Poems written by the Right Honorable William earl of Pembroke, lord steward of his Majesties houshold. Whereof many of which are answered by way of repartee, by Sr Benjamin Ruddier, knight. With several distinct poems, written by them occasionally, and apart.

EARLE OF PEMBROKE, Lord Steward: SONNET.

CAn you suspect a change in me, And value your own constancy? O! no; you found that doubt in your own heart: Where Love his images but kiss'd, Not grav'd; fearing that dainty flesh would smart, And so his painful Sculpture would refist; But wrought in mine without remorse, Till he of it thy perfect Statue made As full of sweetness as of force. Onely unkindness may the work invade, And so it may defac'd remain But never can another form retain.

While we dispute our liberty I have lost mine; And which is worse, incline To love that slavery: Not the great Charter, nor King's-Bench can free Me from the Chain, wherein my thoughts she tied: For our dull Earth what care is had we see, Yet easily let our mind Into more thraldom slide. O that she were but kind! To give for that a pledge; There were my Law, and there my Priviledge.

Dear, can you take my soul from me, And yet have no belief That I have grief? Oh did your fair eies ever see (Without a painful force) That sad divorce! The Soul and Body love like me, Not you; the Evening kind, The morning of another mind, And every several hour Slack, and increase that power. They are by Love made perfect One: No less then Death makes them become Alone.

When the resistless flames of my desire Make Aetna of my heart, And I enrag'd, impart

The torments unto you, and press For pity in this violent distress; You sing, & think I feign this fire. Because one frown of yours can all controul, Wrong not my pains; you are the true Higher part of my soul, The lower tyrant is to me, and slave to you.

Why do you give me leave to sip, And pull the cup from my so thirsty lip Before I drink? Desire hath left my heart to think, And is dispers'd in every outward part; My hands, lips, eies, That all restraint despise. While it was in my heart It did your will, in chains of slavish fears, But these have all no ears.

P.

IF her disdain least change in you can move, you do not love; For while your hopes give fuel to your fire, you sell desire. Love is not love, but given free; And so is mine, so should yours be,

Her heart that melts to hear of others mone, to mine is stone; And eyes that weep a strangers hurt to see, joy to wound me. Yet I so much affect each part As caus'd by them, I love my smart.

Think her unkindness justly must be grac'd with Name of chaste; And that the frowns least longing should exceed, and raging preed. So can her rigour ne're offend Except self-love seek private end.

'Tis Love breeds Love in me, and cold disdain kills it again: As water maketh fire to fret and fume, till all consume: None can of Love more free gift make, Then to Loves self for Loves own sake.

I'le never digg in Quarry of an heart to have, nor part, Nor roast in those fierce eyes which alwayes are Canicular. VVho this way would a Lover prove, Doth shew his patience, not his love.

A frown may be sometimes for Physick good, but not for food: And for that raging humour there is sure a gentler cure. VVhy bar you Love of private end, VVhich never should to publick tend.

P.

I.

DIsdain me still, that I may ever love, For who his love enjoyes, can love no more The War once past, with Peace men Cowards prove, And ships return'd, do rot upon the shore. Then though thou frown, I'le say thou art most fair, And still I'le love, though still I must despair.

II.

As heat's to life, so is desire to love, For these once quench'd, both life & love are don; Let not my sighs, nor tears, thy Virtue move, Like basest Mettle, do not melt too soon: Laught at my woes, although I ever mourn; Love surfeits with reward, his Nurse is scorn.

Shall Love that gave Latona's heir the foyle, (Proud of his Archery, and Pythons spoyle) And so enthral'd him to a Nymphs disdain, As when his hopes were dead, he full of pain,

Made him above all trees the Lawrel grace, An Embleme of Loves glory; his disgrace. Shall he, I say, be term'd a Foot-boy now, That made all powers in heaven and earth to bow: Or is't a fancy which themselves do frame, And therefore dare baptize by any name, A flaming straw, which one spark kindles bright, And first hard breath out of it self doth fright; Whose father was a smile, and death a frown, Soon proud of little, and for less cast down; 'Tis so, and this a Lackey term you may, For it runs oft, and makes but shortest stay. But thou, O Love, free from times eating rust That set'st a limit unto boundless Lust, Making desire grow infinitely strong, And yet to one chast subject doth belong; Bridling self-love, that flatters us in ease, Quickning our wits to strive that they may please. Fixing the wandring thoughts of straying youth; The firmest band of Faith, the knot of Truth: Thou that didst never lodge in worthless heart, Thou art a Master wheresoe're thou art. Thou mak'st food loathsome, sleep to be unrest; Lost labour easeful, scornful looks a feast. And when thou wilt thy joies as far excell All else, as when thou punishest thy Hell: O make that Rebel feel thy matchless power, Thou that mad'st Jove a Bull, a Swan, a Shower; Give him a love as tyrannous as fair, That his desire go yoaked with despair.

Live in her eies, but in her frozen heart Let no thaw come, that may have sence of smart. Let her a constant silence never break, Till he do wish repulse to hear her speak. And last, such sence of error let him have, As he may never dare for mercy crave. Then none wil more capitulate with thee, But of their hearts will yield the Empire free.

R.

NO praise it is that him who Python slew, Love at his own try'd weapon did subdue; To all clear minds it doth most clearly prove, The greatest Monster of the two was Love. O What a wretched power is tha•• and strange To be invok't, which hath such power to change Our heavenly part into a Beast, a Tree, Things which sensual still, or sensless be, He that so well is read in Loves brave story, And is so jealous of his wayning glory; How could he omit (like a young beginner) Hercule the strong, Loves valiant Spinner. But what boots it his famous acts to name, When in them lyes concea'ld, his greater shame: For this declares that (at his cheapest rate) He alwayes makes a man effeminate. And whosoever Loves, he down doth bring From that he was, into some meaner thing,

Shews him ridiculous to standers by, And quite bereaves him of perceiving why. N••w why should Love a Foot-boys place despise, When higher then the Earth he doth not rise? And I have often seen his Greatness trudge In little Errands, like a worthless Drudge: I will send him at any time a mile, To fetch me thence the meaning of a smile, A look, a not-look, a silence, a frown, For Privatives hee'l lacky up and down; Yet let no man believe what he doth say, Fa••se answers still he coyneth by the way: 'Tis well if he this title high can keep; For where love cannot go, 'tis known hee'l creep: And fit it is the Rule which he hath got From Reason, by a base usurping P••ot, By under-means; should likewise be maintain'd, Power evermore is held as it is gain'd.

Base Love, the stain of Youth, the scorn of Age, The folly of a Man, a Womans rage, Order's Consounder, Secret's light discloser, Disturber of all sorts, a King's deposer; The canker of a froward Wit, thou art, The business of an idle empty heart; The rack of jealousie and sad Mistrust, The smooth and justifi'd Excuse of Lust; The thief which wasts the taper of our life, The quiet Name of restless jarres and strife; The F••ye which doth corrupt and quite distast All happiness, if thou therein becast;

The greatest and the most conceal'd Imposter That ever vain Credulity did foster: A Mountebank, extolling trifles small; A jugler, playing loose (not fast) with all. An Alchimist whose Promises are Gold, Payment but Dross, and Hope at highest sold. This, this is Love, and worse then I can say, Where he a Master is, and bears the sway, He guides like Phaeton, burns and destroys, Parches and stifles what else would be joys.

But when clear Reason sitteth in the throne, Governs his beams (which otherwise are none But darts and mischief) then sun like he Doth actnate produce, ripen and free From grossness those good seeds which in us lye, Till then (as in a grave) and there would dye. All high Perfections in a perfect Lover, His warmth doth cherish, and his light discover: He gives an even temper of delight Without a minutes loss; no fears affright, Nor interrupt the joyes such love doth bring, Nor no enjoying can dry up the spring. Unto another he lends out our pleasure, That (with the use) it may come home a treasure. Pure lynk of bodies, where no lust controuls The fatness and security of souls; Sweetest path of life, Virtue in full sail, Fresh budding hope, whose fruit doth never fail. To this, dear Love, I do not Rebel stand, Though not employed, yet ready at command.

But as for him who in his fit did curse And rave at me, I cannot wish him worse Then he already doth appear to bee, Full of distemper in extream degree: In this hard state he rather needeth prayer, His strong deluded fancy to repair.

Wherefore O Reason high, thou who art King Of the worlds King, and dost in order bring The wilde affections which so often swerve From thy just Rule, and Rebell Passion serve. Thou, without whose light Loves fire is smoke, Puts out eyes and mind, all true sense doth choke; Restore this man unto himself again, Send him a lively feeling of his pain; Give him a healthy and discerning taste Of food, and rest, that he may rise at last By strength of thee, from this strange strong Disease, Wherein the danger is, that it doth please. What help for him who takes his sickness part? It must be only thy great work, and art. Provide him also of thy sober hand, A thrifty course of breath, which long may stand: Least he in sighes do prodigally spend, Before one loving Moon do change and end, More then would find him life for many years, If he were rid of these false-seeming fears. Grant this, O Reason, at his deep request, Who never lov'd to see thy power supprest.

And now to you, Sir Love, your love I crave; Of you no Mast'ry I desire to have: But that we may like honest friends agree, Let us to Reason fellow-servants be.

P.

IT is enough, a Master you grant Love At one weapon, 'twas all I sought to prove: For worth, not weakness, makes him use but one; While that subdues all strength, all Are alone. I studied not examples in this kind, They were far harder to avoid, then find: And that to worthless forms Love changeth us, Makes not him blush, not his ridiculous. For in his VVars Love diversly proceeds, Sometime by force, sometime by sleight he speeds. VVhen he will force, then arms he his to fight In strength of merit, riches of delight. But when by stratagems he means surprise, His men in forms more mean he will disguise: Not bearing to the forms themselves respect, But careful to avoid his foes suspect: And when as this with jests their wits are worn, Do Lovers or the Laughers bear the scorn? But O! how finely with your self you play, VVhen with this quick conceit you run away; That you make love to Lacky up and down, To fetch the meaning of a smile, or frown:

Alas, in these slight Errand; he sends you, VVherein your Powers trudge as if they flew, Making the least which to his pleasure tends, A thing wherein your weal or wo depends. Nor Plots he to dissolve by feign'd delight, Over the Senses Reasons Sovereign right; But Reason finding Love to rule more fit, She doth that Government to him commit; And so 'twixt these there is no factious strife, Love here the husband is, Reason the wife; Not grudging at her husband's active sway, But thinks she rules so just laws to obey: And Love this title high thus got may keep, A thred-bare Proverb cannot make him creep. And for that rabble of confused Names, VVhich to Love's charge you lay, as bitter blames, They touch not him, he in himself divine, To falshood nor to weakness can encline; If not disfigured by our fleshly mask, As VVine corrupted by a faulty eask. He is no Mountebanck, his wares do reach Beyond the setting forth of any speech, Nor Alchimist, but that Elixar old, Which turns Lust's Mercury to friendship's Gold. And so the rest wherewith you stain his Name, Will turn considered rightly to his fame. I do not sever Love from Reason's law, But say that they in one sweet yoak do draw; Nor let your wit dissention strive to make, VVhen they in joynt command such pleasure take.

As for the joys which from these join'd do flow, To be beyond expression I do know; So may they fall on you from Love's large hand, If to this Love you do not Rebel stand, And we in one Opinion shall agree, If both, to both, may fellow-servants be. For me if Skeptick like you will dispute, And what I feel in heart, with words refute, Go on, and laugh at Loves commanding fire, Till you cannot your scorched self retire. My Curse a Blessing was, your Prayer a Curse, For not to love, then scorn in love is worse. O let sighs prodigally spend my breath, My sufferings doubled be, until my death; So but in one kind look they her engage, One hour so liv'd, is longer then an age.

R.

NOt like a Skeptick equally distract, Nor like a Sophister of sleights compact, Nor to vie Wit (a vanity of youth) Nor for the love of Victory, but Truth, The lists again I enter, bold assur'd, Within my Causes right, strongly immur'd.

Man unto man both Text and Comment is, They that best read this Character of his, His body, and they that most understand The sence thereof (his soul) do both command.

This as a firme rule infallibly true, Not to be chang'd for one more weak, more new; That Reason holds the head, and highest part; The Affections lower are placed in the heart, To shew that they must serve and still obay; Reason must Ruler be, and bear the sway. From this pure fountain see how pure the streams Do run, from this bright Sun how fair the beams. Anger w••••lst he a servant true persisteth, Whetteth mild just••ce sword, Valour assisteth: But when his power to himself he taketh, He nought but brauls & wars & slaughters maketh; Furthereth revenge, injustice, wrong, and hate; Nothing but blood his sury can abate: And that but for a while, for hot and dry, He thirsteth oft, as oft for blood doth cry. And so of all the affections of the mind, VVhen them wee do in due obedience find, Great helpes they are, and ministers of good, But else to vice a fierce and headlong brood.

VVhat priviledge beyond the rest hath Love; Shew his exemption, and his freedom prove: Is he no Affection? then is he worse: A Passion, the bodies waster, minds curse. As long as he to Reason yields subjection, He is the best and principall affection; Effects most good, the cement, band and tye Of humane fellowship, wherein doth lye All the dear comforts which makes life a life: VVithout whose influence, nothing but strife

VVould bring us together, or we should live Stragling alone, and no account could give That e're we had been here; with us would die (Summ'd in our deaths) life of posterity. VVhen best things are corrupt, they most are so; Love once defected doth most Traitor grow, And works 'gainst Reason with more violence Then all the rest, and with more smooth pretence: I need not here repeat, will not enlarge His faults, I lothly take 'gainst Love that charge; I onely say, that Reason is his King. And Love at highest, is his underling.

You do confess, or truth doth it extort, That Reason sovereign is, in dearest sort; Committing unto Love the senses state, VVhich shews Love's Power is but subordinate: But then again, where you would end the strife, Making Love the Husband, Reason the Wife, You begin anew; Error hath no stay, Runs infinitely on, but not one way; Crosseth it self, findeth no resting place; Appeareth alwaies with another face; Increaseth faster, and doth multiply Beyond the breed of any spawned fry. Truth is still one, it's one center and end Still like it self, and to it self a friend. VVho gave the soul's Abstract, Intelligences, Bodies and Sex (nearer to bring the senses Acquainted with them, and their high enjoy) Made love a lasting and perpetual Boy;

Still in minority, never of age, Because to govern he is most unfit, By Non-age fair excuse they him acquit.

Nature's best observers, the wise Egyptians In their abstruse and mystical descriptions, Did of each Element two Sexes frame, Which yet (for Marriage sake) had but one name: Of Fire the Mast'ring heat, they made the Male; The Female, what was flaming, weak and pale: Of Ayr, the Man was active, busling wind, The rainy weeping Clouds of Woman-kind; The deep and boundless Sea was Masculine, The shallow slender Rivers Feminine; Of Earth the constant Rocky part was he, The gentle yeilding tilled vein a she. So in the Soul, Understanding, and Will, Betwixt themselves hold such proportion still, As Male and Female: He strongly imprints Upon her easiness, she never stints, But streight pursues with ready inclination, Or quickly shuns with shrinking aversation, As is the object he begets on her, So her desires do duly move and stir.

What else is reason (to be more exact) But the redoubled and reflected act Of Understanding? what th' affections? But the agitations and ejections Of Will where love is one; as all may see To Reason born a servant by degree.

If you in ought conformity had held With Natures course, and not 'gainst all rebell'd, But Reason Husband, Love for VVife had meant, I streight to be at peace had given consent; Not thought it strange, but should been well apaid, That Reason now had marryed her Hand-maid, In hope that she in duty for that honor VVhich he in grace had thus bestow'd upon her, VVould strive by all obedience to appear More lovely in his eyes, and still more clear.

Thus having made it safe, That every way Love must as a servant, or as a wife obey, I here might rest against Truth's brazen wall, And not regard the drops which on it fall. Yet will I wipe away, as they do lye, Some spots, which you have dasht in passing by; And first, That Love doth hurt and overthrow, Doth him no Master make, but Monster show; A Master's strength preserves, a Monsters spoyles, It is the use that Force from Vice assoyles: Strange things of wars and stratagems you tell, And little business with great words doth swell: What helps 'twixt truth and me this grave formality, Love is a sneaking corner-seeking quality, Which hates the light, chuseth false times & shapes, To make his drifts to cover his escapes; And when he is discryed, his vizard torn, He proves a lucky jest, a fertile scorn. Love sends rot me, nor need I vainly go To fetch the meanings which I alwayes know,

Her single heart is one, and one to me Dares shew it self, it is so clean, so free; From thence such warrant have I of her smiles, That I mistrust them not for glittering wiles; But know when the deep channel of her heart With joy is over-fill'd, it doth impart Some to the banks, and flows into her face, Which leavs thereon a fresh and springing grace. Her frowns I know not what, nor that they are, When Reason rules, Love feasts on no such fare; Tasts nought but what is pure, and truly sweer, Then bodies do but bring the souls to meet. VVho light shines through, and all within discovers, No thought lies hid 'twixt such beloved Lovers; Sly reservations, shuffling excuses, Minced favours, made frowns, welcom abuses Lose then their use, and have at all no place, When Love is Master, they have onely grace. A Proverbs proof is not so soon put off By slight neglect, or by a mighty scoff; Whose truth his life hath hitherto maintain'd, And through so many ages credit gain'd; They are the Quintessence of Truths, extract From vulgar use, and of such strength compact, That they have liv'd (indeed) in living men, Since many volumns writ by mortal pen Are dead and gone, and more to ruine tend, Whilst these from Sire to Son do still descend,

Nor needs it as a fault be here excus'd, That I exprest a Nature most confus'd,

In terms so like it self, for Love once gone From Reason, hath no hold to rest upon. But our unseas'ned flesh you rather blame, Which unto me doth just appear the same, As if you should condemn the Mice, not Swine, VVho love to wallow there, and think it fine. Likewise the friendship which such love doth breed, Doth end in hate both of themselvs, and deed: VVhen ever you can Love to Reason marry, I will not from that happy wedding tarry; So that you sex them right by natures law, But yield them all the service, fear, and awe, VVhich unto such a King and Queen belong, VVhose force will so united grow more strong.

I mean not to deny, had rather cure The pangs your heart infected doth endure; And for Love's scorching fits I fear them nor, Reason or Love shall be my antidote, But not to love, then scorn in love is worse: This baseness is to man, the greatest curse, A scorn no being hath, cannot proceed From an inferior in word or deed: How can we so unman our selves, and fall Beneath that creature which was made of all Next under us, to be more evident, Who stands as he was born, cannot consent.

Bad usage soon would force my heart to turn, And made the fire of Love to anger burr; But you do all so willingly abide, As that your ease would be the sicker side.

A small reward will you contentment give, When but a Phoenix death you wish to live, Where may you burn in flames both short & sweet, Thus since our wills will not our Prayers meet.

P.

MEn sad and setled, love not to contend, Dispute my wounds may vex, but never mend; If Love had pleas'd I might have tasted joy In as full measure as I prove annoy: But Princes shew on some their Power, their Grace On some, and both without controul do place. Me for the first, O me Love kept in store, When to that cruel Fair he gave me o're, In whom all worth so eminent appears, As her disdain the style of justice bears; And thus with me Love plaid a Master-part, When with one choice he hurt & pleas'd my heart.

For then I am, let me more wretched prove, If her (howe're unkind) I leave to love; Thus to be fond of scorn, you sickness call, In truth 'tis I, to love my Lord am thrall; 'Tis he that makes me find these wonders true, And he may work the same as well in you; For even in your sound health I find this strife, Love late was Reasons Lackey, now his wife: But to conclude debate, whilst you are free, You may make Love even what you list to be,

As those that will describe an unknown Land, Place Cities, Rivers, Hills where none do stand; Even so you deal with Love, and streight will know How far he shoots, that never felt his bow; One day you may, and then confess with me, You love his Fetrers more then to be free.

R.

NOr will I now your wound exulcerate, But rather grieve at your deplor'd estate; Yet must I not my self so much forsake, As not to shew wherein you me mistake.

For Peace and you I was content to find, How Love and Reason might be near combin'd, But not their natures alter or confound, Nor I remove at all from my first ground Of due obedience which just Love doth owe To Reason, thought it should to highest grow. 'Twas not well done of you thus to object, That which I did for you in your respect; Beside, your argument is drawn amiss, From that which may be, unto that which is. I did not Love for Reasons wife avow, But onely gave it possible, and how That I am dis-engag'd, untoucht, and free, Makes me of Love the fitter judge to be; Self-interest doth so corrupt and blind The clearness quite, and sadness of the mind,

That Justice still to it hath born a grudge, Nor Law allows a party to be Judge; In what we earnest are, our selves we leese, A loo••er on more then a gamester sees. To say my heart was maym'd in Cupid's Wars, And pitty begg by shewing of my skars, Or tell what losses I have had by fire, Doth sure a weaker heart then mine require▪ Yet have I lov'd, and may do so again, A strong lynk I have been in that fair chain Which you a fetter call, and rightly too, But that a breaking lynk did me undo; You pierce me deep to say I never lov'd, When it by so much truth hath been approv'd; Yet for all this we will not disagree, Each lover thinks none ever lov'd but he.

Sonnet. P.

I.

CAnst thou love me, and yet doubt So much falshood in my heart, That a way I should find out To impart Fragments of a broken love to you, More then all, being less then due: O no! Love must clear distrust, Or be eaten with that rust: Short love liking may find jarres, The love that's lasting knows no warres.

II.

This belief begets delight, And so satisfies desire, And in them it shines a light, No more fire; All the burning Qualities appeas'd Each in others joyning pleas'd; Not a whisper, not a thought, But 'twixt both in common's brought; Even to seem two they are loth, Love being but one soul in both.

Song. P.

I.

SOul's joy when I am gone, and you alone, which cannot be, Since I must leave my self with thee, and carry thee with me; oh give no way to grief, but let belief of mutual love, This wonder to the vulgar prove, Our bodies not we move.

II.

Yet when unto our eyes absence denyes each others sight, And makes to us a constant night; when oaths change to delight, Fools have no way to meet but by their feet; Why should our Day Over our spirits so much sway, To tye us to that way.

P. I left you, and now the gain of you is to me a double Gain.

DEar, when I think upon my first sad fall From thy fair eyes, I needs must feel withall The many widowed hours I since have numbred, Which in wisht shades I might have safely slumbred, Rock't into endless heavenly Trances, by Thy soul inchanting-Graces harmony, Whilst I enjoy'd not what I did possess, But like an unthrift of my happiness, Did not my loss (till 'twas too late) espye As Children kill their birds, and after cry? But since those Clouds that so eclip'st thy Light (And gave my every day so many a night, As my life had but a dead Winter been, Had I no better after sun-shine seen) Are fled, let us (thou best of me) redeem Those hours we fondly did so dis-esteem: And since past joyes are but bewail'd in vain, Come and wee'l prove them over all again, That small division so will come the meeter, To make the Musick of our bliss the sweeter.

R. On the Countess of Pembrokes Picture.

HEre (though the lustre of her youth be spent) Are curious steps to see where beauty went; And for the wonders in her mind that dwell, It lyes not in the power of Pens to tell. But could she but bequeath them when she dyes, She might enrich her Sex by Legacies.

P. That she is onely Fair.

DO not reject those titles of your due, Which Natures Art hath stiled on your face; The Name of Fair onely belongs to you, None else that title justly can embrace: You Beauties heir, her Coat sole spotless wear, Where others all, some mark abatement bear. 'Tis not their Cheeks touch't with Vermilion Ord, Stain'd with the tincture of enchanting skill, Nor yet the curl'd devices of their head, Their brests display'd, their looks fram'd to their wil; Their quick-turn'd-eye, nor all their proud attire, Can make me their Perfections to admire.

All this done without Natures consent, Thy beauty needs not Art's enticing aid; Thine nature gave, theirs nature onely lent; Thine shall endure, when theirs are quite decay'd: Thy beauty others doth as much excel, As Heaven base Earth, or Earth accursed Hell.

Others are fair if not compar'd to thee, Compar'd to them, thy beauty doth exceed: So lesser Stars give light, and shine we see Till glorious Phoebus lifteth up his head; And then as things ashamed of their might, They hide themselves, & with themselves their light

Since Natures skill hath given you your right, Do not kind Nature and your self such wrong, You are as fair as any earthly wight, You wrong your self if you correct my tongue: Though you deny (her and) your self your due, Yet duty bids me Fair entitle you.

P.

MUse get thee to a Cell; and wont to sing, Now mourn, nay now thy hands, thy heart now wring; And if perhaps thine eyes did ever weep, Now bleed, and in eternal sorrow sleep; O, she that was, and onely was, is gone, And I that was but one, am left alone. Who says that I for things ne're mine am sad? That was all mine which others never had: No sighs, no tears, no blood but mine was shed For her that now must bless anothers bed: As fate bound me, had Fortune made me free, None had had her but I, she none but me. O had not I been swallowed up with night, Before I saw your sun, that glorious light, Whose beams alone do onely comfort bring, Where I still weep, had ever made me sing; Now on a strange Horizon it doth rise VVhere all do live, or else where each thing dyes.

P. A Sonnet.

HE that his mirth hath lost VVhen comfort is dismay'd, VVhose hopes in vain, whose faith is scorn'd, VVhose trust is all betray'd. If he hath held them dear, And cannot cease to moan; Come let him take his place by me, He shall not grieve alone. But if his smallest sweet Be mixt with all his sower; If in the day, the month, the year He feel one happy hour: Then rest he with himself, He is no Mate for me: Whose cheer is faln, whose succour void, Whose hurt his death must be; Yet not the wished death That hath ne plaint, ne lack, Which making free the better part, Is onely Natures wrack: Oh no! that were too well, My death is of that kind, That alwayes yeilds extreamest pains, And keeps the worst behind,

As one that lives in show, But inwardly doth dye, Whose knowledge is a bloody field Where all helps slain do lye: Whose heart the altar is, Whose spirit the sacrifice Unto the Powers whom to appease, No sorrows can suffice. My fancies are like thorns, On which I go by night; My arguments are like an Host That force hath put to flight. My sence like passions spye, My thoughts like ruines old Of famous Carthage, and of Troy, That Synon bought and sold. My Corn to Nettles, now My field is turn'd to flint, Where sitting in the Cypres shade, I read this Hyacinth. The peace, the rest, the life VVhich I enjoy'd of yore, Came to that lot that by the loss They might me sting the more. So to unhappy men The best frames to the worst; O time, O place, O words, O looks Deer then, but now accurst. In Was, stands my delight, In Is (and Shall) my wo,

My sorrows fastened in the Yea's, My hopes hang in the No. I look for no relief, Relief would come too late; Too late I find, I find too well, Too well stood my estate. Then Love where is thy favour, That makes thy tyrements sweet? VVhere is the Cause that men have thought Their death through thee, but meet? The stately chast disdain, The secret thankfulness, The Grace reserv'd, the common light That shines through worthiness. O that it were not so, Or I it could excuse! Oh that the wrath of jealousie My judgement might abuse! O frail unconstant Sex! O Faith and trust in none! No women Angels are, but lo, My Mistris is a woman. Yet hate I but the fault, And not the faulty one, Ne can I rid me of the bands I which I lye alone. I love, I like, whose like By love was never yet, The Prince, the Poor, the old, the yong, The fond, or full of wit.

Here still remain, must I, By wrong, by death, by shame; I cannot blot out of my breast, That Love wrought in her name: I cannot set at nought That I have held so dear; I cannot make it seem so far, That is indeed so near. I do not mean henceforth Such strange will to profess, As one that could betray such troth To build on sickleness: But it shall never fail That my Faith bare in hand; I gave my word, my word gave me, Both word and gift shall stand: Since then it must be thus, And this is all too ill, I yeild me Captive to my course My hard fate to fulfil. The solitary woods My City shall become; The darkest Dens shall be my lodge, In which I rest or run. Of Hebon black, my board, The worm my feast shall be, Wherewith my body shall be fed, Till they do feed on me: Of N••••be my wine, My bed of craggy Rock,

The Serpents hiss my harmony, The screeching Owle my Clock. My exercise nought else But raging agonies, My Books of spightful Fortunes foils And doleful tragedies. My walks the Parks of Plaints, My prospect into hell, Where Sisiphus and all his Peers In endless pains do dwell. My Muse if any ask, Whose wrathful state is such, Dye ere thou let his Name be known, His folly shows so much.

P. That Lust is not his Ayme.

OH do not tax me with a brutish Love, Impute not Lust alone to my desire, No such prophane aspersions ought to me From you the sacred Author of my fire. I seek your love, and if you that deny. All joyes that you and all the world can give, My love-sick soul would little satisfie; Which wants your Grace, not food to make it live, It is your better part I would enjoy,

Your fair affections I would call mine own; 'Tis but a prostitute, and bestial joye Which seekes the grosse materiall use alone: The towns not ours, the market place vnwon, Nor do I her enjoy, whose heart's not mine, Heart's Conquest is the worthy ambition: Seal of our worth, as ravishment Divine, Invincible to strength of humane hand, Union Divine of mutual burning hearts, VVhich both subdu'd, triumphing, both command Sovereign delights, which God to man imparts. Oh let me in this true joy happy be, Or never may you be enjoy'd by me.

Verses made by Sir B. R,

OH faithless world, and thy most faithless part, A woman's heart: The true shop of variety, where sits Nothing but fits And feavers of desire, and pangs of Love, VVhich toyes remove: VVhy was she born to please, or I to trust Words writ in dust. Suffring her looks to govern my despair, My pain for air; And fruit of time rewarded with untruth, the food of youth. Untrue she was, yet I believ'd her eyes, instructed spyes: Till I was taught that Love is but a school to breed a fool:

Or was it absence that did make her strange, base flower of change? Or sought she more then triumphs of denial, to see a trial, How far her smiles commanded on my weakness, yeild and confess: Excuse not now thy folly, nor her nature, blush and endure As well thy shame, as passions that were vain; and think thy gain, To know that love lodg'd in a womans brest, is but a guest:

Sonnet. P.

WRong not dear Empress of my heart, The merits of true passion, With thinking that he feels no smart That sues for no compassion; Since if my plaints seem not to prove The Conquest of thy Beauty, It comes not from defect of Love, But from excess of duty. For knowing that I sue to serve, A Saint of such perfection, As all Divine, but none deserve A place in her affection. I rather chuse to want relief Then venter the revealing, Where glory recommends the grief, Despair destroyes the healing. Thus those desires that climb too high For any mortal Lover,

When Reason cannot make them dye, Discretion doth them cover: Yet when Discretion doth bereave the plaints which I should utter, Then thy Discretion may perceive that silence is a suiter. Silence in Love bewraies more wo then words though ne're so witty; The beggar that is dumb you know may challenge double pitty. Then wrong not dear heart of my heart, my true, though secret passion, He smarteth most that hides his smart, and sues for no compassion.

P. That he will still persevere in his Love.

NAy, I must love thee still; Be it for those good deeds thou hast done, That thou hast lov'd me once, hath won, And made me ever thine; Though I am tempted and provok'd with scorn, My Love cannot decline. Though I with hopes, doubts, and despairs am torn, Nay should I fret, think, grieve and dye For thee, and know not why; Yet I must love thee still.

Nothing removes my heart, Ages that changes, and (slow things) move, May wear my body, not my Love, So fixt I am on thee, That all thy spite cannot devise A wrong to trouble me. Alas I dote in all thy injuries, Though all thy looks were feign'd, & thy sighs wind, Though thy free vows thou should'st unbind, Nothing could move my heart. Nay I must ••ove thee, still Love that wears, and into ashes goeth, in thee Raiseth new bodies up in me: I am Love's wild-fire right, Whose powerful temper'd flames being rightly bred, Burns by his opposite. Hopes kil, and violent despairs have fed My passions, I have power to live and dye; Nay, should it opposed destiny, Yet I must love thee still:

P. A Sonnet.

DEar leave thy home and come with me, That scorn the world for love of thee: Here we will live within this Park, A Court of joy and pleasures Ark.

Here we will hunt, here we will range, Constant in Love, our sports wee'l change: Of hearts if any change we make, I will have thine, thou mine shalt take.

Here we will walk upon the Lawns, And see the tripping of the Fawns; And all the Deer shall wait on thee, Thou shalt command both them and me.

The Leaves a whispering noise shall make, Their Mufick-notes the birds shall take, And while thou art in quiet sleep, And the green wood shall silence keep.

And while my herds about thee feed, Love's lessons in thy face I'le read,

And feed upon thy lovely look, For beauty hath no fairer book.

It's not the weather, nor the air, It is thy self that is so fair; Nor doth it rain when heaven lowers, But when you frown, then fall the showers.

One Sun alone moves in the skye, Two Suns thou hast, one in each eye; Onely by day that sun gives light, VVhere thine doth rise, there is no night.

Fair starry twins, scorn not to shine Upon my Lambs, upon my Kine; My grass doth grow, my Corn and wheat, My fruit, my vines thrive by their heat.

Thou shalt have wool, thou shalt have silk, Thou shalt have honey, wine and milk; Thou shalt have all, for all is due, Where thoughts are free, and love is true.

P. A Sonnet,

DORON the sad Shepherds swain, Who abroad had long time been, Coming to those Fields again, Where he Cloris oft had seen.

With love and sorrow waxes faint, None but his poor Curre and he, As he on his sheep-hook't lean't, It was his chance that bank to see.

Near a little pearling Brook, Where the Mistress of his heart, Leave of faithful Doron took, From her presence to depart.

He quickly found the ancient flame Which had oft bereav'd his rest; When back now to that place he came, Where her eyes first pierc't his breast.

Looking on the Mead and Grove VVhere her Heards are wont to brouze,

Faithful witness of his Love, VVhich so oft had heard his vows.

VVhere he had seen his Cloris merry, VValking in the pleasant spring, Tended by the Frisking Fairy, Dancing many a wanton Ring.

VVoods (quoth he) I saw you wooe her, And as through your shades she past, Humbly bowed your lops unto her, VVith each little trembling blast.

I have seen this wandring-Will Oft the silent murmur break, And from the natural course stand still, Ravished to hear her speak.

In these Meadows richly dight, Gath'ring strowing for her bowers, The bees are dazled in her sight, Taking her blew veins for Flowers.

Stingless on her temples stuck, Famine could not threaten death, But their labour quite forsook, For the sweetness of her breath.

I have seen the gentle wind His most speedy course forbear,

And it wondr'ous sport to find, In dallying with her braided hair.

Never did the morn awake her If her self but once she showd, But the birds would Musick make her, Still to welcome her abroad.

Then poor shepherd Swain quoth he, Let thy thoughts of her suffice, It is to high a task for thee To tell the wonders of her eyes.

O dear Cloris then come to us, Bless the Summer with thy sight; Or thy absence will undo us, For the world will half be night.

P. On one heart made of two.

IF that you must needs go, What shall our one heart do? This one made of our two. Madam, two hearts we brake, And from them both did take The best, one heart to make.

It told me in your brest, Where it might hope to rest; For if it were my guest, For certainly it knew, That I would still a-new Be sending it to you.

Half this is of your heart, Mine in th' other part, Joined by our equal art. Were it cemented, or sown By shreds or pieces known, We each might find our own.

Never I think had two Such work, so much to do An Unity to woo; Yours was so cold and chaste, VVhilst mine with Zeal did waste, Like fire with water plac't.

But 'tis dissolv'd, and fixt So curiously, and mixt, No difference is betwixt; But shall we agree By whom it kept shall be, Whether by you or me?

How my heart did entreat, How pant, how it did beat, Till it could give yours heat; Till to that temper brought, With either's mixture wrought, That blessing eithers thought.

It cannot two breasts fill, One must be heartless still Until the other will. It was with me to day, When I will'd it to say With whether it would stay.

In such a heighth it lyes From this base world's dull eyes, That heaven it not envies.

All that this Earth can show, Our hearts shall not once know, For it too vile and low.

P. That he would not be belov'd.

DIsdain me still, that I may ever love, For who his Love enjoyes, can love no more, The war once past, with peace men Cowards prove, And Ships return'd, do rot upon the shore: Then though thou frown, I'le say thou art most fair, And still I'le love, though still I must despair. As heat's to life, so is desire to love, For these once quench't, both life and love are done; Let not my sighs nor tears thy vertue move, Like basest mettles, do not melt too soon. Laugh at my woes, although I ever mourn, Love surfeits with rewards, his Nurse is scorn.

Benj. Rudier of Tears.

WHo would have thought there could have been Such joy in Tears wept for our sin! Mine eye hath seen, my heart hath prov'd The most and best of earthly joyes, The sweet of love, and being lov'd, Masks, Feasts, and Playes, and such like toyes. Yet this one tear which now doth fall, In true delight exceeds them all.

Indeed mine eyes at first let in Those guests that did these woes begin: Therefore mine eyes in tears and grief Are justly drown'd, but that these tears Should comfort bring, 'tis past belief. O God, in this thy Grace appears; Thou that mak'st light from darkness spring, Mak'st joyes to weep, and sadness sing.

O where am I! what may I think! Help, help, alas my heart doth sink: Thus tost in seas of wo, Thus laden with my sin, Waves of despair dash in, And threat mine overthrow.

What heart opprest with such a weight, Can chuse but sink and perish streight.

Yet as at sea in storms, men choose The ship to save, their goods to loose. So in this fearful storm, This danger to prevent, Before all hopes be spent, I'le choose the lesser harm. My tears to seas I will convert, And drown mine eyes to save my heart.

R.

O God! my God! what shall I give To thee in thanks? I am and live In thee; and thou dost safe preserve My health, my fame, my goods, my rent: Thou mak'st me eat, whilst others starve, And sing, whilst others do lament. Such unto me thy blessings are, As though I were thine only care.

But oh my God, thou art more kind, When I look inward on my mind, Thou fill'st my heart with humble joy, With patience, meek, and fervent love, (All other loves which doth destroy) With Faith which nothing can remove, And hope assur'd of Heavens bliss: This is my state, thy Grace is this.

Of Friendship.

FRiendship on earth we may as easily find, As he the North-East Passage, that is blind; 'Tis not unlike th' imaginary stone, That tatter'd Chymists long have doted on: Sophisticate affection is the best This age affords, no friend abides the test; They make a glorious shew, a little space, But tarnish in the rain, like Copper-lace. Or nealled in affliction but one day, They smoke, and stink, and vapour quite away. We miss the true materials, choosing Friends, On vertue we project not, but our ends. So by degrees when we embrace so many, We courted are like whores, not lov'd of any: Good turns ill plac't, that we on all men heap, Are seeds of that ingratitude we reap. And he that is so sweet, he none denies, Was made of honey for the nimble flies. Choose one of two Companions of thy life, Then be as true as thou wouldst have thy wife. Though he live joyless that enjoys no friend, He that hath many, payes for't in the end.

P. A Sonnet.

SAint did never yet object Former knowledges defect Against those whose zealous vows, True devotion avows: If my merit yet be small To procure your love withall, Time alone to you must prove, How well I will deserve your love. Grace in Saints ought to abound, Grace ne're grows on merit's ground. Be then gracious, as I true, Constant and faithful unto you; And my Fortunes that have crown'd Me happy on that Reliques ground, Shall be all ascrib'd to serve You that do all praise deserve.

P. To his Mistress, of his Friends Opinion of her, and his answer to his Friend's Objections, with his constancy to∣wards her.

ONe with admiration told me, He did wonder much & marvel, (As by chance he did behold ye) How I could become so servile To thy beauty, which he swears Evry Ale house Lettice wears.

Then he frames a second notion From thy revoluting eyes, Saying, such a wanton motion From their lustre did arise, That of force thou couldst not be From the shame of women free.

Then he blames the work of Nature, 'Cause she fram'd thy body tall, Alledging that so high a stature Was most subject to a fall: Still detracting from thy worth, That which most doth set thee forth.

So the Buzzard Phoebus flies, When the Eagle's piercing eye See those noble mysteries Which adorn the azur'd skye; Bravest objects so we find, Strike the weaker judgements blind.

For I know thy native beauty, Teaching Art her imitation; Ows no mortal Power a duty, But as free from alteration (If not whiter) as the skin Of the spotless Ermylin.

And those Love-alluring Darts Shot from thy tralucent eye, To the knowing man imparts Such an awful Majesty, That each man may read the mirror Of thy mind, and he his error.

If thy curious body's frame, To thy making add no splendor, Why adore we Cynthia's Name, And our Poets most commend her When amongst her Nymphs she crushes, Cedar-like 'mongst lower bushes.

But my Julia I am sure, Be thou low or high of stature,

Thou from blemish art, and as pure As the yester-night-born creature; And though blind men talk of light, None can judge that wants his sight.

P. To his Mistris on his Death.

OH let me groan one word into thine ear, And with that groan break all my vital strings; Thou that wouldst never, now vouchsafe to hear How Leda's bird on sweet Meander sings: So dying tapers lend their fiery flashes, And deadest Cinders have some burning ashes. Those were the looks that once maintain'd my strength, Those were the words that all my parts did cherish; And what (Unkindest) wilt thou gain at length, If by the same, I miserably perish: This, that a frown did in a minute starve, That which a smile did many years preserve.

B. R. his Ballet.

SInce every man I come among, Sings praises of his choice, I'le make my Love some pretty song, Shee'l fit it for a voice.

As for descent and birth in her, You see before you seek; The house of York and Lancaster United in her Cheek.

I have a Bracelet of her hair. I have a ribon too; The Fleece and Garter never were Such Orders as these two.

My mind unto her once I broke, And whisper'd in her ear A tale of Love, an easie yoke, Which far her betters bear.

And told her, if she lost that hour; Her blossom would be dead; She said she meant to keep that flower To deck her wedding-bed.

I gave her homely Countrey Gloves, She took 'um as th' were meant; For those as well can show mens Loves, As can a Spanish scent.

I told her that poor modesty Was out of fashion quite; She said that proof look't like a lye, And did my Reason slight.

I said the thing for which I woo, Is pain and not desire; She said 'twas work each man would do, And take it for his hite.

So when those wayes I hop't would wean Her from her fond intent, The fool reply'd, she did not mean To sin by president.

When mine eyes, first admiring your rare beauty, Secretly stole the Picture of your face; They, fearing they might erre, with humble duty, Through unknown pathes, convey'd it to that place, Where Reason and true Judgement hand in hand Sate, and each workmanship of sences stand.

Reason could find no Reason but to love it, So rich of beauty was it, full of Grace: True Judgement scan'd each part, and did approve it

To be the model of some heavenly face; And both agreed to place it in my heart, VVhence they decreed it never should depart.

Then, since I was not born to be so blest, Your real self fair Mistress to obtain, Yet must your image dwell within my brest, And in that secret Closet still remain: VVhere all alone retir'd, I'le sit and view Your Picture, Mistress, since I may not you.

R.

WHy do we love these things which we call Women, Which are like Feathers blown with every wind, Regarding least those which do most esteem them, And most deceitful when they seem most kind; And all the vertue that their beauty graces, It is but painted like unto their faces.

Their greatest glory is in rich attire, Which is extracted from some hopeful livers, Whose wits and wealth are bent to their desire, When they regard the gift more then the givers. And to encrease their hopes of future bliss, They'l sometimes stretch their conscience for a kiss.

Some love the winds that bring in golden flowers, And some are meerly won with commendation; Some love and hate, and all within two hours, And that's a fault amongst them most in fashion: But put them all within a scale together, Their worth in weight wil scarce pul down a feather.

And yet I would not discommend them all, If I did know some worth to be in any: 'Tis strange, that since the time of Adam's fall, That God did make none good, and made so many; And if he did, for those I truly mourn, Because they dyed before that I was born.

Why with unkindest swiftness dost thou turn From me, whose absence thou didst truly mourn; Of which thou mad'st me such a seeming view, As Unbelievers would have thought it true. We have been private, and thou knowst of mine, (VVhich is ev'n all) as much as I of thine: Dost thou remember? Let me callt' account Thy pleasant Garden, and that leavy Mount, Whose top is with an open Arbour crown'd. Dost thou remember (O securest beauty) Where of thy own free motion (more then duty) And unrequir'd, thou solemnly didst swear, (Of which avenging heav'n can witness bear)

That from the time thou gav'st thy spoils to me, Thou wouldst maintain a spotless chastity, And unprophan'd by any second hand, From sport and Loves delight removed stand, Till I (whose absence seemingly was mourn'd) Should from a forreign Kingdom be return'd: Of this thou mad'st Religion, and an oath. But see the frailty of a womans troth; Scarce had the sun (to many rooms assign'd). Been thrice within the changeful waves confin'd, And I scarce three dayes journey from thine eyes, When thou new love in thy heart didst devise, And gav'st the Reliques of thy Virgin-head, Upon the easiest prayer that could be said. Tis true, I left thee to a dangerous age, VVhere vice in Angels shape does title wage VVith ancient vertue, both disguising so, That hardly weaker eyes can either know: Besides, I left thee in the hour of fears, And in the covetous spring of all thy years, what time a beauty that hath well begun, Asks other then the solace of a Nun. But since thy wanton soul so deer did prize The game, that thou for it didst underprize Thy faith, and all that to good fame belongs; Couldst thou not cover it from common tongues. But cheapest eyes must see thee do amiss? My Rhimes that won thee, never taught thee this: Thou might'st have wandered in the pathes of love, And neither leaf-less hill, nor shady grove

Have been unpressed by thy wanton weight, Yet thou thought honest, hadst thou used slight. Much care and business hath the chastest Dame To guard her self from undeserved blame; VVhat artifice and cunning then must serve To colour them that just reproof deserve? 'Tis not a work for ev'ry woman's wit, And the less marvel thou neglectedst it. That which amazes me the most, is this, That having never trodden but amiss, And done me wrongs, that do as much deny To suffer measure, as infinity: When I approach, thou turn'st thy head awry, As if sore eyes and scorn could satisfie, Can second wrongs the former expiate, And work them out of memory and date; Or teach me ill in humane Precepts durst, That second wrongs can expiate the first? Thou art malicious, as incontinent, And mightst have met with such a Patient, Whose wronged vertue to just rage invited, Would have reveng'd, and in thy dust delighted. But I that have no gall, when once I love, And whom no great thing under heav'n can move, Am well secur'd from Fortunes weak alarms, And free from apprehension, as from harms. Thus do I leave thee to the multitude, That on my leaving hastily intrude. Enjoy thou many, or rejoice in one, I was before them, and before me none.

A DIALOGUE.

MAN. P.

BE not proud, 'cause fair and trim, But let those lips be basted, Those eyes will hollow prove, and dim, That lip and brow be wasted. And to love, who'l be perswaded, Sullyed Flowers, or beauty faded?

WOMAN. R.

Could Rose or Lilly purer be, 'Cause they smelt, or look't like me? Yet pride should never reach my mind, But beauty though it useless lye, Is kept from stains by being laid by: So'ts better to be chaste then kind.

MAN. P.

Oh thou art soft as is the air, Or the words that court thee fair.

Then let those flames by Lovers felt, That scorcht my heart, make thine to melt.

WOMAN. R.

Thy words are sweet as is deceit, Sugred as the Lovers bait, And do whisper in mine ear, Love makes bargains sweet, but dear.

MAN. P.

Thou know'st not then that all the fair, Give youth to Love, and age to Prayer▪

WOMAN. R.

Tis a Doctrine cannot be Sound in you, or safe in me.

R. On black Hair and Eyes.

IF shadows be the Pictures Excellence, And make them seem more lively to the sence; If stars in the bright day are lost from sight, And seem most glorious in the mask of Night; Why would you think (rare Creature) that you lack Perfection, cause your hair and eyes are black; Or that your heavenly beauty that exceeds The new-sprung Lillies in their Maiden-heads. The damask colour of your cheeks and lips, Should suffer by their darkness an Eclips: Rich Diamonds shine brightest being set, And compassed within a Foyle of Jet: Nor was it fit that Nature should have made So bright a sun to shine without some shade: It seems that Nature when she first did fancy Your rare Composure, studied Negromancy, That when to you this gift she did impart, She used altogether the black Art; By which infused Power from Magick took, You do command all spirits with a look; She drew those Magick Circles in your eyes, And made your hair the Chain wherewith she tyes

Rebelling hearts; those blew veins which appear, Winding Meanders about either Sphere Mysterious Figures are; and when you list Your voice commandeth as the Exorcist.

Oh if in Magick you have power so far, Vouchsafe me to be your Familiar.

Nor hath Dame Nature her black Art reveal'd To outward parts alone, some lie conceal'd: For as by heads of Springs men often know The nature of the streams that run below; So your black hair and eies do give direction, To think the rest to be of that complexion; That rest where all rest lies that blesseth man, That Indian Mine, that Streight of Magilon; That world-dividing Gulf, where he that venters With swelling sails, and ravisht sences, enters To a new world of bliss. Pardon I pray, If my rude Muse presumeth to display Secrets unknown, or hath her bounds o're-past In praising sweetness, which I never did taste: Starv'd men do know there's meat, & blind men may Though hid from light, presume there is a day. The Rover in the mark his arrow sticks Sometimes, as well as he that shoots at pricks: And if that I might aim my shaft aright, The black mark I would hit, and not the white.