University of Virginia Library

[Here on this Figure Cast a Glance.]

Here on this Figure Cast a Glance.
But so as if it were by Chance.
Your eyes not fixt they must not stay.
Since this like Shadowes to the Day
It only represent's; for Still,
Her Beuty's found beyond the Skill
Of the best Paynter, to Imbrace,
Those lovely Lines within her face,
View her Soul's Picture. Judgment, witt,
Then read those Lines which Shee hath writt,
By Peancy's Pencill drawne alone
Which Peece but Shee, Can justly owne.

THE DUKE of NEWCASTLE UPON ALL THE WORKS OF HIS DUCHESS.

THE PREFACE.

SEVERAL Feigned Stories IN VERSE.

The First BOOK.

Readers , my Works do not seem (in my Mind)
So bad as you make them, if Faults you find:
For if you find much Fault, you would not spare
Your ridgid Censures, but their Faults declare.
For I perceive the World is evil bent,
Judging the worst of that which was well meant.
When they a word to Wantonness can wrest,
They'l be well-pleas'd, and often at it jest:
When every foolish Tongue with words can play,
And turn good sense, with words, an evil way.
But at my Writings let them do their worst,
And for their pains with Ignorance be curst.
In VVinter cold, a Company was met,
Both Men and VVomen by the Fire were set;
At last they did agree (to pass the time)
That every one should tell a Tale in Ryme.
The VVomen said, VVe no true Measures know;
Nor do our Rhymes in even Numbers go.
Why, said the Men, All Women's Tongues are free
To speak both out of time, and foolishly.
And, drawing Lots, the Chance fell on a Man,
Who having spit and blown his Nose, began:

Of the Mournful Widow.

After the Man, a Woman did begin
To tell her Tale; and thus she entred in.

A Description of Diverted Grief.

Another Man, to answer what she told,
Began to tell, and did his Tale unfold.

The Feminine Description.

A Woman said, This Tale I will requite,
To vindicate our Sex which you did slight.
A Man in love was with a Lady fair,
And for her sake would curl, perfume his Hair.
Professions thousands unto her did make,
And swore for her a Pilgrimage would take.
I swear, said he, Truth shall for me be bound,
Constant to be, whilst Life in me is found.
With all his Rivals he would Quarrels make;
In Duels fought he often for her sake.
It chanc'd this Lady sick was, like to dye
Of the Small-Pox, Beauty's great Enemy.
When she was well, her Beauty decay'd quite,
He did forsake her, and her Friendship slight;
Excuses made, her did not often see,
Then asked leave a Traveller to be.
And thus, poor Lady, when her Beauty's gone,
Without her Lover she may sit alone.
Then was the third Man's turn, his Tale to tell,
Which to his Company he fitted well.

A Description of Constancy.

There was a Noble Man that had a VVife
Young, Fair, and Virtuous; yet of so short life,
That after she had married been a year,
A Daughter's born, which Daughter cost her deer;
No sooner born, the Mother laid in bed,
Before her Lord could come, his VVife was dead;
Where, at the sight, he did not tear his Hair,
Nor beat his Breast, nor sigh, nor shed a Tear;
Nor buried her in state, as many do,
And with that Funeral-Charge a new Wife wo:
But silently he laid her in a Tomb,
Where, by her side, he meant to have a Room:
For by no other side he meant to lye,
In Life and Death to keep her company.
The whilst he of his Daughter care did take,
And fond he was ev'n for his dear VVife's sake:
But Grief upon his Spirits had got hold,
Consum'd him more than Age, that makes Men old.
His Flesh did waste, his Manly Strength grew weak;
His Face grew pale, and faintly did he speak:
As most that in a deep Consumption are,
Where Hectick-Fevers do with Life make warr:
And though he joy'd he had not long to live,
Yet for to leave his Daughter young, did grieve;
For he no Kindred had to take a care
Of his young Child, and Strangers he did fear
They would neglect their Charge, not see her bred
According to her Birth, when he was dead;
Or rob her of her Wealth, or else would fell
Her to a Husband might not use her well:
Or else (by Servants brib'd) might her betray
With some mean Man, and so to run away.
These cares of his, his Mind did much torment,
And her Ill Fortune to his Thoughts present.
At last he did conclude, If any be
True, Just, and full of Generosity,
They're such as are like to the Gods on high,
As Powerful Princes, and Dread Majesty.
The Soveraign was dead, but left to reign
His Widowed-Queen, whose Prudence did maintain
The Government, though Forreign Warrs she had,
Which was a Charge, and oft-times made her sad.
This Noble-man sent to the Queen to crave,
That she upon his Child would pity have,
To take her to the Court, there to be bred,
That none might wrong her after he was dead.
The Queen most willingly his Suit did sign,
And so in Peace his Soul he did resign.
This Lady soon did to the Court repair,
Where she was bred with tender Love and Care;
And Youth, that's bred in Courts, may wisest be,
Because they more do hear, and more do see
Than other Children that are bred obscure,
Because the Senses are best Tutors sure.
But Nature in this Maid had done her part,
And in her frame had shew'd her curious Art;
Compos'd her every way, Body and Mind,
Of best Extracts that were to form Mankind:
All which she gave to Time for to distill,
And of the subtil'st Spirits the Soul to fill;
As Reason, Wit, and Judgment; and to take
The solid'st part the Body for to make.
For though that Nature all her works shapes out,
Yet Time doth give strength, length, and breadth about.
And as her Person grew in stature tall,
And that her Beauty did encrease withall;
So did affection in her Heart grow high,
Which there was planted in her Infancy.
There was a Subject, Prince within the Land,
Although but young, the Army did command:
He being chose for Birth, Wealth, Valour, Wit,
And Prudence, for to lead and martial it;
The whilst his Father did the Queen assist
To manage State-affairs, as knowing best
The Kingdom's Constitutions, Natures bad
Of Common-People, who are sometimes mad,
And wildly in Distempers, Ruins bring;
For most Rebellions from the Commons spring.
But he so just and loyally did serve
His Queen and Countrey, as he did preserve
Himself within her Favour, and her Love,
As great Respect, and honour'd Praise did prove;
And in the Warrs his Son such Fame did get,
That in Fame's Chariot he triumphant set.
For he was Valiant, and of Nature free,
Courteous, and full of Generosity:
His VVit was quick, yet so as to delight,
Not for to cross, or in Disputes to fight:
For gallant Sword-men that do fight in warr,
Do never use with Tongues to brawl and jarr.
He was exact in Body and in Mind,
For no Defects in either could you find.
The Queen, that had a Neece both young and fair,
Did strive to match her to this Prince, and Heir
Of all his Father's VVealth, who had such store,
As all the Nobles else did seem but poor:
And the young Princess lik'd so well the choice,
That thoughts of marrying him did her rejoice:
And through her Eyes such Messages Love sent,
On smiling-rays and posting-glances went.
The other Lady did hear the Report,
For every one did talk of it in Court:
Besides, she saw his Person still attend
Upon the Princess, and did Presents send:
And every day to visit her did go,
As being commanded by his Father so.
At which she sad and melancholy grew;
Yet her Disease not thorowly she knew.
Like as a Plant, that from the Earth doth spring,
Sprouts high, before a full-blown Flower it bring.
So did her Love in Bud obscurely lye,
Not any one as yet did it descry:
Nor did the Prince the least affection find,
She being reserv'd in action, and in mind.
Sober she was, and of a bashful look,
Of but few words; yet she good notice took,
And much observ'd, for Love hath a quick Eye,
And often by her Countenance doth spy
The hidden Thoughts, that the Tongue dare not tell;
For in the Mind obscurity doth dwell.
But yet she did espy something lay cross
To his Desires, but guess'd not what it was;
But griev'd that any thing should him displease:
For those that love, do wish their Lov'd much ease:
Nay, so much ease, they Torments would endure,
If these, for those they love, might good procure.
But she grew restless, and her Thoughts did run
About him, as about the VVorld, the Sun:
For he was her sole VVorld, and wish'd her Love
Had influence, as Planets from above,
To order his affections, and to bring
From several Causes, one Effect to spring;
And the Effect, that he might love her so,
As love her best, or at least he might know
How well she lov'd him; for she wish'd no more
Than love for love, as Saints which do adore
The Gods in Heaven, whose love is wholly pure,
And nothing can of drossy flesh endure.
At last she and her Thoughts in Councel sate,
What was best to be done, or this, or that:
They all agree, that she her Love should own,
Since innocent and pure, and make it known
By her Epistles, and her Pen to write
What her pure Heart did dictate and indite:
No forfeit of her Modesty, because
She had no Ends, but only Virtuous Laws.
Then took she Pen and Paper, and her Wit
Did tell her Love the truth; and thus she writ:
Sir, You may wonder much that I do send
This Letter, which by Love doth recommend
It self and suit unto your judging-ear,
And that it was not stopt by bashful fear:
But let me tell you, This pure Love of mine
Is built on Virtue, not on base Design.
It hath no dross, nor proudly doth aspire;
A Flame inkindled by immac'late Fire,
Which I to th' Altar of your Merits bring,
From whence the Flame to Heaven high may spring.
Your glorious Fame within my Heart, though young,
Did plant a Slip of Honour, from whence sprung
Pure Love, and Chast Desires; for I do crave,
Only within your Heart a place to have.
I do not plead, hoping to be your Wife,
Nor 'twixt you and your Mistress to breed strife;
Or wish I that her Love you should forsake,
Or unto me a Courtly Friendship make:
But only, when I'm dead, you would inshrine
Within your Memory, this Love of mine;
Which Love to all the World I may proclame
Without a blush, or check, or spotted-fame:
'Tis not your Person I do so admire,
Nor yet your Wealth or Titles I desire:
But your Heroick Soul, and Generous Mind,
Your Affability and Nature kind;
Your honest Heart, where Justice still doth raign;
Your prudent Thoughts, and a well-temper'd Brain;
Your helping Hand, and your industrious Life,
Not to make broils, but to decide all strife;
And to advance all those are in distress,
To help the weak, and those are powerless;
For which my Heart and Life to Love is bound,
And every thought of you with Honour crown'd.
These are not feigning Lines that here I write,
But Truths as clear and pure as Heaven's Light.
Nor is it Impudence to let you know,
Love of your Virtues in my Soul doth grow.
Her Love thus innocent she did enroll,
Which was the pure Platonick of her Soul:
Though in black Characters the Envious may
Call the sense clear, as is the Morning's day;
And every word appear unto the sight,
To make her smoother Paper yet more white.
Thus she infolded Honour, and more Truth,
Than ever yet was known in Female-youth.
Blush-colour'd Silk her Letter then did bind,
For to express how modest was her Mind:
And Virgins Wax did close it with her Seal:
Yet did that Letter all her Love reveal.
Then to her Nurse's Husband she did trust
These loving Lines, knowing him faithful, just
To all her Family; he obey'd her will,
And would have done, no doubt, though't had been ill:
For his Obedience never ask'd the cause;
Nor was he Casuist in Divine Laws,
But faithful and most trusty: so was sent
With this most Sacred Letter; then he went.
In the mean time that she her Letter sent,
The Prince to her a Letter did present
By a Servant, in whom he put much trust,
As finding him both dextrous, prudent, just
In all Employments; he this Letter brought,
Which 'mongst this Lady's Thoughts much wonder wrought;
Even so much, as she could not believe,
But thought he did mistake, and did conceive
She was the Princess. Whereupon, said she,
I doubt this Letter was not writ to me.
But he confirm'd, to her that it was writ.
She to her Closet went, and open'd it:
With trembling hands the VVaxen Seal she broke,
And what he writ, with a faint Voice thus spoke:
Fairest of all your Sex, for so you are
Unto all others; as a Blazing-Starr,
VVhich shews it self, and to the VVorld appears
As a great VVonder once in many years;
And never comes, but doth portend on Earth
Either the fall of Princes, or their Birth.
O let your influence only at me aim,
Not for to work my Overthrow, or Fame;
But Love, to make me happy all my life;
Then yeeld your self to be my Virtuous VVife.
But if you (this Request) to me deny,
The Gods, I hope, will grant me soon to dye.
She, when she this had read, was in a maze,
And senslesly did on the Letter gaze;
By which her Spirits discomposed were,
In quarrelling-disputes, 'twixt Hope and Fear.
At last Hope got the better, then did they
Triumph with joy, and in her Heart did play.
For when the Spirits mutually agree,
Both in the Eyes and Heart they dancing be.
Then to the Gentleman that came, she went,
And told him civilly that she had sent
Unto the Prince, and that she could not fit
So well an Answer to return as yet.
The Prince as Melancholy sate alone,
But all the while his Mistress thought upon:
Staid for the Messenger's return; for he,
Till answer came, refus'd all Company.
At last one of his Pages to him ran,
To tell him, Without was an ancient Man
That would not be deny'd, for speak he must
Unto the Prince, or else must break his trust
He was in charge with; and rather than so,
Would venture life, before he back would go,
And not his Message to the Prince to tell.
Whereat the Prince, liking his Courage well,
Sent for him, who came with Humility,
The Letter gave upon his bended knee.
The Prince the Letter read, and pleased so,
As by his smiling-countenance did show;
Which made all Cloudy Thoughts disperse, & clears
His Mind, as in dark days when Sun appears.
Sure, said the Prince, the Gods our Loves decree,
And in our Unions they do all agree:
They joyn our Hearts in one, our Souls so mix,
As if eternally in Heaven would fix.
Then soon he (all delays for to prevent)
Another Letter writ; which to her sent
In answer of her own; this Letter gave
Unto her Foster-Nurse, who was as grave
As old bald Father Time, of Courage stout,
A Rustick plainness, and not eas'ly out
Of countenance; trusty to be employ'd,
And in her Lady's service would have dy'd.
The Prince commended her Fidelity,
And pleas'd he was at her blunt Quality:
But with the Letter quickly did return,
(For she, though old, yet every step did run)
And then the Letter which the Prince had sent,
She to her Lady did in mirth present;
Who then the Letter broke with joyful speed,
And to her Foster-Nurse she did it read:
Sweetest, You have exprest your Love to me
With so much plainness and sincerity;
And yet your stile severely have you writ,
And rul'd your Lines with a Commanding-wit:
Heroick Flourishes your Pen doth draw,
Or executes as in a Martial-Law.
Then solemnly doth march in Mourning-trail,
And melancholy words all hopes do vail.
As Golden dust on written lines strewn were,
Your written lines seem sprinkled with a Tear;
As by the Heat of Passion spread about,
For fear that Cruelty should blot it out.
But let me tell you, That my love is such,
As never Lover loved half so much,
And with so fervent Zeal, and purest Flame,
Nay, something above Love, that wants a Name
For to express it; like to Gods on high:
For, who can comprehend a Deity?
And though I honour all your Sex, yet my
Having another Mistress, I deny,
Besides your self; and though I do obey
To visit the fair Princess, nothing say
Concerning Love, nor yet Professions make,
As common Lovers, promise for her sake
Wonders; and yet my Life to her will give
To do her service: but whilst I do live,
My Heart and Soul is yours; and when I dye,
Still will my Soul keep yours in company:
Though by Honour my active life is bound
Unto your Sex, you only will be found
Within my Heart, and only Love to be,
From whence my Brain doth Copies take of thee:
On which my Soul doth view with much delight,
Because the Soul sees not with vulgar sight:
For Souls do see, not as the Senses do,
But as transparent Glass, the Minds quite through:
Or rather as the Gods see all that's past,
Present, or what's to come, or the World vast;
Or what can be, all unto them is known;
And so are Souls to one another shown:
And if our Souls do equally agree,
Our Thoughts and Passions to each known will be.
But after this Letter, they both did get
An opportunity, by which they met:
No Complemental-wooing they did use;
True Love all flattering words it doth refuse.
But they agreed, and both did think it fit,
Their love to hide, not to discover it.
At last the Queen and Father did agree,
The Prince and Princess straight should married be;
Ne're made a question, for they doubted not
But Youth and Beauty had each other shot
With Amorous Loves. But when the Prince made known,
How that his heart was now none of his own;
His Father seem'd, with trouble, discontent:
But the enraged Queen, with malice bent,
Did strive all ways she could for to disgrace
The sweet young Lady, oft disprais'd her Face,
Her Person, Dress, Behaviour, and her Wit;
And for to match with such a Prince, not fit.
The Prince's love so firm, no words could break;
Impatiently did hear, but little speak.
But the Princess heard the Prince to be
A Lover to another; then did she
Tear, rail, and rave, as if she frantick were;
And of her Rival, words she would not spare.
One day a Company of Nobles met,
And in a Room they were together set;
The Prince and his Fair Mistress she did spy,
And often at them cast a spightful Eye.
At last her Malice set a-work her Tongue,
And at the Prince she evil words out flung,
Which he receiv'd with a submissive face,
Turning those scorns as favours of her grace.
But when she had with Scorns his Patience try'd,
She (for to vent her Spleen) in Passion cry'd.
Some of the Company there jesting by
The other Lady, ask'd if she would cry:
She answer made, she had not the like cause;
Nor had she broke the Modest Civil Laws:
But if her Passion had misled her Tongue,
She would have wept to water, or else flung
Her self to dust, for want of moisture dye,
Unless her life could issue through her eye.
But when the Prince perceiv'd such storms to rise,
And showring tears to fall from beauteous eyes,
He did absent himself, and shun'd to be
A trouble to the Princess Company.
But when the Queen had try'd all means she could
To alter his affections, nothing would;
She then their Marriage strove for to prevent,
And to the Army she the Prince soon sent;
Then order gave, Not to return again,
But with the Army there for to remain.
He to his Mistress went, his leave to take,
Perswading her a Journey she would make
Unto the Army, and there to agree,
When they should meet, & straight-way married be.
At last she did resolve to leave the Court,
And privately with great speed to transport
Her Person to the Prince where he was gone,
For ne're till then she found her self alone.
When the Army began for to retire
To Winter-Quarters, he did there desire
His Mistress Company, and then did write
To those he had entrusted, how they might
Convey her safely: but by some mistake,
The Queen had means this his Letter to take;
Which when she read, all in a rage she grew,
And then his Letter into the fire she threw.
Which when sh' had told her Neece, they both did strive,
And both in Council sate, for to contrive
To hinder her wish'd-meeting; wherefore they
Did think it best, the Lady to convey
Unto some private place, and then give out
That she was dead, which soon was spread about,
And every one in censuring spent some breath,
And most did judg she dy'd a violent death.
But the Queen's anger only would destroy
Their Loves, because her Neece then should enjoy
The Prince, on whom her heart in love was set,
And us'd all means she could, his love to get.
But though at first they thought the Prince might mourn;
Yet when his grief had been by time out-worn,
He then might take the Princess for his Wife,
Concealing the young Lady all her life.
And though they did not murther her, yet they
Did strive to grieve and cross her every way:
Wherefore they did agree that some should tell
Her, that the Prince in Battel fell.
The report of her death spread far and near;
And at last came unto the Prince his ear:
The news struck him so hard, as it did make
His strength grow weak, and all his limbs to shake.
But when his strength return'd, his mind sad grew,
And from all company himself withdrew:
No Orders he would give, but left the care
Of all the Army to an Officer:
And from th' Army, without the Queen's consent,
He did return, and to his Father went,
And told him, he all worldly things did wave,
Had buri'd them all in his Mistress Grave,
And the remainder of his days would spend
In holy Devotion, his Prayers would send
Unto the Gods; and my dear Saint, said he,
Will be a Mediator there for me:
His Father did disswade him all he could,
But all in vain, a Hermit be he would.
Instead of Palaces, he chose a Cell,
Left Courts and Camps, did solitary dwell:
Instead of Clothes that rich and costly were,
He wore a Garment made of Camel's hair.
Instead of Arms, a Hermit's Habit took;
And for a Sword, he us'd a Prayer-book:
Instead of treading Measures in a dance,
And wanton Eyes that oft would side-ways glance;
His knees upon hard stone did bowing bend,
And his sad Eyes unto the Earth descend:
Instead of flattering words to tempt Maids fair,
No words did speak but what were us'd in Prayer.
All wild & wandring thoughts were now compos'd,
And the dead object of his Mistress clos'd,
Like Multitudes that gather in a Ring,
To view some curious or some wondrous thing:
Or like a devout Congregation met,
Will strive about the Altar near to set:
So did his Thoughts near her Idea get,
Which, as a Goddess, in his Soul did set:
Then he an Altar built of Marble white,
And Waxen Tapers round about did light:
Her Picture on this Altar plac'd was high,
There to be seen with an up-lifted Eye.
She was his Saint, and he there every day
Did offer Tears and Sighs, to her did pray,
And her implore, she would the Gods request
To take his Soul, his Body lay to rest.
In th' mean time his Mistress's made believe
That he was kill'd, for which she much did grieve:
For when she at the first the news did hear,
Her Face turn'd pale, like Death it did appear:
Then gently sinking, she fell to the ground;
Grief seiz'd her heart, and put her in a swound:
At last, life got the better, and then wept,
And wisht to Heaven, that she in death had slept.
But Melancholy her whole Soul possest,
And of all pleasing Thoughts it self divest:
All objects shuns, that pleasing were, and fair;
And all such sounds as were of a leight air:
The splendrous Light and glorious Sun shut out,
And all her Chamber hung with black about:
No other light but blinking Lamps would have:
Some Earth and Turf therein, like to a Grave,
The which she often view'd, or sate close by,
Imagining the Prince therein did lye;
And on that Grave, her Tears, like show'rs of rain,
Keep fresh the Turf, on the green Grass remain
As pearled dew before the Sun doth rise;
Or as refreshing show'rs from Cloudy Skies:
And often this supposed Grave doth dress
With such significant Flow'rs as did express
His Virtues, and his Dispositions sweet,
More than those Flowers when in Posies meet:
His various Virtues, known to all so well
More fragrant than those Flowers were for smell.
But first, she set a Lawrel-Garland green,
To shew that he a Victor once had been;
And in the midst a copious Branch did place,
For to express he dyed in the chace
Of his fierce Enemies; his Courage was so true,
That, after a long fight, away they flew.
Thus Melancholy past her time away,
Besides sad solemn Musick 'twice a day:
For ev'ry Sense with Melancholy fill'd,
And always dropping-tears from thence distill'd,
With which her Melancholy Soul did feed,
And Melancholy Thoughts her Mind did breed:
Then on the ground her Head aside-ways hung,
Would lye along whilst these sad Songs were sung.

A SONG.

A SONG.

Since he is gone, Oh then Salt Tears,
Drown both mine Eyes, and stop mine Ears
With Grief; my Grief it is so much,
It locks my Smell up, Taste, and Touch.
In me remains but little breath,
Which quickly take away, Oh Death.

A SONG.

A SONG.

But all the while, the Queen was angry bent
Against the Prince, because away he went,
And left the Army without a General;
For which she Rebel, Traytor, him did call:
But she another General did make,
Which of the Army all the Charge did take:
Yet his Success in Warrs proved but bad,
For afterward the Queen great Losses had.
And all the Soldiers they were discontent:
Whereat the Queen another General sent;
But he no better Fortune there could meet,
The Enemy did force him to retreat;
Then did the Enemy so pow'rful grow,
The Forces of the Queen they overthrow
In every Fight and Skirmish which they had;
For which the Queen and Kingdom did grow sad.
The Prince, his Father answer'd; and said he,
I am not worth those Tears you shed for me.
But why do you thus weep, and thus lament,
For my death now? When to the Warrs I went,
You did encourage me to fight in field
For Victory, or else my Life to yeeld:
I willingly obey'd, and joy'd to find
My Father's Sympathy unto my Mind.
Besides, it shew'd a greater love to me,
Than Parents self-lov'd fondness us'd to be;
For to prefer my Honour, and my Fame,
Before the perpetu'ty of your Name:
And as you priz'd my Honour and Renown,
So I a Heavenly, not an Earthly Crown:
And give me leave the better choice to make,
To quit all troubles, and sweet Peace to take:
I ne'er more willing, nor more fit can dye,
For Heaven, and the Gods pure company:
For had I dy'd in Warrs, my Soul had been
Stained with Blood, and spotted o're with Sin.
But now, my Mistress is a Saint, in Heaven
Hath intercession made, my sins forgiven.
And since she's gone, all Joys with her are fled,
And I shall never happy be, till dead:
She was my Soul's delight, in her I view'd
The pure and Celestial Beatitude.
But were I sure the Soul that never dyes,
Should never meet, nor Bodies never rise
By Resurrection; yet sure those are blest
That pass this life, and in the Grave do rest.
Then said the Duke (his Father) to his Son,
What ever comes, Son, Heaven's will be done;
But since you are resolv'd, and needs will dye.
I in the Grave will keep you company.
The young Prince said, I cannot you disswade,
Since none are happy but those Death hath made.
The Day of Execution drawing nigh
Of the young Prince, his Father too would dye.
Then the young Prince askt leave, and leave he had,
That he like to a Soldier might be clad:
When he was brought to dye, and on that day
Death he did meet in Soldierly array:
Instead of Mourning-Garments, he had on
A Suit of Buff, embroidered thick upon;
And a Rich Scarf that was of Watchet-dye,
Set thick with Pearls; instead of strings to tye
It close together, were rich Diamonds, so
As like a Ring or Garter it did show,
Of but one entire Diamond; this did bind
The Scarf so firm as an united Mind:
A Scarlet Coat embroidered thick with Gold;
And Hangers like to it, his Sword did hold;
And in his Hat a Plume of Feathers were,
In falling-folds, which hung below his Hair.
He being thus accouter'd, Death to meet
In Gallantry, yet gently, friendly, sweet:
He would embrace it, and so gladly yeeld,
Yet would he dye as Soldiers in the Field:
For gallant valiant men do court Death so,
As amorous courtly men a wooing go.
His Father all in Mourning-Garments clad,
Not griev'd to dye, but for his Son was sad:
Millions of People throng'd about to see
This gallant Mourning Prince's Tragedy.
But in the time these Preparations were,
The Queen sent to th' young Lady to prepare
Her self to dye: when she the news did hear,
Joy in her Countenance did then appear:
Then she her self did dress like to a Bride,
And in a Rich and Gilded Coach did ride:
Thus triumphing as on her Wedding-day,
To meet her Bridegroom Death; but in the way
The people all did weep that she should dye,
And Youth and Beauty in Death's arms should lye.
But she did smile, her Countenance was glad,
And in her Eyes such lively Spirits had,
As the quick-darting Rays the Sun out-shin'd,
And all she look'd on, for a time were blind.
But when the Queen and Nobles all were set,
And the Condemned on the Scaffold met:
Where when the Lovers they each other spy'd,
Their Eye-strings seem'd as if together ty'd:
So firmly they were fix'd, and did so gaze,
And with each other struck in such a maze,
As if with wonder they were turn'd to stone,
And that their feet unto the ground were grown;
They could not stir; but at the last mov'd he
In a slow pace, amazed, went to see
That Heav'nly Object; for, thought he, it may
An Angel be, my Soul to take away.
Her Limbs did shake, like shiv'ring Agues cold,
For Fear upon her Spirits had got hold,
When she did see him move; for she had thought
He was a Statue, and by Carvers wrought,
And by the Queen's Command was thither brought.
When he came near, he kneeled down to pray,
And thus unto her softly he did say:
My Sense my Spirits surprise, thy Spirit my Mind;
And great disturbance in my Thoughts I find:
My Reason's misty, Understanding blind;
Tell me whether thou art of Mortal Kind.
Said she, That Question I would ask of you,
For I do doubt my Senses are not true
Intelligencers; are you the Prince I see?
Or are you a Spirit that thus speaks to me?
With that, the Queen did come, their doubts to clear;
It was my Plot, said she, to bring you here:
And why I crost your Loves, I will forbear
To tell you now, but afterwards declare.
Then did she cause a Priest to join their hands,
Which he devoutly ty'd in Wedlock-bands.
Then did the Queen unto her Nobles say,
That she a Debt to Gratitude must pay:
And to the Prince's Father straight she went;
Here, Sir, said she, I do my self present
To be your Wife; for by your Counsel I
Have Rul'd and Reign'd in great Felicity.
He, kneeling, kist her Hand; and both agree,
That in few days the Wedding kept should be.
Such joys of acclamation loud, of wonder,
Echo'd the air, louder than is Jove's Thunder.
Her Princely Neece so Noble was, that then
For joy she modestly threw up her Fan;
Since to a High-born Prince she well knew she
In glorious Nuptials soon should joined be.

The Marriage-Song.

Were all the Joys that ever yet were known;
Were all those Joys met, and put into one,
They'd be, than these two Lovers Joys, far less;
Our Lovers height of Joys, none can express:
They've made another Cupid, I am told,
And buri'd the blind Boy that was so old.
Hymen is proud, since Laurel crowns his Brow,
He never made his Triumphs until now.

The Marriage-Song for the Old Duke and the Old Queen's Marriage.

Now the Old Cupid he is fled
Unto the Queen; she to her Bed
Brought the Old Duke; so ends all harms
In Love's Embraces, in their Arms.
This Elder Wedlock, more than ripe,
Was of the Younger but a Type:
What wants of Cupid, Hymen's Cup,
Ceres and Bacchus make it up.

A Marriage-Song of the Queen's Neece.

See the Old Queen's Beloved Neece,
For Beauty, Favour, such a Piece
As Love could feign, not hope to see;
Just such a Miracle was she.
She doth congratulate, and's eas'd
To see these Noble Lovers pleas'd
Above repining: The Fates since
Are just, and gave her a brave Prince.

A SONG.

The Description of the Violence of Love.

A Woman said, That Tale exprest Love well,
And shew'd, that Constancy in Death did dwell.
Friendship, they say, a thing is so sublime,
That with the Gods there's nothing more Divine.
With wonder Lovers, having but one will,
Their two Bodies one Soul doth govern still:
And though they be always dis-joined much,
Yet all their Senses equally do t'uch:
For, what doth strike the Eye, or other part,
Begets in all like Pleasure, or like smart.
So though in Substance, Form divided be,
Yet Soul and Senses, join'd in one, agree.
A Man that to the Lady plac'd was nigh,
Said, He would tell another Tragedy.

Humanity, Despair, and Jealousie, express'd in three Persons.

Walking along, close by a River's side,
The Waters smooth ran with a flowing-tide:
The Sun thereon did dart such shining-light,
As made it than a Diamond-Chain more bright.
The purling-streams invited me to swim,
Pull'd my Clothes off, then enter'd every Limb.
But envious Cold, alas, did me oppress,
And darting-arrows sharp me backwards press.
The River to embrace me, made great haste,
Her moist soft arms incircled round my waste:
Streams coming fast, strove there to force me stay,
But that my arms did make my body way.
My hands did strike the soft smooth Waters face,
As flatt'ring them to give my body place.
But when I found them apt higher to rise,
Striving to stop my breath, and blind my eyes;
Then did I spread my arms, and Circles make,
And the united-streams asunder brake:
My Legs did kick away those Waters clear,
To keep them back, lest they should croud too near:
And as I broke those Streams, they run away,
Yet fresh suppli'd their place, to make me stay:
Long did I struggle, and my strength did try,
At last got hold upon a Bank near by;
On whose side was a Hill where Trees were plac'd,
Which on the Waters did a shadow cast:
Thither I went; and when I came close by,
I saw a Woman there a weeping lye;
VVhich seeing, I began to slack my pace:
Straight did my Eyes view there a lovely Face
Under a Tree; close by the Root she sate,
VVhich with her Tears as falling-show'rs she wet:
At last she spake, and humbly thus did pray,
You Gods, said she, my Life soon take away:
No slander on my Innocency throw,
Let my pure Soul into Elyzium go:
If I drown here within this watry Lake,
O let my Tears a murmuring River make:
Give it both Voice and VVords, my Grief to tell;
My Innocence, and why therein I fell.
Then straight she rose, the River leapt she in,
VVhich when I saw, I after her did swim:
My Hands, as Oars, did well my Body row,
Though panting-breath made waters rough to grow;
Yet was my Breast a Keel for to divide,
And by that help my Body swift did glide:
My Eyes the Needle to direct the way,
VVhich from the North of Grief did not estray;
She, as the Load-stone, drew me to her aid,
Though Storms within did make my Mind afraid.
Her Garments loose did on the Waters flow,
Which were puft up like Sails when winds do blow.
I catch'd thereat, to draw her to the brink;
But when I went to pull, she down did sink:
Yet did not I my hold thereof let go,
But drew her to the Shore with much ado;
I panting with short breath, as out of wind,
My Spirits spent, my Eyes were dimly blind;
My strength so weak, forc'd me to lye down straight,
Because, alas, my Life was over-fraight.
VVhen life got strength, my mind with thoughts did fill,
Then to the Lady us'd all art and skill;
Bowing her forwards th' waters to let out,
VVhich from her Nose & Mouth gusht like a spout:
At last her breath (before restrain'd) out-broke,
And thus to me she passionately spoke:
O who are you that do my Soul molest,
Not giving leave in Death to take my rest?
Is there no Peace in Nature to be found?
Must Misery and Fear attend us round?
O Gods, said she, here grant me my desire;
Here end my life, and let my breath expire.

I Answered.

Thus you with Nature set your self at odds;
And by this wish you do displease the Gods:
By violence you cut off their Decree,
No violence in Nature ought to be.
But what makes you thus strive for to destroy
That Life which God did give you to enjoy?

She Answered,

A Merry Lass, amongst the rest,
Began her Tale, and thus exprest:
Another man, amongst the rest,
Said, they their Tales had well exprest.
But they that study much, and seldom speak,
For want of use of words, are far to seek:
Their Tongue is like a rusty Key grown rough,
Which hardly turns, so do their words come forth:
Or like an Instrument that lies unstrung,
Till it be tun'd, cannot be plaid upon:
For Custom makes the Tongue both smooth & quick,
And moving oft, no words thereon will stick;
Like to a flowing-Tide, makes its own way,
Runs smooth or clear, without a stop or stay:
That makes a Lawyer plead well at the barr,
Because he talks there four parts of the year:
That makes Divines in Pulpits well to preach,
Because so often they the People teach:
But those that use to contemplate alone,
May have fine thoughts, good words t'express, they none:
Good language they express in black and white,
Although they speak it not, yet well they write:
Much thoughts keep back the words from running out;
The tongue's ti'd up, the sluce is stopt no doubt:
For Fancy's quick, and flies such several ways,
For to be drest in words it seldom stays.
Fancy is like an Eele, so slippery glides,
Before the tongue takes hold, away it slides.
Thus he that seldom speaks, is like to those
That travelling, their Mother-tongues do lose.
Now, says a Lady that was sitting by,
Pray let your rusty Tongue with silence lye,
And listen to the Tale that I shall tell;
Mark the Misfortunes that to them befell.

A Description of Love and Courage.

A Batchelor that spightful was, and old,
Unto the Company his Tale he told.
—The Tale to tell,
—Unto a Woman's turn befell:
And when their rusling twatling Silks did cease,
Their creaking Chairs, and Whisperings held their peace;
The Lady did a Tragick Tale unfold,
Forcing their Eyes to weep, whilst she it told.

The Description of the Fondness of Parents, and the Credulity of Youth.

A sober Man, who had a thinking-Brain,
Of Vice and Vanity did thus complain:
A Lady said, She his Discourse would fit;
A Story tell that should his Humour hit.
There was a Man and Woman married were,
They liv'd just so as should a Married Pair;
Though their Bodies divided were in twain,
Their Souls agreed, as one they did remain:
They did so mutually agree in all,
This Man and Wife we only One may call.
They were not rich, nor were they very poor;
Not pinch'd with want, nor troubled with great store.
They did not labour for the Bread they eat,
Nor had they various or delicious Meat;
Nor many Servants had to vex their Mind,
Only one Maid that faithful was, and kind;
Whose VVork was just so much as to employ
Her so, as Idleness might not her annoy.
Thus decently and cleanly did they live,
And something had for Charity to give.
Her Pastime was to spin in Winter cold,
The whilst he read, and to her Stories told:
And in the pleasant Spring, fresh air to take,
To Neighbouring-Villages short Journeys make.
In Summer-Evenings they the Fields did round,
Or sit on Flow'ry-banks upon the ground:
And so, in Autumn they their walks did keep,
To see Men gather Grapes, or sheer their Sheep.
Nor did they miss Jove's Temple, once a day,
Both kneeling down unto the Gods to pray
For gracious Mercy, their poor Souls to save,
A healthful Life, an easie Death to have.
Thus did they live full forty years, and more;
At last Death comes, and knocketh at the dore,
And with his Dart he struck the Man full sick,
For which the Wife was almost Lunatick:
But she with care did watch, great pains did take;
Broths, Julips, Jellies, she with skill did make.
She most industrious was his pains to ease,
Studying always his Humour for to please:
For oft the sick are peevish, froward, cross,
And with their pains do tumble, groan, and toss,
On their sad Couches; quietly he lay,
And softly to himself to Heaven did pray.
Yet was he melancholy at the heart,
For nothing else, but from his VVife to part.
But when she did perceive his Life decay,
Close by his side, upon a Bed she lay,
Embrac'd and kist him oft, until his Breath
And Soul did part, drawn forth by powerful Death:
Art gone, said she? then I will follow straight;
For why my Soul upon thy Soul shall wait.
Then turn'd her self upon the other side,
In breathing-sighs and show'ring-tears she dy'd.

A Single-Life best.

A Man said, He liv'd a most happy Life,
Because he was not ty'd unto a Wife:
Said he, Marriage at best obstructs the Mind
With too much Love, or Wives that are unkind.
Besides, a Man is still ty'd by the heel,
Unto the Cradle, Bed, Table, and Wheel;
And cannot stir, but, like a Bird in string,
May hop a space, but cannot use his wing.
But those who're free, and not to Wedlock bound,
They have the liberty the World to round;
And in their Thoughts much Heav'nly Peace doth dwell,
When Marriage makes their Thoughts like pains of Hell.
And when they die, no Care doth grieve their Mind,
For any thing that they shall leave behind.
A Lady said, If Women had but Wit,
Men neither Wives nor Mistresses should get:
No cause should have to murmure and complain,
If Women their kind Freedom would restrain.
But Marriage is to Women far more worse
Than 'tis to Men, and proves the greater Curse:
And I, said she, for proof, a Tale will tell,
What to a Virtuous Married Wife befell.
Another Lady said, Such Men I hate
That wrong their Wives, and then repent too late.
But all Adulterers I wish might have
A Violent Death, and an Untimely Grave.
The next Man's turn to speak was one that in
The Warrs was bred; and thus be did begin:

A Description of Natural Affection.

The next, a Virgin's turn her Tale to tell;
Her Youth and Modesty did fit it well.

The Surprisal of DEATH.

A company of Virgins young did meet,
Their Pastime was, to gather Flowers sweet:
They white Straw-Hats upon their Heads did wear,
And falling-Feathers, which wav'd with the air,
Fanning their Faces, like a Zephyrus Wind,
Shadowing the Sun, that strove their Eyes to blind;
And in their Hands they each a Basket held,
Which Baskets they with Fruits or Flowers fill'd:
But one amongst the rest such Beauty had,
That Venus for to change might well be glad.
Her Shape exact, her Skin was smooth and fair;
Her Teeth white, even set, a long curl'd Hair:
Her Nature modest, her Behaviour so,
As when she mov'd, the Graces seem'd to go.
Her Wit was quick, and pleasing to the Ear,
That all who heard her speak, straight Lovers were.
But yet her Words such Chast Love did create,
That all Impurity they did abate.
And every heart or head where wild Thoughts live,
She did convert, and wise Instructions give:
For her Discourse such heavenly Seeds did sow,
That where she strew'd, there Virtues up did grow.
These Virgins all were in a Garden set,
And each did strive the finest Flowers to get.
But this fair Lady on a Bank did lye
Of most choice Flowers, which did court her Eye;
And every one did bend their heads full low,
Bowing their Stalks, which from the Roots did grow;
And when her hands did touch their tender Leaves,
Each seem'd to kiss, and to her Fingers cleaves.
But she, as if in Nature 'twere a Crime,
VVas loath to crop their Stalks in their full prime;
But with her Face close to those Flowers lay,
That through her Nostrils those Sweets might find way;
Not for to rob them, for her head was full
Of Flow'ry Phansies, which her wit did pull,
And Posies made, the World for to present
VVith a more lasting and a sweeter Sent.
But as she lay upon this pleasant Bank,
For which those Flowers did great Nature thank;
Death envious grew she such delight did take,
And with his Dart a deadly wound did make:
A sudden Cold did seize her every Limb,
With which her Pulse beat slow, and Eyes grew dim.
Some that sate by, observ'd her pale to be,
But thought it some false Light; yet went to see:
And when they came, she turn'd her Eyes aside,
Spread forth her arms, then stretch'd, and sigh'd, and dy'd.
The frighted Virgins ran with panting-breath,
To tell the sadder story of her death:
The whilst the Flowers to her rescue bend,
And all their Med'cinable Virtues send:
But all in vain, their Power's too weak; each Head
Then droop'd, seeing they could not help the Dead.
Their fresher Colours did no longer stay,
But faded straight, and wither'd all away.
For Tears, they dropp'd their Leaves, and thought it meet
To strew her with them, as a Winding-Sheet.
The Airy Choristers hover'd above,
And sung her last sad Funeral-Song of Love.
The Earth grew proud, now having so much honour,
That Odoriferous Corpse lying upon her.
When that pure Virgin's Stuff dissolv'd in Dew,
Was the first cause new Births of Flowers grew,
And added Sweets to those it did renew.
The Grosser Parts the Curious soon did take,
Of it transparent Purslain they did make:
Her Purer Dust they keep for to refine
Best Poets Verse, and gild every Line;
And all Poetick Flames she did inspire:
So her Name lives in that Eternal Fire.

A Mock-Tale of his Grace the Duke of Newcastle.

Cupid Love-birding went, his Arrow laid,
Aiming to hit a young fresh Countrey-Maid:
Being pur-blind, his Arrow it did glance,
And hit an Old-old Woman there by chance.
She presently with Love sighs shorter breath,
Groan'd so, as all the Neighbours thought her Death.
Little she had of feeling, nor no ground
To guess where Cupid us'd to make the wound.
A long forgetfulness there was, no doubt,
Of what was Love, and all those thoughts worn out.
At last, Love rub'd her Mem'ry up, and then
She thought some Threescore years ago, and ten,
Was wounded so; but then was in her Prime;
The Surgeon cured her, was Father Time;
But he's not skilful for Love's wounds; all those,
Though they seem cured, yet they'l never close,
But break out still again; not Winter's cold
Will freeze them up, nor Age, though ne're so old.
She, with Laborious Hands, and Idle Breech,
Us'd to weed Gardens, and for her grown rich;
Some Twenty Pounds she'd got, which she did hide
For her great, great, great Grandchild, when a Bride.
O powerful Love! to see thy fatal Curse,
Now to forget her Noble Race and Purse;
Enquires out the best Taylors in the Town,
To make her Wastcoats, Petticoats, and Gown:
New Shooes of Shoo-maker she did bespeak,
And bids him put three-penny-worth of Creak
Into the Soles, that Dew when them it fills,
Like Hero's Buskins, chirrup through the Bills.
Hunts Pedlars out, and buys fresh Ribbans blew,
To shew that she is turn'd a Lover true.
And now those Hands, not white as Venus Doves,
Not to preserve, but hide with Dog-skin Gloves.
Takes keener Nettles up, that by her stood,
To rub her Skin and Cheeks, but found no Blood.
No dangling Tresses there could any find;
Sister to Time, no Locks before, behind.
Yet smooth she was not, as the Billiard-ball;
But bald as it all over, you might call.
When met her Love, he thought she smil'd to grace
Her self, when 'twas but wrinkles in her Face.
And all Love's arts she try'd, and oft she met him,
This lusty young and labouring-man, to get him.
His Poverty with her Purse join'd their hands,
And so did enter in the Marriage-bands.
But to describe their sumptuous Marriage Feast,
Their richer Clothes, and every honour'd Guest;
Their melting Love-Songs, softer Musick's t'uch,
Are not to be express'd, not half so much
As you may now imagine; all my Skill,
And fainter Muse, too weak; nay, Virgil's Quill,
With that description, it would blunter grow;
And Homer's too, with all his Furies; so
They blush'd for shame, when saw this lovely Bride
Put them all down; thus triumphs she in Pride.
Now after Supper, when they were both fed,
Your Thoughts must go along with them to bed:
There being laid, he mounted now Love's Throne;
She sigh'd with Love, then fetch'd a deeper groan:
And so expir'd there in height of Pleasure,
And left him to enjoy her long-got Treasure.
Nay, so belov'd she was, that now lies low,
That all the Women wish'd for to dye so.

The Tale of the Four Seasons of the Year.

A Poet in the Company
Said to his Lady:
The next, a Man of Scholarship profest,
He in his turn this Tale told to the rest.

An Expression of the Doubts and Curiosity of Man's Mind.

A Lady which all Vanities had left,
Since she of Youth and Beauty was bereft:
She said, That Pride in Youth was a great sin;
Of which a Tale did tell, thus entring in:

A Description of the Fall of foolish and self-conceited Pride.

The next Tale when you read, it will discover
The fortunate or the unfortunate Lover.

A Mock-Tale of the Lord Duke of Newcastle, which his Grace was pleased to say, out of his great Civility, That it would serve for Shadows to set off the rest; He loving Truth so well, that he was never good at telling Tales.

A Lady said, His Tale of Love did tell;
She with a Tale of Death would fit it well:
For Death, said she, unties the Lover's knot,
When deadly Arrows from his Bow are shot.
The next turn, a Man;
And he thus began:
The Silk-worm and the Spider Houses make,
All their Materials from their Bowels take;
They cut no Timber down, nor carve they Stone;
Nor buy they Ground to build their Houses on:
Yet they are Curious, built with Art and Care,
Like Lovers, who build Castles in the Air,
Which ev'ry puff of Wind is apt to break,
As Imaginations, when Reason's weak.
They said, His Tale was short,
He Answer made, I'le piece it out.
And thus he said:
The Silk-worm digs her Grave as she doth spin,
And makes her Winding-sheet to lap her in:
And from her Bowels takes a heap of Silk,
Which on her Body as a Tomb is built:
Out of her ashes do her young ones rise;
Having bequeath'd her Life to them, she dyes.
They only take that Life to spin a Death;
For as they wind up Silk, they wind out Breath.
Thus, rather than do nought, or idle be,
They'l work, and spin out Life's small Thread we see.
When all their work is done, ready to dye,
Their Wings are grown, for Life away to flye.

The Silk-worm is first a small Seed; then turneth into a Worm; at last grows to have Wings like a Flye, but lives not to make use of them. As soon as she is big enough, she spins a Ball of Silk all about her self; wherein, being grown to be a Fly, she makes a hole to come out, to leave Seed for the generation of her young ones: After which she immediately dyes.

The Women said, the Men made quick dispatch
In telling Tales, like Dogs that Bones do snatch.
But howsoe're, a Woman did begin
To tell a Tale, and thus she entred in.

A Description of the Passion of Love misplaced.

The Men condemn'd the Tale, because (said they)
None but a Fool would preach so, Wise men pray.
But Ladies hear me, did another say.
But when their Rallery was past,
The Tale upon a Man was cast:
Then crying peace to all that talking were,
They were bid hold their Tongues, and lend an Ear.
The Man, more than the rest, was somewhat old;
They said to him, Your Tale you have not told:
Alas, said he, my Memory is bad,
And I have none so good as you have had.
He, musing a short time, thus did begin;
I hope, said he, my Tale may credit win.

A Description of Civil-Warrs.

A Kingdom which long time had liv'd in Peace,
Her People rich with Plenty, fat with Ease;
With Pride were haughty grown; Pride Envy bred;
From Envy Factions grew: then Mischief spread;
And Libels every where were strew'd about,
Which after into Civil-Warr broke out.
Some for the Commons fought, some for the King,
And great Disorder was in ev'rything:
Battels were won and lost on either side;
Where Fortune ebb'd and flow'd, like to a Tide.
At last the Commons won; and then astride
Fierce Tyranny on Noble Necks did ride:
All Monuments pull'd down, that stood long time;
And Ornaments were then thought a great Crime.
No Law was pleaded but the Martial Law;
The Sword did rule, and keep them all in aw.
No Prayers offer'd to the Gods on high;
All Ceremony in the Dust did lye:
Nothing was done in Order, Truth, and Right:
Nought govern'd then, but Malice, Spleen, & Spight.
But mark how justly Gods do punish Men,
To make them humble, and to bow to them.
Though they had Plenty, and thereof did eat,
They relish'd not that good and savoury Meat;
Because their Conscience did them so torment,
For all their Plenty they were discontent:
They took no rest, Cares so oppress'd their Mind,
No Joy nor Comfort in the World could find.
When drowsie sleep upon their Eyes did set,
Then fearful Visions in their Dreams they met:
In Life no pleasure take, yet fear to dye;
No Mercy can they hope from Gods on high.
O serve the Gods, and then the Mind will be
Always in peace and sweet tranquillity.
A Woman said, A Tale I mean to tell,
That in those Warrs unto a Cross befell.
An ancient Cross liv'd in our Father's time,
With as much Fame as did the Worthies nine:
No harm it did, or injury to none,
But dwelt in peace, and quietly alone:
On Times or Government did not complain,
But stood Stone-still, not stirr'd in no King's Reign.
Both Winter's Snow, and Summer's scorching Sun,
It did endure, and Urin'd was upon.
Yet peaceful Nature, nor yet humble Mind,
Shall not avoid rude Ignorance that's blind:
That superstitiously beats down all things
Which smell but of Antiquity, or springs
From Noble Deeds; nor love, nor take delight
In Laws or Justice, hating Truth and Right:
But Innovations love, for that seems fine;
And what is new, adore they as Divine:
That makes them so neglect the Gods above,
For Time doth waste both their respect and love.
And so this Cross, poor Cross, all in a rage
They pull'd down quite, the fault was only Age.
Had it been gilded gloriously and brave,
They Vanity for an excuse might have:
But it was poor, its Mortar all off worn,
Which Time had eaten, as when Dogs have torn
The Flesh from Bones of Hares, or harmless Sheep;
Or like to Skeletons, that Scholars keep.
If they had pious been, it might have stood,
To mollifie the Minds of Men to good.
But they were wicked, hating every thing
That by example might to goodness bring.
Then down they pull'd it, leaving not one stone
Upon another, for it to be known
To after-ages; for the Ground lies bare,
And none can know that once the Cross stood there.
Then said a Man, I can this Tale well fit,
For I a Tale can tell that's like to it.
The next time had a Man his turn to speak;
Who said, That Civil-Warrs made Rich men break.
Populous Kingdoms, that do flourish well
In Peace and Plenty, then to ruin fell.
A Lady's turn was next,
Which told this Tale perplext:
She said, I over Sea to Lapland went,
My Husband being then in banishment:
His Estate gone, and being very poor,
I thought some means Compassion might restore:
But when I ask'd, no pity could I find;
Hard were their Hearts, and cruel every Mind.
Fye, saith a Man, you do all Orders break,
So long on Melancholy Themes you speak.

The Prologue to the Beggars Marriage.

I've serv'd two 'Prentiships, and now am made
Free of the Beggars Company to trade:
My Stock, in secret to your Ear I speak,
Is such, as I am sure I shall not break.
Let Boreas burst his Cheeks, and the Sea rore,
The Beggars Bark can ne're be tumbled o're.
What fitter Subject for my Muse can be,
Than make Descriptions of our Company?
The Beggar's Theme too well my Fortunes fit,
My begg'rly Fancy too, and so my Wit.

The Duke of Newcastle's Description of the Beggars Marriage.

A Tale of his Grace the Duke of Newcastle, called, The Philosopher's Complaint.