Amanda, a sacrifice to an unknown goddesse, or, A free-will offering of a loving heart to a sweet-heart by N.H. of Trinity Colledge in Cambridge

In obitum gravissimi senis Dⁿi Doctori-COLLINS, Theologiae Professoris Re∣gii Cantabrigiae.

AMica, (Lector) suneri pedissequa Attendat aemula lacryma, Viduaque mater lugeat Academia Sponsi ad senilis naenias, Et veste nubilâ induantur lugubres Ecclesiastici chori; Non janu••e Libitina cardines quatit Non ostium excussit modò, Sed ausa vel scientiarum Regium Evertere monasterium. Compressus est silentio sidissimus Propheta & Interpres Dei Veteranus emeritús{que} linguae Hebraica Professor clinguis silet. Exhaustus est ditissimus Theologiae Thesaurus, & Oraculum. Casús{que} jam tandem per omnes mors rudis Heterocliton flexit vagum. Variatur ille quem monoptoton diù Credidimus invariabile; ••niqua certè mortis absurdae manus Hominem ferire tam senem,

Veneranda fatis occubuit Antiquitas Obiit senectus non senex.

Somnus mortis imago.

STabat in Eliaco, nebulis vestita, sacello, Foemina poenè suo nescia stare loco, Sydera su adebant circumlucentia somnum, Miscebátque suas Cynthia amica faces; Visa est nutare & pulvinar quaerere mento, Inque suo sirm•• labra sepulta sinu; Nox fuit haec, laevâ nigrum est amplexa puellum, Et puer ad dextram qui stetit albus erat, Illa fuit somni, fuit alter a mortis imago, Sic morti semilis somnus, & alba nigris,

To his loving friend M T. G. upon cover∣ing his head in the Colledge-Butteries.

WHat is the matter Tom, thou 'rt grown so old, Hoarie and white o'th' sudden? fear'st thou cold Salt brackish rheumes should falling on thy chest Thy windpipe rot, thy spungie lungs infest? Yes, taplash breeds catarrhs, and thereupon The Butler needs must starch thy night-cap on; Tom, thou wert sudl'd o're night, and 'twas for fear, Thou should'st i'th' morning drink too much small beer After so hot an Orgyan sacrifice, 'Twas wholesome moral Physick not to size. O're night thou know'st it was thy fatal lot, To mug, to quaffe, carouse and bownce the pot; Next morne I hast'ned to the butterie-hatch, How much Col-tisse thou'dst drink I meant to watch; But when I came, I view'd, look't every where, The duce of any Tom or heal was there. First from the bottom of the Tables I spi'd, And upwards ev'ry name I straightly ey'd; Each name a round o'th' ladder seem'd to me Then come to th' blank which put m' in minde of thee;

It emblem'd out a thief, who 'fore he dies Lookes like thy head with's night-cap o're his eyes: How! proud and coy! Prethy now what do'st aile, That like the wenches thou must mask and vaile, And hide thy face (like them in heat of blood,) In such a daintie, fine, white sarc'net hood? Way with that muster, shew thy face, let's see't: Prethee leave off doing penance in a sheet. Thou look'st like some old scurvie Countrey-Hag, That makes a biggen of an oat-meal bag, Whose face is mask'd with chin-cloth fine and gay, To ride on Dick or Brown o'th' market-day: Thou 'rt like a Corps old women have laid out, Whose meagre visage is cover'd with a clout; I think they'l shroud thee too with time and bayes; For they complain how thou hast spent thy dayes; Die, Tom, in these bad times? thou must despair Of being interr'd with Common-prayer. Rise prethee, feare not, thou shalt namelesse be, Rascal, dost think, we can't new christen thee; Nay in the old way too boy, and rather Then not, I mean to be thy Godfather: 'Tis but small charges Sirrah; there needs no fee Unto the Midwife or the Nurcerie; Nor need I give my Golson some fine boon, A Coral-whistle with bells, or silver-spoon: When thou art grown, canst go alone and prattle, Please thy Nurse and Godfather with tittle tattle; I'le give thee schooling; for thy books I'le pay, Horne-books and Primmers, childe, to sling away;

Then thou shalt ask me blessing, pretty toy, I'le stroke th' oth' head, God blesse thee, rise my boy; Then chuck th' oth' chin, and with a Godfathers grace, 'Tis my good boy, here's for thee, learn apace: Now if the black-coat come and cat'chize thee; Answer him M. or N. Sir, T. or G, If urgent still he ask thee, what's thy name? Conjure and mum, crie, Oh Sir, Yes, that same. But heark thee Tom, hast lost thy Sirname quite? Wert thou degraded like a new dub'd Knight, Cashier'd with good Sir Hal, Sir Iames, Sir Iohn, Who had their Honours dated fourtie one, Whose pride by act of State was made a sinne, Calling the last edition of titles in? Stay th' next Platonick fourty one, and then For some few yeares you shall be Knights agen Thou i'th' mean while (it is an honourable word Amongst the Hunch-backs) shalt be call'd my Lord: Or else some Carter, rather then have none, Shall lash and name thee, Robbin, Hob or Rhoan; Yes, yes, thoud'st make a Stallion rare, To earne thy Master Clod some groat's a mare, Then for thy motions Rhe, ho, but will do, The Aldermans Thiller thy name-sake too. And then all day to have thy Tutor sing, Lash thee and whistle, (then rogue) fresh grasse i'th' spring; Yes and i'th' winter-time to have a maw, To feed on hawme of pease and barley-straw; Then draw up hill, and when the cart goes dead,

To be well-pun'd with whips i'th' slanck or head, And then thy Mastet when thou'st spent thy force, To clap thy buttocks with Gra-mercie-horse. But prethy, Tom, tell what the reason is, Thou'rt harness't in this met amorphosis? They say that thou wert mad, horne-mad, and now Thou wear'st a kinde of Bondgrace like a Cow. Heaven blesse thee, my best chicken, I dare say Thou wer't unkindly us'd, who will say nay? For troth I know thy heart and temper well, 'Tis plain and easie for the world to spell; Open and free, and lodg'd within a breast, Wherein no swelling envious serpents neast; It alwayes in a grateful posture lies Thy loving friends most ready sacrifice; And from thy bosome should he it command, Thy bosome straight lies open to his hand: I know thee well, I've read thee o're and o're; Thou only want'st two or three faces more; One for thy publike use, t' Hippocritize, A Chappel-mask, a garb and Sunday-eyes. But let that falshood passe, thou know••st I know The men o'th' world are riddles, so let them go, My civil charity doth speak it sinne, To rifle others closets or look in; Yet if their hearts were hell, I'd never doubt To venture in, to fetch the devil out; For some have thought the worst they can of you, Who dare I'm sure no worse then they dare do; But I'le not preach in verse, left some of those

Should envie me, who can't do't well in prose; No, Tom, at present thou my theam shalt be, And as men name a text, so I'le name thee; As they do little or nought to th' purpose say, So I'le but name thee just, and then away; And rather then thou still shalt nothing be, But Entelechia and haecceitie; I'le name thee Cambridge-Tom, and of thee vaunt, As they of Munster-Iack, and Iohn of Gaunt; Thomas Thomasius thou shalt be, Or Thompson of the Danish progenie; Or Thom ap Thomas like that Welch device. And link of names, ap Owen, ap Hugh, ap Rice; Or else with them I'le borrow from the Iewes, Name thee as they the sonnes of Rabbi's use, Rabbi-ben-Majim, who Majims loines came from, So will I name thee Rabbi Tom-ben-Tom.

An ELEGIE on the death of Mr. Frear Fellow of Trin. Coll. in Cam∣bridge, who died of a Con∣sumption.

AT length upon the wing, haste to possesse Th' eternal mansions of true happinesse; To Saints and Angels go, and Fellow be Amongst those Doctors of Divinity; Long were't admitted, and now sit it were Thou take thy journey to continue there; Pitty thy soul should be no otherwise Employ'd, then to hold open dying eyes, And yet how loath she sled, as if sh'had rather Stay'd here to keep thy skin and bones together. Some few dayes longer hadst thou drawn thy breath, Thy frighted friends had taken thee for death; For which thy meagre shape as well might passe, As that which holds the spade and houre-glasse; Thou look'st as if thou'dst past through Chir'rgi∣ons hall A live Anatomie, the Belfree wall Doth nothing ne'er so grim a shape present: So thy kinde soule, till all its oile was spent, Glimmer'd i'th' socket, as if when 't went out

Thy friends should be i'th' dark, and all about The scritchowls of the sable-winged night, Hither in errors clouds would make their slight; Thus whil'st thou seems to be Iohs living story, Thy death's head was our best Memento mori.

Alas poor thread-bare, worne out Skeleton, With one short rag of flesh scarce cloath'd upon, More bare then in the wombe, unto thy Urne How truly naked did thy Corps return? What stranger who had seen thy shriv'led skin, Thy thin, pale, gastly face, would not have been Conceited he had seen a ghost i'th' bed New risen from the grave, not lately dead! Those things in vaults, whose gently touched shrine Falls into dust, look fresher farre then thine. Which was so dry, as if thy carcase were For many yeares embalm'd and buri'd there; Who e're had argu'd that thou ne'er would'st die, Would have disputed very probably: At least he might have made this topick good. Thou wert immortal, 'cause not flesh and blood. But we who know thou spak'st so many tongues, Will cease to wonder at thy wasted lungs; And from thy losse of flesh, it was not fit, We will conclude the wormes should feed on it. 'Twas pity such a piece to th' grave was hurl'd, For th' curious volume of thy lesser world An Enoch-like Translation fitter were, Then Critick death for an Interpreter: Thy learning was so rich, that I would dare

[Were it hereditary, I thy heire] To spend with wealthie Caesars, and out-vie Europes most learned living library; Clad all in sackcloth if I were to mourn In dust and ashes [like a soul forlorn] Could these externals make me more divine, Or adde to Piety, I'd call for thine.

'Tis pitie nature did but lend thee us, Give, and then take away her jewel thus; Alas! when she perceiv'd how suddenly, Dull counterfeits would all in fashion be, And gems that are the right at nought be set, She lock't thee up within her cabinet. Sowe were losers all. But mark his end, How like a traveller to's loving friend, He just at's farewel takes a parting cup, Biddeth us all adieu, and drinks it up; Reader, 'twas to thy health, and though in beer Yet prethy kindly pledge him in a tear.

An ELEGY on the death of Mr. Crane, Apothecary in Cambridge.

AShes to ashes! who! our AEsculape! Our Cambridge-Chiron! can't such skill escape? Such Peons die! strange! dust to dust! who is't! What noble Crane, that golden Alchymist? Is't he! then proud Dame Vesta certainly Will vaunt those atomes to eternitie. Swell, boast, look big, and in her womb 'Teem him an everlasting, growing tomb;

Embalme him Reader in thy memorie, Shroud him with silver-blossom'd rosemarie; With pennie-royal, marigold-flowers, And yellow saffron, embleme out what powers Of Sol and Luna in his coffers lie, Forc't in by his great Art and Industrie:

'Tis fit this great Preservative of formes Should never want a med'cine 'gainst the wormes: Tir'd with dull elements, he's gone from hence T'extract and clothe his soul with quintessence; There is no all-heal, but a funeral; All things before are mix't with wormwood, gall, And vineger; Now he is gone from us; Tis benedictus without carduus;

No sulphur tinctures, tartar, no disease; 'Tis lignum vitae, and no aloes. His house and shop since death hath overcome, Is furnished with Caput mortuum, Let your Alembicks freely crystallize, Fill gallipots with catarrhs from your eyes, Or rather wipe them, let them not be mistie, He's gone for Manna or for manus Christi.

On the immature death of his hopeful friend, Mr. Alexander Rookesby.

1.

MOst cruel death! be so precise? Take no excuse! Could not thy nature, nor Thy well promising youth apologize!

2.

This fit of sicknesse should have been, The smallest stop, Only a comma to thy health. A short deliquium, then life agen.

3.

What so unskilful in Orthographie? Illiterate fate? To put a period thus, Where but a colon at the most shonld be!

4.

Was't not unmannerly in death Before his tale Were told, or he had spoke His better sentence out, to stop his breath!

5.

O'th' dawning of his life I look, As on a short Brief preface, or a kinde salute To th'gentle Reader, but w' have lost the book.

6.

'Tis fit each Scholar o're his Herse, Weep Elegies, Nature was scanning him, As though she meant to make a golden verse.

7.

But death instead of long Hexameters, Making Adonicks, Served a warrant in Which fate had writ in short-hand characters,

8.

So left the learn'd Hippocrates, (Giving a dash Rude Ignoramus like) To make a guesse and spell out the disease.

9.

Himself read only his Contents, The Chapter must Be read at's grave, while down His coffin ives drill watrie monuments.

10.

Farewel, farewel, dear heart, Is't thine, my friend? I bid this longest farewel to, Or rather is't my own with which I part?

11.

Alas! good soul, thou'rt gone; And were it not That I should with my death, I'd wish 'twere time to follow on.

12.

Nor would I any other knell To drive away Bad spirits from my grave, Only the Eccho of thy passing bell.

An Epithalantium sacred to the Nuptials of the truly Religious Lady, the Lady A. H. and the Valiant and Worthy Sir W. W. Knight.

JOy, most victorious, Madam; pardon me, If I recal a past solemnity; 'Tis a review of joy, which is a dish Not like some strange, out-landish fowle or fish, Or some new-fangled sauce, some bo-peep meat, Which th' Antipodes, and we by turnes do eat, Some sullen cates which out of season flie, To tempt the Ladies with their raritie; But like your Conserves, with more choice delight. Feeds all the humours of the appetite, Playes with a curious palate, and from thence. Leaps to the eye, then to another sense, So doth enrich the soul, till it surmize, The body an Elizian Paradise:

This wealthie joy, which at the marriage-tide Sparkles i'th' Bridegrooms eyes, perfumes the Bride With her own cheerful spirits, till they dart Laughter into her spouses ticklish heart; This balsame joy, great Lady, I present In a reunction, to renew its sent, And call its quickning vertues out, which lie

Not dead, but dormant in their treasurie; I do but rub the herbe, and wake from thence Such fragrant savours, as may feast the sense, Tell you what flowers in your posie are, Repeat some notes in short-hand character.

Then pardon, Madam though I come so late, Ioy's never out of season, still in date, Where love is fresh, joy never can decay, Though yeares be spent, 'tis still the wedding day.

Then, great triumphant Madam, once again, Ioy to your second Conquest, you have ta'ne Two noble Warriours Captives in your breast, Nature hath ransom'd one, the other's prest To succeed pris'ner; oh blest captive he That's pris'ner in so chaste a Nunnerie! 'Twas pity since your first was forc't to yield, Your second stay'd so long, as if the field Were voted by some pious bosome-law, For so long time Sir Simons Golgotha; Good wife! whose body for some years must be Her first Deare's charnel house, his Calvarie.

But now that cloud of Funeral Obsequies Hath spent it self in teares, and in your eyes Mirth gins to startle and resume its seat; Fresh blushes vault in triumph, smiles curveat: All speak your Conquest of the Conquerour, What a commanding Amazon you are; Unto whose service Champions are drawn forth, Upon the Altar of whose glorious worth, Great Hymen bids me offer sacrifice,

And th' god of warre hath done devotion twice, Stately Bellona courts your Ladiship, And am'rous Mars fights duels at your lip: You take your Spouse in pris'ner by your charmes, Sir William takes you in by force of armes, And then such volley shots of kisses flie, Would tempe and ravish sworn Virginity. Now may those chaster lips so closely meet, At each salute as if your soules did greet, And since Sir William here hath taken quarter, 'Tis for his honour to be Knight o'th' garter:

Nor will I leave him there; no from above The Heavens greet you with new joyes of love; Ioyes which must alwayes needs be fresh to you, Where Christ to both is Bride and Bridegroom too; Within whose heart the lilie o'th' valley growes, That cluster'd Camphire, that sweet Sharon-rose, That bundle of myrrhe, he whom the Virgins love, Whose scarlet lips drop honey as they move.

Oh may your Dear Beloved, kisse is Vine With kisses of his mouth, more sweet then wine; So shall you spread your fruitful branch, and see Your children like the plants o'th' Olive-tree. These are my hearty wishes, and you know Although I am no great Divine, Not only rich but poor mens coine will go, So may these prayers of mine.

To Mr. Iohn Mors, Merchant in King Lynne, on the death of M^s. A. Mors his wife. Mors in a Mors Christi.

ALas, good Gentleman, hath that sweetest love That spouse of yours made out her last remove Hath death that great Knight-Errent, who doth play And dodge in's motions, here, there, every way, Checkmated you in taking of your Queen, Or is't a Sthale? No 'ts more, then be'nt o're seen, For now she's taken as your pawn, and when Your time is come, 'twill be check-mate agen; But i'th' mean while you're loser in a word, It is but setting another Queen o'th' board; Yet must you not begin the game anew, Till th' loser pay what for the l••st was due; Then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Sir, for this six or seven yeares You must be daily paying summes of teares, And all your friends like faithful Clerks stand by T' help tell, lest for a tear you tell an eye.

With you good S••••thrists common 'tis to mourn And weep at th'unconsiderable losse of worne, Old, decay'd b••••ks, whose Stoage is nothing mo•• Then Haberdeen, poor Iohn, or Indigo;

For which such streames th' prodigal humour sheds, That with your ships your eyes sink in your heads; Then, Sir, at what expence ought you to be, Your great misfortune will discover t'e; The best of all your vessels buldg'd and lost, To be recover'd by no charge or cost, Yonr family-rudder broke, and all your store Of spice and amber, your perfumes and ore, Thrown to the deep; for she was more to you, More then all these, your India, your Peru;

If womens souls be Planets in the aire, And rule like potent Constellations there, Surely the Merchants wives will there reside, Darting kinde beams their husbands ships to guide; Then in your voyage if a storme arise, Lost in the clouds, look for her brighter eyes, And if a conduct Cynosure you see, Fall down, do homage and strike saile, 'tis she.

She who whil'st living was more then your Star, Your heav'n on earth, a blessing greater farre: She that did make all beasts, fowle fish and men, As though she'd work th' Creation o're agen, Who wrought the starres into a Canopie, And in her Samplers taught Astrologie, Where th' Heavens face she made so bright appear, That Tycho might have read new 〈◊〉〈◊〉 there, Birds feather'd with her ••••ik you'd swear did slie, Camels have past too through her needles eye; Saw you how the hath wrought Eves n••••ed thighs, You'd think, your self with her in Para life:

Sh' hath made the Muses, Venus and her elfe, And faire Diana, too look like her selfe; Then the three Graces all so sweet and neat, That would ••••ame Nature make a piece compleat, To ••••vish and surprize the worlds eye, Hence she must take the patern to work it by: Then Io, Dan••••e, such pretty things, You'd swear they're made for gods, and not for Kings. In shadows she would vaile a physnomie, Then work a candle and light, to see it by; 'Tis true most women good at night-work be, But few or none so good, so neat as she.

Admired fancies! Oh they are so good. That could she but have wrought in flesh and blood, And made those beauties speak, and something do, Surely she might have made my Mistris too; Nay she hath wrought a face, so much to th'life, I fear you'l court it for your second wife.

Troth, Sir, who e're she be shall tempt your blood, See how she's like your first, so farre she's good; You'l make your self and all your friends rejoyce, To draw her picture in your second choice; And as i'th' Indias when you walk about, To finde some precious mineral out, Some richer rocks of gold, you search and trie, By signes and tokens where the veine doth lie: Be as exact in choosing your new Bride, Let your last wifes Idea be your guide; Let her faire visage teach your rambling eye

To know the cloisters of a treasurie; If any like her be, know she's divine, And fall to work, for she's a wealthie mine, A pearle fit to be worne on Merchants necks, Like her the choicest Sampler of her sex,

Oh could you finde but such a Matron out, So loving, chaste, prudent, discreet, devout; So constant a Colleague, so faire as she, Who is there that would not your Factor be? What Coward is't would not make out for her, Hoist sailes, and be a Merchant-venturer? All Courtship stormes, tempests and tides defie, Waving the flashes of her lightning eye; And though she threatned shipwrack, think it sport To split, and so swim naked to the Port.

Then, Sir, be charie in your second choice, And let the pleasant musick of her voice Speak your first Consort, let your second be Your first wifes Monument, her Elegie; Fairly recruit, be the most blest of men, And in your second choose your first agen: So let your vertuous spouse survive in this, That you are wedded to her Emphasis.

On the Anniversarie of the fifth of Novem. to the Fellowes of Trin. Coll.

'TWere no absurdity if I should wish; You had dark lanthornes for a second dish, Sculls and deaths heads will not be out of season, To put you all in minde of Vaux his treason, Yet least poor Scholars should have nought to pick But bones, pray let your feast be Catholick And superstitious too, so you'l afford Some holy reliques, for Prince Arthurs board, Let your mirth this day, and your joyes be mickle, Had the powder gone off w'had been in a pickle, And which invention were most damnable, Pope or sal Peter had been disputable. But the plot was found, so by accident Wicked Pope Urban was Pope Innocent.

An ELEGY on the death of Dr. MED∣CALFE, late Vice-Master of Trin. Col. in Cambr.

MOst sacred Reliques, at whose Obsequies Devotion bids us weep not teares but eyes; 'Tis but weak sorrow which commands we must Sprinkle some water only to lay thy dust, And huddle up th' Atomes at so poor expence, As if we meant to sweep thy ashes hence; We'l rather spend our springs, and when we're dry Weep for more teares, another Elegie, Old Ennius shall preach no Funeral here, Nor make^c, (without a sigh, a sob, or teare) Expose thee with a Diogenes staffe, Which serv'd the Cynick for an Epitaph; No we'l command the Muses to thy Herse; And make Apollo weep in golden verse. Parnassus cloth'd in mourning weeds to grace Thy Corps, shall stoop to give thee burying place: And so it for a Golgotha we'l have, And weep a Helicon into thy grave; Nay, it is fit when such great Doctors die, Parnassus should appear Mount-Calvarie.

Then shed your grief and labour to out-vie The grave-stone sweating in its Agonie, With crystal jems, which from your eyes distil,

In stead of dust the Sextons shovel fill, Speak and weep volumes at his sepulchre, As if in learned Medcalfs Coffin were The ruines of a famous Librarie, A Chronicle, a three-ages registrie; And since w' have lost this jewel-house, — This treasury, 'Tis fit each Scholar ware — A watrie pearl in's eye.

In obitum Revereudi Senis Doctoris R. METCALFI. Carmen Lapidarium.

HEus! heus! morare qui sepulchra obambulas Siste paulisper gradum, Vbi semper aliquando sistes, Moraberis aeternùm semél. C••••cunque jam spei incumbis & invigilas somnio Hic nonnunquam recubandum & obdermiendum est tibi; Incertissimum est & quando tu me & quomodo Quàm quod sequêris tandem nibil certius, Imò incertum est hinc quò veneris An abeas denuò & te vivum abstuleris: At priusquam transeas Palabunde mortalis Sacra haec in monumenta saltem oculos fige Lacrymisque duri marmoris immisce sletus,

Hîc intus urna est in quâ cineres suos Custodiendos misit venerandus senex Robertus Met∣calfus Theologiae Doctor, communis Index & Interpres Theologicus. S. S. & Individuae Trinitatis Collegii, Sagax Vice-praesul & Cardinalis Presbyter Qui crebris curavit Eleemosynis Refocillandos pauperes: Qui juventutis indigentioris Et promovendis usque & usque alendis studiis Maecenatem se ostendit, sedulò munisicum & munificè sedulum Sermonis Hebraei radix & Professor longè emeritus Linguarum Orientalium phosphorus occidit: Oh quàm optavit Mater Academia Ad eruenda sacra artium mysteria Ejusdem ut aetatis & annis pares forent Metcalfus & Methusalem Sic quam optimus fuisset labentis ad Academiae Ca∣tastrophen Scientiarum & doctrinae Epilogus: Agesis viator vale. Video te festinare hinc quò festinant omnia; Vale ut festines lentè.

An ELEGIE on the death of Dr. Cumber, late Deane of Carlisle, and sometimes Ma∣ster of Trin. Coll. in Camb.

WHat gone to sleep? hush't Reader, let him lie, And with an easie funeral-lullabie, Weep o're his Cradle, which (poor Sextons fee) At the next Earth-quake may be rock't for thee, For w' are all sleepie, and fore-morning light May from our friends receive our last good night; Nay, 'ts odds if thou or I shall watch so long, As this good father did to's even-song, Who wanting but just one yeare of fourescore, I'th' Colledge of the Trinitie once more, Under the Worlds Tutor is gone to be 〈◊◊◊〉〈◊◊◊〉 to Eternity; Would 〈◊◊◊〉〈◊◊◊〉 bosome-pupil were, Oh but they 're 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Fellowes, all Masters there, And with the glorious Founder of the place, Still richly feasting, yet still saying grace.

Now, Royal soul, you shall enjoy your due, Heaven's mansion-lodge, more sit for you, There the great King of Kings shall set you down, And for your Dividend give y'a princely crown, And that white precious stone of mysterie, Which none except thy self can reade to thee.

Those five great Princes, seen by thy dying eye,

Were five of Heavens Kings of Herauldrie, Sent thence of be thy Conducts on the way, Thy souls safe convoy from its bed-rid clay; And those sweet youths which thou 'fore death didst see, Were Cherubims with crownes to wait on thee; Farewel, brave Prelate, go and shine with them, Sainted with a celestial diadem; Go and be ravish't on Gods holy hill With melting Ecchoes, which double and double still Sweet Hallelujahs with ten thousand charmes By Angels which lie couchant in thy armes,

Farewel, good soul, thou'st bravely done thy task, Acted thy part, and left us in a mask. Tire'd out with our first Scene of Tragedie And mischief, thou'dst no more Spectator be, To see Mountebank-worldly goblins play, The devil jugling the juglers souls away; No, thou could'st weare no visard, nor pretend, And be a changeling for some worldly end; But thy firme conscience which had search't and tri'd For truth, sat up its standard, fought and di'd: I must not call thee Martyr, go and be Whatever thy Religion made of thee. Blessing on thee, Reader, and God grant we may 'Wake as he did, and 'waking watch to pray. —

In obitum Reverendi senis Doctoris THOMAE CVMBER. Carmen Lapidarium.

AUdi, audi, fragile & caducum corpus, Hodierna Ephemeris, Histrio, Qui nullo potes gemitu, nullis artibus, Homicidae mortis consilia frangere; Etiam hic stando fracessis utique, Nulla sunt curarum fomenta Praeterquam cineres atque haec coemeteria Frigida hominum dormitoria Et tenacia ligurientium vermium coenacula: At en! Quis hic lassus in hypogaeo jacet? Gloriosus olim, grandaevus & elegans senex Reverendissimus Theologiae Doctor Cumberus un∣deoctogenarius Carleoli nuper Decanus Colendissimus S. S. & Individuae Trinitatis Collegii Cantabrigiae Aliquando praefectus apex Sanctissimus Ecclesiasticus Pater Mirificé; integri & Halcyonci pectoris, Heliotropium monarchicum & calendula Regia Literarum centimanus Briareus, & hecatonchiros glos∣sographus Linguarum gazophylacium & multifaria janua

Nempe graecissaverat in Grajugenam, Samarita, Chaldaeus, Arabs, AEthiops, Copticus Qui immutabilis epanadiplosi conscientiae Mundana fudit, sprevit, neglexit omnia; Academiarum funditus ruentium calamitatis Prisca ominosa praesaga calamitas. Coelestis jam demum Cathedrae Catholicus Metropolitanus factus, & Archiepiscopus. Hîc verò tritos reposuit centones, Horsum scilicet nonnunquam omnia: Nescis viator, nescis revera brevi, Qui te it a perdite amas & colis adeò Vermes etiam necnè coenaturiant tui, Campana saepiús inopinatò vocat Maximeque dubium est an Calvaster sepulchrum adeas Abi, abi, ad A podyterium tuum Et disce carnem exuere.

In Praelia Navalia inter Anglos & Belgas.

ANglia Belgiacae nimiùm suspecta sorori, Construit adversas, vix inimica, rates; Ultraque se Francos secit Gens, aemula utrinque, Alterutra ad sluctus naumachiámque parat. Concurrere rates, pugnâ miscentur in unâ ••gnis, aquae, venti, tela trisulca, tridens. Angli ••entorum pugnant obstantibus alis, Pugnat & adjutus milite Belga notho; Puppium inaequalis numero non sufficit hostis, AEolum ia auxilium Belga fretúmque manet Sic contra coelos cum coelo Belga, nec audet Praelia, ni totus pugnet & Oceanus; Nostra ratis primà fracta est, sed & illa procellis, Et non Belgarum classe, repulsa fuit; Scilicet •• Belgis de ••ictos mergier Anglos, Est tantum fluctus naufragiúmque pati. Ultima testatur Vantrumpi infamia, quantus Quot Trumpis major Blaqueus unus erat; Belgarum ostentat numerosa ••adavera littus, Ostentat lacera undique Arena rutes; Nempe homines contra quosvis venisse Britannos Et venisse pares, usque triumphus erat: Heu Piscatorum caveas Gen ebria, vestra Piscinas nobis ni faciat Regio;

Vestra cave ne nos donemus corpora scombris, Scilicet ad Rhombum haec ultima pugna fuit: Gallum ità Delphina voces, nam vester inundis Trux Leo nec pugnat, nec benè Belga natat.

In Amboynae homicidia Belgica.

BArbara quae semper bellis & sanguine gaudet, Quàm bene tota fuit Belgia dicta Leo? Saeviit Amboynae quae tàm crudelis in Anglos Non Leo, cum catulis saeva Leaena fuis: Belgia jejunam superat feritate Leaenam, Nempe magìs saeva est, sedgenerosa minús.

Venerabili Viro, Dⁿo. R. B. S.R. W. A. Et P. suo semper observando.

Dii majorum umbris tenuem & sine pondere terram, Spirantésque crocos, & in urnâ perpetuum ver. Qui praeceptorem sancti voluêre parentis, Esse loco. —

INfoelix poterit campus tibi Granta videri, Foecundus magìs est Oxoniensis ager. Filius indè alter locuples accurrit Homero, Et tibi Chaldaeus filius alter adest; Abba ego, nil nisi cunarum pueriliter Abba, Inter labra foret seu mihi mamma loquor; Mi Pater ignoscas balbo, titubantia linguae Festinans cerebrum & pectora plena notat; Mi Pater indulge veniam; balbutit inepta Lingua, nec affatur laxior ore Patrem; At cui filiolo non balbutire necesse est Cui dicenda Patris cura, Parentis amor? Quin indigna tuo tantò haec sunt nomine quantò His majora tuos & meliora doces.

Scholam Regiam Westmonasteriensem Scho∣larum omnium Reginam alloquuntur vicissim Cantabrigiae & Oxonii Genii.

Cantab.

SAlve Pieridúmque & Apollinis incrementum, Florere in aeternum te pia Granta jubet.

Oxon.

Quin à filiolis tibi Musarum decus ingens, Quos habet Oxonium mittitur alma salus.

Cant.

Te juga Parnassi nutantia fronte gemello, Iam penè insipidis devenerantur aquis.

Oxon.

Et tibi post casum monumenta resigere molem, Ipsaque te montis stareruina jubet.

Cant.

A te si moriar claudi gaudebit ocellus, Ultimus inque tuos spiritus ire sinus.

Oxon.

Same animam fletúsque meo••, nam me pereunte Lachryma Musarum multa bibenda tibi.

Cant.

At ne divellar, fatis ne perdar iniquis, Adde, precor, votis, & tua vota meis.

Oxon.

Atque ego ne manibus malèfiam praeda scelestis, Et precibus nostris tu precor adde preces.

Resp Schola,

Stabit & invitis fatis Granta Oxoniúmque: Ox.—Optima promutis. (Cant.) Quae bene digna fide. Sed tua, Te Proles, nunquam, nunquamn•• videbit Nos pater? (Ox.) Et viset matrem aliquando suam.

Cant ad Ox

Te nè priùs viset? priùs es visenda fatemur Non quia sis senior, sed quia mater eras. Illius es (soror) & nutrix, & mater, & uno hoc (Quò tantum est majus) cedimus Oxonio.

Carmen Lapidarium in obitum Machaonis Canta∣brigiensis Johan. CRANE Magistri in Artibus. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

SIste, Siste paululùm Viator Si non valerudinarie, mortalis tamen Hem! vagule, Blandule Properasne? quò properes equidem nescio, Id certum ex me & id unum est certum tibi Properarc celeri fatum te versus pede Libitina pultabit aliquando importuna, inevitabilis, Ageris quocunque pragmaticus Atque in haec scias non lentè festinas loca. Mors etenim tenebrio, plagas & tendiculas omnibus, Quis huc tetendit & quo tendis attende itaque, Fige osculum mihi, frigidè licet rogo, fige; Peritissimi venerare cineres medici Apothecarii Odorifera inter thura, aromata & diapasmata Sublimatus elanguit Mercurius Dextra contabuit AEsculapii manus. Cujus memoriae eadem debentur sacra. [Quae divo Coronidis filio Epidaurii] Ludi quinquennales, gallus febricitans capra Illustrior hic gentis Poeoniae gloria & ipse Apollo oc∣cidit, Pharmacopola, olim nobilis Panacaea & Alexicacon

Humanum Cranium calcinatum magìs, Defaecata Paracelsi Alembrot Magister Artium & Magisterii Metempsychosin denuo Passa est Hippocratis vel Galeni animula; Imminent is qui toties mortis secuerat ungues, Et fatorum castigaverat praecipitantiam, Tibi nunc prodromus, & praecidaneus factus: Meditare hospes & legendo haec facilè te intelliges, In exoranda nempe fatorum numina Qui morbis ferunt medicinam & remedium omnibus Simile praescribet recipe & ana simile tibi.

VALE.

Vale viator quantum potes. Vale At tùm demùm valebis cum huc redib••s. Vale. A medico etiam mortuo Vale.

Elogium seu Sciographica descriptio S. S. & Individuae Trin. Coll. Cantab.

EN tibi diligentiae & industriae domum, Scientiarum fertilem redundantiâ & Artium ple∣thorâ! Collegiorum erat inter Collegia nobilissima, Aliquando Alpha, prae quo caetera Abecedaria nonnunquam & Alphabetica, Inter florentissima elegantior omninô slosculus, Britanniae aculissimi oculi Cantabrigiae Pupilla acies & oculus Reique publicae & Academiae matris cerebrum & pia Mater Faciésque caput, & Capitolium, Quod Regem habuit non Fundatorem mode Sed & Discipulum & Incolam: Nec antiquae virtutis manet Hodiernum solummodò adagium Sed Artium earundem gremium & tenax sinus Familiares habet cum Mercurio & Pallade Socios, Viros totidem Naturae apophthegmata, Ad controversias cataphactos milites, Veritatis athleticos pugiles, Hareseon omnium Antagonistas & antidota, Gratiarum delicias & Adonides, Reique publicae literariae Totidem Optimates Dictatores, Consules,

Piet atis praeterea nardo redolet Theologiae Myrothecium, Archipraesulis reclusum manu. Pastorum spiritualium, Scaturigo, fons & seminarium Fundatorum Regum & Reginarum impendiis Opulentum ad invidiam temporum Academiae adjecta non Paragoge modò Sed & Epenthesis etiam & Prothesis Quid Architectonicen & lapidum aggeres loquar! Quid spaliosam & patentem aream, Augustissimum quasi Palatium, Musarum amoenissimam Regiam & Basilicam Vacerris palisque distinctam & divisam ornatiùs! Quae umbilici loco Sublimem Aquae ductum exomphalum habet Cujus è mastis & canalibus saliunt, Amatrices nymphae & perennes latices Tripudiantia a••statis refrigeria Musisque gaudet alludere Prae foribus Thetis Amabilis; Ad ostia tranatur perstuitque rivulus Et amphibolae ebulliunt nymphae, Quae abnatantes tacitè obmurmurant Lapillul••sque amicè remoris Suaviter insusurrant quàm nolentes defluant, Quid Bibliothecam loquar! Quot sunt homines, tot non modò sententiae Sed Authentica capita & Authores Classici. Quid Aulae excelsa lacunaria,

Epistilia & compactiles trabes. Crateres, Diotas, Phialas, & capacem illa Nevilis tinam! Quid coruscantia sacelli laquearia, Tòtque tutelares olim glabreones Angelos Opulentas sacerdotales vestes Phrygias A cupictum tapetem & vermiculata gausapa, Lances, patcras, & thuribula argeutea, Nobiliori pavimenta undique superba lapide, Cinctòsque peribolis amoenissimos hortulos! Columnis cubicula fornicatamarmoreis Tot Gratiarum tholamos & cubilia! Ostentent Collegia caetera Trinitatis quasi tantùm appendices Lateritios & diplinthios parietes Literarum planè gurgustia: Quotcunque structuram nostram spectatum veniunt, Ore omnes uno conclamant undique Praeter Oxonienses fratres grandiloquos Academiarum quas Europa venditat Omnium facil•• Regina Cantabrigia Collegiorum quae antiquissima Cantabrigia arrogat. S. S. & Individuae Trinitatis Collegium primas obtinet.

In festum S. S. Trinitatis ad Socios ejusdem Coll.

EPistomia Collegiensia omnia, Saliente murmurent mero, Dubiaeque dum perambulant mensas dapes, Pingui laborantes bove Spuent Aristippum Diotae argenteae, Generosa juvenum munera; Ad labra mittendus bibentum non nisi Ingentiori maschal•• Ore aesluans Nevilis illegrandior Spumet falerno cantharus Fluctum in rates immanis ut coetus suo, Iaculatur è Siphunculo; Haurite calices, amphorásque nobiles Inebriato margin••, At ah! quid est! quid ad palatum provoco? Quid hortor ad cul••um gulae! Haec magna luoe rationis oculos conterens Est unicae fidei sacra, A Patre filius ex utrisque Spiritus Ambo coaeterni Patris, Personae in uná essen••ia••res, numina Non sunt tria, at Deus unicus. Noc Filius Pater est; nec est aut Filius,

Aut Spiritus, dictus Pater. Et Spiritus nec est Pater nec Filius, Sed Unitas est; Trinitas Sic videram triplices lucernam pensilem Incorporare lampadas, Sic videram, videndo plus caecutio Oculique lippiunt magis Eloque••e verbum, Christe verbum terminos Hos Trinitatis explica Ipsum applica te menti, ut evadat mea Ratione doctior fides, Et doctior fide ratio.

Voluptates commendat rarior usus.

Assiduis sordet Luculli mensa palatis Respuit & solitas nausea multa dapes, Mendicis modo jejunis sportella placebit, Et si rara magìs dulcior esset aqua; Omne volup volucre est, unde est desumpta voluptas; Deliciasque vocant, quae quasi deliteant. Displiceant ne quando, Jovi superisque bibuntur Ad Phoebi risus Nectar & Ambrosia Displiceat ne quando tibi mea, Lector, Amanda, Rarò, quàm mea sit dul••is Amanda, legas.

To the Fellows of Trin. Coll. at a Feast.

WHen ever you good Fellows please to feast, We under-graduates, dogrels at the best, Poor wits to help you laugh away the time, Must think't our duty to hold forth in rithme; Would you allow us coats in honest prose, Like Sturbridge-puddings in their antick hose. In stead of halting verse, we'd dance on egges, Make faces, and shew owles between our legges; 'Twould never vex us to afford you sport, Were but our appetite contented for't; Whimsies and kick-shaw fancies I confesse, Are better then a feast of lazinesse; Yet I had rather be an idle guest, Then call the Muses up, and get them drest All nine for three-pence, bonnie Cleio sweares Te'nt worth the lacing of their stomachers. If verses 'gin to grow so cheap with us, Smithfield shall dock and rate my Pegasus, I'le water Hackneys in Pyrene's streams, Make Helicon as common as the Thames, Parnassus to the Levellers I'le sell, Morgage that Tempe and its sacred Well To that new sinner Doctor Chamberlin, To buck and runce his Lady dabchicks in, Himself shall dipper be, and Baptist too, I'le make my bargain he naught else may do.

To a spurious Poet.

BEtwixt the hawke and buzzard, bastard-kite, How durst thou try to make an Eagles flight, And with thy blear eyes in so high a place, To look my great Apollo in the face? Sirrah, 'twas mercy he was wrapt about With clouds, else had thy eyes bin quite burnt out, Then to thy fancie thou would'st seem to be An English Homer, as stark blinde as he, The Ballad-singers should thy dogrels sell, Thou call••d the Poet with the dog and bell; Then rithme i'th' streets, and on a wad of hay Kneel, and in verse the learned begger play Amongst the scaldheads under White-hall wall,

If it be ne'er so little amongst you all, For the Muses sake before you go yet Pray remember the poor blinde cripple Poet;

Then roguish waggish boyes as they passe by, Chuck farthings in the hollow of thine eye, Or else spit charity in thy greasie hat, Blow oisters in't, There, Poet, take thee that.

Then play the Higins for the regiment Of lowsie tag-raggs till thy lungs be spent, And on the Sabbath with thy wooden dish Beg pottage for them, their best Sunday-wish;

And then astride thy raw-bon'd Pegasus, Like a beggar on horse-back, rant it thus. Mistrisse, I can make Psalmes for you, One Cup of beer I pray On this good holy-day For I very dry am, Hopkins and Sternhold too, Were Poets both as I am. Thou Salewit, were this sentence past on thee, 'Twere a just judgement for thy heresie; Impostor! thou a Poet so we call A Broker, one of Merchant-Taylors hall: So Crispins boyes, who scarce can mend a shoe, Will be no Coblers but Translators too: Thus the dull scrapers, who for six pence play At wakes and help-ales a whole night and day: Those lewd squeakers, who have no other shake, But of their palsie-heads, say you mistake To call them Fidlers, as they needs must be Musicians, the name of Poet's due to thee: So old wives study Physick, who can make A Poultis for a felon'd thumb to break And ripen it, thou good at Poetrie! Annise seed-Robbin skill'd in Chymistrie: So Pettifoggers and Atturneys Clerks, Innes of Court-gallants, those Ram-alley sparks, Who with a dash have learn't to write their names, And say vous-aves to the City-dames, Teach them what fee-simple and fee-tail implies, Would be thought cunning Lawyers, and advise

In cases which they ken as knowingly, As thou the mysteries of Poetrie; So Academians call their Sophisters, That steal positions good Philosophers; Pin-makers are as good Goldsmiths, if they That deal in varnish, whose rude fancie may By licence wrong the creatures, in their noses, Mouths and eyes, painting for Lions, roses; Chimera's in red-oaker, naggs like hogs, And hares which hunts-men cannot know from dogges; If these rude land-skip-drawers, limners be, Then as a Poet we shall honour thee.

But know thou didst that sacred name abuse, When thou mad'st market of thy cotquean Muse, Going about from door to door with her, Not like the Poet but the Stationer; Nay few o'th' Poems in thy book, 'tis known, Except some non-sense dull ones are thy own; Thou hast been simpling in a ditch, and got I'th' fields some Lady-smocks or Melilot, Blue-bottles or the like, and thou must needs Like girles make posies of those stinking weeds, Mingling some sweeter and more fragrant flowers Of better wits to sent and set off yours; And yet 'tis fear'd both are condemn'd to die, For thou wert forc't to vent thy Poetrie; As haggs for sizings on a Scholars head, A Tuttie for a loaf of Colledge-bread.

Thou higler, who dost make a hackney Jade

Of Pegasus, and witt a rithming trade, Thy book a kinde of Collect is a brief, At first directed to the heads, and chief O'th' parish whom it may concern, and then To all other well-affected Gentlemen; As many Patrons to't as Authors are, Made like a reck'ning where each clubs his share; Only thou pay'st the drawer, and would'st get Credit for spending of anothers wit:

Huckster, forbear this cheating beggerie, Or vent thy own, and better Poetrie. Climbing too high upon Parnassus hill, Thy squeamish fancie straight grew sick and ill, There thou didst cast and spew, the Muses faine Would have thee lick thy vomit up again.

On the Rout of the disloyal Partie of Scots at Dunbarre.

Is Iockie routed? Charon, rig thy boat If worth thy labour, with fresh rushes strow't; Waftage enough feare not, but yet prepare A strong rough stretcher, if thy naul, thy fare They dare deny thee, break their crags mon, do, Else scarce wil't have one ha'penny for two. If thou art wise get a blue bonnet on, They'l pay thee better 'cause their Country-mon.

See here they come mon, what a Scottish drove Crouds in full flocks unto th' Elysian grove! Foure thousand at the least! Heark! what a shrill Sad noise, the mazes of my eares doth fill! And on their tender parchments beat from thence Like drum-sticks an Alarum to my sense! What strange confused Ecchos do I hear, Howlings for losse of Bernes, of gudes and geer! Oh prethy see, see how along they gang With kettles at their gurdles! o're their shoulders hang Course oat-meal bags, as though they'd beg a boon Of Pluto, still to feed on Pattaloon;

Ah Charon, lanch into the deep, there make Conditions e're they board thee, do not take A mon into thy skiffe till thou art paid;

See what a totter'd Regiment, how dismaid, Trembling with palsies they make toward thee! Look, look, what a rude multitude they be! What gibbrish is't they mutter? how they call, With de'il take boat, the Ferrie-mon and all! How they run hastily as if they knew Some death, some second Cromwel did pursue!

Alas old gray-beard, now thy whirrie breaks Heark, what a crack it gives! See, see, it leaks, Go hire a thousand Watermen to play Next Oares, next Sculler, 'tis a safer way, Get cock-boats, barges, lighters, has there bin No Navie sunk of late to put them in? But no great matter, let them stay on shore, Drop into Styx, like Soland-geese swim o're.

Cowards! Mars such a bastard brood disdains, Who whil'st their blood congealed in their veins, Like Ague-shaken Myrmidons did fight, Till suddenly they thaw'd into a flight; And brooking not the lightning which did flie From the steel'd courage of our souldiery, Like to chill snow in a hot Sun-shine day, These Northern Isickles did melt away:

But are they vanquish't, routed horse and mon? Must treacherous Iockie visit Phlegeton? Let wilde-sires then cut capers on the ropes, Appear and vanish like their empty hopes; Mount rockets to the second region, higher Then their ambition soar'd, dart balls of fire; Let powder-devils, squibs and crackers flie,

And dance us Scottish gigs, to testifie How our triumphant hearts, our arteries Leap in us, and how mirth smiles in our eyes.

Farewel, poor Scot, thou need'st no more to come For coine, our States have sent a new-coin'd summe, Troopers on horseback, pieces that weigh down Put in the balance, more then half a crown; Though Magazines of Nobles (doits to us) Make the scales even as an over-plus. These new-coin'd pieces which we send to you, Augment their worth by name of Sterling too.

Ye noxious windes, into some caverns flie: Vanish, Kirk-mill-dews, ignes fatui: Farewell, ne'er more, ye fogs of errour, dare Taint with your breath our wholesom English aire: Think you to blast (with your Presbyterie) This fine faire blossom of our libertie? No, your Geneva black Kirk-liveries, 'Gin to grow thread-bare in the peoples eyes; And if you ben't permitted to renew't, 'Twill but just last you for a mourning suit.

Go haste to Chaul and Cochin, there to try If you can live on high-way charity; Go feed on graines the Banianes cates, As Catercousins with the Gusarates, Like beasts if any wounded, haste you all For salves unto Cambaia's hospital; March, wicked Iockie, towards Bengalen, With th' Indian Pagods Priests, (farre better men) To Ganges blessed streams, there cast thee in,

With holy water purge thee of thy sinne; Or turn a superstitious traveller, Finde out the tombe-stone of Jack-Presbyter, (Like Turkish Pilgrims, who to Mechago, See th'iron coffin, then will see no moe.) Once having seen where th' holy relique lies, In zealous humour pluck our both thy eyes. Then if thou safe returnest, or if not, We'l honour thee with name of Hogie Scot.

Men worse then Gours, whom malice can't de∣fame, Cupec and Canzier is too clean a name; It is a sinne to let a Scot compound, Nay, should you choak and thrust them under ground, Know that you are no Authors of their death, The Coward-Scots ran themselves out of breath; Laugh, laugh to think on't, e're the fight begun, What preparations Jockie made to run; Laugh, laugh, to think in what a stormie night, Death kill'd their foot and light-horse in the flight; I know of old it hath a saying bin, A Scottish mist 〈◊〉〈◊〉 th' English to the skin; Whether that proverb's verifi'd or not, I'm sure such English showers kill a Scot.

In Fugatos Scotos.

BEllica, vicisti trepidantes, Anglia, Scotos; In sua, contritus truditur, antra Aquilo Victor, quo fuerat victoria certior Anglus Scotia, quo minor est gloria, victa fuit. Anglia Mavortis tum demùm Filia pugnas, Ipsa tibi quando pugna triumphus erit Astutus, minimè pugnax tibi sternitur hostis, Nunquam bella Scotus, saepiùs arma gerit.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

LAscivo, lascivus amor sedet hircus, in hirquo, Ortum habet ••è solo lumine, Diva Paphi; Turpiter Antique Venerem dixère Aphroditen, Non est orta mari nempe, nec orta mero; Constituat Venerem si spuma, vocabitur indè Sordidior meretrix & lupa quaeque Venus Nobilis illa Venus, mea quam pupilla venustam, Novit & orta oculo est deliciosa meo. Prima, oculi, Veneris sunt incunabula, primas Ex oculi accendit luce Cupido, faces Hic Puer Idalius venantem Actaeona prendit Sen nova in hoc capitis fonte Diana foret; Interdum capto capietur ocellus ocello, Saepè videns capitur, saepè videndo capit; Rhetina reticulum, & venabula cornea amoris, Formarum duo sunt caustica vitra oculi Optica sila suis puer ales cornibus aptat Non alios nervos arcus amoris habet. Infantem & Catulum caecum qui dixit Amorem Fallitur, est oculus totus, & Argus. Amor.

A Mock-sonnet.

1.

WHy so Faire? why so sweet? My Fairest sweet one, why so coy? Why so angry? why so fretting? That pretty face, didst thou but see't, How thy soft cheeks so smooth and faire, Like to those full fat buttocks are, Where Venus claps her plump-ars't boy, How they rise About thine eyes, And betwixt thy nose out-jetting; Would'st thou but wave thy modestie, And look from top to toe, Above, below, What daintie things there be, Thy milk-white, full-milch't breast, Upon whose swelling hills doth rest, Aminta's new wash t flock, Where the Graces make caresses, Like most am'rous shepherdesses, Surely thou canst not think I mock.

2.

Lovely Faire, why so chaste? Why so peevish? so untoward? At what my Deare hast took distaste? Sweetest faire one, why so froward? Would'st thou but view impartially, The rolling gogles of thine eye, Thy unthatch't browes so neatly set With scales of scurf all o're, Thy hairelesse eye-lids alwayes wet And stiffe with gum good store Didst thou but see Upon thy nose how prettily I'th' pimpled pockholes all about Cupids play bopeep in and out, How thy snag-teeth stand orderly, Like stakes which strut by th' water-side, Stradling to beat off the tide, Till green and worn to th'stumps they be; Would'st thou but once, my Dearest-sweet, Look thy self o're from head to feet, Below, above, Thou canst not chuse but think I love.

3.

Beautie, beautie, what doest mean Cupid sucks my heart-blood out, And well thou know'st I cannot wean The child, for thy sweet dugs do give him life When I would starve the rogue; then turn about, Busse me and say thou'lt be my wife, For troth when e're I see, Either what is below thy knee, Or if mine eyes I cast, On parts above thy waste; Where e're my sense doth move, I'm more and more in love. Still from thine eyes there passes, As from great burning-glasses, Lightning in such frequent flashes, That consume my heart to ashes; Nay, when thou blow'st thy snottie nose, The bellows of thy nostril blowes The fire of love into a flame, And th' oile of Arm-pits feeds the same, Thy legges, breast, lips and eyes inslave me, But if behinde thee once I come, Ond view the mountains of thy bum, Oh then I'm mad to have thee.

On his bed standing in his study.

WHat are the Muses chambers made to be A lodge for sleep? their gard'ns his nurcerie? Must fancie's Hymen, must the god of light Dance with the dull, dark Bridegroom of the night? Did e're the sisters for a requiem go To fields, where slumbring sleepie poppies grow? Did ever bed-stead on Parnassus stand? Usurping Morpheus, didst thou e're command, And shake thy leaden scepter, in the Court Where watchful active Muses use to sport? Though'st thou to be, though not at all divine, A bed-fellow to any of the nine? Which sister is't hath lost her maiden-head? The strumpet now must needs be brought to bed; Which Muse must waiting-Gentlewoman be, Turne pisse-tail'd Chambermaid to tend on thee? What, must the noble spritely Pegasus Engender with the foggie night-mare thus: Making a stable of my Chamber-room, My bed the manger, and my self the Groom? Know crazie god of sleep, a Poet can Without a night-cap make a hymne to Pan; Take not thy drowsie blankets, ('tis a sinne) To tosse the Muses high-borne children in; Poets are ne're so dull to sacrifice,

Watch-lights and tapers to nights Deities; Is there 'tween Lethe and Pyrene's streams, No diff'rence? are Enthusiasmes dreames? Shall Phoebus sonnes i'th' bed drive light away, And with Apollo's curtain blinde the day? Here lies a bedrid-Poet, I'd rather have A dormitorie without Epitaph, Then on my monument it should be sed, Euterpe's smother'd in a feather-bed: Me for no hydromantick novice take, Who cast my water for experience sake, I'm no young Paeon, that thus at my hand My Urine alwayes should so closely stand; At twelve o'th' clock it truly may be sed, To me you're come but newly from your bed. Somnus the Muses Closet must not be, A cabbin for thine Incubus and thee. Yet I love sleep, good Morpheus do not frown, I only wish my feather-bed were down.

De Meryone & Laide ex Auson.

CAnus rogabat Laidis noctem Myron: Tulit repulsam protinus. Causámque sensit & caput fuligine Fucavit atrà candidum. Idémque vultu, crine non idem Myron, Orabat oratam priús. Sed illa formam cum capillo comparans, Similèmque non ipsum rata. Fortasse & ipsum sed volens ludo frui Sic est adorta callidum, Inepte quid me quod recusavi rogas? Patri negavi jam tuo.

GRay-headed Myron ask't to lie one night With Lais, she in troth deni'd the wight, He knew the cause, (resolv'd to try once more) With soot and grease he black't his head all o're, Still Myron in his face, though not in's hair, To her he came, pray'd o're his former prayer; But she comparing with his haire his feature, Thought he was like, if not the self-same creature. Perhaps she knew in, but minded then to make Some sport, thus to the cunning knave she spake, Cox comb d'ask, why thou may not come o're me? I but e'en now deni'd thy father before thee.

Gynochimaera, Puella Abrodiaeta.

EN formosam tibi, Amator, & delicatulam Hele∣nam! Ab imis unguibus ad usque verticem, Pulchram, venustam blandulam, A prima luce mille petitam procis Sedulò petitam satrapis, Et aemuli indies Dominae accendunt pretium. Ubi? ubi? surrexit? dormit? hilares, anxii, lugubres, Audaces, desperantes, creduli, Percontantur, accersunt, rogant; Ientavit nondum meum Nectar, Ambrosia, Epulae, dapes, cupedia, jentaculum, prandium, coena? Precatur hoc mane Danäe mea? Deorum nefas! facinus! flagitium! seclus! Num tale quicquam superi audent sinere? Surge Titane, surgat centimanus Briareus. Adeste furiosi Gigantum manes, Encelade, Polybotes, Hippolyte, Mina, Ossam reimponite Pelio Illa num tenellos poplites molliagenua? Juro per ipsam illam Ursulam meam Totus Olympus ruet, Digna est cui preces Jupiter: Vultis ut caelo parcam

Descendite superi Ne fracti elabantur orbes Submissi & humiles veniam petit••, Non introspiciendas ad fenestras Cubiculi Citò, citò, flectite & adorate meam, Benè habet numina, humilitatem laudo, Venerari autem meam & colere, Qua non est major, non est pulcbrior Dea Nec in ipsis Superis est Humilitas: At tu verò, quid ità prope? Quisnam es? Mars? imò Mavors est•• Ni te auferas, seriam; Tu autem quis? Auden' retrorsum oculos 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 nebulo quin te ablegas? Eja, hem! è transennâ tandem accersor aedipol, Ha, nuuc ad amoris Tempe & coelum vado Quàm bellè detorquebo cervicem meam Ad dispensanda & carpenda suavial Quàm gloriosè & feliciter ego Triumphabo hodie in certamine thalami! Vah graveolentem & teterrimum spiritum! Quam sunt nivalia & hircosa oscula! Huccine res! haec illa bellula? Nil est monstrosum nil belluinum magis, Mulier Decumani capitis Crines habet scirpeos, Viperis immistas colubras;

Subcineritiam, mazonomicam, paradoxam faciem Inhabitatam manibus; Frontem aeramentario Fusori utilem, Scutularum instar limes ab invicem oculi Spumâ cervisiae stagnant, Pro naso gobium gerit, Paradromides nares & matulas, Labra pastomide digna Sugillata, livida, Nigriora illinitis calcantho calceis, In ore fujcinas habet, A sese abhorrentium & aberrantium dentium Abecedarium Arabico-persicum; Ad commiscenda basia Congrediuntur nasus & mentum simùl, Et senio pensilis Ictum minatur oculo Supercilii materiaria incrustatio, Suòque semper gargarizat phlegmate: Et ecce grossos tortuosos digitos Quorum ungues pterigia obtegunt! Quò plus intueor hoc inhorresco magìs, Ah me! Grandebalas olidas, Ampullas, & lagunculas pectoris! Meretrix est opimae Hypocondriae Doliaris uteri & saginati abdominis, En & ventris cadum Panarium & libidinis bulgam Carnosam, obesam, pinguiusculam! Sub gremiali carbaso furnarium habet

Putres cambucâ inguines Arcuatas coxendices & Pistoris ischia, Protuberantes condylos Quos nec pelvis tegat tonsoria Gradu quanquam incedit grallatorio Uncos & dispares si respicias pedes Scazon est & animal catalecticum: Corpus scopulosum scabie Psorá, ulceribus, pustulis (Siliquas corticesque cum deglubat unguibus) Purgando quotidie coenovectorium non est, Apage te scraptia, Creationis scoria, Pythecium, barathrum, naturae scandalum, Carnis & ossium Tumultuariò constricta sarcina, Difformitatum Gerontocomii epitome. Quam qui ducet habiturus est, Et paranymphum Daemonem & Proserpinam pro∣nubam Sed tamen adesdum amabo meum suavium Ah labellorum delicias! Ah dulcedinem! Quàm bellè disputant gazae? Opulenta tua si cum dote veniat Placebit & amabitur Maga quaecunque vel anilis succuba.

Ad Academiae Matris Nerones & viperas.

CAballinis Mercuri è fontibus Aqua fortis fluat stygia, Totis à Parnassi jugis Imbres aceti depluant, Adeste Deliani cacodaemones Scabiosi pastores ovium Ego vos perunctos & perlinitos dabo Oh si vestrorum cadaverum Nominúmque pollinctor Vel ambidexter corporum lictor forem! Mallem etenim ad eculeum & patibulum vosmet Quàm vestra ad íncudem dogmata: Quid Heliconiis vos in alveariis Literarum Cephenes & Bombylii Ecclesiae? Non ostracismis modo sed bannis digni, Relegandi non ad Anticyras sed Girgathum, Diaboli protomystae flamines, Tartarorum metropolitani & Pontifices stygis, Apolyonis Heresiarchae Archangeli Infernalis Mustaphae satellites Janizarii Concionatores tympanistae Beelzebub cacozeli apostoli Non genuini Almae Matris filii Sed meretricis Babylonicae spurii

Jesuitarum non tibicines modò Sed & utriculares tibiae Tam nefaria capita Quid ni suapte lapides & tegulae involent? Quin excidant vindices trabes, Ustulet syderatio vel percellant fulgura? Dii boni! Musasque Parnassúmque evertere Literatos omnes & bonos viros pessundare, Orthodoxam Religionem conspuere Christum demutilare & destruere Ecclesiam Quibus ipsorum etiam phaselus in portu navigat, Rudentem & anchor am praecidere! Eundèmque cui innitantur, baculum frangere! Tam lusciosos Myopes Qui quicquid in buccam venit, Sacrilegi eructant & blasphemi effutiunt Quin aufer at Charon scaphiarius? At exitium est felix nimis, Et culpand••e charitatis votum, Quod vos feretro & sandapilariis voveat; Vivos videntésque comedat scabies, Pediculorum & vermium AEgyptia cohors Intestina sacrisicentur Proserpinae Et Diis inferis viscera. O Homines! Qui disseminare Evangelium novum, Abdicare Haeredem vineae Dehonestare majorum mores, Rescindere edicta Patrum

Consuetudines, jura, ordines, Perturbare & confundere Abhorrere à veritatis lumine, Sancta & Religiosa templa violare, Ditis atri patefacere januam, Bonas animas perdere, Judaeos & Jesuitas agere Dissimulare mentiri & fallere, Munus & pensum ducitis: Quàm net amabilis Christi videtur sponsa, Cujus in facie vos inhaeretis turpiter Ignominiosae maculae! Literatorum illiterata & fa'culenta eluvies, Sordes & segisterium Populi; Quin Academiae has quisquilias, Extercorator publicus ca'novectorio efferat!

The Epistle of Rosamund to King HENRY the Second: Written by M. D. Esquire.

Jf yet thine eyes great Henry may endure These tainted lines drawn with a hand impure, [Which faine would blush, but fear keeps blushing back, And therefore suited in despairing black.] Let me for loves sake their acceptance crave, But that sweet name (vile) I profained have; Punish my fault, or pity mine estate; Reade them for love, if not for love for hate. If with my shame, thine eyes thou faine would' st feed Here let them surfeit of my shame to reade, This scribled paper which I send to thee, If noted rightly doth resemble me: As this pure ground whereon these letters stand, So pure was I e're stained by thy hand; E're I was blotted by this foule offence, So clear and spotlesse was my innocence: Now like these marks which taints this hateful scrowl, Such the black sinnes which spot my leprous soul. What by this Conquest canst thou hope to win, Where thy best spoile is but the act of sinne?

Why on my name this slander dost thou bring, To make my fault renowned by a King? "Fame never stoops to things but mean and poor; "The more our greatnesse, our fault is the more; "Lights on the ground themselves do lessen farre, "But in the aire, each small spark seems a starre: Why on my woman frailtie shouldst thou lay, So strong a plot mine honour to betray? Or thy unlawful pleasure should'st thou buy, Both with thine own shame and my infamie? 'Twas not my minde consented to this ill, Then had I been transported by my will; For what my body was inforc't to do, (Heaven knowes) my soule yet ne'er consented to For through mine eyes had she her liking seen, Such as my love, such had my lover been "True love is simple, like his mother truth, "Kindly affection, youth to love with youth. "No greater corsive to our blooming yeares, Then the cold badge of winter-blasted haires; "Thy kingly power makes to withstand thy foes, "But cannot keep back age, with time it growes, "Though honour our ambitious sexe doth please, "Yet in that honour age a sowle disease: "Nature hath her free course in all, and then "Age is alike in Kings and other men. Which all the world will to my shame impute, That I my self did basely prostitute, And say that gold was fewel to the fire, Gray haires in youth not kindling green desire.

O no, that wicked woman wrought by thee, My tempter was to that forbideen tree: That subtile serpent, that seducing devil, Which bade me taste the fruit of good and evil; That Circe by whose magick I was charm'd, And to this monstrous shape am thus transform'd; That viprous Hag, that foe to her own kinde, That devillish spirit to damne the weaker minde; Our frailties plague our sexes only curse, Hells deep'st damnation, the worst evils worse. But Henry how canst thou affect me thus, T' whom thy remembrance now is odious? My haplesse name with Henry's name I found, Cut in the glasse with Henry's diamond: That glasse from thence fain would I take away, But then I feare the aire would me betray: Then do I strive to wash it out with teares, But then the same more evident appeares; Then do I cover it with my guilty hand, Which that names witnesse doth against me stand: Once did I sinne, which memory doth cherish, Once I offended, but I ever perish. "What grief can be, but time doth make it lesse? "But infamie time never can suppresse. Sometimes to passe the tedious irksom houres, I climbe the top of Woodstocks mounting towers; Where in a turret secretly I lie, To view from farre such as do travel by; Whither (me thinks) all cast their eyes at me, As through the stones my shame did make them see:

And with such hate the harmlesse walls do view, As ev'n to death their eyes would me pursue. The married women curse my hateful life, Wronging a faire Queen, and a vertuous wife; The Maidens wish I buri'd quick may die, And from each place where my abode do flie; Well knew'st thou what a Monster I would be, When thou didst build this Labyrinth for me, Whose strange Meanders turning ev'ry way, Are like the course wherein my youth did stray Only a clue doth guide me out and in, But yet still walk I circular in sinne. As in the Gallerie this other day, I and my woman past the time away 'Mongst many pictures, which were hanging by, The sillie girle at length hap't to espie; Chaste Lucrece image, and desires to know What she should be, her self that murd'red so? Why Girle (quoth I) this is the Romane Dame; Not able then to tell the rest for shame, My tongue doth mine own guiltinesse betray; With that I sent the pratling wench away, Lest when my lisping guilty tongue should hault, My looks might prove the Index to my fault. As that life-blood which from the heart is sent, In beauties field pitching his crimson tent, In lovely sanguine sutes thy lilie cheeke, Whil'st it but for a resting place doth seek; And changing oftentimes with sweet delight, Converts the white to red, the red to white:

The blush with palenesse, for the place doth strive, The palenesse thence the blush would gladly drive; Thus in my breast a thousand thoughts I carry, Which in my passion diversly do vary. When as the Sun hales toward the western shade, And the trees shadowes hath much taller made; Forth go I to a little current neer, Which like a wanton traile creeps here and there, Where with mine Angle casting in my bait, The little fishes (dreading the deceit) With fearful nibling flie rh' inticing gin, By nature taught what danger lies therein, Things reasonlesse thus warn'd by nature be, Yet I devour'd the bait was laid for me: Thinking thereon, and breaking into grones, The bubling spring which trips upon the stones Chides me away, lest sitting but too uigh, I should defile the native pnritie: Rose of the world, so doth import my name; Shame of the world, my life hath made the same; And to th' unchaste this name shall given be Of Rosamond, deriv'd from sinne and me. The Cliffords take from me that name of theirs, Which hath been famous for so many yeares; They blot my birth with hateful bastardie, That I sprung not from their Nobilitie; They my Alliance utterly refuse, Nor will a Strumpet shall their name abuse; Here in the garden wrought by curious hands, Naked Diana in the fountain stands,

With all her Nymphs got round about to hide her, As when Actaeon had by chance espi'd her; This sacred image I no sooner view'd, But as that metamorphos'd man, pursu'd By his own hounds, so by my thoughts am I, Which chase me still which way so e're I flie; Touching the grasse, the honey dropping dew, Which falls in teares upon my limber shoe; Upon my foot consumes in weeping still, As it would say why went'st thou to this ill? Thus to no place in safety can I go, But every thing doth give me cause of woe. In that faire casket of such wondrous cost, Thou sent'st the night before mine honour lost, Amimone was wrought a harmlesse maid, By Neptune that adult'rous god betraid; She prostrate at his feet begging with prayers, Wringing her hands, her eyes swoln up with teares; This was not an intrapping bait from thee, But by thy vertue gently warning me, And to declare for what intent it came, Lest I therein should ever keep my shame; And in this casket (ill I see it now) That Ioves love Io turn'd into a Cow; Yet was she kept with Argus hundred eyes, So wakeful still be Iuno's jealousies: By this I well might have forewarned been, T' have cleer'd my self to thy suspecting Queen; Who with more hundred eyes attendeth me, Then had poor Argus single eyes to see.

In this thou rightly imitatest Jove, Into a beast thou hast transform'd thy love: Nay, worser farre (beyond their beastly kinde,) A Monster both in body and in minde. The waxen taper which I burne by night, With the dull vaprie dimnesse mocks my sight, As though the damp which hinders the clear flame, Come from my breath in that night of my shame, When as it look't with a dark lowring eye, To see the losse of my Virginitie: And if a starre but by the glasse appear, I straight intreat it not to look in here; I am already hateful to the light, And will it too betray me to the night? Then sith my shame so much belongs to thee, Rid me of that by only murd'ring me, And let it justly to my charge be laid, That I thy person meant to have betray'd; Thou shalt not need by circumstance t'accuse me, If I deny it, let the Heavens refuse me; My life's a blemish which doth cloud thy name, Take it away, and clear shall shine thy fame: Yield to my suit, if ever pity mov'd thee, In this shew mercy, as I ever lov'd thee.

Epistola Rosamundae ad HENRICVM se∣cundum Latinis versibus reddita.

HAEc mea si vestris oculis, Henrice, placebit, Adsit ut impurâ chartula scripta manu (Chartula quae voluit simel erubuisse sed exspes Pullatam jussit (proh dolor!) ire metus.) Accipias placido vultu, rogo nomine amoris; Sacrum aliquando fuit nam mihi nomen amor: Vel culpam plecte, aut nostri miserere doloris Perlege & ex odio si modò non quo Iames: Vis oculos scelerate meo satiare pudore? En meus impertit pabula lauta pudor. Est haec, quam mitto tibi sparsam, charta, lituris, Si benè perspicias, turpis imago mei Haec quam munda fuit, cum nondum scripta maneret Chartula, & ipsa semel tàm quoque munda fui; At manibus male tacta tuis, sum tota litura Facta, nec haec maculis tam nigra charta suis: Quid spolií potes ex illo sperare triumpho In quo vicisse est turpe patrâsse scelus? Dedecoris usaculà meà quid mihi nomina foedas, Nominibus crescit quid mea culpa tuis? Nobilis es? titulo scelus est illustrius illo, Nec solita est humiles visere fama lares; Elata ad coelos scintillula stella videtur,

Stella sed in terris vix ea lumen habet. Quid mihi conaris charos ità perdere honores, Ut dicas tandem foemina victa tibi? Delicias emit illicitas (quam slebile lucrum!) Virginis intactae gloria, Regis honos! In tantas Venerem quae slammas ire coegit Non mea fax certè non meus ignis erat. Illa meo quondam quoe sunt in corpore facta Novit nusquam animae grata fuisse Deus, Libera si votis essem nec amator amorem Noster amatorem nec super âsset amor: Verus amor simplex, & matre potentior ipsá Pulchra sit ut juveni juncta puellá jubet: Virginibus teneris non est magìs anxia cura Quám sit brumalis cana pruina comae; Quid tua, quod saevos, fugat hostes, Regia virtus Interea & Regis terga senecta premit; Foemina conspicuos licet ambiat aemula honores, Non benè commendat Regia pompa senem. Cancellos minimè patitur natura, vagatur Undique conveniunt in sene Rex & homo. Ergo ego per gentes meretrix ingloria dicar Que me venalem Foemina avara dedi; Sordida regali dicar mercabilis aurò, Atque auro nostros incaluisse focos Squallida nam vetuli nec adurit barba puellas Nec senis accendit fax moritura saces; At mala, colligerem ve••itos ut ab arbore fructus, Causa fuit, jussu foemina missa tuo. Foemina dicebam? ser pens, subtilior anguis

Compulit ìlla meas in glucupicra manus, Canidia illa, ferox Medea, venefica Circe, Quae magico succo pocula mista dedit; Quae monstri faciem dedit hanc monstrosior ipsa, Ipsa Hecate, generi trux inimica suo. Illa infernalis stygii cacodoemonis uxor, Faeminei sexus pestis & atra lues. Nostri animi morbus, fera vipera, avernus averni; Exitium, damnum, perniciísque stygis; Quid verò Henricus mihi tot prositetur amores Nomina cum mea sint nunc odiosa tibi. In vitro Henrici scriptum diademate, nostrum Turpe sub Henrici nomine, nomen erat. Tum tremulis manibus vitrum ablatura, verebar Ne pura impuram proderet aura manum; Nomina tum volui, lacrymosus ut ••luat imber, Nomina sunt lacrymis conspicienda magìs Tum super impositâ dextrâ caelásse putabam. Cons••ia flagitii testis & illa fuit, Sic vagain a ternum peccati infamia durat Sons ego facta semel, sed rea semper agar; Quis dolor, aut luctus, qui nullo tempore languet? Dedecoris sanat stigmata nulla dies: Alta supervado interdum fastigia turris Vt quae longa nimis facta si•• ho a brevis Ad summos apices, inhonest as scando latebras Unde viatores transeo luminibus: In me conjiciunt oculos puto, me quasi reddat, Conspicuámque daret saxa per ipsa pudor, Insontes feriunt inimico lumine muros,

Nostram acies oculi quaeque minata necem: Nunc mihi, quod spreta est Regina & castior uxor, Optat just a magìs, conjugis ira crucem; Nunc ego ut in gelidum descendam viva sepulchrum, Casta Puellarum vota precésque petunt: Me monstrum fugiunt, benè nosti quale ego monstrum Hic mihi constructus cum Labyrinthus erat, Qui gradibus dubiis & flexibus undiqne curvus, Maeandro est similis quem meus error habet; Usque quidem filo circumferor intus & intus, Huc illuc vitii circulus usque rapit: Omnia cum nuper passim per claustra vagatae, Trivimus, ancilla me comitante, diem, Picturas inter multas & anaglypha multa, Quae doctà artificis sculpta fuere manu Tarquinii Collatini castissima conjux, Effigie forti nobilitata stetit Hanc ubi conspex it simplex ancillula, mortem, Quoe sibi conscivit, quae precor, inquit erat? Haec illa est, ego tum retuli matrona Quiritum, Haec illa, & vetuit plura referre pudor. Poenè fatebatur sontem me prodiga lingua Garrula quocirca missa puella foras Turpia per dentes ne praecipitantia verba Vultu significent indice turpe scelus. Scilicet ut sanguis vitalis corde reclusus, Coccinea in bello castra resi it agro, Et placidos vultus rubicunda veste colorat Miscetúrque genis, ut rosa liliolis Cum requiem quaerens commutat saepius albo

Coccina liliolo, liliolúmque rosa; Contendunt de seds simul pallòrque, rubórque Certat pallorem pellere ab ore pudor; Sic mihi mille animi dubitantia pectora versant Dum mea se mutat mens nova & indè nova, Projectis ramorum umbris, ubi Phaebus Ibero, Poenè fatigatos, gurgite tingit equos; Vicinos propero ad latices, ubi rivulus undas Lascivo huc illuc syrmatis instar agit, Fallacem hic escam injicio praedantibus hamis, Subdola sed praedam terret arundo suam; Insidias fugiunt pisces, calamóque recedunt Edocti timido rodere dente cibos; Naturae normis animalia bruta monentur Ipsa ego stult a mihi mista aconita bibi; Haec ego dum memoro suspiria tristia ducens, Increpat, irato flumine, bulla frequens; Ingemo, & objurgat lapidosus marmore rivus, Ni vitientur aquae lacryma, abire jubet: Heu Rosamunda ego sum, Rosa mundi nomine dicor Factáque sum mundi, non Rosa munda, pudor. Nomine famoso posthaec Rosamunda vocetur, Improba quae Thais quae modo Lais erat. Infensi sua Cliffordi mihi nomina demunt, Nomina tàm multo nobilitata die, Et mea, seu natae populo, natalia delent, Nec clarâ illorum stirpe oriunda fui; Sim licet affinis, cognatio nostra negatur, Dedixëre sui nominis esse lupam: Hic, dextrae melioris opus spectabile, in horto

Fonte stat in medio nuda Diana dea. Nympharum densâ circumstipata cohorte Ut cum Cadmi aderat fortè aliquando nepos Nec citiùs castae speculabar imaginis ora, Quin ego ut Actaeon mox variata steti; Ille molossorum rabie laniatus, idèmque Supplicium curis tradita praeda luo. Advolitant ubieanque vagor, dum gramina tango Fletur & in crepidas mellea gutta cadit; Gemmea se solvens luge••do lacryma, visa est Dicere quid scelus hoc? turpe quid ausa scelus Nulla mibi sedes superest, loca nulla quietis Me luctum, luctu singula plena, monent A te nocte illa, sceleri quae praevia nostro, Mirè opulenta mihi capsula missa fuit; Amimone virgo castissima pingitur intus, Quam tulit in medias Glaucus adulter aquas; Contorque••s digitos tumidos attollit ocellos El precibus supplex sternitur ante pedes; Nonfuit boc, magnidolus & fallacia Regis Praemonuit virt us me pictísque tua Dixit & expressit quo sit mihi nomine missa, Dedecoris nostri ne monumenta foret, In vaccam mutasse Jovis, Mephitida, amorem Heu nimiùm tandem capsula serò docet. Centenis oculis Jò custodiit Argus, Zelotipòque vigil lumine Juno Jovem; Hac ego Reginae poteram ratione fuisse Inculpata tuae criminibùsque carens. Custodi nostrae si quis jam comparet Argum

Argus centeno lumine pauper erat: Hoc Jovis obscoenas imitare fideliter artes, Scilicet in pecudem degener avit amor. Nec non sordidior quàm qua vis bellua sordes? Totá ad prodigium carne animòque salax. Cerea, nocturni mult à fuligine Lychni Illudit teneros caeca lucerna oculos, Seu faculam interimens, illa sub nocte pudoris Atrior è nostro fluxerat ore vapor, Cùm vigil abducto prospexit lumine lampas, Cerneret ut rapta virginitatis opes: Et si per tenues lucebat stella fenestras, Huc noli inspicias stella precabar ego, Vis etiam lunae? sum dudum invisa diei, Stellula vis etiam prodere nocte scelus? Quare, ego cùm tanti tibi dicar causa pudoris, Hanc [citòme jugules] me jugulando necas, Insidias, narra, meretrix tibi persida struxi, Dic majestatem me violasse tuam; Non opus est multis ambagibus insimulare, Si modo diffitear tartara nigra petam; Dum vivo, tibi sum labes, tua nomina nubes Obtego, at excussa nube relucet honor, Fac precor excutias, si quid clementia possit, Si quid possit amor, fac precor excutias.

HENRY to ROSAMVND.

WHen first the Post arrived at my Tent, And brought the letters Rosamond had sent, Think from his lips but what deare comfort came, When in mine eare he softly breath'd thy name, Straight I injoyn'd him of thy health to tell, Longing to heare my Rosamond did well, With new enquiries then I cut him short, When of the same he gladly would report, That with the earnest haste my tongue oft trips, Catching the words half spoke out of his lips; This told, yet more I urge him to reveal, To lose no time, whilest I unripp'd the seal. The more I reade, still do I erre the more, As thongh mistaking somewhat said before, Missing the point, the doubtful sense is broken, Speaking again what I before had spoken; Still in a swound my heart revives and faints, 'Twixt hopes, despaires, 'twixt smiles and deep com∣plaints. As these sad accents sort in my desire. Smooth calmes, rough stormes, sharp frosts and ra∣ging fires, Put on with boldnesse, and put back with feares, For oft thy troubles do extort my teares; O, how my heart at that black line did tremble! That blotted paper should thy self resemble: O, were there paper but near half so white, The gods thereon their sacred lawes would write,

With pens of Angels wings, and for their ink, That heavenly Nectar, their immortal drink. Majestick courage strives to have supprest This fearful passion stirr'd up in my breast. But still in vaine the same I go about, My heart must break within, or woes break out; Am I at home pursu'd with private hate, And warres comes raging to my Palace-gate? Is meagre envie stabbing at my throne, Treason attending when I walk alone? And am I branded with the curse of Rome, And stand condemned by a Councels doom? And by the pride of my rebellions sonne, Rich Normandie with Armies over-runne? Fatal my birth, unfortunate my life, Unkinde my children, most unkinde my wife. Grief, cares, old age, suspicion to torment me, Nothing on earth to quiet or content me; So many woes, so many plagues to finde, Sicknesse of body, discontent of minde, Hopes left, helps rest, life wrong'd, joy interdicted, Banish'd, distress'd, forsaken and afflicted. Of all relief hath fortune quite bereft me? Only my love yet to my comfort lest me: And is one beauty thought so great a thing, To mitigate the sorrowes of a King? Barr'd of that choice the vulgar often prove, Have we, then they, lesse priviledge in love? Is it a King the woful widow heares? Is it a King dries up the Orphants teares? Is it a King regards the Clients cry:

Gives life to him by law condemn'd to die? Is it his care the Common-wealth that keeps, As doth the Nurse her Baby whilest it sleeps? And that poor King of all those hopes prevented, Unheard, unhelp'd, unpitti'd, unlamented? Yet ler me be with poverty opprest, Of earthly blessings robb'd and dispossest; Let me be scorn'd, rejected and revil'd, And from my Kingdom let me live exil'd, Let the worlds curse upon me still remain, And let the last bring on the first againe; All miseries that wretched man may wound, Leave for my comfort only ROSAMOND. For thee swift time his speedy course doth stay, At thy command the destinies obey; Pitie is dead, that comes not from thine eyes, And at thy feet even mercy prostrate lies. If I were feeble, rheumatick or cold, These were true signes that I were waxed old; But I can march all day in massie steel, Nor yet my armes unweildy weight do feel, Nor wak'd by night with bruise or bloody wound, The tent my bed, no pillow but the ground: For very age, had I laine bed-rid long, One smile of thine again could make me yonug. Were there in Art a power but so divine, As is in that sweet Angel-tongue of thine, That great Enchantresse which once took such pains To put young blood into old AEsons veines, And in groves, mountains, and the moorish fen,

Sought out more herbs then had bin known to men, And in the pow'rful potion that she makes, Put blood of men, of birds, of beasts and snakes, Never had needed to have gone so farre, To seek the soiles where all those simples are; One accent from thy lips the blood more warmes, Then all her philters, exorcismes and charmes. Thy presence hath repaired in one day, What many yeares with sorrowes did decay, And made fresh beauty in her flower to spring, Out of the wrinkles of-times ruining. Ev'n as the hungry winter-starved earth, When she by nature labours towards her birth, Still as the day upon the dark world creeps, One blossome forth after another peeps, Till the small flower, whose root (at last) unbound, Gets from the frostie prison of the ground, Spreading the leaves unto the pow'rful noon, Deck'd in fresh colours smiles upon the Sunne. Never unquiet care lodg'd in their breast, Where but one thought of ROSAMOND did rest: Nor thirst, nor travel, which on warre attend, E're brought the long-day to desired end: Nor yet did pale feare, or lean famine live, Where hope of thee did any comfort give: Ah, what injustice then is this of thee, That thus the guiltlesse do••st condemn for me? When only she (by means of mine offence) Redeems thy pureness and thy innocence, When to our wills perforce obey they must, That's just in them, whater'e in us unjust,

Or what we do, not them account we make, The fault craves pardon for th' offenders sake: And what to work a Princes will may merit, Hath deep'st impression in the gentlest spirit. If't be my name that doth thee so offend, No more my self shall be mine own names friend, If it be that which thou do'st only hate, That name in my name lastly hath his date, Say 'tis accurst, and fatal, and dispraise it, If written blot it, if engraven rase it: Say that of all names, 'tis a name of wo, Once a Kings name, but now it is not so: And when all this is done, I know 'twill grieve thee, And therfore (Sweet) why should I now believ thee? Nor should'st thou think those eyes with envie lowre, Which passing by thee gaze up to thy tower, But rather praise thine own which be so clear, Which from thy turret like two starres appear: Above the Sun doth shine, beneath thine eye, Mocking the Heaven to make another skie. The little stream which by thy tow'r doth glide, Where oft thou spend'st the weary ev'ning tide, To view thee well his course would gladly stay, As loth from thee to part so soon away, And with salutes thy self would gladly greet, And offer up some small drops at thy feet; But finding that the envious banks restrain it, T' excuse it self doth in this sort complain it, And therefore this sad bubling murmur keeps,

And for thy want within the channel weep. And as thou do'st into the water look, The fish, which see thy shadow in the brook, Forget to feed, and all amazed lie, So daunted with the lustre of thine eye, And that sweet name which thou so much do'st wrong, In time shall be some famous Poets Song, And with the very sweetnesse of that name, Lions and Tigers men shall learne to tame. The careful mother at her pensive breast, With Rosamond shall bring her Babe to rest: The little birds (by mens continual sound) Shall learn to speak and prattle Rosamond; And when in April they begin to sing, With Rosamond shall welcome in the Spring;! And she in whom all rarities are found, Shall still be said to be a Rosamond. The little flowers dropping their honied dew, Which (as thou writ'st) do weep upon thy shoe, Not for thy fault (sweet Rosamund) do moane, Only lament that thou so soon art gone: For if thy foot touch hemlock as it goes, That hemlock's made more sweeter then the Rose. Of Jove or Neptune, how they did betray, Speak not of, lo, or Amimone; When she, for whom Jove once became a bull, Compar'd with thee had been a tawny Trull, He a white Bull, and she a whiter Cow; Yet he nor she ne're half so white as thou.

Long since (thou know'st) my care provided for, To lodge thee safe from jealous Ellinor, The Labyrinths conveyance guides thee so, (Which only Vaughan, thou and I do know) If she do guard thee with an hundred eyes, I have an hundred subtile MERCURIES To watch that ARGUS which my love doth keep, Until eye after eye fall all to sleep. And those starres which look in, but look to see, (Wond'ring) what star here on the earth should be, As oft the Moon amidst the silent night, Hath come to joy us with her friendly light, And by the Curtains help'd mine eyes to see, What envious night and darknesse hid from me; When I have wish't that she might ever stay, And other worlds might still enjoy the day. What shall I say, words, teares and sighes be spent, And want of time doth further help prevent, My Camp resounds with fearful shocks of war, Yet in my breast more dang'rous Conflicts are, Yet is my Signal to the battles sound, The blessed name of beauteous ROSAMOND. Accursed be that heart, that tongue, that breath, Should think, should speak, or whisper of thy death: For in one smile or lowre from thy eye Consists my life, my hope, my victory. Sweet Woodstock where my ROSAMOND doth rest, Be blest in her, in whom thy King is blest. For though in France a while my body be, My heart remaines (Dear Paradise) in thee.

THE END.

HENRICVS ROSAMVNDAE.

Appulerat nostrasubi primum nuncius oras, Et mihi visa tuá est chartula scriptá manu, Oh mihi quàm gratus fuit ille su surrus in aure, Illáque quàm placuit vox Rosamunda tua! Quanta per attonisum ruperunt gaudia pectus, Inque tuo quantum nomine laetus eram! Illius à tremuli, captavi verba labellis, Verbáque nescio quae dimidiata tuli. Deque tua cupidè quaesivi multa salute Hoc ega quàm volu•• tum Rosamunda valet. Quam voluit dixisse valet, corre••ta reliquit, Verba, ego quaer••bam dum nova & indè nova. Et raptim celeri rumpo dum pollice ceram, Ne mora sit lapso tempore, mille peto. Seu quod praecessit mendax malè verteret error Quo lectum magìs est, hee mage fallor ego Plus cupio quo plura lego, dubiùsque quid hoc est, Quodlibet, incertus quid sit, Iota lego. Hinc velut excusso fragili de corpore morbo, Sollicitum exultat pectus & inde tremit, Obruor hinc lacrymis, mox laetor distrahor indè Dum peragunt variat spésque metüsque vices Cor nimbis agitur, nostròque in pectore reg∣nant, Cum ventis glacies, stamma, pruina gelu.

Anxia saepé tui turbat mihi cura quietem, Et cadit in moestos lachrima multa sinus; Quàm tremebundus eram, quum charta simillima dicta, [Chartula litterulis improba facta] tibi! Quae si vel simili foelix splendore niteret Scriberet hic leges Jupiter ipse suas, Et sibi ab Angelicis pennam decerperet alis, Quae pro Atramento nectare tincta foret, Foemineum hunc trepido pulsasse à corde timorem Bellica (sed frustra) mens mea saepe velit Fortiùs inductae feriunt praecordia curae Ni rumpat dolor è pectore, rumpar ego Siccine privatis odiis crudeliter uror, Et pulsant nostras horrida bella fores? Invidiae tentatne manus mea sceptra ferire Soeva meámque petit vitam, ubi solus eo? Me, licet insontem, Synodi sententia damnat Et famoso urit stigmate Roma suo. Undique vexatur dives Normandia bello Agmen ubi infestum silius hostis agit Ingrati mibi natales, ingrat íque vita, Natus inhumanus, sponsa benigna minus Et curae & morbi cruciant mihi corpora, nullas Delicias, nullam terra ministrat opem, Gaudia diffugiunt, spes avolat unica cura Permanet, haec vitae non henè grata come, Fortuna, auxilium quòd erat, nimis aspera dempsit Solamen misero restat & unus amor. Forma adeóne valet Regis lenire dolores, Creditur antidoti forma quod una satì••?

Plebs quaecunque velit felicior eligit ora Libera num Regi vota negabit amor? Num viduae tristis capit auris Regia quaestus? Orborum siccat Regia cura genas? Num rapit à durâ trepidantiā colla securi, Et dat supplicibus dextera Regis opem? Servat ut infantem generosum sedula nutrix Rex sua regna etiam tuta manere facit? Cogitur ille tamen Rex desperare salutem Infoelix, spretus, perditus, exul, inops? At sim tam pauper quàm nec miserabilis Irus, Improba terrenas sors mihi demat opes. Exul ego longè peregrinas mittar ad oras Stigmaticus, diris undique onustus eam. Undique contemnar, me publica vota malignent Communésque legant in mea damna preces, Caeca tuis totus laedar fortuna sagittis Unica restabit si Rosamunda mihi: Pro te tardarunt fugientes tempora gressus Et parent jussis ardua fata tuis. Nata tuis si nata unquam clementia occllis, Quin amor ipse tuos sternitur ante pedes, Si vel Rheumanticus, gelidusve aut debilis essem Illa forent senii praescia signa mei, Sed cataphractus ego totis incedo diebus, Impositúmque humerus non grave sentit onus, Nec mihi sanguineum perturbant somnia vulnus, Saxea, promolli, sunt mihi castra toro; Nunc ego si centum vixissem Clinicus annos Verteret in juvenem me tua forma senem

Tam modò divinum si numen in arte fuisset, Quale habet à linguâ vox Rosamunda tua. Erravit varios frustrá Medea per hortos Antrúque sollicitis vix adeunda viris, Ignotas ipsis medicis ut quaereret herbas, AEsoneum poterint quae reparare senem; Quid mixta humano pro••est medicina cruore Quid serpentino sanguine vel quid ave? Oscula chara tuis prosunt subrepta labellis, Plus tua quam magici pharmaca, philtra valent. Quantum Parca meis crescentibus addidit annis, Visû te, tantum detrahit una dies; Quáque suum ponit sulcum irreparabile tempus Inseruit blandis lilia mix ta rosis Sic nempe hyberno sterilescens tempore terra Naturae, ad partum, verè reposcit opem; Manè suburbanos dum sol prorepit in hortos Pullulatindè recens germen & indè recens, Mox exporrecto prorumpunt vertice slores Et stricti linquunt vincula dura soli; Tum fortes toto gaudent se exponere Phoebo, Ludit & in patulis blandior aura comis, Pectoribus nunquam dolor improbus haesit in illis, Vel dubitata quibus spes Rosamunda fuit. Fecere, ut cuperem noctes mutare diebus Nec via me, belli me nec anhelasitis Me, dum chara meo tu sis in pectore, belli Nec timor invasit, nec macilenta fames; Et tamen injusté de me sententia sertur, Insontem, miserè dum facis esse reum.

Totus ego foedo maculatus crimine damnor, Tu tamen ex ipso hoc indice pura manes; Nempe vel invitos mihi cum submittere oportet Omnia justa illis quae mihi jus̄ta minìs Fas quòdcunque peto, stat pro ratione voluntas Et sons delictum vindicat ipse suum; Munificus sieri princeps quae cunque jubebit, Haec animo facili mens generosa capit; Si modò displiceant oculo mea nomina, dicas, Nominibúsque meis ipse inimicus ero. Nomina damnentur, damnentur ut impia facsis, Si, quoniam mea sint, sint odiosa tibi; Inclyta fac pereat titulorum gloria, nomen D••le, dic titulus Regius ille perit, Haec (fingas liceat) fuerint si facta dolebis Ergo tibi non est chara adhibenda sides, Invidia obductos nec credere oportet ocellos Qui turrim aspectant praetereundo tuam, Sed laudare tuos qui stellae a turre videntur, Sydere tam claro luminibúsque micant Sol supra est, tuus infra oculus, coelùmque minatur, AEthera deridens, velle creare novum Limpha tuam turrem quae flumine lambit amico Qua solita es fessos ludificare dies, Heu quam si pè, fugax, remorata est aemula ••ivos In vultus jactans lumina sixa tuos Quàm cupit in teneros labi fluida unda lacertos! Amplectique tuos quàm velit illa pedes! Irata obstantes ripas culpare videtur, Et veniam, invito quod fugit amne, rogat;

Obstrepero plangit fugientes murmure campos, In lacrymas abeunt flumina, tu quod abis, Dum nitidas oculis radiantibus inspicis, undas, Pisciculis, quibus es visa, nec esca placet; Non opus est hamis salientes ducere pisces, Pisciculos vultu luminibúsque capis; Et tua quae tantùm & toties mihi nomina damnas, Clara olim magni carmine vatis erunt; Mitescet quibus & rabidus leo, & aspera tigris, Sic potes Orphaeam vincere sola lyram; Nomine nempe tuo, non plura crepundia gestans, Lullabit prolem mater amica suam Et solitas hominum voces imitata, per hortos Garrula nil nisi te vere loquetur avis; Et posthac semper Rosamunda vocabitur illa, Que formá superat, quaeque de cora magìs: Mella super crepidas (scripsti) stillantur ab herbis, Et cadit in teneros lacryma fusa pedes; Non fletur, Rosamunda, tuas abstegere culpas, Flet plorátque brevem qua libet herba moram; Nempè tuo pede sit viridis modò tacta cicuta, Vertitur in blandam, saeva cicuta, rosam; Neptuni mihi nec raptu••, fraudisve Tonantis, Neve Isis sletus Amimonésve refer, Dummodo quam petiit nivei sub imagine tauri Si tecum certet corpore, foeda fuit; Sit bos hic niveus, sit & haec mage candida vacca, Sunt tamen AEthiopes, fuscus uterque tibi, Cura fuit (nòsti) vigilem deludere sponsam, Hinc tu Daedaleo carcere tuta mane••

Et stexu vario Labyrinthi clauderis intus, (Quem novit Vaughan, tu quoque & unus ego) Quid quod centum oculis mea te custodiat uxor, Mercurios totidem dum meus addit amor. Novit & insomnes amor ille sopire dracones Tótque Argos, oculos quot vigil Argus habet Invida quaeque tuam perlustrat stellula turrim, Miratur quaenam pulcbrior indè nitet; Saepiùs inspexit mediâ nos nocte Diana, Induls••tque suas Cynthia amica faces; Sic tenuis cortina dedit spectare siguram, Quae priùs est oculis, nocte negata meis; Quàm volui semper noctem lunàmque manere, AEterno Antipodes sole, dieque frui! Quid dicam? pereunt lacrymae, suspiria, voces, Quod mihi restat opis saevior hor a negat; Bellica terribili resonan mea castra boatu Pejor at in toto pectore miles amor. Te Rosamunda tubae, te Classica nostra loquuntur, Pugnandi signum tu Rosamunda mihi, Illius intereant & vox & spiritus, audet Qui meditata tuâ de nece verba loqui, Nempe incerta tuo victoria ridet ocello Illinc est mihi spes, vita triumphus, hones; Tuque domus quá chara manet Rosamunda, beatus Quá tuus & Rex est, esto beata domus; Detineat corpus quanquam fera Gallia, tecum Cor manet, Elysium deliciaeque meae.

FINIS.