University of Virginia Library



To my worthily-accomplished and most endeared Cosin, SIR Richard Hutton Knight.

Sir, here receive these Obit-teares of Ours,
While Native Love and Duty nourish Yours:
Let us then joyne our Funerall Odes in One,
“His dearest God-sonne with his Eldest Sonne.
Though Heires in such like Teares doe seldom share,
I'm sure true Tears streame from your Fathers Heire.
Excuse me, Sir, that these come forth so late,
“They come too soone by Voice and Vote oth' State.


To my truly-esteemed and highly-respected Cosin,

Thomas Hutton Esquire; A Member of the Honourable Society of Grais-Inne.

To you, though younger, yet the same in blood,
Send I this patterne of parentall good:
Whose imitation shall you more advance
Then Fortunes portion, or Inheritance.
For those to Moales of worthlesse mindes are given,
Where these Lines chalke you out your way to heaven:


Whose lineall-lustre if you doe not smother,
Makes you Corrivall with your Elder Brother;
Whom as I live I love; and in him you:
“This shall my Muse in richest raptures shew.
While Memory o're your dead Father reares
A Shrine bedewed with Astræas Teares.


Astræa's Teares.

TO THE PIOUS MEMORY

Obiit. Feb. 26. Anno Domini 1638.

of Sir Richard Hutton Knight;

And lately, One of his Majesties Justices of his Highnesse Court of Common Plees at Westminster.

An Elegie.

Great Æsculapius, hadst thou none to kill
But Britaines grave Hortensius with a pill?
Hippocrates his Maxim never ment
On Goodmens lives to make experiment
But on indulgent patients, who did breath
Lesse spirit in their life then in their death:


For their inglorious Ev'nings could forbid
Others to doe ought lesse then what they did.
Tell me, O tell me! who could with his eye
Survey a gracefull-usefull Nurcerie,
Stored with various plants that might befit
Their Masters turne for Shade or Benefit,
And in this Seminarie to cut downe
An humble-mounting Tamrick, though full-growne
Whose very Site might prove him to be made
A Grace for some, to other plants a Shade?
Injurious Fate! if I may justly call
That Fate unjust, which is impartiall;
Why wouldst thou not in this vast wildernesse
(Where every worldling seemes to interesse


His sole imployments, as no place but here
Were th' Native soile whereto he must adhere)
Cull out such rotten and worme-eaten trees
Who keep a place, but promise no increase?
Some might thy subtile eye have quickly found
Crook'd, or with swelling bunches to abound;
Others so strangely wreath'd, 'twere hard to know
By their loose-dangling tops what way they grow.
Others so freely spreading, as their root
Takes so much ground, it holds all others out.
Others Time-statists, scorning to incline
To any compleat humour but of Time.
Others like Sprigges from th' Phœnix ashes bred,
Fix on that Sun by whom they'r nourished;


From which should thousand motes like atomes rise,
They'd vow them beames darted from Phœbus eyes.
And coulds't chuse none of these to make a dish
For hungry wormes, and close a Subjects wish?
These doe no good, they trouble but the earth
By making goodnesse labour of a dearth.
But say, Grand-Artizan of pick and spade,
If thou in purple hast desire to trade,
Traverse thy ground, thou canst not safely erre,
But finde Intelligencers ev'ry where.
Here maist thou finde a Cœlius, one of might,
Who pleads worse with his left hand then his right:
A Critick Consull, who Records can tax,
And make the Law a very nose of wax.


Neat-glorious Glosses can his Art finde out
Either to raise or reconcile a doubt:
And with such confidence, as if this man
Were held the Ages sole Iustinian:
Yet of his reasons he no ground can gather,
Unlesse he lye them on an unknown father.
Hows'ere, his weake Assertions are held good,
And long-approv'd e're they be understood.
But th' Reason why he beares such high command
Is this, “Hee's great for whom he seemes to stand.
There a loose-liv'd-licentious Appius
Who woo's his mistresse with a rev'rend busse:
A purple-prostitute, that hides this mote
With gravity and colour of his coat.


Yet who should see this uselesse Trunk, would sweare
His age had made him fitter for a Beare
Then amorous embraces; and this grave
Grave-sinking Patriot must his Doxie have,
Who in her active postures is so pliant,
She feeds on him, as he did on his Client.
There a sweet-sented Flavius, who could speake
More Tully in steletting of his peak:
Or twirling his Mouchato's, then those low
Declining drossie Groundlings e're could doe.
Flowers of selected phrases spring by nature,
While matter must serve words, not words the matter:
No aire sounds unaffected, which imparts
More musick to our eares then to our hearts.


Yet though his tongue be smooth, his body small,
Within he stores huge Magazins of gall,
Which raise in him such indigested passion,
As if styles of disgrace were all in fashion.
Were not this Bird, in earnest tell me Fate,
Farre fitter for thy Cage then for our State?
Surely, I think, it would availe thee much
(His moving tongue and eloquence is such)
To have him for thine Orator, to draw
Poore Mortals to submit them to thy law:
And though he hold himselfe for Death unfit,
He might move others to encounter it.
There a word-scattering Pytheas, who affords
A drop of reason for a sea of words.


Of numerous discourse, and so well fraught
As he speakes more then ever he was taught:
And in those conscript Magisteriall Seats
A Chaos too of Cases he repeats,
How properly I meane not to debate,
Hows'ere it argues a retentive pate.
Thus Aristippus findes stones set on stones
Senselesse of widowes teares, or orphanes moanes.
THESE eye the Clock, and measure out the day
In numbring houres, not hearing what men say.
What rich, enamel'd Shadowes (Fate) are these,
Who fat themselves to foster a disease?
These suck full fortunes from a Gooses quill,
By setting of their Names unto a Bill


Which (as they seldome doe) if they read o're,
They are no wiser then they were before.
But a Cramm'd purse can never knowledge want,
'Tis want of meanes displaies the ignorant.
There a corrupt Sysambris, who would win
A pretious Bribe with losing of his skin.
There a Turinus, who in ev'ry nook
Deludes poore people with the sale of smook.
These Chymicall Impostors from grosse mold
Extract th' Elixir of refined gold
And never surfet, till their mouthes be fill'd
With that rich gravell their injustice pill'd.
For as the Horseleach crieth still, more, more,
So they desire new measure to their store,


Which like Erichthous bowels, swell so fast,
As they consume their owners lungs at last.
Now tell me Fate, wer't thou enjoyn'd to steale
This pretious treasure from our Common-weale,
And spare impurer mettals soild with rust,
Who lay a shame upon their Countrey's trust?
There was a time, but no such place as kere,
When to Anticyræ such shipped were
As honour'd goodnesse: No inhabitants
Admitted were but timing Sycophants,
Lascivious Palliards, who made publick sale
Of vestall-virgin-honours by retaile.
Dark shops were in request to vend base ware,
Each in an act of knavery claim'd his share.


Whole Sholes of bankrupt Marchants week by week
Broke, and those held the wisest that did breake
For most, and when it lay within their power
Could subtilely delude their Creditour.
Petitionarie Pattenties grew strong,
Pretending by prescription to doe wrong:
State-prolling Sherkes, who to supply their turne
Laugh'd in their sleeves to see their Country mourne
Nought smel'd of profit, though it took beginning
From that contagious-leprous source of sinning,
But't relished: yet how did these bestow
This large distreaming fortunes over-flow
But on Vitellian bankets, luscious fare,
Phantastick habits? while their Ladies care


Extended to a Play hill, a Caroach,
A compleat Usher, or Postillion Coach;
A Bevy of out-landish Tirewomen,
For nought could suit their humors that was cōmon.
No Artist, were he never held so rare,
Tasting no other but his countrey aire
Could gaine request: those onely bore renowne
Who were least knowne to fashions of their owne.
Those then were honest men, who in good troth
Could mince an oath, and cheat, and wipe their mouth,
Guild vertue with pretences, and deceave
Deluded eyes with onely seeming grave.
No reall goodnesse purchas'd them esteeme,
Those were held good, that did but goodly seeme;


Yea, seeming-good lost her account in time,
And by degrees fell into that decline
As those who gave a countenance to good
Were held degenerating from their blood:
So as to lye a blemish on His fame
Whose actions were a glory to his name;
Or to detract from good men, or disgrace
A Magistrate or Iustice in his place
Was held an act of honour;—Th' Counterfeat
Taxing a Iustice on his Iustice Seat
Was an high-Mufty made; none durst reprove
His frontlesse impudence, but highly love
His resolution, though his phrentick Spirit
Meerly consisted in debasing merit:


Nor needed this indulgence, though he err'd,
In good mens thoughts, he ever was preferr'd.
Those onely Martiall Chevalieres were held
Could veile a plume of feathers in the field;
Speake bigge to their inferiours, and define
(What they had got off booke) their discipline.
Then ranke their squadrons in each regiment,
Though they knew little what their Captain meant,
Nor he himselfe, while he by mimick charmes
Could gull the State, and guild his harmlesse Armes.
BUT our's a golden age, a glorious State,
Where no such Scarabees surround our gate;
Our Purple-conscript-fathers are divine
And scorne to cloze with th' humour of the time.


They shun preferment as our Clergie doe,
And would decline it, were it offer'd too.
Their Iudgements and Decretals do proceed
From a discreet, sage and judicious head:
For what imports the publicke interest
That they deliver with a constant breast.
Our Courtiers too, they have no trickes to please,
To purchase suits, desertlesse offices.
Free are they from all avaritious thirst,
What they preferre it must be honest first,
For else to gaine an Empire they'l not doe it,
Nor shew least gracefull countenance unto it.
These seriously examine ev'ry point
In such a suit, before they'l stirre a joint,


As thus: “Is't honest? may it not offend
“The State? inferrs't not some peculiar end?
“May't introduce no president of ill?
“Nor with suspicious feares the people fill?
“Doe'st undermine no Trade? No Commerce stay?
“Nor turne our Traffick cleare another way?
“Doth it not trench upon some Company?
“Nor wrong the State by some Monopoly?
“May I present't with honour, and come off
“Like a wise Courtier without a scoffe?
“May I ingratiate him do'es imploy me,
“That no calumnious Agent may annoy me?
“May I with reputation so proceed
“As no just rub t'ancipate my speed.


“Is the foundation firme whereon I stand?
“Does't promise good successe if rightly man'd?
“Should it be granted, as't importeth one
“Would it doe good to many, hurt to none?
This our good Courtiers weigh, as may appeare
By many Suits presented lately here:
Wherein sole love to goodnesse was their aime,
Which they preferr'd before their Pattents gaine.
Our Ladies too are modest in attire,
They see no forraigne dressings they desire;
No cerussed complexion they endure,
To feed vain fancie with as light a lure;
They keep their windowes shut; no bosome bare,
It must be private if they take the aire.


They sacrifice not th' Morning of the day
Unto their Glasse, nor th' Ev'ning to a Play;
Our Court-rere bankets seldome they frequent,
But make their Feasts a pœnitentiall Lent.
They care not for priority of place;
Nor wooe affection with a borrowed face.
They love not to consort, nor to be knowne
To any Favorites but to their owne.
Snayles may be well their Embleames, for they live
Still within doores, lest they should Patterns give
Of wandring unto others; They are chary
Whom to admit, but whom they meane to marry.
Their Usher, though he be a proper man,
Ha's but accesse unto them now and than,


And then he stands at distance, lest he tempt,
Or his familiarity breed contempt.
They aske not what this dressing cost, nor flower,
Fruitlesse expences they reserve for th' poore,
And with as free extensive hand they give it
While every farthing sweetned is with Civit.
If a light-amorous line approch their hand,
Like a poor-wounded Deare at Bay they stand,
Astonisht at the folly of such men,
Who ravell Time out with so light a pen.
Yet they'l peruse the Letter ore and ore
And finde, perchance, more then they found before,
Not to admire him nor affect his straine
But to disgrace him when they meet againe;


Yet with such sweetnesse, he shall hardly know
Whether in earnest they be mov'd or no.
Such modest-Matron-Mirrors, Ladies be;
They coynesse love, though Love's their liverye.
Our Camp-Commanders too, they merit praise,
Who had they liv'd in Agamemnons dayes,
Those fierce Atrides, or in Armes had come
When Carthage was beleagred by Rome,
Brave Hannibal, Hamilchar, Asdrubal
Had rais'd their Citie to a Capitall.
So active is the Gentry of our time,
So docile too in feats of discipline,
Which such impressions in their service take,
As one weekes training may an Ancient make.


Tara tantara, what a martiall sight
Of brave Commanders disciplin'd for fight
Approch th' insulting foe! no stratagem
Practis'd abroad but introduc'd to them;
No feat, defeat, advantage, point of warre,
But to our Colonels familiar.
No Tearmes of Armes but these exactly know,
Their Marches, Postures, and Gradations too,
Their Sconces, Palisado's, Parapets,
Their Military-Ovall Coronets;
Sallies, Alarmes, Excursions, Rendevous,
Issues, Retraits, their Pay unto a souse.
Their Martiall Ord'nance too they can dispose
And to the disadvantage of their foes


Plant them with such discretion, none would deeme
But that they knew the Frier invented them.
Their Musket, Saker, Minion, Culverin,
Dragonet, Basiliske, and Carabin:
These with their sev'rall Charges they'l explaine
By their dexterity unto a graine.
These passe that Captain, who desir'd to heare
What discipline was us'd in ev'ry shere,
Or what new Ordinance they had in store
This Ile was not acquainted with before:
By a briske merry Greeke, whose jeering nature
Could tell a Tale, and never laugh at th' matter
Noting his ignorance, was answer'd thus:
“Sir, there be Pieces lately come to us


“Of strange proportion and as strange a style,
“The like whereof ne're landed in this Ile.
“And if my mem'ry faile not, they are these,
“State-frighting Formidons, Quo mixuses,
“Neat Cerciorares, Stockes that ne're will burst,
“By Fabius Maximus invented first,
“When by delay and spinning out of time
“He finished his glorious designe.
“And these, beleev't, Sir, are of such esteeme,
“As Harquebusses are but Squirts to them
“For usefull mannagement: for I have seene

These Coun{treys} might have b{een} in Vto{pia} for ou{ght} he knew.


“In Zealand, Brabant, where I oft have beene

These Countryes might have been in Vtopia for ought he knew.


“And kept my fixt Perdue, these Armes doe more
“One houre, then others would in twenty foure.


The credulous Captaine, he beleeves the man,
Desiring much to know from whenc they came,
And by what Engines drawne on horse or foot,
But this Atturney fearing to be out
By entring more discourse, briefly declar'd
How they were moulded, planted and prepar'd,
But at such distance, as whats'ere he s'ed
Was by the Captaine firmly credited
For reall Oracles, as't might appeare
The more he heard, the more he sought to heare:
So as in th' end this expert Blademan vow'd
He had spoke nought that could be dis-allow'd:
For having never heard Law-terme before
A Formedon might be a Musket-bore


For ought he knew; nor did he hold it fit
That th' Enemy should notice have of it,
But that such Engines as he had related
Should by command be on our selves estated
Without discovery to such forraine Powers
As wished no successe to us nor ours.
But their occasions so divide their journey
As th' Captaine must take leave of his Atturney,
Returning him great thankes for his relation
And wishing many such within our Nation,
Whose knowne experience might secure the State,
And make the Age ingaged to his pate.
Though th' Law-man knew not what these Engines ment
Nor ever any other Instrument


Save what his

A vaste Magazin of Bilis, with other Law-Engines.

Law-port mantua did containe,

The late reversions of a factious braine,
Whose native vigour being broke asunder
Would startle weake Defendents worse then thunder.
Yet one Occurrent I must here relate
Which in their Progresse happened of late;
This Chivaliere had a desire to play
A game at Bowles his journey to allay,
Or else directed by another aime
(More probable of two) in hope to gaine.
A Cumrade takes him up; but th' Captaine would
Have none but this Atturney keep the gold,
That strange Relater, for he held him just,
And therefore none he might more safely trust:


What he enjoynes, he as demurely takes,
But in conclusion runs away with stakes.
But riding on no swift Pegasean Steed

Clozing with those Stanza's of famous Bragamoni “What though the Jade his Masters fury feels “Hee yeelds the spoile because hee wanted heeles.


He renders stakes because he wanted speed.
But let no trifling Tales take up that place
Which on my Poem should bestow most grace.
Our Clergie too; men of a choice repast,
(For I reserve my best wine for the last)
How they scorne avarice; loath venerie,
And sing an Antheme with Conformitie?
Survey their dainty Ducks from top to toe,
Their active wastlesse wasts above, below,
You shall see beauty in her proper place,
Without Embrodery, Fringe, or Tinsell lace:


And to restraine wild fancie, their intent
Crownes pure resolves with a religious

Being most austere observers of that ancient Decretall touching Abstinence and Continence in Lent.

Lent.

Their fixt desires are cloz'd; they doe not crave
From their Parochialls more then they have.
Their late Petition was not ment a pressure
T'inrich themselves, but to improve th' Successour;
For what they did was out of Conscience
While their desires cloz'd in a competence.
They hate Non-residence with all such vermin
As feed their Audience with a pocket-Sermon.
Their Study makes them leane: they scorne to rise
To honour or a deoble benefice.
Zeale is that sacred Lampe they study by,
Which they display in turning white oth' eye.


Our zealous Zimri's too, their Trophies raise
Adorned with Rose-mary and gilt Baies,
Wherewith they meet their late-exiled Pastor,
Servant and Master who may run the faster.
Their precious fervour can present their grieves,
Thousands combining to pull downe Lawne sleeves.
So strong's th' infusion of our Bandites zeale,
They'd form the Church to Plato's Common-weale:
Presbytrian parity sole undertaker
To raze a Doctor, and to raise a Baker.
Yet in this pure Platonick Common-weale
We have some Darnell mixed in our meale.
All are not Solons that do Purple weare,
Nor all true Courtiers that do so appeare;


Nor all our Ladies really devout,
Nor all our braving Cavaliero's stout;
Nor all our seeming Levites well content,
Nor all their zealous females continent.
The Sunne h'as motes, what may we think of these
Who ta'ne with fancie, honour or with fees
Expose their fames to an injurious staine
Which blemish'd once, are ne're made white againe?
What of these formall Agents who pretend
Good to the State, but worke their private end?
These moderne Machavels who can devise
A vertuous vizard for an odious vice?
These who can lye their hand upon their heart,
And gull their loyallst friends with words of Art?


Such fruitlesse shrubbs in my opinion were
Fitter to cope with Fate then such as are
Mirrors of Justice, who bestow their Oile
To fructifie a leane and barren soile
With honest culture, or such Scienes croppe
Who shadow freer Spurges with their toppe.
And such an One was that grave Patriot
Whose pious zeale such reputation got
Amongst good-men, who onely hold such great
As make iust actions steps unto their Seat.
These close not with Times garbe, nor can they vaile
To that Soild-foot-cloth sets his soule to sale.
And yet there are Some such make Justice go
On Crutches, while poore vertue rank'd below


Must hold his Stirrup; of which vicious sort

Sport for Democritus.

Yeering Democritus could make a sport;

Accoast them with derision, and discover
The loose embraces of a wanton Lover,
To make them more contemptuous to themselves,
And caution simple Clients of such Shelves
As most endanger Justice: “If you'l live,
“And prosper in your Suits, be sure you give
“Meat to the mouth oth' Court; you'r rightly serv'd
“In suff'ring a good cause for to be starv'd
“For want of exhibition: let him ply
“The Iron while 'tis hot, and in a pye
“Incoffin such a bounty, as't may force
“The Iudge to crowne his Cause though it be worse


“Then his penurious Adversary, who
“Was foil'd because hee'd nothing to bestow.
“Suits are like Pills, they must be guilded over,
“For should they any bitternesse discover,
“The squeamish appetite would not receive them,
“But either loath them or directly leave them.
“Some have I seene advanced to a place
“For their smooth polite tongue, or amorous face.
“Others by making betts, as I've beene told,
“While others lost their Place, for being Old.
“This rais'd for making Courts an Ostridge nest,
“That raz'd for bringing Courts into request:
“Playing his Cards so to his publick shame,
“For all his huge Ruffe, He must lose the Game.


“One in a Funerall pompe goes to his Grave,
“One in triumphant port jetts to receive
“His Consul-charge; yet e're the next Moonth come
“A Writ of Ease may kick him from his roome.
“For as 'tis fit, whens'ere th' Dictator please,
“He must surrender by a Writ of Ease.
“Laugh, laugh Democritus, for thou art free
“From these State fears Who is he mindeth thee?
This merry frumping Stoick meets soone after
With other Objects to revive his laughter,
Pie-colour'd humorists who make their Nation
An apish introducer of each fashion;
And these he laughs and wonders at, how Reason
Should suffer Sense her Organs to imprison.


“Briske fooles, quoth he, how you debase your mind
“In your preferring of this outward rind
“Before the inward pith!—Ye State divines
“Who serve Apollo, but adore the times
“More then that God you serve; you early rise
“To offer him an heartlesse Sacrifice
“Whose Priests you are: But you shall never find it
“Leave a perfuming pretious smell behind it.
“For you doe hold it a religious theft
“To keepe back from him th' better part oth' gift,
“And so delude your Deity with wit,
“But trust me, Augurs, you must smart for it.
“For when Pandora's Box shall opened be,
“Some will prove knaves, weare Vertues liverie.


“O age; refined age! where nought seemes good
“But what sucks poyson from corrupted blood!
“Hee's no Philosopher, but he must borrow
“Teares from a madding joy, or puling sorrow.
But how art thou transported! eye this Piece
Whose living actions render'd an increase
With high improvement: freely I appeale
To ev'ry corner of this Common-weale
Where he administer'd iustice: first of these
To his long-practis'd Seate ith' Common plees,
Where his confirmed judgement on that Bench
Begot an awfull gracefull reverence
In his Observers: scorning to devoure
Rich time in acting of the Oratour,


But in strong-sinnowy Arguments, which were
More for the Understanding then the Eare,
Though pleasing both: Students of Innes a Court
T'augment their knowledge making there resort
Beare Record of this Truth; no Supplicant,
So his depending cause bore weight, could want
His count'nance and supportance: where he went
His Circuit too, such generous content
Did's affability to all men win,
As many Eyes and Hearts were fixt on him.
Whens'ere he mounted those Pretorian Stayres
They shrilly eccoed with

So as justly might he be distinguished & personally dignifide with these Titles: The Poormans patron, the Justmans patterne, the Orphā parent, his Countrey's patriot.

poor-mens prayers:

“God blesse thee, and preserve thee for us long,
Were pleasing ayres distilling from each tongue.


No man as yet against him e're could pick
A Quarrell, but a crack-brain'd Lunatick
Or State-distracted Levite, who'd averre
Astræa false, to make him singular.
Whose blasted reputation ever shall
Be valued like himselfe, Apocriphall:
Ech where disgras't where He and goodnesse meet,
“That Calumny may in Oblivion fleet.
Nor is this all; when Portia besought
That those spoke ill of Cato should be brought
Before th' Prætorian, to confesse their crime
And cleare his fame by paying of a fine;
Romes Conscript Fathers held her motion fit,
With gen'rall voyce and vote confirming it.


To Tullianum were they straight convaid,
There to remaine till they their fines had paid.
This Act knew no demurre; downe went their gold,
Which to supply, their Houshold-stuffe was sould,
Their Farmes ingag'd, their persons at command,
Till they discharg'd these Debets out a-hand,
To th' Publique Treasory what first belong'd,
To th' Widdow next whose husband they had wrong'd.
The Flamen, though their Augur, being tride,
Pai'd twice so much as all the rest beside.
Their doome was just; I wish like censure may be,
“To cloze the Morall with his wronged Ladie.
Thus this Sage Patriot by heav'ns command,
Who liv'd to be the Antienst Iudge oth' Land,


Translated hence from this inferiour Vaile

But th'Silver cord is broke, the grinders faile, And he translated from this fable vaile Mounts to that high Prætorian, where true blisse Becomes his Baile, his Judge his Saviour is.


Mounts up to glory with a prosperous saile
Ripe both in yeares and graces: and to prove
That he did never Ostentation love,
He gives direction that no Sermon be
To cloze the Sceane of his mortalitie,
Lest He forth of exuberance of wit
Should speake more to his praise then he held fit.
Nor might his Corpse be coach'd, as others use,
From th' City to his Countrey-Mannor house,
But at Sainct Dunstons neare to Scrieants In
He takes his Grave, where Death surprized him.
So small a Plotte containes so great a Pile
Whose life gave light and honour to our Ile:


What's left of that faire Structure is a gage
Of mans decline and winter of his age.
Which Time shall hold in reverend regard
So long as Bookes are to be sold ith' Yard:
Nor shall our young Justinians need to looke
On any other Title but his Booke,
Where Leafes are Volumes, Volumes Columns be
With Palmes of peace to crowne his memorie.
While these Remaines of thy diviner part
In lines of dust shall tell men what thou art:
Till re-united to thine heav'n-lodg'd Spirit,
They joyntly live, and love, and joy inherit.


EPITAPH.

A rarer Sage ne're Age brought forth,
Richer in fame, love, reall worth,
Freer in heart, milder in Speech,
Apter to learne, fitter to teach,
Gladder to dye, nor in his death
Lesse taken with affected breath:
“Nor did he any Sermon need,
“Who left his life a Book to read.


TO THE LIVING MEMORIE of that Reverend, learned and honest Judge, Sir Richard Hutton KNIGHT:

And late one of his Majesties Justices for the Court of Common Plees at Westminster.

An Elegie.

Ar't gone just Judge? yet e're thou go'st from hence

This was composed the very same morning he dyed.


Receive thy Godsonnes teares in recompence
Of many Blessings thou bestow'd of him;
“To silence goodnesse were an envious sin.
To tell men what thou wer't; what thou hast done,
Were but to give a light unto the Sun.


Were a prompt legist lawlesse to his foe, Hee'd say, “Aquinas never taught him so.—Discessit ab orbe satelles Pauperis; hea clemāt inopes!

While'st thou liv'd here, who did not love to heare

With what an equall hand, impartiall eare
Thou measur'd Justice; regulating Lawes,
“Skales not to weigh the Person but the Cause?
This caused Poor-mens prayers perfume the way,
“There goes the Honest Judge! thus would they say.
Yet did not th' Style of goodnesse make thee proud,
Nor feed vaine beates in thy well temper'd blood:
For Thou, while'st thou didst flourish in this Ile,
Wer't ta'ne with

Those men all goodnesse in their brests compile, Love goodnesse for herselfe not for her Style. Musæ.

love of goodnesse, not of Style.

Nor did thy vertuous parts take here their Stand,
Thy pious heart reach'd forth a bounteous band,
Both which express'd thy charitable nature,
In sowing of thy bread upon the water;


Sowing I well may say, for seene I have
Thy hand more prompt to give, then th' poor to crave,
So free thy Almes was, that as I live
Thy

Non tua tuba sonat, nec insanbor aura coronat, Dextera quod tribuit, lœva referre nequit.

Left hand knew not what thy Right did give.

And now a

Vespera bona, Phoebi corona. ib.

glorious Even h'as crown'd thy day,

In paying Nature what we all must pay,
And at this time, when thou a palme of peace
Didst heare these Warlike Rumours to increase:
When All by th' first of March were marching home,
Thou to thy Mannor-house of Clay art gone.
But hence to thy interment! where I see
The very day fits this Solemnitie
ASHWEDNESDAY! Ashes to ashes turne,
Like precious Treasures closed in an Urne:


Though in their Ceremony different
From that knowne Preparation unto Lent,
So antiently solemniz'd: for in stead
Of Pœnitentiall ashes on the head,
Thy precious Soule so richly beautifide,
Expects thy ashes to be glorifide.
But lo! the place where thou interred art,
Presents new-pensive Objects to my hart:

Sainct Dunstons. Vid. Panarete: Anni. vers. 5.

For neare this Holy ground of thine possest,

A grimmer Hagge then Death did me arrest
Till thy just-judging Eye did rightly scan
My cause, and free'd me from th' Leviathan:
For ne're was man surpriz'd with more deceite,
Nor with more Grace retreved from a Grate.


No more; no more; true teares have drencht my sight,
The Evening crownes the Day:—Just Judge, good night.
------ Terris Astræa reclusit
Astris conspicuam lucem magis, Orbe priorem.

Astræa's Anthem.

Come Astræa, and descend
To partake that Iudges end
Who was styl'd the poore mans friend.


Here a Shrine you need not reare,
We have one of Amber here
Cimented with pitties teare.
Come then deare Astræa, come,
Shippe him to Elysium,
And record what he ha's don:
That his living fame may win
Other Lights to follow him.


UPON THE DEATH OF another Reverend, learned, and judicious Patriot of our Nation;

One no lesse nobly descended, then richly endowed: And One, Whom in the dispensation of Justice, neither price, prayer, nor power could surprize; Passion transport, nor Affection ingage.

Epitaph.

Here lyes a Judge, of whom it may be s'ed,

Obiit Decemb. 16. An. Dom. 1639.


H'as got more ground then e're he purchased


By this seven foot: for he was well content
To keepe that state was left him by descent.
A simple worlding, easily beguil'd
In trusting of his substance with a Child;
A subtile Child, who from his Stygian shore
Had tricks to cosen him and hundreds more.
A numerous Book-man, who from severall places
Could store his pleadings with a thousand Cases,
Which prov'd his Studies were estrang'd from Sloath,
His Leafes not Spider-wov'n, nor known to Moath;
As I've seene some, who shelv'd large volumes by thē,
But knew not what was in them, should you try them.
These take up Law and Learning upon trust,
And with a Foxes taile brush off the dust


From their rare-visited Authors.—Such as these
Account it their prime Theory to get fees.
Whereas this Patriot had an higher aime,
Holding a precious name his chiefest gaine.
He knew his Heart triangular to be,
A faire resemblance of the Trinitie,
And that it could no more be fill'd with mould,
Then a tri-angle by a Circle could.
This, this inlarg'd his intellectuall ayme
To th' place from whence his purest essence came;
Which Contemplation did so much improve him,
While he was Judge, he ey'd a Judge above him.
------ Sic judex judicis astat
Subditus arbitrio.—
Mot. VERNANS AREO, ARENS VIREO.


To the unperioded memory of the Honourable, Richard Mollineux Viscount Mollineux of Mariburg.

A Funerall Teare.

Fate, couldst thou find a more perplexing word
Then to pronounce Death on mine Honour'd Lord?
But since th' ast past thy censure he should dye,
Finde One that may his temp'rature supplye.
So sweetly milde, religiously wise,
So gracefull to all knowing hearts and eyes,
So nobly rich in faculties of mind,
So firme unto his owne, to all so kind;


Shew me one Instance and I will not tax
Fate to deprive the State of Mollinax.
But thou reply'st, it is the fault of Time
To merit few good men, it is not mine.
'Tis true; yet we for tares shed oft more teares
Then for the scattering of our wheaten-eares.
Let's learne our passions then to moderate,
As they reflect upon the publique State:
“For great's the losse, must needs be understood,
“When we lose such as are both great and good.


To the pious memory of that judicious Patriot of his Countrey, Sir Christopher Dalston KNIGHT.

A Friends farewell.

The fabrick of this Building now's pull'd downe,
The higher parted from the lower roome;
The Cover of this structure turn'd to dust,
The Center made a Parlour for the just.
Dull stones are rubbish uselesse for example,
This fit for th' polish'd corners of the Temple:
The price then of this Gem who value can,
But He who now enjoyes it, God and man?


Upon his death.

To some on Earth a quicker death is given,
No course can be too speedy unto heav'n;
In him lies here, this may be verefide,
Who dide to Earth, before on Earth he dide.
He heard his Saviours invitation, Come;
And he no sooner heard him then he run.
“This made him sleight his life, to show his love,
“Having his feet below, his faith above.


PANARETEES TRIVMPH:

OR, HYMENS heavenly Hymne.

Pæana cantat Hymen; taceat lachrymabile Carmen.



The sixt yeares ANNIVERS.

Remove that funerall-pile; now six whole yeares

Have beene the Nursing mothers of my teares.
These rivell'd furrowes of mine aged cheeke
Have writ griefes characters exceeding deepe.
But what's perpetuall cannot mix with earth,
“Joyes must partake with teares, and teares with mirth.


Those carelesse foldings of mine armes must cease
While ayres resounded cares, and cares ay-mees;
While tones were threnes, ech motion of my tongue
The dying accent of a Swan-like song.
These must be closed in her sacred shrine
Whose living beautie, while enstyled mine,
Made me too earthly-blest;—Another rite
Must banish these presentments from my sight;
Yet in their exile shall I still retaine
That Anniversall mem'ry of her Name,
As those declining-earth-resolving flowers
Where wee'r to celebrate these Rites of ours
Shall to my thoughts a Funerall Lecture read,
And in a fresh Brides beauty eye her dead


With such an active sorrow, as her Tombe
Were th' marriage-bed whereto I sought to come.
Yet must this time with Funerall teares dispence,
And with a feagned Solace ravish Sense,
As if it went to entertaine a Guest
Which h'as bene long estranged from my brest.
So have I seene the Sunne his beauty shroud,
And suddenly breake from a sable cloud
With an imperiall splendor, but that beame
Became the true forerunner of a Streame.
So have I seene Plants in a forward Spring
With bloomes and blossomes lively flourishing,
Yet long before th' imbroder'd Spring were done
Those Plants were seer'd, and all their blossoms gone.


So have I seene a glorious Starre appeare,
As if sole Empresse of that Hemispheare,
Darting her twinkling lights, and marching round
Contract her Orbe, and fall upon the ground.
So have I seene a manly spirit fight
With death so long as Oyle afforded light,
Nay smile upon his visitants, and say,
“I hope e're long, my friends, to have the day;
Yet see vaine hopes! before next enter-breath
He proves these were but lightnings 'fore his death.
So I; so my moist eye! which though it seeme
To take the world with a pleasing beame,
And her dis-sorting passions to exile
With the reflexion of a forced smile,


I'm same I was, and must be ever so,
“Woe may put off her weed, no weed her woe.
And yet me thinks 'twere ominous to shed
A Funerall teare before a Nuptiall bed;
This might perplex a Bride, and make her wish
Shee'd never tasted of that painted blisse
So much by Maids affected, but had still
Bene Mistresse of her selfe and her owne will.
Those Vialls then my teare-swolne conduits fill'd
Shall to a pure Elixar be distill'd,
Which well preserv'd may treasur'd fountaines keepe
For those who make a face but cannot weepe.
First those brave spritely Blades, who puff'd with pride
Would in their fathers sadles gladly ride;


Hope of concealed treasures, rich demaines
Have soakt the thirsty channels of their braines
They cannot weepe to die for't: yet they'r knowne
By ribband, Cypers, mourning-hood and gowne:
Which Ornaments of griefe, hows'ere these beare them,
Seem better Mourners farre then those that wear them.
Nor is there hope that these will e're have sense
To grieve, till what their Fathers providence
Which many restlesse nights had scrap't together
Their riot h'as sent packing God knowes whither.
Then, ne're till then, they finde what 'twas to have
A pleasing eye upon a Fathers grave.
To these my late-distreaming eyes shall lend
A legacy of teares, and so befriend


These state-presenting Mourners, none shall gather
But that they sorrow truly for their father
Without enforced passion; though short time
Shall prove those teares were none of theirs but mine.
There be some widdowes too, who stand in need
Of our Conserves of teares to suit their weed,
That seeming weed of Sorrow: these belye
Their sable habits with a teare-forc'd eye:
And like those brave Ægyptian modest Dames
Whose chaste-bequeathed brests such love inflames,
As when their breathlesse husbands buried be
They strive which may have the precedencie
To be interred with them: So doe these
With unamated courage strongly prease


Towards their Husbands graves: where they appeare
All Niobees; clasping the fatall Beare
With an affected zeale; and to ingrave
More Sceanes of sorrow leape into his Grave
As if they'd be enshrin'd (though nought lesse ment)
In the cold bosome of that Monument.
Yet h'as not one poor worme undone a stitch
Of his fresh-funerall Shroud; no, not that pitch
Which seer'd his Coffin flaw'd; no, nor one flower
Which beautifide his Hearse decay'd in power;
No, nor that late provision which should
Refresh his formall Mourners, scarcely cold
Till her decreasing griefes suggest unto her
An other hopefull, youthfull, active wooer


To raise her a new progeny; which done
She holds joyes past compar'd with joyes to come
Fall short in estimate: She wonders much
How any womans passion should be such
As to imbrace an Husband that is dead,
When th' world's so well supplide, it can bestead
Her Choice of such a choice selected one
'Twere madnesse to lament for him that's gone.
To these my teares I zealously bequeath,
To shed some seeming streamlings at the death
Of their expired Husbands; that their sorrow
May shew it selfe essentiall, though it borrow
Juice from my eyes, which when Time shall restraine
I looke my teares shall be restor'd againe.


The profuse Gallant too, who lately sped
Of a full fortunes with a loathed bed
Must share in my teare-tribute to weepe o're her,
And wish (vaine wish) that he had dyde before her.
Meane time, on choicer stuffe his love he sets,
Stepping into a bed of Violets
In stead of's icy Consort, who is gone
To take possession of her longest home.
Yet must he feagne a teare, and force a sigh,
And wish his dissolution to be nigh
To gull his weake Spectators with a seeming
Of being what was least of all his meaning.
To fit his sorrow then with fresh supply,
He may derive from my distilling eye


A numorous store; yet would I have him come
When he h'as done (as hee'l have quickly done)
To render me, and that without delay,
What I have lent, and he is bound to pay.
Nor would I have him make the world believe
While he so passionately seemes to grieve,
That these distreaming rivolets arise
From any other fountaine then mine eyes.
Now some will aske why my decaying time
Should to such solemne nuptiall rites incline?
Whereto I answer, no licentious fire
Inflam'd my sprinkling Organs with desire,
No glowing heat of fancy did I feele,
Unto my --- I freely may appeale.


These were unfitting motives to weake Sense,
Though Age must render age benevolence
When time, place, spirit may such acts admit
With equall willing minds to second it.
No, my affection never tooke delight
Ith' light embraces of a marriage night,
Nor to make sacred rites such tempting lures
To sate th' desire without more inward cures.
For had these bene mine ends, my constant ayme
Had long since fixt upon more youthfull game.
Nor did I want in number to supply
The curious choice of loves-attractive eye,
Which may appeare by those selecter lines
My widdow Muse compos'd in former times.


True, sayes her Cash-keeper, but in the third place.

“Four wenches be there who my love would win,

“And stick as close as Ticks unto my skin;
“The first a widdow worth

True, sayes her Cash-keeper, but in the third place.

six thousand pound,

“But my Hopes say, more thousands may be found;
“The next as nimble as the mountaine Ree,
“But all her fortunes are not worth a stroe;
“The third a wanton witty worldly Cricket,
“But too too many Cubbs have sprung her wicket;
“The fourth of lovely hue and lively quicknesse,
“For th' Trickle-bed h'as cured her green-sicknesse,
“A Damsell fresh as is the flower in May,
“But her pure zeale impurer acts display:
“Advise me which to chuse, and I'le have at her,
“One must I have, more is an hanging matter.


And these were true, as I may hope for life,
Yet could no beauty stamp the style of wife
In my affection: for I found no Spouse
Could cheere my fancy like mine inner house:
Which to adorne with vessels of choice grace,
I made my Grove my sole-retiring place.
Where in a sacred melancholy I
Red in each Creature such variety
As I perceiv'd the very lowest plant
Might read a lecture to the ignorant
To make him rightly learn'd: No Bird ith' Aire
But sung her morning thankfull chantelere.
Which made me blush to hear such hymns from these,
And I, ungratefull I, to hold my peace.


This 'twas that made me seriously to marke
The various warblings of the early Larke,
With what a winged speed she made resort
To joyne in consort with the heav'nly Court.
The Silke-worme I observ'd too, how she sought
Forth of those threeds she from her bowels wrought
To deck delicious man; how wondrously
Her silk-web spun, she turn'd a Butterfly.
Againe, I turn'd me to a desert cave
Matted with mosse like to an antient Grave,
Wherein I found a subject of that sense
As it exceeded humane providence;
A brisled Hedge-hogge, who retaines a forme
Of storing in a calme against a storme.


These were the Books I red: for teares had so
Surpriz'd my dim eyes with an overflow,
As to bestow my sight, I held it better
Upon a living then a dying letter.
Now you will wonder how I should depart
From this condition which had seaz'd my hart,
And take me to the world which I'd forgone
Since the deprivall of my dearest One.
'Tis true, you well may wonder, yet I finde
Some maine inducements to divert the minde
From such amazement; heare me, I'l be briefe,
And amongst many reasons call the chiefe.
I had some little Children for whose care
A native love injoyn'd me to prepare;


Tender they were in yares as in my love,
But, 'las, hows'ere their Non-age might approve
My constant zeale, so weak was my intent,
I could not perfect what my purpose ment.
A Father though he lov's posterity
Cannot play Mother in a family,
Nor dandle a young infant, nor bestow
Such easie kisses as a Nurse can doe.
No; nor ith' Needle, nor in any Art
Expresse himselfe so formally expert
As a remisser temper can apply,
Besides some offices necessity
Injoyne them to performe: Nor is this all,
No Solemnizer of a Funerall


But having cloz'd the period of his sorrow,
His late-expired teares may solace borrow
Of some calme interbreaths, and learne to smile,
Though it be farre from th' heart, and so beguile
A pensive houre:—Oh but a widdows state
Preserv'd from blemish do'es participate
A gracious freedom! and you know we read
“Honour a widdow that is so indeed.
Yet Eve when she was made of Adams bone,
God held't not meet that man should be alone,
And therefore rais'd him Helpe, that joyn'd together
One heart might tender mutuall joy to either.
In this my griefe-surprized heart was needing,
To cheere my selfe and for my childrens breeding:


Whose choice improvement was my highest ayme
Next th' honour of his Name from whom I came.
Breeding, will some object, who can expect
From a Step-dame whose fancie's disrespect,
Best favours frownes, content meere discontent,
And when most mov'd, most in her Element?
'Tis true there are some such, whose onely song
Is canting fury with a glibbry tongue,
Bearding their easie husbands, and appeare
Rampants till they the good mans bretches weare:
Which purchase got, with an imperious brow
They glory in the title of a shrow,
And lest their Husbands should their Lectures misse,
“No messe serv'd up without a Chafindish.


And these indeed we Step-dames well may call,
But shee's none such that I have matcht withall.
For those who are her husbands children knowne,
She values them more then they were her owne.
Nor is't a curious dresse or luscious fare
That work effects upon her matron care;
What we account to be the precioust gem
That can adorne a civile Citizen
Makes her complete; it is a modest eye,
That wooes with no straid lookes the passer by;
Her Senses are all inward, which divine
She h'as no thought, save heaven, she styles not mine.
She dis-esteemes hand-basket Citizins
Who make their wicker baskets shroud their sins.


Pure-elevated eyes who make a show
Of doing that they never ment to doe
Are Bug-beares to her zeale; which loves to feed
Th' oyle of devotion as it is in deed.
The Church gives her a Lesson; and her scorne
Is to be taught in any other forme.
For though, where those grand Covenanters be,
She took the place of her Nativitie,
Their odious projects she does so despise
As with her Needle shee'd pick out their eyes
For want of stronger Armour, to expresse
That loyall love which she did still professe
To Prince and Countrey: this 'twas made me bring
That Scottish posie to our Nuptiall ring:


“Thus Twede and Tyne our loyall loves combine,
“Which Twedish factions never shall untwine.
O what a virile Spirit have I seene
My Panthea show! what noble dis-esteeme
To her zeale-madded Natives, when she heard
How they were palisado'd, how prepar'd,
How desperately gag'd to such a vow
As split their faith, and wrought their ruine too!
“What will these ne're have done, thus would she say,
“Must Subjects soveraignize, and Kings obey?

Calliopees expostulation with the Calidonian Nation.


“Must a blind Zeale meerly compos'd of smoake
“Delude a Kingdome with an holy cloake?
“Must those fall short of their allegeance
“Whom Princes grace and favour did advance?


“Must we with civile Armes uncivilely
“Shed blood, and styl't an Act of piety!
“Are all turn'd High-landers? must this debate
“Extend unto an universall State?
“H'as my deare Countrey flourished till now
“With her light zeale to work her overthrow?
“For love sake leave, leave these intestine warres,
“Succeeding times will sorrow for their scarres.
“They cannot chuse but such impressions make,
“As th' motion of them may the Fabrick shake.
“If good Plants grow among you, cheere them still,
“But thrive they cannot till you prune the ill.
“Those generous Graffs then labour so to nourish,
“That in despite of wild ones they may flourish.


“Let not th' ambition of a phrenticks head
“Suffer one drop of loyall blood be shed;
“It is too precious, if you rightly knew
“With what a sacred cement, holy glue
“You'r mutually combin'd: oh should you see
“Those first prints of your Princes infancie,
“You cannot chuse but tax your insolence
“To be his foe who tooke his birth from thence!
“Admire his Princely clemency, whose will
“Had a desire to spare where he might spill.
“Long h'as his white flagge freely bene displaid,
“O let not your submission be delaid,
“Lest you to ill convert apparent good,
“And make a white flagge turne a flagge of blood!


“What though the thanklesse Ioy should entwine
“The spreading spurges of the weeping Vine,
“And stick so close unto her seered stem
“Till she h'as suckt the juice that nourish'd them,
“Must she your Embleme be? oh doe not so,
“These Acts worke mainly for your overthrow.
“You'r Natives and his Subjects, which should draw
“From you a zealous love and loyall aw.
“Let it be neuer said that th' Commonweale
“Of Scotland perish'd by pretensive Zeale;
“It will be such a blemish, such a scorne,
“It may impeach the Babe that's yet unborne
“When he shall heare (though guiltlesse he of that)
“Himselfe unhappy call'd a Traitors brat.


“If for your selves then you will not prove true,
“Yet for those Branches may descend from you,
“Retaine your vow'd allegeance, and returne
“Before you see one peering Beacon burne.
“Which to the sad Spectator being once showne
“I feare me much will not be quench'd so soone:
“Lay downe your Armes in time then; 'tis too late
“When you heare Fury knocking at your gate;
“While Foes and Famine close you so about
“As Feare gets in, but nothing can get out.
“Trust me, your case presageth nought but losse,
“And that which you most hate, your fate, a Crosse;
“Disloyall aymes must have disgracefull ends,
“Nor can the hope of Favorites or Friends


“Divert that Fate: for what heavens hand h'as writ
“Is not in power of man to cancell it.
“Much have I seene, yet seldom seene I have
“Ambition goe gray-headed to her grave:
“That your gray haires may then with honour goe
“Unto that Earth we all are borne unto,
“Renounce that brain-sick oath you there have made;
“That Oath's unjust by which your Faith's betraid.
“This your owne Native wisheth; crown her wish,
“Her vowes shall pay their tribute for your blisse.
Nor doth it lesse her disposition please
T'enjoy a private then a publick peace;
Her House-hold sounds conformity: no jarres
Breath civile factions or intestine warres


In her calme Family: where some obey,
Others command without imperious sway.
None glory in precedency, nor stand
In opposition of a just command.
Againe, if ought appeare irregular,
She shewes herselfe no rigid Censurer:
Her courteous Curtaine Lectures they are such
They leave impressions with so sweet a tutch
In apprehensive fancies, clozing so
They make men good whether they will or no.
She yeelds preeminence unto her Mate,
And in this sort seemes to expostulate.
“Let't not offend you, Sir, if I impart
“The weake expressions of a loyall heart.


“The world shall see that I'le performe my vow,
“Where you are Caius I am Caia too.
“As we are then united, heare me speake,
“Whose aymes nought more then your improvement seeke:
“Fix on your ripe experience which came
“Not onely from th' Survey of Bookes but Man.
“Unseason'd houres should challenge no such share
“In one who weares Times Embleme in his haire.
“That English Proverb in disgrace was made,
“That a gray head should have the greenest blade.
“Your actions should be postures to the rest
“Who are but man-like monsters at the best,
“While they decline from what is reall good,
“And staine the tincture of a vertuous blood


“With ayry vapours, which no sooner see
“The glorious Sunne then they dispersed be.
“Reflect on these; let not an houre of time
“Want the dimension of a precious line.
“Our Warfare's passing short, our Conquest great,
“'Tis shame for reverend age to make retreat
“Or yeeld one foot of ground, or weakly crave
“A Parly when one foot is in the Grave.
“It sounds not well that a light-youthfull rage
“Should claime acquaintance on decrepit age.
“An Old-mans houres should princely patterns give
“To younger yeares, and teach them how to live.
“Yet, Sir, misconster not my words I pray,
“Your parts doe please us, though your haires be gray;


“No aged wrinkle see I in your brow
“Which with my soule I beare not reverence to;
“No houre so tedious as when you'r from home,
“No newes so cheerfull as to heare you'r come.
“Begot of fancy my embraces be,
“Which scorne to cloze with any one but thee.
“O let me then enjoy what weeke by weeke
“My six yeares widdowhood did solely seeke!
“Let not a Nights distemper e're divide
“My deare Musæus from his Panthea's side.
“But if he doe, all passion I'le exile,
“And tax his errour with a pleasing smile.
“Such shall my Lecture be, which if it move
“I live, if not, I cannot leave my love:


“For such effects h'as true affection wrought,
“T'enjoy thy selfe is all, all else is nought.
Now tell me, are not these such sweet regreetes
They'd weane a profest Lecher from the sheets
Of an enchanting Syren? Could one teare
Droppe from a disposition that's so cleare
From all dissembled passion, and depart
Without a deepe impression in the heart?
Could vowels lose their life, and turne to ayre
That were pronounc'd by one so good and faire?
No, no; I hold no Eloquence so strong
As when it falls from a calme Womans tongue.
A Traveller may by experience finde
That Sunne-beames are more violent then the Winde.


These pierce the pores, and by their powerfull heat
Resolve his native moisture to a sweat.
Meane time, though Windes with boundlesse fury blow,
They doe not show their active motion so
As those reflecting beamlings: whence collect
“Calme ayres produce the soveraign'st effect.
Nor doe I speake this, any one should tell her,
Nor doe I praise her with a minde to sell her.
For there's no earthly treasure that I see
Can counterveile so rich a price as she:
But to praise goodnesse in a vertuous Mate
May others move in time to imitate
Whats'ere they gracefull in another read,
And in those steps religiously to tread.


This have I in a faire Theatre seene
By a rare Curtezan of rich esteeme
Fully confirm'd: who hearing one commend
The chast-devoted life and vertuous end
Of an heroick Lady, who o'rethrowne
Could not by him who conquer'd her, be won
To his imbraces, but as't did become her,
Contemned life, for to preserve her honour.
“O, quoth this female hearer, that I might
“Be made so happy as enjoy the sight
“Of such a None-such: I should scorne these tyres
“(Times toyes) and cloath me with her chast desires,
“And th' patterne of her goodnesse so apply,
“As in her Service I would live and dye.


This gravell'd all the Actors; but her hart
What e're they did, could not forget her Part
Which she so well perform'd, as that same night
This Curtezan became a Convertite.
Some other graces I could feature too,
Which to a judgement give a beauteous show
Because they have no varnish to adorne
Their sweet condition with a borrow'd forme.
And trust me, in such colours I'de portray them
As they should need no Herald to display them,
Were it not that so many antient Dames
Whose very yeares should tender their good names,
Seeing her gracefull vertues so approv'd
And by herselfe improv'd, and therefore lov'd,


Might hold their actions blemish'd, when they heare
So pure a light fixt in a lower Spheare.
First, youthfull widdowes, I appeale to you,
Who, loth to lose th' benevolence that's due,
Upon your Second marriage, cry alas—!
“O what a brave Blade my first Husband was!
“How pliable to me at bed and boord,
“How active in his worke, true to his word!
“What prettie toyes (such was his loving care)
“He would have brought me home from every Faire!
“The first ripe Cherry that was to be sold,
“Could it have purchas'd bene with weight of gold
“Had bene presented me: were Pease-cods deare?
“They had bene mine ith' non-age of the yeare.


“No gossip feast, but I might be invited,
“Where though I revell'd till I was benighted,
“Good man, he would sit up, till I came in,
“And with sweet language my affection win.
“If I but frown'd, hee'd weepe like any Child,
“And fast from meat till he was reconcil'd.
“No forraigne fashion, cost it ne're so much,
“But I must have't, his fancy it was such;
“I had mine owne will too in every thing,
“Which to that height of spirit did me bring,
“As what I knew for best I would not doe,
“Because my Husband had a mind thereto:
“So as I often alter'd my intent
“Because he wish'd me doe that which I ment.


“An agile Husband too, to crowne my wish,
“But I find no such activenesse in this.
“His spirit resteth onely in command,
“His soveraignty to have the upper hand;
“But since to be my head it is his happe,
“I vow, that to that head I'le be the cappe.
“To temper then a nature that's so curst,
“Wee'l strive who shall enjoy the Buckler first.
But cheerfull is my Panthea, and desires
To feed her fancy with diviner fires.
It cannot her sweet disposition please
To twit her last Choice with abilities
Of her first Husband: Such discourse, sayes she,
Tasts more of lightnesse then of modestie.


Her actions are all noble, and her speech
So full of gravity, as it may teach
The antient'st morall Dame, how to behave
Herselfe both for the World and the Grave.
Admit she be no Helena of Greece,
Whose beauty wrought that tragicall increase
Of Princely Funeralls: it was my care
To set my fancy on an inward-faire,
Whose never-fading Lillies might survive
The richest piece of beauty that's alive;
And in her passage hence more sweetnesse breath,
Then thousand Hero's when surpriz'd by death.
For tell me what's this skin-deepe beautie worth
When her diviner spirit is let forth


T'enjoy her freedome! Where are then those Starres
Whose love-attractive lights commenc'd such warres
With all the Senses! Sunke to such dark formes
As they are Cranies made to harbour Wormes.
Where those enazur'd brests which did supply
With luscious Objects loves-enamour'd eye!
Teats for those slimy wormlings now to pull
Which wanton fancie used once to cull.
Where that aspiring front, that mount of grace,
That dimpled chin, that modell of a face
More pure then Cynthia's? nay, ev'ry lim
Where fancie bath'd her liqu'rish senses in?
All husht in Earth: no motion to be found
Unlesse by worme-sprouts shaken in the ground.


This outward faire then it is little worth,
Since it receives her tincture from the earth,
Whereto it must by native course returne,
And so enshrine her beautie in an Urne.
'Las poore Vermillion Earth! how is that state
Which shew'd such braving postures in her gate
Resolv'd to mouldred dust? where every graine
Proves to the world, that the world is vaine.
Give me that wench (and I have such an One)
No daintie Leda, nor no homely Jone,
Where any one may read each day oth' weeke
“Some morall-mortall Lecture in her Cheeke.
Where wrinkles write deepe furrowes in her face,
While ev'ry rivell do'es afford a grace


To her beseeming age: that, should we lack
Climact'rick yeares within an Almanack,
Her rev'rend brow might pencile out that want
And find an Errand for Deaths Pursevant.
Pray then resolve me, may she not become
A Sibyl-Sister of our

Meaning his Espousall with the Heliconian Muse to whose Hyminæall honour He addresseth this heavenly hymn.

Hellicon,

Who can contract her browes without a loure,
Weare ages liv'rie, and ne're looke soure?
Enjoy her Husband with a just delight,
And with discretion coole her appetite?
Feed her affection with the least of Sense,
And make her wrinkles gaine a reverence?
Live chast to him she loves, and to that line
Confine those rich dimensions of her time?


Yes; she or none! and she it is or none
Whom I'm resolv'd to set my love upon.
That since my Panarete lives in blisse,
My HYMENS heavenly Hymne may cloze with this.
FINIS.


Upon this Poem.

Some will collect from hence (they cannot chuse)
That I'm espous'd; so am I to my Muse.
Whose presence yeelds such solace to my life,
I would not change with OVERBERIE'S wife.
Toyes, Tyres and Dressings take not her desires,
She feeds her fancie with diviner fires;
Which so enliven me when I turne to her,
“Though I enjoy her, night by night I woo her.
My Hymenæall-Heav'nly Hymne is this,
Christ Jesus is my Spouse, and I am his.
That MUSE which is not dedicate to Him
“Breakes her First faith, and soiles her Bed with sin.


Astræa's Shrine.

To those who cherish Vertue, or retaine
The style of reall good, or scorne to staine
Astræa's Liv'ry; or fancy that
Which the High Court of Honour levells at,
Or to their Countreys and their owne behoofe
Prove in the Scale Parl'amentary proofe;
Who guild not Pietie with meere pretence,
Nor render judgement 'gainst their conscience;
Weare their Prætorian Scarlet till't wax old,
And value Justice more then Ophir-gold;
Who feare no Writs of Ease, but take delight
To doe the Widdow and the Orphan right,
Or store the Almes-basket, or provide
For such as have no Earthly Helpes beside,
Or purchase poormens prayers, or leave their Heires
Seaz'd lesse of acres then religious cares,
Or with a pure and undefiled Zeale
Disturbe not peace of Church nor Commonweale;
Or when they sit on Seats of Justice tremble,
Remembring on those Thrones whom they resemble:
To those this aged Shrine we reared have,
Will be a Lampe to light them to their Grave,
From whence such precious Odours shall take breath,
As may perfume their Ashes after death.