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University of Virginia Library

Ostella Or the Faction of Love and Beauty Reconcil'd

By I. T. [i.e. John Tatham]

Tatham, John (fl. 1632-1664)

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Occasional Copies upon several SUBJECTS.

To a Mistris that told me, I could not live without her Love.

To a simply Coy Mistress.

To an imperiously proud Mistress, swell'd with my Praises.

Vpon the acquaintance of a Gallant Gentlewoman. To my self.

Crying and Laughing.

To Mistress S. W.

To a timorously willing Mistress.

Vpon my Noble friend, Richard Lovelace Esquire, his being in Holland. An Invitation.

To a Mistresse that thinks the sight without other enjoyment is Love sufficient.

To a vertuous Lady, on whom Envy had thrown a Scandal, for which she Mourned, and hung her Chamber with Blacks.

Spying Splendora through a Casement.

My Friend Paul Squire.

Seeing a Lady ------

An Occasional Frolick to an unknown Friend.

To a Gentlewoman that Loved me, and I not her.

Another upon the same.

To a Mistresse that bid me make another Choice.

To the Deceiving Mistress.

Lycoris a Rapture.

Lycoris weeping.

To Mrs. J. H. upon my recovery of a fit of sickness.

To Mrs. I. H. upon the sight of a Marble Coverture or Statue in the Church.

Vpon my leaving off the Company of Hellena.

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Songs in a Masque.

1 Song: Fortune Descending.

2 The poor Schollers Song.

3 Song. The Country-life.

4. Song. Ambition.

A Prologue spoken at the Cock-pit, at the coming of the Red-Bull Players thither.

A Prologue spoken at the Red-Bull to a Play called the Whisperer, or what you please.

On the Report of Master William Lawes his Death.

To my Mother, Mris. Dorothy Tatham, one of the Daughters of Christopher Percy of Manson in the County of Dorset, Esquire, then Iustice of Peace and Quorum, and High Sheriff of that County.

Vpon the Death of my Father.

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2 The poor Schollers Song.

VVhat Creatures on Earth
can boast freer Mirth
Lesse envy'd and loved than we.
Though Learning grow poor

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We scorn to implore
a gift but what's noble and free.

Our freedome of mind,
cannot be confin'd
With Riches are inwardly blest;
nor Death, nor the Grave,
Our worths can deprave,
nor malice our Ashes molest.

When such Moals as you,
your own Earth shal Mew,
And worms shal your memory eat:
our names being read
Shall strike envy dead
and Ages our worths shall repeat.