Page images

Shalt flote; where while thou layst thy lovely head,
The angry billows shall but make thy bed :
Storms, when they look on thee, shall straight relent;
And Tempests, when they tast thy breath, repent
To whispers soft as thine' own slumbers be,
Or souls of Virgins which shall sigh for thee.

Shine then, sweet supernumerary Starre;
Nor feare the boysterous names of Bloud and Warre:
Thy Birthday is their Death's Nativitie;
They've here no other businesse but to die.

To the Queen.
But stay; what glimpse was that? why blusht the day?
Why ran the started aire trembling away?
Who's this that comes circled in rayes that scorn
Acquaintance with the Sun? what second morn
At midday opes a presence which Heavens eye
Stands off and points at ? Is't some Deity
Stept from her throne of starres, deignes to be seen?
Is it some Deity? or i’st our Queen?

'Tis she, 'tis she: Her awfull beauties chase
The Day's abashed glories, and in face
Of noon wear their own Sunshine. Othou bright
Mistresse of wonders! Cynthia's is the night;
But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day
(Nor does thy Sun deny't) our Cynthia.

Illustrious sweetnesse! in thy faithfull wombe,
That nest of Heroes, all our hopes find room.
Thou art the Mother-Phenix, and thy brest
Chast as that Virgin honour of the East,
But much more fruitfull is; nor does, as she,
Deny to mighty Love a Deitie.
Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud
Of one coy Phenix, while we have a brood,
A brood of Phenixes; while we have Brother
And Sister-Phenixes, and still the Mother.

And may we long! Long mayst Thou live t'increase
The house and family of Phenixes.
Nor may the life that gives their eye-lids light
E’re prove the dismall morning of thy night:

Ne're may a birth of thine be bought so dear
To make his costly cradle of thy beer.

O mayst thou thus make all the year thine own,
And see such names of joy sit white upon
The brow of every month! And when th’hast done,
Mayst in a son of His find every son
Repeated, and that son still in another,
And so in each child often prove a Mother.
Long mayst Thou, laden with such clusters, lean
Upon thy Royall Elm, fair Vine! And when
The Heav'ns will stay no longer, may thy glory
And name dwell sweet in some Eternall story!

Pardon, bright Excellence, an untun'd string, That in thy eares thus keeps a murmuring. O speake a lowly Muses pardon, speake Her pardon, or her sentence; onely breake Thy silence. Speake, and she shall take from thence Numbers, and sweetnesse, and an influence Confessing Thee. Or if too long I stay, ( speake Thou, and my Pipe hath nought to say: For see Apollo all this while stands mute, Expecting by thy voice to tune his Lute.

But Gods are gracious; and their Altars make
Pretious the offrings that their Altars take.
Give then this rurall wreath fire from thine eyes,
This rurall wreath dares be thy Sacrifice.



Vid 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.

Quid tu? quæ nova machina,
Ouæ tam fortuito globo
în vitam properas brevem?
Qualis virgineos adhuc
Cypris concutiens sinus,
Cypris jam nova, jam recens,
Et spumis media in suis,
Promsit purpureum latus;
Concha de patrià micas,
Pulchrog exsilis impetu;
Statim & millibus ebria
Ducens terga coloribus
Evolvis tumidos sinus
Sphærâ plena volubili.
Cujus per varium latus,
Cujus per teretem globum
Iris lubrica cursitans
Centum per species vagas,
Et pieti facies chori
Circum regnat, & undig
Et se Diva volatilis
ucundo levis impetu
Et vertigine perfidâ
Lascivâ sequitur fugâ
Et pulchrè dubitat; fluit
Tam fallax toties novis,
Tot se per reduces vias,
Errorésque reciprocos
Spargit vena Coloribus;
Et pompâ natat ebriâ.
Tali militia micans
Agmen se rude dividit;
Campis quippe volantibus,

Et campi levis æquore
Ordo insanus obambulans
Passim se fugit, & fugat;
Passim perdit, & invenit.
Pulchrum spargitur hîc Chaos.
Hîc viva, hîc vaga flumina
Ripâ non propriâ meant,
Sed miscent socias vias,
Communig sub alveo
Stipant delicias suas.
Quarum proximitas vaga
I am 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 Copiæ.
Nempe omnis quia cernitur,
Nullus cernitur hîc color,
Et vicinia contumax
Allidit species vagas.
Illic contiguis aquis
Marcent pallidula faces.
Undæ hic vena tenellula,
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 gena
Vanas ad nebulas stupent;
Subg uvis rubicundulis
Flagrant sobria lilia.
Vicinis adeo rosis
Vicinæ invigilant nives,
Ut sint & niveæ rose,
Ut sint & rosæ nives;
Accenduntg rosæ nives,
Extinguuntg nives rosas.
Illîc cum viridi rubet,
Hîc & cum rutilo viret
Lascivi facies chori.
Et quicquid rota lubrica
Caudæ stelligeræ notat,
Pulchrum pergit & in ambitum.
Hîc cæli implicitus labor,
Orbes orbibus obuii;
Hic grex velleris aurei
Grex pellucidus ætheris;
Qui noctis nigra pascua
Puris morsibus atterit;
Hîc quicquid nitidum et vagum
Celi vibrat arenula
Dulci pingitur in joco.
Hîc mundus tener' impedit
Sese amplexibus in suis.
Succinctig, sinu globi
Errat per proprium decus.
Hîc nittant subitæ faces,
Et ludunt tremulum diem.
Mox se surripiunt sui &
Quærunt te&ta supercilî;
Atg abdunt petulans jubar,
Subsidunt, proterviter.
Atg hæc omnia quam brevis
Sunt mendacia machinæ!
Currunt scilicèt omnia
Sphæra, non vitreâ quidem,
(Ut quondam siculus globus)

« PreviousContinue »