Princesse Loysa Drawing

I saw a little Diety,MINERVA in epitomy,Whom VENUS, at first blush, surpris'd,Tooke for her winged wagge disguis'd.But viewing then, whereas she madeNot a distrest, but lively shadeOf ECCHO whom he had betrayd,Now wanton, and ith' coole oth' SunneWith her delight a hunting gone,And thousands more, whom he had slaine;To live and love, belov'd againe:Ah! this is true divinity!I will un-God that toye! cri'd she;Then markt she SYRINX running fastTo Pan's imbraces, with the hasteShee fled him once, whose reede-pipe rentHe finds now a new Instrument.THESEUS return'd invokes the AyreAnd windes, then wafts his faire;Whilst ARIADNE ravish't stoodHalf in his armes, halfe in the flood.Proud ANAXERETE doth fallAt IPHIS feete, who smiles at all:And he (whilst she his curles doth deck)Hangs no where now, but on her neck.Here PHOEBUS with a beame untombesLong-hid LEUCOTHOE, and doomesHer father there; DAPHNE the faireKnowes now no bayes but round her haire;And to APOLLO and his Sons,Who pay him their due Orisons,Bequeaths her lawrell-robe, that flameContemnes, Thunder and evill Fame.There kneel'd ADONIS fresh as spring,Gay as his youth, now offeringHerself those joyes with voice and hand,Which first he could not understand.Transfixed VENUS stood amas'd,Full of the Boy and Love, she gaz'd,And in imbraces seemed moreSenceless and colde then he before.Uselesse Childe! In vaine (said she)You beare that fond artillerie;See heere a pow'r above the slowWeake execution of thy bow.So said, she riv'd the wood in two,Unedged all his arrowes too,And with the string their feathers boundTo that part, whence we have our wound.See, see! the darts by which we burn'dAre bright Loysa's pencills turn'd,With which she now enliveth moreBeauties, than they destroy'd before.

Were it that you so shun me, 'cause you wish(Cruels't) a fellow in your wretchednesse,Or that you take some small ease in your owneTorments, to heare another sadly groane,I were most happy in my paines, to beSo truely blest, to be so curst by thee:But oh! my cries to that doe rather adde,Of which too much already thou hast had,And thou art gladly sad to heare my moane;Yet sadly hearst me with derision.

Thou most unjust, that really dust know,And feelst thyselfe the flames I burne in. Oh!How can you beg to be set loose from thatConsuming stake you binde another at?

Uncharitablest both wayes, to denieThat pity me, for which yourself must dye,To love not her loves you, yet know the painWhat 'tis to love, and not be lov'd againe.

Flye on, flye on, swift Racer, untill sheWhom thou of all ador'st shall learne of theeThe pace t'outfly thee, and shall teach thee groan,What terrour 'tis t'outgo and be outgon.

Nor yet looke back, nor yet must weRun then like spoakes in wheeles eternally,And never overtake? Be dragg'd on stillBy the weake cordage of your untwin'd willRound without hope of rest? No, I will turne,And with my goodnes boldly meete your scorne;My goodnesse which Heav'n pardon, and that fate

But I am chang'd! Bright reason, that did giveMy soule a noble quicknes, made me liveOne breath yet longer, and to will, and seeHath reacht me pow'r to scorne as well as thee:That thou, which proudly tramplest on my grave,Thyselfe mightst fall, conquer'd my double slave:That thou mightst, sinking in thy triumphs, moan,And I triumph in my destruction.

Hayle, holy cold! chaste temper, hayle! the fireRav'd o're my purer thoughts I feel t' expire,And I am candied ice. Yee pow'rs! if e'reI shall be forc't unto my sepulcher,Or violently hurl'd into my urne,Oh make me choose rather to freeze than burne.