Her boatemen desp'rate Sapho still admires,
And nothing but the Sea can quench her fires.
Distracted Phaedra with a restless eye
Her disdain'd letters reads, then casts them by.
Rare, faithfull Thysbe-sequestred from these-
A silent, unseen sorrow doth best please;
For her love's sake, and last good-night, poor she
Walks in the shadow of a mulberrie.
Neer her young Canace with Dido sits,
A lovely couple, but of desp'rate wits,
Both dy'd alike, both pierc'd their tender brests,
This with her father's sword, that with her guests.
Within the thickest textures of the grove
Diana in her silver-beams doth rove,
Her crown of stars the pitchie aire invades,
And with a faint light gilds the silent shades,
Whilst her sad thoughts fixt on her sleepie lover,
To Latmos-hill, and his retirements move her,
A thousand more through the wide, darksome wood
Feast on their cares, the maudlin-lover's food;
For griefe and absence do but edge desire,
And death is fuell to a lover's fire.
To see these trophies of his wanton bow,
Cupid comes in, and all in triumph now,
Rash-unadvised boy!-disperseth round
The sleepie mists; his wings and quiver wound
With noise the quiet aire. This sudden stirre
Betrayes his godship, and as we from far
A clouded, sickly moon observe, so they
Through the false mists his ecclyps'd torch betray. A hot pursute they make, and though with care,
And a slow wing, he softly stems the aire,
Yet they as subtill now as he - surround
His silenc'd course-and with the thick night
Surprize the wag. As in a dream we strive
To voyce our thoughts, and vainly would revive.
Our entraunc'd tongues, but can not speech en-
'Till the soule wakes and reassumes her charge; So joyous of their prize, they flock about And vainly swell with an imagin'd shout.
Far in these shades, and melancholy coasts A myrtle growes, well known to all the ghosts, Whose stretch'd top-like a great man rais'd by Fate
Looks big, and scorns his neighbour's low estate; His leavy arms into a green cloud twist,
And on each branch doth sit a lazie mist,
A fatall tree, and luckless to the gods,
Which for disdain in life - Love's worst of ols,—
The queen of shades, fair Proserpine did rack
The sad Adonis: hither now they pack,
This little god, where, first disarm'd, they bind,
His skittish wings, then both his hands behind
His back they tye, and thus secur'd at last
The peevish wanton to the tree made fast.
Here at adventure without judge or jurie,
He is condemn'd, while with united furie
They all assaile him; as a theife at bar
Left to the Law, and mercy of his star,
Hath bills heap'd on him, and is question'd there
By all the men that have been rob'd that year;
So now what ever Fate, or their own will
Scor'd up in life, Cupid must pay the bill.
Their servant's falshood, jealousie, disdain,
And all the plagues that abus'd maids can feign,
Are layd on him, and then to heighten spleen,
Their own deaths crown the summe. Prest thus
between
His faire accusers, 'tis at last decreed,
He by those weapons, that they died, should bleed.
One grasps an airie sword, a second holds
Illusive fire, and in vain wanton folds
Belyes a flame; others lesse kind appear
To let him bloud, and from the purple tear
Create a rose. But Sapho all this while
Harvests the aire, and from a thicken'd pile
Of clouds like Leucas-top, spreads underneath
A sea of mists, the peacefull billows breath
Without all noise, yet so exactly move
They seem to chide, but distant from above
Reach not the eare, and thus prepar'd-at once
She doth o'rwhelm him with the airie sconce.
Amidst these tumults, and as fierce as they
Venus steps in, and without thought, or stay
Invades her son; her old disgrace is cast
Into the bill, when Mars and shee made fast
In their embraces were expos'd to all
The scene of gods, stark naked in their fall
Nor serves a verball penance, but with hast
From her fair brow-O happy flowres so plac'd!-
She tears a rosie garland, and with this
Whips the untoward boy; they gently kisse
His snowie skin, but she with angry hast
Doubles her strength, untill bedew'd at last
With a thin bloudie sweat, their innate red,
-As if griev'd with the act-grew pale and dead.
This layd their spleen and now-kind soules-
They'l punish him; the torture that he bore,
Seems greater then his crime; with joynt consent
Fate is made guilty, and he innocent.
As in a dream with dangers we contest,
And fictious pains seem to afflict our rest,
So frighted only in these shades of night
Cupid-got loose-stole to the upper light,
Where ever since-for malice unto these-
The spitefull ape doth either sex displease.
But O that had these ladyes been so wise,
To keep his arms, and give him but his eyes!
BOET[HIUS]. LIB. 1. METRUM 1.
WHOSE first year flourish'd with youthfull verse,
In slow, sad numbers, now my griefe
A broken stile my sickly lines afford,
And only tears give weight unto my words;
Yet neither fate nor force my Muse cou'd fright,
The only faithfull consort of my flight;
Thus what was once my green years greatest
Is now my comfort, grown decay'd and hoarie;
For killing cares th' effects of age spurr'd on,
That griefe might find a fitting mansion;
O'r my young head runs an untimely gray,
And my loose skin shrinks at my bloud's decay.
Happy the man! whose death in prosp'rous years
Strikes not, nor shuns him in his age and tears.
But O how deafe is she to heare the crie
Of the opprest soule, or shut the weeping eye!
While treacherous Fortune with slight honours
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