No More Learning

_

If shaddowes be the pictures excellence;
And make it seeme more lively to the sence;
If starres in the bright day are hid from sight
And shine most glorious in the masque of night;
Why should you thinke (rare creature) that you lack 5
Perfection cause your haire and eyes are blacke,
Or that your heavenly beauty which exceedes
The new sprung lillies in their mayden weeds,
The damaske coullour of your cheekes and lipps
Should suffer by their darknesse an eclipps? 10
Rich diamonds shine brightest, being sett
And compassed within a foyle of Jett.
Nor was it fitt that Nature should have mayde
So bright a sunne to shine without a shade.
It seemes that Nature when she first did fancie 15
Your rare composure studied Necromancie,
That when to you this guift she did impart
She used altogether the black art.
By which infused power from Magique tooke
You doe command all spiritts with a looke: 20
Shee drew those Magique circles in your eyes,
And mayde your hayre the chaines wherewith shee ties
Rebelling hearts: those blew veines which appeare,
Winding Meander about either spheare,
Misterious figures are, and when you list 25
Your voice commandeth like the Exorcist,
And every word which from your Pallett falleth
In a deep charme your hearer's heart inthralleth.
Oh! If in Magique you have skill so farre,
Vouchsafe me to be your familiar. 30
Nor hath kind Nature her black art reveal'd
To outward partes alone, some lie conceal'd,
And as by heads of springs men often knowe
The nature of the streames that run belowe,
So your black haire and eyes do give direction 35
To make me thinke the rest of like complexion:
That rest where all rest lies that blesseth Man,
That Indian mine, that straight of Magellan,
That worlde dividing gulfe where he that venters,
With swelling sayles and ravisht senses enters 40
To a new world of blisse. Pardon, I pray,
If my rude muse presumeth to display
Secretts unknowne, or hath her bounds orepast
In praysing sweetnesse which I ne're did tast;
Sterved men doe know there's meate, and blind men may 45
Though hid from light presume there is a day.
The rover in the marke his arrowe sticks
Sometimes as well as he that shootes att prickes,
And if I might direct my shaft aright,
The black mark would I hitt and not the white. 50


[On Black Hayre and Eyes _Add. MS. 11811, on which text is
based: in several MSS. including A25, TCD (II), L77: printed
in Parnassus Biceps (1656), Pembroke and Ruddier's Poems
(1660), Simeon (1856-7), Grosart, and Chambers_]

[2 it _A2I_, _H60_, _TCD_: them _A11_: things _L77_]

[4 shine _H39_, _TCD_: seem _A11_, _Grosart_, _and Chambers_]

[8 mayden weeds,] maidenheads, _H39_, _TCD_, _Grosart_, _and
Chambers_]

[9 The damasque coullor of] That cherry colour of _H39_,
_TCD_: Or that the cherries of _Some MSS. _]

[12 compassed ] compos'd _A11_

foyle] field _Chambers_]

[19 tooke] book _Grosart and Chambers_]

[20 all spiritts] like spirits _Grosart and Chambers_]

[25 figures] fables _A11_]

[26 commandeth] commands _A11_]

[29 you have skill _L77_, _TCD_, _&c.
_: your power _A11_: you
have power _Grosart and Chambers_]

[33 For (And) as by the springhead a man may (men often) know
_L77_, _TCD_, _and other MSS. _]

[34 streame . . . runs _L77_, _&c. _]

[44 did] shall _TCD and other MSS. _]

[47 sticks] strikes _Grosart and Chambers_]

[49 direct _L77_, _TCD_, _&c. _: ayme _A11_, _Grosart_, _and
Chambers_]




_Fragment of an Elegy. _

And though thy glasse a burning one become
And turne us both to ashes on her urne,
Yet to our glory till the later day
Our dust shall daunce like attomes in her ray.
And when the world shall in confusion burne, 5
And Kinges and peasantes scramble at an urne,
Like tapers new blowne out wee happy then
Will at her beames catch fire and live againe.
But this is sence, and some one may-be glad
That I so good a cause of sorrow had, 10
Will with all those whome I affect may dye
So I might please him with an elegie.
O let there never line of witt be read
To please the living that doth speake thee dead;
Some tender-harted mother good and mild, 15
Who on the deare grave of her tender child
So many sad teares hath beene knowne to rayne
As out of dust would mould him up againe,
And with hir plaintes enforce the wormes to place
Themselves like veynes so neatly on his face, 20
And every lymne, as if that they wer striving
To flatter hir with hope of his reviving:
Shee should read this, and hir true teares alone
Should coppy forth these sad lines on the stone
Which hides thee dead, and every gentle hart 25
That passeth by should of his teares impart
So great a portion, that if after times
Ruine more churches for the Clergyes crimes,
When any shall remove thy marble hence,
Which is lesse stone then hee that takes it thence, 30
Thou shalt appeare within thy tearefull cell
Much like a faire nymph bathing in a well.
But when they find thee dead so lovely fair,
Pitty and sorrow then shall straight repaire
And weepe beside thy grave with cipresse cround, 35
To see the secound world of beauty dround,
And add sufficient teares as they condole
'Twould make thy body swimme up to thy soule.
Such eyes should read the lines are writ of thee;
But such a losse should have no elegie 40
To palliate the wound wee tooke in hir,
Who rightly greeves admittes no comforter.
He that had tane to heart thy parting hence
Should have beene chain'd to Bedlam two houres thence,
And not a frind of his ere shed a teare 45
To see him for thy sake distracted there,
But hugge himselfe for loving such as hee
That could runne mad with greefe for loosing thee.
I, haplesse soule, that never knew a frend
But to bewayle his too untimely end, 50
Whose hopes (cropt in the bud) have never come
But to sitt weeping on a sencelesse tombe,
That hides not dust enough to count the teares
Which I have fruitlesse spent in so few yeares,
I that have trusted those that would have given 55
For our deare Saviour and the Sonne of heaven
Ten times the valew Judas had of yore,
Onely to sell him for three peeces more;
I that have lov'd and trusted thus in vaine
Yet weepe for thee, and till the clowdes shall daigne 60
To throw on Egipt more then Nile ere sweld,
These teares of mine shalbee unparellell'd.