Me, so oft my Fancy drew
Here and there, that I ne'er knew
Where to place Desire, before,
So that range it might no more.
But as he that passeth by
Where, in all her jollity,
Flora's riches, in a row,
Doth in seemly order grow;
And a thousand flowers stand,
Bending as to kiss his hand:
Out of which delightful store,
One, he may take, and no more!
Long he pausing, doubteth whether
Of those fair ones he should gather.
First, the Primrose courts his eyes!
Then, the Cowslip he espies!
Next, the Pansy seems to woo him!
Then, Carnations bow unto him!
Which, whilst that enamoured Swain
From the stalk, intends to strain;
(As half fearing to be seen)
Prettily, her leaves between,
Peeps the Violet! pale to see
That her virtues slightèd be:
Which so much his liking wins
That, to seize her, he begins;
Yet before he stooped so low
He, his wanton eye did throw
On a stem that grew more high,
And the Rose did there espy.
Who, besides her precious scent,
To procure his eyes' content,
Did display her goodly breast;
Where he found, at full exprest,
All the Good that Nature showers
On a thousand other flowers.
Wherewith he, affected, takes it!
His Beloved Flower, he makes it!
And, without desire of more,
Walks through all he saw before.
So I, wandering but erewhile,
Through the Garden of this Isle,
Saw rich Beauties, I confess,
And in number, numberless;
And so differing lovely too,
That I had a world to do,
Ere I could set up my rest
Where to choose, and choose the best.
One I saw, whose Hair excellèd!
On another's Brow there dwellèd
Such a Majesty, it seemed
She was best to be esteemed!
This had, with her Speeches won me!
That, with Silence had undone me!
On her Lips, the Graces hung!
T'other charmed me with her tongue!
In her Eyes, a third did bear
That which did anew ensnare!
Then a fourth did fairer show,
Yet wherein I did not know!
Only this perceivèd I,
Somewhat pleased my Fantasy.
Now the Wealth, I most esteemed!
Honour then, I better deemed!
Next, the love of Beauty seized me!
And then Virtue better pleased me!
Juno's love I nought esteemed!
Whilst a Venus fairer seemed!
Nay, both could not me suffice,
Whilst a Pallas was more wise!
Though I found enough in One
To content, if still alone.
Amarillis, I did woo!
And I courted Phillis too!
Daphne, for her love I chose!
Cloris, for that damask rose
In her cheek, I held as dear!
Yea, a thousand liked, well near!
And in love with All together,
Feared the enjoying Either!
'Cause to be, of one possest,
Barred the hope of all the rest.
Thus I fondly fared, till Fate,
(Which I must confess, in that,
Did a greater favour to me,
Than the world can malice do me)
Shewed to me that matchless flower
Subject for this Song of our.
Whose perfection having eyed
Reason instantly espied,
That Desire, which ranged abroad,
There, would find a period.
And, no marvel! if it might:
For it, there, hath all Delight;
And in Her, hath Nature placed
What each several Fair once graced.
Nor am I, alone delighted,
With those graces, all united,
Which the Sense's eye doth find
Scattered throughout Womankind.
But my Reason finds perfections
To inflame my Soul's affections:
Yea, such virtues She possesseth,
As, with firmest pleasures blesseth;
And keeps sound that Beauty's state,
Which would else grow ruinate.
In this Flower are sweets, such store:
I shall never wish for more!
Nor be tempted out to stray
For the fairest buds in May!
Let, who list! for me, advance
The admired flowers of France!
Let, who will! praise and behold
The reservèd Marigold!
Let the sweet-breathed Violet, now,
Unto whom she pleaseth, bow!
And the fairest Lily spread,
Where she will, her golden head!
I have such a flower to wear;
That for those, I do not care!
Never shall my Fancy range!
Nor once think again of change!
Never will I, never more!
Grieve or sigh, as heretofore!
Nor within the lodgings lie
Of Despair, or Jealousy!
Let the young and happy Swains,
Playing on the Britain plains,
Court, unblamed, their shepherdesses!
And with their gold-curlèd tresses
Toy uncensured! until I
Grudge at their prosperity!
Let all Times, both Present, Past;
And the Age that shall be last;
Vaunt the beauties they bring forth!
I have found in One, such worth!
That, content, I neither care
What the best before me were;
Nor desire to live and see
Who shall fair hereafter be.
For I know the hand of Nature
Will not make a fairer creature!
Which, because succeeding days
Shall confess, and add their praise
In approving what my tongue
(Ere they had their being) sung:
Once again, come, lend an ear!
And a Rapture you shall hear
(Though I taste no Thespian spring)
Will amaze you; whilst I sing!
I do feel new Strains inspiring,
And to such brave heights aspiring;
That my Muse will touch a key,
Higher than you've heard to-day!
I have Beauties to unfold
That deserve a Pen of Gold!
Sweets that never dreamed of were!
Things unknown; and such as Ear
Never heard a Measure sound
Since the sun first ran his round!
When Apelles limbed to life,
Loathèd Vulcan's lovely wife;
With such beauties he did turn
Each sweet feature, and each limb,
And so curiously did place
Every well becoming grace;
That 'twas said, ere he could draw
Such a Piece, he naked saw
Many women in their prime
And the fairest of that Time;
From all which, he, parts did take,
Which, aright disposed, make
Perfect Beauty. So when you
Know what I have yet to show,
It will seem to pass so far
Those things which expressèd are;
That you will suppose I've been
Privileged, where I have seen
All the Good that's spread in parts
Through a thousand women's hearts!
With their fair'st conditions lie
Bare, without hypocrisy!
And that I have took from thence,
Each dispersèd excellence
To express Her, who hath gained
More than ever One obtained.
And yet, soft! I fear, in vain
I have boasted such a Strain!
Apprehensions ever are
Greater than Expression, far!
And my striving to disclose
What I know, hath made me lose
My Invention's better part:
And my Hopes exceed my Art!
Speak, I can; yet Think I more!
Words, compared with Thoughts, are poor!
And I find, had I begun
Such a Strain, it would be done
When we number all the sands
Washed o'er perjured Godwin's lands.
For of things I should indite,
Which, I know are infinite.
I do yield! My Thoughts did climb
Far above the power of Rhyme!
And no wonder it is so,
Since there is no Art can show
Red in roses, white in snow;
Nor express how they do grow.
Yea, since bird, beast, stone, and tree,
That inferior creatures be,
Beauties have, which we confess
Lines unable to express;
They more hardly can enrol
Those that do adorn a Soul.
But suppose my Measures could
Reach the height, I thought they would:
Now, relate, I would not though,
What did swell within me so.
For if I should all descry,
You would know as much as I!
And those clowns the Muses hate,
Would of things above them, prate!
Or, with their profaning eyes,
Come to view those mysteries
Whereof, since they disesteemed them,
Heaven hath unworthy deemed them!
And besides, it seems to me,
That your ears nigh tirèd be!
I perceive the fire that charmeth
And inspireth me, scarce warmeth
Your chill hearts! Nay, sure, were I
Melted into Poesy,
I should not a Measure hit,
(Though Apollo prompted it)
Which should able be to leave
That in you, which I conceive!
You are cold! and here I may
Waste my vital heat away
Ere you will be moved so much
As to feel one perfect touch
Of those Sweets; which, yet concealed,
Swell my breast, to be revealed.
Now, my Words, I therefore cease!
That my mounting Thoughts, in peace,
May, alone, those pleasures share,
Whereof Lines unworthy are!
And so you, an end do see,
Of my Song; though long it be!
No sooner had the Shepherd Phil'aret,
To this Description, his last period set;
But instantly, descending from a wood,
Which on a rising ground, adjoining stood,
A troop of Satyrs, to the view of all,
Came dancing, of a new devisèd brall.
The measures they did pace, by Him were taught them,
Who, to so rare a gentleness had brought them,
That he had learned their rudeness an observing
Of such respect unto the well deserving;
As they became to no man else, a terror,
But such as did persist in wilful error:
And they, the Ladies, made no white affeared
Though since that time, they some Great Men have scared.
Their dance, the Whipping of Abuse they named;
And though the Shepherd, since that, hath been blamed:
Yet, now, 'tis daily seen in every town!
And there's no Country Dance that's better known!
Nor that hath gained a greater commendation
'Mongst those that love an honest recreation!
This Scene presented; from a grove was heard
A Set of Viols; and there, was prepared
A Country Banquet, which this Shepherd made
To entertain the Ladies, in the shade.
And 'tis supposed, his Song prolongèd was
Of purpose, that it might be brought to pass.
So well it was performed that each one deemed,
The banquet might the City have beseemed;
Yet, better was their Welcome, than their Fare,
Which they perceived, and the merrier were.