LOVES HOROSCOPE by RICHARD CRASHAW

Love, brave vertues younger Brother,
Erst hath made my Heart a Mother,
Shee consults the conscious Spheares,
To calculate her young sons yeares.
Shee askes if sad, or saving powers,
Gave Omen to his infant howers,
Shee asks each starre that then stood by,
If poore Love shall live or dy.

Ah my Heart, is that the way?
Are these the Beames that rule thy Day?
Thou know'st a Face in whose each looke,
Beauty layes ope loves Fortune-booke,
On whose faire revolutions wait
The obsequious motions of Loves fate.
Ah my Heart, her eyes and shee,
Have taught thee new Astrology.
How e're Loves native houres were set,
What ever starry Synod met,
'Tis in the mercy of her eye,
If poore Love shall live or dye.

If those sharpe Rayes putting on
Points of Death bid Love be gone
(Though the Heavens in counsell sate,
To crowne an uncontrouled Fate,
Though their best Aspects, twin'd upon
The kindest Constellation,
Cast amorous glances on his Birth,
And whisper'd the confederate Earth
To pave his pathes with all the good
That warmes the Bed of youth and blood)
Love ha's no plea against her eye
Beauty frownes, and Love must dye.

But if her milder influence move;
And guild the hopes of humble Love:
(Though heavens inauspicious eye
Lay blacke on loves Nativitye;
Though every Diamond in Joves crowne
Fixt his forehead to a frowne,)
Her Eye a strong appeale can give,
Beauty smiles and love shall live.

O if Love shall live, o where
But in her Eye, or in her Eare,
In her Brest, or in her Breath,
Shall I hide poore Love from Death?
For in the life ought else can give,
Love shall dye although he live.

Or if Love shall dye, o where
But in her Eye, or in her Eare,
In her Breath, or in her Breast,
Shall I Build his funerall Nest?
While Love shall thus entombed lye,
Love shall live, although he dye.

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