Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN EPITHALAMIUM TO MR F. H., by THOMAS RANDOLPH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN EPITHALAMIUM TO MR F. H., by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Frank, when this morn (the harbinger of day
Last Line: So whipp'd her doves, and smiling rid away.
Subject(s): Wedding Song; Epithalamium


FRANK, when this morn (the harbinger of day)
Blush'd from her Eastern pillow, where she lay
Clasp'd in her Tython's arms, red with those kisses
Which being enjoy'd by night, by day she misses!
I walk'd the fields to see the teeming earth,
Whose womb now swells to give the flowers a birth.
Where while my thoughts with every object ta'en,
In several contemplations rapt my brain,
A sudden lustre like the sun did rise,
And with too great a light eclips'd mine eyes.
At last I spied a beauty -- such another,
As I have sometimes heard call thee her brother.
But by the chariot and her team of doves,
I guess'd her to be Venus, Queen of Loves.
With her a pretty boy I there did see,
But for his wings I'd thought it had been thee.
At last, when I beheld his quiver of darts,
I knew 'twas Cupid, Emperor of our hearts.
Thus I accosted them: Goddess divine,
Great Queen of Paphos and Cytherian shrine,
Whose altars no man sees that can depart,
Till in those flames he sacrifice his heart:
That conquerest gods and men, and heaven divine,
Yea, and hell too -- bear witness Proserpine.
And Cupid, thou that canst thy trophies show
Over all these, and o'er thy mother too,
Witness the night which when with Mars she lay,
Did all her sports to all the gods betray.
Tell me, great powers, what makes such glorious beams
Visit the lowly banks of Ninus' streams?
Then Venus smil'd, and smiling bid me know
Cupid and she must both to Weston go.
I guess'd the cause: for Hymen came behind
In saffron robes, his nuptial knots to bind.
Then thus I pray'd: Great Venus, by the love
Of thy Adonis; as thou hop'st to move
Thy Mars to second kisses, and obtain
Beauty's reward, the golden fruit again,
Bow thy fair ears to my chaste prayers, and take
Such orisons as purest love can make.
Thou and thy boy, I know, are posting thither
To tie pure hearts in purest bonds together.
Cupid, thou know'st the maid: I have seen thee lie
With all thy arrows lurking in her eye.
Venus, thou know'st her love; for I have seen
The time thou wouldst have fain her rival been.
O, bless them both! Let their affections meet
With happy omens in the genial sheet.
Both comely, beauteous both, both equal fair,
Thou canst not glory in a fitter pair.
I would not thus have prayed, if I had seen
Fourscore and ten wed to a young fifteen.
Death in such nuptials seems with love to play,
And January seems to match with May.
Autumn to wed the spring, frost to desire
To kiss the sun, ice to embrace the fire,
Both these are young, both spriteful, both complete,
Of equal moisture, and of equal heat:
And their desires are one; were all loves such,
Who would love solitary sheets so much?
Virginity (whereof chaste fools do boast --
A thing not known what 'tis, till it be lost),
Let others praise, for me, I cannot tell
What virtue 'tis to lead baboons in hell.
Woman is one with man when she is brided;
The same in kind, only in sex divided.
Had all died maids, we had been nothing then;
Adam had been the first and last of men.
How none, O Venus, then thy power had seen?
How then in vain had Cupid's arrows been?
Myself, whose cool thoughts feel no hot desires,
That serve not Venus' flames, but Vesta's fires:
Had I not vow'd the cloisters, to confine
Myself to no more wives than only nine,
Parnassus' brood, those that hear Phoebus sing,
Bathing their naked limbs in Thespian spring,
I'd rather be an owl of birds, than one
That is the Phoenix, if she live alone.
Two's the first of numbers: one nought can do.
One then is good, when one is made of two.
Which mystery is thine -- great Venus, thine,
Thy union can two souls in one combine.
Now, by that power, I charge thee, bless the sheets
With happy issue, where this couple meets.
The maid's a Harvey, one that may compare
With fruit Hesperian or the Dragon's care.
Her love a Ward, not he that awed the seas,
Fighting the fearful Hamadryades,
That ocean terror, he that durst outbrave
Dread Neptune's trident, Amphitrite's wave.
This Ward a milder pirate (sure) will prove,
And only sails the Hellespont of love,
As once Leander did: his theft is best
That nothing steals, but what's within the breast.
Yet let that other Ward his thefts compare,
And ransack all his treasures; let him bare
The wealth of worlds, the bowels of the West,
And all the richest treasures of the East.
The sands of Tagus, all Pactolus' ore,
With both the Indies; yet this one gets more
At once by love than he by force could get,
Or ravish from the merchants. Let him set
His ores together; let him vainly boast
Of spices snatch'd from the Canary coast,
The gums of Egypt, or the Tyrian fleece
Dyed in his native purple, with what Greece,
Colchos, Arabia, or proud China yields,
With all the metals in Guiana fields.
When this has set all forth to boast his pride
In various pomp, this other brings his bride;
And I'll be judg'd by all judicious eyes,
If she alone prove not the richer prize.
O, let not death have power their love to sever!
Let them both love, and live, and die together.
O, let their beds be chaste, and banish thence
As well all jealousies, as all offence!
For some men I have known, whose wives have been
As chaste as ice: such as were never seen
In wanton dalliance, such as until death
Never smelt any but their husbands' breath.
Yet the goodman still dream'd of horns, still fearing
His forehead would grow harder: still appearing
To his own fancy bull or stag, or more,
An ox at least, that was an ass before.
If she would have new clothes, he straight will fear
She loves a tailor; if she sad appear,
He guesses soon it is 'cause he's at home;
If jocund, sure she has some friend to come;
If she be sick, he thinks no grief she felt,
But wishes all physicians had been gelt,
But ask her how she does, sets him a-swearing,
Feeling her pulse is love-tricks past the bearing.
Poor wretched wife, she cannot look awry,
But without doubt 'tis flat adultery;
And jealous wives there be, that are afraid
To entertain a handsome chambermaid.
Far, far from them be all such thoughts, I pray,
Let their loves prove eternal, and no day
Add date to their affections (grant, O queen),
Their loves, like nuptial-bays, be always green.
And also grant -- But here she bid me stay,
For well she knew what I had else to say;
I ask'd no more, wish'd her hold on her race,
To join their hands, and send them night apace.
She smil'd to hear what I in sport did say,
So whipp'd her doves, and smiling rid away.





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