POEMS BY THOMAS PHILIPOTT Master of Arts Somtimes Of Clare-Hall in Cambridge LONDON Printed by R. A. for Henry Shepheard and William Ley and are to be sold at the Bible in Tower-street and at PAULS Chain neer Doctors Commons M.DC.XLVI TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE As well by the merit of vertue as desert of birth MILDMAY Earle of Westmerland Baron Despenser and Bergherst MY LORD BEE pleased to shed one beame on these tender sprigs of Lawrell which will raise them up to that growth that their shadow will be able to skreen me from the heat of sensure I have through a throng of other businesse pressed so farre as to present them to your view my zeale to be knowne to your Lordship who is knowne to be the publike Assertor of Letters oblig'd me to offer them up to your name and if you think the sacrifice not worthy of the Altar let it be burnt and the flame of it will be so happie as to give me light to see my errour â—hat durst presume to consecrate things of so low an estimate without either sap or verdure to the shelter of so high a Patron so shall I by my humility entitle my selfe to your pity that could not by my Poesie endeare my selfe to your praise for I know my Lord that your mercy and justice are so equally wound up together that you can at once both judge and forgive him who shall aspire to no further happinesse then to be acknowledged The humblest of your Servants Thomas Philipott To the Reader REader thou mayst without affrightment look Within the pages of this guiltlesse Book For here no Satyr masquing in disguise Amongst these leaves in Ambuscado lies No Snake does lurk amongst these flowers to cast Her poyson forth and mens faire honours blast And though some staine the paper when they write And so defile and fully its chaste white With lines of lust that to wipe out that sin It even wants white to do its penance in Yet I no Goats bloud in my ink will spill To make loose lines flow from my tainted Quill No soot or gall I 'll mingle to possesse My words with an invective bitternesse Although perchance to make them seeme more tart I may some salt to season them impart No no the wooll o' th' Lamb I 'll only take And that my principall'st Ingredient make So that what ere my teeming Pen shall vent Shall though not wittie yet be innocent T. P. To the Authour ENCOMIASTICON 'T Is Poetrie thou writ'st Latines call 't Verse Because it turnes off Active smooth and Terse Greeks call 'em Rithme and Metre when in sweet Numbers and measure they do fitly meet These rise and bravely flie Height'ned by Phantasie And make true Poesie Which many misse that trie A Poet as thou art I may be sworne Was not so made but rather so was borne And I may say when I read many a line Grac'd with high influence thou art divine The various style endeares it to us more Embroyd'red with Conceptions amplest store Wits curious Tapestrie Hymnes Past'ralls Elegies Observatives Divinitie Philosophick Scrutinies It may be call'd a FLORILEGE for all That have not time for studies generall Philomusus T. C. POEMS On the beholding his face in a Glasse SVre if this Mirrour has limn'd out to me My faces true and faithfull imagerie My cheeks do yet lye fallow and my brow Is not yet furrow'd with Times rugged plow No haire as yet has cloath'd my naked chin Nor wrinckle rumpell'd or purl'd up my skin Nor has my head one haire by Cares expence White with the powder of Experience But when more yeares shall fit on me and age Shall dresse me with his liverie and engage This structure of my flesh to droop and cares Shall into reverend gray have did my haires And I agen perhaps expose my face To the impartiall censure of my glasse My shadow will enforme me that it beares Like me th' impressions too of many yeares When shivering agues do congeale the bloud And feavers melt again that purple floud When I lye floating in a sea of rheume Being tost with everie melancholy fume This by its wither'd aspect will declare It symptomes does of the same sicknesse weare Nay when sterne death with a rude hand does seek To pluck the Roses out from either cheek To plant his Lillies there and does dispense To everie languishing and vanquish'd sense A chill benumning damp could I then view The sad resemblance of that ashie hue That blasts my cheeks that shadow would put on The same appearance of complexion How brittle and how transitorie then Are all those props that Nature leanes on when I from this faithfull Mirrour can descry My shadow is as permanent as I On the sight of a Clock HOw fruitlesse our designes would prove if we Should be possest with so much vanitie As with our fraile endeavours to assay To stop the winged houres in their way Or fondly seek to chaine up Time and try To make him with our wild desires comply Since leaden plummets hung upon his feet Not clog we see but make his pace more fleet On a Gentlewoman dying in Child-bed of an abortive Daughter WHat neare alliance was between the grave Of this dead infant and the place that gave First life to 't Here was a sad mysterie Work'd up it selfe both Life and Death we see Were Inmates in one house making the womb At once become a Birth-place and a Tomb The mother too as if she meant t' improve In everie fatall circumstance her love When this unpollisht infant di'd her breath Resign'd that she might wait on it in death And in one Monument might sleep by her To whom before she was a Sepulcher On a Gentlewoman much deformed with the small pox WHat hath this prettie Faire misdone That angrie Heaven so soone Mistook the fatall place And buried all her beautie in her face Each hole may be a Sepulcher Now fitly to inter Those whom her coy disdaine And nice contempt has immaturely slaine Yet lest so great a losse should lack It s ceremonious black She weares it in her eyes To mourne at her owne Beauties Obsequies She needs no glosse to veile those scars And those Hebrew Characters Which like letters do display The storie of her Beauties sad decay That moysture shall embalme 'hem I Will powre from either eye So that those scars she weares Shall need no other Ceruse but my teares On Julia throwing snow-balls at him WHilst Iulia did her snow-balls at me hit She did into my bosome too transmit A sudden flame 't is strange that heaâ— should flow From such a frostie principle as snow Sure those successive glances which did rise From the bright Orbs of her refulgent eyes Made some impression on those balls and so Subverted the cold property of snow Yet as that flame which in my heart did reigne And darted fire from thence on every veine Was caus'd by snow so when I did but rest My
when the Sun i' th nonage of the yeare Like a Bridegroom does appeare Sweet with the Balmy Perfumes of the East With Lights Embroidery drest And spangled o're with brightnesse does array That Planet with each Ray He glitters with a powerfull spark inspire Of thy Celestiall fire Into my frozen heart that there may be A flame blowne up in me Whose light may shine like the meridian sun In the dark horison Of my benighted soul and thence distill Into a pious rill Of contrite tears those clouds which do controule The prospect of my soule That so the beams of faith may clearly shine Amidst its Christalline That I may by th' infusion of their light Learn to spell Christs Crosse aright And as one touch from Moses did unlock The casquet of the rock And thaw'd its liquid treasures to repell The thirst of Israel So let this flame dissolve that masse of sin That lies wrapt up within The chambers of my heart that there may rise Two fountaines in my eyes Which may put out those scorching flames which were First fed and kindled there By that same hot Artillery which lust Into my eye-balls thrust And as when Feavers blaze within the blood And parch that purple flood The sparks and embers of them are by heat Still'd from the pores in sweat So when sin flames within me and does roule Its heat about my soule And sparkles in each facultie my eyes Being lusts Incendiaries Oh let this inward sicknesse by that fire Devotion does inspire Be still'd out at those pores o' th soule my eies In a liquid sacrifice Which gathering into one heap may swell Into a holy well Wherein when the old Dragon wounds me I May bath incessantly And having wash'd my festred wounds may be Sure both at once of cure and victorie On the death of a Prince a Meditation IN what a silence Princes passe away When they 're enfranchis'd from their shells of clay No thunder-clap rung out this Heroes knell And in loud accents to the world did tell He was deceas'd no trembling earth-quake shook The frame o' th world as if 't were Palsie-strook There was no bearded Comet did arise To light a torch up at his Obsequies And though so many men should have deceas'd When his great soule was from the flâ—sh releas'd That Charons Vessell should have ceas'd to float And he have cried give me another boat Not anie yet resign'd their vitall breath Obsequiously to wait on him in death Thus we may see Fates unrelenting knife Will even cut a Princes thred of life Nor can his spreading power inforce its strength Or his Dominions extend its length If from the urne his name first issue forth Not his tall titles or unfathom'd worth Can this Prerogative or Charter give That he his cheap dull vassall shall out-live And though the eyes o' th multitude before Follow'd his presence and did ev'n adore The earth that propp'd his feet yet when the rust Of 's monument shall mingle with his dust Contracted to a span and the rude wind Shall his abbreviated ashes find They cannot from his blast be so exempt But that he will disperse them to contempt So many graves his dust shall he being dead Obtaine yet he be no where buried Who then in Titles Crownes or Wealth would trust Since he can scarce assure himselfe his dust Even in the grave shall so protected be It shall be freed from forraign injurie To a Lady viewing her self in her Glasse LADY WHen Sicknesse Death's pale Herald does display His Ensignes in your face and does array Your drooping Beautie with an ashie hue You straight take counsell of your Glasse to view How much those roses that their blushes shed O're either cheek are shrunk or withered When any spot that lustre does imbase Which does improve the beauty of your face You have recourse unto your Glasse to see What part dares shelter that enormitie VVhen you with any fashion would comply You to your Mirrour straight imploy your eye To be inform'd what correspondence there Your shadow does with your faire substance beare If in your painting there some errour be Or in your dresse an incongruitie You from your glasse a certaine patterne take By which your selfe you ev'n a shadow make Since then in all things you your selfe apply Still to this Christall Index to discry Each blemish in your dresse and each defect That clouds your beautie and by that correct All trespasses you may instructed be By this to know too your Mortalitie Since that fraile Tenement you so perfume With clouds of Mitrhe and Cassia and consume So much to piece it up it may repell Th' assaults of Age and be defensible 'Gainst Times rude Onsets will scon fade away And languish to a ruinous decay And by its transitorinesse declare That you your selfe your shadowes Embleme are On the death of Sir Simon Harcourt slain at the taking in of Carigs-Main Castle in Ireland MAy that pure flame which heated Harcourts brest Break from the gloomy confines of that Chest VVhich circumscribes his hallow'd dust and sink Like a spent Meteor downe into my ink That that dull juice its heat may so refine Each drop of it may prove like that divine With which each verse of mine embalm'd shall be And like his fame last to Eternitie At common Funeralls each vulgar quill Into some broken rapture can distill And with the watry tribute of the eye Dissolve into some easie Elegie Should we not then pay to this honour'd Herse Our griefs drest up in more refined Verse And mix with it such a large streame of brine It might these precious Reliques even enshrine The gratefull wind would from his ashes sweep Such clouds of dust that if we could not weep 'T would throw them thence into our barren eyes And though unwilling force some tears to rise I am no Laureat nor does any Bay Surround my Temples if it did I l'd lay That wreath brave Harcourt on thy Tomb that wee At once might crowne thy victorie and thee But though I weare no Bayes in either eye Is worne a teare sorrowes best Liverie In which I 'le steep each verse that so their brine May distribute some salt to everie line And when my barren and exhausted eyes Grow bankrupt in their watry Obsequies And spend their stock too soon those stars which shin'd To light thee into th' world and did unwind The Fate of thy great actions sure will turne To tears and drop in gelly on thy Vrne Though thus two fountaines flow from either eye T' embalme thy dust my Phancy yet is dry But pardon me that on thy hallow'd tomb I 've stuck no Epitaph which might become An Index to past ages and display To times to come how through that purple sea Which from thy wounds in such a deluge ran Thy soule passed o're to th' Land of Canaan White with her innocence alas no stone Would serve to beare the sad Inscription For even that Marble that
shot forth such a refulgent Ray The Souldiers by their darkned eyes did find Th' Excellencie o' th Object struck them blind But as a dying Tapour when it streames Its fainting light forth in contracted beams Musters together all its sickly rayes VVith those to stock and furnish out one blaze Our Saviour so to intimate that He Still held a League with his Divinitie Cited together such a stock of Light That He astonisht the dull gazers sight And by a sudden damp ev'n struck them blind That were made so before i' th eye o' th mind Scattering them all to th' Earth when they were even About to captivate the King of Heaven But when he summon'd in his beames to be Again wrapt up in his humanitie And he appear'd to them in 's old array Cloath'd in a garment woven out of clay Not spangled o're with those Majestick Rayes Which did at once enlighten and amaze They straight invade him and his guiltlesse hands Twisted in one with wreaths of cords whosebands Loos'd them then guard him to the Judgement-hall Who had for guard the Quire Angelicall And now th' high Priest is brought to be accus'd Before the high Priest who scoft at and traduc'd Him unto whom he his own Priesthood ow'd And from which Spring all other Priesthood flow'd And then transmitted him who once shall come To doom all Mankind to receive his doom From Pilates mouth who though there did arise Thick Exhalation from those Calumnies The black-mouth Jewes belch'd forth could clearly see Through those dark vapours Christs Integritie And did his Innocence so much resent That he decreed to wave his punishment And leave Barrahas to be offer'd on Their Altar for his expiation But they to their first purposes did cleave VVith so much malice they their King did leave And chose an abject Thiefe unhappy they To let Barabbas steale their hearts away Which when he saw and that they still went on T' exact of him Christs Crucifixion He left them to their rage and from his blood VVasht his pale hands who with a crimson flood VVasht off our sins so that for this black deed VVater it selfe did expiation need VVhen thus the Jewes their Saviour had surpris'd VVho for their sins was to be sacrific'd They to a feeble Pillar straight did chaine The Pillar that did Natures Frame sustaine And with rude stripes to plough his back begin Whose stripes doe heale ' the wounds impos'd by sin The souldiers next with supple knees do bring A faigued Haile unto their teall King And with a Crowne of thornes his head empound VVho with a Crowne of Glorie could surround Their wretched heads then spit at and dispise Him that with spittle gave the blind man eyes Strange Prodigie the King of Kings has none But spittle for his holy Vnction And with those hands he gave them does embase VVith scarres the sacred impresse of his face His bodie with a scarlet Robe they dresse VVho clothes the naked with his Righteousnesse And for an awfull Scepter in his hand They place a Reed whose Scepter does command The spacious Bulk of Nature and controules That massiie Globe that hangs between the Poles VVhen they had thus a cloud of hatred shed In showers of scoffs upon his guiltlesse head They lead him to mount Calvarie where he Was to wind up his direfull Tragedie And by the way enforc'd himselfe to beare His Crosse which was reciprocally there To beare up him where being arriv'd he 's laid Vpon the Crosse his Altar to be made The publike Sacrifice and expiate The guilt of Sin and crush the power of Fate And now made ragged with his wounds and rent With inward torture being embost and spent With this last agonie he did addresse Himselfe t' impiore some julip to suppresse The flames of thirst the Jewes did straight prefer A punge which was bedew'd with vinegar To calme his scorching thirst who did unlock The stony Casquet of the barren Rock And thaw'd its liquid treasures to redresse That thirst which Israel scorcht i' th wildernesse Yet though he cleft that Rock he could not part The rock contracted in each Jewish heart When Christ had tasted this sowre Opiate And saw the Prophesies had spun their Fate His breath exhaled to purge the aire and he Resign'd his tir'd and wearied Soule to be Transported on the downy wings of Blisse Vp to the spangled vault of Paradise And with it flew the good Theefes soule who even Stole life at death and made a theft of Heaven But lest that Christ with such neglect should fall He might want Rites to grace his Funerall The Sun call'd in his light to specifie That men dust do that which he durst not see Day put on Night lest she should seeme to lack For so great losse her Ceremonious Black The palsied Earth so shook as if her womb She meant to open and become his Tomb The Dead deserted their cold Vrnes to see Him that o're Death could claime a victorie So that it seemes ev'n Nature here did turne A Mourner too t' attend him to his Vrne And now being dead a Speare was through his side By a rude hand dismist which wound may hide Our numerous sins or if there be not roome We may inter them all within his Tomb The Souldiers too in lots their fortunes drew To see to whom Christs garments would accrue As a just Prize they dreaded to dissect His seamelesse Coat yet that we daily act Which by these barbarous Souldiers ne're was done We part his Coat by our division Whilst thus Christs vestments were in Lotterie Expos'd a prey to Fortune Joseph he Pilate with eyes thaw'd into teares implor'd Christs body torne with wounds might be restor'd Thrice happie man the Body he obtaines And his owne soule too by that purchase gaines And having now his lawfull Boon fulfill'd He gather'd all those Balmes that were distill'd From weeping Trees and took those unctious teares That Myrrha in a Tree imprison'd weares And made this confluence of Balsoms meet All in Christs wounds that they might make it sweet Then in white Linnen did his Corps enshrine Whose innocence did cloath his sins as sine And next this sacred Relique did inter In the dark climate of a Sepulcher Hewen in a Rock Oh! who 'ld not breathe a grone The Rock it selfe is laid beneath a Stone A divine Aspiration O Thou who art the good Samaritan Whose hand when sin both strips and woundeth can Shed such a balme upon us 't will ensure Those wounds from rankling and improve their cure Be as thou art the Embleme of the Vine And in my wounds powre in thy oyle and wine And as thou heretofore the rock didst part So with thy grace Lord cleave my stonie heart Naile to thy Crosse my sins and let them have A room to burie them within thy grave Thy stripes can heale my stripes thy righteousnesse My Scarlet sins with its white robe can dresse The water lav'd out at thy
wounded side Will wash my guilt off and that supple tide Which from that fluce in such full streams did bleed My soule even hunger-starv'd with sin shall feed Thy wounds shall be my wounds thy teares shall be My teares for thy whole passion was for me Let thy all-saving merits but entwine My tottering faith thy heaven too shall be mine On the future burning of the World NO more shall the o're-laden clouds dissolve In spouts of raine and so the world involve In a wild deluge which shall swell so high It s to wring height shall tempt the vaulted skie And even invite the sullen starres to weare Vpon each glittring beame a mourning teare Which they againe shall mutually let fall As a Rite due to the worlds Funerall No more shall warie mankinde to beguile The rage o' th Flood lurk in a wooden I le But when the tainted world is so defil'd With her pollutions and so deeply soil'd With the dark spots of sin that 't were but vaine To think that water should wipe off each staine That sullies it God will display his ire In cataracts of all-consuming fire With which this Globe of Earth so long shall burn Till it into repentant ashes turn And til at last it but one Torch become To light expiring Nature to her Tombe On a Gentleman buried in one grave with his daughter before deceased REader those sleep beneath this stone Whom life made two first out of one But having now resign'd their breath They will grow one againe by death For should we on his grave intrude To view how much vicissitude Attends on Nature and how she Masks her selfe in varietie Of numerous shapes and after dare To paddle in his sepulcher Amongst his dust we might inferre He was shuffled into her For time determines that both must Resolve into one heap of dust But when the world it selfe expires Panting with heat and God requires Each gloomy vault and hollow tombe To open its corrupted wombe And give their ashes which were pent And Cas'd up there enfranchisement That being re-edified they may No more be obvious to decay Or Natures Tumults this last birth Will disunite their mingled Earth And as their first life did divide them so This second life again will make them two On thought of our Resurrection VVHo can be of so cow'd a Soule hee 'ld feare To be regenerate i' th sepulcher Since who exactly looks into the tombe Shall finde 't is but the embleme of the wombe To which wee 're not confin'd but trusted so As if we lay there in deposito For when our dust is gather'd into th' urne It lies but hostage till the soules returne And as the Phoenix when she gasping lies Vpon her tragick pile of Spiceries And glowes with heat her fleshie cinders must By the Suns rayes be martyr'd first to dust Before her pregnant ashes can redeem Themselves from ruine or again can teem With a new Phoenix so before this earth We beare about us can improve its birth To immortality its whole compact Must first be so disjoynted and so slackt It fall to dust and then 't will moulded be To such a body that Eternitie It selfe shall farme that Tenement which shall No more be obvious to a Funerall And as before men can compile or frame Their glasses they their ashes first i' th flame Transfuse to Chrystall so before our dust Can be assoil'd from excrements or rust Ravel'd amongst it by our tombes and be Improv'd to such a cleare transparencie It shall no more incumber or controule The eye from taking a survey o' th soule It must be by the generall fire refin'd And be to a translucent Masse calcin'd So shall each tombe become Gods Mint where He Our earth being purg'd from all impuritie Will on it coyne the Image of his Face Which Time no more nor death shall ne're deface FINIS The Table ON the beholding his face in a Glasse pag. 1 On the sight of a Clock p. 2 On a Gentlewoman dying in Child-bed of an abortive Daughter ibid. On a Gentlewoman much deformed with the small Pox p. 3 OnJulia throwing Snow-balls at him ibid. To Sir Henry New upon his re-edifying the Church ofCharleton in Kent p. 4 On the sight of a Rivelet that eight foot off from its fountaine dis-embogues it selfe into the Medway p. 5 On Mr. Jo. Joscelin dying of a Feaver p. 6 To a Gentlewoman singing p. 7 Vpon the death of Mr. Francis Thornhill p. 8 Vpon a Farmer who having buried five of his children of the Plague planted on each of their graves an Apple-tree p. 9 An Epitaph on Mris. E. W. Z ibid. Vpon the approach of night p. 10 Considerations upon Eternitie ibid. A divine Hymne pag. 13 On the death of a Prince p. 15 To a Lady viewing her selfe in her Glasse p. 16 On the death of Sir Simon Harcourt p. 17 On a Gentlewoman struck blind with the small Pox p. 18 On the death of Mr. George Sandys p. 19 On the sight of some rare Pieces and Monuments of Antiquitie in an Antiquaries Study p. 21 An Epithalamium p. 23 On a Nymph pourtrayed in stone that powred forth two spouts of water from her eyes into a Garden p. 24 On one dead of a Dropsie ibid. To a Gentlewoman viewing her selfe in her Glasse p. 25 An Elegie offered up to the memorie of Anne Countesse of Caernarvon ibid. Her Epitaph p. 29 An Elegie onRobert Earle of Caernarvon p. 30 A Pastorall Court-ship p. 31 On a spark of fire fixing on a Gentlewomans brest p. 33 On a spark fastening on a Gentlewomans cheek ibid. Ad Joannem Harmarum Libellum de Lue Venereâ exarantem p. 34 On the death of Mr. Francis Quarles p. 35 His Epitaph p. 36 A thankfull acknowledgement to those Benefactours that contributed to the re-edifying of Clare-Hall in Cambridge p. 37 Vpon the sight of a Tomb p. 38 On the Author being sick of a Feaver p. 39 On the noyse of Thunder p. 41 On one cured of the Stone p. 41 A Parley between an Epicure and a Christian p. 42 A Collation betwèen Death and Sleep p. 43 In seipsum Febre iterùm correptum penè confectum p. 44 On himselfe being stung by a Wasp p. 45 On the Nativitie of our Saviour pag. 46 On Christs Passion a Descant p. 47 A Divine Aspiration p. 52 On the future burning of the World ibid. On a Gentleman buried in one grave with his Daughter before deceased p. 53 On thought of our Resurrection p. 54 FINIS Poeta nascitur non fit