ARAPH. Roses breath not such a sent, To perfume the neighbr'ing groves; As when you affirme content, In no spheare of glory moves. Glory narrow soules combines: Noble hearts Love onely joynes. [9] chased. 1634, 1635. _To_ CASTARA, _Intending a journey into the Countrey_. Why haste you hence _Castara_? can the earth, A glorious mother, in her flowry birth, Shew Lillies like thy brow? Can she disclose In emulation of thy cheeke, a Rose, Sweete as thy blush? Upon thy selfe then set Just value, and scorne it, thy counterfet. The Spring's still with thee; But perhaps the field, Not warm'd with thy approach, wants force to yeeld, Her tribute to the Plough; O rather let Th' ingratefull earth for ever be in debt To th' hope of sweating industry, than we Should starve with cold, who have no heat but thee. Nor feare the publike good. Thy eyes can give A life to all, who can deserve to live. _Upon_ CASTARA'S _departure_. I am engag'd to sorrow, and my heart Feeles a distracted rage. Though you depart And leave me to my feares; let love in spite Of absence, our divided soules unite. But you must goe. The melancholy Doves Draw _Venus_ chariot hence. The sportive Loves Which wont to wanton here, hence with you flye, And like false friends forsake me when I dye. For but a walking tombe, what can he be; Whose best of life is forc't to part with thee? _To_ CASTARA, _Upon a trembling kisse at departure_. Th' Arabian wind, whose breathing gently blows Purple to th' Violet, blushes to the Rose; Did never yeeld an odour rich as this. Why are you then so thrifty of a kisse, Authoriz'd even by custome? Why doth feare So tremble on your lip, my lip being neare? Thinke you I parting with so sad a zeale, Will act so blacke a mischiefe, as to steale Thy Roses thence? And they, by this device, Transplanted: somewhere else force Paradice? Or else you feare, lest you, should my heart skip Up to my mouth, t' incounter with your lip, Might rob me of it: and be judg'd in this, T' have _Judas_ like betraid me with a kisse. _To_ CASTARA, _Looking backe at her departing_. Looke backe _Castara_. From thy eye Let yet more flaming arrowes flye. To live, is thus to burne and dye. For what might glorious hope desire, But that thy selfe, as I expire, Should bring both death and funerall fire? Distracted Love, shall grieve to see Such zeale in death: For feare lest he Himselfe, should be consumed in me. And gathering up my ashes, weepe, That in his teares he then may sleepe: And thus embalm'd, as reliques, keepe. Thither let lovers pilgrims turne, And the loose flames in which they burne, Give up as offerings to my Urne.