University of Virginia Library

TO HER GRACE THE DUTCHESS OF Portsmouth.

Madam , it is but just, since you receive
All the Delights our Soveraign can give,
That we; in gratitude unto our King,
Shou'd to your Highness bring an Offering.
For we by Duty are oblig'd to Prize
Those that are Gracious in our Princes Eyes,
As well as hate his greatest Enemies.
Accept this also, Madam, sent to you,
Both as Your Merit, and Your Beauties due;
Which to You not the least of Glory brings,
Having by it subdu'd the best of Kings.
And now Your Country may Precedence claim,
Since You have gave it such a lasting Fame;
Greece, Helen; England, Rosamond did boast,
But France of You henceforth will Glory most;
For by Your conqu'ring Eyes You have made known
The Monarchy of Beauty is Your own.
You are the Darling of my King, His Pleasure,
His Indies of incomparable Treasure;
That precious Gem, who from your Country came,
Too narrow for the Limits of Your Fame,
Into the Bosom of a King who knows
What 'tis for to deserve, and to dispose.
But stay, my Muse, no Sacrilegious Eye
Shou'd dare be so Prophane, as once to pry
In Princes Actions; they like Gods appear,
And never move in any common Sphere:
We shou'd from their Concerns our selves retire,
And what we understand not well, admire.
Your Pardon, Madam, if my zealous Passion
Has err'd beyond the Rules of Dedication;
And if so high and rare a Contemplation
Shou'd fly beyond all bounds of Limitation,
And on Dedalian Wings shou'd dare to pry
Too near the Beams of Sacred Majesty;
Since my Ambition for your Service may
Make me speak more than others dare to say.
Then prostrate at your Feet I now lay down
This Infant Book, which may deserve your Frown;
But hopes a better Fate, since the intent
Was good, and only for your Service meant.
Which if you view but with a pleasing Eye,
It will presage such a Felicity,
That all the Frowns of Fortune, and the rage
Of time shall want a Power to engage.

POEMS.

On Clelia's Garden.

O Garden, unto me more blest
Than the Elizian Fields, possest
By happy Lovers; and more Fair
Than the Hesper'an Orchards are,
Which all in Golden Metal shine,
With Boughs, and Leaves, and Fruit Divine;
Such Paradise it self might be,
In its first virent Purity;
On which the Heavens did then dispence
An incorrupted Influence.
Here grow no Dodan Oaks, nor Pines,
Nor Elm-inamour'd clasping Vines,
No Paphian Myrtle, nor the Bays,
Nor Lawrel binding Phœbus Rays:
No Cedar, nor the pleasant Palm,
No Poplar dropping precious Balm.
Such Ornaments are far too mean
In Clelia's Garden to be seen.
Within these Walks are neither set
The Couslip, or the Violet.
No Dary, nor Narcissus grows,
No Tulip, nor the fragrant Rose,
No Marigold, nor running Vine,
Of the embracing Cullumbine.
Here is no Alabaster Font,
With Sea-green Tryton carved on't,
Nor yet Arion, to bestride
The sporting Dolphins watery side;
Nor Neptune riding on the main,
Whose Hand a Trident does sustain.
No Silver Stream here glides along,
Bearing the Goose, or Princely Swan;
Nor yet through pleasant Shades displays
Its murm'ring Streams a hundred ways.
Here's no Colossus to bestride
The fronting Walks from side to side:
Nor any Statues that surpass,
Of sollid Marble, or of Brass.
These and the like may such delight,
VVhose Eyes can't bare a better sight.
The Airy Nation sing not here,
But gladly lend a list'ning Ear.
The chattering Pye (if here) grows dumb,
And prating Parrats Note is done.
Domestick Robin nought can say,
Not does its chat avail the pay.
The Goldfinch, Linnet, and the Thrush,
Confine themselves unto their Bush;
And for their silence you may swear,
They mute Pythagoreans are;
And Philomel is here affraid
Tereus with Incest to upbraid.
Now some, perchance, may ask me where
My Gardens excellencies are,
To which no other may compare?
I answer thus; The shady Trees,
Whose spreading branches some may please,
My Clelia's presence doth supply,
Who may with Art and Nature vie.
For when she please for to unfold
Her braided Tresses, to behold,
You'd guess it for a Grove of Gold;
But that her Eyes such Lustre make,
That any one may well mistake,
And think it Paradise, and she
The Guardian Angel of the Tree.
Upon her Princely Forehead, there
The the azure Veins so clear appear,
In such a rich composure set,
As far exceed the Violet.
But when she please for to disclose.
Her blushing Cheeks, the new blown Rose
For shame into its bud doth close,
Not once presuming for to vie,
With such a pure Vermillion Dye.
Her Skin so rare a White does show,
As may lend Beauty to the Snow.
The paler Lillies close do stand,
To steal some whiteness from her Hand.
Her clasping Arms (O Charms Divine!)
Do far excel the Cullumbine;
VVithin whose close embraces are
Two Virgn Fonts, so lovely fair,
That every drop which flows from thence,
Such Sov'raign Vertue will dispence,
As might (if such a thing could be)
Cloath us with Immortality.
But when she please to touch her Lyre,
Or with her Voice our Souls Inspire,
The gen'ral Choire of Birds will be
Ravisht with such a Harmony.
The Angels too, that turn the Spheres,
VVou'd to her Anthems lend their Ears.
This is the Eden of my Pleasure,
The Indies of my choicest Treasure;
The Venus of my Love and State,
And the Sole Ruler of my Fate.

The Inquest.

To the King's Majesty.

If that this Book, without Command,
May chance (Great Sir) to kiss your Hand,
Vouchsafe one smile, my bashful Muse
Will then grow bold, no more refuse
To bear Loves Standard, and defie
All force, but from a Female Eye.
The vigorous God of Love dares say,
That Mighty Kings his Power obey;
And that his force is felt by all,
The Rich, the Poor, the Great, the Small,
None are exempt, he conquers all.
The Gods themselves his Vassals be;
Apollo's Love became his Tree.
Jove was a Bull, although Divine;
And Pluto's Love was Proserpine.
And you (Dread Sir,) more Great, we know
Have felt the power of Cupid's Bow.
And may you always in the Night,
Be fill'd with Venus's delight;
And in the day have choice of Pleasure,
Which may in sum out-vie your Treasure;
Which grant, O Heaven, so great may be,
That one small Bag may come to me.

A Song.

Sent to Clelia.

Epig. 43. lib. 5. Martial.

The crafty Thief may rob thee of thy store,
And greedy Flames thy Houshold-Gods devour;
Thy Debtor Principal and Use deny;
In barren Fields, thy Corn that's sown, may dye.
Thy Steward, by his crafty Mistress spoil'd;
And laden Ships be in the Ocean foil'd:
But what thou giv'st the Poor with liberal Hand,
This Fortune can alone thy Power withstand.

Omnia mutantur.

An Epitaph on A. P.

If that Extortion, Fraud, and Strage,
Lust, Envy, Rapine, in this Age
May claim your Tears, I justly may
Claim all the Tears that you can pay.
For though the pious Hand of Death
Has nimbly snatcht away my Breath,
It had prevented him before,
And Sin had made my Age fourscore.
Say then, who-e're shall name my loss,
Here lies extinct Misanthrópos.

Senex Tempus Mors & Chorus.

Sen.

Temp.

Sen.

Temp.

Sen.

Temp.

Sen.

Temp.

Mor.

Chor.

An Elegie on Mr. W. L.

Meek, Kind, and Good, could I relate
Our loss, and thy too sudden fate,
I'd force the World to lend their Eyes
As Conducts to thy Obsequies.
But since thy loss too great appears
To be the Subject of our Tears,
We will contemplate on thy Worth,
Too great for any to set forth;
And only saying, Thou art dead,
Will be as much as can be sed.

A Song.

To Clelia.

Fair, and yet Cruel, sure it cannot be,
Nature denies such Catastrophe;
The spangled Orbs serenely do display
Not in a Cloudy Night the Milkie way;
The misty Shades do swiftly disappear,
When Sol's Bright rays do Crown the Hemesphere;
But Love is subject to the Chains of Fate,
And more unhappy proves than fortunate.
How often have my Vows to Clelia paid
My Constant Zeal? How often have I made
The same confession of my Love to thee,
As mortals pay unto Divinity?
Yet the requital of my Love's Disdain,
And Cruelty the Med'cine for my Pain;
A Viper which doth feed upon my Heart,
And plays the Tyrant upon every Part;
Forcing a Lethargy through all my Soul,
Which does my vital Spirits so controul,
That though you'd strive for to prevent my fate,
My Doom's confirm'd and pitty comes too late.
Thus the faint Pilgrim with Devotion bows
Unto the Sacred Shrine, and pays his Vows;
Beging a Blessing on his feeble knee,
Supported by his Faith and Piety;
His daily Orisons do beg Direction
From that great Pow'r that is his sole Protection;
But when at last his fatal Glass is run,
And time casts Mists before his glimmering Sun,
In some old ruin'd Monastry or Cave,
Shunning the World, he seeks a quiet Grave.

A Song.

To Clelia.

Think not, fair Madam, that your high disdain,
Which wounds my Heart, shall cause me to sustain
The pond'rous bulk of all your Tyranny,
And the Insulting Conquest of your Eye.
Against your scorns I'le arme my panting Heart,
Secure from wound, and safe in every Part;
Biding defiance to your Conq'ring Eyes,
I'l give you no more leave to Tyrannise.
Yet if at last no Remedy I find
To ease the troubles of my tortur'd Mind,
And with despair must yield to Fate, my Breath
Shall censure you the Agent of my Death:
Then you that are the cause of this my fate
Shall mourn and grieve like one that's desolate,
And on my Hearse engrave my Tragedy,
With Tears proceeding from your doleful Eye.
Yet have a care, for if a Tear should steal
And touch my Corps, I instantly should feel
The Fire of Love to kindle in my Breast,
'Twou'd wake my drowsie Senses from their rest.

To Clelia.

Mirrour of Beauty, from whose conquering Eyes
All Power of Love and Glory does arise;
Resistless Charms does Crown your Heavenly Brow,
You Hellen-like no Second can allow.
Here Nature strove to shew her greatest Art,
Each part of you does captivate a Heart,
Your wounding Beauty spreads through every Part.
Pardon me then if that I soar above,
The Merits of undeserving Love.
I needs must love, for 'tis my cruel Fate,
Let not my kindness then deserve your hate;
Since to your Beauty I have Prisoner been,
Divinest Creature, think it not a Sin:
The Torrent of my Grief oreflow'd my Heart
And Love conceal'd still swell'd in every Part.
All my Ambition only is to gain
Your love, but (Cruelty) I strive in vain:
One Smile from you has power enough to save
A drooping Corps that's catching at a Grave.
One Frown wou'd make a Miser, 'midst his store,
Forsake his Wealth, his Fate for to deplore:
The Gods bewail their Case, and mourn to see
Mortals so blest, more than Immortals be.
Juno till now from her Olympick Throne
Nere saw a Beauty greater then her own.
Since then all Beauty is in you alone,
You are that Goddess I'le adore, or none.

Scribe aliquid magnum.

De Pompeo & Filiis, e Martial.

The Sons of Pompey yielded up their Breath
In divers quarters of the spacious Earth.
Europe within her Bowels does contain
One of the Sons of Noble Pompey slain.
In Asia's Confines doth the other lye,
And he himself in Africa did dye.
What makes the World as Thunder-struck appear,
That such a Slaughter shou'd be every where?
So great a Ruine cou'd not likely be
Contained in One place, nay scarce in Three.

De Sacerdote qui Caniculum in Cœmeterio Sepelivit.

A wealthy Thuscan Priest, of no mean note,
One that cou'd say his Decalogue by rote,
And Pater-noster too, and, if such need,
Cou'd make a Repetion of his Creed,
Had a small Dog he did so much regard,
That dead, he Buried him in the Church-yard;
The Bishop glad that he had got a Claw
Whereby to get the Priest into his Paw,
Summons him to a strict Examination
Of his so irreligious Violation
Of Holy ground. The Priest, who knew his mind,
How much he was to Avarice inclin'd,
Appears, and with him brings full Fifty Pound,
Which he knew well wou'd make the matter sound.
The Bishop urg'd the Crime, and so far went,
That he, poor Man, must be to Prison sent;
To whom the Priest, My Father, did you know
How much you to that loving Creature owe,
And how in Wisdom he did antecede
All that I ever knew was of the breed,
I am sure you wou'd not blame my action then,
Since he deserv'd a Burial among Men.
For whilst he liv'd, and did enjoy his Breath,
He was as wise as Men, but more in Death.
The Bishop ask't him how. The Priest reply'd,
He wisely made his Will before he dy'd;
And knowing that it was a Pious deed,
He left you Fifty Pounds to help your need;
With that produc'd the money. Sure reply'd
The Bishop, never Dog more fairely dy'd;
And God forbid I shou'd at all detract
From this your Zeal in such a Pious Act.
If you have more, let there be set apart,
A place to bury Dogs of such Desert.

On Suadela.

Nobis placeant ante omnia Sylvæ.

Hail Sacred Woods, and all the rural Gods,
Who in these Coverts make your blest abodes;
Ye Fauns and Satyrs that do here reside,
And Watery Nymphs that neer these springs abide;
And ye, ye pretty mourning Turtle Doves,
The living emblem of chastest Loves;
May no devouring Hawk e're fly this way,
Of so much Innocence to make a prey:
Let all be happy, chirp sweet Birds, and sing,
And with your Melody these Woods shall ring.
For here I first beheld that Angels Face,
Which to these Coverts gave the greatest Grace.
And thou, old Oak, beneath whose spreading shade
That Heavenly Object did my sight invade,
May no rough Wind e're rend thy aged top,
Or thankless hand thy Beauties glory crop;
Or shivering Winter, which the Woods bereaves,
E're rob thee of thy green and shady Leaves;
But may each year new Strength and Verdure grant.
'Till thou grow young, as when thou wert a Plant;
And may'st thou flourish many Ages more,
And still more green than e're thou wast before.
But when thou must decay, for eating Time
Will not permit thee always thus to shine,
From thy old Trunk may thousand young ones Flower,
Weaving their tender Boughs into a Bower.
And thou great Paphian Goddess, ever bless
This goodly Bower with so much happiness,
That whosoe're shall come within it's shade,
Shall to thy Mystick power be Captive made;
Each Lover then this Covert shall invite
To taste the happiness of Loves delight;
Thus shall thy fall be greater then thy rise,
And of a Tree become a Paradise.

An Epitaph.

A Dialogue.

Lover.
Render your Heart, or else give mine agen.

Virgin.
What, change with Men?

Lov.
Justice commands you to do one or t'other.

Vir.
Yes, to a Lover.

Lov.
Then I am he, sweet Saint, that owns that Flame.

Vir.
You are much to blame.

Lov.
For loving you? I must until I dye.

Vir.
Pray tell me why.

Lov.
Most mighty Love no reason can indure.

Vir.
Is your Love pure?

Lov.
As pure from spot as Elemental Fire

Vir.
N'ere to expire?

Lov.
No, not when Time it self shall cease to be.

Vir.
You have conquer'd me.

Lov.
Blest voice, that very word new life does give.

Vir.
With thee I'le live.

Lov.
Our mutual Joy shall with our Loves combine.

Vir.
I am only thine.

Lov.
Triumphant Love, what never lose the field?

Vir.
Love makes me yield.

Lov.
Then let's enjoy each other without fear.

Vir.
Agreed, my Dear.

A Pastoral Courtship.

An Epitaph.

The Syrens Song.

An Elegie on the Death of that Noble and Renowned Gentleman, Collonel Simon Lambert, of the Island of the Barbadoes.

Before some Famine, Pestilence, or War,
Or Monarchs Death, Heaven sends a blazing Star,
To let us know not what to hope, but fear,
When such Portents his Messengers appear.
And can great Lambert dye, and Nature show
No sign, so great a ruine to forego?
Had I beheld th' Illustrious Prince of Light
Resign his glorious Rays to sable Night,
And some bright Constellation fall from thence,
I instantly shou'd have inferr'd from hence
Our certain loss, and boldly wou'd have said,
The Heavens declare that vertuous Lambert's dead.
But none of these presented to our view,
Yet that he's dead, we know to be too true.
Let us consider then what loss we have,
And what great Vertue's buried in his Grave:
For we lament no shrub that was but small,
But grieve to see this stately Cedar's fall.
Beneath whose spreading Branches, whilest it stood,
Whilst it did flourish like a verdant Wood,
We did enjoy all that was just and good.
Great Jonathan, a Witness thou may'st be,
He liv'd to serve his Sovereign and thee.
He was no gilded Image, that did show
A Glorious outside, and did nothing know:
But he in every part was so compleat,
As shew'd that he was wise, as well as great.
Among the Best, he Noblest was, and where
The Noblest were, there he did Best appear.
Mercy and Justice both did in him dwell,
And each did strive which shou'd in him excell.
He, like another Atlas, did sustain
This Islands burthen, with Minerva's Brain;
And in each Exigent he did advise,
As if that he had seen with Argus Eyes.
In sum, Each action has deserv'd Renown,
For which he shall receive a Heavenly Crown,
And sing with Angels in that glorious Choire,
To which his Righteous Soul did still aspire.

To Madam Lambert.

Now, Madam, since you have sustain'd a loss,
Which all the pleasures of your Life may cross;
And such a loss as doth all loss exceed,
Whose very name may make your heart to bleed;
Yet comfort take, since he is gone before,
To wait your coming at the Heavenly Door;
Where you shall enter an Immortal Bride,
With Saints and Angels to be glorify'd.
Nor let it be a grief that you have none
To pattern your dead Lord, I mean, a Son:
His Vertues have immortaliz'd his name,
And still he lives in a perennal Fame.

The Epitaph. An Acrostick.

On my Ladies Lap-Dog.

Lelaps , my Ladys Dog, must sit at Meat,
And be her Taster, e're my Lady'l eat:
The choicest bits the Table can afford,
My Lady cuts, and gives them to her—
And many a lick his Curship gives my Lady,
Who cries, Poor Creature, he's as kind as may be.
And when 'tis Night, e're she can take her rest,
My Lady calls for that which she loves best.
Her pretty Dog is all my Lady's care;
I smell a Rat, Madam, you'd best beware.
All Night she folds him in her Arms, the Cur,
Perchance, may fare the worse for loving her.
He's slick and sporting, who can chuse but doat
On that which lies under a Ladis Coat?
But why a Dog? Cannot my Lady find
Some spruce young Gallant that will please her mind?
Is Earth so barren, can it not afford
Something will better personate a Lord?
Yet 'tis the mode, I grant it, so you keep
Your Dogs to watch, whilst, Madam, you do sleep.
However, we'd suppose this done for fashion,
Did not your actions shew too much of Passion:
For't gives suspition unto every Guest,
To see a Christian serv'd after a Beast.
Her Plea is Innocence; yes, in this sense,
A kind of dogged brutish Innocence,
And Pretty: May be so, Nature, thou'rt wise,
In giving Ladies such perspicuous Eyes.
When first I saw him lying on her Bed,
I could have left him shorter by his Head,
For all his Beauty; nor yet cou'd I find
One part more rare in him than all his Kind.
And yet she doats upon this ugly Cur;
He and my Lady 'tis keeps all the stir.
Many do think the Dog is too obscene,
Or what the Devil shou'd my Lady mean?

De Leone & Lepore, e Martial.

What makes the trembling Hare the Lyon fly
Thy death agrees not with his Majesty.
A nobler Object doth his rage possess,
And thou by flying makes his Glory less:
His Hunger is asswag'd by blood of Bears,
And mighty Bulls he in his anger tears.
The choicest Stag the Coverts can afford,
Is made a Dish to serve the Forests Lord.
Dogs prey on Hares. Let not the Irish Boy
Fear mighty Charles will his base Youth destroy

To the Worshipful Jonathan Atkins, Knight, Governour of the Island of the Barbadoes.

What ails the Poet? What a new desire
Inflames his Heart, and doth his Soul inspire,
With emulous Notes to touch Apollo's Lyre?
'Tis you, dear Sir, as great by Birth as Fame,
Whom Merit and true Honour gives a Name;
Who Heaven (Great Soul) did send for to revive
This drooping Island, and to keep alive
Those who Oppression did before enslave,
And Cruelty deject unto the Grave.
You are the Subject of my Verse, to you
All the Encomiums of our Praise is due.
Astræa now appears with Heavenly Grace,
And banish'd Justice re-assumes her place.
The course of things are chang'd, and we are now
No more deceiv'd by Janus double brow.
Blest Halcyon days, and you that made them so!
Unto what Land soever I shall go,
Your Memory I'll strive for to display,
Whilst Phœbus with his Beams adorns the day.
But yet methinks I hear some say, Where's he
Dares contradict us in our Seigniory,
And tax our actions? Come, and you shall see
One fam'd for Justice, Mercy, Piety;
VVhose Eye no diff'rence knows between the poor,
And him whose laden Ships can hold no more;
VVhose actions Justice guides, for in each Hand
The Sword and Balance equally do stand.
Here's no Perversion; here's the Motto too,
Give God and Cæsar equally their due.
O glorious Sun-shine of this Western Isle,
VVhat noble Appellation, or what Stile
Befits thy Praise? Or how can we express
Our Joy, your Bounty, and our Happiness?
VVhose liberal hand bestows, e're we can think,
Whole Bowls of Blessings, fill'd up to the brink,
Beyond our hopes: Yet thus the Powers we serve
Are wont for to reward, e're we deserve.
O thou great Author of all earthly things,
Whose hand deposes Princes, throws down Kings,
Who view'st from thy Olympick Throne the State,
And actions of each mighty Potentate;
VVho rules the worlds vast Frame, O Crown the days
Of our blest Jonathan with living Bays;
And that his Progeny may ever live,
Propitious Heavens, grant, as I believe.
First shall the liquid VVaters cease to flow,
The Earth to cause both Plants and Trees to grow;
Heavens radiant Monarch shall deny his light,
The Machine of the VVorld involv'd in Night;
The Lamb shall slay the Lyon, and the Hare
Of the swift Hound no more shall stand in fear;
The Eagle court the Dove, and all things be
In Sympathie with their Antipathie:
'Tis then, and not till then, my Pen shall stay,
And strive no more your Glory to display;
Which like the Sun in his Meridian height,
Cheers the whole World with his illustrious Light.

The Lovers Greeting.

On Clelia's Sore Eyes.

What makes the Frontiers of the sable night
Display their Mists, and thus expel the light?
Dire Queen of Shades, what power, as yet unknown,
Hast thou assum'd, that's stronger than thy own?
These sable Mists are worse than those that fell
On impious Pharaoh for an Israel:
For but a time those dismal Clouds did stay,
Which gave a greater welcom to the day.
But now the Gods, the angry Gods, I find,
All human kind has at one stroke struck blind,
And rob'd the World of Glory in its height,
Having eclipst its main and greatest light:
And now, alas! muffl'd in Clouds, it lies
Groping in darkness, robb'd of both its Eyes:
Nor can we hope our Fate for to reverse,
But are like mourners drooping o're a Hearse,
Till in your Eyes, your Eyes, we may behold
Beauty enthron'd, more bright than burnisht Gold,
Which now is hid, and doth obscurely lye,
As pearls i'th' Oceans vast profundity.
But sure the mighty Pow'rs had some design,
And our neglect of you they thought a Crime;
And took from us, what we as slightly prize
As Indians Gold, and precious Treasuries;
And now think fit, left by those Stars we fall,
And so receive a gen'ral Funeral,
For to restore us by degrees those Eyes,
Which else would make mankind a sacrifice;
As Men not quite recover'd of their sight,
Do lose the same by the excess of light.

A Dream.

Tell me, thou pale-fac'd Empress of the Night,
What horrid terror did my mind affright.
I saw, and in a Dream a Damsel stood
Before me trembling, all besmear'd with Blood.
In her right Hand a wither'd Branch she had,
And with a sable Veil her Brows were clad;
And to her self she mourning seem'd to say,
'Twas love, alas! fond Girl, did thee betray.
And so she vanish'd. Then I heard a cry.
Of a lost Damsel, at the point to die.
Her latest Breath did on Narcissus call,
Cruel Narcissus, cruel in my fall.
For thee I did honour and life forsake,
And gave thee Love, which thou refus'd to take;
For thee I did Philanders Love despise,
Who now may glory at my injuries.
Her other words she did in Tears confound,
Abruptly mangled in a dying sound.
With that I shrunk, and sudain terror prest
My melting Heart in my molested Breast;
I ponder'd in my mind, at length I knew
The voice was Phillis, that her self had slew;
And art thou dead, said I, false unto me?
His hate's a just reward of Perjury.
But O that yet my life cou'd thine redeem,
My Soul shou'd vanish as of no esteem:
O cruelty! what made thee so unkind,
To kill the Joy, and Darling of Mankind?
And since thy Death by Pen can't be exprest,
I'le write thy Elegie upon my Breast.
But snatching at my Sword, a Hand was sent,
My suden Execution to prevent;
And Phillis, who before I thought was dead,
Appear'd, and with a Garland Crown'd my Head,
And told me death had not the power to sever
Two Hands, two Hearts, that must be joyn'd for ever.
Then waking suddenly, I knew the Theam
Was my molested fancy in a Dream.
Even when I wake or sleep thou'rt in my mind,
Unconstant Phillis, cruel, and unkind.

An Elegie on the Death of his very good Friend Mr. Edward Lynch, Buried in Salisbury Cathedral.

Asist my Muse, thou gravest of the Nine,
Melpomine, assist, and let Line
Proceed from thy more solemn state, which shall
Attend the Rites of this sad Funeral.
Shall then Eternal sleep rich minds repress,
And leave them only to enjoy their bliss?
And must their Names no more be thought upon,
Buried in silent Oblivion?
And with their Bodies must their Names be thrust
Into the Earth, and Buried in the Dust?
No, no, their Fame swift Time shall ne're devast,
But flourish still, so long as Time shall last.
Why then doth Death involve my Friend, who sleeps,
And in the Dust a silent Requiem keeps?
But that thy Name henceforth may never die,
I'l write in Verse thy mournful Elegie.
Yet Ink's too black a Colour to infold
Thy vertuous Name, that shou'd be writ in Gold.
That honor'd Marble that does bear thy Name,
Henceforth shall be Immortal by the same.
Nor Time nor eating Age shall e're devour
What bears th' Impression of so fair a Flower.
When first my steps unto thy Grave drew nigh,
To pay my duty to thy memory,
The pious Marble thaw'd into a Tear,
As silently expressing thou wert there.
The Marble Statues, Bishops, Prebends, Lords,
And many other that the place affords,
Through stony Mantles wept their sufferings,
And seem'd to me like Arethusa's Springs.
And may they ever weep, for Piety
Is seldom found among them till they dye.
Who e're shall hear thy Name, and shall not spend
One Tear for thee, unpitty'd be his end,
And may his Ghost do pennance at thy Grave,
Honor'd (though restless) such a Doom to have.
Methinks I cou'd grow ang'ry with my Muse,
That shou'd at such a time her aid refuse;
But that she told me that her Lungs were weak,
And far unfit thy Praises for to speak;
And that whilst she thy Fame did strive t'express,
Her halting Numbers only made it less.
We knew thy worth e're we discern'd thy Age,
And budding Glory gave a true presage
Of what thou did'st, and what thou would'st have done,
Had not thy rising prov'd thy setting Sun.
O cou'd I speak thy praise, I would disperse
Thy living Fame throughout the Universe:
To tell thy worth, how vert'ous and how wise,
In this I know none can Hyperbolise.
Each of thy actions strove for to excell,
As rolling Waves which in the Ocean swell.
My Muse, in contemplation now of thee,
Has struck the Poet in an Ecstasie.

Love Triumphant.

'Twas at the time when Phœbus with his Rayes
The Universe with equal Beams serveys;
When Flocks and Heards to the cool Shades repair,
T'enjoy the Breezes of a cooler Air.
I laid me down upon the Grass to rest,
Whilst Loves fierce God inflam'd my tender Breast.
Millions of thoughts I interweav'd with fears,
And my blest Saints Idea wash'd in Tears.
Ah, cruel Nymph, said I, what God unkind
Hath with such Cruelty incens'd thy mind?
Lay by Joves Flames, Salmonean terrors fear,
Least you his Thunder and his Lightning bear.
For that great God that rules the arched Skie,
Can ne're be pleas'd with acts of cruelty.
But if you needs will take a Goddess form,
Which can your native Beauty nought adorn,
Take her whose milder form Mankind did move
To honour and adore as Queen of Love.
Thus shall you gain that honour that's your due,
And we take you for her, or her for you.
Thus whilst my mind passion toss'd too and fro,
As Waves by Winds which on the Ocean blow,
Behold my Clelia came, and forward prest,
Whilst the light Wind her lower Parts undrest;
Rich in Attire, in Beauty richer far:
Thus Venus us'd to court the God of War;
And thus themselves who in the Woods retire,
The Naides, and Draydes attire.
I silent lay, as if with sleep opprest,
Whilst her right Arm surrounds my willing Breast.
I made return, and often Clelia cry'd,
She who you seek is here, she then reply'd;
With that I gave a start, to let her know
How great a passion in my Breast did flow;
She smil'd, as something pleas'd to see me start,
And by my actions seem'd to know my Heart.
Then, as if newly risen from a trance,
Or death-like sleep, I did my Head advance,
And mildly speak her thus, Goddess most fair,
If you are come to comfort my despair,
You have nob'ly done, taking that shape whereby
You may at once deceive and please my Eye.
But if you come for to deride my fear,
And make me think my absent Clelia here,
You have lost your aim, for to my grief I know
My Clelia ne're did so much kindness show.
However I'm content, be what you will,
Nothing that bears that form can e're be ill.
Much more I wou'd have said, but she, too kind
To bear my passion with a steady mind,
With loving words my sorrow did asswage,
Commanding me no farther to engage
My self in sadness, since before my Eyes
No flying shade did stand to Tantalize;
But real Substance, which did passion move,
And her who I so oft had vow'd to love.
I gave attention unto what she said,
And millions more of Protestations made
To keep my faith inviolate, whilst she,
Poor Soul, did both believe and pitty me.
I often kissing wring'd her by the Hand,
And by dumb signs gave her to understand
My head-strong Passion wou'd no more obey,
Since she her self had took the curb away.
But she, too Innocent, ne're understood
The swelling Tides of Passion in my Blood:
Yet from her Eyes some pitty did distil,
Like Pearls thrust out, though shrewd against their will;
Unwilling for to leave that happy place,
Where sorrow cou'd not chuse but have a grace.
Thus temper'd Steel is sometimes clad in rust,
And grains of Gold are mingled with the Dust.
But I, who in the Wars of Love had been
A Voluntier, thought now or ne're to win
The honour of the day, and in some sort
To gain the conquest of the Virgin Fort;
Which I assaulted with so free a force,
(Not with Battallions of Foot and Horse;
But smooth and courtly Complements) as might
Have mov'd the chaste Diana to delight,
And made the cold Lucretia to desire
To wanton in the Flames of Venus fire.
Then Clelia surrender'd, all her Treasure
Was solely at the Conquerours will and Pleasure;
Which was so great, that nothing can augment
My Joy, or add unto my blest Content.
Divinest Creature, to whose heavenly Brow
Our yielding Hearts do with submission bow;
Rare Master-piece of Nature, here I lye
Conquer'd by Beauty, and by Beauty dye.
To you my Ghost shall in the Night appear,
And though I die, I'll never leave you here.
Yet you are cruel, and will not afford
My dying Corps but one poor parting Word.
O that your Beauty had less mortal been,
Or that to love had not been held a sin!
I boldly to the World wou'd have made known
Thy Beauty claims Desert, and thine alone.
But stay, methinks there's something in thy Eye
That tells me that thy Lover must not die.
And since that thou hast gave this blest Reprieve,
I for thy sake will be content to live,
And by some signal Service henceforth try
For to requite your generosity.

[As you are fair, can you be loving too]

On a Sigh.

Mount Ida.

In times of old, when Kings did not disdain
The sweet Employment of the silly Swain;
When to the Gods the rural Altar fumes
With Sacred Incense and with sweet Perfumes,
Were daily blest, and all things seem'd to be
A Paradise for Mans felicity.
Then no insulting Tyrant did molest,
Hind'ring the quiet of his Subjects rest:
But then Simplicity did crown the day,
And Innocence did every Scepter sway.
Within the Confines of vast Asia's Womb
Once was a stately City, now a Tomb;
Imperial Troy, whose stately Structures Pride
Did Egypts lofty Pyramids deride.
Rich in a King, their glory to augment,
No Stranger, but by lineal descent;
And blest with Children of such high Renown,
Which did augment the honour of his Crown;
But that this Sentence might have its Probatum,
Nihil est ab omni parte beatum.
Whilst Paris, Priam's Son, with care did keep,
In flowry Meads, his Fathers Flocks of Sheep,
Lo, Three triumphant Goddesses, of Birth
Celestial, guide their steps unto the Earth,
VValking to view the Fields, whose Fragrant smell
The richest Indian Odours did excel.
Discordia griev'd (as 'twas her course) to see
Three potent Goddesses so well agree,
Throwing a Golden Ball before them, says,
Let her take this, whose Beauty wins the Bays.
All plead their Titles in the flowry Field,
And each unto her Rival scorns to yeild.
Till walking forward, they did soon espy
The sprightly Son of Priam, who did lye
Under a lofty Tree, whose spreading shade
Sols Radiant Beames did all in vain invade.
Between them then, to end this fatal grudge,
They all consent to make brave Paris Judge:
But when the youngster saw the glorious sight,
His Heart was straight way ravisht, and the sight
Inflam'd his generous Soul, he prostrate lyes,
He worships and adores the Deities.
Nor can he longer gaze, so great a light
Cou'd not be bore by any mortal sight.
VVhich when they see, and think upon the Prize,
They add new force and vigor to his Eyes.
To whom Queen Juno mildly did begin,
Both with applause, and promise for to win.

Juno's Speech.

Pallas Speech.

Venus Speech.

On Clelia's Picture.

A Song.

To Venus.

Venus , I oft have heard thy Name,
Ador'd thy God-head, felt thy Flame;
And oft invok'd thy Power, to find
Some mercy in a Female mind.
And Cupid, I to thee did pay
My faithful Orisons each day;
And thou so well perform'dst thy Part,
I reign'd o're many a Virgins Heart.
But now I've other work to do,
Faith thou must Court thy Mother too.
Nay, many such a trick is done,
A Mother cheated by her Son.
And thou, my pritty courtly Lad,
Of me shall find a loving Dad.
No clam'rous Mars shall make thee fear,
Nor Vulcans Horns become a jear,
Nor yet his Net, which did proclaim
To all the Gods thy Mothers shame;
Tell her I'm active, young, and free,
And that, I'm sure, thou know'st I be;
A Lover too, thou oft did'st prove
The mighty force I had in Love.
Nor can my Parts, so well inclin'd,
Fail for to please thy Mothers mind;
Nor will this Match be a disgrace,
Since I supply Anchises place,
Or young Adonis, who did move
Thy Beauteous Mother once to love;
Nor can'st thou this my passion blame,
That art the Author of my Flame.
Consider then the wound you gave,
Whose Power alone has strength to save;
And let thy never-erring Dart
Reign Monarch of thy Mothers Heart;
Least from my Arms her self she shroud,
And I embrace Ixion's Cloud,
And courting of the Substance, may
With empty Shaddows only play,
Which ne're can quench my ardent Flame,
That's as Immortal as her Name.

To Vesper.

E Libro quarto Horatii Carmin. Ode 7.

The Snow's dissolv'd, the grassie Fields grow green,
And bald-pate Trees with dangling Locks are seen.
Earths course is chang'd, and Rivers by the Sun
Exhal'd, with pregnant Floods their Banks o're-run.
The Graces and the Nymphs their Steps advance,
And, being disrob'd, do lead a Country Dance.
Times Mutability doth make appear,
That nought is permanent beneath the Sphere.
Mild Zeph'rus chides the Cold, the Heat doth blast
The flowry Spring, and then posts on as fast.
Next fruitful Autumn comes upon the Stage;
Then lazy Winter, like decrepid Age.
And yet the Moon, which shady Night adorns,
With waxing Light repairs his waining Horns.
But when we to the lower Shades repair,
Where Æneas, Tullus, and Ancus are,
We instantly to Dust and Ashes turn,
No more return, but rest us in our Urn.
Who knows whether the Gods above will cast
One day, to add to what's already past?
Nor shall thy greedy Heir for ever find
What thou bestowest with a lib'ral mind.
When thou art dead, and Minos shall of thee
Give Judgment, according to equity,
Torquatus, not thy Stock nor Eloquence,
Nor yet thy Piety, shall fetch thee thence:
For, neither from the streams of Cocytus
Cou'd Dian bring her Chast Hyppolitus,
Nor yet the friendly Theseus e're retake
Perithous from the Lethean Lake.

A Song.

An Abcdary.

A sure Foundation makes a Building stand,
But he's a Fool that builds upon the Sand.
Consider Vertue in her glorious form,
Doth Youth in all her Ornaments adorn.
Extol her Beauty, Court her Princely Eye,
For with her Wings she'll raise thee to the Sky.
Get but a place within her Breast, and know
How mean thy thoughts were when thou wert below.
If thou dost once observe the Path she treads,
Keep close, tho' over Rocks and Hills she leads:
Let not the error of the way deceive,
Mark well her course, and thou'lt some tract perceive.
Nothing so hard but Industry will gain,
Obtain her once, thou'lt find her worth thy pain.
Perchance thou'lt say, Vice leads a smoother way.
Question not so, lest thou thy self betray.
Rewards are virtues due, but pains confound,
Such vagrant Fools, with a ne're dying wound.
Turn then, and take that path that's so severe,
Unto Eternal Joy that Course will steer;
When those who court a smoother path, may go
X times more quick, yet to their overthrow.
Youth, Beauty, Strength, do often ill advise,
Zeal only with a Crown adorns the Wise.

A Deserted Lover.

Ah, lovely Fair! can you so cruel be,
To scorn my Vows, yet never pity me?
Can you prove false, who once I did adore?
Pity a Youth that never lov'd before.
How wav'ring like the Wind? What subtle dart
Had you at first to penetrate my Heart,
Obdure as Steel, which ne're no torture found,
Or ever knew for to receive a Wound;
Till in your Eyes, the little twinkling Boy
Taught me at first how to begin to toy?
He taught me Love, whose active Fire first grew,
And more increast, the more I look'd on you:
Yet you more Cruel than the Tygers Rage,
Relying on your Beauty, Wealth and Age,
Disdain what you before did seem to prize,
And blast my Lawrel with your lightning Eyes.
Thus to the World your Cruelty is known,
And after Ages shall repeat my moan.
Perfidious Maid, your hatred makes me bow,
And Curse the rashness of my idle Vow.
And since it is alone for you I dye,
'Twill change your Honour into Infamy.

A Song.

To one that disswaded him from the Love of Clelia.

Go, dull Mechanick! whose Invective Pride
Dares the Epitome of love deride;
Go to black Acheron, there tell thy deeds
To the dull VVinds, which on the Vallies feeds;
And let thy poys'nous Breath extol the Fame
Of some old VVitch, or Hagg, or canting Dame.
Croak Carrols to the Toad or hissing Snake,
And breathe thy Venom o're the Stygean Lake.
And for to please thy fancy, may'st thou be
Inchanted with thy VVifes deformity.
O Divine Clelia! can the Gods connive
At Blasphemy, and let the Slave survive?
If you thus deal with such unequal odds,
I'll scorn to worship such Plebeian Gods.
There's not an Air, a Whisper, or a Breath
Proceeds from her, but triumphs over Death.
The blushing Sky grows pale, if she but frowns,
And the shrill Orbs leave their harmonious sounds.
Prometheus from her Beauty stole that Fire,
With which he did his new form'd Man inspire.
Her Breath the Zeph'rus is that chears the Earth,
Those sweet Perfumes that give the Phœnix birth.
Her Eyes, Mouth, Nose, and Cheeks, Waste, Thighs and Feet,
Are quite beyond Comparison compleat.
Go then, grim Cur, repent what thou hast done,
And leave to bark at such a glorious Sun.
My Clelia is so fair, and free from harms,
Such Innocence in her all-conquering Charms,
That shou'd the admiring World but chance to pry
Into those hidden Glories of her Eye,
They'd ne're adore another Deity.

To Clelia.

Shall still my suit prove void, then bid me die,
I onely hope in vain, tell me, shall I
Enjoy that very word torments my Soul;
Your Eyes do promise what you will Control.
Beauty 's too great to be a Tyrant there,
I harbour nothing now but sad despair,
Adore ing you, my hopes are nought but Air.

Epigr. 72. lib. 6. Martial.

A Song.

Eurialus, Hersilia, Dares.

Eur.

Hers.

Dar.

Hers.

Chorus.

An Acrostick on Madam Ann Tirrell.

On Clelia's severe Command.

A Song.

The Fetters of Love are far stronger than hate,
Fast binding the Captive, by that they call Fate,
Inslaving the Senses, and dulling the Brain,
For a thing of no moment, scarce worth a name,
A delight that does cloy, as soon as enjoy'd,
And a Fancy obtain'd we after avoid.
The pleasures are past soon as ever they come,
And gallop away as the Deel upon Dun.

A Complaint against Cupid, for causing a distastful Love.

On his viewing a Fragment of the Old James.

This piece of Wood, which now doth lye
Neglected by each passer by,
Not for so base a use design'd,
Did once despise the Waves and Wind.
This was a Member of that Frame
That once did bear great James's his Name;
Within whose bulk there did embark
More Souls than Creatures in the Ark;
And unto cruel Death did drive
Far more than Noah sav'd alive.
His wide-mouth'd Cannon oft did make
The Watery Region to quake;
And frighted Neptune from his Seat,
Whilst his shrill Tryton blew Retreat.
The quondam rageing Waves did fly,
And left the Neighbouring Ocean dry.
His Warlike sides with fire and smoke
Did oft the drunken Dutch provoke;
And made the modish French to find
The difference 'twixt Smoak and Wind.
Yet now, in midst of all his State,
His Glory he resigns to Fate;
Like Hercules, (though Jove his Sire)
Yields to consuming Flames of Fire.
This makes the English Proverb sound,
Who's born to hang, shall ne're be drown'd.
For whom the Waves cou'd never tire,
Lies here at last, consum'd by Fire.

An Anagram on His Highness Jame's Duke of York and Albany.

JAMES STUART. Anagram. A JUST MASTER.

Epigram.

I'll boldly on, not fearing a disaster,
If Life or Death can serve so Just a Master.

Susana Witherell. Anagram. U are all Whitness.

Epigram.

An Acrostick.

A Song to Lucifer.

To the King's most Excellent Majesty.

Of mighty Jove I lately ask't a Boon,
Which, like a God, he granted me as soon
As I cou'd ask; and gave me this Command,
Go, and receive it at thy Princes Hand,
Great Charles, to whom the World shall Homage pay,
The Dutch, the French, the Spaniards all obey;
Whose mighty Fleets shall from the Indies bring
Spice, Pearls, and Gold, as Presents to the King.
Thou need'st not doubt, thy wants he'll soon supply,
From his so unexhausted Treasury.
No more he said, the God I straight ador'd,
With Hecatombs of Thanks his Altar stor'd;
And big with expectation to receive
The promis'd Gift, I thought my King wou'd give.
Some Days, some Weeks, some Months I spent in vain,
Each moment full of hopes of promis'd gain;
And still my want increas'd. I therefore then
Swore ne're to trust a Heathen God agen,
But to my Soveraign my wants declare,
Whose Clemency shall suit unto my Prayer.
Thus shall th' admiring World perceive the odds
Between our Christian Kings, and Heathen Gods.

A Song.

Dido's Expostulation.

They say, that Souls departed, first must run
To Styx, and so unto Elizium.
They tell me wonders, and they likewise show
Th' Immortal Pleasures of the Shades below.
I dare not trust loud Fame, but, if I might,
My wandring Soul should pass to Styx this Night.
Fond Heart, ne're fear, undoubtedly 'tis so,
Be resolute, for thou mayst safely go.
Well, I'm resolv'd, and if that Fame doth lie,
Let Fortune do her worst, I can but dye.
And now this Sword shall pass into my veins
And ease my Heart of all my cruel pains;
My vital Spirits faint, I come, I come,
To my sweet rest, even to Elizium.

Dido and Charon.

Did.
A Boat, a Boat.

Ch.
Who calls?

Did.
Charon, 'tis I,
A Soul drove by Immense extremity
To leave the furious Earth, and now am come
To thee to row me to Elizium.

Ch.
What is thy Name?

Did.
Dido, who just now sway'd
Thy Scepter, Carthage, who great Kings obey'd.

Ch.
What brought thee hither? freely now relate
The real cause of this thy sudden Fate.

Did.
Make no delay, sweet Charon, pitty me,
Involv'd by Fate in this Calamity.

Ch.
Thou canst not pass, 'tis vain for thee to strive,
The Gods command, and I cannot connive.

Did.
O Cruelty! then must I tell the cause?
I have transgress'd the great Commands and Laws
Of the just Gods, thus to anticipate
The desperate force of my too rigid Fate.

Ch.
What was the motive?

Did.
Love.

Ch.
The Gods forbid.
Wou'd such a thing from Mortal Race were hid?
O 'twas not Love, but Glory and Revenge,
And had not Fate commanded such to range
A hundred years on this side Styx, my Boat
Ere now had been as tatter'd as my Coat.

Did.
Charon.

Ch.
I cannot stay, but must be gone,
And leave thee here most sadly to bemoan
Thy desp'rate folly, with those Shades that fly
Like num'rous Troops of Atoms in the Skie.

Did.
But where is then Sicheus?

Ch.
Pish, he's free
From all those troubles that attend on thee;
He's in Elizium.

Did.
What can he rest,
When I with sorrow am so much opprest?
Let not the burden of my grief exceed.

Ch.
This is enough to make the Rocks to bleed,
And Gods relent.

Did.
My very Soul doth swell,
My Heart doth burn worse than the Flames of Hell;
My Princely Power is gone, where's Honours now,
Those regal Titles that did crown my Brow?

Ch.
Honour! there's no such thing, the meanest Slave
Is equal to a Queen when in the Grave.
Here's no distinction, Kings and Princes all
Must bear that equal Sentence that shall fall
Upon them, for their bad or good intent,
Firmly enacted by Heavens Parliament.

[An envious, angry, sluggish, drunken Lover]

An envious, angry, sluggish, drunken Lover,
His Passion, and his Vice at once discover;
A vicious Passion quickly will discover
An envious, angry, sluggish, drunken Lover;
A sluggish drunken Lover in a trice
Discovers both his Passion and his Vice;
His anger and his envy quickly be
Disclos'd by Wine, In Wine is Verity.
Desire of sloath, and lust of Wine may prove
An Antidote against the power of Love;
Anger and Envy, in one Breast confin'd,
Love ne're will stumble at, though Love is blind.
Who e're to Wrath or Envy will give place,
May he ne're meet with any chast Embrace.
Those that to Sloath and Wine addicted be,
May live with Epicurus, not with me.

The Confidence of a Just Man.

No Salvage Tyranny, no desp'rate War,
No cruel Fortune, nor unlucky Jar,
No trembling Earthquake, nor the Potent Hand
Of thund'ring Jupiter, whose high command
Doth claim obedience, no, not if the frame
Of Nature were involved in the same,
And the whole Fabrick by disorder brought,
Shou'd be converted suddenly to nought;
Like hopeless Wretches, it cou'd never fright
My Heart, and make me tremble at the sight;
Nor cou'd it shake the Castle of my Soul,
That's fortifi'd beyond such weak control.
My Valiant Heart ne're fears the scorching Sun,
Nor the strange Operations of the Moon;
No Comet hath the power to make me fear,
Not though his Beard portend a Famine neer,
Or Pestilence, or Sword, or what is worse,
All Heavenly Influence turn'd into a Curse.
For what are these, but secondary things,
And in the Hands of the great King of Kings,
VVho can dispose of us, and all of these,
Not as we wou'd, but as himself does please?

On the Death of Mr. William Goffe, late Gallant to the Lady Willoughby Yeomans, kill'd by Richard Love.

How, Goffe forsook her! 'tis as true as may be,
He has took distast, and so has left my Lady.
This should not be, for Ladys have such Art,
VVhen they have got possession of a Heart,
They know their forces, and with cunning sway,
No Heart can mutiny or disobey.
Some say he's dead. This then will end the strife,
Death robb'd my Lady, as she robb'd his VVife.
By what rude Hand was it that he did fall?
By Love. O mighty Love, thou conquer'st all!
Hast thou again mistook? has Death and thee
Been conversant and chang'd Artillery?
Reclaim thy Errour, see what thou hast done,
Give Death his Arrows, and take thou thy own.
Ah Madam, now where were those powerful Charms
That should have kept your Lover in your Arms?
Come tell me, Venus, is not Love your Son,
The same with Cupid? Then what has he done?
O he has slain thy Mars, and Arms put on
VVould fright Achilles and his Myrmodons;
But yet methinks your Lover should not dye,
Death sure cannot resist a Ladies Eye.
Go touch his liveless Corps, and when that's done,
The Tyrant needs must give you what's your own
But that Dame

Mr. Goffs Wife.

Baucis will put in a Plea,
E'ne take him Death, for he belongs to me:
Unless to share him, you have got the Art,
Half for my Lady, Death take Baucis part;
As the Twin Stars by turn shine in the Skie,
One day he shall survive, the next day dye.
But we have found a better way then this,
Madam, my Lady, or what else you please,
Shall put on all her Ornaments and Geer,
Step down to Hell, and find her Lover there;
There intercede with Proserpine the Queen,
And if she can but him from thence redeem,
She shall in partnership no longer be,
But by this means gain the Monopoly.
Now Orpheus for a Women once did so,
She for a Man, will make it quid for quo.
But here perchance you'l say, 'tis basely done,
Thus to insult upon a Ladies wrong.
Which I'le deny, for many in your sight,
Do think far worse than I intend to Write;
And though they do not speak, their thoughts are free:
A secret's worse than open Enemy:
But I am neither. Deaths severer Brow,
Presents his Image, that I write of now,
And to my thoughts most sadly does discover
The grief that you conceive for such a Lover.
But this does most of all my passion move,
That he who liv'd by Love, shou'd dye by Love.
But I have done, lest this shou'd give offence,
My Ne plus ultra makes a recompence.

A Lovers Complaint.

Ah fainting Breath, there's nought can yield relief
Unto a wounded Soul, whose murm'ring grief
Loves no delay, but like the rising Sun,
Still perseveres until his course is done.
What shall I speak? or what can I devise?
I'le rather dye, than once Apostatize.
Nor shall my panting Breath your shade defame,
I'll honour you, and Idolize your Name;
And though at last you scorn me till I dye,
I needs must love you to Eternity.

Love in Ambiguity.

Why shou'd I urge my Love, since that I know
Her Merit's great, and my Desert's as low?
My thought's as high as his who did aspire
To climb the Charriot of Etherial Fire;
And rashly perish'd, such has my fault been,
His was the King of Light, and mine the Queen.
I fondly thought, Prometheus-like, to steal
The heavenly Flame her Beauty does conceal;
And for my Error feel the raging smart,
Which Vulture-like does feed upon my Heart.
Pardon my rashness, mighty Queen of Hearts,
And thou great God of Love, whose peircing darts
No Medium knows, but either help or kill,
Must I the Number of thy Victims fill?
O play not with my Heart, as Children do
With some poor Bird, which while they love, they shew.
One over-weening grasp of life bereaves,
And in a moment all the joy deceives.
But why do I thus deprecate in vain,
Hoping for what I never can obtain?
Alas! unworthy Wrecth, too great a fire
Has on a sudden kindled thy desire
Beyond thy Fortune; as some Country Wight,
Who never knew the Wars, or how to fight,
Talks Big or Stoutly, and resolves to try
His ne're-prov'd Courage on the Enemy;
But when he sees the adverse Host draw nigh,
And now or never all his Manhood try,
He throws his Arms away, resolves to yield,
And like a Vassal quits the ne're-fought Field;
Just so did I, my actions, thoughts, and all,
Let all objections in a moment fall;
Untill your Heavenly Beauty I did see,
Alas! too strong an Enemy for me.
At the first sight I yielded Heart and Will,
Lady, to be at you Devotionr still.
Among the many Trophies then that wait
Upon your Beauty, let it be my Fate,
Or rather Fortune, since it cannot be
Counted a Bondage, where the Body's free.
But why the Body? Body, Heart, and Mind,
Unto your Beauty are alike confin'd,
Are either fix'd, or move by your direction;
Yet proud, in being Vassals to Perfection.

Eccho to the Painter, out of Ausonius.

Alas! fond Painter, why dost strive to grace
An unknown Goddess with a fancy'd Face?
I am the Daughter of the Tongue, and Wind,
An empty Mother, Voice without a Mind.
I dying sounds fetch back with living tone,
And others mock with Words that are my own.
I in thy Ears my Habitation found,
And if thou mean'st to paint me, paint a Sound.

A Dialogue between an Æthiopian, and a White Virgin.

Vir.
Affright me not, you urge your suit in vain;
More Fear than Love your Hellish looks have bred.
Eternal terror seize you for your pain;
Think you I'll take a Devil to my Bed?

Eth.
Whitest of Whites, more lovely than the day,
Which from the East in radiant beams appears,
More lovely to my sight than Cynthia,
Which twice six times a year her Beauty clears,

Vir.
My Beauty, Slave! stop that presumptious word;
Shall such a Harpy ever speak my Name?
Does Earth another Cacus yet afford?
What was I born to be a sport to Fame?

Eth.
Alas! too cruel Nymph, despise me not;
A Slave I am, but unto none but you.
Whiteness in you none counteth as a spot;
And in our Black lies our chief glory too.

An Epitaph.

Upon this Marble Stone forbear to tread,
Or to deface the Relicks of the Dead;
Yet Read, and so let fall a Tear in Verse,
To pay Devotions to his mourning Herse.
Here's Vertue laid, and Piety lies slain,
Who the three Graces shall revive again:
Those Powers Immortal, who in Heaven do shine
That Trinity, although One God Divine,
Shall raise his Body glorious from the Dust,
Who in his Maker did repose that trust.

The Lovers Jubile.

'Twas Evening when the Suns departure made
The open grounds a comfortable shade;
When walking forth to view the fragrant Fields,
The sweet variety that Flora yields,
Near to a Myrtle Grove a Cave I spy'd,
By which a pleasant Stream did gently glide:
Amidst the Grove an ancient Altar stands,
Almost defac'd by irreligious hands.
This I repair'd, and said, O Goddess, now,
Who e're thou art, receive my sacred Vow,
And grant my Suit, and let some pity move
In Clelia's Heart a more propitious Love.
Off'rings by me shall ever be repaid
Upon this Altar, though by time decay'd,
And Mans ingratitude. Then looking round,
I spy'd an Iv'ry Image on the ground.
Hail Power, said I, what implous hand hath done
So vile an Act? who wou'd such honour shun?
I washt it in the Stream, and to it said,
Ah beautious Image, fair Pigmaleon Maid:
Then gazing on it, where a Fillet ty'd
The Ivory Hair, this Motto I espy'd;
In Honour of the mighty Cyprean Goddess.
O thou Illustrious Queen of Love, said I,
What Hand cou'd do this great Impiety?
What Impious Creature was it durst prophane
Thy sacred Shrine? O Sin without a Name!
Against a Myrtle by the Altar stood
The Goddess Seat, Arch'd round with Carved Wood,
There I the Image set, and having laid
My Hand upon the Altar, thus I pray'd.
Great Paphian Goddess, Cytherean Shrine,
Whose presence, I acknowledge, is Divine.
If to this Grove, or Altar I have done
Ought Meritor'ous, or have favour won,
Let Love to all more mild and gentle be,
And cease to punish Mans Impiety.
A thousand Lovers shall this Grove frequent,
And offer Odours of the purest scent.
The Shepherds that possess the Vales shall bring
Their Sheep-hooks crown'd to thee an Offering.
The Altar shook, the Myrtles seem'd to move,
Resounding murmuring Notes of happy Love.
Celestial Musick did salute my Ears,
VVhen lo, the God of Love to me appears,
And says, Young Man, this Bow my hand doth hold,
Lets fly no Arrow, but the Head is Gold.
Thy Prayer is heard, the Goddess is appeas'd,
And every Lover of his pain is eas'd.
No Jealousie or Fears shall now torment
A Lovers Joy, or ravish his Content.
The fairest Nymphs, whose Beauty wins the Bays,
Shall sing Encomiums of her Lovers praise.
The fairest Shepherdess (for Love hath Charms)
Shall fold a naked Shepherd in her Arms;
Fair Daphne playing on a rural Quill,
Both Hills and Dales with Corydon shall fill,
And Corydon shall VVoods and Springs possess
VVith praises of his Loving Shepherdess.
Loves mutual Sympathy shall Crown the Year,
And thou whose Heart doth Loves Idea bear,
Shalt in thy Clelia find a quick return,
VVho, in thy absence, flames of Love do burn:
And e're the Sun the Horizon decline,
Her beautious Body shall be joyn'd to thine.
This said, he lightly from the Altar Springs,
And Fans the sounding Grove with tow'ring wings.
Then on a sudden, through my swelling Veins
Loves passion glides, and all my Bones inflames;
And having gain'd the Conquest of my Breast,
Reigns Monarch there, and scorns to be supprest.
The Goddess then adoring, I a way
Espy'd, which 'twixt the Shrine and Altar lay:
This path I follow'd, Fortune was my guide,
And led me all along the River side,
VVhere Multitude of Lovers did resort,
Filling the Fields with all delightful sport.
Some in the stream their tender Limbs unite,
Like Salamacis and Hermaphrodite;
Others upon the ground so closely lye,
You'd take them for the Zodiack Geminy.
One's plaiting Garlands, 'tother's twisting Boughs,
Commixt with Flowers, to bind her Lovers brows.
One's braiding of the Hair, another tries
VVith pleasant Songs to close her Lovers Eyes.
This seeming coy, a thousand pretty ways
Her eager Lover to her Arms betrays.
That skill'd in nothing, but pure Innocence,
Thinks to delay her Lover's an offence.
O happy place! said I, and down I lay
Upon a rising ground that did survey
The posture of each Lover, when from far
A Lady came, just as a rising Star.
The lighter Vestments that her parts infold,
VVere Azure Silk, and interweav'd with Gold;
Her Hair was braided, drest with Ribbons; so
Iris appears, drest in her mantling Bow.
A Silver Veil her beauteous Face did shade,
So fine, you'd say 'twas by Arachne made.
The emulous Winds her swelling Garments kiss,
VVhich to my view betray'd a Lovers Bliss.
I gaz'd, not able to revert my Eyes
From Loves great Charms, and sacred Novelties:
Thy Fate, Acteon, then I did bemone,
And fear'd it instantly might be my own;
But as she nearer came unto my view,
My doubts were clear'd, and I my Clelia knew;
I ran to meet her, when her eager steps
Prevents my speed, and in my Arms she leaps;
Clasping I laid me gently on the ground,
Millions of kisses their successors found.
I ruffled up her Silks which kept the way
Unto the Paradise where Cupid lay;
She made resistance, such as might be said,
Thou shalt enjoy, and yet I'le dye a Maid.
Her Eyes declar'd her Pleasure and Content,
And what she did was out of Complement.
What thought can know the Pleasures I enjoy'd?
Immortal Pleasures, never to be cloy'd.
But till in modest terms I can express
My full fruition, you have leave to guess.
VVe bound our Brows with Myrtle, and return'd
Unto the Grove, and sweetest Odours burn'd;
VVe deck'd the Shrine with Garlands, and this day
For ever we our Annual Rites will pay;
And unto every Lover this shall be
(Great Paphian Queen) a joyful Jubile.

On Love.

Loves Charms all humane force do sway,
And Monarchs do his Power obey.
Nor is there any can resist,
He makes them Love, and when he list,
No place prescrib'd, now here, now there,
The surest place is any where.

A Song.

The Surrender.

A Dream.

When Titan hasted from his heavenly Sphere,
And Thetis modest Blushes did appear;
Grown weary with the fervor of the day,
Upon the Banks of a cool Brook I lay;
The shallow Stream soft murmuring did yield,
A whistling Zeph'rus cool'd the heated field;
The Birds in Trees with their mellodious Throats
Prattled the discord of divided Notes.
The Hills the sound repell'd, the Virgin Voice
To every accent lent a parting Noise.
The Grashopper (whose shriller voice repairs
The smalness of his kind) with pleasant Airs
Made all the Fields to ring, such harmony
Proceeded from th' Innumerable Fry.
I fancy'd this to be th' Elizean Groves,
The happy Paradise of all chast Loves;
And wisht my Clelia here, when happily
A silent slumber clos'd my twinkling Eye.
Behold, the God of Dreams before me stood,
And with his Leaden Wand he smooth'd the flood,
And brusht the whistling Winds, which forthwith lay
Upon the ground as Dews that fall in May.
A gen'ral silence cover'd all the place,
And on my Head he laid his drowsie Mace;
Earth seem to vanish, Heaven for to descend,
A hundred Thrones one Goddess did attend,
VVho in a Rain-bow Robe, commixt with Rays,
Such as Sol wears when he the VVorld surveys,
Enters the Pallace; from her sparkling Eye;
Proceeded Love, and awful Majesty.
A Throne there was, Twelve Lyons did uphold,
Set round with Amethysts in beaten Gold.
The steps were Crowns, Scepters, and Diadems,
Rubies, and Saphirs, and commixed Gems.
The Goddess this ascends, whose heavenly Face
Did quite eclipse the luster of the place;
Millions of Cupids, in their Liveries,
Attend the motion of her sparkling Eyes.
A Herauld then the Goddess will proclaims,
And summons all who burn with Love's fierce Flames
T'appear before the Throne. VVithout delay,
Innumerable Troops her will obey.
And here 'twas worthy of ones observation,
To see each Mimick fool it in his station.
One in an antick posture leads a Dance,
And swears each step is Alamode de France;
'Tother more solid, walks a State-Corant,
And Pedigreed Antiquity doth vaunt.
The next a puling Lover, foreward steers,
His Eyes deject, distill abundant Tears,
Complaining of his cruel Fate, to move
In some base Punk a more auspicious love;
A braging, roaring Russian next appears,
Who talks of desolation, racks and fears;
Affrights his Love, who he doth strive to gain,
And thinks Bellona one of Venus train.
Some aged Fools I saw among the rest,
Who time of every Sense did quite divest;
Shaking their hoary Heads, in their esteem,
As Complaisant as when they were Sixteen;
Protesting Love, in such a doleful strain,
As Ghosts are wont who Visit Earth again.
But that which mov'd me most, was for to see
My Brother Poets sensless foolery.
Loaden with Anagrams, Acrosticks, time
Was never spent in cobling of such Rhime:
Some weep in Elegie, and Epitaph,
Whose Nonsense well might cause the dead to laugh;
Others more Jocund, Songs and Catches make,
And sure they are, that every Clause will take.
And in a word, though all was but delusion,
It was the perfect Map of meer confusion.
The Goddess smil'd, (as well she might) to see
The true adorers of her Deity
So much deluded by each Idle Passion,
Which was by custom grown into a fashion;
And gave Command, for 'twas her will and Pleasure,
Which rashly broke, they might repent at leasure,
That none shou'd Court in any other sort
Then what was us'd when Mars and she did sport;
Think you, said she, that Peleus e're had sped
So happily in Thetis pregnant Bed,
Who oft by varying forms she did delude,
If not by force he had her charms subdu'd?
Did not th' Infernal Prince ascend from Hell,
To Lights abode, where Gods and Men do dwell,
And took thy Daughter, Ceres, to Command
The utmost limits of th' Infernal Land?
Yes, Proserpine was fair, a Goddess too,
What cannot Love, that mighty Monarch, do?
Think you that Jove, Father of Gods and Men,
Had e're enjoy'd Agenor's lovely Gem,
If not by Pollicy made his escape,
And then confirm'd his Passion with a Rape?
And thousands more were won after this fashion,
Not courted with an Idle whining passion.
Fortune assists the bold, who Courts by Letter
Is counted modest, yet thought ne're the better;
For Women love those that are brisk and free,
And hate the lasie Lovers Pedantry.
If they slight you, do you but then slight them,
The Women soon will learn to Court the Men:
Did not the Beautious Eccho Court in vain
The self-admiring Boy, who with disdain
Her love repaid, did not Medea wo
The Emonean Prince with love and Magick too?
And Sylla too, by Impious love misled,
Her Father slew, to gain just Minos Bed;
And both her self and Purple Hair did bring
Pledges of love, unto the Cretan King.
And Dido, whilst her love she did pursue,
The Trojan Prince to her embraces drew.
'Tis only Custom makes them claim as due
The Adoration that belongs to you;
Your servile Yoak of passion quickly break,
And put in practice what you hear me speak.
They all assent, and wisely did approve
The wholsom Counsel of the Queen of Love,
And so departed: when a pretty Lass,
Which, in the dark might for my Lady pass,
Gave me a kiss, and to me smiling fed,
She thought the Grass as good as any Bed;
I hugg'd a wholsom Girl in my esteem;
So wak'd, and vext, I found it but a Dream.

To the Honourable Jonathan Atkins, Governour of the Barbadoes.

With joy like ours the mighty Roman State
Their Capitolean Triumphs celebrate.
Sing Io Peans for their Victory,
And Trophies bring, great God of VVar, to thee,
Yet we to you Great Sir, will Trophies bring
Of Peace, a more delightful Offering.
Our VVoods shall ring, whilst we bring Myrtle Boughs,
Commixt with Bays, to crown your sacred Brows.
And thou Daphnean Lawrel too shall joyn
Thy verdant Leaves, which shall his Temples twine.
Ceres, Pomona, Flora, all shall bring
The Glorys of the Summer, Autumn, Spring.
The great Surveyor of the East, and West
Shall fire the Spices of the Phœnix Nest;
And Jove's great Bird shall in her Tallons bring
The living Phœnix as an Offering;
Iris to both the Poles her Bow shall tye,
VVhose party-colour'd Robes adorn the Skie.
The spangled Orbs their glory shall dispence
Upon this Isle, with sacred Influence.
All things shall strive to add some glory to
This Fertil Isle, that's Governed by you,
Even senseless things: And shall I silent sit,
And slear at all, for to be thought a VVit,
Like many Foppish Gallants now adays?
No, I'le present you with this sprig of Bays.
Inspire my Muse, thou sacred God of Verse,
VVhilst in Heroick Numbers I rehearse
The glory, safety, and the blest content,
Depends, Great Sir, upon your Government.
The Rich, the Poor, the Strong, the Impotent,
Each in his Station reaps a blest content.
The Rich his Land and Cattle doth obtain,
The Poor Man reaps the fruit of all his pain,
The strong Mans strength is curb'd from Tyranny,
The weak ne're fears his angry Enemy,
Here no Man falls by cruel hand of VVar,
Nor raging Tumults terrifie from far;
But here in safety every man does lye,
Reaping the joys of such Tranquillity.
Vive le Roy. Great Charles, thou didst foresee
This Countrys good, and long'd for Liberty.
Great Jonathan our David well did know,
On whom his Love and Honour to bestow;
Else had this Isle ne're seen this happy time,
More Fertil by your presence, than the Clime.
O happy Island! O Thrice happy Land,
VVhose Regiment is given to your Hand!
Rule as you please, those Pow'rs that reign above
Inspire your Soul with a paternal Love;
Infusing in our Hearts Obedience still,
Governing all our Actions by your VVill.

On the Nine Muses, out of Ausonius.

Clio relates things done, and gives the time;
Melpomene delights in Tragick Rhyme;
Thalia sports it in lascivious Verses,
Euterpe sweet and pleasant things reherses;
Terpsicore with Harps the mind inspires;
Erato dancing most of all desires;
Calliope brave Deeds to Books commits;
Urania to Astronomy submits;
Polhymnia describes with hand and gesture
In midst of these, Apollo most Divine
VVith his diffusive Spirit cheers the Nine.

To Clelia.

Heiress of love, and glory of the Time,
Angelick Beauty shining in your Prime;
Thus Gods in ancient times did terrifie
Poor Mortals by approaching Deity,
As when you show the luster of your Eye;
Whose high Majestick grace, when lookt upon,
Doth cause an awful adoration.
Never did Egypt Apis worship more,
Offering their lives, then we do you adore;
The Sun-burnt African, of sable hue,
Worships the Moon, and thinks it may be you.
The Persian, the Sun, and thinks he spies
The glory only propper to your Eyes.
But we enlightned by that glorious light
Wou'd make a Sun-shine in the darkest Night,
Do really adore that high perfection
Which they enjoy but only by reflexion.
Fair Clelia, then give me but leave to say,
I shall no more delight to see the day,
Than see you happy, which shall ever be
The greatest happiness can come to me.

On the undaunted Courage of a Shipwrackt Captain.

Hark how the roaring Winds, (great God of Thunder,)
Exalt the briny Floods, to tear a sunder
Our well rig'd Vessel riding on the Main,
Whose lofty threatned Pendant does disdain
Proud Neptunes angry Power, and awful wrath,
Dashing the boldest of his Waves to Froth.
Which when the King of Floods with anger saw,
His awful Trident scorning to withdraw,
He summon'd all the Waves, and did implore
The Eolean aid, which made the Winds to roar.
Now like to Mountains rise the Waves on high,
Tossing the nimble Vessel to the Skie;
Then by a great descent she falls again
Into the gaping Bowels of the Main.
No voice is heard, in vain they spend their Breath,
Two Elements at once conspire their Death.
The Mariners are stupifi'd with fear,
The skilful Pilot knows not how to steer.
The Ocean boils, and, to augment the rage,
The Winds from ev'ry Point the Floods engage.
Heavens face is cover'd with a Veil of Night,
The Thunder bearing Clouds ejected Light
From all Parts flies, and in this wretched state,
Presents to all an unavoided Fate.
Which when the Captain saw, he gaz'd a while,
To see their manly Courage thus recoil;
And with more Pow'r than Neptune, which doth sway
His wat'ry Trident, which the Waves obey,
His loud Imperial voice commands a peace,
Whose Eccho stops the Waves, and makes them cease.
Or like fierce Mars, with an undaunted minde,
As if their God the wat'ry Realm did bind,
He cuts the smiling Ocean, and does stand
As the Supream that Governs Sea and Land.
Now by this time a frighted Wave appears
At Neptune's Court, relating all their fears;
Telling, some mighty God usurp'd his Seat,
And all the Waves lay prostrate at his Feet.
The Sea-green God all in a rage appears,
And the shrill Trytons Visage anger bears;
The Mermaids skip and dance about the Boat,
Which Seamen say does dreadful Storms denote,
And so it was. The Misty Shades of Night
All on a sudden robb'd 'em of the Light.
The Heavens began to roare, the Waves arise,
Dashing their briny Floods against the Skies.
The Captain strives in vain the Ship to save,
While on each side appears a threatning Grave.
There's no cessation, VVaves the VVaves out-vies,
And threaten Heaven with their batteries.
VVhat shou'd they do, poor men? their Courage fails,
And all their hopes are shatter'd as their Sails.
They all stand stupifi'd, like senseless stocks,
VVhilst the craz'd Vessel's dash'd against the Rocks.
The Captain then, with a Couragious motion,
Leaps in the raging Bowels of the Ocean,
And with his threatning Sword he cuts the Waves,
The raging Floods with Valour he outbraves;
And swimming to the Shoar, his Sword he shakes,
Whereat the roaring Sea retires and quakes.
But all his men, alas! like silly Sheep,
Sink to the bottom of the swelling Deep.
Yet he's ne're daunted, his firm Soul stands fast
Upon its Basis, stedfast to the last.
What Noble Hero ever cou'd do more
Than be o're Land and Sea a Conquerour?

To his Verses.

Go tell my fair, that I
Must let her know I love, or dye.
Nor can the knowledge be
Enough, O no, she too must pitty me.
Alas! What did I say?
Is pitty all that she must pay?
No, she must yet do more,
Love me as much as I adore,
And joyn in One these Three,
Know, Love, and Pitty me.

On Parson Andrew's, Parazitical Sermon to Mr. Evans, Mayor of Shaston.

Where is this Boanerges, that dares batter
The Churches Faith, and in a Pulpit flatter?
VVho fears not both in Sermon and in Prayer
For to delude Our Worshipful the Mayor,
And make the People think, if he were able,
That he in all things is Infallible?
Let him do what he will, it does appear,
He must be one of Gods Vicegerents here.
Believe him but in this, and next you then
Must both believe in Mayor and Aldermen,
And add it to your Creed; and then you may
Say Mass, and to the Fur-gown'd Idol Pray:
And thus he puts a slur upon the Nation,
And brings it off. This Ancient Corporation.
This ancient Corporation's not so blind,
But see the VVallet of his faults behind;
And hold it for a true and Christian Canon,
The Parson cannot serve his God and Mammon:
But Andrew's sham-Apostle thought in Meter
Something to say in praise of Simon Peter.
Nor will his Plea excuse him, though he say,
'Tis Oratoria licentia.

On a Wife.

Out, or I burst! VVhat damn'd confounded spell
Made Orpheus run to fetch a VVife from Hell?
VVhat was it mov'd that madness in his Breast?
He by a Legion surely was possest
Of master-Devils. Had he lov'd the Pox,
And all the Plagues were in Pandora's Box,
Embrac'd all Vice, though loathsom and impure,
Heaven might in pitty yet afford a Cure.
But when they come to that licentious life,
To sawn, and hug, and doat upon a VVife,
There's no Salvation for such cursed Elves,
They may, like Judas, go and hang themselves.
Had Adam ne're seen Eve for to entice,
He doubtless yet had liv'd in Paradise.
That curs'd Satanick Engin, not content
To damn her self to endless punishment,
Intic'd our Father Adam for to eat
The fruit of Life, and Death-inflicting meat.
And ever since each cursed Jezabel
Has led her Husband the right way to Hell.
O rare advice to Job! why dost retain
Thy foolish Righteousness so long in vain!
Lo, the reward of all thy Piety!
Take thy Wife's Counsel, curse thy God and dye.
Counsel so good, who coud not chuse but take,
Though not for Hells, yet for his poor Wifes sake?
Damn'd Monster, cou'dst thou find no other way
Than this, thy righteous Husband to betray?
Can e're a Man expect a moments rest,
That hugs so curst a Viper in his Breast.
Woman brings VVo, 'tis true, her very Name
An adjunct is of Sorrow unto man;
Let her be fair or foul, airy or dull,
Peevish or pleasant, kind or unnatural;
She's but the Devils bait for to trepan
Poor, fond, uxorious, and silly Man.

Naides, Draides, Hymen, Orpheus, Euridice.

Naides.
O Hymen, come away,
Frame no excuses for a longer stay;
For hand in hand
The Lovers stand,
And think each hour a year
Until thy tedious Godhead does appear.

Dra.
Great God of Nuptual Rites,
Orpheus and his Euridice invites
Thee to their Feast,
Wich shall be blest
With mutual Joy, if thou appear,
And cause a general Mirth throughout the year.

Hym.
Shame on your uglie hast,
That thus disturbs and calls away so fast,
In Stygian damp
They have dipt my Lamp,
Yet may the Omen be
Far from my Orpheus and Euridice.

Chorus.
Far be the Omen, we
Do hope from him, and his Euridice.
Ye Gods that hear
What we prepare,
Our Sacrifice and Song,
Where Beasts and Trees shall caper in a throng.

Orph.
What over tedious stay,
My fair Euridice does thus betray?
The flying hours,
Whose mutual powers,
Lest they too slow appear,
Take Cupids Wings, and hasten from their Sphere.

Eurid.
The time I think mispent
That robs my Orpheus of the least content.
A Lovers fear
Is always neer;
Yet shall thy Beauteous praise
Appear more blest, cause thou didst Tantalize.

A Song by Orpheus.

Hym.

Orph.
VVelcomer than the day,
Hymen, what was the cause of this delay?
Cou'dst thou find out
A cause of doubt,
Or thought that there might be
In either of us Mutability?

Hym.
Brave Prince of Poets, no;
By this delay I strove to let you know
Some cruel Fate
Does on you wait,
VVhich all your Pleasure banes,
Fast bound by Fate in Adamantine Chains.

Orph.
The Gods with ease afflict
Poor Mortals, who their power can't contradict;
And we adore
That power the more,
And herein surely trust,
If we but once are good, that they are just.

Eurid.
None but the Guilty fear,
And what they fear, 'tis Justice they shou'd bear:
Let nothing cause
A farther pause,
But in this Temple joyn
Two Hands, Two Hearts, which Fate cannot untwine.

Hym.
Goddess of Hearts,
Before whose Throne
VVith equal parts
Two and yet One
Themselves present,
To the intent
That thou mayst ever be
Propitious to their Love and Amity.

Chorus.
Let pleasing smiles
And mutual Joy
The time beguile,
And never cloy.
Let pleasant Theams,
In gentle Dreams,
Increase their generous fire,
And kindle Flames that never shall expire.

Hymen.
The Goddess frowns, and with dejected Eyes
Seems slightly to regard our Sacrifice.
One of the Turtles which the Offering were,
Dy'd on the Altar, e're I made my Prayer.
The Tapers shone but with a heavy light,
One sputtering Blue, resign'd his Flame to Night.

Orpheus.
The Gods deep wills are seldom known,
'Till put in Execution;
And 'twere a folly to lament
A certain doom none can prevent;
Then why shou'd we capitulate
With what recorded is by Fate?

Euridice.
The power of Fate cannot our love control,
And fear's too base for any generous Soul;
The Gods, who in a higher Orb do move,
May take our lives, but never wrong our Love.
Let's then like Turtles sitting on a Tree,
Wait for the Hawk wou'd catch us if we flee.