
_Nor I undone_
_By placing of my love in vain._

_Leave me! then, you Syrens! leave me!_
_Seek no more to work my harms!_
_Crafty wiles cannot deceive me;_
_Who am proof against your charms!_
_You labour may_
_To lead astray_
_The heart, that constant shall remain:_
_And I, the while,_
_Will sit and smile,_
_To see you spend your time in vain._

_SONNET III._

_When PHILOMELA, with her strains,_
_The Spring had welcomed in;_
_And FLORA to bestrew the plains,_
_With daisies did begin:_
_My Love and I (on whom suspicious eyes_
_Had set a thousand spies)_
_To cozen ARGOS strove;_
_And seen of none,_
_We got alone_
_Into a shady grove._

_On every bush, the eglantine,_
_With leaves perfumèd hung:_
_The primrose made the hedgerows fine;_
_The woods, of music rung:_
_The earth, the air, and all things did conspire_
_To raise contentment higher;_
_That, had I come to woo,_
_Nor means of grace,_
_Nor time, nor place_
_Were wanting thereunto._

_With hand in hand, alone we walked,_
_And oft each other eyed;_
_Of Love and Passions past we talked,_
_Which our poor hearts had tried:_
_Our souls infused into each other were._
_And what may be her care_
_Did my more sorrow breed._
_One mind we bore,_
_One faith we swore,_
_And both in one agreed._

_Her dainty palm, I gently prest,_
_And with her lips I played;_
_My cheek, upon her panting breast,_
_And on her neck, I laid;_
_And yet we had no sense of wanton lust;_
_Nor did we then mistrust_
_The Poison in the Sweet._
_Our bodies wrought_
_So close, we thought,_
_Because our souls should meet._

_With pleasant toil, we breathless grew,_
_And kist in warmer blood:_
_Upon her lips, the honey dew,_
_Like drops on roses stood._
_And on those flowers, played I the busy bee,_
_Whose sweets, were such to me,_
_Them could I not forego._
_No, not to feast_
_On VENUS' breast,_
_Whence streams of sweetness flow._

_But kissing and embracing, we_
_So long together lay;_
_Her touches all inflamèd me,_
_And I began to stray._
_My hands presumed so far, they were too bold!_
_My tongue unwisely told_
_How much my heart was changed._
_And Virtue quite_
_Was put to flight;_
_Or, for the time, estranged._

_O, what are we, if in our strength_
_We over boldly trust?_
_The strongest forts will yield at length,_
_And so our virtues must._
_In Me, no force of Reason had prevailed,_
_If She had also failed._
_But ere I further strayed,_
_She, sighing, kist_
_My naked wrist:_
_And thus, in tears, she said._

_"Sweet Heart!" quoth she, "if in thy breast_
_Those virtues real be,_
_Which, hitherto, thou hast profest,_
_And I believed in thee;_
_Thyself and Me, O seek not to abuse!_
_Whilst thee I thus refuse,_
_In hotter flames I fry!_
_Yet let us not,_
_Our true love, spot!_
_O, rather, let me die!"_

_"For if thy heart should fall from good,_
_What would become of mine?_
_As strong a Passion stirs my blood,_
_As can distemper thine!_
_Yet in my breast, this rage I smother would,_
_Though it consume me, should;_
_And my desires contain._
_For where we see_
_Such breaches be,_
_They seldom stop again."_

_"Are we the two that have so long_
_Each other's loves embraced;_
_And never did Affection wrong_
_Nor think a thought unchaste?_
_And shall, O shall we, now, our matchless Joy_
_For one poor touch destroy?_
_And all Content forego?_
_O no, my Dear!_
_Sweet Heart, forbear!_
_I will not lose thee so!"_

_"For should we do a deed so base_
_As it can never be,_
_I could no more have seen thy face!_
_Nor wouldst thou look on me!_
_I should, of all our Passions grow ashamed;_
_And blush, when thou art named._
_Yea, though thou constant wert,_
_I being nought,_
_A jealous thought_
_Would still torment my heart._

_"What goodly thing, do we obtain_
_If I consent to thee?_
_Rare joys we lose, and what we gain_
_But common pleasures be._
_Yea, 'those,' some say, 'who are to lust inclined,_
_Drive Love out of the mind!_
_And so much Reason miss_
_That they admire_
_What kind of fire_
_A chaste affection is.'"_

_"No vulgar bliss I aimèd at,_
_When first I heard thee woo;_
_I'll never prize a Man for that_
_Which every groom can do._
_If that be love, the basest men that be_
_Do love as well as we!_
_Who, if we bear us well,_
_Do pass them then,_
_As Angels, men_
_In glory do excel."_

_Whilst thus she spake, a cruel Band_
_Of Passions seized my soul;_
_And what one seemèd to command,_
_Another did control._
_'Twixt Good and Ill, I did, divided lie._
_But as I raised mine eye,_
_In her, methought, I saw_
_Those Virtues shine,_
_Whose rays divine_
_First gave Desire, a Law._

_With that, I felt the blush of shame_
_Into my cheek return._
_And Love did, with a chaster flame,_
_Within my bosom burn._
_My Soul, her light of Reason had renewed;_
_And by those beams, I viewed_
_How slily Lust ensnares!_
_And all the fires_
_Of ill Desires,_
_I quenchèd with my tears._

_Go, wantons, now, and flout at this!_
_My coldness, if you list!_
_Vain fools! You never knew the bliss_
_That doth in Love consist!_
_You sigh, and weep, and labour to enjoy_
_A Shade, a Dream, a Toy!_
_Poor Folly, you pursue!_
_And are unblest;_
_Since every beast,_
_In pleasure, equals you!_

_You never took so rich content_
_In all your wanton play;_
_As this to me, hath pleasure lent,_
_That chaste, She went away._
_For as some sins, which we committed have,_
_Sharp stings behind them leave;_
_Whereby we vexèd are:_
_So, Ill supprest,_
_Begetteth rest,_
_And peace without compare._

_But lest this conquest slight you make,_
_Which on Myself I won;_
_Twelve labours I will undertake_
_With JOVE's victorious son,_
_Ere I will such another brunt endure!_
_For had DIANA pure,_
_Thus tempted been to sin;_
_That Queen of Night_
_(With her chaste light)_
_Had scarce a maiden been!_

[_Fair VIRTUE's Mind._]

O, how honoured are my Songs,
Graced by your melodious tongues!
And how pleasing do they seem,
Now your voices carol them!
Were not, yet, that task to do,
Which my word enjoins me to;
I would beg of you, to hear
What your own inventions are?
But, before I aught will crave,
What I promised, you shall have!

And as I, on mortal creatures
Called, to view her body's features!
Shewing how to make the Senses
Apprehend her excellences:
Now, I speak of no worse subject
Than a Soul's, and Reason's object;
And relate a Beauty's glories
Fitting heavenly auditories.
Therefore, whilst I sit and sing,
Hem me, Angels! in a ring!
Come, ye Spirits! which have eyes
That can gaze on Deity's!
And unclogged with brutish senses
Comprehend such excellences!
Or if any mortal ear
Would be granted leave to hear,
And find profit with delight,
In what now I shall indite;
Let him, first, be sure to season
A preparèd heart with Reason!
And, with judgement, drawing nigh,
Lay all fond affections by!
So, through all her veilings, he
Shall the Soul of Beauty see!

But, avoid! you earth-bred wights
Cloyed with sensual appetites!
On base objects, glut your eyes!
Till your starveling pleasure dies.
Feed your ears with such delights
As may match your gross conceits
For, within your muddy brain,
These, you never can contain!
Think not, you, who by the Sense,
Only judge of excellence!
Or do all contentment place
In the beauty of a face!
That these higher thoughts of ours
Soar so base a pitch as yours!
I can give, as well as you,
Outward beauties all their due!
I can, most contentments see,
That, in love, or women be!
Though I dote not on the features
Of our dantiest female creatures,
(Nor was e'er so void of shames,
As to play their lawless games!)
I more prize a snowy hand,
Than the gold on Tagus strand!
And a dainty lip before
All the greatest Monarch's store!
Yea, from these, I reap as true,
And as large contents as you!
Yet, to them I am not tied!
I have rarer sweets espied;
Wider prospects of true Pleasure,
Than your curbèd thoughts can measure!
In her Soul, my soul descries
Objects that may feed her eyes;
And the beauty of her Mind
Shews my Reason where to find
All my former pleasure doubled;
Neither with such Passion troubled
As wherewith it oft was crost,
Nor so easy to be lost.
I that ravished lay, well nigh,
By the lustre of her eye;
(And had almost sworn affection
To the fore-expressed perfection;
As if nothing had been higher,
Whereunto I might aspire);
Now, have found, by seeking nearer,
Inward Worth, that shining clearer,
(By a sweet and secret moving)
Draws me to a dearer loving.
And whilst I, that love conceive;
Such impressions it doth leave
In the intellective part,
As defaceth from my heart
Every thought of those delights
Which allure base appetites:
And my mind so much employs
In contemplating those joys,
Which a purer sight doth find
In the beauty of her Mind;
That I, so thereon am set
As, methinks, I could forget
All her sweetest outward graces,
Though I lay in her embraces.
But some thinking, with a smile,
What they would have done the while;
Now suppose my words are such
As exceed my power too much.
For all those--our wantons hold
Void of vigour, dull and cold;
Or, at best, but fools--whose flame
Makes not way unto their shame.
Though, at length, with grief they see,
_They_, the fools do prove to be!
These, the body so much minded,
That their Reason, over blinded
By the pleasures of the Sense,
Hides from them, that Excellence,
And that Sweetness, whose true worth
I am here, to blazon forth!
'Tis not, 'tis not those rare graces
That do lurk in women's faces;
'Tis not a displayed perfection,
Youthful eyes, nor clear complexion;
Nor a skin, smooth, satin-like;
Nor a dainty rosy cheek;
That to wantonness can move
Such as virtuously do love.
Beauty, rather, gently draws
Wild Desires to Reason's Laws!
And oft frights men from that sin,
They had else, transgressèd in;
Through a sweet amazement, stroke
From an overruling look.
Beauty never tempteth men
To lasciviousness; but when
Careless Idleness hath brought
Wicked longings into thought.
Nor doth Youth, or heat of blood
Make men prove what is not good.
Nor the strength, of which they vaunt,
'Tis the strength and power they _want_!
And the baseness of the mind
Makes their brute desires inclined
To pursue those vain delights
Which affect their appetites;
And so blinded! do they grow,
(Who are overtaken so)
As their dulness cannot see,
Nor believe that better be!
Some have blood as hot as theirs
Whose affections loosest are;
Bodies that require no Art
To supply weak Nature's part;
Youth, they have; and, sure, might, too,
Boast of what some, shameless, do:
Yet their minds, that aim more high
Than those baser pleasures lie,
Taught by Virtue, can suppress
All attempts of wantonness;
And such powerful motives frame
To extinguish Passions' flame,
That, by Reason's good direction,
Qualifying loose affection
They'll, in midst of beauty's fires,
Walk unscorched with ill Desires.
Yet no such, as stupid Shame
Keeps from actions worthy blame.
But, in all, so truly Man!
That their apprehensions can
Prize the body's utmost worth;
And find many pleasures forth
In those beauties, more than you,
That abuse them, ever knew!

But, perhaps, her outward grace,
Here described, hath ta'en such place
In some o'er-enamoured breast;
And so much his heart possest,
As he thinks, it passeth telling,
How she may be more excelling!
Or what worth I can prefer
To be more admired in her.
Therefore, now, I will be brief
To prevent that misbelief;
And if there be present here,
Any one whose nicer ear
Tasks my Measures, as offending
In too seriously commending
What affects the Sense, or may
Injure Virtue any way:
Let them know, 'tis understood,
That if they were truly good,
It could never breed offence,
That I shewed the excellence;
With the power of GOD and Nature,
In the beauty of His creature.
They, from thence, would rather raise
Cause to meditate His praise:
And thus think, "How fair must He,
That hath made this Fair One, be!"
That was my proposèd end:
And to make them more attend
Unto this! so much excelling
As it passeth means of telling.
But, at worst, if any Strain
Makes your memories retain
Sparks of such a baneful fire
As may kindle ill Desire:
This, that follows after, shall,
Not alone extinguish all;
But e'en make you blush with shame,
That your thoughts were so to blame.
Yet I know, when I have done,
In respect of that bright Sun,
Whose inestimable light
I would blazon to your sight!
These ensuing flashes are
As to CYNTHIA's beams, a star;
Or a petty comet's ray,
To the glorious Eye of Day.
For what power of Words, or Art,
Can her Worth at full, impart?
Or what is there, may be found,
Placed within the Sense's bound,
That can paint those sweets to me,
Which the Eyes of Love do see?
Or the beauties of her Mind
Which her body hath enshrined?
Can I think, the Guide of Heaven
Hath so bountifully given
Outward features, 'cause He meant
To have made less excellent
Her divine part? or suppose
Beauty, Goodness doth oppose!
Like those fools who do despair
To find any Good and Fair?
Rather, there, I seek a Mind
Most excelling; where I find
GOD hath to the Body lent
Most beseeming ornament.
But though He that did inspire
First, the true Promethean fire,
In each several soul did place
Equal excellence and grace;
As some think: yet, have not they
Equal beauties, every way!
For they, more or less appear
As the outward organs are;
Following much the temp'rature
Of the body, gross or pure.
And I do believe it true
That as we the Body view,
Nearer to perfection grow:
So the Soul herself doth shew
Others, more and more excelling,
In her Power, as in her Dwelling.
For that pureness giveth way
Better to disclose each ray
To the dull conceit of man;
Than a grosser substance can.
Thus, through spotless crystal, we
May the day's full glory see,
When, if clearest sunbeams pass
Through a foul polluted glass;
So discoloured they'll appear,
As those stains they shone through, were.
Let no critics cavil then,
If I dare affirm again,
That her Mind's perfections are
Fairer than her Body's, far!
And I need not prove it by
Axioms of Philosophy;
Since no proof can better be
Than their rare effect in me!
For, while other men complaining,
Tell their Mistress's disdaining:
Free from care, I write a Story
Only of her Worth, and Glory!
While most lovers pining, sit,
Robbed of liberty and wit,
Vassaling themselves with shame
To some proud imperious Dame;
Or, in Songs, their fate bewailing,
Shew the world, their faithless failing;
I, enwreathed with boughs of myrtle,
Fare like the beloved Turtle.
Yea, while most are most untoward!
Peevish! vain! inconstant! froward!
While their best contentments bring
Nought but after sorrowing:
She (those childish humours slighting)
Hath conditions so delighting,
And doth so my bliss endeavour,
As my joy increaseth ever.

By her actions, I can see
That her Passions so agree
Unto Reason, as they err,
Seldom, to distemper her.
Love She can, and doth; but so
As She will not overthrow
Love's content, by any folly,
Or by deeds that are unholy.
Dotingly, She ne'er affects;
Neither willingly neglects
Honest love: but means doth find,
With discretion to be kind.
'Tis not thundering phrase, nor oaths,
Honours, wealth, nor painted clothes,
That can her goodliking gain;
If no other Worth remain.
Never took her heart delight
In your Court Hermaphrodite,
Or such frothy gallants as
For the Times, heroès pass:
Such who, still in love, do all,
"Fair!" and "Sweet!" and "Lady!" call;
And where'er they hap to stray,
Either prate the rest away,
Or, of all discourse to seek,
Shuffle in at _Cent_ or _Gleek_.
Goodness more delights her, than
All their Mask of Folly can.
Fond, She hateth to appear;
Though She hold her Friend as dear
As her part of life unspent,
Or the best of her content.
If the heat of youthful fires
Warm her blood with those desires,
Which are, by the course of Nature,
Stirred in every perfect creature;
As those Passions kindle, so
Doth Heaven's grace, and Reason grow
Abler to suppress in her
Those rebellions; and they stir
Never more affection, than
One good thought allays again.
I could say, so chaste is She
As the new blown roses be;
Or the drifts of snow that none
Ever touched, or looked upon:
But that were not worth a fly,
Seeing so much chastity
Old PIGMALION's picture had!
Yea, those eunuchs born, or made
Ne'er to know Desire, might say
"She deserved no more than they!"
Whereas, while their worth proceeds
From such wants, as they must needs
Be unmoved ('cause Nature framed
No affections to be tamed)
Through her dainty limbs are spread
Vigour, heat; and freely shed
Life blood into every vein
Till they fill, and swell again:
And no doubt they strive to force
Way in some forbidden course;
Which by Grace, She still resists,
And so curbs within their lists
Those Desires, that She is chaster
Than if she had none to master.
Malice, never lets She in;
Neither hates She ought, but sin.
Envy, if She could admit,
There's no means to nourish it:
For her gentle heart is pleased
When She knows another's eased;
And there's none whoever got
That perfection, she hath not.
So that no cause is there, why
She should any one envy.
Mildly Angry She'll appear;
That the baser rout may fear,
Through presumption, to misdo.
Yet, She often feigns that too:
But let wrong be whatsoever,
She gives way to Choler, never!
If She e'er, of Vengeance thought,
'Twas nor life, nor blood was sought;
But, at most, some prayer to move
Justice for abusèd love;
Or that Fate would pay again
Love's neglectors with disdain.
If she ever craved of Fate
To obtain a higher state;
Or, ambitiously were given:
Sure, 'twas but to climb to heaven!
Pride is from her heart, as far
As the poles in distance are.
For her Worth, nor all this Praise
Can her humble spirit raise;
Less to prize me than before,
Or herself to value more.
Were She Vain, She might allege
'Twere her sex's privilege;
But She's such, as, doubtless, no man
Knows less folly in a woman.
To prevent a being Idle,
Sometimes with her curious needle,
Though it be her meanest glory,
She so limns an antique Story,
As MINERVA (would she take it!)
Might her richest Sample[r] make it.
Otherwhile, again, she rather
Labours with delight, to gather
Knowledge from such learned writs
As are left by famous wits:
Where, She chiefly seeks to know
GOD! Herself! and what we owe
To our neighbour! since, with these,
Come all needful knowledges.
She, with ADAM, never will
Long to learn both Good and Ill;
But her state well understood,
Rests herself content with Good.
Avarice, abhorreth She,
As the loathsom'st things that be;
Since she knows it is an Ill
That doth ripest virtue kill.
And where'er it comes to rest,
Though in some strict matron's breast;
But she ne'er so seeming just,
I'll no shews of goodness trust!
For if you, but gold can bring;
Such are hired to anything!
If you think She Jealous be,
You are wide! For, credit me!
Her strong'st jealousies nought are
Other than an honest care
Of her friends. And most can tell,
Whoso wants that, loves not well!
Though some little Fear she shows;
'Tis no more than Love allows,
So the Passion do not move her
Till she grieve or wrong her lover!
She may think he may do ill,
Though She'll not believe he will!
Nor can such a harmless thought
Blemish true affection ought;
Rather, when as else it would,
Through security, grow cold;
This, her Passion, keeping measure,
Strengthens Love, and sweetens Pleasure!
Cruelty, her soul detests!
For, within her bosom rests
Noblest Pity; ushered by
An unequalled Courtesy:
And is grieved at good men's moan,
As the grief were all her own.
Just, She is. So just, that I
Know she would not wrong a fly;
Or oppress the meanest thing,
To be Mistress to a King.
If our painters would include
Temperance and Fortitude
In one picture; She would fit,
For the nonce, to pattern it!
Patient as the lamb is She!
Harmless, as the turtles be!
Yea, so largely stored with all
Which we mortals, Goodness call;
That if ever Virtue were,
Or may be incarnate here
This is She! whose praises I
Offer to Eternity.

She's no Image trimmed about,
Fair within, and foul without!
But a Gem that doth appear,
Like a diamond, everywhere
Sparkling rays of beauty forth!
All of such unblemished worth,
That wer 't possible, your eye
Might her inmost thoughts espy,
And behold the dimmest part
Of the lustre in her heart:
It would find that Centre 'pass
What the Superficies was;
And that every angle there,
Like a diamond's inside were.
For although that excellence
Pass the piercing'st eye of Sense;
By their operations, we
Guess at things, that hidden be.
So, beyond our common reach,
Wise men can, by reason teach,
What the influences been
Of a Planet, when unseen;
Or the beauty of a star
That doth shine above us far.
So by that wide beaming light,
Wherewith TITAN courts our sight;
By his clothing of the earth;
By the wondrous, various birth
Of new creatures, yearly bred
Through his heat, and nourished:
And by many virtues mo[r]e
Which our Senses reach unto,
We conclude, they are not all,
Which make fair that goodly Ball.

Though she prize her Honour more
Than the far-fetched precious store
Of the rich Moluccas, or
All the wealth was trafficed for,
Since our vessels passage knew
Unto Mexico, Peru,
Or those spacious kingdoms which
Made the proud Iberians rich.
'Tis not that uncertain blast
Keeps my Mistress Good, or Chaste!

She, that but for Honour's sake,
Doth of Ill a conscience make
(More in fear what rumour says,
Than in love to virtuous ways);
Though she seemed more civil than
You have seen a courtezan,
For an honour; and cries "O, fie!"
At each shew of vanity;
Though she censure all that be
Not so foolish coy as she;
Though she, with the Roman Dame
Kill herself, to purchase fame:
She would prostitute become,
To the meanest, basest groom;
If so closely they may do it,
As the world should never know it.
So, at best, those women prove
That for Honour, Virtue love.

Give me her that goodness chooseth
For its own sake! and refuseth
To have greatest honours gained
With her secret conscience stained.
Give me her! that would be poor;
Die disgraced; nay, thought a whore;
And each Time's reproach become
Till the general Day of Doom:
Rather than consent to act
Pleasing sin: though by the fact,
With esteem of "virtuous," she
Might the German Empress be!
Such my Mistress is! and nought
Shall have power to change her thought.
Pleasures cannot tempt her eye,
On their baits to glance awry.
For their good, she still esteems
As it is; not, as it seems:
And she takes no comfort in
Sweetest Pleasure soured with Sin.
By herself, she hath such care
That her actions decent are.
For were she in secret hid,
None might see what she did;
She would do as if for spies
Every wall was stuck with eyes:
And be chary of her honour
'Cause the heavens do look upon her!
And O, what had power to move,
Flames of lust or wanton love
So far, to disparage us;
If we all, were minded thus?
These are beauties that shall last
When the crimson blood shall waste!
And the shining hair wax gray
Or, with age, be worn away!
These yield pleasures such as might
Be remembered with delight,
When we gasp our latest breath
On the loathèd bed of death.
Though discreetly speak She can;
She'll be silent, rather than
Talk while others may be heard:
As if She did hate, or feared
The condition, who will force
All to wait on their discourse.
Reason hath on her bestowed,
More of knowledge, than she owed
To that sex; and Grace, with it,
Doth aright, her practice fit.
Yet hath Fate so framèd her
As She may, at some time, err;
But if e'er her judgement stray,
'Tis that other women may,
Those much pleasing beauties see,
Which in yielding natures be.
For since no perfection can
Here on earth be found in man;
There's more good in free submissions,
Than there's ill in our transgressions.
Should you hear her, once, contend
In discoursing, to defend,
As She can, a doubtful cause;
She, such strong positions draws
From known truths, and doth apply
Reasons with such majesty,
As if She did undertake,
From some Oracle to speak;
And you could not think what might
Breed more love, or more delight.
Yet, if you should mark again
Her discreet behaviour, when
She finds reason to repent
Some wrong-pleaded argument;
She so temperately lets all
Her mis-held opinions fall,
And can, with such mildness bow,
As 'twill more enamour you,
Than her knowledge. For there are
Pleasing sweets without compare
In such yieldings! which do prove
Wit, Humility, and Love.
Yea, by those mistakings, you
Her condition so shall know,
And the nature of her mind
So undoubtedly shall find,
As will make her more endeared
Than if she had never erred.
Farther (that she nought may miss
Which worth praise in woman is),
This, unto the rest I add.
If I, wound or sickness had;
None should for my curing run!
No, not to APOLLO's son!
She, so well the virtue knows
Of each needful herb that grows;
And so fitly, can apply
Salves to every malady:
That if She, no succour gave me,
'Twere no means of Art could save me!
Should my Soul oppressèd lie,
Sunk with grief and sorrow nigh;
She hath balm for minds distressed,
And could ease my pained breast.
She, so well knows, how to season
Passionate discourse with Reason;
And knows how to sweeten it,
Both with so much Love and Wit,
That it shall prepare the Sense
To give way with less offence.
For grievèd minds can ill abide
Counsel churlishly applied;
Which instead of comfortings,
Desperation often brings.

But, hark, Nymphs! Methinks, I hear
Music sounding in mine ear!
'Tis a Lute! and he's the best
For a voice, in all the West,
That doth touch it! And the Swain
I would have you hear, so fain;
That to my Song, forbear will I,
To attend his melody.
Hither comes he, day by day,
In these groves to sing and play:
And in yon close arbour, he
Sitteth now, expecting me.
He so bashful is, that mute
Will his tongue be, and his lute;
Should he happen to espy
This unlooked for company.
If you, therefore, list to hear him;
Let's with silence walk more near him!
'Twill be worth your pains, believe me!
(If a voice, content may give ye!)
And, await you shall not long!
For he now begins a Song.

_SONNET I._

_What is the cause, when elsewhere I resort,_
_I have my gestures, and discourse more free:_
_And if I please, can any Beauty court!_
_Yet stand so dull, and so demure by Thee?_
_Why are my speeches broken, whilst I talk?_
_Why do I fear almost thy hand to touch?_
_Why dare I not embrace thee, as we walk?_
_Since, with the greatest Nymphs, I've dared as much!_
_Ah, know that none of those I e'er affected!_
_And therefore used a careless courtship there;_
_Because I, neither their disdain respected;_
_Nor reckoned them nor their embraces dear!_
_But loving Thee! my love hath found content;_
_And rich delights, in things indifferent._

_SONNET II._

_Why covet I, thy blessed eyes to see!_
_Whose sweet aspect may cheer the saddest mind?_
_Why, when our bodies must divided be,_
_Can I no hour of rest or pleasure find?_
_Why do I sleeping, start; and waking, moan,_
_To find that of my dreamèd hopes I miss?_
_Why do I often contemplate alone,_
_Of such a thing as thy Perfection is?_
_And wherefore, when we meet, doth Passion stop_
_My speechless tongue, and leave me in a panting?_
_Why doth my heart, o'ercharged with fear and hope,_
_In spite of reason, almost droop to fainting?_
_Because, in me, thy excellences moving,_
_Have drawn to me, an excellence in loving!_

_SONNET III._

_Fair! Since thy virtues, my affections move;_
_And I have vowed my purpose is to join_
_In an eternal band of chastest love,_
_Our Souls, to make a marriage most divine._
_"Why," thou may'st think, "then, seemeth he to prize_
_An outward beauty's fading hue so much?_
_Why doth he Read such Lectures in mine eyes?_
_And often strive my tender palm to touch?"_
_O, pardon my presuming! For I swear_
_My love is soiled with no lustful spot!_
_Thy Soul's perfections, through those veils appear!_
_And I half faint, that I embrace them not!_
_No foul Desires doth make thy touches sweet;_
_By my Soul striveth, with thy Soul to meet!_

_SONNET IV._

_Shall I, wasting in despair,_
_Die, because a woman's Fair?_
_Or make pale my cheeks with care,_
_'Cause another's rosy are?_
_Be She fairer than the Day,_
_Or the flowery meads in May!_
_If She be not so to me,_
_What care I, how Fair She be?_

_Should my heart be grieved or pined,_
_'Cause I see a woman Kind?_
_Or a well disposèd nature_
_Joinèd with a lovely feature?_
_Be She meeker, kinder than_
_Turtle dove, or pelican!_
_If She be not so to me,_
_What care I, how Kind She be?_

_Shall a woman's virtues move_
_Me to perish for her love?_
_Or her well deserving known,_
_Make me quite forget mine own?_
_Be She with that Goodness blest_
_Which may gain her, name of Best!_
_If She be not such to me,_
_What care I, how Good She be?_

_'Cause her fortune seems too high,_
_Shall I play the fool, and die?_
_Those that bear a noble mind,_
_Where they want of riches find,_
_Think "What with them they would do!"_
_That, without them, dare to woo!_
_And unless that mind I see,_
_What care I, though Great She be?_

_Great, or Good, or Kind, or Fair,_
_I will ne'er the more despair!_
_If She love me (this believe!)_
_I will die, ere She shall grieve!_
_If She slight me, when I woo;_
_I can scorn, and let her go!_
_For if She be not for me!_
_What care I, for whom She be?_

_SONNET V._

_I wandered out, awhile agone,_
_And went, I know not whither;_
_But there, do Beauties, many a one,_
_Resort, and meet together:_
_And CUPID's power will there be shewn,_
_If ever you come thither!_

_For like two suns, two Beauties bright,_
_I, shining saw together:_
_And, tempted by their double light,_
_My eyes I fixt on Either;_
_Till Both, at once, so thralled my sight,_
_I loved, and knew not, Whether?_

_Such equal sweet, VENUS gave,_
_That I preferred not Either;_
_And when for love, I thought to crave,_
_I knew not well of Whether?_
_For one while, This I wished to have;_
_And then, I, That had liefer!_

_A lover of the curious'st eye,_
_Might have been pleased in Either;_
_And so, I must confess, might I,_
_Had they not been together._
_Now Both must love, or Both deny:_
_In one, enjoy I Neither._

_But yet, at last, I scaped the smart_
_I feared, at coming hither._
_For seeing my divided heart,_
_I, choosing, knew not Whether;_
_Love, angry grew, and did depart._
_And, now, I care for Neither!_

[_Fair VIRTUE's moral qualities._]

See! these trees so ill did hide us,
That the Shepherd hath espied us!
And, as jealous of his cunning,
All in haste, away is running!
To entreat him back again,
Would be labour spent in vain:
You may, therefore, now betake ye,
To the Music, I can make thee!
Who do purpose my Invention
Shall pursue my first Intention.
For in Her, whose worth I tell,
Many excellences dwell
Yet unmentioned; whose perfections
Worthy are of best affections.

That, which is so rare to find
Both in Man, and Womankind;
That, whose absence, love defaceth,
And both sexes more disgraceth,
That the spite of furrowed Age,
Sicknesses, or Sorrow's rage;
That's the jewel so divine
Which doth on her forehead shine;
And therewith endowed is She
In an excellent degree:
Constancy, I mean! the purest
Of all beauties, and the surest.
For whoe'er doth that possess,
Hath an endless loveliness!
All afflictions, labours, crosses;
All our dangers, wounds, and losses;
Games of Pleasure, we can make,
For that matchless woman's sake!
In whose breast that virtue bideth:
And we joy, whate'er betideth!
Most dejected hearts it gladeth.
Twenty thousand glories addeth
Unto Beauty's brightest Ray,
And preserves it from decay!
'Tis the salt, that's made to season
Beauty, for the use of Reason!
'Tis the varnish, and the oiling,
Keeps her colours fresh from spoiling!
'Tis an excellence, whereby
Age, though joined with poverty,
Hath more dear affection won,
That fresh Youth and Wealth have done!
'Tis a loveliness endearing
Beauties, scarce worth note appearing!
Whilst a fairer, fickle Dame
Nothing gains, but scorn and shame.
Further, 'tis a beauty such
As I cannot praise too much,
Nor frame Measures to express!
No, nor any man! unless
He who (more than all men crost)
Finds it, in that woman lost;
On whose faith, he would have pawned
Life, and all he could command!
Such a man, may, by that miss,
Make us know, how dear it is!
When, o'ercharged with grief, he shall
Sigh, and break his heart withal.

This is that Perfection which
In her favour, makes me rich!
All whose beauties named before,
Else, would but torment me more:
And in having this, I find,
Whate'er haps, a quiet mind!
Yea, 'tis that, which I do prize
Far above her lips, her eyes;
Or that general beauty, whence
Shines each several excellence.

For, alas! what gained hath he,
Who may clip the fairest She,
That the name of Woman bears;
If, unhappily, he fears
Any other's worth may win
What he thought his own had been?
Him, base minded deem I should,
Who (although he were in hold,
Wrapt in chains) would not disdain
Love with her, to entertain!
That, both daughter to a Peer,
And most rich and lovely were;
When a brainless Gull should dare
In her favours with him share;
Or the action of a Player
Rob him of a hope so fair.

This, I dread not! For I know
Strainèd gestures, painted show,
Shameless boastings, borrowed jests,
Female looks, gay-plumed crests,
Vows, nor protestations vain
(Wherewith fools are made so vain)
Move Her can! save to contemn,
Or, perhaps, to laugh at them.
Neither can I doubt or fear,
Time shall either change or wear
This her virtue, or impair
That which makes her soul so fair!
In which trust great comforts are,
Which the fear of loss would mar.
Nor hath this my rare hope stood
So much in her being good,
With her love to Blessèd Things;
As in her acknowledgings
From a Higher Power, to have them!
And her love to Him that gave them!
For, although to have a mind
Naturally to Good inclined,
And to love it, would assure
Reason that it might endure:
Yet, since man was first unjust,
There's no warrant for such trust!
Virtues that, most wonder win,
Would converted be to Sin;
If their flourishings began
From no better root than Man!
Our best virtues (when they are
Of themselves) we may compare
To the beauty of a Flower,
That is blasted in an hour;
And which growing to be fuller,
Turns into some loathèd colour:
But those (being freely given,
And confirmed in us from Heaven)
Have a promise on them past
And for evermore shall last!
Diamond like, their lustre clearing,
More and more, by use and wearing!

But if this rare Worth I praise,
Should, by Fate's permission, raise
Passions in some gentle breast
That distemper may his rest:
And be author of such treason
As might nigh endanger Reason;
Or enforce his tongue to crave
What another man must have.
Mark, in such a strait as this,
How discreet her dealing is!
She is nothing of their humours
Who, their honour build on rumours;
And had rather private sporting,
Than allow of open courting:
Nor of theirs, that would seem holy
By divulging other's folly.
Farther is She from their guise
That delight to tyrannise;
Or make boastings, in espying
Others, for their favours dying.
She, a spirit doth possess
So replete with Nobleness,
That if She be there beloved;
Where she ought not to be moved
Equally to love again:
She doth so well entertain
That affection, as there's none
Can suppose it ill bestown.
From Deluding, She is free!
From Disdain, as far is She!
And so feelingly bears part
Of what pains another's heart;
That no curse of scornèd duty,
Shall draw vengeance on her beauty:
Rather, with so tender fear
Of her honour, and their care,
She is touched; that neither shall
Wrong unto herself befall
By the favour She doth show;
Nor will She neglect them so
As may just occasion give
Any way to make them grieve.
Hope, She will not let them see!
Lest they should presuming be;
And aspire to that, which none
Ever must enjoy but One.
From Despair, She keeps them too!
Fearing they might hap to do,
Either through Love's indiscretions,
Or much over stirrèd passions,
What might, with their hurt and shame,
Into question, call her name;
And a scandal on her bring
Who is just in everything.
She hath marked how others run,
And by them hath learnt to shun
Both their fault, who, over wise,
Err by being too precise;
And their folly, that o'er kind,
Are to all complaints inclined.
For her Wit hath found the way
How, a while, to hold them play;
And that inconvenience shun
Whereinto both seem to run,
By allowing them a scope
Just betwixt Despair and Hope:
Where confined, and reaching neither,
They do take a part in either;
Till, long living in suspense,
Tired by her Indifference,
Time, at last, their Passion wears.
Passions wearing, Reason clears!
Reason gives their Judgement light!
Judgement bringeth all to right!
So, their Hope appearing vain;
They become themselves again!
And with high applauses (fit
For such Virtue with such Wit)
They, that service only proffer,
She may take, and they may offer!
Yet, this course she never proves
Save with those, whose virtuous loves
Use the noblest means of gaining
Favours, worthy the obtaining.
And if such should chance to err
Either 'gainst themselves, or Her,
In some oversights, when they
Are, through Passion, led astray;
She, so well man's frailty knows!
With the darts, that Beauty throws!
As she will not, adding terror,
Break the heart, for one poor error!
Rather, if still good they be,
Twenty remedies hath She
Gently to apply, where Sense
Hath invaded Reason's fence:
And, without a wound, or scar,
Turns to peace, a lawless war.
But to those, whose baser fires
Breathe out smoke of such desires
As may dim, with impure steams,
Any part of Beauty's beams:
She will deign no milder way,
Those foul burnings to allay;
Save with such extreme neglect
As shall work her wished effect.
And to use so sharp a cure,
She's not oft constrainèd, sure,
'Cause, on her forehead, still,
Goodness sits; so feared of Ill!
That the scorn and high disdains
Wherewithal she entertains
Those loathed glances, giveth ending
To such flamings the tynding
That their coolèd hopes needs must
Freeze Desires in heat of Lust.

'Tis a power that never lies
In the fair'st immodest eyes!
Wantons! 'tis not your sweet eyings,
Forcèd passions, feignèd dyings,
Gestures' temptings, tears' beguilings,
Dancings, singings, kissings, smilings!
Nor those painted sweets, with which,
You, unwary men bewitch!
All united, nor asunder
That can compass such a Wonder!
Or, to win you love prevails,
Where her moving virtues fails.
Beauties! 'tis not all those features,
Placèd in the fairest creatures;
Though their best they should discover,
That can tempt from Her, a lover!
'Tis not those soft snowy breasts
Where Love, rocked in Pleasure, rests;
And by their continual motions
Draweth hearts to vain devotions!
Nor the nectar that we sip
From the honey-dropping lip!
Nor those eyes, whence Beauty's lances
Wound the heart with wanton glances!
Nor those sought delights that lie
In LOVE's hidden treasury!
That can liking gain, where She
Will the best belovèd be!
For should those who think they may
Draw my love from her away,
Bring forth all their female graces!
Wrap me in their close embraces!
Practise all the Art they may!
Weep! or sing! or kiss! or pray!
And, with sighs and looks, come woo me!
When they soonest may undo me,
One poor thought of Her would arm me
So, as CIRCE could not harm me!
Since besides those excellences
Wherewith others please the Senses,
She, whom I have prizèd so,
Yields delights for Reason too!

Who could dote on thing so common
As mere outward-handsome woman?
Those Half-Beauties only win
Fools, to let affection in!
Vulgar wits, from Reason shaken,
Are with such impostures taken!
And, with all their art in love,
Wantons can but wantons move!
But when, unto those are joined,
Those things which adorn the Mind;
None their excellences see,
But they straight enthrallèd be!
Fools and wise men, worst and best,
Subjects are to LOVE's _Arrest_;
For when VIRTUE wooes a lover
She's an unresisted mover,
That will have no kind of "Nay!"
And in love, brooks no delay.
She can make the sensual wights
To restrain their appetites;
And her beauty, when they see,
Spite of Vice, in love to be:
Yea, (although themselves be bad)
Praise the good they never had!
She hath to her service brought
Those that Her have set at nought,
And can fair enough appear
To inflame the most severe.
She hath, oft, allurèd out
The religiously devout
From their cloisters, and their vows,
To embrace what She allows!
And to such contentments come
As blind Zeal had barred them from;
While (her laws misunderstood)
They did Ill, for love of Good.
Where I find True Worth to be
Sweetest are their lips to me!
And embraces tempt me so,
More than outward beauties do,
That my firm belief is this;
If I ever do amiss,
Seeming-Good, the bait will lay,
That to Ill, shall me betray.
Since where Shews of Goodness are,
I am oft emboldened there,
Freedoms so permit and use,
Which I elsewhere do refuse;
For because I think they mean,
To allow no deed unclean.
Yet where two, love VIRTUE shall,
Both, at once, they seldom fall!
For when one hath thoughts of Ill,
T'other helps exile them still.

My Fair VIRTUE's power is this,
And that power the beauty is
Which doth make Her, here exprest,
Equally both Fair and Blest:
This! was that contenting grace
Which affection made me place
With so dear respect, that never
Can it fail, but last for ever.
This! a Servant made me sworn,
Who, before time, held in scorn
To yield vassalage or duty;
Though unto the Queen of Beauty!
Yet that I, her Servant am,
It shall more be to my fame,
Than to own these woods and downs,
Or be Lord of fifty towns:
And, my Mistress, to be deemed,
Should more honour be esteemed
Than those titles to acquire
Which most women most desire.
Yea, when you a woman shall,
Countess, or a Duchess call:
That respect it shall not move,
Neither gain her half such love
As to say, "Lo! this is She
That supposèd is to be
Mistress to PHIL'ARETE!
And that lovely Nymph, which he
In a Pastoral Poem famed,
And _Fair VIRTUE_, there hath named!"
Yea, some ladies (ten to one!)
If not many, now unknown,
Will be very well apaid
When, by chance, she hears it said
She that "Fair One" is, whom I
Have, here, praised concealedly.
And though, now, this Age's Pride
May so brave a Hope deride;
Yet, when all their glories pass,
As the thing that never was,
And on monuments appear
That they e'er had breathing here,
Who envy it; She shall thrive
In her fame, and honoured live;
While Great Britain's Shepherds sing
English in their Sonneting!
And whoe'er, in future days,
Shall bestow the utmost praise
On his love, that any man
Attribute to creature can;
'Twill be this! that he hath dared,
His and Mine to have compared.
O, what stars did shine on me,
When her eyes I first did see!
And how good was their aspect,
When we first did both affect!
For I never since to changing
Was inclined, or thought of ranging!

Me, so oft my Fancy drew
Here and there, that I ne'er knew
Where to place Desire, before,
So that range it might no more.
But as he that passeth by
Where, in all her jollity,
FLORA's riches, in a row,
Doth in seemly order grow;
And a thousand flowers stand,
Bending as to kiss his hand:
Out of which delightful store,
One, he may take, and no more!
Long he pausing, doubteth whether
Of those fair ones he should gather.
First, the Primrose courts his eyes!
Then, the Cowslip he espies!
Next, the Pansy seems to woo him!
Then, Carnations bow unto him!
Which, whilst that enamoured Swain
From the stalk, intends to strain;
(As half fearing to be seen)
Prettily, her leaves between,
Peeps the Violet! pale to see
That her virtues slightèd be:
Which so much his liking wins
That, to seize her, he begins;
Yet before he stooped so low
He, his wanton eye did throw
On a stem that grew more high,
And the Rose did there espy.
Who, besides her precious scent,
To procure his eyes' content,
Did display her goodly breast;
Where he found, at full exprest,
All the Good that Nature showers
On a thousand other flowers.
Wherewith he, affected, takes it!
His Beloved Flower, he makes it!
And, without desire of more,
Walks through all he saw before.
So I, wandering but erewhile,
Through the Garden of this Isle,
Saw rich Beauties, I confess,
And in number, numberless;
And so differing lovely too,
That I had a world to do,
Ere I could set up my rest
Where to choose, and choose the best.
One I saw, whose Hair excellèd!
On another's Brow there dwellèd
Such a Majesty, it seemed
She was best to be esteemed!
This had, with her Speeches won me!
That, with Silence had undone me!
On her Lips, the Graces hung!
T'other charmed me with her tongue!
In her Eyes, a third did bear
That which did anew ensnare!
Then a fourth did fairer show,
Yet wherein I did not know!
Only this perceivèd I,
Somewhat pleased my Fantasy.
Now the Wealth, I most esteemed!
Honour then, I better deemed!
Next, the love of Beauty seized me!
And then Virtue better pleased me!
JUNO's love I nought esteemed!
Whilst a VENUS fairer seemed!
Nay, both could not me suffice,
Whilst a PALLAS was more wise!
Though I found enough in One
To content, if still alone.
AMARILLIS, I did woo!
And I courted PHILLIS too!
DAPHNE, for her love I chose!
CLORIS, for that damask rose
In her cheek, I held as dear!
Yea, a thousand liked, well near!
And in love with All together,
Feared the enjoying Either!
'Cause to be, of one possest,
Barred the hope of all the rest.

Thus I fondly fared, till Fate,
(Which I must confess, in that,
Did a greater favour to me,
Than the world can malice do me)
Shewed to me that matchless flower
Subject for this Song of our.
Whose perfection having eyed
Reason instantly espied,
That Desire, which ranged abroad,
There, would find a period.
And, no marvel! if it might:
For it, there, hath all Delight;
And in Her, hath Nature placed
What each several Fair once graced.
Nor am I, alone delighted,
With those graces, all united,
Which the Sense's eye doth find
Scattered throughout Womankind.
But my Reason finds perfections
To inflame my Soul's affections:
Yea, such virtues She possesseth,
As, with firmest pleasures blesseth;
And keeps sound that Beauty's state,
Which would else grow ruinate.
In this Flower are sweets, such store:
I shall never wish for more!
Nor be tempted out to stray
For the fairest buds in May!

Let, who list! for me, advance
The admired flowers of France!
Let, who will! praise and behold
The reservèd Marigold!
Let the sweet-breathed Violet, now,
Unto whom she pleaseth, bow!
And the fairest Lily spread,
Where she will, her golden head!
I have such a flower to wear;
That for those, I do not care!
Never shall my Fancy range!
Nor once think again of change!
Never will I, never more!
Grieve or sigh, as heretofore!
Nor within the lodgings lie
Of Despair, or Jealousy!
Let the young and happy Swains,
Playing on the Britain plains,
Court, unblamed, their shepherdesses!
And with their gold-curlèd tresses
Toy uncensured! until I
Grudge at their prosperity!
Let all Times, both Present, Past;
And the Age that shall be last;
Vaunt the beauties they bring forth!
I have found in One, such worth!
That, content, I neither care
What the best before me were;
Nor desire to live and see
Who shall fair hereafter be.
For I know the hand of Nature
Will not make a fairer creature!
Which, because succeeding days
Shall confess, and add their praise
In approving what my tongue
(Ere they had their being) sung:
Once again, come, lend an ear!
And a Rapture you shall hear
(Though I taste no Thespian spring)
Will amaze you; whilst I sing!
I do feel new Strains inspiring,
And to such brave heights aspiring;
That my Muse will touch a key,
Higher than you've heard to-day!
I have Beauties to unfold
That deserve a Pen of Gold!
Sweets that never dreamed of were!
Things unknown; and such as Ear
Never heard a Measure sound
Since the sun first ran his round!