Emblemes by Fra: Quarles

About this Item

Title: Emblemes by Fra: Quarles
Author: Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.
Publication: London :: Printed by I[ohn] D[awson] for Francis. Eglesfeild. and are to be sold at the signe of the Marigold, in St. Pauls Church-yard,; 1639.
Rights/Permissions: This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. Searching, reading, printing, or downloading EEBO-TCP texts is reserved for the authorized users of these project partner institutions. Permission must be granted for subsequent distribution, in print or electronically, of this text, in whole or in part. Please contact project staff at eebotcp-info@umich.edu for further information or permissions.
Subject terms: Emblem books, English -- Early works to 1800.
Link to this Item: http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A68624.0001.001
Cite this Item: "Emblemes by Fra: Quarles." In the digital collection Early English Books Online 2. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A68624.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 10, 2024.

Pages

DIVIN. CVPID.
Well may they smile alike: Thy base-bred Boy
And his base Syre had both one Cause; A Toy:
How well their subjects and their smiles agree?
Thy Cupid finds a Toy, and Mars found thee:
False Queene of Beauty, Queene of false delights,
Thy knee presents an Embleme, that invites
Man to himselfe, whose selfe-transported heart
(Ov'rwhelm'd with native sorrowes, and the smart
Of purchas'd griefes) lies whining night and day,
Not knowing why, till heavy-heeld delay
The dull-brow'd Pander of despaire, layes by
His leaden Buskins, and presents his eye
With antick Trifles, which th'indulgent earth
Makes proper Objects of mans childish mirth:
These be the coyne that passe; the sweets that please;
There's nothing good, there's nothing great but these:
These be the Pipes that base-borne minds daunce after,
And turne immod'rate teares to lavish laughter;
Whilst heav'nly Raptures passe without regard;
Their strings are harsh and their high straines unheard:
The plough mans Whistle, or the triviall Flute
Find more respect than great Apollo's Lute:
Wee'l looke to heav'n and trust to higher Ioyes;
Let Swine love Husks, and children whine for Toyes: