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To His Coy Mistress

  Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain.
I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust: The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.
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The Gallery

Clora, come view my soul, and tell
Whether I have contrived it well.
Now all its several lodgings lie Composed into one gallery; And the great arras-hangings, made Of various faces, by are laid; That, for all furniture, you'll find Only your picture in my mind.
Here thou art painted in the dress Of an inhuman murderess; Examining upon our hearts Thy fertile shop of cruel arts: Engines more keen than ever yet Adornèd tyrant's cabinet; Of which the most tormenting are Black eyes, red lips, and curlèd hair.
But, on the other side, thou'rt drawn Like to Aurora in the dawn; When in the east she slumb'ring lies, And stretches out her milky thighs; While all the morning choir does sing, And manna falls, and roses spring; And, at thy feet, the wooing doves Sit perfecting their harmless loves.
Like an enchantress here thou show'st, Vexing thy restless lover's ghost; And, by a light obscure, dost rave Over his entrails, in the cave; Divining thence, with horrid care, How long thou shalt continue fair; And (when informed) them throw'st away, To be the greedy vulture's prey.
But, against that, thou sit'st afloat Like Venus in her pearly boat.
The halcyons, calming all that's nigh, Betwixt the air and water fly: Or, if some rolling wave appears, A mass of ambergris it bears: Nor blows more wind than what may well Convoy the perfume to the smell.
These pictures and a thousand more, Of thee, my gallery do store; In all the forms thou canst invent Either to please me, or torment: For thou alone to people me, Art grown a num'rous colony; And a collection choicer far Than or Whitehall's, or Mantua's were.
But, of these pictures and the rest, That at the entrance likes me best; Where the same posture, and the look Remains, with which I first was took: A tender shepherdess, whose hair Hangs loosely playing in the air, Transplanting flowers from the green hill, To crown her head, and bosom fill.
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A Dialogue Between The Soul And Body

 Soul
O Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise
A Soul inslav'd so many wayes?
With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands
In Feet ; and manacled in Hands.
Here blinded with an Eye ; and there Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.
A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins.
Tortur'd, besides each other part,1 In a vain Head, and double Heart.
Body O who shall me deliver whole, From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul? Which, stretcht upright, impales me so, That mine own Precipice I go; And warms and moves this needless Frame: (A Fever could but do the same.
) And, wanting where its spight to try, Has made me live to let me dye.
A Body that could never rest, Since this ill Spirit it possest.
Soul What Magic could me thus confine Within anothers Grief to pine? Where whatsoever it complain, I feel, that cannot feel, the pain.
And all my Care its self employes, That to preserve, which me destroys: Constrain'd not only to indure Diseases, but, whats worse, the Cure: And ready oft the Port to gain, Am Shipwrackt into Health again.
Body But Physick yet could never reach The Maladies Thou me dost teach; Whom first the Cramp of Hope does Tear: And then the Palsie Shakes of Fear.
The Pestilence of Love does heat : Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.
Joy's chearful Madness does perplex: Or Sorrow's other Madness vex.
Which Knowledge forces me to know; And Memory will not foregoe.
What but a Soul could have the wit To build me up for Sin so fit? So Architects do square and hew, Green Trees that in the Forest grew.
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The Mowers Song

 My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But these, while I with Sorrow pine, Grew more luxuriant still and fine; That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd, But had a Flower on either side; When Juliana came, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
Unthankful Meadows, could you so A fellowship so true forego, And in your gawdy May-games meet, While I lay trodden under feet? When Juliana came , and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But what you in Compassion ought, Shall now by my Revenge be wrought: And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all, Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
And thus, ye Meadows, which have been Companions of my thoughts more green, Shall now the Heraldry become With which I shall adorn my Tomb; For Juliana comes, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
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Eyes And Tears

 How wisely Nature did decree,
With the same Eyes to weep and see!
That, having view'd the object vain,
They might be ready to complain.
And since the Self-deluding Sight, In a false Angle takes each hight; These Tears which better measure all, Like wat'ry Lines and Plummets fall.
Two Tears, which Sorrow long did weigh Within the Scales of either Eye, And then paid out in equal Poise, Are the true price of all my Joyes.
What in the World most fair appears, Yea even Laughter, turns to Tears: And all the Jewels which we prize, Melt in these Pendants of the Eyes.
I have through every Garden been, Amongst the Red,the White, the Green; And yet, from all the flow'rs I saw, No Hony, but these Tears could draw.
So the all-seeing Sun each day Distills the World with Chymick Ray; But finds the Essence only Showers, Which straight in pity back he powers.
Yet happy they whom Grief doth bless, That weep the more, and see the less: And, to preserve their Sight more true, Bath still their Eyes in their own Dew.
So Magdalen, in Tears more wise Dissolv'd those captivating Eyes, Whose liquid Chains could flowing meet To fetter her Redeemers feet.
Not full sailes hasting loaden home, Nor the chast Ladies pregnant Womb, Nor Cynthia Teeming show's so fair, As two Eyes swoln with weeping are.
The sparkling Glance that shoots Desire, Drench'd in these Waves, does lose it fire.
Yea oft the Thund'rer pitty takes And here the hissing Lightning slakes.
The Incense was to Heaven dear, Not as a Perfume, but a Tear.
And Stars shew lovely in the Night, But as they seem the Tears of Light.
Ope then mine Eyes your double Sluice, And practise so your noblest Use.
For others too can see, or sleep; But only humane Eyes can weep.
Now like two Clouds dissolving, drop, And at each Tear in distance stop: Now like two Fountains trickle down: Now like two floods o'return and drown.
Thus let your Streams o'reflow your Springs, Till Eyes and Tears be the same things: And each the other's difference bears; These weeping Eyes, those seeing Tears.
Note: Magdala, lascivos sic quum dimisit Amantes, Fervidaque in castas lumina solvit aquas; Haesit in irriguo lachrymarum compede Christus, Et tenuit sacros uda Catena pedes.
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The Character Of Holland

 Holland, that scarce deserves the name of Land,
As but th'Off-scouring of the Brittish Sand;
And so much Earth as was contributed
By English Pilots when they heav'd the Lead;
Or what by th' Oceans slow alluvion fell,
Of shipwrackt Cockle and the Muscle-shell;
This indigested vomit of the Sea
Fell to the Dutch by just Propriety.
Glad then, as Miners that have found the Oar, They with mad labour fish'd the Land to Shoar; And div'd as desperately for each piece Of Earth, as if't had been of Ambergreece; Collecting anxiously small Loads of Clay, Less then what building Swallows bear away; Transfursing into them their Dunghil Soul.
How did they rivet, with Gigantick Piles, Thorough the Center their new-catched Miles; And to the stake a strugling Country bound, Where barking Waves still bait the forced Ground; Building their watry Babel far more high To reach the Sea, then those to scale the Sky.
Yet still his claim the Injur'd Ocean laid, And oft at Leap-frog ore their Steeples plaid: As if on purpose it on Land had come To shew them what's their Mare Liberum.
A daily deluge over them does boyl; The Earth and Water play at Level-coyl; The Fish oft-times the Burger dispossest, And sat not as a Meat but as a Guest; And oft the Tritons and the Sea-Nymphs saw Whole sholes of Dutch serv'd up for Cabillan; Or as they over the new Level rang'd For pickled Herring, pickled Heeren chang'd.
Nature, it seem'd, asham'd of her mistake, Would throw their land away at Duck and Drake.
Therefore Necessity, that first made Kings, Something like Government among them brings.
For as with Pygmees who best kills the Crane, Among the hungry he that treasures Grain, Among the blind the one-ey'd blinkard reigns, So rules among the drowned he that draines.
Not who first see the rising Sun commands, But who could first discern the rising Lands.
Who best could know to pump an Earth so leak Him they their Lord and Country's Father speak.
To make a Bank was a great Plot of State; Invent a Shov'l and be a Magistrate.
Hence some small Dyke-grave unperceiv'd invades The Pow'r, and grows as 'twere a King of Spades.
But for less envy some Joynt States endures, Who look like a Commission of the Sewers.
For these Half-anders, half wet, and half dry, Nor bear strict service, nor pure Liberty.
'Tis probable Religion after this Came next in order; which they could not miss.
How could the Dutch but be converted, when Th' Apostles were so many Fishermen? Besides the Waters of themselves did rise, And, as their Land, so them did re-baptise.
Though Herring for their God few voices mist, And Poor-John to have been th' Evangelist.
Faith, that could never Twins conceive before, Never so fertile, spawn'd upon this shore: More pregnant then their Marg'ret, that laid down For Hans-in-Kelder of a whole Hans-Town.
Sure when Religion did it self imbark, And from the east would Westward steer its Ark, It struck, and splitting on this unknown ground, Each one thence pillag'd the first piece he found: Hence Amsterdam, Turk-Christian-Pagan-Jew, Staple of Sects and Mint of Schisme grew; That Bank of Conscience, where not one so strange Opinion but finds Credit, and Exchange.
In vain for Catholicks our selves we bear; The Universal Church is onely there.
Nor can Civility there want for Tillage, Where wisely for their Court they chose a Village.
How fit a Title clothes their Governours, Themselves the Hogs as all their Subjects Bores Let it suffice to give their Country Fame That it had one Civilis call'd by Name, Some Fifteen hundred and more years ago, But surely never any that was so.
See but their Mairmaids with their Tails of Fish, Reeking at Church over the Chafing-Dish.
A vestal Turf enshrin'd in Earthen Ware Fumes through the loop-holes of wooden Square.
Each to the Temple with these Altars tend, But still does place it at her Western End: While the fat steam of Female Sacrifice Fills the Priests Nostrils and puts out his Eyes.
Or what a Spectacle the Skipper gross, A Water-Hercules Butter-Coloss, Tunn'd up with all their sev'ral Towns of Beer; When Stagg'ring upon some Land, Snick and Sneer, They try, like Statuaries, if they can, Cut out each others Athos to a Man: And carve in their large Bodies, where they please, The Armes of the United Provinces.
But when such Amity at home is show'd; What then are their confederacies abroad? Let this one court'sie witness all the rest; When their hole Navy they together prest, Not Christian Captives to redeem from Bands: Or intercept the Western golden Sands: No, but all ancient Rights and Leagues must vail, Rather then to the English strike their sail; to whom their weather-beaten Province ows It self, when as some greater Vessal tows A Cock-boat tost with the same wind and fate; We buoy'd so often up their Sinking State.
Was this Jus Belli & Pacis; could this be Cause why their Burgomaster of the Sea Ram'd with Gun-powder, flaming with Brand wine, Should raging hold his Linstock to the Mine? While, with feign'd Treaties, they invade by stealth Our sore new circumcised Common wealth.
Yet of his vain Attempt no more he sees Then of Case-Butter shot and Bullet-Cheese.
And the torn Navy stagger'd with him home, While the Sea laught it self into a foam, 'Tis true since that (as fortune kindly sports,) A wholesome Danger drove us to our ports.
While half their banish'd keels the Tempest tost, Half bound at home in Prison to the frost: That ours mean time at leisure might careen, In a calm Winter, under Skies Serene.
As the obsequious Air and waters rest, Till the dear Halcyon hatch out all its nest.
The Common wealth doth by its losses grow; And, like its own Seas, only Ebbs to flow.
Besides that very Agitation laves, And purges out the corruptible waves.
And now again our armed Bucentore Doth yearly their Sea-Nuptials restore.
And how the Hydra of seaven Provinces Is strangled by our Infant Hercules.
Their Tortoise wants its vainly stretched neck; Their Navy all our Conquest or our Wreck: Or, what is left, their Carthage overcome Would render fain unto our better Rome.
Unless our Senate, lest their Youth disuse, The War, (but who would) Peace if begg'd refuse.
For now of nothing may our State despair, Darling of Heaven, and of Men the Care; Provided that they be what they have been, Watchful abroad, and honest still within.
For while our Neptune doth a Trident shake, Blake, Steel'd with those piercing Heads, Dean, Monck and And while Jove governs in the highest Sphere, Vainly in Hell let Pluto domineer.
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On Mr. Miltons Paradise Lost

 When I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold,
In slender Book his vast Design unfold,
Messiah Crown'd, Gods Reconcil'd Decree,
Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree,
Heav'n, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All; the Argument
Held me a while misdoubting his Intent,
That he would ruine (for I saw him strong)
The sacred Truths to Fable and old Song,
(So Sampson groap'd the Temples Posts in spight)
The World o'rewhelming to revenge his Sight.
Yet as I read, soon growing less severe, I lik'd his Project, the success did fear; Through that wide Field how he his way should find O're which lame Faith leads Understanding blind; Lest he perplext the things he would explain, And what was easie he should render vain.
Or if a Work so infinite he spann'd, Jealous I was that some less skilful hand (Such as disquiet alwayes what is well, And by ill imitating would excell) Might hence presume the whole Creations day To change in Scenes, and show it in a Play.
Pardon me, Mighty Poet, nor despise My causeless, yet not impious, surmise.
But I am now convinc'd, and none will dare Within thy Labours to pretend a Share.
Thou hast not miss'd one thought that could be fit, And all that was improper dost omit: So that no room is here for Writers left, But to detect their Ignorance or Theft.
That Majesty which through thy Work doth Reign Draws the Devout, deterring the Profane.
And things divine thou treats of in such state As them preserves, and Thee in violate.
At once delight and horrour on us seize, Thou singst with so much gravity and ease; And above humane flight dost soar aloft, With Plume so strong, so equal, and so soft.
The Bird nam'd from that Paradise you sing So never Flags, but alwaies keeps on Wing.
Where couldst thou Words of such a compass find? Whence furnish such a vast expense of Mind? Just Heav'n Thee, like Tiresias, to requite, Rewards with Prophesie thy loss of Sight.
Well might thou scorn thy Readers to allure With tinkling Rhime, of thy own Sense secure; While the Town-Bays writes all the while and spells, And like a Pack-Horse tires without his Bells.
Their Fancies like our bushy Points appear, The Poets tag them; we for fashion wear.
I too transported by the Mode offend, And while I meant to Praise thee, must Commend.
Thy verse created like thy Theme sublime, In Number, Weight, and Measure, needs not Rhime.
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Thoughts in a Garden

 HOW vainly men themselves amaze 
To win the palm, the oak, or bays, 
And their uncessant labours see 
Crown'd from some single herb or tree, 
Whose short and narrow-verged shade 
Does prudently their toils upbraid; 
While all the flowers and trees do close 
To weave the garlands of repose! 

Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, 
And Innocence thy sister dear? 
Mistaken long, I sought you then 
In busy companies of men: 
Your sacred plants, if here below, 
Only among the plants will grow: 
Society is all but rude 
To this delicious solitude.
No white nor red was ever seen So amorous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name: Little, alas! they know or heed How far these beauties hers exceed! Fair trees! wheres'e'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found.
When we have run our passions' heat, Love hither makes his best retreat: The gods, that mortal beauty chase, Still in a tree did end their race; Apollo hunted Daphne so Only that she might laurel grow; And Pan did after Syrinx speed Not as a nymph, but for a reed.
What wondrous life in this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; Annihilating all that 's made To a green thought in a green shade.
Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide; There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and combs its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Such was that happy Garden-state While man there walk'd without a mate: After a place so pure and sweet, What other help could yet be meet! But 'twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: Two paradises 'twere in one, To live in Paradise alone.
How well the skilful gard'ner drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new! Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run: And, as it works, th' industrious bee Computes its time as well as we.
How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers!
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The Definition Of Love

 My love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.
Magnanimous Despair alone Could show me so divine a thing, Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown But vainly flapped its tinsel wing.
And yet I quickly might arrive Where my extended soul is fixed But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
For Fate with jealous eye does see Two perfect loves, nor lets them close: Their union would her ruin be, And her tyrranic power depose.
And therefore her decrees of steel Us as the distant Poles have placed (Though Love's whole world on us doth wheel) Not by themselves to be embraced, Unless the giddy heaven fall, And earth some new convulsion tear; And, us to join, the world should all Be cramped into a planisphere.
As lines (so loves) oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet: But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet.
Therefore the love which us doth bind, But Fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.
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A Dialogue Between the Resolved Soul And Created Pleasure

 Courage my Soul, now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal Shield.
Close on thy Head thy Helmet bright.
Ballance thy Sword against the Fight.
See where an Army, strong as fair, With silken Banners spreads the air.
Now, if thou bee'st that thing Divine, In this day's Combat let it shine: And shew that Nature wants an Art To conquer one resolved Heart.
Pleasure Welcome the Creations Guest, Lord of Earth, and Heavens Heir.
Lay aside that Warlike Crest, And of Nature's banquet share: Where the Souls of fruits and flow'rs Stand prepar'd to heighten yours.
Soul I sup above, and cannot stay To bait so long upon the way.
Pleasure On these downy Pillows lye, Whose soft Plumes will thither fly: On these Roses strow'd so plain Lest one Leaf thy Side should strain.
Soul My gentler Rest is on a Thought, Conscious of doing what I ought.
Pleasure If thou bee'st with Perfumes pleas'd, Such as oft the Gods appeas'd, Thou in fragrant Clouds shalt show Like another God below.
Soul A Soul that knowes not to presume Is Heaven's and its own perfume.
Pleasure Every thing does seem to vie Which should first attract thine Eye: But since none deserves that grace, In this Crystal view thy face.
Soul When the Creator's skill is priz'd, The rest is all but Earth disguis'd.
Pleasure Heark how Musick then prepares For thy Stay these charming Aires ; Which the posting Winds recall, And suspend the Rivers Fall.
Soul Had I but any time to lose, On this I would it all dispose.
Cease Tempter.
None can chain a mind Whom this sweet Chordage cannot bind.
Chorus Earth cannot shew so brave a Sight As when a single Soul does fence The Batteries of alluring Sense, And Heaven views it with delight.
Then persevere: for still new Charges sound: And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crown'd.
Pleasure All this fair, and cost, and sweet, Which scatteringly doth shine, Shall within one Beauty meet, And she be only thine.
Soul If things of Sight such Heavens be, What Heavens are those we cannot see? Pleasure Where so e're thy Foot shall go The minted Gold shall lie; Till thou purchase all below, And want new Worlds to buy.
Soul Wer't not a price who 'ld value Gold? And that's worth nought that can be sold.
Pleasure Wilt thou all the Glory have That War or Peace commend? Half the World shall be thy Slave The other half thy Friend.
Soul What Friends, if to my self untrue? What Slaves, unless I captive you? Pleasure Thou shalt know each hidden Cause; And see the future Time: Try what depth the Centre draws; And then to Heaven climb.
Soul None thither mounts by the degree Of Knowledge, but Humility.
Chorus Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul; The World has not one Pleasure more: The rest does lie beyond the pole, And is thine everlasting Store.
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A Dialogue Between Thyrsis And Dorinda

 Dorinda
When Death, shall snatch us from these Kids,
And shut up our divided Lids,
Tell me Thyrsis, prethee do,
Whither thou and I must go.
Thyrsis To the Elizium: (Dorinda) oh where i'st? Thyrsis A Chast Soul, can never mis't.
Dorinda I know no way, but one, our home Is our Elizium? Thyrsis Cast thine Eye to yonder Skie, There the milky way doth lye; 'Tis a sure but rugged way, That leads to Everlasting day.
Dorinda There Birds may nest, but how can I, That have no wings and cannot fly.
Thyrsis Do not sigh (fair Nimph) for fire Hath no wings, yet doth aspire Till it hit, against the pole, Heaven's the Center of the Soul.
Dorinda But in Elizium how do they Pass Eternity away.
Thyrsis Ho, ther's, neither hope nor fear Ther's no Wolf, no Fox, no Bear.
No need of Dog to fetch our stray, Our Lightfoot we may give away; And there most sweetly thine Ear May feast with Musick of the Sphear.
How I my future state By silent thinking, Antidate: I preethe let us spend, our time come, In talking of Elizium.
Thyrsis Then I'le go on: There, sheep are full Of softest grass, and softest wooll; There, birds sing Consorts, garlands grow, Cold winds do whisper,springs do flow.
There, alwayes is, a rising Sun, And day is ever, but begun.
Shepheards there, bear equal sway, And every Nimph's a Queen of May.
Dorinda Ah me, ah me.
Thyrsis Dorinda, why do'st Cry? Dorinda I'm sick, I'm sick, and fain would dye: Convinc't me now, that this is true, By bidding, with mee, all adieu I cannot live, without thee, I Will for thee,much more with thee dye.
Dorinda Then let us give Corellia charge o'th Sheep, And thou and I'le pick poppies and them steep In wine, and drink on't even till we weep, So shall we smoothly pass away in sleep.
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Tom Mays Death

 As one put drunk into the Packet-boat,
Tom May was hurry'd hence and did not know't.
But was amaz'd on the Elysian side, And with an Eye uncertain, gazing wide, Could not determine in what place he was, For whence in Stevens ally Trees or Grass.
Nor where the Popes head, nor the Mitre lay, Signs by which still he found and lost his way.
At last while doubtfully he all compares, He saw near hand, as he imagin'd Ares.
Such did he seem for corpulence and port, But 'twas a man much of another sort; 'Twas Ben that in the dusky Laurel shade Amongst the Chorus of old Poets laid, Sounding of ancient Heroes, such as were The Subjects Safety, and the Rebel's Fear.
But how a double headed Vulture Eats, Brutus and Cassius the Peoples cheats.
But seeing May he varied streight his song, Gently to signifie that he was wrong.
Cups more then civil of Emilthian wine, I sing (said he) and the Pharsalian Sign, Where the Historian of the Common-wealth In his own Bowels sheath'd the conquering health.
By this May to himself and them was come, He found he was tranflated, and by whom.
Yet then with foot as stumbling as his tongue Prest for his place among the Learned throng.
But Ben, who knew not neither foe nor friend, Sworn Enemy to all that do pretend, Rose more then ever he was seen severe, Shook his gray locks, and his own Bayes did tear At this intrusion.
Then with Laurel wand, The awful Sign of his supream command.
At whose dread Whisk Virgil himself does quake, And Horace patiently its stroke does take, As he crowds in he whipt him ore the pate Like Pembroke at the Masque, and then did rate.
Far from these blessed shades tread back agen Most servil' wit, and Mercenary Pen.
Polydore, Lucan, Allan, Vandale, Goth, Malignant Poet and Historian both.
Go seek the novice Statesmen, and obtrude On them some Romane cast similitude, Tell them of Liberty, the Stories fine, Until you all grow Consuls in your wine.
Or thou Dictator of the glass bestow On him the Cato, this the Cicero.
Transferring old Rome hither in your talk, As Bethlem's House did to Loretto walk.
Foul Architect that hadst not Eye to see How ill the measures of these States agree.
And who by Romes example England lay, Those but to Lucan do continue May.
But the nor Ignorance nor seeming good Misled, but malice fixt and understood.
Because some one than thee more worthy weares The sacred Laurel, hence are all these teares? Must therefore all the World be set on flame, Because a Gazet writer mist his aim? And for a Tankard-bearing Muse must we As for the Basket Guelphs and Gibellines be? When the Sword glitters ore the Judges head, And fear has Coward Churchmen silenced, Then is the Poets time, 'tis then he drawes, And single fights forsaken Vertues cause.
He, when the wheel of Empire, whirleth back, And though the World disjointed Axel crack, Sings still of ancient Rights and better Times, Seeks wretched good, arraigns successful Crimes.
But thou base man first prostituted hast Our spotless knowledge and the studies chast.
Apostatizing from our Arts and us, To turn the Chronicler to Spartacus.
Yet wast thou taken hence with equal fate, Before thou couldst great Charles his death relate.
But what will deeper wound thy little mind, Hast left surviving Davenant still behind Who laughs to see in this thy death renew'd, Right Romane poverty and gratitude.
Poor Poet thou, and grateful Senate they, Who thy last Reckoning did so largely pay.
And with the publick gravity would come, When thou hadst drunk thy last to lead thee home.
If that can be thy home where Spencer lyes And reverend Chaucer, but their dust does rise Against thee, and expels thee from their side, As th' Eagles Plumes from other birds divide.
Nor here thy shade must dwell, Return, Return, Where Sulphrey Phlegeton does ever burn.
The Cerberus with all his Jawes shall gnash, Megera thee with all her Serpents lash.
Thou rivited unto Ixion's wheel Shalt break, and the perpetual Vulture feel.
'Tis just what Torments Poets ere did feign, Thou first Historically shouldst sustain.
Thus by irrevocable Sentence cast, May only Master of these Revels past.
And streight he vanisht in a Cloud of Pitch, Such as unto the Sabboth bears the Witch.
Written by Andrew Marvell | Create an image from this poem

A Dialogue Between the Resolved Soul And Created Pleasure

 Courage my Soul, now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal Shield.
Close on thy Head thy Helmet bright.
Ballance thy Sword against the Fight.
See where an Army, strong as fair, With silken Banners spreads the air.
Now, if thou bee'st that thing Divine, In this day's Combat let it shine: And shew that Nature wants an Art To conquer one resolved Heart.
Pleasure Welcome the Creations Guest, Lord of Earth, and Heavens Heir.
Lay aside that Warlike Crest, And of Nature's banquet share: Where the Souls of fruits and flow'rs Stand prepar'd to heighten yours.
Soul I sup above, and cannot stay To bait so long upon the way.
Pleasure On these downy Pillows lye, Whose soft Plumes will thither fly: On these Roses strow'd so plain Lest one Leaf thy Side should strain.
Soul My gentler Rest is on a Thought, Conscious of doing what I ought.
Pleasure If thou bee'st with Perfumes pleas'd, Such as oft the Gods appeas'd, Thou in fragrant Clouds shalt show Like another God below.
Soul A Soul that knowes not to presume Is Heaven's and its own perfume.
Pleasure Every thing does seem to vie Which should first attract thine Eye: But since none deserves that grace, In this Crystal view thy face.
Soul When the Creator's skill is priz'd, The rest is all but Earth disguis'd.
Pleasure Heark how Musick then prepares For thy Stay these charming Aires ; Which the posting Winds recall, And suspend the Rivers Fall.
Soul Had I but any time to lose, On this I would it all dispose.
Cease Tempter.
None can chain a mind Whom this sweet Chordage cannot bind.
Chorus Earth cannot shew so brave a Sight As when a single Soul does fence The Batteries of alluring Sense, And Heaven views it with delight.
Then persevere: for still new Charges sound: And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crown'd.
Pleasure All this fair, and cost, and sweet, Which scatteringly doth shine, Shall within one Beauty meet, And she be only thine.
Soul If things of Sight such Heavens be, What Heavens are those we cannot see? Pleasure Where so e're thy Foot shall go The minted Gold shall lie; Till thou purchase all below, And want new Worlds to buy.
Soul Wer't not a price who 'ld value Gold? And that's worth nought that can be sold.
Pleasure Wilt thou all the Glory have That War or Peace commend? Half the World shall be thy Slave The other half thy Friend.
Soul What Friends, if to my self untrue? What Slaves, unless I captive you? Pleasure Thou shalt know each hidden Cause; And see the future Time: Try what depth the Centre draws; And then to Heaven climb.
Soul None thither mounts by the degree Of Knowledge, but Humility.
Chorus Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul; The World has not one Pleasure more: The rest does lie beyond the pole, And is thine everlasting Store.
Written by Andrew Marvell | Create an image from this poem

The Unfortunate Lover

 Alas, how pleasant are their dayes
With whom the Infant Love yet playes!
Sorted by pairs, they still are seen
By Fountains cool, and Shadows green.
But soon these Flames do lose their light, Like Meteors of a Summers night: Nor can they to that Region climb, To make impression upon Time.
'Twas in a Shipwrack, when the Seas Rul'd, and the Winds did what they please, That my poor Lover floting lay, And, e're brought forth, was cast away: Till at the last the master-Wave.
Upon the Rock his Mother drave; And there she split against the Stone, In a Cesarian Section.
The Sea him lent these bitter Tears Which at his Eyes he alwaies bears.
And from the Winds the Sighs he bore, Which through his surging Breast do roar.
No Day he saw but that which breaks, Through frighted Clouds in forked streaks.
While round the ratling Thunder hurl'd, As at the Fun'ral of the World.
While Nature to his Birth presents This masque of quarrelling Elements; A num'rous fleet of Corm'rants black, That sail'd insulting o're the Wrack, Receiv'd into their cruel Care, Th' unfortunate and abject Heir: Guardians most fit to entertain The Orphan of the Hurricane.
They fed him up with Hopes and Air, Which soon digested to Despair.
And as one Corm'rant fed him, still Another on his Heart did bill.
Thus while they famish him, and feast, He both consumed, and increast: And languished with doubtful Breath, Th' Amphibium of Life and Death.
And now, when angry Heaven wou'd Behold a spectacle of Blood, Fortune and He are call'd to play At sharp before it all the day: And Tyrant Love his brest does ply With all his wing'd Artillery.
Whilst he, betwixt the Flames and Waves, Like Ajax, the mad Tempest braves.
See how he nak'd and fierce does stand, Cuffing the Thunder with one hand; While with the other he does lock, And grapple, with the stubborn Rock: From which he with each Wave rebounds, Torn into Flames, and ragg'd with Wounds.
And all he saies, a Lover drest In his own Blood does relish best.
This is the only Banneret That ever Love created yet: Who though, by the Malignant Starrs, Forced to live in Storms and Warrs; Yet dying leaves a Perfume here, And Musick within every Ear: And he in Story only rules, In a Field Sable a Lover Gules.
Written by Andrew Marvell | Create an image from this poem

Mourning

 You, that decipher out the Fate
Of humane Off-springs from the Skies,
What mean these Infants which of late
Spring from the Starrs of Chlora's Eyes?

Her Eyes confus'd, and doubled ore,
With Tears suspended ere they flow;
Seem bending upwards, to restore
To Heaven, whence it came, their Woe.
When, molding of the watry Sphears, Slow drops unty themselves away; As if she, with those precious Tears, Would strow the ground where Strephon lay.
Yet some affirm, pretending Art, Her Eyes have so her Bosome drown'd, Only to soften near her Heart A place to fix another Wound.
And, while vain Pomp does her restrain Within her solitary Bowr, She courts her self in am'rous Rain; Her self both Danae and the Showr.
Nay others, bolder, hence esteem Joy now so much her Master grown, That whatsoever does but seem Like Grief, is from her Windows thrown.
Nor that she payes, while she survives, To her dead Love this Tribute due; But casts abroad these Donatives, At the installing of a new.
How wide they dream! The Indian Slaves That sink for Pearl through Seas profound, Would find her Tears yet deeper Waves And not of one the bottom sound.
I yet my silent Judgment keep, Disputing not what they believe: But sure as oft as Women weep, It is to be suppos'd they grieve.