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Golden though he be,
Content and quiet he would go ;
So much more rich would he esteem
Thy silver, than his golden stream. Sower
Well does the May that lies
Smiling in thy cheeks, confess
Mutual sweetness they express. tears
Nor May return'd more faithful flowers. of
cheeks = lovers
cheeks! Beds of chaste loves,
Eyes = nests
By your own showers seasonably dash’d.
Each other kissing and comforting!
While rain and sunshine, cheeks and eyes,
tears floods But can these fair floods be
O sweet contest; of woes
With loves, of tears with smiles disporting!
Friends with the bosom fires that fill
Eternal tears should thus distil thee!
'Twas his well-pointed dart
And taught that wounded heart
The way into these weeping eyne. Vain loves avaunt! bold hands forbear! The lamb hath dipped his white foot here.
And now where'er he strays
Or more unwelcome ways,
He's follow'd by two faithful fountains ;
eyes - orans
O thou, thy Lord's fair store,
Even when he show'd most poor,
He might provoke the wealth of princes. What prince's wanton’st pride e'er could Wash with silver, wipe with gold ?
Who is that King, but he
That thus can boast to be
Waited on by a wand'ring mine,
O precious prodigal !
Merciless love! is all
Even to the last pearl in thy treasure.
Does the day-star rise ?
Does day close his eyes?
Still the fountain weeps for all. Let night or day do what they will, Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.
Does thy song lull the air ?
Does thy sweet-breath'd pray’r
Up in clouds of incense climb ? Still at each sigh, that is, each stop, A bead, that is
, a tear, does drop. t car
At these thy weeping gates, bys?
Watching their wat'ry motion,
Each winged moment waits,
gone. By thine eye's tinct ennobled thus, Time lays him up : he's precious.
Thus must we date thy memory. Others by moments, months, and years, Measure their ages ; thou, by tears.
time So do perfumes expire ; So sigh tormented sweets, oppress’d
With proud unpitying fires ;
Such tears the suff’ring rose that's vex'd
Say, ye bright brothers,
tears The fugitive sons of those fair eyes
Your fruitful mothers,
What make you here? what hopes can ’tice
Whither away so fast ?
Your sweetness cannot taste,
Nor does the dust deserve their birth. Sweet, whither haste you then ? O, say Why you trip so fast away?
go not to seek
The rose's modest cheek,
Nor the violet's humble head. Though the field's eyes, too, weepers be, Because they want such tears as we.
Much less mean we to trace
fear'd diadems. Crowned heads are toys. We go to meet A worthy object, our Lord's feet.
[In the edition of 1670, the volume by Mr. Phillips in
1785, in Chalmers' collection, and others, the previous Poem is printed with numerous alterations and omissions, in manner following.]
AIL sister springs,
Ever bubbling things!
Heavens thy fair eyes be;
'Tis seed-time still with thee,
And stars thou sow'st, whose harvest dares