The Poetical Works of William Drummond of Hawthornden ::

Swanne which so sweetly sings,
By Aska's Bancks, and pitifully plaines,
That old Meander neuer heard such Straines,
Eternall Fame, thou to thy Countrie brings:
And now our Calidon
Is by thy Songs made a new Helicon.
Her Mountaines, Woods, and Springs,
While Mountaines, Woods, Springs be, shall sound thy Praise,
And though fierce Boreas oft made pale her Bayes,
And kill those Mirtills with enraged Breath,
Which should thy Browes enwreath;
Her Floods haue Pearles, Seas Amber doe send foorth,
Her Heauen hath golden Starres to crowne thy Woorth.

ii. To the Author.

[_]

[From the Poems, The Second Impression. Edinburgh, 1616.]

While thou dost praise the Roses, Lilies, Gold,
Which in a dangling Tresse and Face appeare,
Still stands the Sunne in Skies thy Songs to heare,
A Silence sweet each Whispering Wind doth hold;
Sleepe in Pasitheas Lap his Eyes doth fold,

cii

The Sword falls from the God of the fift Spheare,
The Heards to feede, the Birds to sing, forbeare,
Each Plant breathes Loue, each Flood and Fountaine cold:
And hence it is, that that once Nymphe, now Tree,
Who did th' Amphrisian Shepheards Sighes disdaine,
And scorn'd his Layes, mou'd by a sweeter Veine,
Is become pittifull, and followes Thee:
Thee loues, and vanteth that shee hath the Grace,
A Garland for thy Lockes to enterlace.

Parthenivs.

To the Author.

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

Sr. W. Alexander.

To the Author.

The sister Nymphes who haunt the Thespian Springs,
Ne're did their Gifts more liberally bequeath
To them who on their Hills suck'd sacred Breath,
Than vnto thee, by which thou sweetly sings.
Ne're did Apollo raise on Pegase Wings

ciii

A Muse more neare himselfe, more farre from Earth,
Than thine; if Shee doe weepe thy Ladies Death,
Or sing those sweet-sowre Panges which Passion brings.
To write our Thoughts in Verse doth merite Praise,
But those our Verse to gild in Fictions Ore,
Bright, rich, delightfull, doth deserue much more,
As thou hast done these thy delicious Layes:
Thy Muses Morning (doubtlesse) doth bewray
The neare Approach of a more glistring Day.

D. Murray.

iii. Vpon the incomparable Poems of Mr. William Drummond.

[_]

[From Phillips's edition of the Poems. London, 1656.]

To praise these Poems well, there doth require
The selfe-same spirit, and that sacred fire
That first inspir'd them; yet I cannot choose
But pay an admiration to a Muse
That sings such handsome things; never brake forth,
From Climes so neare the Beare, so bright a worth;
And I beleeve the Caledonian Bow'rs
Are full as pleasant, and as rich in flow'rs
As Tempe e're was fam'd, since they have nourish'd
A wit the most sublime that ever flourish'd;
There's nothing cold, or frozen, here contain'd,
Nothing that's harsh, unpolish'd, or constrain'd,
But such an ardour as creates the spring,
And throws a chearfulnesse on every thing;
Such a sweet calmnesse runs through every verse
As shews how he delighted to converse
With silence, and his Muse, among those shades
Which care, nor busie tumult, e're invades;
There would he oft, the adventures of his loves

civ

Relate unto the Fountaines, and the groves,
In such a straine as Laura had admir'd
Her Petrarch more, had he been so inspir'd.
Some, Phœbus gives, a smooth and streaming veine,
A great and happy fancy some attaine,
Others unto a soaring height he lifts;
But here he hath so crouded all his gifts,
As if he had design'd in one to try,
To what a pitch he could bring Poetry;
For every grace should he receive a Crown,
There were not Bays enough in Helicon:
Fame courts his Verse, and with immortall wings
Hovers about his Monument, and brings
A deathlesse trophy to his memory;
Who, for such honour, would not wish to dye?
Never could any times afford a Story
Of one so match'd unto great Sidney's glory;
Or Fame so well divided, as between
Penhurst's renowned shades, and Hawthornden.

Edw: Phillips.

To W. D.

Some will not leave that Trust to Friend, nor Heire,
But their own winding-Sheet themselves prepare;
Fearing, perhaps some courser Cloath might shroud
The wormes descended from their noble Bloud:

And shalt not thou (that justlier maist suspect
Far courser stuffe, in such a dull neglect
Of all the Arts, and dearth of Poetry)
Compose before hand thine own Elegy?
Who but thyself is capable to write
A Verse, or, if they can, to fashion it
Unto thy Praises? None can draw a Line
Of thy perfections, but a hand divine.
If thou wilt needs impose this Task on us,
(A greater Work than best Wits can discusse)
We will but only so far Embleme Thee,
As in a circle, men, the Deity.
A wreath of Bayes we'll lay upon thy Herse;
For that shall speake Thee better than our Verse:
That art in number of those Things, whose end,
Nor whose beginning we can comprehend.
A Star, which did the other Day appeare,
T'enlighten up our dark'ned Hemispheare:
Nor can we tell nor how, nor whence it came,
Yet feele the heat of thy admired flame.
'Twas thou that thaw'd our North, 'twas thou didst cleare
The eternall mists which had beset us here,
Till by thy golden Beames and powerfull Ray
Thou chas'd hence darknesse, and brought out the Day.
But as the Sun, though he bestow all Light
On us, yet hinders by the same our sight
To gaze on him; So thou, though thou dispence
Far more on us by thy bright influence,
Yet such is thy transcendent brightnesse, we
Thereby are dazled, and cannot reach thee;
Then art thou less'ned, should we bound thy Praise
T'our narrow dull conceit, which cannot raise
Themselves beyond a vulgar Theame, nor flye
A pitch like unto thine in Poesie;
Yet (as the greatest Kings have sometimes dain'd
The smallest Presents from a poore man's hand;
When pure devotion gave them) it may be

cvi

Your Genius will accept a mite from me:
It speaks my Love, although it reach not you;
And you are praised, when I would so do.

John Spotswood.

To William Drummond of Hawthornden.

I never rested on the Muses bed,
Nor dipt my Quill in the Thessalian Fountaine,
My rustick Muse was rudely fostered,
And flies too low to reach the double mountaine.

Then do not sparkes with your bright Suns compare,
Perfection in a Womans work is rare;
From an untroubled mind should Verses flow;
My discontents make mine too muddy show;
And hoarse encumbrances of houshold care;
Where these remaine, the Muses ne're repaire.

If thou dost extoll her Haire,
Or her Ivory Forehead faire,
Or those Stars whose bright reflection
Thrals thy heart in sweet subjection:
Or when to display thou seeks
The snow-mixt Roses on her Cheekes,
Or those Rubies soft and sweet,
Over those pretty Rows that meet.
The Chian Painter as asham'd
Hides his Picture so far fam'd;
And the Queen he carv'd it by,
With a blush her face doth dye,

cvii

Since those Lines do limne a Creature
That so far surpast her Feature.
When thou shew'st how fairest Flora
Prankt with pride the banks of Ora,
So thy Verse her streames doth honour,
Strangers grow enamoured on her,
All the Swans that swim in Po
Would their native brooks forgo,
And, as loathing Phœbus beames,
Long to bath in cooler streames.
Tree-turn'd Daphne would be seen
In her Groves to flourish green,
And her Boughs would gladly spare
To frame a garland for thy haire,
That fairest Nymphs with finest fingers
May thee crown the best of singers.

But when thy Muse dissolv'd in show'rs,
Wailes that peerlesse Prince of ours,
Cropt by too untimely Fate,
Her mourning doth exasperate
Senselesse things to see thee moane,
Stones do weep, and Trees do groane,
Birds in aire, Fishes in flood,
Beasts in field forsake their food;
The Nymphs forgoing all their Bow'rs
Teare their Chaplets deckt with Flow'rs;
Sol himselfe with misty vapor
Hides from earth his glorious Tapor,
And as mov'd to heare thee plaine
Shews his griefe in show'rs of raine.

Mary Oxlie of Morpet.

Sir George Mackenzie, His Majesty's Advocate, being in Hawthornden's Closet, wrote down this Elogy of him.

Here liv'd that Poet, whose Immortal Name
Was Crown'd by Lawrels, and adorn'd by Fame;
Whom every Man next to himself did love;
Who durst be Loyal, and, what's more, reprove
The Vices of that base rebellious Age;
His was a Poet's, theirs a Tyrant's Rage.
Each Man him then his Neighbour wish'd to be,
And we now grieve that we did not him see.
They did his Wit, we do his Works admire,
And each young Spark does kindle at his Fire:
Or, which is more, he Poems can beget
On my old Muse, tho' now much past the Date.

To the Memory of William Drummond of Hawthornden.

He who endeavours Damon's Worth to raise,
Does not the Bards, but his own Merit praise.
Here Ours, and England's Wits, in vain have strove
To write his Merit, and express their Love.
For Poets now to Sound enslave their Sense,

cxvii

And Gild, where they shou'd Paint true Excellence;
And who in duller Prose can hope to shew,
What's to his Name or to his Labours due?
I own no Art can Drummond's Worth proclaim;
So vast his Merit, and so loud his Fame.

David Crawford of Drumsoy.

By the same Hand.

[Here Damon liv'd, a Man by Heav'n inspir'd]

Here Damon liv'd, a Man by Heav'n inspir'd,
At Home ador'd, by Foreigners admired:
Vast was his Muse, his Thoughts by Art refin'd;
His Judgment, like his Fancy, unconfin'd;
His Country's Honour, and his Friends Delight;
Great Britain's Wonder, and the Age's Light.
In ev'ry thing we find the Bard excel,
And his Five Jameses, and his Poems tell,
No Man e're thought, and spoke his Thoughts so well.
Heav'n guard the Place, and may his Race maintain
That Stock of Fame which he did justly gain.

Upon Hawthornden's Muse.

By the Same.

Here Mighty Damon often sat,
When he in heav'nly Numbers writ.
The Place seems pointed out by Fate,
And for a Muse, like his, made fit.

His Cypress Grove, and easy Poems show,
What Shades like these on Souls like his can do.
This was his Muse. This rais'd the God-like Thought,
Which Art and Judgment to Perfection brought.

April 30th, 1702.

POEMS: By W. D.

I. THE FIRST PART.

Sonnet. [i]

[In my first Yeeres, and Prime yet not at Hight]

In my first Yeeres, and Prime yet not at Hight,
When sweet Conceits my Wits did entertaine,
Ere Beauties Force I knew or false Delight,
Or to what Oareshee did her Captiues chaine;
Led by a sacred Troupe of Phœbus Traine,
I first beganne to reade, then Loue to write,
And so to praise a perfect Red and White,
But (God wot) wist not what was in my Braine:
Loue smylde to see in what an awfull Guise
I turn'd those Antiques of the Age of Gold,
And that I might moe Mysteries behold,
Hee set so faire a Volumne to mine Eyes,
That I [quires clos'd which (dead) dead Sighs but breath]
Ioye on this liuing Booke to reade my Death.

Son. [ii]

[I know that all beneath the Moone decayes]

I know that all beneath the Moone decayes,
And what by Mortalles in this World is brought,
In Times great Periods shall returne to nought,
That fairest States haue fatall Nights and Dayes:
I know how all the Muses heauenly Layes,
With Toyle of Spright which are so dearely bought,
As idle Sounds of few, or none are sought,
And that nought lighter is than airie Praise.
I know fraile Beautie like the purple Flowre,
To which one Morne oft Birth and Death affords,
That Loue a Iarring is of Mindes Accords,
Where Sense and Will inuassall Reasons Power:
Know what I list, this all can not mee moue,
But that (ô mee!) I both must write, and loue.

Son. [iii]

[Yee who so curiously doe paint your Thoughts]

Yee who so curiously doe paint your Thoughts,
Enlightning eu'rie Line in such a Guise,
That they seeme rather to haue fallen from Skies,
Than of a humane Hand bee mortall Draughts;
In one Part Sorrow so tormented lies,
As if his Life at eu'ry Sigh would parte,
Loue here blindfolded stands with Bow and Dart,
There Hope lookes pale, Despaire with rainie Eyes:
Of my rude Pincell looke not for such Arte,
My Wit I finde now lessened to deuise
So high Conceptions to expresse my Smart,
And some thinke Loue but fain'd, if too too wise:
These troubled Words and Lines confus'd you finde,
Are like vnto their Modell my sicke Minde.

Son. [iv]

[Faire is my Yoke, though grieuous bee my Paines]

Faire is my Yoke, though grieuous bee my Paines,
Sweet are my Wounds, although they deeply smart,
My Bit is Gold, though shortned bee the Raines,
My Bondage braue, though I may not depart:
Although I burne, the Fire which doth impart
Those Flames, so sweet reuiuing Force containes,
That (like Arabias Bird) my wasted Heart
Made quicke by Death, more liuely still remaines.
I joye, though oft my waking Eyes spend Teares,
I neuer want Delight, euen when I grone,
Best companied when most I am alone,
A Heauen of Hopes I haue midst Hells of Feares:
Thus euery Way Contentment strange I finde,
But most in Her rare Beautie, my rare Minde.

Son. [v]

[How that vaste Heauen intitled First is rold]

How that vaste Heauen intitled First is rold,
If any other Worlds beyond it lie,
And People liuing in Eternitie,
Or Essence pure that doth this All vphold:
What Motion haue those fixed Sparkes of Gold,
The wandring Carbuncles which shine from hie,
By Sprights, or Bodies, contrare-Wayes in Skie
If they bee turn'd, and mortall Things behold:
How Sunne postes Heauen about, how Nights pale Queene
With borrowed Beames lookes on this hanging Round,
What Cause faire Iris hath, and Monsters seene
In Aires large Fields of Light, and Seas profound,
Did hold my wandring Thoughts; when thy sweet Eye
Bade mee leaue all, and only thinke on Thee.

Son. [vi]

[Vaunt not, faire Heauens, of your two glorious Lights]

Vaunt not, faire Heauens, of your two glorious Lights,
Which though most bright, yet see not when they shine,
And shining, cannot shew their Beames diuine
Both in one Place, but parte by Dayes and Nights,
Earth, vaunt not of those Treasures yee enshrine,
Held only deare because hidde from our Sights,
Your pure and burnish'd Gold, your Diamonds fine,
Snow-passing Iuorie that the Eye delights:
Nor Seas of those deare Wares are in you found,
Vaunt not, rich Pearle, red Corrall, which doe stirre
A fond Desire in Fooles to plunge your Ground;
Those all (more faire) are to bee had in Her:
Pearle, Iuorie, Corrall, Diamond, Sunnes, Gold,
Teeth, Necke, Lips, Heart, Eyes, Haire, are to behold.

Son. [vii]

[That learned Græcian (who did so excell]

That learned Græcian (who did so excell
In Knowledge passing Sense, that hee is nam'd
Of all the after-Worlds Diuine) doth tell,
That at the Time when first our Soules are fram'd,
Ere in these Mansions blinde they come to dwell,
They liue bright Rayes of that Eternall Light,
And others see, know, loue, in Heauens great Hight,
Not toylde with ought to Reason doth rebell;
Most true it is, for straight at the first Sight
My Minde mee told, that in some other Place
It elsewhere saw the Idea of that Face,
And lou'd a Loue of heauenly pure Delight.
No Wonder now I feele so faire a Flame,
Sith I Her lou'd ere on this Earth shee came.

Son. [viii]

[Now while the Night her sable Vaile hath spred]

Now while the Night her sable Vaile hath spred,
And silently her restie Coach doth rolle,
Rowsing with Her from Tethis azure Bed
Those starrie Nymphes which dance about the Pole.
While Cynthia, in purest Cipres cled,
The Latmian Shepheard in a Trance descries,
And whiles lookes pale from hight of all the Skies,
Whiles dyes her Beauties in a bashfull Red,
While Sleepe (in Triumph) closed hath all Eyes,
And Birds and Beastes a Silence sweet doe keepe,
And Protevs monstrous People in the Deepe,
The Winds and Waues (husht vp) to rest entise,
I wake, muse, weepe, and who my Heart hath slaine
See still before me to augment my Paine.

Son. [ix]

[Sleepe, Silence Child, sweet Father of soft Rest]

Sleepe , Silence Child, sweet Father of soft Rest,
Prince whose Approach Peace to all Mortalls brings,
Indifferent Host to Shepheards and to Kings,
Sole Comforter of Minds with Griefe opprest.
Loe, by thy charming Rod all breathing things
Lie slumbring, with forgetfulnesse possest,
And yet o're me to spred thy drowsie Wings
Thou spares (alas) who cannot be thy Guest.
Since I am thine, O come, but with that Face
To inward Light which thou art wont to show,
With fained Solace ease a true felt Woe,
Or if deafe God thou doe denie that Grace,
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath,
I long to kisse the Image of my Death.

Son. [x]

[Faire Moone who with thy Cold and Siluer Shine]

Faire Moone who with thy Cold and Siluer Shine
Makes sweet the Horrour of the dreadfull Night,
Delighting the weake Eye with Smiles diuine,
Which Phebvs dazells with his too much Light.
Bright Queene of the first Heauen, if in thy Shrine
By turning oft, and Heauens eternall Might,
Thou hast not yet that once sweet Fire of thine
Endemion, forgot, and Louers Plight?
If Cause like thine may Pitie breede in thee,
And Pitie somewhat els to it obtaine,
Since thou hast Power of Dreames as well as Hee
Who paints strange Figures in the slumbring Braine:
Now while She sleepes in dolefull Guise her Show
These Teares, and the blacke Mappe of all my Woe.

Son. [xi]

[Lampe of Heauens Christall Hall that brings the Hours]

Lampe of Heauens Christall Hall that brings the Hours,
Eye-dazaler who makes the vglie Night
At thine Approach flie to her slumbrie Bowrs,
And fills the World with Wonder and Delight:
Life of all Lifes, Death-giuer by thy Flight
To Southerne Pole from these sixe Signes of ours,
Gold-smith of all the Starres, with Siluer bright
Who Moone enamells, Apelles of the Flowrs.
Ah, from those watrie Plaines thy golden Head
Raise vp, and bring the so long lingring Morne,
A Graue, nay Hell, I finde become this Bed,
This Bed so grieuously where I am torne:
But (woe is me) though thou now brought the Day,
Day shall but serue more Sorrowe to display.

Song. [i]

[It was the time when to our Northerne Pole]

It was the time when to our Northerne Pole
The brightest Lampe of Heauen beginnes to rolle,
When Earth more wanton in new Robes appeareth,
And scorning Skies her Flowrs in Raine-bowes beareth,
On which the Aire moist Saphires doth bequeath,
Which quake to feele the kissing Zephires breath:
When Birds from shadie Groues their Loue foorth warble,
And Sea like Heauen, Heauen lookes like smoothest Marble,
When I, in simple Course, free from all Cares,
Farre from the muddie Worlds captiuing Snares,
By Oras flowrie Bancks alone did wander,
Ora that sports her like to old Meander,
A Floud more worthie Fame and lasting Praise
Than that which Phaetons Fall so high did raise:
Into whose moouing Glasse the Milk-white Lillies
Doe dresse their Tresses and the Daffadillies.
Where Ora with a Wood is crown'd about
And seemes forget the Way how to come out,
A Place there is, where a delicious Fountaine
Springs from the swelling Paps of a proud Mountaine,
Whose falling Streames the quiet Caues doe wound,
And make the Ecchoes shrill resound that Sound.
The Lawrell there the shining Channell graces,
The Palme her Loue with long-stretch'd Armes embraces,
The Poplar spreds her Branches to the Skie,
And hides from sight that azure Cannopie.
The Streames the Trees, the Trees their leaues still nourish,
That Place graue Winter finds not without Flourish.
If liuing Eyes Elysian fields could see
This little Arden might Elysium bee.
Here Diane often vsed to repose Her,

And Acidalias Queene with Mars reioyce her:
The Nymphes oft here doe bring their Maunds with Flowres,
And Anadeames weaue for their Paramours,
The Satyres in those Shades are heard to languish,
And make the Shepheards Partners of their Anguish,
The Shepheards who in Barkes of tender Trees
Doe graue their Loues, Disdaines, and Ielousies,
Which Phillis when there by Her Flockes she feedeth
With Pitie whyles, sometime with laughter reedeth.

Neare to this place when Sunne in midst of Day,
In highest top of Heauen his Coach did stay,
And (as aduising) on his Carier glanced
The way did rest, the space he had aduanced
His panting Steeds along those Fields of light,
Most princely looking from that gastly hight:
When most the Grashoppers are heard in Meadowes,
And loftie Pines haue small, or els no Shadowes,
It was my hap, O wofull hap! to bide
Where thickest Shades me from all Rayes did hide
Into a shut-vp-place, some Syluans Chamber,
Whose Seeling spred was with the Lockes of Amber
Of new-bloom'd Sicamors, Floore wrought with Flowres,
More sweete and rich than those in Princes Bowres.
Here Adon blush't, and Clitia all amazed
Lookt pale, with Him who in the Fountaine gazed,
The Amaranthus smyl'd, and that sweet Boy
Which sometime was the God of Delos joy:
The braue Carnation, speckled Pinke here shined,
The Violet her fainting Head declined
Beneath a drowsie Chasbow, all of Gold
The Marigold her leaues did here vnfold.

Now while that rauish'd with delight and wonder,

Halfe in a trance I lay those Arches vnder,
The season, silence, place, did all entise
Eyes heauie lids to bring Night on their Skies,
Which softly hauing stollen themselues together
(Like Euening Clouds) me plac'd I wote not whether.
As Cowards leaue the Fort which they should keepe
My senses one by one gaue place to Sleepe,
Who followed with a Troupe of golden Slombers
Thrust from my quiet Braine all base Encombers,
And thrise me touching with his Rod of Gold,
A Heauen of Visions in my Temples roll'd,
To countervaile those Pleasures were bereft me,
Thus in his silent Prison clos'd he left me.

Me thought through all the Neighbour Woods a noyce
Of Quiristers, more sweet than Lute or voyce,
(For those harmonious sounds to IOVE are giuen
By the swift touches of the nyne-string'd Heauen,
Such are, and nothing else) did wound mine Eare,
No Soule, that then became all Eare to heare:
And whilst I listning lay O gastly wonder!
I saw a pleasant Mirtle cleaue asunder,
A Mirtle great with birth, from whose rent wombe
Three naked Nymphes more white than snow foorth come.
For Nymphes they seem'd, about their heauenly Faces
In Waues of Gold did flow their curling Tresses,
About each Arme, their Armes more white than milke,
Each weare a blushing Armelet of silke,
The Goddesses such were that by Scamander,
Appeared to the Phrygian Alexander,
Aglaia, and her Sisters such perchance
Be, when about some sacred Spring they dance.
But scarce the Groue their naked Beauties graced,

And on the amorous Verdure had not traced,
When to the Floud they ran, the Floud in Robes
Of curling Christall to brests Yuorie Globes
Who wrapt them all about, yet seem'd take pleasure
To showe warme Snowes throughout her liquid Azure.

Looke howe Prometheus Man when heauenly Fire
First gaue him Breath Dayes Brandon did admire,
And wondred of this Worlds Amphitheater,
So gaz'd I on those new guests of the Water.
All three were faire, yet one excell'd as farre
The rest, as Phebus doth the Cyprian Starre,
Or Diamonds small Gemmes, or Gemmes doe other,
Or Pearles that shining shell is call'd their Mother.

Her haire more bright than are the Mornings Beames
Hang in a golden shower aboue the Streames,
And (sweetly tous'd) her forehead sought to couer,
Which seene did straight a Skie of Milke discouer,
With two faire Browes, Loues Bowes, which neuer bend
But that a Golden Arrow foorth they send.
Beneath the which two burning Planets glancing
Flasht Flames of Loue, for Loue there still is dancing.
Her either Cheeke resembl'd a blushing Morne,
Or Roses Gueules in field of Lillies borne:
Betwixt the which a Wall so faire is raised,
That it is but abased euen when praised.
Her Lips like Rowes of Corrall soft did swell,
And th' one like th' other only doth excell:
The Tyrian Fish lookes pale, pale looke the Roses,
The Rubies pale, when Mouths sweet Cherrie closes.
Her Chinne like siluer Phebe did appeare
Darke in the midst to make the rest more cleare:
Her Necke seem'd fram'd by curious Phidias Master,

Most smooth, most white, a piece of Alabaster.
Two foaming Billowes flow'd vpon her Brest,
Which did their tops with Corrall red encrest:
There all about as Brookes them sport at leasure,
With Circling Branches veines did swell in Azure:
Within those Crookes are only found those Isles
Which Fortunate the dreaming old World Stiles.
The rest the Streames did hide, but as a Lillie
Suncke in a Christalls faire transparent Bellie.

I, who yet humane weaknesse did not know
(For yet I had not felt that Archers Bow,
Ne could I thinke that from the coldest Water
The winged Youngling burning Flames could scatter)
On euery part my vagabounding Sight
Did cast, and drowne mine Eyes in sweet Delight.
What wondrous Thing is this that Beautie's named
(Said I) I finde I heretofore haue dreamed?
And neuer knowne in all my flying Dayes
Good vnto this, that only merites Praise.
My Pleasures haue beene Paines, my Comforts Crosses,
My Treasure Pouertie, my Gaines but Losses.
O precious Sight! which none doth els descrie
Except the burning Sunne, and quiuering I.
And yet O deare bought Sight! O would for euer
I might enioy you, or had ioy'd you never!
O happie Floud! if so yee might abide,
Yet euer glorie of this Moments Pride,
Adjure your Rillets all now to beholde Her,
And in their Christall Armes to come and fold Her:
And sith yee may not ay your Blisse embrace,
Draw thousand Pourtraits of Her on your Face,
Pourtraits which in my Heart be more apparent,
If like to yours my Brest but were transparent.

O that I were while she doth in you play,
A Daulphine to transport Her to the Sea,
To none of all those Gods I would Her rander
From Thule to Inde though I should with Her wander.
Oh! what is this? the more I fixe mine Eye,
Mine Eye the more new Wonders doth espie,
The more I spie, the more in vncouth fashion
My Soule is rauish'd in a pleasant Passion.

But looke not Eyes, as more I would haue said
A Sound of whirling Wheeles me all dismayde,
And with the Sound foorth from the timorous Bushes
With storme-like Course a sumptuous Chariot rushes,
A Chariot all of Gold, the Wheeles were Gold,
The Nailes, and Axetree Gold on which it roll'd:
The vpmost Part a Scarlet Vaile did couer,
More rich than Danaes Lap spred with her Louer:
In midst of it in a triumphing Chaire,
A Ladie sate miraculously faire,
Whose pensiue Countenance, and Lookes of Honor,
Doe more allure the Mind that thinketh on Her,
Than the most wanton Face and amorous Eyes,
That Amathus or flowrie Paphos sees.
A Crue of Virgins made a Ring about Her,
The Diamond shee, they seeme the Gold without Her.
Such Thetis is when to the Billowes rore
With Mermaids nyce shee danceth on the Shore:
So in a sable Night the Sunnes bright Sister
Among the lesser twinckling Lights doth glister.
Faire Yoakes of Ermelines, whose Colour passe
The whitest Snowes on aged Grampius Face,
More swift than Venus Birds this Chariot guided
To the astonish'd Bancke where as it bided.
But long it did not bide, when poore those Streames
Aye me! it made, transporting those rich Gemmes,
And by that Burthen lighter, swiftly driued

Till (as me thought) it at a Towre arriued.

Vpon a Rocke of Christall shining cleare
Of Diamonds this Castle did appeare,
Whose rising Spires of Gold so high them reared
That Atlas-like it seem'd the Heauen they beared.
Amidst which Hights on Arches did arise
(Arches which guilt Flames brandish to the Skies)
Of sparking Topaces, Prowde, Gorgeous, Ample,
(Like to a litle Heauen) a sacred Temple:
Whose Walls no Windowes haue, nay all the Wall
Is but one Window, Night there doth not fall
More when the Sunne to Westerne Worlds declineth,
Than in our Zenith when at Noone He shineth.
Two flaming Hills the Passage strait defend
Which to this radiant Building doth ascend,
Vpon whose Arching tops on a Pilastre
A Port stands open, rais'd in Loues Disastre,
For none that narrow Bridge and Gate can passe,
Who haue their Faces seene in Venus Glasse.
If those within, but to come foorth doe venter,
That stately Place againe they neuer enter.
The Precinct strengthened with a Ditch appeares,
In which doth swell a Lake of Inkie Teares
Of madding Louers, who abide there moning,
And thicken euen the Aire with piteous Groning.
This Hold (to braue the Skies) the Destines fram'd,
The World the Fort of Chastitie it nam'd.
The Queene of the third Heauen once to appall it,
The God of Thrace here brought who could not thrall it,
For which he vow'd ne're Armes more to put on,
And on Riphean Hills was heard to grone.
Here Psyches Louer hurles his Darts at randon,
Which all for nought him serue as doth his Brandon.

What bitter Anguish did inuade my Minde,
When in that Place my Hope I saw confinde,
Where with high-towring Thoughts I onely reacht Her,
Which did burne vp their Wings when they approacht Her?
Mee thought I set me by a Cypresse Shade,
And Night and Day the Hyacinthe there reade:
And that bewailing Nightingalles did borrow
Plaints of my Plaint, and Sorrowes of my Sorrow.
My Food was Wormewood, mine owne Teares my Drinke,
My Rest on Death, and sad Mishaps to thinke.
And for such Thoughts to haue my Heart enlarged,
And ease mine Eyes with brinie Tribute charged,
Ouer a Brooke (me thought) my pining Face
I laid, which then (as grieu'd at my Disgrace)
A Face Me shew'd againe so ouer-clouded,
That at the Sight mine Eyes afray'd them shrowded.
This is the guerdon Loue, this is the Gaine
In end which to thy Seruants doth remaine,
I would haue said, when Feare made Sleepe to leaue me,
And of those fatall Shadowes did bereaue me.
But ah alas! in stead to dreame of Loue,
And Woes, mee made them in effect to proue,
For what into my troubled Braine was painted,
I waking found that Time, and Place presented.

Son. [xii]

[Ah burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest]

Ah burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest,
And your tumultuous Broyles a while appease,
Is't not enough, Starres, Fortune, Loue molest
Me all at once, but yee must to displease?
Let Hope (though false) yet lodge within my Brest,
My high Attempt (though dangerous) yet praise,
What though I trace not right Heauens steppie Wayes?
It doth suffice, my Fall shall make me blest.
I doe not doate on Dayes, nor feare not Death,
So that my Life be braue, what though not long?
Let me Renown'd liue from the vulgare Throng,
And when yee list (Heauens) take this borrowed Breath.
Men but like Visions are, Time all doth claime,
He liues, who dies to winne a lasting Name.

Madrigall. [i]

[A dedale of my Death]

A dedale of my Death,
Now I resemble that subtile Worme on Earth
Which prone to its owne euill can take no rest.
For with strange Thoughts possest,
I feede on fading Leaues
Of Hope, which me deceaues,
And thousand Webs doth warpe within my Brest.
And thus in end vnto my selfe I weaue
A fast-shut Prison, no, but euen a Graue.

Sextain. [i]

[The Heauen doth not containe so many Starres]

The Heauen doth not containe so many Starres,
So many Leaues not prostrate lie in Woods,
When Autumne's old, and Boreas sounds his Warres,
So many Waues haue not the Ocean Floods,
As my rent Mind hath Torments all the Night,
And Heart spends Sighes, when Phebvs brings the Light.

Why should I beene a Partner of the Light?
Who crost in Birth by bad Aspects of Starres,
Haue neuer since had happie Day nor Night,
Why was not I a Liuer in the Woods,
Or Citizen of Thetis Christall Floods,
Than made a Man, for Loue and Fortunes Warres?

I looke each Day when Death should ende the Warres,
Vnciuill Warres, twixt Sense and Reasons Light,
My Paines I count to Mountaines, Meads, and Floods,
And of my Sorrow Partners makes the Starres,
All desolate I haunt the fearfull Woods
When I should giue my selfe to Rest at Night.

With watchfull Eyes I ne're beholde the Night,
Mother of Peace, but ah to me of Warres,
And Cynthia Queene-like shining through the Woods,
When straight those Lamps come in my Thought, whose Light
My Iudgement dazel'd, passing brightest Starres,
And then mine Eyes en-isle themselues with Floods.

Turne to their Springs againe first shall the Floods,
Cleare shall the Sunne the sad and gloomie Night,
To dance about the Pole cease shall the Starres,
The Elements renew their ancient Warres

Shall first, and bee depriu'd of Place and Light,
Ere I finde Rest in Citie, Fields, or Woods.

Ende these my Dayes Endwellers of the Woods,
Take this my Life yee deepe and raging Floods,
Sunne neuer rise to cleare mee with thy Light,
Horror and Darknesse keepe a lasting Night,
Consume me Care with thy intestine Warres,
And stay your Influence o're me bright Starres.

In vaine the Starres, Endwellers of the Woods,
Care, Horror, Warres I call and raging Floods,
For all haue sworne no Night shall dimme my Sight.

Son. [xiii]

[O sacred Blush impurpling Cheekes pure Skies]

O sacred Blush impurpling Cheekes pure Skies,
With crimson Wings which spred thee like the Morne,
O bashfull Looke sent from those shining Eyes,
Which (though cast down on Earth) couldst Heauen adorne!
O Tongue in which most lushious Nectar lies,
That can at once both blesse and make forlorne,
Deare Corrall Lip which Beautie beautifies,
That trembling stood ere that her words were borne.
And you her Words, Words no, but Golden Chaines
Which did captiue mine Eares, ensnare my Soule,
Wise Image of her Minde, Minde that containes
A Power all Power of Senses to controule:
Yee all from Loue disswade so sweetly mee,
That I loue more, if more my Loue could bee.

Son. [xiv]

[Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tyber]

Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tyber,
Sebethus, nor the Floud into whose Streames
He fell who burnt the World with borrow'd Beames,
Gold-rolling Tagus, Munda, famous Iber;
Sorgue, Rosne, Loire, Garron, nor prowd-banked Seine,
Peneus, Phasis, Xanthus, humble Ladon,
Nor Shee whose Nymphes excell her who lou'd Adon
Faire Tamesis, nor Ister large, nor Rheine,
Euphrates, Tigris, Indus, Hermus, Gange,
Pearlie Hydaspes, Serpent-like Meander,
The Golfe bereft sweet Hero her Leander,
Nile that farre farre his hidden Head doth range,
Haue euer had so rare a Cause of Praise,
As Ora, where this Northerne Phenix stayes.

Son. [xv]

[To heare my Plaints faire Riuer Christalline]

To heare my Plaints faire Riuer Christalline
Thou in a silent Slumber seemes to stay,
Delicious Flowrs, Lillie and Columbine,
Yee bowe your Heades when I my Woes display.
Forrests, in you the Mirtle, Palme, and Bay,
Haue had compassion listning to my Grones,
The Winds with Sighes haue solemniz'd my Mones
Mong Leaues, which whisper'd what they could not say.
The Caues, the Rockes, the Hills the Syluans Thrones
(As if euen Pitie did in them appeare)
Haue at my Sorrowes rent their ruethlesse Stones,
Each thing I finde hath sense except my Deare
Who doth not thinke I loue, or will not know
My Griefe, perchance delighting in my Woe.

Son. [xvi]

[Sweet Brooke, in whose cleare Christall I mine Eyes]

Sweet Brooke, in whose cleare Christall I mine Eyes
Haue oft seene great in Labour of their Teares,
Enamell'd Banke, whose shining Grauell beares
These sad Characters of my Miseries.
High Woods, whose mounting Tops menace the Spheares,
Wild Citizens, Amphions of the Trees,
You gloomie Groues at hottest Noones which freeze,
Elysian Shades which Phebus neuer cleares,
Vaste solitarie Mountaines, pleasant Plaines,
Embrodred Meads that Ocean-wayes you reach,
Hills, Dales, Springs, all that my sad Cry constraines
To take part of my Plaints, and learne Woes Speach,
Will that remorselesse Faire e're Pitie show,
Of Grace now answere if yee ought know? No.

Son. [xvii]

[With flaming Hornes the Bull now brings the Yeare]

With flaming Hornes the Bull now brings the Yeare,
Melt doe the horride Mountaines Helmes of Snow,
The siluer Flouds in pearlie Channells flow,
The late-bare Woods greene Anadeams doe weare.
The Nightingall forgetting Winters Woe,
Calls vp the lazie Morne her Notes to heare,
Those Flowrs are spred which Names of Princes beare,
Some red, some azure, white, and golden grow.
Here lowes a Heifer, there bea-wailing strayes.
A harmelesse Lambe, not farre a Stag rebounds,
The Sheepe-heards sing to grazing Flockes sweet Layes,
And all about the Ecchoing Aire resounds.
Hills, Dales, Woods, Flouds, & euery thing doth change,
But Shee in Rigour, I in Loue am strange.

Son. [xviii]

[When Nature now had wonderfully wrought]

When Nature now had wonderfully wrought
All Avristellas Parts, except her Eyes,
To make those Twinnes two Lamps in Beauties Skies,
Shee Counsell of her starrie Senate sought.
Mars and Apollo first did Her aduise
In Colour Blacke to wrappe those Comets bright,
That Loue him so might soberly disguise,
And vnperceiued Wound at euery Sight.
Chaste Phebe spake for purest azure Dyes,
But Iove and Venvs greene about the Light
To frame thought best, as bringing most Delight,
That to pin'd Hearts Hope might for ay arise:
Nature (all said) a Paradise of Greene
There plac'd, to make all loue which haue them seene.

Mad. [ii]

[To the delightfull Greene]

To the delightfull Greene
Of you faire radiant Eine,
Let each Blacke yeeld beneath the starrie Arche.
Eyes, burnisht Heauens of Loue,
Sinople Lampes of Ioue,
Saue that those Hearts which with your Flames yee parche
Two burning Sunnes you proue,
All other Eyes compar'd with you (deare Lights)
Bee Hells, or if not Hells yet dumpish Nights.
The Heauens (if we their Glasse
The Sea beleeue) bee greene, not perfect blew.
They all make faire what euer faire yet was,
And they bee faire because they looke like you.

Son. [xix]

[In vaine I haunt the colde and siluer Springs]

In vaine I haunt the colde and siluer Springs,
To quench the Feuer burning in my Vaines,
In vaine (Loues Pilgrime) Mountaines, Dales, and Plaines,
I ouer-runne, vaine Helpe long Absence brings.
In vaine (my Friends) your Counsell me constraines
To flie, and place my Thoughts on other Things,
Ah! like the Bird that fired hath her Wings,
The more I moue, the greater are my Paines.
Desire (alas) Desire a Zeuxis new,
From Indies borrowing Gold, from Westerne Skies
Most bright Cynoper, sets before mine Eyes
In euery Place, her Haire, sweet Looke and Hew:
That flie, runne, rest I, all doth proue but vaine,
My Life lies in those Lookes which haue me slaine.

Son. [xx]

[All other Beauties how so e're they shine]

All other Beauties how so e're they shine
In Haires more bright than is the golden Ore,
Or Cheekes more faire than fairest Eglantine,
Or Hands like Hers who comes the Sunne before:
Match'd with that Heauenly Hue, and Shape diuine,
With those deare Starres which my weake Thoughts adore,
Looke but like Shaddowes, or if they bee more,
It is in that that they are like to thine.
Who sees those Eyes, their Force and doth not proue,
Who gazeth on the Dimple of that Chinne,
And findes not Venus Sonne entrench'd therein,
Or hath not Sense, or knowes not what is Loue.
To see thee had Narcissus had the Grace,
Hee sure had died with wondring on thy Face.

Son. [xxi]

[My Teares may well Numidian Lions tame]

My Teares may well Numidian Lions tame,
And Pitie breede into the hardest Hart
That euer Pirrha did to Maide impart,
When Shee them first of blushing Rockes did frame.
Ah Eyes which only serue to waile my Smart,
How long will you mine inward Woes proclaime?
Let it suffice you beare a weeping Part
All Night, at Day though yee doe not the same:
Cease idle Sighes to spend your Stormes in vaine,
And these calme secret Shades more to molest,
Containe you in the Prison of my Brest,
You not doe ease but aggrauate my Paine,
Or (if burst foorth you must?) that Tempest moue
In Sight of Her whome I so dearely loue.

Son. [xxii]

[Nymphes, Sister Nymphes which haunt this christall Brooke]

Nymphes , Sister Nymphes which haunt this christall Brooke,
And (happie) in these Floting Bowrs abide,
Where trembling Roofes of Trees from Sunne you hide,
Which make Ideall Woods in euery Crooke,
Whether yee Garlands for your Lockes prouide,
Or pearlie Letters seeke in sandie Booke,
Or count your Loues when Thetis was a Bride?
Lift vp your golden Heads and on mee looke.
Read in mine Eyes mine agonizing Cares,
And what yee read recount to Her againe:
Faire Nymphes, say all these Streames are but my Teares,
And if Shee aske you how they sweet remaine,
Tell that the bittrest Teares which Eyes can powre,
When shed for Her doe cease more to be sowre.

Mad. [iii]

[Like the Idalian Queene]

Like the Idalian Queene
Her Haire about her Eyne,
With Necke and Brests ripe Apples to be seene,
At first Glance of the Morne
In Cyprus Gardens gathering those faire Flowrs
Which of her Bloud were borne,
I saw, but fainting saw, my Paramours.
The Graces naked danc'd about the Place,
The Winds and Trees amaz'd
With Silence on Her gaz'd,
The Flowrs did smile, like those vpon her Face,
And as their Aspine Stalkes those Fingers band,
(That Shee might read my Case)
A Hyacinth I wisht mee in her Hand.

Son. [xxiii]

[Then is Shee gone? O Foole and Coward I!]

Then is Shee gone? O Foole and Coward I!
O good Occasion lost, ne're to bee found!
What fatall Chaines haue my dull Senses bound
When best they may that they not Fortune trie?
Here is the flowrie Bed where Shee did lie,
With Roses here Shee stellified the Ground,
Shee fix'd her Eyes on this (yet smyling) Pond,
Nor Time, nor courteous Place seem'd ought denie.
Too long, too long (Respect) I doe embrace
Your Counsell, full of Threats and sharpe Disdaine;
Disdaine in her sweet Heart can haue no Place,
And though come there, must straight retire againe:
Hencefoorth Respect farewell, I oft heare tolde
Who liues in Loue can neuer bee too bolde.

Son. [xxiv]

[In Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold]

In Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold,
And viuely see how my best Dayes are spent,
What Clouds of Care aboue my Head are roll'd,
What comming Harmes, which I can not preuent:
My begunne Course I (wearied) doe repent,
And would embrace what Reason oft hath told,
But scarce thus thinke I, when Loue hath controld
All the best Reasons Reason could inuent.
Though sure I know my Labours End is Griefe,
The more I striue that I the more shall pine,
That only Death can be my last Reliefe:
Yet when I thinke vpon that Face diuine,
Like one with Arrow shot in Laughters Place,
Malgre my Heart I ioye in my Disgrace.

Son. [xxv]

[Deare Quirister, who from those Shaddowes sends]

Deare Quirister, who from those Shaddowes sends
(Ere that the blushing Dawne dare show her Light)
Such sad lamenting Straines, that Night attends
Become all Eare, Starres stay to heare thy Plight.
If one whose Griefe euen Reach of Thought transcends,
Who ne're (not in a Dreame) did taste Delight,
May thee importune who like Case pretends,
And seemes to ioy in Woe, in Woes Despight?
Tell me (so may thou Fortune milder trie,
And long long sing) for what thou thus complaines?
Sith (Winter gone) the Sunne in dapled Skie
Now smiles on Meadowes, Mountaines, Woods and Plaines:
The Bird, as if my questions did her moue,
With trembling Wings sobb'd foorth I loue, I loue.

Son. [xxvi]

[Trust not sweet Soule those curled Waues of Gold]

Trust not sweet Soule those curled Waues of Gold
With gentle Tides which on your Temples flow,
Nor Temples spread with Flackes of Virgine Snow,
Nor Snow of Cheekes with Tyrian Graine enroll'd.
Trust not those shining Lights which wrought my Woe,
When first I did their burning Rayes beholde,
Nor Voyce, whose Sounds more strange Effects doe show
Than of the Thracian Harper haue beene tolde:
Looke to this dying Lillie, fading Rose,
Darke Hyacinthe, of late whose blushing Beames
Made all the neighbouring Herbes and Grasse reioyce,
And thinke how litle is twixt Lifes Extreames:
The cruell Tyrant that did kill those Flowrs,
Shall once (aye mee) not spare that Spring of yours.

Son. [xxvii]

[That I so slenderly set foorth my Minde]

That I so slenderly set foorth my Minde,
Writing I wote not what in ragged Rimes,
And charg'd with Brasse into these golden Times
When others towre so high am left behinde:
I craue not Phebvs leaue his sacred Cell
To binde my Browes with fresh Aonian Bayes,
Let them haue that who tuning sweetest Layes
By Tempe sit, or Aganippe Well,
Nor yet to Venus Tree doe I aspire,
Sith Shee for whome I might affect that Praise,
My best Attempts with cruell Words gainsayes,
And I seeke not that Others me admire.
Of weeping Myrrhe the Crowne is which I craue,
With a sad Cypresse to adorne my Graue.

Son. [xxviii]

[Sound hoarse sad Lute, true Witnesse of my Woe]

Sound hoarse sad Lute, true Witnesse of my Woe,
And striue no more to ease selfe-chosen Paine
With Soule-enchanting Sounds, your Accents straine
Vnto these Teares vncessantly which flow.
Shrill Treeble weepe, and you dull Basses show
Your Masters Sorrow in a deadly Vaine,
Let neuer ioyfull Hand vpon you goe,
Nor Consort keepe but when you doe complaine.
Flie Phœbus Rayes, nay, hate the irkesome Light,
Woods solitarie Shades for thee are best,
Or the blacke Horrours of the blackest Night,
When all the World (saue Thou and I) doth rest:
Then sound sad Lute, and beare a mourning Part,
Thou Hell may'st mooue, though not a Womans Heart.

Son. [xxix]

[You restlesse Seas, appease your roaring Waues]

You restlesse Seas, appease your roaring Waues,
And you who raise hudge Mountaines in that Plaine
Aires Trumpeters, your blustring Stormes restraine,
And listen to the Plaints my Griefe doth cause.
Eternall Lights, though adamantine Lawes
Of Destinies to mooue still you ordaine,
Turne hitherward your Eyes, your Axetree pause,
And wonder at the Torments I sustaine.
Earth (if thou bee not dull'd by my Disgrace,
And senselesse made?) now aske those Powers aboue
Why they so crost a Wretch brought on thy Face?
Fram'd for Mis-hap, th' Anachorite of Loue,
And bid them if they would moe Ætnas burne,
In Rhodopee or Erimanthe mee turne.

Son. [xxx]

[What cruell Starre into this World mee brought?]

What cruell Starre into this World mee brought?
What gloomie Day did dawne to giue mee Light?
What vnkinde Hand to nourse mee (Orphane) sought,
And would not leaue mee in eternall Night?
What thing so deare as I hath Essence bought?
The Elements, drie, humid, heauie, light,
The smallest liuing things by Nature wrought,
Bee freed of Woe if they haue small Delight.
Ah only I, abandon'd to Despaire,
Nail'd to my Torments, in pale Horrours Shade,
Like wandring Clouds see all my Comforts fled,
And Euill on Euill with Hours my Life impaire:
The Heauen and Fortune which were wont to turne,
Fixt in one Mansion staye to cause mee mourne.

Son. [xxxi]

[Deare Eye which daign'st on this sad Monument]

Deare Eye which daign'st on this sad Monument
The sable Scroule of my Mis-haps to view,
Though with the mourning Muses Teares besprent,
And darkly drawne, which is not fain'd, but true,
If thou not dazell'd with a Heauenly Hue,
And comely Feature, didst not yet lament?
But happie liu'st vnto thy selfe content,
O let not Loue thee to his Lawes subdue.
Looke on the wofull Shipwracke of my Youth,
And let my Ruines for a Phare thee serue
To shunne this Rocke Capharean of Vntrueth,
And serue no God who doth his Church-men sterue:
His Kingdome is but Plaints, his Guerdon Teares,
What hee giues more are Iealousies and Feares.

Son. [xxxii]

[If crost with all Mis-haps bee my poore Life]

If crost with all Mis-haps bee my poore Life,
If one short Day I neuer spent in Mirth,
If my Spright with it selfe holds lasting Strife,
If Sorrowes Death is but new Sorrowes Birth?
If this vaine World bee but a sable Stage
Where slaue-borne Man playes to the scoffing Starres,
If Youth bee toss'd with Loue, with Weaknesse Age,
If Knowledge serue to holde our Thoughts in Warres?
If Time can close the hundreth Mouths of Fame,
And make what long since past, like that to bee,
If Vertue only bee an idle Name,
If I when I was borne was borne to die?
Why seeke I to prolong these loathsome Dayes,
The fairest Rose in shortest time decayes?

Son. [xxxiii]

[Let Fortune triumph now, and Iö sing]

Let Fortune triumph now, and Iö sing,
Sith I must fall beneath this Load of Care,
Let Her what most I prize of eu'rie Thing
Now wicked Trophees in her Temple reare.
Shee who high Palmie Empires doth not spare,
And tramples in the Dust the prowdest King,
Let Her vaunt how my Blisse Shee did impaire,
To what low Ebbe Shee now my Flow doth bring.
Let Her count how (a new Ixion) Mee
Shee in her Wheele did turne, how high nor low
I neuer stood, but more to tortur'd bee:
Weepe Soule, weepe plaintfull Soule, thy Sorrowes know,
Weepe, of thy Teares till a blacke Riuer swell,
Which may Cocytus be to this thy Hell.

Son. [xxxiv]

[O cruell Beautie, Meekenesse inhumaine]

O cruell Beautie, Meekenesse inhumaine,
That Night and day contend with my Desire,
And seeke my Hope to kill, not quench my Fire,
By Death, not Baulme to ease my pleasant Paine.
Though yee my Thoughts tread downe which would aspire,
And bound my Blisse, doe not (alas) disdaine
That I your matchlesse Worth and Grace admire,
And for their Cause these Torments sharpe sustaine.
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his Death
Found in the midst of those Sicylian Flames,
And Phaëton that Heauen him reft of Breath,
And Dædals Sonne He nam'd the Samian Streames:
Their Haps I enuie not, my Praise shall bee,
The fairest Shee that liu'd gaue Death to mee.

Son. [xxxv]

[The Hyperborean Hills, Ceraunus Snow]

The Hyperborean Hills, Ceraunus Snow,
Or Arimaspus (cruell) first thee bred,
The Caspian Tigers with their Milke thee fed,
And Faunes did humane Bloud on thee bestow.
Fierce Orithyas Louer in thy Bed
Thee lull'd asleepe, where he enrag'd doth blow,
Thou didst not drinke the Flouds which here doe flow,
But Teares, or those by ycie Tanais Hed.
Sith thou disdaines my Loue, neglects my Griefe,
Laughs at my Grones, and still affects my Death,
Of thee, nor Heauen I'll seeke no more Reliefe,
Nor longer entertaine this loathsome Breath,
But yeeld vnto my Starre, that thou mayst proue,
What Losse thou hadst in losing such a Loue.

Song. [ii]

[Phoebus arise]

Phoebus arise,
And paint the sable Skies
With azure, white, and Red:
Rowse Memnons Mother from her Tythons Bed,
That Shee thy Cariere may with Roses spred,
The Nightingalles thy Comming each where sing,
Make an eternall Spring,
Giue Life to this darke World which lieth dead.
Spreade foorth thy golden Haire
In larger Lockes than thou wast wont before,
And Emperour-like decore
With Diademe of Pearle thy Temples faire:
Chase hence the vglie Night
Which serues but to make deare thy glorious Light.
This is that happie Morne,
That Day long wished Day,
Of all my Life so darke,
(If cruell Starres haue not my Ruine sworne,
And Fates not Hope betray?)
Which (only white) deserues
A Diamond for euer should it marke:
This is the Morne should bring vnto this Groue
My Loue, to heare, and recompense my loue.
Faire King who all preserues,
But show thy blushing Beames,
And thou two sweeter Eyes
Shalt see than those which by Peneus Streames
Did once thy Heart surprise:
Nay, Sunnes, which shine as cleare
As thou when two thou did to Rome appeare.
Now Flora decke thy selfe in fairest Guise,
If that yee, Winds, would heare
A Voyce surpassing farre Amphions Lyre,

Your stormie chiding stay,
Let Zephyre only breath,
And with her Tresses play,
Kissing sometimes these purple Ports of Death.
The Windes all silent are,
And Phœbus in his Chaire
Ensaffroning Sea and Aire,
Makes vanish euery Starre:
Night like a Drunkard reeles
Beyond the Hills to shunne his flaming Wheeles.
The Fields with Flowrs are deckt in euery Hue,
The Clouds bespangle with bright Gold their Blew:
Here is the pleasant Place
And eu'ry thing, saue Her, who all should grace.

Son. [xxxvi]

[Who hath not seene into her saffron Bed]

Who hath not seene into her saffron Bed
The Mornings Goddesse mildly Her repose,
Or Her of whose pure Bloud first sprang the Rose,
Lull'd in a Slumber by a Mirtle Shade.
Who hath not seene that sleeping White and Red
Makes Phœbe looke so pale, which Shee did close
In that Iönian Hill, to ease her Woes,
Which only liues by Nectare Kisses fed:
Come but and see my Ladie sweetly sleepe,
The sighing Rubies of those heauenly Lips,
The Cupids which Brests golden Apples keepe,
Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Ecclipse,
And Hee them all shall see (perhaps) and proue
Shee waking but perswades, now forceth Loue.

Son. [xxxvii]

[Of Cithereas Birds that milke-white paire]

Of Cithereas Birds that milke-white paire
On yonder leauie Mirtle Tree which grone,
And waken with their kisses in the Aire
Enamour'd Zephyres murmuring one by one,
If thou but Sense hadst like Pigmalions Stone?
Or hadst not seene Medusas snakie haire,
Loues Lessons thou mightst learne? and learne sweete Faire,
To Summers Heat ere that thy Spring bee growne.
And if those kissing Louers seeme but Cold,
Looke how that Elme this Iuie doth embrace,
And bindes, and claspes with many a wanton Fold,
And courting Sleepe o'reshadowes all the Place:
Nay seemes to say, deare Tree we shall not parte,
In Signe whereof loe in each Leafe a Heart.

Son. [xxxviii]

[The Sunne is faire when hee with crimson Crowne]

The Sunne is faire when hee with crimson Crowne,
And flaming Rubies leaues his Easterne Bed,
Faire is Thaumantias in her christall Gowne
When Clouds engemm'd hang azure, greene, and Red.
To Westerne Worlds when wearied Day goes downe,
And from Heauens Windowes each Starre showes her Hed,
Earths silent Daughter Night is faire, though browne,
Faire is the Moone though in Loues Liuerie cled.
Faire Chloris is when Shee doth paint Aprile,
Faire are the Meads, the Woods, the Flouds are faire,
Faire looketh Ceres with her yellow Haire,
And Apples Queene when Rose-cheekt Shee doth smile.
That Heauen, and Earth, and Seas are faire is true,
Yet true that all not please so much as you.

Mad. [iv]

[When as shee smiles I finde]

When as shee smiles I finde
More light before mine Eyes,
Nor when the Sunne from Inde
Brings to our World a flowrie Paradise:
But when shee gently weepes,
And powres foorth pearlie Showres,
On Cheekes faire blushing Flowres,
A sweet Melancholie my Senses keepes.
Both feede so my Disease,
So much both doe me please,
That oft I doubt, which more my Heart doth burne,
Like Loue to see her smile, or Pitie mourne.

Son. [xxxix]

[Slide soft faire Forth, and make a christall Plaine]

Slide soft faire Forth, and make a christall Plaine,
Cut your white Lockes, and on your foamie Face
Let not a Wrinckle bee, when you embrace
The Boat that Earths Perfections doth containe.
Windes wonder, and through wondring holde your Peace,
Or if that yee your Hearts cannot restraine
From sending Sighes, mou'd by a Louers Case,
Sigh, and in her faire Haire your selues enchaine:
Or take these Sighes which Absence makes arise
From mine oppressed Brest and waue the Sailes,
Or some sweet Breath new brought from Paradise:
Flouds seeme to smile, Loue o're the Winds preueails,
And yet hudge Waues arise, the Cause is this,
The Ocean striues with Forth the Boate to kisse.

Son. [xl]

[Ah! who can see those Fruites of Paradise]

Ah! who can see those Fruites of Paradise,
Celestiall Cherries which so sweetly swell
That Sweetnesse selfe confinde there seemes to dwell,
And all those sweetest Parts about despise?
Ah! who can see and feele no Flame surprise
His hardened Heart? for mee (alas) too well
I know their Force, and how they doe excell,
Now burne I through Desire, now doe I freeze:
I die (deare Life) vnlesse to mee bee giuen
As many Kisses as the Spring hath Flowrs,
Or as the siluer Drops of Iris Showrs,
Or as the Starres in all-embracing Heauen,
And if displeas'd yee of the Match complaine,
Yee shall haue leaue to take them backe againe.

Son. [xli]

[Is't not enough (aye mee) mee thus to see]

Is't not enough (aye mee) mee thus to see
Like some Heauen-banish'd Ghost still wailing goe?
A Shadow which your Rayes doe only show,
To vexe mee more, vnlesse yee bid mee die?
What could yee worse allotte vnto your Foe?
But die will I, so yee will not denie
That Grace to mee which mortall Foes euen trie,
To chuse what sort of Death should ende my Woe.
One Time I found when as yee did mee kisse,
Yee gaue my panting Soule so sweet a Touch,
That halfe I sown'd in midst of all my Blisse,
I doe but craue my Deaths Wound may bee such:
For though by Griefe I die not and Annoy,
Is't not enough to die through too much Ioy?

Mad. [v]

[Sweete Rose whence is this Hue]

Sweete Rose whence is this Hue
Which doth all Hues excell?
Whence this most fragrant Smell?
And whence this Forme and gracing Grace in you?
In flowrie Paestums Field (perhaps) yee grew,
Or Hyblas Hills you bred,
Or odoriferous Ennas Plaines you fed,
Or Tmolus, or where Bore yong Adon slew,
Or hath the Queene of Loue you dy'd of new
In that deare Bloud, which makes you looke so red?
No, none of those, but Cause more high you blist,
My Ladies Brest you bare, and Lips you kist.

Son. [xlii]

[Shee whose faire flowrs no Autumne makes decay]

Shee whose faire flowrs no Autumne makes decay,
Whose Hue celestiall, earthly Hues doth staine,
Into a pleasant odoriferous Plaine
Did walke alone, to braue the Pride of Maye:
And whilst through chekred Lists shee made her Way,
Which smil'd about her Sight to entertaine,
Loe (vnawares) where Loue did hid remaine
Shee spide, and sought to make of him her Prey:
For which of golden Lockes a fairest Haire
(To binde the Boy) shee tooke, But hee afraid
At her Approach sprang swiftly in the Aire,
And mounting farre from Reach look'd backe and said,
Why shouldst thou (Sweet) me seeke in Chaines to binde,
Sith in thine Eyes I dayly am confinde.

Mad. [vi]

[On this colde World of Ours]

On this colde World of Ours,
Flowre of the Seasons, Season of the Flowrs,
Sonne of the Sunne sweet Spring,
Such hote and burning Dayes why doest thou bring?
Is this for that those high Eternall Pow'rs
Flash downe that Fire this All enuironing?
Or that now Phœbus keepes his Sisters Spheare?
Or doth some Phaëton
Enflame the Sea and Aire?
Or rather is it (Vsher of the Yeare)
For that last Day amongst thy Flowrs alone
Vnmask'd thou saw'st my Faire?
And whilst thou on her gaz'd shee did thee burne,
And in thy Brother Summer doth thee turne.

Son. [xliii]

[Deare Wood, and you sweet solitarie Place]

Deare Wood, and you sweet solitarie Place,
Where from the vulgare I estranged liue,
Contented more with what your Shades mee giue,
Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace:
What snakie Eye growne iealous of my Peace,
Now from your silent Horrours would mee driue?
When Sunne progressing in his glorious Race
Beyond the Twinnes, doth neare our Pole arriue.
What sweet Delight a quiet Life affords,
And what it is to bee of Bondage free,
Farre from the madding Worldlings hoarse Discords,
Sweet flowrie Place I first did learne of thee:
Ah! if I were mine owne, your deare Resorts
I would not change with Princes stately Courts.

Sextain. [ii]

[Sith gone is my Delight and only Pleasure]

Sith gone is my Delight and only Pleasure,
The last of all my Hopes, the chearfull Sunne
That clear'd my Lifes darke Day, Natures sweet Treasure,
More deare to mee than all beneath the Moone,
What resteth now, but that vpon this Mountaine
I weepe, till Heauen transforme mee in a Fountaine?

Fresh, faire, delicious, christall, pearlie Fountaine,
On whose smoothe Face to looke shee oft tooke Pleasure,
Tell mee (so may thy Streames long cheare this Mountaine,
So Serpent ne're thee staine, nor scorch the Sunne,
So may with gentle Beames thee kisse the Moone)
Doest thou not mourne to want so faire a Treasure?

While shee her glass'd in thee, rich Tagvs Treasure
Thou enuie needed not, nor yet the Fountaine
In which that Hunter saw the naked Moone,
Absence hath robb'd thee of thy Wealth and Pleasure,
And I remaine like Marigold of Sunne
Depriu'd, that dies by Shadow of some Mountaine.

Nymphes of the Forrests, Nymphes who on this Mountaine
Are wont to dance, shewing your Beauties Treasure
To Goate-feete Syluans, and the wondring Sunne,
When as you gather Flowres about this Fountaine,
Bid Her Farewell who placed here her Pleasure,
And sing her Praises to the Starres and Moone.

Among the lesser Lights as is the Moone,
Blushing through Scarfe of Clouds on Latmos Mountaine,

Or when her siluer Lockes shee lookes for Pleasure
In Thetis Streames, prowde of so gay a Treasure,
Such was my Faire when Shee sate by this Fountaine
With other Nymphes, to shunne the amorous Sunne.

As is our Earth in Absence of the Sunne,
Or when of Sunne depriued is the Moone,
As is without a verdant Shade a Fountaine,
Or wanting Grasse, a Mead, a Vale, a Mountaine,
Such is my State, bereft of my deare Treasure,
To know whose only Worth was all my Pleasure.

Ne're thinke of Pleasure Heart, Eyes shunne the Sunne,
Teares be your Treasure, which the wandring Moone
Shall see you shed by Mountaine, Vale, and Fountaine.

Son. [xliv]

[Thou Window, once which serued for a Spheare]

Thou Window, once which serued for a Spheare
To that deare Planet of my Heart, whose Light
Made often blush the glorious Queene of Night,
While Shee in thee more beautious did appeare,
What mourning Weedes (alas) now do'st thou weare?
How loathsome to mine Eyes is thy sad Sight?
How poorely look'st thou, with what heauie cheare,
Since that Sunne set, which made thee shine so bright?
Vnhappie now thee close, for as of late
To wondring Eyes thou wast a Paradise,
Bereft of Her who made thee fortunate,
A Gulfe thou art, whence Cloudes of Sighes arise:
But vnto none so noysome as to mee,
Who hourly see my murth'red Ioyes in thee.

Son. [xlv]

[Are these the flowrie Bankes? is this the Mead]

Are these the flowrie Bankes? is this the Mead
Where Shee was wont to passe the pleasant hours?
Did here her Eyes exhale mine Eyes salt Showrs,
When on her Lap I laide my wearie Head?
Is this the goodly Elme did vs o'respread,
Whose tender Rine cut out in curious Flowrs
By that white Hand, containes those Flames of Ours?
Is this the rusling Spring vs Musicke made?
Deflourish'd Mead where is your heauenly Hue?
Banke, where that Arras did you late adorne,
How looke yee Elme all withered and forlorne?
Onely sweet Spring nought altered seemes in you:
But while here chang'd each other thing appeares,
To sowre your Streames take of mine Eyes these Teares.

Son. [xlvi]

[Alexis, here shee stay'd among these Pines]

Alexis , here shee stay'd among these Pines
(Sweet Hermitresse) shee did alone repaire,
Here did shee spreade the Treasure of her Haire,
More rich than that brought from the Colchian Mines.
Shee set Her by these musket Eglantines,
The happie Place the Print seemes yet to beare,
Her Voyce did sweeten here thy sugred Lines,
To which Winds, Trees, Beasts, Birds did lend their Eare.
Mee here shee first perceiu'd, and here a Morne
Of bright Carnations did o'respreade her Face,
Here did shee sigh, here first my Hopes were borne,
And I first got a Pledge of promis'd Grace:
But (ah) what seru'd it to bee happie so?
Sith passed Pleasures double but new Woe.

Son. [xlvii]

[O Night, cleare Night, O darke and gloomie Day!]

O Night, cleare Night, O darke and gloomie Day!
O wofull Waking! O Soule-pleasing Sleepe!
O sweet Conceits which in my Braines did creepe!
Yet sowre Conceits which went so soone away.
A Sleepe I had more than poore Words can say,
For clos'd in Armes (mee thought) I did thee keepe,
A sorie Wretch plung'd in Mis-fortunes deepe
Am I not wak'd? when Light doth Lies bewray.
O that that Night had euer still bene blacke!
O that that Day had neuer yet begunne!
And you mine Eyes would yee no time saw Sunne!
To haue your Sunne in such a Zodiacke:
Loe, what is good of Life is but a Dreame,
When Sorrow is a neuer-ebbing Streame.

Son. [xlviii]

[Haire, precious Haire which Midas Hand did straine]

Haire, precious Haire which Midas Hand did straine,
Part of the Wreathe of Gold that crownes those Browes
Which Winters whitest White in Whitenesse staine,
And Lillie, by Eridans Banke that growes.
Haire (fatall Present) which first caus'd my Woes,
When loose yee hang like Danaës golden Raine,
Sweet Nettes, which sweetly doe all Hearts enchaine,
Strings, deadly Strings, with which Loue bends his Bowes.
How are yee hither come? tell me, O Haire,
Deare Armelet, for what thus were yee giuen?
I know a Badge of Bondage I you weare,
Yet Haire for you, ô that I were a Heauen!
Like Berenices Locke that yee might shine
(But brighter farre) about this Arme of mine.

Mad. [vii]

[Vnhappie Light]

Vnhappie Light,
Doe not approach to bring the wofull Day,
When I must bid for ay
Farewell to Her, and liue in endlesse Plight.
Faire Moone, with gentle Beames
The Sight who neuer marres,
Long cleare Heauens sable Vault, and you bright Starres
Your golden Lockes long glasse in Earths pure Streames,
Let Phœbus neuer rise
To dimme your watchfull Eyes:
Prolong (alas) prolong my short Delight,
And if yee can, make an eternall Night.

Son. [xlix]

[With Griefe in Heart, and Teares in sowning Eyes]

With Griefe in Heart, and Teares in sowning Eyes,
When I to Her had giu'n a sad Fare-well,
Close sealed with a Kisse, and Dew which fell
On my else-moystned Face from Beauties Skies.
So strange Amazement did my Minde surprise,
That at each Pace I fainting turn'd againe,
Like One whome a Torpedo stupifies,
Not feeling Honours Bit, nor Reasons Raine.
But when fierce Starres to parte mee did constraine,
With backe-cast Lookes I enui'd both and bless'd
The happie Walles and Place did Her containe,
Till that Sights Shafts their flying Obiect miss'd,
So wailing parted Ganamede the faire,
When Eagles Talents bare him through the Aire.

Mad. [viii]

[I feare not hencefoorth Death]

I feare not hencefoorth Death,
Sith after this Departure yet I breath,
Let Rocks, and Seas, and Wind,
Their highest Treasons show,
Let Skie and Earth combinde
Striue (if they can) to ende my Life and Woe:
Sith Griefe can not, mee nothing can o'rethrow,
Or if that ought can cause my fatall Lot,
It will bee when I heare I am forgot.

Son. [l]

[How many times Nights silent Queene her Face]

How many times Nights silent Queene her Face
Hath hid, how oft with Starres in siluer Maske
In Heauens great Hall shee hath begunne her Taske,
And chear'd the waking Eye in lower Place:
How oft the Sunne hath made by Heauens swift Race
The happie Louer to forsake the Brest
Of his deare Ladie, wishing in the West
His golden Coach to runne had larger Space:
I euer count, and number, since alas
I bade Farewell to my Hearts dearest Guest,
The Miles I compasse, and in Minde I chase
The Flouds and Mountaines holde mee from my Rest:
But (woe is mee) long count and count may I,
Ere I see Her whose Absence makes mee die.

Son. [li]

[So grieuous is my Paine, so painefull Life]

So grieuous is my Paine, so painefull Life,
That oft I finde mee in the Armes of Death,
But (Breath halfe gone) that Tyrant called Death
Who others killes, restoreth mee to Life:
For while I thinke how Woe shall ende with Life,
And that I quiet Peace shall ioye by Death,
That Thought euen doth o'repowre the Paines of Death,
And call mee home againe to lothed Life:
Thus doth mine euill transcend both Life and Death,
While no Death is so bad as is my Life,
Nor no Life such which doth not ende by Death,
And Protean Changes turne my Death and Life:
O happie those who in their Birth finde Death,
Sith but to languish Heauen affordeth Life.

Son. [lii]

[Fame, who with golden Pennes abroad dost range]

Fame , who with golden Pennes abroad dost range
Where Phœbus leaues the Night, and brings the Day,
Fame, in one Place who (restlesse) dost not stay
Till thou hast flowne from Atlas vnto Gange:
Fame, Enemie to Time that still doth change,
And in his changing Course would make decay
What here below he findeth in his Way,
Euen making Vertue to her selfe looke strange.
Daughter of Heauen; Now all thy Trumpets sound,
Raise vp thy Head vnto the highest Skie,
With Wonder blaze the Gifts in Her are found,
And when shee from this mortall Globe shall flie,
In thy wide Mouth, keepe long long keepe her Name,
So thou by Her, shee by thee liue shall Fame.

Mad. [ix]

[The Iuorie, Corrall, Gold]

The Iuorie, Corrall, Gold,
Of Brest, of Lips, of Haire,
So liuely Sleepe doth show to inward Sight,
That wake I thinke I hold
No Shadow, but my Faire:
My selfe so to deceaue
With long-shut Eyes I shunne the irkesome Light.
Such Pleasure thus I haue
Delighting in false Gleames,
If Death Sleepes Brother bee?
And Soules relieu'd of Sense haue so sweete Dreames?
That I would wish mee thus to dreame and die.

Son. [liii]

[I curse the Night, yet doth from Day mee hide]

I curse the Night, yet doth from Day mee hide,
The Pandionian Birds I tyre with Mones,
The Ecchoes euen are weari'd with my Grones,
Since Absence did mee from my Blisse diuide.
Each Dreame, each Toy, my Reason doth affright,
And when Remembrance reades the curious Scroule
Of pass'd Contentments caused by her Sight,
Then bitter Anguish doth inuade my Soule.
While thus I liue ecclipsed of her Light
(O mee!) what better am I than the Mole?
Or those whose Zenith is the only Pole,
Whose Hemispheare is hid with so long Night?
Saue that in Earth he rests, they hope for Sunne,
I pine, and finde mine endlesse Night begunne.

Son. [liv]

[Of Death some tell, some of the cruell Paine]

Of Death some tell, some of the cruell Paine
Which that bad Crafts-man in his Worke did trie,
When (a new Monster) Flames once did constraine
A humane Corps to yeeld a brutish Crie.
Some tell of those in burning Beds who lie,
For that they durst in the Phlegræan Plaine
The mightie Rulers of the Skie defie,
And siege those christall Towres which all containe.
An other countes of Phlegethons hote Floods
The Soules which drinke, Ixions endlesse Smart,
And his to whom a Vulture eates the Heart,
One telles of Specters in enchanted Woods:
Of all those Paines he who the worst would proue,
Let him bee absent, and but pine in Loue.

Mad. [x]

[Tritons, which bounding diue]

Tritons, which bounding diue
Through Neptunes liquide Plaine,
When as yee shall arriue
With tilting Tides where siluer Ora playes,
And to your King his watrie Tribute payes,
Tell how I dying liue,
And burne in midst of all the coldest Maine.

Son. [lv]

[Place mee where angry Titan burnes the More]

Place mee where angry Titan burnes the More,
And thirstie Africke firie Monsters brings,
Or where the new-borne Phœnix spreades her Wings,
And Troupes of wondring Birds her Flight adore.
Place mee by Gange, or Indes empampred Shore,
Where smyling Heauens on Earth cause double Springs,
Place mee where Neptunes Quire of Syrens sings,
Or where (made hoarse through Cold) hee leaues to roare.
Mee place where Fortune doth her Darlings crowne,
A Wonder, or a Sparke in Enuies Eye,
Or late outragious Fates vpon mee frowne,
And Pittie wailing see disastred Mee,
Affections Print my Minde so deepe doth proue,
I may forget my Selfe, but not my Loue.

II. THE SECOND PART.

Sonnet. [i]

[Of mortall Glorie ô soone darkned Raye!]

Of mortall Glorie ô soone darkned Raye!
O posting Ioyes of Man! more swift than Winde,
O fond Desires! which wing'd with Fancies straye,
O traitrous Hopes! which doe our Iudgements blinde:
Loe, in a Flash that Light is gone away,
Which dazell did each Eye, Delight each Minde,
And with that Sunne (from whence it came) combinde,
Now makes more radiant Heauens eternall Day.
Let Beautie now be blubbred Cheekes with Teares,
Let widow'd Musicke only roare, and plaine,
Poore Vertue get thee Wings, and mount the Spheares,
And let thine only Name on Earth remaine.
Death hath thy Temple raz'd, Loues Empire foylde,
The World of Honour, Worth, and Sweetnesse spoylde.

Son. [ii]

[Those Eyes, those sparkling Saphires of Delight]

Those Eyes, those sparkling Saphires of Delight,
Which thousand thousand Hearts did set on fire,
Which made that Eye of Heauen that brings the Light
(Oft jealous) staye amaz'd them to admire.
That liuing Snow, those crimson Roses bright,
Those Pearles, those Rubies, which did breede Desire,
Those Lockes of Gold, that Purple faire of Tyre,
Are wrapt (aye mee!) vp in eternall Night.
What hast thou more to vaunt of, wretched World?
Sith shee (who cursed thee made blest) is gone?
Thine euer-burning Lamps, Rounds euer whorld,
Can vnto thee not modell such a one:
For if they would such Beautie bring on Earth,
They should be forc'd againe to make Her breath.

Son. [iii]

[O Fate! conspir'd to powre your Worst on mee]

O Fate! conspir'd to powre your Worst on mee,
O rigorous Rigour, which doth all confound!
With cruell Hands yee haue cut downe the Tree,
And Fruit and Flowre dispersed on the Ground.
A litle Space of Earth my Loue doth bound,
That Beautie which did raise it to the Skie,
Turn'd in neglected Dust, now low doth lie,
Deafe to my Plaints, and senslesse of my Wound.
Ah! did I liue for this, ah! did I loue?
For this and was it shee did so excell?
That ere shee well Lifes sweet-sowre Ioyes did proue,
Shee should (too deare a Guest) with Horrour dwell?
Weake Influence of Heauen! what faire yee frame,
Falles in the Prime, and passeth like a Dreame.

Son. [iv]

[O woefull Life! Life, no, but liuing Death]

O woefull Life! Life, no, but liuing Death,
Fraile Boat of Christall in a rockie Sea,
A Sport expos'd to Fortunes stormie Breath,
Which kept with Paine, with Terrour doth decay:
The false Delights, true Woes thou dost bequeath,
Mine all-appalled Minde doe so affraye,
That I those enuie who are laid in Earth,
And pittie them that runne thy dreadfull Waye.
When did mine Eyes behold one chearefull Morne?
When had my tossed Soule one Night of rest?
When did not hatefull Starres my Projects scorne?
O! now I finde for Mortalls what is best:
Euen, sith our voyage shamefull is, and short,
Soone to strike Saile, and perish in the Port.

Son. [v]

[Mine Eyes, dissolue your Globes in brinie Streames]

Mine Eyes, dissolue your Globes in brinie Streames,
And with a Cloud of Sorrow dimme your Sight,
The Sunnes bright Sunne is set, of late whose Beames
Gaue Luster to your Day, Day to your Night.
My Voyce now deafen Earth with Anatheames,
Roare foorth a Challenge in the Worlds Despight,
Tell that disguised Griefe is her Delight,
That Life a Slumber is of fearfull Dreames.
And woefull Minde abhorre to thinke of Ioy,
My Senses all now comfortlesse you hide,
Accept no Object but of blacke Annoy,
Teares, Plaints, Sighs, mourning Weeds, Graues gaping wide,
I haue nought left to wish, my Hopes are dead,
And all with Her beneath a Marble laide.

Son. [vi]

[Sweet Soule, which in the Aprill of thy Yeares]

Sweet Soule, which in the Aprill of thy Yeares
So to enrich the Heauen mad'st poore this Round,
And now with golden Rayes of Glorie crown'd
Most blest abid'st aboue the Spheare of Spheares;
If heauenly Lawes (alas) haue not thee bound
From looking to this Globe that all vpbeares?
If Rueth and Pittie there aboue bee found?
O daigne to lend a Looke vnto those Teares.
Doe not disdaine (deare Ghost) this sacrifice,
And though I raise not Pillars to thy Praise
Mine Offerings take, let this for mee suffice,
My Heart a liuing Piramide I raise:
And whilst Kings Tombes with Lawrels flourish greene,
Thine shall with Mirtles, and these Flowrs bee seene.

Madrigall. [i]

[This Life which seemes so faire]

This Life which seemes so faire,
Is like a Bubble blowen vp in the Aire,
By sporting Childrens Breath,
Who chase it euery where,
And striue who can most Motion it bequeath:
And though it sometime seeme of its owne Might
(Like to an Eye of gold) to be fix'd there,
And firme to houer in that emptie Hight,
That only is because it is so light,
But in that Pompe it doth not long appeare;
For euen when most admir'd, it in a Thought
As swell'd from nothing, doth dissolue in nought.

Son. [vii]

[O! It is not to mee bright Lampe of Day]

O! It is not to mee bright Lampe of Day,
That in the East thou shew'st thy rosie Face,
O! it is not to mee thou leau'st that Sea,
And in these azure Lists beginst thy Race.
Thou shin'st not to the Dead in any Place,
And I (dead) from this World am gone away,
Or if I seeme (a Shadow) yet to stay,
It is a while but to bemone my Case.
My Mirth is lost, my Comforts are dismay'd,
And vnto sad Mis-haps their Place doe yeeld;
My Knowledge doth resemble a bloudie field,
Where I my Hopes, and Helps see prostrate layd.
So painefull is Lifes Course which I haue runne,
That I doe wish it neuer had begunne.

Song. [i]

[Sad Damon beeing come]

Sad Damon beeing come
To that for-euer lamentable Tombe,
Which those eternall Powers that all controule
Vnto his liuing Soule
A melancholie Prison had prescriu'd:
Of Hue, of Heate, of Motion quite depriu'd
In Armes wake, trembling, cold,
A Marble, hee the Marble did infold:
And hauing made it warme with many a Showre,
Which dimmed Eyes did powre,
When Griefe had giuen him leaue, and Sighes them stay'd,
Thus with a sad alas at last he said.

Who would haue thought to mee
The Place where thou didst lie could grieuous bee?

And that (deare Body) long thee hauing sought
(O mee!) who would have thought?
Thee once to finde it should my Soule confound,
And giue my Heart than Death a deeper Wound?
Thou didst disdaine my Teares,
But grieue not that this ruethfull Stone them beares,
Mine Eyes serue only now for thee to weepe,
And let their Course them keepe,
Although thou neuer wouldst them Comfort show,
Doe not repine, they haue Part of thy Woe.

Ah Wretch! too late I finde,
How Vertues glorious Titles proue but Winde;
For if shee any could release from Death,
Thou yet enioy'd hadst Breath;
For if shee ere appear'd to mortall Eine,
It was in thy faire Shape that shee was seene.
But ô! if I was made
For thee, with thee why too am I not dead?
Why doe outragious Fates which dimm'd thy Sight,
Let mee see hatefull Light?
They without mee made Death thee to surprise
Tyrants (perhaps) that they might kill mee twise.

O Griefe! and could one Day
Haue Force such Excellence to take away?
Could a swift-flying Moment (ah) deface
Those matchlesse Gifts, that Grace
Which Art and Nature had in thee combinde,
To make thy Body paragone thy Minde?
Haue all past like a Cloud,
And doth eternall Silence now them shroud?
Is what so much admir'd was nought but Dust,
Of which a Stone hath trust?
O Change! ô cruell Change! thou to our Sight

Shewes Destines Rigour equall doth their Might.

When thou from Earth didst passe
(Sweet Nymph) Perfections Mirrour broken was,
And this of late so glorious World of ours,
Like Meadow without Flowrs,
Or Ring of a rich Gemme made blind, appear'd,
Or Night, by Starre nor Cynthia neither clear'd.
Loue when hee saw thee die,
Entomb'd him in the Lidde of either Eye,
And left his Torch within thy sacred Vrne,
There for a Lampe to burne:
Worth, Honour, Pleasure, with thy Life expir'd,
Death since (growne sweet) beginnes to bee desir'd.

Whilst thou to vs wast giuen,
The Earth her Venus had as well as Heauen:
Nay and her Sunne, which burnt as many Hearts,
As hee doth Easterne Parts;
Bright Sunne, which forc'd to leaue these Hemispheares,
Benighted set into a Sea of Teares.
Ah Death! who shall thee flie?
Sith the most worthie bee o'rethrowne by thee?
Thou spar'st the Rauens, and Nightingalles dost kill,
And triumphes at thy will:
But giue thou canst not such an other Blow,
Because like Her Earth can none other show.

O bitter-Sweets of Loue!
How better is 't at all you not to proue?
Than when wee doe your Pleasure most possesse,
To find them then made lesse?
O! that the Cause which doth consume our Ioy

Remembrance of it too, would too destroy!
What doth this Life bestow
But Flowrs on Thornes which grow?
Which though they sometime blandishing delighte,
Yet afterwards vs smite?
And if the rising Sunne them faire doth see,
That Planet setting, too beholdes them die.

This World is made a Hell,
Depriu'd of all that in it did excell.
O Pan, Pan, Wintèr is fallen in our May,
Turn'd is in Night our Day;
Forsake thy Pipe, a Scepter take to thee,
Thy Lockes disgarland, thou blacke Ioue shalt bee.
The Flockes doe leaue the Meads,
And loathing three-leaf'd Grasse, hold vp their Heads.
The Streames not glide now with a gentle Rore,
Nor Birds sing as before,
Hilles stand with Clouds like Mourners, vail'd in Blacke,
And Owles on Caban Roofes fore-tell our Wracke.

That Zephyre euerie Yeere
So soone was heard to sigh in Forrests heere,
It was for Her: that wrapt in Gownes of Greene,
Meads were so earelie seene,
That in the saddest Months oft sung the Mearles,
It was for Her: for her Trees dropt foorth Pearles.
That prowde, and statelie Courts,
Did enuie those our Shades, and calme Resorts,
It was for Her: and she is gone, ô Woe!
Woods cut, againe doe grow,
Budde doth the Rose, and Dazie, Winter done,
But wee once dead no more doe see the Sunne.

Whose Name shall now make ring
The Ecchoes? of whom shall the Nymphettes sing?

Whose heauenlie Voyce, whose Soule-inuading Straines,
Shall fill with Ioy the Plaines?
What Haire, what Eyes, can make the Morne in East
Weepe, that a fairer riseth in the West?
Faire Sunne, poste still away,
No Musicke heere is found thy Course to stay.
Sweet Hybla Swarmes with Wormewood fill your Bowrs,
Gone is the Flowre of Flowrs,
Blush no more Rose, nor Lillie pale remaine,
Dead is that Beautie which yours late did staine.

Aye mee! to waile my Plight
Why haue not I as many Eyes as Night?
Or as that Shepheard which Ioues Loue did keepe?
That I still still may weepe:
But though I had, my Teares vnto my Crosse
Were not yet equall, nor Griefe to my Losse,
Yet of you brinic Showrs,
Which I heere powre, may spring as many Flowrs,
As came of those which fell from Helens Eyes,
And when yee doe arise,
May euerie Leafe in sable Letters beare
The dolefull Cause for which yee spring vp heere.

Mad. [ii]

[Deare Night, the Ease of Care]

Deare Night, the Ease of Care,
Vntroubled Seate of Peace,
Times eldest Childe, which oft the Blinde doe see,
On this our Hemispheare,
What makes thee now so sadly darke to bee?
Comm'st thou in funerall Pompe her Graue to grace?
Or doe those Starres which should thy Horrour cleare,
In Ioues high Hall aduise,
In what Part of the Skies,
With them, or Cynthia shee shall appeare?
Or (ah alas!) because those matchlesse Eyes
Which shone so faire, below thou dost not finde,
Striu'st thou to make all other Eyes looke blinde?

Son. [viii]

[My Lute, bee as thou wast when thou didst grow]

My Lute, bee as thou wast when thou didst grow
With thy greene Mother in some shadie Groue,
When immelodious Windes but made thee moue,
And Birds on thee their Ramage did bestow.
Sith that deare Voyce which did thy Sounds approue,
Which vs'd in such harmonious Straines to flow,
Is reft from Earth to tune those Spheares aboue,
What art thou but a Harbenger of Woe?
Thy pleasing Notes, be pleasing Notes no more,
But orphane Wailings to the fainting Eare,
Each Stoppe a Sigh, each Sound drawes foorth a Teare,
Bee therefore silent as in Woods before,
Or if that any Hand to touch thee daigne,
Like widow'd Turtle, still her Losse complaine.

Son. [ix]

[Sweet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodlie Traine]

Sweet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodlie Traine,
Thy Head with Flames, thy Mantle bright with Flowrs,
The Zephyres curle the greene Lockes of the Plaine,
The Cloudes for Ioy in Pearles weepe downe their Showrs.
Thou turn'st (sweet Youth) but ah my pleasant Howres,
And happie Dayes, with thee come not againe,
The sad Memorialls only of my Paine
Doe with thee turne, which turne my Sweets in Sowres.
Thou art the same which still thou wast before,
Delicious, wanton, amiable, faire,
But shee, whose Breath embaulm'd thy wholesome Aire,
Is gone: nor Gold, nor Gemmes Her can restore.
Neglected Vertue, Seasons goe and come,
While thine forgot lie closed in a Tombe.

Son. [x]

[What doth it serue to see Sunnes burning Face?]

What doth it serue to see Sunnes burning Face?
And Skies enamell'd with both the Indies Gold?
Or Moone at Night in jettie Charriot roll'd?
And all the Glorie of that starrie Place?
What doth it serue Earths Beautie to behold?
The Mountaines Pride, the Meadowes flowrie Grace,
The statelie Comelinesse of Forrests old,
The Sport of Flouds which would themselues embrace?
What doth it serue to heare the Syluans Songs,
The wanton Mearle, the Nightingalles sad Straines,
Which in darke Shades seeme to deplore my Wrongs?
For what doth serue all that this World containes,
Sith shee for whome those once to mee were deare,
No Part of them can haue now with mee heere?

Mad. [iii]

[The Beautie, and the Life]

The Beautie, and the Life,
Of Lifes, and Beauties fairest Paragon,
(O Teares! ô Griefe!) hang at a feeble Thread,
To which pale Atropos had set her Knife,
The Soule with many a Grone
Had left each outward Part,
And now did take his last Leaue of the Heart,
Nought else did want, saue Death, euen to be dead:
When the afflicted Band about her Bed
(Seeing so faire him come in Lips, Cheekes, Eyes)
Cried, ah! and can Death enter Paradise?

Son. [xi]

[Ah Napkin, ominous Present of my Deare]

Ah Napkin , ominous Present of my Deare,
Gift miserable, which doth now remaine
The only Guerdon of my helpelesse Paine,
When I thee got thou shew'd my State too cleare:
I neuer since haue ceased to complaine,
Since, I the Badge of Griefe did euer weare,
Ioy on my Face durst neuer since appeare,
Care was the Food which did mee entertaine.
Now (since made mine) deare Napkin doe not grieue
That I this Tribute pay thee from mine Eine,
And that (these posting Houres I am to liue)
I laundre thy faire Figures in this Brine:
No, I must yet euen begge of thee the Grace,
That thou wouldst daigne in Graue to shrowde my Face.

Mad. [iv]

[Poore Turtle, thou bemones]

Poore Turtle, thou bemones
The Losse of thy deare Loue,
And I for mine send foorth these smoaking Grones,
Vnhappie widow'd Doue,
While all about doe sing,
I at the Roote, Thou on the Branche aboue,
Euen wearie with our Mones the gaudie Spring.
Yet these our Plaints wee doe not spend in vaine,
Sith sighing Zephyres answere vs againe.

Son. [xii]

[As in a duskie and tempestuous Night]

As in a duskie and tempestuous Night,
A Starre is wont to spreade her Lockes of Gold,
And while her pleasant Rayes abroad are roll'd,
Some spitefull Cloude doth robbe vs of her Sight:
(Faire Soule) in this blacke Age so shin'd thou bright,
And made all Eyes with Wonder thee beholde,
Till vglie Death depriuing vs of Light,
In his grimme mistie Armes thee did enfolde.
Who more shall vaunt true Beautie heere to see?
What Hope doth more in any Heart remaine,
That such Perfections shall his Reason raine?
If Beautie with thee borne too died with thee?
World, plaine no more of Loue, nor count his Harmes,
With his pale Trophees Death hath hung his Armes.

Son. [xiii]

[Sith it hath pleas'd that First and onlie Faire]

Sith it hath pleas'd that First and onlie Faire
To take that Beautie to himselfe againe,
Which in this World of Sense not to remaine,
But to amaze, was sent, and home repaire,
The Loue which to that Beautie I did beare
(Made pure of mortall Spots which did it staine,
And endlesse, which euen Death cannot impaire)
I place on him who will it not disdaine.
No shining Eyes, no Lockes of curling Gold,
No blushing Roses on a virgine Face,
No outward Show, no, nor no inward Grace,
Shall Force hereafter haue my Thoughts to hold:
Loue heere on Earth hudge Stormes of Care doe tosse,
But plac'd aboue, exempted is from Losse.

Mad. [v]

[My Thoughts hold mortall Strife]

My Thoughts hold mortall Strife,
I doe detest my Life,
And with lamenting Cries
(Peace to my Soule to bring)
Oft calles that Prince which here doth Monarchise,
But Hee grimme-grinning King,
Who Catiues scornes, and doth the Blest surprise,
Late hauing deckt with Beauties Rose his Tombe,
Disdaines to croppe a Weede, and will not come.

Song. [ii]

[It Autumne was, and on our Hemispheare]

It Autumne was, and on our Hemispheare
Faire Ericyne began bright to appeare,
Night West-ward did her gemmie World decline,
And hide her Lights, that greater Light might shine:
The crested Bird had giuen Alarum twise
To lazie Mortalls, to vnlocke their Eyes,
The Owle had left to plaine, and from each Thorne
The wing'd Musicians did salute the Morne,
Who (while shee glass'd her Lockes in Ganges Streames)
Set open wide the christall Port of Dreames:
When I, whose Eyes no drowsie Night could close,
In Sleepes soft Armes did quietly repose,
And, for that Heauens to die mee did denie,
Deaths Image kissed, and as dead did lie.
I lay as dead, but scarce charm'd were my Cares,
And slaked scarce my Sighes, scarce dried my Teares,
Sleepe scarce the vglie Figures of the Day
Had with his sable Pincell put away,
And left mee in a still and calmie Mood,
When by my Bed (me thought) a Virgine stood,
A Virgine in the blooming of her Prime,
If such rare Beautie measur'd bee by Time?
Her Head a Garland ware of Opalls bright,
About Her flow'd a Gowne as pure as Light,
Deare amber Lockes gaue Vmbrage to her Face,
Where Modestie high Majestie did grace,
Her Eyes such Beames sent foorth, that but with Paine
Here, weaker Sights their sparckling could sustaine:
No Deitie faign'd which haunts the silent Woods
Is like to Her, nor Syrene of the Floods:
Such is the golden Planet of the Yeare,

When blushing in the East hee doth appeare.
Her Grace did Beautie, Voyce yet Grace did passe,
Which thus through Pearles and Rubies broken was.

How long wilt thou (said shee) estrang'd from Ioy,
Paint Shadowes to thy selfe of false Annoy?
How long thy Minde with horride Shapes affrighte,
And in imaginarie Euills delighte?
Esteeme that Losse which (well when view'd) is Gaine,
Or if a Losse, yet not a Losse to plaine?
O leaue thy tyred Soule more to molest,
And thinke that Woe when shortest then is best.
If shee for whom thou deafnest thus the Skie
Bee dead? what then? was shee not borne to die?
Was shee not mortall borne? if thou dost grieue
That Times should bee, in which shee should not liue,
Ere e're shee was, weepe that Dayes Wheele was roll'd,
Weepe that shee liu'd not in the Age of Gold:
For that shee was not then, thou may'st deplore
As duely as that now shee is no more.
If onely shee had died, thou sure hadst Cause
To blame the Destines and Heauens yrone Lawes:
But looke how many Millions Her aduance,
What numbers with Her enter in this Dance,
With those which are to come: shall Heauens them staye,
And Alls faire Order breake, thee to obaye?
Euen as thy Birth, Death which thee doth appall,
A Piece is of the Life of this great All.
Strong Cities die, die doe high palmie Raignes,
And (weakling) thou thus to bee handled plaines.

If shee bee dead? then shee of lothsome Dayes
Hath past the Line, whose Length but Losse bewrayes;
Then shee hath left this filthie Stage of Care,

Where Pleasure seldome, Woe doth still repaire:
For all the Pleasures which it doth containe,
Not conteruaile the smallest Minutes Paine.
And tell mee, Thou who dost so much admire
This litle Vapour, Smoake, this Sparke, or Fire,
Which Life is call'd, what doth it thee bequeath,
But some few Yeeres which Birth drawes out to Death?
Which if thou paragone, with Lusters runne,
And them whose Carriere is but now begunne,
In Dayes great Vaste they shall farre lesse appeare,
Than with the Sea when matched is a Teare.
But why wouldst thou Here longer wish to bee?
One Yeere doth serue all Natures Pompe to see,
Nay, euen one Day, and Night: This Moone, that Sunne,
Those lesser Fires about this Round which runne,
Bee but the same which vnder Saturnes Raigne
Did the serpenting Seasons enterchaine.
How oft doth Life grow lesse by liuing long?
And what excelleth but what dieth yong?
For Age which all abhorre (yet would embrace)
Whiles makes the Minde as wrinckled as the Face:
And when that Destinies conspire with Worth,
That Yeeres not glorie Wrong, Life soone goes forth.
Leaue then Laments, and thinke thou didst not liue,
Lawes to that first eternall Cause to giue,
But to obey those Lawes which hee hath giuen,
And bow vnto the just Decrees of Heauen,
Which can not erre, what euer foggie Mists
Doe blinde Men in these sublunarie Lists.

But what if shee for whom thou spend'st those Grones,
And wastest Lifes deare Torch in ruethfull Mones,

Shee for whose sake thou hat'st the joyfull Light,
Court'st solitarie Shades, and irkesome Night,
Doth liue? ô! (if thou canst) through Teares a Space
Lift thy dimm'd Lights, and looke vpon this Face,
Looke if those Eyes which (foole) thou didst adore,
Shine not more bright than they were wont before?
Looke if those Roses Death could ought impaire,
Those Roses to thee once which seem'd so faire?
And if these Lockes haue lost ought of that Gold,
Which earst they had when thou them didst behold?
I liue, and happie liue, but thou art dead,
And still shalt bee, till thou be like mee made.
Alas! whilst wee are wrapt in Gownes of Earth,
And blinde, heere sucke the Aire of Woe beneath,
Each thing in Senses Ballances wee wie,
And but with Toyle, and Paine the Trueth descrie.

Aboue this vaste and admirable Frame,
This Temple visible, which World wee name,
Within whose Walles so many Lamps doe burne,
So many Arches opposite doe turne,
Where Elementall Brethren nurse their Strife,
And by intestine Warres maintaine their Life,
There is a World, a World of perfect Blisse,
Pure, immateriall, bright, more farre from this,
Than that high Circle which the rest enspheares
Is from this dull ignoble Vale of Teares,
A World, where all is found, that heere is found,
But further discrepant than Heauen and Ground:
It hath an Earth, as hath this World of yours,
With Creatures peopled, stor'd with Trees, and Flowrs,
It hath a Sea, like Saphire Girdle cast,
Which decketh of harmonious Shores the Waste,

It hath pure Fire, it hath delicious Aire,
Moone, Sunne, and Starres, Heauens wonderfully faire:
But there Flowrs doe not fade, Trees grow not olde,
The Creatures doe not die through Heat nor Colde,
Sea there not tossed is, nor Aire made blacke,
Fire doth not nurse it selfe on others Wracke;
There Heauens bee not constrain'd about to range,
For this World hath no neede of any Change:
The Minutes grow not Houres, Houres rise not Dayes,
Dayes make no Months, but euer-blooming Mayes.

Heere I remaine, and hitherward doe tend
All who their Spanne of Dayes in Vertue spend:
What euer Pleasure this low Place containes,
It is a Glance but of what high remaines.
Those who (perchance) thinke there can nothing bee
Without this wide Expansion which they see,
And that nought else mounts Starres Circumference,
For that nought else is subject to their Sense,
Feele such a Case, as one whom some Abisme
Of the Deepe Ocean kept had all his Time:
Who borne and nourish'd there, can scarcely dreame
That ought can liue without that brinie Streame,
Can not beleeue that there be Temples, Towres,
Which goe beyond his Caues and dampish Bowres,
Or there bee other People, Manners, Lawes,
Than them hee finds within the roaring Waues,
That sweeter Flowrs doe spring than grow on Rockes,
Or Beasts bee which excell the skalie Flockes,
That other Elements bee to bee found,
Than is the Water, and this Ball of Ground.

But thinke that Man from those Abismes were brought,
And saw what curious Nature here hath wrought,
Did see the Meads, the tall and shadie Woods,
The Hilles did see, the cleare and ambling Floods,
The diuerse Shapes of Beasts which Kinds foorth bring,
The feathred Troupes, that flie and sweetly sing:
Did see the Palaces, the Cities faire,
The Forme of humane Life, the Fire, the Aire,
The brightnesse of the Sunne that dimmes his Sight,
The Moone, the gastly Splendors of the Night:
What vncouth Rapture would his Minde surprise?
How would hee his (late-deare) Resort despise?
How would hee muse how foolish hee had beene
To thinke nought bee, but what hee there had seene?
Why did wee get this high and vaste Desire,
Vnto immortall things still to aspire?
Why doth our Minde extend it beyond Time,
And to that highest Happinesse euen clime?
If wee be nought but what to Sense wee seeme,
And Dust, as most of Worldlings vs esteeme?
Wee bee not made for Earth, though here wee come,
More than the Embryon for the Mothers Wombe:
It weepes to bee made free, and wee complaine
To leaue this loathsome Iayle of Care and Paine,

But thou who vulgare Foot-steps dost not trace,
Learne to raise vp thy Minde vnto this Place,
And what Earth-creeping Mortalles most affect,
If not at all to scorne, yet to neglect:
O chase not Shadowes vaine, which when obtain'd,

Were better lost, than with such Trauell gain'd.
Thinke that, on Earth which Humanes Greatnesse call,
Is but a glorious Title to liue thrall:
That Scepters, Diadems, and Chaires of State,
Not in themselues, but to small Mindes are great:
How those who loftiest mount, doe hardest light,
And deepest Falls bee from the highest Hight;
How Fame an Eccho is, how all Renowne
Like to a blasted Rose, ere Night falles downe:
And though it something were, thinke how this Round
Is but a litle Point, which doth it bound.
O leaue that Loue which reacheth but to Dust,
And in that Loue eternall only trust,
And Beautie, which when once it is possest,
Can only fill the Soule, and make it blest.
Pale Enuie, jealous Emulations, Feares,
Sighs, Plaints, Remorse, here haue no Place, nor Teares,
False Ioyes, vaine Hopes, here bee not, Hate nor Wrath,
What ends all Loue, here most augments it, Death.
If such Force had the dimme Glance of an Eye,
Which some few Dayes thereafter was to die,
That it could make thee leaue all other things,
And like the Taper-flie there burne thy Wings?
And if a Voyce, of late which could but waile,
Such Power had, as through Eares thy Soule to steale?
If once thou on that only Faire couldst gaze,
What Flames of Loue would hee within thee raise?
In what a mazing Maze would it thee bring,
To heare but once that Quire celestiall sing?
The fairest Shapes on which thy Loue did sease,
Which earst did breede Delight, then would displease,
Then Discords hoarse were Earths entising Sounds,
All Musicke but a Noyse which Sense confounds.

This great and burning Glasse that cleares all Eyes,
And musters with such Glorie in the Skies,
That siluer Starre which with its sober Light,
Makes Day oft enuie the eye-pleasing Night,
Those golden Letters which so brightly shine
In Heauens great Volume gorgeously diuine,
The Wonders all in Sea, in Earth, in Aire,
Bee but darke Pictures of that Soueraigne Faire,
Bee Tongues, which still thus crie into your Eare,
(Could yee amidst Worlds Cataracts them heare)
From fading things (fond Wights) lift your Desire,
And in our Beautie, his vs made admire,
If wee seeme faire? ô thinke how faire is Hee,
Of whose faire Fairnesse, Shadowes, Steps, we bee.
No Shadow can compare it with the Face,
No Step with that deare Foot which did it trace;
Your Soules immortall are, then place them hence,
And doe not drowne them in the Must of Sense:
Doe not, ô doe not by false Pleasures Might
Depriue them of that true, and sole Delight.
That Happinesse yee seeke is not below,
Earths sweetest Ioy is but disguised Woe.

Heere did shee pause, and with a milde Aspect
Did towards mee those lamping Twinnes direct:
The wonted Rayes I knew, and thrice essay'd
To answere make, thrice faultring Tongue it stay'd.
And while vpon that Face I fed my Sight,
Mee thought shee vanish'd vp in Titans Light,
Who guilding with his Rayes each Hill and Plaine,
Seem'd to haue brought the Gold-smiths World againe.

TEARES, ON THE DEATH of Mœliades.

O heauens! then is it true that Thou art gone,

THE Name which in these Verses is giuen Prince Henrie, is that which he himselfe in ye Challenges of his Martial Sports, & Mascarads, was wont to vse, Mœliades Prince of the Isles which in Anagramme maketh Miles A DEO

And left this woefull Ile her Losse to mone,
Mœliades? bright Day-Starre of the West,
A Comet, blazing Terrour to the East:
And neither that thy Spright so heauenlywise,
Nor Bodie (though of Earth) more pure than Skies,
Nor royall Stemme, nor thy sweet tender Age,
Of adamantine Fates could quench the Rage?
O fading Hopes! O short-while-lasting Ioy!
Of Earth-borne Man, which one Houre can destroy!
Then euen of Vertues Spoyles Death Trophees reares,
As if hee gloried most in many Teares.
Forc'd by grimme Destines, Heauens neglect our Cryes,
Starres seeme set only to acte Tragœdies:
And let them doe their Worst, since thou art gone,
Raise whom they list to Thrones, enthron'd dethrone,
Staine Princely Bowres with Blood, and euen to Gange,
In Cypresse sad, glad Hymens Torches change.
Ah! thou hast left to liue, and in the Time,
When scarce thou blossom'd in thy pleasant Prime,
So falles by Northerne Blast a virgine Rose,
At halfe that doth her bashfull Bosome close:

So a sweet Flourish languishing decayes,
That late did blush when kist by Phœbus Rayes:
So Phœbus mounting the Meridians Hight,
Choack'd by pale Phœbe, faints vnto our Sight,
Astonish'd Nature sullen stands to see
The Life of all this All, so chang'd to bee,
In gloomie Gownes the Starres about deplore,
The Sea with murmuring Mountaines beates the Shore,
Blacke Darknesse reeles o're all, in thousand Showres
The weeping Aire, on Earth her Sorrow powres,
That (in a Palsey) quakes to finde so soone
Her Louer set, and Night burst foorth ere Noone.

If Heauen (alas) ordain'd thee young to die,
Why was it not where thou thy Might did'st trie?
And to the hopefull World at least set forth
Some litle Sparke of thine expected Worth?
Mœliades, ô that by Isters Streames,
Amongst shrill-sounding Trumpets, flaming Gleames
Of warme encrimson'd Swords, and Cannons Roare,
Balls thicke as Raine pour'd by the Caspian Shore,
Amongst crush'd Lances, ringing Helmes, and Shields,
Dismembred Bodies rauishing the Fields,
In Turkish Blood made red like Marses Starre,
Thou ended hadst thy Life, and Christian Warre!
Or as braue Burbon thou hadst made old Rome,
Queene of the World, thy Triumphs Place, and Tombe!
So Heauens faire Face to the vnborne which reades
A Booke had beene of thine illustrous Deedes:
So to their Nephewes aged Syres had told

The high Exploits perform'd by thee of old,
Townes raz'd, and rais'd, victorious, vanquish'd Bands,
Fierce Tyrants flying, foyl'd, kill'd, by thy Hands.
And in deare Arras, Virgines faire had wrought
The Bayes and Trophees to thy Countrey brought:
While some new Homer imping Pennes to Fame,
Deafe Nilus Dwellers had made heare thy Name.
That thou didst not attaine those Honours Spheares,
It was not want of Worth, ô no, but Yeares.
A Youth more braue, pale Troy with trembling Walles
Did neuer see, nor shee whose Name apalles
Both Titans golden Bowres, for bloody Fights
Mustring on Marses Field such Marse-like Knights.
The Heauens had brought thee to the highest Hight,
Of Wit, and Courage, shewing all their Might
When they thee fram'd: Ay mee! that what is braue
On Earth, they as their owne so soone should craue.
Mœliades sweet courtly Nymphes deplore,
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearlie Shore.

When Forth thy Nurse, Forth where thou first didst passe
Thy tender Dayes (who smyl'd oft on her Glasse
To see thee gaze) Meandring with her Streames,
Heard thou hadst left this Round, from Phœbus Beames
Shee sought to flie, but forced to returne
By neighbour Brookes, Shee gaue her selfe to mourne:
And as shee rush'd her Cyclades among,
Shee seem'd to plaine, that Heauen had done her wrong.
With a hoarse Plaint, Cleyd downe her steepie Rockes,
And Tweed through her greene Mountaines cled with Flockes,
Did wound the Ocean, murmuring thy Death,
The Ocean that roar'd about the Earth,

And it to Mauritanian Atlas told,
Who shrunke through Griefe, and downe his white Haires roll'd
Hudge Streames of Teares, that changed were in Floods,
With which hee drown'd the neighbour Plaines and Woods.
The lesser Brookes as they did bubbling goe,
Did keepe a Consort vnto publike Woe:
The Shepheards left their Flockes with downe-cast Eyes,
Disdaining to looke vp to angrie Skies:
Some broke their Pipes, and some in sweet-sad Layes,
Made senslesse things amazed at thy Praise.
His Reed Alexis hung vpon a Tree,
And with his Teares made Doven great to bee.
Mœliades sweet courtly Nymphes deplore,
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearlie Shore.

Chaste Maides which haunt faire Aganippe Well,
And you in Tempes sacred Shade who dwell,
Let fall your Harpes, cease Tunes of Ioy to sing,
Discheueled make all Parnassus ring
With Antheames sad, thy Musicke Phœbus turne
In dolefull Plaints, whilst Ioy it selfe doth mourne:
Dead is thy Darling, who decor'd thy Bayes,
Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet Layes,
And to a Trumpet raise thine amorous Stile,
That floting Delos enuie might this Ile.
You Acidalian Archers breake your Bowes,
Your Brandons quench, with Teares blot Beauties Snowes,
And bid your weeping Mother yet againe
A second Adons Death, nay, Marses plaine:
His Eyes once were your Darts, nay, euen his Name
Where euer heard, did euery Heart inflame:

Tagus did court his Loue, with golden Streames,
Rhein with his Townes, faire Seine, with all shee claimes.
But ah (poore Louers) Death did them betrey,
And (not suspected) made their Hopes his Prey!
Tagus bewailes his Losse, with golden Streames,
Rhein with his Townes, faire Seine with all shee claimes.
Mœliades sweet courtly Nymphes deplore,
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearlie Shore.

Delicious Meads, whose checkred Plaine foorth brings,
White, golden, azure Flowres, which once were Kings,
In mourning Blacke, their shining Colours dye,
Bow downe their Heads, whilst sighing Zephyres flye.
Queene of the Fields, whose Blush makes blushe the Morne,
Sweet Rose, a Princes Death in Purple mourne.
O Hyacinthes, for ay your AI keepe still,
Nay, with moe Markes of Woe your Leaues now fill:
And you, O Flowre of Helens Teares first borne,
Into those liquide Pearles againe you turne.
Your greene Lockes, Forrests, cut, in weeping Myrrhes,
The deadly Cypresse, and Inke-dropping Firres,
Your Palmes and Mirtles change; from Shadowes darke
Wing'd Syrens waile, and you sad Ecchoes marke
The lamentable Accents of their Mone,
And plaine that braue Mœliades is gone.
Stay Skie thy turning Course, and now become
A stately Arche, vnto the Earth his Tombe:
Ouer which ay the watrie Iris keepe,
And sad Electras Sisters which still weepe.
Mœliades sweet courtly Nymphes deplore,
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearlie Shore.

Deare Ghost, forgiue these our vntimely Teares,
By which our louing Minde, though weake, appeares,
Our Losse not Thine (when wee complaine) wee weepe,
For thee the glistring Walles of Heauen doe keepe,
Beyond the Planets Wheeles, aboue that Source
Of Spheares, that turnes the lower in its Course,
Where Sunne doth neuer set, nor vgly Night
Euer appeares in mourning Garments dight:
Where Boreas stormie Trumpet doth not sound,
Nor Cloudes in Lightnings bursting, Minds astound.
From Cares cold Climates farre, and hote Desire,
Where Time is banish'd, Ages ne're expire:
Amongst pure Sprights enuironed with Beames,
Thou think'st all things below to bee but Dreames,
And joy'st to looke downe to the azur'd Barres
Of Heauen, indented all with streaming Starres;
And in their turning Temples to behold,
In siluer Robe the Moone, the Sunne in Gold,
Like young Eye-speaking Louers in a Dance,
With Majestie by Turnes retire, aduance,
Thou wondrest Earth to see hang like a Ball,
Clos'd in the gastly Cloyster of this All:
And that poore Men should proue so madly fond,
To tosse themselues for a small Foot of Ground.
Nay, that they euen dare braue the Powers aboue,
From this base Stage of Change, that cannot moue.
All worldly Pompe and Pride thou seest arise
Like Smoake, that scattreth in the emptie Skies.
Other Hilles and Forrests, other sumptuous Towres,
Amaz'd thou find'st, excelling our poore Bowres,
Courts voyde of Flatterie, of Malice Mindes,

Pleasure which lasts, not such as Reason blindes:
Farre sweeter Songs thou hear'st and Carrolings,
Whilst Heauens doe dance, and Quire of Angells sings,
Than moldie Mindes could faine, euen our Annoy
(If it approach that Place) is chang'd in Ioy.

Rest blessed Spright, rest saciate with the Sight
Of him, whose Beames both dazell and delight,
Life of all Liues, Cause of each other Cause,
The Spheare, and Center, where the Minde doth pause:
Narcissus of himselfe, himselfe the Well,
Louer, and Beautie, that doth all excell.
Rest happie Ghost, and wonder in that Glasse,
Where seene is all that shall be, is, or was,
While shall be, is, or was doe passe away,
And nought remaine but an Eternall Day.
For euer rest, thy Praise Fame may enroule
In golden Annalles, whilst about the Pole
The slow Boötes turnes, or Sunne doth rise
With skarlet Scarfe, to cheare the mourning Skies:
The Virgines to thy Tombe may Garlands beare
Of Flowres, and on each Flowre let fall a Teare.
Mœliades sweet courtly Nymphes deplore,
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearlie Shore.

Sonnet.

[A passing Glance, a Lightning long the Skies]

A passing Glance, a Lightning long the Skies
That vsh'ring Thunder dies straight to our Sight,
A Sparke, of Contraries which doth arise,
Then drownes in the huge Depthes of Day and Night:
Is this small-Small call'd Life, held in such Price
Of blinded Wights, who nothing judge aright,
Of Parthian Shaft so swift is not the Flight
As Life, that wastes it selfe, and liuing dies.
O! what is humane Greatnesse, Valour, Wit?
What fading Beautie, Riches, Honour, Praise?
To what doth serue in golden Thrones to sit,
Thrall Earths vaste Round, triumphall Arches raise?
All is a Dreame, learne in this Princes Fall,
In whome (saue Death) nought mortall was at all.

EPITAPH

Stay Passenger, see where enclosed lyes,
The Paragon of Princes, fairest Frame,
Time, Nature, Place, could show to mortal Eyes
In Worth, Wit, Vertue, Miracle to Fame:
At lest that Part the Earth of him could clame,
This Marble holds (hard like the Destinies)
For as to his braue Spirit, and glorious Name,
The One the World, the other fills the Skies.
Th' immortall Amaranthus, princely Rose,
Sad Violet, and that sweet Flowre that beares,
In Sangvine Spots the Tenor of our Woes,
Spred on this Stone, & wash it with thy Teares,
Then go and tell from Gades vnto Inde,
Thou saw where Earths Perfections were confinde.

VRANIA,

OR Spirituall Poems.

[i]

[Triumphing Chariots, Statues, Crownes of Bayes]

Triumphing Chariots, Statues, Crownes of Bayes,
Skie-threatning Arches, the Rewards of Worth,
Workes heauenly wise in sweet harmonious Layes,
Which Sprights diuine vnto the World set forth:
States, which ambitious Mindes with Blood doe raise
From frozen Tanais to Sunne-gilded Gange,
Giganticke Frames held Wonders rarely strange,
Like Spiders Webbes, are made the Sport of Dayes.
All only constant is in constant Change,
What done is, is vndone, and when vndone,
Into some other Fashion doth it range:
Thus goes the floting World beneath the Moone,
Where for (my Minde) aboue Time, Motion, Place,
Thee raise, and Steps vnknowne to Nature Trace.

[ii]

[Too long I follow'd haue my fond Desire]

Too long I follow'd haue my fond Desire,
And too long painted on the Ocean Streames:
Too long Refreshment sought amidst the Fire,
And hunted Ioyes, which to my Soule were Blames.
Ah! when I had what most I did admire,
And seene of Lifes Delights the last Extreames,
I found all but a Rose hedg'd with a Bryer,
A Nought, a Thought, a Show of mocking Dreames.
Hencefoorth on thee mine only Good I'll thinke,
For only thou canst grant what I doe craue,
Thy Naile my Penne shall bee, thy Blood mine Inke,
Thy Winding-shee my Paper, Studie Graue.
And till that Soule forth of this Bodie flie,
No Hope I'll haue but only onelie Thee.

[iii]

[To spreade the azure Canopie of Heauen]

To spreade the azure Canopie of Heauen,
And make it twinckle all with Spanges of Gold,
To place this pondrous Globe of Earth so euen,
That it should all, and nought should it vphold:
To giue strange Motions to the Planets seuen,
And Ioue to make so meeke, and Mars so bold,
To temper what is moist, drie, hote, and cold,
Of all their Iarres that sweet Accords are giuen.
Lord, to thy Wit is nought, nought to thy Might,
But that thou shouldst (thy Glorie laid aside)
Come basely in Mortalitie to bide,
And die for them deseru'd eternall Plight,
A Wonder is, so farre aboue our Wit,
That Angells stand amaz'd to thinke on it.

[iv]

[Come forth, come forth, yee blest triumphing Bands]

Come forth, come forth, yee blest triumphing Bands,
Faire Citizens of that immortall Towne:
Come see that King, who all this All commands,
Now (ouercharg'd with Loue) die for his owne.
Looke on those Nailes which pierce his Feete and Hands,
What a strange Diademe his Browes doth crowne?
Beholde his pallide Face, his Eyes which sowne,
And what a Throng of Thieues him mocking stands:
Come forth yee Empyrean Troupes, come forth,
Preserue this sacred Blook, which Earth adornes,
Gather those liquide Roses from his Thornes,
O! to bee lost they bee of too much Worth:
For Streames, Iuice, Baulme, they are, which quench, killes, charmes,
Of God, Death, Hell, the Wrath, the Life, the Harmes.

[i]

[Soule, which to Hell wast thrall]

Soule , which to Hell wast thrall,
Hee, hee for thine Offence
Did suffer Death, who could not die at all:
O soueraigne Excellence,
O Life of all that liues,
Eternall Bountie, which all Goodnesse giues,
How could Death mount so hie?
No Wit this Point can reach,
Faith onely doth vs teach,
For vs hee died, at all who could not die.

[v]

[If such passing Beautie, choise Delights]

If such passing Beautie, choise Delights,
The Architect of this great Round did frame
This Pallace visible, which World we name?
(Yet sillie Mansion but of mortall Wights)
How many Wonders? what amazing Lights,
Must that triumphing Seate of Glorie claime?
Which doth transcend all this great Alls high Hights,
Of Whose bright Sunne ours heere is but a Beame?
O blest Abode! ô happie dwelling Place!
Where visiblie th' Inuisible doth raigne,
Blest People, who doe see true Beauties Face,
With whose darke Shadowes Hee but Earth doth daigne,
All Ioy is but Annoy, all Concord Strife,
Match'd with your endlesse Blisse, and happie Life.

[ii]

[Loue which is heere, a Care]

Loue which is heere, a Care
That Wit and Will doth marre,
Vncertaine Truce, and a most certaine Warre,
A shrill tempestuous Winde,
Which doth disturbe the Minde,
And like wilde Waues our Dessignes all commoue:
Among those Sprights aboue
Which see their Makers Face,
It a Contentment is, a quiet Peace,
A Pleasure voide of Griefe, a constant Rest,
Eternall Ioy, which nothing can molest.

[vi]

[What haplesse Hap had I now to bee borne]

What haplesse Hap had I now to bee borne,
In these vnhappie Times, and dying Dayes,
Of this else-doating World? when Good decayes,
Loue is quench'd forth, and Vertue held a Scorne.
When such are onely priz'd, by wretched Wayes
Who with a golden Fleece them can adorne,
When Auarice, and Lust, are counted Praise,
And noble Mindes liue Orphane-like forlorne.
Why was not I into that golden Age,
When Gold yet was not knowne? and those blacke Artes,
By which base Mortalles vildely play their Parts,
And staine with horride Actes Earths stately Stage?
Then to haue beene, Heauen, it had beene my Blisse,
But blesse mee now, and take mee soone from this.

[vii]

[Thrise happie hee, who by some shadie Groue]

Thrise happie hee, who by some shadie Groue
Farre from the clamarous World doth liue his owne,
Though solitare, yet who is not alone,
But doth conuerse with that Eternall Loue.
O how more sweet is Birds harmonious Mone,
Or the soft Sobbings of the widow'd Doue?
Than those smoothe Whisp'rings neare a Princes Throne,
Which Good make doubtfull, doe the Euill approue.
O how more sweet is Zephyres wholesome Breath,
And Sighs perfum'd, which doe the Flowres vnfold,
Tnan that Applause vaine Honour doth bequeath?
How sweete are Streames to Poyson drunke in Gold?
The World is full of Horrours, Falshoods, Slights,
Woods silent Shades haue only true Delights.

[viii]

[Why (Worldlings) doe ye trust fraile Honours Dreames?]

Why (Worldlings) doe ye trust fraile Honours Dreames?
And leane to guilded Glories which decay?
Why doe yee toyle to registrate your Names
In ycie Columnes, which soone melt away?
True Honour is not here, that Place it claimes,
Where blacke-brow'd Night doth not exile the Day,
Nor no farre-shining Lampe diues in the Sea,
But an eternall Sunne spreades lasting Beames.
There it attendeth you, where spotlesse Bands
Of Sprights, stand gazing on their soueraigne Blisse,
Where Yeeres not hold it in their cankring Hands,
But who once noble euer noble is:
Looke home, lest he your weakned Wit make thrall,
Who Edens foolish Gard'ner earst made fall.

[iii]

[Astrea in this Time]

Astrea in this Time
Now doth not liue, but is fled vp to Heauen;
Or if shee liue, it is not without Crime
That shee doth vse her Power,
And shee is no more Virgine, but a Whoure,
Whoure prostitute for Gold:
For shee doth neuer holde her Ballance euen,
And when her Sword is roll'd,
The Bad, Injurious, False, shee not o'rethrowes,
But on the Innocent lets fall her Blowes.

[ix]

[What serues it to bee good? Goodnesse by thee]

What serues it to bee good? Goodnesse by thee
The Holy-wise is thought a Foole to bee,
For thee the Man to Temperance inclin'de,
Is held but of a base and abject Minde,
The Continent is thought for thee but cold,
Who yet was good, that euer died old?
The pittifull who others feares to kill,
Is kill'd himselfe, and Goodnesse doth him ill:
The meeke and humble Man who cannot braue,
By thee is to some Giants Brood made Slaue.
Poore Goodnesse, thine thou to such Wrongs sett'st forth,
That ô! I feare mee, thou art nothing worth:
And when I looke to Earth, and not to Heauen,
Ere I were turned Doue, I would bee Rauen.

[i]

[Great GOD, whom wee with humble Thoughts adore]

Great GOD, whom wee with humble Thoughts adore,
Eternall, infinite, almightie King,
Whose Pallace Heauen transcends, whose Throne before
Archangells serue, and Seraphins doe sing:
Of Nought who wrought all that with wondring Eyes
Wee doe behold within this spacious Round,
Who mak'st the Rockes to rocke, and stand the Skies,
At whose Command the horride Thunders sound:
Ah! spare vs Wormes, weigh not how wee (alas)
Euill to our Selues, against thy Lawes rebell,
Wash off those Spots, which still in Conscience Glasse
(Though wee bee loth to looke) wee see too well.
Deseru'd Reuenge, ô doe not, doe not take,
If thou reuenge, what shall abide thy Blow?
Passe shall this World, this World which thou didst make,
Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow.

For who is hee whom Parents Sinne not staines?
Or with his owne Offence is not defil'd?
Though Iustice Ruine threaten, Iustice Raines
Let Mercie hold, and bee both just and milde.

Lesse are our Faults farre farre than is thy Loue,
O! what can better seeme thy Pow'r diuine?
Than those who Euill deserue thy Goodnesse proue?
And where thou thunder shouldst there faire to shine?
Then looke, and pittie, pittying forgiue
Vs guiltie Slaues, or Seruants, at thy Will,
Slaues, if (alas) thou look'st how wee doe liue,
Or doing nought at all, or doing ill:
Of an vngratefull Minde a foule Effect,
But if thy Gifts, which largely heretofore
Thou hast vpon vs powr'd, thou doest respect?
Wee bee thy Seruants, nay, than Seruants more,
Thy Children, yes, and Children dearly bought,
But what strange Chance vs of this Lot bereaues?
Vile Rebells, ô! how basely are wee brought?
Whom Grace made Children, Sinne hath now made Slaues:
Sinne Slaues hath made, but let thy Grace Sinne thrall,
That in our Wrongs thy mercie may appeare,
Thy Wisdome not so weake is, Pow'r so small,
But thousand Wayes they can make Men thee feare.

O Wisdome bound-lesse! admirable Grace!
Grace, Wisdome, which doe dazell Reasons Eye,
And could Heauens King bring from his placelesse Place,
On this infamous Stage of Woe, to die:
To die our Death, and with the sacred Streame
Of Bloud, and Water, gushing from his Side,
To expiate that Sinne, and deadly Blame,
Contriued first by our First Parents Pride.
Thus thy great Loue, and Pittie, heauenly King,
Loue, Pittie, which so well our Losse preuents,
Could euen of Euill it selfe all Goodnesse bring,
And sad Beginnings cheare with glad Euents.
O Loue, and Pittie! ill knowne of these Times,

O Loue and Pittie! carefull of our Blisse,
O Goodnesse! with the hainous Actes and Crimes
Of this blacke Age, that almost vanquish'd is:
Make this excessiue ardour of thy Loue,
So warme our Coldnesse, so our Liues renew,
That wee from Sinne, Sinne may from vs remoue,
Wit may our Will, Faith may our Wit subdue.
Let thy pure Loue burne vp all mortall Lust,
That Band of Ills which thralles our better Part,
And fondly makes vs worship fleshly Dust,
In stead of Thee in Temple of our Heart.

Grant, when at last the Spright shall leaue this Tombe,
This loathsome Shop of Sinne, and Mansion blinde,
And (call'd) before thy Royall Seat doth come,
It may a Sauiour, not a Iudge, thee finde.

MADRIGALLS, AND Epigrammes.

[i] The Statue of Medvsa.

Of that Medvsa strange,
Who those that did her see in Rockes did change,
None Image caru'd is this;
Medvsas selfe it is,
For whilst at Heat of Day,
To quench her Thirst Shee by this Spring did stay,
Her curling Snakes beholding in this Glasse,
Life did Her leaue, and thus transform'd Shee was.

[ii] The Trojane Horse.

A horse I am, whom Bit,
Raine, Rod, nor Spurre, not feare;
When I my Riders beare,
Within my Wombe, not on my Backe they sit:
No Streames I drinke, nor care for Grasse, nor Corne,
Arte mee a Monster wrought,
All Natures Workes to scorne:
A Mother, I was without Mother borne,
In End all arm'd my Father I forth brought:
What thousand Ships, and Champions of Renowne,
Could not doe free, I captiue raz'd a Towne.

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[iii] A Louers Heauen.

Those Starres, nay Sunnes, which turne
So stately in their Spheares,
And daz'ling doe not burne,
The beautie of the Mone
Which on those Cheekes appeares,
The Harmonie which to that Voyce is giuen,
Make mee thinke yee are Heauen:
If Heauen yee bee? ô that by pow'rfull Charmes
I Atlas were, to holde you in mine Armes!

[iv] Deepe Impression of Loue.

Whom raging Dog doth bite,
Hee doth in Water still
That Cerberus Image see;
Loue Mad (perhaps) when he my Heart did smite,
(More to dissemble Ill)
Transform'd himselfe in thee,
For euer since thou present art to mee:
No Spring there is, no Floud, nor other Place,
Where I (alas) not see thy heauenly Face.

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[v] The Pourtrait of Mars and Venvs.

Faire Paphos wanton Queene,
Not drawne in White and Red,
Is truely heere, as when in Vvlcans Bed
She was of all Heauens laughing Senate seene:
Gaze on her Haire, and Eine,
Her Browes, the Bowes of Loue,
Her backe with Lillies spred:
And yee should see her turne, and sweetly moue,
But that Shee neither so will doe, nor darre,
For feare to wake the angrie God of Warre.

[vi] Iölas Epitaph.

Here deare Iölas lies,
Who whilst hee liu'd in Beautie did surpasse
That Boy, whose heauenly Eyes
Brought Cypris from aboue,
Or him till Death who look'd in watrie Glasse,
Euen Iudge the God of Loue:
And if the Nymphe once held of him so deare,
Dorine the faire, would heere but shed one Teare,
Thou shouldst (in Natures Scorne)
A purple Flowre see of this Marble borne.

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[vii] Vpon the Death of a Linnet.

If cruell Death had Eares,
Or could bee pleas'd by Songs?
This wing'd Musician liu'd had many yeares,
And Chloris mine had neuer wept these Wrongs:
For when it first tooke Breath,
The Heauens their Notes did vnto it bequeath:
And (if that Samians sentence bee found true)
Amphion in this Body liu'd of new:
But Death, for that hee nothing spares, nought heares,
As hee doth Kings, it kill'd, ô Griefe! ô Teares!

[viii] Alcons Kisse.

What others at their Eare
Two Pearles Camilla at he Nose did weare,
Which Alcon who nought saw
(For Loue is blinde) robb'd with a prettie Kisse,
But hauing knowne his Misse,
And felt what Ore hee from that Mine did draw,
When shee to charge againe him did desire,
Hee fled, and said, foule Water quenched Fire.

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[ix] Icarvs.

Whilst with audacious Wings
I sprang those airie Wayes,
And fill'd (a Monster new) with Dread and Feares,
The feathred People, and their Eagle Kings:
Dazel'd with Phœbus Rayes,
And charmed with the Musicke of the Spheares,
When Pennes could moue no more, and Force did faile,
I measur'd by a Fall these loftie Bounds;
Yet doth Renowne my Losses counteruaile,
For still the Shore my braue Attempt resounds:
A Sea, an Element doth beare my Name,
Who hath so vaste a Tombe in Place, or Fame?

[x] Cherries.

My Wanton, weepe no more
The losing of your Cherries,
Those, and farre sweeter Berries,
Your Sister in good store
Hath, spred on Lips, and Face:
Be glad, kisse but with me, and hold your peace.

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[xi] Of Thavmantia, beholding her selfe in a Marble.

World , wonder not that I
Engraue thus in may Brest
This Angell Face, which mee bereaues of Rest:
Since things euen wanting Sense, cannot denie
To lodge so deare a Guest,
And this hard Marble Stone
Receiues the same, and loues, but cannot grone.

[xii] Loue suffereth no Parasol.

Those Eyes, deare Eyes, bee Spheares,
Where two bright Sunnes are roll'd,
That faire Hand to behold,
Of whitest Snowe appeares:
Then while yee coylie stand,
To hide from mee those Eyes,
Sweet, I would you aduise
To choose some other Fanne than that white Hand:
For if yee doe, for Trueth most true this know,
That Sunnes ere long must needes consume warme Snow.

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[xiii] Sleeping Beautie.

O Sight! too dearely bought,
Shee sleepes, and though those Eyes,
Which lighten Cupids Skies,
Bee clos'd, yet such a Grace
Enuironeth that Place,
That I through Wonder to grow faint am brought:
Sunnes, if ecclips'd yee haue such Power diuine?
O! how can I endure you when yee shine?

[xiv] The qualitie of a Kisse.

The Kisse with so much Strife,
Which I late got (sweet Heart)
Was it a Signe of Death, or was it Life?
Of Life it could not bee,
For I by it did sigh my Soule in thee,
Nor was it Death, Death doth no Ioy impart:
Thou silent stand'st, ah! what thou didst bequeath,
To mee a dying Life was, liuing Death.

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[xv] Of Phillis.

In Peticote of Greene,
Her Haire about her Eine,
Phillis beneath an Oake
Sate milking her faire Flocke:
Among that strained Moysture (rare Delight!)
Her Hand seem'd Milke in Milke, it was so white.

[xvi] Kisses desired.

Though I with strange Desire
To kisse those rosie Lips am set on Fire,
Yet will I cease to craue
Sweet Touches in such store,
As hee who long before
From Lesbia them in thousands did receaue;
Heart mine, but once mee kisse,
And I by that sweet Blisse
Euen sweare to cease you to importune more,
Poore one no Number is:
Another Word of mee yee shall not heare,
After one Kisse, but still one Kisse, my Deare.

[xvii] Of Dametas.

Dametas dream'd he saw his Wife at Sport,
And found that sight was through the hornie Port.

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[xviii] The Canon.

When first the Canon from her gaping Throte,
Against the Heauen her roaring Sulphure shote,
Ioue wak'ned with the Noyce, and ask'd with Wonder,
What mortall Wight had stollen from him his Thunder,
His christall Towres hee fear'd, but Fire, and Aire,
So deepe, did stay the Ball from mounting there.

[xix] Apelles enamour'd of Campaspe, Alexanders Mistresse.

Poore Painter, whilst I sought
To counterfaite by Arte
The fairest Frame that Nature euer wrought,
And hauing limm'd each Part
Except her matchlesse Eyes:
Scarce on those Twinnes I gaz'd,
As Lightning falles from Skies,
When straight my Hand benumm'd was, Mind amaz'd:
And ere that Pincell halfe them had exprest,
Loue all had drawne, no, grauen within my Brest.

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[xx] Campaspe.

On Starres shall I exclame,
Which thus my Fortune change?
Or shall I else reuenge
Vpon my selfe this shame?
Vnconstant Monarch, or shall I thee blame?
Who let'st Apelles proue
The sweet Delights of Alexanders Loue;
No, Starres, my selfe, and thee, I all forgiue,
And joye that thus I liue:
Kings know not Beautie, hence mine was despis'd,
The Painter did, and mee hee dearly priz'd.

[xxi] Vnpleasant Musicke.

In Fields Ribaldo stray'd,
Mayes Tapestrie to see,
And hearing on a Tree
A Cuckooe sing, hee sigh'd, and softly said,
Loe, how (alas) euen Birds sit mocking mee.

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[xxii] A Iest.

In a most holy Church, a holy Man,
Vnto a holy Saint, with Visage wan,
And Eyes like Fountaines, mumbled forth a Prayer,
And with strange Words, and Sighes, made blacke the Aire:
And hauing long so stay'd, and long long pray'd,
A thousand Crosses on himselfe hee lay'd,
Then with some sacred Beads hung on his Arme,
His Eyes, his Mouth, Brest, Temples did hee charme.
Thus not content (strange Worship hath none End)
To kisse the Earth at last hee did pretend,
And bowing downe, besought with humble Grace
An aged Woman neare to giue some Place:
Shee turn'd, and turning up her Pole beneath,
Said, Sir, kisse heere, for it is all but Earth.

[xxiii] Narcissvs.

Flouds cannot quench my Flames, ah! in this Well
I burne, not drowne, for what I cannot tell.

[xxiv] To Thavmantia singing.

Is it not too too much
Thou late didst to mee proue,
A Basiliske of Loue?
And didst my Wits bewitch:
Vnlesse (to cause more Harme)
Made Syrene too thou with thy Voyce mee charme?
Ah! though thou so my Reason didst controule,
That to thy Lookes I could not proue a Mole:
Yet doe mee not that Wrong,
As not to let mee turne Aspe to thy Song.

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[xxv] Of her Dog.

When her deare Bosome clips
That litle Curre, which faunes to touch her Lips,
Or when it is his Hap
To lie lapp'd in her Lap,
O! it growes Noone with mee,
With hotter-pointed Beames
My burning Planet streames,
What Rayes were earst, in Lightnings changed bee:
When oft I muse, how I to those Extreames
Am brought, I finde no Cause, except that shee
In Loues bright Zodiacke hauing trac'd each Roome,
To fatall Syrius now at last is come.

[xxvi] A Kisse.

Harke happie Louers, harke,
This first and last of Ioyes,
This Sweetner of Annoyes,
This Nectare of the Gods,
Yee call a Kisse, is with it selfe at ods:
And halfe so sweet is not
In equall Measure got,
At Light of Sunne, as it is in the Darke,
Harke, happie Louers, harke.

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[xxvii] Cornucopia.

If for one only Horne
Which Nature to him gaue,
So famous is the noble Vnicorne?
What Praise should that Man haue,
Whose Head a Ladie braue
Doth with a goodlie Paire at once adorne?

[xxviii] Of Amintas.

Over a christall Source
Amintas layde his Face,
Of popling Streames to see the restlesse Course:
But scarce hee had o'reshadowed the Place,
When (spying in the Ground a Childe arise,
Like to himselfe in Stature, Face, and Eyes)
Hee rose o'rejoy'd, and cried,
Deare Mates approch, see whom I haue descried,
The Boy of whom strange Stories Shepheards tell
(Oft-called Hylas) dwelleth in this Well.

[xxix] Pamphilvs.

Some , Ladies wed, some loue, and some adore them,
I like their wanton Sport, then care not for them.

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[xxx] Vpon a Glasse.

If thou wouldst see Threedes purer than the Gold,
Where Loue his Wealth doth show?
But take this Glasse, and thy faire Haire behold:
If Whitenesse thou wouldst see more white than Snow,
And reade on Wonders Booke?
Take but this Glasse, and on thy Forehead looke:
Wouldst thou in Winter see a crimsin Rose,
Whose Thornes doe hurt each Heart?
Looke but in Glasse how thy sweet Lips doe close:
Wouldst thou see Planets which all Good impart,
Or Meteores diuine?
But take this Glasse, and gaze upon thine Eine:
No, Planets, Rose, Snow, Gold, cannot compare
With you, deare Eyes, Lips, Browes, and amber Haire.

[xxxi] Of a Bee.

As an audacious Knight
Come with some Foe to fight,
His Sword doth brandish, makes his Armour ring:
So this prowde Bee (at home (perhaps) a King)
Did buzzing flie about,
And (Tyrant) after thy faire Lip did sting:
O Champion strange as stout!
Who hast by Nature found,
Sharpe Armes, and Trumpet shrill, to sound, and wound.

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[xxxii] Of that same [A Bee].

O doe not kill that Bee
That thus hath wounded thee,
(Sweet) it was no Despight,
But Hue did him deceaue:
For when thy Lips did close,
Hee deemed them a Rose,
What wouldst thou further craue?
Hee wanting Wit, and blinded with Delight,
Would faine haue kiss'd, but Mad with Ioy did bite.

[xxxiii] Of a Kisse.

Ah! of that cruell Bee
Thy Lips haue suckt too much:
For when they mine did touch,
I found that both they hurt, and sweetned, mee:
This by the Sting they haue,
And that they of the Honey doe receaue:
Deare Kisse, else by what Arte
Couldst thou at once both please and wound my Heart?

[xxxiv] Idmon to Venvs.

If (Acidalias Queene)
Thou quench in mee thy Torch,
And with the same Thaumantias Heart shalt scorch;
Each Yeere a Mirtle Tree
Heere I doe vow to consecrate to thee:
And when the Meads grow greene,
I will of sweetest Flowrs
Weaue thousand Garlands, to adorne thy Bowrs.

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[xxxv] A Louers Plaint.

In midst of silent Night,
When Men, Birds, Beasts, doe rest,
With Loue, and Feare possest
To Heauen, and Flore, I count my heauie Plight.
Againe with roseate Wings
When Morne peepes forth, and Philomela sings,
Then Voyde of all Reliefe,
Doe I renew my Griefe:
Day followes Night, Night Day, whilst still I proue,
That Heauen is deafe, Flore carelesse of my Loue.

[xxxvi] His Firebrand.

Leaue Page that slender Torch,
And in this gloomie Night
Let only shine the Light
Of Loues hote Brandon, which my Heart doth scorch:
A Sigh, or Blast of Wind,
My Teares, or Droppes of Raine,
May that at once make blinde;
Whilst this like Ætna burning shall remaine.

[xxxvii] Daphnis Vow.

When Sunne doth bring the Day
From the Hesperian Sea,
Or Moone her Coach doth rolle
Aboue the Northerne Pole,
When Serpents can not hisse,
And Louers shall not kisse:
Then may it be, but in no time till then,
That Daphnis can forget his Orienne.

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[xxxviii] Of Nisa.

Nisa Palemons Wife him weeping told,
Hee kept not Grammer Rules, now beeing old:
For why (quoth shee) Position false make yee,
Putting a short thing where a long should bee.

[xxxix] Beauties Idea.

Who would Perfections faire Idea see,
Let him come looke on Chloris sweet with mee;
White is her Haire, her Teeth white, white her Skinne,
Blacke bee her Eyes, her Eye-browes, Cupids Inne:
Her Lockes, her Body, Hands, doe long appeare,
But Teeth short, Bellie short, short either Eare;
The Space twixt Shoulders, Eyes, is wide, Browes wide,
Straite Waste, the Mouth straite, and her virgine Pride:
Thicke are her Lips, Thighs, with Banckes swelling there,
Her Nose is small, small Fingers, and her Haire,
Her sugred Mouth, her Cheekes, her Nailes, bee red,
Litle her Foot, Pap litle, and her Hed.
Such Venus was, such was the Flame of Troy,
Such Chloris is, my Hope, and only Ioy.

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[xl] Cratons Death.

Amidst the Waues profound,
Farre farre from all Reliefe,
The honest Fisher Craton, ah! is drownd
Into his litle Skife:
The Boords of which did serue him for a Beare,
So that to the blacke World when hee came neare,
Of him no Waftage greedie Charon got,
For hee in his owne Boat
Did passe that Floud, by which the Gods doe sweare.

[xli] Armelins Epitaph.

Neare to this Eglantine
Enclosed lies the milke-white Armeline:
Once Chloris onlie Ioye,
Now onlie her annoy;
Who enuied was of the most happie Swaines,
That keepe their Flocks in Mountaines, Dales, or Plaines:
For oft shee bare the wanton in her Arme,
And oft her Bed, and Bosome did he warme:
Now when vnkindlie Fates did him destroy,
Blest Dog he had the Grace,
With Teares for him that Chloris wet her Face.

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[xlii] The Statue of Venvs sleeping.

Breake not my sweet Repose
Thou, whom free Will, or Chance, brings to this Place,
Let Lids these Comets close,
O doe not seeke to see their shining Grace:
For when mine Eyes thou seest, they thine will blinde,
And thou shalt parte, but leaue thy Heart behinde.

[xliii] Lillas Prayer.

Loue, if thou wilt once more
That I to thee returne,
(Sweete God) make me not burne
For quiuering Age, that doth spent Dayes deplore:
Nor doe not wound my Hart
For some vnconstant Boy,
Who ioyes to loue, yet makes of Loue a Toy:
But (ah) if I must prooue thy golden Dart?
Of grace O let mee finde
A sweet young Louer with an aged Mind.
Thus Lilla pray'd, and Idas did replie
(Who heard) Deare haue thy wish, for such am I.

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[xliv] The vnkindnesse of Rora.

Whilst sighing forth his Wrongs,
In sweet, though dolefull Songs,
Alexis seekes to charme his Roras Eares,
The Hills are heard to mone,
To sigh each Spring appeares,
Trees, euen hard Trees, through Rine distill their Teares,
And soft growes euery Stone:
But Teares, Sighes, Songs, can not faire Rora moue,
Prowde of his Plaints shee glories in his Loue.

[xlv] Antheas Gift.

This virgine Locke of Haire
To Idmon Anthea giues,
Idmon for whom shee liues,
Though oft shee mixe his Hopes with cold Despaire:
This now, but absent if hee constant proue,
With Gift more deare shee vowes to meet his Loue.

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[xlvi] To Thavmantia.

Come , let vs liue, and loue,
And kisse, Thaumantia mine,
I shall the Elme bee, bee to mee the Vine,
Come let vs teach new Billing to the Doue:
Nay, to augment our Blisse,
Let Soules euen other kisse,
Let Loue a Worke-man bee,
Vndoe, distemper, and his Cunning proue,
Of Kisses three make one, of one make three:
Though Moone, Sunne, Starres, bee Bodies farre more bright,
Let them not vaunt they match vs in Delight.

[xlvii] Epitaph.

This deare (though not respected) Earth doth hold
One for his Worth, whose Tombe should bee of Gold.

[xlviii] Of Lida.

Svch Lida is that who Her sees
Through Enuie, or through Loue straight dies.

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[xlix] A Wish.

To forge to mightie Ioue
The Thunder-bolts aboue,
Nor on this Round below
Rich Midas Skill to know,
And make all Gold I touch,
I doe not craue, nor other Cunning such:
For all those Artes bee vnderneath the Skie,
I wish but Phillis Lapidare to bee.

[l] A Louers Day and Night.

Bright Meteore of Day,
For mee in Thetis Bowres for euer staye:
Night, to this flowrie Globe
Ne're show for mee thy starre-embrodred Robe;
My Night, my Day, doe not proceede from you
But hang on Miras Browe:
For when shee lowres, and hides from mee her Eyes,
Midst clearest Day I finde blacke Night arise,
When smyling shee againe those Twinnes doth turne,
In midst of Night I finde Noones Torch to burne.

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[li] The Statue of Adonis.

When Venus longst that Plaine
This Parian Adon saw,
Shee sigh'd, and said, What Power breakes Destines Law,
World mourned Boy, and makes thee liue againe?
Then with stretcht Armes shee ran him to enfold:
But when shee did behold
The Bore, whose snowie Tuskes did threaten Death,
Feare closed vp her Breath:
Who can but grant then that these Stones doe liue,
Sith this bred Loue, and that a Wound did giue?

[lii] Clorvs to a Groue.

Old Oake, and you thicke Groue,
I euer shall you loue,
With these sweet-smelling Briers,
For Briers, Oake, Groue, yee crowned my Desires,
When vnderneath your Shade
I left my Woe, and Flore her Maidenhead.

[liii] A Couplet encomiasticke.

Loue, Cypris, Phœbus, will feede, decke, and crowne,
Thy Heart, Browes, Verse, with Flames, with Flowrs, Renowne.

[liv] An other [Couplet encomiasticke].

Thy Muse not-able, full, il-lustred Rimes,
Make thee the Poet-Aster of our Times.

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[lv] The Rose.

Flowre , which of Adons Blood
Sprang, when of that cleare Flood
Which Venus wept, an other white was borne,
The sweet Cynarean Youth thou right dost show:
But this sharpe-pointed Thorne,
Which doth (so prowde) about thy Crimsin grow,
What doth it represent?
Boares Tuskes (perhaps) his snowie Flancke which rent:
O Show of Showes! of vnesteemed Worth,
Which both what kill'd, and what was kill'd sett'st forth.

[lvi] To a Riuer.

Sith shee will not that I
Show to the World my Ioy,
Thou who oft mine Annoy
Hast heard (deare Flood) tell Thetis Nymphettes bright,
That not a happier Wight
Doth breath beneath the Skie:
More sweet, more white, more faire,
Lips, Hands, and amber Haire,
Tell none did euer touch;
A smaller, daintier Waste
Tell neuer was embrac't:
But Peace, sith shee forbids thou tell'st too much.

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[lvii] Thaïs Metamorphose.

In Briareus hudge
Thaïs wish'd shee might change
Her Man, and pray'd him herefore not to grudge,
Nor fondly thinke it strange:
For if (said shee) I might the Parts dispose,
I wish you not an hundreth Armes, nor Hands,
But hundreth Things, like those,
With which Priapus in our Garden stands.

[lviii] Vpon a Baye Tree, not long since growing in the Ruines of Virgils Tombe.

Those Stones which once had Trust
Of Maros sacred Dust,
Which now of their first Beautie spoylde are seene,
That they due Praise not want,
Inglorious and remaine,
A Delian Tree (faire Natures only Plant)
Now courtes, and shadowes with her Tresses greene:
Sing Iö Pæan, yee of Phœbus Traine,
Though Enuie, Auarice, Time, your Tombes throw downe,
With Maiden Lawrells Nature will them crowne.

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[lix] Epitaph.

Then Death thee hath beguild
Alectos first borne Child?
Thou who didst thrall all Lawes
Then against Wormes canst not maintaine thy Cause?
Yet Wormes (more iust than thou) now doe no Wrong,
Sith all doe wonder they thee spar'd so long,
For though from Life but lately thou didst passe,
Ten Springs are gone since thou corrupted was.

[lx] Floras Flowre.

Venus doth loue the Rose,
Apollo those deare Flowrs
Which were his Paramours,
The Queene of sable Skies,
The subtile Lunaries,
But Flore likes none of those,
For faire to Her no Flowre seemes saue the Lillie:
And why? because one Letter turnes it P.

[lxi] Melampvs Epitaph.

All that a Dog could haue
The good Melampus had:
Nay, hee had more than what in Beasts wee craue,
For hee could playe the Braue,
And often like a Thraso sterne goe Mad:
And if yee had not seene, but heard him barke,
Yee would haue sworne hee was your Parish Clarke.

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[lxii] Kalas Complaint.

Kala old Mopsus Wife,
Kala with fairest Face,
(For whom the Neighbour Swaines oft were at Strife)
As shee to milke her milke-white Flocke did tend,
Sigh'd with a heauie Grace,
And said, What Wretch like mee doth leade her Life?
I see not how my Taske can haue an End:
All Day I draw these streaming Dugs in Fold,
All Night mine emptie Husbands soft and cold.

[lxiii] The Happinesse of a Flea.

How Happier is that Flea
Which in thy Brest doth playe,
Than that pied Butterflie
Which courtes the Flame, and in the same doth die?
That hath a light Delight
(Poore Foole) contented only with a Sight,
When this doth sporte, and swell with dearest Food,
And if hee die, hee Knight-like dies in Blood.

[lxiv] Of that same [Flea].

Poore Flea, then thou didst die,
Yet by so faire a Hand,
That thus to die was Destine to command:
Thou die didst, yet didst trie
A Louers last Delight,
To vault on virgine Plaines, Her kisse, and bite:
Thou diedst, yet hast thy Tombe
Betweene those Pappes, ô deare and stately Roome!
Flea, happier farre, more blest,
Than Phœnix burning in his spicie Nest.

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[lxv] Linas Virginitie.

Who Lina weddeth, shall most happie bee,
For hee a Maide shall finde,
Though Maiden none bee shee,
A Girle, or Boy, beneath her Waste confinde:
And though bright Ceres Lockes bee neuer shorne
Hee shall be sure this Yeere to lacke no Corne.

[lxvi] Love naked.

And would yee (Louers) know
Why Loue doth naked goe?
Fond, waggish, changeling Lad,
Late whilst Thaumantias Voyce
Hee wondring heard, it made him so rejoyce,
That hee o'rejoy'd ran Mad:
And in a franticke Fit threw Cloathes away,
And since from Lip, and Lap hers can not straye.

[lxvii] Niobe.

Wretched Niobè I am,
Let Wretches reade my Case,
Not such who with a Teare ne're wet their Face;
Seuen Daughters of mee came,
And Sonnes as many, which one fatall Day
(Orb'd Mother!) tooke away:
Thus reft by Heauens vnjust,
Griefe turn'd mee Stone, Stone too mee doth entombe,
Which if thou dost mistrust,
Of this hard Rocke but ope the flintie Wombe,
And heere thou shalt finde Marble, and no Dust.

127

[lxviii] Change of Loue.

Once did I weepe, and grone,
Drinke Teares, draw loathed Breath,
And all for Loue of one
Who did affect my Death:
But now (Thankes to Disdaine)
I liue relieu'd of Paine,
For Sighs, I singing goe,
I burne not as before, no, no, no, no.

[lxix] Wilde Beautie.

If all but Yce thou bee,
How dost thou thus mee burne?
Or how at Fire which thou dost raise in mee
(Sith Yce) thy selfe in Streames dost thou not turne?
But rather (plaintfull Case!)
Of Yce art Marble made to my Disgrace:
O Miracle of Loue! not heard till now,
Cold Yce doth burne, and hard by Fire doth grow.

[lxx] Constant Loue.

Time makes great States decay,
Time doth Mayes Pompe disgrace,
Time drawes deepe Furrowes in the fairest Face,
Time Wisdome, Force, Renowne, doth take away,
Time doth consume the Yeeres,
Time Changes workes in Heauens eternall Spheares:
Yet this fierce Tyrant which doth all deuoure,
To lessen Loue in mee shall haue no Power.

128

[lxxi] To Chloris.

See Chloris, how the Cloudes
Tilte in the azure Lists,
And how with Stygian Mists
Each horned Hill his giant Forehead shroudes,
Ioue thundreth in the Aire,
The Aire growne great with Raine,
Now seemes to bring Deucalions Dayes againe:
I see thee quake, come, let vs home repaire,
Come hide thee in mine Armes,
If not for Loue, yet to shunne greater Harmes.

[lxxii] VPON A POVRTRAIT.

The Goddesse that in Amathus doth raigne,
With siluer Tramells, and Saphire-colour'd Eyes,
When naked from her Mothers christall Plaine
Shee first appear'd vnto the wondring Skies;
Or when (the golden Apple to obtaine)
Her blushing Snowes amazed Idas Trees,
Did neuer looke in halfe so faire a Guise
As shee heere drawne, all other Ages Staine.
O God what Beauties! to inflame the Soule,
And hold the wildest Hearts in Chaines of Gold,
Faire Lockes, sweet Face, Loues stately Capitole,
Deare Necke, which dost that heauenly Frame vp-hold:
If Vertue would to mortall Eyes appeare,
To rauish Sense, shee would your Beautie weare.

129

[lxxiii] Vpon that same [Portrait].

If Heauen, the Starres, and Nature, did her grace
With all Perfections found the Moone aboue,
And what excelleth in this lower Place,
Did place in her, to breede a World of Loue?
If Angells Gleames shine on her fairest Face?
Which make Heauens Ioy on Earth the Gazer proue?
And her bright Eyes (the Orbs which Beautie moue)
Doe glance like Phœbus in his glorious Race?
What Pincell paint? what Colour to the Sight
So sweet a Shape can show? the blushing Morne
The Red must lend, the milkie-Way the White,
And Night the Starres, which her rich Crowne adorne,
To draw her right: But then that all agree,
The Heauen, the Table, Zeuxis Ioue must bee.

130

[lxxiv] Vpon that same [Portrait], drawne with a Pansie.

When with braue Arte the curious Painter drew
This heauenly Shape, the Hand why made hee beare
With golden Veines that Flowre of purple Hue,
Which followes on the Planet of the Yeare?
Was it to show how in our Hemispheare
Like him shee shines? Nay, that Effects more true
Of Power, and Wonder doe in her appeare,
Whilst hee but Flowres, shee doth braue Minds subdue?
Or would hee else to Vertues glorious Light
Her constant Course make knowne? or is it hee
Doth paralell her Blisse with Clytias Plight?
Right so, and thus, hee reading in her Eye
Some woefull Louers End, to grace his Graue,
For Cypresse Tree this mourning Flowre her gaue.

[lxxv] Vpon that same [Portrait].

If Sight bee not beguilde?
And Eyes right playe their Part?
This Flowre is not of Arte,
But is faire Natures Child:
And though when Phœbus from vs is exilde,
Shee doth not locke her Leaues, his Losse to mone,
No Wonder, Earth hath now moe Sunnes than one.

131

[lxxvi] Thirsis in Dispraise of Beautie.

That which so much the doating World doth prise,
Fond Ladies only Care, and sole Delight,
Soone-fading Beautie, which of Hues doth rise,
Is but an abject Let of Natures Might;
Most woefull Wretch, whom shining Haire and Eyes,
Leade to Loues Dungeon, traitor'd by a Sight,
Most woefull: for hee might with greater Ease
Hells Portalls enter, and pale Death appease.

As in delicious Meads beneath the Flowres,
And the most wholsome Herbes that May can show,
In christall Curles the speckled Serpent lowres,
As in the Apple (which most faire doth grow)
The rotten Worme is clos'd, which it deuoures,
As in gilt Cups with Gnossian Wine which flow,
Oft Poyson pompously doth hide its Sowres:
So Lewdnesse, Falshood, Mischiefe, them aduance,
Clad with the pleasant Rayes of Beauties Glance.

Good thence is chas'd, where Beautie doth appeare,
Milde Lowlinesse with Pittie from it flie,
Where Beautie raignes as in their proper Spheare,
Ingratitude, Disdaine, Pride, all descrie,
The Flowre, and Fruit which Vertues Tree should beare,
With her bad Shadowe Beautie maketh die:
Beautie a Monster is, a Monster hurld
From angrie Heauen, to scourge this lower World.

As Fruits which are vnripe, and sowre of Taste,
To bee confect'd more fit than sweet wee proue,
For Sweet in Spight of Care themselues will waste,
When they long kept, the Appetite doe moue:

132

So in the Sweetnesse of his Nectare, Loue
The foule confects, and seasons for his Feaste:
Sowre is farre better which wee sweet may make,
Than sweet which sweeter Sweetnesse will not take.

Foule may my Ladie bee, and may her Nose
(A Tanarife) giue Vmbrage to her Chinne;
May her gay Mouth (which shee no Time may close)
So wide be, that the Moone may turne therein,
May Eyes, and Teeth, bee made conforme to those,
Eyes set by Chance, and white, Teeth blacke and thinne:
May all what seene is, and is hidde from Sight,
Like vnto these rare Parts bee framed right.

I shall not feare thus though shee straye alone,
That others Her pursue, entice, admire,
And though shee sometime counterfaite a Grone,
I shall not thinke her Heart feeles vncouth Fire,
I shall not stile Her ruethlesse to my Mone,
Nor prowde, disdainfull, wayward to Desire:
Her Thoughts with mine will hold an equall Line,
I shall bee hers, and shee shall all bee mine.

[lxxvii] Evrymedons Praise of Mira.

Gemme of the Mountaines, Glorie of our Plaines,
Rare Miracle of Nature, and of Loue,
Sweet Atlas, who all Beauties Heauens sustaines,
No, Beauties Heauen, where all her Wonders moue,
The Sunne from East to West who all doth see,
On this low Globe sees nothing like to thee.

133

One Phœnix only liu'd ere thou wast borne,
And Earth but did one Queene of Loue admire,
Three Graces only did the World adorne,
But thrise three Muses sung to Phœbus Lyre,
Two Phœnixes bee now, Loues Queenes are two,
Foure Graces, Muses ten, all made by you.

For those Perfections which the bounteous Heauen
To diuerse Worlds in diuerse Times assign'd,
With thousands more, to thee at once were giuen,
Thy Body faire, more faire they made thy Mind:
And that thy like no Age should more behold,
When thou wast fram'd they after brake the Mold.

Sweet are the Blushes, on thy Face which shine,
Sweet are the Flames, which sparkle from thine Eyes,
Sweet are his Torments, who for thee doth pine,
Most sweet his Death, for thee who sweetly dies,
For if hee die, hee dies not by Annoy,
But too much Sweetnesse and aboundant Ioy.

What are my slender Layes to show thy Worth?
How can base Words a thing so high make knowne?
So wooden Globes bright Starres to vs set forth;
So in a Christall is Sunnes Beautie showne:
More of thy Praises if my Muse should write,
More Loue and Pittie, must the same indite?

[lxxviii] Thavmantia at the departure of Idmon.

Faire Diane, from the Hight
Of Heauens first Orbe who chear'st this lower Place,
Hide now from mee thy Light,
And pittying my Case,
Spread with a Skarfe of Clouds thy blushing Face.

134

Come with your dolefull Songs,
Nights sable Birds, which plaine when others sleepe,
Come, solemnize my Wrongs,
And Consort to mee keepe,
Sith Heauen, Earth, Hell, are set to cause mee weepe.

This Griefe yet I could beare,
If now by Absence I were only pinde,
But ah! worse Euill I feare,
Men absent proue vnkinde,
And change (vnconstant like the Moone) their Minde.

If Thought had so much Power
Of thy Departure, that it could mee slaye?
How will that vgly Houre
My feeble Sense dismaye?
Farewell sweet Heart, when I shall heare thee say.

Deare Life, sith thou must goe,
Take all my Ioy and Comfort hence with thee,
And leaue with mee thy Woe,
Which vntill I thee see,
Nor Time, nor Place, nor Change shall take from mee.

[lxxix] Erycine at the departure of Alexis.

And wilt thou then, Alexis mine, depart?
And leaue these flowrie Meads, and christall Streames?
These Hills as greene as great with Gold and Gemmes,
Which courte thee with rich Treasure in each Part?
Shall nothing hold thee? not my loyall Heart,
That burstes to lose the Comfort of thy Beames?
Nor yet this Pipe which wildest Satyres tames?

135

Nor Lambkins Wayling? nor old Dorus Smart?
O ruethlesse Shepheard, Forrests strange among
What canst thou else but fearfull Dangers finde?
But ah! not thou, but Honour doth mee Wrong;
O cruell Honour! Tyrant of the Mind,
This said sad Erycine, and all the Flowres
Empearled as shee went, with Eyes salt Showres.

[lxxx] Alexis to Damon.

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

FINIS.

137

Forth Feasting

140

To his sacred Majestie.

If, in this Storme of joy and pompous Throng,
This Nymphe (great King) come euer Thee so neare
That Thy harmonious Eares Her Accents heare,
Giue Pardon to Her hoarse and lowlie Song:
Faine would Shee Trophees to Thy Vertues reare,
But for this statlie Task Shee is not Strong,
And Her Defects Her high Attempts doe wrong,
Yet as Shee could shee makes Thy Worth appeare.
So in a Mappe is showen this flowrie Place;
So wrought in Arras by a Virgines Hand
With Heauen and blazing Starres doth Atlas stand,
So drawen by Chare-coale is Narcissus Face:
Shee maye Aurora be to some bright Sunne
Which maye perfect the Day by her begunne.

141

FORTH FEASTING.

A PANEGYRICKE To the Kings most excellent Majesty.

What blustring Noise now interrupts my Sleepe?
What echoing Shouts thus cleaue my chrystal Deep?
And call mee hence from out my watrie Court?
What Melodie, what Sounds of Ioy and Sport,
Bee these heere hurl'd from eu'rie neighbour Spring?
With what lowd Rumours doe the Mountaines ring?
Which in vnusuall Pompe on tip-toes stand,
And (full of Wonder) ouer-looke the Land?

142

Whence come these glittring Throngs, these Meteors bright,
This golden People set vnto my Sight?
Whence doth this Praise, Applause, and Loue, arise?
What Load-starre east-ward draweth thus all Eyes?
Am I awake? or haue some Dreames conspir'd
To mocke my Sense with Shadowes much desir'd?
Stare I that liuing Face, see I those Lookes,
Which with Delight wont to amaze my Brookes?
Doe I behold that Worth, that Man diuine,
This Ages Glorie, by these Bankes of mine?
Then is it true what long I wish'd in vaine?
That my much-louing Prince is come againe?
So vnto Them whose Zenith is the Pole
When sixe blacke Months are past the Sunne doeth rolle:
So after Tempest to Sea-tossed Wights
Faire Helens Brothers show their chearing Lights:
So comes Arabias Meruaile from her Woods,
And farre farre off is seene by Memphis Floods,
The feather'd Syluans Clowd-like by her flie,
And with applauding Clangors beate the Skie,
Nyle wonders, Seraps Priests (entranced) raue,
And in Mygdonian Stone her Shape ingraue;
In lasting Cedars marke the joyfull Time
In which Apollos Bird came to their Clime.

Let Mother Earth now deckt with Flowres bee seene,
And sweet-breath'd Zephyres curle the Medowes greene:
Let Heauens weepe Rubies in a crimsin Showre,
Such as on Indies Shores they vse to powre:
Or with that golden Storme the Fields adorne,
Which Ioue rain'd, when his Blew-eyed Maide was borne.
May neuer Houres the Webbe of Day out-weaue,

143

May neuer Night rise from her sable Caue.
Swell prowd my Billowes, faint not to declare
Your Ioyes, as ample as their Causes are:
For Murmures hoarse sound like Arions Harpe,
Now delicatlie flat, now sweetlie sharpe.
And you my Nymphes, rise from your moyst Repaire,
Strow all your Springs and Grotts with Lillies faire:
Some swiftest-footted get her hence and pray
Our Floods and Lakes, come keepe this Holie-day;
What e're beneath Albanias Hills doe runne,
Which see the rising or the setting Sunne,
Which drinke sterne Grampius Mists, or Ochells Snows:
Stone-rowling Taye, Tine Tortoyse-like that flows,
The pearlie Don, the Deas, the fertile Spay,
Wild Neuerne which doth see our longest Day,
Nesse smoaking-Sulphure, Leaue with Mountaines crown'd,
Strange Loumond for his floting Isles renown'd:
The irish Rian, Ken, the siluer Aire,
The snakie Dun, the Ore with rushie Haire,
The Chrystall-streaming Nid, lowd-bellowing Clyd,
Tweed which no more our Kingdomes shall deuide:
Rancke-swelling Annan, Lid with curled Streames,
The Eskes, the Solway where they loòse their Names,
To eu'rie one proclaime our Ioyes, and Feasts,
Our Triumphes; bid all come, and bee our Guests:
And as they meet in Neptunes azure Hall,
Bid Them bid Sea-Gods keepe this Festiuall.
This Day shall by our Currents bee renown'd,
Our Hills about shall still this Day resound:
Nay, that our Loue more to this Day appeare,
Let vs with it hence foorth begin our Yeare.

To Virgins Flowres, to Sunne-burnt Earth the Raine,
To Mariners faire Winds amidst the Maine:
Coole Shades to Pilgrimes, which hote Glances burne,
Please not so much, to vs as Thy Returne.

144

That Day (deare Prince) which reft vs of thy Sight,
[Day, no, but Darknesse, and a duskie Night]
Did fraight our Brests with Sighs, our Eyes with Teares,
Turn'd Minutes in sad Months, sad Months in Yeares:
Trees left to flowrish, Medowes to beare Flowres,
Brookes hid their Heads within their sedgie Bowres,
Faire Ceres curst our Fields with barren Frost,
As if againe shee had her Daughter lost:
The Muses left our Groues, and for sweete Songs
Sate sadlie silent, or did weepe their Wrongs;
Yee know it Meads, yee murmuring Woods it know,
Hilles, Dales, and Caues, Copartners of their Woe;
And yee it know my Streames, which from their Eine
Oft on your Glasse recieu'd their pearled Brine;
O Naïds deare (said They) Napȩas faire,
O Nymphes of Trees, Nymphes which on Hills repaire,
Gone are those maiden Glories, gone that State,
Which made all Eyes admire our Hap of late.
As lookes the Heauen when neuer Starre appeares,
But slow and wearie shroude them in their Spheares,
While Tithons wife embosom'd by Him lies,
And World doth languish in a drearie Guise:
As lookes a Garden of its Beautie spoil'd,
As Wood in Winter by rough Boreas foil'd;
As Pourtraicts raz'd of Colours vse to bee:
So lookt these abject Bounds depriu'd of Thee.

While as my Rills enjoy'd Thy royall Gleames,
They did not enuie Tibers haughtie Streames,
Nor wealthie Tagus with his golden Ore,
Nor cleare Hydaspes which on Pearles doth rore,
Empampred Gange that sees the Sunne new borne,

145

Nor Acheloüs with his flowrie Horne,
Nor Floods which neare Elysian Fields doe fall:
For why? Thy Sight did serue to them for all.
No Place there is so desart, so alone,
Euen from the frozen to the torrid Zone,
From flaming Hecla to great Quincys Lake,
Which Thine abode could not most happie make.
All those Perfections which by bounteous Heauen
To diuerse Worlds in diuerse Times were giuen,
The starrie Senate powr'd at once on Thee,
That Thou Examplare mightst to Others bee.

Thy Life was kept till the three Sisters spunne
Their Threedes of Gold, and then it was begunne.
With curled Clowds when Skies doe looke most faire,
And no disordred Blasts disturbe the Aire,
When Lillies doe them decke in azure Gownes;
And new-borne Roses blush with golden Crownes;
To bode, how calme wee vnder Thee should liue,
What Halcyonean Dayes Thy Reigne should giue,
And to two flowrie Diademes Thy right;
The Heauens Thee made a Partner of the Light.
Scarce wast Thou borne, when joyn'd in friendly Bands
Two mortall Foes with other clasped Hands,
With Vertue Fortune stroue, which most should grace
Thy Place for Thee, Thee for so high a Place,
One vow'd thy sacred Brest not to forsake,
The Other on Thee not to turne her Backe,
And that Thou more her loues Effects mightst feele
For Thee shee rent her Sayle, and broke her Wheele.

When Yeeres Thee vigour gaue, O then how cleare
Did smoothred Sparkles in bright Flames appeare?
Amongst the Woods to force a flying Hart,
To pearce the mountaine-Wolfe with feathred Dart,
See Faulcons climbe the Clowds, the Foxe ensnare,

146

Out-runne the winde-out-running dædale Hare,
To loose a trampling Steede alongst a Plaine,
And in meandring Gyres him bring againe,
The Preasse Thee making place, were vulgare Things;
In Admirations Aire on Glories Wings
O! Thou farre from the common Pitch didst rise,
With Thy designes to dazell Enuies Eyes:
Thou soughtst to know, this Alls eternall Source,
Of euer-turning Heauens the restlesse Course,
Their fixed Eyes, their Lights which wandring runne,
Whence Moone her Siluer hath, his Gold the Sunne,
If Destine bee or no, if Planets can
By fierce Aspects force the Free-will of Man:
The light and spiring Fire, the liquid Aire,
The flaming Dragons, Comets with red Haire,
Heauens tilting Launces, Artillerie, and Bow,
Lowd-sounding Trumpets, Darts of Haile and Snow,
The roaring Element with People dombe,
The Earth with what conceiu'd is in her Wombe,
What on Her moues, were set vnto Thy Sight,
Till Thou didst find their Causes, Essence, Might:
But vnto nought Thou so Thy Mind didst straine
As to bee read in Man, and learne to raigne;
To know the Weight, and Atlas of a Crowne,
To spare the Humble, Prowdlings pester downe.
When from those pearcing Cares which Thrones inuest,
As Thornes the Rose, Thou weari'd wouldst Thee rest,
With Lute in Hand, full of cœlestiall Fire,
To the Pierian Groues Thou didst retire:
There, garlanded with all Vranias Flowres,
In sweeter Layes than builded Thebees Towres,
Or them which charm'd the Dolphines in the Maine,
Or which did call Euridicè againe,
Thou sungst away the Houres, till from their Spheare

147

Starres seem'd to shoote, Thy Melodie to heare.
The God with golden Haire, the Sister Maides,
Left, nymphall Helicon, their Tempès Shades,
To see Thine Isle, heere lost their natiue Tongue,
And in Thy world-diuided Language sung.

Who of Thine After-age can count the Deedes,
With all that Fame in Times hudge Annales reedes,
How by Example more than anie Law,
This People fierce Thou didst to Goodnesse draw;
How while the Neighbour Worlds (tows'd by the Fates)
So manie Phaëtons had in their States,
Which turn'd in heedlesse Flames their burnish'd Thrones,
Thou (as ensphear'd) kepdst temperate Thy Zones;
In Africke Shores the Sands that ebbe and flow,
The shadie Leaues on Ardennes Trees that grow,
Hee sure may count, with all the Waues that meet
To wash the Mauritanian Atlas feet.
Though crown'd thou wert not, nor a King by Birth,
Thy Worth deserues the richest Crowne on Earth.
Search this Halfe Spheare and the opposite Ground,
Where is such Wit and Bountie to bee found?
As into silent Night, when neare the Beare
The Virgine Huntresse shines at full most cleare,
And striues to match her Brothers golden Light,
The Hoast of Starres doth vanish in her Sight,
Arcturus dies, cool'd is the Lyons ire,
Po burnes no more with Phaëtontall Fire,
Orion faints to see his Armes grow blacke,
And that his flamming Sword hee now doth lacke:
So Europes Lights, all bright in their Degree,
Loose all their Lustre paragond with Thee.
By just Discent Thou from moe Kings dost shine,
Then manie can name Men in all their Line:

148

What most They toyle to find, and finding hold
Thou skornest, orient Gemmes, and flattring Gold:
Esteeming Treasure surer in Mens Brests,
Than when immur'd with Marble, closd in Chests;
No stormie Passions doe disturbe thy Mind,
No Mists of greatnesse euer could Thee blind:
Who yet hath beene so meeke? Thou life didst giue
To Them who did repine to see Thee liue;
What Prince by Goodnesse hath such Kingdomes gain'd?
Who hath so long his Peoples Peace maintain'd?
Their Swords are turn'd in Sythes, in Culters Speares,
Some giant Post their anticke Armour beares:
Now, where the wounded Knight his Life did bleed,
The wanton Swaine sits piping on a Reed.
And where the Canon did Ioues Thunder skorne,
The gawdie Hunts-man windes his shrill-tun'd Horne:
Her greene Lockes Ceres void of feare doth die,
The Pilgrime safelie in the Shade doth lie,
Both Pan and Pales (carelesse) keepe their Flockes,
Seas haue no Dangers saue the Winds and Rockes:
Thou art this Isles Palladium, neither can
[While Thou art kept] it bee o're-throwne by Man.

Let Others boast of Blood and Spoyles of Foes,
Fierce Rapines, Murders, Iliads of Woes,
Of hated Pompe, and Trophæes reared faire,
Gore-spangled Ensignes streaming in the Aire,
Count how They make The Scythian them adore,
The Gaditan the Souldiour of Aurore,
Unhappie Vauntrie! to enlarge their Bounds,
Which charge themselues with Cares, their Friends with Wounds,
Which haue no Law to their ambitious Will,
But (Man-plagues) borne are humane Blood to spill:
Thou a true Victor art, sent from aboue

149

What Others straine by Force to gaine by Loue,
World-wandring Fame this Prayse to Thee imparts,
To bee the onlie Monarch of all Hearts.
They many feare who are of many fear'd,
And Kingdomes got by Wrongs by Wrongs are tear'd,
Such Thrones as Blood doth raise Blood throweth downe,
No Guard so sure as Loue vnto a Crowne.

Eye of our westerne World, Mars-daunting King,
With whose Renowne the Earths seuen Climats ring,
Thy Deedes not only claime these Diademes,
To which Thame, Liffy, Taye, subject their Streames:
But to thy Vertues rare, and Gifts, is due,
All that the Planet of the Yeere doth view;
Sure if the World aboue did want a Prince,
The World aboue to it would take thee hence.

That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to Hell,
And in their Roomes with vs the Graces dwell,
That Honour more than Riches Men respect,
That Worthinesse than Gold doth more effect,
That Pietie vnmasked showes her Face,
That Innocencie keepes with Power her Place,
That long-exil'd Astrea leaues the Heauen,
And turneth right her Sword, her Weights holds euen,
That the Saturnian World is come againe,
Are wish'd Effects of Thy most happie Raigne.
That dayly Peace, Loue, Trueth, Delights encrease,
And Discord, Hate, Fraude, with Incombers cease,
That Men vse Strength not to shed others Blood,
But vse their Strength now to doe other Good,
That Furie is enchain'd, disarmed Wrath,
That (saue by Natures Hand) there is no Death,
That late grimme Foes like Brothers other loue,
That Vultures prey not on the harmlesse Doue,
That Wolues with Lambs doe Friendship entertaine,
Are wish'd Effects of thy most happie Raigne.
That Towns encrease, That ruin'd Temples rise,

150

And their wind-mouing Vanes plant in the Skies,
That Ignorance and Sloth hence runne away,
That buri'd Arts now rowse them to the Day,
That Hyperiòn farre beyond his Bed
Doth see, our Lyons rampe, our Roses spred,
That Iber courtes vs, Tyber not vs charmes;
That Rhein with hence-brought Beams his Bosome warmes,
That Euill vs feare, and Good vs doe maintaine,
Are wish'd Effects of Thy most happie Raigne.

O Vertues Patterne, Glorie of our Times,
Sent of past Dayes to expiate the Crimes,
Great King, but better farre than thou art greate,
Whome State not honours, but who honours State,
By Wonder borne, by Wonder first enstall'd,
By Wonder after to new Kingdomes call'd,
Young kept by Wonder neare home-bred Alarmes,
Old sau'd by Wonder from pale Traitours Harmes,
To bee for this Thy Raigne which Wonders brings,
A King of Wonder, Wonder vnto Kings.
If Pict, Dane, Norman, Thy smooth Yoke had seene,
Pict, Dane, and Norman, had thy Subjects beene:
If Brutus knew the Blisse Thy Rule doth giue,
Euen Brutus joye would vnder Thee to liue:
For Thou Thy People dost so dearlie loue,
That they a Father, more than Prince, Thee proue.

O Dayes to bee desyr'd! Age happie thrice!
If yee your Heauen-sent-Good could duelie prize,
But yee (halfe-palsie-sicke) thinke neuer right
Of what yee hold, till it bee from your Sight,
Prize onlie Summers sweet and musked Breath,
When armed Winters threaten you with Death,
In pallid Sicknesse doe esteeme of Health,
And by sad Pouertie discerne of Wealth:
I see ane Age when after manie Yeares,

151

And Reuolutions of the slow-pac'd Spheares,
These Dayes shall bee to other farre esteem'd,
And like Augustus palmie Raigne bee deem'd.
The Names, of Arthure fabulous Palladines,
Grau'n in Times surlie Brows in wrinckled Lines,
Of Henries, Edwards, famous for their Fights,
Their Neighbour Conquests, Orders new of Knights,
Shall by this Princes Name be past as farre
As Meteors are by the Idalian Starre.
If Gray-hair'd Proteüs Songs the Truth not misse,
And Gray-hair'd Proteüs oft a Prophet is,
There is a Land hence-distant manie Miles,
Out-reaching Fiction and Atlanticke Iles,
Which (Homelings) from this litle World wee name,
That shall imblazon with strange Rites his Fame,
Shall, reare him Statues all of purest Gold,
Such as Men gaue vnto the Gods of old,
Name by him Fanes, prowd Pallaces, and Towns,
With some great Flood, which most their Fields renowns.
This is that King who should make right each Wrong,
Of whome the Bards and mysticke Sybilles song,
The Man long promis'd, by whose glorious Raigne,
This Isle should yet her ancient Name regaine,
And more of Fortunate deserue the Stile,
Than those where Heauens with double Summers smile.

Runne on (great Prince) Thy Course in Glories Way,
The End the Life, the Euening crownes the Day;
Heape Worth on Worth, and stronglie soare aboue
Those Heights which made the World Thee first to loue,
Surmount Thy Selfe, and make thine Actions past
Bee but as Gleames or Lightnings of Thy last,
Let them exceed them of Thy younger Time,
As farre as Autumne doth the flowrie Prime.
Through this Thy Empire range, like Worlds bright Eye,

152

That once each Yeare suruayes all Earth and Skie,
Now glaunces on the slow and restie Beares,
Then turnes to drie the weeping Austers Teares,
Iust vnto both the Poles, and moueth euen
In the infigur'd Circle of the Heauen.
O long long haunt these Bounds, which by Thy Sight
Haue now regain'd their former Heate and Light.
Heere grow greene Woods, heere siluer Brookes doe glide,
Heere Meadowes stretch them out with painted Pride,
Embrodring all the Banks, heere Hilles aspire
To crowne their Heads with the ætheriall Fire:
Hills, Bullwarks of our Freedome, giant Walls,
Which neuer Fremdlings Slight nor Sword made Thralls;
Each circling Flood to Thetis Tribute payes,
Men heere (in Health) out-liue old Nestors Dayes:
Grimme Saturne yet amongst our Rocks remaines,
Bound in our Caues, with many Mettald Chaines:
Bulls haunt our Shades like Ledas Louer white,
Which yet might breede Pasiphaè Delight,
Our Flocks faire Fleeces beare, with which for Sport
Endemion of old the Moone did court,
High-palmed Harts amidst our Forrests runne,
And, not impall'd, the deepe-mouth'd Hounds doe shunne;
The rough-foote Hare him in our Bushes shrowds,
And long-wing'd Haulks doe pearch amidst our Clowds.
The wanton wood-Nymphes of the verdant Spring,
Blew, Golden, Purple, Flowres shall to Thee bring,
Pomonas Fruits the Paniskes, Thetis Gyrles
Thy Thulys Amber, with the Ocean Pearles;
The Tritons, Heards-men of the glassie Field,
Shall giue Thee what farre-distant Shores can yeeld,
The Serean Fleeces, Erythrean Gemmes,
Vaste Platas Siluer, Gold of Peru Streames,
Antarticke Parrots, Æthiopian Plumes,
Sabæan Odours, Myrrhe, and sweet Perfumes:

153

And I my selfe, wrapt in a watchet Gowne,
Of Reedes and Lillies on mine Head a Crowne,
Shall Incense to Thee burne, greene Altars raise,
And yearly sing due Pæans to Thy Praise.

Ah why should Isis only see Thee shine?
Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis Thine?
Though Isis vaunt shee hath more Wealth in store,
Let it suffice Thy Forth doth loue Thee more:
Though Shee for Beautie may compare with Seine,
For Swannes and Sea-Nymphes with imperiall Rhene,
Yet in the Title may bee claim'd in Thee,
Nor Shee, nor all the World, can match with mee.
Now when (by Honour drawne) thou shalt away
To Her alreadie jelous of thy Stay,
When in Her amourous Armes Shee doth Thee fold,
And dries thy Dewie Haires with Hers of Gold,
Much questioning of Thy Fare, much of Thy Sport,
Much of Thine Absence, Long, how e're so short,
And chides (perhaps) Thy Comming to the North,
Loathe not to thinke on Thy much-louing Forth:
O loue these Bounds, whereof Thy royall Stemme
More then an hundreth wore a Diademe.
So euer Gold and Bayes Thy Browes adorne,
So neuer Time may see Thy Race out-worne,
So of Thine Owne still mayst Thou bee desir'd,
Of Strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admir'd;
So Memorie the Praise, so precious Houres
May character Thy Name in starrie Flowres;
So may Thy high Exployts at last make euen,
With Earth thy Empyre, Glorie with the Heauen.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

I. Volume the First

Poems in Commendation of the Author.

i. Clorus.

ii. To the Author.

To the Author.

To the Author.

iii. Vpon the incomparable Poems of Mr. William Drummond.

To W. D.

To William Drummond of Hawthornden.

Sir George Mackenzie, His Majesty's Advocate, being in Hawthornden's Closet, wrote down this Elogy of him.

To the Memory of William Drummond of Hawthornden.

By the same Hand.

[Here Damon liv'd, a Man by Heav'n inspir'd]

Upon Hawthornden's Muse.

POEMS: By W. D.

I. THE FIRST PART.

Sonnet. [i]

[In my first Yeeres, and Prime yet not at Hight]

Son. [ii]

[I know that all beneath the Moone decayes]

Son. [iii]

[Yee who so curiously doe paint your Thoughts]

Son. [iv]

[Faire is my Yoke, though grieuous bee my Paines]

Son. [v]

[How that vaste Heauen intitled First is rold]

Son. [vi]

[Vaunt not, faire Heauens, of your two glorious Lights]

Son. [vii]

[That learned Græcian (who did so excell]

Son. [viii]

[Now while the Night her sable Vaile hath spred]

Son. [ix]

[Sleepe, Silence Child, sweet Father of soft Rest]

Son. [x]

[Faire Moone who with thy Cold and Siluer Shine]

Son. [xi]

[Lampe of Heauens Christall Hall that brings the Hours]

Song. [i]

[It was the time when to our Northerne Pole]

Son. [xii]

[Ah burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest]

Madrigall. [i]

[A dedale of my Death]

Sextain. [i]

[The Heauen doth not containe so many Starres]

Son. [xiii]

[O sacred Blush impurpling Cheekes pure Skies]

Son. [xiv]

[Nor Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tyber]

Son. [xv]

[To heare my Plaints faire Riuer Christalline]

Son. [xvi]

[Sweet Brooke, in whose cleare Christall I mine Eyes]

Son. [xvii]

[With flaming Hornes the Bull now brings the Yeare]

Son. [xviii]

[When Nature now had wonderfully wrought]

Mad. [ii]

[To the delightfull Greene]

Son. [xix]

[In vaine I haunt the colde and siluer Springs]

Son. [xx]

[All other Beauties how so e're they shine]

Son. [xxi]

[My Teares may well Numidian Lions tame]

Son. [xxii]

[Nymphes, Sister Nymphes which haunt this christall Brooke]

Mad. [iii]

[Like the Idalian Queene]

Son. [xxiii]

[Then is Shee gone? O Foole and Coward I!]

Son. [xxiv]

[In Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold]

Son. [xxv]

[Deare Quirister, who from those Shaddowes sends]

Son. [xxvi]

[Trust not sweet Soule those curled Waues of Gold]

Son. [xxvii]