Hopes Time may repaire When ruin'd Faith must finish in despaire III. Alas Ye look but up the Hill on me Which shews to you a faire and smooth ascent The Precipice behind ye cannot see On which high Fortunes are too pronely bent If there I slip what former joy or blisse Can heale the bruise of such a fall as this A Reply I. WHo love enjoyes and placed hath his Mind Where fairer Vertues fairest beauties grace Than in himselfe such store of worth doth find That he deserves to hold so good a Place To chilling feares how can he be set forth Whose feares condemne his own doubts others worth II. Desire as flames of Zeale Feare Horrours meets They rise who fall oâ— falling never prov'd Who is so dainty satiate with sweeâ—s To murmur when the Banket is remov'd The fairest hopes Time in the Bud destroys When sweet are memories of ruin'd Joyes III. It is no Hill but Heaven where you remaine And whom Desert advanced hath so high To reach the Guerdon of his burning Paine Must not repine to fall and falling dye His Hopes are crown'd what years of tedious breath Can them compare with such a happy Death W. D. A Translation AH silly Soule what wilt thou â—ay When he whom earth and Heavens obey Comes Man to judge in the last Day II. When He a reason askes why Grace And Goodnesse thou wouldst not embrace But steps of Vanity didst trace III. That Day of Terrour Vengeance Ire Now to prevent thou should'st desire And to thy God in haste retire IV. With watry Eyes and Sigh-swollen Heart O beg beg in his Love a part Whilst Conscience with remorse doth smart V. That dreaded Day of wrath and shame In flames shall turne this Worlds huge Frame As sacred Prophets do proclaime VI. O! with what Griefe shall Earthlings grone When that great Judge set on his Throne Examines strictly every One. VII Shrill-sounding Trumpets through the Aire Shall from dark Sepulchres each where Force wretched Mortalls to appeare VIII Nature and Death amaz'd remaine To find their dead arise againe And Processe with their Judge maintaine IX Display'd then open Books shall lye Which all those secret crimes descry For which the guilty World must dye X. The Judge enthron'd whom Bribes not gaine The closest crimes appeare shall plaine And none unpunished remaine XI O who then pitty shall poore me Or who miâ—e Advocate shall be When scarce the justest passe shall free XII All wholly holy dreadfull King Who freely life to thine dost bring Of Mercy save me Mercies spring XIII Then sweet Jesu call to mind How of thy Paines I was the End And favour let me that day find XIV In search of me Thou full of paine Did'st sweat bloud Death on Crosse sustaine Let not these suff'rages be in vaine XV. Thou supreame Judge most just and wise Purge me from guilt which on me lies Before that day of thine Assize XVI Charg'd with remorse loe here I groane Sin makes my face a blush take on Ah! spare me prostrate at thy Throne XVII Who Mary Magdalen didst spare And lend'st the Thiefe on Crosse thine Eare Shewest me faire hopes I should not feare XVIII My prayers imperfect are and weake But worthy of thy grace them make And save me from Hells burning Lake XIX On that great Day at thy right hand Grant I amongst thy Sheep may stand Sequestred from the Goatish Band. XX. When that the Reprobates are all To everlasting flames made thrall O to thy Chosen Lord me call XXI That I one of thy Company With those whom thou dost justifie May live blest in Eternity Vpon John Earle of Laderdale his Death OF those rare Worthies who adorn'd our North And shin'd like Constellations Thou alone Remaindst last great Maitland charg'd with worth Second in Vertues Theater to none But finding all eccentrick in our times Religion into superstition turn'd Justice silenc'd exiled or inurn'd Truth Faith and Charity reputed Crimes The young man destinate by sword to fall And Trophees of their Countries spoiles to reare Strange Laws the Ag'd and prudent to appale And forc'd sad yoakes of Tyranny to beare And for nor great nor vertues minds a roome Disdaining life thou shouldst into thy Tombe II. WHen misdevotion every where shall take place And lofty Oratours in thundring termes Shall move you people to arise in armes And Churches hallow'd policy deface When you shall but one generall sepulchre As Averroes did one generall Soule On high on low on good on bad confer And your dull Predecessors rites controule Ah spare this Monument great Guests it keeps Three grave Justiciars whom true worth did raise The Muses Darlings whose losse Phoebus weeps Best mens delight the glory of their daies More we would say but feare and stand in aw To turne Idolaters and break your Law III. DO not repine blest soule that humble wits Do make thy worth the matter of their Verse No high strain'd Muse our times and sorrows fits And we do sigh not sing to crown thy Hearse Thy wisest Prince e're manag'd Brittaines State Did not disdaine in numbers cleere and brave The vertues of thy Sire to celebrate And fix a rich memoriall on his Grave Thou didst deserve no lesse and here in Jet Gold Touch Brasse Porphyrie or Parian Stone That by a Princes hand no lines are set For thee the cause is now this Land hath none Such Giant Moods our parity forth brings We all will nothing be or all be Kings EPITAPHS TO The Obsequies of the blessed Prince JAMES King of Great Brittaine LEt holy David Solomon the Wise That King whose Breast Aegeria did inflame Augustus Helens Son Great in all Eyes Do Homage low to thy Mausolean Frame And bow before thy Laurels Anadem Let all those sacred Swans which to the Skies By never-dying Layes have rais'd their Name From North to South where Sun doth set and rise Religion Orphan'd waileth o're thy Urne Justice weeps out her Eyes now truly blind To Niobes the remnant Vertues turne Fame but to blaze thy Glories staies behind I' th' World which late was golden by thy Breath Is Iron turn'd and horrid by thy Death On the Death of a young Lady THis Beauty which pale Death in Dust did turne And clos'd so soon within a Coffin sad Did passe like Lightning like to Thunder burne So little Life so much of Worth it had Heavens but to shew their Might here made it shine And when admir'd then in the Worlds disdaine O Teares O Griefe did call it back againe Lest Earth should vaunt she kept what was Divine What can we hope for more what more enjoy Sith fairest things thus soonest have their End And as on Bodies shadows do attend Sith all our Blisse is follow'd with Annoy She is not dead she lives where she did love Her Memory on Earth her souâ—e above FOnd Wight who dream'st of Greatness Glory State And Worlds of Pleasures Honours dost devise Awake Learne how that here thou
you beare a weeping Part All Night at day but you must do the same Cease idle Sighs to spend your Stormes in vaine And these sweet silent thickets to molest Containe you in the Prison of my Brest You do not ease but aggravate my Paine Or if burst forth you must that Tempest move In sight of her whom I so dearely love SON YOu restlesse Seas appease your roaring Waves And you who raise huge Mountaines in that Plaine Aires Trumpeters your hideous sounds containe And listen to the plaints my griefe doth cause Eternall Lights though adamantine Laws Of Destinies to move still you ordaine Turne hither all your Eyes your Axels pause And wonder at the Torments I sustaine â—ad Earth if thou made dull by my disgrace Be not as senselesse aske those Powers above Why they so crost a Wretch brought on thy Face Fram'd for mishap th' Anachorit of Love And bid them that no more Etnaes may burne To Erimanth ' or Rhodâ—pe me turne SON IF crost with all mishaps be my poore Life If one short day I never spent in mirth If my Sp'rit with it selfe holds lasting strife If sorrows death is but new sorrows birth If this vaine World be but a mournfull Stage Where slave-borne Man plaies to the laughing Stars If Youth be toss'd with Love with Weaknesse Age If Knowledge serves to hold our Thoughts in Wars If Time can close the hundred Mouths of Fame And make what 's long since past like that 's to be If Vertue only be an Idle Name If being borne I was but borne to dye Why seek I to prolong these loathsome daies The fairest Rose in shortest time decaies SON ALl other Beauties howsoe're they shine In Haires more bright than is the golden Ore Or cheeks more faire than fairest Eglantine Or hands like hers that comes the Sun before Match'd with that Heavenly Hew and shape divine With those deare Stars which my weak thoughts adore Look but as shaddows or if they be more It is in this that they are like to thine Who sees those Eyes their force that doth not prove Who gazeth on the dimple of that chin And finds not Venus Son entrench'd therein Or hath not sence or knows not what is Love To see thee had Narcissus had the grace He would have died with wondring on thy Face SEXTAIN THe Heaven doth not containe so many Stars Nor levell'd lye so many leaves in Woods When Autumne and cold Boreas sound their Wars So many Waves have not the Ocean Floods As my torn Mind hath torments all the Night And Heart spends Sighs when Phoebus brings the Light Why was I made a Partner of the Light Who crost in birth by bad aspect of Stars Have never since had happy Day nor Night Why was not I a liver in the Woods Or Citizen of Thetis christall Floods But fram'd a Man for Love and Fortunes Wars I look each Day when Death should end the Wars Vncivill Wars 'twixt Sense and Reasons Light My Paines I count to Mountaines Meads and Floods And of my sorrow Partners make the Stars All Desolate I haunt the fearfull Woods When I should give my selfe to rest at Night With watchfull Eyes I ne'r behold the Night Mother of Peace but ah to me of Wars And Cynthia Queen-like shining through the Woods But straight those Lamps come in my thought whose Light My Judgement dazel'd passing brightest Stars And then my Eyes in-isle themselves with Floods Turne to their Springs againe first shall the Floods Cleare shall the Sun the sad and gloomy Night To dance about the Pole cease shall the Stars The Elements renew their ancient Wars Shall first and be depriv'd of Place and Light Ere I find rest in City Fields or Woods End these my daies you Inmates of the Woods Take this my Life ye deep and raging Flouds Sun never rise to cleare me with thy Light Horror and Darknesse keep a lasting Night Consume me Care with thy intestine Wars And stay your Influence o're me bright Stars In vaine the Stars th' Inhabitants o' th' Woods Care Horror Wars I call and raging Floods For all have sworne no Night shall dim my Sight SON O Sacred Blush enpurpling Cheekes pure skies With crimson Wings which spred thee like the Morne O bashfull look sent from those shining eyes Which though slid down on Earth doth Heaven adorne O Tongue in which most lushious Nectar lies That can at once both blesse and make forlorne Deare corrall Lip which Beauty beautifies That trembling stood before her words were borne And you her Words Words no but golden Chaines Which did inslave my eares ensnare my soule Wise Image of her Mind Mind that containes A power all Power of Senses for to controule So sweetly you from Love disswade do me That I love more if more my Love can be SON SOund hoarse sad Lute true witnesse of my woe And strive no more to ease selfe chosen paine With soule-enchanting sounds your accents straine Unto these teares incessantly which flow Sad Treeble weep and you dull Basses show Your Masters sorrow in a dolefull straine Let never joyfull Hand upon you go Nor Consort keep but when you do complaine Flie Phoebus Raies abhor the irkesome Light Woods solitary shades for thee are best Or the black horrours of the blackest Night When all the World save Thou and I do rest Then sound sad Lute and beare a mourning part Thou Hell canst move though not a Womans Heart SON IN vaine I haunt the cold and Silver Springs To quench the Fever burning in my veines In vaine Loves pilgrim Mountaines Daâ—es and Plains I over-run vaine help long absence brings In vain my Friends your Counsell me constraines To fly and place my Thoughts on other things Ah like the Bird that fired hath her Wings The more I move the greater are my paines Desire alas Desire a Zeuxis new From th' Orient borrowing Gold from Westerne skies Heavenly Cinabre sets before my Eyes In every place her Haire sweet look and Hue That flie run rest I all doth prove but vaine My life lies in those Eyes which have me slaine SON SLide soft faire Forth and make a Christall Plaine Cut your white Locks and on your foamy Face Let not a wrinkle be when you embrace The Boat that Earths Perfections doth containe Winds wonder and through wondring hold your pace Or if that ye your hearts cannot restraine From sending sighs feeling a Lovers Case Sigh and in her faire haire your selves enchaine Or take these sighs which absence makes arise From my oppressed brest and fill the sailes Or some sweet breath new brought from Paradise The flouds do smile Love o're the winds prevailes And yet huge Waves arise the cause is this The Ocean strives with Forth the Boat to kisse SON TRust not sweet soule those curled waves of Gold With gentle Tides that on your Temples flow Nor Temples spred with Flakes of Virgin snow Nor snow of Cheeks with Tyrian graine enrold Trust not those
of the Spheares When Quills could move no more and force did faile Though down I fell from Heavens high azure bounds Yet doth Renowne my Losses countervaile For still the Shore my brave attempt resounds A Sea an Element doth beare my Name What Mortalls Tombe's so great in Place or Fame On his Lady beholding her selfe in a Marble WOrld wonder not that I Keep in my brest engraven That Angels face hath me of Rest bereaven See Dead and Senselesse things cannot deny To lodge so deare a Guest Ev'n this hard Marble Stone Receives the same and loves but cannot groane To sleep HOw comes it Sleep that thou Even kisses me affords Of her deare her so far who 's absent now How did I heare those Words Which Rocks might move and move the Pines to Bow Aye me before halfe day Why did'st thou steale away Returne I thine for ever will remaine If thou wilt bring with thee that Guest againe A pleasant deceit OVer a christall Source Iolas laid his face Of purling Streames to see the restlesse Course But scarce he had o'reshadowed the Place When in the water he a Child espies So like himselfe in stature Face and Eyes That glad he rose and cried Deare Mates approach see whom I have descried The Boy of whom strange stories Shepheards tell Oft-called Hylas dwelleth in this Well The Canon WHen first the Canon from her gaping Throat Against the Heaven her roaring Sulphur shot Jove wakened with the noise did aske with wonder What Mortall Wight had stolne from him his Thunder His christall Tow'rs he feared but Fire and Aire So high did stay the Ball from mounting there Thais Metamorphosis INto Briareus huge Thais wish'd she might change Her Man and pray'd him not thereat to grudge Nor fondly thinke it strange For if said she I might the parts dispose I wish you not a hundred Armes nor Hands But hundred things like those With which Priapus in our Garden stands The quality of a Kisse THe kisse with so much strife Which I late got sweet Heart Was it a sign of Death or was it Life Of Life it could not be For I by it did sigh my Soule in thee Ne was it Death Death doth no joy impart Thou silent stand'st ah what did'st thou bequeath A dying Life to me or living Death His Ladies Dog WHen Her deare Bosome clips That little Cur which fawnes to touch her Lips Or when it is his hap To lie lap'd in her Lap O it grows Noon with me With hotter-pointed Beames I burne then those are which the Sun forth streames When piercing lightning his Rayes call'd may be And as I muse how I to shose extreames Am brought I find no Cause except that She In Loves bright Zodiack having trac'd each Roome To the hot Dog-star now at last is come An Almanack THis strange Ecclipse one saies Strange Wonders doth foretell But you whose Wives excell And love to count their Praise Shut all your gates your Hedges plant with Thornes The Sun did threat the World this time with Hornes The Silk-Worme of Love A Daedale of my Death Now I resemble that slie worme on Earth Which prone to its own harme doth take no rest For Day and Night opprest I feed on fading Leaves Of Hope which me deceives And thousand Webs do warpe within my Brest And thus in end unto my selfe I weave A fast-shut Prison or a closer Grave Deep impression of Love to his Mistris WHom a mad Dog doth bite He doth in Water still That mad Dogs Image see Love mad perhaps when he my Heart did smite More to dissemble his Ill Transform'd himselfe to thee For thou art present ever since to me No Spring there is no Floud nor other Place Where I alas not see thy Heavenly Face A Chaine of Gold ARe not those Locks of Gold Sufficient Chaines the wildest Hearts to hold Is not that Ivory Hand A Diamantine Band Most sure to keep the most untamed Mind But ye must others find O yes why is that Golden One then woâ—ne Thus free in Chaines perhaps Loves Chaines to scorne On the Death of a Linnet IF cruell Death had Eares Or could be pleas'd by Songs This wing'd Musician had lâ—v'd many yeares And Nisa mine had never wâ—pt these Wrongs For when it first took Breath The Heavens their Notes did unto it bequeath And if that Samians sentences be true Amphion in this Body liv'd anew But Death who nothing spares and nothing heares As he doth Kings kill'd it O Griefe O Teares Lillas Prayer LOve if thou wilt once more That I to thee returne Sweet God make me not burn For quivering Age that doth spent Daies deplore Nor do thou wound my Heart For some unconstant Boy Who joyes to love yet makes of Love a Toy But ah if I must prove thy golden Dart Of grace O let me find A sweet young Lover with an aged Mind Thus Lilla pray'd and Idas did reply Who heard Deare have thy wish for such am I. Armelins Epitaph NEare to this Eglantine Enclosed lies the milke-white Armeline Once Cloris only joy Now only her annoy Who envied was of the most happy Swaines That keep their Flocks in Mountaines Dales or Plains For oft she bore the wanton in her Arme And oft her Bed and Bosome did he warme Now when unkinder Fates did him destroy Blest Dog he had the Grace That Cloris for him wet with teares her Face Epitaph THe Bawd of Justice he who Laws controll'd And made them fawn and frown as he got gold That Proteus of our State whose Heart and Mouth Were farther distant than is North from South That Cormorant who made himselfe so grosse On Peoples Ruine and the Princes Losse Is gone to Hell and though he here did evill He there perchance may prove an honest Devill A Translation FIerce Robbers were of old Exil'd the Champian Ground From Hamlets chas'd in Cities kill'd or bound And only Woods Caves Mountaines did them hold But now when all is sold Woods Mountaines Caves to good Men be refuge And do the Guiltlesse lodge And clad in Purple Gowns The greatest Theeves command within the Towns Epitaph THen Death thee hath beguil'd Alectos first borne Child Then thou who thrall'd all Laws Now against Wormes cannot maintaine thy Cause Yet Wormes more just than thou now do no Wrong Since all do wonder they thee spar'd so long For though from Life thou didst but lately passe Twelve Springs are gone since thou corrupted was Come Citizens erect to death an Altar Who keeps you from Axe Fuell Timber Halter A Jest. IN a most holy Church a holy man Vnto a holy Saint with Visage wan And Eyes like Fountaines mumbled forth a Prayer And with strange Words and Sighs made black the Aire And having long so stay'd and long long pray'd A thousand crosses on himselfe he lay'd And with some sacred Beads hung on his Armâ— His Eyes his Mouth his Temples Brest did charme Thus not content strange Worship hath no
Light Do not approach to bring the wofull Day When I must bid for aye Farewell to her and live in endlesse plight Faire Moon with gentle Beames The sight who never mars Cleare long-Heavens sable Vault and you bright Stars Your golden Locks long view in Earths pure streames Let Phoebus never rise To dim your watchfull Eyes Prolong alas 〈◊〉 my short delight And if ye can 〈…〉 Eternall Night SON WIth griefe in Heart and tears in swelling Eyes When I to her had given a sad Fare-well Close sealed with a Kisse and Dew which fell On my else-moistned Face from Beauties Skies So strange Amazement did my Mind surprise That at each Pace I fainting turn'd againe Like one whom a Torpedo stupifies Not feeling Honours Bit nor Reasons Raine But when fierce Stars to part me did constraine With back-cast Looks I both envi'd and bless'd The happy Walls and Place did her containe Untill my eyes that flying Object miss'd So Wailing parted Ganymede the faire When Eagles Talents bore him through the Aire SEXTAIN SIth gone is my Delight and only Pleasure The last of all my Hopes the chearefull Sun That clear'd my lifes dark Spheare Natures sweet Treasure More deare to me than all beneath the Moon What resteth now but that upon this Mountain I weep till Heaven transforme me to a Fountaine Fresh faire delicious christall pearly Fountaine On whose smooth face to look she oft took Pleasure Tell me so may thy streames long cheare this Mountaine So Serpent ne're thee staine nor scorch thee Sun So may with watry beames thee kisse the Moone Dost thou not mourne to want so faire a Treasure While she here gaz'd on thee rich Tagus Treasure Thou neededst not envy nor yet the Fountaine In which that Hunter saw the naked Moon Absence hath robb'd thee of thy Wealth and Pleasure And I remaine like Marigold of Sun Depriv'd that dies by shadow of some Mountaine Nymphs of the Forrests Nymphs who on this Mountain Are wont to dance shewing your Beauties Treasure To Goat-feet Sylvans and the wondring Sun When as you gather flow'rs about this Fountaine Bid her farewell who placed here her Pleasure And sing her praises to the Stars and Moone Among the lesser lights as is the Moon Blushing through mufflâ—ng clouds on Latmos Mountaine Or when she views her silver Locks for Pleasure In Thetis streames proud of so gay a Treasure Such was my Faire when She sate by this Fountaine With other Nymphs to shun the amorous Sun As is our Earth in absence of the Sun Or when of Sun deprived is the Moon As is without a verdant shade a Fountaine Or wanting grasse a Mead a Vale a Mountaine Such is my state bereft of my deare Treasure To know whose only worth was all my Pleasure Ne're thinke of Pleasure Heart Eyes shun the Sun Teares be your Treasure which the wandring Moon Shall see you shed by Mountaine Vaile and Fountaine SON WIndow sometime which served for a Spheare To that deare Planet of my heart whose light Made often blush the glorious Queen of Night While She in thee more beautious did appeare What mourning weeds alas dost thou now weare How loathsome to my eyes is thy sad sight How poorly look'st thou with what heavy cheare Since sets that Sun which made thee shine so bright Unhappy now thee close for as of late To wondring Eyes thou wert a Paradise Bereft of her who made thee fortunate A gulfe thou art whence clouds of sighs arise But unto none so noysome as to me Who hourely sees my murthered joyes in thee SON HOw many times Nights silent Queen her face Hath hid how oft with Stars in silver Maske In Heavens great Hall she hath begun her Taske And chear'd the waking Eye in lower Place How oft the Sun hath made by Heavens swift race The happy Lover to forsake the Brest Of his deare Lady wishing in the West His Golden Coach to run had larger space I ever count and tell since I alas Did bid Farewell to my Hearts dearest Guest The Miles I number and in mind I chase The flouds and Mountaines hold me from my rest But woe is me long count and count may I Ere I see her whose absence makes me die SON OF Death some tell some of the cruell Paine Which that bad Crafts-man in his Work did trie When a new Monster flames once did constraine A humane Corps to yeeld a bellowing Cry Some tell of those in burning Beds who lie Because they durst in the Phlegrean Plaine The mighty Ruler of the Skies defie And siege those chrystall Tow'rs which all containe An other counts of Phlegethons hot floods The Soules which drinke Ixions endlesse smart And his who feeds a Vulture with his heart One tells of Spectars in enchanted Woods Of all those Paines th' extreamest who would prove Let him be absent and but burne in Love SON HAire precious haire which Midas hand did strain Part of the Wreath of gold that crowns those brows Which Winters whitest white in whitenes stain And lilly by Eridans banke that grows Haire fatall present which first caus'd my woes When loose ye hang like Danaes golden raine Sweet Nets which sweetly do all hearts enchaine Strings deadly strings with which Love bends his bows How are ye hither come tell me O haire Deare Armelet for what thus were ye given I know a badge of bondage I you weare Yet haire for you O that I were a Heaven Like Bereniâ—â—s Locks that ye might shine But brighter far about this Arme of mine SON ARe these the flowry banks Is this the Mead Where she was wont to passe the pleasant houres Was 't here her Eyes exhal'd mine eyes salt show'rs And on her lap did lay my wearied Head Is this the goodly Elme did us o'respread Whose tender Rine cut forth in curious flow'rs By that white hand containes those flames of Ours Is this the murmuring Spring us musick made Deflourisht Mead where is your heavenly hue And Banke that Arras did you late adorne How look'st thou Elme all withered and forlorne Only sweet Spring nought altered seems in you But while here chang'd each other thing appears To salt your streames take of mine Eyes these tears SON ALexis here she stay'd among these Pines Sweet Hermitresse she did all alone repaire Here did she spread the Treasure of her Haire More rich than that brought from the Colchian Mines Here sate she by these musket Eglantines The happy flow'rs seeme yet the print to beare Her voice did sweeten here thy sugred lines To which Winds Trees Beasts Birds did lend an Eare. She here me first perceiv'd and here a Morne Of bright Carnations did o'respread her Face Here did she sigh here first my Hopes were borne Here first I got a Pledge of promis'd Grace But ah what serves't t' have been made happy so Sith passed Pleasures double but new woe SON PLace me where angry Titan burnes the More And thirsty Africk fiery Monsters brings Or where
the new-borne Phoenix spreads her Wings And troupes of wondring Birds her flight adore Place me by Gange or Indes enammell'd shore Where smiling Heavens on Earth cause double Springs Place me where Neptunes Quire of Syrens sings Or where made hoarse through Cold he leaves to roare Place me where Fortune doth her Darlings crown A Wonder or a sparke in Envies Eye Or you outragious Fates upon me frown Till Pitty wailing fee disastred Me Affections print my mind so deep doth prove I may forget my Selfe but not my Love MADRIGALL THe Ivory Corrall Gold Of brest of lip of haire So lively Sleep doth show to inward sight That wake I thinke I hold No Shadow but my Faire My selfe so to deceive With long-shut Eyes I shun the irkesome Light Such pleasure here I have Delighting in false gleames If Death Sleeps Brother be And Soules bereft of sense have so sweet Dreames How could I wish thus still to dreame and dye SON FAme who with golden wings abroad doth range Where Phoebus leaves the Night or brings the Day Fame in one place who restlesse dost not stay Till thou hast flown from Atlas unto Gange Fame Enemy to Time that still doth change And in his changing Course would make decay What here below he findeth in his way Even making Vertue to her selfe look strange Daughter of Heaven Now all thy Trumpets sound Raise up thy Head unto the highest Skie With wonder blaze the gifts in her are found And when she from this mortall Globe shall flie In thy wide Mouth keep long keep long her Name So thou by her she by thee live shall Fame POEMS The Second Part. OF mortall Glory O soone dark'ned Ray O winged Joyes of Man more swift than Wind O fond Desires which in our Fancies stray O traitrous Hopes which do our Judgements blind Loe in a Flash that Light is gone away Which dazell did each Eye delight each Mind And with that Sun from whence it came combind Now makes more radiant Heavens eternall Day Let Beauty now bedew her Cheeks with Teares Let widow'd Musick only roare and groane Poore Vertue get thee Wings and mount the Spheares For dwelling place on Earth for thee is none Death hath thy Temple raz'd Loves Empire foil'd The World of Honour Worth and Sweetnes spoil'd SON THose Eyes those sparkling Saphires of Delight Which thousand thousand Hearts did set on Fire Of which that Eye of Heaven which brings the light Oft Jealous stayed amaz'd them to admire That living Snow those crimson Roses bright Those Pearles those Rubies which enflam'd Desire Those Locks of Gold that Purple faire of Tyre Are wrapt aye me up in eternall Night What hast thou more to vaunt of wretched World Sith she who caused all thy blisse is gone Thy ever-burning Lamps Rounds ever-whorld Can not unto thee modell such a One Or if they would such Beauty bring on Earth They should be forc'd againe to give her birth SON O Fate conjur'd to poure your worst on me O rigorous Rigour which doth all confound With cruell Hands ye have cut down the Tree And fruit with leaves have scattered on the Ground A little space of Earth my Love doth bound That Beauty which did raise it to the Skie Turn'd in disdained Dust now low doth lye Deafe to my plaints and senselesse of my wound Ah! did I live for this ah did I love And was 't for this fierce powers she did excell That ere she well the Sweets of life did prove She should too deare a guest with Darknesse dwell Weake influence of Heaven what faire is wrought Falls in the prime and passeth like a Thought SON O Wofull life life no but living Death Fraile Boat of Christall in a rocky Sea A Gem expos'd to Fortunes stormy breath Which kept with paine with Terrour doth decay The false Delights true Woes thou dost bequeath My all-appalled Mind so do affray That I those envy who are laid in Earth And pity those who run thy dreadfull way When did mine Eyes behold one chearefull Morne When had my tossed Soule one night of Rest When did not angry Stars my Designes scorne O! now I find what is for Mortalls best Even since our voyage shamefull is and short Soone to strike Saile and perish in the Port. SON DIssolve my Eyes your Globes in briny Streames And with a cloud of Sorrow dim your sight The Suns bright Sun is set of late whose Beames Gave lustre to your Day Day to your Night My Voice now cleave the Earth with Anathemes Roare forth a challenge in the Worlds despight Till that disguised Griefe is her delight That Life a Slumber is of fearefull Dreames And woefull Mind abhor to thinke of Joy My Senses all from comforts all you hide Accept no object but of black Annoy Teares Plaints Sighs mourning Weeds Graves gaping wide I have nought left to wish My Hopes are dead And all with her beneath a Marble laid SON SWeet Soule which in the Aprill of thy yeares For to enrich the Heaven mad'st poore this Round And now with flaming Rayes of Glory crown'd Most blest abides above the Spheare of Spheares If Heavenly Laws alas have not thee bound From looking to this Globe that all up-beares If ruth and pity there-above be found O daigne to lend a look unto these Teares Do not disdaine deare Ghost this sacrifice And though I raise not pillars to thy Praise My off'rings take let this for me suffice My Heart a living Pyramide I 'll raise And whilst Kings Tombs with Laurells flourish green Thine shall with Mirtles and these flow'rs be seen SON SWeet Spring thou turn'st with all thy goodly traine Thy head with flames thy Mantle bright with flow'rs The Zephires curle the green Locks of the Plaine The Clouds for joy in Pearls weep down their show'rs Dost returne sweet Youth but ah my pleasant houres And happy daies with thee come not againe The sad Memorials only of my paine Do with thee turne which turne my Sweets to Sow'râ— Thou art the same which still thou wert before Delicious lusty amiable faire But she whose Breath embaulm'd thy wholesome Aire Is gone Nor Gold nor Gems can her restore Neglected Vertue Seasons go and come When thine forgot lie closed in a Tombe SON WHat doth it serve to see the Suns bright Face And Skies enamell'd with the Indian Gold Or the Moone in a fierce Chariot rold And all the Glory of that starry Place What doth it serve Earths Beauty to behold The Mountaines pride the Meadows flowry grace The stately comlinesse of Forrests old The Sport of Flouds which would themselves embrace What doth it serve to heare the Sylvans Songs The cheerefull Thrush the Nightingales sad straines Which in darke shades seems to deplore my Wrongs For what doth serve all that this World containes Since she for whom those once to me were deare Can have no part of them now with me here MAD. THis Life which seems so faire Is like a Bubble blown up