How durst thou then thyself approach so near,

Sorrow flies far: see here be all the pleasures As to make this relation ?

That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts, Spi. Care and utmost shifts

When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns How to secure the lady from surprisal,

Brisk as the April buds in primrose season.
Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad, And first behold this cordial julep here,
Of small regard to see to, yet well skill'd

That flames and dances in his chrystal bounds, In every virtuous plant, and healing herb,

With sp'rits of balm and fragrant syrups mix'd, That spreads her verdant leaf to th' morning ray: Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of Thone, He lov'd me well, and oft would beg me sing, In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, Which when I did, he on the tender grass

Is of such power to stir up joy as this, Would sit, and hearken even to extasy,

To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. And in requital ope his leathern scrip,

Why should you be so cruel to yourself, And shew me simples of a thousand names,

And to those dainty limbs which nature lent Telling their strange and vigorous faculties: For gentle usage and soft delicacy ? Among the rest a small unsightly root,

But you invert the covenants of her trust, But of divine effect, he cull'd me out ;

And harshly deal like an ill borrower
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it, With that which you receiv'd on other terms,
Bu another country, as he said,

Scorning the unexempt condition
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil : By which all mortal frailty must subsist,
Unknown, and like esteem'd, and the dull swain Refreshment after toil, ease after pain,
Treads on it daily, with his clouted shoon ;

That have been tir'd all day without repast, And yet more med'cinal is it than that moly And timely rest have wanted; but, fair virgin, That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave;

This will restore all soon. He call'd it hemony, and gave it me,

Lady. 'Twill not, false traitor ; And bade me keep it as of sov’reign use

'Twill not restore the truth and honesty 'Gainst all inchantments, mildew, blast, or damp, That thou hast banish'd from thy tongue with lies. Or ghastly furies' apparition.

Was this the cottage, and the safe abode I purs'd it up, but little reck’ning made,

Thou told'st me of? What grim aspects are these, Till now that this extremity compellid:

These ugly-headed monsters: Mercy guard me! But now I find it true; for by this means

Hence with thy brew'd inchantments, foul deceiver; I knew the foul enchanter, though disguis'd, Hast thou betray'd my credulous innocence Enter'd the very lime-twigs of his spells,

With visor'd falsehood, and base forgery? And yet came off: if you have this about you, And would'st thou seek again to trap me here (As I will give you when we go) you may

With liquorish baits fit to insnare a brute ? Boldly assault the necromancer's hall;

Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood

I would not taste thy treasonous offer; none And brandish'd blade rush on him, break his glass But such as are good men can give good things, And shed the luscious liquor on the ground, And that which is not good is not delicious But seize his wand; though he and his curs'd crew To a well-govern'd and wise appetite. Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high,

Comus. O foolishness of men ! that lend their Or like the sons of Vulcan vomit smoke,

To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur, [ears Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink.

And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub, E. Bro. Thyrsis, lead on apace, I'll follow thee, Praising the lean and sallow abstinence. And some good angel bear a shield before us. Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth

With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all

Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks, manner of deliciousness: soft music, tables spread Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble,

But all to please and sate the curious taste? and the lady set in an inchanted chair, to whom he

And set to work millions of spinning worms, offers his glass, and which she puts by, and

goes That in their green shops weave the smooth-hair'd about to rise.

To deck her sons, and that no corner might (silk, Comus. Nay, lady, sit; if I but wave this wand, Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins Your nerves are all chain'd up in alabaster,

She hutch'd th’all worship'd ore, and precious And you a statue, or as Daphne was

To store her children with : if all the world [gems Root-bound, that fled Apollo.

Should in a pet of temp’rance feed on pulse, Lady. Fool, do not boast.

Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze, Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind, Th’All-giver would be unthank’d, would be unWith all thy charms, although this corporal rind prais'd; Thou hast immanacl'd, while Heav'n sees good.

Not half his riches known, and yet despis'd, Comus. Why are you vext, lady? Why do you

And we should serve him as a grudging master, frown?

As a penurious niggard of his wealth,
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gates And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons,

Who would be quite surcharg'd with her own And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know
And strangled with her waste fertility. (weight, More happiness than this thy present lot.
Th' earth cumber'd, and the wing'd air darkt with Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric,
plumes,

That hast so well been taught her dazzling fence,
The herds would over-multitude their lords; Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinc'd;
The sea o'erfraught would swell; and th’unsought Yet should I try, the uncontrouled worth
diamonds

Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits Would so imblaze the forehead of the deep,, To such a flame of sacred vehemence, And so bestud with stars, that they below

That dumb things would be mov'd to sympathize, Would grow inur'd to light, and come at last And the brute earth would lend her nerves, and To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows,

shake, List, lady, be not coy, and be not cozen'd

'Till all thy magic structures, rear'd so high, With that same vaunted name virginity.

Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false head. Beauty is nature's coin, must not be hoarded,

Comus. She fables not; I feel that I do fear But must be current, and the good thereof

Her words set off by some superior power; Consists in mutual and partaken bliss,

And though not mortal, yet a cold shudd'ring dew L'nsavoury in th' enjoyment of itself;

Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose

Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus
It withers on the stalk with languish'd head. To some of Satan's crew. I must dissemble,
Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shewn

And try her yet more strongly. Come, no more, In courts, in feasts, and high solemnities,

This is mere moral babble, and direct
Where most may wonder at the workmanship; Against the canon laws of our foundation;
It is for homely features to keep home;

I must not suffer this, 'tis but the lees
They had their name thence; coarse complexions, And settlings of a melancholy blood :
And cheeks of sorry grain, will serve to ply But this will cure all strait; one sip of this
The sampler, and to tease the housewife's wool. Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that,

Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
There was another meaning in these gifts,

The Brothers rush in with swords drawn, wrest his Think what, and be advis’d, you are but young yet.

glass out of his hand, and break it against the Lady. I had not thought to have unlock'd my lip

ground; his rout make sign of resistance, but are In this unhallow'd air, but that this juggler

all driven in; the attendant Spirit comes in. Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes, Spirit. What, have you let the false inchanter Obtruding false rules, prankt in reason's garb.

scape! I hate, when vice can bolt her arguments,

Oye mistook, ye should have snatch'd his wand, And virtue has no tongue to check her pride. And bound him fast; without his rod revers’d, Impostor, do not charge most innocent nature,

And backward mutters of dissevering power, • As if she would her children should be riotous We cannot free the lady that sits here, With her abundance; she, good cateress,

In stony fetters fix'd, and motionless: Means her provision only to the good,

Yet stay, be not disturb’d; now I bethink me, That live according to her sober laws,

Some other means I have, which may be us'd, And holy dictate of spare temperance:

Which once of Melibæus old I learnt, If every just man that now pines with want, The soothest shepherd that e'er pip'd on plains. Had but a moderate and beseeming share

There is a gentle nymph not far from hence, Of that which lewdly-pamper'd luxury

That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn Now heaps upon some few with vast excess,

Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; (stream, Nature's full blessings would be well dispens'd Whilome she was the daughter of Locrine, In unsuperfluous even proportion,

That had the sceptre from his father Brute. And she no whit encumber'd with her store; She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit And then the giver would be better thank’d, Of her enraged stepdame Guendolen, His praise due paid; for swinish gluttony

Commended her fair innocence to the flood, Ne'er looks to Heav'n amidst his gorgeous feast, That stay'd her flight with his cross-flowing course. But with besotted base ingratitude

The water-nymphs that in the bottom play'd, Crams, and blasphemes his feeder. Shall I go on? Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in, Or have I said enough? To him that dares

Bearing her strait to aged Nereus' hall, Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words, Who, piteous of her woes, rear'd her lank head, Against the sun-clad pow'r of chastity,

And gave her to his daughters to imbathe Fain would I something say, yet to what end? In nectar'd lavers strow'd with asphodil, Thou hast nor ear nor soul to apprehend

And through the porch and inlet of each sense The sublime notion, and high mystery,

Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she reviv'd That must be utter'd to unfold the sage

And underwent a quick immortal change, And serious doctrine of virginity,

Made Goddess of the river ; still she retains

SONG.

Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve

That bends not as I tread; Visits the herds along the twilight meadows,

Gentle swain, at thy request, Helping all urchin blast, and ill-luck signs

I am here.
That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make,

Spi. Goddess dear,
Which she with precious vial'd liquors heals; We implore thy powerful band
For which the shepherds at their festivals

To undo the charmed band
Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays

Of true virgin here distrest,
And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream Through the force, and through the wile
Of pancies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils.

Of unblest inchanter vile.
And, as the old swain said, she can unlock

Sab. Shepherd, 'tis my office best
The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell, To help insnar'd chastity:
If she be right invok’d, in warbled song,

Brightest lady, look on me;
For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift

Thus I sprinkle on thy breast To aid a virgin, such as was herself,

Drops that from my fountain pure In hard-besetting need; this will I try,

I have kept of precious cure,
And add the power of some adjuring verse.

Thrice upon thy finger's tip,
Thrice upon thy rubied lip;
Next this marble venom'd seat,

Smear'd with gums of glutinous heat,
Sabrina fair,
Listen where thou art sitting

I touch with chaste palms moist and cold:

Now the spell hath lost his hold;
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,

And I must haste ere morning hour
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;

To wait on Amphitrite's bower.
Listen for dear honour's sake,
Goddess of the Silver Lake.

Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her seat.
Listen and save;
Listen and

Spi. Virgin, daughter of Locrine, appear to us, In name of great Oceanus;

Sprung from old Anchises' line, By th' earth-shaking Neptune's mace

May thy brimmed waves for this

Their full tribute never miss And Tethys' grave majestic pace;

From a thousand petty rills, By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,

That tumble down the snowy bills: And the Carpathian wizard's hook;

Summer drouth, or singed air, By scaly Triton's winding shell,

Never scorch thy tresses fair,
And the old soothsaying Glaucus' spell;

Nor wet October's torrent flood
By Leucothea's lovely hands,
And her son that rules the strands;

Thy molten chrystal fill with mud;
By Thetis' tinsel-slipper'd feet

May thy billows roll ashore

The beryl, and the golden ore;
And the songs of Syrens sweet;
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb;

May thy lofty head be crown'd
And fair Ligea's golden comb,

With many a tower and terras round,

And here and there thy banks upon Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks

With groves of myrrhe, and cinnamon. Sleeking her soft alluring locks;

Come, lady, while Heav'n lends us grace, By all the Nymphs that nightly dance

Let us fly this cursed place, Upon thy streams, with wily glance;

Lest the sorcerer us entice Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head

With some other new device. From thy coral-paven bed,

Not a waste, or needless sound,
And bridle in thy headlong wave,

Till we come to holier ground;
Till thou our summons answered have.
Listen and save.

I shall be your faithful guide

Through this gloomy covert wide, Sabrina rises, attended by Water-nymphs, and

And not many furlongs thence

Is your father's residence,
sings.

Where this night are met in state
By the rushy-fringed bank,

Many a friend to gratulate
Where grows the willow and the osier dank, His wish'd presence, and beside
My sliding chariot stays,

All the swains that near abide,
Thick set with agate, and the azure sheen With jigs and rural dance resort;
Of turkis blue and emerald green,

We shall catch them at their sport,
That in the channel strays;

And our sudden coming there
Whilst from off the waters fleet

Will double at their mirth and cheer.
Thus I set my printless feet

Come let us haste, the stars grow high,
O'er the cowslip's velvet head,

But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky!

SONG.

The scene changes, presenting Ludlow toxon and the And from her fair unspotted side president's castle; then come in country dancers,

Two blissful twins are to be born, after them attendant Spirit, with the two Brothers, Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. and the Lady.

But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run

Quickly to the green earth's end,
Spi. Back, shepherds, back, enough your play Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend,
Till next sun-shine holiday;

And from thence can soar as soon
Here be without duck or nod

To the corners of the moon. Other trippings to be trod

Mortals that would follow me, Of lighter toes, and such court guise

Love virtue, she alone is free, As Mercury did first devise

She can teach you how to climb With the mincing Dryades

Higher than the sphery chime; On the lawns, and on the leas.

Or if virtue feeble were,

Heav'n itself would stoop to her. This second song presents them to their father and

mother. Noble lord, and lady bright,

ON SHAKESPEAR, 1630. I have brought you new delight,

What needs my Shakespear for his honour'd bones Here behold so goodly grown

The labour of an age in piled stones, Three fair branches of your own;

Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Heav'n hath timely tried their youth,

Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Their faith, their patience, and their truth,

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, And sent them here through hard assays

What need’st thou such weak witness of thy name? With a crown of deathless praise,

Thou in our wonder and astonishment To triumph in victorious dance

Hast built thyself a live-long monument. O'er sensual folly and intemperance.

For whilst to the shame of slow endeavouring art

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart
The dance ended, the Spirit epiloguizes.

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Spi. To the ocean now I fly,

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; And those happy climes that lie

Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Where day never shuts his eye,

Dost make us marble with too much conceiving; Up in the broad fields of the sky:

And so sepulcher'd, in such pomp dost lie, There I suck the liquid air,

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
All amidst the gardens fair
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three,

SONNETS.
That sing about the golden tree:
Along the crisped shades and bowers

To the Nightingale.
Revels the spruce and jocund spring,

O nightingale, that on yon blos'my spray The Graces, and the rosy-bosom's Hours,

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thither all their bounties bring ;

Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, That there eternal summer dwells,

While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. And west-winds with musky wing

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, About the cedarn alleys fling

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Nard and cassia's balmy smells.

Portend success in love; O if Jove's will Iris there with humid bow

Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Waters the odorous banks, that blow

Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Flowers of more mingled hue

Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh ; Than her purfled scarf can shew,

As thou from year to year hast sung too late And drenches with Elysian dew

For my relief, yet hadst no reason why: (List mortals, if your ears be true)

Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Beds of hyacinths and roses,

Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
Where young Adonis oft reposes,
Waxing well of his deep wound

On his being arriv'd at the Age of Twenty-three. In slumber soft, and on the ground

How soon hath time, the subtle thief of youth, Sadly sits th’ Assyrian queen ;

Stol'n on his wing my three and twentieth year! But far above in spangled sheen

My hasting days fly on with full career, Celestial Cupid her fam'd sou advanc'd,

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Holds his dear Psyché sweet intranc'd,

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, After her wand'ring labours long,

That I to manhood am arriv'd so near, Till free consent the gods among

And inward-ripeness doth much less appear, Make her his eternal bride,

That some more timely happy spirits indu'th.

L

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

The drift of hollow states hard to be spellid, It shall be still in strictest measure even

Then to advise how War may best upheld
To that same lot, however mean or high,

Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,
Toward which time leads me, and the will of Heav'n; In all her equipage: besides to know
All is, if I have grace to use it so,

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, As ever in my great task-master's eye.

What severs each, thou'st learn'd, which few have

done: To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Airs.

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe; Harry, whose tuneful and well-measur'd song

Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans First taught our English music how to span In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son.

Words with just note and accent, not to scan With Midas' ears, committing short and long;

On the late Massacre in Piemont. Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones With praise enough for envy to look wan;

Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; To after-age thou shalt be writ the man (tongue. Ev’n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, That with smooth air could'st humour best our

When all our fathers worship'd stocks and stones, Thou honour'st verse, and verse must lend her Forget not; in thy book record their groans wing

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold To honour thee, the priest of Phæbus' quire, Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rollid That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn or story. Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans Dante shall give fame leave to set thee higher The vales redoubled to the hills, and they

Than his Casella, whom he woo'd to sing To Heav'n. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow Met in the milder shades of purgatory.

O’er all th' Italian fields, where still doth sway

The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
To the Lord General Fairfax.

A hundred fold, who having learn'd thy way, Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings, Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

Filling each mouth with envy or with praise,
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze,

On his Blindness.
And rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings; When I consider how my light is spent
Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, Victory home, though new rebellions raise

And that one talent which is death to hide, Their hydra heads, and the false North displays Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent Her broken league to imp their serpent wings. To serve therewith my Maker, and present O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,

My true account, lest he returning chide ; (For what can war, but endless war still breed ?) Doth God exact day labour, light denied, Till truth and right from violence be freed,

I fondly ask? but patience to prevent And public faith clear'd from the shameful brand

That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed, Either man's work or his own gifts; who best While Avarice and Rapine share the land.

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state

Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
To the Lord General Cromwell.

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud

They also serve who only stand and wait. Not of war only, but detractions rude, Guided by faith, and matchless fortitude,

To Mr. Lawrence. To peace and truth thy glorious way last plough'd,

Lawrence,

of virtuous father virtuous son, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Hast rear'd God's trophies, and his work pursued, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire While Darwen stream with blood of Scots imbrued, Help waste a sullen day, what may be won, And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,

From the hard season gaining? Time will run And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much remains On smoother, till Favanius re-inspire To conquer still; Peace hath her victories

The frozen ocean,

and clothe in fresh attire No less renown'd than war: new foes arise The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. Threat'ning to bind our souls with secular chains :

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice
Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
Of hireling wolves, whose gospel is their maw. To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air:
To Sir Henry Vane the younger.

He who of those delights can judge, and spare Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old, To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

Than whom a better senator ne'er held
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms repellid

To Cyriac Skinner.
The fierce Epirot and the African bold,

Cyriac, whose grandsire on the royal bench Whether to settle peace, or to unfold

Of British Themis, with no mean applause