No More Learning

* Our orient breaths perfumed are

* With incense of incessant prayV ; iw

* And holy-water of our tears

' Most strangely our complexion clears ;

* Not tears of grief, — but such as those

* With which calm pleasure overflows,

* Or pity, when we look on you n»

* That live without this happy vow.

* How should we grieve must we be seen,
^ (Each one a spouse, and each a queen,)

* Who can in heaven hence behold

* Our brighter robes and crowns of gold! i»

* When we have prayed all our beads,

* Some one the holy legend reads,

* While all the rest with needles paint

* The face and graces of the Saint,

* But what the linen can't receive, t»

* They in their lives do interweave.

* This work the Saints best represents

* That serves for altar's ornaments.

* But much it to our work would add,

* If here your hand, your face, we had : i3o

* By it we would our Lady touch ;

* Yet thus she you resembles much.

* Some of your features, as we sewed,

* Through every shrine should be bestow'd,

* And in one beauty we would take »»



Digitized by VjOOQIC



12 THE P0E3IS

^ Enough a thousand Saints to make.

* And (for I dare not quench the fire

* That me does for your good inspire)

* 'Twere sacrilege a man to admit

* To holy things, for heaven fit.

* I see the angels, in a crown,

* On you the lilies showering down ;

* And TOund about you, glory breaks,

* That something more than human speaks.

* All beauty, when at such a height,

* Is so already consecrate.

* Fairfax I know, and long ere this

* Have mark'd the youth, and what he is ;

* But can he such a rival seem,

* For whom you heaven should disesteem ?

* Ah, no! and 'twould more honour prove

* He your devoto were than Love.
' Here live beloved and obeyed^

' Each one your sister, each your maid,

* And, if our rule seem strictly penned,

* The rule itself to you shall bend.

* Our Abbess, too, now far in age,

* Doth your succession near presage.

* How soft the yoke on us would lie,

* Might such fair hands as yours it tie !
* Your voice, the sweetest of the choir,

* Shall draw heaven nearer, raise us higher,

* And your example, if our head,

* Will soon us to perfection lead.

* Those virtues to us all so dear,



Digitized by VjOOQIC



OF MARVBLL. 13

* Will straight grow sanctity when here ;
^ And that, once sprung, increase so fast,

* Till miracles it work at last.

* Nor is our order yet so nice,

* Delight to banish as a vice : iw
< Here Pleasure Piety doth meet,

* One perfecting the other sweet ;

* So through the mortal fruit we boil
*The sugar's uncoiTupting oil,

'^ And that which perished while we pull, m

* Is thus preserved clear and full.

^ For such indeed are all our arts,
^ Still handling Nature's finest parts :

* Flowers dress the altars ; for the clothes

* The sea-bom amber we compose ; im
^ Balms for the griev'd w« draw ; and pastes

^ We mould as baits for curioils tastes.

* What need is here of man, unless

* These as sweet sins we should confess ?

*' Each night among us to your side i»

* Appoint a fresh and virgin bride,

* Whom, if our Lord at midnight find,

* Yet neither should be left behind !

* Where you may lie as chaste in bed,

* As pearls together billeted, •»

* All night embracing, arm in arm,

* Like crystal pure, with cotton warm.

* But what is this to all the store

* Of joys you see, and may make more ?

* Try but awhile, if you be wise : i»

* The trial neither costs nor ties. "



Digitized by VjOOQIC



14 THE POEMS

Now, Fairfax, seek her promised faith ;
Keligion that dispensed hath
Which she henceforward does begin ;
The Nun's smooth tongue has sucked her in.
Oft, though he knew it was in vain,
Yet would he valiantly complain :

* Is this that sanctity so great,

* An art by which you finelier cheat ?

* Hypocrite witches, hence avaunt,

* Who, though in prison, yet enchant !

* Death only can such thieves make fast,

* As rob, though in the dungeon cast.

* Were there but, when this house was made,

* One stone that a just hand had laid,

* It must have fallen upon her head

* Who first thee from thy faith misled.

* And yet, how well soever meant,

' With them 'twould soon grow fraudulent ;
' For like themselves they alter all,

* And vice infects the very wall ;

* But sure those buildings last not long,

* Founded by folly, kept by wrong.