Detail View: LUNA: Folger Manuscript Transcriptions Collection: A book of verses collected by me, R. Dungarvan [manuscript].

Digital Image File Name: 
142197
Source Call Number: 
V.a.125
Source Title: 
A book of verses collected by me, R. Dungarvan [manuscript].
Image Details: 
Part I. When reading Part I, Part II is inverted and reversed.
Source Creator: 
Burlington, Richard Boyle, Earl of, 1612-1698, compiler.
Source Created or Published: 
ca. 1630
Physical Description: 
folio 44 verso || folio 45 recto
Digital Image Type: 
FSL collection
Hamnet Catalog Link: 
http://hamnet.folger.edu/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?BBID=229445
Transcription: 
Next rose a pretty chin a neck of Snow Like Ioues when hee tu'rnd Swan did Leda noe In that sweete breast like Phoenix Cupid burnd Fir'd by her eyes a fresher God hee tur'nd Heere the Hesperidies their gardin plac't Where two soft little hils the valley gra'ct W th golden apples, which loues Dragon saues From daring louers who their find their graues Hence my rapt thoughts the milky way did passe Of Beautyes Heauen till it arriued was At Ioyes Elizium, in whose groues doe Sport Millions of Cupids whose lesse noble s ort Banisht from thence, to other Beautyes fly And are conceiud the glory of an eye. Then did my ventrous fancy strait inuade The hidden pleasures of that secret Shade Where Amber Springs with liuing Nectar flowe To feast loues God when doth hee passe the rowe Of those pure Rubyes, whose sphere shines so bright As lends th' adioyning groue of Myrtles light Heire my soule Stayd yet to p ro ceed below It did a glad vbiquitarie Show. page break 45. Flowing along those thighs those legs those feete Whose smooth close = knit p ro portions iust did meet Like Alablaster pillers made vs beare An altar which to loue the Graces neare Whyle yet I gaz'd a winged Cupid brings A lute whereto his gentle bow lent Strings Whi ch wal'd it'h Iuory of her gracefull arme Did (by soft fingers toucht) rude discord Cha rme Whyle shee a low sigh breath'd & that beecame A Heauenly voice which theis high notes did frame Vp Vp thou God of Loue. Whose piercing steele, Wrapt in strange formes great Ioue Doth often feele, Wound thine accursed foe That Goddesse blind, Whose wheele linkt Ropes doth throw Till they vntwinde. Rest [Rest] thou poore restlesse soule In soft repose But when by greifs controule Thine eyes vnclose Thy rocklike constancie (Whyle fates doe frowne Tyme and despaire must try Then ioy shall crowne.
Credit: 
Transcriptions made by Shakespeare's World volunteers (shakespearesworld.org), participants in EMROC classes and transcribathons (emroc.hypotheses.org), participants in Folger paleography classes and transcribathons, and Folger docents.