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A Nights Search

Discovering the Nature and Condition of Night-Walkers with their associats. Digested into a Poem by Hum. Mill
Mill, Humphrey

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The Frontispeece explained.
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[dedication]
  
To his much respected brother, Master Humphry Mill, upon his Poëm called A Nights Search.
  
To my adopted sonne Mr Humphry Mill, touching his Nights Search.
  
To his kinde friend, Master Humphry Mill, upon his speciall lines of Poetry, called A Nights Search.
  
To his loving friend, the Author of this Nights Search.
  
To his kinde friend Master Humphry Mill.
  
Upon the Book, and Authour of the Nights Search.
  
On the variety of pleasing fancies in the Poëm, the Night Search, written by his friend Mr. Humphry Mill.
  
To the Ingenious Author, Master Humphry Mill, on his booke called A Nights Search.
  
To his worthy friend the Author of the Nights Search.
  
To his judicious friend, Master Humphry Mill, on his Evening Poems.
  
To his friend, Humphry Mill, upon his ensuing Poems.
  
To his very good friend, Mr. Humphry Mill, on his Poem called the Nights Search.
  
To the well-deserving, Master Humphry Mill, upon his Poems called A Nights Search.
  
To his friend, Mr. Humphry Mill, upon his rich conceits in his Poems called A Nights Search.
  
Vpon the deserving Author, Master Humphry Mill, and his Nights Search.
  
To Master Mill, on his Nights Search.
  
To the Authour, Mr. Humphry Mill, on his worthy work, called A Nights Search.
  
Ad amicum suum candidum, M. Humphredum Mill, de Poëmate faceto, cui Titulus A Nights Search.
  
To his good friend the Author of the Nights Search.
  
To his respected friend, Master Mill, on his ensuing Poems.
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A Proeme to the Search,
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A Nights Search.
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His Epitaph.
  
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Her Epitaph.
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To his worthy friend, the Author of the Nights Search.
  
To the Author on his exact description of the Night-walkers of our time.

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To his worthy friend, the Author of the Nights Search.

When I had found thy drift, in this thy Night,
Which is to bring such vassals to the light
As undermine the world; how by thy pen
The living dye, the dead do live agen;
Thy various Searching, and thy lofty straines,
Thy quaint expressions; how thy knowing braines
Set out their sins: thy witty usefull parts,
Thy honest end; how thou dost cast thy darts,
That Hell-hounds fall before thee: how the times
May see and hate the vilenesse of those crimes
That are unmask'd by thee; thy Muse went in,
Yet thou didst never know that cursed sin.
Complaints and griefe are kept alive so rare
That I am forc'd to weep and beare a share.
I thought to praise thee, but again thought I
'Twill but disgrace thy worth and industry.
But with this reason did my thoughts agree,
'Twill be my honor if I write of thee!
'Twill be my pride if these low lines of mine
May be thought worthy to be bound with thine.
Though I come late, let me this favour find,
That I may wait upon thy Muse behind.
Thou hast not rob'd the dead, nor dost thou strive
To scrape a line from any man alive.
Invention's rich in thee; for I find still
Thy Genius is too nimble for thy quill.

Thou do'st not rub thy braines a day or two
To hatch a fancy, as some others do:
Nor blot out often, what thou once do'st write:
'Tis worth the trusting what thou do'st indite.
I would have read thy searching Muse throughout,
Had it been meane: but to resolve the doubt,
'Tis worthy to be studied: every page
May teach a lesson to this puny age.
So much I found as pleas'd me; for the rest,
I'le read and study it, when once 'tis prest.
Thy praise will live, though pride and envy burst,
And all th' infernall troop that are accurst,
Spit fire at thee: wisemen all know well
They envy thee because thou do'st excell.
Tho: Philips.
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