Ayres and dialogues

Beauty whose soft magnetic chains
Nor time not absence can untie,
Thy power the narrow bounds disdains 
Of Nature or Philosophy;
That canst by unconfined laws
A motion, though at distance; cause. 

Drawn by the powerful Influence
Of thy bright eyes, I back return;
And since I nowhere can dispense
With flames which do in absence burn,
I rather choose 'twixt them t'expire,
Then languish in a hidden fire.

But if thou th’ insulting pride
Of vulgar beauties dost despise,
Who by vain triumphs deified
Their votaries do sacrifice,
Then let those flames, whose magic charm
At distance scorch'd, approach'd, but warm.

Beauty thy harsh imperious chains, 
As a scorn'd weight I here un-tie; 
Since thy proud empire those disdains, 
Of reason or philosophy: 
That wouldst within tyrannic laws, 
Confine the power of each free cause. 

Forc'd by the powerful influence
Of thy disdain, I back return:
Thus with those flames I do dispense,
Which though they would not light did burn,
And rather will through cold expire,
Then languish in a frozen fire.

But whilst I the insulting pride
Of thy vain beauty do despise,
Who gladly would be deified
By making me thy sacrifice,
May Love thy heart, which is his charm,
Approach'd, seem'd cold; at distance, warm.

When, cruel fair one, I am slain
      By thy disdain,
And, as a trophy of thy scorn,
   To some old tomb am borne,
Thy fetters must their pow'r bequeath
      To those of Death;
   Nor can thy flame immortal burn
Like monumental fires within an urn;
Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall prove
There is more liberty in Death than Love.

And when forsaken lovers come
      To see my tomb,
Take heed thou mix not with the crowd,
   And, as a victor, proud
To view the spoils thy beauty made,
      Press near my shade,
   Lest thy too cruel breath or name
Should fan my ashes back into a flame.
And thou, devour'd by this revengeful fire,
His sacrifice, who died as thine expire.

 ... 

But if cold earth or marble must
      Conceal my dust,
Whilst hid in some dark ruins, I
   Dumb and forgotten lie,
The pride of all thy victory
      Will sleep with me;
   And they, who should attest thy glory,
Will, or forget, or not believe this story.
Then to increase thy triumph, let me rest,
Since by thine eye slain, buried in thy breast.

Celinda, by what potent art, 
   Or unresisted charm, 
Dost thou thine ear and frozen heart 
   Against my passion arm;

Or by what hidden influence, 
   Of powers in one combin'd, 
Dost thou rob Love of either sense, 
   Made deaf as well as blind. 

Sure thou as friends united hast
   Two distant deities,
And Scorn within thy heart hast plac'd
   And love within thine eyes.

Or those soft fetters of thy hair,
   (A bondage that disdains
All liberty,) doth guard thy ear
   Free from all other chains.

Then my complaint, how canst thou hear; 
   Or I this passion fly; 
Since thou imprison'd hast thine ear, 
   And not confin'd thine eye.

When I lie burning in thine eye,
   Or freezing in thy breast, 
What martyrs, in wish’d flames that die,
   Are half so pleas’d or blest?

When thy soft accents through mine ear
   Into my soul do fly, 
What angel would not quit his sphere,
   To hear such harmony?

Or when the kiss thou gav’st me last
   My soul stole in its breath,
What life would sooner be embrac’d 
   Than so desir’d a death?

When I commanded am by thee,
   (Or by thine eye or hand,)
What monarch would not prouder be
   To serve than to command?

Then think no freedom I desire,
   Or would my fetters leave, 
Since, phoenix-like, I from this fire
   Both life and youth receive.

Favonius, the milder breath o’ th’ Spring,
When proudly bearing on his softer wing
Rich odours, which from the Panchean groves
He steals, as by the phoenix-pyre he moves,
Profusely doth his sweeter theft dispense
To the next rose’s blushing innocence;
But from the grateful flower, a richer scent
He back receives than he unto it lent.
Then, laden with his odour s richest store,
He to thy breath hastes, to which these are poor;
Which, whilst he sportively to steal essays,
He like a wanton lover 'bout thee plays,
And sometimes cooling thy soft cheek doth lie,
And sometimes burning at thy flaming eye:
Drawn in at last by that breath we implore;
He back returns far sweeter than before,
And rich by being robb’d, in thee he finds
The burning sweets of pyres, the cool of winds.

So fair Aurora doth herself discover
(Asham’d o’ th’ aged bed of her cold lover,)
In modest blushes, whilst the treacherous light
Betrays her early shame to the world’s sight.
Such a bright colour doth the morning rose
Diffuse, when she her soft self doth disclose
Half drown d in dew, whilst on each leaf a tear
Of night doth like a dissolv’d pearl appear;
Yet ‘twere in vain a colour out to seek
To parallel my Chariessa’s cheek;
Less are conferred with greater, and these seem
To blush like her, not she to blush like them.
But whence, fair soul, this passion? what pretence
Had guilt to stain thy spotless innocence?
Those only this feel who have guilty been,
Nor any blushes know, but who know sin.
Then blush no more; but let thy chaster flame,
That knows no cause, know no effects of shame.

On this swelling bank, once proud
   Of its burden, Doris lay:
Here she smil'd, and did uncloud
   Those bright suns eclipse the day; 
Here we sat, and with kind art
   She about me twin'd her arms, 
Clasp'd in hers my hand and heart,
   Fetter'd in those pleasing charms.

Here my love and joys she crown'd,
   Whilst the hours stood still before me,
With a killing glance did wound,
   And a melting kiss restore me. 
On the down of either breast,
   Whilst with joy my soul retir'd, 
My reclining head did rest, 
   Till her lips new life inspir'd.

Thus, renewing of these sights
   Doth with grief and pleasure fill me,
And the thought of these delights
   Both at once revive and kill me!

I prithee let my heart alone!
Since now tis rais'd above thee;
Not all the beauty thou dost own
Again can make me love thee.
He that was shipwreck'd once before
By such a Siren's call, 
And yet neglects to shun the shore,
Deserves his second fall!

Each flatt'ring kiss, each tempting smile
Thou dost in vain bestow,
Some other lovers might beguile 
Who not thy falsehood know.
But I am proof against all art:
No vows shall e'er persuade me 
Twice to present a wounded heart
To her that hath betray'd me.

Could I again be brought to love
Thy form, though more divine, 
I might thy scorn as justly move
As now thou suffer'st mine.

Love! what tyrannic laws must they obey
Who bow beneath thy uncontrolled sway 
Or how unjust will that harsh empire prove
 Forbids to hope and yet commands to love!
Must all are to thy hell condemn'd sustain 
A double torture of despair and pain?
Is't not enough vainly to hope and woo,
That thou shouldst thus deny that vain hope too ?
It were some hope, Ixion-like, to fold
The empty air, or feed on thoughts that's cold; 
But if thou to my passion this deny,
Thou may'st be starv'd to death as well as I;
For how can thy pale sickly flame burn clear
When death and old despair inhabit here? Then let thy dim heat warm, or else expire:
Dissolve this frost, or let that quench the tire.
Thus let me not desire, or else possess!
Neither, or both, are equal happiness.

Delay! Alas, there cannot be
To Love a greater tyranny:
Those cruel beauties that have slain
Their votaries by their disdain,
Or studied torments sharp and witty,
Will be recorded for their pity,
And after-ages be misled
To think them kind, when this is spread.
Of deaths the speediest is despair;
Delays the slowest tortures are;
Thy cruelty at once destroys,
But expectation starves my joys.
Time and Delay may bring me past
The power of Love to cure, at last;
And shouldst thou wish to ease my pain,
Thy pity might be lent in vain.
Or if thou hast decreed that I
Must be beneath thy cruelty,
O kill me soon! Thou wilt express
More mercy, ev'n in showing less.

Roses (Love's delight) let's join
To the red-cheek'd god of wine; 
Roses crown us, while we laugh, 
And the juice of Autumn quaff: 
Roses of all flowers the king; 
Roses the fresh pride o' th' Spring: 
Joy of every Deity.
Love, when with the Graces he
For the ball himself disposes,
Crowns his golden hair with roses.
Circling then with these our brow
We'll to Bacchus' Temple go:
There some willing Beauty lead, 
And a youthful measure tread.

Foolish Lover, go and seek
   For the damask of the rose,
   or the lilies white dispose 
To adorn thy mistress cheek:

Steal some star out of the sky,
   Rob the phoenix, and the east
   Of her wealthy sweets divest, 
To enrich her breath or eye!

We thy borrow'd pride despise:
   For this wine to which we are
   Votaries, is richer far 
Than her cheeks, or breath, or eyes.

And should that coy fair one view
   These diviner beauties, she
   In this flame would rival thee,
And be taught to love thee too.

Come, then, break thy wanton chain, 
   That when this brisk wine hath spread 
   On thy paler cheek a red,
Thou, like us, may'st Love disdain.

Love, thy power must yield to wine!
   And whilst thus ourselves we arm,
   Boldly we defy thy charm: 
For these flames distinguish thine.

Dear, back my wounded heart restore, 
   And turn away thy powerful eyes;
Flatter my willing soul no more:
   Love cannot hope what Fate denies.

Take, take away thy smiles and kisses!
   Thy love wounds deeper than disdain:
For he that sees the heaven he misses,
   Sustains two hells of loss and pain.

Shouldst thou some other's suit prefer,
   I might return thy scorn to thee,
And learn apostasy of her
   Who taught me, first, idolatry.-

Or in thy unrelenting breast
   Should I disdain or coyness move,
He by thy hate might be releas'd,
   Who now is prisoner to thy love.

Since then, unkind Fate will divorce 
   Those whom affection long united,
Be thou as cruel as this force,
   And I in death shall be delighted.

Thus, whilst so many suppliants woo,
   And beg they may thy pity prove,
I only for thy scorn do sue: 
   'Tis charity here not to love.

Since Fate commands me hence, and I 
Must leave my soul with thee, and die, 
Dear, spare one sigh, or else let fall 
A tear to crown my funeral. 
That I may tell my grieved heart 
Thou art unwilling we should part; 
And martyrs that embrace the fire 
Shall with less joy than I expire.

With this last kiss I will bequeath
My soul, transfus'd into thy breath,
Whose active heat shall gently slide
Into thy breast, and there reside,
And may, (in spite of Fate thus blest,)
Be in this death, of heaven possess'd.
Then prove but kind; and thou shalt see
Love hath more power than Destiny.

O Turn away those cruell eyes, 
The stars of my undoing, 
Or death in such a bright disguise, 
May tempt a second wooing:
Punish their blind and impious pride, 
Who dare contemne thy Glory, 
It was my fall that deifyde 
Thy name, and seald thy story. 

Yet no new suffering can prepare
A higher praise to crown that,
Though my first death proclaime thee fair,
My second will unthrone thee.
Lovers will doubt thou canst intice
No other for thy fuell,
And if thou turne one victim twice,
Or thinke thee poor, or cruell.