University of Virginia Library

To his ever Honoured friend Mr P. I. on his Amorea.

Should I commend thy Poems, that would be
A needless complement, for all do see:
That do but read thy works, thou hast out-gone,
More then I'me able speak, or think upon?
Yet this I dare afirme what thou hast writ
Thou hast not borrowed from anothers wit:
Thy muse doth scorn that any one should say
I've read those verses once before to day,
No thus I'le pubblish (with a be it known
To all the world) the Poems are thy own
Thy Amorea hath no other plumes
To set her out, no Paint, nor yet perfumes,
No braded hair, no Peacook-couller gown?
She's in a moddest dress, and tis her own
In which i'le leave her to the pubblick vew
Of the Ingenious Readers: friend Adus.

To my dear friend Mr. P. J. on his Amorea.

Thou dost not writ of Armies, or of Fights,
Of Monsters, Giants, nor of armed Knights,
Nor how great Ladies did in Castles lie,
By strange adventures, gaining libertie,
No dreadfull Battells thou discrib'st for fear,
It should be harsh to any Ladies eare,
Nor dost thou sing of Travells, that may bring
Truth in suspition: thou dost not sing
Of strange prodigious Monsters, whose birth,
Without production sprung from the earth,
No, those poor Rabbles thou dost scorn too touch'
Thy fancie flyeth to a higher pitch.
Thy passion being fired from above,
Thou sing'st that noble, noble passion Love.

To his Ingenious Friend Mr. P. J. on his Poems of the King's Return.

VVelcome sweet soul into the Company
Of noble Poets, (welcome again say I)
Where hast thou been? tell us, how conld thy worth
Lie hid so long, why did it not break forth?
Where wert thou when as half the world did sing
The glorious welcomes of our Sacred King,
Did Amorea so much hold thy mind
In due observance? that thou could'st not find
One hour to express thy joyes with us:
No 'twas not so, the reason sure was thus.
Thou went's into Arabia, to bring
A Quill from off the Widow-Phenix's wing,
With which thou'st written, that thy Loyalty
Is so apparent, as the world may see,
If they but read thy Poems, thou'st out gone,
Not only half, but most, that writ upon
Our Kings Return; thy enemies do think
Thou writ'st in gold, and not with vulgar Ink.

To his esteemed friend Mr. P. J. On his Poems.

Aide me Ben Jonsons Ghost, come Cleavelands Spirit
Might I old Quarles his smoothness but inherit,
Or were I metamorphis'd for a while
Into some Lofty Poet, my poor stile:
Must needes come very short of thine, yet I,
Will pay my tribute to thy Poetrie,
Which if you do except, although a mite,
I'me sure tis full of love? though it want waight

To his Dear Brother, on his Amorea.

Is't true, I have a Poet-Brother, who
Hath seen Mouut Hellicon at twenty two,
Been bred up with the Muses, and hath quase
Of the Pierian Fount a liberal draught,
In Agganippe Well hath dip'd his Quill,
And fetch'd his paper from Parnassus hill;
'Tis true, I have; and had he been another,
(But 'Ile forbear because he is my Brother)
I'de speak his praiss, for thus much I do know,
His Works will shew it, more then I can do.

To my dear friend on his Amorea

How many hours, nay daies, I may say years
How many sighs, and vows, bow many tears
Hast thou paid to the memorie of one
That (like the Phenix) vows to live alone.
Could I perswed thee, but i'me come to late
I will not make thee more unfortunate,
Suppose (Resuming of a second life)
That Amorea were to be thy wife
Thats all could make thee blest, yet she must die
And now she lives to perpetuity

To his Dear and ever honoured freind Mr. P. J. on his Poems.

I shall not flatter. I'me no Parasite,
I'le not deminish, nor yet add a mite
Vnto thy prayse; for what need Gold to be
New gilded or'e that's vain curiosity,
If wit be judge then thou art sure of prayse,
And Dunces must not read such lines as these,
For if they should, they'l finde an Epigram
Will tell them to their face, thou art the man:
I could speak much in prayse, but to what end
When all that Read thee do it, no dear friend,
Ile wish thee happiness, but this i'le prove,
Thy book will make the Dullest Soul to love.

To his dear and ever Honoured friend Mr. P. J. On his Poems.

Should I write any thing in praise of thee
That were a nedless thing, ile rather bee
One of the number: that do thee admire
And then I have all that I do desire:
For two be bound up with your book I know
(Though you admit) my verse will useless shew.

To my dear friend on his Amorea.

VVhat in the wars and yet a Poet, then
Tell me the difference 'twixt the sword, and pen
Canst thou with one hand grasp the tempred steel,
And in the other holde thy loved quill,
Be angry in a moment and yet prove
Thy anger onely doth proceed from love:
This day be bravely mounted in the street,
To morrow prostrate at thy Ladies feet?
Write Sonnets in the morning; and ere night
Be deep ingaged in some cruell fight,
Just now a going to a Nuptiall
And presently cal'd to the Funeral
Of some new Slaughtered friend, how can this be
Why thus, the question's plain enough, for we.
(That read thy Poems needs) must do thee right
For thou canst fight, and love, and love, and fight.

To his ever friend Mr P. J. On his Poems.

I am as full of love as those that do
Write better Verses in the praise of yon
(And if it may not be disparagment
To those have writ thy praise) tis my intent:
To write a line or two, that all may know it
Reading thy Poems, I am half a Poet

To Mr P. J. on his Amorea.

How should I do my mind for to rehearse
I can write love enough but not in verse
Yet my dear friend do not refuse this mite
For I declare unto the world I write:
Not to win praise, for then I'me sure I shall
Have very little, for you have gotten all,
I am contented, it doth joy my heart
When as I go abroad, in every part;
For to hear this, and th' other Ladie say
Have you not Amorea read to day.
One takes occation for to praise this thing?
Another will take up her Lute and Sing.
One of thy Sonets; this will drop a tear,
For thy mifortune; some I've heard to swear
Thy Pastroll Poems best, some think it Dutie
To praise that Poem thou hast writ on Beautie
Should I give my opinion? truly I
Compare thy book unto a Lottery
Her'es Gold enough presented to our Eies;
Draw where we will, we cannot miss a prize.

TO AMOREA;

The DEDICATION.

To the fairest and divine,
Next unto the Sacred Nine,
To the Queen of love and beauty,
I do offer up my duty;
To the sweetest disposition,
That e're Lover did petition,
To the best and happ'est fortune,
Ever man did yet importune,
To the Lady of all hearts,
That pretend to noble parts;
To the altar of her eyes,
I my self doe sacrifice;
To her ever winning glances,
Here I doe present my fancies;
And to her all commanding look,
I doe dedicate my book.

To the Muses.

Liberty lost.

As yet I had not known the rage, and force
Of Love, and Passion, when I took my course
Unto the Grove where I was us'd to go,
And passe the time, (wish it had ne're been so.)
And being come unto the place where I
Was wont sometimes to walk, sometimes to lie
Upon the flow'ry banks of Violet,
And Primrose, interwoven, as if set
To counterfeit th' Elizium Tapistry;
(Who could have thought danger should be so nigh
So sweet a place) when forthwith I began
To read a while, the story was of Pan,
The God of Rural Sports; where Shepherds fell
In love with Shapherdesses, and to tell
How some one for his love renounc'd a Crown,
And spent his time with Sheep upon a Down,
At which I smil'd, that man should be so vain,
As from a Prince to turn a Shepherd Swain,
But note what sudden chance befell, and see,
I laught 'tis true, ('twas a sad laugh to me,)
For having scan'd the vanity of love,
I heard a fluttering noise come from above,
When presently there lighted on a tree
A winged-boy, (the sight was strange to me)
And wondering at the sight, he forthwith took
From underneath his wings a Table-book,
And threw it at my feet, laying young-man
Look well on this and read no more of Pan,
And saying so he took in hand his bow,
And shot at me. (I since have felt the blow)
At which he vanish'd from my sight, when I
(Onely in love with curiosity)
Unclasp'd the Book, I took it to be so,
But 'twas a Picture-case, the which did show
A face which I had never seen till then,
Which made me to admire it's grace, but when
I'de view'd it o're, and o're, I took the case
And threw it from me, but the new-seen face
Had made so deep impression, that I said,
Crying aloud, I am betray'd, betray'd,
And rising from the place, I went away,
Toward my habitation; but stay,
And see my sudden change, I that before
Could boast of freedome, presently I tore
My Book in pieces, and began to cry
Love, Tharldome, Madam, Passion, Liberty;
And like a man distracted I began
To curse the Winged-boy, and call on Pan,
But as I call'd, I heard a silent noise
Within the Wood, and after that a voice
Which came unto my ear, I heard it say,
What have I seen, what have I heard to day?
And looking round about me I espi'd
(A sight I have repented) by the side
Of a small running Brook a Nimph to lie
Discoursing to her self of destinie,
I heard her say, wish I had never been
Abroad to day, or wish I'd never seen
The Grove, nor Picture, but since it is so
I will forget it all, and so i'le go;
And as she spake that word I saw her face,
The very same the new-found Picture case
Presented me, when I cry'd out 'tis she,
She fled and only said 'tis he, 'tis he.

A Poem Lyrick

Peace pratling Muse.

A Song.

Love at a Stand.

To Amorea on his going to Sea.

His Inducement to Love.

To Amorea from Prison.

The Authors danger, and deliverance.

Hopeless Affection.

A Song.

Under his Mistress's Picture.

On his departing.

A Fancie on Courting.

On the Curtain of his Mistress's Picture.

Writ on her Lute.

Tell me Princely instrument,
Whence proceedeth this content,
Doe those taking charms dwell
In thee, or her, I prithee tell?
Is there power in thy Sound,
Not to captivate, but wound?
Doth the efficacie live
In thee, or else she doth it give?
Tell me is it only aire,
Can our hearts so much insnare?
No, it is her heavenly touch,
That concerneth us so much,
When her hands do bless thy strings,
See the pretty little things
How they tremble, yet express
Their gratitude with chearfulness,
Who is he that would not stand,
Trembling if that blessed hand
Should but touch him, who is he
Would not shake unless a tree;
Who is he his joy can smother,
Hearing th'one, or feeling th'other.

To his Dream.

Speak lovely Dream, how could'st thou find
Phantesies to shew her mind,
Wast not enough to let us see
Her face alone, but must we be
Alwaies in a such a taking,
Quiet neither asleep nor waking.
It was but this very night
She appeared in my sight,
Morpheus having thither sent her,
I began to complement her,
But the cursed destinies
Looking on with jealous eyes,
Envious at our happy meeting,
Attropus cut off my sleeping,
Yet he had gi'n me the leasure
To describe the ioy, and pleasure.
Of this lovely-loving Dream,
Had not waking lost my Theam.

Commanded to conceal his Love.

The Phenix.

Loves Elegie.

On his Quondum Mistress.

Grace, Vertue, Love, did take, enforce, constrain,
Sight, Mind & Heart, with Wonder, Fancy, Charms,
First, Second, Third, did View, Possess, Contain,
Delight, Love, Joy, was then, embrac'd, in Armes,
Till Hope, Desire, Trust, fail'd, lost, betray'd,
Thought, Love, and Faith, is free, gone, and unsaid:
Yet Time, Repentance, Grief, shew, prove, declare,
Her Fault, Loss, Sorrow; past, too late, not heard,
My thought, eyes, heart, found out, saw, break the snare,
Wrong, Hate, Deceit, intended, kept, prepar'd,
But Hope, Joy, Freedome's, seen, possest, in part,
Thought, Love, Desire, is true, fixt, in the heart:
Not vertue, grace, heart, mind, love, joyes, delight,
Take, force, contain, possesse, view, charm the sight,
For Hope, desire, trust, thought, love, and faith,
Faile, losse, betray, free, gone, she all unsaith.

Hespelon, and Amorea.

A Dialogue.

Amorea.
VVho is it that cometh here,
To remove my setled fancies,

Hespelon.
It is one my onely dear,
That hath known all the chances
Of a Lovers carefull fear.

Amorea.
Why alas, is't you my friend!
Have not yet those follies left thee?

Hespelon.
Dear, I never doe intend,
Though my fortunes have bereft me
Of thy presence, for to end.

Amorea.
But perchance you will forget me
When the Object is removed.

Hespelon.
Thy opinion sure will fret me,
But too dearly I have loved
And my passion will not let me.

Amorea.
Yet I hope these toyes will leave you
When you see a fairer creature.

Hespelon.
No your Author did deceive you
It was vertue, and not feature,
Which Induced me to crave you.

Amorea.
When you riper years aspire,
May be then your mind will falter.

Hespelon.
Who is he can quench the fire
Or his resolution alter
Being taken with desire

Amorea.
Yet in time and absence you
Will forget me, youth is fickle

Hespelon.
Which if time and absence do
Let the all destroying Sickle
Cut me from the world too:

Amorea.
Ah begon my dear I say,
Do not longer me Importune

Hespelon.
(Cursed be that cursed day
But more curs't my cursed fortune)
Saying So, she went away.

On the five Senses.

Loves Liberty.

A Dream.

His complaint to the Groves.

To his Ingenuous Friend, J. P. Esq; on Limbing.

A Fancie.

A Contention between a Poet and a Limner.

Poet.
I'me noble Poetrie, and what are you?

Limbner.
I am the nobler Science of the two.

Poet.
The nobler Science, tell me how? I can
Write any thing of men.

Limb.
I make the man.

Poet.
I write of Courts, of Princes, and high things.

Limbner.
I draw the lively Portraiture of Kings.

Poet.
I shew the very mind of men in books.

Limbner.
'Tis true, but I do shew their mind in looks.

Poet.
I am wits High-priest for I can inspire.
All those that read my works with sacred fire.

Limbner.
And I can boast my skill is from above,
For thousands seeing of my Pieces, love.

Poet.
I'me alwaies read with wonder and delight.

Limbner.
I know you charm the ear; I charm the sight.

Poet.
Your Art is to be learned, many do it;
There's none can be Apprentise to a Poet.

Limbner.
I must confess you are ingenuous:
But what are Poets, if compar'd to us.

Poet.
That you are noble souls, all say as much,
But you are poor.

Limb.
Were ever Poets rich?

Poet.
I treat of souls of men, you but of faces.
I'me kin unto the Muses.

Limb.
I to th'Graces.

Poet.
I make men live to perpetuity.

Limbner.
I make them live as long by similie.

Poet.

Limbner.
And if you die before me, to be sure
Your name shall alwaies live by Portraiture.

A Pastorall Poem.

Phylacona having early
(In a morning that had fairly
Promis'd the ensuing day
All the glory of the May)
With a mellancholly pace
Come at Length unto the place,
That for Phylaconas love,
Called was the Goddess grove,
Here she used still and wholy,
For to treat her Mellancolly;
Here she entertain'd her sadness,
Though the place did promise gladness,
For there was the loving Vine,
With the stately growing Pine,
Ranks of Cedars there were seen,
And the Lawrell, Forrests Queen,
Next the Cipress, and the Yew
Did present themselves to vew,
There a Bow'r of Kear is made,
Here a lovely Mertle shade,
With the Ivy and the Bayes
That do crown the Poets Layes
Here the Poplar, there the Thorne
Which hath Phylamela born
And in every tree there stood,
The Musitions of the wood,
Starlin, Lennet, and the Thrush,
Crown'd the top of every bush;
Underneath was to be seen,
(Running through) a spangled green
Well composed into Bowers
All enamelled with flowers;
As if Nature meant to show
What her art was able do;
Was a brook or little River,
Which did seem for to deliver
In its Language all the story,
Of that Nymphs Eternall glory,
Who (as Poets have Inserted)
Was into a stream converted.
Heer She used to retyre,
And the very same desire.
To be private in his Sorrow
Made her shepherd bid goodmorrow
To his sleeping, and to rise,
Shaking Slumber from his eyes,
“Sorrow would not let him stay
“For to entertain the day,
“But commanded him away
And to the grove did fortune hurry
Him, as she began her story:
When she thither was arived
Being of all joyes deprived,
Only taken up with care.
This sad voice did reach his eare,
Which at first he had neglected,
Being with his greif-affected,
Yet because he would not be
Taxed for discourtesie;
Round about him as he pried,
The sad Nymph he had espied
Who her tender limbs had laid
On a mantle that was spred,
“On the painted Tapistry,
“Of the flower-paved walkes and night
“To the River did she lie.
And because he thought her fate
To his sadness did relate,
He supposing that her care
In his Sorrows had a share,
Out of Curiositie
Hid himself behind a tree;
Thus the Nymph being on the ground
After she had looked rownd,
Thinking on her present feares
Thus began her tail with tears;
Who can better tell then I,
To deplor the destiny
Of a sad forsaken Maid,
Only by my self betrayed,
I that in the height of life
When the Graces were at strife
Which should have the greatest prise
Language, carriage, voice, or eyes,
I who ever have been Courted
With the noblest, and consorted
With the most Gentieler sort,
And knew nothing but the Court
Nothing then could please me better
Then to read an humble Letter,
Such as Lovers do present
All compos'd of Complement,
Thus when I shall call to minde
What is past I then do finde
All the happy hours are spent
Which to youth are incident,
And can see nothing of truth
Harbour in unsetled youth,
Yet when I shall think upon
The forsaken Espilon
(VVho by his disloyalty
Hath so disobleiged me)
Needs I must declare his worth:
VVith which words he steped forth,
Knowing this the first time
For to vindecate his crime,
VVith heavy pace and look
Being come unto the brook
After he himself had seated,
His excuse he thus repeated,
Madam if your very Servant
Have not still with wishes servant
Prosecuted your affection,
Never give my love protection,
Only you to have enjoyed
Be both wish and love destroyed
Or if ever I have loved
More then you your self Approved,
May my Love be still neglected,
And my falsness be dedected,
May my heart be ever grived,
May my vowes be not believed,
If I do not thee desire,
Then let heart and vowes expire;
Therefore dearest---
Here his hands would fain have brooken
Truce, if that she had not spoken
And her angry commands
Did forbid his longing hands,
Espelon, quoth she, my dear,
Leave me, least I justly fear,
That your carriage will deceive me;
Yet for this I do forgive thee,
But be sure you are not quitted,
For the punishment is fitted,
You forever shall be banish'd;
Saying so, away she vanish'd,
Like an airy broken bubble,
Leaving him unto his trouble,
VVhereunto this Pastorall tended,
No man knows, for here it ended.

To Amorea on his going to Travell.

Writ at Sea.

Now had I bid farewell unto the Land,
And left behind that ever blessed shoare
Blessed because it Amorea bore.
Yet could not leave to look upon the sand;
For now my grief began I took in hand
My Pen, in which my fancies heretofore
Did once delight, for why, it did restore
My hopes; but heark, the voice I do adore,
Commandeth back, who can that voice withstand,
'Tis Amorea, it is her command.

To Cloris, imploring a revenge.

In praise of Sack.

From where, or whence, at first this Liquor came,
Or how it had it's being none can tell,
Where the Pierian Fount did give it name,
Or where it flow'd from Agganippe-Well,
Is now the question, truely I am one
That do believe the thing which we call Sherry,
Was planted first in sacred Hellicon,
Produced of some strange Celestial Berry;
One of the reasons, that doth move me to it,
A reason I prefer before the best,
I never yet could meet a piece of Poet
But lov'd to take a glass beyond the rest,
And there is reason for't; 'twill make his pen
Run faster then his Muse is able think,
It sets him far above the reach of men,
Such is the vertue of this versing drink,
'Twill raife a drooping spirit to the height
'Twill send a known Coward unto the wars,
The tast so heavenly, and the look so bleigh,
That some do hold it is dissolved Starrs,
But be it what it will, I never yet
Have found his equall, not in any thing,
It makes a man his sorrow to forget,
Equall's the lowest, with the greatest King,
What is it 'twill not doe; yet there are some
That from my praises far enough do vary,
Who by their carriage shew from whence they come
And ne're were so well bred to drink Canary,
And this I know, they are no Gentlemen,
That (in that very thought) such drink deny,
Which is the Scholars Study, Poets pen,
The Lawyers guide, the Lovers deitie,
All that the Poets feign, of Nectar is,
Composed in this little Sea of bliss,
Then Drawer bring it in, the hurt I'le do 'em,
Is drink to all, that do believe this Poem.

A SONG.

On loving of two.

The Shadow.

To Amorea walking in her Garden.

See how all things do conspire,
And agree with her desire,
For when she doth blesse the walkes
On each side the Verdure stalkes
As if waiting her commands,
Bowe themselves to kisse her hands,
And the early growing bush,
VVhose rare flowers now do blush,
Joying that they're in the way,
To her lap their Tribute pay
And as she her self disposeth
So the Marigold discloseth
And her Inward parts discover
As to the Sun her constant lover,
Then when she her body shadeth
Straight the Heliotropian fadeth,
Other flowers take new birth;
From her presence, scorn the earth,
By imploring a divorce,
From their mother, and their nurse,
“See the Tulips how they bow
“Down their golden heads, and how
“In dumb elloquence they woe
Hopeing that, that Blessed hand,
VVill confine them for to stand,
In some window there to be
In her presence till they die,
Lilly, Juliflower and Pancy,
All submit unto her fancy
And her pretty fingers do
pray t'accept their offering too,
Hundreds more as good as they
Do come thronging in her way,
To exchange their libertie
For a sweet captivity,
Thus being sated with delight
She begins for to unite
Them into a Garland, and
With her sweet composing hand:
Crown'd her sleeping shepheard, whom
Little thought it was his dome,
Then with humble grace she bowed,
To the rest, who being proud
Of their happiness to meet,
In the Allies with her feet;
Thus she being gone away,
(Ah that dismall fatall day)
The poor youth as soon as he
Waked, found his destenie,
And with that began to tear
All the favours which he ware
In her honour, and his crie
Was disloyaltie I die.
So the Garland which she gave
Served to adron his grave.

To Mr. James Sherley on his playes.

Mirrour of Comedies, and of our age,
That hast re-edified the falling Stage
And once more built the Theatre with thy pen,
In Spight of foes, hast made it live agen;
What can we render, thy Admired Playes,
Already have sequestered the Bayes
From of the head of those who writ before,
Which were but shadows to thy works, no more.
Who is not joyed when he seeth the fall,
And punnishment of vice, thy Cardinall
And taught by thy Imposture for to shun
Lascivious courses, or else be undone:
Thy Brothers teach us love; thy Sisters do;
In courtly tearms, shew us how to woe.
Or if we will be read in points of State,
Then thy Court Secret make us up compleat,
What shall we offer then, or what Present,
Wee'l add this Trophey to thy Monument
That ages yet to come shall hear and see,
VVhen dead, thy Works a living Elegie.

On the perfection of Beauty.

To his unconstant Mistress.

An Elegie on the Death of the Princess Royal.

Goe, Ladies, stay, ah goe, no stay and mourn
A while, lay down your Lutes, ah come & turn
Your deep concerned eyes upon this Tombe,
Read, and lament, as if you read your doom
Alas make haste, come pay your Obsequies
Unto her memory with drowned eyes,
Attend this Monument, forget to see
Your selves carrassed, may you ever be,
In mourning habits, and where e're you walk,
May death and Funeralls be all your talk,
And if you sleep, may your dreams be of Bells,
Of Hearses, Coffins, Monuments, and Knells,
May all your daies of pleasure and delight,
Be Metamorphosed to dismal night,
For Vertue's dead, and in her all is gone
That Vertue's very self can think upon;
Now certainly a wrack is to be fear'd,
For gon's the Star, and North, by which you stear'd,
Gone is the Touch-stone, which was wont to try
Whither was richer love, or constancy;
Gone is your Torch, and gone away your Sun;
Your Lights extinguish'd e're it was begun,
Nothing is left but mourning, but you'l say
Who it should concern or dismay,
Or so obliege us HER to think upon;
Is't not enough to tell you Vertue's gone:
It is the Princess whom I'de nam'd, but when
I name Her once, grief drownds my tongue and pen.

To Phyla.

Phyla I will not enquire,
What hath been thy past desire,
Nor is't fitting you should know
Unto whom I've made a vow,
Prithee Phyla tell me now
What has made thee to retire,
Is it 'cause I do admire
Other beauties, is it so?
Tell me Phila, I think no,
For I still retain the fire
Which was kindled long agoe
In my mind, and flameth higher,
If I chance to come but nigh her;
Phyla wilt thou know who 'tis,
Speak (thy self) thou can'st not misse,

The difference between a Lute, and a Via

It fell out the other day,
Two Ladies busie at their play,
Th'one a Vial with her voice,
Did accord a Heavenly noise,
Th'other a Theorboe held,
Which when they the Room had fill'd,
With their Musick then it was,
Striving which of them could pass
Each the other, (then say I,)
Musick was Divinity;
Madam, quoth the first, I think,
If Napenthe be a drink
That doth reconcile the Gods
When they chance to fall at odds,
Certainly without denial,
'Tis distilled through a Vial;
Quoth the other to confute
Your argument, why not a Lute,
And I comming in the while,
They began to blush and smile,
Saying both, you that so well
Of Love do undertake to tell,
And have ventur'd to set forth
In a Poem the rare worth,
That in Musicks charms lie,
Speak without partiality,
Which is fitter for Love's Quire,
Amphion's Lute, or Orpheus Lire;
Thus betwixt a Scila I,
And Charibdis then did lie,
Should I dare to say a Lute,
Farewell my intended suite;
Or if I a Vial praise,
Then my Mistress I displease,
Will you take a Poets oath,
Then by Sack I pleas'd them both,
Amphion's Lute I did advance,
Because it made the stones to dance,
And when they had found the trial,
Which was sweeter Lute or Vial,
With the reason both were mute,
Both concluding 'twas a Lute.

The Change.

To Amorea.

A Song.

On the Inequalletie of Marraige.

Tis strange to see the unavoided fate
Of many in this humour when to late
They find their errour, one per chance will cry
VVhat should I do against my destiny,
Antoher half destracted will perswade
He's happier in the maid then if he had,
Obtain'd the Mistres, think fond youth if wise
Is't better draw a blanck, or have a prize,
Yet if thou'lt Marry and their be no friend
Can disingage thee of thy Madness, lend
And eare to reason, first be sure you see
Where she do correspond in quallitie,
Not that i'de have you fly too high, and so
Like Iccarus you drown your self, no, no,
I'me not for such a Marriage, for I've read
Of Eagles feathers, if put in a bed
All other feathers instantly consume
Devouring those that are not of their plume
Yet on the contrary, I'de have you show,
Your self from whence you came go not so low:
To draw a scorn upon Posteritie
For that's a blemish that will never be
Extinquish'd but by time and perchance you.
Stooping too low will be Extinguish'd too,
Is it not pitty that it should be said
The Son and heir will have a Chamber-maid,
And who can help it, when it is their doom
The onely daughter doates upon a groom:
And so destroy all that their father got
By wit, or valour, Industry, or lot,
But hearken youth, if not infatuate
To all misfortunes, let's expostulate,
Why should a Goss-hawke fly at Titmice, or
What need a Faulcon stoop unto a Dor
Are not there Princely fowls enough, but they
Must be content on Butterflyes to prey,
What follies this, are there not mediums left
To be embrac'd, but just like men bereaft
Of sence and reason, we must headlong run
We know not where, before we are undone,
Can we not be content to change our name
By transmutation to the very same
It was before, when suffering Loyaltie
Shall still be lov'd by noble Honesty
What would you have, would you joyn Land to Land
Do it, provided you go hand in hand,
In age, birth, fortune, Love, if not take care
What you do think is good may prove a snare,
And if these reasons will not serve the turn,
Fly like, play with the candell, till you burn
And then you'le let the world for to see
Marraige, and Hanging goes by destiny.

Clariana's Dream.

Love and Respect.

The Authors dream.

Not long agon being thrown upon my bed
Repleat with Sorrow, my unsetled head
With Perturbation of a troubled minde
Turn'd giddy with it's cares, no rest could finde,
It was about the hour that the clock
Had strucken two, the early waking Cock,
Had gi'n his first Allarum to the day,
Sleep seas'd my drowned eyes, and greif gave way
To nature to (exact her tribute) when
Somnious who doth command the eyes of men:
Did charm me first asleep, then sent a dream
The which disturbed my late setled brain,
And thus it was, me thought I had set forth,
A little Pinnice, which towards the North
Was bound with swelling sayles: a lofty winde
Yet not to high encountred me behinde:
The Symptomes of a happie voyage and all
Good fortune on our side did seem to fall
For having past the Isles of th' Orcades
Norvegia, Thule, (next the frozen Seas)
And having more then hopes to reach our Port
Neptune as if he meant himself to sport,
With our mishapes, bid the winds blow and they
No sooner were commanded but obey
And every thing conforming to his will
Made us to soon to see onr cause was ill
When after all our Masts and rigging spent
With all misfortunes that are Incident.
To Saylers in storme: we discry'd
Two other Vessels driven with the Tide?
And labouring for their Haven but they found
To soon unto their loss, themselves a ground
The Climate where we were, and the degree
Was known to them, and not unknown to me
The Northern Amazons possest the Land
Their Queen Clarianna, under whose comand
The Countrie flourisht, and the very place
Where the Ships stood, night to her Palace was
Yet could not I so happy be as they,
For when I had recovered the Bay
A second storm did assail us and
Neptune to Eolus had given his hand
To make us only wretched as if both
Had past their pledges by a mutuall Oath
To Thunder down their vengeance for the most
That each of them could do, we felt the worst
But that I may not Vary from my Theam
Because 'tis pertinent unto my Dream,
Know the two Ships were driven to the Land
And stuck half buryed on a Bar of Sand.
On the Ports Star-boord fide the one was fast
Th' other a little to the Larboord cast.
Betwixt them was the River wherein we
Must thrust our torn vessel or else be
Ingulf'd in sudden ruin; at which I
Spake to the Master with a hastie cry:
Demanding his advice, and what to do:
Quoth he our evils now are more then two;
For if to windward of that ship we stand
Then ours will be involved in the Sand
To Leeward of the other should we fall,
Undoubtedly we lose ship, men and all:
For every side ther's danger, should we steer
Betwixt them both, on every hand ther's fear;
Of falling soul, again, if we should trust
Unto our Anchors, that's the very worst.
Well this is to be done (and what de'e think)
We'le in betwixt them, if we sink, we sink:
These were his words, and in this very Fashion
He brought them out, but hold the Scituation
Of Clarianna's Pallace shall be shown,
For such a gracefull object must be knowe.
The house was seated on a rising hill,
Inshrin'd with Cyprus trees but here my quill
Will prove deficient, should I bnt talke:
Or set the graces forth of every walk.
If on the buildings I should write or look
My pen would run it self into a book.
But Il'e decline the hill again for fear
I should forget my Dream and end it there,
Which must not be before I let you see
What happened in my Dream and unto me,
For being Sad and pensive in my minde
'Cause I could not th' interpretation finde:
I grew more troubled, but this accident
My greif and sorrows quickly did prevent;
It seem'd to me I saw before mine eyes
The ground to open, and a man to rise?
Whose venerable age had showred
A Snowy benediction on his head,
And in one hand (me thought) he helde a Globe,
And in the other was an Astralobe
The moon upon his head, a glittering Coate
Spangled with starrs he ware which did denote
What he had been in his foregoing years
'Tis like he knew the motion of the Spheres:
The heavens Influence which doth iufer
The man had been a great Astronomer.
And thus he spake: Come hither musing youth
Know that thy Dream hath somthing in't of truth
Sit down, observe, remember what is told,
And thus he did begin my Dream t'unfold.
The Pinnice thou wert in doth Signify,
Thy very self; the Swelling sayles thy high
Ambitious aime; the wind that followed thee
Portendeth all good hap undoubtedly;
The countries thou did'st pass by and the Seas
Shew thou hast mist some fortunes in thy daies:
But nothing lost, next did I list to show
Who Neptune is but will not for I know
To soon thou'lt finde it out: for it is he
Will crosse thy hopes, and then remember me:
The falling of thy mast denoteth plain
Obstructions will impede and intervean
Betwixt thee and thy wish; the other two
That seemed ships are men as well as you:
And that I may not speak misteriously
They are thy Rivalls who most certainly,
Will do their utmost and the haven is
No other but your vertuons Mistress:
Their going a ground their want of Judgment and
Doth shew they were to young to take in hand.
So great a voyage; the Climate and degree,
Her name and quallitie I'me sure must be?
That they were Amazons, it doth dilate
A sprightly Lady; the Queens name, her state:
That the ships Strook, so nigh her palace sure
Shews the unhappiness they must endure
And that the bay thou reachest it doth tell
After the storm is past it may goe well,
That Eolus and Neptune did combine,
Doth say two crossing Councellors will joyn
To blow up thy designes, but they'l be crost,
For be contented they are like to lost
Their thankless labours; that the ships strook I'me bold
To let thee know, by sand is meant her Gold;
Betwixt them did the River run; that doth
The Ladies equal couldness shew to both,
Thy hasty crie be sure doth intimate,
Thou make dispatch, or else 'twill be too late.
The man of whom thou did'st implore advice,
Is thy best friend in Council; if thou'rt wise
Observe his words, be sure thou understand
The dangers threatned on every hand,
The Masters last advice doth shew to thee
That resolution must not wanting be;
The Gracefull Pallace, and it's scituation,
It shews the Ladies vertuous education,
That it was seated on a rising hill,
Declares her Birth and Beauty, which thy Quill
Can never praise enough, the Trees set fourth
Her noble parts, the Walks her grace and worth.
Thus have I shew'd thee all, and lastly I,
Am called by the name of Ptollomy,
At which I wondred when I thought upon
He died many hundred years agon:
And then I answer'd, saying, Reverend Sage,
Thou hast not let me know her name nor age,
But what I said was spoken to the wind,
For he was vanished, yet left behind,
A role of Paper, which I greedily
Snatch'd from the ground, and read as hastily,
And thus it did contain, If any do
For curiosity, desire to know
What course the Pinnace took, and what became
Of the two ships, or what the Ladies name,
With the conclusion? let thy answer be,
'Tis wholly left unto Astronomie,
To give a happy period to the thing,
And reading here, sleep with a hastie wing
Began to fly me, yet the time was given
To read these following words, 'Tis only Heaven
Can give a blessing, and compose thy cares,
'Tis Heav'n must be propitious to thy prayers,
Commit thy waies to Heav'n, and Heaven will
Direct thee what to do, protect thee still,
And Heav'n will bless thee sleeping, keep thee waking:
And thus I waked when these words were speaking.

To the Sun.

On the Death of his Mistress.

On His Sacred MAJESTIES haypy Restauration.

To the most Honoured Sir James Smith Knight, On his many favours received.

SIR,
I fear my boldness may impute me rude,
And to say nothing were ingratitude;
Can I for favours had of such a one,
Burie my thanks in dark oblivion,
And where I ought to pay all thankfulness.
Render my self base, by forgetfulness;
Should I which have received from your hand,
Of bounty, so much kindness; should I stand,
Without acknowledgement, as if that I
Were quite devested of civility;
No, no, such Boons as those, must needs require
Returns, which (in some measure of desire)
Should testifie, a gratefull mind, in part
He payes such debts, which has a thankfull heart,
And such my payment for these loves, must be
Pay'd by good wishes, to eternitie.

To Celinda.

EPIGRAMS.

On a simple Gentleman which spake in dispraise of Poetry.

A gentleman, for want of education,
Said Epigrams, and Poems, were but toyes.
And in his judgement and small estimation,
Are only fit for Girles, and for Boyes:
Another standing by that wished well
To Poetry, and lov'd a witty Rhime,
Your judgement Sir, alas what can you tell?
Thus 'tis to cast a Pearl before a Swine,
Pray hold your peace, for Poets hold it fit,
That Ignorance must not be Judge of Wit.

On my want of Money.

VVhat though I want Pecunia, what of it,
I never passed such a merry age,
As when I did employ my little wit,
To free my self of this sad Pilgrimage,
But by experience I find Poetry,
'Tis sad to tell, shakes hands with poverty.

On a Vintner

A vintner on a time did me perswade
To make an Epigram upon his Trade,
Only the love of Sack did make me write.
They're glad to see men drop, but will not fight,
And yet are alwaies Drawing, which implies,
When others fall, such Knaves as they do rise.

On a Lawyers Wife.

A lawyer did complain unto his Wife,
He ne're had such a Tearm in all his life;
Content your self (quoth she) but this Vacation,
And the next Tearm I'le use my Occupation,
For with my Little Common Law I've found
A trick in Plea, to get me many a pound.

On a Taylor.

A taylor that for me had made a Suit,
'Twas Allamode, and all things fitting to't,
But when I put it on, I was in wrath,
Telling the Rascall he had stole my Cloth,
It is too short said I, thou'st made it ill,
Be pleas'd (quoth he) I'le length'nt with my Bill.

On a Poetaster.

A poetaster of our latter times
Began to versefy upon the Vine
He ask't me my oppinion of his rhimes:
I told him they were very like our wine
What do you mean quoth he are they not good:
Yes Passing good said I, if understood.

On Frenetta.

Frenetta is a gamster most men know,
Yee she will venture all on a good cast:
And though her fortune be but bad at throw
She hopes to keep an oppen point at last,
Then be as fortunate, as e're you can,
Frenetta's sure to carry the first Man.

On a Deboist Scoller.

Scollasticus with much Phillosophy,
Began to praise the University?
And after three years study now he see's
That he is able for to take degrees
All men that know him, see that he is able
At Tavern, Tenness, Dice, and Biliard-table
For by degrees, he'ath learnt a way of late,
To spend a very fair, and large estate.

On a Coukold.

Old Curno, and his young new married Wife
Had ne're a quiet hour in all their life
For in their Jarring, this is still his noat
Telling his wife, she was not worth a groat
Thou ly'st quoth she, for thou hast more with me
Then ever I am like to have by thee,
Why, what, you base confounded Whore quoth he
Nornes, Coukold, Knave, if I a Whore must be.

On a Duble Marraige

Sir Seldom-Sober, and his eldest Son;
Came to Sir. Idle-Spend thrifts dwelling place
After the Cerremonies all were done,
Young Sober ask't to see his Daughter Grace.
Is that your errand Sir (quoth Spendthrift) here
She hath not been with me I know not when,
Nor yet with us quoth Sober for I swear,
I've seen her not this twenty years and ten;
Pardon me then quoth Spendthrif, you must tary
For Cosen Jermans are forbid to Marry.

On a Zealous Brother.

Rotundus prayeth much and singeth Psalmes
Gives to the poor, but will not have it known
And when that he distributeth his Almes:
No Trumpet shall within his gate be blown:
By this the world may plainly Judge and see
Rotundus is not what he seems to be.

On a Lawyer.

A lawyer is a man, I know not how
For to discribe him right as I should do,
For if a man another chance to sue,
He's for the Plaintif and Defendant too?
And though I'me cheated yet unto his face
God bless your worship, how goes on my cause
Why well quoth he, povided that this Bill
Be sattisfyed, or else it may go ill;
They are the painful'st men in all the nation
And why, they ca'nt abide a long Vacation:
Yet if my cause be spoild, he must be prais'd
Give them good Tearmes and then the Knaves are pleas'd

On a Shoemaker.

Crispianus with another would contend
His trade, and Calling ne're should have an End
'Tis strange that Crispianus So will strive,
For why without his Ends he canot live,
Yet though he Waxeth poor it is confest
His trade will holde unto the very Last,

On Mistress Florella.

Mistress Florella had a Plat of Land
Intail'd to her so long as she did live,
An honest fellow that did understand
She would dispose it, ask'd what he should give,
Florella understood the Fellow had,
A Pole of Ground would fit her to a hair,
Why Sir quoth she, I shall be very glad
T'exchange, if that your evidence be fair,
The woman shew'd a trial on record,
And would join Issue with him if he please,
The Fellow could not stand unto his word,
And yet he found it was an o en Case,
Your title's lame said she, you cannot seal,
For you your self are Tenant but in Tail.

On a Holy Sister.

A holy Sister that did seldome erre,
Walking abroad upon a Lecture-day,
Did meet a very zealous Presbiter,
Who sware to try her, e're he went away;
Nay, fie, ah sad, ver'ly indeed forsooth,
I would not do it, but to save your oath.

On a Puny Scholler.

A puny Schollar that had got degree,
Would take a journey for his recreation,
Into the Countrey, took the liberty
To preach, his Text was in the Lamentations;
The Fellow never from his Text did fall,
For the whole work was Lamentable all.

On Hunters.

Hunters are men of a strange constitution,
For most loue peace, they bawling and confusion;
It is not possible Hunters can thrive,
That make themselves such pris'ners while they live,
For why, the Hunters doth himself confine
Unto a cursed Kennell all his time,
And in the end perchance Acteon's fate
Falls on his head, and eates up his Estate.

On Falconers.

Falkners for whooping, hollowing, whisling, I
Do think they be born mad, and so will die.
Yet I confess it is a Noble fight;
To set a Hawk to make a gallant flight,
Were't not that in the end unhappily,
The Hawk, and fortunes both away do fly.

On a Poet.

Should I forbear to write an Epigram
Upon a Poet, this, or th'other man
Might pick a quarrell, asking what are you
That write these Epigrams, a Poet too,
Peace Buzzard, peace for fear I do pronounce
Another Epigram upon a Dunce,
The worst that Blockheads dare to speak of it,
Poets are (poor in person) rich in wit.

The Unfortunate Lover.

The Conclusion.

Like to a Ship that now involv'd must be
In th'Abiss of all profundity,
When a Charibdiss sends a cruell Billow
To intimate his thundring neighbur Seilla,
To entertain the Wrack, or like a man
That just before his death, sings with the Swan:
So it is now with me; I Versefy,
And Carroll out my dying Tragedy.
'Twas Amorea, it was only she,
The sole effect of my lov'd destinie:
'Twas she alone that could the sentence give,
And after judgement grant a sweet reprieve;
'Twas she at first, that stole my liberty,
Making it captive, which was born free,
'Twas she that did command me for to prove,
And write the best of passions, which is Love:
'Twas she that set my senses all at strife,
'Tis she that can, but will not save a life,
'Tis she my thoughts have put in a confusion,
'Tis she presented me with this conclusion,
'Twa she that scorned such a love as mine is,
'Tis she hath gi'n my Love and Book a

To his little Book.

Goe little Book, let Amorea know
What she doth owe
Unto thy Authour, and her dying Swain
Shew her disdain;
No, stay and take thy errand, let her see
'Tis cruell she
Hath brought her servant to a deep dispair,
By being fair.
But goe and do not fear to tell her, goe and show
That lovely foe,
By disoblieging him, and slighting thee,
Both are set free;
And if in reading thee, that killing Saint
Doth once relent;
Tell her it was her scornfull Tyrannie,
Hath set an end unto my love and thee.

On the Contents of his Book, to the Readers.

I need no Index to my Book, for 'tis
So little, that I'me sure you cannot miss;
Yet 'cause 'tis usual, I will immitate
The Major Poets: do not be angry at
My bold presumption, if thou'rt such a one,
My Book shall have Content, tho' thou hast none.

ERATA.

Besides the errours in each leafe, and line
In every word, and every Character,
The greatest errour I confess is mine
In writing, for in silence none can erre,
Wha er'e the Reader be I him Implore
That shall vouchsafe to Read this little book
Pardon the errours I will ask no more,
Or pass them over with a candid look:
And if thou hast not so much Charitie
I care not for the Errours nor for thee.