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.

Sonnet. P.

BLind beauty! If it be a loss To loose so poor a man, As neither multiply nor cross good or bad fortune can; Then are you poorer then you were, for I am gotten free; Unwilling to acquaint your ear with what your eye might see. What needed words, when from mine eyes such sparks of Love flew out, That you might easily surmise his fires were there about. Though I forsook the beaten way, the path in which I trod, Such as know all Love's Countrey, say was nearer then the Road. The tongue did great exploits at first, so did the Canon too; But both those now have done their worst, and no such wonders do: As Engines of a naughty sort for Love to use in fight, After to make a loud report, then carry to the white▪ I was a Lanthorn all of Love, though of the closer kind,

Directing you which way to move, When it did others blind: And you might alwaies undescri'd have walkt from place to place; Had you not turn'd the shining side backwards upon your face: So since not want of light in me, but that ill govern'd light; Both made your self unapt to see, And taught the blinde their sight: Henceforth I'le close the Lanthorn quite, To expiate that sin; And seem without as dark as night, though bright as day within. Mark how you Eddie steales a way, From the rude stream into the Bay: There lockt up safe, she doth divorce Her waters from the Channels course, And scorns the torrent that did bring Her head-long from her native spring. Now doth she with her new Love play, Whilst he runs murmuring away. Mark how she courts the banks, whilst they As amorously their armes display T' embrace, and clip her silver waves; See how she strokes their sides, and craves An entrance there, which they deny; Whereat she frowns, threatning to fly Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim Backward, but from the Channells brim

Smiling returns into the Creek, With thousand dimples on her cheek. Be thou this Eddie, and I'le make My brest thy shore, where thou shalt take Secure repose, and never dream Of the quite forsaken stream; Let him to the wyld Ocean haste, There loose his Colour, name, and taste: Thou shalt save all, and safe from him Within these armes for ever swim.