Minor Poems of Michael Drayton Part 10

Those Paralels so euen, Drawne on the face of Heauen, 50 That curious Art supposes, Direct those Gems, whose cleerenesse Farre off amaze by neerenesse, Each Globe such fire incloses.

Her Bosome full of Blisses, By Nature made for Kisses, So pure and wond'rous cleere, Whereas a thousand Graces Behold their louely Faces, As they are bathing there. 60

O, thou selfe-little blindnesse, The kindnesse of vnkindnesse, Yet one of those diuine; Thy Brands to me were leuer, Thy _Fascia_, and thy Quiuer, And thou this Quill of mine.

This Heart so freshly bleeding, Vpon it owne selfe feeding, Whose woundes still dropping be; O Loue, thy selfe confounding, 70 Her coldnesse so abounding, And yet such heat in me.

Yet if I be inspired, Ile leaue thee so admired, To all that shall succeed, That were they more then many, 'Mongst all, there is not any, That Time so oft shall read.

Nor Adamant ingraued, That hath been choisely 'st saued, 80 IDEA'S Name out-weares; So large a Dower as this is, The greatest often misses, The Diadem that beares.

TO HIS VALENTINE

Muse, bid the Morne awake, Sad Winter now declines, Each Bird doth chuse a Make, This day 's Saint VALENTINE'S; For that good Bishop's sake Get vp, and let vs see, What Beautie it shall bee, That Fortune vs a.s.signes.

But lo, in happy How'r, The place wherein she lyes, 10 In yonder climbing Tow'r, Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise; O IOVE! that in a Show'r, As once that Thund'rer did, When he in drops lay hid, That I could her surprize.

Her Canopie Ile draw, With spangled Plumes bedight, No Mortall euer saw So rauis.h.i.+ng a sight; 20 That it the G.o.ds might awe, And pow'rfully trans-pierce The Globie Vniuerse, Out-shooting eu'ry Light.

My Lips Ile softly lay Vpon her heau'nly Cheeke, Dy'd like the dawning Day, As polish'd Iuorie sleeke: And in her Eare Ile say; O, thou bright Morning-Starre, 30 'Tis I that come so farre, My Valentine to seeke.

Each little Bird, this Tyde, Doth chuse her loued Pheere, Which constantly abide In Wedlock all the yeere, As Nature is their Guide: So may we two be true, This yeere, nor change for new, As Turtles coupled were. 40

The Sparrow, Swan, the Doue, Though VENVS Birds they be, Yet are they not for Loue So absolute as we: For Reason vs doth moue; They but by billing woo: Then try what we can doo, To whom each sense is free.

Which we haue more then they, By liuelyer Organs sway'd, 50 Our Appet.i.te each way More by our Sense obay'd: Our Pa.s.sions to display, This Season vs doth fit; Then let vs follow it, As Nature vs doth lead.

One Kisse in two let's breake, Confounded with the touch, But halfe words let vs speake, Our Lip's imploy'd so much, 60 Vntill we both grow weake, With sweetnesse of thy breath; O smother me to death: Long let our Ioyes be such.

Let's laugh at them that chuse Their Valentines by lot, To weare their Names that vse, Whom idly they haue got: Such poore choise we refuse, Saint VALENTINE befriend; 70 We thus this Morne may spend, Else Muse, awake her not.

THE HEART

If thus we needs must goe, What shall our one Heart doe, This One made of our Two?

Madame, two Hearts we brake, And from them both did take The best, one Heart to make.

Halfe this is of your Heart, Mine in the other part, Ioyn'd by our equall Art.

Were it cymented, or sowne, 10 By Shreds or Pieces knowne, We each might find our owne.

But 'tis dissolu'd, and fix'd, And with such cunning mix'd, No diffrence that betwixt.

But how shall we agree, By whom it kept shall be, Whether by you, or me?

It cannot two Brests fill, One must be heartlesse still, 20 Vntill the other will.

It came to me one day, When I will'd it to say, With whether it would stay?

It told me, in your Brest, Where it might hope to rest: For if it were my Ghest,

For certainety it knew, That I would still anew Be sending it to you. 30

Neuer, I thinke, had two Such worke, so much to doo, A Vnitie to woo.

Yours was so cold and chaste, Whilst mine with zeale did waste, Like Fire with Water plac'd.

How did my Heart intreat, How pant, how did it beat, Till it could giue yours heat!

Till to that temper brought, 40 Through our perfection wrought, That blessing eythers Thought.

In such a Height it lyes, From this base Worlds dull Eyes, That Heauen it not enuyes.

All that this Earth can show, Our Heart shall not once know, For it too vile and low.

THE SACRIFICE TO APOLLO

Priests of APOLLO, sacred be the Roome, For this learn'd Meeting: Let no barbarous Groome, How braue soe'r he bee, Attempt to enter; But of the Muses free, None here may venter; This for the _Delphian_ Prophets is prepar'd: The prophane Vulgar are from hence debar'd.

And since the Feast so happily begins, Call vp those faire Nine, with their Violins; 10 They are begot by IOVE, Then let vs place them, Where no Clowne in may shoue, That may disgrace them: But let them neere to young APOLLO sit; So shall his Foot-pace ouer-flow with Wit.

Where be the Graces, where be those fayre Three?

In any hand they may not absent bee: They to the G.o.ds are deare, And they can humbly 20 Teach vs, our Selues to beare, And doe things comely: They, and the Muses, rise both from one Stem, They grace the Muses, and the Muses them.

Bring forth your Flaggons (fill'd with sparkling Wine) Whereon swolne BACCHVS, crowned with a Vine, Is grauen, and fill out, It well bestowing, To eu'ry Man about, In Goblets flowing: 30 Let not a Man drinke, but in Draughts profound; To our G.o.d PHBVS let the Health goe Round.

Let your Iests flye at large; yet therewithall See they be Salt, but yet not mix'd with Gall: Not tending to disgrace, But fayrely giuen, Becomming well the place, Modest, and euen; That they with tickling Pleasure may prouoke Laughter in him, on whom the Iest is broke. 40

Or if the deeds of HEROES ye rehea.r.s.e, Let them be sung in so well-ord'red Verse, That each word haue his weight, Yet runne with pleasure; Holding one stately height, In so braue measure, That they may make the stiffest Storme seeme weake, And dampe IOVES Thunder, when it lowd'st doth speake.

And if yee list to exercise your Vayne, Or in the Sock, or in the Buskin'd Strayne, 50 Let Art and Nature goe One with the other; Yet so, that Art may show Nature her Mother; The thick-brayn'd Audience liuely to awake, Till with shrill Claps the Theater doe shake.

Sing Hymnes to BACCHVS then, with hands vprear'd, Offer to IOVE, who most is to be fear'd; From him the Muse we haue, From him proceedeth 60 More then we dare to craue; 'Tis he that feedeth Them, whom the World would starue; then let the Lyre Sound, whilst his Altars endlesse flames expire.

TO CVPID

Maydens, why spare ye?

Or whether not dare ye Correct the blind Shooter?

Because wanton VENVS, So oft that doth paine vs, Is her Sonnes Tutor.

Now in the Spring, He proueth his Wing, The Field is his Bower, And as the small Bee, 10 About flyeth hee, From Flower to Flower.

And wantonly roues, Abroad in the Groues, And in the Ayre houers, Which when it him deweth, His Fethers he meweth, In sighes of true Louers.

And since doom'd by Fate, (That well knew his Hate) 20 That Hee should be blinde; For very despite, Our Eyes be his White, So wayward his kinde.