their works that with a glaring Show Of humble holinesse in Vertues dye Would colour mischiefe while within they glow With coales of Sin though none the Smoake descry Bad is that Angell that earst fell from Heaven But not so bad as he nor in worse case Who hides a trait'rous mind with smiling face And with a Doves white feathers cloaths a Raven Each Sin some colour hath it to adorne Hypocrisie All-mighty God doth scorne NEw doth the Sun appeare The Mountaines Snows decay Crown'd with fraile flow'rs forth comes the Infant yeare My Soule Time posts away And thou yet in that frost Which Flow'r and fruit hath lost As if all here immortall were dost stay For shame thy Powers awake Look to that Heaven which never Night makes blacke And there at that immortall Suns bright Raies Deck thee with Flow'rs which feare not rage of Daies THrice happy he who by some shady Grove Far from the clamorous World doth live his own Though solitary who is not alone But doth converse with that eternall Love O how more sweet is Birds harmonious Moane Or the hoarse Sobbings of the widow'd Dove Than those smooth whisperings neer a Princes Throne Which Good make doubtfull do the evill approve O how more sweet is Zephyres wholesome Breath And Sighs embalm'd which new-born Flow'rs unfold Than that applause vaine Honour doth bequeath How sweet are Streames to poyson dranke in Gold The World is full of Horrours Troubles Slights Woods harmelesse Shades have only true Delights SWeet Bird that sing'st away the earely Houres Of Winters past or comming void of Care Well pleased with Delights which present are Faire Seasons budding Spraies sweet-smelling Flow'rs To Rocks to Springs to Rills from leavy Bow'rs Thou thy Creators Goodnesse dost declare And what deare Gifts on thee he did not spare A staine to humane sense in Sin that low'rs What Soule can be so sick which by thy Songs Attir'd in sweetnesse sweetly is not driven Quite to forget Earths turmoiles spights and Wrongs And lift a reverend Eye and Thought to Heaven Sweet Artlesse Songster thou my Mind dost raise To Ayres of Spheares yes and to Angels Layes AS when it hapneth that some lovely Town Unto a barbarous Besieger falls Who both by Sword and Flame himselfe enstalls And shamelesse it in Teares and Bloud doth drown Her Beauty spoyl'd her Citizens made Thralls His spight yet cannot so her all throw down But that some Statue Pillar of renown Yet lurkes unmaim'd within her weeping walls So after all the Spoile Disgrace and Wrack That Time the World and Death could bring combin'd Amidst that Masse of Ruines they did make Safe and all scarlesse yet remaines my Mind From this so high transcendent Rapture springs That I all else defac'd not envy Kings LEt us each day enure our selves to dye If this and not our feares be truly Death Above the Circles both of Hope and Faith With faire immortall Pinnions to flie If this be Death our best Part to untye By ruining the Jaile from Lust and Wrath And every drowsie languor here beneath To be made deniz'd Citizen of Skie To have more knowledge than all Books containe All Pleasures even surmounting wishing Pow'r The fellowship of Gods immortall Traine And these that Time nor force shall e're devoure If this be Death What Joy what golden care Of Life can with Deaths ouglinesse compare AMidst the azure cleare Of Jordans sacred Streames Jordan of Libanon the off-spring deare When Zephires flow'rs unclose And Sun shines with new Beaâ—es With grave and stately grace a Nymph arose Upon her Head she ware Of Amaranthes a Crown Her left hand Palmes her right a Torch did beare Unvail'd Skins whiteness lay Gold haires in Curles hang down Eyes sparkled Joy more bright than Star of Day The Floud a Throne her rear'd Of Waves most like that Heaven Where beaming Stars in Glory turne ensphear'd The Aire stood calme and cleare No Sigh by Winds was given Birds left to sing Heards feed her voice to heare World-wandring sorry Wights Whom nothing can content Within these varying lists of Daies and Nights Whose life ere known amiss In glittering Griefes is spent Come learne said she what is your choisest Bliss From Toyle and pressing Cares How ye may respit find A Sanctuary from Soule-thralling Snares A Port to harbour sure In spight of waves and wind Which shall when Times swift Glass is run endure Not happy is that Life Which you as happy hold No but a Sea of feares a Field of strife Charg'd on a Throne to sit With Diadems of Gold Preserv'd by Force and still observ'd by Wit Huge Treasures to enjoy Of all her Gems spoyle Inde All Seres silke in Garments to imploy Deliciously to feed The Phoenix plumes to find To rest upon or deck your purple Bed Fraile Beauty to abuse And wanton Sybarites On past or present touch of sense to muse Never to heare of Noise But what the Eare delights Sweet Musicks charmes or charming flatterers voice Nor can it Bliss you bring Hid Natures Depths to know Why matter changeth whence each forme doth spring Nor that your Fame should range And after-Worlds it blow From Tanais to Nile from Nile to Gange All these have not the Pow'r To free the Mind from feares Nor hideous horrour can allay one houre When Death in stealth doth glance In Sickness lurks or yeares And wakes the Soule from out her mortall Tranâ—e No but blest life is this With chaste and pure Desire To turne unto the load-star of all Bliss On God the Mind to rest Burnt up with sacred Fire Possessing him to be by him possest When to the baâ—lmy East Sun doth his light impart Or when he diveth in the lowly West And ravisheth the Day With spotlesse Hands and Heart Him cheerefully to praise and to him pray To heed each action so As ever in his sight More fearing doing Ill than passive woe Not to seeme other thing Than what ye are aright Never to do what may Repentance bring Not to be blown with Pride Nor mov'd at Glories breath Which Shadow-like on wings of Time doth glide So Malice to disarme And conquer hasty Wrath As to do good to those that worke your harme To hatch no base Desires Or Gold or Land to gaine Well pleas'd with that which Vertue faire acquires To have the Wit and Will Consorting in one Straine Than what is good to have no higher skill Never on Neighbours Goods With Cocatrices Eye To looke nor make anothers Heaven your Hell Nor to be Beauties Thrall All fruitlesse Love to flie Yet loving still a Love transcendent all A Love which while it burnes The Soule with fairest Beames To that increaâ—ed Sun the Soule it turnes And makes such Beauty prove That if Sense saw her Gleames All lookers on would pine and die for love Who such a life doth live You happy even may call Ere ruthlesse Death a wished end him give And after then when given More happy by his fall
pale remaine Dead is that Beauty which yours late did staine Aye me to waile my Plight Why have not I as many Eyes as Night Or as that Shepheards which Joves love did keep That I still still may weepe But though I had my Teares unto my crosse Wâ—re not yet equall nor griefe to my losse Yet of you briny Showers Which I â—ere poure may spring as many flow'rs As come of those which fell from Helens Eyes And when ye do arise May every Leafe in sable letters beare The Dolefull Cause for which ye spring up here MAD. THe Beauty and the Life Of Lifes and Beauties fairest Paragon O Teares O Griefe hung at a feeble Thread To which pale Atropos had set her Knife The Soule with many a groane Had left each outward Part And now did take his last Leave of the Heart Nought else did want save Death for to be dead When the sad company about her Bed Seeing Death invade her lips her cheekes her eyes Cried ah and can Death enter Paradise SON O! It is not to me bright Lampe of Day That in the East thou show'sts thy golden Face O! it is not to me thou leav'st that sea And in those azure Lists began'st thy Race Thou shinest not to the Dead in any Place And I dead from this World am past away Or if I seem a Shadow yet to stay It is a while but to bewaile my Case My Mirth is lost my Comforts are dismaid And unto sad Mishaps their Place do yeeld My Knowledge represents a bloudy Field Where I my Hopes and helps see prostrate laid So plaintfull is Lifes Course which I have run That I do wish it never had begun MADRIGALL DEare Night the ease of Care Untroubled Seat of Peace Times eldest Child which oft the blind do see On this our Hemispheare What makes thee now so sadly darke to be Com'st thou in funerall Pomp Her Grave to grace Or do those Stars which should thy horrour cleare In Joves high Hall advise In what Part of the skies With them or Cynthia she shall appeare Or ah alas because those matchlesse eyes Which shone so faire below thou dost not find Striv'st thou to make all others Eyes look blind SON SInce it hath pleas'd that First and supreme Faire To take that Beauty to himselfe againe Which in this world of Sense not to remaine But to amaze was sent and home repaire The Love which to that Beauty I did beare Made Pure of mortall spots which did it staine And endlesse which even Death cannot impaire I place on him who will it not disdaine No shining Eyes no Locks of curling gold No blushing Roses on a virgin Face No outward show no nor no inward Grace Shall power have my thoughts henceforth to hold Love here on Earth huge stormes of care doth tosse But plac'd above exempted is from losse SONG IT Autumne was and on our Hemispheare Faire Ericine began bright to appeare Night West-ward did her gemmy World decline And hide her Lights that greater Light might shine The crested Bird hath given Alarum twice To lazy Mortals to unlock their Eyes The Owle had left to plaine and from each Throne The wing'd Musicians did salute the Morne Who while she dress'd her Locks in Ganges streames Set open wide the chrystall Port of Dreames When I whose Eyes no drousie Night could close In Sleeps soft armes did quietly repose And for that Heavens to die did me deny Deaths Image kissed and as dead did lie I lay as dead but scarce chaâ—m'd were my Cares And slaked scarce my Sighs scarce dried my Teares Sleep scarce the ugly Figures of the Day Had with his sable Pencill put away And left me in a still and calmy Mood When by my Bed me thought a Virgin stood A Virgin in the blooming of her Prime If such rare Beauty measur'd be by Time Her Head a Garland wore of Opalls bright About her flow'd a Gown like purest Light Pure Amber Locks gave Umbrage to her Face Where Modesty high Majesty did grace Her Eyes such Beames sent forth that but with paine Her weaker Sights their sparklings could sustaine No feigned Dâ—ity which haunts the Woods Is like to Her nor Syrene of the Floods Such is the Golden Planet of the Yeare When blâ—shing in the East he doth appeare Her Grace did beauty Voice yet Grace did passe Which thus through Pearles and Rubies broken was How long wilt thou said she estrang'd from Joy Paint Shadows to thy selfe of false Annoy How long thy Mind with horrid Shapes affright And in imaginary Evills delight Esteeme that Losse which well when view'd is Gaine Or if a Losse yet not a Losse too plaine O leave thy plainâ—full Soule more to molest And thinke that woe when shortest then is best If She for whom thou thus dost deafe the Skie Be dead What then Was she not borne to die Was She not mortall borne If thou dost grieve That Times should be in which She should not live Ere e're she was weep that Daies wheele was roll'd Weep that she liv'd not in the Age of Gold For that she was not then thou maiest deplore As well as that she now can be no more If only she had died thou sure hadst Cause To blame the Fates and their too iron Laws But look how many Millions her advance What numbers with her enter in this Dance With those which are to come shall Heavens them stay And th' Universe dissolve thee to obey As Birth Death which so much thee doth apall A Peece is of the Life of this great All. Strong Cities die die do high palmy Raignes And fondling thou thus to be us'd complaines If she be dead then she of loathsome Daies Hath pass'd the Line whose Length but Losse bewraies Then she hath left this filthy Stage of Care Where Pleasure seldome Woe doth still repaire For all the Pleasures which it doth containe Not countervaile the smallest Minutes paine And tell me thou who dost so much admire This little Vapour this poore Sparke of Fâ—re Which Life is call'd what doth it thee bequeath But some few yeares which Birth draws out to Death Which if thou paralell with Lustres run Or those whose courses are but now begun In daâ—es great Numbers they shall lesse appeare Than with the Sea when matched is a Teare But why shouldst thou here longer wish to be One Yeare doth serve all Natures Pompe to see Nay even one Day and Night this Moone that Sun Those lesser Fires about this Round which Run Be but the same which under Saturnes Raigne Did the serpenting Seasons interchaine How oft doth Life grow lesse by living long And what excelleth but what dieth young For Age which all abhor yet would embrace Doth make the Mind as wrinckled as the Face Then leave Laments and thinke thou did'st not live Laws to that first eternall Cause to give But to obey those Laws which he hath given And bow unto the just decrees of Heaven Which cannot
Hydaspes pearly shore Eye-pleasing Meads whose painted Plain forth brings White golden azure Flow'rs which once were Kings To mourning Black their shining Colours dye Bow down their Heads while sighing Zephires fly Queen of the fields whose Blush makes blush the Morn Sweet Rose a Princes Death in Purple mourn O Hyacinths for aye your aye keep still Nay with moe markes of Woe your Leaves now fill And you O Flow'r of Helens teares that 's borne Into these liquid Pearles againe you turne Your green Locks Forrests cut to weeping Mirres To deadly Cypres and Inke-dropping Firres Your Palmes and Mirtles change from shadows dark Wing'd Syrens waâ—le and you sad Ecchoes marke The lamentable Accents of their Moane And plaine that brave Moeliades is gone Stay Skie thy turning Course and now become A stately Arch unto the Earth his Tombe And over it still watry Iris keep And sad Electras Sisters which still weep Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore Deare Ghost forgive these our untimely Teares By which our loving Mind though weake appeares Our Losse not Thine when we complaine we weep For Thee the glistring Walls of Heaven do keep Beyond the Planets Wheels 'bove highest Source Of Spheares that turnes the lower in his Course Where Sun doth never set nor ugly Night Ever appeares in mourning Garments dight Where Boreas stormy Trumpet doth not sound Nor Clouds in Lightnings bursting Minds astound From Cares cold Climates far and hot Desire Where Time 's exil'd and Ages ne're expire 'Mong purest Spirits environed with Beames Thou think'st all things below t' have been but dreams And joy'st to look down to the azur'd Bars Of Heaven powd'red with Troupes of streaming Stars And in their turning Temples to behold In silver Robe the Moone the Sun in Gold Like young Eye-speaking Lovers in a Dance With Majesty by Turnes retire advance Thou wondrest Earth to see hang like a Ball Clos'd in the mighty Cloyster of this All And that poore Men should prove so madly fond To tosse themselves for a small spot of Ground Nay that they even dare brave the Powers above From this base Stage of Change that cannot move All worldly Pompe and Pride thou seest arise Like Smoake that 's scatt'red in the empty Skies Other high Hils and Forrests other Tow'rs Amaz'd thou findst excelling our poore Bow'rs Courts void of Flattery of Malice Minds Pleasure which lasts not such as Reason blinds Thou sweeter Songs dost heare and Carrollings Whilst Heavens do dance and Quires of Angels sings Then muddy Minds could faine even our Annoy If it approach that Place is chang'd to Joy Rest blessed soule rest satiate with the sight Of him whose Beames though dazling do delight Life of all lives Cause of each other cause The Spheare and Center where the Mind doth pause Narcissus of himselfe himselfe the Well Lover and Beauty that doth all excell Rest happy Soule and wonder in that Glasse Where seen is all that shall be is or was While shall be is or was do passe away And nothing be but an Eternall Day For ever rest thy Praise Fame will enroule In golden Annals while about the Pole The slow Boötes turnes or Sun doth rise With scarlet Scarse to cheare the mourning Skies The Virgins to thy Tombe will Garlands beare Of Flow'rs and with each Flow'r let fall a Teare Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore William Drummond OF JET Or PORPHYRIE Or that white Stone PAROS affords alone Or these in AZURE dye Which seem to scorn the SKIE Here Memphis Wonders do not set Nor ARTEMISIA'S huge Frame That keeps so long her Lovers Name Make no great marble Atlas stoop with Gold To please the Vulgar EYE shall it behold The Muses Phoebus Love have raised of their teares A Crystal Tomb to him through which his worth appears STay Passenger see where enclosed lies The Paragon of Princes fairest Frame Time Nature Place could show to mortall Eyes In Worth Wit Vertue Miracle of Fame At least that Part the Earth of him could clame This Marble holds hard like the Destinies For as to his brave Spirit and glorious Name The One the World the other fills the Skies Th' immortall Amaranthus princely Rose Sad Violet and that sweet Flow'r that beares In Sanguine Spots the Tenor of our Woes Spread on this Stone and wash it with your Tears Then go and tell from Gades unto Inde You saw where Earths Perfections were confin'd SON A Passing Glance a Lightning long the skies Which ush'ring Thunder dies straight to our sight A Sparke that doth from jarring mixtures rise Thus drown'd is in th' huge Depths of Day and Night Is this small trifle Life held in such Price Of blinded Wights who ne're judge Ought aright Of Parthian shaft so swift is not the Flight As Life that wastes it selfe and living dies Ah what is humane Greatnesse Valour Wit What fading Beauty Riches Honour Praise To what doth serve in golden Thrones to sit Thrall Earths vaste Round triumphall Arches raise That 's all a Dreame learne in this Princes Fall In whom save Death nought mortall was at all William Drummond To the Reader THe Name which in these Verses is given unto Prince Henry is that which he Himselfe in the Challenges of his Martiall Sports and Mascarads was wont to use MOELIADES Prince of the Isles which in Anagram maketh a Word most worthy of such a Knight as He was a Knight if Time had suffered his Actions answer the Worlds expectation only worthy of such a Word Miles A Deo MADRIGALS AND EPIGRAMS Madrigals and Epigrams The Statue of Medusa OF that Medusa strange Who those that did her see in Rocks did change No Image carv'd is this Medusa's selfe it is For while at heate of Day To quench her Thirst She by this Spring did stay Her hideous Head beholding in this Glasse Her Senses fail'd and thus transform'd she was The Pourtrait of Mars and Venus FAire Paphos wanton Queen Not drawn in White and Red Is truly here as when in Vulcans Bed She was of all Heavens laughing Senate seen Gaze on her Haire and Eine Her Brows the Bows of Love Her back with Lillies spred Ye also might perceive her turne and move But that She neither so will do nor dare For feare to wake the angry God of War Narcissus FLouds cannot quench my Flames ah in this Well I burne not drowne for what I cannot tell Dameta's Dreame DAmetas dream'd he saw his Wife at Sport And found that sight was through the horny Port. Cherries MY Wanton weep no more The losing of your Cherries Those and far sweeter Berries Your Sister in good store Hath in her Lips and Face Be glad kisse her with me and hold your peace Icarus WHile with audacious Wings I cleav'd thâ—se airy Waies And fill'd a Monster new with Dread and Feares The feathered People and their Eagle Kings Dazell'd with Phoebus Rayes And charmed with the Musick
of the Spheares When Quills could move no more and force did faile Though down I fell from Heavens high azure bounds Yet doth Renowne my Losses countervaile For still the Shore my brave attempt resounds A Sea an Element doth beare my Name What Mortalls Tombe's so great in Place or Fame On his Lady beholding her selfe in a Marble WOrld wonder not that I Keep in my brest engraven That Angels face hath me of Rest bereaven See Dead and Senselesse things cannot deny To lodge so deare a Guest Ev'n this hard Marble Stone Receives the same and loves but cannot groane To sleep HOw comes it Sleep that thou Even kisses me affords Of her deare her so far who 's absent now How did I heare those Words Which Rocks might move and move the Pines to Bow Aye me before halfe day Why did'st thou steale away Returne I thine for ever will remaine If thou wilt bring with thee that Guest againe A pleasant deceit OVer a christall Source Iolas laid his face Of purling Streames to see the restlesse Course But scarce he had o'reshadowed the Place When in the water he a Child espies So like himselfe in stature Face and Eyes That glad he rose and cried Deare Mates approach see whom I have descried The Boy of whom strange stories Shepheards tell Oft-called Hylas dwelleth in this Well The Canon WHen first the Canon from her gaping Throat Against the Heaven her roaring Sulphur shot Jove wakened with the noise did aske with wonder What Mortall Wight had stolne from him his Thunder His christall Tow'rs he feared but Fire and Aire So high did stay the Ball from mounting there Thais Metamorphosis INto Briareus huge Thais wish'd she might change Her Man and pray'd him not thereat to grudge Nor fondly thinke it strange For if said she I might the parts dispose I wish you not a hundred Armes nor Hands But hundred things like those With which Priapus in our Garden stands The quality of a Kisse THe kisse with so much strife Which I late got sweet Heart Was it a sign of Death or was it Life Of Life it could not be For I by it did sigh my Soule in thee Ne was it Death Death doth no joy impart Thou silent stand'st ah what did'st thou bequeath A dying Life to me or living Death His Ladies Dog WHen Her deare Bosome clips That little Cur which fawnes to touch her Lips Or when it is his hap To lie lap'd in her Lap O it grows Noon with me With hotter-pointed Beames I burne then those are which the Sun forth streames When piercing lightning his Rayes call'd may be And as I muse how I to shose extreames Am brought I find no Cause except that She In Loves bright Zodiack having trac'd each Roome To the hot Dog-star now at last is come An Almanack THis strange Ecclipse one saies Strange Wonders doth foretell But you whose Wives excell And love to count their Praise Shut all your gates your Hedges plant with Thornes The Sun did threat the World this time with Hornes The Silk-Worme of Love A Daedale of my Death Now I resemble that slie worme on Earth Which prone to its own harme doth take no rest For Day and Night opprest I feed on fading Leaves Of Hope which me deceives And thousand Webs do warpe within my Brest And thus in end unto my selfe I weave A fast-shut Prison or a closer Grave Deep impression of Love to his Mistris WHom a mad Dog doth bite He doth in Water still That mad Dogs Image see Love mad perhaps when he my Heart did smite More to dissemble his Ill Transform'd himselfe to thee For thou art present ever since to me No Spring there is no Floud nor other Place Where I alas not see thy Heavenly Face A Chaine of Gold ARe not those Locks of Gold Sufficient Chaines the wildest Hearts to hold Is not that Ivory Hand A Diamantine Band Most sure to keep the most untamed Mind But ye must others find O yes why is that Golden One then woâ—ne Thus free in Chaines perhaps Loves Chaines to scorne On the Death of a Linnet IF cruell Death had Eares Or could be pleas'd by Songs This wing'd Musician had lâ—v'd many yeares And Nisa mine had never wâ—pt these Wrongs For when it first took Breath The Heavens their Notes did unto it bequeath And if that Samians sentences be true Amphion in this Body liv'd anew But Death who nothing spares and nothing heares As he doth Kings kill'd it O Griefe O Teares Lillas Prayer LOve if thou wilt once more That I to thee returne Sweet God make me not burn For quivering Age that doth spent Daies deplore Nor do thou wound my Heart For some unconstant Boy Who joyes to love yet makes of Love a Toy But ah if I must prove thy golden Dart Of grace O let me find A sweet young Lover with an aged Mind Thus Lilla pray'd and Idas did reply Who heard Deare have thy wish for such am I. Armelins Epitaph NEare to this Eglantine Enclosed lies the milke-white Armeline Once Cloris only joy Now only her annoy Who envied was of the most happy Swaines That keep their Flocks in Mountaines Dales or Plains For oft she bore the wanton in her Arme And oft her Bed and Bosome did he warme Now when unkinder Fates did him destroy Blest Dog he had the Grace That Cloris for him wet with teares her Face Epitaph THe Bawd of Justice he who Laws controll'd And made them fawn and frown as he got gold That Proteus of our State whose Heart and Mouth Were farther distant than is North from South That Cormorant who made himselfe so grosse On Peoples Ruine and the Princes Losse Is gone to Hell and though he here did evill He there perchance may prove an honest Devill A Translation FIerce Robbers were of old Exil'd the Champian Ground From Hamlets chas'd in Cities kill'd or bound And only Woods Caves Mountaines did them hold But now when all is sold Woods Mountaines Caves to good Men be refuge And do the Guiltlesse lodge And clad in Purple Gowns The greatest Theeves command within the Towns Epitaph THen Death thee hath beguil'd Alectos first borne Child Then thou who thrall'd all Laws Now against Wormes cannot maintaine thy Cause Yet Wormes more just than thou now do no Wrong Since all do wonder they thee spar'd so long For though from Life thou didst but lately passe Twelve Springs are gone since thou corrupted was Come Citizens erect to death an Altar Who keeps you from Axe Fuell Timber Halter A Jest. IN a most holy Church a holy man Vnto a holy Saint with Visage wan And Eyes like Fountaines mumbled forth a Prayer And with strange Words and Sighs made black the Aire And having long so stay'd and long long pray'd A thousand crosses on himselfe he lay'd And with some sacred Beads hung on his Armâ— His Eyes his Mouth his Temples Brest did charme Thus not content strange Worship hath no
you Heaven that all containes And thou my Soule let nought thy Griefes relent Those Hands those sacred Hands which hold the reines Of this great All and kept from mutuall wars The Elements beare rent for thee their Veines Those Feet which once must trade on golden Stars For thee with Nails would be pierc'd through and torn For thee Heavens King from Heaven himselfe debars This great heart-quaking Dolour waile and mourne Yee that long since Him saw by might of Faith Ye now that are and ye yet to be borne Not to behold his great Creators Death The Sun from sinfull eyes hath vail'd his light And faintly journies up Heavens saphyre Path And cutting from her Brows her Tresses bright The Moone doth keep her Lords sad Obsequâ—es Impearling with her Teares her Robe of Night All staggering and lazie lowre the Skies The Earth and elementall Stages quake The long-since dead from bursted Graves arise And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take And beare a part with him who all them wrought And Man though borne with cries shall pitty lack Thinke what had been your state had he not brought To these sharpe Pangs himselfe and priz'd so high Your soules that with his Life them life he bought What woes do you attend if still ye lye Plung'd in your wonted ordures wretched Brood Shall for your sake againe God ever die O leave deluding shews embrace true good He on you calls forgo Sins shamefull trade With Prayers now seek Heaven and not with Bloud Let not the Lambs more from their Dams be had Nor Altars blush for sin live every thing That long time long'd for sacrifice is made All that is from you crav'd by this great King Is to beleeve a pure Heart Incense is What gift alas can we him meaner bring Haste sin-sick Soules this season do not misse Now while remorselesse Time doth grant you space And God invites you to your only Blisse He who you calls will not deny you Grace But low-deep bury faults so ye repent His Armes loe stretched are you to embrace When Daies are done and Lifes small sparke is spent So you accept what freely here is given Like brood of Angels deathlesse all-content Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven COme forth come forth ye blest triumphing Bands Faire Citizens of that immortall Town Come see that King which all this All commands Now overcharg'd with Love die for his own Look on those Nailes which pierce his Feet and Hands What a sharpe Diadem his Brows doth crown Behold his pallid Face his heavy frown And what a throng of Thieves him mocking stands Come forth ye Empyrean Troupes come forth Preserve this sacred Bloud that Earth adornes Gather those liquid Roses off his Thornes O! to be lost they be of too much worth For Streams 1 Juice 2 Balm 3 they are which quench 1 kills 2 charmes 3 Of God 1 Death 2 Hell 3 the wrath 1 the life 2 the harmes3. SOule whom Hell did once inthrall He He for thine offence Did suffer Death who could not die at all O soveraigne Excellence O life of all that lives Eternall Bounty which each good thing gives How could Death mount so high No wit this Point can reach Faith only doth us teach He died for us at all who could not dye LIfe to give life deprived is of Life And Death display'd hath Ensigne against Death So violent the Rigour was of Death That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life No Power had Pow'r to thrall Lifes Pow'rs to Death But willingly Life down hath laid Life Love gave the wound which wrought this worke of Death His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life Now quakes the Author of eternall Death To find that they whom late he rest of Life Shall fill his Roome above the lists of Death Now all rejoyce in Death who hope for Life Dead Jesus lies who Death hath kill'd by Death No Tombe his Tombe is but new Source of Life RIse from those fragrant Climes thee now embrace Unto this World of Ours O haste thy Race Faire Sun and though contrarie waies all yeare Thou hold thy course now with the highest Sheare Joyne thy blew Wheeles to hasten Time that low'rs And lazy Minutes turne to perfect Houres The Night and Death too long a league have made To stow the World in Horrours ugly shade Shake from thy Locks a Day with Safron raies So faire that it outshine all other daies And yet do not presumâ— great Eye of Light To be that which this Day must make so bright See an Eternall Sun hasts to arise Not from the Easterne blushing Seas or Skies Or any stranger Worlds Heavens Concaves have But from the Darknesse of an hollow Grave And this is that all-powerfull Sun above That crown'd thy Brows with Rays first made thee moâ— Lights Trumpeters ye need not from your Bow'rs Proclaime this Day this the angelick Pow'rs Have done for you But now an opall hew Bepaints Heavens Christall to the longing view Earths late hid Colours shine Light doth adorne The World and weeping Joy forth comes the Morne And with her as from a Lethargick Trance The breath return'd that Bodies doth advance Which two sad Nights in Rock lay coffin'd dead And with an iron Guard invironed Life out of Death Light out of Darknesse springs From a base Jaile forth comes the King of Kings What late was mortall thrall'd to every woe That lackeys life or upon sense doth grow Immortall is of an eternall Stampe Far brighter beaming than the morning Lampe So from a black Ecclipse out-peares the Sun Such when her course of Daies have on her run In a far Forrest in the pearly East And she her selfe hath burnt and spicie Nest The lovely Bird with youthfull Pens and Combe Doth sore from out her Cradle and her Tombe So a small seed that in the Earth lies hid And dies reviving bursts her cloddy Side Adorn'd with yellow Locks of new is borne And doth become a Mother great with Corne Of Graines brings hundreds with it which when old Enrich the Furrows which do float with Gold Haile holy Victor greatest Victor haile That Hell doth ransake against Death prevaile O how thou long'd for com'st with joyfull cries The all-triumphing Palatines of Skies Salute thy rising Earth would Joyes no more Beare if thou rising didst them not restore A silly Tombe should not his Flesh enclose Who did Heavens trembling Tarasses dispose No Monument should such a Jewell hold No Rock though Ruby Diamond and Gold Thou didst lament and pitty humane Race Bestowing on us of thy free-given Grace More than we forfeited and losed first In Eden Rebells when we were accurst Then Earth our portion was Earths Joyes but given Earth and Earths Blisse thou hast exchang'd with heaven O what a hight of good upon us streames From the great splendor of thy Bounties Beames When we deserv'd shame horrour flames of wrath Thou bledst our wounds and suffer didst
art not Great Nor glorious By this Monument turne wise One it enshrineth sprung of ancient stemm And if that Bloud Nobility can make From which some Kings have not disdain'd to take Their proud Descent a rare and matchlesse Gemm A Beauty here it holds by full assurance Than which no blooming Rose was more refin'd Nor Mornings Blush more radiant ever shinâ—d Ah! too too like to Morne and Rose at last It holds her who in Wits ascendant far Did Yeares and Sex transcend To whom the Heaven More Vertue than to all this Age had given For Vertue Meteor turn'd when she a star Faire Mirth sweet Conversation Modesty And what those Kings of Numbers did conceive By Muses Nine and Graces moe than Three Lye clos'd within the Compasse of this Grave Thus Death all Earthly glories doth confound Loe how much Worth a little Dust doth bound FAr from these Bankes exiled be all Joyes Contentments Pleasures Musick cares reliefe Tears Sighs Plaints Horrours Frightments sad Annoies Invest these Mountaines fill all Hearts with Griefe Here Nightingals and Turtles vent your moanes Amphrisian Shepheard here come feed thy Flocke And read thy Hyacinth amidst our Groanes Plaine Eccho thy Narcissus from our Rocks Lost have our Meads their Beauty Hills their Gemms Our Brooks their Christall Groves their pleasant shade The fairest Flow'r of all our Anademms Death cropped hath the Lesbia chaste is dead Thus sigh'd the Tyne then shrunke beneath his Urne And Meads Brooks Rivers Hills about did mourne THe Flower of Virgins in her Prime of yeares By ruthlesse Destinies is ta'ne away And rap'd from Earth poore Earth before this Day Which ne're was rightly nam'd a Vale of Teares Beauty to Heaven is fled sweet Modesty No more appeares She whose harmonious sounds Did ravish Sense and charme Minds deepest wounds Embaulm'd with many a Teare now low doth lye Faire Hopes now vanish'd are She should have grac'd A Princes Marriage-Bed but loe in Heaven Blest Paramours to her were to be given She liv'd an Angell now is with them plac'd Vertue is but a Name abstractly trimm'd Interpreting what she was in effect A shaddow from her Frame which did reflect A Pourtrait by her Excellencies limm'd Thou whom free-will or chance hath hither brought And read'st Here lies a Branch of Maitlands stemm And Sâ—ytons Off-spring know that either Name Designes all worth yet reacht by humane Thought Tombes else-where use Life to their Guests to give These Ashes can fraile Monuments make live Another on the same subject LIke to the Gardens Eye the Flower of Flow'rs With purple Pompe that dazle doth the Sight Or as among the lesser Gems of Night The Usher of the Planet of the Houres Sweet Maid thou shinedst on this World of ours Of all Perfectiâ—ns having trac'd the hight Thine outward frame was faire faire inward Powers A Saphire Lanthorne and an incense light Hence the enamour'd Heaven as too too good On Earths all-thorny soyle long to abide Transplanted to their Fields so rare a Bud Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide Earth moan'd her losse and wish'd she had the grace Not to have known or known thee longer space HArd Laws of mortall Life To which made Thrales we come without consent Like Tapers lighted to be early spent Our Griefes are alwaies rife When joyes but halting march and swiftly fly Like shadows in the Eye The shadow doth not yeeld unto the Sun But Joyes and Life do waste even when begun On the Death of a Nobleman in Scotland buried at Aithen AIthen thy Pearly Coronet let fall Clad in sad Robes upon thy Temples set The weeping Cypresse or the sable Jet Mourne this thy Nurslings losse a losse which all Apollos Quire bemoanes which many yeares Cannot repaire nor Influence of Spheares Ah! when shalt thou find Shepheard like to him Who made thy Bankes more famous by his worth Then all those Gems thy Rocks and Streams send forth His splendor others Glow-worm light did dim Sprung of an ancient and a vertuous Race He Vertue more than many did embrace He fram'd to mildnesse thy halfe-barbarous swaines The Good-mans Refuge of the bad the fright Unparaleld in friendship worlds Delight For Hospitality along thy Plaines Far-fam'd a Patron and a Patterne faire Of Piety the Muses chiefe repaire Most debonaire in Courtesie supreame Lov'd of the meane and honour'd by the Great Ne're dasht by Fortune nor cast down by Fate To present and to after Times a Theame Aithen thy Teares poure on this silent Grave And drop them in thy Alabaster cave And Niâ—bes Imagery become And when thou hast distilled here a Tombe Eâ—chace in it thy Pearls and let it beare Aithens best Gem and honour shrin'd lies here FAme Register of Time Write in thy Scrowle that I Of Wisdome Lover and sweet Poesie Was cropped in my Prime And ripe in worth though green in yeares did dye IUstice Truth Peace and Hospitality Friendship and Love being resolv'd to dye In these lewd Times have chosen here to have With just true pious their Grave Them cherish'd he so much so much did grace That they on Earth would choose none other Place WHen Death to deck his Trophees stop thy breath Rare Ornament and Glory of these Parts All with moist Eyes might say and ruthfull hearts That things immortall vassal'd were to Death What Good in Parts on many shar'd we see From Nature gracious Heaven or Fortune flow To make a Master-Piece of worth below Heaven Nature Fortune gave in grosse to Thee In Honour Bounty Rich in Valour Wit In Courtesie Borne of an ancient Race With Bayes in war with Olives crown'd in Peace Match'd great with Off-spring for great Actions fit No Rust of Times nor Change thy Vertue wan With Times to change when Truth Faith Love decay'd In this new Age like Fate thou fixed stay'd Of the first World an all-substantiall Man As earst this Kingdome given was to thy Syre The Prince his Daughter trusted to thy Care And well the credit of a Gem so rare Thy loyalty and merit did require Yeares cannot wrong thy Worth that now appeares By others set as Diamonds among Pearles A Queens deare Foster Father to three Earles Enough on Earth to triumph are o're yeares Life a Sea-voyage is Death is the Haven And fraught with honour there thou hast arriv'd Which Thousands seeking have on Rocks been driven That Good adornes thy Grave which with thee liv'd For a fraile Life which here thou didst enjoy Thou now a lasting hast â—reed of Annoy WIthin the Closure of thiâ— Narrow Grave Lye all those Graces a Good-wife could have But on this Marble they shall not be read For then the Living envy would the Dead THe Daughter of a King of Princely Parts In Beauty eminent in Vertues chiefe Loadstar of Love and Loadstone of all hearts Her Friends and Husbands only Joy now Griefe Is here pent up within a Marble Frame Whose Paralell no Times no Climates claime VErses fraile Records are to keep a Name Or raise from Dust Men to a Life of Fame The sport and spoyle of Ignorance but far More fraile the Frames of Touch and Marble are Which envy Avarice Time e're long confound Or mis-devotion equalls with the Ground Vertue alone doth last frees man from Death And though despis'd and scorned here beneath Stands grav'n in Angels Diamantine Roles And blazed in the Courts above the Poles Thou wast faire Vertues Temple they did dwell And live ador'd in thee nought did excell But what thou either didst possesse or love The Oraces Darling and the maids of Jove Courted by Fame for Bounties which the Heaven Gave thee in great which if in Parcels given Too many such we happy sure might call How happy then wast thou who enjoyedst them all A whiter Soule ne're body did invest And now sequestred cannot be but blest Inroâ—â—'d in Glory ' midst those Hierarchies Of that immortall People of the Skies Bright Saints and Angels there from cares made free Nought doth becloud thy soveraign Good from Thee Thou smil'st at Earths Confusions and Jars And how for Centaures Children we wage wars Like honey Flies whose rage whole swarmes consumes Till Dâ—st thrown on them makes them vaile their plumes Thy friends to thee a Monument would raise And â—imne thy Vertues but dull griefe thy Praise Breakes in the Entrance and our Taske proves vaine What duty writes that woe blotâ— out againe Yet Love a Pyramid of Sighs thee reares And doth embaulme thee with Fare-wells and Teares Rose THough Marble Porphyry and mourning Touch May praise these spoiles yet can they not too much For Beauty last and this Stone doth close Once Earths Delight Heavens care a purest Rose And Reader shouldst thou but let fall a Teare Upon it other flow'rs shall here appeare Sad Violets and Hyacinths which grow With markes of griefe a publike losse to show II. Relenting Eye which dâ—ignest to this Stone To lend a look behold here he laid one The Living and the Dead interr'd for Dead The Turtle in its Mate is and she fled From Earth her choos'd this Place of Griefe To bound Thoughts a small and sad Reliefe His is this Monument for hers no Art Could frame a Pyramide rais'd of his Heart III. Instead of Epitaphs and airy praise This Monument a Lady chaste did raise To her Lords living fame and after Death Her Body doth unto this Place bequeath To rest with his till Gods shrill Trumpet sound Though time her Life no time her loâ—â— could bound To Sir W. A. THough I have twice been at the Doores of Death And twice found shut those Gates which ever mourn This but a Lightning is Truce ta'ne to Breath For late borne sorrows augure fleet return Amidst thy sacred Cares and Courtly Toyles Alexis when thou shalt heare wandring Fame Tell Death hath triumph'd o're my mortall Spoyles And that on Earth I am but a sad Name If thou e're held me deare by all our Love By all that Blisse those Joyes Heaven here us gave I conjure thee and by the Maids of Jove To grave this short remembrance on my Grave Here Damon lies whose Songs did sometime grace The murmuring Esk may Roses shade the place FINIS
The flowers did smile like those upon her face And as their Aspin stalkes those fingers bind That she might read my case I wish'd to be a Hyacinth in her hand SON THen is she gone O foole and coward I O good occasion lost ne're to be found What fatall chaines have my dull senses bound When best they might that did not Fortune try Here is the fainting Grasse where she did lie With Roses here she stellified the Ground She fix'd her eyes on this yet smiling Pond Nor time nor place seem'd ought for to deny Too long too long Respect I do embrace Your Counsell full of threats and sharpe disdaine Disdaine in her sweet Heart can have no place And though come there must straight retire againe Henceforth Respect farewell I 've heard it told Who lives in love can never be too bold SON WHat cruell Star into this World me brought What gloomy day did dawn to give me light What unkind hand to nurse me Orphane sought And would not leave me in eternall night What thing so deare as I hath essence bought The Elements dry humid heavy light The smallest living things which Nature wrought Be freed of woe if they have small delight Ah only I abandon'd to Despaire Nail'd to my torments in pale Horrours shade Like wandring Clouds see all my comforts fled And Ill on Ill with Houres my life impaire The Heavens and Fortune which were wont to turn Stay in one Mansion fixt to cause me mourn SON DEare Eye which daign'st on this sad Monument The sable Scroule of my mishaps to view Though it with mourning Muses teares be spent And darkely drawn which is not fain'd but true If thou not dazell'd with a Heavenly Hue And comely Feature didst not yet lament But happy lives unto thy selfe content O let not Love thee to his Laws subdue Look on the wofull ship-wrack of my Youth And let my ruines thee for Beacon serve To shun this Rock Capharean of untruth And serve no God which doth his Church-men sterve His Kingdom 's but of plaints his guerdon teares What he gives more is Jealousies and Feares MAD. TO the delightfull Greene Of you faire radiant Eine Let each black yeeld beneath the starry Arch. Eyes burnisht Heavens of Love Sinople Lamps of Jove Save all those hearts which with your flames you parch Two burning Suns you prove All other Eyes compar'd with you deare lights Are Hells or if not Hells yet dumpish Nights The Heavens if we their Glasse The Sea beleeve are green not perfect blew They all make faire what ever faire yet was And they are faire because they look like you SON NYmphs Sister Nymphs which haunt this christall Brook And happy in these floting Bowers abide Where trembling Roofes of Trees from Sun you hide Which make Idaean woods in every Crook Whether ye garlands for your locks provide Or pearly letters seek in sandy Book Or count your Loves when Thetis was a Bride Lift up your golden heads and on me look Read in mine Eyes my agonizing Cares And what ye read recount to her againe Faire Nymphs say all these streames are but my Teares And if she aske you how they sweet remaine Tell that the bitt'rest teares which Eyes can poure When shed for her can be no longer sowre SON SHe whose faire flowers no Autumne makes decay Whose Hue Coelestiall earthly hues doth staine Into a pleasant odoriferous Plaine Did walke alone to brave the pride of May. And whilst through flowry Lists she made her way That proudly smil'd her sight to entertaine Loe unawares where Love did hid remaine She spied and sought to make of him her prey For which of golden locks a fairest haire To bind the Boy she took but he affraid At her approach sprang swiftly in the Aire And mounting far from reach lookt back and said Why shouldst thou sweet me seek in chaines to bind Sith in thy eyes I dayly am confind MAD. SWeet Rose whence is this hue Which doth all hues excell Whence this most fragrant smell And whence this forme and gracing grace in you In faire Paestanas fields perhaps you grew Or Hyblas Hills you bred Or odoriferous Ennas Plaines you fed Or Tmolus or where Bore yong Adon slew Or hath the Queen of Love you died of new In that deare Bloud which makes you look so red No none of those but Cause more high you blist My Ladies Brest you bore her Lips you Kist. MADRIGALL ON this cold World of ours Flow'r of the Seasons Season of the Flow'rs Sun of the Sun sweet Spring Such hot and burning daies why dost thou bring Is it because those high Eternall Pow'rs Flash down that Fire this World environing Or that now Phoebus keeps his Sisters spheare Or doth some Phaëton Enflame the Sea and Aire Or rather is 't not usher of the Yeare Or that last day among the Flow'rs alone Unmask'd thou saw'st my Faire And whilst thou on her gaz'd she did thee burne And to thy Brother Summer doth thee turne SON DEare Wood and you sweet solitary Place Where I estranged from the vulgar live Contented more with what your shades me give Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace What snaky Eye grown jealous of my pace Now from your silent Horrours would me drive When Sun advancing in his glorious race Beyond the Twins doth neare our Pole arrive What sweet delight a quiet life affords And what it is to be from bondage free Far from the madding Worldlings hoarse discords Sweet flowry place I first did learne of thee Ah if I were mine owne your deare resorts I would not change with Princes stateliest Courts SON AH who can see those fruits of Paradise Coelestiall Cherries which so sweetly swell That Sweetnesse selfe confind there seemes to dwell And all those sweetest Parts about despise Ah who can see and feele no Flame surprise His hardened heart For me alas too well I know their Force and how they do excell Now through desire I burne and now I freeze I dye deare Life unlesse to me be given As many kisses as the Spring hath Flow'rs Or there be silver drops in Iris Show'rs Or stars there be in all-embracing 〈◊〉 And if displeas'd ye of the 〈◊〉 complaine Ye shall have leave to take them back againe SON IS 't not enough ay me me thus to see Like some Heaven-banish'd Ghost still wailing go A Shadow which your Raies do only show To vexe me more unlesse ye bid me die What could ye worse allot unto your Foe But die will I so ye will not deny That grace to me which mortall Foes even try To chuse what sort of Death shall end my woe Once did I find that whiles you did me kisse Ye gave my panting soule so sweet a touch That halfe I sownd in midst of all my Blâ—sse I do but crave my Deaths-wound may be such For though by Griefe I die not and annoy Is 't not enough to die through too much joy MAD. VNhappy
Light Do not approach to bring the wofull Day When I must bid for aye Farewell to her and live in endlesse plight Faire Moon with gentle Beames The sight who never mars Cleare long-Heavens sable Vault and you bright Stars Your golden Locks long view in Earths pure streames Let Phoebus never rise To dim your watchfull Eyes Prolong alas 〈◊〉 my short delight And if ye can 〈…〉 Eternall Night SON WIth griefe in Heart and tears in swelling Eyes When I to her had given a sad Fare-well Close sealed with a Kisse and Dew which fell On my else-moistned Face from Beauties Skies So strange Amazement did my Mind surprise That at each Pace I fainting turn'd againe Like one whom a Torpedo stupifies Not feeling Honours Bit nor Reasons Raine But when fierce Stars to part me did constraine With back-cast Looks I both envi'd and bless'd The happy Walls and Place did her containe Untill my eyes that flying Object miss'd So Wailing parted Ganymede the faire When Eagles Talents bore him through the Aire SEXTAIN SIth gone is my Delight and only Pleasure The last of all my Hopes the chearefull Sun That clear'd my lifes dark Spheare Natures sweet Treasure More deare to me than all beneath the Moon What resteth now but that upon this Mountain I weep till Heaven transforme me to a Fountaine Fresh faire delicious christall pearly Fountaine On whose smooth face to look she oft took Pleasure Tell me so may thy streames long cheare this Mountaine So Serpent ne're thee staine nor scorch thee Sun So may with watry beames thee kisse the Moone Dost thou not mourne to want so faire a Treasure While she here gaz'd on thee rich Tagus Treasure Thou neededst not envy nor yet the Fountaine In which that Hunter saw the naked Moon Absence hath robb'd thee of thy Wealth and Pleasure And I remaine like Marigold of Sun Depriv'd that dies by shadow of some Mountaine Nymphs of the Forrests Nymphs who on this Mountain Are wont to dance shewing your Beauties Treasure To Goat-feet Sylvans and the wondring Sun When as you gather flow'rs about this Fountaine Bid her farewell who placed here her Pleasure And sing her praises to the Stars and Moone Among the lesser lights as is the Moon Blushing through mufflâ—ng clouds on Latmos Mountaine Or when she views her silver Locks for Pleasure In Thetis streames proud of so gay a Treasure Such was my Faire when She sate by this Fountaine With other Nymphs to shun the amorous Sun As is our Earth in absence of the Sun Or when of Sun deprived is the Moon As is without a verdant shade a Fountaine Or wanting grasse a Mead a Vale a Mountaine Such is my state bereft of my deare Treasure To know whose only worth was all my Pleasure Ne're thinke of Pleasure Heart Eyes shun the Sun Teares be your Treasure which the wandring Moon Shall see you shed by Mountaine Vaile and Fountaine SON WIndow sometime which served for a Spheare To that deare Planet of my heart whose light Made often blush the glorious Queen of Night While She in thee more beautious did appeare What mourning weeds alas dost thou now weare How loathsome to my eyes is thy sad sight How poorly look'st thou with what heavy cheare Since sets that Sun which made thee shine so bright Unhappy now thee close for as of late To wondring Eyes thou wert a Paradise Bereft of her who made thee fortunate A gulfe thou art whence clouds of sighs arise But unto none so noysome as to me Who hourely sees my murthered joyes in thee SON HOw many times Nights silent Queen her face Hath hid how oft with Stars in silver Maske In Heavens great Hall she hath begun her Taske And chear'd the waking Eye in lower Place How oft the Sun hath made by Heavens swift race The happy Lover to forsake the Brest Of his deare Lady wishing in the West His Golden Coach to run had larger space I ever count and tell since I alas Did bid Farewell to my Hearts dearest Guest The Miles I number and in mind I chase The flouds and Mountaines hold me from my rest But woe is me long count and count may I Ere I see her whose absence makes me die SON OF Death some tell some of the cruell Paine Which that bad Crafts-man in his Work did trie When a new Monster flames once did constraine A humane Corps to yeeld a bellowing Cry Some tell of those in burning Beds who lie Because they durst in the Phlegrean Plaine The mighty Ruler of the Skies defie And siege those chrystall Tow'rs which all containe An other counts of Phlegethons hot floods The Soules which drinke Ixions endlesse smart And his who feeds a Vulture with his heart One tells of Spectars in enchanted Woods Of all those Paines th' extreamest who would prove Let him be absent and but burne in Love SON HAire precious haire which Midas hand did strain Part of the Wreath of gold that crowns those brows Which Winters whitest white in whitenes stain And lilly by Eridans banke that grows Haire fatall present which first caus'd my woes When loose ye hang like Danaes golden raine Sweet Nets which sweetly do all hearts enchaine Strings deadly strings with which Love bends his bows How are ye hither come tell me O haire Deare Armelet for what thus were ye given I know a badge of bondage I you weare Yet haire for you O that I were a Heaven Like Bereniâ—â—s Locks that ye might shine But brighter far about this Arme of mine SON ARe these the flowry banks Is this the Mead Where she was wont to passe the pleasant houres Was 't here her Eyes exhal'd mine eyes salt show'rs And on her lap did lay my wearied Head Is this the goodly Elme did us o'respread Whose tender Rine cut forth in curious flow'rs By that white hand containes those flames of Ours Is this the murmuring Spring us musick made Deflourisht Mead where is your heavenly hue And Banke that Arras did you late adorne How look'st thou Elme all withered and forlorne Only sweet Spring nought altered seems in you But while here chang'd each other thing appears To salt your streames take of mine Eyes these tears SON ALexis here she stay'd among these Pines Sweet Hermitresse she did all alone repaire Here did she spread the Treasure of her Haire More rich than that brought from the Colchian Mines Here sate she by these musket Eglantines The happy flow'rs seeme yet the print to beare Her voice did sweeten here thy sugred lines To which Winds Trees Beasts Birds did lend an Eare. She here me first perceiv'd and here a Morne Of bright Carnations did o'respread her Face Here did she sigh here first my Hopes were borne Here first I got a Pledge of promis'd Grace But ah what serves't t' have been made happy so Sith passed Pleasures double but new woe SON PLace me where angry Titan burnes the More And thirsty Africk fiery Monsters brings Or where
in the Aire By sporting childrens Breath Who chase it every where And strive who can most motion it bequeath And though it sometime seem of its own might Like to an Eye of gold to be fix'd there And firme to hover in that empty height That only is because it is so Light But in that Pompe it doth not long appeare For when 't is most admired in a thought Because it earst was nought it turnes to nought SON MY Lute be as thou wert when thou did grow With thy green Mother in some shady Grove When immelodious Winds but made thee move And Birds their ramage did on thee bestow Since that deare voice which did thy sounds approve Which wont in such harmonious Straines to â—low Is reâ—t from Earth to tune those spheares above What art thou but a Harbinger of woe Thy pleasing Notes he pleasing Notes no more But Orphans wailings to the fainting Eare Each Stroke a sigh each Sound draws forth a Teare For which be silent as in woods before Or if that any hand to touch thee daigne Like widow'd Turtle still her losse complaine SON AH Handkercher sad present of my Deare Gift miserable which doth now remaine The only Guerdon of my helplesse Paine When I thee got thou shewst my state too cleare I never since have ceased to complaine I since the Badge of Griefe did ever weare Joy in my Face durst never since appeare Care was the Food which did me entertaine But since that thou art mine O do not grieve That I this Tribute pay thee for mine Eine And that I this short Time I am to live Laundre thy silken Figures in this Brine No I must yet even beg of thee the Grace That in my Grave thou daigne to shroud my Face MAD. TRees happier far than I Which have the grace to heave your Heads so high And over-look those Plaines Grow till your Branches kisse that lofty Skie Which her sweet selfe containes There make her know mine endlesse Love and Paines And how these Teares which from mine Eyes do fall Helpt you to rise so Tall Tell her as once I for her sake lov'd Breath So for her sake I now court lingring Death SONG SAd Damon being come To that for-ever Lamentable Tombe Which those eternall Powers that all controule Unto his living Soule A melancholy prison had prescrib'd Of Colour Heat and motion depriv'd In Armes weake Fainting Cold A Marble he the Marble did infold And having warme it made with many a showre Which dimmed Eyes did poure When Griefe had given him leave and sighs them staied Thus with a sad alas at last he said Who would have thought to me The place where thou did'st lie could grievous be And that deare body long thee having sought O me who would have thought Thee once to find it should my Soule confound And give my Heart then death a deeper wound Thou did'st disdaine my Teares But grieve not that this ruthfull Stone them beares Mine Eyes for nothing serve but thee to weep And let that course them keep Although thou never wouldst them comfort show Do not repine they have part of thy woe Ah wretch too late I find How Vertues glorious Titles prove but wind For if that Vertue could release from Death Thou yet enjoy'd hadst Breath For if she ere appear'd to mortall Eine It was in thy faire shape that she was seen But O! if I was made For thee with thee why too am I not dead Why do outragious Fates which dimm'd thy sight Let me see hatefull light They without me made Death thee surprise Tyrants no doubt that they might kill me twice O Griefe And could one Day Have force such excellence to take away Could a swift-flying Moment ah deface Those matchlesse gifts that Grace Which Art and Nature had in thee combin'd To make thy Body paragon thy Mind Hath all pass'd like a cloud And doth eternall silence now them shroud Is that so much admir'd now nought but Dust Of which a Stone hath Trust O change O cruell change thou to our sight Show'st the Fates Rigour equall to their Might When thou from earth diâ—'st passe Sweet Nymph Perfections Mirrour broken was And this of late so glorious World of ours Lâ—ke Medows without Flowers Or Ring of a rich Gem which blind appear d Or Starless night or Cynthia nothing clear'd Love when he saw thee dye Entomb'd him in the lid of either Eye And left his Torch within thy sacred Vrne There for a Lampe to burne Worth Honour Pleasure with thy life expir'd Death since grown sweet begins to be desir'd Whilst thou to us wert given The Earth her Venus had as well as Heaven Nay and her Suns which burnt as many Hearts As he the easterne parts Bright Suns which forc'd to leave these Hemispheares Benighted set into a Sea of Teares Ah Death who shall thee flie Since the most mighty are o'rethrown by thee Thou spar'st the Crow and Nightingall dost kill And triumphst at thy will But give thou cannot such another Blow Because Earth cannot such another show O bitter sweets of Love How better is 't at all you not to prove Nor when we do your pleasures must possesse To find them thus made lesse O! That the cause which doth consume our joy Would the remembrance of it too destroy What doth this life bestow But Flow'rs on Thornes which grow Which though they sometime blandish soft delight Yet afterwards us smite And if the rising Sun them faire doth see That Planet setting doth behold them die This world is made a Hell Depriv'd of all that in it did excell O Pan Pan Winter is fallen in May Turn'd is to night our Day Forsake thy Pipe a Scepter take to thee Thy locks disgarland thou black Jove shall be The Flocks do leave the Meads And loathing three leav'd Grasse hold up their Heads The Streames not glide now with a glentle Rore Nor Birds sing as before Hills stands with clouds like Mourners vail'd in black And Owles upon our Roofes foretell our wrack That Zephire every yeare So soone was heard to sigh in Forrests here It was for her that wrapt in Gowns of Greene Meads were so earely seen That in the saddest Months oft sang the Mearles It was for Her for her Trees dropt forth pearles That proud and stately Courts Did envy these our Shades and calme Resorts It was for Her and she is gone O woe Woods cut againe do grow But doth the Rose and Dazy winter done But we once dead do no more see the Sun Whose Name shall now make ring The Ecchoes of whom shall the Nymphets sing Whose heavenly voice whose Soule-invading Straines Shall fill with Joy the plaines What Haire what Eyes can make the Morne in East Weep that a fairer riseth in the West Faire Sun post still away No Musicke here is left thy Course to stay Sweet Hybla Swarmes with Wormewood fill your Bow'râ— Gone is the flower of Flow'rs Blush no more Rose nor Lilly
Amber do send forth Her Heaven hath golden Stars to crown thy Worth Moeris THe sister Nymphs which haunt the Thespian springs More liberally their Gifts ne're did bequeath To them who on their Hils suckt sacred Breath Then unto thee by which thou sweetly sings Ne're did Apollo raise on Pegase Wings A Muse more neare Himselfe more far from Earth Than thine whether thou weep thy Ladies Death Or sing those sweet-sowre Pangs that Passion brings To write our Thoughts in Verse doth merit Praise But thus the Verse to gild in Fictions Ore Bright rich delightfull doth deserve much more As thou hast done these thy melodious Layes No doubt thy Muses faire Morne doth bewray The swift Approach of a more glistring Day TEARES ON THE DEATH OF MOELIADES BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAVVTHORNEDEN LONDON Printed in the Yeare 1656. To the Author IN Waves of Woe thy Sighs my Soule do tosse And make run out the floud-gates of my teares Whose rankling Wound no smoothing Baume long beares But freely bleeds when ought upbraids my Losse 'T is thou so sweetly Sorrow makest to sing And troubled Passions dost so well accord That more Delight Thy Anguish doth afford Than others Joyes can Satisfaction bring What sacred Wits when ravish'd do affect To force Affections Metamorphose Minds Whilst numbrous Power the Soule in secret binds Thou hast perform'd transforming in Effect For never Plaints did greater Pitty move The best Applause that can such Notes approve Sr W. ALEXANDER Teares on the Death of MOELIADES O Heavens then is it true that Thou art gone And left this woefull Isle her Losse to moane Moeliades bright Day-star of the West A 〈◊〉 blazing Terrour to the East And neither that thy Spirit so heavenly wise Nor Body though of Earth more pure than Skies Nor royall Sâ—em nor thy sweet tender Age Of cruell Destinies could quench the Rage O fading Hopes O short-while lasting Joy Of Earth-borne man that one Houre can destroy Then even of Vertues Spoiles Death Trophies reares As if he gloried most in many Teares Forc'd by hard Fates do Heavens neglect our Cries Are Stars set only to act Tragedies Then let them do their Worst since thou art gone Raise whom thou list to Thrones enthron'd dethrone Staine Princely Bow'rs with Bloud and even to Gange In Cypresse sad glad Hymens Torches change Ah thou hast left to live and in the Time When scarce thou blossom'd'st in thy pleasant Prime So falls by Northern Blast a virgin Rose At halfe that doth her bashfull Bosome close So a sweet Flower languishing decaies That late did blush when kist by Phoebus Raies So Phoebus mounting the Meridians height Choak't by pale Phoebe faints unto our sight Astonish'd Nature sullen stands to see The Life of all this All so chang'd to be In gloomy Gowns the Stars this losse deplore The Sea with murmuring Mountaines beats the Shore Black Darkenesse reeles o're all in thousand Show'rs The weeping Aire on Earth her sorrow poures That in a Palsey quakes to see so soone Her Lover set and Night burst forth ere Noone If Heaven alas ordain'd thee young to die Why was 't not where thou might'st thy Valour try And to the wondring World at least set forth Some little Sparke of thy expected Worth Moeliades O that by Isterâ— Streames 'Mong sounding Trumpets fiery twinkling Gleames Of warme vermilion Swords and Cannons Roare Balls thick as Raine pour'd on the Caspian Shore 'Mongst broken Spears 'mongst ringing Helms shields Huge heapes of slaughtred Bodies long the Fields In Turkish bloud made red like Marses Star Thou endedst had thy Life and Christian War Or as brave Burbon thou hadst made old Rome Queen of the World thy Triumph and thy Tombe So Heavens fair Face to th' unborne World which reads A Book had been of thy illustrious Deeds So to their Nephews aged Syres had told The high Exploits perform'd by thee of old Towns raz'd and rais'd victorious vanquish'd Bands Fierce Tyrants flying foyl'd kill'd by thy Hands And in rich Arras Virgins faire had wrought The Bayes and Trophies to thy Country brought While some New Homer imping Wings to Fame Deafe Nilus dwellers had made heare thy Name That thou didst not attaine these Honours Spheares Through want of Worth it was not but of Yeares A Youth more brave pale Troy with trembling Walls Dâ—d never see nor She whose Name appalls Both Titans golden Bow'rs in bloudy Fights Mustring on Mars his Field such Mars-like Knights The Heavens had brought thee to the highest Hight Of Wit and Courage shewing all their Might When they thee fram'd Aye me that what is brave On Earth they as their own so soon should crave Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thale to Hydaspes pearly shore When Forth thy Nurse Forth where thou first didst passe Thy tender Daies who smil'd oft on her Glasse To see thee gaze Meandring with her Streames Heard thou hadst left this Round from Phoebus Beames She sought to flie but forced to returne By Neighbouring Brooks She set her selfe to mourne And as she rush'd her Cyclades among She seem'd too plain that Heaven had done her wrong With a hoarse plaint Cleyd down her steepy rocks And Tweid through her green Mountaines clad with flocks Did wound the Ocean murmuring thy death The Ocean it roar'd about the Earth And to the Mauritanian Atlas told Who shrunke through griefe and down his white hairs rold Huge Streames of tears which changed were to flouds Wherewith he drown'd the neighbour plains woods The lesser Brooks as they did bubling go Did keep a Consort to the publike Woe The Shepheards left their Flocks with down-cast eies ' Sdaining to look up to the angry Skies Some brake their Pipes and some in sweet-sad Layes Made senselesse things amazed at thy Praise His Reed Alexis hung upon a Tree And with his Teares made Doven great to be Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to Hydaspes pearely shore Chaste Maids which haunt faire Aganippes Well And you in Tempes sacred Shade who dwell Let fall your Harps cease Tunes of Joy to sing Dissheveled make all Parnassus ring With Anthâ—amesâ—ad â—ad thy Musick Phoebus turne To dolefull plaints whilst Joy it selfe doth mourne Dead is thy Darling who adorn'd thy Bayes Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet Layes And to a Trumpet raise thy amorous Stile That floting Delos envy might this Isle You Acidalian Archers breake your Bows Your Torches quench with teares blot Beauties Snows And bid your weeping Mother yet againe A second Adoâ—s death nay Mars his plaine His Eyes once were your Darts nay even his Name Where ever heard did every Heart inflame Tagus did court his Love with Golden Streames Rhein with his Towns faire Seine with all she claimes But ah poore Lovers Death them did betray And not suspected made their Hopes his Prey Tagus bewailes his Losse in Golden Streames Rhein with his Towns faire Seine with all she claimes Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to
thee are one that which hath run And that which is not brought yet by the Sun To thee are present who dost alwaies see In present act what past is or to be Day-livers we rememberance do lose Of Ages worne so Miseries us tosse Blind and lethaâ—gick of thy heavenly Grace Which Sin in our first Parents did deface And even while Embrions curst by justest doome That we neglect what gone is or to come But thou in thy great Archives scrolled hast In parts and whole what ever yet hath past Since first the marble Wheels of Time were roll'd As ever living never waxing old Still is the same thy Day and Yesterday An undivided Now a constant Ay. O King whose Greatnesse none can comprehend Whose boundlesse Goodnesse doth to all extend Light of all Beauty Ocean without ground That standing flowest giving dost abound Rich Pallace and Endweller ever blest Never not working ever yet in Rest What wit cannot conceive words say of Thee Here where we as but in a Mirrour see Shadows of shadows Atomes of thy Might Still owly-eyed when staring on thy Light Grant that released from this earthly Jaile And freed from Clouds which here our Knowledge vaile In Heavens high Temples where thy Praises ring In sweeter Notes I may heare Angels sing GReat God whom we with humbled Thoughts adore Eternall Infinite Almighty King Whose Dwellings Heaven transcend whose Throne before Archangels serve and Seraphines do sing Of nought who wrought all that with wondring Eyes We do behold within this various Round Who makes the Rocks to rocke to stand the Skies At whose command Clouds peales of Thunder sound Ah! spare us Wormes weigh not how we alas Evill to our selves against thy Laws rebell Wash off those spots which still in Conscience Glasse Though we be loath to look we see too well Deserv'd Revenge oh do not do not take If thou revenge who shall abide thy Blow Passe shall this World this World which thou didst make Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow What Soule is found whom Parents Crime not staines Or what with its own Sins defil'd is not Though Iustice Rigor threaten yet her Raines Let Mercy guide and never be forgot Lesse are our Faults far far than is thy Love O what can better seeme thy Grace divine Than they who plagues deserve thy Bounty prove And where thou show'r mayst Vengeance there to shine Then look and pitty pittying forgive Us guilty Slaves or Servants now in thrall Slaves if alas thou look how we do live Or doing ill or doing nought at all Of an ungratefull Mind a foule Effect But if thy Gifts which largely heretofore Thou hast upon us pour'd thou dost respect We are thy Servants nay than Servants more Thy Children yes and Children dearely bought But what strange Chance us of this Lot bereaves Poore worthless Wights how lowly are we brought Whom Grace once Children made Sin hath made Slaves Sin hath made Slaves but let those Bands Grace breake That in our Wrongs thy Mercies may appeare Thy Wisdome not so meane is Pow'r so weake But thousand waies they can make Worlds thee feare O Wisdome boundless O miraculous Grace Grace Wisdome which make winke dimme Reasons Eye And could Heavens King bring from his placeless Place On this ignoble Stage of Care to dye To dye our Death and with the sacred Streame Of Bloud and Water gushing from his Side To make us cleane of that contagious Blame First on us brought by our first Parents Pride Thus thy great Love and Pity heavenly King Love Pity which so well our Loss prevent Of Evill it selfe loe could all Goodness bring And sad beginning cheare with glad event O Love and Pity ill known of these Times O Love and Pity carefull of our need O Bounties which our horrid Acts and Crimes Grown numberless contend neare to exceed Make this excessive ardour of thy love So warme our Coldness so our Lifes renew That we from Sin Sin may from us remove Wisdome our Will Faith may our Wit subdue Let thy pure Love burne up all worldly Lust Hells candid Poyson killing our best part Which makes us joy in Toyes adore fraile Dust Instead of Thee in Temple of our Heart Grant when at last our Soules these Bodies leave Their loathsome Shops of sin and Mansions blind And Doome before thy Royall Seat receive A Saviour more than Judge they thee may find THE WANDRING MUSES OR The River of FORTH FEASTING IT BEING A Panegyrick to the High and Mighty Prince James King of Great Brittaine France and Ireland BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND Of HAVVTHORNDEN LONDON Printed in the Yeare 1656. To His Sacred Majesty IF in this Storme of joy and pompous Throng This Nymph great King doth come to Thee so neare That thy harmonious Eares Her accents heare Give Pardon to Her hoarse and lowly Song Faine would shee Trophees to Thy Vertues reare But for this stately taske She is not strong And her Defects Her high Attempts do wrong Yet as she could She makes thy Worth appeare So in a Map is shown this flowry Place So wrought in Arras by a Virgins Hand With Heaven and blazing Stars doth Atlas stand So drawn by Char-coale is Narcissus Face She like the Morn may be to some bright Sun The Day to perfect that 's by her begun The River of FORTH FEASTING A Panegyrick to the High and Mighty Prince James King of Great Brittaine France and Ireland WHat blustring Noise now interrups my Sleeps What ecchoing Shouts thus cleave my christall Deeps And seems to call me from my watry Court What Melody what sounds of Joy and Sport Are convey'd hither from each Night-borne Spring With what loud Rumours do the Mountaines ring Which in unusuall Pompe on tip-toes stand And full of Wonder overlook the Land Whence come these glitt'ring Throngs these Meteors bright This golden People glancing in my sight Whence doth this Praise Applause and Love arise What Load-star East-ward draweth thus all Eyes Am I awake Or have some Dreames conspir'd To mock my Sense with what I most desir'd View I that living Face see I those Looks Which with Delight were wont t' amaze my Brooks Do I behold that Worth that Man divine This Ages Glory by these Bankes of mine Then find I true what long I wish'd in vaine My much beloved Prince is come againe So unto them whose Zenith is the Pole When six black Months are past the Sun doth roll So after Tempest to Sea-tossed Wights Faire Helens Brothers show their clearing Lights So comes Arabias wonder from her Woods And far far off is seen by Memphis Flouds The feather'd Sylvans Cloud-like by her flie And with triumphing plaudits beat the Skie Nyle marvels Seraps Priests entranced rave And in Mygdonian stone her Shape ingrave In lasting Cedars they do marke the Time In which Apollos Bird came to their Clime Let Mother Earth now deckt with Flow'rs be seen And sweet-breath'd Zephyres curle the Meadows green Let Heaven weep Rubies
He sure may couâ—â— with all â—he waves that meet To wash the Mauritanian Atlas feet Though crown'd thou weâ—t not nor a King by Birth Thy Worth deserves the richest Crown on Earth Search this halfe-Spheare and the Antartick Ground Where is such Wit and Bounty to be found As into silent Night when neare the Beare The Virgine Huntâ—esse skiÌ„nes at full most cleare And strives to match her Brothers golden Light The Hoast of stars doth vanish in her sight Arcturus dies cool'd is the Lions ire Po burns no more with Phaëtontall Fire Orion faints to see his Armes grow black And that his flaming Sword he now doth lack So Europes Lights all bright in their Degree Lose all their Lustre parallel'd with Thee By just Discent Thou from more Kings dost shine Than many can name Men in all their Line What most they toyle to find and finding hold Thou scornest orient Gems and flatt'ring Gold Esteeming Treasure surer in Mens Brests Than when immur'd with Marble clos'd in Chests No stormy Passions do disturbe thy Mind No mists of Greatnesse ever could thee blind Who yet hath been so meeke Thou life didst give To them who did repine to see Thee live What Prince by Goodnesse hath such Kingdoms gain'd Who hath so long his Peoples Peace maintain'd Their Swords are turn'd to Sythes to Culters Speares Some Giant Post their antick Armour beares Now where the wounded Knight his Life did bleed The wanton Swaine sits piping on a Reed And where the Canon did Joves Thunder scorne The gawdy Hunts-man winds his shrill-tun'd Horne Her green Locks Ceres doth to yellow die The Pilgrim safely in the shade doth lye Both Pan and Pales carelesse keep their Flocks Seas have no Dangers save the Winds and Rocks Thou art this Isles Palladium neither can Whiles thou dost live it be o're-thrown by Man Let others boast of Bloud and Spoyles of Foes Fierce Rapines Murders Iliads of Woes Of hated Pompe and Trophees reared faire Gore-spangled Ensignes streaming in the Aire Count how they make the Scythian them adore The Gaditan and Souldiour of Aurore Unhappy Boasting to enlarge their Bounds That charge themselves with cares their friends with Wounds Who have no Law to their ambitious Will But Man-plagues borne are humane Bloud to spill Thou a true Victor art sent from above What others straine by Force to gaine by Love World-wandring Fame this Praise to thee imparts To be the only Monarch of all Hearts They many feare who are of many fear'd And Kingdoms got by Wrongs by Wrongs are tear'd Such Thrones as Bloud doth raise Bloud throweth down No Guard so sure as Love unto a Crown Eye of our westerne World Mars-daunting King With whose Renowne the Earths seven Climates ring Thy Deeds not only claime these Diadems To which Thame Litty Taye subject their Streames But to thy Vertues rare and Gifts is due All that the Planet of the Yeare doth view Sure if the world above did want a Prince The world above to it would take Thee hence That Murder Rapine Lust are fled to Hell And in their Rooms with us the Graces dwell That Honour more than Riches Men respect That Worthinesse than Gold doth more effect That Piety unmasked shows her Face That Innocency keeps with Power her Place That long-exil'd Astrea leaves the Heaven And turneth right her Sword her Weights holds even That the Saturnian world is come againe Are wish'd effects of Thy most happy Raigne That dayly Peace Love Truth Delights encrease And Discord Hate Fraud with Incumbers cease That Men use strength not to shed others Bloud But use their strength now to do others Good That Fury is enchain'd disarmed VVrath That save by Natures Hand there is no Death That late grim Foes like Brothers other love That Vultures prey not on the harmelesse Dove That VVolves with Lambs do friendship entertaine Are wish'd effects of thy most happy Raigne That Towns encrease That ruin'd Temples rise That their wind-moving Vanes do kisse the Skies That Ignorance and Sloath hence run away That buri'd Arts now rowse them to the Day That Hyperion far beyond his Bed Doth see our Lions rampe our Roses spred That Iber courts us Tyber not us charmes That Rhein with hence-brought Beames his bosome warmes That Ill doth feare and Good doth us maintaine Are wish'd Effects of thy most happy Raigne O Vertues Patterne Glory of our Times Sent of past Daies to expiate the Crimes Great King but better far than thou art great VVhom State not honours but who honours State By VVonder borne by VVonder first install'd By VVonder after to new Kingdoms call'd Young kept by VVonder from home-bred Alarmes Old sav'd by Wonder from pale Traitours Harmes To be for this Thy Raigne which VVonders brings A King of VVonder VVonder unto Kings If Pict Dane Normane Thy smooth Yoke had seen Pict Dane and Norman had thy Subjects been If Brutus knew the Blisse Thy Rule doth give Even Brutus joy would under Thee to live For Thou Thy People dost so dearely love That they a Father more than Prince Thee prove O Daies to be desir'd Age happy thrice If you your Heaven-sent-Good could duly prize But we halfe-palsie-sick thinke never right Of what we hold till it be from our sight Prize only Summers sweet and musked Breath VVhen armed VVinters threaten us with Death In pallid Sicknesse do esteeme of Health And by sad Poverty discerne of Wealth I see an Age when after some few yeares And Revolutions of the slow-pac'd Spheares These daies shall be 'bove other far esteem'd And like Augustus palmy Raigne be deem'd The Names of Arthur fabulous Paladines Grav'n in Times surly Brows in wrinckled Lines Of Henries Edwards famous for their Fights Their Neighbour Conquests Orders new of Knights Shall by this Princes Name be past as far As Meteors are by the Idalian Star If Gray-hair'd Proteüs Songs the Truth not misse There is a Land hence-distant many Miles Out-reaching Fiction and Atlantick Isles Which Homelings from this little World we name That shall imblazon with strange Rites his Fame Shall reare him Statues all of purest Gold Such as Men gave unto the Gods of old Name by him Temples Pallaces and Towns With some great River which their Fields renowns This is that King who should make right each wrong Of whom the Bards and mystick Sybills sung The Man long promis'd by whose glorious Raigne This Isle should yet her ancient Name regaine And more of Fortunate deserve the Stile Than those where Heavens with double SuÌ„mers smile Run on Great Prince Thy Course in Glories way The end the Life the Evening crowns the Day Heape worth on worth and strongly soare above Those heights which made the World Thee first to love Surmount thy selfe and make thine Actions past Be but as Gleames or Lightnings of thy last Let them exceed those of thy younger Time As far as Autumne doth the flowry Prime Through this thy Empire range like worlds bright Eye That once each
Caledonian Crown Thy vertues now thy just desire shall grace Sterne Chance shall change and to Desert give place Let this be known to all the Fates admit To their grave Counsell and to every wit That courts Heavens inside this let Sibills know And those mad Corybants who dance and glow On Dindimus high tops with frantick fire Let this be known to all Apollo's Quire And People let it not be hid from you What Mountaines noyse and flouds proclaime as true Whereever Fame abroad his praise shall ring All shall observe and serve this blessed King The End of King Charles his Entertainment at Edenborough 1633. A Pastorall Elegie on the Death of S. W. A. IN sweetest prime and blooming of his Age Deare Alcon ravish'd from this mortall Stage The Shepheards mourn'd as they him lov'd before Among the Rout him Edmon did deplore Idmon who whether Sun in East did rise Or dive in West pour'd Torrents from his Eyes Of liquid Chrystall under Hawthorne shade At last to Trees and Rocks this plaint he made Alcon delight of Heaven desire of Earth Off-spring of Phoebus and the Muses birth The Graces Darling Adon of our Plaines Flame of the fairest Nymphs the Earth sustaines What Power of thee hath us bereft What Fate By thy untimely fall would ruinate Our hopes O Death what treasure in one houre Hast thou dispersed How dost thou devoure What we on earth hold dearest All things good Too envious Heavens how blast ye in the Bud The Corne the greedy Reapers cut not down Before the Fields with golden Eares it crown Nor doth the verdant Fruits the Gardener pull But thou art cropt before thy yeares were full With thee sweet youth the Glories of our Fields Vanish away and what contentments yields The Lakes their silver look the woods their shades The Springs their Christall want their Verdure Meads The yeares their early seasons cheerfull Dayes Hills gloomy stand now desolate of Rayes Their amorous whispers Zephires not us bring Nor do Aires Quiresters salute the Spring The freezing winds our Gardens do defloure Ah Destinies and you whom Skies embow'r To his faire Spoiles his Spright againe yet give And like another Phoenix make him live The Herbs though cut sprout fragrant from their stems And make with Crimson blush our Anademâ— The Sun when in the West he doth decline Heavens brightest Tapers at his Funeralls shine His Face when washt in the Atlantick Seas Revives and cheeres the Welkin with new Raies Why should not he since of more pure a Frame Returne to us againe and be the same But wretch what wish I To the winds I send These Plaints and Prayers Destines cannot lend Thee more of Time nor Heavens consent will thus Thou leave their starry World to dwell with us Yet shall they not thee keep amidst their Spheares Without these lamentations and Teares Thou wast all Vertue Courtesie and Worth And as Suns light is in the Moon set forth Worlds supreame Excellence in thee did shine Nor though eclipsed now shalt thou decline But in our Memories live while Dolphins streames Shall haunt whilst Eaglets stare on Titans beames Whilst Swans upon their Christall Tombes shall sing Whilst Violets with Purple paint the Spring A gentler Shepheard Flocks did never feed On Albions Hills nor sung to oaten Reed While what she found in Thee my Muse would blaze Griefe doth distract Her and cut short thy Praise How oft have we inviron'd by the Throng Of tedious Swaines the cooler shades among Contemn'd Earths glow-worme Greatnesse and the Châ—ce Of Fortune scorn'd deeming it disgrace To court unconstancy How oft have we Some Chloris Name graven in each Virgin Tree And finding Favours fading the next Day What we had carv'd we did deface away Woefull Remembrance Nor Time nor Place Of thy abodement shadows any Trace But there to me Thou shin'st late glad Desires And ye once Roses how are ye turned Bryers Contentments passed and of Pleasures Chiefe Now are ye frightfull Horrours Hells of Griefe When from thy native Soyle Love had Thee driven Thy safe returne Prefigurating a Heaven Of flattering Hopes did in my Fancy move Then little dreaming it should Atomes prove These Groves preserve will I these loved Woods These Orchards rich with Fruits with Fish these flouds My Alcon will returne and once againe His chosen Exiles he will entertaine The populous City holds him amongst Harmes Of some fierce Circe's stronger Charmes These Bankes said I he visit will and Streames These silent shades ne're kist by courting Beames Far far off I will meet him and I first Shall him approaching know and first be blest With his Aspect I first shall heare his voice Him find the same he parted and rejoyce To learne his passed Perills know the Sports Of forraine Shepheards Fawns and Fairy Courts No pleasure to the Fields an happy State The Swaines enjoy secure from what they hate Free of proud Cares they innocently spend The Day nor do black Thoughts their ease offend Wise Natures Darlings they live in the World Perplexing not themselves how it is hurld These Hillocks Phoebus loves Ceres these Plaines Thâ—se Shades the Sylvans and here Pales straines Milke in the Pailes the Maids which haunt the Springs Daunce on these Pastures here Amintas sings Hesperian Gardens Tempe's shades are here Or what the Easterne Inde and West hold deare Come then deare Youth the Wood-nymphs twine thee Boughs With Rose and Lilly to impale thy Brows Thus ignorant I mus'd not conscious yet Of what by Death was done and ruthlesse Fate Amidst these Trances Fame thy losse doth sound And through my Eares gives to my Heart a wound With stretched-out Armes I sought thee to embrace But clasp'd amaz'd a Coffin in thy Place A Coffin of our Joyes which had the Trust Which told that thou wert come but chang'd to Dust Scarce even when felt could I beleeve this wrack Nor that thy Time and Glory Heavens would breake Now since I cannot see my Alcons Face And find nor Vows nor Prayers to have place With guilty Stars this Mountaine shall become To me a sacred Altar and a Tombe To famous Alcon here as Daies Monthâ— Yeares Do circling glide I sacrifice will teares Here spend my remnant Time exil'd from Mirth Till Death at last turne Monarch of my Earth Shepheards on Forth and you by Doven Rocks Which use to sing and sport and keep your Flocks Pay Tribute here of Teares ye never had To aggravate your Moanes a cause more sad And to their sorrows hither bring your Mands Charged with sweetest flow'rs and with pure Hands Faire Nymphs the blushing Hyacinth and Rose Spred on the Place his Relicts do enclose Weave Garlands to his Memory and put Over his Hearse a Verse in Cypres cut Vertue did dye Goodnesse but harme did give After the noble Alcon ceas'd to live Friendship an Earthquake suffer'd losing Him Loves brightest Constellation turned Dim Hymne SAviour of Mankind Man Emanuel Who sinlesse died for Sin who
vanquisht Hell The first fruits of the Grave whose life did give Light to our Darknes in whose death we live O strengthen thou my faith correct my will That mine may thine obey protect me still So that the latter death may not devour My soule seal'd with thy Seale so in the houre When thou whose body sanctified thy Tombe Unjustly judg'd a glorious Judge shalt come To judge the World with Justice by that signe I may be known and entertained for thine A Translation Of S. John Scot his verses begining Quod vite sectabor iter WHat course of life should wretched Mortals take In Books hard Questions large contention make Care dwels in Houses Labour in the Field Tumultuous Seas affrighting dangers yield In Forraine Lands thou never canst be blest If rich thou art in feare if poore distrest In Wedlock frequent discontentments swell Unmarried persons as in Deserts dwell How many troubles are with Children borne Yet he that wants them counts himselfe Forlorne Young men are wanton and of wisdome voyd Gray haires are cold unfit to be employ'd Who would not one of those two offers try Not to be borne or being borne to dye MISCELLANIES ALL good hath left this Age all tracks of shâ—me Mercy is banished and pitty dead Justice from whence it came to heaven is fled Religion maim'd it thought an idle Name Faith to distrust and Malice hath given place Envy with poyson'd Teeth hath friendship torne Renowned Knowledge is a despis'd scorne Now evill 't is all evill not to embrace There is no life save under servile Bands To make Desert a Vassall to their crimes Ambition with Avarice joyne hands O ever-shamefull O most shamelesse Times Save that Suns light we see of good here tell This Earth we court so much were very Hell DOth then the world go thus doth all thus move Is this the Justice which on Earth we find Is this that firme Decree which all doth bind Are these your Influences Powers above Those Soules which vices moody Mists most blind Blind Fortune blindly most their friend doth prove And they who thee poore Idoll Vertue love Ply like a feather toss'd by storme and wind Ah! if a Providence doth sway this All. Why should best Minds groane under most distresse Or why should Pride Humility make thrall And injuries the Innocent oppresse Heavens â—inder stop this Fate or grant a Time When Good may have as well as Bad their Prime A Reply WHo do in Good delight That soveraigne Justice ever doth reward And though sometime it smite Yet it doth them regard For even amidst their Griefe They find a strong reliefe And Death it selfe can work them no despight Againe in evill who joy And do in it grow old In midst of Mirth are charg'd with sins annoy Which is in Conscience scrol'd And when their Life 's fraile thred is cut by Time They punishment find equall to each Crime LOok how in May the Rose At Sulphures azure fumes In a short space her crimson blush doth lose And all amaz'd a pallid white assumes So time our best consumes Makes Youth and Beauty passe And what was pride turnes horrour in our Glasse To a Swallow building neare the Statue of Medea FOnd Progne chattering wretch That is Medea there Wilt thou thy Younglings hatch Will she keep thine her own who could not spare Learne from her frantick face To seek some fitter place What other may'st thou hope for what desire Save Stygian spels wounds poyson iron fire Venus armed TO practice new alarmes In Joves great Court above The wanton Queen of Love Of sleeping Mars put on the horrid Armes Where gazing in a Glasse To see what thing she was To mock and scoffe the blew-eyed Maid did move Who said sweet Queen thus should you have been â—ight When Vulcan took you napping with your Knight The Boares Head AMidst a pleasant Green Which Sun did seldome see Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian Queen The head of a wild Boare hung on a Tree And driven by Zephyres breath Did fall and wound the lovely Youth beneath On whom yet scarce appeares So much of bloud as Venus eyes shed teares But ever as she wept her Antheme was Change cruell change alas My Adoâ— whilst thou liv'd was by thee slaine Now dead this Lover must thou kill againe To an Owle AScalaphus tell me So may Nights Curtaine long Time cover Thee So Ivy ever may From irkesome light keep thy Chamber and Bed And in Moons Liv'ry cled So may'st thou scorne the Quiresters of Day When playning thou dost stay Neare to the sacred window of my deare Dost ever thou her heare To wake and steale swift houres from drowsie sleep And when she wakes doth ere a stollen sigh creep Into thy list'ning eare If that deafe God doth yet her carelesse keep In louder notes my Griefe with thine expresse Till by thy shriekes she think on my distresse Daphnis NOw Daphnis armes did grow In slender branches and her braided Haire Which like gold waâ—â—s did flow In leavy Twigs were stretched in the Aire The grace of either foot Transform'd was to a root A tender Barke enwraps her Body faire He who did cause her ill Sore-wailing stood and from his blubbered eyâ—e Did show'rs of teares upon the rine distill Which water'd thus did bud and turne more green O deep despaireâ— O Heart-appalling Griefe When that doth woe encrease should bring reliefe The Beare of Love IN woods and desart Bounds A Beast abroad doth Roame So loving Sweetnesse and the honey Combe It doth despise the armes of Bees and wounds I by like pleasure led To prove what Heavens did place Of sweet on youâ— faire face Whilst there with I am fed Rest carelesse Beare of Love of hellish smart And how those Eyes afflict and wound my Heart Five Sonnets for Galatea STrephone in vaine thou brings thy rimes and songs Deckt with grave Pindars old and withered flow'rs In vaine thou count'st the faire 〈◊〉 wrongs And her whom Jove deceiv'd in golden show'rs Thou hast slept never under Mirtles shed Or if that passion hath thy soule opprest It is but for some Grecian Mistris dead Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy brest How can true Love with â—ables hold a place Thou who with â—ables dost set forth thy love Thy love a pretty â—able needs must prove Thou suest for grace in scorne more to disgrace I cannot thinke thou wert charm'd by my looks O no thou learn'dst thy love in Lovers books II. NO more with Candid words infect mine eares Tell me no more how that ye pine in anguish When â—ound ye sleep no more say that ye languish No more in sweet despite say you spend teares Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see How those that are haire-brain'd boast of Apollo And bold give out the Muâ—es do them follow Though in loves Library yet no Lover's he If we poore soules least favour but them shew That straight in wanton Lines abroad is blazed