Ere's to thee Dick; this whining Love despise ;
Pledge me, my Friend, and drink till thou be'st wise.
It sparkles brighter far then she:
'Tis pure, and right without deceit;
And such no woman ere will be:
No; they are all Sophisticate.
With all thy servile pains what canst thou win,
But an ill-favor'd, and uncleanly Sin?
A thing so vile, and so short-liv'd,
That Venus Joys as well as she
With reason may be said to be
From the neglected Foam deriv'd.
Whom would that painted toy a Beauty move,
Whom would it ere perswade to court and love,
Could he a womans Heart have seen,
(But, oh, no Light does thither come)
And view'd her perfectly within,
When he lay shut up in her womb?
Follies they have so numberless in store,
That only he who loves them can have more.
Neither their Sighs nor Tears are true;
Those idlely blow, these idlely fall,
Nothing like to ours at all.
But Sighs and Tears have Sexes too.
Here's to thee again; thy senseless sorrows drown'd;
Let the Glass walk, till all things too go round;
Again; till these Two Lights be Four
No error here can dangerous prove;
Thy Passion, Man, deceiv'd thee more;
None Double see like Men in Love.
Hen chance or cruel business parts us two,
W What do our Souls I wonder do?
Whilst sleep does our dull Bodies tie Methinks, at home they should not stay, Content with Dreams, but boldly flie Abroad, and meet each other half the way.
Sure they do meet, enjoy each other there,
And mix I know not How, nor Where.
Their friendly Lights together twine,
Though we perceive't not to be so,
Like loving Stars which oft combine,
Yet not themselves their own Conjunctions know.
"Twere an ill World, I'll swear, for every friend,
If Distance could their Union end
But Love it self does far advance
Above the power of Time and Space,
It scorns such outward Circumstance,
His Time's for ever, every where his Place.
I'am there with Thee, yet here with Me thou art,
Lodg'd in each others heart.
Miracles cease not yet in Love,
When he his mighty Power will try
Absence it self does Bounteous prove,
And strangely ev'n our Presence Multiply.
Pure is the flame of Friendship, and divine
Like that which in Heav'ns Sun does shine:
He in the upper ayr and sky
Does no effects of Heat bestow,
But as his beams the farther fly
He begets Warmth, Life, Beauty here below.
Friendship is less apparent when too nigh,
Like Objects, if they touch the Eye.
Less Meritorious then is Love,
For when we Friends together see
So much, so much Both One do prove,
That their Love then seems but Self-love to be.
Each day think on me, and each day I shall
For thee make Hours Canonical.
By every Wind that comes this way,
Send me at least a sigh or two,
Such and so many I'll repay
As shall themselves make Winds to get to you.
A thousand pretty wayes we'll think upon
To mock our Separation.
Alas, ten thousand will not do;
My heart will thus no longer stay,
No longer 'twill be kept from you,
But knocks against the Breast to get away.
And when no Art affords me help or ease,
I seek with verse my griefs t'appease.
Just as a Bird that flies about
And beats it self against the Cage,
Finding at last no passage out
It sits, and sings, and so orecomes its rage.
To the Bishop of Lincoln,
Upon his Enlargement out of the Tower.
Ardon, my Lord, that I am come so late
So when injurious Chance did you deprive
Of Liberty, at first I could not grieve;
My thoughts a while, like you, Imprison'd lay;
Great Joys as well as Sorrows make a Stay;
They hinder one another in the Crowd,
And none are heard, whilst all would speak aloud.
Should every mans officious gladness hast,
And be afraid to shew it self the last;
The throng of Gratulations now would be
Another Loss to you of Libertie.
When of your freedom men the news did hear
Where it was wisht for, that is every where,
'Twas like the Speech which from your Lips does fall, As soon as it was heard it ravisht all.
So Eloquence Tully did from exile come;
Thus long'd for he return'd, and cherisht Rome,
Which could no more his Tongue and Counsels miss;
Rome, the Worlds head, was nothing without His.
Wrong to those sacred Ashes I should do,
Should I compare any to Him but You;
You to whom Art and Nature did dispence
The Consulship of Wit and Eloquence.
Nor did your fate differ from his at all
Because the doom of Exile was his fall,
For the whole World without a native home
Is nothing but a Pris'on of larger roome.
But like a melting Woman suffer'd He,
He who before out-did Humanitie.
Nor could his Spirit constant and stedfast prove,
Whose Art t'had been, and greatest end to Move.
You put ill Fortune in so good a dress
That it out-shone other mens Happiness,
Had your Prosper'ity always clearly gon
As your high Merits would have led it on,
You'had Half been lost, and an Example then
But for the Happy, the least part of men.
Your very sufferings did so graceful shew,
That some straight envy'd your Affliction too.
For a clear Conscience and Heroick Mind
In Ills their Business and their Glory find.
So though less worthy stones are drown'd in night,
The faithful Diamond keeps his native Light,
And is oblig'd to Darkness for a ray
That would be more opprest then helpt by Day.
Your Soul then most shew'd her unconquer'd power,
Was stronger and more armed then the Tower.
Sure unkinde fate will tempt your Spirit no more,
Sh'has try'd her Weakness and your Strength before.
To'oppose him still who once has Conquer'd so,
Were now to be your Rebel, not your Foe.
Fortune henceforth will more of Providence have,
And rather be your Friend, then be your Slave.
To a Lady who made Posies for Rings.
Little thought the time would ever bee,
That I should Wit in Dwarfish Posies see.
As all Words in Few Letters live,
Thou to few Words all Sense dost give.
'Twas Nature taught you this rare art
In such a Little Much to shew,
Who all the good she did impart
To Womankind Epitomiz'd in you.
If as the Ancients did not doubt to sing,
The turning Years be well compar'd to a Ring,
We'll write what ere from you we hear,
For that's the Posie of the Year.
This difference onely will remain,
That Time his former face does shew
Winding into himself again,
But your unweari'd Wit is always New.
'Tis said that Conju'rers have an Art found out
To carry Spirits confin'd in Rings about.
The wonder now will less appear
When we behold your Magick here.
You by your Rings do Pris'ners take,
And chain them with your mystick Spells,
And the strong Witchcraft full to make,
Love, the great Dev'il, charm'd to those Circles dwells.
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