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'To some, I know, and know it for a fault, “ But* as when sounds do hollow bodies Order and reverence are repulsed in beat, scaling,

Air gather'd there, compress'd and When pride and rudeness enter with thickened, assault,

The self-same way she came doth make Consents to fall are worse to get than retreat, falling ;

And so effects the sound re-echoed,

resistance takes away the will, Only in part because she weaker is And too much weakness 'tis to come with In that reddition, than when-first she fled ; calling ;

So I, alas ! faint echo of this kiss,
Force, in these frays, is better man than Only reiterate a slender part

Of that high joy it worketh in my heart.
Yet I like skill, and, Ovid, if a kiss
May do thee so much pleasure, here it is." "And thus with feasting, love is famish'd

more, Her moving towards him made Ovid's Without my touch are all things turned to eye

gold, Believe the firmament was coming down And till I touch I cannot joy my store ; To take him quick to immortality,

To purchase others, I myself have sold ; And that th' Ambrosian kiss set on the

Love is a wanton famine, rich in food, crown ;

But with a richer appetite controll'd ; She spake in kissing, and her breath

An argument in figure and in mood, infused

Yet hates all arguments ; disputing still Restoring syrup to his taste, in swoon :

For sense 'gainst reason with a senseless And he imagined Hebe's hands had

will. bruised A banquet of the gods into his sense, "Then, sacred madam, since Tactus. Which fill'd him with this furious in

my other senses fluence.

Have in your graces tasted such content,

Let wealth not to be spent fear no expenses, "The motion of the heavens that did | But give thy bounty true eternizement; beget

Making my sense's ground-work, which The golden age, and by whose harmony is feeling, Heaven is preserved, in me on work is Effect the other, endless, excellent, set ;

Their substance with flint-softening softAll instruments of deepest melody,

ness stealing ; Set sweet in my desires to my love's Then let me feel, for ow, sweet beauty's liking ;

With this sweet kiss in me, their tunes Dames may be felt, as well as heard or

As if the best musician's hands were
striking ;

'For if we be allow'd to serve the Ear This kiss in me hath endless music With pleasing tunes, and to delight the closed,

Eye Like Phoebus' lute on Nisus' towers im- With gracious shows, the Taste with posed.

dainty cheer,

The Smell with odours, is't immodesty
" And as a pebble cast into a spring, To serve the senses' Emperor, sweet
We see a sort of trembling circles rise,

One forming other in their issuing, With those delights that fit his empery?
Till over all the fount they circulize ;

Shall subjects free themselves and bind
So this perpetual-motion-making kiss their king ?
Is propagate through all my faculties, Minds taint no more with bodies' touch or
And makes my breast an endless fount tire,
of bliss,

Than bodies nourish with the mind's
Of which, if gods could drink, their match- desire.

less fare
Would make them much more blessed
than they are.

* Qua ratione fiat Eccho.

" The mind then clear, the body may be So think in all the pleasures these have used,

shown Which perfectly your touch can spiritualize; Liken'd to this, thou wert but mere As by the great elixir is transfused

annoy'd, Copper to gold, then that deed of prize : That all hands' merits in thyself alone

Such as transform into corrupt effects With this one touch, have more than
What they receive from nature's purities, recompence,
Should not wrong them that hold her And therefore feel with fear and reverence.

due respects; To touch your quickening side then give “See Cupid's Alps, which now thou must me leave,

go over, Th’ abuse of things must not the use Where snow that thaws the sun doth ever bereave."


Where thou may'st plain and feelingly Herewith, even glad his arguments to hear,

discover Worthily willing to have lawful grounds

The world's fore-past, that flow'd with To make the wondrous power of heaven milk and honey ; appear

Where-like an empress seeing nothing In nothing more than her perfections

wanting found,

That may her glorious child-bed beautifyClose to her navel she her mantle wrests,

Pleasure herself lies big with issue pantSlacking it upwards, and the folds un

ing; wound,

Ever deliver'd, yet with child still growing, Showing Latona's twins, her plenteous Full of all blessing, yet all bliss bestowing."

breasts, The sun and Cynthia in their triumph-robes This said, he laid his hand upon her side, Of lady-skin, more rich than both their which made her start like sparkles from a globes.

fire, Whereto she bade blest Ovid put his hand; Or like Saturnia from th' Ambrosian pride He, well acknowledging it much too base

Of her morn's slumber, frighted with adFor such an action, did a little stand,

mire, Ennobling it with titles full of grace,

When Jove laid young Alcides to her

breast, And conjures it with charge of reverend

So startled she, not with a coy retire, To use with piety that sacred place,

But with the tender temper she was And through his Feeling's organ to dis


Proving her sharp, undull'd with handling perse Worth to his spirits, amply to supply

yet, The pureness of his flesh's faculty.

Which keener edge on Ovid's longings set. And thus he said: "King of the king of And feeling still he sigh'd out this effect ; senses,

“Alas! why lent not heaven the soul a Engine of all the engines under heaven, tongue? To health and life defence of all defences, Nor language, nor peculiar dialect, Bounty by which our nourishment is given, To make her high conceits as highly sung? Beauty's beautifier, kind acquaintance- But that a fleshly engine must unfold maker,

A spiritual notion : birth from princes Proportion's oddness that makes all things sprung, even,

Peasants must nurse, free virtue wait on Wealth of the labourer, wrong's revenge

gold, ment taker,

And a profess'd, though flattering enemy, Pattern of concord, lord of exercise, Must plead my honour and my liberty. And figure of that power the world did guise:

“O, nature ! how dost thou defame in this "Dear hand, most duly honoured in this, Our human honours, yoking men with And therefore worthy to be well employ'd, beasts, Yet know that all that honour nothing is, And noblest minds with slaves ; thus Compared with that which now must be beauty's bliss, enjoy'd ;

Love and all virtues that quick spirit feasts


shall appear,

Surfeit on flesh; and thou that banquet'st And that gold's love shall leave them minds,

grovelling here, Most bounteous mistress, of thy dull-When thy perfections shall to heaven be tongued guests

mused, Reap'st not due thanks; thus rude frailty Deck'd in bright verse, where angels

binds What thou givest wings; thus joys I feel The praise of virtue, love, and beauty in thee

singing, Hang on my lips and will not utter'd be. Honour to noblesse, shame to avarice

bringing." "Sweet touch, the engine that love's bow doth bend,

Here Ovid, interrupted with the view The sense wherewith he feels him deified,

Of other dames, who then the garden The object whereto all his actions tend, painted, In all his bliudness his most pleasing guide, Shrouded himself, and did as death eschew

For thy sake will I write the Art of Love, All note by which his love's fame might be Since thou dost blow his fire and feed his tainted : pride,

And as when mighty Macedon had won Since in thy sphere his health and life The monarchy of earth, yet when he doth move,

fainted, For thee I hate who hate society,

Grieved that no greater action could be And such as self-love makes his slavery.


And that there were no more worlds to "In these dog-days how this contagion subdue. smothers

So love's defects, love's conqueror did rue. The purest blood with virtue's diet fined, Nothing their own, unless they be some other's

But as when expert painters have display'd Spite of themselves, are in themselves con- To quickest life a monarch's royal hand, fined,

Holding a sceptre, there is yet bewray'd And live so poor they are of all despised, But half his fingers; when we understand Their gifts held down with scorn should be

The rest not to be seen; and never divined,


censures And they like mummers mask, unknown, The painter's art, in nicest unprized :

scann'd. A thousand marvels mourn in some such So in the compass of this curious frame breast,

Ovid well knew there was much more inWould make a kind and worthy patron blest.


With whose omission none must be of"To me, dear sovereign, thou art patroness,

fended. And I, with that thy graces have infused,

Intentio, animi actio. Will make all fat and foggy brains confess Riches may from a poor verse be deduced :

Explicit convivium.

A Coronet for his Mistress





In whom sits beauty with so firm a brow,

That age, nor care, nor torment can Muses that sing Love's sensual empery, contract it ;

And lovers kindling your enraged fires At Cupid's bonfires burning in the eye,

Heaven's glories shining there, do stuff

allow, Blown with the empty breath of vain

And virtue's constantgraces do compactit. desires,

Her mind-the beam of God-draws in You that prefer the painted cabinet

the fires Before the wealthy jewels it doth store yee,

Of her chaste eyes, from all earth's That all your joys in dying figures set, And stain the living substance of your

tempting fuel ;

Which upward lifts the looks of her glory,

desires, Abjure those joys, abhor their memory,

And makes each precious thought in her And let my love the honour'd subject be Of love, and honour's complete history; And as huge fires compress'd more proudly

a jewel. Your eyes were never yet let in to see

flame, The majesty and riches of the mind,

So her close beauties further blaze her fame. But dwell in darkness ; for your God is blind.

So her close beauties further blaze her fame; But dwell in darkness, for your God is When from the world, into herself reflected; blind,

She lets her shameless glory in her shame, Humour pours down such torrents on Content for heaven to be of earth rejected. his eyes ;

She thus depress'd, knocks at Olympus' gate, Which, as from mountains, fall on his

And in th' untainted temple of her heart base kind,

Doth the divorceless nuptials celebrate And eat your entrails out with ecstasies. 'Twixt God and her ; where love's proColour, whose hands for faintness are not felt,

faned dart Can bind your waxen thoughts in Feeds the chaste flames of Hymen's firmaadamant ;

ment, And with her painted fires your heart Wherein she sacrificeth, for her part ; doth melt,

The robes, looks, deeds, desires and Which beat your souls in pieces with a

whole descent pant.

Of female natures, built in shops of art, But my love is the cordial of souls,

Virtue is both the merit and reward Teaching by passion what perfection is,. Of her removed and soul-infused regard. In whose fix'd beauties shine the sacred

scroll, And long-lost records of your human bliss, Spirit to flesh, and soul to spirit giving, Of her removed and soul-infused regard, Love flows not from my liver but her With whose firm species, as with golden living.


She points her life's field, for all wars III.

prepared, Love flows not from my liver but her And bears one chanceless mind, in all living,

mischances ; From whence all stings to perfect love Th'i nverted world that goes upon her head, are darted

And with her wanton heels doth kick All power, and thought of prideful ust the sky, depriving

My love disdains, though she be Her "life so pure and she so spotless- honoured, hearted.

And without envy sees her empery

they fail

in age.

vert ;

Loathes all her toys, and thoughts cupidi- And like the pansy, with a little veil, nine,

She gives her inward work the greater Arranging in the army of her face

grace ; All virtue's forces, to dismay loose eyne, Which my lines imitate, though much That hold no quarter with renown or grace.

Her gifts so high, and times' conceit so War to all frailty; peace of all things pure,

base ; Her look doth promise and her life assure. Her virtues then above my verse must

raise her, VI.

For words want art, and Art wants words to Her look doth promise and her life assure;

praise her. A right line forcing a rebateless point,

IX. In her high deeds, through everything For words want art, and Art wants words obscure,

to praise her; To full perfection; not the weak disjoint Yet shall my .active and industrious pen Of female humours; nor the Protean rages Wind his sharp forehead through those Of pied-faced fashion, that doth shrink parts that raise her, and swell,

And register her worth past rarest women. Working poor men like waxen images, Herself shall be my Muse ; that well will And makes them apish strangers where know they dwell,

Her proper inspirations ; and assuageCan alter her, titles of primacy,

With her dear love-the wrongs my Courtship of antic gestures, brainless jests, fortunes show, Blood without soul of false nobility, Which to my youth bind heartless grief Nor any folly that the world infests Can alter her who with her constant guises Herself shall be my comfort and my riches, To living virtues turns the deadly vices. And all my thoughts I will on her convil.

Honour, and error, which the world beTo living virtues turns the deadly vices ;

witches, For covetous she is of all good parts,

Shall still crown fools, and tread upon Incontinent, for still she shows entices desert, To consort with them sucking out their And never shall my friendless verse envy hearts,

Muses that Fame's loose feathers beautify. Proud, for she scorns prostrate humility, And gluttonous in store of abstinence,

X. Drunk with extractions still'd in fervency Muses that Fame's loose feathers beautify, From contemplation, and true conti

And such as scorn to tread the theatre, nence,

As ignorant: the seed of memory Burning in wrath against impatience, Have most inspired, and shown their And sloth itself, for she will never rise

glories there From that all-seeing trance, the band of To noblest wits, and men of highest doom, sense,

That for the kingly laurel bent affair Wherein in view of all souls' skill she lies.

The theatres of Athens and of Rome, No constancy to that her mind doth move,

Have been the crowns, and not the base Nor riches to the virtues of my love.


Far, then, be this foul cloudy-brow'd conVIII.

tempt Nor riches to the virtues of my love,

From like-plumed birds : and let your Nor empire to her mighty government ; sacred rhymes Which fair analysed in her beauties' grove, From honour's court their servile feet Shows Laws for care, and Canons for exempt, content ;

That live by soothing moods, and servAnd as a purple tincture given to glass, ing times :

By clear transmission of the sun doth taint And let my love adorn with modest eyes,
Opposed subjects ; so my mistress' face Muses that sing Love's sensual emperies.
Doth reverence in her viewers' brows

Lucidius olim.

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