Aurelian Townsend (fl. 1601–1643)

Mercury

WHAT makes me so unnimbly rise,

That did descend so fleet?

There is no uphill in the skies,

Clouds stay not feathered feet.

Chorus

Thy wings are singed, and thou canst fly

But slowly now, swift Mercury.

Mercury

Some lady here is sure to blame,

That from Love’s starry skies

Hath shot some beam or sent some flame

Like lightning from her eyes.

Chorus

Tax not the stars with what the sun,

Too near approached, incensed, hath done.

Mercury

I’ll roll me in Aurora’s dew

Or lie in Tethys’ bed,

Or from cool Iris beg a few

Pure opal showers new shed.

Chorus

Nor dew, nor showers, nor sea can slake

Thy quenchless heat, but Lethe’s lake.