THE FANCIES THEATER.
BY IOHN TATHAM Gent.
HORAT
Quòd si me Lyricis vatibus inseris,
Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.
LONDON, Printed by IOHN NORTON, for RICHARD BEST, and are to be sold at his Shop neere Grayes-Innegate in Holborne. 1640.
TO THE HONORABLE AND THE MOST WORTHY MECAENAS, SIR John Winter Knight, Secretary of State, and Master of Requests to the Queenes most excellent Majestie.
HONOR'D SIR,
THe confidence I have of your Native goodnesse (of which the World is sufficient Dilater) has prompt mee to this audacious presumption, which with [Page] some would have beene held a crime insufferable. But I know your Honor is so farre from a Censurer, that you had rather cherish endeavours then destroy 'em: Besides, there's a certaine Sect of selfe-affecters, that will (unlesse some judicious Patron be fixt to the fronts-peece, as the beames of the Sunne, to correct their sawsie peering, with blindnesse) not only disgorge their Envie, but wrest the sense to be succinct; I (knowing your Name to be such, as amongst the discerning Spirits deserves the highest Attributes of worth; and of such singular power, 'twill extirp the Malevolent thoughts that raigne in the vulgar and most infectious Traducers) tender this, as my first Sacrifice, at the Altar [Page] of your mercy. And if it may obtaine the reflection of your acceptance, 'twill so much encourage your poore Admirer, that I shall be Ambitious in the continuance of your favours: These are the Mayden-blosomes of my Muse, which (without your protection) may (in their infancie) be destroyed by the breath of Zoïlus; but shelter'd by your Honor, they shall live, and dare the Criticks rancour, retorting to their owne shame. Sir, the fostering this Orphan will make you famous for Charity, and impose an obligation beyond expression, upon
Your Honors truly devoted, JO. TATHAM.
To the honor'd Patron of his Book.
SIR,
AS my service binds me and my love,
(May your faire selfe so of the same approve)
As your deservings, I have plac'd you here
Equall with Phoebus in his Hemisphere,
Where your refulgent brightnesse cast's a light
Into these twinkling Lamps, and give's them sight.
Minerva bad me tell you she is proud
Of those deserts which in your brest doe crowd
As in a throng, which our capacity
Not able to finde out, leave's to her eye.
Thrice worthy Hero, may your Halcion dayes
Be ne're extinct till crazie Time decayes.
Jo. Tatham.
Fancie, to the Reader.
REaders of all sorts, when you have survai'd
Each roome within this Theater, and paid
Sufficient for admittance, you'l allow
To render me account of all, and how
You like the fabrick, if it be well rear'd;
The thought of falling is not to be fear'd,
Though he that did erect it, has not serv'd
Seaven yeares to the Profession, nor deserv'd
The Attribute of Architect, yet hee
Expects by your faire hands to be made free;
Hee'l then set up in th' Citie, and in spight
Of Suburb power, or Corporation's might:
Vse his best skill to please you. Faith, be just,
Doe not enscale his Freedome with the aust,
Hee's prest t' obey you howsoe're, and will
Without a grumble, serve you, and fulfill
[Page]Forsooth, your precepts being prest so lowe,
I hope you'l raise him, Char'ty teacheth so:
Yet, hee'l not begge your favours, to assist
Him, by Certificate, doe what you list;
He knowes the worst on't, if you doe refuse,
'Tis but the having (to the Hall) his Muse
To have the gentle notch; and so to try
If hee in time can gaine the Mystery;
Hee sweares he will defie you, when that hee
Atchives to th' Warden of the Company.
To his friend the Author on his Fancies Theater.
FAncie, in all his Colours ne're appear'd
So variously delightfull, as in this
Magnificent Theater, which thou hast rear'd
Out of thy Genuine braine, and call'st it His.
Here does he take all shapes, and act all parts;
The noble Hero, and the humble Swaine;
The jocund Lovers, and lamenting hearts.
As well the Buskind, as the Comick straine.
Fancie has something here for every one,
From Reveller to Mourner; still provided,
Each brings a proper apprehension;
And one not by anothers humor guided.
But let all come and welcome: The severe
Cato himselfe may have free entrance here.
R. Broome.
To his friend the Author, on his ingenious Theater of Fancies.
A Theater is built, and every part
Order'd with various Workmanship and Art,
The Sceanes with Protean transformation move,
Presenting Buskins, Socks, and Themes of love:
A Mourners teares, and joy of a faire Bride;
Smart Satyre, and a world of change beside.
'Tis not the Building only Men should see,
But what's prepar'd for Action in't by thee.
Upon the outward forme let no Man looke,
But search the richer inside of thy Booke.
And if their humors doe not judgement blinde,
They'l most things pleasing, none offending finde.
Sic censet Amicus. THO. NABBES.
To his loving friend the Author, on his Fancies Theater.
'TIs worth enough to have so many friends,
Who doe applaud with judgement thy faire ends▪
Which raise thy Towring Fancies to such height,
That ev'ry line affords us a conceit
Farre different from the Whimzies of the time,
Where 'tis their chiefest praise to trot in Rime,
And thunder out their meaning in a Phrase,
Wo'd strike a Martiall spirit in a maze:
But let the world judge if what thou hast done,
Deserve not good mens approbation?
For my part, I shall deeme thee worthy praise,
When such a troope as these extoll thy Bayes.
When Fancie in thy Theater doth play,
And wins more credit than a second day;
When thy pure Helicon so high doth flow,
It out-braves Iordan or the swelling Poe.
Let not thy Fancie ebbe, but more and more
Inlarge it's limits, and encroach the Shoare.
And let the Sea-borne Goddesse ever be
Propitious to thy straines of Poesie.
And may'st thou in thy Verse so happy prove,
That Cupid may affect thy beauteous Love
Dearer than Psyche, till thou make her be
Fairer than thine, lest he shou'd Rivall thee.
Thy Friend C. G.
To his Friend the Author, on his Fancies Theater.
FRiend, since the choise and most Emphatick phrase
Appeares too slender to enrich thy prayse;
How shall the discord of my jarring skill
Ought but detract from th'honor of thy Quill?
But yet, so just an int'rest in my love
Thy merits clayme, that should I not approve
The rich Exchequer of thy pregnant Braine
To it's true worth, I should appeare a staine.
Come all you Youths fill'd with Phoebean fire,
(As tribute to the Musick of his Lyre)
Bring each with willing Palmes a Daphnean Bough,
And make a Chaplet to impale his Brow,
Into whose Brest Apollo's selfe hath ray'd
Such loftie Raptures, as may well perswade
The transmigration which Pythagoras
Maintain'd for truth, may for authentick passe.
For, when th'inticing pleasure of thy Line,
And teeming Fancies unexhausted Myne
I view, me thinks the Genius of those Three
Admired Laureats are ensphear'd in Thee,
Smooth Shakespeare, neat Randolph, and wittie Ben,
Flow in a mutuall sweetnesse from Thy Pen:
Nature in Thee seemeth Arts parallell,
For Thou art both her Pride and Miracle.
May th'Virgin Candor of thy infant Bayes,
Unravisht, spring, spight of our Critick dayes;
And from Thee such Nectarean Dew distill,
As may the world with admiration fill.
Geo. Lynn.
To his good friend M. Iohn Tatham upon his Fancies Theater.
TO see what upstart Scriblers strive in Rime,
To be the Paper-blu [...]rers of the time,
Makes me amaz'd; yet if they wo'd but see
The flowry Raptures that are done by thee,
They wo'd no question blush to see the Bulls,
And rabling Ballads of their windy sculls.
Here they may see compos'd a spicy-nest
Of flaming Fancies, all in spangles drest:
For here each line that to the eye appeares,
May sing a Lullaby unto the Spheres.
Poore Fancies marre a Theater, but see
The Fancies Theater is made by thee.
Robert Chamberlaine.
To his friend M. Iohn Tatham on his Fancies Theater.
TO shew my selfe in Print I ne're had thought,
But that thy Fancies has my thoughts out-wrought.
What shall I say? 'tis this I doe admire,
And think thy wits like to th'aspiring fire,
Will ne're descend; thy braine from vulgar straines
Is clarifi'd so neatly, it containes
Th'Epitome of smooth and well scan'd verse,
And though in future times thy aged he [...]se,
Shall be enthron'd with Lawrell; yet this age
May blame my zealous friendship, and in rage
Both carp at thee, and me: But it shall ne're
Make me strike sayle, but rather make my steere
Beare stiffe with malice for to think that men
Would make abortive this thy Infant Pen.
But yet my hopes are confident, that they
Cannot but give thy worth a branch of Bay,
Though not a Lawrell, which slow-paced Time
Shall bring, and humbly offer at thy Shrine.
H. Davison.
To his friend Iohn Tatham Gent. upon his Fancies Theater.
THou didst not meane thy Theater sho'd be
Common (though publique) to th'Obliquity
Of ev'ry duller eye: 'Tis rais'd too neere,
(Propt by thy Fancies Atlas) to the sphere
Of purest wit, which the dull sonnes of Earth
(Sho'd they afflict the Universe with dearth
Of Ignorance and Envie, pile it up
In envious heapes for their ascent to crop
Thy Bayes) can ne're aspire to: Attempt they may,
And passe our duller ayre; But the cleare Ray
Of thy bright worth appearing, will deprive
Their terrified soule of sence; deceive
Their hopes through their own ruine And what they have
Now for their steps, anon shall be their grave,
Prest by the weight of Ignorance: But then
Their guilty blushing shame shall rise agen
To scornfull memory, whose black name shall give
More lustre to thy praises, to survive
'Till Time hath lost himselfe: And this great All
Be brought to its confused Funerall.
Passe not a Zoylists envie, since th'ast knowne
Thy censure through their breath, whose pleasure none
[Page]Can without sacriledge dispute. But if
Thy fearefull soule cannot retaine beliefe
Of safety, Iove shall to secure thy feare,
Displace his Bird from's bosome-nest, and there
Harbour thy Muse: But what injustice can
Refuse the God's, and take the word of Man,
Th'ast had a Jury of Immor [...]lls, that
Have given their censure: finde not guilty; what
Bold Heav'n-contemners then dare contradict,
When the Divine Vote's publish their Edict?
The Daphnean Bay graspt by the Frosts cold hand,
Doth grow more freshly greene; thy Muse shall stand
As firme 'gainst Envies storme, till Fame shall be
Proud to record thy still greene memory.
Iames Iones.
Vpon his Dreame and Censure of the Gods.
ANd canst thou dreame so well? then never wake,
Unlesse it be that so thou may'st pertake
The reall substance of thy thoughts, and then
Thou'lt make a subject for the rarest Pen
To treat on: But having at a venture
Invok'd th'Immortals for to have their censure
Upon thy Fate; Sol sooner shall stand still,
And fire the Orbs, but thou shalt hate thy will.
H. Davison.
To his friend M. Io. Tatham on his Fancies Theater.
WHen I beheld and view'd each sev'rall line
Appearing a full fraughted Magazine
Of choyce conceits; such as our Fancies now
(Diff'ring from what they were) must needs allow:
How sweet and how delici'ous to the taste:
How pleasing to the eye, how trim'd, how chaste;
And where thy Fancy hits upon a crime,
Thy Verse doth mask it, suting with the Time;
How eloquent thou art, how thine owne phrase
Becomes an Orator, and tells thy praise;
The faults I found were few, the greatest was
(And yet for some knowne reasons it may passe)
Where thou do'st court thy Mistris, and doth wipe
Each word with gold, enough for to invite
All eyes, all hearts; our greatest feare was, wee
Should suffer by th'inchanting Orat'ry.
I know thy Muse is chaste, and will not strive,
T'attract all Beauties to her pleasing hive.
My wishes bid goe on, and may thy Rime
Flourish beyond the utmost date of Time.
William Barnes.
On the Author of the Fancies Theater.
AMongst the rest, Friend, Tatham, I am come,
To doe thy Fancies right, and quit the summe
I stand engag'd for: since my forward youth
Sign'd Love a Bond, for currant Coyne of Truth,
To pay at severall times▪ the world shall be
Thy Secretarie; and take this truth from me,
In all thy Shop of Fancies, not a Line
(I emulate thee so) but I wish mine;
'Twill be sufficient portion for thy Name
To live by; for Times Treasurer, wing'd Fame,
Shall, as thy worth deserves, speake thee as high
As any fill'd her Trump with Poesie.
Tho. Rawlins.
To his friend M. Iohn Tatham, upon his Fancies Theater.
MY Muse composed more of love than fire,
Would spare her Pen, and silently admire
Thy worth, which her expressions cannot rayse,
Unlesse she borrow thine owne stile and phrase,
And from thy proper heapes purloyne a store,
Which payes one debt to make a thousand more;
Did not thy friendship and thy sacred merit
Conjure up flames even in a frozen spirit.
Though last in number, thinke me not the least,
I thought as much as all thy Friends exprest;
But our sincere desires suffer much wrong,
Since the sad diff'rence 'twixt the heart and tongue;
My thoughts soare high, though my expression's weake,
True friends think out their tale, when others speake.
Yet write I this not for peculiar ends,
To cast aspersion on your other friends;
I in that Consort jointly doe preferre
My off'ring to thy Fancies Theater.
An. Newport.
To his friend the Author, on his Fancies Theater.
DEare friend, my infant Muse will bee
Obscur'd, when as the Readers see
Thy am'rous straines, and thou'lt be found
To be with greater glory crown'd
By my weake Lines, which to thy prayse
Affords a Coronet of Bayes.
In this I am thy friend, to bee
Thy foile, that plainely men may see
Thy greater lustre, and may spend
Their Censures gently on thy friend.
R. Pynder.
To his friend the Author.
HAd I Chapmans Line or Learning, Iohns [...]ns Art,
Fletchers more accurate Fancie, or that part
Of Beaumont that's divine, Dun's profound skill,
Making good Verses live, and damning ill:
I then would prayse thy Verses, which sho'd last
Whil'st Time ha's sands to run, or Fame a blast.
But I've a Braine so dull, that though I beat
The Anvill ne're so oft, there's nought but sweat
And emptie vapours crowne my long lost paine.
I write, 'tis bad, dislik't, rub't out againe;
And in this serious folly I abuse
The patience of my Lamp, my Oyle I loose;
Nor is it fit, that each unworthy Line
Sho'd court the light, but onely such as thine.
Then since I cannot write what I desire,
May thine for ever live, mine's for the fire.
W. Ling.
21 Aprilis, 1640.
Imprimatur,
JOHANNES HANSLEY.
A DIALOGVE betweene Momus, Tyme, and the Author.
Momus.
HOw now presumpt'ous Lad, think'st thou that wee
Will be disturb'd with this thy Infancie
Of wit:—
Or doe's thy am'rous thoughts beget a flame
(Beyond it's merit) for to court the name
Of Poet; or is't common now adayes
Such slender wits dare clayme such things as Bayes:
Or doe's thy sickly Fancie think to get
Some foole to be enamour'd on thy wit?
Thy reason, prythee, why, ambitious Boy,
Thou do'st present the world with such a toy;
Yet giv'st it such a title, that 'twere sin
To view the outside, and not looke within;
The Fancies Theater, a Title wee
Durst ne're assume to reach, much lesse for thee:
[Page]It is the very Prologue, to invite
A Puritan to covet for it's sight.
And then agen I wonder, what mad vaine
Did prompt thy Fancie, to present a straine
(So farre unworthy) to so bright an eye,
Where all deserts and true perfections lye.
When I behold his name, me thinks I see
Phoebus himselfe, the God of Poesie,
—By whose judicious eye deserts shall live,—
And spight of killing Envie, shall survive.
I should mistrust my selfe, should I but think
His judgement will at thee connive, or wink;
To him, forgetfull Lad, durst thou present
These weak conceits; or was it to prevent
Our rasher censure; thinking thou might'st sing
At peace, once shelter'd underneath his wing?
I laugh to see thy follyes, yet I sweare
I heartily could wish thy Fancies were
Such as might well deserve him; for, know, I
Doe envie at thy blest prosperity.
Is not the world cram'd full of wits? why then
Should'st thou be favour'd thus above those men,
Whose high and rare deserts, doth clayme to be
The Kingdomes best and richest Treasurie?
Yet all their fortunes, and their merits, they
Would levell at his feet; and, well they may.
Tyme.
IT is confest, that Tyme's old age could yet
Ne're glory in a world, so full of wit,
[Page]Nor was his snowy haires crown'd with delight
Of sweeter choycer Raptures, such as might
(Like gold-tongu'd Orpheus) make stones follow men:
Their Verse extinct, Stones propagate agen,
And though the world doth boast of such, yet wee
Doe finde it stayn'd with base impiety;
Such as thy selfe proud Momus, that do'st strive
To damne young wits, to keepe thine owne alive.
Tyme must amend this fault I say, unlesse
The world is weary of the bigge swolne Presse,
And her deliverings; When our Wits are dead,
Shall only their great Names be registred,
And not their works; or shall not th'Muses heire [...]
Encrease and multiply as Tyme, and Yeares?
For now adayes our younger wits are quite
Disheartned by the venome of thy spight;
Whose base detraction would have none to be
Inroll'd within the List of Poetry,
But of thy Sect; whose numbers still encrease,
Belching out foule-mouth'd words, derision's ease;
For could your Sect make what you'd mend, 'twere well,
'Tis better prate than doe: But let me tell
The world my humour, though I've often bin
Taxt as being guilty of this Critick sin,
In giving leave to your prophane intent,
(A thing Heav'n knows, my judgment never ment)
I doe pro [...]est, though Opportunity
You have engross'd and brib'd, yet, 'twas not I.
I hate thy doings, so I'le henceforth be
A scorner of thy base dishonesty.
Is it not time that Tyme should urge the ayre
Of such grosse putrefaction; and repaire
[Page]The almost lost deserts of many, which
Dare not presume their sences to enrich
With the Divine instinct of Poesie:
Fearing thy Carping and thy Blasphemy.
There cannot now a Rapture be put forth;
But thou detract'st the substance of their worth.
Is thy wit rare, or dost thou think there's none
Can equalize thy Fancies, but thine owne?
Misguided selfe-conceited Idiots, see,
But your owne ignorance and simplicity;
And then you'l yeeld 'tis better mend, than make;
This without Bribe, or favour, I have spake
For him whose wit's (as yet) but rawe, till Time
And yeares hath taught him higher for to climbe.
Then forward (Youth) let not the Criticks eye
Be th'cause [...]o stay thy ingenuity.
Author.
LEt me first crave from thee gray-headed Time,
Thy absolution, e're I put my Rime
To be a Courtier in the wanton ayre,
Making their Progresse to each witty faire.
And courteous Mistris, unto whose white hand
I wish them happy journey, while I stand
Devoted for their service: I have beene
Too, too, too prodigall, and have not seene
My errors: but have wilfully run on,
As Steward to some liberall Gentleman?
Where I have beene too lavish, and have spent
What was my Masters, freely to me lent.
[Page]And though the Steward hath but little now
Left for to shew his Master, yet I vow
I have some remnants left, although they be
But shreds to what I might have gain'd from thee.
If I have us'd thee ill. I'le be thy Slave,
And henceforth dote on nothing but my grave.
Yet let me thus much tell thee; my desire
Ne're kindled from a base ambitious fire
Of an applause, though carping Momus hee
Murmurs, and bites my Title Page and mee.
I have observ [...]d his envie▪ and I say,
I doe not this in hope to get a pay,
Reward, or such base mercenary gaine;
Let them that gape for't, have it for their paine.
I will not sell that little mite of wit,
If so (without offence) I dare terme it,
At any rate; Nor doe I care the while,
If at the Title they doe lend a smile;
I willingly would please them, yet if they
Will not be pleas'd, I weigh not what they say.
My Title Momus, let me tell thee true,
Is for to please my selfe, not to please you.
Nor doe I strive to gaine a Poets name;
A title my weak soule durst never ayme
To court at; For, I may as soone aspire,
To kisse the Sunne, as warme me at that fire.
To end expostulation, thus much know,
What my dese [...]ts can merit, I doe owe
To him whose kinde acceptance makes me blest,
Lifting me higher than the Eagles nest.
And if my wit encrease (as yeares in me)
I shall aspire no higher than to be
[Page]Accounted as his Servant; and will lay
My off'rings at his feet as well as they,
Whom you alledge deserv'd him better; why?
They can but give their store, and so will I.
Then why should you as canker'd, so deject
That, which his wisedome's pleas'd with to protect:
But I'le not barre your custome, for 'tis knowne
You will detract all Writings but your owne.
To the truly worthy and his much honoured friend, Sir Edward Savage.
HOw some will erre in making that seeme good,
Scarce ha's allowance to be understood!
Honor consists in Vertues, nor is't fit
Each worthlesse faune should clayme a share in wit.
It wrongs the Poets Genius, whose pure fire
Will suffer no privation, when the Quire
Of Fancy-propping Muses does distill
The oyly-drops of merit from the hill
Of Noble-worth, to tell the erring sence
Of credulous Man, that Truths preheminence
Keepes no alliance with such motions, tends
To soothing flattery, the bad Mans friends.
And to that end sends me Ambassador,
To make the world acquainted what you are:
With vowes unfained, Noble Sir, y'are one,
That shares on Natures distribution.
[Page]And I would say, but that your modest eares
Are wool'd 'gainst your own praises, though't appeares
Roab'd in reality itselfe, you can
Distinguish 'twixt the best and worst of Man:
One who may clayme the Attributes of wise,
Noble, and courteous, and from these does rise
The living Emblems, Charity and Love,
The Orbs by which each faculty doe move,
That claymes a being in you. You appeare
The spacious blisse where Vertue keepes her Spheare,
In a sweet temp'rature; the thought of Pride
(As Omen to your Vertues) you deride,
Exiled from that bosome which inherits▪
The uncorrupted wishes to your merits.
May health still crowne you with felicity,
Till you desire to change Mortality,
For th'reserved blisse in Elizium,
When as your Dove-like expirations come.
And may your better part transferred be
Into a constellatious Soveraignty:
While Vertues-Lovers Requiems sing, and I
Have vitall motion, study for the [...]ye
Of your devoted Servant.
A Newyeares gift to Clarinda.
FAshions are now a dayes so often us'd,
That meanest Peasants have the same abus'd.
Each servile creature can command their Rings,
Gloves, or the like, (such b [...]se mechanick things)
[Page]Reason must guide you then; such toyes as those
Are subject still to losing; Ile repose
More confidence in you, and will impart
A farre transcendent Gift, my loyall Heart:
Embrace it then, and let no envious fate
Crosse our united loves, nor derogate
From what you former were; such Gifts as this
Deserve the keeping, nay, some future blisse.
Vpon an old rich Woman in love with a young Gentleman.
MOre rich than wise, and yet more wise than faire,
Yeares adde grey Trophi [...]s to enrich thy haire;
Rather than live to love, die with despaire.
When as sad Comets in the Skies appeare,
Some strange disaster then approacheth neere,
Which in our doubtfull Soules begets a feare.
Thy Nose is that disaster; for, in thee,
No lesse than thousand Comets we may see,
As symptomes to ensuing miserie.
Below thy Nose, a Hill we may descry,
Darkning the light appearing from thy eye,
Within that hollow Concave where they lye.
Eye, Nose, and Chin, since you in darknesse be,
Premeditate before you visit me,
And rayse young Cynders to your Venerie.
And in Nights shade meet with your shadow, where
Some Incubus by chance may get an heire,
Making the World accurst with such a paire.
Or if thy wither'd Hand (begot by Time)
Should with thy Eye, Nose, Chin, and Face combine,
Without discordant, for to make me thine:
Know gumlesse-wooer that diseases thirst,
To seize thy hand, where th'Apoplexy must
Bring thee e're long, unto thy neighbours dust.
Or if thy wither'd thigh desires to know
The sweet contents that in our Youth doe flow,
Convert a teare into a flood below.
So may some Cripple wanting Almes, supply,
Thy al-most desperate necessity:
And please both nose, gums, chin, thigh, hands, & eye.
Covet no more when that you are so sped
Nor dye your cheeks with colour from your bed,
Since afore th'Ark you lost your Maydenhead.
The Superscription of a Letter sent to Clarinda.
FRom my Master here I'm come,
To embrace your Martyrdome▪
[Page]Let no other hand come neere me,
You alone have power to teare me.
If you like not what's within,
Then your frownes may purge my sin:
But if he or I can please,
Friendly let me rest at ease.
The Letter.
GOe pale-fac't Paper to my Deare,
And whisper this into her eare:
Though I absent am, yet shee
Keeping thee, embraces mee.
Let no rude hand dare to touch thee,
Care not though a thousand grutch thee
Of that blisse which in her Hive
Thou enjoy'st till I arrive,
And be sure thou do'st not flye
From the glances of her eye.
Where she goes, be thou about her,
Gad not thou abroad without her;
Nor let any dare to see
What's betweene my Love and thee.
Nay, and when she chance to sleepe,
Gently to her Bosome creepe,
Where I charge thee, rest till shee,
With her kisses waken thee.
Goe and prosper for a space,
Till I rob thee of thy place.
To Clarinda.
PRetty Wanton, prythee say,
Did you see my Heart to day?
Marks to know it, you shall finde
Alwayes constant, true, and kinde;
Wounds about it, it doth beare,
Drops are trickling here, and there,
[...]n which wound you'l finde, a Dart
Shot by you into my hart,
[...]f you saw it; doe not blush,
Th'wounds are fresh, and blood will gush
[...]nto your face, and you be knowne,
To covet more than is your owne.
Send it back, but let it bee
Sound as when it came to thee.
Doe not think for to deny it;
These are tokens will discry it.
How can I subsist and live,
When my owne you will not give?
Yet if you will send to me,
Yours in faire exchange, I'le be
Mute, and not report that I
Suffer by your cruelty.
[...]hen I prythee let me know,
If you will exchange, or no.
In praise of Sack.
TO write thy prayse, let ev'ry Poets Quill
Flow with sweet Dew, suckt from Parnassus Hill.
Sack, I adore thee; nay, the Muses nine
Count thee the Fabrick of their heav'nly Chime:
And in their choice [...]nventions strive to gaine
Thy liking, ere the World peruse a straine.
Aged thou art, by which thou do'st possesse
Of Noble Spirits, Poets numberlesse:
And to thy Cistern's head doe all resort,
Admire thee, as they doe admire the Court.
The very Children, ere they scarce can say
Their Pater-Noster, or their Christ-Crosse A,
Will to their Parents prattle, and desire
To tast that Drinke, which Gods doe so admire:
So by degrees, ere Time can count their yeares,
Thy strength doth make them Ovids wittie heires.
To Clarinda, walking with her in his Garden.
SAy, my Clarinda, is the Rose
Not prowd to have thy sweet repose,
Since they derive their dye from those,
Those precious Colours, Red and White,
Dwell in thy Checkes, may Gods invite
To feed, not surfet with delight.
Twere sinne, Clarinda, to beleeve,
From thee they could such harme receive;
Yet should they, thou canst Cordials give.
[...]ay, my Clarinda, why the Aire
Appeares thus fresh, soft, clearely faire,
Yet cloudie Vapours yonder are?
Why does the injur'd Philomell
Hither retire, her moane to tell,
Yet Wood-men want her dolefull knell?
Why does she alter now her Vote,
Purging the Quinzie in her throat,
Payes sorrow with a pleasing note?
Why Violets in Purple drest,
The Damask thus the Rose invest,
Whose perfum'd Mantles grace the East?
Why doe the humble Pebbles rise
Like Opals, to out-brave the Skies,
And Iris various Clouds despise?
Tell me, Clarinda, why the Sun
Is set before his course is run,
Readie to fire his Region?
And why does his beloved Flower
Forget her Cue, her time and houre,
And shuts not, when he shewes his power?
Each spicie Child, whose crisped Bed
Intwines the Earths Spring Maidenhead,
Are blest, in kissing where you tread.
Or why does every thing beside,
That's good, in this small place abide,
When other Gardens want such pride?
'Tis thou, Clarinda, mak'st this place
So fertile glorious; when you pace
This Walke, each Evill shuns your Chase.
When you appeare, th'amorous Ayre
With modest breath salutes your hayre,
And whispers out their zeale in prayer.
The Nightingale confines her woe,
And gives mirth libertie to goe,
As Ecchoes to your Beds of Snow.
The Violet, Rose, and Pebbles have
No other Liveries than you gave,
Yet such as may the World out-brave.
The Sunne does melt to see thy face,
The perfect Modell of pure Grace;
H'ad rather burne than mend his pace.
The Marigold knowes none but thee,
To whom she owes observancie,
Opens and shuts at your bright eye.
Though now this place is trim and fine,
When you depart, all will decline,
And others seeme more rich than mine.
Oh then! Clarinda, stay and bring
Night into Day, the Winter, Spring;
We need not then a Wintering.
Clarinda describ'd.
CLarinda! Oh, that very Name
Includes such worth, that he but dares
Without a Reverence speake the same,
Commits a sinne his teares and prayers
Can ne're wash off: it is so foule,
'Tis her pure sighs must cleanse his Soule.
Who sayes, that Leda's Swan is white,
Or sweetnesse dwels in Hybla's Trees,
Or Roses balmie breath delight
The Pallats of the active Bees,
Deceives himselfe; they all appeare
Not worth our thoughts, Clarinda neere.
Her Haire our Appetites entice,
Her Front a Mount of bleached Snow,
Her Eyes are Natures Paradice,
Her Lips are Mines where Rubies grow:
Her Breath perfumes the chequer'd fields,
They have no sweet, but what she yeelds.
Her Neck the polisht Ivorie weares,
Her Brests the Valleys of Desire.
When Love cuts through the circled Spheares,
There lights, to coole the scorching fire
His Brest receiv'd from her: whose art
Without his ayd can smite a Hart.
In every part she is most rare,
All good in her contracted is,
Nature's whole stock's envolv'd in her,
Th'Epitome of heavenly blisse;
Her Voice can stay the hand of Fate,
Her Smiles young Cupids can create.
Her ex'lence Metaphysicall,
Partakes not of old Natures stamps,
For she is supernaturall,
Her Luminaries, Heavens Lamps:
I will conclude, shee's all divine,
For else I ne're had writ her mine.
On Clarinda smiling.
HAve you beheld the Orient Sunne appeare,
Casting his splendour to each neighb'ring Spheare?
When cold-blood Winter copulated Ice,
Congeal'd a Frost, cov'ring each Bough with Spice
As white as Winters hayres; how he displayes
His youthfull heat, auspicious to his Rayes;
[Page]How each tree melts, or to a jelly turnes;
Such was Clarinda's smile, that ever burnes,
And melts my yeelding Heart, that I till now
Cloyster'd with Ice, could not of heat allow.
A Contemplation of Liberty and Love.
VVHat is that freedome which men call
A blessednesse to sport withall:
Or what those joyes which Lovers deeme,
To equalize their best esteeme,
I long to know, that I may see,
The diff'rence 'twixt those joyes and me.
Responsio.
THen know, Loves joyes are such as still
Are subject to Fates supreme will.
And every howre the Lover findes
Crosse friends, crosse starres, and crosser windes.
Till Seas grow calme, and we arrive
At Loves eternall peacefull Hive.
If Patience then may bring me ease,
Swell bigg a while you boyst'rous Seas▪
Vpon the hinderance of meeting by raine, sent to his friend Mr. W. B.
WHen last we did encounter with the GLOBE,
The Heav'ns was pleas'd to grace us with his robe
Of settled motions; but Aquarius, hee,
Like an ambitious Churle, disdaines that wee
Should have another meeting; Bacchus smilde,
But not prevail'd, because an Infant childe:
Nor could we get a Venus to embrace,
Mars strives to keepe them back, and hold them chace.
Iove stamps, Apollo frownes, th'Heavens all o're,
Seeme as contentious, and are in uprore.
Mercury doth seeme to clogg his feather'd h [...]eles,
With weighty lead▪ in stead of flying, reeles
Into great Taurus center, the BULL-HEAD,
Where, with dull Claret we our sences fed,
Delaying time, till the roboyst'rous raine
Ceas'd its unmatched course, then up againe
To walk; th'Heavens not yet appeas [...]d, cast downe
Their urmost Envy in that flood to drowne
Our then expected hopes, in that poore wee
Were forc'd to keepe our center, not to flye.
Great Bishop [...]gate can witnesse in what houre,
We did arrive within its haplesse Bowre.
The Gods did seeme thus angry, thinking wee
Should by our mirth consume their Treasury.
[Page]What's best to doe? wee must not now contend
Against their power, and so farewell my friend.
Vpon Inconstancie.
INconstancie, how chance that thou of late,
Art growne the chiefest Minion to my Kate?
Could your ambition finde no other roome,
Or secret place, but make her brest your Tomb
Of ayrie motions, filling so each veyne
With swelling pleasures mixt with base disdaine:
That now there's not a corner scarce left free,
To lodge a thought of hidden secrecie?
Hence thou insatiate Monster, Lovers hate.
The Commons envy, and the scorne of th'State;
Get thee to Court, use there thy tyranny:
Let Lovers sports alone; base Infamy,
Think not to harbour in a brest so faire;
I banish thee, and doe conjure thee, ne're
Usurp that center yeelds us such delight:
But usher thou th' obscure and darkned night
Of ever gnawing conscience▪ in such soules
Whose base and impure actions, still controules
Their pale-check'd Lovers▪ on whose fickle state,
Dispaire and horror doth attend and wait.
Goe base Neglect, and scorne, presume no more
T'assayle those Vertues, that her choycest store
Shee may impart to me; if thou be thence▪
I know I shall not want her excellence▪
Vpon Clarinda's comming to Towne, and departure.
NOW comes the pride of Earth, the glorious Spring;
And Philomel, to welcome her, doth sing.
The pretty birds doe play,
And make a Holyday.
And I with them present my offering:
Th'Arabian Bird presents to her, her kinde,
Ne're seene before; on whose sweet face, the winde
Suckt in his breath
For feare of death;
And Phoebus in his Majestie then shinde:
And on her head cast his perfumes: but they,
As farre unworthy, to her breath give way.
The odours which
The World enrich,
Did to her breath their choysest sents convey;
The Queene of Love asham'd, did hide her head,
And Cynthia in a cloud bemuffeled,
Did murmur there,
And in her Spheare
Waxt pale to see her lips and cheekes so red.
The humble Pebbles where her feet did lite,
Were straight made Jacinths, Saphires, Rubies bright,
Who wantonly did kiste
At such a change as this.
And blest the comming of this glorious light.
[Page]If any Objects pleas'd her, with a glance
They should be Mynes of Dyamonds; but Chance
The fickle Goddesse would not be
Propitious to our hopes, 'cause wee
Shee fear'd, with her, might out-vye Spaine and France:
Nay, both the Indies: None need plough the Seas
To purchase wealth with toyle; for, here with ease
They might obtaine
A world of gaine,
Had she but writ in smiles to them, I please.
But oh! shee's gone, and ev'ry thing has now
His courser Nature on; Winters rough brow,
And Boreas blast
With envious hast
Rends ev'ry tree, dis-leaves each twigge and bough;
The Phoenix too retir'd unto her nest,
And pining for her absence, pierc't her brest
With sighes, and di'd,
Left none beside
Clarinda, with her worth to be possest.
On the first leafe of a Psalme. Booke presented to Clarinda.
TO her faire hand I this direct;
Good Angels guide, and her protect
That keepes my heart; O, may shee be
But touch'd with flames of Love, like me!
Another vacant leafe in the same Booke.
SHine little Booke, more glorious than the Sunne,
In her faire heart that hath thy Masters wonne:
May'st thou procure in her relenting teares,
To pitty him whose thoughts breed naught but feares.
I know that thou hast power enough, and Art
To wound, rewound, and cure a wounded hart.
Thou art her chiefe delight, whose vertuous minde,
To study thee from childhood hath enclinde:
Tell her thy Master sent thee, for that shee
Might think on him, by often reading thee.
To Clarinda, walking with her in the night in a Wood or Grove, she being fearefull.
FEare not Clarinda, though th'emulous Night,
Doubting his forked Queene shou'd loose her light,
Retires behind a Cloud; horne-mad to see,
Her glorious lamps extinguished by thee.
Yet did she know the good shee might embrace
At her full rising, on her mealy face
(Viewing thy exquisite beauty) wou'd be drawne
Mantles of crimson blushes, t'grace the lawne
Of her complexion, till the angry Morne,
Growne pale with Envy, sues they may adorne
Her cheekes.—
[Page]But th' pride of Heav'n's ecclips'd, this peacefull Grove
Enjoyes their Cynthia, ev'ry st [...]rre does move
(As your attendants.) Here, what need I crave
Twy-light from Heav'n, that such a Guider have?
Doe you not see each harmlesse creature hies
With early haste to view those Radiant eies,
As Heav'ns bright Tapers? th'active Fayries doe
Trip from their Glo-worme, and resort to you:
But having seene you, vanish, thinking day
Was sent their tardy errors to betray;
Repine, and dye for anger. Th'Nai [...]des
Seeing themselves surpast in Beauty, please
Their Fancies with adoring you, desire
No greater blisse, than warmth from your pure fire.
Why weepes my deare Clarinda? here is none
Dare injure thy knowne pur'ty, th'art alone
In naught but singularity; See, The skyes
Offer their stock of teares, to save thy eyes.
Mix not thine, with corruption; they can be
No lesse (my Faire) 'till puri [...]'d by thee.
Each teare that falls from that coelestiall fount▪
Is of more price, than Craesus wealth can mount
To by Arithmetick; 'tis of that store,
One drop will buy the world when it growes poore.
See, they have left with thee, ambitious raine,
To watch thy opportunity to gaine
Such undeserved happinesse▪ I'le seeke
Anon for ev'ry pearle upon thy cheeke:
There shall not one be lost; each tree does shake
Their sappy heads; drops falling downe doe take
Hold with thy breath, compounded Nectar's made,
Which by Favonian winds is straight convey'd
[Page]To Ioves Emperial Palace; to the brink
They fill their Bowles, and Healths about they drink
To us, and our successe; the blinking Boy
Recovering sight by thee, is drunk for joy,
And vowes unto his Mother, and the rest,
To build his Paradise upon thy brest;
So proves my Rivall: but, I know, thy might
Has power to blinde him; as thou gav'st him sight,
So drowne his expectation in the flood
Of the incensed Justice of the good.
The Graces waite for thee; and Cedars now,
As you past by, their lofty tops they bow,
To doe you reverence, while you sooty Hall
Stayes your approach to guild it, then it shall
Resemble heaven for brightnesse. Fancie die,
If what thou speak'st be an Hyperboly.
To Clarinda singing and playing on the Lute, shee being bashfull upon the sight of him.
BLush not Clarinda, though my sences steale
Upon thy modesty; I prythe [...] seale
My welcome with a smile. Oh! stop not Sweet,
Let once againe thy ayre and singers meet
In blest contention; I prote it, my eares
Were rapt into attention, and the Spheares
Wantonly tript to heare 'em; sure, there lyes
Some power 'bove Magick in those Star-like eyes;
[Page]Whose swift pursuit gives life unto each string,
I'obey the touch of thy soft fingering.
The amorous courdage of thy Lute convayes,
Unto the Heav'ns such Harmony, that stayes
The Planets to admire it: But thy breath
Despight of Nature, can enlive pale death.
Sing then Clarinda, ravish evry sence,
With the choyse concord of thy excellence.
Out-doe the Lybian Harper, touch thy Lute,
And doome the world to silence, Angels mute,
While thou chaunt'st Madrigals, whose flight may tell
The world th'art Heavens only miracle;
For that the Earth till now has never bin
Possest of such a glorious Seraphin.
Oh happy roome that has atchived more
Grace by her voyce, than e're thou knew'st before,
Or thy first Master hop'd for; shee has made
Thee by her presence an Elizian shade.
The dumb Effigies dance, and th'hangings doe
Shake off their gravity, and congie to
The motion of your body (which till now
Made gray with sorrow, wore a sullen brow)
And youthfully doe move; my faire One, see,
Thy Power's above the reach of Poetry,
Or Art, or Fancie; live to cure the world
Of Lethargies, and when curst clouds are hurld,
T'oppres't—
Send forth thy breath; 'twill purifie the ayre
From Plagues infection, full, as well as prayer.
An excusive Letter made by the Author, for a friend of his [...]o his Father.
AS one who having rob'd, fearing no Law,
Till hue and cry a [...]aults him, and doth draw
Perforce his body to the Gaole, where long
Enduring ali extreames, at last is stung
With some remorce of conscience, doth [...]elent
His wicked life, a reform'd penitent.
He goeth farre that never back returnes,
An angry fire 'tis that ever burnes
Within the heart of man. Oh! then be pleas'd
To let your anger passe, and be appeas'd,
Though all this while, my Infant yeares did stray,
And trod the path of follies baiting way:
Though all this while I was in blindnesse led,
And all my sences unto fondnesse wed:
My unripen'd yeares had not the wit to finde
The vaine delights that still provokes the minde,
Till buying wit now at the dearest rate,
I gain'd experience through my best friends hate:
Witnesse the daily teares I shed at last,
In true repentance for my follyes past.
Then worthy Sir, your pardon let me crave;
Without your pardon I no life can have:
For better 'twere that life from body fled,
Than in your deepe disdaines lie buried.
Let my repentance plead for mine offence,
And my reformed life my innocence.
To Clarinda upon her absence from her window.
FAirest, if passions might expresse my love,
If my unfained sighes might force beliefe:
If that my nightly watchings could but move
Your Adamatine heart, and give reliefe;
Though now I praise your beauty, I should more,
Make you my Idoll, as my Saint adore.
Oh what unworthy actions have you seene?
What cause, or why, am I thus sleighted now?
And held so little in your wont esteeme?
Has my youth broke a syllable, or vow
Which once I willing made? speake, and be sure,
To finde a spotlesse heart, as chaste, as pure.
Why should you now withdraw that heav'nly light,
Which struck amazement in each living creature?
The lustre of your beauty from my sight;
A grace bestow'd on you, by choyce dame Nature.
You are her only choyce, O prythee why
Should'st thou thus derogate, to let me dye?
Was it because my longing eyes did still
Covet to view thy beauty ev'ry day,
Glutting with surfets, yet had not it's fill,
But begs a pleasing smile, and then away,
Leaving behinde a heart so full of woe,
That I could better stay than thence to goe?
[...] was't because my love to thee was such,
That I each minute set thy prayses forth;
And never thinking that I lov'd too much
A soule of such rare beautie, and pure worth,
Hoping at last to purchase such a prize,
That should Iove see, he might eternalize?
To Clarinda, having had no answer to the former Letter.
NOt yet an answer! ha's your well- [...]n'd Muse
Forsooke her pleasing Pamphlets, and refuse
To grace me, as the subject of her Verse?
Or doe you please to keepe 'em for my Herse;
Thinking your studies (whil'st living) were ill spent,
Unlesse in jesting sort and merriment?
Not as a solid Lover, but as one
Who ne're fetcht sighs, shed teares, or lent a groane,
Which I, poore I, have done. Oh, why ha's Heaven
Grac'd you with such a feature, and not given
A correspondent heart? or, if it be
That you retaine your Lyrick Verse for me,
To grace my sable Herse; I'le pray no more;
You need not, Lovers shall my case deplore;
Such as have knowne what 'tis to lose a heart,
They, they shall pitie me, and beare a part.
And if thy studies be to such an end,
Live happy, and embrace another friend,
Whom you can fancie better, while poore I
In peace forsake this Earths mortality.
To Fortune.
GReat Queene of Mutabilitie, to thee
I send my Votes; nor beg I smiles from thee;
My low and humble thoughts shall ne're aspire
To climbe unto an Earledome, or Empire;
Nor are they sweld with strong Ambition so,
To beg a Lordship, or thy favours: no;
Since begging is so usefull, I'le forbeare
To beg, lest whipping fall unto my share.
I will not aske thee any thing, but what
Thou canst not give, that onely is my lot.
First, I wo'd have from thee thy massie store,
Whereby I may extend it to the poore;
Nor sho'd it court your fawning Parasite,
Or kisse rich Dives wealth, that's infinite▪
Give me thy eyes, and with thy eyes I'le see,
To give desert its due, scorne flatterie.
But thou art blind, they say, and do'st not know
On what, or whom thou do'st thy wealth bestow.
Thy judgement rather than thy eyes are blind,
In my opinion, else thou couldst not find
Such ominous distinctions 'twixt true worth
And dunghill Doublets, muskt and sented forth:
The Gallants Feather, and his tatling Spurre,
The Citie Miser wrapt in's Neighbours Furre,
The Countrey-dolthead Mungrell brought to Land,
Though illegitimate, is by thy hand
Advanc'd above the ranke of Carters sonne,
(Reserv'd for laughter till his wealth is done)
[Page]Gulls were ordain'd wits pastime, 'tis their fate
To be wits slave, though on wits gold they bate.
How aptly thou hast fan [...]i'd out their Mates?
On vitious Gallants still diseases waites,
Accompanied with pride and infamy,
Base sonne and daughter to civility.
On your ingrossing Usurer attends
Legions of tim'rous heart-quakes, that portends
Some eminent danger, masqu'd with Vailes of gold,
Immur'd in dung that doth his conscience hold.
Your plodding Country-man, whose subtill shift
Imploy'd to vex his neighbours by his thrift;
Continuall sutes in Law, a Termes vexation
Consumes more angels than a long Vacation.
His misery's in this, his painefull evill
Can never gaine 'bove factor for the devill.
Then what are all these blest in, save the Ore
That guilds their lives, yet leaves their souls most poore?
Shou'd I with strict severenesse use my skill
In the deepe search of folly, wade my quill
Through pitchy Seas of Satyrisme, I might
Rip up thy parched intrals, and incite
Each sence we master, to grow fat, and swell
With uncurb'd laughter; let my whispers tell,
Thou do'st reside in ignorance, and braggs
Most in thy gorgeous vestments, when the raggs
Of poverty's more pretious: what upholds
Thy pride but indiscretion? Will controules
The Law of reason, and when these doe reele,
Thy state is unsupported, and thy wheele
Broke in despight of frownes; thou canst not see
(As we doe) into thine owne misery.
[Page]Wrack not thy wealth on errors, but require
More brawny-nerv'd assistance, whose pure fire
Cohabits with true judgement; wisdome can
Envolv'd in reason, make the soule of man
Run up the Pyramids of praise, and shew
The world new wayes to honor thee. Then know
Thy choyce of Votaries; the Poet will
Practise his Arts Encomions, and distill
His rich harmonious Raptures that shall raise
A Fabrick to thy name, 'bove th' reach of praise,
Vertues white essence next in order shall▪
Accompani'd with Patience, offer all
Her stock of goodnesse, and the Scholler turne
His books to Martyrs, at thy Altar burne.
Europe must needs adore thee; wonder more
To see the Scholler rich, the Miser poore.
Poets shall then disdaine th [...] thred-bare Bride,
When silver-fac'd Pecunia is ally'd
To their ingenious Pockets; Oh 'twould be,
Me thinks a glorious metamorphosie▪
But why am I thus passionate, and speake
Of such impossibilities, to breake
My Optick Science? Well, the world may see,
I wou'd hav't so; though Fortune lowres on mee,
No matter, use your Envie, thou shalt be
Enricht with nothing▪ save inconstancie.
To Clarinda upon her inconstancie.
I Finde; you are no Changeling, for indeed
You can dissemble neatly, and still feed
My hopelesse comforts with your hearty vowes,
That neither Faith, nor Constancie allowes:
I blush to speake thy weaknesse, prythee why
Do'st thou make black thy tongue with perjury?
Wantons doe often use it, canst thou be
A faithlesse Wanton, and so faire a Shee?
I dare not say you love me, your reply
Will then ungently give my tongue the lye.
You are not true as I am, but still prove
A seeming Saint, in vow'd dissembling love.
Yet know, I love you, and would have you doe
A miracle in Woman, to be true.
What constancie canst thou expect from any,
That art so fickle, and canst love so many?
I prythee leave dissembling, doe not gloze,
Or guild thy words with vowes, make silver dro [...]e;
Thy vowes are farre more pretious; gold to them,
Is as a Leaden Crowne to a Diadem:
Which vowes you'l use so often, that they'l be
The chiefest witnesse 'gainst thy guilt and thee.
To his much honoured friend Master Robert Newsteade Gent.
TO rank thee friend, amongst my best of friends,
For thy Quotidian favours, makes amends,
In part, though not in all; and then againe,
When I conceive the fickle state of men,
How soone their faith's extinct, how quickly gone,
Like to a thing but newly thought upon:
My feare begets a passion, and doth strive
To hugge my friends, and keepe their names alive.
To his good friend M. H. D.
FRiend, I must blame thee, yet I thank thee too:
Thou hast done that which many would not doe;
For when my lines lay open to your view,
Begot by me, yet fetch'd their breath from you,
Through your perswasions, and entreaty, I
Have thrust my Rimes into the worlds wide eye,
Where I expect their censure, yet I sweare,
Be't good, or bad, thou shalt embrace thy share.
Thy verse my Verse to th'world doth Usher in;
Not to requite thee then 'twere held a sin:
Nor will I be too lavish in thy praise,
(Thy worth alone may gaine Poetick bayes)
All that I'le doe, if any count me rude,
Is to repell the brand, Ingratitude.
Io. Tatham.
An Ode Acrostick-wise on the Vertuous Gentlewoman, Mistris A. P.
Amongst so many, whose desire
Lives fresh thy goodnesse to admire,
I doe present my Votes, to be
Crowned with thy Resplendencie.
Enjoy thou Beautie, whose desarts
Proclaime thee Mistris of all hearts,
Vertues blessing, with those Graces
Raigning in their proper places,
Dayning now to wait on thee,
Yeelding to thy Soveraigntie.
And while the starres shall grace the Skyes,
Like sparkes of light from Cynthia's eyes,
Imbrace more blessings than can bee
Cast by Arithmetick on thee,
Enrich thy Nuptials with a Guest,
Proud to harbour in thy Brest;
Vesta with her Virgin Crue,
Richly deckt, to wait on you,
Devoted comes, and at your Shrine
Yssues forth her Offering.
Aurora's sence-delighting Flowers
Leave to deck her fragrant Bowers,
Indeared to your ever Spring,
Courting Philomel to sing
Encomiasticks, as your due,
Purchas'd by those gifts which you
Vouchsaf'd to lend them, to adorne
Rose-cheek'd and nixious-finger'd Morne;
Distilled Pearles from your bright eyes,
Yeelds them their Morning Sacrifice.
And now the Musick of the Spheares
Lent by you, invites all eares;
Iuventa 'maz'd from whence it came,
Comes to meet your Pophian flame,
Early brings to please your sense,
Pauch [...]ian Fumes, rich Frankincense,
Vestituted with delight,
Resplendent as the Morning bright,
Dis- [...]obes her selfe, and leaves in truth
You the onely Queene of Youth.
Aglaia, with her Sisters two,
Likewise comes to wait on you;
Injur'd Virgins to you flye,
Craving shelter from your eye,
Eterniz'd by those Blessings which
Presag'd their Vertues should enrich,
Vniting there an ardent Zone,
Reason tells is you alone;
Dryades, with all their powers
You command, and they are yours▪
Arabian Phoenix needs must bee
Lesse rare than Fly, compar'd to thee;
Iove in revenge, and envying me [...],
Chain'd himselfe, to dote on thee;
Emperious Love hath lost his heart,
Pretending thou hast got his Dart;
Vowes must be onely made to thee,
Releasing Loves captivitie;
Denie not your perfections true;
Youths Queene (and all) doth rest in you.
All Beauties, Graces, Vertues bee
Lively pencil'd out in thee:
In thy haire we may discrie
Chast Love sit in majestie;
Eyes thou hast, by which the Sunne
Plyes his course, ere day be done;
Voyce? the Nightingales sweet throat,
Runs hoarsely to thy Dorick note:
Dance? did the rare Penelope
Yet live, she needs must yeeld to thee:
As in the Spheare of Goodnesse, ev'ry Sence
Hath by instinct in you their Residence.
To Philomel.
LEave Philomel, to make thy moane,
'Tis I have cause to grieve alone:
Thy Woes had periods; mine must be
Invaded with fresh Crueltie.
The Joyes I have, are such as may
Make the greene Spring a Winters day▪
Or such as when desir'd, doe take
A course to kill, for pitty sake.
Cease then thy noyse of woe, unlesse
Thou'lt grieve for my unhappinesse.
To Clarinda.
THat I did love thee, summon up my Vowes,
As uncorrupted witnesses allowes
No partialitie; peruse my truth,
Unspotted, as th'immaculate zeale of youth,
Unfained, as the Orasons of Saints,
Expird, as Altars Incense, that acquaints
Heav'n with sincere devotion; that I did
Adore each feature, as well seene as hid;
Examine each particular line and phrase
My doting fancie offer'd to thy praise;
[Page]That every smile enliven'd my dull sence;
Search but the custome of thy influence,
And it appeares in Characters of blisse,
No Paradise so pleasing as a kisse;
That I did deeme thy polisht Ivory brow,
A firmament, wherein twin-starres allow
A greater lustre than the pride of Heaven,
Contracted t'a full sky-light, could have given
Us Mortals Ask the World, and then o're which
A Mount of Alabaster does enrich
Thy smooth Ermin-like forehead, to thy cheekes,
The stock of Flora for a refuge seekes.
Those Tresses which thou wear'st are golden snares,
Though falsly some did nominate them haires.
The Affrick Coralls on thy ruby lips
Mix their perfections, [...]nd in Nupti [...]ll skips
Trip to the Spheare-like Musick of thy voyce
Able to charme a Seraphin; the choyce
Electrum in your neck; your azure veines
On snowy beds discypher to the Swaines
The Tempe of true happinesse, when they
By my command did to 'em homage pay.
I set thee forth in Verse, rais'd thee so high,
All sinn'd, that breath'd thee lesse than Deity.
My praises out-did Nature, thou wert then
The only subject for my Muse and Pen.
The world shall likewise testifie; but here —
Yet wisedome bids me stop: I will not sweare,
Though I have cause to execrate thy faith,
Which is a blessing your sexe seldome hath.
I will omit all rashnesse, only this,
Confute thy soule even in its hope of blisse.
[Page]False and neglectfull Woman, hadst thou bin
Deformed in thy person, as thy sin,
I sho'd have then abhorr'd thee, and my eyes
Perceiv'd the strong infection in thee lyes.
Thou art not faire; 'twas only Fancy led
Me to Hyperbole's; thy cheeks once red
Colour'd by me, thy eyes, lips, hands and all,
In Lethe have deserving Funerall.
Thy breath infects as-killing pestilence;
No more Panchayan Gums, choyce Frankincence,
Shall grace it with resemblance; thou art
Of an AEthiopian colour ev'ry part;
Pencil'd by Shame and Infamy: thy name
Rac'd forth the Role of Constancy and Fame.
The world only records thy falshood; try
If thou canst winne me to credulity,
That thou didst love me once, and check each tong,
For it's aspertion 'tis no potent wrong,
Lesse vindicated; but my faculties
Abjure thee now, though once thy Votaries,
And cannot retaine beliefe Colusive you
Were ever reall, but in being untrue;
That only thou wert made for; else thy brest
Would ne're have covetted a new imprest:
But, like the constant Emerauld, have kept
Its primitive, stamp, and purity; falshood slept
In ignorance: O yee powers, can there be
An absolution for impiety?
If you'l decline from Justice, then you may
Flatter her erring hopes with a long day
Of fatall tryall, whose conviction must
Precipitate her gloryes into dust
[Page]Sure, though prolong'd, the difference then will be;
Th'insulting freedome chain'd, my bondage free.
The Authors Dreame.
WHen as my dull and weary'd eyes, had long
With tedious watchings, 'bout my temples hung;
The vale of sleepe like a long wasted Lamp,
Smother'd, went out, and fell into a damp:
My sences tasting of some happinesse,
Ambition rose, and strove for further blisse,
Till that me thought, an Eccho in my eare,
Bad, rise and follow me, why sleep'st thou here?
With that a Winter-sweat did over-spread
My bloodlesse cheekes as in amazement dead;
Each limb did shake, my panting heart did knell
Death's sad unwelcome tone, Nights-passing-bell;
The selfe-same voyce againe did seeme to be
The comforter of my sad hopes and me.
Musick possest mine eares, in that I then
Contemn'd my feares, and seem'd awake agen.
No sooner had my eares enjoy'd so rare
Unlook'd for pleasures, but did straight repaire
A Lady of that beauty (clad in white)
As seem'd to out-face Day, and conquer Night.
Her haire dishevel'd hung, about her browes
A wreath of Lawrell; on her garments, vowes
Of perjur'd Lovers, mingled with the blood
Of some poore injur'd creature, that withstood
No ill-tempestuous storme in hope to gaine
For her pure constancie th'Elizian Plaine;
[Page]When as their spotted soules as black as hell,
Shall choake themselves with vows in Pluto's Cell.
Her brests not bare, but in a modest manner,
Shew the pure colour of true Lovers Banner.
Under the which they hold their second faith,
(Those spungy pearlesse Twins the females hath)
About which blood a pretious stone was plac'd,
Such, as had Venus worne, it wo'd have grac'd
Her wanton beauty, and have forc'd the Boy
T'a'left his dallying, and the sport enjoy.
On th'other side whereas black vowes doe make
A darknesse shadow, brightnesse does pertake
Of golden Charecters, that who so see,
Must by those golden letters guided be.
Rich Sandals fetcht from farre, of purest gold,
Did her unvalu'd feet in pleasure hold,
As white as is the purest morning milk,
And seem'd insnar'd with fine Arabian silk.
With her two Virgins also clad in white,
Supporting on each side this Queene of light.
Upon each garment artificially
Was interweav'd a pearle distilled eye,
Sad, discontented, languisht, broken hearts,
Feares, teares, sighes, sobs, laments, and piercing darts.
Crosse Fates, friends frownes (in gold) the Parents hate,
Seem'd their contentions to expostulate,
With that their soules sweet Organs tun'd. Forbeare;
Let thy feares vanish, we shall bring thee where
Death keepes his Court, the sable irksome Cell
Of murdering soules, where sinnes with Furies dwell:
There thou shalt see each broken Vow to have
Deserved punishment: dead, want a Grave.
[Page]Yet feare not Youth, for through the ayre wee'l hover,
And with our robes of truth thy doubts will cover.
My feares then left me, and we mounted straight
On a wing'd Chariot they enjoyn'd to waite
For us, drawne with foure milk-white Doves;
Such as dame Venus's pleas'd with, when her Loves
Shee meanes to visit; through the ayre than wee,
Swifter than nimble-footed Mercury
Did fly. — At length
Such shrill confusions beat into my eares,
As wo'd have sunk the world, dissolv'd the spheares:
But Truth my still supporter, bade me be
No whit yet daunted, for I soone sho'd see
Horrours of worse affrightments; with that shake
The lower earth, and from a Sulphurous lake
Flew flames of quenchlesse fier, with the smoake
Of loathsome brimstone, eating trees of Oake.
The dismall noyse of screech-Owles, hissing Snakes,
To [...]ds, Adders, Monsters, and what else pertakes
Of ugly poyson, seem'd a Cavalere,
And fellow partner with all creatures there:
In that fal [...] teares made furrowes in my cheekes,
And for some reconciliation seekes;
With that demanding of my guider Truth,
What place that was? she answer'd, pretty Youth,
A place where false neglectfull Lovers be;
Such as have cancell'd faith and loyalty.
This is the place where thy disdainefull Faire
Shall be created new; teare her bright haire;
Rejoyce to have a Serpent to her bed,
And by deformed monsters ravished.
My panting soule then sunk, but tender shee
[Page]Rais'd me againe, demanding straight of mee
The reason of that passion; I reply'd,
I lov'd her still: though Reason it deny'd:
Shall she for whom my studies I have spent,
(Faire Truth) receive this doome and punishment?
Shall Monsters then enjoy what I before
Did Idolize, and as my Saint adore?
Shall they suck hony from so rich a Hive,
And glut themselves with that each soule alive
Wo'd humbly kneele for: O, shall they then be
The only meanes t'enlarge my misery?
Truth's answer was, wee'l leave this dolefull place;
Banish distrust, wee'l mend our slow-wing'd pace,
And drive thee to the Tempe of content,
Where Love shall laugh at Falshoods banishment,
And in dispight of Envie, shall obtaine
The feeling welcome of his heart againe.
Where Pyramus and Thisbe live in blisse,
And there enjoy each other with a kisse.
Then did we drive our Chariot through a Grove
Of Mayden-flowers, where the Queene of Love
Met with her Martialist, and present came
With due salutes, and homage to Truths name.
The Chariot staid, we lighted, and then went
Into a place call'd Loves true ravishment.
Where e'ry pretty Bird in warbling notes,
Did give us entertainement with their Votes.
Each Lover had his Mate, and on the Greene
Did sport and play, and blush because o're-seene,
Exchanging kisses, in so much that I
Did emulate their candy'd jollity.
The Virgins that did waite upon our Queene,
[Page]Left her with me, and went into a Greene,
Where two sweet Youths, clad in a crimson dye,
Did give 'em entertainment to the eye.
Joyes met with joyes, the Quiristers did sing,
As welcoming the wanton youthfull Spring,
Where in an Arbour, crown'd with Violets,
Each with his Mate new happinesse begets.
Truth's smiling Aspect with her Affrick gemms,
Offer'd a whisper to me, and condemnes
My former incredulity, then gave
Me her advice to purchase ought they have:
Opens her richest Caskenet, and shewes
The bed of Odours, where th'Elizian Rose,
The sence-delighting Violets, and th'rest
Of Flora's pride, are in a Garland drest,
Compass'd about with little hoops of Glasse,
Reflecting on each cheeke that by 'em passe.
The ground-work honey, and the Juice of love,
The Mornes refreshment. Nectar cast by Iove,
(Instead of dew) upon their colour'd veynes,
With oyle of Constancy to keepe from steynes
Of every ruder hand, and there they lye
Unpluckt by any, save Maturity.
No mervaile then Winter cannot afford
Us such Redolent Miracles, when th'hord
And Closet that retaynes 'em, is a place
Impal'd with all contents, and Beauties Chase,
A Park where Harts keepe their Imperious way
Without usurping Tyrants, they can pay
Their Morne-devotion without losse of life,
Exactions trouble, or a womb of strife:
Here they like Doves, use Nature in her kinde,
[Page]Mutually live each with his Mate, refinde
From the grosse errors dwell in Mortalls, who
Think 'tis enough, in that they onely wooe,
Without a thought of fervency, if one
(A Woman, for none else wo'd be a stone)
Finds an incurable folly to invade
Her Lover, called passion, sh'as a Trade,
Though 'twill scarce get her living, yet shee'l grow
Fat with insulting o're her Patients woe,
Which custome's here a Stranger; here, said Truth,
Lawes are enacted to entreasure Youth;
Here Flora's Spring, Autumne, and chequer'd May,
The pleasing Gales of Zephyres doe convay;
And this their Winter Mansion: Yet they know
No frosty finger can assault 'em so.
Here they inhabit without nipping paine,
'Till gentle Zephyres post▪ 'em back againe,
To kisse the worlds knowne Wanton, then ensues
Th'unused rashnesse that their births abuse;
Each wilfull finger and depraving hand
With Insolency robs, uses command
(Instead of milde entreaties) teares from thence
The infancy of their sprung influence:
Crops the sweet Virgin flower before the age
Makes it compleatly ripe, while the sad Bryer,
Mother to those rich gemms, embraces fier;
Or else left destitute: who does become
Barren in nought but griefe, her martyrdome.
Oh irreligious Mortalls, see your error:
Covetous in nothing but in hoording Treasure,
Which last like Roses, leaving once their Tree,
Becomes inconstant through inconstancie.
[Page]Then know the diff'rence, and invest thy selfe
With whiter thoughts, banish respect of pelfe,
That like a hellish Advocate delude
Mans sence into a glittering servitude:
Which choakes 'em in disgestion; cut the tye
Which binds thee to thy ruine, let 'em be
Disjoyn'd for ever, and deeme constancie
The only meanes of Fortune, for without
Such resolutions never goe about
To stile thy selfe a Lover; 'tis a thing
Abhorr'd in reall Actions, 'twill not bring
Mortality to th'pleasure sign'd for thee,
This sacred Tempe's true felicity:
Where no tempestuous storme of Parents hate,
Shall dare to crosse thy e're propitious Fate.
Thy Love and thee 'mongst th'rest in sweet content,
Shall spin your times in endlesse merriment:
But if that she be obstinate, and still
Disdaines our dread command and pow'rfull will:
I'le send a summon by our blindfold Boy,
That shall convert to terror ev'ry joy.
Goe tell the lower world what you have seene,
As you doe honor us a Mayden Queene:
This have I shewn you, that the world may know,
What power we have, and what to us they owe.
Then post you back, you winged Messengers,
And leave him where we found him; Time refers
No other conference, for the gladsome Day
Appeares; then hence, pack on, make hast away,
For feare our theevish frosty-bearded Time,
Rushes through th'speares too fast, and Phoebus shine.
With that they mounted me, and in the space
[Page]Of one poore minute brought me to the place
Where first they found me, that my giddy braine
Struck with amaze, knew not from whence I came,
'Till gentle Morpheus, that did first surprize
My weaken'd sences had unlock'd mine eyes,
And gave free passage to each stretching part,
By the pure skill of his ne're failing Art.
Then kinde Aurora grac't me with a smile,
And Phoebus welcom'd me from my exile.
In that my late dull spirits then were apt
To entertaine secrets in Riddles wrapt.
Then did I think upon my former charge,
Giv'n by my guider Truth to me at large.
And all those pleasures I that night did see,
Grew fresh and pleasant in my memory:
That I not disobeying her command,
Like a true Subject, in another land
In trust for her, must let her praises be
Blazon'd by Fames guilt Trump of Poesie.
And first unto my Dearest as a friend,
I did unfold my Dreame, and recommend
Each passage I had seene, time, place, and where
Of paine, joy, griefe, or blisse, she might have share.
But shee not giving credit or beliefe
To any such weake fictions, nor reliefe
To me, or any others; but doth still
Continue in her bad obdurate will.
Leave her I must; but let her know, that face
Shall live to be the subject of disgrace.
Nor shall one teare be shed in pitty; shee
That liv'd disdainfull, shall disdained be.
To Cupid.
CVpid, I'm inflam'd with feare,
Lest her beauty bribes thy care;
Shee's sufficient to intice
Vertue out of Paradice;
When her breathings kisse her lips,
Expired Gums and Odours skips;
Every Accent is a charme,
And her circle is her arme,
In the which shee'l raise or lay,
Man or spirit, flesh or clay;
Shee's an Artist that delights
More in Conquests than in fights,
'Tis her use to fetter those
Icy-bodies she has chose
(In her owne reserv'd intent,
T'appeare by it more excellent)
To her bright Phebean haire,
Where perfum'd M [...]anders are;
In such a prison Iove, or thee
Wo'd descend and Captive bee.
But, here's the glory crownes her most,
Shee dissolves those lumps of frost,
And gives it active blood and fire,
(Rather wonder, than desire)
Makes it forme; for, from her eye,
A hot Promethean flame does flye,
[Page]And penetrates so ev'ry brest,
Th'augmenting flames cann't be exprest.
In that shee only erres in part,
'Tis wilfulnesse, not want of Art.
Shee shoots her scorching beames too fast,
Piles flame on flame, and blast on blast;
And then she leaves him in his flame,
Though one poore teare wo'd quench the sam [...] ▪
Her oyl'd expressions shee did gaine,
From the false Mercurian trayne.
'Tis a language windes the [...]ares
To admiration, gulls the Spheares;
Yet all these, rarities are us'd
To the contrary sence, therefore abus'd.
Then Cupid, now thou know'st by me,
How to shunne her flattery:
Be thy selfe, and let her know,
Beauty does a reverence owe
To thy powerfull frowne: goe play
My part a while, and for me say,
(If that her smiles don't bribe thy wit)
Rather for scorne than praise she's fit.
Cupids Summons.
FAirest Mortall, think not I
Priviledge a starre-like eye,
Or the choycest Faire on earth;
I can blast 'em in their birth:
Yet that you might feele desires,
Quenching Loves Idalian fires.
[Page]'Mongst a many Beauties more,
I preserv'd thee to adore
My Deity: but now I see
Thou disdain'st my power and me.
Therefore by my Paphian Bow
My commands must let you know,
That a strange complaint of late,
Beat a parley at my Gate;
And so entred, that the Gods
With that uprore grew at odds:
In so much that they me sent
Messenger of punishment,
In my Mothers sacred name,
You a Traitor to proclame
'Gainst the Lawes of Love and Beauty.
And to what you owe by duty
To th'AEthereall powers and me,
Cancel'd through Inconstancie.
By my Bow and flaming Dart,
By the Lovers bleeding hart,
By the hand, and by the glove:
By the eye that captiv'd Iove,
I command and summon thee,
At Loves Barre to answer mee,
To what we shall there object,
'Gainst thy scorne and base neglect:
Faile not creature, as you will
Answer, your ensuing ill.
The Oath after appearance.
PAle-cheek'd Mortall, now your eyes
Returne their lustre to the skyes:
No hue of Rosie-red doth guide
The welcome Lilyes, as a Bride:
Nor are th'Lilyes fresh, and gay,
As they were the other day.
The present guilt doth make it knowne,
Beautie lent, is not your owne.
Venus now the Queene of Love,
Is in presence, and must prove
You a disobedient heire
To her glorious Hemisphere.
Paphos Archer hates to owne
You a sister to his throne:
And must here as witnesse be
To your black-mouth'd perjury;
Therefore on this gold-leaf'd booke,
In which Lovers oft doe looke,
Lay your hands, if you be free
From usurping Tyranny,
From the many sighes and teares
Lovers use, their nightly feares:
From their passions, folded armes,
Lull'd asleepe with Syrens charmes,
From the murdering of a Hart,
Glorying at th'excessive smart:
[Page]From an angry lowring eye,
Spying Lovers destiny,
From a mock or scornefull smile,
That kills, though pleases for a while.
From a heart that harbors scorne,
Leaving witlesse Youths forlorne:
You may freely sweare, but see,
The Rose has left his Treasury,
Your starres are clouded; Rubies to
Have left th'exchequer'd lips of you,
And with sweet gales transported thence,
To seeke a better residence.
Hence to tryall Themis now
'Gainst thy guilt doth set her brow
And Conscience calls; you must appeare
At Loves Barre, and answer there.
His Allegations against Clarinda.
TO you faire Cyprian Dame, I doe present,
A languisht heart bound to imprisonment,
(Without your faire releasement) to an eye
Swel'd with Ambition, flat Conspiracie,
Whose still aspiring soule did think 'twas duty,
That greatest Mortalls shou'd admire her beauty.
Nay, to that height Ambition had convey'd
A strong beliefe, shee was not Earthly made,
To entertaine a Love that had no power,
Like Iove t'appeare in an Argolian showre,
And when bright Sol his glorious Rayes displaide
To grace the world, Conceit might soone perswade
[Page]He [...] witlesse-fancie, his all-seeing eye,
Borrow'd it's lustre from her brighter eye.
Your selfe whom Paris well did judge to bee
Heav'ns only peece, the fairer of the three,
Shee wo'd not blush to say, had the Youth seene
Her matchlesse Beauty, you had beene no Queene▪
And I in ignorance beleev'd the same,
Blinded with love, so weav'd into a frame
Of doting passions, having no alliance
To my owne welfare, or her base defiance.
For her I wasted all my houres in griefe,
Expecting comfort, yet found no reliefe;
Oft have I curst the Boy that first betray'd
My hearts security, forcing me to wade
Through th'ever sable streame of curst despaire,
Or crimson gulfe of horror to the staire
Of absolute madnesse, still ingendring ill,
Now sink, then rise, subject to Fates sterne will:
Not knowing thee to be of sacred line,
Yet felt thy sting, but knew it not divine,
As now I doe. But thought some Circes might
With charmes bereave me of my bodies right,
Forgive me sacred Deities; no more
Will I blaspheme your goodnesse as before.
No oaths or vowes of Hymenean right
Could move her minde, no liquid teares invite
Her heart to pitty, no disast'rous fate
Of future mischiefe could accelerate
My present death. But in her scornefull looke,
I read her meaning as in Angers booke,
Sometimes with a dissembling smile retaines,
Me longer to encrease my Love-sick paines.
[Page]As doth the cunning Doctor keepe in ure,
His queasie Patient, and prolongs the Cure;
Either to make his skill the brighter shine;
Or else for feare his Patient sho'd combine
With others, and he lose his Cure; e'ne so
My cunning faire with smiles wou'd work too;
Knowing that none but shee had equall power,
To crowne my hopes, or blast 'em in an houre.
And thus in endlesse passions did I lye,
Ling'ring my breath, Deaths bare Epitomy.
Nor would shee pitty that my spring-like age
Sho'd dying, live, in Lovers Pilgrimage.
When as th'impartiall Maids have beene at strife,
Which first sho'd cut my thred, and end my life,
Shee'd tyrannize o're my passions; nay, and more,
Disdain'd your power, whose ayde I did implore;
Telling me, Beauty had more than Love,
Beauty was that strong charme enchaunted Iove.
Then wo'd appeare such lightning from her eye,
As seem'd to equall Iunos Majesty.
Here doe I stand for to averre, and prove
Her base, disloyall, and my constant love.
Be just you Powers, and let your sentence be
A punishment too good for perjury;
That future times perusing of her shame,
May praise your Justice, and abhorre her name;
Without your sentence, all will soone aspire,
Like proud Prometheus for to steale your fire:
For th'envie of their Sex it is so deepe,
They'l study nightly, and revenge in sleepe.
The Censure of the Gods. Present. • Iupiter. , • Sol. , • Cupid. , • Vulcan. , • Iuno. , and • Venus.
Sol.
WEe will not heare her answer, her reply
Will but adde torments to her misery.
Her guilt is too apparant, therefore wee
For thy aspiring thoughts, doe banish thee
From that best light, which earthly creatures doe
Admire, and yearely pay a tribute to.
Since from thine eye such sparks of lightning came,
To blast our servant here wee'l vaile the same
From thenceforth never—
Venus.
Forbeare; indeed you wrong me: her offence
Requires a censure from our Excellence.
Was shee not Ours, 'till her presumptuous soule
(Inflam'd with Treason) sought for to controule
Our all-commanding power, has shee not bin
Stain'd with the folly of Narcissus sin?
[Page]Has not her Beauty made the world below
Forget that duty which to us they owe,
Deeming our greatnesse but a fallacie,
Mention'd by children in their infancie?
Then know, to us, to us shee has done wrong,
Corrupting Mortalls with her venom'd tongue,
To cast mists on our greatnesse; since then shee
Has not yet tasted of those sweets that wee,
And those that live to love, doe still enjoy,
All subject to the anger of my Boy:
Shee shall be barren in that happinesse,
And ne're embrace what hidden sweets there is
In Lovers glances; but shall live to be
The onely scorne to Loves posterity;
Shee shall love one, and (living) love him so,
Her love shall gaine his ha [...]e; his hate, her woe.
Iupiter.
This must not be, your censure doth appeare,
Not from desert, but Envie; I dare cleare
The innocent soule. Why barren? cause, you know
The sweets already; none can merit so.
Forsooth a kisse is envi'd, and a glance
That does unbreath, mans spirits with a trance.
Deni'd embraces is forbidden: what if I
Endeavour to salute lip, breast, or — why?
Wo'd blushes beat me thence? wooe her white hand
To lead me to the fountaine, where I'le stand
As cold as Marble, 'till her lips doe seale
A Patent for my entrance, I'le appeale
[Page]Not to your Will, but Love; ah, 'two'd arise
Mutually sweet, when both hearts sympathize.
Come, you forget your selfe; is it not rare,
To have a woman honest, while she's faire?
Which by your Sentence must be; 'faith, and then
Shee'l grow more famous, though lesse lov'd of men.
Had you beene charie of your Maidenhead,
As you were of your Beautie, y'might ha' spread
Your Ivorie Leafes to Sparrows, and they'd peck
Those Letters out, which doe your Goddesse deck.
Faire Maid, for that thou hast a stirring thought
Of Greatnesse, hating all but such as brought
A Showre like Us, into our Dana's Lap,
We fancie thee too much, to let a Clap
Of raging Thunder pierce thee—lend thine eare —
What, is't a match? No: Why? thinkst thou they heare?
We will adjourne the Court. Not? prythee say;
I am incinder'd; kisse me, 'twill allay
My heat: come, I will have it so; wee'l steale
Into an obscure cranie, put the eye
Of Phoebus out; my appetite does frye.
Vulcan.
How Iupiter does looke now: 'tis a prey
Wou'd make all sell their happ'nesse; by my fay
A plump-cheek'd wench, and does deserve no lesse
Honour than Venus, were she of her Dresse.
Ile to her—don't beleeve him Lasse, his Wife
Will blast thee with her anger, intrap thy life,
As she did poore Alomena's; leane to mee
Venus and I are out, Ile none but thee.
[Page]And though I'm rough and sootie, yet I can
Bestow on thee the pleasures rest in man,
As well as he; my hoofe shall be set right,
If thou sweare to let me taste delight;
Or if thou wilt not sweare, or yeeld, yet bee
A woman; winke, and let me feed on thee.
Iupiter.
Thou art a sawcie Vulcan; goe about
To make me thunderbolts for th'Summer rout,
Use your black-cru [...]ted hands i'th' Cyclops forge,
Or dye your Hornes a sable hue; disgorge
Your juicie stomack where our Horses lyes;
Your man-like action needs must please their eyes;
Or make thy Wife turne honest: but I feare
Mars ha's too late uncharm'd her Hemispheare.
Vulcan.
Why in this passion? 'las, I will connive
At all your doings, provided I may thrive
As well as you by it. What, not agree?
Iuno shall know thy folly then— D'ye see
How brisk he is with th'piece of Venerie?
The match is made, and he must clip the thred
That tyes her beautie to her maiden bed.
Iuno.
[Page]Wee'le make her feele our wrath. Why fall you not
To Censure? Where's our Iupiter? Absent: What,
Courting the trash of Beautie?
Iupiter.
Yes; but loose
My labour: shee's growne cunning, to refuse.
Nay, use your pleasure now; shee'l scarce be made
Capable of Venus traffique, Wantons Trade.
Iuno.
Then, Boy, 'tis thee we stay for; let thy Art
And tongue agree.
Cupid.
Doubt not, I'le find her heart.
Since I as Vmpire stand; I will, that shee
A faithlesse Wanton shall from henceforth bee;
One, whose insatiate Wombe no meane shall know,
But prostitute her Body, till shee grow
Unusefull, and that time shall let her see
A period to her hidden Venerie.
Her person shall be much desir'd of many,
Nor chast nor constant shall she prove to any,
But covet to imbrace new fashions still,
Whereby to glut her base insatiate will.
[Page]Those that have long been practisers in sin,
She shall instruct new wayes to wallow in,
And with her faire illusions shall invite
All sorts of Nations to her seem'd delight.
But when her Face with furrowes shall appeare,
And that her Cheekes no Rosie colour beare,
When her soft Lip shall want the force to bind
Thousands by adjuration to her mind;
When as the youthfull heat hath left to raigne,
And that her Nerves an Icie cold retaine;
Where Eyes begin to looke into her Soule,
Where they espie it spotted, wicked, foule;
When as her Hands, so much admir'd, shall be
Wither'd, and like a bare Anatomie;
Then shall she lingring live without reliefe,
Nor shall one prove a helper to her griefe.
Those whom her youth and time she spent withall,
(When as her Beautie became prodigall)
Shall loath to heare her nam'd; and more, her fight
Shall be to 'em as poys'nous Aconite:
And when that Time shall, with his Neighbour Death,
Steale unawares, and stop her vitall breath,
All that she leaves behind, is bu [...] her Name,
And that lives onely to enlarge her shame.
So, while she lives, her life is but a hate,
And yet her death proves more unfortunate:
Wretched by birth, and so brought vp to woe,
In Life accurst, in Death her Soules chiefe foe.
Then what remaines, but onely this to prove,
A scorne to Time, a hatred unto Love?
And on her Grave this Epitaph shall be
Read, to condemne her vitious memorie.
[Page]
Her Epitaph.
HEre remaines a Piece, that shame
Does forbid to owne, or name:
She was once, as this, a Stone,
'Till Conversion made her none;
Then her Beautie stain'd her Soule,
Being faire, she was most foule:
Lov'd, yet hated all; 'tis crost,
Whom she lov'd, she hated most.
She was skil'd in Language too,
Ev'ry Nation did her woo;
She cou'd French interpret well,
Till she fashion'd how to spell
Through the Nose. If any passe
On this tender yeelding Grasse,
To view this Piece, doe not weepe,
'Tis a passion they may keepe;
Onely Charitie bids us say,
She is happie now she's Clay.
Omnes.
We like thy Censure well, and are content
She shall endure thy Doome and punishment.
An Epithalamium on the two happie Paire, Thomas B. Esquire, the younger, and his faire Bride.
VP lazie Morne, send through th' odorous ayre
A blush, that may invite the Hemispheare
To wonder, then looke pale with spleene, denie
To all, save to this Bride, supremacie.
Wonder; in that the still usurping Night,
Fat with the weight of sinnes dismounted, spight
Of his assistant Horrors, e're his Raigne,
Fatall to erring Mortals, cou'd obtaine
Its finall course; and Day appeare, before
Thy Porter had unhing'd his painted Dore;
And 'tis confest, that Night two houres ha [...]s lost,
Since her bright rising banished his Host;
Starres hid themselvs in Clouds, no Cynthia seene,
The petty Lights would all have Cynthias beene,
Could they have vanquisht Nature; but the height
Of their Ambition prov'd their Opposite,
And sunke them in their Errors▪ Oh! to see
A Heav'n on Earth, yet Heav'n no Heav'n to bee,
'Lesse by her Light assisted; th' Skie appeare
In sable dresse, while Day did trip it here,
A new Aurora brake, whose potent smiles
Gilded the Easterne Morne, thaw'd Winter Iles
[Page]Tyl'd o're with plates of Ice; shew'd th'Heav'ns grow poor
In goodnesse, yet from her they may gleane store,
To furnish 'em for ever, 'lesse they be
Too prodigall of her liberalitie.
Hamstead was made a Paradise, each Bush
Retain'd a Spring-like Coat; the chirping Thrush
Grew proud and wanton, and did use their Note
In fancying Anthems, which they got by Rote;
The chanting Philomels mellifluous straine,
O'th'piked Eglantine reviv'd againe;
The am'rous Spring and Roses there were blowne,
That in their Chaos slept, forgot, unshowne;
The frostie-bearded Winter at her feet
Dropt into Pearles his substance; and the Sheet
That Earth of Nature borrowes to lye in,
Chequer'd with Flòra's beauties, did begin
To prove abortive, came before their time;
Yet safe deliver'd of its Spicie slime,
Forc't by her radiant lustre; ev'ry Tree
Wore Fruit forbidden, cause her Liverie.
Can this stirre Wonder in thee? No; for 'tis
No wonder, didst thou know but what shee is:
Shee's all divine, whose Virgin influence
Merits the courtship of the dayes bright Prince,
By whose amplexures, mixtures, Nuptiall tyes,
Religious Votes shall from each Soule arise,
To blesse their bright Conjunction; for the which,
Hymen, whose care is Vertue to enrich,
Hath singled out her Consort, brought her one
That out-rayes P [...]oebus through his Horizon;
Adorn'd with Masculine Vertues he can be:
Should I compare him to th'Heavens; but He,
[Page]And in that He, consists such ample worth,
We want a Homers Pen to set it forth.
He's exquisitely rare, shou'd I say more,
'Two'd not enlarge his worth, but make me poore
In fancie: for alas, what need I tell
The world a storie, which they know so well?
I will conclude in prayers, not in prayse,
Though you deserve them both, while I have dayes
Or minutes to unburden: may Encrease
For ever Crowne the Harvest of your Peace;
May you live like two Angels sent from Heaven,
To teach the world examples, and run even
In Vertues progresse, till your sacred Urne
Claymes its prerogative, your ashes turne
The Phoenix Exequies to nothing. Why?
Your lives extinct, Perfections with you dye;
Nor shall our Ages after mention one,
Without committing Sacriledge, you gone,
But your Remembrance, which shall last, and be
The onely Phoenix to Posteritie.
Shine like the Twins of Miracle; for it's true,
Nature comply'd with Wonder, framing you.
Let your refulgent Beames afford more Light,
For Turtle loyaltie, than the wisht sight
Of Phoebus, rouzed from the Ocean,
Ascends to his full Lines Meridian.
Flourish in the blest Concords Unitie,
And spinne your Lives into Eternitie.
An Epithalamium on the happie Nuptials of his much respected friend Geo. F. Gent.
RIse wanton Phoebus, leave thy am'rous play,
And prune thy selfe, to grace this Nuptiall Day;
Shake off thy drowsie Looks, and let thine Eye
Appeare in its full height of Majestie.
Let Hermes in his greatest glory shine,
And Bacchus drink full Bowles of Helvian Wine:
Let Iove forget to play with Ganimed,
And Mars once leave the Cyprian Goddesse Bed;
Vesta, with all thy Darlings, hither hie,
And crowne our Wedding with thy companie:
Bring thou our Bride to Church, but leave her there;
Nor blush not, if she chance to shed a teare;
Feares doe possesse the tender yeares of one,
Unapt to know th'untwining of her Zone.
Hymen ▪ Rites finisht, let your Welcomes be
To grace our Bridegroome with your Companie.
And now let chast Desires adorne her Bed,
Whose Blushes shewes the Dye of Maydenhead;
Wishes and sweet content may they possesse,
Each heart bring joy to th'other numberlesse.
Who bids Good-night unto our Bride, be dumb,
(And sayes no more) Such as shall hither come,
[Page]Must not bring one Nights joy alone, but force
Their throats to reach with Eccho's, till they hoarse.
Millions of joyes attend 'em both for ever;
May they be curst who shall their chast hearts sever.
Acrostick on the well-deserving Gentlewoman, Mistris Eliz. Hill.
Enricht with Natures choisest Excellence,
Light to thy Sex, thou art rare Quintessence,
Ioves e're admired Creature, in whose face
Zeale seemes to keepe account of womans grace;
A thousand joyes attend thee, and may e're
Beautie (adorn'd with Vertue) be thy share;
Exquisite Creature, whose perfections lye
Transparent to each well-discerning eye,
Heaven sends you here, to grace Mortalitie.
How much was Helen counted to be faire,
In so much more thou art beyond compare;
Love is thy Mirror; then be not too proud,
Lest Heaven dims that Beautie with a Cloud;
And so debarre us Mortals of that blisse,
Which each deserving Soule desires were his.
Acrostick on Mistris Marie Rashley, in requitall of her Musicall entertainment.
Many that knowe you not, may thinke that I
Am by affection led to flatterie,
Raising your Vertues to sublimest height,
In hope to gaine you as my purchas'd right,
Enflam'd by Love; ah no, my zeale is such,
Rare Phoenix, that I cannot write too much,
As prayses due; for shou'd Apollo heare
Such Dorick Musick, he wou'd leave his Spheare;
Hymen wou'd boast, if you unto his Shrine
Love, with your Vertue, bring as Offering;
Each God wou'd leave his Throne, cou'd Nature frame
Your equals to embrace their Paphian flame.
On his very loving friend, Mistris Bridgett Peck. Acrostick.
Beautie with Vertues, doth enlarge the store,
Riches without those Vertues, are but poore;
In thee both shine, to make thy brightnesse knowne,
Dame Natures glorious workmanship alone,
Grac'd with her feature, and so highly priz'd,
Emaculate, to be eternalliz'd;
Thou peerelesse piece of Vertue, live to be
Times wonder, and Mans chiefe felicitie.
Prudence, the Soule of Wisdome, 's in thy brest,
Endu'd with all thy Graces, and there rest
Courted. Vrania in thy Brest doth find
Kind Zeale, the true Companion to her mind.
To his vertuous Kinswoman, Mistris S. B.
IF to adore thee, were not held a sinne
Beyond the reach of mercie, I'd begin
To render up my Orasons to thee,
And so by custome, write thee Deitie.
If to admire thy Beautie, and thy Grace,
And prayse the Native Liveries of thy Face,
Tell Stories of the whitenesse of thy Brest,
Thy Hand, thy Legge, thy Foot, and never rest,
'Till I had made thee famous with my Pen,
And rais'd thy Name in great esteeme 'mongst men;
[Page]If with industry I sought to please;
Yet thou would [...]st count 'em but Hyperbole's;
So modest is thy faith; thou canst endure
No straines of wit, that seemes to be impure,
Or stuft with needlesse superstition,
The knowing follies in some wanton one:
Thou art entirely vertuous; Pardon me
If I transgresse, speaking Truth's Embassie:
For he that's zealous, will confirme the same,
Love blowes the fire, but you can quench the flame.
An Elegie on the vertuous Gentlewoman Frances Dixon.
WHy smil'd the Heavens? why did Sol display
His golden beames to grace the slow-foot Day?
What made th'AEtheriall power to cleare the skies?
And why did Venus scorne thy Obsequies?
While Vesta's Darlings wearing black, did shew
What true devotion to chaste corps they owe,
Iove did appeare, and court thee e're grim Death
Had pow'r to stop thy od'rous balmie breath.
And hadst thou yeelded, then thy yeares had bin
Enlarg'd to feast the Gods with pleasures sin:
But making sleight of's gifts, enraged hee
Leaves thee to what the Destinies decree.
Then 'tis no mervaile that the Heav'ns did smile,
To see weake Mortalls can their hopes beguile.
Thou mirror of true Chastity, let mee
Pay hourely tribute with my teares for thee.
[Page]Nor think pure course as many use to doe.
I strive with them to mourne in fash'on to.
Ah no, I hate it: for my inward part
Shall witnesse that the Mourner is my hart.
Religion wept, and sung, and Vertues score
Was paid in teares, and sighes, her only store,
Sending thy sable Herse homeward to blisse,
Where Chastity receives it's happinesse.
And the fresh tincture of thy virgin-Tye
Shall wreath thy brow with spotlesse memory.
The Gods did smile for anger, 'cause poore wee
Enjoy'd on earth so rich a prize as thee;
And in a rage have t'ane thee from us here,
To place thee in the Elementall sphere.
On his loving friend M. John Day an Elegie.
DOn Phoebus now hath lost his light,
And left his Rule unto the night:
And Cynthia shee hath overcome
The day, and darkened the Sunne:
Whereby we now have lost our hope,
Of gayning Day in's Horoscope.
A strange Ecclipse did late arise,
Where naught but blood did deck the skies;
And in that fight was ta'ne away,
Our thrice desir'd refulgent day;
And only Phoebe does appeare,
To grace the mournfull Hemisphere▪
[Page]With her dew-ey'd Hyades,
Hoping with their lights to please
The angry world; but 'tis in vaine
To think their light can longer raine,
Since their chiefest ayde is gone
Day: and left his Horizon.
Yet from th'East we may descry,
A new Day approaching nigh.
To whom th'Heavens have given strength,
And made his houres of equall length;
Vowing that the Night shall ne're
Displace him from his golden sphere,
'Till this Sunne begets a Sunne,
And his Sonne another Sonne.
Epigram 1.
WIll the Perfumer, met me in the Street,
I stood amaz'd, he askt me what I meant.
In faith, said I, your Gloves are mighty sweet,
And yet your breath doth cast a stronger scent.
EBRIUS. Epigram 2.
EBrius had long sick of a Feaver bin,
And feeling the reward he had for sin,
Did freely vow unto the powers Divine,
(But at his meat) not to drink any wine.
And be'ng recover'd, he began to think
How he might keepe his vow, and safely drink.
[Page]And wheresoe're he came, commanded straight,
That cloth and meat sho'd on the Table wait.
A BRASIER. Epigram 3.
IOnas the Brasier and his wife fell out,
He call'd her Slut, and so it came about.
Slut Knave shee said, now in good sooth you lye.
With whom (quoth he?) whereat shee gan to cry,
Reply'd; Enough; I'le yeeld in such a case,
When you are still your selfe a Brazen face.
Epigram 4.
A Youthfull Lad match'd with a wrinkl'd Dame,
Whose gold did kindle in the Youth a flame;
And being wedded, shee with teares wo'd say,
I feare my Heart, that thou wilt gad astray,
Because my time with age is almost spent,
And cannot yeeld to Youth its full content.
Yet prythee Love let me this poore boone crave,
That you on me a small respect will have.
Feare you my love, said he? now I protest
Thy teares have wrought impression in my brest;
And here I vow, by Heav'n, if thou would
Desire to eare (thou should'st not want) my gold.
But this I sweare, if he co'd so provoke her,
His full intention was for to have choak'd her.
FINIS.
LOVE. Epigram 5.
IF any Soule desires to know
How Love at first came blinde,
Before the Poet made him so,
The Reason now h'shall finde:
Which here to All I'le willingly impart.
Love shot his eyes and lost 'em in my heart.
LIPS. Epigram 6.
I Was in company with two or three
Dispos'd for Mirth; amongst us was a Lasse
Handsome enough: her Prodigality
With frequent kissing on our lips did passe▪
To one shee'd say, How do'st thou like that kisse?
And to another (faith) thine was as sweet?
Swearing her lips dissolv'd, the juice of blisse,
Which betweene hers, and ours, did freely meet:
Whereat, we all did laugh; I sweare (quoth she)
If you say otherwise, you say not well;
[Page]I will refe [...]'t to you, Sir, meaning mee:
Are they not moist, pray taste againe and tell.
I did so, and reply'd▪ thus much I felt,
Either thy Lips, or else thy Painting melt.
DAME SULLEN. Epigram 7.
PUtting some questions to a Sullen Dame,
To each of them her answer still was, Well:
The more I strove t'divert her from the same,
The more she plagu'd me with her apish Well.
Impertinent to my demands; at last
Finding a way to search her folly out,
And change her note which formerly had past;
I us'd my Art to bring the same about,
Speaking but this, How doth thy Husband doe?
Shee fetcht a sigh, and said, he do's but ill;
Pardon mee Sir, for I must tell it you,
The more's my griefe, and much against my will,
He is so frigid growne: He has not done
Me right, (I vow) since the last Mornings-Sun.
A Lawyer and his Wife. Epigram 8.
A Beetle-headed Lawyer, one of those
That leaves his Conscience in his other hose
[Page]For feare of Bribing, and could never spell
Vices imo Iacobi perfect well,
Knew no more Latine, than his Clarks afford
Him to encounter with the Kitchin-boord;
Some stale unsavory stuffe, at second hand
Which he will have, to never understand;
He knowes how many lines there's in a sheer,
How Fayres are kept, and how his Fees do meet:
And that's enough for him, the rest must be
Supply'd by his Clarks best indust'ry.
I name no man, but there was such a one,
Liv'd in Tricesimo of good Queene Ioane.
This man of worth was wedded to a faire
And comely Creature, born neere th'Northern ayre,
By whom the Churle got wealth; yet he ne're thought
On th'richnesse of the Jewell he had bought
Almost with nothing; and would scarce allow
Her Buttermilk, or strokins from the Cow:
Yet the poore thing with patience did endure
[...]ll this and more, saying to her selfe, that sure
H [...] would one day remember, how he had
Promis'd her often, the next Fees should clad
Her pretty body: His Fees still came in,
But still with his old Note he would begin,
The next that comes is thine, in Sexto Girle
Thou shalt walk in, or say I am a Chirle:
Which the poore soule could have said long agoe:
But to be briefe, the wooll was yet to grow
Should make her cloth for Gownes and such like things
She had occasion of; each day he sings
One Note, and strives with words to put her by;
Till need had found her out a remedy.
[Page]And of his Clyent newly come to towne
She took up Fees, and he took up her Gowne.
To his much esteemed friend M. Iohn Tatham on his Fancies Theater.
FRiend, let me honour thee, I did not think
'Till now, th'adst sipt at Agamppes Brink,
Though I confesse thy Genious was so free
At all times, that I fear'd thy Poetry
Would with conveniencie appeare unto
The World, and Friends; something I have to doe,
And this it is; I tell thee Friend, from me
Thou must expect no straines of flattery
In too much praising; Thus much I dare say,
I know thy Fancies each sence ravish may
As well as th'have done mine, for I ne're knew
A line, but what was good, proceed from you;
I've said enough, and though I last am come
To fill a Page, and take up Paper roome;
Yet with as free a Heart to these last lines
Of thine, I offer as to those which shines
Before, thy Friends have done; and proud am I
To be a Sp [...]rke 'mongst starres in such a skie.
Geo. Sparke.
To the Honorable Sir John Wintour Knight, Secretary of State, and Master of Requests to the Queenes most excellent Majestie, The Honor'd Patron of his Book.
THe Vine and Figg-tree to the God did bring
Their Mayden-tributes for their offering,
In hope to purchase by their blest Decree,
Favours that should our last Mans memory,
And to that end, plead Merit, shew that Wine
(Mans nourishment) without the Grape-sick vine
Had ne're beene thought on, nor the dimpled sunne
Of Semile sit crown'd upon his Tunne
With the Grapes Chaplet; then the Figg-tree too
Boasts of her worth, shews what her strength can do
With forraigne States, how great, how rich, how skil'd
In Languages: the Merchants Cofers fil'd
Partly by her large travels; how the sence
Of man is cherisht by their excellence:
And both concluded if the Gods did please
For a set-time to grant 'em Writs of ease
From future transportation, that they might
With more security enjoy their right,
[Page]And be the select trees of all the rest,
That by their sacred favours should be blest,
They'd render duly to their Treasury,
A full encrease for perpetuity,
And add unto their titles more than yet
Was fanci'd in the Poets veine of wit.
The Lawrell, Pyne, and Poplar that could ne're
Boast of a happy fruit to crowne the yeare,
Hearing th'others o [...]tentation, th [...]ught
There was no hopes for them, they had not brought
Things meritorious; nor could they infer
Large circumstance, to make the Gods confer
Their choicest blessings on [...]em, all their stor [...]
Was in their naked selves, barren and poore.
These Barren Plants doubting a sad successe,
By reason of the others happinesse,
Would have departed; but the pious Gods
Knowing their faith was sure (how e're the ods
'Twixt em in riches made the others bee
In [...]ore respect with Worldlings,) did agree
(For some reserv'd conditions) to supply
Their poore defects by gracious clemency.
The Vine and Fig tree straightway hereupon
Stole from the Presence, sham'd at what they'd done;
Those that were worthlesse trees of late, are now
By the Gods Patronage and gentle brow,
Made happy, and the onely trees that be
Held famous, for their singularity.
The Moral's mine Sir; great ones favour men
Of meaner quality, not for deserts that pen
Them meriting Characters, but in favouring them
They give them all their worth, esteeme, and jem.
[Page]So the reflection from your Honours eye,
On this weake peece, will awe base Crit [...]c [...]e;
And so secure my freedome, that I may
(Soaring above their spleene) your Will obey.
To a Gentlewoman having beene scandaliz'd by some.
GRieve not deare Mistresse; faults that are undone,
If but suspected, might as well be done
'Mongst soules of no capacity, that draw
An envious breath, not rul'd by Reasons law;
They may more safely tax the Gods of sin,
Than the composed strictnesse y'ave liv'd in,
Who rather are the Patronesse of Truth,
Spending in broken sighs your pretious youth:
Than one that gives way to those loose desires
Our giddy Youth are prone to; such quick fires
Ne're boyl'd your innocent blood, nor in your brest
Did e're impure thoughts discompose your rest;
You ne're were drest like th'gaudy Queene of May,
Swimming through th'streets in Coaches to a play;
Nor did you ever weare in your faire looks
Lascivious glances, Lusts intangling hooks:
You never kept your bed to use your wit,
To ape a fashion, which to patterne it
Would puzle all the Taylors save the French.
O fairest Mistresse, would my teares might quench
The flavour of your sorrow; I know you [...]ree
From this black, false, unheard of calumny,
[Page]Or each particular Page or line that may
Admit of blurres to wrong thee, or decay
The least of thy perfections; Think not then
It lyes in th'malice of the devill or men
To staine thine Innocence, whose unspotted zeale
Onely to Heaven, not to the World appeale.
There you are fixt a Saint already: why
Then you'd waste your selfe so pensively?
These scandalls wound you not, they'l heavy fall
On their owne heads, whose weight will sink 'em all.
Temper your crosses Mistresse, be more milde
To your faire selfe, than vainely thus to strive
Against your Natures sweetnesse, and impose
Such cruelty on your selfe. Malice that throwes
Her venome at you, if I doe not erre,
Shall with't be her owne executioner:
So did the spotlesse Damsell suffer wrong,
By the sinne-plotting Elders; but e're long
Heaven did acquit her: And so Heaven pure Maid
Doth acquit thee from this aspertion laid▪
So have I seene a fierce-opposing cloud,
With an intent bright Cynthias light to shroud
Under its sable wings, in triumph stay
For a set space, then dully move away,
When with a sudden motion shee'd appeare
Bright as her selfe, yet to our eyes more cleare
Then formerly shee was: so is't with thee
Whom Envie left in deepe obscurity.
But now shine forth, th'illustrious beames display,
And make our night seeme a continuall day.
A Wart on a Gentlewomans arme.
WHat's that so neere your skin ally'd
and will not thence,
His head is in your colours dy'd
without offence.
His perfect red and white hath mixt,
So long with your pure blood he's fixt,
and will not part
Without much trouble to your heart:
but why
D'you hide it now, and set a Dye
upon your cheeks,
As being bashfull, cause it seeks
the light,
It cannot sure appeare more white
than on your arme;
Nor weare a better coat of red,
Than your chast blood hath mingled
most sweet and warme;
So Strawberries suck the gentle streame
Of fresh and most delitious Creame.
To one professing and swearing love to all Women.
'TIs not Love thy pulses beat,
But the Itch of base desire;
Whose impure unlawfull heat
Sets both life and soule on fire.
Love delights not in those things
Which disgrace and ruine brings.
Love is figur'd as a Childe,
Emblem of pure Innocence:
Passionate, but undefil'd,
Zealous, without a pretence.
Love doth carry in his eye
Constant flames that never dye.
Love's not subject unto change,
Nor doth his affection move,
Where time-pleasing Fancies range
Epicures with freedome prove;
'Tis not to each face that's faire,
Hee doth his all [...]geance beare.
Nor is't Oathes that make a Lover:
Flying vowes to ev'ry shee
May intemperate lust discover,
Where consuming follies bee.
Love is simple of himselfe,
And respects nor praise, nor pelfe.
Love's not guided unto feare
By the Tongues deceiving Art,
[Page]Raptures that intrance the eare.
What he covets, is the Heart,
On the which hee doth display
Beames farre clearer than the day.
At Loves sacred Altar lyes
Hearts as stainlesse as the Dove,
Mutuall in their sacrifice
To the purity of love,
Which with Nuptiall kisses smother,
Growing flames in one another.
Then if thou intend'st to ayme
At a Lovers part, be just;
Punish that destroyes the same,
Prick thy sw [...]lling veynes of Lust,
Let thy rank pollution run,
Hee'l adopt thee then his sonne,
While thou seek'st to please thy eye,
Never hope to taste true bl [...]ss [...]s,
When the appetite doth fry,
Surfeits so, it pleasures misses;
For the blest desire of Love,
's by inspiration from above.
A Song to the picture of a Lover in his absence.
COme, oh come away my Deare,
Let me not for ever languish:
Lest I buy my joyes too deare;
Sighs my tender Heart will vanquish;
[Page]For thee I have out-watch'd the night,
While angry starres did read my story,
And silver Cynthia hid her light,
As envying at my wisht-for glory;
When thus upon thy lips I plaid,
Making a soft impression there,
The jealous Goddesse then dismaid
For her Endym [...]on, left her sphere,
And ever since hath harbour'd here.
Seeing a Gentlewoman making her ready in a window.
WHat new light's you that breaks and wraps man's sence
Into a world of wonder, excellence
Discypher'd to the life; some good protect
My eyes lest they transgresse; I could affect
Each amorous glance or gesture she bestowes
On the reflecting Flatterer, how she throwes
Odours 'gainst odours, and her snow-white hands
Distilleth oyle of Roses, she commands
The Sunnes retirement, and for him does light
My Fancie to rare objects infinite.
See, see the Twins of Miracle, her Brests
Whiter than new falne snow the spycie Nests,
And Pillowes for Love [...] lips to rest upon!
Now she disroabes her night-clothes, now goes on
Her rich Carnation sattin to intice
Men to forsake their hope of Paradice.
[Page]Delusion, vanish; doe not think to win
Me from that blisse I have possession in,
Though my Clarinda's lost, I will not be
Polluted with thy vile immodesty.
Thy skin though white shall ne're infect my eyes,
Or staine my cheeks with blushes, nor surprize
A thought of mine; no Counterfeit; I doe
Abhorre thy actions and thy colours too;
Wilt not yet leave t'allure me? by that power
Dwells in my Mistresse name, I doe conjure
Thy absence from that casement which lets in
Nought but the stragling fantasmes of sin:
Oh: art thou slunk away, had her pure name
Sufficient skill to make thee know thy shame,
And now in some obscure unhallowed place
Thou pin'st (unpittied) at thy owne disgrace.
Pardon me dearest Mistresse, that I have
Made use of your blest name as ayde to save
Me, from the errors I was leaning to,
And heretick-like forgot my faith in you.
To a coy Mistresse.
THink not coy Mistresse, I am one
So fond, that can affect a stone,
Or some such thing, unlesse I see
There's something in't will pleasure me.
I cannot tye my Heart on looks,
Angle whole Summers in the Brooks.
[Page]In expectation of a dish
Of Salmon; 'cause a Princely fish.
I cannot dwell on such delayes,
Or stay in hope of Halcyon dayes;
If I possesse my pleasures now,
No happier dayes will I allow.
Why should I hope for things to come,
That may be had with ease of some;
So trifle pretious Tune away
For empty hopes, and fruitlesse play?
Because y'are something faire, must I
Wait your coy leasure to reply,
When with some other long e're this,
I might have felt a Lovers blisse?
I can as well content my sense,
With one of lesser excellence
That's not so nice, nor will debate
The time, when love should actuate.
I'm earnest (Mistresse); and must try
(If you refuse) a remedie
Else-where; you know that youthfull blood
Consumes it selfe, unlesse withstood.
Then quickly let me know your minde;
Delayes are childrens play; be kinde
As you are faire, and let's possesse
Our Loves, and pleasures numberlesse.
A Cherry gather'd in the Spring,
Is a choice Present for a King;
Those that till August hang, you know
Are rotten, and then common grow.
Those Roses too that have desire
To dwell still with their mother Bryer,
Must at the last (though let alone)
Fall off themselves, when over-growne.
The Cherry and the Rose would be
Of little value, did not wee
For novelty sake, allow them good,
Their worth would scarce be understood.
Women had long since lost their name,
Had not wee men reviv'd the fame.
You might like things neglected lye,
As uselesse, were not men you nigh.
Then think on this, and let us prove,
There is no joy on earth but Love,
That every simple Lasse may finde
(As we did) fire of subtle kinde.
Those foolish Girles that feele a heat,
Their bashfulnesse dare not repeat:
When they by us know what to doe,
They'l banish feare, and fall to woe.
And so by our example, they
That have beene stubborne, will obey;
[Page]And Girles that stay 'till fifteene, will
Repent the time they spent so ill.
All sorts of people from the age
Of twelve to thirty shall presage
Our happinesse, and joyntly come
To crowne our Loves El [...]zium.
Meeting a peece of Mortality val'd.
VNvale thy selfe, and shine as bright
As sunne by day, or starres by night.
What pitty 'tis to hide a face
Enricht with such a comely grace!
Thy Haire like Hemlocks carelesse fall,
To deck thy amorous eyes with all,
As fierie as the evening, where
We read the next day will be faire.
Thy curious forehead to us shew,
Where Ca [...]buncles in number grow;
But the beauties of thy Nose
Would fright a man out of his clothes,
To dance a naked round delay,
When on th'Tobacco Pipe you play;
And the pale brightnesse of thy lips,
Would force the Sunne to an eclipse.
Thy cheeks of fat and foggy stuffe,
Like th' running Dropsie, swell and puffe:
But oh! the Apples on 'em grow,
I think were rotten long agoe.
Thy pretious neck and brests display
Thy skins antiquity, for they
Like a dri'd dunghill, chop and break,
Untill thy snowt begins to leak.
Thy parched fists defie the Sunne;
For all the malice he hath done,
Cann't change thy hyde, nor any stayne
Corrupt it, for it's dy'd in grayne.
Thy spacious belly and thy waste,
Have grease sufficiently to baste
A Heard of Swine, the' have such a store,
A Shambles cannot purchase more.
Thy Thighes like two Colosses seeme
Proportion'd, with thy bodies Teeme,
And those which beare thy ponderous Britch,
Are mighty Columns full of itch.
But some that have thy Hoofes espy'd,
With feare the fooles fell downe and dy'd;
Yet all this while I have forgot,
Thy Tongue as still as Cannon-shot.
All parts of thine I cann't display,
The rest unseene, the Devill may.
[Page]Thou art the Wonder of this age,
And wantest nothing, but a Cage.
Which thou in time, maist purchase too,
If that the Beadle will but doe:
Then come and joyne thy Vice with me,
Blesse Nature for her Prodigie.
To his Friend upon saying his Mistresse was not faire.
WHy do'st thou think my Mistresse is not faire,
Because shee is not as most Women are,
Unprofitably proud, nor will admit
Of scorne, to tart the sweetnesse of her wit;
'Cause shee in actions (most irregular
To Loves choice Edicts) will not, Will prefer
Above her Reason, nor was ever knowne
To boast of Beauty, more than was her owne;
Shee's not precisely coy, nor yet too free
In her bestowing Favours, but to me.
She never us'd a Dram of Vicious Art
To take mans eye, and afterwards his Heart.
Shee needs no Ivory Teeth, no Spanish Red,
Or Powders of Inticement: she is sped
In Natures Properties; let it suffice
I love her, 'cause she loves not a Disguise.
Disdaine did ne're usurp her Ebon Brow,
Nor does she tip her language with a Thon
With her Minds object shares of Purity.
Greece glori'd much of Helens beauteous Rayes;
But Troy lamented more at the decayes
And ruine follow'd it. Do'st think that I
Governe my actions solely by my eye;
Beauty is but a Garment us'd to hide
Some imperfection, which if once espi'd
Discretion bids us shun; then't may appeare.
Beauty with V [...]rtue seldome do's coheare;
But where th'are Relatives, 'tis so much rare,
That Beauty is Divinely singular,
And merits much; yet let my Mistresse be
Black as a Crow, she seemes a Swan to me;
She's not defam'd, nor curtail'd of that shape
Nature bestowes on any, your Court-Ape
Is not contented with, and to appeare
More excellent, will buy their Painting deare,
Which on their cheeks lyes thick, to shew their store
Like parched Walls new whiten'd, Oker'd ore.
Was not her face I courted, but th' refin'd
Inestimable Iewell of her minde.
She has within her that which can declare
A soule sufficient to create her faire;
And her conditions sweetnesse to each eye
Appeares th'Appendix where felicity
Doth sit enthron'd; All these perfections dwells
In her alone. Humanity excells,
And is so much Divine, her firme faith can
Translate to immortality fraile man.
Punish thy errors friend, and that I may
Assure my selfe th'art penitent, obey.
[Page]By thy subscribing, that 'tis onely shee
Imploy'd on earth for our eternity.
A Prologue spoken upon removing of the late Fortune Players to the Bull.
WHo would rely on Fortune, when shee's knowne
An enemie to Merit, and hath shewne
Such an example here? Wee that have pay'd
Her tribute to our losse, each night defray'd
The charge of her attendance, now growne poore,
(Through her expences) thrusts us out of doore.
For some peculiar profit; shee has t'ane
A course to banish Modesty, and retaine
More dinn, and incivility than hath been
Knowne in the Bearwards Court, the Beargarden.
Those that now sojourne with her, bring a noyse
Of Rables, Apple-wives and Chimney-boyes,
Whose shrill confused Ecchoes loud doe cry,
Enlarge your Commons, Wee hate Privacie.
Those that have plots to undermine, and strive
To blow their Neighbours up, so they may thrive,
What censure they deserve, wee leave to you,
To whom the judgement on't belongs as due.
Here Gentlemen, our Anchor's fixt; And wee
(Disdaining Fortunes mutability)
Expect your kinde acceptance; then wee'l sing
(Protected by your smiles our ever-spring;)
As pleasant as if wee had still possest
Our lawfull Portion out of Fortunes brest:
[Page]Onely wee would request you to forbeare
Your wonted custome, banding Tyle, or Peare,
Against our curtaines, to allure us forth.
I pray take notice these are of more Worth,
Pure Naples silk, not Worstead; we have ne're
An Actour here has mouth enough to teare
Language by th'eares; this forlorne Hope shall be
By Us refin'd from such grosse injury.
And then let your judicious Loves advance
Vs to our Merits, them to their Ignorance.
To a Vow-breaker leaving this land.
GOe perjur'd Wanton, and invite
With thy forg'd Language for a night,
The eares of thy new-fangled Mate,
Knowledge of thee begets a hate.
Goe, and with thee take all the sin
Thy Sexes frailty have liv'd in
Since Adams fall; for thou art worse
Than Eve, or serpent, Mans chiefe curse.
What dire pretence, what fained cause
Has made thee violate Loves lawes;
And all those vowes which once to me
Thou mad'st, before his Deity.
What strange ecclipse is in, thy Youth,
Which once did shine as cleare as Truth
In her best lustre, to my eye,
For it could not thy Faith discry?
Has some new flame possest thy blood,
Which will consume, if not withstood,
Thy soules chiefe portion, and strive
To make thy shame alone survive?
Or did the nicenesse of my love
From those immodest Acts which move
Perhaps in some, beget in thee
A thought of such impiety?
Some sencelesse Wretch that never knew
Lusts debts, and th'payments that ensue,
Tis likely, has to please his sence,
Deflour'd thy Beauties excellence.
And thou made stupid with his praise,
Regardlesse how thy Youth decayes,
By thy intemp'rate VVill, dost run
A course without Religion:
Tend'ring to His unlawfull suit,
Each day that blest forbidden fruit,
VVhich Heav'n did give thee, and ordain'd
Thy Prayers should have kept unstain'd.
How are our Beauties happy made,
That thou hast left thy Native shade
[Page]To wander to th'Iberian Coast,
VVhere thou may'st of thy falsenesse boast?
Hadst thou continu'd longer here,
Some strange infection we might feare;
Our Beauties would have drawne from thee.
Thou banisht, they from it are free.
Each creature now with fresh desire,
May safely warme 'em at Loves sire,
And not suspect those flames unjust
You us'd, consuming Hearts to dust.
Do'st think fond VVoman, by thy flight,
To hide thy shame from the quick sight
Of thy owne conscience? it alone
Shall be thy Guilts companion:
VVhich shall surround thy spotted brest
VVith such black thoughts, that if exprest
Either by Pen, or else by Breath,
VVould fright a timorous Maid to Death.
The gentle winds that now appeare,
Milde as the breath of Lambs, shall beare
Upon their wings in furious rage,
Thy Crimes to ev'ry Forraigne Stage.
The tatling bushes in the Groves,
Shall tell the Story of our Loves:
VVhich well observ'd, they'l all conspire
VVith Lightning, and consume with fire.
Both thee and thy Familiar, so
Unlook'd for my revenge will grow,
And thy example will so strike
In some, they'l feare to doe the like.
Thou canst not passe by Brook or Spring,
But hearing their soft murmuring,
Thy conscious soule will guesse that straight
It whispers thy unhappy Fate.
Goe where thou wilt, and use thy charmes,
To circle him within thy armes;
Thou for a time will dote on, then
Returne unto thy Fate agen.
Tis past my Creed, to think that you
Now false to me, can long be true
To him: for why? new faces breed
New appetites, whereon to feed.
Had he each various way to please,
And held a surfeit no disease;
Yet that thy custome still may swell,
Thou'lt mix, though with some Infidell.
His faith with thine may best agree,
There's such a fatall sympathy
In your affections, every part
Resembles thine, when heart in heart.
Then take my counsell and possesse
Some uncouth shaggy Wildernesse.
Both wanting faith, all faith despise.
There mingle limbs, and procreate
Some Prodigy may ruine Fate;
So keepe those dangers off, which they
Intend shall be thy Youths decay,
And suddenly will fall on thee,
For this thy vilde Apostacie,
Which a Nuns penance cannot call
Merit, t'purchase Mercie withall.
Thy travailing friend when he does finde
Thy want of faith, to the next Winde
Will beg a whaftage, to be rid
Of thee, which sacred lawes forbid
Conversing with; thy sinnes are growne
So foule, they needs must be thy owne
For perpetuity; then hee
Is mad that stayes to share with thee.
When throughly thou hast div'd into
Thy owne defects, 'twill puzle you
To hope forgivenesse, when you see
With blushes your deformity,
And every spot which will declare
Thee black as night, though once as faire
As Summers noone-tyde in her pride,
Thou wert as neare to Heaven ally'd;
Had'st thou not lost that Essence, which
By faith all Women doth enrich,
And play'd away at one poore vye
Thy soules entire security.
Thou which hast so profusely spent
Thy Youth, and Beauties Ornament,
Canst hope to live, 'till age doth pour,
Upon thy head a silver shour?
Or if those hopes may have successe,
Thou that hast tasted the excesse
Of pleasures, canst thou looke to have
More comfort than th'insatiate Grave?
Our present pleasures vade away,
But those to come will ne're decay,
Reserv'd in Heaven; be not remisse
In seeking (then) such future blisse.
Farewell, And when that thou hast ta'ne
A full survey of what I faine
Will follow:
For all my wrongs, but teach thy eye
To shed a teare; and so will I.
To a Gentlewoman being fearfull upon the water, by reason of the roughnesse of't.
WHy doe you tremble faire one, why has feare
Displanted the best Beauties of the yeare
From their warme beds your cheeks? what? does the sight
Of the rough waves your timorous heart affright,
Cause in the conflict with the boysterous winde,
You doubt they'l to your passage be unkinde?
Let not such thoughts invade you; though the skie
Is with th'unruly stood in Mutinity:
Yet your firme faith is of sufficient power,
To calme the greatest tempest, in an houre,
Should they mix elements, and every blast
From the contentious North threaten a waste
To the distemper'd water, so afflict
The Vniverse with terror, wee'd direct
Our motions o're 'em, where our Boat shall play
As free as when an East winde guides the way;
Then be more confident of your owne worth,
While we as Prodigies admir'd, launch forth.
Mistake me not, 'tis not a selfe-conceit
Of my deserts, kindles in me this heat
Of resolute boldnesse, but 'tis in you
To whom all Attributes of worth are due.
Under your blest protection I shall be
Fixt as a Rock, that scornes their injury.
Doe you observe, as soone as you appeare,
How they retreat as glad to see you here,
[Page]To end their difference, Boreas does retire
To use his force t'encrease the Cyclops fire.
Now with an amorous breath begins to move
The golden tramells of your haire to love,
Now mildly steales a kisse; it's no sin to say
He courts you as his faire Orythia.
The waves have smooth'd their wrinckles to, and doe
(Learning by Boreas in what forme to wooe;)
With smiling aspect, seeke to re-invite
You from your feares, to note how they delight
To beare your blessed waight, and while they skip
For joy, the sunne is playing with your lip,
All Rivals in such blisse, the streames dash in,
Wantonly kisse your garments, not your skin:
That as a thing forbidden, they adore,
But dare not touch as warn'd from it before:
The'are all officious safely to co [...]vey
Vs to the place we looke for, while sad they
Mourne for your absence, each dissolve to teares,
So drowne themselves for drowning you with feares.
To his friend, advising him from Love.
WHen to my faire Clarinda I gave breath,
My expectation was not present death,
Her unjust doome on me, nor did I looke
For such a change, that had some freedome tooke
In her Hyperboles. All that have seene
Her Beauty, and my Praises, would have beene
[Page]My witnesse 'gainst her, how much I deserv'd
In her best thoughts, whose studies had preserv'd
Her Name unto eternity, had not shee
Discover'd her whole sexes infamie
By her revolt, that my enforced Pen
(Against its Nature, us'd for sonnets when
I call'd her Mine) did charactize her shame
Blacker than Inke could make it; for the flame
My vitalls once possest, when it did know
Hers was declining, would not stronger grow:
But by degrees extinguisht, else 'twould prove
Our paines injustice, motives not of Love.
Had'st thou but knowne her Will, thou would'st have said
Shee was a pretty, handsome, well-fac'd Maid,
Though not endu'd with those perfections I
Did boast of to the World; Poets may lye
As well as seeming Prophets, for w [...]at shee
Enjoy'd 'bove Natures bounty, sh'ad from mee,
My lines at first did pollish every l [...]mb;
But pencilling her heart, my eyes grew dim;
Both Pen and Fancie fail'd me, I gave o're,
Finding her heart stain'd with the leaprous sore
Of base deceipt, and left her with that poore
Implicite Beauty which shee had, before
My verse had nourisht it; what cans't expect
For all thy service, more than such neglect?
Should'st thou make ev'ry line swell with conceit,
And sing her praises in each Epithite;
Yet thy reward at last will be like m [...]ne.
Oh friend! all vvomens Fancies doe decline
With houres and minutes, and the greatest blisse
Poore Man can hope for, is but in a kisse
It fires his soule, and yet it pleaseth not.
Why should wee make an Idol of a face
Of the same mould as ours, and add a grace
To't by our Homages; so enthrall our eye,
When Heaven and Nature gives it liberty.
What though the strange Ideas of our minde,
Transforme our thoughts to every shape and kinde:
That wee approve that best that's worst of evils,
Hold Women Saints, cause some are glorious devils?
Shall wee persist, committing sacriledge
'Gainst Heaven and goodnesse, give them priviledge
'Bove mother Nature, make that hand 'cause white
A miracle: that eye 'cause cleare and bright.
The Deity I worship, so prophane
Heavens purity and leave a lasting staine
On our discretion, make a foolish toy,
A Puppet to be plaid with, our chiefe joy
And best of hopes, loosing all the pride
Rests in true manhood, and our youth beside,
For one, fram'd our inferiour, the weake thing
Of peevish woman, which in mentioning
Declares their first creation, and from whence
They doe derive (forsooth) their Excellence?
What pleasure is't to dally with the Fan
Of thy fine Mistresse, or be lesse a man,
And kisse her Glove, gaine from her eyes a glance,
That may thy easie heart a while entrance,
Fett'ring with golden hopes thy giddy youth,
Hanging Dispaire upon the heeles of Truth?
Their Loves are like ones breath on purest steele,
No sooner on, but off, they never feele
[Page]Nor understand affection; what we call
Beautie's a thing most prejudiciall
To our humanity, how e're it seeme,
A pretious object in our eyes esteeme,
Wee gaze on it as th'Porcupine on th'starres,
'Till Ruine overtakes us in the Warres.
We hold with our owne errors, and should wee
Enjoy this new set up Idolatry,
Our States were yet uncertaine, for they still
Would have some fetch to satiate their will.
They are infirme in loyalty, and bee
Like th'golden Apples hanging on the tree
O're Tantalus, which if but toucht, will fall
Straight into ashes, so that little All
Of good in Women is compounded so;
The least breath of temptation they'l yeeld to.
There is so many sleights us'd by vilde Woman,
That th'custome (like themselves) is now grown common.
They can instruct their eyes to weepe, when they
Like Crocadiles are readiest to betray
Our lives to eminent danger; they doe make
Love [...] knots of [...]ushes, which in twisting breake.
The sweets they give us, treacherously assumes,
To stifle up our sences with Perfumes.
If we from Gall can extract Honey, then
Sin may produce such Vertues. Simple men
Aptly may credit: but beleeve me Friend,
Those that are bad, their Mischeifes have no end.
They are to theire affections so unjust,
They banish chast Love to comply with Lust.
I have bin long a Scholler in Loves Schoole,
Experience made me a Proficient foole,
[Page]I know the desperate effects ensue
This apish love, and would advertise you
(As one that friendship and your knowing merit
Has fasten'd in a cordiall tye;) inherit
(Deare Sir) that blessed freedome, which the name
Of Worth in Man can challenge, temper th' flame
You have receiv'd: let not your female creature
(Knowes how to work upon so good a Nature,)
Take you up wholly, so your friends to be
Depriv'd of what they love; Your company
Which they hold pretious to 'em. Gentle Sir
Let not your course runne so irregular:
But limit so your passion, that we may,
Despight of Love or Venus, have a day,
Or two, or three to consecrate to mirth,
And give our hopes in you a second birth.
You that are one that shares in all the parts
Of Natures blessings, and sublimist Arts,
You that know all, that Man should know, is good,
As worthy in your actions, as by blood
Of your prime Ancestors, you that justly can
Instruct in knowledge the illitterate Man
By exact rule; be so much now your selfe,
And let your judgement banish th'scurvy Elfe,
Your too much doting Love, a thing that none
But fooles and mad-men will be seene to owne:
Dotage is incident to yeares fourescore;
But you as yet have not seene twenty foure:
It dulls the sence, and stupifies the wit,
And to reside with them it is most fit.
I know thy wit's as active as the fire,
And subtill as the ayre. Kill that desire
[Page]Would list thee 'mongst such Idiots. I know
A nobler way than that for thee. Then goe
Unto thy Study, see how ruinate
It's growne, and through thy absence desolate.
See how thy Bookes lye speechlesse, how they mourne
(Like true observants) till thy sweet returne.
And see what Randevous the Mo [...]thes have made;
Here lyes a member of an Iliade,
Compacted once, was Homers: Now it lyes
Unto their spoile an humble Sacrifice.
Correct these faults my friend, and thou shalt see,
That childish Love's not worth thy Librarie.
But I have div'd too deepe, and may suspect
(Your Temper being mov'd) you will correct
Me as the rest, taking on me a task
Which may be doubtfull to you; yet I'le ask
No mercie from you; what I've done, 'tis fit
You should conceive was zeale, so tender it.
To the truly vertuous and his much honoured Lady, the Lady Iane S. an Ode.
YOu, that are shee
Which every Woman ought to be,
The glory of our age;
Whose sweet demeanour shewes
Where Love and Vertue flowes,
Where Beauty and Delight doth dwell,
Wee cannot finde your Parallell
In all this Terren stage.
You that are shee
Whose youth is from corruption free,
My Fancie dare uphold.
Were there more such as you,
To noble Actions true,
Men need not feare to say they did
Possesse some heavenly treasure, hid
E're since the age of gold.
You that are shee
Compos'd of Natures Rarity.
Cherries in Winter grow
Upon your lips, which tell
How much you doe excell
The Summers pride: but on your brest
The Phoenix builds her spicie nest,
Without dissolving snow.
You that are shee,
The top branch of that glorious tree,
for Pious acts renown'd,
Departed hence, but are
Each of them fixt a starre
In Heavens bright firmament, while you
Inherit here as your just due
Honour with Vertue crown'd.
You that are shee,
Distinguish can formality
From needlesse pride; when wee
Seeke for some beauteous face,
Adorn'd with modest Grace.
[Page]A Lady that's so well enclinde.
Shee beares a Seraphinian minde;
Whose sacred Meditations to us shew,
Shee's mark't a Saint, wee need not farther goe,
For you are onely shee.
To the right Worshipfull Sir I. B. K. upon encouraging him in Poetry.
MY Muse as cold as clay, from your quick Rayes
Promethean like grew Masculine, her Bayes
Receiv'd a freshnesse, your AEtheriall fire
Ranne through her faculties 'till her desire
Met with my wishes jointly to begin
Our votes to you; yet stay; it were a sin
Should shee omit your Lady, and your Race,
The perfect figures of the sum of Grace.
And honour'd Sir, to you, whose powerfull name
Merits above the Donatives of [...]ame:
You that are great in goodnesse, whose blest Fate
Makes you a Pillar of this Brittish state:
May you be free from sorrow, free from care,
That may disturb your quiet, to declare
You onely mortall. May you live to see
A Nestors age in blest felicity.
May you continue ever in that seat
Your merits, and not Fortune, have made great.
May you enjoy your wishes full content,
To crowne your latter dayes till they are spent.
[Page]May you embrace a Fathers comfort, by
Your children in succesfull Progenie,
May they in it be happy, and may health
Purchase the keeping you, and your just wealth
From others deprivation, may Encrease
For ever crowne the Harvest of your peace.
A Sigh.
POst happy sigh upon the wings
Of some blest Cherubin, that sings
Continuall Anthems in the Quire
Of Heaven, there finish thy desire.
Thou wert not borne for the poore use
Of Mistresse, but my sinnes abuse;
And 'tis not fit thou should'st endure
A mixture with this ayre impure;
Thou drew'st thy breath from me, and art
The issue of a contrite heart.
As Mothers, e're their time be runne,
With anguish bring a breathlesse sonne
Into the world; so I did thee,
With griefe and unfain'd misery.
Th'art of as little use, unlesse
Thy Innocence can winne accesse
To enter heavens eares; wee need
Some Cherubin to intercede
For us; expence wee need not feare,
Bribes have no power to enter there:
Or if thou doubt'st (because but one)
Thou canst not well expresse a groane,
[Page]Nor justly plead for mercie, I
Will send thee Legions more, shall buy
My soule from death, When all agree
To fill the heavens with Harmony.
To his friend J. W. a Meditation.
DId wee consider rightly what a store
Of imperfections waites to ruine man
From's infancie to's grave; Vice makes a sore
Upon his soule incurable, that can
Precipitate his glories to th'Abysse,
Once banisht from the Paradise of Blisse.
His first breath is a cry, His last a groane;
Yet happy in that groane, if hee dy'd well,
Angels shall wait his soule's ascension, none
Of Vertues instruments but shall excell
In joy each other, that mans penitence
Has brought him to that place of excellence.
Th'unbridled Youth giving his folly raines,
Disclaimes all councell that his errors show,
Untill a second mischiefe binds in chaines
The giddy Colt, and then he findes his woe.
All that his Parents left him once consum'd,
He will appeare a Peacock, but unplum'd.
The Prologue.
YOu starres of Honour, brighter than the day,
Or new rais'd Phoebus in his morning Ray;
A [...] rich in Wisedome as in Vertues rare;
Accept the choicest dish our wits prepare,
As a third course to please your eye, which still
Covets to have of novelties its fill.
We have not bundled up some Kickshawes here
To bid you welcome; Wee doe hate such geere.
Our braine's the Kitchin, and our wit's the meat,
Preparitive to which, wee bid you eat,
If lik't, if not refrain't; you Judges sit
To damne or save our not yet ripen'd wit:
So rest upon your goodnesse; if you frowne,
Our poore endeavours then are troden downe.
Love crownes the end.
A Grove discover'd, and in an obscure corner thereof Cliton as being a sleepe. To him Alexis.
ALEXIS.
HOW still the morning is, as if it meant
To steale upon us without Times consent,
And pry into our errors. I have beene
Searching in every Thicket, Wood, and Greene
To finde my Lamb, and many dolefull cryes
Enter'd my eares e're day. What's this that lyes
In such an obscure place, where none scarce tread,
Unlesse the Ghosts of the disturbed dead?
Blesse me great Pan, I see it's Clitons face
With a sword drawne; how happy was my chace
This way! I hope his folly has not made
Himselfe a Beast, as butcher'd with this Blade;
'T may be he sleepes: I'le speake to him, and try;
Yet I halfe doubt him 'cause he here doth lye.
Cliton, awake, the Night's dislodg'd, and now
Bright Morne is trimming of her Virgin brow,
To court the Sunne, when from the Westerne deepe
And Thetis lap his glimmering beames doe peepe
T'ascend his glorious Carre. Cliton — awake,
And with thy sleepe all dreames of horror shake
That may affright thee.
CLITON.
[Page]Kinde Alexis, thanks,
How found you me?
ALEXIS.
Walking those flowry banks,
'Twixt the greene valley, and the place which wee
Have consecrated to Loves Deity:
Seeking a stray'd Lamb, I did heare sad moanes
Proceed from some like peales of parting groanes,
Which I pursu'd, but in my search I found
None but your selfe: you resting on this ground
I wonder'd much to see you!
CLITON.
So you might.
But when y'ave heard the cause on't, 'twill affright
Your easie brest. Doe you observe this Hand,
This fatall Hand, at my unjust command
Did: — Oh, I could destroy't!
ALEXIS.
For what offence?
CLITON.
This hand has spilt the blood of Innocence,
My Florida's.
ALEXIS.
How?
CLITON.
And when I'd done
(As I might well) did hide me from the Sunne,
Fearing his eye would be the onely cause
To finde me out; and here from men and lawes
I have obscur'd my selfe, and could not say
'Twas justly night, when night: Nor day when day;
My fact had sulled both.
ALEXIS.
[Page]What urg'd thee to such inhumanity?
CLITON.
Onely suspition of her loyalty,
Dreaming Lysander had enjoy'd her love,
My jealousie to cruelty did move:
I slew her three dayes since, and since have bin
Each night at that place I stain'd with my sin,
To seeke the body, but some sacred Power,
For none else durst approach her purity,
Has certainly made her immortall, and
Convey'd the body to some holier land.
ALEXIS.
Is the body gone then?
CLITON.
Or else my eyes doe faile me as an▪ abject not worth their help.
ALEXIS.
Thy crime requires contrition; to that end,
Thou shalt with me. Thy dayes to come shalt spend
In holy uses; I'le prepare for thee,
In the best forme I can, each property
Belonging to a pensive man. You must
Forget all youthfull pleasures, think on dust,
And penitence the onely meanes to bring
Thy soule to rest after this wandering.
Will you with me?
CLITON.
To death, or otherwise, since Florida is dead.
Exeunt.
Cloe pursu'd by a lustfull sheepheard.
Lustfull Sheepheard.
[...]tay my darling, doe not flye,
This place is private, here's none nigh.
[Page]Feare not Wench, I'le doe no harme,
But embrace thee in my arme;
Cull and kisse, and doe the thing
Shepheards doe at wrasteling,
CLOE.
Oh help, if any Shepheards, neere,
Heare my laments.
Lust. Shepheard.
Yet creature, doe not feare:
But if you with coy disdaine,
Doe think to leave me in my flame,
I'le force those golden locks of thine
To lye beneath these feet of mine;
Then yeeld and here enjoy such sweet
As with our embraces meet.
CLOE.
Oh haplesse Maid, no ayde will come.
Lysander steps forth.
LYSANDER.
Feare not Virgin; here is some
Natures monster; Villaine, why
Does thy flame now burne so high?
Will no other serve thy turne
To quench the heats that in thee burne,
But so faire a soule as shee?
Villaine hence, or else I'le bee
Lustfull shep. gazeth on him, then runnes in.
Thy Butcher.
CLOE.
Kinde Youth, to whom am I
Bound for this faire courtesie?
LYSANDER.
First unto Heaven faire Creature; next to me
A poore unworthy Shepheard.
CLOE.
[Page]May your Sweetest whom you love,
Ever constant to you prove.
Be shee brighter than the Sunne,
Pleasing as our day at noone;
Fresher than the morning dew:
Sweeter than a new kill'd Ewe;
Like Aurora deckt with flowers,
Or the welcome Aprill showers.
May shee love you, and you be
The mirrour for true Constancie;
Goe gentle Youth, and this day prosperous be
Amongst our Swaines in your Activity.
Exit.
LYSANDER.
A thousand thanks reward you
Pan be my guide, and thou faire Gloriana,
Whose beauty has encinder'd my poore heart
Almost to nothing this day; thou shalt finde
Thou hast a power above our humane kinde.
DAPHNES.
Exit.
Bright sunne, why do'st thou shine on me?
Is it to mock me? keepe thy light; for I
Had rather live in darknesse, and so dye.
Or do'st thou shew thy lustre in disdaine,
Because I have so oft with speech prophane
Blasphem'd against thy goodnesse, And in praise
Of a poore earthly creature spent my dayes?
Do'st thou yet smile? forgive me, and I'le bee
No more her servant, but will honour thee.
Keepe thou thy brightnesse Phoebus, and this day
From all our Swaines I'le bring the prize away.
Exit.
[Page] Leon, Gloriana, and Francisco.
FRANCISCO.
Fairest, this day, be pleas'd to smile on me,
And let those hidden favours yet unshewne,
Flow in abundance, that Swaines may see
None e're can conquer me, but you alone.
GLORIANA.
My favours friend is past, and you have tasted
So much of my poore bounty, that it's wasted.
LEON.
We stay too long sonne, pray make haste,
Let us not spend time in waste.
Daughter, you shall goe with mee,
Where their pastime wee may see.
Heark, I heare 'em make a noyse;
A noyse within.
Oh my hearts my bonny boyes,
Play your parts; when I was young
I was full as stout and strong.
FRAN.
Dearest, I must part; this calls me hence.
Father, I leave you.
Exit Fra:
GLORIANA.
For ever I hope, would I could prophesie,
And be effectuall; it should be so.
LEON.
Daughter, this way let us high;
I am old, I'le not come nigh:
Nor shalt thou my dapper Girle,
Lest those staves that often whirle
Hit thy face. What againe!
A [...]w [...] againe.
Nay then I feare wee goe in vaine.
GLORIANA.
[Page]Yet Father let us goe, that w [...]
May know who gain'd the victory.
Exeunt.
The lustfull sheeph [...]rd like a Satyre.
Because Dame Nature, pox of all her tricks,
Has not dealt so well with me as shee ought,
Making me but a lump of rough-hew'n stuffe,
The pettish Wenches will not play with me,
Nor tick nor toy, and cause I'm apt for sport:
How e're I'm form'd, I've put on this disguise,
To fright the baggages, when getting some
'Twixt these my armes, [...]'le force 'em to my will,
Yet passe unknowne. Thus I my sences fill.
Scrub within. So ho, so ho, so ho.
What noyse is yon?
SCRVB.
Through the Woods, and through the Woods have I run after the Run-away my Master. — What art thou in the devils name?
Lust. shepheard.
Sirrah, I am —
SCRVB.
A devil, I knew't before: Thou should'st be a leacherous devill by thy hayrie hide: but I am no Succubus goodman devill.
Lust. shepheard
Do'st thou feare me?
SCRVB.
Oh Lord, me Sir. I have met such another devill as thou art, in my Porridge dish.
Lust. shepheard.
And didst thou know him?
SCRVB.
[Page]Know him? how doe you meane know him? I should be loth to know him or thee, or hee thee, or thy grand-Master me for any ill; for I have defi'd the devill and his works ever since the generall Earthquake, and that my Mothers Cat miscarried in the horse Pond.
Lust. shepheard.
Was thy Mother a Witch?
SCRVB.
Offers to strike.
How a Witch you devill — I'le witch you.
Lust. shepheard.
Hold man: shee was an honest woman.
SCRVB.
Nay, now thou ly'st, and thou be'st the devils devill:
For I have heard her soberly say, shee had six —
Bastards by a Sowgelder before shee pigg'd me.
Lust. shepheard.
Offers again.
Hold, hold man.
SCRVB.
The devill afraid of blowes! I'le make you spet fire.
Runnes after him.
A great sh [...]wt. Lysander with a Garland on's head, and scarfes on's armes, Cloe following him.
CLOE.
Friendly Swaine, the day is yours; you see
My prayer it seemes succesfull was to thee.
Pitty my mayden teares; till now, I ne're
Su'd to a shepheard, but the shepheards were
My suiters.
Nor deeme me light▪ because my love is such;
I love indeed, and feare I love too much.
[Page]You sav'd my life, my chastity, what more?
Take me as one that was your owne before.
LYSANDER.
How much I grieve faire Shepheardesse, my Fa [...]
Will not allow me such a just proportion,
To render thee, as thy deserts have merited
From me.
CLOE.
Oh friend!
I [...]le be your servant, and your flocks will keepe.
I'le nightly watch while you doe sweetly sleepe▪
And in the morne I'le willingly to field,
While you doe taste the sweets Loves valleyes yeeld,
And with industrious labour against noone,
Will get your dinner ready, so you will
But smile on me, and say well done.
LYSANDER.
To starve your hopes from furder prosecution in this suit.
Know I've already fixt my resolution
To love none but faire Gloriana, shee
Is the Commandresse of my life, and fortunes:
So much I pitty you, that I could wish
I had two hearts, that you might share in one
As a just recompence for your love, but why do I
Entertaine such frivolous unnecessary talk.
May you live happy, and enjoy as rare,
And constant Shepheard as your selfe is faire.
Exit.
CLOE.
Is my face wither'd? or has Nature so
Deform'd me lately that I am not Cloe?
For thee poore Cloe Shepheards have pitcht the Barre,
Wrastl'd, and leap'd, and showne the feats of Warre.
[Page]For thee each strove to gaine thee as his Dove;
But thou did'st sleight and scorne their simple love.
How many Verses have the Shepheards made,
In praising of thy Beauty, whil'st thou laid
Thy heart on him that hates to heare thee nam'd,
And thy delight is still to have him fam'd?
How many Rings and Gloves hast thou receiv'd
From the poore Swaines thou often times deceiv'd?
For thee on Holy dayes they often would
Meet on the Heath next to the Pinders fold,
Where they with Musick, and such sweet content,
Would spend their time to make thee merriment.
Since then my love is not one mite rewarded,
And that my Beauty is no more regarded:
I'le teare these golden locks, that shepheards may
Leave off their sport, and make no Holy-day.
SINGS.
I will follow through yon Grove,
Where I soone shall meet my Love;
Then with sweet embraces wee
Will clip, and cull, and none shall see.
A willow Garland I will make,
And sweetly weare it for his sake.
Then through Thickets, Woods, and Plaines,
I will hide me from the Swaines?
Hy da, hy da, what art thou?
As she is running in, meetes her.
DAPHNES.
You were not wont to question that; how fares my dearest Love?
CLOE.
Hence thou coward, hence from me:
Blush at thy disloyal [...]y.
[Page]Did'st not tell me thou would'st gaine
Me reputation by thy fame;
And suffer'st now a stranger beare
The prize, and thou to have no share?
DAPHNE.
Your frownes my Fairest, and not hee,
Gain'd from me the victory.
Had you smil'd as you did frowne,
All his strength I'd mauger'd downe.
What has disturb'd my Love? who has committed
This injurie to thy person?
CLOE.
Ha, ha, ha; foole, foole! see you now foole?
Foole! kisse — kisse — kisse —
Exit.
DAPHNES.
What fickle things are women? yet they are such men cannot be without; our too much doting on 'em makes 'em proud; for loving them, they'd make us hate our selves. I doe suspect this bad distemper in her proceeds from some deniall Lysander has given her to her unlawfull suit, knowing my love to her. 'Tis so. I must not let her suffer in too high a nature.
Exit.
A place discover'd all greene mirtles, adorn'd with Roses, a Title written over't thus. LOVERS VALLEY.
Lysander and Gloriana.
LYSANDER.
Dearest Love, faire as the Easterne morne,
When with her Summers roabe shee decks the Plaines,
And hangs on every bush a liquid pearle,
In Mayes triumphing moneth▪ sweet as the ayre,
[Page]The Phoenix does expire in, sit while I play
The cunning Thiefe, and steale thy heart away,
And thou shalt stand as Judge to censure me,
To recompence thy losse I must agree;
To give my heart, which being understood,
'Tis but exchange, I keepe your heart, you mine.
GLORIANA.
Content my Love thus, shee would court thee,
And thus and thus shee'd play a Wantons part:
Doe I not blush Adonis.
Kisse him.
LYSANDER.
Oh, you must not blush! you spoile the jest on't,
I'le span thy Waste, and doe as Wantons use;
I'le be Adonis, but will not refuse.
GLORIANA.
Nay fie, you stray beyond your limits.
LYSANDER.
Kisse.
Modesty allowes such undefiled mixtures.
To them FRANCISCO.
Ah! where are my eyes? what curst unruly windes Have blowne 'em out, and in their stead plac'd these base counterfaits! Oh you Deities? you are unjust to suffer this? If these eyes be my owne may they be blasted, that without my Lycence
Durst see this object: but yet let reason
Sway my passion.
Why doe I wish a mischiefe on my selfe
That must see their destruction? I have long
Suspected him by reason of her Necios,
And the continuall scorne dwelt on her brow
When I did proffer love, were I provided
I'd rush upon 'em, and from his base armes
[Page]Snatch the false Girle, but I'le stand secure
A while and over-heare 'em.
GLORIANA.
'Tis time to part, w'ave dally'd Time too long.
Lysander, will you walk?
LYSANDER.
Thinks Gloriana
That Time is lost that's spent with her Lysander
FRANCISCO.
Deluding devill
GLORIANA.
I could Lysander.
(Might it not staine my Mayden-yeares) live onely
By gazing on thy Beauty.
LYSANDER.
Nay, now you mock me; but I hope e're long
Wee shall with more security enjoy
What our hearts wish for. Where shall wee next meet?
GLORIANA.
In this very place to morrow be sure you meet.
LYSANDER.
Exeunt.
I will not faile.
FRANCISCO.
Nor I to meet you both. Oh my best starres!
How I shall weave my selfe into revenge just, just Gods
y'ave stampt my braine for mischiefe▪ which on them
I'le execute.
And none shall pry into my faults within.
Revenge has Coverts, fit to hide his sin.
Exit.
CLOE
[Page]mad.
SINGS.
Hey downe a downe derry,
And shall not wee be merry?
A fire on thy hole,
'Tis as black as a cole,
And thy nose is as browne as a berry.
Hi ho. What a thing this love is?
When Love did act a womans part,
Shee sings.
Shee could have dy'd with all her heart,It swell'd her so in every part;
Shee swore 'twas winde, and then did —
Hi, hi, hi, hi,
Nymphes to her
Sing about her.
Love cannot chuse but pitty yeeld,
He never liv'd in tented field,
'Mongst iron hearted men,
He knowes both how, and when
Thee to restore
To what thou wert before.
He has a tender brest, which knowes
Your wants by the tormenting woes
He's subject to himselfe.
Then doe not you despaire,
That are both young and faire.
Thus wee convay you hence.
CLOE.
Takes Cloe with 'em.
Where doe you leade mee?
Exeunt.
Lysander and Gloriana.
LYSANDER.
How blest are wee, that Fortune hath
[Page]So much befriended us in this happy?
Convenient opportunity?
GLORIANA.
'Tis an unaccustom'd favour,
And we ought in duty to acknowledge
A thankfulnesse for it.
LYSANDER.
Shee sits downe.
So sits the pride of Nature to out-vye
Each glorious Beauty of the chequer'd field,
And Flora's richest Wardrobe.
GLORIANA.
I perceive
Y'ave practis'd long in th'flattering Rules of love.
What wil reward you?
LYSANDER.
A kisse is more than I can merit.
Will you sing.
GLORIANA.
And you'l give me another for my paines.
LYSANDER.
Put it to the tryall,
You shall not loose your labour.
SONG.
GLORIANA.
Sit while I doe gather flowers,
And depopulate the Bowers.
Here's a kisse will come to thee;
Lysander.
Give me one, I'le give thee three.
BOTH.
Thus in harmlesse sport wee may,
Passe all idle houres away.
GLORIANA.
[Page]Hark, hark how fine
The Birds doe chime,
And pretty Philomel
Her moane doth tell.
BOTH.
Then pitty, pitty love, and all is well.
GLORIANA.
Here's the Violet, Pink, and Rose,
The sweetest breathings for the nose.
LYSANDER.
Yet thy breath to me doth yeeld
More fragrant sents than all the field.
GLORIANA.
Love cares not for flowers or toyes,
Play games for your apish Boyes.
Nor superstition
For his condition
Is for to know
Lysander
— if you love or no?
GLORIANA.
Then answer, love I or no.
But yet me thinks that face should be
The Modell of true constancie:
Therefore no reason have I,
To suspect thy loyalty,
Here's another kisse for thee.
LYSANDER.
Give me one, I'le give thee three.
BOTH.
Thus in harmlesse sport wee may,
Passe all idle houres away.
GLORIANA.
[Page]Hark, hark how fine
The Birds doe chime,
And pretty Philomel,
Her moane doth tell▪
BOTH.
Then pitty, pitty Love, and all is well.
LYSANDER.
Y'ave sung me most a sleepe, my eyes are dull and heavy,
Faith I must make thy lap my pillow.
GLORIANA.
Repose thy gentle head on't. Alas!
I'm heavy too, and must obey my destinie.
Sleepe.
The Destinies.
SING.
Sleepe on, sleepe on,
For wee have so decreed,
That thou must bleed:
Sleepe on, sleepe on,
And maist thou never rise,
For blood the shepheard cryes.
Sleepe on, sleepe on.
Exeunt.
A heavenly messenger in white.
SONG.
Rise, rise Lysander to prevent
What the Destinies decreed.
Thou art constant, permanent,
And must not bleed▪
Thy constant seed
Shall be the shepheards joy,
No annoy
[Page]Shall attend
Such a friend
As the Lasses need.
Rise, rise, awake!
And sleepe off shake;
The Heavens are pleas'd thy part to take,
For thy Love's sake.
Exit:
GLORIANA.
They stirre.
Lysander, where ar't? Lord how my fancie's troubled!
LYSANDER.
How fares my Gloriana? I have had
Strange thoughts that would have dispossest
Me of my rest, had I not tooke it here
On your sacred lap.
Francisco disguis'd with others▪
FRANCISCO.
That is the man: upon him instantly
While I attach his Mistresse.
GLORIANA.
Ah me Lysander, what meanes these sad spectacles▪
1. VILLANE.
Wee must have life and death.
GLORIANA.
Both life and death: how can that be?
FRAN.
Thy life, and thy Lysanders death.
GLORIANA.
I've heard that voyce e're now
Afford more milder language.
FRAN.
Stop her mouth lest shee does charme me
Unto pitty.
LYSANDER.
[Page]Are you but men, and dare doe this?
GLORIANA.
Oh spare Lysander, sheath your swords in me.
FRAN.
Wee'l not expostulate: take that.
2. VILLANE.
And that.
GLORIANA.
They take her with them.
Oh Lysander!
Stay, stay, let me but breath my last
Upon her lips, and I'le forgive this Butchery.
Cowards, Villaines, Miscreants, have you left me?
But oh my fairest, whether art thou fled?
Feare has made pale those cheekes that were so red.
I'le follow thee: they shall not dare to touch
The least hem of thy garments. But oh, I faint;
And must surrender up to earth that part
I tooke from her. Gloriana, oh Gloriana!
Claudia and Florida.
CLAVDIA.
Wee may for recreation walk,
And use some pretty harmlesse talk.
Religion does not tye us to
A stricter course than wee can doe.
FLORIDA.
Tis dangerous walking, every field
Doth nought but sounds of horror yeeld,
And to my fancie doth appeare
Poore slaughter'd Maids; the Butchers beare
[Page]The name of Lovers, and can finde
A way in killing to be kinde.
Lysander. Oh!
Ah me, whence came that groane?
CLAUDIA.
It is a Shepheard wounded sore.
FLORIDA.
Sure I've seene this face before!
Oh 'tis Lysander th' truest Swaine,
That ever breath'd on Grove or Plaine.
CLAUDIA.
What, is hee mark'd for present death?
FLORIDA.
No, there is hopes of life: his breath
I feele come coldly.
Take him with 'em.
CLAUDIA.
Help him in.
Pan be just, reward this sin.
SCRUB.
The devill and his dam I think have carri'd away my Master; I cannot finde him in never a Wenches placuit, (pocket I should say) and yet I have beene in a simple many since I came among these Mutton-Mongers, these sheepe-eaters, unlesse they have hid him amongst their wooll, I cannot imagine where hee should be I will weare my shooes to peeces but I'le finde him.
Exit.
Lysander, Claudia, Florida, and Cloe.
LYSANDER.
Religious Matron, from your divine hand
I have receiv'd my life next to heavens providence:
Sure my wounds were not desperate, or else
Some Angell did afford a soveraigne Balsome
[Page]To cure 'em in such an instant: but howsoever,
I must ascribe it to your pious care:
For which I owe you more than I can pay,
Unlesse it be my life.
CLAUDIA.
The Surgery I use is sent from Heaven,
And you owe them your life, not me.
LYSANDER.
But Florida,
Did you ne're heare of your Cliton since?
FLORIDA.
Never.
Yet I would gladly see him, did I know
By what meanes to atchieve it?
CLOE.
Deare friend, the stories of us both if weigh'd
In an equall ballance, would poize each other
Yet to put her love to the Test, I'le undertake your message.
LYSANDER.
Thou wilt endeare me to thee then, about it.
FLORIDA.
Exit Cloe.
You heard how Cloe came to our happy Cure.
LYSANDER.
Never.
FLORIDA.
The Wood Nymphes brought her to our Cell, finding
Her stray'd where ever since sh'as bin.
LYSANDER.
If you will with mee, I'le promise you, you shall see your Cliton:
FLORIDA.
On those conditions I will.
CLAVDIA.
[Page]Whether now?
FLORIDA.
No farther than with your consent, and if you please, yo [...] may goe with us.
Clau.
I am contented.
Exeunt.
Gloriana distracted.
SINGS.
I know Lysander's dead,
Then farewell maydenhead;
Thou art but one:
When I am gone:
It never shall be said — hy ho, ho.
Oh Lysander.
CLITON
like a Hermit.
Save you faire Maid, I wish you joy,
Free from ought that may annoy
Your quiet, or disturb your sence;
Send you health and penitence.
GLORIANA.
Ha, ha, ha, what, are you Lysander? what, with that beard there's a great beard indeed: heark you Fryer Tuck, doe you see you handsome shepheard Lysander?
Why did you say he was dead?
CLITON.
You are mistaken, I'm a Hermit that can cure
All wounds, but what sinne makes impure;
And those are cur'd by one above:
I can help those ills that move
Man to distraction, jealous feares,
In man or woman. I have yeares
[Page]Has gain'd experience to apply
For all sorts a safe remedy.
GLORIANA.
SINGS.
Doe you see where he doth stand,
With a Crosse-Bow in his hand.
I will follow thee my Deare,
Though the Goblins keepeth there.
CLITON.
Offers to goe in.
Stay pure Mayd.
GLORIANA.
Why doe you hold me old man? insooth you shall not.
CLITON.
[...]f you will be rul'd by mee,
You shall your Lysander see.
GLORIANA.
[...]hall I indeed now?
CLITON.
[...]ome with me and you shall know
More, if you will but patient grow.
Exeunt.
Leonand Alexis.
Good Father, be patient.
LEON.
[...] not my daughter lost, my onely daughter,
[...]he onely staffe whereon my age did rest,
And onely comfort which I had on earth?
Oh! I am miserable.
Leon and Alexis.
[...]here's hopes yet left to finde her.
LEON.
[...]ever. Some rude and savage hand has kill'd my Girle,
[...]aving deflowr'd her of her virgin honour.
[Page]Talk not of patience, 'tis the onely meanes
To cure a bad distemper, to grow worse,
And fire it out of him. Oh my Alexis!
ALEXIS.
I'm lost in loosing her.
Let us endeavour to finde her,
LEON.
I'le take thy counsell, goodnesse guide me still,
Sometimes are Parents crosse against their will.
Exeunt.
Lysander. Claudia. Florida.
LYSANDER.
W'are almost at his Cell, where hee do's waste
Himselfe away with griefe, thinking you are
A Citizen in Heaven, and that wrong
He did you, has so defil'd his soule,
It cannot be purg'd off but by such penitence.
FLORIDA.
Y'ave mov'd my heart that it dissolves to teares,
Of blood, and water, for the strictnesse hee
Has undergone for mee.
Enter Cloe and Daphnes.
CLOE.
I'm glad I've found you; doe you see w'are coupl'd as
Lovers ought to doe: but your Gloriana is lost beyond
Recovery.
LYSANDER.
How?
DAPHNES.
Shee hearing of your death fell frantick, and
Since I have not seene her ne're our Groves.
LYSANDER
Let us put wings to our pursuit to finde her;
[Page]And first wee'l search his Cell.
CLAVDIA.
Great Pan send all things well.
Exeunt.
FRANCISCO.
Oh Conscience, how thou do'st buz into my eares; despaire
The thing attends my guilt, Gloriana lost:
For whose sweet sake I heap't new sinnes upon me?
What has my fury purchas'd nothing? Yes!
Hell, and destruction, which onely by a haire hangs o're my head, which blowne by the least winde, falls downe and sinks me.
SCRVB.
You sirrah, madcap, that creepes like a Crab there: Hark you, doe not you know one Francisco and Pisander, two vagabonds, that cannot live in peace with Poultry, but they must flye after sheepe?
FRANCISCO.
I owe that wretched name Francisco.
SCRUB.
Who? you with that face! pray where's Pisander then?
FRANC.
I left him at the Court when I came thence.
SCRUB.
I see you shepheards will lye abominably, hee has beene from the Court ever since seven yeares before hee was borne.
Lysander. Leon. Gloriana. Claud. Florida. Cloe. Cliton. Daphnes. Alexis.
LYSANDER.
Friends, wee are happy made, Fortune and Love reserv'd these blisses to crowne the end of things.
CLITON.
[Page]The story you related Florida.
How this divine Matron did take your body,
Finding it warme, and did apply such Balsames
As hath preserv'd your life, makes me most happy.
LYSANDER.
I'm blest in my Gloriana.
DAPHNES.
I in my Cloe.
CLITON.
And I in Florida.
Leon, Alexis, Claudia, and Florida.
And wee to see you possesse such blisse.
FRAN.
Ah! Protect me some blest power: keepe farther off. I am yet reconcil'd with heaven. I doe confesse I kill'd you! Oh be mercifull for their sweet sakes, whose innocence cannot see, or be disturb'd by thee. There they are by thee; thy once deare Gloriana.
LYSANDER.
What a distemper's this?
FRANCISCO.
What will appease thy Ghost? give me but time to aske forgivenesse of those sacred powers I've most offended, by depriving thee of life and being, and thou shalt have my life for thy just sacrifice.
LYSANDER.
I apprehend his guilt: shepheard, feare not; your hate grew not to such desperate effects as you expected. Feele, I live and breath!
FRAN.
Delude me not, 'tis impossible.
LYSANDER.
[Page]These shall witnesse it.
OMNES.
Wee doe.
FRAN.
Can you forgive then my attempt?
LYSANDER.
With a true heart.
OMNES.
Lysander's still himselfe, noble and wise.
FRANCISCO.
And can you Fairest wipe that Ignominy off, I deserv'd from you?
GLORIANA.
My Lysanders word sufficeth for us both.
FRAN.
Then may you both live happy many yeares:
May your joyes, never be disturb'd by feares.
SCRUB.
Heark you sir, now all your talk is over, I would know one thing of you?
LYSANDER.
And what's that?
SCRUB.
Have you met with one Pisander, Leon, and Francisco in your Travailes?
The Duke is dead that banisht good old Leon, and could I finde him; his lands shall be restor'd.
LEON.
I am that Leon that with my sonne and daughter here have liv'd e're since in this Rurall way.
OMNES.
[Page]Blessings doe follow blessings.
LYSANDER.
Then I am that Pisander that left the Court, to gaine thy Daughters love by the name of Lysander. Scrub, do'st thou know me now?
SCRVB.
A pestlence on't, you are hee indeed.
FRAN.
Pisander, embrace thy friend Francisco.
LYSANDER.
Francisco! thou cloy'st me with joy.
Embrace.
FRAN.
I left the Court for the same end you did.
LYSANDER.
Shee's mine now Sir, is shee not?
LEON.
As fast as th' Priest can make her,
Fortune has made all happy: Yet 'tis fit
If they will wed, your hands should licence it.
‘Amor finem coronat.’
GEntle Reader, there are some faults which (through the obscurity of the Coppie, and absence of the Author) have passed the Presse; To particularize them were needlesse; But favourably looke o're them, and with thy Pen courteously correct such defects as thou shalt finde, not condemning the Presse or injuring the Author.