THOMAS STANLEY.

1620(?)-1678.

["Poems." 1651.]

THE DEPOSITION.

THOUGH, when I loved thee, thou wert fair,

Thou art no longer so;

Those glories all the pride they wear

Unto opinion owe.

Beauties, like stars, in borrowed lustre shine, And 't was my love that gave thee thine.

The flames that dwelt within thine eye

Do now with mine expire;

Thy brightest graces fade and die

At once with my desire.

Love's fires thus mutual influence return;
Thine cease to shine when mine to burn.

Then, proud Celinda, hope no more
To be implored or wooed;

Since by thy scorn thou dost restore
The wealth my love bestowed:

And thy despised disdain too late shall find
That none are fair but who are kind!

THE TOMB.

When, cruel fair one, I am slain
By thy disdain,

And, as a trophy of thy scorn,

To some old tomb am borne,
Thy fetters must their power bequeath
To those of Death;

Nor can thy flame immortal burn,

Like monumental fires within an urn:

Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall prove There is more liberty in Death than Love.

And when forsaken lovers come

To see my tomb,

Take heed thou mix not with the crowd,

And (as a victor) proud,

To view the spoils thy beauty made,
Press near my shade,

Lest thy too cruel breath or name
Should fan my ashes back into a flame,
And thou, devoured by this revengeful fire,
His sacrifice, who died as thine, expire..

But if cold earth, or marble, must
Conceal my dust,

Whilst hid in some dark ruins, I,

Dumb and forgotten, lie,

The pride of all thy victory

Will sleep with me;

And they who should attest thy glory, Will, or forget, or not believe this story. Then to increase thy triumph, let me rest, Since by thine eye slain, buried in thy breast.

THE EXEQUIES.

Draw near,

You lovers that complain

Of Fortune or Disdain,

And to my ashes lend a tear;

Melt the hard marble with your groans,

And soften the relentless stones,

Whose cold embraces the sad subject hide
Of all Love's cruelties, and Beauty's pride.

No verse,

No epicedium bring,

Nor peaceful requiem sing, To charm the terrors of my hearse; No profane slumbers must flow near The sacred silence that dwells here. Vast griefs are dumb; softly, O, softly mourn, Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn.

Yet strew

Upon my dismal grave

Such offerings as you have,
Forsaken cypress, and sad yew;

For kinder flowers can take no birth,

Or growth, from such unhappy earth. Weep only o'er my dust, and say, Here lies To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice.

SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE.

1618-1702.

["Salmacis," etc. 1651.]

CHANGE DEFENDED.

LEAVE, Chloris, leave, prithee no more

With want of love, or lightness charge me :

'Cause thy looks captived me before,

May not another's now enlarge me?

He, whose misguided zeal hath long

Paid homage to some star's pale light,

Better informed, may without wrong,

Leave that t'adore the queen of night.

Then if my heart, which long served thee,
Will to Carintha now incline;
Why termed inconstant should it be,
For bowing 'fore a richer shrine ?

Censure that lover's such, whose will

Inferior objects can entice;

Who changes for the better still,

Makes that a virtue, you call vice.

233

LOVE ONCE, LOVE EVER.

Shall I hopeless then pursue

A fair shadow that still flies me? Shall I still adore, and woo

A proud heart, that does despise me?

I a constant love may so,

But alas! a fruitless, show.

Shall I by the erring light

Of two crosser stars still sail ?
That do shine, but shine in spite,

Not to guide, but make me fail?
I a wandering course may steer,
But the harbour ne'er come near.

Whilst these thoughts my soul possess,
Reason passion would o'ersway;
Bidding me my flames suppress,

Or divert some other way:

But what reason would pursue,

That my heart runs counter to.

So a pilot, bent to make

Search for some unfound out land, Does with him the magnet take,

Sailing to the unknown strand; But that (stir which way he will) To the loved north points still.