But Ile not mourne,
50But stay my Turne,
The Wind may come about, Sir,
And once againe
May bring me in,
And help to beare you out, Sir.
A Skeltoniad
The Muse should be sprightly,
Yet not handling lightly
Things graue; as much loath,
Things that be slight, to cloath
Curiously: To retayne
The Comelinesse in meane,
Is true Knowledge and Wit.
Not me forc'd Rage doth fit,
That I thereto should lacke
10Tabacco, or need Sacke,
Which to the colder Braine
Is the true Hyppocrene;
Nor did I euer care
For great Fooles, nor them spare.
Vertue, though neglected,
Is not so deiected,
As vilely to descend
To low Basenesse their end;
Neyther each ryming Slaue
20Deserues the Name to haue
Of Poet: so the Rabble
Of Fooles, for the Table,
That haue their Iests by Heart,
As an Actor his Part,
Might assume them Chayres
Amongst the Muses Heyres.
Parnassus is not clome
By euery such Mome;
Vp whose steep side who swerues,
30It behoues t' haue strong Nerues:
My Resolution such,
How well, and not how much
To write, thus doe I fare,
Like some few good that care
(The euill sort among)
How well to liue, and not how long.
The Cryer
Good Folke, for Gold or Hyre,
But helpe me to a Cryer;
For my poore Heart is runne astray
After two Eyes, that pass'd this way.
O yes, O yes, O yes,
If there be any Man,
In Towne or Countrey, can
Bring me my Heart againe,
Ile please him for his paine;
10And by these Marks I will you show,
That onely I this Heart doe owe.
It is a wounded Heart,
Wherein yet sticks the Dart,
Eu'ry piece sore hurt throughout it,
Faith, and Troth, writ round about it:
It was a tame Heart, and a deare,
And neuer vs'd to roame;
But hauing got this Haunt, I feare
'Twill hardly stay at home.
20For Gods sake, walking by the way,
If you my Heart doe see,
Either impound it for a Stray,
Or send it backe to me.
To His Coy Love
A Canzonet
I pray thee leaue, loue me no more,
Call home the Heart you gaue me,
I but in vaine that Saint adore,
That can, but will not saue me:
These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite;
Was euer man thus serued?
Amidst an Ocean of Delight,
For Pleasure to be sterued.
Shew me no more those Snowie Brests,
10With Azure Riuerets branched,
Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts,
Yet is my Thirst not stanched.
O Tantalvs, thy Paines n'er tell,
By me thou art preuented;
'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in Hell,
But thus in Heauen tormented.
Clip me no more in those deare Armes,
Nor thy Life's Comfort call me;
O, these are but too pow'rfull Charmes,
20And doe but more inthrall me.
But see, how patient I am growne,
In all this coyle about thee;
Come nice thing, let my Heart alone,
I cannot liue without thee.