but only so far Embleme Thee As in a circle men the Deity A wreath of Bayes we 'll lay upon thy Herse For that shall speake Thee better than our Verse That art in number of those Things whose end Nor whose beginning we can comprehend A Star which did the other Day appeare T'enlighten up our dark'ned Hemispheare Nor can we tell nor how nor whence it came Yet feele the heat of thy admired flame 'T was thou that thaw'd our North 't was thou didst cleare The eternall mists which had beset us here Till by thy golden Beames and powerfull Ray Thou chas'd hence Darknesse and brought out the Day But as the Sun though he bestow all Light On us yet hinders by the same our sight To gaze on him So thou though thou dispence Far more on us by thy bright influence Yet such is thy transcendent brightnesse we Thereby are dazled and cannot reach thee Then art thou less'ned should we bound thy Praise T' our narrow dull conceit which cannot raise Themselves beyond a vulgar Theame nor flye A pitch like unto thine in Poesie Yet as the greatest Kings have sometimes dain'd The smallest Presents from a poore mans hand When pure devotion gave them it may be Your Genius will accept a mite from me It speaks my Love although it reach not you And you are praised when I would so do John Spotswood To William Drummond of Hawthornden I Never rested on the Muses bed Nor dipt my Quill in the Thessalian Fountaine My rustick Muse was rudely fostered And flies too low to reach the double mountaine Then do not sparkes with your bright Suns compare Perfection in a Womans worke is rare From an untroubled mind should Verses flow My discontents makes mine too muddy show And hoarse encumbrances of houshold care Where these remaine the Muses ne're repaire If thou dost extoll her Haire Or her Ivory Forehead faire Or those Stars whose bright reflection Thrals thy heart in sweet subjection Or when to display thou seeks The snow-mixt Roses on her Cheekes Or those Rubies soft and sweet Over those pretty Rows that meet The Chian Painter as asham'd Hides his Picture so far fam'd And the Queen he carv'd it by With a blush her face doth dye Since those Lines do limne a Creature That so far surpast her Feature When thou shew'st how fairest Flora Prankt with pride the banks of Ora So thy Verse her streames doth honour Strangers grow enamoured on her All the Swans that swim in Po Would their native brooks forgo And as loathing Phoebus beames Long to bath in cooler streamos Tree-turn'd Daphne would be seen In her Groves to flourish green And her Boughs would gladly spare To frame a garland for thy haire That fairest Nymphs with finest fingers May thee crown the best of singers But when thy Muse dissolv'd in show'rs Wailes that peerlesse Prince of ours Cropt by too untimely Fate Her mourning doth exasperate Senselesse things to see thee moane Stones do weep and Trees do groane Birds in aire Fishes in flood Beasts in field forsake their food The Nymphs forgoing all their Bow'rs Teare their Chaplets deckt with Flow'rs Sol himselfe with misty vapor Hides from earth his glorious Tapor And as mov'd to heare thee plaine Shews his griefe in show'rs of raine Mary Oxlie of Morpet POEMS The First Part. IN my first Prime when childish Humours fed My wanton Wit ere I did know the Blisse Lies in a loving Eye or amorous Kisse Or with what Sighs a Lover warmes his Bed By the sweet Thespian Sisters Errour led I had more mind to read than lov'd to write And so to praise a perfect Red and White But God wote knew not what was in my Head Love smil'd to see me take so great Delight To turne those Antiques of the Age of Gold And that I might more Mysteries behold He set so faire a Volume to my Sight That I Ephemerides laid aside Glad on this blushing Book my Death to read SON I Know that all beneath the Moon decaies And what by Mortalls in this World is brought In Times great Periods shall returne to nought That fairest States have fatall Nights and Daies I know that all the Muses heavenly Layes With Toyle of Spright which are so dearely bought As idle sounds of few or none are sought That there is nothing lighter than vaine Praise I know fraile Beauty like the purple Floure To which one Morne oft Birth and Death affords That Love a jarring is of Minds Accords Where Sense and Will bring under Reasons Power Know what I list this all can not me move But that alas I both must write and love SON YE who so curiously do paint your Thoughts Enlightning ev'ry Line in such a guise That they seem rather to have fallen from Skies Than of a humane Hand by mortall Draughts In one Part Sorrow so tormented lies As if his Life at ev'ry Sigh would part Love Here blindfolded stands with Bow and Dart â—here Hope looks pale Despaire with flaming Eyes Of my rude Pensill look not for such Art My Wit I find too little to devise So high Conceptions to expresse my smart And some say Love is faign'd that 's too too wise These troubled Words and Lines-confus'd you find Are like unto their Modell my sick Mind SON Aye me and I am now the Man whose Mâ—se In happier Times was wont to laugh at Love And those who suff'red that blind Boy abuse The noble Gifts were given them from above What Metamorphose strange is this I prove My selfe now scarce I find my selfe to be And thinke no Fable Circes Tyrannie And all the Tales are told of changed Jove Vertue hath taught with her Philosophy My mind unto a better Course to move Reason may chide her full and oft reprove Affections Power but what is that to me Who ever thinke and never thinke on Ought But that bright Cherubine which thraâ—ls my Thought SON HOw that vaste Heaven intitl'd First is rol'd If any glancing Towres beyond it be And People living in Eternity Or Essence pure that doth this All uphold What motion have those fixed Sparkes of Gold The wandring Carbuncles which shine from high By Sprights or Bodies crosse-waies in the Skie If they be turn'd and mortall Things behold How Sun posts Heaven about how Nights pale Queen With borrowed Beames lookes on this hanging Round What cause faire Iris hath and Monsters seene In Aires large Fields of light and Seas profound Did hold my wandring Thoughts when thy sweet Eye Bade me leave all and only thinke on Thee SON FAire is my Yoake though grievous be my Paines Sweet are my Wounds although they deeply smart My Bit is Gold though shortened be the Reines My Bondage brave though I may not depart Although I burne the Fire which doth impart Those Flames so sweet reviving Force containes That like Arabia's Bird my wasted Heart Made quick by Death more lively still remaines I joy though oft my waking Eyes spend Teares I
heare After one Kisse but still one Kisse my Deare Desired Death DEare Life while I do touch These Corrall Ports of blisse Which still themselves do kiss And sweetly me invite to do as much All panting in my Lips My Heart my life doth leave No sense my Senses have And inward Powers do find a 〈◊〉 Ecclipse This Death so heavenly well Doth so me please that I Would never longer seeke in sense to dwell If that even thus I only could but dye Phoebe IF for to be alone and all the Night to wander Maids can prove chaste then chaste is Phoebe without slander Answer FOole still to be alone all Night in Heaven to wander Would make the wanton chaste then she 's chaste without slander The cruelty of Rora WHilst sighing forth his Wrongs In sweet though dolefull Songs Alexis sought to charme his Roras Eares The Hils were heard to moane To sigh each Spring appeared Trees hardest Trees through Rine distill'd their Teares And soft grew every Stone But Teares nor Sighs nor Songs could Rora move For she rejoyced at his plaint and love A Kisse HArke happy Lovers harke This first and last of Joyes This sweetner of Annoyes This Nectar of the Gods You call a Kisse is with it selfe at ods And halfe so sweet is not In equall Measure got At light of Sun as it is in the darke Harke happy Lovers harke Kalas Complaint KAla old Mopsus Wife Kala with fairest Face For whom the Neighbour Swaines oft were at strife As she to milke her snowy Flock did tend Sigh'd with a heavy Grace And said What wretch like me doth lead her life I see not how my Taske shall have an end All Day I draw these streaming Dugs in Fold All Night mine empty Husband soft and cold Phillis IN Peticoat of greene Her Haire about her Eine Phillis beneath an Oake Sate milking her faire flock 'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture rare delight Her hand seem'd milke in milke it was so white A Wish TO forge to mighty Jove The thunder-bolts above Nor on this Round below Rich Midas skill to know And make all Gold I touch Do I desire it is for me too much Of all the Arts practis'd beneath the Skie I would but Phillis Lapidarie be Nisa NIsa Palemons Wife him weeping told He kept not Grammar rules now being old For why quoth she position false make ye Putting a short thing where a long should be A Lovers Heaven THose Stars nay Suns which turne So stately in their Spheares And dazeling do not burne The Beauty of the Morne Which on these cheekâ— appeares The Harmony which to that voice is given Makes me thinke you are Heaven If Heaven you be O that by powerfull Charmes I Aâ—las were enfolded in your armes Epitaph THis deare though not-respected Earth doth hold One for his worth whose Tombe should be of gold Beauties Idea WHo would Perfections faire Idea see On pretty Cloris let him look with me White is her haire her Teeth white white her Skin Black be her Eyes her Eye-brows Cupids Inne Her Locks her Body hands do long appeare But Teeth short short her Wombe and either Eare The space 'twixt Shoulders Eyes are wide Brow wide Strait Waste the Mouth strait and her virgin Pride Thick are her Lips Thighs with Bankes swelling there Her Nose is small small Fingers and her Haire Her sugred Mouth her Cheekes her Nailes be red Little her Foot Brest little and her Head Such Venus was such was that Flame of Troy Such Cloris is mine Hope and only Joy Lalus Death AMidst the Waves profound Far far from all Reliefe The honest Fisher Lalus ah is drown'd Shut this little Skiffe The Boards of which did serve him for a Biere So that when he to the black World came neare Of him no Silver greedy Charon got For he in his own Boat Did passe that Floud by which the Gods do sweare FLOWERS of SION OR SPIRITUALL POEMS By W. D. TRiumphant Arches Statues crown'd with Bayes Proud Obeliskes Tombes of the vastest Frame Brazen Colosses Atlases of Fame And Temples builded to vaine Deities praise States which unsatiate Minds in bloud do raise From Southerne Pole unto the Artick Teame And even what we write to keep our Name Like Spiders Caules are made the sport of Daies All only constant is in constant Change What done is is undone and when undone Into some other figure doth it range Thus rolls the restlesse World beneath the Moon Wherefore my Mind above Time Motion Place Aspire and Steps not reach'd by Nature trace A Good that never satisfies the Mind A Beauty fading like the Aprill flow'rs A Sweet with flouds of Gall that runs combin'd A Pleasure passing ere in thought made ours A Honour that more fickle is than wind A Glory at Opinions frown that low'rs A Treasury which bankrupt Time devoures A Knowledge than grave Ignorance more blind A vaine Delight our equalls to command A Stile of greatnesse in effect a Dreame A swelling Thought of holding Sea and Land A servile Lot deckt with a pompous Name Are the strange Ends we toyle for here below Till wisest Death make us our errours know LIfe a right shadow is For if it long appeare Then is it spent and Deaths long Night draws neare Shadows are moving light And is there ought so moving as is this When it is most in Sight It steales away and none knows how or where So neare our Cradles to our Coffins are LOok as the Flow'r which lingringly doth fade The Mornings Darling late the Summers Queen Spoyl'd of that Juyce which kept it fresh and green As high as it did raise bows low the head Right so the pleasures of my Life being dead Or in their Contraries but only seen With swifter speed declines than erst it spred And blasted scarce now shows what it hath been Therefore as doth the Pilgrim whom the Night Hast darkly to imprison on his way Thinke on thy Home my Soule and thinke aright Of what 's yet left thee of Lifes wasting Day Thy Sun posts Westward passed is thy Morne And twice it is not given thee to be borne THe weary Mariner so far not flies An howling Tempest Harbour to attaine Nor Shepheard hasts when frayes of Wolves arise So fast to Fold to save his bleating traine As I wing'd with Contempt and just Disdaine Now flie the World and what it most doth prize And Sanctuary seek free to remaine From wounds of abject Times and Envies eyes To me this World did once seem sweet and faire While Senses light Minds Perspective kept blind Now like imagin'd Landskip in the Aire And weeping Raine-bows her best Joyes I find Or if ought here is had that praise should have It is an obscure Life and silent Grave OF this faire Volume which we World do name If we the sheets and leaves could turne with care Of him who it corrects and did it frame We cleare might read the Art and Wisdome rare Find out his Power which
shining Lights which wrought my woe When first I did their azure Raies behold Nor voice whose sounds more strange effects do show Than of the Thracian Harper have been told Look to this dying Lilly fading Rose Darke Hyacinthe of late whose blushing Beames Made all the neighbouring herbs and grasse rejoyce And thinke how little is 'twixt Lifes extreames The cruell Tyrant that did kill those Flow'rs Shall once aye me not spare that Spring of yours SON IN Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold And lively see how my best daies are spent What clouds of care above my head are rold What comming ill which I cannot prevent My course begun I wearied do repent And would embrace what Reason oft hath told But scarce thus thinke I when Love hath controld All the best reasons Reason could invent Though sure I know my labours end is griefe The more I strive that I the more shall pine That only death shall be my last reliefe Yet when I thinke upon that face divine Like one with Arrow shot in laughters place Maugre my Heart I joy in my disgrace SON DEare Quirister who from those shadows sends Ere that the blushing Morne dare shew her Light Such sad lamenting straines that Night attends Become all Eare Stars stay to heare thy plight If one whose griefe even reach of thought transcends Who ne're not in a Dreame did taste Delight May thee importune who like case pretends And seems to joy in woe in Woes despight Tell me so may thou Fortune milder try And long long sing for what thou thus complaines Since Winter 's gone and Sun in dapled skie Enamour'd smiles on Woods and flowry Plaines The Bird as if my questions did her move With trembling wings sigh'd forth I love I love SON O Cruell Beauty sweetnesse inhumane That night and day contends with my desire And seeks my hope to kill not quench my fire By Death not Baulme to ease my pleasant paine Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire And bound my blisse do not alas disdaine That I your matchlesse worth and grace admire And for their cause these torments sharpe sustaine Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames And Phaëton that Heaven him rest of breath And Daedals Son who nam'd the Samian streames Their haps I not envy my praise shall be That the most faire that lives mov'd me to â—ye SON THe Hyperborean Hills Ceraunus Snow Or Arimaspus cruell first thee bred The Caspian Tigers with their milke thee fed And Faunes did humane bloud on thee bestow Fierce Orithyas lover in thy bed Thee lull'd asleep where he enrag'd doth blow Thou didst not drinke the Flouds which here do flow But teares or those by ycie Tanais Head Sith thou disdaines my love neglects my griefe Laughs at my groanes and still affects my death Of thee nor Heaven I 'll seek no more reliefe Nor longer entertaine this loathsome breath But yeeld unto my Stars that thou maiest prove What losse thou hadst in losing such a Love SONG PHOEBUS arise And paint the sable Skies With azure white and red Rowse Memmons Mother from her Tythons bed That she thy Careere may with Roses spread The Nightingales thy comming each where sing Make an eternall spring Give life to this darke World which lâ—eth dead Spread forth thy golden haire In larger locks than thou wast wont before And Emperour-like decore With Diadem of Pearle thy Temples faire Chase hence the ugly Night Which serves but to make deare thy glorious Light This is that happy Morne That day long-wished day Of all my life so darke If cruell Stars have not my ruine sworne And Fates my hopes betray Which purely white deserves An everlasting Diamond should it marke This is the Morne should bring unto this Grove My Love to heare and recompence my love Faire King who all preserves But show thy blushing Beams And thou two sweeter Eyes Shall see then those which by Peneus Streames Did once thy heart surprise Nay Suns which shine as cleare As thou when two thou did'st to Rome appeare Now Flora decke thy selfe in fairest guise If that ye Winds would heare A voice surpassing far Amphions lyre Your furious chiding stay Let Zephire only breathe And with her Tresses play Kissing sometimes those purple ports of Death The Winds all silent are And Phoebus in his chaire Ensaffraning Sea and Aire Makes vanish every Star Night like a drunkard reeles Beyond the Hills to shun his flaming Wheeles The Fields with flow'rs are deckt in every hue The Clouds with Orient Gold spangle their blew Here is the pleasant place And nothing wanting is save She alas SON WHo hath not seen into her saffran Bed The Mornings Goddess mildly her repose Or her of whose pure bloud first sprang the Rose Lull'd in a slumber by a Mirtle shade Who hath not seen that sleeping white and red Makes Phoebe look so pale which she did close In that Jonian Hill to ease her woes Which only lives by her deare kisses fed Come but and see my Lady sweetly sleep The sighing Rubies of those heavenly lips The Cupids which brests golden Apples keep Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Ecclipse And he them all shall see perhaps and prove She waking but perswades now forceth Love SON SEe Cithereas Birds that milk-white paire On yonder leavie Mirtle Tree which grone And waken with their kisses in the Aire Th' enamour'd Zephires murmuring one by one If thou but sense hadst like Pigmalions Stone Or hadst not seen Medusas snaky haire Loves lessons thou mightst learn and learn sweet faire To Summers heat ere that thy Spring be growne And if those kissing lovers seeme but Cold Look how that Elme this Ivy doth embrace And binds and claspes with many a wanton fold And courting Sleep o'reshadows all the place Nay seems to say deare Tree we shall not part In sign whereof loe in each leafe a Heart SON THe Sun is faire when he with crimson Crown And flaming Rubies leaves his Easterne bed Faire is Thaumantias in her Christall gown When clouds engemm'd shew azure green and red To Westerne Worlds when wearied Day goes down And from heavens windows each Star shows her head Earths silent daughter Night is faire though brown Faire is the Moon though in Loves livery cled The Spring is faire when it doth paint Aprill Faire are the Meads the Woods the Floods are faire Faire looketh Ceres with her yellow haire And Apples-Queene when Rose-cheekt she doth smile That Heaven and Earth and Seas are faire is true Yet true that all not please so much as you MADRIGALL LIke the Idalian Queene Her haire about her Eyne And necke on brests ripe Apples to be seen At first glance of the Morne In Cyprus Gardens gathering those farie flowers Which of her blood were borne I saw but fainting saw my Paramours The Graces naked danc'd about the place The Winds and Trees amaz'd With silence on her gaz'd
the new-borne Phoenix spreads her Wings And troupes of wondring Birds her flight adore Place me by Gange or Indes enammell'd shore Where smiling Heavens on Earth cause double Springs Place me where Neptunes Quire of Syrens sings Or where made hoarse through Cold he leaves to roare Place me where Fortune doth her Darlings crown A Wonder or a sparke in Envies Eye Or you outragious Fates upon me frown Till Pitty wailing fee disastred Me Affections print my mind so deep doth prove I may forget my Selfe but not my Love MADRIGALL THe Ivory Corrall Gold Of brest of lip of haire So lively Sleep doth show to inward sight That wake I thinke I hold No Shadow but my Faire My selfe so to deceive With long-shut Eyes I shun the irkesome Light Such pleasure here I have Delighting in false gleames If Death Sleeps Brother be And Soules bereft of sense have so sweet Dreames How could I wish thus still to dreame and dye SON FAme who with golden wings abroad doth range Where Phoebus leaves the Night or brings the Day Fame in one place who restlesse dost not stay Till thou hast flown from Atlas unto Gange Fame Enemy to Time that still doth change And in his changing Course would make decay What here below he findeth in his way Even making Vertue to her selfe look strange Daughter of Heaven Now all thy Trumpets sound Raise up thy Head unto the highest Skie With wonder blaze the gifts in her are found And when she from this mortall Globe shall flie In thy wide Mouth keep long keep long her Name So thou by her she by thee live shall Fame POEMS The Second Part. OF mortall Glory O soone dark'ned Ray O winged Joyes of Man more swift than Wind O fond Desires which in our Fancies stray O traitrous Hopes which do our Judgements blind Loe in a Flash that Light is gone away Which dazell did each Eye delight each Mind And with that Sun from whence it came combind Now makes more radiant Heavens eternall Day Let Beauty now bedew her Cheeks with Teares Let widow'd Musick only roare and groane Poore Vertue get thee Wings and mount the Spheares For dwelling place on Earth for thee is none Death hath thy Temple raz'd Loves Empire foil'd The World of Honour Worth and Sweetnes spoil'd SON THose Eyes those sparkling Saphires of Delight Which thousand thousand Hearts did set on Fire Of which that Eye of Heaven which brings the light Oft Jealous stayed amaz'd them to admire That living Snow those crimson Roses bright Those Pearles those Rubies which enflam'd Desire Those Locks of Gold that Purple faire of Tyre Are wrapt aye me up in eternall Night What hast thou more to vaunt of wretched World Sith she who caused all thy blisse is gone Thy ever-burning Lamps Rounds ever-whorld Can not unto thee modell such a One Or if they would such Beauty bring on Earth They should be forc'd againe to give her birth SON O Fate conjur'd to poure your worst on me O rigorous Rigour which doth all confound With cruell Hands ye have cut down the Tree And fruit with leaves have scattered on the Ground A little space of Earth my Love doth bound That Beauty which did raise it to the Skie Turn'd in disdained Dust now low doth lye Deafe to my plaints and senselesse of my wound Ah! did I live for this ah did I love And was 't for this fierce powers she did excell That ere she well the Sweets of life did prove She should too deare a guest with Darknesse dwell Weake influence of Heaven what faire is wrought Falls in the prime and passeth like a Thought SON O Wofull life life no but living Death Fraile Boat of Christall in a rocky Sea A Gem expos'd to Fortunes stormy breath Which kept with paine with Terrour doth decay The false Delights true Woes thou dost bequeath My all-appalled Mind so do affray That I those envy who are laid in Earth And pity those who run thy dreadfull way When did mine Eyes behold one chearefull Morne When had my tossed Soule one night of Rest When did not angry Stars my Designes scorne O! now I find what is for Mortalls best Even since our voyage shamefull is and short Soone to strike Saile and perish in the Port. SON DIssolve my Eyes your Globes in briny Streames And with a cloud of Sorrow dim your sight The Suns bright Sun is set of late whose Beames Gave lustre to your Day Day to your Night My Voice now cleave the Earth with Anathemes Roare forth a challenge in the Worlds despight Till that disguised Griefe is her delight That Life a Slumber is of fearefull Dreames And woefull Mind abhor to thinke of Joy My Senses all from comforts all you hide Accept no object but of black Annoy Teares Plaints Sighs mourning Weeds Graves gaping wide I have nought left to wish My Hopes are dead And all with her beneath a Marble laid SON SWeet Soule which in the Aprill of thy yeares For to enrich the Heaven mad'st poore this Round And now with flaming Rayes of Glory crown'd Most blest abides above the Spheare of Spheares If Heavenly Laws alas have not thee bound From looking to this Globe that all up-beares If ruth and pity there-above be found O daigne to lend a look unto these Teares Do not disdaine deare Ghost this sacrifice And though I raise not pillars to thy Praise My off'rings take let this for me suffice My Heart a living Pyramide I 'll raise And whilst Kings Tombs with Laurells flourish green Thine shall with Mirtles and these flow'rs be seen SON SWeet Spring thou turn'st with all thy goodly traine Thy head with flames thy Mantle bright with flow'rs The Zephires curle the green Locks of the Plaine The Clouds for joy in Pearls weep down their show'rs Dost returne sweet Youth but ah my pleasant houres And happy daies with thee come not againe The sad Memorials only of my paine Do with thee turne which turne my Sweets to Sow'râ— Thou art the same which still thou wert before Delicious lusty amiable faire But she whose Breath embaulm'd thy wholesome Aire Is gone Nor Gold nor Gems can her restore Neglected Vertue Seasons go and come When thine forgot lie closed in a Tombe SON WHat doth it serve to see the Suns bright Face And Skies enamell'd with the Indian Gold Or the Moone in a fierce Chariot rold And all the Glory of that starry Place What doth it serve Earths Beauty to behold The Mountaines pride the Meadows flowry grace The stately comlinesse of Forrests old The Sport of Flouds which would themselves embrace What doth it serve to heare the Sylvans Songs The cheerefull Thrush the Nightingales sad straines Which in darke shades seems to deplore my Wrongs For what doth serve all that this World containes Since she for whom those once to me were deare Can have no part of them now with me here MAD. THis Life which seems so faire Is like a Bubble blown up
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
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
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
with winter glasse The ayry Caucasus the Apennine Pyrenes clifts where Sun doth never shine When he some craggy Hills hath ever-went Begins to thinke â—n rest his Journey spent Till mounting some tall Mountainâ— he do find More hights before him than he left behind With halting pace so while I would me raise To the unbounded limits of thy Praise Some part of way I thought to have o're-run But now I see how scarce I have begun With Wonders new my Spirits range possest And wandring waylesse in a maze them rest In these vaste Fields of Light etheriall Plaines Thou art attended by immortall Traines Of Intellectuall Pow'rs which thou broughtst forth To praise thy Goodnesse and admire thy Worth In numbers passing others Creatures far Since Creatures most noble maniest are Which do in knowledge us not lesse out-run Than Moon in light doth Stars or Moon the Sun Unlike in Orders rang'd and many a Band If Beauty in Disparity doth stand Arch-angels Angels Cherubs Seraphines And what with name of Thrones amongst them shines Large-ruling Princes Dominations Pow'rs All-acting Vertues of those flaming Tow'rs These freed of Umbrage these of Labour free Rest ravished with still beholding Thee Inflam'd with Beames which sparkle from thy Face They can no more desire far lesse embrace Low under them with slow and staggering pace Thy Hand-maid Nature thy great Steps doth trace The Source of second Causes golden Chaine That links this Frame as thou it doth ordaine Nature gaz'd on with such a curious Eye That Earthlings oft her deem'd a Deity By Nature led those Bodies faire and great Which faint not in their Course nor change their State Unintermixt which no disorder prove Though aye and contrary they alwaies move The Organs of thy Providence divine Books ever open Signâ—s that clearely shine Times purpled Maskers then do them advance As by sweet Musick in a measur'd dance Stars Hoste of Heaven ye Firmaments bright Flow'rs Cleare Lamps which overhang this Stage of ours Ye turne not there to deck the Weeds of Night Nor Pageant-like to please the vulgar Sight Great Causes sure ye must bring great Effects But who can descant right your grave Aspects He only who Yoâ— made decipher can Your Notes Heavens Eyes ye blind the Eyes of Man Amidst these Saphir far-extending Hights The never-twinkling ever-wandring Lights Their fixed Motions keep one dry and cold Deep-Leaden colour'd slowly there is roll'd With Rule and Line for Times steps meting even In twice three Lustres he but turnes his Heaven With temperate qualities and Countenance faire Still mildly smiling sweetly debonaire Another cheares the World and way doth make In twice sixe Autumnes through the Zodiack But hot and dry with flaming Locks and Brows Enrag'd this in his red Pavillion glows Together running with like speed â—f space Two equally in hands atchieve their race With blushing Face this oft doth bring the Day And ushers oft to stately Stars the way That various in vertue changing light With his small flame impearles the vaile of Night Prince of this Court the Sun in triumph rides With the Yeare Snake-like in her selfe that glides Times Dispensator faire life-giving Source Through Skies twelve Posts as he doth run his course Heart of this All of what is known to sence The likest to his Makers excellence In whose diurnall motion doth appeare A Shadow no true pourtrait of the Yeare The Moone moves lowest silver Sun of Night Dispersing through the World her borrow'd light Who in three formes her head abroad doth range And only constant is in constant Change Sad Queen of Silence I ne're see thy Face To waxe or waine or shine with a full grace But straight amaz'd on Man I think each Day His state who changeth or if he find Stay It is in dolefull anguish cares and paines And of his Labours Death is all the Gaines Immortall Monarch can so fond a Thought Lodge in my Brest as to trust thou first brought Here in Earths shady Cloyster wretched Man To suck the Aire of Woe to spend Lifes span ' Midst Sighs and Plaints a Stranger unto Mirth To give himselfe his Death rebucking Birth By sense and wit of Creatures made King By sense and wit to live their Underling And what is worst have Eaglets eyes to see His own disgrace and know an high degree Of Blâ—sse the Place if he might thereto clime And not live thralled to imperious Time Or dotard shall I so from Reason swerve To dim those Lights which to our use do serve For thou dost not them need more nobly fram'd Than us that know their course and have them nam'd No I ne're thinke but we did them surpasse As far as they do Asterismes of Glasse When thou us made by Treason high defil'd Thrust from our first estate we live exil'd Wandring this Earth which is of Death the Lot Where he doth use the Pow'r which he hath got Indifferent Umpire unto Clowns and Kings The supreame Monarch of all moâ—tall things When fiâ—st this flowry Oâ—be was to us given I but in place disvalu'd was to Heaven These Creatures which now our Soveraignes are And as to Rebels do denounce us war Then were our Vassals no tumultuous Storme No Thunders Earthquakes did her Forme deforme The Seas in tumbling Mountaines did not roare But like moist Christall whispered on the Shoare No Snake did trace her Meads nor ambusht lowre In azure Curles beneath the sweet-Spring Flow'r The Night shade Henbane Napell Aconite Her Bowels then not bare with Death to smite Her guiltlesse Brood thy Messengers of Grace As their high Rounds did haunt this lower Place O Joy of Joyes with our first Parents Thou To commune then didst daigâ—e as Friends do now Against thee we rebell'd and justly thus Each Creature rebelled against us Earth rest of what did chiefe in her excell To all became a Jaile to most a Hell In Times full Terme untill thy Son was given Who Man with Thee Earth reconcil'd with Heaven Whole and entire all in thy Selfe thou art All-where diffus'd yet of this All no part For infinite in making this faire Frame Great without Quantity in all thou came And filling all how can thy State admit Or Place or Substance to be void of it Were Worlds as many as the Rayes which streame From Daies bright lampe on madding Wits do dreame They would not reele in ought nor wandring stray But draw to Thee who could their Centers stay Were but one hours this World disjoyn'd from thee It in one houre to nought reduc'd should be For it thy Shadow is and can they last If sever'd from the Substances them cast O only blest and Author of all Blisse No Bliss it selfe that all where wished is Efficient exemplary finall Good Of thine own Selfe but only understood Light is thy Curtaine thou art Light of Light An ever-waking Eye still shining bright In-looking all exempt of passive Pow'r And change in change since Deaths pale shade doth low'r All Times to
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
Their names doth soare on our fames overthrow Mark'd is our lightnesse whilst their wits are praised In silent thoughts who can no secret cover He may say we but not well be a Lover III. YE who with curious numbers sweetest art Frame Dedall Nets our beauty to surprize Telling strange Castles builded in the Skies And tales of Câ—pidsâ—ow â—ow and Cupids Dart Well howsoever ye act your fained smart Molesting quiet eares with tragick cries When you accuse our chastities best part Nam'd cruelty ye seem not halfe too wise Yea ye your selves it deem most worthy praise Beauties best guard that Dragon which doth keep Hesperian fruit the spur in you does raise That Delion wit that other waies may sleep To cruell Nymphs your Lines do fame afford Oft many pitifull not one poore word IV. IF it be love to wake out all the night And watchfull eyes drive out in dewie moanes And when the Sun brings to the world his light To waste the Day in teares and bitter groanes If it be love to dim weake reasons beame With clouds of strange desire and make the mind In hellish agonies a heav'n to dreame Still seeking Comforts where but griefes we find If it be love to staine with wanton thought A spotlesse chastity and make it try More furious flames than his whose cunning wrought That brazen Bull where he intomb'd did fry Then sure is Love the causer of such woes Be ye our Lovers or our mortall foes V. ANd would you then shake off Loves golden chain With which it is best freedome to be bound And Cruell do ye seek to heale the Wound Of Love which hath such sweet and pleasant paine All that is subject unto natures raigne In Skies above or on this lower round When it is long and far sought and hath found Doth in Dâ—cadeâ—s fall and slack remaine Behold the Moon how gay her face doth grow Till she kisse all the Sun then doth decay See how the Seas tumultuously do flow Till they embrace lov'd bankes then â—ost away So is 't with love unlesse you love me still O do not thinke I le yeeld unto your will CAres charming sleep son of the â—able night Brother to death in silent darknesse borne Destroy my languish e're the day be light With darke forgetting of my cares returne And let the day be long enough to mourne The ship-wrack of my ill adventured Youth Let watry eyes suffice to waile their scorne Without the troubles of the nights untruth Cease dreames fond image of my fond desirâ—â— To modell forth the passions of to morrow Let never rising Sun approve your teares To add more griefe to aggravate my sorrow Still let me sleep embracing clouds in vaine And never wake to feele the daies disdaine An Epitaph of one named Margaret IN shells and gold Pearles are not kept alone A Margaret here lies beneath a stone A Margaret that did excell in worth All those rich Gems the Indies both send forth Who had she liv'd when good was lov'd of men Had made the Graces foure the Muses ten And forc'd those happy times her daies that claim'd From her to be the age of Pearle still nam'd She was the richest Jewell of her kind Grac'd with more lustre than she left behind All Goodnesse vertue Bounty and could cheare The saddest minds now Nature knowing here How things but shown then hidden are lov'd best This Margaret ' shrin'd in this marble Chest. Another Epitaph on a Lady THis Beauty faire which death in dust did turne And clos'd so soon within a Coffin sad Did passe like Lightning like the thunder burne So little like so much true vertue had Heavens but to shew their might here made it shine And when admir'd then in the worlds disdaine O teares O griefe did call it back againe Lest earth should vaunt she kept what was divine On a Drunkard NOr Aramanthes nor Roses do 〈◊〉 Unto this Hearse but 〈◊〉 and Wine For that same thirst though dead yâ—â— doth him piâ—e Which made him so carrouse while he drew breath Aretinus Epitaph HEre Aretine lies most bitter gall Who whilst he lived spoke evill of all Only of God the Arranâ— Scot Naught said â—ut that he knew him not Comparison of his thoughts to Pearls WIth open shells in seas on heavenly dew A shining Oyster lusciously doth feed And then the birth of that aethereall seed Shews when conceiv'd if Skies looke dark or blew So do my thoughts Coelestiall twins of you At whose aspect they first begin and breed When they came forth to light demonstrate true If ye then smil'd or lowr'd in mourning weed Pearles then are orient fram'd and faire in forme If heavens in their conceptions do look cleare But if they thunder or do threat a storme They sadly darke and cloudy do appeare Right so my thoughts and so my notes do change Sweet if ye smile and hoarse if ye look strange All changeth THe angry Winds not aye Do cuff the roaring Deep And though heavens often weep Yet do they smile for joy when comes dismay Frosts do not ever kill the pleasant flow'rs And Love hath sweets when gone are all the soures This said a shepheard closing in his armes His deare who blusht to feele Loves new alarmes Sileâ—â—s to King Midas THe greatest gift that from their lofty thrones The all-governing pow'rs to man can give Is that he never breath or breathing once A suckling end his daies and leave to live For then he neither knows the woe nor joy Of life nor feares the Stygian Lakes annoy To his amorous thought SWeet wanton thought who art of beauty borne And who on beauty feedst and sweet desire Like Taper flee still circling and still turne About that flame that all so much admire That heavenly faire which doth out-blush the morne Those Ivory hands those threads of golden wire Thou still surroundest yet dar'st not aspire Sure thou dost well that place not to come neare Nor see the Majesty of that faire Court For if thou saw'st what wonders there resort The poore intelligence that moves that spheare Like soules ascending to those Joyes above Back never wouldst thou turne nor thence remove What can we hope for more what more injoy Since fairest things thus soonest have their end And as on bodies shadows do attend Soon all our blisse is followed with annoy Yet she 's not dead she lives where she did love Her memory on earth her soule above Verses on the late William Earle of Pembrook I. THe doubtfull feares of Change so fright my Mind Though raised to the highest joy in Love As in this slippery state more griefe I find Than they who never such a blisse did prove But fed with lingring hopes of â—uture Gaine Dreame not what 't is to doubt a Losers Paine II. Desire a safer Harbour is than Feare And not to rise lesse danger than to fall The want of Jewels we far better beare Than so possest at once to lose them all Unsatisfied
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