you Heaven that all containes And thou my Soule let nought thy Griefes relent Those Hands those sacred Hands which hold the reines Of this great All and kept from mutuall wars The Elements beare rent for thee their Veines Those Feet which once must trade on golden Stars For thee with Nails would be pierc'd through and torn For thee Heavens King from Heaven himselfe debars This great heart-quaking Dolour waile and mourne Yee that long since Him saw by might of Faith Ye now that are and ye yet to be borne Not to behold his great Creators Death The Sun from sinfull eyes hath vail'd his light And faintly journies up Heavens saphyre Path And cutting from her Brows her Tresses bright The Moone doth keep her Lords sad Obsequâ—es Impearling with her Teares her Robe of Night All staggering and lazie lowre the Skies The Earth and elementall Stages quake The long-since dead from bursted Graves arise And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take And beare a part with him who all them wrought And Man though borne with cries shall pitty lack Thinke what had been your state had he not brought To these sharpe Pangs himselfe and priz'd so high Your soules that with his Life them life he bought What woes do you attend if still ye lye Plung'd in your wonted ordures wretched Brood Shall for your sake againe God ever die O leave deluding shews embrace true good He on you calls forgo Sins shamefull trade With Prayers now seek Heaven and not with Bloud Let not the Lambs more from their Dams be had Nor Altars blush for sin live every thing That long time long'd for sacrifice is made All that is from you crav'd by this great King Is to beleeve a pure Heart Incense is What gift alas can we him meaner bring Haste sin-sick Soules this season do not misse Now while remorselesse Time doth grant you space And God invites you to your only Blisse He who you calls will not deny you Grace But low-deep bury faults so ye repent His Armes loe stretched are you to embrace When Daies are done and Lifes small sparke is spent So you accept what freely here is given Like brood of Angels deathlesse all-content Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven COme forth come forth ye blest triumphing Bands Faire Citizens of that immortall Town Come see that King which all this All commands Now overcharg'd with Love die for his own Look on those Nailes which pierce his Feet and Hands What a sharpe Diadem his Brows doth crown Behold his pallid Face his heavy frown And what a throng of Thieves him mocking stands Come forth ye Empyrean Troupes come forth Preserve this sacred Bloud that Earth adornes Gather those liquid Roses off his Thornes O! to be lost they be of too much worth For Streams 1 Juice 2 Balm 3 they are which quench 1 kills 2 charmes 3 Of God 1 Death 2 Hell 3 the wrath 1 the life 2 the harmes3. SOule whom Hell did once inthrall He He for thine offence Did suffer Death who could not die at all O soveraigne Excellence O life of all that lives Eternall Bounty which each good thing gives How could Death mount so high No wit this Point can reach Faith only doth us teach He died for us at all who could not dye LIfe to give life deprived is of Life And Death display'd hath Ensigne against Death So violent the Rigour was of Death That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life No Power had Pow'r to thrall Lifes Pow'rs to Death But willingly Life down hath laid Life Love gave the wound which wrought this worke of Death His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life Now quakes the Author of eternall Death To find that they whom late he rest of Life Shall fill his Roome above the lists of Death Now all rejoyce in Death who hope for Life Dead Jesus lies who Death hath kill'd by Death No Tombe his Tombe is but new Source of Life RIse from those fragrant Climes thee now embrace Unto this World of Ours O haste thy Race Faire Sun and though contrarie waies all yeare Thou hold thy course now with the highest Sheare Joyne thy blew Wheeles to hasten Time that low'rs And lazy Minutes turne to perfect Houres The Night and Death too long a league have made To stow the World in Horrours ugly shade Shake from thy Locks a Day with Safron raies So faire that it outshine all other daies And yet do not presumâ— great Eye of Light To be that which this Day must make so bright See an Eternall Sun hasts to arise Not from the Easterne blushing Seas or Skies Or any stranger Worlds Heavens Concaves have But from the Darknesse of an hollow Grave And this is that all-powerfull Sun above That crown'd thy Brows with Rays first made thee moâ— Lights Trumpeters ye need not from your Bow'rs Proclaime this Day this the angelick Pow'rs Have done for you But now an opall hew Bepaints Heavens Christall to the longing view Earths late hid Colours shine Light doth adorne The World and weeping Joy forth comes the Morne And with her as from a Lethargick Trance The breath return'd that Bodies doth advance Which two sad Nights in Rock lay coffin'd dead And with an iron Guard invironed Life out of Death Light out of Darknesse springs From a base Jaile forth comes the King of Kings What late was mortall thrall'd to every woe That lackeys life or upon sense doth grow Immortall is of an eternall Stampe Far brighter beaming than the morning Lampe So from a black Ecclipse out-peares the Sun Such when her course of Daies have on her run In a far Forrest in the pearly East And she her selfe hath burnt and spicie Nest The lovely Bird with youthfull Pens and Combe Doth sore from out her Cradle and her Tombe So a small seed that in the Earth lies hid And dies reviving bursts her cloddy Side Adorn'd with yellow Locks of new is borne And doth become a Mother great with Corne Of Graines brings hundreds with it which when old Enrich the Furrows which do float with Gold Haile holy Victor greatest Victor haile That Hell doth ransake against Death prevaile O how thou long'd for com'st with joyfull cries The all-triumphing Palatines of Skies Salute thy rising Earth would Joyes no more Beare if thou rising didst them not restore A silly Tombe should not his Flesh enclose Who did Heavens trembling Tarasses dispose No Monument should such a Jewell hold No Rock though Ruby Diamond and Gold Thou didst lament and pitty humane Race Bestowing on us of thy free-given Grace More than we forfeited and losed first In Eden Rebells when we were accurst Then Earth our portion was Earths Joyes but given Earth and Earths Blisse thou hast exchang'd with heaven O what a hight of good upon us streames From the great splendor of thy Bounties Beames When we deserv'd shame horrour flames of wrath Thou bledst our wounds and suffer didst
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
art not Great Nor glorious By this Monument turne wise One it enshrineth sprung of ancient stemm And if that Bloud Nobility can make From which some Kings have not disdain'd to take Their proud Descent a rare and matchlesse Gemm A Beauty here it holds by full assurance Than which no blooming Rose was more refin'd Nor Mornings Blush more radiant ever shinâ—d Ah! too too like to Morne and Rose at last It holds her who in Wits ascendant far Did Yeares and Sex transcend To whom the Heaven More Vertue than to all this Age had given For Vertue Meteor turn'd when she a star Faire Mirth sweet Conversation Modesty And what those Kings of Numbers did conceive By Muses Nine and Graces moe than Three Lye clos'd within the Compasse of this Grave Thus Death all Earthly glories doth confound Loe how much Worth a little Dust doth bound FAr from these Bankes exiled be all Joyes Contentments Pleasures Musick cares reliefe Tears Sighs Plaints Horrours Frightments sad Annoies Invest these Mountaines fill all Hearts with Griefe Here Nightingals and Turtles vent your moanes Amphrisian Shepheard here come feed thy Flocke And read thy Hyacinth amidst our Groanes Plaine Eccho thy Narcissus from our Rocks Lost have our Meads their Beauty Hills their Gemms Our Brooks their Christall Groves their pleasant shade The fairest Flow'r of all our Anademms Death cropped hath the Lesbia chaste is dead Thus sigh'd the Tyne then shrunke beneath his Urne And Meads Brooks Rivers Hills about did mourne THe Flower of Virgins in her Prime of yeares By ruthlesse Destinies is ta'ne away And rap'd from Earth poore Earth before this Day Which ne're was rightly nam'd a Vale of Teares Beauty to Heaven is fled sweet Modesty No more appeares She whose harmonious sounds Did ravish Sense and charme Minds deepest wounds Embaulm'd with many a Teare now low doth lye Faire Hopes now vanish'd are She should have grac'd A Princes Marriage-Bed but loe in Heaven Blest Paramours to her were to be given She liv'd an Angell now is with them plac'd Vertue is but a Name abstractly trimm'd Interpreting what she was in effect A shaddow from her Frame which did reflect A Pourtrait by her Excellencies limm'd Thou whom free-will or chance hath hither brought And read'st Here lies a Branch of Maitlands stemm And Sâ—ytons Off-spring know that either Name Designes all worth yet reacht by humane Thought Tombes else-where use Life to their Guests to give These Ashes can fraile Monuments make live Another on the same subject LIke to the Gardens Eye the Flower of Flow'rs With purple Pompe that dazle doth the Sight Or as among the lesser Gems of Night The Usher of the Planet of the Houres Sweet Maid thou shinedst on this World of ours Of all Perfectiâ—ns having trac'd the hight Thine outward frame was faire faire inward Powers A Saphire Lanthorne and an incense light Hence the enamour'd Heaven as too too good On Earths all-thorny soyle long to abide Transplanted to their Fields so rare a Bud Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide Earth moan'd her losse and wish'd she had the grace Not to have known or known thee longer space HArd Laws of mortall Life To which made Thrales we come without consent Like Tapers lighted to be early spent Our Griefes are alwaies rife When joyes but halting march and swiftly fly Like shadows in the Eye The shadow doth not yeeld unto the Sun But Joyes and Life do waste even when begun On the Death of a Nobleman in Scotland buried at Aithen AIthen thy Pearly Coronet let fall Clad in sad Robes upon thy Temples set The weeping Cypresse or the sable Jet Mourne this thy Nurslings losse a losse which all Apollos Quire bemoanes which many yeares Cannot repaire nor Influence of Spheares Ah! when shalt thou find Shepheard like to him Who made thy Bankes more famous by his worth Then all those Gems thy Rocks and Streams send forth His splendor others Glow-worm light did dim Sprung of an ancient and a vertuous Race He Vertue more than many did embrace He fram'd to mildnesse thy halfe-barbarous swaines The Good-mans Refuge of the bad the fright Unparaleld in friendship worlds Delight For Hospitality along thy Plaines Far-fam'd a Patron and a Patterne faire Of Piety the Muses chiefe repaire Most debonaire in Courtesie supreame Lov'd of the meane and honour'd by the Great Ne're dasht by Fortune nor cast down by Fate To present and to after Times a Theame Aithen thy Teares poure on this silent Grave And drop them in thy Alabaster cave And Niâ—bes Imagery become And when thou hast distilled here a Tombe Eâ—chace in it thy Pearls and let it beare Aithens best Gem and honour shrin'd lies here FAme Register of Time Write in thy Scrowle that I Of Wisdome Lover and sweet Poesie Was cropped in my Prime And ripe in worth though green in yeares did dye IUstice Truth Peace and Hospitality Friendship and Love being resolv'd to dye In these lewd Times have chosen here to have With just true pious their Grave Them cherish'd he so much so much did grace That they on Earth would choose none other Place WHen Death to deck his Trophees stop thy breath Rare Ornament and Glory of these Parts All with moist Eyes might say and ruthfull hearts That things immortall vassal'd were to Death What Good in Parts on many shar'd we see From Nature gracious Heaven or Fortune flow To make a Master-Piece of worth below Heaven Nature Fortune gave in grosse to Thee In Honour Bounty Rich in Valour Wit In Courtesie Borne of an ancient Race With Bayes in war with Olives crown'd in Peace Match'd great with Off-spring for great Actions fit No Rust of Times nor Change thy Vertue wan With Times to change when Truth Faith Love decay'd In this new Age like Fate thou fixed stay'd Of the first World an all-substantiall Man As earst this Kingdome given was to thy Syre The Prince his Daughter trusted to thy Care And well the credit of a Gem so rare Thy loyalty and merit did require Yeares cannot wrong thy Worth that now appeares By others set as Diamonds among Pearles A Queens deare Foster Father to three Earles Enough on Earth to triumph are o're yeares Life a Sea-voyage is Death is the Haven And fraught with honour there thou hast arriv'd Which Thousands seeking have on Rocks been driven That Good adornes thy Grave which with thee liv'd For a fraile Life which here thou didst enjoy Thou now a lasting hast â—reed of Annoy WIthin the Closure of thiâ— Narrow Grave Lye all those Graces a Good-wife could have But on this Marble they shall not be read For then the Living envy would the Dead THe Daughter of a King of Princely Parts In Beauty eminent in Vertues chiefe Loadstar of Love and Loadstone of all hearts Her Friends and Husbands only Joy now Griefe Is here pent up within a Marble Frame Whose Paralell no Times no Climates claime VErses fraile Records are to keep a Name Or raise from Dust Men to a Life of Fame The sport and spoyle of Ignorance but far More fraile the Frames of Touch and Marble are Which envy Avarice Time e're long confound Or mis-devotion equalls with the Ground Vertue alone doth last frees man from Death And though despis'd and scorned here beneath Stands grav'n in Angels Diamantine Roles And blazed in the Courts above the Poles Thou wast faire Vertues Temple they did dwell And live ador'd in thee nought did excell But what thou either didst possesse or love The Oraces Darling and the maids of Jove Courted by Fame for Bounties which the Heaven Gave thee in great which if in Parcels given Too many such we happy sure might call How happy then wast thou who enjoyedst them all A whiter Soule ne're body did invest And now sequestred cannot be but blest Inroâ—â—'d in Glory ' midst those Hierarchies Of that immortall People of the Skies Bright Saints and Angels there from cares made free Nought doth becloud thy soveraign Good from Thee Thou smil'st at Earths Confusions and Jars And how for Centaures Children we wage wars Like honey Flies whose rage whole swarmes consumes Till Dâ—st thrown on them makes them vaile their plumes Thy friends to thee a Monument would raise And â—imne thy Vertues but dull griefe thy Praise Breakes in the Entrance and our Taske proves vaine What duty writes that woe blotâ— out againe Yet Love a Pyramid of Sighs thee reares And doth embaulme thee with Fare-wells and Teares Rose THough Marble Porphyry and mourning Touch May praise these spoiles yet can they not too much For Beauty last and this Stone doth close Once Earths Delight Heavens care a purest Rose And Reader shouldst thou but let fall a Teare Upon it other flow'rs shall here appeare Sad Violets and Hyacinths which grow With markes of griefe a publike losse to show II. Relenting Eye which dâ—ignest to this Stone To lend a look behold here he laid one The Living and the Dead interr'd for Dead The Turtle in its Mate is and she fled From Earth her choos'd this Place of Griefe To bound Thoughts a small and sad Reliefe His is this Monument for hers no Art Could frame a Pyramide rais'd of his Heart III. Instead of Epitaphs and airy praise This Monument a Lady chaste did raise To her Lords living fame and after Death Her Body doth unto this Place bequeath To rest with his till Gods shrill Trumpet sound Though time her Life no time her loâ—â— could bound To Sir W. A. THough I have twice been at the Doores of Death And twice found shut those Gates which ever mourn This but a Lightning is Truce ta'ne to Breath For late borne sorrows augure fleet return Amidst thy sacred Cares and Courtly Toyles Alexis when thou shalt heare wandring Fame Tell Death hath triumph'd o're my mortall Spoyles And that on Earth I am but a sad Name If thou e're held me deare by all our Love By all that Blisse those Joyes Heaven here us gave I conjure thee and by the Maids of Jove To grave this short remembrance on my Grave Here Damon lies whose Songs did sometime grace The murmuring Esk may Roses shade the place FINIS
those within but to come forth do venter That stately Place againe they never enter The Precinct's strengthened with a Ditch of Feares In which doth swell a Lake of Inky Teares Of madding Lovers who abide their moaning And thicken even the Aire with pitious groaning This Hold to brave the Skies the Destines fram'd And then the Fort of Chastity is nam'd The Queen of the third Heaven once to appall it The God of Thrace Here brought who could not thrall it For which he vow'd ne're Arms more to put on And on Riphean Hils was heard to groan Here Psyches Lover hurles his Darts at randon Which all for nought him serve as doth his Brandon What grievous Agony did invade my Mind When in that Place my Hope I saw confin'd Where with high-towring Thoughts I only reacht her Which did burne up their Wings when they approacht her Me thought I set me by a Cypresse shade And Night and Day the Hyacinthe there read And that bewailing Nightingales did borrow Plaints of my Plaint and sorrows of my Sorrow My food was Worm-wood mine own Teares my drinke My rest on Death and sad Mishaps to thinke And for such Thoughts to have my Heart enlarged And ease mine Eyes with brinie Tribute charged Over a Brook I laid my pining Face But then the Brooke as griev'd at my Disgrace A Face Me shew'd so pin'd sad over-clouded That at the Sight afray'd mine Eyes them shrowded This is the guerdon Love this is the Game In end which to thy Servants doth remaine More would I say when Feare made Sleep to leave me And of those fatall Shadows did bereave me But ah alas instead to dreame of Love And Woes I now them in effect did prove For what into my troubled Braine was painted Awak'd I found that Time and Place presented SONNETS AH burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest And your tumultuous Broyles a while appease Is 't not enough Stars Fortune Love molest Me all at once but ye must too displease Let Hope though false yet lodge within my brest My high Attempt though dangerous yet praise What though I trace not right Heavens steppy waies It doth suffice my Fall shall make me blest I do not doat on Daies I feare not Death So that my Life be good I wish't not long Let me Renown'd live from the Worldly Throng And when Heaven lists recall this borrowed Breath Men but like Visions are Time all doth claime He lives who dies to win a lasting Name SON THat learned Grecian who did so excell In Knowledge passing Sense that he is nam'd Of all the after Worlds Divine doth tell That all the Time when first our Soules are fram'd Ere in these Mansions blind they come to dwell They live bright Rayes of that Eternall light And others see know love in Heavens great height Not toyld with ought to Reason do rebell It is most true for straight at the first sight My Mind me told that in some other place It elsewhere saw th' Idea of that face And lov'd a love of Heavenly pure delight What wonder now I feele so faire a flame Sith I her lov'd ere on this Earth She came SON NOr Arne nor Mincius nor stately Tiber Sebethus nor the Flood into whose streames He fell who burnt the world with borrowed beames Gold-rolling Tagus Munda famous Iber Sorgue Rosne Loire Garron nor proud-banked Seinâ— Peneus Phasis Xanthus humble Ladon Nor She whose Nymphes excell her loved Adon Faire Tamesis nor Ister large nor Rheine Euphrates Tigrâ—s Indus Hermus Gange Pearly Hydaspes Serpent-like Meander The Floud which robbed Hero of Leander Nile that far far his hidden Head doth range Have ever had so rare a cause of praise As Ora where this Northerne Phoenix stayes SON TO heare my plaints faire River Christalline Thou in a silent slumber seems to stay Delicious Flowers Lilly and Columbine Ye bow your Heads when I my Woes display Forrests in you the Mirtle Palme and Bay Have had compassion listning to my groanes The Winds with sighs have solemniz'd my moanes 'Mong leaves which whisper'd what they could not say The Caves the Rocks the Hills the Sylvans Thrones As if even pitty did in them appeare Have at my sorrow rent their ruthlesse stones Each thing I find hath sence except my Deare Who doth not thinke I love or will not know My Griefe perchance delighting in my woe SON SWeet Brook in whose cleare Christall I my eyes Have oft seen great in labour of their teares Enamell'd Banke whose shining gravell beares These sad Characters of my miseries High Woods whose mounting tops menace the Sphears Wild Citizens Amphions of the Trees You gloomy Groves at hottest Noons which freeze Elysian shades which Phoebus never cleares Vaste solitary Mountaines pleasant Plaines Embroydred Meads that Ocean-waies you reach Hills Dales Springs All whom my sad cry constraines To take part of my plaints and learne woes speech Will that remorselesse faire e're pity show Of grace now answer if ye ought know No. SON WIth flaming Horns the Bull now brings the yeare Melt do the Mountains rouling flouds of Snow The silver Rivers in smooth Channels flow The Late-bare Woods green Anadeams do weare The Nightingall forgetting Winters woe Cals up the lazy Morne her notes to heare Spread are those Flow'rs which names of Princes beare Some red some azure white and golden grow Here lowes a Heifer there be-wailing strayes A harmelesse Lambe not far a Stag rebounds The Shepheards sing to grazing flocks sweet Layes And all about the Ecchoing Aire resounds Hils Dales Woods Flouds ev'ry thing doth change But She in rigour I in Love am strange SON THat I so slenderly set forth my Mind Writing I wot not what in ragged Rimes Orecharg'd with brasse in these so golden Times When otherâ— towre so high am left behind I crave not Phoebus leave his sacred Cell To bind my Brows with fresh Aonian Baies But leave 't to those who tuning Sweetest Laies By Tempe sit or Aganippes Well Nor yet to Venus Tree do I aspire Sith She for whom I might affect that praise My best attempts with cruell words gainsaies And I seek not that others me admire Of weeping Myrrhe the Crowne is which I crave With a sad Cypresse to adorne my Grave MADRIGALL WHen as She smiles I find More light before mine Eyes Than when the Sun from Inde Brings to our World a flowry Paradise But when She gently weeps And poures forth pearly showers On cheeks faire blushing flowers A sweet melancholy my senses keeps Both feed so my disease So much both do me please That oft I doubt which more my heart doth burne Love to behold her smile or Pitty mourne SON MY Teares may well Numidian Lions tame And Pity breed into the hardest heart That ever Pyrrha did to Maid impart When She them first of blushing Rocks did frame Ah Eyes which only serve to waile my smart How long will you my inward Woes proclaime May 't not suffice
in the Aire By sporting childrens Breath Who chase it every where And strive who can most motion it bequeath And though it sometime seem of its own might Like to an Eye of gold to be fix'd there And firme to hover in that empty height That only is because it is so Light But in that Pompe it doth not long appeare For when 't is most admired in a thought Because it earst was nought it turnes to nought SON MY Lute be as thou wert when thou did grow With thy green Mother in some shady Grove When immelodious Winds but made thee move And Birds their ramage did on thee bestow Since that deare voice which did thy sounds approve Which wont in such harmonious Straines to â—low Is reâ—t from Earth to tune those spheares above What art thou but a Harbinger of woe Thy pleasing Notes he pleasing Notes no more But Orphans wailings to the fainting Eare Each Stroke a sigh each Sound draws forth a Teare For which be silent as in woods before Or if that any hand to touch thee daigne Like widow'd Turtle still her losse complaine SON AH Handkercher sad present of my Deare Gift miserable which doth now remaine The only Guerdon of my helplesse Paine When I thee got thou shewst my state too cleare I never since have ceased to complaine I since the Badge of Griefe did ever weare Joy in my Face durst never since appeare Care was the Food which did me entertaine But since that thou art mine O do not grieve That I this Tribute pay thee for mine Eine And that I this short Time I am to live Laundre thy silken Figures in this Brine No I must yet even beg of thee the Grace That in my Grave thou daigne to shroud my Face MAD. TRees happier far than I Which have the grace to heave your Heads so high And over-look those Plaines Grow till your Branches kisse that lofty Skie Which her sweet selfe containes There make her know mine endlesse Love and Paines And how these Teares which from mine Eyes do fall Helpt you to rise so Tall Tell her as once I for her sake lov'd Breath So for her sake I now court lingring Death SONG SAd Damon being come To that for-ever Lamentable Tombe Which those eternall Powers that all controule Unto his living Soule A melancholy prison had prescrib'd Of Colour Heat and motion depriv'd In Armes weake Fainting Cold A Marble he the Marble did infold And having warme it made with many a showre Which dimmed Eyes did poure When Griefe had given him leave and sighs them staied Thus with a sad alas at last he said Who would have thought to me The place where thou did'st lie could grievous be And that deare body long thee having sought O me who would have thought Thee once to find it should my Soule confound And give my Heart then death a deeper wound Thou did'st disdaine my Teares But grieve not that this ruthfull Stone them beares Mine Eyes for nothing serve but thee to weep And let that course them keep Although thou never wouldst them comfort show Do not repine they have part of thy woe Ah wretch too late I find How Vertues glorious Titles prove but wind For if that Vertue could release from Death Thou yet enjoy'd hadst Breath For if she ere appear'd to mortall Eine It was in thy faire shape that she was seen But O! if I was made For thee with thee why too am I not dead Why do outragious Fates which dimm'd thy sight Let me see hatefull light They without me made Death thee surprise Tyrants no doubt that they might kill me twice O Griefe And could one Day Have force such excellence to take away Could a swift-flying Moment ah deface Those matchlesse gifts that Grace Which Art and Nature had in thee combin'd To make thy Body paragon thy Mind Hath all pass'd like a cloud And doth eternall silence now them shroud Is that so much admir'd now nought but Dust Of which a Stone hath Trust O change O cruell change thou to our sight Show'st the Fates Rigour equall to their Might When thou from earth diâ—'st passe Sweet Nymph Perfections Mirrour broken was And this of late so glorious World of ours Lâ—ke Medows without Flowers Or Ring of a rich Gem which blind appear d Or Starless night or Cynthia nothing clear'd Love when he saw thee dye Entomb'd him in the lid of either Eye And left his Torch within thy sacred Vrne There for a Lampe to burne Worth Honour Pleasure with thy life expir'd Death since grown sweet begins to be desir'd Whilst thou to us wert given The Earth her Venus had as well as Heaven Nay and her Suns which burnt as many Hearts As he the easterne parts Bright Suns which forc'd to leave these Hemispheares Benighted set into a Sea of Teares Ah Death who shall thee flie Since the most mighty are o'rethrown by thee Thou spar'st the Crow and Nightingall dost kill And triumphst at thy will But give thou cannot such another Blow Because Earth cannot such another show O bitter sweets of Love How better is 't at all you not to prove Nor when we do your pleasures must possesse To find them thus made lesse O! That the cause which doth consume our joy Would the remembrance of it too destroy What doth this life bestow But Flow'rs on Thornes which grow Which though they sometime blandish soft delight Yet afterwards us smite And if the rising Sun them faire doth see That Planet setting doth behold them die This world is made a Hell Depriv'd of all that in it did excell O Pan Pan Winter is fallen in May Turn'd is to night our Day Forsake thy Pipe a Scepter take to thee Thy locks disgarland thou black Jove shall be The Flocks do leave the Meads And loathing three leav'd Grasse hold up their Heads The Streames not glide now with a glentle Rore Nor Birds sing as before Hills stands with clouds like Mourners vail'd in black And Owles upon our Roofes foretell our wrack That Zephire every yeare So soone was heard to sigh in Forrests here It was for her that wrapt in Gowns of Greene Meads were so earely seen That in the saddest Months oft sang the Mearles It was for Her for her Trees dropt forth pearles That proud and stately Courts Did envy these our Shades and calme Resorts It was for Her and she is gone O woe Woods cut againe do grow But doth the Rose and Dazy winter done But we once dead do no more see the Sun Whose Name shall now make ring The Ecchoes of whom shall the Nymphets sing Whose heavenly voice whose Soule-invading Straines Shall fill with Joy the plaines What Haire what Eyes can make the Morne in East Weep that a fairer riseth in the West Faire Sun post still away No Musicke here is left thy Course to stay Sweet Hybla Swarmes with Wormewood fill your Bow'râ— Gone is the flower of Flow'rs Blush no more Rose nor Lilly
pale remaine Dead is that Beauty which yours late did staine Aye me to waile my Plight Why have not I as many Eyes as Night Or as that Shepheards which Joves love did keep That I still still may weepe But though I had my Teares unto my crosse Wâ—re not yet equall nor griefe to my losse Yet of you briny Showers Which I â—ere poure may spring as many flow'rs As come of those which fell from Helens Eyes And when ye do arise May every Leafe in sable letters beare The Dolefull Cause for which ye spring up here MAD. THe Beauty and the Life Of Lifes and Beauties fairest Paragon O Teares O Griefe hung at a feeble Thread To which pale Atropos had set her Knife The Soule with many a groane Had left each outward Part And now did take his last Leave of the Heart Nought else did want save Death for to be dead When the sad company about her Bed Seeing Death invade her lips her cheekes her eyes Cried ah and can Death enter Paradise SON O! It is not to me bright Lampe of Day That in the East thou show'sts thy golden Face O! it is not to me thou leav'st that sea And in those azure Lists began'st thy Race Thou shinest not to the Dead in any Place And I dead from this World am past away Or if I seem a Shadow yet to stay It is a while but to bewaile my Case My Mirth is lost my Comforts are dismaid And unto sad Mishaps their Place do yeeld My Knowledge represents a bloudy Field Where I my Hopes and helps see prostrate laid So plaintfull is Lifes Course which I have run That I do wish it never had begun MADRIGALL DEare Night the ease of Care Untroubled Seat of Peace Times eldest Child which oft the blind do see On this our Hemispheare What makes thee now so sadly darke to be Com'st thou in funerall Pomp Her Grave to grace Or do those Stars which should thy horrour cleare In Joves high Hall advise In what Part of the skies With them or Cynthia she shall appeare Or ah alas because those matchlesse eyes Which shone so faire below thou dost not find Striv'st thou to make all others Eyes look blind SON SInce it hath pleas'd that First and supreme Faire To take that Beauty to himselfe againe Which in this world of Sense not to remaine But to amaze was sent and home repaire The Love which to that Beauty I did beare Made Pure of mortall spots which did it staine And endlesse which even Death cannot impaire I place on him who will it not disdaine No shining Eyes no Locks of curling gold No blushing Roses on a virgin Face No outward show no nor no inward Grace Shall power have my thoughts henceforth to hold Love here on Earth huge stormes of care doth tosse But plac'd above exempted is from losse SONG IT Autumne was and on our Hemispheare Faire Ericine began bright to appeare Night West-ward did her gemmy World decline And hide her Lights that greater Light might shine The crested Bird hath given Alarum twice To lazy Mortals to unlock their Eyes The Owle had left to plaine and from each Throne The wing'd Musicians did salute the Morne Who while she dress'd her Locks in Ganges streames Set open wide the chrystall Port of Dreames When I whose Eyes no drousie Night could close In Sleeps soft armes did quietly repose And for that Heavens to die did me deny Deaths Image kissed and as dead did lie I lay as dead but scarce chaâ—m'd were my Cares And slaked scarce my Sighs scarce dried my Teares Sleep scarce the ugly Figures of the Day Had with his sable Pencill put away And left me in a still and calmy Mood When by my Bed me thought a Virgin stood A Virgin in the blooming of her Prime If such rare Beauty measur'd be by Time Her Head a Garland wore of Opalls bright About her flow'd a Gown like purest Light Pure Amber Locks gave Umbrage to her Face Where Modesty high Majesty did grace Her Eyes such Beames sent forth that but with paine Her weaker Sights their sparklings could sustaine No feigned Dâ—ity which haunts the Woods Is like to Her nor Syrene of the Floods Such is the Golden Planet of the Yeare When blâ—shing in the East he doth appeare Her Grace did beauty Voice yet Grace did passe Which thus through Pearles and Rubies broken was How long wilt thou said she estrang'd from Joy Paint Shadows to thy selfe of false Annoy How long thy Mind with horrid Shapes affright And in imaginary Evills delight Esteeme that Losse which well when view'd is Gaine Or if a Losse yet not a Losse too plaine O leave thy plainâ—full Soule more to molest And thinke that woe when shortest then is best If She for whom thou thus dost deafe the Skie Be dead What then Was she not borne to die Was She not mortall borne If thou dost grieve That Times should be in which She should not live Ere e're she was weep that Daies wheele was roll'd Weep that she liv'd not in the Age of Gold For that she was not then thou maiest deplore As well as that she now can be no more If only she had died thou sure hadst Cause To blame the Fates and their too iron Laws But look how many Millions her advance What numbers with her enter in this Dance With those which are to come shall Heavens them stay And th' Universe dissolve thee to obey As Birth Death which so much thee doth apall A Peece is of the Life of this great All. Strong Cities die die do high palmy Raignes And fondling thou thus to be us'd complaines If she be dead then she of loathsome Daies Hath pass'd the Line whose Length but Losse bewraies Then she hath left this filthy Stage of Care Where Pleasure seldome Woe doth still repaire For all the Pleasures which it doth containe Not countervaile the smallest Minutes paine And tell me thou who dost so much admire This little Vapour this poore Sparke of Fâ—re Which Life is call'd what doth it thee bequeath But some few yeares which Birth draws out to Death Which if thou paralell with Lustres run Or those whose courses are but now begun In daâ—es great Numbers they shall lesse appeare Than with the Sea when matched is a Teare But why shouldst thou here longer wish to be One Yeare doth serve all Natures Pompe to see Nay even one Day and Night this Moone that Sun Those lesser Fires about this Round which Run Be but the same which under Saturnes Raigne Did the serpenting Seasons interchaine How oft doth Life grow lesse by living long And what excelleth but what dieth young For Age which all abhor yet would embrace Doth make the Mind as wrinckled as the Face Then leave Laments and thinke thou did'st not live Laws to that first eternall Cause to give But to obey those Laws which he hath given And bow unto the just decrees of Heaven Which cannot
Amber do send forth Her Heaven hath golden Stars to crown thy Worth Moeris THe sister Nymphs which haunt the Thespian springs More liberally their Gifts ne're did bequeath To them who on their Hils suckt sacred Breath Then unto thee by which thou sweetly sings Ne're did Apollo raise on Pegase Wings A Muse more neare Himselfe more far from Earth Than thine whether thou weep thy Ladies Death Or sing those sweet-sowre Pangs that Passion brings To write our Thoughts in Verse doth merit Praise But thus the Verse to gild in Fictions Ore Bright rich delightfull doth deserve much more As thou hast done these thy melodious Layes No doubt thy Muses faire Morne doth bewray The swift Approach of a more glistring Day TEARES ON THE DEATH OF MOELIADES BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAVVTHORNEDEN LONDON Printed in the Yeare 1656. To the Author IN Waves of Woe thy Sighs my Soule do tosse And make run out the floud-gates of my teares Whose rankling Wound no smoothing Baume long beares But freely bleeds when ought upbraids my Losse 'T is thou so sweetly Sorrow makest to sing And troubled Passions dost so well accord That more Delight Thy Anguish doth afford Than others Joyes can Satisfaction bring What sacred Wits when ravish'd do affect To force Affections Metamorphose Minds Whilst numbrous Power the Soule in secret binds Thou hast perform'd transforming in Effect For never Plaints did greater Pitty move The best Applause that can such Notes approve Sr W. ALEXANDER Teares on the Death of MOELIADES O Heavens then is it true that Thou art gone And left this woefull Isle her Losse to moane Moeliades bright Day-star of the West A 〈◊〉 blazing Terrour to the East And neither that thy Spirit so heavenly wise Nor Body though of Earth more pure than Skies Nor royall Sâ—em nor thy sweet tender Age Of cruell Destinies could quench the Rage O fading Hopes O short-while lasting Joy Of Earth-borne man that one Houre can destroy Then even of Vertues Spoiles Death Trophies reares As if he gloried most in many Teares Forc'd by hard Fates do Heavens neglect our Cries Are Stars set only to act Tragedies Then let them do their Worst since thou art gone Raise whom thou list to Thrones enthron'd dethrone Staine Princely Bow'rs with Bloud and even to Gange In Cypresse sad glad Hymens Torches change Ah thou hast left to live and in the Time When scarce thou blossom'd'st in thy pleasant Prime So falls by Northern Blast a virgin Rose At halfe that doth her bashfull Bosome close So a sweet Flower languishing decaies That late did blush when kist by Phoebus Raies So Phoebus mounting the Meridians height Choak't by pale Phoebe faints unto our sight Astonish'd Nature sullen stands to see The Life of all this All so chang'd to be In gloomy Gowns the Stars this losse deplore The Sea with murmuring Mountaines beats the Shore Black Darkenesse reeles o're all in thousand Show'rs The weeping Aire on Earth her sorrow poures That in a Palsey quakes to see so soone Her Lover set and Night burst forth ere Noone If Heaven alas ordain'd thee young to die Why was 't not where thou might'st thy Valour try And to the wondring World at least set forth Some little Sparke of thy expected Worth Moeliades O that by Isterâ— Streames 'Mong sounding Trumpets fiery twinkling Gleames Of warme vermilion Swords and Cannons Roare Balls thick as Raine pour'd on the Caspian Shore 'Mongst broken Spears 'mongst ringing Helms shields Huge heapes of slaughtred Bodies long the Fields In Turkish bloud made red like Marses Star Thou endedst had thy Life and Christian War Or as brave Burbon thou hadst made old Rome Queen of the World thy Triumph and thy Tombe So Heavens fair Face to th' unborne World which reads A Book had been of thy illustrious Deeds So to their Nephews aged Syres had told The high Exploits perform'd by thee of old Towns raz'd and rais'd victorious vanquish'd Bands Fierce Tyrants flying foyl'd kill'd by thy Hands And in rich Arras Virgins faire had wrought The Bayes and Trophies to thy Country brought While some New Homer imping Wings to Fame Deafe Nilus dwellers had made heare thy Name That thou didst not attaine these Honours Spheares Through want of Worth it was not but of Yeares A Youth more brave pale Troy with trembling Walls Dâ—d never see nor She whose Name appalls Both Titans golden Bow'rs in bloudy Fights Mustring on Mars his Field such Mars-like Knights The Heavens had brought thee to the highest Hight Of Wit and Courage shewing all their Might When they thee fram'd Aye me that what is brave On Earth they as their own so soon should crave Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thale to Hydaspes pearly shore When Forth thy Nurse Forth where thou first didst passe Thy tender Daies who smil'd oft on her Glasse To see thee gaze Meandring with her Streames Heard thou hadst left this Round from Phoebus Beames She sought to flie but forced to returne By Neighbouring Brooks She set her selfe to mourne And as she rush'd her Cyclades among She seem'd too plain that Heaven had done her wrong With a hoarse plaint Cleyd down her steepy rocks And Tweid through her green Mountaines clad with flocks Did wound the Ocean murmuring thy death The Ocean it roar'd about the Earth And to the Mauritanian Atlas told Who shrunke through griefe and down his white hairs rold Huge Streames of tears which changed were to flouds Wherewith he drown'd the neighbour plains woods The lesser Brooks as they did bubling go Did keep a Consort to the publike Woe The Shepheards left their Flocks with down-cast eies ' Sdaining to look up to the angry Skies Some brake their Pipes and some in sweet-sad Layes Made senselesse things amazed at thy Praise His Reed Alexis hung upon a Tree And with his Teares made Doven great to be Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to Hydaspes pearely shore Chaste Maids which haunt faire Aganippes Well And you in Tempes sacred Shade who dwell Let fall your Harps cease Tunes of Joy to sing Dissheveled make all Parnassus ring With Anthâ—amesâ—ad â—ad thy Musick Phoebus turne To dolefull plaints whilst Joy it selfe doth mourne Dead is thy Darling who adorn'd thy Bayes Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet Layes And to a Trumpet raise thy amorous Stile That floting Delos envy might this Isle You Acidalian Archers breake your Bows Your Torches quench with teares blot Beauties Snows And bid your weeping Mother yet againe A second Adoâ—s death nay Mars his plaine His Eyes once were your Darts nay even his Name Where ever heard did every Heart inflame Tagus did court his Love with Golden Streames Rhein with his Towns faire Seine with all she claimes But ah poore Lovers Death them did betray And not suspected made their Hopes his Prey Tagus bewailes his Losse in Golden Streames Rhein with his Towns faire Seine with all she claimes Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to
heare After one Kisse but still one Kisse my Deare Desired Death DEare Life while I do touch These Corrall Ports of blisse Which still themselves do kiss And sweetly me invite to do as much All panting in my Lips My Heart my life doth leave No sense my Senses have And inward Powers do find a 〈◊〉 Ecclipse This Death so heavenly well Doth so me please that I Would never longer seeke in sense to dwell If that even thus I only could but dye Phoebe IF for to be alone and all the Night to wander Maids can prove chaste then chaste is Phoebe without slander Answer FOole still to be alone all Night in Heaven to wander Would make the wanton chaste then she 's chaste without slander The cruelty of Rora WHilst sighing forth his Wrongs In sweet though dolefull Songs Alexis sought to charme his Roras Eares The Hils were heard to moane To sigh each Spring appeared Trees hardest Trees through Rine distill'd their Teares And soft grew every Stone But Teares nor Sighs nor Songs could Rora move For she rejoyced at his plaint and love A Kisse HArke happy Lovers harke This first and last of Joyes This sweetner of Annoyes This Nectar of the Gods You call a Kisse is with it selfe at ods And halfe so sweet is not In equall Measure got At light of Sun as it is in the darke Harke happy Lovers harke Kalas Complaint KAla old Mopsus Wife Kala with fairest Face For whom the Neighbour Swaines oft were at strife As she to milke her snowy Flock did tend Sigh'd with a heavy Grace And said What wretch like me doth lead her life I see not how my Taske shall have an end All Day I draw these streaming Dugs in Fold All Night mine empty Husband soft and cold Phillis IN Peticoat of greene Her Haire about her Eine Phillis beneath an Oake Sate milking her faire flock 'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture rare delight Her hand seem'd milke in milke it was so white A Wish TO forge to mighty Jove The thunder-bolts above Nor on this Round below Rich Midas skill to know And make all Gold I touch Do I desire it is for me too much Of all the Arts practis'd beneath the Skie I would but Phillis Lapidarie be Nisa NIsa Palemons Wife him weeping told He kept not Grammar rules now being old For why quoth she position false make ye Putting a short thing where a long should be A Lovers Heaven THose Stars nay Suns which turne So stately in their Spheares And dazeling do not burne The Beauty of the Morne Which on these cheekâ— appeares The Harmony which to that voice is given Makes me thinke you are Heaven If Heaven you be O that by powerfull Charmes I Aâ—las were enfolded in your armes Epitaph THis deare though not-respected Earth doth hold One for his worth whose Tombe should be of gold Beauties Idea WHo would Perfections faire Idea see On pretty Cloris let him look with me White is her haire her Teeth white white her Skin Black be her Eyes her Eye-brows Cupids Inne Her Locks her Body hands do long appeare But Teeth short short her Wombe and either Eare The space 'twixt Shoulders Eyes are wide Brow wide Strait Waste the Mouth strait and her virgin Pride Thick are her Lips Thighs with Bankes swelling there Her Nose is small small Fingers and her Haire Her sugred Mouth her Cheekes her Nailes be red Little her Foot Brest little and her Head Such Venus was such was that Flame of Troy Such Cloris is mine Hope and only Joy Lalus Death AMidst the Waves profound Far far from all Reliefe The honest Fisher Lalus ah is drown'd Shut this little Skiffe The Boards of which did serve him for a Biere So that when he to the black World came neare Of him no Silver greedy Charon got For he in his own Boat Did passe that Floud by which the Gods do sweare FLOWERS of SION OR SPIRITUALL POEMS By W. D. TRiumphant Arches Statues crown'd with Bayes Proud Obeliskes Tombes of the vastest Frame Brazen Colosses Atlases of Fame And Temples builded to vaine Deities praise States which unsatiate Minds in bloud do raise From Southerne Pole unto the Artick Teame And even what we write to keep our Name Like Spiders Caules are made the sport of Daies All only constant is in constant Change What done is is undone and when undone Into some other figure doth it range Thus rolls the restlesse World beneath the Moon Wherefore my Mind above Time Motion Place Aspire and Steps not reach'd by Nature trace A Good that never satisfies the Mind A Beauty fading like the Aprill flow'rs A Sweet with flouds of Gall that runs combin'd A Pleasure passing ere in thought made ours A Honour that more fickle is than wind A Glory at Opinions frown that low'rs A Treasury which bankrupt Time devoures A Knowledge than grave Ignorance more blind A vaine Delight our equalls to command A Stile of greatnesse in effect a Dreame A swelling Thought of holding Sea and Land A servile Lot deckt with a pompous Name Are the strange Ends we toyle for here below Till wisest Death make us our errours know LIfe a right shadow is For if it long appeare Then is it spent and Deaths long Night draws neare Shadows are moving light And is there ought so moving as is this When it is most in Sight It steales away and none knows how or where So neare our Cradles to our Coffins are LOok as the Flow'r which lingringly doth fade The Mornings Darling late the Summers Queen Spoyl'd of that Juyce which kept it fresh and green As high as it did raise bows low the head Right so the pleasures of my Life being dead Or in their Contraries but only seen With swifter speed declines than erst it spred And blasted scarce now shows what it hath been Therefore as doth the Pilgrim whom the Night Hast darkly to imprison on his way Thinke on thy Home my Soule and thinke aright Of what 's yet left thee of Lifes wasting Day Thy Sun posts Westward passed is thy Morne And twice it is not given thee to be borne THe weary Mariner so far not flies An howling Tempest Harbour to attaine Nor Shepheard hasts when frayes of Wolves arise So fast to Fold to save his bleating traine As I wing'd with Contempt and just Disdaine Now flie the World and what it most doth prize And Sanctuary seek free to remaine From wounds of abject Times and Envies eyes To me this World did once seem sweet and faire While Senses light Minds Perspective kept blind Now like imagin'd Landskip in the Aire And weeping Raine-bows her best Joyes I find Or if ought here is had that praise should have It is an obscure Life and silent Grave OF this faire Volume which we World do name If we the sheets and leaves could turne with care Of him who it corrects and did it frame We cleare might read the Art and Wisdome rare Find out his Power which
wildest Pow'rs doth tame His Providence extending every-where His Justice which proud Rebels doth not spare In every Page no Period of the same But silly we like foolish Children rest Well pleas'd with colour'd Velum Leaves of Gold Faire dangling Ribbands leaving what is best On the great Writers sense ne're taking hold Or if by chance we stay our Minds on ought It is some Picture on the Margine wrought THe Griefe was common common were the cries Teares Sobs and Groanes of that afflicted Traine Which of Gods chosen did the Sum containe And Earth rebounded with them pierc'd were Skies All good had left the World each Vice did raign In the most monstrous sorts Hell could devise And all Degrees and each Estate did staine Nor further had to go whom to surprize The World beneath the Prince of Darknesse lay And in each Temple had himselfe install'd Was sacrific'd unto by Prayers call'd Responses gave which fooles they did obey When pittying Man God of a Virgines wombe Was borne and those false Deities strooke dumbe RUn Shepheards run where Bethlem blest appears We bring the best of News be not dismay'd A Saviour there is borne more old than yeares Amidst the rolling Heaven this Earth who stay'd In a poore Cottage Inn'd a Virgin Maid A weakling did him beare who all upbeares There he in Cloaths is wrapt in Manger laid To whom too narrow Swadlings are our Spheares Run Shepheards run and solemnize his Birth This is that Night no Day grown great with Blisse In which the Power of Satan broken is In Heaven be Glory Peace unto the Earth Thus singing through the Aire the Angels swame And all the Stars re-ecchoed the same O Than the fairest day thrice fairer night Night to best Daies in which a Sun doth rise Of which the golden Eye which cleares the Skies Is but a sparkling Ray a Shadow light And blessed ye in silly Pastors sight Mild Creatures in whose warme Crib now lies That Heaven-sent Youngling holy-Maid-born Wight ' Midst end beginning of our Prophesies Blest Cottage that hath Flow'rs in Winter spread Though withered blessed Grasse that hath the grace To deck and be a Carpet to that Place Thus singing to the sounds of oaten Reed Before the Babe the Shepheards bow'd their knees And Springs ran Nectar Honey dropt from Trees TO spread the azure Canopy of Heaven And make it twinkle with those spangs of Gold To stay the pondrous Globe of Earth so even That it should all and nought should it uphold To give strange motions to the Planets seven Or Jove to make so meek or Mars so bold To temper what is moist dry hot and cold Of all their Jars that sweet accords are given Lord to thy Wisdom's nought nought to thy Might But that thou shouldst thy Glory laid aside Come meanely in mortality to ' bide And die for those deserv'd eternall plight A wonder is so far above our wit That Angels stand amaz'd to muse on it THe last and greatest Herauld of Heavens King Girt with rough Skins hies to the Desarts wild Among that savage brood the Woods forth bring Which he more harmelesse found than man and mild His food was Locusts and what there doth spring With Honey that from Virgine Hives distill'd Parcht Body hollow Eyes some uncouth thing Made him appeare long since from Earth exil'd There burst he forth all ye whose Hopes rely On God with me amidst these Desarts mourne Repent repent and from old errours turne Who list'ned to his voice obey'd his cry Only the Ecchoes which he made relent Rung from their flinty Caves repent repent THese Eyes deare Lord once Tapers of Desire Fraile Scouts betraying what they had to keep Which their own heart then others set on fire Their trait'rous black before thee here out-weep These Locks of blushing deeds the gilt attire Waves curling wrackfull shelves to shadow deep Rings wedding Soules to Sins lethargick sleep To touch thy sacred Feet do now aspire In Seas of care behold a sinking Barke By winds of sharpe remorse unto thee driven O let me not be Ruines aym'd at marke My faults confest Lord say they are forgiven Thus sigh'd to Jesus the Bethanian faire His teare-wet Feet still drying with her Haire I changed Countries new delights to find But ah for pleasure I did find new paine Enchanting Pleasure so did Reason blind That Fathers love and words I scorn'd as vaine For Tables rich for bed for following traine Of carefull servants to observe my Mind These Heards I keep my fellows are assign'd My Bed's a Rock and Herbs my Life sustaine Now while I famine feele feare worser harmes Father and Lord I turne thy Love yet great My faults will pardon pitty mine estate This where an aged Oake had spread its Armes Thought the lost Child while as the Heards he led And pin'd with hunger on wild Acorns fed IF that the World doth in amaze remaine To heare in what a sad deploring mood The Pelican poures from her brest her Bloud To bring to life her younglings back againe How should we wonder at that soveraigne Good Who from that Serpents sting that had us slaine To save our lives shed his Lifes purple flood And turn'd to endlesse Joy our endlesse Paine Ungratefull Soule that charm'd with false Delight Hast long long wander'd in Sins flowry Path And didst not thinke at all or thoughtst not right On this thy Pelicans great Love and Death Here pause and let though Earth it scorn heaven seâ— Thee poure forth tears to him pour'd Bloud for thee IF in the East when you do there behold Forth from his Christall Bed the Sun to rise With rosie Robes and Crowne of flaming Gold If gazing on that Empresse of the Skies That takes so many formes and those faire Brands Which blaze in Heavens high Vault Nights watchful eyes If seeing how the Seas tumultuous Bands Of bellowing Billows have their course confin'd How unsustain'd the Earth still stedfast stands Poore mortall Wights you e're found in your Mind A thought that some great King did sit above Who had such Laws and Rites to them assign'd A King who fix'd the Poles made Spheares to move All Wisdome Purenesse Excellency Might All Goodnesse Greatnesse Justice Beauty Love With feare and wonder hither turne your Sight See see alas him now not in that State Thought could fore-cast Him into Reasons light Now Eyes with tears now Hearts with griefe make great Bemoane this cruell Death and ruthfull case If ever Plaints just Woe could aggravate From Sin and Hell to save us humane Race See this great King nail'd to an abject Tree An object of reproach and sad disgrace O unheard Pity Love in strange degree He his own Life doth give his Bloud doth shed For Wormelings base such Worthinesse to see Poore Wights behold his Visage pale as Lead His Head bow'd to His Brest Locks sadly rent Like a cropt Rose that languishing doth fade Weake Nature weepe astonish'd World lament Lament you Winds
our Death But Fathers Justice pleas'd Hell Death o'recome In triumph now thou risest from thy Tombe With Glories which past Sorrows countervaile Haile holy Victor greatest Victor haile Hence humble sense and hence ye Guides of sense We now reach Heaven your weake intelligence And searching Pow'rs were in a flash made 〈◊〉 To learne from all Eternity that him The Father bred then that he here did come His Bearers Parent in a Virgins Wombe But then when sold betray'd crown'd scourg'd with Thorn Nail'd to a Tree all breathlesse bloudlesse torne Entomb'd him risen from a Grave to find Confounds your Cunning turnes like Moles you blind Death thou that heretofore still barren wast Nay didst each other Bâ—rth eate up and waste Imperious hatefull pittilesse unjust Unpartiall equaller of all with dust Sterne Executioner of heavenly doome Made fruitfull now Lifes Mother art become A sweet reliefe of Cares the Soule molest An Harbinger to Glory Peace and Rest Put off thy mourning Weeds yeeld all thy Gall To dayly sinning Life proud of thy fall Assemble all thy Captives haste to rise And every Coarse in Earth-quakes where it lies Sound from each flowry Grave and rocky Jaile Haile holy Victor greatest Victor haile The World that wanning late and faint did lie Applauding to our Joyes thy Victory To a young Prime Essayes to turne againe And as ere soyl'd with Sin yet to remaine Her chilling Agues she begins to misse All Blisse returning with the Lord of Blisse With greater light Heavens Temples opened shine Morns smiling rise Evens blushing do decline Clouds dappled glister boist'rous Winds are calme Soft Zephyres do the Fields with sighs embalme In silent calmes the Sea hath husht his Roares And with enamour'd Curles doth kisse the Shoares All-bearing Earth like a new-married Queene Her Beauties hightens in a Gown of Greene Perfumes the Aire her Meads are wrought with flow'rs In colours various figures smelling pow'rs Trees wanton in the Groves with leavy Locks Her Hâ—lls enamell'd stand the Vales the Rocks Ring peales of Joy her Floods and pratling Brookes Stars liquid Mirrors with serpenting Crooks And whispering murmures sound unto the Maine The Golden Age returned is againe The honey People leave their golden Bow'rs And innocently prey on budding Flow'rs In gloomy Shades percht on the tender Sprayes The painted Singers fill the Aire with Layes Seas Floods Earth Aire all diversly do sound Yet all their diverse Notes hath but one ground Re-eccho'd here-down from Heavens azure Vaile Haile holy Victor greatest Victor haile O Day on which Deaths Adamantine Chaine The Lord did breake did ransack Satans Raigne And in triumphing Pompe his Trophees rear'd Be thou blest ever henceforth still endear'd With Name of his own Day the Law to Grace Types to their substance yeeld to thee give place The old New-Moons with all festivall Daies And what above the rest deserveth praise The reverend Sabaoth what could else they be Than golden Heraulds telling what by thee We should enjoy Shades past now shine thou cleare And henceforth be thou Empresse of the yeare This Glory of thy Sisters Sex to win From worke on thee as other Daies from Sin That Mankind shall forbeare in every place The Prince of Planets warmeth in his race And far beyond his paths in frozen Climes And may thou be so blest to out-date Times That when Heavens Quire shall blaze in Accents loud The many Mercies of their soveraigne Good How he on thee did Sin Death Hell destroy It may be still the Burthen of their Joy BEneath a sable vaile and Shadows deep Of unaccessible and dimming light In silence Ebon clouds more black than Night The Worlds great Mind his secrets hid doth keep Through those thick Mists when any mortall Wight Aspires with halting pace and Eyes that weep To pry and in his Mysteries to creep With Thunders he and Lightnings blasts their Sight O Sun invisible that dost abide Within thy bright abysmes most faire most darke Where with thy proper Raies thou dost thee hide O ever-shining never full-seene marke To guide me in Lifes Night thy light me show The more I search of thee the lesse I know IF with such passing Beauty choice Delights The Architect of this great Round did frame This Pallace visible short lists of Fame And silly Mansion but of dying Wights How many Wonders what amazing lights Must that triumphing Seat of Glory claime That doth transcend all this All 's vaste hights Of whose bright Sun ours here is but a beame O blest abode O happy dwelling-place Where visibly th' Invisible doth raigne Blest People which do see true Beauties Face With whose far Shadows scarce he Earth doth daigne All Joy is but Annoy all Concord Strife Maâ—ch'd with your endlesse Blisse and happy life LOve which is here a care That Wit and Will doth mar Uncertaine Truce and a most certaine War A shrill tempestuous Wind Which doth disturbe the Mind And like wild Waves all our designes commove Among those Pow'rs above Which see their Makers Face It a contentment is a quiet Peace A Pleasure void of Griefe a constant rest Eternall Joy which nothing can molest THat space where curled Waves do now divide From the great Continent our happy Isle Was sometime Land and now where Ships do glide Once with laborious Art the Plough did toyle Once those faire Bounds stretcht out so far and wide Where Towns no Shires enwall'd endeare each mile Were all ignoble Sea and marish vile Where Proteus Flocks danc'd measures to the Tide So Age transforming all still forward runs No wonder though the Earth doth change her Face New Manners Pleasures new turne with new Suns Locks now like Gold grow to an hoary grace Nay Minds rare shape doth change that lies despis'd Which was so deare of late and highly priz'd THis World a Hunting is The Prey poore Man the Nimrod fierce is Death His speedy Grayhounds are Lust Sicknesse Envy Care Strife that ne're falls amiss With all those ills which haunt us while we breath Now if by chance we flie Of these the eager chace Old Age with stealing pace Casts on his Nets and there we panting die WHy Worldlings do ye trust fraile Honours dreames And leane to guilted Glories which decay Why do ye toyle to registrate your Names On Ycie Pillars which soon melt away True Honour is not here that place it claimes Where black-brow'd Night doth not exile the Day Nor no far-shining lampe dives in the Sea But an eternall Sun spreads lasting Beames There it attendeth you where spotlesse Bands Of Sp'rits stand gazing on their soveraigne Blisse Where yeares not hold it in their cank'ring hands But who once noble ever noble is Look home lest he your weakned Wit make thrall Who Edens foolish Gard'ner earst made fall AS are those Apples pleasant to the Eye But full of smoake within which use to grow Neere that strange Lake where God powr'd from the Skie Huge show'rs of flames worse flames to overthrow Such are
their works that with a glaring Show Of humble holinesse in Vertues dye Would colour mischiefe while within they glow With coales of Sin though none the Smoake descry Bad is that Angell that earst fell from Heaven But not so bad as he nor in worse case Who hides a trait'rous mind with smiling face And with a Doves white feathers cloaths a Raven Each Sin some colour hath it to adorne Hypocrisie All-mighty God doth scorne NEw doth the Sun appeare The Mountaines Snows decay Crown'd with fraile flow'rs forth comes the Infant yeare My Soule Time posts away And thou yet in that frost Which Flow'r and fruit hath lost As if all here immortall were dost stay For shame thy Powers awake Look to that Heaven which never Night makes blacke And there at that immortall Suns bright Raies Deck thee with Flow'rs which feare not rage of Daies THrice happy he who by some shady Grove Far from the clamorous World doth live his own Though solitary who is not alone But doth converse with that eternall Love O how more sweet is Birds harmonious Moane Or the hoarse Sobbings of the widow'd Dove Than those smooth whisperings neer a Princes Throne Which Good make doubtfull do the evill approve O how more sweet is Zephyres wholesome Breath And Sighs embalm'd which new-born Flow'rs unfold Than that applause vaine Honour doth bequeath How sweet are Streames to poyson dranke in Gold The World is full of Horrours Troubles Slights Woods harmelesse Shades have only true Delights SWeet Bird that sing'st away the earely Houres Of Winters past or comming void of Care Well pleased with Delights which present are Faire Seasons budding Spraies sweet-smelling Flow'rs To Rocks to Springs to Rills from leavy Bow'rs Thou thy Creators Goodnesse dost declare And what deare Gifts on thee he did not spare A staine to humane sense in Sin that low'rs What Soule can be so sick which by thy Songs Attir'd in sweetnesse sweetly is not driven Quite to forget Earths turmoiles spights and Wrongs And lift a reverend Eye and Thought to Heaven Sweet Artlesse Songster thou my Mind dost raise To Ayres of Spheares yes and to Angels Layes AS when it hapneth that some lovely Town Unto a barbarous Besieger falls Who both by Sword and Flame himselfe enstalls And shamelesse it in Teares and Bloud doth drown Her Beauty spoyl'd her Citizens made Thralls His spight yet cannot so her all throw down But that some Statue Pillar of renown Yet lurkes unmaim'd within her weeping walls So after all the Spoile Disgrace and Wrack That Time the World and Death could bring combin'd Amidst that Masse of Ruines they did make Safe and all scarlesse yet remaines my Mind From this so high transcendent Rapture springs That I all else defac'd not envy Kings LEt us each day enure our selves to dye If this and not our feares be truly Death Above the Circles both of Hope and Faith With faire immortall Pinnions to flie If this be Death our best Part to untye By ruining the Jaile from Lust and Wrath And every drowsie languor here beneath To be made deniz'd Citizen of Skie To have more knowledge than all Books containe All Pleasures even surmounting wishing Pow'r The fellowship of Gods immortall Traine And these that Time nor force shall e're devoure If this be Death What Joy what golden care Of Life can with Deaths ouglinesse compare AMidst the azure cleare Of Jordans sacred Streames Jordan of Libanon the off-spring deare When Zephires flow'rs unclose And Sun shines with new Beaâ—es With grave and stately grace a Nymph arose Upon her Head she ware Of Amaranthes a Crown Her left hand Palmes her right a Torch did beare Unvail'd Skins whiteness lay Gold haires in Curles hang down Eyes sparkled Joy more bright than Star of Day The Floud a Throne her rear'd Of Waves most like that Heaven Where beaming Stars in Glory turne ensphear'd The Aire stood calme and cleare No Sigh by Winds was given Birds left to sing Heards feed her voice to heare World-wandring sorry Wights Whom nothing can content Within these varying lists of Daies and Nights Whose life ere known amiss In glittering Griefes is spent Come learne said she what is your choisest Bliss From Toyle and pressing Cares How ye may respit find A Sanctuary from Soule-thralling Snares A Port to harbour sure In spight of waves and wind Which shall when Times swift Glass is run endure Not happy is that Life Which you as happy hold No but a Sea of feares a Field of strife Charg'd on a Throne to sit With Diadems of Gold Preserv'd by Force and still observ'd by Wit Huge Treasures to enjoy Of all her Gems spoyle Inde All Seres silke in Garments to imploy Deliciously to feed The Phoenix plumes to find To rest upon or deck your purple Bed Fraile Beauty to abuse And wanton Sybarites On past or present touch of sense to muse Never to heare of Noise But what the Eare delights Sweet Musicks charmes or charming flatterers voice Nor can it Bliss you bring Hid Natures Depths to know Why matter changeth whence each forme doth spring Nor that your Fame should range And after-Worlds it blow From Tanais to Nile from Nile to Gange All these have not the Pow'r To free the Mind from feares Nor hideous horrour can allay one houre When Death in stealth doth glance In Sickness lurks or yeares And wakes the Soule from out her mortall Tranâ—e No but blest life is this With chaste and pure Desire To turne unto the load-star of all Bliss On God the Mind to rest Burnt up with sacred Fire Possessing him to be by him possest When to the baâ—lmy East Sun doth his light impart Or when he diveth in the lowly West And ravisheth the Day With spotlesse Hands and Heart Him cheerefully to praise and to him pray To heed each action so As ever in his sight More fearing doing Ill than passive woe Not to seeme other thing Than what ye are aright Never to do what may Repentance bring Not to be blown with Pride Nor mov'd at Glories breath Which Shadow-like on wings of Time doth glide So Malice to disarme And conquer hasty Wrath As to do good to those that worke your harme To hatch no base Desires Or Gold or Land to gaine Well pleas'd with that which Vertue faire acquires To have the Wit and Will Consorting in one Straine Than what is good to have no higher skill Never on Neighbours Goods With Cocatrices Eye To looke nor make anothers Heaven your Hell Nor to be Beauties Thrall All fruitlesse Love to flie Yet loving still a Love transcendent all A Love which while it burnes The Soule with fairest Beames To that increaâ—ed Sun the Soule it turnes And makes such Beauty prove That if Sense saw her Gleames All lookers on would pine and die for love Who such a life doth live You happy even may call Ere ruthlesse Death a wished end him give And after then when given More happy by his fall
with winter glasse The ayry Caucasus the Apennine Pyrenes clifts where Sun doth never shine When he some craggy Hills hath ever-went Begins to thinke â—n rest his Journey spent Till mounting some tall Mountainâ— he do find More hights before him than he left behind With halting pace so while I would me raise To the unbounded limits of thy Praise Some part of way I thought to have o're-run But now I see how scarce I have begun With Wonders new my Spirits range possest And wandring waylesse in a maze them rest In these vaste Fields of Light etheriall Plaines Thou art attended by immortall Traines Of Intellectuall Pow'rs which thou broughtst forth To praise thy Goodnesse and admire thy Worth In numbers passing others Creatures far Since Creatures most noble maniest are Which do in knowledge us not lesse out-run Than Moon in light doth Stars or Moon the Sun Unlike in Orders rang'd and many a Band If Beauty in Disparity doth stand Arch-angels Angels Cherubs Seraphines And what with name of Thrones amongst them shines Large-ruling Princes Dominations Pow'rs All-acting Vertues of those flaming Tow'rs These freed of Umbrage these of Labour free Rest ravished with still beholding Thee Inflam'd with Beames which sparkle from thy Face They can no more desire far lesse embrace Low under them with slow and staggering pace Thy Hand-maid Nature thy great Steps doth trace The Source of second Causes golden Chaine That links this Frame as thou it doth ordaine Nature gaz'd on with such a curious Eye That Earthlings oft her deem'd a Deity By Nature led those Bodies faire and great Which faint not in their Course nor change their State Unintermixt which no disorder prove Though aye and contrary they alwaies move The Organs of thy Providence divine Books ever open Signâ—s that clearely shine Times purpled Maskers then do them advance As by sweet Musick in a measur'd dance Stars Hoste of Heaven ye Firmaments bright Flow'rs Cleare Lamps which overhang this Stage of ours Ye turne not there to deck the Weeds of Night Nor Pageant-like to please the vulgar Sight Great Causes sure ye must bring great Effects But who can descant right your grave Aspects He only who Yoâ— made decipher can Your Notes Heavens Eyes ye blind the Eyes of Man Amidst these Saphir far-extending Hights The never-twinkling ever-wandring Lights Their fixed Motions keep one dry and cold Deep-Leaden colour'd slowly there is roll'd With Rule and Line for Times steps meting even In twice three Lustres he but turnes his Heaven With temperate qualities and Countenance faire Still mildly smiling sweetly debonaire Another cheares the World and way doth make In twice sixe Autumnes through the Zodiack But hot and dry with flaming Locks and Brows Enrag'd this in his red Pavillion glows Together running with like speed â—f space Two equally in hands atchieve their race With blushing Face this oft doth bring the Day And ushers oft to stately Stars the way That various in vertue changing light With his small flame impearles the vaile of Night Prince of this Court the Sun in triumph rides With the Yeare Snake-like in her selfe that glides Times Dispensator faire life-giving Source Through Skies twelve Posts as he doth run his course Heart of this All of what is known to sence The likest to his Makers excellence In whose diurnall motion doth appeare A Shadow no true pourtrait of the Yeare The Moone moves lowest silver Sun of Night Dispersing through the World her borrow'd light Who in three formes her head abroad doth range And only constant is in constant Change Sad Queen of Silence I ne're see thy Face To waxe or waine or shine with a full grace But straight amaz'd on Man I think each Day His state who changeth or if he find Stay It is in dolefull anguish cares and paines And of his Labours Death is all the Gaines Immortall Monarch can so fond a Thought Lodge in my Brest as to trust thou first brought Here in Earths shady Cloyster wretched Man To suck the Aire of Woe to spend Lifes span ' Midst Sighs and Plaints a Stranger unto Mirth To give himselfe his Death rebucking Birth By sense and wit of Creatures made King By sense and wit to live their Underling And what is worst have Eaglets eyes to see His own disgrace and know an high degree Of Blâ—sse the Place if he might thereto clime And not live thralled to imperious Time Or dotard shall I so from Reason swerve To dim those Lights which to our use do serve For thou dost not them need more nobly fram'd Than us that know their course and have them nam'd No I ne're thinke but we did them surpasse As far as they do Asterismes of Glasse When thou us made by Treason high defil'd Thrust from our first estate we live exil'd Wandring this Earth which is of Death the Lot Where he doth use the Pow'r which he hath got Indifferent Umpire unto Clowns and Kings The supreame Monarch of all moâ—tall things When fiâ—st this flowry Oâ—be was to us given I but in place disvalu'd was to Heaven These Creatures which now our Soveraignes are And as to Rebels do denounce us war Then were our Vassals no tumultuous Storme No Thunders Earthquakes did her Forme deforme The Seas in tumbling Mountaines did not roare But like moist Christall whispered on the Shoare No Snake did trace her Meads nor ambusht lowre In azure Curles beneath the sweet-Spring Flow'r The Night shade Henbane Napell Aconite Her Bowels then not bare with Death to smite Her guiltlesse Brood thy Messengers of Grace As their high Rounds did haunt this lower Place O Joy of Joyes with our first Parents Thou To commune then didst daigâ—e as Friends do now Against thee we rebell'd and justly thus Each Creature rebelled against us Earth rest of what did chiefe in her excell To all became a Jaile to most a Hell In Times full Terme untill thy Son was given Who Man with Thee Earth reconcil'd with Heaven Whole and entire all in thy Selfe thou art All-where diffus'd yet of this All no part For infinite in making this faire Frame Great without Quantity in all thou came And filling all how can thy State admit Or Place or Substance to be void of it Were Worlds as many as the Rayes which streame From Daies bright lampe on madding Wits do dreame They would not reele in ought nor wandring stray But draw to Thee who could their Centers stay Were but one hours this World disjoyn'd from thee It in one houre to nought reduc'd should be For it thy Shadow is and can they last If sever'd from the Substances them cast O only blest and Author of all Blisse No Bliss it selfe that all where wished is Efficient exemplary finall Good Of thine own Selfe but only understood Light is thy Curtaine thou art Light of Light An ever-waking Eye still shining bright In-looking all exempt of passive Pow'r And change in change since Deaths pale shade doth low'r All Times to
vanquisht Hell The first fruits of the Grave whose life did give Light to our Darknes in whose death we live O strengthen thou my faith correct my will That mine may thine obey protect me still So that the latter death may not devour My soule seal'd with thy Seale so in the houre When thou whose body sanctified thy Tombe Unjustly judg'd a glorious Judge shalt come To judge the World with Justice by that signe I may be known and entertained for thine A Translation Of S. John Scot his verses begining Quod vite sectabor iter WHat course of life should wretched Mortals take In Books hard Questions large contention make Care dwels in Houses Labour in the Field Tumultuous Seas affrighting dangers yield In Forraine Lands thou never canst be blest If rich thou art in feare if poore distrest In Wedlock frequent discontentments swell Unmarried persons as in Deserts dwell How many troubles are with Children borne Yet he that wants them counts himselfe Forlorne Young men are wanton and of wisdome voyd Gray haires are cold unfit to be employ'd Who would not one of those two offers try Not to be borne or being borne to dye MISCELLANIES ALL good hath left this Age all tracks of shâ—me Mercy is banished and pitty dead Justice from whence it came to heaven is fled Religion maim'd it thought an idle Name Faith to distrust and Malice hath given place Envy with poyson'd Teeth hath friendship torne Renowned Knowledge is a despis'd scorne Now evill 't is all evill not to embrace There is no life save under servile Bands To make Desert a Vassall to their crimes Ambition with Avarice joyne hands O ever-shamefull O most shamelesse Times Save that Suns light we see of good here tell This Earth we court so much were very Hell DOth then the world go thus doth all thus move Is this the Justice which on Earth we find Is this that firme Decree which all doth bind Are these your Influences Powers above Those Soules which vices moody Mists most blind Blind Fortune blindly most their friend doth prove And they who thee poore Idoll Vertue love Ply like a feather toss'd by storme and wind Ah! if a Providence doth sway this All. Why should best Minds groane under most distresse Or why should Pride Humility make thrall And injuries the Innocent oppresse Heavens â—inder stop this Fate or grant a Time When Good may have as well as Bad their Prime A Reply WHo do in Good delight That soveraigne Justice ever doth reward And though sometime it smite Yet it doth them regard For even amidst their Griefe They find a strong reliefe And Death it selfe can work them no despight Againe in evill who joy And do in it grow old In midst of Mirth are charg'd with sins annoy Which is in Conscience scrol'd And when their Life 's fraile thred is cut by Time They punishment find equall to each Crime LOok how in May the Rose At Sulphures azure fumes In a short space her crimson blush doth lose And all amaz'd a pallid white assumes So time our best consumes Makes Youth and Beauty passe And what was pride turnes horrour in our Glasse To a Swallow building neare the Statue of Medea FOnd Progne chattering wretch That is Medea there Wilt thou thy Younglings hatch Will she keep thine her own who could not spare Learne from her frantick face To seek some fitter place What other may'st thou hope for what desire Save Stygian spels wounds poyson iron fire Venus armed TO practice new alarmes In Joves great Court above The wanton Queen of Love Of sleeping Mars put on the horrid Armes Where gazing in a Glasse To see what thing she was To mock and scoffe the blew-eyed Maid did move Who said sweet Queen thus should you have been â—ight When Vulcan took you napping with your Knight The Boares Head AMidst a pleasant Green Which Sun did seldome see Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian Queen The head of a wild Boare hung on a Tree And driven by Zephyres breath Did fall and wound the lovely Youth beneath On whom yet scarce appeares So much of bloud as Venus eyes shed teares But ever as she wept her Antheme was Change cruell change alas My Adoâ— whilst thou liv'd was by thee slaine Now dead this Lover must thou kill againe To an Owle AScalaphus tell me So may Nights Curtaine long Time cover Thee So Ivy ever may From irkesome light keep thy Chamber and Bed And in Moons Liv'ry cled So may'st thou scorne the Quiresters of Day When playning thou dost stay Neare to the sacred window of my deare Dost ever thou her heare To wake and steale swift houres from drowsie sleep And when she wakes doth ere a stollen sigh creep Into thy list'ning eare If that deafe God doth yet her carelesse keep In louder notes my Griefe with thine expresse Till by thy shriekes she think on my distresse Daphnis NOw Daphnis armes did grow In slender branches and her braided Haire Which like gold waâ—â—s did flow In leavy Twigs were stretched in the Aire The grace of either foot Transform'd was to a root A tender Barke enwraps her Body faire He who did cause her ill Sore-wailing stood and from his blubbered eyâ—e Did show'rs of teares upon the rine distill Which water'd thus did bud and turne more green O deep despaireâ— O Heart-appalling Griefe When that doth woe encrease should bring reliefe The Beare of Love IN woods and desart Bounds A Beast abroad doth Roame So loving Sweetnesse and the honey Combe It doth despise the armes of Bees and wounds I by like pleasure led To prove what Heavens did place Of sweet on youâ— faire face Whilst there with I am fed Rest carelesse Beare of Love of hellish smart And how those Eyes afflict and wound my Heart Five Sonnets for Galatea STrephone in vaine thou brings thy rimes and songs Deckt with grave Pindars old and withered flow'rs In vaine thou count'st the faire 〈◊〉 wrongs And her whom Jove deceiv'd in golden show'rs Thou hast slept never under Mirtles shed Or if that passion hath thy soule opprest It is but for some Grecian Mistris dead Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy brest How can true Love with â—ables hold a place Thou who with â—ables dost set forth thy love Thy love a pretty â—able needs must prove Thou suest for grace in scorne more to disgrace I cannot thinke thou wert charm'd by my looks O no thou learn'dst thy love in Lovers books II. NO more with Candid words infect mine eares Tell me no more how that ye pine in anguish When â—ound ye sleep no more say that ye languish No more in sweet despite say you spend teares Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see How those that are haire-brain'd boast of Apollo And bold give out the Muâ—es do them follow Though in loves Library yet no Lover's he If we poore soules least favour but them shew That straight in wanton Lines abroad is blazed
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
For humanes Earth enjoying Angels Heaven Swift is your mortall Race And glassie is the Field Vaste are Desires not limited by Grace Life a weake Taper is Then while it light doth yeeld Leave flying Joyes embrace this lasting Blisse This when the Nymph had said Shâ—e div'd within the Floud Whose Face with smyling Curles long after staid Then Sighs did Zephyres presse Birds sang from every Wood And Ecchoes rang this was true Happinesse An Hymne on the Fairest Faire I Feele my Bosome glow with wontlesse Fires Rais'd from the vulgar presse my Mind aspires Wing'd with high Thoughts unto his praise to clime From deep Eternity who call'd forth Time That Essence which not mov'd makes each thing move Uncreate Beauty all-creating Love But by so great an object radiant light My Heart appall'd enfeebled rests my Sight Thick Clouds benight my labouring Ingine And at my high attempts my Wits repine If thou in me this sacred heat hast wrought My Knowledge sharpen Sarcells lend my Thought Grant me Times Father world-containing King A Pow'r of thee in pow'rfull Laies to sing That as thy Beauty in Earth lives Heaven shines It dawning may or shadow in my Lines As far beyond the starry walls of Heaven As is the loftiest of the Planets seven Sequestred from this Earth in purest light Out-shining ours as ours doth sable Night Thou all-sufficient Omnipotent Thou ever-glorious most excellent God various in Names in Essence one High art enstalled on a golden Throne Out-stretching Heavens wide bespangled vault Transcending all the Circles of our Thought With diamantine Scepter in thy Hand There thou giv'st Laws and dost this World command This World of Concords rais'd unlikely sweet Which like a Ball lies prostrate at thy Feet If so we may well say and what we say Here wrapt in flesh led by dim Reasons ray To show by earthly Beauties which we see That spirituall Excellence that shines in thee Good Lord forgive not far from thy right Side With curled Locks Youth ever doth abide Rose-cheeked Youth who gaâ—landed with Flow'rs Still blooming ceaselessely unto thee pow'rs Immortall Nectar in a cup of Gold That by no darts of Ages thou grow old And as ends and beginnings thee not claime Successionlesse that thou be still the same Neare to thy other side resistlesse Might From Head to Foot in burnisht Armour dight That rings about him with a waving Brand And watchfull Eye great Sentinell doth stand That neither Time nor force in ought impaire Thy Workmanship nor harme thine Empire faire Soone to give Death to all againe that would Sterne Discord raise which thou destroy'd of old Discord that foe to order Nurse of War By which the noblest things demolisht are But caitife she no Treason doth devise When Might to nought doth bring her enterprise Thy all-upholding Might her Malice raines And her to Hell throws bound in iron Chaines With Locks in waves of Gold that ebbe and flow On Ivory neck in Robes more white than Snow Truth stedfastly before thee holds a Glasse Indent'd with Gems where shineth all that was That is or shall be here ere ought was wrought Thou knew all that thy Pow'r with time forth brought And more things numberlesse which thou couldst make That actually shall never being take Here thou beholdst thy selfe and strange dost prove At once the Beauty Lover and the Love With Faces two like Sisters sweetly faire Whose Blossomes no rough Autumne can impaire Stands Providence and doth her looks disperse Through every Corner of this Universe Thy Providence at once which generall things And singular doth rule as Empires Kings Without whose care this world lost would remaine As Ship withou a Master in the Maine As Chariot alone as Bodies prove Depriv'd of Soules whereby they be live move But who are they which shine thy Throne so neare With sacred countenance and look severâ— This in one hand a pondrous Sword doth hold Her left staies charg'd with Ballances of Gold That with Brows girt with â—ays sweet-smiling Face Doth beare a Brandon with a babish grace Two milke-white Wings him easily do move O she thy Justice is and this thy Love By this thou brought'st this Engine great to light By that it fram'd in Number Measure Weight That destine doth reward to ill and good But Sway of Justice is by Love withstood Which did it not relent and mildly stay This World ere now had found its funerall Day What Bands enâ—â—â—ctred neare to thâ—se abide Which into vaste Infinity them hide Infinity that neither doth admiâ— Place Time nor Number to 〈◊〉 on it Here Bounty sparkleth here doth Beauty shine Simplicity more white than Gelsomine Mercy with open wings aye-varied Blisse Glory and Joy that Blisses darling is Ineffable all-pow'rfull God all free Thou only liv'st and each thing lives by thee No Joy no nor Perfection to thee came By the contriving of this Worlds great Frame Ere Sun Moon Stars began their restlesse race Ere painted was with light Heavens pâ—re Face Ere Aire had Clâ—uâ—s ere Clouds wept down their show'rs Ere Sea embraced Earth ere Earth bare Flow'rs Thou happy liv'dst World nought to thee supply'd All in thy selfe thy selfe thou satisfi'd Of Good no slender Shadow doth appeare No age-worne tâ—aâ—ke which shin'd in thee not cleare Perfections Sum prime-cause of every Cause Midst end beginning where all good doth pause Hence of thy Substance differing in nought Thou in Eâ—ernity thy Son forth brought The only Birth of thy unchanging Mind Thine Image Pattern-like that ever shin'd Light out of Light begotten not by Will But Naâ—ure all and that same Essence still Which thou thy selfe for thou dost nought possesse Which he hath not in ought nor is he lesse Thâ—â— Thee his great Begâ—ttâ—â— of this Light Eternall Double kindled was thy Spright Eternally who is with Thee the same All-holy Gift Embassadour Knot Flame Most sacred Triad O most holy One Unprocreate Father â—ver-procreate Son Ghost breath'd from both you were are still shall be Most blessed Three in One and One in Three Uncomprehensible by reachlesse Hight And unperceived by excessive Light So in our Soules three and yet one are still The Vnderstanding Memory and Will So though unlike the Planet of the Daies So soone as he was made begat his Raies Which are his Off-spring and from both was hurld The rosie Light which consolates the World And none fore-went another so the spring The Well-head and the Streame which they forth bring Are but one selfe-same Essence not in ought Do differ save in order and our Thought No chime of Time discernes in them to fall But Three distinctly â—ide one Essence all But these expresse not Thee who can declare Thy being Men and Angels dazel'd are Who would this Eden force with wit or sense A Cherubin shall find to bar him thence Great Architect Lord of this Universe That light is blinded would thy Greatnesse pierce Ah! as a Pilgrim who the Alpes doth passe Or Atlas Temples crown'd