POEMS, BY That most Famous Wit, WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN.
Aetas prima canit
Veneris postrema Triumphos.
LONDON, Printed for Richard Tomlins, at the Sun and Bible neare Pye-Corner, 1656.
To the Right Honourable, Sir John Scot of Scots-Tarvet, Knight, Late Director of his Majesties Chancellary, and one of the Lords of His Majesties most Honourable Prvy Councell, Sessions, and Exchequer.
Sir,
HAving received these ingenious Poems from your Honour, I could not more fitly have presented them to any than to your self, it being most just that the noblest Wit of Scotland should fly to the patronage of the greatest Mecoenas of Wit and Learning that the Nation affords, be pleased therefore to accept the humble indeavours to serve you of
T. R.
To the Reader.
Ingenious Reader,
TO say that these Poems are the effects of a Genius, the most polite and verdant that ever the Scottish Nation produced, although it be a commendation not to be rejected, (for it is well known, that that Country hath afforded many rare and admirable wits) yet it is not the highest that may be given him; for should I affirme that neither Tasso, nor Guarini, nor any of the most neat and refined spirits of Italy, nor even the choicest of our English Poets, can challenge to themselves any advantages above him, it could not be judged any attribute superiour to what he deserves; nor shall I thinke it any arrogance to [Page] maintain, that among all the severall fancies, that in these times have exercised the most nice and curious judgements, there hath not come forth any thing that deserves to be welcom'd into the world with greater estimation and applause: And though he hath not had the fortune to be so generally fam'd abroad, as many others, perhaps, of lesse esteeme, yet this is a consideration that cannot at all diminish, but rather advance his credit; For by breaking forth of obscurity he will attract the higher admiration, and like the Sun emerging from a Cloud appeare at length with so much the more forcible Rayes. Had there been nothing extant of him but his History of Scotland, consider but the Language, how florid and ornate it is; consider the order, and the prudent conduct of his Story, and you will ranke him in the number of the best writers, and compare him even with Thuanus himselfe. Neither is he lesse happy in his Verse than Prose: for here ar [...] [Page] all those graces met together that conduce any thing toward the making up of a compleat and perfect Poet, a decent and becomming Majesty, a brave and admirable height, and a wit so flowing, that Jove himselfe never dranke Nectar that sparkled with a more spritly lustre; should I dwell any longer (ingenuous Reader) upon the commendation of this incomparable Author, I should injure, thee by forestalling the freedome of thy owne judgement, and him by attempting a vain designe, since there is nothing can so well set him forth as his own works; besides the losse of time which is but trifled away so long as thou art detained from perusing the Poems themselves.
E. P.
Vpon the incomparable Poems of Mr William Drummond.
TO praise these Poems well, there doth require
The selfe-same spirit, and that sacred fire
That first inspir'd them; yet I cannot choose
But pay an admiration to a Muse
That sings such handsome things; never brake forth,
From Climes so neare the Beare, so bright a worth;
And I beleeve the Caledonian Bow'rs
Are full as pleasant, and as rich in flow'rs
As Tempe e're was fam'd, since they have nourish'd
A wit the most sublime that ever flourish'd;
There's nothing cold, or frozen, here contain'd,
Nothing that's harsh, unpolish'd, or constrain'd,
But such an ardour as creates the spring,
And throws a chearfulnesse on every thing;
Such a sweet calmnesse runs through every verse
As shews how he delighted to converse
With silence, and his Muse, among those shades
Which care, nor busie tumult, e're invades;
There would he oft, the adventures of his loves
Relate unto the Fountaines, and the groves,
In such a straine as Laura had admir'd
Her Petrarch more, had he been so inspir'd.
Some, Phoebus gives, a smooth and streaming veine,
A great and happy fancy some attaine,
Others unto a soaring height he lifts;
But here he hath so crouded all his gifts,
[Page]As if he had design'd in one to try,
To what a pitch he could bring Poetry;
For every grace should he receive a Crown,
There were not Bays enough in Helicon:
Fame courts his Verse, and with immortall wings
Hovers about his Monument, and brings
A deathlesse trophy to his memory;
Who, for such honour, would not wish to dye?
Never could any times afford a Story
Of one so match'd unto great Sidney's glory;
Or Fame so well divided, as between
Penshurst's renowned shades, and Hawthornden.
Edw:. Phillips.
Joanni Scoto, Scoto-Tarvatio Equiti praelustri de Literatura optimè merito.
TArvati immensos recolens labores
Jure queis partes potiore primas
Asseram; haud vanis dubiè Laborant
Pectora cu [...]is;
Sive quod divae Cathedra renidens
Ultimae, terras habitantis annos,
Ter quater ternos veluti sacer fons
Juris, & aequi;
Sive quod Caecos patriae recessus
Ut stilo pingat mage qui polito
Tesqua & incultas salebras recenti
Inserat Orbi?
Sive quod vates patriae minores
(Forte noscendi serius nec ipsis
Civibus) toto celebrentur Orbe
Vindice Scoto?
Blandiores qu [...]d memorem Camaenas,
Oris antiquâ prope sede pulsas,
Sedibus priscis prope restitutas,
Auspice Scoto?
Orphanos sanis quod & instruendos
Artibus curae tibi, censibus, quos
Ambitu pravo repulere Musis
Gymnasiarchae.
Sit licet rarum putatis horum
Quodlibet curae specimen, fatiscunt
Dum frui postliminio recordor,
Te duce fratrem;
Nempe sic olim studio & Labore
Torvus Alcides stygiis ab undis
Reddidit terris domito Trifauci
Thesea monstro.
Sic eat; clari haec monumenta vatis,
Nesciant aevi imperium severi
Regia; ast spernant Phlege [...]onta, & Orci
Jura superbi.
D. F.
De Gulielmo Drummondo.
QUaesivit Latio Buchananus carmine Laudem,
Et patriòs dura respuit aure modos
Cum possit Latiis Buchananum vincere Musis
Drummondus, patrio maluit ore loqui,
Major ut est, primas hinc defert Scotia, vates,
Vix inter Latios, ille secundus erat.
To W. D.
SOme will not leave that Trust to Friend, nor Heire,
But their own winding-Sheet themselves prepare;
Fearing, perhaps some courser Cloath might shroud
The wormes descended from their noble Bloud:
And shalt not thou (that justlier maist suspect
Far courser stuffe, in such a dull neglect
Of all the Arts, and dearth of Poetry)
Compose before hand thine own Elegy?
Who but thy selfe is capable to write
A Verse, or, if they can, to fashion it
Unto thy Praises? None can draw a Line
Of thy perfections, but a hand divine.
If thou wilt needs impose this Task on us,
(A greater Work than best Wits can discusse)
We will but only so far Embleme Thee,
As in a circle, men, the Deity.
A wreath of Bayes we'll lay upon thy Herse;
For that shall speake Thee better than our Verse:
That art in number of those Things, whose end,
Nor whose beginning we can comprehend.
A Star, which did the other Day appeare,
T'enlighten up our dark'ned Hemispheare:
Nor can we tell nor how, nor whence it came,
Yet feele the heat of thy admired flame.
'Twas thou that thaw'd our North, 'twas thou didst cleare
The eternall mists which had beset us here,
Till by thy golden Beames and powerfull Ray
Thou chas'd hence Darknesse, and brought out the Day.
[Page]But as the Sun, though he bestow all Light
On us, yet hinders by the same our sight
To gaze on him; So thou, though thou dispence
Far more on us by thy bright influence,
Yet such is thy transcendent brightnesse, we
Thereby are dazled, and cannot reach thee;
Then art thou less'ned, should we bound thy Praise
T' our narrow dull conceit, which cannot raise
Themselves beyond a vulgar Theame, nor flye
A pitch like unto thine in Poesie;
Yet (as the greatest Kings have sometimes dain'd
The smallest Presents from a poore mans hand;
When pure devotion gave them) it may be
Your Genius will accept a mite from me:
It speaks my Love, although it reach not you;
And you are praised, when I would so do.
John Spotswood.
To William Drummond of Hawthornden.
I Never rested on the Muses bed,
Nor dipt my Quill in the Thessalian Fountaine,
My rustick Muse was rudely fostered,
And flies too low to reach the double mountaine.
Then do not sparkes with your bright Suns compare,
Perfection in a Womans worke is rare;
From an untroubled mind should Verses flow;
My discontents makes mine too muddy show;
And hoarse encumbrances of houshold care
Where these remaine, the Muses ne're repaire.
If thou dost extoll her Haire,
Or her Ivory Forehead faire,
Or those Stars whose bright reflection
Thrals thy heart in sweet subjection:
Or when to display thou seeks
The snow-mixt Roses on her Cheekes,
Or those Rubies soft and sweet,
Over those pretty Rows that meet.
The Chian Painter as asham'd
Hides his Picture so far fam'd;
And the Queen he carv'd it by.
With a blush her face doth dye,
Since those Lines do limne a Creature
That so far surpast her Feature.
When thou shew'st how fairest Flora
Prankt with pride the banks of Ora,
So thy Verse her streames doth honour,
Strangers grow enamoured on her,
All the Swans that swim in Po
Would their native brooks forgo,
And as loathing Phoebus beames,
Long to bath in cooler streamos.
Tree-turn'd Daphne would be seen
In her Groves to flourish green,
And her Boughs would gladly spare
To frame a garland for thy haire,
That fairest Nymphs with finest fingers
May thee crown the best of singers.
But when thy Muse dissolv'd in show'rs,
Wailes that peerlesse Prince of ours,
Cropt by too untimely Fate,
Her mourning doth exasperate
Senselesse things to see thee moane,
Stones do weep, and Trees do groane,
Birds in aire, Fishes in flood,
Beasts in field forsake their food;
The Nymphs forgoing all their Bow'rs
Teare their Chaplets deckt with Flow'rs;
Sol himselfe with misty vapor
Hides from earth his glorious Tapor,
And as mov'd to heare thee plaine
Shews his griefe in show'rs of raine.
Mary Oxlie of Morpet.
POEMS.
The First Part.
IN my first Prime, when childish Humours fed
My wanton Wit, ere I did know the Blisse
Lies in a loving Eye, or amorous Kisse,
Or with what Sighs a Lover warmes his Bed;
By the sweet Thespian Sisters Errour led,
I had more mind to read, than lov'd to write,
And so to praise a perfect Red and White;
But [God wote] knew not what was in my Head,
Love smil'd to see me take so great Delight,
To turne those Antiques of the Age of Gold,
And that I might more Mysteries behold,
He set so faire a Volume to my Sight,
That I Ephemerides laid aside,
Glad on this blushing Book my Death to read▪
SON.
I Know that all beneath the Moon decaies,
And what by Mortalls in this World is brought,
In Times great Periods shall returne to nought;
That fairest States have fatall Nights and Daies.
I know that all the Muses heavenly Layes,
With Toyle of Spright, which are so dearely bought,
As idle sounds, of few, or none are sought,
That there is nothing lighter than vaine Praise.
I know fraile Beauty like the purple Floure,
To which one Morne oft Birth and Death affords,
That Love a jarring is of Minds Accords,
Where Sense and Will bring under Reasons Power:
Know what I list, this all can not me move,
But that (alas) I both must write, and love.
SON.
YE who so curiously do paint your Thoughts,
Enlightning ev'ry Line in such a guise,
That they seem rather to have fallen from Skies,
Than of a humane Hand by mortall Draughts.
In one Part Sorrow so tormented lies,
As if his Life at ev'ry Sigh would part;
Love Here blindfolded stands with Bow and Dart,
[...]here Hope looks pale, Despaire with flaming Eyes:
Of my rude Pensill look not for such Art,
My Wit I find too little to devise
So high Conceptions to expresse my smart,
And some say Love is faign'd that's too too wise.
These troubled Words and Lines-confus'd you find,
Are like unto their Modell, my sick Mind.
SON.
Aye me, and I am now the Man whose M [...]se
In happier Times was wont to laugh at Love,
And those who suff'red that blind Boy abuse
The noble Gifts were given them from above.
What Metamorphose strange is this I prove?
My selfe now scarce I find my selfe to be,
And thinke no Fable Circes Tyrannie,
And all the Tales are told of changed Jove;
Vertue hath taught with her Philosophy
My mind unto a better Course to move;
Reason may chide her full, and oft reprove
Affections Power, but what is that to me?
Who ever thinke, and never thinke on Ought
But that bright Cherubine which thra [...]ls my Thought.
SON.
HOw that vaste Heaven intitl'd First is rol'd,
If any glancing Towres beyond it be,
And People living in Eternity,
Or Essence pure that doth this All uphold:
What motion have those fixed Sparkes of Gold,
The wandring Carbuncles which shine from high,
By Sprights, or Bodies crosse-waies in the Skie,
If they be turn'd, and mortall Things behold.
How Sun posts Heaven about, how Nights pale Queen ▪
With borrowed Beames lookes on this hanging Round,
What cause faire Iris hath, and Monsters seene
In Aires large Fields of light, and Seas profound,
Did hold my wandring Thoughts; when thy sweet Eye
Bade me leave all, and only thinke on Thee.
SON.
FAire is my Yoake, though grievous be my Paines,
Sweet are my Wounds, although they deeply smart,
My Bit is Gold, though shortened be the Reines,
My Bondage brave, though I may not depart,
Although I burne, the Fire which doth impart
Those Flames, so sweet reviving Force containes,
That like Arabia's Bird my wasted Heart
Made quick by Death, more lively still remaines.
I joy though oft my waking Eyes spend Teares,
I never want Delight, even when I grone,
Best companied when most I am alone,
A Heaven of Hopes I have midst Hells of Feares:
Thus every way Contentment strange I find,
But most in Her rare Beauty, my rare Mind.
SON.
VAunt not, fair Heavens, of your two glorious Lights,
Which though [...]ost bright, yet see not when they shine,
And shining, cannot show their Beames divine
Both in one Place, but part by Daies and Nights;
Earth vaunt not of those Treasures ye enshrine,
Held only deare, because hid from our Sights,
Your pure and burnish'd Gold, your Diamonds fine,
Snow-passing Ivory that the Eye delights.
Nor Seas of those deare Wares are in you found
Vaunt not, rich Pearle, red Corrall which do stir
A fond desire in Fooles to plunge your Ground;
These all more faire are to be had in Her:
Pearle, Ivory, Corrall, Diamond, Suns, Gold,
Teeth, Neck, Lips, Heart, Eyes, Haire are to behold.
SON.
WHen Nature now had wonderfully wrought
All Auristellas Parts, except her Eyes,
To make those Twins two Lamps in Beauties Skies,
She Counsell of her Starry Se [...]a [...]e sought.
Mars and Apollo first did her advise,
To wrap in Colour Black, those Comets bright,
Th [...]t Love him so might soberly disguise,
And unperceived Wound at every Sight.
Chaste Phoebe spake for purest azure dies;
But Jove and Venus green about the Light,
To frame thought best, as bringing most Delight,
That to pin'd Hearts Hope might for aye arise:
Nature [all said] a Paradise of green
There plac'd, to make all love which have them seen.
SON.
NOw while the Night her [...]able Vaile hath spred,
And silently her resty Coach doth rolle,
Rowsing with Her from Tethis azure Bed,
Those starry Nymphs which dance about the Pole,
While Cynthia in purest Cipres cled,
The La [...]mian Shepheard in a [...]rance descries,
And looking pale from height of all the Skies,
She dies her Beauties in a blushing Red,
While Sleep (in Triumph) closed hath all Eyes,
And Birds, and Beasts a Silence sweet do keep,
And Proteus monstrous People in the Deep,
The Winds and Waves (husht up) to rest entise,
I wake, I turne, I weep opprest with Paine,
Perplex'd in the Meanders of my Braine.
SON.
SLeep, Silence Child, sweet Father of soft Rest,
Prince whose Approach Peace to all Mortals brings,
Indifferent Host to Shepheards and to Kings,
Sole Comforter of Minds which are opprest.
Loe, by thy Charming Rod all breathing Things
Lie slumbring, with Forgetfulnesse possest,
And yet o're me to spread thy drowsie Wings
Thou spar'st (alas) who cannot be thy Guest.
Since I am thine, O come, but with that Face
To inward Light which thou art wont to shew▪
With fained Solace ease a true felt Woe;
Or if deafe God thou do deny that Grace,
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath,
I long to kisse the Image of my Death.
SON.
FAire Moone who with thy cold and silver Shine,
Makes sweet the Horror of the dreadfull Night,
Delighting the weake Eye with smiles divine,
Which Phoebus dazels with his too much Light,
Bright Queen of the first Heaven, if in thy Shrine
By turning oft, and Heavens eternall Might,
Thou hast not yet that once sweet Fire of thine
Endemion, forgot, and Lovers Plight:
If Cause like thine may Pity breed in thee,
And Pity somewhat else to it obtaine,
Since thou hast Power of Dreames as well as He
That holds the golden Rod, and Morall Chaine:
Now while She sleeps in dolefull Guise her Show,
These Teares, and the black Map of all my Woe.
SON.
LAmpe of Heavens Christall Hall that brings the Houres,
Eye-dazeler, who makes the ugly Night
At thy Approach flie to her slumbry Bowres,
And fills the World with Wonder and Delight.
Life of all lives, Death-giver by thy flight
To the south Pole from these sixe Signes of ours,
Gold-smith of all the Stars, with Silver bright
Who Moone enamells, Apelles of the Flowers.
Ah from those watry Plaines thy golden Head
Raise up, and bring the so long lingring Morne,
A Grave, nay Hell, I find become this Bed,
This Bed so grievously where I am torne:
But woe is me though thou now brought the Day,
Day shall but serve moe Sorrows to display.
SONG.
IT was the time when to our Northerne Pole
The brightest Lampe of Heaven begins to rolle,
When Earth more wanton in new Robes appeareth,
And scorning Skies her Flowres in Rain-bows beareth,
On which the Aire moist Diamonds doth bequeath,
Which quake to feele the kissing Zephires breath:
When Birds from shady Groves their Love forth warble,
And Sea-like Heaven, Heaven looks like smoothest Marble,
When I in simple course free from all Cares,
Far from the muddy Worlds inslaving snares.
By Oras flowry Bankes alone did wander:
Ora that sports her like to old Meander,
A Floud more worthy Fame and lasting praise
Then that so high which Phaëtons fall did raise:
By whose pure moving Glasse the Milke-white Lillies
Do dresse their tresses and the Daffad [...]llies.
Where Ora with a Wood is crown'd about
And (seems) forgets the way how to come out,
A place there is, where a delicious Fountaine
Springs fr [...]m the swelling brest of a proud Mountaine,
Whose falling Streames the quiet Cavernes wound,
And make the Echoes shrill resound that sound.
The Laur [...]ll there the shing Channell graces,
The Palm h [...]r Love with long-stretch'd Arms embraces,
The Poplar spreads her Branches to the Skie,
And hides from sight that azure Canopy.
The Streams the Trees, the Trees their leaves still nourish,
That Place grave Winter finds [...]ot without flourish.
If living Eyes Elysian fields could see
This little Arden might Elysium be.
Oft did Diana there her selfe repose,
And Ma [...]s the Acidalia [...] Queen enclose.
[Page 9]The Nymphs oft here their baskets bring with Flow'rs,
And Anadems weave for their Paramours,
The Satyres in those shades are heard to languish,
And make the Shepheards partners of their anguish,
The Shepheards who in Barkes of tender Trees
Do grave their Loves, Disdaines, and Jealousies:
Which Phillis when there by Her Flocks she feedeth,
With Pitty now, anon, with laughter readeth.
Neare to this place when Sun in midst of Day
In highest top of Heaven his Coach did stay,
And (as advising) on his Career glanced
As all along, that morne he had advanced
His panting Steeds along those Fields of light,
Most princely looking from that glorious height:
When most the Grashoppers are heard in Meadows,
And loftiest Pines or small, or have no shadows:
It was my hap, O wofull hap! to bide
Where thickest shades me from all Raies did hide,
In a faire Arbor, 'twas some Sylvans Chamber,
Whose Seeling spred was with the Locks of Amber
Of new bloom'd Sicamors, Floore wrought with Flow'rs,
More sweet and rich than those in Princes Bow'rs.
Here Adon blush't, and Clitia all amazed
Lookt pale, with Him who in the Fountaine gazed,
The Amaranthus smyl'd, and that sweet Boy
Which sometime was the God of Delos joy:
The brave Carnation, speckled Pinke here shined,
The Uiolet her fainting Head declined
Beneath a sleepy Chasbow, all of Gold
The Marigold her leaves did here unfold.
Now while that ravish'd with delight and wonder,
Halfe in a trance I lay those Arches under,
The season, silence, place, began t' entise,
Eyes drowsie lids to bring Night on their Skies,
Which softly having stollen themselves together
(Like evening Clouds) me plac'd I wot not whether.
[Page 10]As Cowards leave the Fort which they should keep,
My senses one by one gave place to Sleep,
Who followed with a troupe of golden Slumbers
Thrust from my quiet Braine all base encumbers,
And thrice me touching with his Rod of Gold,
A Heaven of Visions in my Temples roll'd,
To countervaile those Pleasures were bereft me,
Thus in his silent Prison clos'd he left me.
Me thought through all the neighbour Woods a noise
Of Quiristers, more sweet than Lute or voice,
(For those harmonious sounds to Jove are given
By the swift touches of the nine-string'd Heaven,
Such aires, and nothing else) did wound mine Eare,
No Soule but would become all Eare to heare:
And whilst I listning lay, O lovely wonder!
I saw a pleasant Mirtle cleave asunder;
A Mirtle great with birth, from whose rent wombe
Three naked Nymphs more white than Snow forth come.
For Nymphs they seem'd, about their heavenly faces
In Waves of Gold floted their curling Tresses,
About their armes, their Armes more white than milke,
They blushing Armlets wore of crimson Silke.
The Goddesses were such that by Scamander,
Appeared to the Phrygian Alexander:
Aglaia and her Sisters such perchance
Be when about some sacred Spring they dance.
But scarce the Grove their naked Beauties graced,
And on the Verdure had each other traced,
When to the Floud they ran, the Floud in Robes
Of curling Christall their brests Ivory Globes
Did all about incircle, yet took pleasure
To show white Snows throughout her liquid Azure.
Look how Prometheus Man when heavenly fire
First gave him Breath, Daies Brandon did admire,
And wondred at this Worlds Amphitheater:
So gaz'd I on those new guests of the Water.
[Page 11]All three were faire, yet one excell'd as far
The rest as Phoebus doth the Cyprian Star,
Or Diamonds, small Gems, or Gems do other,
Or Pearls that shining shell is call'd their Mother.
Her Haire more bright than are the Mornings Beames
Hung in a golden shower above the Streames,
And dangling sought her fore-head for to cover,
Which seen did straight a Skie of Milke discover,
With two faire Brows, Loves Bows which never bend
But that a golden Arrow forth they send.
Beneath the which two burning Planets glancing
Flasht flames of Love, for Love there still is dancing.
Her either Cheeke resembled blushing Morne,
Or Roses Gueles in field of Lillies borne▪
'Twixt which an Ivory Wall so faire is rais [...]d,
That it is but abased when it's praised.
Her Lips like Rows of Corrall soft did swell,
And th' one like th' other only doth excell:
The Tyrian Fish looks pale, pale look the Roses,
The Rubies pale, when mouth sweet Cherry closes.
Her Chin like silver Phoebe did appeare
Darke in the midst to make the rest more cleare:
Her Neck seem'd fram'd by curious Phidias Master,
Most smooth, most white, a peece of Alabaster.
Two foaming Billows flow'd upon her brest,
Which did their tops with Corrall red encrest:
There all about as Brooks them sport at leisure,
With Circling Branches veines did swell in azure:
Within those crookes are only found those Isles
Which Fortunate the dreaming old World stiles.
The rest the Streames did hide, but as a Lilly
Sunke in a Christals faire transparent Belly.
I who yet humane weaknesse did not know,
(For yet I had not felt that Archers Bow,
Nor could I thinke that from the coldest Water
The w [...]nged Yongling burning Flames could scatter)
[Page 12]On every part my vagabonding sight
Did cast, and drowne mine Eyes in sweet Delight,
O wondrous thing (said I) that Beauty is named!
Now I perceive I heretofore have dreamed,
And never found in all my flying Daies
Joy unto this, which only merits praise.
My pleasures have been paines, my comforts crosses,
My treasure poverty, my gaines but losses.
O precious sight! which none doth else descry
Except the burning Sun, and quivering I.
And yet O deare-bought Sight! O would for ever
I might enjoy you, or had joy'd you never!
O happy Floud! if so ye might abide,
Yet ever glory of this Moments Pride,
Adjure your Rillets all for to behold Her,
And in their Christall Armes to come and fold Her;
And sith ye may not long this Blesse embrace,
Draw thousand Pourtraits of Her on your Face,
Pourtraits which in my Heart be more apparent,
If like to yours my Brest but were transparent.
O that I were while She doth in you play,
A Daulphine to transport Her to the Sea!
To none of all those Gods I would Her render,
From Thule to Inde though I should with Her wander.
Oh! what is this? the more I fixe mine Eye,
Mine Eye the more new Wonders doth espie,
The more I spie, the more in uncouth fashion
My Soule is ravish'd in a pleasant passion.
But looke not Eyes, (as more I would have said)
A sound of ratling Wheeles me all dismaid,
And with the sound forth from the trembling Bushes,
With storme-like course a sumptuous Chariot rushes,
A Chariot all of Gold, the Wheeles were Gold,
The Nailes and Axel Gold on which it roll'd:
The upmost part a Scarlet Vaile did cover,
More rich than Danaes Lap spred with her Lover.
[Page 13]In midst of it in a triumphing Chaire,
A Lady sate miraculously faire,
Whose pensive Countenance, and looks of Honour,
Do more allure the mind that thinketh on Her,
Than the most wanton Face, and amorous Eyes,
That Amathus or flowry Paphos sees,
A Crue of Virgins made a Ring about Her,
The Diamond she they seem the Gold without Her.
Such Thetis is when to the Billows rore
With Mermaids nice she danceth on the Shore:
So in a sable Night the Suns bright Sister
Among the lesser twinckling Lights doth glister
Faire Yoakes of Ermelines whose Colour passe
The whitest Snows on aged Grampius Face,
More swift than Venus Birds this Chariot guided
To the astonish'd Banke, where as it bided:
But long it did not bide, when poore those Streames
Aye me it made, transporting those rich Gemmes,
And by that Burthen lighter, swiftly drived
Till (as me thought) it at a Tow'r arrived:
Upon a Rock of Christall shining cleare
With Diamonds wrought this Castell did appeare,
Who rising spires of Gold so high them reared
That Atlas like it seem'd the Heaven they beared.
Amidst which Hights on Arches did arise
(Arches which guilt Flames brandish to the Skies)
Of sparking Topaces, Proud, Gorgeous, Ample,
(Like to a little Heaven) a sacred Temple.
The Walls no Windows have, nay all the Wall
Is but one Window, Night there doth not fall
More when the Sun to Westerne Worlds declineth,
Than in our Zenith when at Noone He shineth.
Two flaming Hills the passage strait defend
Which to this radiant Building doth ascend,
Upon whose Arching tops on a Pilastre
A Port stands open, rais'd in Loves Disastre
[Page 14]For none that narrow Bridge and gate can passe,
Who have their Faces seen in Venus Glasse.
If those within, but to come forth do venter,
That stately Place againe they never enter.
The Precinct's strengthened with a Ditch of Feares,
In which doth swell a Lake of Inky Teares
Of madding Lovers, who abide their moaning,
And thicken even the Aire with pitious groaning.
This Hold to brave the Skies the Destines fram'd,
And then the Fort of Chastity is nam'd.
The Queen of the third Heaven once to appall it,
The God of Thrace Here brought who could not thrall it;
For which he vow'd ne're Arms more to put on,
And on Riphean Hils was heard to groan.
Here Psyches Lover hurles his Darts at randon,
Which all for nought him serve, as doth his Brandon.
What grievous Agony did invade my Mind?
When in that Place my Hope I saw confin'd,
Where with high-towring Thoughts I only reacht her,
Which did burne up their Wings when they approacht her.
Me thought I set me by a Cypresse shade,
And Night and Day the Hyacinthe there read:
And that bewailing Nightingales did borrow
Plaints of my Plaint, and sorrows of my Sorrow.
My food was Worm-wood, mine own Teares my drinke,
My rest, on Death and sad Mishaps to thinke.
And for such Thoughts to have my Heart enlarged,
And ease mine Eyes with brinie Tribute charged,
Over a Brook I laid my pining Face:
But then the Brooke as griev'd at my Disgrace,
A Face Me shew'd so pin'd, sad, over-clouded,
That at the Sight afray'd mine Eyes them shrowded.
This is the guerdon Love, this is the Game,
In end which to thy Servants doth remaine.
More would I say; when Feare made Sleep to leave me,
And of those fatall Shadows did bereave me.
[Page 15]But ah alas! instead to dreame of Love,
And Woes, I now them in effect did prove:
For what into my troubled Braine was painted,
Awak'd I found that Time and Place presented.
SONNETS.
AH burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest,
And your tumultuous Broyles a while appease:
Is't not enough, Stars, Fortune, Love molest
Me all at once, but ye must too displease?
Let Hope (though false) yet lodge within my brest,
My high Attempt (though dangerous) yet praise:
What though I trace not right Heavens steppy waies,
It doth suffice my Fall shall make me blest.
I do not doat on Daies, I feare not Death,
So that my Life be good, I wish't not long;
Let me Renown'd live from the Worldly Throng,
And when Heaven lists, recall this borrowed Breath.
Men but like Visions are, Time all doth claime,
He lives who dies to win a lasting Name.
SON.
THat learned Grecian who did so excell
In Knowledge passing Sense, that he is nam'd
Of all the after Worlds Divine, doth tell
That all the Time when first our Soules are fram'd,
Ere in these Mansions blind they come to dwell,
They live bright Rayes of that Eternall light,
And others see, know, love, in Heavens great height,
Not toyld with ought to Reason do rebell.
It is most true, for straight at the first sight
My Mind me told that in some other place
It elsewhere saw th' Idea of that face,
And lov'd a love of Heavenly pure delight.
What wonder now I feele so faire a flame,
Sith I her lov'd ere on this Earth She came?
SON.
NOr Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,
Sebethus, nor the Flood into whose streames
He fell who burnt the world with borrowed beames,
Gold-rolling Tagus, Munda, famous Iber,
Sorgue, Rosne, Loire, Garron, nor proud-banked Sein [...],
Peneus, Phasis Xanthus, humble Ladon,
Nor She whose Nymphes excell her loved Adon
Faire Tamesis, nor Ister large, nor Rheine,
Euphrates, Tigr [...]s, Indus, Hermus, Gange,
Pearly Hydaspes, Serpent-like Meander,
The Floud which robbed Hero of Leander,
Nile that far far his hidden Head doth range,
Have ever had so rare a cause of praise,
As Ora where this Northerne Phoenix stayes.
SON.
TO heare my plaints faire River Christalline
Thou in a silent slumber seems to stay,
Delicious Flowers Lilly and Columbine,
Ye bow your Heads when I my Woes display.
Forrests in you the Mirtle, Palme and Bay,
Have had compassion listning to my groanes,
The Winds with sighs have solemniz'd my moanes
'Mong leaves, which whisper'd what they could not say,
The Caves, the Rocks, the Hills, the Sylvans Thrones,
(As if even pitty did in them appeare,)
Have at my sorrow rent their ruthlesse stones,
Each thing I find hath sence except my Deare,
Who doth not thinke I love, or will not know
My Griefe, perchance delighting in my woe.
SON.
SWeet Brook, in whose cleare Christall I my eyes
Have oft seen great in labour of their teares,
Enamell'd Banke whose shining gravell beares
These sad Characters of my miseries;
High Woods, whose mounting tops menace the Sphears,
Wild Citizens, Amphions of the Trees,
You gloomy Groves at hottest Noons which freeze,
Elysian shades which Phoebus never cleares;
Vaste solitary Mountaines, pleasant Plaines,
Embroydred Meads that Ocean-waies you reach;
Hills, Dales, Springs, All whom my sad cry constraines
To take part of my plaints, and learne woes speech,
Will that remorselesse faire e're pity show?
Of grace now answer if ye ought know: No.
SON.
WIth flaming Horns the Bull now brings the yeare,
Melt do the Mountains rouling flouds of Snow,
The silver Rivers in smooth Channels flow,
The Late-bare Woods green Anadeams do weare.
The Nightingall forgetting Winters woe,
Cals up the lazy Morne her notes to heare,
Spread are those Flow'rs which names of Princes beare,
Some red, some azure, white, and golden grow.
Here lowes a Heifer, there be-wailing strayes
A harmelesse Lambe, not far a Stag rebounds;
The Shepheards sing to grazing flocks sweet Layes,
And all about the Ecchoing Aire resounds.
Hils, Dales, Woods, Flouds, & ev'ry thing doth change,
But She in rigour, I in Love am strange.
SON.
THat I so slenderly set forth my Mind,
Writing I wot not what in ragged Rimes,
Orecharg'd with brasse in these so golden Times
When other [...] towre so high, am left behind:
I crave not Phoebus leave his sacred Cell
To bind my Brows with fresh Aonian Baies;
But leave't to those who tuning Sweetest Laies
By Tempe sit, or Aganippes Well;
Nor yet to Venus Tree do I aspire,
Sith She for whom I might affect that praise,
My best attempts with cruell words gainsaies,
And I seek not that others me admire.
Of weeping Myrrhe the Crowne is which I crave,
With a sad Cypresse to adorne my Grave.
MADRIGALL.
WHen as She smiles I find
More light before mine Eyes,
Than when the Sun from Inde
Brings to our World a flowry Paradise:
But when She gently weeps,
And poures forth pearly showers,
On cheeks faire blushing flowers,
A sweet melancholy my senses keeps.
Both feed so my disease,
So much both do me please,
That oft I doubt, which more my heart doth burne,
Love to behold her smile, or Pitty mourne.
SON.
MY Teares may well Numidian Lions tame,
And Pity breed into the hardest heart
That ever Pyrrha did to Maid impart,
When She them first of blushing Rocks did frame.
Ah Eyes which only serve to waile my smart,
How long will you my inward Woes proclaime,
May 't not suffice you beare a weeping Part
All Night, at day but you must do the same?
Cease idle Sighs to spend your Stormes in vaine,
And these sweet silent thickets to molest,
Containe you in the Prison of my Brest,
You do not ease but aggravate my Paine;
Or if burst forth you must, that Tempest move
In sight of her whom I so dearely love.
SON.
YOu restlesse Seas appease your roaring Waves,
And you who raise huge Mountaines in that Plaine
Aires Trumpeters, your hideous sounds containe,
And listen to the plaints my griefe doth cause.
Eternall Lights! though adamantine Laws
Of Destinies to move still you ordaine,
Turne hither all your Eyes, your Axels pause,
And wonder at the Torments I sustaine.
[...]ad Earth, if thou made dull by my disgrace
Be not as senselesse, aske those Powers above
Why they so crost a Wretch brought on thy Face,
Fram'd for mishap, th' Anachorit of Love,
And bid them (that no more Etnaes may burne)
To Erimanth' or Rhod [...]pe me turne.
SON.
IF crost with all mishaps be my poore Life,
If one short day I never spent in mirth,
If my Sp'rit with it selfe holds lasting strife,
If sorrows death is but new sorrows birth;
If this vaine World be but a mournfull Stage,
Where slave-borne Man plaies to the laughing Stars,
If Youth be toss'd with Love, with Weaknesse Age,
If Knowledge serves to hold our Thoughts in Wars,
If Time can close the hundred Mouths of Fame,
And make what's long since past, like that's to be,
If Vertue only be an Idle Name,
If being borne I was but borne to dye;
Why seek I to prolong these loathsome daies?
The fairest Rose in shortest time decaies.
SON.
ALl other Beauties howsoe're they shine
In Haires more bright than is the golden Ore,
Or cheeks more faire than fairest Eglantine,
Or hands like hers that comes the Sun before:
Match'd with that Heavenly Hew, and shape divine,
With those deare Stars which my weak thoughts adore,
Look but as shaddows, or if they be more,
It is in this, that they are like to thine.
Who sees those Eyes, their force that doth not prove?
Who gazeth on the dimple of that chin,
And finds not Venus Son entrench'd therein,
Or hath not sence, or knows not what is Love?
To see thee had Narcissus had the grace,
He would have died with wondring on thy Face.
SEXTAIN.
THe Heaven doth not containe so many Stars,
Nor levell'd lye so many leaves in Woods,
When Autumne and cold Boreas sound their Wars,
So many Waves have not the Ocean Floods,
As my torn Mind hath torments all the Night,
And Heart spends Sighs, when Phoebus brings the Light ▪
Why was I made a Partner of the Light,
Who crost in birth, by bad aspect of Stars,
Have never since had happy Day nor Night?
Why was not I a liver in the Woods,
Or Citizen of Thetis christall Floods,
But fram'd a Man for Love and Fortunes Wars?
I look each Day when Death should end the Wars,
Vncivill Wars 'twixt Sense and Reasons Light:
My Paines I count to Mountaines, Meads and Floods,
And of my sorrow Partners make the Stars,
All Desolate I haunt the fearfull Woods,
When I should give my selfe to rest at Night ▪
With watchfull Eyes I ne'r behold the Night
Mother of Peace, but ah to me of Wars,
And Cynthia Queen-like shining through the Woods,
But straight those Lamps come in my thought whose Light
My Judgement dazel'd, passing brightest Stars,
And then my Eyes in-isle themselves with Floods.
Turne to their Springs againe first shall the Floods,
Cleare shall the Sun the sad and gloomy Night,
To dance about the Pole cease shall the Stars,
The Elements renew their ancient Wars
Shall first, and be depriv'd of Place and Light,
Ere I find rest in City, Fields, or Woods.
End these my daies you Inmates of the Woods,
Take this my Life ye deep and raging Flouds,
Sun never rise to cleare me with thy Light,
Horror and Darknesse keep a lasting Night,
Consume me Care with thy intestine Wars,
And stay your Influence o're me bright Stars.
In vaine the Stars, th' Inhabitants o'th' Woods,
Care, Horror, Wars I call and raging Floods,
For all have sworne no Night shall dim my Sight.
SON.
O Sacred Blush enpurpling Cheekes, pure skies
With crimson Wings which spred thee like the Morne,
O bashfull look sent from those shining eyes,
Which though slid down on Earth doth Heaven adorne.
O Tongue in which most lushious Nectar lies,
That can at once both blesse and make forlorne,
Deare corrall Lip which Beauty beautifies,
That trembling stood before her words were borne.
And you her Words, Words no, but golden Chaines
Which did inslave my eares, ensnare my soule,
Wise Image of her Mind, Mind that containes
A power all Power of Senses for to controule:
So sweetly you from Love disswade do me,
That I love more, if more my Love can be.
SON.
SOund hoarse sad Lute, true witnesse of my woe,
And strive no more to ease selfe chosen paine
With soule-enchanting sounds, your accents straine
Unto these teares incessantly which flow.
Sad Treeble weep, and you dull Basses show
Your Masters sorrow in a dolefull straine;
Let never joyfull Hand upon you go,
Nor Consort keep but when you do complaine.
Flie Phoebus Raies, abhor the irkesome Light,
Woods solitary shades for thee are best,
Or the black horrours of the blackest Night,
When all the World save Thou and I do rest:
Then sound sad Lute and beare a mourning part,
Thou Hell canst move, though not a Womans Heart.
SON.
IN vaine I haunt the cold and Silver Springs,
To quench the Fever burning in my veines,
In vaine (Loves pilgrim) Mountaines, Da [...]es and Plains
I over-run, vaine help long absence brings.
In vain my Friends your Counsell me constraines
To fly, and place my Thoughts on other things;
Ah like the Bird that fired hath her Wings,
The more I move the greater are my paines.
Desire (alas) Desire a Zeuxis new,
From th' Orient borrowing Gold, from Westerne skies
Heavenly Cinabre, sets before my Eyes
In every place, her Haire, sweet look, and Hue:
That flie, run, rest I, all doth prove but vaine,
My life lies in those Eyes which have me slaine.
SON.
SLide soft faire Forth, and make a Christall Plaine,
Cut your white Locks, and on your foamy Face
Let not a wrinkle be, when you embrace
The Boat that Earths Perfections doth containe.
Winds wonder, and through wondring hold your pace;
Or if that ye your hearts cannot restraine
From sending sighs, feeling a Lovers Case,
Sigh, and in her faire haire your selves enchaine,
Or take these sighs which absence makes arise
From my oppressed brest, and fill the sailes,
Or some sweet breath new brought from Paradise:
The flouds do smile, Love o're the winds prevailes;
And yet huge Waves arise, the cause is this,
The Ocean strives with Forth the Boat to kisse.
SON.
TRust not sweet soule those curled waves of Gold
With gentle Tides that on your Temples flow,
Nor Temples spred with Flakes of Virgin snow,
Nor snow of Cheeks with Tyrian graine enrold.
Trust not those shining Lights which wrought my woe,
When first I did their azure Raies behold,
Nor voice, whose sounds more strange effects do show
Than of the Thracian Harper have been told:
Look to this dying Lilly, fading Rose,
Darke Hyacinthe, of late whose blushing Beames
Made all the neighbouring herbs and grasse rejoyce,
And thinke how little is 'twixt Lifes extreames;
The cruell Tyrant that did kill those Flow'rs
Shall once, aye me, not spare that Spring of yours.
SON.
IN Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold,
And lively see how my best daies are spent,
What clouds of care above my head are rold,
What comming ill, which I cannot prevent:
My course begun I wearied do repent,
And would embrace what Reason oft hath told,
But scarce thus thinke I, when Love hath controld
All the best reasons Reason could invent.
Though sure I know my labours end is griefe,
The more I strive that I the more shall pine,
That only death shall be my last reliefe:
Yet when I thinke upon that face divine,
Like one with Arrow shot, in laughters place,
Maugre my Heart, I joy in my disgrace.
SON.
DEare Quirister, who from those shadows sends
Ere that the blushing Morne dare shew her Light,
Such sad lamenting straines, that Night attends
(Become all Eare) Stars stay to heare thy plight.
If one whose griefe even reach of thought transcends,
Who ne're [not in a Dreame] did taste Delight,
May thee importune who like case pretends,
And seems to joy in woe, in Woes despight.
Tell me (so may thou Fortune milder try,
And long long sing) for what thou thus complaines,
Since Winter's gone, and Sun in dapled skie
Enamour'd smiles on Woods and flowry Plaines?
The Bird, as if my questions did her move,
With trembling wings sigh'd forth I love, I love.
SON.
O Cruell Beauty, sweetnesse inhumane,
That night and day contends with my desire,
And seeks my hope to kill, not quench my fire,
By Death, not Baulme to ease my pleasant paine.
Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire
And bound my blisse, do not alas disdaine
That I your matchlesse worth and grace admire,
And for their cause these torments sharpe sustaine.
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death
Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames,
And Phaëton that Heaven him rest of breath,
And Daedals Son who nam'd the Samian streames:
Their haps I not envy, my praise shall be
That the most faire that lives mov'd me to [...]ye.
SON.
THe Hyperborean Hills, Ceraunus Snow,
Or Arimaspus (cruell) first thee bred,
The Caspian Tigers with their milke thee fed.
And Faunes did humane bloud on thee bestow.
Fierce Orithyas lover in thy bed
Thee lull'd asleep, where he enrag'd doth blow,
Thou didst not drinke the Flouds which here do flow,
But teares, or those by ycie Tanais Head.
Sith thou disdaines my love, neglects my griefe,
Laughs at my groanes, and still affects my death:
Of thee, nor Heaven I'll seek no more reliefe,
Nor longer entertaine this loathsome breath;
But yeeld unto my Stars, that thou maiest prove,
What losse thou hadst in losing such a Love,
SONG.
PHOEBUS arise,
And paint the sable Skies
With azure, white, and red:
Rowse Memmons Mother from her Tythons bed,
That she thy Careere may with Roses spread,
The Nightingales thy comming each where sing,
Make an eternall spring.
Give life to this darke World which l [...]eth dead.
Spread forth thy golden haire
In larger locks than thou wast wont before,
And Emperour-like decore
With Diadem of Pearle thy Temples faire:
Chase hence the ugly Night
Which serves but to make deare thy glorious Light.
This is that happy Morne,
That day, long-wished day,
Of all my life so darke,
(If cruell Stars have not my ruine sworne,
And Fates my hopes betray)
Which (purely white) deserves
An everlasting Diamond should it marke.
This is the Morne should bring unto this Grove
My Love, to heare, and recompence my love.
Faire King, who all preserves,
But show thy blushing Beams,
And thou two sweeter Eyes
Shall see then those which by Peneus Streames
Did once thy heart surprise:
Nay, Suns which shine as cleare
As thou when two thou did'st to Rome appeare.
[Page 28]Now Flora decke thy selfe in fairest guise,
If that ye Winds would heare
A voice surpassing far Amphions lyre,
Your furious chiding stay,
Let Zephire only breathe,
And with her Tresses play,
Kissing sometimes those purple ports of Death,
The Winds all silent are,
And Phoebus in his chaire
Ensaffraning Sea and Aire,
Makes vanish every Star:
Night like a drunkard reeles
Beyond the Hills to shun his flaming Wheeles.
The Fields with flow'rs are deckt in every hue,
The Clouds with Orient Gold spangle their blew:
Here is the pleasant place,
And nothing wanting is save She alas.
SON.
WHo hath not seen into her saffran Bed
The Mornings Goddess mildly her repose,
Or her of whose pure bloud first sprang the Rose
Lull'd in a slumber by a Mirtle shade?
Who hath not seen that sleeping white and red
Makes Phoebe look so pale, which she did close
In that Jonian Hill, to ease her woes,
Which only lives by her deare kisses fed?
Come but and see my Lady sweetly sleep,
The sighing Rubies of those heavenly lips,
The Cupids which brests golden Apples keep,
Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Ecclipse:
And he them all shall see, perhaps and prove
She waking but perswades, now forceth Love.
SON.
SEe Cithereas Birds, that milk-white paire
On yonder leavie Mirtle Tree which grone,
And waken with their kisses in the Aire
Th' enamour'd Zephires murmuring one by one;
If thou but sense hadst like Pigmalions Stone,
Or hadst not seen Medusas snaky haire,
Loves lessons thou mightst learn: and learn sweet faire,
To Summers heat ere that thy Spring be growne.
And if those kissing lovers seeme but Cold,
Look how that Elme this Ivy doth embrace,
And binds, and claspes with many a wanton fold,
And courting Sleep, o'reshadows all the place;
Nay, seems to say, deare Tree we shall not part,
In sign whereof loe in each leafe a Heart.
SON.
THe Sun is faire when he with crimson Crown,
And flaming Rubies leaves his Easterne bed,
Faire is Thaumantias in her Christall gown
When clouds engemm'd shew azure, green, and red.
To Westerne Worlds when wearied Day goes down,
And from heavens windows each Star shows her head,
Earths silent daughter, Night, is faire though brown,
Faire is the Moon though in Loves livery cled.
The Spring is faire when it doth paint Aprill,
Faire are the Meads, the Woods, the Floods are faire,
Faire looketh Ceres with her yellow haire,
And Apples-Queene when Rose-cheekt she doth smile.
That Heaven and Earth, and Seas are faire is true,
Yet true that all not please so much as you.
MADRIGALL.
LIke the Idalian Queene
Her haire about her Eyne,
And necke, on brests ripe Apples to be seen,
At first glance of the Morne
In Cyprus Gardens gathering those farie flowers
Which of her blood were borne,
I saw, but fainting saw my Paramours.
The Graces naked danc'd about the place,
The Winds and Trees amaz'd
With silence on her gaz'd,
The flowers did smile like those upon her face,
And as their Aspin stalkes those fingers bind,
That she might read my case
I wish'd to be a Hyacinth in her hand.
SON.
THen is she gone? O foole and coward I!
O good occasion lost, ne're to be found!
What fatall chaines have my dull senses bound,
When best they might, that did not Fortune try?
Here is the fainting Grasse where she did lie,
With Roses here she stellified the Ground,
She fix'd her eyes on this yet smiling Pond,
Nor time, nor place seem'd ought for to deny.
Too long, too long Respect I do embrace,
Your Counsell full of threats and sharpe disdaine.
Disdaine in her sweet Heart can have no place,
And though come there, must straight retire againe:
Henceforth Respect farewell, I've heard it told
Who lives in love can never be too bold.
SON.
WHat cruell Star into this World me brought?
What gloomy day did dawn to give me light?
What unkind hand to nurse me (Orphane) sought,
And would not leave me in eternall night?
What thing so deare as I hath essence bought?
The Elements dry, humid, heavy, light,
The smallest living things which Nature wrought
Be freed of woe if they have small delight.
Ah only I abandon'd to Despaire,
Nail'd to my torments in pale Horrours shade,
Like wandring Clouds see all my comforts fled,
And Ill on Ill with Houres my life impaire:
The Heavens and Fortune which were wont to turn,
Stay in one Mansion fixt to cause me mourn.
SON.
DEare Eye which daign'st on this sad Monument,
The sable Scroule of my mishaps to view,
Though it with mourning Muses teares be spent,
And darkely drawn, which is not fain'd, but true;
If thou not dazell'd with a Heavenly Hue,
And comely Feature, didst not yet lament,
But happy lives unto thy selfe content,
O let not Love thee to his Laws subdue.
Look on the wofull ship-wrack of my Youth,
And let my ruines thee for Beacon serve,
To shun this Rock Capharean of untruth,
And serve no God which doth his Church-men sterve:
His Kingdom's but of plaints, his guerdon teares,
What he gives more is Jealousies and Feares.
MAD.
TO the delightfull Greene
Of you, faire radiant Eine,
Let each black yeeld beneath the starry Arch.
Eyes burnisht Heavens of Love,
Sinople Lamps of Jove,
Save all those hearts which with your flames you parch
Two burning Suns you prove;
All other Eyes compar'd with you deare lights
Are Hells, or if not Hells, yet dumpish Nights.
The Heavens [if we their Glasse
The Sea beleeve] are green not perfect blew,
They all make faire what ever faire yet was,
And they are faire because they look like you.
SON.
NYmphs, Sister Nymphs which haunt this christall Brook,
And happy in these floting Bowers abide,
Where trembling Roofes of Trees from Sun you hide,
Which make Idaean woods in every Crook;
Whether ye garlands for your locks provide,
Or pearly letters seek in sandy Book,
Or count your Loves when Thetis was a Bride,
Lift up your golden heads and on me look.
Read in mine Eyes my agonizing Cares,
And what ye read, recount to her againe:
Faire Nymphs say all these streames are but my Teares,
And if she aske you how they sweet remaine,
Tell that the bitt'rest teares which Eyes can poure,
When shed for her can be no longer sowre.
SON.
SHe whose faire flowers no Autumne makes decay,
Whose Hue Coelestiall, earthly hues doth staine,
Into a pleasant odoriferous Plaine
Did walke alone, to brave the pride of May.
And whilst through flowry Lists she made her way,
That proudly smil'd her sight to entertaine,
Loe, unawares where Love did hid remaine
She spied, and sought to make of him her prey:
For which of golden locks a fairest haire
To bind the Boy she took, but he affraid
At her approach sprang swiftly in the Aire,
And mounting far from reach, lookt back and said,
Why shouldst thou [sweet] me seek in chaines to bind,
Sith in thy eyes I dayly am confind?
MAD.
SWeet Rose whence is this hue
Which doth all hues excell?
Whence this most fragrant smell?
And whence this forme and gracing grace in you?
In faire Paestanas fields perhaps you grew,
Or Hyblas Hills you bred,
Or odoriferous Ennas Plaines you fed,
Or Tmolus, or where Bore yong Adon slew;
Or hath the Queen of Love you died of new
In that deare Bloud, which makes you look so red?
No, none of those, but Cause more high you blist,
My Ladies Brest you bore, her Lips you Kist.
MADRIGALL.
ON this cold World of ours,
Flow'r of the Seasons, Season of the Flow'rs,
Sun of the Sun, sweet Spring,
Such hot and burning daies why dost thou bring?
Is it because those high Eternall Pow'rs
Flash down that Fire this World environing?
Or that now Phoebus keeps his Sisters spheare?
Or doth some Phaëton
Enflame the Sea and Aire?
Or rather is't not usher of the Yeare,
Or that last day among the Flow'rs alone
Unmask'd thou saw'st my Faire?
And whilst thou on her gaz'd she did thee burne,
And to thy Brother Summer doth thee turne.
SON.
DEare Wood, and you sweet solitary Place,
Where I estranged from the vulgar live,
Contented more with what your shades me give,
Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace:
What snaky Eye grown jealous of my pace,
Now from your silent Horrours would me drive?
When Sun advancing in his glorious race
Beyond the Twins, doth neare our Pole arrive.
What sweet delight a quiet life affords,
And what it is to be from bondage free,
Far from the madding Worldlings hoarse discords,
Sweet flowry place I first did learne of thee:
Ah if I were mine owne, your deare resorts
I would not change with Princes stateliest Courts.
SON.
AH who can see those fruits of Paradise,
Coelestiall Cherries which so sweetly swell,
That Sweetnesse selfe confind there seemes to dwell,
And all those sweetest Parts about despise?
Ah who can see and feele no Flame surprise
His hardened heart? For me alas too well
I know their Force, and how they do excell,
Now through desire I burne, and now I freeze,
I dye (deare Life) unlesse to me be given
As many kisses as the Spring hath Flow'rs,
Or there be silver drops in Iris Show'rs,
Or stars there be in all-embracing [...];
And if displeas'd ye of the [...] complaine,
Ye shall have leave to take them back againe.
SON.
IS't not enough (ay me) me thus to see
Like some Heaven-banish'd Ghost still wailing go,
A Shadow which your Raies do only show;
To vexe me more, unlesse ye bid me die;
What could ye worse allot unto your Foe?
But die will I, so ye will not deny
That grace to me which mortall Foes even try,
To chuse what sort of Death shall end my woe.
Once did I find that whiles you did me kisse,
Ye gave my panting soule so sweet a touch,
That halfe I sownd in midst of all my Bl [...]sse▪
I do but crave my Deaths-wound may be such:
For though by Griefe I die not and annoy,
Is't not enough to die through too much joy?
MAD.
VNhappy Light
Do not approach to bring the wofull Day,
When I must bid for aye
Farewell to her, and live in endlesse plight.
Faire Moon with gentle Beames
The sight who never mars,
Cleare long-Heavens sable Vault, and you bright Stars
Your golden Locks long view in Earths pure streames;
Let Phoebus never rise
To dim your watchfull Eyes.
Prolong (alas) [...] my short delight,
And if ye can [...] Eternall Night.
SON.
WIth griefe in Heart, and tears in swelling Eyes,
When I to her had given a sad Fare-well,
Close sealed with a Kisse, and Dew which fell
On my else-moistned Face from Beauties Skies;
So strange Amazement did my Mind surprise,
That at each Pace I fainting turn'd againe,
Like one whom a Torpedo stupifies,
Not feeling Honours Bit, nor Reasons Raine:
But when fierce Stars to part me did constraine,
With back-cast Looks, I both envi'd and bless'd
The happy Walls and Place did her containe,
Untill my eyes that flying Object miss'd;
So Wailing▪ parted Ganymede the faire,
When Eagles Talents bore him through the Aire.
SEXTAIN.
SIth gone is my Delight and only Pleasure,
The last of all my Hopes, the chearefull Sun
That clear'd my lifes dark Spheare, Natures sweet Treasure,
More deare to me than all beneath the Moon,
What resteth now but that upon this Mountain
I weep, till Heaven transforme me to a Fountaine?
Fresh, faire, delicious, christall, pearly Fountaine,
On whose smooth face to look she oft took Pleasure,
Tell me (so may thy streames long cheare this Mountaine,
So Serpent ne're thee staine, nor scorch thee Sun,
So may with watry beames thee kisse the Moone)
Dost thou not mourne to want so faire a Treasure?
While she here gaz'd on thee, rich Tagus Treasure,
Thou neededst not envy, nor yet the Fountaine,
In which that Hunter saw the naked Moon,
Absence hath robb'd thee of thy Wealth and Pleasure,
And I remaine like Marigold of Sun
Depriv'd, that dies by shadow of some Mountaine.
Nymphs of the Forrests, Nymphs who on this Mountain
Are wont to dance, shewing your Beauties Treasure
To Goat-feet Sylvans, and the wondring Sun,
When as you gather flow'rs about this Fountaine,
Bid her farewell who placed here her Pleasure,
And sing her praises to the Stars and Moone.
Among the lesser lights as is the Moon,
Blushing through muffl [...]ng clouds on Latmos Mountaine,
Or when she views her silver Locks for Pleasure
In Thetis streames, proud of so gay a Treasure,
Such was my Faire when She sate by this Fountaine
With other Nymphs to shun the amorous Sun.
As is our Earth in absence of the Sun,
Or when of Sun deprived is the Moon,
As is without a verdant shade a Fountaine,
Or wanting grasse, a Mead, a Vale, a Mountaine;
Such is my state, bereft of my deare Treasure,
To know whose only worth was all my Pleasure.
Ne're thinke of Pleasure Heart, Eyes shun the Sun,
Teares be your Treasure, which the wandring Moon
Shall see you shed by Mountaine, Vaile, and Fountaine.
SON.
WIndow sometime which served for a Spheare
To that deare Planet of my heart, whose light
Made often blush the glorious Queen of Night,
While She in thee more beautious did appeare,
What mourning weeds (alas) dost thou now weare?
How loathsome to my eyes is thy sad sight?
How poorly look'st thou, with what heavy cheare,
Since sets that Sun which made thee shine so bright?
Unhappy now thee close, for as of late
To wondring Eyes thou wert a Paradise,
Bereft of her who made thee fortunate,
A gulfe thou art whence clouds of sighs arise:
But unto none so noysome as to me,
Who hourely sees my murthered joyes in thee.
SON.
HOw many times Nights silent Queen her face
Hath hid, how oft with Stars in silver Maske,
In Heavens great Hall, she hath begun her Taske,
And chear'd the waking Eye in lower Place?
How oft the Sun hath made by Heavens swift race
The happy Lover to forsake the Brest
Of his deare Lady, wishing in the West
His Golden Coach to run had larger space?
I ever count and tell since I alas
Did bid Farewell to my Hearts dearest Guest,
The Miles I number, and in mind I chase,
The flouds and Mountaines hold me from my rest.
But woe is me, long count and count may I,
Ere I see her whose absence makes me die.
SON.
OF Death some tell, some of the cruell Paine
Which that bad Crafts-man in his Work did trie,
When [a new Monster] flames once did constraine
A humane Corps to yeeld a bellowing Cry.
Some tell of those in burning Beds who lie,
Because they durst in the Phlegrean Plaine
The mighty Ruler of the Skies defie,
And siege those chrystall Tow'rs which all containe,
An other counts of Phlegethons hot floods,
The Soules which drinke Ixions endlesse smart,
And his who feeds a Vulture with his heart,
One tells of Spectars in enchanted Woods:
Of all those Paines th' extreamest who would prove,
Let him be absent and but burne in Love.
SON.
HAire, precious haire, which Midas hand did strain,
Part of the Wreath of gold that crowns those brows
Which Winters whitest white in whitenes stain,
And lilly by Eridans banke that grows.
Haire [fatall present] which first caus'd my woes,
When loose ye hang like Danaes golden raine,
Sweet Nets which sweetly do all hearts enchaine,
Strings, deadly strings, with which Love bends his bows.
How are ye hither come, tell me O haire?
Deare Armelet, for what thus were ye given?
I know, a badge of bondage I you weare,
Yet haire for you O that I were a Heaven!
Like Bereni [...]s Locks, that ye might shine,
(But brighter far) about this Arme of mine.
SON.
ARe these the flowry banks? Is this the Mead
Where she was wont to passe the pleasant houres?
Was't here her Eyes exhal'd mine eyes salt show'rs,
And on her lap did lay my wearied Head?
Is this the goodly Elme did us o'respread,
Whose tender Rine, cut forth in curious flow'rs
By that white hand, containes those flames of Ours?
Is this the murmuring Spring us musick made?
Deflourisht Mead, where is your heavenly hue?
And Banke, that Arras did you late adorne?
How look'st thou Elme all withered and forlorne?
Only sweet Spring nought altered seems in you.
But while here chang'd each other thing appears,
To salt your streames take of mine Eyes these tears.
SON.
ALexis here she stay'd, among these Pines▪
Sweet Hermitresse she did all alone repaire;
Here did she spread the Treasure of her Haire,
More rich than that brought from the Colchian Mines.
Here sate she by these musket Eglantines,
The happy flow'rs seeme yet the print to beare,
Her voice did sweeten here thy sugred lines,
To which Winds, Trees, Beasts, Birds, did lend an Eare.
She here me first perceiv'd, and here a Morne
Of bright Carnations did o'respread her Face;
Here did she sigh, here first my Hopes were borne,
Here first I got a Pledge of promis'd Grace:
But ah what serves't t' have been made happy so?
Sith passed Pleasures double but new woe.
SON.
PLace me where angry Titan burnes the More,
And thirsty Africk fiery Monsters brings,
Or where the new-borne Phoenix spreads her Wings,
And troupes of wondring Birds her flight adore.
Place me by Gange or Indes enammell'd shore,
Where smiling Heavens on Earth cause double Springs▪
Place me where Neptunes Quire of Syrens sings,
Or where made hoarse through Cold he leaves to roare:
Place me where Fortune doth her Darlings crown,
A Wonder or a sparke in Envies Eye,
Or you outragious Fates upon me frown,
Till Pitty wailing fee disastred Me;
Affections print my mind so deep doth prove,
I may forget my Selfe; but not my Love.
MADRIGALL.
THe Ivory, Corrall, Gold,
Of brest, of lip, of haire,
So lively Sleep doth show to inward sight,
That wake I thinke I hold
No Shadow, but my Faire:
My selfe so to deceive
With long-shut Eyes I shun the irkesome Light.
Such pleasure here I have
Delighting in false gleames,
If Death Sleeps Brother be,
And Soules bereft of sense have so sweet Dreames,
How could I wish thus still to dreame and dye.
SON.
FAme, who with golden wings abroad doth range
Where Phoebus leaves the Night or brings the Day,
Fame, in one place who restlesse dost not stay
Till thou hast flown from Atlas unto Gange;
Fame, Enemy to Time, that still doth change,
And in his changing Course would make decay
What here below he findeth in his way,
Even making Vertue to her selfe look strange:
Daughter of Heaven; Now all thy Trumpets sound,
Raise up thy Head unto the highest Skie,
With wonder blaze the gifts in her are found,
And when she from this mortall Globe shall flie,
In thy wide Mouth keep long, keep long her Name;
So thou by her, she by thee live shall Fame.
POEMS.
The Second Part.
OF mortall Glory O soone dark'ned Ray!
O winged Joyes of Man, more swift than Wind!
O fond Desires which in our Fancies stray!
O traitrous Hopes which do our Judgements blind!
Loe, in a Flash that Light is gone away,
Which dazell did each Eye, delight each Mind,
And with that Sun, from whence it came, combind,
Now makes more radiant Heavens eternall Day.
Let Beauty now bedew her Cheeks with Teares,
Let widow'd Musick only roare and groane,
Poore Vertue get thee Wings and mount the Spheares,
For dwelling place on Earth for thee is none:
Death hath thy Temple raz'd, Loves Empire foil'd,
The World of Honour, Worth, and Sweetnes spoil'd.
SON.
THose Eyes, those sparkling Saphires of Delight,
Which thousand thousand Hearts did set on Fire,
Of which that Eye of Heaven which brings the light
Oft Jealous, stayed amaz'd them to admire.
That living Snow, those crimson Roses bright,
Those Pearles, those Rubies which enflam'd Desire,
Those Locks of Gold, that Purple faire of Tyre,
Are wrapt [aye me!] up in eternall Night.
What hast thou more to vaunt of wretched World,
Sith she who caused all thy blisse is gone?
Thy ever-burning Lamps, Rounds ever-whorld
Can not unto thee modell such a One:
Or if they would such Beauty bring on Earth,
They should be forc'd againe to give her birth.
SON.
O Fate, conjur'd to poure your worst on me!
O rigorous Rigour which doth all confound!
With cruell Hands ye have cut down the Tree,
And fruit with leaves have scattered on the Ground.
A little space of Earth my Love doth bound,
That Beauty which did raise it to the Skie,
Turn'd in disdained Dust, now low doth lye,
Deafe to my plaints, and senselesse of my wound.
Ah! did I live for this? ah! did I love?
And was't for this (fierce powers) she did excell,
That ere she well the Sweets of life did prove,
She should (too deare a guest) with Darknesse dwell?
Weake influence of Heaven! what faire is wrought,
Falls in the prime, and passeth like a Thought.
SON.
O Wofull life! life, no, but living Death,
Fraile Boat of Christall in a rocky Sea,
A Gem expos'd to Fortunes stormy breath,
Which kept with paine with Terrour doth decay:
The false Delights, true Woes thou dost bequeath
My all-appalled Mind so do affray,
That I those envy who are laid in Earth,
And pity those who run thy dreadfull way.
When did mine Eyes behold one chearefull Morne?
When had my tossed Soule one night of Rest?
When did not angry Stars my Designes scorne?
O! now I find what is for Mortalls best:
Even, since our voyage shamefull is, and short,
Soone to strike Saile, and perish in the Port.
SON.
DIssolve my Eyes your Globes in briny Streames,
And with a cloud of Sorrow dim your sight,
The Suns bright Sun is set, of late whose Beames
Gave lustre to your Day, Day to your Night.
My Voice now cleave the Earth with Anathemes,
Roare forth a challenge in the Worlds despight,
Till that disguised Griefe is her delight,
That Life a Slumber is of fearefull Dreames;
And woefull Mind abhor to thinke of Joy,
My Senses all from comforts all you hide,
Accept no object but of black Annoy,
Teares, Plaints, Sighs, mourning Weeds, Graves gaping wide:
I have nought left to wish; My Hopes are dead,
And all with her beneath a Marble laid,
SON.
SWeet Soule, which in the Aprill of thy yeares,
For to enrich the Heaven mad'st poore this Round,
And now with flaming Rayes of Glory crown'd
Most blest abides above the Spheare of Spheares;
If Heavenly Laws alas have not thee bound
From looking to this Globe that all up-beares,
If ruth and pity there-above be found,
O daigne to lend a look unto these Teares.
Do not disdaine (deare Ghost) this sacrifice,
And though I raise not pillars to thy Praise,
My off'rings take, let this for me suffice,
My Heart a living Pyramide I'll raise:
And whilst Kings Tombs with Laurells flourish green,
Thine shall with Mirtles and these flow'rs be seen.
SON.
SWeet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly traine,
Thy head with flames, thy Mantle bright with flow'rs,
The Zephires curle the green Locks of the Plaine,
The Clouds for joy in Pearls weep down their show'rs.
Dost returne sweet Youth? but ah my pleasant houres,
And happy daies with thee come not againe,
The sad Memorials only of my paine
Do with thee turne, which turne my Sweets to Sow'r [...]
Thou art the same which still thou wert before,
Delicious, lusty, amiable, faire,
But she whose Breath embaulm'd thy wholesome Aire
Is gone; Nor Gold, nor Gems can her restore.
Neglected Vertue, Seasons go and come,
When thine forgot lie closed in a Tombe.
SON.
WHat doth it serve to see the Suns bright Face?
And Skies enamell'd with the Indian Gold?
Or the Moone in a fierce Chariot rold,
And all the Glory of that starry Place?
What doth it serve Earths Beauty to behold?
The Mountaines pride, the Meadows flowry grace,
The stately comlinesse of Forrests old,
The Sport of Flouds which would themselves embrace?
What doth it serve to heare the Sylvans Songs,
The cheerefull Thrush, the Nightingales sad straines,
Which in darke shades seems to deplore my Wrongs?
For what doth serve all that this World containes?
Since she, for whom those once to me were deare,
Can have no part of them now with me here.
MAD.
THis Life, which seems so faire.
Is like a Bubble blown up in the Aire,
By sporting childrens Breath,
Who chase it every where,
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.
And though it sometime seem of its own might
Like to an Eye of gold to be fix'd there,
And firme to hover in that empty height,
That only is because it is so Light.
But in that Pompe it doth not long appeare▪
For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,
Because it earst was nought, it turnes to nought.
SON.
MY Lute, be as thou wert when thou did grow
With thy green Mother in some shady Grove,
When immelodious Winds but made thee move,
And Birds their ramage did on thee bestow.
Since that deare voice which did thy sounds approve,
Which wont in such harmonious Straines to [...]low,
Is re [...]t from Earth to tune those spheares above,
What art thou but a Harbinger of woe?
Thy pleasing Notes he pleasing Notes no more,
But Orphans wailings to the fainting Eare,
Each Stroke a sigh, each Sound draws forth a Teare,
For which be silent as in woods before:
Or if that any hand to touch thee daigne,
Like widow'd Turtle still her losse complaine.
SON.
AH Handkercher, sad present of my Deare,
Gift miserable, which doth now remaine
The only Guerdon of my helplesse Paine,
When I thee got thou shewst my state too cleare.
I never since have ceased to complaine,
I since the Badge of Griefe did ever weare,
Joy in my Face durst never since appeare,
Care was the Food which did me entertaine.
But since that thou art mine, O do not grieve,
That I this Tribute pay thee for mine Eine,
And that I (this short Time I am to live)
Laundre thy silken Figures in this Brine:
No, I must yet even beg of thee the Grace,
That in my Grave thou daigne to shroud my Face.
MAD.
TRees happier far than I,
Which have the grace to heave your Heads so high,
And over-look those Plaines:
Grow till your Branches kisse that lofty Skie
Which her (sweet selfe) containes.
There make her know mine endlesse Love, and Paines,
And how these Teares which from mine Eyes do fall,
Helpt you to rise so Tall:
Tell her, as once I for her sake lov'd Breath,
So for her sake I now court lingring Death.
SONG.
SAd Damon being come,
To that for-ever Lamentable Tombe,
Which those eternall Powers that all controule,
Unto his living Soule
A melancholy prison had prescrib'd:
Of Colour, Heat, and motion depriv'd,
In Armes weake, Fainting, Cold,
A Marble, he the Marble did infold:
And having warme it made with many a showre
Which dimmed Eyes did poure,
When Griefe had given him leave, and sighs them staied,
Thus with a sad alas at last he said.
Who would have thought to me
The place where thou did'st lie could grievous be?
And that (deare body) long thee having sought,
(O me!) who would have thought
Thee once to find it should my Soule confound,
And give my Heart then death a deeper wound?
Thou did'st disdaine my Teares,
But grieve not that this ruthfull Stone them beares,
[Page 50]Mine Eyes for nothing serve, but thee to weep,
And let that course them keep,
Although thou never wouldst them comfort show,
Do not repine, they have part of thy woe.
Ah wretch! too late I find
How Vertues glorious Titles prove but wind;
For if that Vertue could release from Death,
Thou yet enjoy'd hadst Breath:
For if she ere appear'd to mortall Eine,
It was in thy faire shape that she was seen.
But O! if I was made
For thee, with thee why too am I not dead?
Why do outragious Fates which dimm'd thy sight,
Let me see hatefull light?
They without me made Death thee surprise,
Tyrants (no doubt) that they might kill me twice.
O Griefe! And could one Day
Have force such excellence to take away?
Could a swift-flying Moment ah deface,
Those matchlesse gifts, that Grace,
Which Art, and Nature had in thee combin'd
To make thy Body paragon thy Mind?
Hath all pass'd like a cloud,
And doth eternall silence now them shroud?
Is that, so much admir'd, now nought but Dust,
Of which a Stone hath Trust?
O change! O cruell change thou to our sight
Show'st the Fates Rigour equall to their Might!
When thou from earth di [...]'st passe
(Sweet Nymph) Perfections Mirrour broken was,
And this of late so glorious World of ours,
L [...]ke Medows without Flowers,
Or Ring of a rich Gem which blind appear▪d,
Or Starless night, or Cynthia nothing clear'd.
Love when he saw thee dye
Entomb'd him in the lid of either Eye,
[Page 51]And left his Torch within thy sacred Vrne
There for a Lampe to burne:
Worth, Honour, Pleasure, with thy life expir'd,
Death since grown sweet begins to be desir'd.
Whilst thou to us wert given,
The Earth her Venus had as well as Heaven:
Nay, and her Suns which burnt as many Hearts,
As he the easterne parts;
Bright Suns which forc'd to leave these Hemispheares,
Benighted set into a Sea of Teares.
Ah Death, who shall thee flie,
Since the most mighty are o'rethrown by thee?
Thou spar'st the Crow, and Nightingall dost kill,
And triumphst at thy will▪
But give thou cannot such another Blow,
Because Earth cannot such another show.
O bitter sweets of Love!
How better is't at all you not to prove,
Nor when we do your pleasures must possesse,
To find them thus made lesse?
O! That the cause which doth consume our joy
Would the remembrance of it too destroy!
What doth this life bestow,
But Flow'rs on Thornes which grow?
Which though they sometime blandish soft delight,
Yet afterwards us smite:
And if the rising Sun them faire doth see,
That Planet setting, doth behold them die.
This world is made a Hell,
Depriv'd of all that in it did excell.
O Pan, Pan, Winter is fallen in May,
Turn'd is to night our Day.
Forsake thy Pipe, a Scepter take to thee,
Thy locks disgarland, thou black Jove shall be.
The Flocks do leave the Meads,
And, loathing three leav'd Grasse, hold up their Heads,
[Page 52]The Streames not glide now with a glentle Rore,
Nor Birds sing as before,
Hills stands with clouds like Mourners vail'd in black,
And Owles upon our Roofes foretell our wrack.
That Zephire every yeare
So soone was heard to sigh in Forrests here,
It was for her that wrapt in Gowns of Greene,
Meads were so earely seen;
That in the saddest Months oft sang the Mearles,
It was for Her: for her Trees dropt forth pearles.
That proud, and stately Courts
Did envy these our Shades and calme Resorts,
It was for Her: and she is gone, O woe!
Woods cut againe do grow,
But doth the Rose, and Dazy, winter done,
But we once dead do no more see the Sun.
Whose Name shall now make ring
The Ecchoes? of whom shall the Nymphets sing?
Whose heavenly voice, whose Soule-invading Straines,
Shall fill with Joy the plaines?
What Haire, what Eyes, can make the Morne in East,
Weep that a fairer riseth in the West?
Faire Sun post still away,
No Musicke here is left thy Course to stay.
Sweet Hybla Swarmes, with Wormewood fill your Bow'r [...].
Gone is the flower of Flow'rs:
Blush no more Rose, nor Lilly pale remaine,
Dead is that Beauty which yours late did staine.
Aye me to waile my Plight
Why have not I as many Eyes as Night?
Or as that Shepheards which Joves love did keep,
That I still, still may weepe?
But though I had, my Teares unto my crosse
W [...]re not yet equall, nor griefe to my losse.
Yet of you briny Showers,
Which I [...]ere poure, may spring as many flow'rs,
[Page 53]As come of those which fell from Helens Eyes;
And when ye do arise,
May every Leafe in sable letters beare
The Dolefull Cause for which ye spring up here.
MAD.
THe Beauty and the Life
Of Lifes, and Beauties fairest Paragon,
(O Teares! O Griefe!) hung at a feeble Thread,
To which pale Atropos had set her Knife.
The Soule with many a groane
Had left each outward Part,
And now did take his last Leave of the Heart;
Nought else did want save Death for to be dead:
When the sad company about her Bed
Seeing Death invade her lips, her cheekes, her eyes,
Cried ah! and can Death enter Paradise?
SON.
O! It is not to me bright Lampe of Day,
That in the East thou show'sts thy golden Face,
O! it is not to me thou leav'st that sea,
And in those azure Lists began'st thy Race.
Thou shinest not to the Dead in any Place,
And I dead from this World am past away▪
Or if I seem (a Shadow) yet to stay,
It is a while but to bewaile my Case.
My Mirth is lost, my Comforts are dismaid,
And unto sad Mishaps their Place do yeeld;
My Knowledge represents a bloudy Field,
Where I my Hopes and helps see prostrate laid.
So plaintfull is Lifes Course which I have run,
That I do wish it never had begun.
MADRIGALL.
DEare Night, the ease of Care,
Untroubled Seat of Peace,
Times eldest Child, which oft the blind do see,
On this our Hemispheare
What makes thee now so sadly darke to be?
Com'st thou in funerall Pomp Her Grave to grace?
Or do those Stars which should thy horrour cleare,
In Joves high Hall advise,
In what Part of the skies,
With them, or Cynthia she shall appeare?
Or (ah alas) because those matchlesse eyes,
Which shone so faire, below thou dost not find,
Striv'st thou to make all others Eyes look blind?
SON.
SInce it hath pleas'd that First and supreme Faire
To take that Beauty to himselfe againe,
Which in this world of Sense not to remaine,
But to amaze was sent, and home repaire;
The Love which to that Beauty I did beare,
Made Pure of mortall spots which did it staine,
And endlesse, which even Death cannot impaire,
I place on him who will it not disdaine.
No shining Eyes, no Locks of curling gold,
No blushing Roses on a virgin Face,
No outward show, no, nor no inward Grace,
Shall power have my thoughts henceforth to hold:
Love here on Earth huge stormes of care doth tosse,
But plac'd above exempted is from losse
SONG.
IT Autumne was, and on our Hemispheare
Faire Ericine began bright to appeare,
Night West-ward did her gemmy World decline,
And hide her Lights, that greater Light might shine:
The crested Bird hath given Alarum twice
To lazy Mortals to unlock their Eyes,
The Owle had left to plaine, and from each Throne
The wing'd Musicians did salute the Morne,
Who (while she dress'd her Locks in Ganges streames)
Set open wide the chrystall Port of Dreames:
When I, whose Eyes no drousie Night could close,
In Sleeps soft armes did quietly repose,
And, for that Heavens to die did me deny,
Deaths Image kissed, and as dead did lie.
I lay as dead, but scarce cha [...]m'd were my Cares,
And slaked scarce my Sighs, scarce dried my Teares,
Sleep scarce the ugly Figures of the Day
Had with his sable Pencill put away,
And left me in a still and calmy Mood,
When by my Bed (me thought) a Virgin stood,
A Virgin in the blooming of her Prime,
If such rare Beauty measur'd be by Time.
Her Head a Garland wore of Opalls bright▪
About her flow'd a Gown like purest Light,
Pure Amber Locks gave Umbrage to her Face,
Where Modesty high Majesty did grace;
Her Eyes such Beames sent forth, that but with paine
Her weaker Sights their sparklings could sustaine.
No feigned D [...]ity which haunts the Woods
Is like to Her, nor Syrene of the Floods:
Such is the Golden Planet of the Yeare,
When bl [...]shing in the East he doth appeare.
[Page 56]Her Grace did beauty, Voice yet Grace did passe,
Which thus through Pearles and Rubies broken was.
How long wilt thou (said she) estrang'd from Joy,
Paint Shadows to thy selfe of false Annoy?
How long thy Mind with horrid Shapes affright,
And in imaginary Evills delight?
Esteeme that Losse which (well when view'd) is Gaine,
Or if a Losse, yet not a Losse too plaine?
O leave thy plain [...]full Soule more to molest,
And thinke that woe when shortest then is best.
If She for whom thou thus dost deafe the Skie
Be dead? What then? Was she not borne to die?
Was She not mortall borne? If thou dost grieve
That Times should be in which She should not live,
Ere e're she was weep that Daies wheele was roll'd,
Weep that she liv'd not in the Age of Gold.
For that she was not then thou maiest deplore,
As well as that she now can be no more.
If only she had died, thou sure hadst Cause
To blame the Fates, and their too iron Laws.
But look how many Millions her advance,
What numbers with her enter in this Dance,
With those which are to come: shall Heavens them stay,
And th' Universe dissolve thee to obey?
As Birth, Death, which so much thee doth apall,
A Peece is of the Life of this great All.
Strong Cities die, die do high palmy Raignes,
And fondling thou thus to be us'd complaines.
If she be dead, then she of loathsome Daies
Hath pass'd the Line▪ whose Length but Losse bewraies,
Then she hath left this filthy Stage of Care,
Where Pleasure seldome, Woe doth still repaire.
For all the Pleasures which it doth containe
Not countervaile the smallest Minutes paine.
And tell me, thou who dost so much admire
This little Vapour, this poore Sparke of F [...]re,
[Page 57]Which Life is call'd, what doth it thee bequeath
But some few yeares which Birth draws out to Death?
Which if thou paralell with Lustres run,
Or those whose courses are but now begun,
In da [...]es great Numbers they shall lesse appeare,
Than with the Sea when matched is a Teare.
But why shouldst thou here longer wish to be?
One Yeare doth serve all Natures Pompe to see,
Nay, even one Day, and Night: this Moone, that Sun,
Those lesser Fires about this Round which Run,
Be but the same which under Saturnes Raigne.
Did the serpenting Seasons interchaine.
How oft doth Life grow lesse by living long?
And what excelleth but what dieth young?
For Age which all abhor (yet would embrace)
Doth make the Mind as wrinckled as the Face.
Then leave Laments, and thinke thou did'st not live
Laws to that first eternall Cause to give,
But to obey those Laws which he hath given,
And bow unto the just decrees of Heaven,
Which cannot [...]r [...]e, whatever foggy Mists
Do blind men in these sublunary Lists.
But what if she for whom thou sp [...]nd'st those Groanes,
And wastes thy Lifes deare Torch in ruthfull Moanes,
She for whose sake thou hat'st the joyfull Light,
Courts solitary Shades and irkesome Night,
Doth live? ah! (if thou canst) through Teares, a space,
Lift thy dimm'd Lights, and look upon this Face,
Look if those Eyes which (foole) thou didst adore,
Shine not more bright than they were wont before.
Looke if those Roses Death could ought impaire
Those Roses which thou once saidst were so faire;
And if these Locks have lost ought of that Gol [...],
Which once they had when thou them didst behold▪
I live, and happy live, but thou art dead,
And still shalt be, t [...]ll t [...]ou be l [...]ke me ma [...]e.
[Page 58] Alas while we are wrapt in Gowns of Earth,
And blind here suck the Aire of Woe beneath,
Each thing in Senses Ballances we weigh,
And but with toyle, and Paine the truth descry.
Above this vast and admirable Frame,
This Temple visible, which World we name,
Within whose Walls so many Lamps do burne,
So many Arches with crosse motions turne,
Where the Elementall Brothers nurse their strife,
And by intestine Wars maintain their Life:
There is a World, a World of perfect Blisse,
Pure, immateriall, as brighter far from this,
As that high Circle which the rest enspheares
Is from this dull, ignoble Vale of Teares.
A World where all is found, that here is found,
But further discrepant than Heaven and Ground:
It hath an Earth, as hath this World of yours,
With Creatures peopled, and adorn'd with Flowr's;
It hath a Sea, like Saphire Girdle cast
Which decks of the harmonious Shores the Waste;
It hath pure Fire, it hath delicious Aire,
Moone, Sun, and Stars, Heavens wonderfully faire:
Flow'rs never there do fade, Trees grow not old,
No Creature dieth there through heat or cold;
Sea there not tossed is, nor Aire made blacke,
F [...]re doth not greedy feed on others Wrack:
There Heavens be not constrain'd about to range,
For this World hath no need of any Change:
Minutes mount not to Houres, nor Houres to Daies,
Daies make no Months, but ever-blooming Maies.
Here I remaine, and hitherward do tend,
All who their Span of Daies in Vertue spend;
What ever Pleasant this low Place containes,
Is but a Glance of what above remaines.
Those who (perchance) there can nothing be
Beyond this wide Expansion which they see,
[Page 59]And that nought else mounts Stars Circumference,
For that nought else is subject to their sense,
Feele such a Case, as one whom some Abisme
In the deep Ocean kept had all his Time:
Who borne, and nourish'd there, cannot believe
That elsewhere ought without those waves can live:
Cannot beleeve that there be Temples, Tow'rs,
Which go beyond his Caves and dampish Bowr's:
Or there be other People, Manners, Laws,
Than what he finds within the churlish Waves:
That sweeter Flow'rs do spring than grow on Rocks,
Or Beasts there are excell the skaly Flocks,
That other Elements are to be found,
Than is the Water and this Ball of Ground.
But thinke that man from this Abisme being brought,
Did see what curious Nature here hath wrought,
Did view the Meads, the tall and shady Woods,
And mark'd the hills, and the cleare rowling flouds;
And all the Beasts which Nature forth doth bring,
The feathered Troupes that flie, and sweetly sing:
Observ'd the Palaces, and Cities faire,
Mens Fashion of Life, the Fire, the Aire,
The brightnesse of the Sun that dims his Sight,
The Moone, and splendors of the painted Night:
What sudden rapture would his mind surprise?
How would he his late-deare Resort despise?
How would he muse how foolish he had been,
To thinke all nothing but what there was seen?
Why do we get this high and vast Desire,
Unto immortall things still to aspire?
Why doth our Mind extend it beyond Time,
And to that highest happinesse even clime?
For we are more than what to Sense we seeme,
And more than Dust us Worldlings do esteeme?
We be not made for Earth, though here we come,
More than the Em [...]ryon for the Mothers Wombe:
[Page 60]It weeps to be made free, and we complaine
To leave this loathsome Jaile of Care and Paine.
But thou who vulgar foot-steps dost not trace,
Learne to rowse up thy mind to view this place,
And what Earth-creeping Mortals most affect,
If not at all to scorne, yet not to neglect:
Seek not vaine shadows, which when once obtain'd
Are better los'd than with such travell gain'd.
Thinke that on Earth what worldlings Greatnesse call,
Is but a glorious title to live thrall:
That Scepters, Diadems, and Chaires of State,
Not in themselves, but to small Minds are great:
That those who loftiest mount do hardest light,
And deepest Falls be from the highest Height:
That Fame an Eccho is, and all Renown
Like to a blasted Rose, ere Night falls down:
And though it something were, thinke how this Round
Is but a little Point, which doth it bound.
O leave that Love which reacheth but to Dust,
And in that Love Eternall only trust,
And Beauty, which when once it is possest
Can only fill the Soule and make it blest.
Pale Envy, jealous Emulations, Feares,
Sighs, Plaints, Remorse, here have no place nor Teares,
False Joyes, vaine Hopes, here be not, Hate nor Wrath,
What ends all Love here most augments it Death.
If such force had the dim Glance of an Eye,
Which but some few daies afterwards did die,
That it could make thee leave all other things,
And like a Taper-fly there burne thy Wings?
And if a voice, of late which could but waile,
Such Power had as through Eares thy Soule to steale?
If once thou on that poorely Faire couldst gaze,
What Flames of Love would this within thee raise?
In what amusing Maze would it thee bring,
To [...]eare but once that Quire celestiall sing?
[Page 61]The fairest shapes on which thy Love did sease,
Which earst didst breed Delight, then would displease;
But Discords hoarse were Earths entising Sounds,
All Musick but a Noise, which Sense confounds.
This great and burning Glasse which cleares all Eyes,
And musters with such Glory in the Skies,
That silver Star which with her purer Light
Makes Day oft-Envy the eye pleasing Night,
Those golden letters which so brightly shine
In Heavens great Volume gorgeously divine;
All wonders in the Sea, the Earth, the Aire,
Be but darke Pictures of that Soveraigne Faire,
And Tongues, which still thus cry into your Eare
(Could ye amidst Worlds Cataracts them heare)
From fading things (fond Men) lift your Desire,
And in our Beauty his us made admire:
If we seeme faire? O thinke how faire is he,
Of whose great Fairenesse, Shadows, Steps we be.
No Shadow can compare unto the Face,
No Step with that deare foot which did it trace,
Your Soules immortall are, then place them hence,
And do not drown them in the Mist of Sense:
Do not, O do not by false Pleasures Might
Deprive them of that true and sole Delight.
That Happinesse ye seek is not below,
Earths sweetest Joy is but disguised Woe.
Here did she pause, and with a mild Aspect▪
Did towards me those lamping Twins direct.
The wonted Raies I knew, and thrice essay'd
To Answer make▪ thrice faul [...]ring Tongue it stay'd.
And while upon that Face I fed my Sight,
Me thought she vanisht up to Titans Light;
Who guilding with his Rayes each Hill, and Plaine,
Seem'd to have brought the Golden World againe.
URANIA.
TRiumphing, Chariots, Statues, Crowns of Bayes,
Skie-threatning Arches, the rewards of worth,
Books heavenly-wise in sweet harmonious layes,
Which men divine unto the World set forth:
States which Ambitious Minds, in bloud, do raise,
From frozen Tanais unto sun-burnt Gange,
Gigantall Frames held wonders rarely strange,
Like Spiders webs are made the sport of Daies.
Nothing is constant but in constant change,
What's done still is undone, and when undone
Into some other Fashion doth it range;
Thus goes the floting World beneath the Moone:
Wherefore my Mind above Time, Motion, Place,
Rise up, and steps unknown to Nature trace.
TOo long I followed have my fond Desire,
And too long painted on the Ocean Streames,
Too long refreshment sought amidst the fire,
Pursu'd those joyes which to my Soule are Blames.
Ah when I had what most I did admire,
And seen of Lifes Delights the last extreames,
I found all but a Rose hedg'd with a Bryer,
A Nought, a Thought, a Mascarade of Dreames.
Henceforth on Thee, my only Good, I'll thinke,
For only thou canst grant what I do crave;
Thy Naile my Pen shall be, thy Bloud mine Inke,
Thy Winding-sheet my Paper, Studie Grave:
And till my Soule forth of this body flie,
No Hope I'll have but only only thee.
TO spread the Azure Canopy of Heaven,
And spangle it all with Sparkes of burning Gold,
To place this pondrous Globe of Earth so even,
That it should all and nought should it uphold;
With motions strange t' indue the Planets seven,
And Jove to make so mild, and Mars so bold,
To temper what is moist, dry, hot, and cold,
Of all their Jars that sweet Accords are given.
Lord to thy Wisdome's nought, nought to thy Might,
But that thou shouldst, thy Glory laid aside,
Come basely in Mortality to bide,
And die for those deserv'd an endlesse night;
A Wonder is so far above our wit,
That Angels stand amaz'd to thinke on it.
WHat haplesse Hap had I for to be borne
In these unhappy Times, and dying Daies
Of this now doting World, when Good decayes,
Love's quite extinct, and Vertue's held a scorne!
When such are only pris'd by wretched waies,
Who with a golden Fleece them can adorne;
When Avarice and Lust are counted praise,
And bravest Minds live Orphane-like forlorne!
Why was not I borne in that golden Age,
When Gold yet was not known? and those black Arts
By which Base Worldlings vilely play their parts,
With Horrid Acts staining Earths stately Stage?
To have been then, O heaven, 't had been my bliss,
But blesse me now, and take me soone from this.
On the Pourtrait of the Countesse of Perthe.
SON.
THe Goddesse that in Amathus doth raigne,
With silver Tramells, and Saphir-colour'd Eyes,
When naked from her Mothers Chrystall Plaine,
She first appear'd unto the wondring Skies:
Or when the golden-Apple to obtaine,
Her blushing Snow amazed Idas Trees,
Did never look in halfe so faire a guise,
As She here drawn all other Ages Staine.
O God what Beauties to inflame the Soule,
And hold the hardest Hearts in Chaines of Gold!
Faire Locks, sweet Face, Loves stately Capitole,
Pure Neck which doth that heavenly Frame uphold,
If Vertue would to mortall Eyes appeare,
To ravish sense She would your Beautie wear.
SON.
IF Heaven, the Stars, and Nature did her grace
With all Perfections found the Moone above,
And what excelleth in this lower Place,
Found place in her to breed a World of Love:
If Angels Gleames shine on her fairest Face,
Which makes Heavens Joy, on Earth, the gazer prove,
And her bright Eyes (the Orbes which Beauty move)
As Phoebus dazell in his glorious Race.
What Pencill paint what Colour to the sight
So sweet a Shape can show? the blushing Morne,
The red must lend, the Milkie-way the white,
And Night the Stars which her rich Crown adorne;
To draw her right then, and make all agree,
The Heaven the Table, Zeuxis Jove must be.
On that same drawn with a Pencill.
SON.
WHen with brave Art the curious Painter drew
This Heavenly Shape, the hand why made he beare
With golden Veines that Flow'r of purple hue,
Which follows on the Planet of the yeare?
Was it to show how in our Hemispheare,
Like him She shines, nay that effects more true
Of Power, and Wonder do in her appeare,
While He but Flow'rs, and She doth Minds subdue.
Or would he else to Vertues glorious light
Her constant Course make known, or is't that He
Doth paralell her blisse with Clitias plight:
Right so, and thus, He reading in Her Eye
Some Lovers end, to grace what he did grave,
For Cypres Tree, this mourning Flow'r her gave.
MADRIGALL.
IF sight be not beguil'd,
And eyes right play their part,
This Flower is not of Art,
But's fairest Natures Child,
And though when Titan [...]s from our World exil'd,
She doth not lock her leaves his losse to moane,
No wonder, Earth finds now more Suns than one.
To the Author.
Parthenius.
WHile thou dost praise the Roses, Lillies, Gold,
Which in a dangling Tresse, and Face appeare,
Still stands the Sun in Skies thy Songs to heare,
A Silence sweet each whispering Wind doth hold:
Sleep in Pasithea's Lap his Eyes doth fold,
The Sword falls from the God of the fift Spheare,
The Heards to feed, the Birds to sing forbeare,
Each Plant breaths Love, each Floud and Fountain cold.
And hence it is, that that once Nymph, now Tree,
Who did th' Amphrisian Shepheards Sighs disdaine,
And scorn'd his Layes, mov'd by a sweeter Vaine,
Is become pitifull, and follows Thee,
Thee loves, and van [...]eth that she hath the Grace,
A Garland for thy Locks to enterlace.
Alexis.
THe Love Alexis did to Damon beare,
Shall witness'd be to all the Woods and Plaines,
As singular renown'd by neighbouring Swaines,
That to our Relicts Time may Trophees reare.
Those Madrigals we sung amidst our Flocks,
With Garlands guarded from Apollos Beames,
On Ochelles, whiles neare Bodottias Streames,
The Ecchoes did resound them from the Rocks:
Of forraine Shepheards bent to try the States
Though I (Worlds Guest) a Vagabond do stray,
Thou may that Store which I esteem Survey,
As best acquainted with my Soules Conceits.
What ever Fate Heavens have for me design'd,
I trust thee with the Treasure of my Mind.
Clorus.
SWan which so sweetly sings,
By Aska's Bankes, and pitifully plains,
That old Meander never heard such Straines,
Eternall Fame, thou to thy Country brings:
And now our Calidon
Is by thy Songs made a new Helicon.
Her Mountaines, Woods, and Springs,
While Mountains, Woods, Springs be, shall sound thy praise,
And though fierce Boreas oft make pale her Bayes,
And kill those Mirtills with enraged Breath,
Which should thy Brows enwreath;
Her Flouds have Pearles, Seas Amber do send forth,
Her Heaven hath golden Stars to crown thy Worth.
Moeris.
THe sister Nymphs which haunt the Thespian springs,
More liberally their Gifts ne're did bequeath
To them who on their Hils suckt sacred Breath,
Then unto thee, by which thou sweetly sings.
Ne're did Apollo raise on Pegase Wings
A Muse more neare Himselfe, more far from Earth,
Than thine; whether thou weep thy Ladies Death,
Or sing those sweet-sowre Pangs that Passion brings.
To write our Thoughts in Verse doth merit Praise,
But thus the Verse to gild in Fictions Ore,
Bright, rich, delightfull, doth deserve much more,
As thou hast done these thy melodious Layes:
No doubt thy Muses faire Morne doth bewray
The swift Approach of a more glistring Day.
TEARES ON THE DEATH OF MOELIADES. BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAVVTHORNEDEN.
LONDON, Printed in the Yeare 1656.
To the Author.
IN Waves of Woe thy Sighs my Soule do tosse,
And make run out the floud-gates of my teares,
Whose rankling Wound no smoothing Baume long beares,
But freely bleeds when ought upbraids my Losse.
'Tis thou so sweetly Sorrow makest to sing,
And troubled Passions dost so well accord,
That more Delight Thy Anguish doth afford,
Than others Joyes can Satisfaction bring.
What sacred Wits (when ravish'd) do affect,
To force Affections, Metamorphose Minds,
Whilst numbrous Power the Soule in secret binds,
Thou hast perform'd, transforming in Effect.
For never Plaints did greater Pitty move,
The best Applause that can such Notes approve.
Sr W. ALEXANDER.
Teares on the Death of MOELIADES.
O Heavens! then is it true that Thou art gone,
And left this woefull Isle her Losse to moane,
Moeliades, bright Day-star of the West,
A [...] blazing Terrour to the East:
And neither that thy Spirit so heavenly wise,
Nor Body (though of Earth) more pure than Skies,
Nor royall S [...]em, nor thy sweet tender Age,
Of cruell Destinies could quench the Rage?
O fading Hopes! O short-while lasting Joy,
Of Earth-borne man, that one Houre can destroy!
Then even of Vertues Spoiles Death Trophies reares,
As if he gloried most in many Teares.
Forc'd by hard Fates, do Heavens neglect our Cries?
Are Stars set only to act Tragedies?
Then let them do their Worst since thou art gone,
Raise whom thou list to Thrones, enthron'd dethrone,
Staine Princely Bow'rs with Bloud and even to Gange,
In Cypresse sad, glad Hymens Torches change.
Ah thou hast left to live, and in the Time,
When scarce thou blossom'd'st in thy pleasant Prime,
So falls by Northern Blast a virgin Rose,
At halfe that doth her bashfull Bosome close:
So a sweet Flower languishing decaies,
That late did blush when kist by Phoebus Raies.
So Phoebus mounting the Meridians height,
Choak't by pale Phoebe, faints unto our sight,
[Page 72]Astonish'd Nature sullen stands to see,
The Life of all this All so chang'd to be,
In gloomy Gowns the Stars this losse deplore,
The Sea with murmuring Mountaines beats the Shore,
Black Darkenesse reeles o're all, in thousand Show'rs
The weeping Aire on Earth her sorrow poures,
That, in a Palsey, quakes to see so soone
Her Lover set, and Night burst forth ere Noone.
If Heaven (alas) ordain'd thee young to die,
Why was't not where thou might'st thy Valour try?
And to the wondring World at least set forth
Some little Sparke of thy expected Worth?
Moeliades, O that by Ister [...] Streames,
'Mong sounding Trumpets, fiery twinkling Gleames
Of warme vermilion Swords, and Cannons Roare,
Balls thick as Raine pour'd on the Caspian Shore,
'Mongst broken Spears, 'mongst ringing Helms & shields,
Huge heapes of slaughtred Bodies long the Fields,
In Turkish bloud made red like Marses Star,
Thou endedst had thy Life, and Christian War:
Or as brave Burbon thou hadst made old Rome,
Queen of the World, thy Triumph, and thy Tombe.
So Heavens fair Face, to th'unborne World, which reads,
A Book had been of thy illustrious Deeds.
So to their Nephews aged Syres had told
The high Exploits perform'd by thee of old;
Towns raz'd, and rais'd, victorious, vanquish'd Bands,
Fierce Tyrants flying, foyl'd, kill'd by thy Hands.
And in rich Arras, Virgins faire had wrought
The Bayes and Trophies to thy Country brought:
While some New Homer imping Wings to Fame,
Deafe Nilus dwellers had made heare thy Name.
That thou didst not attaine these Honours Spheares,
Through want of Worth it was not, but of Yeares.
A Youth more brave pale Troy with trembling Walls
D [...]d never see, nor She whose Name appalls
Mustring on Mars his Field, such Mars-like Knights.
The Heavens had brought thee to the highest Hight
Of Wit and Courage, shewing all their Might
When they thee fram'd. Aye me that what is brave
On Earth, they as their own so soon should crave.
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,
From Thale to Hydaspes pearly shore.
When Forth thy Nurse, Forth where thou first didst passe
Thy tender Daies (who smil'd oft on her Glasse;
To see thee gaze) Meandring with her Streames,
Heard thou hadst left this Round, from Phoebus Beames,
She sought to flie, but forced to returne
By Neighbouring Brooks, She set her selfe to mourne:
And as she rush'd her Cyclades among.
She seem'd too plain, that Heaven had done her wrong.
With a hoarse plaint, Cleyd down her steepy rocks,
And Tweid through her green Mountaines clad with flocks,
Did wound the Ocean murmuring thy death,
The Ocean it roar'd about the Earth,
And to the Mauritanian Atlas told,
Who shrunke through griefe, and down his white hairs rold
Huge Streames of tears, which changed were to flouds,
Wherewith he drown'd the neighbour plains & woods.
The lesser Brooks as they did bubling go,
Did keep a Consort to the publike Woe.
The Shepheards left their Flocks with down-cast eies,
'Sdaining to look up to the angry Skies:
Some brake their Pipes, and some in sweet-sad Layes,
Made senselesse things amazed at thy Praise.
His Reed Alexis hung upon a Tree,
And with his Teares made Doven great to be.
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore
From Thule to Hydaspes pearely shore.
Chaste Maids which haunt faire Aganippes Well,
And you in Tempes sacred Shade who dwell,
[Page 74]Let fall your Harps, cease Tunes of Joy to sing,
Dissheveled make all Parnassus ring
With Anth [...]ames [...]ad, thy Musick Phoebus turne
To dolefull plaints, whilst Joy it selfe doth mourne▪
Dead is thy Darling who adorn'd thy Bayes,
Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet Layes,
And to a Trumpet raise thy amorous Stile,
That floting Delos envy might this Isle.
You Acidalian Archers breake your Bows,
Your Torches quench, with teares blot Beauties Snows,
And bid your weeping Mother yet againe
A second Ado [...]s death, nay Mars his plaine.
His Eyes once were your Darts, nay, even his Name,
Where ever heard, did every Heart inflame.
Tagus did court his Love with Golden Streames,
Rhein with his Towns, faire Seine with all she claimes.
But ah (poore Lovers) Death them did betray,
And not suspected made their Hopes his Prey!
Tagus bewailes his Losse in Golden Streames,
Rhein with his Towns, faire Seine with all she claimes.
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,
From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore.
Eye-pleasing Meads, whose painted Plain forth brings
White, golden, azure Flow'rs, which once were Kings,
To mourning Black, their shining▪Colours dye,
Bow down their Heads, while sighing Zephires fly.
Queen of the fields, whose Blush makes blush the Morn,
Sweet Rose, a Princes Death in Purple mourn.
O Hyacinths for aye your aye keep still,
Nay, with moe markes of Woe your Leaves now fill.
And you O Flow'r of Helens teares that's borne,
Into these liquid Pearles againe you turne.
Your green Locks, Forrests cut, to weeping Mirres,
To deadly Cypres, and Inke-dropping Firres,
Your Palmes and Mirtles change, from shadows dark
Wing'd Syrens wa [...]le, and you sad Ecchoes marke
[Page 75]The lamentable Accents of their Moane,
And plaine that brave Moeliades is gone.
Stay Skie thy turning Course, and now become
A stately Arch, unto the Earth his Tombe:
And over it still watry Iris keep,
And sad Electras Sisters which still weep:
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,
From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore.
Deare Ghost forgive these our untimely Teares,
By which our loving Mind, though weake appeares,
Our Losse not Thine (when we complaine) we weep,
For, Thee the glistring Walls of Heaven do keep,
Beyond the Planets Wheels, 'bove highest Source
Of Spheares; that turnes the lower in his Course.
Where Sun doth never set, nor ugly Night
Ever appeares in mourning Garments dight:
Where Boreas stormy Trumpet doth not sound,
Nor Clouds, in Lightnings bursting, Minds astound.
From Cares cold Climates far, and hot Desire,
Where Time's exil'd, and Ages ne're expire:
'Mong purest Spirits environed with Beames,
Thou think'st all things below, t' have been but dreams;
And joy'st to look down to the azur'd Bars
Of Heaven powd'red with Troupes of streaming Stars:
And in their turning Temples to behold,
In silver Robe the Moone, the Sun in Gold;
Like young Eye-speaking Lovers in a Dance,
With Majesty by Turnes, retire, advance.
Thou wondrest Earth to see hang like a Ball,
Clos'd in the mighty Cloyster of this All:
And that poore Men should prove so madly fond,
To tosse themselves for a small spot of Ground.
Nay, that they even dare brave the Powers above▪
From this base Stage of Change, that cannot move.
All worldly Pompe, and Pride thou seest arise
Like Smoake that's scatt'red in the empty Skies.
Amaz'd thou findst excelling our poore Bow'rs,
Courts void of Flattery, of Malice Minds,
Pleasure which lasts, not such as Reason blinds.
Thou sweeter Songs dost heare, and Carrollings▪
Whilst Heavens do dance, and Quires of Angels sings,
Then muddy Minds could faine, even our Annoy
(If it approach that Place) is chang'd to Joy.
Rest blessed soule, rest satiate with the sight
Of him whose Beames (though dazling) do delight,
Life of all lives, Cause of each other cause,
The Spheare and Center where the Mind doth pause:
Narcissus of himselfe, himselfe the Well,
Lover, and Beauty that doth all excell.
Rest happy Soule, and wonder in that Glasse,
Where seen is all that shall be, is, or was,
While shall be, is, or was, do passe away,
And nothing be, but an Eternall Day.
For ever rest, thy Praise Fame will enroule
In golden Annals, while about the Pole
The slow Boötes turnes, or Sun doth rise
With scarlet Scarse to cheare the mourning Skies.
The Virgins to thy Tombe will Garlands beare
Of Flow'rs, and with each Flow'r let fall a Teare.
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore
From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore.
William Drummond.
OF JET,
Or PORPHYRIE,
Or that white Stone
PAROS affords alone,
Or these in AZURE dye,
Which seem to scorn the SKIE;
Here Memphis Wonders do not set,
Nor ARTEMISIA'S huge Frame,
That keeps so long her Lovers Name:
Make no great marble Atlas stoop with Gold
To please the Vulgar EYE shall it behold.
The Muses, Phoebus, Love, have raised of their teares
A Crystal Tomb to him, through which his worth appears.
STay Passenger, see where enclosed lies,
The Paragon of Princes, fairest Frame,
Time, Nature, Place, could show to mortall Eyes
In Worth, Wit, Vertue, Miracle of Fame:
At least that Part the Earth of him could clame,
This Marble holds (hard like the Destinies)
For as to his brave Spirit, and glorious Name,
The One the World, the other fills the Skies.
Th'immortall Amaranthus, princely Rose,
Sad Violet, and that sweet Flow'r that beares,
In Sanguine Spots the Tenor of our Woes,
Spread on this Stone, and wash it with your Tears
Then go and tell from Gades unto Inde,
You saw where Earths Perfections were confin'd.
SON.
A Passing Glance, a Lightning long the skies
Which ush'ring Thunder, dies straight to our sight,
A Sparke that doth from jarring mixtures rise,
Thus drown'd is in th' huge Depths of Day and Night:
Is this small trifle, Life, held in such Price,
Of blinded Wights, who ne're judge Ought aright?
Of Parthian shaft so swift is not the Flight,
As Life, that wastes it selfe, and living dies.
Ah, what is humane Greatnesse, Valour, Wit?
What fading Beauty, Riches, Honour, Praise?
To what doth serve in golden Thrones to sit,
Thrall Earths vaste Round, triumphall Arches raise?
That's all a Dreame learne in this Princes Fall,
In whom save Death, nought mortall was at all.
William Drummond.
To the Reader.
THe Name, which in these Verses is given unto Prince Henry, is that which he Himselfe in the Challenges of his Martiall Sports, and Mascarads, was wont to use, MOELIADES Prince of the Isles: which in Anagram maketh a Word most worthy of such a Knight as He was, a Knight (if Time had suffered his Actions answer the Worlds expectation) only worthy of such a Word, Miles A Deo.
MADRIGALS AND EPIGRAMS.
[Page] [Page 83]Madrigals and Epigrams▪
The Statue of Medusa.
OF that Medusa strange,
Who those that did her see in Rocks did change,
No Image carv'd is this;
Medusa's selfe it is:
For while at heate of Day
To quench her Thirst She by this Spring did stay,
Her hideous Head beholding in this Glasse,
Her Senses fail'd, and thus transform'd she was.
The Pourtrait of Mars and Venus.
FAire Paphos wanton Queen
(Not drawn in White and Red)
Is truly here, as when in Vulcans Bed
She was of all Heavens laughing Senate seen.
Gaze on her Haire, and Eine,
Her Brows, the Bows of Love,
Her back with Lillies spred:
Ye also might perceive her turne and move,
But that She neither so will do, nor dare,
For feare to wake the angry God of War.
Narcissus.
FLouds cannot quench my Flames, ah! in this Well
I burne, not drowne, for what I cannot tell.
Dameta's Dreame.
DAmetas dream'd he saw his Wife at Sport,
And found that sight was through the horny Port.
Cherries.
MY Wanton weep no more
The losing of your Cherries,
Those, and far sweeter Berries,
Your Sister in good store
Hath in her Lips and Face,
Be glad, kisse her with me, and hold your peace.
Icarus.
WHile with audacious Wings
I cleav'd th [...]se airy Waies,
And fill'd (a Monster new) with Dread and Feares,
The feathered People and their Eagle Kings:
Dazell'd with Phoebus Rayes,
And charmed with the Musick of the Spheares,
When Quills could move no more and force did faile,
Though down I fell from Heavens high azure bounds:
Yet doth Renowne my Losses countervaile,
For still the Shore my brave attempt resounds.
A Sea an Element doth beare my Name,
What Mortalls Tombe's so great in Place or Fame.
On his Lady, beholding her selfe in a Marble.
WOrld wonder not, that I
Keep in my brest engraven
That Angels face hath me of Rest bereaven.
See Dead and Senselesse things cannot deny
To lodge so deare a Guest:
Ev'n this hard Marble Stone
Receives the same, and loves, but cannot groane.
To sleep.
HOw comes it Sleep, that thou
Even kisses me affords
Of her (deare her) so far who's absent now?
How did I heare those Words,
Which Rocks might move, and move the Pines to Bow?
Aye me, before halfe day
Why did'st thou steale away?
Returne, I thine for ever will remaine,
If thou wilt bring with thee that Guest againe.
A pleasant deceit.
OVer a christall Source
Iolas laid his face,
Of purling Streames to see the restlesse Course.
But scarce he had o'reshadowed the Place,
When in the water he a Child espies,
So like himselfe in stature, Face, and Eyes,
That glad he rose, and cried,
Deare Mates approach, see whom I have descried,
The Boy of whom strange stories Shepheards tell,
Oft-called Hylas, dwelleth in this Well.
The Canon.
WHen first the Canon from her gaping Throat
Against the Heaven her roaring Sulphur shot,
Jove wakened with the noise did aske with wonder,
What Mortall Wight had stolne from him his Thunder:
His christall Tow'rs he feared, but Fire and Aire
So high did stay the Ball from mounting there.
Thais Metamorphosis.
INto Briareus huge
Thais wish'd she might change
Her Man, and pray'd him not thereat to grudge,
Nor fondly thinke it strange;
For if (said she) I might the parts dispose,
I wish you not a hundred Armes nor Hands,
But hundred things like those
With which Priapus in our Garden stands.
The quality of a Kisse.
THe kisse with so much strife
Which I late got (sweet Heart)
Was it a sign of Death, or was it Life?
Of Life it could not be,
For I by it did sigh my Soule in thee:
Ne was it Death, Death doth no joy impart.
Thou silent stand'st, ah! what did'st thou bequeath,
A dying Life to me, or living Death?
His Ladies Dog.
WHen Her deare Bosome clips
That little Cur, which fawnes to touch her Lips,
Or when it is his hap
To lie lap'd in her Lap,
O it grows Noon with me,
With hotter-pointed Beames
I burne, then those are which the Sun forth streames,
When piercing lightning his Rayes call'd may be:
And as I muse how I to shose extreames
Am brought, I find no Cause, except that She
In Loves bright Zodiack having trac'd each Roome,
To the hot Dog-star now at last is come.
An Almanack.
THis strange Ecclipse one saies
Strange Wonders doth foretell;
But you whose Wives excell,
And love to count their Praise,
Shut all your gates, your Hedges plant with Thornes,
The Sun did threat the World this time with Hornes.
The Silk-Worme of Love.
A Daedale of my Death
Now I resemble that slie worme on Earth▪
Which prone to its own harme doth take no rest:
For Day and Night opprest,
I feed on fading Leaves
Of Hope which me deceives,
And thousand Webs do warpe within my Brest,
And thus in end unto my selfe I weave
A fast-shut Prison, or a closer Grave.
Deep impression of Love to his Mistris.
WHom a mad Dog doth bite,
He doth in Water still
That mad Dogs Image see:
Love mad (perhaps) when he my Heart did smite
(More to dissemble his Ill)
Transform'd himselfe to thee:
For thou art present ever since to me.
No Spring there is, no Floud, nor other Place,
Where I (alas) not see thy Heavenly Face.
A Chaine of Gold.
ARe not those Locks of Gold
Sufficient Chaines the wildest Hearts to hold?
Is not that Ivory Hand
A Diamantine Band,
Most sure to keep the most untamed Mind,
But ye must others find?
O yes▪ why is that Golden One then wo [...]ne?
Thus free in Chaines (perhaps) Loves Chaines to scorne.
On the Death of a Linnet.
IF cruell Death had Eares,
Or could be pleas'd by Songs,
This wing'd Musician had l [...]v'd many yeares,
And Nisa mine had never w [...]pt these Wrongs:
For when it first took Breath,
The Heavens their Notes did unto it bequeath:
And if that Samians sentences be true,
Amphion in this Body liv'd anew.
But Death, who nothing spares, and nothing heares,
As he doth Kings, kill'd it, O Griefe! O Teares!
Lillas Prayer.
LOve if thou wilt once more
That I to thee returne,
(Sweet God) make me not burn
For quivering Age, that doth spent Daies deplore.
Nor do thou wound my Heart
For some unconstant Boy
Who joyes to love, yet makes of Love a Toy.
But (ah!) if I must prove thy golden Dart,
Of grace, O let me find
A sweet young Lover with an aged Mind.
Thus Lilla pray'd, and Idas did reply,
(Who heard) Deare have thy wish, for such am I.
Armelins Epitaph.
NEare to this Eglantine
Enclosed lies the milke-white Armeline;
Once Cloris only joy,
Now only her annoy,
Who envied was of the most happy Swaines
That keep their Flocks in Mountaines, Dales, or Plains:
For oft she bore the wanton in her Arme,
And oft her Bed, and Bosome did he warme;
Now when unkinder Fates did him destroy,
Blest Dog he had the Grace,
That Cloris for him wet with teares her Face.
Epitaph.
THe Bawd of Justice, he who Laws controll'd,
And made them fawn, and frown as he got gold,
That Proteus of our State, whose Heart and Mouth
Were farther distant than is North from South,
[Page 90]That Cormorant who made himselfe so grosse
On Peoples Ruine, and the Princes Losse,
Is gone to Hell, and though he here did evill,
He there perchance may prove an honest Devill.
A Translation.
FIerce Robbers were of old
Exil'd the Champian Ground,
From Hamlets chas'd, in Cities kill'd, or bound▪
And only Woods, Caves, Mountaines, did them hold:
But now (when all is sold)
Woods, Mountaines, Caves, to good Men be refuge,
And do the Guiltlesse lodge,
And clad in Purple Gowns
The greatest Theeves command within the Towns.
Epitaph.
THen Death thee hath beguil'd
Alectos first borne Child;
Then thou who thrall'd all Laws
Now against Wormes cannot maintaine thy Cause:
Yet Wormes (more just than thou) now do no Wrong,
Since all do wonder they thee spar'd so long;
For though from Life thou didst but lately passe,
Twelve Springs are gone since thou corrupted was.
Come Citizens, erect to death an Altar,
Who keeps you from Axe, Fuell Timber, Halter.
A Jest.
IN a most holy Church, a holy man,
Vnto a holy Saint with Visage wan,
And Eyes like Fountaines, mumbled forth a Prayer,
And with strange Words and Sighs made black the Aire.
And having long so stay'd, and long long pray'd,
A thousand crosses on himselfe he lay'd,
And with some sacred Beads hung on his Arm [...]
His Eyes, his Mouth, his Temples, Brest did charme.
Thus not content (strange Worship hath no end)
To kisse the Earth at last he did pretend,
And bowing down besought with humble grace,
An aged Woman neare to give some place:
She turn'd, and turning up her Hole beneath,
Said, Sir kisse here, for it is all but Earth.
Proteus of Marble.
THis is no work of Stone,
Though it seems breathlesse, cold, and sense hath non [...];
But that [...] God which keeps
The monstro [...] people of the raging Deeps:
Now that he doth not change his shape this while,
It is thus constant more you to beguile.
Pamphilus.
SOme Ladies wed, some love, and some adore them,
I like their wanton sport, then care not for them.
Apelles enamour'd of Campaspe, Alexanders Mistris.
POore Painter while I sought
To counterfeit by Art
The fairest Frame which Nature ever wrought,
And having limm'd each Part
Except her matchlesse Eyes:
Scarce on those Suns I gaz'd,
As Lightning falls from Skies,
When straight my Hand grew weake, my Mind amazd,
And ere that Pencill halfe them had exprest▪
Love had them drawn, no, grav'd them in my Brest.
Campaspe.
ON Stars shall I exclaime,
Which thus my Fortune change,
Or shall I else revenge
Upon my selfe this shame,
Inconstant Monarch, or shall I thee blame
Who lets Apelles prove
The sweet Delights of Alexanders Love?
No, Stars, my selfe, and thee, I all forgive,
And Joyes, that thus I live;
Of thee, blind King, my Beauty was despis'd,
Thou didst not know it, now being known 'tis priz'd.
Cornucopia.
IF for one only Horne,
Which Nature to him gave,
So famous is the noble Unicorne?
What praise should that Man have,
Whose Head a Lady brave
Doth with a goodly paire at once adorne?
Love suffers no Parasol.
THose Eyes, deare Eyes, be Spheares
Where two bright Suns are roll'd,
That faire Hand to behold
Of whitest Snow appeares:
Then while ye coyly stand
To hide from me those Eyes,
Sweet I would you advise
To chuse some other fanne than that white Hand:
For if ye do, for truth most true this know,
Those Suns ere long must needs consume warme Snow.
Unpleasant Musick.
IN fields Ribaldo stray'd
Mayes Tapestry to see,
And hearing on a Tree
A Cuckow sing, sigh'd to himselfe and said,
Loe how alas even Birds sit mocking me.
Sleeping Beauty.
O Sight too dearely bought!
Shee sleeps, and though those Eyes
Which lighten Cupids Skies
Be clos'd, yet such a grace
Environeth that Place,
That I through Wonder to grow faint am brought:
Suns if ecclips'd you have such power divine,
What power have I t' endure you when you shine?
Alcons Kisse.
WHat others at their Eare,
Two Pearles, Camilla at her Nose did weare,
Which Alcon who nought saw
(For Love is blind) robb'd with a pretty Kisse;
But having known his misse,
And felt what Ore he from that Mine did draw,
When she to come again did him desire,
He fled, and said, foule Water quenched Fire.
The Statue of Venus sleeping.
PAssenger vexe not thy Mind
To make me mine Eyes unfold;
For if thou shouldst them behold,
Thine perhaps they will make blind.
Laura to Petrarch.
I Rather love a Youth and childish Rime,
Than thee whose Verse and Head are wise through Time.
The Rose.
FLow'r which of Adons Bloud
Sprang, when of that cleare Floud
Which Venus wept, another white was borne:
The sweet Cynarean Youth thou lively shows,
But this sharpe-pointed Thorne
So proud about thy Crimsin Folds that grows,
What doth it represent?
Boares Teeth (perhaps) his milk-white Flanke which rent.
O show in one of unesteemed Worth
That both the kill'd, and killer setteth forth!
A Lovers Prayer.
NEare to a Christall Spring,
With Thirst and Heat opprest,
Narcissa faire doth rest,
Trees, pleasant Trees which those green plains forth bring
Now interlace your trembling Tops above,
And make a Canopy unto my Love;
So in Heavens highest House when Sun appeares,
Aurora may you cherish with her Teares.
Iolas Epitaph.
HEre deare Iolas lies,
Who whilst he liv'd in Beauty did surpasse
That Boy, whose heavenly Eyes
Brought Cypris from above,
Or him to death who look'd in watry Glasse,
Even Judge the God of Love.
And if the Nymph once held of him so deare
Dorine the faire, would here but shed one Teare,
Thou shouldst in Natures scorne
A Purple Flow'r see of this Marble borne.
The Trojan Horse.
A Horse I am, who bit,
Reine, rod, Spur do not feare,
When I my Riders beare,
Within my Wombe, not on my Back they sit.
No streames I drinke, nor care for Grasse or Corne;
Art me a Monster wrought
All Natures workes to scorne;
A Mother I was without Mother borne,
In end all arm'd my Father I forth brought:
What thousand Ships, and Champions of renowne
Could not do free, captiv'd I raz'd Troy's Town.
For Dorus.
WHy Nais stand ye nice
Like to a well wrought Stone,
When Dorus would you kisse?
Denie him not that blisse,
He's but a Child (old Men be Children twice)
And even a Toothlesse one:
And when his Lips yours touch in that delight
Ye need not feare he will those Cherries bite.
Love vagabonding.
SWeet Nymphs, if as ye stray
Ye find the froth-borne Goddesse of the Sea,
All blubb'red, pale, undone,
Who seeks her giddy Son,
That little God of Love,
Whose golden shafts your chastests Bosomes prove;
Who leaving all the Heavens hath run away:
If ought to him that finds him she'll impart
Tell her he nightly lodgeth in my Heart.
To a River.
SIth She will not that I
She to the World my Joy,
Thou who oft mine annoy
Hast heard deare Floud, tell Thetis if thou can
That not a happier Man
Doth breathe beneath the Skie.
More sweet, more white, more faire,
Lips, Hands, and Amber Haire,
Tell none did ever touch,
A smaller daintier Waste
Tell never was embrac't
But peace, since she forbids thee tell too much.
Phraene.
A Onian Sisters help my Phraenes Praise to tell,
Phraene heart of my heart, with whom the Graces dwell,
For I surcharged am so sore that I not know
What first to praise of [...] Brest, or Neck of Snow,
Her Cheeks with Roses spred, or her two Sun-like Eyes,
Her teeth of brightest pearl, her lips where Sweetnes lies:
But those so praise themselves, being to all Eyes set forth,
That Muses ye need not to say ought of their Worth,
Then her white swelling Paps essay for to make known,
But her white swelling paps through smallest vail are shown;
Yet She hath something else more worthy than the rest
Not seen go sing of that which lies beneath her brest,
And mounts like fair Parnasse, where Pegasse well doth run;
Here Phraene stay'd my Muse ere she had well begun.
Kisses desired.
THough I with strange Desire
To kisse those rosie Lips am set on fire,
Yet will I cease to crave
Sweet kisses in such store,
As he who long before
In thousands them from Lesbia did receive:
Sweet heart but once me kisse,
And I by that sweet blisse
Even sweare to cease you to importune more;
Poore one no number is.
Another Word of me ye shall not heare
After one Kisse but still one Kisse my Deare▪
Desired Death.
DEare Life while I do touch
These Corrall Ports of blisse,
Which still themselves do kiss,
And sweetly me invite to do as much.
All panting in my Lips,
My Heart my life doth leave,
No sense my Senses have,
And inward Powers do find a [...] Ecclipse:
This Death so heavenly well
Doth so me please, that I
Would never longer seeke in sense to dwell,
If that even thus I only could but dye.
Phoebe.
IF for to be alone, and all the Night to wander,
Maids can prove chaste, then chaste is Phoebe without slander.
Answer.
FOole, still to be alone, all Night in Heaven to wander,
Would make the wanton chaste, then she's chaste without slander.
The cruelty of Rora.
WHilst sighing forth his Wrongs,
In sweet, though dolefull Songs,
Alexis sought to charme his Roras Eares,
The Hils were heard to moane,
To sigh each Spring appeared,
Trees, hardest Trees through Rine distill'd their Teares,
And soft grew every Stone:
But Teares, nor Sighs, nor Songs could Rora move,
For she rejoyced at his plaint and love.
A Kisse.
HArke, happy Lovers, harke,
This first and last of Joyes,
This sweetner of Annoyes,
This Nectar of the Gods,
You call a Kisse, is with it selfe at ods:
And halfe so sweet is not
In equall Measure got,
At light of Sun, as it is in the darke,
Harke, happy Lovers, harke.
Kalas Complaint.
KAla old Mopsus Wife,
Kala with fairest Face,
For whom the Neighbour Swaines oft were at strife,
As she to milke her snowy Flock did tend,
Sigh'd with a heavy Grace,
And said: What wretch like me doth lead her life?
I see not how my Taske shall have an end:
All Day I draw these streaming Dugs in Fold,
All Night mine empty Husband soft and cold.
Phillis.
IN Peticoat of greene,
Her Haire about her Eine,
Phillis beneath an Oake
Sate milking her faire flock:
'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture (rare delight)
Her hand seem'd milke, in milke it was so white.
A Wish.
TO forge to mighty Jove
The thunder-bolts above,
Nor on this Round below
Rich Midas skill to know,
And make all Gold I touch,
Do I desire, it is for me too much;
Of all the Arts practis'd beneath the Skie,
I would but Phillis Lapidarie be.
Nisa.
NIsa, Palemons Wife, him weeping told
He kept not Grammar rules now being old;
For why (quoth she) position false make ye,
Putting a short thing where a long should be.
A Lovers Heaven.
THose Stars, nay Suns, which turne
So stately in their Spheares,
And dazeling do not burne,
The Beauty of the Morne
Which on these cheek [...] appeares,
The Harmony which to that voice is given,
Makes me thinke you are Heaven.
If Heaven you be, O that by powerfull Charmes,
I A [...]las were enfolded in your armes?
Epitaph.
THis deare, though not-respected Earth, doth hold
One for his worth whose Tombe should be of gold.
Beauties Idea.
WHo would Perfections faire Idea see,
On pretty Cloris let him look with me;
White is her haire, her Teeth white, white her Skin,
Black be her Eyes, her Eye-brows Cupids Inne:
Her Locks, her Body, hands do long appeare,
But Teeth short, short her Wombe, and either Eare;
The space 'twixt Shoulders, Eyes are wide, Brow wide,
Strait Waste, the Mouth strait, and her virgin Pride.
Thick are her Lips, Thighs, with Bankes swelling there,
Her Nose is small, small Fingers, and her Haire:
Her sugred Mouth, her Cheekes, her Nailes be red,
Little her Foot, Brest little, and her Head.
Such Venus was, such was that Flame of Troy,
Such Cloris is, mine Hope, and only Joy.
Lalus Death.
AMidst the Waves profound,
Far, far from all Reliefe,
The honest Fisher Lalus, ah! is drown'd,
Shut this little Skiffe:
The Boards of which did serve him for a Biere,
So that when he to the black World came neare
Of him no Silver greedy Charon got,
For he in his own Boat
Did passe that Floud, by which the Gods do sweare.
FLOWERS of SION: OR SPIRITUALL POEMS,
TRiumphant Arches, Statues crown'd with Bayes,
Proud Obeliskes, Tombes of the vastest Frame,
Brazen Colosses Atlases of Fame,
And Temples builded to vaine Deities praise:
States which unsatiate Minds in bloud do raise,
From Southerne Pole unto the Artick Teame,
And even what we write to keep our Name,
Like Spiders Caules are made the sport of Daies;
All only constant is in constant Change:
What done is, is undone, and when undone,
Into some other figure doth it range,
Thus rolls the restlesse World beneath the Moon:
Wherefore (my Mind) above Time, Motion, Place,
Aspire, and Steps, not reach'd by Nature, trace.
A Good that never satisfies the Mind,
A Beauty fading like the Aprill flow'rs,
A Sweet with flouds of Gall that runs combin'd,
A Pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A Honour that more fickle is than wind,
A Glory at Opinions frown that low'rs,
A Treasury which bankrupt Time devoures,
A Knowledge than grave Ignorance more blind:
A vaine Delight our equalls to command,
A Stile of greatnesse, in effect a Dreame,
A swelling Thought of holding Sea and Land,
A servile Lot, deckt with a pompous Name:
Are the strange Ends we toyle for here below,
Till wisest Death make us our errours know,
LIfe a right shadow is,
For if it long appeare,
Then is it spent, and Deaths long Night draws neare;
Shadows are moving, light,
And is there ought so moving as is this?
When it is most in Sight,
It steales away, and none knows how or where,
So neare our Cradles to our Coffins are.
LOok as the Flow'r which lingringly doth fade,
The Mornings Darling late, the Summers Queen,
Spoyl'd of that Juyce which kept it fresh and green,
As high as it did raise, bows low the head:
Right so the pleasures of my Life being dead,
Or in their Contraries but only seen,
With swifter speed declines than erst it spred,
And (blasted) scarce now shows what it hath been.
Therefore, as doth the Pilgrim, whom the Night
Hast darkly to imprison on his way,
Thinke on thy Home (my Soule) and thinke aright,
Of what's yet left thee of Lifes wasting Day;
Thy Sun posts Westward, passed is thy Morne,
And twice it is not given thee to be borne.
THe weary Mariner so far not flies
An howling Tempest, Harbour to attaine,
Nor Shepheard hasts (when frayes of Wolves arise
So fast to Fold to save his bleating traine,
As I (wing'd with Contempt and just Disdaine)
Now flie the World, and what it most doth prize,
And Sanctuary seek free to remaine
From wounds of abject Times, and Envies eyes;
To me this World did once seem sweet and faire,
While Senses light, Minds Perspective kept blind;
Now like imagin'd Landskip in the Aire,
And weeping Raine-bows her best Joyes I find:
Or if ought here is had that praise should have,
It is an obscure Life, and silent Grave.
OF this faire Volume which we World do name,
If we the sheets and leaves could turne with care,
Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,
We cleare might read the Art and Wisdome rare,
Find out his Power which wildest Pow'rs doth tame,
His Providence extending every-where,
His Justice which proud Rebels doth not spare,
In every Page, no, Period of the same:
But silly we like foolish Children rest,
Well pleas'd with colour'd Velum, Leaves of Gold,
Faire dangling Ribbands, leaving what is best,
On the great Writers sense ne're taking hold;
Or if by chance we stay our Minds on ought,
It is some Picture on the Margine wrought.
THe Griefe was common, common were the cries,
Teares, Sobs, and Groanes of that afflicted Traine,
Which of Gods chosen did the Sum containe,
And Earth rebounded with them, pierc'd were Skies;
All good had left the World, each Vice did raign
In the most monstrous sorts Hell could devise,
And all Degrees, and each Estate did staine,
Nor further had to go whom to surprize;
The World beneath, the Prince of Darknesse lay,
And in each Temple had himselfe install'd,
Was sacrific'd unto, by Prayers call'd,
Responses gave, which (fooles) they did obey:
When (pittying Man) God of a Virgines wombe
Was borne, and those false Deities strooke dumbe.
RUn (Shepheards) run, where Bethlem blest appears,
We bring the best of News, be not dismay'd,
A Saviour there is borne, more old than yeares,
Amidst the rolling Heaven this Earth who stay'd;
In a poore Cottage Inn'd, a Virgin Maid,
A weakling did him beare who all upbeares,
There he in Cloaths is wrapt, in Manger laid,
To whom too narrow Swadlings are our Spheares.
Run (Shepheards) run, and solemnize his Birth,
This is that Night, no, Day grown great with Blisse,
In which the Power of Satan broken is,
In Heaven be Glory, Peace unto the Earth;
Thus singing through the Aire the Angels swame,
And all the Stars re-ecchoed the same.
O Than the fairest day, thrice fairer night,
Night to best Daies, in which a Sun doth rise,
Of which the golden Eye which cleares the Skies,
Is but a sparkling Ray, a Shadow light;
And blessed ye (in silly Pastors sight)
Mild Creatures in whose warme Crib now lies,
That Heaven-sent Youngling, holy-Maid-born Wight,
'Midst, end, beginning of our Prophesies:
Blest Cottage that hath Flow'rs in Winter spread,
Though withered blessed Grasse, that hath the grace
To deck and be a Carpet to that Place.
Thus singing to the sounds of oaten Reed
Before the Babe, the Shepheards bow'd their knees,
And Springs ran Nectar, Honey dropt from Trees.
TO spread the azure Canopy of Heaven,
And make it twinkle with those spangs of Gold,
To stay the pondrous Globe of Earth so even,
That it should all, and nought should it uphold;
To give strange motions to the Planets seven,
Or Jove to make so meek, or Mars so bold,
To temper what is moist, dry, hot, and cold,
Of all their Jars that sweet accords are given:
Lord, to thy Wisdom's nought; nought to thy Might,
But that thou shouldst (thy Glory laid aside)
Come meanely in mortality to 'bide,
And die for those deserv'd eternall plight,
A wonder is so far above our wit,
That Angels stand amaz'd to muse on it.
THe last and greatest Herauld of Heavens King,
Girt with rough Skins, hies to the Desarts wild,
Among that savage brood the Woods forth bring,
Which he more harmelesse found than man, and mild;
His food was Locusts, and what there doth spring,
With Honey that from Virgine Hives distill'd,
Parcht Body, hollow Eyes, some uncouth thing
Made him appeare, long since from Earth exil'd,
There burst he forth, all ye whose Hopes rely
On God, with me amidst these Desarts mourne,
Repent, repent, and from old errours turne.
Who list'ned to his voice, obey'd his cry;
Only the Ecchoes, which he made relent,
Rung from their flinty Caves, repent, repent.
THese Eyes (deare Lord) once Tapers of Desire,
Fraile Scouts betraying what they had to keep,
Which their own heart, then others set on fire,
Their trait'rous black before thee here out-weep;
These Locks of blushing deeds, the gilt attire,
Waves curling, wrackfull shelves to shadow deep,
Rings wedding Soules to Sins lethargick sleep,
To touch thy sacred Feet do now aspire.
In Seas of care behold a sinking Barke,
By winds of sharpe remorse unto thee driven,
O let me not be Ruines aym'd at marke,
My faults confest (Lord) say they are forgiven.
Thus sigh'd to Jesus the Bethanian faire,
His teare-wet Feet still drying with her Haire.
I changed Countries new delights to find,
But ah! for pleasure I did find new paine,
Enchanting Pleasure so did Reason blind,
That Fathers love and words I scorn'd as vaine:
For Tables rich, for bed, for following traine
Of carefull servants to observe my Mind,
These Heards I keep my fellows are assign'd,
My Bed's a Rock, and Herbs my Life sustaine.
Now while I famine feele, feare worser harmes,
Father and Lord I turne, thy Love (yet great)
My faults will pardon, pitty mine estate,
This where an aged Oake had spread its Armes
Thought the lost Child, while as the Heards he led,
And pin'd with hunger on wild Acorns fed.
IF that the World doth in amaze remaine,
To heare in what a sad deploring mood,
The Pelican poures from her brest her Bloud,
To bring to life her younglings back againe?
How should we wonder at that soveraigne Good,
Who from that Serpents sting (that had us slaine)
To save our lives, shed his Lifes purple flood,
And turn'd to endlesse Joy our endlesse Paine?
Ungratefull Soule, that charm'd with false Delight,
Hast long long wander'd in Sins flowry Path,
And didst not thinke at all, or thoughtst not right
On this thy Pelicans great Love and Death,
Here pause, and let (though Earth it scorn) heaven se [...]
Thee poure forth tears to him pour'd Bloud for thee.
IF in the East when you do there behold
Forth from his Christall Bed the Sun to rise,
With rosie Robes and Crowne of flaming Gold;
If gazing on that Empresse of the Skies
That takes so many formes, and those faire Brands
Which blaze in Heavens high Vault, Nights watchful eyes;
If seeing how the Seas tumultuous Bands
Of bellowing Billows have their course confin'd,
How unsustain'd the Earth still stedfast stands;
Poore mortall Wights, you e're found in your Mind
A thought, that some great King did sit above,
Who had such Laws and Rites to them assign'd?
A King who fix'd the Poles, made Spheares to move,
All Wisdome, Purenesse, Excellency, Might,
All Goodnesse, Greatnesse, Justice, Beauty, Love;
[Page 110]With feare and wonder hither turne your Sight,
See, see (alas) him now, not in that State
Thought could fore-cast Him into Reasons light.
Now Eyes with tears, now Hearts with griefe make great,
Bemoane this cruell Death and ruthfull case,
If ever Plaints just Woe could aggravate?
From Sin and Hell to save us humane Race,
See this great King nail'd to an abject Tree,
An object of reproach and sad disgrace.
O unheard Pity! Love in strange degree!
He his own Life doth give, his Bloud doth shed,
For Wormelings base such Worthinesse to see.
Poore Wights, behold his Visage pale as Lead,
His Head bow'd to His Brest, Locks sadly rent,
Like a cropt Rose that languishing doth fade.
Weake Nature weepe, astonish'd World lament,
Lament, you Winds, you Heaven that all containes,
And thou (my Soule) let nought thy Griefes relent.
Those Hands, those sacred Hands which hold the reines
Of this great All, and kept from mutuall wars
The Elements, beare rent for thee their Veines:
Those Feet which once must trade on golden Stars,
For thee with Nails would be pierc'd through and torn,
For thee Heavens King from Heaven himselfe debars:
This great heart-quaking Dolour waile and mourne▪
Yee that long since Him saw by might of Faith,
Ye now that are, and ye yet to be borne.
Not to behold his great Creators Death,
The Sun from sinfull eyes hath vail'd his light,
And faintly journies up Heavens saphyre Path:
And cutting from her Brows her Tresses bright,
The Moone doth keep her Lords sad Obsequ [...]es,
Impearling with her Teares her Robe of Night.
All staggering and lazie lowre the Skies,
The Earth and elementall Stages quake,
The long-since dead from bursted Graves arise.
[Page 111]And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take,
And beare a part with him who all them wrought?
And Man (though borne with cries) shall pitty lack?
Thinke what had been your state, had he not brought
To these sharpe Pangs himselfe, and priz'd so high
Your soules, that with his Life them life he bought▪
What woes do you attend? if still ye lye
Plung'd in your wonted ordures? wretched Brood,
Shall for your sake againe God ever die?
O leave deluding shews, embrace true good,
He on you calls, forgo Sins shamefull trade,
With Prayers now seek Heaven, and not with Bloud.
Let not the Lambs more from their Dams be had,
Nor Altars blush for sin, live every thing,
That long time long'd for sacrifice is made.
All that is from you crav'd by this great King
Is to beleeve, a pure Heart Incense is,
What gift (alas) can we him meaner bring?
Haste sin-sick Soules, this season do not misse,
Now while remorselesse Time doth grant you space,
And God invites you to your only Blisse:
He who you calls will not deny you Grace,
But low-deep bury faults, so ye repent,
His Armes (loe) stretched are you to embrace.
When Daies are done, and Lifes small sparke is spent,
So you accept what freely here is given,
Like brood of Angels deathlesse, all-content,
Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven.
COme forth, come forth, ye blest triumphing Bands,
Faire Citizens of that immortall Town,
Come see that King which all this All commands,
Now (overcharg'd with Love) die for his own;
Look on those Nailes which pierce his Feet and Hands,
What a sharpe Diadem his Brows doth crown?
Behold his pallid Face, his heavy frown,
And what a throng of Thieves him mocking stands,
Come forth ye Empyrean Troupes, come forth,
Preserve this sacred Bloud that Earth adornes,
Gather those liquid Roses off his Thornes,
O! to be lost they be of too much worth:
For Streams1, Juice2, Balm3 they are, which quench1, kills2, charmes3
Of God1, Death2, Hell3, the wrath1, the life2, the harmes3.
SOule, whom Hell did once inthrall,
He, He for thine offence,
Did suffer Death, who could not die at all.
O soveraigne Excellence,
O life of all that lives,
Eternall Bounty which each good thing gives,
How could Death mount so high?
No wit this Point can reach,
Faith only doth us teach,
He died for us at all who could not dye.
LIfe to give life, deprived is of Life,
And Death display'd hath Ensigne against Death;
So violent the Rigour was of Death,
That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life:
No Power had Pow'r to thrall Lifes Pow'rs to Death,
But willingly Life down hath laid Life,
Love gave the wound which wrought this worke of Death,
His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life.
Now quakes the Author of eternall Death,
To find that they whom late he rest of Life,
Shall fill his Roome above the lists of Death,
Now all rejoyce in Death who hope for Life.
Dead Jesus lies, who Death hath kill'd by Death,
No Tombe his Tombe is, but new Source of Life.
RIse from those fragrant Climes, thee now embrace,
Unto this World of Ours O haste thy Race,
Faire Sun, and though contrarie waies all yeare
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest Sheare,
Joyne thy blew Wheeles to hasten Time that low'rs,
And lazy Minutes turne to perfect Houres;
The Night and Death too long a league have made,
To stow the World in Horrours ugly shade:
Shake from thy Locks a Day with Safron raies
So faire, that it outshine all other daies,
And yet do not presum [...] (great Eye of Light)▪
To be that which this Day must make so bright,
See, an Eternall Sun hasts to arise,
Not from the Easterne blushing Seas or Skies▪
Or any stranger Worlds Heavens Concaves have,
But from the Darknesse of an hollow Grave▪
[Page 114]And this is that all-powerfull Sun above,
That crown'd thy Brows with Rays, first made thee mo [...]
Lights Trumpeters, ye need not from your Bow'rs
Proclaime this Day, this the angelick Pow'rs
Have done for you; But now an opall hew
Bepaints Heavens Christall, to the longing view
Earths late hid Colours shine, Light doth adorne
The World, and (weeping Joy) forth comes the Morne;
And with her, as from a Lethargick Trance
The breath return'd that Bodies doth advance,
Which two sad Nights in Rock lay coffin'd dead,
And with an iron Guard invironed:
Life out of Death, Light out of Darknesse springs,
From a base Jaile forth comes the King of Kings;
What late was mortall, thrall'd to every woe,
That lackeys life, or upon sense doth grow,
Immortall is, of an eternall Stampe,
Far brighter beaming than the morning Lampe.
So from a black Ecclipse out-peares the Sun:
Such [when her course of Daies have on her run,
In a far Forrest in the pearly East,
And she her selfe hath burnt and spicie Nest]
The lovely Bird with youthfull Pens and Combe,
Doth sore from out her Cradle and her Tombe:
So a small seed that in the Earth lies hid
And dies, reviving bursts her cloddy Side,
Adorn'd with yellow Locks, of new is borne,
And doth become a Mother great with Corne,
Of Graines brings hundreds with it, which when old,
Enrich the Furrows which do float with Gold.
Haile holy Victor; greatest Victor haile,
That Hell doth ransake, against Death prevaile,
O how thou long'd for com'st! with joyfull cries,
The all-triumphing Palatines of Skies
Salute thy rising, Earth would Joyes no more
Beare, if thou rising didst them not restore:
[Page 115]A silly Tombe should not his Flesh enclose▪
Who did Heavens trembling Tarasses dispose;
No Monument should such a Jewell hold,
No Rock, though Ruby, Diamond, and Gold.
Thou didst lament and pitty humane Race,
Bestowing on us of thy free-given Grace
More than we forfeited and losed first,
In Eden Rebells when we were accurst.
Then Earth our portion was, Earths Joyes but given,
Earth and Earths Blisse thou hast exchang'd with heaven.
O what a hight of good upon us streames
From the great splendor of thy Bounties Beames?
When we deserv'd shame, horrour, flames of wrath,
Thou bledst our wounds, and suffer didst our Death,
But Fathers Justice pleas'd, Hell, Death o'recome,
In triumph now thou risest from thy Tombe,
With Glories which past Sorrows countervaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile.
Hence humble sense, and hence ye Guides of sense,
We now reach Heaven, your weake intelligence
And searching Pow'rs were in a flash made [...],
To learne from all Eternity, that him
The Father bred, then that he here did come
(His Bearers Parent) in a Virgins Wombe;
But then when sold, betray'd, crown'd, scourg'd with Thorn,
Nail'd to a Tree, all breathlesse, bloudlesse, torne,
Entomb'd, him risen from a Grave to find,
Confounds your Cunning, turnes, like Moles, you blind.
Death, thou that heretofore still barren wast,
Nay, didst each other B [...]rth eate up and waste,
Imperious, hatefull, pittilesse, unjust,
Unpartiall equaller of all with dust▪
Sterne Executioner of heavenly doome,
Made fruitfull, now Lifes Mother art become,
A sweet reliefe of Cares the Soule molest,
An Harbinger to Glory, Peace and Rest,
[Page 116]Put off thy mourning Weeds, yeeld all thy Gall
To dayly sinning Life, proud of thy fall,
Assemble all thy Captives, haste to rise,
And every Coarse in Earth-quakes where it lies,
Sound from each flowry Grave, and rocky Jaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile.
The World that wanning late and faint did lie,
Applauding to our Joyes, thy Victory,
To a young Prime Essayes to turne againe,
And as ere soyl'd with Sin yet to remaine,
Her chilling Agues she begins to misse,
All Blisse returning with the Lord of Blisse.
With greater light Heavens Temples opened shine,
Morns smiling rise, Evens blushing do decline,
Clouds dappled glister, boist'rous Winds are calme,
Soft Zephyres do the Fields with sighs embalme,
In silent calmes the Sea hath husht his Roares,
And with enamour'd Curles doth kisse the Shoares:
All-bearing Earth like a new-married Queene,
Her Beauties hightens, in a Gown of Greene
Perfumes the Aire, her Meads are wrought with flow'rs,
In colours various▪ figures, smelling, pow'rs,
Trees wanton in the Groves with leavy Locks,
Her H [...]lls enamell'd stand, the Vales, the Rocks
Ring peales of Joy, her Floods and pratling Brookes,
(Stars liquid Mirrors) with serpenting Crooks,
And whispering murmures, sound unto the Maine,
The Golden Age returned is againe.
The honey People leave their golden Bow'rs,
And innocently prey on budding Flow'rs,
In gloomy Shades percht on the tender Sprayes
The painted Singers fill the Aire with Layes:
Seas, Floods, Earth, Aire, all diversly do sound,
Yet all their diverse Notes hath but one ground,
Re-eccho'd here-down from Heavens azure Vaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile.
[Page 117]O Day on which Deaths Adamantine Chaine
The Lord did breake, did ransack Satans Raigne,
And in triumphing Pompe his Trophees rear'd,
Be thou blest ever, henceforth still endear'd
With Name of his own Day, the Law to Grace,
Types to their substance yeeld, to thee give place
The old New-Moons, with all festivall Daies,
And what above the rest deserveth praise
The reverend Sabaoth, what could else they be
Than golden Heraulds, telling what by thee
We should enjoy? Shades past, now shine thou cleare,
And henceforth be thou Empresse of the yeare,
This Glory of thy Sisters Sex to win,
From worke on thee, as other Daies from Sin,
That Mankind shall forbeare, in every place
The Prince of Planets warmeth in his race;
And far beyond his paths in frozen Climes;
And may thou be so blest to out-date Times,
That when Heavens Quire shall blaze in Accents loud
The many Mercies of their soveraigne Good,
How he on thee did Sin, Death, Hell destroy,
It may be still the Burthen of their Joy.
BEneath a sable vaile, and Shadows deep,
Of unaccessible and dimming light,
In silence Ebon clouds more black than Night,
The Worlds great Mind his secrets hid doth keep:
Through those thick Mists when any mortall Wight
Aspires, with halting pace, and Eyes that weep
To pry, and in his Mysteries to creep,
With Thunders he and Lightnings blasts their Sight.
O Sun invisible, that dost abide
Within thy bright abysmes, most faire, most darke,
Where with thy proper Raies thou dost thee hide,
O ever-shining, never full-seene marke,
To guide me in Lifes Night, thy light me show,
The more I search of thee, the lesse I know.
IF with such passing Beauty, choice Delights,
The Architect of this great Round did frame,
This Pallace visible, short lists of Fame,
And silly Mansion but of dying Wights;
How many Wonders, what amazing lights
Must that triumphing Seat of Glory claime,
That doth transcend all this Alls vaste hights,
Of whose bright Sun ours here is but a beame?
O blest abode! O happy dwelling-place!
Where visibly th' Invisible doth raigne,
Blest People which do see true Beauties Face,
With whose far Shadows scarce he Earth doth daigne:
All Joy is but Annoy, all Concord Strife,
Ma [...]ch'd with your endlesse Blisse and happy life.
LOve which is here a care,
That Wit and Will doth mar,
Uncertaine Truce, and a most certaine War,
A shrill tempestuous Wind,
Which doth disturbe the Mind,
And like wild Waves all our designes commove;
Among those Pow'rs above,
Which see their Makers Face,
It a contentment is, a quiet Peace,
A Pleasure void of Griefe, a constant rest,
Eternall Joy, which nothing can molest.
THat space where curled Waves do now divide
From the great Continent our happy Isle,
Was sometime Land, and now where Ships do glide,
Once with laborious Art the Plough did toyle:
Once those faire Bounds stretcht out so far and wide,
Where Towns, no Shires enwall'd, endeare each mile,
Were all ignoble Sea and marish vile,
Where Proteus Flocks danc'd measures to the Tide
So Age transforming all still forward runs,
No wonder though the Earth doth change her Face,
New Manners, Pleasures new, turne with new Suns,
Locks now like Gold grow to an hoary grace;
Nay, Minds rare shape doth change, that lies despis'd
Which was so deare of late and highly priz'd.
THis World a Hunting is,
The Prey poore Man, the Nimrod fierce is Death,
His speedy Grayhounds are,
Lust, Sicknesse, Envy, Care,
Strife that ne're falls amiss,
With all those ills which haunt us while we breath.
Now, if by chance we flie
Of these the eager chace,
Old Age with stealing pace
Casts on his Nets, and there we panting die.
WHy (Worldlings) do ye trust fraile Honours dreames?
And leane to guilted Glories which decay?
Why do ye toyle to registrate your Names
On Ycie Pillars, which soon melt away?
True Honour is not here, that place it claimes
Where black-brow'd Night doth not exile the Day,
Nor no far-shining lampe dives in the Sea,
But an eternall Sun spreads lasting Beames;
There, it attendeth you, where spotlesse Bands
Of Sp'rits stand gazing on their soveraigne Blisse,
Where yeares not hold it in their cank'ring hands,
But who once noble, ever noble is.
Look home, lest he your weakned Wit make thrall,
Who Edens foolish Gard'ner earst made fall.
AS are those Apples, pleasant to the Eye,
But full of smoake within, which use to grow
Neere that strange Lake where God powr'd from the Skie
Huge show'rs of flames, worse flames to overthrow:
Such are their works that with a glaring Show
Of humble holinesse, in Vertues dye
Would colour mischiefe, while within they glow
With coales of Sin▪ though none the Smoake descry.
Bad is that Angell that earst fell from Heaven,
But not so bad as he, nor in worse case
Who hides a trait'rous mind with smiling face,
And with a Doves white feathers cloaths a Raven:
Each Sin some colour hath it to adorne,
Hypocrisie All-mighty God doth scorne.
NEw doth the Sun appeare,
The Mountaines Snows decay,
Crown'd with fraile flow'rs forth comes the Infant yeare;
My Soule, Time posts away,
And thou yet in that frost
Which Flow'r and fruit hath lost,
As if all here immortall were dost stay:
For shame thy Powers awake,
Look to that Heaven which never Night makes blacke,
And there at that immortall Suns bright Raies,
Deck thee with Flow'rs which feare not rage of Daies.
THrice happy he who by some shady Grove,
Far from the clamorous World, doth live his own,
Though solitary, who is not alone,
But doth converse with that eternall Love:
O how more sweet is Birds harmonious Moane,
Or the hoarse Sobbings of the widow'd Dove,
Than those smooth whisperings neer a Princes Throne,
Which Good make doubtfull do the evill approve?
O how more sweet is Zephyres wholesome Breath,
And Sighs embalm'd, which new-born Flow'rs unfold,
Than that applause vaine Honour doth bequeath?
How sweet are Streames to poyson dranke in Gold?
The World is full of Horrours, Troubles, Slights,
Woods harmelesse Shades have only true Delights▪
SWeet Bird, that sing'st away the earely Houres,
Of Winters past, or comming void of Care,
Well pleased with Delights which present are,
Faire Seasons, budding Spraies, sweet-smelling Flow'rs:
To Rocks, to Springs, to Rills, from leavy Bow'rs
Thou thy Creators Goodnesse dost declare,
And what deare Gifts on thee he did not spare,
A staine to humane sense in Sin that low'rs.
What Soule can be so sick, which by thy Songs
(Attir'd in sweetnesse) sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget Earths turmoiles, spights, and Wrongs,
And lift a reverend Eye and Thought to Heaven?
Sweet Artlesse Songster, thou my Mind dost raise
To Ayres of Spheares, yes, and to Angels Layes.
AS when it hapneth that some lovely Town
Unto a barbarous Besieger falls,
Who both by Sword and Flame himselfe enstalls,
And (shamelesse) it in Teares and Bloud doth drown;
Her Beauty spoyl'd, her Citizens made Thralls,
His spight yet cannot so her all throw down,
But that some Statue, Pillar of renown,
Yet lurkes unmaim'd within her weeping walls:
So after all the Spoile, Disgrace and Wrack,
That Time, the World, and Death could bring combin'd,
Amidst that Masse of Ruines they did make,
Safe and all scarlesse yet remaines my Mind:
From this so high transcendent Rapture springs,
That I, all else defac'd, not envy Kings.
LEt us each day enure our selves to dye,
If this (and not our feares) be truly Death,
Above the Circles both of Hope and Faith
With faire immortall Pinnions to flie;
If this be Death, our best Part to untye
(By ruining the Jaile) from Lust and Wrath,
And every drowsie languor here beneath,
To be made deniz'd Citizen of Skie:
To have more knowledge than all Books containe,
All Pleasures even surmounting wishing Pow'r,
The fellowship of Gods immortall Traine,
And these that Time nor force shall e're devoure?
If this be Death, What Joy, what golden care
Of Life, can with Deaths ouglinesse compare?
AMidst the azure cleare
Of Jordans sacred Streames,
Jordan of Libanon the off-spring deare,
When Zephires flow'rs unclose,
And Sun shines with new Bea [...]es,
With grave and stately grace a Nymph arose.
Upon her Head she ware
Of Amaranthes a Crown,
Her left hand Palmes, her right a Torch did beare,
Unvail'd Skins whiteness lay,
Gold haires in Curles hang down,
Eyes sparkled Joy, more bright than Star of Day.
The Floud a Throne her rear'd
Of Waves most like that Heaven
Where beaming Stars in Glory turne ensphear'd:
The Aire stood calme and cleare,
No Sigh by Winds was given,
Birds left to sing, Heards feed, her voice to heare.
World-wandring sorry Wights,
Whom nothing can content
Within these varying lists of Daies and Nights,
Whose life (ere known amiss)
In glittering Griefes is spent,
Come learne (said she) what is your choisest Bliss.
From Toyle and pressing Cares
How ye may respit find,
A Sanctuary from Soule-thralling Snares,
A Port to harbour sure
In spight of waves and wind,
Which shall when Times swift Glass is run endure.
[Page 125]Not happy is that Life
Which you as happy hold,
No, but a Sea of feares, a Field of strife,
Charg'd on a Throne to sit
With Diadems of Gold,
Preserv'd by Force, and still observ'd by Wit;
Huge Treasures to enjoy,
Of all her Gems spoyle Inde,
All Seres silke in Garments to imploy,
Deliciously to feed,
The Phoenix plumes to find
To rest upon, or deck your purple Bed.
Fraile Beauty to abuse,
And (wanton Sybarites)
On past or present touch of sense to muse;
Never to heare of Noise
But what the Eare delights,
Sweet Musicks charmes, or charming flatterers voice.
Nor can it Bliss you bring,
Hid Natures Depths to know,
Why matter changeth, whence each forme doth spring,
Nor that your Fame should range,
And after-Worlds it blow
From Tanais to Nile, from Nile to Gange.
All these have not the Pow'r
To free the Mind from feares,
Nor hideous horrour can allay one houre,
When Death in stealth doth glance;
In Sickness lurks or yeares,
And wakes the Soule from out her mortall Tran [...]e.
No, but blest life is this,
With chaste and pure Desire
To turne unto the load-star of all Bliss,
On God the Mind to rest,
Burnt up with sacred Fire,
Possessing him to be by him possest.
[Page 126]When to the ba [...]lmy East
Sun doth his light impart,
Or when he diveth in the lowly West,
And ravisheth the Day,
With spotlesse Hands and Heart,
Him cheerefully to praise and to him pray.
To heed each action so,
As ever in his sight,
More fearing doing Ill than passive woe;
Not to seeme other thing
Than what ye are aright,
Never to do what may Repentance bring:
Not to be blown with Pride,
Nor mov'd at Glories breath,
Which Shadow-like on wings of Time doth glide;
So Malice to disarme,
And conquer hasty Wrath,
As to do good to those that worke your harme:
To hatch no base Desires,
Or Gold or Land to gaine,
Well pleas'd with that which Vertue faire acquires,
To have the Wit and Will
Consorting in one Straine,
Than what is good to have no higher skill.
Never on Neighbours Goods,
With Cocatrices Eye
To looke, nor make anothers Heaven your Hell;
Nor to be Beauties Thrall,
All fruitlesse Love to flie,
Yet loving still a Love transcendent all:
A Love which while it burnes
The Soule with fairest Beames,
To that increa [...]ed Sun the Soule it turnes,
And makes such Beauty prove,
That (if Sense saw her Gleames,)
All lookers on would pine and die for love.
[Page 127]Who such a life doth live,
You happy even may call
Ere ruthlesse Death a wished end him give,
And after then when given,
More happy by his fall,
For humanes, Earth, enjoying Angels, Heaven.
Swift is your mortall Race,
And glassie is the Field,
Vaste are Desires not limited by Grace,
Life a weake Taper is,
Then while it light doth yeeld
Leave flying Joyes, embrace this lasting Blisse.
This when the Nymph had said,
Sh [...]e div'd within the Floud,
Whose Face with smyling Curles long after staid,
Then Sighs did Zephyres presse,
Birds sang from every Wood,
And Ecchoes rang, this was true Happinesse.
An Hymne on the Fairest Faire.
I Feele my Bosome glow with wontlesse Fires,
Rais'd from the vulgar presse my Mind aspires
(Wing'd with high Thoughts) unto his praise to clime,
From deep Eternity who call'd forth Time,
That Essence which not mov'd makes each thing move,
Uncreate Beauty all-creating Love;
But by so great an object, radiant light,
My Heart appall'd, enfeebled rests my Sight,
Thick Clouds benight my labouring Ingine▪
And at my high attempts my Wits repine:
If thou in me this sacred heat hast wrought,
My Knowledge sharpen, Sarcells lend my Thought:
[Page 128]Grant me (Times Father, world-containing King)
A Pow'r of thee in pow'rfull Laies to sing,
That as thy Beauty in Earth lives, Heaven shines,
It dawning may or shadow in my Lines.
As far beyond the starry walls of Heaven,
As is the loftiest of the Planets seven
Sequestred from this Earth, in purest light
Out-shining ours, as ours doth sable Night,
Thou all-sufficient, Omnipotent,
Thou ever-glorious, most excellent,
God various in Names, in Essence one,
High art enstalled on a golden Throne,
Out-stretching Heavens, wide bespangled vault,
Transcending all the Circles of our Thought,
With diamantine Scepter in thy Hand,
There thou giv'st Laws, and dost this World command,
This World of Concords rais'd unlikely sweet,
Which like a Ball lies prostrate at thy Feet.
If so we may well say (and what we say
Here wrapt in flesh, led by dim Reasons ray,
To show by earthly Beauties which we see
That spirituall Excellence that shines in thee,
Good Lord forgive) not far from thy right Side,
With curled Locks Youth ever doth abide,
Rose-cheeked Youth who ga [...]landed with Flow'rs,
Still blooming, ceaselessely unto thee pow'rs
Immortall Nectar in a cup of Gold,
That by no darts of Ages thou grow old;
And as ends and beginnings thee not claime,
Successionlesse that thou be still the same.
Neare to thy other side resistlesse Might,
From Head to Foot in burnisht Armour dight,
That rings about him, with a waving Brand,
And watchfull Eye, great Sentinell doth stand;
That neither Time nor force in ought impaire
Thy Workmanship, nor harme thine Empire faire,
[Page 129]Soone to give Death to all againe that would
Sterne Discord raise which thou destroy'd of old,
Discord that foe to order, Nurse of War,
By which the noblest things demolisht are,
But (caitife) she no Treason doth devise,
When Might to nought doth bring her enterprise;
Thy all-upholding Might her Malice raines,
And her to Hell throws bound in iron Chaines.
With Locks in waves of Gold that ebbe and flow
On Ivory neck, in Robes more white than Snow,
Truth stedfastly before thee holds a Glasse,
Indent'd with Gems, where shineth all that was,
That is, or shall be, here ere ought was wrought.
Thou knew all that thy Pow'r with time forth brought,
And more, things numberlesse which thou couldst make,
That actually shall never being take,
Here thou beholdst thy selfe, and (strange) dost prove
At once the Beauty, Lover and the Love.
With Faces two (like Sisters) sweetly faire;
Whose Blossomes no rough Autumne can impaire,
Stands Providence, and doth her looks disperse,
Through every Corner of this Universe,
Thy Providence, at once which generall things
And singular doth rule, as Empires Kings,
Without whose care this world (lost) would remaine,
As Ship withou a Master in the Maine,
As Chariot alone, as Bodies prove
Depriv'd of Soules, whereby they be▪ live, move.
But who are they which shine thy Throne so neare?
With sacred countenance, and look sever [...],
This in one hand a pondrous Sword doth hold,
Her left staies charg'd with Ballances of Gold,
That with, Brows girt with [...]ays, sweet-smiling Face,
Doth beare a Brandon, with a babish grace
Two milke-white Wings him easily do move,
O she thy Justice is, and this thy Love!
[Page 130]By this thou brought'st this Engine great to light,
By that it fram'd in Number, Measure, Weight,
That destine doth reward to ill and good;
But Sway of Justice is by Love withstood,
Which did it not relent and mildly stay,
This World ere now had found its funerall Day.
What Bands (en [...]ctred) neare to th [...]se abide,
Which into vaste Infinity them hide?
Infinity that neither doth admi [...],
Place, Time, nor Number to [...] on it:
Here Bounty sparkleth, here doth Beauty shine,
Simplicity, more white than Gelsomine,
Mercy with open wings, aye-varied Blisse,
Glory, and Joy, that Blisses darling is.
Ineffable, all-pow'rfull God, all free,
Thou only liv'st, and each thing lives by thee,
No Joy, no, nor Perfection to thee came
By the contriving of this Worlds great Frame,
Ere Sun, Moon, Stars began their restlesse race,
Ere painted was with light Heavens p [...]re Face,
Ere Aire had Cl [...]u [...]s, ere Clouds wept down their show'rs;
Ere Sea embraced Earth, ere Earth bare Flow'rs,
Thou happy liv'dst; World nought to thee supply'd,
All in thy selfe thy selfe thou satisfi'd:
Of Good no slender Shadow doth appeare,
No age-worne t [...]a [...]ke, which shin'd in thee not cleare,
Perfections Sum, prime-cause of every Cause,
Midst, end, beginning where all good doth pause:
Hence of thy Substance, differing in nought
Thou in E [...]ernity thy Son forth brought,
The only Birth of thy unchanging Mind▪
Thine Image, Pattern-like that ever shin'd,
Light out of Light begotten not by Will
But Na [...]ure, all and that same Essence still
Which thou thy selfe, for thou dost nought possesse
Which he hath not, in ought nor is he lesse
Eternall, Double kindled was thy Spright
Eternally, who is with Thee the same▪
All-holy Gift, Embassadour, Knot, Flame:
Most sacred Triad, O most holy One,
Unprocreate Father, [...]ver-procreate Son,
Ghost breath'd from both, you were, are still, shall be,
(Most blessed) Three in One, and One in Three,
Uncomprehensible by reachlesse Hight,
And unperceived by excessive Light.
So in our Soules three and yet one are still,
The Vnderstanding, Memory, and Will;
So (though unlike) the Planet of the Daies
So soone as he was made begat his Raies,
Which are his Off-spring, and from both was hurld,
The rosie Light which consolates the World,
And none fore-went another: so the spring,
The Well-head, and the Streame which they forth bring,
Are but one selfe-same Essence, not in ought
Do differ, save in order, and our Thought
No chime of Time discernes in them to fall,
But Three distinctly, [...]ide one Essence all.
But these expresse not Thee, who can declare
Thy being? Men and Angels dazel'd are.
Who would this Eden force with wit or sense,
A Cherubin shall find to bar him thence.
Great Architect, Lord of this Universe,
That light is blinded would thy Greatnesse pierce,
Ah! as a Pilgrim who the Alpes doth passe,
Or Atlas Temples crown'd with winter glasse,
The ayry Caucasus, the Apennine,
Pyrenes clifts where Sun doth never shine,
When he some craggy Hills hath ever-went,
Begins to thinke [...]n rest, his Journey spent,
Till mounting some tall Mountain [...] he do find,
More hights before him than he left behind:
[Page 132]With halting pace so while I would me raise
To the unbounded limits of thy Praise,
Some part of way I thought to have o're-run,
But now I see how scarce I have begun,
With Wonders new my Spirits range possest,
And wandring waylesse in a maze them rest.
In these vaste Fields of Light, etheriall Plaines,
Thou art attended by immortall Traines
Of Intellectuall Pow'rs, which thou broughtst forth
To praise thy Goodnesse, and admire thy Worth,
In numbers passing others Creatures far,
Since Creatures most noble maniest are▪
Which do in knowledge us not lesse out-run:
Than Moon in light doth Stars, or Moon the Sun,
Unlike, in Orders rang'd and many a Band,
(If Beauty in Disparity doth stand)
Arch-angels, Angels, Cherubs, Seraphines,
And what with name of Thrones amongst them shines,
Large-ruling Princes▪ Dominations, Pow'rs,
All-acting Vertues of those flaming Tow'rs;
These freed of Umbrage, these of Labour free,
Rest ravished with still beholding Thee,
Inflam'd with Beames which sparkle from thy Face,
They can no more desire, far lesse embrace.
Low under them, with slow and staggering pace
Thy Hand-maid Nature thy great Steps doth trace,
The Source of second Causes golden Chaine
That links this Frame as thou it doth ordaine;
Nature gaz'd on with such a curious Eye,
That Earthlings oft her deem'd a Deity.
By Nature led those Bodies faire and great,
Which faint not in their Course, nor change their State,
Unintermixt, which no disorder prove,
Though aye and contrary they alwaies move,
The Organs of thy Providence divine.
Books ever open, Sign [...]s that clearely shine,
[Page 133]Times purpled Maskers, then do them advance,
As by sweet Musick in a measur'd dance,
Stars, Hoste of Heaven, ye Firmaments bright Flow'rs,
Cleare Lamps which overhang this Stage of ours,
Ye turne not there to deck the Weeds of Night,
Nor Pageant-like to please the vulgar Sight;
Great Causes sure ye must bring great Effects,
But who can descant right your grave Aspects?
He only who Yo [...] made decipher can
Your Notes, Heavens Eyes ye blind the Eyes of Man.
Amidst these Saphir far-extending Hights,
The never-twinkling, ever-wandring Lights
Their fixed Motions keep, one dry and cold,
Deep-Leaden colour'd, slowly there is roll'd,
With Rule and Line for Times steps meting even
In twice three Lustres he but turnes his Heaven.
With temperate qualities and Countenance faire,
Still mildly smiling sweetly debonaire,
Another cheares the World, and way doth make
In twice sixe Autumnes through the Zodiack.
But hot and dry with flaming Locks and Brows
Enrag'd, this in his red Pavillion glows:
Together running with like speed, [...]f space,
Two equally in hands atchieve their race,
With blushing Face this oft doth bring the Day,
And ushers oft to stately Stars the way,
That various in vertue, changing, light,
With his small flame impearles the vaile of Night.
Prince of this Court, the Sun in triumph rides,
With the Yeare Snake-like in her selfe that glides,
Times Dispensator, faire life-giving Source,
Through Skies twelve Posts as he doth run his course,
Heart of this All, of what is known to sence,
The likest to his Makers excellence,
In whose diurnall motion doth appeare
A Shadow, no true pourtrait of the Yeare.
[Page 134]The Moone moves lowest, silver Sun of Night,
Dispersing through the World her borrow'd light,
Who in three formes her head abroad doth range,
And only constant is in constant Change.
Sad Queen of Silence, I ne're see thy Face,
To waxe, or waine, or shine with a full grace,
But straight (amaz'd) on Man I think, each Day
His state who changeth, or if he find Stay,
It is in dolefull anguish, cares, and paines,
And of his Labours Death is all the Gaines?
Immortall Monarch can so fond a Thought
Lodge in my Brest? as to trust thou first brought
Here in Earths shady Cloyster wretched Man,
To suck the Aire of Woe, to spend Lifes span
'Midst Sighs and Plaints, a Stranger unto Mirth,
To give himselfe his Death rebucking Birth?
By sense and wit of Creatures made King,
By sense and wit to live their Underling?
And what is worst, have Eaglets eyes to see
His own disgrace, and know an high degree
Of Bl [...]sse, the Place, if he might thereto clime,
And not live thralled to imperious Time?
Or (dotard) shall I so from Reason swerve,
To dim those Lights which to our use do serve,
(For thou dost not them need) more nobly fram'd
Than us, that know their course, and have them nam'd?
No, I ne're thinke but we did them surpasse
As far as they do Asterismes of Glasse,
When thou us made, by Treason high defil'd,
Thrust from our first estate we live exil'd,
Wandring this Earth, which is of Death the Lot,
Where he doth use the Pow'r which he hath got,
Indifferent Umpire unto Clowns and Kings,
The supreame Monarch of all mo [...]tall things▪
When fi [...]st this flowry O [...]be was to us given,
I but in place disvalu'd was to Heaven;
[Page 135]These Creatures which now our Soveraignes are,
And as to Rebels do denounce us war,
Then were our Vassals, no tumultuous Storme,
No Thunders, Earthquakes, did her Forme deforme,
The Seas in tumbling Mountaines did not roare,
But like moist Christall whispered on the Shoare,
No Snake did trace her Meads, nor ambusht lowre
In azure Curles beneath the sweet-Spring Flow'r;
The Night shade, Henbane, Napell, Aconite,
Her Bowels then not bare, with Death to smite
Her guiltlesse Brood; thy Messengers of Grace,
As their high Rounds did haunt this lower Place;
O Joy of Joyes! with our first Parents Thou
To commune then didst daig [...]e, as Friends do now:
Against thee we rebell'd, and justly thus
Each Creature rebelled against us,
Earth, rest of what did chiefe in her excell,
To all became a Jaile, to most a Hell
In Times full Terme untill thy Son was given,
Who Man with Thee, Earth reconcil'd with Heaven.
Whole and entire all in thy Selfe thou art,
All-where diffus'd, yet of this All no part,
For infinite, in making this faire Frame
(Great without Quantity) in all thou came,
And filling all, how can thy State admit,
Or Place or Substance to be void of it?
Were Worlds as many, as the Rayes which streame
From Daies bright lampe, on madding Wits do dreame,
They would not reele in ought, nor wandring stray,
But draw to Thee, who could their Centers stay;
Were but one hours this World disjoyn'd from thee,
It in one houre to nought reduc'd should be,
For it thy Shadow is, and can they last
If sever'd from the Substances them cast?
O only blest, and Author of all Blisse,
No, Bliss it selfe, that all where wished is,
[Page 136]Efficient, exemplary finall Good,
Of thine own Selfe but only understood;
Light is thy Curtaine, thou art Light of Light,
An ever-waking Eye still shining bright,
In-looking all, exempt of passive Pow'r,
And change, in change since Deaths pale shade doth low'r:
All Times to thee are one, that which hath run,
And that which is not brought yet by the Sun,
To thee are present, who dost alwaies see
In present act, what past is, or to be;
Day-livers we rememberance do lose
Of Ages worne, so Miseries us tosse
(Blind and letha [...]gick of thy heavenly Grace,
Which Sin in our first Parents did deface,
And even while Embrions curst by justest doome)
That we neglect what gone is, or to come,
But thou in thy great Archives scrolled hast
In parts and whole, what ever yet hath past,
Since first the marble Wheels of Time were roll'd,
As ever living, never waxing old,
Still is the same thy Day and Yesterday,
An undivided Now, a constant Ay.
O King whose Greatnesse none can comprehend,
Whose boundlesse Goodnesse doth to all extend,
Light of all Beauty Ocean without ground,
That standing flowest, giving dost abound,
Rich Pallace, and Endweller ever blest,
Never not working ever yet in Rest;
What wit cannot conceive, words say of Thee,
Here where we as but in a Mirrour see,
Shadows of shadows, Atomes of thy Might,
Still owly-eyed when staring on thy Light;
Grant that released from this earthly Jaile,
And freed from Clouds which here our Knowledge vaile,
In Heavens high Temples where thy Praises ring,
In sweeter Notes I may heare Angels sing.
[Page 137]GReat God, whom we with humbled Thoughts adore,
Eternall, Infinite, Almighty King,
Whose Dwellings Heaven transcend, whose Throne before
Archangels serve, and Seraphines do sing;
Of nought who wrought all that with wondring Eyes
We do behold within this various Round,
Who makes the Rocks to rocke, to stand the Skies,
At whose command Clouds peales of Thunder sound▪
Ah! spare us Wormes, weigh not how we alas
(Evill to our selves) against thy Laws rebell,
Wash off those spots which still in Conscience Glasse
(Though we be loath to look) we see too well.
Deserv'd Revenge, oh do not do not take,
If thou revenge who shall abide thy Blow?
Passe shall this World, this World which thou didst make,
Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow:
What Soule is found whom Parents Crime not staines?
Or what with its own Sins defil'd is not?
Though Iustice Rigor threaten, yet her Raines
Let Mercy guide, and never be forgot.
Lesse are our Faults far far than is thy Love,
O what can better seeme thy Grace divine,
Than they who plagues deserve, thy Bounty prove,
And where thou show'r mayst Vengeance, there to shine?
Then look and pitty, pittying forgive
Us guilty Slaves, or Servants now in thrall;
Slaves, if alas thou look how we do live,
Or doing ill, or doing nought at all?
Of an ungratefull Mind a foule Effect;
But if thy Gifts which largely heretofore
Thou hast upon us pour'd thou dost respect,
We are thy Servants nay, than Servants more,
[Page 138]Thy Children, yes, and Children dearely bought,
But what strange Chance us of this Lot bereaves?
Poore worthless Wights how lowly are we brought,
Whom Grace once Children made, Sin hath made Slaves?
Sin hath made Slaves, but let those Bands Grace breake,
That in our Wrongs thy Mercies may appeare,
Thy Wisdome not so meane is, Pow'r so weake,
But thousand waies they can make Worlds thee feare.
O Wisdome boundless! O miraculous Grace!
Grace, Wisdome which make winke dimme Reasons Eye,
And could Heavens King bring from his placeless Place,
On this ignoble Stage of Care to dye:
To dye our Death, and with the sacred Streame
Of Bloud and Water gushing from his Side,
To make us cleane of that contagious Blame,
First on us brought by our first Parents Pride.
Thus thy great Love and Pity (heavenly King)
Love, Pity which so well our Loss prevent,
Of Evill it selfe (loe) could all Goodness bring,
And sad beginning cheare with glad event.
O Love and Pity! ill known of these Times,
O Love and Pity! carefull of our need,
O Bounties! which our horrid Acts and Crimes
(Grown numberless) contend neare to exceed.
Make this excessive ardour of thy love,
So warme our Coldness, so our Lifes renew,
That we from Sin, Sin may from us remove.
Wisdome our Will, Faith may our Wit subdue.
Let thy pure Love burne up all worldly Lust,
Hells candid Poyson killing our best part,
Which makes us joy in Toyes, adore fraile Dust
Instead of Thee, in Temple of our Heart.
Grant when at last our Soules these Bodies leave,
Their loathsome Shops of sin and Mansions blind,
And Doome before thy Royall Seat receive▪
A Saviour more than Judge they thee may find.
THE WANDRING MUSES: OR, The River of FORTH FEASTING: IT BEING A Panegyrick to the High and Mighty Prince, James, King of Great Brittaine, France, and Ireland. BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND Of HAVVTHORNDEN.
LONDON, Printed in the Yeare, 1656.
To His Sacred Majesty.
IF in this Storme of joy and pompous Throng,
This Nymph (great King) doth come to Thee so neare
That thy harmonious Eares Her accents heare,
Give Pardon to Her hoarse and lowly Song:
Faine would shee Trophees to Thy Vertues reare;
But for this stately taske She is not strong,
And her Defects Her high Attempts do wrong,
Yet as she could She makes thy Worth appeare.
So in a Map is shown this flowry Place;
So wrought in Arras by a Virgins Hand
With Heaven and blazing Stars doth Atlas stand,
So drawn by Char-coale is Narcissus Face:
She like the Morn may be to some bright Sun,
The Day to perfect that's by her begun.
The River of FORTH FEASTING: A Panegyrick to the High and Mighty Prince, James, King of Great Brittaine, France, and Ireland.
WHat blustring Noise now interrups my Sleeps?
What ecchoing Shouts thus cleave my christall Deeps?
And seems to call me from my watry Court?
What Melody, what sounds of Joy and Sport,
Are convey'd hither from each Night-borne Spring?
With what loud Rumours do the Mountaines ring?
Which in unusuall Pompe on tip-toes stand,
And (full of Wonder) overlook the Land?
Whence come these glitt'ring Throngs, these Meteors bright,
This golden People glancing in my sight?
Whence doth this Praise, Applause, and Love, arise?
What Load-star East-ward draweth thus all Eyes?
Am I awake? Or have some Dreames conspir'd
To mock my Sense with what I most desir'd?
View I that living Face, see I those Looks,
Which with Delight were wont t'amaze my Brooks?
Do I behold that Worth, that Man divine,
This Ages Glory, by these Bankes of mine?
[Page 144]Then find I true what long I wish'd in vaine;
My much beloved Prince is come againe;
So unto them whose Zenith is the Pole,
When six black Months are past, the Sun doth roll:
So after Tempest to Sea-tossed Wights
Faire Helens Brothers show their clearing Lights:
So comes Arabias wonder from her Woods,
And far far off is seen by Memphis Flouds,
The feather'd Sylvans; Cloud-like by her flie,
And with triumphing plaudits beat the Skie,
Nyle marvels, Seraps Priests (entranced) rave,
And in Mygdonian stone her Shape ingrave;
In lasting Cedars they do marke the Time
In which Apollos Bird came to their Clime.
Let Mother Earth now deckt with Flow'rs be seen,
And sweet-breath'd Zephyres curle the Meadows green:
Let Heaven weep Rubies in a Crimson show'r,
Such as on Indies Shores they use to poure:
Or with that golden Storme the Fields adorne,
Which Jove rain'd when his Blew-ey'd Maid was born.
May never Hours the Web of Day out-weave,
May never Night rise from her sable Cave.
Swell proud my Billows, faint not to declare
Your Joyes as ample as their Causes are:
For Murmurs hoarse, sound like Arions Harpe,
Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp;
And you my Nymphs, rise from your moist Repaire,
Strow all your Springs and Grots with Lillies faire:
Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray
Our Flouds and Lakes come keep this Holy-day;
What e're beneath Albanias Hills do run,
Which see the rising, or the setting Sun,
Which drinke sterne Grampius Mists, or Ochels Snows:
Stone-rowling Tay, Tine Tortoise-like that flows,
The pearly Don, the Deas, the fertile Spay,
Wild Neve [...]ne, which doth see our longest Day;
Strange Loumond for his floating Isles renown'd:
The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Aire,
The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy Haire,
The christall-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde,
Tweed which no more our Kingdomes shall divide:
Ranke-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streames,
The Eskes, the Solway where they lose their Names,
To ev'ry one proclaime our Joyes, and Feasts,
Our Triumphs; bid all come and be our Guests:
And as they meet in Neptunes azure Hall,
Bid them bid Sea-Gods keep this Festivall;
This Day shall by our Currents be renown'd,
Our Hills about shall still this Day resound:
Nay, that our Love more to this Day appeare,
Let us with it henceforth begin our yeare.
To Virgins, Flow'rs, to Sun-burnt Earth, the Raine,
To Mariners, faire Winds amidst the Maine,
Coole Shades to Pilgrims, which hot Glances burne,
Are not so pleasing as thy blest Returne.
That Day (deare Prince) which rob'd us of thy sight,
[Day, no, but Darknesse, and a dusky Night]
Did fill our Brests with Sighs, our Eyes with Teares,
Turn'd Minutes to sad Months, sad Months to Yeares:
Trees left to flourish, Meadows to beare Flow'rs,
Brooks hid their Heads within their sedgie Bow'rs,
Faire Ceres curst our Fields with barren Frost,
As if againe she had her Daughter lost:
The Muses left our Groves, and for sweet Songs
Sate sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs;
You know it Meads, you murmuring Woods it know,
Hills, Dales, and Caves, Copartners of their Woe;
And you it know, my Streames, which from their Eine
Oft on your Glasse receiv'd their pearly Brine;
O Naïds deare (said they) Napaeas faire,
O Nymphs of Trees, Nymphs which on Hills repaire,
[Page 146]Gone are those maiden Glories, gone that State,
Which made all Eyes admire our Blisse of late.
As looks the Heaven when never Star appeares,
But slow and weary shrowd them in their Spheares,
While Tithons wife embosom'd by Him lies,
And World doth languish in a mournfull Guise:
As looks a Garden of its Beauty spoyl'd,
As Woods in Winter by rough Bore'as foyl'd,
As Pourtraits raz'd of Colours use to be:
So look'd these abject Bounds depriv'd of Thee.
While as my Rills enjoy'd Thy royall Gleames,
They did not envy Tibers haughty Streames,
Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden Ore,
Nor cleare Hydaspes which on Pearles doth roare,
Nor golden Gange that sees the Sun new borne,
Nor Achelous with his flowry Horne,
Nor Flouds which neare [...]lisian Fields do fall:
For why? Thy sight did serve to them for all.
No Place there is so desart, so alone,
Even from the frozen to the Torrid Zone,
From flaming Hecla to great Quinceys Lake,
Which Thy abode could not most happy make;
All those Perfections which by bounteous Heaven
To divers Worlds in divers Times were given,
The starry Senate powr'd at once on Thee,
That thou Exemplar mightst to others be.
Thy Life was kept till the three Sisters spun
Their threads of Gold, and then it was begun.
With chequer'd Clouds when Skies do look most faire,
And no disord'red Blasts disturb the Aire,
When Lillies do them deck in azure Gowns;
And new-borne Roses blush with golden Crowns,
To prove how calme we under Thee should live,
What Halcyonean Dayes Thy Reigne should give,
And to two flowry Diadems Thy right;
The Heavens Thee made a Partner of the Light.
[Page 147]Scarce wast Thou borne, when joyn'd in friendly Bands
Two mortall Foes with other clasped Hands,
With Vertue Fortune strove, which most should grace
Thy Place for Thee, Thee for so high a Place,
One vow'd Thy sacred Brest not to forsake,
The other on Thee not to turne her Back;
And that thou more her loves Effects mightst feele,
For Thee she left her Globe, and broke her Wheele.
When yeares Thee Vigour gave, O then how cleare
Did smothered Sparkles in bright Flames appeare!
Amongst the Woods to force the flying Hart,
To pierce the Mountaine-Wolfe with feather'd Dart;
See Faulcons climbe the Clouds, the Foxe ensnare,
Out-run the wind-out-running Daedale Hare
To breath thy fiery Steed on every Plaine,
And in meandring [...]yres him bring againe,
The Prease Thee making Place, and vulgar Things,
In Admirations Aire, on Glories Wings;
O! Thou far from the common Pitch didst rise,
With thy designs to dazell Envies Eyes:
Thou soughtst to know this Alls eternall Source,
Of ever-turning Heavens the restlesse Course,
Their fixed Lamps, their Lights which wandring run,
Whence Moon her Silver hath, his Gold the Sun,
If Fate there be or no, if Planets can
By fierce Aspects force the free-will of Man:
The light aspiring Fire, the liquid Aire,
The flaming Dragons, Comets with red Haire,
Heavens tilting Launces, Artillery, and Bow,
Loud-sounding Trumpets, Darts of Haile, and Snow,
The roaring Element, with People dumbe,
The Earth with what conceiv'd is in her Wombe,
What on her moves, were set unto thy Sight,
Till Thou didst find their Causes, Essence, Might:
But unto nought Thou so thy Mind didst straine,
As to be read in Man, and learne to raigne;
[Page 148]To know the Weight and Atlas of a Crown,
To spare the Humble, Proud ones tumble down.
When from those piercing Cares which Thrones invest,
As Thornes the Rose, thou weari'd would'st thee rest,
With Lute in Hand, full of Coelestiall Fire,
To the Pierian Groves thou didst retire:
There, ga [...]landed with all Uranias Flow'rs,
In sweeter Layes than builded Thebes Tow'rs,
Or them which charm'd the Dolphines in the Maine,
Or which did call Euridice againe,
Thou sung'st away the Houres, till from their Spheare
Stars seem'd to shoot, thy Melody to heare.
The God with golden Haire, the Sister Maids,
Did leave their Helicon, and Temp's shades,
To see thine Isle, here lost their native Tongue,
And in thy world-divided Language sung.
Who of thine af [...]r-age can count the Deeds,
With all that Fame in Times huge Annals reads,
How by Example more than any Law,
This People fierce thou didst to goodnesse draw;
How while the Neighbour Worlds (toss'd by the Fates)
So many Phaëtons had in their States,
Which turn'd to heedlesse Flames their burnish'd Thrones,
Thou (as ensphear'd) keptst temperate thy Zones;
In Affrick Shoares the Sands that ebbe and flow,
The shady Leaves on Ardens Trees that grow,
He sure may cou [...], with all [...]he waves that meet
To wash the Mauritanian Atlas feet.
Though crown'd thou we [...]t not, nor a King by Birth,
Thy Worth deserves the richest Crown on Earth.
Search this halfe-Spheare, and the Antartick Ground,
Where is such Wit and Bounty to be found?
As into silent Night, when neare the Beare
The Virgine Hunt [...]esse skīnes at full most cleare,
And strives to match her Brothers golden Light,
The Hoast of stars doth vanish in her sight,
[Page 149] Arcturus dies; cool'd is the Lions ire,
Po burns no more with Phaëtontall Fire;
Orion faints to see his Armes grow black,
And that his flaming Sword he now doth lack:
So Europes Lights, all bright in their Degree,
Lose all their Lustre parallel'd with Thee.
By just Discent Thou from more Kings dost shine,
Than many can name Men in all their Line:
What most they toyle to find, and finding hold,
Thou scornest, orient Gems, and flatt'ring Gold?
Esteeming Treasure surer in Mens Brests,
Than when immur'd with Marble, clos'd in Chests;
No stormy Passions do disturbe thy Mind,
No mists of Greatnesse ever could thee blind:
Who yet hath been so meeke? Thou life didst give
To them who did repine to see Thee live;
What Prince by Goodnesse hath such Kingdoms gain'd?
Who hath so long his Peoples Peace maintain'd?
Their Swords are turn'd to Sythes, to Culters Speares,
Some Giant Post their antick Armour beares:
Now, where the wounded Knight his Life did bleed,
The wanton Swaine sits piping on a Reed.
And where the Canon did Joves Thunder scorne,
The gawdy Hunts-man winds his shrill-tun'd Horne:
Her green Locks Ceres doth to yellow die,
The Pilgrim safely in the shade doth lye,
Both Pan and Pales (carelesse keep their Flocks,
Seas have no Dangers save the Winds and Rocks:
Thou art this Isles Palladium, neither can
[Whiles thou dost live] it be o're-thrown by Man.
Let others boast of Bloud and Spoyles of Foes,
Fierce Rapines, Murders, Iliads of Woes,
Of hated Pompe, and Trophees reared faire,
Gore-spangled Ensignes streaming in the Aire,
Count how they make the Scythian them adore,
The Gaditan, and Souldiour of Aurore,
[Page 150]Unhappy Boasting! to enlarge their Bounds,
That charge themselves with cares, their friends with Wounds,
Who have no Law to their ambitious Will,
But (Man-plagues) borne are humane Bloud to spill:
Thou a true Victor art, sent from above
What others straine by Force, to gaine by Love,
World-wandring Fame this Praise to thee imparts,
To be the only Monarch of all Hearts,
They many feare, who are of many fear'd,
And Kingdoms got by Wrongs, by Wrongs are tear'd,
Such Thrones as Bloud doth raise, Bloud throweth down,
No Guard so sure as Love unto a Crown.
Eye of our westerne World, Mars-daunting King,
With whose Renowne the Earths seven Climates ring,
Thy Deeds not only claime these Diadems,
To which Thame, Litty, Taye, subject their Streames:
But to thy Vertues rare, and Gifts, is due
All that the Planet of the Yeare doth view;
Sure if the world above did want a Prince
The world above to it would take Thee hence.
That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to Hell,
And in their Rooms with us the Graces dwell,
That Honour more than Riches Men respect,
That Worthinesse than Gold doth more effect,
That Piety unmasked shows her Face,
That Innocency keeps with Power her Place,
That long-exil'd Astrea leaves the Heaven,
And turneth right her Sword, her Weights holds even;
That the Saturnian world is come againe,
Are wish'd effects of Thy most happy Raigne.
That dayly Peace, Love, Truth, Delights encrease,
And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Incumbers, cease,
That Men use strength not to shed others Bloud,
But use their strength now to do others Good;
That Fury is enchain'd, disarmed VVrath,
That (save by Natures Hand) there is no Death,
[Page 151]That late grim Foes, like Brothers, other love,
That Vultures prey not on the harmelesse Dove,
That VVolves with Lambs do friendship entertaine,
Are wish'd effects of thy most happy Raigne.
That Towns encrease, That ruin'd Temples rise,
That their wind-moving Vanes do kisse the Skies,
That Ignorance and Sloath hence run away,
That buri'd Arts now rowse them to the Day,
That Hyperion far beyond his Bed,
Doth see, our Lions rampe, our Roses spred,
That Iber courts us, Tyber not us charmes;
That Rhein with hence-brought Beames his bosome warmes;
That Ill doth feare, and Good doth us maintaine,
Are wish'd Effects of thy most happy Raigne.
O Vertues Patterne, Glory of our Times,
Sent of past Daies to expiate the Crimes,
Great King, but better far than thou art great,
VVhom State not honours, but who honours State,
By VVonder borne, by VVonder first install'd,
By VVonder after to new Kingdoms call'd;
Young kept by VVonder from home-bred Alarmes,
Old sav'd by Wonder from pale Traitours Harmes,
To be for this Thy Raigne which VVonders brings,
A King of VVonder, VVonder unto Kings.
If Pict, Dane, Normane, Thy smooth Yoke had seen,
Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy Subjects been:
If Brutus knew the Blisse Thy Rule doth give,
Even Brutus joy would under Thee to live:
For Thou Thy People dost so dearely love,
That they a Father, more than Prince, Thee prove.
O Daies to be desir'd! Age happy thrice!
If you your Heaven-sent-Good could duly prize,
But we (halfe-palsie-sick) thinke never right
Of what we hold, till it be from our sight,
Prize only Summers sweet and musked Breath,
VVhen armed VVinters threaten us with Death,
[Page 152]In pallid Sicknesse do esteeme of Health,
And by sad Poverty discerne of Wealth:
I see an Age when after some few yeares,
And Revolutions of the slow-pac'd Spheares,
These daies shall be 'bove other far esteem'd,
And like Augustus palmy Raigne be deem'd.
The Names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines,
Grav'n in Times surly Brows in wrinckled Lines,
Of Henries, Edwards, famous for their Fights,
Their Neighbour Conquests, Orders new of Knights,
Shall by this Princes Name be past as far
As Meteors are by the Idalian Star.
If Gray-hair'd Proteüs Songs the Truth not misse,
There is a Land hence-distant many Miles,
Out-reaching Fiction and Atlantick Isles,
Which (Homelings) from this little World we name,
That shall imblazon with strange Rites his Fame,
Shall reare him Statues all of purest Gold,
Such as Men gave unto the Gods of old,
Name by him Temples, Pallaces, and Towns,
With some great River, which their Fields renowns.
This is that King who should make right each wrong,
Of whom the Bards and mystick Sybills sung,
The Man long promis'd, by whose glorious Raigne,
This Isle should yet her ancient Name regaine,
And more of Fortunate deserve the Stile,
Than those where Heavens with double Sūmers smile.
Run on (Great Prince) Thy Course in Glories way,
The end the Life, the Evening crowns the Day;
Heape worth on worth, and strongly soare above
Those heights which made the World Thee first to love;
Surmount thy selfe, and make thine Actions past
Be but as Gleames or Lightnings of thy last,
Let them exceed those of thy younger Time,
As far as Autumne doth the flowry Prime.
[Page 153]Through this thy Empire range, like worlds bright Eye,
That once each yeare surveyes all Earth, and skie,
Now glaunces on the slow and resty Beares,
Then turnes to dry the weeping Austers teares,
Hurries to both the Poles, and moveth even
In the infigur'd Circle of the Heaven.
O long long haunt these Bounds, which by thy sight
Have now regain'd their former Heat and Light.
Here grow green Woods, here silver Brooks do glide,
Here Meadows stretch them out with painted Pride,
Embroyd'ring all the Banks, here Hills aspire
To crown their Heads with the aethereall Fire:
Hills, Bulwarks of our Freedome, giant walls,
Which never friends did slight nor Sword made thralls;
Each circling Floud to Thetis Tribute paies,
Men here (in Health) out-live old Nestors daies:
Grim Saturne yet amongst our Rocks remaines,
Bound in our Caves, with many Mettal'd Chaines:
Bulls haunt our shades like Ledas Lover white,
Which yet might breed Pasiphae delight,
Our Flocks faire Fleeces beare, with which for sport
Endimion of old the Moon did court,
High-palmed Harts amidst our Forrests run,
And, not impall'd, the deep-mouth'd Hounds do shun;
The rough-foot Hare safe in our Bushes shrowds,
And long-wing'd Hawkes do pearch amidst our clouds.
The wanton wood-Nymphs of the verdant Spring,
Blew, Golden, Purple Flow'rs shall to thee bring,
Pomonas Fruits the Panisks, Thetis Gyrles,
Thy Thulys Amber, with the Ocean Pearles;
The Tritons, Heardsmen of the glassie Field,
Shall give thee what far-distant shoares can yeeld,
The Serean Fleeces, Erythrean Gems,
Waste Platas Silver, Gold of Peru Streames,
Antartick Parrots, Aethiopian Plumes,
Sabaean Odours, Myrrhe, and sweet Perfumes:
[Page 154]And I my selfe, wrapt in a watchet Gown
Of Reeds and Lillies, on mine Head a Crown,
Shall Incense to thee Burne, green Altars raise,
And yearly sing due Paeans to Thy Praise.
Ah why should Isis only see Thee shine?
Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis Thine?
Though Isis vaunt she hath more Wealth in store,
Let it suffice Thy Forth doth love Thee more:
Though she for Beauty may compare with Seine,
For Swans and Sea-Nymphs with imperiall Rheine,
Yet for the Title may be claim'd in Thee,
Nor She, nor all the World can match with me.
Now when (by Honour drawn) Thou shalt away
To Her already jealous of Thy Stay,
When in Her amorous Armes She doth Thee fold,
And dries thy Dewy Haires with Hers of Gold,
Much asking of Thy Fare, much of Thy Sport,
Much of Thine Absence, Long, how e're so short,
And chides (perhaps) Thy comming to the North,
Loath not to thinke on Thy much-loving Forth:
O love these Bounds, whereof Thy Royall Stem
More than an hundred wore a Diadem.
So ever Gold and Baies Thy Brows adorne,
So never Time may see Thy Race out-worne,
So of Thine Own still mayst Thou be desir'd,
Of Strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admir'd;
So Memory Thee Praise, so precious Hours
May character Thy Name in starry Flow'rs;
So may Thy high Exploits at last make even,
With Earth Thy Empire, Glory with the Heaven.
SPEECHES TO THE HIGH AND EXCELLENT PRINCE, CHARLES, King of Great Brittaine, France, and Ireland, at His Entring His City of EDENBURGH: Delivered from the Pageants the 15th of June, 1633.
LONDON, Printed in the Yeare, 1656.
An intended Speech at the West Gate.
SIR, if Nature could suffer Rocks to move, and abandon their naturall places, this Town founded on the strength of Rocks (now by the all-cheering Rayes of Your Majesties Presence, taking not only Motion, but Life) had with her Castell, Temples, and Houses moved toward you, and besought you to acknowledge Her yours, and Her Inhabitants your most humble and affectionate Subjects, and to beleeve how [...]any soules are within Her Circuits, so many Lives are devoted to your sacred Person and Crown; And here, Sir, She offers by me, to the Altar of your Glory, whole Hecatombs of most happy desires, praying all things may prove prosperous unto you, that every Vertue and Heroick Grace, which make a Prince eminent, may with a long and [...]lessed Government attend you; Your Kingdoms flourishing abroad with Bayes, at home with Olives. Presenting you Sir, (who are the Strong Key of this little World of Great Brittaine) with these Keyes, which cast up the Gates of Her affection, and designe you Power to open all the Springs of the Hearts of these Her most loyall Citizens. Yet this almost not necessary; for as the Rose at the far appearing of the Morning Sun displayeth and spreadeth her purples, so at [Page 158] the very Report of your happy returne to this your native Countrey, their Hearts (as might be apparent, if they could have shined through their Breasts) were with joy and faire hopes made spacious, nor did they ever in all parts feele a more comfortable heat, than the Glory of your Presence at this time darteth upon them.
The Old forget their Age, and look fresh and young at the sight of so gracious a Prince: The Young beare a Part in your Welcome, desiring many yeares of Life, that they may serve you long, all have more joyes than Tongues; for as the words of other Nations far go beyond and surpasse the affection of their hearts: So in this Nation the affection of their hearts is far above all they can expresse by words. Daigne then, Sir, from the highest of Majesty, to look down on their lownesse, and embrace it, accept the homage of their humble minds, accept their gratefull zeale, and for deeds, accept that great good-will which they have ever carried to the high deserts of your Ancestors, and shall ever to your Own, and your Royall Race, whilest these Rocks shall be overshadowed with Buildings, these Buildings inhabited by men, and while men shall be endued either with counsell or courage, or enjoy any peece of Reason, Sense, or Life.
The Speech of Caledonia, representing the Kingdom.
THe Heavens have heard our vows, our just desires
Obtained are, no higher now aspires
Our wishing thought, since to his native Clime
The Flower of Princes, honour of his Time,
Encheering all our Dales, Hills, Forrests, Streames,
(As Phoebus doth the Summer with his beames)
Is come, and radiant to us in his traine
The golden Age and vertues brings againe;
Prince so much longed for, how thou becalm'st
Minds easelesse anguish, every care embalm'st
With the sweet odours of thy Presence: Now
In swelling Tides Joyes every where do flow
By thine approach, and that the World may see
What unthought wonders do attend on Thee,
This Kingdomes Angell I, who since that day
That ruthlesse Fate thy Parent rest away,
And made a Star, appear'd not any where
To gratulate thy comming, come am here.
Haile Princes Phoenix, Monarch of all Hearts,
Soveraigne of Love and Justice, who imparts
More than thou canst receive; To thee this Crown
Is due by birth; but more, it is thine own
By just desert; and ere another brow
Than thine should reach the same, my flouds should flow
[Page 160]With hot Vermilian gore, and every Plaine
Levell the hills with Carkasses of slaine,
This Isle become a red Sea: Now how sweet
Is it to me, when Love and Laws thus meet
To girt thy Temples with this Diadem,
My Nurselings sacred feare, and dearest Gem,
Nor Roman, Saxon, Pict, by sad alarmes
Could this acquire and keep; the Heavens in armes
From us repell all perills, nor by wars
Ought here was won or gaping wounds and scars,
Our Lions Clymacterick now is past,
And crown'd with Bayes, he rampeth free at last.
Here are no Serean Fleeces, Peru Gold,
Auroras Gems, nor Wares by Tyrians sold;
Towns swell not here with Babylonian Walls,
Nor Nero's sky-resembling gold-seel'd Halls,
Nor Memphis Spires, nor Quinzayes arched Frames,
Captiving Seas, and giving Lands their names:
Faith (milke-white Faith) of old belov'd so well,
Yet in this corner of the world doth dwell
With her pure Sisters, Truth, Simplicity;
Here banish'd Honour beares them company,
A Mars-adoring Brood is here, their wealth,
Sound minds, and bodies of as sound a health;
Walls here are Men, who fence their Cities more
Than Neptune when he doth in Mountaines roare,
Doth guard this Isle, or all those Forts and Tow'rs
Amphions Harpe rais'd about Thebes bow'rs,
Heavens Arch is oft their roofe, the pleasant shed
Of Oake and Plaine oft serves them for a Bed.
To suffer want, soft pleasure to despise,
Run over panting Mountaines crown'd with Ice,
R [...]vers o'recome, the wastest Lakes appall,
(Being to themselves, Oars, Steerers, Ship and all)
Is their renown; a brave all-doring Race,
Couragious, prudent, doth this Climate grace;
[Page 161]Yet the firme Base on which their glory stands,
In peace true hearts, in wars is valiant hands,
Which here (great King) they offer up to thee,
Thy worth respecting as thy pedegree:
Though it be much to come of Princely stem,
More is it to deserve a Diadem.
Vouchsafe blest People, ravisht here with me,
To thinke my thoughts, and see what I do see,
A Prince all gracious, affable, divine,
Meeke, wise, just, valiant, whose radiant shine,
Of Vertues (like the Stars about the Pole
Guilding the Night) enlightneth every Soule
Your Scepter swaies; a Prince borne in this Age
To guard the Innocents from Tyrants rage,
To make Peace prosper, Justice to reflow'r,
In desert hamlet, as in Lordly Bow'r;
A Prince, that though of none he stands in awe,
Yet first subjects himselfe to his own Law,
Who joyes in good, and still as right directs▪
His greatnesse measures by his good effects,
His Peoples pedestall, who rising high,
To grace this Throne, makes Scotlands name to fly
On Halcyons wings (her glory which restores)
Beyond the Ocean to Columbus shores:
Gods sacred Picture in this man adore,
Honour his Valour, Zeale, his Piety more,
High value what you hold, him deep engrave
In your hearts Heart, from whom all good ye have:
For as Moons splendor from her Brother springs,
The Peoples welfare streameth from their Kings.
Since your loves Object doth immortall prove,
O love this Prince with an eternall love.
Pray that those Crowns his Ancestors did weare,
His temples long (more orient) may beare,
That good he reach by sweetnesse of his sway,
That even his shadow may the bad affray;
[Page 162]That Heaven on him what he desires bestow,
That still the glory of his greatnesse grow,
That your begun felicities may last,
That no Orion do with stormes them blast,
That Victory his brave exploits attend,
East, West, or South, where he his Force shall bend,
Till his great Deeds all former Deeds surmount,
And quaile the Nimrod of the Hellespont;
That when his well-spent care all care becalmes,
He may in Peace sleep in a shade of Palmes;
And rearing up faire Trophees, that heavens may
Extend his life to worlds extreamest day.
The Song of the Muses at Parnassus.
AT length we see those Eyes,
Which cheere both Earth and Skies;
Now, ancient Caledon,
Thy Beauties heighten, richest Robes put on,
And let young joyes to all thy parts arise.
Here could thy Prince still stay,
Each Month should turne to May;
We need nor Star, nor Sun,
Save him, to lengthen Daies and Joyes begun:
Sorrow and Night to far Climes haste away.
Now Majesty and Love
Combin'd are from above,
Prince never Scepter sway'd,
Lov'd Subjects more, of Subjects more obey'd,
Which may endure whilst Heavens great Orbes do move:
Joyes did you alwaies last,
Lifes sparke you soon would waste;
Griefe follows sweet Delight,
As Day is shadowed by sable Night,
Yet shall Remembrance keep you still▪ when past.
The Speeches at the Horoscopall Pageant by the Planets.
Endymion.
ROus'd from the Latmian Cave, where many yeares
That Empresse of the lowest of the Spheares,
Who cheers the Night, did keep me hid, apart
From mortall Wights, to ease her love-sick heart,
As young as when she did me first enclose,
As fresh in beauty as the morning Rose,
Endymion; that whilome kept my Flocks
Upon Ionias flowry Hills and Rocks,
And sweet Layes warbling to my Cynthias beames,
Out-sang the Cignets of Meanders streames:
To whom (for Guerdon) she Heavens secret bars
Made open, taught the Paths and Pow'rs of Stars;
By this deare Ladies strict commandement
To celebrate this day I here am sent.
But whether is this heaven, which stars do crown,
Or are heavens flaming splendors here come down
To beautifie this nether World with me?
Such state and glory did e're Shepheard see?
My wits my sense mistrust, and stay amaz'd,
No eye on fairer Objects ever gaz'd;
Sure this is Heaven, for every wandring star,
Forsaking those great Orbes where whirl [...]d they are,
All dismall sad aspects abandoning,
Are here met to salute some gracious King;
Nor is it strange if they Heavens height neglect,
It of undoubted worth is the effect:
Then this it is, thy presence (royall Youth)
Hath brought them here within an Azymuth,
[Page 165]To tell by me (their Herauld) comming things,
And what each Fate to her sterne Dista [...]e sings:
Heavens Volume to unclaspe, vast Pages spread,
Mysterious golden Cyphers cleare to read:
Heare then the Augur of thy future daies,
And what the starry Senate of thee saies;
For, what is firme decreed in heaven above,
In vaine on earth strive Mortalls to improve.
Saturne.
TO faire hopes to give reines now is it time,
And soare as high as just desires may climbe;
O Halcyonian, cleare, and happy Day,
From sorry Wights let sorrow flie away,
And vexe Antartick Climes, great Brittaines woes
Vanish, for joy now in her Zenith glows;
The old Lucadian Syth-bearing Sire
(Though cold) for thee feeles flames of sweet desire;
And many lustres at a perfect height,
Shall keep thy Scepters Majesty as bright
And strong in power and glory every way,
As when thy peerelesse Parent did it sway,
Ne're turning wrinkled in times endlesse length,
But one in her first beauty, youthfull strength,
Like thy rare mind, which stedfast as the Pole
Still fixed stands, however Spheares do role;
More, to inhaunce with favours this thy Raigne,
His age of gold he shall restore againe,
Love, Justice, Honour, Innocence renew,
Mens sprights with white simplicity indue,
Make all to live in plenties ceaselesse store
With equall shares, none wishing to have more;
No more shall cold the Plough-mens hopes beguile,
Skies shall on Earth with lovely glances smile;
[Page 166]Which shall untill'd each flow'r and herb bring forth,
And Lands to Gardens turne of equall worth,
Life (long) shall not be thrall'd to mortall dates,
Thus heavens decree, so have ordain'd the Fates.
Jove.
DElight of heaven, sole honour of the earth,
Jove (courting thine Ascendant) at thy birth
Proclaimed thee a King, and made it true,
That to thy worth great Monarchies are due;
He gave thee what was good, and what was great,
What did belong to love, and what to state,
Rare gifts whose ardors burne the hearts of all,
Like tinder when flints atoms on it fall.
The Tramontane which thy faire course directs,
Thy Counsels shall approve by their effects;
Justice kept low by Giants, wrongs, and jars,
Thou shalt relieve, and crown with glistering stars,
Whom nought save Law of force could keep in awe,
Thou shalt turne Clients to the force of Law,
Thou Armes shalt brandish for thine own defence,
Wrongs to repell, and guard weake innocence,
Which to thy last effort thou shalt uphold,
As Oake the Ivy which it doth enfold;
All overcome, at last thy selfe orecome,
Thou shalt make passion yield to reasons doome:
For smiles of fortune shall not raise thy mind,
Nor shall disasters make it ere declin'd,
True shonour shall reside within thy Court,
Sobriety and Truth there still resort;
Keep promis'd faith, thou shalt all treacheries
Detest, and fawning Parasites despise,
Thou, others to make rich, shalt not make poore
Thy selfe, but give, that thou mayst still give more;
[Page 167]Thou shalt no Paranymph raise to high Place,
For frizl'd locks, quaint pace, or painted face;
On gorgeous rayments, womanizing toyes,
The works of wormes, and what a Moth destroyes.
The Maze of fooles, thou shalt no treasure spend,
Thy charge to immortality shall tend,
Raise Pallaces, and Temples vaulted high,
Rivers o're arch, of Hospitality
And Sciences the ruin'd Innes restore,
With Walls and Ports incircle Neptunes shore,
To new-found worlds thy Fleets make hold their course,
And find of Canada the unknown Sourse,
People those Lands which passe Arabian fields
In fragrant Woods and Muske which Zephire yeelds;
Thou fear'd of none, shalt not thy People feare,
Thy Peoples love thy Greatnesse shall up-reare,
Still rigour shall not shine, and mercy lower,
What Love can do thou shalt not do by Power;
New and vast Taxes thou shalt not extort,
Load heavy those thy bounty should support,
Thou shalt not strike the Hinge nor Master Beame
Of thine Estate, but errours in the same
By harmelesse Justice graciously reforme,
Delighting more in calme than roaring storme;
Thou shalt governe in Peace as did thy Sire,
Keep, save thine own, and Kingdomes new acquire,
Beyond Alcides Pillars, and those bounds
Where Alexander gain'd the Easterne Crowns,
Till thou the greatest be amongst the Greats;
Thus Heavens ordaine, so have decreed the Fates.
Mars.
SOn of the Lion, thou of loathsome Bands
Shalt free the Earth, and what e're thee withstands
Thy noble paws shall teare, the God of Thrace
Shall be thy second, and before thy face,
To Truth and Justice, whilest thou Trophees reares,
Armies shall fall dismaid with Panick feares.
As when Aurora in skies azure-lists
Makes shadows vanish, doth disperse the mists,
And in a twinkling with her opall light,
Nights horrours checketh, putting stars to flight;
More to inflame thee to this noble taske,
To thee he here resigns his Sword and Caske,
A Wall of flying Castels, armed Pines
Shall bridge thy Sea, like heaven with steele that shines,
To aide earths tenants by foule yoaks opprest,
And fill with feares the great King of the West:
To thee already Victory displaies
Her garlands twin'd, with Olive, Oake, and Bayes,
Thy triumphs finish shall all old debates;
Thus Heavens decree, so have ordain'd the Fates.
Sun.
WEalth, Wisdome, Glory, Pleasure, stoutest hearts
Religion, Laws, Hyperion imparts
To thy just Raigne, which shall far, far surpasse
Of Emperours, Kings, the best that ever was;
Look how he dims the stars; thy Glories raies
So darken shall the lustre of these daies:
For, in faire Vertues Zodiack thou shalt run,
And in the Heaven of Worthies be the Sun.
[Page 169]No more contemn'd shall haplesse Learning lye;
The maids of Pindus shall be raised high;
For Bay and Ivy which their brows enroll'd
Thou shalt them deck with Gems and shining gold;
Thou open shalt Parnassus Christall gates:
Thus Heavens ordaine, so do decree the Fates.
Venus.
THe Acidalian Queen amidst thy Bayes
Shall twine her Mirtles, grant thee pleasant daies;
She did make cleare thy house, and with her light
Of churlish stars put back the dismall spight;
The Hymenean bed faire brood shall grace,
Which on the earth continue shall their race,
While Floras treasure shall the Meads endeare,
While sweet Pomona Rose-cheek'd fruits shall beare,
While Phaebes beames her brothers emulates:
Thus Heavens decree, so have ordain'd the Fates.
Mercury.
GReat Atlas Nephew, shall the works of Peace,
(The Springs of plenty) Tillage, Trades encrease,
And Arts in times gulfes lost againe restore,
To their Perfection; nay, find many more,
More perfect Artists, Cyclops in their forge
Shall mould those brazen Typhons, which disgorge
From their hard Bowels metall, flame and smoake,
Mufling the aire up in a sable cloake.
Geryons, Harpyes, Dragons, Sphinges strange
Wheele, where in spacious gires the Fume doth range,
The Sea shrinkes at the blow, shake doth the ground,
The Worlds vast Chambers doth the sound rebound;
[Page 170]The Stygian Porter leaveth off to barke,
Black Jove appall'd doth shroud him in the darke;
Many a Typhis in adventures tost
By new-found skill shall many a maiden coast,
With thy sayle-winged Argoses find out,
Which like the Sun shall run the Earth about;
And far beyond his paths score wavy waies,
To Cathaies Lands by Hyperborean Seas;
He shall endue thee both in peace and war,
With wisdome, which than Strength is better far,
Wealth, Honour, Armes, and Arts shall grace thy States;
Thus Heavens ordaine, so do decree the Fates.
The Moon.
O How the faire Queen with the golden maids,
The Sun of Night, thy happy fortunes aids;
Though turban'd Princes for a Badge her weare,
To them she waine, to thee would full appeare;
Her Hand-maid Thetis dayly walkes the round
About thy Delos that no force it wound,
Than when thou leftst it, and abroad didst stray,
(Deare Pilgrim) she did straw with flowers thy way,
And turning forraine force and counsell vaine,
Thy Guard and Guide return'd thee home againe;
To thee she Kingdomes, Years, Blisse did divine,
Quailing Medusas grim Snakes with her shine,
Beneath thy raigne Discord, (fell mischiefes forge,
The bane of Peoples, State, and Kingdome Scourge)
Pale Envy (with the Cocatrices eye,
Which seeing kills, but seen doth forthwith dye:)
Malice, Deceit, Rebellion, Impudence,
Beyond the Garamants shall pack them hence,
With every Monster that thy Glory hates,
Thus Heavens decree, so have ordain'd the Fates.
Endymion.
THat heretofore to thy heroick mind
Hopes did not answer as they were design'd:
O do not thinke it strange, Times were not come,
And these faire stars had not pronounc'd their doome:
The Destinies did on that day attend,
When to this Northerne Region thou should lend
Thy cheerfull presence, and charg'd with Renown,
Set on thy brows the Caledonian Crown;
Thy vertues now thy just desire shall grace,
Sterne Chance shall change, and to Desert give place;
Let this be known to all the Fates, admit
To their grave Counsell, and to every wit
That courts Heavens inside; this let Sibills know,
And those mad Corybants who dance and glow
On Dindimus high tops with frantick fire:
Let this be known to all Apollo's Quire,
And People let it not be hid from you,
What Mountaines noyse, and flouds proclaime as true:
Whereever Fame abroad his praise shall ring,
All shall observe, and serve this blessed King.
The End of King Charles his Entertainment at Edenborough, 1633.
A Pastorall Elegie on the Death of S. W. A.
IN sweetest prime, and blooming of his Age,
Deare Alcon ravish'd from this mortall Stage,
The Shepheards mourn'd, as they him lov'd before;
Among the Rout him Edmon did deplore.
Idmon, who whether Sun in East did rise,
Or dive in West, pour'd Torrents from his Eyes
Of liquid Chrystall, under Hawthorne shade,
At last to Trees and Rocks this plaint he made.
Alcon, delight of Heaven, desire of Earth,
Off-spring of Phoebus, and the Muses birth,
The Graces Darling, Adon of our Plaines,
Flame of the fairest Nymphs the Earth sustaines,
What Power of thee hath us bereft? What Fate
By thy untimely fall would ruinate
Our hopes? O Death! what treasure in one houre
Hast thou dispersed? How dost thou devoure
What we on earth hold dearest? All things good,
Too envious Heavens, how blast ye in the Bud?
The Corne the greedy Reapers cut not down
Before the Fields with golden Eares it crown;
Nor doth the verdant Fruits the Gardener pull:
But thou art cropt before thy yeares were full.
[Page 173]With thee (sweet youth) the Glories of our Fields
Vanish away, and what contentments yields.
The Lakes their silver look, the woods their shades,
The Springs their Christall want, their Verdure Meads,
The yeares their early seasons, cheerfull Dayes,
Hills gloomy stand now desolate of Rayes:
Their amorous whispers Zephires not us bring,
Nor do Aires Quiresters salute the Spring;
The freezing winds our Gardens do defloure.
Ah Destinies! and you whom Skies embow'r,
To his faire Spoiles his Spright againe yet give,
And like another Phoenix make him live.
The Herbs, though cut, sprout fragrant from their stems,
And make with Crimson blush our Anadem [...]:
The Sun when in the West he doth decline,
Heavens brightest Tapers at his Funeralls shine;
His Face, when washt in the Atlantick Seas,
Revives, and cheeres the Welkin with new Raies:
Why should not he, since of more pure a Frame,
Returne to us againe, and be the same?
But wretch what wish I? To the winds I send
These Plaints and Prayers, Destines cannot lend
Thee more of Time, nor Heavens consent will thus,
Thou leave their starry World to dwell with us;
Yet shall they not thee keep amidst their Spheares
Without these lamentations and Teares.
Thou wast all Vertue, Courtesie, and Worth,
And as Suns light is in the Moon set forth;
Worlds supreame Excellence in thee did shine:
Nor, though eclipsed now, shalt thou decline,
But in our Memories live, while Dolphins streames
Shall haunt, whilst Eaglets stare on Titans beames,
Whilst Swans upon their Christall Tombes shall sing,
Whilst Violets with Purple paint the Spring.
A gentler Shepheard Flocks did never feed
On Albions Hills, nor sung to oaten Reed:
[Page 174]While what she found in Thee my Muse would blaze,
Griefe doth distract Her, and cut short thy Praise.
How oft have we, inviron'd by the Throng
Of tedious Swaines, the cooler shades among,
Contemn'd Earths glow-worme Greatnesse, and the Ch [...]ce
Of Fortune scorn'd, deeming it disgrace
To court unconstancy? How oft have we
Some Chloris Name graven in each Virgin Tree,
And, finding Favours fading, the next Day
What we had carv'd we did deface away?
Woefull Remembrance! Nor Time nor Place
Of thy abodement shadows any Trace,
But there to me Thou shin'st: late glad Desires,
And ye once Roses, how are ye turned Bryers?
Contentments passed, and of Pleasures Chiefe,
Now are ye frightfull Horrours, Hells of Griefe?
When from thy native Soyle Love had Thee driven,
(Thy safe returne Prefigurating) a Heaven
Of flattering Hopes did in my Fancy move,
Then little dreaming it should Atomes prove.
These Groves preserve will I, these loved Woods,
These Orchards rich with Fruits, with Fish these flouds▪
My Alcon will returne, and once againe
His chosen Exiles he will entertaine;
The populous City holds him, amongst Harmes
Of some fierce Cyclops, Circe's stronger Charmes.
These Bankes (said I) he visit will and Streames,
These silent shades ne're kist by courting Beames.
Far, far off I will meet him, and I first
Shall him approaching know, and first be blest
With his Aspect, I first shall heare his voice,
Him find the same he parted, and rejoyce
To learne his passed Perills, know the Sports
Of forraine Shepheards, Fawns, and Fairy Courts.
No pleasure to the Fields, an happy State
The Swaines enjoy, secure from what they hate:
[Page 175]Free of proud Cares they innocently spend
The Day, nor do black Thoughts their ease offend;
Wise Natures Darlings they live in the World,
Perplexing not themselves how it is hurld.
These Hillocks Phoebus loves, Ceres these Plaines,
Th [...]se Shades the Sylvans, and here Pales straines
Milke in the Pailes; the Maids which haunt the Springs
Daunce on these Pastures, here Amintas sings:
Hesperian Gardens, Tempe's shades are here,
Or what the Easterne Inde and West hold deare.
Come then, deare Youth, the Wood-nymphs twine thee Boughs
With Rose and Lilly, to impale thy Brows.
Thus ignorant, I mus'd, not conscious yet
Of what by Death was done, and ruthlesse Fate:
Amidst these Trances Fame thy losse doth sound,
And through my Eares gives to my Heart a wound;
With stretched-out Armes I sought thee to embrace,
But clasp'd (amaz'd) a Coffin in thy Place.
A Coffin! of our Joyes which had the Trust,
Which told that thou wert come; but chang'd to Dust:
Scarce, even when felt, could I beleeve this wrack,
Nor that thy Time and Glory Heavens would breake.
Now since I cannot see my Alcons Face,
And find nor Vows, nor Prayers to have place
With guilty Stars, this Mountaine shall become
To me a sacred Altar, and a Tombe
To famous Alcon: here, as Daies, Month [...], Yeares
Do circling glide, I sacrifice will teares:
Here spend my remnant Time, exil'd from Mirth,
Till Death at last turne Monarch of my Earth.
Shepheards on Forth, and you by Doven Rocks,
Which use to sing and sport, and keep your Flocks,
Pay Tribute here of Teares, ye never had
To aggravate your Moanes a cause more sad;
And to their sorrows hither bring your Mands,
Charged with sweetest flow'rs, and with pure Hands;
[Page 176](Faire Nymphs) the blushing Hyacinth and Rose
Spred on the Place his Relicts do enclose,
Weave Garlands to his Memory, and put
Over his Hearse a Verse in Cypres cut:
Vertue did dye, Goodnesse but harme did give,
After the noble Alcon ceas'd to live,
Friendship an Earthquake suffer'd; losing Him;
Loves brightest Constellation turned Dim.
Hymne.
SAviour of Mankind, Man Emanuel,
Who sinlesse died for Sin, who vanquisht Hell,
The first fruits of the Grave, whose life did give
Light to our Darknes, in whose death we live.
O strengthen thou my faith, correct my will,
That mine may thine obey: protect me still,
So that the latter death may not devour
My soule seal'd with thy Seale; so in the houre
When thou whose body sanctified thy Tombe
(Unjustly judg'd) a glorious Judge shalt come
To judge the World with Justice; by that signe
I may be known and entertained for thine.
A Translation Of S. John Scot his verses, begining Quod vite sectabor iter.
WHat course of life should wretched Mortals take?
In Books hard Questions large contention make;
Care dwels in Houses, Labour in the Field,
Tumultuous Seas affrighting dangers yield.
In Forraine Lands thou never canst be blest;
If rich, thou art in feare; if poore, distrest.
In Wedlock frequent discontentments swell;
Unmarried persons as in Deserts dwell.
How many troubles are with Children borne?
Yet he that wants them, counts himselfe Forlorne.
Young men are wanton, and of wisdome voyd:
Gray haires are cold, unfit to be employ'd.
Who would not one of those two offers try,
Not to be borne: or, being borne, to dye?
MISCELLANIES.
ALL good hath left this Age, all tracks of sh [...]me,
Mercy is banished, and pitty dead,
Justice, from whence it came, to heaven is fled;
Religion maim'd, it thought an idle Name.
Faith to distrust▪ and Malice hath given place,
Envy with poyson'd Teeth hath friendship torne,
Renowned Knowledge is a despis'd scorne,
Now evill 'tis, all evill not to embrace.
There is no life save under servile Bands,
To make Desert a Vassall to their crimes,
Ambition with Avarice joyne hands;
O ever-shamefull, O most shamelesse Times!
Save that Suns light we see, of good here tell,
This Earth we court so much, were very Hell.
DOth then the world go thus, doth all thus move?
Is this the Justice which on Earth we find?
Is this that firme Decree which all doth bind?
Are these your Influences Powers above?
Those Soules which vices moody Mists most blind,
Blind Fortune blindly most their friend doth prove:
And they who thee (poore Idoll) Vertue love
Ply like a feather toss'd by storme and wind.
Ah! (if a Providence doth sway this All.)
Why should best Minds groane under most distresse,
Or why should Pride Humility make thrall,
And injuries the Innocent oppresse?
Heavens [...]inder, stop this Fate, or grant a Time
When Good may have as well as Bad their Prime.
A Reply.
WHo do in Good delight
That soveraigne Justice ever doth reward,
And though sometime it smite,
Yet it doth them regard;
For even amidst their Griefe
They find a strong reliefe▪
And Death it selfe can work them no despight.
Againe, in evill who joy,
And do in it grow old,
In midst of Mirth are charg'd with sins annoy,
Which is in Conscience scrol'd,
And when their Lifes fraile thred is cut by Time,
They punishment find equall to each Crime.
LOok how in May the Rose
At Sulphures azure fumes,
In a short space her crimson blush doth lose▪
And all amaz'd a pallid white assumes.
So time our best consumes,
Makes Youth and Beauty passe,
And what was pride turnes horrour in our Glasse.
To a Swallow building neare the Statue of Medea.
FOnd Progne, chattering wretch,
That is Medea, there,
Wilt thou thy Younglings hatch?
Will she keep thine, her own who could not spare?
Learne from her frantick face
To seek some fitter place.
What other may'st thou hope for, what desire,
Save Stygian spels, wounds, poyson, iron, fire?
Venus armed.
TO practice new alarmes
In Joves great Court above,
The wanton Queen of Love
Of sleeping Mars put on the horrid Armes;
Where gazing in a Glasse
To see what thing she was,
To mock and scoffe the blew-eyed Maid did move;
Who said, sweet Queen, thus should you have been [...]ight
When Vulcan took you napping with your Knight.
The Boares Head.
AMidst a pleasant Green
Which Sun did seldome see,
Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian Queen,
The head of a wild Boare hung on a Tree:
And driven by Zephyres breath
Did fall, and wound the lovely Youth beneath,
On whom yet scarce appeares
So much of bloud as Venus eyes shed teares.
But ever as she wept her Antheme was,
Change, cruell, change, alas,
My Ado [...] whilst thou liv'd was by thee slaine,
Now dead, this Lover must thou kill againe!
To an Owle.
AScalaphus tell me,
So may Nights Curtaine long Time cover Thee,
So Ivy ever may
From irkesome light keep thy Chamber and Bed,
And in Moons Liv'ry cled;
So may'st thou scorne the Quiresters of Day,
When playning thou dost stay
Neare to the sacred window of my deare,
Dost ever thou her heare
To wake, and steale swift houres from drowsie sleep?
And when she wakes, doth ere a stollen sigh creep
Into thy list'ning eare?
If that deafe God doth yet her carelesse keep,
In louder notes my Griefe with thine expresse,
Till by thy shriekes she think on my distresse.
Daphnis.
NOw Daphnis armes did grow
In slender branches, and her braided Haire,
Which like gold wa [...]s did flow,
In leavy Twigs were stretched in the Aire,
The grace of either foot
Transform'd was to a root,
A tender Barke enwraps her Body faire.
He who did cause her ill
Sore-wailing stood, and from his blubbered ey [...]e
Did show'rs of teares upon the rine distill,
Which water'd thus did bud and turne more green.
O deep despaire [...] O Heart-appalling Griefe,
When that doth woe encrease should bring reliefe.
The Beare of Love.
IN woods and desart Bounds
A Beast abroad doth Roame,
So loving Sweetnesse and the honey Combe,
It doth despise the armes of Bees and wounds▪
I by like pleasure led▪
To prove what Heavens did place
Of sweet on you [...] faire face,
Whilst there with I am fed,
Rest carelesse (Beare of Love) of hellish smart,
And how those Eyes afflict and wound my Heart.
Five Sonnets for Galatea.
STrephone in vaine thou brings thy rimes and songs▪
Deckt with grave Pindars old and withered flow'rs
In vaine thou count'st the faire [...] wrongs,
And her whom Jove deceiv'd in golden show'rs.
Thou hast slept never under Mirtles shed,
Or if that passion hath thy soule opprest,
It is but for some Grecian Mistris dead.
Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy brest▪
How can true Love with [...]ables hold a place?
Thou who with [...]ables dost set forth thy love,
Thy love a pretty [...]able needs must prove,
Thou suest for grace, in scorne more to disgrace;
I cannot thinke thou wert charm'd by my looks,
O no, thou learn'dst thy love in Lovers books.
II.
NO more with Candid words infect mine eares,
Tell me no more how that ye pine in anguish
When [...]ound ye sleep: no more say that ye languish,
No more in sweet despite say you spend teares.
Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see;
How those that are haire-brain'd boast of Apollo,
And bold give out the Mu [...]es do them follow,
Though in loves Library yet no Lover's he.
If we poore soules least favour but them shew,
That straight in wanton Lines abroad is blazed,
Their names doth soare on our fames overthrow,
Mark'd is our lightnesse whilst their wits are praised;
In silent thoughts who can no secret cover,
He may, say we, but not well, be a Lover.
III.
YE▪ who with curious numbers, sweetest art,
Frame Dedall Nets our beauty to surprize,
Telling strange Castles builded in the Skies,
And tales of C [...]pids [...]ow, and Cupids Dart;
Well, howsoever ye act your fained smart,
Molesting quiet eares with tragick cries,
When you accuse our chastities best part,
Nam'd cruelty, ye seem not halfe too wise,
Yea, ye your selves it deem most worthy praise;
Beauties best guard; that Dragon which doth keep
Hesperian fruit, the spur in you does raise;
That Delion wit that other waies▪ may sleep,
To cruell Nymphs your Lines do fame afford,
Oft many pitifull, not one poore word.
IV.
IF it be love to wake out all the night,
And watchfull eyes drive out in dewie moanes▪
And when the Sun brings to the world his light
To waste the Day in teares, and bitter groanes.
If it be love to dim weake reasons beame
With clouds of strange desire, and make the mind
In hellish agonies a heav'n to dreame,
Still seeking Comforts where but griefes we find;
If it be love to staine with wanton thought
A spotlesse chastity, and make it try
More furious flames than his whose cunning wrought
That brazen Bull, where he intomb'd did fry.
Then sure is Love the causer of such woes,
Be ye our Lovers, or our mortall foes.
V.
ANd would you then shake off Loves golden chain,
With which it is best freedome to be bound?
And Cruell do ye seek to heale the Wound
Of Love, which hath such sweet and pleasant paine?
All that is subject unto natures raigne
In Skies above, or on this lower round,
When it is long and far sought, and hath found▪
Doth in D [...]cade [...]s fall and slack remaine;
Behold the Moon how gay her face doth grow
Till she kisse all the Sun, then doth decay;
See how the Seas tumultuously do flow
Till they embrace lov'd bankes, then [...]ost away:
So is't with love, unlesse you love me still;
O, do not thinke Ile yeeld unto your will.
CAres charming sleep, son of the [...]able night,
Brother to death, in silent darknesse borne,
Destroy my languish e're the day be light,
With darke forgetting of my cares returne▪
And let the day be long enough to mourne
The ship-wrack of my ill adventured Youth;
Let watry eyes suffice to waile their scorne
Without the troubles of the nights untruth;
Cease dreames, fond image of my fond desir [...]
To modell forth the passions of to morrow;
Let never rising Sun approve your teares
To add more griefe to aggravate my sorrow:
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vaine,
And never wake to feele the daies disdaine.
An Epitaph of one named Margaret.
IN shells, and gold, Pearles are not kept alone,
A Margaret here lies beneath a stone;
A Margaret that did excell in worth
All those rich Gems the Indies both send forth▪
Who had she liv'd when good was lov'd of men,
Had made the Graces foure, the Muses ten,
And forc'd those happy times her daies that claim'd
From her to be the age of Pearle still nam'd;
She was the richest Jewell of her kind,
Grac'd with more lustre than she left behind,
All Goodnesse, vertue, Bounty, and could cheare
The saddest minds, now Nature knowing here
How things but shown, then hidden are lov'd best,
This Margaret 'shrin'd in this marble Chest.
Another Epitaph on a Lady.
THis Beauty faire which death in dust did turne,
And clos'd so soon within a Coffin sad,
Did passe like Lightning, like the thunder burne,
So little like so much true vertue had;
Heavens but to shew their might here made it shine,
And when admir'd then in the worlds disdaine,
(O teares, O griefe!) did call it back againe,
Lest earth should vaunt she kept what was divine,
On a Drunkard.
NOr Aramanthes, nor Roses do [...]
Unto this Hearse, but [...] and Wine,
For that same thirst, though dead, y [...] doth him pi [...]e,
Which made him so carrouse while he drew breath.
Aretinus Epitaph.
HEre Aretine lies most bitter gall▪
Who whilst he lived spoke evill of all,
Only of God the Arran [...] Scot
Naught said, [...]ut that he knew him not.
Comparison of his thoughts to Pearls.
WIth open shells in seas, on heavenly dew,
A shining Oyster lusciously doth feed,
And then the birth of that aethereall seed
Shews when conceiv'd if Skies looke dark or blew:
So do my thoughts (Coelestiall twins) of you,
At whose aspect they first begin and breed,
When they came forth to light, demonstrate true
If ye then smil'd: or lowr'd in mourning weed
Pearles then are orient fram'd, and faire in forme
If heavens in their conceptions do look cleare:
But if they thunder, or do threat a storme.
They sadly darke and cloudy do appeare;
Right so my thoughts, and so my notes do change,
Sweet if ye smile, and hoarse if ye look strange.
All changeth.
THe angry Winds not aye
Do cuff the roaring Deep;
And though heavens often weep,
Yet do they smile for joy when comes dismay;
Frosts do not ever kill the pleasant flow'rs,
And Love hath sweets when gone are all the soures.
This said, a shepheard closing in his armes
His deare; who blusht to feele Loves new alarmes.
Sile [...]s to King Midas.
THe greatest gift that from their lofty thrones
The all-governing pow'rs to man can give,
Is, that he never breath, or breathing once
A suckling end his daies, and leave to live,
For then he neither knows the woe nor joy
Of life, nor feares the Stygian Lakes annoy.
To his amorous thought.
SWeet wanton thought, who art of beauty borne,
And who on beauty feedst, and sweet desire,
Like Taper flee, still circling, and still turne
About that flame; that all so much admire
That heavenly faire, which doth out-blush the morne,
Those Ivory hands, those threads of golden wire
Thou still surroundest yet dar'st not aspire;
Sure thou dost well that place not to come neare,
Nor see the Majesty of that faire Court;
For if thou saw'st what wonders there resort,
The poore intelligence that moves that spheare
Like soules ascending to those Joyes above;
Back never wouldst thou turne, nor thence remove.
[Page 189]What can we hope for more? what more injoy?
Since fairest things thus soonest have their end,
And as on bodies shadows do attend,
Soon all our blisse is followed with annoy,
Yet she's not dead, she lives where she did love,
Her memory on earth, her soule above.
Verses on the late William Earle of Pembrook.
I.
THe doubtfull feares of Change so fright my Mind,
Though raised to the highest joy in Love,
As in this slippery state more griefe I find,
Than they who never such a blisse did prove;
But fed with lingring hopes of [...]uture Gaine,
Dreame not what 'tis to doubt a Losers Paine.
II.
Desire a safer Harbour is than Feare,
And not to rise lesse danger than to fall;
The want of Jewels we far better beare,
Than so possest at once to lose them all:
Unsatisfied Hopes Time may repaire,
When ruin'd Faith must finish in despaire.
III.
Alas! Ye look but up the Hill on me,
Which shews to you a faire and smooth ascent,
The Precipice behind ye cannot see,
On which high Fortunes are too pronely bent:
If there I slip, what former joy or blisse
Can heale the bruise of such a fall as this?
A Reply.
I.
WHo love enjoyes, and placed hath his Mind
Where fairer Vertues fairest beauties grace,
Than in himselfe such store of worth doth find,
That he deserves to hold so good a Place;
To chilling feares how can he be set forth,
Whose feares condemne his own, doubts others worth?
II.
Desire, as flames of Zeale, Feare, Horrours meets,
They rise who fall o [...] falling never prov'd.
Who is so dainty satiate with swee [...]s
To murmur when the Banket is remov'd?
The fairest hopes Time in the Bud destroys,
When sweet are memories of ruin'd Joyes.
III.
It is no Hill but Heaven where you remaine,
And whom Desert advanced hath so high
To reach the Guerdon of his burning Paine,
Must not repine to fall, and falling dye,
His Hopes are crown'd; what years of tedious breath
Can them compare with such a happy Death?
W. D.
A Translation.
AH! silly Soule, what wilt thou [...]ay
When he whom earth and Heavens obey
Comes Man to judge in the last Day▪
II.
When He a reason askes, why Grace
And Goodnesse thou wouldst not embrace,
But steps of Vanity didst trace?
III.
That Day of Terrour, Vengeance, Ire,
Now to prevent thou should'st desire,
And to thy God in haste retire.
IV.
With watry Eyes, and Sigh-swollen Heart,
O beg, beg in his Love a part▪
Whilst Conscience with remorse doth smart.
V.
That dreaded Day of wrath and shame
In flames shall turne this Worlds huge Frame,
As sacred Prophets do proclaime.
VI.
O! with what Griefe shall Earthlings grone
When that great Judge set on his Throne
Examines strictly every One.
VII.
Shrill-sounding Trumpets through the Aire
Shall from dark Sepulchres each where
Force wretched Mortalls to appeare.
VIII.
Nature and Death amaz'd remaine
To find their dead arise againe,
And Processe with their Judge maintaine.
IX.
Display'd then open Books shall lye
Which all those secret crimes descry,
For which the guilty World must dye.
X.
The Judge enthron'd (whom Bribes not gaine)
The closest crimes appeare shall plaine,
And none unpunished remaine.
XI.
O who then pitty shall poore me!
Or who mi [...]e Advocate shall be?
When scarce the justest passe shall free▪
XII.
All wholly holy dreadfull King,
Who freely life to thine dost bring,
Of Mercy save me Mercies spring.
XIII.
Then (sweet Jesu) call to mind
How of thy Paines I was the End,
And favour let me that day find.
XIV.
In search of me Thou full of paine
Did'st sweat bloud, Death on Crosse sustaine,
Let not these suff'rages be in vaine.
XV.
Thou supreame Judge, most just and wise,
Purge me from guilt which on me lies
Before that day of thine Assize.
XVI.
Charg'd with remorse (loe) here I groane,
Sin makes my face a blush take on;
Ah! spare me prostrate at thy Throne.
XVII.
Who Mary Magdalen didst spare,
And lend'st the Thiefe on Crosse thine Eare,
Shewest me faire hopes I should not feare.
XVIII.
My prayers imperfect are and weake,
But worthy of thy grace them make,
And save me from Hells burning Lake.
XIX.
On that great Day at thy right hand
Grant I amongst thy Sheep may stand,
Sequestred from the Goatish Band.
XX.
When that the Reprobates are all
To everlasting flames made thrall,
O to thy Chosen (Lord) me call;
XXI.
That I one of thy Company,
With those whom thou dost justifie,
May live blest in Eternity.
Vpon John Earle of Laderdale his Death.
OF those rare Worthies, who adorn'd our North
And shin'd like Constellations, Thou alone
Remaindst last (great Maitland) charg'd with worth,
Second in Vertues Theater to none.
But finding all eccentrick in our times,
Religion into superstition turn'd,
Justice silenc'd, exiled, or inurn'd;
Truth, Faith, and Charity reputed Crimes.
The young man destinate by sword to fall,
And Trophees of their Countries spoiles to reare;
Strange Laws the Ag'd, and prudent to appale,
And forc'd sad yoakes of Tyranny to beare▪
And for nor great, nor vertues minds a roome,
Disdaining life, thou shouldst into thy Tombe.
II.
WHen misdevotion every where shall take place,
And lofty Oratours in thundring termes
Shall move you (people) to arise in armes,
And Churches hallow'd policy deface;
When you shall but one generall sepulchre
(As Averroes did one generall Soule)
On high, on low, on good, on bad confer,
And your dull Predecessors rites controule▪
Ah spare this Monument, great Guests it keeps,
Three grave Justiciars, whom true worth did raise,
The Muses Darlings, whose losse Phoebus weeps:
Best mens delight, the glory of their daies.
More we would say, but feare, and stand in aw
To turne Idolaters, and break your Law.
III.
DO not repine (blest soule) that humble wits
Do make thy worth the matter of their Verse:
No high strain'd Muse our times and sorrows fits:
And we do sigh, not sing, to crown thy Hearse.
Thy wisest Prince, e're manag'd Brittaines State
Did not disdaine in numbers cleere and brave,
The vertues of thy Sire to celebrate,
And fix a rich memoriall on his Grave.
Thou didst deserve no lesse; and here in Jet,
Gold, Touch, Brasse, Porphyrie, or Parian Stone,
That by a Princes hand no lines are set
For thee: the cause is now this Land hath none.
Such Giant Moods our parity forth brings,
We all will nothing be, or all be Kings.
EPITAPHS. TO The Obsequies of the blessed Prince, JAMES, King of Great Brittaine.
LEt holy David, Solomon the Wise,
That King, whose Breast Aegeria did inflame;
Augustus, Helens Son, Great in all Eyes,
Do Homage low to thy Mausolean Frame;
And bow before thy Laurels Anadem.
Let all those sacred Swans, which to the Skies
By never-dying Layes have rais'd their Name,
From North to South, where Sun doth set and rise.
Religion, Orphan'd, waileth o're thy Urne,
Justice weeps out her Eyes, now truly blind,
To Niobes the remnant Vertues turne:
Fame, but to blaze thy Glories, staies behind
I'th' World, which late was golden by thy Breath,
Is Iron turn'd, and horrid by thy Death.
On the Death of a young Lady.
THis Beauty which pale Death in Dust did turne,
And clos'd so soon within a Coffin sad,
Did passe like Lightning, like to Thunder burne;
So little Life, so much of Worth it had!
Heavens but to shew their Might here made it shine,
And when admir'd, then in the Worlds disdaine
(O Teares, O Griefe!) did call it back againe,
Lest Earth should vaunt she kept what was Divine,
What can we hope for more? what more enjoy?
Sith fairest things thus soonest have their End;
And, as on Bodies shadows do attend,
Sith all our Blisse is follow'd with Annoy?
She is not dead, she lives where she did love,
Her Memory on Earth, her sou [...]e above.
FOnd Wight, who dream'st of Greatness, Glory, State,
And Worlds of Pleasures, Honours dost devise,
Awake, Learne how that here thou art not Great,
Nor glorious, By this Monument turne wise.
One it enshrineth sprung of ancient stemm,
And (if that Bloud Nobility can make,)
From which some Kings have not disdain'd to take
Their proud Descent, a rare and matchlesse Gemm.
A Beauty here it holds by full assurance,
Than which no blooming Rose was more refin'd,
Nor Mornings Blush more radiant ever shin [...]d,
Ah! too too like to Morne and Rose at last.
It holds her who in Wits ascendant far
Did Yeares and Sex transcend, To whom the Heaven
More Vertue than to all this Age had given,
For Vertue Meteor turn'd, when she a star.
Faire Mirth, sweet Conversation, Modesty,
And what those Kings of Numbers did conceive
By Muses Nine, and Graces moe than Three,
Lye clos'd within the Compasse of this Grave.
Thus Death all Earthly glories doth confound,
Loe! how much Worth a little Dust doth bound.
FAr from these Bankes exiled be all Joyes,
Contentments, Pleasures, Musick (cares reliefe)
Tears, Sighs, Plaints, Horrours, Frightments, sad Annoies
Invest these Mountaines, fill all Hearts with Griefe.
Here Nightingals and Turtles vent your moanes;
Amphrisian Shepheard here come feed thy Flocke,
And read thy Hyacinth amidst our Groanes,
Plaine Eccho thy Narcissus from our Rocks.
Lost have our Meads their Beauty, Hills their Gemms,
Our Brooks their Christall, Groves their pleasant shade,
The fairest Flow'r of all our Anademms
Death cropped hath, the Lesbia chaste is dead.
Thus sigh'd the Tyne then shrunke beneath his Urne,
And Meads, Brooks, Rivers, Hills about did mourne.
THe Flower of Virgins in her Prime of yeares
By ruthlesse Destinies is ta'ne away,
And rap'd from Earth, poore Earth, before this Day,
Which ne're was rightly nam'd a Vale of Teares.
Beauty to Heaven is fled, sweet Modesty
No more appeares; She whose harmonious sounds
Did ravish Sense, and charme Minds deepest wounds,
Embaulm'd with many a Teare now low doth lye.
Faire Hopes now vanish'd are; She should have grac'd
A Princes Marriage-Bed; but (loe!) in Heaven
Blest Paramours to her were to be given!
She liv'd an Angell, now is with them plac'd.
Vertue is but a Name abstractly trimm'd,
Interpreting what she was in effect,
A shaddow from her Frame which did reflect,
A Pourtrait by her Excellencies limm'd.
Thou whom free-will or chance hath hither brought,
And read'st; Here lies a Branch of Maitlands stemm,
And S [...]ytons Off-spring; know that either Name
Designes all worth yet reacht by humane Thought.
Tombes (else-where) use Life to their Guests to give,
These Ashes can fraile Monuments make live.
Another on the same subject.
LIke to the Gardens Eye, the Flower of Flow'rs
With purple Pompe that dazle doth the Sight;
Or as among the lesser Gems of Night,
The Usher of the Planet of the Houres:
Sweet Maid, thou shinedst on this World of ours,
Of all Perfecti [...]ns having trac'd the hight,
Thine outward frame was faire, faire inward Powers,
A Saphire Lanthorne, and an incense light.
Hence, the enamour'd Heaven as too too good
On Earths all-thorny soyle long to abide,
Transplanted to their Fields so rare a Bud,
Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide.
Earth moan'd her losse, and wish'd she had the grace
Not to have known, or known thee longer space.
HArd Laws of mortall Life!
To which made Thrales we come without consent,
Like Tapers, lighted to be early spent,
Our Griefes are alwaies rife,
When joyes but halting march, and swiftly fly
Like shadows in the Eye:
The shadow doth not yeeld unto the Sun,
But Joyes and Life do waste even when begun.
On the Death of a Nobleman in Scotland, buried at Aithen.
AIthen, thy Pearly Coronet let fall,
Clad in sad Robes upon thy Temples set,
The weeping Cypresse, or the sable Jet.
Mourne this thy Nurslings losse, a losse which all
Apollos Quire bemoanes, which many yeares
Cannot repaire, nor Influence of Spheares.
Ah! when shalt thou find Shepheard like to him,
Who made thy Bankes more famous by his worth,
Then all those Gems thy Rocks and Streams send forth.
His splendor others Glow-worm light did dim,
Sprung of an ancient and a vertuous Race,
He Vertue more than many did embrace.
He fram'd to mildnesse thy halfe-barbarous swaines,
The Good-mans Refuge, of the bad the fright,
Unparaleld in friendship, worlds Delight.
For Hospitality along thy Plaines
Far-fam'd, a Patron, and a Patterne faire,
Of Piety, the Muses chiefe repaire.
Most debonaire in Courtesie supreame,
Lov'd of the meane, and honour'd by the Great,
Ne're dasht by Fortune, nor cast down by Fate,
To present, and to after Times a Theame.
Aithen, thy Teares poure on this silent Grave,
And drop them in thy Alabaster cave,
And Ni [...]bes Imagery become;
And when thou hast distilled here a Tombe,
E [...]chace in it thy Pearls, and let it beare,
Aithens best Gem and honour shrin'd lies here.
FAme Register of Time
Write in thy Scrowle, that I
Of Wisdome Lover, and sweet Poesie,
Was cropped in my Prime:
And ripe in worth, though green in yeares, did dye.
IUstice, Truth, Peace, and Hospitality,
Friendship, and Love, being resolv'd to dye
In these lewd Times, have chosen here to have
With just true pious —their Grave;
Them cherish'd he so much, so much did grace,
That they on Earth would choose none other Place.
WHen Death to deck his Trophees stop thy breath,
Rare Ornament and Glory of these Parts:
All with moist Eyes might say, and ruthfull hearts,
That things immortall vassal'd were to Death.
What Good in Parts on many shar'd we see
From Nature, gracious Heaven, or Fortune flow,
To make a Master-Piece of worth below,
Heaven, Nature, Fortune gave in grosse to Thee.
In Honour, Bounty, Rich, in Valour, Wit,
In Courtesie, Borne of an ancient Race,
With Bayes in war, with Olives crown'd in Peace,
Match'd great, with Off-spring for great Actions fit.
No Rust of Times, nor Change, thy Vertue wan
With Times to change, when Truth, Faith, Love decay'd,
In this new Age (like Fate) thou fixed stay'd
Of the first World an all-substantiall Man.
As earst this Kingdome given was to thy Syre,
The Prince his Daughter trusted to thy Care,
And well the credit of a Gem so rare
Thy loyalty and merit did require.
Yeares cannot wrong thy Worth, that now appeares
By others set as Diamonds among Pearles,
A Queens deare Foster, Father to three Earles,
Enough on Earth to triumph are o're yeares.
Life a Sea-voyage is, Death is the Haven,
And fraught with honour there thou hast arriv'd,
Which Thousands seeking have on Rocks been driven,
That Good adornes thy Grave which with thee liv'd:
For a fraile Life which here thou didst enjoy,
Thou now a lasting hast [...]reed of Annoy.
WIthin the Closure of thi [...] Narrow Grave
Lye all those Graces a Good-wife could have:
But on this Marble they shall not be read,
For then the Living envy would the Dead.
THe Daughter of a King of Princely Parts,
In Beauty eminent, in Vertues chiefe,
Loadstar of Love, and Loadstone of all hearts,
Her Friends, and Husbands only Joy, now Griefe▪
Is here pent up within a Marble Frame,
Whose Paralell no Times, no Climates claime.
VErses fraile Records are to keep a Name,
Or raise from Dust Men to a Life of Fame,
The sport and spoyle of Ignorance; but far
More fraile the Frames of Touch and Marble are,
Which envy, Avarice, Time e're long confound,
Or mis-devotion equalls with the Ground.
Vertue alone doth last, frees man from Death,
And, though despis'd and scorned here beneath,
Stands grav'n in Angels Diamantine Roles,
And blazed in the Courts above the Poles.
Thou wast faire Vertues Temple, they did dwell,
And live ador'd in thee, nought did excell
But what thou either didst possesse or love,
The Oraces Darling, and the maids of Jove,
Courted by Fame for Bounties which the Heaven
Gave thee in great, which if in Parcels given
[Page 206]Too many, such we happy sure might call,
How happy then wast thou who enjoyedst them all?
A whiter Soule ne're body did invest,
And now (sequestred) cannot be but blest,
Inro [...]'d in Glory, 'midst those Hierarchies
Of that immortall People of the Skies,
Bright Saints and Angels, there from cares made free
Nought doth becloud thy soveraign Good from Thee.
Thou smil'st at Earths Confusions and Jars,
And how for Centaures Children we wage wars:
Like honey Flies, whose rage whole swarmes consumes
Till D [...]st thrown on them makes them vaile their plumes.
Thy friends to thee a Monument would raise,
And [...]imne thy Vertues; but dull griefe thy Praise
Breakes in the Entrance, and our Taske proves vaine,
What duty writes that woe blot [...] out againe:
Yet Love a Pyramid of Sighs thee reares,
And doth embaulme thee with Fare-wells and Teares.
Rose.
THough Marble Porphyry, and mourning Touch—
May praise these spoiles, yet can they not too much▪
For Beauty last, and this Stone doth close,
Once Earths Delight, Heavens care, a purest Rose.
And (Reader) shouldst thou but let fall a Teare
Upon it, other flow'rs shall here appeare,
Sad Violets and Hyacinths which grow
With markes of griefe: a publike losse to show.
II.
Relenting Eye, which d [...]ignest to this Stone
To lend a look, behold, here he laid one.
The Living and the Dead interr'd, for Dead
The Turtle in its Mate is; and she fled
From Earth, her choos'd this Place of Griefe
To bound Thoughts, a small and sad Reliefe.
His is this Monument, for hers no Art
Could frame, a Pyramide rais'd of his Heart.
III.
Instead of Epitaphs and airy praise
This Monument a Lady chaste did raise
To her Lords living fame, and after Death
Her Body doth unto this Place bequeath,
To rest with his, till Gods shrill Trumpet sound,
Though time her Life, no time her lo [...] could bound.
To Sir W. A.
THough I have twice been at the Doores of Death,
And twice found shut those Gates which ever mourn,
This but a Lightning is, Truce ta'ne to Breath,
For late borne sorrows augure fleet return.
Amidst thy sacred Cares, and Courtly Toyles,
Alexis, when thou shalt heare wandring Fame
Tell, Death hath triumph'd o're my mortall Spoyles,
And that on Earth I am but a sad Name;
If thou e're held me deare, by all our Love,
By all that Blisse, those Joyes Heaven here us gave,
I conjure thee, and by the Maids of Jove,
To grave this short remembrance on my Grave▪
Here Damon lies, whose Songs did sometime grace
The murmuring Esk, may Roses shade the place.
FINIS.