| |
| THAT unripe side of earth, that heavy clime, | |
| That gives us man up now, like Adam’s time | |
| Before he ate, man’s shape, that would yet be | |
| —Knew they not it, and feared beasts’ company— | |
| So naked at this day, as though man there | 5 |
| From paradise so great a distance were, | |
| As yet the news could not arrivèd be | |
| Of Adam’s tasting the forbidden tree, | |
| Deprived of that free state which they were in, | |
| And, wanting the reward, yet bear the sin. | 10 |
| But, as from extreme heights who downward looks, | |
| Sees men at children’s shapes, rivers at brooks, | |
| And loseth younger forms; so, to your eye, | |
| These, madam, that without your distance lie, | |
| Must either mist or nothing seem to be, | 15 |
| Who are, at home, but wit’s mere Atomi. | |
| But I, who can behold them move, and stay, | |
| Have found myself to you, just their midway; | |
| And now must pity them; for, as they do | |
| Seem sick to me, just so must I to you. | 20 |
| Yet neither will I vex your eyes to see | |
| A sighing ode, nor cross-arm’d elegy. | |
| I come not to call pity from your heart, | |
| Like some white-liver’d dotard that would part | |
| Else from his slippery soul with a faint groan, | 25 |
| And faithfully, without you smiled, 1 were gone. | |
| I cannot feel the tempest of a frown; | |
| I may be raised by love, but not thrown down; | |
| Though I can pity those sigh twice a day, | |
| I hate that thing whispers itself away. | 30 |
| Yet since all love is fever, 2 who to trees | |
| Doth talk, doth yet 3 in love’s cold ague freeze. | |
| ’Tis love, but with such fatal weakness made, | |
| That it destroys itself with its own shade. | |
| Who first looked sad, grieved, pined, and shew’d his pain, | 35 |
| Was he that first taught women to disdain. | |
| As all things were one nothing, 4 dull and weak, | |
| Until this raw disorder’d heap did break, | |
| And several desires led parts away, | |
| Water declined with earth, the air did stay, | 40 |
| Fire rose, and each from other but untied, | |
| Themselves unprison’d were and purified; | |
| So was love, first in vast confusion hid, | |
| An unripe willingness which nothing did, | |
| A thirst, an appetite which had no ease, | 45 |
| That found a want, but knew not what would please. | |
| What pretty innocence in those days 5 moved! | |
| Man ignorantly walk’d by her he loved; | |
| Both sigh’d and interchanged a speaking eye; | |
| Both trembled and were sick; both knew not 6 why. | 50 |
| That natural fearfulness that struck man dumb, | |
| Might well—those times consider’d—man become. | |
| As all discoverers, whose first essay | |
| Finds but the place—after, the nearest way, | |
| So passion is to woman’s love, about, | 55 |
| Nay, farther off, than when we first set out. | |
| It is not love that sueth, or doth contend; | |
| Love either conquers, or but meets a friend; | |
| Man’s better part consists of purer fire, | |
| And finds itself allow’d, ere it desire. | 60 |
| Love is wise here, keeps home, gives reason sway, | |
| And journeys not till it find summer-way. | |
| A weather-beaten lover but once known, | |
| Is sport for every girl to practise on. | |
| Who strives through woman’s scorns women to know, | 65 |
| Is lost, and seeks his shadow to outgo. | |
| It must be 7 sickness after one disdain, | |
| Though he be call’d aloud, to look again. | |
| Let others sin and grieve; one cunning slight | |
| Shall freeze my love to crystal in a night. | 70 |
| I can love first, and, if I win, love still; | |
| And cannot be removed, unless she will. | |
| It is her fault if I unsure remain, | |
| She only can untie, I bind again. | |
| The honesties of love with ease I do, | 75 |
| But am no porter for a tedious woe. | |
| But, madam, I now think on you; and here | |
| Where we are at our heights, you but appear. | |
| We are but clouds, you rise from our noon-ray, | |
| But a foul shadow, not your break of day. | 80 |
| You are at first hand all that’s fair and right, | |
| And others’ good reflects but back your light. | |
| You are a perfectness, so curious hit, | |
| That youngest flatteries do scandal it. | |
| For, what is more doth what you are restrain, | 85 |
| And though beyond, is down the hill again. | |
| We’ve no next way to you, we cross to it; | |
| You are the straight line, thing praised, attribute. | |
| Each good in you’s a light; so many a shade | |
| You make, and in them are your motions made. | 90 |
| These are your pictures to the life. From far | |
| We see you move, and here your zanies are; | |
| So that no fountain good there is, doth grow | |
| In you, but our dim actions faintly show. | |
| Then find I, if man’s noblest part be love, | 95 |
| Your purest lustre must that shadow move. | |
| The soul with body is a heaven combined | |
| With earth, and for man’s ease, but 8 nearer join’d; | |
| Where thoughts, the stars of soul, we understand; | |
| We guess not their large natures, but command. | 100 |
| And love in you that bounty is of light, | |
| That gives to all, and yet hath infinite; | |
| Whose heat doth force us thither to intend, | |
| But soul we find too earthly to ascend, | |
| ’Till slow access hath made it wholly pure, | 105 |
| Able immortal clearness to endure. | |
| Who dare aspire this journey with a stain, | |
| Hath weight will force him headlong back again. | |
| No more can impure man retain and move | |
| In that pure region of a worthy love, | 110 |
| Than earthly substance can unforced aspire, | |
| And leave his nature to converse with fire. | |
| Such may have eye, and hand; may sigh, may speak; | |
| But, like swoll’n bubbles, when they’re highest they break. | |
| Though far removed northern fleets 9 scarce find | 115 |
| The sun’s comfort, others think him too kind. 10 | |
| There is an equal distance from her eye; | |
| Men perish too far off, and burn too nigh. | |
| But as air takes the sun-beams equal bright, | |
| From the first rays 11 to his last opposite, | 120 |
| So happy [’s] man, 12 blest with a virtuous love, | |
| Remote or near, or howsoe’er they move. | |
| There 13 virtue breaks all clouds that might annoy; | |
| There is no emptiness, but all is joy. | |
| He much profanes whom valiant heats do move | 125 |
| To style his wandering rage of passion, Love. | |
| Love that imparts 14 in everything delight, | |
| Is fancied in the soul, not in the sight. 15 | |
| Why love among the virtues is not known | |
| Is, that love is them all contracted one. 16 | 130 |
