APPENDIX

Song.I prithee let my heart alone!Since now ’tis raised above thee:Not all the beauty thou dost ownAgain can make me love thee.He that was shipwreck’d once before5By such a Siren’s call,And yet neglects to shun the[55:1]shore,Deserves his second fall!Each flattering kiss, each tempting smileThou dost in vain bestow,10Some other lovers might beguileWho not thy falsehood know.But I am proof against all art:No vows shall e’er persuade meTwice to present a wounded heart15To her that hath betray’d me.Could I again be brought to loveThy form, though more divine,I might thy scorn as justly moveAs now thou sufferest mine.20

Song.

I prithee let my heart alone!Since now ’tis raised above thee:Not all the beauty thou dost ownAgain can make me love thee.

He that was shipwreck’d once before5By such a Siren’s call,And yet neglects to shun the[55:1]shore,Deserves his second fall!

Each flattering kiss, each tempting smileThou dost in vain bestow,10Some other lovers might beguileWho not thy falsehood know.

But I am proof against all art:No vows shall e’er persuade meTwice to present a wounded heart15To her that hath betray’d me.

Could I again be brought to loveThy form, though more divine,I might thy scorn as justly moveAs now thou sufferest mine.20

The Loss.Yet ere I go,Disdainful Beauty, thou shalt beSo wretched as to knowWhat joys thou fling’st away with me:A faith so bright,5As Time or Fortune could not rust,So firm, that lovers mightHave read thy story in my dust,And crown’d thy nameWith laurel verdant as thy youth.10Whilst the shrill voice of FameSpread wide thy beauty and my truth.This thou hast lost!For all true lovers, when they findThat my just aims were crossed,15Will speak thee lighter than the wind;And none will layAny oblation on thy shrine,But such as would betrayTheir[56:1]faith to faiths as false as thine.20Yet if thou chooseOn such thy freedom to bestow,Affection may excuse:For love from sympathy doth flow.

The Loss.

Yet ere I go,Disdainful Beauty, thou shalt beSo wretched as to knowWhat joys thou fling’st away with me:

A faith so bright,5As Time or Fortune could not rust,So firm, that lovers mightHave read thy story in my dust,

And crown’d thy nameWith laurel verdant as thy youth.10Whilst the shrill voice of FameSpread wide thy beauty and my truth.

This thou hast lost!For all true lovers, when they findThat my just aims were crossed,15Will speak thee lighter than the wind;

And none will layAny oblation on thy shrine,But such as would betrayTheir[56:1]faith to faiths as false as thine.20

Yet if thou chooseOn such thy freedom to bestow,Affection may excuse:For love from sympathy doth flow.

The Self-Cruel.[57:1]Cast off, for shame, ungentle maid,That misbecoming joy thou wear’st!For in my death (though long delay’d),Unwisely cruel thou appear’st.Insult o’er captives with disdain:5Thou canst not triumph o’er the slain.No, I am now no longer thine;Nor canst thou take delight to seeHim whom thy love did once confineSet, though by death, at liberty;10For if my fall a smile beget,Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.Behold how thy unthrifty prideHath murthered him that did maintain it;And wary souls who never tried15Thy tyrant beauty, will disdain it:But I am softer, and, (though[57:2]meThou wouldst not pity,) pity thee.

The Self-Cruel.[57:1]

Cast off, for shame, ungentle maid,That misbecoming joy thou wear’st!For in my death (though long delay’d),Unwisely cruel thou appear’st.Insult o’er captives with disdain:5Thou canst not triumph o’er the slain.

No, I am now no longer thine;Nor canst thou take delight to seeHim whom thy love did once confineSet, though by death, at liberty;10For if my fall a smile beget,Thou gloriest in thy own defeat.

Behold how thy unthrifty prideHath murthered him that did maintain it;And wary souls who never tried15Thy tyrant beauty, will disdain it:But I am softer, and, (though[57:2]meThou wouldst not pity,) pity thee.

An Answer to a Song, “Wert thou much [?] Fairer than thou art,” by Mr. W. M.[58:1]Wert thou by all affections sought,And fairer than thou wouldst be thought,Or had thine eyes as many dartsAs thou believ’st they shoot at hearts,Yet if thy love were paid to me,5I would not offer mine to thee.I’d sooner court a fever’s heat,Than her that owns a flame as[58:2]great.She that my love will entertainMust meet it with no less disdain;10For mutual fires themselves destroy,And willing kisses yield no joy.I love thee not because aloneThou canst all beauty call thine own,Nor doth my passion fuel seek15In thy bright eye or softer cheek.Then, Fairest! if thou wouldst know why:I love thee ’cause thou canst deny.

An Answer to a Song, “Wert thou much [?] Fairer than thou art,” by Mr. W. M.[58:1]

Wert thou by all affections sought,And fairer than thou wouldst be thought,Or had thine eyes as many dartsAs thou believ’st they shoot at hearts,Yet if thy love were paid to me,5I would not offer mine to thee.

I’d sooner court a fever’s heat,Than her that owns a flame as[58:2]great.She that my love will entertainMust meet it with no less disdain;10For mutual fires themselves destroy,And willing kisses yield no joy.

I love thee not because aloneThou canst all beauty call thine own,Nor doth my passion fuel seek15In thy bright eye or softer cheek.Then, Fairest! if thou wouldst know why:I love thee ’cause thou canst deny.

The Relapse.[59:1]O turn away those cruel eyes,The stars of my undoing!Or death, in such a bright disguise,May tempt a second wooing.Punish their blindly impious[59:2]pride,5Who dare contemn thy glory!It was my fall[59:3]that deifiedThy name, and seal’d thy story.Yet no new sufferings can prepareA higher praise to crown thee;10Though my first death proclaim thee fair,My second will unthrone thee.Lovers will doubt thou canst enticeNo other for thy fuel,And if thou burn one victim twice,15Both think thee poor and cruel!

The Relapse.[59:1]

O turn away those cruel eyes,The stars of my undoing!Or death, in such a bright disguise,May tempt a second wooing.

Punish their blindly impious[59:2]pride,5Who dare contemn thy glory!It was my fall[59:3]that deifiedThy name, and seal’d thy story.

Yet no new sufferings can prepareA higher praise to crown thee;10Though my first death proclaim thee fair,My second will unthrone thee.

Lovers will doubt thou canst enticeNo other for thy fuel,And if thou burn one victim twice,15Both think thee poor and cruel!

A SHEAF OF TRANSLATIONS.

The Revenge.[Ronsard.]Fair rebel to thyself and Time,Who laugh’st at all my tears,When thou hast lost thy youthful prime,And Age his trophy rears,Weighing thy inconsiderate pride,5Thou shalt in vain accuse it:‘Why beauty am I now denied,Or knew not then to use it?’Then shall I wish, ungentle Fair,Thou in like flames may’st burn!10Venus, if just, will hear my prayer,And I shall laugh my turn.

The Revenge.

[Ronsard.]

Fair rebel to thyself and Time,Who laugh’st at all my tears,When thou hast lost thy youthful prime,And Age his trophy rears,

Weighing thy inconsiderate pride,5Thou shalt in vain accuse it:‘Why beauty am I now denied,Or knew not then to use it?’

Then shall I wish, ungentle Fair,Thou in like flames may’st burn!10Venus, if just, will hear my prayer,And I shall laugh my turn.

Claim to Love.[Guarini.]Alas! alas! thou turn’st in vainThy beauteous face away,Which, like young sorcerers, rais’d a painAbove its power to lay.Love moves not as thou turn’st thy[60:1]look,5But here doth firmly rest:He long ago thine[60:2]eyes forsookTo revel in my breast.Thy power on him why hop’st thou moreThan his on me should be?10The claim thou lay’st to him is poorTo that he owns from me.His substance in my heart excels,His shadow, in thy sight:Fire where it burns more truly dwells15Than where it scatters light.

Claim to Love.

[Guarini.]

Alas! alas! thou turn’st in vainThy beauteous face away,Which, like young sorcerers, rais’d a painAbove its power to lay.

Love moves not as thou turn’st thy[60:1]look,5But here doth firmly rest:He long ago thine[60:2]eyes forsookTo revel in my breast.

Thy power on him why hop’st thou moreThan his on me should be?10The claim thou lay’st to him is poorTo that he owns from me.

His substance in my heart excels,His shadow, in thy sight:Fire where it burns more truly dwells15Than where it scatters light.

The Sick Lover.[Guarini.]My sickly breathWastes in a double flame,Whilst Love and DeathTo my poor life lay claim;The fever in whose heat I melt5By her that causeth it[61:1]not felt.Thou who aloneCanst, yet wilt grant no ease,Why slight’st thou one,To feed a new disease?10Unequal Fair! the heart is thine:Ah, why then should the pain be mine?

The Sick Lover.

[Guarini.]

My sickly breathWastes in a double flame,Whilst Love and DeathTo my poor life lay claim;The fever in whose heat I melt5By her that causeth it[61:1]not felt.

Thou who aloneCanst, yet wilt grant no ease,Why slight’st thou one,To feed a new disease?10Unequal Fair! the heart is thine:Ah, why then should the pain be mine?

Time Recover’d.[Casone.]Come, my Dear, whilst youth conspiresWith the warmth of our desires!Envious Time about thee watches,And some grace each minute snatches:Now a spirit, now a ray5From thy eye he steals away;Now he blasts some blooming roseWhich upon thy fresh cheek grows;Gold now plunders in a hair;Now the rubies doth impair10Of thy lips; and with sure hasteAll thy wealth will take at last;Only that of which thou mak’stUse in time, from Time thou tak’st.

Time Recover’d.

[Casone.]

Come, my Dear, whilst youth conspiresWith the warmth of our desires!Envious Time about thee watches,And some grace each minute snatches:Now a spirit, now a ray5From thy eye he steals away;Now he blasts some blooming roseWhich upon thy fresh cheek grows;Gold now plunders in a hair;Now the rubies doth impair10Of thy lips; and with sure hasteAll thy wealth will take at last;Only that of which thou mak’stUse in time, from Time thou tak’st.

Song.[De Voiture.]I languish in a silent flame:For she to whom my vows inclineDoth own perfections so divine,That but to speak were to disclose her name.If I should say that she the store5Of Nature’s graces doth comprise,(The love and wonder of all eyes,)Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?Or though I warily concealThe charms her looks and soul possess,10Should I her cruelty express,And say she smiles at all the pains we feel,Among such suppliants as implorePity, distributing her hate,Inexorable as their fate,—15Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?

Song.

[De Voiture.]

I languish in a silent flame:For she to whom my vows inclineDoth own perfections so divine,That but to speak were to disclose her name.If I should say that she the store5Of Nature’s graces doth comprise,(The love and wonder of all eyes,)Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?

Or though I warily concealThe charms her looks and soul possess,10Should I her cruelty express,And say she smiles at all the pains we feel,Among such suppliants as implorePity, distributing her hate,Inexorable as their fate,—15Who will not guess the Beauty I adore?

Apollo and Daphne.[Marino.]When Phœbus saw a rugged bark beguileHis love, and his embraces intercept,The leaves, instructed by his grief to smile,Taking fresh growth and verdure as he wept,‘How can,’ saith he, ‘my woes expect release,5When these,[62:1]the subject of my tears, increase?’His chang’d yet scorn-retaining Fair he kiss’d,From the lov’d trunk plucking a little bough,And though the conquest which he sought he miss’d,With that triumphant spoil adorns his brow.10Thus this disdainful maid his aim deceives:Where he expected fruit he gathers leaves.

Apollo and Daphne.

[Marino.]

When Phœbus saw a rugged bark beguileHis love, and his embraces intercept,The leaves, instructed by his grief to smile,Taking fresh growth and verdure as he wept,‘How can,’ saith he, ‘my woes expect release,5When these,[62:1]the subject of my tears, increase?’

His chang’d yet scorn-retaining Fair he kiss’d,From the lov’d trunk plucking a little bough,And though the conquest which he sought he miss’d,With that triumphant spoil adorns his brow.10Thus this disdainful maid his aim deceives:Where he expected fruit he gathers leaves.

Song: Torment of Absence and Delay.[Montalvan.]Torment of absence and delayThat thus afflicts my memory!Why dost thou kill me every day,Yet will not give me leave to die?Why dost thou suffer me to live5All hope of life in life denying,Or to my patience tortures giveNever to die, yet ever dying?To fair Narcissa’s brighter eyesI was by Love’s instruction guided,10(A happiness I long did prize,)But now am from their light divided.Favours and gifts my suit obtain’d,But envious Fate would now destroy them,Which if to lose I only gain’d,15What greater pain than to enjoy them?

Song: Torment of Absence and Delay.

[Montalvan.]

Torment of absence and delayThat thus afflicts my memory!Why dost thou kill me every day,Yet will not give me leave to die?Why dost thou suffer me to live5All hope of life in life denying,Or to my patience tortures giveNever to die, yet ever dying?

To fair Narcissa’s brighter eyesI was by Love’s instruction guided,10(A happiness I long did prize,)But now am from their light divided.Favours and gifts my suit obtain’d,But envious Fate would now destroy them,Which if to lose I only gain’d,15What greater pain than to enjoy them?

A Lady Weeping.[Montalvan.]As when some brook flies from itself away,The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray,And, as about the verdant plain it winds,The meadows with a silver ribbon binds,Printing a kiss on every flower she meets,5Losing herself to fill them with new sweets,To scatter frost upon the lily’s head.And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread,—So melting sorrow, in the fair disguiseOf humid stars,[63:1]flow’d from bright Chloris’ eyes,10Which, watering every flower her cheek discloses,Melts into jasmines here, there into roses.

A Lady Weeping.

[Montalvan.]

As when some brook flies from itself away,The murmuring crystal loosely runs astray,And, as about the verdant plain it winds,The meadows with a silver ribbon binds,Printing a kiss on every flower she meets,5Losing herself to fill them with new sweets,To scatter frost upon the lily’s head.And scarlet on the gilliflower to spread,—So melting sorrow, in the fair disguiseOf humid stars,[63:1]flow’d from bright Chloris’ eyes,10Which, watering every flower her cheek discloses,Melts into jasmines here, there into roses.

To his Mistress in Absence.[Tasso.]Far from thy dearest self, the scopeOf all my aims,I waste in secret flames;And only live because I hope.O when will Fate restore5The joys, in whose bright fireMy expectation shall expire,That I may live because I hope no more!

To his Mistress in Absence.

[Tasso.]

Far from thy dearest self, the scopeOf all my aims,I waste in secret flames;And only live because I hope.

O when will Fate restore5The joys, in whose bright fireMy expectation shall expire,That I may live because I hope no more!

The Hasty Kiss.[Secundus.]A kiss I begg’d, and thou didst[64:1]joinThy[64:2]lips to mine;Then, as afraid, snatch’d[64:3]back their treasure,And mock’d[64:4]my pleasure.Again, my Dearest![64:5]—for in this5Thou only gav’st[64:6]desire, and not a kiss.

The Hasty Kiss.

[Secundus.]

A kiss I begg’d, and thou didst[64:1]joinThy[64:2]lips to mine;Then, as afraid, snatch’d[64:3]back their treasure,And mock’d[64:4]my pleasure.Again, my Dearest![64:5]—for in this5Thou only gav’st[64:6]desire, and not a kiss.

Song: When thou thy pliant arms.[Secundus.]When thou thy pliant arms dost wreatheAbout my neck, and gently breatheInto my breast that soft sweet airWith which thy soul doth mine repair;When my faint life thou draw’st away,5(My life which scorching flames decay,)O’ercharg’d, my panting bosom boils,Whose fever thy kind art beguiles,And with the breath that did inspireDoth mildly fan my glowing fire.10Transported, then I cry: ‘AboveAll other deities is Love!Or if a deity there beGreater than Love, ’tis only thee.’

Song: When thou thy pliant arms.

[Secundus.]

When thou thy pliant arms dost wreatheAbout my neck, and gently breatheInto my breast that soft sweet airWith which thy soul doth mine repair;When my faint life thou draw’st away,5(My life which scorching flames decay,)O’ercharg’d, my panting bosom boils,Whose fever thy kind art beguiles,And with the breath that did inspireDoth mildly fan my glowing fire.10Transported, then I cry: ‘AboveAll other deities is Love!Or if a deity there beGreater than Love, ’tis only thee.’

Song: ’Tis no kiss.[Secundus.]’Tis no kiss my Fair bestows!Nectar ’tis, whence new life flows.All the sweets which nimble beesIn their osier treasuriesWith unequall’d art repose,5In one kiss, her lips disclose.These, if I should many take,Soon would me immortal make,Rais’d to the divine abodes,And the banquets of the gods.10Be not, then, too lavish, Fair!But this heavenly treasure spare,’Less thou’lt, too, immortal be:For without thy companyWhat to me were the abodes15Or the banquets of the gods?

Song: ’Tis no kiss.

[Secundus.]

’Tis no kiss my Fair bestows!Nectar ’tis, whence new life flows.All the sweets which nimble beesIn their osier treasuriesWith unequall’d art repose,5In one kiss, her lips disclose.These, if I should many take,Soon would me immortal make,Rais’d to the divine abodes,And the banquets of the gods.10Be not, then, too lavish, Fair!But this heavenly treasure spare,’Less thou’lt, too, immortal be:For without thy companyWhat to me were the abodes15Or the banquets of the gods?

Translated from Anacreon.I.The Chase.With a whip of lilies, LoveSwiftly me before him drove:On we cours’d it through deep floods,Hollow valleys, and rough woods,Till a snake that lurking lay5Chanc’d to sting me by the way.Now my soul was nigh to death,Ebbing, flowing, with my breath,When Love, fanning with his wings,Back my fleeting spirit brings:10‘Learn,’ saith he, ’another day,Love without constraint t’obey!’

Translated from Anacreon.

I.The Chase.

With a whip of lilies, LoveSwiftly me before him drove:On we cours’d it through deep floods,Hollow valleys, and rough woods,Till a snake that lurking lay5Chanc’d to sting me by the way.

Now my soul was nigh to death,Ebbing, flowing, with my breath,When Love, fanning with his wings,Back my fleeting spirit brings:10‘Learn,’ saith he, ’another day,Love without constraint t’obey!’

II.Vex no more thyself and meWith demure philosophy,Hollow precepts, only fitTo amuse the busy wit.Teach me brisk Lyæus’ rites;5Teach me Venus’ blithe delights.Jove[65:1]loves water: give me wine,That my soul ere I resignMay this cure of sorrow have.There’s no drinking in the grave!10

II.

Vex no more thyself and meWith demure philosophy,Hollow precepts, only fitTo amuse the busy wit.Teach me brisk Lyæus’ rites;5Teach me Venus’ blithe delights.Jove[65:1]loves water: give me wine,That my soul ere I resignMay this cure of sorrow have.There’s no drinking in the grave!10

III.The Spring.See, the Spring herself discloses,And the Graces gather roses;See how the becalmed seasNow their swelling waves appease;How the duck swims; how the crane5Comes from ’s winter home again;See how Titan’s cheerful rayChaseth the dark clouds away!Now in their new robes of greenAre the ploughman’s labours seen;10Now the lusty teeming earthSprings, each hour, with a new birth;Now the olive blooms; the vineNow cloth with plump pendants shine,And with leaves and blossoms now15Freshly bourgeons every bough.

III.The Spring.

See, the Spring herself discloses,And the Graces gather roses;See how the becalmed seasNow their swelling waves appease;How the duck swims; how the crane5Comes from ’s winter home again;See how Titan’s cheerful rayChaseth the dark clouds away!

Now in their new robes of greenAre the ploughman’s labours seen;10Now the lusty teeming earthSprings, each hour, with a new birth;Now the olive blooms; the vineNow cloth with plump pendants shine,And with leaves and blossoms now15Freshly bourgeons every bough.

IV.The Combat.Now will I a lover be!Love himself commanded me.Full at first of stubborn pride,To submit, my soul denied.20He his quiver takes, and bow,Bids defiance: forth I go.Armed with spear and shield we meet:On he charges: I retreat,Till, perceiving in the fight25He had wasted every flight,Into me, with fury hot,Like a dart himself he shot.And my cold heart melts; my shieldUseless, no defence could yield;30For what boots an outward screen,When, alas, the fight’s within?

IV.The Combat.

Now will I a lover be!Love himself commanded me.Full at first of stubborn pride,To submit, my soul denied.20He his quiver takes, and bow,Bids defiance: forth I go.Armed with spear and shield we meet:On he charges: I retreat,

Till, perceiving in the fight25He had wasted every flight,Into me, with fury hot,Like a dart himself he shot.And my cold heart melts; my shieldUseless, no defence could yield;30For what boots an outward screen,When, alas, the fight’s within?

V.On this verdant lotus laid,Underneath the myrtle’s shade,Let us drink our sorrows dead,Whilst Love plays the Ganymed.Life like to[66:1]a wheel runs round:5And, ere long, we undergroundTa’en by death asunder, mustMoulder in forgotten dust.Why then graves should we bedew,Why the ground with odours strew?10Better, whilst alive, prepareFlowers and unguents for our hair.Come, my Fair,[66:2]and come away!All our cares behind us lay,That these pleasures we may know,15Ere we come to those below.

On this verdant lotus laid,Underneath the myrtle’s shade,Let us drink our sorrows dead,Whilst Love plays the Ganymed.

Life like to[66:1]a wheel runs round:5And, ere long, we undergroundTa’en by death asunder, mustMoulder in forgotten dust.

Why then graves should we bedew,Why the ground with odours strew?10Better, whilst alive, prepareFlowers and unguents for our hair.

Come, my Fair,[66:2]and come away!All our cares behind us lay,That these pleasures we may know,15Ere we come to those below.

E. Catalectis Vet[erum] Poet[arum].A small well-gotten stock, and country seatI have, yet my content makes both seem great.My quiet soul to fears is not inur’d,And from the sins of idleness secur’d.Others may seek the camp, others the town,5And fool themselves with pleasure or renown;Let me, unminded in the common crowd,Live, master of the time that I’m allow’d!

E. Catalectis Vet[erum] Poet[arum].

A small well-gotten stock, and country seatI have, yet my content makes both seem great.My quiet soul to fears is not inur’d,And from the sins of idleness secur’d.Others may seek the camp, others the town,5And fool themselves with pleasure or renown;Let me, unminded in the common crowd,Live, master of the time that I’m allow’d!

Seven Epigrams.[67:1][Plato.]I.Upon One named Aster.The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be,That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.II.Upon Aster’s Death.A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou,But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.III.On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, yearsWere interwoven by the Fates with tears,But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d,Gods did a trophy of their power erect.Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,5Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.IV.On Alexis.‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said,When every one his eyes that way convey’d.My soul, as when some dog a bone we showWho snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?V.On Archaeanassa.To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d browLove sits in triumph, I my service vow.If her declining graces shine so bright,What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?VI.Love Sleeping.Within the covert of a shady groveWe saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love:He had nor bow nor quiver: these amongThe neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung.Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,5He smiling slept; bees with their noise invadeHis rest, and on his lips their honey made.VII.On a Seal.Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead,A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold;The little herd away long since had fled,Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

Seven Epigrams.[67:1]

[Plato.]

I.Upon One named Aster.

The stars, my Star! thou view’st: heaven I would be,That I with thousand eyes might gaze on thee.

II.Upon Aster’s Death.

A Phosphor ’mongst the living late wert thou,But shin’st, among the dead, a Hesper now.

III.On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse.

Old Hecuba, the Trojan matron’s, yearsWere interwoven by the Fates with tears,But thee, with blooming hopes, my Dion! deck’d,Gods did a trophy of their power erect.Thy honour’d relics in thy country rest,5Ah, Dion! whose love rages in my breast.

IV.On Alexis.

‘Fair is Alexis,’ I no sooner said,When every one his eyes that way convey’d.My soul, as when some dog a bone we showWho snatcheth it,—lost we not Phaedrus so?

V.On Archaeanassa.

To Archaeanassa, on whose furrow’d browLove sits in triumph, I my service vow.If her declining graces shine so bright,What flames felt you who saw her noon of light?

VI.Love Sleeping.

Within the covert of a shady groveWe saw the little red-cheek’d god of Love:He had nor bow nor quiver: these amongThe neighbouring trees upon a bow were hung.Upon a bank of tender rosebuds laid,5He smiling slept; bees with their noise invadeHis rest, and on his lips their honey made.

VII.On a Seal.

Five oxen, grazing in a flowery mead,A jasper seal, (done to the life,) doth hold;The little herd away long since had fled,Were’t not enclos’d within a pale of gold.

1:1.To the Countess of S. with ‘The Holy Court’(p.6).

This is most probably Dorothy Spencer, born Sidney, Countess of Sunderland, Waller’s ‘Saccharissa,’ then a widow: a woman entirely worthy of Stanley’s admiration, and within his circle of personal friends.The Holy Court, a practical and devotional treatise by Nicolas Caussin, S.J., was first translated into English by Sir Thomas Hawkins, and published in London in 1626. There was a fine five-volume edition printed in 1650. A copy of this may, very likely, have been Stanley’s gift. The poem, 1651, is preceded by ‘Madam’ in formal address.

2:1.Drawn for Valentine, etc.(p.7).

The Editor guesses this young lady, the ‘bright dawn,’ who will ‘challenge every heart,’ later, to be the future Marchioness of Halifax, the little Dorothy, daughter of the Earl of Sunderland (who was killed at Newbury when she was three years old), and ‘Saccharissa.’ She was eleven in 1651. Waller, Sedley, and others, have left happier poems addressed to children, in the same forced tone, which was quite characteristic of the time.

‘Dear, fold me once more in thine arms’ (p.10).

3:1.P.10, line 15. A final couplet difficult to scan. If correctly printed, it has a dissyllable rhyme, with the accentual stress on ‘wi’ thee.’

Love’s Innocence(p.12).

4:1.P.12. The 1647 title is ‘The Innocence of Love.’4:2.P.” line 1. 1647 reads:‘See how this ivy, Dear, doth twine.’4:3.P.” line 7. 1647: ‘To one another whispering there.’4:4.P.” lines 9-12. 1647:‘Then blush not, Fair, that flame to show,Which, like thyself, no crime can know.Thus, led by those chaste guides, we mayEmbrace and kiss as free as they.’4:5.Pp.12-13, lines 20-21. 1647:‘As are our flames, ’bove reach of words.Thus, Doris, we of these may learn.’

4:1.P.12. The 1647 title is ‘The Innocence of Love.’

4:2.P.” line 1. 1647 reads:

‘See how this ivy, Dear, doth twine.’

4:3.P.” line 7. 1647: ‘To one another whispering there.’

4:4.P.” lines 9-12. 1647:

‘Then blush not, Fair, that flame to show,Which, like thyself, no crime can know.Thus, led by those chaste guides, we mayEmbrace and kiss as free as they.’

4:5.Pp.12-13, lines 20-21. 1647:

‘As are our flames, ’bove reach of words.Thus, Doris, we of these may learn.’

5:1.The Dedication(p.13).

This, in the edition of 1647, is followed by twenty-seven lines of citations from the Greek poets, giving the origins of the epithets applied here to Love.

The Glow-Worm(p.13).

6:1.P.13, line 2. 1647 has:‘This living star of earth.’But Stanley’s sensitive sequence, ‘A starthought,’ etc., seems to forbid our recurring to the ‘living star’ as better than the ‘animated gem.’6:2.P.14, line 4. 1647: ‘deceiv’d.’6:3.P.” line 12. 1647:‘Which doth deceive.’

6:1.P.13, line 2. 1647 has:

‘This living star of earth.’

But Stanley’s sensitive sequence, ‘A starthought,’ etc., seems to forbid our recurring to the ‘living star’ as better than the ‘animated gem.’

6:2.P.14, line 4. 1647: ‘deceiv’d.’

6:3.P.” line 12. 1647:

‘Which doth deceive.’

7:1.To Chariessa(p.14).

The title, 1651, is simply: ‘Desiring her to Burn his Verses.’7:2.P.14, line 4. 1647: ‘as.’7:3.P.15, line 7. 1651: ‘about.’

The title, 1651, is simply: ‘Desiring her to Burn his Verses.’

7:2.P.14, line 4. 1647: ‘as.’

7:3.P.15, line 7. 1651: ‘about.’

8:1.On Mr. Fletcher’s Works(p.15).

Title, in Stanley, 1651, reads: ‘On the Edition of Mr. Fletcher’s Works.’8:2.P.15, line 5. 1651: ‘did.’8:3.P.” line 11. 1651: ‘could.’8:4.P.16, line 19. 1647: ‘doth.’8:5.P.” line 29. 1647 has ‘ris’’; 1651, ‘rise.’8:6.P.” line 30. ‘With’ reads ‘not’ in all texts: clearly a misprint.

Title, in Stanley, 1651, reads: ‘On the Edition of Mr. Fletcher’s Works.’

8:2.P.15, line 5. 1651: ‘did.’

8:3.P.” line 11. 1651: ‘could.’

8:4.P.16, line 19. 1647: ‘doth.’

8:5.P.” line 29. 1647 has ‘ris’’; 1651, ‘rise.’

8:6.P.” line 30. ‘With’ reads ‘not’ in all texts: clearly a misprint.

9:1.To the Lady D[ormer].Sic1651 (p.16).

This poem, under the title, ‘To my most honour’d Aunt, the Lady Dormer,’ is the dedication of 1647. Who this lady was is not clear to the Editor, unless she was Alice, daughter to Sir Richard Molyneux, Bart., of Sefton, Lancashire, widow of Sir William Dormer, and mother of the splendid first Earl of Carnarvon, killed in the King’s cause at Newbury, 1643. It is rather noticeable that many of Stanley’s friends and kinsfolk, like the Dormers, were Catholics.

To Mr. W. Hammond(p.17).

10:1.P.18, line 30. 1647 reads:‘Nor any flame but what is thine will own.’

10:1.P.18, line 30. 1647 reads:

‘Nor any flame but what is thine will own.’

11:1.On Mr. Shirley’s Poems(p.18).

Title in Stanley, 1647: ‘On Mr. I. S. his Poems.’11:2.P.18, line 7. 1647:‘Next like some skilful artist, who to wonder.’11:3.P.” line 8. 1651 has ‘a piece.’11:4.P.19, line 19. 1647: ‘speech.’11:5.P.” line 21. ‘Voice’ tentative. Original texts have ‘veil.’11:6.P.” line 30. 1651: ‘poetry.’11:7.P.19, lines 31-32 omitted in 1647.11:8.P.” line 33. Thus, 1647. 1651, erroneously:‘And hast so far even future aims surpass’d.’

Title in Stanley, 1647: ‘On Mr. I. S. his Poems.’

11:2.P.18, line 7. 1647:

‘Next like some skilful artist, who to wonder.’

11:3.P.” line 8. 1651 has ‘a piece.’

11:4.P.19, line 19. 1647: ‘speech.’

11:5.P.” line 21. ‘Voice’ tentative. Original texts have ‘veil.’

11:6.P.” line 30. 1651: ‘poetry.’

11:7.P.19, lines 31-32 omitted in 1647.

11:8.P.” line 33. Thus, 1647. 1651, erroneously:

‘And hast so far even future aims surpass’d.’

12:1.On Mr. Sherburne’s Translation, etc.(p.20).

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