Bosvvorth-field with a taste of the variety of other poems, left by Sir Iohn Beaumont, Baronet, deceased: set forth by his sonne, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Baronet; and dedicated to the Kings most Excellent Maiestie.

Boſvvorth-field: WITH A TASTE OF THE VARIETY OF OTHER POEMS, LEFT by Sir John Beaumont, Baronet, deceaſed: SET FORTH BY HIS SONNE, SIR IOHN BEAVMONT, Baronet; And dedicated to the Kings moſt Excellent Maieſtie.

LONDON, Printed by Felix Kyngston for Henry Seile, and are to be ſold at the Tygers head in Saint Pauls Churchyard. 1629.

Academioe Cantabrigienſis Liber bookplate

TO THE KINGS MOST EXCELLENT MAIESTIE. Moſt Gracious Soueraigne,

I Here preſent at the feet of your Sacred Maieſty theſe Orphan Verſes, whoſe Author (had hee ſuruiued) might haue made this Gift ſomewhat more correſpondent to ſo Great a Pa • ron. I haue only endeauored without Art, to ſet this Iewell, and render it apt for your Majeſties acceptance; to which boldnes I am led by a filiall duty in performing the will of my Father, who, whil'ſt he liued, did euer intend to your Maieſty theſe Poems: Poems, in which no obſcene ſport can bee found (the contrary being too frequent a crime among Poets,) while theſe (if not too bold I ſpeake will challenge your Maieſtie for their Patron, ſince it is moſt conuenient, that the pureſt of Poems ſhould be directed to You, the Vertuouſeſt & moſt vntoucht of Princes, the Delight of Brittaine, and the Wonder of Europe; at the Altar of whoſe Iudgement, brigh • erected flames, not troubled fumes, dare approach. To your Maieſtie muſt bee directed the moſt precious off-ſprings of each Muſe which though they may well bee eſteemed Starres, yet how can they ſubſiſt without the aſpect of You their Sun? Receiue then, Great King, theſe my Fathers Verſes, and let them find, (what his Son hath found) your Princely clemency. Effect on them (I beſeech your Maieſty) a Kingly worke, giue them life, and withal graciouſly pleaſe to accept the ſincere wiſhes for your felicity, and the humble vowes of

Your Maieſties euer loyall Subiect, Iohn Beaumont.

An Elegy to the liuing memory of his deceaſed Friend, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Knight, Baronet. TO tell the World what it hath loſt in thee, Were but in vaine; for ſuch as cannot ſee, Would not be grieu'd to heare, the morning light Should neuer more ſucceed the gloomy night. Such onely whom thy Vertue made, or found Worthy to know thee, can receiue this wound: Of theſe each man will duly pay his teares To thy great Memory, and when he heares One fam'd for Vertue, he will ſay, So bleſt, So good his Beaumont was, and weepe the reſt. If Knowledge ſhall be mention'd, or the Arts, Soone will be reckon vp thy better parts: At naming of the Muſes, he will ſtreight Tell of thy Workes, where ſharpe and high conceit, Cloath'd in ſweet Verſe, giue thee immortall Fame, Whil'ſt Ignorance doth ſcorne a Poets Name: And then ſhall his imagination ſtriue, To keepe thy gratefull Memory aliue, By Poems of his owne; for that might bee, Had he no Muſe by force of knowing thee. This maketh me (who in the Muſes Quire Sing but a Meane) thus boldly to aſpire, To pay ſad duties to thy honor'd Herſe, With my vnpoliſh'd lines, and ruder Verſe. Yet dreame I not of rayſing amongst men A lasting fame to thee by my fraile Pen: But rather hope, ſomething may liue of me, (Perhaps this Paper) hauing mention'd thee. Thomas Neuill.

An Elegy, dedicated to the memory of his much honoured friend, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Knight and Baronet. I Write not Elegies, nor tune my Verſe, To waite in mourning notes vpon thy Herſe For vaine applauſe, or with deſire to rank My ſlender Muſe'mongst thoſe, who on the bank Of Aganippe's ſtreame can better ſing, And to their words more ſence of ſorrow bring. That ſtirres my Genius, which ſhould excite Thoſe pow'rfull wits: to doe a pious Right To noble vertue, and by verſe conuay Truth to Poſterity, and ſhew the way By ſtrong example, how in mortall ſtate We heau'nly Worth may loue, and imitate. Nay, 'twere a great Iniuſtice, not to ſaue Him from the ruines of a ſilent Graue, Who others from their Aſhes ſought to raiſe, To weare (giu'n from his hand) eternall Bayes. It is by all confeſs'd, thy happy Straines, Diſtill'd from milky ſtreames of natiue veines, Did like the liuing ſource of Naſo's Song, Flow to the Eare, thence gently glide along Downe to the Heart, in notes ſo heau'nly-ſweet, That there the Sister-graces ſeem'd to meet, And make thy Breſt their Seate for ſoft retire, And place from whence they fetch'd Promethean Fire, To kindle other hearts with pureſt Flame Of modest Verſe, and vnaffected Fame: While pedant Poetaſters of this Age, (Who ſtile their ſaucy Rimes, Poëtique Rage) Looſe humours vent, and Ballad-lines extrude, Which grieue the Wiſe, captiue the multitude, And that thy ▪Poems might the better take, Not with vaine ſound, or for the Authors ſake, Which often is by ſeruile ſpirits tryde, Whil'st heau'n-bred ſoules are left vnſatisfyde▪ Like to the Bee, thou didd'ſt thoſe Flow'rs ſelect, That moſt the taſtefull palate might affect, With pious reliſhes of things Diuine, And diſcompoſed ſence with peace combine. Which (in thy Crowne of Thornes) we may diſcerne, Fram'd as a Modell for the best to learne: That Verſe may Vertue teach, as well as Proſe, And minds with natiue force to Good diſpoſe, Deuotion ſtirre, and quicken cold Deſires, To entertaine the warmth of holy Fires. There may we ſee thy Soule exſpaciate, And with true feruor ſweetly meditate Vpon our Sauiours ſufferings; that while Thou ſeek'ſt his painefull torments to beguile, With well-tun'd Accents of thy zealous Song, Breath'd from a ſoule transfix'd; a Paſſion ſtrong, We better knowledge of his woes attaine, Fall into Teares with thee, and then againe, Riſe with thy Verſe to celebrate the Flood Of thoſe eternall Torrents of his Blood. Nor leſſe delight (Things ſerious ſet apart) Thy ſportiue Poems yeeld with heedfull Art Compoſed ſo, to miniſter content, That though we there thinke onely Wit is meant, We quickly by a happy error, find In cloudy words, cleare Lampes to light the mind. Then bleſſe that Muſe, which by vntrodden wayes Purſuing Vertue, meetes deſerued Bayes To crowne it ſelfe, and wandring ſoules reduce From paths of Ignorance, and wits abuſe; And may the beſt of English Laureats ſtriue, Thus, their owne Fun'rall Aſhes to ſuruiue. Thomas Hawkins.

To the worthy Muſe of his Noble Friend, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Knight Baronet. WE doe not vſher forth thy Verſe with theſe, That thine may by our prayſe the better pleaſe: That were impertinent, and we too weake, To adde a grace, where eu'ry line doth ſpeake, And ſweetly Eccho out in this rich ſtore, All we can any way pretend, and more. Yet ſince we ſtand engag'd, we this make knowne, Thy Layes are vnaffected; Free; Thine owne; Thy Periods, Cleare; Expreſſions, Genuine; Muſe moſt Emphaticall; and Wit, Diuine. Thomas Hawkins.

A Congratulation to the Muſes, for the immortalizing of his deare Father, by the ſacred Vertue of Poetry. YE heau'nly Siſters, by whoſe ſacred skill, Sweet ſounds are rays'd vpon the forked hill Of high Parnaſſus: You, whoſe tuned ſtrings Can cauſe the Birds to ſtay their nimble wings, And ſilently admire: before whoſe feet, The Lambs, as feareleſſe, with the Lions meet. You, who the Harpe of Orpheus ſo inſpir'd, That from the Stygian Lake he ſafe retir'd; You could Amphions Harpe with vertue fill, That euen the ſtones were pliant to his will. To you, you therefore I my Verſe direct, From whom ſuch beames celeſtiall can reflect On that deare Author of my life inſpir'd VVith heauenly heate, and ſacred Fury fir'd; VVhoſe Vigour, quencht by death, you now reuiue, And in this Booke conſerue him ſtill aliue. Here liues his better part, here ſhines that Flame, VVhich lights the entrance to eternall Fame. Theſe are his Triumphs ouer death, this Spring From Aganippe's Fountaines he could bring Cleare from all droſſe, through pure intentions drain'd, His draughts no ſenſuall waters euer ſtain'd. Behold, he doth on euery paper ſtrow The loyall thoughts he did his Sou'raigne owe. Here rest affections to each neerest friend, And pious ſighs, which noble thoughts attend; Parnaſſus him containes, plast in the Quire With Poets: what then can we more deſire To haue of him? Perhaps an empty voyce, While him we wrong with our content leſſe choyce, To you I this attribute, Sisters nine; For onely you can cauſe this VVorke diuine; By none but you could theſe bright fires be found; Prometheus is not from the Rocke vnbound, No Aeſculapius ſtill remaines on earth, To giue Hippolitus a ſecond birth. Since then ſuch Godlike pow'rs in you remaine, To worke theſe wonders, let ſome ſoule containe His ſpirit of ſweet muſicke, and infuſe Into ſome other breſt his ſparkling Muſe. But you perhaps, that all your pow'r may ſpeake: VVill chuſe to worke on ſubiects dull and weake: Chuſe me, inſpire my frozen brest with heat, No Deed you euer wrought, can ſeeme more great. Iohn Beaumont.

Vpon the following Poems of my deare Father, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Baronet, deceaſed. YOu, who prepare to reade graue Beaumonts Verſe, And at your entrance view my lowly ſtraines, Expect no flatt • ring prayſes torcherſe The rare perfections, which this Booke containes. But onely here in theſe few Lines, behold The debt which I vnto a Parent owe; Who, though I cannot his true Worth vnſold, May yet at leaſt a due affection ſhow. For ſhould I ſtriue to decke the Vertues high, Which in theſe Poems (like faire Gemmes) appeare; I might as well adde brightneſſe to the skie, Or with new ſplendour make the Sunne more cleare. Since eu'ry Line is with ſuch beauties grac'd, That nothing further can their prayſes ſound: And that deare Name which on the Front is plac'd, Declares what ornaments within are found. That Name, I ſay, in whom the Muſes meete, And with ſuch heate his Noble ſpirit raiſe, That Kings admire his Verſe, whil'ſt at his feete, Orpheus his Harpe, and Phoebus caſts his Bayes. Whom, though fierce death hath taken from our ſights And caus'd that curious Hand to write no more; Yet maruell not if from the fun'r all Rites Proceed theſe branches neuer ſeene before. For from the Corne ariſe not fruitfull Eares, Except at firſt the earth receiue the ſame: Nor thoſe rich Odors which Arabia beares, Send forth ſweet ſmells, vnleſſe conſum'd with flame. So from the aſhes of this Phoenix flye Theſe off-ſprings, which with ſuch freſh glory ſhine; That whil'ſt time runneth, he ſhall neuer dye, But ſtill be honour'd in this famous Shrine: To which, this Verſe alone I humbly giue; He was before: but now begins to liue. Francis Beaumont.

Vpon theſe Poems of his deareſt Brother, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Baronet. WHen lines are drawn greater then Nature, Art Commands the Obiect, and the Eye to part, Bids them to keepe at diſtance, know their place, VVhere to receiue, and where to giue their grace; I am too neere thee, Beaumont, to define VVhich of thoſe Lineaments is moſt diuine, And to ſtand farther off from thee, I chuſe In ſilence rather to applaude thy Muſe, And loſe my cenſure; tis enough for mee To ioy, my Pen was taught to moue by thee. George Forteſcue.

On the honor'd Poëms of his honored Friend, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Baronet. THis Booke will liue; It hath a Genius: This Aboue his Reader, or his Prayſer, is. Hence, then prophane: Here needs no words expenſe In Bulwarkes, Rau'lins, Ramparts, for defenſe, Such, as the creeping common Pioners vſe When they doe ſweat to fortifie a Muſe. Though I confeſſe a Beaumonts Booke to bee The Bound, and Frontire of our Poëtrie; And doth deſerue all muniments of praiſe, That Art, or Ingine on the ſtrength can raiſe. Yet, who dares offer a redoubt to reare? To cut a Dike? or ſticke a Stake vp, here, Before this worke? where Enuy hath not caſt A Trench againſt it, nor a Battry plac't? Stay till ſhe make her vaine Approches. Then If maymed, ſhe come off, Tis not of men This Fort of ſo impregnable acceſſe, But higher power, as ſpight could not make leſſe, Nor flatt'ry! but ſecur'd, by the Authors Name, D •• ies, whats croſſe to Piety, or good Fame. And like a hallow'd Temple, free from taint Of Ethniciſme, makes his Muſe a Saint. Ben▪ Ionſon.

To the deare Remembrance of his Noble Friend, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Baronet. THis Poſthumus, from the braue Parents Name, Likely to be the heire of ſo much Fame, 〈◊〉 haue at all no portion by my prayſe: ••• ly this poore Branch of my with'ring Bayes offer to it; and am very glad, • et haue this; which if I better had, •• y Loue ſhould build an Altar, and thereon • ould offer vp ſuch VVreaths as long agone, •• oſe daring Grecians, and proud Romans crownd; ••• ing that honour to their moſt Renown'd. But that braue World is paſt, and we are light, After thoſe glorious dayes, into the night Of theſe baſe times, which not one Heröe haue, Onely an empty Title, which the graue Shall ſoone deuoure; whence it no more ſhall ſound, Which neuer got vp higher then the ground. Thy care for that which was not worth thy breath, Brought on too ſoone thy much lamented death. But Heau'n was kind, and would not let thee ſee The Plagues that muſt vpon this Nation be, By whom the Muſes haue neglected bin. VVhich ſhall adde weight and meaſure to their ſinne; And haue already had this curſe from vs, That in their pride they ſhould grow barbarous. There is no ſplendor, that our Pens can giue By our moſt labor'd lines, can make thee liue Like to thine owne, which able is to raiſe So laſting pillars to prop vp thy prayſe, As time ſhall hardly ſhake, vntill it ſhall Ruine thoſe things, that with it ſelfe muſt fall. Mi. Drayton.

Ad poſthumum opus D. Io. Bello-Montij Equitis aurati & Baronetti, viri Nobiliſsimi, H • ndecaſyllabon. LEctum diſcubui; biceps gemello Parnaſſus bijugo imminebat: vnde Fontes deſiliunt leues, loquaces; Pellucent vitreo liquore ſontes. Sudo ſub loue, ſydere & ſecundo Diſcumbo. Teneras roſas pererro Narciſſum, Violas odore gratas, Vnguento Ambroſio has & has refectas. Quas inter Philomela cantitillat Praepes, blandula, mellilinguis ales. Quas inter volitant Apollineſque, Et Muſae Venereſque mille, mille. Inſomne hoc ſibi ſomnium quid audet? Altum effare noëma bello-montis: Effatum euge! Poëma Bello-montî eſt Dium, caſtalium nitens, politum; Libatum ſalibus, lepore tinctum. Decurrens velut amnis alti monte Feruet delicijs, ruit profundo Beaumontus latice. Altiùs reſultat Fertur, nec tenui nec vſitatâ Pennâ per liquidam aetheram, biformis. Hic Phoebi deus eſt, decus cohortis Summum Palladiae, iubar ſororum, Ipſe & flos Venerum, reſurgo; legi. Ph. Kin.

Vpon the Honored Poems of his Vnknowne Friend, Sir Iohn Beaumont, Baronet. I Knew thee not, I ſpeake it to my ſhame: But by that cleare, and equall Voyce of Fame, VVhich (with the Sunnes bright courſe) did ioyntly beare Thy glorious Name, about each Hemiſphere. VVhiles I who had confin'd my ſelfe to dwell VVithin the ſtraite bounds of an obſcure Cell, • oke in thoſe pleaſing beames of VVit and VVorth, VVhich, where the Sunne could neuer ſhine, breake forth: VVherewith I did refreſh my weaker ſight, • hen others bath'd themſelues in thy full light. •• t when the diſmall rumour was once ſpred, •• at ſtruck all knowing ſoules, of Beaumont dead: Aboue thy beſt Friends 'twas my benefit, 〈◊〉 know thee onely by thy liuing VVit; And whereas others might their loſſe deplore, Thou liu'ſt to me iuſt as thou didſt before. In all that we can value Great or Good, VVhich were not in theſe cloathes of fleſh and blood, Thou now haſt laid aſide, but in that mind, That only by 〈…〉 could be confin'd, Thou liu'ſt to me, and ſhalt for euer raine, In both the iſſues of thy Blood and Braine. Ia. Cl.

Boſworth Field: WITH CERTAINE OTHER POEMS, &c. THe Winters ſtorme of Ciuill warre I ſing, Whoſe end is crown'd with our eternall Spring, Where Roſes ioyn'd, their colours mixe in one, And armies fight no more for Englands Throne. Thou gracious Lord, direct my ſeeble Pen, Who (from the actions of ambitious men,) Haſt by thy goodneſſe drawne our ioyfull good, And made ſweet flowres, & Oliues grow from blood, While we delighted with this faire releaſe, May clime Parnaſſus, in the dayes of peace. The King (whoſe eyes were neuer fully clos'd, Whoſe minde oppreſt, with feareful dreames ſuppos'd, That he in blood had wallow'd all the night) Leapes from his reſtleſſe bed, before the light: Accurſed Tirell is the firſt he ſpies, Whom threatning with his dagger, thus he cries; How darſt thou, villaine, ſo diſturbe my ſleepe, Were not the ſmother'd children buried deepe? And hath the ground againe been ript by thee, That I their rotten carkaſes might ſee? The wretch aſtoniſht, haſtes away to ſlide, (As damned ghoſts themſelues in darkeneſſe hide) And calles vp three, whoſe counſels could aſſwage The ſudden ſwellings of the Princes rage: Ambitious Louell, who to gaine his grace, Had ſtain'd the honour of his Noble race: Perfidious Catesby, by whoſe curious skill, The Law was taught to ſpeake his Maſters will: And Ratcliffe, deepely learn'd in courtly Art, Who beſt could ſearch into his Sou'raignes hart; Affrighted Richard, labours to relate His hideous dreames, as ſignes of hapleſſe Fate: Alas (ſaid they) ſuch fictions children feare, Theſe are not terrors, ſhewing danger neare, But motiues ſent by ſome propitious power, To make you watchfull at this early hower; Theſe proue that your victorious care preuents Your ſlouthfull foes, that ſlumber in their tents, This precious time muſt not in vaine be ſpent, Which God (your helpe) by heau'nly meanes hath lent. He (by theſe falſe coniectures) much appeas'd, Contemning fancies, which his minde diſeas'd, Replies: I ſhould haue been aſham'd to tell Fond dreames to wiſe men: whether Heau'n or Hell, Or troubled Nature theſe effects hath wrought: I know, this day requires another thought, If ſome reſiſtleſſe ſtrength my cauſe ſhould croſſe, Feare will increaſe, and not redeeme the loſſe; All dangers clouded with the miſt offeare, Seeme great farre off, but leſſen comming neare. Away, ye blacke illuſions of the night, If ye combin'd with Fortune, haue the might To hinder my deſignes: ye ſhall not barre My courage ſeeking glorious death in warre. Thus being chear'd, he calles aloud for armes, And bids that all ſhould riſe, whō Morpheus charmes. Bring me (ſaith he) the harneſſe that I wore At Teuxbury▪ which from that day no more Hath felt the battries of a ciuill ſtrife, Nor ſtood betweene deſtruction and my life. Vpon his breſt-plate he beholds a dint, Which in that field young Edwards ſword did print: This ſtirres remembrance of his heinous guilt, When he that Princes blood ſo foulely ſpilt. Now fully arm'd, he takes his helmet bright, Which like a twinkling ſtarre, with trembling light Sends radiant luſtre through the darkſome aire; This maske will make his wrinkled viſage faire. But when his head is couer'd with the ſteele, He telles his ſeruants, that his temples feele Deepe-piercing ſtings, which breed vnuſuall paines, And of the heauy burden much complaines. Some marke his words, as tokens fram'd t'expreſſe The ſharpe concluſion of a ſad ſucceſſe. Then going forth, and finding in his way A ſouldier of the Watch, who ſleeping lay; Enrag'd to ſee the wretch neglect his part, He ſtrikes a ſword into his trembling heart, The hand of death, and iron dulneſſe takes Thoſe leaden eyes, which nat'rall eaſe forſakes: The King this morning ſacrifice commends, And for example, thus the fact defends; I leaue him as I found him, fit to keepe The ſilent doores of euerlaſting ſleepe. Still Richmond ſlept: for worldly care and feare Haue times of pauſing, when the ſoule is cleare, While Heau'ns Directer, whoſe reuengefull brow Would to the guilty head no reſt allow, Lookes on the other part with milder eyes: At his command an Angell ſwiftly flies From ſacred truths perſpicuous gate, to bring A cryſtall viſion on his golden wing. This Lord thus ſleeping, thought he ſaw and knew His lamblike Vnkle, whom that Tiger ſlew, Whoſe powerfull words encourage him to fight: Go • • n iuſt ſcourge of murder, vertues light, The combate, which thou ſhalt this day endure, Makes Englands peace for many ages ſure, Thy ſtrong inuaſion cannot be withſtood, The earth aſſiſts thee with the cry of blood, The heau'n ſhall bleſſe thy hopes, and crowne thy ioyes, See how the Fiends with loud and diſmall noyſe, 〈◊〉 Preſaging Ʋultures, greedy of their prey) On Richards tent their ſcaly wings diſplay. The holy King then offer'd to his view A liuely tree, on which three branches grew: But when the hope offruit had made him glad, All fell to duſt: at which the Earle was ſad; Yet comfort comes againe, when from the roote He ſees a bough into the North to ſhoote, Which nouriſht there, extends it ſelfe from thence, And girds this Iland with a firme defence: There he beholds a high, and glorious Throne, Where ſits a King by Lawrell Garlands knowne, Like bright Apollo in the Muſes quires, His radiant eyes are watchfull heauenly fires, Beneath his feete pale Enuie bites her chaine, And ſnaky Diſcord whets her ſting in vaine. Thou ſeeſt (ſaid Henry) wiſe and potent Iames, This, this is he, whoſe happy Vnion tames The ſauage Feudes, and ſhall thoſe lets deface, Which keepe the Bordrers from a deare imbrace; Both Nations ſhall in Britaines Royall Crowne, Their diffring names, the ſignes of faction drowne; The ſiluer ſtreames which from this Spring increaſe, Bedew all Chriſtian hearts with drops of peace; Obſerue how hopefull Charles is borne t'aſſwage The winds, that would diſturbe this golden age. When that great King ſhall full of glory leaue The earth as baſe, then may this Prince receiue The Diadem, without his Fathers wrong, May take it late, and may poſſeſſe it long; Aboue all Europes Princes ſhine thou bright, O Gods ſelected care, and mans delight. Here gentle ſleepe forſooke his clouded browes, And full of holy thoughts, and pious vowes, He kiſt the ground aſſoone as he aroſe, When watchfull Digby, who among his foes Had wanderd vnſuſpected all the night, Reports that Richard is prepar'd to fight. Long ſince the King had thought it time to ſend For truſty Norfolke, his vndaunted friend, Who haſting from the place of his abode, Found at the doore, a world of papers ſtrow'd; Some would affright him from the Tyrants aide, Affirming that his Maſter was betray'd; Some laid before him all thoſe bloody deeds, From which a line of ſharpe reuenge proceeds With much compaſſion, that ſo braue a Knight Should ſerue a Lord againſt whom Angels fight, And others put ſuſpicions in his minde, That Richard moſt obſeru'd, was moſt vnkind. The Duke awhile theſe cautious words reuolues With ſerious thoughts, and thus at laſt reſolues; • f all the Campe proue traytors to my Lord, Shall ſpotleſſe Norfolke falſiſie his word; Mine oath is paſt, I ſwore t'vphold his Crowne, And that ſhall ſwim, or I with it will drowne. It is too late now to diſpute the right; Dare any tongue, ſince Yorke ſpred forth his light, Northumberland, or Buckingham defame, Two valiant Cliffords, Roos, or Beaumonts name, Becauſe they in the weaker quarrell die? They had the King with them, and ſo haue I. But eu'ry eye the face of Richard ſhunnes, For that foule murder of his brothers ſonnes: Yet lawes of Knighthood gaue me not a ſword To ſtrike at him, whom all with ioynt accord Haue made my Prince, to whom I tribute bring: I hate his vices, but adore the King. Victorious Edward, if thy ſoule can heare Thy ſeruant Howard, I deuoutly ſweare, That to haue ſau'd thy children from that day, My hopes on earth ſhould willingly decay; Would Glouſter then, my perfect faith had tryed, And made two graues, when noble Haſtings died. This ſaid, his troopes he into order drawes, Then doubled haſte redeemes his former pauſe: So ſtops the Sayler for a voyage bound, When on the Sea he heares the tempeſts ſound, Till preſſing hunger to remembrance ſends, That on his courſe his houſholds life depends: With this he cleares the doubts that vext his minde, And puts his ſhip to mercy of the winde. The Dukes ſtout preſence and couragious lookes, Were to the King as falls of ſliding brookes, Which bring a gentle and delightfull reſt To weary eyes, with grieuous care oppreſt: He bids that Norfolke and his hopefull ſonne, (Whoſe riſing fame in Armes this day begun) Should leade the vantguard: for ſo great command, He dares not truſt, in any other hand; The reſt he to his owne aduice referres, And as the ſpirit, in that body ſtirres, Then putting on his Crowne, a fatall ſigne, (So offer'd beaſts neere death in Garlands ſhine,) He rides about the rankes, and ſtriues t' inſpire Each breſt with part of his vnwearied fire, To thoſe who had his brothers ſeruants been, And had the wonders of his valour ſeene, He ſaith: My fellow Souldiers, though your ſwords Are ſharpe, and need not whetting by my words; Yet call to minde thoſe many glorious dayes, In which we treaſur'd vp immortall prayſe, If when I ſeru'd, I euer fled from foe▪ Fly ye from mine, let me be puniſht ſo: But if my Father, when at firſt he try'd, How all his ſonnes, could ſhining blades abide, Found me an Eagle, whoſe vndazled eyes Affront the beames, which from the ſteele ariſe, And if I now in action, teach the ſame, Know then, ye haue but chang'd your Gen'ralls name, Be ſtill your ſelues, ye fight againſt the droſſe Of thoſe, that oft haue runne from you with loſſe: How many Somerſets, diſſentions brands Haue felt the force of our reuengefull hands? From whome this youth, as from a princely floud, Deriues his beſt, yet not vntainted bloud; Haue our aſſaults made Lancaſter to droupe? And ſhall this Welſhman with his ragged troupe, Subdue the Norman, and the Saxon line, That onely Merlin may be thought diuine? See what a guide, theſe fugitiues haue choſe? Who bred among the French our ancient foes, Forgets the Engliſh language, and the ground, And knowes not what our drums, & trumpets ſound. To others minds, their willing othes he drawes, He tells his iuſt decrees, and healthfull lawes, And makes large proffers of his future grace. Thus hauing ended, with as chearefull face, As Nature, which his ſtepdame ſtill was thought, Could lend to one, without proportion wrought, Some with loud ſhouting, make the valleyes ring, But moſt with murmur ſigh: God ſaue the King. Now carefull Henry ſends his ſeruant Bray To Stanly, who accounts it ſafe to ſtay, And dares not promiſe, leſt his haſte ſhould bring His ſonne to death, now pris'ner with the King. About the ſame time, Brakenbury came, And thus, to Stanley ſaith, in Richards name, My Lord, the King ſalutes you, and commands That to his ayde, you bring your ready bands, Or elſe he ſweares by him that ſits on high, Before the armies ioyne, your ſonne ſhall die. At this the Lord ſtood, like a man that heares The Iudges voyce, which condemnation beares Till gath'ring vp his ſpirits, he replies: My fellow Haſtings death hath made me wiſe, More then my dreame could him, for I no more Will truſt the tuſhes of the angry Bore; If with my Georges bloud, he ſtaine his throne, I thanke my God, I haue more ſonnes then one: Yet to ſecure his life, I quiet ſtand Againſt the King, not lifting vp my hand. The Meſſenger departs of hope deny'd. Then noble Stanley, taking Bray aſide, Saith: Let my ſonne proceede, without deſpaire Aſſiſted by his mothers almes, and prayre, God will direct both him, and me to take, Beſt courſes, for that bleſſed womans ſake. The Earle by this delay, was not inclin'd, To feare nor anger, knowing Stanleyes mind, But calling all his chiefe Commanders neare, He boldly ſpeakes, while they attentiue heare. 〈◊〉 is in vaine, braue friends, to ſhew the right • hich we are forc'd to ſeeke by ciuill fight. • ur ſwords are brandiſht in a noble cauſe, • o free your Country from a Tyrants iawes. • hat angry Planet? What diſaſtrous Signe • irects Plantagenets afflicted Line? • h, was it not enough, that mutuall rage 〈◊〉 deadly battels ſhould this race ingage, • ill by their blowes themſelues they fewer make, And pillers fall, which France could neuer ſhake? But muſt this crooked Monſter now be found, To lay rough hands on that vncloſed wound? His ſecret plots haue much increaſt the flood, He with his brothers, and his nephewes blood, Hath ſtain'd the brightneſſe of his Fathers flowres, And made his owne white Roſe as red as ours. This is the day, whoſe ſplendour puts to flight Obſcuring clouds, and brings an age of light. We ſee no hindrance of thoſe wiſhed times, But this Vſurper, whoſe depreſſing crimes Will driue him from the mountaine where he ſtands, So that he needs muſt fall without our hands. In this we happy are, that by our armes, Both Yorke and Lancaſter reuenge their harmes. Here Henries ſeruants ioyne with Edwards friends, And leaue their priuat griefes for publike ends. Thus ceaſing, he implores th' Almighties grace, And bids, that euery Captaine take his place. His ſpeach was anſwer'd, with a gen'rall noyſe Of acclamations, doubtleſſe ſignes of ioyes Which ſouldiers vtterd, as they forward went, The ſure forerunners of a faire euent; So when the Winter, to the Spring bequeathes The rule of time, and milde Fauonius breathes, A quire of Swans, to that ſweete Muſicke ſings, The Ayre reſounds, the motion of their wings, When ouer plaines, they flie in orderd rankes, To ſport themſelues, vpon Caïsters bankes, Bold Oxford leades the vantguard vp amaine, Whoſe valiant offers, heretofore were vaine, When he his loue to Lancaſter expreſt, But now, with more indulgent Fortune bleſt, His men he toward Norfolkes quarter drew, And ſtraight the one, the others Enſignes knew, For they in ſeu'rall armies, were diſplay'd, This oft in Edwards, that in Henries ayde: The ſad remembrance of thoſe bloudy fights, Incenſt new anger, in theſe noble Knights, A mariſh lay betweene, which Oxford leaues Vpon his right hand, and the Sunne receiues Behind him, with aduantage of the place, For Norfolke muſt endure it on his face, And yet his men, aduance their ſpeares, and ſwords, Againſt this ſuccour, which the heau'n affords, His horſe, and foote poſſeſt the field in length, While bowmen went before them, for their ſtrength: Thus marching forth, they ſet on Oxfords band, • e feares their number, and with ſtrict command, • is ſouldiers cloſely, to the ſtandard drawes: • hen Howards troupes amaz'd, begin to pauſe, • hey doubt the ſlights of battell, and prepare, • o guard their valour, with a trench of care. • his ſudden ſtop, made warlike Vere more bold, • o ſee their fury, in a moment cold, • is rankes he in a larger forme diſplayes, Which all were Archers, counted in thoſe dayes, The beſt of Engliſh ſouldiers, for their skill, Could guide their ſhafts, according to their will, The featherd wood, they from their bowes let flie, No arrow fell, but cauſd ſome man to die: So painefull Bees, with forward gladneſſe ſtriue, To ioyne themſelues, in throngs before the hiue, And with obedience, till that houre attend, When their commander, ſhall his watchword ſend: Then to the winds, their tender ſailes they yield, Depreſſe the flowres, depopulate the field: Wiſe Norfolke to auoyde theſe ſhafts the more, Contriues his battaile thin, and ſharpe before, He thus attempts to pierce into the hart, And breake the orders of the aduerſe part, As when the Cranes direct their flight, on high, To cut their way, they in a Trigon flie, Which pointed figure, may with eaſe diuide Oppoſing blaſts, through which they ſwiftly glide. But now the wings make haſte to Oxfords ayde, The left by valiant Sauage was diſplay'd, His luſty ſouldiers were attir'd in white, They moue like drifts of ſnow, whoſe ſudden fright Conſtraines the weary paſſenger to ſtay, And beating on his face, confounds his way. Braue Talbot led the right, whoſe Grandſires name Was his continuall ſpurre, to purchaſe fame: Both theſe ruſht in, while Norfolke like a wall, Which oft with engines crackt, diſdaines to fall, Maintaines his ſtation by defenſiue fight, Till Surrey preſſing forth, with youthfull might, Sends many ſhadowes to the gates of death. When dying mouths had gaſpt forth purple breath, His father followes: Age and former paines Had made him ſlower, yet he ſtill retaines His ancient vigour; and with much delight To ſee his ſonne do maruailes in his ſight, He ſeconds him, and from the branches cleaues Thoſe cluſters, which the former Vintage leaues. Now Oxford flyes (as lightning) through his troupes, And with his preſence cheares the part that droupes: His braue endeuours, Surreyes force reſtraine Like bankes, at which the Ocean ſtormes in vaine. The ſwords and armours ſhine as ſparkling coales, Their claſhing drownes the grones of parting ſoules; The peacefull neighbours, who had long deſir'd To find the cauſes of their feare expir'd, • re newly grieu'd, to ſee this ſcarlet flood, • nd Engliſh ground bedew'd with Engliſh blood. • out Rice and Herbert leade the power of Wales, • heir zeale to Henry, moues the hills and dales • o ſound their Country-mans beloued name, Who ſhall reſtore the Britiſh off-ſprings fame; • heſe make ſuch ſlaughter with their galues & hooks, • hat carefull Bardes may fill their precious bookes With prayſes, which from warlike actions ſpring, • nd take new themes, when to their Harpes they ſing. • eſides theſe ſouldiers borne within this Ile, We muſt not of their part, the French beguile, Whom Charles for Henries ſuccour did prouide, • Lord of Scotland, Bernard, was their guide, • bloſſome of the Stuarts happy line, Which is on Brittaines Throne ordain'd to ſhine: The Sun, whoſe rayes, the heau'n with beauty crowne, From his aſcending to his going downe, Saw not a brauer Leader, in that age; And Boſworth field muſt be the glorious ſtage, In which this Northerne Eagle learnes to flie, And tries thoſe wings, which after rayſe him high, When he beyond the ſnowy Alpes renown'd, Shall plant French Lillies in Italian ground; And cauſe the craggy Apennine to know, What fruits on Caledonian mountaines grow. Now in this ciuill warre, the troupes of France, Their banners dare on Engliſh ayre aduance, And on their launces points, deſtruction bring, To fainting ſeruants of the guilty King, When heretofore, they had no powre to ſtand, Againſt our armiees in their natiue land, But melting fled, as waxe before the flame, Diſmayd with thunder of Saint Georges name. Now Henry, with his vnkle Pembroke moues, The rereward on, and Stanley then approues His loue to Richmonds perſon, and his cauſe, He from his army of three thouſand, drawes A few choyſe men, and bids the reſt obay His valiant brother, who ſhall proue this day, As famous as great Warwick, in whoſe hand, The fate of Englands Crowne, was thought to ſtand: With theſe he cloſely ſteales, to helpe his friend, While his maine forces ſtirre not, but attend The younger Stanley, and to Richards eye Appeare not parties, but as ſtanders by. Yet Stanleyes words, ſo much the King incenſe, That he exclames: This is a falſe pretenſe: His doubtfull anſwere, ſhall not ſaue his ſonne, Yong Strange ſhall die: ſee, Catesby, this be done. Now like a Lambe, which taken from the folds, The ſlaughter-man, with rude embraces holds, And for his throte, prepares a whetted knife, So goes this harmeleſſe Lord, to end his life, The axe is ſharpen'd, and the blocke prepar'd, But worthy Ferrers, equall portion ſhar'd, Of griefe and terrour which the pris'ner felt, His tender eyes in teares of pitty melt, And haſting to the King, he boldly ſaid; My Lord, too many bloody ſtaines are laid By enuious tongues vpon your peacefull raigne; 〈◊〉 may their malice euer ſpeake in vaine: Afford not this aduantage to their ſpite, None ſhould be kill'd to day, but in the fight: • our Crowne is ſtrongly fixt, your cauſe is good▪ • aſt not vpon it drops of harmeleſſe blood; His life is nothing, yet will dearely coſt, • f while you ſeeke it, we perhaps haue loſt Occaſions of your conqueſt, thither flie, Where Rebels arm'd, with curſed blades ſhall die, And yeeld in death to your victorious awe: Let naked hands be cenſur'd by the Law. • uch pow'r his ſpeech and ſeemely action hath, •• mollifies the Tyrants bloody wrath, And he commands, that Stranges death be ſtay'd. The noble Youth (who was before diſmay'd At deaths approching ſight) now ſweetly cleares His cloudy ſorrowes, and forgets his feares. As when a Steare to burning Altars led, Expecting fatall blowes to cleaue his head, • s by the Prieſt for ſome religious cauſe Sent backe to liue, and now in quiet drawes The open ayre, and takes his wonted food, And neuer thinkes how neere to death he ſtood: The King, though ready, yet his march delayd, To haue Northumberlands expected ayde. To him, induſtrious Ratcliffe ſwiftly hies; But Percy greetes him thus: My troubled eyes This night beheld my fathers angry ghoſt, Aduiſing not to ioyne with Richards hoſt: Wilt thou (ſaid he) ſo much obſcure my ſhield, To beare mine azure Lion in the field With ſuch a Gen'rall? Aske him, on which ſide His ſword was drawne, when I at Towton died. When Richard knew that both his hopes were vaine, He forward ſets with curſing and diſdaine, And cries: Who would not all theſe Lords deteſt? When Percy changeth, like the Moone his creſt. This ſpeech the heart of noble Ferrers rent: He anſwers: Sir though many dare repent, That which they cannot now without your wrong, And onely grieue they haue been true too long, My breſt ſhall neuer beare ſo foule a ſtaine, If any ancient blood in me remaine, Which from the Norman Conqu'rours tooke deſcent, It ſhall be wholly in your ſeruice ſpent; I will obtaine to day aliue or dead, The Crownes that grace a faithfull ſouldiers head. Bleſt be thy tongue (replies the King,) in thee The ſtrength of all thine Anceſtors I ſee, Extending warlike armes for Englands good, By thee their heire, in valour as in blood. But here we leaue the King, and muſt reuiew •• oſe ſonnes of Mars, who cruell blades imbrue Riuers ſprung from hearts that bloodleſſe lie, • nd •• aine their ſhining armes in ſanguine die. •• re valiant Oxford and fierce Norfolke meete, • nd with their ſpeares each other rudely greete; • bout the ayre the ſhiuerd pieces play, •• en on their ſwords their noble hands they lay, •• d Norfolke firſt a blow directly guides 〈◊〉 Oxfords head, which from his helmet ſlides • pon his arme, and biting through the ſteele, • flicts a wound, which Vere diſdaines to feele, 〈◊〉 lifts his fauchion with a threatning grace, • nd hewes the beuer off from Howards face. • his being done, he with compaſſion charm'd, • etires, aſham'd to ſtrike a man diſarm'd: 〈◊〉 ſtraight a deadly ſhaft ſent from a bow, VVhoſe Maſter, though farre off, the Duke could know • ntimely brought this combat to an end, • nd pierc'd the braine of Richards conſtant friend. VVhen Oxford ſaw him ſinke, his noble ſoule VVas full of griefe, which made him thus condole: •• rewell, true Knight, to whom no coſtly graue •• n giue due honour: would my teares might ſaue •• oſe ſtreames of blood, deſeruing to be ſpilt 〈◊〉 better ſeruice: had not Richards guilt •• ch heauy weight vpon his fortune laid, 〈◊〉 glorious vertues had his ſinnes out waigh'd. Couragious Talbot had with Surrey met, And after many blowes begins to fret, That one ſo young in Armes ſhould thus vnmou'd, Reſiſt his ſtrength, ſo oft in warre approu'd. And now the Earle beholds his father fall; VVhoſe death like horri'd darkeneſſe frighted all: Some giue themſelues as captiues, others flie, But this young Lion caſts his gen'rous eye On Mowbrayes Lion, painted in his ſhield, And with that King of beaſts, repines to yeeld: The field (ſaith he) in which the Lion ſtands, Is blood, and blood I offer to the hands Of daring foes; but neuer ſhall my flight Die blacke my Lion, which as yet is white. His enemies (like cunning Huntſmen) ſtriue In binding ſnares, to take their prey aliue, VVhile he deſires t'expoſe his naked breſt, And thinkes the ſword that deepeſt ſtrikes, is beſt. Young Howard ſingle with an army fights, VVhen mou'd with pitie, two renowned Knights, Strong Clarindon, and valiant Coniers trie To reſcue him, in which attempt they die; For Sauage red with blood of ſlaughter'd foes, Doth them in midſt of all his troopes incloſe, VVhere though the Captaine for their ſafetie ſtriues, Yet baſer hands depriue them of their liues. Now Surrey fainting, ſcarce his ſword can hold, VVhich made a common ſouldier grow ſo bold, To lay rude hands vpon that noble flower; Which he diſdaigning (anger giues him power) • ects his weapon with a nimble round, •• d ſends the Peaſants arme to kiſſe the ground. •• is done, to Talbot he preſents his blade, •• d ſaith, It is not hope of life hath made •• is my ſubmiſſion, but my ſtrength is ſpent, • nd ſome perhaps, of villaine blood will vent My weary ſoule: this fauour I demand, •• at I may die by your victorious hand. • ay, God forbid that any of my name, Quoth Talbot) ſhould put out ſo bright a flame, As burnes in thee (braue Youth) where thou haſt err'd, 〈◊〉 was thy fathers fault, ſince he preferr'd Tyrants crowne before the iuſter ſide. •• e Earle ſtill mindfull of his birth, replied, wonder (Talbot) that thy noble hart • ults on ruines of the vanquiſht part: 〈◊〉 had the right, if now to you it flow, •• e fortune of your ſwords hath made it ſo: • euer will my luckleſſe choyce repent, • or can it ſtaine mine honour or deſcent, 〈◊〉 Englands Royall Wreath vpon a ſtake, •• ere will I ſight, and not the place for ſake: • nd if the will of God hath ſo diſpos'd, •• at Richmonds brow be with the Crowne inclos'd, • hall to him, or his giue doubtleſſe ſignes, • hat duty in my thoughts, not faction, ſhines. The earneſt ſouldiers ſtill the chaſe purſue: But their Commanders grieue they ſhould imbrue Their ſwords in blood which ſprings frō Engliſh vein The peacefull ſound of trumpets them reſtraines From further ſlaughter, with a milde retreat To reſt contented in this firſt defeate. The King intended at his ſetting out, To helpe his Vantguard, but a nimble ſcout Runnes crying; Sir, I ſaw not farre from hence, Where Richmond houers with a ſmall defence, And like one guilty of ſome heynous ill, Is couer'd with the ſhade of yonder hill. The Rauen almoſt famiſht, ioyes not more, VVhen reſtleſſe billowes tumble to the ſhore A heape of bodies ſhipwrackt in the ſeas, Then Richard with theſe newes himſelfe doth ple •• He now diuerts his courſe another way, And with his Army led in faire array, Aſcends the riſing ground, and taking view Of Henries ſouldiers, ſees they are but few: Imperiall courage fires his noble breſt, He ſets a threatning ſpeare within his reſt, Thus ſaying: All true Knights, on me attend, I ſoone will bring this quarrell to an end: If none will follow, if all faith be gone, Behold▪ I goe to try my cauſe alone. He ſtrikes his ſpurres into his horſes ſide, VVith him ſtout Louell and bold Ferrers ride; To them braue Ratcliffe, gen'rous Clifton haſte, Old Brakenbury ſcornes to be the laſt: As borne with wings, all worthy ſpirits flye, Reſolu'd for ſafety of their Prince to dye; And Cateſby to this number addes his name, Though pale with feare, yet ouercomne with ſhame. Their boldneſſe Richmond dreads not, but admires; He ſees their motion like to rolling fires, VVhich by the winde along the fields are borne Amidſt the trees, the hedges, and the corne, VVhere they the hopes of husbandmen conſume, And fill the troubled Ayre with dusky fume. Now as a carefull Lord of neighb'ring grounds, He keepes the flame from entring in his bounds, Each man is warn'd to hold his ſtation ſure, Prepar'd with courage ſtrong aſſaults t'endure: But all in vaine, no force, no warlike Art, From ſudden breaking can preſerue that part, VVhere Richard like a dart from thunder falles: His foes giue way, and ſtand as brazen walles On either ſide of his inforced path, VVhile he neglects them, and reſerues his wrath For him whoſe death theſe threatning clouds would cleare, Whō now with gladnes he beholdeth neere, And all thoſe faculties together brings, VVhich moue the ſoule to high and noble things. Eu'n ſo a Tyger hauing follow'd long The Hunters ſteps that robb'd her of her young: VVhen firſt ſhe ſees him, is by rage inclin'd Her ſteps to double, and her teeth to grind. Now horſe to horſe, and man is ioyn'd to man So ſtrictly, that the ſouldiers hardly can Their aduerſaries from their fellowes know: Here each braue Champion ſingles out his foe. In this confuſion Brakenbury meetes VVith Hungerford, and him thus foulely greetes: Ah traytor, falſe in breach of faith and loue, What diſcontent could thee and Bourchier moue, Who had ſo long my fellowes been in Armes, To flie to Rebels? What ſeducing charmes Could on your clouded minds ſuch darkneſſe bring, To ſerue an Out-law, and neglect the King? VVith theſe ſharpe ſpeeches Hungerford enrag'd, T'vphold his honour, thus the battaile wag'd: Thy doting age (ſaith he) delights in words, But this aſperſion muſt be try'd by ſwords. Then leauing talke, he by his weapon ſpeakes, And driues a blow, which Brakenbury breakes, By lifting vp his left hand, elſe the ſteele Had pierc'd his burgonet, and made him feele The pangs of death: but now the fury fell Vpon the hand that did the ſtroke repell, And cuts ſo large a portion of the ſhield, That it no more can ſafe protection yeeld. Bold Hungerford diſdaines his vſe to make Of this aduantage, but doth ſtraight forſake His maſſy Target, render'd to his Squire, And ſaith: Let cowards ſuch defence deſire. This done, theſe valiant Knights diſpoſe their blades, And ſtill the one the others face inuades, •• ll Brakenburies helmet giuing way • o thoſe fierce ſtrokes that Hungerford doth lay, •• brus'd and gapes, which Bourchier fighting neare, Perceiues and cries: Braue Hungerford, forbeare, Bring not thoſe ſiluer haires to timeleſſe end, He was, and may be once againe our friend. But oh too late! the fatall blow was ſent From Hungerford, which he may now repent, But not recall, and digges a mortall wound In Brakenburies head, which ſhould be crown'd VVith precious Metals, and with Bayes adorn'd For conſtant truth appearing, when he ſcorn'd To ſtaine his hand in thoſe young Princes blood, And like a rocke amidſt the Ocean ſtood Againſt the Tyrants charmes, and threats vnmou'd, Though death declares how much he Richard lou'd. Stout Ferrers aimes to fixe his mighty Launce In Pembrokes heart, which on the ſteele doth glaunce, And runnes in vaine the empty ayre to preſſe: But Pembrokes ſpeare, obtaining wiſht ſucceſſe, Through Ferrers breſt-plate, and his body ſinkes, And vitall blood from inward veſſels drinkes. Here Stanley, and braue Louel trie their ſtrength, VVhoſe equall courage drawes the ſtrife to length, They thinke not how they may themſelues defen • To ſtrike is all their care, to kill their end. So meete two Bulls vpon adioyning hills Of rocky Charnwood, while their murmur fills The hollow crags, when ſtriuing for their bounds, They waſh their piercing hornes in mutuall woun • If in the midſt of ſuch a bloody fight, The name of friendſhip be not thought too light, Recount my Muſe, how Byrons faithfull loue To dying Clifton did it ſelfe approue: For Clifton fighting brauely in the troope, Receiues a wound, and now begins to droope: Which Byron ſeeing, though in armes his foe, In heart his friend, and hoping that the blow Had not been mortall, guards him, with his ſhield From ſecond hurts, and cries, Deare Clifton, yeeld Thou hither cam'ſt, led by ſiniſter fate, Againſt my firſt aduice, yet now, though late, Take this my counſell. Clifton thus replied: It is too late, for I muſt now prouide To ſeeke another life: liue thou, ſweet friend, And when thy ſide obtaines a happy end, Vpon the fortunes of my children looke, Remember what a ſolemne oath we tooke, That he whoſe part ſhould proue the beſt in fight, Would with the Conqu'rour trie his vtmoſt might, To ſaue the others lands from rau'nous pawes, Which ſeaze on fragments of a luckleſſe cauſe. My fathers fall our houſe had almoſt drown'd, But I by chance aboord in ſhipwracke found. May neuer more ſuch danger threaten mine: • eale thou for them, as I would doe for thine. This ſaid, his ſenſes faile, and pow'rs decay, While Byron calles; Stay, worthy Clifton, ſtay, And heare my faithfull promiſe once againe, Which if I breake, may all my deeds be vaine. But now he knowes, that vitall breath is fled, And needleſſe words are vtter'd to the dead; Into the midſt of Richards ſtrength he flies, Preſenting glorious acts to Henries eyes, And for his ſeruice he expects no more, Then Cliftons ſonne from forfeits to reſtore. While Richard bearing downe with eager mind, The ſteps by which his paſſage was confin'd, Laies hands on Henries Standard as his prey, Strong Brandon bore it, whom this fatall day Markes with a blacke note, as the onely Knight, That on the conqu'ring part forſakes the light. But Time, whoſe wheeles with various motion runne, Repayes this ſeruice fully to his ſonne, Who marries Richmonds daughter, borne betweene Two Royall Parents, and endowed a Queene. When now the King perceiues that Brandon ſtriues To ſaue his charge, he ſends a blow that riues His skull in twaine, and by a gaping hole, Giues ample ſcope to his departing ſoule, And thus inſults; Accurſed wretch, farewell, Thine Enſignes now may be diſplay'd in hell: There thou ſhalt know, it is an odious thing, To let thy banner flie against thy King. VVith ſcorne he throwes the Standard to the ground VVhen Cheney for his height and ſtrength renown'd, Steps forth to couer Richmond, now expos'd To Richards ſword: the King with Cheney clos'd, And to the earth this mighty Giant fell'd. Then like a Stag, whom fences long with-held From meddowes, where the Spring in glory raignes, Now hauing leuell'd thoſe vnpleaſing chaines, And treading proudly on the vanquiſht flowres, He in his hopes a thouſand ioyes deuoures: For now no pow'r to croſſe his end remaines, But onely Henry, whom he neuer daines To name his foe, and thinkes he ſhall not braue A valiant Champion, but a yeelding ſlaue. Alas? how much deceiu'd, when he ſhall find An able body and couragious minde: For Richmond boldly doth himſelfe oppoſe Againſt the King, and giues him blowes for blowes, VVho now confeſſeth with an angry frowne, His Riuall, not vnworthy of the Crowne. The younger Stanley then no longer ſtaid, The Earle in danger needs his preſent aide, VVhich he performes as ſudden as the light, His comming turnes the ballance of the fight. So threatning clouds, whoſe fall the ploughmen feare, VVhich long vpon the mountaines top appeare, Diſſolue at laſt, and vapours then diſtill To watry ſhowres that all the valleys fill. The firſt that ſaw this dreadfull ſtorme ariſe, VVas Cateſby, who to Richard loudly cries, No way but ſwift retreate your life to ſaue, This no ſhame with wings t'auoide the graue. This ſaid, he trembling turnes himſelfe to flie, And dares not ſtay, to heare the Kings replie, VVho ſcorning his aduice, as foule and baſe, Returnes this anſwer with a wrathfull face, Let cowards truſt their horſes nimble feete, And in their courſe with new deſtruction meete, Gaine thou ſome houres to draw thy fearefull breath: To me ignoble flight is worſe then death. But at th'approach of Stanleyes freſh ſupply, The Kings ſide droopes: ſo gen'rous Horſes lie Vnapt to ſtirre, or make their courage knowne, Which vnder cruell Maſters ſinke and grone. There at his Princes foote ſtout Ratcliffe dies, Not fearing, but deſpairing, Louell flies, For he ſhall after end his weary life In not ſo faire, but yet as bold a ſtrife. The King maintaines the fight, though left alone: For Henries life he faine would change his owne, And as a Lioneſſe, which compaſt round VVith troopes of men, receiues a ſmarting wound By ſome bold hand, though hinder'd and oppreſt With other ſpeares, yet ſhghting all the reſt, Will follow him alone that wrong'd her firſt: So Richard preſſing with reuengefull thirſt, Admits no ſhape, but Richmonds to his eye, And would in triumph on his carcaſe die: But that great God, to whom all creatures yeeld, Protects his ſeruant with a heau'nly ſhield, His pow'r, in which the Earle ſecurely truſts, Rebates the blowes, and falſifies the thruſts. The King growes weary, and begins to faint, It grieues him that his foes perceiue the taint: Some ſtrike him, that till then durſt not come neare, With weight and number they to ground him beare, Where trampled down, and hew'd with many ſword He ſoftly vtter'd theſe his dying words, Now ſtrength no longer Fortune can withstand, I periſh in the Center of my Land. His hand he then with wreathes of graſſe infolds, And bites the earth, which he ſo ſtrictly holds, As if he would haue borne it with him hence, So loth he was to loſe his rights pretence. FINIS

An expreſsion of Sibylls Acroſtichs. 〈…〉 ſigne that Iudgement comes, the Earth ſhall ſweat: 〈…〉 times, behold the Prince, whoſe might 〈…〉 cenſure all within his Kingdome great: 〈◊〉 • rue and faithfull ſhall approach his ſight, 〈◊〉 feare this God, by his high glory knowne, 〈◊〉 ••• bin'd with fleſh, and compaſt with his Saints, 〈◊〉 words diuiding ſoules before his Throne, 〈◊〉 • eeme the world from Thornes and barren taints. 〈◊〉 vaine then mortals leaue their wealth, and ſinne ••• ong force the ſtubborne gates of Hell ſhall tame: • he Saints, though dead, ſhall light and freedome winne: • word thriue not wicked men, with wrathfull flame • ppreſt, whoſe beames can ſearch their words and deeds, • o darkeſome breſt can couer baſe deſires, • ew ſorrow, gnaſhing teeth and wailing breeds; •• empt from Sunny rayes, or Starry quires, 〈◊〉 • eau'n thou art roll'd vp the Moone ſhall die, •• om vales he takes their depth, from hilles their height, •• eat men no more are inſolent and high: 〈◊〉 Seas no nimble ſhips ſhall carry weight: 〈◊〉 thunder arm'd with heat the earth confounds, • weet Springs and bubbling Streames their courſe reſtraine, 〈◊〉 heau'nly trumpet ſending dolefull ſounds, • pbraydes the worlds miſdeeds, and threatens paine, 〈◊〉 gaping earth infernall depths are ſeene; Our proudeſt •• ngs are ſummon'd by his call • nto his ſeate, from heau'n with anger keene • euengefull floods of fire and brimſtone fall. VIRGIL.

VIRGIL. ECLOG. 4. CIcilian Muſes, ſing we greater things, All are not pleas'd with Shrubs, & lowly Sp ••• More fitly to the Conſull, Woods belong, Now is fulfild Cumaean Sibyls Song, Long chaines of better times begin againe, The Maide returnes, and brings backe Saturnes rai •• New progenies from lofty Heau'n deſcend, Thouchaſte Lucina, be this Infants friend, Whoſe birth the dayes of Ir'n ſhall quite deface, And through the world the golden age ſhall place▪ Thy brother Phoebus weares his potent Crowne, And thou (O Pollio) know thy high renowne, Thy Conſulſhip this glorious change ſhall breed, Great moneths ſhall then endeuour to proceed: Thy rule the ſteps of threatning ſinne ſhall cleare, And free the earth from that perpetuall feare: He with the Gods ſhall liue, and ſhall behold, With heauenly ſpirits noble ſoules enroll'd, And ſeene by them ſhall guide this worldly frame, Which to his hand his fathers ſtrength doth tame. To thee (ſweet Child) the earth brings natiue dow • The wandring Iuy, with faire B • cchars flowres, • nd Colocaſia ſprung from Egypts ground, With ſmiling leaues of greene Acanthus crown'd, • he Gotes their ſwelling vdders home ſhall beare, The Droues no more ſhall mighty Lions feare: For thee thy cradle pleaſing flowres ſhall bring, Imperious Death ſhall blunt the Serpents ſting, No herbes ſhall with deceitfull poyſon flow, And ſweet Amomum eu'ry where ſhall grow. But when thou able art to reade the facts Of Worthies, and thy Fathers famous acts, To know what glories, vertues name adorne, The fields to ripeneſſe bring the tender corne; Ripe Grapes depend on careleſſe Brambles tops; Hard Oakes ſweat hony, form'd in dewy drops, Yet ſome few ſteps of former fraudes remaine, VVhich men to trie, the Sea with ſhips conſtraine? VVith ſtrengthning walles their Cities to defend, And on the ground long ſurrowes to extend, A ſecond •• phys, and • ew Argo then, Shall leade to braue exploits the beſt of men, The warre of Troy that Towne againe ſhall burne, And great Achilles thither ſhall returne. But when firme age a perfect man thee makes, The willing Sayler ſtraight the Seas forſakes, The P •• e no more the vſe of trade retaines, Each Countrie breeds all fruits, the earth diſdaines The Harrowes weight, and Vines the ſickles ſtrokes; Strong Ploughmen let their Bulls go free from yokes, Wooll feares not to diſſemble colours ſtrange, But Rammes their fleeces then in paſtures change To pleaſing Purple, or to Saffron die, And Lambes turne ruddy, as they feeding lie. The Fates, whoſe wills in ſtedfaſt end agree, Command their wheeles to run ſuch daies to ſee, Attempt great honours, now the time attends, Deare Childe of Gods, whoſe line from Ioue deſcend • See how the world with weight declining lies; The Earth, the ſpacious Seas, and arched Skies: Behold againe, how theſe their griefe aſſwage With expectation of the future age: O that my life and breath ſo long would laſt To tell thy deeds! I ſhould not be ſurpaſt By Thracian Orpheus, nor if Linus ſing, Though they from Phoebus and the Muſes ſpring: Should Pan (Arcadia iudging) ſtriue with me, Pan by Arcadia's doome would conquer'd be. Begin thou, little Childe; by laughter owne Thy Mother, who ten mon'ths hath fully knowne Of tedious houres: begin, thou little Childe, On whom as yet thy Parents neuer ſmil'd, The God with meate hath not thy hunger fed, Nor Goddeſſe laid thee in a little bed.

An Epigram concerning Mans life compoſed by Crates, or Poſidippus. WHat courſe of life ſhould wretched mortals take? In Courts, hard queſtions, large contention make, Care dwels in houſes, Labour in the field, Tumultuous Seas affrighting dangers yeeld. In forraine Land, thou neuer canſt be bleſt; If rich, thou art in feare; if poore, diſtreſt▪ In wedlock, frequent diſcontentments ſwell: Vnmarried perſons, as in Deſarts dwell. How many troubles are with children borne? Yet he that wants them, counts himſelfe forlorne. Young men are wanton, and of wiſedome void: Gray haires are cold, vnfit to be imploid. Who would not one of theſe two offers chooſe: Not to be borne, or breath with ſpeede to looſe?

The anſwer of Metrodorus. IN eu'ry way of life, true pleaſure flowes, Immortall Fame, from publike action growes: Within the doores is found appeaſing reſt; In fields, the gifts of Nature are expreſt. The Sea brings gaine, the rich abroad prouide, To blaze their names, the poore their wants to hide All houſholds beſt are gouern'd by a wife; His cares are light, who leades a ſingle life. Sweet children, are delights, which marriage bleſſe He that hath none, diſturbs his thoughts the leſſe. Strong youth, can triumph in victorious deeds: Old age the ſoule, with pious motion feeds. All ſtates are good, and they are falſly led, Who wiſh to be vnborne, or quickly dead.

HORAT. LIB. 2. SAT. 6. THis was my wiſh: no ample ſpace of ground, T'include my Garden with a mod rate bound, And neere my houſe a Fountaine neuer dry, A little VVood, which might my wants ſupply, The gods haue made me bleſt with larger ſtore: It is ſufficient, I deſire no more, O ſonne of Maia, but this grant alone, That quiet vſe may make theſe gifts mine owne. If I increaſe them by no lawleſſe way, Nor through my fault will cauſe them to decay. If not to theſe fond hopes my thoughts decline, O that this ioyning corner could be mine, VVhich with diſgrace deformes, and maimes my field, Or Fortune would a pot of ſiluer yeeld, (As vnto him who being hir'd to worke, Diſcouer'd treaſure, which in mold did lurke, And bought the Land, which he before had till▪d, Since friendly Hercules his boſome fill'd) If I with thankfull minde theſe bleſſings take, Diſdaine not this petition which I make. Let • at in all things, but my wit, be ſeene, And be my ſafeſt guard as thou haſt been. When from the Citty I my ſelfe remoue Vp to the hills, as to a towre aboue, I find no fitter labours, nor delights Then Satyres, which my lowly Muſe indites. No foule ambition can me there expoſe To danger, nor the leaden wind that blowes From Southerne parts, nor Autumnes grieuous raine, Whence bitter Libitina reapes her gaine. O father of the mornings purple light! Or if thou rather would'ſt be Ianus hight, From whoſe diuine beginning, mortalls draw The paines of life, according to the law, Which is appointed by the Gods decree, Thou ſhalt the entrance of my verſes be. At Rome thou driu'ſt me, as a pledge to goe, That none himſelfe may more officious ſhow. Although the fury of the Northerne blaſt Shall ſweepe the earth; or Winters force hath caſt The ſnowy day, into a narrow Sphere, I muſt proceede, and hauing ſpoken cleare And certaine truth, muſt wreſtle in the throng, Where by my haſte, the ſlower ſuffer wrong, And crie, VVhat ayles the mad man? whither ten • His ſpeedy ſteps? while mine imperious frend Intreates, and chafes, admitting no delay, And I muſt beate all thoſe, that ſtop my way. The glad remembrance of Mecaenas lends A ſweete content: but when my iourney bends, To blacke Esquiliae, there a hundred tides Of ſtrangers cauſes preſſe my head and ſides. You muſt, before the ſecond houre, appeare In Court to morrow, and for Roſcius ſweare. The Scribes deſire you would to them repaire, About a publike, great, and new affaire, Procure ſuch fauour, from Mecaenas hand, As that his ſeale may on this paper ſtand. I anſwer, I will trie: he vrgeth ſtill, I know you can performe it if you will Seu'n yeeres are fled, the eighth is almoſt gone, Since firſt Mecaenas tooke me for his owne, That I with him might in his chariot ſit, And onely then would to my truſt commit Such toyes as theſe: what is the time of day? The Thracian is the Syrians match in play. Now careleſſe men are nipt with morning cold: And words which open eares may ſafely hold. In all this ſpace for eu'ry day and houre I grew more ſubiect to pale enuies pow'r This ſonne of Fortune to the Stage reſorts, And with the fau'rite in the field diſports. Fame from the pulpits runnes through eu'ry ſtreete, And I am ſtrictly askt by all I meete: Good Sir (you needes muſt know, for you are neare Vnto the Gods) doe you no tidings heare Concerning Dacian troubles? Nothing I. You allwayes loue your friends with ſcoffes to try, If I can tell, the Gods my life confound. But where will Caeſar giue his ſouldiers ground, In Italie, or the T • inacrian Ile? I ſweare I know not, they admire the while, And thinke me full of ſilence, graue and deepe, The onely man that ſhould high ſecrets keepe, For theſe reſpects (poore wretch) I loſe the light, And longing thus repine: when ſhall my ſight Againe bee happy in beholding thee My countrey •• rme? or when ſhall I be free To reade in bookes what ancient writers ſpeake, To reſt in ſleepe, which others may not breake, To taſte (in houres ſecure from courtly ſtrife) The ſoft obliuion of a carefull life? O when ſhall beanes vpon my boord appeare, Which wiſe Pythagoras eſteem'd ſo deare? Or when ſhall fatneſſe of the Lard anoint The herbes, which for my table I appoint? O ſuppers of the Gods! O nights diuine! When I before our Lar might feaſt with mine, And feede my prating ſlaues with taſted meate, As eu'ry one ſhould haue deſire to eate. The frolike gueſt not bound with heauy lawes, The liquor from vnequall meaſures drawes: Some being ſtrong delight in larger draughts, Some call for leſſer cups to cleere their thoughts. Of others houſe and lands no ſpeaches grow, Nor whether Lepos danceth well or no. We talke of things which to our ſelues pertaine, Which not to know would be a ſinfull ſtaine, Are men by riches or by vertue bleſt? Of friendſhips ends is vſe or right the beſt? Of good what is the nature, what excells? My neighbour Ceruius old wiues fables tells, When any one Arellius wealth admires, And little knowes what troubles it requires. He thus beginnes: Long ſince a countrey Mouſe Receau'd into his low and homely houſe A Citty Mouſe, his friend and gueſt before; The hoſt was ſharpe and ſparing of his ſtore, Yet much to hoſpitality inclin'd: For ſuch occaſions could dilate his mind. He Chiches giues for winter layd aſide, Nor are the long and ſlender Otes deny'd: Dry Grapes he in his lib'rall mouth doth beare, And bits of Bacon which halfe eaten were: With various meates to pleaſe the ſtrangers pride, Whoſe dainty teeth through all the diſhes ſlide. The Father of the family in ſtraw Lies ſtretcht along, diſdaigning not to gnaw Baſe corne or darnell, and reſerues the beſt, To make a perfect banquet for his gueſt▪ To him at laſt the Citizen thus ſpake, My friend, I muſe what pleaſure thou canſt take, Or how thou canſt endure to ſpend thy time In ſhady Groues, and vp ſteepe hills to clime. In ſauage Forreſts build no more thy den: Goe to the City, there to dwell with men. Begin this happy iourney, truſt to me, I will thee guide, thou ſhalt my fellow be. Since earthly things are ty'd to mortall liues, And eu'ry great, and little creature ſtriues, In vaine the certaine ſtroke of death to flie, Stay not till moments paſt thy ioyes denie. Liue in rich plenty, and perpetuall ſport: Liue euer mindfull, that thine age is ſhort. The rauiſht field-mouſe holds theſe words ſo ſweet▪ That from his home he leapes with nimble feet. They to the Citie trauaile with delight, And vnderneath the walles they creepe at night. Now darkeneſſe had poſſeſt heau'ns middle ſpace, VVhen theſe two friends their weary ſteps did plac▪ VVithin a wealthy Palace, where was ſpred A ſcarlet cou'ring on an Iu'ry bed: The baskets (ſet farre off aſide) contain'd The meates, which after plenteous meales remain'd The Citie Mouſe with courtly phraſe intreates His Country friend to reſt in purple ſeates; VVith ready care the Maſter of the feaſt Runnes vp and downe to ſee the ſtore increaſt: He all the duties of a ſeruant ſhowes, And taſtes of eu'ry diſh, that he beſtowes. The poore plaine Mouſe, exalted thus in ſtate, Glad of the change, his former life doth hate, •• d ſtriues in lookes and geſture to declare With what contentment he receiues this fare. 〈◊〉 ſtraight the ſudden creaking of a doore •• kes both theſe Mice from beds into the floore. •• ey runne about the roome halfe dead with feare, •• rough all the houſe the noiſe of dogs they heare. 〈◊〉 ſtranger now counts not the place ſo good, •• bids farewell, and ſaith, The ſilent VVood ••• ll me hereafter from theſe dangers ſaue, VVell pleas'd with ſimple Vetches in my Caue.

HORAT. CARM. LIB. 3. OD. 29. MEcaenas, (ſprung from Tuſcan Kings) for thee Milde VVine in veſſels neuer toucht, I keepe Here Roſes, and ſweete odours be, VVhoſe dew thy haire ſhall ſteepe: O ſtay not, let moyſt Tibur be diſdain'd, And Aeſulaes declining fields, and hills, VVhere once Telegonus remain'd, VVhoſe hand his father kills; Forſake that height where lothſome plenty cloyes, And towres, which to the lofty clouds aſpire, The ſmoke of Rome her wealth and noyſe Thou wilt not here admire. In pleaſing change, the rich man takes delight, And frugall meales in homely ſeates allowes, Where hangings want, and purple bright He cleares his carefull browe • . Now Cepheus plainely ſhewes his hidden fire, The Dog-ſtarre now his furious heate diſplayes, The Lion ſpreads his raging ire, The Sunne brings parching dayes. • he Shepheard now his ſickly ſlocke reſtores, With ſhades, and Riuers, and the Thickets finds Of rough Siluanus, ſilent ſhores Are free from playing winds. To keepe the State in order is thy care, Sollicitous for Rome, thou fear'ſt the warres, Which barbrous Eaſterne troopes prepare, And Tanais vs'd to iarres. The wiſe Creator from our knowledge hides The end of future times in darkſome night; Falſe thoughts of mortals he derides, When them vaine toyes affright. With mindfull temper preſent houres compoſe, The reſt are like a Riuer, which with eaſe, Sometimes within his channell ſlowes, Into Etrurian Seas. Oft ſtones, trees, flocks, and houſes it deuoures, VVith Echoes from the hills, and neighb'ring woods, VVhen ſome fierce deluge, rais'd by ſhowres, Turnes quiet Brookes to Floods. He maſter of himſelfe, in mirth may liue, VVho ſaith, I reſt well pleas'd with former dayes, Let God from heau'n to morrow giue Blacke clouds, or Sunny rayes. No force can make that voide, which once is paſt, Thoſe things are neuer alter'd, or vndone, VVhich from the inſtant rolling faſt, VVith flying moments run. Proud Fortune ioyfull ſad affaires to finde, Inſulting in her ſport, delights to change Vncertaine honours: quickly kinde, And ſtraight againe as ſtrange. I prayſe her ſtay, but if ſhe ſtirre her wings, Her gifts I leaue, and to my ſelfe retire, VVrapt in my vertue: honeſt things In want no dowre require. VVhen Lybian ſtormes, the maſt in pieces ſhake, I neuer God with pray'rs, and vowes implore, Leſt precious wares addition make To greedy Neptunes ſtore. Then I contented, with a little bote, Am through Aegean waues, by winds conuay'd, VVhere Pollux makes me ſafely flote, And Castors friendly aide.

HORT. EPOD. 2. HE happy is, who farre from buſie ſounds, (As ancient mortals dwelt) VVith his owne Oxen tills his Fathers grounds, And debts hath neuer felt. 〈◊〉 warre diſturbes his reſt with fierce alarmes, Nor angry Seas offend: 〈◊〉 ſhunnes the Law, and thoſe ambitious charmes, VVhich great mens doores attend. The lofty Poplers with delight he weds To Vines that grow apace, And with his hooke vnfruitfull branches ſhreds, More happy ſprouts to place, •• elſe beholds, how lowing heards aſtray, In narrow valleys creepe, •• in cleane pots, doth pleaſant hony lay, Or ſheares his feeble Sheepe. VVhen Autumne from the ground his head vpreares, VVith timely Apples chain'd, •• w glad is he to plucke ingrafted Peares, And Grapes with purple ſtain'd? Thus he Priapus, or Syluanus payes, VVho keepes his limits free, His weary limbes, in holding graſſe he layes, Or vnder ſome old tree, Along the lofty bankes the waters ſlide, The Birds in woods lament, The Springs with trickling ſtreames the Ayre diuide, VVhence gentle ſleepes are lent. But when great Ioue, in winters dayes reſtores Vnpleaſing ſhowres and ſnowes, VVith many Dogs he driues the angry Bores To ſnares which them oppoſe. His ſlender nets diſpos'd on little ſtakes, The greedy Thruſh preuent: The fearefull Hare, and forraine Crane he takes, VVith this reward content. VVho will not in theſe ioyes forget the cares, Which oft in loue we meete: But when a modeſt wife the trouble ſhares Of houſe and children ſweete, (Like Sabines, or the ſwift Apulians wiues, Whoſe cheekes the Sun-beames harme, When from old wood ſhe ſacred fire contriues, Her weary mate to warme, When ſhe with hurdles, her glad flockes confines, And their full vdders dries, And from ſweet veſſels drawes the yearely wines, And meates vnbought ſupplies; No Lucrine Oyſters can my palate pleaſe, Thoſe fiſhes I neglect, Which tempeſts thundring on the Eaſterne Seas Into our waues direct. No Bird from Affrike ſent, my taſte allowes, Nor Foule which Aſia breeds: The Oliue (gather'd from the fatty boughes) With more delight me feeds. Sowre Herbs, which loue the Meades, or Mallowes good, To eaſe the body pain'd: A Lambe which ſheds to Terminus her blood, Or Kid from VVolues regain'd. VVhat ioy is at theſe Feaſts, when well-fed flocks Themſelues for home prepare? Or when the weake necke of the weary Oxe Drawes back th'inuerted ſhare? VVhen Slaues (the ſwarmes that wealthy houſes charge) Neere ſmiling Lar, ſit downe, This life when Alphius hath deſcrib'd at large, Inclining to the Clowne, He at the Ides calles all that money in, VVhich he hath let for gaine: But when the next month ſhall his courſe begin, He puts it out againe.

PER. SAT. 2. MAcrinus, let this happy day be knowne As white, and noted with a better ſtone, Which to thine age doth ſliding yeeres combine: Before thy Genius powre forth cups of wine, Thy pray'rs expect no baſe and greedy end, Which to the gods thou cloſely muſt commend: Though moſt of thoſe whom honours lift on high, In all their offrings ſilent Incenſe frie, All from the Temple are not apt to take Soft lowly ſounds, and open vowes to make. The gifts of minde, fame, faith he vtters cleare, That ſtrangers may farre off his wiſhes heare: But this he mumbles vnderneath his tongue; O that mine Vnkles death expected long, Would bring a fun'rall which no coſt ſhall lacke! O that a pot of ſiluer once would cracke Beneath my harrow by Alcides ſent! Or that I could the Orphanes hopes preuent, To whom I am next heire, and muſt ſucceed! (Since ſwelling humours in his body breed, Which threaten oft the ſhortneſſe of his life.) How bleſt is Nerius, thrice to change his wife! Thoſe are the holy pray'rs for which thy head (When firſt the morning hath her mantle ſpred) Is dipt ſo many times in Tibers ſtreames, VVhere running waters purge the nightly dreames. I thus demand: in anſwer be not ſlow, It is not much that I deſire to know: Of Ioue what think'ſt thou? if thy iudgement can Eſteeme him iuſter then a mortall man? Then Staius? doubt'ſt thou which of theſe is beſt To iudge aright the fatherleſſe oppreſt? The ſpeech with which thine impious wiſhes dare Prophane Ioues eares, to Staius now declare: O Ioue, O good Ioue, he will ſtraight exclaime, And ſhall not Ioue crie out on his owne name? For pardon canſt thou hope, becauſe the Oke Is ſooner by the ſacred Brimſtone broke, When Thunder teares the Ayre, then thou and thine, Becauſe thou ly'ſt not, as a diſmall ſigne • n Woods, while entrailes, and Ergennaes Art, Bid all from thy ſad carkaſe to depart, Will therefore Ioue his fooliſh beard extend, For thee to pull? what treaſure canſt thou ſpend To make the eares of Gods, by purchaſe thine? Can lights and bowels bribe the pow'rs diuine? Some Grandame, or religious Aunt, whoſe ioy • s from the cradle to take out the Boy, • n luſtrall ſpittle her long finger dips, And expiates his forhead and his lips. Her cunning from bewitching eyes defends, Then in her armes ſhe dandles him, and ſends Her ſlender hope, which humble vowes propound To Craſſus houſe, or to Licinius ground. Let Kings and Queenes wiſh him their ſonne in law; Let all the wenches him in pieces draw; May eu'ry ſtalke of graſſe on which he goes, Be ſoone transform'd into a fragrant Roſe. No ſuch requeſt to Nurſes I allow, Ioue (though ſhe pray in white) refuſe her vow, Thou would'ſt firme ſinewes haue, a body ſtrong, Which may in age continue able long, But thy groſſe meates, and ample diſhes ſtay The gods from granting this, and Ioue delay. With hope to raiſe thy wealth, thou kill'ſt an Oxe, Inuoking Hermes: bleſſe my houſe and flockes. How can it be (vaine foole) when in the fires The melted fat of many Steeres expires? Yet ſtill thou think'ſt to ouercome at laſt, While many offrings in the flame are caſt; Now ſhall my fields be large, my ſheepe increaſe; Now it will come, now, now; nor wilt thou ceaſe, Vntill deceiu'd, and in thy hopes depreſt, Thou ſigh'ſt to ſee the bottome of thy cheſt, When I to thee haue cups of ſiluer brought, Or gifts in ſolid golden metall wrought, The left ſide of thy breſt will dropping ſweate, And full of ioy thy trembling heart will beate. Hence comes it, that with gold in triumph borne, Thou do'ſt the faces of the gods adorne, Among the brazen brethren they that ſend Thoſe dreames, where euill humours leaſt extend, The higheſt place in mens affections hold, And for their care receiue a beard of gold: The glorious name of gold hath put away The vſe of Saturnes braſſe, and Numaes clay. This glitt'ring pride to richer ſubſtance turnes The Tuſcan earthen pots, and veſtall vrnes. O crooked ſoules, declining to the earth, Whoſe empty thoughts forget their heau'nly birth: What end, what profit haue we, when we ſtriue Our manners to the Temples to deriue? Can we ſuppoſe, that to the gods we bring Some pleaſing good for this corrupted Spring? This fleſh, which Caſia doth diſſolue and ſpoyle, And with that mixture taints the natiue oyle: This boyles the fiſh with purple liquor full, And ſtaines the whiteneſſe of Calabrian wooll. This from the ſhell ſcrapes out the Pearle, and ſtraines From raw rude earth the feruent Metals veines. This ſinnes, it ſinnes, yet makes ſome vſe of vice: But tell me, ye great Flamins, can the price Raiſe Gold to more account in holy things, Then Babies, which the maide to Ʋenus brings? Nay rather let vs yeeld the gods ſuch gifts, As great Meſſallaes off-ſpring neuer lifts, In coſtly Chargers ſtretcht to ample ſpace, Becauſe degen'rate from his noble race: A ſoule, where iuſt, and pious thoughts are chain'd; A mind, whoſe ſecret corners are vnſtain'd: A breſt, in which all gen'rous vertues lie, And paint it with a neuer-fading die. Thus to the Temples let me come with zeale, The gods will heare me, though I offer meale.

AVSON. IDYLL. 16. A Man, both good and wiſe, whoſe perfect mind Apollo cannot in a thouſand find, As his owne Iudge, himſelfe exactly knowes, Secure what Lords or vulgar breſts ſuppoſe: He, like the World, an equall roundneſſe beares; On his ſmooth ſides no outward ſpot appeares: He thinkes, how Cancers ſtarre increaſeth light; How Capricornes cold Tropicke lengthens night, And by iuſt ſcales will all his actions trie, That nothing ſinke too low, nor riſe too high, That corners may with euen parts incline, And meaſures erre not with a faulty line, That all within be ſolid, leſt ſome blow Should by the ſound the empty veſſell ſhow, Ere he to gentle ſleepe his eyes will lay, His thoughts reuolue the actions of the day, What houres from me with dull neglect haue runne, What was in time, or out of ſeaſon done? Why hath this worke, adorning-beauty lackt, Or reaſon wanted in another fact? What things haue I forgotten, why deſign'd To ſeeke thoſe ends, which better were declin'd, When to the needy wretch I gaue reliefe, Why was my broken ſoule poſſeſt with griefe? In what haue my miſtaking wiſhes err'd, Why profit more, then honeſty preferr'd? Could my ſharpe words another man incenſe, Or were my bookes compos'd to breed offence? How comes it, that corrupted nature-drawes My will from diſciplines amending lawes? Thus going ſlowly through his words and deeds, He from one eu'ning to the next proceeds: Peruerting crimes he checkes with angry frownes, Straight leuell'd Vertues he rewards with Crownes.

Claudians Epigram of the old man of Verona. THrice happy he, whoſe age is ſpent vpon his owne, The ſame houſe ſees him old, which him a child hath known, He leanes vpon his ſtaffe in ſand where once he crept, His mem'ry long deſcents, of one poore cote hath kept, He through the various ſtrife of fortune neuer paſt, Nor as a wand'ring gueſt would forraine waters taſte, He neuer fear'd the ſeas in trade, nor ſound of warres, Nor in hoarſe courts of law, hath felt litigious iarres, Vnskilfull in affaires, he knowes no City neare, So freely he enioyes the ſight of heau'n more cleare, The yeeres by ſeu'rall corne, not Conſuls he computes, He notes the Spring by flowres, and Autumne by the fruits, One ſpace put downe the Sunne, and brings againe the rayes. Thus by a certaine Orbe he meaſures out the dayes, Remembring ſome great Oke from ſmall beginning ſpred, He ſees the wood grow old, which with himſelfe was bred. Verona next of Townes as farre as India ſeemes, And for the ruddy Sea, Benacus he eſteemes: Yet ſtill his armes are firme, his ſtrength vntam'd and greene; The full third age hath him a luſty Grandſire ſeene. Let others trauaile farre, and hidden coaſts diſplay, This man hath more of life, and thoſe haue more of way.

Vpon the two great Feaſts of the Annunciation and Reſurrection falling on the ſame day, March 25. 1627. THrice happy day, which ſweetly do'ſt combine Two Hemiſpheres in th'Equinoctiall line: The one debaſing God to earthly paine, The other raiſing man to endleſſe raigne. Chriſts humble ſteps declining to the wombe, Touch heau'nly ſcales erected on his Tombe: We firſt with Gabriel muſt this Prince conuay Into his chamber on the marriage day, Then with the other Angels cloth'd in white, We will adore him in this conqu'ring Night: The Sonue of God aſſuming humane breath, Becomes a ſubiect to his vaſſall Death, That Graues and Hell laid open by his ſtrife, May giue vs paſſage to a better life. See for this worke how things are newly ſtyl'd, Man is declar'd, Almighty, God, a Child; The Word made Fleſh, is ſpeechleſſe, and the Light Begins from Clouds, and ſets in depth of night; Behold the Sunne eclips'd for many yeeres, And eu'ry day more dusky robes he weares, Till after totall darkeneſſe ſhining faire, No Moone ſhall barre his ſplendor from the Aire. Let faithfull ſoules this double Feaſt attend In two Proceſſions: let the firſt deſcend The Temples ſtaires, and with a downe-caſt eye Vpon the loweſt pauement proſtrate lie, In creeping Violets, white Lillies ſhine Their humble thoughts, and eu'ry pure deſigne; The other troope ſhall climbe with ſacred heate, The rich degrees of Salomons bright ſeate, In glowing Roſes feruent zeale they beare, And in the Azure Flowre de▪lis appeare Celeſtiall contemplations, which aſpire Aboue the skie, vp to th'immortall Quire.

Of the Epiphany. FAire Eaſterne Starre, that art ordain'd to runne Before the Sages, to the riſing Sunne, Here ceaſe thy courſe, and wonder that the cloud Of this poore Stable can thy Maker ſhroud: Ye heauenly bodies, glory to be bright, And are eſteem'd, as ye are rich in light: But here on earth is taught a diff'rent way, Since vnder this low roofe the Higheſt lay; Ieruſalem erects her ſtately Towres, Diſplayes her windowes, and adornes her bowres: Yet there thou muſt not caſt a trembling ſparke. Let Herods Palace ſtill continue darke, Each Schoole and Synagogue thy force repels, There pride enthron'd in miſty errours dwels. The Temple where the Prieſts maintaine their quite, Shall taſte no beame of thy Celeſtiall fire. While this weake Cottage all thy ſplendor takes, A ioyfull gate of eu'ry chinke it makes. Here ſhines no golden roofe, no Iu'ry ſtaire, No King exalted in a ſtately chaire, Girt with attendants, or by Heralds ſtyl'd, But ſtraw and hay inwrap a ſpeechleſſe Child, Yet Sabaes Lords before this Babe vnfold Their treaſures, off'ring Incenſe, Myrrh and Gold. The Cribbe becomes an Altar; therefore dies No Oxe nor Sheepe, for in their fodder lies The Prince of Peace, who thankfull for his bed, Deſtroyes thoſe Rites, in which their blood was ſhed: The quinteſſence of earth, he takes and fees, And precious gummes diſtill'd from weeping trees, Rich Metals, and ſweet Odours now declare The glorious bleſſings, which his Lawes prepare To cleare vs from the baſe and lothſome flood Of ſenſe, and make vs fit for Angels food, Who lift to God for vs the holy ſmoke Of feruent pray'rs, with which we him inuoke, And trie our actions in that ſearching fire, By which the Seraphims our lips inſpire: No muddy droſſe pure Min'ralls ſhall infect, We ſhall exhale our vapours vp direct: No ſtormes ſhall croſſe, nor glitt'ring lights deface Perpetuall ſighes, which ſeeke a happy place.

Of the Transfiguration of our Lord. YEe that in lowly valleyes weeping ſate, And taught your humble ſoules to mourne of la •• For ſinnes, and ſuff'rings breeding griefes and feares, And made the Riuers bigger with your teares; Now ceaſe your ſad complaints, till fitter time, And with thoſe three belou'd Apoſtles clime To lofty Thabor, where your happy eyes Shall ſee the Sunne of glory brightly riſe: Draw neere, and euer bleſſe that ſacred hill, That there no heate may parch, no froſt may kill The tender plants, nor any thunder blaſt That top, by which all mountaines are ſurpaſt. By ſteepe and briery paths ye muſt aſcend: But if ye know to what high ſcope ye tend, No let nor danger can your ſteps reſtraine, The crags will eaſie ſeeme, the thickets plaine. Our Lord there ſtands, not with his painefull Croſſe Laid on his ſhoulders, mouing you to loſſe Of precious things, nor calling you to beare That burden, which ſo much baſe worldlings feare. Here are no promiſt hopes obſcur'd with clouds, No ſorrow with dim vailes true pleaſure ſhrowds, But perfect Ioy, which here diſcouer'd ſhines, To taſte of heauenly light your thoughts inclines, And able is to weane deluded mindes From fond delight, which wretched mortals blinds: Yet let not ſenſe ſo much your reaſon ſway, As to deſire for euer here to ſtay, Refuſing that ſweet change which God prouides, To thoſe whom with his rod and ſtaffe he guides: Your happineſſe conſiſts not now alone In thoſe high comforts which are often throwne In plenteous manner from our Sauiours hand, To raiſe the fall'n, and cauſe the weake to ſtand: But ye are bleſt, when being trodden downe, Ye taſte his Cup, and weare his thorny Crowne.

On Aſcenſion day. YE that to heau'n direct your curious eyes, And ſend your minds to walk the ſpacious skies, See how the Maker to your ſelues you brings, Who ſets his noble markes on meaneſt things: And hauing Man aboue the Angels plac'd, The lowly Earth more then the Heau'n hath grac'd. Poore Clay, each Creature thy degrees admires; Firſt, God in thee a liuing Soule inſpires, Whoſe glorious beames hath made thee farre m ••• bright Then is the Sunne, the ſpring of corp'rall light: He reſts not here, but to himſelfe thee takes, And thee diuine by wondrous vnion makes. What Region can afford a worthy place For his exalted Fleſh? Heau'n is too baſe, He ſcarce would touch it in his ſwift aſcent, The Orbes fled backe (like Iordan) as he went: And yet he daign'd to dwell a while on earth, As paying thankefull tribute for his birth: But now this body all Gods workes excels, And hath no place, but God, in whom it dwels.

An Ode of the bleſſed Trinitie. MVſe, that art dull and weake, Oppreſt with worldly paine, If ſtrength in thee remaine, Of things diuine to ſpeake: Thy thoughts a while from vrgent eares reſtraine, And with a cheareful voice thy wonted ſilence breake. No cold ſhall thee benumme, Nor darkneſſe taint thy ſight; To thee new heate, new light, Shall from this obiect come, Whoſe praiſes if thou now wilt ſound a right, My pen ſhall giue thee leaue hereafter to be dumbe. Whence ſhall we then begin To ſing, or write of this, Where no beginning is? Or if we enter in, Where ſhall we end? The end is endleſſe bliſſe; Thrice happy we, if well ſo rich a thread we ſpinne. For Thee our ſtrings we touch, Thou that are Three, and One, Whoſe eſſence though vnknowne, Beleeu'd is to be ſuch; To whom what ere we giue, we giue thine owne, And yet no mortall tongue can giue to thee ſo much. See how in vayne we trie To find ſome tipe, t' agree With this great One in Three, Yet can none ſuch deſcrie, If any like, or ſecond were to thee, Thy hidden nature then were not ſo deepe and high▪ Here faile inferiour things, The Sunne whoſe heate and light Make creatures warme and bright, A feeble ſhadow brings: The Sunne ſhewes to the world his Fathers might, With glorious raies, frō both our fire (the ſpirit) ſpring▪ Now to this topleſſe hill, Let vs aſcend more neare, Yet ſtill within the Spheare Of our connat'rall skill, We may behold how in our ſoules we beare An vnderſtanding pow'r, ioyn'd with effectuall will▪ We can no higher goe To ſearch this point diuine; Here it doth chiefly ſhine, This Image muſt it ſhow: Theſe ſteppes as helpes our humble minds incline, T' embrace thoſe certaine grounds, which from true Faith muſt flow. To him theſe notes direct, Who not with outward hands, Nor by his ſtrong commands, Whence creatures take effect: While perfectly himſelfe he vnderſtands, Begets another ſelfe, with equall glory deckt. From theſe, the Spring of loue, The holy Ghoſt proceeds, VVho our affection feeds, VVith thoſe cleare flames which moue From that eternall Eſſence which them breeds, And ſtrike into our ſoules, as lightning from aboue. Stay, ſtay, Parnaſſian Girle, Heere thy deſcriptions faint, Thou humane ſhapes canſt paint, And canſt compare to Pearle VVhite teeth, and ſpeak of lips which Rubies taint, Reſembling beauteous eies to Orbs that ſwiftly whirle. But now thou mayſt perceiue The weakeneſſe of thy wings; And that thy nobleſt ſtrings To muddy obiects cleaue: Then praiſe with humble ſilence heau'nly things, And what is more then this, to ſtill deuotion leaue.

A Dialogue betweene the World, a Pilgrim, and Vertue. Pilgrim. WHat darknes clouds my ſenſes? Hath the day Forgot his ſeaſon, and the Sunne his way? Doth God withdraw his all-ſuſtaining might, And works no more with his faire creature light, While heau'n and earth for ſuch a loſſe complaine, And turne to rude vnformed heapes againe? My paces with intangling briers are bound, And all this forreſt in deepe ſilence drownd, Here muſt my labour and my iourney ceaſe, By which in vaine I ſought for reſt and peace: But now perceiue that mans vnquiet mind, In all his waies can onely darkeneſſe find. Here muſt I ſtarue and die, vnleſſe ſome light Point out the paſſage from this diſmall night. World. Diſtreſſed Pilgrim, let not cauſeleſſe feare Depreſſe thy hopes, for thou haſt comfort neare, Which thy dull heart with ſplendor ſhall inſpire, And guide thee to thy period of deſire. Cleare vp thy browes, and raiſe thy fainting eyes, See how my glitt'ring Palace open lies For weary paſſengers, whoſe deſp'rate caſe I pitie, and prouide a reſting place. Pilgrim. O thou whoſe ſpeeches ſound, whoſe beauties ſhine▪ Not like a creature, but ſome pow'r diuine, Teach me thy ſtile, thy worth and ſtate declare, VVhoſe glories in this deſart hidden are. World. I am thine end, Felicity my name; The beſt of wiſhes, Pleaſures, Riches, Fame, Are humble vaſſals, which my Throne attend, And make you mortals happy when I ſend: In my left hand delicious fruits I hold, To feede them who with mirth and eaſe grow old, Afraid to loſe the fleeting dayes and nights, They ſeaze on times, and ſpend it in delights. My right hand with triumphant crownes is ſtor'd, VVhich all the Kings of former times ador'd: Theſe gifts are thine: then enter where no ſtrife, No griefe, no paine ſhall interrupt thy life. Ʋertue. Stay, haſty wretch, here deadly Serpents dwell, And thy next ſtep is on the brinke of hell: VVouldſt thou, poore weary man, thy limbs repoſe? Behold my houſe, where true contentment growes: Not like the baites, which this ſeducer giues, VVhoſe bliſſe a day, whoſe torment euer liues. World. Regard not theſe vaine ſpeeches, let them goe, This is a poore worme, my contemned foe, Bold thredbare Vertue; who dare promiſe more From empty bags, then I from all my ſtore: VVhoſe counſels make men draw vnquiet breath, Expecting to be happy after death. Vertue. Canſt thou now make, or haſt thou euer made Thy ſeruants happy in thoſe things that fade? Heare this my challenge, one example bring Of ſuch perfection; let him be the King Of all the world, fearing no outward check, And guiding others by his voice or beck: Yet ſhall this man at eu'ry moment find More gall then hony in his reſtleſſe mind. Now Monſter, ſince my words haue ſtruck thee dumb, Behold this Garland, whence ſuch vertues come, Such glories ſhine, ſuch piercing beames are throwne, As make thee blind, and turne thee to a ſtone. And thou, whoſe wand'ring feet were running downe Th'infernall ſteepeneſſe, looke vpon this Crowne: Within theſe folds lie hidden no deceits, No golden lures, on which perdition waites: But when thine eyes the prickly thornes haue paſt, See in the circle boundleſſe ioyes at laſt. Pilgrim. Theſe things are now moſt cleare, thee I imbrace: Immortall Wreath, let worldlings count thee baſe, Choyce is thy matter, glorious is thy ſhape, Fit Crowne for them who tempting dangers ſcap̄e.

An act of Contrition. WHen firſt my reaſon, dawning like the day, Diſperſt the clouds of childiſh ſenſe away: Gods Image fram'd in that ſuperior Tow'r, Diuinely drew mine vnderſtanding pow'r To thinke vpon his Greatneſſe, and to feare His darts of thunder, which the mountaines teare. And when with feeble light my ſoule began T' acknowledge him a higher thing then man, My next diſcourſe erected by his grace, Conceiues him free from bounds of time or place, And ſees the furtheſt that of him is knowne, All ſpring from him, and he depends of none. The ſteps which in his various workes are ſeal'd, The doctrines in his ſacred Church reueal'd, Were all receiu'd as truths into my mind, Yet durſt I breake his lawes, O ſtrangely blind: My feſtring wounds are paſt the launcing cure, Which terrour giues to thoughts at firſt impure: No helpe remaines theſe vlcers to remoue, Vnleſſe I ſcorch them with the flames of loue. Lord, from thy wrath my ſoule appeales, and flyes To gracious beames of thoſe indulgent eyes, Which brought me firſt from nothing, and ſuſtaine My life, leſt it to nothing turne againe, VVhich in thy Sonnes blood waſht my parents ſinne▪ And taught me waies eternall bliſſe to winne. The Starres which guide my Bark with heau'nly calls, My boords in ſhipwrack after many falls: In theſe I truſt, and wing'd with pleaſing hope, Attempt new flight to come to thee, my ſcope, VVhom I eſteeme a thouſand times more deare, Then worldly things which faire and ſweet appeare. Rebellious fleſh, which thee ſo oft offends, Preſents her teares: alas, a poore amends, But thou accept'ſt them. Hence they precious grow, As liuing waters which from Eden flow. VVith theſe I wiſh my vitall blood may runne, Ere new Eclipſes dimme this glorious Sunne: And yeeld my ſelfe afflicting paines to take For thee my Spouſe, and onely for thy ſake. Hell could not fright me with immortall fire, VVere it not arm'd with thy forſaking ire: Nor ſhould I looke for comfort and delight In heau'n, if heau'n were ſhadow'd from thy ſight.

In Deſolation. O Thou, who ſweetly bend'ſt my ſtubborne will, VVho ſend'ſt thy ſtripes to teach, and not to kill: Thy chearefull face from me no longer hide, Withdraw theſe clouds, the ſcourges of my pride; I ſinke to hell, if I be lower throwne: I ſee what man is being left alone. My ſubſtance which from nothing did begin, Is worſe then nothing by the waight of ſin: I ſee my ſelfe in ſuch a wretched ſtate, As neither thoughts conceiue, or words relate. How great a diſtance parts vs? for in thee Is endleſſe good, and boundleſſe ill in mee. All creatures proue me abiect, but how low, Thou onely know'ſt, and teacheſt me to know: To paint this baſeneſſe, Nature is too baſe; This darkneſſe yeelds not but to beames of grace. Where ſhall I then this piercing ſplendor find? Or found, how ſhall it guide me being blind? Grace is a taſte of bliſſe, a glorious gift, Which can the ſoule to heau'nly comforts lift. It will not ſhine to me whoſe mind is drown'd In ſorrowes, and with worldly troubles bound. It will not daigne within that houſe to dwell, Where drineſſe raignes, and proud diſtractions ſwell▪ Perhaps it ſought me in thoſe lightſome dayes Of my firſt feruour, when few winds did raiſe The waues, and ere they could full ſtrength obtaine, Some whiſp'ring gale ſtraight charm'd them downe again▪ When all ſeem'd calme, & yet the Virgins child, On my deuotions in his manger ſmild; While then I ſimply walkt, nor heed could take, Of complacence, that ſlye deceitfull Snake; When yet I had not dang'rouſly refus'd So many calls to vertue, nor abus'd The ſpring of life, which I ſo oft enioy'd, Nor made ſo many good intentions voyd, Deſeruing thus that grace ſhould quite depart, And dreadfull hardneſſe ſhould poſſeſſe my heart: Yet in that ſtate this onely good I found, That fewer ſpots did then my conſcience wound, Though who can cenſure, whether in thoſe times, The want of feeling ſeem'd the want of crimes? If ſolid vertues dwell not but in paine, I will not wiſh that golden age againe, Becauſe it flow'd with ſenſible delights Of heauenly things: God hath created nights As well as dayes, to decke the varied Globe; Grace comes as oft clad in the dusky robe Of deſolation, as in white attire, Which better fits the bright celeſtiall Quire. Some in foule ſeaſons periſh through deſpaire, But more through boldneſſe when the daies are faire. This then muſt be the med'cine for my woes, To yeeld to what my Sauiour ſhall diſpoſe: To glory in my baſeneſſe, to reioyce In mine afflictions, to obey his voyce, As well when threatnings my defects reproue, As when I cheriſht am with words of loue, To ſay to him in eu'ry time and place, Withdraw thy comforts, ſo thou leaue thy grace.

In ſpirituall comfort. ENough delight, O mine eternall good! I feare to periſh in this fiery flood: And doubt, leſt beames of ſuch a glorious light Should rather blind me, then extend my ſight: For how dare mortals here their thoughts erect To taſte thoſe ioyes, which they in heau'n expect? But God inuites them in his boundleſſe loue, And lifts their heauy minds to things aboue. VVho would not follow ſuch a pow'rfull guide Immid'ſt of flames, or through the raging tide? VVhat careleſſe ſoule will not admire the grace Of ſuch a Lord, who knowes the dang'rous place In which his ſeruants liue; their natiue woes, Their weake defence, and fury of their foes: And caſting downe to earth theſe golden chaines, From hels ſteepe brinke their ſliding ſteps reſtraines? His deare affection flies with wings of haſte; He will not ſtay till this ſhort life be paſt: But in this vale where teares of griefe abound, He oft with teares of ioy his friends hath drown'd. Man, what deſir'ſt thou? wouldſt thou purchaſe health▪ Great honour, perfect pleaſure, peace and wealth? All theſe are here, and in their glory raigne: In other things theſe names are falſe and vaine. True wiſdome bids vs to this banquet haſte, That precious Nectar may renew the taſte Of Edens dainties, by our parents loſt For one poore Apple, which ſo deare would coſt, That eu'ry man a double death ſhould pay, But mercy comes the latter ſtroke to ſtay, And (leauing mortall bodies to the knife Of Iuſtice) ſtriues to ſaue the better life. No ſou'raigne med'cine can be halfe ſo good Againſt deſtruction, as this Angels food, This inward illuſtration, when it finds A ſeate in humble, and indiff'rent minds. If wretched men contemne a Sunne ſo bright, Diſpos'd to ſtray, and ſtumble in the night, And ſeeke contentment where they oft haue knowne By deare experience, that there can be none. They would much more neglect their God, their end, If ought were found whereon they might depend, Within the compaſſe of the gen'rall frame: Or if ſome Sparkes of this Celeſtiall flame Had not ingrau'd this ſentence in their breſt: In him that made them is their onely reſt.

An Act of Hope. SWeet Hope is ſoueraigne comfort of our life: Our Ioy in ſorrow, and our Peace in ſtrife: The Dame of Beggers, and the Queene of Kings: Can theſe delight in height of proſp'rous things, Without expecting ſtill to keepe them ſure? Can thoſe the weight of heauy wants endure, Vnleſſe perſwaſion inſtant paine allay, Reſeruing ſpirit for a better day? Our God, who planted in his creatures breſt, This ſtop on which the wheeles of paſſion reſt, Hath rays'd by beames of his abundant grace, This ſtrong affection to a higher place. It is the ſecond vertue which attends That ſoule, whoſe motion to his ſight aſcends. Reſt here, my mind, thou ſhalt no longer ſtay To gaze vpon theſe houſes made of clay: Thou ſhalt not ſtoope to honours, or to lands, Nor golden balles, where ſliding fortune ſtands: If no falſe colours draw thy ſteps amiſſe, Thou haſt a Palace of eternall bliſſe, A Paradiſe from care, and feare exempt, An obiect worthy of the beſt attempt. Who would not for ſo rich a Country fight? Who would not runne, that ſees a goale ſo bright? O thou who art our Author and our end, On whoſe large mercy, chaines of hope depend; Lift me to thee by thy propitious hand: For lower I can find no place to ſtand.

Of Teares. BEhold what Riuers feeble nature ſpends, And melts vs into Seas at loſſe of friends: Their mortall ſtate this Fountaine neuer dries, But fills the world with worlds of weeping eies. Man is a creature borne, and nurſt in teares, He through his life the markes of ſorrow beares; And dying, thinkes he can no off'ring haue More fit then teares diſtilling on his graue. We muſt theſe floods to larger bounds extend; Such ſtreames require a high and noble end. As waters in a chryſtall Orbe contain'd Aboue the ſtarry Firmament, are chain'd To coole the fury of thoſe raging flames, Which eu'ry lower Spheare by motion frames: So this continuall Spring within thy head, Muſt quench the fires in other members bred. If to our Lord our Parents had been true, Our teares had been like drops of pleaſing dew: But ſinne hath made them full of bitter paines, Vntimely children of afflicted braines: Yet they are chang'd, when we our ſinnes lament, To richer Pearles, then from the Eaſt are ſent.

Of Sinne. WHat penſill ſhall I take, or where begin To paint the vgly face of odious ſinne? Man ſinning oft, though pardon'd oft, exceeds The falling Angels in malicious deeds: When we in words would tell the ſinners ſhame, To call him Diuell is too faire a name. Should we for euer in the Chaos dwell, Or in the lothſome depth of gaping hell: We there no foule and darkſome formes ſhall find Sufficient to deſcribe a guilty mind. Search through the world, we ſhall not know a thing, Which may to reaſons eye more horrour bring, Then diſobedience to the higheſt cauſe, And obſtinate auerſion from his Lawes. The ſinner will deſtroy God, if he can. O what hath God deſeru'd of thee, poore man, That thou ſhould'ſt boldly ſtriue to pull him downe From his high Throne, and take away his Crowne? What blindneſſe moues thee to vnequall fight? • ee how thy fellow creatures ſcorne thy might, Yet thou prouok'ſt thy Lord, as much too great, As thou too weake for his Imperiall ſeate. Behold a ſilly wretch diſtracted quite, Extending towards God his feeble ſpite, And by his poys'nous breath his hopes are faire To blaſt the skies, as it corrupts the aire. Vpon the other ſide thou mayſt perceiue A mild Commander, to whoſe Army cleaue The ſparkling Starres, and each of them deſires To fall and drowne this Rebell in their fires. The Cloudes are ready this proud Foe to tame, Full fraught with thunderbolts, and lightnings flame. The Earth, his Mother, greedy of his doome, Expects to open her vnhappy wombe, That this degen'rate ſonne may liue no more, So chang'd from that pure man, whom firſt ſhe bore. The ſauage Beaſts, whoſe names his Father gaue, To quell this pride, their Makers licence craue. The Fiends his Maſters in this warlike way, Make ſute to ſeaze him as their lawfull prey. No friends are left: then whither ſhall he flie? To that offended King, who ſits on high, Who hath deferr'd the battell, and reſtrain'd His ſouldiers like the winds in fetters chain'd: For let the Sinner leaue his hideous maske, God will as ſoone forgiue, as he ſhall aske.

Of the miſerable ſtate of Man. IS man, the beſt of creatures, growne the worſt? He once moſt bleſſed was, now moſt accurſt: His whole felicity is endleſſe ſtrife, No peace, no ſatisfaction crownes his life; No ſuch delight as other creatures take, Which their deſires can free, and happy make: Our appetites, which ſeeke for pleaſing good, Haue oft their wane and full; their ebbe and ſloud; Their calme and ſtormes: the neuer-conſtant Moone, The Seas, and nimble winds not halfe ſo ſoone Incline to change, while all our pleaſure reſts In things which vary, like our wau'ring breſts. He who deſires that wealth his life may bleſſe, Like to a Iayler, counts it good ſucceſſe, To haue more pris'ners, which increaſe his care; The more his goods, the more his dangers are: This Sayler ſees his ſhip about to drowne, And he takes in more wares to preſſe it downe. Vaine honour is a play of diuers parts, Where fained words and geſtures pleaſe our hearts; The ſlatt'red audience are the Actors friends; But loſe that Title when the Fable ends. The faire deſire that others ſhould behold, Their clay well featur'd, their well temperd mould Ambitious mortals make their chiefe pretence, To be the obiects of delighted ſenſe: Yet oft the ſhape, and hue of baſeſt things, More admiration moues, more pleaſure brings. Why ſhould we glory to be counted ſtrong? This is the praiſe of Beaſts, the pow'r of wrong: And if the ſtrength of many were inclos'd Within one breſt, yet when it is oppos'd Againſt that force▪ which Art or Nature frame, It melts like waxe before the ſcorching flame. VVe cannot in theſe outward things be bleſt; For we are ſure to loſe them; and the beſt Of theſe contentments no ſuch comfort beares, As may waigh equall with the doubts and feares, VVhich fixe our minds on that vncertaine day, When theſe ſhall faile, moſt certaine to decay. From length of life no happineſſe can come, But what the guilty feele, who after doome Are to the lothſome priſon ſent againe, And there muſt ſtay to die with longer paine. No earthly gift laſts after death, but Fame; This gouernes men more carefull of their name, Then of their ſoules, which their vngodly taſte Diſſolues to nothing, and ſhall proue at laſt Faire worſe then nothing: Prayſes come too late, When man is not, or is in wretched ſtate. But theſe are ends which draw the meaneſt hearts: Let vs ſearch deepe and trie our better parts: O knowledge, if a heau'n on earth could be, I would expect to reape that bliſſe in thee: But thou art blind, and they that haue thy light, More clearely know, they liue in darkſome night. See, man, thy ſtripes at ſchoole, thy paines abroad, Thy watching, and thy paleneſſe well beſtow'd: Theſe feeble helpes can Scholers neuer bring To perfect knowledge of the plaineſt thing: And ſome to ſuch a height of learning grow, They die perſwaded, that they nothing know. In vaine ſwift houres ſpent in deepe ſtudy ſlide, Vnleſſe the purchaſt doctrine curbe our pride. The ſoule perſwaded, that no fading loue Can equall her imbraces, ſeekes aboue: And now aſpiring to a higher place, Is glad that all her comforts here are baſe:

Of Sickneſſe. THe end of Sickneſſe, Health or Death declare The cauſe as happy, as the ſequels are. Vaine mortals, while they ſtriue their ſenſe to pleaſe▪ Endure a life worſe then the worſt diſeaſe: When ſports and ryots of the reſtleſſe night, Breede dayes as thicke poſſeſt with fenny light: 〈◊〉 oft haue theſe (compell'd by wholſome paine) Return'd to ſucke ſweet Natures breſt againe, And then could in a narrow compaſſe find Strength for the body, cleareneſſe in the mind? And if Death come, it is not he, whoſe dart, VVhoſe ſcalpe and bones afflict the trembling heart: (As if the Painters with new art would ſtriue For feare of Bugs, to keepe poore men aliue) But one, who from thy mothers wombe hath been Thy friend and ſtrict companion, though vnſeene, To leade thee in the right appointed way, And crowne thy labours at the conqu'ring day. Vngratefull men, why doe you ſickneſſe loath, VVhich bleſſings giue in Heau'n, or Earth, or both?

Of true Liberty. HE that from duſt of worldly tumults flies, May boldly open his vndazled eyes, To reade wiſe Natures booke, and with delight Surueyes the Plants by day, and ſtarres by night. We need not trauaile, ſeeking wayes to bliſſe: He that deſires contentment, cannot miſſe: No garden walles this precious flowre imbrace: It common growes in eu'ry deſart place. Large ſcope of pleaſure drownes vs like a flood, To reſt in little, is our greateſt good. Learne ye that clime the top of Fortunes wheele, That dang'rous ſtate which ye diſdaine to feele: Your highneſſe puts your happineſſe to flight, Your inward comforts fade with outward light, Vnleſſe it be a bleſſing not to know This certaine truth▪ left ye ſhould pine for woe, To ſee inferiours ſo diuinely bleſt With freedome, and your ſelues with fetters preſt, Ye ſit like pris'ners barr'd with doores and chaines, And yet no care perpetuall care reſtraines. Ye ſtriue to mixe your ſad conceits with ioyes, By curious pictures▪ and by glitt'ring toyes, While others are not hind'red from their ends, Delighting to conuerſe with bookes or friends, And liuing thus retir'd, obtaine the pow'r To reigne as Kings, of euery ſliding houre: They walke by Cynthiaes light, and lift their eyes To view the ord'red armies in the skies. The heau'ns they meaſure with imagin'd lines, And when the Northerne Hemiſphere declines, New conſtellations in the South they find, Whoſe riſing may refreſh the ſtudious mind. In theſe delights, though freedome ſhew more high: Few can to things aboue their thoughts apply. But who is he that cannot caſt his looke On earth, and reade the beauty of that booke? A bed of ſmiling flow'rs, a trickling Spring, A ſwelling Riuer, more contentment bring, Then can be ſhadow'd by the beſt of Art: Thus ſtill the poore man hath the better part.

Againſt inordinate loue of Creatures. AH! who would loue a creature? who would place His heart, his treaſure in a thing ſo baſe? Which time conſuming, like a Moth deſtroyes, And ſtealing death will rob him of his ioyes. Why life we not our minds aboue this duſt? Haue we not yet perceiu'd that God is iuſt, And hath ordain'd the obiects of our loue To be our ſcourges, when we wanton proue? Go, careleſſe man, in vaine delights proceed, Thy fanſies, and thine outward ſenſes feede, And bind thy ſelfe, thy fellow-ſeruants thrall: Loue one too much, thou art a ſlaue to all. Conſider when thou follow'ſt ſeeming good, And drown'ſt thy ſelfe too deepe in flein and blood, Thou making ſute to dwell with woes and feares, Art ſworne their ſouldier in the vale of teares: The bread of ſorrow ſhall be thy repaſt, Expect not Eden in a thorny waſte, Where grow no faire trees, no ſmooth riuers ſwell, Here onely loſſes and afflictions dwell. Theſe thou bewayl'ſt with a repining voyce, Yet knew'ſt before that mortall was thy choyſe. Admirers of falſe pleaſures muſt ſuſtaine The waight and ſharpeneſſe of inſuing paine.

Againſt abuſed Loue. SHall I ſtand ſtill, and ſee the world on fire, While wanton Writers ioyne in one deſire, To blow the coales of Loue, and make them burne, Till they conſume, or to the Chaos turne This beautious frame by them ſo foully rent? That wiſe men feare, leſt they thoſe flames preuent, Which for the lateſt day th' Almightie keepes In orbes of fire, or in the helliſh deepes. Beſt wits, while they poſſeſt with fury, thinke They taſte the Muſes ſober Well, and drinke Of Phabus Goblet (now a ſtarry ſigne) Miſtake the Cup, and write in heat of wine. Then let my cold hand here ſome water caſt, And drown their warmth, with drops of ſweeter taſte, Mine angry lines ſhall whip the purblind Page. And ſome will reade them in a chaſter age; But ſince true loue is moſt diuine, I know, How can I fight with loue, and call it ſo? Is it not Loue? It was not now: (O ſtrange!) Time and ill cuſtome, workers of all change, Haue made it loue, men oft impoſe not names By Adams rule, but what their paſſion frames. And ſince our Childhood taught vs to approue Our Fathers words, we yeeld and call it loue. Examples of paſt times our deeds ſhould ſway; But we muſt ſpeake the language of to day: Vſe hath no bounds, it may prophane once more The name of God, which firſt an Idoll bore. How many titles fit for meaner groomes, Are knighted now, and marſhal d in high roomes! And many which once good, and great were thought, Poſterity, to vice and baſeneſſe brought, As it hath this of loue, and we muſt bow, As States vſurping Tyrants raignes allow, And after ages reckon by their yeeres: Such force Poſſeſſion, though iniurious, beares: Or as a wrongfull title, or foule crime Made lawfull by a Statute for the time, With reu'rend eſtimation blindes our eies, And is call'd iuſt, in ſpight of all the wiſe. Then heau'nly loue, this loathed name forſake, And ſome of thy more glorious titles take: Sunne of the Soule, cleare beauty, liuing fire, Celeſtiall light, which doſt pure hearts inſpire, While Luſt, thy Baſtard brother, ſhalbe knowne By loues wrong'd name that Louers may him owne. So oft with Hereticks ſuch tearmes we vſe, As they can brooke, not ſuch as we would chuſe: And ſince he takes the throne of Loue exil'd, In all our Letters he ſhall Loue be ſtil'd: But if true Loue vouchſafe againe his ſight, No word of mine ſhall preiudice his right: So Kings by caution with their Rebels treate, As with free States, when they are growne too great. If common Drunkards onely can expreſſe To life the ſad effects of their exceſſe: How can I write of Loue, who neuer felt His dreadfull arrow, nor did euer melt My heart away before a female flame, Like waxen ſtatues, which the witches frame? I muſt confeſſe if I knew one that had Bene poyſon'd with this deadly draught, and mad, And afterward in Bedlem well reclaym'd To perfect ſence, and in his wits not maym'd: I would the feruour of my Muſe reſtraine, And let this ſubiect for his taske remaine: But aged wand'rers ſooner will declare Their Eleuſinian rites, then Louers dare Renounce the Deuils pompe, and Chriſtians die: So much preuailes a painted Idols eye. Then ſince of them like Iewes we can conuert Scarce one in many yeeres, their iuſt deſert, By ſelfe confeſſion, neuer can appeare; But on preſumptions wee proceed, and there The Iudges innocence moſt credit winnes: • iue men trie theeues, and Saints deſcribe foule ſinnes. This Monſter loue by day, and luſt by night, 〈◊〉 full of burning fire, but voyde of light, Left here on earth to keepe poore mortals out Of errour, who of Hell-fire elſe would doubt. Such is that wandring nightly flame, which leades Th'vn wary paſſenger, vntill he treades His laſt ſtep on the ſteepe and craggy walles Of ſome high mountaine, whence he headlong falles. A vapor firſt extracted from the Stewes, (Which with new fewell ſtill the lampe renewes) And with a Pandars ſulph'rous breath inflam'd, Became a Meteor, for deſtruction fram'd, Like ſome prodigious Comet which foretells Diſaſters to the Realme on which it dwells. And now hath this falſe light preuail'd ſo farre That moſt obſerue, it is a fixed ſtarre, Yea as their load ſtarre, by whoſe beames impure, They guide their ſhips, in courſes not ſecure, Be witcht and daz'led with the glaring ſight Of this proud Fiend, attir'd in Angels light, Who ſtill delights his darkſome ſmoke to turne To rayes, which ſeeme t'enlighten, not to burne: He leades them to the tree, and they beleeue The fruite is ſweete, ſo he deluded Eue. But when they once haue taſted of the feaſts, They quench that ſparke, which ſeuers men frō beaſ •• ▪ And feele effects of our firſt Parents fall Depriu'd of reaſon, and to ſence made thrall. Thus is the miſerable Louer bound With fancies, and in fond affection drown'd. In him no faculty of man is ſeene, But when he ſighes a Sonnet to his Queene: This makes him more then man, a Poet fit For ſuch falſe Poets, as make paſſion wit. Who lookes within an emptie caske, may ſee, Where once a ſoule was, and againe may be, Which by this diffrence from a Corſe is knowne: One is in pow'r to haue life, both haue none: For Louers ſlipp'ry Soules (as they confeſſe, Without extending racke, or ſtraining preſſe) By tranſmigration to their Miſtreſſe flow: Pithagoras inſtructs his Schollers ſo, Who did for penance luſtfull minds conſine To leade a ſecond life, in Goates, and Swine. Then Loue is death, and driues the ſoule to dwell In this betraying harbour, which like hell Giues neuer backe her bootie, and containes A thouſand firebrands, whips, and reſtleſſe paines: And which is worſe, ſo bitter are thoſe wheeles, That many hells at once, the Louer feeles, And hath his heart diſſected into parts, That it may meere with other double harts. This loue ſtands neuer ſure, it wants a ground, It makes no ordred courſe, it findes no bound, It aymes at nothing, it no comfort taſtes, But while the pleaſure, and the paſſion laſts. Yet there are flames, which two hearts one can make; Not forth' affections, but the obiects ſake▪ That burning glaſſe, where beames diſperſt incline Vnto a point, and ſhoot forth in a line. This noble Loue hath Axeltree, and Poles Wherein it moues, and gets eternall goales: Theſe reuolutions, like the heau'nly Spheres, Make all the periods equall as the yeeres: And when this time of motion finiſht is, It ends with that great Yeere of endleſſe bliſſe.

A deſcription of Loue. LOue is a Region full of fires, And burning with extreme deſires, An obiect ſeekes, of which poſſeſt, The wheeles are fixt, the motions reſt, The flames in aſhes lie oppreſt: This Meteor ſtriuing high to riſe, (The fewell ſpent) falles downe and dies. Much ſweeter, and more pure delights Are drawne from faire alluring ſights, When rauiſht minds attempt to praiſe Commanding eyes, like heau'nly rayes; Whoſe force the gentle heart obayes: Then where the end of this pretence Deſcends to baſe inferiour ſenſe. Why then ſhould Louers (moſt will ſay) Expect ſo much th' enioying day? Loue is like youth, he thirſts for age, He ſcornes to be his Mothers Page: But when proceeding times aſſwage The former heate, he will complaine, And wiſh thoſe pleaſant houres againe. We know that Hope and Loue are twinnes; Hope gone, Fruition now beginnes: But what is this? vnconſtant, fraile, In nothing ſure, but ſure to faile: Which, if we loſe it, we bewaile; And when we haue it, ſtill we beare The worſt of paſſions, daily Feare. When Loue thus in his Center ends, Deſire and Hope, his inward friends Are ſhaken off: while Doubt and Griefe, The weakeſt giuers of reliefe, Stand in his councell as the chiefe: And now he to his period brought, From Loue becomes ſome other thought. Theſe lines I write not, to remoue Vnited ſoules from ſerious loue: The beſt attempts by mortals made, Reflect on things which quickly fade; Yet neuer will I men perſwade To leaue affections, where may ſhine Impreſſions of the Loue diuine.

The Shepherdeſſe. A Shepherdeſſe, who long had kept her flocks On ſtony Charnwoods dry and barren rocks, In heate of Summer to the vales declin'd, To ſeeke freſh paſture for her Lambes halfe pin'd. She (while her charge was feeding) ſpent the houres To gaze on ſliding Brookes, and ſmiling flowres. Thus hauing largely ſtray'd, ſhe lifts her ſight, And viewes a Palace full of glorious light. She finds the entrance open, and as bold As Countrey Maids, that would the Court behold, She makes an offer, yet againe ſhe ſtayes, And dares not dally with thoſe Sunny rayes. Here lay a Nymph, of beauty moſt diuine, Whoſe happy preſence caus'd the houſe to ſhine; Who much conuerſt with mortals, and could know No honour truly high, that ſcornes the low: For ſhe had oft been preſent, though vnſeene, Among the Shepherds daughters on the Greene, Where cu'ry homebred Swaine deſires to proue His Oaten Pipe, and Feet before his Loue, And crownes the cu'ning, when the daies are long, With ſome plaine Dance, or with a Rurall ſong. Nor were the women nice to hold this ſport, And pleaſe their Louers in a modeſt ſort. There that ſweet Nymph had ſeene this Countrey Dame For ſinging crown'd, whence grew a world of fame Among the Sheepecotes, which in her reioyce, And know no better pleaſure then her voyce. The glitt'ring Ladies gather'd in a ring, Intreate the ſilly Shepherdeſſe to ſing: She bluſht and ſung, while they with words of praiſe, Contend her ſongs aboue their worth to raiſe. Thus being chear'd with many courteous ſignes, She takes her leaue, for now the Sunne declines, And hauing driuen home her flocks againe, She meets her Loue, a ſimple Shepherd Swaine; Yet in the Plaines he had a Poets name: For he could Roundelayes and Carols frame, Which, when his Miſtreſſe ſung along the Downes, Was thought celeſtiall Muſick by the Clownes. Of him ſhe begs, that he would raiſe his mind To paint this Lady, whom ſhe found ſo kind: You oft (ſaith ſhe) haue in our homely Bow'rs Diſcours'd of Demi-gods and greater pow'rs: For you with Heſiode ſleeping learnt to know The race diuine from heau'n to earth below. My Deare (ſaid he) the Nymph whom thou haſt ſeene, Moſt happy is of all that liue betweene This Globe and Cynthia, and in high eſtate, Of wealth and beauty hath an equall mate, Whoſe loue hath drawne vnceſſant teares in floods, From Nymphs, that haunt the waters and the woods. Of Iris to the ground hath bent her bow To ſteale a kiſſe, and then away to goe: Yet all in vaine, he no affection knowes But to this Goddeſſe, whom at firſt he choſe: Him ſhe enioyes in mutuall bonds of loue: Two hearts are taught in one ſmall point to moue. Her Father high in honour and deſcent, Commands the Syluans on the Northſide Trent. He at this time for pleaſure and retreate, Comes downe from Beluoir his aſcending ſeate, To which great Pan had lately honour done: For there he lay, ſo did his hopefull Sonne. But when this Lord by his acceſſe deſires To grace our Dales, he to a houſe retires, Whoſe walles are water'd with our ſiluer Brookes, And makes the Shepherds proud to view his lookes. There in that bleſſed houſe you alſo ſaw His Lady, whoſe admired vertues draw All hearts to loue her, and all tongues inuite To praiſe that ayre where ſhe vouchſafes her light. And for thy further ioy thine eyes were bleſt, To ſee another Lady, in whoſe breſt True Wiſedome hath with Bounty equall place, As Modeſty with Beauty in her face. She found me ſinging Floraes natiue dowres, And made me ſing before the heau'nly pow'rs: For which great fauour, till my voice be done, I ſing of her, and her thrice-noble ſonne.

On the Anniuerſary day of his Maieſties reigne ouer England, March the 24. written at the beginning of his twentieth yeere. THe world to morrow celebrates with mirth The ioyfull peace betweene the heau'n & earth: To day let Britaine praiſe that riſing light, Whoſe titles her diuided parts vnite. The time ſince ſafety triumph'd ouer feare, Is now extended to the twenti'th yeere. Thou happy yeere with perfect number bleſt, O ſlide as ſmooth and gentle as the reſt: That when the Sunne diſperſing from his head, The clouds of Winter on his beauty ſpred, Shall ſee his Equinoctiall point againe, And melt his dusky maske to fruitfull raine, He may be loth our Climate to forſake, And thence a patterne of ſuch glory take, That he would leaue the Zodiake, and deſire To dwell foreuer with our Northerne fire.

A thankſgiuing for the deliuerance of our Soueraigne, King Iames, from a dangerous accident, Ianuary 8. O Gracious Maker, on whoſe ſmiles or frownes Depends the Fate of Scepters and of Crownes Whoſe hand not onely holds the hearts of Kings, But all their ſteps are ſhadow'd with thy wings. To thee immortall thanks three Siſters giue, For ſauing him, by whoſe deare life they liue. Firſt, England crown'd with Roſes of the Spring, An off'ring like to Abels gift will bring: And vowes that ſhe for thee alone will keepe Her fatteſt Lambes, and Fleeces of her ſheepe. Next, Scotland triumphs, that ſhe bore and bred This Iles delight, and wearing on her head A wreath of Lillies gather'd in the field, Preſents the Min'rals which her mountaines yeeld. Laſt, Ireland like Terpſichore attir'd With neuer-fading Lawrell, and inſpir'd By true Apollos heat, a Paean ſings, And kindles zealous flames with ſiluer ſtrings. This day a ſacrifice of praiſe requires, Our breſts are Altars, and our ioyes are fires. That ſacred Head, ſo oft, ſo ſtrangely bleſt From bloody plots, was now (O feare!) depreſt Beneath the water, and thoſe Sunlike beames Were threat'ned to be quencht in narrow ſtreames. Ah! who dare thinke, or can indure to heare Of thoſe ſad dangers, which then ſeem'd ſo neare? VVhat Pan would haue preferu'd our flocks increaſe From VVolues? VVhat Hermes could with words of peace, Cauſe whetted ſwords to fall frō angry hands, And ſhine the Starre of calmes in Chriſtian Lands? But Thou, whoſe Eye to hidden depths extends, To ſhew that he was made for glorious ends, Haſt rays'd him by thine All-commanding arme, Not onely ſafe from death, but free from harme.

To his late Maieſly, concerning the true forme of Engliſh Poetry. GReat King, the Sou'raigne Ruler of this Land, By whoſe graue care, our hopes ſecurely ſtand: Since you deſcending from that ſpacious reach, Vouchſafe to be our Maſter, and to teach Your Engliſh Poets to direct their lines, To mixe their colours, and expreſſe their ſignes. Forgiue my boldneſſe, that I here preſent The life of Muſes yeelding true content In ponder'd numbers, which with eaſe I try'd, When your iudicious rules haue been my guide. He makes ſweet Muſick, who in ſerious lines, Light dancing tunes, and heauy proſe declines: When verſes like a milky torrent flow, They equall temper in the Poet ſhow. He paints true formes, who with a modeſt heart, Giues luſtre to his worke, yet couers Art. Vneuen ſwelling is no way to fa ••• , But ſolid ioyning of the perfect frame: So that no curious finger there can find The former chinkes, or nailes that faſtly bind. Yet moſt would haue the knots of ſtitches ſeene, And holes where men may thruſt their hands between. On halting feet the ragged Poem goes With Accents, neither fitting Verſe nor Proſe: The ſtile mine care with more contentment fills In Lawyers pleadings, or Phiſicians bills. For though in termes of Art their skill they cloſe, And ioy in darkſome words as well as thoſe: They yet haue perfect ſenſe more pure and cleare Then enuious Muſes, which ſad Garlands weare Of dusky clouds, their ſtrange conceits to hide From humane eyes: and (leſt they ſhould be ſpi'd By ſome ſharpe Oedipus) the Engliſh Tongue For this their poore ambition ſuffers wrong. In eu'ry Language now in Europe ſpoke By Nations which the Roman Empire broke, The relliſh of the Muſe conſiſts in rime, One verſe muſt meete another like a chime. Our Saxon ſhortneſſe hath peculiar grace In choiſe of words, fit for the ending place, Which leaue impreſſion in the mind as well As cloſing ſounds, of ſome delightfull bell: Theſe muſt not be with diſproportion lame, Nor ſhould an Eccho ſtill repeate the ſame. In many changes theſe may be expreſt: But thoſe that ioyne moſt ſimply, run the beſt: Their forme ſurpaſſing farre the fetter'd ſtaues, Vaine care, and needleſſe repetition ſaues. Theſe outward aſhes keepe thoſe inward fires, Whoſe heate the Greeke and Roman works inſpires: Pure phraſe, fit Epithets, a ſober care Of Metaphors, deſcriptions cleare, yet rare, Similitudes contracted ſmooth and round, Not vext by learning, but with Nature crown'd. Strong figures drawne from deepe inuentions ſprings, Conſiſting leſſe in words, and more in things: A language not affecting ancient times, Nor Latine ſhreds, by which the Pedant climes: A noble ſubiect which the mind may lift To eaſie vſe of that peculiar gift, Which Poets in their raptures hold moſt deare, VVhen actions by the liuely ſound appeare. Giue me ſuch helpes, I neuer will deſpaire, But that our heads which ſucke the freezing aire, As well as hotter braines, may verſe adorne, And be their wonder, as we were their ſcorne.

To the glorious memory of our late Soueraigne Lord, King Iames. WEepe, O ye Nymphes: that from your caues may flow Thoſe trickling drops, whence mighty riuers flow. Diſcloſe your hidden ſtore: let eu'ry Spring To this our Sea of griefe ſome tribute bring: And when ye once haue wept your Fountaines dry, The heau'n with ſhowres will ſend a new ſupply. But if theſe cloudy treaſures prooue too ſcant, Our teares ſhall helpe, when other moyſtures want. This Ile, nay Europe, nay the World bewailes Our loſſe, with ſuch a Streame as neuer failes. Abundant floods from eu'ry letter riſe, When we pronounce great Iames, our Soueraigne dies. And while I write theſe words, I trembling ſtand, A ſudden darkeneſſe hath poſſeſt the Land. I cannot now expreſſe my ſelfe by ſignes: All eyes are blinded, none can reade my lines; Till Charles aſcending, driues away the night, And in his ſplendour giues my Verſes light. Thus by the beames of his ſucceeding flame, I ſhall deſcribe his Fathers boundleſſe Fame. The Grecian Emp'rours gloried to be borne, And nurſt in Purple, by their Parents worne. See here a King, whoſe birth together twines The Britan, Engliſh, Norman, Scottiſh lines: How like a Princely Throne his Cradle ſtands; White Diadems become his ſwathing bands. His glory now makes all the Earth his Tombe, But enuious Fiends would in his Mothers wombe Interre his riſing greatneſſe, and contend Againſt the Babe, whom heau'nly troopes defend, And giue ſuch vigour in his childhoods-ſtate, That he can ſtrangle Snakes, which ſwell with hate. This conqueſt his vndaunted breſt declares In Seas of danger, in a world of cares: Yet neither cares oppreſſe his conſtant mind, Nor dangers drowne his life for age deſign'd. The Muſes leaue their ſweet Caſtalian Springs In forme of Bees, extending ſilken wings Wi • h gentle ſounds, to keepe this Infant ſtill, While they his mouth with pleaſing hony fill. Hence thoſe large Streames of Eloquence proceed, Which in the hearers ſtrange amazement breed; When laying by his Scepters and his Swords, He melts their hearts with his mellifluous words. So Hercules in ancient • ictures fain'd, Could draw whole Nations to his tongue enchain'd. He firſt conſiders in his tender age, How God hath rays'd him on this earthly Stage, To act a part, expos'd to eu'ry eye: With Salomon he therefore ſtriues to flie To him that gaue this Greatneſſe, and demands The precious gift of Wiſdome from his hands: While God delighted with this iuſt requeſt, Not onely him, with wondrous Prudence bleſt, But promis'd higher glories, new encreaſe Of Kingdomes circled with a Ring of Peace. He thus inſtructed by diuine commands, Extends this peacefull line to other Lands. When warres are threaten'd by ſhril Trumpets ſounds, His Oliue ſtancheth bloud, and binds vp wounds. The Chriſtian World this good from him deriues, That thouſands had vntimely ſpent their liues, If not preſeru'd by luſtre of his Crowne: Which calm'd the ſtormes, & layd the billowes down: And dimm'd the glory of that Roman wreath By ſouldiers gain'd for ſauing men from death. This Denmarke felt, and Swethland, when their ſtrife Aſcended to ſuch height, that loſſe of life VVas counted nothing: for the dayly ſight Of dying men made Death no more then night. Behold, two potent Princes deepe engag'd In ſeu'rall int'reſts, mutually enrag'd By former conflicts: yet they downe will lay Their ſwords, when his aduice directs the way. The Northerne Climates from diſſention barr'd, Receiue new ioyes by his diſcreete award. When Momus could among the Godlike-Kings, Infect with poyſon thoſe immortall Springs Which flow with Nectar; and ſuch gall would caſt, As ſpoyles the ſweetneſſe of Ambroſiaes taſte; This mighty Lord, as Ruler of the Quire, With peacefull counſels quencht the riſing fire. The Auſtrian Arch-duke, and Batauian State, By his endeuours, change their long-bred hate For twelue yeeres truce: this reſt to him they owe As Belgian Shepherds, and poore Ploughmen know. The Muſcouites oppreſt with neighbours, flie To ſafe protection of his watchfull eye. And Germany his ready ſuccours tries, When ſad contentions in the Empire riſe. His mild inſtinct all Chriſtians thus diſcerne: But Chriſts malignant foes ſhall find him ſterne. What care, what charge he ſuffers to preuent, Leſt Infidels their number ſhould augment, His ſhips reſtraine the Pirates bloody workes; And Poland gaines his ayde againſt the Turkes. His pow'rfull Edicts ſtretcht beyond the Line, Among the Indians ſeu'rall bounds deſigne; By which his ſubiects may exalt his Throne, And ſtrangers keepe themſelues within their owne. This Ile was made the Sunnes ecliptick way; For here our Phoebus ſtill vouchſaf'd to ſtay: And from this bleſſed place of his retreat, In diff'rent Zones diſtinguiſht cold and heate, Sent light or darkneſſe, and by his Commands Appointed limits to the Seas and Lands, Who would imagine, that a Prince employ'd In ſuch affaires, could euer haue enioy'd Thoſe houres, which drawne from pleaſure, and from reſt, To purchaſe precious knowledge were addreſt? And yet in learning he was knowne t'exceed Moſt, whom our houſes of the Muſes breed. Ye Engliſh Siſters, Nurſes of the Arts, Vnpartiall Iudges of his better parts; Raiſe vp your wings, and to the world declare His ſolid Iudgement, his Inuention rare, His ready Elocution, which ye found In deepeſt matters, that your Schooles propound. It is ſufficient for my creeping Verſe, His care of Engliſh Language to rehearſe. He leades the lawleſſe Poets of our times, To ſmoother cadence, to exacter Rimes: He knew it was the proper worke of Kings, To keepe proportion, eu'n in ſmalleſt things. He with no higher titles can be ſtyl'd, When Seruants name him lib'rall, Subiects, Mild. Of Antonines faire time the Romans tell, No bubbles of ambition then could ſwell To forraine warres; nor eaſe bred ciuill ſtrife: Nor any of the Senate loſt his life. Our King preſerues for two and twenty yeeres, This Realme from inward and from outward feares. All Engliſh Peeres eſcape the deadly ſtroke, Though ſome with crimes his anger durſt prouoke. He was ſeuere in wrongs, which others felt; But in his owne, his heart would quickly melt. For then (like God, from whom his glories flow) He makes his Mercy ſwift, his Iuſtice ſlow. He neuer would our gen'rall ioy forget, VVhen on his ſacred brow the Crowne was ſet; And therefore ſtriues to make his Kingdome great, By fixing here his Heires perpetuall Seate: VVhich eu'ry firme and loyall heart deſires, May laſt as long as heau'n hath ſtarry fires. Continued bliſſe from him this Land receiues, VVhen leauing vs, to vs his Sonne he leaues, Our hope, our ioy, our treaſure: Charles our King, VVhoſe entrance in my next attempt I ſing.

A Panegyrick at the Coronation of our Soueraigne Lord King Charles. AƲrora come: why ſhould thine enuious ſtay Deferre the ioyes of this expected day? VVill not thy maſter let his horſes runne, Becauſe he feares to meete another Sunne? Or hath our Northerne Starre ſo dimm'd thine eyes, Thou knowſt not where (at Eaſt or VVeſt) to riſe? Make haſte, for if thou ſhalt denie thy light; His glitt'ring Crowne will driue away the night. Debarre not curious Phoebus, who deſires To guild all glorious obiects with his fires. And could his beames lay open peoples harts, As well as he can view their outward parts; He heere ſhould find a triumph, ſuch as he Hath neuer ſeene, perhaps ſhall neuer ſee. Shine forth, great Charles, accept our loyall words, Throw frō your pleaſing eies thoſe conqu'ring ſwords, That when vpon your Name our voyces call, The Birds may feele our thund'ring noiſe, and fall: Soft Ayre rebounding in a circled ring, Shall to the Gates of Heau'n our wiſhes bring: For vowes, which with ſo ſtrong affection flie From many lips, will doubtleſſe pierce the skie: And God (who knowes the ſecrets of our minds, When in our breſts he theſe two vertues finds, Sincerity and Concord, ioyn'd in pray'r For him, whom Nature made vndoubted Heyre Of three faire Kingdoms) will his Angels ſend With bleſſings from his Throne this pompe t'attend Faire Citty, Englands Gemme, the Queene of Trade, By ſad infection lately deſart made: Caſt off thy mourning robes, forget thy teares, Thy cleare and healthfull iupiter appeares: Pale Death, who had thy ſilent ſtreets poſſeſt, And ſome foule dampe, or angry Planet preſt To work his rage, now from th' Almighties will Receiues command to hold his Iauelin ſtill. But ſince my Muſe pretends to tune a ſong Fit for this day, and fit t'inſpire this throng; Whence ſhall I kindle ſuch immortall fires? From Ioyes or Hopes, from Prayſes or Deſires? To prayſe him, would require an endleſſe wheele; Yet nothing told but what we ſee and feele. A thouſand tongues for him all gifts intreate In which Felicity may claime her ſeate: Large Honour, happy Conqueſt, boundleſſe Wealth, Long Life, ſweete Children, vnafflicted Health: But chiefely, we eſteeme that precious thing (Of which already we behold the Spring) Directing Wiſdome; and we now preſage How high that vertue will aſcend in age. In him, our certaine confidence vnites All former worthy Princes ſpreading lights; And addes his glorious Father to the ſumme: From ancient times no greater Name can come. Our hopefull King thus to his Subiects ſhines, And reades in faithfull hearts theſe zealous lines; This is our Countries Father, this is Hee In whome we liue, and could not liue ſo free, Were we not vnder him; his watchfull care Preuents our dangers: how ſhall we declare Our thankfull minds, but by the humble gift Of firme obedience, which to him we lift? As he is Gods true Image choicely wrought, And for our ioy to theſe Dominions brought: So muſt we imitate celeſtiall bands, Which grudge not to performe diuine commands. His breſt tranſparent like a liquid flood, Diſcouers his aduice for publike good: But if we iudge it by deceiuing fame, Like Semele, we thinke Ioues piercing flame No more, then common fire in aſhes nurſt, Till formeleſſe fancies in their errors burſt. Shall we diſcuſſe his counſels? We are bleſt Who know our bliſſe, and in his iudgement reſt.

Of the Princes iourney. THe happy ſhip that carries from the Land Great Britaines ioy, before ſhe knowes her loſſe, Is rul'd by him, who can the waues command. No enuious ſtormes a quiet paſſage croſſe: See how the water ſmiles, the winde breathes faire, The cloudes reſtraine their frownes, their ſighes, their teares, As if the Muſicke of the whiſp'ring ayre Should tell the Sea what precious weight it beares. A thouſand vowes and wiſhes driue the ſayles VVith gales of ſafety to the Neuſtrian ſhore. The Ocean truſted with this pledge, bewailes That it ſuch wealth muſt to the Earth reſtore: Then France receiuing with a deare imbrace This Northerne Starre, though clouded and diſguis'd, Beholds ſome hidden vertue in his face, And knowes he is a Iewell highly priz'd. Yet there no pleaſing ſights can make him ſtay; For like a Riuer ſliding to the Maine, He haſtes to find the period of his way, And drawne by loue, drawes all our hearts to Spaine▪

Of the Princes departure and returne. WHen Charles from vs withdrawes his glorious light, The Sunne deſires his abſence to ſupply: And that we may nothing in darkneſſe lie, He ſtriues to free the North from dreadfull night. Yet we to Phoebus ſcarce erect our ſight, But all our lookes, our thoughts to Charles apply, And in the beſt delights of life we die, Till he returne, and make this Climate bright. Now he aſcends and giues Apollo leaue To driue his Horſes to the lower part, VVe by his preſence like content receiue, As when freſh ſpirits aide the fainting heart. Reſt here (great Charles) and ſhine to vs alone, For other Starres are common; Charles our owne.

Of the Princes moſt happy returne. OVr Charles, whoſe Horſes neuer quencht the •• heate, In cooling waues of Neptunes watry ſeate: Whoſe ſtarry Chariot in the ſpangled night, Was ſtill the pleaſing obiect of our ſight: This glory of the North hath lately runne A courſe as round, and certaine as the Sunne: He to the South inclining halfe the yeere, Now at our Tropike will againe appeare. He made his ſetting in the Weſterne ſtreames, Where weary Phoebus dips his fading beames: But in this morning our erected eyes Become ſo happy as to ſee him riſe. VVe ſhall not euer in the ſhadow ſtay, His abſence was to bring a longer day; That hauing felt how darkneſſe can affright, VVe may with more content embrace the light, And call to mind, how eu'ry ſoule with paine Sent forth her throwes to fetch him home againe: For want of him we wither'd in the Spring, But his returne ſhall life in VVinter bring: The Plants, which, whē he went, were growing greene, Retaine their former Liu'ries to be ſeene, VVhen he reuiewes them: his expected eye Preſeru'd their beauty, ready oft to die. VVhat tongue? what hand can to the life diſplay The glorious ioy of this triumphant day? VVhen England crown'd with many thouſand fires, Receiues the ſcope of all her beſt deſires. She at his ſight, as with an Earthquake ſwells, And ſtrikes the Heau'n with ſound of trembling bells. The vocall Goddeſſe leauing deſart woods, Slides downe the vales, and dancing on the floods, Obſerues our words, and with repeating noiſe Contends to double our abundant ioyes. The VVorlds cleare eye is iealous of his name, He ſees this He like one continuall flame, And feares leſt Earth a brighter Starre ſhould breed, VVhich might vpon his meate the vapours feed. VVe maruell not, that in his Fathers Land So many ſignes of loue and ſeruice ſtand: Behold how Spaine retaines in eu'ry place Some bright reflection of his chearefull face; Madrid, where firſt his ſplendor he diſplayes, And driues away the Clouds that dimm'd his rayes, Her ioyes into a world of formes doth bring, Yet none contents her, while that potent King, VVho rules ſo farre, till now could neuer find His Realmes and wealth too little for his mind. No words of welcome can ſuch Planets greete, VVhere in one houſe they by coniunction meete. Their ſacred concord runnes through many Signes, And to the Zodiakes better portion ſhines: But in the Virgin they are ſeene moſt farre, And in the Lyons heart the Kingly Starre. When toward vs our Prince his iourney moues, And feeles attraction of his ſeruants loues, When (hauing open breſts of ſtrangers knowne) He haſtes to gather tribute of his owne, The ioyfull neighbours all his paſſage fill With noble Trophees of his might and skill, In conqu'ring mens affections with his darts, Which deepely fixt in many rauiſht hearts, Are like the ſtarry chaines, whoſe blazes play In knots of light along the milkey way. He heares the newes of his approaching Fleet, And will his Nauy ſee, his Seruants greet; Thence to the Land returning in his Barge, The waues leape high, as proud of ſuch a Charge; The night makes ſpeed to ſee him, and preuents The ſlouthfull twilight, caſting duskie tents On roring Streames, which might all men diſmay, But him, to whoſe cleare ſoule the night is day. The preſſing windes with their officious ſtrife, Had caus'd a tumult dang'rous to his life. But their Commander checks them, and reſtraines Their haſty feruour in accuſtom'd chaines: This perill (which with feare our words decline) Was then permitted by the hand Diuine, That good euent might prooue his perſon deare • o heau'n, and needfull to the people here. VVhen he reſolues to croſſe the watry maine, • ee what a change his abſence makes in Spaine! The Earth turnes gray for griefe that ſhe conceiues, Birds loſe their tongues, and trees forſake their leaues. Now floods of teares expreſſe a ſad farwell, Ambitious ſayles as with his greatneſſe ſwell, To him old Ner • us on his Dolphin rides, Preſenting bridles to direct the Tides, He calles his daughters from their ſecret caues, Their ſnowy necks are ſeene aboue the waues) And ſaith to them: Behold the onely Sonne Of that great Lord, about whoſe Kingdomes run Our liquid currents, which are made his owne, And with moyſt Bulwarks guard his ſacred Throne: See how his lookes delight, his geſtures moue Admire and praiſe, yet flye from ſnares of loue: Not Thetes with her beauty and her dowre, Can draw this Peleus to her watry bowre, He loues a Nymph of high and heau'nly race, The eu'ning Sunne doth homage to her face. Heſperian Orchards yeeld her golden fruit, He tooke this iourney in that ſweet purſuit. VVhen thus their Father ends, the Nereids throw Their Garlands on this glorious Prince, and ſtrow His way with Songs, in which the hopes appeare Of ioyes too great for humane eares to heare.

Vpon the anniuerſary day of the Princes return October the fifth. VVE now admire their doctrine, who mainta ••• The Worlds creation vnder Autumnes reig •• , VVhen trees abound in fruit, Grapes ſwell with iuice, Theſe meates are ready for the creatures vſe: Old Time reſolues to make a new ſuruay Of yeeres and ages from this happy day, Refuſing thoſe accounts which others bring, He crownes October, as of moneths the King. No more ſhall hoary VVinter claime the place, And draw cold proofes from Ianus double face; Nor ſhall the Ram, when Spring the earth adornes, Vnlocke the gate of heau'n with golden hornes: Dry Summer ſhall not of the Dog-ſtarre boaſt (Of angry conſtellations honour'd moſt,) From whoſe ſtrong heate Egyptians ſtill begun, To marke the turning circle of the Sunne. Ʋertumnus, who hath Lordly power to change The Seaſons, and can them in order range, Will from this Period freſh beginning take, Yet not ſo much for his Pomonaes ſake, Who then is richly dreſt to pleaſe her Spouſe, And with her Orchards treaſure deckes her browes. • t is our CHARLES, whoſe euer loued name, Hath made this point of heau'n increaſe in fame: VVhoſe long-thought abſence was ſo much deplor'd, • n whom our hopes and all our fruits are ſtor'd. He now attaines the ſhore (O bleſſed day) And true Achates waites along his way, Our wiſe Anchiſes for his ſonne prouides This choſen ſeruant, as the beſt of guides. A Princes glory cannot more depend Vpon his Crowne, then on a faithfull friend.

To the moſt illuſtrious Prince Charles, of the excellent vſe of Poems. DIuine example of obedient heires, High in my hopes, and ſecond in my prayers: True Image of your Father to the life, VVhom Time deſir'd, and Fates in iealous ſtrife, VVith chearefull voices taught their wheeles to runne, That ſuch a Father might haue ſuch a Sonne; Since God exalts you on this earthly Stage, And giues you wiſedome farre aboue your age, To iudge of men, and of their actiue pow'rs: Let me lay downe the fruits of priuate houres Before your feet, you neuer will refuſe This gift, which beares the title of a Muſe. Among your ſerious thoughts, with noble care You cheriſh Poets, knowing that they are The Starres which light to famous actions giue, By whom the mem'ries of good Princes liue: You are their Prince in a peculiar kind, Becauſe your Father hath their Art refin'd. And though theſe Prieſts of greatneſſe quiet ſit Amid'ſt the ſilent children of their wit, Without acceſſe of ſutours, or diſpatch Of high affaires, at which th'ambitious catch; They are not idle, when their ſight they rayſe Beyond the preſent time to future daies; And braue examples, ſage inſtructions bring In pleaſing verſes, which our ſonnes may ſing. They oft erect their flight aboue the Land, When graue Ʋrania ioyning hand in hand With ſoft Thalia, mix their diff'rent ſtrings, And by their muſick make celeſtiall things; More fit for humane eares, whoſe winding rounde Are eaſly fill'd with well digeſted ſounds. Pale Enuy and dull Ignorance reproue This exerciſe, as onely apt for loue, Deuis'd t'allure the ſenſe with curious Art: But not t'enrich the vnderſtanding part. So might they ſay, The Sunne was onely fram'd To pleaſe the eye, and onely therefore nam'd The Eye of Heau'n, conceiuing not his wheele Of liuely heate, which lower bodies feele. Our Muſes ſtriue, that Common-wealths may be As well from barb'rous deedes, as Language free: The ſeu'rall ſounds in harmony combin'd, Knit chaines of vertue in the hearers mind: And that he ſtill may haue his teacher by With meaſur'd lines, we pleaſe his curious eye. We hold thoſe works of Art, or Nature beſt, Where Orders ſteps moſt fully are expreſt And therefore all thoſe ciuill men that liue By Law and rule, will to our numbers giue The name of good, in which perfection reſts; And feele their ſtrokes with ſympathyzing breſts. Not Oratours ſo much with flowing words, Can ſway the hearts of men, and whet their ſwords: Or blunt them at their pleaſure, as our ſtraines, (Whoſe larger Spheare the Orbe of proſe containes) Can mens affections leſſen or increaſe, And guide their paſſions whiſp'ring warre or peace? Tyrtaeus by the vigour of his verſe, Made Sparta conquer, while his lines reherſe Her former glory, almoſt then ſubdude By ſtronger foes, and when the people rude Contend among themſelues with mutuall wrongs, He tempers diſcord with his milder ſongs: This poore lame Poet hath an equall praiſe With Captaines, and with States men of his dayes: The Muſes claime poſſeſſion in thoſe men, Who firſt aduentur'd with a nimble pen; To paint their thoughts, in new inuented ſignes, And ſpoke of Natures workes in numbred lines: This happy Art, compar'd with plainer wayes, Was ſooner borne, and not ſo ſoone decayes: She ſafer ſtands from times deuouring wrong, As better ſeaſon'd to continue long; But as the ſtreames of time, ſtill forward flow; So Wits, more idle and diſtruſtfull grow: They yeeld this Fort, and cowardly pretend Proſe, is a caſtle eaſier to defend; Nor was this change effected in a day, But with degrees, • nd by a ſtealing way, They pull the Muſes feathers one by one; And are not ſeene, till both the wings be gone. If man inioying ſuch a precious Mine, Eſteem'd his nature almoſt made Diuine: When he beheld th' expreſſion of his thought, To ſuch a height, and Godlike glory brought: This change may well his fading ioy confound, To ſee it naked, creeping on the ground; Yet in the lands that honour'd learnings name, Were alwayes ſome, that kept the veſtall flame Of pow'rfull Verſe, on whoſe increaſe or end, The periods of the ſoules chiefe raigne depend. Now in this Realme I ſee the golden age Returne to vs, whoſe comming ſhall aſſwage Diſtracting ſtrife, and many hearts inſpire, To gather fewell for this ſacred fire: On which, if you, great Prince, your eyes will caſt; And like Fauonius, giue a gentle blaſt: The liuely flame ſhall neuer yeeld to death, But gaine immortall ſpirit by your breath.

To the Prince. IF eu'ry man a little world we name? You are a World moſt like the greateſt frame: Your loue of Learning ſpreads your glory farre, Lifts you to heau'n, and makes you there a Starre. In actiue ſports, and formes of martiall deeds, Like Fire and Ayre your nimble courage breeds A rare amazement, and a ſweet delight To Brittaines, who behold ſo deare a ſight: Though higher Orbes ſuch glorious ſignes containe, Doe not (braue Prince) this lower Globe diſdaine. In pure and fruitfull water we may ſee Your minde from darkeneſſe cleare, in bounty free: And in the ſteddy reſting of the ground, Your noble firmeneſſe to your friend is found: For you are ſtill the ſame, and where you loue, No abſence can your conſtant mind remoue. So goodneſſe ſpreads it ſelfe with endleſſe lines, And ſo the Light in diſtant places ſhines: He that aduentures of your worth to ſing, Attempts in vaine, to paint a boundleſſe thing.

An Epithalamium vpon the happy marriage of our Soueraigne Lord King Charles, and our gracious Lady Queene MARY. THe Ocean long contended (but in vaine) To part our ſhore from France. Let Neptune ſhake his mace, & ſwelling waues aduance: The former Vnion now returnes againe, This Iſle ſhall once more kiſſe the Maine Ioyn'd with a flowry bridge of loue, on which the Graces dance. Leander here no dang'rous iourney takes, To touch his Heros hand: Our Helleſpont with Ships becomes as firme as Land, When this ſweete Nymph her place of birth forſakes, And England ſignes of welcome makes As many, as our gladſome coaſts haue little graines of ſand. That voyce, in which the Continent was bleſt, Now to this Iland calls The liuing Woods, and Rocks to frame new riſing Walls: The moouing Hills ſalute this happy gueſt, The Riuers to her ſeruice preſt, Seine into Thames, Garonne to Trent, and Loire to Seuerne falls. This Royall Payre, the Bridegroome and the Bride, With equall glory ſhine: Both full of ſparkling light, both ſprung from race diuine Their Princely Fathers, Europs higheſt pride, The Weſterne World did ſweetly guide: To thē, as Fathers of their Realmes we goldē Crownes aſſigne Great Henry neuer vanquiſht in the field, Rebellious foes could tame. The Wiſdome of our James bred terror in his Name: So that his proudeſt Aduerſaries yeeld, Glad to be guarded with his ſhield, Where Peace with drops of heau'nly dew ſuppreſt Diſſention flame▪ Our Charles and Mary now their courſe prepare, Like thoſe two greater Lights, Which God in midſt of Heau'n exalted to our ſights, To guide our footſteps with perpetuall care, Times happy changes to declare: The one affoords vs healthfull daies, the other quiet nights. See how the Planets, and each leſſer fire Along the Zodiake glide, And in this ſtately traine their offices diuide! No Starre remaines exempted from this Quire, But all are ioyn'd in one deſire, To moue as theſe their wheeles ſhall turne, and reſt where th •• abi •• What can theſe ſhouts and glit'tring ſhowes portend, But neuer fading ioyes? The Lords in rich attire, the people with their noyſe, Expreſſe to what a height their hopes aſcend, Which like a Circle haue no end: Their ſtrength no furious tempeſts ſhake, nor creeping age deſtroye • On this foundation we expect to build The Towres of earthly bliſſe. Mirth ſhall attend on Health, and Peace ſhall plenty kiſſe: The Trees with fruite, with Flowres our Gardens fill'd, Sweete honey from the leaues diſtill'd, For now Aſtraeas raigne appeares to be a Tipe of this. O may our Children with their rauiſh't eyes A race of Sonnes behold, Whoſe birth ſhal change our Ir'n to Siluer, Braſſe to Gold. Proceede white houres, that from this ſtocke may riſe Victorious Kings, whom Fame ſhall prize More dearely, then all other names within her Booke enroll'd.

At the end of his Maiesties firſt yeere. Sonnet firſt. YOur Royall Father Iames, the Good and Great, Proclaim'd in March, whē firſt we felt the Spring▪ A World of bliſſe did to our Iland bring: And at his Death he made his yeeres compleate, Although three dayes he longer held his ſeate, Then from that houre when he reioyc'd to ſing, Great Brittaine torne before, enioyes a King: Who can the periods of the Starres repeate? The Sunne, who in his annuall circle takes A dayes full quadrant from th'enſuing yeere, Repayes it in foure yeeres, and equall makes The number of the dayes within his Spheare: Iames was our earthly Sunne, who call'd to Heau'n, Leaues you his Heire, to make all fractions eu'n.

Sonnet ſecond. ABout the time when dayes are longer made, When nights are warmer, & the aire more cleare, When verdant leaues and fragrant flowers appeare; Whoſe beauty winter had conſtrained to fade. About the time, when Gabriels words perſwade The bleſſed Virgin to incline her care, And to conceyue that Sonne, whom ſhe ſhall beare; Whoſe death and riſing driue away the ſhade. About this time, ſo oft, ſo highly bleſt By precious gifts of Nature and of Grace, Firſt glorious Iames, the Engliſh Crowne poſſeſt: Then gracious Charles ſucceeded in his place. For him his ſubiects wiſh with hearty words, Both what this world, and what the next affords.

An Epithalamium to my Lord Marqueſſe of Buckingham, and to his faire and vertuous Lady. SEuere and ſerious Muſe Whoſe quill, the name of loue declines, Be not too nice, nor this deare worke refuſe: Here Venus ſtirs no flame, nor cupid guides thy lines, But modeſt Hymen ſhakes his Torch, and chaſt Lucina ſhines. The Bridegroomes ſtarres ariſe, Maydes, turne your ſight, your faces hide: Leſt ye be ſhipwrack't in thoſe ſparkling eyes, Fit to be ſeene by none, but by his louely bride: If him Narciſſus ſhould behold, he would forget his pride. And thou faire Nymph appeare With bluſhes, like the purple▪morne; If now thine eares will be content to heare The title of a Wife, we ſhortly will adorne Thee with a ioyfull Mothers • ame, when ſome ſweet Childe's borne We wiſh a Sonne, whoſe ſmile, Whoſe beauty may proclaime him thine, Who may be worthy of his Fathers ſtile, May anſwere to our hopes, and ſtrictly may combine The happy height of Villiers race, with noble Rutlands line. Let both their heads be crown'd With choyſeſt flowers, which ſhall preſage That Loue ſhall flouriſh, and delights abound, Time, adde thou many dayes, nay ages to their age; Yet neuer muſt thy freezing arme, their holy fires aſſwage. Now when they ioyne their hands, Behold, how faire that knot appeares. O may the firmeneſſe of theſe Nuptiall bands Reſemble that bright line, the meaſure of the yeeres. Which makes a league betweene the poles, and ioynes the Hemiſpheres.

Of his Maieſties vow for the felicity of my Lord Marqueſſe of Buckingham. SEe what a full and certaine bleſſing flowes From him, that vnder God the Earth commands▪ For Kings are Types of God, and by their hands A world of gifts and honours he beſtowes: The hopeful tree thus bleſt ſecurely growes, Amidſt the waters in a firtile ground; And ſhall with leaues, & flowres, & fruites be crown'd, Abundant dew on it the Planter throwes. You are this Plant, my Lord, and muſt diſpoſe Your noble ſoule, thoſe bloſſomes to receiue; Which euer to the roote of Vertue cleaue, As our Apollo by his skill foreſhowes: Our Salomon, in wiſedome, and in peace, Is now the Prophet of your faire increaſe.

My Lord of Buckinghams welcome to the King at Burley. SIr, you haue euer ſhin'd vpon me bright, But now, you ſtrike and dazle me with light: You Englands radiant Sunne, vouchſafe to grace My houſe, a Spheare too little and too baſe, My Burley as a Cabinet containes The gemme of Europe, which from golden veines Of glorious Princes, to this height is growne, And ioynes their precious vertues all in one: When I your praiſe would to the world profeſſe; My thoughts with zeale, and earneſt feruour preſſe Which ſhould be firſt, and their officious ſtrife Reſtraines my hand from painting you to life. • write, and hauing written I deſtroy, Becauſe my lines haue bounds, but not my ioy.

A Congratulation to my Lord Marqueſſe of Buckingham, at the Birth of his Daughter. MY lines deſcrib'd your marriage as the Spring, Now like the Reapers, of your fruite I ſing And ſhew the Harueſt of your conſtant loue, In this ſweete Armefull which your ioy ſhall proue: Her Sex is ſigne of plenty, and fore-runnes The pleaſing hope of many noble Sonnes: Who farre abroad their branches ſhall extend, And ſpread their race, till time receiue an end. Be euer bleſt, (faire Childe) that haſt begunne So white a threed, by hands of Angels ſpunne: Thou art the firſt, and wilt the reſt beguile; For thou ſhalt rauiſh with a chearefull ſmile Thy Parents hearts, not wonted to ſuch bliſſe: And ſteale the firſt fruites of a tender kiſſe.

Of true Greatneſſe: to my Lord Marqueſſe of Buckingham. SIr, you are truely great, and euery eye Not dimme with enuy, ioyes to ſee you high: But chiefely mine, which buried in the night, Are by your beames raiſ'd and reſtor'd to light. You, onely you haue pow'r to make me dwell In ſight of men, drawne from my ſilent Cell: Where oft in vaine my pen would haue expreſt Thoſe precious gifts, in which your minde is bleſt. But you, as much too modeſt are to reade Your prayſe, as I too weake your fame to ſpreade. All curious formes, all pictures will diſgrace Your worth, which muſt be ſtudied in your face, The liuely table, where your vertue ſhines More clearely, then in ſtrong and waighty lines. In vaine I ſtriue to write ſome noble thing, To make you nobler for that prudent King: Whoſe words ſo oft, you happy are to heare, Hath made inſtruction needleſſe to your eare: Yet giue me leaue in this my ſilent ſong, To ſhew true Greateneſſe, while you paſſe along; And if you were not humble, in each line Might owne your ſelfe, and ſay, This grace is mine. They that are great, and worthy to be ſo, Hide not their rayes, from meaneſt plants that grow. Why is the Sunne ſet in a Throne ſo hie, But to giue light to each inferiour eye? His radiant beames diſtribute liuely grace To all, according to their worth and place; And from the humble ground thoſe vapours draine, Which are ſet downe in fruitefull drops of raine. As God his greatneſſe and his wiſedome ſhowes In Kings, whoſe lawes the acts of men diſpoſe; So Kings among their ſeruants thoſe ſelect, VVhoſe noble vertues may the reſt direct: VVho muſt remember that their honour tends Not to vaine pleaſure, but to publike ends: And muſt not glory in their ſtile or birth; The Starres were made for man, the Heau'n for end He whoſe iuſt deedes his fellow-ſeruants pleaſe, May ſerue his Sour'aigne with more ioy and eaſe, Obeying with ſincere and faithfull loue, That pow'rfull hand, which giues his wheele to mo •• His Spheare is large, who can his duty know To Princes? and reſpect to vs below! His ſoule is great, when it in bounds confines; This ſcale which rayſ'd ſo high, ſo deepe declines: Theſe are the ſteps, by which he muſt aſpire Beyond all things which earthly hearts deſire: And muſt ſo farre dilate his noble minde, Till it in Heau'n eternall honour finde. The order of the bleſſed ſpirits there Muſt be his rule, while he inhabits here: He muſt conceiue that worldly glories are Vaine ſhadowes, Seas of ſorrow, ſprings of care: All things which vnder Cynthia leade their life, Are chain'd in darkneſſe, borne and nurſt in ſtrife: None ſcapes the force of this deſtroying flood, But he that cleaues to God, his conſtant good: He is accurſt that will delight to dwell In this blacke priſon, this ſeditious hell: When with leſſe paine he may imbrace the light, And on his high Creatour fixe his ſight, Whoſe gracious preſence giues him perfect reſt, And buildes a Paradiſe within his breſt: Where trees of vertues to their height increaſe, And beare the flowres of Ioy, the fruites of peace. No enuie, no reuenge, no rage, no pride, No luſt, nor rapine ſhould his courſes guide; Though all the world conſpire to doe him grace: Yet he is little, and extremely baſe: If in his heart, theſe vices take their ſeate; (No pow'r can make the ſlaue of paſſions great.)

Vpon my Lord of Buckinghams Armes. BEhold, the Enſignes of a Chriſtian Knight, VVhoſe Field is like his minde, of ſiluer bright: His bloudy Croſſe ſupports fiue golden Shels, A precious Pearle, in euery Scallop dwels: Fiue Vertues grace the middle and the bounds, VVhich take their light frō Chriſts victorious wounds: Vpon the Top, commanding Prudence ſhines, Repreſſing Temp'rance to the foote declines; Braue Fortitude and Iuſtice, are the hands, And Charity as in the Center ſtands: VVhich binding all the ends with ſtrong effect To euery Vertue, holds the ſame reſpect: May he that beares this Shield, at laſt obtaine The azure Circle of celeſtiall raigne; And hauing paſt the courſe of ſliding houres, Enioy a Crowne of neuer-fading Flow'rs?

Vpon my Lord of Buckinghams Shield at a Tilting, his Impreſſe being a Bird of Paradiſe. SEe how this Bird erects his conſtant flight Aboue the Cloudes, aſpiring to the light: As in a quiet Paradiſe he dwels In that pure Region, where no winde rebels: And fearing not the thunder, hath attain'd The Palace, where the Demigods remaind: This Bird belongs to you, thrice glorious King; From you the beauties of his Feathers ſpring: No vaine ambition lifts him vp ſo high, But rais'd by force of your attractiue Eye; He feedes vpon your Beames, and takes delight, Not in his owne Aſcent, but in your ſight. Let them, whoſe motion to the Earth declines, Deſcribe your Circle by their baſer lines, And enuy at the brightneſſe of your ſeate: He cannot liue diuided from your heate.

To the Duke of Buckingham at his returne from Spaine. MY Lord, that you ſo welcome are to all; You haue deſeru'd it, neuer could there fall A fitter way to prooue you highly lou'd, Then when your ſelfe you from our ſights remou'd: The clouded lookes of Brittaine ſad appeare, VVith doubtfull care (ah who can bridle feare!) For their ineſtimable gemme perplext; The good and gracefull Buckingham is next In their deſires: they to remembrance bring How oft, by mediation with the King You mitigate the rigour of the lawes, And pleade the orphans and the widowes cauſe. My Muſe, which tooke from you her life and light Sate like a weary wretch, whome ſuddaine night Had ouerſpred: your abſence caſting downe The flow'rs, and Sirens feathers from her crowne, Your fauour firſt th' anointed head inclines To heare my rurall ſongs and reade my lines: Your voyce, my reede with lofty muſick reares To offer trembling ſongs to Princely eares. But ſince my Sou'raigne leaues in great affaires His truſty ſeruant, to his Subiects pray'rs: I willing ſpare for ſuch a Noble end My Patron and (too bold I ſpeake) my friend.

To the Duke of Buckingham. THe words of Princes iuſtly we conceiue, As Oracles inſpir'd by pow'r diuine, Which make the vertues of their ſeruants ſhine; And monuments to future ages leaue. The ſweet conſent of many tongues can weaue Such knots of Honour in a flowry line, That no iniurious hands can them vntwine, Nor enuious blaſts of beauty can bereaue. Theſe are your helpes, my Lord, by theſe two wings You lifted are aboue the force of ſpite: For, while the publike Quire your glory ſings, The 〈…〉 rules them, keepes the Muſicke right: Yo •• •• ppy name with noble prayſe to greet Gods double Voyce, the King and Kingdome meet.

To my gracious Lord, the Duke of Buckingham, vpon the birth of his firſt Sonne. GIue leaue (my Lord) to his abounding heart, Whoſe faithfull zeale preſumes to beare a part In eu'ry bleſſing which vpon you ſhines, And to your glory conſecrates his lines; VVhich riſing from a plaine and countrey Muſe, Muſt all my boldneſſe with her name excuſe. Shall Burley onely triumph in this Child, VVhich by his birth is truly Happy ſtil'd? Nay: we will ſtriue, that Eccho with her notes, May draw ſome ioy into our homely Cotes: VVhile I to ſolitary bils retire, VVhere quiet thoughts my Songs with truth inſpire, And teach me to foretell the hopes that flow From this young Lord, as he in yeeres ſhall grow. Firſt, we behold (and neede not to preſage) VVhat pleaſing comfort in this tender age He giues his Parents, ſweetning eu'ry day VVith deare contentments of his harmeleſſe play. They in this glaſſe their ſeu'rall beauties place, And owne themſelues in his delightfull face. But when this flowry bud ſhall firſt beginne To ſpread his leaues which were conceal'd within; And caſting off the dew of childiſh teares, More glorious then the Roſe at noone appeares, His minde extends it ſelfe to larger bounds; Inſtinct of gen'rous Nature oft propounds: (Great Duke) your actiue graces to his ſight, As obiects full of wonder and delight: Theſe in his thoughts entire poſſeſſion keep, They ſtop his play, and interrupt his ſleepe. So doth a carefull Painter fixe his eyes Vpon the patterne, which before him lies, And neuer from the boord his hand withdrawes, Vntill the Type be like th' Exemplar cauſe. To courtly dancing now he ſhall incline, To manage horſes, and in Armes to ſhine. Such ornaments of youth are but the ſeeds▪ Of noble Vertues, and Heroick deeds. He will not reſt in any outward part, But ſtriues t' expreſſe the riches of your heart VVithin a litle modell, and to frame True title to ſucceſſion of your fame: In riper yeeres he ſhall your wiſedome learne, And your vndaunted courage ſhall diſcerne; And from your actions, from your words and looke • Shall gather rules, which others reade in bookes: So in Achilles more thoſe leſſons wrought, Which Peleus ſhow'd, thē thoſe which Chiron taught

Vpon the Earle of Couentryes departure from vs to the Angels. SWeet Babe, whoſe Birth inſpir'd me with a Song, And call'd my Muſe to trace thy dayes along; Attending riper yeeres, with hope to finde Such braue endeuours of thy noble Minde, As might deſerue triumphant lines, and make My Fore-head bold a Lawrell Crowne to take: How haſt thou left vs, and this earthly Stage, (Not acting many Months) in tender age? Thou cam'ſt into this world a little Spie, Where all things that could pleaſe the eare and eye, Were ſet before thee, but thou found'ſt them toyes, And flew'ſt with ſcornefull ſmiles t' eternall ioyes: No viſage of grim Death is ſent t' affright Thy ſpotleſſe ſoule, nor darkneſſe blinds thy ſight; But lightſome Angels with their golden Wings Ore ſpread thy Cradle, and each ſpirit brings Some precious Balme, for heau'nly Phyſicke meet, To make the ſeparation ſoft and ſweet. The ſparke infus'd by God departs away, And bids the earthly weake companion ſtay VVith patience in that nurs'ry of the ground, VVhere firſt the ſeeds of Adams limbes were found For time ſhall come when theſe diuided friends Shall ioyne againe, and know no ſeu'rall ends, But change this ſhort and momentary kiſſe, To ſtrict embraces of Celeſtiall bliſſe.

To my Lord Vicount Purbeck: a Congratulation for his health. IF we inlarge our hearts, extend our voyce, To ſhew with what affection we reioyce, VVhen friends or kinſmen wealth and honour gaine, Or are return'd to freedome from the chaine: How ſhall your ſeruants and your friends (my Lord) Declare their ioy? who find no ſound, no word Sufficient for their thoughts, ſince you haue got That Iewell Health, which Kingdomes equall not, From ſickneſſe freed, a Tyrant farre more fell Then Turkiſh Pirates, who in Gallies dwell. The Muſes to the friend of Muſicke bring The ſignes of gladneſſe: Orpheus ſtrikes a ſtring VVhich can inſpire the dull, can cheare the ſad, And to the dead can liuely motion adde: Some play, ſome ſing: while I, whoſe onely skill, Is to direct the organ of my Quill, That from my hand it may not runne in vaine, But keepe true time with my commanding braine. I will bring forth my Muſicke, and will trie To rayſe theſe dumbe (yet ſpeaking) Letters high, Till they contend with ſounds: till arm'd with wing My featherd pen ſurmount Apollo's ſtrings. We much reioyce that lightſome calmes aſſwage The fighting humours, blind with mutuall rage: So ſing the Mariners exempt from feare, When ſtormes are paſt, and hopefull ſignes appeare. So chaunts the mounting Larke her gladſome lay, When night giues place to the delightfull day. In this our mirth, the greateſt ioy I finde, Is to conſider how your noble minde Will make true vſe of thoſe afflictions paſt, And on this ground will fix your vertue faſt; You hence haue learn'd th' vncertaine ſtate of man, And that no height of glitt'ring honour can Secure his quiet: for almighty God, Who rules the high, can with his pow'rfull rod Repreſſe the greateſt, and in mercy daignes With daug'rous ioyes to mingle wholſome paines: Though men in ſickneſſe draw vnquiet breath, And count it worſt of euils, next to death: Yet ſuch his goodneſſe is, who gouernes all, That from this bitter ſpring ſweete riuers fall: Here we are truly taught our ſelues to know, To pitty others who indure like woe: To feele the waight of ſinne, the onely cauſe Whence eu'ry body this corruption drawes: To make our peace with that correcting hand, Which at each moment can our liues command. Theſe are the bleſt effects, which ſickneſſe leaues, VVhen theſe your ſerious breſt aright conceaues You will no more repent your former paine▪ Then we our ioy, to ſee you well againe.

To the memory of the faire and thrice vertuous Gentlewoman, Miſtris Elizabeth Neuell. ANymph is dead, milde, vertuous, young & faire, Death neuer counts by dayes, or mon'ths, or yeeres: Oft in his ſight the Infant old appeares, And to his earthly manſion muſt repaire. VVhy ſhould our ſighes diſturbe the quiet Aire? For when the flood of Time to ruine beares, No beauty can preuaile, nor parents teares. VVhen life is gone, we of the fleſh deſpaire, Yet ſtill the happy ſoule immortall liues In heauen, as we with pious hope conceiue, And to the Maker endleſſe prayſes giues, That ſhe ſo ſoone this lothſome world might leaue▪ VVe iudge that glorious Spirit doubly bleſt, VVhich from ſhort life aſcends t' eternall reſt.

Of the truly Noble and Excellent Lady, the Lady Marqueſſe of Wincheſter. CAn my poore lines no better office haue, But lie like Scritch-Owles ſtill about the graue? VVhen ſhall I take ſome pleaſure for my paine, Commending them that can commend againe? VVhen ſhall my Muſe in loue-ſicke lines recite Some Ladies worth, which ſhe of whom I write, VVith thankfull ſmiles may reade in her owne dayes? Or when ſhall I a breathing woman prayſe? Oneuer! Mine are too ambitious ſtrings, They will not ſound but of eternall things; Such are freed-ſoules, but had I thought it fit, T' exalt a ſpirit to a body knit: I would confeſſe I ſpent my time amiſſe, VVhen I was ſlow to giue due praiſe to this. Now when all weepe, it is my time to ſing, Thus from her aſhes muſt my Poem ſpring: Though in the race I ſee ſome ſwiftly runne, I will not crowne them till the goale be won, • ill death ye mortals cannot happy be▪ VVhat can I then but woe, and dangers ſee, If in your liues I write, now when ye reſt, I will inſert your names among the bleſt: And now, perhaps, my Verſes may increaſe Your riſing fame, though not your boundleſſe peace▪ Which if they euer could, may they make thine: Great Lady, further, if not clearer ſhine: I could thy husbands higheſt Styles relate, Thy Fathers Earledome, and that Englands ſtate VVas wholy manag'd by thy Grandſires brow: But thoſe that loue thee beſt, will beſt allow That I omit to praiſe thy match and Line, And ſpeake of things that were more truely thine: Thou thought'ſt it baſe to build on poore remaines Of noble bloud, which ranne in others veines; As many doe, who beare no flowres, nor fruite, But ſhew dead ſtocks, which haue beene of repute, And liue by meere remembrance of a ſound, Which was long ſince by winds diſperſt and drown'd: While that falſe worth, which they ſuppoſe they haue▪ Is digg'd vp new from the corrupting Graue: For thou hadſt liuing honours, not decay'd With wearing time, and needing not the ayd Of Heraulds, in the harueſt of whoſe art None but the vertuous iuſtly clayme a part: Since they our Parents memories renew, For imitation, not for idle view, Yet what is all their skill, if we compare Their paper works with thoſe which liuely are, In ſuch as thou haſt been, whoſe preſent lookes, If many ſuch were, would ſurpreſſe all bookes; For their examples would alone ſuffice: They that the Countrey ſee, the Map deſpiſe. For thee a Crowne of Vertues we prepare, The chiefe is Wiſdome, in thy Sex moſt rare, By which thou didſt thy husbands ſtate maintaine, VVhich ſure had falne without thee; and in vaine Had aged Paulet wealth, and honours heap'd Vpon his Houſe, if ſtrangers had them reapt. In vaine to height, by ſafe ſtill ſteps he climes, And ſerues fiue Princes in moſt diff'rent times. In vaine is he a Willow, not an Oke, Which winds might eaſly bend, yet neuer broke. In vaine he breakes his ſleepe, and is diſeas'd, And grieues himſelfe that others may be pleas'd: In vaine he ſtriues to beare an equall hand, 'Twixt Somerſet and bold Northumberland; And to his owne cloſe ends directing all, Will riſe with both, but will with neither fall. All this had been in vaine, vnleſſe he might Haue left his heires cleare knowledge as their right. But this no ſonne infallibly can draw From his Deſcent, by Nature, or by Law: That treaſure which the ſoule with glory decks, Reſpects not birth-right, nor the nobler Sex: For women oft haue mens defects ſuppli'd, VVhoſe office is to keepe what men prouide. So haſt thou done, and made thy name as great, As his who firſt exalted Paulets ſeate: Neere dew, yet not too neere, the thunders blow, Some ſtood 'twixt Ioue, and him, though moſt below. O well waigh'd dignity, ſelected place, Prouided for continuance of his race, Not by Aſtrologie, but Prudence farre, More pow'rfull then the force of any Starre! The Dukes are gone, and now (though much beneath) His Coronet is next th'Imperiall Wreath, No richer ſigne his flowry Garland drown's, Which ſhines alone aboue the leſſer Crownes. This thou inioyd'ſt, as ſicke men tedious houres, And thought'ſt of brighter Pearles, and fairer flowres, And higher Crownes, which heau'n for thee reſerues, When this thy worldly pompe decayes, and ſtarues. This ſacred ſeruour in thy mind did glow: And though ſuppreſt with outward ſtate and ſhow, Yet at thy death thoſe hind'ring clouds it clear'd, And like the loſt Sunne to the world appear'd; Euen as a ſtrong fire vnder aſhes turn'd, Which with more force long ſecretly hath burn'd, Breakes forth to be the obiect of our ſight, Aimes at the Orbe, and ioynes his flame with light.

Vpon his Noble Friend, Sir William Skipwith. TO frame a man, who in thoſe gifts excels, Which makes the Country happy where hee dwels, We firſt conceiue, what names his Line adorne, It kindles vertue to be nobly borne. This picture of true Gentry muſt be grac'd, With glitt'ring Iewels round about him plac'd; A comely body, and a beauteous mind; A heart to loue, a hand to giue inclin'd; A houſe as free, and open as the Ayre; A tongue which ioyes in Language ſweet and faire; Yet can, when need requires, with courage bold, To publike eares his neighbours griefes vnfold. All theſe we neuer more ſhall find in one, And yet all theſe are clos'd within this ſtone.

An Epitaph vpon my deare Brother, Francis Beaumont. ON Death thy Murd'rer this reuenge I take: I ſlight his terror, and iuſt queſtion make, Which of vs two the beſt precedence haue, Mine to this wretched world, thine to the graue: Thou ſhouldſt haue followd me, but death too blame, Miſcounted yeeres, and meaſur'd age by Fame. So dearely haſt thou bought thy precious lines, Their praiſe grew ſwiftly; ſo thy life declines: Thy Muſe, the hearers Queene, the Readers loue: All eares, all hearts (but Deaths) could pleaſe and moue.

Of my deare Sonne, Geruaſe Beaumont. CAn I, who haue for others oft compil'd The Songs of Death, forget my ſweeteſt child, VVhich like a flow'r cruſht, with a blaſt is dead, And ere full time hangs downe his ſmiling head, Expecting with cleare hope to liue anew, Among the Angels fed with heau'nly dew? We haue this ſigne of Ioy, that many dayes, While on the earth his ſtruggling ſpirit ſtayes, The name of Ieſus in his mouth containes, His onely food, his ſleepe, his eaſe from paines. O may that ſound be rooted in my mind, Of which in him ſuch ſtrong effect I find. Deare Lord, receiue my Sonne, whoſe winning loue To me was like a friendſhip, farre aboue The courſe of nature, or his tender age, Whoſe lookes could all my bitter griefes aſſwage; Let his pure ſoule ordain'd ſeu'n yeeres to be In that fraile body, which was part of me, Remaine my pledge in heau'n, as ſent to ſhew, How to this Port at eu'ry ſtep I goe.

Teares for the death of the truly Honourable, the Lord Chandos. LEt him whoſe lines a priuate loſſe deplore, Call them to weepe, that neuer wept before; My griefe is more audacious: giue me one Who eu'ry day hath heard a dying grone. The ſubiect of my verſes may ſuffice To draw new teares from dry and weary eyes. We dare not loue a man, nor pleaſure take In others worth for noble Chandos ſake: And when we ſeeke the beſt with reaſons light, We feare to wiſh him longer in our ſight. Time had increaſt his vertue and our woe, For ſorrow gathers weight by comming ſlow: Should him the God of life, to life reſtore Againe, we loſe him, and lament the more. If Mortals could a thouſand liues renew, They were but ſhades of death which muſt inſue. Our gracious God hath fitter bounds aſſign'd, And earthly paines to one ſhort life confin'd; Yet when his hand hath quench'd the vitall flame, It leaues ſome cinders of immortall fame. At theſe we blow, and (like Prometheus) ſtriue By ſuch weake ſparkes, to make dead clay aliue: Breath flyes to ayre, the body falls to ground, And nothing dwels with vs but mournfull ſound. O, might his honor'd Name liue in my Song, Reflected as with Ecchoes ſhrill and ſtrong! But when my lines of glorious obiects treate, They ſhould riſe high, becauſe the worke is great. No Quill can paint this Lord, vnleſſe it haue Some tincture from his actions free and braue: Yet from this height I muſt deſcend againe, And (like the calme Sea) lay my Verſes plaine, When I deſcribe the ſmoothneſſe of his mind, Where reaſons chaines rebellious paſſions bind: My Poem muſt in harmony excell, His ſweet behauiour and diſcourſe to tell; It ſhould be deepe, and full of many Arts, To teach his wiſdome, and his happy parts. But ſince I want theſe graces, and deſpaire To make my Picture (like the patterne) faire; Theſe haſty ſtrokes vnperfect draughts ſhall ſtand, Expecting life from ſome more skilfull hand.

Vpon the vntimely death of the Honourable, hop • full young Gentleman, Edward Stafford, Sonne and Heire to the Lord Stafford. DEad is the hope of Stafford, in whoſe line So many Dukes, and Earles, and Barons ſhine: And from this Edwards death his kinred drawes More griefe, then mighty Edwards fall could cauſe: For to this Houſe his vertue promiſt more Then all thoſe great Ones that had gone before. No lofty titles can ſecurely frame The happineſſe, and glory of a Name: Bright honours at the point of Noone decay, And feele a ſad declining like the day. But he that from the race of Kings is borne, And can their mem'ries with his worth adorne, Is farre more bleſt, then thoſe of whom he ſprings, He from aboue the ſoule of goodneſſe brings, T'inſpire the body of his Noble birth, This makes it moue, before but liueleſſe earth. Of ſuch I write, who ſhow'd he would haue been Complete in action, but we loſt him greene. We onely ſaw him crown'd with flowres of hope: O that the fruits had giu'n me larger ſcope! And yet the bloomes which on his Herſe we ſtrow, Surpaſſe the Cherries, and the Grapes that grow In others Gardens. Here freſh Roſes lie, Whoſe ruddy bluſhes modeſt thoughts deſcry, In Flowre-de-luces dide with azure hue, His conſtant loue to heau'nly things we view: The ſpotleſſe Lillies ſhew his pure intent, The flaming Marigold his zeale preſent, The purple Violets his Noble minde, Degen'rate neuer from his Princely kind; And laſt of all the Hyacinths we throw, In which are writ the letters of our woe.

To the Memory of the Learned and Religious, Ferdinando Pulton, Eſquire. AS at a ioyfull Marriage, or the birth Of ſome long wiſhed child; or when the earth Yeelds plenteous fruit, and makes the Ploughman ſing: Such is the ſound, and ſubiect of my ſtring: Ripe age, full vertue need no fun'rall Song, Here mournefull tunes would Grace, & Nature wrong▪ VVhy ſhould vaine ſorrow follow him with teares, VVho ſhakes off burdens of declining yeeres? VVhoſe thread exceeds the vſuall bounds of life, And feeles no ſtroke of any fatall knife? The Deſtinies enioyne their wheeles to run, Vntill the length of his whole courſe be ſpun. No enuious cloud obſcures his ſtruggling light, VVhich ſets contented at the point of night: Yet this large time no greater profit brings, Then eu'ry little moment whence it ſprings, Vnleſſe imploy'd in workes deſeruing praiſe, Moſt weare out many yeeres, and liue few dayes. Time flowes from inſtants, and of theſe each one Should be eſteem'd, as if it were alone The ſhorteſt ſpace, which we ſo lightly prize VVhen it is comming, and before our eyes: Let it but ſlide into th' eternall Maine, No Realmes, no worlds can purchaſe it againe: Remembrance onely makes the footſteps laſt, VVhen winged Time, which fixt the prints, is paſt. This he well-knowing, all occaſions tries, T' enrich his owne, and others learned eyes. This noble end, not hope of gaine did draw His minde to trauaile in the knotty Law: That was to him by ſerious labour made A Science, which to many is a Trade; VVho purchaſe lands, build houſes by their tongue, And ſtudy right, that they may practiſe wrong. His bookes were his rich purchaſes: his fees, That praiſe which Fame to painefull works decrees: His mem'ry hath a ſurer ground then theirs, VVho truſt in ſtately Tombes, or wealthy Heires.

To the immortall memory of the faireſt and moſt vertuous Lady, the Lady Clifton. HEr tongue hath ceaſt to ſpeake, which might make dumbe All tongues might ſtay, all Pens all hands ben ••• ▪ Yet I muſt write, O that it might haue beene While ſhe had liu'd, and had my verſes ſeene, Before ſad cries deaf'd my vntuned eares, When verſes flow'd more eaſily then teares. Ah why neglected I to write her prayſe, And paint her Vertues in thoſe happy dayes! Then my now trembling hand and dazled eye, Had ſeldome fail'd, hauing the patterne by; Or had it err'd, or made ſome ſtrokes amiſſe, (For who can portray vertue as it is?) Art might with Nature haue maintain'd her ſtrife, By curious lines to imitate true life. But now thoſe Pictures want their liuely grace, As after death none can well draw the face: We let our friends paſſe idlely like our time, Till they be gone, & then we ſee our crime, And thinke what worth in them might haue beene known, What duties done, and what affection ſhowne: Vntimely knowledge, which ſo deare doth coſt, And then beginnes when the thing knowne is loſt; Yet this cold loue, this enuie, this neglect, Proclaimes vs modeſt while our due reſpect To goodneſſe, is reſtrain'd by ſeruile feare, Leſt to the world, it flatt'ry ſhould appeare: As if the preſent houres deſeru'd no prayſe: But age is paſt, whoſe knowledge onely ſtayes On that weake prop which memory ſuſtaines, Should be the proper ſubiect of our ſtraines: Or as if fooliſh men aſham'd to ſing Of Violets, and Roſes in the Spring, Should tarry till the flow'rs were blowne away, And till the Muſes life and heate decay; Then is the fury ſlak'd, the vigour fled, As here in mine, ſince it with her was dead: Which ſtill may ſparkle, but ſhall flame no more, Becauſe no time ſhall her to vs reſtore: Yet may theſe Sparks, thus kindled with her fame, Shine brighter and liue longer then ſome flame. Here expectation vrgeth me to tell Her high perfections, which the world knew well. But they are farre beyond my skill t'vnfold, They were poore vertues if they might be told. But thou, who faine would'ſt take a gen'rall view Of timely fruites which in this garden grew, On all the vertues in mens actions looke, Or reade their names writ in ſome morall booke; And ſumme the number which thou there ſhalt find: So many liu'd, and triumph'd in her minde. Nor dwelt theſe Graces in a houſe obſcure, But in a Palace faire, which might allure The wretch who no reſpect to vertue bore; To loue It, for the garments which it wore. So that in her the body and the ſoule Contended, which ſhould moſt adorne the whole. O happy Soule for ſuch a body meete, How are the firme chaines of that vnion ſweete, Diſſeuer'd in the twinkling of an eye? And we amaz'd dare aske no reaſon why, But ſilent think, that God is pleas'd to ſhow, That he hath workes, whoſe ends we cannot know: Let vs then ceaſe to make a vaine requeſt, To learne why die the faireſt, why the beſt; For all theſe things, which mortals hold moſt deare, Moſt ſlipp'ry are, and yeeld leſſe ioy then feare; And being lifted high by mens deſire, Are more perſpicuous markes for heau'nly fire; And are laid proſtrate with the firſt aſſault, Becauſe, our loue makes their deſert their fault. Then Iuſtice, vs to ſome amends ſhould mooue For this our fruiteleſſe, nay our hurtfull loue; We in their Honour, piles of ſtone erect With their deare Names, and worthy prayſes de •••• ▪ But ſince thoſe faile, their glories we rehearſe, In better Marble, euerlaſting verſe: By which we gather from conſuming houres, Some parts of them, though time the reſt deuoures; Then if the Muſes can forbid to die, As we their Prieſts ſuppoſe, why may not I? Although the leaſt and hoarſeſt in the quire, Cleare beames of bleſſed immortality inſpire To keepe thy bleſt remembrance euer young, Still to be freſhly in all Ages ſung: Or if my worke in this vnable be, Yet ſhall it euer liue, vpheld by thee: For thou ſhalt liue, though Poems ſhould decay, Since Parents teach their Sonnes, thy prayſe to ſay; And to poſterity, from hand to hand Conuay it with their bleſſing and their land. Thy quiet reſt from death, this good deriues Inſtead of one, it giues thee many liues: While theſe lines laſt, thy ſhadow dwelleth here, Thy fame, it ſelfe extendeth eu'ry where; In Heau'n our hopes haue plac'd thy better part: Thine Image liues, in thy ſad Husbands heart: Who as when he enioy'd thee, he was chiefe In loue and comfort, ſo is he now in griefe.

Vpon the death of the moſt noble Lord Henry, Earle of Southampton, 1624. WHen now the life of great Southampton ends, His fainting ſeruants, and aſtoniſht friends Stand like ſo many weeping Marble ſtones, No paſſage left to vtter ſighes, or grones: And muſt I firſt diſſolue the bonds of griefe, And ſtraine forth words, to giue the reſt reliefe? I will be bold my trembling voyce to trie, That his deare Name, may not in ſilence die. The world muſt pardon, if my ſong bee weake, In ſuch a caſe it is enough to ſpeake: My verſes are not for the preſent age: For what man liues, or breathes on Englands ſtage; That knew not braue Southampton, in whoſe ſight Moſt plac'd their day, and in his abſence night? I ſtriue, that vnborne Children may conceiue, Of what a Iewell angry Fates bereaue This mournefull Kingdome, and when heauy woes Oppreſſe their hearts, thinke ours as great as thoſe: In what eſtate ſhall I him firſt expreſſe, In youth, or age, in ioy, or in diſtreſſe? When he was young, no ornament of youth Was wanting in him, acting that in truth Which Cyrus did in ſhadow, and to men Appear'd like Peleus ſonne from Chirons Den: While through this Iland Fame his praiſe reports, As beſt in martiall deedes, and courtly ſports, When riper age with winged feete repaires, Graue care adornes his head with ſiluer haires; His valiant feruour was not then decaide, But ioyn'd with counſell, as a further aide. Behold his conſtant and vndaunted eye, In greateſt danger when condemn'd to dye, He ſcornes th' inſulting aduerſaries breath, And will admit no feare, though neere to Death: But when our gracious Soueraigne had regain'd This Light, with clouds obſcur'd in walls detain'd: And by his fauour plac'd this Starre on high, Fixt in the Garter, Englands azure skie; He pride (which dimms ſuch change) as much did hate, As baſe deiection in his former ſtate: When he was call'd to ſit, by Ioues command, Among the Demigods, that rule this Land, No pow'r, no ſtrong perſwaſion could him draw From that, which he conceiu'd as right and Law. When ſhall we in this Realme a Father finde So truly ſweet, or husband halfe ſo kinde? Thus he enioyde the beſt contents of life, Obedient Children, and a louing Wife. Theſe were his parts in Peace; but O how farre This noble ſoule excell'd it ſelfe in VVarre: He was directed by a nat'rall vaine, True honour by this painefull way to gaine. Let Ireland witneſſe, where he firſt appeares, And to the fight his warlike Enſignes beares. And thou O Belgia, wert in hope to ſee The Trophees of his conqueſts wrought in thee, But Death, who durſt not meete him in the field, In priuate by cloſe trech'ry made him yeeld. I keepe that glory laſt, which is the beſt; The loue of Learning, which he oft expreſt By conuerſation, and reſpect to thoſe Who had a name in Artes, in verſe or proſe: Shall euer I forget with what delight, He on my ſimple lines would caſt his ſight? His onely mem'ry my poore worke adornes, He is a Father to my crowne of thornes: Now ſince his death how can I euer looke, Without ſome teares, vpon that Orphan booke? Ye ſacred Muſes, if ye will admit My name into the roll, which ye haue writ Of all your ſeruants, to my thoughts diſplay Some rich conceipt, ſome vnfrequented way, Which may hereafter to the world commend A picture fit for this my noble Friend: For this is nothing, all theſe Rimes I ſcorne; Let Pens be broken, and the paper torne: And with his laſt breath let my muſick ceaſe, Vnleſſe my lowly Poem could increaſe In true deſcription of immortall things, And rays'd aboue the earth with nimble wings, Fly like an Eagle from his Fun'rall fire, Admir'd by all, as all did him admire.

An Epitaph vpon that hopefull young Gentleman, the Lord Wriotheſley. HEre lies a Souldier, who in youth deſir'd His valiant Fathers noble ſteps to tread, And ſwiftly from his friends and Countrey fled, While to the height of glory he aſpir'd. The cruell Fates with bitter enuy fir'd, To ſee warres prudence in ſo young a head, Sent from their dusky caues to ſtrike him dead, A ſtrong diſeaſe in peacefull Robes attir'd. This Murd'rer kills him with a ſilent dart, And hauing drawne it bloody from the Sonne, Throwes it againe into the Fathers heart, And to his Lady boaſts what he hath done. What helpe can men againſt pale Death prouide. When twice within few dayes Southampton dide? 〈2 pages missing〉

IVVENAL. SAT. 10. IN all the Countries, which from Gades extend To Ganges, where the mornings beames aſcend, Few men the clouds of errour can remooue, And know what ill t' auoide, what good to loue: For what doe we by reaſon ſeeke or leaue, Or what canſt thou ſo happily conceiue, But ſtraight thou wilt thine enterpriſe repent, And blame thy wiſh, when thou behold'ſt th' euent? The eaſie gods cauſe houſes to decay, By granting that, for which the owners pray; In Peace and Warre we aske for hurtfull things, The copious flood of ſpeech to many brings Vntimely death; another raſhly dyes, While he vpon his wondrous ſtrength relyes: But moſt by heapes of money choked are, Which they haue gather'd with too earneſt care, Till others they in wealth as much excell, As Britiſh Whales aboue the Dolphins ſwell: In bloody times by Neroes fierce commands, The armed troope about Longinus ſtands; Rich Senecaes large gardens circling round, And Lateranus Palace much renown'd. The greedy Tyrants ſouldier ſeldome comes, To ranſack beggers in the vpper roomes. If ſiluer veſſels, though but few thou bear'ſt, Thou in the night the ſword and trunchion fear'ſt; And at the ſhadow of each Reed wilt quake, When by the Moone▪light thou perceiu'ſt it ſhake: But he that trauailes empty, feeles no griefe, And boldly ſings in preſence of the thiefe: The firſt deſires, and thoſe which beſt we know In all our Temples, are that wealth may grow, That riches may increaſe, and that our cheſt In publike banke may farre exceed the reſt. But men in earthen veſſels neuer drinke Dyre poyſons: then thy ſelfe in danger thinke, When cups beſet with Pearles thy hand doth hold, And precious Wine burnes bright in ample gold: Do'ſt thou not now perceiue ſufficient cauſe, To giue thoſe two wiſe men deſeru'd applauſe, Who when abroad they from their threſholds ſtept, The one did alwaies laugh, the other wept? But all are apt to laugh in euery place, And cenſure actions with a wrinkled face; It is more maruell how the others eyes Could moyſture find his weeping to ſuffice. Democritus did euer ſhake his ſpleene With laughters force; yet had there neuer been Within his natiue ſoyle ſuch garments braue, And ſuch vaine ſignes of Honour as we haue. What if he ſaw the Pretor ſtanding out From lofty Chariots in the thronging rout, Clad in a Coate with noble Palme-trees wrought, A ſigne of triumph, from Ioues Temple brought, And deckt with an imbrodred purple Gowne, Like hangings from his ſhoulders trailing downe: No necke can lift the Crowne which then he weares, For it a publike ſeruant ſweating beares; And leſt the Conſull ſhould exceed in pride, A Slaue with him in the ſame Coach doth ride. The Bird which on the Iu'ry Scepter ſtands, The Cornets, and the long officious Bands Of thoſe that walke before to grace the ſight, The troope of ſeruile Romans cloth'd in white, Which all the way vpon thy Horſe attends, Whō thy good cheare & purſe haue made thy friends; To him each thing he meets occaſion mooues Of earneſt laughter, and his wiſdome prooues, That worthy men, who great examples giue, In barb'rous Countries and thicke ayre may liue: He laught at common peoples cares and feares; Oft at their ioyes, and ſometimes at their teares, He in contempt to threatning Fortune throwes A halter, and his ſcornefull finger ſhowes. We rub the knees of gods with waxe, to gaine From them ſuch things as hurtfull are, or vaine; Pow'r ſubiect to fierce ſpite, caſts many downe, Whom their large ſtiles, and famous titles drowne. The Statues fall, and through the ſtreets are roll'd: The wheeles, which did the Chariots weight vphold, Are knockt in pieces with the Hatchets ſtroke: The harmeleſſe Horſes legs are alſo broke: The fires make hiſſing ſounds, the bellowes blow, That head diſſolu'd, muſt in the furnace glow, Which all with honours like the gods did grace. The great Seianus crackes, and of that face, Which once the ſecond in the world was nam'd, Are baſons, frying-pans, and diſhes fram'd, Place bayes at home to Ioues chiefe Temple walke, And leade with thee a great Oxe, white as chalke. Behold Seianus drawne vpon a hooke, All men reioyce, what lips had he, what looke? Truſt me (ſaith one) I neuer could abide This fellow; yet none askes for what he dy'd: None knowes who was the man that him accus'd; What proofes were brought, what teſtimony vs'd; A large Epiſtle fraught with words great ſtore, From Capreae comes: 'tis well, I ſeeke no more, The wau'ring people follow Fortune ſtill, And hate thoſe whom the State intends to kill. Had Nurtia fauor'd this her Tuſcan child: Had he the aged careleſſe Prince beguild; The ſame baſe tongues would in that very houre Haue rays'd Seianus to Auguſtus pow'r. It is long ſince that we forbidden are, To ſell our voyces free from publike care: The people which gaue pow'r in warre and peace, Now from thoſe troubles is content to ceaſe, And eu'ry wiſh for theſe two ends beſtowes, For bread in plenty, and Circenſian ſhowes. I heare that many are condemn'd to dye; No doubt the flame is great, and ſwelleth high. Brutidius looking pale, did meet me neere To Mars his Altar, therefore much I feare, Leſt vanquiſht Aiax find out ſome pretence, To puniſh thoſe that faild in his defence: Let vs run headlong, trampling Ceſars foe, VVhile on the banke he lies, our fury ſhow: Let all our ſeruants ſee, and witneſſe beare, How forward we againſt the Traytor were, Leſt any ſhould deny, and to the Law, His fearefull Maſter by the necke ſhould draw. Theſe were the ſpeeches of Seianus then, The ſecret murmures of the baſeſt men. Would'ſt thou be flatter'd, and ador'd by ſuch As bow'd to him? VVould'ſt thou poſſeſſe as much? VVould'ſt thou giue ciuill dignities to theſe? VVould'ſt thou appoint thē Gen'rals who thee pleaſe? Be Tutor of the Prince, who on the Rock Of Capreae ſits with his Chaldean flock: Thou ſurely ſeek'ſt it as a great reward, T' enioy high places in the field or Guard. This thou defend'ſt for thoſe that haue no will, To make men die would haue the power to kill: Yet what ſuch fame or fortune can be found, But ſtill the woes aboue the ioyes abound? Had'ſt thou then rather chuſe the rich attire Of this great Lord, now drawne through cōmon mire, Or beare ſome office in the wretched State Of Gabij, or Fidenae, and relate The Lawes of meaſures in a ragged gowne, And breake ſmall veſſels in an empty Towne; By this time I perceiue thou haſt confeſt, That proud Seianus could not wiſh the beſt: He that for too much wealth and honour cares, The heaped lofts of rayſed Towres prepares, Whence from the top his fall declines more ſteepe, And headlong ruine drawes him to the deepe. This done, rich Craſſus and the Pompey's threw, And him who Romane freedome could ſubdue, Becauſe to height by cunning they aſpire, And enuious gods giue way to their deſire. Few Tyrants can to Pluto's Court deſcend, VVithout fierce ſlaughter, and a bloody end. Demoſthenes and Tullies fame and ſpeech, Each one that ſtudies Rhet'rike, will beſeech At Pallas hands, and during all the dayes Of her Quinquatria for this onely prayes, Though worſhipping her picture baſely wrought, Such as with brazen money he hath bought, While in a little cheſt his papers lie, VVhich one poore ſeruant carries waiting nigh: Yet both theſe Orators whom he admires, Dy'd for that eloquence which he deſires: VVhat did them both to ſad deſtruction bring, But wit which flow'd from an abundant Spring? The wit of Tully caus'd his head and hand To be cut off, and in the Court to ſtand. The Pulpits are not moiſtned with the flood Of any meane vnlearned pleaders blood. VVhen Tully wrote; O Rome moſt bleſt by Fate, New-borne when I enioy'd the Conſuls State: If he his Proſe had like his verſes ſhap'd, He Antonies ſharpe ſwords might haue eſcap'd. Let Critikes here their ſharpe deriſion ſpend, Yet thoſe harſh Poems rather I commend, Then thee, diuine Philippicke, which in place Art next the firſt, but haſt the higheſt grace; He alſo with a cruell death expir'd, VVhoſe flowing torrent Athens ſo admir'd, VVho rul'd th' vnconſtant people when he liſt, As if he held their bridles in his fiſt. Ah wretched man, begotten with the hate Of all the gods, and by ſiniſter Fate, VVhom his poore father, bleare-ey'd with the ſoote Of ſparkes which from the burning Ir'n did ſhoote, From Coales, Tongs, Anuile, and the Cutlers tooles, And durty Forge, ſent to the Rhet'ricke Schooles. The ſpoyles of warre ſome ruſty Corſlet plac'd On maymed Trophees cheekes of helmes defac'd; Defectiue Chariots conquer'd Nauies decks, And captiues, who themſelues with ſorrow vexe, (Their faces on triumphant Arches wrought) Are things aboue the bliſſe of mortall thought: For theſe incitements to this fruitleſſe end, The Romane, Greeke, and Barbr'ous Captaines tend. This caus'd their danger, and their willing paine, So much their thirſt is greater for the gaine Of fame then vertue: for what man regards Bare vertue, if we take away rewards? In ages paſt the glory of a few, Their Countrey raſhly to deſtruction drew, Deſiring prayſe and titles full of pride, Inſcrib'd on graue-ſtones which their aſhes hide, VVhich periſh by the ſauage fig-trees ſtrength: For tombes themſelues muſt haue their fate at length. Let Annibal be ponder'd in thy mind; In him thou ſhalt that waight and value find, VVhich fits a great Commander. This is he, VVhoſe ſpirit could not comprehended be In Africk, reaching from th' Atlantick ſtreames, To Nilus heated with the Sunny beames; And Southward ſtretcht as farre as Ethiope feeds Huge Elephants, like thoſe which India breeds: He conquers Spaine, which cannot him incloſe VVith Pyrenaean hills the Alpes and Snowes, VVhich nature armes againſt him, he derides, And Rockes made ſoft with Vineger diuides. He Italy attaines, yet ſtriues to runne On further: Nothing yet, ſaith he, is done, Till Punicke ſouldiers ſhall Romes gates deface, And in her nobleſt ſtreets mine Enſignes place. How would this one-ey'd Generals appeare VVith that Gentulian beaſt which did him beare, If they were ſet in picture? VVhat became Of all his bold attempts? O deare-bought Fame, He vanquiſht, into exile headlong ſlies, VVhere (all men wondring) he in humble wiſe, Muſt at the Palace doore attendance make, Till the Bythinian Tyrant pleaſe to wake. No warlike weapons end that reſtleſſe life, VVhich in the world caus'd ſuch confuſed ſtrife. His Ring reuengeth all the Romans dead At Cannae, and the blood which he had ſhed. Foole, paſſe the ſharpe Alpes, that thy glories dreame May Schoole-boyes pleaſe, & be their publike theame. One VVorld contents not Alexanders mind, He thinkes himſelfe in narrow bounds confin'd: It ſeemes as ſtrait as any little Ile, Or deſart Rocke to him, whom Lawes exile: But when he comes into the Towne, whoſe walls VVere made of clay, his whole ambition falls Into a graue: death onely can declare How baſe the bodies of all mortals are. The lying Greekes perſwade vs not to doubt, That Perſian Nauies ſailed round about The Mountaine Athos ſeuer'd from the Maine, Such ſtuffe their fabulous reports containe: They tell vs what a paſſage framed was Of ſhips▪ that wheeles on ſolid Seas might paſſe: That deepeſt Riuers failed we muſt thinke, VVhoſe Floods the Medians at one meale could drink: And muſt beleeue ſuch other wond'rous things, VVhich Soſtratus relates with moyſt'ned wings. But that great King of whom theſe tales they frame, Tell me how backe from Salamis he came, That barb'rous Prince who vs'd to whip the VVinds, Not ſuff'ring ſtrokes when Aeolus them binds, He who proud Neptune in his fetters chain'd, And thought his rage by mildneſſe much reſtrain'd, Becauſe he did not brand him for his ſlaue; VVhich of the Gods would ſuch a Maſter haue. But how return'd he with one ſlender bote, VVhich through the bloody waues did ſlowly flote, Oft ſtay'd with heapes of carkaſes: theſe paines He as the fruits of long-wiſht glory gaines. Giue length of life, O Ioue, giue many yeeres, Thou prayſt with vpright count'nance, pale with feares Not to be heard, yet long old age complaines Of great continuall griefes which it containes: As firſt a foule and a deformed face Vnlike it ſelfe, a rugged hide in place Of ſofter skin, looſe cheekes, and wrinkles made, As large as thoſe which in the wooddy ſhade Of ſpacious Tabraca, the mother Ape Deepe furrow'd in her aged chaps doth ſcrape. Great diff'rence is in perſons that be young, Some are more beautifull, and ſome more ſtrong Then others: but in each old man we ſee The ſame aſpect; his trembling limbes agree With ſhaking voyce, and thou may'ſt adde to thoſe A bald head, and a childiſh dropping noſe. The wretched man when to this ſtate he comes, Muſt breake his hard bread with vnarmed gummes So lothſome, that his children and his wife Grow weary of him, he of his owne life; And Coſſus hardly can his ſight ſuſtaine, Though wont to flatter dying men for gaine. Now his benummed palate cannot taſte His meate or drinke, the pleaſures now are paſt Of ſenſuall luſt, yet he in buried fires Retaines vnable and vnfit deſires. What ioy can muſicke to his hearing bring, Though beſt Muſicians, yea, Seleucus ſing, Who purchaſe golden raiments by their voyce: In Theaters he needs not make his choice Of place to ſit, ſince that his deaf'ned eare Can ſcarce the Corners and the Trumpets heare: His Boy muſt cry aloud to let him know Who comes to ſee him, how the time doth goe: A Feuer onely heates his waſted blood In eu'ry part aſſaulted with a flood. Of all diſeaſes: if their names thou aske, Thou mayſt as well appoint me for a taske, To tell what cloſe adulterers Hippia loues; How many ſick-men Themiſon remoues Out of this world within one Autumnes date: How many poore confederates of our State, Haue been by griping Baſilus diſtreſt; How many Orphanes Irus hath oppreſt; To what poſſeſſions he is now preferr'd, Who in my youth ſcorn'd not to cut my beard: Some feeble are in ſhoulders, loynes, or thighes, Another is depriu'd of both his eyes, And enuies thoſe as happy that haue one. This man too weake to take his meate alone, With his pale lips muſt feede at others hands, While he according to his cuſtome ſtands With gaping iawes like to the Swallowes brood, To whom their hungry mother carries food In her full mouth: yet worſe in him we find Then theſe defects in limbes▪ a doting mind; He cannot his owne ſeruants names recite, Nor know his friend with whom he ſupt laſt night; Not thoſe he got and bred: with cruell ſpots Out of his will his doubtleſſe heires he blots, And all his goods to Phialè bequeathes: So ſweet to him a common Strumpet breathes. But if his ſenſes ſhould not thus be ſpent, His childrens fun'ralls he muſt oft lament, He his deare wiues and brothers death bemones, And ſees the vrnes full of his ſiſters bones. Thoſe that liue long endure this lingring paine, That oft they find new cauſes to complaine, While they miſhaps in their owne houſe behold, In woes and mournefull garments growing old. The Pylian King, as Homers verſes ſhow, In length of life came neareſt to the Crow: Thou thinkſt him bleſt whom death ſo long forbeares, Who on his right hand now accounts his yeeres By hundreds with an ancient num'rall ſigne, And hath the fortune oft to drinke new wine. But now obſerue how much he blames the law Of Fates, becauſe too large a thread they draw: When to Antilochus laſt Rites he came, And ſaw his beard blaze in the fun'rall flame, Then with demands to thoſe that preſent are, He thus his gre'uous mis'ry doth declare: VVhy ſhould I laſt thus long, what hainous crime Hath made me worthy of ſuch ſpatious time? Like voyces Peleus vs'd, when he bewail'd Achilles, whom vntimely death aſſail'd: And ſad Laertes, who had cauſe to weepe For his Vliſſes ſwimming on the deepe. When Troy was ſafe, then Priam might haue gone With ſtately Exequies and ſolemne mone, T' accompany Aſſaracus his ghoſt, His fun'rall Herſe, enricht with Princely coſt, VVhich Hector with his other brothers beares, Amidſt the flood of Ilian womens teares. VVhen firſt Caſſandra practis'd to lament; And faire Polyx • na with garments rent: If he had dy'd ere Paris plac'd his ſayles In ventrous ſhips, ſee what long age auailes: This caus'd him to behold his ruin'd Towne, The ſwords and fiers which conquer'd Aſia drowne; Then he, a trembling ſouldier, off doth caſt His Diademe, takes armour; but at laſt Falls at Ioues Altar, like an Oxe decai'd; VVhoſe pittifull thinne necke is proſtrate laid To his hard Maſters knife, diſdained now, Becauſe not fit to draw th' vngratefull plow: Yet dy'd he humane death; but his curſt wife Bark't like a Dog, remaining ſtill in life. To our examples willingly I haſte, And therefore Mithridates haue orepaſt; And Croeſus whom iuſt Solon bids t'attend, And not to iudge men happy till the end. This is the cauſe that baniſht Marius flies, That he impriſon'd is, and that he lies In cloſe Minturnaes Fennes to hide his head, And neere to conquer'd Carthage begs his bread. VViſe nature had not fram'd, nor Rome brought forth A Citizen more Noble for his worth; If hauing to the view his captiues led, And all his warlike pompe, in glory ſpred; Then his triumphant ſoule he forth had ſent, VVhen from his Cimbrian Chariot downe he went. Campania did for Pompeyes good prouide Strong Feuers, which (if he had then eſpy'd What would enſue) were much to be deſir'd. But many Cities publike vowes conſpir'd, And this ſo happy ſickneſſe could deface, Reſeruing him to dye with more diſgrace: Romes and his fortune onely ſau'd his head To be cut off when ouercom'n he fled. This paine the Traytor Lentulus doth ſcape: Cethegus not disfigur'd in his ſhape, Enioying all his limbes vnmaimed lyes, And Catiline with his whole carkaſe dyes. The carefull Mother, when ſhe caſts her eyes On Venus Temple in ſoft lowly wiſe, Demands the gift of beauty for her Boyes, But askes it for her Girles with greater noyſe, At common formes her wiſh ſhe neuer ſtaies, But for the height of delicacy prayes. And why ſhould'ſt thou reprooue this prudent choice? Latona in faire Phaebe doth reioyce. O but Lucretia's hapleſſe fate deterres, That others wiſh not ſuch a face as hers▪ Virginia her ſweet feature would forſake, And Rutilaes crook'd backe would gladly take. Where ſonnes are beautifull, the parents vext With care and feare, are wretched and perplext. So ſeldome an exact conſent betweene Well fauor'd ſhapes and chaſtity is ſeene. For ſhould they be with holy manners taught In homely houſes, ſuch as Sabines wrought: Should bounteous natures lib'rall hand beſtow Chaſt diſpoſitions, modeſt lookes, which glow With ſanguine bluſhes, (what more happy thing To Boyes can fauourable nature bring? Whoſe inclinations farre more pow'rfull are, Then many keepers and continuall care:) Yet are they neuer ſuffer'd to poſſeſſe The name of man; ſuch foule corrupters preſſe, And by the force of large expences truſt, To make their Parents inſtruments of luſt. No Tyrant in his cruell Palace gelt Deformed Youths; no Noble Child had felt Fierce Neroes rapes, if all wry leg'd had beene; If in their necks foule ſwellings had been ſcene; If windy tumours had their bellies rays'd; Or Camels bunches had their backes diſprais'd: Goe now with ioy thy young-mans forme affect, Whom greater dangers, and worſe Fates expect; Perhaps he ſhortly will the title beare Of a profeſt adult'rer, and will feare To ſuffer iuſtly for his wicked fact, Such paines as angry husbands ſhall exact: Nor can he happier be then Mars his Starre, T'eſcape thoſe ſnares which caught the god of warre. Yet oft that griefe to ſharper vengeance drawes, Then is permitted by th' indulgent lawes; Some kill with ſwords, others with ſcourges cut, And ſome th' offenders to foule torments put. But thine Endymion happily will proue Some Matrons Minion, who may merit loue; Yet when Seruilia him with money hires, He muſt be hers againſt his owne deſires: Her richeſt ornaments ſhe off will take, And ſtrip her ſelfe of Iewels for his ſake. What will not Hippia and Catulla giue To thoſe, that with them in adult'ry liue: For wicked women in theſe baſe reſpects Place all their manners, and their whole affects. But thou wilt ſay, Can beauty hurt the chaſte? Tell me what ioy Hippolitus did taſte; What good ſeuere Bellerophon receiu'd, When to their pure intents they ſtrictly cleau'd. Both Sthenobaea and the Cretan Queene, Aſham'd of their repulſe, ſtirr'd vp their teene: For then a woman breeds moſt fierce debate, When ſhame addes piercing ſtings to cruell hate▪ How would'ſt thou counſell him, whom th' Emp'rors wiſe Reſolues to marry in her husbands life: The beſt and faireſt of the Lords muſt dye; His life is quencht by Meſſallinaes eye: She in her nuptiall Robes doth him expect, And openly hath in her gardens deckt A purple marriage bed, nor will refuſe To giue a dowre, and ancient Rites to vſe. The cunning Wizzard who muſt tell the doome Of this ſucceſſe, with Notaries muſt come: Thou think'ſt theſe things are hid from publike view, And but committed to the truſt of few. Nay, ſhe will haue her ſolemne wedding dreſt With ſhew of Law: then teach him what is beſt, He dies ere night vnleſſe he will obay; Admit the crime, he gaines a little ſtay, Till that which now the common people heares, May come by rumour to the Princes eares: For he is ſure to be the laſt that knowes The ſecret ſhame which in his houſhold growes: Thy ſelfe a while to her deſires apply, And life for ſome few dayes ſo dearely buy. What way ſoeuer he as beſt ſhall chuſe, That faire white necke he by the ſword muſt luſe. Shall men wiſh nothing? wilt thou counſell take, Permit the heau'aly powers the choyce to make, VVhat ſhall be moſt conuenient for our Fates, Or bring moſt profit to our doubtfull ſtates, The prudent gods can place their gifts aright, And grant true goods in ſtead of vaine delight. A man is neuer to himſelfe ſo deare, As vnto them when they his fortunes ſteare: We carried with the fury of our minds, And ſtrong affection which our iudgement blinds. VVould husbands proue, and fathers, but they ſee VVhat our wiſht children and our wiues will bee: Yet that I may to thee ſome pray'rs allow, When to the ſacred Temples thou do'ſt vow, Diuineſt entrailes in white Pockets found, Pray for a ſound mind in a body ſound; Deſire braue ſpirit free from feare of death, Which can eſteeme the lateſt houre of breath, Among the gifts of Nature which can beare All ſorrowes from deſire and anger cleare, And thinkes the paines of Hercules more bleſt, Then wanton luſt the ſuppers and ſoft reſt, Where in Sardanapalus ioy'd to liue. I ſhow thee what thou to thy ſelfe mayſt giue; If thou the way to quiet life wilt treade, No guide but vertue can thee thither leade. No pow'r diuine is euer abſent there. VVhere wiſdome dwells, and equall rule doth beare. But we, O Fortune, ſtriue to make thee great, Plac'd as a Goddeſſe in a heau'nly ſeate.

A funerall Hymne out of Prudentius. O God, the ſoules pure fi'ry Spring, Who diff'rent natures wouldſt combine: That man whom thou to life didſt bring, By weakeneſſe may to death decline, By thee they both are fram'd aright, They by thy hand vnited be; And while they ioyne with growing might, Both fleſh and ſpirit liue to thee: But when diuiſion them recals, They bend their courſe to ſeu'rall ends, Into dry earth the body falls, The feruent ſoule to heau'n aſcends: For all created things at length, By ſlow corruption growing old, Muſt needs forſake compacted ſtrength, And diſagreeing webs vnfold. But thou, deare Lord, haſt meanes prepar'd, That death in thine may neuer reigne, And haſt vndoubted waies declar'd, How members loſt may riſe againe: That while thoſe gen'rous rayes are bound In priſon vnder fading things; That part may ſtill be ſtronger found, VVhich from aboue directly ſprings. If man with baſer thoughts poſſeſt, His will in earthly mud ſhall drowne; The ſoule with ſuch a weight oppreſt, Is by the body carried downe: But when ſhe mindfull of her birth, Her ſelfe from vgly ſpots debarres; She lifts her friendly houſe from earth, And beares it with her to the Starres. See how the empty bodies lyes, VVhere now no liuely ſoule remaines: Yet when ſhort time with ſwiftneſſe flyes, The height of ſenſes it regaines. Thoſe ages ſhall be ſoone at hand, VVhen kindly heate the bones reuiewes; And ſhall the former houſe command, VVhere liuing blood it ſhall infuſe. Dull carkaſes to duſt now worne, VVhich long in graues corrupted lay, Shall to the nimble ayre be borne, VVhere ſoules before haue led the way. Hence comes it to adorne the graue, VVith carefull labour men affect: The limbes diſſolu'd laſt honour haue, And fun'rall Rites with pompe are deckt, The cuſtome is to ſpread abroad VVhite linnens, grac'd with ſplendour pure, Sabaean Myrrh on bodies ſtrow'd, Preſerues them from decay ſecure. The hollow ſtones by Caruers wrought, VVhich in faire monuments are laid, Declare that pledges thither brought, Are not to death but ſleepe conuay'd. The pious Chriſtians this ordaine, Beleeuing with a prudent eye, That thoſe ſhall riſe and liue againe, Who now in freezing ſlumbers lye. He that the dead (diſperſt in fields) In pittie hides, with heapes of molds, To his Almighty Sauiour yeelds, A worke which he with ioy beholds. The ſame Law warnes vs all to grone, VVhom one ſeuere condition ties, And in anothers death to mone. All Fun'rals, as of our Allies, That Reu'rend man in goodneſſe bred, VVho bleſt Tobias did beget, Preferr'd the buriall of the dead Before his meate, though ready ſet; He, while the ſeruants waiting ſtand, Forſakes the cups, the diſhes leaues, And digges a graue with ſpeedy hand, Which with the bones his teares receiues. Rewards from heau'n this worke requite: No ſlender price is here repaid, God cleares the eyes that ſaw no light, While Fiſhes gall on them is laid. Then the Creator would deſcry, How farre from reaſon they are led, VVho ſharpe and bitter things apply, To ſoules on which new light is ſpred. He alſo taught that to no wight, The heau'nly Kingdome can be ſeene, Till vext with wounds and darkſome night, He in the worlds rough waues hath been. The curſe of death a bleſſing finds, Becauſe by this tormenting woe, Steepe waies lye plaine to ſpotleſſe minds, VVho to the Starres by ſorrowes goe. The bodies which long periſht lay, Returne to liue in better yeeres: That vnion neuer ſhall decay, VVhere after death new warmth appeares. The face where now pale colour dwels, VVhence foule infection ſhall ariſe, The flowres in ſplendour then excels, VVhen blood the skinne with beauty dies. No age by Times imperious law, With enuious prints the forehead dimmes: No drought, no leaneneſſe then can draw The moyſture from the wither'd limmes. Diſeaſes, which the body eate, Infected with oppreſſing paines, In midſt of torments then ſhall ſweate, Impriſon'd in a thouſand chaines. The conqu'ring fleſh immortall growes, Beholding from the skies aboue, The endleſſe groning of her foes, For ſorrowes which from them did moue. VVhy are vndecent howlings mixt By liuing men in ſuch a caſe? VVhy are decrees ſo ſweetly fixt, Reprou'd with diſcontented face? Let all complaints and murmurs faile; Ye tender mothers ſtay your teares, Let none their children deare bewaile, For life renew'd in death appeares. So buried ſeeds, though dry and dead, Againe with ſmiling greeneneſſe ſpring: And from the hollow furrowes bred, Attempt new eares of corne to bring. Earth, take this man with kind embrace, In thy ſoft boſome him conceiue: For humane members here I place, And gen'rous parts in truſt I leaue. This houſe, the ſoule her gueſt once felt, VVhich from the Makers mouth proceeds: Here ſometime feruent wiſdome dwelt, VVhich Chriſt the Prince of VViſedome breeds. A cou'ring for this body make, The Author neuer will forget His workes; nor will thoſe lookes forſake, In which he hath his Picture ſet. For when the courſe of time is paſt, And all our hopes fulfill'd ſhall be, Thou op'ning muſt reſtore at laſt, The limbes in ſhape which now we ſee. Nor if long age with pow'rfull reigne, Shall turne the bones to ſcatter'd duſt; And onely aſhes ſhall retaine, In compaſſe of a handfull thruſt: Nor if ſwift Floods, or ſtrong command Of VVindes through empty Ayre haue toſt The members with the flying Sand; Yet man is neuer fully loſt, O God, while mortall bodies are Recall'd by thee, and form'd againe. VVhat happy ſeate wilt thou prepare, VVhere ſpotleſſe ſoules may ſafe remaine, In Abrahams boſome they ſhall lie Like Lazarus, whoſe flowry Crowne The rich man doth farre off eſpie, While him ſharpe fiery torments drowne. Thy words, O Sauiour we reſpect, Whoſe triumph driues black Death to loſſe, When in thy ſteps thou would'ſt direct The Thiefe thy fellow on the Croſſe. The faithfull ſee a ſhining way, Whoſe length to Paradiſe extends, This can them to thoſe trees conuay, Loſt by the Serpents cunning ends. To Thee I pray, moſt certaine Guide: O let this ſoule which thee obay'd, In her faire birth-place pure abide, From which ſhe, baniſht, long hath ſtray'd. While we vpon the couer'd bones Sweet violets and leaues will throw: The title and the cold hard ſtones, Shall with our liquid odours flow. FINIS.