Ayres and Dialogues, Book 1

Theseus, O Theseus, hark!
but yet in vain;
Alas deserted I complain;
it was some neighb'ring Rock,
more soft then he, 
whose hollow bowels pitty'd me,
and beating back that false & cruell name,
did comfort and revenge my shame,
the faithless whither wilt thou flye?
Stones dare not harbour cruelty.

Tell me ye Gods, 
who e're ye are,
why, O why, made ye him so faire?
& tell me wretch why thou 
mad'st not thy selfe more true?
Beauty from him might copies take,
& more majestick Heroes make,
and falshood learn a wile from him too,
to beguile: restore my Clue,
'tis here most due,
for 'tis a Labrinth of more subtle Art,
to have so faire a face, so fowle a heart:

The rav'nous Vulter tear his breast,
the rowling stone disturbe his rest;
let him next feele Ixions wheel,
& add one fable more to,
cursing Poets store, 
& then yet rather let him live 
& twine his woof of days
with some thread stoln from mine;
but if you'l torture him,
how e're torture my heart, 
you'l find him there

Till mine eyes drank up his and his drank mine,
I ne'r thought souls might kiss, & spirits joyne:
Pictures till then, took me as much as men,
Nature and Art moveing alike my heart;
but his faire visage made me find pleasures and fears,
hopes, sighs and tears, as severall seasons of the mind.

Should thine Eye Venus on his dwell,
thou wouldst invite him to thy shell,
& caught by that live jet,
venture the second net,
and after all thy dangers faithlesse he;
shouldst thou but slumber,
would forsake en'n thee.

The streams so court the yielding bankes,
and gliding thence ne're pay their thankes,
the winds so woo the flowers,
whisp'ring among fresh bowers, 
and having rob'd them of their smels,
flye thence perfum'd to other Cels;
this is familiar hate, to smile, & kill, 
though nothing pleas thee,
yet my ruin will: 
Death hover, hover, o're me then,
waves let your christall womb,
be both my fate and tomb,
I'le sooner trust the sea then men.

Yet for revenge to heav'n I'le call,
and breath one curse before I fall;
proud of two Conquests, Minotaure and me,
that by my faith, this by thy perjurie.
May'st thou forget to wing thy ships with white,
that the black sails may to the longing sight 
of thy gray Father tell thy fate,
and he bequeath that sea his name,
falling like me.

Nature & Love thus brand thee,
whilst I dye, 'cause thou forsak'st Aegeus,
'cause thou draw'st nigh.
And ye, O Nimphs below who sit,
in whose swift floods his vows he writ,
snatch a sharp Diamond from your richer Mines,
& in some Mirror grave these sadder lines;
which let some God convey to him 
that so he may in that both read at once
and see those lookes that caus'd my destiny.

In Thetis Armes I Ariadne sleep, drown'd:
First in mine own tears, then in the deep:
Twice banish'd, first by love, and then by hate,
the life that I preserv'd became my fate, 
who leaving all was by him left alone,
that from a Monster fre'd, himselfe prov'd one:
Thus then I F--- but looke, O mine eyes,
be now true spies, yonder, yonder comes my dear, 
now my wonder, once my fear;
see Satyrs dance along in a confused throng,
whilst horns and pipes rude noice,
do mad their lusty joyes;
Roses his forhead crown,
& that recrowns the flowers;
where he walks up and down,
he makes the Desarts Bowers;
the Ivy and the Grape hide not,
adorne his shape, 
and green leaves cloath his waving Rod,
'tis he; 'tis either Theseus or some God.

Venus, redress a wrong thats done
by that yong sprightful boy thy son;
he wounds and then laughs at the sore,
hatred it self could do no more;
if I pursue, he's smal & light, 
both seen at once, and out of sight;
if I do flye, he's wing'd, 
& then at the first step I'm caught again.
Lest one day thou thy selfe may'st suffer so,
or clip the wantons wings, or break his Bow.

When thou, poor Excommunicate 
from all the joyes of Love shalt see 
the full reward and glorious fate, 
which my strong faith hath purchas'd me,
the curse thine owne Inconstancy:
for thou shalt weep, intreat,
complaine to Love, as I did once to thee,
when all thy teares, shall be as vaine as mine were then,
for thou shalt be damn'd for thy false Apostacy.

When on the Altar of my hand
(bedew'd with many a kisse and teare,)
thy now revolted heart did stand 
an humble Martyr, thou didst swear, 
thus, and the God of Love did hear;
by those bright glances of thine eye,
unlesse thou pitty me I dye.

When first those perjur'd lips of thine,
Bepal'd with blasting sighs, did seale
Their violated faith on mine,
From the bosome, that did heale
Thee, thou my melting heart didst steale
My soule enflam'd with thy false breath,
Poyson'd with kisses, suck't in death.

Yet I nor hand nor lip will move,
Revenge or Mercy to procure
From the offended God of Love;
My curse is fatall, and my pure
Love shall beyond thy scorn endure
If I implore the Godds, they'l find
Thee too ingratefull, me too kind.

Farewell fair Saint, may not the sea and wind
swell like the hearts and eyes leave you behind,
but calme and gentle as the looks you beare,
smile in your face and whisper in your eare:

Let no bold Billow offer to arise, 
that it may never look upon your eyes,
lest winde and wave, enamour'd of your Forme,
should throng and crowd themselves into a storme:

But if it be your Fate, vaste Seas, to love;
of my becalmed breast learn how to move;
move then, but in a gentle Lovers pace,
no furrows nor no wrinkles in your face;

and ye fierce winds, see that you tell
your tale in such a breath as may but fill her Sail:
So whilst ye court her each your sev'rall way,
ye may her safely to her Port convay;
and lose but in a noble way of wooing,
whilst both contribute to your owne undoing.

Careless of Love & free from Fears,
I sate and gaz'd on Stella's eyes,
thinking my Reason or my Years 
might keep me safe from all surprize.

But Love, that hath been long despis'd,
And made the Baud to others trust,
Finding his Deity surpriz'd,
And chang'd into degenerate Lust,

Summon'd up all his strength and power,
Making her face his Magazine,
Where Virtue's grace, and Beauty's flowre
He plac'd his Godhead to redeem.

So that too late (alas) I finde
No steeled Armour is of proof,
Nor can the best resolved minde
Resist her Beauty and her Youth.

But yet the folly to untwist,
That loving I deserve no blame;
Were it not Atheisme to resist
Where Godds themselves conspire her flame.

He that love's a Rosie Cheek
or a Corall lip admires;
or from Starlike eyes doth seek 
fuell to maintain his fires,
as old time makes these decay,
so his flames must wafte away.

But a smooth and steadfast minde,
Gentle thoughts, and calme desires,
Hearts with equall love combin'd,
Kindle never-dying fires:
Where these are not, I dispise
Lovely Cheekes, or Lips, or Eyes.

Cælia, now no tears can win
My resolv'd heart to return;
I have search'd thy soul within,
And find nought but pride and scorn :
I have learn'd those Arts, and now
Can disdaine as much as thou.

Some God in my revenge convey 
that Love to her I cast away.

While I listen to thy Voice, 
Chloris, I feele my life decay,
that pow'rfull noyse cal's 
my fleeting soul away;
O suppress that magick sound, 
which destroyes without a wound!
peace! peace, Chloris, peace, or singing dye,
that together thou and I
to heav'n may go;
for all we know of what the blessed doe above,
is that they sing, and that they love.

Chloris your self you so excell,
when you vouchsafe to breath my thought,
that like a spirit with this spell 
of mine own teaching I am caught.

That Eagle's Fate and mine is one,
that on the shaft that made him dye,
espy'd a Feather of his own,
wherewith he wont to soare so high.

Had Eccho with so swete a grace,
Narcissus lowd complaints return'd,
not for reflection of his face,
but of his voyce the boy had mourn'd.

Gaze not on Swanns in whose soft brest,
a full hatcht beauty seems to nest,
nor snow which falling from the skye,
hovers in it's virginity.

Gaze not on Roses, though new blown,
Grac'd with a fresh complexion,
Nor Lilies which no subtle Bee
Hath rob'd by kissing Chymistry.

Gaze not on that pure milky way
Where night uses splendor with the day,
Nor Pearle whose silver walls confine
The Riches of an Indian Mine.

For if my Emp'ress appears,
Swanns moultring dye, snow melts to tears,
Roses do blush and hang their heads,
Pale lillies shrink into their beds.

The milky way Rides post, to shroud
It's baffled glory in a Cloud,
And Pearls do climb into her care,
To hang themselves for Envy there.

So have I seen Stars bigg with light
Prove Lanthorns to the Moon-ey'd night,
Which when Sol's Rayes were once display'd,
Sink in their Sockets, and decay'd.

Amarantha, sweet and fair, 
Forbear to braid that shining hair, 
As my curious hand or eye, 
Hovering round thee, let it fly;

Let it fly as unconfined 
As its calm ravisher the wind,
Who has left his darling the East 
To wanton o'er this spicy nest.

Every tress must be confessed, 
But neatly tangled at the best,
Like a clew of golden thread 
Most excellently ravellèd.

Do not then wind up that light 
In ribbons, and o'ercloud in night,
Like the sun in's early ray,
But shake your head and scatter day. 

Till now I never did believe
a man could love for vertues sake;
nor thought the absence of one Love
could grieve the man that freely might another take.
But since mine eyes betroth'd my heart to you,
I find both true, 
thine Innocence hath so my Love refin'd,
I mourn thy body's absence for thy mind.

Till now I never made an Oath
But with a purpose to forswear,
For to be fix'd upon one face were sloath,
When every Ladyes eye is Cupids sphear;
But if she merits faith from every breast
Who is the best
Of woman-kind? how then can I be free
To love another, having once lov'd thee?

Such is the rare and happy pow'r
Of Goodness, that it can dilate
It selfe to make one vertuous in an houre,
Who liv'd before, perhaps a reprobate;
Then since on me this wonder thou hast done,
Prithee work on
Upon thy selfe, thy Sex doth want that grace
My truth to love more then a better face.

Cælia, thy bright Angel's face   
may be cal'd a heav'nly place:
the whiteness of the starry way
nature did on thy forehead lay:
but thine eyes have brightness woon,
not from Stars, but from the Sun:
the blushing of the Morn
in thy rosie cheek is worn,
the Musick of the heav'nly Sphears 
in thy soul's winning voyce appears:
happy were I, had I (like Atlas) grace,
so faire a heav'n within mine Arms t'imbrace.

If when the Sun at Noon displays 
his brighter rayes thou but appear;
he then all pale with shame and fear,
quencheth his light, and grows more dimne,
compos'd to thee, then Stars to him.
If thou but show thy face again,
when darkness doth at midnight reign;
darkness fly's, and light is hurl'd 
round about the silent world;
so as alike thou driv'st away both 
light and darkness, night and day.

Am I dispis'd because you say,
and I believe, that I am gray?
know, Lady, you have but your day, 
and night will come, when men will swear
Time has spilt snow upon your hair:
Then when in your glass you seek,
but find no rose-bud in your cheek,
no, nor the bed to give the shew,
where such a rare Carnation grew;
and such a smiling Tulip too.

Ah, then, too late, close in your chamber keeping,
it will be told, that you are old, 
by those true tears y'are weeping.

Dearest do not now delay me, 
since thou knowst I must begone;
Wind & Tyde 'tis thought doth stay me,
but 'tis wind that must be blown from thy breath,
whose native smell Indian Odours doth excell.

O then speak, my Dearest Fayre,
Kill not him who vowes to serve thee,
But perfume the Neighb'ring Ayre,
For dumb silence else will starve me
'Tis a word is quickly spoken,
Which restrain'd, a heart is broken.

Lovely Chloris though thine eyes
far outshine the jewels of the skies;
that grace which all admire in thee,
no nor the beauties of thy brest,
which far outblaze the rest,
might e're compared be to my fidelity.

Those alluring smiles that place
An eternall April on thy face;
Such as no Sun did ever see,
No nor the Treasures of thy brest,
Which far outblaze the rest,
Might e're compared be to my Fidelitie.

Give me more Love, or more Disdain,
the Torrid or the Frozen Zone
bring equall ease unto my pain,
the Temperate affords me none;
either extream of Love or Hate 
is sweeter then a calme Estate.

Give me a store, if it be Love,
like Dana in that golden showre,
I swim in pleasure;
if it prove Disdain, that torrent
will devoure my vulture hopes,
and he's possest of Heav'n, 
that's but from hell releast;
then Crown my joyes or Cure my pain,
give me more Love or more Disdain.

It is not that I love you lesse,
then when before your feet I lay,
but to prevent the sad encrease 
of hopeless Love I keep away:
In vain alas for ev'ry thing that I have
known belong to you,
your form dares to my fancy bring,
and make my old wounds bleed anew.

But I have vow'd, and never must 
your banish'd fervant trouble you
for if he break you may distrust,
the vow he made to love you too.

Who in the Spring from the new Sun
Already hath a Feaver got;
Too late begins those shafts to shun
Which Phabus through his veines hath shot,
Too late he would the pains aswage,
And to thick shadows does retire,
About with him he bears the rage,
And in his tainted bloud the fire.

Canst thou love me, and yet doubt
so much Falshood in my heart,
that a way I should find out to impart
fragments of a broken Love to you,
more then all b'ing lesse then due:
O, no! Love must clear Distrust,
or be eaten with that Rust;
short Love liking may find Jarrs,
the Love that lasteth knows no Warrs.

There, Beliefe begets Delight,
And so satisfies Desire,
That in them it shines as Light
No more Fire;
All the burning Qualities appeas'd,
Each in others joying pleased,
Not a whisper; not a thought
But 'twixt Both in comon's brought,
Even to seem Two they are loath,
Love being only Soul to both.

Lately on yonder swelling Bush,
big with many a comming Rose,
this early Bud began to blush,
and did but halfe it selfe disclose:
I pluckt it though no better Grow'n,
yet now you see how full 'tis blow'n.

Still as I did the Leaves Inspire
With such a purple Light they shone,
As if they had been made of fire,
And spreading so would flame anon,
All that was meant by Ayre, or Sun,
To this yong Flow'r, my breath ha's done.

If our loose Breath so much can do,
What may the same if forms of Love?
Of purest Love and Musick too,
When Flavia it aspires to move:
When that which liveless Buds perswades
To wax more soft, her youth invades.

Aske me why I send you here,
this firstling of the Infant yeere;
aske me why I send to you,
this Primrose all bepearl'd with dew,
I must whisper to your Eares,
the sweets of Love are wash'd with teares.

Aske me why this Rose doth show
All yellow, green, and sickly too?
Aske me why the stalk is weak,
And yielding each way, yet not break?
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears, are in a Lover.

Till I beheld fair Cælia's face,
where perfect Beauty keeps her Court,
A Lovers passion found no place in me,
who counted Love a sport:
I thought the whole world could not 
move a well resolved heart to love.

Wounded by her I now adore
Those pow'rs of Love I have defi'd,
I court the flames I scorn'd before,
And am repayd with Scorn and Pride:
In such unpitty'd Flames to dwell,
Is not a Martyrdome, but Hell.

Cupid can't help me, nor wound her,
He'l rather prove my Rivall hence,
Though blind he'l turn Idolater,
For she hath Charms for ev'ry sence;
Should he her voyce's musick heare,
Soft Love would enter Love's own Eare.

Come my Lucastæ heer's the Grove,
where Nightingales perfume the Ayre;
why dost thou start?
O 'tis not Love, for perfect Lovers dare not fear.

No dangers in this Arbour ly,
our courage keeps all others hence,
ther's none shal dare approach but I;
the strongest Love is best defence.

Here we'l discourse, and think, and smile,
Let guilty men seek how to scape;
He cannot love that can beguile,
And none but Foes commit a Rape.

This Evening's worth Ten Thousand yeere,
Then let's resolve since thou must go,
We'l meet again to morrow here,
Would Kings and Queens might do so too.

I long to sing the Seidge of Troy; 
or Thebe's which Cadmus rear'd so high;
but though with hand & voice I strove,
my Lute will sound nothing but Love.

I chang'd the strings,
but 'twould not do't;
at last I took an other Lute;
& then I tri'd to sing the praise 
of All-performing Hercules.

But when I sung Alcide's name,
my Lute resounds Love, Love again.
The farewell all ye Græcian Peers,
and all true Trojan Cavalleers:
Nor Godds nor men my Lute can move;
'Tis dumb to all but Love, Love, Love.

Come heavy souls oppressed with the weight
Of crimes, and Pangs, or want of your delight,
   Come drown in Lethe's sleepy Lake,
      Whatever makes you ake.
      Drink healths from poyson'd bowles
Breath out your cares together with your souls.
         Cool Death's a salve
         That all may have
   There's no distinction in the grave;
Lay down your loads before deaths iron dore,
Sigh, and sigh out, groan once, and groan no more.

'Tis true (fair Celia) that by thee I live,
that every kisse, and every fond embrace
form's a new Soul within me,
and doth give a balsome to the wound
made by thy face:
Yet still me thinks I misse 
that blisse which Lovers dare not name,
and only then described is, 
when flame doth meet with flame.

Those favours which do blesse me every day,
Are yet but Empty, and Placonicall.
Think not to please your servants with halfe pay,
Good Gamesters never stick to throw at all.
Who can endure to misse that blisse
Which Lovers dare not name,
And only then described is,
When flame doth meet with flame?

If all those sweers within you must remaine
Unknown, and ne'r enjoyed, like hidden treasure:
Nature, as well as I, will lose her name;
And you, as well as I, your youthfull pleasure.
We wrong our selves to misse that blisse
Which Lovers dare not name,
And only then described is,
When flame doth meet with flame.

Our Souls, which long have peep'd at one another
Out of the narrow Casements of our Eyes,
Shall now, by Love conducted, meet together
In secret Cavern's, where all pleasure lyes.
There, there we shall not misse that blisse
Which Lovers dare not name,
And only then described is,
When flame doth meet with flame.

Come, come thou glorious Object of my sight,
O my Joy, my life, my only delight!
may this glad minute be blest to eternity.
See how the glim'ring Tapers of the sky
do gaze and wonder at our constancy!
how they crowd to behold 
what our Arms do enfold!
how all do envy our felicity, 
and grudge the triumph of Selindras eyes!
how Cinthia seeks to shrowd 
her crescent in yond cloud,
where sad night puts her sable mantle on,
thy light mistaking,
hasteth to be gone,
her gloomy shades give way 
as at th' approach of day,
and all the Planets shrink for fear
to be ecclips'd by a brighter Deity.

Look, O look how the pale Lights do fall
& adore what before the Heavens 
have not shown,
not their God-head known,
such a faith, such a love, 
as may move mighty Jove from above,
to discend and remain among Mortals again.

Thou art so fair, and yong withall,
thouy kindl'st yong desires in me,
restoreing life to leaves that fall, 
and fight to Eyes that hardly see,
halfe those fresh Beauties bloom in thee.

Those under sev'rall Hearbs and Flowr's
Disguis'd, were all Medea gave,
When she recal'd Times flying bowrs,
And aged Aelon from his grave,
For Beauty can both kill and save.

Youth it enflames, but age it cheers,
I would go back, but not return,
To twenty but to twice those yeers;
Not blaze, but ever constant burn,
For fear my Cradle prove my Urn.

Come my Sweet, whilst ev'ry strain
cals our souls into theEare,
where the greedy listning 
fain would turn into the sound they heare;
left in desire to fill the quire themselves
they tye to harmony, 
let's kiss & call them back again.

Now let's orderly convey
Our Souls into each other's brest,
Where enterchanged let them stay
Slumb'ring in a melting rest;
Then with new fire
Let them retire,
And still present
Sweet fresh content
Youthfull as the clear day.

'Tis Wine that inspires, 
and quencheth Lov's fires,
teaches fools how to rule a State,
Mayds ne'r did approve it,
because those that love it
dispise and laugh at their hate.

The Drinkers of Beer
Did ne'r yet appear
In matters of any weight;
'Tis he whose designe
Is quickn'd by Wine
That raises things to their height.

We then should it prize,
For never black eyes
Made wounds which this could not heale;
Who then doth refuse
To drink of this Juice,
Is a Foe to the Common-weale.

The Day's return'd, and so are we,
to pay our Offering on this great Thansgiving day.
'Tis His, 'tis Her's, 'tis Both, 'tis All;
Though now it rise, it ne'r did fall;
Whose Honour shall as lasting prove,
as our Devotion or Their Love:
Then let's rejoyce, and by our Joy appear,
In this one Day we offer all the Year.

See the bright Pair, how amiably kind,
As if their Souls were but this Morning joyn'd:
As the same Heart in Pulses cleft,
This for the Right Arme. that the Left;
So His and Her's in fever'd parts
Are but two Pulses, not two Hearts.

Let no bold Forraign noise their Peace remove,
Since nothing's strong enough to shake their Love,
Blesse Him in Her's, Her in His Arms,
From suddain (true or fals) Alarms;
Let ev'ry Year fill up a score,
Born to be One, but to Make more.

This Day Ten years to Him and Her did grant
What Angels joy, and Joyes which Angels want :
Our Lady-Day, and our Lord's too,
'Twere sin to rob it of its due,
'Tis of both Genders, Her's and His,
We stay'd twelve Months to welcome this.
Then let's rejoyce, and by our Joy appear
In this one Day we offer all the Year.

Two hundred minutes are run down, 
since I and all my Grief fare here;
(Whom yet you will nor save nor drown)
In a long Gasp 'twixt Hope and Fear:
Thus Lucian's tortur'd Fool did cry,
He could not live, and durst not dye.

How full of Mischief is this Coast!
Villains and Fooles peep every way;
If once these Seekers find, I'm lost;
I dare not go, I dare not stay:
Here I am Rooted 'till the Sky
Be hung as full of Clouds as I.

All Islanders are prisoners Born,
We, Slaves to Slaves, in Five-mile Chaines
I Theirs, and Yours, but most forlorn
Where Purgatory Hell out-pain's:
I'm in a new third Dungeon here,
Shackles on Shackles who can wear?

Sad and unseen I view the Rowt
Which through this Street do ebb and flo;
Some few have Business, most without;
Their Pace this trundling Rithm does go:
O tear me hence, for I am grow'n 
As empty-base as all this Town!

Be gone, be gone thou perjur'd man, 
and never more return,
For know that thy Inconstancy
hath chang'd my Love to Scorn:
Thou hast awak'd me,
and I can see cleerly ther's no Truth in Man.

My Love to thee was chast and pure,
As is the Morning dew,
And 'twas alone like to endure,
Hadst thou not prov'd untrue;
But I'm awak'd, and now I can
See cleerly ther's no Truth in Man.

Thou mayst perhaps prevaile upon
Some other to believe thee,
And since thou canst love more then one,
Ne'r think that it shall grieve me;
for th' hast awak'd me, and I can
Sec cleerly ther's no Truth in Man.

By thy Apostasie I find
That Love is plac'd amiss,
And can't continue in the mind
Where Vertue wanting is:
I'm now resolv'd, and know there can
No constant Thought remain in Man.

Ladies who gild the glitt'ring Noon,
and by reflection mend it's Ray,
whose lustre makes the sprightfull Sun 
to dance as on an Easter Day:
What are ye? what are ye now the Queen's away?

Couragious Eagles which have whet
Your Eyes upon Majestick light,
And thence deriv'd such martiall heat
As still your Looks maintain'd the fight.
What are ye since the King's good night.

As an obstructed Fountain's head
Cut's the Intaile off from the streams,
All Brooks are Disinherited,
Honour and Beauty are but Dreams,
Since Charles & Mary lost their Beams.

Imbre lachrymarum 
largo Genas spargo,
quarvis aurorâ; 
Deus citò tu venito, 
nunc nunc sine morâ,
Ora: Hoc non valet,
semper oro, semper ploro,
cor deficit dolendo;
Te te ame, ad te cla    mo,
dato sinem slendo Endo;
Peccatorum primus ego,
hoc non nego;
fateor vero: 
sed tú Dues esto mew,
in te solum spero, ero:
vox pergrata satìs, satìs,
jam cedam fatis;
mortum; vivam tamen:
Hìc cum morior,
cælo orior,
magnum hoc solamen. Amen.