I wish thee friends, and one at court Not to build on, but support; To keep thee, not in doing many Oppressions, but from suffering any. I wish thee peace in all thy ways, Nor lazy nor contentious days; And when thy soul and body part, As innocent as now thou art.
My once dear love, hapless that I no more
Must call thee so; the rich affection's store That fed our hopes, lies now exhaust and spent, Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent. We that did nothing study but the way To love each other, with which thoughts the day Rose with delight to us, and with them set, Must learn the hateful art how to forget*. We that did nothing wish that heav'n could give Beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live Beyond that wish, all these now cancel must As if not writ in faith, but words and dust.
Yet witness those clear vows which lovers make, Witness the chaste desires that never break
Into unruly hearts; witness that breast Which in thy bosom anchor'd his whole rest,
* Must learn the hateful art how to forget.] Thus Pope: Of all affliction taught a lover yet,
'Tis sure the hardest science to forget. Eloisa to Abelard.
'Tis no default in us, I dare acquit
Thy maiden faith, thy purpose fair and white As thy pure self: cross planets did envy
Us to each other, and heaven did untie
Faster than vows could bind. O that the stars, When lovers meet, should stand oppos'd in wars! Since then some higher destinies command, Let us not strive nor labour to withstand What is past help; the longest date of grief Can never yield a hope of our relief;
And though we waste ourselves in moist laments, Tears may drown us, but not our discontents, Fold back our arms, take home our fruitless loves That must new fortunes try, like turtle doves Dislodged from their haunts, we must in tears Unwind a love knit up in many years. In this last kiss I here surrender thee Back to thyself, so thou again art free. Thou in another, sad as that, resend The truest heart that lover ere did lend.
Now turn from each, so fare our sever'd hearts As the divorc'd soul from her body parts.
My dearest love! when thou and I must part, And th' icy hand of Death shall seize that heart Which is all thine; within some spacious will
I'll leave no blanks for legacies to fill:
"Tis my ambition to die one of those Who but himself hath nothing to dispose. And since that is already thine, what need I to regive it by some newer deed? Yet take it once again, free circumstance Does oft the value of mean things advance: Who thus repeats what he bequeath'd before, Proclaims his bounty richer than his store. But let me not upon my love bestow What is not worth the giving. I do owe Somewhat to dust: my body's pamper'd care Hungry corruption and the worm will share. That mould'ring relic which in earth must lie Would prove a gift of horror to thine eye. With this cast rag of my mortality Let all my faults and errors buried be. And as my cere-cloth rots, so may kind fate Those worst acts of my life incinerate.
He shall in story fill a glorious room
Whose ashes and whose sins sleep in one tomb. If now to my cold hearse thou deign to bring Some melting sighs as thy last offering, My peaceful exequies are crown'd, nor shall I ask more honour at my funeral.
Thou wilt more richly 'balm me with thy tears Than all the 'nard fragrant Arabia bears.
And as the Paphian queen by her grief's show'r Brought up her dead love's spirit in a flow'r: So by those precious drops rain'd from thine eyes, Out of my dust, O may some virtue rise! And like thy better genius thee attend, Till thou in my dark period shalt end. Lastly, my constant truth let me commend To him thou choosest next to be thy friend. For (witness all things good) I would not have Thy youth and beauty married to my grave, Twould show thou didst repent the style of wife Should'st thou relapse into a single life. They with preposterous grief the world delude Who mourn for their lost mates in solitude; Since widowhood more strongly doth enforce The much-lamented lot of their divorce. Themselves then of their losses guilty are, Who may, yet will not, suffer a repair. Those were barbarian wives that did invent Weeping to death at th' husband's monument, But in more civil rites she doth approve Her first, who ventures on a second love; For else it may be thought if she refrain, She sped so ill she durst not try again.
Up then, my love, and choose some worthier one Who may supply my room when I am gone; So will the stock of our affection thrive No less in death, than were I still alive. And in my urn I shall rejoice, that I Am both testator thus and legacy *.
Dr. King's Poems, p. 28.
This little piece is worth all the unmanly snivelling Elegies that Hammond ever wrote.
Ask me why I send you here This firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you
This primrose all bepearl'd with dew; I straight will whisper in your ears, The sweets of love are wash'd with tears.
Ask me why this flower doth shew
So yellow, green, and sickly too; Ask me why the stalk is weak, And bending yet it doth not break;
I must tell you these discover,
What doubts and fears are in a lover.
CAUTION FOR COURTLY DAMSELS.
BEWARE, fair maid, of mighty courtiers' oaths, Take heed what gifts or favours you receive; Let not the fading gloss of silken clothes Dazzle your virtues, or your fame bereave:
For once but leave the hold you have of grace, Who will regard your fortune or your face?
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