University of Virginia Library

[VVhen th'Age groan'd out Thou and thy Muse were gone]

VVhen th'Age groan'd out Thou and thy Muse were gone,
And Epitaphs each Wit was thinking on;
When to bestrew thy grave, and stick thy Herse
With herbs, or the more fragrant flowers of Verse;
When to thy worth rich Trophies how to raise,
Our fancies strove; The Cypresse then turn'd Bayes,
Which on thy brow grac'd with Poetick Rage,
Secur'd Thee from the thunder of the Age.
Thus the Springs warmth brings back by mild degrees,
Rayment and food to th'leafelesse, saplesse Trees:
Thus the wingd quire their vocall Lutes do string,
And Turtles having found their mates, do sing:
Thus like the quickning sun, thy flames do spread,
And add new life to us, that fear'd thee dead.

Cupids Call.

To his unkind M.

Sure thy heart was flesh at first,
For what sin hath it been curst
Into that stubborn thing of late,
Above the reach of wonder? what
In some winter was it lost,
And its blood drunk up by frost,
Grew stiffe, and so a rock became?
Yet this would soften at a flame.
Or didst thou bathe thy pretty limbs
In some cold and fatal streams,
Which turn what they embrace to stone,
And by degrees thy heart grew one?
I know not, but too true I find
A Quarry of prodigious kind:
Yet since I lov'd it, I will try
From the warm Limbeck of my eye,
In such a method to distil
Tears on thy marble nature, till
Their frequent drops by loves new Art,
Write my Epitaph on thy heart;
That men may know for whom I die,
And say beneath that stone I lie.

Good Morrow.

To his Mistris.

To Odelia.

To his Mistris confined.

Loves Hue and Cry.

In Loves name you are charg'd, oh fly
And make a speedy Hue and Cry
After a face, which t'other day
Stole my wandring heart away:
To direct you, take in brief
These few marks to know the Thief.
Her hair a net of beams, would prove
Strong enough to imprison Jove
Drest in his Eagles shape; her brow
Is a spacious field of snow,
Her eyes so rich, so pure a gray,
Every look creates a day,
And if they close themselves (not when
The Sun doth set) 'tis night agen:
In her cheecks are to be seen
Of flowers, both the King and Queen,
Thither by all the Graces led,
And smiling in their nuptial bed:
On whom, like pretty Nymphs do wait
Her twin-born lips, whose Virgin state
They do deplore themselves, nor misse
To blush, so often as they kisse
Without a Man. Beside the rest,
You shall know this fellon best
By her tongue, for when your ear
Once a harmonie shall hear
So ravishing, you do not know
Whether you be in heaven, or no;
That, that is she; O straight surprize,
And bring her unto Loves Assize;
But lose no time, for fear that she
Ruine all mankind, like me,
Fate, and Philosophy controul,
And leave the world without a soul.

Goodnight.

Bid me no more goodnight; because
'Tis dark, must I away?
Love doth acknowledge no such Lawes,
And Love 'tis I obey:
Which blind, doth all your light despise,
And hath no need of eyes
When day is fled:
Besides the Sun, which you
Complain is gone, 'tis true,
Is gone to bed:
Oh let us do so too.

[Would you know what's soft? I dare]

Would you know what's soft? I dare
Remit you to the Down, or Ayre:
The Stars we all acknowledge bright,
The Snow too is exceeding white:
To please your sent, 't will not be hard
To present you bruised Nard:
And would you heavenly musick hear,
I'le call the Orbes to take your ear,
If old Pythagoras sing true.
But Ambrosia, heavenly dew
Divinely must affect your taste,
And Nectar is your drink at last.
But would you have all these delights in one,
Know but the fair Odelia, and 'tis done,

A Fayring.

A fayring if you ask, I will next day
Bestow upon you the new puppet play:
The children made in wax, I dare not try,
For I confesse, the modells at your eye
Will melt themselves away, and then you know
The man will be undone, and lose his show.
What monsters would you see? Ile bring a man
Has been in France or Italy, that can
Play his deformities with all the fair.
Wee'l for the Cloysters, where the pictures are,
The King and Queens, the Princes, all the babies,
The paper Lords, and all the painted Ladies,
The men of ginger-bread, what art can do,
You shall see Canibals will eat them too.
Wee'l to the horse that dances, and ('tis said)
Tells money and which Virgin is a maid.
This beast must be an understanding creature,
For he will snort you by instinct of nature:
If you but name the Pope, there's somthing in't,
That a wall eye should read Geneva print.
These are but half the knacks wee'l see, and buy,
If you will walk into the Fayr with me:
But you are angry, Mistris, troth, I meant
A jest, in answer of your merriment;
For sure you cannot mean, with hope to gain
That gift from me is worth your entertain.
For whatsoever is not I, must be
Trifles, and empty things bestow'd on thee;
And you may thank your beauty for't, I am
So poor, I have not left my self a name,
Or substance, not translated thine before,
He that bestow'd his heart, can give no more.
If thou wilt have a Fayring from me, then
Give my self back, Ile give it thee agen.

To L. for a wreath of Bayes sent.

To the Painter preparing to draw M. M. H.

To a L. who had courted a Lady of much perfection, and after offered his Service to another of an inferiour Beauty and Parts; in confidence that the first would re-accept him.

A Lover that durst not speak to his M.

To one that said his Mistris was old.

Tell me not Time hath plaid the Thief
Upon her beauty, my belief
Might have been mock'd, and I had been
An Heretick, if I had not seen,
My Mistris is still fair to me,
And now I all those graces see
That did adorn her Virgin brow;
Her eye hath the same flame in't now,
To kill or save, the Chymists fire
Equally burns; so my desire:
Not any Rose-bud lesse within
Her cheek, the same snow on her chin:
Her voice that heavenly musick bears,
First charm'd my soul, and in my eares
Did leave it trembling, her lips are
The self same lovely Twinnes they were:
After so many yeers I misse
No Flower in all my Paradise.
Time, I despise thy rage, and thee,
Theeves do not alwaies thrive, I see.

Upon his M. Dancing.

I stood and saw my Mistris dance,
Silent, and with so fixt an eye,
Some might suppose me in a trance,
But being asked why,
By one that knew I was in love,
I could not but impart
My wonder, to behold her move
So nimbly with a marble heart.

Upon his Mistris sad.

A Gentleman in Love with two Ladies.

If Love his arrowes shoot so fast,
Soon his feather'd stock will waste,
But I mistake in thinking so:
Loves arrowes in his quiver grow;
And it appears too true in me,
Cupid wants no Artillery,
Two shafts feed upon my brest,
Make it a mark for all the rest:
Kill me with love, thou angry Sun
Of Citherea, or let one,
But one sharp golden Arrow flie,
To wound that heart for whom I die.
Cupid if thou bee'st a child,
Be no god, or be more mild.

Melancholy converted.

Welcom, welcom again to thy wits,
This is a Holy-day;
Wee'l have no plots, nor melancholy fits,
But merrily passe the time away.
They are mad that are sad;
Be rul'd by me,
And never were two so merry as we.
The kitchin shall catch cold no more,
Wee'l have no key to the buttry dore,
The Fidlers shall sing,
The house shall ring,
And the World shall see
What a merry merry couple we will be.

To a Mistris in whose Letter some Tears were dropt.

Presenting his Mistris with a Bird.

Walking to taste the welcom Spring,
The Birds which cheerful notes did sing
On their green Perches, 'mong the rest,
One whose sweet warble pleas'd me best,
I tempted to the snare, and caught,
To you I send it to be taught;
'Tis young, and apt to learn, and neer
A voice so full of art, and cleer
As yours, it cannot choose but rise
Quickly a Bird of Paradise.

Upon Scarlet and blush coloured Ribbands given by two Ladies.

To his Mistris upon the Bayes withered.

Strephon, Daphne.

S.
Come my Daphne, come away,
We do waste the Crystal day;
'Tis Strephon calls.

Da.
What would my love?

S.
Come follow to the Mirtle grove;
Where Venus shall prepare
New chaplets for thy hair.

D.
Were I shut up within a tree,
Ide rend my bark to follow thee.

S,
My shepherdesse, make haste,
The minutes slide too fast:

D.
In those cooler shades will I
Blind, as Cupid, kisse thine eye.

S.
In thy perfumed bosome then Aestray,
In such warm snow who would not lose his way?

Chor.
Wee'l laugh and leave this world behind,
And gods themselves that see,
Shall envie thee, and me:
But never find
Such joyes, when they embrace a Deity.

Taking leave when his Mistris was to ride.

Love for Enjoying.

Upon the Princes Birth.

To his honoured friend Tho. Stanley Esquire, upon his elegant Poems.

To the E. of S. upon his recovery.

One that loved none but deformed Women.

The Common-Wealth of Birds.

To the Excellent Pattern of Beauty and Vertue, L. El. Co. of Or.

Madam,

To the H. Lady, D. C. at his departure.

A Letter to the Lady D. S. sent with a New Comedy.

Madam , who make the glory of your blood
No priviledge at all to be lesse good;
Pardon the rudenes of a Comedy,
That (taught too great ambition) would flie
To kisse your white hand, and receive from thence,
Both an authority, and innocence.
'Tis not this great man, nor this Prince, whose fame
Can more advance a Poem, then your name,
To whose dear vertue truth is bound, and we,
That there is so much left for history.
I do acknowledge custom, that to men
Such Poems are presented, but my pen
Is not engaged, nor can allow too far
A Salique law in Poetry, to bar
Ladies th'inheritance of wit, whose soul
Is active, and not able to controul,
As some usurp the chair, which write a stile
To breathe the Reader better then a mile;
But no such empty titles buy my flame,
Nor will I sin so much to shew their name
In print; some servile Muses be their drudge,
That sweat to find a Patron, not a Judge.
To you great Lady then, in whom do meet
Candor and Judgement, humble at your feet
I throw these papers, wishing you may see
Joyes multiplyed, to your eternity.

To the never enough Honoured E. of St. on New-yeares day at night, after other entertainment.

To W. M. of N.

To M. Phil. Massenger on his Renegado.

Io.

To a L. upon a Looking-Glasse sent.

When this Crystal shall present
Your beauty to your eye,
Think that lovely face was meant
To dresse another by.
For not to make them proud
These glasses are allow'd
To those are faire,
But to compare
The inward beauty with the outward grace,
And make them fair in soul as well as face.

A Song in a Play called Hide-Parke.

Epithalamium.

1.
Oh look anon, if in the seeded sky
You misse no stars, here I did spy
Two gliding by.

2.
Did not thy trembling sence mistake the shine?
Which from the flaming marriage Pine
Shot like divine.

1.
No, no, oh no, within his stock of light
Hymen was never half so bright;

2.
Behold the Nuptial Train
Come smiling back again;
Hymen, hold up thy Torch.

1.
Now, now I see:
The Virgin Bride, fair Willoughby,
From whose fair eyes
This day did rise,

2.
Whilst her chast blushing strowes
Fresh Roses on the morning as she goes.

1.
What Musick have they?

2.
None,
But what's the Bridegroomes owne:
See where he follows to supply
All that a well tun'd ear
Can wish to hear,
Being himself a walking Harmony.

Chorus.
Heaven on this Payr drop all the joyes
Of Love, Health, Fortune, Pleasure, Boyes.

A Mother hearing her child was sick of the Small-Poxe.

Epithalamium. To his Noble Friend, Mr. I. W.

A Catch.

Come let us throw the dice who shall drink,
Mine is [six] [six] and his [six] [cinq]
[six] and [quat'] is a cast, [six] and [tres] not too fast,
Come aloft [cinq] [tres], [six] [ace] fair Play.
[quat'] [deuce] is your throw sir, [quat'] [ace] they run low sir
[deuce] [deuce] we see [deuce] [ace] is but three,
Oh where is the Wine, come fill up his glasse,
For here is the man that has thrown [double ace].

On a black Ribband.

To Gent. that broke their promise of a meeting, made when they drank Claret.

There is no Faith in Claret, and it shall
Henceforth with me be held Apocryphal.
Ile trust a small-beer promise, nay a Troth
Wash'd in the Thames, before a french wine oath.
That Grape, they say is binding; yes, 'tis so,
And it has made your souls thus costive too.
Circe transform'd the Greeks, no hard designe,
For some can do as much with Claret wine
Upon themselves, witnes you two, allow'd
Once honest, now turn'd Ayre, and A-la-mode.
Begin no health in this, or if by chance
The Kings, 'twill question your allegiance;
And men will after all your rufling, say,
You drink as some do fight, in the French way;
Engage and trouble many, when 'tis known,
You spread their interest to wave your owne.
Away with this false Christian, it shall be
An excommunicate from mirth, and me;
Give me the Catholique diviner flame,
To light me to the fair Odelias Name:
'Tis Sack that justifies both man and verse,
Whilst you in Lethe-Claret still converse.
Forget your owne names next, and when you look
With hope to find, be lost in the Church-book.

Upon a Gentlewoman that died of a Fever.

Death, time, and sicknes, had been many a day
Conspiring this sweet Virgin to betray;
At last impatient, vow'd e're the next Sun,
To finish what their malice had begun.
Sicknes went slowly on, but time, apace,
Death lag'd behind, by night all reacht the place.
But when resolv'd of a surprize, they came,
They found her guarded by a holy flame
Her waking Fever kept, this did affright
The theeves, who are still fearful of the light.
Time stayes without; but sicknes, by the sin
Of bribing a false servant, was let in:
Death follow'd the advantage, and did creep
Into her chamber, where though in her sleep,
Sicknes faint-hearted could not stop her breath,
But she soon found the Icie hand of death.
Her grone awak'd some friends, and the maid kild,
With sighes, and clamors all the ayre was fill'd
Fearing a swift pursuite, Time ran away,
Sicknes no longer had the heart to stay,
Death with his prey soon hid him under ground,
Not since by any living creature found.

Upon the death of G. M.

Upon the death of K. James.

Vpon the death of Sr. Th. Nevill.

Swelling Eyes forbear to weep,
Can the marble that doth keep
So rich a Nevill, not appear
Full of cold drops without your tear?
Or the Earth beneath his Tombe
Not feel a labour in her wombe,
When with her profaner dust
His ashes mingle? Sure it must
Break with burden of new pain,
And from her root he grow again.

An Elegie upon the honourable, fair, and vertuous M. Borlase.

Come hither Virgins that are good, and fair,
Insteed of flowers, here carelesse strew your hair,
Pay down the tribute due from all your eyes,
For underneath this dewy Marble lies
One, worth you all; although you cannot make
Her live again, 'tis justice for her sake
To weep your selves blind, for in vain you keep
Your eye-sight, while Marya's gone to sleep,
That was your path and Leader: but away,
You are but common mourners, for this day,
Hid in a storm of tears doth wait the name
Of great Borlase, wounded, and led by fame.
The mist is blown away, I see it come
With temper'd hast to look into her Tomb
To find an arme, which from his body rent,
Does lie enbalmd in this white monument:
Forbear chief mourner, and consent to be
Without this limb, more must be torne from thee,
And kept by death, till the whole body meet,
And sleep together in one winding sheet.

Upon the Death of C. D. Engineere, who died upon service to which he had no command.

If we those men for gallant justifie,
Who when they are commanded on, dare die:
Tell me, how glorious shall their valour stand,
That dare like Dalby, die without command?
Though order be the life of war, the sword
And bullet will not ask us for the word:
Nor did his courage know to make a pause,
When honour call'd so loud, and such a cause
As would untame a Hermit, and make room
With his own fire to meet the Martyrdome.
All that the sons of Flegm and fear can say,
Is, that he might have liv'd, and so will they,
Like earth-wormes, safe in their owne slime, and sleep
Till the last Trumpet wake'em, and then creep
Into some Blind, and wish this worthy then
Alive to hide them in some Turfes agen.
But his soul, wing'd with nobler flame, found out
Not to be active, is the way about
To Glory, which he being fond to taste,
They are too wise that blame him for his haste.

Epitaph On the Duke of BUCKINGHAM.

Here lies the best and worst of Fate,
Two Kings delight, the peoples hate,
The Courtiers star, the Kingdoms eye,
A man to draw an Angel by.
Fears despiser, Villiers glory,
The Great mans volume, all times story.

An Elegie upon the truly Honourable Tho. Viscount Savage

Vpon Mr. Charles Beaumont who died of a Consumption.

While others drop their tears upon thy herse,
Sweet Charles, and sigh to increase the wind, my verse
Pious in naming thee, cannot complain
Of death, or fate, for they were lately slain
By thy own conflict; and since good men know
What Heaven to such a Virgin Saint doth owe;
Though some will say they saw thee dead, yet I
Congratulate thy life and victory:
Thy flesh an upper garment, that it might
Aide thy eternal progresse, first grew light:
Nothing but Angel now, which thou wer't neer
Almost reduc'd to thy first Spirit here:
But fly fair soul, while our complaints are just,
That cannot follow for our chains of dust.

The Passing Bell.

Hark, how chimes the Passing bell,
There's no musick to a knell;
All the other sounds we hear,
Flatter, and but cheat our ear.
This doth put us still in mind
That our flesh must be resign'd,
And a general silence made,
The world be muffled in a shade;
He that on his pillow lies
Tear enbalm'd before he dies,
Carries like a sheep his life,
To meet the sacrificers knife,
And for eternity is prest,
Sad Bell-weather to the rest.

FRIENDSHIP,

Or Verses sent to a Lover, in Answer of a Copie which he had writ in praise of his Mistris.

The Garden.

Curse

Woman, I cannot call thee worse,
For thy vow-break, take this curse,
May that man whom thy embrace
Shall make happy in my place,
At a time when all thy blood
Lust hath poyson'd, and no good
Left in a thought, strike with that aire
He breathes upon thee next, despair,
Some death in his curld forehead fit,
And every kisse more cold then it:
Yet live, and my revenger be;
For when thou dost this Gorgon see,
Betwixt thy horror, and no doubt
But that thou art a stone throughout;
With some knife or poniard wound
Thy heart, till falling to the ground,
And pale, the world beleeve thee dead,
But not one tear upon thee shed.
No matter where thy spirit flies,
Or whose pity close thine eyes.

To the proud M.

Proud woman, know I am above
As much thy anger as thy love:
I did once think thou hadst a face;
But when next thou tak'st thy glasse,
If thou canst see through so much paint,
Pray to thy owne; no more my Saint;
Thy eyes, those glouring twinnes, shall be
No more misleading fires to me;
Nor hope they shall continue bright,
For I will curse out all their light:
But this would shew that I were vext,
And so thy Tryimph might be next
That thou should'st force me into rage:
No, I will laugh thee into age,
Strike wrinkles on thy brow, and not
Discompose my pleasant thought,
Till thou, thy Witches face despise,
And grow angry with their eyes,
Thus wretched thou shalt wish to die,
But late obtain it; and when I
Have jeerd thee into dead and rotten,
Ile throw thee into quite forgotten.

Cupid ungodded.

Fye on Love.

Now fye on foolish love, it not befits
Or man or woman know it.
Love was not meant for People in their wits,
And they that fondly show it,
Betray the straw, and feathers in their braine,
And shall have Bedlem for their paine:
If single Love be such a curse,
To marry is to make it ten times worse.

To a Beautiful Lady.

Away with handsome faces, let me see
Hereafter nothing but deformity;
Ill-favour'd Ladies may have souls, and those
In a capacity to be sav'd, who knows?
All that are fair are false, and if you find
A middle essence here of woman-kind,
Party par pale they are, and curst to be
Halting betwixt mishape and perjury.
Madam, put on your mask, your eyes have lost
Their charm; your beauty be at your owne cost.
I am ashore, go muster up the Train
Of Mermaids, I am deaf to every strain;
And will so voice their story to wise men,
They shall not spawn upon the Land agen.
Farewel fond love for ever but to be
Safe in my soul, I could want charity.

Dialogue.

1.
I prethee tell me what prodigious fate
Hath discomplexion'd thee of late?

2.
Love that doth change all minds and men,
Hath thus transformed me, and when
Thou seest her heavenly face.

1.
Describe her then.

2.

1.