University of Virginia Library

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

I. SOME VERSES Written to his Majestie by the Authour at the time of his Maiesties first entrie into England.

II. SOME VERSES Written shortly thereafter by reason of an inundation of Douen, a water neere vnto the Authors house, wherevpon his Maiestie was sometimes wont to Hawke.

III. TO M. MICHAELL DRAYTON.

Now I perceiue PYTHAGORAS diuin'd,
When he that mocked Maxim did maintaine,
That Spirits once spoyl'd, reuested were againe,
Though chang'd in shape, remaining one in Mind;
These loue-sicke Princes passionate estates;
Who feeling reades, he cannot but allow,
That OVIDS soule reuiues in DRAYTON now,
Still learn'd in Loue, still rich in rare Conceits,
This pregnant Spirit affecting further Skill,
Oft alt'ring Forme, from vulgar Wits retir'd,
In diuers Idyoms mightily admir'd,
Did prosecute that sacred Studie still;
While to a full Perfection now attain'd,
He sings so sweetly that himselfe is stain'd.

IV. To the Author.

In Waues of Woe thy Sighes my Soule doe tosse,
And doe burst vp the Conduits of my Teares,
Whose ranckling Wound no smoothing Baulme long beares,
But freshly bleedes when Ought vpbraides my Losse.
Then thou so sweetly Sorrow makes to sing,
And troubled Passions dost so well accord,
That more Delight Thy Anguish doth afford,
Then others Ioyes can Satisfaction bring.
What sacred Wits (when rauish'd) doe affect,
To force Affections, metamorphose Mindes,
Whilst numbrous Power the Soule in secret bindes,
Thou hast perform'd, transforming in Effect:
For neuer Plaints did greater Pittie moue,
The best Applause that can such Notes approue.

V. TO THE AVTHOR PARTHENIVS.

While thou dost praise the Roses, Lillies, Gold,
Which in a dangling Tresse and Face appeare,
Still stands the Sunne in Skies thy Songs to heare,
A Silence sweet each Whispering Wind doth hold,
Sleepe in Pasitheas Lap his Eyes doth fold,
The Sword falls from the God of the fift Spheare,
The Heards to feede, the Birds to sing, forbeare,
Each plant breathes Loue, each Flood and Fountaine cold:
And hence it is, that that once Nymphe, now Tree,
Who did th'Amphrisian Shepheards Sighes disdaine,
And scorn'd his Layes, mou'd by a sweeter Veine,
Is become pittifull, and followes Thee:
Thee loues, and vanteth that shee hath the Grace.
A Garland for thy Lockes to enterlace.

VI. Alexis.

The Loue Alexis did to Damon beare,
Shall witness'd bee to all the Woodes, and Plaines
As singulare, renown'd by neighbouring Swaines,
That to our Relicts Time may Trophees reare:
Those Madrigals wee song amidst our Flockes,
With Garlands guarded from Apollos Beames,
On Ochells whiles, whiles neare Bodotrias Streames,
By Ecchoes are resounded from the Rockes.
Of forraine Shepheards bent to trie the States,
Though I (Worlds Guest) a Vagabond doe straye,
Thou may that Store, which I esteeme Survaye,
As best acquainted with my Soules Conceits:
What euer Fate Heauens haue for mee design'd,
I trust thee with the Treasure of my Mind.

VII. On the Death of Mr. John Murray.

Mourne Muses, mourne, your greatest gallant dyes,
Who free in state did court your sacred traine,
Your Minion Murray, Albiones sweetest swaine,
Who soar'd so high, now sore neglected lyes.
If of true worth the world had right esteemd
His loftie thoughts what bounds could haue confind?
But Fortune feard to match with such a mind,
Where all his due, and not her gift had seemd.
Faire Nymphes whose brood doth stand with Tyme at stryf,
Dare Death presume heauens darelings thus to daunt?
To flattering fancies then in vaine you vaunt
That you for euer will prolong a lyf.
He gracd your band, and not your bayes his brow:
You happie were in him, he not by you.

VIII. A Poem by Sir William Alexander.

When Britain's Monarch, in true Greatness great,
His Council's Counsel, did Things past unfold,
He (eminent in Knowledge as in State)
What might occur oraculously told;
And when far rais'd from this Terrestrial Round,
He numbrous Notes with measur'd Fury frames,
Each Accent weigh'd, no Jarr in Sense, or Sound,
He Phœbus seems, his Lines Castalian Streams,
This Worth (though much we owe) doth more extort;
All Honor should, but it constrains to Love,
While ravish'd still above the vulgar Sort
He Prince, or Poet, more than Man doth prove:
But all his due who can afford him then,
A God of Poets, and a King of Men.

IX.

[This Day, design'd to spoil the World of Peace]

This Day, design'd to spoil the World of Peace,
And accessary to so foul a Crime,
Why should it rest in the Records of Time,
Since stain'd by Treason forfeiting the Place.
O! but those err who would it odious make:
This Day from Danger Britain's Monarch sav'd,
That Day when first the Mischief was conceiv'd,
Let it accurst still clad with Clouds look black.
Then happy Day, to which by Heaven's Decree
(As consecrated) Festual Pomp is due,
Long may thy Saint (a living Martyr) view,
All Hearts for Love of Him to Honour Thee.
More length we wish, but what thou wantst of Light
Shall be by Fire extorted from the night.

X. To his most affectionate friend, W. Lithgow .

No Arabs, Turkes, Moores, Sarazens, nor strangers,
Woods, Wildernesse, and darke, vmbragous Caues,
No Serpents, Beasts, nor cruel fatall dangers,
Nor sad regrates of ghostly groning graues,
Could thee affright, disswade, disturbe, annoy,
To venture life, to winne a world of ioy:
This Worke, which pompe-expecting eyes may feed,
To Vs, and Thee, shall perfect pleasure breed.

XI. TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND MASTER WALTER QUIN.

I must commend the clearenesse of thy mind,
Which (stil ingenuous) bent true worth to raise,
Though in the graue an obiect fit will find,
Not flattring liuing Men with question'd praise.
Braue Bernards valour noble Naples sounds:
Which scarce his Country venters to proclaime,
But sith his sword preuail'd in forraine bounds,
Their pennes should pay a tribute to his fame.
Lest Natiues vaunt, let Strangers then deale thus:
For I confesse they prooue too oft ingrate.
What deeds have smother'd bin, or rob'd from vs
By Frenchmen first, by Flemmings now of late?
Where, had all met with such a Muse as thine,
Their lightning glory through each Age might shine.

XII. Sonnet. To the Authour.

Of knowne effects, grounds too precisely sought,
Young Naturalists oft Atheists old doe proue.
And some who naught, saue who first moues, can moue,
Scorne mediate meanes, as wonders still were wrought:
But tempring both, thou dost this difference euen,
Diuine Physician, physicall Diuine;
Who soules and bodies help'st, dost heere designe
From earth by reason, and by faith from heauen,
With mysteries, which few can reach aright:
How heauen and earth are match'd, and worke in man;
Who wise and holy ends, and causes scan.
Loe true Philosophy, perfections height,
For this is all, which we would wish to gaine:
In bodies sound, that mindes may sound remaine.

XIII. On the Report of the Death of the Author.

XIV. To his deservedlie honored frend, Mr. Edward Allane, the first founder and Master of the Colleige of Gods Gift.

XV.

[The Ciprian's smyling, led our prince to Spayne]

The Ciprian's smyling, led our prince to Spayne,
Her husband's lightning welcomes him againe;
Love was but hoped for in a forrayne pairt,
He finds it burning heere in every heart.
As revells strange would waste the world away,
We burned the night, and heaven drown'd the day.
Juno and Venus onely frowne a space,
That Pallas now preferred of both takis place.
This day, like doomesday, flameing all with fyre,
To judge of secreets, too, will needs aspire;
What hopes and feares, did vpon it depend,
Which now dispayre or confidence must end.
But how comes this, that clouds ecclipse the spheares;
These showres, vnlesse of Joy, can not be teares;
The heavens, I think, of our hudge fyres affray'd,
Their violence in tyme by raine have it stayed.

XVI.

[Thay quho to conqueir all the erth presume]