The tenth muse lately sprung up in America or severall poems, compiled with great variety of vvit and learning, full of delight. Wherein especially is contained a compleat discourse and description of the four elements, constitutions, ages of man, seasons of the year. Together with an exact epitomie of the four monarchies, viz. The Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, Roman. Also a dialogue between Old England and New, concerning the late troubles. With divers other pleasant and serious poems. By a gentlewoman in those parts.

The Four Ages of Man.

LOe now! four other acts upon the stage, Childhood, and Youth, the Manly, and Old-age. The first: son unto Flegme, grand-child to water, Unstable, supple, moist, and cold's his Naure. The second, frolick, claimes his pedigree, From blood and aire, for hot, and moist is he. The third, of fire, and choler is compos'd, Vindicative, and quarelsome dispos'd. The last, of earth, and heavy melancholly, Solid, hating all lightnesse, and al folly. Childhood was cloath'd in white, and given to show, His spring was intermixed with some snow. Upon his head a Garland Nature set: Of Dazy, Primrose, and the Violet. Such cold mean flowers (as these) blossome betime, Before the Sun hath throughly warm'd the clime. His hobby striding, did not ride, but run, And in his hand an hour-glasse new begun, In dangers every moment of a fall, And when tis broke, then ends his life and all. But if he hold, til it have run its last, Then may he live, til threescore years or past.

Next, youth came up, in gorgeous attire; (As that fond age, doth most of al desire.) His Suit of Crimson, and his Scarfe of Green: In's countenance, his pride quickly was seen. Garland of Roses, Pinks, and Gilliflowers, Seemed to grow on's head (bedew'd with showers:) His face as fresh, as is Aurora faire, When blushing first, she 'gins to red the Aire. No wooden horse, but one of mettal try'd: He seems to flye, or swim, and not to ride. Then prauncing on the Stage, about he wheels; But as he went, death waited at his heeles. The next came up, in a more graver sort, As one that cared, for a good report. His Sword by's side, and choler in his eyes; But neither us'd (as yet) for he was wise. Of Autumne fruits a basket on his arme. His golden god in's purse, which was his charm, And last of al, to act upon this Stage; Leaning upon his staffe, comes up old age. Under his arme a Sheafe of wheat he bore, A Harvest of the best, what needs he more. In's other hand a glasse, ev'n almost run, This writ about: This out, then I am done. His hoary haires, and grave aspect made way; And al gave eare, to what he had to say. These being met, each in his equipage, Intend to speak, according to their age: But wise Old-age, did with all gravity, To childish childhood, give precedency. And to the rest, his reason mildly told; That he was young, before he grew so old.

To do as he, the rest ful soon assents, Their method was, that of the Elements, That each should tel, what of himselfe he knew; Both good and bad, but yet no more then's true. With heed now stood, three ages of fraile man; To hear the child, who crying, thus began.

Childhood.

AH me! conceiv'd in sin, and born in sorrow, A nothing, here to day, but gone to morrow. Whose mean beginning, blushing cann't reveale, But night and darkenesse, must with shame conceal. My mothers breeding sicknes, I will spare; Her nine months weary burden not declare. To shew her bearing pangs, I should do wrong, To tel that paine, which cann't be told by tongue; With tears into this world I did arrive; My mother stil did waste, as I did thrive: Who yet with love, and all alacrity, Spending was willing, to be spent for me; With wayward cryes, I did disturbe her rest; Who sought stil to appease me, with her brest, With weary armes, she danc'd, and By, By, sung, When wretched I (ungrate) had done the wrong. When Infancy was past, my Childishnesse, Did act al folly, that it could expresse. My sillinesse did only take delight, In that which riper age did scorn, and slight: In Rattles, Bables, and such toyish stuffe. My then ambitious thoughts, were low enough.

My high-borne soule, so straitly was confin'd: That its own worth, it did not know, nor mind. This little house of flesh, did spacious count: Through ignorance, all troubles did surmount. Yet this advantage, had mine ignorance, Freedome from Envy, and from Arrogance, How to be rich, or great, I did not carke; A Baron or a Duke, ne'r made my mark. Nor studious was, Kings favours how to buy, With costly presents, or base flattery. No office coveted, wherein I might Make strong my selfe, and turne aside weak right. No malice bare, to this, or that great Peer, Nor unto buzzing whisperors, gave ear. I gave no hand, nor vote, for death, or life: I'd nought to do, 'twixt Prince, and peoples strife. No Statist I: nor Marti'list i' th' field; Where e're I went, mine innocence was shield. My quarrells, not for Diadems did rise; But for an Apple, Plumbe, or some such prize, My stroks did cause no death, nor wounds, nor skars. My little wrath did cease soon as my wars. My duel was no challenge, nor did seek. My foe should weltering, with his bowels reek. I had no Suits at law, neighbours to vex. Nor evidence for land, did me perplex. I fear'd no stormes, nor al the windes that blows, I had no ships at Sea, no fraughts to loose. I fear'd no drought, nor wet, I had no crop, Nor yet on future things did place my hope. This was mine innocence, but oh the seeds, Lay raked up; of all the cursed weeds,

Which sprouted forth, in my insuing age, As he can tell, that next comes on the stage. But yet let me relate, before I go, The sins, and dangers I am subject to. From birth stayned, with Adams sinfull fact; From thence I 'gan to sin, as soon as act. A perverse will, a love to what's forbid: A serpents sling in pleasing face lay hid. A lying tongue as soon as it could speak, And fift Commandement do daily break. Oft stubborn, peevish, sullen, pout, and cry: Then nought can please, and yet I know not why. As many was my sins, so dangers too: For sin brings sorrow, sicknesse, death, and woe. And though I misse, the tossings of the mind: Yet griefs, in my fraile flesh, I still do find. What gripes of wind, mine infancy did pain? What tortures I, in breeding teeth sustain? What crudities my cold stomach hath bred? Whence vomits, wormes, and flux have issued? What breaches, knocks, and falls I daily have? And some perhaps, I carry to my grave. Some times in fire, sometimes in waters fall: Strangely preserv'd, yet mind it not at all. At home, abroad, my danger's manifold. That wonder tis, my glasse till now doth hold. I've done, unto my elders I give way. For 'tis but little, that a childe can say.

Youth.

MY goodly cloathing, and my beauteous skin, Declare some greater riches are within; But what is best i'le first present to view, And then the worst, in a more ugly hue; For thus to do, we on this Stage assemble, Then let not him, which hath most craft dissemble; Mine education, and my learning's such, As might my self, and others, profit much: With nurture trained up in vertues Schools, Of Science, Arts, and Tongues, I know the rules, The manners of the Court, I likewise know, Nor ignorant what they in Country do; The brave attempts of valiant Knights I prize, That dare climbe Battlements, rear'd to the skies; The snorting Horse, the Trumpet, Drum I like, The glistring Sword, and wel advanced Pike; I cannot lye in trench, before a Town, Nor wait til good advice our hopes do crown; I scorn the heavy Corsset, Musket-proof, I fly to catch the Bullet that's aloof; Though thus in field, at home, to all most kind, So affable that I do suit each mind; I can insinuate into the brest, And by my mirth can raise the heart deprest•• Sweet Mufick rapteth my harmonious Soul, And elevates my thoughts above the Pole. My wit, my bounty, and my courtesie, Makes all to place their future hopes on me.

This is my best, but youth (is known) alas, To be as wilde as is the snuffing Asse, As vain as froth, as vanity can be, That who would see vain man, may look on me: My gifts abus'd, my education lost, My woful Parents longing hopes all crost, My wit, evaporates in meriment: My valour, in some beastly quarrel's spent; Martial deeds I love not, 'cause they're vertuous, But doing so, might seem magnanimous. My Lust doth hurry me, to all that's ill, I know no Law, nor reason, but my wil; Sometimes lay wait to take a wealthy purse, Or stab the man, in's own defence, that's worse, Sometimes I cheat (unkind) a female Heir, Of all at once, who not so wise, as fair, Trusteth my loving looks, and glozing tongue, Until her freinds, treasure, and honour's gone. Sometimes I sit carousing others health, Until mine own be gone, my wit, and wealth; From pipe to pot, from pot to words, and blows, For he that loveth Wine, wanteth no woes; Dayes, nights, with Ruffins, Roarers, Fidlers spend; To all obscenity, my eares I bend. All counsel hate, which tends to make me wise, And dearest freinds count for mine enemies; If any care I take, 'tis to be fine, For sure my suit more then my vertues shine; If any time from company I spare, 'Tis spent in curling, frisling up my hair; Some young Adonis I do strive to be, Sardana Pallas, now survives in me:

Cards, Dice, and Oaths, concomitant, I love; To Masques, to Playes, to Taverns stil I move; And in a word, if what I am you'd heare, Seek out a Brittish, bruitish Cavaleer; Such wretch, such monster am I; but yet more, I want a heart all this for to deplore. Thus, thus alas! I have mispent my time, My youth, my best, my strength, my bud, and prime: Remembring not the dreadful day of Doom, Nor yet that heavy reckoning for to come; Though dangers do attend me every houre, And gastly death oft threats me with her power, Sometimes by wounds in idle combates taken, Sometimes by Agues all my body shaken; Sometimes by Feavers, all my moisture drinking, My heart lyes frying, and my eyes are sinking; Sometimes the Cough, Stitch, painful Plurifie, With sad affrights of death, doth menace me; Sometimes the loathsome Pox, my face be-mars, With ugly marks of his eternal scars; Sometimes the Phrensie, strangely madds my Brain, That oft for it, in Bealam I remain. Too many's my Diseases to recite, That wonder 'tis I yet behold the light, That yet my bed in darknesse is not made, And I in black oblivions den long laid; Of Marrow ful my bones, of Milk my breasts, Ceas'd by the gripes of Serjeant Death's Arrests: Thus I have said, and what i've said you see, Child-hood and youth is vaine, yea vanity.

Middle Age.

CHildehood and youth, forgot, sometimes I've seen, And now am grown more staid, that have beengreen, What they have done, the same was done by me, As was their praise, or shame, so mine must be. Now age is more, more good ye do expect; But more my age, the more is my defect. But what's of worth, your eyes shal first behold, And then a world of drosse among my gold. When my Wilde Oates, were sown, and ripe, & mown, I then receiv'd a harvest of mine owne. My reason, then bad judge, how little hope, Such empty seed should yeeld a better crop. I then with both hands, graspt the world together, Thus out of one extreame, into another. But yet laid hold, on vertue seemingly, Who climbes without hold, climbes dangerously. Be my condition mean, I then take paines; My family to keep, but not for gaines. If rich, I'm urged then to gather more. To bear me out i'th' world, and feed the poor, If a father, then for children must provide: But if none, then for kindred near ally'd. If Noble, then mine honour to maintaine. If not, yet wealth, Nobility can gain. For time, for place, likewise for each relation, I wanted not my ready allegation. Yet all my powers, for self-ends are not spent, For hundreds blesse me, for my bounty sent.

Whose loynes I've cloth'd, and bellies I have fed; With mine owne fleece, and with my houshold bread. Yea justice I have done, was I in place; To chear the good, and wicked to deface. The proud I crush'd, th' oppressed I set free, The lyars curb'd but nourisht verity. Was I a pastor, I my flock did feed: And gently lead the lambes, as they had need, A Captain I, with skil I train'd my band; And shew'd them how, in face of foes to stand. If a Souldier, with speed I did obey, As readily as could my Leader say: Was I a laborer, I wrought all day, As chearfully as ere I took my pay. Thus hath mine age (in all) sometimes done wel. Sometimes mine age (in all) been worse then hell. In meannesse, greatnesse, riches, poverty; Did toile, did broile; oppress'd, did steal and lye. Was I as poor, as poverty could be, Then basenesse was companion unto me. Such scum, as Hedges, and High-wayes do yeeld, As neither sow, nor reape, nor plant, nor build. If to Agricolture, I was ordain'd. Great labours, sorrows, crosses I sustain'd The early Cock, did summon but in vaine, My wakefull thoughts, up to my painefull gaine. For restlesse day and night, I'm rob'd of steep, By can kered care, who centinel doth keep. My weary beast, rest from his toile can find; But if I rest, the more distrest my mind. If happinesse my sordidnesse hath found, 'Twas in the crop of my manured ground:

My fatted Oxe, and my exuberous Cow, My fleeced Ewe, and ever farr owing Sow. To greater things, I never did aspire, My dunghil thoughts, or hopes, could reach no higher. If to be rich, or great, it was my fate; How was I broyl'd with envy, and with hate? Greater, then was the great'st, was my desire, And greater stil, did set my heart on fire. If honour was the point, to which I steer'd; To run my hull upon disgrace I fear'd. But by ambitious sailes, I was so carryed; That over flats, and sands, and rocks I hurried, Opprest, and sunke, and sact, all in my way; That did oppose me, to my longed bay: My thirst was higher, then Nobility. And oft long'd sore, to taste on Royalty. Whence poyson, Pistols, and dread instruments, Have been curst furtherers of mine intents. Nor Brothers, Nephewes, Sons, nor Sires I've spar'd. When to a Monarchy, my way they barr'd. There set, I rid my selfe straight out of hand. Of such as might my son, or his withstand. Then heapt up gold, and riches as the clay; Which others scatter, like the dew in May. Sometimes vaine-glory is the only bait, Whereby my empty soule, is lur'd and caught. Be I of worth, of learning, or of parts; I judge, I should have room, in all mens hearts. And envy gnawes, if any do surmount. I hate for to be had, in small account. If Bias like, I'm stript unto my skin, I glory in my wealth, I have within.

Thus good, and bad, and what I am, you see, Now in a word, what my diseases be. The vexing Stone, in bladder and in reines, Torments me with intollerable paines; The windy Cholick oft my bowels rend, To break the darksome prison, where it's pend; The knotty Gout doth sadly torture me, And the restraining lame Sciatica; The Quinsie, and the Feavours, oft distaste me, And the Consumption, to the bones doth wast me; Subject to all Diseases, that's the truth, Though some more incident to age, or youth: And to conclude, I may not tedious be, Man at his best estate is vanity.

Old Age.

WHat you have been, ev'n such have I before, And all you say, say I, and something more; Babes innocence, Youths wildnes I have seen. And in perplexed Middle-age have bin, Sicknesse, dangers, and anxieties have past, And on this Stage am come to act my last: I have bin young, and strong, and wise as you, But now, Bis pueri senes, is too true; In every Age i've found much vanitie, An end of all perfection now I see. It's not my valour, honour, nor my gold, My ruin'd house, now falling can uphold; It's not my Learning, Rhetorick, wit so large, Now hath the power, Deaths Warfare, to discharge;

It's not my goodly house, nor bed of down, That can refresh, or ease, if Conscience frown; Nor from alliance now can I have hope, But what I have done wel, that is my prop; He that in youth is godly, wise, and sage, Provides a staffe for to support his age. Great mutations, some joyful, and some sad, In this short Pilgrimage I oft have had; Sometimes the Heavens with plenty smil'd on me, Sometimes again, rain'd all adversity; Sometimes in honour, sometimes in disgrace, Sometime an abject, then again in place, Such private changes oft mine eyes have seen, In various times of state i've also been. I've seen a Kingdom flourish like a tree, When it was rul'd by that Celestial she; And like a Cedar, others so surmount, That but for shrubs they did themselves account; Then saw I France, and Holland sav'd, Cales won, And Philip, and Albertus, half undone; I saw all peace at home, terror to foes, But ah, I saw at last those eyes to close: And then, me thought, the world at noon grew dark, When it had lost that radiant Sun-like spark, In midst of greifs, I saw some hopes revive, (For 'twas our hopes then kept our hearts alive) I saw hopes dasht, our forwardnesse was shent, And silenc'd we, by Act of Parliament. I've seen from Rome, an execra••le thing, A plot to blow up Nobles, and their King; I've seen designes at Ree, and Cades crost, And poor Palatinate for ever lost;

I've seen a Prince, to live on others lands, A Royall one, by almes from Subjects hands, I've seen base men, advanc'd to great degree, And worthy ones, put to extremity: But not their Princes love, nor state so high; could once reverse, their shamefull destiny. I've seen one stab'd, another loose his head; And others fly their Country, through their dread. I've seen, and so have ye, for 'tis but late, The desolation, of a goodly State. Plotted and acted, so that none can tell, Who gave the counsel, but the Prince of hell. I've seen a land unmoulded with great paine. But yet may live, to see't made up again: I've seen it shaken, rent, and soak'd in blood, But out of troubles, ye may see much good, These are no old wives tales, but this is truth; We old men love to tell, what's done in youth. But I returne, from whence I stept awry, My memory is short, and braine is dry. My Almond-tree (gray haires) doth flourish now, And back, once straight, begins apace to bow. My grinders now are few, my sight doth faile My skin is wrinkled, and my cheeks are pale. No more rejoyce, at musickes pleasant noyse, But do awake, at the cocks clanging voyce. I cannot scent, savours of pleasant meat, Nor sapors find, in what I drink or eat. My hands and armes, once strong have lost their might, I cannot labour, nor I cannot fight: My comely legs, as nimble as the Roe, Now stiffe and numb, can hardly creep or go.

My heart sometimes as fierce, as Lion bold, Now trembling, and fearful, sad, and cold; My golden Bowl, and silver Cord, e're long, Shal both be broke, by wracking death so strong; I then shal go, whence I shal come no more, Sons, Nephews, leave, my death for to deplore; In pleasures, and in labours, I have found. That earth can give no consolation sound. To great, to rich, to poore, to young, or old, To mean, to noble, fearful, or to bold: From King to begger, all degrees shal finde But vanity, vexation of the minde; Yea knowing much, the pleasant'st life of all, Hath yet amongst that sweet, some bitter gall. Though reading others Works, doth much refresh, Yet studying much, brings wearinesse to th' flesh; My studies, labours, readings, all are done, And my last period now e'n almost run; Corruption. my Father, I do call, Mother, and sisters both; the worms, that crawl, In my dark house, such kindred I have store, There, I shal rest, til heavens shal be no more; And when this flesh shal rot, and be consum'd, This body, by this soul, shal be assum'd; And I shal see, with these same very eyes, My strong Redeemer, comming in the skies; Triumph I shal, o're Sin, o're Death, o're Hel, And in that hope, I bid you all farewel.