Henry King

Fair one, why cannot you an old man love?
He may as useful, and more constant prove.
Experience shews you that maturer years Are a security against those fears Youth will expose you to; whose wild desire As it is hot, so 'tis as rash as…

I know no fitter subject for your view Then this, a meditation ripe for you,
As you for it.
Which when you read you'l see What kind of wife your self will one day bee:
Which happy day be neer you, and may this Remain with you as…

Essex twice made unhappy by a Wife,
Yet Marry'd worse unto the Peoples strife:
He who by two Divorces did untie His Bond of Wedlock and of Loyalty:
Who was by Easiness of Nature bred,

Fair one, you did on me bestow Comparisons too sweet to ow;
And but I found them sent from you I durst not think they could be true.
But 'tis your uncontrolled power Goddess-like to produce a flower,
And by your breath, without…

Vhat is th' Existence of Mans life?
But open war, or slumber'd strife.
Where sickness to his sense presents The combat of the Elements:
And never feels a perfect Peace Till deaths cold hand signs his release.

Since thou hast view'd some Gorgon, and art grown A solid stone:
To bring again to softness thy hard heart Is past my art.
Ice may relent to water in a thaw;
But stone made flesh Loves Chymistry ne're saw.

Love is our Reasons Paradox, which still Against the judgment doth maintain the Will:
And governs by such arbitrary laws,
It onely makes the Act our Likings cause:
We have no brave revenge, but to forgo Our full desires, and starve…

Con mala Muger el remedio Mucha Tierra por el medio.
I have oft wondred why thou didst elect Thy Mistress of a stuff none could affect,
That wore his eyes in the right place.
A thing Made up, when Natures powers lay slumbering.

Now that each feather'd Chorister doth sing The glad approches of the welcome Spring:
Now Phœbus darts forth his more early beam,
And dips it later in the curled stream,
I should to custome prove a retrograde Did I still dote upon…

I see that wreath which doth the wearer arm 'Gainst the quick strokes of thunder, is no charm To keep off deaths pale dart.
For,
Johnson then Thou hadst been number'd still with living men.
Times sithe had fear'd thy Lawrel to invade

Peace my hearts blab, be ever dumb,
Sorrowes speak loud without a tongue:
And my perplexed thoughts forbear To breath your selves in any ear:
Tis scarce a true or manly grief Which gaddes abroad to find relief.

I prethee turn that face away Whose splendour but benights my day.
Sad eyes like mine, and wounded hearts Shun the bright rayes which beauty darts.
Unwelcome is the Sun that pries Into those shades where sorrow lies.
Go shine on…

O all ye Nations record,
The Praises of the Lord;
Ye people through the Universe,
Your Makers praise rehearse.

To have liv'd eminent in a degreee Beyond our lofty'st flights, that is like thee;
Or t'have had too much merit is not safe;
For such excesses find no Epitaph.
At common graves we have Poetick eyes Can melt themselves in easie Elegies;

Vere I to leave no more then a good friend,
Or but to hear the summons to my end, (Which I have long'd for) I could then with ease Attire my grief in words, and so appease That passion in my bosom, which outgrowes The language of strict…

Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint,
Instead of dirges, this complaint;
And for sweet flow'rs to crown thy hearse,
From thy griev'd friend, whom thou might'st

VE flowers—that I could gallant it like you,
And be as little vain!
You come abroad, and make a harmless show,
And to your beds of earth again.

Praise ye the Lord, your Songs address To praise His Holynes:
O praise Him in His pow'rs extent,
Who rules the firmament.
Praise Him for all His acts of might

The man is blest whose feet not tread,
By wicked counsailes led:
Nor stands in that perverted way,
In which the Sinners stray;

MY once dear love, hapless that I no more Must call thee so, the rich affection's store That fed our hope lies now exhaust and spent,
Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent.
We, that did nothing study but the way To love each other,…

Black Maid, complain not that I fly,
When Fate commands Antipathy:
Prodigious might that union prove,
Where Night and Day together move,

Like to the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are,
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew,

Down stormy passions, down; no more Let your rude waves invade the shore Where blushing reason sits and hides Her from the fury of your tides.
Fit onely 'tis where you bear sway That Fools or Franticks do obey;
Since judgment, if it not…

It is,
Sir, a confest intrusion here That I before your labours do appear,
Which no loud Herald need, that may proclaim Or seek acceptance, but the Authors fame.
Much less that should this happy work commend