An ode on inconstant love.

*************AN ODE TO INCONSTANT LOVE*************
Ingenitive Chryseis, prithee incline, [Cressida and Troilus,
thou hand, thou hand, tooest mine. symbol of female inconstantcy.]
Though thou canst not hereupon stay for long,
with me, please, for a moment playe,
Mercurial faye.

E'er Yon!

Euryalus and Nisus, I remark,
thou love is desitive, mine twas' not.
But canst I be, with mine lover, the bark:
on the tree, which, as blood should clot,
I whenceforth expect to playest mine part?:
Whether she is here with me now,
or hath leave to hire:
I shalt er', with her love, abound,
though I'm not her sire.
I doth not abject all the Hearts,
upon which she inquires:
her lovers art but equal parts
in ascititious file. [Supplemental]
And in Her Heart I lie:
in that Heart mine love lived and died:
wherefor she but grew tired.
Thereof mine love hath two sizes:
with her, and her without.
The seditious, and the cheating,
that leave all competing,
for love that surviveth -
it's own is not ever righteous:
thence now, with thee, I lark.
Whensoever the Mercurial faye,
with thee doth findest her waye:
Supplicate to fill with regale and delight;
solacious rhymes that she with you dights.

To Cressida:

Rebel thine resting place, the time is now,
for Endymion hath deserted his bed.
Phoebus's light is prepared for thine crown,
thence to gloriously thine forenoone confess.
Mightest thou, in Eridanus batheth, [Nonnus, Dionysiaca.]
or, as Glaucus, whilst thee, in thou honeyed bate, [Appolodorus, Biblotheca]
restore to life, youthful, and naked:
for thee must prepare for thine aperient date. [Serving to make hungry, alimentive]
Inaugurate the nundinal hours:
welcome fairs, welcome blossoms, and jesting,
felicity is partial to thine bowre,
we hath need not for each other testing.
Henceforth I live, in what fair hours grant:
those paradisical days and nights,
of Jove's rule, which thou can't recant:
rather or not thou hath left my side,
that which his seasons relegate to thou ask.
Therefor, Jove, father of the Muse's song:


Ye, that hath oftentimes in my music grown,
that I yearn like Thriae eat honey comb,
that hath felt I twas' worthy to speakest without:
your angelic tounge, thou own lyrics nowe.
In verse as thine own beauty calleth fount,
thine own grace, thine own lips, and thine own mouth.
Uponest thine scale, shouldest thou care to weigheth,
where curious hymen hath not yet lectured,
this gramme that is such, of my truest Love:
Half drawne out of your well in mine pages.
Half of it tis, of thankfulness, and half of your Heaven:
Halfe longing for another kiss from thine lips libant.
Against it weigh those of Joves, entreasured, 4
sattelites, thence that, by themselves, doth stand 5
wherefor thou callest: Tamesis flumnis. [Joannis Genesii Sepulvedae]
Men who calleth thou torturous and vain:
Goeth to find thine own Flirts, in thine shame.
Calleth "laudis id, omne tenet" [Amerbachius Bonifacius]
trully but thou immurement.
In thou own attenuate heart,
wherefor thou is imbar'd: 7
Love, but not to ossibus astra misturus. [Pharsalia: A star's bone]
FOR all thine pretended romance is but a distraction:
whilst thou is not like me, and Engonasis. [See in the bookes of Aratus.]
Thou delight in thence making a servant,
thine wife, thence mistaking thine wife's purpose.
Thou findest love, when love thou ever keepe,
thus thine whole romance is the same ill-theme:
thou to thine self, thou makest to salute, [WHEREOF]
both of thee, and love itself, art impun'd. 8
This is a Woman to full for but one Man,
thou takest with thankfulnessee, what thou can.
Thine in thine self hadst thereof beene spente,
if, absent of love, thou hadst but upon thine self drempt.
Love is not bourne to but placate, and content,
for as how this Queene thereinto hath been amongst us,
to giveth thou perspective and temparance to exercise. [FOR]
That which in itselfe, alone, doth, with itselfe, die:
deserveth not, nor could thine ever lament,
nor for could thou e'er move to cry,
that wouldest be eaten, beyonde thou dreriment.
But, prithee, doth not thereunto playe,
thine own plaintive song, of fortune's carelessness.
Thence thou, whereunto we sit, in this little glade,
turneth thereupon to perdition and dreriment.
Flyeth likest Aëdon, from thine own woe:
let me with thou own tune compell thee so.
Let my voice be the air whereunto we flye:
from e'er other Man's need, and e'er other Man's pride.
For to I mattereth not, whereupon how much tyme,
with each other we spend;
but moreover, tis' the kind
of Love whereto thee doth with me grace:
and that I hath learned of, thence but to taste.
Prithee thou spreadest thine most eager lampe:
Early, as before with the Earth hath been warmed.
Disperse the fermenting dews of the rorid night:
the e'ery blade of grass, so madescent and dampe,
thence with thou light, with thou warmth, and thou light.
Thence mayst no Nymphes, of our estive chear,
from the farthest rivers, and the greenest of woods,
neglecteth thou, and thou: now blessed, revered,
the e'er Man wouldest with spend his life, if he could.
They gather around thee: thine new neighbors found,
Atlantides with wedding gifts, Oenone with wine,
Salmacis, alone, the Naiad by Diana unbound;
who in idleness thereof likes spending her time.




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