LOVE'S ALCHEMY.

SOME that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,
Say, where his centric happiness doth lie.

I have loved, and got, and told,
But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,
I should not find that hidden mystery.
O! 'tis imposture all;

And as no chemic yet th' elixir got,
But glorifies his pregnant pot,
If by the way to him befall
Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,

So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,
But get a winter-seeming summer's night.

Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day,
Shall we for this vain bubble's shadow pay?
Ends love in this, that my man

Can be as happy as I can, if he can
Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom's play?
That loving wretch that swears,

'Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,
Which he in her angelic finds,

Would swear as justly, that he hears,

ΙΟ

20

In that day's rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres. Hope not for mind in women; at their best, Sweetness and wit they are, but mummy, possess'd.

THE CURSE.

WHOEVER guesses, thinks, or dreams, he knows
Who is my mistress, wither by this curse;
Him, only for his purse,

May some dull whore to love dispose,
And then yield unto all that are his foes;
May he be scorn'd by one, whom all else scorn,
Forswear to others, what to her he hath sworn,
With fear of missing, shame of getting, torn.

Madness his sorrow, gout his cramps, may he
Make, by but thinking who hath made them such; 10
And may he feel no touch

Of conscience, but of fame, and be

Anguish'd, not that 'twas sin, but that 'twas she;
Or may he for her virtue reverence

One that hates him only for impotence,

And equal traitors be she and his sense.

1. 3. So 1669; 1633, His only, and only his purse 1. 4. So 1669; 1633, dull heart

1. 5. So 1669; 1633, she yield then to

1. 9. So 1669; 1633, cramp

1. 10. So 1669; 1633, him such

11. 14-17. So 1635; 1633,

In early and long scarceness may he rot,
For land which had been his, if he had not

Himself incestuously an heir begot.

May he dream treason, and believe that he
Meant to perform it, and confess, and die,

And no record tell why;

His sons, which none of his may be,

Inherit nothing but his infamy;

Or may he so long parasites have fed,

That he would fain be theirs whom he hath bred, And at the last be circumcised for bread.

The venom of all stepdames, gamesters' gall,
What tyrants and their subjects interwish,

What plants, mine, beasts, fowl, fish,
Can contribute, all ill, which all
Prophets or poets spake, and all which shall
Be annex'd in schedules unto this by me,
Fall on that man; for if it be a she
Nature beforehand hath out-cursed me.

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30

THE MESSAGE.

SEND home my long stray'd eyes to me,
Which, O! too long have dwelt on thee;
Yet since there they have learn'd such ill,

Such forced fashions,

And false passions,

That they be

Made by thee

Fit for no good sight, keep them still.

1. 3. 1669, But if

Send home my harmless heart again,

Which no unworthy thought could stain ; ΙΟ
But if it be taught by thine
To make jestings

Of protestings,

And break both

Word and oath,

Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes,
That I may know, and see thy lies,
And may laugh and joy, when thou
Art in anguish

And dost languish

For some one

That will none,

Or prove as false as thou art now.

1. 16. 1669, Keep it still, 'tis
1. 24. 1669, dost now

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A NOCTURNAL UPON ST. LUCY'S DAY,
BEING THE SHORTEST DAY.

'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;
The world's whole sap is sunk ;

The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be

At the next world, that is, at the next spring;
For I am a very dead thing,

In whom Love wrought new alchemy.

For his art did express

A quintessence even from nothingness,

From dull privations, and lean emptiness;

He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot

Of absence, darkness, death-things which

not.

1. 12. So 1635; 1633, every dead thing

ΙΟ

are