Posts tagged ‘see how arachne doth her howres pass’

Saturday, 5 August 2017

The Larke by Hester Ley Pulter

See how Arachne doth her Howres Pass
In weaving Tincile on the verdent Grass
Look how it glitters, now the sun doth Rise
The Bane of Harmles sheep, and death of flyes
And over it the slow and Unctious Snayl
In winding knots doth draw a slimey Trayl
The cheerfull Lark as in the Ayr shee Flyes
And on this Gossomeire casts down her eyes
Takes it for Merrours Laid by Rurall swains
And therefore fears to Light upon the plains
But with alacrity aloft shee Flyes
And early Sings her Morning sacrifice
And in her Language magnifies his Name
From whose imensity all creatures came
Doe thou my soul sing too, let none on earth
Or Ayr beyond thee goe, think on thy Birth
For though my Body’s dust, thou art a Spark
Celestiall, For shame out sing the Lark
Shee hath but one life that shee spends in praise
Tho hast and shallt have two, yet wat’s thy dayes
In Bleeding sighs, and Fruitless briney tears
In Melancholly thoughts vain causles Fears
Learn thou of this sweet Ayry Chorister
Doe thou her her cheerfull Actions Register
For I have seen Walking one summers day
To take the Ayr when Flora did display
Her youthfull Pride as shee did smileing Pass
She threw her Flowered Mantle on the Grass
Which strait allured a Sunburnt Rurall Clown
To come and Mow thes Fadeing Beuties Down
Unbracet, unblest hee doth with hast repair
This valley to deflower, then Temp’ more faire
Thus stew’d in sweet this Gripple hide bound slave
Cuts nere the Ground the greater Crop to have
Greedy of gain and sweltring him hee high’d
Mowing by chance neare where a spring did Glide
That in her Purling Language seemd to chide
Because hee Rob’d her of her chiefest pride
But hee Regardles of her murmering Woe
Still nearer to the Rill did straddling Goe
In this sweet place the Lark tooke such delight
Because it shadey was and out of sight
By this cool Rivolet shee took such Pleasure
That here shee placed her Young, even all her treasure
Was here inclosed, in one round little nest
Which this indulgent Bird warm’d with her brest
And by the Eccho of this Bubling Spring
Shee meant to teach her Ayry Young to sing
But in a Moment all her Joys were Quasht
In twinckling of an eye her hopes were Dasht
For this bold scoundrill without Fear or wit
Her Pritty Globe like Nest in Sunder split
Some are in Middle Cut, Some of their Head
Thus all her Young are either Maimd or Dead
One not quite kild doth weakly Fly about
Which soon perceived is by this Rude Lowt
Who Throws his Syth away to it doth run
Meaning to carry it to his little Son
Which having caught and it in ins Pocket put
Withs swetty Glove hee doth’t in prison shut
Next day hee Gives it to his crying squale
Who in a thred this pretty Bird doth Hale
Hither and thither, as his fond desire
Him Leads but ear’t bee Night it doth expire
The poor old Dam seeing this sad Massacker
With heavie Heart to her light Wings betakes her
Yet Hovering below in hope to find
Some of her Brood according to their kind
To Follow her, but seeing at Last’s ther’s none
That doth survive shee sadly makes her moan
Yet mounts and sings, Though in a sadder Tone
Thus as thou art afflicted here below
My troubled soul, still nearer Heaven goe
Let every troublesome Heart breaking Cross
Like Surly Billowes to thy Haven thee Toss
And As thy Friends And Lovly Children Die
Soe thou my soul to Heaven for Comfort Fly
There doe thou place thy whole and sole delight
There There are Joys nere seen by Mortall sight
Bee thou Possest my soul with those true Joys
And thou shalt Find worldly delights meer toys
Fix thou thy mind where those true pleasures dwell
Thou shalt noe leasure have to feare a Hell
And when Death ceaseth on thy Mortall Part
Thou mayest indure it with a constant Heart
And when thy Last Friends close thy Roleing Eye
Then chang thy place but not thy company.

From: Millman, Jill Seal and Wright, Gillian (eds.), Early Modern Women’s Manuscript Poetry, 2005, Manchester University Press: Manchester and New York, pp. 119-121.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=snvLcOauKWMC)

Date: c1645

By: Hester Ley Pulter (c1607-1678)