eye from this seducing sight And see the Dear Heardgrooms harmeles fight One gasping lies where with consenting strife The Painter and the poorman tug for life Well may you say that see his hanging head The Pictures lively though the man be dead Open the door and let my eyes come in A place that would entice a Saint to sin Almost too dear for man to tread upon A floor all diaperd with Marble stone Feet touch our feet This mystery beguiles Philosophy of many thousand wiles Nay to encrease the miracle with ease We here become our own Antipodes What ruder age did think the best of all {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} hangs on every wall Quite hung with it where every eye may see Not more what we doe seem then what we be The glasse so steals us from us that you 'd swear That we the shadow that the substance were Which doth not take impression but doth give Here might Narcissus see himselfe and live Nor for the pleasure of one fading houre Eternally be damn'd into a flower Sir Henry Wotton on Q ELIZABETH YE glorious trifles of the East Whose estimation fancies raise Pearles Rubies Saphirs and the rest Of precious Gems what is your praise When as the Diamond shewes his raise Ye Violets that first appear By your blew Purple Matles known Like the proud virgins of the year As if the spring were all your own What are you when the Rose is blown Ye lesser beauties of the night That weakly satisfies our eyes More by your number then your light Like common people of the skies What are ye when the Moon doth rise Ye warbling chanters of the wood That still our eares with natures layes Thinking your passions understood By accents weak What is your praise When Philomel her notes doth raise So when my Princesse shall be seen In sweetnesse of her looks and mind By vertue first then choise a Queen Tell whether she were not assing'd To ecclipse the glory of her kind The Rose the Violet and the whole spring May to her breath for sweetnesse run The Diamonds darkned in the ring When she appears the Moons undone As at the brightnesse of the Sun On the Princes birth WEll fare the Muses which in well chimb'd verse Our Princes noble birth do sing I have a heart as full of joy as theirs As full of duty to my King And thus I tell How every bell Did sound forth Englands merry glee The boon-fires too With much adoe It were great pitty to belye her Made London seem as all one fire A joyfull sight to see The wisest Citizens were drunk that day With Bear and wine most soundly paid The Constables in duty reeld away And charged others them to aide To see how soon Both Sun and Moon And seven Stars forgotten be But all the night Their heads were light With much exalting of their horne Because the Prince of Wales was borne A joyfull sight to see The Dutchmen they were drunk six dayes before And prayed us to excuse their joy The Frenchmen vow'd nere to be sober more But drink healths to the royall boy In their own wine Both brisk and fine The valient Irish cram a cree It pledged hath In Usquebath And being in a joviall vaine They made a bog even of their braine A joyfull sight to see The Scots in bonny Ale their joy did sing And wisht this royall babe a man That they might beg him for to be their King And let him rule them when he can The Spaniards made A shrug and said After my pipe come follow me Canary Sack Did go to rack Our Gentlemen with them took part The Papists drunk it with an heart A joyfull sight to see A Welch for joy her cozen Prince was born Doe mean to change St. Davids day Swearing no leeks hereafter shall be worne But on the twenty ninth of May None so merry Drinking Perry And Metheglin on her knee Every man His crock and can Thus arm'd the Devill they defied And durst tell Belzebub she lyed A joyfull sight to see But whilst the bells about us made a din And boon-fires for our Prince we make The Puritans doe onely burne within Spirituall fagots for his sake Should they maintaine A fire prophane They 'd rather martyrs wish to be But this remit Till Judges sit Next Sessions some or other may Find wholesome Tyburne in their way A joyfull sight to see A Letter to his Mistresse GO happy Paper by command Take liberty to kisse an hand More white then any part of thee Although with spots thou graced be The glory of the chiefest day The morning aire perfum'd in May The first-borne Rose of all the spring The down beneath the Turtles wing A Lute just reaching to the eare What ere is soft is sweet is faire Are but her shreds who fills the place And summe of every single grace As in a child the nurse discries The mothers lips the fathers eyes The uncles nose and doth apply Honours to every part so I In her could analize the store Of all the choice ere nature wore Each private peece to minde may call Some Earth but none can match it all Poor Emblems they can but expresse One Element of comlinesse None are so rich to shew in one All simples of perfection Nor can the Pencil represent More then the outward lineament Then who can limbe the Portraiture Of beauties live behaviour Or what can figure every kind Of jewels that adorne the mind Thought cannot draw her Picture full Each thought to her is grosse is dull On the Earle of Pembroke's Death DId not my sorrows sighd into a verse Deck the sad pomp and mourning of thy hearse I 'd swear thy death the birth of hasty fame Begot to try our sorrowes with thy name I le not believe it yet it cannot sort With earnest thou shouldst dye of meere report Newes cannot kill nor is the common breath Fate or infection Shall I think that death Struck with so rude a hand so without art To kill and use no Preface to his dart Come Pembrocke lives Oh doe not fright our eares With such destroying truth first raise our fears And say he is not well that will suffice To force a river from the publick eyes Or if he must be dead Oh let the newes Speak 't in a stonish'd whisper let it use Some phrase without a voyce 't would too much cloud Our apprehension should it speak aloud Let 's hear it in a Riddle or so told As if the labouring sence grieved to unfold Its doubtfull woe Hadst thou endured the gout Or lingring of thy Doctor which no doubt Had bin the worse disease the publick zeal Had conquered fate and sav'd thee but to steal A close departure from us and to dye Of no disease but of a Prophesie Is mystery not fate nor wert thou kild Like other men but like a type fulfilld So suddenly to dye is to deceive Nor was it
So mayest thou still enjoy with full content Midas his wish without his punishment 8. All this can Sack and more then this Sack can Give me a fickle man That would be somewhat faine but knows not what There is a cure for that Let him quaffe freely of this powerfull flood He shall be what he would To all our wishes Sack content does bring And but our selves can make us every thing An Epitaph on some bottles of Sack and Claret laid in sand ENter and see this tomb Sirs doe not fear No spirits but of Sack will fright you here Weep ore this tomb your waters here may have Wine for their sweet companion in this grave A dozen Shakespears here inter'd doe lye Two dozen Johnsons full of Poetry Unhappy Grapes could not one pressing doe But now at last you must be buried too T were commendable sacriledge no doubt Could I come at your graves to steal you out Sleep on but scorne to dye immortall liquor The burying of thee thus shall make thee quicker Mean while thy friends pray loud that thou maist have A speedy resurrection from thy grave How to choose a Mistresse HEr for a Mistresse would I faine enjoy That hangs out lip and pouts at every toy Speaks like a wag is bold dares stoutly stand And bids love welcome with a wanton hand If she be modest wise and chast of life Hang her she 's good for nothing but a wife Vpon a Picture BEhold those faire eyes in whose sight Sparkles a lustre no lesse bright Then that of rising Stars when they Would make the night outshine the day To those pure lips the humming be May as to blooming Roses flee The wanton wind about doth hurle Courting in vaine that lovely curle And makes a murmure in despaire To dally the unmooved haire View but the cheeks where the red Rose And Lilly white a beauty growes So orient as might adorne The flowing of the brightest morne Sure 't is no Picture nere was made So much perfection in a shade Her shape is soule enough to give A sencelesse Marble power to live If this an Idoll be no eye Can ever scape Idolatry On Ladies Attire YOu Ladies that wear Cypresse vailes Turn'd lately to white linnen rayles And to your girdles wear your bands And shew your armes instead of hands What could you doe in Lent so meet As fittest dresse to wear a sheet T was once a band t is now a cloak A acorne one day proves a oak Weare but your linnens to your feet And then the band will be a sheet By which device and wise excesse You doe your pennance in a dresse And none shall know by what they see Which Ladies censur'd and which free The Answer BLack Cypresse vailes are shrowds of night White linnen railes are rayes of light Which to our girdles though we wear We have armes to keep your hands off there Who makes our bands to be our cloak Makes John a stiles of John a noak We wear our linnen to our feet Yet need not make our band our sheet Your Clergy wear as long as we Yet that implies conformity Be wise recant what you have writ Least you doe pennance for your wit And least loves charmes doe weave a string To tye you as you did your ring On a Gentlewoman that had the Small-Pox A Beauty smoother then the Ivory plaine Late by the Pox injuriously was slaine T was not the Pox love shot a thousand darts And made those pits for graves to bury hearts But since that beauty hath regaind its light Those hearts are doubly slaine it shines so bright On a faire Gentlewomans blistered lip HIde not your sprouting lip nor kill The juicie bloom with bashfull skill Know it is an amorous dew That swells to court your corall hew And what a blemish you esteem To other eyes a Pearl may seem Whose watry growth is not above The thrifty seize which Pearls doe love And doth so well become that part That chance may seem a secret art Doth any judge the face lesse faire Whose tender silk a moral doth bear Are apples thought lesse sound and sweet When honey specks and red doe meet Or will a Diamond shine lesse clear If in the midst a soile appear Then is your lip made fairer by Such sweetnesse of deformity The Nectar which men strive to sip Springs like a well upon your lip Nor doth it shew immodesty But overflowing chastity O who will blame the fruitfull trees When too much gum or sap he sees Here nature from her store doth send Onely what other parts can lend If lovely buds ascend so high The root below cannot be dry To his Mistresse KEepe on your mask and hide your eye For in beholding you I dye Your fatall beauty Gorgon-like Dead with astonishment doth strike Your piercing eyes that now I see Are worse then Basilisks to me Shut from mine eyes those hills of snow Their melting vally doe not shew Those azure pathes lead to dispaire Oh vex me not forbear forbear For while I thus in torments dwell The sight of Heaven is worse then Hell In those faire cheeks two pits doe lye To bury those slaine by your eye So this at length doth comfort me That fairely buried I shall be My grave with Roses Lillies spread Methinks t is life for to be dead Come then and kill me with your â—ye For if you let me live I dye When I perceive your lips againe Recover those your eyes have slaine With kisses that like balsome pure Deep wounds as soon as made doe cure Methinks t is sicknesse to be sound And there 's no health to such a wound When in your bosome I behold Two hills of snow yet never cold Which lovers whom your beauty kills Revive by climing those your hills Methinks there 's life in such a death That gives a hope of sweeter breath Then since one death prevailes not where So many Antidotes are nere And your bright eyes doe but in vaine Kill those who live as fast as slaine That I no more such death survive Your way 's to bury me alive In place unknown and so that I Being dead may live and living dye A lover to one dispraising his Mistresse WHy slight you her whom I approve Thou art no peere to try my love Nor canst discerne where her forme lies Unlesse thou sawest her with my eyes Say she were foule or blacker then The night or Sun burnt African If lik't by me 't is I alone Can make a beauty where there 's none For rated in my fancy she Is so as she appears to me T is not the feature or a face That doth my faire Election grace Nor is my fancy onely led By a well temper'd white and red Could I enamour'd grow on those The Lilly and the blushing Rose United in one stalk might be As dear unto my thoughts as she But I look farther and doe find A richer beauty in her mind Where something is so lasting
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
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
death but a not taking leave T is true the shortnesse doth forbid to weep For so our Fathers dying fell asleep So Enoch whilst his God he did adore Instead of suffering death was seen no more But oh this is too much and we should wrong Thy ashes thought we not this speed to long Methinks a dream had serv'd or silent breath Or a still pulse or something like to death Now t were detraction to suppose a tear Or the sad weeds which the glad mourners wear Could value such a losse He that mourns thee Must bring an eye can weep an Elegy A look that would save blacks whose heavy grace Chides mirth and wears a funerall in the face Whose sighs are with such feeling sorrow blown That all the aire he draws returns a groan That griefe doth nearest fit that is begun When the year ends and when the blacks are done Thou needst no guilded Tomb superfluous cost Is best bestowed on them whose names are lost Hadst thou no Statue thy great memory Were Marble to it selfe the bravery Of Jet or rich Enammel were mispent Where the brave Course is its own ornament In thee shine all high parts which falsly wit Or flattering raptures for their Lord beget When they would faigne an Epitaph and write As if their griefe made legs when they indite Such dutifull untruths that ere he grieve The Readers first toile is how to believe Thy greatnesse was no Idoll state in thee Receiv'd its lustre from humility He that will blaze thy Coat and onely looks How thou wer 't Noble by the Heraulds books Mistakes thy linage and admiring blood Forgets thy best descent vertue and good These are too great for Scutcheons and made thee Without fore-fathers thine own Pedigree Vpon his chast Mistresse LOve give me leave to serve thee and be wise To keep thy torch in and restore blind eyes I le such a flame into my bosome take As Martyrs court when they embrace the stake No dull and smoaky fire but heat divine That burns not to consume but to refine I have a Mistresse for perfections rare In every eye but in my thoughts most faire Like tapers on the Altar shine her eyes Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice And wheresoever my fancy would begin Still her perfection lets Religion in I touch her as my beads without devout care And come unto my courtship as my prayer We sit and talk and kisse away the houres As chastly as the mornings dew kisse flowers We were no flesh but one another greet As blessed soules in seperation meet I might have lustfull thoughts to her of all Earths heavenly quire the most Angelicall But looking in my brest her forme I find That like my Guardian Angell keeps my mind From rude attempts and when affections stir I calme all passions with one thought of her Thus they whose reason loves and not their sence The spirit love Thus on intelligence Reflects upon his like and by chast loves In the same sphear this and that Angel moves Nor is this barren love each noble thought Begets another and that still is brought To bed of more vertues and grace encrease And such a numerous issue nere can cease Where children though great blessings onely be Pleasures repriev'd to some postery Beasts love like men if men in lust delight And call that love which is but appetite When Essence meets with Essence and souls joyn In mutuall knots that 's the true nuptiall twine Such Lady is my love and such is true All other love is to your sex not you On a Painters handsome Daughter SUch are your Fathers Pictures that we doe Believe they are not counterfeit but true So lively and so fresh that we may swear Instead of draughts he hath placed creatures there People not shadowes which in time will be Not a dead number but a colony Nay more yet some think they have skill and arts That they are well bred pictures of good parts And you your selfe faire Julia doe disclose Such beauties that you may seem one of those That having motion gaind at least and sence Began to know it selfe and stole from thence Whilst thus his aemulous art with nature strives Some think h' hath none others he hath two wives If you love none faire maide but look on all You then among his set of Pictures fall If that you look on all and love all men The Pictures too will be your Sisters then Your choise must shew you are of another fleece And tell you are his daughter not his piece All other proofes are vaine go not about We two will embrace and love and clear the doubt When you have brought forth your like the world will know You are his Child what Picture can doe so To Dr. Price writing Anniversaries on Prince HENRY Even so dead Hector thrice was triumphd on The walls of Troy thrice slaine when fate had don So did the barbarous Greeks before their hoast Turmoile his ashes and prophane his Ghost As Henryes vault his pure and sacred hearse Is torne and batter'd by thy Anniverse Wast not enough nature and strength were foes Unlesse thou yearly murther him in prose Or didst rhou hope thy ravening verse could make A louder eccho then the Almanack Trust me November doth more gastly look In Dades and Hopsons penniworth then thy book And sadder record their sixt figure bears Then thy false Printed and ambitious tears And wer 't not for Chrismas which is nigh When fruits when eaten and digested Pye Call for more paper no man could make shift How to employ thy writing to his thrift Wherefore forbear for pitty or for shame And let some richer pen redeem his name From rottennesse then leave him captive since So vile a price nere ransom'd such a Prince A Reply upon an Answer to the former Copy NOr is it grieved grave you the memory Of such a story such a book as he That such a Copy might through the world be read Yet Henry lives though he be buried It could be wishd that every day would bear Him one good witnesse that he still were here That sorrow rul'd the year and by this Sun Each man could tell thee how the day had run O 't were an honest cause for him could say I have bin busie and wept out the day Remembring him His name would ever last Were such a trophy such a banner plac'd Upon his grave as this Here a man lies Was kild by Henryes dart not destinies But for a Cobler to throw up his cap And cry the Prince the Prince O dire mishap Or a Geneva bridegroom after Grace To throw his spouse i th' fire or scratch her face To the tune of the lamentation and delay His friday capon to the Sabbath day Or an old Popish Lady halfe vowed dead To fast away the day in gingerbread For him to write such Annals all these things Doe open laughter and shut up griefes springs Wherefore Vertumnus if you le Print the
gore where you may see This on the Scaffold that upon the Tree Pour'd out to save whole Nations O may't lye Speechlesse like that and never never cry Vengence but pray father forgive these too Poor ignorant men they know not what they doe Vpon the Nuptials of John Talbot Esquire and Mistresse Elizabeth Kite COme grand Apollo tune my Lyre To harmonize in th' Muses Quire Give me a draught of Helicon Let Pindus and Parnassus prove Propitious in the slights of love Though distanc'd now at Eberton A consecrated quill I know Pluck'd from the silver'd Swan of Po Love-tales is onely fit to write But since t is voted by the Stoick Not place nor pen doth make the Poet I le venture with a plume of th' Kite Not for to blazen the great name Of th' Talbots never dying fame Eterniz'd in all Histories I le onely say the Trojan wit Which Helen stole must now submit To Talbot in loves mysteries For neither Egypt Troy nor Greece Nor Colchis with her Golden-Fleece Hath ever ought produc'd so rare In vertue beauty every Grace That dignifies the mind or face Which with this Couple may compare The holy Priest hath firmely tied The Gordian knot that t will abide The touch of what 's Canonicall And th' Pigmie Justice hath fast chain'd The Bugbeare Act though it be proclaim'd As simple as Apocryphall Let 's hasten therefore them to bring To th' pleasant fountaine whence doth spring The joyes of Cupids Monarchy There tumbling on their Nuptiall bed To batter for a Maiden-head Twind like the Zodiack Geminie Hence dull ey'd Somnus think not now T' inthrone upon this Ladies brow Far choycer joyes doe her invite For she 's now anchor'd in a Haven Where sacred Hymen her hath given An other Soveraigne of the night Come draw the curtains le ts depart And leave two bodies in one heart Devoted to a restlesse rest And when their virgin Lamps expire May there arise from the same fire An other Phoenix in the Nest Vpon Aglaura Printed in Folio BY this large margent did the Poet mean To have a Comment wrote upon the Scene Or else that Ladies who doe never look But in a Poem or in a Play-book May in each page have space to scrible down When such a Lord or fashion came to Town As Swains in Almanacks their counts doe keep their sheep When their cow calv'd and when they bought Ink is the life of Paper 't is meet then That this which scap'd the Presse should feel the pen A room with one side furnish'd or a face Painted halfe way is but a foule disgrace This great voluminous Pamphlet may be said To be like one who hath more haire then head More excrement then body trees which sprout With broadest leaves have still the smallest fruit When I saw so much white I did begin To think Aglaura either did lye in Or else did pennance never did I see Unlesse in Bills dash'd in the Chancery So little in so much as if the feet Of Poetry were sold like Law by the sheet Should this new fashion last but one halfe year Poets as Clarks would make our Paper deare Doth not that Artist erre and blast his fame That sets out Pictures lesser then the frame Was ever Chamberlain so mad to dare To lodge a Child in the great Bed of Ware Aglaura would please better did she lye i th' narrow bounds of an Epitome Those pieces that are wove of th' finest twist As Velvet Plush have still the smallest list She that in Persian habits made such brags Degenerates in the excesse of rags Who by her Giant bulk this onely gaines Perchance in Libraries to hang in chaines T is not in books as choth we never say Make London measure when we buy a Play But rather have them par'd those leaves are faire To the judicious which most spotted are Give me the sociable pocket books These empty Folio's onely please the Cooks Venus lachrimans WAke my Adonis doe not dye One life's enough for thee and I Where are thy words thy wiles Thy love thy frowns thy smiles Alasse in vaine I call One death hath snatch'd them all Yet death 's not deadly in thy face Death in those looks it selfe hath grace T was this t was this I feard When thy pale ghost appeard This I presag'd when thundering Jove Tore the best myrtle in my Grove When my sick rosebuds lost their smell And from my Temples untouch'd fell And t was for some such thing My Dove did hang her wing Whether art thou my Diety gone Venus in Venus there is none In vaine a Goddesse now am I Onely to grieve and not to dye But I will love my griefe Make tears my tears reliefe And sorrows shall to me A new Adonis be And this no fates can rob me of whiles I A goddesse am to weep but not to dye An Ode in the praise of Sack 1. HEar me as if thy eares had palate Jack I sing the praise of Sack Hence with Apollo and the muses nine Give me a cup of wine Sack will the soule of Poetry infuse Be that my theam and muse But Bacchus I adore no Diety Nor Bacchus neither unlesse Sack he be 2. Let us by reverend degrees draw nere I feel the Goddesse here Loe I dread Sack an humble Priest of thine First kisse this cup thy shrine That with more hallowed lips and inlarg'd soule I may receive the whole Till Sibill-like full with my God I lye And every word I speak be Propehsie 3. Come to this Altar you that are opprest Or otherwise distrest Here 's that will further grivances prevent Without a Parliament With fire from hence if once your blood be warm feel Nothing can doe you harme When thou art arm'd with Sack thou canst not Though thunder strike thee that hath made thee steel 4. Art sick man doe not bid for thy escape A cock to Aesculape If thou wouldst prosper to this Altar bring Thy gratefull offring Touch but the shrine that does the God enclose And streight thy feaver goes Whilst thou immaginst this hee 's given thee Not onely heath but immortality 5. Though thou wert dumb as is the scaly fry In Neptunes royalty Drink but as they doe and new wayes shalt find To utter thy whole mind When Sack more severall language has infus'd Then Babels builders used And whensoever thou thy voyce shalt raise No man shall understand but all shall praise 6. Hath cruell nature so thy senses bound Thou canst not judge of sounds Loe where yon narrow fountaine scatters forth Streams of an unknown worth The heavenly musick of that murmure there Would make thee turne all eare And keeping time with the harmonious flood Twixt every bubble thou shalt cry good good 7. Has fortune made thee poor dost thou desire To heap up glorious mire Come to this stream where every drop's a Pearl Might buy an Earl Drench thy selfe soundly here and thou shalt rise Richer then both the Indies
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
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