So mayest thou still enjoy with full content Midas his wish without his punishment 8. All this can Sack and more then this Sack can Give me a fickle man That would be somewhat faine but knows not what There is a cure for that Let him quaffe freely of this powerfull flood He shall be what he would To all our wishes Sack content does bring And but our selves can make us every thing An Epitaph on some bottles of Sack and Claret laid in sand ENter and see this tomb Sirs doe not fear No spirits but of Sack will fright you here Weep ore this tomb your waters here may have Wine for their sweet companion in this grave A dozen Shakespears here inter'd doe lye Two dozen Johnsons full of Poetry Unhappy Grapes could not one pressing doe But now at last you must be buried too T were commendable sacriledge no doubt Could I come at your graves to steal you out Sleep on but scorne to dye immortall liquor The burying of thee thus shall make thee quicker Mean while thy friends pray loud that thou maist have A speedy resurrection from thy grave How to choose a Mistresse HEr for a Mistresse would I faine enjoy That hangs out lip and pouts at every toy Speaks like a wag is bold dares stoutly stand And bids love welcome with a wanton hand If she be modest wise and chast of life Hang her she 's good for nothing but a wife Vpon a Picture BEhold those faire eyes in whose sight Sparkles a lustre no lesse bright Then that of rising Stars when they Would make the night outshine the day To those pure lips the humming be May as to blooming Roses flee The wanton wind about doth hurle Courting in vaine that lovely curle And makes a murmure in despaire To dally the unmooved haire View but the cheeks where the red Rose And Lilly white a beauty growes So orient as might adorne The flowing of the brightest morne Sure 't is no Picture nere was made So much perfection in a shade Her shape is soule enough to give A sencelesse Marble power to live If this an Idoll be no eye Can ever scape Idolatry On Ladies Attire YOu Ladies that wear Cypresse vailes Turn'd lately to white linnen rayles And to your girdles wear your bands And shew your armes instead of hands What could you doe in Lent so meet As fittest dresse to wear a sheet T was once a band t is now a cloak A acorne one day proves a oak Weare but your linnens to your feet And then the band will be a sheet By which device and wise excesse You doe your pennance in a dresse And none shall know by what they see Which Ladies censur'd and which free The Answer BLack Cypresse vailes are shrowds of night White linnen railes are rayes of light Which to our girdles though we wear We have armes to keep your hands off there Who makes our bands to be our cloak Makes John a stiles of John a noak We wear our linnen to our feet Yet need not make our band our sheet Your Clergy wear as long as we Yet that implies conformity Be wise recant what you have writ Least you doe pennance for your wit And least loves charmes doe weave a string To tye you as you did your ring On a Gentlewoman that had the Small-Pox A Beauty smoother then the Ivory plaine Late by the Pox injuriously was slaine T was not the Pox love shot a thousand darts And made those pits for graves to bury hearts But since that beauty hath regaind its light Those hearts are doubly slaine it shines so bright On a faire Gentlewomans blistered lip HIde not your sprouting lip nor kill The juicie bloom with bashfull skill Know it is an amorous dew That swells to court your corall hew And what a blemish you esteem To other eyes a Pearl may seem Whose watry growth is not above The thrifty seize which Pearls doe love And doth so well become that part That chance may seem a secret art Doth any judge the face lesse faire Whose tender silk a moral doth bear Are apples thought lesse sound and sweet When honey specks and red doe meet Or will a Diamond shine lesse clear If in the midst a soile appear Then is your lip made fairer by Such sweetnesse of deformity The Nectar which men strive to sip Springs like a well upon your lip Nor doth it shew immodesty But overflowing chastity O who will blame the fruitfull trees When too much gum or sap he sees Here nature from her store doth send Onely what other parts can lend If lovely buds ascend so high The root below cannot be dry To his Mistresse KEepe on your mask and hide your eye For in beholding you I dye Your fatall beauty Gorgon-like Dead with astonishment doth strike Your piercing eyes that now I see Are worse then Basilisks to me Shut from mine eyes those hills of snow Their melting vally doe not shew Those azure pathes lead to dispaire Oh vex me not forbear forbear For while I thus in torments dwell The sight of Heaven is worse then Hell In those faire cheeks two pits doe lye To bury those slaine by your eye So this at length doth comfort me That fairely buried I shall be My grave with Roses Lillies spread Methinks t is life for to be dead Come then and kill me with your â—ye For if you let me live I dye When I perceive your lips againe Recover those your eyes have slaine With kisses that like balsome pure Deep wounds as soon as made doe cure Methinks t is sicknesse to be sound And there 's no health to such a wound When in your bosome I behold Two hills of snow yet never cold Which lovers whom your beauty kills Revive by climing those your hills Methinks there 's life in such a death That gives a hope of sweeter breath Then since one death prevailes not where So many Antidotes are nere And your bright eyes doe but in vaine Kill those who live as fast as slaine That I no more such death survive Your way 's to bury me alive In place unknown and so that I Being dead may live and living dye A lover to one dispraising his Mistresse WHy slight you her whom I approve Thou art no peere to try my love Nor canst discerne where her forme lies Unlesse thou sawest her with my eyes Say she were foule or blacker then The night or Sun burnt African If lik't by me 't is I alone Can make a beauty where there 's none For rated in my fancy she Is so as she appears to me T is not the feature or a face That doth my faire Election grace Nor is my fancy onely led By a well temper'd white and red Could I enamour'd grow on those The Lilly and the blushing Rose United in one stalk might be As dear unto my thoughts as she But I look farther and doe find A richer beauty in her mind Where something is so lasting
Cloak And many a beaker of bear in your Cloak And yet I stand in fear of your Cloak That I shall be nere the near for your Cloak Therefore good Sir forbear the Cloak For though I have worn bare the Cloak I had rather for to tear the Cloak Then see another wear the Cloak Your friend in truth till death me choak If you will let me have the Cloak Loves Courtship HArk my Flora Love doth call us To the strife that must befall us He hath rob'd his mothers Myrtles And hath puld her downy Turtles See our geniall posts are crownd And our beds like billowes rise Softer lists are no where found And the strife its selfe 's the prize Let not shades and dark affright thee Thy eyes have lustre that will light thee Think not any can surprize us Love himselfe doth now disguise us From thy wast that girdle throw Night and silence both wait here Words or actions who can know Where there 's neither eye nor eare Shew thy bosome and then hide it Licence touching and then chide it Profer something and forbear it Give a grant and then forswear it Ask where all my shame is gone Call us wanton wicked men Doe as Turtles kisse and grone Say thou nere shalt joy againe I can hear thee curse yet chase thee Drink thy tears and still embrace thee Easie riches are no treasure She that 's willing spoiles the pleasure Love bids learn the wrestlers slight Pull and struggle when we twine Let me use my force to night The next conquest shall be thine Vpon the death of the Lord Stafford the last of his name MUst then our loves be short still must we chuse Not to enjoy only admire loose Must axiomes hence grow sadly understood And we thus see t is dangerous to be good So books begun are broken off and we Receive a fragment for an History And as 't were present wealth what was but debt Lose that of which we are not owners yet But as in books that want the closing line We onely can conjecture and repine So must we here too onely grieve and guesse And by our fancy make what 's wanting lesse Thus when rich webs are left unfinished The spider doth supply them with her thred For tell me what addition can be wrought To him whose youth was even the bound of thought Whose buddings did deserve the robe whiles we In smoothnesse did the deeds of wrinkles see When his State-nonage might have been thought fit To break the custome and allowed to sit His actions veiled his age and could not stay For that we call ripenesse and just day Others may wait the staffe and the gray haire And call that wisdome which is onely fear Christen a coldnesse temperance and then boast Full and ripe vertue when all actions lost This is not to be noble but be slack A Stafford ne're was good by the Almanack He who thus stayes the season and expects Doth not gaine habits but disguise defects Here nature outslips culture he came tried Straight of himselfe at first not rectified Manners so pleasing and so handsome cast That still that overcame which was shewn last All minds were captived thence as if 't had been The same to him to have been loved and seen Had he not been snatch'd thus what drive hearts now Into his nets would have driven Cities too For these his essayes which began to win Were but bright sparks which shewed the mine within Rude draughts unto the Picture things we may Stile the first beams of the increasing day Which did but onely great discoveries bring As outward coolenesse shews the inward spring Nor were his actions to content the sight Like Artists pieces plac'd in a good light That they might take at distance and obtrude Something unto the eye that might delude His deeds did all most perfect then appear When you observ'd view'd close and did stand near For could there ought else spring from him whose line From which he sprung was rule and discipline Whose vertues were as books before him set So that they did instruct who did beget Taught thence not to be powerfull but know Shewing he was their blood by living so For whereas some are by their big-lip known Others by imprinted burning swords were shown So they by great deeds are from which bright fame Engraves free reputation on their name These are their native marks and it hath been The Staffords lot to have their signes within And though this firme hereditatry good Might boasted be as flowing with the blood Yet he ne're graspt this stay but as those who Carry perfumes about them still scarce doe Themselves perceive them though anothers sence Suck in the exhaling odour so he thence Ne're did perceive he carried this good smell But made new still by doing himselfe well To imbalme him then is vaine where spreading fame Supplies the want of spices where the name It selfe preserving may for ointment passe And he still seen lie coffind as in glasse Whiles thus his bud dims full flowers and his sole Beginning doth reproach anothers whole Coming so perfect up that there must needs Have been found out new titles for new deeds Though youth and lawes forbid which will not let Statues be rais'd or him stand brasen yet Our minds retaines this royalty of Kings Not to be bound to time but judge of things And worship as they merit there we doe Place him at height and he stands golden too A comfort but not equall to the crosse A faire remainder but not like the losse For he that last pledge being gone we doe Not onely loose the heir but the honour too Set we up then this boast against our wrong He left no other signe that he was young And spight of fate his living vertues will Though he be dead keep up the Barony still Vpon the same UNequall nature that dost load not pair Bodies with souls to great for them to bear As some put extracts that for soules may passe Still quickning where they are in frailer glasse Whose active generous spirits scorne to live By such weak means and slight preservative So high borne minds whose dawnings like the day In torrid climes cast forth a full-noon ray Whose vigorous brests inherit throngd in one A race of soules by long succession And rise in their descents in whom we see Entirely summ'd a new born ancestry These soules of fire whose eager thoughts alone Create a feaver or consumption Orecharge their bodies labring in the strife To serve so quick and more then mortall life Where every contemplation doth oppresse Like fits of the Calenture and kills no lesse Goodnesse hath its extreams as well as sin And brings as vice death and diseases in This was thy fate great Stafford thy fierce speed T' out-live thy years to throng in every deed A masse of vertues hence thy minutes swell Not to a long life but long Chronicle Great name for that alone is left to be
gore where you may see This on the Scaffold that upon the Tree Pour'd out to save whole Nations O may't lye Speechlesse like that and never never cry Vengence but pray father forgive these too Poor ignorant men they know not what they doe Vpon the Nuptials of John Talbot Esquire and Mistresse Elizabeth Kite COme grand Apollo tune my Lyre To harmonize in th' Muses Quire Give me a draught of Helicon Let Pindus and Parnassus prove Propitious in the slights of love Though distanc'd now at Eberton A consecrated quill I know Pluck'd from the silver'd Swan of Po Love-tales is onely fit to write But since t is voted by the Stoick Not place nor pen doth make the Poet I le venture with a plume of th' Kite Not for to blazen the great name Of th' Talbots never dying fame Eterniz'd in all Histories I le onely say the Trojan wit Which Helen stole must now submit To Talbot in loves mysteries For neither Egypt Troy nor Greece Nor Colchis with her Golden-Fleece Hath ever ought produc'd so rare In vertue beauty every Grace That dignifies the mind or face Which with this Couple may compare The holy Priest hath firmely tied The Gordian knot that t will abide The touch of what 's Canonicall And th' Pigmie Justice hath fast chain'd The Bugbeare Act though it be proclaim'd As simple as Apocryphall Let 's hasten therefore them to bring To th' pleasant fountaine whence doth spring The joyes of Cupids Monarchy There tumbling on their Nuptiall bed To batter for a Maiden-head Twind like the Zodiack Geminie Hence dull ey'd Somnus think not now T' inthrone upon this Ladies brow Far choycer joyes doe her invite For she 's now anchor'd in a Haven Where sacred Hymen her hath given An other Soveraigne of the night Come draw the curtains le ts depart And leave two bodies in one heart Devoted to a restlesse rest And when their virgin Lamps expire May there arise from the same fire An other Phoenix in the Nest Vpon Aglaura Printed in Folio BY this large margent did the Poet mean To have a Comment wrote upon the Scene Or else that Ladies who doe never look But in a Poem or in a Play-book May in each page have space to scrible down When such a Lord or fashion came to Town As Swains in Almanacks their counts doe keep their sheep When their cow calv'd and when they bought Ink is the life of Paper 't is meet then That this which scap'd the Presse should feel the pen A room with one side furnish'd or a face Painted halfe way is but a foule disgrace This great voluminous Pamphlet may be said To be like one who hath more haire then head More excrement then body trees which sprout With broadest leaves have still the smallest fruit When I saw so much white I did begin To think Aglaura either did lye in Or else did pennance never did I see Unlesse in Bills dash'd in the Chancery So little in so much as if the feet Of Poetry were sold like Law by the sheet Should this new fashion last but one halfe year Poets as Clarks would make our Paper deare Doth not that Artist erre and blast his fame That sets out Pictures lesser then the frame Was ever Chamberlain so mad to dare To lodge a Child in the great Bed of Ware Aglaura would please better did she lye i th' narrow bounds of an Epitome Those pieces that are wove of th' finest twist As Velvet Plush have still the smallest list She that in Persian habits made such brags Degenerates in the excesse of rags Who by her Giant bulk this onely gaines Perchance in Libraries to hang in chaines T is not in books as choth we never say Make London measure when we buy a Play But rather have them par'd those leaves are faire To the judicious which most spotted are Give me the sociable pocket books These empty Folio's onely please the Cooks Venus lachrimans WAke my Adonis doe not dye One life's enough for thee and I Where are thy words thy wiles Thy love thy frowns thy smiles Alasse in vaine I call One death hath snatch'd them all Yet death 's not deadly in thy face Death in those looks it selfe hath grace T was this t was this I feard When thy pale ghost appeard This I presag'd when thundering Jove Tore the best myrtle in my Grove When my sick rosebuds lost their smell And from my Temples untouch'd fell And t was for some such thing My Dove did hang her wing Whether art thou my Diety gone Venus in Venus there is none In vaine a Goddesse now am I Onely to grieve and not to dye But I will love my griefe Make tears my tears reliefe And sorrows shall to me A new Adonis be And this no fates can rob me of whiles I A goddesse am to weep but not to dye An Ode in the praise of Sack 1. HEar me as if thy eares had palate Jack I sing the praise of Sack Hence with Apollo and the muses nine Give me a cup of wine Sack will the soule of Poetry infuse Be that my theam and muse But Bacchus I adore no Diety Nor Bacchus neither unlesse Sack he be 2. Let us by reverend degrees draw nere I feel the Goddesse here Loe I dread Sack an humble Priest of thine First kisse this cup thy shrine That with more hallowed lips and inlarg'd soule I may receive the whole Till Sibill-like full with my God I lye And every word I speak be Propehsie 3. Come to this Altar you that are opprest Or otherwise distrest Here 's that will further grivances prevent Without a Parliament With fire from hence if once your blood be warm feel Nothing can doe you harme When thou art arm'd with Sack thou canst not Though thunder strike thee that hath made thee steel 4. Art sick man doe not bid for thy escape A cock to Aesculape If thou wouldst prosper to this Altar bring Thy gratefull offring Touch but the shrine that does the God enclose And streight thy feaver goes Whilst thou immaginst this hee 's given thee Not onely heath but immortality 5. Though thou wert dumb as is the scaly fry In Neptunes royalty Drink but as they doe and new wayes shalt find To utter thy whole mind When Sack more severall language has infus'd Then Babels builders used And whensoever thou thy voyce shalt raise No man shall understand but all shall praise 6. Hath cruell nature so thy senses bound Thou canst not judge of sounds Loe where yon narrow fountaine scatters forth Streams of an unknown worth The heavenly musick of that murmure there Would make thee turne all eare And keeping time with the harmonious flood Twixt every bubble thou shalt cry good good 7. Has fortune made thee poor dost thou desire To heap up glorious mire Come to this stream where every drop's a Pearl Might buy an Earl Drench thy selfe soundly here and thou shalt rise Richer then both the Indies
faire As time and age cannot impaire Hadst thou a prospective so cleare That thou couldst view my object there When thou her vertues didst espy thou dst wonder and confesse that I Had cause to like and learne from hence To love by judgement not by sence On the death of a faire Gentlewomans Robin-redbrest WHatsoere birds in groves are bred Provide your anthems Robins dead Poor Robin that was wont to nest In faire Siloras lovely brest And thence would peep into her eye To see what feather stood awry This pretty bird might freely sip The sugered Nectar from her lip When many love-burnt soules have pined To see their rivall so retained But what caused Robins death was this Robin sure surfeited with blisse Or else cause her faire cheek-possest A purer red then Robins brest Wherein consisted all his pride The little bird for envy dyed On the death of Sir Tho Pelham MEerely for death to grieve and mourne Were to repine that man was borne When weak old age doth fall asleep 'T were foul ingratitude to weep Those threds alone should force out tears Whose suddain crack breaks off some years Here 't is not so full distance here Sunders the cradle from the beere A fellow-traveller he hath bin So long with time so worn to'th skin That were it not just now bereft His body first the soule had left Threescore and ten is natures date Our journey when we come in late Beyond that time the overplus Was granted not to him but us For his own sake the Sun ne're stood But onely for the peoples good Even so he was held out by aire Which poor men uttered in their prayer And as his goods were lent to give So were his dayes that they might live So ten years more to him were told Enough to make another old Oh that death would still doe so Or else on goodmen would bestow That wast of years which unthrifts fling Away by their distempering That some might thrive by this decay As well as that of land and clay T was now well done no cause to mourne On such a seasonable stone Where death is but a guest we sinne Not bidding welcome to his Inne Sleep sleep goodman thy rest embrace Sleep sleep th' ast trod a weary race Of Musick WHen whispering straines with creeping wind Distill soft passion through the heart And whilst at every touch we find Our pulses beat and bear a part When threds can make Our heart-strings shake Philosophy can scarce deny Our soules consists in harmony When unto heavenly joyes we feigne What ere the soule affecteth most Which onely thus we can explaine By Musick of the winged host Whose rayes we think Make stars to wink Philosophy can scarce deny Our soules consist of harmony O lul me lul me charming aire My senses each with wonder sweet Like snow on wool thy fallings are Soft like spirits are thy feet Griefe who needs fear That hath an ear Down let him lie And slumbring dye And change his soule for harmony To his Mistresse I Le tell you how the Rose did first grow red And whence the Lillies whitenesse borrowed You blusht and streight the Rose with red was dight The Lillies kiss'd your hands and so grew white You have the native colour these the die And onely flourish in your livery Before that time each Rose was but one staine The lilly nought but palenesse did containe On a black Gentlewoman IF shadowes be a Pictures excellence And make it seem more glorious to the sence If stars in brightest day are lost for sight And seem more glorious in the mask of night Why should you think fair creature that you lack Perfection cause your eyes and haire are black Or that your beauty which so far exceeds The new-sprung Lillies in their maidenheads The rosie colour of your cheeks and lips Should by that darknesse suffer an ecclipse Rich Diamonds are fairer being set And compassed within a foileof jet Nor can it be dame nature should have made So bright a Sun to shine without a shade It seems that nature when she first did fancy Your rare composure studied Negromancy And when to you these guifts she did impart She used altogether the Black Art She framed the Magick circle of your eyes And made those hairs the chains wherein she ties Rebellious hearts those vaines which doe appear Twined in Meanders about every sphear Mysterious figures are and when you list Your voyce commandeth like an exorcist Now if in Magick you have skill so far Vouchsafe to make me your familiar Nor hath kind nature her black art reveald By outward parts alone some are conceald As by the spring head men may easily know The nature of the streams that run below So your black eyes and haire doe give direction That all the rest are of the like complexion The rest where all rest lies that blesseth man That Indian mine that streight of Magellan The worlds dividing gulph through which who venters With hoised sailes and ravishd sences enters To a new world of blisse Pardon I pray If my rude muse presumes for to display Secrets forbid or hath her bounds surpast In praising sweetnesse which she nere did tast Starv'd men may talk of meat and blind men may Though hid from light yet know there is a day A rover in the mark his arrow sticks Sometimes as well as he that shoots at pricks And if I might direct my shaft aright The black mark would I hit and not the white On a Gentlewoman walking in the Snow I Saw faire Cloris walk alone When feathered raine came softly downe And Jove descended from his Tower To court her in a silver showre The wanton snow flew to her breast Like little birds into their nest And overcome with whitenesse there For griefe dissolv'd into a teare Which trickling down her garments hemme To deck her freezd into a gemme Vpon one dead in the snow WIthin a fleece of silent waters drownd Before I met with death a grave I found That which eâ—iled my life from her sweet home For griefe streight froze it selfe into a Tomb Onely one Element my fate thought meet To be my death grave tomb and winding sheet Phoebus himselfe my Epitaph had writ But blotting many ere he thought one fit He wrote untill my tomb and grave were gone And 't was an Epitaph that I had none For every man that pass'd along that way Without a sculpture read that there I lay Here now the second time inclosed I lye And thus much have the best of destiny Corruption from which onely one was free Devour'd my grave but did not seize on me My first grave took me from the race of men My last shall give me back to life agen On a woman dying in travell the child unborne WIthin this grave there is a grave intombd Here lies a mother and a child inwombd T was strange that nature so much vigour gave To one that nere was born to make a grave
way The ashen tree As well as well as he Began to shake and learnt to play If wood could speak a tree might hear If wood can sound our griefe so near A tree might drop an amber tear If wood so well Could sound a knell The Cypresse might condoal the bear The standing nobles of the grove Hearing dead wood to speak and move The fatall axe began to love They envied death That gave such breath As men alive doe Saints above Vpon Mr. Hoptons death GRiefs prodigals where are you unthrifts wher Whose tears and sighs extemporary are Pour'd out not spent who never ask a day Your debt of sorrow on the grave to pay But as if one hours mourning could suffice Dare think it now no sin to have dry eyes Away profane not Hoptons death nor shame His grave with griefe not worthy of that name Sorrow conceiv'd and vented both together Like prayers of Puritans or in foul weather The sailers forc't devotion when in fear They pray this minute and the next they swear No I must meet with men men that doe know How to compute their tears and weigh their wo That can set down in an exact account To what the losse of Hopton doth amount Tell you particulars how much of truth Of unmatch'd virtue and untainted youth Is gone with him and having sum'd all look Like bankrupt Merchants on their table book With eyes confounded and amaz'd to find The poor and blanck remainder left behind On his Mistresse eye AM I once more blest with a grace so high As to be lookt on with that other eye Or shall I think it once more sent againe To iterate my souls sweet lasting paine Your other eye dear soule had fire before And darts enough you need not have sought more From this revived scarce could I endure The lustre of this eye when 't was obscure How shall I now when like a fresh-born Sun It strikes forth such a new reflection Yet welcome dearest torment spare not me Dart forth more flames they please if sent from thee I hope your eyes as they in lustre doe Will imitate the Sun in virtue too If plagues and sicknesses from him be sent Yet gives he warmth life growth and nourishment This is my comfort now if one eye strike The other may give remedy alike Welcome againe clear lamp of beauty shine Shine bright on Earth as do the soule divine To which my thoughts with like devotion run As Indians adore the rising Sun Now shall I mine own Image view alive In this extenuating perspective This living looking glasse when thou shalt grace Me sweet so much as to admit my face Neighbour to thine o how I then shall love To see my shape in that black stream to move Against all reason I then more admire My shadow there then my whole selfe entire How oft though loth from that sweet seat to part Strive I to travell that way to thy heart Where if one wink doe thy quick look recall I loose poor wretch my shadow selfe and all Thus all the life which I so glorious thought By thy sole wink is quencht and turn'd to nought Oh how I wont to curse that cobweb lawn Which like a curtaine ore thy eye was drawn As if that death upon that eye did sit And this had bin the winding sheet for it The which as it from off that eye was thrown Seemd to look pale for griefe that it was gone Yet when both this and t'other dainty robe Did close like cases that most heavenly globe Think not they could disparage your faire eyes No more then painters doe their chiefest prize Who use to hang some veil or silken sheet That men may more desire and long to se'it To Dr. Griffith heald of a strange cure by Bernard Wright of Oxford WElcome abroad ô welcome from your bed I joy to see you thus delivered After four years in travell issues forth A birth of lasting wonder whereat truth Might well suspect her selfe a new disease Borne to advance the Surgeons of our dayes Above all others a perfidious bone Eaten and undermind by humours grown Lodg'd in the captive thigh which first of any Halted yet furnisht with a bone to many No Golgotha nor charnell house nor field If all were searcht could such another yield A bone so lockt and hugd as is a bar That back and forward may be wrested far But not puld out at either hole nor could The cunning workman come to 't as he would Crosse veins did guard the sore a hollow cave Must wade into the flesh the Surgeons grave Thus being digd the file without delay Must grate the bone and carve those chips away Blest be the midmen whose dexterity Puld out a birth like Bacchus from the thigh Tutors of nature whose well guided art Can rectifie her wants in every part Who by preserving others pay the debt They owe to nature and doe rebeget Her strength grown ruinate I could be glad Such liv'd the dayes which they to others add Nor can I rightly tell the happier man The patient or the Surgeon doe but scan His praise thy ease 't was sure an extasie That kild Van-otto not a lethargy Striving to crown his work he bravely tryed His last and greatest cure then gladly dyed Bernard must tarry longer should he flye After his brother all the world must dye Or live a cripple Griffiths happy fate Requires the same hand still to iterate No lesse a miracle the joyners skill Could never mend his carved pate so well As he hath heald a naturall the stout And boasting Paracelsus who gives out His rule can give mans life eternity Would faintly doubt of his recovery He that hath wrought these cures I think he can As well of scraps make up a perfect man Oh had you seen his marrow drop away Or the others brains drop out then would you say Nothing could cure this fracture or that bone Save Bernard or the Resurrection Now smile upon thy torment pretty thing How will you use it bury it in a ring Like a deaths head or send it to the grave In earnest of the body it must have Or if you will you may the same translate Into a die because 't was fortunate The ring were blest 't is like a Diamond born Out of a Rock so was it hewn and torn Out of your thigh the gem worth nothing is Untill it be cut forth no more is this Happy are you that know what treasure 't is To find lost health they onely feel the blisse Thou that hast felt these pains maist wel maintain Mans chiefest pleasure is but want of pain Enjoy thy selfe for nothing worse can come To one so schoold and vers'd in martyrdome The Liberty and Requiem of an imprisoned Royalist BEat on proud billows Boreas blow Swell'd curled Waves high as Joves roof Your incivility shall know That innocence is tempest proof Though surly Nereus frown my thoughts are calm Then strike afflictions for
desire At the same time for to expire Which being done he long shall dwell Within the place he loved so well Where night and morning hundreds come A Pilgrimage unto his tomb To the Bell-Founder of great Tom of Christ-Church in Oxford THou that by ruine doest repaire And by destruction art a Founder Whose art doth tell us what men are Who by corruption shall rise sounder In this fierce fires intensive heat Remember this is Tom the great And Cyclops think at every stroak With which thy sledge his side shall wound That then some Statute thou hast broak Which long depended on his sound And that our Colledge-Gates doe cry They were not shut since Tom did die Think what a scourge 't is to the City To drink and swear by Carfax Bell Which bellowing without tune or pitty The night and day devides not well But the poor tradesmen must give ore His ale at eight or sit till four We all in hast drink off our wine As if we never should drink more So that the reckoning after nine Is larger now then that before Release this tongue which erst could say Home Scollers drawer what 's to pay So thou of order shalt be Founder Making a Ruler for the people One that shalt ring thy praises rounder Then t'other six bells in the steeple Wherefore think when Tom is running Our manners wait upon thy cunning Then let him raised be from ground The same in number weight and sound For may thy conscience rule thy gaine Or would thy theft might be thy baine On a Gentleman that kissing his Mistresse left blood upon her WHat mystery is this that I should find My blood in kissing you to stay behind T was not for want of colour that required My blood for paint no die could be desired On that faire cheeck where scarlet were a spot And where the juice of Lillies but a blot If at the presence of the murtherer The wound will bleed and tell the cause is there A touch will doe much more even so my heart When secretly it felt your killing dart Shewed it in blood which yet doth more complain Because it cannot be so toucht again This wounded heart to shew its love most true Sent forth a drop and wrote its mind on you Was ever paper halfe so white as this Or wax so yielding to the printed kisse Or seal so strong no letter ere was writ That could the Authors mind so truly fit For though my selfe to forraine countries fly My blood desires to keep you company Here I could spill it all thus I can free My enemy from blood though slaine I be But slaine I cannot be nor meet with ill Since but to you I have no blood to spill On an aged Gentlewoman NO spring nor summers beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one autumnall face Young beauties force their loves and that 's a rape Your's doth but counsell yet they cannot scape If 't were a shame to love here t were no shame Affection takes here reverences name Were her first years the golden age that 's true But now she 's gold oft tried and ever new That was her torrid and inflaming time This is her tolerable tropick clime Faire eyes who askes more heat then comes from thence He in a feaver wishes pestilence Call not those wrinkles graves if graves they were They were loves graves for els they are no where Yet lies not love dead here but here doth sit Vowed to this trench like to an Anchoret And here till her which must be his death's He doth not dig a grave but build a tomb Here dwells he though he sojourne every where doom In progresse yet his standing house is here She allwayes evening is nor noon nor night Where 's no voluptuousnsse though a delight Xerxes strange love the broad-leav'd plantane tree Was loved for age none being so large as she Or else because being young nature did blesse Her youth with ages glory barrennesse If we love things long sought age is a thing Which we are sixty years a compassing If transitory things which soon decay Age must be loveliest at the latest day But name not winter-faces whose skin 's slack Lank like an unthrifts purse or empty sack Whose eyes seek light within for all here 's shade Whose mouth 's a hole rather worn out then made Whose severall tooth to a severall place is gone To vex their soules at the Resurrection Name not these living deaths-heads unto me For such not antient but antiques be I hate extreams yet I had rather stay With tombs then cradles to wear out the day Since that loves naturall motion is may still My love descend and journey down the hill Not panting after growing beauties so I shall ebb on with them that homewards go On his Mistresse going to Sea FArewell fair Saint may not the Seas and wind Swel like the heart and eyes you leave behind But calme and gentle like the looks they bear Smile on your face and whisper in your eare Let no foule billow offer to arise That it may nearer look upon your eyes Least wind and waves enamourd with such form Should throng and croud themselves into a storm But if it be your fate vast Seas to love Of my becalmed heart learn how to move Move then but in a gentle lovers pace No wrinkles nor no furrowes in your face And ye fierce winds see that you tell your tale In such a breath as may but fill her saile So whilst you court her each his severall way You will her safely to her port convay And loose her in a noble way of woing Whilst both contribute to your own undoing A Copy of Verses spoke to King CHARLES by way of entertainment when he was pleas'd to grace S. John's Colledge with his visit 1636. WEre they not Angells sang did not mine eares Drink in a sacred Anthem from you sphears Was I not blest with Charles and Maries name Names wherein dwells all Musick t is the same Hark I my self now but speak Charles and Mary And 't is a Poem nay 't is a library All haile to your dread Majesties whose power Adds lustre to our feast and to our bower And what place fitter for so Royall guests Then this where every book presents a feast Here 's Virgils well-drest Venison here 's the wine Made Horace sing so sweetly here you dine With the rich Cleopatra's warelike love Nay you may feast and frolick here with Jove Next view that bower which is as yet all green But when you 'r there the red and white are seen A bower which had t is true been beautified With catechising Arras on each side But we the Baptists sons did much desire To have it like the dwelling of our sire A grove or desart See dread Leige you le guesse Even our whole Colledge in a wildernesse Your eyes and eares being fed tast of that feast Which hath its pomp and glory from its guest Vpon the new
take him from the tree Embalming him with tears none could expresse Madam but you death in so fit a dresse No hand but yours could teach the needles eye To drop true tears unfeignedly to cry Follow him to his virgin tomb and view His corps inviron'd with a miscreate crue Of drowsie watch who look as though they were Nere bid to watch and pray but sleep and swear The third day being come and their Charge gone Only some Relicks left upon the stone One quakes another yawnes a third in hast To run had not your needle made him fast And to excuse themselves all they can say Is that they dream'd some one stole him away You Madam by the Angels guidance have Found him againe since he rose from the grave So zealous of his company no force Could part you had not heaven made the divorse Where he remains till the last day and then I wish with joy you there may meet again On the same Lady YOu have drawn and are all graces none so true As those lodge in your needle-work and you Hither will throng we know these draughts to see Whole bevies of Court Maddams such as be Fair spectacles themselves yet shall these glasses Ravish by shewing not theirs but your faces Eyes that will shame the Christalls and out steal The patterns quaintest lustre those conceal Fingers of Ivory that will pointing stand As Indexes to shew where moved the hand And in what method till a dawning light Spread on the Pictures from their neighbouring white Yet so they shall not weave new beauties in Those webs your silk is whiter then their skin T is said that some will chang their own for bought Locks so they be not painted but thus wrought And scanning well these tresses well died threads Curle into locks about the female heads So neatly periwig'd will choose to wear Rather what you so make then what grows hair This Lady learns a smile from hence she there A devout griefe takes forth from Maryes tear So lively dropt as if i th' woman 't was Water what 's silk i th' needle pearl i th' glasse A third will imitate your selfe and try Each pieces counterfeit which being set by As types unto your Gospel all will guesse You are the Evangelist she the Prophetesse Here lies my Saviour and though he it is Lends life to all yet borrows he from this And doth to th' world by two Nativities come Both from your fancy and from Maryes womb For who observes the Art will move a strife Whether the threads be more of silk then life All things are in such proper colours shown The naturall seem feigned these their own And all so well compos'd their juncture such It were some seperation but to touch As in the varied bow which Heaven bends The red appears and yet the blew nere ends Here green and yellow there yet none can see Where green or yellow do begin to be Each into others transient and so fit Still what you choose nothing would serve but it What punctuall thorns here crown the Crucifix I thought your needle but your silk more pricks The sides wound had appeared by a cleft i th' wound had you but so much unwrought left And open as through which the spear once stole Now you have fill'd it 't is a truer hole Did you pin down the hands and feet t would fail Much of the truth the stich is verier naile Well drops the blood in shadow were there need Of true but squeeze the Picture and 't would bleed For life that onely floats in vainer breath Other arts give that which returns from death Yours fresh and fully ideates and is one That holds out to a Resurrection Here t is that it to Christ joyntly procures A rising from both bottomes hell and yours His countenance refin'd seems not more new Issuing out from the grave then from your clew Allmost so much of the Diety is shown In your works as is visible in its own In these materialls we may more God see Then heathens in a flower or a true tree But could we reach your fancy and find in 't The spirituality of every Print We darkly might conceive pure Godheads one Nature our Christ both of his flesh and bone Blest Soule who thus internally hast eyed Thy Saviour how hast thou been sanctified I dare to say so long as he stayed in Your minds pure mirrour that you scarce did sin Had but one idle thought disturb'd the glasse That same reflected blemish would forth passe Into the stained table and no doubt The blur within had been a blot without Look ore the Passion now you only view Old wonnds had you then sinn'd you had made new But all is acurate we cannot find One fault in the copy cause not one i th' mind And yet t is drawn in such briefe Imagry The smallest error cannot unseen lye Each Picture 's couched in so little space Had you but miss'd a thread y' had lost a face Not as in gouty Arras where a list Of any colour if left out 's not mist And where the shuttle twenty times mishot Makes not so rude a sphalm as here a knot Or stich let faln t is easie to excell Wbere's such a latitude of doing well But Madam you that in two Tables draw The Gospell whole as God wrought all the Law Are both compendious and true the story Doth something loose in bulk nothing in glory The Magi are made lesse but not lesse wise Their gifts diminish but their values rise For since they are come hither that 's thought best Which they do bring from you not from the East We cannot pen forth all your Art much lesse Our Obligations and our thanks expresse More will be said when we can better prize Your Present mean while Lady let this suffice With such delight we your Imbrodry view No other object can please more but you Whose gift hath swoln us to such thankfull pride W' have now no matter for a wish beside The giver you alone outvy it and Wee 'l wave the work onely to kisse your hand Against BEN JOHNSON 1. COme leave that saucy way Of baiting those that pay Dear for the sight of thy declining wit I know it is not fit That a sale-Poet just contempt once thrown Should cry up thus his own I wonder by what dower Or patent you had power From all to rape a judgement let it sussice Had you bin modest y' had bin counted wise 2. T is known you can doe well And that you can excell As a translator but when things require A genius and a fire Not kindled heretofore by others pains As oft you have wanted brains And art to strike the white As you have leveld right But if men vouch not things Apocriphall You bellow rave and spatter round your gall 3. Jugge Peg Pierce Fly and all Your jests so nominall Are things so far below an able braine As they doe throw a staine Through