noise or stirre But veiw the venerable face whereon The horne and candle cast reflection Observe it well if ere you chance to meet In paradise you 'le know 't as soon as see 't T is reverent Iosephs portraiture see how The very image seemes to cringe and bow Marke well his beard his eyes his nose if ought Be mist t is yours and not the painters fault Then lead your eyes unto the beauteous one Who nere knew man yet mother to a sonne Doth not her face more fully speake her heart And joy than text or comment can impart But oh how little like her selfe when shee VVhose upcast downe cast lookes behold the tree That fatall tree whereon the Lord of breath Expos'd himselfe to th'tyranny of death VVas ever sorow so set forth and yet To make the quire of heavinesse compleat The lov'd disciple bears his part and so Doth that brave lasse that clips the Crosse below Consult allauthors English Greek Lattin You nere saw truer greife or finer sattin Foule fall the bird whose undiscerning mute Presumes to turpifye so rich a suite T' was very strange they durst so boldly greeve When those untutor'd hacksters of the Shreeve Close by sat armed Cap-a-pee with speares And swords and glittering helmets or'e their eares Bestriding fiery steeds so markt so made Bucephalu's himselfe was but a jade Compar'd to these why who would be but vext To see such palâ—…ryes here and none it 'h text Next let your eyes and thoughts be fixt upon The sad-sad story of the passion See how from side from feet from hands as yet The crimson blood trills down you 'l sweare t were wet Were Thomas here himselfe he would not linger But sooner trust his eyes then erst his finger Mark how death 's sable cloud doth over-spread His lips his cheeks his eyes his sacred head Behold death drawn to th' life as if that hee Thus wrackt and stretch't upon th' accursed tree Had been of purpose nayld to th' crosse to try The Painters cunning hand more than to dye He left him dead but t was not in the power Of grave or hell to keep him there one houre Beyond his own determination Three dayes are past and Ionah's type is done He walkes and in full glory leaps from tombe As Lazarus from th' earths insatiate wombe But not to dye againe meane while the guard Who vigilantly slept soon as they heard Deaths prisoner and their's so strangely rise Start up with frighted hearts and gastly eyes They stare and muse and sweare the heardsmen talke Strange things but nere till now saw dead men walke Do but take notice how the rascalls look As if some prodigie had thunderstrook The villaines hearts or some strange power had showne Medufae's head and turnd them all to stone Sure small perswasion would have made the Elves For feare of further paines to hang themselves And blame them not the Lord was now calcin'd Bright as the Sun his body so refin'd That not the sawcinesse of mortall eye Could stare upon such lustre and not dye His glorifi'd humanity can stay No more on earth heaven calls he must away Yet ere he part hee 'le take his leave th'eleven Attend and see him ravisht into heaven Their eyes untill an interposing cloud Did interdict accesse of sight and shrowd His godlike countenance from mortall ken Still waite upon th' ascending Lord but when Distance had snat cht him from their view they lift Their hands to th' skie as if they made some shift To draw him down againe such was their love Theiâ—…e scarse assent to his ascent above Where once more note the text supplyed which tells Th'Apostles were spectators and none else But count by th' pole you 'l find th' eleven increast Their troops amount to five or sixe at least Were Luke alive hee 'd thank the painters wit Who saw his oversight and mended it Let 's yeeld to reason then let him that lists Dispute the number of th' Evangelists If Judgement ever please this thing to lift Or Greenbury or none must be the fift I've done bur first I le pray hayle holy cloth And live in spight of rottennesse or moth Nor time nor vermine ere shall dare to be Corruptors of so much Divinitie But men of Galilee why do ye gaze On that which may delight but not amaze That 's left for us let any wise man bend His eyes towards our orientall end Hee'â—…e blesse himselfe indeed grow wise withall Approaching take the window for a wall And then conclude that Wadehams perspective Nor Lincolnes stately types can long survive They 'le break for envie spight of wise to find Us to transcend themselves so farre behind But I le not prayse our own 't is far more fit To leave the talke to some fine Maud'lin wit Who may enroule in some well languishâ—…t staine As we their walls so they our lights againe Only I feare they will least we surpasse Pull down their hall to build up Eastern glass An Elegie WHy faire vow-breaker have thy sinnes thought fit That I be curst example of thy wit As well as scornes bad womn have not I Deserv'd as much as quiet misery Be wise and trouble not my suffering fit For every sin I have repentance yet Except for loving thee do not thou presse My easie madnesse to a wickednesse As high as that least I be driven so As far from heaven as thou art which I know Is not thy ayme for thou hast sin'd to be In place as in affection farre from me Am I thy freind or kinsman have I ought That is familiar with thee bettring thought A dreame and some few letters too yet lye Neglected records of my injury I know no itch my silent sorrowes moves To begg a bridall kisse or paire of gloves These are the lighter dutyes which they seek Whose sleepe is sound constant as the week Is in her nights who never met the chaunce Of love amisse but in a dreameing traunce And wak't to gladnesse t' is not so with me My night and day are twins in misery These spend-thrift eyes have beene prepar'd with feares To keep a solemne revelling in teares Hadst thou beene silent I had known the shame Of that dayes union by my greife not fame Priva'te as sorrowes lodging had I dwelt Follow'd with my dispaire and never felt Anger except for livinge hadst thou bin Content with my undoinge 'T is a sinn My love cannot forgive there to upbraid Awret chednesse which thou thy selfe hast made Heaven knowes I sufferd and I sufferd so That by me t was as infallible to know How passive man is fate knew not a curse Except thy new contempt to make mee worse And that thou gav'st when I so low was brought I knew not if I liv'd but yet I thought And counted sighs and teares as if to scann The aire and water would make up a man Hadst thou not broake the peace of my decay Ere this I thinke â—…'de wept
rest In due proportion the best rule that I Would chuse to measure Venus beauty by Should be her leg and foot Why gaze we so On th'upper parts as proud to look below In chusing Wives when 't is too often known The colours of their face are not their own As for their legs whether they mince or stride Those native compasses are seldom wide Oftelling truth The round and slender foot Is a prov'd token of a secret note Of hidden parts and well this way may lead Unto the closet of a mayden-head Here emblems of our youth we Roses tie And here the Garter love's dear mystery For want of beauty here the Peacock's pride Let 's fall her train and fearing to bespy'd Shuts up her painted witnesses to let Those eyes from view which are but counterfeit Who looks not if this part be good or evill May meet with cloven feet and match the devill For this did make the difference between The more unhallowed creatures and the clean Well may you judge her other parts are light Her thoughts are wry that doth not tread aright But then ther 's true perfection when we see Those parts more absolute which hidden be Nature ne're lent a fair foundation For an unworthy frame to rest thereon Let others view the top and limbs throughout The deeper knowledge is to know the root In viewing of the face the weakest know What beauty is the learned look more low And in the feet the other parts descry As in a pool the Moon we use to spy Pardon sweet-heart the pride of my desire If but to kisse your toe it should aspire Upon the view of his Mistresse face in a Glasse AH cruel Glasseâ—… didst thou not see Chloris alone too hard for me Perceiv'dst thou not her charming sight Did ravish mine in cruell fight But then another she must frame Whose single forces well might tame A lovers heart no humane one Is proof against her force alone Yet did I venture though struck mute The beauteous vision to salute But that like aire in figur'd charms Deceiv'd the ambush of my arms 'T was some wise Angel her shape took That so he might more heavenly look I her old captive now do yield Her shaddowed self another field By such odds overcome to die Is no dishonoured victory On Bond the Userer HEre lyes a Bond under this tombe Seald and deliver'd to god knows whom To the Duke of Buckingham WHen I can pay my Parents or my King ' For life or peace or any dearer thing Then dearest Lord expect my debt to you Shall be as truly paid as it is due But as no other price or recompence Serves them but love and my obedience So nothing payes my Lord but what 's above The reach of hands his vertue and my love For when as goodness doth so overflowe The conscience binds not to restore but owe Requitall were presumptâ—…n and you may Call mee ungratefull when I strive to pay Nor with this morall lesson do I shift Like one that meant to save a better gâ—…ift Like very poor or connterfeit poor men Who to preserve their Turky or their hen Do offer up themselves No I have sent A kind of guift will last by being spent Thanks-starling farr above the bullion rate Of horses hangings jewells coyne or plate Oh you that should in choosing of your owne Know a true Diamond from a Bristow stone You that do know they are not allwayes best In their intent that lowdest do portest But that a prayer from the Convocation Is better than the Commons protestation Trust them that at your feet their lives will lay And know no arts but to performe and pray Whilst they that buy perferment without praying Begin with bribes and finish with betraying The Gentlemans verses before he Killed himselfe HAst Night unto thy Center are thy winges Rul'd by the course of dull clockt plummetings If so mount on my thoughts wee 'le exceed All time that 's past t'gain midnight with ouâ—… speed The day more favourable hasted on And by its death sent mee instruction To make thy darknesse tombe my life let then Thy wonted houres seize on the eyes of men Make them imagine by their sleepe what I Must truly act let each starr veyle his Eye With masques of mourninge clowdes methinkes the owles Prodigious summons strike me and she houles My Epicedium with whose tragick quill I le pencill in this map my haplesse ill Caus'd first by her whose fowle apostacy In love for ever brand her and when I Am dead deare paper my minds heire convey This epitaph unto her veiwe and pray Her to inscribe it on my tombe Here lyes One murthered by a womans perjuryes Who from the time she scorn'd him scorn'd to live No rivall shall him of his death deprive A Song in commendation of Musicke WHen whispering straines doe softly steale With creeping passion through the heart And when at every touch wee feel Our pulses beat and beare a part When threads can make A hart string quake Philosophy Can scarce denye The soule consists of harmony When unto heavenly joyes we feigne What ere the soul affecteth most Which only thus we can explaine By musick of the winged host Whose layes wee thinke Make starrs to winke Philosophy Cannot deny Our soule consists of harmony O lull mee lull mee charminge ayr My senses rockt with wonder sweet Like snow on wooll thy fallings are Soft like a spirit are thy feet Greife who need feare That hath an eare Downe let him lye And slumbring dye And change his soule for harmony A Dialogue betwixt Cupid and a Country-Swaine AS Cupid tooke his bow and bolt Some birding-sport to find He lightt upon a shepheards swaine That was some good mans hinde Swa. Well met faire Boy what sport abroad It is a goodly day The birds will sitt this frosty morne You cannot choose but slay Gods-ouches look your eyes are out You will not bird I trow Alas goe home or else I thinke The birds will laugh at you Cup. Why man thou dost deceave thy selfe Or else my mother lyes Who sayd that though that I were blind My arrowes yet had eyes Swa. Why then thy mother is a voole And thou art but an elfe To let thy arrowes to have eyes And goe with out thy selfe Cup. Not so Sir Swaine but hold thy prate If I do take a shaft I le make thee know what I can do At this the young Swain laught Then angry Cupid drew his bow Swa. For Gods sake kill mee not Cup. I le make thy lither liver ake Swa. Nay I de be loth of that The singing arrow hit the marke And pierc'd his silly soule You might see by his hollow eyes Where love had made a hole And so the Swain went bleeding home To stay it was no boot And found that he could see to hit That could not see to shoot Sighes O Tell mee tell thou god of winde In all thy cavernes canst thou find A
of apple braine spice Will follow the Lancasheire dice Harke how the chime of Pluâ—…oes pispot cracks To see the rainbowes wheele gâ—…nne made of flax On Oxford Schollers going to Woodstock to heare Dr. Corbet preach before the King THe King and the Court Desirous of sport At woodstock six dayes did lye Thither came the Doctors With their velvet sleev'd Proctors And the rest of the learned frie. Some faces did shine More withale then with wine So that each man there was thought And judged by theire hue As it was then true They were better fed then taught A number beside With their wenches did ride For Schollers you know are kind And riding before Leand back evermore To kisse their wenches behind A number on foot Without cloak or boot And yet to the Court they wou'd Which was for to show How farr they wou'd go To doe his Majesty good The reverend Deane With his ruff starched clean Did preach before the King A Ring there was spide In his band-string tyde Was not this a pritty thing The Ring without doubt Was the thing put him out So oft hee forgot what was next That all that were there Did thinke and dare sweare Hee handled it more then his Text. Horat. 34. Carm. od 10. ad Ligurium T Is true proud boy thy beauty may presume Thank Venus for 't but when thy cheekes shall plume When manly downe shall shade thy Childish pride And when thy locks which dangle on each side Of thy white shoulders shall no more remain When thy vermilion cheeks which do disdain The glorious colour of the purple rose Begin to fade and Ligarinas loose His lovely face being rudely stuck with haires Hard hearted boy then wilt thou say with teares When looking for thy faire self in a glass Thou findest another there Ah me alas What do I now perceive why had not I These thoughts when I was lovely smooth or why To these my thoughts which I now entertaine Doe not my Cheeks grow flik young again To his Mistris I 'le tell you whence the rose did first grow red And whence the lillie whitenesse borrowed You blush't and then the rose with red was dight The lillie kist your hands and so came white Before that time the rose was but a staine The lillie nought but palenesse did containe You have the native colour these they die And onely flourish in your livery Upon a Cobler COme hither read my gentle freind And here behold a Coblers End Long in length his life had gone But that he had no Last so long O mighty death whose darts can kill The man that made him soules at will On the death of the Lord Treasurer IMmodest death that would not once confer Dispose or part with our Lord Treasurer Had he beene thee or of thy fatall tribe He would have spar'd thy life and tane a bribe He that so often had with gold and wit Perverted law and allmost conjur'd it He that could lengthen causes and was able To starve a suitor at the councill-table At last not having Evidence to show Was faine perforce to take a deadly blow The lover's Melancholy HEnce hence all you vaine delights As short as are the nights Wherin you spend your folly Ther 's nought in this life sweet If men were wise to â—…ee't But only melancholly Wellcome folded armes and fixed eyes A fight that peaâ—…cing mortifies A look that 's fastened to the ground A tongue chain'd up without a sound Fountaines-heades and pathless groves Places which pale passion loves Moone-light walkes when all the fowles Are warmely hous'd save Bats and owls A midnight knell a parting groane These are the sounds wee feed upon Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley Ther 's nothing truly sweet but melancholly The answer by Dr. Stroad REturne my joyes and hither bring A tounge not made to speake but sing A joll ye splene an inward feast A causelesse laugh without a jest A face which gladnesse doth annoint An arme for joy flung out of joynt A spritefull gate that leaves no print And make a â—…eather of a flint A heart that 's lighter then the ayre An eye still dancing in its sphere Strong which mirth nothing shall controul A body nimbler then a soul Free wandring thoughts not tied to muse Which thinking all things nothing chuse Which ere wee see them come are gone These life it selfe doth feed upon Then take no care but only to be jolly To be more wretched then we must is folly A Blush STay hasty blood where canst thou seek So blest a place as in her cheek How can'st thou from the place retire VVhere beauty doth command desire But if thou canst not stay then show Downe to her painting papps below Flow like a deluge from her breast VVhere Venus Swannes have built their nest And so take glory to disteine The azure of each swelling vaine Thence run thou boyling through each part Till thou hast warm'd her frozen heart But if from love she would retire Then martyr her with gentle fire And having search't each secret place Fly back againe into her face VVhere blessed live in changing those VVhite lillyes to a Ruddy rose To his Mistris Last when I saw thee thou didst sweetly play The gentle theife and stolst my heart away Render't again or else give me thine owne In change for two for thee when I have none Too many are else I must say Thou art A sweet facd creature with a double heart On Christ-church windowe and Magdâ—…len Colledge wall YEe men of Galilee why gaze yee so On Mandlins necessary print as though T 'had bin enough for that pure virgin's sonne That was incarnate dyed rose to have done Those heavenly acts that ransom'd al from hell And yet no visible effigies tell The eye the manner how Ye misconceive VVho think these sacred mysteryes must leave Impression onely in the soul how then Shall those that bear more shape than mind of men Unlesse their outward sense informe them know VVhat accidents their Saviour long ago Sustain'd each wise man sees 't is not the fate Of every ideot to be literate And who can then forbid ye Lay to look And read those things without or line or book Besides if modestye may judge what i st But a supply to each Evangelist Long may the learned study peace and scratch Before the forme of th' mainger or the cratch Wherein Babe Christ was layd be understood Each bungling joyner now may ken what wood The stall was made of where the long eared steed And his associate Oxe did stand and feed Each practis'd oastler knowes their meat can say There is their provender this is their hay Yee now may learne the naked shepherds hew The stripling boy and him it 'h cap of blew As perfectly as it had seene the clownes Each day a sunning on the jewish downes 'T is strange the dogg's not there perhapps the Curr VVas left behind for feare of
some sinns away Being diseas'd diseas'd past mine owne cure Thou wouldst needs kill which made mee to indure My patience why Ioyes murdresse wouldst thou prove VVhether that bee as passive as my love Had woman such a way as shee can give To man deniall as of love to live VVhy then th' abhored reason meers me why Successless lovers doe so quickly dye So be it with mee but if any curse First can be fastned on thee which is worse Then thy unwept for vow-breach may it come As my greife heavye may the tedious summe Of thy great sinns stand sentinell to keep Repentance from thy thoughts reach May thy Sleep Be broken as my hopes 'bove all may â—…e Thou choosest husband ripe to jealousye And find it true to tell thee may the theames On which thy sleepe doth paraphrase in dreames Bee my sad wrongs and when some other shall VVhom chance hath made with mee apocryphall In loveing storyes search an instance forth To curse his Mistris for her little worth May thy name meet him under whom must be The Common place of womans perjury May heaven make all this and if thou pray May heaven esteeme as that thou didst that day Of thy last promises I 've said be free This pennance done then my dayes destinye By thee is antedated But three sighs Must first pay my admission to the skyes One for my madness loving woman so That I could think her true the next I le throw For wounded lovers that I 'le breath a new The third shall pray my curses may prove true In imitation of Sir Philip Sydnie's Encomium of Mopsa ASsist mee Love and Lov 's great Queen of Paphos Inspire my muse with straines more rich then Saphos Approach you Heliconiau lasses even Chaste Erato Thalie and th' other seaven Direct my quill whilst I her praises caroll out Whose paralle's not found in all the world about In lovelinesse sh' excells and 't is no wonder Those brave Cicilian forgers of Joves thunder For chastity I m'e sure her equall none is Not Venus selfe that lov'd the faire Adonis Medea's not more mild who as the talk is Made Iason steale the golden fleece from Cholchos For modest silence I dare say shee 'l fit ye Wherein shee 's not an ace behind Zantippe But Oh! the comely graces of her feature Great Plutoes Cour affords not such a creature Her golden tresses far surpasse Megaera's In compassing her lofty forehead whereas No frown nor wrinckle ere appeares to fright ye But still more calme than smooth fac'd Amphirité Beneath those vaulted cells are fixt those torches From whence proceeds that flame so fiercely siorches Between both which her precious nose is placed With fairest pearles and rubies rich encased Next comes her heavenly mouth whose sweet composure Falls not within expressions limmits no sure This even unto her precious eares doth guide us Which makes her full as faire as great King Mydas She 's smooth as Pan her skin which you 'le admire is Like purest gold more glorious far then Iris And to close up this Magazin of pleasures She most exactly treads god Vulcans measures This is my Mistris Character and if in These lines her name you misse 't is faire Befs Griffin A Scholler that sold his Cussion TOm I commend thy care of all I know That souldst this Cushion for a pipe of To Now art thou like though not to studdy more Yet ten times harder then thou didst before On the death of Cut. Cobler DEath and an honest Cobler fell at bate And finding him worne out would needs translate He was a trusty so'le and time had bin He would well liquord go through thick and thin Death put a trick upon him and what was 't The Cobler call'd for All death brought his last 'T was not uprightly done to cut his thread That mended more and more till he was dead But since hee 's gone 't is all that can be said Honest Gut-Cobler here is underlayd A Letter to Ben. Johnson DIe Iohnson crosse not our Religion so As to be thought immortall let us know Thou art no God thy works make us mistake Thy person and thy great creations make Us I doll thee and cause we see thee do Eternall things think thee eternall too Restore us to our faith and dye thy doome Will do as much good as the fall of Rome 'T will crush an heresie we ne're must hope For truth till thou be gon thou and the Pope And though we may be certaine in thy fall To lose both wit and judgement braines and all Thou Sack nor Love nor Time recover us Better be fooles then superstitious Dye to what end should we thee now adore There is not Schollership to live to more Our language is refin'd professors doubt Their Greek and Hebrew both shall be put out And we that Latin studied have so long Shall now dispute write in Iohnsons tongue Nay courtiers yeeld every beautious wench Had rather speak thy English then her French But for thy matter fancy stands agast Wondering to see her strength thus best at last Invention stops her course and bids the world Look for no more she hath already hurld Her treasure all on one thou hast out-done So much our wit and expectation That were it not for thee we scarse had known Nature her selfe could ere so farre have gon Dye seemes it not enough thy verse's date Is endlesse but thine own prolonged fate Must equall it for shame engross not age But now the fith act ended leave the stage And let us clap we know the Stars that do Give others one sife give a laureat two But thou if thus thy body long survives Hast two eternities and not two lives Die for thine own sake seest thou not thy praise Is shortned onely by this length of daies Men may talk this and that to part the strife My tenet is thou hast no fault but life Old Authors do speed best me-thinks thy warm breath Casts a thick mist betwixt thy worth which death Would quickly dissipate If thou wouldst have Thy Bayes to flourish plant them on thy grave Gold now is drosse and Oracles are stuffe With us for why Thou art not low enough We still look under thee Stoop and submit Thy glory to the meanest of our wit The Rhodsan Colossus ere it fell Could not be scan'd and measured half so well Lie levell to our view so shall we see Our third and richest University Art's length Art's heighth Art's depth can ne're be found Till thou art prostrate stretch'd upon the ground Learning no farther then thy life extends With thee began all Arts with thee it ends On a young Lady and her Knight A Vertuous Lady sitting in a muse As fair and vertuous Ladies often use With elbow leant upon one knee so hard The other distant from it half a yard Her Knight to quip her by a secret token Said Wife arise your Cabinet stands open She rising blush'd and smilingly did
say Lock it then if you please you keep the key On a Welch-man's devotion THe way to make a Welch-man thirst for blisse And daily say his prayers on his knees Is to perswade him that most certain 't is The Moon is made of nothing but green cheese Then he 'l desire nought else nor greater boon Then plac'd in heaven to feed upon the Moon On a Maid's Legge FAir Betty us'd to tuck her coats up high That men her foot and leg might soon espy Thou hast a pretty legg saith one fair Duck. Yea two saith she or else I have ill luck They 're two indeed they 're twins I think quoth he They are and yet they are not Sir said she They 're birth was both at once I dare be sworn And yet between them both a man was born To his Sister LOving sister every line Of your last Letter was so fine With the best mettall that the grain Of Scriveners pin-dust had been vain The touch of gold did sure instill Some vertue more than did your quill And since you write no cleanly hand Your tokens make me understand Mine eyes have here a remedy Whereby to read more easily I do but jest Your love alone Is my interpretation My words I will recall and swear I know your hand is wondrous fair On the death of Hobson the Cambridge-Carrier HEre Hobson lies amongst his many betters A man not learned yet of many Letters The Schollers well can justifie as much Who have receiv'd them from his pregnant pouch His carriage is well known oft hath he gone An Embassie 'twixt father and the son In Cambridge few in good time be it spoken But will remember him by some good token From thence to London rode he day by day Till death benighting him he lost his way Nor wonder is it that he thus is gone Since most men know he long was drawing on His Team was of the best nor could he have Them mir'd in any ground but in the grave And there he sticks indeed still like to stand Untill some Angell lend his helping hand So rests in peace the ever toiling Swain And supream Waggoner next Charls his wain Another on the same HEre lieth one who did most truely prove That he could never die whilst he could move So hung his destiny never to rot Whilst he could but jogg on and keep his trot Made of Sphear mettall never to decay Untill his resolution made of stay Time numbers motion yet without a crime 'Gainst old truth motion numbered out his time And like some Engine mov'd with wheeles and weight His principles once ceas'd he ended streight Rest that gives all men life gave him his death And too much breathing put him out of breath For had his doings lasted as they were He had been an immortall Carrier Another HEre lies old Hobson Death hath his desire And here alasse hath left him in the mire Or else the waies being foul twenty to one He 's here stuck in a slough and overthrown 'T was such a shifter that if truth were known Death was half glad that he had got him down For he hath any time this ten years full Dog'dd him 'twixt Cambridge and the London-Bull And surely death could never have prevail'd Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd But lately finding him so long at home And thinking now his journey's end was come And that he had tane up his latest Inne Death in the likenesse of a Chamberlin Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night Pull'd off his boots and took away the light If any ask for him it shall be sed Hobson has supt and newly gon to bed Fr. Clark Porter of St. Johns To the President HElp Silvanus help god Pan To shew my love to this kinde man Who out of 's love and nature good Hath well encreas'd my store of wood And whilest he the same peruses Wood-Nymphs help instead of Muses Oh thou that sitst at St. Iohns helm I humbly thank thee for my Elme Or if it chance an Oak to prove With heart of Oak I thank your love This Tree to leave all Ovid's fables Shall be the Tree of Predicables Or if you like not that opinion The kindred Tree of great Iustinian Thus finer Wits may run upon 't But I do mean to make fire on 't By which I 'le sit and sing in spight of wealth And drink in Lambs-wool to your Worship's health An Epitaph HEre underneath this stone doth lie That worthy Knight brave Sir Iohn Drie At whose funerall there was no weeping He dy'd before Christmas to save house-keeping A Wife A Lusty young Wife that of late was sped With all the pleasures of a marriage-bed Oft a grave Doctor ask'd whether's more right For Venus sports the morning or the night The good old man reply'd as he thought meet The morn's more wholsom but the night more sweet Nay then said she since we have time and leasure We 'l to 't each morn for health each night for pleasure The constant man HE that with frownes is not dejected Nor with soothing smiles erected Nor at the baits of pleasure biteth He whom no thoughts nor crosse affrighteth But center to himself controleth Change and fortune when she rouleth Who when the silent night begins Makes even reckoning with his sinns Who not deferreth till to morrow To wipe out his black scores of sorrow Who sets hell-pains at six and seven And feareth not the fall of heaven But 's full resolv'd without denyall To yield his life to any tryall Making his death his meditation And longing for his transmigration This is the constant man who never From himself nor God doth sever To his Mistris COme let 's hug and kisse each other Sacrificing to Love's mother These are duties which she loves More then thousand milky Doves Fresh bleeding on her altars We Will not use our piety In such slaughters Cruelty Is no devotion nor can I Believe that she can pleasure take In blood unlesse for Mars his sake No Let us to Cythera's Queen Burn for sacrifice our green And tender youth with those divine Flames which thine eyes begot of mine And lest the while our zeal catch cold In warm embraces we 'l enfold Each other to produce a heat Thus pleasing her we pleasure get Then let 's kisse and hugg each other Sacrificing to Lov 's mother Swearing IN elder times an antient custom was In weighty matters to swear by the Masse And when the Mass was down as all men note Then swore they by the crosse of the grey Groat And when the crosse was likewise held in scorn Then faith and troth was all the oath was sworn But when they had out-worn both faith and troth Then Dam my soul became a common oath So custom kept decorum in gradation Mass cross faith troth out-sworn then came damnation On a good Legg and Foot IF Hercules tall stature might be guess'd But by his thumb the Index of the
past And all my prayers and vowes I will renew Cause friends I find but few Poore Shone will still prove true And so adieu A Question I aske thee whence those ashes were Which shrine themselves in plaits of haire Unknown to me sure each morne dyes A Phoenix for a sacrifice I aske whence are those aires that flye From birds in sweetest harmony Unknown to me but sure the choice Of accents ecchoed from her voice I aske thee whence those active fires Take light which glide through burnisht aire Unknown to me unlesse there flyes A flash of lightning from her eyes I aske thee whence those ruddy bloomes Pierce on her cheekes on scarlet gownes Unknowne to me Sure that which flyes From fading roses her cheek dyes I le ask thee of the lilly whence It gaind that type of innocence Unknowne to me sure natures deckâ—… Was ravish'd from her snowie necke The Reply ASke me no more whither do stray The golden atomes of the day For in pure love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your haire Aske me no more whither doth haste The nightingal when summer's past For in your sweet devided throat She winters and keepes warme her noate Aske me no more where those starres light VVhich downewards stoop in dead of night For in your eyes they sett and there Fixed become as in their spheare Aske me no more where Iove bestowes When Iune is past the fading rose For in your beauties Orient deep All flowers as in their bedds do sleep Aske me no more if East or West The Phoenix builds her spiced nest For unto you at last she flyes And in your fragrant bosome dyes The Mock-Song I Tell you true whereon doth light The dusky shade of banisht night For in just vengeance heavens allow It still should shine upon your brow I tell you true where men may seek The sound which once the owle did shreek For in your false deviding throat It lyes and death is in its noate I tell you true whither do passe The siniling look out of a glasse It leapes into your face for there A falser shadow doth appeare I le tell you true whither are blowne The airy wheeles of Thistle down They fly into your mind whose care Is to be light as thistles are I tell you true within what nest The stranger Cuckoe's eggs do rest It is your bosome which can keepe Nor him nor him where one should sleepe The Moderatix I Le tell you where another sun That setts as riseing it begun It is my selfe who keepes one spheare And were the same if men so were What need I tell that life and death May passe in sentence from one breath So issue from my equall heart Both love and scorn for mens desert I le tell you in what heavenly hell An Angell and a friend may dwell It is myne eye whose glassy book Sends back the gazers divers look I le tell you in a divers scale One weight can up and downewards hale You call me thistle you a rose I neither am yet both of those I le tell you where both frost and fire In peace of common feat conspire My frozen brest that flint is like Yet yeilds a fire if you will strike Then you that love and you that loath With one aspect I answer both For round about me glowes a fire Can melt and harden grosse desire The affirmative answer OH no heaven saw mens fancyes stray To idolize but dust and clay That embleme gave that they might see Your beautye's date but dust must bee No Philomel when summers gon Hasts to the wood her rape to moane Unwilling hers a shamd to see Your unlike hers unchastity Oh no those starrs flye but the sight Of what you act in dead of night A shamd themselves should Pandars prove In your unsatiate beastly love Oh no that rose when Iune is past Lookes pale as with a poysonous blast And such your beauty when as time Like winter shall oretake your prime Oh no the Phoenix shuns the place And feares the lustfull fires t' embrace Of your hot brest and barren wombe As death or some perpetuall tombe A discourse between a Poet and a Painter Poet. PAinter I pâ—…ithee pencill to the life The woman thou wouldst willingly call wife Fashion her from the head unto the heel So perfect that but gazing thou mayst feel Pigmaleons passion colour her faire haire Like amber or to something else more rare Temper a white shall passe Pyrenean snow To raise her temples and on it bestow Such artificiall azure that the Eye May make the heart beleeve the maâ—…ble skye To perfect her had melted in soft raines Lending a blew to brauuch her swelling veines Then Painter to come lower her sweet chin I would have small and white not much trench'd in Nor alltogether plain but such an one The nicest thought may judge equall to none Her nose I would have comely not too high Though men call it in Physiognomy A type of honour nor too low fâ—…r then They I say shâ—…'s known God knowes how many men Nor broad nor flat that 's the hard favour'd mould Nor thin nor sharp for then they 'le call her scold Apparrell it in such a speaking grace That men may read Majesty in her face Her lipps a paire of blushing twinnes so red Nice fancy may depart away full fed But Painter when thou comâ—…st unto her eye There let thy Pencill play there cunningly Expresse thy selfe for as at feasts so here The dainties I keep last to crown the cheer Make her eye Loveâ—…â—…veet argument a look That may discourse make it a well wâ—…it book Whereas in faire set 〈◊〉 of art Men there may read the story of her heart Whiter than white if you would poâ—…rtray ought Display her neck cure as the purest thought To make her gratious give her a broad brest Topt with two milkie mountains down her chest Between those hills let Loves sweet vally lye The pleasing thraldome of a Love-sick eye Still Painter to fall lower paint her waste Straight as the Cedar or the Norway Mast To take a modest step let men but guesse By her neat foot a hidden handsomnesse Thus Paintâ—…r I would have her in each part Remaine unmatcht by nature or by art Canst thou doe this Paâ—…nter Yes Sir I le draw a feature You shall conclude that art hath out-done nature The Pencill Sir shall force you to confesse It can more lively than your pen expresse Poet. That by this then let me find To this body draw a mind O Painter to your pencill fall And draw me something rationall Give her thoughts serious secure Holy chaste religious pure From vertue never known to start Make her an understanding heart Seat the Graces in her mind A well taught truth a faith refin'd From doubts and jelousies and give Unto her heart a hope may live Longer then time untill it be Perfected by Eternity Give her an honest loving mind Neither too coy nor