friend had strove T' exceed each other in a zealous loâ—e To thy blest memory and I smilâ—d to see Thy name thus rapâ—in immortalitie Yet paydâ—the 〈◊〉 tribute teares let fall As numerous drops at thy sad Funerall As did that friend whose pregnant Muse dares vie With griefe it selfe to weepe thy Eleâ—ie Yet durst not write my jealousie was such It wisely prompt me I should wrong too much Thy greater meritâ— had me rather mourne In griefe lov'd silence ore thy quiet urne Which I had done had I not seem'd to heare Once at the offering of a tribute teare To thy lov'd ashes a strange murmuring breath Breake forth from the still tenement of death Thy dismall grave and in a Language full Of incens'd anger vow to disanâ—â—ll All former friendship if I should denie Mongst other friends to write thy Elegie When thus ambiguous twixt my love and feares I vented thisâ— attended with my teares Strong course of Fate could he whose generous quill Bestow'd a life on others which else still Had Laine death's ruines die himselfe could he Whose powerfull Art spight of sterne destinie Broake up forgotten Monumentsâ— and made The intomb'd Heroes live againe that swaide Ore others Fates yet could this halfe-god â—â—eepe Into a grave and in cold Marble sleepe What tribe of Angels did invite thee hence Their glorious guest If not what curst offence Hath fond earth given thee That thou needs must â—â—tye So young from us to heavens eternitie Or did thy precious soule shake off its clay Cause nought below was worthy of her stay And being matchlesse here did upward move There to be rank'd with equall Saints above Sure thus it was and undeserving we May tax our merit not thy destinie Yet glorious Beedome though each friend appeares Almost thy Emblem made so by his teares For thy lamented losse yet when we looke On this immortall child of wit thy booke Smiles from our â—hâ—ekes all suner all teares doe drive Seeing in it thy fame shall ever live Time and thy Memory which no fate can sever Shall last like ages both conclude together Em. D. On the Poems of the Author his deare Brother Master Thomas Beedom deceased SIlence would best become me and I feare I spoile the consort by intrusion heere T is true I need not adde unto his praise Nor bring my sprig to complement his bayes But that the neerenesse of our birth and name Calls me to sticke my pinion to his fame Then Reader know we have not us'd our brains To usher in absurd uncivill straines Such as might pale the Paper blacke the Inke And cause the ghost of our dead friend to shrinke When judgements eye his Poems shall diseâ—rne No no t is otherwise here thou mayst learne Thy morall duty and it will appeare Mâ—yst please thy God as well as please thine eare He needs must say that will his worth commend He was an Academie in his friend And ready was requested to supply His need with soule or bodies remedy Fran. Beedome THE IEALOUS LOVER OR THE CONSTANT MAID Written by T. B. Sat est pro laude Voluptas LONDON Printed by E. P. for Iohn Sweeting and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Angel in Popes-head-Alley neer Cornhill 1641. THE AUTHOR TO the READER WHen Johnson Drayton and those happier men That can drop wonders from their fluent Pen Have with their miracles of Poetry Feasted thy eares and satisfi'd thy eye Then turne aside and 'mongst the vulgar things Place what my new-borne Muse abruptly sings Which though it be but meane as t is confest 'T hath ventured hard to please thee since t is prest If thou smile on it I shall thinke my braine Hath labour'd for this issue not in vaine If otherwise thou doe contemne my layes My pleasur 's more to me then all thy praise Sat est pro laude Voluptas Vale THOMAS BEEDOME THE IEALOVS LOVER OR THE CONSTANT MAID WHat time the noble Britaine did resist And vaâ—quish Roman Caesar with his hoast Who when he felt their fuâ—y did desist And fled from Albions white-wave-washed coast Where the stout Brittaines dy'd with Roman blood The Sea-greene face of the tumultuous stood There dwelt an antient honourable man Nere Sabrin's shore who was Cremillus hight In two faire twins his Off spring fiâ—st began A son and daughter brought at once to light Whose beauâ—ies with their vertues vy'd in growth Which should most grace their infancy and youth His son Cherillus but his fairer daughter He nam'd Pandora did you never view The liquid Châ—istall of a running water Streame through some guilded field where all things new The spring had made to such a place this Maid Vnhappily now growne a great one stâ—ai'd And while her eyes on the moyst Element Did cast their beâ—mes another shâ—pe she spy'd Far above hers on whom such lives were spent In Troy for whom so many Hero's dy'd This shape the fairest sure that er'e was showne Was but a meere reflexion of her owne While thus she gaz'd on her owne shade she thought Oh that I might leape in and seaze yon prize It were by death an easie purchase bought For who would live if not in yonder eyes Narcissus so himselfe himselfe forsooke Aâ—d dy'd to see his shadow in a brooke As yet the toy we call a Looking-glasse Wherein our siner Dames behold their faces Did rest unknown else t' had not comâ— to passe That this bright Maid repleat with all the graces Had in an Extasie thus stood amaz'd While onely on her lively selfe she gaz'd Still as she lookt she wishâ— some gentle fish Might now as once Arion it did beare Her on the friendly waves but oh her wish Could not implore an ayde from any there For they stood wondring that the earth could show A â—righter Nymph then Neptune could below One while she was resolv'd t' assay the water And so salute the thing she thought alive But then she poiz'd the danger that came after Lest she perhaps might never more survive Thus betweene joy and feare amaz'd she stood Viewing the wonders of the silver stood And as it chanc't to shade her from the Sun Vnto her brighter face she rai'd her hand She thought her shade did beckon her to come To Thetiâ— Aâ—bor and forsâ—ke the Land Who had done so had not a neighbouring brier Seiz'd her lov'd coat and made her so retire Injurious weed quoth she why hast thou staid Me from a happinesse I might have had Receive the just curse of a spotlesse Maid Mayst thou be henceforth held a thing so bad So rough that all may hate thee thus having sed It since remaines with prickles overspred By this Cherillus who had long time since Follow'd sterne Mars in the blacke field of wars Was home return'd from service of his Prince But wearing the true souldiers colours scars And time to doe him now the greater grace Had grafted well-set haires upon his face Who as
else but what is thine inherit If e're which heaven desend and still uphold Our league should breake Oh! horror to be told And that the knot of our strong amity Should be dissolv'd by any crime in mee Then count mee lighter than my fleeting breath Show by this paper and I 'le blush to death But I feare no such mischiefe since ouâ— love So aptly in each others soules doth move No Rhetoricke can my zeale to thee impart So well I love thee that thou hast my heart And that my action may concord with time Be this thy New-yeares guift and call mee thine Ever till death T. B. The Corner stone 'T Was a faire stone though it was abus'd And by the senselesse builder was refus'd Alas their sinne blind soules and blinder eyes Sought by the pride of all their industries To polish maâ—tle porphery or that On which proud folly set so high a * rare And with such earth-bred trifles to refine Materiall Temples to the powre divine Whilst that bright stone from th' heavenly square taken Lies on the mountaine by these fooles forshaken Ah! had they knowne the value of this Jem It had not beene so under priz'd by them Oh! when that Babell building of their sinne Shall ruin'd dash upon themselves agin And wanting props to under-set it shall Uppon the builders head with teâ—â—our fall How will they wish this abject stone had beene By faith well laid them and their sinnes betweene Then had it like a storme-contemning rocke Secur'd their Mansions from their heavy shocke Of wrath and judgement both the which unjust Shall make them roare with woe Oh! had I wist Lord be the Basts of my hopes high Throne And then I 'le build on that strong Corner-stone The Royall Navy WHat 's breath a vapor glory a vaine chat What 's man a span what 's life shorter than that What 's death a key for what to ope heavens dore Who keepes it time for whom both rich and poore What 's heaven a haven what 's ships anchor there Hope faith and love with one small pinnace feare What are those men of warre how fraught with armes What burthen weighty suiting their alarum Whose ships the Kings what colours the red crosse What ensignes bloody from their Princes losse And whither bound to earth Oh! what 's their strife To conquer breath and glory man and life Oh! I foresee the storme Lord I confesse Then vapour or vaine chat or span I 'm lesse Save a relenting â—oe thy glories are More excellent in peace than death and warre For to that time that time his key shall lend And to thy tent my yeelding spirit send I will strike saile to these and strive to prove Thy Captive in my hope faith feaâ—e and love EPIGRAMS Epigram 1. To my deare friend William Harrington T Is true my Will and I confesse I owe Thy friendship more than this yet to beâ—â—ow A 〈◊〉 upon a â—rend hath sometimes bin A 〈◊〉 worth th' acceptance of a â—ing Though my pen-seathâ—r'd Muse yet cannot teach My feeble quill to that â—ap't height to reach 'T will be no lesse content to mee if shee Be but well entertain'd deare friend of thee Thou art a King in friendship and I may Then thus to my no little comfort say That too good Wills my worthlesse Muse hath won My Scot and my no lesse-lov'd Harrington Thy friend Th. Beed Epigram 2. Of one Mary Fraile who lay with Mr Reason MAry was long desirous for to marry And vow'd that past fifteene she would not tarry I am suâ—e this vow of modesty did faile Alas yet pardon her for flesh is Fraile No suitors came nor could her longing eyes Meeâ—e any that might seaze her as his prize But making conscience not to breake her vow Shee is as then the promist no maid now Though thou know'st not why she so young did sport I 'de have thee thinke Fraile had some Reason â—or't Epigram 3. On the same Mary a great lover of Mary-bones WHy she doth Mary-â—ones afâ—ect would'st know I thinke the reason is not hard to show The bone she cannot eaâ—e that 's hard as flinâ— Oh then I guesse the cause there 's something in'tâ— Well what 's that something Oh my Muse there sticke She that loves marrow likely loves a Epigram 4. To the excellent Poets Mr George Withersâ— I Never saw thee but should grossely lie To say I know thee not for â—illy I Or one that is more stupid well may guesse At what thou art by what thoâ— dost expresse Oh that blest day when first my willing hand Opt the remembrance of this Sinsicke land Trust mee I griev'd to thinke that now my age Had sixteene summers acted on this stage Yet was a stranger to so raâ—e a soule As thine whose heaven-bred boldnesse durst controle Without respect of persons every sinne That to thy knowledge had committed bin Then next thy Satyres and thy Motto I Made hast to purchase where I might espio How some too base for earth not worth a name Sought by their mire and dirt to clâ—y thy same And credit mee I hardly could forbeare Upon these pittied lines to drop a teare But that I know vertue oppos'd by fate Lookes greatest like the Sunne in lowest stare When other wits who have in some base time Imploy'd of â—ate that they might conquer time Shall like those paper toyes in which they trust Be eate by wormes or molded into dust And want a name thou by thy vertues grac't Shall live till earth by fire be imbâ—ac't Thy unknown well-wisher Th. Beed Epigram 5. By way of consolation to his deare friend William Scot on the death of his brother Gilman Scot SUffer mee dearest friend to bring a verse Though uninvited to attend the hearse Of him whose memory death cannot bloâ— Since hee yet lives in thee my friendly Scot I know the â—ertile soyle of his pure heart Gave warmth to every vertuous roote of Art And had the August of his age bin come Y' had seene him crown'd with a rich harvest home But now he 's clouded from your eyes to show That none but angels worthy are to know What hee shall aged be Oh! 't is a fate Worth your best thankes that day deserves its date Be registred to glory when heaven pleas'd Him of his earthly flesh-encumbrance eas'd Yet daâ—e you lose a teare unlesse for joy That heaven in mercy gave him for the toy Which wee call breath a life that shall outlive What e're dull earth or all your love could give I know the fates have lop't off from your tree Many faiâ—e branches which I doubt not bee Againe sarre fairer than his muddy â—oyle Could suffer them to grow too for the â—oyle Of living was their trouble but that care They wisely did contemne and so repaire To that blest pallace which for pious men The maker fram'd and now is opt agen For this new entrance do not then once more Spend any uselesse teare behold
POEMS ' DIVINE AND HVMANE BY THOMAS BEEDOME LONDON Printed by E. P. for Iohn Sweeting and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Angel in Popes-Head-Alley neer Cornehill 1641. To the Reader BOokes are the pictures of mens lives delineated first by fancy and by judgement drawne to the life Such is this peice the living Idea of him that writ it who though now dead has a living Monument to his worth His Booke which despight of fire can never conâ—ert to ashes 'T is Lentum Ilium slow Troy that will not bee easily consinned he shall live in Paper which shall make him live in 's Marble And in this good Reader his worth shall bee Emergent he has don many things well and nothing ill Therefore receive him as an absolute testimony of wit and fancy or else deceive thy selfe since his workes are as excellent as singular HEN. GLAPTHORNE On the deceased Authour Master Thomas Beedom and his Poems REader it grieves meeâ— that I cannot bring A fresh Encomion but am forc't to sing A withered Elegie and onely boast The wealth and treasure of a friend that 's lost Beedom I doe admire thy verse The sweet And gentle cadence of their ordered â—eet Whose couplets kisse with so divine an Art As if the Sibills had about thy heart Layd their propheticke Spells and every line Deare Beedom I doe season with my brine Though there was salt enough in them before To keepe thy bayes still fresh But I deplore As others doe for there thy Art is showen In stealing pitty thus from every one For unlesse tribute of some sighâ— are paid Thy jealous Lover and thy constant Maid Cannot be read and these all sadly vie As true oblations to thy obsequie But when I wander in thy other walkes And see the flowers of poesie on their stalkes Florish in pride of fancy I beginne Almost to thinke Idolatry no sinne For such a perfume breakes the yeelding Ayrâ— I am urg'd to offer for thy soule a prayer And thinke in that sweet incense may arise My love and wishes as a sacrifice Thou 'lt gaine a â—trange advantage of thy fate That 's forc't to valew thee at equall rate With the sâ—le Phenix for frâ—m thy pure dust Thy fame takes wing and perching on the trust Of thy firme friend though round with envy hurl'd Dares with a broad eye looke upon the world He being best knowne Beedom to thy wit Thou wisely mad'st executor to it Who not defrauding of the world its due Presents thy worke unto the wiser few Me thinkes I heare from thy most gratefull clay Soft murmurs breake and speaking seeme to say Thanks my deare Wilbore for thy love and care By this my Genius clames an ample share For by the Elixir of thy friendly art My memory which is my better part Shall live which ages hence shall gladly see Wrought by the wonder of Loves chimistrie And such a Tombe Beedom thy friend will make That all consuming time can never shake Let others build I by that friend am sent To bring this first stone to his Monument Ed. May On the death and Poems of his most deare friend Master I homas Beedome VVHy did thy muse display her eaglets wing And â—ale a flight at heaven why did shee sing Like to the earely Larke when she begunne Glad carolls in the eare o' the listning Sunne Till heavens inhabitants did even conspire To snatch thee as a chanter to their quire But glorious Beedome ere he left the earth Did give to fame a Monument a birth To such a living fancy as in spight Of fate shall like a precious ray of light Dwell 'bout his urne where all the muses sit Wayling the losse of his emergent wit And weeping ore his ashes till their eyes Instead of teares shed mournfull Elâ—gies Penei â—n Daphne there her armes displayes As if she would intombe him in her bayes And she who Phoebus hot pursuit did shunne Imbraces the old ashes of his sonne There a bright troope of Virgins that from farre Appeare resembling every one a starre Drown'd in a see of pearle doe sadly rise From his lov'd true each one without their eyes Wept out or burning left there as they 'd meant Those lights for tapers to his Monument Where shall we find at such a time a soule That could in flowing numbers even controule Arts nimblest currents and most swiftly glide Without least noyse admir'd before espide So have I seene a gentle streame with sweet And fluent motion softly hast to meet Its mother Ocean and inrich her store With a more gratefull tribute then before A thousand violent torrents pâ—id whose waves Though lowder brought lesse musicke to their graves His life was all one harmony and in 's death Numerous and full of sweetnesse was his breath Expanded like the Swans concluding layes In lasting accents that shall speake his prayse While Feather-footed time does swiftly passe Or has a sand left in his plenteoresâ— glasse This is my vote which to thy Booke shall be A just applauseâ— to thee an Elegie Hen. Glapthorne On his deserving Friend Master Thomas Beedom and his Poems HOw fond is this age growne 't will fearce admit Distinction betweene ignorance and wit Each weares the others habit neither 's knowne By the wanted proper dresse that was its owne And every day new Authors doe appeare As they the paper Merchants factors were And boast themselves the muses sons when they Rime onely for some life-preserving pay Expect here no such Author if thou 't looke On th' inside more then th' outside of the Booke Put on thy judgements eyes and thou shalt find This Authors fancy rich as was his mind W. C. To his Friend the Author Master Thomas Beedom before his death on these his Poems THis is the riming Age no wonder now To heare Thalia whisling at the plow All traffiâ—ke with the Muses t is well knowne The Scullers boat can touch at Helicon Who quassâ—s not there doe we not daily see Each garded foot-boy belch out Poetrie Who so illiterate now that will râ—fuâ—e For some slight Minion to invoke a muse Yet honoured friend doe not imagin I In the lest taxâ— by great ability I know thee worthy of a â—etter fame Then my best study can afford thy name I onely would thy reader this informe Such empty nothings are thy muses scorne Nor doe I wish â—im slightly to o'relooke The bigâ—borne fancy of thy labour'd Booke For he that scans the Poems that are thine Must call them raptures sacred and divine Thou darling of the muses in whose quiâ—e Thou sha't sing Peans to Apollo's lyre And with his best lov'd Priests in equall state Sit justly crown'd a Poet â—aureate Em. D. To the Memory of his Ingenious friend Master Thomas Beedom and on these his Poems THâ—â—'s no just reason Friend that I should write Vnlesse I â—ould in swelling sighes indite My pregnant griefe till every line appeares A volumne of my sorrow
discovered by our sight Accurst creator of thy lasting shame VVhy hath thy last out-woâ—nâ— thy fleeting love Why dost thou willing wound my bleeding fame And afteâ— all thy â—aches a recreant prove Gape earth receive this Candid devill in Lest the infect more angells with her sin Oh! hadst thou beene ambitious to have tasted Variety in plâ—â—sures then oh then Thou mightst have stâ—died how to have them lasted By yeelding up thy fame to severall men And nere have falsly vow'd thy faith to one Which impaâ—dence darst sweare was me alone Speake Traytor to thy honour and thy friend What plaster canst thou make to heale this sore Or what excuse can on thy crime attend Oh see thy guile now blushes more and more As if that â—â—â—ne which thou wouldst faine denie Were printed there before my reading eye Wherefore I now will study to be free My thralled heart shall stand no longer bound The despis'd servant of thy faith and thee I leave neglected what with joy I found This fatall mâ—nuâ—e shall our loves dissever So false Pandora here farewell for ever This said Philorus from the Virgin flyes While the pooâ—e hearâ— was drowned in the flouâ— Of â—eares 〈◊〉 like a sea sprung from her eyes And watred all the earth whereon she stood Who like poore stone-turn'd Niobe did stand A floating statue on the moving Land The neighbouring river mourn'd to heare her fate The blustring winds did chide the hollow trees While they consulting to participate Her griefe doe all their verdant garments leese The biâ—ds tell heaven and heaven to shew its pitty Bid Philomela sing a mournfull Ditty A Poet then imploring of the Nine To lend him ayd her story to indite Melpomene said no this worke is mine But griefe deniâ—s me power how to write Thus she that can write buskin-deepe in blood Is drown'd with our Pandora in this â—lood Oh griefe if ever mourning did become Thy meager face 't was when Pandoraâ—ept She numbred up her sighes beyonâ— ali sum And sorrowes Court within her countenance kept She was compos'd of dolor and in briefe The liveliest Emblem of the perfectst griefe Ah false Philorus didst thou see those teares Which thy chast love poures forth in thy dislike The objâ—ct would a fâ—right thy jealous feares And to thy heart an awfull reverence strike â—arth never bore a subject of more ruâ—h Then this who suffers onely for her truth VVhen the salt flood had drawne the fountaine dry That scarce another teare could find a vent Nor was there hope of any new supply Since all her moisture was consum'd and spent Sill to her griefe fresh matter she affords As then in teares so now she weepes in words VVherefore quoth she blind Love didst thou enthrall My faith so namely to Philorus soule On if thou canst my sealed pledge recall Since my Philorus thinkes Pandora foule Yet witnesse heaven I am as pure as Aire Diana's not more chast although more faire The congeal'd snow upon the Alpin Mountaine Retaines as much of her as my brest And in the coole spring of a Chrystall fountaine As much desire as in my heart doth â—est Oh jealousie why should Philorus thinke The Candid paper blacker then the Inke VVhat sin good Gods have wretched committed That you should thunder vengeance on my head Yet all my suffrings of my Love unpittied Blush Sol at this unjustice hide thy head For if thou spie my wrongs they would require Thou should'st in their revenge scourge earth by fier VVhy nature did thy choicer hand create Me to a forme by some 〈◊〉 excellent Since what was purpos'd to my best of fate Prepostrously turnes to my detriment Oh who then me was ever more accurst VVhose seeming best is chang'd to reall worst Oh hadst thou cheated me of some one limbe Deâ—orm'd my face or rob'd me of an eye I nere had beene thought guilty of a sin Nor given occasion to this jealousie Those that are foule still unsuspected go VVhile fair ones though more chast are not thought so Happy are you in whose creation Banisht perfection was an absent stranger But think how much hath beauty of temptation And then you 'l blesse the Gods you 'r out of danger VVhere various flowers in the garden growâ—e VVe passe the bramble but plucke up the â—ose Yet grant that â—orme be thought a happinesse VVhich doth against temptations batteries vie Beauty though it come off with good successe 〈◊〉 wounded straight by poysonous jealousie Thus like a Monster mischiefe doth pursue it And no endeavours can at all eschew it Now sorrowfull Pandora takes her way Through the thick woods which is a large procession No matter where griefe cannot go astray Since she hath vow'd perpetuall progression Till the may once more her P'bilorus spye Which but perform'd it were a blisse to dye Death now were welcome were Philorus pleas'd To dye ere that were torture in the grave Lest angry he by jealousie diseas'd Should after death against her ashes rave Or lest her ghost which hourely must come see him He fright with frownes and so inforce it slee him Heere unfrequented save with savage beasts She spends the â—â—aâ—ous minutes of her age Her eyes upon the severall sights she feasts While sorrow triumphs in her equipage The greedy earth cast off her covering grasse To looke upon her as she by did passe The savage Tyger when it came her neare Stoop't to the splendor of her conquering eyes The tusked Bore that broke Adonâ—s sp â—are Croucht downe to her whose mercy bid it rise Who then in duty gently to her came And hence it is that some have since beene tame The winged birds from heaven came downe in quiâ—es Each one by turne did sing his â—ounde-lay Whose aâ—ery notes still up againe aspires Which being ended each bird flyes away To gâ—t nâ—w Songs thus by their various layes Each steales a little sorrow from the dayes The â—ow-growne gentle Satyres did invite The wood Nymphes to compose a measur'd dance Each thing affords some matter of delight As glad her downe-cast lookâ—s they might advance The little Eâ—min can afford its skin From the cold Aire to wrap her hands therein The trees did gladly spread their open armes To shâ—de her roses from the blowing wind And lapt their leaves so close no scoâ—ching harmes Could burne her lillies when Apollo shin'd The pittying â—ezor when it heard her grone Lest she should faint bites out his Cordiall stone By chance a pin her tender finger prickâ— At which there startled out a drop of blood The which as soone as from it she had lickt The trees wept balsam for her greater good Still as she sigh'd the friendly Vnicorne Osters that precious Antidote his horne The hunger-bitten Lyon greedy came Thinking to seaze her body for a pray But when he saw her straight was turned tame And at her feet for mercy prostrate lay While his dumbe reveâ—ence seem'd to tell the Maiâ— He mourn'd to thinke how he made her
That had restoâ—'d the jewell which he lost And now acquited all those dismall feares Which had so many weâ—ping minutes lost Blushing Cherillus now salutes his sister And â—hanks the Godâ— that he unknown had mist her All soâ—row now is wip't from every eye Theâ—'s not a face that weares a mournfull looke Laughte triumphs while meager griefe doth dye As if fate had display'd some â—oâ—und bookâ— VVhich the by-standers reading joy to see How there their joy 's writ for eternitie Her father now 〈◊〉 their equall fires Since Hymen piâ—e of Fate did â—o command All union liv'd in their conjoynt desires Each soule lay pawnd in to ' theâ—s plighted hand Where they rest happy thus those Loves doe thrive VVhom Chastity through stormes sâ—ill keepes alive 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 FINIS POEMS To his Mistresse when shee was going into the Country YEs yes it must be so but must there be When you depart no memory had of mee My soule being rack't as large a distance too To meete you there as I must be from you While the glad spring for joy you shall be seene Meete your approach and cloath her selfe in greene And the fresh morning to salute your rise Bedewes the ground from it 's o'rejoyed eyes For joy like griese we know sometimes appeares Writ on our cheekeâ— with characters of teares Goe and be happy goe and when you see The trusty Ivy claspe it 's much loved tree And with it's amorous in twinings cover The welcome waste of it 's imbraced lover Thinke it our Embleme then and prov'd to be The happy shadow of my love and mee Goe and be happy and when some sweet brookes Calme as thy thoughts and smooth as are thy lookes Show thee thy face thou let thy thoughts supply And though I be not thinke that I am by For ifâ—the hearâ— bâ— taken for whole â—an I must be by thee be thou where thou can Goe and when pretty birds on some small spray Neere to thy window welcome in the day Awake and thinke when their sweete notes you heare I was before-hand and had sung them there Goe and whate're thou chance to heare or see Be it bird or brooke or shade of tree If it delights thee may my soule in it Move thy true joyes under that counterfeit So aske not how I doe when you are there For at your mercy well or ill I fare For now me thinkes my heart so high doth swell It must inforce a breath farewell farewell The Knell When the sad tolling of my bell you heare Thinke â—is some Angells trumpe and Judgments neere Then if but to repent you take the paine Your judgements past lye downe and sleepe agâ—ine The Perfume Not that I thinke thy breath lesse sweete than this Thy breath in which no pleasant sweets I misse Not that I thinke thy whiâ—e than this lesse faire Thy white to which all whites but blacknesse are Not that I thinke thy heart than this lesse pure Thy heart which â—o dull mixture can indure Send I this to thâ—â— but as gold well try'd Admiâ—s allay when it is purifi'd So by this foyle I would to thee impart What is thy breath thy whitenesse and thy heart Thy breath all perfumes doth as saue out-goe As doth thy whitenesse the descending snow The snow descends but by the winds being blowne Thy sweeter breath and whiter snows thine owne Thy heart lesse mixt than the sole Phoenix bed Proclaimes thee mistresse of a Maiden head And so there were no ashes after â—ire Would that were conquer'd in my loveâ— desire But if there be why can it not suffice That one being dead another Phoenix rise Thy maiden head being gone we still shall prove Both being one unparalell'd in love But I have riddl'd let me now unfold What is the perfume what the snow what gold All this and each of these thou knowâ—st thou art And I should know more did I know thy heart To his Mistresse on her scorne Resolve mee dearest why two heaâ—ts in one Should know the sinne of separation Must the sweete custome of our oft stolne kisse Be lost and wee live empty of those blisses Or do the stownes of some old over seer Nourish thy feare or make thy love lesse freer Why did'st thou suffer mee those sweets to steale Which but thine own no tongue can e're reveale And prompt mee to a daring to beleeve That my sad heart should find no cause to grieve Yet now at last hast mockt my hope so farre That I have â—ot a cloudâ— though meant a starreâ— Well take thy tryumph study but to be True to thy selfe as thou art false to mee And thou shalt meet a conquest yet when I Have groan'd unto the world my Elegy And thy unjust disdaine perhaps I shall Obtaine this honour in my funerall Thy poysonous guilt mixt with thy purged breath May make thee withâ—â— with mee unto death So shall I triumph in my Ashes too In that my innocence hath conquer'd you And then my eye rejoyce in that I have Thy scorne to be a mourner at my grave The Question and Answer WHen the sad â—ines of that face In it's owne wrinkles buried lyes And the stiffe pride of all it's grace By time undone â—als â—lacke and dyes Wilt not thou sigh and wish in some vext fit The it were now as when I courted it And when thy glasse shall it present Without those smiles which once were there Showing like some stale monument A scalpe departed from it's haire At thy selfe frighted wilt not start and sweaâ—e That I beleeved thee when I call'd thee faire Yes yes I know thou wilt and so Pitty the weakness◠〈◊〉 〈◊〉 That now hath humbled thee to know Though faiâ—e it was it is forlorne Loves sweetes thy aged corps embalming not What marvell if thy carkasse beauty â—ot Then shall I live and live to be Thy envie thou my pitty say When e're thou see mee or I thee Being nighted from thy beauties day 'T is hee and had my pride not wither'd mee I had perhaps beene still as fresh as hee Then shall I smile and answer 〈◊〉 thy scorne Left thee thus wrinkled slack't corrupt â—orlorne The new Petition Apollo once disdained not to keepe So he might keepe his love Admetuâ— sheepe The distaffe Hercules did exercise T' extract a smile from his deare Ladies eyes Olympicke Joane disdained not to take A bull's effigies for Europus sake A chilles fitter farre to deale with steele Did labour for his Mistresse at the reele Love spar'd Leander his pledg'd saith to save Died hugging in his armes the murdering wave Whil'st a new death his Heroe doth devise And drownd her selfe i th Ocean of her eyes By Pyramus the world did understand That love and life lay linked hand in hand When one was lost in Thisbe th' other flew Through the peirc't poâ—tals of his wound yet new Which when his Thisbe saw 't is hard to say Whose spirit posted fastest on
want of eyes Did point his name the way to kisse the skies Young schollers in the darke might grope like fooles Were not he plac't the lanthorne of the Schooles The world had lost among it 's Worthies one Aleâ—dos Who had not Homer sung had neere beene knowne Ulysses act had perish'd like a toy Had this blind guide not led him out of Troy And rapt his memory up so safe in rime That it shall equall if not out-live time Maro thy lines great Caesar hath extold That paid each severall verse a piece of gold Yet thought his purchase easie and did more Esteeme thy wit than all his wealth and store And justly too since what thy labour spent On him lasts longer than his monument This Rome being fired is ashes but his name Lives Salamander-like spight of the flame Didst thou not snatch Aâ—neas from that fire That up to Illions Turrets did aspire And bor'st his feeble father by thy pen On his sons shoulders through an hoast of men For which thy selfe great Virgill shalt remaine To endlesse times even till thou rise againe No envious fire thy able skill shall burne Till fire and earth into one substance turne Yill when that I may come to speakâ— our dayes Daniel thou livest circled with breath for bayes Nor Spencer to whose verse the world doth owe Millions of thankes can unremembred goe Nor thou great Johnson who knowst how to write Such lines as equall profit with delight Whil'st thy untired readers wish each sheete Had beene a volume 't is so neate so sweete Next fame seemes charily to spread her wings O're what the never dying Drayton sings Still lives the Muses Appollinean son The Phaenix of his age rare Harrington Whose Epigrams when time shall be no more May die perhaps but never can before This cloud can witnesse that a Poet may Bring darknesse out of light make night seeme day These can make lawes and Kingdomes alter States Make Prince Gods and poore men Potentates An amorous verse â—aire Ladies â— innes your loves Sooner than busk points â—arthingalls or gloves A Poets quill doth stand in greater stead Than all such â—oyes to gaine a maiden head A line well writ and by a Potent skill Charmes the rapt soule with musique of a quill VVhilst the by standers deem 't a blisse to die Tickled to death by such sweet harmony Againe if thou deserve the Muses frowne Wretch that thou art a quill can hurle thee downe To that abisse of ignomy that fate Cannot condemne thee to a baser state I will make each finger point at thy disgrace And like a Monster each man shâ—n thy face VVhile thou thus branded finding no reliefe With a strong halter choakest thy stronger grieâ—e Thus Poets like sates factors here do hold All power underneath their pens controld Lastly deare brother thinke not I forgot Amongst this learned â—ile to ranke my Scot Thy early Muse sings in so sweeâ—e a straine As if Apollo had compos'd thy vaine Superlatively taking while each letter Disdaines our Moderne Poets should sing better Now saints my pen and fainting feares that I My selfe may perish if wiâ—h clemencie My reader censure not yet hopes to raise A memory to it selfe though not of praise That I being earth something may live of mâ—e Perhaps this paper if approv'd by thee Against prejudicate opinion THe humble soule the mind opprest Shall finde unto his conscience rest The cleare in heart the single eye Laughs at his neighboâ—rs jealousie Then let men censuâ—e what they can The inside makes the honest man who 'ld thinke a clod of earth should hold Within a masse of splendent gold So silly woods have fragrant smels And Pearles are sound in sordid shels Base sâ—â—bards hold approved swords And 〈◊〉 covers golden words Digge up the earth â—nd burne the wood The gold and smell will both be good Unsheath the blade the booke untye One takes your heart toâ—her your eye Had these laid still they might have gone Thought hardly worth the looking on Then judge what folly there had beene To câ—nsure any thing unseene Mors aequo pede pulsat Pauperum taberâ—as Regumque turres MAns life 's a game each hath his card in 's hand And death a while a looker on doth stand At last hee shuâ—fles in a gamester too Then cuts deales rubbes and winnes and so adieu The King like common creatures in death must Find no respect nor reveâ—ence in the dust Their royalty put off their state laid downe There sits a clod oâ— dirt where once a Crowne Their eyes like expir'd tapers drop and fall And leave theâ—t Sockets emptie for the Ball Or golden Globe which once their hands did keepe A knot of wormes doth role about and creepe Who â—ast no difference 'twixt their flesh and those Who fed lesse dainty wore fatre courseâ— cloathes In his dominion Death impartiall knowne The King and begger there are all but one Rejoyce then rich men and your game pursue In death I 'le be as good a man as you To the Noble Sr Francis Drake DRake perreratinovit quem terminus orbis Et cujus faciem vidit uterque polus Si taceant bomines facient te Sydera notam Solâ—escit conctis non memor essesui The Translation DRake who the world hast conquer'd like a scrole VVho saw'st the Articke and Antarticke Pole If men were silent staâ—res would make thee knowne Phoebus forgets not his companion To his friend Mr Em. D. on a rich vaporing sot whom hee stiles Ignoramus BLesse us why here 's a thing as like a man As Nature to our fancie fashion can Beshâ—ew mee but he has a pretty face And weares his tapier with indifferent grace Makes a neat congie dances well and sweares And weares his Mistresse pendant in 〈◊〉 eares Has a neaâ— foot as ever kist the ground His shoes and roses cost at least five pound Those hose have not a peere for by relation They 're cut a moneth at least since the last fashion He knowes two Ladies that will vow there 's none At Court a man of parts but he alone And yet this â—op scarce ever learn'd to know The mixture of the dis-joyn'd Christ-crosse row Strip off his ragges and the pooâ—e thing is then The just contempt of understanding men Being Fortunes minion Nature thought it fit Since he had wealth enough he should want wit To my matchlesse friend my dearest William Scot a New-yeares guift How shall I thanke my fate that wrought this end To my best wishes that thou art my friend I may lose all if I have any wealth My sicknesse may bereave mee of my health Bondage may steale my freedome but my love Which is a sacred blessing from above Can neere be wanting since 't is lock't in thee Who art true friendships safest treasurie It joyes mee that my soule so well did light To dwell with thine thou that dost speake and write And thinke the same with mee as if my spirit Did nothing
joyes expresse That 's the good land this but the Wildernesse Onyons and Garlicke and the flesh-poâ—stoo Let them desire that have a list to eateâ— My pallat cannot rellish what they doe Manna my God I know is Angels meaâ—e But if this place affords it not to me Take me to Canaan since it is with thee Art thou not beauty Lord to whom the Sunne At height of glory is so darke a blot That when thoâ— didst obscure thy blessed Sonne The other had his wonted light forgot Yet in that blest Ecclipse this turn d such light That earth saw heaven though heaven was hid in night To the Angels 1. A Safe humility is wise Both to it selâ—e and others to I know there 's starres but use mine eyes To finde out what they cannot doe For though they both partake of light Both have not equall sence in â—ight 2. And is it safe you glorâ—ous lights That this dull glimering sparke my soule Aâ—â—ect to know those boundlesse heights Where your exalâ—ed spirits rule Or were my wisedome better spent To â—each my heart at home content 3. Yet as in dungeons we behold Through some small chinke a glimering ray And thence assured we are bold To thinke without there is a day So you discover to our sence Your excellence by your influence 4. Blest Children of a more blâ—st Father I le not discouâ—se your story For my affections had much rather Partake than speake your glory Speake your owne glory you that can Which no man ere shall know as man 5. And yet I care not I what Quite Of Cheâ—ub's Seraphin's or Thrones Or Angels lower are or higher Since all I know are holy ones If I keepe time with any Quiâ—e I like the seate I le with no higher 6. Farewell sweete Quiâ—e farewell I say This glimpse at distance doth confute All my discourse and makes me pray To know you there without dispute And since I long to meete least I shall stray Guide you your Lovet on upon his way T.B. On AEternity GOod God! eternity what can Aâ—â—onish more the faith of man When it shall please thee God that I On my unfriendly sicke bed lye And those about me shall descry In my pale face deaths livery When breath shall fleete and leave for me The relique of deaths victory A grim sad coarse oh must my light Astonisht â—oâ—le then take her flight To that long home where it shall seeâ— Or blest or curst AEternity Shall shee for ever ever dwell Or Saint in heaven or fiend in hell When ages numberlesse are gone Shal't be â—s if wee had past none 'T is so my God which when I thinke My staggard reason 'gins to sinke My braine turnes giddy and weake I Am rapt in wonders extasie Forgive mee Lord that thus presume To question thy eternall doome And since our minute life must gaine Pleasures eternall or such paine Asâ—ist mee so my God that when I shall for sake the sonnes of men My jocond soule may sainted bee In heaven and thy eternity Em. D. On the death of M M. T. MIstaken virgins do not drop a teare She is not dead beleev 't I 'le make 't appeare That which you call a hearse is nought beside A heavenly charet in 't a glorious bride And that which you more fondly â—eâ—ne a grave Mysterious heaven for her bride-bed gave Thus you mistaken to a â—unerall haste When you 're invited to a marriage â—east Heaven was her lover would not be deny'd The welcome promise of so faire a Bride Which long since having hee now thought it best T' espouse and take her to his happy rest And as wee see great Princes ere they take Their royall consorts they by proxie make The ceremonious marriage so did hee By proxie death wed her immoâ—tally And now inthron'd she doth â—it anâ— singâ— Divinest Anthems to her Lord and King 'Mongst quires of Angels she doth fill the skies With sweete tun'd notes of heavenly rapsidies Thus gloriously happy doth shee still live Whose death you â—ondly and unkindly grieve Em. D. FINIS * Her lips * Diamonds or other pretious stones