University of Virginia Library

ΣΤΡΑΤΙΩΤΙΚΟΝ.

OR A Discourse of Militarie Discipline. Shewing the necessitie therof according to these perillous TIMES.

[3] To his friend the Author.

Because th' are few that doe things worthy praise,
Free truth is counted flatterie now a daies:
And though it be our common Poets shame,
Truth cries thy Muse not guiltie of that blame.
Thou Orpheus-like our Heroes dost incite
To warlike gests, and Mirmidons to fight.
Such successe wish I, that this Booke may be
As free from Envie, as from flatterie.
The most indulgent thought my Pen drops forth
I dare not thinke can adde unto the worth
Of this rare piece; which shall (where it doth come)
Strike Envie blind, and base detractors dumbe.
And so I wish all cankerd spight may die,
Dispis'd, condem'd by noble industrie.
And though th' ast those which this taske better fit
From me much love expect, from them much wit.

[4] To any to whom I write.

Blame not my Muse, thou that dost find thy name
Not Marshal'd here, as thou wouldst have the same:
No blemish tis to thy repute: for (know it)
I act no Herald here (Sir) but a Poet.

[5] To the same.

(Kind Gentlemen) Souldiers, or Clarkes, or both
My Muse as gentle greetes you well (in troth)
And tels you shee can't wooe yee at your tables
By venting fripperies of Jests, or fables
Not worth the Phrygian Princes eares; nor raise
A bare name to her selfe, by vulgar praise.
No, no: she joyes in action: and know that
By the protection of a Bever Hat,
Or silken out-side, shee disdaines to force
Your presence; but had rather take a course
To shew her selfe to you in reall pow'rs
Then bid her welcome, and she's ever yours.

[6] To Captaine HENRY SHELTON.

If many yeeres in honours service spent;
If vertues suting with a brave descent,
Can give true lustre to a Name; then thine
May seeme least to require a Verse of mine.
To give thy worth just height: yet Time displayes
Many fine heads, that oft have earnd the bayes
In these and meaner taskes: for fame must know
She cannot pay those glories, shee doth owe
To great and good deserts, except some aides
Be sent her from the nine Castalian maides.
Had Homer (whom seven Cities strove to owne)
Not beene; then who had great Achilles knowne,
Or Hector in these times. Then let none blame
My Muse, although shee beares a part with fame
In thy due prayse; whether shee doth commend
Thy truest valour, that did alway tend
To noblest ends, or praise those honest Arts
With which thou didst attract the Souldiers Darts.
Nor art thou lesse expert to live belov'd
In Peace, then Warre: to love thee all are mov'd
By thy humanitie, and pietie.
Then let detraction foule and calumnie
Be alway Dumbe: and let the World know ever,
Thou maist be envy'd much, but flattered never.

[7] To Mr. THOMAS KNEVET of Ashwell Thorpe.

Thou, that dost know thy Starres, canst calculate
Thy geniture, and see to what end fate
Did lend thee to the earth; auspicious be
Thy favours, like thy Starres to mine and me:
Thou knowst thy Starres (I say) for good men know
Wherefore th' are borne, and what to God they owe,
And how farre th' are engag'd to Prince, or state:
For Grace, and Wisedome be the Starres and fate
That governe them: these like those twinne fires bright
Doe prosper all those that Sayle by their light:
These Steere men safely to the Haven of blisse,
In spite of strongest contrarieties.
These be thy Starres, that set th' above thy blood,
True patterne and true patrone of whats good:
Thou art the Glasse in which the World may see,
What once our Gentrie was, and still should bee.
A lover of thy Countrie, and of arts
Art thou; disdaining to make thy good parts
Ambitions Ladder, but had rather stay,
Till time shall see thy merit rise like day
And strike a Rosie blush in Honours face;
'Cause shee had mist so long so fit a place
For her best favours, which they shall admit
To great Imployments, answering thy wit,
And heroique vertue; such great happinesse
I wish to thee, that dost deserve no lesse.

[8] To Sir ROGER TOWNSEND.

I Sent my Muse unto the house of fame,
Of her to enquire out some Honourd name
Worthy of my Verse, and shee commends to mee
A Townsend; then I quickly thought of thee;
Then whom, a wiser head, Sol doth not see;
Thy actions with such judgement seasond bee.
Thou from thy fortunes height dainst to looke on
Lowly Parnassus, and poore Helicon;
On humble Helicon, whose withered bayes,
Witnesse the Frostie dulnesse of these dayes.
When merits starve, because they scorne to bee
Base fortunes slaves, and fooles are raisd (we see)
And Knaves, for now great men make greatest use
Of these to hide, or perpetrate abuse.
We Arts unhappie servants must be glad
To fall before an Asse, in Scarlet clad,
And or like Egypts foolish Priests adore
Monsters, in shapes of men, o'r still be poore.
We sorted are with the Plebeian rout,
And live as men borne onely to weare out
Serges, eat offalls, or to fetch our drinke
From the Spring head, or consume Lampes and inke;
When silly Silke-wormes strout in sundry shapes
Like Proteus, when Sycophants and Apes
Baboones, Buffones and sprucer trencher Squires,
Be neatly drest in Honors richest tires.
But you Sir Roger (on whose honord name,
More noble Vertues are scor'd up by fame,
Then Time hath lent you yeares) an Artist are
And Artist[s] love; then double be your share
In truest happinesse, and let your night
Day, morne, and even, on you shine ever bright,
And from your geniall bed let fruites appeare,
Worthy your worthy selfe, and your Bel-vere.

[9] To Sir CHARLES LE-GROSSE.

The King of Pyrrhus shewd the Muses nine
And Phoebus portraited by sculpture fine:
But thou faire Knight-hoods fairer ornament
Conspicuously dost to our eyes present
Phoebus, the Muses nine, the Graces three,
Mercurie, and Mars, yea more Gods then bee
In Homers Iliads; or at least much greater:
For thy mind's a Pantheon, or a Theater,
Wherein all vertues, and all graces stand,
In decent order link'd, with hand in hand.
The[e] 'mongst the chiefest of the Arts few friends
I list: and so adore thy noble ends,
That if my Quill to vertue can life give,
Thy honourd fame shall Nestors age outlive.

[10] To Sir JOHN HARE.

Want in a plentie is too rife with us;
So in the streame chin-deepe stands Tantalus
Wooing the coye Apples: and tis oft found
That wit is scarce, where riches doe abound.
For golden Asses are no dainties here,
They may be dayly seene, even everie where.
But you (Sir John) whose youth with store is crown'd,
Are nothing lesse to Art, and Nature bound
Then Fortune, yea such is your worth that now,
A Knight-hood becomes few so well as you.

[11] To Sir WILLIAM YELVERTON of Ruffham.

Tis meete [a] Virgils Quill should write of thee,
Where such a concurrence of G[r]aces bee;
That were all Gentrie out of frame, we might
By thee take patterne, how to set it right.
Thy worth a brisker Muse then mine requires;
Then let them sing while mine alone admires.

[12] To Sir MILES HOBART Knight of the Bathe.

Never dranke I of Pegasus his well,
Nor in Parnassus dream't (that I can tell)
Though I write Verse, for I would have men know it,
The Times are good or ill, make me a Poet.
To praise Ulisses wise, as much my care is,
As to condemne Thersites, or vaine Paris.
And as sweete Orpheus to his Harpe did set
High tun'd Ditties, great courages to whet;
So ever bee't my taske, to move great spirits,
And honourable soules, to brave demerits.
Mongst whom (Sir Miles) me thinkes I see you rise
Like Phosphorus, grac'd with such qualities,
That they, as well as your high orders rites,
May justly ranke you with the best of Knights.

[13] To Sir JOHN HENNINGHAM.

To praise your lon[g]liv'd, or long honord name,
A wrong were to your vertues (Henningham)
Let those which can affoord nought else that's good,
Extoll the borrow'd honors of their blood.
Your Gentrie you may justly call your owne,
Although you bought it not, nor from furd-gowne,
It tooke; nor in Tobacco papers wrapt;
It brought from Spaine; nor with a white Coyfe capt
It chatting found in that great guiltie hall,
Where Cerberus for Golden soppes doth baule.
But from your honord vertues the same flowes,
And this true Gentrie is: the rest are showes.

[14] To Sir HEYMAN LE-STRANGE.

As doth the purple headed rose prickt in
The tender bosome, of the Paphian Queene,
All beauties of the Garden farre out shine:
So doe those worthy parts, and Arts of thine,
Set thee above most (divine Le-Strange)
That know'st as well to walke the Muses range,
As thine owne groves: and canst without a thred,
Find what in learnings Laberynth is hid.
The age discovers few such men alive,
That rich, can also teach their minds to thrive.

[15] To Sir THOMAS SOUTHWELL.

Tablets of Gold, with richest Rubies set
Shine not so bright, as doth the Cabinet
Wherein your soule is lock't; a Palace fit
For such a noble courage, and a wit.
Ever maist thou give Adders audience
Unto tame flatterie: nor let sence
With sugred baytes delude thy intellect:
But ever let some noble end direct
Thy good disignes: yea let them alwayes bee
Both correspondent to thy stemme, and thee.

[16] To Sir THOMAS WOODHOUSE.

You are the man, that well descerne what betters
An high fortune, and can preferre good letters
Before those painted plumes, which Crowne the crest
Of swelling honor: such great interest
In your most worthy parts possesseth art,
That your high wisedome seemes to have got the start
Of your great fortunes, though they well befit
Both your thrice worthy Pedigree, and wit.

[17] To Sir THOMAS RICHARDSON.

Hee, and no judge, that never had the skill
With words, one better then himselfe to kill:
Nor ere did lay a plot for to oppresse
The new made widdow, and the fatherlesse:
Nor ever did Church-lands or Commons wring
From God; both dead and living injuring:
Certes is cleere from many crying crimes;
Yet such, as be, made customes by the times.
But you Sir Thomas 'midst your fortunes must
Regard, that you, and what is yours are dust
That in this world, you have but a short lease,
And may be turn'd out when your Land-lord please.
Know eke that what is yours, is yours to give
And live so well, that you may die to live.

[18] To Sir ROBERT GAUDY.

First, if I might safely crave this worlds pelfe;
To be belov'd next would I wish my selfe,
And rather then the first alone I'de chuse,
The second I would take and that refuse.
But you Sir Robert have fates blessing got,
Y'are wealthy, and belov'd, yea and what not
Nor ever were the Starres more just (I swear't)
With such great goods, to trust such good desert.

[19] To Sir DRU DRURY.

As did love wounded Echo dote upon
The beautiful Narcissus, that lov'd none;
So doth my Muse affect your worthy parts
Applauded every where, by tongues and hearts.
And though I in your praise come short of many
Yet may my love to you ranke me with any.

[20] To Sir JOHN HOBART.

Since [th'] are no thriving arts: but whats well gain'd
May with much comfort, and long be retain'd,
But Justice oft cryes the oppressour quit,
By sending his yong Heyre too scant a wit
For his large meanes; that soone all goes to pot:
For fooles doe ill keepe, what knaves have ill got.
But you (Sir John) are free'd from such blacke brands,
Both by the cleannesse of your fathers hands.
And your owne ripenesse, who can use your fortune,
Both spend, and spare, as time and cause importune:
Sole master of your selfe, and pelfe, you are,
Which is a freedome among great men rare.

[21] To Sir ROBERT BELL.

To ring out thy great frame, if I had skill,
The E'cho thereof should our Iland fill.
So consonant's thy vertue to thy wit,
And so thy outward feature graceth it,
That my Muse may one sillable adde well
Unto thy Surname, and call thee Le-bell.

[22] To Sir WILLIAM DE-GRAY.

I Take thy name on Fames bare word (Sir Knight)
I know thee not; yet sweare I think th' art right
Because thou art belov'd; then ever bee
My Muse obsequious to thy worth, and thee.
He that good store of sincere love hath wonne,
Wisely hath playd his game, and fairely runne.

[23] To Mr. FRAMMINGHAM GAUDY.

Gaudy such store of worth doth Crowne thy name,
That it like to [a] columne stands which fame
To lasting memorie, and honour builds,
Whereon thy vertues hang like Pensile shields,
As Trophyes of those glorious Victories,
Wonne from the lesser Worlds great enemies
Then let thy fame with time vie dayes and yeares,
Let death be joy to thee; to others teares.

[24] To Mr. SHEPHERD of Kyrby.

(Old Melibee) that hast the hearts of all,
Because thy love is likewise generall:
Not Time alone, but thy deare Countries cares
Which far exceed thy yeares, have chang'd thy haires
To white: then let thy Silver age thee fold
In more contents, then did thy age of gold.

[25] To Mr. WEBBE of Breckles.

That curious Webbe which proud Arachne spunne,
Or that which chast Penelope begunne,
Match not this piece whose worth exceedes all choice,
That Pallas to owne it may well rejoyce
Arachnes silken webbe descipherd plaine
Joves scapes, and what might thee Olympists staine
But (worthy Webbe) all beaut'ous graces bee
Both morrall, and Divine be discribed in thee.

[26] To Mr. ANTHONY HOBART of Hales.

When the Thessalian witches uttered
Their charmes to Luna, she wont to looke red:
So doe true vertues blush to heare their praise,
While the praisd Peacocke his gay plumes displayes.
But you may safely heare while safely I
Commend your wisedome, or your honestie:
For he that attributes to merits true
Deserved praise, payes vertue but her due.

[27] To Mr. PHILIP WOODHOUSE.

Methought I stood that sacred fountaine night
Where high conceites in blessed draughts are lent
Whose cristall brest seem'd sudainly to rent
And when a Nimph of rarest majestie.
Whose hayre seem'd Gold, and skinne cleare Ivorie,
Upon her browes an Arch of bayes was bent,
Her presence taught even Trees to complement.
For all the Laurells bow'd, and modestie,
With a low voice, seem'd, to give suffrage free,
To make her Empresse of faire Helicon.
With that I heard a grone, which seem'd to be
Sent from the urnes, of Poets dead and gone,
Whose Ghostes envy'd this peerelesse Ladies grace.
That should them all in loftie straines surpasse,
Mistake me not (I thinke) your Muse was shee,
That like this Sylvane Nymphe appear'd to me.

[28] To Mr. WILLIM POSTON of Paston.

(Yong hopefull sprigge) that art borne to inherit
Abundant wealth (if thou dost not preferre it
Before the freedome) know that thy best use
Of thine; is to be liberall; not profuse.
Know likewise that content is your best store;
And that to covet more, is to be poore.
For Covetise as well wants whats her owne,
As what is not: seeke rather to be knowne
By the great vertues, then thy great estate;
Nor let thy tempting heapes of drosse elate
Thy mind above thy selfe; but still remember
In May, and June, what followes in December.
Marke how thy youth, thy pleasures, and thy wealth,
Yea life and all doe flits away be stealth.
Know that this world is but a Tombe of clay,
To keepe thy body till the latter day:
Thinke ever that th' art neare thy day of doome,
And be prepard to waite on the Bridegroome.
Thus maist thou be a thrice most happie one
In life, in death, and resurrection.

[29] To Mr. PETTIE of Morley.

Some of thy wealth talke, but I praise thy wit,
And many worthy vertues gracing it.
But thy great love to Arts, so make[s] me thine,
That my true heart shall ever be the shrine
Of thy good name, which in the Booke of fame
I'le register to dull oblivions shame.
And if my penne can adde ought to thy worth,
In spite of Envies throate, it shall come forth:
Till then; accept this my great loves small treasure;
And Hercules his height by his foote measure.

[30] To Mr. JOHN HOLLAND.

Thou that art made of better temperd clay,
Then Titan ere made any; who dost pay
Thy youth to time, with greater interest
Of vertue, then of yeares, and promisest.
More goods, then are of faire Pandora fain'd;
And hopes more beaut'ous then her boxe contain'd.
Bee thou like Phoebus, or his bayes, and find
The blind God, and blind Goddesse ever kind.
Be such that I to take may ever long,
So faire a Theme as Holland for my Song.

[31] To Mr. BARTHOLOMEW COTTON.

And here too growes a Tree, that may in time
Beare golden Apples, in a colder clime
Then is Hesperia in; for so presage
Thy blossoms (Cotton) and thy spring of age.
Then let kind fortune give thy worth full sayles,
Till Honour greete thee with as many hayles,
As ere Sejanus had: and let thy name
Become th' example of well gotten fame.

[32] To Mr. THOMAS WARDE of Bixley.

If my devout Muse could ever bring
Ought worth acceptance, or an offering
Unto thy Vertue, justly I might deeme
My selfe thrice happie in so good a theme.
Yet let thy worth vouchsafe to take these lines,
As the pledges of my great Love, and signes
Of true affection, wanting alone
Art to discover that impression,
Which the conceit of thy most high desert
Hath Charracterd so deepely in my heart.
And though my penne a pencill be scarce fit
To Paint out to the life thy merrit; yet
My heart shall ever be engag'd to thee;
Because I thinke thou lov'st the Arts and mee.

[33] To Mr. THOMAS LAYER of Booton.

Should I forget your name, you well might thinke
'Twas neither lacke of paper, nor of inke,
Nor time, but want of good discretion,
That caus'd the fault: nor i'st your place alone;
Not the command of your Horse troupe (I meane)
But that more great command, wherewith you reyne
Hot mettald passions, which doth invite
My Muse these few lines for your sake to write.
Your want of vice, and your attractive parts,
That force no feares, but bring you loves and hearts
Make me a debtor to your worth: then know you
I pay you this, as part of what I owe you.

[34] To Mr. JAMES CALTHORP.

What May hath vow'd, if August truely payes
What tongue or pen (Calthorp) can reach thy prayse
Then let no harmeful blasts those blossomes kill,
Let no affection ere mis-lead thy will.
Be wise, and good, let death long stand aloofe:
And let thy mind be chance, and danger proofe.

[35] To Mr. WILLIAM BLADWELL.

Joy be to thee, of thy new place (say I)
That seem'st to affect noble cavalrie,
A glorie which Fraunce vaunts of, to our shame,
We are become so carelesse of our fame.
Some tripping Hackney, we had rather backe
Or-dastard race-horse, or some snafled Jacke,
Then mount the praunsing Courser, by whose pride
The Riders courage might be multipli'de.
And yee our Knights have yee forgot your name,
Or doe yee wilfully neglect your fame;
Yee by your Spurres seeme to be Chevaliers,
But by your Steedes y'are Northerne Borderers,
Or some Heath-scourers, fitter farre to flie
Then mannage combate 'gainst an enemie.
O sleepe not still; least yee contend too late,
Your honours from the dust to vindicate.

[36] To Mr. RAPH BLEVER-HASSIT.

Not onely thy affection did I prise
Showne to our Militarie exercise,
When here I wrote thy name (deserving Hassit)
No, no: thy honestie, and vertue was it,
That wonne me to this taske; then here I give
What next high heaven, may make the[e] longest live.
I hope youl' kindly take't; for I dare say,
Such presents are not brought you every day.

[37] To Mr. CLEMENT HYRNE.

Honest, and honord Hyrne; that dost enshrine
Such worth, as should Fortune her selfe resigne.
And hers, to thee; none truely might thee call
Her meere favorite; or her, prodigall;
Ever be shee (I wish) thy vertues slave,
And readyer farre to give, then thou to crave.

[38] To Mr. EDMUND KNEVET.

Except thy worthy brother, scarce I find
A Gentleman, more truely mine, in mind
Then thee; nor let opinion so ill see,
To thinke thy out-side makes me honour thee;
I meane thy ranke, or state; no let men know;
Nor my thoughts, nor thy merits flie so low:
For thou hast my affection nobly bought
At Vertues highest rate, and not for nought.

[39] To Mr. AUSTINE HOLLE.

If I could hate thee; or of my selfe so much;
To entertaine foule Envy; thy wits such,
I like th' Illyrian Beldames on't should gaze,
Or like Mayes frosts upon the budding maze.
But certes, neither I to envie know,
Nor be thy rare endowments fix'd so low,
That Envie can ecclipse them: then here see
What love and admiration offers thee.

[40] To Mr. EDWARD WOOTTON.

I find thee such: so kind, so true to mee,
That I must owe both love, and life to thee
Nor was't thy love alone, but thy desert,
That made me in this place thy name insert,
For this I say; and speake but what I know;
Thy mind and body doe such rare gifts show,
As scarce are found else-where (which used well)
The times will hardly yeeld thy paralell.

[41] To Mr. EDWARD DOILY.

To season fresh acquaintance, these lines take
From him, that for his friends, and vertues sake
Dares rather doe, then speake: for talke he deemes
Is womanish; but action men beseemes.
If ought abides then in me, or my Muse,
Worth your command; tis ready for your use.

[42] To Mr. JOHN CRUSO.

Thou that art farre more worthy of the bayes,
Daigne to assist my home-spunne untun'd layes
With gracious censure, for upon thy tong,
Depends the grace, and fortune of my song.
So sharpe a wit, and judgement dwell in thee,
Refin'd by such rare knowledge, that I see
Apollo's trees may grow else-where, then on
Our greene Parnassus, or our Helicon.

A DISCOURSE OF MILITARIE DISCIPLINE.

Loe my Thalia, that was whilome seene
Frisking among the Nimphs, in Forrest greene,
To Satyres pipes; and that did sing (long since)
Her morals smooth, to Pan the Shepheards Prince:
Is now prest to a farre unfitter taske;
And like Bellona, arm'd with steely caske;
Powres warlike accents forth, and numbers meete
For trumpets sterne, and stately buskin'd feete.
Then of yee thrice three sisters that sit on
Parnassus greene, and flowrie Helicon;
Spinning your gentle flaxe in the coole shade;
Because the Arts are growne too poore a trade,
To find yee smockes withall: and that great Goddesse
(Pallas) who (wheresoever thy abode is)
Canst scarce discharge th' expences of thy lights,
With writing Poems in long Winter nights:
Be yee propicious to your gentle swaine;
One draught of pure Castalian juyce him daigne;
And with an active furie touch his braine,
That he may set his notes in loftie straine
He that extols the thing, which all men praise,
Shall hardly merit those immortall bayes,
That glorious wreath, that Crowne which is meete for

Arbor Vittoriosa triumphole. Honor d'Imperadori & di Poeti, Petrarch.

(Onely) a Poet, and an Emperor.
What need we praise Apollos radiant light:
When dullest Hindes, can apprehend by sight
More lustre in his face; then we can Paint,
With best conceites; or numbers nere so quaint.
But so pernicious, are the minds of men:
So sinister their wils: so fraught with teene;
That things, which alway doe deserve applause;
Are oft contemnd by some: and heare the cause.
In this worst age; each man extols that thing,
Which doth to him much gaine, and profit bring:
He onely is a friend unto himselfe:
Devoted onely, to his idle pelfe
Religion and the soveraigntie of Kings,
He deemes to be, but ceremonious things.
That love which he unto his neighbour owes;
He payes in complements, and fained showes,
And as for that respect, which doth pertaine
Unto his Parents he accounts it vaine:
And while he thrives, and hath enough to give:
On parish almes will see his mother live.
Friendship he deemes a foolish fond conceit;
If it brings in no profitable freight,
(Dull Camell) when he see'th the Azure heaven
Full fix'd with Starres, and the bright Planets seven,
The Elements; all beasts, all foules, and fish,
Trees, plants, and herbes, with all that heart can wish,
Created for his use; yet thinke[s] that hee
Is borne, from all exteriour duties free.
The com[m]on-wealths deepe wounds, pierce not his skin:
He careth not who loose, so he may win.
Not any sad thought would he entertaine,
When Fame talk'd of so many worthies slaine,
By adverse Mars, and Fortune (that coye wench)
Maligning English valour, and turn'd French;
That now with swelling vaunts, they dare report
Their glorie equal'd our[s] at Agincort.
Nor will he bestow one auspicious thought
Upon the Danes designes; nor cares he ought
Who winnes the day, who conquers, or who fals;
Be they our friends, or proud Imperials.
Thus; (by the deprav'd nature of Mans will)
That worth in others is maligned still;
Which in themselves they want; and onely deeme
That good, which doth in private profit them.
Thus things that merit all respect, and grace,
Are under valu'd, and accounted base.
All morall, and all martiall discipline,
They slight as vaine: yea, be the same devine,
They'le censure it: foule shamelesse brats
That would seeme Eagles, though as blind as bats.
But we (that are sent by Apollo bright,
To vindicate all vertue, from the spight
Of foule detraction, whose envenom'd darts,
With equall rancour wound, both Armes, and Arts)
(Alcides-like) whose monsters will expell;
Whose slandrous tongues (as with exorcists spell)
Shall by our pow'rfull numbers be conjur'd;
In circles of their mouthes to rest immur'd.
But intermit (my Muse) thy hastie chace;
And give those Harpies leave, to breath a space:
Another worke doth thy assistance aske:
Then (my Virago) take thee to thy taske:
And with a pirrhique straine grace every line;
So shouldst thou sing of Martiall Discipline
Although we (men) be led by reasons lampe;
Yet ought we goe astray; because the dampe
Of grosse affections doth put out that light,
And from the right way makes us wander quite:
That we, of silly Beasts may learne to tread
The pathes, which to true happinesse doe lead.
The painefull Bee doth teach us industrie.
The Turtle to observe pure chastitie.
The Pismire warnes us to be provident.
The Nightingale shewes how we should repent.
The Robin-redbrest learnes us charitie.
The Storke how to requite a curtesie.
The Cocke shews valour who had rather die,
Then yeeld to his insulting enemie.
By these; we (men) instructed are likewise
In Warlike feates, and Martiall policies.
The

Grues cum loca calidiora petentes mare transmitiunt trianguli formam efficiunt. Cic de Nat.

Cranes (by day) keepe order in their flight;
And alway one stands Sentinell at night.
When that the Indian

Ichneumon est animall magnitudine felis: luto conuolutus cum aspide pugnant. Plin.

Rat doth undertake,
Against the Aspe, his partie good to make;
His body he all over daubes with durt;
That his foes venome can doe him no hurt.
The

Elephantis frigidissimus est sanguis, obid aestu torrexte a Draconibq; exputantur, &c. Plin.

Dragon farre to weake, to maintaine fight
Against the Elephant; kills him by sleight:
For in some Thicket, he in ambush lies:
And (ere he be aware) doth him surprise.
The

In venire mollis tenuisq; cutis Crocodilo: Ideo se vt territi mergunt Delphini sub euntesq aluum ibam secunt spinu. Plin.

Dolphin, not of force, with his sharpe finne
To pierce the Crocodiles hard scaly skinne,
Seemes to retreate, as wearie of the fight;
And diving downe, doth counterfeit a flight:
Then from the deepes, remounting sudainely,
His foes soft belly wounds, and makes him dy.
The Horse, the Bull, and Bore know when and how
Both to assaile their foes, and shift a blow.
If these brute creatures (led alone by sence)
Can so expertly make their owne defence,
To save that bloud, which we account so base
That oft we spill it, to enjoy the case;
Then we should be ten thousand times more wise,
To save that life, which we so highly prise.
Nor is the losse of life the greatest ill,
Redounding from the want of warlike skill:
For honours, freedome, goods, oft goe to wracke
In each ill mannag'd state, where that doth lacke.
Great Alexander, in his growing pride,

Granicus Bithyniae fluvius pugna quae inter Persas & Alexandrum fuit nobilis. Diod 1, 17

Upon the bankes of Granicus had di'de:
Or (captive taken) had attended on
His proud foes carre, through streetes of Babylon.
If his strong Phalanx, had not calm'd the pride,
Of Persian brav'rie, at her highest tide.
This strong Battalion stretch'd even to the skies
His fame; and to both Seas his victories.
So glorious Conquests have beene oft obtain'd,
By numbers few, well disciplin'd, and train'd.
But mighty multitudes (where skill doth want)
Of good successe can very seldom vaunt:
For Victorie is coye, and will not bee
Forc'd, by rude multitudes; but rather shee
Unto a few well Disciplin'd, doth yeeld
Her selfe, with all the Honour of the field.
Proud Xerxes, whose huge troopes dranke rivers drie
And even with lowly plaines, made mountaines high,
Did flee from Greece, in a poore fishers boote
Who whilome had so many Ships a floote,
As made a large Bridge, over Hellespont;
That had Leander liv'd, he might upon't
Have had a safe recourse, by night, or day,
To that faire Towre, where his sweet mistris lay.
Worth doth consistt in qualitie alone;
Not quantitie: for the small precious stone,
Is at high rates, and value ever priz'd;
When greater flints, and pibles are despis'd.
Even so, the vigour of an Armie stands
(Chiefely) in expert, and well order'd bands;
And not in throngs of men; whose force unskil'd,
Doth rather let, then helpe to winne the field.
Old Rome, her Empires Armes had never spred,
From high-brow'd Taurus, to Sols wat'ry bed;
If that her expert Legions (so oft tride)
Could have beene match'd, in all the world beside.
Nor did her greatnesse any whit decrease,
Untill that antient Discipline did cease,
By which shee had, to her first height, ascended;
And her wide Empires bounds so long defended.
Her Majestie stood free from all decay,
While she her thirtie Legions kept in pay.
But when sweete Asias womanish delights,
Had turn'd her Captaines into carpet Knights:
Yea when her Souldiers, and Commanders both,
Were wholy given to pleasures, and to sloth;
And when true Discipline was laugh'd to scorne;
Her naked sides then by her foes were torne.
Great boundles minded Caesar (not content,
With Conquest of the Westerne continent)
Did passe the Seas, to find our Britaines out;
Who entertaind him with such courage stout;
That (if of skill, there had not beene a lacke)
The haughtie Romane had been beaten backe.
Nor in those times, when Romes ambition fierce
Did search each corner of the universe;
Stood we in greatest danger; for Romes hate
Is more then trebled toward us, since that.
For now the time[s], doe greatest perils shew;
So many foes we'have, and friends so few.
Needes then must my impartiall Muse commend
Those, whom their countries love doth move, to spend
Some houres, in Mars his Schoole, where loyall hearts
May learne the rule, of Militarie arts.
But thou (faire Norwich) by whose stone-rib'd side,
The gentle Yare in sandie path doth glide,
Creeping along thy meade with a slow pace,
As ravish'd with the beautie of thy face:
And parted from thee, still his love doth shew
With frequent lookes, and softly sigh adue.
I praise thy wisedome, and thy prudent care,
That art in Peace, providing against warre:
As witnesse may that warlike practise bee,
Which now is so exactly taught in thee.
Oh what a gracefull qualitie it is,
To be expert in Martiall properties.
The Tennis-court, and bowling grounds smooth face,
Compar'd with the Artill'rie yard seeme base.
Those great Olimpicke Games, and Isthmian plaies
Did never merit such applause, and praise;
As doe those Martiall gymnickes in our daies:
Those games through ostentation were ordain'd:
But ours for publicke weales sake be maintain'd.
To know each motion well, and to performe
Each title of command, in truest forme:
To doe the Muskets Postures dextrously:
And nimbly for to let a Bullet fly:
With advantageous skill to manage pike:
To know [how] to defend, and how to strike,
Doth not alone at hand, prevaile in fight,
But also doth farre of[f] the foe affright.
These warlike principles be not obtain'd
All sudainely; but by long practise gain'd;
And (being gotten once) are soone forgot;
If often exercise preserves them not.
For frequent use, and action must supplie
The habit; least it in a sudaine die.
And like the lampe, be soone extinguish'd quite,
When th' oyle is gone that should maintaine the light.
The antient French so fierce a people were,
And so great conquest got'they every where,
That mightie Kings in awe of France then stood,

Τον Φραγηον φιλον εχης, γειτονα ουη εχης. Eghnihard

Seeking her friendship not her neighbour-hood:
When Charles the great in Italy had queld
The Lombards: and the Saracens expeld
From Spaine: and when the Saxons were compeld
To the French yoke their stubborne neckes to yeeld,
Dismay'd then were the Easterne Emperours:
Yea all the world did then feare Frances force.
Much honour likewise did Christs zealous Knight
Great Godfrey winne for France; when he did fight
His Saviours fields, in those unchristn'd lands,
Where his chiefe hopes on frenchmens valour stands
But vertues growne t'extreames, breed worse effects.
Then ere could have beene caus'd by their defects.
For this fierce Nation us'd to Warres, and spoyles,
When forraine foes did faile, broch'd civill broyles:
That their Kings (for to remedie these harmes)
Were forced to forbid the use of Armes
Unto the vulgar sort, and them compell'd
Or to turne up the bowels of the field,
Or for to plie mechanicke faculties;
Debarring them from warlike exercise.
Thus France her antient reputation lost,
Beaten by Sea, and Land, on everie coast.
And few I thinke but Frenchmen will denie,
That French are Europe[s] basest Infant'rie.
Armour for Warre, from the Arsenall is brought,
But weapons for the Victorie be wrought
In forge of discipline: could furious might,
Or strength of brawnie limmes prevaile in fight,
Then who could match those huge Patagones,
Or buckle with those Westerne Savages
Whom Spaine makes slaves: or if activitie
Alone could winne a glorious Victorie,
Then who could match the Light Numidians
That like wild Goates on craggie rockes can dance
Then who could match the Kerne or Galloglasse,
That on the quaking Boggs as safely passe,
As we on firmest plaines: or if the skill
Of mannaging a horse at Riders will,
Could winne the day, then had not in such sort
The French beene slaughtr'd at their Agincourt.
Or if by number conquest might be wonne,
Then had the Greekes been foyl'd in Marathon.
Thus neither horsemanship, nor many hands,
Strength, nor activitie, the field commaunds:
But the well order'd foote that be refin'd
By exercise, and throughly disciplin'd,
These alway winne the fortune of the day,
For Fortune doth true Fortitude obey.
Nor in those elder times (before the Munke,

Bertoldus Swartz invented Gunnes, An. Dom. 1380. They were first used by the Venetians. Gord.

Invented had his murther-spitting trunke;
That plague of valour, height of Hels dispite)
Was warlike Discipline so requisite,
As now it is: for there's requir'd more skill,
To handle well a Gunne, then a blacke bill.
Of Policie, order's the soule alone:
And Natures very life (that being gone)
Things cease to be: for should the golden Sunne
Swarve from the course, which he hath wont to runne
Roaming at randome up and downe in heaven:
Or should the Starres; and those bright Planets seven,
Not walke those rounds, which God hath the[m] appointed,
Soone should the worlds great fabricke be dis-joynted
But a great Armie (where nor Captaines know
What to command, nor silly Souldiers how
To execute) is like a Galeon
Of mightie bulke, ill rig'd, and floating on
The surging maine, without sufficient stores
Of tackling, ballast, and wave-sliceing ores,
With sayles untrimm'd, and wanting at the sterne
An expert Pilot, that should well discerne
The Chanels course; and know each creeke and cape,
And by what point, his course he should forth shape.
(Doubtlesse) if Æoles ruffling sonnes should kenne
This forlorne vessell, in so weake plight, then
From their fierce rage, shee hardly should escape
To harbour, without perill of rape.
Even so those great Armadoes, that consist
Of huge unexpert troupes, and a long list
Of mens bare names, doe oft become a prey
To their fierce foes, and seldome winne the day.
That sonne of Mars, that valiant Epirot,

O tresgrand Epirote; O vaillant Albanoys. Dont la main a desfait les Turc. vingt et deux fois. Rowsard.

That matchlesse Prince, thrice worthy Castriot,
In two and twentie bloudy fights, compeld
Huge Turkish Armies, to forsake the field:
Nor ever did his greatest strength, and force,
Exceed five thousand men (both foote and horse)
On order, doth eternitie depend:
And Victorie, is Disciplines faire end.
Victorie, that blisse of Kings, that sole good
Which Warre affords, whose face besmeard with blood,
More tempting loves doth to her darlings offer;
Then Cleopatr'as lippe, when shee did proffer
A courtly Kisse, to great Marke Anthonie;
Who with the splendour of her Majestie
Was to a Statue strooke, and stood amaz'd,
As one that on the Gorgons scalpe had gaz'd.
But some there be (I know) that thus object:
What need we thus our businesse neglect?
What needes this Sturre? this idle exercise?
Secure are we, from forraine enemies;
Our streetes have in these many yeares not heard
The voice of Warre, there's nothing to be fear'd:
No inrodes, nor incursions, doe affright
Our fearefull Hindes: no out-cries rais'd by night
Are signals of approaching foes: no fires
Doe crowne our Beacons: and all those are lyers,
Which say that Spaine, dares venture for the trie
Another Voyage, against Britanie.
Let us tend our affaires, confine our selves
Unto our Shops; and while the Peasant delves,
And rips his Mothers wombe, to find out wealth,
Let us grow rich by sleight of tongue, and stealth.
While others ply their Militarie Arts,
We will be sure to learne to play our parts;
To cogge, and foyst, to keepe our measures short,
To vent bad Ware, and take good Money for't.
Let's cocker up our Wives, and keepe them neate;
Raise our selves high with sweete lascivious meate
For luxurie: Lets cheate, and cousen all;
The pinching Carle, and profuse prodigall.
In truth to cheate the wicked no sinne tis;
They must be plagu'd for their iniquities.
But heare me (friend) thou that hast done more ills,
Then ere were punish'd on those wofull Hills,
Of mournefull Magdalene: thou who dost thrive
By knaverie, and cous'nage; which canst dive
Into the depth of craft, to rake for pelfe;
And robbe ten thousand, to enrich thy selfe:
Thou which dost maske thy crimes, with gestures pure;
And think'st th' art safe, so long as th' art secure:
Be not deceiv'd: for know thy sinne alone,
Deserves nought lesse, then an invasion.
But though all forraine enemies should faile;
(As Vengeances too small to countervaile
Our wickedn[e]sse) the Devill may find out
Some daring Ket, in borroughs here about;
To plague us, and make pillage of our goods,
To fire our houses, and to spill our bloods.
If heavens just wrath, should send such punishments;
Then who should be best able for defence;
But these that be with warlike skill endu'd,
To bring in order the rude multitude.
And while those dolts, that have but skill enough
To weight their plummes, or measure out their stuffe,
Shall be unable to obey command;
These shall be fit, each one, to lead a band.
But suppose that heavens awfull ordinance,
Had confin'd Warre, to Germanie, or France:
Suppose our Land from broyles should alway bee
As safe, as Ireland is from vipers free:
Yet is this exercise, and warlike sport,
Thrice more praise-worthy, then the Tennis court,
Or Bowling Alley, where losse and expences,
Breed many discontentments, and offences.
Then (worthy Citizens) into whose hearts
The wise Prometheus, hath infus'd three parts.
Of those pure spritefull flames, which he did steale,
From bright Apollos radiant charret wheele;
Yee that your private cares can intermit,
And spare some houres, for publike benefit:
Frequent yee still Bellona's Court, and know
More Postures, then can all the Souldiers show;
That ere Bloud-thirstie Belgia daign'd to spare
From all the furies of a lingring warre
But (that your exercise may ever last)
Yee must be joyned all together fast,
Within the Golden cord, of Unitie:
All may enjoy the same immunitie,
In place ben[e]ath command: it skils not who
The colours beares (so long as theres no foe)
That place, or grace, which all alike may merit,
(In my conceite) all may by course inherit.
Then let no Envie, nor ambitious thought,
Breake that societie, which time hath wrought
By vertues helpe: let disagreement never,
The joynts of your fraternitie dissever:
But if foule Discord, that Tartarean elfe,
(Who in eternall darknesse, waste[s] her selfe
With dire imaginations, and damn'd thought,
To bring each worthy exercise to nought)
Shall fill your hearts, with the Cadmeian seede
Of strife; then let my Muse, with pow'rfull reede,
Those mischiefes charme, and repossesse your minds
With that respect, which lovely concord binds.
So did (of yore) the Thracian Lyrist 'swage,
With his concenting notes, the direfull rage
Of Greekish youths, when they had forgot quite
The golden fleece, for which they went to fight,
Each other seeking to deprive of life,
So fell was their debate, so great their strife.
Discords the bane of things, a poysn'us worme,
That doth infest the joynts of States, a storme
Which many Common-wealths hath ruined,
And many hopefull actions frustrated:
Nor can I here, forbeare to interpose
Those unauspicious quarrels, that arose,

Saladinus etiam Hierosolymam sponte nobis reddidissit, nisi diffidijs nostris cognitis, consilium mutasset. Ex litteris Rich. I. ad Coelest.

Betweene stout Cuer de Lyon, and his brother
In law, and Armes, who sworne to aide each other,
Yet entertaind (in stead of love) deepe hate:
And by a separation, tempted fate
To the defeate, of their great enetrprise
For which proud Philip Richards worth envies,
He is requited with as deepe disdaine;
And soone (for spite) returnd to France againe:
But (if their mutuall vowes they had not broke)
Christs Citie then, had cast off Isma'ls yoke.
But Concord, is the strength of Warre, in field,
And Campe, more forcible, then sword, and shield:
Of Conquest, that's the truest augurie;
The life of hope, portent of victorie.
Faire Belgia had long since beene deflowr'd,
By the Hesperian Dragon, and devour'd,
Had shee admitted any inbred strife:
Concord's her sinewes, bloud, and very life.
Her sheafe of arrowes bound together fast,

A Lyon with a sheafe of Arrowes in his paw; the Armes of Holland.

Are th' auspice of her welfare; which shall last;
So long, as doth the rampant Lyon hold,
His shafts unbroke: and as (in dayes of old)
The wearie Greekes, at Troy found good successe,
When they had got the shafts of Hercules:
Even so, Scylurus arrowes shall maintaine

Scylurue 80 liberos habens moriturus fasciculum iaculorum singulis porrexit, iussuque, rumpere. Quod cum non poss ne ipse singula iacula exemit; atque, ita facilé confregit omnis, filios admonens his verbis: Si concordes eritis, &c. Plut. A pop.

The Netherlands, against the pride of Spaine.
Concord's that golden chaine, let downe from heaven
On whose well order'd linkes, dependeth even
The worlds stabilitie: it doth combine
Both hearts, and hands, and prosper each designe.
In ill attempered bodies, sicknesse breedes,
Which on the disproportion'd humours feedes;
For these uneven'ly mixt, such a Warre raise,
That it the bodies common health decayes,
If some Physicion doth not them attone,
And by an ostracisme, expell that one,
Which is predominant: That confus'd masse
Of things (which Chaos hight) maintained was
By Discord, and while shee there dominear'd,
No hight, no heav'n, no Sea, no earth appear'd;
(Thrust thence by love) shee crept into mens hearts;
Where shee began to play her devilish parts;
For being farre too weake, to worke her ends
Against the greater world, her force shee bends
Against the lesse; inciting men to jarres,
To murthers, treasons, and to Civill warres.
Faire Greece shee first exspos'd to Turkish pride.

Bellum inter duos Andronicos viam strauit. Turcis in Europam. Ann. Dom. 1321. Gregor Mauri proditione Iulianum vacunt Hispan. Valli A. Do. 713 Narses (contumelia accepta ab imperatrice Sophia accersit Longobardos in Italian. Anno Dom. 66. Paulus Diac.

The Moores from Africke, shee to Spaine did guide.
The Lombards shee brought into Italy.
And on the cheekes of France, and Germany.
The bloudie Characters are to be red,
The balefull sturres, that Discord there hath bred.
Nor doth Apollo any Climate see,
That from her malice, hath beene alway free:
Then from your brests, drive that Echidna dire
(O brave Pretorian band) and with the fire
Of sacred love; do Envies eyes out-seare:
And from foule Slanders mouth, her tongue out teare
Let friendship banish all debate, and strife,
And give your exercise both strength, and life.
Nor let my gentle Muse alone inspire,
Loves sweete consents, but fill'd with that pure fire,
Which Phoebus lends his impes, let her high fits,
Move noble hearts (as time and place permits)
To learne this Art of order, and to know
Their Rankes, and Postures perfectly; for now
Monstrous abuses routed have the age;
And Knaverie rides in Knight-hoods equipage:
Few keepe their Rankes; yet in the front stalkes pride
And alway takes the right-hand file beside:
Shee leadeth on the forlo[r]ne hope, and will
(Though shee to Hell-gate march) be formost still.
Great evils, with great honours be combin'd
And march like Pikes, with Muskets interlin'd.
Our Postures are French conges, and few can:
Know Mounsieur, from an English Gentleman:
So like are we to them, so frenchify'd
In garbes and garment: but great God forbid,
That our newfangled change should ere declare.
Such sad events, as did the Scimitar,
Of King Darius: for his Sword alone,
A sheath of Greekish fashion, did put on:
And then his Magi cry'd, it was a signe,
That he to Greece, his Empire should resigne:
But we our selves, our gestures, and our swords,
In French are drest up; yea our very words
Have put on French dissimulation:
Oh, blind, absurd, fond, foolish nation,
That (light Chamaeleon-like) art what thou see'st;
A painted Argos, of all gath'rings piec'd.
But are we all transform'd to Woolves, and Apes?
Doe none retaine those old Herculian shapes
Of Vertue? yes: for God defend, that all
Should be Lycanthropiz'd; least heaven should fall.
To stop up with her ruines, Sinnes blacke jawes,
And crush oppressions unrelenting pawes.
No, no: (thankes be to our kinder Starres) yet lives
That Vestall flame in many brests, which gives
Refreshing heate, to each good enterprise:
These helpe old Atlas, to proppe up the skies:
These stand (like brazen Colosses) unmov'd
By chance, or passion: these never lov'd
Informing dogs; nor ere (to fill their purses)
Heard Orphanes cryes, or Widowes baleful curses.
These neere to any greatnesse did aspire;
But Vertue: nor ere sought to be higher
In fortunes favour, then in Gods: these scan
Worth, by desart; and though they truely can
Make good their Gentrie many wayes; such wayes
As now the basenesse of the time bewrayes,
As large demeanes, great place, or pedigrees;
Yet these disdainning that their worth should bee
Produc'd from smokie titles, or base pelfe,
Or dust, and rotten bones, each from himselfe
His worship, or his honour, doth derive;
And by his proper actions doth descrive;
A Gentleman: for Fortune can't inherit
(By right) those graces, which pertaine to merit:
And wretched is that Gentrie, which is gotten
From their deedes, that long since be dead and rotten.
The favour of the Prince, and Fortune, arts,
And Ancestrie, are but the outward parts
Of true Nobilitie, for her soule is,
An harmonie, of vert'ous qualities:
But should we search the world (may some replie)
From Cales, to Calicut, and sharply prie
Both into Universitie, and court;
Traverse all Countries, and belay each port,
We hardly should meete with so brave a wight.
Yes, yes; such be they whose names to recite,
My Muse is proud; nor ever shall these want
Roome in my Verses (be they nere so scant)
For worth as well deserves a Panegyricke,
As vice doth Satyrs, or a Thiefe a Diricke,
Selfe-wild opinion is, mistaken farre
To deeme, that noble vertues praises are
Smooth flatteries: and Envie is farre wide
To thinke that any baser end can guide
A Poets aymes. Although we know those walkes,
Where Fortune upon heapes of ingots stalkes,
And see her golden Temple dayly full
Of sweating Votaries: where Knave, and Gull
Have accesse free; and though we well descry,
What offrings shee accepts most gratefully:
Yet we her Altars shunne, because we know,
That many (which her favours buy) doe owe
To Justice such hard debts, that mercies bayle
Will scarce be found, to save them from hell-Jayle
Vaine, foolish Men, although they plainely see
All good is there, where grace, and wisedome bee,
Yet they of Fortune, doe a Goddesse make,
Advancing her to heaven, and for her sake,
Dare plunge themselves into a fouler lake:
Then Curtius did Romes pestilence to slacke.
But (noble Gentlemen) yee that doe hold
Faire vertue, at a higher rate, then gold:
Yee, whose affections scorne to serve the times,
Whose sleepes rue not the harmes, of fore-past crimes,
Whose names were neere marked with the privie seale
Of Fame, for pilling of the common-weale:
Yee that (from Cities tumult severd) know
Those sweet contents, which from retirement flow
Though not Tiberius-like at Capreae:
For privacies, as oft the Midwives bee.
Of ils, as good: but yee reserve your leasures
For nobler ends, then vaine and flitting pleasures:
Nor doe the times bid us securely sleepe,
But rather warne us a strong gard to keepe.
The East looke[s] blacke with danger, and the South
Seemes to invade the North, with open mouth.
Our beaten foes their forces now unite,
Arm'd with dire mischiefe, rage, and fell despite.
But Spaine is poore, and weake (as some replie)
Long Warres exhausted have his treasurie.
The Netherlands: have drawne his Coffers drie
Yet Indian mines (we answere) soone supplie
Those wants; for from the Western world doth come
His Navie duely, fraught with treasure home.
Nor is the Warre maintain'd by Austrian purses
Alone: for somewhat beside Buls and curses
The Pope allowes, and to the offring cals
Many fat Priests, and well fed Cardinals,
For whom (though nere so sparing) would stand by
And, not helpe to roote out a heresie.
Another sort I heare speake better sence:
And those relie on Gods omnipotence:
Tis true: his mercie onely can us keepe;
But if we in our wickednesse still sleepe,
And yet suppose that he shall us defend,
We miserably erre: what doe protend
Our foule prodigious sinnes, but death and warre,
Titanicke pride, that God to his face dares.
Ramping Oppression, with her hundreth pawes,
Abusing to her private gaine the lawes.
And Covetise, that with her swinish snout,
Rootes up all goodnesse, to find money out.
Soft handed sloth, spruce smiling Luxurie,
Dull Drunkennesse, swolne-bellyd Gluttonie
Unbridled ire, pale Envie, viperous hate;
These are the Comets which doe ominate
The scourge of Warre; then tis time to repent,
Least we too late seeke to shunne the event.
Last night, when sweete repose had closd mine eyes,
Strange thoughts began my fansie to surprise:
For the dull God of sleepe, that hates the morne,
And from his gate of Ivorie, and horne,
Sends silent troupes of dreames forth everie night,
Caus'd horrid Phobetor me to affright,

Ovid. Meta. l. II

In sundrie shapes: me thought I was transported
To a strange Land, such as is not reported
By Munster, or old Sir John Mandevile.
Nor know I (Certes) whether t'were an Ile,
Or parcell of the maine; therein appear'd
Great Cities, Townes, and Towres, that seem'd to beard
The very clouds; and the soyle seem'd to bee
Exceeding fertile: for on every tree
The pendant clustres hung, as faire to sight,
As the Hesperian fruit: Grapes red, and white,
Pomegranates, Limons, Figs, and Oranges,
With wondrous plentie, seem'd the field to blesse.
Desiring then to see those happie men,
That had so faire a Countrie, to dwell in,
I to a Citie went, thinking to find
The beautifullest race, of all mankind.
(But there arriv'd) most strange t'is to be told,
What various formes of beasts, I did behold:
Nothing like Man saw I there, but huge Apes
And hayrie Satires, greedie of foule rapes;
Buls, Buffles, Boores, fierce Tygers, Dragons, Dogs,
Beares, Camels, Woolves, slow Asses, Horses, Hogs,
And Monsters, such as Nilus never bred,
Nor Africas foule desarts nourished,
Iveery streete did clusters, on each hand,
As thicke as Tearme-tid Gallants on the strand.
All Birds of prey, and eke all uncleane fowles,
Did nestle there; fierce Eagles, Griffons, Owles,
Foule Ostriches, and Bats, I there descryd;
And earnestly their new guest all these ey'd;
That I sore fear'd their entertainement rough,
And often wish'd my selfe thence farre enough.
While I stood thus amaz'd, an Ape drew neare,
Whose age did in his rivelld face appeare.
This was their Cities Towne-clarke, it did seeme,
For he their onely speaker was I deeme
He with a low accoast, thus did me g[r]eete.
Stranger (quoth he) I kisse thy happie feete,
That brought thee hither, where thou mayst drinke store
Of richest draughts, that shall refresh thee more,
Then strong Nepenthe; and make thy wits quicker
Then can Lyaeus, or the spitefull licour,
That Jove, and all the Gods so freely swill'd,
The merrie night ensuing Phlegra's, field.
Nor let our various shapes, make thee disdaine
Our kind societie (my gentle swaine)
For although we, the shapes of beasts doe shew,
Yet we retaine the minds of men, and know
Thrice more content then they: Our Land is clep't
Faire Polytheria, where great Circe kept
Her court of yore: Circe that awfull Queene,
The daughter of the Sunne, who oft was seene
To change mid-day, to mid-night, and to cause
Æstivall Snowes and breake the vipers jawes.
To drive a river backe, to his spring head,
To make Seas stand unmov'd, and to strike dead
The harvest eare; her cup and wand so mightie,
Which made the Fiends obey her great Venite,
We stlil reserve: nor doe we deeme the race,
Whereof we are deriv'd our meanest grace:
From that victorious ancestrie we grow,
That did Faire Asias glorie overthrow,
In Troyes great ruines: nor were these (I sweare)
The baser sort, but such as consorts were
Of great Ulysses, on whose name still stickes
The honour of Troyes fall; nor need we fixe
Our worth aloue on a bare pedigree;
Our actions shew what our deservings bee;
Which yee men partly know, and must confesse,
That we have sent you succour, in distresse.
Here was the Ramme bred, that did bring
Great

Cum liber Pater per desertum Libyae excercitum duceret & siti admodum laboraret; implorasse à Patra auxilium dicitur; Quo facto apparuisse ei ex templo arietem; qui dum fugientem persequitur, peruenisse illo duce ad fontem amaenissimum. Alij terra arietis pede concussa fontem exilijsse tradunt Plin. 1. 6.

Liber Paters Armie to the spring,
When they in Africkes deserts were tormented
With scortching thirst. Those white

Anseres non sefellere, quibus saeris Iunoni in summa inopia cibi tamen abstinebatur, quae res saluti fuit, namq, clangore eorum alarumq crepitu excitus. M. Manlius &c. T. Liu. lib 8

Geese the prevented
The Gaules from taking of the Capitoll
Were some of us. And that py'd Memphian

Vide Alexand. ab Alexand spartiam. Marc.

Bull,
For whom the Egyptians fell at deadly jarres
Was ours.

Vide M. Valer. de ficta relig.

Sertorius in his Spanish warres,
Sought counsell of our Hind. The Asse
Of Apuleius; and the

Bos locut; Rematque tibi. Liu. li. 35.

Oxe that was
Heard speake at Rome. The Epidaurian

Vide Plin. l. 4. Ouid. Met. 15. Titii Sabini Cauis.

Snake;
And Dogge that dy'd for his deare Masters sake
Were bred with us. The Coblers prating Daw;
And

Aues a Psaphone edodae eloqui; Magnus Deus Psapho. M. Val.

Psapho's Birds did here their first ayre draw;
And so did Mahomets tame Pigeon,
That holpe to found his new religion.
I could tell later prankes, till I were hoarce,
Of Willoughbyes blacke Cat, and Banckes his horse;
This place (I tell thee) is the onely Cell,
Where arts enlink'd with rich content doe dwell.
And that thine eye may witnesse what I say;
Here follow me: then he leades me away
Unto a Castle, whose high towred brow
Did checke the winds, and seem'd to over-crow
The cloudes: there Lyons, Tygers, Panthers sweete,
As tame as fawning Spaniels did us meete.
Then to a spacious Hall we came, that stood
On pillars of tough Brasse; nor stone, nor wood
Were seene in it; and there I pleased my sight
With the Picture of the Dulychian Knight:
Eurylochus, and he whose braines were wash'd
So well with Wine, that life and wits were cash'd
Were Pictur'd there, and many a Greeke beside
That with Ulysses there did long abide.
Faire was the stuffe, but thrice more faire the art,
That there was to be seene in every part.
While I admir'd here what mine eyes beheld,
The Ape brought me a cup with wine up fill'd
And bids me drink't; that then I might find grace
To see things farre more rare, in that faire place.
I in my trembling hand receiv'd the cup,
That was of Gold, and dranke the licour up:
Then soone the poysons force did touch my braine,
And through my body crept in every veine:
And while my case I thought to have deplor'd,
Thinking to speake my griefes, aloud I ror'd:
My hands (I saw) were chang'd to grisly pawes
My clothes to shaggie haires; with yawning jawes
My mouth did gape; and I perceiv'd my shape
Was like a Lyons: then began the Ape
With gentle words, to cure my discontent.
Good friend (quoth he) thou shalt thee not repent
Of thy arrivall here; though thou hast lost
Thy former shape, and feature, be not crost:
For shrowded in this shape, thou shalt obtaine
More knowledge, then did ever mortall gaine.
Then by long winding stayres, and walkes he drew me,
Unto a spacious roome, where he did shew me,
The

Vide Artatel. De Magiae.

Booke, the Gemme, and Magicke horne, all which
If any man can get, he shall be rich,
Long-liv'd, a King, and fortunate,
Yea what he will: the Rings of Polycrate,
Of happie Giges, and wise

Vide Corneli. Agripp. De occult. Philos. li. I. cap. 27.

Iarchas; and
The Sword of Paracelsus, with the wand
Of Circe, and the roote

Vide C. Plin. secun. l. 30. ca. 2.

Osirides,
With Zoroastres his Ephimerides;
And those mysterious books which taught great

Romani ex Sibyllinis libris edocti se dominos mundi instituerunt. Arb.

Rome
To make the World obey her awfull doome;
These and an hundred things as strange, beside
The Ape did shew me; also there I spi'd
Lopez his poyson, in a Glasse of Crystall;
Ravillacs bloudy Knife, and Parries Pistoll:
But looking into a darke hurne aside,
I Mattockes, Spades, and Pick-axes descri'd,
With Pouder barrels, heap'd up altogether:
Then did the Ape me lead, I know not whether:
But many stayers deepe, I am sure we went;
That Hels darke way so steepe as this descent,
I weene is not: at last a gloomie cell
We came unto, that seem'd as blacke as Hell,
But for the Torches which there daily burn'd:
Such is the Cell, where (when the Pope's enurn'd)
The Fathers meete, to find another foole.
Fit for the tryall, of the

Porphyria cathedra qua nonus Pontifex continuo ab eius creatione residet vt sedentis genitalia ab vltimo Diacono attrectentur. Sabellicus.

porphyre stoole.
This was their Counsell-house, wherein they sate
Discussing matters, that belong'd to state:
Mischiefes, and treason, warre conspiracies,
False treaties, stratagems, confed'racies,
Were here hatch'd and now hence was comming forth,
A plot against the Lyons of the North.
The subtile Dragon, and the Griffon fierce
That seekes the Empire of the Universe:
The Eagle, and the

The armes of the Ancient Kings of France were Trees Crapaux Saturne, in a Field Sol. Guil.

Toade, were here assembled;
To heare whose bloudy projects, my heart trembled:
Against the Northerne Lyons they were bent,
To use all crueltie, and punishment,
For wrongs late done: The Dragon fell doth crie
Th' are Heretickes, and therefore ought to die.
The Griffon sware, t'was not to be allow'd,
That Luth'ranes should their heads in this world shroud.
The Eagle wish'd, he never might be bli'st,
If ere he spar'd a filthy Calvinist.
The spitefull Toad did wish his bones might rot,
If ere he ment to save a Huguenot.
The Dragon much did praise their readinesse,
And promis'd that the action he would blesse,
And vow'd he would be lib'rall of his crosses
To those brave soules, that durst adventure losses
Of lives, or limmes, in that designement; and
If any chanc'd to fall, he would command
The Angels to transport him presently
To heaven, without a Purgatorie.
But that the world might not their malice s[c]ent.
They meant to cast out tales; that their intent
Was to give to Religion, her first grace
And puritie: thus with a painted face
They masked their devilish end. While I gave eare
To their damn'd counsels; I felt a new feare:
For from beneath I heard an hideous sound,
As if some Earthquake dire had cleft the ground
Or Hell her selfe approach to make one
In their mischievous consultation.
So Neptune scourged with the Northwind rores:
Such is the clangour, of a thousand ores
Falling at once upon the surging wave:
The Witches in their conventicles have
Such Musicke, as was this: for t'was the noyse
Of the infernall pow'rs, that did rejoyce,
To see that Hellish-plot contriv'd, and wrought,
That might bring all the world againe to nought.
With such obstrep'rous sounds, my sence they strooke,
That I sleepes gentle fetters then off shooke,
Nor is our danger but a dreame (I feare)
So many signes presaging it, appeare.
For what can we expect, but sturdy blowes,
From our combin'd exasperated foes.
Then high time tis fresh courage for to broch
When pale-fac'd death and ruine seemes t'approch.
(Brave Gentlemen) learne to be prodigall
Of bloud; feare nought that may befall
But infamie; meete death in any shape,
And grapple with blacke danger, though he gape
As wide as Hell: know that this life of yours
Is but a breath, or blast, or like Mayes flowers
Yet never is priz'd at so high a rate;
As when tis nobly lost: then animate
Your selves with brave example, and shunne not
That Fate, which our late worthy heroes got,
With endlesse fame to boote. Yea let Spaine know,
And never thinke on't, but with horrour, how
We children are to those, that did defeate
Their great Armada; and them often beate
Abroad, and eke at home, and let proud France
Review those times, when her Warres did advance
Our English Gentlemen. Let that blacke day
Of Agincourt, with terrour still dismay
Her halfe-dead trembling heart: nor ever let her
Expect successe, or any fortune better
'Gainst us: twice with two num'rous Armies shee

Anno Do. 1387 Charles 6. with a Navie of 1200 saile, threatned to invade England, having provided such store of Munition & strange engines, as the like was seldome heard of. Anno Do. 1545 The French with an Armie of 60000 men came for England; but feare their entertainment would prove too hote, faintly and friendly they went home againe.

Did England treate; yet durst but once scarce see
Our pale Cliffes, with her paler lookes, and then
Turn'd sterne, and cowardly ranne home agen:
If shee the third time, should attempt the like
Let the like feares her heart appall, and strike.
But (whatsoever betide) t'is meete that we
Should stand upon our gard, and ever be
Prepar'd, both to make good, our owne defence,
And strike our foes: but since experience
Is thought our greatest want there must be found
A medicine to applie to that deepe wound,
Which Discipline is call'd; this wholesome cure
Yee Gentlemen must often put in ure;
Yee, that have charge of Bands, your dutie tis
To traine them up, with frequent exercise.
Nor by your Must'ring once, or twice a yeare,
Doe yee discharge your duties, but I feare
If forraine foes should drive us to our fence,
We all should suffer for your negligence.
Tis rather fitting, that each Month should yeeld
A day, to draw your Souldiers to the field.
For our tough Husbandmen, on whom depends
Our chiefest strength, so mind their proper ends,
That they to weild their Armes have soone forgot,
If often exercise enures them not.
These with their Bowes, of stiffe, and trustie Eugh
The Cavalrie of France oft overthrew.
And in one Month more spoyle, and Conquest wonne
Then they had thought could in a yeare be done.
But now the fierie weapons have cashierd
Those ancient Armes, that made our name so fear'd
Through all the World, nor hath ease so decay'd
Our courage, or our nerves, but by the aid
Of Discipline, we may retrive that Fame
Which we so lately lost; and rayse a name,
That may our bragging foes afresh dismay,
More then the name of Spinola doth fray
Our women, or our women-hearted men.
Nor doe I that old Genovese contemne:
He dares doe much, where we dare not oppose:
He Conquers all, especially leane foes:
If they be fat, they are not for his diet,
He rather an whole twelve-month had lie quiet;
Till they be famish'd to his hand: what though,
He to his fellow Genewayes doth owe
Large summes; his Master will pay all tick-tacke,
If the Platefleete comes home without a wracke,
When that the Towne is wonne: what Towne? Breda
By whom wa'st wonne? by Marques Spinola.
I scarce beleeve't: then goe and see; for there
Upon the gate in scul'pture doth appeare
The mem'rie of that famous enterprise.
How wonn't he; by assault or by surprise?
No: by a famine. In what space? a yeare,
Wanting two monthes. What force had he there?
Twice twentie thousand men. Then there he spent,
More then he got. I, that's most evident.
Yet much renowne he had. I, that or nought,
Though it at a deare rate King Philip bought.
But if Don Ambrose may of Conquest boast,
For taking in the Towne, with so much cost,
And time, and losse; then what did Heraughiere
Deserve; that in one night accomplish'd cleare,
A Conquest more compleate, with seventie men;
Then he so strong, and so long space could win.
As when the cunning Forresters have plac'd
Their wel-woven toyles, and heards of wild beasts chac'd
Into their snares; yet daring not invade
The furious heards, with bore-speare or with blade,
For feare of their fell ire; with a strong gard
They them surround, and keepe them thus upbarrd,
Till pinching famine makes them faint and weake;
And then at will their teene on them they wreake.
Thus was Breda by Spinola obtain'd.
Sharpe famine, not his force, the Citie gain'd.
Ostend to ruines turn'd, he wonne at last
For Phoebus through the Zodiacke thrice had past.
Yet still the Towne held out: some others prate
Of his Acts done in the Palatinate,
Where few were to resist: yet this is hee
That's thought invincible; although wee see
His base retreat from Bergen did well shew
That he may meete his match sometimes. Tis true:
Yet tis not good to thinke our strength so great,
That he dares not against us worke some feate.
Our craggie Cliffes, we ought not to trust to;
Whose hugh Enclosures bound our Iland so.
Ambition dares the roaring billowes passe;
Of force to raine towres of lasting brasse;
Whose cankerd rage we must meete face to face
With Spartane hearts (for so requires our case)
Since for defence we have no Wals of stone,
Our surest gard must be our Wals of bone.
And yee, our unkind brethren that affect
The faire terme of Catholicke in respect

Apostroph. to our Papists.

Of your Religion, and with that name,
Contend in vaine, to hide your mothers shame;
Your Mother Rome, that famous Paramore
Of Kings, and Princes, that need Hellebore.
Shee (like Semiramis) is wont to kill
Her Lovers, when of Lust shee hath her fill.
Yee that beneath an English face, doe hood
A Spanish heart, preferring forraine good,
Before your Englands health; alwayes in hand,
Upon the ruines of your native land,
To build Spaines Monarchie, and make that Prince
A Catholicke in Empire, that long since,
Was only fain'd in faith to be the same.
But trust yee not the talke of flatt'ring fame.
That tels you Spaine is mercifull, and just,
Not led by ill desire, or any lust
Of domination, to set footing here,
Least his false play too soone to you appeare,
And yee too late your follies see: let not
Utopian joyes your judgements so besot,
To make you think that change of Government,

The Duke of Medina Generall of the Spanish Forces in 88 said that his sword shold not make any difference betweene Papist or Protestant, so hee could make way for his Master to the Conquest of the Iland.

Produceth the most absolute content:
Trust not Spaines glosses, but rather conceit
What proud Medina said in eightie eight.
Spaine for Religion fights (as he pretends)
But spoyle, and Conquest, are his mainest ends.
When Paris had stolne his light Minion,
No lesse then fiftie Kings combin'd in one,
Protested, that for this disgracefull rape,
Troy should not their severest vengeance scape:
Yet was not just revenge the chiefest end
Of their designe (whats'ere they did pretend)
For each sought to get Helen for a wife,
And this indeede was cause of so much strife.
Even so your Patrone of Castile protests,
That he his Armes puts on, for a redresse
Of holy Churches wrongs; when he nought lesse
Intends; setting Religion for a stale,
To catch the Empire of the West withall.
Beleeve it, Conquest is his certaine end;
To which, he doth by direst mischiefes tend;
To that through Seas of Guiltlesse bloud he wades,
Cutting his passage out with murd'ring blades:
Or like Amilcars sonne, with flames of fire,

Sicut Haniball per Alpes. Liu.

And Vinegar, makes way for his desire.
(England subdu'd) could yee hope to stand by
Secure spectatours of the Tragedy:
No, no: though for a time yee might be free,
Your lives should make up the Catastrophe.
This priviledge perhaps yee might obtaine,
That is, to be the last that should be slaine.
Then joyne with us; be not so impious,
To stand against your Countries Genius.
Let us together joyne, with hearts upright,
The which shall pray, while our hands ply the fight.
Strive not (like Phaetons jades) to overthrow
Your Master, least yee also fall as low.
Attempt not to unbarre your Countries gate
To forraine foes, least yee repent too late
Your treacherie, for be assur'd that none
Did ever Traitours love (the Treason done.)

[43]. A Threnode

[44] Upon the death of Sir RALPHE SHELTON.

I am what, passion will: a stone, or tree:
A mad Hercuba or sad Niobe.
For who can see such ruines, and not feele
A marble chilnesse creepe from head to heele:
Like sad Electra that could not abide
To see Troy Urn'd: but her pale face did hide.
Or Phoebus-like that brooks not to behold
The Thyestaean dainties, but did fold
His head in Pitchie cloudes, so loathes my eye
To be spectator of this Tragedie;
Wherein, thou Shelton no meane person werst
And did'st so to the life well act thy part
That we lament thy exit, and give thee,
Sad sighes, instead of a glad plaudite.
Yet shall not griefe so prejudice thy worth,
But fame shall sing alowd thy praises forth
To checke the pride of France; who in thy fate,
Lost three for one: it at so deare a rate
Thou sold'st; yet was it cheape to them (I sweare)
Out valuing more lives, then they had there.
Thy life, and death were fatall both alike
To France: first in a Duell didst thou strike
French braverie downe; and boldly trodst upon
The dustie Plumes, of that proud Champion,
That durst thy valour tempt: with thine owne hands,
Thou paidst thy owne revenge; which ever stands
Huge Columne-like, to counter-checke the pride
Of France; and shew how bravely Shelton dy'd.

RHODON AND IRIS.

A PASTORALL, AS IT WAS PRESENTED at the FLORISTS Feast in Norwich, May 3, 1631.

[1] To the right Worshipfull, Mr. NICHOLAS BACON of Gillingham, Esquire.

Yet though the worke doth crave nor Bayes, nor Cedar,
But the mild censure of a gracious Reader.
This to the proudest Criticke I dare tell,
It feares nor Frankincense, nor Mackerell;
Nor terrible Tabacco, that consumes
Atlanticke volumes in his smoth'ring fumes.

[2] To his much respected friends, the Society of Florists.

But some there be that are so pure and sage,
That they doe utterly abhorre a Stage,
Because they would be still accounted holy,
And know, the Stage doth oft bewray their folly.
You could but wonder to see what distaste
They tooke, to see an Hypocrite uncas'd:
Oh had they power, they would the Author use
As ill as Bacchus Priests did Orpheus.

[3] To the Booke and his worthy friend the AUTHOR.

Disperse and vindicate thy Makers merits,
Late disesteem'd by Lynx ey'd censuring spirits;
Whose captivated judgements now may see,
In this cleere glasse their owne deformitie;
Whose malice found no cause to disrespect
Thy worth, but 'cause it past their intellect:
My barren Muse cannot to life set forth
Thy abstruse poesie, learning and worth:
Th' abilities which in thy bosome lye,
Will be admired of posterity:
Wer't thou but truely knowne, thy worth would raise
Thee and thy Muse: best Poets would with bayes
Crowne thy rich temples, and maugre thy will,
Would place thee highest on Parnassus hill.
Blest be their names, thy Nectar Genius nourish:
By such, dejected poesie shall flourish.
Let no Agnostus dare to read thy lines,
Th' are made for those can judge of high designes.
In unknowne waters lest I wade too farre,
Let thy bright rising sunne eclipse my starre.

[4] To his friend the Author.

May none but Phoebus kisse thy lines with sight,
Hee'l doe thee right.
Tis not for mortals once to dare to scanne,
Thy height 'bove man
This speakes thy fellowship with supreme gods,
There's naught puts oddes,
But lifes eternitie: tush, thy lines shall be,
A saintlike canon of thy memory.
Be bold then to the world, and dumbe that tongue
That dares thee wrong:
Yet thus give leave to vulgar braines to clap
Agnostus cap
Upon their heads, whose braines doe much lesse crave,
Then I deprave.
Scorne blast their dwellings, in simplicity
That spit their poyson; none shall venome thee.

[5] To his friend the Author.

I cannot but admire this Worke of thine,
(Right worthy Author) that me thinkes each line
Should gaine attention from a well tun'd Eare,
And please the Eye of any shall appeare,
That apprehends it: alwayes Ile attend
To wish this Worke well, as a faithfull Friend.

RHODON AND IRIS

Dramatis Personae:

• RHODON. Shepheard
• ACANTHUS a friend to Rhodon. Shepheard
• MARTAGON. Shepheard
• CYNOSBATUS a friend to Martag. Shepheard
• ANTHOPHOTUS. Shepheard
• IRIS sister to Anthophotus. Shepherdess
• VIOLETTA sister to Rhodon. Shepherdess
• EGLANTINE sister to Cynosbatus. Shepherdess
• PANAS a servant to Iris. Shepherdess
• CLEMATIS a servant to Eglantine. Shepherdess
• AGNOSTUS an Impostor.
• PONERIA a Witch.
• GLADIOLUS a Page to Eglantine.
• FLORA

The Scene is Thessaly.

Prologue.

Candid spectators, you that are invited
To see the Lilly and the Rose united;
Consider that this Comedy of ours,
A Nosegay is compos'd of sundry flowers.
Which we selected with some small expence
Of time, to please each one that hath a sence:
But if this glorious Cynicke crowne containes
A head that wants a competence of braines,
We could desire his absence, and be glad
That one more wise his seat or standing had:
Because experience shews that such as he,
The greatest enemies to science be:
For what the Noddy cannot understand,
He will seeke to disparage underhand,
Branding eternall lines with blacke disgrace,
Because they doe his numbers smothe surpasse.
For this bold Criticke would have the world know it,
That he no small foole is, though a small Poet.
But with Icarean wings, why strives he thus,
To mount Parnassus tops with Pegasus?
When 'tis most meet that he with Asses meeke
His pasture at the Mountaines feet should seeke,
On thistles wilde, and brakes there let him knabble,
While Pegasus does make the skies his stable.
But you (judicious friends) that well discry
The strength and worth of noble Poesie;
That can discreetly judge of what is done,
We crave your favour and attention,
And shall applaud the fortune of our Muse,
If ought worth your acceptance we produce.

ACT. 1.

SCEN. 1.

Poneria, Agnostus.
Ag.
Is the worlds eye not yet asleepe?

Po.
Hath Jove not yet put on his starry night-cap?
No; nor Juno her spangl'd smocke?

Ag.
What, hath Hesperus forgot to light heavens tapers up?
Or be the Charret wheeles of Night o're loaden
with the leaden waights of sleepe,
That she delayes to throw her misty veyle
upon the face of things?

Po.
Blind Ignorance that grop'st in Cymerian darknesse,
That lyest invelop'd in the shad[e]s of everlasting night,
That want'st those glorious spectacles of Nature,
Those Chrystalline spheres that should illumine
Thy Microcosmus,
Why dost thou thus maligne the guiltlesse light,
She being the fairest Creature that Nature ever made?

Ag.
I hate her because she is light: I say she is
The Mistris of disquiet and unrest, and breeds
More troubles in the world then one of my young
Hungry Lawyers doth in a Common-wealth,
Or a schismatical selfeconceited Coxcombe in an
antient Corporation.
Oh that I could Ulysses-like burne out the eye
Of that Celestiall Polypheme;
Or raise dull Chaos from Demogorgons Cell
To quench the worlds unnecessary luminaries.

Po.
Bold Ignorance, thou Idoll of these times
That o're a woollen wit, oft wear'st a sattin Cap;
And sometimes at our Bacchanalian feasts
Appear'st as brave as a Canonicall Saint
In a Kalender: I hug thy resolution, stupid divell,
That dost with generous malice amply supply
What is defective in thy intellect:
But if thou'lt give my faithfull Counsell leave
For to divert the torrent of thy wrath,
Then lend a facile eare to my advice.
Bend not thy bootlesse hate against that Orbe of light,
Whose mighty flames will scorch the impious wings
Of those Nocturnall birds, that shall attempt
With talons most prophane, to injure his bright beauty.
A meaner object than this, shall satisfie
Thy wrath, and my displeasure.
This is the day whereon the new society of
Florists, have determined to keepe their annual festivals:
Whose pompous Celebration hath wont to eclipse
All feasts besides: th' Olympian games,
And Isthmian playes, with all those Ludicrous
And Ludibrious Combats, are but meere Puppet playes
To this grand feast, for Art and nature both have try'd
To make this Feast surpasse all feasts beside.
Unite thy force with mine, then ten to one
We shall disturbe their mirth, e're we have done.

Ag.
Then mischiefe lend me all thy guilty nerves:
Let flames of boundlesse fury quite dispell
Lethaean dulnesse from my Clouded braine.
Assist our great designe, ye subterraneous powers,
That utterly abhorre to view the glaring light:
Let not the weakenesse of my Craz'd intellectuals,
Nor yet this loath'd deficience of my sense,
Be prejudiciall to the bent of our designe:
Poneria, act thy part, for I am thine.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 2.

Rhodon, Acanthus.
Aca.
(Rhodon)
my honor'd, soule-united friend
Cast off that dusky melancholy veyle.
Too vile a robe for thy majesticke brow,
Blast not the pride of Hyblas happinesse
With thy offensive passion.

Rho.
Nay, good Acanthus, did love ere offend any?

Aca.
And art not thou the map of loves calamity?
Witnesse those cristall bowles of thy bright eyne,
Which I have seene sweld up with brinish teares,
Prepar'd for sorrowes bitter beverage:
Witnesse those frequent tempests of thy sighes,
Which made thy brest a fiery sea of dolour:
Witnesse those palled cheekes, whose glorious hue
Aurora late envy'd, and quite despairing
To reach thy beauties height, with Cupid treated,
And him suborn'd to wound thy generous heart,
(Which no base passion ever durst assault)
That now like pale Narcissus on the brinke
Of the beguilding streame, thou lyest a dying.

Rho.
I tell thee (brazen Colosse) marble statue,
Whose heart loves darts could never penetrate;
Love is the Prince of all affections,
And like the element of fire transcends
His brothers in activity and splendour.

Aca.
It is a fire indeed, that doth consume
All vertuous actions; that feeds upon mens soules
Like the fiend Eurynomus upon dead carkases;
That makes the microcosmus a meere Chaos.
It is the Remora of all noble enterprises,
And the Lernaean fenne which breeds a Hydra,
Crested with a thousand inconveniences.
Let me nere inherit more then my Fathers hempland,
Or nere be owner of more wit then some elder brothers,
If I think not Cupid the most pernicious deity
Among all the Olympian Senators.
Oh that I had but Stentors lungs,
To thunder out the vanity of that idoll.

Rho.
Now I hope you have rail'd your self out of breath,
And therefore I may now have time to speake:
Thus 'tis, deare friend Acanthus, I confesse
That once I lov'd the Lady Eglantine,
Whose rare endowments both of art and nature,
Well corresponding with high birth and fortune,
Did moderately attract my sincere love,
Which love conspiring with a strong desire,
To see the Customes of some forraine Nations,
And know the manners of people farre remote,
Made me to greet the Princely Dame
With a personall visitation.
Then my indulgent starres did me advise,
For to suspend my suit: whose Counsell I obey'd.
But trust me, friend, thou wert too much mistaken,
To thinke that love had scorch'd or sing'd so much
The wings of reason; that I must needs fall,
And perish in the fornace of despaire.
Thou art a bad constructer of my thoughts,
If that thou think'st 'tis love which makes me sad:
Yea, thou, oft-times, dost take thy marks amisse,
To think me sad; perhaps, when as my minde
(Uprais'd above the sphere of terrene things)
Is ravish'd with Celestiall Contemplation;
For earthly passion hath no power at all
To worke upon an elevated soule.
Passions are starres to lower orbs confin'd;
Scorching an earthly, not a heavenly mind.
Yet am I not so much a Stoicke, or a Stocke,
To plume the pinions of th' immortall soule,
Who while she's Cloyster'd in this Cell of Clay,
Moves with the wings of the affections:
But lest she, like to heedlesse Icarus,
Should soare too high a pitch; or like young Phaeton,
Should shape her Course too low, Jove hath appointed
Wise Vertue for to regulate her flight.
Of these affections, love the Empresse is;
Who, while she stands submisse to reasons lore,
Doth keepe the Fabricke of the little world in frame.
Love is the geniall goddesse, the Lucina
Which doth produce each honourable atchievement,
Which this true axiome evidently proves,
Nobilitas sub amore iacet.
Had not the spritefull flames of love, egg'd on
That Theban Kilcrow mighty Hercules.
To brave adventures; he, perhaps, had dy'd
As much inglorious as did base Thersites.
Had not the faire Andromache beheld,
From Trojan Towers, Hectors valiant acts
Among the Greeks, amid the Phrygian fields;
The gallant Dames of Troy then might, perchance,
Most justly have preferr'd Achilles farre before him.
Tis this heroicall passion that incends
The sparkes of honour in each noble minde;
Making dull sluggards study industry;
And animating each unlearned head
To toyle in Arts and liberall Sciences,
Even to the high degree of rare proficience.
Then cease Acanthus with thy lawlesse tongue,
True loves Condition to maligne or wrong.

Ac.
Thou zealous patron of the winged Boy,
Well hast thou pleaded thy blind Archers Case;
Pray Jove thou maist deserve a lusty fee
For this Herculean labour of thy tongue.

Rho.
Surcease these malapert invectives, friend,
Cupid is arm'd with fire and arrowes keene,
To be avenc'd on those that shall him spleene.

Ac.
When Sol shall make the Easterne Seas his bed,
When Wolves and Sheepe shall be together fed;
When Starres shall fall, and planets cease to wander,
When Juno proves a Bawd, and Jupiter a Pander;
When Venus shal turn Chast, and Bacchus become sober,
When fruit in April's ripe, that blossom'd in October;
When Prodigals shall money lend on use,
And Usurers prove lavish and profuse;
When Art shal be esteem'd, and golden pelfe laid down,
When Fame shal tel all truth, & Fortune cease to frown
To Cupids yoke then I my necke will bow;
Till then, I will not feare loves fatall blow.

Rho.
Wert thou a meere spirit, then I confesse,
And thinke, this resolution might endure;
But so long as thy soule weares robes of earth,
Lac'd all with veynes, that o're a Crimson deepe,
Set forth an Azure bright; needs must thy heart
Yeeld to the force of Cupids golden dart.

[Exeunt.]

SCEN. 3.

Clematis, Eglantine.
Cle.
Oh impotent desires, allay the sad consort
Of a sublime Fortune, whose most ambitious flames
Disdaine to burne in simple Cottages,
Loathing a hard unpolish'd bed;
But Coveting to shine beneath a Canopy
Of rich Sydonian purple; all imbroider'd
With purest gold, and orientall Pearles;
In tesselated pavements, and guilded roofes,
Supported by proud artificiall Columnes,
Of polish'd Ivory and Marble; doth love delight
There; doth he, like a mighty Tyrant, rage,
Subverting the whole edifice of reason
With his impetuous conflagration:
That this is true, the gentle Shepheardesse
Faire Eglantine doth evidently shew:
For she, a sister to the great Cynosbatus,
Was Courted lately by the Shepheard Rhodon:
Whose suit she entertain'd with due respect,
Requiting love with love: but Fate (it seemes)
Not condescending that great Hymen should
Accomplish their desires; forbade the Banes,
And Rhodon hath relinquished his suit;
And is return'd to Hybla sweet; whose flowry vales
Began to droope, and wither in his absence.
But Eglantine remaines disconsolate;
Like to a Turtle that hath lost her mate.
See where she comes, expressing in her face
A perfect Map of mellancholy:
I will retire, because I well descry,
Shee's out of love with all society.

Enter Eglant. with her Lute.
Eg.
Addresse thy selfe sweet warbling Instrument,
My sorrowes sad Companion; to tune forth
Thy melancholly notes; somewhat to slake
Those furious flames that scorch my tender heart. She sings and playes upon the Lute.


Enter Cle.
Cle.
What time shal end thy sorrowes, sweetest Eglantine?

Egl.
Such griefe as mine cannot be cur'd by time.
But when the gentle fates shall disembogue
My weary soule, and that Celestiall substance free
From irkesome manacles of clay; then may I finde,
If not a sweet repose in blest Elysium,
Yet some refrigeration in those shades,
Where Dido and Hypsiphile do wander.

Exit Egl.
Cle.
Thou gentle goddesse of the woods & mountains,
That in the woods and mountaines art ador'd,
The Maiden patronesse of chaste desires,
Who art for chastity renowned most,
Tresgrand Diana, who hast power to cure
The rankling wounds of Cupids golden arrowes;
Thy precious balsome deigne thou to apply,
Unto the heart of wofull Eglantine;
Then we thy gracious favour will requite
With a yong Kid, than new falne snow more white.

Exit.

SCEN. 4.

Cynosbatus, Martagon.
Cy.
My honor'd friend, most noble Martagon,
Who whilom didst with thy imperiall power
Command the mountaines proud, and humble plaines
Of happy Thessaly: who hath eclips'd
The splendour of thy light, and clipp'd those wings
That did ore-shade these fields from East to West.
Each Shepheard that was wont to feed his flocks
Upon these fertile meads, was wont whilere
To pay the tribute of his primest lambs.
But now as one coup'd in an angle up,
Thou art compell'd to satisfie thy selfe,
With a small portion of that soveraignty
Which thou didst earst enjoy.

Ma.
Deare friend Cynosbatus, if that the world
Had bin compos'd in a cubicke forme
And not orbicular; or if this globe
Were destin'd to be ought else then fortunes ball,
By alterations racket banded to and fro;
Then justly might'st thou wonder to behold
My present state, so short of my precedent height.
Nor doth this monster, Change, beare sway alone,
Ore elements, men, beasts, and plants,
But those celestiall bodies that are fram'd
Of purer constitutions, are compell'd
To be obedient to her awfull doome.
Reare up thy eyes unto the spangl'd cope,
And there behold Joves starre-enchased belt,
The glittering Zodiacke wonderfully chang'd
In a few thousand yeares:
For those fixt stars, which like a Diamond cleare,
Adorne the baudricke of the Thunderer,
Have wander'd from their former stations.
Witnesse the golden Ram who now is gone astray,
And shoulder'd hath the Cretian Bull; and he
Those twins of Jove so sore hath butted,
That they have crush'd the Crab, and thrust him quite
Into the den of the Nemaean Lyon.
Thus by the change of these superiour bodies,
Strange alterations in the world are wrought,
Great Empires maim'd, & Kingdoms brought to naught.
And that auspicious lampe, who freely lends
His light to lesser fires, the prince of generation,
Even Sol himselfe, is five degrees declin'd,
Since learned Ptolome did take his height.
But if Egyptian wisards we may trust,
Who in Astrologie wont to excell;
By them tis told, that foure times they have seene
That glorious Charrioter flit from his place:
Twice hath he rose (they say) where now he sets,
And Twice declined where he now doth rise.
If these Celestiall powers, whose influence
Commands terrestriall substances,
Be object to mutation, then needs must
Sublunar things, submit themselves to change.
Then wonder not good friend Cynosbatus,
To see my state and power diminish'd thus.

Cy.
Tis true deare Martagon, experience showes
That alteration every day brings forth
A new birth of effects.

Ma.
But I prethe friend, satisfie me in one thing.

Cy.
My bosome's yours, take from that Cabinet
The choisest secret that can pleasure you:
Tell me in what your will's to be resolv'd.

Ma.
There is a rumour spred through Thessaly,
That your faire sister, Madame Eglantine,
Shall be espoused to the Shepherd Rhodon,
The prince of all the Swaines that dwell on Hybla.

Cy.
From no ill grounds this rumor sprang, though
The Fates did crosse what was by us intended.

Ma.
Then there's no expectation of my Nuptial rites.

Cy.
No; all's dissolv'd.

Ma.
I thanke my Starres for that.

Cy.
Your reason, Noble friend.

Ma.
A kin he is to that male spirited Dame,
That stout Virago, that proud Shepheardesse
Call'd Violetta: who complaines of wrongs
Late suffer'd at my hands:
And hee's the man by whom she hopes
To be aveng'd on me, for this pretended injury;
And had he matcht your sister, sweet Eglantine,
Then might I have had cause for to suspect
Your love not to be sound, since you accepted
So great a foe of mine, for your neere friend.

Cy.
Then I am glad the Fates would not agree
That I should lose so true a friend as thee.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 5.

Rhodon, Anthophotus, Acanthus, Iris, Panace.
An.
Never till now, did my Hymettus flourish:
More blest effects hath thy sweet presence wrought,
(Honour'd Rhodon) then could have beene produc'd
By moist-wing'd Zephyrus, or Favonius,
Who fanns our flowers with his gentle breath.

Rho.
Thankes, good Anthophotus:

An.
Nor doth our sister Iris hold her selfe
Meanely engag'd to you, for this your gracious visit.

Rho.
To be the meanest servant of so sweet a saint,
Is the full height and scope of my ambition.

Ir.
Faire Sr. I wish you would be pleas'd t'imploy
Your service on an object of more worth.

Rho.
Dissemble not, admired Shepheardesse;
For thou art she, that art as farre beyond
That light peece of beauty, Hellen of Greece,
In outward perfections; as shee was short of thee in inward graces.
Yea, had those fifty Kings that did for her
Engage themselves in a long tedious warre,
Seene but the Modell of thy rare beauty,
Drawne by the hand of but a rude painter,
Doubtlesse, they had their honours forfeited,
And broke that sacred oath which they had tane.
Their worke in hand they had relinquish'd quite,
And left the walls of wretched Troy untoucht;
For each attracted with thy beauties splendor,
Nor Seas nor perils would have left unpast,
To finde thee in the furthest angle of the world.

Ir.
Could my perfections, valu'd at the highest rate,
But countervaile a dramme of your great worth,
Then should I think my selfe borne under starres
Most happy and auspicious.

An.
Surcease your Complements, deare Rhodon,
Let empty Caskes, and hollow Cymbals speake
That ayrie language, which unworthy is
Of your reallities.

Rho.
Pardon me, gentle Sir: this radiant starre,
My judgements feeble eyes did dazle so,
That I was forc'd to speake what passion did informe me.

Enter a Messenger.
Messen.
Which is the Shepheard Rhodon?

Rho.
I am the man.

Messen.
Then you are he whom Violetta greets.

Rho.
How fares my sister?

Messen.
This letter shall relate what I can never utter.

Exit Messen.
Rho.
Pray Jove we have good newes, me thinks I saw
A pallid horrour setl'd in the face
Of the sad Messenger: be't good or ill,
We are resolv'd to see it, come what will. He opens and reads the Letter.

'Twas for no good, that the late shag hair'd Comet
With his erected staring lookes, did over-looke
Our frighted flocks, who all amaz'd poore wretches
At such a horrid unexpected sight,
Ere Hesperus gan from the west to peepe,
Halfe empty, did retire unto their folds againe:
Nor were those idle fires which late we saw,
Hang like a flaming canopie above us,
When we did walke the round about our folds,
To keepe the warwolfe from our Lambs by night.
But is't possible that man should be so savage,
To vent his rage upon a silly woman?

An.
It is no wonder gentle sir at all:
For when Prometheus form'd his man of clay,
Tis said that he did to his stomacke adde,
The raging fury of a Lyon fierce.

Rho.
Tis true: but histories report that a Lyon did,
The suppliant Getulian virgin spare;
Scorning to make so innocent a creature
His pray or quarry.

An.
Foule shame and infamy it is, god wot
That manly might should women weake oppose,
Whom they by right for life ought to defend.

Acan.
(Rhodon) doe thou but say Amen: and I will in
An instant raise our spritefull youth,
And lead them on with such a vigorous force
Against the most unhumane Martagon;
That we will pull the Craven from his nest,
Disrobing him of all his borrowed plumes,
And repossessing Violetta of her owne.

Rho.
In actions of such consequence as this,
We must not be too precipicious,
Mature deliberation must conclude
What shall be done in such a maine designe:
The stately Steed that with a full careere
Attempts to mount the brow of the steepe hill,
Oft breaks his winde, ere he can reach the height.
But the slow snayle without or harme, or perill,
In time ascends unto the mountaines top,
For that true love we owe to Thessaly,
In which affection all we are ingag'd;
We by a friendly treaty will endevour
To bring th' usurper to a restitution.
But if the Olive branch will doe no good,
Then let the scourge of warre it selfe disclose;
They that our friendship scorne, must be our foes.

An.
And if my right hand faile to second thee,
Then for a Peasant let me counted be.

Exeunt Rho. Antho. Iris.
Panace offers to goe out, and is stayed by Acanthus.
Ac.
Nay, stay faire Nimph, I would request
A private Conference with you.

Pa.
If that I could with my affaires dispense,
I gladly should imbrace your Conference:
But my occasions bid mee hast away;
Sweet Sr, adieu; I can no longer stay.

Exit Pa.
Ac.
I that of late was made of Scythian snow,
And Hyperborean ice, am now quite thaw'd
In the uncessant flames of hot desire.
A new Vesuvius burnes within my brest,
But shall I overturne those noble trophies
Which I most firmely have on vertue founded;
Or shall I singe the wings of reason so,
In the outragious flames of passion;
That I must needs fall downe and perish quite
In the blacke hideous gulfe of deepe despaire,
No: no: I will not,
Of this I am resolv'd whatso're befall,
Or not to love too much, or not at all.

Exit.

ACT. 2.

SCEN. 1.

Poneria, Agnostus.
Po.
Bold foolish wickednesse is that
Which walks by day, expos'd to the world's eie.
Sinne is the daughter of the darkest night,
And therefore doth abhorre to come to light.
Give me that cole blacke sinne that can lye hid.
Under the candid robes of see[m]ing sanctity;
Which dares put out the perspicacious eyes
Of those that shall attempt to find her out.
Come dull Agnostus, let us disguise our selves
And be prepar'd to act some stratagem
To eclipse the glory of these festivals.
She puts on the garment.
This robe of vertue doth belong to me;
This goodly vaile shall hide my blacke intents.
Thus personated, I durst undertake
To rend a well woven state in factious peeces;
To win the eares of mighty Potentates;
And hood-winke Kings, that they should neither see
To doe what's just, nor heare the pitteous cryes
Of those that are opprest.
But that thou, Agnostus, maist second my designes,
'Tis very fit thou shouldst be thus accouter'd.

Ag.
My deare Poneria, I am yours.

Shee puts on his beard.
Po.
Then first unto thy chin we apply
This Philosophicall beesome.
Now is the old proverbe really perform'd,
More haire than wit.
How like a Senator he lookes?
What a world of gravity's harbour'd in that beard?
Surely the world can take him for no other
Than the third Cato that should fall from Heaven.
But here's the Ensigne of learning,
The badge of the seven Liberal Sciences,
Operculum ingenij, the silken Case of wit,
The Cap of knowledge; Clap this upon thy
Empty hogshead, put this on, and then thy head
Will become a Helicon, and thy braine a Pyrene.

He puts on the Cap.
Ag.
It fits me exceeding well.

Po.
Dost not perceive thy head begin to ake
With meere abundance of knowledge?

Ag.
Now, me thinks, I could confute a Colledge of Divines,
A Synod of Doctors, a Lycaeum of Philosophers;
Yet me thinkes my braines are not right,
And somewhat too weake to maintaine a paradox.

Po.
Away fond idiot, doe not conceit
That this Cap can infuse any thing reall into thy pate,
That is uncapable of all art and science.
Under the protection of this Cap, thou maist be bold
To traduce thy betters, to censure the best,
To decide controversies without discretion,
To torment all companies with thy discourse,
And weary eares of yron with thy impertinences;
Doe but weare this head-peece over the Coyfe of
Selfe-conceit (alwayes provided) that thou forget'st
Not to leave off a brazen face; and I dare
Undertake it, thou in a short time, shalt gaine
More respect (especially among Plebean Coxcombs)
Then ever Pythagoras, had of his auditors.

Ag.
I am thy slave, divine Poneria:
Oh admirable rare Artist that I am!

Po.
But yet, me thinkes, there's somewhat else to doe
To make thee more accomplish'd and compleat.
'Slight, the politicall gowne; I had as cleane forgot it,
As the time since I lost my mayden head.
Here 'tis: dispatch, and put it on,
And then be reputed both grave,—
Learn'd, and wise.
Doubtlesse it will become thee exceeding well. He puts on the Gowne.

Now lookes he not like a maine stud of a Corporation?

Ag.
How heavy is the burthen of authority?

Po.
'Tis true, authority is heavy, I confesse,
But not so heavy but an Asse may beare't.
Since now, Agnostus, that we are well fitted
With habits meet, to act what we intend;
Thou seeming like a grave and learned Sire;
Though thou indeed then that bee'st nothing lesse,
And I like to a vertuous maiden dight,
Though I all vertue deeply doe abhorre;
We thus disguis'd, will all the world delude,
And set the flowers at ods among themselves,
That they in civill enmities embroyl'd,
Shall of their pride and gloryes be dispoyl'd.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 2.

Martagon, Cynosbatus.
Ma.
To hinder the conjunction of those starres,
We must try all our skill, Cynosbatus.

Cy.
I jealous am of their maligne aspect,
And therefore hold it best to take away
That cause which may produce such bad effects;
For I shall never cease t'applaud his skill,
That in the shell, the Cockatrice doth kill.

Ma.
The Serpent will be hatch'd, I shrewdly feare,
E're we the mischiefe can prevent, if thus
We should delay to act our purposes:
For late, a certaine rumor, through my eare,
Did strike me to the heart; when 'twas reported
That Rhodon on Hymettus hill was seene;
Where by Anthophotus, and his sister Iris,
He was with such solemnity receiv'd,
That all surmise there is a match intended
Betweene the Shepheard Rhodon and faire Iris.

Cy.
If once they be conjoyn'd in Hymens rites,
Then all our toyle's ridiculous and vaine;
For Hymens obligations are (we see)
Seldome by any cancell'd, but by death.

Ma.
Then let us set some Stratagem abroach,
The Cords of their new amity to breake.
The tender twig may easily be broke,
But who's so strong to bow the sturdy Oke.
Our friends will say (if we procrastinate)
That, like the Trojans, we were wise too late.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 3.

Eglantine sola.
Enter Poneria and Agnostus.
Po.
Hold, hold thy hand, faire Shepheardesse,
Attempt not to commit a fact so horrid.

Eg.
What Fury sent you hither, Caitiffes vile,
Thus to prolong my sorrow, and my toyle.

Po.
No Fury, but your happy Genius
Brought us to these uncomfortable shades,
For to prevent your mischievous intent.

Eg.
Death is a plaister for all ills (they say)
What mischiefe then can be in death, I pray.

Po.
'Tis true; death is a mortall wound that cures all wounds
Of body, and of mind: it is the soules potion
That purgeth her from corporall pollution.
But you must not your owne Physician prove,
Nor be the Doctor, and the Patient too:
For if thy soule be sickly, and grow weary
Of this unwholesome earthly habitation,
Because this ayres spissitude suits not
With her Celestiall Constitution,
She must not like a bankrupt Tenant prove,
That flyes by night from an unprofitable Farme,
Before the terme of his Lease be expir'd:
But stay till heaven shall give her egresse free
Unto the haven of rest and happinesse.

Eg.
Were I not plunged in a grievous plight,
Perhaps I would not thinke thy counsell light.

Po.
Art not thou the sister of Cynosbatus,
Lord of the silver mines, and golden mountaines.
And art not thou as faire a Shepheardesse
As trips upon the plaines of Thessaly?

Eg.
For being great, I am malign'd by Fate,
For being faire, I am unfortunate.

Po.
I know thy sorrowes, sweetest Eglantine;
Thy Rhodons absence hath wrought all thy woe,
Who now, they say, doth beauteous Iris court.
But if thou wilt make me thy instrument,
I'll undertake to breake the match,
If not, renew the love which earst he bare to thee.

Eg.
Doe this, and I will live (Poneria)
To give thy merit ample satisfaction.
I will adore thy skill, and thee adorne
With what may make thee famous through all Thessaly.

Po.
Then banish all these melancholly thoughts,
And decke thy selfe in thy most sumptuous weeds.
Make hast unto the Fane of gentle Venus,
A payre of Turtles of a snowy hue,
Upon her altars offer thou to her,
And her beseech to intercede for thee
Unto her angry boy: Then shalt thou finde
The god and goddesse to true lovers kinde.

Eg.
My deare Poneria, I am truly thine.
But tell me, I prethe, what grave Sr. is this
That lookes like one of Greeces Sages;
His reverent Countenance makes me surmise
That he's a man of sublime qualities.

Po.
He is but what he seemes, faire Shepheardesse:
His head's the officine of art; his tongue
The oracle of truth; he is the man
Whom onely Nature hath vouchsaf'd to make
Her privy Counsellour.
Those abstruse secrets which no mortall eye
Did ever view, he plainely can discry;
He is the man that's destin'd to find out
That grand mysterious secret, in whose discovery
So many bold adventrous wits have perished:
I meane th' Elixar, the Philosophers precious stone.
He is the man who by strange policies
Can breake the strong Confederacies of Kings,
And overthrow more Empires by his plots,
Then mighty Alexander er'e did by strength:
Agnostus is his name, renown'd no lesse
For honesty, than skill in Sciences.

Eg.
His silence argues something extraordinary.

Ag.
Belphegor, Zazel, Astragoth, Golguth,
Machon Malortor.

Egl. offers to flye away, and is stayed by Po.
Eg.
Aye me, Poneria.

Po.
Agnostus, not a word more for thy life.
Stay, stay, sweet Eglantine, and dread no harme,
This is the language which the Persian Magi us'd
When they with their familiars did converse,
To which he is so frequently accustom'd,
That oft he speakes it e're he be aware.
(Agnostus) vouchsafe to use your native language,
That Eglantine may know what you are.
I hope you know your lesson,
Aside.
Twice twenty times and ten, &c.

Ag.
Twice twenty times and ten, hath Titan run
Quite through the Zodiacke, since I begun
To converse with wise fiends, that I might get
The golden key of Natures Cabinet.
By industry I got immortall fame,
For ignorance begets contempt and shame:
So perfect in the Magicke Arts I grew,
That natures secrets most abstruse I knew
The spirits of ayre and earth did me dread,
And did at my venite come with speed;
The silly ghosts from graves I did forth call
The earth I make to bellow, starres to fall.
The world at my great awfull charmes did quake,
Nature her selfe for very feare did shake:
To change midday to midnight, or to cause
Estivall snowes, or breake the vipers jawes,
Or to drive rivers backe to their spring heads,
And make seas stand unmov'd, or to strike dead
The vernall blossome, or the harvest eare:
A man would thinke these strange conclusions were,
But I account them of small weight: I know
The use of hearbes, and whatsoever grow;
The cause to the effect I can apply,
And worke strange things by hidden sympathies.
I doe exactly know the compositions
Of unctious Philters, and loves potions:
Figures, suspensions and ligations,
Characters and suffumigations.
For I the vertues of all simples know
From whence; effects that seeme impossible I show.
The gall of shreeke Owles, & harsh night Ravens tongu[e]s
Guts of Panthers, and Chamelions lungs,
A blacke Buls eyes, a speckled toads dry'd head,
Frankincense, camphire, and white poppie-seed;
Poysenous Melanthion, and a white Cocks bloud,
Sweet Myrrhe, Bay-berries, precious balsome wood,
A Harts marrow that hath devour'd a snake,
And scalpes which from a wilde beasts jawes we take,
The bone that lyes ith' left side of a Frogge,
A stone that is bitten with a mad dogge.
The Mandrake root, the blood of a blacke Cat,
A Turtles liver, the braines of a Batt,
Hyaenas heart, the Cockatrices bloud,
That are against so many evils good:
The haire of a thiefe that hangs on a tree;
The nailes of ships that wracked be,
The blood of a wretched man that was slaine,
The eyes of a Dragon and Weasels braines.
The precious simples, and a thousand more
I could produce; I have them all in store:
And though they seeme to men meere trifling things,
Each one (I vow) ore'weighes ransomes of Kings.
The blindnesse of these times cannot discrie
The vertues rare that in these simples lye.

Po.
Enough Agnostus: Now faire Shepherdesse,
I hope you have a faire expression
Of this learn'd mans sublime desert, and art?

Eg.
I doe admire his skill, and see (by happe)
Good stuffe may be beneath a satten Cap.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 4.

Rhodon, Martagon, Violetta, Acanthus.
Rho.
Know Martagon, that as no dynasties can stand,
No Empires long subsist, unlesse they be
Supported by the Columnes of true equity:
So shall that government of thine decay,
Since thy oppression makes the weake a pray.

Mar.
Tis no oppression for to punish those,
That have transgrest the Lawes, as I suppose.

Vio.
The lawes (Colossus) proud, unjust tyrant,
That dost observe nor equity nor law.
But by the torrent of ambition hurry'd,
Dost act what lawlesse passion prompts thee to:
What Lawes have I transgrest? it is thy might,
That into seeming wrong hath chang'd our right:
Had Fortune beene as just as was our cause,
We that are censur'd now for breach of Lawes,
Maugre thy viprous hate, had now bin free,
And for thy foule injustice censur'd thee.

Mar.
And is your pride Virago still so high?
That it doth over-top your misery.
Cann't sorrow strike thee dumbe, can no disaster,
The liberty of thy tongue over-master.

Ac.
Nay, be assur'd (proud man) not any smart,
Can cure the courage of a valiant heart:
No force a heart of adamant can breake;
And loosers must, and shall have leave to speake:

Rho.
No more Acanthus: heare me Martagon:
Wilt thou give Violetta what's her owne?
Will thou restore her right and due possessions?
And make a recompence for all oppressions,
That happy peace with joy and plenty crown'd,
May in the fields of Thessaly be found?

Mar.
This will I doe,
When seas shall be drunke dry by Phoebus beames,
And when the lesser starres shall drinke the streames.
This will I doe,
When of my life and freedome I am weary,
Non minor est virtus quam quae rere parta tueri.

Ac.
Before this guiltlesse woman shall endure
Such shamefull injuries: they selfe assure
I'le empty all these azure rivulets
Of their virmilion streames; and quite discharge
This contemn'd bulke of mine, of living ayre;
And stretch'd upon the gelid bed of death,
Ile to the world this Epitaph bequeath,
Here lyes a Swaine that spent his deerest blood,
To kill a Tyrant for a Virgins good.

Ma.
Bold heroe doe thy worst, what I have won
I nere will part withall till life be done.

Rho.
Tenacious Tyrant, in whose flinty heart
Nor equity, nor justice ere had part:
Assure thy selfe thy guilty soule shall feele
Revenges hand, arm'd with a scourge of steele.

Exeunt.

ACT 3.

SCEN. 1

Clematis Solo
Gla.
Good fellow servant, honest Clematis.
Let me conclude thy tedious tale with this;
I say the restlesse sea and flitting winde,
Are constant in respect of women kinde.

Cle.
Nor in her weeds alone is she so nice,
But rich perfumes she buyes at any price.
Storax and Spiknard she burnes in her Chamber,
And daubes her selfe with Civit, Muske and Amber.
With limbecks, viols, pots, her Closet's fill'd,
Full of strange liquors by rare art distill'd:
She hath Vermilion and Antimony,
Cerusse and sublimated Mercury.
Waters she hath to make her face to shine;
Confections eke to clarifie her skin;
Lipsalves, and cloathes of a pure scarlet dye
She hath, which to her cheekes she doth apply:
Oyntments wherewith she pargets ore her face,
And lustrifies her beauties dying grace.
She waters for the Morphewes doth compose,
And many other things, as strange as those;
Some made of Daffadils, some of lees,
Of scarwolfe some, and some of rinds of trees,
With Centory, sower Grapes, and Tarragon,
She maketh many a strange lotion:
Her skin she can both supple and refine,
With juyce of Lemons and with Turpintine:
The marrow of the Hernshaw and the Deere,
She takes likewise to make her skin looke cleere:
Sweet waters she distils, which she composes
Of flowers of Oranges, Woodbine or Roses:
The vertue of Jesmine and three-leav'd grasse,
She doth imprison in a brittle glasse,
With Civet, Muske, and odours farre more rare,
These liquors sweet incorporated are:
Lees she can make which turne a haire that's old
Or colour'd ill, into a hue of gold.
Of horses, beares, cats, camels, conies, snakes,
Whales, Herons, bittours, strange oyles she makes,
With which dame natures errours she corrects,
Using arts helpe to supply all defects.
She in the milke of Asses bathes her skin,
As did the beautiful Poppea, when
She tempted Nero to forsake the bed
Of great Octavia, and her selfe to wed.

Gla.
If there be any Gentlewoman here,
That will with gracious acceptation use
The service of a tatling Chambermaid,
I would advise her to make choice of this Frisketta;
That is as chaste as Helen, or Corinthian Lais,
As chary of bewraying secrets as was Echo:
Oh she would prove a rare Privie Councellour
In some great Ladies privie Chamber.
The perpetuall motion for which Artists have so labor'd
Is discover'd no where so plainly as in her tongue,
Which scarce finds any leisure to rest,
No not when she is asleepe:
But of her curtesie she is so charitable,
And so heroically magnificent,
That she will both vouchsafe to commiserate
The lowe estate of an humble groome of the stable,
And also satisfie the desire
Of a high and mighty Gentleman-usher
In a kisse or any other amorous encounter:
Gentlemen beleeve me in few, she is a pearle,
Whose worth the age cannot value.
If there be any Gentleman here
That will bestow a small pension upon her,
With a kisse or two once a fortnight,
To make her his intelligencer of state
In his wives common-wealth;
I will undertake he shall be able to make good
A faction against his wife,
Had she an Amazons stomacke, a Zenobia's,
Or a Xanthippes tongue.

Cl.
Out you pratling Parachito
Come you hither to abuse me.
Take this for your paines.

She strikes him.
Gla.
Now thank thy stars, that with a female signature
Did stampe thy sexe, audacious strumpet,
Shall I draw? no, now I think ont I will not;
For reason and experience shewes, that no man
Ere gain'd repute by drawing gainst a woman.

Cl.
Stripling, dost thinke I feare a naked blade;
Ile meete thee where thou dar'st, and whip thee too
For thy unruly tongue, thy sawcinesse.

Gla.
Well minion, remember this,
If I doe not cry you quit for this abuse,
Then let me nere be trusted:
Your Mistris shall know how you have us'd me,
So she shall.

Cl.
Skippjake tell what you can, I weigh't not this,
Ile make you know that you have done amisse.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 2.

Poneria, Eglantine.
Po.
Forget you not the powder for your breath,

Eg.
I tooke a dram of it this morning,
According to your appointment.

Po.
Your pallid cheeke requires, in mine opinion,
A deeper tincture of vermilion.

Eg.
And I am of the same minde:
But 'twas my Maids fault.
I thinke she goes about utterly to undoe me:
She is as good a servant as ere was
Married to the whipping-post.

Po.
I tell you true I would not for twenty crownes
That Rhodon had seene you with this face.
That Ceruse on your brow is extreamely dull,
There is no lustre, no resplendency in it.
S'light I have seene often times a stain'd cloath
Over a smoakie chimmey in an Alehouse
Present me with a better face.

Eg.
Nay, I could not for my heart perswade
The wicked pertinacious harlot,
To lay more colour on then pleased her fancy;
But if I live I will cashiere the queane.

Po.
If you doe not, you are no friend to your selfe.

Eg.
How lik'st thou the colour of my haire.

Po.
O that is exceedingly well dyde.

Eg.
Me thinks the hue is not high enough.

Po.
Nay, pardon me Madam: tis passing well.
The browne hue is the most incomparable colour
For a haire of all other.
Those golden wires that on faire Hero's sholders dangl'd,
And those faire flaxen threds that made Jove
Dote upon faire Nonacrine,
May not be compar'd with the lovely browne.

Eg.
Discreet Poneria, thy wise approbation
Doth give my fancy ample satisfaction.
But heare me Poneria, will you undertake
That I shall meet with the Shepheard Rhodon,
As you oft have promis'd me.

Po.
Faire shepheardesse I will.

Eg.
But 'tis a thing impossible I feare.

Po.
Why so good Eglantine?

Eg.
Because I heare he deeply is ingag'd
To Iris, that proud Damsell of Hymettus.

Po.
I grant he is: and since things are thus,
I will so act my part, that his new love
Shall be the meanes to renue that good will
That hath bin heretofore betwixt him and you.

Eg.
Nor Circes drugs, nor all Ulysses, wits,
I tell thee Beldame, can accomplish this.

Po.
Good daughter undervalue not my skill,
For 'tis contriv'd how it shall be effected,
And to satisfie thy curiosity,
I will declare how I have laid the plot.

Eg.
I prethe blesse my eares with this relation.

Po.
I will a message beare in Iris name,
Unto the Shepheard Rhodon, which shall shew,
That she desires an am'rous interview
With him, in such a privacy
That day must not be guilty of it:
A solitary glade shall be the place,
Where you protected by the veile of conscious night,
Instead of Iris shall present your selfe
Unto the Shepheard Rhodon,
Whom you shall entertaine with sweet discourse,
And so comport your selfe, that he shall thinke,
You are his dearest Iris.
But to assure him yours, I have provided
A precious Philter of rare efficacy,
Compos'd according to the rudiments of art.
This shall you cause him to carouse
As water of inestimable worth.
Which done, he is your owne;
And Iris then shall be forgotten cleane,
As one whom he had nere scarce knowne or seene.

Eg.
Tis bravely plotted sweet Poneria:
But what houre wilt thou allot for this designe.

Po.
Provide your selfe to meet him in the mirtle grove
Upon eleven at night.

Eg.
Very good.

Po.
Now Ile to Rhodon goe, and him invite,
To meet you at the appointed place this night.

Eg.
Now most auspicious be thy stars and mine,
Let all good lucke attend our great designe.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 3.

Martagon, Cynosbatus.
Cy.
But is the angry swaine (sai'st thou) so hot,
Is Rhodon growne so zealous in his sisters cause?

Ma.
If that his actions with his words agree,
I must expect a sodaine storme.

Cy.
I am resolv'd to take part in thy fortunes,
Be they the worst that ere to any fell.

Ma.
Thanks noble friend, then here lets joyne our hand[s]
In signe of most unseparable bands.

Cy.
But there's Acanthus a jolly swaine,
He frets (they say) like a furious Mirmidon.

Ma.
In braving language he exceeded so,
That Martagon nere saw so bold a foe,
Surcharg'd with swelling passion, he did vowe
To take a full revenge on me and you.

Cy.
And is the youth so fill'd with valrous heate?
Who would have thought the frozen mountaines could
Have bred so brave a hot-spurre.

Ma.
These raging Lyons must, Cynosbatus,
Be undermin'd by some egregious sleight;
We must pitch some strong toile for these fierce Beasts,
Where we may take them captive at our pleasure:
For if we should assaile them openly,
Much perill then we might incurre thereby.

Cy.
What thy high judgement shall conclude to doe,
I am resolv'd to condiscend unto.

Ma.
Then heare what I propound. Cynosbatus,
Within a place nigh hand, resides
A Beldam much renown'd for sacred skill
In magicke mysteries.
She with her awfull Charmes wonts to call forth
All sorts of noysome Creatures that are bred
In Sandy Lybia, or cold Scythia,
From whome she takes her choyce of poyson strong.
The Herbs which grow on precipitious Erix,
She with her bloudy Sicle crops:
And whatsoever poysonous weed springs on
The craggy top of snowy Caucasus,
That's sprinkled with the bloud of wise Prometheus,
She carefully selects;
Those venomes which the warlike Medians, and
The nimble Parthians, or Arabians rich,
Use to annoynt their deadly shafts withall.
She doth by Moone-light gather;
Each Herbe that in this fertle vernall season
Puts forth its head from Opses pregnant bosome
She searches for; whether the same be bred
In the cold Forrest of Hercynea,
Or in the deserts of parch'd Africae,
What flower soe're doth in his seed or root
Strange causes of great mischiefe nourish,
She never faileth to finde out:
Whether the same on bankes of Tigris growes,
Or on the sun-burnt brinke of warme Hydaspes,
Whose golden channels pav'd with precious stones;
Some of these herbes she doth by twilight gather,
At midnight some, and some at breake of day.
Nor is she ignorant how to apply
The panting heart of the dull melancholy Owle,
Or the breathing entrailes cut from a living Cat.
The proudest Swaine that lives in Thessaly.
Is glad to be obsequious to her will,
For in her power it is to cure or kill.
Unto this reverent Sybill let us goe,
And her advice request in this designe;
By her instructions let us our actions regulate;
Providing for our owne security:
She can divine of all events, and tell
Whether things shall succeed or ill or well.

Cy.
What thy sound judgement thinks fit to be done,
I condescend to, noble Martagon.

[Exeunt.]

SCEN. 4.

Rhodon, Anthophotus, Acanthus.
Rho.
Since that the proud usurper Martagon
Will not restore what he hath tane away
By force and injury from Violetta,
We are resolv'd to put on lawfull armes,
To swage the pride of that great Termagant;
That of his prowesse doth so vainly vaunt.
Therefore deere friends addresse your selves to shew
Your true and faithfull fortitudes, for know
An ignominious peace may not compare,
With any just and honourable warre.

An.
Out upon this Fabian valour,
These tedious cunctations: I tell thee Rhodon,
I must needs chide thee for our losse of time.
My troopes are all in perfect readinesse,
And long to meet their foes in open field;
If we deliberate a day longer
The edge of their valour (I feare) will be quite taken off.

Rho.
Now fie upon that valour which depends
On circumstance of time or place,
Tis relative vertue, that like glasse is brittle,
Whose force soone dyes and perfects very little.

Ac.
Now recollect thy spirits Rhodon,
Let Spartan resolution spread it selfe
Into each angle of thy noble heart.
For now our hostile forces are assembled,
Covering the fields from Ossa to Olympus.
Their painted banners with the windes are playing:
Their pamper'd coursers thunder on the plaines:
The splendor of their glistring armes repels
The bashfull sun-beames backe unto the clouds.
Their bellowing drums and trumpets shrill,
Doe many sad corrantos sound,
Which danger grim and sprawling death must dance.
Now therefore Rhodon, doe reflect thy eye
Upon the glories of thy ancestours,
And strive by emulation to transcend
Those trophies which were yet nere paralleld.

An.
Surcease this needlesse talke, let us to action,
The losse of time consisteth in protraction.

Rho.
Your noble courages, endeared friends,
A good event to our designes portends.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 5.

Martagon, Cynosbatus.
Ma.
Within the precincts of this grove Poneria dwels,
Here nightly she hath co[n] venticles
With her wise spirits; see how the trees are carv'd
With Magicall mysterious characters,
See how the fiery fiends with their frequent resort have
Scorch'd the leaves, and chang'd the
Merry livery of the spring into a mournfull hue.
Behold the grasse dyde with the swarthy gore
Of some great sacrifice, that late was offer'd up
To the infernall powers.

Cy.
The blacke aspect of this strange uncouth place
Doth make my heart to quake.

Ma.
Within a vault hewne from the stony bowels,
Of yon high precipicious rocke she dwels.
Cheere up (Cynosbatus) and come away,
Let's to her Cell, and Ile shew thee the way.

[Exeunt.]

ACT. 4.

SCEN. 1.

Iris, Panace, Violetta.
Ir.
Curst was the wight that did in murther first
Embrue his guilty hands: curst was that hand
Which first was taught by damned hellish art
To forge the killing blade in Vulcans flames:
What raging fury raignes in mortall brests,
That man should man pursue with deadly hate;
Oh what malignant power hath defac'd,
That spacious image of the gods above?
Who hath inspir'd man with that bestiall quality
Of murderous revenge?
The Lybian Lyons seldome are at oddes,
The Tygers of Hyrcania doe agree,
But man to man's become a very divell:
That Thracian god which is delighted most
With humane sacrifices, is now ador'd;
Blood-thirsty Mars now beares the onely sway,
Who direfull devastations doth affect,
Peace hath forsooke the earth, and fell debate
Shaking his batter'd armes, now stalketh every where.
I hop'd for nuptials sweet, of late, but now
I may have cause to feare a funerall.
Hymen affrighted with the confus'd noyse
Of brutish warre, is fled I know not whither.
My dearest Rhodon must depart from me,
And in the field ingage his tender Corps
To all extremities of death, of wounds, of danger,
Of sicknesse and unrest:

Vi.
Strike not the ayre with this vaine language, Iris,
Wound not thy soule with these unseemely plaints,
But be content to wait the will of Jove,
Who will crowne our designes with blest successe.
For in a cause that's honest, just, and right,
The gods themselves will take up armes and fight.

Ir.
Then oh ye powers, that are the grand protectors
Of Hyblas happinesse and welfare;
Whether ye doe delight in our flower-crown'd mountaines,
Our od'rous vales, or in our Christall fountains,
Your gracious favour I implore, beseeching you
To gard the person of my dearest Rhodon;
Fond woman, how forgetfull have I bin?
Here is a gemme whose price doth farre transcend
All estimation: my faithfull Panace
Deliver't thou unto my gentle Shepheard,
And pray him weare it for my sake.

Pa.
Madam, I will.

Ir.
It from the bowels of a Cocke was tane,
And whoso weares the same (as wise men say)
Shall ever be victorious in warre.

Vio.
Commend me to my brother, gentle nymph,
And beare this token of my love to him:
It is the precious herbe call'd Latice,
Which whosoever weares shall never want
Sufficient sustenance both for himselfe and his;
Besides, it frustrates quite the divellish force
Of strongest poysons or enchantments. Exit Pan.

Now Iris, let us haste to Floras fane,
With our devotions let's importune her.
These horrid sturs and troublous broiles to cease,
That we againe may live in happy peace.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 2.

Martagon, Cynosbatus, Poneria.
Ma.
Divinest Matron; god-inspired Sybill
Doe this, and be what thou canst desire.

Po.
Doubt not great Martagon but I will effect it.

Ma.
Now deere Cynosbatus let us prepare
To resist th' impression of our foes:
Since that our powerfull forces ready stand,
To be obedient to our great command.

Cy.
With thee I am resolv'd to spend my breath,
Indifferent in the choice of life or death.

Exeunt Ma. Cy.
Po.
Agnostus come forth: blacke cloud of ignorance,
Advance thy leaden pate, dull Camell.

Ag.
I cannot brooke this thin and piercing ayre.

Po.
Thou sonne of sleepe; that hat'st the lightsome day,
Clap on thy spectacles of judgement, and behold
How I have plaid my part.
Thou flow'st with gall (Agnostus) I confesse,
But thou hast a braine intolerably dry,
As empty of wit, as the world is of conscience.

Ag.
What hast pluck'd up the flowers by the roots,
Or is all Thessaly in a combustion?

Po.
Surcharg'd with deepe despite and viprous hate,
Their forces they against each other bend.

Ag.
Then I hope their painted pride shal quickly be abated.

Po.
But I have a plot, old plumbeous dotard,
To crop the proudest flower that growes
In Hybla or Hymettus.

Ag.
Poneria, I adore thy art and wisedome.

Po.
This glasse containes a rare confection:
Tis vipers bloud mix'd with the juyce of Aconite:
This is the Philter, the sweet love-potion
Which Eglantine poore love-sick foole,
Must commend to the Shepheard Rhodon,
Who this night by my appointment,
Is to meet her in the mirtle grove, under the
Name of Iris: now Ile to Eglantine,
And blesse her longing eares with these glad tidings.

Ag.
Oh great profound Poneria: never yet
Was any that could parallell thy wit.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 3.

Rhodon, Acanthus.
Rho.
What houre of night is't friend Acanthus?

Ac.
Th' eleventh at least: for see Orion hath
Advanced very high his starry locks in our horizon.

Rho.
Me thinks the stars looke very ruddy,
As if they did portend tempestuous weather.

Ac.
They doe but blush to see what crimes are acted
By mortall under covert of the night.

Rho.
Saw'st thou yon star that Northward fell.

Ac.
I saw the blazing meteor stoupe,
And bend his course toward the humble Center.

Rho.
This seem'd a glorious, and resplendent star,
Yet was it but a grosse ill temperd meteor.
This meteor seem'd as if it had bin fix'd
In an orbe for a perpetuity,
Yet in a moment it is fallen, thou seest,
And who regards this foolish and ignoble fire,
Or lookes upon the place from whence it fell.

Ac.
He that by honourable meanes is rais'd,
And hath his seat establish'd on the square
Of never sliding vertue, cannot fall.

Rho.
But if young Phaeton shall undertake
To guide the Charret of the great Apollo,
And in that action shall miscarry, so
That the whole universe shall be ingag'd
To utter ruine and destruction,
Then ought great Jove to have a speciall care
For to preserve and keepe the common good.
And if he shall dismount the Chariotter,
And with a deadly blow lay him along,
The world then for his justice shall thanke Jove,
And Phaetons foole-hardiness reprove.

Ac.
Who dares contest with Jove, or question what
His Soveraigne highnesse shall doe or determine.

Enter Egl. Poneria.
Rho.
Tis altogether wicked & unjust: (Acanthus) retire.
For now me thinkes I see a glimpse of Iris,
Who promised to meet me here this night. Exit Ac.

Loe how the lustre of her beauty penetrates
The envyous clouds of these nocturnall shades.

Po.
See yonder the beguiled lover walkes
In vaine, expecting the comming of his deare Iris,
Now, Eglantine remember my instructions,
Have a care that your tongue betray you not.
Be not too talkative in any case.
Forget not the posture I so oft told you of,
Under pretence that these cold nightly dewes are
Offensive, you may knit your veile more close,
And conceale your feature.

Eg.
Poneria, retire: I will addresse my selfe unto him.

Po.
But be sure you perswade him to take the
Potion before he sleepes;
You'll remember those vertues which I told you it containes.
Forget not to declare them amply.

Eg.
Make no doubt on't: thou hast arm'd me
For all assaies.

Exit. Pon.
Rho.
Thou brightest star that shin'st this night,
Auspitious be thy influence to thy Rhodon.
My dearest Iris, I am surcharg'd with joy
To meet thee here.

Eg.
(Deare Rhodon) who, like the vernall Sunne,
Dost lend refreshing heats to my affections.
Tak't not amisse, that I have chose this houre
And unfrequented place t'enjoy thy company.

Rho.
Sweet Iris know that I esteeme this houre of night,
Since I enjoy thy sweet society,
'Bove all the dayes that I e're hitherto beheld.

Eg.
But from a maidens modesty (faire Sir)
It may seeme much to derogate,
To be abroad so late at night.

Rho.
Since no immodest act is here intended,
The time cannot be prejudiciall
To thy unstained modesty.

Eg.
Great pitty tis indeed, Sir, that true love
Should be disparag'd, because 'tis so true.

Rho.
I tell thee, I till now was never happy:
All those delights which I ere saw before,
Were but meere transitory dreames,
Compar'd with that felicity which now I finde.

Eg.
The sodaine newes of this late kindled warre,
Wherein I heare (to my great griefe) you are ingag'd,
Made me transgresse the bounds of modesty so farre,
That I desir'd once more to see your face,
Ere your departure to the field of danger.

Rho.
Since my good fortune and thy constant love
Have joy'd me once againe with thy sweet presence,
I blesse my lot, and to the field will hasten,
As ready to out-face danger, as scorne death;
And if I there finde fortunate successe,
Of all my good Ile count thee patronesse.

Eg.
And here on you I doe bestow this viall,
Which such a precious dosis doth containe,
That it doth farre exceed the height of value.
It is a potion made by wondrous art,
Nectar is no more comparable to it,
Than Bonniclabar is to Husquobath;
And Aurum potabile is as far short of it,
As poore Metheglin is of rich Canary:
All the confections even from the lowest degree
Of Sage-ale, to the height of Aqua-Celestis,
Are no more like it then the beere of the Low-countries
Is to the High-country wine:
A dram of it taken before you goe to bed
Cheeres the heart, prevents the Incubus
And all frightfull dreames; cheeres the blood,
Comforts the stomacke, dispels all collickes,
Cures all aches, repayres the liver, helpes
The lungs, rectifies the braine, quencheth
All the senses, strengthens the memory, refresheth
The spirits.
Taken fasting it breaks the stone in bladder
Or kidnyes, cures the gout, expels a quartane ague:
Outwardly apply'd it kils the gangrene,
And destroyes the wolfe, heales all sorts of wounds,
Bruses, boyles, and sores.
And not to use more multiplicity of words,
I tell you gentle Rhodon you shall finde,
It cures all griefes of body and of minde.

Rho.
(Faire one) verball expression cannot shew
What I to thee for this great gift doe owe:
But till for all I full requitall make,
My constant love thou for a pledge shalt take.

Eg.
But (gentle Sir) although your constitution
So well attemper'd seemes, that no disease
Can either hurt or over-throw your health,
Yet if my counsell might prevaile with you,
I should perswade you to make tryall of this
Rare water this night before you sleepe.

Rho.
Since thou vouchsaf'st to be my kinde Physician,
For this time I will act a patients part,
And ere that sleepe shall with his leaden keyes
Locke up the portals of my drowsie eyes,
Ile taste of this most precious liquor:
But lest the gealed moisture of the night
Should prejudice thy health, (sweet Iris)
Let me conduct thee homeward.

Eg.
Since these nocturnall distillations
May be offensive to your health (sweet Rhodon)
I will be well contented to be gone,
Though wondrous loth from you to part so soone.

Rho.
But in my absence be assur'd of this,
That Rhodons heart in thy possession is.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 4

Panace
Sola.
Exit.

SCEN. 5.

Martagon, Cynosbatus, Poneria.
Ma.
Sage Dame, how fares thy grand designe?
Dost thinke thy plot will take?

Po.
Nay, if you doubt it, I wish it nere might take.
Have I made hell a partie in the action,
And laid such snares, that more then humane force
Cannot withstand my well knit stratagem;
Yet will you still torment me with these doubts?

Ma.
Nay gentle mother, be not so impatient.

Po.
You tempt my patience, while you thus mistrust
My skill and my ability.

Cy.
We doe adore thy matchlesse skill and wisdome,
Thou grace and wonder of thy sexe.

Po.
Me thinkes I see the merry Post at hand,
That brings us joyfull newes of Rhodons death:
And not behinde him much me thinkes I see
Another Post, who comes with better newes,
That Rhodons army is discourag'd and discarded,
Yea quite disbanded and disperst.

Ma.
Oh happy newes (divine Poneria)

Po.
Yet ye account me a meere silly Dame,
Yea as silly as some simple simpering Citizen.
That hath but manners enough to take
The upper end of a Table at a feast,
And to carve a Capons legge to a Coxcombe.

Ma.
The ten Sybils were no more comparable to thee,
Than an old Gentlewoman is to a yong Chambermaid.
Sweet Poneria, I am even in love with thee:
Yea, I durst almost sweare I should kisse thee,
If thou had'st but three rotten teeth in thy head.

Po.
Well, my Masters, I hope you'll thanke me
When you heare that I have made proud Rhodon
A Legier Embassadour in Don Pluto's Court.

Ma.
Thy thankes, Poneria, shall be duly paid
In eyebewitching talents;
Wee'll rip the matrice of our grandam earth
To see the place where riches are conceiv'd;
And from her pregnant wombe we'll draw
A golden age for thee to live in (Deare Poneria)

Po.
Who would leave any villany undone,
To be thy slave, most noble Martagon.

Exit Pone.
Cy.
Now Martagon let us goe put on armes,
And toward Hybla march in strong aray.
Let us deface the glory of their flowers,
If Rhodon be but dead, the day is ours.

[Exeunt.]

ACT. 5

SCEN. 1

Acanthus, Anthophotus.
An.
Thou speak'st of things beyond beleefe, Acanthus.

Ac.
Too true it is, I shrewdly feare,
For every circumstance makes it appeare
That Rhodon in the mirtle grove, last night,
Had private conference with Iris,
From whom (it seemes) he tooke the venom'd potion,
For now he doth, in his extremest fits,
Exclaime on the untruth of woman kind,
Bewailing the unlucky houre that did present
Your sister Iris to his sight.

Enter Pan.
Pa.
Anthophotus and Acanthus, y'are well met.

Ac.
Nay, never worse, thou wouldst say, gentle Panace,
If thou knew'st all.

Pa.
What dire disastre hath befalne you, honor'd friends?
How fares the noble Shepheard Rhodon?

Ac.
Rhodon's mishap's the cause of all our sorrow:
Rhodon's betray'd, poyson'd, and lies at point of death.

Pa.
Curs'd be the hand that did attempt
A villany so impious and foule.
But if you love your selves, and Rhodons health,
Conduct me to him immediately:
I have an antidote that shall cure him,
If any breath be left within his bulke.

An.
Oh happy comfort! come sweet Panace,
To our sicke friend, we'll thy Conductors be.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 2.

Martagon, Cynosbatus.
Cy.
A happy morne be this to thee (friend Mortagon),

Ma.
Nay, 'tis the happiest morn that e'r we two beheld,
Rhodon is dead;
And is by this time, serv'd up in a wooden dish,
To feast the wormes upon an earthen table;
The purple bosom'd rose whose glorious pride
Disdain'd the beauties of all other flowers, is cropt,
Yea the ambitious bramble is quite wither'd,
And now is laid in the contemned dust:
Ponerias wit hath done this noble act.

Cy.
This is good newes, I must confesse, yet could I wish
That noble Rhodon had not so ignobly dy'd.

Ma.
Thou art too ceremonious for a politician,
And too superstitious: our duties 'tis to judge
Of the effect as it concernes the state of our affaires,
And not to looke backe on the meanes by which 'twas wrought.
He is unfit to rule a Civill state
That knowes not how in some respects to favour
Murther, or treason, or any other sinne
Which that subtill animall, call'd man,
Doth openly protest against, for this end,
That he may more freely act it in private,
As his occasions shall invite him to't.
But 'tis no disputing now; the deed is done,
We are in a faire way to victory,
Conquest, triumph, and renowne;
We have a faire b[e]ginning, and what's well begun,
(If that the proverbe speakes truth) is halfe done.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 3.

Poneria, Agnostus.
Po.
Now Agnostus, since by the death of Rhodon
We have endear'd our selves to Martagon,
'Tis meet we provide for a backe winter,
That we purchase some eminence of place,
To make us glorious in the worlds ill-sighted eye,
That being great we may the greater mischiefe doe:
And since a war is newly set abroach,
I will a suter be to Generall Martagon,
To place thee in some military office
Of high regard and speciall consequence,
Where by thy ignorant conduct and base carriage,
Thou mai'st a thousand heroicke soules send packing
Unto the Stygian shore.

Ag.
Nay good Poneria, I finde my selfe unfitting for the warres.

Po.
What neither hart nor braines; out inglorious lozel,
Thou most unweldy burthen of the earth:
I could finde in my heart to kicke thy soule out
Of thy carkasse: art all compos'd of earth and water?
Hast not a sparke of ayre or fire in that bulke?

Ag.
Nay sweet Poneria, I am thy slave.

Po.
I tell thee I will procure thee a Captaines place.

Ag.
But I am altogether ignorant in the words of command,
And know not one posture neither of Musket or Pike.

Po.
Hast wit enough to swallow the dead payes,
And to patch up thy Company in a Mustring day:
Hast valour enough to weare a Buffe-jerken
With three gold laces.
Hast strength enough to support a Dutch felt
With a flaunting Feather?
Can thy side endure to be wedded to a Rapire
Hatch'd with gold, with hilt and hangers of the new fashion?
Canst drinke, drab, and dice:
Canst damne thy selfe into debt among
Beleeving Tradesmen;
Hast manners enough to give thy Lieuetenant,
Antient or Sergeant leave to goe before thee
Upon any peece of danger?
Hast wit enough, in thy anger, not to draw a sword?
These are the chiefe properties that pertaine
To our moderne Captaines; and if thou
Could'st but be taught these military rudiments,
I doubt not but thou mightst prove a very
Excellent new souldier.

Ag.
If this be all, I hope, in time, to be as famous
As e're was Caesar, or great Pompey.

Po.
Agnostus, come along, thy selfe prepare
To be a servant to the god of warre.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 4.

Rhodon, Acanthus, Anthophotus, Panace.
Rho.
This strange imposture hath amaz'd me so,
That I am almost to a statue strucke,
Not knowing what to speake, or what to thinke.

Pa.
Assure your selfe it was a strange Collusion:
For this, on my fidelity, beleeve,
That 'twas not Iris whom you met last night.

Rho.
Then 'twas some hellish hag, that, in her shape,
Gave me the venemous confection
Which had undone me quite, if thou in time
Had'st not apply'd thy precious antidote.
But yet, me thinkes, that heaven should not permit
The subt'lest hellish power to counterfeit
The feature of so beautifull an angell.

Ac.
Doubtlesse it was the false Ponerias plot,
Whom Martagon hath lately entertaind,
With her companion, old Agnostus;
For, know the malice of your foes is such,
That if by open force they can't destroy you,
By hidden plots they'll seeke your overthrow.

Rho.
Then I must pardon crave of gentle Iris,
To whom I did ascribe this treacherous fact.

An.
If she were guilty of so blacke a deed
These hands should chaine her to a fatall stake,
And sacrifice her Corps in hideous flames,
Unto the awfull goddesse of revenge;
(Which done) I'de throw her hatefull ashes up
Against the furious gusts of boistrous winds,
That being so disperst, there might remaine
Not the least relique of so vile a wretch.

Rho.
My Iris is as cleare as innocency it selfe;
And since my treacherous foes have gone about,
By wicked flights, to wrong so sweet a saint,
And bring me also to a shamefull end,
I here enjoyne ye (honourable friends)
Upon my sword to take a solemne oath,
He drawes his sword, they lay their hands upon it, and kisse it.
Ne're to lay downe your just and lawfull armes,
Untill we be avenged to the full,
For such unkindly and disloyall wrongs:
True honour, that with dearest bloud is sought,
Is like a precious gemme that's cheaply bought.

An.
Ill is a life bestow'd upon that wight
That dares not loose it to maintaine the right:
Him I account a base inglorious sot,
That dares not honor pull from dangers throat.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 5.

Martagon, Cynosbatus, Agnostus, Poneria.
Ma.
Lady Poneria, upon your commendation,
We bestow a regiment upon this Gentleman.

Po.
Thanks (worthy Martagon) beleeve it Sir,
Those good respects which I to your affaires owe,
Urg'd me t'importune you for his employment,
Because I know him to be a tri'd souldier,
Of great experience, worth and merit:
How say you, Colonell Agnostus,
I hope your actions shall make good my words hereafter.

Ag.
I am at your service, Madam Poneria:
I am a man of action, I confesse.

Po.
Trust me sir, although he wants verball expression,
He is a Gentleman of singular abilities.

Ma.
And I thinke no lesse, for th' are not good words
That makes deserving souldiers, but good swords.

Cy.
He lookes as if he had bin bred, borne,
And brought up in a Leager all his life time.

Enter Gladiolus.
Glad.
Noble Generall; the beaut'ous Eglantine
Wisheth all happinesse to your designes,
Desiring that this paper may kisse your hands for her.

He opens the Letter.
Ma.
Tis about a place, Ile pawne my life on't:
Heare me Mounsier, I understand the businesse:
Her request is granted.
She when she please, may at my hands command
A greater curtesie then this.

Gla.
Thanks honor'd Sir.

Ma.
On you I bestow a Captaines place.

Gla.
Now I perceive that the readi'st way to attaine
Preferment in the Court of Mars,
Is to creep into the favour of Venus.

Ma.
I understand you are a man of reall worth,
And very sufficient for such an office.

Enter Acanthus.
Ac.
Imperious Martagon, that art no lesse
Knowne for thy power, then thy wickednesse:
In Rhodons name I doe defie thee here,
Who chalengeth the Combat at thy hands,
To be aveng'd on thee for thy foule wrongs:
But if thou dar'st not in a single fight,
Give satisfaction to the noble Shepheard;
Then thee and all thy troopes he doth invite,
To a bloudy breakfast to morrow morne.
Attended by a vigorous army he
Stands in the confines of his owne dominions
Swearing that he will prove it in the field,
That thou a tyrant and a traitour art.

Ma.
Bold friend, I prethe speake ingeniously,
Doth this defiance come from Rhodons mouth.

Ac.
Upon my life, & by the honor of a souldier it doth.

Ma.
Then tell him, I'me resolv'd to be a guest,
More bold then welcome at his bloudy feast.

Ac.
I will great Martagon; and misdoubt not,
But that your cheere shall be exceeding hot.

Exit Aca.
Ma.
Dissembling witch: how hast thou beguil'd us?

Po.
What adverse power hath crost our plot?

Ma.
Did'st not thou with thy deep protestatio[n]s force us
To give strong credence to thy false relations,
When thou affirm'dst that thou hadst poyson'd Rhodon.

Po.
The opposition of the cursed fates
Hath brought us to deserv'd confusion.

Ma.
Avant you hagge, abhominable sorceresse,
Here I doe thee on paine of death enjoyne,
With that Impostor thy companion,
Immediately to depart out of my Dominions.

Po.
Now I accursed wretch have seene too well,
That heaven will not be overrul'd by hell.

Ag.
How sodainly by one contrarious gust,
Is all our honour tumbled into dust.

Ma.
Since that our braving foe is now at hand,
(Cynosbatus) we must not thinke of a retreat.

Cy.
What your discretion holds fit to be done,
I condiscend to noble Martagon.

Ma.
Then let us meet our proud foe face to face,
And with our swords and speares that right maintaine,
Which lately we by sword and speare did gaine.

Exeunt.

SCEN. 6.

Rhodon, Anthophotus, Acanthus.
Rho.
Deserving friends and fellow souldiers,
Now arme your selves with Romane fortitude:
First call to minde the justice of our cause,
And then let each remember that true honour,
Which must be valu'd above health and life:
Consider also that we must contend,
Against a tyrant and a meere usurper;
A person guilty of no meane offences,
Which must be justly punish'd by our swords.

Enter Poneria, Agnostus.
Po.
Thrice noble Rhodon, in whose noble brest
True pitty dwels, vouchsafe a pardon
To us distressed Caitives.

Rho.
I neither know what your offences are, nor yet your selves.

Po.
I am the unfortunate Poneria,
That was suborn'd by unjust Martagon
To worke thy utter ruine:
I did conduct the love-sicke Eglantine
Unto thy presence instead of Iris:
I caus'd her to give thee a poysonous drinke,
Under the pretence that it was a love-potion.
I have deserv'd to dye, and crave life at your hands.

Rho.
And are you the grand incendiary
That have so many mischiefes wrought in Thessaly?
Now I remember I have seen your elvish countenance,
Nor have I altogether forgot your reverent mate,
Who with his personated gravity deludes the world,
Being accounted a man of profound art.
Acanthus, see them committed to safe custody,
See you make them sure for starting.

Po.
Nay worthy sir.

Ac.
You must away, for no entreaties can prevaile.

Exeunt Po. Ag. Ac.
Rho.
The apprehension of these wretches doth presage
Auspicious fortunes to our actions;
Drum beats a march within.
List, list, Anthophotus, our enemies are at hand,
Their thundring drums warne us of their approach.

[An.]
Wee'le bid them noble welcome then: this day will I
Victorious be (I vow) or bravely dye.

Rho.
Thy honour'd resolution I commend,
And take it for a signe of good successe.

Enter Acan.
Ac.
Arme, arme: the hostile forces are in sight,
And thus come marching on in proud array:
The Battaile's led by Martagon himselfe,
Wherein are marshal'd neere five thousand Bill men,
All clad in coats of red:
A furious Amazon cald Tulipa,
Brings on three thousand burley Swissers,
Arai'd in gorgeous Coats of red and yellow;
And these make up the vanne:
To which are added for a forlorne hope,
Two hundred melancholy Gentlemen,
The fierce Cynosbatus brings up the Rere,
Wherein about two thousand souldiers be
Clad all in greene, and arm'd with pikes of steele.
Narcissus with a thousand Daffadils,
Clad in deepe yellow coats doth flanke
The right side of the battaile.
The left wing is by Hyacinthus led,
Wherein a thousand Souldiers march,
Arraid in purple coats.

Enter Martagon, Rhodon.
Ma.
What fury tempted thee unhappy Rhodon,
In hostile manner thus to invade my confines.

Rho.
For Violettas sake I tooke up armes,
Whom thou unjustly hast opprest.

Musicke sound.
Ma.
What I have done my sword shall justifie.

Rho.
Whence comes this most harmonious melody.

Enter Flora, Iris, Eglantine, Panace.
Flo.
Put up these murdring blades on paine of my displeasure,
Confine them to perpetuall prison in the scabbard,
That they may nere come forth to manage civill broiles.

All.
We must obey, and will, Oh awfull goddesse.

Flo.
While in my flowry bowers I tooke repose,
I heard the noyse of these tumultuous broiles,
Which strooke me with a wonderfull amazement.
Then hastily I left my bankes of pleasure,
And hither came to end these mortall jarres;
Therefore I charge you both on that allegance
And respect which you doe owe to me,
Quite to dismisse your armed bands.
And you Martagon, who have faire Violetta wrong'd,
To her shall make an ample restitution,
Of what y'have tane from her;
And entertaine a friendly league with Rhodon,
Which you Cynosbatus must also condescend to:
But as for you fond Madam Eglantine,
Since you have broke the sacred lawes of love,
And by unlawfull meanes sought to accomplish
Your designes, and make the Shepheard Rhodon
Enamor'd on you:
You to a vestall Temple shall be confin'd,
Where with ten yeeres pennance
You shall expiate your folly.
But where be those two intruders
Poneria and Agnostus.
These that have crept in among us, and with false flights
Sought to ore-throw our state.
Poneria and Agnostus brought.
We banish them quite
Out of Thessaly for ever.
What I have decreed you must assent unto.

Ma.
We doe, because we must.

Flo.
Rhodon, I here bestow on thee this noble shepherdesse.

Rho.
Thanks for your precious gift, renowned Queen.

Flo.
And now since all things are reduc'd to joyfull peace,
Let us betake our selves to sweet delights,
And solemnize with mirth your nuptiall rites.

Epilogue.

Since Ignorance and Envie now are banish'd;
Since discord from among the flowers is vanish'd;
Since Rhodon is espous'd to Iris bright;
Since warre hath happy Thessaly left quite,
Let every one that loves his Countries peace,
His height of gladnesse with his hands expresse.

FUNERALL ELEGIES;

Consecrated to the immortal memory, of the Right Honorable the Lady Katherine Paston, late wife to the truely noble, and heroicke, William Paston of Oxned Esquire

Eleg. 1.

And must our brows with Cypresse sad be bound?
Because Calista is with glory crownd,
Immortall splendent bayes, that grow upon
Mount Sion high, not earthly Helicon.
In sable darke must we our bodies dight?
Because our Saint is clad in robes of white.
Shall we on earth sob forth our Elegyes?
While she sings Allelujah in the skyes:
Our sorrowes are prepost'rous, and we erre
In offering patheticke songs to her,
Whose vertues rare require a Lyrists quill,
Or rather Panegyrists learned skill.
Homer, and Virgill caroling her praise,
(Had they liv'd now) might well have wonne the bayes,
Although the Iliads, and the Æneids both,
Had nere been borne: these works were built on froth:
For 'tis a question, not resolved yet,
When Ilium was sack'd, or whether it,
Was ruin'd by the Greekes at all; and why
Should Virgill censur'd be for flattery?
'Cause he deriv'd the great Cesarian name,
From Varlets, that surviv'd their Cities flame,
From one that left his friends, and wife engag'd,
When bloody Mars, and fiery Vulcan ragd:
Doubtlesse a pious Knight, and debonaire,
Who brought his wronged Mistris to despaire,
Then fled from her, whom basely he deceiv'd,
Though nobly shee had him, and his reliev'd.
True Vertue is my subject, and that such,
As seldome did ere Woman owne so much.
Honours great example, beauties bright throne,
The Temple of sincere religion,
An altar of unfaigned piety.
The Golden branch of true nobility,
The Palace of the Graces, and the spheare,
Wherein no cloud, nor meteour did appeare,
The Pyramid of love, Truths pretious shrine,
The helpe, and hope of all the sacred nine,
The Treasury of thoughts pure, and sublime,
The Phoebe, and the Phoenix of her time;
All these was shee: yea more then these was shee:
But what shee was, cleare Angels onely see;
For tongue, or penne of Man, cannot expresse
Such bright unlimited existences.
Shee was: shee is declind: she being gone,
The World that had two Sunnes, hath now but one;
And we envelop'd in a night of sorrow,
In darkenesse mourne, despairing of a morrow;
For who can be so rich of hope, t'expect
That Nature can her Parallel erect,
Since shee on her expended hath such store
Of Gifts, that shees become a bankrupt poore?
As when some wealthy Tradesman doth demise,
The summe of all his richest merchandise,
In a faire vessell to the fickle seas,
Hoping to reape a plentifull encrease,
By this adventure; but the Winds conspire
With froward Neptune, to crosse his desire,
And ruine all his hopes, for in one houre
The greedy Ocean doth his goods devoure:
So our rich Argosie (which fraighted was,
Not with Tobacco, Indico, nor glasse,
But with pearles, gemmes, gold, amber, spiceries,
Arabian gummes, and what the treasuries
Of the two Indies could afford) is lost,
Her faire carine's wrack'd on the shelvy coast
Of fraile mortality: The Grave hath wonne
Natures chief jewell, and the World's undone:
The golden chaine of causes is dissolv'd,
And Chaos (that so long hath beene involv'd
In the unseene abysse) attempts to rise,
And make both Orbes, and Elements his prize.
The Worlds soule's fled; the exit of her breath,
Threatens (I feare) an universall death;
For in her fate all vertues did decline,
All beauties were eclipst, and ceast to shine:
But if true honour shall her end survive,
If reall worth shall in her absence thrive,
Posterity shall her example praise,
For such great benefits, numbring those dayes,
Which shee spent here on earth, with pebbles white:
Princes shall trophyes reare, and Poets write,
Striving to make her name last with her blisse,
And raise her fame as high as now shee is.
As the Pantarba, brightest of all gemmes,
Dost darkest nights enlighten with her beames,
And by a hidden sympathy, attract
Adjacent stones, in heapes together packt;
But Nature, least a jewell so renown'd,
Should lose esteeme, by being often found,
Hath in the bowels of the center, hid
This pretious secret, and decreede beside,
That being found it soone againe is lost,
If not preserv'd, with wondrous care, and cost:
So our bright Goddesse, (whose resplendent worth
That in this night of vice, did rayes send forth
Of sanctity divine, drawing all hearts,
To honour, and adore, so high deserts)
Was soone snatch'd hence, yet not through our neglect,
Or want of due obsequious respect;
But rather 'cause Heaven thought the world unfit,
For such a gemme to be a Cabinet.
The Corall growing in the Ocean blew,
Wants hardnesse, and retaines a pallid hue:
There churlish billowes oft the same doe daunt;
But when aire breathes upon this wat'ry plant,
It instantly becomes a crimson stone,
And many pretious properties puts on;
The Artist then it with pure mettall deckes,
For Infant Kings, to weare about their neckes.
So pious soules, that in the Ocean wide,
Of this tumult'ous universe abide,
No firme existence, nor faire lustre have,
Tost to and fro by every adverse wave,
Of sorrowfull disasters, but when Time
Hath them advanc'd above the starres sublime,
Then consorts they become of Angels bright,
Adorn'd with golden crownes, and vestures white.
Thus change of native soyle brings Soules to blisse
A Wiseman much by travell betterd is.
But ye faire eyes, like diamonds richly set,

Apostrophe to La. E. B.

On a white, rosie, circuled carkanet,
That late sweld up the streames of cristall

The name of the river running at the foote of Oxned.

Bure,
With your more cristall teares, and rills more pure,
Forbeare to droppe those pearles, lest your sad mone,
Transforme your selves to starres, and us to stone:
(Thrice honoured Lady) you that lately were
The sweet associate, of your Sister deare,
When ye like those auspicious lights did shine,
Which happy calmes to Mariners presigne.
Like Turtles chast, or silver-brested Swannes
Stroking the thinne ayre with their snowy fannes,
Ye late appear'd: but cruell Death (God wot)
With ruthlesse blade, hath cut the Gordian knot
Of your society, Death onely could divide,
Such blessed bonds, a league so strongly ty'd.
Nor can expence of sorrowes finde redresse,
For this sad accident, or make it lesse:
Griefes are no cures for ill's, and do arise
From humane weaknesse, not from reason wise.
When great Darius, of his consort deare
Deprived was, by Atropos severe,
To griefe he renderd up his royall brest,
No solace would he take, nor any rest.
Then grave Democritus inform'd the King,
That he from death, to life his Queene would bring.
If he would grant him, what he should entreat,
For the effecting of a worke so great:
Darius condescends, and bids him aske,
What meanes he thought convenient for this taske:
Names of three Persons onely he requested,
That never had with sorrow beene molested,
For losses of a kinsman, or a friend.
The King then did strict inquisition send,
Through all his Kingdomes, to search out such men:
But when they could be no where found nor seene
He found his errour, and the fatall law
Of unmov'd destinye, and nature saw;
Hence tooke he comfort, and with bounty high;
The Wiseman for his cure did gratifie.
Griefe is a passion, and all passions must
Confined be, unto a measure just,
Lest they like swelling spring-tides overthrow
The bankes of Reason, and the same oreflow:
Like Nilus they are not, who rising high
Presageth plenty and fertility;
Nor must they alway in their chanels runne
Like him, but suffer intermission:
For sorrow that is never spent or done,
Flowes like th' infernall River Acheron:
And they who with perpetuall grones expresse
Their passions, for a freind gone hence in peace,
Like croaking frogs in muddy styxe become,
While the bewail'd enjoyes Elysium.
Jove (on a time) the Goddesses did call
To an assembly, where among them all
He dignities and honours did impart,
Well corresponding with each ones desart:
Too late Dame-Sorrow to this meeting came,
Whom Jove (for tardinesse) did justly blame
For he bestow'd had all his gifts before,
And had for her no honour left in store;
But shee importun'd him, for to conferre
Some favour, or gratuity on her:
He (having nothing else) unto her lent
The teares, and plaints, which are at fun'rals spent:
Now as each Goddesse loves those persons well,
Whose sweete oblations shee is wont to smell,
So if to sorrw we shall often bring
Sad sighes, and mourning, for an offering,
Shee never will forsake us: But if we
Neglect her humble votaries to be,
Withdrawing those sad dueties shee requires,
Like one despised, shee soone from us retires,
If teares concern'd the good of soules deceast,
Or if they could adde ought unto their rest,
I should turne Heraclitus, and lament,
Untill my eyes had all that moisture spent,
Which from the braine they take (this being done)
They should dissolve themselves, and in teares runne,
Expending in an office so divine,
Both humours aqueous, and christalline:
But since that teares (on such occasions shed)
Nor benefit the living, nor the dead,
Let us them for a better end reserve;
They rightly us'd, for pretious balmes may serve:
Nor do I Stoicall paradoxes hold;
For they deliver, that no Wiseman should
Give way to griefes, I rather thinke it fitter,
That none should drinke too deepe of cups so bitter:
But never did excessive sorrowes merit
Such liberty, and freedome to inherit,
As lately, when shee left our horizon,
Whose presence made our age a golden one:
Honour, Griefe, Joy, shall never cease t'expresse
Her Vertue, Death, and present happinesse:
And if that Reason, shall prohibite all
Immod'rate teares, for such a funerall,
The Nights shall mourne in blackes, and Mornes, shall weepe,
Untill Calista wakes, from her last sleepe.

Eleg. 2.

Retreate (sad passions) to your chanels now,
Let sorrowes inundations cease to flow:
Griefes, (which distinguish Mortals from the Gods)
Ought to be limited with periods,
Lest action by such torrents overborne,
Should vertue leave abandon'd to the scorne
Of faithlesse Fortune, her undoubted slave
Then cease (ye weeping Hyades) to lave
That marble shrine, wherein those reliques lye,
Which (whilome) harbour'd such nobility,
That all our teares shed there (though we were sure
We could droppe richest pearles or amber pure)
Were to be valu'd, or esteemd no more,
Then if a cisterne small should spend his store,
To gratifie the swelling Ocean:
No more, then if fond Time should lend a spanne
Of his finite dimension, to supply
The wants of infinite Eternity.
Her worth was so sublime, so cleare, so full,
That humane intellects prove weake, and dull,
While they the same contemplate, wanting might,
(Like bastard Eaglets) to behold such light.
The Caspian-seas stand mur'd in hilly bounds,
Yea Neptunes Empire, airye Jove surrounds;
A lucide Orbe of fire doth these enfold,
The Heav'ns about the Elements are roul'd;
Heav'ns are involv'd with Heav'ns; the stars decline
Unto their periods: Time and Place confine
This great magnificence of Natures store,
But Shee (whose early absence we deplore)
Surmounts all these immensities, as farre,
As doth the largest sphere, the smallest starre.
I injure her (I feare) while I compare
Those things, which fraile, and transitory are,
With that immortall, unimagin'd blisse,
Which crownes her, in her Apotheosis;
Then stoope (my Muse) from that celestiall place,
Whose radiant lustre, and translucent grace,
Those crowned Candidates can onely gust,
Who have put off their mourning weedes of dust.
Like that faire Bird, in snowy plumage drest,
Which silver Po doth plow with his soft brest,
Singing his requiem, to the sighing streame;
So let my Muse assume the stately theme,
Of true nobility, and reall worth,
While shee in buskin'd straine, strives to set forth
True honour to the life; list to my song,
Yee that have soules; to you these Odes belong:
If Men will not give eare, then Rockes and Trees
Shall conge's give, and echo plaudit'es,
While I of her doe sing: for vertues fire
Doth animate more bodies, then the Lyre
Of Orpheus could: her pure celestiall heate
Invites the God's themselves, with Men to treat.
Vertue alone, is to be valu'd more,
Then many painted scutchions, or a score
Of swelling titles, for numerous descents,
And titles, be but her gay ornaments:
It argues but a spirit dull and cold,
To summon monuments and statues old,
For proofe of gentry, or a name to reare,
On what the wormes have left; as if we were
Devoide of arts and hearts, whereby to merit
That praise, and bayes, which vertue should inherit;
And must become beholding unto stones,
For all our stiles, and reputations:
But where illust'rous ancestry we finde,
Annexd unto an honourable minde,
Nobility there shines like Luna bright,
With orbed face, 'mongst starres of lesser light.
As ciphers (by themselves) no summes designe,
But if with figures ye the same combine,
Large numbers they compose; so ancestry
For nothing stands, if vertue be not by.
What neede I thus expatiate, or search through
The golden grove of ethickes, for to show
A definition, or a character
Of this heroicall habite, since in her
(Of whom I sing) nobility did shine,
With such pellucid rayes, and beames divine,
That it essentiall seem'd, and not acquir'd;
Not accidentall, but from heav'n inspir'd.
Heav'n lent her to the earth, and would not trust
With such a gemme (too long) a world of dust;
But like a prudent Creditour becomes,
That cals for quicke repayment of those summes,
Which to profuser Prodigalls he lent,
To free himselfe from further detriment,
Which through forbearance of so large a debt,
Must needs result; Had shee bin longer kept
On Earth, perhaps base Earth would then have vaunted
Of her fruition, whom the blest Heav'ns wanted.
The Lilly, Rose, and fragrant Violet,
Those choicest gemmes of Floras cabinet,
Shew lifes epitomes, and then retreate
To longer deaths, in Vestas bosome great:
Where they must sleepe, until Apollo shall
Come from his southerne progresse, and recall
(With his reviving heate) them to review
The world, and it adorne, with their bright hue:
For as Antheus, by his stronger foe,
Throwne to the earth, recover'd vigour so;
So do terrestriall seedes from earth derive
Their vitall strength, and humour nutritive.
The Sunne resignes to Vesper, and each starre
Retires at the returne of Phoebus carre;
Thus by a naturall vicissitude,
Alternally things alterd, are renewd
In their corruptions, ever rise, and fall,
'Till in a conflagration generall,
This World like the Arabian Bird shall burne,
That an immortall Phoenix, from her urne
May rise, arrayd with those illustr'ous plumes,
Which neither age decayes, nor time consumes.
But she (whom we lament) although she try'd
No more then one short life, and but once dy'd,
Yet her one funerall did on us light,
More like a publike ruine, then the weight
Of any private crosse, yea we may call
Her death, a greivance epidemicall,
A losse, which no reprisall can redresse,
Whose greatnesse, rather silent griefes expresse,
Then golden lines, for passions doe exceed
Those measures, which the modest Muses tread,
Nor can the sorrowes of a troubled mind,
By any penne, or pencill be confin'd.
But whether strayes my wandring Muse misled
Through Labyrinthes of cares, by sorrowes threed,
As if shee were intent, with dreary layes,
To ayme at Cypresse wreaths, not crownes of bayes:
Let sad Electra, hidden in her sphere,
Lament incinerated Ilium there:
Let Niobe in Sypileian stone,
Latonas hate, and her owne pride bemone:
Let Biblis melted to a cold cleere bourne,
For her incest'ous fires still waile and mourne.
Yea let ambiguous teares those fun'ralls steepe,
Where riper Heires, or yonger widdowes weepe:
Like personated Mourners at the graves,
Of some old crabbed, and decrepit knaves.
Such fain'd libations we abhorre, and feare
To make false immolations unto her,
Who was so true, so noble, so divine,
In name, and really a

Derivat a Graec ηαθαρσις purus.

Katherine.
Shee had no spots like Cynthia, nor was shee
Mercuriall, or like light Cythere:
But shee Astraea was: Astraea just,
Who fleeing hence, did leave old Time in trust,
To keepe in wardrobe cold her robes of clay;
But if these shall through his neglect decay,
Yet shall shee find at last this vesture fraile,
Transmuted to a fresh immortall veyle.

Eleg. 3.

Epicedium.

A GALLERY TO THE TEMPLE.

LYRICALL POEMES UPON SACRED OCCASION[S]

The Dedication

(My Lord) who with acceptance dids't regarde
The sinnefull Maryes penitentiall teares,
As well as her fine Boxe of pretious Narde,
Vouchsafe to take my humble, holy verse,
Which for thy Head, affordes no Unguent sweet,
But onely water for to bathe thy feet./

[1] The Incarnation.

[2] The Passion

Who can reviewe, without a pretious losse
Of teares, the bitter sorowes of thy crosse
(Oh Dearest Lord)
Whose corps was gor'd,
In every member, by remorseles steele,
That wee (thy Members) might not Tophet feele—
Thy feet (Oh God)
Which never trod
In sinnefull pathes, with bloudy nayles were pierc'd;
Because wee in ungodly wayes were vers'd:
Thy hands most pure,
Were forc'd t'endure
The self same paines; because our hands have bin,
Vile instruments of wickednes, and sinne:
Thy temples blest
With thornes were prest:
Because wee have (upon our pillowes soft)
Mischievous stratagems imagin'd oft:
Thy heart most just,
And free from lust,
Was wounded too; because our hearts most evill,
Through pride, and lust, were censers for the Devill.
What I expresse,
Must needes be lesse
Then thy sharp paines, for the whole Continent,
Of thy chast corps, was into one wound rent:
Who can reflect,
With dry aspect,
Upon thy torments? Oh that I could weepe,
Till I did swimme in my repentance deepe,
Since for my guilt,
Thy bloud was spilt:
But I am whelm'd, in sorowes, and in feares,
Because I cannot drowne my sinnes in teares:
What shall I say?
I thus will pray.
As bloud, and water issu'd from thy wound,
So with thy bloud, doe Thou my teares compound./

[3] The Deprecation

[4] Solitude

[5] Resolution

[6] Blindnes

[7] The Newyeares Gift

This is the time, when that the Druid's sage,
Their mysticke Mistleto,
Divided to
The superstitious Vulgar, as a gage
Of future happynes,
And good successe,
Which unto them the Newborne yeare should give:
At this time freinds did try,
For to comply,
And with their mutuall donatives did strive,
To strengthen, or renue
Affection true:
But now my taske it is, and my delight,
To heighten, and improve
Diviner love:
And t'wixt my God, and mee, to sett things right;
To whom I did commend,
And humbly send
A Heart with praises fraught: My gracious Lord
Accepted of my strene,
With lookes serene;
Hee kept my praises, but my heart restor'd,
Replenish'd with content,
Most excellent:
And I this Newyeares gift esteemed more,
Then all, which ever I receiv'd before./

[8] Sciences

[9] Teares

[10] Securitye

[11] The Bankrupte

God, with the breath of life did mee inspire,
And in the world mee landed, where,
I like a stranger could but things admire,
Being unfitt for pratticke there:
For I, of language had not the least tittle;
Could neither call for drinke, or bread:
But when I grew acquainted but a little,
And could without a Truchman trade:
Then I forgott my home, and did neclect
Th' imployment, I was sent about;
I forraine pleasures then 'gan to affect,
And like unthrifty Factours sought,
Not my Lords profite, but mine owne delight:
Both wine, and women did mee please:
The women of the land were faire to sight,
And made mee leave my busynes.
My Lord did then of my debauchments heare,
And to a strict account mee brought,
But I could not responsible appeare,
I so extremely had runne out.
Then I emprisonment, and bonds did feare,
And like a perplex'd Caitife stood:
Untill a freind did whisper in mine eare,
And told me that my Lord was good:
Hee mee advis'd to sue for mercy: Then
I fell downe prostrate at his feet,
Which with my teares to bathe I did beginne,
Th' unfained signes of my regreet.
My gracious Lord did then my debt remitt;
Nor did his goodnes end in this
For Hee to mee more treasures did committ,
And more esteem'd commodityes,
Then Hee with mee before intrusted had;
Thus I who was his wretched Debtour,
His Beneficiarye blest was made,
And then resolv'd to serve him better.

[12] Griefe

[13] Truth

[14] The Vote

The Helmett now an hive for Bees becomes,
And hilts of swords may serve for Spiders loomes,
Sharp pikes may make,
Teeth for a rake:
And the keene blade, th' arch enemy of life,
Shall bee digraded to a pruneing knife:
The rusticke spade
Which first was made
For honest agriculture, shall retake
It's primitive imployment, and forsake
The rempires steepe,
And trenches deepe.
Tame conyes in our brazen gunnes shall breed,
Or gentle Doves, their yong-ones there shall feede:
In musket barrells
Mice shall raise quarrells
For their quarters: The ventriloquious drumme
(Like Lawyers in vacations) shall be dumme:
Now all recrutes
(But those of fruites)
Shall bee forgott: and th' unarm'd Soldier,
Shall onely boast of what Hee did whilere,
In chimneys ends,
Among his freinds./
If good effects shall happy signes ensue,
I shall rejoyce, and my prediction's true.

[15] The Antiphon

Chorus./
Prais'd bee our Great Creatour,

Angells./
In the skyes.

Men./
In earth and water.

Cho./
Who doth not his workes despise

An.
Us Hee loves.

Men.
And us improves.

Cho.
How His goodnes sweet abounds?

An.
In our glory.

M.
And his sonnes wounds.

Cho.
Though Wolves this Lambe did worry,

An.
Yet Hee rose,

M.
To shame his foes.

Cho.
Hee did triumphe over Hell.

An.
Satan bounde.

M.
And Death did quell.

Cho.
Hee in Heaven with glory crown'd,

An.
With us stayes,

M.
And for us prayes;

Cho./
What tongue can his praises speake?

An.
Ours want might.

M.
Ours are too weake.

Cho./
Wee blesse his name, Who in light,
Men with Angells, doth unite.

[16] Crosses

[17] The Sute

Lord winnowe mee from the vile dust
Of vaine desires:
Refine mee from my drosse, and rust,
In gentle fires,
Let mee not perish in the day
Of thy displeasure:
But so prepare mee, that I may
Become thy treasure:
Bruise mee not with an iron rodde,
Oh breake mee not,
That am a despicable clod,
An earthen pot.
A vessell of iniquitye,
And fitt to bee
A vassall to Hells Tyrannie,
If it please Thee.
But Thou oh Lord dos't not desire
A Sinners death:
Nor to consume those in thine ire,
Whom thou gavs't breath.
Conversion not confusion, Thou
Delightest in.
Thou quicke to mercy art, but slow
To punish sinne.
Wee day by day doe Thee incense,
Yet Thou dost still
Abound in thy beneficence,
As if thy will,
To workes of mercy were confin'd:
Yea even as though
Thou could'st not any arrow find,
To fitt thy bowe:
Yet the whole World's thine Armarye;
Both sea, and land,
Yea Heaven and all, with armes supply
Thy dreadfull hand.
The Angells thy Militia are,
Sinners thy foes,
Yet Thou ar't slow to denounce warre,
Or fight 'gainst those:
Thine Angells sinn'd but once, yet were
Undone for ever:
But Man seven times a day may erre,
Yet perish never.
Why shouldst Thou thus thy glory mixe,
With pride and lust?
Or favours upon statues fixe
Of clay and dust?
Man of two natures doth consist;
For Thou (oh Lord)
These diffr'ent substances didst twiste,
In the fraile corde
Of humane essence, that Man might
Thy viceroy prove
On Earth; But bee thy Psalmist bright
In heaven above:
(Lord) polish with thy supreme grace,
My better part:
Let not vaine desires it deface,
Or get the start
Of my incorruptible love:
Then I shall here
Thy psalmes endite; and bee above,
Thy Quirister.

[18] Hypocrisie

The barbr'ous Turkes, are Men of the long robe;
Yet on the surface of the earthly globe,
Scarce any Nation is,
So ignorant as this.
Nor is there any wickedness so foule,
As that which lyes beneath the holy cowle:
But still wee must except the Jesuites cloke,
Which large enough is to become a poke,
For Iliad's of evills,
And bee th' Asyle of Devills.
For Mischiefe no where doth so safely lye,
As underneath the veyle of sanctitye:
A Spanish ruffe, or a Venetian vest,
Of gravity, may seeme the very nest
But Pandares, Whores, and Night
Can easily recite,
Strange tales, concerning These, who wont to use
The Counsell Hall by day, by night the stewes:
Man is what Hee doth least appeare:
On earth, an arrant Cousener:
But God shall him unrippe (at the last day)
And all his secret villanyes display.

[19] The Conception

[20] The Habitation

[21] The Dialogue

Soule

Dispayre

Soule

Dispayre

Soule

Dispayre

Soule

[22] Vanitye

[23] The Apparition

A true French story

[24] The Rocke

[25] Bounty

[26] The Navigation

[27] The Apologye

[28] Infirmitye

[29] Contrition

[30] The Progresse

[31] Neclect

[32] The Treasure

[33] Jordan

[34] Prodigyes

[35] Infinitenes

[36] The Descension

[37] Unconstancye

[38] Devotion

[39] The Bottle

[40] The Deliverance

[41] The Triumphe

[42] The Extremes

[43] The Feast

[44] Weakenes

[45] The Lamentation

[46] Sanctification

[47] The Pedigree

[48] Peace

[49] The Nosegay

[50] The Pilgrimage

Errours of youth

Fortune.
While thus perplex'd I did abide,
A beauto'us Dame,
Unto mee came,
And profferd for to bee my guide,
Then I, who long since wont t'admire,
The fairest objects of desire,

Pleasure.

Knowledge.

Grace./

[51] The Transmutation

[52] The Burthen

[53] Ostentation

[54] The Race

This life is an Olympicke Game, a Race,
Wherein the Victours shall bee crown'd,
With liveing bayes; which Time cannot deface:
But many obstacles abound,
Us to impeach, and stoppe us in our pace;
For wee runne on such unev'n ground,
That they who are most sure of foote, and strong,
Doe trippe, and fall seven times a day.
And wee are prone to linger, and goe wrong:
Besides, The World casts in our way
Apples of gold, for which our palates long,
Yet these no nutriment convey
To us, seemeing faire, onely to the eye,
Like those which fond Eve did presente
Unto uxorious Adam, who thereby,
A curse on us his children sent.
Some in the trenches fall of luxury,
Hoodwink'd by lust incontinent:
The Devill in the eyes of some throwes dust;
Plants engines, settes his nettes, and snares,
To catch the eye, the Eare, the touch, the gust:
Delves pittes of pleasures, and of cares;
For to entrappe the Wicked, and the Just
No toyle no trickes no time He spares.
At morne, at even, at midday, and midnight,
For youth, old Age, and Mans estate,
Hee layes what trappes Hee thinkes most requisite,
And for each temper hath a bayte,
(Oh Thou) who a'rt the Guide, the Way, the Light,
And to eternall life the Gate,
In this Race by thy Grace let mee proceede,
And let thy merit Crowne my want of speede.

[55] Vivacitye

[56] Hardnes

Th' obdurate Adamant disdaines to feele
The hardest Chesills edge;
Submitting neither unto stone, nor steele;
Yet many doe alleadge,
That the warme bloud of Goates, hath power on
This unrelenting stone:
But for the bloud of an unspotted Lambe,
I humbly will entreate,
A hard, and refractory heart to tame,
Made of obdurate Jeate:
For this doth take away all hardnes quite,
And changeth black to white.
Droppes, by their frequent distillation,
Doe pretty cesternes make,
In hardest flints': (Oh Thou) the cornerstone,
Vouchsafe my teares to take,
Into thy bosome, where they may impresse,
A sense of my distresse.
Oh let those liquid rubyes, trickleing from
The Cinque ports of thy wounds,
Make my hard contumacious heart become,
Like overflowed grounds:
Then floods of penitentiall teares I'le bring,
T'increase thy mercyes spring.

[57] Intemperance

[58] The Combate

[59] The Echo

Telle me (my Soule) how doth thy comfort flow?
Ech.
Low
What thoughts dos't Thou retaine of Melancholy?

E.
Holy
What made thine holy sorow thus to rise?

E.
eyes
What object did thine eyes to thee designe?

E.
Sinne
What made thee sinne, and thus thy God incense?

E.
Sense
What punishment thy great offence succedeth?

E.
Death
Cans't Thou for death find any remedye?

E.
I.
Where growes this blessed Balme of sanctimony?

E.
On high
Then seeke thy God with a pure holy will.

E.
I will
And Thou shalt find that cure which Thou desirest.

E.
I rest./

[60] Moderation

Arts are th' Egyptian Handmaydes, to the Queene
Of sciences:
Moses the chiefe of Prophets, and of Men,
Did these possesse:
Our moderation must give these esteeme,
But if wee trye,
(Like Icarus) to flye a pitch extreme,
And over high,
Neclecting Her, who is their soveraigne just,
Then ten to one,
While to our waxen wings wee vainly trust,
Wee are undone.
Concerning creatures Arts enquiryes hold,
And labour much,
In secundary causes; but this gold,
Will not hold touch:
The circuite of the Primum Mobile
Must not confine
Our spirits, which accommodated bee,
For things divine:
Nor here must wee confide in soareing plumes,
But humbly rise:
For while some one on his owne strength presumes,
And too high flyes,
He dazled falls, and tumbles to the center,
With members crack't,
Because Hee was too rash, in his adventure:
A middle tract
Must bee observ'd, by every pious heart,
Who find the port,
While they their course shape by the holy Chart,
In pious sort.

[61] The Prodigall

Disrob'd by Sinne, expos'd to the cold aire,
Of dire dispaire,
I sighe I grone:
Famish'd for want of heav'nly sustenance,
My spirit faints,
And is nigh gone.
My time, my prime, and patrimonye I,
Have made to flye,
In forraine lands:
Lands farre remote from new Jerusalem,
Or Bethleem,
On cursed bands
Of Ruffians, Baudes, and whores: These Ruffians dire,
Were wrath, and ire,
These baudes, and whores,
Were Riote, Pride, Concupiscence, and Lust,
And these have thrust
Mee, out at doores:
Nothing but Want, and Shame, is left behind:
No hope I find,
To ease my mind:
How I desir'd to feede on those coarse huskes,
Which t'wixt their tuskes,
The swine did grinde:
But none vouchsaf'd to give, or let mee taste
Of this repast,
'Cause I had bin
Both to my God, and to my self unkind,
And had declin'd,
To extreme sinne.
Then g'an I of my Fathers House to thinke,
Where meate, and drinke,
Did much abound:
His hired servants I to mind did call,
Replenish'd all,
With diet sound:
Then did I say, I will arise, and goe
My Father to,
And thus make mone:
'Gains't Heaven, and before Thee, I have transgrest,
And merite least,
The name of sonne:
Account mee but among Thy servants hir'd;
This I desir'd,
And forward pass'd.
But when my Father mee farre of descry'd,
Himself Hee ply'd,
And made great haste:
On mee (poore soule) Hee sweet compassion had,
As one full glad,
My necke Hee prest
With his embraces deare, and kiss'd my cheeke,
With love full meeke,
While I confest
My sinne: then Hee for the best robe did call,
And therewithall,
Did mee invest:
A ring upon my hand Hee did impose,
And with new shoes,
My feet Hee drest:
Hee caus'd them to prepare the fatted calfe,
In my behalfe,
And sayd, let's feede,
Rejoyce, and merry bee, for this my Sonne,
Who was undone,
And given for dead.
Is now alive./ Thus my Indulgent sire,
With love entire,
Tooke mee ag'en.
And Heaven alone, those inward joyes can shew,
In figures true,
Which I felt then./

[62] The Harpe

Some may occasion snatch to carpe,
Sayeing that I have sung to Nero's Harpe,
And therefore am for Davids most unfitt,
Which piety requires, as well as witt:
But thus, I my defence prepare,
Sheweing how I have travell'd farre,
And by the streames of Babylon have sate,
Where I deplor'd my sad, and wretched state;
Upon a willow there I hung
That Harp, to which I whilome sung:
This Tree, which neither blossomes yeldes, nor fruite,
Did with this instrument unhappy sute:
There let it hang, consume, and rotte
Since I a better Harpe have gott,
Which doth in worth as farre surpasse the other,
As Abel in devotion, did his brother.

[63] The Mistake

Wee blame the times,
But doe not on our selves reflect,
To view our crimes,
And Sinne the chiefest architect
Of our disasters.
Our optickes tend to distances,
And wee are Masters,
Which things at home doe not redresse;
But all our losses,
Unto our neihboures wee impute,
Although our crosses,
Wee daily by our sinnes recrute:
If Each would seeke himself t'amend,
How soone our miseryes should end./

[64] The Terrours

T'was time to rise,
My Saviour knock't,
But I was rock't
Asleepe, by lusts, and vanityes:
And when I wak'd,
My self I found,
Environ'd round
By perills, which my vitalls shak'd:
An angry God
I saw above,
Whose hand did move
A flameing sword, and burning rodde:
On my right side,
Death I beheld,
Whose hand did wield
A dart, ne're flyeing short, or wide:
But on my left,
Sinnes thronging stood,
Like a thicke wood,
Which more then death my heart did cleft:
But underneath,
Hell I espyd,
Yawneing full wide,
More terrible then Sinne, or Death./
Like Balthasar
(When Hee beheld
His ruine spelld
Upon the wall) so did I fare,
My Jesu saw
Mee sore agast,
Then Hee in haste,
Did from these terrours mee withdraw./

[65] The Tempest

The fraile Carine of my distemperd soule,
Did on the billowes rowle,
Of this tempesto'us World: The rageing gusts
Of Passions, and lusts,
Did from all quarters blow: The helme was lost:
Never was ship so tost:
The Maine mast strayn'd, and ready was to fall,
So was misne Mast and all:
The tackleing crack'd, like rotten threed, or strawes,
And the vast deepes wide jawes,
Each minute, threaten'd to involve this barke,
Within their bowells darke:
Then (like the Galileean Masters) I
Cry'd loud, and fervently,
(Lord) save me least I perish: whereupon,
The Tempest ceased soone./

[66] Conversion

Gold is the chiefest labour of the sunne:
Gemmes are his artifice: His beames intrude
Upon the darke Abysse, and Mansion
Of the blind subterraneous multitude,
Whereby his pow'r is shew'd.
But true Conversion doth transcend the starres,
Where it creates such joyes, that Gemmes, and Gold
Compar'd with these, are vitiated wares,
Thus Pious Soules more vertues doe infold,
Then this great light doth hold:
And him in force excell,
As farre as Heaven doth Hell.

[67] The Refuge

Oh whether shall I flye?
To Hills or Valleys:
Where shall I hidden lye?
T'escape the malice,
Of my pursuers hote.
No Mountaine high,
No vale, or dismall Grotte,
Can shelter mee:
Yet on Mount Calvary,
I kenne a Tree,
Though seemeing seare, and dry,
Yet t'is (I see)
Laden with fruite divine,
Whose shadow blest,
All cursed Fiends decline:
Oh here's my rest./

[68] The Mansion

My Lord lay in a stable twice;
First when his Godhead was,
Plac'd in that homely edifice,
Where the tame Oxe, and Asse,
His Innemates were; and also when
Hee did in Mee abide;
That am a stable most uncleane,
Defil'd with lusts, and pride:
But when I call to mind, that Hee
Vouchsafed to retaine,
Some few poore Fishermen, to bee
The chiefest of his traine,
And how Hee chose the Province low,
Of despis'd Galile,
There his first miracle to showe,
To prove his Deitye:
Then I conceive that humble love,
Which to this earthen cell,
Him brought, from his bright Throne above,
Caus'd him in mee to dwell.

[69] The Imprese

God mee a Rubye gave,
And I therein,
Desir'd t'ingrave,
Some Imprese fine.
The world did mee advise,
There to display,
High dignityes,
And honours gay:
Or treasures rich at least:
The Flesh invites,
To have imprest,
There, all delights.
While dubious counsells thus,
Did mee divide,
With various gusts,
I look'd aside,
And saw a blessed Name,
Of one, who dy'd
A death of shame,
'Cause Hee was try'd
By unjust suffrages:
His name then I,
Made my Imprese,
Most joyfully./

[70] Knowledge

The subtile Adder doth refuse to heare
Th' Inchanters sound,
But layes one eare,
Unto the ground,
And stoppes the other with his venom'd tayle:
But facile Eve,
Through nature frayle,
Would not bee deafe,
Unto the serpents charmes; but him shee lent
(without delay),
Sense, and consent:
The Apples gay,
Did tempte her eye; and cursed Satans lye,
Who falsly sayd,
Shee should not dye,
Her soule betray'd.
And this Impostour fix'd another snare,
For this poore Madame,
Hee did declare,
That shee, and Adam,
Once haveing tasted this forbidden fruite,
In science should,
Prove absolute,
And bee inrold
Among th' immortall Gods: By this pretence,
Hee so bewitchd,
Her inward sense,
Which through pride itch'd
For knowledge; that shee wholy did submitt
Unto his charmes,
And did forgett,
Ensueing harmes.
Thus thirst of knowledge did on Mankind bring,
The Curse, which shewes,
It is a thing,
That may produce
Evill, as well as good; wee therefore must
With holy fire,
By love, not lust,
The same desire./

[71] Prayer

Though Jewish sacrifice (wee see)
Extinguish'd bee, and out of date:
Yet sacrifices still there bee,
Which wee must daily immolate;
Their sacrifice could not bee done,
Without fine salt, and flames of fire:
So wee, in our devotion,
Must knowledge mixe, with hote desire:
For Prayer without fervent zeale,
And holy knowledge mix'd with this,
A bond is without name, or seale:
Of no effect, and force it is.

[72] Sicknes

Sicknes is Balme of Gilead,
It makes the dead to live,
Breakes Satans head.
It is a life contemplative,
The soules Memento sweet,
It settes all right,
And in safe pathes directs our feet:
It is a golden bitte,
For sinnes restraint:
It makes our soules cease to bee idle,
Although our bodyes faint:
It youth doth bridle,
And middle Ages makes to thinke,
Of their declineing state,
And how they sinke,
Toward the common House of fate:
It is a bitter pill,
Which renders life,
Although it doth the body kill:
It is Heavens pruneing knife,
Which by abscission,
Doth sinfull branches take away,
And mends the soules condition:
What shall I say?
Although it bee the bodyes griefe,
It is the soules reliefe./

[73] The World

[74] Preacheing

[75] Memorye

[76] Simplicitye

[77] Self-Love

[78] The Hermite

[79] Retribution

[80] Remorse

L'Envoy

(Oh Lord) I confesse with shame,
I ought not to mixe thy name,
Either in my prose, or verse,
If not sprinkled with my teares,
Which cannot doe any good,
Except colour'd by the blood,
Of that Lambe unspotted slaine,
Us to free from endles paine:
His bloud was like scarlet bright,
Yet scarlet sinnes, it makes white:
Hee did conquer death, by death,
Which to us did life bequeathe:
Hee the Lilly was 'mongst thornes,
Scourged, and expos'd to scornes,
Judg'd to dye, yet King of Glory
Guiltles slaine: This is his storye,
Which when faithfull hearts shall reade,
Each shall droppes of pitty bleede,
And with sorow wounded cry,
My Sinne caus'd my Lord to dye./