sorrow brings All the streames of all her springs Was so rich in Grace and Nature In all the gifts that blesse a Creature The fresh hopes of his lovely Youth Flourisht in so faire a grouth So sweet the Temple was that shrin'd The Sacred sweetnesse of his mind That could the Fates know to relent Could they know what mercy meant Or had ever learnt to beare The soft tincture of a Teare Teares would now have flow'd so deepe As might have taught Griefe how to weepe Now all their steely operation Would quite have lost the cruell fashion Sicknesse would have gladly been Sick himselfe to have sav'd him And his Feaver wish'd to prove Burning onely in his Love Him when wrath it selfe had seene Wrath its selfe had lost his spleene Grim Destruction here amaz'd In stead of striking would have gaz'd Even the Iron-pointed pen That notes the Tragicke Doomes of men Wet with teares still'd from the eyes Of the flinty Destinyes Would have learn't a softer style And have been asham'd to spoyle His lives sweet stoty by the hast Of a cruell stop ill plac't In the darke volume of our fate Whence each leafe of Life hath date Where in sad particulars The totall summe of Man appeares And the short clause of mortall Breath Bound in the period of Death In all the Booke if any where Such a tearme as this spare here Could have been found 't would have been read Writ in white Letters o're his head Or close unto his name annext The faire glosse of a fairer Text. In briefe if any one were free Hee was that one and onely he But he alas even hee is dead And our hopes faire harvest spread In the dust Pitty now spend All the teares that griefe can lend Sad mortality may hide In his ashes all her pride With this inscription o're his head All hope of never dying here lyes dead His Epitaph PAssenger who e're thou art Stay a while and let thy Heart Take acquaintance of this stone Before thou passest further on This stone will tell thee that beneath Is entomb'd the Crime of Death The ripe endowments of whose mind Left his Yeares so much behind That numbring of his vertuos praise Death lost the reckoning of his Dayes And believing what they told Imagin'd him exceeding old In him perfection did set forth The strength of her united worth Him his wisdomes pregnant growth Made so reverend even in Youth That in the Center of his Brest Sweet as is the Phaenix nest Every reconciled Grace Had their Generall meeting place In him Goodnesse joy'd to see Learning learne Humility The splendor of his Birth and Blood Was but the Glosse of his owne Good The flourish of his sober Youth Was the Pride of Naked Truth In composure of his face Liv'd a faire but manly Grace His Mouth was Rhetoricks best mold His Tongue the Touchstone of her Gold What word so e're his Breath kept warme Was no word now but a charme For all persuasive Graces thence Suck't their sweetest Influence His vertue that within had root Could not chuse but shine without And th'heart-bred lustre of his worth At each corner peeping forth Pointed him out in all his wayes Circled round in his owne Rayes That to his sweetnesse all mens eyes Were vow'd Loves flaming Sacrifice Him while fresh and fragrant Time Cherisht in his Golden Prime E're Hebe's hand had overlaid His smooth cheekes with a downy shade The rush of Death's unruly wave Swept him off into his Grave Enough now if thou canst passe on For now alas not in this stone Passenger who e're thou art Is he entomb'd but in thy Heart An Epitaph Vpon Husband and Wife which died and were buried together TO these Whom Death again did wed This Grave 's the second Marriage-Bed For though the hand of Fate could force 'Twixt Soule and body a Divorce It could not sever Man and Wife Because they both liv'd but one Life Peace good Reader doe not weepe Peace the Lovers are asleepe They sweet Turtles folded lye In the last knot that love could tye Let them sleepe let them sleepe on Till this stormy night be gone And th' eternall morrow dawne Then the Curtaines will bee drawne And they waken with that Light Whose day shall never sleepe in Night An Epitaph Vpon Doctor Brooke A Brooke whose streame so great so good Was lov'd was honour'd as a flood Whose Bankes the Muses dwelt upon More then their owne Helicon Here at length hath gladly found A quiet passage under ground Meane while his loved bankes now dry The Muses with their teares supply Vpon Mr. Staninough's Death DEare reliques of a dislodg'd soule whose lacke Makes many a mourning Paper put on blacke O stay a while e're thou draw in thy Head And wind thy selfe up close in thy cold Bed Stay but a little while untill I call A summons worthy of thy Funerall Come then youth Beauty and Blood all ye soft powers Whose silken flatteryes swell a few fond houâ—es Into a false Eternity come man Hyperbolized nothing know thy span Take thine owne measure here downe downe and bow Before thy selfe in thy Idaea thou Huge emptinesse contract thy bulke and shrinke All thy wild Circle to a point ô sinke Lower and lower yet till thy small size Call Heaven to looke on thee with narrow eyes Lesser and lesser yet till thou begin To show a face fit to confesse thy kin Thy neighbour-hood to nothing here put on Thy selfe in this unfeign'd reflection Here gallant Ladyes this unpartiall glasse Through all your painting showes you your own face These Death-scal'd Lipps are they dare give the lye To the proud hopes of poor Mortality These curtain'd windowes this selfe-prison'd eye Out-stares the Liddes of large-look't Tyranny This posture is the brave one this that lyes Thus low stands up me thinkes thus and defyes The world All daring Dust and Ashes onely you Of all interpreters read nature true Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth A Panegyricke BRittaine the mighty Oceans lovely Bride Now strech thy self faire Ile and grow spread wide Thy bosome and make roome Thou art opprest With thine owne Gloryes and art strangely blest Beyond thy selfe for lo the Gods the Gods Come fast upon thee and those glorious ods Swell thy full gloryes to a pitch so high As sits above thy best capacitye Are they not ods and glorious that to thee Those mighty Genii throng which well might bee Each one an Ages labour that thy dayes Are guilded with the Vnion of those Rayes Whose each divided Beame would be a Sun To glad the Spheare of any Nation O if for these thou mean'st to find a seat Th' ast need ô Brittaine to be truly Great And so thou art their presence makes thee so They are thy Greatnesse Gods where e're they go Bring their Heaven with them their great footsteps place An everlasting smile upon the face Of the glad Earth they tread on while with thee Those Beames that ampliate
Bee posed with the maturest feares Man trembles at wee straight shall find Love knowes no nonage nor the mind T is love not yeares or Limbes that can Make the martyr or the man Love toucht her heart and loe it beats High and burnes with such brave heats Such thirst to dye as dare drinke up A thousand coled deaths in one cup. Good reason for shee breaths all fire Her weake breast heaves with strong desire Of what shee may with fruitlesse wishes Seeke for amongst her mothers kisses Since t is not to bee had at home Shee l travell to a martyrdome No home for her confesses shee But where shee may A martyr bee Shee l to the Moores and trade with them For this unvalued Diadem Shee offers them her dearest breath With Christs name â—nt in change for death Shee l bargain with them and will give Them God and teach them how to live In him or if they this denye For him shee l teach them how to dye So shall shee leave amongst them sowne Her Lords blood or at lest her owne Farewell then all the world adeiu Teresa is no more for you Farewell all pleasures sports and joyes Never till now esteemed toyes Farewell what ever deare may bee Mothers armes or fathers knee Farewell house and farwell home Shee s for the Moores and Martyrdome Sweet not so fast Loe thy faire spouse Whom thou seek'st with so swift vowes Calls thee back and biâ—s thee como T' embrace a milder Martyrdome Blest powers forbid thy tender life Should bleed upon a barbarous knife Or some base hand have power to race Thy Breasts chast cabinet and uncase A soule kept there so sweet O no Wise heaven will never have it so Thou art Loves victim and must dye A death more misticall and high Into Loves hand thou shalt let fall A still surviving funerall His is the dart must make the death Whose stroake shall taste thy hallowed breath A dart thrice dipt in that rich Hame Which writes thy spowses radiant name Vpon the roofe of heaven where ay It shines and with a soveraigne ray Beats bright upon the burning faces Of soules which in that names sweet graces Find everlasting smiles So rare So spirituall pure and faire Must be the immortall instrument Vpon whose choice point shall be spent A life so loved and that there bee Fit executioners for thee The fairest and the first borne Loves of fire Blest Seraphims shall leave their quire And turne Loves souldiers upon thee To exercise their Archerie O how oft shalt thou complaine Of a sweet and subtile paine Of intollerable joyes Of a death in which who dyes Loves his death and dyes againe And would for ever so be slaine And lives and dyes and knowes not why To live but that he still may dy How kindly will thy gentle heart Kisse the sweetly killing dart And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds that weep Balsome to heale themselves with thus When these thy deaths so numerous Shall all at last dye into one And melt thy soules sweet mansion Like a soft lumpe of Incense hasted By too hot a fire and wasted Into perfuming cloudes So fast Shalt thou exhale to heaven at last In a disolving sigh and then O what aske not the tongues of men Angells cannot tell suffice Thy selfe that feel thine owne full joyes And hold them fast for ever there So soone as thou shalt first appeare The moone of maiden starres thy white Mistresse attended by such bright Soules as thy shining selfe shall come And in her first rankes make thee roome Where mongst her snowy family Immortall wellcomes wait on thee O what delight when shee shall stand And teach thy Lipps heaven wâ—th her hand On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap up thy consecrated kisses What joy shall seize thy soule when shee Bending her blessed eyes on thee Those second smiles of heaven shall dart Her mild rayes through thy melting heart Angeâ—ls thy old friends there shall greet thee Glad at their owne home now to meet thee All thy good workes which went before And waited for thee at the doore Shall owne thee there and all in one Weave a Constellation Of Crownes with which the King thy spouse Shall build up thy triumphant browes All thy old woes shall now smile on thee And thy pains set bright upon thee All thy sorrows here shall shine And thy sufferings bee devine Teares shall take comfort and turne Gems And wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new Drosse the soule which late they slew Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lambes warres Those rare workes where thou shalt leave witt Loves noble history with witt Taught thee by none but him while here They feed our soules shall cloath thine there Each heavenly word by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire the same Shall flourish on thy browes and bee Both fire to us and flame to thee Whose light shall live bright in thy face By glory in our hearts by grace Thou shalt looke round about and see Thousand of crownd soules throng to bee Themselves thy crowne sonnes of thy nowes The Virgin births with which thy spowse Made fruitfull thy faire soule Goe now And with them all about thee bow To him put on heel say put on My Rosy Love that thy rich Zone Sparkeling with the sacred Hames Of thousand soules whose happy names Heaven keeps upon thy score thy bright Life brought them first to kisse the light That kindled them to starres and so Thou with the Lambe thy Lord shall goe And where so e're hee sitts his white Steps walke with him those wayes of Light Which who in death would live to see Must learne in life to dye like thee An Apologie for the precedent Hymne THus have I back againe to thy bright name Faire sea of holy fires transfused the flame I tooke from reading thee 't is to thy wrong I know that in my weak and worthlesse song Thou here art set to shine where thy full day Scarce dawnes ô pardon if I dare to say Thine own deare books are guilty for from thence I learnt to know that Love is eloquence That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try If what to other tongues is tun'd so high Thy praise might not speak English too forbid by all thy mysteries that there lye hid Forbid it mighty Love let no fond hate Of names and words so farre prejudicate Soules are not Spaniards too one frendly flood Of Baptisme blends them all into one blood Christs Faith makes but one body of all soules And loves that bodies soule no Law controules Our free trafick for heaven we may maintaine Peace sure with piety though it dwell in Spaine What soule soever in any Language can Speake heaven like hers is my soules country-man O 't is not Spanish but 't is heaven she speakes 'T is heaven that lies in ambush there and
shall the Morning see Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day But all his Counsellours must summon'd bee To meet their troubled Lord without delay Heralds and Messengers immediately Are sent about who poasting every way To th' heads and Officers of every band Declare who sends and what is his command 65. Why art thou troubled Herod what vaine feare Thy blood-revolving Brest to rage doth move Heavens King who doffs himselfe weake flesh to weare Comes not to rule in wrath but serve in love Nor would he this thy fear'd Crown from thee Teare But give thee a better with himselfe above Poore jealousie why should he wish to prey Vpon thy Crowne who gives his owne away 66 Make to thy reason man and mocke thy doubts Looke how below thy feares their causes are Thou art a Souldier Herod send thy Scouts See how hee 's furnish't for so fear'd a warre What armour does he weare A few thin clouts His Trumpets tender cryes his men to dare So much rude Shepheards What his steeds alas Poore Beasts a slow Oxe and a simple Asse Il fine del libro primo On a prayer booke sent to Mrs. M. R. LOe here a little volume but large booke Feare it not sweet It is not hipocrit Much larger in it selfe then in its looke It is in one rich handfull heaven and all Heavens royall Hoasts incampt thus small To prove that true schooles use to tell A thousand Angells in one point can dwell It is loves great Artillery Which here contracts it selfe and comes to lye Close coucht in your white bosome and from thence As from a snowy fortresse of defence Against the ghostly foe to take your part And fortifie the hold of your chast heart It is the Armory of light Let constant use but keep it bright You l find it yeelds To holy hand and humble hearts More swords and sheilds Then sinne hath snares or hell hath darts Onely bee sure The hands bee pure That hold these weapons and the eyes Those of turtles chast and true Wakefull and wise Here is a friend shall fight for you Hold but this booke before your heart Let prayer alone to play his part But o' the heart That studyes this high art Must bee a sure house keeper And yet no sleeper Deare soule bee strong Mercy will come ere long And bring her bosome full of blessings Flowers of never fading graces To make immortall dressings For worthy souls whose wise embraces Store up themselves for him who is alone The spouse of Virgins and the Virgins son But if the noble Bridegrome when hee comes Shall find the wandring heart from home Leaving her chast abode To gad abroad Amongst the gay mates of the god of flyes To take her pleasures and to play And keep the divells holy day To dance in the Sunneshine of some smiling but beguiling Spheare of sweet and sugred lies Some slippery paire Of false perhaps as faire Flattering but forswearing eyes Doubtles some other heart Will git the start And stepping in before Will take possession of the sacred store Of hidden sweets and holy joyes Words which are not heard with eares These tumultous shops of noise Effeactuall whispers whose stâ—â—l voyce The soule it selfe more feeles then heares Amorous Languishments Luminous trances Sights which are not seen with eyes Spirituall and soule peircing glances Whose pure and subtle lightning â—lies Home to the heart and setts the house on fire And melts it downe in sweet desire Yet doth not stay To aske the windowes leave to passe that way Delicious deaths soft exhalations Of soule deare and divine annihilations A thousand unknowne rites Of joyes and rarifyed delights An hundred thousand loves and graces And many a misticke thing Which the divine embraces Of the deare spowse of spirits with them will bring For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name Of all this hidden store Of blessing and ten thousand more If when hee come Hee find the heart from home Doubtles hee will unload Himselfe some other where And powre abroad His precious sweets On the faire soule whom first hee meets O faire ô fortunate ô rich ô deare O happy and thrice happy shee Deare silver breasted dove Who ere shee bee Whose early Love With winged vowes Makes haste to meet her morning spowse And close with his immortall kisses Happy soule who never misses To improve that precious houre And every day Seize her sweet prey All fresh and fragrant as hee rises Dropping with a balmy showre A delicious dew of spices O let that happy soule hold fast Her heavenly armefull shee shall tast At once ten thousand paradises Shee shall have power To rifle and deflower The rich and rosâ—all spring of those rare sweets Which with a swelling bosome there shee meets Boundlesse and infinite bottomlesse treasures Of pure inebriating pleasures Happy soule shee shall discover What joy what blisse How many heavens at once it is To have a God become her lover On Mr. G. Herberts booke intituled the Temple of Sacred Poem sent to a Gentlewoman KNow you faire on what you looke Divinest love lyes in this booke Expecting fire from your eyes To kindle this his sacrifice When your hands unty these strings Thinke you have an Angell by th' wings One that gladly will bee nigh To wait upon each morning figh To flutter in the balmy aire Of your well prefumed prayer These white plumes of his heele lend you Which every day to heaven will send you To take acquaintance of the spheare And all the smooth faced kindred there And though Herberts name doe owe These devotions fairest know That while I lay them on the shrine Of your white hand they are mine In memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa that sought an early Martyrdome LOve thou art absolute sole Lord Of life and death To prove the word Wee need to goe to none of all Those thy old souldiers stout and tall Ripe and full growne that could reach downe With strong armes their triumphant crowne Such as could with lusty breath Speake lowd unto the face of death Their great Lords glorious name to none Of those whose large breasts built a throne For love their Lord glorious and great Wee ll see him take a private seat And make his mansion in the milde And milky soule of a soft childe Scarce had shee learnt to lisp a name Of Martyr yet shee thinkes it shame Life should so long play with that breath Which spent can buy so brave a death Shee never undertooke to know What death with love should have to doe Nor hath shee ere yet understood Why to show love shee should shed blood Yet though shee cannot tell you why Shee can love and shee can dye Scarce had shee blood enough to make A guilty sword blush for her sake Yet has shee a heart dares hope to prove How much lesse strong is death then love Bee love but there let poore sixe yeares
through all the sphaeares Of Musicks heaven and seat it there on high In th' Empyraeum of pure Harmony At length after so long so loud a strife Of all the strings still breathing the best life Of blest variety attending on His fingers fairest revolution In many a sweet rise many as sweet a fall A full-mouth Diapason swallowes all This done hee lists what shee would say to this And shee although her Breath's late exercise Had dealt too roughly with her tender throate Yet summons all her sweet powers for a Noate Alas in vaine for while sweet soule shee tryes To measure all those wild diversities Of chatt'ring stringes by the small size of one Poore simple voyce rais'd in a Naturall Tone Shee failes and failing grieves and grieving dyes Shee dyes and leaves her life the Victous prise Falling upon his Lute ô fit to have That liv'd so sweetly dead so sweet a Grave Principi recèns natae omen maternae indolis CResce ô dulcibus imputanda Divis O cresce propera puella a Princeps In matris propera a venire partes Et cùm par breve fulminum minorum Illinâ— Carolus Iucobus indè In patris faciles subire famam Ducent fata furoribus decoris Cùm terror sacer AnglicÃque magnum Murmur nominis increpabit omnem Latè Bosperon Ottomanicásque Non picto quatiet tremore Lunas Te tunc altera nec timenda paci Poscent praelia Tu potens pudici Vibratrix ocuci pios in hostes Laté dulcia fata dissipabis O cùm flostenet ille qui recenti Pressus sidere jam sub or a ludit Olim fortior omne cuspidatos Evolvet latus aureum per ignes QuÃque imbellis adhuc adultus olim Puris expatiabitur genarum Campis imperiosior Cupido O quà m certa superbiore pennâ Ibunt spicula melleaeque morâ—es Exultantibus hinc indè turmis Quoquò jusseris impigrè volabunt O quot corda calentium deorum De te vulnera delicata discent O quot pectora Principum magistris Fient molle negotium sagittis Nam quae non poteris per arma ferri Cui matris sinus atque utrumque sidus Magnorum patet officina Amorum Hinc sumas licet ô puella Princeps Quantacunque opus est tibi pharetnâ Centum sume Cupidines ab uno Matris lumine Gratiásque ceutum Et centum Veneres adhuc manebunt Centum mille Cupidines manebunt Ter centum Venerésque Gratiaeque Puro fonte superstites per aevum Out of Virgil In the praise of the Spring ALL Trees all leavy Groves confesse the Spring Their gentlest friend then then the lands begin To swell with forward pride and seed desire To generation Heavens Almighty Sire Melts on the Bosome of his Love and powres Himselfe into her lap in fruitfull showers And by a soft insinuation mixt With earths laâ—ge Masse doth cherish and assist Her weake conceptions No loane shade but rings With chatting Birds delicious murmurings Then Venus mild instinct at set times yeilds The Herds to kindly meetings then the fields Quick with warme Zephires lively breath lay forth Their pregnant Bosomes in a fragrant Birth Each body 's plump and jucy all things full Of supple moisture no coy twig but will Trust his beloved bosome to the Sun Growne lusty now No Vine so weake and young That feares the foule-mouth'd Auster or those stormes That the Southwest-wind hurries in his Armes But hasts her forward Blossomes and layes out Freely layes out her leaves Nor doe I doubt But when the world first out of Chaos sprang So smil'd the Dayes and so the tenor ran Of their felicity A spring was there An everlasting spring the jolly yeare Led round in his great circle No winds Breath As then did smell of Winter or of Death When Lifes sweet Light first shone on Beasts and when From their hard Mother Earth sprang hardy men When Beasts tooke up their lodging in the Wood Starres in their higher Chambers never cou'd The tender growth of things endure the sence Of such a change but that the Heav'ns Indulgence Kindly supplies sick Nature and doth mold A sweetly temper'd meane nor hot nor cold With a Picture sent to a Friend I Paint so ill my peece had need to bee Painted againe by some good Poesie I write so ill my slender Line is scarce So much as th'Picture of a well-lim'd verse Yet may the love I send be true though I Send nor true Picture nor true Poesie Both which away I should not need to feare My Love or Feign'd or painted should appeare In praise of Lessius his rule of health GOe now with some dareing drugg Baite thy disease and while they tugg Thou to maintaine their cruell strife Spend the deare treasure of thy life Goe take phisicke doat upon Some bigg-named composition The oraculous doctors mistick bills Certain hard words made into pills And what at length shalt get by these Onely a costlyer disease Goe poore man thinke what shall bee Remedie against thy remedie That which makes us have no need Of Phisick that 's Phisick indeed Harke hether Reader wouldst thou see Nature her owne Physitian bee Wouldst see a man all his owne wealth His owne Physick his owne health A man whose sober soule can tell How to weare her garments well Her garments that upon her sit As garments should doe close and fit A well cloathed soule that 's not opprest Nor choakt with what shee should bee drest A soule shearhed in a christall shrine Through which all her bright features shine As when a peece of wanton lawne A thinne aiereall vaile is drawne O're beauties face seeming to hide More sweetly showes the blush'ng bride A soule whose intelectuall beames No mistes doe maske no lazy steames A happy soule that all the way To heaven hath a summers day Would'st thou see a man whose well warmed blood Bathes him in a genuine flood A man whose tuned humours bee A set of rarest harmony Wouldst see blith lookes fresh cheeks beguile Age wouldst see December smile Wouldst see a nest of Roses grow In a bed of reverend snow Warme thoughts free spirits flattering Winters selfe into a spring In summe wouldst see a man that can Live to bee old and still a man The beginning of Helidorus THe smiling Morne had newly wak't the Day And tipt the Mountaines in a tender ray When on a hill whose high Imperious brow Lookes downe and sees the humble Nile below Licke his proud feet and hast into the seas Through the great mouth that 's nam'd from Hercules A band of men rough as the Armes thy wore Look't round first to the sea then to the shore The shore that shewed them what the sea deny'd Hope of a prey There to the maine land ty'd A ship they saw no men shee had yet prest Appear'd with other lading for her brest Deep in the groaning waters wallowed Vp to the third Ring o're the shore was spread Death's purple triumph on the
blushing ground Lifes late forsaken houses all lay drown'd In their owne bloods deare deluge some new dead Some panting in their yet warme ruines bled While their affrighted soules now wing'd for flight Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light Those yet fresh streames which crawled every where Shew'd that sterne warre had newly bath'd him there Nor did the face of this disaster show Markes of a fight alone but feasting too A miserable and a monstrous feast Where hungry warre had made himself a Guest And comming late had eat up Guests and all Who prov'd the feast to their owne funerall c. Out of the Greeke Cupid's Cryer LOve is lost nor can his Mother Her little fugitive discover Shee seekes shee sighs but no where spyes him Love is lost and thus shee cryes him O yes if any happy eye This roaving wanton shall descry Let the finder surely know Mine is the wagge T is I that owe The winged wand'rer and that none May thinke his labour vainely gone The glad descryer shall not misse To tast the Nectar of a kisse From Venus lipps But as for him That brings him to mee hee shall swim In riper joyes more shall bee his Venus assures him then a kisse But least your eye discerning slide These markes may bee your judgements guide His skin as with a fiery blushing High-colour'd is His eyes still flushing With nimble flames and though his mind Be ne're so curst his Tongue is kind For never were his words in ought Found the pure issue of his thought The working Bees soft melting Gold That which their waxen Mines enfold Flow not so sweet as doe the Tones Of his tun'd accents but if once His anger kindle presently It boyles out into cruelty And fraud Hee makes poore mortalls hurts The objects of his cruell sports With dainty curles his froward face Is crown'd about But ô what place What farthest nooke of lowest Hell Feeles not the strength the reaching spell Of his small hand Yet not so small As 't is powerfull therewithall Though bare his skin his mind hee covers And like a saucy Bird he hovers With wanton wing now here now there 'Bout men and women nor will spare Till at length he perching rest In the closet of their brest His weapon is a little Bow Yet such a one as Iove knowes how Ne're suffred yet his little Arrow Of Heavens high'st Arches to fall narrow The Gold that on his Quiver smiles Deceives mens feares with flattering wiles But ô too well my wounds can tell With bitter shafts 't is sauc't too well Hee is all cruell cruell all His Torch Imperious though but small Makes the Sunne of flames the fire Worse then Sun-burnt in his fire Wheresoe're you chance to find him Cease him bring him but first bind him Pitty not him but feare thy selfe Though thou see the crafty Else Tell down his Silver-drops unto thee They 'r counterfeit and will undoe thee With baited smiles if he display His â—awning cheeks looke not that way If hee offer sugred kisses Start and say The Serpent hisses Draw him drag him though hee pray Wooe intreat and crying say Prethee sweet now let me goe Here 's my Quiver Shafts and Bow I 'le give thee all take all take heed Lest his kindnesse make thee bleed What e're it be Love offers still presume That though it shines 't is fire and will consume HIgh mounted on an Ant Nanus the tall Was throwne alas and got a deadly fall Vnder th' unruly Beasts proud feet he lies All torne with much adoe yet ere he dyes Hee straines thesâ— words Base Envy doe laugh on Thus did I fall and thus fell Phaethon Vpon Venus putting on Mars his Armes WHat Mars his sword faire Cytherea say Why art thou arm'd so desperately to day Mars thou hast beaten naked and ô then What need'st thou put on armes against poore men Vpon the same PAllas saw Venus arm'd and streight she cry'd Come if thou dar'st thus thus let us be try'd Why foole saies Venus thus provok'st thou mee That being nak't thou know'st could conquer thee In Senerissimae Reginae partum hyemalem SErta puer quis nunc flores non praebeat hortus â—exe mihi facili pollice serta puer Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi stulte Decembres Quid mihi cum nivibus damihi serta puer Nix byems non est nostras quid tale per oras Non est vel si sit non tamen esse potest Ver agitur quaecunque trucem dat larva Decembrem Quid fera cunque fremant frigora ver agitur Nónne vides quali se palmite regia vitis Prodit in sacris quae sedet uvajugis Tam laetis quae bruma solet ridere racemis Quas hyemis pingit purpura tanta genas O Maria O divûm soboles genitrixque Deorum Siccine nostra tuus tempora ludus erunt Siccine tu cum vere tuo nihil horrida brumae Sydera nil madidos sola morare notos Siccine sub mediâ— poterunt tua surgere brumâ— Atque suas solùm lilia nosse nives Ergò vel invitis nivibus frendentibus Austris Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis O bona turbatrix anni quae limite noto Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis O pia praedatrix hyemis quae tristia mundi Murmura tam dulci sub ditione tenes Perge precor nostris vim pulchram ferre Calendis Perge precor menses sic numerare tuos Perge intempestiva utque importuna videri Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui Sit nobis sit saepe hyemes sic cernere nostras Exhaeredatas floribus ire tuis Saepe sit has vernas hyemes Maiosque Decembres Has per te roseas saepe videre nives Altera gens varium per sydera computet annum Atque suos ducant per â—aga signa dies Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis Tempora tam tetricas ferre Britanna vices Quin nosirum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum In partus omnem expende Maria tuos Sit tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni Tempus in titulos transeat omne tuos Namquae alia indueret tam dulcia nomina mensis Aut qua tam posset candidus ire toga Hanc laurum Ianus sibi vertice vellet utroque Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Majus emet Tota suam vere expulso respublica florum Reginam cuperent te sobolemve tuam O bona sors anni cum cuncti ex ordine menses Hic mihi Carolides hic Marianus erit Vpon Bishop Andrewes his Picture before his Sermons THis reverend shadow cast that setting Sun Whose glorious course through our Horrizon run Left the dimme face of this dull Hemisphaeare All one great eye all drown'd in one great Teare Whose faire illustrious soule led his free thought Through Learnings Vniverse and vainely sought Roome for her spatious selfe untill at length Shee found the way