Bulla.

Q

Uid tibi vana suos offert mea bulla tumores? Quid facit ad vestrum pondus inane meum? Expectat nostros humeros toga fortior; ista En mea bulla, lares en tua dextra mihi.

Et campi levis æquore
Ordo insanus obambulans
Passim se fugit, & fugat;
Passim perdit, & invenit.
Pulchrum spargitur hic Chaos.
Hic viva, hic vaga flumina
Ripâ non propriâ meant,
Sed miscent socias vias,
Communig sub alveo
Stipant delicias suas.
Quarum proximitas vaga
Tam discrimine lubrico,
Tam subtilibus arguit
Juncturam tenuem notis,
Pompa ut florida nullibi
Sinceras habeat vias;
Nec vultu niteat suo.
Sed dulcis cumulus novos
Miscens purpureus sinus
Flagrant divitiis suis,
Privatum renuens jubar.
Floris diluvio vagi,
Floris Sydere publico
Latè ver subit aureum,
Atque effunditur in suæ
Vires undique Copia.
Nempe omnis quia cernitur,
Nullus cernitur hic color,
Et vicinia contumax
Allidit species vagas.
Illic contiguis aquis
Marcent pallidule faces.
Unda hic vena tenellulæ,
Flammis ebria proximis
Discit purpureas vias,
Et rubro salit alveo.
Ostri Sanguineum jubar
Lambunt lactea flumina;
Suasu cærulei maris
Mansuescit seges aurea;

Et lucis faciles genæ Vanas ad nebulas stupent; Subg uvis rubicundulis Flagrant sobria lilia. Vicinis adeo rosis Vicina invigilant nives, Ut sint & nivea rosa, Ut sint & rosæ nives; Accendunty rose nives, Extinguunt nives rosas. Illic cum viridi rubet, Hic & cum rutilo viret Lascivi facies chori. Et quicquid rota lubrica Cauda stelligere notat, Pulchrum pergit & in ambitum. Hic cœli implicitus labor, Orbes orbibus obvii; Hic grex velleris aurei Grex pellucidus ætheris; Qui noctis nigra pascua Puris morsibus atterit; Hic quicquid nitidum et vagum Cali vibrat arenula

Dulci pingitur in joco.
Hic mundus tener impedit
Sese amplexibus in suis.
Succinetig, sinu globi
Errat per proprium decus.
Hic nitant subitæ faces,
Et ludunt tremulum diem.
Mox se surripiunt sui &
Quærunt tecta supercili;
Atg abdunt petulans jubar,
Subsiduntq, proterviter.
Atg hæc omnia quam brevis
Sunt mendacia machine!
Currunt scilicèt omnia
Sphærâ, non vitred quidem,
(Ut quondam siculus globus)

Sed vitro nitidâ magis,
Sed vitro fragili magis,
Et vitro vitreâ magis.

Sum venti ingenium breve
Flos sum, scilicet, aëris,
Sidus scilicet æquoris;
Nature jocus aureus,
Naturæ vaga fabula,
Natura breve somnium.
Nugarum decus & dolor;
Dulcis, doctag vanitas.
Auræ filia perfidæ;
Et risus facilis parens.
Tantum gutta superbior,

Fortunatius & lutum.

Sum fluxe pretium spei;
Una ex Hesperidum insulis.
Forma pyxis, amantium
Clarè cæcus ocellulus;
Vanæ & cor leve gloriæ.

Sum cæca speculum Dea.
Sum fortune ego tessera,
Quam dat militibus suis;
Sum fortuna ego symbolum,
Quo sancit fragilem fidem
Cum mortalibus Ebriis

Obsignatý tabellulas.

Sum blandum, petulans, vagum,
Pulchrum, purpureum, et decens,
Comptum, floridulum, et recens,
Distinctum nivibus, rosis,
Undis, ignibus, aëre,
Pictum, gemmeum, & aureum,
O sum, (scilicet, O nihil.)

Si piget, et longam traxisse in tædia pompam
Vivax, & nimiùm Bulla videtur anus;
Tolle tuos oculos, pensum leve defluet, illam
Parca metet facili non operosa manu.
Vixit adhuc. Čur vixit? adhuc tu nempe legebas;
Tempe fuit tempus tum potuisse mori.

Upon two greene Apricockes sent to Cowley
by Sir Crashaw.

T

Ake these, times tardy truants, sent by me,
To be chastis'd (sweet friend) and chide by thee.
Pale sons of our Pomona! whose wan cheekes
Have spent the patience of expecting weekes,
Yet are scarce ripe enough at best to show
The redd, but of the blush to thee they ow.
By thy comparrison they shall put on
More summer in their shames reflection,
Than ere the fruitfull Phoebus flaming kisses
Kindled on their cold lips. O had my wishes
And the deare merits of your Muse, their due,
The yeare had found some fruit early as you;
Ripe as those rich composures time computes
Blossoms, but our blest tast confesses fruits.
How does thy April-Autumne mocke these cold
Progressions 'twixt whose termes poor time grows old?
With thee alone he weares no beard, thy braine
Gives him the morning worlds fresh gold againe.
'Twas only Paradice, 'tis onely thou,

Whose fruit and blossoms both blesse the same bough.
Proud in the patterne of thy pretious youth,
Nature (methinks) might easily mend her growth.
Could she in all her births but coppie thee,
Into the publick yeares proficiencie,

No fruit should have the face to smile on thee
(Young master of the worlds maturitie)
But such whose sun-borne beauties what they borrow
Of beames to day, pay back againe to morrow,
Nor need be double-gilt. How then must these,
Poore fruites looke pale at thy Hesperides!
Faine would I chide their slownesse, but in their
Defects I draw mine owne dull character.
Take them, and me in them acknowledging,
How much my summer waites upon thy spring.