University of Virginia Library

II. THE SECOND PART.

Sonnet. [i]

[Of mortall Glorie ô soone darkned Raye!]

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

Son. [ii]

[Those Eyes, those sparkling Saphires of Delight]

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

Son. [iii]

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

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

Son. [iv]

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

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

Son. [v]

[Mine Eyes, dissolue your Globes in brinie Streames]

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

Son. [vi]

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

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

Madrigall. [i]

[This Life which seemes so faire]

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

Son. [vii]

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

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

Song. [i]

[Sad Damon beeing come]

Mad. [ii]

[Deare Night, the Ease of Care]

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

Son. [viii]

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

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

Son. [ix]

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

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

Son. [x]

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

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

Mad. [iii]

[The Beautie, and the Life]

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

Son. [xi]

[Ah Napkin, ominous Present of my Deare]

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

Mad. [iv]

[Poore Turtle, thou bemones]

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

Son. [xii]

[As in a duskie and tempestuous Night]

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

Son. [xiii]

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

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

Mad. [v]

[My Thoughts hold mortall Strife]

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

Song. [ii]

[It Autumne was, and on our Hemispheare]

TEARES, ON THE DEATH of Mœliades.

TEARES, ON THE DEATH of Mœliades.

Sonnet.

[A passing Glance, a Lightning long the Skies]

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

EPITAPH

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

VRANIA,

OR Spirituall Poems.

[i]

[Triumphing Chariots, Statues, Crownes of Bayes]

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

[ii]

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

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

[iii]

[To spreade the azure Canopie of Heauen]

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

[iv]

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

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

[i]

[Soule, which to Hell wast thrall]

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

[v]

[If such passing Beautie, choise Delights]

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

[ii]

[Loue which is heere, a Care]

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

[vi]

[What haplesse Hap had I now to bee borne]

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

[vii]

[Thrise happie hee, who by some shadie Groue]

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

[viii]

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

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

[iii]

[Astrea in this Time]

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

[ix]

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

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

[i]

[Great GOD, whom wee with humble Thoughts adore]

MADRIGALLS, AND Epigrammes.

[i] The Statue of Medvsa.

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

[ii] The Trojane Horse.

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

[iii] A Louers Heauen.

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

[iv] Deepe Impression of Loue.

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

[v] The Pourtrait of Mars and Venvs.

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

[vi] Iölas Epitaph.

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

[vii] Vpon the Death of a Linnet.

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

[viii] Alcons Kisse.

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

[ix] Icarvs.

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

[x] Cherries.

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

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

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

[xii] Loue suffereth no Parasol.

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

[xiii] Sleeping Beautie.

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

[xiv] The qualitie of a Kisse.

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

[xv] Of Phillis.

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

[xvi] Kisses desired.

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

[xvii] Of Dametas.

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

[xviii] The Canon.

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

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

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

[xx] Campaspe.

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

[xxi] Vnpleasant Musicke.

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

[xxii] A Iest.

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

[xxiii] Narcissvs.

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

[xxiv] To Thavmantia singing.

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

[xxv] Of her Dog.

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

[xxvi] A Kisse.

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

[xxvii] Cornucopia.

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

[xxviii] Of Amintas.

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

[xxix] Pamphilvs.

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

[xxx] Vpon a Glasse.

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

[xxxi] Of a Bee.

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

[xxxii] Of that same [A Bee].

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

[xxxiii] Of a Kisse.

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

[xxxiv] Idmon to Venvs.

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

[xxxv] A Louers Plaint.

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

[xxxvi] His Firebrand.

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

[xxxvii] Daphnis Vow.

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

[xxxviii] Of Nisa.

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

[xxxix] Beauties Idea.

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

[xl] Cratons Death.

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

[xli] Armelins Epitaph.

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

[xlii] The Statue of Venvs sleeping.

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

[xliii] Lillas Prayer.

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

[xliv] The vnkindnesse of Rora.

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

[xlv] Antheas Gift.

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

[xlvi] To Thavmantia.

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

[xlvii] Epitaph.

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

[xlviii] Of Lida.

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

[xlix] A Wish.

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

[l] A Louers Day and Night.

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

[li] The Statue of Adonis.

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

[lii] Clorvs to a Groue.

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

[liii] A Couplet encomiasticke.

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

[liv] An other [Couplet encomiasticke].

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

[lv] The Rose.

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

[lvi] To a Riuer.

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

[lvii] Thaïs Metamorphose.

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

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

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

[lix] Epitaph.

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

[lx] Floras Flowre.

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

[lxi] Melampvs Epitaph.

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

[lxii] Kalas Complaint.

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

[lxiii] The Happinesse of a Flea.

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

[lxiv] Of that same [Flea].

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

[lxv] Linas Virginitie.

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

[lxvi] Love naked.

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

[lxvii] Niobe.

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

[lxviii] Change of Loue.

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

[lxix] Wilde Beautie.

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

[lxx] Constant Loue.

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

[lxxi] To Chloris.

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

[lxxii] VPON A POVRTRAIT.

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

[lxxiii] Vpon that same [Portrait].

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

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

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

[lxxv] Vpon that same [Portrait].

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

[lxxvi] Thirsis in Dispraise of Beautie.

[lxxvii] Evrymedons Praise of Mira.

[lxxviii] Thavmantia at the departure of Idmon.

[lxxix] Erycine at the departure of Alexis.

And wilt thou then, Alexis mine, depart?
And leaue these flowrie Meads, and christall Streames?
These Hills as greene as great with Gold and Gemmes,
Which courte thee with rich Treasure in each Part?
Shall nothing hold thee? not my loyall Heart,
That burstes to lose the Comfort of thy Beames?
Nor yet this Pipe which wildest Satyres tames?
Nor Lambkins Wayling? nor old Dorus Smart?
O ruethlesse Shepheard, Forrests strange among
What canst thou else but fearfull Dangers finde?
But ah! not thou, but Honour doth mee Wrong;
O cruell Honour! Tyrant of the Mind,
This said sad Erycine, and all the Flowres
Empearled as shee went, with Eyes salt Showres.

[lxxx] Alexis to Damon.

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