Parnassus biceps. Or Severall choice pieces of poetry, composed by the best wits that were in both the universities before their dissolution. With an epistle in the behalfe of those now doubly secluded and sequestred Members, by one who himselfe is none.

Ʋpon the Lady Paulets Gift to the Ʋniversity of Oxford: Being an exact piece of Needle-work presenting the whole sto∣ry of the Incarnation, Passion, Re∣surrection, and Ascension of our Saviour.

COuld we judge here most vertuous Madam: then Your needle might receive praise from our pen. But this our want bereaves it of that part, Whilst to admire and thank is all our Art▪ The work deserves a Shrine: I should rehearse Its glory in a story, not a verse. Colours are mix'd so subtily, that thereby The strength of art doth take and cheat the eye: At once a thousand we can gaze upon, But are deceiv'd by their transition. What toucheth is the same; beam takes from beam The next still like, yet differing in the extream. Here runs this tract, thither we see that tends, But cannot say here this or there that ends▪ Thus while they creep insensibly we doubt Whether the one pours not the other out.

Faces so quick and lively, that we may Fear if we turn our backs theyl steal away. Postures of griefe so true, that we may swear Your artfull fingers have wrought passion there. View we the manger, and the Babe, we thence Believe the very threads have innocence. Then on the Crosse, such love, such griefe we find As twere a transcript of our Saviours mind: Each parcell so expressive, each so fit, That the whole seems not so much wrought as writ. Tis sacred text, all we may coat, and thence Extract what may be press'd in our defence. Blest Mother of the Church, be in the list Reckond with th' four a she Evangelist; Nor can the stile be prophanation, when The needle may convert more then the pen. When faith may come by seeing; and each leafe Rightly perus'd, prove Gospell to the deafe. Had not that Hellen haply found the crosse By this your work, you had repaired that losse. Tell me not of Penelope, we do See a web here more chast and sacred too. Where are ye now O women, ye that sow Temptations labouring to expresse the bow Of the blind Archer: ye that rarely set To please your loves a Venus in a net? Turne your skill hither, then we shall no doubt See the Kings daughter glorious too without. Women sewed onely figleaves hitherto, Eves nakednesse is onely cloath'd by you.