Poems By Thomas Carevv Esquire. One of the gentlemen of the Privie-Chamber, and Sewer in Ordinary to His Majesty.

On a Damaske rose sticking vpon a Ladies breast.

LEt pride grow big my rose, and let the cleare And dam aske colour of thy leaves appeare. Let scent and lookes be sweete and blesse that hand. That did transplant thee to that sacred land. O happy thou that in that garden rest's, That Paradice betweene that Ladies breasts. There's an eternall spring; there shalt thou lie, Betwixt two lilly mounts, and never die. There shalt thou spring amongst the fertile valleyes, By budds like thee that grow in midst of Allyes. There none date plucke thee, for that place is such That but a good devine, there's none dare touch, If any but approach, straite doth arise A blushing lightning flash, and blasts his eyes. There stead of raine shall living fountaines flow, For wind her fragrant breath for ever blow. Nor now, as earst, one Sun shall on thee shine, But those two glorious suns, her eyes devine.

O then what Monarch would not think't a grace, To leave his Regall throne to have thy place. My self•…•… to gaine thy blessed seat do vow. Would be transformd into a rose as thou.