His Farewell to SackViewed 296 times
Farewell thou thing, time past so known, so dear
To me as blood to life and spirit; near,
Nay, thou more near than kindred, friend, man, wife,
Male to the female, soul to body; life
To quick action, or the warm soft side
Of the resigning, yet resisting bride.
The kiss of virgins, first fruits of the bed,
Soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the maidenhead :
These and a thousand sweets could never be
So near or dear as thou wast once to me.
O thou, the drink of gods and angels! wine
That scatter'st spirit and lust, whose purest shine
More radiant than the summer's sunbeam shows;
Each way illustrious, brave, and like to those
Comets we see by night, whose shagg'd portents
Foretell the coming of some dire events,
Or some full flame which with a pride aspires,
Throwing about his wild and active fires;
'Tis thou, above nectar, O divinest soul !
Eternal in thyself, that can'st control
That which subverts whole nature, grief and care,
Vexation of the mind, and damn'd despair.
'Tis thou alone who, with thy mystic fan,
Workst more than wisdom, art, or nature can
To rouse the sacred madness and awake
The frost-bound blood and spirits, and to make
Them frantic with thy raptures flashing through
The soul like lightning, and as active too.
'Tis not Apollo can, or those thrice three
Castalian sisters, sing, if wanting thee.
Horace, Anacreon, both had lost their fame,
Hads't thou not fill'd them with thy fire and flame.
Phoebean splendour! and thou, Thespian spring!
Of which sweet swans must drink before they sing
Their true pac'd numbers and their holy lays,
Which makes them worthy cedar and the bays.
But why, why longer do I gaze upon
Thee with the eye of admiration?
Since I must leave thee, and enforc'd must say
To all thy witching beauties, Go away.
But if thy whimpering looks do ask me why,
Then know that nature bids thee go, not I.
'Tis her erroneous self has made a brain
Uncapable of such a sovereign
As is thy powerful self. Prithee not smile,
Or smile more inly, lest thy looks beguile
My vows denounc'd in zeal, which thus much show thee
That I have sworn but by thy looks to know thee.
Let others drink thee freely, and desire
Thee and their lips espous'd, while I admire
And love thee, but not taste thee. Let my muse
Fail of thy former helps, and only use
Her inadultrate strength: what's done by me
Hereafter shall smell of the lamp, not thee.
Please your Grace, from out your store
Give an alms to one that's poor,
That your mickle may have more.
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Fame’s pillar here at last we set,
Out-during marble, brass or jet;
Charmed and enchanted so
I dreamed this mortal part of mine
Was metamorphosed to a vine,
Which crawling one and every way
In this world, the isle of dreams,
While we sit by sorrow’s streams,
Tears and terrors are our themes
Let’s call for Hymen if agreed thou art –
Delays in love but crucify the heart.
Love’s thorny tapers yet neglected lie;
Bid me to live, and I will live
Thy protestant to be;
Or bid me love, and I will give
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find
A way to measure out the wind?
Distinguish all those floods that are
Can I not sin, but thou wilt be
My private protonotary?
Can I not woo thee to pass by
Now is the time for mirth,
Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;
For with the flow'ry earth
If thou dislik’st the piece thou light’st on first, …
Think that of all that I have writ the worst;
But if thou read’st my book unto the end,
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood,
Who as soon fell fast asleep
Here lies Jonson with the rest
Of the poets; but the best.
Reader, would’st thou more have known?
Whenas in silks my Julia goes,
Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows
That liquefaction of her clothes.