Reader when first thou shalt behold this boyes
Picture, perhaps thou'lt thinke his writings toyes
Wrong not our Cowley so will nothing passe
But gravity with thee Apollo was
Beardlesse himselfe and for ought I can see
Cowley may yongest sonne of Phoebus bee.
POETICAL BLOSSOMES BY A. C.
— fit surculus Arbor.
LONDON, Printed by B.A. and T.F. for HENRY S [...]IL [...], and are to be sold at his shop at the Signe of the Tygers-head in St. Paules Church-yard. 1633▪
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, and right Reverend Father in God, IOHN Lord Bishop of LINCOLNE. And Deane of Westminster.
MY LORD:
I Might well feare, least these my rude and vnpolisht lines, should offend your Honorable survay; but that I hope your Noblenesse will rather smile at the faults committed by a Child, then censure them; Howsoever I desire your Lordships pardon, for presenting things so vnworthy to your view, and to accept the good will of him, who in all duty is bound to be
Your Lordships, most humble servant, ABRA: COVVLEY.
To the Reader.
I.
I Call'd the bushin'd Muse MELPOMENE,
And told her what sad Storie I would write,
Shee wept at hearing such a Tragedie:
Though wont in mournefull Ditties to delight.
If thou dislike these sorrowfull lines; Then know
My Muse with teares not with Conceits did flow.
II.
And as she my vnabler quill did guide,
Her briny teares did on the paper fall,
If then vnequall numbers be espied,
Oh Reader! doe not that my error call,
But thinke her teares defac't it, and blame then
My Muses griefe, and not my missing Pen.
ABRA: COVVLEY.
To his deare Friend and Schoole-fellow ABRAHAM COVVLEY, on his flourishing and hopefull BLOSSOMES.
NAture wee say decayes, because our Age
Is worse then were the Times of old: The Stage
And Histories the former Times declare:
In these our latter Dayes what defects are
Experience teacheth. What then? Shall we blame
Nature for this? Not so; let vs declayme
Rather against our Selves: 'tis wee Decay,
Not She: Shee is the same every way
She was at first. COVVLEY, thou prov'st this truth.
Could ever former Age brag of a Youth
So forward at these yeares? Could NASO write
Thus young such witty Poems? TVLLI's mite
Of Eloquence, at this Age was not seene.
Nor yet was CATO'S Iudgement, at Thirteene
So great is thine. Suppose it were so; yet
He CIC'RO's Eloquence, TVLLY the Wit
Of OVID wanted: OVID too came farre
In Iudgement behind CATO. Therefore are
None of all equall vnto Thee, so pretty,
So Eloquent, Iudicious, and Witty.
Let the world's spring time but produce and show
Such Blossomes as thy Writings are, and know
Then (not till then) shall my opinion be
That it is Nature faileth, and not wee.
BEN MAERS.
To his Friend and Schoole-fellow ABRAHAM COVVLEY, on his Poeticall Blossomes.
MAny, when Youths of tender Age they see
Expressing CATO, in their Gravitie;
Iudgement, and Wit, will oftentimes report
They thinke their thread of Life exceeding short.
But my opinion is, not so of Thee
For thou shalt live, to all Posterity.
These guifts will never let thee dye, for Death
Can not bereave thee of thy fame, though breath.
Let snarling Critticks spend their braines to find
A fault, though there be none; This is my mind
Let him that carpeth with his vipers Tougne,
Thinke with himselfe, what he could doe as young.
But if the Springing blossomes, thus rare be
What ripen'd Fruit shall wee hereafter see.
ROB: MEADE, Condiscipulus.
[Page]CONSTANTIA AND PHILETVS.
I Sing two constant Lovers various fate,
The hopes, and feares which equally attend
Their loves: Their rivals envie, Parents hate;
I sing their sorrowfull life, and tragicke end.
Assist me this sad story to rehearse
You Gods, and be propitious to my verse.
In Florence for her stately buildings fam'd,
And lofty roofes that emulate the skie;
There dwelt a lovely Mayd CONSTANTIA nam'd,
Renown'd, (as mirror of all Italie,)
Her, lavish nature did at first adorne,
With PALEAS soule, in CYTHEREA's forme.
And framing her attractive eyes so bright,
Spent all her wit in study, that they might
Keepe th'earth from Chaos, and eternall night,
But envious Death destroyed their glorious light.
Expect not beauty then, since she did part;
For in her Nature wasted all her Art.
Her hayre was brighter then the beames which are
A Crowne to PHOEBVS, and her breath so sweet,
It did transcend Arabian odours farre,
Or th'smelling Flowers, wherewith the Spring doth greet
Approaching Summer, teeth like falling snow
For white, were placed in a double row.
Her wit excell'd all praise, all admiration,
And speach was so attractive it might be
A meanes to cause great PALLAS indignation
And raise an envie from that Deity,
The mayden Lillyes at her lovely sight
Waxt pale with envie, and from thence grew white.
Shee was in birth and Parentage as high
As in her fortune great, or beauty rare,
And to her vertuous mindes nobility
The guifts of Fate and Nature doubled were;
That in her spotlesse Soule, and lovely Face
Thou mightst have seene, each Deity and grace.
The scornefull Boy ADONIS viewing her
Would VENVS still despise, yet her desire;
Each who but saw, was a Competitor
And rivall, scorcht alike with CVPID'S fire
The glorious beames of her fayre Eyes did move
And light beholders on their way to Love.
Amongst her many Sutors a young Knight
'Bove others wounded with the Majesty
Of her faire presence, presseth most in sight;
Yet seldome his desire can satisfie
With that blest object, or her rarenesse see;
For Beauties guard, is watchfull Iealousie.
Oft-times that hee might see his Dearest-fayre
Vpon his stately Iennet he in the way
Rides by her house, who neighes as if he were
Proud to be view'd by bright CONSTANTIA.
But his poore Master though to see her moue
His joy, dares show no looke betraying Loue.
Soone as the morne peep'd from her rosie bedd
And all Heauens smaller lights expulsed were;
She by her friends and neere acquaintance led
Like other Maids, oft walkt to take the ayre;
AVRORA blusht at such a sight vnknowne,
To see those cheekes were redder then her owne.
Th' obsequious Louer alwayes followes them
And where they goe, that way his journey feines,
Should they turne backe, he would turne backe againe;
For where his Love, his businesse there remaines.
Nor is it strange hee should be loath to part
From her, since shee had stolne away his heart.
PHILETVS hee was call'd, sprung from a race
Of Noble ancestors; But destroying Time
And envious Fate had laboured to deface
The glory which in his great Stocke did shine;
His state but small, so Fortune did decree
But Love being blind, hee that could never see▪
Yet hee by chance had hit his heart aright,
And on CONSTANTIA'S eye his Arrow whet
Had blowne the Fire, that would destroy him quite,
Vnlesse his flames might like in her beget:
But yet he feares, because he blinded is
Though he have shot him right, her heart hee'l misse.
Vnto Loves Altar therefore hee repayres,
And offers there a pleasing Sacrifice;
Intreating CVPID with inducing Prayers
To looke vpon and ease his Miseries:
Where having wept, recovering breath againe
Thus to immortall Love he did complaine:
Oh CVPID! thou, whose all commanding sway
Hath oft-times rul'd the Olympian Thunderer,
Whom all Coelestiall Deities obey,
And Men and Gods both reverence and feare!
Oh force CONSTANTIA'S heart to yeeld to Love,
Of all thy Workes, the Master-piece 'twill prove.
And let me not Affection vainely spend,
But kindle flames in her like those in mee;
Yet if that guift my Fortune doth transcend,
Grant that her charming Beauty I may see:
And view those Eyes who with their ravishing light
Doe onely give Contentment to my sight.
Those who contemne thy sacred Deity
And mocke thy Power, let them thy anger know,
I faultlesse am, nor can't an honour be
To wound your slaue alone, and spare your Foe.
Here teares and sighes speake his imperfect mone
In language farre more dolorous then his owne.
Home he retyr'd, his Soule he brought not home,
Iust like a Ship whil'st every mounting wave
Tost by enraged BOREAS vp and downe,
Threatens the Mariner with a gaping graue;
Such did his cse, such did his state appeare
Alike distracted, betweene hope and feare.
Thinking her love hee never shall obtayne,
One morne he goes to the Woods and doth complaine
Of his vnhappie Fate, but all in vayne,
And thus fond Eccho, answers him againe.
So that it seemes AVRORA wept to heare,
For the verdant grasse was dew'd with many a teare.
THE ECCHO.
OH! what hath caus'd my killing miseries,
Eyes, (Eccho said) what hath detayned my ease,
Ease; straight the reasonable Nimph replyes,
That nothing can my troubled mind appease:
Peace, Eccho answers? What, is any nye
(Quoth she) at which, she quickly vtters, I.
Is't Eccho answeres, tell me then thy will,
I will, shee said? What shall I get (quoth hee)
By loving still: to which shee answers, ill,
Ill: shall I voyd of wisht for pleasure dye:
I, shall not I who toyle in ceaslesse paine,
Some pleasure know? no, shee replies againe.
False and inconstant Nimph, thou lyest (quoth hee)
Thou lyest (she said) and I deserved her hate,
If I should thee beleeve; beleeve, (saith shee)
For why thy idle words are of no weight.
Waigh it, (she replyes) I therefore will depart,
To which, resounding Eccho answers, part.
Then from the Woods with sorrowfull heart he goes,
Filling with flowing thoughts his grieued minde,
He seeks to ease his soule oppressing woes,
But no refreshing comfort can he find:
He weeps to quench the fires that burne in him,
But teares doe fall to the earth, flames are within.
No morning banisht darknesse, nor blacke night
By her alternate course expuls'd the day.
Bin with PHILETVS by a constant rite
And CVPIDS Altars did not weepe and pray;
And yet had reaped nought for all his paine
But Care and Sorrow that was all his gaine.
But now at last the pitying God o'recome
By his constant votes and teares, fixt in her heart
A golden shaft, and shee is now become
A suppliant to Love that with like Dart
Hee'd wound PHILETVS and doth now implore
With teares ayd from that power she scorn'd before.
Little she thinkes she kept PHILETVS heart
In her scorcht breast, because her owne shee gaue
To him. But either suffers, equall smart
And alike measure in their torments haue:
His soule, his griefe, his fiers; now hers are growne
Her heart, her mind, her loue; is his alone.
Whilst wandring thoughts thus guide her troubled Brain
Seeing a Lute (being farre from any eares)
Shee tun'd this song whose musicke did transcend
The pleasant harmony of the rowling Spheares;
Which rauishing Notes, if when her loue was slayne
She had sung; from Styx t'had cald him back againe.
THE SONG.
TO whom shall I my Sorrowes show?
Not to Love for he is blind.
And my PHILETVS doth not know,
The inward sorrow of my mind.
And all the sencelesse walls which are
Now round about me, cannot heare.
For if they could, they sure would weepe,
And with my griefes relent.
Vnlesse their willing teares they keepe,
Till I from the earth am sent.
Then I beleeve they'l all deplore
My fate, since I them taught before.
I willingly would weepe my store,
If th'floud would land thy Love,
My deare PHILETVS on the shore
Of my heart; but shouldst thou prove
A feard of the flames, know the fires are
But bonfires for thy comming there.
Then teares in envie of her speach did flow
From her fayre eyes, as if it seem'd that there,
Her burning flame had melted hills of snow,
And so dissolu'd them into many a teare;
W [...]ich Nilus like, did quickly ouerflow,
And caused soone new serpent griefes to grow.
Heere stay my Muse, for if I should recite,
Her mournfull Language, I should make you weepe
Like her a floud, and so not see to write,
Such lines as I desire, that they may keepe,
Mee from sterne death, or when I leave my rime,
They in my deaths reuenge may conquer time.
By this tyme, chance and his owne industry
Had helpt PHILETVS forward that he grew
Acquainted with his Brother, so that he,
Might by this meanes, his bright CONSTANTIA veiw:
And as tyme seru'd shew her his miserie,
And this was the first act in's Tragedie.
Thus to himselfe sooth'd by his flattering state
He said; How shall I thanke thee for this gaine,
O CVPID, or reward my helping Fate,
Who sweetens all my sorrowes, all my payne?
What Husbandman would any sweat refuse,
To reape at last such fruit, his labours vse?
But waying straight his doubtfull state aright,
Seeing his griefes link't like an endlesse chayne
To following woes, he could despaire delight,
Quench his hot flames, and th' fondling loue disdaine.
But CVPID when his heart was set on fire
Had burnt his wings, and could not then retire.
The wounded youth, and kinde PHILOCRATES
(So was her Brother call'd) grew soone so deare,
So true, and constant, in theyr Amities,
And in that league so strictly ioyned were;
That death it selfe could not theyr friendship sev [...]r.
But as they liu'd in loue, they dyed together.
If one be malancholy, the other's sad;
If one be sicke, the other hee is ill,
And if PHILETVS any sorrow had,
PHILOCRATES was partner in it still:
As th'soule of PYLADES and ORESTES was
In these, may we beleeue PITHAGORAS.
Oft in the Woods PHILETVS walkes, and there
Exclaimes against his fate as too vnkind.
With speaking teares his griefes he doth declare,
And with sad sighes teareth the angry wind,
To sigh, and though it ne're so cruell were,
It roar'd to heare PHILETVS tell his care.
The Christ [...]ll Brookes which gently runne betweene
The shadowing Trees, and as they through them passe
Water the Earth, and keepe the Meadowes greene,
Giving a colour to the verdant grasse:
Hearing PHILETVS tell his wofull state,
In shew of griefe runne murmuring at his Fate.
PHILOMEL answeres him againe and shewes
In her best language, her sad Historie.
And in a mournfull sweetnesse tels her woes,
As if shee strove to shew her miseries
Were greater farre then his, and sweetly sings
To out-reach his Sorrowes, by her sufferings.
His sadnesse cannot from PHILOCRATES
Be hid, who seekes all meanes his griefe to know,
Seeing all mirth PHILETVS doth displease
And Passion still pursues his conquered Foe:
Hee therefore of his griefe did oft enquire,
But Love with covering wings had hid the fire.
But when his noble Friend perceived that hee
Yeelds to vsurping Passion more and more,
Desirous to partake his mallady,
Hee watches him in hope to cure his sore
By counsaile, and recall the poysonous Dart
When it alas was fixed in his heart.
When in the Woods, places best fit for care,
Hee to himselfe did his past griefes recite,
Th' obsequious friend straight followes him, and there
Doth hide himselfe from sad PHILETVS sight.
Who thus exclaimes, for a swolne hart would breake
If it for vent of sorrow might not speake.
Oh! I am lost, not in this desert Wood
But in loues pathlesse Laborinth, there I
My health, each ioy and pleasure counted good
Haue lost, and which is more my liberty.
And now am forc't to let him sacrifice
My heart, for rash beleeving of my eyes.
Long haue I stayed, but yet haue no reliefe,
Long haue I lov'd, yet haue no favour showne,
Because shee knowes not of my killing griefe,
And I have fear'd, to make my sorrowes knowne.
For why alas, if shee should once but dart
At me disdaine, 'twould kill my subiect hart.
But how should shee, ere I impart my Love,
Reward my ardent flame with like desire,
But when I speake, if shee should angry prove,
Laugh at my flowing teares, and scorne my fire?
Why hee who hath all sorrowes borne before,
Needeth not feare to be opprest with more,
PHILOCRATES no longer can forbeare,
But running to his lov'd Friend; Oh (sayd hee)
My deare PHILETVS be thy selfe, and sweare
To rule that Passion which now masters Thee
And all thy faculties; but if't may not be,
Give to thy Love but eyes that it may see.
Amazement strikes him dumbe what shall he doe?
Should hee reveale his Love, he feares 'twould prove
A hinderance, which should hee deny to show,
It might perhaps his deare friends anger move:
These doubts like SCYLLA and CARIEDIS stand,
Whil'st CVPID a blind Pilot doth command.
At last resolv'd, how shall I seeke, sayd hee
To excuse my selfe, dearest PHILOCRATES;
That I from thee have hid this secrecie?
Yet censure not, give me first leave to ease
My case with words, my griefe you should have known
Ere this, if that my heart had bin my owne.
I am all Love, my heart was burnt with fire
From two bright Sunnes which doe all light disclose;
First kindling in my brest the flame Desire,
But like the rare Arabian Bird there rose
From my hearts ashes, never quenched Love,
Which now this torment in my soule doth move.
Oh! let not then my Passion cause your hate,
Nor let my choise offend you, or detayne
Your ancient Friendship; 'tis alas too late
To call my firme affection backe againe:
No Physicke can recure my weak'ned state,
The wound is growne too great, too desperate.
But Counsell sayd his Friend, a remedy
Which never fayles the Patient, may at least
If not quite heale your mindes infirmity,
Asswage your torment, and procure some rest.
But there is no Physitian can apply
A medicine, ere he know the Malady.
Then heare me, sayd PHILETVS; but why? Stay,
I will not toyle thee with my history,
For to remember Sorrowes past away,
Is to renue an old Calamity.
Hee who acquainteth others with his moane,
Addes to his friends griefe, but not cures his owne.
But sayd PHILOCRATES, 'tis best in woe,
To have a faithfull partner of their care;
That burthen may be vndergone by two,
Which is perhaps too great for one to beare.
I should mistrust your love to hide from me
Your thoughts, and taxe you of Inconstancie.
What shall hee doe? Or with what language frame
Excuse? He must resolue not to deny,
But open his close thoughts, and inward flame,
With that as prologue to his Tragedy
He sight, as if they'd coole his torments ire
When they alas, did blow the raging fire.
When yeares first styl'd me Twenty, I began
To sport with the catching snares that Loue had set,
Like Birds that flutter 'bout the gyn till tane,
Or the poore Fly caught in Arachnes net,
Euen so I sported with her Beautyes light
Till I at last, grew blind with too much sight.
First it came stealing on me, whilst I thought,
T'was easy to expulse it, but as fire
Though but a sparke, soone into flames is brought,
So mine grew great, and quickly mounted higher;
Which so haue scorcht my loue struck soule, that I
Still liue in torment, though each minute dye.
Who is it sayd PHILOCRATES can moue
With charming eyes such deepe affection,
I may perhaps assist you in your loue,
Two can effect more then your selfe alone.
My councell this thy error may reclayme
Or my salt teares quench thy annoying flame.
Nay sayd PHILETVS, oft my eyes doe flow
Like Egypt couering Nilus, nor yet can
Asswage my heate, which still doth greater grow,
As if my teares did but augment my flame.
Like to the waters of th' Dodonean spring,
That lights a torch the which is put therein.
But being you desire to know her, she
Is call'd (with that his eyes let fall a shower
As if they faine would drowne the memory
Of his life keepers name,) CONSTANTIA more;
Griefe would not let him vtter; Teares the best
Expressers of true sorrow, spoke the rest.
To which his noble friend did thus reply.
And was this all? What ere your griefe would ease
Though a farre greater taske, beleeu't for thee,
It should be soone done by PHILOCRATES;
Thinke all you wish perform'd but see the day
Tyr'd with i'ts heate is hasting now away.
Home from the silent Woods, night bids them goe,
But sad PHILETVS can no comfort find,
What in the day he feares of future woe,
At night in dreames, like truth afright his mind
Why doest thou vex him loue? Had'st eyes (I say)
Thou wouldst thy selfe haue lou'd CONSTANTIA.
PHILOCRATES pittying his dolefull mone,
And wounded with the Sorrowes of his friend,
Brings him to fayre CONSTANTIA; where alone
He might impart his love, and eyther end
His fruitlesse hopes, cropt by her coy disdaine,
Or By her liking, his wish't Ioyes attaine.
Fairest, (quoth he) whom the bright Heavens doe cover,
Doe not these teares, these speaking teares, despise:
And dolorous sighes, of a submissive Lover,
Thus strucke to the earth by your all dazeling Eyes.
And doe not you contemne that ardent flame,
Which from your selfe: Your owne faire Beauty came.
Trust me, I long have hid my love, but now
Am forc't to shew't, such is my inward smart,
And you alone (sweet faire) the meanes doe know
To heale the wound of my consuming heart.
Then since it onely in your power doth lie
To kill, or save, Oh helpe! or else I die.
His gently cruell Love, did thus reply;
I for your paine am grieved, and would doe
Without impeachment to my Chastity
And honour, any thing might pleasure you.
But if beyond those limits you demand,
I must not answer, (Sir) nor vnderstand.
Beleeue me vertuous maiden, my desire
Is chast and pious, as thy Virgin thought,
No flash of lust, t'is no dishonest fire
Which goes as soone as it is quickly brought.
But as thy beauty pure, which let not bee
Eclipsed by disdaine, or cruelty.
Oh! how shall I reply (quoth she) thou'ast won
My soule, and therefore take thy victory:
Thy eyes and speaches haue my heart o'recome
And if I should deny thee loue, then I
My selfe should feele his torment for that fire
Which is kept close, doth burne with greatest ire.
Yet doe not count my yeelding, lightnesse in me,
Impute it rather to my ardent loue,
Thy pleasing carriage long agoe did win me
And pleading beauty did my liking moue.
Thy eyes which draw like loadstones with their might
The hardest hearts, won mine to leaue me quite.
Oh! I am rapt aboue the reach, said hee
Of thought, my soule already feeles the blisse
Of heauen, when (sweete) my thoughts once tax but thee
With any crime, may I lose all happinesse
Is wisht for: both your fauour here, and dead,
May the iust Gods power vengance on my head.
Whilst he was speaking this: behold theyr fate,
CONSTANTIA'S father entred in the roome,
When glad PHILETVS ignorant of his state,
Kisses her cheekes, more red then the setting Sun,
Or else, the morne blushing through clouds of water
To see ascending Sol congratulate her.
Iust as the guilty prisoner fearefull stands
Reading his fatall Theta in the browes
Of him, who both his life and death commands,
Ere from his mouth he the sad sentence knowes,
Such was his state to see her father come,
Nor wisht for, nor expected to the roome.
The inrag'd old man bids him no more to dare
Such bold intrudance in that house, nor be
At any tyme with his lou'd daughter there
Till he had giuen him such authoritie,
But to depart, since she her loue did shew him
Was liuing death, with lingring torments to him.
This being knowne to kinde PHILOCRATES
He cheares his friend, bidding him banish feare,
And by some letter his grieu'd minde appease,
And shew her that which to her freindly eare,
Tyme gaue no leaue to tell, and thus his quill
Declares to her, her absent louers will.
THE LETTER.
PHILETVS to CONSTANTIA.
I Trust (deare Soule) my absence cannot move
You to forget, or doubt my ardent love;
For were there any meanes to see you; I
Would runne through Death and all the miserie
Fate could inflict, that so the world might say,
In Life and Death I lov'd CONSTANTIA.
Then let not (dearest Sweet) our absence sever
Our loves, let them ioyn'd closely still together
Give warmth to one another, till there rise
From all our labours and our industries
The long expected fruits; have patience (Sweet)
There's no man whom the Summer pleasures greet
Before he tast the Winter, none can say
Ere night was gone, hee saw the rising Day.
So when wee once have wasted Sorrowes night,
The sunne of Comfort then, shall give vs light.
PHILETVS.
[Page]This when CONSTANTIA read, shee thought her state
Most happie by PHILETVS Constancie
And perfect Love, she thankes her flattering Fate,
And never missing CVPID, 'cause that hee
Had pierc't his heart; and thus shee writes agen,
Vnfeyn'd affection guiding of her Pen.
CONSTANTIA to PHILETVS.
YOur absence (Sir) though it be long, yet I
Neither forget, or doubt your Constancie:
Nor need you feare, that I should yeeld vnto
Another, what to your true Love is due.
My heart is yours, it is not in my claime,
Nor have I power to give't away againe.
There's nought but Death can part our soules, no time
Or angry Friends, shall make my Love decline:
But for the harvest of our hopes I'le stay,
Vnlesse Death cut it, ere't be ripe, away.
CONSTANTIA.
Oh! how this Letter did exalt his pride,
More proud was hee of this, then PHAETON
When PHOEBVS flaming Chariot he did guide,
Before he knew the danger was to come.
Or else then IASON, when from Colchos hee
Returned, with the Fleeces victorie.
But ere the Autumne which faire CERES crown'd,
Had payd the swetting Plowmans greediest prayer;
And by the Fall disrob'd the gawdy ground
Of all her Summer ornaments, they were
By kind PHILOCRATES together brought
Where they this meanes to 'nioy theyr freedome wrought.
Sweet Mistresse, sayd PHILETVS, since the time
Propitious to our votes, now gives vs leave
To enioy our loves, let vs not deare resigne
His long'd for favour, nor our selves bereave
Of opportunity, left it flye agen
Further then Love hath wings to follow him.
For when your Father, as his custome is
For pleasure, doth pursue the timerous Hare;
If you'l resort but thither, I'le not misse
To be in those Woods ready for you, where
Wee may depart in safety, and no more
With Dreames of pleasure onely, heale our sore.
This both the Lovers soone agreed vpon,
But ere they parted, hee desires that shee
Would blesse this greedy hearing, with a Song
From her harmonious voyce, shee doth agree
To his request, and doth this Ditty sing,
Whose ravishing Notes new fires to's old doth bring.
THE SONG.
TIme flye with greater speed away
Adde feathers to thy wings,
Till thy hast in flying brings
That wisht for and expected Day.
Comforts sunne, wee then shall see,
Though at first it dark'ned bee
With dangers, yet those Clouds being gon,
Our Day will put his lustre on.
Then though Deaths sad night doe come,
And wee in silence sleepe,
'Lasting Day agen will greete
Our ravisht Soules, and then there's none
Can part vs more, no Death, nor Friends,
Being dead, their power o're vs ends.
Thus there's nothing can dissever,
Hearts which Love have ioyned together.
Feare of being seene, PHILETVS homeward droue
But ere they part she willingly doth giue
As faithfull pledges of her constant loue
Many a kisse, and then each other leaue
In greife, though rapt with ioy that they haue found
A way to heale the torment of their wound.
But ere the Sun through many dayes had run,
CONSTANTIA'S charming beauty had o'recome
GVISCARDO'S heart, and's scorn'd affection won,
Her eyes, that conquered all they shone vpon
Shot through his glutton eyes such hot desire
As nothing but her loue could quench the fire.
In roofes which Gold and Parian stone adorne
Proud as their Landlords minde, he did abound
In fields so fertile for theyr yearely corne
As might contend with scorcht Calabria's ground;
But in his soule where should be the best store
Of surest riches, he was base and poore.
Him was CONSTANTIA vrg'd continually
By her freinds to loue, sometimes they did intreate
With gentle speeches, and milde courtesie,
Which when they see despis'd by her, they threat.
But loue too deepe was seated in her heart
To be worne out with thought of any smart.
Her father shortly went vnto the wood
To hunt, his friend GVISCARDO being there
With others who by freindship and by bloud
Vnto CONSTANTIA'S aged father were
Alyed nere, there likewise were with these,
His beautious daughter, and PHILOCRATES.
Being entred in the pathlesse woods, whilst they
Pursue their game, PHILETVS being late
Hid in a thicket, carries straight away
His loue, and hastens his owne hasty fate.
Which came to soone vpon him, and his Sunne
Eclipsed was, before it fully shone.
For when CONSTANTIA'S missed, in a maze,
Each takes a seuerall course, and by curst fate
GVISCARDO runs, with a loue carryed pace
Towards them, who little knew their sorrowfull state▪
So hee like bold Icarus soaring hye
To Honor, fell to th'depth of misery.
For when GVISCARDO sees his Riuall there,
Swelling with poysonous envy, comes behind
PHILETVS, who such fortune did not feare,
And with his flaming sword a way doth find
To his heart, who ere that death possest him quite,
In these few words gaspt out his flying sprite.
O see CONSTANTIA my short race is runne,
See how my bloud the thirstie ground doth die,
But liue thou happier then thy loue hath done
And when I'me dead thinke sometime vpon me.
More my short tyme permits me not to tell
For now death seaseth me, oh my deare farwell.
As soone as he had spoke these words life fled
From's wounded body, whil'st CONSTANTIA she
Kisses his cheekes which loose there liuely red;
And become pale, and wan, and now each eye
Which was so bright, (is like) when life was done
A fallen starre, or an eclipsed Sunne.
Thither PHILOCRATES by's fate being droue
To accompany PHILETVS Tragedy,
Seeing his friend was dead, and's sorrowfull loue
Sate weeping o're his bleeding body, I
Will now reuenge your death said hee
Or in your murther beare you company.
I am by Iove sent to reuenge this fate,
Nay, stay GVISCARDO thinke not heauen in jest,
T'is vaine to hope flight can secure thy state
Then thrusting's sword into the Villaines brest.
Here, said PHILOCRATES, thy life I send
A sacrifice, t'appease my slaughtered friend.
But as he falls here take reward said hee
For this thy victory, with that he flung
His killing rapier at his enemy,
Which hit his head, and in his braine-pan hung.
With that he falles, but lifting vp his eyes
Farewell CONSTANTIA, that word said, hee dies.
What shall shee doe, she to her brother runnes
And 's cold, and livelesse body doth imbrace,
She calls to him, hee cannot heare her moanes:
And with her kisses warmes his clammie face.
My Deare PHILOCRATES, shee weeping cryes,
Speake to thy Sister: but no voyce replyes.
Then running to her loue, with many a teare,
Thus her minds fervent passion shee express't,
O stay (blest Soule) stay but a little here
And we will both hast to a lasting rest.
Then to Elisiums Mansions both together
Wee'le journey, and be married there for ever.
But when she saw they both were dead, quoth she
Oh my PHILETVS for thy sake will I
Make vp a full and perfect Tragedie
Since t'was for me (Deare loue) that thou didst dye;
I'le follow thee, and not thy losse deplore,
These eyes that saw thee kill'd, shall see no more.
It shall not sure be sayd that you did dye
And thy CONSTANTIA live since thou wast slayne:
No, no, deare Soule, I will not stay from thee,
But constant bee in act, as well as Name.
Then piercing her sad brest, I come, shee cryes,
And Death for ever clos'd her weeping eyes.
Her Soule being fled to it's Eternall rest,
Her Father comes, who seeing this, hee falls
To th'earth, with griefe too great to bee exprest.
Whose dolefull words my tyred Muse me calls
T' o'repasse, which I might gladly doe, for feare
That I should toyle too much, the Readers eare ▪
FINIS.
THE TRAGICALL HISTORIE OF PIRAMVS AND THISBE. Written, By A. C.
— fit surculus Arbor.
LONDON, Printed by B.A. and T.F. for HENRY S [...]ILE, and are to be sold at his shop at the Signe of the Tygers-head in St. Paules Church-yard. 1633.
TO THE WORSHIPFVL, my very loving Master LAMBERT OSBOLSTON, chiefe Schoole-master of Westminster-Schoole.
SIR,
MY childish Muse is in her Spring: and yet
Can onely shew some budding of her Wit.
One frowne vpon her Worke, (Learn'd Sir) from you:
Like some vnkinder storme shot from your brow,
Would turne her Spring, to withering Autumne's time,
And make her Blossomes perish, ere their Prime.
But if you Smile, if in your gracious Eye
Shee an auspicious Alpha can discrie.
How soone will they grow Fruit? How will they flourish
That had such beames their Infancie to nourish.
Which being sprung to ripenesse, expect then
The best, and first fruites, of her gratefull Pen.
Yours, Abraham Cowley.
THE TRAGICALL HISTORIE OF PYRAMVS and THISBE.
WHere Babilons high Walls erected were
By mighty NINVS wife; two houses [...] ▪
One THISBE liv'd in, PIRAMVS the fai [...]
In th'other: Earth ne're boasted such a pai [...]e
The very sencelesse walls themselves combin'd
And grew in one; Iust like their Masters minde.
THISBE all other women did excell,
The Queene of Love, lesse lovely was then shee.
And PIRAMVS more sweet then tongue can tell,
Nature grew proud in framing them so well.
But VENVS enuying they so faire should bee,
Bids her sonne CVPID shew his crueltie.
The all-subduing God his bow did bend,
And doth prepare his most remorsl [...]sse dart,
Which he vnseene vnto theyr hearts did send
And so was Loue the cause of Be [...]uties end.
But could he see, he had not wrought theyr smart
For pitie sure, would haue o'recome his heart.
Like as a bird within a net is taine,
By strugling more entangles in the ginne,
So they who in loues Laborinth remaine,
With striuing neuer can a freedome gaine.
The way to enter's broad, but being in
No art, no labour, can an exit win.
These Louers though theyr parents did reproue
Theyr fires, and watch'd theyr deedes with iealousie,
Though in these stormes no comfort could remoue
The various doubts, and feares that coole hot loue.
Though he nor hers, nor she his face could see,
Yet this did not abolish loues decree.
For age had crackd the wall which did them part▪
This the vnanimate couple soone did spie,
And heere their inward sorrowes did impart,
Vnlading the sad burden of theyr heart.
Though loue be blind, this shewes he can discrie
A way to lessen his owne misery.
Oft to the friendly cranny they resort,
And feede themselues with the coelestiall ayre,
Of odoriferous breath; no other sport
They could enioy, yet thinke the time but short.
And wish that it againe renewed were
To sucke each others breath for euer there.
Sometimes they did exclaime against theyr fate,
And sometimes they accus'd imperiall IOVE,
Sometimes repent theyr flames, but all too late▪
The arrow could not be recald, theyr state
Ordained was, by IVPITER aboue,
And CVPID had appointed they should loue.
They curst the wall which did theyr kisses part,
And to the stones theyr dolorous words they sent,
As if they saw the sorrow of theyr heart,
And by theyr teares could vnderstand theyr smart:
But it was hard, and knew not what they ment,
Nor with theyr siths (alas) would it relent.
This in effect they sayd; Curs'd wall, O why
Wilt thou our bodies seuer, whose true loue
Breakes thorow all thy flinty cruelty:
For both our soules so closely ioyned lie,
That nought but angry death can them remoue,
And though he part them yet they'l meete aboue.
Abortive teares from their faire eyes straight flow'd
And dimm'd the lovely splendor of their sight,
Which seem'd like TITAN, whilst some watry Cloud
O'respreads his face, and his bright beames doth shrowd.
Till VESPER chas'd away the conquered light,
And forceth them (though loath) to bid Good-night.
But e're AVRORA, Vsher to the Day,
Began with welcome lustre to appeare,
The Lovers rise, and at that crannie they
Thus to each other, their thoughts open lay:
With many a Sith, many a speaking Teare,
Whose griefe the pitying Morning blusht to heare.
Deare love (quoth PIRAMVS) how long shall wee
Like fairest Flowers, not gathered in their Prime,
Wast precious youth, and let advantage flee,
Till wee bewayle (at last) our Crueltie
Vpon our selves, for Beauty though it shine
Like Day, will quickly find an Evening time.
Therefore (sweet THISBE) let vs meet this night
At NINVS Tombe, without the City wall,
Vnder the Mulberie-tree, with Berries white
Abounding, there t'inioy our wish'd delight.
For mounting Love stopp'd in his course doth fall,
And long'd for yet vntested Ioy kills all.
What though our cruell parents angry bee?
What though our friends (alas) are too vnkind?
Time now propitious, may anon deny,
And soone hold backe, fit oportunity.
Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never find.
Occasion once pass'd by, is bald behind.
She soone agreed to that which he requir'd,
For little Wooing needs where both consent,
What he so long had pleaded she desir'd,
Which VENVS seeing, with blind Chance conspir'd,
And many a charming accent to her sent,
That she (at last) would frustrate their intent.
Thus Beauty is by beauties meanes vndone,
Striuing to close these eyes that make her bright;
Iust like the Moone, which seekes t'eclipse the Sun
Whence all her splendor, all her beames, doe come:
So she, who fetcheth lustre from theyr sight
Doth purpose to destroy theyr glorious light.
Vnto the Mulberie-tree, Sweet THISBE came,
Where hauing rested long (at last) she gan,
Against her PIRAMVS for to exclaime,
Whilst various thoughts turmoile her troubled braine.
And imitating thus the sylver Swan,
A little while before her Death shee sang.
THE SONG.
Come Love, why stayest thou? The night
Will vanish, e're wee taste delight:
The Moone obscures her selfe from sight
Thou absent, whose Eyes give her light.
Come quickly Deare, bee briefe as time,
Or wee by Morne shall bee o're tane:
Loves Ioy's thine owne as well as mine,
Spend not therefore, time in vaine.
Heere doubtfull thoughts broke off her pleasant Song
Against her loue; for staying she gan crie,
Her PIRAMVS shee thought did tarry long,
And that his absence did her too much wrong.
Then betwixt longing hope, and Iealousie,
She feares, yet's loth, to tax his loyaltie.
Sometimes shee thinkes, that he hath her forsaken,
Sometimes that danger hath befallen to him;
Shee feares that he another loue hath taken,
Which being but imagin'd, soone doth waken:
Numberlesse thoughts, which on her heart doe fling
Feares, that her future fate too truely sing.
Whilst shee thus musing sate, ranne from the wood
An angry Lyon, to the cristall Springs;
Nere to that place, who comming from his food,
His chaps were all besmear'd with crimson bloud.
Swifter then thought, Sweet THISBE straight begins
To flye from him, feare gaue her Swallowes wings.
As she auoids the Lion, her desire
Bids her to stay, lest PIRAMVS should come,
And be deuour'd by the sterne Lions ire,
So shee for euer burne in vnquench'd fire.
But feare expells all reasons shee doth run
Into a darksome Cave, neere seene by Sun.
With hast-shee let her looser Mantle fall,
Which when th' enraged Lion did espie,
With bloody teeth, he tore't in peices small,
Whilst THISBE ran and look'd not backe at all.
For could the sencelesse beast, her face discrie
It had not done her such an iniury.
The night halfe wasted, PIRAMVS did come,
Who seeing printed in the subtil sand
The Lions paw, and by the fountaine some
Of THISBES garment, sorrow strooke him dumbe:
Iust like a marble statue did hee stand,
Cut by some skilfull grauers, cunning hand.
Recovering breath, 'gainst Fate he gan t'exclayme,
Washing with teares the torne and bloudy weed.
I may sayd hee, my selfe for her death blame;
Therefore my bloud shall wash away that shame.
Since shee is dead, whose Beauty doth exceed
All that fraile man, can eyther heare or reade.
This speaking, he his sharpe Sword drew, and sayd;
Receive thou my red bloud, as a due debt
Vnto thy constant Love, to which 'tis payd.
I straight will meete thee in the pleasant shade
Of coole Elysium, where wee being met,
Shall taste the Ioyes, that heere wee could not yet.
Then thorow his brest thrusting his sword: life hies
From him, and he makes hast to seeke his faire.
And as vpon the crimsend ground hee lies,
His blood spirt'd vp vpon the Mulberries:
With which th'vnspotted berries stained were,
And ever since with Red they coloured are.
At last, came THISBE from the den for feare
Of disappointing PYRAMVS, being she
Was bound by promise, for to meete him there,
But when she saw the berries changed were.
From white to blacke, she knew not certainely
It was the place where they agreed to be.
With what delight from the darke caue she came
Thinking to tell how she escap'd the beast;
But when she saw her PIRAMVS lie slaine,
In what perplexity she did remaine.
She teares her Golden haire, and beates her brest,
All signes of raging sorrow she exprest.
She cries 'gainst mighty IOVE, and then doth take
His bleeding body from the moist'ned ground.
She kisses his pale face till she doth make
It red with kissing, and then seekes to wake
His parting soule with mournfull words, and's wound
Washeth with teares which her sweet speech confound.
But afterwards recouering breath, quoth shee,
(Alas) what chance hath parted thee and I.
O tell what euill, hath befallen to thee;
That of thy Death I may a Partner bee.
Tell THISBE, what hath caus'd this Tragedie.
He hearing THISBE'S name, lift vp his eye.
And on his Love he rais'd his dying head,
Where striving long for breath (at last) sayd hee,
O THISBE, I am hasting to the dead,
And cannot heale that Wound my feare hath bred.
Farewell, sweet THISBE, wee must parted bee,
For angry Death will force mee goe from Thee.
Life did from him, hee from his Mistris part,
Leaving his Love to languish heere in woe.
What shall shee doe? How shall she ease her heart?
Or with what language speake her inward smart?
Vsurping passion, reason doth o'reflow,
Shee sweares, that with her PYRAMVS shee'l goe.
Then takes the Sword, wherewith her Love was slayne
With PYRAMVS his crimson bloud warme still.
And sayd, Oh stay (blest Soule) that so wee twaine
May goe together where wee shall remaine
In endlesse Ioyes, and never feare the ill
Of grudging Friends: Then she her selfe did kill.
To tell what griefe theyr Parents did sustaine,
Were more then my rude Quill can overcome.
Many a teare they spent but all in vaine,
For weeping calls not backe the Dead againe.
They both were layed in one Grave, life done,
And these few words were writ vpon the Tombe.
Epitaph.
VNderneath this Marble stone,
Lye two Beauties ioyn'd in one.
Two whose Loves Death could not sever,
For both liv'd, both dy'd together.
Two whose Soules, being too divine
For earth, in their owne Spheare now shine.
Who have left their loves to Fame,
And their earth, to earth againe.
FINIS.
AN ELEGIE ON THE Death of the Right Honourable, DVDLEY Lord CARLETON, Viscount DORCHESTER, late Principall Secretarie of State.
THe infernall Sisters, did a Counsell call
Of all the Feinds, to the blacke Stygian Hall;
The dire Tartarean Monsters, hating light,
Begot by dismall Erebus, and night.
Wheresoe're dispers'd abroad, hearing the Fame
Of their accursed meeting, thither came
Revenge, whose greedy minde no Blood can fill,
And Envie, neuer satisfied with ill.
Thither blind Boldnesse, and impatient Rage,
Resorted, with Death's neighbour envious Age,
And Messengers diseases, wheresoe're
Then wandring, at that Senate present were:
Whom to oppresse the Earth, the Furies sent
To spare the Guiltie, vex the Innocent.
The Counsell thus dissolv'd, an angry fever,
Whose quenchlesse thirst, by Blood was sated never.
[Page]Envying the Riches, Honour, Greatnesse, Love
And Vertue (Loadstone, which all these did move)
Of Noble CARLETON, him she tooke away,
And like a greedy Vultur seas'd her prey:
Weepe with mee each who eyther reads or heares,
And know his losse, deserues his Countries teares:
The Muses lost a Patron by his Fate,
Virtue a Husband, and a Prop the State,
SOL'S Chorus weepes, and to adorne his Herse
CALLIOPE would sing a Tragicke verse.
And had there bin before no Spring of theirs,
They would have made a Helicon with their teares.
A. C.
AN ELEGIE ON THE Death of my loving Friend and Cousen, Mr. RICHARD CLERKE, late of LINCOLNES-Inne Gentleman.
IT was decreed by stedfast Destinie,
(The World from Chaos turn'd) that all should Die.
Hee who durst fearelesse passe blacke Acheron
And dangers of th'infernall Region,
Leading Hell's triple Porter captivate,
Was overcome himselfe, by conquering Fate.
The Roman TVLLIE'S pleasing Eloquence,
Which in the Eares did locke vp every Sence
Of the rapt hearer, his Mellifluous breath
Could not at all charme vnremorsefull Death.
Nor SOLON so by Greece admir'd, could save
Himselfe with all his Wisedome, from the Grave.
Sterne Fate brought MARO to his Funerall flame,
And would have ended in that fire his Fame;
Burning those lofty Lines, which now shall be
Times conquerors, and out-last Eternitie.
[Page]Even so lov'd CLERKE from Death no scape could find,
Though arm'd with great ALCIDES valiant mind.
Hee was adorn'd in yeares though farre more young,
With learned CICERO'S, or a sweeter Tongue.
And could dead VIRGIL heare his lofty straine,
Hee would condemne his owne to fire againe.
His youth a SOLON'S Wisedome did presage,
Had envious Time but given him SOLONS age.
And all that in our Ancestors hath bin
Of any Vertue, earth now lost in him.
Who would not therefore now if Learnings friend
Bewayle his fatall and vntimely end:
Who hath such hard, such vnrelenting Eyes,
As would not weeps when so much Vertue dyes?
The God of Poets doth in darknesse shrowd
His glorious face, and weepes behind a Cloud.
The dolefull Muses thinking now to write
Sad Elegies, their teares confound their sight:
But him to Elysium's lasting Ioyes they bring,
Where winged Angels his sad Requiems sing.
Abraham Cowley.
A DREAME OF ELYSIVM.
PHOEBVS expuls'd by the approaching Night
Blush'd, and for shame clos'd in his bashfull light.
Whilst I with leaden MORPHEVS overcome,
The Muse whom I adore enter'd the roome.
Her hayre with looser curiositie,
Did on her comely backe dishevel'd lye.
Her Eyes with such attractive beauty shone,
As might have wak'd sleeping ENDYMION.
Shee bid me rise, and promis'd I should see
Those Fields, those mansions of Felicitie
Wee mortals so admire at: Speaking thus,
She lifts me vp vpon wing'd Pegasus.
On whom I rid: Knowing where ever sh [...]e
Did goe, that place must needs a Temple bee.
No sooner was my flying Courser come
To the blest dwellings of Elysium.
When straight a thousand vnknowne joyes resort,
And hemm'd me round: Chast loves, innocuous sport.
[Page]A thousand sweets bought with no following Gall,
Ioyes not like ours, short, but perpetuall.
How many objects charme my wandring eye,
And bid my soule gaze there eternally?
Heere in full streames, BACCHVS thy liquor flowes,
Nor knowes to ebbe: heere IOVES broad Tree bestowes
Distilling honey, heere doth Nectar passe
With copious current through the vardant grasse.
Heere HYACINTH, his fate writ in his lookes.
And thou NARCISSVS louing still the brookes,
Once louely boyes; and Acis now a Flower,
Are nourish'd, with that rarer herbe, whose power
Created the wars potent God, heere growes
The spotlesse Lilly, and the blushing Rose.
And all those diuers ornaments abound,
That variously may paint the gawdy ground.
No Willow, sorrowes garland, there hath roome
Nor Cypresse, sad attendant of a Tombe.
None but APOLLO'S tree, and th'Ivie twine
Embracing the stout Oake, the fruitfull Vine.
And trees with golden Apples loaded downe,
On whose faire toppes sweet PHILOMEL alone,
Vnmindfull of her former misery,
Tunes with her voice a rauishing Harmony.
Whilst all the murmuring brookes that glide along
Make vp a burthen to her pleasing song.
No Scritchowle, sad companion of the night,
Or hideous Rauen with prodigeous flight
Presaging future ill. Nor Progne thee
Yet spotted with young Ilis tragedy,
[Page]Those Sacred bowers receiue. There's nothing there,
That is not pure, immaculate, and rare.
Turning my greedy sight another way,
Vnder a row of storme-contemning Bay
I saw the Thracian singer with his lyre
Teach the deafe stones to heare him, and admire.
Him the whole Poets Chorus compas'd round,
All whom the Oake, all whom the Lawrell crown'd.
There banish'd OVID had a lasting home,
Better then thou couldst giue ingratefull Rome,
And LVCAN (spight of Nero) in each vaine
Had euery drop of his spilt bloud againe:
HOMER, Sol's first borne, was not poore or blinde,
But saw as well in body, as in minde.
TVLLIE, graue CATO, SOLON, and the rest
Of Greece's admir'd Wisemen, heare possest
A large reward for their past deeds, and gaine
A life, as euerlasting as theyr Fame.
By these, the valiant Heroes take theyr place,
All who sterne Death and perils did imbrace
For Vertues cause. Great ALEXANDER there
Laughing at Earth's small Empier, did weare
A nobler Crowne, then the whole world could give.
There did HORATIVS, COCLES, SCAEVA, live,
And valiant DECIVS, who now freely cease
From warre, and purchase an Eternall peace.
Next them, beneath a Myrtle bowre, where Doves,
And gallesse Pidgeons build theyr nests, all Loves.
Faithfull perseverers, with amorous kisses,
And soft imbraces, taste theyr greediest wishes.
[Page]LEANDER with his beautious HERO playes,
Nor are they parted with dividing Seas.
PORCIA injoyes her BRVTVS, Death no more
Can now divorce theyr wedding, as before.
THISBE her PIRAMVS kiss'd, his THISBE hee
Embrac'd, each blest with th'others companie.
And every couple alwayes dancing, sing
Eternall Ditties to Elysium's King.
But see how soone these pleasures fade away,
How neere to Evening is delights short Day?
For th'watchfull Bird, true Nuncius of the Light
Straight crow'd: and all these vanish'd from my sight.
My very Muse her selfe forsooke mee too.
Me g [...]iefe and wonder wak'd: What should I doe?
Oh! let me follow thee (sayd I) and goe
From life, that I may Dreame for ever so.
With that my flying Muse I though to claspe
Within my arm [...]s, but did a Shadow graspe.
Thus ch [...]efest Ioyes glide with the swiftest streame,
And all our greatest Pleasure's but a Dreame.
ABRA: COVVLEY.
FINIS.
Some mistakes are passed in the Impression, which I beseech thee Gentle Reader to pardon.
Vale. H. S.