Upon the Ring sent to his Bellama.
Cupid oft-times disdains to dwell
In lofty palace, but does shell
Himself in straw-thatched roof, and choose
For novel a September rose
1560Before a diamond to present,
Or time in silver ceilings pent;
Great gifts enforce, but small ones woo,
And forced respects will never do.
He questions his own worth that fears
To whisper in his mistress' ears
With smallest gifts, since true worth hates
A boon which for him loudly prates,
And female worths may justly slight
Those that but with gilt swords dare fight.
1570These make me send this little ring
(An emblem of a greater thing),
Tis bruised—hence representeth true
My heart, bruised, bent, and bowed for you.
Anatomists conclude by art
A vein is stretchèd to the heart
Fro' th' smallest finger of the left;
From vein and finger comes this gift:
Hence merits better, since we find
Many send presents, few their mind.
Upon the Posy I live in hope.
1580'Tis hope that makes me live, and when
My hope's transferred to other men,
Divorced from me, health cannot give
A strength to make my rent heart live.
A rented heart 'tis truly called,
For love of virtues you enthralled,
Tenant at will to you, and pays
Large rents of sighs each hour and days.
But to what number they amount,
Puzzles arithmetic to count.
1590Then, courteous landlady, be please
To seal my heart a lifelong lease.
Else ev'ry slight and frown of yours
Will turn your tenant out of doors.
Yet hope persuades me not to doubt
My heart shall not be turnèd out.
For you have promisèd to come
And live with it, or exchange home;
So I be landlord unto thine,
And you be landlady to mine.
[1600]Say 'Aye' to this, and only Fate
Shall change the tenor of our state.
Bardino from the coven posts with speed
Unto Albino's only polar star,
Loaden with blessings, and beware take heed
As the great grandame's son prepared for war,
Or as a widow's son, whose only joy
Hangs on the nuptials of her lusty boy.
Like as a pilot to some floating keel
When as the bustlers from old Æol's cave
1610On Neptune's furrowed back make it to reel,
And at his death shoot billow after wave:
So tossed in seas of grief Albino tied
His love's choice pinnace to Bardino's guide.
But Bishop-Guts, tun-bellied, all-paunched friar,
In sight of Lesbia's tow'rs, split his fair galley,
Proved a dissembling and perfidious liar;
From his foul breast deceit and hate did sally.
The seeds of every sin in him did bud,
Nothing did wither but this one thing, Good.
1620For to win credit with the Lady-mother,
And raise a liking of himself in her,
He proved a traitor to his abbey-brother,
With abbotess in private does confer,
And unto her imparts his amorous news,
She, not Bellam', his vowèd service views.
But to Albino he returned with faith
(Yet 'twas an oath), 'I importuned thy saint,
Pressed her t' unlock thy secrets: but she saith
"What purblind folly does thy heart attaint?
1630Thou know'st what offers I refused, and thou'll
Confine my love unto a starvèd cowl!"
'Away flings she, and leaves me disconsolate,
Nor after deigned to me a wonted look:
Now is Albino pinched with cruel Fate.
Which is the better, Cupid, or thy book?
Hadst viewed her beauty with a scornful eye
Thou hadst not tasted of her pride and fie.
Hapless Albin', and hapless so much more
Because Albin', rest quiet with thy lot;
1640If Nilus overflow his sandy floor,
Above twelve cubits, it procures a rot.
When at too high a pitch affections tow'r,
Fate with misfortunes oft their hopes doth sour.
Wound not the harmless air with mournful hoots,
Steer not 'gainst Volga's stream thy feeble keel,
Be not like him who 'gainst a whirlwind shoots,
Or like the cockatrice in pecking steel;
For acts, 'gainst Nature wrought, despite do gain,
And love o'erlooking Fortune, reaps disdain.'
1650But let us see what strange effect this news
Writes in his breast (disaster's fatal book),
What stronger plot his working fancy brews
If's lofty thoughts be at this answer shook—
Alas! they are, so weak a thing is man,
Crash'd into atoms with a slighting fan.
His blood retires unto his throbbing heart,
His wannèd cheeks with lawn were overspread,
An aspen-trembling loos'ned every part,
His spirits fainted and his vitals fled,
1660And his quick heart with such strong motions beated
That it, though chilled with fear, his body heated.
Ent'ring his chamber, strewèd o'er with rue,
He leaned his head upon his swelling pillow,
And, sighing, cried 'Bellama! is this true?
Must I be doomèd to the barren willow?
I thought, exempted from my pedant's art,
I should no more have felt the willow's smart.
Thy eyes spake love: and every glance you sent
Writ on my heart, "Albino is approv'd";
1670Whensoe'er my eyes unto thy feature went,
And met with thine, they brought me word "You lov'd",
Then can Bellama not Bellama be?
She may Bellama be, but not to me.
Blest heavens! how have men deserved your ire,
That made you frame this curse, this thing called Woman,
So comely and so useful, giving fire
To sear us men and yet disdain to know man?
Why on their faces have you placed such charms,
To make us court with sighs the worst of harms.'
1680Pandora's box of woes was openèd then,
When first they took in hand to make a woman,
And all the Furies joined to torture men;
Yet women first were rare, but now grown common,
And mischiefs high, when once they common grow
Entomb great states, and commons overthrow.
Thou Love (what should I call thee?) dost entice,
Nay check'st rebellion in the awful gods;
Women thy weapons are, of such high price,
That beat with them they humbly kiss the rods.
1690No life, no joy, no sweet, without a lass;
And yet no sweet nor joy since woman was.
Our eyes do ne'er mistake the day for night,
Nor can the pale-hewed pinks for roses pass,
But when on women's colours they do light.
Then (bribed) they look as through a painted glass,
So that what women are we never see
But what we wish and fancy them to be.
'Mongst thousand virgins which do suck this air,
I never knew but one, but one—one good;
[1700]Whom I supposèd full as good as fair,
And she was making e'er Deucalion's flood:
But she—alas! what should I say?—but she
Is woe to man, a woman unto me.'
Thus in his height'ned fury he condemns
Both Fate and Fortune, honour, wealth, and worth,
Raileth on virgins and their beauteous gems,
And curseth Nature that did bring her forth,
But, above all, his sharp incensèd muse
In wrathful odes Don Cupid does accuse.