Up with the jolly bird of light
Who sounds his third retreat to-night;
Fair Aramantha from her bed
Ashamed starts, and rises red
As the carnation mantled morn,
Who now the blushing robe doth spurn, And puts on angry grey, whilst she
The envy of a Deity
Arrays her limbs, too rich indeed
To be enshrin'd in such a weed;
Yet lovely 'twas and straight, but fit;
Not made for her, but she to it:
By nature it sat close and free,
As the just bark unto the tree :
Unlike love's martyrs of the town,
All day imprison'd in a gown,
Who rack'd in silk 'stead of a dress,
Are clothed in a frame or press,
And with that liberty and room,
The dead expatiate in a tomb.
No cabinets with curious washes,
Bladders, and perfumed plashes;
No venom-temper'd waters here,
Mercury is banished this sphere;
Her pail's all this in which wet glass,
She both doth cleanse and view her face.
Far hence all Iberian smells,
Not amulets, pomander spells
Fragrant gales, cool air, the fresh,
And natural odour of her flesh,
Proclaim her sweet from the womb as morn.
Those colour'd things were made, not born,
Which fix'd within their narrow straits,
Do look like their own counterfeits.
So like the provence rose she walk'd,
Flower'd with blush, with verdure stalk'd;
Th' officious wind her loose hair curls,
The dew her happy linen pearls,
But wets a tress, which instantly
Sol with a crisping beam doth dry.
Into the garden is she come,
Love and delight's elysium;
If ever earth show'd all her store,
View her discolour'd budding floor.
Here her glad eye she largely feeds,
And stands 'mongst them, as they 'mong weeds,
As to their queen their tribute pay,
And freely to her lap proscribe
A daughter out of every tribe:
Thus as she moves, they all bequeath
At once the incense of their breath.
The noble Heliotropian
Now turns to her, and knows no sun.
And her glorious face doth vary,
So opens loyal golden-Mary ;
Who if but glanced from her sight,
Straight shuts again as it were night.
The violet (else lost i'th' heap)
Doth spread fresh purple for each step;
With whose humility possess'd
She enthrones the poor-girl in her breast:
The July-flower that hereto thriv’d,
Knowing herself no longer liv'd,
But for one look of her upheaves,
Then 'stead of tears straight sheds her leaves.
Now the rich robed tulip, who
Clad all in tissue close doth woo
Her, (sweet to the eye but smelling sour)
She gathers to adorn her bower.
But the proud honeysuckle spreads
Like a pavilion her heads,
Contemns the wanting commonalty,
That but to two ends useful be,
And to her lips thus aptly placed,
With smell and hue presents her taste.
So all their due obedience pay, Each thronging to be in her way; Fair Aramantha with her eye
Thanks these that live, which else would die:
The rest in silken fetters bound,
By crowning her are crown and crown'd.
And now the sun doth higher rise,
Our Flora to the meadow hies:
The poor distressed heifers low,
And as she approacheth gently bow,
Begging her charitable leisure
To stop them of their milky treasure.
Out of the yeomanry o'th' herd,
With grave aspect, and feet prepar'd,
A rev'rend lady cow draws near,
Bids Aramantha welcome here;
And from her privy purse lets fall
A pearl or two, which seem to call
This adorn'd adored fairy
To the banquet of her dairy.
Soft Aramantha weeps to see
'Mongst men such inhumanity,
That those who do receive in hay,
And pay in silver twice a day,
Should by their cruel barb'rous theft,
Be both of that and life bereft.
But 'tis decreed when ere this dies,
That she shall fall a sacrifice
Unto the gods, since those that trace
Her stem, show 'tis a god-like race;
Descending in an even line
From heifers, and from steers divine,
Making the honour'd extract full
In Io and Europa's bull.
She was the largest goodliest beast,
That ever mead or altar blest;
Round as her udder, and more white
Than is the milky way in night:
Her full broad eye did sparkle fire,
Her breath was sweet as kind desire,
And in her beauteous crescent shone,
Bright as the argent-horned moon.
But see! this whiteness is obscure, Cynthia spotted, she impure; Her body writheld, and her eyes Departing lights at obsequies: Her lowing hot, to the fresh gale, Her breath perfumes the field withal; To those two suns that ever shine, To those plump parts she doth enshrine, To th' hovering snow of either hand, That love and cruelty command.
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