Cf. p. 104.]

My whole life is 'bout you, the Centre Star;
But a perpetual Motion Circular.

I am the Dial's hand, still walking round;
You are the Compass: and I never sound
Beyond your circle, neither can I show
Aught, but what first expressed is in you.
Thus, wheresoe'er my tears do cause me move,
My fate still keeps me bounded with your love;
Which, ere it die, or be extinct in me,

Time shall stand still, and moist waves flaming be.
Yet, being gone, think not on me: I am
A thing too wretched for thy thoughts to name :
But when I die, and wish all comforts given,
I'll think on you, and by you think on heaven.

FA

ON HIS MISTRESS GOING TO SEA.

(Music composed to it by Henry Lawes.)

‘AREWELL, fair Saint! may not the sea and wind
Swell like the hearts and eyes you leave behind;
But calm and gentle, as the looks you bear,
Smile in your face, and whisper in your ear

Let no bold billow offer to arise,

That it may nearer gaze upon your eyes:
Lest wind and wave, enamour'd of your form,
Should throng and crowd themselves into a storm.

But if it be your fate, vast Seas! to love,
Of
my becalmed breast learn how to move;
Move then, but in a gentle Lover's pace :
No wrinkle, nor no furrow, in your face.

And you, fierce Winds, see that you tell your tale
In such a breath as may but fill her Sail;
So, whilst you court her, each your several way,
You may her safely to her Port convey,

And loose her, by the noblest way of Wooing:
Whilst both contribute to your own undoing.

To A[NN] DEORIS], UNREASONABLE, DISTRUSTFUL OF HER OWN BEAUTY.

FAIR Doris, break thy glass! it hath perplex'd

With a dark comment Beauty's clearest text;

It hath not told thy face's story true,

But brought false copies to thy jealous view.
No colour, feature, lovely air or grace,
That ever yet adorn'd a beauteous face,

But thou may'st read in thine; or justly doubt
Thy glass hath been suborn'd to leave it out.
But if it offer to thy nice survey

A spot, a stain, a blemish, or decay,

It not belongs to thee: the treacherous light
Or faithless stone abuse thy credulous sight.

Perhaps the magic of thy face hath wrought
Upon th' enchanted Crystal, and so brought
Fantastic shadows to delude thine eyes,
With airy repercussive sorceries ;

Or else th' enamour'd Image pines away
For love of the fair object, and so may

Wax pale and wan, and though the substance grow
Lively and fresh, that may consume with woe:

Give then no faith to the false specular stone,
But let thy beauties by th' effects be known.

Look, sweetest Doris, on my love-sick heart,
In that true mirror see how fair thou art!
There, by Love's never-erring pencil drawn,
Shalt thou behold thy face, like th' early dawn,
Shoot through the shady covert of thy hair,
Enamelling and perfuming the calm air
With pearls and roses, till thy suns display
Their lids, and let out the imprison'd day;
Whilst Delphic priests, enlight'ned by their theme,
In amorous numbers count thy golden beam :

And from Love's altars clouds of sighs arise
In smoking incense, to adore thine eyes.

If, then, Love flow from Beauty, as th' effect,
How can'st thou the resistless cause suspect?

Who would not brand that Fool, who should contend
There was no fire, where smoke and flames ascend?
Distrust is worse than scorn: not to believe
My harms, is greater wrong than not to grieve.
What cure can for my fest'ring sore be found,
Whilst thou believest thy Beauty cannot wound?
Such humble thoughts more cruel tyrants prove
Than all the pride that e'er usurp'd in Love,
For Beauty's herald here denounceth war:
There are false spies betray me to a snare.
If fire, disguised in balls of snow, were hurled,
It unsuspected might consume the world;
Where our prevention ends, danger begins,
So wolves in sheep's-lions in asses' skins—

Might far more mischief work, because less fear'd: Those the whole flock, these might kill all the herd. Appear then as thou art, break through this cloud, Confess thy beauty, though thou thence grow proud; Be fair, though scornful; rather let me find

Thee cruel, than thus mild and more unkind:
Thy cruelty doth only me defy,

But these dull thoughts thee to thy self deny.
Whether thou mean to barter, or bestow,

Thy self, 'tis fit thou thine own value know.
I will not cheat thee of thy self, nor pay
Less for thee than thou'rt worth; thou shalt not say
'That is but brittle glass,' which I have found

By strict enquiry a firm diamond.

I'll trade with no such Indian fool, who sells

Gold, pearls, and precious stones, for beads and bells ;
Nor will I take a present from your hand,
Which you or prize not, or not understand.
It not endears your bounty that I do
Esteem your gift, unless you do so too :

You undervalue me, when you bestow

On me what you nor care for, nor yet know.

'No, lovely Doris, change thy thoughts, and be In love first with thy self, and then with me. You are afflicted that you are not fair, And I as much tormented that you are. What I admire, you scorn; what I love, hate; Through different faiths, both share an equal fate; Fast to the truth, which you renounce, I stick : I die a Martyr, you an Heretic.

TO A LADY, THAT DESIRED I WOULD LOVE HER.

I.

NOW you have freely given me leave to love,

What will you do?

Shall I your mirth or passion move

When I begin to woo?

Will you torment, or scorn, or love me too?

II.

Each petty Beauty can disdain, and I,

'Spite of your hate,

Without your leave can see, and die.

Dispense a nobler fate !

'Tis easy to destroy: you may create.

III.

Then give me leave to love, and love me too :

Not with design

To raise, as Love's curst rebels do,

When puling poets whine,

Fame to their Beauty, from their blubber'd eyne.

V.

Which shall not mention to express, you Fair!

Wounds, flames, and darts,

Storms in your brow, nets in your hair,—

Suborning all your parts,

Or to betray, or torture captive hearts.

VI.

I'll make your eyes like morning suns appear,
As mild and fair;

Your brow as crystal smooth and clear;

And your dishevell❜d hair

Shall flow like a calm region of the air.

VII.

Rich Nature's store, which is the Poet's treasure,

I'll spend to dress

Your beauties, if your mine of pleasure

In equal thankfulness

You but unlock : so we each other bless.

FOR A PICTURE, WHERE A QUEEN LAMENTS OVER THE TOMB OF A SLAIN KNIGHT.

BRAVE Youth, to whom Fate in one hour

Gave death and conquest, by whose power

Those chains about my heart are wound,
With which the Foe my kingdom bound:
Freed and captived by thee, I bring

For either act an offering.

For Victory, this wreath of Bay ;

In sign of thraldom, down I lay

Sceptre and crown: take from my sight
Those Royal robes, since Fortune's spite
Forbids me live thy Virtue's prize
I'll die thy Valour's sacrifice.