Tixall Poetry/To Mrs Gertrude Aston's Happy Condition When with Mrs Eliza Thimelby
To Mrs Gertrude Aston's Happy Condition
When with Mrs Eliza Thimelby.
Thirsis.
Amarillis, you expres
In your lookes such happines,
And they soe assure me, who
To that heighth could make it grow;
That in some faire fruitful meade,
Where the Summer's pride is spread,
I as well might seek to know,
If the often overflow
Of a lovely streame that glides
Almost round its happy sides,
Had not lent it all this store,
That had otherwise bin poore;
Yet what does enough appeare,
I besides from you would heare.
Amarillis, you expres
In your lookes such happines,
And they soe assure me, who
To that heighth could make it grow;
That in some faire fruitful meade,
Where the Summer's pride is spread,
I as well might seek to know,
If the often overflow
Of a lovely streame that glides
Almost round its happy sides,
Had not lent it all this store,
That had otherwise bin poore;
Yet what does enough appeare,
I besides from you would heare.
Amarillis.
Thirsis, lookes but little show,
Les my words can hope to doe;
Yet the memory promises
To supply the want of these;
Deeply there imprest must be
Your forepast felicity;
And 'tis that will tell you best,
All the joyes I have possest,
(As in her their centre met,)
Since I've been with Amoret.
Thirsis, lookes but little show,
Les my words can hope to doe;
Yet the memory promises
To supply the want of these;
Deeply there imprest must be
Your forepast felicity;
And 'tis that will tell you best,
All the joyes I have possest,
(As in her their centre met,)
Since I've been with Amoret.
Thirsis.
Then I see, since I have stray'd
Soe far off, 'twill not be made
Easily to you appeare
(Who confine all pleasure here,)
That my satisfaction might
Higher rise than your delight.
Then I see, since I have stray'd
Soe far off, 'twill not be made
Easily to you appeare
(Who confine all pleasure here,)
That my satisfaction might
Higher rise than your delight.
Amarillis.
Noe, you may as soone perswade
Light is darker than the shade.
But not doubting you will owne
Our joys' day must spring alone
From those beames where mine I sought,
How can you have such a thought?
Noe, you may as soone perswade
Light is darker than the shade.
But not doubting you will owne
Our joys' day must spring alone
From those beames where mine I sought,
How can you have such a thought?
Thirsis.
'Tis because I judge their sight
More advantaged by his light,
In our gloomy woods who shun
Than who face the noone-day sun:
And that (as in those extreames,
While his silver-twisted beames
Through the spreading branches play,
While each tree would stop their way,
And yet every bough receaves
Some amidst its trembling leaves,)
He more pleasing does appeare,
Then were all his splendor there;
So while to my darker minde,
Her bright charmes did passage finde,
And that through the thickest shade
That could be by absence made,
I beheld them victors growne,
Lovelyest then to me they shone;
Though I grant that tooke away
The full glorys of her day.
'Tis because I judge their sight
More advantaged by his light,
In our gloomy woods who shun
Than who face the noone-day sun:
And that (as in those extreames,
While his silver-twisted beames
Through the spreading branches play,
While each tree would stop their way,
And yet every bough receaves
Some amidst its trembling leaves,)
He more pleasing does appeare,
Then were all his splendor there;
So while to my darker minde,
Her bright charmes did passage finde,
And that through the thickest shade
That could be by absence made,
I beheld them victors growne,
Lovelyest then to me they shone;
Though I grant that tooke away
The full glorys of her day.
Amarillis.
Though you thus would make my light,
Is but this your glimering night;
You yourselfe have yet allow'd,
That I may be justly proud
Of my happy neighborhood,
To that all-enriching flood,
That can make my barren soile
With the fairest flowers smile.
Say if could your distant feild
Such a growth of sweetnes yeild?
Though you thus would make my light,
Is but this your glimering night;
You yourselfe have yet allow'd,
That I may be justly proud
Of my happy neighborhood,
To that all-enriching flood,
That can make my barren soile
With the fairest flowers smile.
Say if could your distant feild
Such a growth of sweetnes yeild?
Thirsis.
Doe not you too highly prise
That which in such hazard lyes:
Oft by a too sudden flow,
Which did seeme no bounds to know,
The faire cause of all the store
Ruin'd what she gave before.
Or if somewhat better 'twere,
While that deluge entred there,
Your amaze, but hardly gave
Leave some little part to save.
My more scarcely watered ground,
Out of danger to be drown'd,
Did a moderate harvest beare,
Which I gather'd void of feare.
Doe not you too highly prise
That which in such hazard lyes:
Oft by a too sudden flow,
Which did seeme no bounds to know,
The faire cause of all the store
Ruin'd what she gave before.
Or if somewhat better 'twere,
While that deluge entred there,
Your amaze, but hardly gave
Leave some little part to save.
My more scarcely watered ground,
Out of danger to be drown'd,
Did a moderate harvest beare,
Which I gather'd void of feare.
Amarillis.
I in vain should more dispute,
You shall now yourselfe confute;
And your errour straight confess,
To our charming shepherdess.
See, she comes from yonder green,
Crown'd with flowers, this yeare's queen:
She, who to convince you cleare,
Needs but only to appeare;
Yet your pardon, (begg'd of me,)
Her first act of grace shall be.
I in vain should more dispute,
You shall now yourselfe confute;
And your errour straight confess,
To our charming shepherdess.
See, she comes from yonder green,
Crown'd with flowers, this yeare's queen:
She, who to convince you cleare,
Needs but only to appeare;
Yet your pardon, (begg'd of me,)
Her first act of grace shall be.
Thirsis.
Her approach enough does speake
All my arguments too weake:
And though truth I did aver,
Truth itselfe must yield to her.
I already doe submit,
She soe sweetly conquers it.
Reason may with justice boast
In her triumph to be lost.
Her approach enough does speake
All my arguments too weake:
And though truth I did aver,
Truth itselfe must yield to her.
I already doe submit,
She soe sweetly conquers it.
Reason may with justice boast
In her triumph to be lost.