EULINUS

The Court a wardrobe is of living shapes: And Ladies are the tissue-spangled suits, Which Nature wears on festival high days. The Court a Spring, each Madame is a Rose. The Court is Heaven, fair Ladies are the Stars. False Echo, don't blaspheme that glorious sex, Whose beauteous rays can strike rash gazers blind. Pray, leave this Cynic humour, while I sighs My Mistress praise: Her beauty's passed compare: Oh would she were more kind, or not so fair. Her modest smiles both curb and kindle love: The Court is dark without her; when She rises, The morning is her handmaid, strewing roses About loves Hemisphere: The lamps above Eclipse themselves for shame, To see her eyes Outshine their Chrysolites, and more bless the skies, Than they the Earth — Her body is a Crystal cage, whose pure Transparent mould not of gross elements Compacted, but the extracted Quintessence Of sweetest forms distilled: where Graces bright Do live immured, but not exempt from sighed. — Her model is beyond all Poets brains, And Painters pencells: All the lively Nymphs, Sire's, and Dryads, are but kitchenmaids, If you compare. To frame the Like Pandore, The Gods repine, and Nature would grow poor.— For here you find great Juno's stately front, Palla's grey eye, Venus her dimpled chin, Aurora's rosy fingers, the small wast Of Ceres daughter, and Medusa's hair, Before it hist:— Oh strange! what ignorant still? when as so plainly These Attributes describe her: why? She is A Rhapsody of Goddesses. The Elyxar Of all their several perfections. She is (Now bless your ears) by mortals called Landora. All steel and adamant. 'Tis beauty's pride, To stain Her lily white with blood of Lovers slain. Their groans make music, and their scalding sighs Raise a perfume, and vulturelike she gnaws Their bleeding hearts. No gifts, no learned flattery, No stratagems can work Landora's battery. As a tall Rock maintains majestic state, Though Boreas gallop on the tottering seas, And tilting split his froth out spurging waves Upon his surly breast: So she resists: And all my projects on her cruel heart, Are but retorted to their Authors smart. Most impious thoughts! Oh let me rather perish, And loving die, than living cease to love: And when I faint, let her but hear me cry, Aye me, there's none, which truly loves, but I. Your words are eare-awigges to my vexed brain Like henn-bane juice, or Aconite diffused They strike me senseless. My kinsman, and Hirildas to my end: But I'll near call you Counsellor, or Friend Adieu. Blessed be these means, and happy the Success. Now gin I rear my crest above the Moon, And in those guilded books read Leactures of The Feminine Sex. There moves Cassiope, Whose garments shine with thirteen precious stones, Types of as many virtues: Then her Daughter, Whose Beauty without Perseus would have tamed The monstrous Fish, glides with a Starry Crown: Then Just Asttea kembes her golden hair: And my Landora can become the skies, As well as They. O, how my joys do swell! He mounted not more proud, whose burning Throne Kindled the Cedar-tops, and quafft whole fountains. Fly then, you winged hours, as swift as thought, Or my desires: Let days bright Wagoner Fallen headlong, and lie buried in the deep, And dor-mouse-like Alcides night outsleep. Good Tethys, quench his Beams, that He never rise, To scorch the Moors, to suck up honey-dews, Or to betray my person. But prithee tell, What Mistress you adore? We must give way: Here come our reverend Bard To sing in Synod, as their Custom is, With former chance comparing present deeds. Let Caesar come: Our land does rust with ease, And wants and object, whose resisting power May strike out valorous flashes from her veins. So shadows give a Picture life. So flames Grow brighter by a fanning blast. Nor think, I am a Courtier, and no Warrior born: Nor Love-object: For well my Poet says, Militat omnis Amans, Each Lover is a Soldier; I can join Cupid's bow, and Mars his Lance. A pewter-coat fits me, as well as silk. It grieves me see, Our Martial spirits trace The idle streets, while weapons by their side Dangle and lash their backs, as t'were to upbraid Their needless use. Nor is it glory small, They set upon us last, when their proud Arms Fathom the Land and Seas, and reach both Poles. On then, So great a Foe, so good a cause, Shall make our name more famous. So thinks Eulinus. Wee'll draw thee Meteor-like by our warm favour Unto the roof and feeling of the Court: Wee'll raise thee (hold but fast) on Fortune's ladder. Exit Roll. This Fellow is a Medley of most lewd And vicious qualities: A braggart, yet a coward, A knave, and yet a slave: True to all villainy, But false to Goodness. Yet now I love him, Because he stands joust in the way of love. Oh Love! whose nerves unite in aequal bonds This massy frame. Thou Cement of the world: By which the Orbs and Elements agree: By which all Living creatures joy to be, And dying live in their Posterity. Thy holy raptures warm each noble breast, Sweetly inspiring more Soul. Thy delight Surpasses melody, Nectar, and all pleasures Of Tempe, and of Tempe's eldest Sister Elysium: A banquet of all the Senses! By thy Commanding power, Gods into Beasts, And Men to Gods are changed, as Poets say: When Sympathy rules, All Like what they obey. But Love triumphs, when Man and Woman meet In full affection: Double vows then fill His sacred Shrine. Yet, This to me denied, More whets my Passion: Mutual Love grows cold. Venus, be thou Propitious to my wiles; And laugh at Lovers perjuries and guiles. Exit. Rollano, what at stand? pursue the chase. Some silly scout. What were his looks? How eloquent is fear! Oh bravely done. Here comes a straggling soldier. ent. Lab. Oh valiant coward, stay. Theres not a spark Of Britain Spirit does enlive thy corpse. Exeunt. A mind content, O, 'tis a mind of pearl, A Mint of golden thoughts, A Heaven on Earth! When eager longer meet full-but their scope, And Hope's are actuated beyond hope. So Jason joyed, the golden Fleet obtained: So Hercules joyed, the golden fruit being gained: So Venus joyed, the golden Ball to hold: So Midas joyed, when he turned all to gold. So, and much more rejoiced, the Phrygian swain, When he conveyed the fairest (except mine) Which air did ever kiss: His brazen keel Proud of her burden, sliced the capering brine: The Tritons blue their horns, and Seagods dance, Before, behind, about his Ship they prance: The meare-maids skip on high, but to compare Their dangling tresses with her silken hair. These were but shadows of my bliss. A robe Of pure beatitude wrapes me round about, Without a speck, or blemish: nor can Invention Wish more unto me, than I have, Landora. I'm rich, free, learned, honoured, all; in this. Who dares conceive against the Female sex, But one base thought? Lo here I stand, their Champion, And will maintain, He is a beast, a devil, Begotten between a Bitch-wolf, and and Incubus. Women, all good, all perfect, and all gracious, Men-making creatures, Angels clad in flesh; Let me adore your Name. But I in you enjoy Landora's love. No matter; I in you, or you in me: So that I still possess my Dearest deer. A paltry fancy last night in her bed Turmoiled my thoughts, which since I shaped in Rhymes. Thus. It foully played. I'll give a quittance. No kingly menace, or censorious frown, Do I regard. Tanti, for all your power. But the compunction of my gilded does send A shuddering chillness through my veins inflamed: Why do you stare, you grisly powers of night? There, there, His soul goes: I must follow him. Though Orpheus Harp, Arions Lute, the Chimes Whose silver found did Theban towers raise: Though sweet Urania with her ten-string Lyre, Unto whose stroke the daily-rolling spheres Dance their joust measures; Should with tune and tone Tickle my eare-bred air: Yet can their notes Those fabulous stones more enter, than my Soul. Led, poppy, Slumber stupify my heart: But Bedlam grief acts gambolles in my brain. The Centaur's Wheel, Prometheus Hawk, The Vulture Of Tityus, Sisyphus never mossy stone, The tale of Danaids tub, and Tantalus gaping, Are but flea-bitings to my Smart: I've slain A kinsman: more, A friend I dearly loved: Nay more, no cause provoking, but in rash And hellish choler. I had thought my Love had cannon-proof been against A world of injuries: when see, all is split By a small wind. Cursed be thou my Sword, The Instrument of Fury: Cursed hand, Which madest the thrust: But most accursed Partly, Whose ruddy flesh triangular boiled in flame, Like and Aetnean, or Vesuvian Salamander. That Breast, I so could hug, that faithful breast, That snowy white, I with dark sanguine stained; And from the wounds read lips, his panting heart Did seem to speak, Is this a friendly deed? Oh no, Hirildas: Bears can harmless play, Lyons can dally, and sheath up their claws: I only, worst of Brutus's, kill friends in jest. Why dost Androgeus kindly-cruel keep Me from their Sentence? Say, Law bids me die: If Law should not, I'll make that Law my self. Shall Ensigns be displayed, and Nations rage About so vild a wretch? Shall foreign hoofes Kick up our trembling dust, and must a Caesar Redeem my folly with a kingdoms fallen? First may I stop black Cerberus triple jaws. Die, Die, thou hast outlived thy self. Thou only, Phoenix of females, still dost bind and bound My runagate spirit in these walls of mud: From thee, and For thee 'tis, I breath. Yet how Borrow can I his Shape, or use mine own? Odious before, now worse than hellborn goblin With brand and chains, to skare this Dove all quaking Betwixt wrath and fear. But Time may favour win: When Hope does fail, then Knife or Rope begin. Exit. Oh, why dost thou complain. Oh my presaging thoughts in ugly form Suggest some Tragedy. Speak: yet stay a while: I know thou killest with speaking. Be then dumb: Let found near give those Notions airy robes. Yet speak, dispatch me: Fear's as bade as death. O, could no tongue affirm it! Is she dead? Wither you pleasant gardens, where she trod: White lillies droop, and blasted daisies wink, And weep in pearely Due. Blind Vesper mourn, Hang thy cold tears on every grassy blade. Groan loud you woods, and tear your leafy hair: Let wind and hoary frost kill every flower: For she is gone, who made continual May. Let foggy mists envellop Sun and Stars: For she is gone, who made perpetual day. Confounded Nature stand amazed, dissolve Thy rolling engines, and unbrace the Seas: Fling all into their first disordered lump. For thy chief paragon, thy rich Masterpiece, The Jewel, for which thou didst venture all, Is lost, is lost. And can I live to speak it? How died she? The very word (poison) infects my breath. Durst thou presume to pass that coral porch? Were not her Lips sufficient Antidote? Durst thou descend through those close winding stairs With treacherous intent? How could thy venom Seize on her, and not sweetened lose his virtue, Or rather vicious quality? May toads, Dragons, and mandrakes be thy galley-pots: This Body was a casket for the graces, No cask for poison. With her die all love: Cupid may break his Bow, his arrows burn, Then quench his Taper in a flood of tears. Is she dead? She may revive: I'll visit her: Art may prolong her days, Whither she will or no.— Exeunt.