Poems by Henry King

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Psalm I

The man is blest whose feet not tread,

By wicked counsailes led:

Nor stands in that perverted way,

In which the Sinners stray;

Nor joynes himselfe unto the chaire,

Where Scorners seated are;

But in God's Law both dayes and nights

To meditate delights.

Henry King

The Boyes answer to the Blackmoor

Black Maid, complain not that I fly,

When Fate commands Antipathy:

Prodigious might that union prove,

Where Night and Day together move,

And the conjunction of our lips

Not kisses make, but an Eclipse;

In which the mixed black and white

Portends more terrour than delight.

Henry King

The Pink

Fair one, you did on me bestow

Comparisons too sweet to ow;

And but I found them sent from you

I durst not think they could be true.

But 'tis your uncontrolled power

Goddess-like to produce a flower,

And by your breath, without more seed,

Make that a Pink which was a Weed.

Henry King

To my honoured Friend Mr George Sandys

It is, Sir, a confest intrusion here

That I before your labours do appear,

Which no loud Herald need, that may proclaim

Or seek acceptance, but the Authors fame.

Much less that should this happy work commend,

Whose subject is its licence, and doth send

It to the world to be receiv'd and read,

Far as the glorious beams of truth are spread.

Henry King

SONNET To Patience

Down stormy passions, down; no more

Let your rude waves invade the shore

Where blushing reason sits and hides

Her from the fury of your tides.

Fit onely 'tis where you bear sway

That Fools or Franticks do obey;

Since judgment, if it not resists,

Will lose it self in your blind mists.

Henry King

To a Friend upon Overbury's wife given to her

I know no fitter subject for your view

Then this, a meditation ripe for you,

As you for it. Which when you read you'l see

What kind of wife your self will one day bee:

Which happy day be neer you, and may this

Remain with you as earnest of my wish;

When you so far love any, that you dare

Venture your whole affection on his care,

Henry King

St Valentines day

Now that each feather'd Chorister doth sing

The glad approches of the welcome Spring:

Now Phœbus darts forth his more early beam,

And dips it later in the curled stream,

I should to custome prove a retrograde

Did I still dote upon my sullen shade.

Oft have the seasons finisht and begun;

Dayes into Months, those into years have run,

Henry King

The Departure AN ELEGY

VVere I to leave no more then a good friend,

Or but to hear the summons to my end,

(Which I have long'd for) I could then with ease

Attire my grief in words, and so appease

That passion in my bosom, which outgrowes

The language of strict verse or largest prose.

But here I am quite lost; writing to you

All that I pen or think, is forc't and new.

Henry King

The Dirge

VVhat is th' Existence of Mans life?

But open war, or slumber'd strife.

Where sickness to his sense presents

The combat of the Elements:

And never feels a perfect Peace

Till deaths cold hand signs his release.

It is a storm where the hot blood

Out-vies in rage the boyling flood;

Henry King

The Surrender

MY once dear love, hapless that I no more

Must call thee so, the rich affection's store

That fed our hope lies now exhaust and spent,

Like sums of treasure unto bankrupts lent.

We, that did nothing study but the way

To love each other, with which thoughts the day

Rose with delight to us and with them set,

Must learn the hateful art, how to forget.

Henry King

To the same Lady upon Mr Burtons Melancholy

If in this Glass of Humours you do find

The Passions or diseases of your mind,

Here without pain, you safely may endure,

Though not to suffer, yet to read your cure.

But if you nothing meet you can apply,

Then ere you need, you have a remedy.

And I do wish you never may have cause

To be adjudg'd by these fantastick Laws;

Henry King

On the Earl of Essex

Essex twice made unhappy by a Wife,

Yet Marry'd worse unto the Peoples strife:

He who by two Divorces did untie

His Bond of Wedlock and of Loyalty:

Who was by Easiness of Nature bred,

To lead that Tumult which first Him misled;

Yet had some glimm'ring Sparks of Virtue lent

To see (though late) his Errour, and Repent:

Henry King