Upon Love

When words we want, Love teacheth to indite;
And what we blush to speak, she bids us write.

A Gyges ring they bear about them still,
To be, and not seen when and where they will;
They tread on clouds, and though they sometimes fall,
They fall like dew, and make no noise at all:
So silently they one to th' other come,
As colours steal into the pear or plum,
And air-like, leave no pression to be seen
Where'er they met, or parting place has been.

Cupid as he lay among 
Roses, by a Bee was stung. 
Whereupon in anger flying 
To his Mother, said thus crying; 
Help! O help! your Boy's a dying. 
And why, my pretty Lad, said she? 
Then blubbering, replyed he, 
A winged Snake has bitten me, 
Which Country people call a Bee. 
At which she smil'd; then with her hairs 
And kisses drying up his tears: 
Alas! said she, my Wag! if this 
Such a pernicious torment is: 
Come, tel me then, how great's the smart 
Of those, thou woundest with thy Dart! 

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Charm me asleep, and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers,
That, being ravish'd, hence I go
Away in easy slumbers.
Ease my sick head,
And make my bed,
Thou power that canst sever
From me this ill,
And quickly still,
Though thou not kill
My fever.

Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire
Into a gentle licking flame,
And make it thus expire.
Then make me weep
My pains asleep;
And give me such reposes
That I, poor I,
May think thereby
I live and die
'Mongst roses.

Fall on me like [a]1 silent dew,
Or like those maiden showers
Which, by the peep of day, do strew
A baptism o'er the flowers
Melt, melt my [pains]2
With thy soft strains;
That, having ease me given,
With full delight
I leave this light,
And take my flight
[For]3 Heaven.