Poems, with a maske by Thomas Carew ... ; the songs were set in musick by Mr. Henry Lawes ...

POEMS

The Spring.

NOw that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or casts an ycie cream Vpon the Silver Lake, or Chrystal stream: But the warm Sun thawes the benummed Earth, And makes it tender, gives a sacred birth To the dead Swallow, wakes in hollow tree The drowsie Cuckow, and the Humble-Bee. Now doe a quire of chirping Minstrels bring In triumph to the world, the youthfull Spring. The vallies, hills, and woods, in rich aray, Welcome the comming of the long'd for May. Now all things smile; only my Love doth lowre: Nor hath the scalding Noon-day-Sun the power, To melt that marble yce, which still doth hold Her heart congeald, and makes her pitty cold. The Oxe which lately did for shelter fly Into the stall, doth now securely ly

In open fields; and love no more is made By the fire side; but in the cooler shade Amyntas now doth with his Cloris sleep Vnder a Sycamore, and all things keep Time with the season, only she doth carry Iune in her eyes, in her heart Ianuary.

To A. L. Perswasions to love.

THinke not, 'cause men flatt'ring say Y'are fresh as Aprill, Sweet as May, Bright as is the Morning starr, That you are so; or though you are, Be not therefore proud, and doem All men unworthy your esteem: For being so, you lose the pleasure Of being fair, since that rich treasure Of rare beauty, and sweet feature, Was bestow'd on you by Nature To be enjoy'd, and 'twere a sinne There to be scarce, where shee hath been So prodigall of her best graces; Thus common beauties, and meane faces Shall have more pastime, and enjoy The sport you lose by being coy,

Did the thing for which I sue Onely concern my self, not you; Were men so fram'd as they alone Reap'd all the pleasure, women none, Then had you reason to be scant; But 'twere a madnesse not to grant That which affords (if you consent) To you the giver, more content, Than me the begger; Oh then be Kind to your self, if not to mee; Starve not your selfe, because you may Thereby make me pine away; Nor let brittle beauty make You your wiser thoughts forsake: For that lovely face wil fail; Beautie's sweet, but beautie's frail; Tis sooner past, tis sooner done Than Summers rain, or Winters Sun; Most fleeting when it is most deare; Tis gone while wee but say tis here. These curious locks so aptly twin'd, Whose every hair a soul doth bind, Will change their abroun hue, and grow White, and cold as winters snow. That eye which now is Cupid's nest Will prove his grave, and all the rest

Will follow; in the cheek; chin, nose, Nor Lilly shall be found, nor Rose; And what will then become of all Those, whom now you servants call? Like Swallowes when your summers done, They'l fly, and seek some warmer Sun. Then wisely chuse one to your friend, Whose love may (when your beauties end) Remain still firm: be provident And think before the summer's spent Of following winter; like the Ant In plenty hoord for time of scant. Cull out amongst the multitude Of Lovers, that seek to intrude Into your favour, one that may Love for an age, not for a day; One that will quench your youthfull fires, And feed in age your hot desires. For when the storms of time have mov'd Waves on that check which was belov'd, When a fair Ladies face is pin'd, And yellow spred where red once shin'd, When beauty, youth, and all sweets leave her, Love may return, but Lover never: And old folkes say there are no paines Like itch of love in aged veines.

Oh love me then, and now begin it, Let us not lose this present minute: For time and age will work that wrack Which time or age shall ne'r call back. The snake each year fresh skin resumes, And Eagles change their aged plumes; The faded Rose each spring receives A fresh red tincture on her leaves: But if your beauties once decay, You never know a second May. Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season Affords you dayes for sport, doe reason; Spend not in vain your lives short hour, But crop in time your beauties flower: Which will away, and doth together Both bud and fade, both blow and wither.

Lips and Eyes.

IN Celia's face a question did arise Which were more beautifull, her Lips or Eyes: Wee (said the Eyes) send forth those poynted darts Which pierce the hardest adamantine hearts. From us (reply'd the Lips) proceed those blisses, Which Lovers reap by kind words, and sweet kisses.

Then wept the Eyes, and from their springs did powr Of liquid orientall pearl a showr. Whereat the Lips mov'd with delight and pleasure, Through a sweet smile unlock'd their pearlie treasure; And bade Love judge, whether did adde more grace, Weeping, or smiling, pearles in Celia's face.

A Divine Mistris.

IN Natures peeces still I see Some errour, that might mended be; Something my wish could still remove, Alter or adde; but my fair Love Was fram'd by hands farr more divine; For shee hath every beauteous line: Yet I had been farr happier Had Nature that made me, made her; Then likenesse might (that love creates) Have made her love what now she hates: Yet I confesse I cannot spare, From her just shape the smallest hair; Nor need I beg from all the store Of heaven, for her one beauty more: Shee hath too much divinity for me, You gods teach her some more humanity.

SONG. A Beautifull Mistris.

IF when the sun at noone displayes His brighter rayes, Thou but appear, He then all pale with shame and fear, Quencheth his light. Hides his dark brow, flyes from thy sight, And growes more dim Compar'd to thee, than stars to him. If thou but shew thy face again, When darkenesse doth at midnight raign, The darkenesse flyes, and light is hurl'd, Round about the silent world: So as alike thou driv'st away, Both light and darkenesse, night and day.

A Cruell Mistris.

WEE read of Kings, and Gods, that kindly took A pitcher fild with water from the Brook: But I have daily tendred without thanks Rivers of teares that over-flow their banks.

A slaughter'd Bull will appease angry love. A Horse the Sun, a Lamb the God of love: But she disdaines the spotless sacrifice Of a pure heart, that at her altar lyes. Vesta is not displeas'd if her chast urn Doe with repayred fuell ever burn; But my Saint frowns, though to her honour'd name I consecrate a never-dying flame. Th' Assyrian King did none i'th' furnace throw, But those that to his Image did not bow; With bended knees I daily worship her, Yet she consumes her own Idolater. Of such a Goddess no times leave record, That burnt the Temple, where she was ador'd.

SONG. Murdring Beauty.

I'L gaze no more on her bewitching face, Since ruine harbours there in every place: For my enchanted soul alike she drowns With calmes and tempests of her smiles and frowns I'l love no more those cruell eyes of hers, Which pleas'd, or anger'd, still are Murderers: For if she dart (like lightning) through the ayr Her beames of wrath, she kils me with despair;

If she behold nice with a pleasing eye, I surfet with excesse of joy, and dye.

My Mistris commanding me to return her letters.

SO grives th'adventrous Merchant, when he throws All the long-toyld-for treasure his ship stows, Into the angry main, to save from wrack Himself and men; as I grieve to give back These letters: yet so powerfull is your sway, As if you bid me die, I must obey. Goe then blest papers, you shall kiss those-hands That gave you freedome, but hold me in bands; Which with a touch did give you life, but I, Because I may not touch those hands, must die. Me thinks, as if they knew they should be sent Home to their native soil from banishment, I see them smile, like dying Saints, that know They are to leave the earth, and tow'rd heaven goe. When you return, pray tell your Soveraign, And mine, I gave you courteous entertain; Each line receiv'd a tear, and then a kiss, First bath'd in that, it scap'd unscorch'd from this: I kist it, because your hand had been there, But' cause it was not now, I shed a tear.

Tel her no length of time, nor change of ayr, No cruelty, disdain, absence, dispair, No nor her stedfast constancie can deterr My vassall heart from ever hon'ring her. Though these be powerfull arguments to prove I love in vaine; yet I must ever love. Say if she frown when you that word rehearse, Service in prose, is oft call'd love in verse: Then pray her, since I send back on my part Her papers, she will send me back my heart. If she refuse, warn her to come before The God of Love, whom thus I will implore. Trav'ling thy Countries road (great God) I spi'd By chance this Lady, and walk'd by her side From place to place, fearing no violence, For I was well arm'd, and had made defence In former fights, 'gainst fiercer foes, than shee Did at our first incounter seeme to be: But going farther, every step reveal'd Some hidden weapon, till that time conceal'd. Seeing those outward armes, I did begin To fear, some greater strength was lodg'd within. Looking unto her mind, I might survay An hoast of beauties that in ambush lay; And won the day before they fought the field: For I unable to resist, did yeeld.

But the insulting tyrant so destroyes My conquer'd mind, my ease, my peace, my joyes; Breaks my sweet sleeps, invades my harmlesse rest, Robs mee of all the treasure of my brest; Spares not my heart, nor yet a greater wrong; For having stoln my heart, she binds my tongue. But at the last her melting eyes unseal'd My lips, enlarg'd my tongue, then I reveal'd To her own ears the story of my harms Wrought by her vertues, and her beauties charms. Now heare (Iust Iudge) an act of savagenesse, When I complain in hope to find redresse, She bends her angry brow, and from her eye Shoots thousand darts, I then well hop'd to die; But in such soveraign balm, Love dips his shot, That though they wound a heart, they kill it not; Shee saw the blood gush forth from many a wound, Yet fled, and left mee bleeding on the ground, Nor sought my cure, nor saw me since; 'tis true, Absence, and time, (two cunning Leeches) drew The flesh together, yet sure though the skin Be clos'd without, the wound festers within. Thus hath this cruell Lady us'd a true Servant, and subject to her self, and you. Nor know I (great Love) if my life be lent To shew thy mercy, or my punishment;

If this enditement fright her, so as shee Seem willing to return my heart to mee, But cannot find it, (for perhaps it may, 'Mongst other trifling hearts, be out o'th' way) If shee repent, and would make me amends, Bid her but send me hers, and wee are friends.

Secresie protested.

FEar not (dear Love) that I'l reveal Those houres of pleasure we two steal; No eye shall see, nor yet the Sun Descry, what thou and I have done; No ear shall hear our love, but wee Silent as the night will be; The God of love himself (whose dart Did first wound mine, and then thy heart) Shall never know, that we can tell, What sweets in stoln embraces dwell: This only meanes may find it out, If when I dy, Physicians doubt What caus'd my death, and there to view Of all their judgements which was true' Rip up my heart, O then I fear The world will see thy picture there.

A prayer to the Wind.

GOe thou gentle whispering Wind, Bear this sigh; and if thou find Where my cruell fair doth rest Cast it in her snowie brest, So, enflam'd by my desire, It may set her heart a-fire: Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain, Will reward thee for thy pain. Boldly light upon her lip, There suck odours, and thence skip To her bosome, lastly fall Down, and wander over all; Range about those Ivorie hills From whose every part distils Amber dew; there spices grow, There pure streames of Nectar flow; There perfume thy self, and bring All those sweets upon thy wing: As thou return'st, change by thy power Every weed into a flower, Turn each Thistle to a Vine, Make the Bramble Eglantine. For so rich a bootie made, Doe but this, and I am paid.

Thou canst with thy powerfull blast, Heat apace, and coole as fast: Thou canst kindle hidden flame, And agen destroy the same: Then for pity, either stir Vp the fire of love in her, That alike both flames may shine, Or else quite extinguish mine.

Mediocrity in love rejected. SONG.

GIve me more Love, or more Disdain, The Torrid, or the Frozen Zone Bring equall ease unto my paine; The Temperate affords me none: Either extreme, of Love, or Hate, Is sweeter than a calme estate.

Give me a storme; is it be Love, Like Danae in that golden showr I swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that Torrent will devour My Vulture-hopes; and he's possest Of Heaven, that's but from Hell releast: Then crown my joyes, or cure my pain; Give me more Love, or more—Disdaine.

SONG. Good counsell to a young Maid:

GAze not on thy beauties pride, Tender Maid; in the false side That from Lovers eyes doth slide.

Let thy faithfull Chrystall show, How thy colours come, and goe, Beautie takes a foyle from woe.

Love, that in those smooth streames lyes; Vnder pities faire disguise, Will thy melting heart suprize.

Nets, of passions sinest thred, Snaring Poems, will be spred, All, to catch thy maiden-head.

Then beware, for those that cure Loves disease, themselves endure For reward a Calenture.

Rather let the Lover pine, Than his pale cheek should assigne A perpetuall blush to thine.

TO my Mistris sitting by a Rivers side. AN EDDY.

MArk how yond Eddy steals away, From the rude stream into the Bay, There lock'd up safe, she doth divorce Her waters from the chanels course, And scorns the Torrent, that did bring Her head long from her native spring. Now doth she with her new love play, Whilst hee runs murmuring away. Mark how shee courts the banks, whilst they As amorously their arms display, T'embrace, and clip her silver waves: See how shee strokes their sides, and craves An entrance there, which they deny; Whereat shee frowns, threatning to fly Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim Backward, but from the chanels brim, Smiling, returns into the creek, With thousand dimples on her cheek. Be thou this Eddy, and I'l make My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take

Secure repose, and never dream Of the quite forsaken stream: Let him to the wide Ocean haste, There lose his colour, name, and tast; Thou shalt save all, and safe from him, Within these arms for ever swim.

SONG. Conquest by flight.

LAdies, fly from Love's smooth tale, Oaths steep'd in tears do oft prevail; Grief is infectious, and the ayr Enflam'd with sighes, will blast the fayr: Then stop your cares, when Lovers cry, Lest your self weep, when no soft eye Shall with a sorrowing tear repay That pitty which you cast away. Young men fly, when beauty darts Amorous glances at your hearts: The fixt mark gives the shooter aym; And Ladies lookes have power to maym. Now'twixt their lips, now in their eyes, Wrapt in a smile, or kisse, Love lyes; Then fly betimes, for only they Conquer love that run away.

SONG. To my inconstant Mistris.

WHen thou, poore excommunicate From all the joyes of love, shalt soe The full reward, and glorious fate, Which my strong faith shall purchase me, Then curse thine owne inconstancy.

A fayrer band than thine, shall cure That heart, which thy false oathes did wound; And to my soul, a soul more pure Than thine, shall by Loves hand be bound, And both with equall glory crown'd.

Then shalt thou weepe, entreat, complain To Love, as I did once to thee; When all thy teares shall be as vain As mine were then, for thou shalt bee Damn'd for thy false Apostasie,

SONG Perswasions to enjoy.

IF the quick spirits in your eye Now languish, and anon must dye; If every sweet, and every grace, Must fly from that forsaken face: Then (Celia) let us reap our joyes, E'r time such goodly fruit destroyes.

Or, if that golden fleece must grow For ever, free from aged snow; If those bright Suns must know no shade, Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; Then feare not (Celia) to bestow, What still being gather'd still must grow. Thus, either Time his Sickle brings In vain, or else in vain his wings.

A deposition from love.

I Was foretold, your rebell sex, Nor love, nor pitty knew; And with what scorn you use to vex Poor hearts that humbly sue;

Yet I believ'd, to crown our pain, Could we the fortress win, The happy Lover sure should gain A Paradise within: I thought Loves plagues, like Dragons sate, Only to fright us at the gate.

But I did enter, and enjoy What happy Lovers prove; For I could kiss, and sport, and toy, And taste those sweets of love; Which had they but a lasting state, Or if in Celia's brest The force of love might not abate, love were too mean a guest. But now her breach of faith, farre more Afflicts, than did her scorn before.

Hard fate! to have been once possest, As victor, of aheart Atchiev'd with labour, and unrest, And then forc'd to depart. If the stout Foe will not resigne When I besiege a Town, I lose, but what was never mine; But he that is cast down

From enjoy'd beauty, feels a woe, Only deposed Kings can know.

Ingratefull beauty threatned,

KNow Celia, (since thou art so proud,) 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown: Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name, And with it ympt the wings of fame.

That killing power is none of thine, I gave it to thy voyce, and eyes: Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine; Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere Lightning on him that fixt thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more, Left what I made, I uncreate: Let fools thy mystique forms adore, Ile know thee in thy mortall state; Wise Poets that wrap'd Truth in tales, Knew her themselves through all her vailes.

Disdain returned.

HEe that loves a Rosie cheek, Or a Corall lip admires, Or from Star-like eyes doth seek Fuell to maintain his fires; As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, Hearts with equall love combind, Kindle never dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

No teares, Celia, now shall win, My resolv'd heart, to return; I have search'd thy soul within, And find nought, but pride, and-scorn; I have learn'd thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou. Some power, in my revenge convey That love to her, I cast away.

A Looking-glass.

THat flattring Glass, whose smooth face weares Your shadow, which a Sun appeares, Was once a river of my teares.

About your cold heart they did make A circle, where the brinie lake Congeal'd into a crystall cake.

Gaze no more on that killing eye, For fear the native cruelty Doom you, as it doth all, to dye.

For fear lest the fair object move Your froward heart to fall in love, Then you your self my rivall prove.

Look rather on my pale cheeks pin'd, There view your beauties, there you'l find A fair face, but a cruell mind.

Be not for ever frozen, coy, One beam of love will soon destroy, And melt that yce, to flouds of joy.

An Elegie on the La: PEN: sent to my Mistress out of France.

LEt him, who from his tyrant Mistress did This day receive his cruell doom, forbid His eyes to weep that loss, and let him here Open those floud-gates, to bedeaw this beer; So shall those drops, which else would be but brine, Be turn'd to Manna, falling on her shrine. Let him, who banisht far from her dear sight Whom his soul loves, doth in that absence write, Or lines of passion, or some powerfull charms, To vent his own grief, or unlock her arms, Take off his pen, and in sad verse bemone This generall sorrow, and forget his own; So many those Verses live, which else mustdye: For though the Muses give eternity, When they embalm with verse, yet she could give Life unto that Muse, by which others live. Oh pardon me (fair soul) that boldly have Dropt though but one tear, on thy silent grave; And writ on that earth, which such honour had, To cloath that flesh wherein thy self was clad. And pardon me (sweet Saint) whom I adore, That I this tribute pay out of the store

Of lines, and tears, thats only due to thee; Oh, doe not think it new Idolatry; Though you are only soveraign of this Land, Yet universall losses may command A subsidie from every private eye, And press each pen to write, so to supply, And feed the common grief; if this excuse Prevail not, take these tears to your own use, As shed for you; for when I saw her dye, I then did think on your mortality; For since nor vertue, witt, nor beauty, could Preserve from Death's hand, this their heavenly mould, Where they were framed all, and where they dwelt, I then knew you must dye too, and did melt Into these tears: but thinking on that day, And when the gods resolv'd to take away A Saint from us, I that did know what dearth There was of such good souls upon the earth, Began to fear lest Death, their Officer, Might have mistook, and taken thee for her; So had'st thou rob'd us of that happiness Which she in heaven, and I in thee possess. But what can heaven to her glory adde? The prayses she hath dead, living she had. To say she's now an Angell, is no more Praise than she had, for shee was one before;

Which of the Saints can shew more votaries Than shee had here? even those that did despise The Angels, and may her now she is one, Did, whilst she liv'd, with pure devotion Adore, and worship her; her vertues had All honour here, for this world was too bad To hate, or envy her; these cannot rise So high, as to repine at Deities: But now she's 'mongst her fellow Saints, they may Be good enough to envy her, this way There's loss i'th' change 'twixt heav'n and earth, if she Should leave her servants here below, to be Hated of her competitors above; But sure her matchlesse goodness needs must move Those blest soules to admire her excellence; By this meanes only can her journey hence To heaven prove gain, if as she was but here, Worship'd by men, she be by Angels there. But I must weep no more over this urn My teares to their own chanell must return; And having ended these sad obsequies, My Muse must back to her old exercise, To tell the story of my martyrdome. But oh thou Idoll of my soul, become Once pitiful, that she may change her stile, Dry up her blubbred eyes, and learn to smile.

Rest then blest soul; for as ghosts fly away, When the shrill Cock proclames the infant-day; So must I hence, for loe I see from farre, The minions of the Muses coming are, Each of them bringing to thy sacred Herse, In either eye a tear, each hand a Verse.

To my Mistris in absence.

THough I must live here, and by force Of your command suffer divorce; Though I am parted, yet my mind, (That's more my self) still stayes behind; I breath in you, you keep my heart; 'Twas but a carkasse that did part. Then though our bodies are dis-joynd, As things that are to place confin'd; Yet let our boundless spirits meet, And in loves sphere each other greet; There let us work a mystique wreath, Vnknown unto the world beneath; There let our claspt loves sweetly twine; There let our secret thoughts unseen, Like nets be weav'd, and inter-twin'd, Wherewith wee catch each others mind:

There whilst our souls doe sit and kiss, Tasting a sweet, and subtle bliss, (Such as gross lovers cannot know, Whose hands, and lips, meet here below;) Let us look down, and mark what pain Our absent bodies here sustain, And smile to see how far away The one doth from the other stray; Yet burn, and languish with desire To joyn, and quench their mutuall fire There let us joy to see from farre, Our emulous flames at loving warre, Whilst both with equall luster shine, Mine bright as yours, yours bright as mine. There seated in those heavenly bowers, Wee'l cheat the lag, and lingring houres, Making our bitter absence sweet, Till souls, and bodies both, may meet,

To her in absence. A SHIP.

TOst in a troubled sea of griefs, I float Far from the shore, in a storm-beaten boat, Where my sad thoughts doe (like the compass) show The severall points from which cross winds do blow.

My heart doth like the needle toucht with love, Still fixt on you, point which way I would move. You are the bright Pole-star, which in the dark Of this long absence, guides my wandring bark. Love is the Pilot, but o'r-come with fear Of your displeasure, dares not home-wards stear; My fearfull hope hangs on my trembling sayl; Nothing is wanting but a gentle gale, Which pleasant breath must blow from your sweet lip. Bid it but move, and quick as thought, this Ship Into your armes, which are my port, will flye, Where it for ever shall at Anchor lye.

SONG. Eternity of Love protested.

HOw ill doth be deserve a Lovers name, Whose pale weak flame Cannot retain His heat in spight of absence or disdain; But doth at once, like paper set on fire, Burn and expire; True love can never change his seat, Nor did he ever love, that could retreat.

That noble Flame, which my brest keeps alive Shall still survive, When my soule's fled; Nor shall my love dye, when my hodye's dead, That shall wait on me to the lower shade, And never fade My very ashes in their urn, Shall, like a hallowed Lamp, for ever burn.

Vpon some alterations in my Mistresse, after my departure into France.

OH gentle Love, doe not forsake the guide Of my frail Bark, on which the swelling tide Of ruthlesse pride Doth beat, and threaten wrack from every side. Gulfes of disdain doe gape to overwhelm This boat, nigh sunk with grief, whilst at the helm Dispair commands; And round about, the shifting sands Of faithless love, and false inconstancy, With rocks of cruelty, Stop up my passage to the neighbour Lands.

My sighs have rais'd those winds, whose fury bears My sayls o'r-boord, and in their place spreads tears, And from my tears This sea is sprung, where nought but Death appears; A mystie cloud of anger hides the light Of my fair star, and every where black night Vsurpes the place Of those bright rayes, which once did grace My forth bound Ship, but when it could no more Behold the vanisht shore, In the deep flood she drown'd her beamy face.

Good counsell to a young Maid.

WHen you the Sun-burnt Pilgrim see, Fainting with thirst, haste to the springs; Mark how at first with bended knee He courts the crystall Nymphs, and fling, His body to the earth, where He Prostrate, adores the flowing Deitie.

But when this sweaty face is drencht In her cool waves, when from her sweet Bosome his burning thirst is quencht; Then mark how with disdainfull feet He kicks her banks, and from the place That thus refresht him, moves with sullen pace.

So shalt thou be despis'd, fair Maid, When by the sated lover tasted; What first he did with tears invade, Shall afterwards with scorn be wasted; When all thy Virgin- springs grow dry, When no streams shall be left, but in thine eye.

Celia bleeding, to the Surgeon

FOnd man, that canst beleeve her blood Will from those purple chanels flow; Or that the pure untainted flood, Can any foul distemper know; Or that thy weak steel can incize The Crystall case, wherein it lyes.

Know; her quick blood, proud of his seat, Runs dancing through her azure veins; Whose harmony no cold, nor heat Disturbs, whose hue no tincture stains; And the hard rock wherein it dwels, The keenest darts of Love repels.

But thou reply'st, behold she bleeds; Fool, thou'rt deceiv'd, and dost not know The mystique knot whence this proceeds, How Lovers in each other grow;

Thou struckst her arme, but 'twas my heart Shed all the blood, felt all the smart.

To T. H. a Lady resembling my Mistresse.

FAire copie of my Celia's face, Twin of my soul, thy perfect grace Clayms in my love an equall place.

Disdain not a divided heart, Though all be hers, you shall have part; Love is not ty'd to rules of art.

For as my soul first to her flew, Yet stay'd with me; so now 'tis true It dwels with her, though fled to you.

Then entertain this wandring guest, And if not love, allow it rest; It left not, but mistook the nest.

Nor think my love, or your fair eyes Cheaper, 'cause from the sympathize You hold with her, these flames arise.

To Lead, or Brass, or some such bad Metall, a Princes stamp may adde That valew, which it never had.

But to the pure refined Ore, The stamp of Kings imparts no more Worth, than the metall held before.

Only the Image gives the rate To Subjects, in a forrain State Tis priz'd as much for its owne weight.

So though all other hearts resigne To your pure worth, yet you have mine Only because you are her coyn.

To Saxham

THough frost, and snow, lock'd from mine eyes That beauty which without dore lyes, The gardens, orchards, walks, that so I might not all thy pleasures know; Yet (Saxham) thou within thy gate, Art of thy self so delicate, So full of native sweets, that bless Thy roof with inward happiness;

As neither from, nor to thy store, Winter takes ought, or Spring adds more. The cold and frozen ayr had sterv'd Much poore, if not by thee preferv'd; Whose prayers have made thy Table blest With plenty, far above the rest. The season hardly did afford Corse cates unto thy neighbours board, Yet thou hadst dainties, as the sky Had only been thy Vokirie; Or else the birds, fearing the snow Might to another deluge grow, The Pheasant, Partridge, and the Lark, Flew to thy house, as to the Ark. The willing Oxe, of himself came Home to the slaughter, with the Lamb, And every beast did thither bring Himself, to be an offering. The scalie herd, more pleasure took Bath'd in thy dish, than in the brook. Water, Earth, Ayre, did all conspire, To pay their tributes to thy fire, Whose cherishing flames themselves divide Through every room, where they deride The night, and cold abroad; whilst they Like Suns within, keep endlesse day.

Those chearfull beams send forth their light, To all that wander in the night, And seem to be cken from aloof, The weary Pilgrim to thy roof; Where it refresh't, he will away, He's fairly welcome, or if stay Far more, which he shall hearty find, Both from the master, and the Hind. The stranger's welcome, each man there Stamp'd on his chearfull brow, doth wear; Nor doth this welcome, or his cheer Grow lesse, cause he stayes longer here There's none observes (much less repines) How often this man sups or dines. Thou hast no Porter at the door T'examin, or keep back the poor; Nor locks, nor bolts; thy gates have been Made only to let strangers in; Untaught to shut, they doe not fear To stand wide open all the year; Careless who enters, for they know, Thou never didst deserve a foe; And as for theeves, thy bounti's such, They cannot steal, thou giv'st so much.

Vpon a Ribband.

THis silken wreath, which circles in mine arm, Is but an Emblem of that mistique charm, Wherewith the magique of your beauties binds My captive soul, and round about it winds Fetters of lasting love; This hath intwin'd My flesh alone, that hath empal'd my mind: Time may wear out These soft weak bands; but Those Strong cheins of brass, Fate shall not discompose. This only relique may preserve my wrist, But my whole frame doth by That power subsist: To That my prayers and sacrifice, to This I only pay a superstitious kiss: This but the I doll, That's the Deitie; Religion There is due, Here ceremonie. That I receive by faith, This but in trust; Here I may tender dutie, There I must: This order as a Lay-man I may bear, But I become Loves Priest when That I wear. This moves like ayr,; That as the Center stands; That knot your vertue tyde, This but your hands; That Nature fram'd, but This was made by Art; This makes my arm your prisoner, That my heart.

To the King at his entrance into Sax∣ham, by Master Io: Crofts.

SIR Ere you passe this threshold, stay, And give your Creature leave to pay Those pious rites, which unto you, As to our houshold Gods, are due. In stead of sacrifice, each brest Is like a flaming Altar drest With zealous fires, which from pure hearts Love mixt with Loyalty imparts. Incense, nor gold have we, yet bring As rich, and sweet an offering; And such as doth both these expresse, Which is our humble thankfulness; By which is paid the All we owe To gods above, or men below. The slaughter'd beast, whose flesh should feed The hungry flames, we, for pure need, Dress for your supper, and the gore Which should be dasht on every dore, We change into the lusty blood Of youthfull Vines, of which a flood Shall sprightly run through all your veines, First to your health, then your fair traines.

We shall want nothing but good fare, To shew your welcome, and our care; Such rarities that come from farre, From poore mens houses banisht are; Yet wee'l express in homely chear, How glad we are to see you here. Wee'l have what e'r the season yeelds, Out of the neighbouring woods, and fields; For all the dainties of your board, Will only be what those afford; And having supt, we may perchance Present you with a countrey dance. Thus much your servants, that bear sway Here in your absence, bade me say, And beg besides, you'ld hither bring Only the Mercy of a King, And not the Greatnesse; since they have A thousand faults must pardon crave; But nothing that is fit to wait Vpon the glory of your state. Yet your gracious favour will, They hope, as heretofore, shine still 'On their endeavours, for they swore Should love defcend, they could no more.

Vpon the sickness of (E. S.)

MUst she then languish, and we sorrow thus And no kind God help her, nor pitty us? Is justice fled from heaven? can that permit A foule deformed ravisher to sit Upon her Virgin cheek, and pull from thence The Rose-buds in their maiden excellence? To spread cold paleness on her lips, and chase The frighted Rubies from their native place? To lick up with his searching flames, a flood Of dissolv'd Corall, flowing in her blood; And with the damps of his infectious breath, Print on her-brow moist characters of death? Must the clear light, gainst course of nature cease In her fair eyes, and yet the flames encrease? Must feavers shake this goodly tree, and all That ripened fruit from the fair branches fall, Which Prince's have desir'd to taste? must shee Who hath preserv'd her spotlest chastity From all solicitation, now at last By Agues, and diseases be embrac'd? Forbid it holy Dian; else who shall Pay vowes, or let one grain of Incense fall

On thy neglected Altars, if thou bless No better this thy zealous Votaress? Haste then, O maiden Goddess, to her ayd, Let on thy quiver her pale cheek be laid; And rock her fainting body in thine arms; Then let the God of Musick, with still charms Her restlesse eyes in peacefull slumbers close, And with soft strains sweeten her calm repose. Cupid descend; and whilst Apollo sings, Fanning the cool ayr with thy panting wings Ever supply her with refreshing wind; Let thy fair mother, with her tresses bind Her labouring temples, with whose balmy sweat, She shall prefume her hairie Coronet, Whose precious drops, shall upon every fold Hang, like rich Pearls about a wreath of gold; Her looser locks, as they unbraded lye, Shall spread themselves into a Canopie, Under whose shadow let her rest secure From chilling cold, or burning Calenture; Vnlesse she freeze withyce of chaste desires, Only holy Hymen kindle nuptiall fires. And when at last Death comes to pierce her heart, Convey into his hand thy golden dart.

A New-yeares sacrifice. To Lucinda.

THose that can give, open their hands this day, Those that cannot, yet hold them up to pray; That health may crown the seasons of this year, And mirth dance round the circle, that no tear (Vnless of Ioy) may with its briny dew, Discolour on your cheek the rosie hue; That no accesse of years presume to abate, Your beauties ever-flourishing estate: Such cheap and vulgar wishes, I could lay, As triviall offrings at your feet this day; But that it were Apostasie in me, To send a prayer to any Deitie But your divine self, who have power to give Those blessings unto others, such as live Like me, by the sole influence of your eyes, Whose fair aspects govern our destinies. Such Incense, vowes, and holy rites, as were To the involved Serpent of the yeare, Paid by Egyptian Priests, lay I before Lucinda'S sacred shrine, whilst I adore Her beauteous eyes, and her pure Altars dress; With gums and spice of humble Thankfulness;

So may my Goddess from her heaven inspire My frozen bosome with a Delphique fire, And then the world shall by that glorious flame, Behold the blaze of thy immortall name.

SONG. To one, who when I prais'd my Mistris beauty, said I was blind.

VVOnder not though I am blind, For you must be Dark in your eyes, or in your mind, If when you see Her face, you prove not blind like me; If the powerfull beams that fly From her eye And those amorous sweets that lye Scatter'd in each neighbouring part, Find a passage to your heart, Then you'l confess your mortall sight Too weak for such a glorious light: For if her graces you discover, You grow like me a dazel'd Lover; But if those beauties you not spy, Then are you blinder farre than I.

SONG. To my Mistris, I burning in love.

I Burn, and cruell you, in vain Hope to quench me with disdain; If from your eyes, those sparkles came, That have kindled all this flame, What boots it me, though now you shrowd Those fierce Comets in a cloud? Since all the flames that I have felt, Could your snow yet never melt, Nor, can your snow (though you should take Alps into your bosome) slake The heat of my enamour'd heart; But with wonder learn Loves art No seas of yce can cool desire, Equall flames must quench Loves fire; Then think not that my heat can dye Till you burn as wel as I.

SONG. To her again, she burning in a Feaver.

NOw she burns as well as I, Yet my heat can never dye;

She burns that never knew desire, She that was yce, she that was fire. She whose cold heart, chaste thoughts did arm So, as Loves flames could never warm The frozen bosome where it dwelt, She burns, and all her beauties mild: She burnes, and cryes, Loves fires are melt, Feavers are Gods, He's a child. Love; let her know the difference Twixt the heat of soul and sense, Touch her with thy flames divine, So shalt thou quench her fire, and mine.

Vpon the Kings sicknesse.

SIcknesse, the minister of death, doth lay So strong a siege against our brittle clay, As whilst it doth our weak forts singly win, It hopes at length to take all man-kind in. First, it begins upon the womb to wait, And doth the unborn child there uncreate; Then rocks the cradle where the infant lyes, Where ere it fully be alive, it dyes. It never leaves fond youth, untill it have Found, or an early, or a later grave.

By thousand subtle sleights from heedless man It cuts the short allowance of a span; And where both sober life, and art combine To keep it out, Age makes them both resigne. Thus by degrees it only gain'd of late, The weak, the aged, or intemperate; But now the Tyrant hath found out a way By which the sober, strong, and young, decay, Entring his royall limbs that is our head, Through us his mystique limbs the pain is spread. That man that doth not feel his part, hath none In any part of his dominion, If he hold land, that earth is forfeited, And he unfit on any ground to tread. This grief is felt at Court, where it doth move Through every joynt, like the true soul of love. All those fair stars that do attend on Him, Whence they deriv'd their light, wax pale and dim. That ruddy morning beam of Majestie, Which should the Sun's ecclipsed light supply, Is over-cast with mysts, and in the lieu Of cheerfull rayes sends us down drops of dew. That curious form made of an earth refin'd, At whose blest birth, the gentle Planets shin'd With fair aspects, and sent a glorious flame To animate so beautifull a frame;

That Darling of the Gods and men, doth wear A cloud on's brow, and in his eye a tear: And all the rest (save when his dread command Doth bid them move) like liveless statues stand. So full a grief, so generally worn, Shewes a good King is sick, and good men mourn.

SONG. To a Lady not yet enjoy'd by her Husband.

COme Celia, fix thine eyes on mine, And through those Crystals our souls flitting, Shall a pure wreath of eye-beams twine, Our loving hearts together knitting. Let Eaglets the bright Sun survey, Though the blind Mole discern not day.

When cleer Aurora leaves her mate, The light of her gray eyes despising, Yet all the world doth celebrate, with sacrifice, her fair up-rising. Let Eaglets, &c.

A Dragon kept the golden fruit, Yet he those dainties never tasted, As others pin'd in the pursute So he himself with plenty wasted. Let Eaglets, &c.

SONG. The willing Prisoner to his Mistris.

LEt fools great Cupids yoak disdain, Loving their own wild freedome better; Whilst proud of my triumphant chain I sit, and court my beauteous fetter.

Her murdring glances, snaring hairs, And her bewitching smiles, so please me, As he brings ruin, that repairs The sweet afflictions that disease me.

Hide not those panting bals of snow with envious veyls from my beholding; Vnlock those lips, their pearly row In a sweet smile of love unfolding.

And let those eyes, whose motion wheels The restlesse Fate of every Lover,

Survey the pains my sick heart feels, And wounds themselves have made, discover.

A Fly that flew into my Mistris her eye.

VVHen this Fly liv'd, she us'd to play In the Sun-shine all the day; Till comming neer my Celia's fight, She found a new, and unknown light, So full of glory, as it made The noon-day Sun a gloomy shade; Then this amorous Fly became My rivall, and did court my flame. She did from hand to bosome skip, And from her breath, her cheek and lip, Suck'd all the incense, and the spice, And grew a bird of Paradise: At last into her eye she flew, There scorch'd in flames, and drown'd in dew, Like Phaeton from the Sun's sphere She fell, and with her dropt a tear, Of which a pearl was straight compos'd, Wherein her ashes lye enclos'd. Thus she receiv'd from Celia's eye, Funereall flame, tombe Obsequie.

SONG. Celia singing

HEark how my Celia, with the choyce Musick of her hand and voyce Stils the loud wind; and makes the wild Insenced Bore, and Panther mild: Mark how those statues like men move, Whilst men with wonder statues prove! This stiff rock bends to worship her, That Idoll turns Idolater.

Now see how all the new inspir'd Images, with love are fir'd; Heark how the tender Marble grones, And all the late-transformed stones, Court the fayr Nymph with many a tear, Which she (more stony than they were) Beholds with unrelenting mind; Whilst they amaz'd to see combin'd Such matchlesse beauty with disdain, Are all turn'd into stones again.

SONG. Celia singing.

YOu that think Love can convey, No other way, But through the eyes, into the heart, His fatall Dart, Close up those casements, and but hear This Syrensing, And on the wing Of her sweet voyce, it shall appear That Love can enter at the eare: Then unveil your eyes, behold The curious mould where that voyce dwels, and as we know, when the Cocks crow, Wee freely may Gaze on the day: So may you, when the Mufick's done, Awake and see the rising sun.

SONG. To one that desired to know my Mistris.

SEck not to know my love, for she Hath vow'd her constant faith to me; Her mild aspects are mine, and thou Shalt only find a stormy brow: For if her beauty stirre desire In me, her kisses quench the fire; Or, I can to Love's fountain goe, Or dwell upon her hils of snow; But 'when thou burn'st, she shall not spare One gentle breath to coole the ayr; Thou shalt not climbe those Alps, nor spy Where the sweet springs of Venus lye. Search hidden nature, and there find A treasure to inrich thy mind; Discover Arts not yet revel'd, But let my Mistris live conceal'd Though men by knowledge wiser grow, Yet here'tis wisedome not to know.

In the person of a Lady to her inconstant servant.

WHen on the Altar of my hand, (Bedew'd with many a kiss, and tear,) Thy now revolted heart did stand An humble Martyr, thou didst swear Thus, (and the God of love did hear,) By those bright glances of thine eye, Vnlesse thou pitty me, I dye.

When first those perjur'd lips of thine, Bepal'd with blasting sighes, did seal Their violated faith on mine, From the soft bosome that did heal Thee, thou my melting heart didst steal; My soul enflam'd with thy false breath, Poyson'd with kisses, suck'd in death.

Yet I nor hand, nor lip will move, Revenge, or mercy, to procure From the offended God of love; My curse is fatall, and my pure Love shall beyond thy scorn endure: If I implore the Gods, they'l find Thee too ingratefull, me too kind.

Truce in Love entreated.

NO more, blind God, for see my heart Is made thy Quiver, where remains No voyd place for another Dart; And alas that conquest gains Small prayse, that only brings away A tame and unresisting prey.

Behold a nobler foe, all arm'd, Defies thy weak Artillery, That hath thy Bow and Quiver charm'd, A rebell beauty, conquering Thee: If thou dar'st equall combat try, Wound her, for tis for her I dye.

To my Rivall.

HEnce vain Intruder, haste away, Wash not with thy vnhallowed brine The foor-steps of my Celia's shrine; Nor on her purer Altars lay Thy empty words, accents that may Some looser Dame to love encline; She must have offrings more divine; Such pearly drops, as youthfull May Scatters before the rising day;

Such smooth soft language, as each line Might stroak an angry God, or stay Iove's thunder, make the hearers pine With envy; doe this, thou shalt be Servant to her, Rivall with me.

Boldnesse in love.

MArk how the bashfull Morn in vain Courts the amorous Marigold, With sighing blasts, and weeping rain; Yet she refuses to unfold: But when the Planet of the day, Approacheth with his powerfull ray, Then she spreads, then she receives His warmer beams into her virgin leaves.

So shalt thou thrive in love, fond Boy; If thy tears and sighes discover Thy griefe, thou never shalt enjoy The just reward of a bold Lover: But when with moving accents thou Shalt constant faith, and service vow, Thy Celia shall receive those charms With open eares, and with unfolded arms.

A Pastorall Dialogue. Celia. Cleon.

AS Celia rested in the shade With Cleon by her side, The Swain thus courted the young Maid, And thus the Nymph repli'd

CL.

Sweet! let thy Captive fetrers wear Made of thine arms, and hands; Till such as thraldom scorn, of fear, Envie those happy bands.

CE.

Then thus my willing arms I wind About thee, and am so Thy pris'ner; for my self I bind, Vntill I let thee go.

CL.

Happy that slave, whom the fair foe Tyes in so soft a chain,

CE.

Farre happier I, but that I know Thou wilt break loose again,

CL.

By thy immortall beauties never,

CE.

Frail as thy love's thine oath.

CL.

Though beauty fade, my faith lasts ever.

CE.

Time will destroy them both.

CL.

I dote not on thy snow-white skin.

CE.

What then?

CL.

Thy purer mind.

CE.

It lov'd too soon.

CL.

Thou hadst not been So fair, if not so kind.

CE.

Oh strange vaine fancy!

CL.

But yet true.

CE.

Prove it,

CL.

Then make brade Of those loose flames that circle you, My sun, and yet your shade.

CE.

'Tis done.

CL.

Now give it me.

CE.

Thus thou Shalt thine own errour find, If these were beauties, I am now Lesse fair, because more kind.

CL.

You shall confess you erre; that hair Shal it not change the hue, Or leave the golden mountain bare?

CE.

Ay me! it is too true

CL.

But this small wreath, shall ever stay In its first native prime, And smiling when the rest decay, The triumphs sing of time.

CE

Then let me cut from thy fair grove, One branch, and let that be An emblem of eternall love; For such is mine to thee.

CL

Thus are we both redeem'd from time, I by thy grace.

CE.

And I Shall live in thy immortall rime, Vntill the Muses dye.

CL

By heaven!

CE.

Swear not; if I must weep, Iove shall not smile at me. This kiss, my heart, and thy faith keep.

CL.

This breathes my soul to thee.

Then forth the thicket Thirsis rush'd, Where he saw all their play: The swain stood still, and smil'd, and blush'd, The Nymph fled fast away.

Griefe ingrost.

WHerfore doe thy sad numbers flow So full of woe? Why dost thou melt in such soft strains, Whilst she disdains

If She must still deny, Weep not, but dye, And in thy Funerall fire, Shall all her fame expire: Thus both shall perish, and as thou on thy Heause Shalt want her tears, so she shall want thy Verse. Repine not then at thy blest state, Thou art above thy fate; But my fair Celia will not give Love enough to make me live; Nor yet dart from her eye Scorn enough to make me dye. Then let me weep alone, till her kind breath, Or blow my tears away, or speak my death,

A Pastorall Dialogue. Shepherd, Nymph, Chorus.

SHep.

This mossie bank they prest.

Ny.

That aged oak Did canopie the happy payr All night from the damp ayre.

Cho.

Here let us sit and sing the words they spoke, Till the day breaking their embraces broke.

Shep

See love, the blushes of the morn appear And now she hangs her pearly store (Rob'd from the Eastern shore) I'th' Couslips bell, and Roses rare: Sweet, I must stay no longer here.

Nymph.

Those streaks of doubtfull light usher not day, But shew my sun must set; no Morn Shall shine till thou return; The yellow Planets, and the gray Dawn, shall attend thee on thy way

Shep

If thine eyes gild my paths, they may for bear Their useless shine.

Nymph.

My tears will quite Extinguish their faint light.

She.

Those drops will make their beams more clear, Love's flames will shine in every tear.

Cho

They kist, and wept, and from their lips, and eyes, In a mixt dew of briny sweet, Their joys, and sorrows meet; But she cryes out.

Nymph.

Shepherd arise, The Sun betrays us else to spies.

Shep.

The winged houres fly fast, whilst we embrace, But when we want their help to meet, They move with leaden feet.

Nym.

Then let us pinion Time, and chase The day for ever from this place.

Shep

Harke:

Ny.

Aye me stay!

She.

For ever.

Ny.

No, arise, We must be gone.

Shep.

My nest of spice.

Nym

my soul.

Shep

My Paradise.

cho.

Neither could say fare-well, but through their eyes Griefe interrupted speech with tears supplies.

Red and white Roses

REad in these Roses, the sad story Of my hard fate, and your own glory: In the White you may discover The paleness of a fainting Lover; In the Red, the flames still feeding On my heart with fresh wounds bleeding. The White will tell you how I languish, And the Red express my anguish. The White my innocence displaying, The Red my marty'rdome betraying. The frowns that on your brow resided, Have those Roses thus divided. Oh let your smiles but clear the weather, And then they both shall grow together.

To my Cousin (C. R.) marry∣ing my Lady (A.)

HAppy Youth, that shalt possess Such a spring-tyde of delight, As the sated Appetite Shall enjoying such excess With the flood of pleasure less. When the Hymeneall Rite Is perform'd, invoke the night, That it may in shadowes dress Thy too reall happiness; Else (as Semele) the bright, Deitie in her full hight May thy feeble soul oppress. Strong perfumes, and glaring light, Oft destroy both smell, and sight.

A Lover upon an Accident necessi∣tating his departure, Con∣sults with reason.

LOVER.

WEep not, nor backward turn your beams Fond eyes; sad sighes lock in your breath;

Lest on this wind, or in those streams, My griev'd soul fly, or sayl to death. Fortune destroyes me if I stay, Love kils me if I goe away: Since Love, and Fortune, both are blind, Come Reason, and resolve my doubtfull mind.

REASON.

Fly, and blind Fortune be thy guide, And 'gainst the blinder God rebell, Thy love-sick heart shall not reside Where scorn, and selfe-will'd error dwell; Where entrance unto Truth is bar'rd; Where Love and Faith find no reward; For, my just hand may sometime move The wheel of Fortune, not the sphere of Love.

Parting, Celia weeps.

WEep not (my dear) for I shall goe Loaden enough with mine own woe; Add not thy heaviness to mine: Since Fate our pleasures must dis-joyn, Why should our sorrowes meet? if I Must goe, and lose thy company,

I wish not theirs; it shall relieve My grief, to think thou dost not grieve. Yet grieve, and weep, that I may bear Every sigh, and every tear, Away with me, so shall thy brest And eyes discharg'd, enjoy their rest. And it will glad my heart to see, Thou wert thus loath to part with me.

A Rapture.

I Will enjoy thee nosy my Celia, come And fly with me to Love's Elizium: The Gyant, Honour, that keeps cowards out, Is but a Masquer, and the servile rout Of baser subjects only bend in vain To the vast Idoll, whilst the nobler train Of valiant Lovers daily sayl between The huge Colosses legs, and pass unseen Vnto the blissfull shore; be bold, and wise, And we shall enter, the grim Swisse denies Only to tame sools a passage, that not know He is but form, and only frights in show The duller eyes that lookt from far; draw neere, And thou shalt scorn, what we were wont to fear; We shall see how the stalking Pageant goes With borrowed legs, a heavy load to those

That made, and bear him; not as we once thought The seed of Gods, but a weak modell wrought By greedy men, that seek t' enclose the common, And within private arms empale free woman. Come then, and mounted on the wings of love Wee'l cut the flitting ayr, and sore above The Monsters head, and in the noblest seats Of those blest shades quench and renew our heats. There, shall the Queen of Love, and Innocence, Beauty and Nature, banish all offence From our close Ivy Ewines; there I'l behold Thy bared snow, and thy unbraded gold; There, my enfranchis'd hand on every side, Shall o'r thy naked polish'd Ivory slide. No curtain there, though of transparent Iawn, Shall be before thy virgin treasure drawn; But the rich Mine, to the enquiring eye Expos'd, shall ready still for mintage Iye, And wee will coyn young Cupids. There, a bed Of Roses, and fresh Myrtles, shall be spread Vnder the cooler shade of Cypress groves; Our pillowes, of the down of Venus Doves, Whereon our panting limbs wee'l gently lay In the faint respites of our active play; That so our slumbers may in dreams have leisure To tell the nimble fancie our past pleasure;

And so our souls that cannot be embrac'd, Shall the embraces of our bodyes taste. Mean while the bubling stream shall court the shore, Th'enamour'd chirping Wood quire shall adore In varied tunes the Deitie of Love; The gentle blasts of Western winds shall move The trembling leaves, and through their close bows Still Mufick, whilst we rest our selves beneath (breath Their dancing shade, till a soft murmur, sent From souls entranc'd in amorous languishment, Rowze us, and shoot into our veins fresh fire, Till wee, in their sweet extasie expire. Then, as the empty Bee, that lately bore, Into the common treasure, all her store, Flyes 'bout the painted field with nimble wing, Deflowring the fresh virgins of the Spring; So will I rifle all the sweets that dwell In my delicious Paradise, and swell My bagge with honey, drawn forth by the power Of fervent kisses, from each spicie flower. I'l seize the Rose-buds in their perfum'd bed, The Violet knots, like curious Mazes spread O'r all the Garden, taste the ripened Cherry, The warm, firm Apple, tipt with corall berry; Then will I visit, with a wandring kisse, The vale of Lillies, and the Bower of blisse;

And where the beautious Region doth divide Into two milky wayes, my lips shall slide Down those smooth Allies, wearing as I goe A tract for Lovers on the printed snow; Thence climbing o'r the swelling Appenine, Retire into thy grove of Eglantine; Where I will all those ravisht sweets distill Though Loves Alimbique, and with Chimique skil From the mixtmass one soveraign Balm derive, Then bring that great Elixar to thy hive. Now in more subtile wreaths I will entwine, My snowie thighes, my legs and armes with thine. Thou like a sea of milk shalt lye display'd, Whilst I the smooth, calm Ocean, invade With such a tempest, as when Iove of old Fell down on Danae in a storm of gold: Yet my tall Pine, shall in the Cyprian straight Ride safe at Anchor, and unlade her fraight; My Rudder, with thy bold hand, like a try'd, And skilfull Pilot, thou shalt steer and guide My Bark into Loves chanell, where it shall Dance, as the bounding waves doe rise or fall; Then shall thy circling arms, embrace and clip My willing body, and thy halmie lip Bathe me in iuyce of kisses, whose perfume Like a religious incense shall consume,

And send up holy vapours, to those powres That blesse our loves, and crown our sportfull houres, That with such Halcion caelmeness fix our soules In steadfast peace, as no astright controules. There, no rude sounds shake us with sudden starts, No jealous eares, when we unrip our hearts, Suck our discourse in; no observing spies This blush, that glance traduce; no envious eyes Watch our close meetings, nor are we betrayd To Rivals, by the bribed chamber-maid. No wedlock bonds unwreath our twisted loves; Wee suck no midnight Arbour, no dark groves To hide our kisses: there, the hated name Of husband, wife, lust, modest, chaste, or shame, Are vain and empty words, whose very sound Was never heard in the Blizian ground. All things are lawfull shore, that may delight Nature, or unrestrained Appetite: Like, and enjoy, to will, and act, is one, Wee only sin when Loves rites are not done. The Roman Lucrece there, reads the divine Lectures of Loves great master, Aretine, And knowes as well as Lais, how to move Her plyant body in the act of love. To quench the burning Ravisher, she hurles Her limbs into a thousand winding curles;

And studies art-full postures, such as be Carv'd on the Barke of every neighbouring tree By learned hands, that so adorn'd the rinde Of those faire Plants, which as they lay enwinde, Have fann'd their glowing fires. The Grecian Dame, That in her endless webb toyl'd for a name As fruitless as her work, doth there display Her self before the Youth of Ithaca, And th'amorous sport of gamesome nights prefer, Before dull dreams of the lost Traveller. Daphne hath broke her bark, and that swist foot Which th'angry Gods had fastned with a root To the fixt earth, doth now unfetrer'd run, To meet th'embraces of the youthfull Sun: She hangs upon him, like his Delphique Lyre, Her kisses blow the old, and breath new fire; Full of her God, she sings inspired Layes, Sweet Odes of love, such as deserve the Bayes, Which she her selfe was. Next her, Laura lyes In Petrarch's learned arms, drying those eyes That did in such sweet smooth-pac'd numbers flow, As made the world enamour'd of his woe. These, and ten thousand Beauties more, that dy'd Slave to the Tyrant, now enlarg'd, deride His cancell'd lawes, and for their time mispent, Pay into Loves Exchequer double rent.

Come then my Celia, wee'l no more forbear To taste our joyes, struck with a Pannique fear, But will depose from his imperious sway This proud Vsurper, and walke free, as they With necks unyoak'd; nor is it just that He Should fetter your soft sex with Chastity, Which Nature made unapt for abstinence; When yet this false Impostor can dispence With humane lustice, and with sacred right, And maugre both their lawes command me fight With Rivals, or with emulous Loves, that dare Equall with thine, their Mistress eyes, or hair: If thou complain of wrong, and call my sword To carve out thy revenge, upon that word He bids me fight and kill, or else he brands With marks of infamy my coward hands, And yet Religion bids from blood-shed fly, And damns me for that act. Then tell me why This Goblin Honour which the world adores, Should make men Atheists, and not women Whores?

Epitaph on the Lady Mary Villers.

The Lady Mary Villers lyes Vnder this stone; with weeping eyes

The Parents that first gave her breath, And their sad friends, lay'd her in earth: If any of them (Reader) were Known unto thee, shed a tear: Or if thy self possess a gem, As dear to thee, as this to them, Though a stranger to this place, Bewayl in theirs, thine own hard case; For thou perhaps at thy return Mayest find thy Darling in a Vrn.

An other.

THe purest Soul that e'r was sent Into a clayie tenement Inform'd this dust, but the weak mold Could the great guest no longer hold, The substance was too pure, the flame Too glorious that thither came; Ten thousand Cupids brought along A Grace on each wing that did throng For place there, till they all opprest The seat in which they sought to rest, So the fair Modell broke for want Of room to lodge th'Inhabitant.

An Other

THis little Vault, this narrow room, Of Love and Beauty is the tombe; The dawning beam that gan to clear Our clouded sky, lyes darkened here, For ever set to us, by death Sent to enflame the world beneath. 'Twas but a bud, yet did contain More sweetness than shall spring again, A budding star that might have grown Into a Sun, when it had blown. This hopefull beauty did create New life in Love's declining state; But now his Empire ends, and we From fire, and wounding darts are free; His brand, his bow, let no man fear, The flames, the arrowes all lye here.

Epitaph on the Lady S. Wife to Sir W.S.

THe harmonie of colours, features, grace, Resulting Ayres (the magique of a face) Of musicall sweet tunes, all which combin'd To crown one Soveraign beauty, lies confin'd To this dark Vault. She was a Cabinet Where all the choysest stones of price were set; Whose native colours, and purest lustre, lent Her eye, cheek, lip, a dazling ornament; Whose rare and hidden vertues did express Her inward beauties, and minds fairer dress; The constant Diamond, the wise Chrysolite, The devout Saphyre, Emrauld apt to write Records of memory, cheerfull Agat, grave And serious Onyx, Topaz that doth save The brains calm temper, witty Amathist; This precious Quarrie, or what else the lift On Aarons Ephod planted, had, she wore One only Pearl was wanting to her store; Which in her Saviours book she found exprest, To purchase that, she sold Death all the rest.

Maria Went worth, Thomae Comitis Cle∣veland, filia praemortua prima vir∣giniam animam exhaluit. An Dom. AEt.suae.

ANd here the precious dust is laid; Whose purely-tempered Clay was made So fine, that it the guest betray'd.

Else the soul grew so fast within, It broke the outward shell of sin, And so was hatch'd a Cherubin.

In height, it soar'd to God above; In depth, it did to knowledge move, And spread in breadth to general love.

Before, a pious duty shin'd To Parents, courtesie behind, On either side an equall mind.

Good to the Poor, to kindred dear, To servants kind, to friendship clear, To nothing but her self, severe.

•••• though a Virgin, yet a Bride ••o every Grace, the justifi'd •••• chaste Polygamie, and dy'd.

Learn from hence (Reader) what small trust We ow this world, where vertue must Frail as our flesh crumble to dust,

On the Duke of Buckingham

Beatissimis Manibus charissimi Viri Ill^ma Conjunx sic Parent a vit.

WHen in the brazen leaves of Fame, The life, the death, of Buckingham Shall be recorded, if Truth's hand ••••cize the story of our Land, Posterity shall see a fair Structure, by the studious care Of two Kings rays'd that no less Their wisdome, than their power express; By blinded zeale (whose doubtfull light Made murders scarlet robe seem white, Whose vain-deluding phantasmes charm'd A clouded sullen soul, and arm'd A desperate hand, thirsty of blood) Torn from the fair earth where it stood;

So the majestique fabrique fell. His Actions let our Annals tell: Wee write no Chronicle, this Pile Weares only sorrowes face and stile, Which, even the envy that did wait Vpon his flourishing estate, Turn'd to soft pity of his death, Now payes his Hearse; but that cheap breath Shall not blow here, nor th'unpure brine Puddle those streames that bathe this shrine. These are the pious Obsequies Drop'd from his chaste Wifes pregnant eyes In frequent showres, and were alone By her congealing sighes made stone, On which the Carver did bestow These formes and Characters of woe; So he the fashion only lent, Whilst she wept all this Monument.

Another

Siste Hospes, sive Indigena, sive Advena vicessitudinis rerum memor, pauca per lege.

REader, when these dumb stones have told In borrowed Speech what Guest they hold;

Thou shalts confess, the vain pursure Of humane Glory yeelds no fruit, But an untimely Grave. If Fare Could constant happiness create, Her Ministers, Fortune and Worth, Had here that miracle brought forth; They fix'd this child of Honour, where No room was left for Hope, or Fear, Of more, of lesse: so high, so great His growth was, yet so safe his seat. Safe in the circle of his Friends; Safe in his Loyall heart, and ends; Safe in his native valiant spirit; By favour safe, and safe by merit; Safe by the stamp of Nature, which Did strength, with shape and Grace enrich; Safe in the cheerfull Courtesies Of flowing gestures, speech, and eyes; Safe in his Bounties, which were more Proportion'd to his mind than store; Yet, though for vertue he becomes Involv'd Himself in borrowed summes, Safe in his care, he leaves betray'd No friend engag'd, not debt unpay'd. But though the starres conspire to shower Vpon one Head th'united power

Of all their Graces, if their dire Aspects, must other breasts inspire With vicious thoughts, a Murderers knife May cut (as here) their Darlings life. Who can be happy then, if Nature must To make one Happy man, make all men just.

Foure Songs by way of Chorus to a Play, at an entertainment of the King and Queene, by my Lord Chamberlaine.

The first of Iealousie. Dialogue.

Question.

FRom whence was first this fury hurld, This Jealousie into the world? Came she from Hell?

Ans.

No there doth raign Eternall Hatred with Disdain, But she the Daughter is of Love, Sister of Beauty.

Reply.

Then above She must derive from the third Sphere Her heavenly Off-spring.

Ans.

Neither there From those immortall flames could she Draw her cold frozen Pedigree.

Quest.

If nor from heaven nor hell, where then Had she her birth?

An.

I'th' hearts of men, Beauty, and Feare did her create, Younger than Love, Elder than Hate.

Sister to both, by Beauties side To Love, by Fear to Hate ally'd: Despayr her issue is, whose race Of fruitfull mischiefes drowns the space Of the wide earth, in a swoln flood Of wrath, revenge, spight, rage, and blood.

Quest.

Oh how can such a spurious line Proceed from Parents so divine?

Ans.

As streams, which from their Chrystall spring Doe sweet and clear their waters bring, Yet mingling with the brackish Main, Nor tast, nor colour they retain.

Qu.

Yet Rivers' twixt their own banks flaw Still fresh, can jealouse doe so,

An.

Yes, whilst she keeps the stedfast ground Of Hope, and Fear, her equall bound; Hope sprung from favour, worth, or chance, Tow'rds the fair object doth advance; Whilst Fear, as watchfull Scentinell, Doth the invading Foe repell; And Iealousie thus mixt, doth prove The season, and the salt of live: But when Fear takes a larger scope, Stifling the child of Reason, Hope Then sitting on th'usurped throne, Shee like a Tyrant rules alone,

As the wild Ocean unconfin'd, And raging as the Northren-wind.

2. Feminine Honour.

IN what esteem did the Gods hold Fair Innocence, and the chast bed, When scandall'd vertue might be bold, Bare foot, upon sharp Cultures spread O'r burning coles to march, yet feel Nor scorching fire, nor piercing steel?

Why, when the hard edg'd Iron did turn Soft as a bed of Roses blown, When cruell flames forgot to burn Their chast pure limbs, should man alone Gainst female Innocence conspire, Harder than steel, fiercer than fire?

Oh haplesse sex! Vnequall sway Of partiall Honour! who may know Rebels from subjects that obey, When malice can on Vestals throw Disgrace, and Fame fix high repute On the close shameless Prostitute?

Vain Honour! thou art but disguise, A cheating voyce, a jugling art, No judge of vertue, whose pure eyes Court her own Image in the heart, More pleas'd with her true figure there, Than her false Eccho in the ear.

3. Separation of Lovers.

STop the chafed Bore, or play With the Lyons paw, yet fear From the Lovers side to tear Th'Idoll of his soul away.

Though Love cries by the sight To the heart, it doth not fly From the mind, when from the eye The fair objects take their flight.

But since want provokes desire, When we lose what we before Have enjoy'd, as we want more, So is Love more set on fire.

Love doth with an hungry eye Glut on Beauty, and you may

Safer snatch the Tygers pray Than his vitall food deny.

Yet though absence for a space, Sharpen the keen Appetite, Long continuance doth quite All Loves characters efface.

For the sense not fed, denies Nourishment unto the mind, Which with expectation pin'd Love of a consumption dyers.

4 Incommunicability of Love.

QVest.

By what power was Love confin'd To one object? who can bind, Or fix a limit to the free-born mind?

An.

Nature; for as bodies may Move at once but in one way, So nor can minds to more than one love stray.

Reply.

Yet I feel double smart Loves twinn'd flame, his forked dart,

An.

Then hath wild Lust, not Love-possest thy heart.

Qu.

Whence springs love'

An.

From beauty.

Qu.

why Should th'effect not multiply As fast i'th'heart, as doth the cause i'th' eye?

An.

When two Beauties equall are, Sence preferring neither fayr, Desire stands still, distracted 'twixt the pair.

So in equall distance lay Two farr Lambs in the Wolfe's way, The hungry beast will sterve ere chuse his prey.

But where one is chief, the rest Cease, and that's alone possest Without a Rivall Monarch of the breast.