The Complete Works of Richard Crashaw Volume I Part 5

XIII.

Yet let the poore drops weep (Weeping is the ease of Woe): Softly let them creep, 75 Sad that they are vanquish't so.

They, though to others no releife, Balsom may be for their own greife.

XIV.

Golden though he be, Golden Tagus murmures though. 80 Were his way by thee, Content and quiet he would goe; Soe much more rich would he esteem Thy syluer, then his golden stream.

XV.

Well does the May that lyes 85 Smiling in thy cheeks, confesse The April in thine eyes; Mutuall sweetnesse they expresse.

No April ere lent kinder showres, Nor May return'd more faithfull flowres. 90

XVI.

O cheeks! Bedds of chast loues, By your own showres seasonably dash't.

Eyes! Nests of milky doues, In your own wells decently washt.

O wit of Loue! that thus could place 95 Fountain and garden in one face.

XVII.

O sweet contest! of woes With loues; of teares with smiles disputing!

O fair and freindly foes, Each other kissing and confuting! 100 While rain and suns.h.i.+ne, cheekes and eyes Close in kind contrarietyes.

XVIII.

But can these fair flouds be Freinds with the bosom-fires that fill thee!

Can so great flames agree 105 aeternal teares should thus distill thee!

O flouds! O fires! O suns! O showres!

Mixt and made freinds by Loue's sweet powres.

XIX.

'Twas his well-pointed dart That digg'd these wells, and drest this wine; 110 And taught the wounded heart The way into these weeping eyn.

Vain loues auant! bold hands forbear!

The Lamb hath dipp't His white foot here.

XX.

And now where'ere He strayes, 115 Among the Galilean mountaines, Or more vnwellcome wayes; He's follow'd by two faithfull fountaines; Two walking baths, two weeping motions, Portable, and compendious oceans. 120

XXI.

O thou, thy Lord's fair store!

In thy so rich and rare expenses, Euen when He show'd most poor He might prouoke the wealth of princes.

What prince's wanton'st pride e'er could 125 Wash with syluer, wipe with gold?

XXII.

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, 130 A voluntary mint, that strowes Warm, syluer showres wher're He goes?

XXIII.

O pretious prodigall!

Fair spend-thrift of thy-self! thy measure (Mercilesse loue!) is all. 135 Euen to the last pearle in thy threasure: _thesaurus_, Latin.

All places, times, and obiects be Thy teares' sweet opportunity.

XXIV.

Does the day-starre rise?

Still thy teares doe fall and fall. 140 Does Day close his eyes?

Still the fountain weeps for all.

Let Night or Day doe what they will, Thou hast thy task: thou weepest still.

XXV.

Does thy song lull the air? 145 Thy falling teares keep faithfull time.

Does thy sweet-breath'd praire Vp in clouds of incense climb?

Still at each sigh, that is, each stop, A bead, that is, a tear, does drop. 150

XXVI.

At these thy weeping gates (Watching their watry motion), Each winged moment waits: Takes his tear, and gets him gone.

By thine ey's tinct en.o.bled thus, 155 Time layes him vp; he's pretious.

XXVII.

Time, as by thee He pa.s.ses, Makes thy ever-watry eyes His hower-gla.s.ses.

By them His steps He rectifies. 160 The sands He us'd, no longer please, For His owne sands Hee'l use thy seas.

XXVIII.

Not, 'so long she liued,'