• The Hermaphrodite.
  • The Remedy of Love.
  • Elegies.
  • Sonnets, with other Poems.

LONDON, Printed for Laurence Blaiklock, and are to be sold at his Shop neare the middle Temple Gate in Fleet-street. 1653.

TO THE Right Worshipful, the worthily honoured, ROBERT PARKHURST Esq

VVEre these but worthless Poems, or light Rimes,
Writ by some common scribler of the Times,
Without your leave I durst not then engage
You, to ennoble 'em by your patronage;
But these though Orphans, and left Fatherlesse,
Their rich endowments show they do possesse
A Fathers blessing; whom the Fates thought fit
To make a Master of a Mine of wit:
Whose ravishing conceits do towre so high,
As if his Quill had dropt from Mercury:
But when his fancy chanc'd of love to sing,
You'd sweare his Pen were plum'd from Cupids wing;
He doth an amorous passion so discover,
As if (save Beaumont) none had ere been Lover;
Some praise a manly bounty, some incline
More to applaud the vertues feminine;
Some severall graces in both Sexes hid,
But only Beaumont's, he alone that did
By a rare stratagem of wit connex
What's choice and excellent in either Sex.
[Page]Then cherish (Sir) these Saplings, whose each straine,
Speakes them the issue of brave Beaumonts braine;
Which made me thus dare to prefix your name,
Which will, if ought can, adde unto their fame.
I am, Sir,
Your most humble and devoted Servant, L. B.

To the true Patronesse of all Poetry, CALIOPE.

IT is a statute in deep wisdoms lore,
That for his lines none should a Patron chuse,
By wealth or poverty, by lesse or more,
But who the same is able to peruse:
Nor ought a man his labour dedicate,
Without a true and sensible desert,
To any power of such a mighty state:
But such a wise defendresse as thou art;
Thou great and powerfull Muse, then pardon me,
That I presume thy maiden cheeke to staine,
In dedicating such a worke to thee,
Sprung from the issue of an idle braine:
I use thee as a woman ought to be,
I consecrate my idle houres to thee.
F. B.

In laudem Authoris.

LIke to the weake estate of a poore friend,
To whom sweet fortune hath been ever slow,
Which daily doth that happy houre attend,
When his poore state may his affection show:
So fares my love, not able as the rest,
To chant thy praises in a lofty vaine;
Yet my poore Muse, doth vow to do her best,
And wanting wings, she'l tread an humble straine;
I thought at first her homely steps to raise,
And for some blazing Epethites to look:
But then I fear'd that by such wond'rous praise,
Some men would grow suspitious of thy book:
For he that doth thy due deserts rehearse,
Derives that glory from thy worthy verse.
W. B.

To the Author.

EIther the goddesse draws her troopes of loves
From Paphos, where she erst was held divine,
And doth unyoke her tender necked doves,
Placing her seat in this small pap'ry shrine;
Or the sweet graces through th' Idalian grove,
Led the best Author in their danced rings;
Or wanton Nymphs inwatry bowers have wove,
With faire Mylesian threads, the verse he sings;
[Page]Or curious Pallas once againe doth strive
With proud Arachue, for illustrious glory,
And once againe doth loves of Gods revive,
Spinning in silver twists a lasting story:
If none of these then Venus chose his sight,
To lead the steps of her blind son aright.
J. B.

To the Author.

THe matchlesse lust of a faire Poefie,
Which was erst buried in old Romes decaies;
Now 'gins with heat of rising Majesty,
Her dust wrapt head from rotten Tombe to raise,
And with fresh splendor gilds her fearelesse crest,
Rearing her Pallace in our Poets brest.
The wanton Ovid, whose intising rimes
Have with attractive wonder forc'd attention
No more shall be admir'd at: for these times
Produce a Poet, whose more rare invention,
Will teare the love-sick Mirtle from his brows,
T' adorne his Temple with deserved boughs.
The strongest Marble feares the smallest rain,
The rusting canker eates the purest gold;
Honours best dye dreads envies blackest stain,
The crimson badge of beauty must wax old:
But this faire issue of thy fruitfull braine,
Nor dreads age, envy, cankring, rust or raine,
J. B.

The Author to the Reader.

I Sing the fortune of a lucklesse Paire,
Whose spotlesse soules now in one body be;
For Beauty still is Prodromus to care,
Crost by the sad stars of nativity:
And of the strange inchantment of a well.
Given by the Gods; my sportive Muse doth write,
Which sweet lip'd Ovid long ago did tell,
Wherein who baths streight turnes Hermaphrodite:
I hope my Poem is so lively writ,
That thou wilt turn halfe mad with reading it.

To Mr FRANCIS BEAUMONT (then living.)

HOw I do love thee BEAUMONT, and thy Muse,
That unto me do'st such Religion use!
How I do feare my selfe, that am not worth
The least indulgent thought thy Pen drops forth!
At once thou mak'st me happy, and unmak'st;
And giving largely to me, more thou tak'st.
What fate is mine, that so it selfe bereaves?
What art is thine, that so thy friend deceives?
When even there where most thou praisest me,
For writing better, I must envy thee.

Vpon M. FLETCHERS Incomparable Plaies.

APollo sings, his harpe resounds; give roome,
For now behold the golden Pompe is come,
Thy Pompe of Playes which thousands come to see,
With admiration both of them and thee.
O Volume worthy leafe, by leafe and cover
To be with juice of Cedar washt all over;
Here's words with lines, and lines with Scenes consent,
To raise an Act to full astonishment;
Here melting numbers, words of power to move
Young men to swoone, and Maids to dye for love.
Love lies a bleeding here, Evadne there
Swels with brave rage, yet comly every where:
Here's a mad lover, there that high designe
Of King and no King, (and the rare Plot thine)
So that when e're we circumvolve our Eyes;
Such rich, such fresh, such sweet varieties,
Ravish our spirits, that entranc't we see
None writes lov's passion in the world like Thee.

To the Memory of the incomparable Paire of Authors, Beaumont and Fletcher.

GReat paire of Authors, whom one equall star
Begot so like in Genius, that you are
In fame, as well as writings, both so knit,
That no man knows where to divide your Wit,
Much lesse your praise; you, who had equall fire,
And did each other mutually inspire;
Whether one did contrive, the other write,
Or one fram'd the Plot, the other did indite;
Whether one found the matter, th' other Dresse,
Or th' one disposed what the other did expresse;
Where e're your parts between your selves lay, we,
In all things which you did, but one thread see,
So evenly drawn out, so gently spun,
That Art with Nature ne're did smoother run.
Where shall I fixe my praise then? or what part
Of all your numerous Labours hath desert
More to be fram'd than other? shall I say,
I've met a Lover so drawn in your Play,
So passionately written, so inflam'd,
So jealously inrag'd, then gently tam'd,
That I in reading have the Person seen,
And your Pen hath part Stage, and Actor been?
Or shall I say, that I can scarce forbeare
To clap, when I a Captaine do meet there;
[Page]So lively in his own vaine humour drest,
So braggingly, and like himselfe exprest,
That Moderne Cowards, when they saw him plaid,
Saw, blusht, departed guilty, and betrai'd?
You wrote all parts right; what soe're the Stage
Had from you, was seen there as in the Age,
And had their equall life: Vices which were
Manners abroad, did grow corrected there:
They who poss [...]ss'd a box, and halfe Crown spent
To learne obscenenes, return'd innocent;
And thank'd you for this coz'nage, whose chast Scene
Taught loves so Noble, so reform'd, so cleane;
That they who brought foule fires, and thither came
To bargaine, went thence with a holy flame.
Be't to your praise too, that your Stock and veine
Held both to Tragick and to Comick straine;
Where e're you listed to be high and grave,
No Busk in shew'd more solid, no quill gave
Such feeling objects to draw teares from eyes,
Spectators sate part in your Tragedies.
And where you lifted to be low, and free,
Mirth turn'd the whole house into Comedy;
So piercing (where you pleas'd) hitting a fault,
That humours from your Pen issued all salt.
Nor were you thus in works and Poems knit,
As to be but two halfes, and make one wit;
But as some things we see have double cause,
And yet the effect it selfe, from both whole draws:
So though you were thus twisted and combin'd
As two bodies, to have but one faire mind;
Yet if we praise you rightly, we must say
Both joy'nd, and both did wholly make the Play:
For that you could write singly, we may guesse
By the divided peeces, which the Presse
[Page]Hath severally set forth; nor were gone so
(Like some our Moderne Authors) made to go
On meerely by the help of th' other, who
To purchase fame do come forth one of Two;
Nor wrote you so, that ones part was to lick
The other into shape, nor did one stick
The others cold Inventions with such wit,
As serv'd like spice, to make them quick and fit;
Nor out of mutuall want, or emptinesse,
Did you conspire to go still Twins to th' Presse:
But what thus joyned you wrote, might have come forth
As good from each, and stor'd with the same worth
That thus united them, you did joyne sense;
In you 'twas League, in others Impotence;
And the Presse which both thus amongst us sends,
Sends us one Poet in a Paire of Friends.

On the happy Collection of Beaumont's and Fletcher's Works.

FLETCHER arise, Usurpers share thy Bayes,
They Canton thy vast Wit to build small Playes:
He comes! his Volume breaks through clouds and dust,
Down, little Wits, Ye must refund, Ye must.
Nor comes he private, here's great BEAUMONT too,
How could one single World encompasse Two?
For these Co-heires had equall power to teach
All that all Wits both can and cannot reach.
Shakespeare was early up, and went so drest.
As for those dawning houres he knew was best;
But when the Sun shone forth, You two thought fit
To weare just Robes, and leave off Trunk-hose-Wit.
Now, now 'twas Perfect; None must looke for Now,
Manners and Scenes may alter, but not You;
For Yours are not meere Humours, gilded straines;
The Fashion lost, Your massy Sense remaines.
Some thinke Your Wit's of two Complexions fram'd,
That One the Sock, th' Other the Buskin claim'd;
That should the Stage embattaile all its Force,
FLETCHER would lead the foot, BEAUMONT the horse.
But, you were Both for Both; not Semi-wits,
Each Piece is wholly Two, yet never splits:
Y' are not Two Faculties (and one Soule still)
He th' Understanding, Thou the quick free Will;
But, as two Voices in one Song embrace,
(FLETCHER'S keen Trebble, and deep BEAUMONTS Base)
[Page]Two, full, Congeniall Soules; still both poevail'd;
His Muse and Thine were Quarter'd, not Impal'd:
Both brought Your Ingots, Both toyl'd at the Mint,
Beat, melted, sifted, till no drosse stuck in't;
Then in each Others scales weigh'd every graine;
Then smooth'd and burnish'd, then weigh'd all againe;
Stampt Both your Names upon't at one bold Hit,
Then, then 'twas Coyne, as well as Bullion-Wit.
Thus Twinns: But as when Fate one Eye deprives,
That other strives to double which survives:
So BEAUMONT dy'd: yet left in Legacy
His Rules, and Standard-wit (FLETCHER) to Thee.
Still the same Planet, though not fill'd so soon,
A Two-horn'd Crescent then, now one Full-Moon.
Joynt Love before, now Honour doth provoke;
So the old Twin-Giants forcing a huge Oake,
One slipp'd his footing, th' other sees him fall,
Grasp'd the whole Tree, and single held up all.
Imperiall FLETCHER! here begins thy Raign,
Scenes flow like Sun-beames from thy glorious Brain;
Thy swift dispatching Soule no more doth stay,
Than he that built two Cities in one day;
Ever brim-full, and sometimes running o're,
To feed poore languid Wits that waite at doore;
Who creep, and creep, yet ne're above-ground stood,
(For Creatures have most Feet which have least Blood)
But thou art still that Bird of Paradise
Which hath no feet, and ever nobly flies:
Rich, lusty Sence, such as the Poet ought;
For Poems, if not Excellent, are Naught;
Low wit in Scenes, in state a Peasant goes;
If meane and flat, let it foot Yeoman Prose,
[Page]That such may spell as are not Readers grown,
To whom He that writes Wit, shews he hath none.
Brave Shakespeare flow'd, yet had his Ebbings too,
Often above Himselfe, sometimes below;
Thou alwaies Best; if ought seem'd to decline,
'Twas the unjudging Rout's mistake, not thine:
Thus thy faire SHEPHEARDESSE, which the bold Heap
(False to Themselves and Thee) did prize so cheape,
Was found (when understood) fit to be Crown'd,
At worst 'twas worth Two hundred thousand pound.
Some blast thy Works, lest we should track their Walke
Where they steale all those few good things they talke;
Wit-Burglary must chide those it feeds on,
For Plunder'd folkes ought to be rail'd upon;
But (as stoln goods go off at halfe their worth)
Thy strong Sence pall's when they purloine it forth.
When did'st Thou borrow? where's the man e're read,
Ought begg'd by Thee from those Alive or Dead?
Or from dry Goddesses, as some who when
They stuffe their page with Gods, write worse than Men.
Thou was't thine own Muse, and hadst such vast odds,
Thou out-writt'st him whose verse made all those Gods:
Surpassing those our Dwarfish Age upreares,
As much as Greeks or Latines thee in yeares:
The Ocean Fancy knew nor Bankes nor Damms,
We ebbe down dry to pebble-Anagrams;
Dead and insipid, all despairing sit,
Lost to behold this great Relapse of Wit:
What strength remaines, is like that (wild and fierce)
Till Johnson made good Poets and right Verse.
Such boyst'rous Trifles Thy Muse would not brooke
Save when she'd show how scurvily they looke;
No savage Metaphors (things rudely Great)
Thou dost display, not butcher a Conceit;
[Page]Thy Nerves have Beauty, which Invades and Charmes;
Looks like a Princesse harness'd in bright Armes.
Nor art Thou Loud and Cloudy; those that do
Thunder so much, do't without Lightning too;
Tearing themselves, and almost split their braine
To render harsh what thou speak'st free and cleane;
Such gloomy Sense may passe for High and Proud,
But true-born Wit still flies above the Cloud;
Thou knewst 'twas Impotence what they call Height;
Who blusters strong i'th' Darke, but creeps i'th' Light.
And as thy thoughts were cleare, so, Innocent;
Thy Phancy gave no unswept Language vent;
Slaunder'st not Laws, prophan'st no holy Page,
(As if thy Fathers Crosier aw'd the Stage;)
High Crimes were still arraign'd, though they made shift
To prosper out foure Acts, were plagu'd i'th' fift:
All's safe and wise; no stiffe-affected Scene,
Nor swoln, nor flat, a True Full Naturall veine;
Thy Sence (like well-drest Ladies) cloath'd as skinn'd,
Not all unlac'd, nor City-startcht and pinn'd;
Thou hadst no Sloath, no rage, no sullen Fit,
But Strength and Mirth, FLETCHER'S a Sanguin Wit.
Thus, two great Consul-Poets all things sway'd,
Till all was English Borne, or English Made:
Miter and Coyfe here into One Piece spun,
BEAUMONT a Judge's, This a Prelat's Son.
What strange Production is at last displaid,
(Got by Two Fathers, without Female aide)
Behold, two Masculines espous'd each other,
Wit and the World were born without a Mother.

Salmacis & Hermaphroditus: OR The Hermaphrodite.

MY wanton lines do treat of Amorous love,
Such as would bow the hearts of Gods above.
Thou Venus our great Citheraean Queene,
That hourely trip'st on the Idalian greene;
Thou laughing Ericina daigne to see
These verses wholly consecrate to thee:
Temper them so within thy Paphian shrine,
That every lovers eye may melt a line;
Command the god of love, that little king,
To give each verse a sleight touch with his wing;
That as I write, one line may draw the other,
And every word skip nimbly o're another.
There was a lovely Boy the Nymphs had kept,
That on th' Idalian Mountaines oft had slept,
Begot and born by pow'rs that dwelt above,
By learned Mercury on the Queen of love.
A face he had that shew'd his Parents fame,
And from them both conjoyn'd he drew his name;
So wondrous faire he was, that (as they say)
Diana being bunting on a day,
[Page]She saw the Boy upon a green banke lay him,
And there the virgin huntresse meant to slay him;
Because no Nimphs would now pursue the chace,
For all were struck blind with the wantons face.
But when that beauteous face Diana saw,
Her armes were nummed, and she could not draw,
Yet did she strive to shoot, but all in vaine,
She bent her bow, but loos'd it straight againe:
Then she began to chide her wanton eye,
And faine would shoot, but durst not see him dye:
She turn'd and shot, but did of purpose misse him,
She turn'd againe and could not choose but kisse him;
Then the Boy ran: for some say had he staid,
Diana had no longer been a maid:
Phoebus so doted on this rosiat face,
That he hath oft stoln closly from his place,
When he did lie by faire Leucothoes side,
To dally with him in the vales of Ide.
And ever since this lovely boy did dye,
Phoebus each day about the world doth flye,
And on the earth he seeks him all the day,
And every night he seeks him in the sea:
His cheeks were sanguine, and his lips were red,
As are the blushing leaves of the Rose spread;
And I have heard that till this Boy was born,
Roses grew white upon the virgine thorn;
'Till one day walking to a pleasant spring,
To heare how cunningly the birds could sing,
Laying him down upon a flowry bed,
The Roses blush't and turn'd themselves to red:
The rose that blush't, not for his great offence,
The gods did punish, and for's impudence
They gave this doome, and 'twas agreed by all,
The smell of the white rose should be but small.
[Page]His haire was bushie, bur it was not long,
The Nimphs had alone his tresses mighty wrong;
For as it grew they pull'd away his haire,
And made habiliments of gold to weare:
His eyes were Cupids, for untill his birth
Cupid had eyes, and liv'd upon the earth;
Till on a day when the great Queen of love
Was by her white doves drawn from heaven above,
Unto the top of the Idalian hill,
To see how well the Nymphs her charge fulfill,
And whether they had done the goddesse right
In nursing of her sweet Hermaphrodite;
Whom when she saw, (although compleat and full)
Yet she complain'd his eyes were somewhat dull:
And therefore more the wanton boy to grace,
She pull'd the sparkling eyes from Cupid's face,
Faining a cause to take away his sight,
Because the Ape would sometimes shoot for spight:
But Venus set those eyes in such a place,
As grac'd those cleare eyes with a clearer face;
For his white hand each goddesse did him wooe,
For it was whiter than the driven snow;
His leg was straighter than the thigh of Jove,
And he far fairer than the god of love.
When first this well shap'd boy, beauties chiefe king,
Had seen the labour of the fifteenth spring,
How curiously it painted all the earth,
He 'gan to travell from his place of birth,
Leaving the stately hils where he was nurst,
And where the Nymphs had brought him up at first;
He lov'd to travell unto coasts unknown,
To see the Regions far beyond his own,
Seeking cleare watry springs to bath him in,
For he did love to wash his Ivory skin.
[Page]The lovely Nymphs have oft times seen him swim,
And closely stoln his cloaths from off the brim,
Because the wanton wenches would so faine
See him come nak'd to aske his cloaths againe;
He lov'd besides to see the Lician grounds,
And know the wealthy Carians utmost bounds.
Using to travell thus, one day he found
A Christall brook that tril'd along the ground;
A brook that in reflection did surpasse
The cleare reflection of the clearest glasse;
About the side there grew no foggy reeds,
Nor was the front compast with barren weeds,
But living turfe grew all along the side,
And grasse that ever flourish'd in his pride;
Within this brook a beautious Nymph did dwell,
Who for her comely feature did excell;
So faire she was, of such a pleasing grace,
So straight a body, and so sweet a face,
So soft a belly, such a lusty thigh,
So large a forehead, such a cristall eye,
So soft and moist a hand, so smooth a brest,
So faire a cheek, so well in all the rest:
That Jupiter would revell in her bower
Were he to spend again his golden shower.
Her teeth were whiter than the Morning-milk,
Her lips were softer than the softest silk,
Her haire as far surpast the burnish'd gold,
As silver doth excell the basest mold;
Jove courted her for her transluent eye,
And told her he would place her in the skie;
Promising her if she would be his love,
He would ingrave her in the heavens above:
Telling this lovely Nymph, that if he would,
He could deceive her in a shower of gold;
[Page]Or like a swan come to her naked bed,
And so deceive her of her Maidenhead.
But yet because he thought that pleasure best
Where each consenting joines each loving brest,
He would put off that all commanding crowne,
Whose terrour stroke th' aspiring Giants down;
That glitt'ring crown whose radiant fight did tosse
Great Pelion from the top of mighty Osse:
He would depose from his world-swaying head
To taste the amarous pleasure of her bed;
This added, he besides the more to grace her,
Like a bright star he would in heaven's vault place her.
By this the proud lascivious Nymph was mov'd,
Perceiving that by great Iove she was lov'd:
And hoping as a star she should e're long
Be stern or gracious to the sea-man's song,
(For mortals still are subject to the eye,
And what it sees they strive to get as high)
She was contented that almighty Iove
Should have the first and best fruits of her love;
For women may be likned to the yeare,
Whose first fruits still do make the daintiest cheare.
But yet Astraea first should plight her troath,
For the performance of Ioves sacred oath;
Just times decline, and all good daies are dead,
When heavenly oaths had need be warranted.
This heard great Iupiter and lik'd it well,
And hastily he seeks Astraeas cell,
About the massie earth searching her tower;
But she had long since left this earthly bower,
And flew to heaven above, loathing to see
The sinfull actions of humanity:
Which when Iove did perceive, he left the earth,
And flew up to the place of his own birth;
[Page]The burning heavenly throne, where he did spy
Astraeas pallace in the glittering sky.
This stately tower was builded up on high,
Far from the reach of any mortall eye;
And from the Pallace side there did distill
A little water through a little quill,
The dew of justice which did seldom fall,
And when it dropt, the drops were very small:
Glad was great Iove, when he beheld her tower,
Meaning a while to rest him in her bower;
And therefore sought to enter at her doore,
But there was such a busie rout before;
(Some serving-men, and some promooters be,)
That he could passe no foot without a fee:
But as he goes he reaches out his hands,
And paies each one in order as he stands,
And still as he was paying those before.
Some slipt again betwixt him and the doore;
At length (with much adoe) he past them all,
And entring straight into a spatious hall,
Full of darke angles and of hidden waies,
Crooked Meanders, infinite delaies,
All which delaies and entries he must passe
E're he could come where just Astraea was:
All these being past by his immortall wit,
Without her doore he saw a Porter fit,
An aged man that long time there had been,
Who us'd to search all those that entred in,
And still to every one he gave this curse,
None must see justice but with empty purse.
This man searcht Iove for his own private gaine,
To have the money which did yet remaine,
Which was but small, for much was spent before
On the tumultuous rout that kept the doore;
[Page]When he had done he brought him to the place
Where he might see divine Astraea's face,
There the great king of gods and men in went,
And saw his daughter Venus there lament,
And crying loud for justice, whom Jove found
Kneeling before Astraea on the ground,
And still she cried and beg'd for a just doome
Against black Vulcan, that unseemely groome,
Whom she had chosen for her only love,
Though she was daughter to great thundring Jove;
And though the fairest goddesse, yet content
To marry him though weake and impotent:
But for all this they alwaies were at strife,
For evermore he rail'd at her his wife,
Telling her still thou art no wife of mine,
Anothers Strumpet, Mars his concubine.
By this Astraeae spy'd almighty Jove,
And bow'd her finger to the Queene of love,
To cease her suit which she would heare anon,
When the great King of all the world was gone;
Then she descended from her stately throne,
Which seat was builded all of Jasper stone,
And o're the seat was painted all above
The wanton unseene stealths of amorous Jove.
There might a man behold the naked pride
Of lovely Venus in the Vale of Ide,
When Pallas and Joves beauteous wife and she
Strove for the prise of beauties rarity,
And there lame Vulcan and his Cyclops strove
To make the thunderbolt for mighty Jove;
From this same stately throne she down descended,
And said the griefes of Jove should be amended,
Asking the King of gods what lucklesse cause,
What great contempt of state, what breach of laws,
[Page](For sure she thought some uncouth cause befell
That made him visite poore Astraea's cell)
Troubled his thoughts, and if she might decide it
Who vext great Jove full dearely should abide it:
Jove only thank'd her, and began to show
His cause of comming, (for each one doth know
The longing words of lovers are not many
If they desire to be enjoy'd of any,)
Telling Astraea, it would now befall
That she might make him blest that blesseth all:
For as he walk'd upon the flowry earth,
To which his own hands whilome gave a birth,
To see how streight he held it, and how just
He rul'd this massie pondrous heap of dust:
He laid him down by a coole rivers side,
Whose pleasant water did so gently slide,
With such soft whispering, for the brooke was deep,
That it had lull'd him in a heavenly sleep.
When first he laid him down there was none neere him,
(For he did call before, but none could heare him,)
But a faire Nymph was bathing when he wak'd,
(Here sight great Iove, and after brought forth) nak'd
He seeing lov'd the Nymph, yet here did rest
Where just Astraea might make Iove be blest,
If she would passe her faithfull word so far
As that great Iove should make the maid a star;
Astraea yeelded, at which Iove was pleas'd,
And all his longing hopes and feares were eas'd,
Iove took his leave and parted from her fight,
Whose thoughts were full of lovers sweet delight;
And she ascended to the throne above,
To heare the griefes of the great Queen of love:
But she was satisfied, and would no more
Raile at her husband as she did before;
[Page]But forth she tript apace, because she strove
With her swift feet to overtake great Iove;
She skipt so nimbly as she went to look him,
That at the Pallace doore she overtook him;
The way was plaine and broad as they went out,
And now they could see no tumultuous rout.
Here Venus fearing lest the love of Iove
Should make this maid be plac'd in heaven above;
Because she thought this Nymph so wondrous bright
That she would dazell her accustom'd light,
And fearing now she should not first be seen
Of all the glittering stars as she had been;
But that the wanton Nymph would every night
Be first that should salute each mortall sight,
Began to tell great Iove she griev'd to see
The heaven so full of his iniquity:
Complaining that each strumpet now was grac'd,
And with immortall goddesses was plac'd,
Intreating him to place in heaven no more
Each wanton strumpet, and lascivious whore.
Iove, mad with love, minded not what she said,
His thoughts were so intangled with the maid:
But furiously he to his Pallace lept,
Being minded there till morning to have slept.
For the next morne so soone as Phoebus raies
Should yet shine coole by reason of the seas,
And e're the parting teares of Thetis bed
Should be quite shak'd from off his glittering head,
Astraea promis'd to attend great Iove
At his own Pallace in the heavens above,
And at that Pallace she would set her hand
To what the love-sick god should her command:
But to descend to earth she did deny,
She loath'd the sight of any mortall eye,
[Page]And for the compasse of the earthly round
She would not set one foot upon the ground:
Therefore Iove meant to rise but with the sun,
Yet thought it long untill the night was done.
In the meane space Venus was drawn along
By her white doves unto the sweating throng
Of hammering blacksmiths at the lofty hill
Of stately Aetna, whose top burneth still;
For at that mountaines glittering top
Her cripple husband Vulcan kept his shop;
To him she went, and so collogues that night
With the best straines of pleasures sweet delight,
That ere they parted she made Vulcan sweare
By dreadfull Styx, (an oath that gods do feare)
If Iove would make the mortall maid a star,
Himselfe should frame his instruments of war:
He took his oath by black Cocytus lake
He never more a thunderbolt would make;
For Venus so this night his senses pleas'd,
That now he thought his former griefes were eas'd,
She with her hands the blacksmiths body bound,
And with her Ivory armes she twin'd him round,
And still the faire Queen with a pretty grace
Dispers'd her sweet breath o're his swarthy face;
Her snowy armes so well she did display,
That Vulcan thought they melted as they lay,
Untill the morn in this delight they lay.
Then up they got and hasted fast away
In the white Charriot of the Queen of love,
Towards the Pallace of great thundring Iove:
Where they did see divine Astraea stand
To passe her word for what Iove should command;
In limp'd the blacksmith, after stept his Queen,
Whose light arraiment was of lovely green:
[Page]When they were in, Vulcan began to sweare
By oaths that Jupiter himselfe doth feare,
If any whore in heavens bright vault were seen,
To dim the shining of his beautious Queen,
Each mortall man should the great god disgrace,
And mock almighty Jove unto his face:
And Giants should enforce bright heaven to fall
Ere he would frame one thunder-bolt at all;
Jove did intreat him that he would forbeare,
The more he spake the more did Vulcan sweare.
Jove heard the words and 'gan to make his moane,
That mortall men would pluck him from his throne,
Or else he must incur this plague he said,
Quite to forgo the pleasure of the maid;
And once he thought rather than lose those blisses,
Her heavenly sweets her most delicious kisses,
Her soft embraces, and the amorous nights,
That he should often spend in her delights,
He would be quite thrown down by mortall hands
From the blest place where his bright pallace stands:
But afterwards he saw with better sight,
He should be scorn'd by every mortall wight,
If he should want his thunderbolts to beat
Aspiring mortals from his glittering seat;
Therefore the god no more did woe or move her,
But left to seeke her love, though not to love her:
Yet he forgot not that he woo'd the Lasse,
But made her twice as beautious as she was,
Because his wonted love he needs would shew.
This have I heard, but yet not thought it true;
And whether her cleare beauty was so bright,
That it could dazzle the immortall sight
Of Gods, and make them for her love despaire,
I do not know, but sure the maid was faire:
[Page]Yet the faire Nymph was never seen resort
Unto the savage and the bloudy sport
Of chaste Diana, nor was ever wont
To bend a bow, nor never us'd to hunt;
Nor did she ever strive with pretty cunning
To overgo her fellow Nymphs in running:
For she was the faire water-Nymph alone,
That unto chaste Diana was unknown.
It is reported that her fellows us'd
To bid her (though the beautious Nymph refus'd)
To take a painted quiver, or a dart,
And put her lazie idlenesse apart.
But she would none but in the fountaines swims,
Where oft she washeth o're her snowy limbs;
Sometimes she comb'd her soft dishevell'd haire,
Which with a fillet ty'd she oft did weare;
But sometimes loose she let it hang behind,
When she was pleas'd to grace the Easterne wind,
For up and down it would her tresses hurle,
And as she went it made her loose haire curle:
Oft in the water did she see her face,
And oft she us'd to practice what quaint grace
Might well become her, and what comly feature
Might be best fitting so divine a creature.
Her skin was with a thin vaile over-thrown,
Through which her naked beauty clearly shone;
She us'd in this light raiment as she was
To spread her body on the dewy grasse:
Sometimes by her own fountaines as she walks
She nipt the flowers from off the fertile stalks,
And with a garland of the sweating vine
Sometimes she doth her beautious front entwine;
But she was gathering flow'rs with her white hand,
When she beheld Hermaphroditus stand
[Page]By her cleare fountaine wondring at the sight,
That there was any brooke could be so bright,
For this was the bright river where the boy
Did dye himselfe, that he could not enjoy
Himselfe in pleasure, nor could taste the blisses
Of his own-melting and delicious kisses.
Here did she see him, and by Venus law
She did desire to have him as she saw:
But the faire Nymph had never seen the place
Where the boy was, nor his inchanting face;
But but by an uncouth accident of love
Betwixt great Phoebus and the son of Jove,
(Light-headed Bacchus) for upon a day
As the boy-god was keeping on his way,
Bearing his vine-leaves and his Ivy bands
To Naxos, where his house and Temple stands,
He saw the Nymph, and seeing he did stay,
And threw his leaves and his Ivy bands away,
Thinking at first she was of heavenly birth,
Some goddesse that did live upon the earth;
Virgin Diana that so lovely shone
When she did court her sweet Endimion;
But he a god, at last did plainly see
She had no marke of Immortality:
Unto the Nymph went the young god of wine,
Whose head was chaf'd so with the bleeding vine,
That now, or feare, or terrour had he none,
But 'gan to court her as she sat alone;
Fairer than fairest (thus began his speech)
Would but your radiant eye please to enrich
My eye with looking, or one glance to give
Whereby my other parts may feed and live,
Or with one sight my senses to enspire,
Far livelier than the stoln Promethean fire;
[Page]Then might I live, then by the sunny light
That should proceed from thy chiefe radiant sight
I might survive to ages, but that missing,
(At that same word he would have fain been kissing)
I pine (fair Nymph.) O never let me dye
For one poore glance from thy translucent eye,
Far more transparent than the clearest brooke;
The Nymph was taken with his golden hook,
Yet she turn'd back and would have tript away,
But Bacchus forc'd the lovely maid to stay,
Asking her why she strugled to be gone,
Why such a Nymph should wish to live alone;
Heaven never made her faire that she should vaunt
She kept all beauty, yet would never grant
She should be borne so beatious from her mother,
But to reflect her beauty on another:
Then with a sweet kisse cast thy beames on me,
And I'le reflect them back againe on thee.
At Naxos stands my Temple and my shrine,
Where I do presse the lusty swelling Vine;
There with green Ivy shall thy head be bound,
And with the red grape be incircled round;
There shall Silenus sing unto thy praise
His drunken reeling songs and tipling laies.
Come hither gentle Nymph: here blusht the maid,
And faine she would have gone, but yet she staid.
Bacchus perceiv'd he had o'recome the Lasse,
And down he throws her in the dewy grasse,
And kist the helplesse Nymph upon the ground,
And would have strai'd beyond that lawfull bound.
This saw bright Phoebus, for his glittering eye
Sees all that lies below the starry sky:
And for an old affection that he bore
Unto this lovely Nymph long time before,
[Page](For he would oft times in his circle stand,
And sport himselfe upon her snowy hand:)
He kept her from the sweets of Bacchus bed,
And 'gainst her will he sav'd her maiden-head.
Bacchus perceiving this apace, did hie
Unto the Pallace of swift Mercury;
But he did find him far below his birth,
Drinking with theeves and Catchpoles on the earth,
And they were parting what they stole to day,
In consultation for to morrows prey;
To him went youthfull Bacchus, and begun
To shew his cause of griefe against the Sun,
How he bereft him of his heavenly blisses,
His sweet delight, his Nectar-flowing kisses,
And other sweeter sweets, that he had won
But for the malice of the bright fac'd Sun;
Intreating Mercury by all the love
That had him born amongst the sons of Jove,
(Of which they two were part) to stand his friend
Against the God that did him so offend;
The quaint tongu'd issue of great Atlas race,
Swift Mercurie, that with delightfull grace,
And pleasing accents of his feigned tongue,
Hath oft reform'd a rude uncivill throng
Of Mortals, that great messenger of Iove,
And all the meaner gods that dwell above,
He whose acute wit was so quick and sharp,
In the invention of the crooked Harp:
He that's so cunning with his jesting slights
To steale from heavenly gods, or earthly wights,
Bearing a great hate in his grieved breast
Against that great Commander of the West,
Bright fac'd Apollo; for upon a day
Young Mercury did steale his beasts away;
[Page]Which the great God perceiving, streight did show
The piercing arrows, and the fearefull bow
That kill'd great Pithon, and with that did threat him,
To bring his beasts againe, or he would beat him;
Which Mercury perceiving, unespi'd,
Did closely steale his arrows from his side;
For this old grudge he was the easier won
To help young Bacchus 'gainst the fiery Sun:
And now the Sun was in the middle way,
And had o'recome the one halfe of the day;
Scorching so hot upon the reeking sand
That lies upon the meere Aegyptian land,
That the hot people burnt even from their birth,
Do creep againe into their Mother earth:
When Mercury did take his powerfull wand,
His charming Caduceus in his hand,
And the thick beaver which he us'd to weare
When ought from Jove he to the Sun did beare,
That did protect him from the piercing light
Which did proceed from Phoebus glittering sight;
Clad in these powerfull ornaments he flies
With out-stretcht wings up to the Azur skies,
Where seeing Phoebus in his orient shrine,
He did so well revenge the god of wine,
That whil'st the Sun wanders his Charriot reeles,
The crafty god had stoln away his wheeles;
Which when he did perceive he down did slide
(Laying his glittering Coronet aside)
From the bright spangled firmament above
To seek the Nymph that Bacchus so did love,
And found her looking in her watry glass,
To see how cleare her radiant beauty was:
And (for he had but little time to stay,
Because he meant to finish out his day)
[Page]At the first sight he 'gan to make his moane,
Telling her how his fiery wheels were gone;
Promising her if she would but obtaine
The wheeles that Mercury had stoln againe,
That he might end his day, she should enjoy
The heavenly sight of the most beautious boy
That ever was: The Nymph was pleas'd with this,
Hoping to reape some unaccustom'd blisse,
By the sweet pleasure that she should enjoy
In the blest sight of such a melting boy.
Therefore at his request she did obtaine,
The burning wheels that he had lost againe;
Which when he had receiv'd, he left the land,
And brought them thither where his coach did stand,
And there he set them on, for all this space
The horses had not stirr'd from out their place;
Which when he saw he wept, and 'gan to say,
Would Mercury had stoln my wheels away,
When Phaeton, my haire-brain'd issue, try'd
What a laborious thing it was to guide
My burning Chariot, then he might have pleas'd me,
And of a Fathers griefe he might have eas'd me:
For then the steeds would have obey'd his will,
Or else at least they would have rested still.
When he had done, he took his whip of steele,
Whose bitter smart he made his horses feele,
For he did lash so hard to end the day,
That he was quickly at the westerne sea.
And there with Thetis did he rest a space,
For he did never rest in any place
Before that time; but ever since his wheels
Were stoln away, his burning Charriot reeles
Towards the declining of the parting day,
Therefore he lights and mends them in the sea.
[Page]And though the Poets faine that Jove did make
A treble night for faire Alcmena's sake,
That he might sleep securely with his love,
Yet sure the long night was unknown to Iove:
But the Suns wheels one day disordered more,
Were thrice as long a mending as before.
Now was the Sun inviron'd with the sea,
Cooling his watry tresses as he lay,
And in dread Neptunes kingdome while he sleeps
Faire Thetis clips him in the watry deeps;
There Mair-maids and the Tritons of the west,
Straining their voices to make Titan rest:
The while the black night with her pithy hand
Took just possession of the swarthy land,
He spent the darksome houres in this delight,
Giving his power up to the gladsome night;
For ne'r before he was so truly blest
To take an houre, or one poore minutes rest.
But now the burning God this pleasure feels
By reason of his newly crazed wheels;
There must she stay untill lame Vulcan send
The fiery wheeles which he had took to mend;
Now all the night the smith so hard had wrought,
That ere the Sun could wake his wheels were brought;
Titan being pleas'd with rest and not to rise,
And loath to open yet his slumbring eyes;
And yet perceiving how the longing sight
Of mortals waited for his glittering light,
He sent Aurora from him to the skye
To give a glimpsing to each mortall eye.
Aurora much asham'd of that same place
That great Apollos light was wont to grace,
Finding no place to hide her shamefull head
Painted her chaste cheeks with a blushing red;
[Page]Which ever since remain'd upon her face
In token of her new receiv'd disgrace:
Therefore she not so white as she had been
Loathing of every Mortall to be seen;
No sooner can the rosie fingred morne
Kisse every flower that by her dew is borne;
But from the golden window she doth peep
When the most part of earthly creatures sleep.
By this bright Titan opened had his eyes.
And 'gan to jerk his horses through the skies,
And taking in his hand his fiery whip
He made Aeous and swift Aethon skip
So fast, that straight he dazled had the sight
Of faire Aurora glad to see his light;
And now the Sun in all his fiery haste
Did call to mind his promise lately past,
And all the vows and oaths that he did passe
Unto faire Salmacis the beautious lasse:
For he had promis'd her she should enjoy
So lovely, faire, and such a well-shapt boy,
As ne're before his own all-seeing eye
Saw from his bright seat in the starry skie;
Remembring this he sent the boy that way
Where the cleare fountaine of the faire Nymph lay;
There was he come to seek some pleasing brook,
No sooner came he but the Nymph was strook,
And though she longed to embrace the boy,
Yet did the Nymph a while defer her joy,
Till she had bound up her loose flagging haire,
And well ordered the garments she did weare,
Faigning her count'nance with a lovers care,
And did deserve to be accounted faire;
When thus much spake she while the boy abode,
O boy! more worthy to be thought a god;
[Page]Thou maiest inhabit in the glorious place
Of Gods, or maist proceed from humane race;
Thou maiest be Cupid, or the god of wine,
That lately woo'd me with the swelling Vine:
But whosoe're thou art, O happy he
That was so blest to be a sire to thee!
Thy happy mother is most blest of many,
Blessed thy sisters if her wombe bare any;
Both fortunate, O and thrice happy she,
Whose too much blessed brests gave suck to thee:
If anies wish with thy sweet bed be blest,
O she is far more happy than the rest!
If thou hast any, let her name be known,
Or else let me be she, if thou hast none.
Here did she pause a while, and then she said,
Be not obdurate to a silly maid;
A flinty heart within a snowy breast
Is like base mold lock'd in a golden chest.
They say the eye's the Index of the heart,
And shews th' affection of each inward part:
Then love plaies lively there, the little god
Hath a cleare christall pallace of abode;
O bar him not from playing in thy heart,
That sports himselfe upon each outward part.
Thus much she spake, and then her tongue was husht;
At her loofe speeches Hermaphroditus blusht;
He knew not what love was yet love did shame him,
Making him blush, and yet his blush became him.
Then might a man his lively colour see,
Like the ripe apple on a sunny tree,
Or Ivory dy'd o're with a pleasing red,
Or like the pale morne being shadowed.
By this the Nymph recovered had her tongue,
That to her thinking lay in silence long,
[Page]And said, thy cheek is mild, O be thou so,
Thy cheeke saith I, then do not answer no;
Thy cheek doth shame, then do thou shame she said,
It is a mans shame to deny a maid:
Thou look'st to sport with Venus in her tower,
And be belov'd of every heavenly power;
Men are but mortals, so are women too,
Why should your thoughts aspire more than ours do;
For sure they do aspire; else could a youth,
Whose countenance is full or spotlesse truth,
Be so relentlesse to a virgins tongue?
Let me be woo'd by thee but halfe so long;
With halfe those termes, do but my love require,
And I will easily grant thee thy desire;
Ages are bad when men become so slow,
That poore unskilfull maids are forc'd to wooe.
Her radiant beauty, and her subtill art,
So deeply struck Hermaphroditus heart,
That she had won his love, but that the light
Of her translucent eye did shine too bright,
For long he look'd upon the lovely maid,
And at the last Hermaphroditus said,
How should I love thee, when I do espie
A far more beautious Nymph hid in thy eye;
When thou dost love let not that Nymph be nigh thee,
Nor when thou woo'st let that same Nymph be by thee:
Or quite obscure her from thy lovers face,
Or hide her beauty in a darker place;
By this the Nymph perceiv'd he did espy
None but himselfe reflected in her eye.
And for himselfe no more she meant to shew him,
She shut her eyes, and blindfold thus did wooe him:
Faire boy, think not thy beauty can dispence
With any paine due to a bad offence;
[Page]Remember how the gods punisht that boy,
That scorn'd to let a beautious Nymph enjoy
Her long wisht pleasure, for the peevish else
Lov'd of all others, needs would love himself:
So maiest thou love perhaps; thou maiest be blest
By granting to a lucklesse Nymphs request,
Then rest a while with me amidst these weeds,
The Sun that sees all winks at lovers deeds.
Phoebus is blind when love sports are begun,
And never sees untill their sports be done;
Beleeve me boy, thy bloud is very staid,
That art so loath to kisse a youthfull maid:
Wert thou a maid and I a man, Ile shew thee
With what a manly boldnesse I could wooe thee:
Fairer than loves Queen (thus I would begin)
Might not my over-boldnesse be a sin,
I would intreat this favour if I could
Thy roseat cheeks a little to behold;
Then would I beg a touch, and then a kisse,
And then a lower, yet a higher blisse;
Then would I aske what Jove and Leda did,
When like a Swan the crafty god was hid;
What came he for? why did he there abide?
Surely I think he did not come to chide;
He came to see her face, to talke, and chat,
To touch, to kisse, came he for nought but that?
Yes something else, what was it he would have?
That which all men of maidens ought to crave.
This said, her eye-lids wide she did display,
But in this space the boy was run away:
The wanton speeches of the lovely lasse
Forc'd him for shame to hide him in the grasse;
When she perceiv'd she could not see him neere her,
When she had call'd, and yet he would not heare her,
[Page]Look how when Autumne comes, a little space
Paleth the red blush of the summers face,
Tearing the leaves, the summers coveting,
Three months in weaving by the curious spring,
Making the grasse his green locks go to wrack,
Tearing each ornament from off his back;
So did she spoile the garments she did weare,
Tearing whole ounces of her golden haire;
Shee thus deluded of her longed blisse,
With much adoe at last she uttred this:
Why wert so bashfull boy? Thou hast no part
Shewes thee to be of such a female heart:
His eye is grey, so is the mornings eye,
That blusheth alwaies when the day is nigh.
Then is grey eyes the cause? that cannot be,
The grey ey'd morn is far more bold than he,
For with a gentle dew from heavens bright tower,
It gets the maidenhead of every flower,
I would to god he were the rosiat morn,
And I a flower from out the earth new born.
His face was smooth, Narcissus face was so,
And he was carelesse of a sad Nymphs woe.
Then that's the cause, and yet that cannot be,
Youthfull Narcissus was more bold than he;
Because he dy'd for love, though of his shade,
This boy nor loves himselfe, nor yet a maid;
Besides, his glorious eye is wondrous bright,
So is the fiery and all-seeing light
Of Phoebus, who at every mornings birth
Blusheth for shame upon the sullen earth;
Then that's the cause, and yet that cannot be,
The fiery Sun is far more bold than he;
He nightly kisseth Thetis in the sea,
All know the storie of Leucothoe.
[Page]His cheek is red, so is the fragrant rose,
Whose ruddy cheek with over-blushing glowes;
Then that's the cause, and yet that cannot be,
Each blushing rose is far more bold than he:
Whose boldnesse may be plainly seen in this,
The ruddy rose is not asham'd to kisse;
For alwaies when the day is new begun,
The spreading rose will kisse the morning sun.
This said, hid in the grasse she did espy him,
And stumbling with her will she fell down by him,
And with her wanton talke, because he woo'd not,
Beg'd that which he, poore novice, understood not.
And (for she could not get a greater blisse)
She did intreat at least a sisters kisse;
But still the more she did the boy beseech,
The more he powted at her wanton speech.
At last the Nymph began to touch his skin,
Whiter than Mountain snow hath ever been,
And did in purenesse that cleare spring surpasse,
Wherein Acteon saw th' Arcadian lasse.
Thus did she dally long, till at the last
In her white Palm she lockt his white hand fast;
Then in her hands his wrist she 'gan to close,
When through his pulses straight his warme bloud glows,
Whose youthfull Musick faining Cupids fire,
In her warme brest kindled a fresh desire;
Then did she lift her hand unto his brest,
A part as white and youthfull as the rest,
Where as his flowry breath still comes and goes,
She felt his gentle heart pant through his cloaths;
At last she took her hand from off that part,
And said it panted like another heart,
Why should it be more feeble, and lesse bold?
Why should the bloud about it be more cold?
[Page]Nay sure that yields, only thy tongue denies,
And the true fancy of thy heart belies.
Then did she lift her hand unto his chin,
And prais'd the pretty dimpling of his skin.
But straight his chin she 'gan to overslip
When she beheld the rednesse of his lip;
And said, thy lips are soft, presse them to mine,
And thou shalt see they are as soft as thine
Then would she faine have gone unto his eye,
But still his ruddy lip standing so nigh
Drew her hand back, therefore his eye she mist,
'Ginning to claspe his neck, and would have kist:
But then the boy did struggle to be gone,
Vowing to leave her in that place alone;
But the bright Salmacis began to feare,
And said faire stranger I will leave thee here,
And these pleasant places all alone,
So turning back she fained to be gone:
But from his sight she had no power to passe,
Therefore she turn'd and hid her in the grasse,
When to the ground bending her snow-white knee,
The glad earth gave new coats to every tree.
He then supposing he was all alone,
Like a young boy that is espy'd of none,
Runs here and there, then on the banks doth look,
Then on the Christall current of the brook,
Then with his feet he toucht the silver streames,
Whose drowzie waves made musick in their dreames;
And, for he was not wholly in, did weep,
Talking aloud, and babling in their sleep,
Whose pleasant coolenesse when the boy did feele,
He thrust his foot down lower to the heele,
O'recome with whose sweet noise he did begin
To strip his soft cloaths from his tender skin,
[Page]When streight the scorching Sun wept teares of brine,
(Because he durst not touch him with his shine)
For feare of spoiling that same Ivory skin
Whose whitenesse he so much delighted in;
And then the Moon mother of mortall ease
Would faine have come from the Antipodes
To have beheld him naked as he stood
Ready to leap into the silver floud,
But might not, for the laws of heaven deny
To shew mens secrets to a womans eye,
And therefore was her sad and gloomy light
Confin'd unto the secret keeping night.
When beautious Salmacis a while had gaz'd
Upon his naked corps, she stood amaz'd,
And both her sparkling eyes burnt in her face
Like the bright Sun reflected in a glasse;
Scarce can she stay from running to the Boy,
Scarce can she now defer her hoped joy:
So fast her youthfull bloud plaies in her veines,
That almost mad, she scarce her selfe containes;
When young Hermaphroditus as he stands
Clapping his white side with his hollow hands,
Leapt lively from the land whereon he stood
Into the maine part of the Christall floud;
Like Ivory then his snowy body was,
Or a white Lilly in a Christall glasse;
Then rose the Water-Nymph from where she lay,
As having won the glory of the day,
And her light garments cast from off her skin,
He's mine she cry'd, and so leapt sprightly in;
The flatt'ring Ivy who did ever see
Inclasp'd the huge trunke of an aged tree,
Let him behold the young boy as he stands
Inclaspt in wanton Salmacis pure hands;
[Page]Betwixt those Ivory armes she lockt him fast,
Striving to get away, till at the last,
Fondling she said, why striv'st thou to be gone?
Why shouldst thou so desire to be alone?
Thy cheeke is never faire when none is by,
For what is red and white but to the eye;
And for that cause the heavens are dark at night,
Because all creatures close their weary sight:
For there's no mortall can so early rise
But still the morning waits upon his eyes;
The early rising and soon singing Lark
Can never chant her sweet notes in the dark,
For sleep she ne'r so little or so long
Yet still the morning will attend her song.
All creatures that beneath bright Cinthia be
Have appetite unto society;
The overflowing waves would have a bound
Within the confines of the spacious ground,
And all their shady currents would be plac'd
In hollow of the sollitary vaste:
But that they loath to let their soft streams sing
Where none can heare their gentle murmuring;
Yet still the boy regardlesse what she said,
Strugled apace to overswim the maid,
Which when the Nymph perceiv'd she 'gan to say,
Struggle thou maiest, but never get away;
So grant, just gods, that never day may see
The separation 'twixt this boy and me.
The gods did heare her prayer, and feele her woe,
And in one body they began to grow:
She felt his youthfull bloud in every veine,
And he felt hers warm his cold breast againe;
And ever since was womans love so blest,
That it will draw bloud from the strongest breast.
[Page]Nor man, nor maid, now could they be esteem'd,
Neither and either might they well be deem'd;
When the young boy Hermaphroditus said
With the set voice of neither man nor maid,
Swift Mercury, thou Author of my life,
And thou my mother, Vulcans lovely wife,
Let your poore off-springs latest breath be blest
In but obtaining this his last request:
Grant that whoe're, heated by Phoebus beams,
Shall come to coole him in these silver streams,
May never more a manly shape retaine,
But halfe a virgin may returne againe.
His parents harkned to his last request,
And with that great power they the fountaine blest;
And since that time who in that fountaine swims
A maiden smoothnes seizeth halfe his limbs.


WHen Cupid read this Title, straight he said,
Wars, I perceive, against me will be made:
But spare (oh Love) to tax thy Poet so,
Who oft hath born thy Ensign 'gainst thy so;
I am not he by whom thy Mother bled,
When she to heaven on Mars his horses fled.
I oft, like other Youths, thy flame did prove,
And if thou aske, what I do still; I Love.
Nay I have taught by Art to keep loves course,
And made that reason which before was force.
I seek not to betray thee pretty boy,
Nor what I once have written to destroy.
If any love, and find his Mistris kind,
Let him go on and saile with his own wind;
But he that by his Love is discontented,
To save his life my Verses were invented;
[Page]Why should a Lover kill himselfe? or why
Should any, with his own griefe wounded, die?
Thou art a boy, to play becomes thee still,
Thy reign is soft, play then, and do not kill;
Or if thou'lt needs be vexing, then do this,
Make Lovers meet by stealth, and steale a kisse:
Make them to feare, least any over-watch them,
And tremble when they thinke some come to catch them:
And with those teares that Lovers shed all night
Be thou content, but do not kill out-right.
Love heard, and up his silver wings did heave,
And said. Write on, I freely give thee leave.
Come then all ye despis'd that Love endure,
I that have felt the wounds your Love will cure;
But come at first, for if you make delay
Your sicknesse will grow mortall by your stay;
The Tree, which by delay is grown so big,
In the beginning was a tender twig.
That which at first was but a span in length,
Will, by delay, be rooted past mans strength.
Resist beginnings, med'cines bring no curing
Where sicknesse is grown strong by long enduring.
When first thou seest a Lasse that likes thine eye,
Bend all thy present powers to descry
Whether her eye or carriage first would shew
If she be fit for Loves delights, or no;
Some will be easie, such an one elect;
But she that beares too grave and sterne aspect
Take heed of her, and make her not thy Jewell,
Either she cannot Love, or will be cruell.
If love assaile thee there, betime take heed,
Those wounds are dangerous that inward bleed;
He that to day cannot shake off Loves sorrow,
Will certainly be more unapt to morrow.
[Page]Love hath so eloquent and quick a tongue
That he will lead thee all thy life along;
And on a sudden claspe thee in a yoke
Where thou must either draw, or striving choak.
Strive then betimes, for at the first one hand
May stop a water drill that weares the sand,
But, if delayed, it breakes into a floud,
Mountaines will hardly make the passage good;
But I am out: for now I do begin
To keep them off, not heale those that are in.
First therefore (Lovers) I intend to shew
How love came to you, then how he may go.
You that would not know what Loves passions be,
Never be idle, learne that rule of me.
Ease makes you love, as that o'recomes your wils,
Ease is the food and cause of all your ills.
Turne ease and idlenesse but out of doore,
Loves darts are broke, his flame can burne no more.
As reeds and Willows loves the Waters side,
So Love loves with the idle to abide.
If then at liberty you faine would be,
Love yeelds to labour, Labour and be free.
Long sleeps, soft beds, rich vintage, and high feeding,
Nothing to do, and pleasure of exceeding
Dulls all our senses, makes our vertue stupid,
And then creeps in that crafty villaine Cupid.
That boy loves ease alife, hates such as stir,
Therefore thy mind to better things prefer.
Behold thy Countries enemies in Armes,
At home love gripes thy heart in his slie charmes,
Then rise and put on armour, cast off sloath,
Thy labour may at once o'recome them both.
If this seem hard, and too unpleasant, then
Behold the Law set forth by God and men,
[Page]Sit down and study that, that thou maiest know
The way to guide thy selfe, and others show.
Or if thou lov'st not to be shut up so,
Learne to assaile the Deere with trusty bow,
That through the Woods thy well-mouth'd hounds may ring,
Whose Eccho better joyes, than Love, will sing.
There maiest thou chance to bring thy love to end,
Diana unto Venus is no friend.
The Country will afford thee meanes enough;
Sometimes disdaine not to direct the Plough;
To follow through the fields the bleating Lambe,
That mournes to misse the comfort of his Dam.
Assist the harvest, help to prune the Trees;
Graft, plant, and sow, no kind of labour leese.
Set nets for birds, with hook'd lines bait for fish,
Which will imploy thy mind and fill thy dish;
That being weary with these paines, at night
Sound sleeps may put the thoughts of Love to flight.
With such delights, or labours; as are these,
Forget to love, and learne thy selfe to please.
But chiefly learne this lesson for my sake,
Fly from her far, some journey undertake,
I know thou'lt grieve, and that her name once told
Will be enough thy journey to with-hold:
But when thou find'st thy selfe most bent to stay,
Compell thy feet to run with thee away.
Nor do thou wish that raine or stormy weather
May stay your steps, and bring you back together;
Count not the miles you passe, nor doubt the way,
Lest those respects should turne you back to stay.
Tell not the clock, nor look not once behind,
But flie like Lightning, or the Northerne wind;
For where we are too much o'rematcht in might,
There is no way for safeguard, but by flight.
[Page]But some will count my Lines too hard and bitter,
I must confesse them hard; but yet 'tis better
To fast a while that health may be provoked,
Than feed at plenteous tables and be choaked.
To cure the wretched body, I am sure,
Both Fire and Steele thou gladly wilt endure:
Wilt thou not then take paines by any Art
To cure thy Mind, which is thy better part?
The hardnesse is at first, and that once past,
Pleasant and easie waies will come at last.
I do not bid thee strive with Witches Charmes,
Or such unholy acts, to cease thy harms:
Ceres her selfe, who all these things did know,
Had never power to cure her own Love so:
No, take this Medicine (which of all is sure,)
Labour and Absence is the only Cure.
But if the Fates compell thee, in such fashion,
That thou must needs live neere her habitation,
And canst not flie her fight, learne here of me,
That thou would'st faine, and canst not yet be free.
Set all thy Mistris faults before thine eyes,
And all thy own disgraces well advise;
Say to thy selfe, that she is covetous,
Hath ta'ne my gifts, and us'd me thus, and thus;
Thus hath she sworne to me, and thus deceived;
Thus have I hope, and thus have been bereaved.
With love she feeds my Rivall, while I starve,
And poures on him kisses, which I deserve:
She follows him with smiles, and gives to me
Sad looks, no Lovers, but a strangers fee.
All those embraces I so oft desired,
To him she offers daily unrequired;
Whose whole desert, and halfe mine weigh'd together,
Would make mine Lead, and his seem Corke and Feather,
[Page]Then let her go, and since she proves so hard,
Regard thy selfe, and give her no regard.
Thus must thou schoole thy selfe, and I could wish
Thee to thy selfe most eloquent in this.
But put on griefe enough and do not feare,
Griefe will enforce thy eloquence t' appeare.
Thus I my selfe the love did once expell
Of one whose Coynesse vex'd my soule like hell.
I must confesse she touch'd me to the quick,
And I, that am Physitian, then was sick.
But this I found to profit, I did still
Ruinate what I thought in her was ill;
And, for to cure my selfe, I found a way,
Some honest slanders on her for to lay:
Quoth I, how lamely doth my Mistris go!
(Although, I must confesse, it was not so;)
I said, her armes were crooked, fingers bent,
Her shoulders bow'd, her legs consum'd and spent:
Her colour sad, her neck as darke as night,
(When Venus might in all have tane delight,)
But yet because I would no more come nigh her,
My selfe unto my selfe did thus belye her.
Do thou the like, and though she faire appeare,
Thinke, vice to vertue often comes too neere;
And in that errour (though it be an errour)
Preserve thy selfe from further terrour.
If she be round and plumpe, say shee's too fat;
If brown, say black, and think who cares for that;
If she be slender, sweare she is too leane,
That such a Wench will weare a man out cleane;
If she be red, say, shee's too full of bloud;
If pale, her body nor her mind is good;
If wanton, say, she seeks thee to devoure;
If grave, neglect her, say, she looks too sowre.
[Page]Nay, if she have a fault, and thou dost know it,
Praise it, that in thy presence she may shew it:
As if her voice be bad, crack'd in the ring,
Never give over till thou make her sing.
If she have any blemish in her foot,
Commend her dancing still and put her to't.
If she be rude in speech incite her talke;
If haulting lame, provoke her much to walke.
Or if on Instruments she have small skill,
Reach down a Viall, urge her to that still.
Take any way to ease thy own distresse,
And think those faults be, which are nothing lesse;
Then meditate besides, what thing it is
That makes thee still in Love to go amisse.
Advise thee well, for as the World now goes
Men are not caught with substance, but with shews;
Women are in their bodies turn'd to French
That face and body's least part of a Wench.
I know a Woman hath in Love been troubled
For that which Taylors make, a fine neat Doublet.
And men are even as mad in their desiring,
That oftentimes love Women for their tyring;
He that doth so, let him take this advise,
Let him rise early, and not being nice,
Up to his Mistris chamber let him hie,
E're she arise, and there he shall espie
Such a confusion of disordered things,
In Bodies, Jewels, Tyres, Wyres, Lawnes, and Rings,
That sure it cannot choose but much abhor him,
To see her lye in peeces thus before him;
And find those things shut in a painted box
For which he loves her, and endures her mocks.
Once I my selfe had a great mind to see
What kind of things Women undressed be,
[Page]And found my Sweet-heart, just when I came at her,
Screwing in teeth, and dipping rags in water.
She miss'd her Perriwig, and durst not stay,
But put it on in haste the backward way;
That had I not on th' sudden chang'd my mind,
I had mistooke and kiss'd my Love behind.
So, if thou wish her faults should rid thy cares,
Watch out thy time, and take her unawares:
Or rather put the better way in proofe,
Come thou not neere, but keep thy selfe aloofe.
If all this serve not, use one medicine more,
Seek out another Love, and her adore;
But chuse out one, in whom thou well maiest see
A heart inclin'd to love and cherish thee.
For as a River parted slower goes,
So, Love thus parted still more evenly flowes.
One Anchor will not serve a Vessell tall,
Nor is one hooke enough to fish withall,
He that can solace him, and sport with two,
May in the end triumph as others do.
Thou that to one hast shew'd thy selfe too kind,
Maiest in a second much more comfort find:
If one Love entertaine thee with despight,
The other will embrace thee with delight:
When by the former thou art made accurst,
The second will contend t' excell the first,
And strive, with love, to drive her from thy breast:
("That first to second yields, women know best.)
Or if to yeeld to either thou art loath,
This may perhaps acquit them of them both.
For what one Love makes odde, two shall make even,
Thus blows with blows, and fire by fire's out driven.
Perchance this course will turne thy first Loves heart,
And when thine is at ease cause hers to smart.
[Page]If thy Loves Rivall stick so neere thy side,
Thinke, women can Copartners worse abide.
For though thy Mistris never meane to love thee,
Yet from the others love she'l strive to move thee:
But let her strive, she oft hath vex'd thy heart,
Suffer her now to beare her selfe a part.
And though thy bowels burne like Aetna's fire,
Seeme colder far than Ice, or her desire;
Faigne thy selfe free, and sigh not over-much,
But laugh when griefe thy heart doth touch.
I do not bid thee breake through fire and flame,
Such violence in love is much too blame;
But I advise, that thou dissemble deep,
And all thy passions in thine own brest keep.
Faigne thy selfe well, and thou at last shalt see
Thy selfe as well as thou didst faigne to be.
So have I often, when I would not drink,
Sate down as one asleep and faign'd to wink,
Till, as I nodding sate, and tooke no heed,
I have at last falne fast asleep indeed.
So have I oft been angry, faigning spight,
And counterfeiting smiles have laught outright.
So Love, by use, doth come, by use doth go,
And he that feignes well shall at length be so.
If e're thy Mistris promis'd to receive thee
Into her bosome and did then deceive thee,
Locking thy Rivall in, thee out of doore,
Be not dejected, seeme not to deplore,
Nor when thou seest her next take notice of it,
But passe it over, it shall turne to profit:
For if she sees such tricks as these perplex thee,
She will be proud, and take delight to vexe thee.
But if she prove thee constant in this kind,
She will begin at length some sleights to find,
[Page]How she may draw thee back, and keep thee still
A servile Captive to her fickle wil.
But now take heed here comes the proofe of men,
Be thou as constant as thou seemest then:
Receive no Messages, regard no Lines,
They are but snares to catch thee in her twines.
Receive no gifts, thinke all that praise her flatter;
Whate're she writes beleeve not halfe the matter,
Converse not with her servant, nor her maid,
Scarce bid good morrow lest thou be betray'd.
When thou go'st by her doore never look back,
And though she call do not thy journey s [...]ack;
If she should send her friends to talk with thee,
Suffer them not too long to walke with thee.
Do not beleeve one word they say is sooth,
Nor do not aske so much as how she doth;
Yea, though thy very heart should burne to know,
Bridle thy tongue, and make thereof no show;
Thy carelesse silence shall perplex her more
Then can a thousand sighs sigh'd o're and o're;
By saying, thou lovest not thy loving prove not,
For he's far gone in Love that saies I love not:
Then hold thy peace and shortly Love will die,
That wound heals best that cures not by and by.
But some will say, alas, this rule is hard,
Must we not love where we find reward?
How should a tender Woman beare this scorne
That cannot, without art, by men be borne?
Mistake me not; I do not wish you show
Such a contempt to them whose love you know:
But where a scornfull Lasse makes you endure
Her slight regarding, there I lay my cure.
Nor think in leaving Love you wrong your Lasse,
Who one to her content already has;
[Page]While she doth joy in him, joy thou in any,
Thou hast, as well as she, the choice of many.
Then, for thy own contempt, defer not long,
But cure thy selfe and she shall have no wrong.
Among all cures I chiefly did commend
Absence in this to be the only friend.
And so it is, but I would have ye learne
The perfect use of Absence to discerne.
First then, When thou art absent to her sight
In solitarinesse do not delight:
Be seldome left alone, for then I know
A thousand vexing thoughts will come and go.
Fly lovely walkes, and uncouth places sad,
They are the Nurse of thoughts that make men mad.
Walk not too much where thy fond-eye may see
The place where she did give loves rights to thee:
For even the place will tell thee of those joyes,
And turne thy kisses into sad annoies.
Frequent not Woods and Groves, nor sit and muse
With armes acrosse, as foolish lovers use:
For as thou sitt'st alone thou soone shalt find
Thy Mistris face presented to thy mind,
As plainly to thy troubled phantasie
As if she were in presence, and stood by.
This to eschew open thy doores all day,
Shun no mans speech that comes into thy way.
Admit all companies, and when there's none
Then walke thou forth thy selfe, and seek out one,
When he is found seeke more, laugh, drinke, and sing;
Rather than be alone do any thing.
Or if thou be constrain'd to be alone,
Have not her Picture for to gaze upon:
For that's the way when thou art eas'd of paine,
To wound anew, and make thee sick againe.
[Page]Or if thou hast it, thinke the painters skill
Flattered her face, and that she looks more ill;
And thinke, as thou dost musing on it sit,
That she her selfe is counterfeit like it.
Or rather fly all things that are inclin'd
To bring one thought of her into thy mind.
View not her tokens, nor thinke on her words.
But take some book, whose learned wombe affords
Physick for soules, there search for some reliefe
To guile the time and rid away thy griefe.
But if thy thoughts on her must needs be bent,
Thinke what a deale of precious time was spent
In quest of her; and that thy best of youth
Languish'd and died while she was void of truth.
Thinke but how ill she did deserve affection,
And yet how long she held thee in subjection.
Thinke how she chang'd, how ill it did become her,
And thinking so, leave love, and flie far from her.
He that from all infection would be free,
Must flie the place where the infected be.
And he that would from loves affection flie,
Must leave his Mistris walks and not come nigh.
"Sore eyes are got by looking on sore eyes,
"And wounds do soon from new-heal'd scars arise.
As embers touch'd with sulphurs do renew,
So will her sight kindle fresh flames in you.
If then thou meet'st her suffer her go by thee,
And be afraid to let her come too nigh thee:
For her aspect will raise desire in thee,
And hungry men scarce hold from meat they see.
If e're she sent thee Letters, that lie by,
Peruse them not, they'l captivate thy eye:
But lap them up and cast them in the fire,
And wish, as they waste so may thy desire.
[Page]If e're thou sent'st her token, gift, or letter,
Go not to fetch them back, for it is better
That she detaine a little paltry pelfe,
Than thou shouldst seeke for them and lose thy selfe.
For why? her sight will so enchant thy heart
That thou wilt lose thy labour, I my Art.
But if by chance there fortune such a case
Thou needs must come where she shall be in place,
Then call to mind all parts of this discourse,
For sure thou shalt have need of all thy force:
Against thou goest curle not thy head and haire,
Nor care whether thy band be foule or faire;
Nor be not in so neat and spruce array
As if thou mean'st to make it holiday;
Neglect thy selfe for once, that she may see
Her love hath now no power to worke on thee.
And if thy Rivall be in presence too,
Seeme not to marke, but do as others do;
Salute him friendly, give him gentle words,
Returne all curtesies that he affords:
Drinke to him, carve him, give him complement,
This shall thy Mistris, more than thee, torment:
For she will think by this thy carelesse show
Thou car'st not now whether she love or no.
But if thou canst perswade thy selfe indeed
She hath no Lover, but of thee hath need;
That no man loves her but thy selfe alone,
And that she shall be lost when thou art gone;
Thus sooth thy selfe, and thou shalt seeme to be
In far more happy taking than is she.
For if thou think'st she's lov'd, and loves againe,
Hell fire will seeme more easie than thy paine:
But chiefly when in presence thou shalt spie
The man she most affecteth standing by,
[Page]And see him graspe her by the tender hand,
And whispering close, or almost kissing stand;
When thou shalt doubt whether they laugh at thee,
Or whether on some meeting they agree;
If now thou canst hold out thou art a man,
And canst performe more than thy teacher can:
If then thy heart can be at ease and free,
I will give o're to teach and learne of thee.
But this way I would take among them all,
I would pick out some Lasse to talke withall,
Whose quick inventions, and whose nimble wit
Should busie mine, and keep me from my fit:
My eye with all my art should be a wooing,
No matter what I said so I were doing;
For all that while my Love should thinke at least
That I, as well as she, on Love did feast.
And though my heart were thinking of her face,
Or her unkindnesse, and my own disgrace,
Of all my present paines by her neglect,
Yet would I laugh, and seem without respect.
Perchance, in envy thou shouldst sport with any,
Her beck will single thee from forth of many:
But, if thou canst, of all that present are,
Her conference alone thou shouldst forbeare;
For if her looks so much thy mind do trouble,
Her honied speeches will distract thee double.
If she begin once to confer with thee,
Then do as I would do, be rul'd by me:
When she begins to talke imagine straight,
That now to catch thee up she lies in wait;
Then call to mind some businesse or affaire,
Whose doubtfull issue takes up all thy care;
That while such talke thy troubled fancies stirs,
Thy mind may work, and give no heed to hers.
[Page]Alas, I know mens hearts, and that full soone,
By womens gentle words we are undone.
If women sigh or weep our soules are griev'd,
Or if they sweare they love they are beleev'd;
But trust not thou to oaths if she should sweare,
Nor hearty sighs, beleeve they dwell not there.
If she should grieve in earnest, or in jest,
Or force her arguments with sad protest,
As if true sorrow in her eye-lid sate;
Nay, if she come to weeping, trust not that,
For know that women can both weep and smile
With much more danger than the Crocodile.
Thinke all she doth is but to breed thy paine,
And get the power to tyrannize againe.
And she will beat thy heart with trouble more
Than rocks are beat with waves upon the shore.
Do not complaine to her then of thy wrong,
But lock thy thoughts within thy silent tongue.
Tell her not why thou leav'st her, nor declare
(Although she aske thee) what thy torments are.
Wring not her fingers, gaze not on her eye,
From thence a thousand snares and arrows flye.
No, let her not perceive by sighs or signes
How at her deeds thy inward soule repines.
Seeme carelesse of her speech, and do not harke,
Answer by chance as though thou didst not marke.
And if she bid thee home straight promise not.
Or breake thy word as if thou hadst forgot.
Seeme not to care whether thou come or no,
And if she be not earnest do not goe.
Feigne thou hast businesse, and defer the meeting,
As one that greatly car'd not for her greeting.
And as she talkes cast thou thine eyes elsewhere,
And look among the Lasses that are there.
[Page]Compare their severall beauties to her face,
Some one or other will her forme disgrace;
On both their faces carry still thy view,
Ballance them equally in judgement true:
And when thou find'st the other doth excell
(Yet that thou canst not love it halfe so well)
Blush that thy passions make thee dote on her
More than on those thy judgement doth prefer;
When thou hast let her speake all that she would
Seeme as thou hast not one word understood:
And when to part with thee thou seest her bent,
Give her some ordinary complement,
Such as may seeme of courtesie, not love,
And so to other companie remove.
This carelesnesse in which thou seem'st to be,
(Howe're in her) will worke this change in thee,
That thou shalt thinke for using her so slight
She cannot chuse but turne her love to spight:
And if thou art perswaded once she hates,
Thou wilt beware and not come neere her baits;
But though I wish thee constantly beleeve
She hates thy sight thy passions to deceive;
Yet be not thou so base to hate her too,
That which seems ill in her do not thou do;
'Twill indiscretion seeme, and want of wit,
Where thou didst love, to hate instead of it;
And thou maiest shame ever to be so mated,
And joyn'd in love with one that should be hated:
Such kind of love is fit for Clownes and Hinds,
And not for debonaire and gentle minds;
For can there be in man a madnesse more
Than hate those lips he wish'd to kisse before?
Or loath to see those eyes, or heare that voice
Whose very sound hath made his heart rejoice?
[Page]Such acts as these much indiscretion shews,
When men from kissing turne to wish for blows:
And this their own example, shews so naught,
That when they should direct they must be taught:
But thou wilt say, for all the love I beare her,
And all the service, I am ne're the nearer;
And which thee most of all doth vexe like hell,
She loves a man ne're lov'd her halfe so well:
Him she adores, but I must not come at her,
Have I not then good reason for to hate her?
I answer no, for make the case thine owne,
And in thy glasse her actions shall be showne:
When thou thy selfe in love wert so far gone,
Say, could'st thou love any but her alone?
I know thou couldst not, though with teares and cries
These had made deafe thine eares, and dim thine eyes:
Would'st thou for this that they hate thee againe,
If so thou wouldst then hate thy love againe:
Your faults are both alike; thou lovest her,
And she, in love, thy Rivall doth prefer:
If then her love to him thy hate procure,
Thou shouldst for loving her like hate endure:
Then do not hate, for all the lines I write
Are not address'd to turne thy love to spight,
But writ to draw thy doting mind from love,
That in the golden meane thy thoughts may move;
In which, when once thou findst thy selfe at quiet,
Learne to preserve thy selfe with this good diet.

The Conclusion.

SLeep not too much, nor longer than asleep
Within thy bed thy lazie body keep;
For when thou warme awake shalt feele it soft
Fond cogitations will assaile thee oft:
Then start up early, study, worke, or write,
Let labour (others toyle) be thy delight.
Eate not too much, for if thou much dost eat
Let it not be dainty or stirring meat:
Abstaine from Wine although thou thinke it good,
It sets thy meat on fire, and stirs thy bloud;
Use thy selfe much to bath thy wanton limbs,
In coolest streams, which o're the gravell swims:
Be still in gravest company, and flye
The wanton rabble of the younger fry,
Whose lustfull tricks will lead thee to delight,
To thinke on love, where thou shalt perish quit;
Come not at all where many women are,
But like a Bird that lately scap'd the snare,
Avoyd their garish beauty flye with speed,
And learne by her that lately made thee bleed;
Be not too much alone, but if alone
Get thee some modest booke to looke upon;
But do not read the lines of wanton men,
Poetry sets thy mind on fire agen:
Abstaine from Songs and Verses, and take heed
That not a line of love thou ever read.

An Elegie on the Lady MARKHAM.

AS unthrifts groan in straw for their pawn'd beds:
As women weep for their lost Maiden-heads;
When both are without hope or remedy,
Such an untimely griefe I have for thee.
I never saw thy face, nor did my heart
Urge forth mine eyes unto it whilst thou wert,
But being lifted hence, that which to thee
Was deaths sad dart, prov'd Cupids shaft to me.
Whoever thinkes me foolish that the force
Of a report can make me love a Coarse,
Know he, that when with this I do compare
The love I do a living woman beare,
I find my selfe most happy: now I know
Where I can find my Mistris, and can go
Unto her trimm'd bed, and can lift away
Her grasse-greene Mantle, and her sheet display,
And touch her naked; and though th' envious mould
In which she lies uncovered, moist and cold,
Strive to corrupt her, she will not abide
VVith any Art her blemishes to hide,
As many living do, and know their need,
Yet cannot they in sweetness her exceed;
[Page]But make a stinke with all their art and skill,
Which their Physitians warrant with a bill;
Nor at her doore doth heapes of Coaches stay,
Foot-men and Midwives to bar up my way:
Nor needs she any Maid or Page to keep,
To knock me early from my golden sleep,
With letters that her honour all is gone,
If I not right her cause on such a one.
Her heart is not so hard to make me pay
For every kisse a supper and a play:
Nor will she ever open her pure lips
To utter oaths enough to drown our Ships,
To bring a plague, a famine, or the sword,
Upon the land, though she should keep her word;
Yet e're an houre be past in some new vaine
Break them, and sweare them double o're againe.
Pardon me that with thy blest memory
I mingle mine own former miserie:
Yet dare I not excuse the fate that brought
These crosses on me, for then every thought
That tended to thy love was black and foule,
Now all as pure as a new-baptiz'd soule:
For I protest, for all that I can see,
I would not lie one night in bed with thee;
Nor am I jealous, but could well abide
My foe to lie in quiet by thy side.
You Wormes (my Rivals) whil'st she was alive,
How many thousands were there that did strive
To have your freedome? for their sake forbeare
Unseemly holes in her soft skin to weare:
But if you must (as what Worms can abstaine
To taste her tender body?) yet refraine
With your disordered eatings to deface her,
But feed your selves so as you most may grace her.
[Page]First, through her ear-tips see you make a paire
Of holes, which, as the moist inclosed aire
Turnes into water, may the cleane drops take,
And in her eares a paire of jewels make.
Have ye not yet enough of that white skin,
The touch whereof, in times past, would have been
Enought' have ransom'd many a thousand soule
Captive to Love? If not, then upward roule
Your little bodies, where I would you have
This Epitaph upon her forehead grave.
Living, she was young, faire, and full of wit;
Dead, all her faults are in her forehead writ.


CAn my poore lines no better office have,
But like Scriech-owls still dwell about the grave?
When shall I take some pleasure for my paine,
By praising them that can yeeld praise againe?
When shall my Muse in Love sick lines recite
Some Ladies worth? which she of whom I write,
With thankfull smiles, may read in her own daies;
Or, when shall I a breathing woman praise?
Never; I am ambitious in my strings,
They never sound but of eternall things,
Such as freed soules: but had I thought it fit
To praise a soul unto a body knit,
I would confesse, I spent my time amiss
When I was slow to give due praise to this.
Thus when all sleep my time is come to sing,
And from her ashes must my Poems spring;
Though in the race I see some swiftly run,
I will not crown them till the Goale be won.
They that have fought, not they that are to fight,
May claime the glorious Garland as their right.

A Charme.

SLeep old man, let silence charme thee,
Dreaming slumbers overtake thee,
Quiet thoughts and darknesse arme thee,
That no creaking do awake thee.
Phoebe hath put out her light,
All her shadows closing;
Phoebe lend her hornes to night
To thy heads disposing.
Let no fatall Bell nor Clock
Pierce the hollow of thy eare:
Tongulesse be the early Cock,
Or what else may adde a feare.
Let no Rat, nor silly Mouse,
Move the senselesse Rushes,
Nor a cough disturbe this house
Till Aurora blushes.
Come my sweet Corrinna, come;
Laugh, and leave thy late deploring:
Sable Midnight makes all dumbe,
But thy jealous Husband's snoring.
And with thy sweet perfumed kisses
Entertaine a stranger:
Loves delight, and sweetest blisse, is
Got with greatest danger.

On the Marriage of a Beautious young Gentlewoman with an Ancient Man.

FOndly, too curious Nature, to adorne
Aurora with the blushes of the Morne:
Why do her rosie lips, breath, Gums, and Spice,
Unto the East, and sweet to Paradice?
Why do her eyes open the day? her hand,
And voice entrance the Panther, and command
Incensed winds: her Breasts, the tents of Love,
Smooth as the godded Swan, or Venus Dove;
Soft as the balmy dew, whose every touch
Is pregnant; but why those rich spoiles, when such
Wonder and perfection must be led
A Bridall Captive unto Tithon's bed?
Ag'd, and deform'd Tithon! must thy twine
Circle and blast at once what care and time
Had made for wonder? must pure beauty have
No other soile but ruine and a grave?
So have I seene the pride of Natures store,
The Orient Pearle, chain'd to the sooty Moore.
So hath the Diamonds bright ray been set
In night, and wed ded to the Negro-Jet.
[Page]See, see, how thick those flowers of Pearle do fall
To weep her ransome, or her funerall,
Whose every treasur'd drop, congeal'd, might bring
Freedome and Ransome to a fett'red King,
While tyrant wealth stands by, and laughs to see
How he can wed, love, and Antipathy:
Hymen, thy pine burnes with adulterate fire;
Thou and thy quiver'd boy did once conspire
To mingle equall flames, and then no shine
Of Gold, but beauty, dress'd the Paphian Shrine,
Roses and Lillies kiss'd; the Amorous Vine,
Did with the faire and straight limb'd Elme entwine.

The Glance.

COld vertue guard me, or I shall endure
From the next Glance a double Calenture
Of fire and lust; two flames, two Semeleis
Dwell in those eyes, whose looser glowing raies
Would thaw the frozen Russian into lust,
And parch the Negroes hotter blood to dust.
Dart not your Balls of Wild-fire here, go throw
Those flakes upon the Eunuchs colder Snow,
Till he in active bloud do boile as high
As he that made him so in Jealousie.
When the loose Queene of Love did dresse her eyes
In the most taking flame to win the prize
At Ida; that faint glare to this desire
Burnt like a Taper to the Zone of fire:
And could she then the lustfull youth have crown'd
With thee, his Hellen, Troy had never found
Her fate in Sinon's fire, thy hotter eyes
Had made it burne a quicker Sacrifice
To lust, whilst every glance in subtile wiles
Had shot it selfe like lightning through the piles.
Go blow upon some equall blood, and let
Earths hotter ray engender and beget
New flames to dresse the aged Paphians Quire,
And lend the world new Cupids borne on fire.
Dart no more here those flames, nor strive to throw
Your fire on him who is immur'd in Snow:
[Page]Those Glances worke on me like the weake shine
The frosty Sun throwes on the Appenine,
When the hils active coldnesse doth go neere
To freeze the glimmering Taper to his Spheare:
Each ray is lost on me like the faint light
The Glow-worme shoots at the cold breast of night.
Thus Vertue can secure, but for that Name
I had been now sins Martyr, and your flame.

A Sonnet.

FLattering hope away and leave me,
She'll not come, thou dost deceive me;
Harke the Cock crows, th' envious light
Chides away the silent night;
Yet she comes not, oh how I tyre
Betwixt cold feare and hot desire.
Here alone enforc'd to tarry
While the tedious Minutes marry,
And get houres; those daies and yeeres
Which I count with sighs and feares:
Yet she comes not, oh how I tyre
Betwixt cold feare and hot desire.
Restlesse thoughts a while remove
Unto the bosome of my Love,
Let her languish in my paine,
Feare, and hope, and feare againe;
[Page]Then let her tell me in loves fire,
What torment's like unto desire.
Endlesse wishing, tedious longing,
Hopes and feares together thronging;
Rich in dreames, yet poore in waking,
Let her be in such a taking;
Then let her tell me in loves fire,
What torment's like unto desire.
Come then Love prevent daies ey [...]ing,
My desire would faine be dying:
Smother me with breathlesse kisses,
Let me dreame no more of blisses;
But tell me which is in Loves fire,
Best to enjoy, or to desire.

True Beauty.

MAy I find a woman faire,
And her mind as cleare as Aire,
If her beauty goe alone,
'Tis to me as if't were none.
May I find a woman rich,
And not of too high a pitch:
If that pride should cause disdaine,
Tell me; Lover, where's thy gaine?
May I find a woman wise,
And her falsehood not disguise;
Hath she wit as she hath will,
Double arm'd she is to ill.
May I find a woman kind,
And not wavering like the wind:
How should I call that love mine,
When 'tis his, and his, and thine?
May I find a woman true,
There is Beauties faired hue;
There is Beauty, Love, and Wit,
Happy he can compasse it.

The Indifferent.

NEver more will I protest
To love a woman but in jest:
For as they cannot be true,
So to give each man his due,
When the woing fit is past,
Their affection cannot last.
Therefore if I chance to meet
With a Mistris faire and sweet,
She my service shall obtaine,
Loving her for Love againe:
Thus much liberty I crave,
Not to be a constant slave.
But when we have try'd each other,
If she better like another,
Let her quickly change for me,
Then to change am I as free.
He or she that loves too long
Sell their freedome for a song.

LOVES Freedome.

VVHy should man be only ty'd
To a foolish Female thing,
When all Creatures else beside,
Birds and Beasts, change every Spring?
Who would then to one be bound,
When so many may be found?
Why should I my selfe confine
To the limits of one place,
When I have all Europe mine,
Where I list to run my race.
Who would then to one be bound,
When so many may be found?
Would you thinke him wise that now
Still one sort of meat doth eat,
When both Sea and Land allow
Sundry sorts of other meat?
Who would then to one be bound,
When so many may be found?
E're old Saturne chang'd his Throne,
Freedome raign'd and banish'd strife,
Where was he that knew his own,
Or who call'd a woman wife?
Who would then to one be bound,
When so many may be found?
Ten times happier are those men
That enjoy'd those Golden daies:
Untill time redresse't againe
I will never Hymen praise.
Who would then to one be bound,
When so many may be found?

On the Life Man.

LIke to the falling of a Star,
Or as the flights of Eagles are,
Or like the fresh Springs gaudy hue,
Or Silver drops of Morning dew,
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or Bubbles which on water stood:
Even such is Man, whose borrowed light
Is straight call'd in and paid to night:
The wind blowes out, the Bubble dies,
The Spring intomb'd in Autumn lies:
The dew's dry'd up, the Star is shot,
The flight is past, and man forgot.

An Epitaph.

HEre she lies, whose spotlesse fame,
Invites a Stone to learne her Name:
The rigid Spartan that denied
An Epitaph to all that died,
Unlesse for war, on charity
Would here vouchsafe an Elegie:
She died a Wife, but yet her mind
Beyond Virginity refin'd.
From lawlesse fire remain'd as free,
As now from heat her ashes be:
Her husband, yet without a sin,
Was not a stranger, but her kin,
That her chaste Love might seeme no other
To her husband than a Brother.
Keep well this pawn, thou Marble Chest,
Till it be call'd for let it rest;
For while this Jewell here is set,
The grave is like a Cabinet.

A Sonnet.

LIke a Ring without a Finger,
Or a Bell without a Ringer;
Like a horse was never ridden,
Or a Feast and no Guest bidden;
Like a well without a Bucket,
Or a Rose if no man pluck it:
Just such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a Maid.
The Ring, if worne, the Finger decks,
The Bell pull'd by the Ringer speakes:
The horse doth ease if he be ridden,
The feast doth please if Guest be bidden;
The Bucket draws the water forth,
The Rose when pluck'd is still most worth.
Such is the Virgin, in my eyes.
That lives, loves, marries, e're she dies.
Like to a Stock not grafted on,
Or like a Lute not play'd upon;
Like a Jack without a weight,
Or a Barque without a fraight;
Like a Lock without a Key,
Or a Candle in the day:
Just such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a Maid.
The graffed Stock doth beare best fruit,
There's musick in the fingered Lute:
The weight doth make the Jack go ready,
The fraught doth make the Barque go steady;
The Key the Lock doth open right,
The Candle's usefull in the night.
Such is the Virgin, in my eyes,
That lives, loves, marries, e're she dies.
Like a Call without Anon sir,
Or a Question and no answer:
Like a Ship was never rigg'd,
Or a Mine was never digg'd;
Like a wound without a Tent.
Or Sivet boxe without a scent:
Just; such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a maid,
Th' Anon sir doth obey the Call,
The Question answered pleaseth all;
Who riggs a Ship sailes with the Wind,
Who digs a Mine doth treasure find;
The wound by wholesome Tent hath ease,
The boxe perfum'd the Senses please:
Such is the Virgin in my eyes
That lives, loves, marries, e're she dies.
Like Marrow bone was never broken,
Or Commendations and no Token;
Like a Fort and none to win it,
Or like the Moone and no man in it;
Like a Schoole without a Teacher,
Or like a Pulpit and no Preacher:
Just such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a Maid.
The broken Marrow bone is sweet,
The token doth adorne the greet;
There's triumph in the Fort, being woon,
The man tides glorious in the Moon;
The Schoole is by the Teacher still'd,
The Pulpit by the Preacher fill'd:
Such is the Virgin, in my eyes,
That lives, loves, marries, e're she dies.
Like a Cage without a Bird,
Or a thing too long deferr'd;
Like the Gold was never tryed,
Or the ground unoccupied;
Like a House that's not possessed,
Or the Book was never pressed:
Just such as these may she be said
That lives, ne're loves, but dies a maid.
The Bird in Cage doth sweetly sing,
Due Season prefers every thing;
The Gold that's try'd from drosse is pur'd,
There's profit in the ground mannur'd;
The House is by possession graced,
The Book when press'd is then embraced:
Such is the Virgin in my eyes
That lives, loves, marries, e're she dies.

A Description of Love.

LOve is a Region full of fires,
And burning with extreame desires;
An Object seeks, of which possest,
The wheeles are fix'd, the motions rest,
The flames in Ashes lie opprest;
This Meteor striving high to rise,
The fewell spent, fals down and dies.
Much sweeter, and more pure delights
Are drawn from faire alluring sights,
When ravisht minds attempt to praise
Commanding Eyes like heavenly raies,
Whose force the gentle heart obeys;
Then where the end of this pretence
Descends to base inferiour sence.
Why then should Lovers (most will say)
Expect so much th' enjoying day;
Love is like youth, he thirsts for age,
He scornes to be his mothers Page;
But when proceeding times asswage
The former heat, he will complaine,
And wish those pleasant houres againe.
We know that hope and love are twins,
Hope gone, fruition now begins;
[Page]But what is this unconstant fraile,
In nothing sure, but sure to faile?
Which if we lose it we bewaile,
And when we have it still we beare
The worst of passions, daily feare.
When Love thus in his Center ends,
Desire and Hope, his inward friends
Are shaken off, while doubt and griefe,
The weakest givers of reliefe,
Stand in his Councell as the Chiefe;
And now he to his period brought,
From Love becomes some other thought.
These Lines I write not to remove
United soules from serious love,
The best attemps by Mortals made
Reflect on things which quickly fade;
Yet never will I men perswade
To leave affections where may shine
Impressions of the love Divine.

The Shepherdesse.

A Shepherdesse who long had kept her Flocks
On stony Charnwoods, dry and barren Rocks,
In heate of Summer to the Vales declin'd
To seek fresh pasture for her Lambs halfe pin'd;
She (while her charge was feeding) spent the houres
To gaze on sliding Brooks, and smiling flowers.

A Funerall Elogie on the Death of the Lady Penelope Clifton.

SInce thou art dead (Clifton) the world may see
A certaine end of flesh and bloud in thee;
Till then a way was left for man to cry,
Flesh may be made so pure, it cannot dye:
But now, thy unexpected death doth strike
With griefe the better and the worse alike;
The good are sad they are not with thee there,
The bad have found they must not tarry here.
Death, I confesse, 'tis just in thee to try
Thy power on us, for thou thy selfe must dye;
Thou pay'st but Wages, Death, yet I would know
What strange delight thou tak'st to pay them so;
When thou com'st face to face thou strik'st us mute,
And all our liberty is to dispute
With thee behinde thy back, which I will use;
If thou hadst brav'ry in thee thou wouldst chuse
(Since thou art absolute, and canst controule
All things beneath a reasonable soule,)
Some look for way of killing; if her day
Had ended in a fire, a sword, or sea,
Or hadst thou come hid in a hundred yeares
To make an end of all her hopes and feares,
Or any other way direct to thee
Which Nature might esteeme an Enemy,
Who would have chid thee? now it shews thy hand
Desires to cosin where it might command:
[Page]Thou art not prone to kill, but where th'intent
Of those that suffer is their nourishment;
If thou canst steale into a dish, and creep,
When all is still as though into a sleep,
And cover thy dry body with a draught,
Whereby some innocent Lady may be caught,
And cheated of her life, then thou wilt come
And stretch thy selfe upon her early Tombe,
And laugh, as pleas'd, to shew thou canst devoure
Mortality as well by wit as power.
I would thou hadst had eyes, or not a Dart,
That yet at least, the cloathing of that heart
Thou strook'st so spightfully, might have appear'd
To thee, and with a Reverence have been fear'd.
But since thou art so blind, receive from me
Who 'twas on whom thou wrought'st this Tragedy;
She was a Lady, who for publique Fame,
Never (since she in thy protection came,
Who sett'st all living tongues at large) receiv'd
A blemish; with her beauty she deceiv'd
No man, when taken with it▪ they agree
'Twas Natures fault, when from 'em 'twas in thee.
And such her vertue was, that although she
Receive as much joy, having pass'd through thee,
As ever any did; yet hath thy hate
Made her as little better in her state,
As ever it did any being here,
Shee liv'd with us as if she had been there.
Such Ladies thou canst kill no more, but so
I give thee warning here to kill no moe;
For if thou dost, my pen shall make the rest
Of those that live, especially the best,
Whom thou most thirstest for, t' abandon all
Those fruitlesse things, which thou wouldst have us call
[Page]Preservatives, keeping their diet so,
As the long-living poore their neighbours do:
Then shall we have them long, and they at last
Shall passe from thee to hear, but not so fast.
F. B.

The examination of his Mistris Perfections.

STand still my happinesse, and swelling heart
No more, till I consider what thou art.
Desire of knowledge was mans fatall vice,
For when our Parents were in Paradice
(Though they themselves, and all they saw was good)
They thought it nothing if not understood.
And I (part of their seed struck with their sin)
Though by their bountious favour I be in
A Paradice, where I may freely taste
Of all the vertuous pleasures which thou hast.
Wanting that knowledge, must in all my blisse
Erre with my Parents, and aske what it is.
My Faith saith 'tis not heaven, and I dare sweare
If it be hell no paine of sence is there;
Sure 'tis some pleasant place, where I may stay
As I to heaven go in the middle way.
Wert thou but faire and no whit vertuous,
Thou wert no more to me but a faire house
Hanted with Spirits, from which men do them blesse,
And no man will halfe furnish to possesse:
Or hadst thou worth wrapt in a rivell'd skin,
'Twere inaccessable; who durst go in
[Page]To find it out? far sooner would I go
To find a Pearle covered with hils of snow;
'Twere buried vertue, and thou mighst me move
To reverence the Tombe, but not to love,
No more than dotingly to cast mine eye
Upon the Urne where Lucrece ashes lye.
But thou art faire, and sweet, and every good
That ever yet durst mixe with flesh and blood:
The Devill ne're saw in his fallen state
An Object whereupon to ground his hate
So fit as thee; all living things but he
Love thee; how happy then must that man be
When from amongst all creatures thou dost take?
Is there a hope beyond it? Can he make
A wish to change thee for? This is my blisse,
Let it run on now, I know what it is.
Fran. Beaumont.

The Hermaphrodite made after M. Beaumonts Death by Tho­mas Randolph M. A. Some­time Fellow of Trinity Col­ledge in Cambridge.

SIr, or Madam, choose you whether,
Nature twists you both together;
And makes thy soule to each confesse,
Both Petticoat and Breeches dresse.
Thus we chastise the god of Wine
With water that is Feminine,
Till the cooler Nymph abate
This wrath, and so incorporate.
Adam till his Rib was lost
Had the Sexes thus ingrost;
When providence, our Sire, did cleave,
And out of Adam carved Eve,
Then did man 'bout Wedlock treat,
To make his Body up compleat;
Thus Matrimony speaks but thee
In a grave solemnitie;
For man and wife make but one right
Cannonicall Hermaphrodite.
Revell thy body, and I find
In every limbe a double kind;
[Page]Who would not think that head a paire
That breeds such Factions in the haire?
One halfe's so churlish in the touch,
That rather than endure so much
I would my tender Limbs apparrell
With Regulus his nailed Barrell:
And the other halfe so small,
And so Amorous withall,
That Cupid thinks each haire to grow
A string for his invisible bow.
When I look babies in thine eyes,
Here Venus, there Adonis lies.
And though thy Beauty be high noon,
Thy Orbs containe both Sun and Moon.
How many melting kisses skip
Betwixt thy Male and Female lip,
Betwixt thy upper brush of haire,
And thy nether boards despaire?
When thou speak'st (I would not wrong
Thy sweetnesse with a double tongue)
But in every simple sound
A perfect Dialogue is found.
Thy Breasts distinguish one another,
This is the Sister, that the Brother,
When thou joyn'st hands, my eares struck fancies,
The Nuptiall sound, I John take Francis.
Feele but the difference soft and rough,
This is a Gauntlet, that a Muffe.
Had sly Ulysses at the sack
Of Troy brought thee his Pedlers pack,
And weapon too to know Achilles
From King Nicomedes Phillis,
His plot had fail'd; this hand would feele
The Needle, that the warlike steele,
[Page]When Musick doth thy pace advance
Thy right leg takes thy left to dance;
Nor is't a Galliard danc'd by one,
But a mix'd dance although alone.
Thus every Heteroclite part
Changes gender but the heart.
And those which modesty can meane
(And dare not speake, are Epicene;
That Gamester needs must overcome
That can play both Tib and Tom.
Thus did Natures Mintage vary,
Coyning thee both Phillip and Mary.

Ʋpon the Hermaphrodite, written since by Mr J. Cleaveland.

PRobleme of Sexes; must thou likewise be
As disputable in thy Pedegree?
Thou twins-in-one, in whom Dame Nature tries
To throw lesse than Aums-ace upon two Dice:
Wert thou serv'd up two in one dish, the rather
To split thy Sire into a double Father?
True, the Worlds scales are even: what the maine
In one place gets, another quits againe.
Nature lost one by thee, and therefore must
Slice one in two to keep her number just:
Plurality of Livings is thy state,
And therefore mine must be impropriate.
For since the child is mine, and yet the claime
Is intercepted by anothers Name.
Never did steeple carry double truer,
His is the Donative, and mine the Cure.
Then say my Muse (and without more dispute)
Who is't that Fame doth superinstitute?
The Theban Wittall, when he once descries
Jove is his Rivall, fals to sacrifice:
That Name hath tipt his hornes: see on his knees
A health to Hansen, Kelder, Hercules:
Nay, sublunary Cuckolds are content
To entertaine their Fate with complement:
[Page]And shall not he be proud whom Randolph daines
To quarter with his Muse, both Armes and Braines?
Gramercy Gossip, I rejoyce to see,
Shee hath got a leap of such a Barbary.
Talke not of hornes, hornes are the Poets Crest;
For since the Muses left their former nest,
To found a Nunnery in Randolph's quill,
Cuckold Pernassus is a forked hill.
But stay, I've wak'd his dust, his Marble stirs,
And brings the worms for his Compurgators.
Can Ghost have naturall sons? say Ogg it's meet?
Penance beare date after the winding sheet?
Were it a Phaenix (as the double kind
May seem to prove, being there's two combin'd)
It would disclaime my right, and that it were
The lawfull issue of his ashes, sweare.
But was shee dead? did not his soule translate
Her selfe, into a shop of lesser rate?
Or breake up house, like an expensive Lord,
That gives his purse a fob, and lives at board?
Let old Pythagoras but play the pimp,
And still ther'es hopes 't may prove his bastard Mip:
But I'me prophane; for grant the world had one
With whom he might contract an Union,
They two were one, yet like an Eagle spread,
I'th' Body joyn'd, but parted in the head.
For you my brat, that pose the Porph'ry Chaire,
Pope John or Joane, or whatsoe're you are,
You are a Nephew, grieve not at your state,
For all the world is illegitimate;
Man cannot get a man, unlesse the Sun
Club to the Act of Generation.
The Sun and Man get Man, thus Tom and I
Are the joynt Fathers of thy Poetry.
[Page]For since (blest shade) this Verse is Male, but mine
O'th weaker sex, a fancy femenine.
Wee'l part the Child, and yet commit no slaughter;
So shall it be thy son, and yet my daughter.

To the Mutable Faire.

HEre Coelia, for thy sake I part
With all that grew so neere my heart;
The passion that I had for thee,
The Faith, the Love, the Constancy;
And that I may successefull prove,
Transforme my selfe to what you love.
Foole that I was, so much to prize
Those simple vertues you despise?
Foole, that which such dull arrows strove,
Or hop'd to reach a flying Dove;
For you that are in motion still
Decline our force, and mock our skill;
Who, like Don Quixote, do advance
Against a Windmill our vaine Lance.
Now will I wander through the aire,
Mount, make a stoope at every faire,
And with a fancy unconfin'd
(As lawlesse as the Sea, or Wind)
Pursue you wheresoe're you flie,
And with your various thoughts comply.
The formall stars do travell so
As we their Names and Courses know;
[Page]And he that on their Changes looks,
Would thinke them govern'd by our books;
But never were the Clouds reduc'd
To any Art the motion us'd.
By those free vapours are so light,
So frequent, that the conquer'd sight
Despaires to find the rules that guide
Those gilded shadows as they slide;
And therefore of the spatious aire
Jove's Royall Consort had the care,
And by that power did once escape
Declining bold Ixions rape;
She with her own resemblance grac'd
A shining cloud, which he imbrac'd.
Such was that Image, so it smil'd
With seeming kindness, which beguil'd
Your Thirsis lately, when he thought
He had his fleeting Coelia caught;
'Twas shap'd like her, but for the faire
He fill'd his Armes with yeelding aire,
A Fate for which he grieves the lesse
Because the gods had like successe:
For in their Story one (we see)
Pursues a Nymph, and takes a Tree;
A second with a Lovers haste
Soone overtakes what he had chaste;
But she that did a Virgin seeme,
Possess'd, appears a wandring streame.
For his supposed Love a third
Laies greedy hold upon a Bird;
And stands amaz'd to see his Deare
A wild Inhabitant of the Aire.
To such old tales such Nymphs as you
Give credit, and still make them new;
[Page]The Amorous now like wonders find
In the swift changes of your mind.
But Coelia if you apprehend
The Muse of your incensed friend:
Nor would that he record your blame,
And make it live, repeat the same;
Againe deceive him, and againe,
And then he sweares he'l not complaine;
For still to be deluded so
Is all the pleasures Lovers know,
Who like good Falkners take delight
Not in the Quarrey, but the flight.

Of Loving at first sight.

NOt caring to observe the wind,
Or the new sea explore,
Snatcht from thy selfe, how far behind
Already I behold the shore.
May not a thousand dangers sleep
In the smooth bosome of this deep:
No, 'tis so rocklesse, and so cleare,
That the rich Bottom does appeare
Pav'd all with precious things, not torne
From shipwrackt vessels, but there borne;
Sweetnesse, truth, and every grace
Which time and use are wont to teach,
The eye may in a moment reach,
And read distinctly in her face.
Some other Nymph with colour faint,
And Pencill slow may Cupid paint,
And a weake heart in time destroy,
She has a stampe and prints the Boy,
Can with a single looke inflame
The coldest Breast, the Rudest tame.
Tho. Batt.

The Antiplatonick.

FOr shame thou everlasting wooer,
Still saying grace, and never falling to her.
Love that's in contemplation plac'd,
Is Venus drawn but to the waste?
Unlesse your flame confesse its gender,
And your Parley cause surrender;
Y' are Salamanders of a cold desire,
That live untoucht amid the hottest fire.
What though she be a Dame of stone,
The Widow of Pigmalion;
As hard and unrelenting she
As the new crusted Niobe;
Or what doth more of statue carry,
A Nun of the Platonick Quarry?
Love melts the Rigour which the Rocks have bred,
A Flint will break upon a feather bed.
For shame you pretty female Elves,
Cease for to candy up your selves:
No more, you Sectaries of the Game,
No more of your calcining flame.
Women commence by Cupids Dart,
As a King hunting dubs a Hart;
Loves Votaries inthrale each others soule,
Till both of them live but upon Parole.
Vertue's no more in Women kind,
But the green-sicknesse of the mind.
Phylosophy their new delight,
A kind of Charcoale appetite.
There's no Sophistry prevailes
Where all-convincing Love assailes;
But the disputing petticoat will warp,
As skilfull Gamesters are to seek at sharp.
The Souldier, that man of Iron,
Whom ribs of Horror all inviron;
That's strung with wire instead of veines,
In whose embraces you're in Chaines;
Let a Magnetick girle appeare,
Straight he turnes Cupids Cuiraseer.
Love stormes his lips, and takes the Fortresse in,
For all the bristled Turn-pikes of his Chin.
Since Loves Artillery then checks
The breast-works of the firmest Sex,
Come let's in affections riot,
Th'are sickly pleasures keep a Diet.
Give me a Lover bold and free,
Not Eunucht with formality:
Like an Embassadour that beds a Queen,
With the nice Caution of a Sword between.


SAy lovely dreame, where couldst thou find
Shales to counterfeit that face?
Colours of this glorious kind
Come not from any Mortall place.
In Heaven it selfe thou sure wert drest
With that Angel-like disguise:
Thus deluded am I blest,
And see my joy with closed eyes.
But ah! this Image is too kind
To be other than a dreame,
Cruell Sacharissa's mind
Never put on that sweet extreame.
Faire Dreame, if thou intend'st me grace,
Change this heavenly forme of thine;
Paint despis'd love in thy face,
And make it to appeare like mine.
Pale, Wan, and Meager, let it looke,
With a pitty-moving shape,
Such as wander by the brooke
Of Lethe, or from Graves escape.
Then to that Matchlesse Nymph appeare,
In whose shape thou shinest so,
Softly in her sleeping eare
With humble words expresse my woe.
Perhaps from greatnesse, state and pride,
Thus surprised she may fall;
Sleep does disproportion hide,
And death resembling equals all.

Song II.

BEhold the brand of Beauty tost;
See how the motion does dilate the flame,
Delighted Love his spoiles does boast,
And triumph in this game:
Fire to no place confin'd,
Is both our wonder, and our feare,
Moving the Mind
Like lightning hurled through the aire.
High heaven, the glory doth increase
Of all her shining Lamps this Artfull way;
The Sun in figures such as these
Joies with the Moone to play;
To these sweet straines they advance,
Which do result from their own spheares,
As this Nymphs dance
Moves with the Numbers which she heares.

An Elegy.

HEaven knows my love to thee▪ fed on desires
So hallowed▪ and unmixt with vulgar fires,
As are the purest Beames shot from the Sun
At his full height, and the devotion
Of dying Martyrs could not burne more cleare,
Nor Innocence in her first Robes appeare
Whiter than our affections; they did show
Like frost forc'd out of flames, and fire from snow.
So pure the Phoenix, when she did refine
Her Age to Youth, borrow'd no flames but mine.
But now my day's so'recast, for I have now
Drawn Anger, like a Tempest, o're the brow
Of my faire Mistris; those your glorious eyes
Whence I was wont to see my day star rise
Thereat, like revengefull Meteors; and I feele
My Torment, my gilt double, my hell;
'Twas a mistake, and might have veniall been,
Done to another, but it was made sin,
And justly mortall too, by troubling thee,
Slight wrongs are Treasons done to Majesty.
O all ye blest Ghosts of deceased Loves,
That now lie sainted in the Eclesian Groves,
Mediate for mercy for me; at her shrine
Meet with full Quire, and joine your prayers with mine:
[Page]Conjure her by the merits of your kisses,
By your past sufferings, and your present blisses.
Conjure her by your mutuall hopes and feares,
By all your intermixed sighs and Teares,
To plead my pardon: go to her and tell
That you will walke the Guardian Sentinell,
My soules safe Genii, that she need not feare
A mutinous thought, or one close Rebell there;
But what needs that, when she alone sits there
Sole Angell of that Orbe? in her own spheare
Alone she sits, and can secure it free
From all irregular motions; only she
Can give the Balsome that must cure this sore,
And the sweet Antidote to sin no more.

Ʋpon Mr Charles Beaumont, Who died of a Consumption.

VVHile others drop their teares upon thy hearse,
Sweet Charles, and sigh t' increase the wind my Verse,
Pious in naming thee, cannot complaine
Of Death, or Fate, for they were lately slaine
By thy own conflict; and since good men know
What Heaven to such a virgin Saint doth owe;
Though some will say they saw thee dead, yet I
Congratulate thy life and victory:
Thy flesh an upper garment, that it might
Aide thy eternall progresse, first grew light;
Nothing but Angel now, which thou wert neere,
Almost reduc'd to thy first spirit here:
But fly faire soule, while our Complaints are just,
That cannot follow for our Chaines of dust.

Fie on Love.

NOw fie on foolish Love, it not befits
Or Man or Woman know it.
Love was not meant for people in their wits,
And they that fondly shew it
Betray the straw, and Feathers in their braine,
And shall have Bedlam for their paine:
If single love be such a curse,
To marry is to make it ten times worse.

A Song.

GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a Mandrake root,
Tell me where all past yeares are,
Or who cleft the divels foot;
Teach me to heare Mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envies stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
[Page]If thou be [...]st borne to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand daies and nights,
Till Age snow white haires on thee;
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And sweare,
No where
Lives a Woman true and faire.

Secresie protested.

FEare not (deare Love) that I'le reveale
Those hours of pleasure we two steale;
No eye shall see, nor yet the Sun
Descry, what thou and I have done;
No eare shall heare our love, but we
Silent as the night will be;
The God of Love himselfe (whose dart
Did first wound mine, and then thy heart)
Shall never know that we can tell
What sweets in stoln embraces dwell:
This only meanes may find it out,
If when I die Physitians doubt
What caus'd my death, and there to view
Of all their judgements which was true,
Rip up my heart, O then I feare
The world will see thy picture there.

Eternity of Love protested.

HOw ill doth He deserve a Lovers name,
Whose pale weake flame
Cannot retaine
His heat in spight of absence or disdaine;
But doth at once like paper set on fire,
Burne and expire.
True love can never change his seat,
Nor did he ever love that could retreat;
That noble flame which my breast keeps alive
Shall still survive,
When my soule's fled;
Nor shall my love die when my bodie's dead,
That shall waite on me to the lower shade,
And never fade.
My very Ashes in their Urne
Shall, like a hallowed Lamp, for ever burne.

The willing Prisoner to his MISTRIS.

LEt Fooles great Cupid's yoake disdaine,
Loving their own wild freedome better,
Whilst proud of my triumphant Chaine
I sit, and court my beautious fetter.
Her murd'ring glances, snaring haires,
And her bewitching smiles, so please me,
As he brings ruine that repaires
The sweet afflictions that displease me.
Hide not those panting bals of snow
With envious veiles from my beholding;
Unlock those lips their pearly row
In a sweet smile of love unfolding.
And let those eyes whose motion wheeles
The restlesse fate of every Lover.
Survey the paines my sick heart feeles,
And wounds themselves have made discover.

A Maske of the Gentlemen of Graies Inne, and the Inner Temple, by Mr Francis Beaumont.

Enter Iris Running, Mercury following and Catching hold of her.
STay light-foot Iris, for thou striv'st in vaine,
My Wings are nimbler than thy feet;
Iris away,
Dissembling Mercury my Messages
Aske honest haste, not like those wanton ones
Your thundring Father sends.
Stay foolish Maid,
Or I will take my rise upon a hill
When I perceive thee seated in a Cloud
In all the Painted Glory that thou hast,
And never cease to clap my willing wing,
Till I catch hold on thy discolour'd bow,
And shiver it beyond the Angry power
Of your mad Mistris to make up againe.
Hermes forbeare, Juno will chide and strike;
Is great Jove jealous that I am imployed?
Or her love Errands she did never yet
Claspe weak Mortality in her white Armes
As he hath often done; I only come
[Page]To celebrate the long-wish'd nuptials
Here in Olympia, which are now perform'd
Betwixt two goodly Rivers that have mix'd
Their gentle winding waves, and are to grow
Into a thousand streames, great as themselves:
I need not name them, for the sound is loud
In Heaven and Earth, and I am sent from her,
The Queene of marriage, that was present here,
And smil'd to see them joyne, and hath not chid
Since it was done; God Hermes let me go.
Nay you must stay, Joves Message is the same,
Whose eyes are Lightning, and whose voice is Thunder,
Whose breath is Airy wind, he will, who knowes
How to be first in Earth as well as Heaven.
But what hath he to do with Nuptiall rites?
Let him sit pleas'd upon his starry Throne,
And fright poore Mortals with his Thunder-bolts,
Leaving to us the mutuall darts of Eyes.
Alas, when ever offer'd he t' abridge
Your Ladies power, but only now in these,
Whose match concernes the generall Government:
Hath not each God a part in these high joyes?
And shall not he the King of gods presume
Without proud Juno's Lycence? let her know,
That when enamour'd Jove first gave her power
To linke soft hearts in undissolving bands,
He then foresaw, and to himselfe reserv'd
The honour of this Marriage; thou shalt stand
Still as a Rock, while I to blesse this Feast,
Will summon up with my all-charming Rod
The Nymphs of Fountaines, from whose watry locks
(Hung with the dew of blessing and encrease)
The greedy Rivers take their nourishment.
Yea Nymphs who bathing in your lov'd springs,
[Page]Behold these Rivers in their infancy,
And joy'd to see them when their circled heads
Refresh'd the Aire, and spread the ground with flowers;
Rise from the wels, and with your nimble feet
Performe that office to this happy paire
Which in these Plaines you to Alpheus did,
When, passing hence through many seas unmix'd,
He gain'd the favour of his Aretheuse.
The Nymphs rise and dance a little and then make a stand.
Is Hermes grown a Lover? by what power
Unknown to us cals he the maids?
Presuptuous Iris, I could make thee dance,
Till thou forget'st thy Ladies messages,
And runn'st back crying to her: thou shalt know
My power is more, only my breath and this
Shall move fix'd stars, and force the firmament
To yield the Hyades, who governe showers,
And dewy Clouds, in whose dispersed drops
Thou form'st the shape of thy deceitfull bow;
Ye maids, who yearely at appointed times
Advance with kindly teares the gentle flouds,
Descend and powre your blessing on these streames,
Which rouling down from Heaven, aspiring hils,
And now united in the fruitfull Vales,
Beare all before them, ravish with their joy,
And swell in glory till they know no bounds.
The Cloud descends with the Hyades, at which the maids seeme to be rejoyced, they all dance a while together, then make another stand as if they wanted something.
Great wit and power hath Hermes to contrive
A lively Dance which of one Sex consists.
Alas poore Iris, Venus hath in store
[Page]A secret Ambush of her winged boyes,
Who lurking long within these pleasant Groves,
First stuck these flowers with their equall Darts;
Those Cupids shall come forth and joyne with these,
To honour that which they themselves began.
The Cupids come forth and dance, they are weary with their blind pursuing the Nymphs, and the Nymphs weary with flying them.
Behold the statues which wise Vulcan plac'd
Under the Altar of Olympian Jove,
And gave to them an Artificiall life;
See how they move, drawn by this heavenly joy,
Like the wild Trees which followed Orphaeus harpe.
The Statues come down, and they all dance till the Nymphs out-run them and lose them, then the Cupids go off, and last the Statues.
And what will Juno's Iris do for her?
Just match this shew or mine inventions faile;
Had it been worthier, I would have invok'd
The blazing Comets, Clouds, and falling stars,
And all my Kindred, Meteors of the aire,
To have excelled it, but I now must strive
To imitate confusion; therefore thou
Delightfull Flora, if thou ever felt'st
Increase of sweetnesse in those blooming plants
On which the hornes of my faire Bow decline,
Send hither all that rurall company
Which deck the maygames with their clownish sports,
Juno will have it so.
[Page] The second Antimasque rusheth in, they dance their measure, and as rudely depart.
Iris we strive
Like winds at liberty, who should do worst
E're we returne if Juno be the Queen
Of marriages, let her give happy way
To what is done in honour of the State
She governs.
Hermes so it may be done
Meerly in honour of the State, and those
That now have prov'd it; not to satisfie
The Lust of Jupiter in having thanks
More than his Juno, if thy snaky rod
Have power to search the heaven, or sound the sea,
Or call together all the buds of earth,
To bring thee any thing that may do grace
To us, and these, do it we shall be pleas'd;
They know that from the mouth of Jove himselfe,
Whose words have winks, and need not to be borne,
I took a Message, and I bore it through
A thousand yeelding Clouds, and never staid
Till his high will was done. The Olympian games
Which long had slept at these wish'd Nuptials
He pleas'd to have renewed, and all his Knights
Are gathered hither, who within their Tents
Rest on this hill, upon whose rising head
The Alter is discovered, with the Priests about it, and the Statues under it, and the Knights lying in their Tents on each side neere the top of the hill.
Behold Joves Altar and his blessed Priests
[Page]Moving about it; come you holy men,
And with your voices draw these youths along,
That till Joves musick call them to their games,
Their Active sports may give a blest content
To those for whom they are againe begun.

The first Song when the Priests de­scend, and the Knights follow them.

SHake off your heavy trance
And leape into a Dance,
Such as no Mortals use to tread,
Fit only for Apollo
To play to, for the Moon to lead,
And all the stars to follow.

The second Song at the end of the first Dance.

ON blessed Youths, for Jove doth pause,
Laying aside his graver Laws
For this device:
And at the wedding such a paire
Each Dance is taken for a prayer,
Each Song a Sacrifice.

The third Song after their many Dances, when they are to take the Ladies single.

MOre pleasing were these sweet delights,
If Ladies mov'd as well as Knights;
Run every one of you and catch
A Nymph in honour of this match,
And whisper boldly in her eare,
Jove will but laugh if you forsweare.
And this daies sins he doth resolve,
That we his Priests should all absolve.

The fourth Song when they have parted with the Ladies, a shrill Musique sounds, supposed to be that which cals them to the Olympian Games, at which they all make a seeming pre­paration to depart.

YOu should stay longer, if we durst,
Away, alas, that he that first
[Page]Gave time wild Wings to fly away,
Has now no power to make him stay;
And though these games must needs be played,
I would these paire when they are layed,
And not a Creature nigh 'em,
Might catch his sigh as he doth passe,
And clip his wings, and breake his glasse,
And keep 'em ever by 'em.

The fifth Song when all is done as they ascend.

PEace and silence be the guide
To the Man, and to the Bride:
If there be a joy yet new
In marriage, let it fall on you,
That all the world may wonder:
If we should stay we should do worse,
And turne our blessings to a Curse,
By keeping you asunder.

Prologues, Epilogues, and Songs to severall Plaies, written by Mr Francis Beaumont and Fletcher.

The Prologue to the Mad Lover.

TO please all's impossible, and to despaire
Ruine's our selves, and damps the Writers Care:
Would we knew what to do, or say, or when
To find the minds here equall with the men,
But we must venture; now to sea we go,
Faire Fortune with us, give us roome and blow:
Remember y'are all venturers; and in this play
How many twelve pences ye have 'stowed this day;
Remember for Returne of your delight,
We lanch and plough through stormes of feare and spight:
Give us your fore winds fairely, fill our wings,
And steere us right, and as the Sailers sing,
Loaden with wealth on wanton Seas, so we
Shall make our home-bound voyage cheerefully;
And you our Noble Merchants, for your Treasure,
Share equally the fraught, we run for pleasure.

The Epilogue.

HEre lies the doubt now, let our Plaies be good,
Our own care sayling equall in this Floud;
Our preparations new, new our Attire,
Yet here we are becalm'd still, still i'th' mire;
Here we stick fast, is there no way to cleare
This Passage of your judgement, and our feare?
No Mitigation of that Law? Brave Friends,
Consider we are yours, made for your ends,
And every thing preserves it selfe, each will,
If not perverse and crooked, utters still,
The best of that it ventures in: have care
Even for your pleasures sake, of what you are,
And do not ruine all; you may frowne still,
But 'tis the Nobler way to check the Will.

First Song to the mad Lover.

Stre. ORpheus, I am come from the deeps below
To thee▪ fond man, the plagues of love to show.
To thee faire Fields, where Loves eternall dwell,
There's none that come, but first they passe through hell.
Harke and beware, unlesse thou hast lov'd ever,
Belov'd againe, thou shalt see those Joyes never.
Harke how they groane that dyed despairing,
O take heed then:
Harke how they houle for ever daring,
All these were men:
They that be fooles and dye for fame,
They lose their name,
And they that bleed,
Harke how they speed.
Now in cold Frosts, now scorching fires,
They sit and curse their lost desires:
Nor shall their soules be free from pains and feares,
Till Women waft them over in their teares.

The second Song to the Mad-Lover.

CHaron, O Charon,
Thou waster of the soules to blisse or bane.
Who cals the Ferry-man of Hell?
Come neare
And say who lives in Joy, and whom in feare.
Those that dye well, eternall joy shall follow;
Those that dye ill, their own soule fate shall swallow.
Shall thy black Barke those guilty spirits stow
That kill themselves for love.
O no, no,
My courage cracks when such great sins are neare,
No wind blows faire, nor I my selfe can steare.
What Lovers passe and in Elisium raigne?
Those gentle loves that are belov'd againe.
This Souldier loves, and faine would dye to win,
Shall be go on?
No, 'tis too foule a sin,
He must not come aboard: I dare not Row.
Stormes of despaire and guilty bloud will blow.
Shall time release him say?
No, no, no, no,
Nor time, nor death can alter us, nor prayer;
My Boat is destiny, and who then dare,
But those appointed, come aboard? Live still
And l [...]ve by reason, mortall, not by will.
And when thy Mistris shall close up thine eyes.
Then come aboard and passe.
Till when be wise.
Till when be wise.

The third Song to the mad Lover.

O Faire, sweet Goddesse, Queen of Loves,
Soft and gentle as thy Doves,
Humble eyed, and ever ruing
Those poore hearts their loves pursuing.
O thou mother of delights,
Crowner of all happy nights,
Star of Deare content and pleasure,
Of mutuall love the endlesse treasure,
Accept this Sacrifice we bring;
Thou continuall youth and spring,
Grant this Lady her desires,
And every houre wee'l crown thy fires.

The fourth Song to the mad Lover.

ARme, Arme, Arme, Arme, the Scouts are all come in,
Keep your Rankes close, and now your honour win.
Behold from yonder Hill the Foe appeares,
Bows, Bils, Glaves, Arrows, Shields, and Speares,
Like a darke wood he comes, or tempest powring;
O view the wings of Horse the Meadows scowring.
[Page]The Vant-Guard marches bravely, hark the Drums—Dub, Dub.
They meet, they meet, now the battle comes;
See how the Arrows flie,
That darken all the skie;
Harke how the Trumpets sound,
Harke how the hils rebound—tara, tara, tara.
Harke how the Horses charge in boyes, in boys in,—tara, tara.
The Battle totters, now the wounds begin,
O how thy cry,
O how they dye.
Roome for the Valiant Memnon armed with Thunder,
See how he breakes the Rankes asunder:
They fly, they fly, Eumenes hath the Chase,
And brave Politius makes good his place.
To the plaines, to the woods,
To the rocks, to the flouds,
They fly for succour: follow, follow follow, hey, hey.—
Harke how the Souldiers hollow;
Brave Diocles is dead,
And all his souldiers fled,
The Battle's won and lost,
That many a life hath cost.

The Prologue to the Spanish Curate.

TO tell ye (Gentlemen) we have a play,
A new one too, and that 'tis launch'd to day,
The name ye know, that's nothing to my story;
To tell you 'tis familiar, void of glory,
Of State, of Bitternesse of wit you'l say,
For that is now held wit that tends that way,
Which we avoid to tell you too, till merry,
And meane to make you pleasant, and not weary:
The streame that guides ye easie to attend
To tell you that 'tis good is to no end,
If you beleeve not; nay to go thus far,
To sweare it, if you sweare against it, were
To assure you any thing, unlesse you see,
And so conceive, is vanity in me;
Therefore I leave it to it selfe, and pray
Like a good Barque it may worke out to day,
And stem all doubts; 'twas built for such a proofe,
And we hope highly, if she lie aloofe
For her own vantage, to give wind at will;
Why, let her worke, only be you but still,
And sweet opinion'd, and we are bound to say,
You are worthy Judges, and you crown the Play.

The Epilogue.

THe Play is done, yet our suite never ends,
Still when you part you would still part our Friends,
Our Noblest Friends; if ought have falne amisse,
Oh let it be sufficient that it is,
And you have pardon'd it: In buildings great
All the whole body cannot be so neat
But something may be mended; those are faire,
And worthy love, that may destroy, but spare.

The Prologue to the French-Lawyer.

TO promise much before a Play begin,
And when 'tis done aske pardon, were a sin
Wee'l not be guilty of: and to excuse
Before we know a fault, were to abuse
The Writers and our selves; for I dare say
We all are fool'd if this be not a Play,
And such a Play as shall (so should Plaies do)
Impe Times dull wings, and make you merry too;
'Twas to that purpose writ, so we intend it,
And we have our wish'd ends if you commend it.

The Epilogue.

I am sent forth to enquire what you decree
Of us and our Poets, they will be
This night exceeding merry, so will we;
If you approve their labours they professe,
You are their Patrons, and we say no lesse;
Resolve us then, for you can only tell
Whether we have done idly, or done well.

First Song to the Play called the little French Lawyer, called an Epithalamine Song, at the wedding.

COme away, bring on the Bride,
And place her by her Lovers side;
You faire troope of Maids attend her,
Pure and holy thoughts befriend her;
Blush, and wish you Virgins all
Many such faire nights may fall.
Hymen fill the house with joy,
All thy sacred fires imploy;
Blesse the Bed with holy love,
Now faire Orbe of beauty move.

Second Song to the Little French Lawyer, called, Song in the Wood.

THis way, this way, come and hear,
You that hold these pleasures dear;
Fill your ears with our sweet sound,
Whil'st we melt the frozen ground:
This way, come make hast, O Faire,
Let your cleare eyes gild the Aire;
Come and blesse us with your sight,
This way, this way seeke delight.

The Prologue to the Play, called, The Custome of the Countrey.

SO free this worke is (Gentlemen) from offence,
That we are confident it needs no defence
From us, or from the Poets, we dare looke
On any man that brings his Table booke
To write down what againe he may repeat
At some great Table, to deserve his meat;
Let such come swel'd with malice to apply
What is mirth here, there for an injury.
[Page]Nor Lord, nor Lady we have tax'd, nor State,
Nor any private person, their poore hate
Will be starv'd here, for Envy shall not find
One touch that may be wrested to her mind;
And yet despaire not Gentlemen, the Play
Is Quick and Witty, so the Poets say.
And we beleeve them, the Plot Neat and New,
Fashioned by those that are approv'd by you;
Only 'twill crave attention in the most,
Because one point unmask'd the whole is lost;
Heare first then, and judge after, and be free,
And as our cause is let our Censure be.

The Epilogue.

VVHy there should be an Epilogue to a Play,
I know no cause, the old and usuall way
For which they were made, was to entreat the grace
Of such as were Spectators in this place;
And time, 'tis to no purpose, for I know
What you resolve already to bestow
Will not be alter'd, whatsoe're I say
In the behalfe of us, and of the Play,
Only to quit our doubts, if you thinke fit,
You may, or cry it up, or silence it.

Another Prologue for the same Play.

VVE wish, if it were possible, you knew
What we would give for this nights look, if new,
It being our Ambition to delight
Our kind Spectators with what's good and right,
Yet so far known, and credit me 'twas made
By such as were held workmen in their Trade;
At a time too, when they, as I divine,
Were truly merry, and dranke lusty Wine,
The Nectar of the Muses; some are here,
I dare presume, to whom it did appeare
A well-drawn piece, which gave a lawfull birth
To passionate Scenes mixt with no vulgar mirth,
But unto such to whom 'tis known by fame
From others, perhaps only by the name;
I am a Suitor, that they would prepare
Sound Pallats, and then judge their bill of fare.
It were injustice to discry this now,
For being lik'd before you may allow
Your Candor safe what's taught in the old Schooles,
All such as lived before you were not fooles.

The Epilogue.

I Spake much in the Prologue for the Play,
To its desert I hope, yet you might say,
Should I change now from that which then was meant,
Or in a syllable grow lesse confident,
I were weak-hearted, I am still the same,
In my opinion, and forbeare to frame
Quallification, or excuse, if you
Concur with me, and hold my judgement true;
Shew it with any signe, and from this place,
And send me off exploded, or with grace.

The Prologue to the Play called The Noble Gentleman.

VVIt is become an Antick, and puts on
As many shapes of variation
To court the Times applause, as the times dare
Change severall fashions, nothing is thought rare
Which is not new and follow'd; yet we know
That what was worne some twenty yeare ago,
[Page]Comes into grace againe, and we pursue
That Custome by presenting to your view
A Play in fashion then, not doubting now
But 'twill appeare the same if you allow
Worth to their Noble memory, whose name,
Beyond all power of death live in their fame.

The Epilogue.

THe Monuments of vertue and desert
Appeare more goodly when the glosse of Art
Is eaten off by Time, than when at first
They were set up, not censured at the worst;
We have done our best, for your contents to fit,
With new paines this old Monument of Wit.

The Prologue to the Play, called, The Captaine.

TO please you with this Play we feare will be
(So does the Author too) a mystery
Somewhat above our Art, for all mens Eyes,
Eares, Faith, and Judgements are not of one size;
For to say truth and not to flatter ye,
This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy,
Nor History, nor any thing that may
(Yet in a weeke) be made a perfect play;
Yet those that love to laugh, and those that think
Twelve pence goes further this way than in drinke,
Or Damsels; If they marke the matter through,
May stumble on a foolish toy or two,
Will make them shew their teeth: pray, for my sake,
That likely am your first man, do not take
A distaste before you feele it, for ye may
When this is hist to Ashes have a play.
And here to out-hisse this be patient then,
(My honour done) you are welcome Gentlemen.

The Epilogue.

IF you mislike (as you shall ever be
Your own free Judges) this Play utterly,
For your own Noblenesse yet do not hisse,
But as you go by, say it was amisse,
And we will mend, chide us, but let it be;
Never let it be in coole bloud. O' my honesty,
If I have any, this I'le say for all,
Our meaning was to please you still, and shall.

First Song to the Play, called, The Captaine.

TEll me dearest what is Love?
'Tis a lightning from above,
'Tis an Arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a Boy they call desire.
Both. 'Tis a Grave
Gapes to have
Those poore fooles that long to prove.
1 Tell me more are women true?
2 Yes some are, and some as you;
[Page]Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men first taught to Change.
Both. And till troth
Be in both,
All shall love to love anew.
1 Tell me more, yet can they grieve?
2 Yes▪ and sicken sore, but live:
And by wise and delay
When you men are as wise as they;
Both. Then I see
Faith will be
Never till they both beleeve.

The second Song.

A Way Delights, go seeke some other dwelling,
For I must dye;
Farewell false love thy tongue is ever telling
Lye after Lye.
For ever let me rest now from thy Smarts,
Alas for pitty go
And fire their hearts
That have been hard to thee, mine was not so,
Never againe deluding love shall know me,
For I will dye:
[Page]And all those griefes that thinke to over-grow me,
Shall be as I;
For ever will I sleepe while poore maids cry,
Alas, for pitty stay,
And let us dye,
With thee men cannot mock us in the day.

The third Song.

CCome hither you that love and heare me sing
Of Joyes still growing,
Greene, fresh, and lusty, as the Pride of Spring,
And ever blowing;
Come hither youths that blush and dare not know
What is desire,
And old men worse than you, that cannot blow
One sparke of fire;
And with the power of my enchanting Song
Boyes shall be able men, and old men yong.
Come hither you that hope, and you that cry,
Leave off complaining,
Youth, Strength, and beauty that shall never dye,
Are here remaining.
Come hither fooles and blush you stay so long
From being blest,
And Mad men worse than you, that suffer wrong,
Yet seeke no rest;
And in an houre with my enchanting Song
You shall be ever pleas'd, and young maids long.

Songs to the Play, called, The Beggers Bush. The first Song.

CAst our Caps and Care away: this is Beggers holiday,
At the Crowning of our King thus we ever dance and sing;
In the world look out & see, wher so happy a Prince as he
Where the Nation live so free, and so merry as do we;
Be it peace, or be it war, here at liberty we are,
And enjoy our ease and rest, to the Field we are not prest:
Nor are call'd into the Town to be troubled with the Gown,
Hang all Offices we cry, and the Magistrate too by;
When the Subsidies encreast, we are not a penny ceast;
Now will any goe to law with the Begger for a straw,
All which happinesse he brags he doth owe unto his Rags.

The second Song.

TAke her and tug her,
And turne her and hug her,
And turne againe boy, againe;
Then if she mumble,
Or if her taile tumble,
Kisse her amaine boy, amaine.
Do thy endeavour
To take off her Feaver,
Then her disease no longer will raigne,
If nothing will serve her
Then thus to preserve her,
Swing her amaine boy, amaine.
Give her cold Jelly
To take up her belly.
And once a day swing her again:
If she stand all these paines,
Then knock out her braines,
Her disease no longer will reigne.

The third Song.

BRing out your Cony-skins faire maids to me,
And hold 'em faire that I may see,
Gray, Blacke, and blew; for your smaller skins
I'le give ye looking-glasses pins;
And for your whole Coney, here's ready, ready money.
Come Gentle Joane do thou begin
With thy blacke, blacke, blacke Coney-skin,
And Mary then and Jane will follow
With their silver hair'd skins and their yellow;
The white Coney-skin I will not lay by,
For though it be faint 'tis faire to the eye;
The Gray it is warme, but yet for my money
Give me the bonny, bonny black Coney.
[Page]Come away faire maids, your skins will decay,
Come and take money maids, put your ware away.
Coney-skins, Coney-skins, have ye any Coney-skins,
I have fine Bracelets, and fine silver pins.

The Prologue to the Play, called, The Coxcombe.

THis Comedy long forgot, by some thought dead,
By us preserved once more doth raise her head;
And to your Noble censures does present
Her outward forme, and inward ornament.
Nor let this smell of Arrogance, since 'tis known
The makers that confest it for their own,
Were this way skilfull, and without the Crime
Of flatteries, I might say, did please the time;
The worke it selfe too, when it first came forth,
In the opinion of men of worth,
Was well receiv'd and favour'd, though some rude
And harsh among the Ignorant multitude,
That relish grosse food better than a dish
(That's cook'd with care, and serv'd in to the wish
Of curious Pallats) wanting wit and strength
Truly to judge, condemn'd it for the length,
That faults reform'd, and now 'tis to be tri'd
Before such Judges, 'twill not be deny'd
A free and Noble hearing, nor feare I
But 'twill deserve to have free liberty,
[Page]And give you cause (and with content) to say,
Their care was good that did revive this Play.

The Epilogue.

'TIs ended, but my hopes and feare begin,
Nor can it be imputed as a sin
In me to wish it favour, if this night
To the judicious it hath given light,
I have my ends, and may such, for their grace
Vouchsafe to this, find theirs in every place.

The Prologue to the Tragedy, called, The false One.

NEw Titles warrant not a Play for new,
The Subject being old and 'tis as true;
Fresh and neat matter may with ease be fram'd
Out of their Stories, that have oft been nam'd
With glory on the Stage: what borrows he
From him that wrought old Priams Tragedy
That writes his love to Hecuba? sure to tell
Of Caesars amorous heats, and how he fell
[Page]In the Capitall, can never be the same
To the Judicious: nor will such blame
Those that penn'd this forbarrennesse, when they find
Young Cleopatra here, and her great mind
Express'd to th' height, with us a Maid and free,
And how he rated her Virginity:
We treat not of what boldnesse she did dye,
Nor of her fatall love to Anthony;
What we present and offer to your view
(Upon their Faiths) the Stage yet never knew;
Let reason then first to your wils give Laws,
And after judge of them, and of their cause.

The Epilogue.

I Now should wish another had my place,
But that I hope to come off, and with grace,
And but expresse some signe that you are pleas'd,
We of our doubts, they of their feares are eas'd;
I would beg further (Gentlemen) and much say
In the favour of our selves, them, and the Play,
Did I not rest assured? the most I see
Hate Impudence, and cherish Modesty.

First Song to the False One, a Tragedy.

LOok out bright Eyes, and blesse the Aire,
Even in shaddows you are faire:
Shut up, beauty is like fire
That breakes out clearer still and higher;
Though your body be confin'd,
And lost love a pris'ner bound,
Yet the beauty of your mind,
Neither Cheeke, nor Chaine hath found.
Looke out Nobly then, and dare,
Even the Fetters that you weare.

The second Song.

ISis the Goddesse of this Land
Bids thee (great Caesar) understand
And marke our Customes, and first know
With greedy eyes, these watch the flow
Of plenteous Nilus when he comes
With Songs, with Dances, Timbrels, Drums,
They entertaine him, cut his way,
And give his proud heads leave to play;
Nilus himselfe shall rise and shew
His matchlesse wealth in overflow.

The third Song.

COme let us help the Reverend Nyle,
He's very old (alas the while)
Let us dig him easie waies,
And prepare a thousand plaies
To delight his streams, let's sing
A loud welcome to our spring;
This way let his curling heads
Fall into our new-made beds;
This way let his wanton spawns
Friske and glide it o're the Lawns;
This way profit comes and gaine,
How he tumbles here amaine.
How his waters haste to fall
In our Channell, labour all
And let him in: let Nylus flow,
And perpetuall plenty show;
With Incense let us blesse the brim,
And as the wanton Fishes swim,
Let us Gums, and Garlands fling,
And loud our Timbrels ring;
Come, (old Father) come away,
Our Labour is our Holiday.
Isis. Here comes the aged River now,
VVith Garlands of great Pearle his brow,
Begirt and rounded, in his flow
All things take life, and all things grow;
[Page]A Thousand wealthy treasures still
To do him service at his will,
Follow his rising Floud, and powre
Perpetuall blessings in our store.
Heare him, and next there will advance
His Sacred Heads to tread a Dance
In honour of my Royall Guest,
Marke them too, and you have a Feast.

The fourth Song.

MAke roome, for my rich waters fall,
And blesse my Floud,
Nylus come flowing to you all
Encrease and good.
Now the Plants and Flowers shall spring,
And the merry Ploughman sing.
In my hidden waves I bring
Bread, and Wine, and every thing;
Let the Damsels sing me in,
Sing aloud that I may rise:
Your Holy Feasts and houres begin,
And each man brings a Sacrifice;
Now my wanton Pearles I show
That to Ladies faire necks grow;
Now my Gold
And Treasures that can ne're be told,
Shall blesse this Land by my rich Flow;
And after this to crown your eyes,
My hidden holy bed arise.

The Prologue to the Play, called, The Chances.

APtnesse for mirth to all this instant night
Thalia hath prepar'd for your delight;
Her choice and curious Vyands in each part,
Season'd with rarities of wit, as Art.
Nor feare I to be tax'd for a vaine boast,
My promise will find credit with the most,
When they know ingenious Fletcher made it, he
Being in himselfe a perfect Comedy;
And some sit here, I doubt not, dare averre,
Living, he made that house a Theater
Which he pleas'd to frequent; and thus much we
Could not but play to his loud memory.
For our selves we do intreat that you would not
Expect strange turnes and windings in the Plot,
Objects of State, and now and then a Rhime
To gaule particular persons with the time;
Or that his towring Muse hath made her flight
Nearer your apprehension than your sight:
But if that sweet Expression, quick Conceit,
Familiar Language fashion'd to the weight,
Of such as speake it have the power to raise
Your grace to us, with Trophies to his praise,
We may professe, presuming on his skill,
If his Chances please not you, our fortune's ill.

The Epilogue.

VVE have not held you long,
One brow in this selected Company
Assuring a dislike our paines were eas'd,
Could we be confident that all rise pleas'd,
But such ambition soares too high: If we
Have satisfied the best, and they agree
In a faire Censure, we have our reward.
And in them Arm'd desire no surer guard.

The Prologue to the Play, called, The Loyall Subject.

VVE need not Noble Gentlemen to invite
Attention, pre-instruct you who did write
This worthy Story, being confident
The Mirth joyn'd with grave matter, and intent,
To yield the hearers profit with delight,
Will speake the maker, and to do him right
Would aske a Genius like to his; the Age
Mourning his losse, and our now widdowed stage
[Page]In vaine lamenting, I could adde so far,
Behind him the most Moderne writers are;
That when they would commend him their best praise
Ruins the buildings which they strive to raise.
To his best memory so much a friend,
Presumes to write secure, 'twill not offend
The living that are modest with the rest,
That may repine he cares not to contest:
This Debt to Fletcher paid it is profest,
But us the Actors we will do our best
To send such savouring friends, as hither come
To grace the Scene, pleas'd and contented home.

The Epilogue.

THough something well assur'd, few here repent,
Three houres of pretious time or money spent
On our endeavours, yet not to relie
Too much upon our care and industry:
'Tis fit we should aske but a modest way
How you approve our Action in the Play;
If you vouchsafe to crown it with applause,
It is your bounty, and give us cause
Hereafter with a generall consent
To study, as becomes us, your content.

First Song to the Play, Called, The Loyall Subject.

BRoome, Broome, the bonny Broome,
Come buy my Birchen Broome,
I'th' Wars we have no more roome,
Buy all my bonny Broome.
For a kisse take two,
If those will not do,
For a little, little pleasure,
Take all my whole treasure;
If all these will not do't,
Take the Broome man to boot;
Broome, Broome, the bonny Broome.

The second Song.

THe Wars are done and gone,
And Souldiers now neglected Pedlers are;
Come maidens, come along,
For I can shew you handsome, handsome ware,
Powders for for the head,
And drinkes for your bed
To make ye blith and bonny:
As well in the night we Souldiers can fight,
And please a young wench as any.

The third Song.

VVIll ye buy any honesty? come away,
I sell it openly by day;
I bring no forced light, nor no Candle
To cozen ye; come buy and handle.
This will shew the great man good,
The Tradesman where he sweares and lies,
Each Lady of a Noble bloud,
The City Dame to rule her Eyes:
Ye are Rich men now, come buy, and then
I'le make ye richer, honest men.

The fourth Song.

HAve ye any crackt maidenheads to new leach or mend?
Have ye any old maidenheads to sell, or to change?
Bring 'em to me with a little pretty gin,
I'le clout 'em, I'le mend 'em, I'le knock in a pin
Shall make 'em as good maids agen
As ever they have been.

The Prologue to the Play, called, The Lovers Progresse.

A Story, and a known one, long since writ,
Truth must take place, and by an able wit,
Foule-mouth'd detraction daring not deny
To give so much to Fletchers memory;
If so, some may object, why then do you
Present an old Piece to us for a new?
Or wherefore will your profest Writer be
(Not tax'd of Theft before) a Plagary?
To this he answers in his just defence,
And to maintaine to all our innocence,
Thus much, though he hath travel'd the same way,
Demanding, and receiving too the pay
For a New Poem, you may find it due,
He having neither cheated us nor you;
He vows, and deeply, that he did not spare
The utmost of his strength, and his best care
In the reviving it; and though his powers
Could not, as he desir'd, in three short houres
Contract the Subject, and much lesse expresse
The Changes, and the various Passages
That will be look'd for, you may heare this day
Some Scenes that will confirme it is a Play,
He being ambitious that it should be known
What's good was Fletchers, and what ill his own.

The Epilogue.

STill doubtfull and perplexed too, whether he
Hath done Fletcher right in the History;
The Poet sits within, since he must know it,
He with respect desires that you would shew it
By some accustom'd signe; if from our Action
Or his Endeavours you meet satisfaction,
With ours he hath his ends, we hope the best,
To make that certainty in you doth rest.

First Song to the Lovers Progresse.

ADieu fond Love, farewell you wanton powers,
I am free againe;
Thou dull disease of bloud and idle houres,
Bewitching paine.
Fly to the Fooles that sigh away their time,
My Nobler love to heaven clime,
And there behold beauty still young,
That time can ne're corrupt, nor death destroy;
Immortall sweetnesse by faire Angels sung,
And honour'd by eternity and joy:
There lives my Love, thither my hopes aspire,
Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher.

The second Song.

'TIs late and cold, stir up the fire,
Sit close and draw the Table nigher;
Be merry, and drinke wine that's old,
A hearty Med'cine 'gainst a cold.
Your beds of wanton down the best:
Where you shall tumble to your rest:
I could wish you wenches too,
But I am dead and cannot do;
Call for the best, the house may ring,
Sack White, and Claret let them bring,
And drinke apace while breath you have,
You'l find but cold drinke in the grave;
Plover, Partridge for your dinner,
And a Capen for the sinner,
You shall find ready when you are up,
And your horse shall have his sup:
Welcome shall fly round,
And I shall smile though under ground.

Songs to the Play, called, The Maid in the Mill. The first Song.

COme follow me, you Country Lasses,
And you shall see such sport as passes:
You shall dance, and I will sing,
Pedro he shall rub the string:
Each shall have a Loose-bodied Gown
Of Greene; and laugh till you lye down.
Come follow me, come follow, &c.

The second Song.

HOw long shall I pine for love?
How long shall I sue in vaine?
How long, like the Turtle Dove,
Shall I heartily thus complaine?
Shall the sailes of my love stand still?
Shall the grists of my hopes be unground?
Oh fie, oh fie, oh fie,
Let the Mill, let the Mill go round.

The third Song.

ON the bed I'le throw thee, throw thee down;
Down being laid, shall we be afraid
To try the rights that belong to love?
No, no, there I'le wooe thee with a Crown.
Crown our desires, kindle the fires;
When love requires we should wanton prove,
Wee'l kisse, wee'l sport, wee'l laugh, wee'l play,
If thou com'st short for thee I'le stay;
If thou unskilfull art the ground,
I'le kindly teach, wee'le have the Mill go round.

The fourth Song.

THinke me still in my Fathers Mill,
Where I have oft been found—a
Throwne on my back on a well fill'd sack
While the Mill has still gone round—a
Prethee Sirrah try thy skill,
And againe let the Mill go round—a.

The fifth Song.

THe young one, the old one, the fearefull, the bold one,
The lame one, though ne're so unsound,
The Jew or the Turke have leave for to worke
The whil'st that the Mill goes round.

The Prologue to the Play, called, The Passionate Mad-man.

IT's grown in fash'on of late in these daies
To come and beg a suff'rance to our Plaies;
Faith Gentlemen our Poet ever writ
Language so good, mixt with such sprightly wit;
He made the Theatre so soveraigne
With his rare Scenes, he scorn'd this crouching veine.
We stab'd him with keene daggers when we pray'd
Him write a Preface to a Play well made;
He could not write these toyes, 'twas easier far
To bring a Fellon to appeare at th' Bar:
So much he hated basenesse, which this day
His Scenes will best convince you of in's play.

The Epilogue.

OUr Poet bid us say, for his own part,
He cannot lay too much forth of his Art;
But feares our over-acting Passions may,
As not adorne, deface his labour'd Play:
Yet still he is res'lute for what is writ
Of nicer valour, and assumes the wit;
But for the love Sceanes which he ever meant,
Cupid in's Petticoat should represent;
Hee'l stand no shock of Censure, the Play's good,
He saies he knows it (if well understood)
But we (blind God) beg, if thou art divine,
Thou it shoot thy Arrowes round, this Play was thine.

Songs to the Play, called, The Nice Valour: Or, The Passionate Mad-man. The first Song.

THou Deity swift winged love,
Sometimes below, sometimes above,
Little in shape, but great in power,
Thou that makest a heart thy Tower,
[Page]And thy loope-holes, Ladies eyes,
From whence thou strik'st the fond and wise.
Did all the shafts in thy faire Quiver
Stick fast in my ambitious Liver;
Yet thy power would I adore,
And Call upon thee to shoot more;
Shoot more, shoot more.

The second Song.

O Turne thy bow,
Thy power we feele and know,
Faire Cupid turne away thy bow:
They be those golden Arrows
Bring Ladies all their sorrowes,
And till there be more truth in men,
Never shoot at maids agen.

The third Song.

HEnce all you vaine delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly;
There's nought in this life sweet,
If man were wise to see't,
But only Melancholly,
O sweetest Melancholly.
[Page]Welcome folded armes and fixed eyes,
A sight that piercing mortifies;
A looke that's fastned to the ground,
A tongue chain'd up without a sound.
Fountain heads, and pathlesse Graves,
Places which pale Passion loves:
Moon-light walkes, when all the Fowles
Are warmely hous'd save Bats and Owles.
A midnight Bell, a parting groane,
These are the sounds we feed upon:
Then stretch our Bones in a still gloomy valley,
Nothing so dainty, sweet, as lovely Melancholly.

The fourth Song.

A Curse upon thee for a slave;
Art thou here and heard'st me rave?
Flie not sparkles from mine eye
To shew mine indignation nigh;
Am I not all foame and fire,
With voice as hoarse as a Town Crier?
How my back opes and shuts together
With fury as old mens with weather;
Could'st thou not heare my teeth gnash hither?

The fifth Song.

THou Nasty scurvy Mungrill Toad,
Mischiefe on thee,
Light upon thee
All the plagues
That can confound thee,
Or did ever raigne abroad;
Better a thousand lives it cost
Then have brave anger spilt or lost.

The sixth Song.

OH how my Lungs do trickle? ha, ha, ha.
Oh how my Lungs do trickle? oh, oh, ho, ho.
Pas. sings.
Set a sharpe Jest
Against my breast,
Then how my Lungs do trickle;
As Nightingales,
And things in Cambrick railes
Sing best against a prickle.
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Ho, ho, ho, ho, ha.
and vary.
A smile is for a simp'ring Novice.
One that ne're tasted Caveare.
Nor knows the smack of deare Anchovis.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho.
A giling waiting wench for me,
That shewes her teeth how white they be.
A thing not fit for gravity,
For theirs are foule and hardly three.
Ha, ha, ha.
Ho, ho, ho.
Democritus, thou ancient Fleerer,
Now I misse thy laugh, and ha since.
There you nam'd the famous Jeerer
That ever jeer'd in Rome or Athens.
Ha, ha, ha.
Ho, ho, ho.
How brave lives he that keeps a foole,
Although the rate be deeper.
But he that is his own foole sir
Does live a great deale cheaper.
Sure I shall burst, burst, quite breake, thou art so witty.
'Tis rare to breake at Court, for that belongs to th' Citty.
Ha, ha, my spleene is almost worn to the last laughter.
O keepe a corner for a friend, a jest may come hereafter.

The Prologue to the Tamer Tamed.

LAdies to you, in whose defence and right
Fletchers brave Muse prepar'd her selfe to fight,
A battle without bloud, 'twas well fought too,
(The Victorie's yours, though got with much adoe.)
We do present this Comedy, in which
A rivulet of pure wit flows, strong and rich
In Fancy, Language, and all parts that may
Adde Grace and Ornament to a merry Play,
Which this may prove: Yet not to go too far
In promises from this our Female war,
We do intreat the angry men would not
Expect the Mazes of a subtle plot,
Set speeches, high expressions, and what's worse,
In a true Comedy Politique discourse.
The end we aime at, is to make you sport;
Yet neither gaule the City, nor the Court:
Heare and observe his Comique straine, and when
Y' are sick of Melancholly, see't agen.
'Tis no deare Physick, since 'twill quit the cost,
Or his Intentions with our paines are lost.

The Epilogue.

THe Tamers tam'd, but so, as nor the men
Can find one just cause to complaine of, when
They fitly do consider in their lives
They should not raigne as Tyrants or'e their wives;
Nor can the woman from this president
Insult or triumph: it being aptly meant
To teach both Sexes due equality;
And as they stand bound to love mutually.
If this effect arising from a cause
Well laid, and grounded, may deserve applause,
We something more then hope, our honest ends
Will keep the men and women too, our friends.

The Prologue to the Martiall Maid.

STatues and Pictures challenge praise and Fame,
If they can justly boast, and prove they came
From Phydeas or Apelles: None deny,
Poets and Picture Painters hold a Sympathy;
Yet their workes may decay and lose their grace,
Receiving blemish in their Limbs or Face;
[Page]When the Minds Art hath this Preheminence
She still retaineth her first Excellence.
Then why should not this deare peece be esteem'd
Child to the richest Fancies that e're teem'd?
When not their meanest Off-spring that came forth
But bore the image of their Fathers worth,
Beaumonts and Fletchers, whose desert out-weighs
The best Applause, and their least sprig of Bayes
Is worthy Phoebus; and who comes to gather
Their fruits of Wit, he shall not rob the Treasure;
Nor can you ever surfeit of the plenty,
Nor can you call them rare, though they be dainty:
The more you take, the more you do them right,
And we will thanke you for your own delight.

The Epilogue.

OUr Author feares there are some Rebels hearts,
Whose dulnesse doth oppose Loves piercing Darts:
Such will be apt to say there wanted wit,
The Language low, very few Scenes are writ
With spirit and life; such odd things as these
He cares not for, nor never meanes to please;
For if your selves a Mistris, or loves friends,
Are lik'd with this smooth Play, he hath his ends.

A Song to the Play, called, Wit at severall Weapons.

FAine would I wake you, Sweet, but feare
I should invite you to worse cheare;
In your dreames you cannot fare
Meaner than Musick no compare;
None of your slumbers are compil'd
Under the pleasure makes a Child:
Your day-delights, so well compact,
That what you thinke, turnes all to Act;
I'de wish my life no better play,
Your dreame by night, your thought by day.
Wake gently, wake,
Part softly from your dreames;
The morning flies,
To your faire eyes,
To take her speciall beames.

The Prologue to the Faire Maid of the Inne.

PLaies have their fates, not as in their true sence
They're understood, but as the influence
Of idle custome madly works upon
The drosse of many tongu'd opinion.
A worthy story, howsoever writ
For language, modest mirth, conceit, o [...] wit,
Mercies oft times with the sweet Commendation
Of hang't 'tis scurvey, when for approbation,
A Jigge shall be clapt at, and every Rhime
Prais'd and applauded by a clam'rous chyme;
Let ignorance and laughter dwell together,
They are beneath the Muses petty. Hether
Came Nobler Judgements, and to those the straine
Of our invention is not bent in vaine.
The faire maid of the Inne to you commends
Her hopes and welcomes, and withall intends
In the entertaines to which she doth invite ye,
All things to please, and some things to delight ye.

The Epilogue.

VVE would faine please ye, and as faine be pleas'd,
'Tis but a little liking both are eas'd;
We have your money, and you have our ware,
And to our understanding good and faire;
For your own wisdomes sake be not so mad
To acknowledge ye have bought things deare and bad:
Let not a brack i'th stuffe, or here and there,
The fading glosse a generall losse appeare;
We know ye take up worse Commodities,
And dearer pay, yet thinke your bargains wise:
We know in meat and wine, ye fling away
More time and wealth, which is but dearer pay;
And with the Reckoning all the pleasure lost,
We bid you not unto repenting cost:
The price is easie, and so light the Play,
That ye may new digest it ev'ry day.
Then Noble friends, as ye would choose a Mistris,
Only to please the Eye a while and kisse,
Till a good wife be got: So let this Play
Hold ye a while, untill a better may.

First Song to the Tragedy of Valentinian.

NOw the lusty spring is seene,
Golden, yellow, gaudy blew,
Daintily invite the view.
Every where, on every Greene,
Roses blushing as they blow,
And inticing men to pull,
Lillies whiter than the snow,
Woodbines of sweet honey full.
All Loves Emblems, and all cry,
Ladies, if not pluck'd, we dye.
Yet the lusty Spring hath stayd,
Blushing red and purest white,
Daintily to love invite,
Every woman, every maid,
Cherries kissing as they grow,
And inviting men to taste,
Apples even ripe below,
Winding gently to the waste.
All loves Emblems, and all cry,
Ladies, if not pluckt, we dye.

The second Song.

HEare ye Ladies that despise
What the mighty love hath done;
Feare Examples, and be wise,
Feare Calisto was a Nun.
Leda sailing on the streame,
To deceive the hopes of man,
Love accounting but a dreame,
Doted on a silver Swan;
Danae in a brazen Tower,
Where no love was, loov'd a Flower.
Heare ye Ladies that are coy,
What the mighty love can do,
Feare the fiercenesse of the Boy,
The chaste Moone he makes to wooe.
Vesta kindling holy fires
Circled round about with spies,
Never dreaming loose desires,
Doting at the Altar dies.
Ilion in a short Tower higher,
He can once more build, and once more fire.

The third Song.

HOnour that is ever living,
Honour that is ever giving,
Honour that sees all, and knows
Both the ebbs of man and flowes.
Honour that rewards the best,
Sends thee thy rich labours rest;
Thou hast studied still to please her,
Therefore now she cals thee Caesar.
Chorus haile, haile, Caesar, haile and stand,
And thy name out-live the Land;
Noble Fathers to his brows
Bind this wreath with thousand vows.

The fourth Song.

GOd Lizus ever young,
Ever renown'd, ever sung;
Stain'd with blood of lusty Grapes,
In a thousand lusty shapes;
Dance upon the Mazers brim,
In the Crimson Liquor swim;
From thy plentious hand divine,
Let a River run with Wine;
God of youth let this day here
Enter neither care nor feare.

The Prologue to the Play, called, Loves Pilgrimage.

TO this place, Gentlemen, full many a day
We have bid ye welcome; and to many a Play:
And those whose angry soules were not displeas'd
With law, or lending money, we have pleas'd,
And make no doubt to do againe; this night
No mighty matter, nor no light,
We must intreat you looke for: A good tale,
Told in two houres, we will not faile
If we be perfect to rehearse ye: New
I am sure it is, and hansome; but how true
Let them dispute that writ it. Ten to one
We please the women, and I would know that man
Follows not their example: If ye meane
To know the Play well, travell with the Scene,
For it lies upon the road; if we chance tire,
As ye are good men leave us not i'th' mire,
Another bait may mend us: If you grow
A little gald or wearie, cry but hoa,
And wee'l stay for ye; when our journey ends
Every man's Pot I hope, and all part friends.

The Honest Man's Fortune.

YOu that can look through heaven, and tell the Stars,
Observe their kind Conjunctions, and their wars;
Find out new lights, and give them where you please,
To these men honours, pleasures, to those ease;
You that are Gods surveyers, and can show
How far, and when, and why the Wind doth blow;
Know all the charges of the dreadfull Thunder,
And when it will shoot over, or fall under:
Tell me by all your Art, I conjure ye,
Yes, and by truth, what shall become of me;
Find out my star, if each one, as you say,
Have his peculiar Angell, and his way;
Observe my Fate, next fall into your dreames,
Sweep cleane your houses, and new line your sceames,
Then say your worst: or have I none at all?
Or is it burnt out lately, or did fall?
Or am I poore, not able, no full flame,
My Star, like me, unworthy of a name?
Is it your Art can only worke on those
That deale with dangers, dignities and cloaths?
With love, or new opinions? you all lye,
A Fish-wife hath a Fate, and so have I,
But far above your finding; he that gives
Out of his providence to all that lives,
And no man knows his treasure, no not you:
He that made Egypt blind, from whence you grew
[Page]Scabby and Lousie, that the world might see
Your Calculations are as blind as ye;
He that made all the stars you daily read,
And from thence filtch a knowledge how to feed,
Hath hid this from you, your conjectures all
Are drunken things, not how, but when they fall:
Man is his own star, and the soule that can
Render an honest and a perfect man,
Command all light, all influence, all fate,
Nothing to him fals early, or too late;
Our Acts our Angels are, or good, or ill,
Our fatall shadows that walke by us still;
And when the stars are labouring, we believe
It is not that they governe, but they grieve
For stubborne ignorance; all things that are
Made for our generall uses are at war,
Even we among our selves, and from the strife
Your first unlike opinions got a life.
O man, thou Image of thy Makers good,
What canst thou feare when breath'd into thy blood
His Spirit is that built thee? what dull sence
Makes thee suspect, in need, that providence?
Who made the Morning, and who plac'd the light
Guide to thy labours? who call'd up the night,
And bid her fall upon thee like sweet show'rs
In hollow murmurs, to lock up thy powers?
Who gave thee knowledge, who so trusted thee
To let thee grow so neare himselfe, the tree?
Must he then be distrusted? shall his frame
Discourse with him, why thus, and thus I am?
He made the Angels thine, thy fellows all,
Nay even thy servants when Devotions call:
O canst thou be so stupid then, so dim.
To seeke a saving influence, and lose him?
[Page]Can stars protect thee? or can poverty,
Which is the light to heaven, put out his eye?
He is my star, in him all truth I find,
All influence, all fate, and when my mind
Is furnished with his fulnesse, my poore story
Should out-live all their Age, and all their glory.
The hand or Danger cannot fall amisse,
When I know what, and in whose power it is:
Nor want, the cause of man, shall make me groane,
A holy Hermit is a mind alone.
Doth not experience teach us all we can
To worke our selves into a glorious man?
Love's but an Exhalation to best eyes,
The matter spent, and then the fooles fire dies;
Were I in love, and could that bright star bring
Increase to wealth, honour, and ev'ry thing;
Were she as perfect good as we can aime,
The first was so, and yet she lost the game.
My Mistris then be knowledge, and faire truth;
So I enjoy all beauty, and all youth:
And though to Time her lights and Laws she lends,
She knows no Age that to corruption bends.
Friends promises may lead me to believe,
But he that is his own friend knows to live;
Affliction when I know it is but this,
A deep allay vvhereby man tougher is
To beare the hammer, and the deeper still,
We still arise more Image of his vvill;
Sicknesse an hum'rous cloud 'tvvixt us and light,
And death, at longest, but another night.
Man is his ovvn star, and that soule that can
Be honest, is the only perfect man.

Mr Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben Iohnson, written before he and Mr Fletcher came to London, with two of the precedent Comedies then not finished, which de­ferred their merry meet­ings at the Mermaid.

THe Sun which doth the greatest comfort bring
To absent friends, because the selfe-same thing
They know they see, however absent is,
(Here our best hay-maker, forgive me this,
It is our Countries stile) in this warme shine
I lie and dreame of your full Mermaid wine;
O we have water mixt with Claret Lees,
Drinke apt to bring in drier heresies
Than here, good only for the Sonnets straine,
With Fustian Metaphors to stuffe the braine;
So mixt, that given to the thirstiest one
'Twill not prove Almes, unlesse he have the stone:
Thinke with one draught mans Invention fades,
Two Cups had quite spoil'd Homers Illiades;
'Tis Liquor that will find out Sutclifts Wit,
Like where he will, and make him write worse yet;
Fill'd with such moysture, in most grievous Qualmes
Did Robert Wisdome write his singing Psalmes:
[Page]And so must I do this, and yet I thinke
It is a potion sent us down to drinke
By speciall providence, keeps us from fights,
Make us not laugh when we make legs to Knights:
'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states,
A Medicine to obey our Magistrates;
For we do live more free than you, no hate,
No envy at one anothers happy state
Moves us, we are all equall every whit;
Of Land that God gives men, here is their wit
If we consider fully for our best,
And gravest men will with his maine house jest,
Scarce please you, we want subtilty to do
The City Tricks, lye, hate, and flatter too;
Here are none that can beare a painted show,
Strike when you winch, and then lament the blow;
Who like Mils, set the right way for to grind,
Can make their gaines alike with ev'ry wind:
Only some fellows with the subtil'st pate
Amongst us, may perchance equivocate
At selling of a Horse, and that the most;
Methinks the little wit I had is lost
Since I saw you, for a wit is like a rest,
Held up a tennis, which men do the best
With the best Gamesters: what things have we seen
Done at the Mermaid? Hard words that have been
So nimble, and so full of subtill flame,
As it that every one from whence they came
Had meant to put his whole wit in a Jest,
And had resolv'd to live a foole the rest
Of his dull life; then when there hath been thrown
Wit able enough to justifie the Town
For three daies past, wit that might warrant be
For the whole City to take foolishly
[Page]Till that were cancell'd, and when that was gone
We left an aire behind us, which alone
Was able to make the two next Companies
Right witty, though but down-right fooles more wise:
When I remember this, and see that now
The Country Gentlemen begin t' allow
My wit for dry bobs, then I needs must cry,
I see my daies of Ballating grow nigh;
I can already riddle, and can sing
Catches, sell bargaines, and I feare shall bring
My selfe to speake the hardest words I find
Over as oft as any with one wind
That takes no med'cines: but one thought of thee
Makes me remember all these things to be
The wit of our young men, fellows that show
No part of good, yet utter all they know;
Who, like trees of the guard, have growing soules,
Only strong Destiny, which all controules,
I hope hath left a better fate in store
For me, thy friend, than to live ever poore.
Banisht unto this home-fate once againe,
Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plaine
The way of knowledge for me, and then I,
Who have no good but in thy company,
Protest it will my greatest comfort be
To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee.
Ben, when these Scenes are perfect wee'l taste Wine,
I'le drinke thy Muses health, thou shalt quaffe mine.

On Francis Beaumonts Death.

HE that had Youth, and Friends, and so much Wit
As would aske five good Wits to husband it:
He that hath wrote so well, that no man dare
Refuse it for the best, let him beware,
Beaumont is dead, by which our Art appeares,
Wit's a disease consumes one in few yeares.

An Elegy upon Mr Fran. Beaumont.

BEaumont lies here, and where now shall we have
A Muse, like his, to sigh upon his grave?
Ah none to weep this with a worthy teare,
But he that cannot, Beaumont, that lies here;
Who now shall pay this tombe with such a verse,
As thou that Ladies did'st, faire Rudlands hearse?
A monument that will then lasting be,
When all her marble is more dust than she:
In thee all's lost, a sudden dearth and want
Hath seiz'd on wit, good Epitaphs are scant:
We dare not write thy Elegy, for each feares
He ne're shall match a copy of thy teares;
[Page]Scarce yet in age a Poet, and yet he
Scarce lives the third part of his age to see;
But quickly taken off, and only known,
Is in a minute shut as soone as blown.
Why should weake nature tyre her selfe in vaine,
In such a peece, and cast it straight againe?
Why shoud she take such worke beyond her skill,
And when she cannot perfect she must kill;
Alas, what is't to temper slime and mire?
Then's nature pussel'd when the work's intire:
Great braines, like bright glass, crackle straight, while those
Of stone and wood hold out, and feare no blows;
And we their ancient hoary heads can see,
Whose wit was never their mortality.
Beaumont dies young, so Sydney dy'd before,
There was not Poetry, he could live no more:
He could not grow up higher, nay, I scarce know,
If th'art it selfe unto that pitch could grow,
Wer't not in thee, who hadst arriv'd to th' height
Of all that Art could reach, or nature might.
Oh, when I read those excellent things of thine,
Such strength, such sweetnesse, couch'd in every line;
Such life of fancy, such high choice of braine,
Nought of the vulgar mint, or borrow'd straine;
Such passions, such expressions, meet mine eye,
Such wit untainted with obscenity:
And these so unaffectedly exprest,
But all in a pure flowing language drest;
So new, so fresh, so nothing trod upon,
And all so borne within thy selfe, thine own:
I grieve not now that old Meanders veine
Is ruin'd, to survive in thee againe:
Such in his time was he, of the same peece,
The smooth, even naturall wit, and love of Greece;
[Page]Whose few sententious fragments shew more worth
Than all the Poets Athens e're brought forth:
And I am sorry I have lost those houres
On them, whose quicknesse comes far short of ours,
And dwelt not more on thee, whose every page
May be a patterne to their Scene and age;
I will not yeeld thy worth so meane a praise,
More pure, more chaste, more sainted than are plaies:
Nor with that dull supinenesse to be read,
To passe a fire, or laugh an houre in bed:
How do the Muses suffer every where?
Taken in such mouths, sensur'd in such eares;
That 'twixt a whiffe, a line or two rehearse,
And with their Rheume together, spawle a verse:
'Tis all a Punies leasure after play,
Drinke and Tobacco, it may spend the day;
Whilst even their very idlenesse they thinke,
Is lost in these, that lose their times in drinke:
Pitty their dulnesse; we that better know,
Will a more serious houre on thee bestow;
Why should not Beaumont in the morning please,
As well as Plautus, Aristophanes?
Who if my pen may, as my faults, be free,
Were humble wits, and Buffoons both to thee:
Yet those our learned of severest brow,
Will deigne to looke on, and so note them too;
That will defie our own, his English stuffe,
And th' Authour is not rotten long enough:
Alas▪ how ill are they compar'd to thee,
In thy Philaster, or maids Tragedy?
Where's such a humour as thy Bessus? nay,
Let them put all their treasures in one Play,
He shall out-bid them, their conceit was poore,
All in the circle of a Bawd or Whore,
[Page]A cozening—take the foole away,
And not a good jest extant in a Play:
Yet these are wits, th'are old, that's it, and now
Be'ng Greeke, or Latin, they are learning too;
But those their own times were content t' allow
A thriftier fame, and thine is lowest now,
But thou shalt live, and when thy name is grown
Six ages elder, shalt be better known:
When th'art of Chaucers standing in thy tombe,
Thou shalt not shame, but take up all his roome.

On William Shakespeare.

REnowned Spencer lye a thought more nigh
To learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont lye
A little nearer Spencer, to make roome
For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold tombe,
To lodge all foure in one bed make a shift
Untill Dooms day, for hardly will a fifth
Betwixt this day and that by Fates be slaine,
For whom your curtaines may be drawn againe.
If your precedency in death do barre
A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre,
Under this sacred Marble of thine owne,
Sleep rare Tragoedian Shakespeare! sleep alone.
Thy unmolested peace in an unshared Cave,
Possesse as Lord, not Tenant of thy grave;
That unto us, and others it may be,
Honour hereafter to be laid by thee.

On Ben Johnson.

HEre lies Johnson with the rest
Of the Poets; but the best
Reader, wo'dst thou more have known?
Aske his Story, not this Stone;
That will speake what this can't tell
Of his glory. So farewell.

Another on Ben Johnson.

THe Muses fairest light in no darke time;
The wonder of a learned Age; the Line
That none can passe; the most proportion'd wit
To Nature; the best Judge of what was fit:
The deepest, plainest, highest, clearest pen;
The voice most eccho'd by consenting men:
The soule which answer'd best to all well said
By others; and which most requitall made:
Tun'd to the highest key of ancient Rome,
Returning all her musick with her own;
In whom with nature, study claim'd a part,
And yet who to himselfe ow'd all his Art.
Here lyes Ben Johnson, every age will look
With sorrow here, with wonder on his Book.

On Mr Edm. Spencer, Famous Poet.

AT Delphos shrine, one did a doubt propound,
Which by th' Oracle must be released,
Whether of Poets were the best renow'nd:
Those that survive, or they that are deceased?
The Gods made answer by divine suggestion,
While Spencer is alive, it is no question.

On Michael Drayton buried in Westminster.

DOe pious Marble, let thy Readers know,
What they, and what their children ow
To Drayton's sacred name, whose dust
We recommend unto thy trust.
Protect his memory, preserve his story,
And a lasting Monument of his glory;
And when thy ruines shall disclaime
To be the Treasury of his name,
His name which cannot fade, shall be
An everlasting monument to thee.

On the Tombes in Westminster.

MOrtality, behold, and feare,
What a change of flesh is here!
Thinke how many Royall bones
Sleep within these heap of Stones;
Here they lye, had Realmes, and Lands,
Who now want strength to stir their hands;
Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust,
They preach, In Greatnesse is no trust.
Here's an Acre sown indeed,
With the richest, royall'st seed,
That the earth did e're suck in
Since the first man dy'd for sin:
Here the bones of birth have cry'd,
Though Gods they were, as men they dy'd:
Here are Sands, ignoble things,
Dropt from the ruin'd sides of Kings.
Here's a world of Pomp and State
Buried in Dust, once dead by Fate.

The Ex-Ale-tation of ALE.

NOt drunken, nor sober, but neighbour to both,
I met with a friend in Ales-bury Vale;
He saw by my face, that I was in the case
To speake no great harme of a Pot of good Ale.
Then did he me greet, and said, since we meet,
(And he put me in mind of the name of the Dale)
For Ales-bury's sake some paines I would take,
And not bury the praise of a Pot of good Ale.
The more to procure me, then he did adjure me
If the Ale I dranke last were nappy and stale,
To do it its right, and stir up my sprite,
And fall to commend a &c.
Quoth I, To commend it I dare not begin,
Lest therein my Credit might happen to faile;
For, many men now do count it a sin,
But once to look toward a &c.
Yet I care not a pin, for I see no such sin,
Nor any thing else my courage to quaile:
For, this we do find, that take it in kind,
Much vertue there is in a &c.
And I mean not to taste, though thereby much grac't,
Nor the Merry-go-down without pull or hale,
Perfuming the throat, when the stomack's afloat,
With the fragrant sweet sent of a &c.
Nor yet the delight that comes to the sight
To see how it flowers and mantles in graile,
As green as a leeke, with a smile in the cheeke,
The true orient colour of a &c.
But I meane the Mind, and the good it doth find;
Not only the Body so feeble and fraile:
For, Body and Soule may blesse the Black Bowle,
Since both are beholden to a &c.
For, when heavinesse the mind doth oppresse,
And sorrow and griefe the heart do assaile.
No remedy quicker than to take off your liquor,
And to wash away cares with a &c.
The Widdow that buried her husband of late,
Will soon have forgotten to weep and to waile,
And thinke ev'ry day twaine, till she marry againe,
If she read the contents of a &c.
It is like a belly-blast to a cold heart,
And warms, and engenders the spirits vitale,
To keep them from domage, all sp'rits owe their homage
To the Sp'rite of the Buttery a &c.
And down to the legs the vertue doth go,
And to a bad Foot-man is as good as a saile;
When it fils the veines, and makes light the braines,
No Lackey so nimble as a &c.
The naked complains not for want of a Coat,
Nor on the cold weather will once turne his taile;
All the way as he goes he cuts the wind with his nose,
If he be but well wrapt in a &c.
The hungry man takes no thought for his meat,
Though his stomack would brook a ten-penny naile;
He quite forgets hunger, thinks on it no longer,
If he touch but the sparkes of a &c.
The Poore man will praise it, so hath he good cause,
That all the yeare eats neither partridge nor quaile,
But sets up his rest, and makes up his feast
With a crust of brown bread, and a &c.
The Shepheard, the Sower, the Thresher, the Mower,
The one with his Scyth, the other with his flaile,
Take them out by the poll, on the perill of my soll,
All will hold up their hands to a &c.
The Black-Smith, whose bellows all summer do blow,
With the fire in his face still, without e're a vaile,
Though his throat be full dry, he will tell you a lye,
But where you may be sure of a &c.
Who ever denies it, the Pris'ners will praise it,
That beg at the grate, and lye in the Goale:
For, even in their fetters, they thinke themselves better,
May they get but a two-penny black pot of Ale.
The begger whose portion is alwaies his prayers,
Not having a tatter to hang on his taile,
Is as rich in his rags, as the churle in his bags,
If he once but shakes hands with a &c.
It drives his poverty cleane out of mind,
Forgetting his brown bread, his wallet, and maile;
He walks in the house like a six-footed Louse,
If once he be enricht with a &c.
And he that doth dig in the ditches all day,
And wearies himselfe quite at the plough-taile,
Will speake no less things than of Queens and of Kings,
If he touch but the top of a &c.
'Tis like a Whetstone to a blunt wit,
And makes a supply where Nature doth faile:
The dullest wit soon will look quite through the Moon,
If his temples be wet with a &c.
Then DICK to his Dearling, fall boldly dares speake,
Though, before (silly fellow) his courage did quaile,
He gives her the smouch, with his hand on his pouch,
If he meet by the way with a &c.
And it makes the Carter a Courtier straight-way,
With Rhetoricall termes he will tell his tale;
With Courtesies great store, and his Cap up before,
Being school'd but a little with a &c.
The Old man, whose tongue wags faster than his teeth,
(For old-age by nature doth drivell and drale)
Will frig and will fling, like a dog in a string,
If he warme his cold blood with a &c.
And the good Old Clarke, whose sight waxeth darke,
And ever he thinkes the Print is to small,
He will see every letter, and say Service better,
If he glaze but his eyes with a &c.
The Cheekes and the Jaws to commend it have cause;
For where they were late but even wan and pale,
They will get them a colour, no Crimson is fuller,
By the true die and tincture of a &c.
Marke her enemies, though they thinke themselves wise,
How meager they look, with how low a waile,
How their cheeks do fall, without sp'rits at all,
That alien their minds from a &c.
And now that the grains do worke in my brains,
Me thinks I were able to give by retaile
Commodities store, a dozen and more,
That flow to Mankind from a &c.
The MUSES would muse any should it misuse:
For it makes them to sing like a Nightingale,
With a lofty trim note, having washed their throat
With the Caballine Spring of a &c.
And the Musician of any condition,
It will make him reach to the top of his Scale:
It will cleare his pipes, and moisten his lights,
If he drink alternatim a &c.
The Poet divine, that cannot reach wine,
Because that his money doth many times faile,
Will hit on the veine to make a good streine,
If he be but inspired with a &c.
For Ballads ELDERTON never had Peere,
How went his wit in them, with how merry a gale;
And with all the sailes up, had he been at the cup,
And washed his beard with a &c.
And the power of it shows, no whit lesse in Prose,
It will file one's phrase, and set forth his tale:
Fill him but a boule, it will make his tongue troule,
For flowing speech flows from a &c.
And Master Philosopher, if he drinke his part,
Will not trifle his time in the huske or the shale,
But go to the kernell by the depth of his Art,
To be found in the bottome of a &c.
Give a Scholar of OXFORD a pot of Sixteen,
And put him to prove that an Ape hath no taile,
And sixteen times better his wit will be seen,
If you fetch him from Botley a &c.
Thus it helps Speech and Wit: And it hurts not a whit,
But rather doth further the Virtues Morale,
Then thinke it not much if a little I touch
The good morall parts of a &c.
To the Church and Religion it is a good friend,
Or else our fore-fathers their wisdome did faile,
That at every mile, next to the Church stile,
Set a consecrate house to a &c.
But now, as they say, Beere beares it away;
The more is the pitty, if right might prevaile:
For, with this same Beer, came up Heresie here,
The old Catholick Drinke is a &c.
The Churches much ow, as we all do know;
For when they be drooping and ready to fall,
By a Whitson or Church-ale, up againe they shall go,
And owe their repairing to a &c.
Truth will do it right, it brings Truth to light,
And many bad matters it helps to reveale:
For, they that will drinke, will speake what they thinke;
TOM tell-troth lies hid in a &c.
It is Justices friend, she will it commend,
For, all is here served by measure and tale:
Now, true-tale, and good measure are Justices treasure,
And much to the praise of a &c.
And next I alleadge, it is Fortitudes edge:
For a very Cow-heard, that shrinkes like a snaile,
Will sweare and will swagger, and out goes his dagger,
If he be but arm'd with a &c.
Yea, ALE hath her Knights and Squires of degree,
That never wore Corslet, nor yet shirt of maile,
But have fought their fights all, 'twixt the pot and the wall,
When once they were dub'd with a &c.
And sure it will make a man suddenly wise,
E're-while was scarce able to tell a right tale:
It will open his jaw, he will tell you the Law,
As made a right Bencher of a &c.
Or he that will make a bargaine to gaine,
In buying, or setting his goods forth to sale,
Must not plod in the mire, but sit by the fire,
And seale up his Match with a &c.
But for Sobernesse needs must I confesse,
The mater goes hard: And few do prevaile
Not to go too deep, but temper to keep,
Such is the Attractive of a &c.
But here's an amends, which will make all friends,
And ever doth tend to the best availe;
If you take it too deep it will make you but sleep;
So comes no great harme of a &c.
If (reeling) they happen to fall to the ground,
The fall is not great, they may hold by the Raile:
If into the water, they cannot be drown'd,
For that gift is given to a &c.
If drinking about they chance to fall out,
Feare not the Alarm, though flesh be but fraile,
It will prove but some blows, or at most a bloudy nose,
And friends againe straight with a &c.
And Physick will favour ALE as it is bound,
And be against Beere both tooth and naile:
They send up and down all over the Town
To get for their Patients a &c.
Their Ale-berries, Cawdles, and Possets each one,
And Syllabubs made at the Milking-paile,
Although they be many, Beere comes not in any,
But all are composed with a &c.
And in very deed the Hop's but a weed,
Brought o're against Law, and here set to sale:
Would the Law were renew'd, and no more Beere brew'd,
But all good men betake them to a &c.
The Law, that will take it under her wing:
For, at every Law-day, or Moot of the hale,
One is sworne to serve our Soveraigne the KING,
In the ancient Office of a CONNER of ALE.
There's never a Lord of Mannor or of Town,
By strand or by land, by hill or by dale,
But thinks it a Franchise, and a Flow'r of the CROWN,
To hold the Assize of a &c.
And though there lie Writs, from the Courts Paramount,
To stay the proceedings of the Courts Paravaile;
Law favours it so, you may come, you may go,
There lies no Prohibition to a &c.
They talke much of State both early and late,
But if Gascoign and Spain their Wine should but faile,
No remedy then, with us Englishmen,
But the State it must stand by a &c.
And they that sit by it are good men and quiet,
No dangerous Plotters in the Common-weale
Of Treason and Murder: For, they never go further
Than to call for, and pay for a &c.
To the praise of GAMBRIVIUS that good Brittish King
That devis'd for his Nation (by the Welshmen's tale)
Seventeen hundred yeares before CHRIST did spring,
The happy invention of a &c.
The North they will praise it, and praise it with passion,
Where every River gives name to a Dale:
There men are yet living that are of th' old fashion,
No Nectar they know but a &c.
The PICTS and the SCOTS for ALE were at lots,
So high was the skill, and so kept under seale:
The PICTS were undone, slaine each mothers son,
For not teaching the SCOTS to make Hether Eale.
But hither or thither, it skils not much whether:
For Drinke must be had, men live not by Keale,
Nor by Havor-bannocks, nor by Havor-jannocks,
The thing the SCOTS live on is a &c.
Now, if you will say it, I will not denay it,
That many a man it brings to his bale:
Yet what fairer end can one wish to his friend,
Than to dye by the part of a &c.
Yet let not the innocent beare any blame,
It is their own doings to breake o're the pale:
And neither the Malt, nor the good wife in fault,
If any be potted with a &c.
They tell whom it kils, but say not a word,
How many a man liveth both sound and hale,
Though he drinke no Beere any day in the yeare,
By the Radicall humour of a &c.
But, to speake of Killing, that am I not willing;
For that, in a manner, were but to raile:
But Beere hath its name, 'cause it brings to the Bier [...],
Therefore well-fare say I to a &c.
Too many (I wis) with their deaths proved this,
And therefore (if ancient Records do not faile)
He that first brew'd the Hop was rewarded with a rope,
And found his Beere far more bitter than ALE.
O ALE ab olendo, thou Liquor of LIFE!
That I had but a mouth as big as a Whale!
For mine is too little to touch the least tittle
That belongs to the praise of a &c.
Thus I trow) some Vertues I have marked you out,
And never a Vice in all this long traile,
But that after the Pot there commeth a Shot,
And that's th' only blot of a &c.
With that my Friend said, That Blot will I beare,
You have done very well, it is time to strike saile,
Wee'l have six pots more though I dye on the score,
To make all this good of a Pot of good ALE.

The Good Fellow.

VVHen shall we meet againe to have a taste
Of that transcendent Ale we dranke of last?
What wild ingredient did the woman chose
To make her drinke withall? It made me lose
My wit before I quencht my thirst; there came
Such whimsies in my braine, and such a flame
Of fiery drunkennesse had sing'd my nose,
My beard shrunke in for feare; there were of those
That tooke me for a Comet, some afar
Distant remote, thought me a blazing star:
The earth methought, just as it was, it went
Round in a wheeling course of merriment;
My head was ever drooping, and my nose
Offering to be a suiter to my toes;
My pock-hole face, they say, appear'd to some
Just like a dry and burning honey-combe;
My tongue did swim in Ale, and joy'd to boast
It selfe a greater Seaman than the toast;
My mouth was grown awry, as if it were
Lab'ring to reach the whisper in mine eare;
My guts were mines of sulphur, and my set
Of parched teeth struck fire as they met:
Nay, when I pist, my Urine was so hot,
It burnt a hole quite through the chamber-pot:
Each Brewer that I met I kissd, and made
Suit to be bound Apprentice to the Trade:
[Page]One did approve the motion, when he saw,
That my own legs could my Indentures draw.
Well Sir, I grew starke mad, as you may see
By this adventure upon Poetry.
You easily may guesse, I am not quite
Grown sober yet, by these weak lines I write:
Onely I do 't for this, to let you see,
Whos 'ere paid for the Ale, I'm sure 't paid me.

The vertue of Sack.

FEtch me Ben Johnson's scull, and fill't with Sack,
Rich as the same he drank, when the whole pack
Of jolly sisters pledg'd, and did agree,
It was no sin to be as drunk as he:
If there be any weaknesse in the wine,
There's vertue in the Cup to make 't divine;
This muddy drench of Ale does taste too much
Of earth, the Mault retaines a scurvy touch
Of the dull hand that sows it; and I feare
There's heresie in hops; give blockheads beere,
And silly Ignoramus, such as think
There's powder-treason in all Spanish drink,
Call Sack an Idoll; we will kisse the Cup,
For feare the Conventicle be blown up
With superstition; away with Brew-house alms,
Whose best mirth is six shillings beere and qualms.
Let me rejoice in sprightly Sack, that can
Create a braine even in an empty pan.
[Page] Canary! it's thou that dost inspire
And actuate the soule with heavenly fire.
Thou that sublim'st the Genius-making wit,
Scorne earth, and such as love, or live by it.
Thou mak'st us Lords of Regions large and faire,
Whil'st our conceits build Castles in the aire:
Since fire, earth, aire, thus thy inferiours be,
Henceforth I'le know no element but thee:
Thou precious Elixar of all Grapes,
Welcome, by thee our Muse begins her scapes,
Such is the worth of Sack; I am (me thinks)
In the Exchequer now, hark how it chinks,
And do esteeme my venerable selfe
As brave a fellow, as if all the pelfe
Were sure mine own; and I have thought a way
Already how to spend it; I would pay
No debts, but fairly empty every trunk,
And change the Gold for Sack to keep me drunk;
And so by consequence till rich Spaines wine
Being in my crown, the Indies too were mine:
And when my brains are once afoot (heaven bless us!)
I think my selfe a better man than Croesus.
And now I do conceit my selfe a Judge,
And coughing, laugh to see my Clients trudge
After my Lordships Coach unto the Hall
For Justice, and am full of law withall,
And do become the Bench as well as he
That fled long since for want of honesty:
But I'le be Judge no longer, though in jest,
For feare I should be talk'd with like the rest
When I am sober; Who can chuse but think
Me wise that am so wary in my drink?
Oh admirable Sack! here's dainty sport,
I am come back from Westminster to Court,
[Page]And am grown young againe; my Ptisick now
Hath left me, and my Judges graver brow
Is smooth'd; and I turn'd amorous as May,
When she invites young Lovers forth to play
Upon her flowry bosome: I could win
A Vestall now, or tempt a Queen to sin.
Oh for a score of Queens! you'd laugh to see
How they would strive which first should ravish me:
Three Goddesses were nothing: Sack has tipt
My tongue with charmes like those which Paris sipt
From Venus, when she taught him how to kisse
Faire Hellen, and invite a fairer-blisse:
Mine is Canary-Rhetorick, that alone
Would turne Diana to a burning stone;
Stone with amazement, burning with loves fire,
Hard to the touch, but short in her desire.
Inestimable Sack! thou mak'st us rich,
Wise, amorous, any thing; I have an itch
To t' other cup, and that perchance will make
Me valiant too, and quarrell for thy sake.
If I be once inflam'd against thy foes
That would preach down thy worth in small-beere prose,
I shall do miracles as bad, or worse,
As he that gave the King an hundred horse:
T'other odde Cup, and I shall be prepar'd
To snatch at Stars, and pluck down a reward
With mine own hands from Jove upon their backs
That are, or Charles his enemies, or Sacks:
Let it be full, if I do chance to spill
Over my Standish by the way, I will
Dipping in this diviner inke, my pen,
Write my selfe sober, and fall to't agen.

Canto, In the praise of Sack.

LIsten all I pray,
To the words I have to say,
In memory sure insert 'um:
Rich wines do us raise
To the honour of baies,
Quem non fecere disertum?
Of all the juice,
Which the Gods produce,
Sack shall be preferr'd before them;
'Tis Sack that shall
Create us all,
Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, virorum.
We abandon all Ale,
And Beere that is stale,
Rosa-solis, and damnable hum:
But we will crack
In the praise of Sack,
'Gainst Omne quod exit in um.
This is the wine,
Which in former time,
Each wise one of the Magi
Was wont to carouse
In a frolick bouse,
Recubans sub tegmine fagi.
Let the hop be their bane,
And a rope be their shame,
Let the gout and collick pine um,
That offer to shrink,
In taking their drink,
Seu Graecum, sive Latinum.
Let the glasse go round,
Let the quart-pot sound,
Let each one do as he's done to:
Avant ye that hug
The abominable Jug,
'Mongst us Heteroclita sunto.
There's no such disease,
As he that doth please
His palate with Beere for to shame us:
'Tis Sack makes us sing,
Hey down a down ding,
Musa paulo majora canamus.
He is either mute,
Or doth poorly dispute,
That drinks ought else but wine O:
The more wine a man drinks,
Like a subtile Sphinx
Tantum valet ille loquendo.
'Tis true, our soules,
By the lowsie bowles
Of Beere that doth nought but swill us,
Do go into swine,
(Pythagoras 'tis thine)
Nam vos mutastis & illos.
When I've Sack in my braine,
I'm in a merry vaine,
And this to me a blisse is:
Him that is wise,
I can justly despise:
Mecum confertur Ulisses.
How it cheares the brains,
How it warms the vains,
How against all crosses it arms us!
How it makes him that's poore
Couragiously roare,
Et mutatas dicere formas.
Give me the boy,
My delight and my joy,
To my tantum that drinks his tale:
By Sack that he waxes
In our Syntaxes,
Est verbum personale.
Art thou weake or lame,
Or thy wits too blame?
Call for Sack, and thou shalt have it,
'Twill make thee rise,
And be very wise,
Cui vim natura negavit.
We have frolick rounds,
We have merry go downs,
Yet nothing is done at rodome;
For when we are to pay
We club and away,
Id est commune notandum.
The blades that want cash
Have credit for crash,
They'l have Sack whatever it cost 'um;
They do not pay
Till another day,
Manet alta mente repostum.
Who ne'r failes to drink
All cleare from the brink,
With a smooth and even swallow,
I'le offer at his shrine,
And call it divine,
Et erit mihi magnus Apollo.
He that drinks still,
And never hath his fill,
Hath a passage like a Conduit,
The Sack doth inspire
In rapture and fire,
Sic aether aethera fundit.
When you merrily quaffe,
If any do off,
And then from you needs will passe ye,
Give their nose a twitch,
And kick them in the britch,
Nam componuntur ab asse.
I have told you plain,
And tell you again,
Be he furious as Orlando,
He is an asse
That from hence doth passe,
Nisi bibit ab ostia stando.

The answer of Ale to the challenge of Sack.

COme, all you brave wights,
That are dubbed Ale-knights,
Now set out your selves in sight:
And let them that crack
In the praises of Sack
Know Malt is of mickle might.
Though Sack they define
To holy divine,
Yet it is but naturall liquor:
Ale hath for its part
An addition of Art,
To make it drinke thinner or thicker.
Sacks fiery fume
Doth waste and consume
Mens humidum radicale;
It scaldeth their livers,
It breeds burning feavers,
Proves vinum venenum reale.
But History gathers,
From aged forefathers,
That Ale's the true liquor of life:
Men liv'd long in health,
And preserved their wealth,
Whil'st Barley-broth only was rise.
Sack quickly ascends,
And suddenly ends
What company came for at first:
[Page]And that which yet worse is,
It empties mens purses
Before it halfe quencheth their thirst.
Ale is not so costly,
Although that the most lye
Too long by the oyle of Barley;
Yet may they part late
At a reasonable rate,
Though they came in the morning early.
Sack makes men from words
Fall to drawing of swords,
And quarrelling endeth their quaffing;
Whil'st dagger-ale barrels
Beare off many quarrels,
And often turne chiding to laughing.
Sack's drinke for our Masters,
All may be Ale-tasters,
Good things the more common the better.
Sack's but single broth:
Ale's meat, drink, and cloath
Say they that know never a letter.
But not to entangle
Old friends till they wrangle,
And quarrell for other mens pleasure;
Let Ale keep his place,
And let Sack have his grace,
So that neither exceed the due measure.

The Triumph of Tobacco over Sack and Ale.

NAy, soft, by your leaves,
Tobacco bereaves
You both of the garland: forbeare it;
You are two to one,
Yet Tobacco alone
Is like both to win it, and weare it.
Though many men crack,
Some of Ale, some of Sack,
And thinke they have reason to do it;
Tobacco hath more,
That will never give o're
The honour they do unto it.
Tobacco engages
Both sexes, all ages,
The poore as well as the wealthy;
From the court to the cottage,
From childhood to dotage,
Both those that are sick and the healthy.
It plainly appeares
That in a few yeares
Tobacco more custome hath gained,
Than Sack, or than Ale,
Though they double the tale
Of the times wherein they have reigned.
[Page]And worthily too;
For what they undo,
Tobacco doth help to regaine,
On fairer conditions
Than many Physitions,
Puts an end to much griefe and paine.
It helpeth digestion,
Of that there's no question,
The gout, and the toothach, it easeth:
Be it early, or late,
'Tis never out of date,
He may safely take it that pleaseth.
Tobacco prevents
Infection by sents,
That hurt the brain, and are heady;
An Antidote is,
Before you're amisse,
As well as an after remedy.
The cold it doth heat,
Cooles them that do sweat,
And them that are fat maketh leane:
The hungry doth feed,
And, if there be need,
Spent spirits restoreth againe.
Tobacco infused
May safely be used
For purging, and killing of lice:
Not so much as the ashes
But heales cuts and slashes,
And that out of hand in a trice.
The Poets of old
Many fables have told
Of the Gods and their Symprosia:
[Page]But Tobacco alone,
Had they known it, had gone
For their Nectar and Ambrosia.
It is not the smack
Of Ale, or of Sack,
That can with Tobacco compare:
For taste, and for smell,
It beares away the bell
From them both where ever they are.
For all their bravado,
It is Trinidado
That both their noses will wipe
Of the praises they desire,
Unlesse they conspire
To sing to the tune of his pipe.
Turpe est difficiles habere nugas.

The praises of a Country Life.

HAppy is he, that from all Businesse cleere,
As the old race of Mankind were,
With his own Oxen tils his Sires left lands,
And is not in the Usurers bands:
Nor Souldier-like started with new Alarms,
Nor dreads the Seas inraged harms:
But flees the Barre and Courts, with the proud bords,
And waiting Chambers of great Lords.
The Poplar tall, he then doth marrying twine
With the grown issue of the Vine;
And with his hooke lops off the fruitlesse race,
And sets more happy in the place:
Or in the bending Vale beholds a-farre
The lowing Herds there grazing are:
Or the prest honey in pure pots doth keepe
Of earth, and sheares the tender sheepe:
Or when that Autumne, through the fields lifts round
His head, with mellow Apples crown'd,
How plucking Peares, his own hand grafted had,
And purple-matching Grapes, he's glad!
With which, Priapus, he may thanke thy hands,
And Sylvane, thine that keptst his Lands!
Then now beneath some ancient Oake he may
Now in the rooted Grasse him lay,
Whilst from the higher Bankes do slide the floods:
The soft birds quarrell in the woods,
[Page]The fountaines murmure as the streames do creep,
And all invite to easie sleep.
Then when the thundring Jove, his Snow and showres
Are gathering by the Wintry houres;
Or hence, or thence, he drives with many a Hound
Wild Bores into his toyles pitch'd round:
Or straines on his small forke his subtill nets
For th' eating Thrush, or Pit-fals sets:
And snares the fearfull Hare, and new-come Crane,
And 'counts them sweet rewards so ta'ne.
Who (amongst these delights) would not forget
Loves cares so evill, and so great?
But if, to boot with these, a chaste Wife meet
For houshold aid, and Children sweet;
Such as the Sabines, or a Sun-burnt-blowse,
Some lusty quick Apulians spouse;
To deck the hallow'd Harth with old wood fir'd
Against the Husband comes home tir'd;
That penning the glad Flock in Hurdles by
Their swelling udders doth draw dry:
And from the sweet Tub, Wine of this yeare takes,
And unbought viands ready makes:
Not Lucrine Oysters I could then more prize,
Nor Turbot, nor bright Golden eyes,
If with bright flouds, the Winter troubled much,
Into our Seas send any such:
Th' Ionian God-wit, nor the Ginny Hen
Could not go down my belly then
More sweet than Olives, that new gathered be
From fattest branches of the Tree:
Or the herb Sorrell, that loves Meadows still,
Or Mallows loosing bodies ill:
Or at the Feast of Bounds, the Lambe then slaine,
Or Kid forc'd from the Woolfe againe.
[Page]Among these Cates how glad the sight doth come
Of the fed Flocks approaching home!
To view the weary Oxen draw, with bare
And fainting necks, the turned Share!
The wealthy shoushold swarme of bondmen met,
And 'bout the steeming Chimney set!
These thoughts when Usurer Alphius, now about
To turne more farmer, had spoke out
'Gainst th' Ides, his moneys he gets in with paine,
At th' Calends puts all out againe.

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