And thinke, till I expire,
APOLLO’S such another.
As Britons, that so long
Haue held this Antike Song,
And let all our Carpers
Forbeare their fame to wrong,
Th’ are right skilfull Harpers.
Southerne, I long thee spare,
Yet wish thee well to fare,
Who me pleased’st greatly,
As first, therefore more rare,
Handling thy Harpe neatly.
To those that with despight
Shall terme these Numbers slight,
Tell them their Iudgement’s blind,
Much erring from the right,
It is a Noble kind.
Nor is ‘t the Verse doth make,
That giueth, or doth take,
’Tis possible to clyme,
To kindle, or to slake,
Although in SKELTON’S Ryme.
TO THE NEW YEERE
Rich Statue, double-faced,
With Marble Temples graced,
To rayse thy God-head hyer,
In flames where Altars shining,
Before thy Priests diuining,
Doe od’rous Fumes expire.
Great IANVS, I thy pleasure,
With all the Thespian treasure,
Doe seriously pursue;
To th’ passed yeere returning, 10
As though the old adiourning,
Yet bringing in the new.
Thy ancient Vigils yeerely,
I haue obserued cleerely,
Thy Feasts yet smoaking bee;
Since all thy store abroad is,
Giue something to my Goddesse,
As hath been vs’d by thee.
Giue her th’ Eoan brightnesse,
Wing’d with that subtill lightnesse, 20
That doth trans-pierce the Ayre;
The Roses of the Morning
The rising Heau’n adorning,
To mesh with flames of Hayre.
Those ceaselesse Sounds, aboue all,
Made by those Orbes that moue all,
And euer swelling there,
Wrap’d vp in Numbers flowing,
Them actually bestowing,
For Iewels at her Eare. 30
O Rapture great and holy,
Doe thou transport me wholly,
So well her forme to vary,
That I aloft may beare her,
Whereas I will insphere her,
In Regions high and starry.
And in my choise Composures,
The soft and easie Closures,
So amorously shall meet;
That euery liuely Ceasure 40
Shall tread a perfect Measure
Set on so equall feet.
That Spray to fame so fertle,
The Louer-crowning Mirtle,
In Wreaths of mixed Bowes,
Within whose shades are dwelling
Those Beauties most excelling,
Inthron’d vpon her Browes.
Those Paralels so euen,
Drawne on the face of Heauen, 50
That curious Art supposes,
Direct those Gems, whose cleerenesse
Farre off amaze by neerenesse,
Each Globe such fire incloses.
Her Bosome full of Blisses,
By Nature made for Kisses,
So pure and wond’rous cleere,
Whereas a thousand Graces
Behold their louely Faces,
As they are bathing there. 60
O, thou selfe-little blindnesse,
The kindnesse of vnkindnesse,
Yet one of those diuine;
Thy Brands to me were leuer,
Thy Fascia, and thy Quiuer,
And thou this Quill of mine.
This Heart so freshly bleeding,
Vpon it owne selfe feeding,
Whose woundes still dropping be;
O Loue, thy selfe confounding, 70
Her coldnesse so abounding,
And yet such heat in me.
Yet if I be inspired,
Ile leaue thee so admired,
To all that shall succeed,
That were they more then many,
‘Mongst all, there is not any,
That Time so oft shall read.
Nor Adamant ingraued,
That hath been choisely ‘st saued, 80
IDEA’S Name out-weares;
So large a Dower as this is,
The greatest often misses,
The Diadem that beares.
TO HIS VALENTINE
Muse, bid the Morne awake,
Sad Winter now declines,
Each Bird doth chuse a Make,
This day ‘s Saint VALENTINE’S;
For that good Bishop’s sake
Get vp, and let vs see,
What Beautie it shall bee,
That Fortune vs assignes.
But lo, in happy How’r,
The place wherein she lyes, 10
In yonder climbing Tow’r,
Gilt by the glitt’ring Rise;
O IOVE! that in a Show’r,
As once that Thund’rer did,
When he in drops lay hid,
That I could her surprize.
Her Canopie Ile draw,
With spangled Plumes bedight,
No Mortall euer saw
So rauishing a sight; 20
That it the Gods might awe,
And pow’rfully trans-pierce
The Globie Vniuerse,
Out-shooting eu’ry Light.
My Lips Ile softly lay
Vpon her heau’nly Cheeke,
Dy’d like the dawning Day,
As polish’d Iuorie sleeke:
And in her Eare Ile say;
O, thou bright Morning-Starre, 30
’Tis I that come so farre,
My Valentine to seeke.
Each little Bird, this Tyde,
Doth chuse her loued Pheere,
Which constantly abide
In Wedlock all the yeere,
As Nature is their Guide:
So may we two be true,
This yeere, nor change for new,
As Turtles coupled were. 40
The Sparrow, Swan, the Doue,
Though VENVS Birds they be,
Yet are they not for Loue
So absolute as we:
For Reason vs doth moue;
They but by billing woo:
Then try what we can doo,
To whom each sense is free.
Which we haue more then they,
By liuelyer Organs sway’d, 50
Our Appetite each way
More by our Sense obay’d:
Our Passions to display,
This Season vs doth fit;
Then let vs follow it,
As Nature vs doth lead.
One Kisse in two let’s breake,
Confounded with the touch,
But halfe words let vs speake,
Our Lip’s imploy’d so much, 60
Vntill we both grow weake,
With sweetnesse of thy breath;
O smother me to death:
Long let our Ioyes be such.
Let’s laugh at them that chuse
Their Valentines by lot,
To weare their Names that vse,
Whom idly they haue got:
Such poore choise we refuse,
Saint VALENTINE befriend; 70
We thus this Morne may spend,
Else Muse, awake her not.
THE HEART
If thus we needs must goe,
What shall our one Heart doe,
This One made of our Two?
Madame, two Hearts we brake,
And from them both did take
The best, one Heart to make.
Halfe this is of your Heart,
Mine in the other part,
Ioyn’d by our equall Art.
Were it cymented, or sowne, 10
By Shreds or Pieces knowne,
We each might find our owne.
But ’tis dissolu’d, and fix’d,
And with such cunning mix’d,
No diffrence that betwixt.
But how shall we agree,
By whom it kept shall be,
Whether by you, or me?
It cannot two Brests fill,
One must be heartlesse still, 20
Vntill the other will.
It came to me one day,
When I will’d it to say,
With whether it would stay?
It told me, in your Brest,
Where it might hope to rest:
For if it were my Ghest,
For certainety it knew,
That I would still anew
Be sending it to you. 30
Neuer, I thinke, had two
Such worke, so much to doo,
A Vnitie to woo.
Yours was so cold and chaste,
Whilst mine with zeale did waste,
Like Fire with Water plac’d.
How did my Heart intreat,
How pant, how did it beat,
Till it could giue yours heat!
Till to that temper brought, 40
Through our perfection wrought,
That blessing eythers Thought.
In such a Height it lyes,
From this base Worlds dull Eyes,
That Heauen it not enuyes.
All that this Earth can show,
Our Heart shall not once know,
For it too vile and low.
THE SACRIFICE TO APOLLO
Priests of APOLLO, sacred be the Roome,
For this learn’d Meeting: Let no barbarous Groome,
How braue soe’r he bee,
Attempt to enter;
But of the Muses free,
None here may venter;
This for the Delphian Prophets is prepar’d:
The prophane Vulgar are from hence debar’d.
And since the Feast so happily begins,
Call vp those faire Nine, with their Violins; 10
They are begot by IOVE,
Then let vs place them,
Where no Clowne in may shoue,
That may disgrace them:
But let them neere to young APOLLO sit;
So shall his Foot-pace ouer-flow with Wit.
Where be the Graces, where be those fayre Three?
In any hand they may not absent bee:
They to the Gods are deare,
And they can humbly 20
Teach vs, our Selues to beare,
And doe things comely:
They, and the Muses, rise both from one Stem,
They grace the Muses, and the Muses them.
Bring forth your Flaggons (fill’d with sparkling Wine)
Whereon swolne BACCHVS, crowned with a Vine,
Is grauen, and fill out,
It well bestowing,
To eu’ry Man about,
In Goblets flowing: 30
Let not a Man drinke, but in Draughts profound;
To our God PHŒBVS let the Health goe Round.
Let your Iests flye at large; yet therewithall
See they be Salt, but yet not mix’d with Gall:
Not tending to disgrace,
But fayrely giuen,
Becomming well the place,
Modest, and euen;
That they with tickling Pleasure may prouoke
Laughter in him, on whom the Iest is broke. 40
Or if the deeds of HEROES ye rehearse,
Let them be sung in so well-ord’red Verse,
That each word haue his weight,
Yet runne with pleasure;
Holding one stately height,
In so braue measure,
That they may make the stiffest Storme seeme weake,
And dampe IOVES Thunder, when it lowd’st doth speake.
And if yee list to exercise your Vayne,
Or in the Sock, or in the Buskin’d Strayne, 50
Let Art and Nature goe
One with the other;
Yet so, that Art may show
Nature her Mother;
The thick-brayn’d Audience liuely to awake,
Till with shrill Claps the Theater doe shake.
Sing Hymnes to BACCHVS then, with hands vprear’d,
Offer to IOVE, who most is to be fear’d;
From him the Muse we haue,
From him proceedeth 60
More then we dare to craue;
’Tis he that feedeth
Them, whom the World would starue; then let the Lyre
Sound, whilst his Altars endlesse flames expire.
TO CVPID
Maydens, why spare ye?
Or whether not dare ye
Correct the blind Shooter?
Because wanton VENVS,
So oft that doth paine vs,
Is her Sonnes Tutor.
Now in the Spring,
He proueth his Wing,
The Field is his Bower,
And as the small Bee, 10
About flyeth hee,
From Flower to Flower.
And wantonly roues,
Abroad in the Groues,
And in the Ayre houers,
Which when it him deweth,
His Fethers he meweth,
In sighes of true Louers.
And since doom’d by Fate,
(That well knew his Hate) 20
That Hee should be blinde;
For very despite,
Our Eyes be his White,
So wayward his kinde.
If his Shafts loosing,
(Ill his Mark choosing)
Or his Bow broken;
The Moane VENVS maketh,
And care that she taketh,
Cannot be spoken. 30
To VULCAN commending
Her loue, and straight sending
Her Doues and her Sparrowes,
With Kisses vnto him,
And all but to woo him,
To make her Sonne Arrowes.
Telling what he hath done,
(Sayth she, Right mine owne Sonne)
In her Armes she him closes,
Sweetes on him fans, 40
Layd in Downe of her Swans,
His Sheets, Leaues of Roses.
And feeds him with Kisses;
Which oft when he misses,
He euer is froward:
The Mothers o’r-ioying,
Makes by much coying,
The Child so vntoward.
Yet in a fine Net,
That a Spider set, 50
The Maydens had caught him;
Had she not beene neere him,
And chanced to heare him,
More good they had taught him.
AN AMOVRET ANACREONTICK
Most good, most faire,
Or Thing as rare,
To call you’s lost;
For all the cost
Words can bestow,
So poorely show
Vpon your prayse,
That all the wayes
Sense hath, come short:
Whereby Report 10
Falls them vnder;
That when Wonder
More hath seyzed,
Yet not pleased,
That it in kinde
Nothing can finde,
You to expresse:
Neuerthelesse,
As by Globes small,
This Mightie ALL 20
Is shew’d, though farre
From Life, each Starre
A World being:
So wee seeing
You, like as that,
Onely trust what
Art doth vs teach;
And when I reach
At Morall Things,
And that my Strings 30
Grauely should strike,
Straight some mislike
Blotteth mine ODE.
As with the Loade,
<
br /> The Steele we touch,
Forced ne’r so much,
Yet still remoues
To that it loues,
Till there it stayes;
So to your prayse 40
I turne euer,
And though neuer
From you mouing,
Happie so louing.
LOVES CONQVEST
Wer’t granted me to choose,
How I would end my dayes;
Since I this life must loose,
It should be in Your praise;
For there is no Bayes
Can be set aboue you.
S’ impossibly I loue You,
And for you sit so hie,
Whence none may remoue You
In my cleere Poesie, 10
That I oft deny
You so ample Merit.
The freedome of my Spirit
Maintayning (still) my Cause,
Your Sex not to inherit,
Vrging the Salique Lawes;
But your Vertue drawes
From me euery due.
Thus still You me pursue,
That no where I can dwell, 20
By Feare made iust to You,
Who naturally rebell,
Of You that excell
That should I still Endyte,
Yet will You want some Ryte.
That lost in your high praise
I wander to and fro,
As seeing sundry Waies:
Yet which the right not know
To get out of this Maze. 30
TO THE VIRIGINIAN VOYAGE
You braue Heroique minds,
Worthy your Countries Name;
That Honour still pursue,
Goe, and subdue,
Whilst loyt’ring Hinds
Lurke here at home, with shame.
Britans, you stay too long,
Quickly aboard bestow you,
And with a merry Gale
Swell your stretch’d Sayle, 10
With Vowes as strong,
As the Winds that blow you.
Your Course securely steere,
West and by South forth keepe,
Rocks, Lee-shores, nor Sholes,
When EOLVS scowles,
You need not feare,
So absolute the Deepe.
And cheerefully at Sea,
Successe you still intice, 20
To get the Pearle and Gold,
And ours to hold,
VIRGINIA,
Earth’s onely Paradise.
Where Nature hath in store
Fowle, Venison, and Fish,
And the Fruitfull’st Soyle,
Without your Toyle,
Three Haruests more,
All greater then your Wish. 30
And the ambitious Vine
Crownes with his purple Masse,
The cedar reaching hie
To kisse the Sky
The Cypresse, Pine
And vse-full Sassafras.
To whome, the golden Age
Still Natures lawes doth giue,
No other Cares that tend,
But Them to defend 40
Michael Drayton- Collected Poetical Works Page 177