N Out of Catullus. Ome and let us live my Deare, Then let amorous kisses dwell A thousand, and a Hundred score, Ad Principem nondum natum. Ascere nunc; & nunc! quid enim, puer alme, moraris? Ergóne tot tardos (6 lente!) morabere menses? Rex redit. Ipse veni, & dic bone, Gratus ades. At maneas tamen : & nobis nova causa triumphi Nam, quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur inf[a]ns, W Wishes. To his (supposed) Mistresse. Ho ere she be, That not impossible she That shall command my heart and me; Where ere she lye, Lock't up from mortall Eye, In shady leaves of Destiny; Till that ripe Birth Of studied fate stand forth, And teach her faire steps to our Earth; Till that Divine Idea, take a shrine Of Chrystall flesh, through which to shine; Meet you her my wishes, Bespeake her to my blisses, And be ye call'd my absent kisses. I wish her Beauty, That owes not all his Duty To gaudy Tire, or glistring shoo-ty. Something more than Taffata or Tissew can, Or rampant feather, or rich fan. More than the spoyle Of shop, or silkewormes Toyle, A face thats best By its owne beauty drest, And can alone command the rest. A face made up, Out of no other shop Than what natures white hand sets ope. A cheeke where Youth, And Blood, with Pen of Truth Write, what the Reader sweetly ru'th. A Cheeke where growes More than a Morning Rose: Which to no Boxe his being owes. Lipps, where all Day A lovers kisse may play, Yet carry nothing thence away. Lookes that oppresse Their richest Tires, but dresse And cloath their simplest Nakednesse. Eyes, that displaces The Neighbour Diamond, and out-faces That Sunshine, by their own sweet Graces. Tresses, that weare Jewells, but to declare How much themselves more pretious are. Whose native Ray, Can tame the wanton Day Of Gems, that in their bright shades play. Each Ruby there, Or Pearle that dare appeare, Be its own blush, be its own Teare. A well tam'd Heart, For whose more noble smart, Love may be long chusing a Dart. Eyes, that bestow Full quivers on loves Bow; Yet pay lesse Arrowes than they owe. Smiles, that can warme The blood, yet teach a charme, Blushes, that bin The burnish of no sin, Nor flames of ought too hot within. Joyes, that confesse, Vertue their Mistresse, And have no other head to dresse. Feares, fond and flight, As the coy Brides, when Night Teares, quickly fled, And vaine, as those are shed Dayes, that need borrow, No part of their good Morrow, From a fore spent night of sorrow. Dayes, that in spight Of Darkenesse, by the Light Of a cleere mind are Day all Night. Nights, sweet as they, Made short by Lovers play, Yet long by th' absence of the Day. Life, that dares send A challenge to his end, And when it comes say Welcome Friend. Sydnæan showers Óf sweet discourse, whose powers Can Crown old Winters head with flowers. Soft silken Hours, Open sunnes, shady Bowers; 'Bove all, Nothing within that lowers. What ere Delight Can make Dayes forehead bright, Or give Downe to the Wings of Night. In her whole frame, Have Nature all the Name, Art and ornament the shame. Her flattery, Picture and Poesy, Her counsell her owne vertue be. I wish, her store Of worth may leave her poore Of wishes; And I wish Now if Time knowes That her whose radiant Browes No more. Weave them a Garland of my vowes, Her whose just Bayes, My future hopes can raise, A trophie to her present praise; Her that dares be, What these Lines wish to see: I seeke no further, it is she. 'Tis she, and here Lo I uncloath and cleare, May she enjoy it, Whose merit dare apply it, But modestly dares still deny it. Such worth as this is Shall fixe my flying wishes, And determine them to kisses. Let her full Glory, My fancyes, fly before ye, Be ye my fictions; But her story. |