Hesperides, or, The works both humane & divine of Robert Herrick, Esq.

HESPERIDES.

The Argument of his Book.

I Sing of Brooks, of Blossomes, Birds, and Bowers: Of April, May, of June, and July-Flowers. I sing of May-poles, Hock-carts, Wassails, Wakes, Of Bride-grooms, Brides, and of their Bridall-cakes. I write of Youth, of Love, and have Accesse By these, to sing of cleanly-Wantonnesse. I sing of Dewes, of Raines, and piece by piece Of Balme, of Oyle, of Spice, and Amber-Greece. I sing of Times trans-shifting; and I write How Roses first came Red, and Lillies White. I write of Groves, of Twilights, and I sing The Court of Mab, and of the Fairie-King. I write of Hell; I sing (and ever shall) Of Heaven, and hope to have it after all.

To his Muse.

WHither Mad maiden wilt thou roame? Farre safer 'twere to stay at home: Where thou mayst sit, and piping please The poore and private Cottages. Since Coats, and Hamlets, best agree With this thy meaner Minstralsie. There with the Reed, thou mayst expresse The Shepherds Fleecie happinesse:

And with thy Eclogues intermixe Some smooth, and harmlesse Beucol'cks. There on a Hillock thou mayst sing Unto a handsome Shephardling; Or to a Girle (that keeps the Neat) With breath more sweet then Violet. There, there, (perhaps) such Lines as These May take the simple Villages. But for the Court, the Country wit Is despicable unto it. Stay then at home, and doe not goe Or flie abroad to seeke for woe. Contempts in Courts and Cities dwell; No Critick haunts the Poore mans Cell: Where thou mayst hear thine own Lines read By no one tongue, there, censured. That man's unwise will search for Ill, And may prevent it, sitting still.

To his Booke.

WHile thou didst keep thy Cander undefil'd, Deerely I lov'd thee; as my first-borne child: But when I saw thee want only to roame From house to house, and never stay at home; I brake my bonds of Love, and bad thee goe, Regardlesse whether well thou sped'st, or no. On with thy fortunes then, what e're they be; If good I'le smile, if bad I'le sigh for Thee.

Another.

TO read my Booke the Virgin shie May blush, (while Brutus standeth by:) But when He's gone, read through what's writ, And never staine a cheeke for it.

Another.

WHo with thy leaves shall wipe (at need) The place, where swelling Piles do breed: May every Ill, that bites, or smarts, Perplexe him in his hinder-parts.

To the soure Reader.

IF thou dislik'st the Piece thou light'st on first; Thinke that of All, that I have writ, the worst: But if thou read'st my Booke unto the end, And still do'st this, and that verse, reprehend: O Perverse man! If All disgustfull be, The Extreame Scabbe take thee, and thine, for me.

To his Booke.

COme thou not neere those men, who are like Bread O're-leven'd; or like Cheese o're-renetted.

When he would have his verses read.

IN sober mornings, doe not thou reherse The holy incantation of a verse; But when that men have both well drunke, and fed, Let my Enchantments then be sung, or read. When Laurell spirts 'ith fire, and when the Hearth Smiles to it selfe, and guilds the roofe with mirth; When up the * 1.1 Thyrse is rais'd, and when the sound Of sacred * 1.2 Orgies flyes, A round, A round. When the Rose raignes, and locks with ointments shine, Let rigid Cato read these Lines of mine.

Upon Julias Recovery.

DRoop, droop no more, or hang the head Ye Roses almost withered; Now strength, and newer Purple get, Each here declining Violet. O Primroses! let this day be A Resurrection unto ye; And to all flowers ally'd in blood, Or sworn to that sweet Sister-hood: For Health on Julia's cheek hath shed Clarret, and Creame comming led. And those her lips doe now appeare As beames of Corrall, but more cleare.

To Silvia to wed.

LEt us (though late) at last (my Silvia) wed; And loving lie in one devoted bed. Thy Watch may stand, my minutes fly poste haste; No sound calls back the yeere that once is past. Then sweetest Silvia, let's no longer stay; True love, we know, precipitates delay. Away with doubts, all scruples hence remove; No man at one time, can be wise, and love.

The Parliament of Roses to Julia.

I Dreamt the Roses one time went To meet and sit in Parliament: The place for these, and for the rest Of flowers, was thy spotlesse breast: Over the which a State was drawne Of Tiffanie, or Cob-web Lawne; Then in that Parly, all those powers

Voted the Rose; the Queen of flowers. But so, as that her self should be The maide of Honour unto thee.

No bashfulnesse in begging.

TO get thine ends, lay bashfulnesse aside; Who feares to aske, doth teach to be deny'd.

The Frozen Heart.

I Freeze, I freeze, and nothing dwels In me but Snow, and ysicles. For pitties sake give y our advice, To melt this snow, and thaw this ice; I'le drink down Flames, but if so be Nothing but love can supple me; I'le rather keepe this frost, and snow, Then to be thaw'd, or heated so.

To Perilla.

AH my Perilla! do'st thou grieve to see Me, day by day, to steale away from thee? Age cals me hence, and my gray haires bid come, And haste away to mine eternal home; Twill not be long (Perilla) after this, That I must give thee the supremest kisse: Dead when I am, first cast in salt, and bring Part of the creame from that Religious Spring; With which (Perilla) wash my hands and feet; That done, then wind me in that very sheet Which wrapt thy smooth limbs (when thou didst implore The Gods protection, but the night before) Follow me weeping to my Turfe, and there Let fall a Primrose, and with it a teare:

Then lastly, let some weekly-strewings be Devoted to the memory of me: Then shall my Ghost not walk about, but keep Still in the coole, and silent shades of sleep.

A Song to the Maskers.

1.

COme down, and dance ye in the toyle Of pleasures, to a Heate; But if to moisture, Let the oyle Of Roses be your sweat.

2.

Not only to your selves assume These sweets, but let them fly; From this, to that, and so Perfume E'ne all the standers by.

3.

As Goddesse Isis (when she went, Or glided through the street) Made all that touch't her with her scent, And whom she touch't, turne sweet.

To Perenna.

WHen I thy Parts runne o're, I can't espie In any one, the least indecencie: But every Line, and Limb diffused thence, A faire, and unfamiliar excellence: So, that the more I look, the more I prove, Ther's still more cause, why I the more should love.

Treason.

THe seeds of Treason choake up as they spring, He Acts the Crime, that gives it Cherisking.

Two Things Odious.

TWo of a thousand things, are disallow'd, A lying Rich man, and a Poore man proud.

To his Mistresses.

HElpe me! helpe me! now I call To my pretty Witchcrafts all: Old I am, and cannot do That, I was accustom'd to. Bring your Magicks, Spels, and Charmes, To enflesh my thighs, and armes: Is there no way to beget In my limbs their former heat? AEson had (as Poets faine) Baths that made him young againe: Find that Medicine (if you can) For your dric-decrepid man: Who would faine his strength renew, Were it but to pleasure you.

The Wounded Heart.

COme bring your sampler, and with Art, Draw in't a wounded Heart: And dropping here, and there: Not that I thinke, that any Dart, Can make your's bleed a teare: Or peirce it any where; Yet doe it to this end: that I, May by This secret see, Though you can make That Heart to bleed, your's ne'r will ake For me.

No Loathsomnesse in love.

WHat I fancy, I approve, No Dislike there is in love: Be my Mistresse short or tall, And distorted there-withall: Be she likewise one of those, That an Acre hath of Nose: Be her forehead, and her eyes Full of incongruities: Be her cheeks so shallow too, As to shew her Tongue wag through: Be her lips ill hung, or set, And her grinders black as jet; Ha's she thinne haire, hath she none, She's to me a 'Paragon.

To Anthea.

IF deare Anthea, my hard fate it be To live some few-sad-howers after thee: Thy sacred Corse with Odours I will burne; And with my Lawrell crown thy Golden Urne. Then holding up (there) such religious Things, As were (time past) thy holy Filitings: Nere to thy Reverend Pitcher I will fall Down dead for grief, and end my woes withall: So three in one small plat of ground shall ly, Anthea, Herrick, and his Poetry.

The Weeping Cherry.

I Saw a Cherry weep, and why? Why wept it? but for shame, Because my Julia's lip was by,

And did out-red the same. But pretty Fondling, let not fall A teare at all for that: Which Rubies, Corralls, Scarlets, all For tincture, wonder at.

Soft Musick.

THe mellow touch of musick most doth wound The soule, when it doth rather sigh, then sound.

The Difference Betwixt Kings and Subiects.

TWixt Kings and Subjects ther's this mighty odds, Subjects are taught by Men; Kings by the Gods.

His Answer to a Question.

SOme would know Why I so Long still doe tarry, And ask why Here that I Live, and not marry? Thus I those Doe oppose; What man would be here, Slave to Thrall, If at all He could live free here?

Upon Julia's Fall.

IVLIA was carelesse, and withall, She rather took, then got a fall:

The wanton Ambler chanc'd to see Part of her leggs sinceritie: And ravish'd thus, It came to passe, The Nagge (like to the Prophets Asse) Began to speak, and would have been A telling what rare sights h'ad seen: And had told all; but did refraine, Because his Tongue was ty'd againe.

Expences Exhaust.

LIve with a thrifty, not a needy Fate; Small shots paid often, waste a vast estate.

Love what it is.

LOve is a circle that doth restlesse move In the same sweet eternity of love.

Presence and Absence.

WHen what is lov'd, is Present, love doth spring; But being absent, Love lies languishing.

No Spouse but a Sister.

A Bachelour I will Live as I have liv'd still, And never take a wife To crucifie my life: But this I'le tell ye too, What now I meane to doe; A Sister (in the stead Of Wife) about I'le lead; Which I will keep embrac'd, And kisse, but yet be chaste.

The Pomander Bracelet.

TO me my Julia lately sent A Bracelet richly Redolent: The Beads I kist, but most lov'd her That did perfume the Pomander.

The shooe tying.

ANthea bade me tye her shooe; I did; and kist the Instep too: And would have kist unto her knee, Had not her Blush rebuked me.

The Carkanet.

INstead of Orient Pearls of Jet, I sent my Love a Karkanet: About her spotlesse neck she knit The lace, to honour me, or it: Then think how wrapt was I to see My Jet t'enthrall such Ivorie.

His sailing from Julia.

WHen that day comes, whose evening sayes I'm gone Unto that watrie Desolation: Devoutly to thy Closet-gods then pray, That my wing'd Ship may meet no Remora. Those Deities which circum-walk the Seas, And look upon our dreadfull passages, Will from all dangers, re-deliver me, For one drink-offering, poured out by thee. Mercie and Truth live with thee! and forbeare (In my short absence) to unfluce a teare:

But yet for Loves-sake, let thy lips doe this, Give my dead picture one engendring kisse: Work that to life, and let me ever dwell In thy remembrance (julia.) So farewell.

How the Wall-flower came first, and why so called.

WHy this Flower is now call'd so, List' sweet maids, and you shal know. Understand, this First-ling was Once a brisk and bonny Lasse, Kept as close as Danae was: Who a sprightly Spring all lov'd, And to have it fully prov'd, Up she got upon a wall, Tempting down to slide withall: But the silken twist unty'd, So she fell, and bruis'd, she dy'd. Love, in pitty of the deed, And her loving-lucklesse speed, Turn'd her to this Plant, we call Now, The Flower of the Wall.

Why Flowers change colour.

THose fresh beauties (we can prove) Once were Virgins sick of love, Turn'd to Flowers. Still in some Colours goe, and colours come.

To his Mistresse objecting to him neither Toying or Talking.

YOu say I love not, cause I doe not play Still with your curles, and kisse the time away.

You blame me too, because I cann't devise Some sport, to please those Babies in your eyes: By Loves Religion, I must here confesse it, The most I love, when I the least expresse it. Small griefs find tongues: Full Casques are ever found To give (if any, yet) but little sound. Deep waters noyse-lesse are; And this we know, That chiding streams betray small depth below. So when Love speechlesse is, she doth expresse A depth in love, and that depth, bottomlesse. Now since my love is tongue-lesse, know me such, Who speak but little, cause I love so much.

Upon the losse of his Mistresses.

IHave lost, and lately, these Many dainty Mistresses: Stately julia, prime of all; Sapho next, a principall: Smooth Anthea, for a skin White, and Heaven-like Chrystalline: Sweet Electra, and the choice Myrha, for the Lute, and Voice. Next, Corinna, for her wit, And the graceful use of it: With Perilla: All are gone; Onely Herrick's left alone, For to number sorrow by Their departures hence, and die.

The Dream.

ME thought, (last night) love in an anger came, And brought a rod, so whipt me with the same: Mirtle the twigs were, meerly to imply; Love strikes, but'tis with gentle crueltie.

Patient I was: Love pitifull grew then, And stroak'd the stripes, and I was whole agen. Thus like a Bee, Love-gentle stil doth bring Hony to salve, where he before did sting.

The Vine.

IDream'd this mortal part of mine Was Metamorphoz'd to a Vine; Which crawling one and every way, Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia. Me thought, her long small legs & thighs I with my Tendrils did surprize; Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste By my soft Nerv'lits were embrac'd: About her head I writhing hung, And with rich clusters (hid among The leaves) her temples I behung: So that my Lucia seem'd to me Young Bacchus ravisht by his tree. My curles about her neck did craule, And armes and hands they did enthrall: So that she could not freely stir, (All parts there made one prisoner.) But when I crept with leaves to hide Those parts, which maids keep unespy'd. Such fleeting pleasures there I took, That with the fancie I awook; And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine More like a Stock, then like a Vine.

To Love.

I'M free from thee; and thou no more shalt heare My puling Pipe to beat against thine eare: Farewell my shackles, (though of pearle they be)

Such precious thraldome ne'r shall fetter me. He loves his bonds, who when the first are broke, Submits his neck unto a second yoke.

On himselfe.

YOung I was, but now am old, But I am not yet grown cold; I can play, and I can twine Bout a Virgin like a Vine: In her lap too I can lye Melting, and in fancie die: And return to life, if she Claps my cheek, or kisseth me; Thus, and thus it now appears That our love out-lasts our yeeres.

Love's play at Push-pin.

LOve and my selfe (beleeve me) on a day At childish Push-pin (for our sport) did play: I put, he pusht, and heedless of my skin, Love prickt my finger with a golden pin: Since which, it felters so, that I can prove 'Twas but a trick to poyson me with love: Little the wound was; greater was the smart; The finger bled, but burnt was all my heart.

The Rosarie.

ONe ask'd me where the Roses grew? I bade him not goe seek; But forthwith bade my Julia shew A bud in either cheek.

Upon Cupid.

OLd wives have often told, how they Saw Cupid bitten by a flea: And thereupon, in tears half drown'd, He cry'd aloud, Help, help the wound: He wept, he sobb'd, he call'd to some To bring him Lint, and Balsamum, To make a Tent, and put it in, Where the Steletto pierc'd the skin: Which being done, the fretfull paine Asswag'd, and he was well again.

The Parcae, or, Three dainty Destinies. The Armilet.

THree lovely Sifters working were (As they were closely set) Of soft and dainty Maiden-haire, A curious Armelet. I smiling, ask'd them what they did? (Faire Destinies all three) Who told me, they had drawn a thred of Life, and 'twas for me. They shew'd me then, how fine 'twas spun; And I reply'd thereto, I care not now how soone 'tis done, Or cut, if cut by you.

Sorrowes succeed.

WHen one is past, another care we have, Thus Woe succeeds a Woe; as wave a Wave.

Cherry-pit.

IVLIA and I did lately sit Playing for sport, at Cherry-pit: She threw; I cast; and having thrown, I got the Pit, and she the Stone.

To Robin Red-brest.

LAid out for dead, let thy last kindnesse be With leaves and mosse-work for to cover me: And while the Wood-nimphs my cold corps inter, Sing thou my Dirge, sweet-warbling Chorister! For Epitaph, in Foliage, next write this, Here, here the Tomb of Robin Herrick is.

Discontents in Devon.

MOre discontents I never had Since I was born, then here; Where I have been, and still am sad, In this dull Devon-shire: Yet justly too I must confesse; I ne'r invented such Ennobled numbers for the Presse, Then where I loath'd so much.

To his Paternall Countrey.

OEarth! Earth! Earth heare thou my voice, and be Loving, and gentle for to cover me: Banish'd from thee I live; ne'r to return, Unlesse thou giv'st my small Remains an Urne.

Cherrie-ripe.

CHerrie-Ripe, Ripe, Ripe, I cry, Full and faire ones; come and buy: If so be, you ask me where They doe grow? I answer, There, Where my Julia's lips doe smile; There's the Land, or Cherry-Ile: Whose Plantations fully show All the yeere, where Cherries grow.

To his Mistresses.

PUt on your silks; and piece by piece Give them the scent of Amber-Greece: And for your breaths too, let them smell Ambrosia-like, or Nectarell: While other Gums their sweets perspire, By your owne jewels set on sire.

To Anthea.

NOw is the time, when all the lights wax dim; And thou (Anthea) must withdraw from him Who was thy servant. Dearest, bury me Under that Holy-oke, or Gospel-tree: Where (though thou see'st not) thou may'st think upon

Me, when thou yeerly go'st Procession: Or for mine honour, lay me in that Tombe In which thy sacred Reliques shall have roome: For my Embalming (Sweetest) there will be No Spices wanting, when I'm laid by thee.

The Vision to Electra.

IDream'd we both were in a bed Of Roses, almost smothered: The warmth and sweetnes had me there Made lovingly familiar: But that I heard thy sweet breath say, Faults done by night, will blush by day: I kist thee (panting,) and I call Night to the Record! that was all. But ah! if empty dreames so please, Love give me more such nights as these.

Dreames.

HEre we are all, by day; By night w'are hurl'd By dreames, each one, into a sev'rall world.

Ambition.

IN Man, Ambition is the common'st thing; Each one, by nature, loves to be a King.

His request to Julia.

IVlia, if I chance to die Ere I print my Poetry; I most humbly thee desire To commit it to the fire: Better 'twere my Book were dead, Then to live not perfected.

Money gets the masterie.

FIght thou with shafts of silver, and o'rcome, When no force else can get the masterdome.

The Scar-fire.

WAter, water I desire, Here's a house of flesh on fire: Ope' the fountains and the springs, And come all to Buckittings: What ye cannot quench, pull downe; Spoile a house, to save a towne: Better tis that one shu'd fall, Then by one, to hazard all.

Upon Silvia, a Mistresse.

WHen some shall say, Faire once my Silvia was; Thou wilt complaine, False now's thy Looking- Which renders that quite tarnisht, wch was green; (glasse: And Priceless now, what Peerless once had been: Upon thy Forme more wrinkles yet will fall, And comming downe, shall make no noise at all.

Cheerfulnesse in Charitie: or, The sweet Sacrifice.

'TIs not a thousand Bullocks thies Can please those Heav'nly Deities, If the Vower don't express In his Offering, Cheerfulness.

Once poore, still penurious.

GOes the world now, it will with thee goe hard: The fattest Hogs we grease the more with Lard. To him that has, there shall be added more; Who is penurious, he shall still be poore.

Sweetnesse in Sacrifice.

'TIs not greatness they require, To be offer'd up by fire: But 'tis sweetness that doth please Those Eternall Essences.

Steame in Sacrifice.

IF meat the Gods give, I the steame High-towring wil devote to them: Whose easie natures like it well, If we the roste have, they the smell.

Upon Julia's Voice.

SO smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice, As, could they hear, the Damn'd would make no noise, But listen to thee, (walking in thy chamber) Melting melodious word, to Lutes of Amber.

Againe.

VVHen I thy singing next shall heare, Ile wish I might turne all to eare, To drink in Notes, and Numbers; such As blessed soules cann't heare too much: Then melted down, there let me lye

Entranc'd, and lost confusedly: And by thy Musique strucken mute, Die, and be turn'd into a Lute.

All things decay and die.

ALL things decay with Time: The Forrest sees The growth, and down-fall of her aged trees: That Timber tall, which three-score lusters stood The proud Dictator of the State-like wood: I meane (the Soveraigne of all Plants) the Oke Droops, dies, and falls without the cleavers stroke.

The succession of the foure sweet months.

FIrst, April, she with mellow showrs Opens the way for early flowers; Then after her comes smiling May, In a more rich and sweet aray: Next enters June, and brings us more Jems, then those two, that went before: Then (lastly) July comes, and she More wealth brings in, then all those three.

No Shipwrack of Vertue. To a friend.

THou sail'st with others, in this Argus here; Nor wrack, or Bulging thou hast cause to feare: But trust to this, my noble passenger; Who swims with Vertue, he shall still be sure (Vlysses-like) all tempests to endure; And 'midst a thousand gulfs to be secure.

Upon his Sister-in-Law, Mistresse Elizab: Herrick.

FIrst, for Effusions due unto the dead, My solemne Vowes have here accomplished: Next, how I love thee, that my griefe must tell, Wherein thou liv'st for ever. Deare farewell.

Of Love. A Sonet.

HOw Love came in, I do not know, Whether by th' eye, or eare, or no: Or whether with the soule it came (At first) infused with the same: Whether in part 'tis here or there, Or, like the soule, whole every where: This troubles me: but I as well As any other, this can tell; That when from hence she does depart, The out-let then is from the heart.

To Anthea.

AH my Anthea! Must my heart still break? (Love makes me write, what shame forbids to speak.) Give me a kisse, and to that kisse a score; Then to that twenty, adde an hundred more: A thousand to that hundred: so kisse on, To make that thousand up a million. Treble that million, and when that is done, Let's kisse afresh, as when we first begun. But yet, though Love likes well such Scenes as these, There is an Act that will more fully please: Kissing and glancing, soothing, all make way But to the acting of this private Play:

Name it I would; but being blushing red, The rest Ile speak, when we meet both in bed.

The Rock of Rubies: and The quarrie of Pearls.

SOme ask'd me where the Rubies grew? And nothing I did say: But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some ask'd how Pearls did grow, and where? Then spoke I to my Girle, To part her lips, and shew'd them there The Quarelets of Pearl.

Conformitie.

COnformity was ever knowne A foe to Dissolution: Nor can we that a ruine call, Whose crack gives crushing unto all.

TO THE KING, Upon his comming with his Army into the West.

WElcome, most welcome to our Vowes and us, Most great, and universall Genius! The Drooping West, which hitherto has stood As one, in long-lamented-widow-hood; Looks like a Bride now, or a bed of flowers, Newly refresh't, both by the Sun, and showers. War, which before was horrid, now appears Lovely in you, brave Prince of Cavaliers!

A deale of courage in each bosome springs By your accesse; (O you the best of Kings!) Ride on with all white Omens; so, that where Your Standard's up, we fix a Conquest there.

Upon Roses.

VNder a Lawne, then skyes more cleare, Some ruffled Roses nestling were: And snugging there, they seem'd to lye As in a flowrie Nunnery: They blush'd, and look'd more fresh then flowers Quickned of late by Pearly showers; And all, because they were possest But of the heat of Julia's breast: Which as a warme, and moistned spring, Gave them their ever flourishing.

To the King and Queene, upon their unhappy distances.

WOe, woe to them, who (by a ball of strife) Doe, and have parted here a Man and Wife: CHARLS the best Husband, while MARIA strives To be, and is, the very best of Wives: Like Streams, you are divorc'd; but't will come, when These eyes of mine shall see you mix agen. Thus speaks the Oke, here; C. and M. shall meet, Treading on Amber, with their silver-feet: Nor wil't be long, ere this accomplish'd be; The words found true, C. M. remember me.

Dangers wait on Kings.

AS oft as Night is banish'd by the Morne, So oft, we'll think, we see a King new born.

The Cheat of Cupid: Or, The ungentle guest.

ONe silent night of late, When every creature rested, Came one unto my gate, And knocking, me molested.

Who's that (said I) beats there, And troubles thus the Sleepie? Cast off (said he) all feare, And let not Locks thus keep ye.

For I a Boy am, who By Moonlesse nights have swerved; And all with showrs wet through, And e'en with cold half starved.

I pittifull arose, And soon a Taper lighted; And did my selfe disclose Unto the lad benighted.

I saw he had a Bow, And Wings too, which did shiver; And looking down below, I spy'd he had a Quiver.

I to my Chimney's shine Brought him, (as Love professes)

And chaf'd his hands with mine, And dry'd his dropping Tresses:

But when he felt him warm'd, Let's try this bow of ours, And string if they be harm'd, Said he, with these late showrs.

Forthwith his bow he bent, And wedded string and arrow, And struck me that it went Quite through my heart and marrow.

Then laughing loud, he flew Away, and thus said flying, Adieu, mine Host, Adieu, Ile leave thy heart a dying.

To the reverend shade of his religious Father.

THat for seven Lusters I did never come To doe the Rites to thy Religious Tombe: That neither haire was cut, or true teares shed By me, o'r thee, (as justments to the dead) Forgive, forgive me; since I did not know Whether thy bones had here their Rest, or no. But now 'tis known, Behold; behold, I bring Unto thy Ghost, th'Effused Offering: And look, what Smallage, Night-shade, Cypresse, Yew, Unto the shades have been, or now are due, Here I devote; And something more then so; I come to pay a Debt of Birth I owe. Thou gav'st me life, (but Mortall;) For that one Favour, Ile make full satisfaction; For my life mortall, Rise from out thy Herse, And take a life immortall from my Verse.

Delight in Disorder.

A Sweet disorder in the dresse Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse: A Lawne about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring Lace, which here and there Enthralls the Crimson Stomacher: A Cuffe neglectfull, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly: A winning wave (deserving Note) In the tempestuous petticote: A carelesse shooe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility: Doe more bewitch me, then when Art Is too precise in every part.

To his Muse.

WEre I to give thee Baptime, I wo'd chuse To Christen thee, the Bride, the Bashfull Muse, Or Muse of Roses: since that name does fit Best with those Virgin-Verses thou hast writ: Which are so cleane, so chast, as none may feare Cato the Censor, sho'd he scan each here.

Upon Love.

LOve scorch'd my finger, but did spare The burning of my heart: To signifie, in Love my share Sho'd be a little part. Little I love; but if that he Wo'd but that heat recall:

That joynt to ashes sho'd he burnt, Ere I wo'd love at all.

Dean-bourn, a rude River in Devon. by which sometimes he lived.

DEan-bourn, farewell; I never look to see Deane, or thy warty incivility. Thy rockie bottome, that doth teare thy streams, And makes them frantick, ev'n to all extreames; To my content, I never sho'd behold, Were thy streames silver, or thy rocks all gold. Rockie thou art; and rockie we discover Thy men; and rockie are thy wayes all over. O men, O manners; Now, and ever knowne To be A Rockie Generation A people currish; churlish as the seas; And rude (almost) as rudest Salvages. With whom I did, and may re-sojourne when Rockes turn to Rivers, Rivers turn to Men.

Kissing Vsurie.

BIancha, Let Me pay the debt I owe thee for a kisse Thou lend'st to me; And I to thee Will render ten for this: If thou wilt say, Ten will not pay For that so rich a one; Ile cleare the somme, If it will come Unto a Million.

By this I guesse, Of happinesse Who has a little measure: He must of right, To th'utmost mite, Make payment for his pleasure.

To Julia:

HOw rich and pleasing thou my Julia art In each thy dainty, and peculiar part! First, for thy Queen-ship on thy head is set Of flowers a sweet commingled Coronet: About thy neck a Carkanet is bound, Made of the Rubie, Pearle and Diamond: A golden ring, that shines upon thy thumb: About thy wrist, the rich * 1.3 Dardanium. Between thy Breast (then Doune of Swans more white) There playes the Saphire with the Chrysolite. No part besides must of thy selfe be known, But by the Topaz, Opa!, Calcedon.

To Laurels.

AFunerall stone, Or Verse I covet none; But onely crave Of you, that I may have Asacred Laurel springing from my grave: Which being seen, Blest with perpetuall greene, May grow to be Not so much call'd a tree, As the eternall monument of me.

His Cavalier.

GIve me that man, that dares bestride The active Sea-horse, & with pride, Through that huge field of waters ride: Who, with his looks too, can appease The ruffling winds and raging Seas, In mid'st of all their outrages. This, this a virtuous man can doe, Saile against Rocks, and split them too; I! and a world of Pikes pasle through.

Zeal required in Love.

I'Le doe my best to win, when'ere I wooe: That man loves not, who is not zealous too.

The Bag of the Bee.

ABout the sweet bag of a Bee, Two Cupids fell at ddos; And whose the pretty prize shu'd be, They vow'd to ask the Gods.

Which Venus hearing; thither came, And for their boldness stript them: And taking thence from each his flame; With rods of Mirtle whipt them.

Which done, to still their wanton cries, When quiet grown sh'ad seen them, She kist, and wip'd thir dove-like eyes; And gave the Bag between them.

Love kill'd by Lack.

LEt me be warme; let me be fully fed: Luxurious Love by Wealth is nourished. Let me be leane, and cold, and once grown poore, I shall dislike, what once I lov'd before.

To his Mistresse.

CHoose me your Valentine; Next, let us marry: Love to the death will pine, If we long tarry.

Promise, and keep your vowes, Or vow ye never: Loves doctrine disallowes Troth-breakers ever.

You have broke promise twice (Deare) to undoe me; If you prove faithlesse thrice, None then will wooe you.

To the generous Reader.

SEE, and not see; and if thou chance t'espie Some Aberrations in my Poetry; Wink at small faults, the greater, ne'rthelesse Hide, and with them, their Fathers nakedness. Let's doe our best, our Watch and Ward to keep: Homer himself, in a long work, may sleep.

To Criticks.

ILe write, because Ile give You Criticks means to live: For sho'd I not supply The Cause, th'effect wo'd die.

Duty to Tyrants.

GOod Princes must be pray'd for: for the bad They must be borne with, and in rev'rence had. Doe they first pill thee, next, pluck off thy skin? Good children kisse the rods, that punish sin. Touch not the Tyrant; Let the Gods alone To strike him dead, that but usurps a Throne.

Being once blind, his request to Biancha.

WHen Age or Chance has made me blind, So that the path I cannot find: And when my falls and stumblings are More then the stones i'th'street by farre: Goe thou afore; and I shall well Follow thy Perfumes by the smell: Or be my guide; and I shall be Led by some light that flows from thee. Thus held, or led by thee, I shall In wayes confus'd, nor slip or fall.

Upon Blanch.

BLanch swears her Husband's lovely; when a scald Has blear'd his eyes: Besides, his head is bald. Next, his wilde eares, like Lethern wings full spread, Flutter to flie, and beare away his head.

No want where there's little.

TO Bread and Water none is poore; And having these, what need of more? Though much from out the Cess be spent, Nature with little is content.

Barly-Break: or, Last in Hell.

WE two are last in Hell: what may we feare To be tormented, or kept Pris'ners here? Alas! If kissing be of plagues the worst, We'll wish, in Hell we had been Last and First.

The Definition of Beauty.

BEauty, no other thing is, then a Beame Flasht out between the Middle and Extreame.

To Dianeme.

DEare, though to part it be a Hell, Yet Dianeme now farewell: Thy frown (last night) did bid me goe; But whither, onely Grief do's know. I doe beseech thee, ere we part, (If mercifull, as faire thou art; Or else defir'st that Maids sho'd tell Thy pitty by Loves-Chronicle) O Dianeme, rather kill Me, then to make me languish stil! 'Tis cruelty in thee to'th'height, Thus, thus to wound, not kill out-right: Yet there's a way found (if thou please) By sudden death to give me ease:

And thus devis'd, doe thou but this, Bequeath to me one parting kisse: So sup'rabundant joy shall be The Executioner of me.

To Anthea lying in bed.

SO looks Anthea, when in bed she lyes, Orecome, or halfe betray'd by Tiffanies: Like to a Twi-light, or that simpring Dawn, That Roses shew, when misted o're with Lawn. Twilight is yet, till that her Lawnes give way; Which done, that Dawne, turnes then to perfect day.

To Electra.

MOre white then whitest Lillies far, Or Snow, or whitest Swans you are: More white then are the whitest Creames, Or Moone-light tinselling the streames: More white then Pearls, or Juno's thighs Or Pelops Arme of Yvorie. True, I confesse; such Whites as these May me delight, not fully please: Till, like Ixion's Cloud you be White, warme, and soft to lye with me.

A Country life: To his Brother, M. Tho: Herrick.

THrice, and above, blest (my soules halfe) art thou, In thy both Last, and Better Vow: Could'st leave the City, for exchange, to see The Countries sweet simplicity: And it to know, and practice; with intent To grow the sooner innocent:

By studying to know vertue; and to aime More at her nature, then her name: The last is but the least; the first doth tell Wayes lesse to live, then to live well: And both are knowne to thee, who now can'st live Led by thy conscience; to give Justice to soone-pleas'd nature; and to show, Wisdome and she together goe, And keep one Centre: This with that conspires, To teach Man to confine desires: And know, that Riches have their proper stint, In the contented mind, not mint. And can'st instruct, that those who have the itch Of craving more, are never rich. These things thou know'st to'th'height, and dost prevent That plague; because thou art content With that Heav'n gave thee with a warie hand, (More blessed in thy Brasse, then Land) To keep cheap Nature even, and upright; To coole, not cocker Appetite. Thus thou canst tearcely live to satisfie The belly chiefiy; not the eye: Keeping the barking stomach wisely quiet, Lesse with a neat, then needfull diet. But that which most makes sweet thy country life, Is, the fruition of a wife: Whom (Stars consenting with thy Fate) thou hast Got, not so beautifull, as chast: By whose warme side thou dost securely sleep (While Love the Centinell doth keep) With those deeds done by day, which ne'r affright Thy silken slumbers in the night. Nor has the darknesse power to usher in Feare to those sheets, that know no sin. But still thy wife, by chast intentions led, Gives thee each night a Maidenhead.

The Damaskt medowes, and the peebly streames Sweeten, and make soft your dreames: The Purling springs, groves, birds, and well-weav'd Bowrs, With fields enameled with flowers, Present their shapes; while fantasie discloses Millions of Lillies mixt with Roses. Then dream, ye heare the Lamb by many a bleat Woo'd to come suck the milkie Teat: While Faunus in the Vision comes to keep, From rav'ning wolves, the fleecie sheep. With thousand such enchanting dreams, that meet To make sleep not so sound, as sweet: Nor can these figures so thy rest endeare, As not to rise when Chanticlere Warnes the last Watch; but with the Dawne dost rise To work, but first to sacrifice; Making thy peace with heav'n, for some late fault, With Holy-meale, and spirting-salt. Which done, thy painfull Thumb this sentence tells us, Jove for our labour all things sells us. Nor are thy daily and devout affaires Attended with those desp'rate cares, Th'industrious Merchant has; who for to find Gold, runneth to the Western Inde, And back again, (tortur'd with fears) doth sly, Untaught, to suffer Poverty. But thou at home, blest with securest ease, Sitt'st, and beleev'st that there be seas, And watrie dangers; while thy whiter hap, But sees these things within thy Map. And viewing them with a more safe survey, Mak'st easie Feare unto thee say, A heart thrice wall'd with Oke, and Brasse, that man Had, first, durst plow the Ocean. But thou at home without or tyde or gale, Canst in thy Map securely saile:

Seeing those painted Countries; and so guesse By those fine Shades, their Substances: And from thy Compasse taking small advice, Buy'st Travell at the lowest price. Nor are thine eares so deafe, but thou canst heare (Far more with wonder, then with feare) Fame tell of States, of Countries, Courts, and Kings; And beleeve there be such things: When of these truths, thy happyer knowledge lyes, More in thine eares, then in thine eyes. And when thou hear'st by that too-true-Report, Vice rules the Most, or All at Court: Thy pious wishes are, (though thou not there) Vertue had, and mov'd her Sphere. But thou liv'st fearlesse; and thy face ne'r shewes Fortune when she comes, or goes. But with thy equall thoughts, prepar'd dost stand, To take her by the either hand: Nor car'st which comes the first, the foule or faire; A wise man ev'ry way lies square. And like a surly Oke with storms perplext; Growes still the stronger, strongly vext. Be so, bold spirit; Stand Center-like, unmov'd; And be not onely thought, but prov'd To be what I report thee; and inure Thy selfe, if want comes to endure: And so thou dost: for thy desires are Confin'd to live with private Larr: Not curious whether Appetite be fed, Or with the first, or second bread. Who keep'st no proud mouth for delicious cates: Hunger makes coorse meats, delicates. Can'st, and unurg'd, forsake that Larded fare, Which Art, not Nature, makes so rare; To taste boyl'd Nettles, Colworts, Beets, and eate These, and sowre herbs, as dainty meat?

While soft Opinion makes thy Genius say, Content makes all Ambrosia. Nor is it, that thou keep'st this stricter size So much for want, as exercise: To numb the sence of Dearth, which sho'd sinne haste it, Thou might'st but onely see't, not taste it. Yet can thy humble roofe maintaine a Quire Of singing Crickits by thy fire: And the brisk Mouse may feast her selfe with crums, Till that the green-ey'd Kitling comes. Then to her Cabbin, blest she can escape The sudden danger of a Rape. And thus thy little-well-kept-stock doth prove, Wealth cannot make a life, but Love. Nor art thou so close-handed, but can'st spend (Counsell concurring with the end) As well as spare: still conning o'r this Theame, To shun the first, and last extreame. Ordaining that thy small stock find no breach, Or to exceed thy Tether's reach: But to live round, and close, and wisely true To thine owne selfe; and knowne to few. Thus let thy Rurall Sanctuary be Elizium to thy wife and thee; There to disport your selves with golden measure: For seldome use commends the pleasure. Live, and live blest; thrice happy Paire; Let Breath, But lost to one, be th'others death. And as there is one Love, one Faith, one Troth, Be so one Death, one Grave to both. Till when, in such assurance live, ye may Nor feare, or wish your dying day.

Divination by a Daffadill.

WHen a Daffadill I see, Hanging down his head t'wards me; Guesse I may, what I must be: First, I shall decline my head; Secondly, I shall be dead; Lastly, safely buryed.

To the Painter, to draw him a Picture.

COme, skilfull Lupo, now, and take Thy Bice, thy Umber, Pink, and Lake; And let it be thy Pensils strife, To paint a Bridgeman to the life: Draw him as like too, as you can, An old, poore, lying, flatt'ring man: His cheeks be-pimpled, red and blue; His nose and lips of mulbrie hiew. Then for an easie fansie; place A Burling iron for his face: Next, make his cheeks with breath to swell, And for to speak, if possible: But do not so; for feare, lest he Sho'd by his breathing, poyson thee.

Upon Cuffe. Epig.

CUffe comes to Church much; but he keeps his bed Those Sundayes onely, when as Briefs are read. This makes Cuffe dull; and troubles him the most, Because he cannot sleep i'th'Church, free-cost.

Upon Fone a School-master. Epig.

FOne sayes, those mighty whiskers he do's weare, Are twigs of Birch, and willow, growing there: If so, we'll think too, (when he do's condemne Boyes to the lash) that he do's whip with them.

A Lyrick to Mirth.

WHile the milder Fates consent, Let's enjoy our merryment: Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play; Kisse our Dollies night and day: Crown'd with clusters of the Vine; Let us sit, and quaffe our wine. Call on Bacchus; chaunt his praise; Shake the Thyrse, and bite the Bayes: Rouze Anacreon from the dead; And return him drunk to bed: Sing o're Horace; for ere long Death will come and mar the song: Then shall Wilson and Cotitre Never sing, or play more here.

To the Earle of Westmerland.

WHen my date's done, and my gray age must die; Nurse up, great Lord, this my posterity: Weak though it be; long may it grow, and stand, Shor'd up by you, (Brave Earle of Westmerland.)

Against Love.

WHen ere my heart, Love's warmth, but entertaines, O Frost! O Snow! O Haile forbid the Banes. One drop now deads a spark; but if the same Once gets a force, Floods cannot quench the flame. Rather then love, let me be ever lost; Or let me 'gender with eternall frost.

Upon Julia's Riband.

AS shews the Aire, when with a Rain-bow grac'd; So smiles that Riband 'oout my Julia's waste: Or like—Nay'tis that Zonulet of love, Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.

The frozen Zone: or, Julia disdainfull.

WHither? Say, whither shall I fly, To slack these flames wherein I frie? To the Treasures, shall I goe, Of the Raine, Frost, Haile, and Snow? Shall I search the under-ground, Where all Damps, and Mists are found? Shall I seek (for speedy ease) All the floods, and frozen seas? Or descend into the deep, Where eternall cold does keep? These may coole; but there's a Zone Colder yet then any one: That's my Julia's breast; where dwels Such destructive Ysicles; As that the Congelation will Me sooner starve, then those can kill.

An Epitaph upon a sober Matron.

VVIth blamelesse carriage, I liv'd here, To' th' (almost) sev'n and fortieth yeare. Stout sons I had, and those twice three; One onely daughter lent to me: The which was made a happy Bride, But thrice three Moones before she dy'd. My modest wedlock, that was known Contented with the bed of one.

To the Patron of Poets, M. End: Porter.

LEt there be Patrons; Patrons like to thee, Brave Porter! Poets ne'r will wanting be: Fabim, and Cotta, Lentulus, all live In thee, thou Man of Men I who here do'st give Not onely subject-matter for our wit, But likewise Oyle of Maintenance to it: For which, before thy Threshold, we'll lay downe Our Thyrse, for Scepter; and our Baies for Crown. For to say truth, all Garlands are thy due; The Laurell, Mirtle, Oke, and Ivie too.

The sadnesse of things for Sapho's sicknesse.

LIllies will languish; Violets look ill; Sickly the Prim-rose: Pale the Daffadill: That gallant Tulip will hang down his head, Like to a Virgin newly ravished. Pansies will weep; and Marygolds will wither; And keep a Fast, and Funerall together, If Sapho droop; Daisies will open never, But bid Good-night, and close their lids for ever.

Leanders Obsequies.

WHen as Leander young was drown'd, No heart by love receiv'd a wound; But on a Rock himselfe sate by, There weeping sup'rabundantly. Sighs numberlesse he cast about, And all his Tapers thus put out: His head upon his hand he laid; And sobbing deeply, thus he said, Ah cruell Sea! and looking on't, Wept as he'd drowne the Hellespont. And sure his tongue had more exprest, But that his teares forbad the rest.

Hope heartens.

NOne goes to warfare, but with this intent; The gaines must dead the feare of detriment.

Foure things make us happy here.

HEalth is the first good lent to men; A gentle disposition then: Next, to be rich by no by-wayes; Lastly, with friends t'enjoy our dayes.

His parting from Mrs Dorothy Keneday.

WHen I did goe from thee, I felt that smart, Which Bodies do, when Souls from them depart. Thou did'st not mind it; though thou then might'st see Me turn'd to tears; yet did'st not weep for me. 'Tis true, I kist thee; but I co'd not heare Thee spend a sigh, t'accompany my teare.

Leanders Obsequies.

WHen as Leander young was drown'd, No heart by love receiv'd a wound; But on a Rock himselfe sate by, There weeping sup'rabundantly. Sighs numberlesse he cast about, And all his Tapers thus put out: His head upon his hand he laid; And sobbing deeply, thus he said, Ah cruell Sea! and looking on't, Wept as he'd drowne the Hellespont. And sure his tongue had more exprest, But that his teares forbad the rest.

Hope heartens.

NOne goes to warfare, but with this intent; The gaines must dead the feare of detriment.

Foure things make us happy here.

HEalth is the first good lent to men; A gentle disposition then: Next, to be rich by no by-wayes; Lastly, with friends t'enjoy our dayes.

His parting from Mrs Dorothy Keneday.

WHen I did goe from thee, I felt that smart, Which Bodies do, when Souls from them depart. Thou did'st not mind it; though thou then might'st see Me turn'd to tears; yet did'st not weep for me. 'Tis true, I kist thee; but I co'd not heare Thee spend a sigh, t'accompany my teare.

5.

Yet say; sho'd she condemne Me to surrender them; Then say; my part Must be to weep Out them, to keep A poore, yet loving heart.

6.

Say too, She wo'd have this; She shall: Then my hope is, That when I'm poore, And nothing have To send, or save; I'm sure she'll ask no more.

Upon one Lillie, who marryed with a maid call'd Rose.

VVHat times of sweetnesse this faire day fore-shows, When as the Lilly marries with the Rose! What next is lookt for? but we all sho'd see To spring from these a sweet Posterity.

An Epitaph upon a child.

VIrgins promis'd when I dy'd, That they wo'd each Primrose-tide, Duely, Morne and Ev'ning, come, And with flowers dresse my Tomb. Having promis'd, pay your debts, Maids, and here strew Violets.

Upon Scobble. Epig.

SCobble for Whoredome whips his wife; and cryes, He'll slit her nose; But blubb'ring, she replyes, Good Sir, make no more cuts i'th'outward skin, One slit's enough to let Adultry in.

The Houre-glasse.

THat Houre-glasse, which there ye see With Water fill'd, (Sirs, credit me) The humour was, (as I have read) But Lovers tears inchristalled. Which, as they drop by drop doe passe From th'upper to the under-glasse, Do in a trickling mannner tell, (By many a watrie syllable) That Lovers tears in life-time shed, Do restless run when they are dead.

His fare-well to Sack.

FArewell thou Thing, time-past so knowne, so deare To me, as blood to life and spirit: Neare, Nay, thou more neare then kindred, friend, man, wife, Male to the female, soule to body: Life To quick action, or the warme soft side Of the resigning, yet resisting Bride. The kisse of Virgins; First-fruits of the bed; Soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the Maiden-head: These, and a thousand sweets, co'd never be So neare, or deare, as thou wast once to me. O thou the drink of Gods, and Angels! Wine That scatter'st Spirit and Lust; whose purest shine, More radiant then the Summers Sun-beams shows;

Each way illustrious, brave; and like to those Comets we see by night; whose shagg'd portents Fore-tell the comming of some dire events: Or some full flame, which with a pride aspires, Throwing about his wild, and active fires. 'Tis thou, above Nectar, O Divinest soule! (Eternall in thy self) that canst controule That, which subverts whole nature, grief and care; Vexation of the mind, and damn'd Despaire. 'Tis thou, alone, who with thy Mistick Fan, Work'st more then Wisdome, Art, or Nature can, To rouze the sacred madnesse; and awake The frost-bound-blood, and spirits; and to make Them frantick with thy raptures, flashing through The soule, like lightning, and as active too. 'Tis not Apollo can, or those thrice three Castalian Sisters, sing, if wanting thee. Horace, Anacreon both had lost their fame, Had'st thou not fill'd them with thy fire and flame. Phaebean splendour! and thou Thespian spring! Of which, sweet Swans must drink, before they sing Their true-pac'd-Numbers, and their Holy-Layes, Which makes them worthy Cedar, and the Bayes. But why? why longer doe I gaze upon Thee with the eye of admiration? Since I must leave thee; and enforc'd, must say To all thy witching beauties, Goe, Away. But if thy whimpring looks doe ask me why? Then know, that Nature bids thee goe, not I. 'Tis her erroneous self has made a braine Uncapable of such a Soveraigne, As is thy powerfull selfe. Prethee not smile; Or smile more inly; lest thy looks beguile My vowes denounc'd in zeale, which thus much show thee, That I have sworn, but by thy looks to know thee. Let others drink thee freely; and desire

Thee and their lips espous'd; while I admire, And love thee; but not taste thee. Let my Muse Faile of thy former helps; and onely use Her inadult'rate strength: what's done by me Hereafter, shall smell of the Lamp, not thee.

Upon Glasco. Epig.

GLasco had none, but now some teeth has got; Which though they furre, will neither ake, or rot. Six teeth he has, whereof twice two are known Made of a Haft, that was a Mutton-bone. Which not for use, but meerly for the sight, He weares all day, and drawes those teeth at night.

Upon Mrs. Eliz: Wheeler, under the name of Amarillis.

SWeet Amarillis, by a Spring's Soft and soule-melting murmurings, Slept; and thus sleeping, thither flew A Robin-Red brest; who at view, Not seeing her at all to stir, Brought leaves and mosse to cover her: But while he, perking, there did prie About the Arch of either eye; The lid began to let out day; At which poore Robin flew amay: And seeing her not dead, but all disleav'd; He chirpt for joy, to see himself disceav'd.

The Custard.

FOr second course, last night, a Custard came To th'board, so hot, as none co'd touch the same Furze, three or foure times with his cheeks did blow Upon the Custard, and thus cooled so:

It seem'd by this time to admit the touch; But none co'd eate it, 'cause it stunk so much.

To Myrrha hard-hearted.

FOld now thine armes; and hang the head, Like to a Lillie withered: Next, look thou like a sickly Moone; Or like Jocasta in a swoone. Then weep, and sigh, and softly goe, Like to a widdow drown'd in woe: Or like a Virgin full of ruth, For the lost sweet-heart of her youth: And all because, Faire Maid, thou art Insensible of all my smart; And of those evill dayes that be Now posting on to punish thee. The Gods are easie, and condemne All such as are not soft like them.

The Eye.

MAke me a heaven; and make me there Many a lesse and greater spheare. Make me the straight, and oblique lines; The Motions, Lations, and the Signes. Make me a Chariot, and a Sun; And let them through a Zodiac run: Next, place me Zones, and Tropicks there; With all the Seasons of the Yeare. Make me a Sun-set; and a Night: And then present the Mornings-light Cloath'd in her Chamlets of Delight. To these, make Clouds to poure downe raine; With weather foule, then faire againe. And when, wise Artist, that thou hast,

With all that can be, this heaven grac't; Ah! what is then this curious skie, But onely my Corinna's eye?

Upon the much lamented, Mr. J. Warr.

WHat Wisdome, Learning, Wit, or Worth, Youth, or sweet Nature, co'd bring forth, Rests here with him; who was the Fame, The Volumne of himselfe, and Name. If, Reader, then thou wilt draw neere, And doe an honour to thy teare; Weep then for him, for whom laments Not one, but many Monuments.

Upon Gryll.

GRyll eates, but ne're sayes Grace; To speak the troth, Gryll either keeps his breath to coole his broth; Or else because Grill's roste do's burn his Spit, Gryll will not therefore say a Grace for it.

The suspition upon his over-much familiarity with a Gentlewoman.

ANd must we part, because some say, Loud is our love, and loose our play, And more then well becomes the day? Alas for pitty! and for us Most innocent, and injur'd thus. Had we kept close, or play'd within, Suspition now had been the sinne, And shame had follow'd long ere this, T'ave plagu'd, what now unpunisht is, But we as fearlesse of the Sunne,

As faultlesse; will not wish undone, What now is done: since where no sin Unbolts the doore, no shame comes in. Then comely and most fragrant Maid, Be you more warie, then afraid Of these Reports; because you see The fairest most suspected be. The common formes have no one eye, Or eare of burning jealousie To follow them: but chiefly, where Love makes the cheek, and chin a sphere To dance and play in: (Trust me) there Suspicion questions every haire. Come, you are faire; and sho'd be seen While you are in your sprightfull green: And what though you had been embrac't By me, were you for that unchast? No, no, no more then is yond' Moone, Which shining in her perfect Noone; In all that great and glorious light, Continues cold, as is the night. Then, beauteous Maid, you may retire; And as for me, my chast desire Shall move t'wards you; although I see Your face no more: So live you free From Fames black lips, as you from me.

Single life most secure.

SUspicion, Discontent, and Strife, Come in for Dowrie with a Wife.

The Curse. A Song.

GOe perjur'd man; and if thou ere return To see the small remainders in mine Urne: When thou shalt laugh at my Religious dust; And ask, Where's now the colour, forme and trust Of Womans beauty? and with hand more rude Rifle the Flowers which the Virgins strew'd: Know, I have pray'd to Furie, that some wind May blow my ashes up, and strike thee blind.

The wounded Cupid. Song.

CUpid as he lay among Roses, by a Bee was stung. Whereupon in anger flying To his Mother, said thus crying; Help! O help! your Boy's a dying. And why, my pretty Lad, said she? Then blubbering, replyed he, A winged Snake has bitten me, Which Country people call a Bee. At which she smil'd; then with her hairs And kisses drying up his tears: Alas! said she, my Wag! if this Such a pernicious torment is: Come tel me then, how great's the smart Of those, thou woundest with thy Dart!

To Dewes. A Song.

I Burn, I burn; and beg of you To quench, or coole me with your Dew. I frie in fire, and so consume, Although the Pile be all perfume.

Alas! the heat and death's the same; Whether by choice, or common flame: To be in Oyle of Roses drown'd, Or water; where's the comfort found? Both bring one death; and I die here, Unlesse you coole me with a Teare: Alas! I call; but ah! I see Ye coole, and comfort all, but me.

Some comfort in calamity.

TO conquer'd men, some comfort 'tis to fall By th'hand of him who is the Generall.

The Vision.

SItting alone (as one forsook) Close by a Silver-shedding Brook; With hands held up to Love, I wept; And after sorrowes spent, I slept: Then in a Vision I did see A glorious forme appeare to me: A Virgins face she had; her dresse Was like a sprightly Spartanesse. A silver bow with green silk strung, Down from her comely shoulders hung: And as she stood, the wanton Aire Dandled the ringlets of her haire. Her legs were such Diana shows, When tuckt up she a hunting goes; With Buskins shortned to descrie The happy dawning of her thigh: Which when I saw, I made accesse To kisse that tempting nakednesse: But she forbad me, with a wand Of Mirtle she had in her hand:

And chiding me, said, Hence, Remove, Herrick, thou art too coorse to love.

Love me little, love me long.

YOu say, to me-wards your affection's strong; Pray love me little, so you love me long. Slowly goes farre: The meane is best: Desire Grown violent, do's either die, or tire.

Upon a Virgin kissing a Rose.

TWas but a single Rose, Till you on it did breathe; But since (me thinks) it shows Not so much Rose, as Wreathe.

Upon a Wife that dyed mad with Jealousie.

IN this little Vault she lyes, Here, with all her jealousies: Quiet yet; but if ye make Any noise, they both will wake, And such spirits raise, 'twill then Trouble Death to lay agen.

Upon the Bishop of Lincolne's Imprisonment.

NEver was Day so over-sick with showres, But that it had some intermitting houres. Never was Night so tedious, but it knew The Last Watch out, and saw the Dawning too. Never was Dungeon so obscurely deep, Wherein or Light, or Day, did never peep.

Never did Moone so ebbe, or seas so wane, But they left Hope-seed to fill up againe. So you, my Lord, though you have now your stay, Your Night, your Prison, and your Ebbe; you may Spring up afresh; when all these mists are spent, And Star-like, once more, guild our Firmament. Let but That Mighty Cesar speak, and then, All bolts, all barres, all gates shall cleave; as when That Earth-quake shook the house, and gave the stout Apostles, way (unshackled) to goe out. This, as I wish for, so I hope to see; Though you (my Lord) have been unkind to me: To wound my heart, and never to apply (When you had power) the meanest remedy: Well; though my griefe by you was gall'd, the more; Yet I bring Balme and Oile to heal your sore.

Disswasions from Idlenesse.

CYnthius pluck ye by the eare, That ye may good doctrine heare. Play not with the maiden-haire; For each Ringlet there's a share. Cheek, and eye, and lip, and chin; These are traps to take fooles in. Armes, and hands, and all parts else, Are but Toiles, or Manicles Set on purpose to enthrall Men, but Slothfulls most of all. Live employ'd, and so live free From these fetters; like to me Who have found, and still can prove, The lazie man the most doth love,

Upon Strut.

STrut, once a Fore-man of a Shop we knew; But turn'd a Ladies Usher now, ('tis true:) Tell me, has Strut got ere a title more? No; he's but Fore-man, as he was before.

An Epithalamie to Sir Thomas Southwell and his Ladie.

I.

NOw, now's the time; so oft by truth Promis'd sho'd come to crown your youth. Then Faire ones, doe not wrong Your joyes, by staying long: Or let Love's fire goe out, By lingring thus in doubt: But learn, that Time once lost, Is ne'r redeem'd by cost. Then away; come, Hymen guide To the bed, the bashfull Bride.

II.

Is it (sweet maid) your fault these holy Bridall-Rites goe on so slowly? Deare, is it this you dread, The losse of Maiden-head? Beleeve me; you will most Esteeme it when 'tis lost: Then it no longer keep, Lest Issue lye asleep. Then away; come, Hymen guide To the bed, the bashfull Bride.

III.

These Precious-Pearly-Purling teares, But spring from ceremonious feares. And 'tis but Native shame, That hides the loving flame: And may a while controule The soft and am'rous soule; But yet, Loves fire will wast Such bashfulnesse at last. Then away; come, Hymen guide To the bed, the bashfull Bride.

IV.

Night now hath watch'd her self half blind; Yet not a Maiden-head resign'd! 'Tis strange, ye will not flie To Love's sweet mysterie. Might you Full-Moon the sweets Have, promis'd to your sheets; She soon wo'd leave her spheare, To be admitted there. Then away; come, Hymen guide To the bed, the bashfull Bride.

V.

On, on devoutly, make no stay; While Domiduca leads the way: And Genius who attends The bed for luckie ends: With Juno goes the houres, And Graces strewing flowers. And the boyes with sweet tunes sing, Hymen, O Hymen bring 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the ••••rtles; Hymen guide To the bed, the bashfull Bride.

VI.

Behold! how Hymens Taper-light Shews you how much is spent of night. See, see the Bride-grooms Torch Halfe wasted in the porch. And now those Tapers five, That shew the womb shall thrive: Their silv'rie flames advance, To tell all prosp'rous chance Still shall crown the happy life Of the good man and the wife.

VII.

Move forward then your Rosie feet, And make, what ere they touch, turn sweet. May all, like flowrie Meads Smel, where your soft foot treads; And every thing assume To it, the like perfume: As Zephirus when he 'spires Through Woodbine, and Sweet-bryers. Then away; come Hymen, guide To the bed the bashfull Bride.

VIII.

And now the yellow Vaile, at last, Over her fragrant cheek is cast. Now seems she to expresse A bashfull willingnesse: Shewing a heart consenting; As with a will repenting. Then gently lead her on With wise suspicion: For that, Matrons say, a measure Of that Passion sweetens Pleasure.

IX.

You, you that be of her neerest kin, Now o're the threshold force her in. But to avert the worst; Let her, her fillets first Knit to the posts: this point Remembring, to anoint The sides: for 'tis a charme Strong against future harme: And the evil deads, the which There was hidden by the Witch.

X.

O Venus! thou, to whom is known The best way how to loose the Zone Of Virgins! Tell the Maid, She need not be afraid: And bid the Youth apply Close kisses, if she cry: And charge, he not forbears Her, though she wooe with teares. Tel them, now they must adventer, Since that Love and Night bid enter.

XI.

No Fatal Owle the Bedsted keeps, With direful notes to fright your sleeps: No Furies, here about, To put the Tapers out, Watch, or did make the bed: 'Tis Omen full of dread: But all faire signs appeare Within the Chamber here. Juno here, far off, doth stand Cooling sleep with charming wand.

XII.

Virgins, weep not; 'twill come, when, As she, so you'l be ripe for men. Then grieve her not, with saying She must no more a Maying: Or by Rose-buds devine, Who'l be her Valentine. Nor name those wanton reaks Y'ave had at Barly-breaks. But now kisse her, and thus say, Take time Lady while ye may.

XIII.

Now barre the doors, the Bride-groom puts The eager Boyes to gather Nuts. And now, both Love and Time To their full height doe clime: O! give them active heat And moisture, both compleat: Fit Organs for encrease, To keep, and to release That, which may the honour'd Stem Circle with a Diadem.

XIV.

And now, Behold! the Bed or Couch That ne'r knew Brides, or Bride-grooms Feels in it selfe a fire; (touch, And tickled with Desire, Pants with a Downie brest, As with a heart possest: Shrugging as it did move, Ev'n with the soule of love. And (oh!) had it but a tongue, Doves, 'two'd say, yee bill too long.

XV.

O enter then! but see ye shun A sleep, untill the act be done. Let kisses, in their close, Breathe as the Damask Rose: Or sweet, as is that gumme Doth from Panchaia come. Teach Nature now to know, Lips can make Cherries grow Sooner, then she, ever yet, In her wisdome co'd beget.

XVI.

On your minutes, hours, dayes, months, years, Drop the fat blessing of the sphears. That good, which Heav'n can give To make you bravely live; Fall, like a spangling dew, By day, and night on you. May Fortunes Lilly-hand Open at your command; With all luckie Birds to side With the Bride-groom, and the Bride.

XVII.

Let bounteous Fate your spindles full Fill, and winde up with whitest wooll. Let them not cut the thred Of life, untill ye bid. May Death yet come at last; And not with desp'rate hast: But when ye both can say, Come, Let us now away. Be ye to the Barn then born, Two, like two ripe shocks of corn.

Teares are Tongues.

WHen Julia chid, I stood as mute the while, As is the fish, or tonguelesse Crocodile. Aire coyn'd to words, my Julia co'd not heare; But she co'd see each eye to stamp a teare: By which, mine angry Mistresse might descry, Teares are the noble language of the eye. And when true love of words is destitute, The Eyes by tears speak, while the Tongue is mute.

Upon a young mother of many children.

LEt all chaste Matrons, when they chance to see My num'rous issue: Praise, and pitty me. Praise me, for having such a fruitfull wombe; Pity me too, who found so soone a Tomb.

To Electra.

ILe come to thee in all those shapes As Jove did, when he made his rapes: Onely, Ile not appeare to thee, As he did once to Semele. Thunder and Lightning Ile lay by, To talk with thee familiarly. Which done, then quickly we'll undresse To one and th'others nakednesse. And ravisht, plunge into the bed, (Bodies and souls commingled) And kissing, so as none may heare, We'll weary all the Fables there.

His wish.

IT is sufficient if we pray To Jove, who gives, and takes away: Let him the Land and Living finde; Let me alone to fit the mind.

His Protestation to Perilla.

NOone-day and Midnight shall at once be seene: Trees, at one time, shall be both sere and greene: Fire and water shall together lye In one-self-sweet-conspiring sympathie: Summer and Winter shall at one time show Ripe eares of corne, and up to th'eares in snow: Seas shall be sandlesse; Fields devoid of grasse; Shapelesse the world, (as when all Chaos was) Before, my deare Perilla, I will be False to my vow, or fall away from thee.

Love perfumes all parts.

IF I kisse Anthea's brest, There I smell the Phenix nest: If her lip, the most sincere Altar of Incense, I smell there. Hands, and thighs, and legs, are all Richly Aromaticall. Goddesse Isis cann't transfer Musks and Ambers more from her: Nor can Juno sweeter be, When she lyes with Jove, then she.

To Julia.

PErmit me, Julia, now to goe away; Or by thy love, decree me here to stay. If thou wilt say, that I shall live with thee; Here shall my endless Tabernacle be: If not, (as banisht) I will live alone There, where no language ever yet was known.

On himselfe.

LOve-sick I am, and must endure A desp'rate grief, that finds no cure. Ah me! I try; and trying, prove, No Herbs have power to cure Love. Onely our Soveraign salve, I know, And that is Death, the end of Woe.

Vertue is sensible of suffering.

THough a wise man all pressures can sustaine; His vertue still is sensible of paine: Large shoulders though he has, and well can beare, He feeles when Packs do pinch him; and the where.

The cruell Maid.

ANd Cruell Maid, because I see You scornfull of my love, and me: Ile trouble you no more; but goe My way, where you shall never know What is become of me: there I Will find me our a path to die; Or learne some way how to forget You, and your name, for ever: yet

Ere I go hence; know this from me, What will, in time, your Fortune be: This to your coynefse I will tell; And having spoke it once, Farewell. The Lillie will not long endure; Nor the Snow continue pure: The Rose, the Violet, one day See, both these Lady-flowers decay: And you must fade, as well as they. And it may chance that Love may turn, And (like to mine) make your heart burn And weep to see't; yet this thing doe, That my last Vow commends to you: When you shall see that I am dead, For pitty let a teare be shed; And (with your Mantle o're me cast) Give my cold lips a kisse at last: If twice you kisse, you need not feare, That I shall stir, or live more here. Next, hollow out a Tombe to cover Me; me, the most despised Lover: And write thereon, This, Reader, know, Love kill'd this mun. No more but so.

To Dianeme.

SWeet, be not proud of those two eyes, Which Star-like sparkle in their skies: Nor be you proud, that you can see All hearts your captives; yours, yet free: Be you not proud of that rich haire, Which wantons with the Love-sick aire: When as that Rubie, which you weare, Sunk from the tip of your soft eare, Will last to be a precious Stone, When all your world of Beautie's gone.

TO THE KING, To cure the Evill.

TO find that Tree of Life, whose Fruits did feed, And Leaves did heale, all sick of humane seed: To finde Bethesda, and an Angel there, Stirring the waters, I am come; and here, At last, I find, (after my much to doe) The Tree, Bethesda, and the Angel too: And all in Your Blest Hand, which has the powers Of all those suppling-healing herbs and flowers. To that soft Charm, that Spell, that Magick Bough, That high Enchantment I betake me now: And to that Hand, (the Branch of Heavens faire Tree) I kneele for help; O! lay that hand on me, Adored Cesar! and my Faith is such, I shall be heal'd, if that my KING but touch, The Evill is not Yours: my sorrow sings, Mine is the Evill, but the Cure, the KINGS.

His misery in a Mistresse.

WAter, Water I espie: Come, and coole ye; all who frie In your loves; but none as I.

Though a thousand showres be Still a falling, yet I see Not one drop to light on me.

Happy you, who can have seas For to quench ye, or some ease From your kinder Mistresses.

I have one, and she alone, Of a thousand thousand known, Dead to all compassion.

Such an one, as will repeat Both the cause, and make the heat More by Provocation great.

Gentle friends, though I despaire Of my cure, doe you beware Of those Girles, which cruell are.

Upon Jollies wife.

FIrst, Jollies wife is lame; then next, loose-hipt: Squint-ey'd, hook-nos'd; and lastly, Kidney-lipt.

To a Gentlewoman, objecting to him his gray haires.

AM I despis'd, because you say, And I dare sweare, that I am gray? Know, Lady, you have but your day: And time will come when you shall weare Such frost and snow upon your haire: And when (though long it comes to passe) You question with your Looking-glasse; And in that sincere Christall seek, But find no Rose-bud in your cheek: Nor any bed to give the shew Where such a rare Carnation grew. Ah! then too late, close in your chamber keeping, It will be told That you are old; By those true teares y'are weeping.

To Cedars.

IF 'mongst my many Poems, I can see One, onely, worthy to be washt by thee: I live for ever; let the rest all lye In dennes of Darkness, or condemn'd to die.

Upon Cupid.

LOve, like a Gypsie, lately came; And did me much importunc To see my hand; that by the same He might fore-tell my Fortune.

He saw my Palme; and then, said he, I tell thee, by this score here; That thou, within few months, shalt be The youthfull Prince D'Amour here.

I smil'd; and bade him once more prove, And by some crosse-line show it; That I co'd ne'r be Prince of Love, Though here the Princely Poet.

How Primroses came green.

VIrgins, time-past, known were these, Troubled with Green-sicknesses, Turn'd to flowers: Stil the hieu, Sickly Girles, they beare of you.

To Jos: Lo: Bishop of Exeter.

WHom sho'd I feare to write to, if I can Stand before you, my learn'd Diocesan?

And never shew blood-guiltinesse, or feare To see my Lines Excathedrated here. Since none so good are, but you may condemne; Or here so bad, but you may pardon them. If then, (my Lord) to sanctifie my Muse One onely Poem out of all you'l chuse; And mark it for a Rapture nobly writ, 'Tis Good Confirm'd; for you have Bishop't it.

Upon a black Twist, rounding the Arme of the Countesse of Carlile.

I Saw about her spotlesse wrist, Of blackest silk, a curious twist; Which, circumvolving gently, there Enthrall'd her Arme, as Prisoner. Dark was the Jayle; but as if light Had met t'engender with the night; Or so, as Darknesse made a stay To shew at once, both night and day. I fancie more! but if there be Such Freedome in Captivity; I beg of Love, that ever I May in like Chains of Darknesse lie.

On himselfe.

I Feare no Earthly Powers; But care for crowns of flowers: And love to have my Beard With Wine and Oile besmear'd. This day Ile drowne all sorrow; Who knowes to live to morrow?

Upon Pagget.

PAgget, a School-boy, got a Sword, and then He vow'd Destruction both to Birch, and Men: Who wo'd not think this Yonker sierce to fight? Yet comming home, but somewhat late, (last night) Untrusse, his Master bade him; and that word Made him take up his shirt, lay down his sword.

A Ring presented to Julia.

IVlia, I bring To thee this Ring. Made for thy finger fit; To shew by this, That our love is (Or sho'd be) like to it.

Close though it be, The joynt is free: So when Love's yoke is on, It must not gall, Or fret at all With hard oppression.

But it must play Still either way; And be, too, such a yoke, As not too wide, To over-slide; Or be so strait to choak.

So we, who beare, This beame, must reare Our selves to such a height:

As that the stay Of either may Create the burden light.

And as this round Is no where found To flaw, or else to sever: So let our love As endless prove; And pure as Gold for ever.

To the Detracter.

WHere others love, and praise my Verses; still Thy long-black-Thumb-nail marks 'em out for ill A fellon take it, or some Whit-flaw come For to unslate, or to untile that thumb! But cry thee Mercy: Exercise thy nailes To scratch or claw, so that thy tongue not railes: Some numbers prurient are, and some of these Are wanton with their itch; scratch, and 'twill please.

Upon the same.

I Ask't thee oft, what Poets thou hast read, And lik'st the best? Still thou reply'st, The dead. I shall, ere long, with green turfs cover'd be; Then sure thou't like, or thou wilt envie me.

Julia's Petticoat.

THy Azure Robe, I did behold, As ayrie as the leaves of gold; Which erring here, and wandring there, Pleas'd with transgression ev'ry where:

Sometimes 'two'd pant, and sigh, and heave, As if to stir it scarce had leave: But having got it; thereupon, 'Two'd make a brave expansion. And pounc't with Stars, it shew'd to me Like a Celestiall Canopie. Sometimes 'two'd blaze, and then abate, Like to a flame growne moderate: Sometimes away 'two'd wildly fling; Then to thy thighs so closely cling, That some conceit did melt me downe, As Lovers fall into a swoone: And all confus'd, I there did lie Drown'd in Delights; but co'd not die. That Leading Cloud, I follow'd still, Hoping t'ave seene of it my fill; But ah! I co'd not: sho'd it move To Life Eternal, I co'd love.

To Musick.

BEgin to charme, and as thou stroak'st mine eares With thy enchantment, melt me into tears. Then let thy active hand scu'd o're thy Lyre: And make my spirits frantick with the fire. That done, sink down into a silv'rie straine; And make me smooth as Balme, and Oiie againe.

Distrust.

TO safe-guard Man from wrongs, there nothing must Be truer to him, then a wise Distrust. And to thy selfe be best this sentence knowne, Heare all men speak; but credit few or none.

Corinna's going a Maying.

GEt up, get up for shame, the Blooming Morne Upon her wings presents the god unshorne. See how Aurora throwes her faire Fresh-quilted colours through the aire: Get up, sweet-Slug-a-bed, and see The Dew-bespangling Herbe and Tree. Each Flower has wept, and bow'd toward the East, Above an houre since; yet you not drest, Nay! not so much as out of bed? When all the Birds have Mattens seyd, And sung their thankfull Hymnes: 'tis sin, Nay, profanation to keep in, When as a thousand Virgins on this day, Spring, sooner then the Lark, to fetch in May.

Rise; and put on your Foliage, and be seene To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and greene; And sweet as Flora. Take no care For Jewels for your Gowne, or Haire: Feare not; the leaves will strew Gemms in abundance upon you: Besides, the childhood of the Day has kept, Against you come, some Orient Pearls unwept: Come, and receive them while the light Hangs on the Dew-locks of the night: And Titan on the Eastern hill Retires himselfe, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be briefe in praying: Few Beads are best, when once we goe a Maying.

Come, my Corinna, come; and comming, marke How each field turns a street; each street a Parke Made green, and trimm'd with trees: see how

Devotion gives each House a Bough, Or Branch: Each Porch, each doore, ere this, An Arke a Tabernacle is Made up of white-thorn neatly enterwove; As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street, And open fields, and we not see't? Come, we'll abroad; and let's obay The Proclamation made for May: And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying.

There's not a budding Boy, or Girle, this day, But is got up, and gone to bring in May. A deale of Youth, ere this, is come Back, and with White-thorn laden home. Some have dispatcht their Cakes and Creame, Before that we have left to dreame: And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted Troth, And chose their Ptiest, ere we can cast off sloth: Many a green-gown has been given; Many a kisse, both odde and even: Many a glance too has been sent From out the eye, Loves Firmament: Many a jest told of the Keyes betraying This night, and Locks pickt, yet w'are not a Maying.

Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime; And take the harmlesse follie of the time. We shall grow old a pace, and die Before we know our liberty. Our life is short; and our dayes run As fast away as do's the Sunne: And as a vapour, or a drop of raine Once lost, can ne'r be found againe:

So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade; All love, all liking, all delight Lies drown'd with us in endlesse night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; Come, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying.

On Julia's breath.

BReathe, Julia, breathe, and Ile protest, Nay more, Ile deeply sweare, That all the Spices of the East Are cit cumfused there.

Upon a Child. An Epitaph.

BUt borne, and like a short Delight, I glided by my Parents sight. That done, the harder Fates deny'd My longer stay, and so I dy'd. If pittying my sad Parents Teares, You'l spil a tear, or two with theirs: And with some flowrs my grave bestrew, Love and they'l thank you for't. Adieu.

A Dialogue betwixt Horace and Lydia, Translated Anno 1627. and set by Mr. Ro: Ramsey.

Hor.

WHile, Lydia, I was lov'd of thee, Nor any was preferr'd 'fore me To hug thy whitest neck: Then I, The Persian King liv'd not more happily.

Lyd.

While thou no other didst affect, Nor Cloe was of more respect;

Then Lydia, far-fam'd Lydia, I flourish't more then Roman Ilia.

Hor.

Now Thracian Cloe governs me, Skilfull i'th'Harpe, and Melodie: For whose affection, Lydia, I (So Fate spares her) am well content to die.

Lyd.

My heart now set on fire is By Ornithes sonne, young Calais; For whose commutuall flames here I (To save his life) twice am content to die.

Hor.

Say our first loves we sho'd revoke, And sever'd, joyne in brazen yoke: Admit I Cloe put away, And love againe love-cast-off Lydia?

Lyd.

Though mine be brighter then the Star; Thou lighter then the Cork by far: Rough as th' Adratick sea, yet I Will live with thee, or else for thee will die.

The captiv'd Bee: or, The little Filcher.

AS Julia once a slumb'ring lay, It chanc't a Bee did flie that way, (After a dew, or dew-like shower) To tipple freely in a flower. For some rich flower, he took the lip Of Julia, and began to sip; But when he felt he suckt from thence Hony, and in the quintessence: He drank so much he scarce co'd stir; So Julia took the Pilferer.

And thus surpriz'd (as Filchers use) He thus began himselfe t'excuse: Sweet Lady-Flower, I never brought Hither the least one theeving thought: But taking those rare lips of yours For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers: I thought I might there take a taste, Where so much sirrop ran at waste. Besides, know this, I never sting The flower that gives me nourishing: But with a kisse, or thanks, doc pay For Honie, that I beare away. This said, he laid his little scrip Of hony, 'fore her Ladiship: And told her, (as some tears did fall) That, that he took, and that was all. At which she smil'd; and bade him goe And take his bag; but thus much know, When next he came a pilfring so, He sho'd from her full lips derive, Hony enough to fill his hive.

Upon Prig.

PRig now drinks Water, who before drank Beere: What's now the cause? we know the case is cleere: Look in Prigs's purse, the chev'rell there tell syou Prig mony wants, either to buy, or brew.

Upon Batt.

BAtt he gets children, not for love to reare 'em; But out of hope his wife might die to beare 'em.

An Ode to Master Endymion Porter, upon his Brothers death.

NOt all thy flushing Sunnes are set, Herrick, as yet: Nor doth this far-drawn Hemisphere Frown, and look sullen ev'ry where. Daies may conclude in nights; and Suns may rest, As dead, within the West; Yet the next Morne, re-guild the fragrant East.

Alas for me! that I have lost E'en all almost: Sunk is my sight; set is my Sun; And all the loome of life undone: The staffe, the Elme, the prop, the shelt'ring wall Whereon my Vine did crawle, Now, now, blowne downe; needs must the old stock fall.

Yet, Porter, while thou keep'st alive, In death I thrive: And like a Phenix re-aspire From out my Narde, and Fun'rall fire: And as I prune my feather'd youth, so I Doe mar'l how I co'd die, When I had Thee, my chiefe Preserver, by.

I'm up, I'm up, and blesse that hand, Which makes me stand Now as I doe; and but for thee, I must confesse, I co'd not be. The debt is paid: for he who doth resigne Thanks to the gen'rous Vine; Invites fresh Grapes to fill his Presse with Wine.

To his dying Brother, Master William Herrick.

LIfe of my life, take not so soone thy flight, But stay the time till we have bade Good night. Thou hast both Wind and Tide with thee; Thy way As soone dispatcht is by the Night, as Day. Let us not then so rudely henceforth goe Till we have wept, kist, sigh't, shook hands, or so. There's paine in parting; and a kind of hell, When once true-lovers take their last Fare-well. What? shall we two our endlesse leaves take here Without a sad looke, or a solemne teare? He knowes not Love, that hath not this truth proved, Love is most loth to leave the thing beloved. Pay we our Vowes, and goe; yet when we part, Then, even then, I will bequeath my heart Into thy loving hands: For Ile keep none To warme my Breast, when thou my Pulse art gone. No, here Ile last, and walk (a harmless shade) About this Urne, wherein thy Dust is laid, To guard it so, as nothing here shall be Heavy, to hurt those sacred seeds of thee.

The Olive Branch.

SAdly I walk't within the field, To see what comfort it wo'd yeeld: And as I went my private way, An Olive-branch before me lay: And seeing it, I made a stay. And took it up, and view'd it; then Kissing the Omen, said Amen: Be, be it so, and let this be A Divination unto me:

That in short time my woes shall cease; And Love shall crown my End with Peace.

Upon Much-more. Epig.

MUch-more, provides, and hoords up like an Ant; Yet Much-more still complains he is in want. Let Much-more justly pay his tythes; then try How both his Meale and Oile will multiply.

To Cherry-blossomes.

YE may simper, blush, and smile, And perfume the aire a while: But (sweet things) ye must be gone; Fruit, ye know, is comming on: Then, Ah! Then, where is your grace, When as Cherries come in place?

How Lillies came white.

WHite though ye be; yet, Lillies, know, From the first ye were not so: But Ile tell ye What befell ye; Cupid and his Mother lay In a Cloud; while both did play, He with his pretty finger prest The rubie niplet of her breast; Out of the which, the creame of light, Like to a Dew, Fell downe on you. And made ye white.

To Pansies.

AH, cruell Love! must I endure Thy many scorns, and find no cure? Say, are thy medicines made to be Helps to all others, but to me? Ile leave thee, and to Pansies come; Comforts you'l afford me some: You can ease my heart, and doe What Love co'd ne'r be brought unto.

On Gelli-flowers begotten.

WHat was't that fell but now From that warme kisse of ours? Look, look, by Love I vow They were two Gelli-flowers.

Let's kisse, and kisse agen; For if so be our closes Make Gelli-flowers, then I'm sure they'l fashion Roses.

The Lilly in a Christal.

YOu have beheld a smiling Rose When Virgins hands have drawn O'r it a Cobweb-Lawne: And here, you see, this Lilly shows, Tomb'd in a Christal stone, More faire in this transparent case, Then when it grew alone; And had but single grace.

You see how Creame but naked is; Nor daunces in the eye Without a Strawberrie: Or some fine tincture, like to this, Which draws the sight thereto, More by that wantoning with it; Then when the paler hieu No mixture did admit.

You see how Amber through the streams More gently stroaks the sight, With some conceal'd delight; Then when he darts his radiant beams Into the boundlesse aire: Where either too much light his worth Doth all at once impaire, Or set it little forth.

Put Purple Grapes, or Cherries in- To Glasse, and they will send More beauty to commend Them, from that cleane and subtile skin, Then if they naked stood, And had no other pride at all, But their own flesh and blood, And tinctures naturall.

Thus Lillie, Rose, Grape, Cherry, Creame, And Straw-berry do stir More love, when they transfer A weak, a soft, a broken beame; Then if they sho'd discover At full their proper excellence; Without some Scean cast over, To juggle with the sense.

Thus let this Christal'd Lillie be A Rule, how far to teach, Your nakednesse must reach: And that, no further, then we see Those glaring colours laid By Arts wise hand, but to this end They sho'd obey a shade; Lest they too far extend.

So though y'are white as Swan, or Snow, And have the power to move A world of men to love: Yet, when your Lawns & Silks shal flow; And that white cloud divide Into a doubtful Twi-light; then, Then will your hidden Pride Raise greater fires in men.

To his Booke.

LIke to a Bride, come forth my Book, at last, With all thy richest jewels over-cast: Say, if there be 'mongst many jems here; one Deservelesse of the name of Paragon: Blush not at all for that; since we have set Some Pearls on Queens, that have been counterfet.

Upon some women.

THou who wilt not love, doe this; Learne of me what Woman is. Something made of thredand thrumme; A meere Botch of all and some. Pieces, patches, ropes of haire; In-laid Garbage ev'ry where.

Out-side silk, and out-side Lawne; Sceanes to cheat us neatly drawne. False in legs, and false in thighes; False in breast, teeth, haire, and eyes: False in head, and false enough; Onely true in shreds and stuffe.

Supreme fortune falls soonest.

WHile leanest Beasts in Pastures feed, The fattest Oxe the first must bleed.

The Welcome to Sack.

SO soft streams meet, so springs with gladder smiles Meet after long divorcement by the Iles: When Love (the child of likenesse) urgeth on Their Christal natures to an union. So meet stolne kisses, when the Moonie nights Call forth fierce Lovers to their wisht Delights: So Kings & Queens meet, when Desire convinces All thoughts, but such as aime at getting Princes, A I meet thee. Soule of my life, and fame! Eternall Lamp of Love! whose radiant flame Out-glares the Heav'ns * 1.4 Osiris; and thy gleams Out-shine the splendour of his mid-day beams. Welcome, O welcome my illustrious Spouse; Welcome as are the ends unto my Vowes: I! far more welcome then the happy soile, The Sea-scourg'd Merchant, after all his toile, Salutes with tears of joy; when fires betray The smoakie chimneys of his Ithaca. Where hast thou been so long from my embraces, Poore pittyed Exile? Tell me, did thy Graces Flie discontented hence, and for a time Did rather choose to blesse another clime?

Or wentst'st thou to this end, the more to move me, By thy short absence, to desire and love thee? Why frowns my Sweet? Why won't my Saint confer Favours on me, her fierce Idolater? Why are Those Looks, Those Looks the which have been Time-past so fragrant, sickly now drawn in Like a dull Twi-light? Tell me; and the fault Ile expiate with Sulphur, Haire, and Salt: And with the Christal humour of the spring, Purge hence the guilt, and kill this quarrelling. Wo't thou not smile, or tell me what's amisse? Have I been cold to hug thee, too remisse, Too temp'rate in embracing? Tell me, ha's desire To thee-ward dy'd i'th'embers, and no fire Left in this rak't-up Ash-heap, as a mark To testifie the glowing of a spark? Have I divorc't thee onely to combine In hot Adult'ry with another Wine? True, I confesse I left thee, and appeale 'Twas done by me, more to confirme my zeale, And double my affection on thee; as doe those, Whose love growes more enflam'd, by being Foes. But to forsake thee ever, co'd there be A thought of such like possibilitie? When thou thy selfe dar'st say, thy Iles shall lack Grapes, before Herrick leaves Canarie Sack. Thou mak'st me ayrie, active to be born, Like Iphyclus, upon the tops of Corn. Thou mak'st me nimble, as the winged howers, To dance and caper on the heads of flowers, And ride the Sun-beams. Can there be a thing Under the heavenly * 1.5 Isis, that can bring More love unto my life, or can present My Genius with a fuller blandishment? Illustrious Idoll! co'd th' AEgyptians seek Help from the Garlick, Onyon, and the Leek,

And pay no vowes to thee? who wast their best God, and far more transcendent then the rest? Had Cassius, that weak Water-drinker, known Thee in thy Vine, or had but tasted one Small Chalice of thy frantick liquor; He As the wise Cato had approv'd of thee. Had not * 1.6 Joves son, that brave Tyrinthian Swain, (Invited to the Thesbian banquet) ta'ne Full goblets of thy gen'rous blood; his spright Ne'r had kept heat for fifty Maids that night. Come, come and kisse me; Love and lust commends Thee, and thy beauties; kisse, we will be friends Too strong for Fate to break us: Look upon Me, with that full pride of complexion, As Queenes, meet Queenes; or come thou unto me, As Cleopatra came to Anthonie; When her high carriage did at once present To the Triumvir, Love and Wonderment. Swell up my nerves with spirit; let my blood Run through my veines, like to a hasty flood. Fill each part full of fire, active to doe What thy commanding soule shall put it to. And till I turne Apostate to thy love, Which here I vow to serve, doe not remove Thy Fiers from me; but Apollo's curse Blast these-like actions, or a thing that's worse; When these Circumstants shall but live to see The time that I prevaricate from thee. Call me The sonne of Beere, and then confine Me to the Tap, the Tost, the Turfe; Let Wine Ne'r shine upon me; May my Numbers all Run to a sudden Death, and Funerall. And last, when thee (deare Spouse) I disavow, Ne'r may Prophetique Daphne crown my Brow.

Impossibilities to his friend.

MY faithful friend, if you can see The Fruit to grow up, or the Tree: If you can see the colour come Into the blushing Peare, or Plum: If you can see the water grow To cakes of Ice, or flakes of Snow: If you can see, that drop of raine Lost in the wild sea, once againe: If you can see, how Dreams do creep Into the Brain by easie sleep: Then there is hope that you may see Her love me once, who now hates me.

Upon Luggs. Epig.

LUggs, by the Condemnation of the Bench, Was lately whipt for lying with a Wench. Thus Paines and Pleasures turne by turne succeed: He smarts at last, who do's not first take heed.

Upon Gubbs. Epig.

GUbbs call's his children Kitlings: and wo'd bound (Some say) for joy, to see those Kitlings drown'd.

To live merrily, and to trust to Good Verses.

NOw is the time for mirth, Nor cheek, or tongue be dumbe: For with flowrie earth, The golden pomp is come.

The golden Pomp is come; For now each tree do's weare (Made of her Pap and Gum) Rich beads of Amber here.

Now raignes the Rose, and now Th' Arabian Dew besmears My uncontrolled brow, And my retorted haires.

Homer, this Health to thee, In Sack of such a kind, That it wo'd make thee see, Though thou wert ne'r so blind.

Next, Virgil, Ile call forth, To pledge this second Health In Wine, whose each cup's worth An Indian Common-wealth.

A Goblet next Ile drink To Ovid; and suppose, Made he the pledge, he'd think The world had all one Nose.

Then this immensive cup Of Aromatike wine, Catullus, I quaffe up To that Terce Muse of thine.

Wild I am now with heat; O Bacchus! coole thy Raies! Or frantick I shall eate Thy Thyrse, and bite the Bayes.

Round, round, the roof do's run; And being ravisht thus, Come, I will drink a Tun To my Propertius.

Now, to Tibullus, next, This flood I drink to thee: But stay; I see a Text, That this presents to me.

Behold, Tibullus lies Here burnt, whose smál return Of ashes, scarce suffice To fill a little Urne.

Trust to good Verses then; They onely will aspire, When Pyramids, as men, Are lost, i'th'funerall fire.

And when all Bodies meet In Lethe to be drown'd; Then onely Numbers sweet, With endless life are crown'd.

Faire dayes: or, Dawnes deceitfull.

FAire was the Dawne; and but e'ne now the Skies Shew'd like to Creame, enspir'd with Strawberries: But on a sudden, all was chang'd and gone That smil'd in that first-sweet complexion. Then Thunder-claps and Lightning did conspire To teare the world, or set it all on fire. What trust to things, below when as we see, As Men, the Heavens have their Hypocrisie?

Lips Tonguelesse.

FOr my part, I never care For those lips, that tongue-ty'd are: Tell-tales I wo'd have them be Of my Mistresse, and of me. Let them prattle how that I, Sometimes freeze, and sometimes frie: Let them tell how she doth move Fore-or backward in her love: Let them speak by gentle tones, One and th'others passions: How we watch, and seldome sleep: How by Willowes we doe weep: How by stealth we meet, and then Kisse, and sigh, so part agen. This the lips we will permit For to tell, not publish it.

To the Fever, not to trouble Julia.

TH'ast dar'd too farre; but Furie now forbeare To give the least disturbance to her haire: But lesse presume to lay a Plait upon Her skins most smooth, and cleare expansion. 'Tis like a Lawnie-Firmament as yet Quite dispossest of either fray, or fret. Come thou not neere that Filmne so finely spred, Where no one piece is yet unlevelled. This if thou dost, woe to thee Furie, woe, Ile send such Frost, such Haile, such Sleet, and Snow, Such Flesh-quakes, Palsies, and such Heates as shall Dead thee to th' most, if not destroy thee all. And thou a thousand thousand times shalt be More shak't thy selfe, then she is scorch't by thee.

To Violets.

1.

WElcome Maids of Honour, You doe bring In the Spring; And wait upon her.

2.

She has Virgins many, Fresh and faire; Yet you are More sweet then any.

3.

Y'are the Maiden Posies, And so grac't, To be plac't, 'Fore Damask Roses.

4.

Yet though thus respected, By and by Ye doe lie, Poore Girles, neglected.

Upon Bunce. Epig.

MOny thou ow'st me; Prethee fix a day For payment promis'd, though thou never pay: Let it be Doomes-day; nay, take longer scope; Pay when th'art honest; let me have some hope.

To Carnations. A Song.

1.

STay while ye will, or goe; And leave no scent behind ye: Yet trust me, I shall know The place, where I may find ye.

2.

Within my Lucia's cheek, (Whose Livery ye weare) Play ye at Hide or Seek, I'm sure to find ye there.

To the Virgins, to make much of Time.

1.

GAther ye Rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying: And this same flower that smiles to day, To morrow will be dying.

2.

The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a getting; The sooner will his Race be run, And neerer he's to Setting.

3.

That Age is best, which is the first, When Youth and Blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times, still succeed the former.

4.

Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, goe marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

Safety to look to ones selfe.

FOr my neighbour Ile not know, Whether high he builds or no: Onely this Ile look upon, Firm be my foundation. Sound, or unsound, let it be; 'Tis the lot ordain'd for me. He who to the ground do's fall, Has not whence to sink at all.

To his Friend, on the untuneable Times.

PLay I co'd once; but (gentle friend) you see My Harp hung up; here on the Willow tree. Sing I co'd once; and bravely too enspire (With luscious Numbers) my melodious Lyre. Draw I co'd once (although not stocks or stones, Amphion-like) men made of flesh and bones, Whether I wo'd; but (ah!) I know not how, I feele in me, this transmutation now. Griefe, (my deare friend) has first my Harp unstrung; Wither'd my hand, and palsie-struck my tongue.

His Poetrie his Pillar.

1.

ONely a little more I have to write, Then Ile give o're, And bid the world Good-night.

2.

'Tis but a flying minute, That I must stay, Or linger in it; And then I must away.

3.

O time that cut'st down all! And scarce leav'st here Memoriall Of any men that were.

4.

How many lye forgot In Vaults beneath?

And piece-meale rot Without a fame in death?

5.

Behold this living stone, I reare for me, Ne'n to be thrown Downe, envious Time by thee.

6.

Pillars let some set up, (If so they please) Here is my hope, And my Pyramides.

Safety on the Shore.

WHat though the sea be calme? Trust to the shore: Ships have been drown'd, where late they danc't (before.

A Pastorall upon the birth of Prince Charles, Presented to the King, and Set by Mr. Nic: Laniere.

The Speakers, Mirtillo, Amintas, and Amarillis.

Amin.

GOod day, Mirtillo. Mirt. And to you no lesse: And all faire Signs lead on our Shepardesse.

Amar.

With all white luck to you. Mirt. But say, (What news Stirs in our Sheep-walk? Amin. None, save that my Ewes, My Weathers, Lambes, and wanton Kids are well, Smooth, faire, and fat, none better I can tell: Or that this day Menalchas keeps a feast For his Sheep-shearers. Mir. True, these are the least. But dear Amintas, and sweet Amarillis,

Rest but a while here, by this bank of Lillies. And lend a gentle eare to one report The Country has. Amint. From whence? Amar. From (whence? Mir. The Court. Three dayes before the shutting in of May, (With whitest Wool be ever crown'd that day!) To all our joy, a sweet-fac't child was borne, More tender then the childhood of the Morne.

Chor.

Pan pipe to him, and bleats of lambs and sheep, Let Lullaby the pretty Prince asleep!

Mirt.

And that his birth sho'd be more singular, At Noone of Day, was seene a silver Star, Bright as the Wise-mens Torch, which guided them To Gods sweet Babe, when borne at Bethlehem; While Golden Angels (some have told to me) Sung out his Birth with Heav'nly Minstralsie.

Amint.

O rare! But is't a trespasse if we three Sho'd wend along his Baby-ship to see?

Mir.

Not so, not so. Chor. But if it chance to prove At most a fault, 'tis but a fault of love.

Amar.

But deare Mirtillo, I have heard it told, Those learned men brought Incense, Myrrhe, and Gold, From Countries far, with store of Spices, (sweet) And laid them downe for Offrings at his feet.

Mirt.

'Tis true indeed; and each of us will bring Unto our smiling, and our blooming King, A neat, though not so great an Offering.

Amar.

A Garland for my Gift shall be Of flowers, ne'r suckt by th'theeving Bee: And all most sweet; yet all lesse sweet then he.

Amint.

And I will beare along with you Leaves dropping downe the honyed dew, With oaten pipes, as sweet, as new.

Mirt.

And I a Sheep-hook will bestow, To have his little King-ship know, As he is Prince, he's Shepherd too.

Chor.

Come let's away, and quickly let's be drest, And quickly give, The swiftest Grace is best. And when before him we have laid our treasures, We'll blesse the Babe, Then back to Countrie pleasures.

To the Lark.

GOod speed, for I this day Betimes my Mattens say: Because I doe Begin to wooe: Sweet singing Lark, Be thou the Clark, And know thy when To say, Amen. And if I prove Blest in my love; Then thou shalt be High-Priest to me, At my returne, To Incense burne; And so to solemnize Love's, and my Sacrifice.

The Bubble. A Song.

TO my revenge, and to her desp'rate feares, Flie thou made Bubble of my sighs, and tears. In the wild aire, when thou hast rowl'd about, And (like a blasting Planet) found her out; Stoop, mount, passe by to take her eye, then glare Like to a dreadfull Comet in the Aire: Next, when thou dost perceive her fixed sight, For thy revenge to be most opposite; Then like a Globe, or Ball of Wild-fire, flie, And break thy self in shivers on her eye.

A Meditation for his Mistresse.

1.

YOu are a Tulip seen to day, But (Dearest) of so short a stay; That where you grew, scarce man can say.

2.

You are a lovely July-flower, Yet one rude wind, or ruffling shower, Will force you hence, (and in an houre.)

3.

You are a sparkling Rose i'th'bud, Yet lost, ere that chast flesh and blood Can shew where you or grew, or stood.

4.

You are a full-spread faire-set Vine, And can with Tendrills love intwine, Yet dry'd, ere you distill your Wine.

5.

You are like Balme inclosed (well) In Amber, or some Chrystall shell, Yet lost ere you transfuse your smell.

6.

You are a dainty Violet, Yet wither'd, ere you can be set Within the Virgins Coronet.

7.

You are the Queen all flowers among, But die you must (faire Maid) ere long, As He, the maker of this Song.

The bleeding hand: or, The sprig of Eglantine given to a maid.

FRom this bleeding hand of mine, Take this sprig of Eglantine. Which (though sweet unto your smell) Yet the fretfull bryar will tell, He who plucks the sweets shall prove Many thorns to be in Love.

Lyrick for Legacies.

GOld I've none, for use or show, Neither Silver to bestow At my death; but thus much know, That each Lyrick here shall be Of my love a Legacie, Left to all posterity. Gentle friends, then doe but please, To accept such coynes as these; As my last Remembrances.

A Dirge upon the Death of the Right Valiant Lord, Bernard Stuart.

1.

HEnce, hence, profane; soft silence let us have; While we this Trentall sing about thy Grave.

2.

Had Wolves or Tigers seen but thee, They wo'd have shew'd civility; And in compassion of thy yeeres, Washt those thy purple wounds with tears. But since th'art slaine; and in thy fall, The drooping Kingdome suffers all.

Chor.

This we will doe; we'll daily come And offer Tears upon thy Tomb: And if that they will not suffice, Thou shalt have soules for sacrifice.

Sleepe in thy peace, while we with spice perfume thee, And Cedar wash thee, that no times consume thee.

3.

Live, live thou dost, and shalt; for why? Soules doe not with their bodies die: Ignoble off-springs, they may fall Into the flames of Funerall: When as the chosen seed shall spring Fresh, and for ever flourishing.

Cho.

And times to come shall, weeping, read thy glory, Lesse in these Marble stones, then in thy story.

To Perenna, a Mistresse.

DEare Perenna, prethee come, And with Smallage dresse my Tomb: Adde a Cypresse-sprig thereto, With a teare; and so Adieu.

Great boast, small rost.

OF Flanks and Chines of Beefe doth Gorrell boast He has at home; but who tasts boil'd or rost? Look in his Brine-tub, and you shall find there Two stiffe-blew-Pigs-feet, and a sow's cleft eare.

Upon a Bleare-ey'd woman.

WIther'd with yeeres, and bed-rid Mumma lyes; Dry-rosted all, but raw yet in her eyes.

The Fairie Temple: or, Oberons Chappell. Dedicated to Mr. John Merrifield, Counsellor at Law.

RAre Temples thou hast seen, I know, And rich for in and outward show: Survey this Chappell, built, alone, Without or Lime, or Wood, or Stone: Then say, if one th'ast seene more fine Then this, the Fairies once, now Thine.

The Temple.

AWay enchac't with glasse & beads There is, that to the Chappel leads: Whose structure (for his holy rest) Is here the Halcion's curious nest: Into the which who looks shall see His Temple of Idolatry: Where he of God-heads has such store, As Rome's Pantheon had not more. His house of Rimmon, this he calls, Girt with small bones, instead of walls. First, in a Neech, more black then jet, His Idol-Cricket there is set: Then in a Polisht Ovall by There stands his Idol-Beeile-flie: Next in an Arch, akin to this, His Idol-Canker seated is: Then in a Round, is plac't by these, His golden god, Cantharides. So that where ere ye look, ye see, No Capitoll, no Cornish free, Or Freeze, from this fine Fripperie.

Now this the Fairies wo'd have known, Theirs is a mixt Religion. And some have heard the Elves it call Part Pagan, part Papisticall. If unto me all Tongues were granted, I co'd not speak the Saints here painted. Saint Tit, Saint Nit, Saint Is, Saint Itis, Who 'gainst Mabs-state plac't here right is. Saint Will o'th'Wispe (of no great bignes) But alias call'd here Fatuus ignis. Saint Frip, Saint Trip, Saint Fill, S. Fillie, Neither those other-Saint-ships will I Here goe about for to recite Their number (almost) infinite, Which one by one here set downe are In this most curious Calendar. First, at the entrance of the gate, A little-Puppet-Priest doth wait, Who squeaks to all the commers there, Favour your tongues, who enter here. Pure hands bring hither, without staine. A second pules, Hence, hence, profane. Hard by, i'th'shell of halfe a nut, The Holy-water there is put: A little brush of Squirrils haires, (Compos'd of odde, not even paires) Stands in the Platter, or close by, To purge the Fairie Family. Neere to the Altar stands the Priest, There off'ring up the Holy-Grist: Ducking in Mood, and perfect Tense, With (much-good-do't him) reverence. The Altar is not here foure-square, Nor in a forme Triangular; Nor made of glasse, or wood, or stone, But of a little Transverce bone;

Which boyes, and Bruckel'd children call (Playing for Points and Pins) Cockall. Whose Linnen-Drapery is a thin Subtile and ductile Codlin's skin; Which o're the board is smoothly spred, With little Seale-work Damasked. The Fringe that circumbinds it too, Is Spangle-work of trembling dew, Which, gently gleaming, makes a show, Like Frost-work glitt'ring on the Snow. Upon this fetuous board doth stand Something for Shew-bread, and at hand (Just in the middle of the Altar) Upon an end, the Fairie-Psalter, Grac't with the Trout-flies curious wings, Which serve for watched Ribbanings. Now, we must know, the Elves are led Right by the Rubrick, which they read. And if Report of them be true, They have their Text for what they doo; I, and their Book of Canons too. And, as Sir Thomas Parson tells, They have their Book of Articles: And if that Fairie Knight not lies, They have their Book of Homilies: And other Scriptures, that designe A short, but righteous discipline. The Bason stands the board upon To take the Free-Oblation: A little Pin-dust; which they hold More precious, then we prize our gold: Which charity they give to many Poore of the Parish, (if there's any) Upon the ends of these neat Railes (Hatcht, with the Silver-light of snails) The Elves, in formall manner, fix

Two pure, and holy Candlesticks: In either which a small tall bent Burns for the Altars ornament. For sanctity, they have, to these, Their curious Copes and Surplices Of cleanest Cobweb, hanging by In their Religious Vesterie. They have their Ash-pans, & their Brooms To purge the Chappel and the rooms: Their many mumbling Masse-priests here, And many a dapper Chorister. Their ush'ring Vergers, here likewise, Their Canons, and their Chaunteries: Of Cloyster-Monks they have enow, J, and their Abby-Lubbers too: And if their Legend doe not lye, They much affect the Papacie: And since the last is dead, there's hope, Elve Boniface shall next be Pope. They have their Cups and Chalices; Their Pardons and Indulgences: Their Beads of Nits, Bels, Books, & Wax Candles (forsooth) and other knacks: Their Holy Oyle, their Fasting-Spittle; Their sacred Salt here, (not a little.) Dry chips, old shooes, rags, grease, & bones; Beside their Fumigations, To drive the Devill from the Cod-piece Of the Fryar, (of work an odde-piece.) Many a trifle too, and trinket, And for what use, scarce man wo'd think Next, then, upon the Chanters side (it. An Apples-core is hung up dry'd, With ratling Kirnils, which is rung To call to Morn, and Even-Song. The Saint, to which the most he prayes

And offers Incense Nights and dayes, The Lady of the Lobster is, Whose foot-pace he doth stroak & kisse; And, humbly, chives of Saffron brings, For his most cheerfull offerings. When, after these, h'as paid his vows, He lowly to the Altar bows: And then he dons the Silk-worms shed, (Like a Turks Turbant on his head) And reverently departeth thence, Hid in a cloud of Frankincense: And by the glow-worms light wel guided, Goes to the Feast that's now provided.

To Mistresse Katherine Bradshaw, the lovely, that crowned him with Laurel.

MY Muse in Meads has spent her many houres, Sitting, and sorting severall sorts of flowers, To make for others garlands; and to set On many a head here, many a Coronet: But, amongst All encircled here, not one Gave her a day of Coronation; Till you (sweet Mistresse) came and enterwove A Laurel for her, (ever young as love) You first of all crown'd her; she must of due, Render for that, a crowne of life to you.

The Plaudite, or end of life.

IF after rude and boystrous seas, My wearyed Pinnace here finds ease: If so it be I've gain'd the shore With safety of a faithful Ore: If having run my Barque on ground, Ye see the aged Vessell crown'd:

What's to be done? but on the Sands Ye dance, and sing, and now clap hands. The first Act's doubtfull, (but we say) It is the last commends the Play.

To the most vertuous Mistresse Pot, who many times entertained him.

WHen I through all my many Poems look, And see your selfe to beautifie my Book; Me thinks that onely lustre doth appeare A Light ful-filling all the Region here. Guild still with flames this Firmament, and be A Lamp Eternall to my Poetrie. Which if it now, or shall hereafter shine, 'Twas by your splendour (Lady) not by mine. The Oile was yours; and that I owe for yet: He payes the halfe, who do's confesse the Debt.

To Musique, to becalme his Fever.

1.

CHarm me asleep, and melt me so With thy Delicious Numbers; That being ravisht, hence I goe Away in easie slumbers. Ease my sick head, And make my bed, Thou Power that canst sever From me this ill: And quickly still: Though thou not kill My Fever.

2.

Thou sweetly canst convert the same From a consuming fire, Into a gentle-licking flame, And make it thus expire.

Then make me weep My paines asleep; And give me such reposes, That I, poore I, May think, thereby, I live and die 'Mongst Roses,

2.

Fall on me like a silent dew, Or like those Maiden showrs, Which, by the peepe of day, doe strew A Baptime o're the flowers. Melt, melt my paines, With thy soft straines; That having ease me given, With full delight, I leave this light; And take my flight For Heaven.

Upon a Gentlewoman with a sweet Voice.

SO long you did not sing, or touch your Lute, We knew 'twas Flesh and Blood, that there sate mute. But when your Playing, and your Voice came in, 'Twas no more you then, but a Cherubin.

Upon Cupid.

AS lately I a Garland bound, 'Mongst Roses, I there Cupid found: I took him, put him in my cup, And drunk with Wine, I drank him up. Hence then it is, that my poore brest Co'd never since find any rest.

Upon Julia's breasts.

DIsplay thy breasts, my Julia, there let me Behold that circummortall purity: Betweene whose glories, there my lips Ile lay, Ravisht, in that faire Via Lactea.

Best to be merry.

FOoles are they, who never know How the times away doe goe: But for us, who wisely see Where the bounds of black Death be: Let's live merrily, and thus Gratifie the Genius.

The Changes to Corinna.

BE not proud, but now encline Your soft eare to Discipline. You have changes in your life, Sometimes peace, and sometimes strife: You have ebbes of face and flowes, As your health or comes, or goes; You have hopes, and doubts, andfeares Numberlesse, as are your haires. You have Pulses that doe beat High, and passions lesse of heat. You are young, but must be old, And, to these, ye must be told, Time, ere long, will come and plow Loathed Furrowes in your brow: And the dimnesse of your eye Will no other thing imply, But you must die As well as I.

No Lock against Letcherie.

BArre close as you can, and bolt fast too your doore, To keep out the Letcher, and keep in the whore: Yet, quickly you'l see by the turne of a pin, The Whore to come out, or the Letcher come in.

Neglect.

ARt quickens Nature; Care will make a face: Neglected beauty perisheth apace.

Upon himselfe.

MOp-ey'd I am, as some have said, Because I've liv'd so long a maid: But grant that I sho'd wedded be, Sho'd I a jot the better see? No, I sho'd think, that Marriage might, Rather then mend, put out the light.

Upon a Physitian.

THou cam'st to cure me (Doctor) of my cold, And caught'st thy selfe the more by twenty fold: Prethee goe home; and for thy credit be First cur'd thy selfe; then come and cure me.

Upon Sudds a Laundresse.

SUdds Launders Bands in pisse; and starches them Both with her Husband's, and her own tough fleame,

To the Rose. Song.

1.

GOe happy Rose, and enterwove With other Flowers, bind my Love. Tell her too, she must not be, Longer flowing, longer free, That so oft has fetter'd me.

2.

Say (if she's fretfull) I have bands Of Pearle, and Gold, to bind her hands: Tell her, if she struggle still, I have Mirtle rods, (at will) For to tame, though not to kill.

3.

Take thou my blessing, thus, and goe, And tell her this, but doe not so, Left a handsome anger flye, Like a Lightning, from her eye, And burn thee'up, as well as I.

Upon Guesse. Epig.

GUesse cuts his shooes, and limping, goes about To have men think he's troubled with the Gout: But 'tis no Gout (beleeve it) but hard Beere, Whose acrimonious humour bites him here.

To his Booke.

THou art a plant sprung up to wither never, But like a Laurell, to grow green for ever.

Upon a painted Gentlewoman.

MEn say y'are faire; and faire ye are, 'tis true; But (Hark!) we praise the Painter now, not you.

Upon a crooked Maid.

CRooked you are, but that dislikes not me; So you be straight, where Virgins straight sho'd be:

Draw Gloves.

AT Draw-Gloves we'l play, And prethee, let's lay A wager, and let it be this; Who first to the Summe Of twenty shall come, Shall have for his winning a kisse.

To Musick, to becalme a sweet-sick-youth.

CHarms, that call down the moon from out her sphere, On this sick youth work your enchantments here: Bind up his senses with your numbers, so, As to entrance his paine, or cure his woe. Fall gently, gently, and a while him keep Lost in the civill Wildernesse of sleep: That done, then let him, dispossest of painc, Like to a slumbring Bride, awake againe.

To the High and Noble Prince, GEORGE, Duke, Marquesse, and Earle of Buckingham.

NEver my Book's perfection did appeare, Til I had got the name of VILLARS here. Now 'tis so full, that when therein I look, I see a Cloud of Glory fills my Book. Here stand it stil to dignifie our Muse, Your sober Hand-maid; who doth wisely chuse, Your Name to be a Laureat Wreathe to Hir, Who doth both love and feare you Honour'd Sir.

His Recantation.

LOve, I recant, And pardon crave, That lately I offended, But 'twas, Alas, To make a brave, But no disdaine intended.

No more Ile vaunt, For now I see, Thou onely hast the power, To find, And bind A heart that's free, And slave it in an houre.

The comming of good luck.

SO Good-luck came, and on my roofe did light, Like noyse-lesse Snow; or as the dew of night: Not all at once, but gently, as the trees Are, by the Sun-beams, tickel'd by degrees.

The Present: or, The Bag of the Bee.

FLy to my Mistresse, pretty pilfring Bee, And say, thou bring'st this Hony-bag from me: When on her lip, thou hast thy sweet dew plac't, Mark, if her tongue, but slily, steale a taste. If so, we live; if not, with mournfull humme, Tole forth my death; next, to my buryall come.

On Love.

LOve bade me aske a gift, And I no more did move, But this, that I might shift Still with my clothes, my Love: That favour granted was; Since which, though I love many, Yet so it comes to passe, That long I love not any.

The Hock-cart, or Harvest home: To the Right Honourable, Mildmay, Earle of Westmorland.

COme Sons of Summer, by whose toile, We are the Lords of Wine and Oile: By whose tough labours, and rough hands, We rip up first, then reap our lands.

Crown'd with the eares of corne, now come, And, to the Pipe, sing Harvest home. Come forth, my Lord, and see the Cart Drest up with all the Country Art. See, here a Maukin, there a sheet, As spotlesse pure, as it is sweet: The Horses, Mares, and frisking Fillies, (Clad, all, in Linnen, white as Lillies.) The Harvest Swaines, and Wenches bound For joy, to see the Hock-cart crown'd. About the Cart, heare, how the Rout Of Rurall Younglings raise the shout; Pressing before, some coming after, Those with a shout, and these with laughter. Some blesse the Cart; some kisse the sheaves; Some prank them up with Oaken leaves: Some crosse the Fill-horse; some with great Devotion, stroak the home-borne wheat: While other Rusticks, lesse attent To Prayers, then to Merryment, Run after with their breeches rent. Well, on, brave boyes, to your Lords Hearth, Glitt'ring with fire; where, for your mirth, Ye shall see first the large and cheefe Foundation of your Feast, Fat Beefe: With Upper Stories, Mutton, Veale And Bacon, (which makes full the meale) With sev'rall dishes standing by, As here a Custard, there a Pie, And here all tempting Frumentie. And for to make the merry cheere, If smirking Wine be wanting here, There's that, which drowns all care, stout Beere; Which freely drink to your Lords health, Then to the Plough, (the Common-wealth) Next to your Flailes, your Fanes, your Fatts;

Then to the Maids with Wheaten Hats: To the rough Sickle, and crookt Sythe, Drink frollick boyes, till all be blythe. Feed, and grow fat; and as ye eat, Be mindfull, that the lab'ring Neat (As you) may have their fill of meat. And know, besides, ye must revoke The patient Oxe unto the Yoke, And all goe back unto the Plough And Harrow, (though they'r hang'd up now.) And, you must know, your Lords word's true, Feed him ye must, whose food fils you. And that this pleasure is like raine, Not sent ye for to drowne your paine, But for to make it spring againe.

The Perfume.

TOmorrow, Julia, I betimes must rise, For some small fault, to offer sacrifice: The Altar's ready; Fire to consume The fat; breathe thou, and there's the rich perfume.

Upon her Voice.

LEt but thy voice engender with the string, And Angels will be borne, while thou dost sing.

Not to love.

HE that will not love, must be My Scholar, and learn this of me: There be in Love as many feares, As the Summers Corne has eares: Sighs, and sobs, and sorrowes more Then the sand, that makes the shore:

Freezing cold, and firie heats, Fainting swoones, and deadly sweats; Now an Ague, then a Fever, Both tormenting Lovers ever. Wod'st thou know, besides all these, How hard a woman 'tis to please? How crosse, how sullen, and how soone She shifts and changes like the Moone. How false, how hollow she's in heart; And how she is her owne least part: How high she's priz'd, and worth but small; Little thou't love, or not at all.

To Musick. A Song.

MUsick, thou Queen of Heaven, Care-charming-spel, That strik'st a stilnesse into hell: Thou that tam'st Tygers, and fierce storms (that rise) With thy soule-melting Lullabies: Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming spheres, To charme our soules, as thou enchant'st our eares.

To the Western wind.

1.

SWeet Western Wind, whose luck it is, (Made rivall with the aire) To give Perenn'as lip a kisse, And fan her wanton haire.

2.

Bring me but one, Ile promise thee, Instead of common showers, Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me, And all beset with flowers.

Upon the death of his Sparrow. An Elegie.

WHy doe not all fresh maids appeare To work Love's Sampler onely here, Where spring-time smiles throughout the yeare? Are not here Rose-buds, Pinks, all flowers, Nature begets by th'Sun and showers, Met in one Hearce-cloth, to ore-spred The body of the under-dead? Phill, the late dead, the late dead Deare, O! may no eye distill a Teare For you once lost, who weep not here! Had Lesbia (too-too-kind) but known This Sparrow, she had scorn'd her own: And for this dead which under-lies, Wept out her heart, as well as eyes. But endlesse Peace, sit here, and keep My Phill, the time he has to sleep, And thousand Virgins come and weep, To make these flowrie Carpets show Fresh, as their blood; and ever grow, Till passengers shall spend their doome, Not Virgil's Gnat had such a Tomb.

To Primroses fill'd with morning-dew.

1.

WHy doe ye weep, sweet Babes? can Tears Speak griefe in you, Who were but borne Just as the modest Morne Teem'd her refreshing dew? Alas you have not known that shower, That marres a flower; Nor felt th'unkind

Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worne with yeares; Or warpt, as we, Who think it strange to see, Such pretty flowers, (like to Orphans young) To speak by Teares, before ye have a Tongue.

••••

Speak, whimp'ring Younglings, and make known The reason, why Ye droop, and weep; Is it for want of sleep? Or childish Lullabie? Or that ye have not seen as yet The Violet? Or brought a kisse From that Sweet-heart, to this? No, no, this sorrow shown By your teares shed, Wo'd have this Lecture read, That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceiv'd with grief are, and with teares brought forth.

How Roses came red.

1.

ROses at first were white, Till they co'd not agree, Whether my Sapho's breast, Or they more white sho'd be.

2.

But being vanquisht quite, A blush their cheeks bespred; Since which (beleeve the rest) The Roses first came red.

Comfort to a Lady upon the Death of her Husband.

(raine; DRy your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrows Since Clouds disperst, Suns guild the Aire again. Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and over-boile; But turne soone after calme, as Balme, or Oile. Winds have their time to rage; but when they cease, The leavie-trees nod in a still-born peace. Your storme is over; Lady, now appeare Like to the peeping-spring-time of the yeare. Off then with grave clothes; put fresh colours on; And flow, and flame, in your Vermillion. Upon your cheek sate Ysicles awhile; Now let the Rose raigne like a Queene, and smile.

How Violets came blew.

LOve on a day (wise Poets tell) Some time in wrangling spent, Whether the Violets sho'd excell, Or she, in sweetest scent.

But Venus having lost the day, Poore Girles, she fell on you; And beat ye so, (as some dare say) Her blowes did make ye blew.

Upon Groynes. Epig.

GRoynes, for his fleshly Burglary of late. Stood in the Holy-Forum Candidate: The word is Roman; but in English knowne: Penance, and standing so, are both but one.

To the Willow-tree.

1.

THou art to all lost love the best, The onely true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distrest, And left of love, are crown'd.

2.

When once the Lovers Rose is dead, Or laid aside forlorne; Then Willow-garlands, 'bout the head, Bedew'd with teares, are worne.

3.

When with Neglect, (the Lovers bane) Poore Maids rewarded be, For their love lost; their onely gaine Is but a Wreathe from thee.

4.

And underneath thy cooling shade, (When weary of the light) The love-spent Youth, and love-sick Maid, Come to weep out the night.

Mrs. Eliz. Wheeler, under the name of the lost Shepardesse.

AMong the Mirtles, as I walkt, Love and my sighs thus intertalkt: Tell me, said I, in deep distreffe, Where I may find my Shepardesse. Thou foole, said Love, know'st thou not this? In every thing that's sweet, she is. In yond' Carnation goe and seek, There thou shalt find her lip and cheek: In that ennamel'd Pansie by, There thou shalt have her curious eye:

In bloome of Peach, and Roses bud, There waves the Streamer of her blood. 'Tis true, said I, and thereupon I went to pluck them one by one, To make of parts an union; But on a sudden all were gone. At which I stopt; Said Love, these be The true resemblances of thee; For as these flowers, thy joyes must die, And in the turning of an eye; And all thy hopes of her must wither, Like those short sweets ere knit together.

TO THE KING.

IF when these Lyricks (CESAR) You shall heare. And that Apollo shall so touch Your care, As for to make this, that, or any one Number, Your owne, by free Adoption; That Verse, of all the Verses here, shall be The Heire to This great Realme of Poetry.

TO THE QUEENE.

GOddesse of Youth, and Lady of the Spring, (Most fit to be the Consort to a King) Be pleas'd to rest you in This Sacred Grove, Beset with Mirtles; whose each leafe drops Love. Many a sweet-fac't Wood-Nymph here is seene, Of which chast Order You are now the Queene: Witnesse their Homage, when they come and strew Your Walks with Flowers, and give their Crowns to you. Your Leavie-Throne (with Lilly-work) possesse; And be both Princesse here, and Poetresse.

The Poets good wishes for the most hopefull and handsome Prince, the Duke of Yorke.

MAy his pretty Duke-ship grow Like t'a Rose of Jericho: Sweeter far, then ever yet Showrs or Sun-shines co'd beget. May the Graces, and the Howers Strew his hopes, and Him with flowers: And so dresse him up with Love, As to be the Chick of Jove. May the thrice-three-Sisters sing Him the Soveraigne of their Spring: And entitle none to be Prince of Hellicon, but He. May his soft foot, where it treads, Gardens thence produce and Meads: And those Meddowes full be set With the Rose, and Violet. May his ample Name be knowne To the last succession: And his actions high be told Through the world, but writ in gold.

To Anthea, who may command him any thing.

BId me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be: Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee.

2.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free, As in the whole world thou canst find, That heart Ile give to thee.

3.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, To honour thy Decree: Or bid it languish quite away, And't shall doe so for thee.

4.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep, While I have eyes to see: And having none, yet I will keep A heart to weep for thee.

5.

Bid me despaire, and Ile despaire, Under that Cypresse tree: Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en Death, to die for thee.

6.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me: And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee.

Prevision, or Provision.

THat Prince takes soone enough the Victors roome, Who first provides, not to be overoome.

Obedience in Subjects.

THe Gods to Kings the Judgement give to sway: The Subjects onely glory to obay.

More potent, lesse peccant.

HE that may sin, sins least; Leave to transgresse Enfeebles much the seeds of wickednesse.

Upon a maid that dyed the day she was marryed.

THat Morne which saw me made a Bride, The Ev'ning witnest that I dy'd. Those holy lights, wherewith they guide Unto the bed the bashfull Bride; Serv'd, but as Tapers, for to burne, And light my Reliques to their Urne. This Epitaph, which here you see, Supply'd the Epithalamie.

Upon Pink an ill-fac'd Painter. Epig.

TO paint the Fiend, Pink would the Devill see; And so he may, if he'll be rul'd by me: Let but Pink's face i'th Looking-glasse be showne, And Pink may paint the Devill's by his owne.

Upon Brock. Epig.

TO clense his eyes, Tom Brock makes much adoe, But not his mouth (the fouler of the two.) A clammie Reume makes loathsome both his eyes: His mouth worse furr'd with oathes and blasphemies.

To Meddowes.

1.

YE have been fresh and green, Ye have been fill'd with flowers: And ye the Walks have been Where Maids have spent their houres.

2.

You have beheld, how they With Wicker Arks did come To kisse, and beare away The richer Couslips home.

3.

Y'ave heard them sweetly sing, And seen them in a Round: Each Virgin, like a Spring, With Hony-succles crown'd.

4.

But now, we see, none here, Whose silv'rie feet did tread, And with dishevell'd Haire, Adorn'd this smoother Mead.

5.

Like Unthrifts, having spent, Your stock, and needy grown, Y'are left here to lament Your poore estates, alone.

Crosses.

THough good things answer many good intents; Crosses doe still bring forth the best events.

Miseries.

THough hourely comforts from the Gods we see, No life is yet life-proofe from miserie.

Laugh and lie downe.

Y'Ave laught enough (sweet) vary now your Text; And laugh no more; or laugh, and lie down next.

To his Houshold gods.

RIse, Houshold-gods, and let us goe; But whither, I my selfe not know. First, let us dwell on rudest seas; Next, with severest Salvages; Last, let us make our best abode, Where humane foot, as yet, ne'r trod: Search worlds of Ice; and rather there Dwell, then in lothed Devonshire.

To the Nightingale, and Robin-Red-brest.

WHen I departed am, ring thou my knell, Thou pittifull, and pretty Philomel: And when I'm laid out for a Corse; then be Thou Sexton (Red-brest) for to cover me.

To the Yew and Cypresse to grace his Funerall.

1.

BOth you two have Relation to the grave: And where The Fun'rall-Trump sounds, you are there.

2.

I shall be made Ere long a fleeting shade: Pray come, And doe some honour to my Tomb.

3.

Do not deny My last request; for I Will be Thankfull to you, or friends, for me.

I call and I call.

I Call, I call, who doe ye call? The Maids to catch this Cowslip-ball: But since these Cowslips fading be, Troth, leave the flowers, and Maids, take me. Yet, if that neither you will doe, Speak but the word, and Ile take you.

On a perfum'd Lady.

YOu say y'are sweet; how sho'd we know Whether that you be sweet or no? From Powders and Perfumes keep free; Then we shall smell how sweet you be.

A Nuptiall Song, or Epithalamie, on Sir Clipseby Crew and his Lady.

1.

WHat's that we see from far? the spring of Day Bloom'd from the East, or faire Injewel'd May Blowne out of April; or some New- Star fill'd with glory to our view, Reaching at heaven, To adde a nobler Planet to the seven? Say, or doe we not descrie Some Goddesse, in a cloud of Tiffanie To move, or rather the Emergent Venus from the Sea?

2.

'Tis she! 'tis she! or else some more Divine Enlightned substance; mark how from the Shrine Of holy Saints she paces on, Treading upon Vermilion And Amber; Spice∣ing the Chafte Aire with fumes of Paradise. Then come on, come on, and yeeld A savour like unto a blessed field, When the bedabled Morne Washes the golden eares of corne.

3.

See where she comes; and smell how all the street Breathes Vine-yards and Pomgranats: O how sweet! As a fir'd Altar, is each stone, Perspiring pounded Cynamon. The Phenix nest, Built up of odours, burneth in her breast. Who therein wo'd not consume His soule to Ash-heaps in that rich perfume? Bestroaking Fate the while He burnes to Embers on the Pile.

4.

Himen, O Himen! Tread the sacred ground; Shew thy white feet, and head with Marjoram crown'd Mount up thy flames, and let thy Torch Display the Bridegroom in the porch, In his desires More towring, more disparkling then thy fires: Shew her how his eyes do turne And roule about, and in their motions burne Their balls to Cindars: haste, Or else to ashes he will waste.

5.

Glide by the banks of Virgins then, and passe The Shewers of Roses, lucky-foure-leav'd grasse: The while the cloud of younglings sing, And drown yee with a flowrie Spring: While some repeat Your praise, and bless you, sprinkling you with Wheat: While that others doe divine; Blest is the Bride, on whom the Sun doth shine; And thousands gladly wish You multiply, as doth a Fish.

6.

And beautious Bride we do confess y'are wise, In dealing forth these bashfull jealousies: In Lov's name do so; and a price Set on your selfe, by being nice: But yet take heed; What now you seem, be not the same indeed, And turne Apostate: Love will Part of the way be met; or sit stone-still. On then, and though you slow∣ly go, yet, howsoever, go.

7.

And now y'are enter'd; see the Codled Cook Runs from his Torrid Zone, to prie, and look, And blesse his dainty Mistresse: see, The Aged point out, This is she, Who now must sway The House (Love shield her) with her Yea and Nay: And the smirk Butler thinks it Sin, in's Nap'rie, not to express his wit; Each striving to devise Some gin, wherewith to catch your eyes.

8.

To bed, to bed, kind Turtles, now, and write This the short'st day, and this the longest night; But yet too short for you: 'tis we, Who count this night as long as three, Lying alone, Telling the Clock strike Ten, Eleven, Twelve, One. Quickly, quickly then prepare; And let the Young-men and the Bride-maids share Your Garters; and their joynts Encircle with the Bride-grooms Points.

9.

By the Brides eyes, and by the teeming life Of her green hopes, we charge ye, that no strife (Farther then Gentlenes tends) gets place Among ye, striving for her lace: O doe not fall Foule in these noble pastimes, lest ye call Discord in, and so divide The youthfull Bride-groom, and the fragrant Bride: Which Love fore-fend; but spoken, Be't to your praise, no peace was broken.

10.

Strip her of Spring-time, tender-whimpring-maids, Now Autumne's come, when all those flowrie aids Of her Delayes must end; Dispose That Lady-smock, that Pansie, and that Rose Neatly apart; But for Prick-madam, and for Gentle-heart; And soft-Maidens-blush, the Bride Makes holy these, all others lay aside: Then strip her, or unto her Let him come, who dares undo her.

11.

And to enchant yee more, see every where About the Roofe a Syren in a Sphere; (As we think) singing to the dinne Of many a warbling Cherubim: O marke yee how The soule of Nature melts in numbers: now See, a thousand Cupids flye, To light their Tapers at the Brides bright eye. To Bed; or her they'l tire, Were she an Element of fire.

12.

And to your more bewitching, see, the proud Plumpe Bed beare up, and swelling like a cloud, Tempting the two too modest; can Yee see it brusle like a Swan, And you be cold To meet it, when it woo's and seemes to fold The Armes to hugge it? throw, throw Your selves into the mighty over-flow Of that white Pride, and Drowne The night, with you, in floods of Downe.

13.

The bed is ready, and the maze of Love Lookes for the treaders; every where is wove Wit and new misterie; read, and Put in practise, to understand And know each wile, Each hieroglyphick of a kisse or smile; And do it to the full; reach High in your own conceipt, and some way teach Nature and Art, one more Play, then they ever knew before.

14.

If needs we must for Ceremonies-sake, Blesse a Sack-posset; Luck go with it; take The Night-Charme quickly; you have spells, And magicks for to end, and hells, To passe; but such And of such Torture as no one would grutch To live therein for ever: Frie And consume, and grow again to die, And live, and in that case, Love the confusion of the place.

15.

But since It must be done, dispatch, and sowe Up in a sheet your Bride, and what if so It be with Rock, or walles of Brasse, Ye Towre her up, as Danae was; Thinke you that this, Or hell it selfe a powerfull Bulwarke is? I tell yee no; but like a Bold bolt of thunder he will make his way, And rend the cloud, and throw The sheet about, like flakes of snow.

16.

All now is husht in silence; Midwife-moone, With all her Owle-ey'd issue begs a boon Which you must grant; that's entrance; with Which extract, all we can call pith And quintiscence Of Planetary bodies; so commence All faire Constellations Looking upon yee, that, That Nations Springing from two such Fires, May blaze the vertue of their Sires.

The silken Snake.

FOr sport my Julia threw a Lace Of silke and silver at my face: Watchet the silke was; and did make A shew, as if't'ad been a snake: The suddenness did me affright; But though it scar'd, it did not bite.

Upon himselfe.

IAm Sive-like, and can hold Nothing hot, or nothing cold. Put in Love, and put in too Jealousie, and both will through: Put in Feare, and hope, and doubt; What comes in, runnes quickly out: Put in secrecies withall, What ere enters, out it shall: But if you can stop the Sive, For mine own part I'de as lieve, Maides sho'd say, or Virgins sing, Herrick keeps, as holds nothing.

Upon Love.

LOve's a thing, (as I do heare) Ever full of pensive feare; Rather then to which I'le fall, Trust me, I'le not like at all: If to love I should entend, Let my haire then stand an end: And that terrour likewise prove, Fatall to me in my love. But if horrour cannot slake Flames, which wo'd an entrance make; Then the next thing I desire, Is to love, and live i'th fire.

Reverence to Riches.

LIke to the Income must be our expence; Mans Fortune must be had in reverence.

Devotion makes the Deity.

WHo formes a Godhead out of Gold or Stone, Makes not a God; but he that prayes to one.

To all young men that love.

I Could wish you all, who love, That ye could your thoughts remove From your Mistresses, and be, Wisely wanton (like to me.) I could wish you dispossest Of that Fiend that marres your rest; And with Tapers comes to fright Your weake senses in the night.

I co'd wish, ye all, who frie Cold as Ice, or coole as I. But if flames best like ye, then Much good do't ye Gentlemen. I a merry heart will keep, While you wring your hands and weep.

The Eyes.

'TIs a known principle in War, The eies be first, that conquer'd are.

No fault in women.

NO fault in women to refuse The offer, which they most wo'd chuse. No fault in women, to confesse How tedious they are in their dresse. No fault in women, to lay on The tincture of Vermillion: And there to give the cheek a die Of white, where nature doth deny. No fault in women, to make show Of largeness, when th'are nothing so: (When true it is, the out-side swels With inward Buckram, little else.) No fault in women, though they be But seldome from suspition free: No fault in womankind, at all, If they but slip, and never fall.

Upon Shark. Epig.

SHark when he goes to any publick feast, Eates to ones thinking, of all there, the least. What saves the master of the House thereby? When if the servants search, they may descry In his wide Codpeece, (dinner being done) Two Napkins cram'd up, and a silver Spoone.

Oberons Feast.

SHapcot! To thee tha Fairy State I with discretion, dedicate. Because thou prizest things that are Curious, and un-familiar. Take first the feast; these dishes gone; Wee'l see the Fairy-Court anon.

ALittle mushroome table spred, After short prayers, they set on bread; A Moon-parcht grain of purest wheat, With some small glit'ring gritt, to eate His choyce bitts with; then in a trice They make a feast lesse great then nice. But all this while his eye is serv'd, We must not thinke his eare was sterv'd: But that there was in place to stir His Spleen, the chirring Grashopper; The merry Cricket, puling Flie, The piping Gnat for minstralcy. And now, we must imagine first, The Elves present to quench his thirst A pure seed-Pearle of Infant dew,

Brought and besweetned in a blew And pregnant violet; which done, His kitling eyes begin to runne Quite through the table, where he spies The hornes of paperie Butterflies, Of which he eates, and tastes a little Of that we call the Cuckoes spittle. A little Fuz-ball-pudding stands By, yet not blessed by his hands, That was too coorse; but then forthwith He ventures boldly on the pith Of sugred Rush, and eates the sagge And well bestrutted Bees sweet bagge: Gladding his pallat with some store Of Emits eggs; what wo'd he more? But Beards of Mice, a Newt's stew'dthigh, A bloated Earewig, and a Flie; With the Red-capt worme, that's shut Within the concave of a Nut, Browne as his Tooth. A little Moth, Late fatned in a piece of cloth: With withered cherries; Mandrakes eares; Moles eyes; to these, the slain-Stags teares: The unctuous dewlaps of a Snaile; The broke-heart of a Nightingale Ore-come in musicke; with a wine, Ne're ravisht from the flattering Vine, But gently prest from the soft side Of the most sweet and dainty Bride, Brought in a dainty daizie, which He fully quaffs up to bewitch His blood to height; this done, commended Grace by his Priest; The feast is ended.

Event of things not in our power.

BY Time, and Counsell, doe the best we can, Th'event is never in the power of man.

Vpon her blush.

WHen Julia blushes, she do's show Cheeks like to Roses, when they blow.

Merits make the man.

OUr Honours, and our Commendations be Due to the Merits, not Authoritie.

To Virgins.

HEare ye Virgins, and Ile teach, What the times of old did preach. Rosamond was in a Bower Kept, as Danae in a Tower: But yet Love (who subtile is) Crept to that, and came to this. Be ye lockt up like to these, Or the rich Hesperides; Or those Babies in your eyes, In their Christall Nunneries; Notwithstanding Love will win, Or else force a passage in: And as coy be, as you can, Gifts will get ye, or the man.

Vertue.

EAch must, in vertue, strive for to excell; That man lives twice, that lives the first life well.

The Bell-man.

FRom noise of Scare-fires rest ye free, From Murders Benedicitie. From all mischances, that may fright Your pleasing slumbers in the night: Mercie secure ye all, and keep The Goblin from ye, while ye sleep. Past one aclock, and almost two, My Masters all, Good day to you.

Bashfulnesse.

OF all our parts, the eyes expresse The sweetest kind of bashfulnesse.

To the most accomplisht Gentleman, Master Edward Norgate, Clark of the Signet to His Majesty. Epig.

FOr one so rarely tun'd to fit all parts; For one to whom espous'd are all the Arts; Long have I sought for: but co'd never see Them all concenter'd in one man, but Thee. Thus, thou, that man art, whom the Fates conspir'd To make but One (and that's thy selfe) admir'd.

Upon Brudence Baldwin her sicknesse.

PRue, my dearest Maid, is sick, Almost to be Lunatick: AEsculapius! come and bring Means for her recovering; And a gallant Cock shall be Offer'd up by Her, to Thee.

To Apollo. A short Hymne.

PHoebus! when that I a Verse, Or some numbers more rehearse; Tune my words, that they may fall, Each way smoothly Musicall: For which favour, there shall be Swans devoted unto thee.

A Hymne to Bacchus.

BAcchus, let me drink no more; Wild are Seas, that want a shore. When our drinking has no stint, There is no one pleasure in't. I have drank up for to please Thee, that great cup Hercules: Urge no more; and there shall be Daffadills g'en up to Thee.

Upon Bungie.

BUngie do's fast; looks pale; puts Sack-cloth on; Not out of Conscience, or Religion:

Or that this Yonker keeps so strict a Lent, Fearing to break the Kings Commandement: But being poore, and knowing Flesh is deare, He keeps not one, but many Lents i'th'yeare.

On himselfe.

HEre down my wearyed limbs Ile lay; My Pilgrims staffe; my weed of gray: My Palmers hat; my Scallops shell; My Crosse; my Cord; and all farewell, For having now my journey done, (Just at the setting of the Sun) Here I have found a Chamber fit, (God and good friends be thankt for it) Where if I can a lodger be A little while from Tramplers free; At my up-rising next, I shall, If not requite, yet thank ye all. Meane while, the Holy-Rood hence fright The fouler Fiend, and evill Spright, From scaring you or yours this night.

Casualties.

GOod things, that come of course, far lesse doe please, Then those, which come by sweet contingences.

Bribes and Gifts get all.

DEad falls the Cause, if once the Hand be mute; But let that speak, the Client gets the suit.

The end.

IF well thou hast begun, goe on fore-right; It is the End that crownes us, not the Fight.

Upon a child that dyed.

HEre she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood: Who, as soone, fell fast asleep, As her lirtle eyes did peep. Give her strewings; but not stir The earth, that lightly covers her.

Upon Sneape. Epig.

SNeape has a face so brittle, that it breaks Forth into blushes, whensoere he speaks.

Content, not cates.

TIs not the food, but the content That makes the Tables merriment. Where Trouble serves the board, we eate The Platters there, as soone as meat. A little Pipkin with a bit Of Mutton, or of Veale in it, Set on my Table, (Trouble-free) More then a Feast contenteth me.

The Entertainment: or, Porch-verse, at the Marriage of Mr. Hen. Northly, and the most witty Mrs. Lettice Yard.

WEelcome! but yet no entrance, till we blesse First you, then you, and both for white successe. Profane no Porch young man and maid, for fear Ye wrong the Threshold-god, that keeps peace here: Please him, and then all good-luck will betide You, the brisk Bridegroome, you the dainty Bride. Do all things sweetly, and in comely wise; Put on your Garlands first, then Sacrifice: That done; when both of you have seemly fed, We'll call on Night, to bring ye both to Bed: Where being laid, all Faire signes looking on, Fish-like, encrease then to a million: And millions of spring-times may ye have, Which spent, on death, bring to ye both one Grave.

The good-night or Blessing.

BLessings, in abundance come, To the Bride, and to her Groome; May the Bed, and this short night, Know the fulness of delight! Pleasures, many here attend ye, And ere long, a Boy Love send ye Curld and comely, and so trimme, Maides (in time) may ravish him. Thus a dew of Graces fall On ye both; Goodnight to all.

Upon Leech.

LEech boasts, he has a Pill, that can alone, With speed give sick men their salvation: 'Tis strange, his Father long time has been ill, And credits Physick, yet not trusts his Pill: And why? he knowes he must of Cure despaire, Who makes the slie Physitian his Heire.

To Daffadills.

FAire Daffadills, we weep to see You haste away so soone: As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd his Noone. Stay, stay, Untill the hasting day Has run But to the Even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will goe with you along.

2.

We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring; As quick a growth to meet Decay, As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours doe, and drie Away, Like to the Summers raine; Or as the pearles of Mornings dew Ne'r to be found againe.

To a Maid.

YOu say, you love me; that I thus must prove; If that you lye, then I will sweare you love.

Upon a Lady that dyed in child-bed, and left a daughter behind her.

AS Gilly flowers do but stay To blow, and seed, and so away; So you sweetLady (sweet as May) The gardens-glory liv'd a while, To lend the world your scent and smile. But when your own faire print was set Once in a Virgin Flosculet, (Sweet as your selfe, and newly blown) To give that life, resign'd your own: But so, as still the mothers power Lives in the pretty Lady-flower.

A New-yeares gift sent to Sir Simeon Steward.

NO newes of Navies burnt at Seas; No noise of late spawn'd Tittyries: No closset plot, or open vent, That frights men with a Parliament: No new devise, or late found trick, To read by th'Starres, the Kingdoms sick: No ginne to catch the State, or wring The free-born Nosthrill of the King, We send to you; but here a jolly Verse crown'd with Yvie, and with Holly: That tels of Winters Tales and Mirth, That Milk-maids make about the hearth,

Of Christmas sports, the Wassell-boule, That tost up, after Fox-i'th'hole: Of Blind-man-buffe, and of the care That young men have to shooe the Mare: Of Twelf-tide Cakes, of Pease, and Beanes Wherewith ye make those merry Sceanes, When as ye chuse your King and Queen, And cry out, Hey, for our town green. Of Ash-heapes, in the which ye use Husbands and Wives by streakes to chuse: Of crackling Laurell, which fore-sounds, A Plentious harvest to your grounds: Of these, and such like things, for shift, We send in stead of New-yeares gift. Read then, and when your faces shine With bucksome meat and capring Wine: Remember us in Cups full crown'd, And let our Citie-health go round, Quite through the young maids and the men, To the ninth number, if not tenne; Untill the fired Chesnuts leape For joy, to see the fruits ye reape, From the plumpe Challice, and the Cup, That tempts till it be tossed up: Then as ye sit about your embers, Call not to mind those fled Decembers; But think on these, that are t'appeare, As Daughters to the instant yeare: Sit crown'd with Rose-buds, and carouse, Till Liber Pater twirles the house About your eares; and lay upon The yeare (your cares) that's fled and gon. And let the russet Swaines the Plough And Harrow hang up resting now; And to the Bag-pipe all addresse; Till sleep takes place of wearinesse.

And thus, throughout, with Christmas playes Frolick the full twelve Holy-dayes.

Mattens, or morning Prayer.

WHen with the Virgin morning thou do'st rise, Crossing thy selfe; come thus to sacrifice: First wash thy heart in innocence, then bring Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing. Next to the Altar humbly kneele, and thence, Give up thy soule in clouds of frankinsence. Thy golden Censors fil'd with odours sweet, Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet.

Evensong.

BEginne with Jove; then is the worke halfe done; And runnes most smoothly, when tis well begunne. Jove's is the first and last: The Morn's his due, The midst is thine; But Joves the Evening too; As sure a Mattins do's to him belong, So sure he layes claime to the Evensong.

The Braclet to Julia.

WHy I tye about thy wrist, Julia, this my silken twist; For what other reason is't, But to shew thee how in part, Thou my pretty Captive art? But thy Bondslave is my heart: 'Tis but silke that bindeth thee, Knap the thread, and thou are free: But 'tis otherwise with me; I am bound, and fast bound so, That from thee I cannot go; If I co'd, I wo'd not so.

The Christian Militant.

A Man prepar'd against all ills to come, That dares to dead the fire of martirdome: That sleeps at home; and sayling there at ease, Feares not the fierce sedition of the Seas: That's counter-proofe against the Farms mis-haps, Undreadfull too of courtly thunderclaps: That weares one face (like heaven) and never showes A change, when Fortune either comes, or goes: That keepes his own strong guard, in the despight Of what can hurt by day, or harme by night: That takes and re-delivers every stroake Of Chance, (as made up all of rock, and oake:) That sighs at others death; smiles at his own Most dire and horrid crucifixion. Who for true glory suffers thus; we grant Him to be here our Christian militant.

A short Hymne to Larr.

THough I cannot give thee fires Glit'ring to my free desires: These accept, and Ile be free, Offering Poppy unto thee.

Another to Neptune.

MIghty Neptune, may it please Thee, the Rector of the Seas, That my Barque may safely runne Through thy watrie-region; And a Tunnie-fish shall be Offer'd up, with thanks to thee.

Upon Greedy. Epig.

AN old, old widow Greedy needs wo'd wed, Not for affection to her, or her Bed; But in regard, 'twas often said, this old Woman wo'd bring him more then co'd be told, He tooke her; now the jestn ithis appeares, So old she was, that none co'd tell her yeares.

His embalming to Julia.

FOr my embalming, Julia, do but this, Give thou my lips but their supreamest kiss: Or else trans-fuse thy breath into the chest, Where my small reliques must for ever rest: That breath the Balm, the myrrh, the Nard shal be, To give an incorruption unto me.

Gold, before Goodnesse.

HOw rich a man is, all desire to know; But none enquires if good he be, or no.

The Kisse. A Dialogue.

1.

AMong thy Fancies, tell me this, What is the thing we call a kisse?

2.

I shall resolve ye, what it is.

It is a creature born and bred Between the lips, (all cherrie-red,) By love and warme desires fed,

Chor.

And makes more soft the Bridall Bed.

2.

It is an active flame, that flies, First to the Babies of the eyes; And charmes them there with lullabies;

Chor.

And stils the Bride too, when she cries.

2.

Then to the chin, the cheek, the eare, It frisks, and flyes, now here, now there, 'Tis now farre off, and then tis nere;

Chor.

And here, and there, and every where.

1.

Ha's it a speaking virtue? 2. Yes; 1. How speaks it, say? 2. Do you but this, Part your joyn'd lips, then speaks your kisse;

Chor.

And this loves sweetest language is.

1.

Has it a body? 2. I, and wings With thousand rare encolourings: And as it flyes, it gently sings,

Chor.

Love, honie yeelds; but never stings.

The admonition.

SEest thou those Diamonds which she weares In that rich Carkanet; Or those on her dishevel'd haires, Faire Pearles in order set? Beleeve young man all those were teares By wretched Wooers sent, In mournfull Hyacinths and Rue, That figure discontent; Which when not warmed by her view, By cold neglect, each one, Congeal'd to Pearle and stone; Which precious spoiles upon her, She weares as trophees of her honour. Ah then consider! What all this implies; She that will weare thy teares, wo'd weare thine eyes.

To his honoured kinsman Sir William Soame. Epig.

I Can but name thee, and methinks I call All that have been, or are canonicall For love and bountie, to come neare, and see, Their many vertues volum'd up in thee; In thee Brave Man! Whose incorrupted fame, Casts forth a light like to a Virgin flame: And as it shines, it throwes a scent about, As when a Rain-bow in perfumes goes out. So vanish shence, but leave a name, as sweet, As Benjamin, and Storax, when they meet.

On himselfe.

ASke me, why I do not sing To the tension of the string, As I did, not long ago, When my numbers full did flow? Griefe (ay me!) hath struck my Lute, And my tongue at one time mute.

To Larr.

NO more shall I, since I am driven hence, Devote to thee my graines of Frankinsence: No more shall I from mantle-trees hang downe, To honour thee, my little Parsly crown: No more shall I (I feare me) to thee bring My chives of Garlick for an offering: No more shall I, from henceforth, heare a quire Of merry Crickets by my Country fire. Go where I will, thou luckie Larr stay here, Warme by a glit'ring chimnie all the yeare.

The departure of the good Demon.

WHat can I do in Poetry, Now the good Spirit's gone from me? Why nothing now, but lonely fit, And over-read what I have writ.

Clemency.

FOr punishment in warre, it will suffice, If the chiefe author of the faction dyes; Let but few smart, but strike a feare through all: Where the fault springs, there let the judgement fall.

His age, dedicated to his peculiar friend, M. John Wickes, under the name of Posthumus.

1.

AH Posthumus! Our yeares hence flye, And leave no sound; nor piety, Or prayers, or vow Can keepe the wrinkle from the brow: But we must on, As Fate do's lead or draw us; none, None, Posthumus, co'd ere decline The doome of cruell Proserpine.

2.

The pleasing wife, the house, the ground Must all be left, no one plant found To follow thee, Save only the Curst-Cipresse tree: A merry mind Looks forward, scornes what's left behind: Let's live, my Wickes, then, while we may, And here enjoy our Holiday.

W'ave seen the past-best Times, and these Will nere return, we see the Seas, And Moons to wain; But they fill up their Ebbs again: But vanisht man, Like to a Lilly-lost, nere can, Nere can repullulate, or bring His dayes to see a second Spring.

4.

But on we must, and thither tend, Where Anchus and rich Tullus blend Their sacred seed: Thus has Infernall jove decreed; We must be made, Ere long, a song, ere long, a shade. Why then, since life to us is short, Lets make it full up, by our sport.

5.

Crown we our Heads with Roses then, And 'noint with Tirian Balme; for when We two are dead, The world with us is buried. Then live we free, As is the Air, and let us be Our own fair wind, and mark each one Day with the white and Luckie stone.

6.

We are not poore; although we have No roofs of Cedar, nor our brave Baiae, nor keep Account of such a flock of sheep; Nor Bullocks fed To lard the shambles: Barbels bred To kisse our hands, nor do we wish For Pollio's Lampries in our dish.

7.

If we can meet, and so conferre, Both by a shining Salt-seller; And have our Roofe, Although not archt, yet weather proofe, And seeling free, From that cheape Candle baudery: We'le eate our Beane with that full mirth As we were Lords of all the earth.

8.

Well then, on what Seas we are tost, Our comfort is, we can't be lost. Let the winds drive Our Barke; yet she will keepe alive Amidst the deepes; 'Tis constancy (my Wickes) which keepes The Pinnace up; which though she erres I'th' Seas, she saves her passengers.

9.

Say, we must part (sweet mercy blesse Us both i'th' Sea, Camp, Wildernesse) Can we so farre Stray, to become lesse circular, Then we are now? No, no, that selfe same heart, that vow, Which made us one, shall ne'r undoe; Or ravell so, to make us two.

10.

Live in thy peace; as for my selfe, When I am bruised on the Shelfe Of Time, and show My locks behung with frost and snow: When with the reume, The cough, the ptisick, I consume Unto an almost nothing; then, The Ages fled, Ile call agen:

11.

And with a teare compare these last Lame, and bad times, with those are past, While Baucis by, My old leane wife, shall kisse it dry: And so we'l sit By 'th 'fire, foretelling snow and slit, And weather by our aches, grown Now old enough to be our own

12.

True Calenders, as Pusses eare Washt o'rs, to tell what change is neare Then to asswage The gripings of the chine by age; I'le call my young Iülus to sing such a song I made upon my Julia's brest; And of her blush at such a feast.

13.

Then shall he read that flowre of mine Enclos'd within a christall shrine: A Primrose next; A piece, then of a higher text: For to beget In me a more transcendant heate, Then that insinuating fire, Which crept into each aged Sire.

14.

When the faire Hellen, from her eyes, Shot forth her loving Sorceries: At which I'le reare Mine aged limbs above my chaire: And hearing it, Flutter and crow, as in a fit Of fresh concupiscence, and cry, No lust theres like to Poetry.

15.

Thus frantick crazie man (God wot) Ile call to mind things half forgot: And oft between, Repeat the Times that I have seen! Thus ripe with tears, And twisting my Iülus hairs; Doting, Ile weep and say (In Truth) Baucis, these were my sins of youth.

16.

Then next Ile cause my hopefull Lad (If a wild Apple can be had) To crown the Hearth, (Larr thus conspiring with our mirth) Then to infuse Our browner Ale into the cruse: Which sweetly spic't, we'l first carouse Unto the Genius of the house.

17.

Then the next health to friends of mine (Loving the brave Burgundian wine) High sons of Pith, Whose fortunes I have frolickt with: Such as co'd well Bear up the Magick bough, and spel: And dancing 'bout the Mystick Thyrse, Give up the just applause to verse:

18.

To those, and then agen to thee We'l drink, my Wickes, untill we be Plump as the cherry, Though not so fresh, yet full as merry As the crickit; The untam'd Heifer, or the Pricket, Untill our tongues shall tell our ears, W'are younger by a score of years.

19.

Thus, till we see the fire lesse shine From th' embers, then the kitlings eyne, We'l still sit up, Sphering about the wassail cup, To all those times, Which gave me honour for my Rhimes, The cole once spent, we'l then to bed, Farre more then night bewearied.

A short hymne to Venus.

GOddesse, I do love a Girle Rubie-lipt, and tooth'd with Pearl: If so be, I may but prove Luckie in this Maide I love: I will promise there shall be Mirtles offer'd up to Thee.

To a Gentlewoman on just dealing.

TRue to your self, and sheets, you'l have me swear, You shall; if righteous dealing I find there. Do not you fall through frailty; Ile be sure To keep my Bond still free from forfeiture.

The hand and tongue.

TWo parts of us successively command; The tongue in peace; but then in warre the hand.

Upon a delaying Lady.

COme come away, Or let me go; Must I here stay, Because y'are slow;

And will continue so? Troth Lady, no.

2.

I scorne to be A slave to state: And since I'm free, I will not wait, Henceforth at such a rate, For needy Fate.

3.

If you desire My spark sho'd glow, The peeping fire You must blow; Or I shall quickly grow, To Frost or Snow.

To the Lady Mary Villars, Governesse to the Princesse Henretta.

WHen I of Villars doe but heare the name, It calls to mind, that mighty Buckingham, Who was your brave exalted Uncle here, (Binding the wheele of Fortune to his Sphere) Who spurn'd at Envie; and co'd bring, with ease, An end to all his stately purposes. For his love then, whose sacred Reliques show Their Resurrection, and their growth in you: And for my sake, whoever did prefer You, above all Those Sweets of Westminster: Permit my Book to have a free accesse To kisse your hand, most Dainty Governesse.

Upon his Julia.

WIll ye heare, what I can say Briefly of my Julia? Black and rowling is her eye, Double chinn'd, and forehead high: Lips she has, all Rubie red, Cheeks like Creame Enclarited: And a nose that is the grace And Proscenium of her face. So that we may guesse by these, The other parts will richly please.

To Flowers.

IN time of life, I grac't ye with my Verse; Doe now your flowrie honours to my Herse. You shall not languish, trust me: Virgins here Weeping, shall make ye flourish all the yeere.

To my ill Reader.

THou say'st my lines are hard; And I the truth will tell; They are both hard, and marr'd, If thou not read'st them well.

The power in the people.

LEt Kings Command, and doe the best they may, The saucie Subjects still will beare the sway.

A Hymne to Venus, and Cupid.

SEa-born Goddesse, let me be, By thy sonne thus grac't, and thee; That when ere I wooe, I find Virgins coy, but not unkind. Let me when I kisse a maid, Taste her lips, so over-laid With Loves-sirrop; that I may, In your Temple, when I pray, Kisse the Altar, and confess Ther's in love, no bitterness.

On Julia's Picture.

HOw am I ravisht! When I do but see, The Painters art in thy Sciography? If so, how much more shall I dote thereon, When once he gives it incarnation?

Her Bed.

SEe'st, thou that Cloud as silver cleare, Plump, soft, & swelling every where? Tis Julia's Bed, and she sleeps there.

Her Legs.

FAin would I kiss my Julia's dainty Leg, Which is as white and hair-less as an egge.

Upon her Almes.

SEe how the poore do waiting stand, For the expansion of thy hand.

A wafer Dol'd by thee, will swell Thousands to feed by miracle.

Rewards.

STill to our gains our chief respect is had; Reward it is, that makes us good or bad.

Nothing new.

NOthing is New: we walk where others went. Ther's no vice now, but has his president.

The Rainbow.

LOok, how the Rainbow doth appeare But in one onely Hemisphere: So likewise after our disseace, No more is seen the Arch of Peace. That Cov'nant's here; The under-bow, That nothing shoots, but war and woe.

The meddow verse or Aniversary to Mistris Bridget Lowman.

COme with the Spring-time, forth Fair Maid, and he This year again, the medows Deity. Yet ere ye enter, give us leave to set Upon your Head this flowry Coronet: To make this neat distinction from the rest; You are the Prime, and Princesse of the Feast: To which, with silver feet lead you the way, While sweet-breath Nimphs, attend on you this Day. This is your houre; and best you may command, Since you are Lady of this Fairie land. Full mirth wait on you; and such mirth as shall Cherrish the cheek, but make none blush at all.

The parting verse, the feast there ended.

LOth to depart, but yet at last, each one Back must now go to's habitation: Not knowing thus much, when we once do sever, Whether or no, that we shall meet here ever. As for my self, since time a thousand cares And griefs hath fil'de upon my silver hairs; 'Tis to be doubted whether I next yeer, Or no, shall give ye a re-meeting here. If die I must, then my last vow shall be, You'l with a tear or two, remember me, Your sometime Poet; but if fates do give Me longer date, and more fresh springs to live: Oft as your field, shall her old age renew, Herrick shall make the meddow-verse for you.

Upon Judith. Epig.

IUdith has cast her old-skin, and got new; And walks fresh varnisht to the publick view. Foule Judith was; and foule she will be known, For all this fair Transfiguration.

Long and lazie.

THat was the Proverb. Let my mistresse be Lasie to others, but be long to me.

Upon Ralph. Epig.

CUrse not the mice, no grist of thine they eat: But curse thy children, they consume thy wheat.

To the right honourable, Philip, Earle of Pembroke, and Montgomerie.

HOw dull and dead are books, that cannot show A Prince or Pembroke, and that Pembroke, you! You, who are High born, and a Lord no lesse Free by your fate, then Fortunes mightinesse, Who hug our Poems (Honourd Sir) and then The paper gild, and Laureat the pen. Nor suffer you the Poets to sit cold, But warm their wits, and turn their lines to gold. Others there be, who righteously will swear Those smooth-pac't Numbers, amble every where; And these brave Measures go a stately trot; Love those, like these; regard, reward them not. But you my Lord, are One, whose hand along Goes with your mouth, or do's outrun your tongue; Paying before you praise; and cockring wit, Give both the Gold and Garland unto it.

An hymne to Juno.

STately Goddesse, do thou please, Who art chief at marriages, But to dresse the Bridall-Bed, When my Love and I shall wed: And a Peacock proud shall be Offerd up by us, to thee.

Upon Mease. Epig.

MEase brags of Pullets which he eats: but Mease Ne'r yet set tooth in stump, or rump of these.

Upon Sapho, sweetly playing, and sweetly singing.

WHen thou do'st play, and sweetly sing, Whether it be the voice or string, Or both of them, that do agree Thus to en-trance and ravish me: This, this I know, I'm oft struck mute; And dye away upon thy Lute.

Upon Paske a Draper.

PAske, though his debt be due upon the day Demands no money by a craving way; For why sayes he, all debts and their arreares, Have reference to the shoulders, not the eares.

Chop-Cherry.

THou gav'st me leave to kisse; Thou gav'st me leave to wooe; Thou mad'st me thinke by this, And that, thou lov'dst me too.

2.

But I shall ne'r forget, How for to make thee merry; Thou mad'st me chop, but yet, Another snapt the Cherry.

To the most learned, wise, and Arch-Antiquary, M. John Selden.

I Who have favour'd many, come to be Grac't (now at last) or glorifi'd by thee. Loe, I, the Lyrick Prophet, who have set On many a head the Delphick Coroner,

Come unto thee for Laurell, having spent, My wreaths on those, who little gave or lent. Give me the Daphne, that the world may know it, Whom they neglected, thou hast crown'd a Poet. A City here of Heroes I have made, Upon the rock, whose firm foundation laid, Shall never shrink, where making thine abode, Live thou a Selden, that's a Demi-god.

Upon himself.

THou shalt not All die; for while Love's fire shines Upon his Altar, men shall read thy lines; And learn'd Musicians shall to honour Herricks Fame, and his Name, both set, and sing his Lyricks,

Upon wrinkles.

WRinkles no more are, or no lesse, Then beauty turn'd to sowernesse.

Upon Prigg.

PRigg, when he comes to houses, oft doth use (Rather then fail) to steal from thence old shoes: Sound or unsound, be they rent or whole, Prigg bears away the body and the sole.

Upon Moon.

MOon is an Usurer, whose gain, Seldome or never, knows a wain, Onely Moons conscience, we confesse, That ebs from pittie lesse and lesse.

Pray and prosper.

FIrst offer Incense, then thy field and meads Shall smile and smell the better by thy beads. The spangling Dew dreg'd o're the grasse shall be Turn'd all to Mell, and Manna there for thee. Butter of Amber, Cream, and Wine, and Oile Shall run, as rivers all throughout thy soyl. Wod'st thou to sincere-silver turn thy mold? Pray once, twice pray; and turn thy ground to gold.

His Lacrimee or Mirth, turn'd to mourning.

1.

CAll me no more, As heretofore, The musick of a Feast; Since now (alas) The mirth, that was In me, is dead or ceast.

2.

Before I went To banishment Into the loathed West; I co'd rehearse A Lyrick verse, And speak it with the best.

3.

But Time (Ai me) Has laid, I see My Organ fast asleep; And turn'd my voice Into the noise Of those that sit and weep.

Upon Shift.

SHift now has cast his clothes: got all things new; Save but his hat, and that he cannot mew.

Upon Cuts.

IF wounds in clothes, Cuts calls his rags, 'tis cleere, His linings are the matter running there.

Gain and Gettings.

WHen others gain much by the present cast, The coblers getting time, is at the Last.

To the most fair and lovely Mistris, Anne Soame, now Lady Abdie.

SO smell those odours that do rise From out the wealthy spiceries: So smels the flowre of blooming Clove; Or Roses smother'd in the stove: So smells the Aire of spiced wine; Or Essences of Jessimine: So smells the Breath about the hives, When well the work of hony thrives; And all the busie Factours come Laden with wax and hony home: So smell those neat and woven Bowers, All over-archt with Oringe flowers, And Almond blossoms, that do mix To make rich these Aromatikes: So smell those bracelets, and those bands Of Amber chaf't between the hands, When thus enkindled they transpire A noble perfume from the fire.

The wine of cherries, and to these, The cooling breath of Respasses; The smell of mornings milk, and cream; Butter of Cowslips mixt with them; Of rosted warden, or bak'd peare, These are not to be reckon'd here; When as the meanest part of her, Smells like the maiden-Pomander. Thus sweet she smells, or what can be More lik'd by her, or lov'd by mee.

Upon his kinswoman Mistris Elizabeth Herrick.

SWeet virgin, that I do not set The pillars up of weeping Jet, Or mournfull Marble; let thy shade Not wrathfull seem, or fright the Maide, Who hither at her wonted howers Shall come to strew thy earth with flowers. No, know (Blest Maide) when there's not one Remainder left of Brasse or stone, Thy living Epitaph shall be, Though lost in them, yet found in me. Dear, in thy bed of Roses, then, Till this world shall dissolve as men, Sleep, while we hide thee from the light, Drawing thy curtains round: Good night.

A Panegerick to Sir Lewis Pemberton.

TIll I shall come again, let this suffice, I send my salt, my sacrifice To Thee, thy Lady, younglings, and as farre As to thy Gonius and thy Larre;

To the worn Threshold, Porch, Hall, Parlour, Kitchin, The fat-fed smoking Temple, which in The wholsome savour of thy mighty Chines Invites to supper him who dines, Where laden spits, warp't with large Ribbs of Beefe, Not represent, but give reliefe To the lanke-Stranger, and the sowre Swain; Where both may feed, and come againe: For no black-bearded Vigil from thy doore Beats with a button'd-staffe the poore: But from thy warm-love-hatching gates each may Take friendly morsels, and there stay To Sun his thin-clad members, if he likes, For thou no Porter keep'st who strikes. No commer to thy Roofe his Guest-rite wants; Or staying there, is scourg'd with taunts Of some rough Groom, who (yirkt with Corns) sayes, Sir Y'ave dipt too long i'th Vinegar; And with our Broth and bread, and bits; Sir, friend, Y'ave farced well, pray make an end; Two dayes y'ave larded here; a third, yee know, Makes guests and fish smell strong; pray go You to some other chimney, and there take Essay of other giblets; make Merry at anothers hearth; y'are here Welcome as thunder to our beere: Manners knowes distance, and a man unrude Wo'd soon recoile, and not intrude His Stomach to a second Meale. No, no, Thy house, well fed and taught, can show No such crab'd vizard: Thou hast learnt thy Train, With heart and hand to entertain: And by the Armes-full (with a Brest unhid) As the old Race of mankind did, When eithers heart, and eithers hand did strive To be the nearer Relative:

Thou do'st redeeme those times; and what was lost Of antient honesty, may boast It keeps a growth in thee; and so will runne A course i〈…〉〈…〉y Fames-pledge, thy Sonne. Thus, like a Roma〈…〉〈…〉oune, thou thy gate Earl〈…〉〈…〉tts ope to feast, and late: Keeping no currish Waiter to affright, With blasting eye, the appetite, Which fain would waste upon thy Cates, but that The Trencher-creature marketh what Best and more 〈…〉〈…〉iece he cuts, and by So〈…〉〈…〉e pinch tels danger's nie A hand too desp'rate, or a knife that bites Skin deepe into the Porke, or lights Upon some part of Kid, as if mistooke, When checked by the Butlers look. No, no, thy bread, thy wine, thy jocund Beere Is not reserv'd for Trebius here, But all, who at thy table seated are, Find equall freedome, equall fare; And Thou, like to that Hospitable God, Jove, joy'st when guests make their abode To eate thy Bullocks thighs, thy Veales, thy fat Weathers, and never grudged at. The Phesant, Partridge, Gotwit, Reeve, Ruffe, Raile, The Cock, the Curlew, and the quaile; These, and thy choicest viands do extend Their taste unto the lower end Of thy glad table: not a dish more known To thee, then unto any one: But as thy meate, so thy immortall wine Makes the smirk face of each to shine, And spring fresh Rose-buds, while the salt, the wit Flowes from the Wine, and graces it: While Reverence, waiting at the bashfull board, Honours my Lady and my Lord.

No scurrile jest; no open Sceane is laid Here, for to make the face affraid; But temp'rate mirth dealt forth, and so discreet∣ly that it makes the meate more sweet; And adds perfumes unto the Wine, which thou Do'st rather poure forth, then allow By cruse and measure; thus devoting Wine, As the Canary Isles were thine: But with that wisdome, and that method, as No One that's there his guilty glasse Drinks of distemper, or ha's cause to cry Repentance to his liberty. No, thou know'st order, Ethicks, and ha's read All Oeconomicks, know'st to lead A House-dance neatly, and can'st truly show, How farre a Figure ought to go, Forward, or backward, side-ward, and what pace Can give, and what retract a grace; What Gesture, Courtship; Comliness agrees, With those thy primitive decrees, To give subsistance to thy house, and proofe, What Genii support thy roofe, Goodnes and Greatnes; not the oaken Piles; For these, and marbles have their whiles To last, but not their ever: Vertues Hand It is, which builds, 'gainst Fate to stand. Such is thy house, whose firme foundations trust Is more in thee, then in her dust, Or depth, these last may yeeld, and yearly shrinke, When what is strongly built, no chinke Or yawning rupture can the same devoure, But fixt it stands, by her own power, And well-laid bottome, on the iron and rock, Which tryes, and counter-stands the shock, And Ramme of time and by vexation growes The stronger: Vertue dies when foes

Are wanting to her exercise, but great And large she spreads by dust, and sweat Safe stand thy Walls, and Thee, and so both will, Since neithers height was rais'd by th'ill Of others; since no Stud, no Stone, no Piece, Was rear'd up by the Poore-mans fleece: No Widowes Tenement was rackt to guild Or fret thy Seeling, or to build A Sweating-Closset, to annoint the silke∣soft-skin, or bath in Asses milke: No Orphans pittance, left him, serv'd to set The Pillars up of lasting jet, For which their cryes might beate against thine eares, Or in the dampe Jet read their Teares. No Planke from Hallowed Altar, do's appeale To yond' Star-chamber, or do's seale A curse to Thee, or Thine; but all things even Make for thy peace, and pace to heaven. Go on directly so, as just men may A thousand times, more sweare, then say, This is that Princely Pemberton, who can Teach man to keepe a God in man: And when wise Poets shall search out to see Good men, They find them all in Thee.

To his Valentine, on S. Valentines day.

OFt have I heard both Youths and Virgins say, Birds chuse their Mates, and couple too, this day: But by their flight I never can divine, When I shall couple with my Valentine.

Upon Doll. Epig.

DOll she so soone began the wanton trade; She ne'r remembers that she was a maide.

SKrew lives by shifts; yet sweares by no small oathes; For all his shifts, he cannot shift his clothes.

Upon Linnit. Epig.

LInnit playes rarely on the Lute, we know; And sweetly sings, but yet his breath sayes no.

Upon M. Ben. Johnson. Epig.

AFter the rare Arch-Poet JOHNSON dy'd, The Sock grew loathsome, and the Buskins pride, Together with the Stages glory stood Each like a poore and pitied widowhood. The Cirque prophan'd was; and all postures rackt: For men did strut, and stride, and stare, not act. Then temper flew from words; and men did squeake, Looke red, and blow, and bluster, but not speake: No Holy-Rage, or frantick-fires did stirre, Or flash about the spacious Theater. No clap of hands, or shout, or praises-proofe Did crack the Play-house sides, or cleave her roofe. Artlesse the Sceane was; and that monstrous sin Of deep and arrant ignorance came in; Such ignorance as theirs was, who once hist At thy unequal'd Play, the Alchymist: Oh fie upon 'em! Lastly too, all witt In utter darkenes did, and still will sit Sleeping the lucklesse Age out, till that she Her Resurrection ha's again with Thee.

Another.

THou had'st the wreath before, now take the Tree; That henceforth none be Laurel crown'd but Thee.

To his Nephew, to be prosperous in his art of Painting.

ON, as thou hast begunne, brave youth, and get The Palme from Urbin, Titian, Tintarret, Brugel and Coxu, and the workes out-doe, Of Holben, and That mighty Ruben too. So draw, and paint, as none may do the like, No, not the glory of the World, Vandike.

Upon Glasse. Epig.

GLasse, out of deepe, and out of desp'rate want, Turn'd, from a Papist here, a Predicant. A Vicarige at last Tom Glasse got here, Just upon five and thirty pounds a yeare. Adde to that thirty five, but five pounds more, He'l turn a Papist, rancker then before.

A Vow to Mars.

STore of courage to me grant, Now I'm turn'd a combatant: Helpe me so, that I my shield, (Fighting) lose not in the field. That's the grearest shame of all, That in warfare can befall. Do but this; and there shall be Offer'd up a Wolfe to thee.

To his Maid Prew.

THese Summer-Birds did with thy master stay The times of warmth; but then they flew away; Leaving their Poet (being now grown old) Expos'd to all the comming Winters cold. But thou kind Prew did'st with my fates abide, As well the Winters, as the Summers Tide: For which thy love, live with thy master here, Not one, but all the seasons of the yeare.

A Canticle to Apollo.

PLay Poehbus on thy Lute; And we will sit all mute: By listning to thy Lire, That sets all eares on fire.

2.

Harke, harke, the God do's play! And as he leads the way Through heaven, the very Speres, As men, turne all to eares.

A just man.

A Just man's like a Rock that turnes the wroth Of all the raging Waves, into a froth.

Upon a hoarse Singer.

SIng me to death; for till thy voice be cleare, Twill never please the pallate of mine care.

How Pansies or Hart-case came first.

FRollick Virgins once these were, Overloving, (living here:) Being here their ends deny'd Ran for Sweet-hearts mad, and di'd. Love in pitie of their teares, And their losse in blooming yeares; For their restlesse here-spent-houres. Gave them Hearts-ease turn'd to Flow'rs.

To his peculiar friend Sir Edward Fish, Knight Baronet.

SInce for thy full deserts (with all the rest Of these chaste spirits, that are here possest Of Life eternall) Time has made thee one, For growth in this my rich Plantation: Live here: But know 'twas vertue, and not chance, That gave thee this so high inheritance. Keepe it forever; grounded with the good, Who hold fast here an endlesse lively food.

Larr's portion, and the Poets part.

AT my homely Country-seat, I have there a little wheat; Which I worke to Meale, and make Therewithall a Holy-cake: Part of which I give to Larr, Part is my peculiar.

Upon man.

MAn is compos'd here of a twofold part; The first of Nature and the next of Art: Art presupposes Nature; Nature shee Preparos the way for mans docility.

Liberty.

THose ills that mortall men endure, So long are capable of cure, As they of freedome may be sure: But that deni'd; a griefe, though small, Shakes the whole Roofe, or ruines all.

Lots to be liked.

LEarn this of me, where e'r thy Lot doth fall; Short lot, or not, to be content with all

Griefes.

IOve may afford us thousands of reliefs; Since man expos'd is to a world of griefs.

Upon Eeles. Epig.

EEles winds and turnes, and cheats and steales; yet Eeles Driving these sharking trades, is out at heels,

The Dreame.

BY Dream I saw, one of the three Sisters of Fate appeare to me. Close to my Beds side she did stand Shewing me there a fire brand; She told me too, as that did spend, So drew my life unto an end. Three quarters were consum'd of it; Onely remaind a little bit, Which will be burnt up by and by; Then Juha weep, for I must dy:

Upon Raspe Epig.

RAspe playes at Nine-holes; and 'tis known he gets Many a Teaster by his game, and bets: But of his gettings there's but little sign; When one hole wasts more then he gets by Nine.

Upon Center a Spectacle-maker with a flat nose.

CEnter is known weak sighted, and he sells To others store of helpfull spectacles. Why were she none? Because we may suppose, Where Leaven wants, there Levill lies the nose.

Clothes do but cheat and cousen us.

AWay with silks, away with Lawn, Ile have no Sceans, or Curtains drawn: Give me my Mistresse, as she is, Drest in her nak't simplicities: For as my Heart, ene so mine Eye Is wone with flesh, not Drapery.

To Dianeme.

SHew me thy feet; shew me thy legs, thy thighes; Shew me Those Fleshie Principalities; Shew me that Hill (where smiling Love doth sit) Having a living Fountain under it. Shew me thy waste; Then let me there withall, By the Assention of thy Lawn, see All.

Upon Electra.

WHen out of bed my Love doth spring, 'Tis but as day a kindling: But when She's up and fully drest, 'Tis then broad Day throughout the East.

To his Booke.

HAve I not blest Thee? Then go forth; nor fear Or spice, or fish, or fire, or close-stools here. But with thy fair Fates leading thee, Go on With thy most white Predestination. Nor thinke these Ages that do hoarcely sing The farting Tanner, and familiar King; The dancing Frier, tatter'd in the bush; Those monstrous lies of little Robin Rush: Tom Chipperfeild, and pritty-lisping Ned, That doted on a Maide of Gingerbred: The flying Pilcher, and the frisking Dace; With all the rabble of Tim-Trundells race, (Bred from the dung-hils, and adulterous rhimes,) Shall live, and thou not superlast all times? No, no, thy Stars have destin'd Thee to see The whole world die, and turn to dust with thee. He's greedie of his life, who will not fall, When as a publick ruine bears down All.

Of Love.

I Do not love, nor can it be Love will in vain spend shafts on me: I did this God-head once defie; Since which I freeze, but cannot frie. Yet out alas! the deaths the same, Kil'd by a frost or by a flame.

Upon himself.

I Dislikt but even now; Now I love I know not how. Was I idle, and that while Was I fier'd with a smile? Ile too work, or pray; and then I shall quite dislike agen.

Another.

LOve he that will; it best likes me, To have my neck from Loves yoke-free.

Upon Skinns. Epig.

SKinns he din'd well to day; how do you think? His Nails they were his meat, his Reume the drink.

Upon Pievish. Epig.

PIevish doth boast, that he's the very first Of English Poets, and 'tis thought the Worst.

Upon Jolly and Jilly, Epig.

IOlly and Jillie, bite and scratch all day, But yet get children (as the neighbours say.) The reason is, though all the day they fight, They cling and close, some minutes of the night.

The mad Maids song.

1.

GOod morrow to the Day so fair; Good morning Sir to you: Good morrow to mine own torn hair Bedabled with the dew.

2.

Good morning to this Prim-rose too; Good morrow to each maid; That will with flowers the Tomb bestrew, Wherein my Love is laid.

3.

Ah! woe woe woe woe woe is me, Alack and welladay! For pitty, Sir, find out that Bee, Which bore my Love away.

4.

I'le seek him in your Bonnet brave; Ile seek him in your eyes; Nay, now I think th'ave made his grave I'th'bed of strawburies.

5.

Ile seek him there; I know, ere this, The cold, cold Earth doth shake him; But I will go, or send a kisse By you, Sir, to awake him.

6.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, He knowes well who do love him, And who with green-turfes reare his head, And who do rudely move him.

7.

He's soft and tender (Pray take heed) With bands of Cow-slips bind him; And bring him home, but 'tis decreed, That I shall never find him.

To Springs and Fountains.

I Heard ye co'd coole heat; and came With hope you would allay the same: Thrice I have washt, but feel no cold, Nor find that true, which was foretold. Me thinks like mine, your pulses beat; And labour with unequall heat: Cure, cure your selves, for I discrie, Ye boil with Love, as well as I.

Upon Julia's unlacing her self.

TEll, if thou canst, (and truly) whence doth come This Camphire, Storax, Spiknard, Galbanum: These Musks, these Ambers, and those other smells (Sweet as the Vestrie of the Oracles.) Ile tell thee; while my Julia did unlace Her silken bodies, but a breathing space: The passive Aire such odour then assum'd, As when to Jove Great Juno goes perfum'd. Whose pure-Immortall body doth transmit A scent, that fills both Heaven and Earth with it.

To Bacchus, a Canticle.

WHither dost thou whorry me, Bacchus, being full of thee? This way, that way, that way, this, Here, and there a fresh Love is, That doth like me, this doth please; Thus a thousand Mistresses, I have now; yet I alone, Having All, injoy not One.

The Lawne.

WO'd I see Lawn, clear as the Heaven, and thin? It sho'd be onely in my Julia's skin: Which so betrayes her blood, as we discover The blush of cherries, when a Lawn's cast over.

The Frankincense.

WHen my off'ring next I make, Be thy hand the hallowed Cake: And thy bed the Altar, whence Love may smell the Frankincense.

Upon Patrick a footman, Epig.

NOw Patrick with his footmanship has done, His eyes and ears strive which sho'd fastest run.

Upon Bridget. Epig.

OF foure teeth onely Bridget was possest; Two she spat out, a cough forc't out the rest.

To Sycamores.

I'M siek of Love; O let me lie Under your shades, to sleep or die! Either is welcome; so I have Or here my Bed, or here my Grave. Why do you sigh, and sob, and keep Time with the tears, that I do weep? Say, have ye sence, or do you prove What Crucifixions are in Love?

I know ye do; and that's the why, You sigh for Love, as well as I.

A Pastorall sung to the King: Montano, Silvio, and Mirtillo, Shepheards.

Mon.

BAd are the times. Sil. And wors thenthey are we.

Mon.

Troth, bad are both; worse fruit, and ill the tree: The feast of Shepheards fail. Sil. None crowns the cup Of Wassaile now, or sets the quintell up: And He, who us'd to leade the Country-round, Youthfull Mirtillo, Here he comes, Grief drownd. Ambo Lets cheer him up. Sil. Behold him weeping ripe.

Mirt.

Ah! Amarillis, farewell mirth and pipe; Since thou art gone, no more I mean to play, To these smooth Lawns, my mirthfull Roundelay. (sweet Dear Amarillis! Mon. Hark! Sil. mark: Mir. this earth grew Where, Amarillis, Thou didst set thy feet.

Ambo.

Poor pittied youth! Mir. And here the breth of kine And sheep, grew more sweet, by that breth of Thine. This flock of wooll, and this rich lock of hair, This ball of Cow-slips, these she gave me here.

Sil.

Words sweet as Love it self. Montano, Hark.

Mirt.

This way she came, and this way too she went; How each thing smells divinely redolent! Like to a field of beans, when newly blown; Or like a medow being lately mown.

Mon.

A sweet-sad passion.—

Mirt.

In dewie-mornings when she came this way, Sweet Bents wode bow, to give my Love the day: And when at night, she folded had her sheep, Daysies wo'd shut, and closing, sigh and weep. Besides (Aime!) since she went hence to dwell, The voices Daughter nea'r spake syllable. But she is gone. Sil. Mirtillo, tell us whether,

Mirt.

Where she and I shall never meet together.

Mont.

Fore-fend it Pan, and Pales do thou please Togive an end: Mir. To what? Scil. such griefs as these.

Mirt.

Never, O never! Still I may endure The wound I suffer, never find a cure.

Mont.

Love for thy sake will bring her to these hills And dales again: Mir. No I will languish still; And all the while my part shall be to weepe; And with my sighs, call home my bleating sheep: And in the Rind of every comely tree Ile carve thy name, and in that name kisse thee: (old:

Mont.

Set with the Sunne, thy woes: Scil. The day grows And time it is our full-fed flocks to fold.

Chor.

(row, The shades grow great; but greater growes our sor- But lets go steepe Our eyes in sleepe; And meet to weepe To morrow.

The Poet loves a Mistresse, but not to marry.

1.

I Do not love to wed, Though I do like to wooe; And for a maidenhead Ile beg, and buy it too.

2.

Ile praise, and Ile approve Those maids that never vary; And fervently Ile love; But yet I would not marry.

3.

Ile hug, Ile kisse, Ile play, And Cock-like Hens Ile tread: And sport it any way; But in the Bridall Bed:

4.

For why? that man is poore, Who hath but one of many; But crown'd he is with store, That single may have any.

5.

Why then, say, what is he (To freedome so unknown) Who having two or three, Will be content with one?

Upon Flimsey. Epig.

WHy walkes Nick Flimsey like a Male-content? Is it because his money all is spent? No, but because the Ding-thrift now is poore, And knowes not where i'th world to borrow more.

Upon Shewbread. Epig.

LAst night thou didst invite me home to eate; And shew'st me there much Plate, but little meat Prithee, when next thou do'st invite, barre State, And give me meate, or give me else thy Plate.

The Willow Garland.

A Willow Garland thou did'st scnd Perfum'd (last day) to me: Which did but only this portend, I was forsooke by thee.

Since so it is; Ile tell thee what, To morrow thou shalt see Me weare the Willow; after that, To dye upon the Tree.

As Beasts unto the Altars go With Garlands drest, so I Will, with my Willow-wreath also, Come forth and sweetly dye.

A Hymne to Sir Clipseby Crew.

'TWas not Lov's Dart; Or any blow Of want, or foe, Did wound my heart With an eternall smart:

But only you, My sometimes known Companion, (My dearest Crew,) That me unkindly flew.

May your fault dye, And have no name In Bookes of fame; Or let it lye Forgotten now, as I.

We parted are, And now no more, As heretofore, By jocund Larr, Shall be familiar.

But though we Sever My Crew shall see, That I will be Here faithlesse never; But love my Clipseby ever.

Upon Roots. Epig.

ROots had no money; yet he went o'th score For a wrought Purse; can any tell wherefore? Say, What sho'd Roots do with a Purse in print, That h'ad nor Gold or Silver to put in't?

Upon Craw.

CRaw cracks in sirrop; and do's stinking say, Who can hold that (my friends) that will away?

Observation.

WHo to the North, or South, doth set His Bed, Male children shall beget.

Empires.

EMpires of Kings, are now, and ever were, (As Salnst saith) co-incident to feare.

Felicity, quick of flight.

EVery time seemes short to be, That's measur'd by felicity: But one halfe houre, that's made up here With griefe; seemes longer then a yeare.

Putrefaction.

PUtrefaction is the end Of all that Nature doth entend.

Passion.

WEre there not a Matter known, There wo'd be no Passion.

Jack and Jill.

SInce Jack and Jill both wicked be; It seems a wonder unto me, That they no better do agree.

Upon Parson Beanes.

OLd Parson Beanes hunts six dayes of the week, And on the seaventh, he has his Notes to seek. Six dayes he hollows so much breath away, That on the seaventh, he can nor preach, or pray.

The crowd and company.

IN holy meetings, there a man may be One of the crowd, not of the companie.

Short and long both likes.

THis Lady's short, that Mistresse she is tall; But long or short, I'm well content with all.

Pollicie in Princes.

THat Princes may possesse a surer seat, 'Tis fit they make no One with them too great.

Upon Rook, Epig.

ROok he sells feathers, yet he still doth crie Fie on this pride, this Female vanitie.

Thus, though the Rooke do's raile against the sin, He loves the gain that vanity brings in.

Upon the Nipples of Julia's Breast.

HAve ye beheld (with much delight) A red-Rose peeping through a white? Or else a Cherrie (double grac't) Within a Lillie? Center plac't? Or ever mark't the pretty beam, A Strawberry shewes halfe drown'd in Creame? Or seen rich Rubies blushing through A pure smooth Pearle, and Orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neate Niplet of her breast.

To Daisies, not to shut so soone.

1.

SHut not so soon; the dull-ey'd night Ha's not as yet begunne To make a seisure on the light, Or to seale up the Sun.

2.

No Marigolds yet closed are; No shadowes great appeare; Nor doth the early Shepheards Starre Shine like a spangle here.

3.

Stay but till my Julia close Her life-begetting eye; And let the whole world then dispose It selfe to live or dye.

To the little Spinners.

YEE pretty Huswives, wo'd ye know The worke that I wo'd putye to?

This, this it sho'd be, for to spin, A Lawn for me, so fine and thin, As it might serve me for my skin. For cruell Love ha's me so whipt, That of my skin, I all am stript; And shall dispaire, that any art Can ease the rawnesse, or the smart; Unlesse you skin again each part. Which mercy if you will but do, I call all Maids to witnesse too What here I promise, that no Broom Shall now, or ever after come To wrong a Spinner or her Loome.

Oberons Palace.

AFter the Feast (my Shapcot) see, The Fairie Court I give to thee: Where we'le present our Oberon led Halfe tipsie to the Fairie Bed, Where Mab he finds; who there doth lie Not without mickle majesty. Which, done; and thence remov'd the light, We'l wish both Them and Thee, good night.

Full as a Bee with Thyme, and Red, As Cherry harvest, now high fed For Lust and action; on he'l go, To lye with Mab, though all say no. Lust ha's no eares; He's sharpe as thorn; And fretfull, carries Hay in's horne, And lightning in his eyes; and flings Among the Elves, (if mov'd) the stings Of peltish wasps; we'l know his Guard Kings though th'are hated, will be fear'd. Wine lead him on. Thus to a Grove

(Sometimes devoted unto Love) Tinseld with Twilight, He, and They Lead by the shine of Snails; a way Beat with their num'rous feet, which by Many a neat perplexity, Many a turn, and man' a crosse- Track they redeem a bank of mosse Spungie and swelling, and farre more Soft then the finest Lemster Ore. Mildly disparkling, like those fiers, Which break from the Injeweld tyres Of curious Brides; or like those mites Of Candi'd dew in Moony nights. Upon this Convex, all the flowers, (Nature begets by th'Sun, and showers,) Are to a wilde digestion brought, As if Loves Sampler here was wrought: Or Citherea's Ceston, which All with temptation doth bewitch. Sweet Aires move here; and more divine Made by the breath of great ey'd-kine, Who as they lowe empearl with milk The four-leav'd grasse, or mosse-like silk. The breath of Munkies met to mix With Musk-flies, are th' Aromaticks, Which cense this Arch; and here and there, And farther off, and every where, Throughout that Brave Mosaick yard Those Picks or Diamonds in the Card: With peeps of Harts, of Club and Spade Are here most neatly inter-laid. Many a Counter, many a Die, Half rotten, and without an eye, Lies here abouts; and for to pave The excellency of this Cave, Squirrils and childrens teeth late shed, Are neatly here enchequered.

With brownest Toadstones, and the Gum That shines upon the blewer Plum. The nails faln off by Whit-flawes: Art's Wise hand enchasing here those warts. Which we to others (from our selves) Sell, and brought hither by the Elves. The tempting Mole, stoln from the neck Of the shie Virgin, seems to deck The holy Entrance; where within The roome is hung with the blew skin Of shifted Snake: enfreez'd throughout With eyes of Peacocks Trains, & Trout∣flies curious wings; and these among Those silver-pence, that cut the tongue Of the red infant, neatly hung. The glow-wormes eyes; the shining scales Of silv'rie fish; wheat-strawes, the snailes Soft Candle-light; the Kitling's eyne; Corrupted wood; serve here for shine. No glaring light of bold-fac't Day, Or other over radiant Ray Ransacks this roome; but what weak beams Can make reflected from these jems, And multiply; Such is the light, But ever doubtfull Day, or night. By this quaint Taper-light he winds His Errours up; and now he finds His Moon-tann'd Mab, as somewhat sick, And (Love knowes) tender as a chick. Upon six plump Dandillions, high- Rear'd, lyes her Elvish-majestie: Whose woollie-bubbles seem'd to drowne Hir Mab-ship in obedient Downe. For either sheet, was spread the Caule That doth the Infants face enthrall, When it is born: (by some enstyl'd

The luckie Omen of the child) And next to these two blankets ore- Cast of the finest Gossamore. And then a Rug of carded wooll, Which, Spunge-like drinking in the dull- Light of the Moon, seem'd to comply, Cloud-like, the daintie Deitie. Thus soft she lies: and over-head A Spinners circle is bespread, With Cob-web-curtains: from the roof So neatly sunck, as that no proof Of any tackling can declare What gives it hanging in the Aire. The Fringe about this, are those Threds Broke at the Losse of Maiden-heads: And all behung with these pure Pearls, Dropt from the eyes of ravisht Girles Or writhing Brides; when, (panting) they Give unto Love the straiter way. For Musick now; He has the cries Of fained-lost-Virginities; The which the Elves make to excite A more unconquer'd appetite. The Kings undrest; and now upon The Gnats-watch-word the Elves are gone. And now the bed, and Mab possest Of this great-little-kingly-Guest. We'll nobly think, what's to be done, He'll do no doubt; This flax is spun.

To his peculiar friend Master Thomas Shapcott, Lawyer.

I'Ve paid Thee, what I promis'd; that's not All; Besides I give Thee here a Verse that shall (When hence thy Circum-mortall-part is gon) Arch-like, hold up, Thy Name's Inscription.

Brave men can't die; whose Candid Actions are Writ in the Poets Endlesse-Kalendar: Whose velome, and whose volumne is the Skie, And the pure Starres the praising Poetrie. Farewell.

To Julia in the Temple.

BEsides us two, i'th' Temple here's not one To make up now a Congregation. Let's to the Altar of perfumes then go, And say short Prayers; and when we have done so, Then we shall see, how in a little space, Saints will come in to fill each Pew and Place.

To Oenone.

1.

WHat Conscience, say, is it in thee When I a Heart had one, To Take away that Heart from me, And to retain thy own?

2.

For shame or pitty now encline To play a loving part; Either to send me kindly thine, Or give me back my heart.

3.

Covet not both; but if thou dost Resolve to part with neither; Why! yet to shew that thou art just, Take me and mine together.

His weaknesse in woes.

I Cannot suffer; And in this, my part Of Patience wants. Grief breaks the stoutest Heart.

Fame makes us forward.

TO Print our Poems, the propulsive cause Is Fame, (the breath of popular applause.)

To Groves.

YEe silent shades, whose each tree here Some Relique of a Saint doth weare: Who for some sweet-hearts sake, did prove The fire, and martyrdome of love. Here is the Legend of those Saints That did for love; and their complaints: Their wounded hearts; and names we find Encarv'd upon the Leaves and Rind. Give way, give way to me, who come Scorch't with the selfe-same martyrdome: And have deserv'd as much (Love knowes) As to be canoniz'd 'mongst those, Whose deeds, and deaths here written are Within your Greenie-Kalendar: By all those Virgins Fillets hung Upon your Boughs, and Requiems sung For Saints and Soules departed hence, (Here honour'd still with Frankincense) By all those teares that have been shed, As a Drink-offering, to the dead: By all those True-love-knots, that be With Motto's carv'd on every tree, By sweet S. Phillis; pitie me: By deare S. Iphis; and the rest, Of all those other Saints now blest; Me, me, forsaken, here admit Among your Mirtles to be writ: That my poore name may have the glory To live remembred in your story.

An Epitaph upon a Virgin.

HEre a solemne Fast we keepe, While all beauty lyes asleep Husht be all things; (no noyse here) But the toning of a teare: Or a sigh of such as bring Cowslips for her covering.

To the right gratious Prince, Lodwick, Duke of Richmond and Lenox.

OF all those three-brave-brothers, faln i'th'Warre, (Not without glory) Noble Sir, you are, Despite of all concussions left the Stem To shoot forth Generations like to them. Which may be done, if (Sir) you can beget Men in their substance, not in counterfeit. Such Essences as those Three Brothers; known Eternall by their own production. Of whom, from Fam's white Trumpet, This Ile Tell, Worthy their everlasting Chronicle, Never since first Bellona us'd a Shield, Such Three brave Brothers fell in Mars his Field. These were those Three Horatii Rome did boast, Rom's where these Three Horatii we have lost. One Cordelion had that Age long since; This, Three; which Three, you make up Foure Brave Prince.

To Jealousie.

O Jealousie, that art The Canker of the heart: And mak'st all hell Where thou do'st dwell; For pitie be No Furie, or no Fire-brand to me.

2.

Farre from me Ile remove All thoughts of irksome Love: And turn to snow, Or Christall grow; To keep still free (O! Soul-tormenting Jealousie,) from Thee.

To live Freely.

LEt's live in hast; use pleasures while we may: Co'd life return, 'twod never lose a day.

Upon Spunge. Epig.

SPunge makes his boasts that he's the onely man Can hold of Beere and Ale an Ocean; Is this his Glory? then his Triumph's Poore; I know the Tunne of Hidleberge holds more.

His Almes.

HEre, here I live, And somewhat give, Of what I have, To those, who crave. Little or much, My Almnes is such: But if my deal Of Oyl and Meal Shall fuller grow, More Ile bestow: Mean time be it E'en but a bit, Or else a crum, The scrip hath some.

Upon himself.

COme, leave this loathed Country-life, and then Grow up to be a Roman Citizen. Those mites of Time, which yet remain unspent, Waste thou in that most Civill Government. Get their comportment, and the gliding tongue Of those mild Men, thou art to live among: Then being seated in that smoother Sphere, Decree thy everlasting Topick there. And to the Farm-house nere return at all, Though Granges do not love thee, Cities shall.

To enjoy the Time.

WHile Fates permits us, let's be merry; Passe all we must the fatall Ferry: And this our life too whirles away, With the Rotation of the Day.

Upon Love.

1.

LOve, I have broke Thy yoke; The neck is free: But when I'm next Love vext, Then shackell me.

2.

'Tis better yet To fret The feet or hands; Then to enthrall, Or gall The neck with bands.

To the right Honourable Mildmay, Earle of Westmorland..

YOu are a Lord, an Earle, nay more, a Man, Who writes sweet Numbers well as any can: If so, why then are not These Verses hurld, Like Sybels Leaves, throughout the ample world? What is a Jewell if it be not set Forth by a Ring, or some rich Carkanet? But being so; then the beholders cry, See, see a Jemme (as rare as Baelus eye.) Then publick praise do's runne upon the Stone, For a most rich, a rare, a precious One. Expose your jewels then unto the view, That we may praise Them, or themselves prize You. Vertue conceal'd (with Horace you'l confesse) Differs not much from drowzie slothfullnesse.

The Plunder.

I Am of all berefe; Save but some few Beanes left, Whereof (at last) to make For me, and mine a Cake: Which eaten, they and I Will say our grace, and die.

Littlenesse no cause of Leannesse.

ONe feeds on Lard, and yet is leane; And I but feasting with a Beane, Grow fat and smooth; The reason is, Jove prospers my meat, more then his.

Upon one who said she was alwayes young.

YOu say y'are young; but when your Teeth are told To be but three, Black-ey'd, wee'l thinke y'are old.

Upon Huncks. Epig.

HUncks ha's no money (he do's sweare, or say) About him, when the Taverns shot's to pay. If he ha's none in's pockets, trust me, Huncks Ha's none at home, in Coffers, Desks, or Trunks.

The Jimmall Ring, or True-love-knot.

THou sent'st to me a True-love-knot; but I Return'd a Ring of Jimmals, to imply Thy Love had one knot, mine a triple tye.

The parting Verse, or charge to his supposed Wife when he travelled.

GO hence, and with this parting kisse, Which joyns two souls, remember this; Though thou beest young, kind, soft, and faire, And may'st draw thousands with a haire: Yet let these glib temptations be Furies to others, Friends to me. Looke upon all; and though on fire Thou set'st their hearts, yet chaste desire Steere Thee to me; and thinke (me gone) In having all, that thou hast none. Nor so immured wo'd I have Thee live, as dead and in thy grave; But walke abroad, yet wisely well Stand for my comming, Sentinell.

And think (as thou do'st walke the street) Me, or my shadow thou do'st meet. I know a thousand greedy eyes Will on thy Feature tirannize, In my short absence; yet behold Them like some Picture, or some Mould Fashion'd like Thee; which though' tave eares And eyes, it neither sees or heares. Gifts will be sent, and Letters, which Are the expressions of that itch, And salt, which frets thy Suters; fly Both, lest thou lose thy liberty: For that once lost, thou't fall to one, Then prostrate to a million. But if they wooe thee, do thou say, (As that chaste Queen of Ithaca Did to her suitors) this web done (Undone as oft as done) I'm wonne; I will not urge Thee, for I know, Though thou art young, thou canst say no, And no again, and so deny, Those thy Lust-burning Incubi. Let them enstile Thee Fairest fair, The Pearle of Princes, yet despairè That so thou art, because thou must Believe, Love speaks it not, but Lust; And this their Flatt'rie do's commend Thee chiefly for their pleasures end. I am not jealous of thy Faith, Or will be; for the Axiome saith, He that doth suspect, do's haste A gentle mind to be unchaste. No, live thee to thy selfe, and keep Thy thoughts as cold, as is thy sleep: And let thy dreames be only fed With this, that I am in thy bed.

And thou then turning in that Sphere, Waking shalt find me sleeping there. But yet if boundlesse Lust must skaile Thy Fortress, and will needs prevaile; And wildly force a paslage in, Banish consent, and 'tis no sinne Of Thine; so Lucrece fell, and the Chaste Syracusian Cyane. So Medullina fell, yet none Of these had imputation For the least trespasse; 'cause the mind Here was not with the act combin'd. The body sins not, 'tis the Will That makes the Action, good, or ill. And if thy fall sho'd this way come, Triumph in such a Martirdome. I will not over-long enlarge To thee, this my religious charge. Take this compression, so by this Means I shall know what other kisse Is mixt with mine; and truly know, Returning, if't be mine or no: Keepe it till then; and now my Spouse, For my wisht safety pay thy vowes, And prayers to Venus; if it please The Great-blew-ruler of the Seas; Not many full-fac't-moons shall waine, Lean-horn'd, before I come again As one triumphant; when I find In thee, all faith of Woman-kind. Nor wo'd I have thee thinke, that Thou Had'st power thy selfe to keep this vow; But having scapt temptations shelfe, Know vertue taught thee, not thy selfe.

To his Kinsman, Sir Tho. Soame.

SEeing Thee Soame, I see a Goodly man, And in that Good, a great Patrician. Next to which Two; among the City-Powers, And Thrones, thy selfe one of Those Senatours: Not wearing Purple only for the show; (As many Conscripts of the Citie do) But for True Service, worthy of that Gowne, The Golden chain too, and the Civick Crown.

To Blossoms.

FAire pledges of a fruitfull Tree, Why do yee fall so fast? Your date is not so past; But you may stay yet here a while, To blush and gently smile; And go at last.

2.

What, were yee borne to be An houre or half's delight; And so to bid goodnight? 'Twas pitie Nature brought yee forth Meerly to shew your worth, And lose you quite.

3.

But you are lovely Leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'r so brave: And after they have shown their pride, Like you a while: They glide Into the Grave.

Mans dying-place uncertain.

MAn knowes where first he ships himselfe; but he Never can tell, where shall his Landing be.

Nothing Free-cost.

NOthing comes Free-cost here; Jove will not let His gifts go from him; if not bought with sweat.

Few fortunate.

MAny we are, and yet but few possesse Those Fields of everlasting happinesse.

To Perenna.

HOw long, Perenna, wilt thou see Me languish for the love of Thee? Consent and play a friendly part To save; when thou may'st kill a heart.

To the Ladyes.

TRust me Ladies, I will do Nothing to distemper you; If I any fret or vex, Men they shall be, not your sex.

The old Wives Prayer.

HOly-Rood come forth and shield Us i'th' Citie, and the Field: Safely guard us, now and aye, From the blast that burns by day;

And those sounds that us affright In the dead of dampish night. Drive all hurtfull Feinds us fro, By the Time the Cocks first crow.

Upon a cheap Laundresse. Epig.

FEacie (some say) doth wash her clothes i'th' Lie That sharply trickles from her either eye. The Laundresses, They envie her good-luck, Who can with so small charges drive the buck. What needs she fire and ashes to consume, Who can scoure Linnens with her own salt reeume?

Upon his departure hence.

THus I Passe by, And die: As One, Unknown, And gon: I'm made A shade, And laid I'th grave, There have My Cave. Where tell I dwell, Farewell.

The Wassaile.

1.

GIve way, give way ye Gates, and win An easie blessing to your Bin, And Basket, by our entring in.

2.

May both with manchet stand repleat; Your Larders too so hung with meat, That though a thousand, thousand eat;

3.

Yet, ere twelve Moones shall whirl about Their silv'rie Spheres, ther's none may doubt, But more's sent in, then was serv'd out.

4.

Next, may your Dairies Prosper so, As that your pans no Ebbe may know; But if they do, the more to flow.

5.

Like to a solemne sober Stream Bankt all with Lillies, and the Cream Of sweetest Cow-slips filling Them.

6.

Then, may your Plants be prest with Fruit, Nor Bee, or Hive you have be mute; But sweetly sounding like a Lute.

7.

Next may your Duck and teeming Hen Both to the Cocks-tread say Amen; And for their two egs render tea.

8.

Last, may your Harrows, Shares and Ploughes, Your Stacks, your Stocks, your sweetest Mowes, All prosper by your Virgin-vowes.

9.

Alas! we blesse, but see none here, That brings us either Ale or Beere; In a drie-house all things are neere.

10.

Let's leave a longer time to wait, Where Rust and Cobwebs bind the gate; And all live here with needy Fate.

11.

Where Chimneys do for ever weepe, For want of warmth, and Stomachs keepe With noise, the servants eyes from sleep.

12.

It is in vain to sing, or stay Our free-feet here; but we'l away: Yet to the Lares this we'l say,

13.

The time will come, when you'l be sad, And reckon this for fortune bad, T'ave lost the good ye might have had.

Vpon a Lady faire, but fruitlesse.

TWice has Pudica been a Bride, and led By holy Himen to the Nuptiall Bed. Two Youths sha's known, thrice two, and twice 3. yeares Yet not a Lillie from the Bed appeares; Nor will; for why, Pudica, this may know, Trees never beare, unlesse they first do blow.

How Springs came first.

THese Springs were Maidens once that lov'd But lost to that they most approv'd: My Story tells, by Love they were Turn'd to these Springs, which wee see here: The pretty whimpering that they make, When of the Banks their leave they take; Tels ye but this, they are the same, In nothing chang'd but in their name.

To Rosemary and Baies.

MY wooing's ended: now my wedding's neere; When Gloves are giving, Guilded be you there.

Upon Skurffe.

SKurffe by his Nine-bones sweares, and well he may, All know a Fellon eate the Tenth away.

Upon a Scarre in a Virgins Face.

TIs Heresie in others: In your face That Scarr's no Schisme, but the sign of grace.

Upon his eye-sight failing him.

I Beginne to waine in sight; Shortly I shall bid goodnight: Then no gazing more about, When the Tapers once are out.

To his worthy Friend, M. Tho. Falconbirge.

STand with thy Graces forth, Brave man, and rise High with thine own Auspitious Destinies: Nor leave the search, and proofe, till Thou canst find These, or those ends, to which Thou wast design'd. Thy lucky Genius, and thy guiding Starre, Have made Thee prosperous in thy wayes, thus farre: Nor will they leave Thee, till they both have shown Thee to the World a Prime and Publique One. Then, when Thou see'it thine Age all turn'd to gold, Remember what thy Herrick Thee foretold, When at the holy Threshold of thine house, He Boded good-luck to thy Selfe and Spouse. Lastly, be mindfull (when thou art grown great) That Towrs high rear'd dread most the lightnings threat: When as the humble Cottages not feare The cleaving Bolt of Jove the Thunderer.

Upon Julia's haire fill'd with Dew.

DEw sate on Julia's haire, And spangled too, Like Leaves that laden are With trembling Dew: Or glitter'd to my sight, As when the Beames Have their reflected light, Daunc't by the Streames.

Another on her.

HOw can I choose but love, and follow her, Whose shadow smels like milder Pomander! How can I chuse but kisse her, whence do's come The Storax, Spiknard, Myrrhe, and Ladanum.

Losse from the least.

GReat men by small meanes oft are overthrown: He's Lord of thy life, who contemnes his own.

Reward and punishments.

ALL things are open to these two events, Or to Rewards, or else to Punishments.

Shame, no Statist.

SHame is a bad attendant to a State: He rents his Crown, That feares the Peoples hate.

To Sir Clisebie Crew.

SInce to th' Country first I came, I have lost my former flame:

And, methinks, I not inherit, As I did, my ravisht spirit. If I write a Verse, or two, 'Tis with very much ado; In regard I want that Wine, Which sho'd conjure up a line. Yet, though now of Muse bereft, I have still the manners left For to thanke you (Noble Sir) For those gifts you do conferre Upon him, who only can Be in Prose a gratefull man.

Upon himselfe.

I Co'd never love indeed; Never see mine own heart bleed: Never crucifie my life; Or for Widow, Maid, or Wife.

2.

I co'd never seeke to please One, or many Mistresses: Never like their lips, to sweare Oyle of Roses still smelt there.

3.

I co'd never breake my sleepe, Fold mine Armes, sob, sigh, or weep: Never beg, or humbly wooe With oathes, and lyes, (as others do.)

4.

I co'd never walke alone; Put a shirt of sackcloth on: Never keep a fast, or pray For good luck in love (that day.)

5.

But have hitherto liv'd free, As the aire that circles me: And kept credit with my heart, Neither broke i'th whole, or part.

Fresh Cheese and Cream.

WO'd yee have fresh Cheese and Cream? Iulia's Breast can give you them: And if more; Each Nipple cries, To your Cream, her's Straw berries.

An Eclogue, or Pastorall between Endimion Por∣ter and Lycidas Herrick,, set and sung.

Endym.

AH! Lycidas, come tell me why Thy whilome merry Oate By thee doth so neglected lye; And never purls a Note?

2.

I prithee speake: Lyc. I will. End. Say on:

Lyc.

'Tis thou, and only thou, That art the cause Endimion;

End.

For Loves-sake, tell me how.

Lyc.

3.

In this regard, that thou do'st play Upon an other Plain: And for a Rurall Roundelay, Strik'st now a Courtly strain.

4.

Thou leav'st our Hills, our Dales, our Bowers, Our finer fleeced sheep: (Unkind to us) to spend thine houres, Where Shepheards sho'd not keep.

5.

I meane the Court: Let Latmos be My lov'd Endymions Court;

End.

But I the Courtly State wo'd see:

Lyc.

Then see it in report.

6.

What ha's the Court to do with Swaines, Where Phillis is not known? Nor do's it mind the Rustick straines Of us, or Coridon.

7.

Breake, if thou lov'st us, this delay;

End.

Dear Lycidas, e're long, I vow by Pan, to come away And Pipe unto thy Song.

8.

Then Jessimine, with Florabell; And dainty Amarillis, With handsome-handed Drosomell Shall pranke thy Hooke with Lillies.

Lyc.

9.

Then Tityrus, and Coridon, And Thyrsis, they shall follow With all the rest; while thou alone Shalt lead, like young Apollo.

10.

And till thou com'st, thy Lycidas, In every Geniall Cup, Shall write in Spice, Endimion 'twas That kept his Piping up.

And my most luckie Swain, when I shall live to see Endimions Moon to fill up full, remember me: Mean time, let Lycidas have leave to Pipe to thee.

To a Bed of Tulips.

1.

BRight Tulips, we do know, You had your comming hither; And Fading-time do's show, That Ye must quickly wither.

2.

Your Sister-hoods may stay, And smile here for your houre; But dye ye must away: Even as the meanest Flower.

3.

Come Virgins then, and see Your frailties; and bemone ye; For lost like these, 'twill be, As Time had never known ye.

A Caution.

THat Love last long; let it thy first care be To find a Wife, that is most fit for Thee. Be She too wealthy, or too poore; be sure, Love in extreames, can never long endure.

To the Water Nymphs, drinking at the Fountain.

1.

REach, with your whiter hands, to me, Some Christall of the Spring; And I, about the Cup shall see Fresh Lillies flourishing.

2.

Or else sweet Nimphs do you but this; To'th' Glasse your lips encline; And I shall see by that one kisse, The Water turn'd to Wine.

To his Honoured Kinsman, Sir Richard Stone.

TO this white Temple of my Heroes, here Beset with stately Figures (every where) Of such rare Saint-ships, who did here consume Their lives in sweets, and left in death perfume. Come thou Brave man! And bring with Thee a Stone Unto thine own Edification. High are These Statues here, besides no lesse Strong then the Heavens for everlastingnesse: Where build aloft; and being fixt by These, Set up Thine own eternall Images.

Upon a Flie.

A Golden Flie one shew'd to me, Clos'd in a Box of Yvorie: (have Where both seem'd proud; the Flie to His buriall in an yvory grave: The yvorie tooke State to hold A Corps as bright as burnisht gold. One Fate had both; both equall Grace; The Buried, and the Burying-place. Not Virgils Gnat, to whom the Spring All Flowers sent to'is burying. Not Marshals Bee, which in a Bead Of Amber quick was buried. Nor that fine Worme that do's interre Her selfe i'th' silken Sepulchre. Nor my rare * 1.7 Phil, that lately was With Lillies Tomb'd up in a Glasse; More honour had, then this same Flie; Dead, and clos'd up in Yvorie.

Upon Jack and Jill. Epig.

WHen Jill complaines to Jack for want of meate; Jack kisses Jill, and bids her freely eate: Jill sayes, of what? sayes Jack, on that sweet kisse, Which full of Nectar and Ambrosia is, The food of Poets; so I thought sayes Jill, That makes them looke so lanke, so Ghost-like still. Let Poets feed on aire, or what they will; Let me feed sull, till that I fart, sayes Jill.

To Julia.

IUlia' when thy Herrick dies, Close thou up thy Poets eyes: And his last breath, let it be Taken in by none but Thee.

To Mistresse Dorothy Parsons.

IF thou aske me (Deare) wherefore I do write of thee no more: I must answer (Sweet) thy part Lesse is here, then in my heart.

Upon Parrat.

PArrat protests 'tis he, and only he Can teach a man the Art of memory: Believe him not; for he forgot it quite, Being drunke, who 'twas that Can'd his Ribs last night.

How he would drinke his Wine.

FIll me my Wine in Christall; thus, and thus I see't in's puris naturalibus: Unmixt. I love to have it smirke and shine, 'Tis sin I know, 'tis sin to throtle Wine. What Mad-man's he, that when it sparkles so, Will coole his flames, or quench his fires with snow?

How Marigolds came yellow.

IEalous Girles these sometimes were, While they liv'd, or lasted here: Turn'd to Flowers, still they be Yellow, markt for Jealousie.

The broken Christall.

TO Fetch me Wine my Lucia went, Bearing a Christall continent: But making haste, it came to passe, She brake in two the purer Glasse, Then smil'd, and sweetly chid her speed; So with a blush, beshrew'd the deed.

Precepts.

GOod Precepts we must firmly hold, By daily Learning we wax old.

To the right Honourable Edward Earle of Dorset.

IF I dare write to You, my Lord, who are, Of your own selfe, a Publick Theater.

And sitting, see the wiles, wayes, walks of wit, And give a righteous judgement upon it. What need I care, though some dislike me sho'd, If Dorset say, what Herrick writes, is good? We know y'are learn'd i'th'Muses, and no lesse In our State-sanctions, deep, or bottomlesse. Whose smile can make a Poet; and your glance Dash all bad Poems out of countenance. So, that an Author needs no other Bayes For Coronation, then Your onely Praise. And no one mischief greater then your frown, To null his Numbers, and to blast his Crowne. Few live the life immortall. He ensures His Fame's long life, who strives to set up Yours.

Upon himself.

TH'art hence removing, (like a Shepherds Tent) And walk thou must the way that others went: Fall thou must first, then rise to life with These, Markt in thy Book for faithfull Witnesses.

Hope well and Have well: or, Faire after Foule weather.

WHat though the Heaven be lowring now, And look with a contracted brow? We shall discover, by and by, A Repurgation of the Skie: And when those clouds away are driven, Then will appeare a cheerfull Heaven.

Upon Love.

I Held Love's head while it did ake; But so it chanc't to be; The cruell paine did his forsake, And forthwith came to me.

2.

Ai me! How shal my griefe be stil'd? Or where else shall we find One like to me, who must be kill'd For being too-too-kind?

To his Kinswoman, Mrs. Penelope Wheeler.

NExt is your lot (Faire) to be number'd one, Here, in my Book's Canonization: Late you come in; but you a Saint shall be, In Chiefe, in this Poetick Liturgie.

Another upon her.

FIrst, for your shape, the curious cannot shew Any one part that's dissonant in you: And 'gainst your chast behaviour there's no Plea, Since you are knowne to be Penelope. Thus faire and cleane you are, although there be A mighty strife 'twixt Forme and Chastitie.

Kissing and bussing..

KIssing and bussing differ both in this; We busse our Wantons, but our Wives we kisse.

Crosse and Pile.

FAire and foule dayes trip Crosse and Pile; The faire Far lesse in number, then our foule dayes are.

To the Lady Crew, upon the death of her Child.

WHy, Madam, will ye longer weep, When as your Baby's lull'd asleep? And (pretty Child) feeles now no more Those paines it lately felt before. All now is silent; groanes are fled: Your Child lyes still, yet is not dead: But rather like a flower hid here To spring againe another yeare.

His Winding-sheet.

COme thou, who art the Wine, and wit Of all I've writ: The Grace, the Glorie, and the best Piece of the rest. Thou art of what I did intend The All, and End. And what was made, was made to meet Thee, thee my sheet. Come then, and be to my chast side Both Bed, and Bride. We two (as Reliques left) will have One Rest, one Grave. And, hugging close, we will not feare Lust entring here: Where all Desires are dead, or cold As is the mould:

And all Affections are forgot, Or Trouble not. Here, here the Slaves and Pris'ners be From Shackles free: And weeping Widowes long opprest Doe here find rest. The wronged Client ends his Lawes Here, and his Cause. Here those long suits of Chancery lie Quiet, or die: And all Star-chamber-Bils doe cease, Or hold their peace. Here needs no Court for our Request, Where all are best; All wise; all equall; and all just Alike i'th'dust. Nor need we here to feare the frowne Of Court, or Crown. Where Fortune bears no sway o're things, There all are Kings. In this securer place we'l keep, As lull'd asleep; Or for a little time we'l lye, As Robes laid by; To be another day re-worne, Turn'd, but not torn: Or like old Testaments ingrost, Lockt up, not lost: And for a while lye here conceal'd, To be reveal'd Next, at that great Platonick yeere, And then meet here.

To Mistresse Mary Willand.

ONe more by Thee, Love, and Desert have sent, T'enspangle this expansive Firmament. O Flame of Beauty! come, appeare, appeare A Virgin Taper, ever shining here.

Change gives content.

WHat now we like, anon we disapprove: The new successor drives away old Love.

Upon Magot a frequenter of Ordinaries.

MAgot frequents those houses of good-cheere, Talkes most, eates most, of all the Feeders there. He raves through leane, he rages through the fat; (What gets the master of the Meal by that?) He who with talking can devoure so much, How wo'd he eate, were nor his hindrance such?

On himselfe.

BOrne I was to meet with Age, And to walke Life's pilgrimage. Much I know of Time is spent, Tell I can't, what's Resident. Howsoever, cares, adue; Ile have nought to say to you: But Ile spend my comming houres, Drinking wine, & crown'd with flowres.

Fortune favours.

FOrtune did never favour one Fully, without exception; Though free she be, ther's something yet Still wanting to her Favourite.

To Phillis to love, and live with him.

LIve, live with me, and thou shalt see The pleasures Ile prepare for thee: What sweets the Country can afford Shall blesse thy Bed, and blesse thy Board. The soft sweet Mosse shall be thy bed, With crawling Woodbine over-spread: By which the silver-shedding streames Shall gently melt thee into dreames. Thy clothing next, shall be a Gowne Made of the Fleeces purest Downe. The tongues of Kids shall be thy meate; Their Milke thy drinke; and thou shalt eate The Paste, of Filberts for thy bread With Cream of Cowslips buttered: Thy Feasting-Tables shall be Hills With Daisies spread, and Daffadils; Where thou shalt sit, and Red-brest by, For meat, shall give thee melody. Ile give thee Chaines and Carkanets Of Primroses and Violets. A Bag and Bottle thou shalt have; That richly wrought, and This as brave; So that as either shall expresse The Wearer's no meane Shepheardesse. At Sheering-times, and yearely Wakes, When Themilis his pastime makes,

There thou shalt be; and be the wit, Nay more, the Feast, and grace of it. On Holy-dayes, when Virgins meet To dance the Heyes with nimble feet; Thou shalt come forth, and then appeare The Queen of Roses for that yeere. And having danc't ('bove all the best) Carry the Garland from the rest. In Wicker-baskets Maids shal bring To thee, (my dearest Shepharling) The blushing Apple, bashfull Peare, And shame-fac't Plum, (all simp'ring there) Walk in the Groves, and thou shalt find The name of Phillis in the Rind Of every straight, and smooth-skin tree; Where kissing that, Ile twice kisse thee. To thee a Sheep-hook I will send, Be-pranckt with Ribbands, to this end, This, this alluring Hook might be Lesse for to catch a sheep, then me. Thou shalt have Possets, Wassails fine, Not made of Ale, but spiced Wine; To make thy Maids and selfe free mirth, All sitting neer the glitt'ring Hearth. Thou sha't have Ribbands, Roses, Rings, Gloves, Garters, Stockings, Shooes, and Strings Of winning Colours, that shall move Others to Lust, but me to Love. These (nay) and more, thine own shal be, If thou wilt love, and live with me.

To his Kinswoman, Mistresse Susanna Herrick.

WHen I consider (Dearest) thou dost stay But here a while, to languish and decay;

Like to these Garden-glories, which here be The Flowrie-sweet resemblances of Thee: With griefe of heart, methinks, I thus doe cry, Wo'd thou hast ne'r been born; or might'st not die.

Upon Mistresse Susanna Southwell her cheeks.

RAre are thy cheeks Susanna, which do show Ripe Cherries smiling, while that others blow.

Upon her Eyes.

CLeere are her eyes, Like purest Skies. Discovering from thence A Babie there That turns each Sphere, Like an Intelligence.

Upon her feet.

HEr pretty feet Like snailes did creep A little out, and then, As if they played at Bo-peep, Did soon draw in agen.

To his honoured friend, Sir John Mince.

FOr civill, cleane, and circumcised wit, And for the comely carriage of it; Thou art The Man, the onely Man best known, Markt for the True-wit of a Million: From whom we'l reckon. Wit came in, but since The Calculation of thy Birth, Brave Mince.

Vpon his gray haires.

FLy me not, though I be gray, Lady, this I know you'l say; Better look the Roses red, When with white commingled. Black your haires are; mine are white; This begets the more delight, When things meet most opposite: As in Pictures we descry, Venus standing Vulcan by.

Accusation.

IF Accusation onely can draw blood, None shall be guiltlesse, be he ne'r so good.

Pride allowable in Poets.

AS thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let The Muse give thee the Delphick Coronet.

A Vow to Minerva.

GOddesse, I begin an Art; Come thou in, with thy best part, For to make the Texture lye Each way smooth and civilly: And a broad-fac't Owle shall be Offer'd up with Vows to Thee.

On Jone.

IOne wo'd go tel her haires; and well she might, Having but seven in all; three black, foure white.

Upon Letcher. Epig.

LEtcher was Carted first about the streets, For false Position in his neighbours sheets: Next, hang'd for Theeving: Now the people say, His Carting was the Prologue to this Play.

Upon Dundrige.

DVndrige his Issue hath; but is not styl'd For all his Issue, Father of one Child.

To Electra.

TIs Ev'ning, my Sweet, And dark; let us meet; Long time w'ave here been a toying: And never, as yet, That season co'd get, Wherein t'ave had an enjoying.

2.

For pitty or shame, Then let not Love's flame, Be ever and ever a spending; Since now to the Port The path is but short; And yet our way has no ending.

3.

Time flyes away fast; Our houres doe waste: The while we never remember, How soone our life, here, Growes old with the yeere, That dyes with the next December.

Discord not disadvantageous.

FOrtune no higher Project can devise, Then to sow Discord 'mongst the Enemies.

Ill Government.

PReposterous is that Government, (and rude) When Kings obey the wilder Multitude.

To Marygolds.

GIve way, and be ye ravisht by the Sun, (And hang the head when as the Act is done) Spread as He spreads; wax lesse as He do's wane; And as He shuts, close up to Maids again.

To Dianeme.

GIve me one kisse, And no more; If so be, this Makes you poore; To enrich you, Ile restore For that one, two Thousand score.

To Julia, the Flaminica Dialis, or Queen-Priest.

THou know'st, my Julia, that it is thy turne This Mornings Incense to prepare, and burrie.

The Chaplet, and * 1.8 Inarculum here be, With the white Vestures, all attending Thee. This day, the Queen-Priest, thou art made t'appease Love for our very-many Trespasses. One chiefe transgression is among the rest, Because with Flowers her Temple was not drest: The next, because her Altars did not shine With daily Fyers: The last, neglect of Wine: For which, her wrath is gone forth to consume Us all, unlesse preserv'd by thy Perfume. Take then thy Censer; Put in Fire, and thus, O Pious-Priestresse! make a Peace for us. For our neglect, Love did our Death decree, That we escape. Redemption comes by Thee.

Anacreontike.

BOrn I was to be old, And for to die here: After that, in the mould Long for to lye here. But before that day comes, Still I be Bousing; For I know, in the Tombs There's no Carousing.

Meat without mirth.

EAten I have; and though I had good cheere, I did not sup, because no friends were there. Where Mirth and Friends are absent when we Dine Or Sup, there wants the Incense and the Wine.

Large Bounds doe but bury us.

ALL things o'r-rul'd are here by Chance; The greatest mans Inheritance. Where ere the luckie Lot doth fall, Serves but for place of Buriall.

Upon Ursley.

VRsley, she thinks those Velvet Patches grace The Candid Temples of her comely face: But he will say, who e'r those Circlets seeth, They be but signs of Ursleys hollow teeth.

An Ode to Sir Clipsebie Crew.

1.

HEre we securely live, and eate The Creame of meat; And keep eternal fires, By which we sit, and doe Divine As Wine And Rage inspires.

2.

If full we charme; then call upon Anacreon To grace the frantick Thyrse: And having drunk, we raise a shout Throughout To praise his Verse.

3.

Then cause we Horace to be read, Which sung, or seyd, A Goblet, to the brim, Of Lyrick Wine, both swell'd and crown'd, A Round We quaffe to him.

4.

Thus, thus, we live, and spend the houres In Wine and Flowers: And make the frollick yeere, The Month, the Week, the instant Day To stay The longer here.

5.

Come then, brave Knight, and see the Cell Wherein I dwell; And my Enchantments too; Which Love and noble freedome is; And this Shall fetter you.

6.

Take Horse, and come; or be so kind, To send your mind (Though but in Numbers few) And I shall think I have the heart, Or part Of Clipseby Crew.

To his worthy Kinsman, Mr. Stephen Soame.

NOr is my Number full, till I inscribe Thee sprightly Soame, one of my righteous Tribe: A Tribe of one Lip; Leven, and of One Civil Behaviour, and Religion. A Stock of Saints; where ev'ry one doth weare A stole of white, (and Canonized here) Among which Holies, be Thou ever known, Brave Kinsman, markt out with the whiter stone: Which seals Thy Glorie; since I doe prefer Thee here in my eternall Calender.

To his Tomb-maker.

GO I must; when I am gone, Write but this upon my Stone; Chaste I liv'd, without a wife, That's the Story of my life. Strewings need none, every flower Is in this word, Batchelour.

Great Spirits supervive.

OUr mortall parts may wrapt in Seare-cloths lye: Great Spirits never with their bodies dye.

None free from fault.

OUt of the world he must, who once comes in: No man exempted is from Death, or sinne.

Upon himselfe being buried.

LEt me sleep this night away, Till the Dawning of the day: Then at th'opening of mine eyes, I, and all the world shall rise.

Pitie to the prostrate.

TIs worse then barbarous cruelty to show No part of pitie on a conquer'd foe.

Way in a crowd.

ONce on a Lord-Mayors day, in Cheapside, when Skulls co'd not well passe through that scum of men.

For quick dispatch, Sculls made no longer stay, Then but to breath, and every one gave way: For as he breath'd, the People swore from thence A Fart flew out, or a Sir-reverence.

His content in the Country.

HEre, here I live with what my Board, Can with the smallest cost afford. Though ne'r so mean the Viands be, They well content my Prew and me. Or Pea, or Bean, or Wort, or Beet, What ever comes, content makes sweet: Here we rejoyce, because no Rent We pay for our poore Tenement: Wherein we rest, and never feare The Landlord, or the Usurer. The Quarter-day do's ne'r affright Our Peacefull slumbers in the night. We eate our own, and batten more, Because we feed on no mans score: But pitie those, whose flanks grow great, Swel'd with the Lard of others meat. We blesse our Fortunes, when we see Our own beloved privacie: And like our living, where w'are known To very few, or else to none.

The credit of the Conquerer.

HE who commends the vanquisht, speaks the Power, And glorifies the worthy Conquerer.

On himselfe.

SOme parts may perish; dye thou canst not all: The most of Thee shall scape the funerall.

Upon one-ey'd Broomsted. Epig.

BRoomsted a lamenesse got by cold and Beere; And to the Bath went, to be cured there: His feet were helpt, and left his Crutch behind: But home return'd, as he went forth, halfe blind.

The Fairies.

IF ye will with Mab find grace, Set each Platter in his place: Rake the Fier up, and get Water in, ere Sun be set. Wash your Pailes, and clense your Dairies; Sluts are loathsome to the Fairies: Sweep your house: Who doth not so, Mab will pinch her by the toe.

To his honoured friend, M. John Weare, Councellour.

DId I or love, or could I others draw To the indulgence of the rugged Law: The first foundation of that zeale sho'd be By Reading all her Paragraphs in Thee. Who dost so fitly with the Lawes unite, As if You Two, were one Hermophrodite: Nor courts thou Her because she's well attended With wealth, but for those ends she was entended: Which were, (and still her offices are known) Law is to give to ev'ry one his owne.

To shore the Feeble up, against the strong; To shield the Stranger, and the Poore from wrong: This was the Founders grave and good intent, To keepe the out-cast in his Tenement: To free the Orphan from that Wolfe-like-man, Who is his Butcher more then Guardian. To drye the Widowes teares; and stop her Swoones, By pouring Balme and Oyle into her wounds. This was the old way; and 'tis yet thy course, To keep those pious Principles in force, Modest I will be; but one word Ile say (Like to a sound that's vanishing away) Sooner the in-side of thy hand shall grow Hisped, and hairie, ere thy Palm shall know A Postern-bribe tooke, or a Forked-Fee To fetter Justice, when She might be free. Eggs Ile not shave: But yet brave man, if I Was destin'd forth to golden Soveraignty: A Prince I'de be, that I might Thee preferre To be my Counsell both, and Chanceller.

The Watch.

MAn is a Watch, wound up at first, but never Wound up again: Once down, He's down for ever. The Watch once downe, all motions then do cease; And Mans Pulse stopt, All Passions sleep in Peace.

Lines have their Linings, and Bookes their Buckram.

AS in our clothes, so likewise he who lookes, Shall find much farcing Buckram in our Books.

Art above Nature, to Julia.

WHen I behold a Forrest spread With silken trees upon thyhead; And when I see that other Dresse Of flowers set in comlinesse: When I behold another grace In the ascent of curious Lace, Which like a Pinacle doth shew The top, and the top-gallant too. Then, when I see thy Tresses bound Into an Ovall, square, or round; And knit in knots far more then I Can tell by tongue; or true-love tie: Next, when those Lawnie Filmes I see Play with a wild civility: And all those airie silks to flow, Alluring me, and tempting so: I must confesse, mine eye and heart Dotes less on Nature, then on Art.

Upon Sibilla.

WIth paste of Almonds, Syb her hands doth scoure; Then gives it to the children to devoure. In Cream she bathes her thighs (more soft then silk) Then to the poore she freely gives the milke.

Upon his kinswoman Mistresse Bridget Herrick.

SWeet Bridget blusht, & therewithall, Fresh blossoms from her cheekes did fall I thought at first 'twas but a dream, Till after I had handled them; And smelt them, then they smelt to me, As Blossomes of the Almond Tree.

Upon Love.

I Plaid with Love, as with the fire The wanton Satyre did; Nor did I know, or co'd descry What under there was hid.

2.

That Satyre he but burnt his lips; (But min's the greater smart) For kissing Loves dissembling chips, The fire scorctht my heart.

Upon a comely, and curious Maide.

IF Men can say that beauty dyes; Marbles will sweare that here it lyes. If Reader then thou canst forbeare, In publique loss to shed a Teare: The Dew of griefe upon this stone Will tell thee Pitie thou hast none.

Upon the losse of his Finger.

ONe of the five straight branches of my hand Is lopt already; and the rest but stand Expecting when to fall: which soon will be; First dyes the Leafe, the Bough next, next the Tree.

Upon Irene.

ANgry if Irene be But a Minutes life with me: Such a fire I espie Walking in and out her eye, As at once I freeze, and frie.

Upon Electra's Teares.

VPon her cheekes she wept, and from those showers. Sprang up a sweet Nativity of Flowres.

Upon Tooly.

THe Eggs of Pheasants wrie-nos'd Tooly sells; But ne'r so much as licks the speckled shells: Only, if one prove addled, that he eates With superstition, (as the Cream of meates.) The Cock and Hen he feeds; but not a bone He ever pickt (as yet) of any one.

A Hymne to the Graces.

WHen I love, (as some have told, Love I shall when I am old) O ye Graces I Make me fit For the welcoming of it. Clean my Roomes, as Temples be, T'entertain that Deity. Give me words wherewith to wooe' Suppling and successefull too: Winning postures; and withall, Manners each way musicall: Sweetnesse to allay my sowre And unsmooth behaviour. For I know you have the skill Vines to prune, though not to kill, And of any wood ye see, You can make a Mercury.

To Silvia.

NO more my Silvia, do I mean to pray For those good dayes that ne'r will come away. I want beliefe; O gentle Silvia, be The patient Saint, and send up vowes for me.

Upon Blanch. Epig.

I Have seen many Maidens to have haire; Both for their comely need, and some to spare: But Blanch has not so much upon her head, As to bind up her chaps when she is dead.

Upon Vmber. Epig.

VMber was painting of a Lyon fierce, And working it, by chance from Vmbers Erse Flew out a crack, so mighty, that the Fart, (As Vmber sweares) did make his Lyon start.

The Poet hath lost his pipe.

I Cannot pipe as I was wont to do, Broke is my Reed, hoarse is my singing too: My wearied Oat Ile hang upon the Tree, And give it to the Silvan Deitie.

True Friendship.

WIlt thou my true Friend be? Then love not mine, but me.

The Apparition of his Mistresse calling him to Elizium.

Desunt nonnulla—

COme then, and like two Doves with silv'rie wings, Let our soules flie to'th'shades, where ever springs Sit smiling in the Meads; where Balme and Oile, Roses and Cassia crown the untill'd soyle. Where no disease raignes, or infection comes To blast the Aire, but Amber-greece and Gums. This, that, and ev'ry Thicket doth transpire More sweet, then Storax from the hallowed fire: Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue beares Of fragrant Apples, blushing Plums, or Peares: And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew Like Morning-Sun-shine tinsilling the dew. Here in green Meddowes sits eternall May, Purfling the Margents, while perpetuall Day So double gilds the Aire, as that no night Can ever rust th'Enamel of the light. Here, naked Younglings, handsome Striplings run Their Goales for Virgins kisses; which when done, Then unto Dancing forth the learned Round Commixt they meet, with endlesse Roses crown'd. And here we'l sit on Primrose-banks, and see Love's Chorus led by Cupid; and we'l be Two loving followers too unto the Grove, Where Poets sing the stories of our love. There thou shalt hear Divine Musoeus sing Of Hero, and Leander; then Ile bring Thee to the Stand, where honour'd Homer reades His Odisees, and his high Iliads. About whose Throne the crowd of Poets throng To heare the incantation of his tongue:

To Linus, then to Pindar; and that done, Ile bring thee Herrick to Anacreòn, Quaffing his full-crown'd bowles of burning Wine, And in his Raptures speaking Lines of Thine, Like to His subject; and as his Frantick- Looks, shew him truly Bacchanalian like, Besmear'd with Grapes; welcome he shall thee thither, Where both may rage, both drink and dance together. Then stately Virgil, witty Ovid, by Whom faire Corinna sits, and doth comply With Yvorie wrists, his Laureat head, and steeps His eye in dew of kisses, wh'le he sleeps. Then soft Catullus, sharp-fang'd Martial, And towring Lucan, Horace, Juvenal, And Snakie Perseus, these, and those, whom Rage (Dropt for the jarres of heaven) fill'd t'engage All times unto their frenzies; Thou shalt there Behold them in a spacious Theater. Among which glories, (crown'd with sacred Bayes, And flatt'ring Ivie) Two recite their Plaies, Beumont and Fletcher, Swans, to whom all eares Listen, while they (like Syrens in their Spheres) Sing their Evadne; and still more for thee There yet remaines to know, then thou can'st see By glim'ring of a fancie: Doe but come, And there Ile shew thee that capacious roome In which thy Father Johnson now is plac't, As in a Globe of Radiant fire, and grac't To be in that Orbe crown'd (that doth include Those Prophets of the former Magnitude) And he one chiefe; But harke, I heare the Cock, (The Bell-man of the night) proclaime the clock Of late struck one; and now I see the prime Of Day break from the pregnant East, 'tis time I vanish; more I had to say; But Night determines here, Away.

Life is the Bodies Light.

LIfe is the Bodies light; which once declining, Those crimson clouds i'th'cheeks & lips leave shining. Those counter-changed Tabbies in the ayre, (The Sun once set) all of one colour are. So, when Death comes, Fresh tinctures lose their place, And dismall Darknesse then doth smutch the face.

Vpon Urles. Epig.

VRles had the Gout so, that he co'd not stand; Then from his Feet, it shifted to his Hand: When 'twas in's Feet, his Charity was small; Now tis in's Hand, he gives no Almes at all.

Vpon Franck.

FRanck ne'r wore silk she sweares; but I reply, She now weares silk to hide her blood-shot eye.

Love lightly pleased.

LEt faire or foule my Mistresse be, Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me: Or let her walk, or stand, or sit, The posture hers, I'm pleas'd with it. Or let her tongue be still, or stir, Gracefull is ev'ry thing from her. Or let her Grant, or else Deny, My Love will fit each Historie.

The Primrose.

ASke me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the yeere? Aske me why I send to you This Primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew? I will whisper to your eares, The sweets of Love are mixt with tears.

2.

Ask me why this flower do's show So yellow-green, and sickly too? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending, (yet it doth not break?) I will answer, These discover What fainting hopes are in a Lover.

The Tythe. To the Bride.

IF nine times you your Bride-groome kisse; The tenth you know the Parsons is. Pay then your Tythe; and doing thus, Prove in your Bride-bed numerous. If children you have ten, Sir John Won't for his tenth part ask you one.

A Frolick.

BRing me my Rose-buds, Drawer come; So, while I thus sit crown'd; Ile drink the aged Cecubum, Untill the roofe turne round.

Change common to all.

ALL things subjected are to Fate; Whom this Morne sees most fortünate, The Ev'ning sees in poore estate.

To Julia.

THe Saints-bell calls; and, Julia, I must read The Proper Lessons for the Saints now dead: To grace which Service, Julia, there shall be One Holy Collect, said or sung for Thee. Dead when thou art, Deare Julia, thou shalt have A Tentrall sung by Virgins o're thy Grave: Meane time we two will sing the Dirge of these; Who dead, deserve our best remembrances.

No luck in Love.

IDoe love I know not what; Sometimes this, & sometimes that: All conditions I aime at.

2.

But, as lucklesse, I have yet Many shrewd disasters met, To gaine her whom I wo'd get.

3.

Therefore now Ile love no more, As I've doted heretofore: He who must be, shall be poore.

In the darke none dainty.

NIght hides our thefts; all faults then pardon'd be: All are alike faire, when no spots we see. Lais and Lucrece, in the night time are Pleasing alike; alike both singular: Jone, and my Lady have at that time one, One and the selfe-same priz'd complexion. Then please alike the Pewter and the Plate; The chosen Rubie, and the Reprobate.

A charme, or an allay for Love.

IF so be a Toad be laid In a Sheeps-skin newly flaid, And that ty'd to man'twill sever Him and his affections ever.

Upon a free Maid, with a foule breath.

YOu say you'l kiss me, and I thanke you for it: But stinking breath, I do as hell abhorre it.

Upon Coone. Epig.

WHat is the reason Coone so dully smels? His Nose is over-cool'd with Isicles.

To his Brother in Law Master John Wingfield.

FOr being comely, consonant, and free To most of men, but most of all to me: For so decrecing, that thy clothes expence Keepes still within a just circumference:

Then for contriving so to loade thy Board, As that the Messes ne'r o'r-laid the Lord: Next for Ordaining, that thy words not swell To any one unsober' syllable. These I co'd praise thee for beyond another, Wert thou a Winckfield onely, not a Brother.

The Head-ake.

MY head doth ake, O Sappho! take Thy fillit, And bind the paine; Or bring some bane To kill it.

2.

But lesse that part, Then my poore heart, Now is sick: One kisse from thee Will counsell be, And Physick.

On himselfe.

LIve by thy Muse thou shalt; when others die Leaving no Fame to long Posterity: When Monarchies trans-shifted are, and gone; Here shall endure thy vast Dominion.

Upon a Maide.

HEnce a blessed soule is fled, Leaving here the body dead: Which (since here they can't combine) For the Saint, we'l keep the Shrine.

Vpon Spalt.

OF Pushes Spalt has such a knottie race, He needs a. Tucker for to burle his face.

Of Horne a Comb-maker.

Horne sells to others teeth; but has not one To grace his own Gums, or of Box, or bone.

Vpon the trouble some times.

O! Times most bad, Without the scope Of hope Of better to be had!

2.

Where shall I goe, Or whither run To shun This publique overthrow?

3.

No places are (This I am sure) Secure In this our wasting Warre.

4.

Some storms w'ave past; Yet we must all Down fall, And perish at the last.

Cruelty base in Commanders.

NOthing can be more loathsome, then to see Power conjoyn'd with Natures Crueltie.

Vpon a fowre-breath Lady. Epig.

FIe, (quoth my Lady) what a stink is here? When 'twas her breath that was the Carrionere.

Upon Lucia.

IAskt my Lucia but a kisse; And she with scorne deny'd me this. Say then, how ill sho'd I have sped, Had I then askt her Maidenhead?

Little and loud.

LIttle you are; for Womans sake be proud; For my sake next, (though little) be not loud.

Ship-wrack.

HE, who has suffer'd Ship-wrack, feares to saile Upon the Seas, though with a gentle gale.

Paines without profit.

A Long-lifes-day I've taken paines For very little, or no gaines: The Ev'ning's come; here now Ile stop, And work no more; but shut up Shop.

To his Booke.

BE bold my Booke, nor be abasht, or feare The cutting Thumb-naile, or the Brow severe. But by the Muses sweare, all here is good, If but well read; or ill read, understood.

His Prayer to Ben. Johnson.

WHen I a Verse shall make, Know I have praid thee, For old Religions sake, Saint Ben to aide me.

2.

Make the way smooth for me, When I, thy Herrick, Honouring thee, on my knee Offer my Lyrick,

3.

Candles Ile give to thee, And a new Altar; And thou Saint Ben, shalt be Writ in my Psalter.

Poverty and Riches.

GIve Want her welcome if she comes; we find, Riches to be but burthens to the mind.

Again.

WHo with a little cannot be content, Endures an everlasting punishment.

The Covetous still Captives.

LEt's live with that smal pittance that we have; Who covets more, is evermore a slave.

Lawes.

WHen Lawes full power have to sway, we see Little or no part there of Tyrannie,

Of Love.

ILe get me hence, Because no fence, Or Fort that I can make here; But Love by charmes, Or else by Armes Will storme, or starving take here.

Upon Cock.

COck calls his Wife his Hen: when Cock goes too't, Cock treads his Hen, but treads her under-foot.

To his Muse.

GO wooe young Charles no more to looke, Then but to read this in my Booke: How Herrick beggs, if that he can- Not like the Muse; to love the man, Who by the Shepheards, sung (long since) The Starre-led-birth of Charles the Prince.

The bad season makes the Poet sad.

DUll to my selfe, and almost dead to these My many fresh and fragrant Mistresses: Lost to all Musick now; since every thing Puts on the semblance here of sorrowing. Sick is the Land to'th' heart; and doth endure More dangerous faintings by her desp'rate cure. But if that golden Age wo'd come again, And Charles here Rule, as he before did Raign; If smooth and unperplext the Seasons were, As when the Sweet Maria lived here: I sho'd delight to have my Curles halfe drown'd In Tyrian Dewes, and Head with Roses crown'd. And once more yet (ere I am laid out dead) Knock at a Starre with my exalted Head.

To Vulcan.

THy sooty Godhead, I desire Still to be ready with thy fire: That sho'd my Booke despised be, Acceptance it might find of thee.

Like Pattern, like People.

THis is the height of Justice, that to doe Thy selfe, which thou put'st other men unto. As great men lead; the meaner follow on, Or to the good, or cvill action.

Purposes.

NO wrath of Men, or rage of Seas Can shake a just mans purposes:

No threats of Tyrants, or the Grim Visage of them can alter him; But what he doth at first entend, That he holds firmly to the end.

To the Maids to walke abroad.

Come sit we under yonder Tree, Where merry as the Maids we'l be. And as on Primroses we sit, We'l venter (if we can) at wit: If not, at Draw-gloves we will play; So spend some minutes of the day: Or else spin out the thread of sands, Playing at Questions and Commands: Or tell what strange Tricks Love can do, By quickly making one of two, Thus we will sit and talke; but tell No cruell truths of Philomell, Or Phillis, whom hard Fate forc'ton, To kill her selfe for Demophon. But Fables we'l relate; how fove. Put on all shapes to get a Love: As now a Satyr, then a Swan; A Bull but then; and now a man. Next we will act, how young men wooe; And sigh, and kiss, as Lovers do: And talke of Brides; & who shall make That wedding-smock, this Bridal-Cake; That Dress, this Sprig, that Leaf, this Vine; That smooth and silken Columbine. This done, we'l draw lots, who shall buy And guild the Baies and Rosemary: What Posies for our Wedding Rings; What Gloves we'l give, and Ribanings: And smiling at our selves, decree, Who then the joyning Priest shall be.

What short sweet Prayers shall be said; And how the Posset shall be made With Cream of Lillies (not of Kine) And Maiden's-blush, for spiced wine. Thus, having talkt, we'l next' commend A kiss to each; and so we'l end.

His own Epitaph.

A Swearied Pilgrims, once possest Of long'd-for lodging, go to rest: So I, now having rid my way; Fix here my Button'd Staffe and stay. Youth (I confess) hath me mis-led; Bnt Age hath brought me right to Bed.

A Nuptiall Verse to Mistresse Elizabeth Lee, now Lady Tracie.

Spring with the Larke, most comely Bride, and meet Your eager Bridegroome with auspitious feet. The Morn's farre spent; and the immortall Sunne Corrols his cheeke, to see those Rites not done. Fie, Lovely maid! Indeed you are too flow, When to the Temple Love sho'd runne, not go. Dispatch your dressing then; and quickly wed: Then feast, and coy't a little; then to bed. This day is Loves day; and this busie night Is yours, in which you challeng'd are to fight With such an arm'd, but such an easie Foe, As will if you yeeld, lye down conquer'd too. The Field is pitcht; but such must be your warres, As that your kisses must out-vie the Starres. Fall down together vanquisht both, and lye Drown'd in the bloud of Rubies there, not die.

The Night-piece, to Julia.

HEr Eyes the Glow-worme lend thee, The Shooting Starres attend thee; And the Elves also, Whose little eyes glow, Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

2.

No Will-o'th'-Wispe mis-light thee; Nor Snake, or Slow-worme bite thee: But on, on thy way Not making a stay, Since Ghost ther's none to affright thee.

3.

Let not the darke thee cumber; What though the Moon do's slumber? The Starres of the night Will lend thee their light, Like Tapers cleare without number.

4.

Then Julia let me wooe thee, Thus, thus to come unto me: And when I shall meet Thy silv'ry feet, My soule Ile poure into thee.

To Sir Cilpseby Crew.

GIve me wine, and give me meate, To create in me a heate, That my Pulses high may beate.

2.

Cold and hunger never yet Co'd a noble Verse beget; But your Boules with Sack repleat.

3.

Give me these (my Knight) and try In a Minutes space how I Can runne mad, and Prophesie.

4.

Then if any Peece proves new, And rare, Ile say (my dearest Crew) It was full enspir'd by you.

Good Luck not lasting.

IF well the Dice runne, lets applaud the cast: The happy fortune will not alwayes last.

A Kisse.

WHat is a Kisse? Why this, 'as some approve; The sure sweet-Sement, Glue, and Lime of Love.

Glorie.

I Make no haste to have my Numbers read. Seldome comes Glorie till a man be dead.

Poets.

WAntons we are; and though our words be such, Our Lives do differ from our Lines by much.

No despight to the dead.

REproach we may the living; not the dead: 'Tis cowardice to bite the buried.

To his Verses.

WHat will ye (my poor Orphans) do When I must leave the World (and you) Who'l give ye then a sheltring shed, Or credit ye, when I am dead? Who'l let ye by their fire fit? Although ye have a stock of wit, Already coin'd to pay for it. I cannot tell; unlesse there be Some Race of old humanitie Left (of the large heart, and long hand) Alive, as Noble Westmor land; Or gallant Newark; which brave two May fost'ring fathers be to you. If not; expect to be no less Ill us'd, then Babes left fatherless.

His charge to Julia at his death.

DEarest of thousands, now the time drawes neere, That with my Lines, my Life must full-stop here. Cut off thy haires; and let thy Teares be shed Over my Turfe, when I am buried. Then for effusions, let none wanting be, Or other Rites that doe belong to me; As Love shall helpe thee, when thou do'st go hence Unto thy everlasting residence,

Upon Love.

IN a Dreame, Love bad me go To the Gallies there to Rowe; In the Vision I askt, why? Love as briefly did reply;

Twas better there to toyle, then prove The turmoiles they endure that love. I awoke, and then I knew What Love said was too too true: Henceforth therefore I will be As from Love, from trouble free. None pities him that's in the snare, And warn'd before, wo'd not beware.

The Coblers Catch.

COme sit we by the fires side; And roundly drinke we here; Till that we see our checkes Ale-dy'd And noses tann'd with Beere.

Upon Bran. Epig.

WHat made that mirth last night? the neighbours That Bran the Baker did his Breech bewray: (say, I rather thinke (though they may speake the worst) Twas to his Batch, but Leaven laid there first.

Upon Snare, an Usurer.

SNare, ten i'th' hundred calls his wife; and why? Shee brings in much, by carnall usury. He by extortion brings in three times more: Say, who's the worst, th' exactor, or the whore?

Upon Grudgings.

GRudgings turnes bread to stones, when to the Poore He gives an almes, and chides them from his doore.

Connubii Flores, or the well-wishes at Weddings

Chorus Sacerdotum.

1.

FRom the Temple to your home May a thousand blessings come! And a sweet concurring stream Of all joyes, to joyn with them.

Chorus Juvenum.

2.

HAppy day Make no long stay Here In thy Sphere; But give thy place to night, That she, As Thee, May be Partaker of this sight. And since it was thy care To see the Younglings wed; 'Tis fit that Night, the Paire, Sho'd see safe brought to Bed.

Chorus Senum.

3.

GO to your banquet then, but use delight, So as to rise still with an appetite. Love is a thing most nice; and must be fed To such a height; but never surfeited. What is beyond the mean is ever ill: 'Tis best to feed Love; but not over-fill: Go then discreetly to the Bed of pleasure; And this remember, Vertue keepes the measure.

Chorus Virginum.

4.

LUckie signes we have discri'd To encourage on the Bride; And to these we have espi'd, Not a kissing Cupid flyes Here about, but has his eyes, To imply your Love is wise.

Chorus Pastorum.

5.

HEre we present a fleece To make a peece Of cloth; Nor Faire, must you be loth Your Finger to apply To huswiferie. Then, then begin To spin: And (Sweetling) marke you, what a Web will come Into your Chests, drawn by your painfull Thumb.

Chorus Matronarum.

6.

SEt you to your Wheele, and wax SRich, by the Ductile Wool and Flax. Yarne is an Income; and the Huswives thread The Larder fils with meat; the Bin with bread.

Chorus Senum.

7.

LEt wealth come in by comely thrift, And not by any sordid shift: 'Tis haste Makes waste: Extreames have still their fault;

The softest Fire makes the sweetest Mault. Who gripes too hard the dry and slip'rie sand, Holds none at all, or little in his hand.

Chorus Virginum.

8.

GOddesse of Pleasure, Youth and Peace, Give them the blessing of encrease: And thou Lucina, that do'it heare The vowes of those, that children beare: When as her Aprill •••• drawes neare, Be thou then propitious there.

Chorus Fuvenum.

9.

FArre hence be all speech, that may anger move: Sweet words must nourish soft and gentle Love.

Chorus omnium.

10.

LIve in the Love of Doves, and having told The Ravens yeares, go hence more Ripe then old

To his lovely Mistresses.

ONe night i'th'yeare, my dearest Beauties, come And bring those dew-d in••-offerings to my Tomb. When thence ye see my reverend Ghost to kisse, And there to liek th'effuied sacrifice:

Though palenes be the Livery that I weare, Looke ye not wan, or colourlesse for feare. Trust me I will not hurt ye; or once shew The least grim looke, or cast a frown on you: Nor shall the Tapers when I'm there, burn blew. This I may do (perhaps) as I glide by, Cast on my Girles a glance, and loving eye: Or fold mine armes and sigh, because I've lost The world so soon, and in it, you the most. Then these, no feares more on your Fancies fall, Though then I smile, and speake no words at all.

Upon Love.

A Christall Violl Cupid brought, Which had a juice in it: Of which who drank, he said no thought Of Love he sho'd admit.

2.

I greedy of the prize, did drinke, And emptied soon the glasse; Which burnt me so, that I do thinke The fire of hell it was.

3.

Give me my earthen Cups again, The Christall I contemne; Which, though enchas'd with Pearls, contain A deadly draught in them.

4.

And thou O Cupid! come not to My Threshold, since I see, For all I have, or else can do, Thou still wilt cozen me.

Upon Gander. Epig.

SInce Gander did his prettie Youngling wed; Gander (they say) doth each night pisse a Bed: What is the cause? Why Gander will reply, No Goose layes good eggs that is trodden drye.

Upon Lungs. Epig.

LUngs (as some, say) ne'r sets him down to eate, But that his breath do's Fly-blow all the meate.

The Beggar to Mab, the Fairie Queen.

PLease your Grace, from out your Store, Give an Almes to one that's poore, That your mickle, may have more. Black I'm grown for want of meat; Give me then an Ant to eate; Or the clest eare of a Mouse Over-sowr'd in drinke of Souce: Or sweet Lady reach to me The Abdomen of a Bee; Or commend a Crickets-hip, Or his Huckson, to my Scrip. Give for bread, a little bit Of a Pease, that 'gins to chit, And my full thanks take for it. Floure of Fuz-balls, that's too good For a man in needy-hood: But the Meal of Mill-dust can Well content a craving man. Any Orts the Elves refuse Well will serve the Beggars use.

But if this may seem too much For an Almes; then give me such Little bits, that nestle there In the Pris'ners Panier. So a blessing light upon You, and mighty Oberon: That your plenty last till when, I return your Almes agen.

An end decreed.

LEt's be jocund while we may; All things have an ending day: And when once the Work is done; Fates revolve no Flax th'ave spun.

Upon a child.

HEre a pretty Baby lies Sung asleep with Lullabies: Pray be silent, and not stirre Th 'easie earth that covers her.

Painting sometimes permitted.

IF Nature do deny Colours, let Art supply.

Farwell Frost, or welcome the Spring.

FLed are the Frosts, and now the Fields appeare Re-cloth'd in fresh and verdant Diaper. Thaw'd are the snowes, and now the lusty Spring Gives to each Mead a neat enameling. The Palms put forth their Gemmes, and every Tree Now swaggers in her Leavy gallantry.

The while the Daulian Minstrell sweetly sings, With warbling Notes, her Tyrrean suffe rings. What gentle Winds perspire? As if here Never had been the Northern Plunderer To strip the Trees, and Fields, to their distresse, Leaving them to a pittied nakednesse. And look how when a frantick Storme doth rear A stubborn Oake, or Holme (long growing there) But lul'd to calmnesse, then succeeds a breeze That scarcely stirs the nodding leaves of Trees: So when this War (which tempest-like doth spoil Our salt, our Corn, our Honie, Wine, and Oile) Falls to a temper, and doth mildly cast His inconsiderate Frenzie off (at last) The gentle Dove may, when these turmoils cease, Bring in her Bill, once more, the Branch of Peace.

The Hag.

THe Hag is astride, This night for to ride; The Devill and shee together: Through thick, and through thin, Now out, and then in, Though ne'r so foule be the weather.

2.

A Thorn or a Burr She takes for a Spurre: With a lash of a Bramble she rides now, Through Brakes and through Bryars, O're Ditches, and Mires, She followes the Spirit that guides now,

3.

No Beast, for his food, Dares now range the wood; But husht in his laire he lies lurking: While mischeifs, by these, On Land and on Seas, At noone of Night are a working,

4.

The storme will arise, And trouble the skies; This night, and more for the wonder, The ghost from the Tomb Affrighted shall come, Cal'd out by the clap of the Thunder.

Upon an old man a Residenciarie.

TRead, Sirs, as lightly as ye can Upon the grave of this old man. Twice fortie (bating but one year, And thrice three weekes) he lived here. Whom gentle fate translated hence To a more happy Residence. Yet, Reader, let me tell thee this (Which from his ghost a promise is) If here ye will some few teares shed, He'l never haunt ye now he's dead.

Upon Teares.

TEares, though th'are here below the sinners brine, Above they are the Angels spiced wine.

Physitians.

PHysitians fight not against men; but these Combate for men, by conquering the disease.

The Primitiae to Parents.

OUr Houshold-gods our Parents be; And manners good requires, that we The first Fruits give to them, who gave Us hands to get what here we have.

Upon Cob. Epig.

COb clouts his shooes, and as the story tells, His thumb-nailes-par'd, afford him sperrables.

Upon Lucie. Epig.

SOund Teeth has Lucie, pure as Pearl, and small, With mellow Lips, and luscious there withall.

Upon Skoles. Epig.

Skoles stinks so deadly, that his Breeches loath His dampish Buttocks furthermore to cloath: Cloy'd they are up with Arse; but hope, one blast Will whirle about, and blow them thence at last.

To Silvia.

I Am holy, while I stand Circum-crost by thy pure hand: But when that is gone; Again, I, as others, am Prophane.

To his Closet-Gods.

WHen I goe Hence ye Closet-Gods, I feare Never againe to have ingression here: Where I have had, what ever thing co'd be Pleasant, and precious to my Muse and me.

Besides rare sweets, I had a Book which none Co'd reade the Intext but my selfe alone. About the Cover of this Book there went A curious-comely clean Compartlement: And, in the midst, to grace it more, was set A blushing-pretty-peeping Rubelet: But now'tis clos'd; and being shut, & seal'd, Be it, O be it, never more reveal'd! Keep here still, Closet-gods, 'fore whom I've set Oblations oft, of sweetest Marmelet.

A Bacchanalian Verse.

FIll me a mighty Bowle Up to the brim: That I may drink Unto my Johnsons soule.

2.

Crowne it agen agen; And thrice repeat That happy heat; To drink to Thee my Ben.

3.

Well I can quaffe, I see, To th'number five, Or nine; but thrive In frenzie ne'r like thee.

Long lookt for comes at last.

THough long it be, yeeres may repay the debt; None loseth that, which he in time may get.

To Youth.

DRink Wine, and live here blithefull, while ye may: The morrowes life too late is, Live to day.

Never too late to dye.

NO man comes late unto that place from whence Never man yet had a regredience.

A Hymne to the Muses.

O! You the Virgins nine! That doe our soules encline To noble Discipline! Nod to this vow of mine: Come then, and now enspire My violl and my lyre With your etetnall fire: And make me one entire Composer in your Quire. Then I'le your Altars strew With Roses sweet and new; And ever live a true Acknowledger of you.

On himselfe.

ILe sing no more, nor will I longer write Of that sweet Lady, or that gallant Knight: Ile sing no more of Frosts, Snowes, Dews and Showers; No more of Groves, Meades, Springs, and wreaths of Ile write no more, nor will I tell or sing (Flowers: Of Cupid, and his wittie coozning: Ile sing no more of death, or shall the grave No more my Dirges, and my Trentalls have.

Upon Jone and Jane.

I One is a wench that's painted; June is a Girle that's tainted; Yet Jone she goes Like one of those Whom purity had Sainted..

Jane is a Girle that's prittie; Jane is a wench that's wittie; Yet, who wo'd think, Her breath do's stinke, As so it doth? that's pittie.

To Momus.

WHo read'st this Book that I have writ, And can'st not mend, but carpe at it: By all the muses! thou shalt be Anathema to it, and me.

Ambition.

IN wayes to greatnesse, think on this, That slippery all Ambition is.

The Country life, to the honoured M. End. Porter, Groome of the Bed-Chamber to His Maj.

SWeet Country life, to such unknown, Whose lives are others, not their own! But serving Courts, and Cities, be Less happy, less enjoying thee. Thou never Plow'st the Oceans foame To seek, and bring rough Pepper home:

Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove To bringfrom thence the scorched Clove. Nor, with the losse of thy lov'd rest, Bring'st home the Ingot from the West. No, thy Ambition's Master-piece Flies no thought higher then a fleece: Or how to pay thy Hinds, and cleere All scores; and so to end the yeere: But walk'st about thine own dear bounds, Not envying others larger grounds: For well thou know'st, 'tis not th'extent Of Land makes life, but sweet content. When now the Cock (the Plow-mans Horne) Calls forth the lilly-wristed Morne; Then to thy corn-fields thou dost goe, Which though well soyl'd, yet thou dost know, That the best compost for the Lands Is the wise Masters Feet, and Hands. There at the Plough thou find'st thy Teame, With a Hind whistling there to them: And cheer'st them up, by singing how The Kingdoms portion is the Plow. This done, then to th'enameld Meads Thou go'st; and as thy foot there treads, Thou seest a present God-like Power Imprinted in each Herbe and Flower: And smell'st the breath of great-ey'd Kine, Sweet as the blossomes of the Vine. Here thou behold'st thy large sleek Neat Unto the Dew-laps up in meat: And, as thou look'st, the wanton Steere, The Heifer, Cow, and Oxe draw neere To make a pleasing pastime there. These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks Of sheep, (safe from the Wolfe and Fox)

And find'st their bellies there as full Of short sweet grasse, as backs with wool. And leav'st them (as they feed and fill) A Shepherd piping on a hill. For Sports, for Pagentrie, and Playes, Thou hast thy Eves, and Holydayes: On which the young men and maids meet, To exercise their dancing feet: Tripping the comely country round, With Daffadils and Daisies crown'd. Thy Wakes, thy Quintels, here thou hast, Thy May-poles too with Garlands grac't: Thy Morris-dance; thy Whitsun-ale; Thy Sheering-feast, which never faile. Thy Harvest home; thy Wassaile bowle, That's tost up after Fox i'th'Hole. Thy Mummeries; thy Twelse tide Kings And Queenes; thy Christmas revellings: Thy Nut-browne mirth; thy Russet wit; And no man payes too deare for it. To these, thou hast thy times to goe And trace the Hare i'th'trecherous Snow: Thy witty wiles to draw, and get The Larke into the Trammell net: Thou hast thy Cockrood, and thy Glade To take the precious Phesant made: Thy Lime-twigs, Snares, and Pit-falls then To catch the pilfring Birds, not Men. O happy life! if that their good The Husbandmen but understood! Who all the day themselves doe please, And Younglings, with such sports as these. And, lying down, have nought t'affright Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night.

Caetera desunt—

To Electra.

I Dare not ask a kisse; I dare not beg a smile; Lest having that, or this, I might grow proud the while.

2.

No, no, the utmost share Of my desire, shall be Onely to kisse that Aire, That lately kissed thee.

To his worthy friend, M. Arthur Bartly.

WHen after many Lusters thou shalt be Wrapt up in Seare-cloth with thine Ancestrie: When of thy ragg'd Escutcheons shall be seene So little left, as if they ne'r had been: Thou shalt thy Name have, and thy Fames best trust, Here with the Generation of my Just.

What kind of Mistresse he would have.

BE the Mistresse of my choice, Cleane in manners, cleere in voice: Be she witty, more then wise; Pure enough, though not Precise: Be she shewing in her dresse, Like a civill Wilderness; That the curious may detect Order in a sweet neglect: Be she rowling in her eye, Tempting all the pasers by: And each Ringlet of her haire, An Enchantment, or a Snare,

For to catch the Lookers on; But her self held fast by none. Let her Lucrece all day be, Thais in the night, to me. Be she such, as neither will Famish me, nor over-fill.

Upon Zelot.

IS Zelot pure? he is: ye see he weares The signe of Circumcision in his eares.

The Rosemaire branch.

GRow for two ends, it matters not at all, Be't for my Bridall, or my Buriall.

Upon Madam Ursly, Epig.

FOr ropes of pearle, first Madam Vrsly showes A chaine of Cornes, pickt from her eares and toes: Then, next, to match Tradescant's curious shels, Nailes from her fingers mew'd, she shewes: what els? Why then (forsooth) a Carcanet is shown Of teeth, as deaf as nuts, and all her own.

Upon Crab, Epigr.

CRab faces gownes with sundry Furres; 'tis known, He keeps the Fox-furre for to face his own.

A Paranaeticall, or Advisive Verse, to his friend, M. John Wicks.

IS this a life, to break thy sleep? To rise as soon as day doth peep?

To 'tire thy patient Oxe or Asse By noone, and let thy good dayes passe, Not knowing This, that Jove decrees Some mirth, t'adulce mans miseries? No; 'tis a life, to have thine oyle, Without extortion, from thy soyle: Thy faithfull fields to yeeld thee Graine, Although with some, yet little paine: To have thy mind, and nuptiall bed, With feares, and cares uncumbered: A Pleasing Wife, that by thy side Lies softly panting like a Bride. This is to live, and to endeere Those minutes, Time has lent us here. Then, while Fates suffer, live thou free, (As is that ayre that circles thee) And crown thy temples too, and let Thy servant, not thy own self, sweat, To strut thy barnes with sheafs of Wheat. Time steals away like to a stream, And we glide hence away with them. No sound recalls the houres once fled, Or Roses, being withered: Nor us (my Friend) when we are lost, Like to a Deaw, or melted Frost. Then live we mirthfull, while we should, And turn the iron Age to Gold. Let's feast, and frolick, sing, and play, And thus lesse last, then live our Day. Whose life with care is overcast, That man's not said to live, but last: Nor is't a life, seven yeares to tell, But for to live that half seven well: And that wee'l do; as men, who know, Some few sands spent, we hence must go, Both to be blended in the Urn,

From whence there's never a return.

Once seen, and no more.

THousands each day passe by, which wee, Once past and gone, no more shall see.

Love.

THis Axiom I have often heard, Kings ought to be more lov'd, then fear'd.

To M. Denham, on his Prospective Poem.

OR lookt I back unto the Times hence flown, To praise those Muses, and dislike our own? Or did I walk those Pean-Gardens through, To kick the Flow'rs, and scorn their odours too? I might (and justly) be reputed (here) One nicely mad; or peevithly severe. But by Apollo! as I worship wit, (Where I have cause to burn perfumes to it:) So, I confesse, 'tis somwhat to do well In our high art, although we can't excell, Like thee; or dare the Buskins to unloose Of thy brave, bold, and sweet Maronian Muse. But since I'm cal'd (rare Denham) to be gone, Take from thy Herrick this conclusion: 'Tis dignity in others, if they be Crown'd Poets; yet live Princes under thee: The while their wreaths and Purple Robes do shine; Lesse by their own jemms, then those beams of thine.

A Hymne, to the Lares.

IT was, and still my care is, To worship ye, the Lares, With crowns of greenest Parsley, And Garlick chives not scarcely: For favours here to warme me, And not by fire to harme me. For gladding so my hearth here, With inoffenfive mirth here; That while the Wassaile Bowle here With North-down Ale doth troule here, No sillable doth fall here, To marre the mirth at all here. For which, ô Chimney-keepers! (I dare not call ye Sweepers) So long as I am able To keep a countrey-table, Great be my fare, or small cheere, I'le eat and drink up all here.

Deniall in women no disheartning to men.

WOmen, although they ne're so goodly make it, Their fashion is, but to say no, to take it.

Adversity.

LOve is maintain'd by wealth; when all is spent, Adversity then breeds the discontent.

To Fortune.

TUmble me down, and I will sit Upon my ruines (smiling yet:)

Teare me to tatters; yet I'le be Patient in my necessitie. Laugh at my scraps of cloaths, and shun Me, as a fear'd infection: Yet scarre-crow-like I'le walk, as one, Neglecting thy derision.

To Anthea.

COme Anthea, know thou this, Love at no time idle is: Let's be doing, though we play But at push-pin (half the day:) Chains of sweet bents let us make, Captive one, or both, to take: In which bondage we will lie, Soules transfusing thus, and die.

Cruelties.

NEro commanded; but withdrew his eyes From the beholding Death, and cruelties.

Perseverance.

HAst thou begun an act? ne're then give o're: No man despaires to do what's done before.

Upon his Verses.

WHat off-spring other men have got, The how, where, when, I question not. These are the Children I have left; Adopted some; none got by theft. But all are toucht (like lawfull plate) And no Verse illegitimate.

Distance betters Dignities.

KIngs must not oft be seen by publike eyes; State at a distance adds to dignities.

Health.

HEalth is no other (as the learned hold) But a just measure both of Heat and Cold.

To Dianeme. A Ceremonie in Glocester.

I'Le to thee a Simnell bring, 'Gainst thou go'st a mothering, So that, when she blesseth thee, Half that blessing thou'lt give me.

To the King.

GIve way, give way, now, now my Charles shines here, A Publike Light (in this immensive Sphere.) Some starres were fixt before; but these are dim, Compar'd (in this my ample Orbe) to Him. Draw in your feeble fiers, while that He Appeares but in His Meaner Majestie. Where, if such glory flashes from His Name, Which is His Shade, who can abide His Flame! Princes, and such like Publike Lights as these, Must not be lookt on, but at distances: For, if we gaze on These brave Lamps too neer, Our eyes they'l blind, or if not blind, they'l bleer.

The Funerall Rites of the Rose.

THe Rose was sick, and smiling di'd; And (being to be sanctifi'd) About the Bed, there sighing stood The sweet, and flowrie Sisterhood. Some hung the head, while some did bring (To wash her) water from the Spring. Some laid her forth, while other wept, But all a solemne Fast there kept. The holy Sisters some among The sacred Dirge and Trent all sung. But ah! what sweets smelt every where, As Heaven had spent all perfumes there. At last, when prayers for the dead, And Rites were all accomplished; They, weeping, spread a Lawnie Loome, And clos'd her up, as in a Tombe.

The Rainbow: or curious Covenant.

MIne eyes, like clouds, were drizling raine, And as they thus did entertaine The gentle Beams from Julia's sight To mine eyes level'd opposite: O Thing admir'd! there did appeare A curious Rainbow smiling there; Which was the Covenant, that she No more wo'd drown mine eyes, or me.

The last stroke strike sure.

THough by well-warding many blowes w'ave past, That stroke most fear'd is, which is struck the last.

Fortune.

FOrtune's a blind profuser of her own, Too much she gives to some, enough to none.

Stool-ball.

1

AT Stool-ball, Lucia, let us play, For Sugar-cakes and Wine; Or for a Tansie let us pay, The losse or thine, or mine.

2

If thou, my Deere, a winner be At trundling of the Ball, The wager thou shalt have, and me, And my misfortunes all.

3

But if (my Sweetest) I shall get, Then I desire but this; That likewise I may pay the Bet, And have for all a kisfe.

To Sappho.

LEt us now take time, and play, Love, and live here while we may; Drink rich wine; and make good cheere, While we have our being here: For, once dead, and laid i'th grave, No return from thence we have.

On Poet Prat, Epigr.

PRat He writes Satyres; but herein's the fault, In no one Satyre there's a mite of salt.

Upon Tuck, Epigr.

AT Post and Paire, or Slam, Tom Tuck would play This Christmas, but his want wherwith, sayes Nay.

Biting of Beggars.

WHo, railing, drives the Lazar from his door, Instead of almes, sets dogs upon the poor.

The May-pole.

THe May-pole is up, Now give me the cup; I'le drink to the Garlands a-round it: But first unto those Whose hands did compose The glory of flowers that crown'd it.

A health to my Girles, Whose husbands may Earles Or Lords be, (granting my wishes) And when that ye wed To the Bridall Bed, Then multiply all, like to Fishes.

Men mind no state in sicknesse.

THat flow of Gallants which approach To kisse thy hand from out the coach; That fleet of Lackeyes, which do run Before thy swift Postilion; Those strong-hoof'd Mules, which we behold, Rein'd in with Purple, Pearl, and gold, And shod with silver, prove to be

The drawers of the axeltree. Thy Wife, thy Children, and the state Of Persian Loomes, and antique Plate: All these, and more, shall then afford No joy to thee their sickly Lord.

Adversity.

ADversity hurts none, but onely such Whom whitest Fortune dandled has too much.

Want.

NEed is no vice at all; though here it be, With men, a loathed inconveniencie.

Griefe.

SOrrowes divided amongst many, lesse Discruciate a man in deep distresse.

Love palpable.

IPrest my Julia's lips, and in the kisse Her Soule and Love were palpable in this.

No action hard to affection.

NOthing hard, or harsh can prove Unto those that truly love.

Meane things overcome mighty.

BY the weak'st means things mighty are o'rethrown, He's Lord of thy life, who contemnes his own.

Upon Trigg, Epig.

TRigg having turn'd his sute, he struts in state, And tells the world, he's now regenerate.

Vpon Smeaton.

HOw co'd Luke Smeaton weare a shoe, or boot, Who two and thirty cornes had on a foot.

The Bracelet of Pearle: to Silvia.

I Brake thy Bracelet'gainst my will; And, wretched, I did see Thee discomposed then, and still Art discontent with me.

One jemme was lost; and I will get A richer pearle for thee, Then ever, dearest Silvia, yet Was drunk to Antonie.

Or, for revenge, I'le tell thee what Thou for the breach shalt do; First, crack the strings, and after that, Cleave thou my heart in two.

How Roses came red.

TIs said, as Cupid danc't among The Gods, he down the Nectar flung; Which, on the white Rose being shed, Made it for ever after red.

Kings.

MEn are not born Kings, but are men renown'd; Chose first, confirm'd next, & at last are crown'd.

First work, and then wages.

PRepost'rous is that order, when we run To ask our wages, e're our work be done.

Teares, and Laughter.

KNew'st thou, one moneth wo'd take thy life away, Thou'dst weep; but laugh, sho'd it not last a day.

Glory.

GLory no other thing is (Tullie sayes) Then a mans frequent Fame, spoke out with praise.

Possessions.

THose possessions short-liv'd are, Into the which we come by warre.

Laxare fibulam.

TO loose the button, is no lesse, Then to cast off all bashfulnesse.

His returne to London.

FRom the dull confines of the drooping West, To see the day spring from the pregnant East, Ravisht in spirit, I come, nay more, I flie

To thee, blest place of my Nativitie! Thus, thus with hallowed foot I touch the ground, With thousand blessings by thy Fortune crown'd. O fruitfull Genius! that bestowest here An everlasting plenty, yeere by yeere. O Place! O People! Manners! fram'd to please All Nations, Customes, Kindreds, Languages! I am a free-born Roman; suffer then, That I amongst you live a Citizen. London my home is: though by hard fate sent Into a long and irksome banishment; Yet since cal'd back; henceforward let me be, O native countrey, repossest by thee! For, rather then I'le to the West return, I'le beg of thee first here to have mine Urn. Weak I am grown, and must in short time fall; Give thou my sacred Reliques Buriall.

Not every day fit for Verse.

'TIs not ev'ry day, that I Fitted am to prophesie: No, but when the Spirit fils The fantastick Pannicles: Full of fier; then I write As the Godhead doth indite. Thus inrag'd, my lines are hurl'd, Like the Sybells, through the world. Look how next the holy fier Either slakes, or doth retire; So the Fancie cooles, till when That brave Spirit comes agen.

Poverty the greatest pack.

TO mortall men great loads allotted be, But of all packs, no pack like poverty.

A Beucolick, or discourse of Neatherds.

1

COme blithefull Neatherds, let us lay A wager, who the best shall play, Of thee, or I, the Roundelay, That fits the businesse of thé Day.

Chor.

And Lallage the Judge shall be, To give the prize to thee, or me.

2

Content, begin, and I will bet A Heifer smooth, and black as jet, In every part alike compleat, And wanton as a Kid as yet.

Chor.

And Lallage (with cow-like eyes) Shall be Disposeresse of the prize.

1

Against thy Heifer, I will here Lay to thy stake a lustie Steere, With gilded hornes, and burnisht cleere.

Chor.

Why then begin, and let us heare The soft, the sweet, the mellow note That gently purles from eithers Oat.

2

The stakes are laid: let's now apply Each one to make his melody:

Lal.

The equall Umpire shall be I, Who'l hear, and so judge righteously.

Chor.

Much time is spent in prate; begin, And sooner play, the sooner win.

[He playes.

1

That's sweetly touch't, I must confesse: Thou art a man of worthinesse: But hark how I can now expresse My love unto my Neatherdesse.

[He sings.

Chor.

A suger'd note! and sound as sweet As Kine, when they at milking meet.

4

Now for to win thy Heifer faire, I'le strike thee such a nimble Ayre, That thou shalt say (thy selfe) 'tis rare; And title me without compare.

Chor.

Lay by a while your Pipes, and rest, Since both have here deserved best.

2

To get thy Steerling, once again, I'le play thee such another strain; That thou thalt swear, my Pipe do's raigne Over thine Oat, as Soveraigne.

[He sings.

Chor.

And Lallage shall tell by this, Whose now the prize and wager is.

1 Give me the prize: 2. The day is mine: 1 Not so; my Pipe has silenc't thine:Line 1 And hadst thou wager'd twenty Kine, They were mine own. Lal. In love combine.

Chor.

And lay we down our Pipes together, As wearie, not o'recome by either.

True safety.

'TIs not the Walls, or purple, that defends A Prince from Foes; but 'tis his Fort of Friends.

A Prognostick.

AS many Lawes and Lawyers do expresse Nought but a Kingdoms ill-affectednesse: Ev'n so, those streets and houses do but show Store of diseases, where Physitians flow.

Upon Julia's sweat.

WO'd ye oyle of Blossomes get? Take it from my Julia's sweat: Oyl of Lillies, and of Spike, From her moysture take the like: Let her breath, or let her blow, All rich spices thence will flow.

Proof to no purpose.

YOu see this gentle streame, that glides, Shov'd on, by quick succeeding Tides: Trie if this sober streame you can Follow to th' wilder Ocean: And see, if there it keeps unspent In that congesting element. Next, from that world of waters, then By poares and cavernes back agen Induc't that inadultrate same Streame to the Spring from whence it came. This with a wonder when ye do, As easie, and els easier too:

Then may ye recollect the graines Of my particular Remaines; After a thousand Lusters hurld, By ruffling winds, about the world.

Fame.

'TIs still observ'd, that Fame ne're sings The order, but the Sum of things.

By use comes easinesse.

OFt bend the Bow, and thou with ease shalt do, What others can't with all their strength put to.

To the Genius of his house.

COmmand the Roofe great Genius, and from thence Into this house powre downe thy influence, That through each room a golden pipe may run Of living water by thy Benizon. Fulfill the Larders, and with strengthning bread Be evermore these Bynns replenished. Next, like a Bishop consecrate my ground, That luckie Fairies here may dance their Round: And after that, lay downe some silver pence, The Masters charge and care to recompence. Charme then the chambers; make the beds for ease, More then for peevish pining sicknesses. Fix the foundation fast, and let the Roofe Grow old with time, but yet keep weather-proofe.

His Grange, or private wealth.

THough Clock, To tell how night drawes hence, I're none,

A Cock, I have, to sing how day drawes on. I have A maid (my Prew) by good luck sent, To save That little, Fates me gave or lent. A Hen I keep, which creeking day by day, Tells when She goes her long white egg to lay. A goose I have, which, with a jealous eare, Lets loose Her tongue, to tell what danger's neare. A Lamb I keep (tame) with my morsells fed, Whose Dam An Orphan left him (lately dead.) A Cat I keep, that playes about my House, Grown fat, With eating many a miching Mouse. To these A * 1.9 Trasy I do keep, whereby I please The more my rurall privacie: Which are But toyes, to give my heart some ease: Where care None is, slight things do lightly please.

Good precepts, or counsell.

IN all thy need, be thou possest Still with a well-prepared brest: Nor let the shackles make thee sad;

Thou canst but have, what others had. And this for comfort thou must know, Times that are ill wo'nt still be so. Clouds will not ever powre down raine; A sullen day will cleere againe. First, peales of Thunder we must heare, Then Lutes and Harpes shall stroke the eare.

Money makes the mirth.

WHen all Birds els do of their musick faile, Money's the still-sweet-singing Nightingale.

Up tailes all.

BEgin with a kisse, Go on too with this: And thus, thus, thus let us smother Our lips for a while, But let's not beguile Our hope of one for the other.

This play, be assur'd, Long enough has endur'd, Since more and more is exacted; For love he doth call For his Uptailes all; And that's the part to be acted.

Upon Franck.

FRanck wo'd go scoure her teeth; and setting to't, Twice two fell out, all rotten at the root.

Upon Lucia dabled in the deaw.

MY Lucia in the deaw did go, And prettily bedabled so, Her cloaths held up, she shew'd withall Her decent legs, cleane, long and small. I follow'd after to descrie Part of the nak't sincerity; But still the envious Scene between Deni'd the Mask I wo'd have seen.

Charon and Phylomel, a Dialogue sung.

Ph.

CHaron! O gentle Charon! let me wooe thee, By tears and pitie now to come unto mee.

Ch.

What voice so sweet and charming do I heare? Say what thou art. Ph. I prithee first draw neare.

Ch.

A sound I heare, but nothing yet can see, Speak where thou art. Ph. O Charon pittie me! I am a bird, and though no name I tell, My warbling note will say I'm Phylomel.

Ch.

What's that to me, I waft nor fish or fowles, Nor Beasts (fond thing) but only humane soules.

Ph.

Alas for me! Ch. Shame on thy witching note, That made me thus hoist saile, and bring my Boat: But Ile returne; what mischief brought thee hither?

Ph.

A deale of Love, and much, much Griefe together.

Ch.

What's thy request? Ph. that since she's now beneath Who fed my life, I'le follow her in death.

Ch.

And is that all? I'm gone. Ph. By love I pray thee,

Ch.

Talk not of love, all pray, but few soules pay me.

Ph.

Ile give thee vows & tears Ch. can tears pay skores For mending sails, for patching Boat and Oares?

Ch.

I'le beg a penny, or Ile sing so long, Till thou shalt say, I've paid thee with a song.

Ch.

Why then begin, and all the while we make Our slothfull passage o're the Stvgian Lake, Thou & I'le sing to make these dull Shades merry, Who els with tears wo'd doubtles drown my ferry

Upon Paul. Epigr.

PAuls hands do give, what give they bread or meat, Or money? no, but onely deaw and sweat. As stones and salt gloves use to give, even so Pauls hands do give, nought else for ought we know.

Upon Sibb. Epigr.

SIbb when she saw her face how hard it was, For anger spat on thee her Looking-glasse: But weep not Christall; for the shame was meant Not unto thee, but That thou didst present.

A Ternarie of littles, upon a pipkin of Jellie sent to a Lady.

1

A Little Saint best fits a little Shrine, A little prop best fits a little Vine, As my small Cruse best fits my little Wine.

2

A little Seed best fits a little Soyle, A little Trade best fits a little Toyle: As my small Jarre best fits my little Oyle.

3

A little Bin best fits a little Bread, A little Garland fits a little Head: As my small stuffe best fits my little Shed.

4

A little Hearth best fits a little Fire, A little Chappell fits a little Quire,

As my small Bell best fits my little Spire.

5

A little streame best fits a little Boat; A little lead best fits a little Float; As my small Pipe best fits my little note.

6

A little meat best fits a little bellie, As sweetly Lady, give me leave to tell ye, This little Pipkin fits this little Jellie.

Upon the Roses in Julias bosome.

THrice happie Roses, so much grac't, to have Within the Bosome of my Love your grave. Die when ye will, your sepulchre is knowne, Your Grave her Bosome is, the Lawne the Stone.

Maids nay's are nothing.

MAids nay's are nothing, they are shie But to desire what they denie.

The smell of the Sacrifice.

THe Gods require the thighes Of Beeves for sacrifice; Which rosted, we the steam Must sacrifice to them: Who though they do not eat, Yet love the smell of meat.

Lovers how they come and part.

AGyges Ring they beare about them still, To be, and not seen when and where they will. They tread on clouds, and though they sometimes fall

They fall like dew, but make no noise at all. So silently they one to th'other come, As colours steale into the Peare or Plum, And Aire-like, leave no pression to be seen Where e're they met, or parting place has been.

To women, to hide their teeth, if they be rotten or rusty.

CLose keep your lips, if that you meane To be accounted inside cleane: For if you cleave them, we shall see There in your teeth much Leprosie.

In praise of women.

OJupiter, sho'd I speake ill Of woman-kind, first die I will; Since that I know, 'mong all the rest Of creatures, woman is the best.

The Apron of Flowers.

TTo gather Flowers Sappha went, And homeward she did bring Within her Lawnie Continent, The treasure of the Spring.

She smiling blusht, and blushing smil'd, And sweetly blushing thus, She lookt as she'd been got with child By young Favonius.

Her Apron gave (as she did passe) An Odor more divine, More pleasing too, then ever was

The lap of Proserpine.

The Candor of Julias teeth.

WHite as Zenobias teeth, the which the Girles Of Rome did weare for their most precious (Pearles.

Upon her weeping.

SHe wept upon her cheeks, and weeping so, She seem'd to quench loves fires that there did glow.

Another upon her weeping.

SHe by the River sate, and sitting there, She wept, and made it deeper by a teare.

Delay.

BReak off Delay, since we but read of one That ever prosper'd by Cunctation.

To Sir John Berkley, Governour of Exeter.

STand sorth brave man, since Fate has made thee here The Hector over Aged Exeter; Who for a long sad time has weeping stood, Like a poore Lady lost in Widdowhood: Bat feares not now to see her safety sold (As other Townes and Cities were) for gold, By those ignoble Births, which shame the stem That gave Progermination unto them: Whose restlesse Ghosts shall heare their children sing, Our Sires betraid their Countrey and their King.

True, if this Citie seven times rounded was With rock, and seven times circumflankt with brasse, Yet if thou wert not, Berkley, loyall proofe, The Senators down tumbling with the Roofe, Would into prais'd (but pitied) ruines fall, Leaving no shew, where stood the Capitoll. But thou art just and itchlesse, and dost please Thy Genius with two strength'ning Buttresses, Faith, and Affection: which will never slip To weaken this thy great Dictator-ship.

To Electra. Love looks for Love.

LOve love begets, then never be Unsoft to him who's smooth to thee. Tygers and Beares (I've heard some say) For profer'd love will love repay: None are so harsh, but if they find Softnesse in others, will be kind; Affection will affection move, Then you must like, because I love.

Regression spoiles Resolution.

HAst thou attempted greatnesse? then go on, Back-turning slackens Resolution.

Contention.

DIscreet and prudent we that Discord call, That either profits, or not hurts at all.

Consultation.

COnsult ere thou begin'st, that done, go on With all wise speed for execution.

Love dislikes nothing.

WHatsoever thing I see, Rich or poore although it be; 'Tis a Mistresse unto mee.

Be my Girle, or faire or browne, Do's she smile, or do's she frowne: Still I write a Sweet-heart downe.

Be she rough, or smooth of skin; When I touch, I then begin For to let Affection in.

Be she bald, or do's she weare Locks incurl'd of other haire; I shall find enchantment there.

Be she whole, or be she rent, So my fancie be content, She's to me most excellent.

Be she fat, or be she leane, Be she sluttish, be she cleane, I'm a man for ev'ry Sceane.

Our own sinnes unseen.

OTher mens sins wee ever beare in mind; None sees the fardell of his faults behind.

No Paines, no Gaines.

IF little lalour, little are our gaines: Mans fortunes are according to his paines.

Upon Slouch.

SLouch he packs up, and goes to sev'rall Faires, And weekly Markets for to sell his wares: Meane time that he from place to place do's rome, His wife her owne ware sells as fast at home.

Vertue best united.

BY so much, vertue is the lesse, By how much, neere to singlenesse.

The eye.

A Wanton and lascivious eye Betrayes the Hearts Adulterie.

To Prince Charles upon his coming to Exeter.

WHat Fate decreed, Time now ha's made us see A Renovation of the West by Thee. That Preternaturall Fever, which did threat Death to our Countrey, now hath lost his heat: And calmes succeeding, we perceive no more Th' unequall Pulse to beat, as heretofore. Something there yet remaines for Thee to do; Then reach those ends that thou wast destin'd to. Go on with Sylla's Fortune; let thy Fate Make Thee like Him, this, that way fortunate, Apollos Image side with Thee to blesse Thy Warre (discreetly made) with white successe. Meane time thy Prophets Watch by Watch shall pray; While young Charles fights, and fighting wins the day. That done, our smooth-pac't Poems all shall be Sung in the high Doxologie of Thee.

Then maids shall strew Thee, and thy Curles from them Receive (with Songs) a flowrie Diadem.

A Song.

BUrne, or drowne me, choose ye whether, So I may but die together: Thus to slay me by degrees, Is the height of Cruelties. What needs twenty stabs, when one Strikes me dead as any stone? O shew mercy then, and be Kind at once to murder mee.

Princes and Favourites.

PRinces and Fav'rites are most deere, while they By giving and receiving hold the play: But the Relation then of both growes poor, When These can aske, and Kings can give no more.

Examples, or like Prince, like People.

EXamples lead us, and wee likely see, Such as the Prince is, will his People be.

Potentates.

LOve and the Graces evermore do wait Upon the man that is a Potentate.

The Wake.

COme Anthea let us two Go to Feast, as others do. Tarts and Gustards, Creams and Cakes,

Are the Junketts still at Wakes: Unto which the Tribes resort, Where the businesse is the sport: Morris-dancers thou shalt see, Marian too in Pagentrie: And a Mimick to devise Many grinning properties. Players there will be, and those Base in action as in clothes: Yet with strutting they will please The incurious Villages. Neer the dying of the day, There will be a Cudgell-Play, Where a Coxcomb will be broke, Ere a good word can be spoke: But the anger ends all here, Drencht in Ale, or drown'd in Beere. Happy Rusticks, best content With the cheapest Merriment: And possesse no other feare, Then to want the Wake next Yeare.

The Peter-penny.

FResh strowings allow To my Sepulcher now, To make my lodging the sweeter; A staffe or a wand Put then in my hand, With a pennie to pay S. Peter.

Who has not a Crosse, Must sit with the losse, And no whit further must venture; Since the Porter he Will paid have his fee, Or els not one there must enter.

Who at a dead lift, Can't send for a gift A Pig to the Priest for a Roster, Shall heare his Clarke say, By yea and by nay, No pennie, no Pater Noster.

To Doctor Alablaster.

NOr art thou lesse esteem'd, that I have plac'd (Amongst mine honour'd) Thee (almost) the last: In great Processions many lead the way To him, who is the triumph of the day, As these have done to Thee, who art the one, One onely glory of a million, In whom the spirit of the Gods do's dwell, Firing thy soule, by which thou dost foretell When this or that vast Dinastie must fall Downe to a Fillit more Imperiall. When this or that Horne shall be broke, and when Others shall spring up in their place agen: When times and seasons and all yeares must lie Drown'd in the Sea of wild Eternitie: When the Black Dooms-day Bookes (as yet unseal'd) Shall by the mighty Angell be reveal'd: And when the Trumpet which thou late hast found Shall call to Judgment; tell us when the sound Of this or that great Aprill day shall be, And next the Gospell wee will credit thee. Meane time like Earth-wormes we will craule below, And wonder at Those Things that thou dost know.

Upon his Kinswoman Mrs. M. S.

HEre lies a Virgin, and as sweet As ere was wrapt in winding sheet.

Her name if next you wo'd have knowne, The Marble speaks it Mary Stone: Who dying in her blooming yeares, This Stone, for names sake, melts to teares. If fragrant Virgins you'l but keep A Fast, while Jets and Marbles weep, And praying, strew some Roses on her, You'l do my Neice abundant honour.

Felicitie knowes no Fence.

OF both our Fortunes good and bad we find Prosperitie more searching of the mind: Felicitie flies o're the Wall and Fence, While misery keeps in with patience.

Death ends all woe.

TIme is the Bound of things, where e're we go, Fate gives a meeting. Death's the end of woe.

A Conjuration, to Electra.

BY those soft Tods of wooll With which the aire is full: By all those Tinctures there, That paint the Hemisphere: By Dewes and drisling Raine, That swell the Golden Graine: By all those sweets that be I'th flowrie Nunnerie: By silent Nights, and the Three Formes of Heccate: By all Aspects that blesse The sober Sorceresse, While juice she straines, and pith

To make her Philters with: By Time, that hastens on Things to perfection: And by your self, the best Conjurement of the rest: O my Electra! be In love with none, but me.

Courage cool'd.

I Cannot love, as I have lov'd before: For, I'm grown old; &, with mine age, grown poore: Love must be fed by wealth: this blood of mine Must needs wax cold, if wanting bread and wine.

The Spell.

HOly Water come and bring; Cast in Salt, for seasoning: Set the Brush for sprinkling: Sacred Spittle bring ye hither; Meale and it now mix together; And a little Oyle to either: Give the Tapers here their light, Ring the Saints-Bell, to affright Far from hence the evill Sp'rite.

His wish to privacie.

GIve me a Cell To dwell, Where no foot hath A path: There will I spend, And end My wearied yeares In teares.

A good Husband.

A Master of a house (as I have read) Must be the first man up, and last in bed: With the Sun rising he must walk his grounds; See this, View that, and all the other bounds: Shut every gate; mend every hedge that's torne. Either with old, or plant therein new thorne: Tread ore his gleab, but with such care, that where He sets his foot, he leaves rich compost there.

A Hymne to Bacchus.

I Sing thy praise Iacchus, Who with thy Thyrse dost thwack us: And yet thou so dost back us With boldness that we feare No Brutus entring here; Nor Cato the severe. What though the Lictors threat us, We know they dare not beate us; So long as thou dost heat us. When we thy Orgies sing, Each Cobler is a King; Nor dreads he any thing: And though he doe not rave, Yet he'l the courage have To call my Lord Maior knave; Besides too, in a brave, Although he has no riches, But walks with dangling breeches, And skirts that want their stiches, And shewes his naked flitches; Yet he'le be thought or seen, So good as George-a-Green;

And calls his Blouze, his Queene; And speaks in language keene: O Bacchus! let us be From cares and troubles free; And thou shalt heare how we Will chant new Hymnes to thee.

Upon Pusse and her Prentice. Epig.

PUsse and her Prentice both at Draw-gloves play; That done, they kisse, and so draw out the day: At night they draw to Supper; then well fed, They draw their clothes off both, so draw to bed.

Blame the reward of Princes.

AMong disasters that discention brings, This not the least is, which belongs to Kings. If Wars goe well; each for a part layes claime: If ill, then Kings, not Souldiers beare the blame.

Clemency in Kings.

KIngs must not only cherish up the good, But must be niggards of the meanest bloud.

Anger.

WRongs if neglected, vanish in short time; But heard with anger, we confesse the crime.

A Psalme or Hymne to the Graces.

GLory be to the Graces! That doe in publike places,

Drive thence what ere encumbers, The listning to my numbers.

Honour be to the Graces! Who doe with sweet embraces, Shew they are well contented With what I have invented.

Worship be to the Graces! Who do from sowre faces, And lungs that wo'd infect me, For evermore protect me.

An Hymne to the Muses.

HOnour to you who sit! Neere to the well of wit; And drink you fill of it.

Glory and worship be! To you sweet Maids (thrice three) Who still inspire me.

And teach me how to sing Unto the Lyrick string My measures ravishing.

Then while I sing your praise, My Priest-hood crown with bayes Green, to the end of dayes.

Upon Julia's Clothes.

WHen as in silks my Julia goes, (flowes Ther, then (me thinks) how sweetly That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave Vibration each way free; O how that glittering taketh me!

Moderation.

IN things a moderation keepe, Kings ought to sheare, not skin their sheepe.

To Anthea.

LEts call for Hymen if agreed thou art; Delays in love but crucifie the heart. Loves thornie Tapers yet neglected lye: Speak thou the word, they'l kind le by and by. The nimble howers wooe us on to wed, And Genius waits to have us both to bed. Behold, for us the Naked Graces •…•…ay With maunds of roses for to strew the way: Besides, the most religious Prophet stands Ready to joyne, as well our hearts as hands. Juno yet smiles; but if she chance to chide, Ill luck 'twill bode to th' Bridegroome and the Bride. Tell me Anthea, dost thou fondly dread The loss of that we call a Maydenhead? Come, Ile instruct thee. Know, the vestall fier Is not by mariage quencht, but flames the higher.

Upon Prew his Maid.

IN this little Urne is laid Prewdence Baldwin (once my maid) From whose happy spark here let Spring the purple Violet.

The Invitation.

TO sup with thee thou didst me home invite; And mad'st a promise that mine appetite Sho'd meet and tire, on such lautitious meat, The like not Heliogabalus did eat: And richer Wine wo'dst give to me (thy guest) Then Roman Sylla powr'd out at his feast. I came; (tis true) and lookt for Fowle of price, The bastard Phenix; bird of Paradice; And for no less then Aromatick Wine Of Maydens-blush, commixt with Jessimine. Cleane was the herth, the mantle larded jet; Which wanting Lar, and smoke, hung weeping wet; At last, i'th' noone of winter, did appeare A ragd-soust-neats-foot with sick vineger: And in a burnisht Flagonet stood by Beere small as Comfort, dead as Charity. At which amaz'd, and pondring on the food, How cold it was, and how it child my blood; I curst the master; and I damn'd the souce; And swore I'de got the ague of the house. Well, when to eat thou dost me next desire, I'le bring a Fever; since thou keep'st no fire.

Ceremonies for Christmasse.

COme, bring with a noise, My merrie merrie boyes, The Christmas Log to the firing; While my good Dame, she Bids ye all be free; And drink to your hearts desiring.

With the last yeeres brand Light the new block, And For good successe in his spending, On your Psaltries play, That sweet luck may Come while the Log is a teending.

Drink now the strong Beere, Cut the white loafe here, The while the meat is a shredding; For the rare Mince-Pie And the Plums stand by To fill the Paste that's a kneading.

Christmasse-Eve, another Ceremonie.

COme guard this night the Christmas-Pie, That the Thiefe, though ne'r so slie, With his Flesh-hooks, don't come nie To catch it.

From him, who all alone sits there, Having his eyes still in his eare, And a deale of nightly feare To watch it.

Another to the Maids.

WAsh your hands, or else the fire Will not teend to your desire; Unwasht hands, ye Maidens, know, Dead the Fire, though ye blow.

Another.

VVAssaile the Trees, that they may beare You many a Plum, and many a Peare: For more or lesse fruits they will bring, As you doe give them Wassailing.

Power and Peace.

'TIs never, or but seldome knowne, Power and Peace to keep one Throne.

To his deare Valentine, Mistresse Margaret Falconbrige.

NOw is your turne (my Dearest) to be set A Jem in this eternall Coronet: 'Twas rich before; but since your Name is downe, It sparkles now like Ariadne's Crowne. Blaze by this Sphere for ever: Or this doe, Let Me and It shine evermore by you.

To Oenone.

SWeet Oenone, doe but say Love thou dost, though Love sayes Nay. Speak me faire; for Lovers be Gently kill'd by Flatterie.

Verses.

VVHo will not honour Noble Numbers, when Verses out-live the bravest deeds of men?

Happinesse.

THat Happines do's still the longest thrive, Where Joyes and Griefs have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Alternative.

Things of choice, long a comming.

VVE pray 'gainst Warre, yet we enjoy no Peace; Desire deferr'd is, that it may encrease.

Poetry perpetuates the Poet.

HEre I my selfe might likewise die, And utterly forgotten lye, But that eternall Poetrie Repullulation gives me here Unto the thirtieth thousand yeere, When all now dead shall re-appeare.

Upon Bice.

BIce laughs, when no man speaks; and doth protest It is his own breech there that breaks the jest.

Vpon Trencherman.

TOm shifts the Trenchers; yet he never can Endure that luke-warme name of Serving-man; Serve or not serve, let Tom doe what he can, He is a serving, who's a Trencher-man.

Kisses.

GIve me the food that satisfies a Guest: Kisses are but dry banquets to a Feast.

Orpheus.

ORpheus he went (as Poets tell) To fetch Euridice from Hell; And had her; but it was upon This short but strict condition: Backward he should not looke while he Led her through Hells obscuritie: But ah! it hapned as he made His passage through that dreadfull shade: Revolve he did his loving eye; (For gentle feare, or jelousie) And looking back, that look did sever Him and Euridice for ever.

Upon Comely a good speaker but an ill singer, Epig.

COmely Acts well; and when he speaks his part, He doth it with the sweetest tones of Art: But when he sings a Psalme, ther's none can be More curst for singing out of tune then he.

Any way for wealth.

E'Ene all Religious courses to be rich Hath been reherst, by Joell Michelditch: But now perceiving that it still do's please The sterner Fates, to cross his purposes; He tacks about, and now he doth profess Rich he will be by all unrighteousness: Thus if our ship fails of her Anchor hold, We'l love the Divell, so he lands the gold.

Upon an old Woman.

OLd widdow Prouse to do her neighbours evill Wo'd give (some say) her soule unto the Devill. Well, when sh'as kild, that Pig, Goose, Cock or Hen, What wo'd she give to get that soule agen?

Upon Pearch. Epig.

THou writes in Prose, how sweet all Virgins be; But ther's not one, doth praise the smell of thee.

To Sapho.

SApho, I will chuse to go Where the Northern winds do blow Endlesse Ice, and endlesse Snow: Rather then I once wo'd see, But a Winters face in thee, To benumme my hopes and me.

To his faithfull friend, Master John Crofts, Cup-bearer to the King.

FOr all thy many courtesies to me, Nothing I have (my Crofts) to send to Thee For the requitall; save this only one Halfe of my just remuneration. For since I've travail'd all this Realm throughout To seeke, and find some few Immortals out To circumspangle this my spacious Sphere, (As Lamps for everlasting shining here:) And having fixt Thee in mine Orbe a Starre (Amongst the rest) both bright and singular; The present Age will tell the world thou art If not to th'whole, yet satisfy'd in part.

As for the rest, being too great a summe Here to be paid; Ile pay't i'th'world to come.

The Bride-Cake.

THis day my Julia thou must make For Mistresse Bride, the wedding Cake: Knead but the Dow and it will be To paste of Almonds turn'd by thee: Or kisse it thou, but once, or twice, And for the Bride-Cake ther'l be Spice.

To be merry.

LEts now take out time; While w'are in our Prime; And old, old Age is a farre off: For the evill evill dayes Will come on apace; Before we can be aware of.

Buriall.

MAn may want Land to live in; but for all, Nature finds out some place for buriall.

Lenitie.

TIs the Chyrurgions praise, and height of Art, Not to cut off, but cure the vicious part.

Penitence.

WHo after his transgression doth repent, Is halfe, or altogether innocent.

Griefe.

COnsider sorrowes, how they are aright: Griefe, if't be great, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light.

The Maiden-blush.

SO look the mornings when the Sun Paints them with fresh Vermilion: So Cherries blush, and Kathern Peares, And Apricocks, in youthfull yeares: So Corrolls looke more lovely Red, And Rubies lately polished: So purest Diaper doth shine, Stain'd by the Beames of Clarret wine: As Julia looks when she doth dress Her either cheeke with bashfullness.

The Meane.

IMparitie doth ever discord bring: The Mean the Musique makes in every thing.

Haste hurtfull.

HAste is unhappy: What we Rashly do Is both unluckie; I, and foolish too. Where War with rashnesse is attempted, there The Soldiers leave the Field with equall feare.

Purgatory.

REaders wee enteat ye pray For the soule of Lucia; That in little time she be From her Purgatory free:

In th' intrim she desires That your teares may coole her fires.

The Cloud.

SEest thou that Cloud that rides in State Part Ruby-like, part Candidate? It is no other then the Bed Where Venus sleeps (halfe smothered.)

Upon Loach.

SEeal'd up with Night-gum, Loach each morning lyes, Till his Wife licking, so unglews his eyes. No question then, but such a lick is sweet, When a warm tongue do's with such Ambers meet.

The Amber Bead.

I Saw a Flie within a Beade Of Amber cleanly buried: The Urne was little, but the room More rich then Cleopatra's Tombe.

To my dearest Sister M. Mercie Herrick.

WHen ere I go, or what so ere befalls Me in mine Áge, or forraign Funerals, This Blessing I will leave thee, ere I go, Prosper thy Basket, and therein thy Dow. Feed on the paste of Filberts, or else knead And Bake the floure of Amber for thy bread. Balm may thy Trees drop, and thy Springs runne And everlasting Harvest crown thy Soile! (oyle These I but wish for; but they selfe shall see, The Blessing fall in mellow times on Thee.

The Transfiguration.

IMmortall clothing I put on, So soone as Julia I am gon To mine eternall Mansion.

Thou, thou art here, to humane sight Cloth'd all with incorrupted light; But yet how more admir'dly bright

Wilt thou appear, when thou art set In thy refulgent Thronelet, That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit?

Suffer that thou canst not shift.

DO's Fortune rend thee? Beare with thy hard Fate: Vertuous instructions ne'r are delicate. Say, do's she frown? still countermand her threats: Vertue best loves those children that she beates.

To the Passenger.

IF I lye unburied Sir, These my Reliques, (pray) interre: 'Tis religious part to see Stones, or turfes to cover me. One word more I had to say; But it skills not; go your way; He that wants a buriall roome For a Stone, ha's Heaven his Tomhe,

Upon Nodes.

WHere ever Nodes do's in the Summer come, He prayes his Harvest may be well brought home. What store of Corn has carefull Nodes, thinke you, Whose Field his foot is, and whose Barn his shooe?

TO THE KING, Upon his taking of Leicester.

THis Day is Yours Great CHARLES! and in this War Your Fate, and Ours, alike Victorious are. In her white Stole; now Victory do's rest Enspher'd with Palm on Your Triumphant Crest. Fortune is now Your Captive; other Kings Hold but her hands; You hold both hands and wings.

To Julia, in her Dawn, or Day-breake.

BY the next kindling of the day My Julia thou shalt see, Ere Ave-Mary thou canst say Ile come and visit thee.

Yet ere thou counsel'st with thy Glasse, Appeare thou to mine eyes As smooth, and nak't, as she that was The prime of Paradice,

If blush thou must, then blush thou through A Lawn, that thou mayst looke As purest Pearles, or Pebles do When peeping through a Brooke.

As Lillies shrin'd in Christall, so Do thou to me appeare; Or Damask Roses, when they grow To sweet acquaintance there.

Counsell.

'TWas Cesars saying: Kings no lesse Conquerors are By their wise Counsell, then they be by Warre.

Bad Princes pill their People.

LIke those infernall Deities which eate The best of all the sacrificed meate; And leave their servants, but the smoak & sweat: So many Kings, and Primates too there are, Who claim the Fat, and Fleshie for their share, And leave their Subjects but the starved ware.

Most Words, lesse Workes.

IN desp'rate cases, all, or most are known Commanders, few for execution.

To Dianeme.

I Co'd but see thee yesterday Stung by a fretfull Bee; And I the Javelin suckt away, And heal'd the wound in thee.

A thousand thorns, and Bryars & Stings, I have in my poore Brest; Yet ne'r can see that salve which brings My Passions any rest.

As Love shall helpe me, I admire How thou canst sit and smile, To see me bleed, and not desire To stench the blood the while.

If thou compos'd of gentle mould Art so unkind to me; What dismall Stories will be told Of those that cruell be?

Upon Tap.

TAp (better known then trusted) as we heare Sold his old Mothers Spectacles for Beere: And not unlikely; rather too then fail, He'l sell her Eyes, and Nose, for Beere and Ale.

His Losse.

ALL has been plundered from me, but my wit; Fortune her selfe can lay no claim to it.

Draw, and Drinke.

MIlk stil your Fountains, and your Springs, for why? The more th'are drawn, the lesse they wil grow dry.

Upon Punchin. Epig.

GIve me a reason why men call Punchin a dry plant-animall. Because as Plants by water grow, Punchin by Beere and Ale; spreads so

To Oenone.

THou sayest Loves Dart Hath prickt thy heart; And thou do'st languish too: If one poore prick, Can make thee sick, Say, what wo'd many do?

Upon Blinks. Epig.

TOm Blinks his Nose is full of wheales, and these Tom calls not pimples, but Pimpleides: Sometimes (in mirth) he sayes each whelk's a sparke (When drunke with Beere) to light him home, i'th' dark.

Upon Adam Peapes. Epig.

PEapes he do's strut, and pick his Teeth, as if His jawes had tir'd on some large Chine of Beefe. But nothing so; The Dinner Adam had, Was cheese full ripe with Teares, with Bread as sad.

To Electra.

SHall I go to Love and tell, Thou art all turn'd isicle? Shall I say her Altars be Disadorn'd, and scorn'd by thee? O beware! in time submit; Love has yet no wrathfull fit: If her patience turns to ire, Love is then consuming fire.

To Mistresse Amie Potter.

A I me! I love, give him your hand to kisse Who both your wooer, and your Poet is. Nature has pre-compos'd us both to Love; Your part's to grant; my Scean must be to move. Deare, can you like, and liking love your Poet? If you say (I) Blush-guiltinesse will shew it. Mine eyes must wooe you; (though I sigh the while) True Love is tonguelesse as a Crocodile. And you may find in Love these differing Parts; Wooers have Tongues of Ice, but burning hearts.

Upon a Maide.

HEre she lyes (in Bed of Spice) Faire as Eve in Paradice: For her beauty it was such Poets co'd not praise too much. Virgins Come, and in a Ring Her supreamest Requiem sing; Then depart, but see ye tread Lightly, lightly ore the dead.

Upon Love.

LOve is a Circle, and an Endlesse Sphere; From good to good, revolving here, & there.

Beauty.

BEauti's no other but a lovely Grace Of lively colours, flowing from the face.

Upon Love.

SOme salve to every sore, we may apply; Only for my wound there's no remedy. Yet if my Julia kisse me, there will be A soveraign balme found out to cure me.

Upon Hanch a Schoolmaster. Epig.

HAnch, since he (lately) did interre his wife, He weepes and sighs (as weary of his life.) Say, is't for reall griefe he mourns? not so; Teares have their springs from joy, as well as woe.

Upon Peason. Epig.

LOng Locks of late our Zelot Peason weares, Not for to hide his high and mighty eares; No, but because he wo'd not have it seen, (been. That Stubble stands, where once large eares have

To his Booke.

MAke haste away, and let one be A friendly Patron unto thee: Lest rapt from hence, I see thee lye Torn for the use of Pasterie: Or see thy injur'd Leaves serve well, To make loose Gownes for Mackarell: Or see the Grocers in a trice, Make hoods of thee to serve out Spice.

Readinesse.

THe readinesse of doing, doth expresse No other, but the doers willingnesse.

Writing.

WHen words we want, Love teacheth to endite; And what we blush to speake, she bids us write.

Society.

TWo things do make society to stand; The first Commerce is, & the next Command.

Upon a Maid.

GOne she is a long, long way, But she has decreed a day Back to come, (and make no stay.) So we keepe till her returne Here, her ashes, or her Urne.

Satisfaction for sufferings.

FOr all our workes, a recompence is sure: 'Tis sweet to thinke on what was hard t'endure.

The delaying Bride.

WHy so slowly do you move To the centre of your love? On your niceness though we wait, Yet the houres say 'tis late: Coynesse takes us to a measure; But o'racted deads the pleasure.

Go to Bed, and care not when Cheerfull day shall spring agen. One Brave Captain did command (By his word) the Sun to stand: One short charme if you but say Will enforce the Moon to stay, Till you warn her hence (away) T'ave your blushes seen by day.

To M. Henry Lawes, the excellent Composer of his Lyricks.

TOuch but thy Lire (my Harrie) and I heare From thee some raptures of the rare Gotire. Then if thy voice commingle with the String I heare in thee the rare Laniere to sing; Or curious Wilson: Tell me, canst thou be Less then Apollo, that usurp'st such Three? Three, unto whom the whole world give applause; Yet their Three praises, praise but One; that's Lawes.

Age unfit for Love.

MAidens tell me I am old; Let me in my Glasse behold Whether smooth or not I be, Or if haire remaines to me. Well, or be't or be't not so, This for certainty I know; Ill it fits old men to play, When that Death bids come away.

The Bed-man, or Grave-maker.

THou hast made many Houses for the Dead; When my Lot calls me to be buried,

For Love or Pittie, prethee let there be I'th'Church-yard, made, one Tenement for me.

To Anthea.

ANthea I am going hence With some small stock of innocence: But yet those blessed gates I see Withstanding entrance unto me. To pray for me doe thou begin, The Porter then will let me in.

Need.

WHo begs to die for feare of humane need, Wisheth his body, not his soule, good speed.

To Julia.

I Am zeallesse, prethee pray For my well-fare (Julia) For I thinke the gods require Male perfumes, but Female fire.

On Julias lips.

SWeet are my Julia's lips and cleane, As if or'e washt in Hippocrene.

Twilight.

TWilight, no other thing is, Poets say, Then the last part of night, and first of day.

To his Friend, Master J. Jincks.

LOve, love me now, because I place Thee here among myrighteous race: The bastard Slips may droop and die Wanting both Root, and Earth; but thy Immortall selfe, shall boldly trust To live for ever, with my Just.

On himselfe.

IF that my Fate has now fulfill'd my yeere, And so soone stopt my longer living here; What was't (ye Gods!) a dying man to save, But while he met with his Paternall grave; Though while we living 'bout the world do roame, We love to rest in peacefull Urnes at home, Where we may snug, and close together lye By the dead bones of our deare Ancestrie.

Kings and Tyrants.

TWixt Kings & Tyrants there's this difference known; Kings seek their Subjects good: Tyrants their owne.

Crosses.

OUr Crosses are no other then the rods,' And our Diseases, Vultures of the Gods: Each griefe we feele, that likewise is a Kite Sent forth by them, our flesh to eate, or bite.

Upon Love.

LOve brought me to a silent Grove, And shew'd me there a Tree, Where some had hang'd themselves for love, And gave a Twist to me.

The Halter was of silk, and gold, That he reacht forth unto me: No otherwise, then if he would By dainty things undo me.

He bade me then that Neck-lace use; And told me too, he maketh A glorious end by such a Noose, His Death for Love that taketh.

'Twas but a dream; but had I been There really alone; My desp'rate feares, in love, had seen Mine Execution.

No difference i'th'dark.

NIght makes no difference 'twixt the Priest and Clark; Jone as my Lady is as good i'th'dark.

The Body.

THe Body is the Soules poore house, or home, Whose Ribs the Laths are, & whose Flesh the Loame.

To Sapho.

THou saist thou lov'st me Sapho; I say no; But would to Love I could beleeve 'twas so! Pardon my feares (sweet Sapho,) I desire That thou be righteous found; and I the Lyer.

Out of Time, out of Tune.

WE blame, nay we despise her paines That wets her Garden when it raines: But when the drought has dri'd the knot; Then let her use the watring pot. We pray for showers (at our need) To drench, but not to drown our seed.

To his Booke.

TAke mine advise, and go not neere Those faces (sower as Vineger.) For these, and Nobler numbers can Ne'r please the supercillious man.

To his Honour'd friend, Sir Thomas Heale.

STand by the Magick of my powerfull Rhymes 'Gainst all the indignation of the Times. Age shall not wrong thee; or one jot abate Of thy both Great, and everlasting fate. While others perish, her'es thy life decreed Because begot of my Immort all seed.

The Sacrifice, by way of Discourse betwixt himselfe and Julia.

Herr.

COme and let's in solemn wise Both addresse to sacrifice: Old Religion first commands That we wash our hearts, and hands. Is the beast exempt from staine, Altar cleane, no fire prophane? Are the Garlands, Is the Nard

Jul.

Ready here? All well prepar'd, With the Wine that must be shed (Twixt the hornes) upon the head Of the holy Beast we bring For our Trespasse-offering.

Herr.

All is well; now next to these Put we on pure Surplices; And with Chaplets crown'd, we'l rost With perfumes the Holocaust: And (while we the gods invoke) Reade acceptance by the smoake.

To Apollo.

THou mighty Lord and master of the Lyre, Unshorn Apollo, come, and re-inspire My fingers so, the Lyrick-strings to move, That I may play, and sing a Hymne to Love.

On Love.

Love is a kind of warre; Hence those who feare, No cowards must his royall Ensignes beare.

Another.

WHere love begins, there dead thy first desire: A sparke neglected makes a mighty fire.

An Hymne to Cupid.

THou, thou that bear'st the sway With whom the Sea-Nimphs play; And Venus, every way: When I embrace thy knee; And make short pray'rs to thee: In love, then prosper me. This day I goe to wooe; Instruct me how to doe This worke thou put'st me too. From shame my face keepe free, From scorne I begge of thee, Love to deliver me: So shall I sing thy praise; And to thee Altars raise, Unto the end of daies.

To Electra.

LEt not thy Tomb-stone er'e be laid by me: Nor let my Herse, be wept upon by thee: But let that instant when thou dy'st be known, The minute of mine expiration. One knell be rung for both; and let one grave To hold us two, an endlesse honour have.

How his soule came ensnared.

MY soule would one day goe and seeke For Roses, and in Julia's cheeke, A richess of those sweets she found, (As in an other Rosamond.) But gathering Roses as she was; (Not knowing what would come to passe) It chanst a ringlet of her haire, Caught my poore soule, as in a snare: Which ever since has been in thrall, Yet freedome, shee enjoyes withall.

Factions.

THe factions of the great ones call, To side with them, the Commons all.

Kisses Loathsome.

I Abhor the slimie kisse, (Which to me most loathsome is.) Those lips please me which are plac't Close, but not too strictly lac't: Yeilding I wo'd have them; yet Not a wimbling Tongue admit: What sho'd poking-sticks make there, When the rufse is set elsewhere?

Upon Reape.

REapes eyes so rawe are, that (it seemes) the flyes Mistake the flesh, and flye-blow both his eyes; So that an Angler, for a daies expence, May baite his hooke, with maggots taken thence.

Upon Teage.

TEage has told lyes so long, that when Teage tells Truth, yet Teages truths are untruths, (nothing else.)

Upon Julia's haire, bundled up in a golden net.

TEll me, what needs those rich deceits, These golden Toyles, and Trammel-nets, To take thine haires when they are knowne Already tame, and all thine owne? 'Tis I am wild, and more then haires Deserve these Mashes and those snares. Set free thy Tresses, let them flow As aires doe breathe, or winds doe blow: And let such curious Net-works be Lesse set for them, then spred for me.

Upon Truggin.

TRuggin a Footman was; but now, growne lame, Truggin now lives but to belye his name.

The showre of Blossomes.

LOve in a showre of Blossomes came Down, and halfe drown'd me with the same: The Blooms that fell were white and red; But with such sweets commingled; As whether (this) I cannot tell My sight was pleas'd more, or my smell: But true it was, as I rowl'd there, Without a thought of hurt, or feare; Love turn'd himselfe into a Bee,

And with his Javelin wounded me: From which mishap this use I make, Where most sweets are, there lyes a Snake. Kisses and Favours are sweet things; But Those have thorns, and These have stings.

Upon Spenke.

SPenke has a strong breath, yet short Prayers saith: Not out of want of breath, but want of faith.

A defence for Women.

NAught are all Women: I say no, Since for one Bad, one Good I know: For Clytemnestra most unkind, Loving Alcestis there we find: For one Medea that was bad, A good Penelope was had: For wanton Lais, then we have Chaste Lucrece, or a wife as grave: And thus through Woman-kind we see A Good and Bad. Sirs credit me.

Vpon Lulls.

LUlls swears he is all heart; but you'l suppose By his Probossis that he is all nose.

Slavery.

TIs liberty to serve one Lord; but he Who many serves, serves base servility.

Charmes.

BRing the holy crust of Bread, Lay it underneath the head; 'Tis a certain Charm to keep Hags away, while Children sleep.

Another.

LEt the superstitious wife Neer the childs heart lay a knife: Point be up, and Haft be downe; (While she gossips in the towne) This 'mongst other mystick charms Keeps the sleeping child from harms.

Another to bring in the Witch.

TO house the Hag, you must doe this; Commix with Meale a little Pisse Of him bewitcht: then forthwith make A little Wafer or a Cake; And this rawly bak't will bring The old Hag in. No surer thing.

Another Charme for Stables.

HAng up Hooks, and Sheers to scare Hence the Hag, that rides the Mare, Till they be all over wet, With the mire, and the sweat: This observ'd, the Manes shall be Of your horses, all knot free.

Ceremonies for Candlemasse Eve.

DOwn with the Rosemary and Bayes, Down with the Misleto; In stead of Holly, now up-raise The greener Box (for show.)

The Holly hitherto did sway; Let Box now domineere; Untill the dancing Easter-day, Or Easters Eve appeare.

Then youthfull Box which now hath grace, Your houses to renew; Grown old, surrender must his place, Unto the crisped Yew.

When Yew is out, then Birch comes in, And many Flowers beside; Both of a fresh, and fragrant kinne To honour Whitsontide.

Green Rushes then, and sweetest Bents, With cooler Oken boughs; Come in for comely ornaments, To re-adorn the house. Thus times do shift; each thing his turne do's hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.

The Ceremonies for Candlemasse day.

KIndle the Christmas Brand and then Till Sunne-set, let it burne; Which quencht, then lay it up agen, Tiil Christmas next returne.

Part must be kept wherewith to teend The Christmas Log next yeare; And where 'tis safely 'kept, the Fiend, Can do no mischiefe (there.)

Upon Candlemasse day.

ENd now the White-loafe, & the Pye, And let all sports with Christmas dye.

Surfeits.

BAd are all surfeits: but Physitians call That surfeit tooke by bread, the worst of all.

Upon Nis.

NIs, he makes Verses; but the Lines he writes, Serve but for matter to make Paper-kites.

To Biancha, to blesse him.

WO'd I wooe, and wo'd I winne, Wo'd I well my worke begin? Wo'd I evermore be crown'd With the end that I propound? Wo'd I frustrate, or prevent All Aspects malevolent? Thwart all Wizzards, and with these Dead all black contingencies: Place my words, and all works else In most happy Parallels? All will prosper, if so be I be kist, or blest by thee.

Julia's Churching, or Purification.

PUt on thy Holy Fillitings, and so To th' Temple with the sober Midwife go. Attended thus (in a most solemn wise) By those who serve the Child-bed misteries. Burn first thine incense; next, when as thou see'st The candid Stole thrown ore the Pious Priest; With reverend Curtsies come, and to him bring Thy free (and not decurted) offering. All Rites well ended, with faire Auspice come (As to the breaking of a Bride-Cake) home: Where ceremonious Hymen shall for thee Provide a second Epithalamie. She who keeps chastly to her husbands side Is not for one, but every night his Bride: And stealing still with love, and feare to Bed, Brings him not one, but many a Maiden-head.

To his Book.

BEfore the Press scarce one co'd see A little-peeping-part of thee: But since th'art Printed, thou dost call To shew thy nakedness to all. My care for thee is now the less; (Having resign'd thy shamefac'tness:) Go with thy Faults and Fates; yet stay And take this sentence, then away; Whom one belov'd will not suffice, She'l runne to all adulteries.

Teares.

TEares most prevaile; with teares too thou mayst move Rocks to relent, and coyest maids to love.

To his friend to avoid contention of words.

WOrds beget Anger; Anger brings forth blowes: Blowes make of dearest friends immortall Foes. For which prevention (Sociate) let there be Betwixt us two no more Logomachie. Farre better 'twere for either to be mute, Then for to murder friendship, by dispute.

Truth.

TRuth is best found out by the time, and eyes; Falsehood winnes credit by uncertainties.

Upon Prickles. Epig.

PRickles is waspish, and puts forth his sting, For Bread, Drinke, Butter, Cheese; for every thing That Prickles buyes, puts Prickles out of frame; How well his nature's fitted to hisname!

The Eyes before the Eares.

WE credit most our sight; one eye doth please Our trust farre more ten then eare-witnesses.

Want.

WAnt is a softer Wax, that takes thereon, This, that, and every base impression.

To a Friend.

LOoke in my Book, and herein see, Life endlesse sign'd to thee and me. We o're the tombes, and Fates shall flye; While other generations dye.

Upon M. William Lawes, the rare Musitian.

SHo'd I not put on Blacks, when each one here Comes with his Cypresse, and devotes a teare? Sho'd I not grieve (my Lawes) when every Lute, Violl, and Voice, is (by thy losse) struck mute? Thy loss brave man! whose Numbers have been hurl'd, And no less prais'd, then spread throughout the world. Some have Thee call'd Amphion; some of us, Nam'd thee Terpander, or sweet Orpheus: Some this, some that, but all in this agree, Musique had both her birth, and death with Thee.

A song upon Silvia.

FRom me my Silvia ranne away, And running therewithall; A Primrose Banke did cross her way, And gave my Love a fall.

But trust me now I dare not say, What I by chance did see; But such the Drap'ry did betray That fully ravisht me.

The Hony-combe.

IF thou hast found an honie-combe, Eate thou not all, but taste on some: For if thou eat'st it to excess; That sweetness turnes to Loathsomness. Taste it to Temper; then 'twill be Marrow, and Manna unto thee

Vpon Ben. Johnson.

HEre lyes Johnson with the rest Of the Poets; but the Best. Reader, wo'dst thou more have known? Aske his Story, not this Stone. That will speake what this can't tell Of his glory. So farewell.

An Ode for him.

AH Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy Guests Meet at those Lyrick Feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the triple Tunne? Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each Verse of thine Out-did the meate, out-did the frolick wine.

My Ben Or come agen: Or send to us, Thy wits great over-plus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it; Lest we that Tallent spend: And having once brought to an end That precious stock; the store Of such a wit the world sho'd have no more.

Vpon a Virgin.

SPend Harmless shade thy nightly Houres, Selecting here, both Herbs, and Flowers; Of which make Garlands here, and there, To dress thy silent sepulchre. Nor do thou feare the want of these, In everlasting Properties. Since we fresh strewings will bring hither, Farre faster then the first can wither.

Blame.

IN Battailes what disasters fall, The King he beares the blame of all.

A request to the Graces.

POnder my words, if so that any be Known guilty here of incivility: Let what is graceless, discompos'd, and rude, With sweetness, smoothness, softness, be endu'd. Teach it to blush, to curtsie, lisp, and shew Demure, but yet, full of temptation too. Numbers ne'r tickle. or but lightly please, Unlesse they have some wanton carriages.

This if ye do, each Piece will here be good, And gracefull made, by your neate Sisterhood.

Upon himselfe.

I Lately fri'd, but now behold I freeze as fast, and shake for cold. And in good faith I'd thought it strange T'ave found in me this sudden change; But that I understood by dreames, These only were but Loves extreames; Who fires with hope the Lovers heart, And starves with cold the self-same part.

Multitude.

WE Trust not to the multitude in Warre, But to the stout; and those that skilfull are.

Feare.

MAn must do well out of a good intent; Not for the servile feare of punishment.

To M. Kellam.

WHat can my Kellam drink his Sack In Goblets to the brim, And see his Robin Herrick lack, Yet send no Boules to him?

For love or pitie to his Muse, (That she may flow in Verse) Contemne to recommend a Cruse, But send to her a Tearce.

Happinesse to hospitalitie, or a hearty wish to good house-keeping.

FIrst, may the hand of bounty bring Into the daily offering Of full provision; such a store, Till that the Cooke cries, Bring no more. Upon your hogsheads never fall A drought of wine, ale, beere (at all) But, like full clouds, may they from thence Diffuse their mighty influence. Next, let the Lord, and Ladie here Enjoy a Christning yeare by yeare; And this good blessing back them still, T'ave Boyes, and Gyrles too, as they will. Then from the porch may many a Bride Unto the Holy Temple ride: And thence return, (short prayers seyd) A wife most richly married. Last, may the Bride and Bridegroome be Untoucht by cold sterility; But in their springing blood so play, As that in Lusters few they may, By laughing too, and lying downe, People a City or a Towne.

Cunctation in Correction.

THe Lictors bundl'd up their rods: beside, Knit them with knots (with much adoe unty'd) That if (unknitting) men wo'd yet repent, They might escape the lash of punishment.

Present Government grievous.

MEn are suspicious; prone to discontent: Subjects still loath the present Government.

Rest Refreshes.

LAy by the good a while; a resting field Will, after ease, a richer harvest yeild: Trees this year beare; next, they their wealth with-hold: Continuall reaping makes a land wax old.

Revenge.

MAns disposition is for to requite An injurie, before a benefite: Thanks giving is a burden, and a paine; Revenge is pleasing to us, as our gaine.

The first marrs or makes.

IN all our high designments, 'twill appeare, The first event breeds confidence or feare.

Beginning, difficult.

HArd are the two first staires unto a Crowne; Which got, the third, bids him a King come downe.

Faith four-square.

FAith is a thing that's four-square; let it fall This way or that, it not declines at all.

The present time best pleaseth.

PRaise they that will Times past, I joy to see My selfe now live: this age best pleaseth mee.

Cloathes, are conspirators.

THough from without no foes at all we feare; We shall be wounded by the cloathes we weare.

Cruelty.

TIs but a dog-like madnesse in bad Kings, For to delight in wounds and murderings. As some plants prosper best by cuts and blowes; So Kings by killing doe encrease their foes.

Faire after foule.

TEares quickly drie: griefes will in time decay: A cleare will come after a cloúdy day.

Hunger.

ASke me what hunger is, and Ile reply, 'Tis but a fierce desire of hot and drie.

Bad wages for good service.

IN this misfortune Kings doe most excell, To heare the worst from men, when they doe well.

The End.

COnquer we shall, but we must first contend; 'Tis not the Fight that crowns us, but the end.

The Bondman.

BInd me but to thee with thine haire. And quickly I shall be Made by that fetter or that snare A bondman unto thee.

Or if thou tak'st that bond away, Then bore me through the eare; And by the Law I ought to stay For ever with thee here.

Choose for the best.

GIve house-roome to the best; 'Tis never known Vertue and pleasure, both to dwell in one.

To Silvia.

PArdon my trespasse (Silvia) I confesse, My kisse out-went the bounds of shamfastnesse: None is discreet at all times; no, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise, and Love.

Faire shewes deceive.

SMooth was the Sea, and seem'd to call To prettie girles to play withall: Who padling there, the Sea soone frown'd, And on a sudden both were drown'd.

What credit can we give to seas, Who, kissing, kill such Saints as these?

His wish.

FAt be my Hinde; unlearned be my wife; Peacefull by night; my day devoid of strife: To these a comely off-spring I desire, Singing about my everlasting fire.

Upon Julia's washing her self in the river.

HOw fierce was I, when I did see My Julia wash her self in thee! So Lillies thorough Christall look: So purest pebbles in the brook: As in the River Julia did, Halfe with a Lawne of water hid, Into thy streames my self I threw, And strugling there, I kist thee too; And more had done (it is confest) Had not thy waves forbad the rest.

A Meane in our Meanes.

THough Frankinsense the Deities require, We must not give all to the hallowed fire. Such be our gifts, and such be our expence, As for our selves to leave some frankinsence.

Upon Clunn.

A Rowle of Parchment Clunn about him beares, Charg'd with the Armes of all his Ancestors:

And seems halfe ravisht, when he looks upon That Bar, this Bend; that Fess, this Cheveron; This Manch, that Moone; this Martlet, and that Mound; This counterchange of Perle and Diamond. What joy can Clun have in that Coat, or this, When as his owne still out at elboes is?

Upon Cupid.

LOve, like a Beggar, came to me With Hose and Doublet torne: His Shirt bedangling from his knee, With Hat and Shooes out-worne.

He askt an almes; I gave him bread, And meat too, for his need: Of which, when he had fully fed, He wisht me all Good speed.

Away he went, but as he turn'd (In faith I know not how) He toucht me so, as that I burn, And am tormented now.

Love's silent flames, and fires obscure Then crept into my heart; And though I saw no Bow, I'm sure, His finger was the dart.

Vpon Blisse.

BLisse (last night drunk) did kisse his mothers knee: Where he will kisse (next drunk) conjecture ye.

Vpon Burr.

BUrr is a smell-feast, and a man alone, That (where meat is) will be a hanger on.

Vpon Megg.

MEgg yesterday was troubled with a Pose, Which, this night hardned, sodders up her nose.

An Hymne to Love.

I Will confesse With Cheerfulnesse, Love is a thing so likes me, That let her lay On me all day, Ile kiss the hand that strikes me.

2.

I will not, I, Now blubb'ring, cry, It (Ah!) too late repents me, That I did fall To love at all, Since love so much contents me.

3.

No, no, Ile be In fetters free; While others they sit wringing Their hands for paine; Ile entertaine The wounds of love with singing.

4.

With Flowers and Wine, And Cakes Divine,

To strike me I will tempt thee: Which done; no more Ile come before Thee and thine Altars emptie.

To his honoured and most Ingenious friend Mr. Charles Cotton.

FOr brave comportment, wit without offence, Words fully flowing, yet of influence: Thou art that man of men, the man alone, Worthy the Publique Admiration: Who with thine owne eyes read'st what we doe write, And giv'st our Numbers Euphonie, and weight. Tel'st when a Verse springs high, how understood To be, or not borne of the Royall-blood. What State above, what Symmetrie below, Lines have, or sho'd have, thou the best canst show. For which (my Charles) it is my pride to be, Not so much knowne, as to be lov'd of thee. Long may I live so, and my wreath of Bayes, Be lesse anothers Laurell, then thy praise.

Women uselesse.

WHat need we marry Women, when Without their use we may have men? And such as will in short time be, For murder fit, or mutinie; As Cadmus once a new way found, By throwing teeth into the ground: (From which poore seed, and rudely sown) Sprung up a War-like Nation. So let us Yron, Silver, Gold, Brasse, Leade or Tinne, throw into th'mould; And we shall see in little space Rise up of men, a fighting race.

If this can be, say then, what need Have we of Women or their seed?

Love is a sirrup.

LOve is a sirrup; and who er'e we see Sick and surcharg'd with this sacietie: Shall by this pleasing trespasse quickly prove, Ther's loathsomnesse e'en in the sweets of love.

Leven.

LOve is a Leven, and a loving kisse The Leven of a loving sweet-heart is.

Repletion.

PHysitians say Repletion springs More from the sweet then sower things.

On Himselfe.

VVEepe for the dead, for they have lost this light: And weepe for me, lost in an endlesse night. Or mourne, or make a Marble Verse for me, Who writ for many. Benedicite.

No man without Money.

NO man such rare parts hath, that he can swim, If favour or occasion helpe not him.

On Himselfe.

LOst to the world; lost to my selfe; alone Here now I rest under this Marble stone: In depth of silence, heard, and seene of none.

To M. Leonard Willan his peculiar friend.

I Will be short, and having quickly hurl'd This line about, live Thou throughout the world; Who art a man for all Sceanes; unto whom (What's hard to others) nothing's troublesome. Can'st write the Comick, Tragick straine, and fall From these to penne the pleasing Pastorall: Who fli'st at all heights: Prose and Verse run'st through; Find'st here a fault, and mend'st the tre'passe too: For which I might extoll thee, but speake lesse, Because thy selfe art comming to the Presse: And then sho'd I in praising thee be slow, Posterity will pay thee what I owe.

To his worthy friend M. John Hall, Student of Grayes-Inne.

TEll me young man, or did the Muses bring Thee lesse to taste, then to drink up their spring; That none hereafter sho'd be thought, or be A Poet, or a Poet-like but Thee. What was thy Birth, thy starre that makes thee knowne. At twice ten yeares, a prime and publike one? Tell us thy Nation, kindred, or the whence Thou had'st, and hast thy mighty influence, That makes thee lov'd, and of the men desir'd, And no lesse prais'd, then of the maides admir'd. Put on thy Laurell then; and in that trimme Be thou Apollo, or the type of him: Or let the Unshorne God lend thee his Lyre, And next to him, be Master of the Quire.

To Julia.

OFfer thy gift; but first the Law commands Thee Julia, first, to sanctifie thy hands: Doe that my Julia which the rites require, Then boldly give thine incense to the fire.

To the most comely and proper M. Elizabeth Finch.

HAnsome you are, and Proper you will be Despight of all your infortunitie: Live long and lovely, but yet grow no lesse In that your owne prefixed comelinesse: Spend on that stock: and when your life must fall, Leave others Beauty, to set up withall.

Upon Ralph.

RAlph pares his nayles, his warts, his cornes, and Raph In sev'rall tills, and boxes keepes 'em safe; Instead of Harts-horne (if he speakes the troth) To make a lustie-gellie for his broth.

To his Booke.

IF hap it must, that I must see thee lye Absyrtus-like all torne confusedly: With solemne tears, and with much grief of heart, Ile recollect thee (weeping) part by part; And having washt thee, close thee in a chest With spice; that done, Ile leave thee to thy rest.

TO THE KING, Upon his welcome to Hampton-Court. Set and Sung.

VVElcome, Great Cesar, welcome now you are, As dearest Peace, after destructive Warre: Welcome as slumbers; or as beds of ease After our long, and peevish sicknesses. O Pompe of Glory! Welcome now, and come To re-possess once more your long'd-for home. A thousand Altars smoake; a thousand thighes Of Beeves here ready stand for Sacrifice. Enter and prosper; while our eyes doe waite For an Ascendent throughly Auspicate: Under which signe we may the former stone Lay of our safeties new foundation: That done; O Cesar, live, and be to us, Our Fate, our Fortune, and our Genius; To whose free knees we may our temples tye As to a still protecting Deitie. That sho'd you stirre, we and our Altars too May (Great Augustus) goe along with You. Chor. Long live the King; and to accomplish this, We'l from our owne, adde far more years to his.

Ultimus Heroum: OR, To the most learned, and to the right Honourable, Henry, Marquesse of Dorchester.

ANd as time past when Cato the Severe Entred the circumspacious Theater; In reverence of his person, every one Stood as he had been turn'd from flesh to stone: E'ne so my numbers will astonisht be If but lookt on; struck dead, if scan'd by Thee.

To his Muse, another to the same.

TEll that Brave Man, fain thou wo'dst have access To kiss his hands, but that for fearfullness; Or else because th'art like a modest Bride, Ready to blush to death, sho'd he but chide.

Vpon Vineger.

VIneger is no other I define, Then the dead Corps, or carkase of the Wine.

Vpon Mudge.

MUdge every morning to the Postern comes, (His teeth all out) to rince and wash his gummes.

To his learned friend M. Jo. Harmar, Phisitian to the Colledge of Westminster.

WHen first I find those Numbers thou do'st write; To be most soft, terce, sweet, and perpolite: Next, when I see Thee towring in the skie, In an expansion no less large, then high; Then, in that compass, sayling here and there, And with Circumgyration every where; Following with love and active heate thy game, And then at last to truss the Epigram; I must confess, distinction none I see Between Domitians Martiall then, and Thee. But this I know, should Jupiter agen Descend from heaven, to re-converse with men; The Romane Language full, and superfine, If Iove wo'd speake, he wo'd accept of thine.

Upon his Spaniell Tracie.

NOw thou art dead, no eye shall ever see, For shape and service, Spaniell like to thee. This shall my love doe, give thy sad death one Teare, that deserves of me a million.

The deluge.

DRowning, drowning, I espie Coming from my Julia's eye: 'Tis some solace in our smart, To have friends to beare a part: I have none; but must be sure Th'inundation to endure. Shall not times hereafter tell This for no meane miracle; When the waters by their fall Threatn'd ruine unto all? Yet the deluge here was known, Of a world to drowne but One.

Upon Lupes.

LUpes for the outside of his suite has paide; But for his heart, he cannot have it made: The reason is, his credit cannot get The inward carbage for his cloathes as yet.

Raggs.

VVHat are our patches, tatters, raggs, and rents, But the base dregs and lees of vestiments?

Strength to support Soveraignty.

LEt Kings and Rulers, learne this line from me; Where power is weake, unsafe is Majestie.

Upon Tubbs.

FOr thirty yeares, Tubbs has been proud and poor, 'Tis now his habit, which he can't give ore.

Crutches.

THou seest me Lucia this year droope, Three Zodiaks fill'd more I shall stoope; Let Crutches then provided be To shore up my debilitie. Then while thou laugh'st; Ile, sighing, crie, A Ruine underpropt am I: Do'n will I then my Beadsmans gown, And when so feeble I am grown, As my weake shoulders cannot beare The burden of a Grashopper: Yet with the bench of aged sires, When I and they keep tearmly fires; With my weake voice Ile sing, or say Some Odes I made of Lucia: Then will I heave my wither'd hand To Jove the Mighty for to stand Thy faithfull friend, and to poure downe Upon thee many a Benizon.

To Julia.

HOly waters hither bring For the sacred sprinkling:

Raptize me and thee, and so Let us to the Altar go. And (ere we our rites commence) Wash our hands in innocence. Then I'le be the Rex Saerorum, Thou the Queen of Peace and Quorum.

Upon Case.

CAse is a Lawyer, that near pleads alone, But when he hears the like confusion, As when the disagreeing Commons throw About their House, their clamorous I, or No: Then Case, as loud as any Serjant there, Cries out (my Lord, my Lord) the Case is clear: But when all's husht, Case then a fish more mute, Bestirs his Hand, but starves in hand the Suite.

To Perenna.

I A Dirge will pen for thee; Thou a Trentall make for me: That the Monks and Fryers together, Here may fing the rest of either: Next, I'm sure, the Nuns will have Candlemas to grace the Grave.

To his Sister in Law, M. Susanna Herrick.

THe Person crowns the Place; your lot doth fall Last, yet to be with These a Principall. How ere it fortuned; know for Truth, I meant You a fore-leader in this Testament.

Upon the Lady Crew.

THis Stone can tell the storie of my life, What was my Birth, to whom I was a Wife: In teeming years, how soon my Sun was set, Where now I rest, these may be known by Jet. For other things, my many Children be The best and truest Chronicles of me.

On Tomasin Parsons.

GRow up in Beauty, as thou do'st begin, And be of all admired, Tomasin.

Ceremony upon Candlemas Eve.

DOwn with the Rosemary, and so Down with the Baies, & misletoe: Down with the Holly, Ivie, all, Wherewith ye drest the Christmas Hall: That so the superstious find No one least Branch there left behind: For look how many leaves there be Neglected there (maids trust to me) So many Goblins you shall see.

Suspicion makes secure.

HE that will live of all cares dispossest, Must shun the bad, I, and suspect the best.

Upon Spokes.

SPokes when he sees a rosted Pig, he swears Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:

But carve to him the fat flanks; and he shall Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all.

To his kinsman M. Tho: Herrick, who desired to be in his Book.

WElcome to this my Colledge, and though late Tha'st got a place here (standing candidate) It matters not, since thou art chosen one Here of my great and good foundation.

A Bucolick betwixt Two: Lacon and Thyrsis.

Lacon.

FOr a kiss or two, confesse, What doth cause this pensiveness? Thou most lovely Neat-heardesse: Why so lonely on the hill? Why thy pipe by thee so still, That ere while was heard so shrill?

Tell me, do thy kine now fail To fulfill the milkin-paile? Say, what is't that thou do'st aile?

Thyr.

None of these; but out, alas! A mischance is come to pass, And I'le tell thee what it was: See mine eyes are weeping ripe,

Lacon.

Tell, and I'le lay down my Pipe.

Thyr.

I have lost my lovely steere, That to me was far more deer Then these kine, which I milke here. Broad of fore-head, large of eye, Party colour'd like a Pie; Smooth in each limb as a die;

Clear of hoof, and clear of horn; Sharply pointed as a thorn: With a neck by yoke unworn. From the which hung down by strings, Balls of Cowslips, Daisie rings, Enterplac't with ribbanings. Faultless every way for shape; Not a straw co'd him escape; Ever gamesome as an ape: But yet harmless as a sheep. (Pardon, Lacon if I weep) Tears will spring, where woes are deep. Now (ai me) (ai me.) Last night Came a mad dog, and did bite, I, and kil'd my dear delight.

Lacon.

Alack for grief!

Thyr.

But I'le be brief,

Hence I must, for time doth call Me, and my sad Play-mates all, To his Ev'ning Funerall. Live long, Lacon, so adew.

Lacon.

Mournfull maid farewell to you; Earth afford ye flowers to strew.

Upon Sapho.

LOok upon Sapho's lip, and you will swear, There is a love-like-leven rising there.

Upon Faunus.

WE read how Faunus, he the shepheards God, His wife to death whipt with a Mirtle Rod.

The Rod (perhaps) was better'd by the name; But had it been of Birch, the death's the same.

The Quintell.

VP with the Quintill, that the Rout, May fart for joy, as well as shout: Either's welcome, Stinke or Civit, If we take it, as they give it.

A Bachanalian Verse.

DRinke up Your Cup, But not spill Wine; For if you Do, 'Tis an ill signe;

2.

That we Foresee, You are cloy'd here, If so, no Hoe, But avoid here.

Care a good keeper.

CAre keepes the Conquest; 'tis no lesse renowne, To keepe a Citie, then to winne a Towne.

Rules for our reach.

MEn must have Bounds how farre to walke; for we Are made farre worse, by lawless liberty.

To Biancha.

AH Biancha! now I see, It is Noone and past with me: In a while it will strike one; Then Biancha, I am gone. Some effusions let me have, Offer'd on my holy Grave; Then, Biancha, let me rest With my face towards the East.

To the handsome Mistresse Grace Potter.

AS is your name, so is your comely face, Toucht every where with such diffused grace, As that in all that admirable round, There is not one least solecisme found; And as that part, so every portion else, Keepes line for line with Beauties Parallels.

Anacreontike.

I Must Not trust Here to any; Bereav'd, Deceiv'd By so many: As one Undone By my losses; Comply Will I With my crosses. Yet still I will

Not be grieving; Since thence And hence Comes relieving. But this Sweet is In our mourning; Times bad And sad Are a turning: And he Whom we See dejected; Next day Wee may See erected.

More modest, more manly.

TIs still observ'd, those men most valiant are, That are most modest ere they come to warre.

Not to covet much where tittle is the charge.

WHy sho'd we covet much, when as we know, W'ave more to beare our charge, then way to go?

Anacrontick Verse.

BRisk methinks I am, and fine, When I drinke my capring wine: Then to love I do encline; When I drinke my wanton wine: And I wish all maidens mine, When I drinke my sprightly wine: Well I sup, and well I dine, When I drinke my frolick wine:

But I languish, lowre, and Pine, When I want my fragrant wine.

Upon Pennie.

BRown bread Tom Pennie eates, and must of right, Because his stock will not hold out for white.

Patience in Princes.

KIngs must not use the Axe for each offence: Princes cure some faults by their patience.

Feare gets force.

DEspaire takes heart, when ther's no hope to speed: The Coward then takes Armes, and do's the deed.

Parcell-gil't-Poetry.

LEt's strive to be the best; the Gods, we know it, Pillars and men, hate an indifferent Poet.

Upon Love, by way of question and answer.

I Bring ye love, Quest. What will love do? Ans. Like, and dislike ye: I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Stroake ye to strike ye. I bring ye love: Quest. What will Love do? Ans. Love will be-foole ye: I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Heate ye to coole ye: I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Love gifts will send ye:

I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Stock ye to spend ye: I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Love will fulfill ye: I bring ye love: Quest. What will love do? Ans. Kisse ye, to kill ye.

To the Lord Hopton, on his fight in Cornwall.

GO on brave Hopton, to effectuate that Which wee, and times to come, shall wonder at. Lift up thy Sword; next, suffer it to fall, And by that One blow set an end to all.

His Grange.

HOw well contented in this private Grange Spend I my life (that's subject unto change:) Under whose Roofe with Mosse-worke wrought, there I Kisse my Brown wife, and black Posterity.

Leprosie in houses.

WHen to a House I come, and see The Genius wastefull, more then free: The servants thumblesse, yet to eat, With lawlesse tooth the floure of wheate: The Sonnes to suck the milke of Kine, More then the teats of Discipline: The Daughters wild and loose in dresse; Their cheekes unstain'd with shamefac'tnesse: The Husband drunke, the Wife to be A Band to incivility: I must confesse, I there descrie, A House spred through with Leprosie.

Good manners at meat.

THis rule of manners I will teach my guests, To come with their own bellies unto feasts: Not to eat equall portions; but to rise Farc't with the food, that may themselves suffice.

Anthea's Retractation.

ANthea laught, and fearing lest excesse Might stretch the cords of civill comelinesse: She with a dainty blush rebuk't her face; And cal'd each line back to his rule and space.

Comforts in Crosses.

BE not dismaide, though crosses cast thee downe; Thy fall is but the rising to a Crowne.

Seeke and finde.

ATtempt the end, and never stand to doubt; Nothing's so hard, but search will find it out.

Rest.

ON with thy worke, though thou beest hardly prest; Labour is held up, by the hope of rest.

Leprosie in Cloathes.

WHen slowing garments I behold Enspir'd with Purple, Pearle, and Gold; I think no other but I see In them a glorious leprosie

That do's infect, and make the rent More mortall in the vestiment. As flowrie vestures doe descrie The wearers rich immodestie; So plaine and simple cloathes doeshow Where vertue walkes, not those that flow.

Upon Buggins.

BUggins is Drunke all night, all day he sleepes; This is the Levell-coyle that Buggins keeps.

Great Maladies, long Medicines.

TO an old soare a long cure must goe on; Great faults require great satisfaction.

His Answer to a friend.

YOu aske me what I doe, and how I live? And (Noble friend) this answer I must give: Drooping, I draw on to the vaults of death, Or'e which you'l walk, when I am laid beneath.

The Begger.

SHall I a daily Begger be, For loves sake asking almes of thee? Still shall I crave, and never get A hope of my desired bit? Ah cruell maides! Ile goe my way, Whereas (perchance) my fortunes may Finde out a Threshold or a doore, That may far sooner speed the poore: Where thrice we knock, and none will heare, Cold comfort still I'm sure lives there.

Bastards.

OUr Bastard-children are but like to Plate, Made by the Coyners illegitimate.

His change.

MY many cares and much distress, Has made me like a wilderness: Or (discompo'sd) I'm like a rude, And all confused multitude: Out of my comely manners worne; And as in meanes, in minde all torne.

The Vision.

ME thought I saw (as I did dreame in bed) A crawling Vine about Anacreon's head, Flusht was his face; his haires with oyle did shine; And as he spake, his mouth ranne ore with wine. Tipled he was; and tipling lispt withall; And lisping reeld, and reeling like to fall. A young Enchantresse close by him did stand Tapping his plump thighes with a mirtle wand: She smil'd; he kist; and kissing, cull'd her too; And being cup-shot, more he co'd not doe. For which (me thought) in prittie anger she Snatcht off his Crown, and gave the wreath to me: Since when (me thinks) my braines about doe swim, And I am wilde and wanton like to him.

A vow to Venus.

HAppily I had a sight Of my dearest deare last night;

Make her this day smile on me, And Ile Roses give to thee.

On his Booke.

THe bound (almost) now of my book I see, But yet no end of those therein or me: Here we begin new life; while thousands quite Are lost, and theirs, in everlasting night.

A sonnet of Perilla.

THen did I live when I did see Perilla smile on none but me. But (ah!) by starres malignant crost, The life I got I quickly lost: But yet a way there doth remaine, For me embalm'd to live againe; And that's to love me; in which state Ile live as one Regenerate.

Bad may be better.

MAn may at first transgress, but next do well: Vice doth in some but lodge a while, not dwell.

Posting to Printing.

LEt others to the Printing Presse run fast, Since after death comes glory, Ile not haste.

Rapine brings Ruine.

WHat's got by Justice is establisht sure; No Kingdomes got by Rapine long endure.

Comfort to a youth that had lost his Love.

WHat needs complaints, When she a place Has with the race Of Saints? In endlesse mirth, She thinks not on What's said or done In earth: She sees no teares, Or any tone Of thy deep grone She heares: Nor do's she minde, Or think on't now, That ever thou Wast kind. But chang'd above, She likes not there, As she did here, Thy Love. Forbeare therefore, And Lull asleepe Thy woes and weep No more.

Upon Boreman. Epig.

BOreman takes tole, cheats, flatters, lyes, yet Boreman, For all the Divell helps, will be a poore man.

Saint Distaffs day, or the morrow after Twelth day.

PArtly worke and partly play Ye must on S. Distaffs day: From the Plough soone free your teame; Then come home and fother them. If the Maides a spinning goe, Burne the flax, and fire the tow: Scorch their plackets, but beware That ye singe no maiden-haire. Bring in pailes of water then, Let the Maides bewash the men. Give S. Distaffe all the right, Then bid Christmas sport good-night. And next morrow, every one To his owne vocation.

Sufferance.

IN the hope of ease to come, Let's endure one Martyrdome.

His teares to Thamasis.

I Send, I send here my supremest kiss To thee my silver-footed Thamasis. No more shall I reiterate thy Strand, Whereon so many Stately Structures stand: Nor in the summers sweeter evenings go, To bath in thee (as thousand others doe.) No more shall I a long thy christall glide, In Barge (with boughes and rushes beautifi'd) With soft-smooth Virgins (for our chast disport) To Richmond, Kingstone, and to Hampton-Court:

Never againe shall I with Finnie-Ore Put from, or draw unto the faithfull shore: And Landing here, or safely Landing there, Make way to my Beloved Westminster: Or to the Golden-cheap-side, where the earth Of Julia Herrick gave to me my Birth. May all clean Nimphs and curious water Dames, With Swan-like-state, flote up & down thy streams: No drought upon thy wanton waters fall To make them Leane, and languishing at all. No ruffling winds come hither to discease Thy pure, and Silver-wristed Naides. Keep up your state ye streams; and as ye spring, Never make sick your Banks by surfeiting. Grow young with Tydes, and though I see ye never, Receive this vow, so fare-ye-well for ever.

Pardons.

THose ends in War the best contentment bring, Whose Peace is made up with a Pardoning.

Peace not Permanent.

GReat Cities seldome rest: If there be none T'invade from far: They'l finde worse foes at home.

Truth and Errour.

Twixt Truth and Errour, there's this difference known, Errour is fruitfull, Truth is onely one.

Things mortall still mutable.

THings are uncertain, and the more we get, The more on ycie pavements we are set.

Studies to be supported.

STudies themselves will languish and decay, When either price, or praise is ta'ne away.

Wit punisht, prospers most.

DRead not the shackles: on with thine intent; Good wits get more fame by their punishment.

Twelfe night, or King and Queene.

NOw, now the mirth comes With the cake full of plums, Where Beane's the King of the sport here; Beside we must know, The Pea also Must revell, as Queene, in the Court here.

Begin then to chuse, (This night as ye use) Who shall for the present delight here, Be a King by the lot, And who shall not Be Twelfe-day Queene for the night here.

Which knowne, let us make Joy-sops with the cake; And let not a man then be seen here, Who unurg'd will not drinke To the base from the brink A health to the King and the Queene here.

Next crowne the bowle full With gentle lambs-wooll;

Adde sugar, nutmeg and ginger, With store of ale too; And thus ye must doe To make the wassaile a swinger.

Give then to the King And Queene wassailing; And though with ale ye be whet here; Yet part ye from hence, As free from offence, As when ye innocent met here.

His desire.

GIve me a man that is not dull, When all the world with rifts is full, But unamaz'd dares clearely sing, When as the roof's a tottering: And, though it falls, continues still Tickling the Citterne with his quill.

Caution in Councell.

KNow when to speake; for many times it brings Danger to give the best advice to Kings.

Moderation.

LEt moderation on thy passions waite Who loves too much, too much the lov'd will hate.

Advice the best actor.

STill take àdvice; though counsels when they flye At randome, sometimes hit most happily.

Conformity is comely.

COnformity gives comelinesse to things. And equall shares exclude all murmerings.

Lawes.

WHo violates the Customes, hurts the Health, Not of one man, but all the Common-wealth.

The meane.

TIs much among the filthy to be clean; Our heat of youth can hardly keep the mean.

Like loves his like.

LIke will to like, each Creature loves his kinde; Chaste words proceed still from a bashfull minde.

His hope or sheat-Anchor.

AMong these Tempests great and manifold My Ship has here one only Anchor-hold; That is my hope; which if that slip, I'm one Wildred in this vast watry Region.

Comfort in Calamity.

TIs no discomfort in the world to fall, When the great Crack not Crushes one, but all.

Twilight.

THe Twi-light is no other thing (we say) Then Night now gone, and yet not sprung the Day.

False Mourning.

HE who wears Blacks, and mournes not for the Dead, Do's but deride the Party buried.

The will makes the work, or consent makes the Cure.

NO grief is grown so desperate, but the ill Is halfe way cured, if the party will.

Diet.

IF wholsome Diet can re-cure a man, What need of Physick, or Physitian?

Smart.

STripes justly given yerk us (with their fall) But causelesse whipping smarts the most of all.

The Tinkers Song.

ALong, come along, Let's meet in a throng Here of Tinkers; And quaffe up a Bowle As big as a Cowle To Beer Drinkers.

The pole of the Hop Place in the Ale-shop to Bethwack us; If ever we think So much as to drink Unto Bacchus. Who frolick will be, For little cost he Must not vary, From Beer-broth at all, So much as to call For Canary.

His Comfort.

THe only comfort of my life Is, that I never yet had wife; Nor will hereafter; since I know Who Weds, ore-buyes his weal with woe

Sincerity.

WAsh clean the Vessell, lest ye soure What ever Liquor in ye powre.

To Anthea.

SIck is Anthea, sickly is the spring, The Primrose sick, and sickly every thing: The while my deer Anthea do's but droop, The Tulips, Lillies, Daffadills do stoop; But when again sh'as got her healthfull houre, Each bending then, will rise a proper flower.

Nor buying or selling.

NOw, if you love me, tell me, For as I will not sell ye, So not one cross to buy thee Ile give, if thou deny me.

To his peculiar friend M. Jo: Wicks.

SInce shed or Cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one; To whose glad threshold, and free door I may a Poet come, though poor; And eat with thee a savory bit, Paying but common thanks for it. Yet sho'd I chance, (my Wicks) to see An over-leven-looks in thee, To soure the Bread, and turn the Beer To an exalted vineger; Or sho'dst thou prize me as a Dish Of thrice-boyl'd-worts, or third dayes fish; I'de rather hungry go and come, Then to thy house be Burdensome; Yet, in my depth of grief, I'de be One that sho'd drop his Beads for thee.

The more mighty, the more mercifull.

WHo may do most, do's least: The bravest will Shew mercy there, where they have power to kill.

After Autumne, Winter.

DIe ere long I'm sure, I shall; After leaves, the tree must fall.

A good death.

FOr truth I may this sentence tell, No man dies ill, that liveth well.

Recompence.

VVHo plants an Olive, but to eate the Oile? Reward, we know, is the chiefe end of toile.

On Fortune.

THis is my comfort, when she's most unkind, She can but spoile me of my Meanes, not Mind.

To Sir George Parrie, Doctor of the Civill Law.

I Have my Laurel Chaplet on my head, If'mongst these many Numbers to be read, But one by you be hug'd and cherished.

Peruse my Measures thoroughly, and where Your judgement finds a guilty Poem, there Be you a Judge; but not a Judge severe.

The meane passe by, or over, none contemne; The good applaud: the peccant lesse condemne, Since Absolution you can give to them.

Stand forth BraveMan, here to the publique sight; And in my Booke now claim a two-folrd right: The first as Doctor, and the last as Knight.

Charmes.

THis Ile tell ye by the way, Maidens when ye Leavens lay, Crosse your Dow, and your dispatch, Will be better for your Batch.

Another.

IN the morning when ye rise (eyes. Wash your hands, and cleanse your Next be sure ye have a care, To disperse the water farre. For as farre as that doth light, So farre keepes the evill Spright.

Another.

IF ye feare to be affrighted When ye are (by chance) benighted: In your Pocket for a trust, Carrie nothing but a Crust: For that holy piece of Bread, Charmes the danger, and the dread.

Upon Gorgonius.

VNto Pastillus ranke Gorgonius came, To have a tooth twitcht out of's native frame. Drawn was his tooth; but stanke so, that some say, The Barber stopt his Nose, and ranne away.

Gentlenesse.

THat Prince must govern with a gentle hand, Who will have love comply with his command.

A Dialogue betwixt himselfe and Mistresse Eliza: Wheeler, under the name of Amarillis.

MY dearest Love, since thou wilt go, And leave me here behind thee; For love or pitie let me know The place where I may find thee.

Amaril.

In country Meadowes pearl'd with Dew, And set about with Lillies; There filling Maunds with Cowslips, you May find your Amarillis.

Her.

What have the Meades to do with thee, Or with thy youthfull houres? Live thou at Court, where thou mayst be The Queen of men, not flowers.

Let Country wenches make'em fine With Poesies, since 'tis fitter For thee with richest Jemmes to shine, And like the Starres to glitter.

Amaril.

You set too high a rate upon A Shepheardess so homely;

Her.

Believe it (dearest) ther's not one I'th' Court that's halfe so comly.

I prithee stay. (Am.) I must away, Lets kiss first, then we'l sever.

Ambo.

And though we bid adieu to day, Wee shall not part for ever.

To Julia.

HElp me, Julia, for to pray, Mattens sing, or Mattens say: This I know, the Fiend will fly Far away, if thou beest by. Bring the Holy-water hither; Let us wash, and pray together: When our Beads are thus united, Then the Foe will fly affrighted.

To Roses in Julia's Bosome.

ROses, you can never die, Since the place wherein ye lye, Heat and moisture mixt are so, As to make ye ever grow.

To the Honoured, Master Endimion Porter.

WHen to thy Porch I come, and (ravisht) see The State of Poets there attending Thee: Those Bardes, and I, all in a Chorus sing, We are Thy Prophets Porter; Thou our King.

Speake in season.

WHen times are troubled, then forbeare; but speak, When a cleare day, out of a Cloud do's break.

Obedience.

THe Power of Princes rests in the Consent Of onely those, who are obedient:

Which if away, proud Scepters then will lye Low, and of Thrones the Ancient Majesty.

Another on the same.

NO man so well a Kingdome Rules, as He, Who hath himselfe obaid the Soveraignty.

Of Love.

Instruct me now what love will do;Line 1 'Twill make a tongless man to wooe.Line 2 Inform me next, what love will do;Line 1 'Twill strangely make a one of too.Line 2 Teach me besides, what love wil do;Line 1 'Twill quickly mar, & make ye too.Line 2 Tell me, now last, what love will do;Line 1 'Twill hurt and heal a heart pierc'd through.Line 2

Upon Trap.

TRap, of a Player turn'd a Priest now is; Behold a suddaine Metamorphosis. If Tythe-pigs faile, then will he shift the scean, And, from a Priest, turne Player once again.

Vpon Grubs.

GRubs loves his Wife and Children, while that they Can live by love, or else grow fat by Play: But when they call or cry on Grubs for meat; Instead of Bread, Grubs gives them stones to eat. He 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 rends, and while he thus doth tear, His Wife and Children fast to death for fear.

Upon Dol.

NO question but Dols cheecks wo'd soon rost dry, Were they not basted by her either eye.

Upon Hog.

HOg has a place i'th' Kitchen, and his share The flimsie Livers, and blew Gizzards are.

The School or Perl of Putney, the Mistress of all singular manners, Mistresse Portman.

VVHether I was my selfe, or else did see Out of my self that Glorious Hierarchie! Or whether those (in orders rare) or these Made up One State of Sixtie Venuses; Or whether Fairies, Syrens, Nymphes they were, Or Muses, on their mountaine sitting there; Or some enchanted Place, I do not know (Or Sharon, where eternall Roses grow.) This I am sure; I Ravisht stood, as one Confus'd in utter Admiration. Me thought I saw them stir, and gently move, And look as all were capable of Love: And in their motion smelt much like to flowers Enspir'd by th' Sun-beams after dews & showers. There did I see the Reverend Rectresse stand, Who with her eyes-gleam, or a glance of hand, Those spirits rais'd; and with like precepts then (As with a Magick) laid them all agen: (A happy Realme! When no compulsinve Law, Or fear of it, but Love keeps all in awe.) Live you great Mistresse of your Arts, and be A a nursing Mother so to Majesty;

As those your Ladies may in time be seene, Fot Grace and Carriage, every one a Queene. One Birth their Parents gave them; but their new, And better Being, they receive from You. Mans former Birth is grace-lesse; but the state Of life comes in, when he's Regenerate.

To Perenna.

THou say'st I'm dull; if edge-lesse so I be, Ile whet my lips, and sharpen Love on thee.

On himselfe.

LEt me not live, if I not love, Since I as yet did never prove, Where Pleasures met; at last, doe find, All Pleasures meet in Woman-kind.

On Love.

THat love 'twixt men do's ever longest last Where War and Peace the Dice by turns doe cast.

Another on Love.

LOve's of it self, too sweet; the best of all Is, when loves hony has a dash of gall.

Upon Gut.

SCience puffs up, sayes Gut, when either Pease Make him thus swell, or windy Cabbages,

Upon Chub.

WHen Chub brings in his harvest, still he cries, Aha my boyes! heres wheat for Christmas Pies! Soone after, he for beere so scores his wheat, That at the tide, he has not bread to eate.

Pleasures Pernicious.

WHere Pleasures rule a Kingdome, never there Is sober virtue, seen to move her sphere.

On himself.

A Wearied Pilgrim, I have wandred here Twice five and twenty (bate me but one yeer) Long I have lasted in this world; (tis true) But yet those yeers that I have liv'd, but few. Who by his gray Haires, doth his lusters tell, Lives not those yeers, but he that lives them well. One man has reatch't his sixty yeers, but he Of all those three-score, has not liv'd halfe three: He lives, who lives to virtue: men who cast Their ends for Pleasure, do not live, but last.

To M. Laurence Swetnaham.

REad thou my Lines, my Swetnaham, if there be A fault, tis hid, if it be voic't by thee. Thy mouth will make the sourest numbers please; How will it drop pure hony, speaking these?

His Covenant or Protestation to Julia.

WHy do'st thou wound, & break my heart? As if we sho'd for ever part? Hast thou not heard an Oath from me, After a day, or two, or three, I wo'd come back and live with thee? Take, if thou do'st distrust, that Vowe; This second Protestation now. Upon thy cheeke that spangel'd Teare, Which sits as Dew of Roses there: That Teare shall scarce be dri'd before Ile kisse the Threshold of thy dore. Then weepe not sweet; but thus much know, I'm halfe return'd before I go.

On himselfe.

I Will no longer kiss, I can no longer stay; The way of all Flesh is, That I must go this day: Since longer I can't live, My frolick Youths adieu; My Lamp to you Ile give, And all my troubles too.

To the most accomplisht Gentleman Master Michael Oulsworth.

NOr thinke that Thou in this my Booke art worst, Because not plac't here with the midst, or first. Since Fame that sides with these, or goes before Those, that must live with Thee for evermore. That Fame, and Fames rear'd Pillar, thou shalt see In the next sheet Brave Man to follow Thee.

Fix on That Columne then, and never fall; Held up by Fames eternall Pedestall.

To his Girles who would have him sportfull.

ALas I can't, for tell me how Can I be gamesome (aged now) Besides ye see me daily grow Here Winter-like, to Frost and Snow. And I ere long, my Girles shall see, Ye quake for cold to looke on me.

Truth and falsehood.

TRuth by her own simplicity is known, Falsehood by Varnish and Vermillion.

His last request to Julia.

I Have been wanton, and too bold I feare, To chafe o're much the Virgins cheek or eare: Beg for my Pardon Julia; He doth winne Grace with the Gods, who's sorry for his sinne. That done, my Julia, dearest Julia, come, And go with me to chuse my Buriall roome: My Fates are ended; when thy Herrick dyes, Claspe thou his Book, then close thou up his Eyes.

On himselfe.

ONe Eare tingles; some there be, That are snarling now at me: Be they those that Homer bit, I will give them thanks for it.

Vpon Kings.

KIngs must be dauntlesse: Subjects will contemne Those, who want Hearts, and weare a Diadem.

To his Girles.

WAnton Wenches doe not bring For my haires black colouring: For my Locks (Girles) let'em be Gray or white, all's one to me.

Upon Spur.

SPur jingles now, and sweares by no meane oathes, He's double honour'd since h'as got gay cloathes: Most like his Suite, and all commend the Trim; And thus they praise the Sumpter, but not him: As to the Goddesse, people did conferre Worship, and not to'th' Asse that carried her.

To his Brother Nicolas Herrick.

VVHat others have with cheapnesse seene, and ease, In Varnisht maps; by'th' helpe of Compasses: Or reade in Volumes, and those Bookes (with all Their large Narrations, Incanonicall) Thou hast beheld those seas, and Countries farre; And tel'st to us what once they were, and are. So that with bold truth, thou canst now relate This Kingdomes fortune, and that Empires fate: Canst talke to us of Sharon; where a spring Of Roses have an endlesse flourishing. Of Sion, Sinai, Nebo, and with them, Make knowne to us the now Jerusalem.

The Mount of Olives; Calverie, and where Is (and hast seene) thy Saviours Sepulcher. So that the man that will but lay his eares, As Inapostate, to the thing he heares, Shall be his hearing quickly come to see The truth of Travails lesse in bookes then Thee.

The Voice and Violl.

RAre is the voice it selfe; but when we sing To'th Lute or Violl, then 'tis ravishing.

Warre.

IF Kings and kingdomes, once distracted be, The sword of war must trie the Soveraignty.

A King and no King.

THat Prince, who may doe nothing but what's just, Rules but by leave, ana takes his Crowne on trust.

Plots not still prosperous.

ALl are not ill Plots, that doe sometimes faile; Nor those false vows, which oft times don't prevaile.

Flatterie.

WHat is't that wafts a Prince? example showes, 'Tis flatterie spends a King, more then his foes.

Upon Rumpe.

RUmpe is a Turne-broach, yet he seldome can Steale a swolne sop out of the Dripping pan.

Upon Shopter.

OLd Widow Shopter, when so ere she cryes, Lets drip a certain Gravie from her eyes.

Vpon Deb.

IF felt and heard, (unseen) thou dost me please; If seen, thou lik'st me, Deb, in none of these,

Excesse.

EXcesse is sluttish: keepe the meane; for why? Vertue's clean Conclave is sobriety.

Upon Croot.

ONe silver spoon shines in the house of Croot; Who cannot buie, or steale a second to't.

The soul is the salt.

THe body's salt, the soule is; which when gon, The flesh soone sucks in putrifaction.

Vpon Flood, or a thankfull man.

FLood, if he has for him and his a bit, He sayes his fore and after Grace for it: If meate he wants, then Grace he sayes to see His hungry belly borne by Legs Jaile-free. Thus have, or have not, all alike is good, To this our poore, yet ever patient Flood.

Upon Pimpe.

WHen Pimpes feet sweat (as they doe often use) There springs a sope-like-lather in his shoos.

Upon Luske.

IN Den'-shire Kerzie Lusk (when he was dead) Wo'd shrouded be, and therewith buried. When his Assignes askt him the reason why? He said, because he got his wealth thereby.

Foolishnesse.

IN's Tusc'lanes, Tullie doth confesse, No plague ther's like to foolishnesse.

Upon Rush.

RUsh saves his shooes, in wet and snowie wether; And feares in summer to weare out the lether: This is strong thrift that warie Rush doth use Summer and Winter still to save his shooes.

Abstinence.

AGainst diseases here the strongest fence Is the defensive vertue, Abstinence.

No danger to men desperate.

VVHen feare admits no hope of safety, then Necessity makes dastards valiant men.

Sauce for sorrowes.

ALthough our suffering meet with no reliefe, An equall mind is the best sauce for griefe.

To Cupid.

I Have a leaden, thou a shaft of gold; Thou kil'st with heate, and I strike dead with cold. Let's trie of us who shall the first expire; Or thou be frost, or I by quenchlesse fire: Extreames are fatall, where they once doe strike, And bring to'th' heart destruction both alike.

Distrust.

WHat ever men for Loyalty pretend, 'Tis Wisdomes part to doubt a faithfull friend.

The Hagg.

THe staffe is now greas'd, And very well pleas'd, She cockes out her Arse at the parting, To an old Ram Goat, That rattles i'th'throat, Halfe choakt with the stink of her farting.

In a dirtie Haire-lace She leads on a brace Of black-bore-cats to attend her; Who scratch at the Moone, And threaten at noone Of night from Heaven for to rend her.

A hunting she goes; A crackt horne she blowes;

At which the hounds fall a bounding; While th'Moone in her sphere Peepes trembling for feare, And night's afraid of the sounding.

The mount of the Muses.

AFter thy labour take thine ease, Here with the sweet Pierides. But if so be that men will not Give thee the Laurell Crowne for lot; Be yet assur'd, thou shalt have one Not subject to corruption.

On Himselfe.

IL'e write no more of Love; but now repent Of all those times that I in it have spent. Ile write no more of life; but wish twas ended, And that my dust was to the earth commended.

To his Booke.

Goe thou forth my booke, though late; Yet be timely fortunate. It may chance good-luck may send Thee a kinsman, or a friend, That may harbour thee, when I, With my fates neglected lye. If thou know'st not where to dwell, See, the fier's by: Farewell.

The end of his worke.

PArt of the worke remaines; one part is past: And here my ship rides having Anchor cast.

To Crowne it.

MY wearied Barke, O Let it now be Crown'd! The Haven reacht to which I first was bound.

On Himselfe.

THe worke is done: young men, and maidens set Upon my curles the Mirtle Coronet, Washt with sweet omtments; Thus at last I come To suffer in the Muses Martyrdome: But with this comfort, if my blood be shed, The Muses will weare blackes, when I am dead.

The pillar of Fame.

FAmes pillar here, at last, we set, Out-during Marble, Brasse, or Jet, Charm'd and enchanted so, As to withstand the blow Of overthrow: Nor shall the seas, Or OUTRAGES Of storms orebear What we up-rear, Tho Kingdoms fal, This pillar never shall Decline or waste at all; But stand for ever by his owne Firme and well fixt foundation.

To his Book's end this last line he'd have plac't, Jocond his Muse was; but his Life was chast.

FINIS.

Notes

• * 1.1

  A Javelin twind with Ivy. Songs to Bacchus.
• * 1.2

  A Javelin twind with Ivy. Songs to Bacchus.
• * 1.3

  A Bracelet, from Dardanus so call'd
• * 1.4

  The Sun.
• * 1.5

  The Moon,
• * 1.6

  Her∣cules.
• * 1.7

  Sparrow
• * 1.8

  A twig of a Pomgranat, which the queen-priest did use to weare on her head at sacrificing.
• * 1.9

  His Spa∣niel.