wisedome which saluation brings The Sonne of righteousnesse that giues true joyes When all they sought for were but Earthly toyes No trauels ought th' affected soule to shunne That this faire heauenly Light desires to see This King of kings to whom we all should runne To view his Glory and his Majestie He without whom we all had beene vndone He that from Sinne and Death hath set vs free And ouercome Satan the world and finne That by his merits we those joyes might winne Prepar'd by him whose euerlasting throne Is plac'd in heauen aboue the starrie skies Where he that sate was like the Iasper stone Who rightly knowes him shall be truely wise A Rainebow round about his glorious throne Nay more those winged beasts so full of eies That neuer cease to glorifie his Name Who was and will be and is now the same This is that great almightie Lord that made Both heauen and earth and liues for euermore By him the worlds foundation first was laid He fram'd the things that neuer were before The Sea within his bounds by him is staid He judgeth all alike both rich and poore All might all majestie all loue all lawe Remaines in him that keepes all worlds in awe From his eternall throne the lightning came Thundrings and Voyces did from thence proceede And all the creatures glorifi'd his name In heauen in earth and seas they all agreed When loe that spotlesse Lambe so voyd of blame That for vs di'd whose sinnes did make him bleed That true Physition that so many heales Opened the Booke and did vndoe the Seales He onely worthy to vndoe the Booke Of our charg'd soules full of iniquitie Where with the eyes of mercy he doth looke Vpon our weakenesse and infirmitie This is that corner stone that was forsooke Who leaues it trusts but to vncertaintie This is Gods Sonne in whom he is well pleased His deere beloued that his wrath appeased He that had powre to open all the Seales And summon vp our sinnes of blood and wrong He vnto whom the righteous soules appeales That haue bin martyrd and doe thinke it long To whom in mercie he his will reueales That they should rest a little in their wrong Vntill their fellow seruants should be killed Euen as they were and that they were fulfilled To the Laâ—â— dowager of Cumberland ¶ Pure thoughted Lady blessed be thy choyce Of this Almightie euerlasting King In thee his Saints and Angels doe reioyce And to their Heau'nly Lord doe daily sing Thy perfect praises in their lowdest voyce And all their harpes and golden vials bring Full of sweet odours euen thy-holy prayers Vnto that spotlesse Lambe that all repaires Of whom that Heathen Queene obtain'd such grace By honouring but the shadow of his Loue That great Iudiciall day to haue a place Condemning those that doe vnfaithfull proue Among the haplesse happie is her case That her deere Sauiour spake for her behoue And that her memorable Act should be Writ by the hand of true Eternitie Yet this rare Phoenix of that worne-out age This great maiesticke Queene comes short of thee Who to an earthly Prince did then ingage Her hearts desires her loue her libertie Acting her glorious part vpon a Stage Of weaknesse frailtie and infirmity Giuing all honour to a Creature due To her Creator whom shee neuer knew But loe a greater thou hast sought and found Than Salomon in all his royaltie And vnto him thy faith most firmely bound To serue and honour him continually That glorious God whose terror doth confound All sinfull workers of iniquitie Him hast thou truely serued all thy life And for his loue liu'd with the world at strife To this great Lord thou onely art affected Yet came he not in pompe or royaltie But in an humble habit base deiected A King a God clad in mortalitie He hath thy loue thou art by him directed His perfect path was faire humilitie Who being Monarke of heau'n earth and seas Indur'd all wrongs yet no man did displease Then how much more art thou to be commended That seek'st thy loue in lowly shepheards weed A seeming Trades-mans sonne of none attended Saue of a few in pouertie and need Poore Fishermen that on his loue attended His loue that makes so many thousands bleed Thus did he come to trie our faiths the more Possessing worlds yet seeming extreame poore The Pilgrimes trauels and the Shepheards cares He tooke vpon him to enlarge our soules What pride hath lost humilitie repaires For by his glorious death he vs inroules In deepe Characters writ with blood and teares Vpon those blessed Euerlasting scroules His hands his feete his body and his face Whence freely flow'd the riuers of his grace Sweet holy riuers pure celestiall springs Proceeding from the fountaine of our life Swift sugred currents that saluation brings Cleare christall streames purging all sinne and strife Faire floods where souls do bathe their snow-white wings Before they flie to true etern all life Sweet Nectar and Ambrosia food of Saints Which whoso tasteth neuer after faints This hony dropping dew of holy loue Sweet milke wherewith we weaklings are restored Who drinkes thereof a world can neuer moue All earthly pleasures are of them abhorred This loue made Martyrs many deaths to proue To taste his sweetnesse whom they so adored Sweetnesse that makes our flesh a burthen to vs Knowing it serues but onely to vndoe vs. His sweetnesse sweet'ned all the sowre of death To faithfull Stephen his appointed Saint Who by the riuer stones did loose his breath When paines nor terrors could not make him faint So was this blessed Martyr turn'd to earth To glorifie his soule by deaths attaint This holy Saint was humbled and cast downe To winne in heauen an euerlasting crowne Whose face repleat with Maiestie and Sweetnesse Did as an Angel vnto them appeare That sate in Counsell hearing his discreetnesse Seeing no change or any signe of a feare But with a constant browe did there confesse Christs high deserts which were to him so deare Yea when these Tyrants stormes did most oppresse Christ did appeare to make his griefe the lesse For beeing filled with the holy Ghost Vp vnto Heau'n he look'd with stedfast eies Where God appeared with his heauenly hoste In glory to this Saint before he dies Although he could no Earthly pleasures boast At Gods right hand sweet IESVS he espies Bids them behold Heauens open he doth see The Sonne of Man at Gods right hand to be Whose sweetnesse sweet'ned that short sowre of Life Making all bitternesse delight his taste Yeelding sweet quietnesse in bitter strife And most contentment when he di'd disgrac'd Heaping vp joyes where sorrows were most rife Such sweetnesse could not choose but be imbrac'd The food of Soules the Spirits onely treasure The Paradise of our celestiall pleasure This Lambe of God who di'd and was aliue Presenting vs the bread of life Eternall His bruised body powrefull to reuiue Our sinking soules out of the pit infernall
to sing That by her noble breasts sweet harmony Their musicke might in eares of Angels ring While saints like Swans about this siluer brook Should Hallalu-iah sing continually Writing her praises in th' eternall booke Of endlesse honour true fames memorie Thus I in sleep the heauenli'st musicke hard That euer earthly eares did entertaine And durst not wake for feare to be debard Of what my sences sought still to retaine Yet sleeping praid dull Slumber to vnfold Her noble name who was of all admired When presently in drowsie tearmes he told Not onely that but more than I desired This nymph quoth he great Penbrooke hight by name Sister to valiant Sidney whose cleere light Giues light to all that tread true paths of Fame Who in the globe of heau'n doth shine so bright That beeing dead his fame doth him suruiue Still liuing in the hearts of worthy men Pale Death is dead but he remaines aliue Whose dying wounds restor'd him life agen And this faire earthly goddesse which you see Bellona and her virgins doe attend In virtuous studies of Diuinitie Her pretious time continually doth spend So that a Sister well shee may be deemd To him that liu'd and di'd so nobly And farre before him is to be esteemd For virtue wisedome learning dignity Whose beauteous soule hath gain'd a double life Both here on earth and in the heau'ns aboue Till dissolution end all worldly strife Her blessed spirit remaines of holy loue Directing all by her immortall light In this huge sea of sorrowes griefes and feares With contemplation of Gods powrefull might Shee sils the eies the hearts the tongues the eares Of after-comming ages which shall reade Her loue her zeale her faith and pietie The faire impression of whose worthy deed Seales her pure soule vnto the Deitie That both in Hean'n and Earth it may remaine Crownd with her Makers glory and his loue And this did Father Slumber tell with paine Whose dulnesse scarce could suffer him to moue When I awaking left him and his bowre Much grieued that I could no longer stay Sencelesse was sleepe not to admit me powre As I had spent the night to spend the day Then had God Morphie shew'd the end of all And what my heart desir'd mine eies had seene For as I wak'd me thought I heard one call For that bright Charet lent by Ioues faire Queene But thou base cunning thiefe that robs our sprits Of halfe that span of life which yeares doth giue To Sleepe And yet no praise vnto thy selfe it merits To make a seeming death in those that liue Yea wickedly thou doest consent to death Within thy restfull bed to rob our soules In Slumbers bowre thou steal'st away our breath Yet none there is that thy base stealths controules If poore and sickly creatures would imbrace thee Or they to whom thou giu'st a taste of pleasure Thou fli'st as if Acteons hounds did chase thee Or that to stay with them thou hadst no leasure But though thou hast depriu'd me of delight By stealing from me ere I was aware I know I shall enioy the selfe same sight Thou hast no powre my waking sprites to barre For to this Lady now I will repaire Presenting her the fruits of idle houres Thogh many Books she writes that are more rare Yet there is hony in the meanest flowres Which is both wholesome and delights the taste Though sugar be more finer higher priz'd Yet is the painefull Bee no whit disgrac'd Nor her faire wax or hony more despiz'd And though that learned damsell and the rest Haue in a higher style her Trophie fram'd Yet these vnlearned lines beeing my best Of her great wisedom can no whit be blam'd And therefore first I here present my Dreame And next inuite her Honour to my feast For my cleare reason sees her by that streame Where her rare virtues daily are increast So crauing pardon for this bold attempt I here present my mirrour to her view Whose noble virtues cannot be exempt My Glasse beeing steele declares them to be true And Madame if you will vouchsafe that grace To grace those flowres that springs from virtues ground Though your faire mind on worthier workes is plac'd On workes that are more deepe and more profound Yet is it no disparagement to you To see your Sauiour in a Shepheards weed Vnworthily presented in your viewe Whose worthinesse will grace each line you reade Receiue him here by my vnworthy hand And reade his paths of faire humility Who though our sinnes in number passe the sand They all are purg'd by his Diuinity ¶ To the Ladie Lucie Countesse of Bedford ME thinkes I see faire Virtue readie stand T' vnlocke the closet of your louely breast Holding the key of Knowledge in her hand Key of that Cabbine where your selfe doth rest To let him in by whom her youth was blest The true-loue of your soule your hearts delight Fairer than all the world in your cleare sight He that descended from celestiall glory To taste of our infirmities and sorrowes Whose heauenly wisdom read the earthly storie Offraile Humanity which his godhead borrows Loe here he coms all stucke with pale deaths arrows In whose most pretious wounds your soule may reade Saluation while he dying Lord doth bleed You whose cleare Iudgement farre exceeds my skil Vonchsafe to entertaine this dying louer The Ocean of true grace whose streames doe fill All those with Ioy that can his loue recouer About this blessed Arke bright Angels houer Where your faire soule may sure and safely rest When he is sweetly seated in your brest There may your thoughts as seruants to your heart Giue true attendance on this louely guest While he doth to that blessed bowre impart Flowres of fresh comforts decke that bed of rest With such rich beauties as may make it blest And you in whom all raritie is found May be with his eternall glory crownd To the Ladie Margaret Countesse Dowager of Cumberland * ⎠* RIght Honoutable and Excellent Lady I may say with Saint Peter Siluer nor gold haue I none but such as I haue that giue I you for hauing neither rich pearles of India nor fine gold of Arabia nor diamonds of inestimable value neither those rich treasures Arramaticall Gums incense and sweet odours which were presented by those Kingly Philosophers to the babe Iesus I present vnto you euen our Lord Iesus himselfe whose infinit value is not to be comprehended within the weake imagination or wit of man and as Saint Peter gaue health to the body so I deliuer you the health of the soule which is this most pretious pearle of all perfection this rich diamond of deuotion this perfect gold growing in the veins of that excellent earth of the most blessed Paradice wherein our second Adam had his restlesse habitation The sweet incense balsums odours and gummes that flowes from that beautifull tree of Life sprung from the roote of Iessie which is so super-excellent that it giueth grace
are Washed with milke to giue the more delight His head is likened to the finest gold His curled lockes so beauteous to behold Blacke as a Raven in her blackest hew His lips like skarlet threeds yet much more sweet Than is the sweetest hony dropping dew Or hony combes where all the Bees doe meet Yea he is constant and his words are true His cheekes are beds of spices flowers sweet His lips like Lillies dropping downe pure mirrhe Whose loue before all worlds we doe preferre To my Lady of Cumberland ¶ Ah! giue me leaue good Lady now to leaue This taske of Beauty which I tooke in hand I cannot wade so deepe I may deceaue My selfe before I can attaine the land Therefore good Madame in your heart I leaue His perfect picture where it still shall stand Deepely engraued in that holy shrine Enuironed with Loue and Thoughts diuine There may you see him as a God in glory And as a man in miserable case There may you reade his true and perfect storie His bleeding body there you may embrace And kisse his dying cheekes with teares of sorrow With ioyfull griefe you may intreat for grace And all your prayers and your almes-deeds May bring to stop his cruell wounds that bleeds Oft times hath he made triall of your loue And in your Faith hath tooke no small delight By Crosses and Afflictions he doth proue Yet still your heart remaineth firme and right Your loue so strong as nothing can remoue Your thoughts beeing placed on him both day and night Your constant soule doth lodge betweene her brests This Sweet of sweets in which all glory rests Sometime h' appeares to thee in Shepheards weed And so presents himselfe before thine eyes A good old man that goes his flocke to feed Thy colour changes and thy heart doth rise Thou call'st he comes thou find'st t is he indeed Thy Soule conceaues that he is truely wise Nay more desires that he may be the Booke Whereon thine eyes continually may looke Sometime imprison'd naked poore and bare Full of diseases impotent and lame Blind deafe and dumbe he comes vnto his faire To see if yet shee will remaine the same Nay sicke and wounded now thou do'st prepare To cherish him in thy deare Louers name Yea thou bestow'st all paines all cost all care That may relieue him and his health repaire These workes of mercy are so sweete so deare To him that is the Lord of Life and Loue That all thy prayers he vouchsafes to heare And sends his holy Spirit from aboue Thy eyes are op'ned and thou seest so cleare No worldly thing can thy faire mind remoue Thy faith thy prayers and his speciall grace Doth open Heau'n where thou behold'st his face These are those Keyes Saint Peter did possesse Which with a Spirituall powre are giu'n to thee To heale the soules of those that doe transgresse By thy faire virtues which if once they see Vnto the like they doe their minds addresse Such as thou art such they desire to be If they be blind thou giu'st to them their sight If deafe or lame they heare and goe vpright Yea if possest with any euill spirits Such powre thy faire examples haue obtain'd To cast them out applying Christs pure merits By which they are bound and of all hurt restrain'd If strangely taken wanting sence or wits Thy faith appli'd vnto their soules so pain'd Healeth all griefes and makes them grow so strong As no defects can hang vpon them long Thou beeing thus rich no riches do'st respect Nor do'st thou care for any outward showe The proud that doe faire Virtues rules neglect Desiring place thou fittest them belowe All wealth and honour thou do'st quite reiect If thou perceiu'st that once it prooues a foe To virtue learning and the powres diuine Thou mai'st conuert but neuer wilt incline To fowle disorder or licentiousnesse But in thy modest vaile do'st sweetly couer The staines of other sinnes to make themselues That by this meanes thou mai'st in time recouer Those weake lost sheepe that did so long transgresse Presenting them vnto thy deerest Louer That when he brings them backe vnto his fold In their conuersion then he may behold Thy beauty shining brighter than the Sunne Thine honour more than euer Monarke gaind Thy wealth exceeding his that Kingdomes wonne Thy Loue vnto his Spouse thy Faith vnfaind Thy Constancy in what thou hast begun Till thou his heauenly Kingdom haue obtaind Respecting worldly wealth to be but drosse Which if abuz'd doth prooue the owners losse Great Cleopatra's loue to Anthony Can no way be compared vnto thine Shee left her Loue in his extremitie When greatest need should cause her to combine Her force with his to get the Victory Her Loue was earthly and thy Loue Diuine Her Loue was onely to support her pride Humilitie thy Loue and Thee doth guide That glorious part of Death which last shee plai'd T' appease the ghost of her deceased Loue Had neuer needed if shee could haue stai'd When his extreames made triall and did proue Her leaden loue vnconstant and afraid Their wicked warres the wrath of God might moue To take reuenge for chast Octavia's wrongs Because shee enjoyes what vnto her belongs No Cleopatra though thou wert as faire As any Creature in Antonius eyes Yea though thou wert as rich as wise as rare As any Pen could write or Wit deuise Yet with this Lady canst thou not compare Whose inward virtues all thy worth denies Yet thou a blacke Egyptian do'st appeare Thou false shee true and to her Loue more deere Shee sacrificeth to her deerest Loue With flowres of Faith and garlands of Good deeds Shee flies not from him when afflictions proue Shee beares his crosse and stops his wounds that bleeds Shee loues and liues chaste as the Turtle doue Shee attends vpon him and his flocke shee feeds Yea for one touch of death which thou did'st trie A thousand deaths shee euery day doth die Her virtuous life exceeds thy worthy death Yea she hath richer ornaments of state Shining more glorious than in dying breath Thou didst when either pride or cruell fate Did worke thee to preuent a double death To stay the malice scorne and cruell hate Of Rome that joy'd to see thy pride pull'd downe Whose Beauty wrought the hazard of her Crowne Good Madame though your modestie be such Not to acknowledge what we know and find And that you thinke these prayses ouermuch Which doe expresse the beautie of your mind Yet pardon me although I giue a touch Vnto their eyes that else would be so blind As not to see thy store and their owne wants From whose faire seeds of Virtue spring these plants And knowe when first into this world I came This charge was giu'n me by th' Eternall powres Th'euerlasting Trophie of thy fame To build and decke it with the sweetest flowres That virtue yeelds Then Madame doe not blame Me when I shew the World but what is yours And decke you with
For by this blessed food he did contriue A worke of grace by this his gift externall With heau'nly Manna food of his elected To feed their soules of whom he is respected This wheate of Heauen the blessed Angells bread Wherewith he feedes his deere adopted Heires Sweet foode of life that doth reuiue the dead And from the liuing takes away all cares To taste this sweet Saint Laurence did not dread The broyling gridyorne cool'd with holy teares Yeelding his naked body to the fire To taste this sweetnesse such was his desire Nay what great sweetnesse did th'Apostles taste Condemn'd by Counsell when they did returne Rejoycing that for him they di'd disgrac'd Whose sweetnes made their hearts and soules so burne With holy zeale and loue most pure and chaste For him they sought from whome they might not turne Whose loue made Andrew goe most joyfully Vnto the Crosse on which he meant to die The Princes of th'Apostles were so filled With the delicious sweetnes of his grace That willingly they yeelded to be killed Receiuing deaths that were most vile and base For his name sake that all might be fulfilled They with great joy all torments did imbrace The vgli'st face that Death could euer yeeld Could neuer feare these Champions from the field They still continued in their glorious fight Against the enemies of flesh and blood And in Gods law did set their whole delight Suppressing euill and erecting good Not sparing Kings in what they did not right Their noble Actes they seal'd with deerest blood One chose the Gallowes that vnseemely death The other by the Sword did loose his breath His Head did pay the dearest rate of sin Yeelding it joyfully vnto the Sword To be cut off as he had neuer bin For speaking truth according to Gods word Telling king Herod of incestuous sin That hatefull crime of God and man abhorr'd His brothers wife that prowd licentious Dame Cut off his Head to take away his shame Loe Madame heere you take a view of those Whose worthy steps you doe desire to tread Deckt in those colours which our Sauiour chose Colours of Confessors Martirs The purest colours both of White and Red Their freshest beauties would I faine disclose By which our Sauiour most was honoured But my weake Muse desireth now to rest Folding vp all their Beauties in your breast Whose excellence hath rais'd my sprites to write Of what my thoughts could hardly apprehend Your rarest Virtues did my soule delight Great Ladie of my heart I must commend You that appeare so faire in all mens fight On your Deserts my Muses doe attend You are the Articke Starre that guides my hand All what I am I rest at your command FINIS The Description of Cooke-ham FArewell sweet Cooke-ham where I first obtain'd Grace from that Grace where perfit Grace remain'd And where the Muses gaue their full consent I should haue powre the virtuous to content Where princely Palace will'd me to indite The sacred Storie of the Soules delight Farewell sweet Place where Virtue then did rest And all delights did harbour in her breast Neuer shall my sad eies againe behold Those pleasures which my thoughts did then vnfold Yet you great Lady Mistris of that Place From whose desires did spring this worke of Grace Vouchsafe to thinke vpon those pleasures past As fleeting worldly Ioyes that could not last Or as dimme shadowes of celestiall pleasures Which are desir'd aboue all earthly treasures Oh how me thought against you thither came Each part did seeme some new delight to frame The House receiu'd all ornaments to grace it And would indure no foulenesse to deface it The Walkes put on their summer Liueries And all things else did hold like similies The Trees with leaues with fruits with flowers clad Embrac'd each other seeming to be glad Turning themselues to beauteous Canopies To shade the bright Sunne from your brighter eies The cristall Streames with siluer spangles graced While by the glorious Sunne they were embraced The little Birds in chirping notes did sing To entertaine both You and that sweet Spring And Philomela with her sundry layes Both You and that delightfull Place did praise Oh how me thought each plant each floure each tree Set forth their beauties then to welcome thee The very Hills right humbly did descend When you to tread vpon them did intend And as you set your feete they still did rise Glad that they could receiue so rich a prise The gentle Windes did take delight to bee Among those woods that were so grac'd by thee And in sad murmure vtterd pleasing sound That Pleasure in that place might more abound The swelling Bankes deliuer'd all their pride When such a Phoenix once they had espide Each Arbor Banke each Seate each stately Tree Thought themselues honor'd in supporting thee The pretty Birds would oft come to attend thee Yet flie away for feare they should offend thee The little creatures in the Burrough by Would come abroad to sport them in your eye Yet fearefull of the Bowe in your faire Hand Would runne away when you did make a stand Now let me come vnto that stately Tree Wherein such goodly Prospects you did see That Oake that did in height his fellowes passe As much as lofty trees low growing grasse Much like a comely Cedar streight and tall Whose beauteous stature farre exceeded all How often did you visite this faire tree Which seeming joyfull in receiuing thee Would like a Palme tree spread his armes abroad Desirous that you there should make abode Whose faire greene leaues much like a comely vaile Defended Phebus when he would assaile Whose pleasing boughes did yeeld a coole fresh ayre Ioying his happinesse when you were there Where beeing seated you might plainely see Hills vales and woods as if on bended knee They had appeard your honour to salute Or to preferre some strange vnlook'd for sute All interlac'd with brookes and christall springs A Prospect fit to please the eyes of Kings And thirteene shires appear'd all in your sight Europe could not affoard much more delight What was there then but gaue you all content While you the time in meditation spent Of their Creators powre which there you saw In all his Creatures held a perfit Law And in their beauties did you plaine descrie His beauty wisdome grace loue maiestie In these sweet woods how often did you walke With Christ and his Apostles there to talke Placing his holy Writ in some faire tree To meditate what you therein did see With Moyses you did mount his holy Hill To know his pleasure and performe his Will With louely Dauid you did often sing His holy Hymnes to Heauens Eternall King And in sweet musicke did your soule delight To sound his prayses morning noone and night With blessed Ioseph you did often feed Your pined brethren when they stood in need And that sweet Lady sprung from Cliffords race Of noble Bedfords blood faire steame of Grace To honourable Dorset now