Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, REASONABLE MELANCHOLY, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT



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REASONABLE MELANCHOLY, by            
First Line: Tell me no more of sweets & joyes
Last Line: Arabia, & can sooner reach the skie.
Subject(s): Fertility; Marriage; Melancholy; Nature; Rites & Ceremonies; Spring; Youth; Weddings; Husbands; Wives; Dejection


TELL me no more of Sweets & Joyes;
Miscall not Things:
Nor flatter poor unworthy Toyes
As they were Kings.
Tis not a pretty Name
That can transforme ye frame
Of Bitternesse, and cheat a sober Tast:
Tis not a smile
That can beguile
Good eyes, & on false Joyes true colours cast.

I saw some jolly Ladds rejoice
The Town was theirs;
Secure & ringing was their noise,
No thought of fears.
At first ye Healths went round
And then their Braines; till drownd
In what they had devour'd, they sunk. Sweet Joy
Said I, wch thus
Steales Us from Us,
And leaves us nought but Beasts, or worse then they.

Others I spyed at an huge Feast:
The wholl Creation
Was serv'd up ready dished & dress'd
And in ye fashion.
They fell too: & some eat
A fever wth their Meat;
Some great, & some small surfeits. And are those
The Sweets, said I,
Of Luxurie?
Such Dainties might a Jew afford his foes.

Clad with ye Night, & black as Shee
Th' Adulterer goes,
To steale those Joyes, wch monstrous Hee
Doth rather choose,
Then all Heav'ns Sweets. But why
Fears He ye Mornings ey?
Brave Happinesse, at which ye owner is
Asham'd, & tries
How to disguise
It & Himselfe in conscious Covertnes!

All grant that Nuptiall pleasures are
Both sweet & cleane:
But many think ye sauce is far
More soure and keen;
All kind of cares are sed
To grow i th' Nuptiall Bed.
Or if it barren prove, that drie Disease
Has greater Greife,
And lesse Releife
Then all ye thorney Breed of fertilenes.

Gentiler Spirits in Music place
A soveraigne Pleasure;
But yet ye Cords are vext to grace
The nimble Measure.
The sweetest Harmonie
With Sharps must temper'd be.
Some Tunes are heavnly; but tis when they meet
A Sacred Thing
Whereon to sing;
And then ye Dittie makes ye Musick sweet.

The world has store of Things, which Shee
Does Pastimes call,
Which though they sweet & tempting be
Yet have their Gall.
Alas, though time be now
Grown old, he's not so slow
That we should lend him wings: Doe wt we can
He makes no stay;
Mistaken Play
Passeth not Time away but silly Man.

When in ye brisk and yeouthfull Spring
My curious eye
Walked over every flowry Thing
Sweets to descrie;
A Rose above ye rest
Peep'd up & pleas'd me best;
Wch when I would have crop't, I felt her pricks.
What hopes to meet
Wth any Sweet
When to a Rose such thorney anger sticks?

But on her leaves a Bee there sate,
A buisie Bee;
Whose business was to find out what
I could not see.
On her my hand I laid;
But gently, as affraid
To hurt so sweet a Thing: Yet cholerick Shee
Unsheath'd her sting
And murmuring
In stead of honey, poison left in mee.

With that, as wroth as Shee, or more,
Unto her Hive
I flung, resolv'd of all her store
Her to deprive.
Sweet was ye Honey, and
At present did command
My likeing, but soone made me sick. And who
Said I, dares trust
Sweets if we must
In Honey grant such bitternesse to flow?

Defiance, faire impostur'd Names
Of beauteous Cheats,
Welfavour'd Lies, & handsome frames
Of poisn'd Sweets.
Your Bait full fine doth show,
But ye false Hook below
Is bearded with vexation. Who desires
Sweetly to be
Destroyed, He
May burne in your deare Aromatik fires.

It must be so. Could rotten Earth
Spring with sound Joyes,
Faire heav'n & all its Sacred Mirth
Would seeme but Toyes.
Immortall Pleasures may
A soules brave thirst allay,
And those alone; those that are kindled by
The flaming grace
Of Jesu's face,
Which gilds the beauteous Sweets, yt smile on high.

Come hither Greife, one draught of Thee
Will last more sweet
Then all false Joyes Hypocrisie
Which heer doth greet
Deluded Soules: One Tear
Flows with more Honey far
Then all Hyblean Hives; one pious sigh
Breaths sweeter aire
Then all ye faire
Arabia, & can sooner reach the skie.





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