send Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses friend What hope Aurora to propitiate thee Vnlesse the Muse sing my Apology O in that morning of my shame when I Lay folded up in sleepes captivity How at the sight did'st Thou draw back thine Eyes Into thy modest veyle how did'st thou rise Twice di'd in thine owne blushes and did'st run To draw the Curtaines and awake the Sun Who rowzing his illustrious tresses came And seeing the loath'd object hid for shame His head in thy faire Bosome and still hides Mee from his Patronage I pray he chides And pointing to dull Morpheus bids me take My owne Apollo try if I can make His Lethe be my Helicon and see If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee Hence 't is my humble fancy finds no wings No nimble raptures starts to Heaven and brings Enthusiasticke flames such as can give Marrow to my plumpe Genius make it live Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse Whose feet can walke the milky way and chuse Her starry Throne whose holy heats can warme The Grave and hold up an exalted arme To lift me from my lazy Vrne to climbe Vpon the stooped shoulders of old Time And trace Eternity But all is dead All these delicious hopes are buried In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow Where mercy cannot find them but ô thou Bright Lady of the Morne pitty doth lye So warme in thy soft Brest it cannot dye Have mercy then and when he next shall rise O meet the angry God invade his Eyes And stroake his radiant Cheekes one timely kisse Will kill his anger and revâ—ve my blisse So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw Thrice will I pay three Teares to show how true My griefe is so my wakefull lay shall knocke At th' Orientall Gates and duly mocke The early Larkes shrill Orizons to be An Anthem at the Dayes Nativitie And the same rosie-fingerd hand of thine That shuts Nights dying eyes shall open mine But thou faint God of sleepe forget that I Was ever knowne to be thy votery No more my pillow shall thine Altar be Nor will I offer any more to thee My selfe a melting sacrifice I 'me borne Againe a fâ—esh Child of the Buxome Morne Heire of the Suns first Beames why threat'st thou soâ— Why dost thou shake thy leaden Scepter goe Bestow thy Poppy upon wakefull woe Sicknesse and sorrow whose pale lidds ne're know Thy downy finger dwell upon their Eyes Shut in their Teares Shut out their miseryes Loves Horoscope LOve brave vertues younger Brother Erst hath made my Heart a Mother Shee consults the conscious Spheares To calculate her young sons yeares Shee askes if sad or saving powers Gave Omen to his infant howers Shee asks each starre that then stood by If poore Love shall live or dy Ah my Heart is that the way Are these the Beames that rule thy Day Thou know'st a Face in whose each looke Beauty layes ope loves Fortune-booke On whose faire revolutions wait The obsequious motions of Loves fate Ah my Hearâ— her eyes and shee Have taught thee new Astrology How e're Loves native houres were set What ever starry Synod met 'T is in the mercy of her eye If poore Love shall live or dye If those sharpe Rayes putting on Points of Death bid Love be gone Though the Heavens in counsell sate To crowne an uncontrouled Faâ—e Though their best Aspects twin'd upon The kindest Constellation Cast amorous glances on hâ—s Birth And whisper'd the confederate Earth To pave his pathes with all the good That warmes the Bed of youth and blood Love ha's no plea against her eye Beauty frownes and Love must dye But if her milder influence move And guild the hopes of humble Love Though heavens inauspicious eye Lay blacke on loves Nativitye Though every Diamond in Ioves crowne Fixt his forehead to a frowne Her Eye a strong appeale can give Beauty smiles and love shall live O if Love shall live ô where But in her Eye or in her Eare In her Brest or in her Breath Shall I hide poore Love from Death For in the life ought else can give Love shall dye although he live Or if Love shall dye ô where But in her Eye or in her Eare In her Breath or in her Breast Shall I Build his funerall Nest While Love shall thus entombed lye Love shall live although he dye Sospetto d' Herode Libro Primo Argomento Casting the times with their strong signes Death's Master his owne death divines Strugling for helpe his best hope is Hero'ds suspition may heale his Therefore he ends a fiend to wake The sleeping Tyrant's fond mistake Who feares in vaine that he whose Birth Meanes Heav'n should meddle with his Earth 1 MVse now the servant of soft Loves no more Hate is thy Theame and Herod whose unblest Hand ô what dares not jealous Greatnesse tore A thousand sweet Babes from their Mothers Brest The Bloomes of Martyrdome O be a Dore Of language to my infant Lips yee best Of Confessours whose Throates answering his swords Gave forth your Blood for breath spoke soules for words 2 Great Anthony Spains well-beseeming pride Thou mighty branch of Emperours and Kings The Beauties of whose dawne what eye may bide Which With the Sun himselfe weigh's equall wings Mappe of Heroick worth whom farre and wide To the beleeving world Fame boldly sings Deigne thou to weare this humble Wreath that bowes To be the sacred Honour of thy Browes 3. Nor needs my Muse a blush or these bright Flowers Other then what their owne blest beauties bring They were the smiling sons of those sweet Bowers That drinke the deaw of Life whose deathlesse spring Nor Sirian flame nor Borean frost deflowers From whence Heav'n-labouring Bees with busie wing Suck hidden sweets which well digested proves Immortall Hony for the Hive of Loves 4. Thou whose strong hand with so transcendent worth Holds high the reine of faire Parthenope That neither Rome nor Athens can bring forth A Name in noble deedes Rivall to thee Thy Fames full noise makes proud the patient Earth Farre more then matter for my Muse and mee The Tyrrhene Seas and shores sound all the same And in their murmures keepe thy mighty Name 5. Below the Botome of the great Abysse There where one Center reconciles all things The worlds profound Heart pants There placed is Mischifes old Master close about him clings A curl'd knot of embracing Snakes that kisse His correspondent cheekes these loathsome strings Hold the perverse Prince in eternall Ties Fast bound since first he forfeited the skies 6. The Iudge of Torments and the King of Teares Hee fills a burnisht Throne of quenchlesse fire And for his old faire Roabes of Light hee weares A gloomy Mantle of darke flames the Tire That crownes his hated head on high appeares Where seav'n tall Hornes his Empires pride aspire And to make up Hells Majesty each Horne Seav'n crested Hydra's horribly adorne 7. His Eyes the sullen dens of Death and
Bee posed with the maturest feares Man trembles at wee straight shall find Love knowes no nonage nor the mind T is love not yeares or Limbes that can Make the martyr or the man Love toucht her heart and loe it beats High and burnes with such brave heats Such thirst to dye as dare drinke up A thousand coled deaths in one cup. Good reason for shee breaths all fire Her weake breast heaves with strong desire Of what shee may with fruitlesse wishes Seeke for amongst her mothers kisses Since t is not to bee had at home Shee l travell to a martyrdome No home for her confesses shee But where shee may A martyr bee Shee l to the Moores and trade with them For this unvalued Diadem Shee offers them her dearest breath With Christs name â—nt in change for death Shee l bargain with them and will give Them God and teach them how to live In him or if they this denye For him shee l teach them how to dye So shall shee leave amongst them sowne Her Lords blood or at lest her owne Farewell then all the world adeiu Teresa is no more for you Farewell all pleasures sports and joyes Never till now esteemed toyes Farewell what ever deare may bee Mothers armes or fathers knee Farewell house and farwell home Shee s for the Moores and Martyrdome Sweet not so fast Loe thy faire spouse Whom thou seek'st with so swift vowes Calls thee back and biâ—s thee como T' embrace a milder Martyrdome Blest powers forbid thy tender life Should bleed upon a barbarous knife Or some base hand have power to race Thy Breasts chast cabinet and uncase A soule kept there so sweet O no Wise heaven will never have it so Thou art Loves victim and must dye A death more misticall and high Into Loves hand thou shalt let fall A still surviving funerall His is the dart must make the death Whose stroake shall taste thy hallowed breath A dart thrice dipt in that rich Hame Which writes thy spowses radiant name Vpon the roofe of heaven where ay It shines and with a soveraigne ray Beats bright upon the burning faces Of soules which in that names sweet graces Find everlasting smiles So rare So spirituall pure and faire Must be the immortall instrument Vpon whose choice point shall be spent A life so loved and that there bee Fit executioners for thee The fairest and the first borne Loves of fire Blest Seraphims shall leave their quire And turne Loves souldiers upon thee To exercise their Archerie O how oft shalt thou complaine Of a sweet and subtile paine Of intollerable joyes Of a death in which who dyes Loves his death and dyes againe And would for ever so be slaine And lives and dyes and knowes not why To live but that he still may dy How kindly will thy gentle heart Kisse the sweetly killing dart And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds that weep Balsome to heale themselves with thus When these thy deaths so numerous Shall all at last dye into one And melt thy soules sweet mansion Like a soft lumpe of Incense hasted By too hot a fire and wasted Into perfuming cloudes So fast Shalt thou exhale to heaven at last In a disolving sigh and then O what aske not the tongues of men Angells cannot tell suffice Thy selfe that feel thine owne full joyes And hold them fast for ever there So soone as thou shalt first appeare The moone of maiden starres thy white Mistresse attended by such bright Soules as thy shining selfe shall come And in her first rankes make thee roome Where mongst her snowy family Immortall wellcomes wait on thee O what delight when shee shall stand And teach thy Lipps heaven wâ—th her hand On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap up thy consecrated kisses What joy shall seize thy soule when shee Bending her blessed eyes on thee Those second smiles of heaven shall dart Her mild rayes through thy melting heart Angeâ—ls thy old friends there shall greet thee Glad at their owne home now to meet thee All thy good workes which went before And waited for thee at the doore Shall owne thee there and all in one Weave a Constellation Of Crownes with which the King thy spouse Shall build up thy triumphant browes All thy old woes shall now smile on thee And thy pains set bright upon thee All thy sorrows here shall shine And thy sufferings bee devine Teares shall take comfort and turne Gems And wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new Drosse the soule which late they slew Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lambes warres Those rare workes where thou shalt leave witt Loves noble history with witt Taught thee by none but him while here They feed our soules shall cloath thine there Each heavenly word by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire the same Shall flourish on thy browes and bee Both fire to us and flame to thee Whose light shall live bright in thy face By glory in our hearts by grace Thou shalt looke round about and see Thousand of crownd soules throng to bee Themselves thy crowne sonnes of thy nowes The Virgin births with which thy spowse Made fruitfull thy faire soule Goe now And with them all about thee bow To him put on heel say put on My Rosy Love that thy rich Zone Sparkeling with the sacred Hames Of thousand soules whose happy names Heaven keeps upon thy score thy bright Life brought them first to kisse the light That kindled them to starres and so Thou with the Lambe thy Lord shall goe And where so e're hee sitts his white Steps walke with him those wayes of Light Which who in death would live to see Must learne in life to dye like thee An Apologie for the precedent Hymne THus have I back againe to thy bright name Faire sea of holy fires transfused the flame I tooke from reading thee 't is to thy wrong I know that in my weak and worthlesse song Thou here art set to shine where thy full day Scarce dawnes ô pardon if I dare to say Thine own deare books are guilty for from thence I learnt to know that Love is eloquence That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try If what to other tongues is tun'd so high Thy praise might not speak English too forbid by all thy mysteries that there lye hid Forbid it mighty Love let no fond hate Of names and words so farre prejudicate Soules are not Spaniards too one frendly flood Of Baptisme blends them all into one blood Christs Faith makes but one body of all soules And loves that bodies soule no Law controules Our free trafick for heaven we may maintaine Peace sure with piety though it dwell in Spaine What soule soever in any Language can Speake heaven like hers is my soules country-man O 't is not Spanish but 't is heaven she speakes 'T is heaven that lies in ambush there and
Prophets Tombe and dost bequeath The life thou took'st from him unto his Death Vaine man the stones that on his Tombe doe lye Keepe but the score of them that made him dye Vpon the Infant Martyrs TO see both blended in one flood The Mothers Milke the Childrens blood Makes me doubt if Heaven will gather Roses hence or Lillies rather Joh. 16. Verily I say unto you yee shall weep and lament WElcome my Grife my Ioy how deare's To me my Legacy of Teares I 'le weepe and weepe and will therefore Weepe 'cause I can weepe no moreâ— Thou thou Deare Lord even thou alone Giv'st joy even when thou givest none Joh. 15. Vpon our Lords last comfortable discourse with his Disciples ALL Hybla's honey all that sweetnesse can Flowes in thy Song ô faire ô dying Swan Yet is the joy I take in 't small or none It is too sweet to be a long-liv'd one Luke 16. Dives asking a drop A Drop one drop how sweetly one faire drop Would tremble on my pearle-tipt fingers top My wealth is gone ô goe it where it will Spare this one Iewell I 'le be Dives still Marke 12. Give to Caesar And to God ALL we have is God's and yet Caesar challenges a debt Nor hath God a thinner share What ever Caesar's payments are All is God's and yet 't is true All wee have is Caesar's too All is Caesar's and what ods So long as Caesar's selfe is Gods But now they have seen and hated SEene and yet hated thee they did not see They saw Thee not that saw and hated thee No no they saw the not ô Life ô Love Who saw ought in thee that their hate could move Vpon the Thornes taken downe from our Lords head bloody KNow'st thou this Souldier 't is a much chang'd plant which yet Thy selfe did'st set 'T is chang'd indeed did Autumn e're such beauties bring To shame his Spring O! who so hard an husbandman could ever find A soyle so kind Is not the soile a kind one thinke ye that returnes Roses for Thornes Luc. 7. She began to wash his feet with teares and wipe them with the haires of her head HEer eyes flood lickes his feets faire staâ—ne Her haires flame lickes up that againe This flame thus quench't hath brighter beames This flood thus stained fairer streames On St. Peter cutting of Malchus his eare WEll Peter dost thou wield thy active sword Well for thy selfe I meane not for thy Lord. To strike at eares is to take heed there bee No witnesse Peter of thy perjury Joh. 3. But men loved darknesse rather then Light THe worlds light shines shine as it will The world will love its Darknesse still I doubt though when the World 's in Hell It will not love its Darknesse halfe so well Act. 21. I am ready not onely to be bound but to dye COme death come bands nor do you shrink my eares At those hard words mans cowardise calls feares Save those of feare no other bands feare I Nor other death then this the feare to dye On St. Peter casting away his Nets at our Saviours call THou hast the art on 't Peter and canst tell To cast thy Nets on all occasions well When Christ calls and thy Nets would have thee stâ—â— To cast them well's to cast them quite away Our Lord in his Circumcision to his Father TO thee these first fruits of my growing death For what else is my life â—o I bequeath Tast this and as thou lik'st this lesser flood Expect a Sea my heart shall make it good Thy wrath that wades heere now e're long shall swim The flood-gate shall be set wide ope for him Then let him drinke and drinke and doe his worst To drowne the wantonnesse of his wild thirst No'ws but the Nonage of my paines my feares Are yet both in their hopes not come to yeares The day of my darke woes is yet but morne My teares but tender and my death new-borne Yet may these unfledg'd griefes give fate some guesse These Cradle-torments have their towardnesse These purple buds of blooming death may bee Erst the full stature of a fatall tree And till my riper woes to age are come This knife may be the speares Praeludium On the wounds of our crucified Lord. O These wakefull wounds of thine Are they Mouthes or are they eyes Be they Mouthes or be they eyne Each bleeding part some one supplies Lo a mouth whose full-bloom'd lips At two deare a rate are roses Lo a blood-shot eye that weepes And many a cruell teare discloses O thou that on this foot hast laid Many a kisse and many a Teare Now thou shal't have all repaid Whatsoe're thy charges were This foot hath got a Mouth and lippes To pay the sweet summe of thy kisses To pay thy Teares an Eye that weeps In stead of Teares Such Gems as this is The difference onely this appeares Nor can the change offend The debt is paid in Ruby-Teares Which thou in Pearles did'st lend On our crucified Lord Naked and bloody Th' have left thee naked Lord O that they had This Garment too I would they had deny'd Thee wâ—th thy selfe they have too richly clad Opening the purple wardrobe of thy side O never could bee found Garments too good For thee to weare but these of thine owne blood Easter day RIse Heire of fresh Eternity From thy Vâ—rgin Tombe Rise mighty man of wonders and thy world with thee Thy Tombe the universall East Natures new wombe Thy Tombe faire Immortalities perfumed Nest Of all the Gloryes Make Noone gay This is the Morne This rocke buds forth the fountaine of the streames of Day In joyes white Annals live this houre When life was borne No cloud scoule on his radiant lids no tempest lowre Life by this light 's Nativity All creatures have Death onely by this Dayes just Doome is forc't to Dye Nor is Death forc't for may hee ly Thron'd in thy Grave Death will on this condition be content to Dy. On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord. IEsu no more it is full tide From thy hands and from thy feet From thy head and from thy side All thy Purple Rivers meet Thy restlesse feet they cannot goe For us and our eternall good As they are wont what though They swim alas in their owne flood Thy hand to give thou canst not lift Yet will thy hand still giving bee It gives but ô itself 's the Guift It drops though bound though bound 't is free But ô thy side thy deepe dig'd side That hath a double Nilus going Nor ever was the Pharian tâ—de Halfe so fruitfull halfe so flowing What need thy faire head beare a part In Teares as if thine eyes had none What need they helpe to drowne thine heart That strives in Torrents of its owne Water'd by the showres they bring The thornes that thy blest browes encloses A cruell and a costly spring Conceive proud hopes of proving Roses Not a haire but payes his River To this Red
Mother Warmes in the one cooles in the other Shee sings thy Teares asleepe and dips Her Kisses in thy weeping Eye Shee spreads the red leaves of thy Lips That in their Buds yet blushing lye Shee 'gainst those Mother-Diamonds tryes The points of her young Eagles Eyes Welcome though not to those gay flyes Guilded i' th' Beames of Earthly Kings Slippery soules in smiling eyes But to poore Shepheards simple things That use no varnish no oyl'd Arts But lift clean hands full of cleare hearts Yet when young Aprils husband showres Shall blesse the fruitfull Maia's Bed Wee 'l bring the first-borne of her flowers To kisse thy feet and crowne thy head To thee Dread Lambe whose Love must keepe The Shepheards while they feed their sheepe To thee meeke Majesty soft King Of simple Graces and sweet Loves Each of us his Lamb will bring Each his payre of silver Doves At last in fire of thy faire Eyes Wee 'l burne our owne best sacrifice Vpon the Death of a Gentleman FAithlesse and fond Mortality Who will ever credit thee Fond and faithlesse thing that thus In our best hopes beguilest us What a reckoning hast thou made Of the hopes in him we laid For Life by volumes lengthened A Line or two to speake him dead For the Laurell in his verse The sullen Cypresse o're his Herse For a silver-crowned Head A durty pillow in Death's Bed For so deare so deep a trust Sad requitall thus much dust Now though the blow that snatcht him hence Stopt the Mouth of Eloquence Though shee be dumbe e're since his Death Not us'd to speake but in his Breath Yet if at least shee not denyes The sad language of our eyes Wee are contented for then this Language none more fluent is Nothing speakes our Griefe so well As to speake Nothing Come then tell Thy mind in Teares who e're Thou be That ow'st a Name to misery Eyes are vocall Teares have Tongues And there be words not made with lungs Sententious showers ô let them fall Their cadence is Rhetoricall Here 's a Theame will drinke th' expence Of all thy watry Eloquence Weepe then onely be exprest Thus much Hee 's Dead and weepe the rest Vpon the Death of Mr. Herrys A Plant of noble stemme forward and faire As ever whisper'd to the Morning Aire Thriv'd in these haphy Grounds the Earth's just pride Whose rising Glories made such haste to hide His head in Cloudes as if in him alone Impatient Nature had taught motion To start from Time and cheerfully to fly Before and seize upon Maturity Thus grew this gratious plant in whose sweet shade The Sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit and made The Morning Muses perch like Birds and sing Among his Branches yea and vow'd to bring His owne delicious Phoenix from the blest Arabia there to build her Virgin nest To hatch her selfe in 'mongst his leaves the Day Fresh from the Rosie East rejoyc't to play To them shee gave the first and fairest Beame That waited on her Birth she gave to them The purest Pearles that wept her Evening Death The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a Breath By often kissing them and now begun Glad Time to ripen expectation The timourous Maiden-Blossomes on each Bough Peept forth from their first blushes so that now A Thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each Bud And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood Fixt in Delight as if already there Those rare fruits dangled whence the Golden Yeare His crowne expected when ô Fate â— Time That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull Prime Hide his hot Beames in shade of silver Age So rare is hoary vertue the dire rage Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore Ravisht the Maiden Blossoms and downe bore The trunke Yet in this Ground his pretious Root Still lives which when weake Time shall be pour'd out Into Eternity and circular joyes Dance in an endlesse round againe shall rise The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring To be a shade for Angels while they sing Meane while who e're thou art that â—assest here O doe thou water it with one kind Teare Vpon the Death of the most desired Mr. Herrys DEath what dost ô hold thy Blow What thou dost thou dost not know Death thou must not here be cruell This is Natures choycest Iewell This is hee in whose rare frame Nature labour'd for a Name And meant to leave his pretious feature The patterne of a perfect Creature Ioy of Goodnesse Love of Art Vertue weares him next her heart Him the Muses love to follow Him they call their vice Apollo Apollo golden though thou bee Th' art not fairer then is hee Nor more lovely lift'st thy head Blushing from thine Easterne Bed The Gloryes of thy Youth ne're knew Brighter hopes then he can shew Why then should it e're be seene That his should fade while thine is Greene And wilt Thou ô cruell boast Put poore Nature to such cost O 't will undoe our common Mother To be at charge of such another What thinke we to no other end Gracious Heavens do use to send Earth her best perfection But to vanish and be gone Therefore onely give to day To morrow to be snatcht away I 've seen indeed the hopefull bud Of a ruddy Rose that stood Blushing to behold the Ray Of the new-saluted Day His tender toppe not fully spread The sweet dash of a shower now shead Invited him no more to hide Within himselfe the purple pride Of his forward flower when â—o While he sweetly 'gan to show His swelling Gloryes Auster spide him Cruell Auster thither hy'd him And with the rush of one rude blast Sham'd not spitefully to wast All his leaves so fresh so sweet And lay them trembling at his feet I 've seene the Mornings lovely Ray Hover o're the new-borne Day With rosie wings so richly Bright As if he scorn'd to thinke of Night When a ruddy storme whose scoule Made Heavens radiant face looke foule Call'd for an untimely Night To blot the newly blossom'd Light But were the Roses blush so rare Were the Mornings smile so faire As is he nor cloud nor wind But would be courteous would be kind Spare him Death ô spare him then Spare the sweetest among men Let not pitty with her Teares Keepe such distance from thine Eares But ô thou wilt not canst not spare Haste hath never time to heare Therefore if hee needs must go And the Fates will have it so Softly may he be possest Of his monumentall rest Safe thou darke home of the dead Safe ô hide his loved head For Pitties sake ô hide him quite From his Mother Natures sight Lest for Griefe his losse may move All her Births abortive prove Another IF ever Pitty were acquainted With sterne Death if e're he fainted Or forgot the cruell vigour Of an Adamantine rigour Here ô here we should have knowne it Here or no where hee 'd have showne it For hee whose pretious memory Bathes in Teares of every eye Hee to whom our
shall the Morning see Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day But all his Counsellours must summon'd bee To meet their troubled Lord without delay Heralds and Messengers immediately Are sent about who poasting every way To th' heads and Officers of every band Declare who sends and what is his command 65. Why art thou troubled Herod what vaine feare Thy blood-revolving Brest to rage doth move Heavens King who doffs himselfe weake flesh to weare Comes not to rule in wrath but serve in love Nor would he this thy fear'd Crown from thee Teare But give thee a better with himselfe above Poore jealousie why should he wish to prey Vpon thy Crowne who gives his owne away 66 Make to thy reason man and mocke thy doubts Looke how below thy feares their causes are Thou art a Souldier Herod send thy Scouts See how hee 's furnish't for so fear'd a warre What armour does he weare A few thin clouts His Trumpets tender cryes his men to dare So much rude Shepheards What his steeds alas Poore Beasts a slow Oxe and a simple Asse Il fine del libro primo On a prayer booke sent to Mrs. M. R. LOe here a little volume but large booke Feare it not sweet It is not hipocrit Much larger in it selfe then in its looke It is in one rich handfull heaven and all Heavens royall Hoasts incampt thus small To prove that true schooles use to tell A thousand Angells in one point can dwell It is loves great Artillery Which here contracts it selfe and comes to lye Close coucht in your white bosome and from thence As from a snowy fortresse of defence Against the ghostly foe to take your part And fortifie the hold of your chast heart It is the Armory of light Let constant use but keep it bright You l find it yeelds To holy hand and humble hearts More swords and sheilds Then sinne hath snares or hell hath darts Onely bee sure The hands bee pure That hold these weapons and the eyes Those of turtles chast and true Wakefull and wise Here is a friend shall fight for you Hold but this booke before your heart Let prayer alone to play his part But o' the heart That studyes this high art Must bee a sure house keeper And yet no sleeper Deare soule bee strong Mercy will come ere long And bring her bosome full of blessings Flowers of never fading graces To make immortall dressings For worthy souls whose wise embraces Store up themselves for him who is alone The spouse of Virgins and the Virgins son But if the noble Bridegrome when hee comes Shall find the wandring heart from home Leaving her chast abode To gad abroad Amongst the gay mates of the god of flyes To take her pleasures and to play And keep the divells holy day To dance in the Sunneshine of some smiling but beguiling Spheare of sweet and sugred lies Some slippery paire Of false perhaps as faire Flattering but forswearing eyes Doubtles some other heart Will git the start And stepping in before Will take possession of the sacred store Of hidden sweets and holy joyes Words which are not heard with eares These tumultous shops of noise Effeactuall whispers whose stâ—â—l voyce The soule it selfe more feeles then heares Amorous Languishments Luminous trances Sights which are not seen with eyes Spirituall and soule peircing glances Whose pure and subtle lightning â—lies Home to the heart and setts the house on fire And melts it downe in sweet desire Yet doth not stay To aske the windowes leave to passe that way Delicious deaths soft exhalations Of soule deare and divine annihilations A thousand unknowne rites Of joyes and rarifyed delights An hundred thousand loves and graces And many a misticke thing Which the divine embraces Of the deare spowse of spirits with them will bring For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name Of all this hidden store Of blessing and ten thousand more If when hee come Hee find the heart from home Doubtles hee will unload Himselfe some other where And powre abroad His precious sweets On the faire soule whom first hee meets O faire ô fortunate ô rich ô deare O happy and thrice happy shee Deare silver breasted dove Who ere shee bee Whose early Love With winged vowes Makes haste to meet her morning spowse And close with his immortall kisses Happy soule who never misses To improve that precious houre And every day Seize her sweet prey All fresh and fragrant as hee rises Dropping with a balmy showre A delicious dew of spices O let that happy soule hold fast Her heavenly armefull shee shall tast At once ten thousand paradises Shee shall have power To rifle and deflower The rich and rosâ—all spring of those rare sweets Which with a swelling bosome there shee meets Boundlesse and infinite bottomlesse treasures Of pure inebriating pleasures Happy soule shee shall discover What joy what blisse How many heavens at once it is To have a God become her lover On Mr. G. Herberts booke intituled the Temple of Sacred Poem sent to a Gentlewoman KNow you faire on what you looke Divinest love lyes in this booke Expecting fire from your eyes To kindle this his sacrifice When your hands unty these strings Thinke you have an Angell by th' wings One that gladly will bee nigh To wait upon each morning figh To flutter in the balmy aire Of your well prefumed prayer These white plumes of his heele lend you Which every day to heaven will send you To take acquaintance of the spheare And all the smooth faced kindred there And though Herberts name doe owe These devotions fairest know That while I lay them on the shrine Of your white hand they are mine In memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa that sought an early Martyrdome LOve thou art absolute sole Lord Of life and death To prove the word Wee need to goe to none of all Those thy old souldiers stout and tall Ripe and full growne that could reach downe With strong armes their triumphant crowne Such as could with lusty breath Speake lowd unto the face of death Their great Lords glorious name to none Of those whose large breasts built a throne For love their Lord glorious and great Wee ll see him take a private seat And make his mansion in the milde And milky soule of a soft childe Scarce had shee learnt to lisp a name Of Martyr yet shee thinkes it shame Life should so long play with that breath Which spent can buy so brave a death Shee never undertooke to know What death with love should have to doe Nor hath shee ere yet understood Why to show love shee should shed blood Yet though shee cannot tell you why Shee can love and shee can dye Scarce had shee blood enough to make A guilty sword blush for her sake Yet has shee a heart dares hope to prove How much lesse strong is death then love Bee love but there let poore sixe yeares
breakes From thence into the wondring readers breast Who finds his warme heart hatcht into a nest Of little Eagles and young Loves whose high Flights scorne the lazie dust and things that dye There are enow whose draughts as deep as hell Drinke up all Spaine in Sack let my soule swell With thee strong wine of Love let others swimme In puddles we will pledge this Seraphim Bowles full of richer blood then blush of grape Was ever guilty of change wee our shape My soule some drinke from men to beasts ô then Drinke wee till we prove more not lesse then men And turne not beasts but Angels Let the King Mee ever into these his Cellars bring Where flowes such Wine as we can have of none But him who trod the Wine-presse all alone Wine of youths Life and the sweet deaths of Love Wine of immortall mixture which can prove Its tincture from the Rosie Nectar wine That can exalt weak earth and so refine Our dust that in one draught Mortality May drinke it selfe up and forget to dy On a Treatise of Charity RIse then immortall maid Religion rise Put on thy selfe in thine own looks t' our eyes Be what thy beauties not our blots have made thee Such as e're our dark sinnes to dust betray'd thee Heav'n set thee down new drest when thy bright birth Shot thee like lightning to th'astonisht earth From th' dawn of thy faire eye-lids wipe away Dull mists and melancholy clouds take day And thine owne beames about thee bring the best Of whatsoe're perfum'd thy Eastern west Girt all thy glories to thee then sit down Open this booke faire Queen and take thy crown These learned leaves shall vindicate to thee Thy holyest humblest handmaid Charitie Sh'l dresse thee like thy selfe set thee on high Where thou shalt reach all hearts command each eye Lo where I see thy offrings wake and rise From the pale dust of that strange sacrifice Which they themselves were each one putting on A majestie that may beseem thy throne The holy youth of heav'n whose golden rings Girt round thy awfull Altars with bright wings Fanning thy faire locks which the world beleeves As much as sees shall with these sacred leaves Trick their tall plumes and in that garb shall go If not more glorious more conspicuous tho Be it enacted then By the faire lawes of thy firm-pointed pen Gods services no longer shall put on A sluttishnesse for pure religion No longer shall our Churches frighted stones Lie scatter'd like the burnt and martyr'd bones Of dead Devotion nor faint marbles weep In their sad ruines nor Religion keep A melancholy mansion in those cold Vrns. Like Gods Sanctuaries they lookt of old Now seem they Temples consecrate to none Or to a new God Desolation No more the hypocrite shall th' upright be Because he 's stiffe and will confesse no knee While others bend their knee no more shalt thou Disdainfull dust and ashes bend thy brow Nor on Gods Altar cast two scorching eyes Bak't in hot scorn for a burnt sacrifice But for a Lambe thy tame and tender heart New struck by love still trembling on his dart Or for two Turtle doves it shall suffice To bring a paire of meek and humble eyes This shall from hence-forth be the masculine theme Pulpits and pennes shall sweat in to â—edeem Vertue to action that life-feeding flame That keeps Religion warme not swell a name Of faith a mountaine word made up of aire With those deare spoiles that wont to dresse the faire And fruitfull Charities full breasts of old Turning her out to tremble in the cold What can the poore hope from us when we be Vncharitable ev'n to Charitie In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi D. Andrews HAec charta monstrat Fama quem monstrat magis Sed ipsa nec dum fama quem monstrat satis Ille ille totam solus implevit Tubani Tot ora solus domuit famam quoque Fecit modestam ment is igneae pater Agilique radio Lucis aelernae vigil Per alta rerum pondera indomito Vagus Cucurrit Animo quippe naturam ferox Exhausit ipsam mille Foelus Artibus Et mille Linguis ipse se ingentes procul Variavit omnes fuitque toti simul Cognatus orbi sic sacrum solidum jubar Saturumque coelo pectus ad patrios Libens Porrexit ignes hac eum Lector vides Haec ecce charta O Vtinam audires quoque On the Assumption HArke shee is called the parting houre is come Take thy farewel poore world heaven must go home A peece of heavenly Light purer and brighter Then the chast stars whose choice Lamps come to light her While through the christall orbs clearer then they Shee climbes and makes a farre more milky way Shee 's call'd againe harke how th' immortall Dove Sighs to his silver mate rise up my Love Rise up my faire my spotlesse one The Winter 's past the raine is gone The Spring is come the Flowers appeare No sweets since thou art wanting here Come away my Love Come away my Dove cast off delay The Court of Heav'n is come To wait upon thee home Come away come away Shee 's call'd againe and will shee goe When heaven bids come who can say no Heav'n calls her and she must away Heaven will not and she cannot stay Goe then goe glorious on the golden wings Of the bright youth of Heaven that sings Vnder so sweet a burden goe Since thy great Sonne will have it so And while thou goest our song and wee Will as wee may reach after thee Haile holy Queen of humble hearts Wee in thy praise will have our parts And though thy dearest looks must now be light To none but the blest heavens whose bright Beholders lost in sweet delight Feed for ever their faire sight With those divinest eyes which wee And our darke world no more shall see Though our poore joyes are parted so Yet shall our lips never let goe Thy gracious name but to the last Our Loving song shall hold it fast Thy sacred Name shall bee Thy selfe to us and wee With holy cares will keepe it by us Wee to the last Will hold it fast And no Assumption shall deny us All the sweetest showers Of our fairest Flowers Will wee strow upon it Though our sweetnesse cannot make It sweeter they may take Themselves new sweetnesse from it Mary men and Angels sing Maria Mother of our King Live rarest Princesse and may the bright Crown of an incomparable Light Embrace thy radiant browes ô may the best Of everlasting joyes bath thy white brest Live our chaste love the holy mirth Of heaven and humble pride of Earth Live Crowne of Women Queen of men Live Mistris of our Song and when Our weak desires have done their best Sweet Angels come and sing the rest Epitaphium in Dominum Herrisium SIste te paulum viator ubi Longum Sisti Nescese erit huc nempe properare te scias quocunque properas
home with an holy strength Snathc't her self hence to Heaven fill'd a bright place Mongst those immortall fires and on the face Of her great maker fixt her flaming eye There still to read true pure divinity And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke Into this lesse appearance If you thinke T is but a dead face art doth here bequeath Looke on the following leaves and see him breath Ad Reginam ET verò jam tempus erat tibi maxima Mater Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem Tempus erat ne qua tibi basia blanda vacarent Sarcina ne collo sit minùs apta tuo Scilicet ille tuus timor spes ille suorum Quo primumes felix pignore facta parens Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur enses Iam patris magis est jam magis ille suus Indolis O stimulos Vix dum illi transiit infans Iamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum Improbus ille suis adeò negat ire sub annis Iam nondum puer est major est puero Si quis in aulaeis pictas animatus in iras Stat leo quem docta cuspide lusit acus Hostis io est neque enim ille alium dignabitur hostem Nempe decet tantus non minor ira manus Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit hasta bacillum est Mox falsum vero vulnere pectus hiat Stat leo ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet Tam torvum tam dulce micane nescire â—atetur Márs ne sub his oculis esset an esset Amor. Quippe illîc Mars est sed qui bene possit amari Est Amor certe sed metuendus Amor Talis Amor talis Mars est ibi cernere qualis Seu puer hic esset sive vir ille deus Hic tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris Res ecce in lusus non operosa tuos Basia jam veniant tua quatacunque caterva Iam quocunque tuus murmure ludat amor En Tibi materies tenera tractabilis hic est Hic ad blanditias est tibi cera satis Salve infans tot basiolis molle argumentum Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum O salve Nam te nato puer aurâ—e natus Et Carolo Mariae Tertius est oculus Out of Martiall FOure Teeth thou had'st that ranck'd in goodly state Kept thy Mouthes Gate The first blast of thy cough left two alone The second none This last cough Aelia cought out all thy feare Th' hast left the third cough now no businesse here Out of the Italian A Song To thy Lover Deere discover That sweet blush of thine that shameth When those Roses It discloses All the flowers that Nature nameth In free Ayre Flow thy Haire That no more Summers best dresses Bee beholden For their Golden Lockes to Phoebus flaming Tresses O deliver Love his Quiver From thy Eyes he shoots his Arrowes Where Apollo Cannot follow Featherd with his Mothers Sparrowes O envy not That we dye not Those deere lips whose doore encloses All the Graces In their places Brother Pearles and sister Roses From these treasures Of ripe pleasures One bright smile to cleâ—re the weather Earth and Heaven Thus made even Both will he good friends together The aire does wooe thee Winds cling to thee Might a word once flye from out thee Storme and Thunder Would sit under And keepe silence round about Thee But if Natures Common Creatures So deare Glories dare not borrow Yet thy Beauty Owes a Duty To my loving lingring sorrow When to end mee Death shall send mee All his Terrors to affright mee Thine eyes Graces Guild their faces And those Terrors shall delight mee When my dying Life is flying Those sweet Aires that often slew mee Shall revive mee Or reprive mee And to many Deaths renew mee Out of the Italian LOve now no fire hath left him We two betwixt us have divided it Your Eyes the Light hath râ—st him The heat commanding in my Heart doth sit O! that poore Love be not for ever spoyled Let my Heat to your Light be reconciled So shall these flames whose worth Now all obscured lyes Drest in those Beames start forth And dance before your eyes Or else partake my flames I care not whither And so in mutuall Names Of Love burne both together Out of the Italian WOuld any one the true cause find How Love came nak't a Boy and blind 'T is this listning one day too long To th' Syrens in my Mistresse Song The extasie of a delight So much o're-mastring all his might To that one Sense made all else thrall And so he lost his Clothes eyes heart and all In faciem Augustiff Regis à morbillis integram MVsaredt vocat alma parens Academia Noster Enredit ore suo noster Apollo redit Vultus adhuc suus vultu sua purpura tantum Vivit admixtas pergit amare nives Tune illas violare genas tune illa profanis Morbe ferox tantas ire per or a notis Tu Phoebi faciem tentas vanissime Nostra Nee Phoebe maculas novit habere suas Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur Ipsa sedet radiis ô bene tuta suis Quippe illic deus est coelûmque sanctius astrum Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis Quòd facie Rex tutus erat quòd caetera tactus Hinc hominem Rex est fassus inde deum On the Frontispiece of Isaacsons Chronologie explained IF with dictinctive Eye and Mind you looke Vpon the Front you see more then one Booke Creation is Gods Booke wherein he writ Each Creature as a Letter filling it History is Creations Booke which showes To what effects the Series of it goes Chronologie's the Booke of Historie and beares The just account of Dayes Moneths and Yeares But Resurrection in a Later Presse And New Edition is the summe of these The Language of these Bookes had all been one Had not th' Aspiring Tower of Babylon Confus'd the Tongues and in a distance hurl'd As farre the speech as men o th' new fill'd world Set then your eyes in method and behold Times embleme Saturne who when store of Gold Coyn'd the first age Devour'd that Birth he fear'd Till History Times eldest Child appear'd And Phoenix-like in spight of Saturnes rage Forc'd from her Ashes Heyres in every age From th' rising Sunne obtaining by just Suit A Springs Ingender and an Autumnes Fruit. Who in those Volumes at her motion pen'd Vnto Creations Alpha doth extend Againe ascend and view Chronology By Optick Skill pulling farre History Neerer whose Hand the piercing Eagles Eye Strengthens to bring remotest Objects nigh Vnder whose Feet you see the Setting Sunne From the darke Gnomon o're her Volumes runne Drown'd in eternall Night never to rise Till Resurrection show it to the eyes Of Earth-worne men and her shrill Trumpets sound Affright the Bones of Mortals
To the Infant Martyrs GOe smiling soules your new built Cages breake In Heav'n you 'l learne to sing ere here to speake Nor let the milky fonts that bath your thirst Bee your delay The place that calls you hence is at the worst Milke all the way On the Miracle of Loaves NOw Lord or never they 'l beleeve on thee Thou to their Teeth hast prov'd thy Deity Marke 4. Why are yee afraid O yee of little faith AS if the storme meant him Or 'cause Heavens face is dim His needs a cloud Was ever froward wind That could be so unkind Or wave so proud The Wind had need be angry and the Water black That to the mighty Neptune's self dare threaten wrack There is no storme but this Of your owne Cowardise That braves you out You are the storme that mocks Your selves you are the Rocks Of your owne doubt Besides this feare of danger there 's no danger here And he that here feares Danger does deserve his Feare On the Blessed Virgins bashfulnesse THat on her lap she casts her humble Eye 'T is the sweet pride of her Humility The faire starre is well fixt for where ô where Could she have fixt it on a fairer Spheare 'T is Heav'n 't is Heaven she sees Heavens God there lyes She can see heaven and ne're lift up her eyes This new Guest to her Eyes new Lawes hath given 'T was once looke up 't is now looke downe to Heaven Vpon Lazarus his Teares RIch Lazarus richer in those Gems thy Teares Then Dives in the Roabes he weares He scornes them now but ô they 'l sute full well With th' Purple he must weare in Hell Two went up into the Temple to pray TWo went to pray ô rather say One went to brag th' other to pray One stands up close and treads on high Where th' other dares not send his eye One neerer to Gods Altar trod The other to the Altars God Vpon the Asse that bore our Saviour HAth onely Anger an Omnipotence In Eloquence Within the lips of Love and Ioy doth dwell No miracle Why else had Baalams Asse a tongue to chide His Masters pride And thou Heaven-burthen'd Beast hast ne're a word To praise thy Lord That he should find a Tongue and vocall Thunder Was a great wonder But ô me thinkes 't is a farre greater one That thou find'st none Matthew 8. I am not worthy that thou should'st come under my roofe THy God was makâ—ng hast into thy roofe Thy humble faith and feare keepes him aloofe Hee 'l be thy Guest because he may not be Hee 'l come into thy house no into thee Vpon the Powder Day HOw fit our well-raâ—k'd Feasts doe follow All mischâ—efe comes after All Hallow I am the Doore ANd nowth'art set wide ope The Speare's sad Art Lo hath unlockt thee at the very Heart Hee to himselfe I feare the worst And hâ—s owne hope Hath shut these Doores of Heaven that durst Thus set them ope Matthew 10. The blind cured by the word of our Saviour THou speak'st the word thy word 's a Law Thou spak'st and streâ—ght the blind man saw To speake and make the blâ—nd man see Was never man Lord spakâ— lâ—ke Thee To speake thus was to speake say I Not to his Eare but to his Eye Matthew 27. And he answered them nothing O Mighty Nothing unto thee Nothing wee owe all things that bee God spake once when hee all things made Hee sav'd all when hee Nothing said The world was made of Nothing then 'T is made by Nothyng now againe To our Lord upon the Water made Wine THou water turn'st to Wine faire friend of Life Thy foe to crosse the sweet Arts of thy Reigne Distills from thence the Teares of wrath and strife And so turnes wine to Water backe againe Matthew 22. Neither durst any man from that Day aske him any more Questions Midst all the darke and knotty Snares Blacke wit or malice can or dares Thy glorious wisdome breakes the Nets And treads with uncontrouled steps Thy quel'd foes are not onely now Thy triumphes but thy Trophies tâ—o They both at once thy Conquests bee And thy Conquests memorye Stony amazement makes them stand Waiting on thy victorious hand Like statues fixed to the fame Of thy renoune and their owne shame As if they onely meant to breath To bee the Lâ—fe of their owne Death 'T was time to hold their Peace when they Had nere another word to say Yet is their silence unto thee The full sound of thy victory Their silence speakes aloud and is Thy well pronounc'd Panegyris While they speake nothing they speake all Their share in thy Memoriall While they speake nothing they proclaime Thee with the shrillest Trumpe of fame To hold their peace is all the waies These wretches have to speake thy praise Vpon our Saviours Tombe wherein never man was laid HOw Life and Death in Thee Agree Thou had'st a virgin Wombe And Tombe A Ioseph did betroth Them both It is better to go into Heaven with one eye c. ONe Eye a thousand rather and a Thousand more To fix those full-fac't Glories ô he 's poore Of Eyes that has but Argus store Yet if thou 'lt fill one poore Eye with thy Heaven and Thee O grant sweet Goodnesse that one Eye may be All and every whit of me Luk. 11. Vpon the dumbe Devill cast out and the slanderous Iewes put to silence TWo Devills at one blow thou hast laid flat A speaking Divell this a dumbe one that Wa' st thy full victories fairer increase That th' one spake or that th' other held his peace Luke 10. And a certaine Priest comming that way looked on him and passed by Why dost Thou wound my wounds ô Thou that passest by Handling turning them with an unwounded eye The calm that cools thine eye does shipwrack mine for ô Vnmov'd to see one wretched is to make him so Luke 11. Blessed be the paps which Thou hast sucked SVppose he had been Tabled at thy Teates Thy hunger feeles not what he eates Hee 'l have his Teat e're long a bloody one The Mother then must suck the Son To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands â—S murther no sin or a sin so cheape That thou need'st heape â— Rape upon 't till thy Adult'rous touch Taught her these sullied cheeks this blubber'd face She was a Nimph the meadowes knew none such Of honest Parentage of unstain'd Race The Daughter of a faire and well-fam'd Fountaine As ever Silver-tipt the side of shady mountaine See how she weeps and weeps that she appeares Nothing but Teares Each drop's a Teare that weeps for her own wast Harke how at every Touch she does complaine her Harke how she bids her frighted Drops make hast And with sad murmurs chides the Hands that stain her Leave leave for shame or else Good judge decree What water shal wash this when this hath washed thee Matthew 23. Yee build the Sepulchres of the Prophets THou trim'st a
Sea of thy blood Their little channels can deliver Something to the generall flood But while I speake whither are run All the Rivers nam'd before I counted wrong there is but one But ô that one is one all'ore Raine-swolne Rivers may rise proud Threatning all to overflow But when indeed all 's overflow'd They themselves are drowned too This thy Bloods deluge a dire chance Deare Lord to thee to us is found A deluge of deliverance A deluge least we should be drown'd Nere was 't thou in a sence so sadly true The well of living Waters Lord till now Sampson to his Dalilah COuld not once blinding me cruell suffâ—ce When first I look't on thee I lost mine eyes Psalme 23. HAppy me ô happy sheepe Whom my God vouchsafes to keepe Even my God even he it is That points me to these wayes of blisse One whose pastures cheerefull spring All the yeare doth sit and sing And rejoycing smiles to see Their greene backs were his liverie Pleasure sings my soule to rest Plenty weares me at her brest Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton nor in want to be At my feet the blubb'ring Mountaine Weeping melts into a Fountaine Whose soft silver-sweating streames Make high Noone forget his beames When my waiward breath is flying Hee calls home my soule from dying Strokes and tames my rabid Griefe And does woe me into life When my simple weaknesse strayes Tangled in forbidden wayes Hee my Shepheard is my Guide Hee 's before me on my side And behind me he beguiles Craft in all her knotty wiles Hee expounds the giddy wonder Of my weary steps and under Spreads a Path cleare as the Day Where no churlish rub saies nay To my joy-conducted Feet Whil'st they Gladly goe to meet Grace and peace to meet new laies Tun'd to my great Shepheards praise Come now all yee terrors sally Muster forth into the valley Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing that covers Brooding Horror Come thou Death Let the damps of thy dull Breath Overshadow even the shade And make darknesse selfe afraid There my feet even there shall find Way for a resolved mind Still my Shepheard still my God Thou art with me Still thy rod And thy staffe whose influence Gives direction gives defence At the whisper of thy Word Crown'd abundance spreads my Bord While I feast my foes doe feed Their rank malice not their need So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd and I am fed How my head in ointment swims How my cup orelooks her Brims So even so still may I move By the Line of thy deare Love Still may thy sweet mercy spread A shady Arme above my head About my Paths so shall I find The faire Center of my mind Thy Temple and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame that falls Fresh from the pure glance of thine eye Lighting to Eternity There I 'le dwell for ever there Will I find a purer aire To feed my Life with there I 'le sup Balme and Nectar in my Cup And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the Armes of Death Psalme 137. ON the proud bankes of great Euphrates flood There we sate and there we wept Our Harpes that now no Musicke understood Nodding on the Willowes slept While unhappy captiv'd wee Lovely Sion thought on thee They they that snatcht us from our Countries brest Would have a Song carv'd to their Eares In Hebrew numbers then ô cruell jest When Harpes and hearts were drown'd in Teares Come they cry'd come sing and play On of Sions songs to day Sing play to whom ah shall we sing or play If not Ierusalem to thee Ah thee Ierusalem ah sooner may This hand forget the mastery Of Musicks dainty touch then I The Musicke of thy memory Which when I lose ô may at once my Tongue Lose this same busie speaking art Vnpearcht her vocall Arteries unstâ—ung No more acquainted with my Heart On my dry pallats roofe to rest A wither'd Leafe an idle Guest No no thy good Sion alone must crowne The head of all my hope-nurst joyes But Edom cruell thou thou cryd'st ddowne downe Sinke Sion downe and never rise Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust And haste to dash her into dust Dost laugh proud Babels Daughter do laugh on Till thy ruine teach thee Teares Even such as these laugh till a venging throng Of woes too late doe rouze thy feares Laugh till thy childrens bleeding bones Weepe pretious Teares upon the stones A Hymne of the Nativity sung by the Shepheards Chorus COme wee Shepheards who have seene Dayes King deposed by Nights Queene Come lift we up our lofty song To wake the Sun that sleeps too long Hee in this our generall joy Slept and dreampt of no such thing While we found out the fair-ey'd Boy And kist the Cradle of our King Tell him hee rises now too late To shew us ought worth looking at Tell him wee now can shew him more Then hee e're shewd to mortall sight Then hee himselfe e're saw before Which to be seene needs not his light Tell him Tityrus where th' hast been Tell him Thyrsis what th' hast seen Tytirus Gloomy Night embrac't the place Where the noble Infant lay The Babe lookt up and shew'd his face In spight of Darknesse it was Day It was thy Day Sweet and did râ—se Not from the East but from thy eyes Thyrsis Winter chid the world and sent The angry North to wage his warres The North forgot his fierce intent And lest perfumes in stead of scarres By those sweet Eyes persuasive Powers Where he meant frosts he scattered Flowers Bâ—th We saw thee in thy Balmy Nest Bright Dawne of our Eternall Day Wee saw thine Eyes-break from the East And chase the trembling shades away Wee saw thee and wee blest the sight Wee saw thee by thine owne sweet Light Tityrus I saw the curl'd drops soft and slow Come hovering o're the places head Offring their whitest sheets of snow To furnish the faire Infants Bed Forbeare said I be not too bold Your fleece is white but 't is too cold Thyrsis I saw th'officious Angels bring The downe that their soft brests did strow For well they now can spare their wings When Heaven it selfe lyes here below Faire Youth said I be not too rough Thy Downe though soft's not soft enough Tityrus The Babe no sooner 'gan to seeke Where to lay his lovely head But streight his eyes advis'd his Cheeke 'Twixt Mothers Brests to goe to bed Sweet choise said I no way but so Not to lye cold yet sleepe in snow All. Welcome to our wondring sight Eternity shut in a span Summer in Winter Day in Night Chorus Heaven in Earth and God in Man Great litle one whose glorious Birth Lifts Earth to Heaven stoops heaven to earth Welcome though not to Gold nor Silke To more then Caesars Birthright is Two sister-Seas of virgins Milke With many a rarely-temper'd kisse That breathes at once both Maid and
sorrow brings All the streames of all her springs Was so rich in Grace and Nature In all the gifts that blesse a Creature The fresh hopes of his lovely Youth Flourisht in so faire a grouth So sweet the Temple was that shrin'd The Sacred sweetnesse of his mind That could the Fates know to relent Could they know what mercy meant Or had ever learnt to beare The soft tincture of a Teare Teares would now have flow'd so deepe As might have taught Griefe how to weepe Now all their steely operation Would quite have lost the cruell fashion Sicknesse would have gladly been Sick himselfe to have sav'd him And his Feaver wish'd to prove Burning onely in his Love Him when wrath it selfe had seene Wrath its selfe had lost his spleene Grim Destruction here amaz'd In stead of striking would have gaz'd Even the Iron-pointed pen That notes the Tragicke Doomes of men Wet with teares still'd from the eyes Of the flinty Destinyes Would have learn't a softer style And have been asham'd to spoyle His lives sweet stoty by the hast Of a cruell stop ill plac't In the darke volume of our fate Whence each leafe of Life hath date Where in sad particulars The totall summe of Man appeares And the short clause of mortall Breath Bound in the period of Death In all the Booke if any where Such a tearme as this spare here Could have been found 't would have been read Writ in white Letters o're his head Or close unto his name annext The faire glosse of a fairer Text. In briefe if any one were free Hee was that one and onely he But he alas even hee is dead And our hopes faire harvest spread In the dust Pitty now spend All the teares that griefe can lend Sad mortality may hide In his ashes all her pride With this inscription o're his head All hope of never dying here lyes dead His Epitaph PAssenger who e're thou art Stay a while and let thy Heart Take acquaintance of this stone Before thou passest further on This stone will tell thee that beneath Is entomb'd the Crime of Death The ripe endowments of whose mind Left his Yeares so much behind That numbring of his vertuos praise Death lost the reckoning of his Dayes And believing what they told Imagin'd him exceeding old In him perfection did set forth The strength of her united worth Him his wisdomes pregnant growth Made so reverend even in Youth That in the Center of his Brest Sweet as is the Phaenix nest Every reconciled Grace Had their Generall meeting place In him Goodnesse joy'd to see Learning learne Humility The splendor of his Birth and Blood Was but the Glosse of his owne Good The flourish of his sober Youth Was the Pride of Naked Truth In composure of his face Liv'd a faire but manly Grace His Mouth was Rhetoricks best mold His Tongue the Touchstone of her Gold What word so e're his Breath kept warme Was no word now but a charme For all persuasive Graces thence Suck't their sweetest Influence His vertue that within had root Could not chuse but shine without And th'heart-bred lustre of his worth At each corner peeping forth Pointed him out in all his wayes Circled round in his owne Rayes That to his sweetnesse all mens eyes Were vow'd Loves flaming Sacrifice Him while fresh and fragrant Time Cherisht in his Golden Prime E're Hebe's hand had overlaid His smooth cheekes with a downy shade The rush of Death's unruly wave Swept him off into his Grave Enough now if thou canst passe on For now alas not in this stone Passenger who e're thou art Is he entomb'd but in thy Heart An Epitaph Vpon Husband and Wife which died and were buried together TO these Whom Death again did wed This Grave 's the second Marriage-Bed For though the hand of Fate could force 'Twixt Soule and body a Divorce It could not sever Man and Wife Because they both liv'd but one Life Peace good Reader doe not weepe Peace the Lovers are asleepe They sweet Turtles folded lye In the last knot that love could tye Let them sleepe let them sleepe on Till this stormy night be gone And th' eternall morrow dawne Then the Curtaines will bee drawne And they waken with that Light Whose day shall never sleepe in Night An Epitaph Vpon Doctor Brooke A Brooke whose streame so great so good Was lov'd was honour'd as a flood Whose Bankes the Muses dwelt upon More then their owne Helicon Here at length hath gladly found A quiet passage under ground Meane while his loved bankes now dry The Muses with their teares supply Vpon Mr. Staninough's Death DEare reliques of a dislodg'd soule whose lacke Makes many a mourning Paper put on blacke O stay a while e're thou draw in thy Head And wind thy selfe up close in thy cold Bed Stay but a little while untill I call A summons worthy of thy Funerall Come then youth Beauty and Blood all ye soft powers Whose silken flatteryes swell a few fond houâ—es Into a false Eternity come man Hyperbolized nothing know thy span Take thine owne measure here downe downe and bow Before thy selfe in thy Idaea thou Huge emptinesse contract thy bulke and shrinke All thy wild Circle to a point ô sinke Lower and lower yet till thy small size Call Heaven to looke on thee with narrow eyes Lesser and lesser yet till thou begin To show a face fit to confesse thy kin Thy neighbour-hood to nothing here put on Thy selfe in this unfeign'd reflection Here gallant Ladyes this unpartiall glasse Through all your painting showes you your own face These Death-scal'd Lipps are they dare give the lye To the proud hopes of poor Mortality These curtain'd windowes this selfe-prison'd eye Out-stares the Liddes of large-look't Tyranny This posture is the brave one this that lyes Thus low stands up me thinkes thus and defyes The world All daring Dust and Ashes onely you Of all interpreters read nature true Vpon the Duke of Yorke his Birth A Panegyricke BRittaine the mighty Oceans lovely Bride Now strech thy self faire Ile and grow spread wide Thy bosome and make roome Thou art opprest With thine owne Gloryes and art strangely blest Beyond thy selfe for lo the Gods the Gods Come fast upon thee and those glorious ods Swell thy full gloryes to a pitch so high As sits above thy best capacitye Are they not ods and glorious that to thee Those mighty Genii throng which well might bee Each one an Ages labour that thy dayes Are guilded with the Vnion of those Rayes Whose each divided Beame would be a Sun To glad the Spheare of any Nation O if for these thou mean'st to find a seat Th' ast need ô Brittaine to be truly Great And so thou art their presence makes thee so They are thy Greatnesse Gods where e're they go Bring their Heaven with them their great footsteps place An everlasting smile upon the face Of the glad Earth they tread on while with thee Those Beames that ampliate
Night Starâ—le the dull Ayre with a dismall red Such his fell glances as the fatall Light Of staring Comets that looke Kingdomes dead From his black nostrills and blew lips in spight Of Hells owne stinke a worser stench is spread His breath Hells lightning is and each deepe grone Disdaines to thinke that Heav'n Thunders alone 8. His flaming Eyes dire exhalation Vnto a dreadfull pile gives fiery Breath Whose unconsum'd consumption preys upon The never-dying Life of a long Death In this sad House of slow Destruction His shop of flames hee fryes himselfe beneath A masse of woes his Teeth for Torment gnash While his steele sides found with his Tayles strong lash 9. Three Rigourous Virgins waiting still behind Assist the Throne of th' Iron-Sceptred King With whips of Thornes and knotty vipers twin'd They rouse him when his ranke Thoughts need a sting Their lockes are beds of uncomb'd snakes that wind About their shady browes in wanton Rings Thus reignes the wrathfull King and while he reignes His Scepter and himselfe both he disdaines 10 Disdainefull wretch how hath one bold sinne cost Thee all the Beauties of thy once bright Eyes How hath one blacke Eclipse cancell'd and crost The glories that did guild thee in thy Rise Proud Morning of a perverse Day how lost Art thou unto thy selfe thou too selfe-wise Narcissus foolish Phaeton who for all Thy high-aym'd hopes gaind'st but a flaming fall 11 From Death's sad shades to the Life-breathing Ayre This mortall Enemy to mankinds good Lifts his malignant Eyes wasted with care To be come beautifull in humane blood Where Iordan melts his Chrystall to make faire The fields of Palestine with so pure a flood There does he fixe his Eyes and there detect New matter to make good his great suspect 12 He calls to mind th' old quarrell and what sparke Set the contending Sons of Heav'n on fire Oft in his deepe thought he revolves the darke Sibills divining leaves hee does enquire Into th' old Prophesies trembling to marke How many present prodigies conspire To crowne their past predictions both hee layes Together in his pondrous mind both weighes 13. Heavens Golden-winged Herald late hee saw To a poore Galilean virgin sent How low the Bright Youth bow'd and with what awe Immortall flowers to her faire hand present Hee saw th' old Hebrewes wombe neglect the Law Of Age and Barennesse and her Babe prevent His Birth by his Devotion who began Betimes to be a Saint before a Man 14. Hee saw rich Nectar thawes release the rigour Of th' Icy North from frost-bount Atlas hands His Adamantine fetters fall greene vigour Gladding the Scythian Rocks and Libian sands Hee saw a vernall smile sweetly disfigure Winters sad face and through the flowry lands Of faire Engaddi hony-sweating Fountaines With Manna Milk and Balm new broach the Mountaines 15. Hee saw how in that blest Day-bearing Night The Heav'n-rebuked shades made hast away How bright a Dawne of Angels with new Light Amaz'd the midnight world and made a Day Of which the Morning knew not Mad with spight Hee markt how the poore Shepheards ran to pay Their simple Tribute to the Babe whose Birth Was the great businesse both of Heav'n and Earth 16. Hee saw a threefold Sun with rich encrease Make proud the Ruby portalls of the East Hee saw the Temple sacred to sweet Peace Adore her Princes Birth flat on her Brest Hee saw the falling Idols all confesse A comming Deity Hee saw the Nest Of pois'nous and unnaturall loves Earth-nurst Toucht with the worlds true Antidote to burst 17. He saw Heav'n blossome with a new-borne light On whâ—ch as on a glorious stranger gaz'd The Golden eyes of Night whose Beame made bright The way to Beth'lem and as boldly blaz'd Nor askt leave of the Sun by Day as Night By whom as Heav'ns illustrious Hand-maid rais'd Three Kings or what is more three Wise men went Westward to find the worlds true Orient 18. Strucke with these great concurrences of things Symptomes so deadly unto Death and him Faine would hee have forgot what fatall strings Eternally bind each rebellious limbe Hee shooke himselfe and spread his spatious wings Which like two Bosom'd sailes embrace the dimme Aire with a dismall shade but all in vaine Of sturdy Adamant is his strong chaine 19. While thus Heav'ns highest counsails by the low Foot steps of their Effects hee trac'd too well Hee tost his troubled eyes Embers that glow Now with new Rage and wax too hot for Hell With his foule clawes hee fenc'd his furrowed Brow And gave a gastly shreeke whose horrid yell Ran trembling through the hollow vaults of Nâ—ght The while his twisted Tayle hee gnaw'd for spâ—ght 20. Yet on the other side faine would he start Above his feares and thinke it cannot be Hee studies Scripture strives to sound the heart And feele the pulse of every Prophecy Hee knowes but knowes not how or by what Art The Heav'n expecting Ages hope to see A mighty Babe whose pure unspotted Birth From a chast Virgin wombe should blesse the Earth 21. But these vast Mysteries his senses smother And Reason for what 's Faith to him devoure How she that is a maid should prove a Mother Yet keepe inviolate her virgin flower How Gods eternall Sonne should be mans Brother Poseth his proudest Intellectuall power How a pure Spirit should incarnate bee And life it selfe weare Deaths fraile Livery 22. That the Great Angell-blinding light should shrinke His blaze to shine in a poore Shepheards eye That the unmeasur'd God so low should sinke As Pris'ner in a few poore Rags to lye That from his Mothers Brest hee milke should drinke Who feeds with Nectar Heav'ns faire family That a vile Manger his low Bed should prove Who in a Throne of stars Thunders above 23. That hee whom the Sun serves should fainely peepe Through clouds of Infant flesh that hee the old Eternall Word should bee a Child and weepe That hee who made the fire should feare the cold That Heav'ns high Majesty hâ—s Court should keepe In a clay-cottage by each blast control'd That Glories selfe should serve our Griefs feares And free Eternity submit to yeares 24. And further that the Lawes eternall Giver Should bleed in his owne lawes obedience And to the circumcising Knife deliver Himselfe the forfeit of his slaves offence That the unblemisht Lambe blessed for ever Should take the marke of sin and paine of sence These are the knotty Riddles whose darke doubt Intangles his lost Thoughts past getting out 25. While new Thoughts boyl'd in his enraged Brest His gloomy Bosomes darkest Character Was in his shady forehead seen exprest The forehead 's shade in Grâ—efes expression there Is what in signe of joy among the bâ—est The faces lightning or a smile is here Those stings of care that his strong Heart oppâ—est A desperate Oh mee drew from his deepe Brest 26. Oh mee thus bellow'd hee oh mee â— what great Portents before mine eyes their Powers
advance And serves my purer sight onely to beat Downe my proud Thought and leave it in a Trance Frowne I and can great Nature keep her seat And the gay starrs lead on their Golden dance Can his attempts above stâ—ll prosp'rous be Auspicious still in spâ—ght of Hell and me 27. Hee has my Heaven what would he more whose bright And radiant Scepter this bold hand should beare And for the never-fading fields of Light My faire Inheritance hee confines me here To this darke House of shades horrour and Night To draw a long-liv'd Death where all my cheere Is the solemnity my sorrow weares That Mankinds Torment waits upon my Teares 28. Darke dusky Man he needs would single forth To make the partner of his owne pure â—ay And should we Powers of Heav'n Spirits of worth Bow our bright Heads before a King of clay It shall not be said I and clombe the North Where never wing of Angell yet made way What though I mâ—st my blow yet I strooke high And to dare something is some victory 29. Is hee not satisfied meanes he to wrest Hell from me too and sack my Territories Vile humane Nature means he not t' invest O my despight with his divinest Glories And rising with rich spoiles upon his Brest With his faire Triumphs fill all â—uture stories Must the bright armes of Heav'n rebuke these eyes Mocke me and dazle my darke Mysteries 30. Art thou not Lucifer hee to whom the droves Of stars that guild the Morne in charge were given The nimblest of the lightning-winged Loves The fairest and the first-borne smile of Heav'n Looke in what Pompe the Mistresse Planet moves Rev'rently circled by the lesser seaven Such and so rich the flames that from thine eyes O prest the common-people of the skyes 31. Ah wretch what bootes thee to cast back thy eyes Where dawning hope no beame of comfort showes While the reflection of thy forepast joyes Renders thee double to thy present woes Rather make up to thy new miseries And meet the mischiefe that upon thee growes If Hell must mourne Heav'n sure shall sympathize What force cannot effect fraud shall devise 32. And yet whose force feare I have I so lost My selfe my strength too with my innocence Come try who dares Heav'n Earth what ere dost boast A borrowed being make thy bold defence Come thy Creator too what though it cost Mee yet a second fall wee 'd try our strengths Heav'n saw us struggle once as brave a sight Earth now should see and tremble at the sight 33. Thus spoke th'impatient Prince and made a pause His foule Hags rais'd their heads clapt their hands And all the Powers of Hell in full applause Flourisht their Snakes and tost their flaming brands Wee said the horrid sisters wait thy lawes Th' obsequious handmaids of thy high commands Be it thy part Hells mighty Lord to lay On us thy dread commands ours to obey 34. What thy Alecto what these hands can doe Thou mad'st bold proofe upon the brow of Heav'n Nor should'st thou bate in pride because that now To these thy sooty Kingdomes thou art driven Let Heav'ns Lord chide above lowder then thou In language of his Thunder thou art even With him below here thou art Lord alone Boundlesse and absolute Hell is thine owne 35. If usuall wit and strength will doe no good Vertues of stones nor herbes use stronger charmes Anger and love best hookes of humane blood If all faâ—le wee 'l put on our proudest Armes And pouring on Heav'ns face the Seas huge flood Quench his curl'd fires wee 'l wake wâ—th our Alarmes Ruâ—ne where e're she sleepes at Natures feet And crush the world till his wide corners meet 36. Reply'd the proud King O my Crownes Defence Stay of my strong hopes you of whose brave worth The frighted stars tooke faint experience When 'gainst the Thunders mouth wee marched forth Still you are prodigal of your Love's expence In our great projects both 'gainst Heav'n and Earth I thanke you all but one must single out Cruelty she alone shall cure my doubt 37. Fourth of the cursed knot of Hags is shee Or rather all the other three in one Hells shop of slaughter shee do's oversee And still assist the Execution But chiefly there do's shee delight to be Where Hells capacious Cauldron is set on And while the black soules boile in their owne gore To hold them down and looke that none seethe o're 38. Thrâ—ce howl'd the Caves of Night and thrice the sound Thundring upon the bankes of those black lakes Rung through the hollow vaults of Hell profound At last her lâ—stning Eares the noise o'retakes Shee lifts her sooty lampes and looking round A gen'rall hâ—sse from the whole Tire of snakes Rebounding through Hells inmost Cavernes came In answer to her formidable Name 39. Mongst all the Palaces in Hells command No one so mercilesse as this of hers The Adamantine Doors for ever stand Impenetrable both to prai'rs and Teares The walls inexorable steele no hand Of Time or Teeth of hungry Ruine feares Their ugly ornaments are the bloody staines Of ragged limbs torne sculls dasht our Braines 40. There has the purple Vengeance a proud seat Whose ever-brandisht Sword is sheath'd in blood About her Hate Wrath Warre and slaughter sweat Bathing their hot limbs in life's pretious flood There rude impetuous Rage do's storme and fret And there as Master of this murd'ring brood Swinging a huge Sith stands impartiall Death With endlesse businesse almost out of Breath 41. For Hangings and for Curtaines all along The walls abominable ornaments Are tooles of wrath Anvills of Torments hung Fell Executioners of foule intents Nailes hammers hatchets sharpe and halters strong Swords Speares with all the fatall Instruments Of sin and Death twice dipt in the dire staines Of Brothers mutuall blood and Fathers braines 42. The Tables furnisht with a cursed Feast Which Harpyes with leane Famine feed upon Vnfill'd for ever Here among the rest Inhumane Erisi-â—thon too makes one Tantalus Atreus Progne here are guests Wolvish Lyâ—aon here a place hath won The cup they drinke in is Medusa's scull Which mixt with gall blood they quaffe brim full 43. The foule Queens most abhorred Maids of Honour Medaea Iezabell many a meager Witch With Circe Scylla stand to wait upon her But her best huswifes are the Parcae which Still worke for her and have their wages from her They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch Her cruell cloathes of costly threds they weave Which short-cut lives of murdred Infants leave 44. The house is hers'd about with a black wood Which nods with many a heavy headed tree Each flowers a pregnant poyson try'd and good Each herbe a Plague The winds sighes timed-bee By a black Fount which weeps into a flood Through the thick shades obscurely might you see Minotaures Cyclopses with a darke drove Of Dragons Hydraes Sphinxes fill the Grove 45. Here Diomed's Horses Phereus dogs appeare With the fierce Lyons of
Morae praetium erit Et Lacrimae Si jacere hic scias Gulielmum Splendidae Herrisiorum familiae Splendorem maximum Quem cum talem vixisse intelexeris Et vixisse tantum Discas licet In quantus spes possit Assurgere mortalitas De quantis cadere Quem Infantem Essexia vidit Quem Iuvenem Cantabrigiae vidit Senem ah infaelix utraque Quod non vidit Qui Collegii Christi Alumnus Aulae Pembrokianae socius Vtrique ingens amoris certamen fuit Donec Dulciss Lites elusit Deus Eumque coelestis Collegii Cujus semper Alumnus fuit socium fecit Qui ipse Collegium fuit In quo Musae omnes gratiae Nullibi magis sorores Sub praeside religione In tenacissimum sodalitium coaluere Quem Oratoriae Agnovcre Quem Poetica Agnovcre Quem Vtraque Agnovcre Quem Christianum Agnovcre Quem Poetam Agnovcre Quem Oratorem Agnovcre Quem Philosophum Agnovcre Quem Omnes Agnovcre Qui Fide Superavit Qui Spe Superavit Qui Charitate Superavit Qui Humilitate Superavit Qui Mundum Superavit Qui Coelum Superavit Qui Proximum Superavit Qui Seipsum Superavit Cujus Sub verna fronâ—e-senilis animus Sub morum facilitate severitas virtutis Sub plurima indole pauci anni Sub majore modestia maxima indolesadeo se occuluerunt ut vitam ejus Pulchram dixeris pudicam dissimulationem Imo vero mortem Ecce enim in ipso funere Dissimulari se passus est Sub tantillo mar more tantum hospitem Eo nimirum majore monumento quo minore tumulo Eo ipso die occubuit quo Ecclesia Anglicana ad vesperas legit Raptus est ne malitia mutaret Intellectun ejus Scilicet Id Octobris Anno S 1631. An Himne for the Circumcision day of our Lord. RIse thou first and fairest morning Rosie with a double red With thine owne blush thy cheekes adorning And the deare drops this day were shed All the purple pride of Laces The crimson curtaines of thy bed Guild thee not with so sweet graces Nor sets thee in so rich a red Of all the faire cheekt flowers that fill thee None so faire thy bosome strowes As this modest Maiden Lilly Our sinnes have sham'd into a Rose Bid the golden god the Sunne Burnisht in his glorious beames Put all his red eyed rubies on These Rubies shall put out his eyes Let him make poore the purple East Rob the rich store her Cabinets keep The pure birth of each sparkling nest That flaming in their faire bed sleep Let him embrace his owne bright tresses With a new morning made of gems And weare in them his wealthy dresses Another day of Diadems When he hath done all he may To make himselfe rich in his rise All will be darknesse to the day That breakes from one of these faire eyes And soone the sweet truth shall appeare Deare Babe e're many dayes be done The Moone shall come to meet thee here And leave the long adored Sunne Thy nobler beauty shall bereave him Of all his Easterne Paramours His Persian Lovers all shall leave him And sweare faith to thy sweeter powers Nor while they leave him shall they loose the Sunne But in thy fairest eyes find two for one On Hope By way of Question and Answer betweene A. Cowley and R. Crashaw Cowley HOpe whose weake being ruin'd is Alike If it succeed and if it misse Whom Ill and Good doth equally confound And both the hornes of Fates dilemma wound Vaine shadow that doth vanish quite Both at full noone and perfect night The Fates have not a possibility Of blessing thee If things then from their ends wee happy call 'T is hope is the most hopelesse thing of all Crashaw Deare Hope Earths dowry and Heavens debt The entity of things that are not yet Subt'lest but surest being Thou by whom Our Nothing hath a definition Faire cloud of fiâ—e both shade and light Our life in death our day in night Fates cannot find out a capacity Of hurting thee From thee their thinne dilemma with blunt horne Shrinkes like the sick Moone at the wholsome morne Cowley Hope thou bold taster of delight Who in stead of doing so devour'st it quite Thou bring'st us an estate yet leav'st us poore By clogging it with Legacies before The joyes which wee intire should wed Come deflour'd virgins to our bed Good fortunes without gaine imported bee So mighty Custome's paid to thee For joy like Wine kept close doth better taste If it take ayre before its spirits waste Crashaw Thou art Loves Legacie under lock Of Faith the steward of our growing stocke Our Crown-lands lye above yet each meale brings A seemly portion for the Sons of Kings Nor will the Virgin-joyes wee wed Come lesse unbroken to our bed Because that from the bridall checke of Blisse Thou thus steal'st downe a distant kisse Hopes chaste kisse wrongs no more joyes maidenhead Then Spousall rites prejudge the marriage-bed Cowley Hope Fortunes cheating Lotterie Where for one prize an hundred blankes there bee Fond Archer Hope who tak'st thine ayme so farre That still or short or wide thine arrowes are Thine empty cloud the eye it selfe deceives With shapes that our owne fancie gives A cloud which gilt and painted now appeares But must drop presently in teares When thy false beames o're Reasons light prevaile By ignes fatus not North starres we sayle Crashaw Faire Hope our earlier Heaven by thee Young Time is taster to Eternity The generous wine with age growes stong not sower Nor need wee kill thy fruit to smell thy flower Thy golden head never hangs downe Till in the lap of Loves full noone It falls and dyes oh no it melts away As doth the dawne into the day As lumpes of Sugar lose themselves and twine Their subtile essence with the soule of Wine Cowley Brother of Feare more gaily clad The merrier Foole o' th' two yet quite as mad Sire of Repentance shield of fond desire That blows the Chymicks and the Lovers fire Still leading them insensibly on With the strange witchcraft of Anon. By thee the one doth changing Nature through Her endlesse Laborinths pursue And th' other chases woman while she goes More wayes and turnes then hunted Nature knowes Crashaw Fortune alas above the worlds law warres Hope kicks the curl'd heads of conspiring starres Her keele cuts not the waves where our winds sture And Fates whole Lottery is one blanke to her Her shafts and shee fly farre above And forrage in the fields of light and love Sweet Hope kind cheat faire fallacy by thee Wee are not where or what wee bee But what and where wee would bee thus art thou Our absent presence and our future now Crashaw Faith's Sister Nurse of faire desireâ— Feares Antidote a wise and well stay'd fire Temper'd 'twixt cold despaire and torrid joy Queen Regent in young Loves minoritie Though the vext Chymick vainly chases His fugitive gold through all her faces And loves more fierce more
from the ground The Columnes both are crown'd with either Sphere To show Chronology and History beare No other Culmen then the double Art Astronomy Geography impart Or Thus. LEt hoary Time's vast Bowels be the Grave To what his Bowels birth and being gave Let Nature die Phoenix-like from death Revived Nature take a second breath If on Times right hand sâ—t faiâ—e Historie If from the seed of empty Ruine she Can raise so faire an Harvest Let Her be Ne're so farre distant yet Chronologie Sharpe sighted as the Eagles eye that can Out-stare the broad-beam'd Dayes Meridian Will have a Perspicill to find her out And through the Night of error and dark doubt Discerne the Dawne of Truth 's eternall ray As when the rosie Morne budds into Day Now that Time's Empire might be amply fill'd Babels bold Artists strive below to build Ruine a Temple on whose fruitfull fall History reares her Pyramids more tall Then were th' Aegyptian by the life theâ—e give Th' Egyptian Pyramids themselves must live On these she lifts the World and on their base Shewes the two termes and limits of Time's race That the Creation is the Iudgement this That the World's Morning this her Midnight is An Epitaph Vpon Mr. Ashton a conformable Citizen THe modest front of this small floore Beleeve mee Reader can say more Then many a braver Marble can Here lyes a truly honest man One whose Conscience was a thing That troubled neither Church nor King One of those few that in this Towne Honour all Preachers heare their owne Sermons he heard yet not so many As left no time to practise any Hee heard them reverendly and then His practice preach'd them o're agen His Parlour-Sermons rather were Those to the Eye then to the Eare. His prayers tooke their price and strength Not from the lowdnesse nor the length Hee was a Protestant at home Not onely in despight of Rome Hee lov'd his Father yet his zeale Tore not off his Mothers veile To th' Church hee did allow her Dresse True Beauty to true Holinesse Peace which hee lov'd in Life did lend Her hand to bring him to his end When Age and Death call'd for the score No surfets were to reckon for Death tore not therefore but sans strife Gently untwin'd his thread of Life What remaines then but that Thou Write these lines Reader in thy Brow And by his faire Examples light Burne in thy Imitation bright So while these Lines can but bequeath A Life perhaps unto his Death His better Epitaph shall bee His Life still kept alive in Thee Rex Redux I Lle redit redit Hoc populi bona murmura volâ—unt Publicus hoc audin ' plausus ad astra refert Hoc omnâ— sedet in vultu commune serenum Omnibus hinc una est laetitiae facies Rex noster lux nostra redit redeuntis ad ora Aridet totis Anglia laeta genis Quisque suos oculos oculis accendit ab istis Atque novum sacro sumit ab ore diem Forte roges tanto quae digna pericula plausu Evadat Carolus quae mala quósve metus Anne perrerati male fida volumina ponti Ausa illum terris pene negare suis Hospitis an nimii rurcus sibi conscia tellus Vix bene speratum reddat Ibera caput Nil horum nec enim male fida volumina ponti Aut sacrum tellus vidiâ— Ibera caput Verus amor tamen haec sibi falsa pericula fingit Falsa peric'la solet fingere verus amor At Carolo qui falsa timet nec vera timeret Vera peric'la solet temnere verus amor Illi falsa timens sibi vera pericula temnens Non solum est fidus sed quoque fortis amor Interea nostri satis ille est causa triumphi Et satis ah nostri causa doloris erat Causa doloris erat Carolus sospes licet esset Anglia quod saltem discere posset Abest Et satis est nostri Carolus nunc causa triumphi Dicere quod saltem possumus Ille redit Out of Catullus COme and let us live my Deare Let us love and never feare What the sowrest Fathers say Brightest Sol that dyes to day Lives againe as blith to morrow But if we darke sons of sorrow Set ô then how long a Night Shuts the Eyes of our short light Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips begin and tell A Thousand and a Hundred score An Hundred and a Thousand more Till another Thousand smother That and that wipe of another Thus at last when we have numbred Many a Thousand many a Hundred Wee 'l confound the reckoning quite And lose our selves in wild delight While our joyes so multiply As shall mocke the envious eye Ad Principem nondum natum NAscere nunc ô nunc quid enim puer alme moraris Nulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem Ergone tot tardos ô lente morabere menses Rex redit Ipse veni dic bone Gratus ades Nam quid Ave nostrum quid nostri verba triumphi Vagitu melius dixeris ista tuo At maneas tamen nobis nova causa triumphi Sic demum fueris nec nova causa tamen Nam quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur infans Revera toties Carolus ipse redit Wishes To his supposed Mistresse WHo ere shee bee That not impossible shee That shall command my heart and mee Where ere shee lye Lock't up from mortall Eye In shady leaves of Destiny Till that ripe Birth Of studied fate stand forth And teach her faire steps to our Earth Till that Divine Idaea take a shrine Of Chrystall flesh through which to shine Meet you her my wishes Be speake her to my blisses And bee yee call'd my absent kisses I wish her Beauty That owes not all his Duty To gaudy Tire or glistring shoo-ty Something more than Taffata or Tissew can Or rampant feather or rich fan More then the spoyle Of shop or silkewormes Toyle Or a bought blush or a set smile A face that 's best By its owne beauty drest And can alone command the rest A face made up Out of no other shop Then what natures white hand sets ope A cheeke where Youth And Blood with Pen of Truth Write what the Reader sweetly ru'th A Cheeke where growes More then a Morning Rose Which to no Boxe his being owes Lipps where all Day A lovers kisse may play Yet carry nothing thence away Lookes that oppresse Their richest Tires but dresse And cloath their simplest Nakednesse Eyes that displaces The Neighbour Diamond and out faces That Sunshine by their owne sweet Graces Tresses that weare Iewells but to declare How much themselves more pretious are Whose native Ray Can tame the wanton Day Of Gems that in their bright shades play Each Ruby there Or Pearle that dare appeare Bee its owne blush bee its owne Teaâ—e A well tam'd Heart For whose more noble smart Love may bee long chusing a Dart. Eyes that bestow Full quivers on
loves Bow Yet pay lesse Arrowes then they owe. Smiles that can warme The blood yet teach a charme That Chastity shall take no harme Blushes that bin The burnish of no sin Nor flames of ought too hot within Ioyes that confesse Vertue their Mistresse And have no other head to dresse Feares fond and flight As the coy Brides when Night First does that longing lover right Teares quickly fled And vaine as those are shed For a dying Maydenhead Dayes that need borrow No part of their good Morrow From a â—ore spent night of sorrow Dayes that in spight Of Darkenesse by the Light Of a cleere mind are Day all Night Nights sweet as they Made short by lovers play Yet long by th' absence of the Day Life that dares send A challenge to his end And when it comes say Welcome Friend Sydnaean showers Of sweet discourse whose powers Can Crowne old Winters head with flowers Soft silken Hours Open sunnes shady Bowers Bove all Nothing within that lowers What ere Delight Can make Dayes forehead bright Or give Downe to the Wings of Night In her whole frame Have Nature all the Name Art and ornament the shame Her flattery Picture and Poesy Her counsell her owne vertue bee I wish her store Of worth may leave her poore Of wishes And I wish No more Now if Time knowes That her whose radiant Browes Weave them a Garland of my vowes Her whose just Bayes My future hopes can raise A trophie to her present praise Her that dares bee What these Lines wish to see I seeke no further it is shee 'T is shee and heere Lo I uncloath and cleare My wishes cloudy Character May shee enjoy it Whose merit dare apply it But Modesty dares still deny it Such worth as this is Shall fixe my flying wishes And determine them to kisses Let her full Glory My fancyes fly before yee Bee ye my fictions But her story Imprimatur Na Brent FINIS THE TABLE THe Weeper Page 1 The Teare 6 Divine Epigrams begin at page the 8 On the Water of our Lords Baptisme 8 Act. 8. on the Baptized Aethiopian 8 On the Miracle of multiplyed Loaves 8 Vpon the Sepulchre of our Lord 8 The Widows Mights 9 Luke 15. on the Prodigall 9 On the still surviving markes of our Saviours wounds 9 Acts 5. the sick implore St. Peters shadow 9 Mark 7. the Dumbe healed and the people enjoyned silence 10 Mat. 28. Come see the place where the Lord lay 10 To Pontius washing his hands 10 To the Infant Martyrs 10 On the Miracle of Loaves 11 Mark 4. Why are ye afraid O ye of little faith 11 On the blessed Virgins bashfulnesse 12 Vpon Lazarus his Teares 12 Two men went up into the Temple to pray 12 Vpon the Asses that bore our Saviour 12 Mathew 8. I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roofe 13 Vpon the Powder day 13 I am the doore 13 Math. 10. The blind cured by the word of our Saviour 14 Math. 27. And he answered nothing 14 To our Lord upon the water made wine 14 Mathew 22. Neither durst any man from that day aske him any more questions 15 Vpon our Saviours Tombe wherein never man was laid 16 It is better to goe to heaven with one eye c. 16 Luke 11. Vpon the dumb divell cast out and the slanderous Iewes put to silence 16 Luke 10. And a certaine Priest comming that way looked on him and passed by 16 Luke 11. Blessed be the paps which thou hast sucked 17 To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands 17 Math. 23. To build the Sepulchres of the Prophets 17 Vpon the Infant Martyrs 18 Ioh. 16. Verily I say unto you yee shall weepe and lament 18 Ioh. 15. Vpon our Lords last comfortable discourse with his Disciples 18 Luk. 16. Dives asking a drop 18 Mark 12. Give to Caesar and to God 19 But now they have seen and hated 19 Vpon the Thornes taken down from our Lords head bloody 19 Luke 7. Shee began to wash his feet with teares and wipe them with the haires of her head 20 On St. Peter cutting off Malchus his eare 20 Iohn 3. But men loved darknesse rathet then light 20 Act. 21. I am ready not onely to be bound but to dye 20 On St. Peter casting away his nets at our Saviours call 20 Our Lord in his Circumcision to his Father 21 On the wounds of our crucified Lord 21 On our crucified Lord naked and bloody 22 Easter day 22 On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord 23 Sampson to his Dalilah 24 Psalme 23. 25 Psalme 137. 27 A Himne on the Nativity sung by the Shephcards 28 Vpon the death of a Gentleman 31 Vpon the death of Mr. Herrys 32 Another upon the death of the most desired Master Herrys 33 Another 36 His Epitaph 38 An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife which dyed and were buried together 39 An Epitaph upon Doctor Brooke 40 Vpon Master Stannoughs death 40 Vpon the Duke of York his birth A Panegyrick 41 Vpon Fords two Tragedyes Loves Sacrifice and the broken heart 45 On a foule morning being then to take a Iourney 45 Vpon the faire Aethiopian sent to a Gentlewoman 46 On Marriage 47 To the morning Satisfaction for sleep 47 Loves Horoscope 49 Sospetto d'Herode Libro primo 51 On a Prayer booke sent to Mrs M. R. 74 On Master George Herberts booke intituled the temple of Sacred poems sent to a Gentlewoman 78 In memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa that sought an early Martyrdome 79 An Apologie for the precedent Himne 85 On a Treatise of Charity 86 In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi Dr. Andrewes 89 On the Assumption 90 Epitaphium in Dominum Herrissium 92 An Himne for the circumcision day of our Lord 94 On Hope by way of Question an Answer between A. Cowley and R. Crasnaw 96 MVsicks Duell 103 Principi recens natae omen maternae Indolis 108 Out of Virgil in the praise of the Spring 110 With a Picture sent to a friend 111 In praise of Lessius his rule of health 112 The beginning of Heliodorus 114 Out of the Greeke Cupids Cryer 115 On Nanus mounted upon an Ant 117 Vpon Venus putting on Mars his Armes 117 Vpon the same 017 In Senerissimae Regine partum Hyemalem 118 Vpon Bishop Andrewes his Picture before his Sermons 120 Ad Reginam 121 Out of Martiall 122 Out of the Italian A Song 123 Out of the Italian 125 Out of the Italian 126 In faciem Augustiss Regis à morbillis integram 127 On the Frontispice of Isaacsons Chronologie explained 128 Or thus 129 An Epitaph upon Master Ashton a conformable Citizen 130 Rex Redux 131 Out of Catullus 132 Ad Principem nondum natum 133 Wishes to his supposed Mistresse 134 FINIS