Love Platonicke
A Small Poeme
FIRST WRITTEN 1642: BY THE SAME AUTHOR; TAKEN FROM THE ORIGINALL INTO THIS PLACE COPIED;
1.6.4.6.
Non est forma Satis, nec, quae vult' bella videri;
Debet vulgari more placere Sibi;
Dicta, Sales, lusus, sermonis gratia, risus,
Vincunt Naturae candidioris opus;
Condit enim formam, quicquid consumitur artis,
Et nisi velle subest, gratia tota perit.
TO CINTHIA; COYING IT
N OE LONGER Cinthia; have I spent
My time, but for a Complement?
The Solemne Dictates, of a noble Love!
Taught all the Misterie, which doth behove
A naturall
Pure Flame to exercise?
And you in Heresies
Yet wander! noe more vexe
Your Selfe, in the Stale Error of your Sex.
Not any doctrine, in our Schoole,
Tends, to the ruine of a Soule;
You may be bold
To follow all our Precepts, and observe
A Stricter Modestie, then those who sterve
Love, in the old
Mantles of mother witt;
They doe not know, the fitt
Freedome of Nature, in
That Passion of the Soule, without a Sin.
Come; let me gather a new Flame
From thy bright Eyes; the old is lame;
And I forget
The better Principles, while I dispute
You into Faith. Come, tis a modest Suite,
And might be writt,
A vestal Canon. Fye,
Tis meere Simplicitie
To hinder your owne blisse.
Would you Assent, there were noe joy, to this.
The bruitish Passions of Lust,
Wee doe not know; nor the unjust
Power of the will.
Our blood is Calme, and Cold; and all the root
Of Nature is Corrected; here noe doubt
Can move that Ill,
Your Ignorance suggests;
Wee have more open brests
And thinke, but what wee say;
And doe the Same, in the same free cleare way
May I not yet enjoy the free
Possession of my Selfe, in Thee?
Let Men Suspect,
By their owne guilt, our Sin; it shall not move
Our Innocence. Daigne yet an Equall Love;
Prize noe respect,
To that Beatitude,
Wise mortalls have pursu'd,
With Free, and Chast desires;
Warmed with the best (now called) Platonicke fires.
TO CINTHIA CONVERTED
Come MY C INTHIA; gladly fixe
Thy bright, and Chaster Eyes, on mine;
Yet be free; and let us mixe
In noe base Corporeal twine:
But in the freedome, of our Soules embrace,
Knitt by the mutuall Glance, of Eithers Face.
Happie are the Minutes, which
Wee Spend and keepe, in this enjoying;
Tainted with noe Sordid Itch
Of sensuall Pleasures, ever Cloying.
Wee freely move, within our Selves; and Eyther
Moves in the other, one and both together.
My better selfe, in all the tye
Of Chast Affection, thinke I prise
Noe Joy, to this Societie.
Not all the Treasure of thy Eyes
Was such a forcive Character, to bind
My Love, as this great Sympathie of Mind.
Nor let the vulgar blame us in
Their owne surmises, fond and weake;
Wee are not guiltye of that Sin,
Which they are bold to doe, and Speake;
Let them Enjoy their Active heat; whilest wee
With Soules Combined, in our Selves are Free.
Dear Cinthia; breath thy Innocence
Into the Closet of my heart;
Whilst in a mixt Intelligence,
Wee Joyne the Soule, in every part;
Soe generate new Loves; and keepe entire
The Faculties, unstained with Desire.
CINTHIA CONFIRMED
C AN IT BE LOVE ? which the rude Action
Of nature, may Compleat?
Or can the Sences Satisfaction
Proceed, from noble heat?
Can Love at once
Create, and Ruine? or an Ayme intend
To an ignoble End?
And yet advance
A Face of vertue? Love can never bend
Two wayes, at once.
TO THE PLATONICKE PRETENDER
D ULL F OOLE ; to mocke a flame
Beyond thy Fate;
Thou canst but prate
Of Common Love, veil'd in another Name;
The word Platonicke, pleases thy Conceit;
And some new thing
Thou wouldst have others understand, in it;
But canst not bring
One Accent, to evince
It from the Common Sins
Of Appetite, and naturall Desire;
The word, is all thy Flame.
Dull Sinner! doe not blame
These Just reproaches; if a Zealous fire
A strange Hypocrisie.
For in Platonicke Love thou canst doe more
With yeilding Females, then in Lust before.
Ladies beware; he will deceive you, in
That Face of vertue, to the Act of Sin.
PURE PLATONICKE
N OT R OSES , joyn'd with Lillies, make
Her Faire, nor though her Eyes be blacke
And glorious, as th' Etheriall Queene,
Are they my wonder; I have seene
Beautie, and scorn'd it, at fowerteene.
Not to have a Skin, as smooth
As Christall; nor a Lip, nor mouth,
Bright Citherea's ornament,
Move me at all; let them invent
A Dresse, to move new blandishment,
I am not taken; not the Faire
Enchantments, of well-order'd haire,
Not a Leg, nor Foot, nor hand,
Nor the parts wee understand
Most attractive, mee command.
Though I give all Beautie prise
To the value of my Eyes;
Yet I doe not love a Face,
Nor dote upon the outward grace;
These respects, can have noe place.
Wee distinguish nothing to
The outward Forme, as Lovers doe;
Nor value by the rule, of Sence.
Wee know noe Sexes difference,
Equall in Pre eminence
To the Sympathising mind,
Neither hinder, neither bind;
But in eithers brest wee move,
And Affections Equall prove:
This is pure Platonicke Love.
COURT-PLATONICKE
O H ; BE FREE , as Equall ayre;
Though not soe gen'rall (my Faire).
Beautie doth attract the Eye,
In rayes, of the best Sympathye;
Here, I live Eternallye.
The darkest Day were richly Spred
In the full Treasure of your head;
The Earth unverdant may goe seeke
Her Flowers, in winter; but your Cheeke
Has all; and more, then wee can Speake.
Sabaean Gummes flye in your Breath
To recall Life, and ruine Death:
See it in me; for I noe more
Am liveing Man, then in the power
Of what your Kisses doe Secure.
The Tirant layes his Scepter by,
Commanded, by your awfull Eye,
And dares not Strike; if you but will
To have me Live. Oh; yet a while
Secure your Servant in your Smile.
Something moves within my Brest;
Something, not to be exprest;
Nature wills, when two agree,
Some nearer joyned Societye,
Then a discoursive Harmonye.
Let us perfect, all our worke;
Nature fires, should never lurke;
And the Act, alone can Seale
Mutuall Joyes; which to reveale
Were Treason; and I will not tell.
ANTI-PLATONICKE
N OE LONGER TORTURE MEE , in dreams
Of reservations, and Extream's;
Nature, never yet, in Two
Such a Calmenes, did bestow,
As you would pretend unto.
Give me buxome Youth; and Blood,
Quickned, in the understood
Caution of Love; a free desire
To meet with mine, in Equall Fire,
And doe the Act, wee both Conspire.
In the free, and Common way,
I would all my heats allay.
I have little Skill in love;
Little leasure, to Emprove
But by Natures precepts move.
In everie Step, I tread that path,
And to new Dictates, want a Faith;
If I see her yonge, and Faire,
Fresh, and Blith, and fitt to payre;
I have whol'some wishes nere.
My blood burnes; I cannot hold;
Strong desires make us bold;
I must utter all I thinke,
Not in a Question, or a winke:
Such mustie follies, ever stinke.
But I urge, and presse it close;
All I know, or you suppose;
Women are noe longer Chast
Then untempted; they would tast
Men, with Equall Heat, and Hast.
TO THE SWEET FEMININE PLATONICKS
L ADIES ; (for only to the Feminine
Wee breath these gentle Ayres) it resteth in
Your power to raise us, (beyond all the right
Wee claime, to Poet) in this present Flight:
For love Platonicke, is a Dreame; (a Dull
Imperfect glance, of the most beautifull
Object our Nature claim's to) wanting you,
Who make that up an Act, was but a Show.
FIRST WRITTEN 1642: BY THE SAME AUTHOR; TAKEN FROM THE ORIGINALL INTO THIS PLACE COPIED;
1.6.4.6.
Non est forma Satis, nec, quae vult' bella videri;
Debet vulgari more placere Sibi;
Dicta, Sales, lusus, sermonis gratia, risus,
Vincunt Naturae candidioris opus;
Condit enim formam, quicquid consumitur artis,
Et nisi velle subest, gratia tota perit.
TO CINTHIA; COYING IT
N OE LONGER Cinthia; have I spent
My time, but for a Complement?
The Solemne Dictates, of a noble Love!
Taught all the Misterie, which doth behove
A naturall
Pure Flame to exercise?
And you in Heresies
Yet wander! noe more vexe
Your Selfe, in the Stale Error of your Sex.
Not any doctrine, in our Schoole,
Tends, to the ruine of a Soule;
You may be bold
To follow all our Precepts, and observe
A Stricter Modestie, then those who sterve
Love, in the old
Mantles of mother witt;
They doe not know, the fitt
Freedome of Nature, in
That Passion of the Soule, without a Sin.
Come; let me gather a new Flame
From thy bright Eyes; the old is lame;
And I forget
The better Principles, while I dispute
You into Faith. Come, tis a modest Suite,
And might be writt,
A vestal Canon. Fye,
Tis meere Simplicitie
To hinder your owne blisse.
Would you Assent, there were noe joy, to this.
The bruitish Passions of Lust,
Wee doe not know; nor the unjust
Power of the will.
Our blood is Calme, and Cold; and all the root
Of Nature is Corrected; here noe doubt
Can move that Ill,
Your Ignorance suggests;
Wee have more open brests
And thinke, but what wee say;
And doe the Same, in the same free cleare way
May I not yet enjoy the free
Possession of my Selfe, in Thee?
Let Men Suspect,
By their owne guilt, our Sin; it shall not move
Our Innocence. Daigne yet an Equall Love;
Prize noe respect,
To that Beatitude,
Wise mortalls have pursu'd,
With Free, and Chast desires;
Warmed with the best (now called) Platonicke fires.
TO CINTHIA CONVERTED
Come MY C INTHIA; gladly fixe
Thy bright, and Chaster Eyes, on mine;
Yet be free; and let us mixe
In noe base Corporeal twine:
But in the freedome, of our Soules embrace,
Knitt by the mutuall Glance, of Eithers Face.
Happie are the Minutes, which
Wee Spend and keepe, in this enjoying;
Tainted with noe Sordid Itch
Of sensuall Pleasures, ever Cloying.
Wee freely move, within our Selves; and Eyther
Moves in the other, one and both together.
My better selfe, in all the tye
Of Chast Affection, thinke I prise
Noe Joy, to this Societie.
Not all the Treasure of thy Eyes
Was such a forcive Character, to bind
My Love, as this great Sympathie of Mind.
Nor let the vulgar blame us in
Their owne surmises, fond and weake;
Wee are not guiltye of that Sin,
Which they are bold to doe, and Speake;
Let them Enjoy their Active heat; whilest wee
With Soules Combined, in our Selves are Free.
Dear Cinthia; breath thy Innocence
Into the Closet of my heart;
Whilst in a mixt Intelligence,
Wee Joyne the Soule, in every part;
Soe generate new Loves; and keepe entire
The Faculties, unstained with Desire.
CINTHIA CONFIRMED
C AN IT BE LOVE ? which the rude Action
Of nature, may Compleat?
Or can the Sences Satisfaction
Proceed, from noble heat?
Can Love at once
Create, and Ruine? or an Ayme intend
To an ignoble End?
And yet advance
A Face of vertue? Love can never bend
Two wayes, at once.
TO THE PLATONICKE PRETENDER
D ULL F OOLE ; to mocke a flame
Beyond thy Fate;
Thou canst but prate
Of Common Love, veil'd in another Name;
The word Platonicke, pleases thy Conceit;
And some new thing
Thou wouldst have others understand, in it;
But canst not bring
One Accent, to evince
It from the Common Sins
Of Appetite, and naturall Desire;
The word, is all thy Flame.
Dull Sinner! doe not blame
These Just reproaches; if a Zealous fire
A strange Hypocrisie.
For in Platonicke Love thou canst doe more
With yeilding Females, then in Lust before.
Ladies beware; he will deceive you, in
That Face of vertue, to the Act of Sin.
PURE PLATONICKE
N OT R OSES , joyn'd with Lillies, make
Her Faire, nor though her Eyes be blacke
And glorious, as th' Etheriall Queene,
Are they my wonder; I have seene
Beautie, and scorn'd it, at fowerteene.
Not to have a Skin, as smooth
As Christall; nor a Lip, nor mouth,
Bright Citherea's ornament,
Move me at all; let them invent
A Dresse, to move new blandishment,
I am not taken; not the Faire
Enchantments, of well-order'd haire,
Not a Leg, nor Foot, nor hand,
Nor the parts wee understand
Most attractive, mee command.
Though I give all Beautie prise
To the value of my Eyes;
Yet I doe not love a Face,
Nor dote upon the outward grace;
These respects, can have noe place.
Wee distinguish nothing to
The outward Forme, as Lovers doe;
Nor value by the rule, of Sence.
Wee know noe Sexes difference,
Equall in Pre eminence
To the Sympathising mind,
Neither hinder, neither bind;
But in eithers brest wee move,
And Affections Equall prove:
This is pure Platonicke Love.
COURT-PLATONICKE
O H ; BE FREE , as Equall ayre;
Though not soe gen'rall (my Faire).
Beautie doth attract the Eye,
In rayes, of the best Sympathye;
Here, I live Eternallye.
The darkest Day were richly Spred
In the full Treasure of your head;
The Earth unverdant may goe seeke
Her Flowers, in winter; but your Cheeke
Has all; and more, then wee can Speake.
Sabaean Gummes flye in your Breath
To recall Life, and ruine Death:
See it in me; for I noe more
Am liveing Man, then in the power
Of what your Kisses doe Secure.
The Tirant layes his Scepter by,
Commanded, by your awfull Eye,
And dares not Strike; if you but will
To have me Live. Oh; yet a while
Secure your Servant in your Smile.
Something moves within my Brest;
Something, not to be exprest;
Nature wills, when two agree,
Some nearer joyned Societye,
Then a discoursive Harmonye.
Let us perfect, all our worke;
Nature fires, should never lurke;
And the Act, alone can Seale
Mutuall Joyes; which to reveale
Were Treason; and I will not tell.
ANTI-PLATONICKE
N OE LONGER TORTURE MEE , in dreams
Of reservations, and Extream's;
Nature, never yet, in Two
Such a Calmenes, did bestow,
As you would pretend unto.
Give me buxome Youth; and Blood,
Quickned, in the understood
Caution of Love; a free desire
To meet with mine, in Equall Fire,
And doe the Act, wee both Conspire.
In the free, and Common way,
I would all my heats allay.
I have little Skill in love;
Little leasure, to Emprove
But by Natures precepts move.
In everie Step, I tread that path,
And to new Dictates, want a Faith;
If I see her yonge, and Faire,
Fresh, and Blith, and fitt to payre;
I have whol'some wishes nere.
My blood burnes; I cannot hold;
Strong desires make us bold;
I must utter all I thinke,
Not in a Question, or a winke:
Such mustie follies, ever stinke.
But I urge, and presse it close;
All I know, or you suppose;
Women are noe longer Chast
Then untempted; they would tast
Men, with Equall Heat, and Hast.
TO THE SWEET FEMININE PLATONICKS
L ADIES ; (for only to the Feminine
Wee breath these gentle Ayres) it resteth in
Your power to raise us, (beyond all the right
Wee claime, to Poet) in this present Flight:
For love Platonicke, is a Dreame; (a Dull
Imperfect glance, of the most beautifull
Object our Nature claim's to) wanting you,
Who make that up an Act, was but a Show.
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