or touch That were grosse superstition we know There is no more power in them then the Popes toe The Saints themselves for us can doe no good Muchless their pictures drawn in glass and wood They cannot seale but since they signifie They may be worthy of a cast o th' eye Although no worship that is due alone Not to the Carpenters but Gods own Sonne Obedience to blocks deserves the rod The Lord may well be then a jealous God Why should not Statues now be due to Paul As to the Caesars of the Capitall How many Images of great heires which Had nothing but the sin of being rich Shine in our Temples kneeling alwayes there Where when they were alive they d scarce appear Yet shall Christs Sepulcher have nere a Tomb Shall every Saint suffer John Baptists doom No limb of Mary stand must we forget Christs cross as soon as past the Alphabet Shall not their heads have room in the window who Founded our Church and our Religion too We know that Gods a Spirit we confesse Thoughts cannot comprehend his name muchless Can a small glasse his nature but since he Vouchsaf'd to suffer his humanity Why may not we onely to puts in mind Of his Godhead have his manhood thus enshrind Is our Kings person lesse esteemd because We read him in our Coynes as well as Laws Doe what we can whether we think or paint All Gods expressions are but weak and faint Yet spots in Globes must not be blotted thence That cannot shew the worlds magnificence Nor is it fit we should the skill controul Because the Artist cannot draw the soul Cease then your railings and your dull complaints To pull down Galleries and set up Saints Is no impiety now we may well Say that our Church is truely visible Those that before our glasse scaffolds prefer Would turne our Temple to a theater Windows are Pulpits now though unlearnd one May read this Bibles new Edition Instead of here and there a verse adornd Round with a lace of paint fit to be scornd Even by vulgar eyes each pane presents Whole chapters with both comment and contents The cloudy mysteries of the Gospel here Transparent as the Christall doe appear T is not to see things darkly through a glasse Here you may see our Saviour face to face And whereas Feasts come seldome here 's descride A constant Chrismas Easter Whitsontide Let the deafe hither come no matter though Faiths sence be lost we a new way can shew Here we can teach them to believe by the eye These silenced Ministers doe edify The Scriptures rayes contracted in a Glasse Like Emblems doe with greater vertue passe Look in the book of Martyrs and you le see More by the Pictures then the History That price for things in colours oft we give Which wee 'd not take to have them while they live Such is the power of painting that it makes A loving sympathy twixt men and snakes Hence then Pauls doctrin may seem more divine As Amber through a Glasse doth clearer shine Words passe away as soon as heard are gone We read in books what here we dwell upon Thus then there 's no more fault in Imagry Then there is in the Practise of piety Both edifie what is in letters there Is writ in plainer Hierogliphicks here T is not a new Religion we have chose T is the same body but in better cloaths You le say they make us gaze when we should pray And that our thoughts doe on the figures stray If so you may conclude us beasts what they Have for their object is to us the way Did any ere use prospectives to see No farther then the Glasse or can there be Such lazy travellers so given to sin As that they le take their dwelling at the Inne A Christians sight rests in Divinity Signes are but spectacles to help faiths eyâ— God is the Center dwelling one these words My muse a Sabbath to my brain affords If their nice wits more solemn proof exact Know this was meant a Poem not a Tract An ELEGIE Vpon the death of Sir John Burrowes Slaine at the Isle of Ree OH wound us not with this sad tale forbear To press our grief too much we cannot hear This all at once such heavy newes as these Must be sunk gently into us by degrees Say Burrowes is but hurt let us disgest This first then try our patience for the rest Practise us first in lighter griefes that we May grow at last strong for this Tragedy Doe not speak yet he 's slaine or if he be Speak 't in a whisper or uncertainty As some new unauthoriz'd buzze without Reason or warrant to confirme our doubt Come t is not so t is but some flying talk Newes lately vented in the audacious walk Some lye that 's drapt in Pauls to stur our fears And gatherd by the busie credulous eares Will you believe ought comes from thence why there The Forts surrendred and the Rochellere Sworne English Tillyes slaine the hostile Kings Closed in our siege with such prodigious things Which your perswaded vulgar takes and sends Abroad as tokens to their country friends Are all these wonders false and onely this True mongst so many impossibilities Where truth is worse then any forgery There we may curse his mouth that doth not lye When fame goes off with such a black report Worse then the murthering Canon from the fort Worse then the shot that killd him for but one Was killd with that this kills a Nation I le not believe it yet doe we not know An envious murder fam'd him dead ere now Receiv'd went into Ballads and almost Clap'd in Caranto's upon every post Why should he not now dye in jest as then And we as haply be mock'd agen But t is too certaine here his Coarse we have Come ore to prove his death and ask a Grave A Grave for his good service onely thus Must we reward thee that wast slaine for us To mourn and bury thee and would our fears As soon were clos'd too as thy dust and tears I would thou mightst dye wholly here and be Forgotten rather then our misery Should urge thy fresh remembrance and recall Our sorrows often to lament thy fall When we shall say hereafter t is well seen Burrowes is dead else this had never been Why did we thus expose thee what 's now all That Island to requite thy Funerall Though thousand troops of murdered French doe lye It may revenge it cannot satifie They are before hand still and when we have done Our worst we are loosers though the Fort be won Our conquerers now will weep when they shall see This price too dear to buy a victory He whose brave fire gave heat to all the rest That dealt his spirits in each English breast From whose divided vertues you might take So many Captaines out and fully make Them each accomplisht with those parts the which Did joyntly his rare furnish'd soule enrich He whose
way The ashen tree As well as well as he Began to shake and learnt to play If wood could speak a tree might hear If wood can sound our griefe so near A tree might drop an amber tear If wood so well Could sound a knell The Cypresse might condoal the bear The standing nobles of the grove Hearing dead wood to speak and move The fatall axe began to love They envied death That gave such breath As men alive doe Saints above Vpon Mr. Hoptons death GRiefs prodigals where are you unthrifts wher Whose tears and sighs extemporary are Pour'd out not spent who never ask a day Your debt of sorrow on the grave to pay But as if one hours mourning could suffice Dare think it now no sin to have dry eyes Away profane not Hoptons death nor shame His grave with griefe not worthy of that name Sorrow conceiv'd and vented both together Like prayers of Puritans or in foul weather The sailers forc't devotion when in fear They pray this minute and the next they swear No I must meet with men men that doe know How to compute their tears and weigh their wo That can set down in an exact account To what the losse of Hopton doth amount Tell you particulars how much of truth Of unmatch'd virtue and untainted youth Is gone with him and having sum'd all look Like bankrupt Merchants on their table book With eyes confounded and amaz'd to find The poor and blanck remainder left behind On his Mistresse eye AM I once more blest with a grace so high As to be lookt on with that other eye Or shall I think it once more sent againe To iterate my souls sweet lasting paine Your other eye dear soule had fire before And darts enough you need not have sought more From this revived scarce could I endure The lustre of this eye when 't was obscure How shall I now when like a fresh-born Sun It strikes forth such a new reflection Yet welcome dearest torment spare not me Dart forth more flames they please if sent from thee I hope your eyes as they in lustre doe Will imitate the Sun in virtue too If plagues and sicknesses from him be sent Yet gives he warmth life growth and nourishment This is my comfort now if one eye strike The other may give remedy alike Welcome againe clear lamp of beauty shine Shine bright on Earth as do the soule divine To which my thoughts with like devotion run As Indians adore the rising Sun Now shall I mine own Image view alive In this extenuating perspective This living looking glasse when thou shalt grace Me sweet so much as to admit my face Neighbour to thine o how I then shall love To see my shape in that black stream to move Against all reason I then more admire My shadow there then my whole selfe entire How oft though loth from that sweet seat to part Strive I to travell that way to thy heart Where if one wink doe thy quick look recall I loose poor wretch my shadow selfe and all Thus all the life which I so glorious thought By thy sole wink is quencht and turn'd to nought Oh how I wont to curse that cobweb lawn Which like a curtaine ore thy eye was drawn As if that death upon that eye did sit And this had bin the winding sheet for it The which as it from off that eye was thrown Seemd to look pale for griefe that it was gone Yet when both this and t'other dainty robe Did close like cases that most heavenly globe Think not they could disparage your faire eyes No more then painters doe their chiefest prize Who use to hang some veil or silken sheet That men may more desire and long to se'it To Dr. Griffith heald of a strange cure by Bernard Wright of Oxford WElcome abroad ô welcome from your bed I joy to see you thus delivered After four years in travell issues forth A birth of lasting wonder whereat truth Might well suspect her selfe a new disease Borne to advance the Surgeons of our dayes Above all others a perfidious bone Eaten and undermind by humours grown Lodg'd in the captive thigh which first of any Halted yet furnisht with a bone to many No Golgotha nor charnell house nor field If all were searcht could such another yield A bone so lockt and hugd as is a bar That back and forward may be wrested far But not puld out at either hole nor could The cunning workman come to 't as he would Crosse veins did guard the sore a hollow cave Must wade into the flesh the Surgeons grave Thus being digd the file without delay Must grate the bone and carve those chips away Blest be the midmen whose dexterity Puld out a birth like Bacchus from the thigh Tutors of nature whose well guided art Can rectifie her wants in every part Who by preserving others pay the debt They owe to nature and doe rebeget Her strength grown ruinate I could be glad Such liv'd the dayes which they to others add Nor can I rightly tell the happier man The patient or the Surgeon doe but scan His praise thy ease 't was sure an extasie That kild Van-otto not a lethargy Striving to crown his work he bravely tryed His last and greatest cure then gladly dyed Bernard must tarry longer should he flye After his brother all the world must dye Or live a cripple Griffiths happy fate Requires the same hand still to iterate No lesse a miracle the joyners skill Could never mend his carved pate so well As he hath heald a naturall the stout And boasting Paracelsus who gives out His rule can give mans life eternity Would faintly doubt of his recovery He that hath wrought these cures I think he can As well of scraps make up a perfect man Oh had you seen his marrow drop away Or the others brains drop out then would you say Nothing could cure this fracture or that bone Save Bernard or the Resurrection Now smile upon thy torment pretty thing How will you use it bury it in a ring Like a deaths head or send it to the grave In earnest of the body it must have Or if you will you may the same translate Into a die because 't was fortunate The ring were blest 't is like a Diamond born Out of a Rock so was it hewn and torn Out of your thigh the gem worth nothing is Untill it be cut forth no more is this Happy are you that know what treasure 't is To find lost health they onely feel the blisse Thou that hast felt these pains maist wel maintain Mans chiefest pleasure is but want of pain Enjoy thy selfe for nothing worse can come To one so schoold and vers'd in martyrdome The Liberty and Requiem of an imprisoned Royalist BEat on proud billows Boreas blow Swell'd curled Waves high as Joves roof Your incivility shall know That innocence is tempest proof Though surly Nereus frown my thoughts are calm Then strike afflictions for
Covers in Ducklane Loathing all decency as if you ld have Altars as foule and homely as a Grave Had you one spark of reason you would finde Your selves like Idolls to have eyes yet blind T is onely some base niggard Heresie To think Religion loves deformity Glory did never yet make God the lesse Neither can beauty defile holinesse What 's more magnificent then Heaven yet where Is there more love and piety then there My heart doth wish wer 't possible to see Pauls built with pretious stones and porphery To have our Halls and Galleries outshine Altars in beauty is to deck our swine With Orient Pearl whilst the deserving Quire Of God and Angels wallow in the mire Our decent Copes onely distinction keep That you may know the Shepheard from the sheep As gaudy letters in the Rubrick shew How you may holi-dayes from lay-dayes know Remember Aarons Robes and you will say Ladies at Masques are not so rich as they Then are th' Priests words like thunderclaps when he Is lightning like rayed round with Majesty May every Temple shine like those of Nile And still be free from Rat or Crocodile But you will urge both Priest and Church should be The solemn patternes of humility Doe not some boast of raggs Cynicks deride The pomp of Kings but with a greater pride Meeknesse consists not in the cloaths but heart Nature may be vainglorious well as art We way as lowly before God appear Drest with a glorious pearl as with a tear In his high presence where the Stars and Sun Doe but Ecclipse ther 's no ambition You dare admit gay paint upon a wall Why then in glasse that held Apocriphall Our bodies Temples are look in the eye The window and you needs must pictures spye Moses and Aaron and the Kings armes are Daubed in the Church when you the Warden were Yet you nere find for Papist shall we say Banbury is turnd Rome because we may See the holy Lamb and Christopher nay more The Altar stone set at the Tavern doore Why can't the Oxe then in the nativity Be Imagd forth but Papists Bulls are nigh Our pictures to no other end are made Then is your Time and sith your death and spade To us they 'r but mementoes which present Christ best except his Word and Sacrament If 't were a sin to set up Imagry To get a Child were flat Idolary The modells of our buildings would be thus Directions to our houses ruines to us Hath not each creature which hath daily birth Something which resembles Heaven or Earth Suppose some ignorant Heathen once did bow To Images may we not see them now Should we love darknesse and abhor the Sun Cause Persians gave it adoration And plant no Orchards because apples first Made Adam and his lineall race accurst Though wine for Bacchus bread for Ceres went Yet both are now used in the Sacrament What then if these were Popish reliques few Windowes are elsewhere old but these are new And so exceed the former that the face Of those come short of the outside of our glass Colours are here mix'd so that Rainbows be Compared but clouds without variety Art here is Natures envy this is he Not Paracelsus that by Chymistry Can make a man from ashes if not dust Producing off-springs of his mind not lust See how he makes his maker and doth draw All that is meant i th' Gospel or i th' Law Looking upon the Resurrection Me thoughts I saw the blessed vision Where not his face is meerly drawn but mind Which not with paint but oile of gladness shind But when I viewed the next pane where we have The God of life transported to his grave Light then is dark all things so dull and dead As if that part of the window had been lead Jonas his whale did so mens eyes befool That they 'd have begd him for th' Anatomy School That he saw Ships at Oxford one did swear Though Isis yet will Barges hardly bear Another soon as he the trees espied Thought them i' th Garden on the other side See in what state though on an Asse Christ went This shews more glorious then the Parliament Then in what awe Moses his rod doth keep The Seas as if a frost had glaz'd the deep The raging waves are to themselves a bound Some cry help help or horse and man are drownd Shadows doe every where for substance passe You 'd think the sands were in a houre-glasse You that do live with Chirurgeons have you seen A spring of blood forst from a swelling vein So from a touch of Moses rod doth jump A Chataract the rock is made a pump At sight of whose oreflowings many get Themselves away for fear of being wet Have you beheld a sprightfull Lady stand To have her frame drawn by a painters hand Such lively look and presence such a dresse King Pharoahs Daughters Image doth expresse Look well upon her Gown and you will swear The needle not the pencill hath been there At sight of her some gallants doe dispute Whether i th' Church 't is lawfull to salute Next Jacob kneeling where his Kids-skins such As it may well cosen old Isaacs touch A Shepheard seeing how thorns went round about Abrahams ram would needs have helpt it out Behold the Dove descending to inspire The Apostles heads with cloven tongues of fire And in a superficies there you le see The grosse dimentions of profundity T is hard to judge which is best built and higher The arch-roofe in the window or the Quire All beasts as in the Ark are lively done Nay you may see the shadow of the Sun Upon a landskip if you look a while You le think the prospect at least forty mile There 's none needs now goe travell we may see At home Jerusalem and Ninevy And Sodome now in flames one glance will dart Farther then Lynce with Galilaeus art Seeing Eliahs Chariot we feare There is some fiery prodigy in the aire When Christ to purge his Temple holds his whip How nimbly hucksters vvith their baskets skip St. Peters fishes are so lively wrought Some cheapen them and ask when they were caught Here 's motion painted too Chariots so fast Run that they 're never gone though always past The Angels with their Lutes are done so true We doe not onely look but hearken too As if their sounds were painted thus the wit Of the pencil hath drawn more then there can sit Thus as in Archimedes sphear you may In a small glasse the universe survey Such various shapes are too i th' Imagry As age and sex may their own features see But if the window cannot shew your face Look under feet the Marble is your glasse Which too for more then Ornament is there The stones may learn your eyes to shed a tear Yet though their lively shadows delude sence They never work upon the conscience They cannot make us kneel we are not such As think there 's balsome in their kisse
command was ore himselfe more high And strictly soure then ore his company Not rashly valiant nor yet fearfull wise His flame had counsell in 't his fury eyes Not struck with courage at the drums proud beat Or made fierce onely by the Trumpets heat When even pale hearts above their pitch doe fly And for a while doe mad it furiously His rage was temper'd well no fear could dant His reason his cold blood was valiant Alasse those vulgar praises injure thee Which now a Poet would as plenteously Give some boy souldier one that nere knew more Then the fine Scabbard and the Scarfe he wore And we can pitch no higher thou hast outdone So much our fancy and invention It cannot give thee ought He that of thee Shall write but halfe seems to write Poetry It is a strong line here to speak yet true Hyperboles in others is thy due Suffice it that thou wert our Armies all Whos 's well tryed name did more the French appall Then all their wants could do whose inward dread Famish'd them more in courage then in bread And we may make 't a Question whether most Besiegd their Castle Burrowes or our Host Now let me blame thy vertue it was this Took thee from us and not our enemies Whilst thy unwearied toyle no respite takes And thinks rest sloath and with parpetual wakes Continuest night with day and day with night Thou wast more ventrous when thou didst not fight This did expose thee to their fraud and mark They durst not seize upon thee but i th' dark The coward bullet that so oft before Waved thy bold face and did fear thee more Then thou feardst it now by its errour is Aimed too too sure There was no light to misse Thus fell our Captaine and the sound be's dead Has fallen as deep and like that fatall lead Lies cold on us Yet this thy honour be Thy hurts our wound thy death our misery Not as the mourning of a private fate But as some ruine had befallen the State The Fleet had been miscarried Denmark tane Or the Palatinate been lost againe So we with down-cast looks astonishd quite Receiv'd this not as newes but as a fright So we relate thy death whilst each man here Contributes to this publick losse a teare Whilst Fathers tell their children this was he And they hereafter to posterity Range with those Forces that scourg'd France of old Burrowes and Talbots name together told VVhilst we ad this to our quarrel and now more Fight to revenge thee then our Land before On a white blemish in his Mistresse eye IF there be hapâ—y any man that dares Think that the blemish in the Moon impaires Her modest beauty He may be so farre From right as he that thinks a Swan may marre A Christall stream or Ivory make a smutch Fairely enameld in a piece of touch He that thinks so may as well entertaine A thought that this faire snowie Christall staine Which beautious Mistress late usurp'd your eye Hath done your Heavenly face some injury He that thinks so nere let him have the blisse To steale from your sweet lips a Nectar kisse Believe me faire and so you may my duty Is to observe lest on your spotlesse beauty The least wrong makes assault it gives like grace Being white with the black moal on Venus face Yea Venus happily envied your sight Which wont to dazle her inferiour light So put out th' one eye cause it proudly strove With her which most should kindle men in love Yet t'other to extinguish she forbore Least then like Cupid you had wounded more If you will have me nature search and tell you What was the cause that this fair blot befell you It may be this your dainty living torch Which wont the greedy amorous eye to scorch With a sweet murthering flame when it could not wail For greif of so much slaughter it grew pale It may be these two dainty stars in lew o th' grace which they from one another drew Kind twins would needs like Castor and his brother Die in their turns so to enrich each other Or whether 't were that Cupid in his flight Being drawn by such a most imperious light Refusing all beds else doth sleeping lye White naked boy in your white spotted eye Or thus Heaven seeing a sun in each your eye Put out the one to scape a Prodigie Yet double grace from hence your beauty won Now you have a pale Moon and glistering Sun Nor think your beauty now disgrac'd because You have but one eye believe me natures Laws Being her selfe but one admit no store In perfect things there 's one Sun and no more Unlesse 't be your left eye nor Moons more be Unlesse that eye make a plurality Which Moon-like spotted is the worlds but one The perfect gem is call'd an union One Earth there is one Ocean and the Gods Joy not in equall numbers but in odds To perfect all this you my muse assures There 's still one beauty in the world that 's yours To Mr. Hammon Parson of Beudly For pulling down the May-pole THe mighty zeal which thou hast late put on Neither by Prophet nor by Prophets son As yet prevented doth transport me so Beyond my selfe that though I nere could go Far in a Verse and have all rimes defied Since Hopkins and good Thomas Sternhold died Except it were the little paines I took To please good people in a Prayer-book That I set forth or so yet must I raise My spirits for thee who shall in thy praise Gird up her loyns and furiously runne All kind of feet but Satans cloven one Such is thy zeal so well thou dost expresse it That wer 't not like a charme I 'd say God bless it I needs must say it is a spirituall thing To raile against the Bishop and the King But these are private quarrells this doth fall Within the compasse of the Generall Whether it be a Pole painted or wrought Far otherwise then from the wood 't was brought Whose head the Idol-makers hand doth crop Where a prophane bird towring on the top Looks like the Calfe in Horeb at whose root The unyoakt youth doth exercise his foot Or whether it preserves its boughs befriended By neighbouring bushes and by them attended How canst thou chuse but seeing it complaine That Baals worship'd in the Groves againe Tell me how curst an egging with a sting Of lust doe these unwily dances bring The simple wretches say they mean no harme They don't indeed but yet those actions warme Our purer blood the more For Satan thus Tempts us the more that are more righteous Oft hath a Brother most sincerely gone Stifled with zeal and contemplation When lighting on the place where such repaire He views the Nimph and is clean out in his prayer Oft hath a Sister grounded in a truth Seeing the jolly carriage of the youth Been tempted to the way that 's broad and bad And wert not for our private
Christopher The Steeple bears the bell For learning the University And for old cloths the Frippery The house the Queen did build St. Innocents whose earth devours Dead corps in four and twenty hours And there the King was kil'd The Basteel and St. Dennis street The Shatteet just like London Fleet The Arsenall no toy But if you 'l see the prettiest thing Go to the Court and see the King Oh t is a hopefull boy He is of all his Dukes and Peers Reverencd for his wit and years Nor must you think it much For he with little switch can play And can make fine durt Pies of clay Oh never King made such A Bird that can but kill a fly Or prate doth please his Magesty T is known to every one The Duke of Guise gave him a Parrot And he had twenty Cannons for it For his great Gallioone Oh that I ere might have the hap To get that Bird which in the Map Is call'd the Indian Duck I 'd give it him and hope to be As great as Guise or Liciny Or else I had bad luck Birds about his Chamber stand And he them feeds with his own hand T is his humility And if they doe want any thing They need but whistle for their King And he comes presently But now for these good parts he must Needs be instil'd Lewis the just Great Henryes lawfull heire When to his stile to adde more words They had better call him King of Birds Then of the lost Navarre He has besides a pretty firke Taught him by nature how to work In Iron with much ease Sometimes into the Forge he goes And there he knocks and there he blows And makes both locks and keys Which puts a doubt in every one Where he be Mars or Vulcans son Some few believe his mother Yet let them all say what they will I am resolv'd and doe think still As much the one or t'other The people don't dislike the youth Alleging reasons For in truth Mothers should honoured be Yet others say he loves her rather As well as ere she lov'd his Father And that 's notoriously His Queen a little pretty wench Was born in Spaine speaks little French Nere like to be a Mother For her incestuous house could not Have children unlesse they were begot By Uncle or by Brother Now why should Lewis being so just Content himselfe to take his lust With his Licina's mate And suffer his little pretty Queen From all her race that ere has been So to degenerate T were charity for to be known To love strange chlldren as his own And why it is no shame Unlesse he yet would greater be Then was his Father Henry Who some thought did the same BEN JOHNSON To Burlace WHy though I be of a prodigious wast I am not so voluminous and vast But there are lines wherewith I may be embrac'd T is true as my womb swells so my backstoops And the whole lump grows round deform'd and droops But yet the run of Heidleb has hoops You are not tyed by any Painters Law To square my circle I confesse but draw My superficies that was all you saw Which if in compasse of no art it came To be describâ—d but by a Monagram With one great blot you have drawn me as I am But whilst you curious were to have it be An Archetype for all the world to see You have made it a brave peece but not like me Oh had I now the manner mastery might Your power of handling shadow aire and sprite How I could draw behold and take delight But you are he can paint I can but write A Poet hath no more then black and white Nor has he flattering colours or false light Yet when of friendship I would draw the face A letterd mind and a large heart would place To all posterity I would write Burlace Vpon the death of Prince HENRY KEep station nature and rest Heaven sure On thy supporters shoulders lest past cure Thou dash'd by ruine fall with a great weight T will make thy Basis shrink and lay thy height Low as the Centre Death and horror wed To vent their teeming mischiefe Henryes dead Compendious eloquence of death two words Breath stronger terror then plague fire or swords Ere conquerd Why t is Epitaph and Verse Enough to be prefixt on natures Herse At Earths last dissolution Whose fall Will be lesse griveous though more Generall For all the woe ruine ere buried Lies in this narrow compasse Henries dead On the BIBLE BEhold this little Volume here enrold T is the Almighties Present to the world Hearken Earth Earth Each senslesse thing can hear His makers thunder though it want an eare Gods word is senior to his work nay rather If rightly weighd the world may call it Father God spake t was done this great foundation Was but the makers exhalation Breathd out in speaking The least work of man Is better then his word but if we scan Gods word aright his works far short doe fall The word is God the works are creatures all The sundry peeces of this generall frame Are dimmer letters all which spell the same Eternall word But these cannot expresse His greatnesse with such easie readinesse And therefore yeeld For heaven shall pass away The Sun the Moon the Stars shall all obey To light one generall boon-fire but his word His builder up his all destroying sword Yet still survives no jot of that can dye Each tittle measures immortality Once more this mighty word his people greets Thus lappâ—d and thus swath'd up in Paper sheets Read here Gods Image with a zealous eye The legible and written Deity Vpon some pieces of work in York House VIew this large Gallery faced with mats and say Is it not purer then Joves milky way Which should he know mortals might justly fear He would forsake his Heaven and sojourne here Here on a River rides a silver swan Vailing her swelling sailes and hath began Her merry will and left Meander dry Rather intending in this place to dye So curious is the work the art so sweet That men stand back lest they should wet their feet Here 's Joseph and his Brethren he in state Enthroned in a Chaire his dream his fate His brethren they stand bare and though the board Be dumb each posture of them call him Lord Joseph conceals his tears with hard restraint Which would gush out should they not spoile the paint Under a tree whose arms were wide displayed And broidered with blossomes Venus layed Her naked body which when men espy Modesty 'gins to check the saucy eye They steal a look but why lest she they say Seeing them look should rise and run away Well doth the Sun refuse his face to shew Blushing to see so faire a face below Which had Pigmalion seen so truely faire He would have married streight and sav'd his prayer For life which was the others only bliss He beg'd of Venus art hath given this Divert your
faire As time and age cannot impaire Hadst thou a prospective so cleare That thou couldst view my object there When thou her vertues didst espy thou dst wonder and confesse that I Had cause to like and learne from hence To love by judgement not by sence On the death of a faire Gentlewomans Robin-redbrest WHatsoere birds in groves are bred Provide your anthems Robins dead Poor Robin that was wont to nest In faire Siloras lovely brest And thence would peep into her eye To see what feather stood awry This pretty bird might freely sip The sugered Nectar from her lip When many love-burnt soules have pined To see their rivall so retained But what caused Robins death was this Robin sure surfeited with blisse Or else cause her faire cheek-possest A purer red then Robins brest Wherein consisted all his pride The little bird for envy dyed On the death of Sir Tho Pelham MEerely for death to grieve and mourne Were to repine that man was borne When weak old age doth fall asleep 'T were foul ingratitude to weep Those threds alone should force out tears Whose suddain crack breaks off some years Here 't is not so full distance here Sunders the cradle from the beere A fellow-traveller he hath bin So long with time so worn to'th skin That were it not just now bereft His body first the soule had left Threescore and ten is natures date Our journey when we come in late Beyond that time the overplus Was granted not to him but us For his own sake the Sun ne're stood But onely for the peoples good Even so he was held out by aire Which poor men uttered in their prayer And as his goods were lent to give So were his dayes that they might live So ten years more to him were told Enough to make another old Oh that death would still doe so Or else on goodmen would bestow That wast of years which unthrifts fling Away by their distempering That some might thrive by this decay As well as that of land and clay T was now well done no cause to mourne On such a seasonable stone Where death is but a guest we sinne Not bidding welcome to his Inne Sleep sleep goodman thy rest embrace Sleep sleep th' ast trod a weary race Of Musick WHen whispering straines with creeping wind Distill soft passion through the heart And whilst at every touch we find Our pulses beat and bear a part When threds can make Our heart-strings shake Philosophy can scarce deny Our soules consists in harmony When unto heavenly joyes we feigne What ere the soule affecteth most Which onely thus we can explaine By Musick of the winged host Whose rayes we think Make stars to wink Philosophy can scarce deny Our soules consist of harmony O lul me lul me charming aire My senses each with wonder sweet Like snow on wool thy fallings are Soft like spirits are thy feet Griefe who needs fear That hath an ear Down let him lie And slumbring dye And change his soule for harmony To his Mistresse I Le tell you how the Rose did first grow red And whence the Lillies whitenesse borrowed You blusht and streight the Rose with red was dight The Lillies kiss'd your hands and so grew white You have the native colour these the die And onely flourish in your livery Before that time each Rose was but one staine The lilly nought but palenesse did containe On a black Gentlewoman IF shadowes be a Pictures excellence And make it seem more glorious to the sence If stars in brightest day are lost for sight And seem more glorious in the mask of night Why should you think fair creature that you lack Perfection cause your eyes and haire are black Or that your beauty which so far exceeds The new-sprung Lillies in their maidenheads The rosie colour of your cheeks and lips Should by that darknesse suffer an ecclipse Rich Diamonds are fairer being set And compassed within a foileof jet Nor can it be dame nature should have made So bright a Sun to shine without a shade It seems that nature when she first did fancy Your rare composure studied Negromancy And when to you these guifts she did impart She used altogether the Black Art She framed the Magick circle of your eyes And made those hairs the chains wherein she ties Rebellious hearts those vaines which doe appear Twined in Meanders about every sphear Mysterious figures are and when you list Your voyce commandeth like an exorcist Now if in Magick you have skill so far Vouchsafe to make me your familiar Nor hath kind nature her black art reveald By outward parts alone some are conceald As by the spring head men may easily know The nature of the streams that run below So your black eyes and haire doe give direction That all the rest are of the like complexion The rest where all rest lies that blesseth man That Indian mine that streight of Magellan The worlds dividing gulph through which who venters With hoised sailes and ravishd sences enters To a new world of blisse Pardon I pray If my rude muse presumes for to display Secrets forbid or hath her bounds surpast In praising sweetnesse which she nere did tast Starv'd men may talk of meat and blind men may Though hid from light yet know there is a day A rover in the mark his arrow sticks Sometimes as well as he that shoots at pricks And if I might direct my shaft aright The black mark would I hit and not the white On a Gentlewoman walking in the Snow I Saw faire Cloris walk alone When feathered raine came softly downe And Jove descended from his Tower To court her in a silver showre The wanton snow flew to her breast Like little birds into their nest And overcome with whitenesse there For griefe dissolv'd into a teare Which trickling down her garments hemme To deck her freezd into a gemme Vpon one dead in the snow WIthin a fleece of silent waters drownd Before I met with death a grave I found That which eâ—iled my life from her sweet home For griefe streight froze it selfe into a Tomb Onely one Element my fate thought meet To be my death grave tomb and winding sheet Phoebus himselfe my Epitaph had writ But blotting many ere he thought one fit He wrote untill my tomb and grave were gone And 't was an Epitaph that I had none For every man that pass'd along that way Without a sculpture read that there I lay Here now the second time inclosed I lye And thus much have the best of destiny Corruption from which onely one was free Devour'd my grave but did not seize on me My first grave took me from the race of men My last shall give me back to life agen On a woman dying in travell the child unborne WIthin this grave there is a grave intombd Here lies a mother and a child inwombd T was strange that nature so much vigour gave To one that nere was born to make a grave
desire At the same time for to expire Which being done he long shall dwell Within the place he loved so well Where night and morning hundreds come A Pilgrimage unto his tomb To the Bell-Founder of great Tom of Christ-Church in Oxford THou that by ruine doest repaire And by destruction art a Founder Whose art doth tell us what men are Who by corruption shall rise sounder In this fierce fires intensive heat Remember this is Tom the great And Cyclops think at every stroak With which thy sledge his side shall wound That then some Statute thou hast broak Which long depended on his sound And that our Colledge-Gates doe cry They were not shut since Tom did die Think what a scourge 't is to the City To drink and swear by Carfax Bell Which bellowing without tune or pitty The night and day devides not well But the poor tradesmen must give ore His ale at eight or sit till four We all in hast drink off our wine As if we never should drink more So that the reckoning after nine Is larger now then that before Release this tongue which erst could say Home Scollers drawer what 's to pay So thou of order shalt be Founder Making a Ruler for the people One that shalt ring thy praises rounder Then t'other six bells in the steeple Wherefore think when Tom is running Our manners wait upon thy cunning Then let him raised be from ground The same in number weight and sound For may thy conscience rule thy gaine Or would thy theft might be thy baine On a Gentleman that kissing his Mistresse left blood upon her WHat mystery is this that I should find My blood in kissing you to stay behind T was not for want of colour that required My blood for paint no die could be desired On that faire cheeck where scarlet were a spot And where the juice of Lillies but a blot If at the presence of the murtherer The wound will bleed and tell the cause is there A touch will doe much more even so my heart When secretly it felt your killing dart Shewed it in blood which yet doth more complain Because it cannot be so toucht again This wounded heart to shew its love most true Sent forth a drop and wrote its mind on you Was ever paper halfe so white as this Or wax so yielding to the printed kisse Or seal so strong no letter ere was writ That could the Authors mind so truly fit For though my selfe to forraine countries fly My blood desires to keep you company Here I could spill it all thus I can free My enemy from blood though slaine I be But slaine I cannot be nor meet with ill Since but to you I have no blood to spill On an aged Gentlewoman NO spring nor summers beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one autumnall face Young beauties force their loves and that 's a rape Your's doth but counsell yet they cannot scape If 't were a shame to love here t were no shame Affection takes here reverences name Were her first years the golden age that 's true But now she 's gold oft tried and ever new That was her torrid and inflaming time This is her tolerable tropick clime Faire eyes who askes more heat then comes from thence He in a feaver wishes pestilence Call not those wrinkles graves if graves they were They were loves graves for els they are no where Yet lies not love dead here but here doth sit Vowed to this trench like to an Anchoret And here till her which must be his death's He doth not dig a grave but build a tomb Here dwells he though he sojourne every where doom In progresse yet his standing house is here She allwayes evening is nor noon nor night Where 's no voluptuousnsse though a delight Xerxes strange love the broad-leav'd plantane tree Was loved for age none being so large as she Or else because being young nature did blesse Her youth with ages glory barrennesse If we love things long sought age is a thing Which we are sixty years a compassing If transitory things which soon decay Age must be loveliest at the latest day But name not winter-faces whose skin 's slack Lank like an unthrifts purse or empty sack Whose eyes seek light within for all here 's shade Whose mouth 's a hole rather worn out then made Whose severall tooth to a severall place is gone To vex their soules at the Resurrection Name not these living deaths-heads unto me For such not antient but antiques be I hate extreams yet I had rather stay With tombs then cradles to wear out the day Since that loves naturall motion is may still My love descend and journey down the hill Not panting after growing beauties so I shall ebb on with them that homewards go On his Mistresse going to Sea FArewell fair Saint may not the Seas and wind Swel like the heart and eyes you leave behind But calme and gentle like the looks they bear Smile on your face and whisper in your eare Let no foule billow offer to arise That it may nearer look upon your eyes Least wind and waves enamourd with such form Should throng and croud themselves into a storm But if it be your fate vast Seas to love Of my becalmed heart learn how to move Move then but in a gentle lovers pace No wrinkles nor no furrowes in your face And ye fierce winds see that you tell your tale In such a breath as may but fill her saile So whilst you court her each his severall way You will her safely to her port convay And loose her in a noble way of woing Whilst both contribute to your own undoing A Copy of Verses spoke to King CHARLES by way of entertainment when he was pleas'd to grace S. John's Colledge with his visit 1636. WEre they not Angells sang did not mine eares Drink in a sacred Anthem from you sphears Was I not blest with Charles and Maries name Names wherein dwells all Musick t is the same Hark I my self now but speak Charles and Mary And 't is a Poem nay 't is a library All haile to your dread Majesties whose power Adds lustre to our feast and to our bower And what place fitter for so Royall guests Then this where every book presents a feast Here 's Virgils well-drest Venison here 's the wine Made Horace sing so sweetly here you dine With the rich Cleopatra's warelike love Nay you may feast and frolick here with Jove Next view that bower which is as yet all green But when you 'r there the red and white are seen A bower which had t is true been beautified With catechising Arras on each side But we the Baptists sons did much desire To have it like the dwelling of our sire A grove or desart See dread Leige you le guesse Even our whole Colledge in a wildernesse Your eyes and eares being fed tast of that feast Which hath its pomp and glory from its guest Vpon the new