ON MARRIAGE

I WOULD be married, but I'd have no wife;
I would be married to a single life.

UPON THE FAIR ETHIOPIAN SENT TO A
GENTLEWOMAN

Lo, here the fair Chariclia! 1 in whom strove
So false a fortune, and so true a love!
Now, after all her toils by sea and land,
O may she but arrive at your white hand.
Her hopes are crown'd, only she fears that then
She shall appear true Ethiopian.

TO DELIA

(Out of Martial)

FOUR teeth thou hadst that rank'd in goodly state,

Kept thy mouth's gate.

The first blast of thy cough left two alone,

The second, none.

This last cough, Delia, cough'd out all thy fear, Th' hast left the third cough now no business here.

UPON VENUS PUTTING ON MARS'S ARMS

WHAT? Mars's sword? fair Cytherea 2 say,
Why art thou armed so desperately to-day?

1 The lady love of Theagenes in the Greek romance, "The loves of Theagenes and Charicleia," by Heliodorus, Bishop of Trikka, 4th century.

2 Venus.

Mars thou hast beaten naked, and, O then,
What need'st thou put on arms against poor

UPON THE SAME

PALLAS saw Venus armed, and straight she cried, "Come if thou dar'st, thus, thus let us be tried." Why, fool!" says Venus, "thus provok'st thou

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me,

That being naked, thou know'st could conquer thee?

ON NANUS MOUNTED UPON AN ANT

HIGH mounted on an ant, Nanus the tall
Was thrown, alas! and got a deadly fall:
Under th' unruly beast's proud feet he lies,
All torn; with much ado yet ere he dies,

He strains these words: "Base Envy, do, laugh

on,

Thus did I fall, and thus fell Phaethon."

TEMPERANCE, THE CHEAP

PHYSICIAN

(Upon the Translation of Lessius) GO now, with some daring drug,

Bait thy disease, and while they tug,

Thou, to maintain their cruel strife
Spend the dear treasure of thy life:
Go take physic, dote upon

Some big-named composition,—

The oraculous doctors' mystic bills,
Certain hard words made into pills;
And what at length shalt get by these?
Only a costlier disease.

Go poor man, think what shall be
Remedy 'gainst thy remedy.

That which makes us have no need
Of physic, that's physic indeed.
Hark hither, Reader: wouldst thou see
Nature her own physician be?
Wouldst see a man all his own wealth,
His own music, his own health?
A man, whose sober soul can tell
How to wear her garments well?
Her garments that upon her sit,
(As garments should do) close and fit?
A well-clothed soul, that's not oppress'd
Nor choked with what she should be dress'd?
Whose soul's sheath'd in a crystal shrine,
Through which all her bright features shine?
As when a piece of wanton lawn,

A thin aërial veil is drawn,

O'er Beauty's face; seeming to hide,

More sweetly shows the blushing bride:
A soul, whose intellectual beams

No mists do mask, no lazy steams?

A happy soul, that all the way

To Heaven, hath a Summer's day?

Wouldst see a man whose well-warm'd blood

Bathes him in a genuine flood?

A man, whose tunèd humours be

A set of rarest harmony?

Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, beguile

Age? Wouldst see December smile?

Wouldst see a nest of roses grow
In a bed of rev'rend snow?
Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering
Winter's self into a Spring?

In sum, wouldst see a man that can
Live to be old, and still a man?
Whose latest, and most laden hours

Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers;
And when Life's sweet fable ends,
His soul and body part like friends:

No quarrels, murmurs, no delay:

A kiss, a sigh, and so away

y?

This rare one, Reader, wouldst thou see,

Hark hither and thyself be he!

:

CRASHAW'S ANSWER FOR HOPE 1

EAR Hope! Earth's dow'ry, and Heaven's
debt!

The entity of things that are not yet.
Subtlest, but surest being! thou by whom
Our nothing has a definition!

Substantial shade! whose sweet allay
Blends both the noons of Night and Day:
Fates cannot find out a capacity

Of hurting thee.

From thee their lean dilemma, with blunt horn, Shrinks as the sick moon from the wholesome morn.

Rich hope! Love's legacy, under lock

Of Faith!still spending, and still growing stock! 1 This was written in answer to a poem by Cowley beginning, "Hope, whose weak being ruined is."

Our crown-land lies above, yet each meal brings A seemly portion for the sons of kings.

Nor will the virgin-joys we wed

Come less unbroken to our bed,

Because that from the bridal cheek of Bliss,
Thou steal'st us down a distant kiss.

Fair hope! our earlier Heav'n! by thee Young time is taster to Eternity:

Thy generous wine with age grows strong, not

sour,

Nor does it kill thy fruit, to smell thy flower.

Thy golden growing head never hangs down,
Till in the lap of Love's full noon

It falls; and dies! O no, it melts away
As doth the dawn into the Day:

As lumps of sugar loose themselves, and twine
Their subtle essence with the soul of wine.

Fortune alas, above the World's low wars Hope walks and kicks the curl'd heads of conspiring stars.

Her keel cuts not the waves where our winds stir,
Fortune's whole lottery is one blank to her.
Her shafts and she fly far above,

And forage in the fields of light and love.

Sweet Hope! kind cheat! fair fallacy! by thee
We are not where nor what we be,

But what and where we would be. Thus art thou
Our absent presence, and our future now.