friend had strove T' exceed each other in a zealous loâ—e To thy blest memory and I smilâ—d to see Thy name thus rapâ—in immortalitie Yet paydâ—the 〈◊〉 tribute teares let fall As numerous drops at thy sad Funerall As did that friend whose pregnant Muse dares vie With griefe it selfe to weepe thy Eleâ—ie Yet durst not write my jealousie was such It wisely prompt me I should wrong too much Thy greater meritâ— had me rather mourne In griefe lov'd silence ore thy quiet urne Which I had done had I not seem'd to heare Once at the offering of a tribute teare To thy lov'd ashes a strange murmuring breath Breake forth from the still tenement of death Thy dismall grave and in a Language full Of incens'd anger vow to disanâ—â—ll All former friendship if I should denie Mongst other friends to write thy Elegie When thus ambiguous twixt my love and feares I vented thisâ— attended with my teares Strong course of Fate could he whose generous quill Bestow'd a life on others which else still Had Laine death's ruines die himselfe could he Whose powerfull Art spight of sterne destinie Broake up forgotten Monumentsâ— and made The intomb'd Heroes live againe that swaide Ore others Fates yet could this halfe-god â—â—eepe Into a grave and in cold Marble sleepe What tribe of Angels did invite thee hence Their glorious guest If not what curst offence Hath fond earth given thee That thou needs must â—â—tye So young from us to heavens eternitie Or did thy precious soule shake off its clay Cause nought below was worthy of her stay And being matchlesse here did upward move There to be rank'd with equall Saints above Sure thus it was and undeserving we May tax our merit not thy destinie Yet glorious Beedome though each friend appeares Almost thy Emblem made so by his teares For thy lamented losse yet when we looke On this immortall child of wit thy booke Smiles from our â—hâ—ekes all suner all teares doe drive Seeing in it thy fame shall ever live Time and thy Memory which no fate can sever Shall last like ages both conclude together Em. D. On the Poems of the Author his deare Brother Master Thomas Beedom deceased SIlence would best become me and I feare I spoile the consort by intrusion heere T is true I need not adde unto his praise Nor bring my sprig to complement his bayes But that the neerenesse of our birth and name Calls me to sticke my pinion to his fame Then Reader know we have not us'd our brains To usher in absurd uncivill straines Such as might pale the Paper blacke the Inke And cause the ghost of our dead friend to shrinke When judgements eye his Poems shall diseâ—rne No no t is otherwise here thou mayst learne Thy morall duty and it will appeare Mâ—yst please thy God as well as please thine eare He needs must say that will his worth commend He was an Academie in his friend And ready was requested to supply His need with soule or bodies remedy Fran. Beedome THE IEALOUS LOVER OR THE CONSTANT MAID Written by T. B. Sat est pro laude Voluptas LONDON Printed by E. P. for Iohn Sweeting and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Angel in Popes-head-Alley neer Cornhill 1641. THE AUTHOR TO the READER WHen Johnson Drayton and those happier men That can drop wonders from their fluent Pen Have with their miracles of Poetry Feasted thy eares and satisfi'd thy eye Then turne aside and 'mongst the vulgar things Place what my new-borne Muse abruptly sings Which though it be but meane as t is confest 'T hath ventured hard to please thee since t is prest If thou smile on it I shall thinke my braine Hath labour'd for this issue not in vaine If otherwise thou doe contemne my layes My pleasur 's more to me then all thy praise Sat est pro laude Voluptas Vale THOMAS BEEDOME THE IEALOVS LOVER OR THE CONSTANT MAID WHat time the noble Britaine did resist And vaâ—quish Roman Caesar with his hoast Who when he felt their fuâ—y did desist And fled from Albions white-wave-washed coast Where the stout Brittaines dy'd with Roman blood The Sea-greene face of the tumultuous stood There dwelt an antient honourable man Nere Sabrin's shore who was Cremillus hight In two faire twins his Off spring fiâ—st began A son and daughter brought at once to light Whose beauâ—ies with their vertues vy'd in growth Which should most grace their infancy and youth His son Cherillus but his fairer daughter He nam'd Pandora did you never view The liquid Châ—istall of a running water Streame through some guilded field where all things new The spring had made to such a place this Maid Vnhappily now growne a great one stâ—ai'd And while her eyes on the moyst Element Did cast their beâ—mes another shâ—pe she spy'd Far above hers on whom such lives were spent In Troy for whom so many Hero's dy'd This shape the fairest sure that er'e was showne Was but a meere reflexion of her owne While thus she gaz'd on her owne shade she thought Oh that I might leape in and seaze yon prize It were by death an easie purchase bought For who would live if not in yonder eyes Narcissus so himselfe himselfe forsooke Aâ—d dy'd to see his shadow in a brooke As yet the toy we call a Looking-glasse Wherein our siner Dames behold their faces Did rest unknown else t' had not comâ— to passe That this bright Maid repleat with all the graces Had in an Extasie thus stood amaz'd While onely on her lively selfe she gaz'd Still as she lookt she wishâ— some gentle fish Might now as once Arion it did beare Her on the friendly waves but oh her wish Could not implore an ayde from any there For they stood wondring that the earth could show A â—righter Nymph then Neptune could below One while she was resolv'd t' assay the water And so salute the thing she thought alive But then she poiz'd the danger that came after Lest she perhaps might never more survive Thus betweene joy and feare amaz'd she stood Viewing the wonders of the silver stood And as it chanc't to shade her from the Sun Vnto her brighter face she rai'd her hand She thought her shade did beckon her to come To Thetiâ— Aâ—bor and forsâ—ke the Land Who had done so had not a neighbouring brier Seiz'd her lov'd coat and made her so retire Injurious weed quoth she why hast thou staid Me from a happinesse I might have had Receive the just curse of a spotlesse Maid Mayst thou be henceforth held a thing so bad So rough that all may hate thee thus having sed It since remaines with prickles overspred By this Cherillus who had long time since Follow'd sterne Mars in the blacke field of wars Was home return'd from service of his Prince But wearing the true souldiers colours scars And time to doe him now the greater grace Had grafted well-set haires upon his face Who as
those Who speake of love in tame prose Beleeve our joyes but dully censure usâ— Onely for loving thus Ah! how I smile that doubtly blest we doe Injoy our selves and all their envie too The Choyce WHat care I though she be 〈◊〉 Haire snow-like hand or Sun-like eye If in that beauty I not share Were she deformed what care I. What care I though shee be foule Haire swaâ—thy hand or sunne burnt eye So long as I enjoy her soule Let her be so why what care I. Dimme sight is cosened with a glasse Of gaudy gowne or humerous haire Such gold in melting leave more drosse Than some unpolish't prices share Be she â—aire or soule or either Or made up of both together Be her heart mine have hand or eye Be what it will why what care I. EPITAPHS Epitaphium Regis Swedorum HEre sleepes hee who was and is The subject of eternall blisse Religion and no other end Caus'd him his blood means to spend He conquer'd all onely his breath He lost by which he conquer'd death Now would'st thou know whom we deplore 'T is Sweaden Reader husht no more â— est while thou read thou and this stone Be both alike by death made one For death and griefe are neare of kinne So thou might'st die being griev'd for him 〈…〉 Tho. â—eedome An Elegy on the death of the renowned and victorious Guâ—tavâ—s Adolphus King of Sweathland Can the dry sound Hee 's dead no more affright The world with terâ—our than had some meane knight Languish't to death in downe or can the sound That Sweaden hath received a fatall wound Passe by and like the bullet hurt no more Than his stout brest that felt the mortall sore Oh no! it rankles in each weak'ned part And strikes a chill amazement to the heart Of feeble Christendome that by his losse Puts on it's titles badge The Christian Crosse And 't was a great one too yet let none wonder That heaven forboâ—â— to ring his knell in thunder Or thaâ— some angry Meteor did not stare And to the world their publique losse declare No no some such Ambassador as this Had beene too mercifull land made us misse Our just deserved punishment â—or wee Knowing our sinne begot this misery Might by a faign'd repentance have procur'd A pardon for the Prince but now assur'd Of our owne weaknesse we with teares may say We are losers though our army wonne the day His death begot his conquest and his foes Mourn'd at his fate witnesse those death wing'd blows Which heaven by meanes of his impressure steele Did make their bleeding carcasses to feele Then what remaines but that ouâ— prayers gaine This be the latest losse we may sustaine And that no more of Heavens great Champions fall Through our default to so sad funerall To the truly worthy and his worthily honoured friend Mris Judith Dyke on the death of her brother Mr John Dyke obiit ult. Martii 1636. TAmely and soft as the Prophetique breath That pants the â—atall passing bull of death Move my sad soule and to his happy hearse Pay the deserved tribute of thy verse And you blest maid whose griefe hath almost wonne Death by your griefe to make you both but one Cease your laments for how can you be crost In this since what God finds can neâ—râ— be lost And wisely thinke you may offend in this Love hath its errours and may doe amisse Death may looke dreadfull in an ill mans eye 'T is no great thing to live but lesse to die To die indeed as Common people doe That with perplexed soules bid earth adieu And by necessity of late compeld Their strugling spirits to the Coffin yeeld Were matter worthy griefe and onely they Are like the houses that entombe them clay But where the soule like his rapt with desire Disdaines dull earth and aymes at glories higher And by a bright Angelicke fire inflam'd Mounts towards heaven as oâ—t as heares it nam'd Like a sweete odor upward as it goes It yeelds a persume to th' Almighties nose And hence ascended 't is ' not just that wee Lament at its exalted dignity And sure no matter if wee must away Whether it be to morrow or to day And if to day at morne or night or noone So wee die well what need we care how soone I know the fertile soyle of his pure heart Gave warmth to every vertuous roote of Ait And had the August of his age bin come They had bin crown'd with a blest harvest home But now hee 's clouded from your eyes to show That none but Angels worthy are to know What hee shall aged be Oh! 't is a â—aâ—e VVorth your best thankes that day deserves it's date Be registred to Glory when his Maker Made him of him and all his blisse partaker Now dare you loose a teare unlesse it bee Because you are not happie yet as hee 'T is charity to wish you so but then As you know how yet God knowes better when Death comes to call yet not to call as one Though all men die yet good men well alone The Sunne 's not lost but set the approaching day Shall make it's light more glorious by delay If then in death such differences consist Desire so to dissolve to be with Christ So prayes for you your true friend The Beedome Encomium Poetarum ad fratrem Galiel Scot TWice I began and twice my trembling hand Startled from what my Genius did command Lest harmelâ—sse â— should hazzard all my fame And my attempt win nothing but selfe shame It deem'd the praise of Poets worth the pen Rather of Angels than of mortall men My bolder heart bâ—d on for blind men may Although not see yet know there is a day And said perhaps my credit I might save The proverbe sayes nought venter nothing have Then come yea Muses were you nine times nine I could imploy you in this worke of mine Fill my wide â—ailes that while you stand my friend I may swimme safe unto my journey's end Since the first Mistique Chaos did entombe The earths faire sabricke in confusions wombe There is no art can plead antiquity Before the heavenly birth of Poesie I speake of those arts which this day we call As witnesse to their nature Liberall Next by th' ffect the worth of things is knowne They in respect of this seeme to have none The end of verse is to preserve from death VVhat ever from a Poet tooke its breath VVitnesse that golden age whose fame lives still By some few drops from Naso's golden quill He rescued Satuâ—nes Godhead from the ground And by his lines his aged temples crown'd He in a brasse-outlasting paper page Created thee Great Jove a silver age Apollo for his Daphne to his Layes Owes a rich wreath of thunder-scorning bayes One petty blast from his immortall breath Preserv'd Diana's chastity from death Nor need Actâ—on take it much in scorne That Ovid did coâ—nute him with a horne Homer yet lives whose pen for
discovered by our sight Accurst creator of thy lasting shame VVhy hath thy last out-woâ—nâ— thy fleeting love Why dost thou willing wound my bleeding fame And afteâ— all thy â—aches a recreant prove Gape earth receive this Candid devill in Lest the infect more angells with her sin Oh! hadst thou beene ambitious to have tasted Variety in plâ—â—sures then oh then Thou mightst have stâ—died how to have them lasted By yeelding up thy fame to severall men And nere have falsly vow'd thy faith to one Which impaâ—dence darst sweare was me alone Speake Traytor to thy honour and thy friend What plaster canst thou make to heale this sore Or what excuse can on thy crime attend Oh see thy guile now blushes more and more As if that â—â—â—ne which thou wouldst faine denie Were printed there before my reading eye Wherefore I now will study to be free My thralled heart shall stand no longer bound The despis'd servant of thy faith and thee I leave neglected what with joy I found This fatall mâ—nuâ—e shall our loves dissever So false Pandora here farewell for ever This said Philorus from the Virgin flyes While the pooâ—e hearâ— was drowned in the flouâ— Of â—eares 〈◊〉 like a sea sprung from her eyes And watred all the earth whereon she stood Who like poore stone-turn'd Niobe did stand A floating statue on the moving Land The neighbouring river mourn'd to heare her fate The blustring winds did chide the hollow trees While they consulting to participate Her griefe doe all their verdant garments leese The biâ—ds tell heaven and heaven to shew its pitty Bid Philomela sing a mournfull Ditty A Poet then imploring of the Nine To lend him ayd her story to indite Melpomene said no this worke is mine But griefe deniâ—s me power how to write Thus she that can write buskin-deepe in blood Is drown'd with our Pandora in this â—lood Oh griefe if ever mourning did become Thy meager face 't was when Pandoraâ—ept She numbred up her sighes beyonâ— ali sum And sorrowes Court within her countenance kept She was compos'd of dolor and in briefe The liveliest Emblem of the perfectst griefe Ah false Philorus didst thou see those teares Which thy chast love poures forth in thy dislike The objâ—ct would a fâ—right thy jealous feares And to thy heart an awfull reverence strike â—arth never bore a subject of more ruâ—h Then this who suffers onely for her truth VVhen the salt flood had drawne the fountaine dry That scarce another teare could find a vent Nor was there hope of any new supply Since all her moisture was consum'd and spent Sill to her griefe fresh matter she affords As then in teares so now she weepes in words VVherefore quoth she blind Love didst thou enthrall My faith so namely to Philorus soule On if thou canst my sealed pledge recall Since my Philorus thinkes Pandora foule Yet witnesse heaven I am as pure as Aire Diana's not more chast although more faire The congeal'd snow upon the Alpin Mountaine Retaines as much of her as my brest And in the coole spring of a Chrystall fountaine As much desire as in my heart doth â—est Oh jealousie why should Philorus thinke The Candid paper blacker then the Inke VVhat sin good Gods have wretched committed That you should thunder vengeance on my head Yet all my suffrings of my Love unpittied Blush Sol at this unjustice hide thy head For if thou spie my wrongs they would require Thou should'st in their revenge scourge earth by fier VVhy nature did thy choicer hand create Me to a forme by some 〈◊〉 excellent Since what was purpos'd to my best of fate Prepostrously turnes to my detriment Oh who then me was ever more accurst VVhose seeming best is chang'd to reall worst Oh hadst thou cheated me of some one limbe Deâ—orm'd my face or rob'd me of an eye I nere had beene thought guilty of a sin Nor given occasion to this jealousie Those that are foule still unsuspected go VVhile fair ones though more chast are not thought so Happy are you in whose creation Banisht perfection was an absent stranger But think how much hath beauty of temptation And then you 'l blesse the Gods you 'r out of danger VVhere various flowers in the garden growâ—e VVe passe the bramble but plucke up the â—ose Yet grant that â—orme be thought a happinesse VVhich doth against temptations batteries vie Beauty though it come off with good successe 〈◊〉 wounded straight by poysonous jealousie Thus like a Monster mischiefe doth pursue it And no endeavours can at all eschew it Now sorrowfull Pandora takes her way Through the thick woods which is a large procession No matter where griefe cannot go astray Since she hath vow'd perpetuall progression Till the may once more her P'bilorus spye Which but perform'd it were a blisse to dye Death now were welcome were Philorus pleas'd To dye ere that were torture in the grave Lest angry he by jealousie diseas'd Should after death against her ashes rave Or lest her ghost which hourely must come see him He fright with frownes and so inforce it slee him Heere unfrequented save with savage beasts She spends the â—â—aâ—ous minutes of her age Her eyes upon the severall sights she feasts While sorrow triumphs in her equipage The greedy earth cast off her covering grasse To looke upon her as she by did passe The savage Tyger when it came her neare Stoop't to the splendor of her conquering eyes The tusked Bore that broke Adonâ—s sp â—are Croucht downe to her whose mercy bid it rise Who then in duty gently to her came And hence it is that some have since beene tame The winged birds from heaven came downe in quiâ—es Each one by turne did sing his â—ounde-lay Whose aâ—ery notes still up againe aspires Which being ended each bird flyes away To gâ—t nâ—w Songs thus by their various layes Each steales a little sorrow from the dayes The â—ow-growne gentle Satyres did invite The wood Nymphes to compose a measur'd dance Each thing affords some matter of delight As glad her downe-cast lookâ—s they might advance The little Eâ—min can afford its skin From the cold Aire to wrap her hands therein The trees did gladly spread their open armes To shâ—de her roses from the blowing wind And lapt their leaves so close no scoâ—ching harmes Could burne her lillies when Apollo shin'd The pittying â—ezor when it heard her grone Lest she should faint bites out his Cordiall stone By chance a pin her tender finger prickâ— At which there startled out a drop of blood The which as soone as from it she had lickt The trees wept balsam for her greater good Still as she sigh'd the friendly Vnicorne Osters that precious Antidote his horne The hunger-bitten Lyon greedy came Thinking to seaze her body for a pray But when he saw her straight was turned tame And at her feet for mercy prostrate lay While his dumbe reveâ—ence seem'd to tell the Maiâ— He mourn'd to thinke how he made her
Aurora heavenâ— illustrious Queene Shakes off her â—able Robe and with a grace Smiles in the front of a faire morning face Just so my love as if night had beene noone Discards the element of the uselesse moone And from her glorious tapers sent a â—iâ—e To light the darkest thoughts to quicke deâ—iâ—e While thus from forth her to â—all gate she sent Breath form'd in words the marrow of content And have you Sir at such a tempting time Betâ—ayd my honour to this welcome crime By stealing pleasure from me t was thy Love I know that did thee to this trespasse move For I have prov'd thy faith which since I finde The trusty Inmate of a loyall minde Of force I must accept it and in part Of recompence afford thee all my heart Thus having ceaz'd my prize I told her sweet As by no fouler name we ere may greete So what is mine I tender all my selfe The poorest part of thy unvalued wealth Thou hast won much in this thy mercy showne That thus at last thou dost receive thy owne Least they who after me like fate shall prove Should say See what it is to be in Love I am in portu Loves Apostacy to his friend Mâ— E.D. Tut let her goe can I indure all this Yet dye to doate upon a Maydens kisse Is there such Magicke in her lookes that can Into a foole transfigurate a man Didst thou not love her trueâ— and she disdaine To meete thy vertue let her meete her shameâ— Were she as â—ane as she her selfe would be Adorn'd with all the cost of bravery Could she melt hearts of flint and from her eye Give her beholders power to live or die I' I 'de rather begge shee would pronounce my death Then beheâ— scorne though that preserv'd my breath Rise 〈◊〉 and be not fool'd S'soote what a shame Were it for thee to re-incense one flame From the declining spaâ—ke dost thou not know As shee 's a woman her whole sexe doth owe To thine all honour her false heart and pride Dare not oppose thy faith then turne high tyde And let her since her scornâ— doth so disease thee By her repentance strive againe to please thee The broken heart song Counâ— the sighâ— and count the teaâ—es Which have in 〈◊〉 my budding yeares Comment on my woâ—ull looke Which iâ— now blacke sorrows booke Read how love is overcome Weepe an â— sigh and then be dumbe Say it was your charity To helpe him whâ—â—â— eyes 〈◊〉 dry Here paint my Cleora's name Then a 〈◊〉 and then a flame Then marke how the heart doth fry When Clâ—oâ—a is so nigh I hough the flame did doe its part 'T was the name that broke the heaâ—â— Peace no more no more you need My sad history â—o read Fold the paper up agen And report to other men These complaints can justly prove Hearts may breake that be in love Women are mens shadowes 1. FOllow a shadow it flies you Seeme to fly it it will pursue So court a Mistresse she denies you Let her alone she will couâ—t you Say are not women truly then Styl'd but the shadowes of us men 2. At morne and even slâ—des are longest At Noone they are or short or none So men at weakest they are strongest But grant us perfect th' are not knowne Say are not women truly then Styl'd but the shadows of us men Per Ben. Iohnson Women are not mens shadowes E Contra 1. The sunne absented shadowes then Cease to put on the formes of men But wives their husbands absent may Beare best their formes they being away Say are noâ— women falsly then Stil'd but the shadowes of us men 2. Shadowes at Morne and Even are strong At noone they are or weake or none Women at Noone are ever long At night so weake they â—all along Say are not won â—n â—â—â—â—ly then Stil'd but the shadowes of us men 3. As bodies are contracted shadowes so Contract themselves to formes as bodies doe Let men be bounded neere so close I wisâ— Women will rove and â—amble where they list Say are not women falsly then Stil'd but the shadowes of us men To his worthy friend Mistresse I charge thee by those eyes of thine Give mee my heart Those eyes that stole it out of mine I felt the smart And least the theâ—t you should deny Looke where you keepe it in your eye And now I have espy'd it there Thinking to catch it You chaine and wind it in your haire But still I watch it And so got loose from thence it flyes And sports agen upon your eyes Though now to cozen mee you seeke Thinking to hide It in the dimple of your cheeke I have disery'd How now discovered it doth skip 'Twixt the soft prison of each lippe Yes yes I see it stealing goe Least I should find it Through the long gallery of snow And still I mind it How you have shuffled it betweene Your breasts not thinking it is seene See see I see it creeping in neare you I feare Through the small 〈◊〉 of your skinne to shelter there As if that 〈◊〉 could 〈◊〉 mee Alas I know things I not see But if nor eye nor haire nor cheeke Nor lip nor breast nor heart it keep Give me them all for every part Thou hast has part of mee my heart To Mistresse While a the lockes of time and smoother faâ—â—e Than sliding streames thy skinne and â—â—esses are Sweete a Aâ—abian Odors when in fire Their strugling spirits upwards do expire When as the curteous wind doth court our sence And raâ—ish it with sweete intelligence Is thy pure breath onely this difference know That sent is 〈◊〉 but thine is naturall sâ— Soft as the plumie mosâ—e that over-spreads The tender circle of young Turtles heads Are thy two breasts which enviously do swell To thinke that that should this this that excell And yet asham'd such strife their pride hath bred Both blush and tip themselves with bashfull red Types locks streams odors downe nor blushes are So red so soft so sweet so smooth so faire On a Lillie now withered in her bosome Blest in thy happy bed faire Lilly lye To shade thee from the Sunne of her bright eye But doe not in a wanton pride preferte Thy selfe as adding whitenesse unto her Alas what glory could in thee appeare So eminent if not transplanted there But see thou fadest already poore proud flowre Whose fate is limited to one short howre And since thou wouldst for such a beauty vie Thy conquer'd envie makes thee pale and dye Come sit thee downe and with a mislyn charme Ceaze my incircled arme Till lockt in fast imbraces wee discover In every eye a lover Then lost in that sweete extacy of blisses Wee 'le speake our thoughts in kisses In which wee 'le melt our soules and mixe them so That what is thine or mine there 's none shall know Rare mistery of love and wonders too Which none but wee can doe Nor shall the leaden spirits of all
want of eyes Did point his name the way to kisse the skies Young schollers in the darke might grope like fooles Were not he plac't the lanthorne of the Schooles The world had lost among it 's Worthies one Aleâ—dos Who had not Homer sung had neere beene knowne Ulysses act had perish'd like a toy Had this blind guide not led him out of Troy And rapt his memory up so safe in rime That it shall equall if not out-live time Maro thy lines great Caesar hath extold That paid each severall verse a piece of gold Yet thought his purchase easie and did more Esteeme thy wit than all his wealth and store And justly too since what thy labour spent On him lasts longer than his monument This Rome being fired is ashes but his name Lives Salamander-like spight of the flame Didst thou not snatch Aâ—neas from that fire That up to Illions Turrets did aspire And bor'st his feeble father by thy pen On his sons shoulders through an hoast of men For which thy selfe great Virgill shalt remaine To endlesse times even till thou rise againe No envious fire thy able skill shall burne Till fire and earth into one substance turne Yill when that I may come to speakâ— our dayes Daniel thou livest circled with breath for bayes Nor Spencer to whose verse the world doth owe Millions of thankes can unremembred goe Nor thou great Johnson who knowst how to write Such lines as equall profit with delight Whil'st thy untired readers wish each sheete Had beene a volume 't is so neate so sweete Next fame seemes charily to spread her wings O're what the never dying Drayton sings Still lives the Muses Appollinean son The Phaenix of his age rare Harrington Whose Epigrams when time shall be no more May die perhaps but never can before This cloud can witnesse that a Poet may Bring darknesse out of light make night seeme day These can make lawes and Kingdomes alter States Make Prince Gods and poore men Potentates An amorous verse â—aire Ladies â— innes your loves Sooner than busk points â—arthingalls or gloves A Poets quill doth stand in greater stead Than all such â—oyes to gaine a maiden head A line well writ and by a Potent skill Charmes the rapt soule with musique of a quill VVhilst the by standers deem 't a blisse to die Tickled to death by such sweet harmony Againe if thou deserve the Muses frowne Wretch that thou art a quill can hurle thee downe To that abisse of ignomy that fate Cannot condemne thee to a baser state I will make each finger point at thy disgrace And like a Monster each man shâ—n thy face VVhile thou thus branded finding no reliefe With a strong halter choakest thy stronger grieâ—e Thus Poets like sates factors here do hold All power underneath their pens controld Lastly deare brother thinke not I forgot Amongst this learned â—ile to ranke my Scot Thy early Muse sings in so sweeâ—e a straine As if Apollo had compos'd thy vaine Superlatively taking while each letter Disdaines our Moderne Poets should sing better Now saints my pen and fainting feares that I My selfe may perish if wiâ—h clemencie My reader censure not yet hopes to raise A memory to it selfe though not of praise That I being earth something may live of mâ—e Perhaps this paper if approv'd by thee Against prejudicate opinion THe humble soule the mind opprest Shall finde unto his conscience rest The cleare in heart the single eye Laughs at his neighboâ—rs jealousie Then let men censuâ—e what they can The inside makes the honest man who 'ld thinke a clod of earth should hold Within a masse of splendent gold So silly woods have fragrant smels And Pearles are sound in sordid shels Base sâ—â—bards hold approved swords And 〈◊〉 covers golden words Digge up the earth â—nd burne the wood The gold and smell will both be good Unsheath the blade the booke untye One takes your heart toâ—her your eye Had these laid still they might have gone Thought hardly worth the looking on Then judge what folly there had beene To câ—nsure any thing unseene Mors aequo pede pulsat Pauperum taberâ—as Regumque turres MAns life 's a game each hath his card in 's hand And death a while a looker on doth stand At last hee shuâ—fles in a gamester too Then cuts deales rubbes and winnes and so adieu The King like common creatures in death must Find no respect nor reveâ—ence in the dust Their royalty put off their state laid downe There sits a clod oâ— dirt where once a Crowne Their eyes like expir'd tapers drop and fall And leave theâ—t Sockets emptie for the Ball Or golden Globe which once their hands did keepe A knot of wormes doth role about and creepe Who â—ast no difference 'twixt their flesh and those Who fed lesse dainty wore fatre courseâ— cloathes In his dominion Death impartiall knowne The King and begger there are all but one Rejoyce then rich men and your game pursue In death I 'le be as good a man as you To the Noble Sr Francis Drake DRake perreratinovit quem terminus orbis Et cujus faciem vidit uterque polus Si taceant bomines facient te Sydera notam Solâ—escit conctis non memor essesui The Translation DRake who the world hast conquer'd like a scrole VVho saw'st the Articke and Antarticke Pole If men were silent staâ—res would make thee knowne Phoebus forgets not his companion To his friend Mr Em. D. on a rich vaporing sot whom hee stiles Ignoramus BLesse us why here 's a thing as like a man As Nature to our fancie fashion can Beshâ—ew mee but he has a pretty face And weares his tapier with indifferent grace Makes a neat congie dances well and sweares And weares his Mistresse pendant in 〈◊〉 eares Has a neaâ— foot as ever kist the ground His shoes and roses cost at least five pound Those hose have not a peere for by relation They 're cut a moneth at least since the last fashion He knowes two Ladies that will vow there 's none At Court a man of parts but he alone And yet this â—op scarce ever learn'd to know The mixture of the dis-joyn'd Christ-crosse row Strip off his ragges and the pooâ—e thing is then The just contempt of understanding men Being Fortunes minion Nature thought it fit Since he had wealth enough he should want wit To my matchlesse friend my dearest William Scot a New-yeares guift How shall I thanke my fate that wrought this end To my best wishes that thou art my friend I may lose all if I have any wealth My sicknesse may bereave mee of my health Bondage may steale my freedome but my love Which is a sacred blessing from above Can neere be wanting since 't is lock't in thee Who art true friendships safest treasurie It joyes mee that my soule so well did light To dwell with thine thou that dost speake and write And thinke the same with mee as if my spirit Did nothing
timelesse hearse My soule which now is not but where thou art Stayes but to tell the world we will noâ— part And the glad Casket which thy ashes beares Shâ—ll tide me after thee in miâ—e owne teares And then rejoyce that we whose hearts were one In death shall celebrate Communion Wisedome of fate that earely did remove Thee hence that I in heaven might seeke my love And so assure me that time thou couldst dye No beauty but must taste mortality I know my bounded every Grace In the strict limits of thy well built face And thought those principles of beauty there Unchangable as bodies in their sphere But I recant and tell the world this truth There is no priviledge in blood or youth Else how could'st thou whose every smile or breath Was a suâ—ficient antidote 'gainst death Have met a grave and like a drooping flowre Have wiâ—hered to nothing in an houre Sleepe while some Angell with a peaceâ—ull wing Courtaines thy ashes here and hovering O're thy innocuous breast by that display Informes mee where my dust must take its way Then my infranchis'd spirit up shall fly To our just wedding for eternity And pitty all those enmities below That did with hold us from uniting so And smile to know that all our envious friends Have lost their plot and we obtain'd our ends But wee will marry here in spight of those That would our much wish't meeting interpose Death shall be prest lye closer sweete make roome That wee may make our marriage bed thy Tombe My sonne give mee thy heart ANd why my heart since I have none Or if I have perhaps 't is stone And rather than have such a one Better have none Lord canst thou chuâ—e no other partâ— The world alas hath stole my heaâ—â— Pleasure intis't it by strange Art From mee to part One Angell lust and all the rest Possesses it or else as bad a guest And in the midd'st there is a neast For sloath to rest Envie would have it all but pride Disdaining any should divide Possession there Enter and then as tyrants who By bloud are rais'd their states undoe Doth domineeâ—e The Petition HEate mee my God and heare mee soone Because my morning toucheth noone Nor can I looke for their delight Because my noone layes hold on night I am all circle my morne night and noone Are individable then heare mee soone Thou art all time my God and I Am part of that eternity Yet being made I want that might To be as thou art Infinite As in thy flesh so he thou Lord to mee That is both infinite and eternity But I am dust at most but man That dust extended to a span A span indeed â—or in thy hand Stretcht or contracted Lord I stand Contract and stretch mee too that I may be Straightned on earth to be enlarg'd to thee But I am nothing then how can I call my selfe or dust or man Yet thou from nothing all didst frame That all things might exalt thy name Make mee but something then my God to thee Then shall thy praise be all in all to mee VVHen first of linne I tooke survey Sinne that first wrought poore mans decay Mee thought the seeming pleasures that it wore Betray'd a face So full of grace That I desir'd it more and more As raâ—â—les babies and such â—oyes Are the â—ull bundles of childhoods joyes I rested in appearance little knowing That such vaine things Which sorrow bring An alteration in their growing As warning once descri'd from sarre Through some darke cloud a glimeting starre That lead mee on to seeke its lustre out Hee that makes all Answer'd his call Had turn'd my erâ—or quiâ—e about Did'st thou not God divide those ' seas AEgypt and Israels death and ease When sepaâ—ated waves like Mountaines sweld On either side To quench their pride That 'gainst thy edict did â—ebell God didst not thou â—ebuke those seas Natures great burthen and disease When Peters Faith his failing strength did cherish When calling loud I' th watery cloud He cry'd â—ave Master or I perish Thou did'st my God and thou the world And sinne my beaten Barke have hâ—l'd In a more desperate storme yet still I see And heare the say To thy poore clay Is any thing too hard â—or mee The Inquisition 1. VVHere art thoâ— God or where is hee That can discover thee to mee The worlds without thee sure for here Doth domineere Hell flesh and sinne thou art not there 2. Doth Aire thy blessed spirit hold And â—â—om our eyes thy sight unsold Thou art not there my God for here Doth domineere Satan aires Prince thou art not there 3. Or doth thy sacâ—ed essence keepe Court in the Chamber oâ— the deepe No sure my God â— not so for here Doth domineere Leviathan thou art not there 4. Doth flames too subtill for our â—ence So spy impaild thy excellence No sure my God not so for here Doth domineere The fiery Prince thou art not there In none of these confind yet thou dost scatter Thy presence through both earth aire fire wateâ— 5. Each place containes thee God yet thou Art no where no where dost remaine Though every place wee thee allow No place we know can thee containe Then I have found thee now though here Nor here thou art not yet thou art Both there and here be anywhere So thou bee in my heart Where being Lord let that thy closet bee To keepe thee safe in mee and mee in thee A Proud man Vile worme of dust vaine clay how durst thou venteâ— To â—well thy selfe above the earth thy center Vapors exhal'd and lifted to the skies Or dissipare or else prove prodigies Why being nothing art thou Bold to d'on The ingloriouâ— itch of exaltation And by a peâ—ulant pride disdainst to bee More heightn'd by a selfe humility As if the Babell of thy thoughts could shroud Th' aspiâ—ing battlements within a cloud And so the mighty machin safely stand Whose weaker basis is but mosse and sand Strange mystery of sinne that drives us on As farie as heaven to â—ind perdition For wert thou there and prov'd to bee so then Heaven would â—ast downe a devill once agen Yet thus perhaps thy pride might â—â—â—ed bee The Prince of Devils doth but equall thee Change but the subject and some sins admit To hâ—mble minds a happy benefit To kill the man oâ— sin to coveâ— grace To â—resse by violence to Gods holy place Câ—ntention for a Crowne for blessing strife Are sins that â—â—ll mortalyty with life But to be proud not to be proud addes more Sinne to that pride than pride had sinne before Meditation 1. MY God came downe in thunder once but then The sonnes of men Affrighted at the dreadfull cracke Sounded fell backe Desiring not his presence so agen 2. My God came downe in whirlewinds too and flame But his great Name So blazon'd did astonish more Than heretofore When pointed thunder his loud Herrald came 3. My God came downe in