Imágenes de páginas

In a bed of reverend snow?
Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering
Winter's self into a spring ?
In sum, would'st see a man that can
Live to be old, and still a man ?
Whose latest, and most leaden hours,
Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flow’rs ;
And, when life's sweet fable ends,
Soul and body part like friends :-
No quarrels, murmurs, no delay;
A kiss, a sigh, and so away ?
This rare one, reader, would'st thou see,
Hark hither; and—thyself be he!


[ocr errors]

HE smiling morn had newly waked the day,
And tipp'd the mountains in a tender ray:

When, on a hill, whose high imperious brow
Looks down, and sees the humble Nile below
Lick his proud feet, and haste into the seas,
Through the great mouth that's named from Hercules,
A band of men, rough as the arms they wore,
Look'd round, first to the sea, then to the shore :-
The shore that show'd them what the sea denied,
Hope of a prey. There to the main land tied
A ship they saw, no men she had; yet press'd
Appear’d with other lading, for her breast
Deep in the groaning waters wallowed

Up to the third ring; o'er the shore was spread
Death's purple triumph ; on the blushing ground
Life's late forsaken houses all lay drown'd
In their own blood's dear deluge; some new dead,
Some panting in their yet warm ruins bled,
While their affrighted souls, now wing'd for flight,
Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light:
Those yet fresh streams which crawlèd everywhere,
Show'd that stern war had newly bathed him there:
Nor did the face of this disaster show
Marks of a fight alone, but feasting too;
A miserable and a monstrous feast,
Where hungry war had made himself a guest ;
And, coming late, had eat up guest and all,
Who proved the feast to their own funeral, &c.



SOVE is lost, nor can his mother

Her little fugitive discover:

She seeks, she sighs, but nowhere spies him ;
Love is lost; and thus she cries him.

O yes ! if any happy eye
This roving wanton shall descry:
Let the finder surely know
Mine is the wag; 'tis I that own
The wingèd wand'rer; and that none
May think his labour vainly gone,
The glad descryer shall not miss
To taste the nectar of a kiss


From Venus' lips ; but as for him
That brings him to me, he shall swim
In riper joys; more shall be his,
Venus assures him, than a kiss.
But lest your eye discerning slide,
These marks may be your judgment's guide:
His skin, as with a fiery blushing,
High-coloured is; his eyes still flushing
With nimble flames; and though his mind
Be ne'er so cursed, his tongue is kind :
For never were his words in aught
Found the pure issue of his thought.
The working bees' soft-melting gold,
That which their waxen mines enfold,
Flows not so sweet as do the tones
Of his tuned accents ; but if once
His anger kindle, presently
It boils out into cruelty
And fraud : he makes poor mortals' hurts
The objects of his cruel sports ;
With dainty curls his froward face
Is crown’d about; but, 0, what place,
What farthest nook of lowest hell,
Feels not the strength, the reaching spell
Of his small hand ? yet not so small
As ʼtis powerful therewithal ;
Though bare his skin, his mind he covers,
And, like a saucy bird, he hovers
With wanton wing, now here, now there,
'Bout men and women ; nor will spare
Till at length he, perching, rest


In the closet of their breast.
His weapon is a little bow,
Yet such a one as, Jove knows how,
Ne'er suffer'd yet his little arrow
Of heav'n's highest arches to fall narrow.
The gold that on his quiver smiles
Deceives men's fears with flattering wiles :
But, 0, too well my wounds can tell,
With bitter shafts 'tis sauc'd too well ;
He is all cruel, cruel all ;
His torch imperious, though but small,
Makes the sun, of flames the sire,
Worse than sun-burnt in his fire :
Wheresoe'er you chance to find him,
Seize him, bring him, but first bind him;
Pity not him, but fear thyself,
Though thou see the crafty elf
Tell down his silver drops unto thee,
They're counterfeit, and will undo thee;
With baited smiles if he display
His fawning cheeks, look not that way:
If he offer sugared kisses,
Start, and


the serpent hisses; Draw him, drag him, though he pray, Woo, intreat, and, crying, say Prithee, sweet, now let me go, Here's my quiver, shafts and bow; I'll give thee all, take all :—take heed, Lest his kindness make thee bleed. Whate'er it be love offers, still That, though it shines, 'tis fire, and will consume.


IGH 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 e'er he dies, He strains these words: Base envy, do laugh on, Thus did I fall, and thus fell Phaeton.


HAT! Mars's sword! fair Cytherea, say, Why art thou arm'd so desperately to-day? Mars thou hast beaten naked, and, O, then, What need'st thou put on arms against poor men?



ALLAS saw Venus arm'd, and straight she cried,

"Come, if thou dar'st, thus, thus let us be tried."

Why, fool!" says Venus, "thus provok'st thou me,

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

« AnteriorContinuar »