cause her feet are now Iambick made Refrigerium NOw through each vein my blood doth run Hot as the Summers scorching Sun Whilst on what side so è'r I turn With double frying flames I burn To cool both Aelna's first I 'l have An Arbour coole as is the grave And with green shadie branches wove As covert as Dodona's grove So that the Sun may not appear At all in this close Hemisphere With Curran-bushes I 'l hav 't made Vail'd o'r with Sycamores coole shade And mixt with Rasps and Cherrytrees Whose choice fruit may my pallat please I' th' midst of which next shal be spread Upon a large and spacious stead A frost-upon-green tabbie Quilt Water'd as if 't had there bin spilt Strew'd o'r with Roses where I may Naked my lazie limbs display And underneath't a Christal stream Of fresh Rose-water still'd from them Through th' limbeck of my body that My smelling Sense may recreate A marble Fountain next I 'l have Close by in a large hollow cave Springing with Nilus seav'nfold streams Til they all meet in one fair Thames Washing in whose pure waters we Diana and her Nymphs may see With other lively Pictures that My Seeing sense may recreate Next I wil have Arion play Upon a Dolphins back whose lay Shal teach each bird to chirp and trie How to excel his harmonie Orpheus his harp Apollo's lyre Shal with the Syrens fill the Quire With other sorts of Musick that My hearing Sense may recreate A Mirmaid next I 'l have in stead o th' Barber for to kemb my head All the four Winds too shal conspire With gentle breize to coole my fire Till I being fann'd with Ladies love Then their cold Sex shall colder prove Last because nought cools better then A Maid who warms and cooles agen I 'l have a young plump amorous Queen Ripe though she be not yet fifteen 'Twixt whose close arms and snowie breast I may diffuse my heat and rest Then bath my self in kisses that My Feeling Sense may recreate Thus when at once I all my Senses please Me thinks I feel my self in Paradise ELEGIES By Robert Heath Esquire LONDON Printed for HUMPHRY MOSELEY and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Princes Arms in S. Pauls Church-yard 1650. Elegies On the Death of the young and pious Ladie Mrs C. P. SO yong and ripe in judgement fit for heaven A Saint shee was on earth before eleven What Virtue was there lodg'd in this smal world Whose soul grew faster then the body could Sins shee had none but what curst Nature gave Yet e'r she knew 't shee long'd this world to leave Where but new enter'd she with pious rage Her Prologue spoke doth bravely quit the stage Oh happy growth that in so short a time This early blossome thus to heav'n could climb Epicedium On the beautiful Lady Mrs A. K. unfortunately drowned by chance in the Thames in passing the Bridge DRown'd and i' th' Thames oh how I grieve to see Such fair streams act so foul a Tragedie Not all thy main which twice a day doth flow Can wash this guilt from off thy conscious brow Like the dead sea thou look'st whilst every wave Thou wear'st now seems to be another grave Forgetful Lethe or the Stygian Lake As thou foul Tyber looks not halfe so black How horrid thou appear'st and thou dost tast Sowre and not half so pleasant as thou wast Rome now wil fear to drink thee since thou 'rt dyde With such chast guiltlesse blood and none wil ride More on thy ruder waves thy crueltie Since 't would not spare so fair a Saint as shee How I could flow with anger chide thee too But thou art innocent as pure I know 'Las 't was her Fate unhappy Destinie Thus to thy streams to adde more puritie Thou 'rt become white agen an Element Fit to receive a soul so innocent Whose body buried in thy Christal tomb Transparent lies scorning earths baser womb Gilt Tagus banks nor the Pectalian Can boast such Golden treasures as you can Thou didst but lend her to the Earth awhile Thou hast thy Pearl again now Thamis smile 'T is fit such gems should by the makers hands Shine thus transplanted to their native sands On the Death of the excellent fair Lady the Lady A. R. HOw blindly erting were those Painters that Did without eies grim Death delineate Did he not ayming shoot and shooting hit 'Midst the Arcadian Nymphs this fairest white This whitest Venus Dove without his light How had he found this mark or shot so right Thus as he aiming stood and in his heart Relenting doubted whether his fel dart He should or spare or send so long he gaz'd Upon her Beauties splendour all amaz'd That the bright raies she darted did so shine And dazle the beholding Archers eyne That whilst he trembling shot and made her light Extinct the beams of that put out his sight And so e'r since Death hath been blind indeed On her fair Tomb this Epitaph shal be read Beautie here on Death reveng'd Triumphant lies Whose Glories won all hearts put out all eies On the losse of Mr N. W. his three finggers cut off at the battel of Edgehil he being both a Poet and a Musitian BY some it hath been said That the best Musick is by discord made But here I grieve to see By discords we have lost our harmonie How cruel was that hand Depriv'd thee of thy cunning fingers and At one unhappy blow Cut off an Orpheus and a Poet too How sadly the strings rest E'r since those fingers which before exprest On them such lively art Were thus dissected from their constant part Yet though these joynts be gone To quiet ease two fingers stil are on Which with dexteritie Can write the Epitaph o' th' t'other three And though you cannot play Yet stil both sing and versifie you may Naenia Upon the death of my dear friend T. S. Esquire slain at the first fight at Newbery 1645. PAle Ghost I weep not 'cause thy precious blood Honour'd when spilt a cause so just so good Nor grieve I 'cause so much that suffer'd too I' th' losse of such a Champion as you This makes my heart afresh with thy wounds bleed A Loyal Subject and my friend is dead One whose unborrow'd native Wit proclaim'd Him sole Apollo's heire whose Vertues fam'd Him with Pandora's gifts endow'd whose parts Did stile him Master of all noble Arts One whose Youths sprightful valour did encline To acts Heroick without help of wine One who prefer'd the cause he had in hand Above his life before his fathers land One that was forward yet not desp'rate bold A coward in ill acts yet durst behold Death in his uglyest vizar This was Hee Who lov'd his friend and feard no Enemie Who nobly thus did seek an early grave Because he scorn'd to live a subjects slave Wide was the Orifice sure of thy large wound Els had thy great and gallant soul ne'r
die Blushes through her modestie There a Pansie hangs his head 'Bout to shrink into his bed 'Cause so quickly she past by Not returning suddenly Here the Currans red and white In yon green bush at her sight Peep through their shady leaves and cry Come eat me as she passes by There a bed of Camomil VVhen she presseth it doth smel More fragrant than the perfum'd East Or the Phoeaix spicie nest Here the Pinks in rowes do throng To guard her as she walks along There the flexive Turnsole bends Guided by the raies shee sends From her bright eies as if thence It suckt life by influence VVhilst She the prime and chiefest flow'r In all the Garden by her pow'r And onely life-inspiring breath Like the warm Sun redeems from death Their drooping heads and bids them live To tel us Shee their sweets did give On the loss of Clarastella's black fan TEl me fair wonder when the gentle air Courted your wanton hair And hov'ring 'bout your face did beg a kiss Proud of so great a bliss Why did your envious Fan to it denie So chast a libertie Nor yet contented onely thus to do Why did you hide it too Why did you blind those lamps which both adorn And can mislead the Morn Believe me 't was unkindly done to skreen That light was to be seen Though the bright lustre of your orient eies Like the more pow'rful skies Or dazles me or sets my heart on fire When I so high aspire Your Bas'lisk look with its bewitching art Though it strike dead my heart And I stand Planet-struck when e'r I view So fair a star as you Yet do I languish like the drooping night In absence of your light For by your beams such warmth I do receive By which alone I live That if you draw a cloud before this light 'T is with me darkest night VVhen Morpheus once had on my drowsie bed His sable mantle spread And drawn the curtains of Heav'ns Canopie Had veild the starry skie In this Cimmerian slumber as I lay Me thought I wisht for day Expecting when the rosie-fingred Morn Should the black earth adorn When with his early raies he should affright The mistie shades of night At last he came and I beheld his steeds Deckt in their Royal weeds And fair Aurora purpling all the skie Enlightned ev'ry eie How glad was I and wisht that never night Might mask so great a light You were that Phosphor I thus long'd to see Hid in obscuritie And now your lustre breaks forth like the day Clad in her best array Oh happy loss by which I gain a sight As precious as the light To Clarastella on a Nosegay of flowers which she wore at her bosome IF Bees extract their sweetness from each flow'r As these theirs from your breast I thee devour Alive then Stella when I honey eat Rare food than Attick flow'rmel far more sweet Yet as rob'd flow'rs preserve their smel stil fair So these fresh in thy bosomes garden are Though blown on whose sweet dewes and Sun above Make them grow there feed us stil fragrant prove There 's scarce a sense but those thy flow'rs delight They please the touch the tast the smel the sight Yet thou the choisest dost this all and moe Thou sweetly dost our hearing ravish too Since like those subtle Chymists then you take Sweetness from them too one more exact to make Thy self which Nectar art oh hiv'd might I Feed on thy Honey and there melting lie Song INvest my head with fragrant Rose That on fair Flora's bosome grows Distend my veins with purple juyce That mirth may through my soul diffuse 'T is Wine and Love and love in wine Inspires our youth with flames divine Thus crown'd with Paphian myrtle I In Cyprian shades wil bathing lie Whose snow if too much cooling then Bacchus shal warm my blood agen 'T is Wine and Love c. Life's short and winged pleasures flie Who mourning live do living die On down and flouds then Swan-like I Wil stretch my limbs and singing die 'T is Wine and Love and love in wine Inspires our youth with flames divine On Clarastella discovered sleeping in her bed SLeep gentle soul and may a quiet rest Crown the sweet thoughts that harbour in thy brest Keep her ye pow'rs divine let no foul sight Afflict her mind no horrours of the night No fearful shapes or Apparitions Disturb her slumbers through sad visions I charge thee Morpheus thou pale God of sleep See thou from her distempers startings keep Let all her dreams be Golden let them taste Of heav'nly pleasures let them all be chast Delights Embraces Wishes and such new And prosp'rous hopes as may at length prove true Show her rich Crowns and Garlands then let love Chast as her sleep such as the Gods above Enjoy steal in her mind and represent The perfect Image of her blest content There let her fix and entertain awhile A parley with her thoughts then let her smile As pleas'd at th' conference or some other way By a soft sigh let her her love betray Thus please each sense with various delight And with fresh sights prevent her appetite Thus let her sleep secure that she may find At once both ease in body and in mind I charge you wake her not no noise draw neer Her bed to whisper in her quiet ear See how my charms have workt behold she lies Like Innocence her self in white her eies Shut 'gainst all worldly vanitie do show How little she regards this earth below Her soul within though active yet is stil Which speaks the calmness of her inward will The Zephyre wind doth not more gently blow Nor with so soft or stil a motion slow As her sweet breath from her here we may find The even pace of a wel-temper'd mind Bless me what thoughts possess my ravisht soul And stir my blood I can them not controul I 'm all enflam'd and yet I dare not do What the fair harmless object prompts me too She stirrs Oh! I must vanish quickly hence Lest I should wake her with some violence To her at departure THey erre That think we parted are Two souls in one we carry Half of which though it travel far Yet both at home do tarry The Sun When farthest off at Noon Our bodies shade draws nigher My soul your's shadow when I 'm gone Waits closer through desire Dear heart Then grieve not 'cause we part Since distance cannot sever For though my body walks apart Yet I am with you ever Elegiack Song LEnd me ye flouds your tears oh more Lend me al Neptun's watry store When he drownd all mankind that I May in this deluge drown and die She 's dead to me unhappy fate That love which burnt so clear of late Is now extinct oh help and I Wil weep hers and mine obsequie To Cupid Song THou that hast shot so many hearts With thy enchanted darts Young Archer if thou hast one more In all thy
Of Sack all gone is nothing in 't Oh thou my dear and quondam friend That in my need didst money lend How do I grieve thy skeliton Reduc'd thus soon to skin and bone Sure some wil think that see thy thin And aierie Corps that thou hast bin Some Poets purse thus made refine By th' Alchimie of wit and wine And that thy Angel gold may bee Still there though it we cannot see It is so sublimated and So pure for since we understand The Angels to be Spirits then Thou 'rt become spiritual agen Well then Philosophie in truth I find thou speakst the naked truth For though for coine it empty be Yet there is no vacuitie Though no bright Angel do appear In this dispised Hemisphear Yet the Div'ls in 't without all doubt There 's ne'r a crosse to keep him out De sunt nonnulla To a Friend wishing peace LEt 's all be friends a happy peace Would make us prize that 'bove our ease Then we wou'd home and marrie too To keep that corner of the house Yet left unsackt by civil foe And drink a round in dear carouse Oh what a happy thing it were To live secure and free from fear Of plunder when the dul hind may With pig in hand his yearly rent To his old Landlord justly pay In stead of King or Parliament No hurrie then of dread Alar'ms From sleep should fright us into Arms Gaols shou'd stand emptie then and wee Enlarged as the winds may breath Each where and as in Jubilee Live free from fear of sudden death The Trumpet then shal onely blaze In Christmas or at Puppet plaies Or serve the Clowns to summon o're To wait o' th' Judge at grand Assize And the drum onely beat before A muzled Bear or harmless prize Then shal we see no arms but such As in the great Hall hang o' th' crutch All rust with cobwebs which to clear The Grooms and Coachmen as you know It was the custome once a year Must at the County training show In the Kings highway then wee 'l ride Not skulking lest we should be spi'd In private lanes or by-waies cut By hardy Pioneer a gentle pace In stead of marching to a hut Or hedge unto some warmer place O' th' week-daies then wee 'l bowle and chat Of our dear loves and you know what But not one syllable of State Amidst our pleasant mirth and then If that Religion bear date Wee 'l pray on Sundaies once agen If Oliv'd peace should once more smile And say be happy to this Isle Dear friend as who knows but she may I dare presume that you and I Shal kiss her feet and wish her stay And he that doth not may he die Song in a siege FIl fill the goblet full with sack I mean our tall black-jerkin Jack Whose hide is proofe 'gainst rabble-Rout And will keep all ill weathers out What though our plate be coin'd and spent Our faces next we 'l send to th' mint And 'fore wee 'l basely yield the town Sack it our selves and drink it down Accurst be he doth talk or think Of treating or denies to drink Such drie hopsucking narrow souls Taste not the freedome of our bowles They onely are besieg'd whilst we By drinking purchase libertie Wine doth enlarge and ease our minds Who freely drinks no thraldome finds Let 's drink then as we us'd to fight As long as we can stand in spight Of Foe or Fortune who can tel Shee with our cups again may swell Hee neither dares to die or fight Whom harmless fears from healths affright Then let us drink our sorrows down And our selves up to keep the town On the Creeple souldiers marching in Oxford in the Lord Thr. Cottington's Companie STay Gentlemen and you shal see a very rare sight Souldiers who though they want arms yet wil sight Nay some of them have never a leg but onely Will Their Governour and yet they 'l stand to it stil The birds call'd Apodes they resemble and seem To be without either wing or leg like them Oh the courage of a drunken and valiant man For each wil be going when he cannot stand Then room for Criples here comes a companie Such as before I think you ne'r did see Here 's one like a Pidgion goes pinion'd in spight Of old Priapus the birds to affright Another limps as if he had got the Pharse With his half leg like a Goose close up to his arse Yet mistake me not this is no Puppet play You shal onely see the several motions to day Ran tan tan with a spanish march and gate Thus they follow their Leader according to his wonted state A Snaile or a Crablouse would march in a day If driven as led with the white staffe as far as they What I should cal them I hardly do know Foot they are not as appears by the show By the wearing of their Musquets to which they are ty'd They should be Dragooners had they horses to ride And yet now I think on 't they cannot be suc Because each man hath his rest for his crutch To these their Officer need not to say at alar'ms Stand to your Colours or handle your arms Yet that they are Souldiours you safely may say For they 'l die before they wil run away Nay they are stout as ever were Vantrumps For like Widdrington they 'l fight upon their very stumps They have keen Estridge stomacks and wel disgest Both Iron and Lead as a Dog wil a breast Of Mutton But now to their Pedigree That they are sons of Mars most writers agree Some conceive from the Badger old Vulcan they came Because like him they are Mettle-men and lame The moderns think they came from the Guyes of Warwick and Some think they are of the old Herculean band For as by his foot he was discover'd so By their feet you their valour may know And though many wear wooden legs and crutches Yet by Hercules I can assure you such is Their steeled resolution that here You 'l find none that wil the woodden dagger wear They 're true and trustie Trojans all believe me And stride their wooden Palfreis well t' would grieve me To see them tire before they get Unto the Holy-bush but yet If they should faint at that end of the town They may set up their horses and lie down Most of these fighters I would have you to know Were our brave Edgehil Mermidons awhile agoe Who were their limbs like their looser rags Ready to leave them at the next hedge with brags That through the merit of their former harms They die like Gentlemen though they bear no arms Nowsome wil suspect that my Muse may be 'Cause she is so lame of this Companie And the rather because one verse sometimes Is much shorter then his fellows to hold up the rithmes I confess before Criples to halt is not good Yet for excuse shee pleads she understood That things by their similies are best displaid And for that
found So easie passage thence to sallie out And leave her so lov'd seat to range about Th' Elesian groves My souls best part adieu I 'l bathe thy wound in tears though wounded too Drie eies forbear this urn oh come not neer To read this Epitaph without a tear Spirit of Wit and Valour here doth lie Doubly entomb'd i' th' Readers heart and eie Upon the lingring death of the Virtuous Mrs L. H. DEath I not blame thy subtiltie In cutting off this Happy Shee Ne'r didst thou yet in thy black list enroul So fair a soul Thy Envie snatcht her hence lest wee By her example taught should be Immortaliz'd by virtue and live stil Against thy wil For hadst thou spar'd her yet awhile And not prevented by this wile Our grand design thou'adst lost thy sting and wee Not feared thee Coward thou didst by slow degrees Upon her Vital spirits ceaze Els had shee summon'd pow'r enough to stand Thy armed hand Subtile and envious Coward thus Thou 'ast spoiled Nature robbed us Yet I not blame thee thou'adst no other way To get thy prey Upon the Death of the truly valiant Sir Bevil Grenvil slain SEE where in Western clouds our Sun is set Whilst those thick groves of Pikes of him beset To guard his Valour trembled all and shoke With Aspen fear soon as this stately Oke Was cleft with fatal thunder every head Droops like pearl'd Violets now Grenvil's dead Wee need no Gods of Egypt to exhale Salt rivers from our eies and force us waile His sorrowed absence no sowre peele or Rue To damp our looks to Pharisaick hue From Grenvil's Herse each cheek is watered And scorns to wear a smile now he is dead Did I not view Heav'ns great unarmed bow I might suspect Deucalion would o'r-flow The drenched world again and in his name Erect a new eternal Ark of Fame What sudden inundation else could thus As in a second deluge bury us Alive and waft us by a quick return To shades what fire but that of his bright urne Could melt each Muse to liquified verse And thus dissolve in Elegiack tears What Ocean but his Virtues could have drunk So many flouds from weeping eies or sunk So many drowning hearts at whose sad fall A deep groan'd Diapason drowneth all And blends at once our Harmonie Oh I could curse that Planet that did reign At thy first birth and e'r since smiling shine Til this unluckie hour it frown'd on thee Prompting our Stars to bode us miserie For if our hopeful cause should gasping lie I 'de swear it languisht since she saw thee die Upon the unfortunate death of the truly gallant and noble Gent. Ed. Sackvil Esquire THy pow'r pale envious death I now defie Thy rage is spent in this one Tragedie Thou 'ast purloin'd our chief wealth and in one hour Rob'd Honours Garland of its choisest flow'r Now do thy worst thy life-depriving dart Can no more Conquest bring nor deeper smart Oft his tri'd Valour in the open field Dar'd thee where since thou couldst not make him yield Now by a weak and clandestine surprize Thou smit'st him unawares by cowardize Yet went he arm'd against that fatal blow Which sin did print upon his flesh not you Then be not proud of this thy spoil since he Did wish to more then you could make him die For now he lives fam'd to posteritie Both for his Virtues and his Loyaltie The gallant spirit of whose youthful heat Doth with his urnes clear oyle perpetuate VVe weep not then because he dy'd but thus The strange chance doth strange wonder claim in us Hee that but newly chang'd his mortal life In sacred wedlock with a happy VVife Is forc'd by th' ignorant malice of worse men To change it for a happ'er once agen Hee whose rich Virtues gain'd each man his friend That knew them both to his untimely end Thus brought by foes if any he could have Hath with his precious corps enricht the grave Hee Hee is gone and nought but sorrow left To mind us of the good we are bereft For 't is not onely Hee we all are dead As when the Sun sets flow'rs seem withered Nor doth his Fam'ly onely lose a stem The Kingdome suffers in the losse of him More I should say but sullen griefe denies I 'l sigh and vent the rest with weeping eies Elegie Upon the death of that thrice valiant Lord the Lord Bernard Stewart slain in the fight neer VVest-Chester BOast not proud death of this thy Victorie In killing him who thus resolv'd to die Hadst thou a life to lose I would on thee Revenge his too too early Destinie But Coward thou nor spirit hast nor heat Els thou wouldst neer ha' smit so brave so great A Person that on thy dread Tragick stage Fought on thy side and in that bloodie rage To thy black shades so many breathlesse sent Perhaps thou feardst his highborn furie meant With fierce assault thy conqu'ring selfe disarm Sans fear of death he fought so at which alar'm Lest he thy territories should invade And so usurp thy pow'r thou wast afraid So ' 'caus thy jealous fear would admit none A Rival in thy Empire thou so soon Didst cut him off Happy unhappy he Right noble born and dying here doth lie Whose single Death-despising Valour made His greatest enemie Death it selfe afraid On the Death of that most famous Musician Mr VV. Lawes slain in this unhappy Civil Warr SUch is the strange Antipathie between The Wolfe and sheep that a Drum with Wolves skin Headed and beat the partchment bottome breaks And soundless to the stick no answer makes So the Wolfe 's by the * Lambstrings break so * dumb Is th'other when you sound a Wolves-skin'd Drum By Wolves our Orpheus thus oppos'd was slain His Lyres offended strings thus crackt in twain At their harsh foes approach and rang his knell Such untun'd souls who discord lov'd too well Knew not the Heav'n of Musicks harmonie And who not love't dull or il-natur'd be But more enraged grew Else like those Wild beasts Amphion tam'd they wou'd ha' rose Inspir'd with love and kist those hands whose aires Ravisht the birds and taught the heav'nly Spheres To move in pleasing consort But e'r sin ' Our Lawes expir'd this Common-wealth hath bin Quite out of tune Could his surviving laies Yet ' swage our Genius as Pythagoras VVith his soft accents and sweet streins subdu'd And well appeas'd a mad-brain'd multitude I 'de swear they were Divine whose pow'rful breath Could Eccho his rare concords after death And in Loves Symphonie unite each part This had been done by Lawes his hand and Art Had he but liv'd e'r now Melpomene Mourn then for earth hath lost her harmonie EPIGRAMS The first Book By Robert Heath Esquire Quam nihil hoc aliud vel malé praestat agam. LONDON Printed for HUMPHRY MOSELEY and are to be sold at his Sho at the signe of the Princes Arms in S. Pauls Church-yard 1650. To