My dearest love, though froward jealousy
With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy;
Sooner I'll think the sun will cease to cheer
The teeming earth, and that forget to bear,
Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames
With ribs of ice in June would1 bind his streams,
Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures,
Would change her course, before you alter yours.
But oh! that treacherous breast, to whom weak you
Did trust our counsels, and we both may rue
Having his falsehood found too late, 't was he
That made me cast you guilty, and you me,
Whilst he (black wretch) betrayed each simple word
We spake, unto the cunning of a third;
Cursed may he be, that so our love hath slain,
And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain,
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity;
In plaguing him let misery be witty,
Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye,
Till he be noisome as his infamy.
May he without remorse deny God thrice,
And not be trusted more on his soul's price;
And after all self-torment when he dies,
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes,
Swine eat his bowels, and his falser tongue,
That uttered all, be to some raven flung,
And let his carrion corse be a longer feast
To the King's dogs, than any other beast!
Now have I 2 cursed, let us our love revive;
In me the flame was never more alive;
I could begin again to court and praise,
And in that pleasure lengthen the short days
Of my life's lease, like painters, that do take
Delight, not in made work,1 but whiles they make ;
I could renew those times when first I saw
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law
To like what you liked, and at masks and plays
Commend the self-same actors the same ways,
Ask how you did, and often, with intent
Of being officious, be impertinent;
All which were such soft pastimes, as in these
Love was as subtly catched as a disease;
But, being got, it is a treasure sweet,
Which to defend is harder than to get,
And ought not be profaned on either part,
For though 't is got by chance, 't is kept by art.
WHOEVER loves, if he do not propose
The right true end of love, he 's one that goes
To sea for nothing but to make him sick :
Love is a bear-whelp born; if we o'er-lick
Our love, and force it new strong shapes to take,
err, and of a lump a monster make.
Were not a calf a monster, that were grown
Faced like a man, though better than his own?
Perfection is in unity prefer
One woman first, and then one thing in her.
I, when I value gold, may think upon
The ductileness, the applicatiön,
The wholesomeness, the ingenuity,
From rust, from soil, from fire ever free:
But if I love it, 't is because 't is made
By our new nature, use, the soul of trade.
All these in women we might think upon (If women had them) and yet love but one. Can men more injure women than to say
They love them for that by which they 're not they?
Makes virtue woman? must I cool my blood
Till I both be, and find one, wise and good?
May barren angels love so. But if we
Make love to woman, virtue is not she,
As beauties, no, nor wealth; he that strays thus
From her to hers, is more adulterous
Than if he took her maid. Search every sphere
And firmament, our Cupid is not there;
He's an infernal god, and underground
With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound;
Men to such gods their sacrificing coals
Did not on altars lay, but pits and holes.
Although we see celestial bodies move
Above the earth, the earth we till and love;
So we her airs contemplate, words, and heart,
And virtues, but we love the centric part.
Nor is the soul more worthy or more fit
For love, than this as infinite as it.
But in attaining this desired place
How much they err, that set out at the face!
The hair a forest is of ambushes,
Of springs, snares, fetters, and manacles;
The brow becalms us, when 't is smooth and plain,
And when 't is wrinkled, shipwrecks us again;
Smooth, 't is a paradise, where we would have
Immortal stay; but wrinkled, 't is a grave.
The nose (like to the sweet meridian) runs
Not 'twixt an east and west, but 'twixt two suns;
It leaves a cheek, a rosy hemisphere,
On either side, and then directs us where
Upon the islands fortunate we fall,
Not faint Canaries, but ambrosiäl.
Unto her swelling lips when we are come,
We anchor there, and think ourselves at home,
For they seem all; there sirens' songs, and there
Wise Delphic oracles, do fill the ear;
Then in a creek, where chosen pearls do swell,
The remora, her cleaving tongue, doth dwell.
These and the glorious promontory, her chin,
Being passed, the straits of Hellespont, between
The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts,
(Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests)
Succeeds a boundless sea, but yet thine eye
Some island moles may scattered there descry,
And sailing towards her India, in that way
Shall at her fair Atlantic navel stay;
Though there the current be the pilot made,
Yet ere thou be where thou should'st be embayed,
Thou shalt upon another forest set,
Where many shipwreck and no further get.
When thou art there, consider what this chase
Misspent, by thy beginning at the face.
Rather set out below; practise my art;
Some symmetry the foot hath with that part,
Which thou dost seek, and is thy map for that,
Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at;
Least subject to disguise and change it is;
Men say the Devil never can change his.
It is the emblem, that hath figurëd
Firmness; 't is the first part that comes to bed.
Civility we see refined; the kiss,
Which at the face began, transplanted is,
Since to the hand, since to the Imperial knee,
Now at the Papal foot delights to be:
If kings think that the nearer way, and do
Rise from the foot, lovers may do so too.
For as free spheres move faster far than can
Birds whom the air resists, so may that man
Which
goes this empty and ethereal way,
Than if at beauty's enemies he stay.
Rich Nature hath in women wisely made
Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid;
They then, which to the lower tribute owe,
That way which that exchequer looks must go;
He which doth not, his error is as great,
As who by clyster gives the stomach meat.
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