Next, when those Lawnie filmes I see
Play with a wild civility:
And all those airie silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting, so:
I must confesse mine eye and heart
Dotes less on Nature than on Art.
THE CAPTIVED BEE, OR THE LITTLE FILCHER.
As Julia once a slumb'ring lay,
It chanc't a bee did flie that way,
(After a dew, or dew-like show'r,)
To tipple freely in a flow'r.
For some rich flow'r he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip:
But when he felt he suck't from thence
Hony, and in the quintessence;
He drank so much he scarce co'd stir
So Julia took the pilferer:
And thus surpris'd, (as filchers use,)
He thus began himselfe t'excuse:
Sweet lady-flower! I never brought
Hither the least one theeving thought;
But taking those rare lips of your's
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flow rs;
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much sirrup ran at waste;
Besides, know this, I never sting
The flow'r that gives me nourishing;
But with a kisse, or thanks, doe pay
For hony that I beare away.
This said, he laid his little scrip
Of hony 'fore her ladiship;
And told her, (as some tears did fall,)
That, that he took, and that was all.
At which she smil'd; and bade him goe
And take his bag; but thus much know,
When next he came a pilf'ring so,
He sho'd from her full lips derive
Hony enough to fill his hive.
THE NIGHT PIECE.-TO JULIA.
HER eyes the glowworme lend thee,
The shooting starres attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow,
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee!
No will-o'-th'-wispe mislight thee,
Nor snake nor slowworme bite thee;
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay,
Since ghost there's none to affright thee!
Let not the darke thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber,
The starres of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers cleare without number!
Then, Julia, let me wooe thee,
Thus, thus, to come unto me;
And, when I shall meet
Thy silv'ry feet,
My soule I'll poure into thee!
FAIRE pledges of a fruitfull tree,
Why do yee fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.
What, were yee borne to be
An houre or half's delight,
And so to bid good night?
'Twas pitie nature brought yee forth
Meerly to shew your worth,
And lose you quite.
But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'r so brave:
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.
FAIRE daffadills, we weep to see
You haste away so soone;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noone:
Untill the hast'ning day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will goe with you along!
We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring,
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or any thing:
As your hours doe; and drie
Away
Like to the summer's raine,
Or as the pearles of morning dew,
Ne'r to be found again.
GET up, get up for shame; the blooming morne
Upon her wings presents the God unshorne:
See how Aurora throwes her faire
Fresh-quilted colours through the aire:
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see
The dew bespangling herbe and tree:
Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east,
Above an houre since; yet you are not drest;
Nay, not so much as out of bed;
When all the birds have mattens said,
And sung their thankfull hymnes; 'tis sin,
Nay, profanation, to keep in;
When as a thousand virgins on this day,
Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May!
Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seene
To come forth like the spring time, fresh and greene,
And sweet as Flora. Take no care
For jewels for your gowne, or haire:
Feare not, the leaves will strew
Gems in abundance upon you:
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept,
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept:
Come, and receive them while the light
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night:
And Titan on the eastern hill
Retires himselfe, or else stands still
Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be briefe in praying;
Few beads are best, when once we goe a Maying!
Come, my Corinna, come; and, comming, marke
How each field turns a street, each street a parke
Made green, and trimm'd with trees; see how
Devotion gives each house a bough,
Or branch; each porch, each doore, ere this
An ark, a tabernacle is
Made up of whitethorn neatly interwove,
As if here were those cooler shades of love.
Can such delights be in the street
And open fields, and we not see't?
Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey
The proclamation made for May,
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;
But, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying!
There's not a budding boy or girle this day
But is got up, and gone to bring in May:
A deale of youth, ere this, is come
Back, and with whitethorn laden home:
Some have dispatch't their cakes and creame,
Before that we have left to dreame;
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth,
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth :
Many a green gown has been given;
Many a kisse, both odde and even;
Many a glance too has been sent
From out the eye, love's firmament;
Many a jest told of the keyes betraying
This night, and locks pick't; yet w'are not a Maying!
Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime,
And take the harmlesse follie of the time:
We shall grow old apace, and die
Before we know our liberty:
Our life is short, and our dayes run
As fast away as do's the sunne:
And, as a vapour, or a drop of raine
Once lost, can ne'r be found againe,
So when or you, or I, are made
A fable, song, or fleeting shade,
All love, all liking, all delight
Lies drown'd with us in endlesse night.
Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying,
Come, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying!
TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.
WHY doe ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears
Speak griefe in you,
Who were but borne
Just as the modest morne
Teem'd her refreshing dew?
you have not known that shower
That marres a flower;
Nor felt th' unkind
Breath of a blasting wind;
Nor are ye worne with yeares;
Or warp't, as we,
Who think it strange to see
Such pretty flow'rs, (like to orphans young,)
To speak by teares before ye have a tongue.
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