THE South and west winds joyn'd, and, as they blew,
Waves like a rowling trench before them threw.
Sooner than you read this line did the gale,
Like shot, not fear'd till felt, our sailes assaile;
And what at first was call'd a gust, the same
Hath now a stormes, anon a tempest's name.
Jonas! I pitty thee, and curse those men
Who, when the storm rag'd most, did wake thee then.
Sleepe is paines easiest salve, and doth fullfill
All offices of death except to kill.
But when I wak'd, I saw that I saw not;
I and the sunne, which should teach me, had forgot
East, west, day, night; and I could onely say,
If the world had lasted, now it had beene day.
Thousands our noyses were, yet we 'mongst all
Could none by his right name but thunder call.
Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more
Than if the sunne had drunke the sea before.
Some coffin'd in their cabbins lye, equally
Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet must dye;
And as sin-burd'ned soules from grave will creepe
At the last day, some forth their cabbins peepe,
And, tremblingly, aske what newes? and doe hear so
As jealous husbands, what they would not know.
Some, sitting on the hatches, would seeme there,
With hideous gazing, to feare away Feare:
There note they the ship's sicknesses, the mast
Shak'd with an ague, and the hold and waist
With a salt dropsie clog'd, and our tacklings
Snapping, like too high-stretched treble strings,
And from our totter'd sailes raggs drop downe so
As from one hang'd in chaines a yeere ago:
Even our ordinance, plac'd for our defence,
Strive to breake loose, and 'scape away from thence:
Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what's the gaine?
Seas into seas throwne we suck in againe :
Hearing hath deaf'd our saylors; and if they
Knew how to heare, there's none knowes what to say.
Compar'd to these stormes, death is but a qualme,
Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermud a calme.
Darknesse, Light's eldest brother, his birth-right
Claimd o'er this world, and to heaven hath chas'd light.
All things are one; and that one none can be,
Since all formes uniforme deformity
Doth cover; so that wee, except God say
Another Fiat, shall have no more day:
So violent, yet long these furies bee,
That though thine absence sterve mee I wish not thee.
I WONDER, by my troth, what thou, and I
Did, till we lov'd! Were we not wean'd till then,
But suck'd on countrey pleasures childishly?
Or snorted we in the seven-sleeper's den?
'Twas so; but thus all pleasures fancies bee.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dreame of thee.
And now good-morrow to our waking soules,
Which watch not one another out of feare;
For love, all love of other sights controules,
And makes one little roome, an every-where.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,
Let maps to other worlds our world have showne,
Let us possesse one world; each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appeares,
And true plaine hearts doe in the faces rest,
Where can we finde two fitter hemispheres
Without sharp North, without declining West?
Whatever dyes was not mixt equally;
If our two loves be one, or, thou and I
Love so alike, that none doe slacken, none can die.
BEFORE I sigh my last gaspe, let me breath,
Great Love, some legacies; I here bequeath
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see,
If they be blinde, then, Love, I give them thee;
My tongue to Fame; to ambassadours mine ears;
To women or the sea, my teares.
Thou, Love, hast taught mee heretofore
By making mee serve her who had twenty more,
That I should give to none, but such, as had too much before.
My constancie I to the planets give,
My truth to them, who at the court doe live;
Mine ingenuity and opennesse
To Jesuites; to buffones my pensivenesse;
My silence to any, who abroad hath been;
My money to a capuchin.
Thou, Love! taught'st me, by appointing mee
To love there, where no love receiv'd can be,
Onely to give to such as have an incapacitie.
My faith I give to Roman Catholiques ;
All my good works unto the schismaticks
Of Amsterdam; my best civility
And courtship to an universitie:
My modesty I give to souldiers bare;
My patience let gamester's share.
Thou, Love, taught'st mee, by making mee
Love her that holds my love disparity,
Onely to give to those that count my gifts indignity.
I give my reputation to those
Which were my friends; mine industrie to foes:
To schoolemen I bequeath my doubtfulnesse;
My sicknesse to physitians or excesse;
To Nature, all that I in ryme have writ;
And to my company my wit.
Thou, Love, by making mee adore
Her, who begot this love in mee before,
Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I did but restore.
To him for whom the passing-bell next tolls,
I give my physick books; my written rowles
Of morall counsels, I to Bedlam give;
My brazen medals, unto them which live
In want of bread; to them which passe among
All forraigners, mine English tongue.
Thou, Love, by making mee love one
Who thinkes her friendship a fit portion
For yonger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion.
Therefore I'll give no more, but I'll undoe
The world by dying; because Love dies too.
Then all your beauties will bee no more worth
Then gold in mines, where none doth draw it forth;
And all your graces no more use shall have
Then a sun dyal in a grave.
Thou, Love, taught'st mee, by making mee
Love her, who doth neglect both mee and thee,
To invent, and practise this one way, to annihilate all three.
COME, live with mee and bee my love,
And wee will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands and christall brookes,
With silken lines and silver hookes.
There will the river whispering runne,
Warm'd by thy eyes more than the sunne;
And there the inamor'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.
When thou wilt swimme in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channell hath,
Will amorously to thee swimme,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.
If thou, to be so seene, art loath
By sunne or moone, thou dark'nest both;
And if myselfe have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.
Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legges, with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poore fish beset
With strangling snare or windowie net :
Let coarse bold hands, from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest,
Or curious traitors, sleave-silke flies,
Bewitch poore fishes' wand'ring eyes:
For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyselfe art thine owne Bait;
That fish that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas, is wiser farre then I.
I LONG to talke with some old lover's ghost,
Who dyed before the god of love was borne:
I cannot thinke that hee, who then lov'd most,
Sunke so low, as to love one which did scorne:
But since this god produc'd a destinie,
And that vice-nature, custome, lets it be,
I must love her, that loves not mee:
Sure, they which made him god, meant not so much,
Nor he, in his young godhead practis'd it,
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to passives; correspondencie
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