Poetry

and park⁠—
Did not contain, one bed contains, through thee;
Two phoenixes, whose joined breasts
Are unto one another mutual nests,
Where motion kindles such fires as shall give
Young phoenixes, and yet the old shall live;
Whose love and courage never shall decline,
But make the whole year through, thy day, O Valentine.

III

Up then, fair phoenix bride, frustrate the sun;
Thyself from thine affection
Takest warmth enough, and from thine eye
All lesser birds will take their jollity.
Up, up, fair bride, and call
Thy stars from out their several boxes, take
Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make
Thyself a constellation of them all;
And by their blazing signify
That a great princess falls, but doth not die.
Be thou a new star, that to us portends
Ends of much wonder; and be thou those ends.
Since thou dost this day in new glory shine,
May all men date records from this day, Valentine.

IV

Come forth, come forth, and as one glorious flame
Meeting another grows the same,
So meet thy Frederick, and so
To an inseparable union go,
Since separation
Falls not on such things as are infinite,
Nor things, which are but one, can disunite.
You’re twice inseparable, great, and one;
Go then to where the bishop stays,
To make you one, his way, which divers ways
Must be effected; and when all is past,
And that you’re one, by hearts and hands made fast,
You two have one way left, yourselves to entwine,
Besides this bishop’s knot, of Bishop Valentine.

V

But O, what ails the sun, that here he stays,
Longer today than other days?
Stays he new light from these to get?
And finding here such stars, is loth to set?
And why do you two walk,
So slowly paced in this procession?
Is all your care but to be look’d upon,
And be to others spectacle and talk?
The feast with gluttonous delays
Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise;
The masquers come late, and I think, will stay,
Like fairies, till the cock crow them away.
Alas! did not antiquity assign
A night as well as day, to thee, old Valentine?

VI

They did, and night is come; and yet we see
Formalities retarding thee.
What mean these ladies, which⁠—as though
They were to take a clock in pieces⁠—go
So nicely about the bride?
A bride, before a “Good night” could be said,
Should vanish from her clothes into her bed,
As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied.
But now she’s laid; what though she be?
Yet there are more delays, for where is he?
He comes and passeth through sphere after sphere;
First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere.
Let not this day, then, but this night be thine;
Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine.

VII

Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there;
She gives the best light to his sphere;
Or each is both, and all, and so
They unto one another nothing owe;
And yet they do, but are
So just and rich in that coin which they pay,
That neither would, nor needs forbear, nor stay;
Neither desires to be spared nor to spare.
They quickly pay their debt, and then
Take no acquittances, but pay again;
They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall
No such occasion to be liberal.
More truth, more courage in these two do shine,
Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine.

VIII

And by this act of these two phoenixes
Nature again restorèd is;
For since these two are two no more,
There’s but one phoenix still, as was before.
Rest now at last, and we⁠—
As satyrs watch the sun’s uprise⁠—will stay
Waiting when your eyes opened let out day,
Only desired because your face we see.
Others near you shall whispering speak,
And wagers lay, at which side day will break,
And win by observing, then, whose hand it is
That opens first a curtain, hers or his:
This will be tried tomorrow after nine,
Till which hour, we thy day enlarge, O Valentine.

Eclogue

1613, December 26

Allophanes finding Idios in the country in Christmas time, reprehends his absence from court, at the marriage of the Earl of Somerset; Idios gives an account of his purpose therein, and of his actions there.

Allophanes

Unseasonable man, statue of ice, What could to country’s solitude entice Thee, in this year’s cold and decrepit time? Nature’s instinct draws to the warmer clime Even smaller birds, who by that courage dare In numerous fleets sail through their sea, the air. What delicacy can in fields appear, Whilst Flora herself doth a frieze jerkin wear? Whilst winds do all the trees and hedges strip Of leaves, to furnish rods enough to whip Thy madness from thee, and all springs by frost Have taken cold, and their sweet murmurs lost? If thou thy faults or fortunes wouldst lament With just solemnity, do it in Lent. At court the spring already advanced is, The sun stays longer up; and yet not his The glory is; far other, other fires. First, zeal to prince and state, then love’s desires Burn in one breast, and like heaven’s two great lights, The first doth govern days, the other, nights. And then that early light which did appear Before the sun and moon created were, The prince’s favour, is diffused o’er all, From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall. Then from those wombs of stars, the bride’s bright eyes, At every glance, a constellation flies, And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent In light and power, the all-eyed firmament. First her eyes kindle other ladies’ eyes, Then from their beams their jewels’ lustres rise, And from their jewels torches do take fire, And all is warmth, and light, and good desire. Most other courts, alas! are like to hell, Where in dark places, fire without light doth dwell; Or but like stoves; for lust and envy get Continual, but artificial heat. Here zeal and love grown one all clouds digest, And make our court an everlasting east. And canst thou be from thence?

Idios

No, I am there; As heaven⁠—to men disposed⁠—is everywhere, So are those courts, whose princes animate Not only all their house but all their state. Let no man think, because he’s full, he hath all. Kings⁠—as their pattern, God⁠—are liberal Not only in fullness, but capacity, Enlarging narrow men to feel and see, And comprehend the blessings they bestow. So, reclused hermits