What cold tyrant dimm'd thy sight?
Hadst thou eyes to see my faire,
Thou wouldst sigh thy selfe to ayre:
Fearing to create this one,
Nature had her selfe undone.
But if you when this you heare
Fall downe murdered through your eare,
Begge of _Jove_ that you may have
In her cheeke a dimpled grave.
Lilly, Rose, and Violet,
Shall the perfum'd Hearse beset
While a beauteous sheet of Lawne,
O're the wanton corps is drawne:
And all lovers use this breath;
"Here lies _Cupid_ blest in death."
_Upon_ CUPID'S _death and buriall in_ CASTARA'S _cheeke_.
_Cupids_ dead. Who would not dye,
To be interr'd so neere her eye?
Who would feare the sword, to have
Such an Alabaster grave?
O're which two bright tapers burne,
To give light to the beauteous Urne.
At the first _Castara_ smil'd,
Thinking _Cupid_ her beguil'd,
Onely counterfeiting death.
But when she perceiv'd his breath
Quite expir'd: the mournefull Girle,
To entombe the boy in Pearle,
Wept so long; till pittious _Jove_,
From the ashes of this Love,
Made ten thousand _Cupids_ rise,
But confin'd them to her eyes:
Where they yet, to shew they lacke
No due sorrow, still weare blacke.
But the blacks so glorious are
Which they mourne in, that the faire
Quires of starres, look pale and fret,
Seeing themselves out shin'd by jet.
_To_ Fame.
Fly on thy swiftest wing, ambitious Fame,
And speake to the cold North _Castara's_ name:
Which very breath will, like the East wind, bring
The temp'rate warmth, and musicke of the Spring.
Then from the Articke to th' Antarticke Pole,
Haste nimbly and inspire a gentler soule,
By naming her, ith' torrid South; that he
May milde as _Zephirus_ coole whispers be.
Nor let the West where heaven already joynes,
The vastest Empire, and the wealthiest Mines:
Nor th' East in pleasures wanton, her condemne,
For not distributing her gifts on them.
For she with want would have her bounty meete.
Loves noble charity is so discreete.
_A Dialogue betweene_ ARAPHILL _and_ CASTARA.
ARAPH. Dost not thou _Castara_ read
Am'rous volumes in my eyes?
Doth not every motion plead
What I'de shew, and yet disguise?
Sences act each others part.
Eyes, as tongues, reveale the heart.
CAST. I saw love, as lightning breake
From thy eyes, and was content
Oft to heare thy silence speake.
Silent love is eloquent.
So the sence of learning heares,
The dumbe musicke of the Spheares.
ARAPH. Then there's mercy in your kinde,
Listning to an unfain'd love,
Or strives he to tame the wind,
Who would your compassion move?
No y'are pittious, as y're faire.
Heaven relents, o'recome by prayer.
CAST. But loose man too prodigall
Is in the expence of vowes;
And thinks to him kingdomes fall
When the heart of woman bowes:
Frailty to your armes may yeeld;
Who resists you, wins the field.
ARAPH. Triumph not to see me bleede,
Let the Bore chased[9] from his den,
On the wounds of mankinde feede.
Your soft sexe should pitty men.
Malice well may practise Art,
Love hath a transparent heart.
CAST. Yet is love all one deceit,
A warme frost, a frozen fire.
She within her selfe is great,
Who is slave to no desire.
Let youth act, and age advise,
And then love may finde his eyes.
ARAPH. _Hymens_ torch yeelds a dim light,
When ambition joynes our hands.
A proud day, but mournefull night,
She sustaines, who marries lands.
Wealth slaves man, but for their Ore,
Th' Indians had beene free, though poore.
CAST. And yet wealth the fuell is
Which maintaines the nuptiall fire,
And in honour there's a blisse.
Th' are immortall who aspire.
But truth sayes, no joyes are sweete,
But where hearts united meete.
ARAPH. Roses breath not such a sent,
To perfume the neighbr'ing groves;
As when you affirme content,
In no spheare of glory moves.
Glory narrow soules combines:
Noble hearts Love onely joynes.
[9] chased. 1634, 1635.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Intending a journey into the Countrey_.
Why haste you hence _Castara_? can the earth,
A glorious mother, in her flowry birth,
Shew Lillies like thy brow? Can she disclose
In emulation of thy cheeke, a Rose,
Sweete as thy blush? Upon thy selfe then set
Just value, and scorne it, thy counterfet.
The Spring's still with thee; But perhaps the field,
Not warm'd with thy approach, wants force to yeeld,
Her tribute to the Plough; O rather let
Th' ingratefull earth for ever be in debt
To th' hope of sweating industry, than we
Should starve with cold, who have no heat but thee.
Nor feare the publike good. Thy eyes can give
A life to all, who can deserve to live.
_Upon_ CASTARA'S _departure_.
I am engag'd to sorrow, and my heart
Feeles a distracted rage. Though you depart
And leave me to my feares; let love in spite
Of absence, our divided soules unite.
But you must goe. The melancholy Doves
Draw _Venus_ chariot hence. The sportive Loves
Which wont to wanton here, hence with you flye,
And like false friends forsake me when I dye.
For but a walking tombe, what can he be;
Whose best of life is forc't to part with thee?
_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon a trembling kisse at departure_.
Th' Arabian wind, whose breathing gently blows
Purple to th' Violet, blushes to the Rose;
Did never yeeld an odour rich as this.
Why are you then so thrifty of a kisse,
Authoriz'd even by custome? Why doth feare
So tremble on your lip, my lip being neare?
Thinke you I parting with so sad a zeale,
Will act so blacke a mischiefe, as to steale
Thy Roses thence? And they, by this device,
Transplanted: somewhere else force Paradice?
Or else you feare, lest you, should my heart skip
Up to my mouth, t' incounter with your lip,
Might rob me of it: and be judg'd in this,
T' have _Judas_ like betraid me with a kisse.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Looking backe at her departing_.
Looke backe _Castara_. From thy eye
Let yet more flaming arrowes flye.
To live, is thus to burne and dye.
For what might glorious hope desire,
But that thy selfe, as I expire,
Should bring both death and funerall fire?
Distracted Love, shall grieve to see
Such zeale in death: For feare lest he
Himselfe, should be consumed in me.
And gathering up my ashes, weepe,
That in his teares he then may sleepe:
And thus embalm'd, as reliques, keepe.
Thither let lovers pilgrims turne,
And the loose flames in which they burne,
Give up as offerings to my Urne.
That them the vertue of my shrine,
By miracle so long refine;
Till they prove innocent as mine.
_Upon_ CASTARA'S _absence_.
Tis madnesse to give Physicke to the dead;
Then leave me friends: Yet haply you'd here
A lecture; but I'le not dissected be,
T' instruct your Art by my anatomie.
But still you trust your sense, sweare you discry
No difference in me. All's deceit oth' eye,
Some spirit hath a body fram'd in th' ayre,
Like mine, which he doth to delude you, weare:
Else heaven by miracle makes me survive
My selfe, to keepe in me poore Love alive.
But I am dead, yet let none question where
My best part rests, and with a sigh or teare,
Prophane the Pompe, when they my corps interre,
My soule imparadis'd, for 'tis with her.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Complaining her absence in the Country_.
The lesser people of the ayre conspire
To keepe thee from me, _Philomel_ with higher
And sweeter notes, wooes thee to weepe her rape,
Which would appease the gods, and change her shape.
The early Larke, preferring 'fore soft rest
Obsequious duty, leaves his downy nest,
And doth to thee harmonious tribute pay;
Expecting from thy eyes the breake of day.
From which the Owle is frighted, and doth rove
(As never having felt the warmth of love.)
In uncouth vaults, and the chill shades of night,
Nor biding the bright lustre of thy sight.
With him my fate agrees. Not viewing thee
I'me lost in mists, at best, but meteors see.
_To_ THAMES.
Swift in thy watry chariot, courteous _Thames_,
Hast by the happy error of thy streames,
To kisse the banks of _Marlow_, which doth show
Faire _Seymors_, and beyond that never flow.
Then summon all thy Swans, that who did give
Musicke to death, may henceforth sing, and live,
For my _Castara_. She can life restore,
Or quicken them who had no life before.
How should the Poplar else the Pine provoke;
The stately Cedar challenge the rude Oke
To dance at sight of her? They have no sense
From nature given, but by her influence.
[10]If _Orpheus_ did those senslesse creatures move,
He was a Prophet, and fore-sang my love.
[10]If _Orpheus_ did those senslesse creatures stirre,
He was a Prophet, and fore-sang of her. 1634, 1635.
_To the right honourable the Earle of_ SHREWES.[11]
My Muse (great Lord) when last you heard her sing
Did to your Uncles Urne, her off'rings bring:
And if to fame I may give faith, your eares
Delighted in the musicke of her teares.
That was her debt to vertue. And when e're
She her bright head among the clouds shall reare
And adde to th' wondring heavens a new flame,
Shee'le celebrate the Genius of your name.
Wilde with another rage, inspir'd by love,
She charmes the Myrtles of the Idalian grove.
And while she gives the Cyprian stormes a law,
Those wanton Doves which _Cythereia_ draw
Through th' am'rous ayre: Admire what power doth sway
The Ocean, and arrest them in their way.
She sings _Castara_ then. O she more bright,
Than is the starry Senate of the night;
Who in their motion did like straglers erre,
Cause they deriv'd no influence from her,
Who's constant as she's chaste. The Sinne hath beene
Clad like a neighb'ring shepheard often seene
To hunt those Dales, in hope then _Daphnes_, there
To see a brighter face. Th' Astrologer
In th' interim dyed, whose proud Art could not show
Whence that Ecclipse did on the sudden grow.
A wanton Satyre eager in the chase
Of some faire Nimph, beheld _Castara's_ face,
And left his loose pursuite; who while he ey'd,
Unchastely, such a beauty, glorified
With such a vertue; by heavens great commands
Turn'd marble, and there yet a Statute stands.
As Poet thus. But as a Christian now,
And by my zeale to you (my Lord) I vow,
She doth a flame so pure and sacred move;
In me impiety 'twere not to love.
[11] _To the Right Honourable my very good Lord_, JOHN _Earle of S._
1634, 1635.
_To_ CUPID.
_Wishing a speedy passage to_ CASTARA.
Thankes _Cupid_, but the Coach of _Venus_ moves
For me too slow, drawn but by lazie Doves.
I, left a journey my delay should finde,
Will leape into the chariot of the winde.
Swift as the flight of lightning through the ayre,
Hee'le hurry me till I approach the faire
But unkinde _Seymors_. Thus he will proclaime,
What tribute winds owe to _Castara's_ name.
Viewing this prodigie, astonisht they,
Who first accesse deny'd me, will obey,
With feare what love commands: Yet censure me
As guilty of the blackest sorcery.
But after to my wishes milder prove:
When they know this the miracle of love.
_To_ CASTARA.
_Of Love._
How fancie mockes me? By th' effect I prove,
'Twas am'rous folly, wings ascrib'd to love,
And ore th' obedient elements command.
Hee's lame as he is blinde, for here I stand
Fixt as the earth. Throw then this Idoll downe
Yee lovers who first made it; which can frowne
Or smile but as you please. But I'me untame
In rage. _Castara_ call thou[12] on his name,
And though hee'le not beare up my vowes to thee,
Hee'le triumph to bring downe my Saint to me.
[12] then. 1634.
_To the_ Spring,
_Upon the uncertainty of_ CASTARA'S _abode_.
Faire Mistresse of[13] the earth, with garlands crown'd
Rise, by a lovers charme, from the parcht ground,
And shew thy flowry wealth: that she, where ere
Her starres shall guide her, meete thy beauties there.
Should she to the cold Northerne climates goe,
Force thy affrighted Lillies there to grow;
Thy Roses in those gelid fields t' appeare;
She absent, I have all their Winter here.
Or if to the torrid Zone her way she bend,
Her the coole breathing of _Favonius_ lend,
Thither command the birds to bring their quires.
That Zone is temp'rate. I have all his fires.
Attend her, courteous Spring, though we should here
Lose by it all the treasures of the yeere.
[13] to. 1634, 1635.
_To_ Reason,
_Upon_ CASTARA'S _absence_.
With your calme precepts goe, and lay a storme,
In some brest flegmaticke which would conforme
Her life to your cold lawes: In vain y' engage
Your selfe on me. I will obey my rage.
Shee's gone, and I am lost. Some unknowne grove
I'le finde, whereby the miracle of Love
I'le turne t' a fountaine, and divide the yeere,
By numbring every moment with a teare.
Where if _Castara_ (to avoyd the beames
Oth' neighb'ring Sun) shall wandring meete my streames.
And tasting, hope her thirst alaid shall be,
Shee'le feele a sudden flame, and burne like me:
And thus distracted cry. Tell me thou cleere,
But treach'rous Fount, what lover's coffin'd here?
_An[14] answere to_ CASTARA'S _question_.
T'is I _Castara_, who when thou wert gone,
Did freeze into this melancholy stone,
To weepe the minutes of thy absence. Where
Can greefe have freer scope to mourne than here?
The Larke here practiseth a sweeter straine,
_Aurora's_ early blush to entertaine,
And having too deepe tasted of these streames,
He loves, and amorously courts her beames.
The courteous turtle with a wandring zeale,
Saw how to stone I did my selfe congeale,
And murm'ring askt what power this change did move,
The language of my waters whispered, Love.
And thus transform'd Ile stand, till I shall see,
That heart so ston'd and frozen, thaw'd in thee.
[14] _In._ 1634.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon the disguising his affection_.
Pronounce me guilty of a Blacker crime,
Then e're in the large Volume writ by Time.
The sad Historian reades, if not my Art
Dissembles love, to veile an am'rous heart.
For when the zealous anger of my friend
Checkes my unusuall sadnesse: I pretend
To study vertue, which indeede I doe,
He must court vertue who aspires to you.
Or that some friend is dead and then a teare,
A sigh or groane steales from me: for I feare
Lest death with love hath strooke my heart, and all
These sorrowes usher but its funerall.
[15]Which should revive, should there you a mourner be,
And force a nuptiall in an obsequie.
[15] Which would revive, should you there mourner be. 1634, 1635.
_To the honourable my honoured kinsman_, Mr. G. T.
Thrice hath the pale-fac'd Empresse of the night,
Lent in her chaste increase her borrowed light,
To guide the vowing Mariner: since mute
_Talbot_ th'ast beene, too slothfull to salute
Thy exil'd servant. Labour not t' excuse
This dull neglect: Love never wants a Muse.
When thunder summons from eternall sleepe
Th' imprison'd ghosts, and spreads oth' frighted deepe,
A veile of darknesse; penitent to be
I may forget, yet still remember thee,
Next to my faire, under whose eye-lids move,
In nimble measures beauty, wit, and love.
Nor thinke _Castara_ (though the sexe be fraile,
And ever like uncertaine vessels saile
On th' ocean of their passions; while each wind
Triumphs to see their more uncertaine mind,)
Can be induc't to alter: Every starre
May in its motion grow irregular;
The Sunne forget to yeeld his welcome flame
To th' teeming earth, yet she remaine the same.
And in my armes (if Poets may divine)
I once that world of beauty shall intwine,
And on her lips print volumes of my love,
Without a froward checke, and sweetly move
Ith' Labyrinth of delight. If not, Ile draw
Her picture on my heart, and gently thaw
With warmth of zeale, untill I heaven entreat,
To give true life to th' ayery counterfeit.
Eccho _to_ Narcissus.
_In praise of_ CASTARA'S _discreete Love_.
Scorn'd in thy watry Urne _Narcissus_ lye,
Thou shalt not force more tribute from my eye
T' increase thy streames: or make me weepe a showre,
To adde fresh beauty to thee, now a flowre.
But should relenting heaven restore thee sence,
To see such wisedome temper innocence,
In faire _Castara's_ love; how she discreet,
Makes caution with a noble freedome meete,
At the same moment; thould'st confesse fond boy,
Fooles onely think them vertuous, who are coy.
And wonder not that I, who have no choyce
Of speech, have praysing her so free a voyce:
Heaven her severest sentence doth repeale,
When to _Castara_ I would speake my zeale.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Being debarr'd her presence_.
Banisht from you, I charg'd the nimble winde,
My unseene Messenger, to speake my minde,
In am'rous whispers to you. But my Muse
Lest the unruly spirit should abuse
The trust repos'd in him, sayd it was due
To her alone, to sing my loves to you.
Heare her then speake. Bright Lady, from whose eye
Shot lightning to his heart, who joyes to dye
A martyr in your flames: O let your love
Be great and firme as his: Then nought shall move
Your setled faiths, that both may grow together:
Or if by Fate divided, both may wither.
Hark! 'twas a groane. Ah how sad absence rends
His troubled thoughts! See, he from _Marlow_ sends
His eyes to _Seymors_. Then chides th' envious trees,
And unkinde distance. Yet his fancie sees
And courts your beauty, joyes as he had cleav'd
Close to you, and then weepes because deceiv'd.
Be constant as y'are faire. For I fore-see
A glorious triumph waits o'th victorie
Your love will purchase, shewing us to prize
A true content. There onely Love hath eyes.
_To_ Seymors,
_The house in which_ CASTARA _lived_.
Blest Temple, haile, where the Chast Altar stands,
Which Nature built, but the exacter hands
Of Vertue polisht. Though sad Fate deny
My prophane feete accesse, my vowes shall flye.
May those Musitians, which divide the ayre
With their harmonious breath, their flight prepare,
For this glad place, and all their accents frame,
To teach the Eccho my _Castara's_ name.
The beautious troopes of graces led by love
In chaste attempts, possesse the neighb'ring grove
Where may the Spring dwell still. May every tree
Turne to a Laurell, and propheticke be.
Which shall in its first Oracle divine,
That courteous Fate decree _Castara_ mine.
_To the_ Dew,
_In hope to see_ CASTARA _walking_.
Bright Dew which dost the field adorne
As th' earth to welcome in the morne,
Would hang a jewell on each corne.
Did not the pittious night, whose eares
Have oft beene conscious of my feares
Distill you from her eyes as teares?
Or that _Castara_ for your zeale,
When she her beauties shall reveale,
Might you to Dyamonds congeale?
If not your pity, yet how ere
Your care I praise, 'gainst she appeare,
To make the wealthy Indies here.
But see she comes. Bright lampe oth' skie,
Put out thy light: the world shall spie,
A fairer Sunne in either eye.
And liquid Pearle, hang heavie now
On every grasse that it may bow
In veneration of her brow.
Yet if the wind should curious be,
And were I here, should question thee,
Hee's full of whispers, speak not me.
But if the busie tell-tale day,
Our happy enterview betray;
Lest thou confesse too, melt away.
_To_ CASTARA.
Stay under the kinde shadow of this tree
_Castara_, and protect thy selfe and me
From the Sunnes rayes. Which shew the grace of Kings,
A dangerous warmth with too much favour brings.
How happy in this shade the humble Vine
Doth 'bout some taller tree her selfe intwine,
And so growes fruitefull; teaching us her fate
Doth beare more sweetes, though Cedars beare more state:
Behold _Adonis_ in yand' purple flowre,
T'was _Venus_ love: That dew, the briny showre,
His coynesse wept, while strugling yet alive:
Now he repents, and gladly would revive,
By th' vertue of your chaste and powerfull charmes,
To play the modest wanton in your armes.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Ventring to walke too farre in the neighbouring wood_.
Dare not too farre _Castara_, for the shade
This courteous thicket yeelds, hath man betray'd
A prey to wolves: to the wilde powers oth' wood,
Oft travellers pay tribute with their blood.
If carelesse of thy selfe of me take care,
For like a ship where all the fortunes are
Of an advent'rous merchant; I must be,
If thou should'st perish banquerout in thee.
My feares have mockt me. Tygers when they shall
Behold so bright a face, will humbly fall
In adoration of thee. Fierce they are
To the deform'd, obsequious to the faire.
Yet venter not; tis nobler farre to sway
The heart of man, than beasts, who man obey.
_Upon_ CASTARA'S _departure_.
Vowes are vaine. No suppliant breath
Stayes the speed of swift-heel'd death.
Life with her is gone and I
Learne but a new way to dye.
See the flowers condole, and all
Wither in my funerall.
The bright Lilly, as if day,
Parted with her, fades away.
Violets hang their heads, and lose
All their beauty. That the Rose
A sad part in sorrow beares,
Witnesse all those dewy teares,
Which as Pearle, or Dyamond like,
Swell upon her blushing cheeke.
All things mourne, but oh behold
How the wither'd Marigold
Closeth up now she is gone,
Judging her the setting Sunne.
_A Dialogue between_ NIGHT _and_ ARAPHILL.
NIGHT. Let silence close my troubled eyes,
Thy feare in _Lethe_ steepe:
The starres bright cent'nels of the skies,
Watch to secure thy sleepe.
ARAPH. The Norths unruly spirit lay
In the disorder'd Seas:
Make the rude Winter calme as _May_,
And give a lover ease.
NIGHT. Yet why should feare with her pale charmes,
Bewitch thee so to griefe?
Since it prevents n' insuing harmes,
Nor yeelds the past reliefe.
ARAPH. And yet such horror I sustaine
As the sad vessell, when
Rough tempests have incenst the Maine,
Her Harbor now in ken.
NIGHT. No conquest weares a glorious wreath
Which dangers not obtaine:
Let tempests 'gainst thee shipwracke breathe,
Thou shalt thy harbour gaine.
ARAPH. Truths _Delphos_ doth not still foretell,
Though _Sol_ th' inspirer be.
How then should night as blind as hell,
Ensuing truths fore-see?
NIGHT. The Sunne yeelds man no constant flame.
One light those Priests inspires.
While I though blacke am still the same,
And have ten thousand fires.
ARAPH. But those, sayes my propheticke feare,
As funerall torches burne;
While thou thy selfe the blackes dost weare,
T' attend me to my Urne.
NIGHT. Thy feares abuse thee, for those lights
In _Hymens_ Church shall shine,
When he by th' mystery of his rites,
Shall make _Castara_ thine.
_To the Right Honourable_, _the Lady_, E. P.
Your judgement's cleere, not wrinckled with the Time,
On th' humble fate: which censures it a crime,
To be by vertue ruin'd. For I know
Y'are not so various as to ebbe and flow
Ith' streame of fortune, whom each faithlesse winde
Distracts, and they who made her, fram'd her blinde.
Possession makes us poore. Should we obtaine
All those bright jems, for which ith' wealthy Maine,
The tann'd slave dives; or in one boundlesse chest
Imprison all the treasures of the West,
We still should want. Our better part's immence,
Not like th' inferiour, limited by sence.
Rich with a little, mutuall love can lift
Us to a greatnesse, whether chance or thrift
E're rais'd her servants. For though all were spent,
That can create an _Europe_ in content.
Thus (Madam) when _Castara_ lends an eare
Soft to my hope, I Loves Philosopher,
Winne on her faith. For when I wondring stand
At th' intermingled beauty of her hand,
(Higher I dare not gaze) to this bright veine
I not ascribe the blood of _Charlemaine_
Deriv'd by you to her. Or say there are
In that and th'other _Marmion_, _Rosse_, and _Parr
Fitzhugh_, _Saint Quintin_, and the rest of them
That adde such lustre to great _Pembrokes_ stem.
My love is envious. Would _Castara_ were
The daughter of some mountaine cottager,
Who with his toile worne out, could dying leave
Her no more dowre, than what she did receive
From bounteous nature. Her would I then lead
To th' Temple, rich in her owne wealth; her head
Crown'd with her haires faire treasure; diamonds in
Her brighter eyes; soft Ermines in her skin;
Each Indie in each cheeke. Then all who vaunt,
That fortune, them t' enrich, made others want,
Should set themselves out glorious in her stealth,
And trie if that, could parallel this wealth.
_To_ CASTARA.
_Departing upon the approach of Night._
What should we feare _Castara_? The coole aire,
That's falne in love, and wanton in thy haire,
Will not betray our whispers. Should I steale
A Nectar'd kisse, the wind dares not reveale
The pleasure I possesse. The wind conspires
To our blest interview, and in our fires
Bath's like a Salamander, and doth sip,
Like _Bacchus_ from the grape, life from thy lip.
Nor thinke of nights approach. The worlds great eye
Though breaking Natures law, will us supply
With his still flaming lampe: and to obey
Our chaste desires, fix here perpetuall day.
But should he set, what rebell night dares rise,
To be subdu'd ith' vict'ry of thy eyes?
_An Apparition._