| HAIL, sister springs! | |
| Parents of sylver-footed rills! | |
| Ever bubling things! | |
| Thawing crystall! snowy hills, | |
| Still spending, never spent! I mean | 5 |
| Thy fair eyes, sweet MAGDALENE! | |
| |
| Heavens thy fair eyes be; | |
| Heavens of ever-falling starres. | |
| 'Tis seed-time still with thee | |
| And starres thou sow'st, whose harvest dares | 10 |
| Promise the earth to counter shine | |
| Whatever makes heavn's forhead fine. | |
| |
| But we'are deceived all. | |
| Starres indeed they are too true; | |
| For they but seem to fall, | 15 |
| As Heavn's other spangles doe. | |
| It is not for our earth & us | |
| To shine in Things so pretious. | |
| |
| Upwards thou dost weep. | |
| Heavn's bosome drinks the gentle stream, | 20 |
| Where th'milky rivers creep, | |
| Thine floates above; & is the cream. | |
| Waters above th'Heavns, what they be | |
| We'are taught best by thy TEARES & thee. | |
| |
| Every morn from hence | 25 |
| A brisk Cherub somthing sippes | |
| Whose sacred influence | |
| Addes sweetnes to his sweetest Lippes, | |
| Then to his musick. And his song | |
| Tasts of this Breakfast all day long. | 30 |
| |
| Not in the evening's eyes | |
| When they Red with weeping are | |
| For the Sun that dyes, | |
| Sitts sorrow with a face so fair, | |
| No where but here did ever meet | 35 |
| Sweetnesse so sad, sadnesse so sweet. | |
| |
| When sorrow would be seen | |
| In her brightest majesty | |
| (For she is a Queen) | |
| Then is she drest by none but thee. | 40 |
| Then, & only then, she weares | |
| Her proudest pearles; I mean, thy TEARES. | |
| |
| The deaw no more will weep | |
| The primrose's pale cheek to deck, | |
| The deaw no more will sleep | 45 |
| Nuzzel'd in the lilly's neck; | |
| Much rather would it be thy TEAR, | |
| And leave them Both to tremble here. | |
| |
| There 's no need at all | |
| That the balsom-sweating bough | 50 |
| So coyly should let fall | |
| His med'cinable teares; for now | |
| Nature hath learn't to'extract a deaw | |
| More soveraign & sweet from you. | |
| |
| Yet let the poore drops weep | 55 |
| (Weeping is the ease of woe) | |
| Softly let them creep, | |
| Sad that they are vanquish't so. | |
| They, though to others no releife, | |
| Balsom may be, for their own greife. | 60 |
| |
| Such the maiden gemme | |
| By the purpling vine put on, | |
| Peeps from her parent stemme | |
| And blushes at the bridegroomes sun. | |
| This watry Blossom of thy eyn, | 65 |
| Ripe, will make the richer wine. | |
| |
| When some new bright Guest | |
| Takes up among the starres a room, | |
| And Heavn will make a feast, | |
| Angels with crystall violls come | 70 |
| And draw from these full eyes of thine | |
| Their master's Water: their own Wine. | |
| |
| Golden though he be, | |
| Golden Tagus murmures tho; | |
| Were his way by thee, | 75 |
| Content & quiet he would goe. | |
| So much more rich would he esteem | |
| Thy sylver, then his golden stream. | |
| |
| Well does the May that lyes | |
| Smiling in thy cheeks, confesse | 80 |
| The April in thine eyes. | |
| Mutuall sweetnesse they expresse. | |
| No April ere lent kinder showres, | |
| Nor May return'd more faithfull flowres. | |
| |
| O cheeks! Bedds of chast loves | 85 |
| By your own showres seasonably dash't. | |
| Eyes! nests of milky doves | |
| In your own wells decently washt. | |
| O wit of love! that thus could place | |
| Fountain & Garden in one face. | 90 |
| |
| O sweet Contest; of woes | |
| With loves, of teares with smiles disputing! | |
| O fair, & Freindly Foes, | |
| Each other kissing & confuting! | |
| While rain & sunshine, Cheekes & Eyes | 95 |
| Close in kind contrarietyes. | |
| |
| But can these fair Flouds be | |
| Freinds with the bosom fires that fill you! | |
| Can so great flames agree | |
| Æternall Teares should thus distill thee! | 100 |
| O flouds, o fires! o suns, ô showres! | |
| Mixt & made freinds by love's sweet powres. | |
| |
| Twas his well-pointed dart | |
| That digg'd these wells, & drest this wine; | |
| And taught the wounded HEART | 105 |
| The way into these weeping Eyn. | |
| Vain loves avant! bold hands forbear! | |
| The lamb hath dipp't his white foot here. | |
| |
| And now where're he strayes, | |
| Among the Galilean mountaines, | 110 |
| Or more unwellcome wayes, | |
| He 's followed by two faithfull fountaines; | |
| Two walking baths; two weeping motions; | |
| Portable, & compendious oceans. | |
| |
| O Thou, thy lord's fair store! | 115 |
| In thy so rich & rare expenses, | |
| Even when he show'd most poor, | |
| He might provoke the wealth of Princes. | |
| What Prince's wanton'st pride e're could | |
| Wash with Sylver, wipe with Gold? | 120 |
| |
| Who is that King, but he | |
| Who calls't his Crown to be call'd thine, | |
| That thus can boast to be | |
| Waited on by a wandring mine, | |
| A voluntary mint, that strowes | 125 |
| Warm sylver shoures where're he goes! | |
| |
| O pretious Prodigall! | |
| Fair spend-thrift of thy self! thy measure | |
| (Mercilesse love!) is all. | |
| Even to the last Pearle in thy threasure. | 130 |
| All places, Times, & objects be | |
| Thy teare's sweet opportunity. | |
| |
| Does the day-starre rise? | |
| Still thy starres doe fall & fall; | |
| Does day close his eyes? | 135 |
| Still the FOUNTAIN weeps for all. | |
| Let night or day doe what they will, | |
| Thou hast thy task; thou weepest still. | |
| |
| Does thy song lull the air; | |
| Thy falling teares keep faithfull time. | 140 |
| Does thy sweet-breath'd prayer | |
| Up in clouds of incense climb? | |
| Still at each sigh, that is, each stop, | |
| A bead, that is, A TEAR, does drop. | |
| |
| At these thy weeping gates, | 145 |
| (Watching their watry motion) | |
| Each winged moment waits, | |
| Takes his TEAR, & gets him gone. | |
| By thine Ey's tinct enobled thus | |
| Time layes him up; he 's pretious. | 150 |
| |
| Not, so long she lived, | |
| Shall thy tomb report of thee; | |
| But, so long she greived, | |
| Thus must we date thy memory. | |
| Others by moments, months, & yeares | 155 |
| Measure their ages; thou, by TEARES. | |
| |
| So doe perfumes expire. | |
| So sigh tormented sweets, opprest | |
| With proud unpittying fires. | |
| Such Teares the suffring Rose that 's vext | 160 |
| With ungentle flames does shed, | |
| Sweating in a too warm bed. | |
| |
| Say, ye bright brothers, | |
| The fugitive sons of those fair Eyes | |
| Your fruitfull mothers! | 165 |
| What make you here? what hopes can tice | |
| You to be born? what cause can borrow | |
| You from those nests of noble sorrow? | |
| |
| Whither away so fast? | |
| For sure the sordid earth | 170 |
| Your Sweetnes cannot tast | |
| Nor does the dust deserve your birth. | |
| Sweet, whither hast you then? o say | |
| Why you trip so fast away? | |
| |
| We goe not to seek, | 175 |
| The darlings of Auroras bed, | |
| The rose's modest Cheek | |
| Nor the violet's humble head, | |
| Though the Feild's eyes too WEEPERS be | |
| Because they want such TEARES as we. | 180 |
| |
| Much lesse mean we to trace | |
| The Fortune of inferior gemmes, | |
| Preferr'd to some proud face | |
| Or pertch't upon fear'd Diadems. | |
| Crown'd Heads are toyes. We goe to meet | 185 |
| A worthy object, our Lord's FEET. | |
| |
