TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA.
Ye blushing virgins happy are
In the chaste nunnery of her breasts,
For he'd profane so chaste a fair,
Who e'er should call them Cupid's nests.
Transplanted thus how bright ye grow,
How rich a perfume do ye yield?
In some close garden cowslips so
Are sweeter than i' th' open field.
In those white cloisters live secure
From the rude blasts of wanton breath,
Each hour more innocent and pure,
Till you shall wither into death.
Then that which living gave you room
Your glorious sepulchre shall be:
There wants no marble for a tomb,
Whose breast has marble been to me.
TO CUPID, UPON A DIMPLE IN CASTARA'S CHEEK.
Nimble boy, in thy warm flight
What cold tyrant dimmed thy sight?
Had'st thou eyes to see my fair,
Thou would'st sigh thyself to air,
Fearing, to create this one,
'Nature had herself undone.
But if you, when this you hear,
Fall down murdered through your ear,
Beg of Jove that you may have
In her cheek a dimpled grave.
Lily, rose, and violet
Shall the perfumed hearse beset;
While a beauteous sheet of lawn
O'er the wanton corpse is drawn:
And all lovers use this breath;
'Here lies Cupid blest in death.'
THE DESCRIPTION OF Castara.
Like the violet which alone
Prospers in some happy shade ;
My Castara lives unknown,
To no looser eye betrayed,
For she's to her self untrue,
Who delights i' th' public view.
Such is her beauty as no arts
Have enriched with borrowed grace;
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.
Folly boasts a glorious blood,
She is noblest, being good.
Cautious, she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant;
Nor speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence eloquent:
Of her self survey she takes
But 'tween men no difference makes.
She obeys with speedy will
Her grave parents' wise commands;
And so innocent that ill
She nor acts nor understands;
Women's feet run still astray
If once to ill they know the way.
She sails by that rock, the court,
Where oft honour splits her mast:
And retiredness thinks the port,
Where her fame may anchor cast:
Virtue safely cannot sit,
Where vice is enthroned for wit.
She holds that day's pleasure best
Where sin waits not on delight;
Without mask, or ball, or feast,
Sweetly spends a winter's night:
O'er that darkness, whence is thrust
Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust.
She her throne makes reason climb,
While wild passions captive lie;
And each article of time
Her pure thoughts to Heaven fly:
All her vows religious be,
And her love she vows to me.
TO CASTARA, IN A TRANCE.
Forsake me not so soon; Castara, stay,
And as I break the prison of my clay
I'll fill the canvas with my expiring breath,
And sail with thee o'er the vast main of Death
Some cherubin thus, as we pass, shall play:
'Go, happy twins of love!'-the courteous sea
Shall smooth her wrinkled brow; the winds shall sleep,
Or only whisper music to the deep;
Every ungentle rock shall melt away,
The sirens sing to please, not to betray;
The indulgent sky shall smile; each starry quire
Contend, which shall afford the brighter fire.
While Love, the pilot, steers his course so even
Ne'er to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.
TO CASTARA, UPON THE DEATH OF A LADY.
Castara weep not, tho' her tomb appear
Sometime thy grief to answer with a tear :
The marble will but wanton with thy woe.
Death is the sea, and we like rivers flow
To lose ourselves in the insatiate main,
Whence rivers may, she ne'er, return again.
Nor grieve this crystal stream so soon did fall
Into the ocean; since she perfum'd all
The banks she past, so that each neighbour field
Did sweet flowers cherish'd by her watering yield,
Which now adorn her hearse. The violet there
On her pale cheek doth the sad livery wear,
Which Heaven's compassion gave her and since she
'Cause clothed in purple, can no mourner be,
As incense to the tomb she gives her breath,
And fading on her lady waits in death:
Such office the Ægyptian handmaids did
Great Cleopatra, when she dying chid
The asp's slow venom, trembling she should be
By fate robb'd even of that black victory.
The flowers instruct our sorrows. Come, then, all
Ye beauties, to true beauty's funeral,
And with her to increase death's pomp, decay.
Since the supporting fabric of your clay
Is fallen, how can ye stand? How can the night
Show stars, when Fate puts out the day's great light?
AGAINST THEM WHO LAY UNCHASTITY TO THE
SEX OF WOMEN.
They meet but with unwholesome springs,
And summers which infectious are;
They hear but when the mermaid sings,
And only see the falling star,
Affirm no woman chaste and fair.
Go, cure your fevers; and you'll say
The dog-days scorch not all the year:
In copper mines no longer stay,
But travel to the west, and there
The right ones see,
And grant all gold's not alchemy.
What madman, 'cause the glow-worm's flame
Is cold, swears there's no warmth in fire?
'Cause some make forfeit of their name,
And slave themselves to man's desire,
Shall the sex, free
From guilt, damn'd to the bondage be?
Nor grieve, Castara, though t'were frail;
Thy virtue then would brighter shine,
When thy example should prevail,
And every woman's faith be thine:
And were there none,
'Tis majesty to rule alone.
TO CASTARA. OF TRUE delight.
Why doth the ear so tempt the voice
That cunningly divides the air?
Why doth the palate buy the choice
Delights o' th' sea, to enrich her fare?
As soon as I my ear obey,
The echo's lost even with the breath;
And when the sewer takes away,
I'm left with no more taste than death.
Be curious in pursuit of eyes
To procreate new loves with thine;
Satiety makes sense despise
What superstition thought divine.
Quick fancy how it mocks delight!
As we conceive, things are not such;
The glowworm is as warm as bright,
Till the deceitful flame we touch.
When I have sold my heart to lust,
And bought repentance with a kiss;
I find the malice of my dust,
That told me hell contained a bliss.
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