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
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
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
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
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
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
The flowers did smile like those upon her face And as their Aspin stalkes those fingers bind That she might read my case I wish'd to be a Hyacinth in her hand SON THen is she gone O foole and coward I O good occasion lost ne're to be found What fatall chaines have my dull senses bound When best they might that did not Fortune try Here is the fainting Grasse where she did lie With Roses here she stellified the Ground She fix'd her eyes on this yet smiling Pond Nor time nor place seem'd ought for to deny Too long too long Respect I do embrace Your Counsell full of threats and sharpe disdaine Disdaine in her sweet Heart can have no place And though come there must straight retire againe Henceforth Respect farewell I 've heard it told Who lives in love can never be too bold SON WHat cruell Star into this World me brought What gloomy day did dawn to give me light What unkind hand to nurse me Orphane sought And would not leave me in eternall night What thing so deare as I hath essence bought The Elements dry humid heavy light The smallest living things which Nature wrought Be freed of woe if they have small delight Ah only I abandon'd to Despaire Nail'd to my torments in pale Horrours shade Like wandring Clouds see all my comforts fled And Ill on Ill with Houres my life impaire The Heavens and Fortune which were wont to turn Stay in one Mansion fixt to cause me mourn SON DEare Eye which daign'st on this sad Monument The sable Scroule of my mishaps to view Though it with mourning Muses teares be spent And darkely drawn which is not fain'd but true If thou not dazell'd with a Heavenly Hue And comely Feature didst not yet lament But happy lives unto thy selfe content O let not Love thee to his Laws subdue Look on the wofull ship-wrack of my Youth And let my ruines thee for Beacon serve To shun this Rock Capharean of untruth And serve no God which doth his Church-men sterve His Kingdom 's but of plaints his guerdon teares What he gives more is Jealousies and Feares MAD. TO the delightfull Greene Of you faire radiant Eine Let each black yeeld beneath the starry Arch. Eyes burnisht Heavens of Love Sinople Lamps of Jove Save all those hearts which with your flames you parch Two burning Suns you prove All other Eyes compar'd with you deare lights Are Hells or if not Hells yet dumpish Nights The Heavens if we their Glasse The Sea beleeve are green not perfect blew They all make faire what ever faire yet was And they are faire because they look like you SON NYmphs Sister Nymphs which haunt this christall Brook And happy in these floting Bowers abide Where trembling Roofes of Trees from Sun you hide Which make Idaean woods in every Crook Whether ye garlands for your locks provide Or pearly letters seek in sandy Book Or count your Loves when Thetis was a Bride Lift up your golden heads and on me look Read in mine Eyes my agonizing Cares And what ye read recount to her againe Faire Nymphs say all these streames are but my Teares And if she aske you how they sweet remaine Tell that the bitt'rest teares which Eyes can poure When shed for her can be no longer sowre SON SHe whose faire flowers no Autumne makes decay Whose Hue Coelestiall earthly hues doth staine Into a pleasant odoriferous Plaine Did walke alone to brave the pride of May. And whilst through flowry Lists she made her way That proudly smil'd her sight to entertaine Loe unawares where Love did hid remaine She spied and sought to make of him her prey For which of golden locks a fairest haire To bind the Boy she took but he affraid At her approach sprang swiftly in the Aire And mounting far from reach lookt back and said Why shouldst thou sweet me seek in chaines to bind Sith in thy eyes I dayly am confind MAD. SWeet Rose whence is this hue Which doth all hues excell Whence this most fragrant smell And whence this forme and gracing grace in you In faire Paestanas fields perhaps you grew Or Hyblas Hills you bred Or odoriferous Ennas Plaines you fed Or Tmolus or where Bore yong Adon slew Or hath the Queen of Love you died of new In that deare Bloud which makes you look so red No none of those but Cause more high you blist My Ladies Brest you bore her Lips you Kist. MADRIGALL ON this cold World of ours Flow'r of the Seasons Season of the Flow'rs Sun of the Sun sweet Spring Such hot and burning daies why dost thou bring Is it because those high Eternall Pow'rs Flash down that Fire this World environing Or that now Phoebus keeps his Sisters spheare Or doth some Phaëton Enflame the Sea and Aire Or rather is 't not usher of the Yeare Or that last day among the Flow'rs alone Unmask'd thou saw'st my Faire And whilst thou on her gaz'd she did thee burne And to thy Brother Summer doth thee turne SON DEare Wood and you sweet solitary Place Where I estranged from the vulgar live Contented more with what your shades me give Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace What snaky Eye grown jealous of my pace Now from your silent Horrours would me drive When Sun advancing in his glorious race Beyond the Twins doth neare our Pole arrive What sweet delight a quiet life affords And what it is to be from bondage free Far from the madding Worldlings hoarse discords Sweet flowry place I first did learne of thee Ah if I were mine owne your deare resorts I would not change with Princes stateliest Courts SON AH who can see those fruits of Paradise Coelestiall Cherries which so sweetly swell That Sweetnesse selfe confind there seemes to dwell And all those sweetest Parts about despise Ah who can see and feele no Flame surprise His hardened heart For me alas too well I know their Force and how they do excell Now through desire I burne and now I freeze I dye deare Life unlesse to me be given As many kisses as the Spring hath Flow'rs Or there be silver drops in Iris Show'rs Or stars there be in all-embracing 〈◊〉 And if displeas'd ye of the 〈◊〉 complaine Ye shall have leave to take them back againe SON IS 't not enough ay me me thus to see Like some Heaven-banish'd Ghost still wailing go A Shadow which your Raies do only show To vexe me more unlesse ye bid me die What could ye worse allot unto your Foe But die will I so ye will not deny That grace to me which mortall Foes even try To chuse what sort of Death shall end my woe Once did I find that whiles you did me kisse Ye gave my panting soule so sweet a touch That halfe I sownd in midst of all my Blâ—sse I do but crave my Deaths-wound may be such For though by Griefe I die not and annoy Is 't not enough to die through too much joy MAD. VNhappy
the new-borne Phoenix spreads her Wings And troupes of wondring Birds her flight adore Place me by Gange or Indes enammell'd shore Where smiling Heavens on Earth cause double Springs Place me where Neptunes Quire of Syrens sings Or where made hoarse through Cold he leaves to roare Place me where Fortune doth her Darlings crown A Wonder or a sparke in Envies Eye Or you outragious Fates upon me frown Till Pitty wailing fee disastred Me Affections print my mind so deep doth prove I may forget my Selfe but not my Love MADRIGALL THe Ivory Corrall Gold Of brest of lip of haire So lively Sleep doth show to inward sight That wake I thinke I hold No Shadow but my Faire My selfe so to deceive With long-shut Eyes I shun the irkesome Light Such pleasure here I have Delighting in false gleames If Death Sleeps Brother be And Soules bereft of sense have so sweet Dreames How could I wish thus still to dreame and dye SON FAme who with golden wings abroad doth range Where Phoebus leaves the Night or brings the Day Fame in one place who restlesse dost not stay Till thou hast flown from Atlas unto Gange Fame Enemy to Time that still doth change And in his changing Course would make decay What here below he findeth in his way Even making Vertue to her selfe look strange Daughter of Heaven Now all thy Trumpets sound Raise up thy Head unto the highest Skie With wonder blaze the gifts in her are found And when she from this mortall Globe shall flie In thy wide Mouth keep long keep long her Name So thou by her she by thee live shall Fame POEMS The Second Part. OF mortall Glory O soone dark'ned Ray O winged Joyes of Man more swift than Wind O fond Desires which in our Fancies stray O traitrous Hopes which do our Judgements blind Loe in a Flash that Light is gone away Which dazell did each Eye delight each Mind And with that Sun from whence it came combind Now makes more radiant Heavens eternall Day Let Beauty now bedew her Cheeks with Teares Let widow'd Musick only roare and groane Poore Vertue get thee Wings and mount the Spheares For dwelling place on Earth for thee is none Death hath thy Temple raz'd Loves Empire foil'd The World of Honour Worth and Sweetnes spoil'd SON THose Eyes those sparkling Saphires of Delight Which thousand thousand Hearts did set on Fire Of which that Eye of Heaven which brings the light Oft Jealous stayed amaz'd them to admire That living Snow those crimson Roses bright Those Pearles those Rubies which enflam'd Desire Those Locks of Gold that Purple faire of Tyre Are wrapt aye me up in eternall Night What hast thou more to vaunt of wretched World Sith she who caused all thy blisse is gone Thy ever-burning Lamps Rounds ever-whorld Can not unto thee modell such a One Or if they would such Beauty bring on Earth They should be forc'd againe to give her birth SON O Fate conjur'd to poure your worst on me O rigorous Rigour which doth all confound With cruell Hands ye have cut down the Tree And fruit with leaves have scattered on the Ground A little space of Earth my Love doth bound That Beauty which did raise it to the Skie Turn'd in disdained Dust now low doth lye Deafe to my plaints and senselesse of my wound Ah! did I live for this ah did I love And was 't for this fierce powers she did excell That ere she well the Sweets of life did prove She should too deare a guest with Darknesse dwell Weake influence of Heaven what faire is wrought Falls in the prime and passeth like a Thought SON O Wofull life life no but living Death Fraile Boat of Christall in a rocky Sea A Gem expos'd to Fortunes stormy breath Which kept with paine with Terrour doth decay The false Delights true Woes thou dost bequeath My all-appalled Mind so do affray That I those envy who are laid in Earth And pity those who run thy dreadfull way When did mine Eyes behold one chearefull Morne When had my tossed Soule one night of Rest When did not angry Stars my Designes scorne O! now I find what is for Mortalls best Even since our voyage shamefull is and short Soone to strike Saile and perish in the Port. SON DIssolve my Eyes your Globes in briny Streames And with a cloud of Sorrow dim your sight The Suns bright Sun is set of late whose Beames Gave lustre to your Day Day to your Night My Voice now cleave the Earth with Anathemes Roare forth a challenge in the Worlds despight Till that disguised Griefe is her delight That Life a Slumber is of fearefull Dreames And woefull Mind abhor to thinke of Joy My Senses all from comforts all you hide Accept no object but of black Annoy Teares Plaints Sighs mourning Weeds Graves gaping wide I have nought left to wish My Hopes are dead And all with her beneath a Marble laid SON SWeet Soule which in the Aprill of thy yeares For to enrich the Heaven mad'st poore this Round And now with flaming Rayes of Glory crown'd Most blest abides above the Spheare of Spheares If Heavenly Laws alas have not thee bound From looking to this Globe that all up-beares If ruth and pity there-above be found O daigne to lend a look unto these Teares Do not disdaine deare Ghost this sacrifice And though I raise not pillars to thy Praise My off'rings take let this for me suffice My Heart a living Pyramide I 'll raise And whilst Kings Tombs with Laurells flourish green Thine shall with Mirtles and these flow'rs be seen SON SWeet Spring thou turn'st with all thy goodly traine Thy head with flames thy Mantle bright with flow'rs The Zephires curle the green Locks of the Plaine The Clouds for joy in Pearls weep down their show'rs Dost returne sweet Youth but ah my pleasant houres And happy daies with thee come not againe The sad Memorials only of my paine Do with thee turne which turne my Sweets to Sow'râ— Thou art the same which still thou wert before Delicious lusty amiable faire But she whose Breath embaulm'd thy wholesome Aire Is gone Nor Gold nor Gems can her restore Neglected Vertue Seasons go and come When thine forgot lie closed in a Tombe SON WHat doth it serve to see the Suns bright Face And Skies enamell'd with the Indian Gold Or the Moone in a fierce Chariot rold And all the Glory of that starry Place What doth it serve Earths Beauty to behold The Mountaines pride the Meadows flowry grace The stately comlinesse of Forrests old The Sport of Flouds which would themselves embrace What doth it serve to heare the Sylvans Songs The cheerefull Thrush the Nightingales sad straines Which in darke shades seems to deplore my Wrongs For what doth serve all that this World containes Since she for whom those once to me were deare Can have no part of them now with me here MAD. THis Life which seems so faire Is like a Bubble blown up
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
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