University of Virginia Library

II. Volume the Second

FLOWRES OF SION:

OR SPIRITVALL POEMES,

[i] [The Instabilitie of Mortall Glorie.]

Triumphant Arches, Statues crown'd with Bayes,
Proude Obeliskes, Tombes of the vastest frame,
Colosses, brasen Atlases of Fame,
Phanes vainelie builded to vaine Idoles praise;
States, which vnsatiate Mindes in blood doe raise,
From the Crosse-starres vnto the Articke Teame,
Alas! and what wee write to keepe our Name,
Like Spiders Caules are made the sport of Dayes:
All onely constant is in constant Change,
What done is, is vndone, and when vndone,
Into some other figure doeth it range;
Thus moues the restlesse World beneath the Moone:
Wherefore (my Minde) aboue Time, Motion, Place,
Thee raise, and Steppes, not reach'd by Nature trace.

[ii] [Humane Frailtie.]

A Good that neuer satisfies the Minde,
A Beautie fading like the Aprile flowres,
A Sweete with floodes of Gall that runnes combind,
A Pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A Honour that more fickle is than winde,
A Glorie at Opinions frowne that lowres,
A Treasurie which Bankrout Time deuoures,
A Knowledge than graue Ignorance more blind:
A vaine Delight our equalles to command,
A Stile of greatnesse, in effect a Dreame,
A fabulous Thought of holding Sea and Land,
A seruile Lot, deckt with a pompous Name,
Are the strange endes wee toyle for heere below,
Till wisest Death make vs our errores know.

[i] [The Permanencie of Life.]

Life a right shadow is,
For if it long appeare,
Then is it spent, and Deathes long Night drawes neare;
Shadowes are mouing, light,
And is there ought so mouing as is this?
When it is most in Sight,
It steales away, and none can tell how, where,
So neere our Cradles to our Coffines are.

[iii] [No Trust in Tyme.]

Looke how the Flowre, which lingringlie doth fade,
The Mornings Darling late, the Summers Queene,
Spoyl'd of that Iuice, which kept it fresh and greene,
As high as it did raise, bowes low the head:
Right so my Life. (Contentments beeing dead,
Or in their Contraries but onelie seene)
With swifter speede declines than earst it spred,
And (blasted) scarce now showes what it hath beene.
As doth the Pilgrime therefore whom the Night
By darknesse would imprison on his way,
Thinke on thy Home (my Soule) and thinke aright,
Of what yet restes thee of Lifes wasting Day:
Thy Sunne postes Westward, passed is thy Morne,
And twice it is not giuen thee to bee borne.

[iv] [Worldes Ioyes are Toyes.]

The wearie Mariner so fast not flies
An howling Tempest, Harbour to attaine,
Nor Sheepheard hastes, when frayes of Wolues arise,
So fast to Fold to saue his bleeting Traine:
As I (wing'd with Contempt and just Disdaine)
Now flie the World, and what it most doth prize,
And Sanctuarie seeke, free to remaine
From wounds of abject Times, and Enuies eyes.
Once did this World to mee seeme sweete and faire,
While Senses light Mindes prospectiue keept blind,
Now like imagin'd Landskip in the Aire,
And weeping Raine-bowes, her best Ioyes I finde:
Or if ought heere is had that praise should haue,
It is a Life obscure, and silent Graue.

[v] [Nature must yeelde to Grace.]

Too long I followed haue on fond Desire,
And too long painted on deluding Streames,
Too long refreshment sought in burning Fire,
Runne after Ioyes which to my Soule were Blames;
Ah! when I had what most I did admire,
And prou'd of Lifes delightes the last extreames,
I found all but a Rose hedg'd with a Bryer,
A nought, a thought, a show of golden Dreames.
Hence-foorth on Thee (mine onelie Good) I thinke,
For onelie Thou canst grant what I doe craue,
Thy Nailes my Pennes shall bee, thy Blood mine Inke,
Thy winding-sheete my Paper, Studie Graue:
And till that Soule from Bodie parted bee,
No hope I haue, but onelie onelie Thee.

[vi] [The Booke of the World.]

Of this faire Volumne which wee World doe name,
If wee the sheetes and leaues could turne with care,
Of Him who it correctes, and did it frame,
Wee cleare might read the Art and Wisedome rare?
Finde out his Power which wildest Pow'rs doth tame,
His Prouidence extending euerie-where,
His Iustice which proud Rebels doeth not spare,
In euerie Page, no, Period of the same:
But sillie wee (like foolish Children) rest
Well pleas'd with colour'd Velame, Leaues of Gold,
Faire dangling Ribbones, leauing what is best,
On the great Writers sense nee'r taking hold;
Or if by chance our Mindes doe muse on ought,
It is some Picture on the Margine wrought.

[vii] [The Miserable Estate of the World before the Incarnation of God.]

The Griefe was common, common were the Cryes,
Teares, Sobbes, and Groanes of that afflicted Traine,
Which of Gods chosen did the Summe containe,
And Earth rebounded with them, pierc'd were Skies;
All good had left the World, each Vice did raigne,
In the most hideous shapes Hell could deuise,
And all degrees, and each Estate did staine,
Nor further had to goe, whom to surprise:
The World beneath the Prince of Darknesse lay,
In euerie Phane who had himselfe install'd,
Was sacrifiz'd vnto, by Prayers call'd,
Responses gaue, which (Fooles) they did obey:
When (pittying Man) God of a Virgines wombe
Was borne, and those false Deities strooke dombe.

[viii] [The Angels for the Natiuitie of our Lord.]

Rvnne (Sheepheards) run where Bethleme blest appeares,
Wee bring the best of newes, bee not dismay'd,
A Sauiour there is borne, more olde than yeares,
Amidst Heauens rolling hights this Earth who stay'd;
In a poore Cotage Inn'd, a Virgine Maide
A weakling did him beare, who all vpbeares,
There is hee poorelie swadl'd, in Manger lai'd,
To whom too narrow Swadlings are our Spheares:
Runne (Sheepheards) runne, and solemnize his Birth,
This is that Night, no, Day growne great with Blisse,
In which the power of Sathan broken is,
In Heauen bee glorie, Peace vnto the Earth.
Thus singing through the Aire the Angels swame,
And Cope of Starres re-echoed the same.

[ix] [For the Natiuitie of our Lord.]

O than the fairest Day, thrice fairer Night!
Night to best Dayes in which a Sunne doth rise,
Of which that golden Eye, which cleares the Skies,
Is but a sparkling Ray, a Shadow light:
And blessed yee (in sillie Pastors sight)
Milde Creatures, in whose warme Cribe now lyes
That Heauen-sent Yongling, holie-Maide-borne Wight,
Midst, end, beginning of our Prophesies:
Blest Cotage that hath Flowres in Winter spred,
Though withered blessed Grasse, that hath the grace
To decke, and bee a Carpet to that Place.
Thus sang, vnto the Soundes of oaten Reed,
Before the Babe, the Sheepheards bow'd on knees,
And Springs ranne Nectar, Honey dropt from Trees.

[x] [Amazement at the Incarnation of God.]

To spread the azure Canopie of Heauen,
And make it twinkle with those spangs of Gold,
To stay this weightie masse of Earth so euen,
That it should all, and nought should it vp-hold;
To giue strange motions to the Planets seuen,
Or Ioue to make so meeke, or Mars so bold,
To temper what is moist, drie, hote, and cold,
Of all their Iarres that sweete accords are giuen:
Lord, to thy Wisedome nought is, nor thy Might;
But that thou shouldst (thy Glorie laid aside)
Come meanelie in mortalitie to bide,
And die for those deseru'd eternall plight,
A wonder is so farre aboue our wit,
That Angels stand amaz'd to muse on it.

[xi] [For the Baptiste.]

The last and greatest Herauld of Heauens King,
Girt with rough Skinnes, hyes to the Desarts wilde,
Among that sauage brood the Woods foorth bring,
Which hee than Man more harmlesse found and milde:
His food was Blossomes, and what yong doth spring,
With Honey that from virgine Hiues distil'd;
Parcht Bodie, hollow Eyes, some vncouth thing
Made him appeare, long since from Earth exilde.
There burst hee foorth; All yee, whose Hopes relye
On God, with mee amidst these Desarts mourne,
Repent, repent, and from olde errours turne.
Who listned to his voyce, obey'd his crye?
Onelie the Ecchoes which hee made relent,
Rung from their Marble Caues, repent, repent.

[xii] [For the Magdalene.]

These Eyes (deare Lord) once Brandons of Desire,
Fraile Scoutes betraying what they had to keepe,
Which their owne heart, then others set on fire,
Their traitrous blacke before thee heere out-weepe:
These Lockes, of blushing deedes the faire attire,
Smooth-frizled Waues, sad Shelfes which shadow deepe,
Soule-stinging Serpents in gilt curles which creepe,
To touch thy sacred Feete doe now aspire.
In Seas of Care behold a sinking Barke,
By windes of sharpe Remorse vnto thee driuen,
O let mee not expos'd be Ruines marke,
My faults confest (Lord) say they are forgiuen.
Thus sigh'd to Iesvs the Bethanian faire,
His teare-wet Feete still drying with her Haire.

[xiii] [For the Prodigall.]

I countries chang'd, new pleasures out to finde,
But Ah! for pleasure new I found new paine,
Enchanting pleasure so did Reason blind,
That Fathers loue, and wordes I scorn'd as vaine:
For Tables rich, for bed, for frequent traine
Of carefull seruants to obserue my Minde,
These Heardes I keepe my fellowes are assign'd,
My Bed a Rocke is, Hearbes my Life sustaine.
Now while I famine feele, feare worser harmes,
Father and Lord I turne, thy Loue (yet great)
My faults will pardon, pitty mine estate.
This, where an aged Oake had spread its Armes,
Thought the lost Child, while as the Heardes hee led,
Not farre off on the ackornes wilde them fed.

[xiv] [For the Passion.]

If that the World doth in a maze remaine,
To heare in what a sad deploring mood,
The Pelican powres from her brest her Blood,
To bring to life her younglinges backe again?
How should wee wonder of that soueraigne Good,
Who from that Serpents sting (that had vs slaine)
To saue our liues, shed his Lifes purple flood,
And turn'd in endlesse Ioy our endlesse Paine?
Vngratefull Soule, that charm'd with false Delight,
Hast long long wandr'd in Sinnes flowrie Path,
And didst not thinke at all, or thoughtst not right
On this thy Pelicanes great Loue and Death,
Heere pause, and let (though Earth it scorne) Heauen see
Thee powre forth teares to him powr'd Blood for thee.

[i] [An Hymne of the Passion.]

If , when farre in the East yee doe behold
Foorth from his Christall Bed the Sunne to rise,
With rosie Robes and Crowne of flaming Gold?
If gazing on that Empresse of the Skies,
That takes so many Formes, and those faire Brands,
Which blaze in Heauens high Vault, Nights watchfull eyes?
If Seeing how the Seas tumultuous Bands
Of bellowing Billowes haue their course confin'd,
How vnsustain'd the Earth still steadfast stands:
Poore mortall Wights, yee e're found in your Minde
A thought, that some great King did sit aboue,
Who had such Lawes and Rites to them assign'd;
A King who fix'd the Poles made Spheares to moue,
All Wisedome, purenesse, Excellence, and Might,
All Goodnesse, Greatnesse, Iustice, Beauty, Loue?
With feare and wonder hither turne your Sight,
See, see (alas) Him now, not in that State
Thought could fore-cast Him into Reasons light.
Now Eyes with teares, now Hearts with griefe make great,
Bemoane this cruell Death and dreary case,
If euer plaints iust Woe could aggrauate?
From Sinne and Hell to saue vs, humaine Race,
See this great King naill'd to an abiect Tree,
An obiect of reproach and sad disgrace.
O vnheard Pitty, Loue in strange degree!
Hee his owne Life doth giue, his Blood doth shed,
For Wormelings base such Excellence to see.
Poore Wightes, behold His Visage pale as Lead,
His Head bow'd to His Brest, Lockes sadlie rent,
Like a cropt Rose that languishing doth fade.
Weake Nature weepe, astonish'd World lament,
Lament, yee Windes, you Heauen that all containes,
And thou (my Soule) let nought thy Griefe relent.
Those Hands, those sacred Hands which hold the raines
Of this great All, and kept from mutuall warres
The Elements, beare rent for thee their Veines:
Those feete which once must trade on golden Starres,
For thee with nailes would bee pierc'd through and torne,
For thee Heauens King from Heauen himselfe debarres.
This great heart-quaking Dolour waile and mourne,
Yee that long since Him saw by might of Faith,
Yee now that are, and yee yet to bee borne.
Not to behold his great Creators Death,
The Sunne from sinfull eyes hath vail'd his light,
And faintly iourneyes up Heauens saphire Path.
And, cutting from her Browes her Tresses bright,
The Moone doth keepe her Lords sad Obsequies,
Impearling with her Teares this Robe of Night.
All staggering and lazie lowre the Skies,
The Earth and elemental Stages quake,
The long since dead from bursted Graues arise.
And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take,
And beare a Part with him who all them wrought?
And Man (though borne with cries) shall pitty lacke?
Thinke what had beene your state, had hee not brought
To these sharpe Pangs himselfe, and priz'd so hie
Your Soules, that with his Life them life Hee bought.
What Woes doe you attend, if still yee lie
Plung'd in your wonted ordures, wretched Brood,
Shall for your sake againe GOD euer die?
O leaue deluding shewes, embrace true good,
Hee on you calles, forgoe Sinnes shamefull trade,
With Prayers now seeke Heauen, and not with Blood.
Let not the Lambes more from their Dames bee had,
Nor Altars blush for Sinne; liue euery thing,
That long time long'd-for sacrifice is made.
All that is from you crau'd by this great King
Is to beleeue, a pure Heart Incense is,
What gift (alas) can wee him meaner bring?
Haste sinne-sicke Soules, this season doe not misse,
Now while remorselesse time doth grant you space,
And GOD inuites you to your only Blisse.
Hee who you calles will not denie you Grace,
But low-deepe burie faults, so yee repent,
His armes (loe) stretched are you to embrace.
When Dayes are done, and Lifes small sparke is spent,
So yee accept what freely here is giuen,
Like brood of Angels, deathlesse, all-content,
Yee shall for euer liue with him in Heauen.

[xv] [To the Angels for the Passion.]

Come forth, come forth yee blest triumphing Bands,
Faire Citizens of that immortall Towne,
Come see that King which all this All commands,
Now (ouercharg'd with Loue) die for his owne;
Looke on those Nailes which pierce his Feete and Hands,
What a sharpe Diademe his Browes doth crowne?
Behold his pallid Face, his Eyes which sowne,
And what a Throng of Theeues him mocking stands.
Come forth yee empyrean Troupes, come forth,
Preserue this sacred Blood that Earth adornes,
Those liquid Roses gather off his Thornes,
O! to bee lost they bee of too much worth:
For streams, Iuice, Balm they are, which quẽch, kils, charms
Of God, Death, Hel, the wrath, the life, the harmes.

[ii] [Faith aboue Reason.]

Soule , which to Hell wast thrall,
Hee, Hee for thine offence,
Did suffer Death, who could not die at all.
O soueraigne Excellence,
O Life of all that liues,
Eternall Bounty which each good thing giues,
How could Death mount so hie?
No wit this hight can reach,
Faith only doth vs teach,
For vs Hee died, at all who could not dye.

[xvi] [Vpon the Sepulcher of our Lord.]

Life to giue life depriued is of Life,
And Death displai'd hath ensigne against Death;
So violent the Rigour was of Death,
That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life:
No Power had Pow'r to thrall Lifes pow'r to Death,
But willingly Life hath abandon'd Life,
Loue gaue the wound which wrought this work of Death,
His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life.
Now quakes the Author of eternall Death,
To finde that they whom earst he reft of Life
Shall fill his Roome aboue the listes of Death:
Now all reioyce in Death who hope for Life.
Dead Iesvs lies, who Death hath kill'd by Death,
His Tombe no Tombe is, but new Source of Life.

[ii] [An Hymne of the Resurrection.]

[iii] [An Hymne of the Ascension.]

Bright Portalles of the Skie,
Emboss'd with sparkling Starres,
Doores of Eternitie,
With diamantine barres,
Your Arras rich vp-hold,
Loose all your bolts and Springs,
Ope wyde your Leaues of gold;
That in your Roofes may come the King of kings.
Scarff'd in a rosie Cloud,
Hee doth ascend the Aire,
Straight doth the Moone him shrowd
With her resplendant Haire;
The next enchristall'd Light
Submits to him its Beames,
And hee doth trace the hight
Of that faire Lamp which flames of beautie streames.
Hee towers those golden Bounds
Hee did to Sunne bequeath,
The higher wandring Rounds
Are found his Feete beneath;
The milkie-way comes neare,
Heauens Axell seemes to bend,
Aboue each turning Spheare
That roab'd in Glorie Heauens King may ascend.
O Well-spring of this All,
Thy Fathers Image viue,
Word, that from nought did call
What is, doth reason, liue;
The Soules eternall Foode,
Earths Ioy, Delight of Heauen;
All Truth, Loue, Beautie, Good,
To Thee, to Thee bee praises euer giuen.
What was dismarshall'd late
In this thy noble Frame,
And lost the prime estate,
Hath re-obtain'd the same,
Is now most perfect seene;
Streames which diuerted were
(And troubled strayed vncleene)
From their first Source, by Thee home turned are.
By Thee that blemish old,
Of Edens leprous Prince,
Which on his Race tooke hold,
And him exyl'd from thence,
Now put away is farre;
With Sword, in irefull guise,
No Cherub more shall barre
Poore man the Entries into Paradise.
By Thee those Spirits pure,
First Children of the Light,
Now fixed stand and sure,
In their eternall Right;
Now humane Companies
Renew their ruin'd Wall,
Fall'n man as thou makst rise,
Thou giu'st to Angels that they shall not fall.
By Thee that Prince of Sinne,
That doth with mischiefe swell,
Hath lost what hee did winne,
And shall endungeon'd dwell;
His spoyles are made thy pray,
His Phanes are sackt and torne,
His Altars raz'd away,
And what ador'd was late, now lyes a Scorne.
These Mansions pure and cleare,
Which are not made by hands,
Which once by him joy'd were,
And his (then not stain'd) Bands
(Now forefait'd, dispossest,
And head-long from them throwne)
Shall Adams Heires make blest,
By Thee their great Redeemer made their owne.
O Well-spring of this All,
Thy Fathers Image viue,
Word, that from nought did call,
What is, doth Reason, liue;
Whose worke is, but to will,
Gods coeternall Sonne,
Great Banisher of ill,
By none but Thee could these great Deedes bee done.
Now each etheriall Gate,
To him hath opened bin;
And glories King in state,
His Pallace enters in;
Now com'd is this high Prest,
In the most holie Place,
Not without Blood addrest,
With Glorie Heauen the Earth to crowne with Grace.
Starres which all Eyes were late,
And did with wonder burne,
His Name to celebrate,
In flaming Tongues them turne;
Their orbye Christales moue
More actiue than before,
And entheate from aboue,
Their Soueraigne Prince laude, glorifie, adore.
The Quires of happie Soules,
Wakt with that Musicke sweete,
Whose Descant Care controules,
Their Lord in Triumph meete;
The spotlesse Sprightes of light,
His Trophees doe extole,
And archt in Squadrons bright,
Greet their great victor in his Capitole.
O Glorie of the Heauen,
O sole Delight of Earth,
To Thee all power bee giuen,
Gods vncreated Birth;
Of Man-kind louer true,
Indeerer of his wrong,
Who dost the world renew,
Still bee thou our Saluation and our Song.
From Top of Oliuet such notes did rise,
When mans Redeemer did transcend the Skies.

[xvii] [Mans Knowledge, Ignorance in the Misteries of God.]

Beneath a sable vaile, and Shadowes deepe,
Of Vnaccessible and dimming light,
In Silence ebane Clouds more blacke than Night,
The Worlds great King his secrets hidde doth keepe:
Through those Thicke Mistes when any Mortall Wight
Aspires, with halting pace, and Eyes that weepe,
To pore, and in his Misteries to creepe,
With Thunders hee and Lightnings blastes their Sight.
O Sunne invisible, that dost abide
Within thy bright abysmes, most faire, most darke,
Where with thy proper Rayes thou dost thee hide;
O euer-shining, neuer full seene marke,
To guide mee in Lifes Night, thy light mee show,
The more I search of thee, The lesse I know.

[xviii] [Contemplation of Inuisible Excellencies aboue, by the Visible below.]

If with such passing Beautie, choise Delights,
The Architect of this great Round did frame
This Pallace visible (short listes of Fame,
And sillie Mansion but of dying Wights)
How many Wonders, what amazing Lights
Must that triumphing Seat of Glorie clame,
That doth transcend all this great Alls vaste hights,
Of whose bright Sunne ours heere is but a Beame?
O blest abod! O happie dwelling-place!
Where visiblie th' Invisible doth raigne,
Blest People which doe see true Beauties Face,
With whose farre Dawnings scarce he Earth doth daigne:
All Ioy is but Annoy, all Concord Strife,
Match'd with your endlesse Blisse and happie life.

[iii] [The Difference betweene Earthlie and Heauenlie Loue.]

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

[xix] [Earth and all on it Changeable.]

That space, where raging Waues doe now diuide
From the great Continent our happie Isle,
Was some-time Land, and where tall Shippes doe glide,
Once with deare Arte the crooked Plough did tyle:
Once those faire Bounds stretcht out so farre and wide,
Where Townes, no, Shires enwall'd, endeare each mile,
Were all ignoble Sea, and marish vile
Where Proteus Flockes danc'd measures to the Tyde.
So Age transforming all still forward runnes,
No wonder though the Earth doth change her face,
New Manners, Pleasures new, turne with new Sunnes,
Lockes now like Gold grow to an hoarie grace;
Nay, Mindes rare shape doth change, that lyes despis'd
Which was so deare of late and highlie pris'd.

[iv] [The World a Game.]

This world a Hunting is,
The Pray poore Man, the Nimrod fierce is Death,
His speedie Grei-hounds are,
Lust, sicknesse, Enuie, Care,
Strife that neere falles amisse,
With all those ills which haunt vs while wee breath.
Now, if (by chance) wee flie
Of these the eager Chase,
Old Age with stealing Pace,
Castes vp his Nets, and there wee panting die.

[xx] [The Court of True Honour.]

Why (worldlings) do ye trust fraile honours dreams?
And leane to guilted Glories which decay?
Why doe yee toyle to registrate your Names
On ycie Pillars, which soone melt away?
True Honour is not heere, that place it clames,
Where blacke-brow'd Night doth not exile the Day,
Nor no farre-shining Lamp diues in the Sea,
But an eternall Sunne spreades lasting Beames:
There it attendeth you, where spotlesse Bands
Of Spirits, stand gazing on their Soueraigne Blisse,
Where yeeres not hold it in their canckring hands,
But who once noble, euer noble is.
Looke home, lest hee your weakned Wit make thrall,
Who Edens foolish Gardner earst made fall.

[xxi] [Against Hypocrisie.]

As are those Apples, pleasant to the Eye,
But full of Smoke within, which vse to grow
Neere that strange Lake, where God powr'd from the Skie
Huge showres of Flames, worse flames to ouer-throw:
Such are their workes that with a glaring Show
Of humble Holinesse, in Vertues dye,
Would colour Mischiefe, while within they glow
With coales of Sinne, though none the Smoake descrie.
Ill is that Angell which earst fell from Heauen,
But not more ill than hee, nor in worse case,
Who hides a traitrous Minde with smiling face,
And with a Doues white feathers maskes a Rauen:
Each Sinne some colour hath it to adorne,
Hypocrisie All-mighty God doth scorne.

[v] [Change should breede Change.]

New doth the Sunne appeare,
The Mountaines Snowes decay,
Crown'd with fraile Flowres foorth comes the Babye yeare.
My Soule, Time postes away,
And thou yet in that Frost
Which Flowre and fruit hath lost,
As if all heere immortall were, dost stay:
For shame thy Powers awake,
Looke to that Heauen which neuer Night makes blacke,
And there, at that immortall Sunnes bright Rayes,
Decke thee with Flowers which feare not rage of Dayes.

[xxii] [The Praise of a Solitarie Life.]

Thrice happie hee, who by some shadie Groue,
Farre from the clamorous World, doth liue his owne,
Though solitarie, who is not alone,
But doth conuerse with that Eternall Loue:
O! how more sweete is Birds harmonious Moane,
Or the hoarse Sobbings of the widow'd Doue;
Than those smooth whisperings neere a Princes Throne,
Which Good make doubtfull, doe the euill approue?
O! how more sweet is Zephires wholesome Breath,
And Sighes embalm'd, which new-borne Flowrs vnfold,
Than that applause vaine Honour doth bequeath?
How sweete are Streames to poison drunke in Gold?
The World is full of Horrours, Troubles, Slights,
Woods harmelesse Shades haue only true Delightes.

[xxiii] [To a Nightingale.]

Sweet Bird, that sing'st away the early Howres,
Of Winters past or comming void of Care,
Well pleased with Delights which Present are,
Faire Seasones, budding Sprayes, sweet-smelling Flowers:
To Rocks, to Springs, to Rils, from leauy Bowres
Thou thy Creators Goodnesse dost declare,
And what deare Gifts on thee hee did not spare,
A Staine to humane sence in sinne that lowres.
What Soule can be so sicke, which by thy Songs
(Attir'd in sweetnesse) sweetly is not driuen
Quite to forget Earths turmoiles, spights, and wrongs,
And lift a reuerend Eye and Thought to Heauen?
Sweet Artlesse Songstarre, thou my Minde dost raise
To Ayres of Spheares, yes, and to Angels Layes.

[xxiv] [Content and Resolute.]

As when it hapneth that some louely Towne
Vnto a barbarous Besieger falles,
Who there by Sword and Flame himselfe enstalles,
And (Cruell) it in Teares and Blood doth drowne;
Her Beauty spoyl'd, her Citizens made Thralles,
His spight yet so cannot her all throw downe,
But that some Statue, Arch, Phan of renowne,
Yet lurkes vnmaym'd within her weeping walles:
So after all the Spoile, Disgrace, and Wrake,
That Time, the World, and Death could bring combind,
Amidst that Masse of Ruines they did make,
Safe and all scarre-lesse yet remaines my Minde:
From this so high transcending Rapture springes,
That I, all else defac'd, not enuie Kinges.

[xxv] [Deathes Last-Will.]

More oft than once, Death whisper'd in mine Eare,
Graue what thou heares in Diamond and Gold,
I am that Monarch whom all Monarches feare,
Who hath in Dust their farre-stretch'd Pride vproll'd.
All all is mine beneath Moones siluer Spheare,
And nought, saue Vertue, Can my power with-hold:
This (not belieu'd) Experience true Thee told,
By Danger late when I to Thee came neare.
As Bugbeare then my Visage I did show,
That of my Horrours thou right Vse mightst make,
And a more sacred Path of liuing take:
Now still walke armed for my ruthlesse Blow,
Trust flattering Life no more, Redeeme Time past,
And Liue each Day as if it were thy Last.

[xxvi] [The Blessednesse of Faithfull Soules by Death.]

Let vs each day enure our selues to dye,
If this (and not our Feares) be truely Death;
Aboue the Circles both of Hope and Faith
With faire immortall pinniones to flie?
If this be Death our best Part to vntie
(By ruining the Iaile) from Lust and Wrath,
And euery drowsie languor heere beneath,
It turning deniz'd Citizen of Skie?
To haue, more knowledge than all Bookes containe,
All Pleasures euen surmounting wishing Powre,
The fellowship of Gods immortall Traine,
And these that Time nor force shall er'e deuoure?
If this be Death? what Ioy, what golden care
Of Life, can with Deaths ouglinesse compare?

[iv] [An Hymne of True Happinesse.]

Amidst the azure cleare
Of Iordans sacred Streames,
Iordan of Libanon the of-spring deare;
When Zephires Flowers vnclose,
And Sunne shines with new Beames,
With graue and stately Grace a Nimphe arose.
Vpon her Head she ware
Of Amaranthes a Crowne,
Her left hand Palmes, her right a Brandon bare,
Vnvail'd Skinnes whitenesse lay,
Gold haires in Curles hang downe,
Eyes sparkled Ioy, more bright than Starre of Day.
The Flood a Throne her rear'd
Of Waues, most like that Heauen
Where beaming Starres in Glorie turne ensphear'd;
The Aire stood calme and cleare,
No Sigh by Windes was giuen,
Birdes left to sing, Heards feed, her voyce to heare.
World-wandring sorrie Wights,
Whom nothing can content
Within those varying listes of Dayes and Nights,
Whose life (ere knowne amisse)
In glittering Griefes is spent,
Come learne (said shee) what is your choisest Blisse.
From Toyle and pressing Cares
How yee may respit finde,
A Sanctuarie from Soule-thralling Snares,
A Port to harboure sure
In spight of waues and winde,
Which shall when Times Houre-glasse is runne endure.
Not happie is that Life
Which yee as happie hold,
No, but a Sea of feares, a field of Strife,
Charg'd on a Throne to sit
With Diadems of Gold,
Preseru'd by Force, and still obseru'd by Wit:
Huge Treasures to enioy,
Of all her Gemmes spoyle Inde,
All Seres silke in Garments to imploy,
Deliciously to feed,
The Phenix plumes to finde
To rest vpon, or decke your purple Bed.
Fraile Beautie to abuse,
And (wanton Sybarites)
On past or present touch of sense to muse;
Neuer to heare of Noise
But what the Eare delites,
Sweet musicks Charmes, or charming Flatterers voice.
Nor can it Blisse you bring,
Hidde Natures Depthes to know,
Why Matter changeth, whence each Forme doth spring;
Nor that your Fame should range,
And after-Worlds it blow
From Tänäis to Nile, from Nile to Gange.
All these haue not the Powre
To free the Minde from feares,
Nor hideous horror can allay one howre,
When Death in steele doth glance,
In Sicknesse lurke or yeares,
And wakes the Soule from out her mortall Trance.
No, but blest Life is this,
With chaste and pure desire,
To turne vnto the Load-starre of all Blisse,
On GOD the Minde to rest,
Burnt vp with sacred Fire,
Possessing him, to bee by him possest.
When to the baulmie East
Sunne doth his light impart,
Or When hee diueth in the lowlie West,
And rauisheth the Day,
With spotlesse Hands and Hart
Him chearefully to praise and to him pray.
To heed each action so,
As euer in his sight,
More fearing doing ill than passiue woe;
Not to seeme other thing
Than what yee are aright,
Neuer to doe what may Repentance bring:
Not to bee blowne with Pride,
Nor mou'd at Glories breath,
Which Shadow-like on wings of Time doth glide;
So Malice to disarme,
And conquere hastie Wrath,
As to doe good to those that Worke your harme:
To hatch no base Desires
Or Gold or Land to gaine,
Well pleas'd with what by Vertue one acquires,
To haue the Wit and Will
Consorting in one Straine,
Than what is good to haue no higher skill.
Neuer on Neighbours well,
With Cocatrices Eye
To looke, and make an others Heauen your Hell;
Not to be Beauties Thrall,
All fruitlesse Loue to flie,
Yet louing still a Loue transcending all.
A Loue which while it burnes
The Soule with fairest Beames,
In that vncreated Sunne the Soule it turnes,
And makes such Beautie proue,
That (if Sense saw her Gleames?)
All lookers on would pine and die for loue.
Who such a life doth liue,
Yee happie euen may call,
Ere ruthlesse Death a wished end him giue,
And after then when giuen,
More happie by his fall,
For Humanes, Earth, enioying Angels, Heauen.
Swift is your mortall Race,
And glassie is the Field,
Vaste are Desires not limited by Grace;
Life a weake Tapper is,
Then while it light doth yeeld
Leaue flying ioyes, embrace this lasting Blisse.
This when the Nimph had said,
Shee diu'd within the Flood,
Whose Face with smyling Curles long after staid.
Then Sighes did Zephyres presse,
Birdes sang from euery Wood,
And Ecchoes rang, this was true Happinesse.

[v] AN HYMNE OF THE FAIREST FAIRE.

[An Hymne of the Nature, Atributes, and Workes of God.]

[vi] [A Prayer for Mankinde.]

[vii] THE SHADOW OF THE IVDGEMENT

[An Essay of the Great and Generall Iudgement of the World.]

A CYPRESSE GROVE:

On the Report of the Death of the Author.

To S. W. A.

To the Memorie of the most excellent Ladie, Iane Countesse of Perth.

To the obsequies of the blessed Prince, Iames, King of great Britaine.

The Entertainment of King Charles.

[i]

[The heavens have heard our vowes, our just desires]

Heere are no Serean fleeces, Peru gold,
Auroras gemmes, nor wares by Tyrians sold;
Townes swell not here with Babilonian walles,
Nor Nero's sky-resembling gold-seel'd halles,
Nor Memphis spires, nor Quinzayes arched frames,
Captiving Seas, and giving Lands their names:
Faith (milke-white Faith) of old belov'd so well,
Yet in this corner of the World doth dwell
With her pure Sisters, Truth, Simplicitie;
Heere banish'd Honour beares them company,
A Mars-adorning brood is heere, their wealth
Sound mindes, and bodies of as sound a health:
Walles heere are men, who fence their Cities more
Then Neptune when he doth in mountaines roare,
Doth guard this Isle, or all those Forts and Towres
Amphions Harpe rais'd about Thebes bowres,
Heavens arch is oft their roofe, the pleasant shed
Of Oake and Plaine oft serves them for a bed.
To suffer want, soft pleasure to despise,
Runne over panting Mountaines crown'd with Ice,
Rivers orecome, the wastest Lakes appall
(Being to themselves, Oares, Steerers, ship and all)
Is their renowne; a brave all-daring race
Couragious, prudent, doth this Climate grace:
Yet the firme Base on which their glory stands,
In peace true hearts, in warres is valiant hands,
Which here (great King) they offer up to thee,
Thy worth respecting as thy pedegree:
Though much it be to come of Princely stemme,
More is it to deserve a Diadem.
Vouchsafe blest people, ravisht here with me,
To thinke my thoughts, and see what I doe see,
A Prince all gracious, affable, divine,
Meeke, wise, just, valiant, whose radiant shine
Of vertues (like the Starres about the Pole
Guilding the night) enlightneth every soule,
Your Scepter swayes, a Prince borne in this age
To guard the innocents from Tyrants rage,
To make Peace prosper, Iustice to reflowre,
In desert hamlet as in Lordly bowre;
A Prince, that though of none he stand in awe,
Yet first subjects himselfe to his owne law,
Who joyes in good, and still, as right directs
His greatnesse measures by his good effects,
His Peoples pedestall, who rising high
To grace this throne makes Scotlands name to flie
On Halcyons wings (her glory which restores)
Beyond the Ocean to Columbus shores,
Gods sacred picture in this man adore,
Honour his valour, zeale, his piety more,
High value what ye hold, him deep ingrave
In your hearts heart, from whom all good ye have:
For as Moones splendor from her brother springs,
The peoples welfare streameth from their Kings.
Since your loves object doth immortall prove,
O love this Prince with an eternall love,
Pray that those Crownes his Ancestors did weare,
His temples long (more orient) may beare,
That good he reach by sweetnesse of his sway,
That even his shadow may the bad affray,
That heaven on him what he desires bestow,
That still the glory of his greatnesse grow,
That your begunne felicities may last,
That no Orion doe with stormes them blast,
That victory his brave exployts attend,
East, West, or South doe he his Forces bend,
Till his great deeds all former deeds surmount,
And quaile the Nimbrot of the Hellespont;
That when his well-spent care all care becalmes,
He may in peace sleepe in a shade of Palmes;
And rearing up faire Trophees, that heavens may
Extend his life to worlds extreamest day.

[ii] Endymion.

Rows'd from the Latmian Cave, where many years
That Empresse of the lowest of the Sphæres,
Who cheeres the night, and kept me hid, apart
From mortall wights, to ease her love-sicke heart,
As young as when she did me first inclose,
As fresh in beauty as the Maying rose,
Endymion; that whilome kept my Flockes
Vpon Ionas flowry hills and rockes,
And warbling sweet layes to my Cynthea's beames,
Out-sang the Swannets of Meanders streames;
To whom (for Guerdon) she heavens secret barres
Made open, taught the paths and powers of Starres;
By this deare Ladies strict commandement
To celebrate this day I here am sent:
But whether is this heaven, which starres doe crowne,
Or are heavens flaming splendors here come downe,
To beautify this neather world with me?
Such state and glory did e're Shepheard see?
My wits my sense mistrust, and stay amaz'd,
No eye on fairer objects ever gaz'd,
Sure this is heaven, for every wandring starre,
Forsaking those great orbes where whirl'd they are,
All dismall sad aspects abandoning,
Are here assembled to greet some darling;
Nor is it strange if they heavens hight neglect,
Vnwonted worth produceth like effect,
Then this it is, thy presence (royall youth)
Hath brought them here within an Azymuth,
To tell by me (their Herauld) comming things,
And what each Fate to her sterne distaffe sings;
Heavens volume to unclaspe, wast pages spread,
Mysterious golden cyphers cleere to reade,
Heare then the augur of the future dayes
And all the starry Senate of the Sayes;
For what is firme decreed in heaven above
In vaine on earth strive mortalls to improve.

[iii] Saturne.

To faire hopes to give reines now is it time,
And soare as high as just desires may climbe;
O Halcyonean, cleere, and happy day,
From sorry wights let sorrow flie away,
And vexe Antarticke climes, great Britaines woes
Evanish, joy now in her Zenith glowes,
The old Leucadian Syth-bearing Sire
(Though cold) for thee feeles flames of sweet desire,
And many lusters at a perfect height
Shall keep thy Scepters majestie, as bright
And strong in power and glory every way,
As when thy peerelesse Parent did it sway,
Nere turning wrinkled in times endlesse length,
But one in her first beauty, youthfull strength,
Like thy rare mind, which stedfast as the Pole
Still fixed stands, however Sphæres doe role;
More, to inhaunce thy favours, this thy raigne
His age of gold he shall restore againe,
Love, Iustice, Honour, Innocence renew,
Mens spirits with white simplicity indue,
Make all to live in plenties ceaselesse store
With equall shares, not wishing to have more;
Then shall not cold the Plow-mens hopes beguile,
On earth shall skie with lovely glances smile,
Vntill'd, which shall each flower and hearbe bring forth,
And with faire gardens make of equall worth;
Life (long) shall not be thrall'd to mortall dates,
Thus heavens decree, so have ordain'd the Fates.

[iv] Iove.

Delight of heaven, sole honour of the earth,
Iove (courting thine ascendant) at thy birth
Proclaimed thee a King, and made it true,
That Emperies should to thy worth be due,
He gave thee what was good, and what was great,
What did belong to love, and what to state,
Rare gifts whose ardors turne the hearts of all,
Like tunder when flint attomes on it fall;
The Tramontane which thy faire course directs,
Thy counsells shall approve by their effects;
Iustice kept low by grants, and wrongs, and jarres,
Thou shalt relieve, and crowne with glistering starres,
Whom nought save law of force could keepe in awe
Thou shalt turne Clients to the force of law,
Thou armes shalt brandish for thine owne defence,
Wrongs to repell, and guard weake innocence,
Which to thy last effort thou shalt uphold,
As Oake the Ivy which it doth infold;
All overcome, at last thy selfe orecome,
Thou shalt make passion yield to reasons doome:
For smiles of fortune shall not raise thy mind,
Nor dismall most disasters turne declin'd,
True Honour shall reside within thy Court,
Sobrietie, and Truth there still resort,
Keepe promis'd faith thou shalt, Supercheries
Detest, and beagling Marmosets despise,
Thou, others to make rich, shalt not make poore
Thy selfe, but give that thou mayst still give more;
Thou shalt no Paranymph raise to high place,
For frizl'd locks, quaint pace, or painted face;
On gorgeous rayments, womanising toyes,
The workes of wormes, and what a Moth destroyes,
The Maze of fooles, thou shalt no treasure spend,
Thy charge to immortality shall tend,
Raise Pallaces, and Temples vaulted high,
Rivers ore arch, of hospitality,
Of Sciences the ruin'd Innes restore,
With walls and ports incircle Neptunes shore,
To new found worlds thy Fleets make hold their course,
And find of Canada the unknowne Sourse,
People those Lands which passe Arabian fields
In fragrant Wood and Muske which Zephyre yields;
Thou fear'd of none, shalt not thy people feare,
Thy peoples love thy greatnesse shall up-reare,
Still rigour shall not shine, and mercy lower,
What love can doe thou shalt not doe by power,
New and vast taxes thou shalt not extort,
Load heavy those thy bounty should support,
By harmlesse Iustice graciously reforme,
Delighting more in calme then roaring storme,
Thou shalt governe in peace as did thy Sire,
Keepe, save thine owne, and kingdomes new acquire,
Beyond Alcides Pillars, and those bounds
Where Alexanders fame till now resounds,
Till thou the greatest be among the Greats;
Thus heavens ordaine, so doe decree the Faits.

[v] Mars.

Sonne of the Lyon, thou of loathsome bands
Shalt free the earth, and what e're thee withstands
Thy noble pawes shall teare, the God of Thrace
Shall be the second, and before thy face,
To Truth and Iustice, whilst thou Trophees reares,
Armies shall fall dismayd with Pannick feares,
As when Aurora in skies azure lists
Makes shaddowes vanish, doth disperse the mists,
And in a twinckling with her opall light,
Nights horrours checketh, putteth starres to flight,
More to inflame thee to this noble taske,
To thee he here resignes his Sword and Caske,
A wall of flying Castles, armed Pines
Shall bridge thy sea, like heaven with steele that shines,
To aide earths tennants by foule yoakes opprest,
And fill with feares the great King of the West:
To thee already Victory displayes
Her garlands twin'd with Olive, Oake, and Bayes,
Thy triumphs finish shall all old debates;
Thus Heavens decree, so have ordain'd the Fates.

[vi] Sunne.

Wealth , Wisedome, Glory, Pleasure, stoutest hearts,
Religion, Lawes, Hyperion imparts
To thy just Raigne, which shall farre farre surpasse,
Of Emperours, Kings, the best that ever was;
Looke how hee dims the starres; thy glories rayes,
So darken shall the lustre of these dayes:
For in faire vertues Zodiacke thou shalt runne,
And in the heaven of worthies be the Sunne.
No more contemn'd shall haplesse Learning lie;
The maids of Pindus shall be raysed high;
For Bay and Ivie which their browes enroll'd,
Thou shalt them decke with gems and shining gold;
Thou open shalt Parnassus Cristall gates,
Thus heavens ordaine, so doe decree the Fates.

[vii] Venus.

The Acidalian Queene amidst the Bayes
Shall twine her mirtles, grant thee pleasant dayes;
She did make cleare thy house, and with her light
Of cheerelesse starres, put backe the dismall spight.
Thy Hymenean bed faire brood shall grace,
Which on the earth continue shall their race,
While Floras treasure shall the Meads endeare,
While sweete Pomona Rose-cheek't fruits shall beare,
While Phœbes beames her brothers emulates:
Thus Heavens decree, so have ordain'd the Fates.

[viii] Mercury.

Great Atlas Nephew, shall the workes of peace,
(The workes of plenty) Tillage, Trades encrease,
And Arts in times gulfes lost againe restore,
To their Perfection; nay, find many more,
More perfect artists, Ciclopes in their forge
Shall mould those brasen Tiphones, which disgorge
From their hard bowels mettall, flame and smoake,
Mufling the ayre up in a sable cloake:
The Sea shrinkes at the blow, shake doth the ground,
The worlds West corners doth the sound rebound,
The Stygian Porter leaveth off to barke,
Black Ioue appall'd doth shrow'd him in the darke;
Many a Typhis in adventures lost
By new found skill shall many mayden coast,
With thy sayle-winged Argoses find out,
Which like the Sunne shall runne the earth about,
And farre beyond his pathes score wavie wayes,
To Cathayes Lands by Hyperborean Seas,
Hee shall endue thee both in peace and warre,
With Wisedome, which then Strength is better farre,
Wealth, Honour, Armes, and Arts shall grace thy states:
Thus Heavens ordaine, so doe decree the Fates.

[ix] The Moone.

O how the faire Queene with the golden maids,
The Sunne of night, thy happy fortunes aids,
Though turban'd Princes for a badge her weare,
To them shee wain'd, to thee would full appeare;
Her Hand-maid Thetis daily walkes the round
About the Delos that no force it wound,
Then when thou left it and abroad did stray
(Deare Pilgrim) shee did straw with flowers the way,
And turning forraine force and counsell vaine,
Thy Guard and Guid return'd thee home againe;
To thee she Kingdomes, Yeares, Blisse did divine,
Quailing Medusas grim Snakes with her shine,
Beneath thee raigne Discord (fell mischiefes forge,
The bane of peoples, state and kingdomes scourge)
Pale Envie (with the Cockatrices eye,
Which seeing kils, but seene doth forthwith dye:)
Malice, Deceit, Rebellion, Impudence
Beyond the Garamants shall packe them hence,
With every Monster that thy glory hates,
Thus Heavens decree, so haue ordayn'd the Fates.

[x] Endymion.

That heretofore to thy heroicke mind
Haps, (hopes not answer'd as they were design'd:)
O doe not thinke it strange, times were not come,
And these faire starres had not pronounc'd their doome;
The destinies did on that day attend,
When to this Northren Region thou should lend
Thy cheering presence, and charg'd with Renowne,
Set on thy browes the Caledonian Crowne;
Thy vertues now thy just desire shall grace,
Sterne Chance shall change, and to Desert give place;
Let this be knowne to all the Fates admit
To their grave Counsell, and to every Witt
That spies Heavens inside; this let Sibilles know,
And those mad Corybants which dance and glow
On Dindimus high tops with franticke fire:
Let this bee knowne to all Apollo's Quire,
And people let it not be hid from you,
What Mountaines noyse and Floods proclaime as true:
Where ever fame abroad his prayse shall ring,
All shall observe, and serve this blessed King.

[xi]

[At length we see those eyes]

[xii] EPIGRAMME.

[Illustrious Top-bough of Heroicke Stemme]

Illustrious Top-bough of Heroicke Stemme,
Whose head is crown'd with glories Anademe,
My shallow Muse, not daring to draw neere
Bright Phœbus burning flames in his careere;
Yet knowing surely that Apollo shines
Vpon the Dung-hill, as on golden Mines:
And knowing this, the bounty of best Kings,
To marke the giver, not the gifted things,
Doth boldly venture in this pompous throng
To greet thy greatnesse with a wel-come Song;
And with the Pye doth Ave Cæsar sing,
While graver wits doe greater Offrings bring.

TO THE EXEQUIES OF THE HONOVRABLE, Sr. Antonye Alexander, KNIGHT, &c.

A Pastorall Elegie.

A Pastorall Elegie on the Death of S. A[ntonye] A[lexander.]

Madrigals, etc.

[ii] Son.

Aye me , and am I now the Man whose Muse
In happier Times was wont to laugh at Loue
And those who suffred that blind Boy abuse
The noble Gifts were giuen them from aboue?
What Metamorphose strange is this I proue?
My selfe now scarse I finde my selfe to be,
And thinkes no Fable Circes Tyrannie,
And all the Tales are told of changed Iove,
Vertue hath faire with her Philosophie
My Mind vnto a better Course to moue,
Reason may chide her full, and oft reproue
Affections Power, but what is that to me
Who euer thinkes, and neuer thinkes on Ought
But that bright Cherubine that thralles my Thought.

[iii] MAD.

Trees happier farre then I,
Which haue the Grace to heaue your Heads so hie,
And ouer-looke those Plaines:
Grow till your Branches kisse that lofty Skie
Which her (sweet Her) containes.
There make her know mine endlesse Loue, and Paines,
And how these Teares which from mine Eyes doe fall,
Helpt you to rise so Tall:
Her tell, as once I for her sake lou'd Breath,
So for her sake I now court lingring Death.

[iv] To Sleepe.

How comes it Sleepe, that thou
Euen kisses me affords
Of her (deare her) so farre who's absent now?
How did I heare those Words,
Which Rockes might moue, and moue the Pines to bow?
Aye mee before halfe Daye
Why didst thou steale away?
Returne, I thine for euer will remaine,
And onlie bring with thee that Guest againe.

[v] An Almanacke.

This strange Ecclipse one sayes
Strange Wonders doth fortell,
But yee whose Wyfes excell,
And loue to count their Praise,
Shut all your gates, your Hedges Plant with Thornes,
The Sunne menac'd the World this Time with Hornes.

[vi] A Chaine of Gold.

Are not those Lockes of Gold
Sufficient Chaines the wildest Harts to hold?
Is not that Yuorie Hand
A Diamantine Band,
Most sure to keepe the most vntamed Minde,
But yee must others finde?
O yes: why is that Golden One then borne
Thus free in Chaines (perhaps) Loues Chaines to scorne.

[vii] EPITAPH.

The Bawd of Iustice, he who Lawes controll'd,
And made them fawne, and frowne as he got gold,
That Proteus of our State, whose Hart and Mouth
Were farther distant than is North from South,
That Cormorant who made himselfe so grosse
On Peoples Ruine, and the Princes Losse,
Is gone to and though he here did euill,
He meanes below to prooue an honest Deuill.

[viii] A TRANSLATION.

[Fierce Robbers were of old]

Fierce Robbers were of old
Exild the Champian Ground,
From Hamlets chas'd, in Citties kill'd or bound,
And onely Woods, Caues, Mountaines, did them hold:
But now (when all is sold)
Woods, Mountaines, Caues, to good Men be refudge,
And doe the Guiltlesse lodge,
And cled in Purple Gownes
The greatest Theeues command within the Townes.

[ix]

[Come Citizens erect to Death an Alter]

Come Citizens erect to Death an Alter,
That sau'd to you Axe, Fuell, Timber, Halter.

[x] Proteus of Marble.

This is no worke of Stone,
Though breathlesse, cold it seeme and sense hath none,
But that false God which keepes
The monstruous people of the raging Deepes:
Now that he doth not change his Shape this while,
Is't not thus constant more you to beguile?

[xi] The Statue of VENVS sleeping.

Passenger vexe not thy Minde
To make mee mine Eyes vnfold,
For when thou them doest behold,
Thine perhaps they will make blinde.

[xii] LAVRA to PETRARCH.

I rather loue a Youth and childish Rime,
Then thee whose Verse and Head be wise through time.

[xiii] A Louers Prayer.

Neare to a Christall Spring,
With Thirst and Heat opprest,
Narcissa faire doth rest,
Trees pleasant Trees which those green plaines forth bring
Now interlace your trembling Tops aboue
And make a Canopie vnto my Loue,
So in Heauens highest House when Sunne appeares,
Aurora may you cherish with her Teares.

[xiv] For Dorvs.

Why Nais stand yee nice
Like to a well wrought Stone,
When Dorus would you kisse?
Denie him not that blisse,
He's but a Childe (old Men be Children twice)
And euen a Toothlesse one:
And when his Lips yours touch in that delight
Yee need not feare he will those Cherries bite.

[xv] Loue vagabonding.

Sweet Nymphes if as yee straye
Yee finde the froth-borne Goddesse of the Sea,
All blubbred, pale, vndone,
Who seekes her giddie Sone,
That litle God of Loue,
Whose golden shafts your chastest Bosomes proue:
Who leauing all the Heauens hath runne away:
If shee to him him findes will ought impart
Her tell he Nightlie lodgeth in my Heart.

[xvi] Phræne.

Aonian Sisters helpe my Phrenes Praise to tell,
Phrene hart of my hart with whom the Graces dwel,
For I surcharged am so sore that I not know
What first to praise of her, her Brest, or Necke of Snow,
Her Cheeks with Roses spred, or her two Sun-like Eies,
Her Teeth of brightest Pearle, her Lips where Svveetnes lies:
But those do praise themselues, being to all Eyes set forth,
That Muses yee need not to say ought of their Worth,
Then her white sistring Papes essaye for to make knowne,
But her white sistring Papes through smallest Vail are showne,
Yet Shee hath some thing else more worthie then the rest
Not seene, goe sing of that farre beneath her Brest
Which mounts like fair Parnasse, where Pegasse wel doth run:
Here Phræne stay'd my Muse ere shee had well begun.

[xvii] Desired Death.

Deare Life while as I touch
These Corrall Ports of blisse,
Which still themselues do kisse,
And sweetly me inuite to do as much,
All panting in my Lips,
My Life my Heart doth leaue,
No sense my Senses haue,
And inward Powers doe find a strange Ecclipse,
This Death so heauenly well
Doth so me please, that I
Would neuer longer seeke in sense to dwell,
If that euen thus I only could but die.

[xviii] Phœbe.

If for to be alone and all the Night to wander
Maids can proue chast, then chast is Phœbe without slander.

Commendatory Verses.

i. To Sr W. A.

Like Sophocles (the hearers in a trance)
With Crimson Cothurne on a stately Stage
If thou march forth (where all with pompe doth glance)
To mone the Monarches of the Worlds first Age;
Or if, like Phœbus, thou thy Selfe aduance,
All bright with sacred Flames, known by Heauẽs Badge,
To make a Day, of Dayes which scornes the Rage,
Whilst when they end it, what should come doth Scance;
Thy Phœnix-Muse still wing'd with Wonders flies,
Praise of our Brookes, Staine to old Pindus Springs,
And who thee follow would, scarce with their Eyes
Can reach the Spheare where thou most sweetlie sings.
Though string'd with Starres Heauẽs Orpheus Harpe enrolle,
More worthy Thine to blaze about the Pole.

ii. To the Author.

Sonnet.

Come forth, Laissa, spred thy lockes of Gold,
Show thy cheekes roses in their virgine Prime,
And though no gẽmes the decke which Indies hold,
Yeild not vnto the fairest of thy tyme.
No ceruse brought farre farre beyond the seas,
Noe poisone lyke Cinabre Paints thy face,
Let them haue that whose natiue hues displeas,
Thow graceth nakednesse, it doth the grace.
Thy Syre no pyick-purse is of others witt,
Those Jewellis be his oune which the adorne;
And though thow after greatter ones be borne,
Thou mayst be bold euen midst the first to sitt,
For whilst fair Iuliett, or the farie quene
Doe liue with theirs, thy beautie shall be seene.

iii. ON THE DEATH OF GODEFRID VANDER HAGEN.

Scarce I four Lusters had enjoyed Breath,
When my Lifes Threid was cut by cruel Death;
Few were my Yeares, so were my Sorrowes all,
Long Dayes haue Drammes of sweet, but Pounds of Gall;
And yet the fruites which my faire Spring did giue,
Proue some may longer breath, not longer liue.
That craggie Path which doth to Vertue lead,
With steps of Honor I did stronglie tread;
I made sweet Layes, and into Notes diuyne
Out-sung Apollo and the Muses nyne.
Forths sweetest Swannets did extolle my Verse,
Forths sweetest Swannets now weepe o're my Hearse,
For which I pardone Fates my date of Yeares;
Kings may haue vaster Tombes, not dearer Teares.

iv. Of my Lord of Galloway his learned Commentary on the Reuelation.

v. ON THE BOOKE.

vi. On These Lockes.

vii. Paraineticon.

Poore Rhene, and canst Thou see
Thy Natiues Gore Thy Christall Curles deface,
Thy Nymphes so bright which bee,
Halfe-Blackamores embrace,
And (dull'd with Grapes) yet not resente Thy Case?
Fallen are Thy Anadeames,
O of such goodlie Cities Famous Flood!
Dimm'd bee Thy Beauties Beames,
And with Thy Spoyles and Blood
Hell is made rich, prowd the Iberian Blood.
And You, faire Europes Queen,
Which hast with Lillies deckt your purple Seate,
Can you see those haue beene
Sterne Cometes to Your State,
On Neighboures Wracke to grow so hugelie great?
Looke how much Iber gaines,
By as much lessened is Your flowrie Throne;
O doe not take such paines
On Bartholomewes alone,
But seeke to reacquire your Pampelone.
Braue People, which endwell
The happiest Ile that Neptunes armes embrace;
World, which doth yet excell
In what first Worlds did grace,
Doe neuer to base seruitude giue Place:
Marshalle your Wits and Armes,
Your Courage whett with Pittie and Disdaine,
Your deeme your Allies Harmes;
All lose or re-obtaine,
And either Palme or fatall Cypresse gaine.
To this Great Spirits Frame
If moulded were All Mindes, all Endeuoures,
Could Worth thus All inflame,
Then not this Ile were Ours
Alone, but all betweene Sunnes golden Bowres.

viii. OF THE BOOKE.

You that with awfull eyes and sad regards,
Gazing on Masts of Ships crost with their yards;
Or when yee see a Microcosme to swim,
At eury stroake the Crucifixe doe limne
In your Braines Table; or when smaller things,
As pyed Butter-flyes, and Birds their wings
Doe raise a Crosse, streight on your knees doe fall
And worship; you, that eurye painted wall,
Grac't with some antik face, some Godling make,
And practise whoordome for the Crosses sake
With Bread, stone, mettall; Read these sacred Layes,
And (Proselytes) proclaime the Authors praise:
Such Fame your Transformation shall him giue,
With Homers Euer that his Name shall liue.

ix. [Subjoined to “A FVNERALL SERMON, Preached at the buriall of Lady Iane Maitlane, daughter to the Right Noble Earle, Iohn Earle of Lauderdail.” Edinburgh, 1633, 4to.]

x. Of Persons Varieties.

The Lawyer here may learne Divinity,
The Diuine Lawes, or faire Astrology,
The Dammaret respectiuely to fight,
The Duellist to court a Mistresse right;
Such who their name take from the Rosie-Crosse,
May here by Time learne to repaire their losse:
All learne may somewhat, if they be not fooles;
Arts quicklier here are lesson'd than in Schooles.

xi. Distich, of the same.

This Booke a World is; here if errours be,
The like (nay worse) in the great world we see.

Posthumous Poems. I.

i.

[What course of life should wretched Mortalles take?]

What course of life should wretched Mortalles take?
In courtes hard questiones large contention make;
Care dwelles in houses, labour in the feild,
Tumultuous seas affrighting dangeres yeild.
In foraine landes thou neuer canst be blest,
If rich thou art in feare, if poore distrest.
In wedlock frequent discontentmentes swell,
Vnmaried persones as in desertes dwell.
How many troubles are with children borne?
Yet hee that wants them countes himself forlorne.
Young men are wanton and of wisdome voyd,
Gray haires are cold, vnfit to be imployd.
Who would not one of those two offeres choose:
Not to be borne; or breath with speed to loose?

ii.

[All good hath left this age, all trackes of shame]

All good hath left this age, all trackes of shame,
Mercie is banished and pittye dead,
Justice from whence it came to heauen is fled,
Relligion maim'd is thought an idle Name.
Faith to distrust and malice hath giuen place,
Enuie with poysond teeth hath freindship torne,
Renowned knowledge lurkes, despisd, a scorne,
Now it is euill all euill not to embrace.
There is no life saue vnder seruile Bandes,
To make Desert a Vassall to their crimes
Ambition with Auarice ioyne Handes;
O euer-shamefull, O most shamelesse Tymes!
Saue that Sunnes light wee see, of good heare tell,
This Earth wee courte so much were verye Hell.

iii.

[Doth then the world goe thus, doth all thus moue?]

Doth then the world goe thus, doth all thus moue?
Is this the Justice which on Earth wee find?
Is this that firme decree which all doth bind?
Are these your influences Powers aboue?
Those soules which Vices moodye Mistes most blind,
Blind Fortune blindlie most their friend doth proue:
And they who Thee (poore Idole) Vertue loue
Plye like a feather toss'd by storme and wind.
Ah! (if a Prouidence doth swaye this all?)
Why should best Mindes groane vnder most distresse,
Or why should pryde Humilitie turne Thrall,
And injuryes the Innocent oppresse?
Heauens hinder, stope this fate, or grante a Tyme
When Good maye haue as well as Bad their prime.

iv. A Replye.

Who do in good delight
That souueraine Iustice euer doth rewarde,
And though sometyme it smyte,
Yet it doth them reguard;
For euen amidst their Griefe
They find a strong reliefe:
And Death it selfe can worke them no despight.
Againe in euill who ioye
And doe in it grow old,
In midst of Mirth are charg'd with sinnes annoye,
Which is in conscience scrolld;
And when their lifes fraile thread is cut by Tyme,
They punishment find equall to each cryme.

v. Beauties Frailtye.

Looke how the maying Rose
At sulphures azure fumes,
In a short space her crimsin blush doth lose,
And all amaz'd a pallid whit assumes:
So Tyme our best consumes,
Makes youth and Beautie passe,
And what was pryde turnes horrour in our Glasse.

vi. To a swallow, building neare the statue of Medea.

Fond Prognèe, chattering wretch,
That is Medea, there
Wilt thou thy yonglinges hatch?
Will shee keep thyne, her own who could not spare?
Learne from her franticke face
To seeke some fitter place.
What other mayst thou hope for, what desire,
Saue Stygian spelles, woundes, poison, iron, fire?

vii. Venus armed.

As to trye new alarmes,
In Ioues great Court aboue
The wanton Queene of Loue
Of sleeping Mars put on the horrid armes.
Her gazing in a glasse
To see what thing shee was,
To mocke and scoffe the blew-eyed maide did moue.
Who said, sweet Queene thus should yee haue been dight
When Vulcan tooke you napping with your knight.

viii. The Boares head.

Amidst a pleasant greene
Which sunne did seldome see,
Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian Queene,
The Head of a wild boare hang on a Tree:
And driuen by zephyres breath
Did fall, and wound the louelye youth beneath,
On whom yet scarce appeares
So much of bloud as Venus eyes shed teares.
But euer as shee wept her Antheme was,
Change, cruell change, alas!
My Adon, whilst thou liud, was by thee slaine,
Now dead this louer must thou kill againe!

ix. To an Owle.

Ascalaphus tell mee,
So may nights courtaine long tyme couer Thee,
So yuie euer maye
From irksome light keep chamber thyne and bed,
And in moones liurey cled
So mayst thou scorne the Quiristeres of Daye:
When plaining thou dost staye
Neare to the sacred window of my deare,
Dost euer thou her heare
To wake, and steale swift houres from drowsye sleep?
And when shee wakes, doth ere a stollen sigh creep
Into thy listning Eare?
If that deafe God doth yet her carelesse keep,
In lowder notes My Grief with thyne expresse,
Till by thy shrickes shee thinke on my distresse.

x. Daphnè.

Now Daphnès armes did grow
In slender Branches, and her braided haire
Which like gold waues did flow
In leauie Twigs was stretched in the aire;
The grace of either foot
Transform'd was to a root,
A tender Barke enwrapes her Bodye faire.
Hee who did cause her ill
Sor-wailing stood, and from his blubb'red eyne
Did showres of teares vpon the rine distill
Which watred thus did bude and turne more greene.
O deep Dispaire! o Hart-appalling Griefe!
When that doth woe encrease should bring reliefe.

xi. The Beare of loue.

In woodes and desart Boundes
A beast abroad doth roame,
So louing sweetnesse and the honnyecombe
That it of Beas contemptes alarmes and woundes:
I by like pleasure led
To proue what heauens did place
Of sweet on your faire face,
Whilst therewith I am fed,
Rest carelesse (Bear of loue) of hellish smart
And how those eyes afflicte and wound my hart.

xii. Galateas Sonnets.

xiii. On the Death of a Margarite.

In shelles and gold pearles are not keept alone,
A Margarite here lies beneath a stone;
A Margarite that did excell in worth
All those rich Gemmes the Indies both bring forth;
Who had shee liu'd when good was lou'd of men
Had made the Graces foure the Muses ten,
And forc'd those happye tymes her dayes that claim'd
To be from her the age of pearle still nam'd.
Shee was the rarest jewell of her kynd,
Gract with more beautye than shee left behind,
All Goodnesse Vertue Wonder, and could cheare
The sadest Minds: Now Nature, knowing heere
How Things but showen, then hiden, ar loud best,
This Margaret shrin'd in this marble chest.

xiv.

[Nor Amaranthes nor Roses doe bequeath]

Nor Amaranthes nor Roses doe bequeath
Vnto this Herse, but Tamariskes and Vine,
For that same thirst though dead yet doth him pine,
Which made him so carowse whilst hee drew breath.

xv. Epitaph.

Heer S--- lyes, most bitter gall,
Who whilst hee liud spoke euill of all,
Onlye of God the Arrant Sot
Nought said, but that hee knew him not.

xvi. The oister.

With open shells in seas, on heauenly due
A shining oister lushiouslie doth feed,
And then the Birth of that ætheriall seed
Shows, when conceau'd, if skies lookt darke or blew:
So doe my thoughts (celestiall twins) of you,
At whose aspect they first beginne & breed,
When they are borne to light demonstrat true,
If yee then smyld, or lowr'd in murning weed.
Pearles then are framd orient, faire in forme,
In their conception if the heauens looke cleare;
But if it thunder, or menace a storme,
They sadlie darke and wannish doe appeare:
Right so my thoughts are, so my notes do change,
Sweet if yee smyle, & hoarse if yee looke strange.

xvii. All Changeth.

The angrye winds not ay
Doe cuffe the roring deep,
And though Heauens often weep
Yet doe they smyle for joy when com'd is May,
Frosts doe not euer kill the pleasant flowres,
And loue hath sweets when gone are all the sowres.
This said a shepheard closing in his armes
His Deare, who blusht to feele loues new alarmes.

xviii. Silenus to King Midas.

The greatest Gift that from their loftie Thrones
The all-gouerning powers to men can giue
Is that hee neuer breath, or breathing once
A suckling end his dayes, and leaue to liue:
For then hee neither knowes the woe nor joy
Of life, nor feares the stigian lakes annoy.

xix. To his amorous Thoughts.

Sweet wanton thought which art of Beautye borne,
And which on Beautye feedst & sweet Desire,
Who like the Butterflye dost endlesse turne
About that flame that all so much admire;
That heauenlye face which doth outblush the Morne,
Those yuoryd hands, those Threeds of golden wyre,
Thou still surroundest, yet darst not aspire
To vew Mynds beautyes which the rest adorne.
Sure thou dost well that place not to come neare,
Nor see the maiestye of that faire court;
For if thow sawst the vertues ther resort,
The pure intelligence that moues that spheare,
Like soules departed to the Ioyes aboue,
Backe neuer wouldst thou come, nor thence remoue.

xx. Verses of the late Earl of Pembroke

xxi. A Replye.

xxii. A Translation.

[Ah! silly Soule, what wilt thou say]

xxiii. To the Memory of [John, Earl of Lauderdale.]

xxiv. To the Memorie of the excellent ladye Isabell, Countesse of Lawderdale.

xxv.

[Far from these Bankes exiled be all Joyes]

xxvi.

[Like to the Gardens Eye, the Flower of Flow'rs]

Like to the Gardens Eye, the Flower of Flow'rs
With purple Pompe that dazle doth the Sight;
Or as among the lesser Gems of Night,
The Usher of the Planet of the Houres:
Sweet Maid, thou shinedst on this World of ours,
Of all Perfections having trac'd the hight,
Thine outward frame was faire, faire inward Powers,
A Saphire Lanthorne, and an incense light.
Hence, the enamour'd Heaven as too too good
On Earths all-thorny soyle long to abide,
Transplanted to their Fields so rare a Bud,
Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide.
Earth moan'd her losse, and wish'd she had the grace
Not to have known, or known thee longer space.

xxvii. Madrigal.

[Hard Laws of mortall Life!]

Hard Laws of mortall Life!
To which made Thrales, we come without consent
Like Tapers lighted to be early spent,
Our Griefes are alwaies rife,
When joyes but halting march, and swiftly fly
Like shadows in the Eye:
The shadow doth not yeeld unto the Sun,
But Joyes and Life do waste even when begun.

xxviii. On the death of a nobleman in Scotland, buried at Aithen.

xxix. Epitaph.

Fame, Register of Tyme,
Write in thy scrowles, that I,
A wisdome louer, and sweet poesie,
Was croped in my Prime,
And ripe in worth, though scarce in yeares, did die.

xxx.

[Justice, Truth, Peace, and Hospitalitie]

Justice, Truth, Peace, and Hospitalitie,
Friendship, and Loue, being resolued to dye
In these lewd tymes, haue chosen heere to haue
With just, true, pious, kynd DALYELL their graue;
Hee them cherish'd so long, so much did grace,
That they than this would choose no dearer place.

xxxi.

[When Death to deck his Trophees stopt thy breath]

xxxii.

[Within the Closure of this Narrow Grave]

Within the Closure of this Narrow Grave
Lye all those Graces a Good-wife could have:
But on this Marble they shall not be read,
For then the Living envy would the Dead.

xxxiii.

[The daughter of a king, of princelye partes]

The daughter of a king, of princelye partes,
In Beautie eminent, in Vertues cheife,
Load-starre of loue and load-stone of all Hartes,
Her freindes and Husbandes onlie Joy, now Griefe,
Enclosed lyes within this narrow Graue,
Whose Paragone no Tymes, no Climates haue.

xxxiv.

[Verses fraile Records are to keep a Name]

Verses fraile Records are to keep a Name,
Or raise from Dust Men to a Life of Fame,
The sport and spoyle of Ignorance; but far
More fraile the Frames of Touch and Marble are,
Which envy, Avarice, Time e're long confound,
Or mis-devotion equalls with the Ground.
Vertue alone doth last, frees man from Death,
And, though despis'd and scorned here beneath,
Stands grav'n in Angels Diamantine Rolles,
And blazed in the Courts above the Poles.
Thou wast faire Vertues Temple, they did dwell,
And live ador'd in thee, nought did excell
But what thou either didst possesse or love,
The Graces Darling, and the maids of Jove,
Courted by Fame for Bounties which the Heaven
Gave thee in great, which if in Parcels given
To many, such we happy sure might call,
How happy then wast thou who enjoyedst them all?
A whiter Soule ne're body did invest,
And now (sequestred) cannot be but blest,
Inrob'd in Glory, 'midst those Hierarchies
Of that immortall People of the Skies,
Bright Saints and Angels, there from cares made free
Nought doth becloud thy soveraign Good from Thee.
Thou smil'st at Earths Confusions and Jars,
And how for Centaures Children we wage wars:
Like honey Flies, whose rage whole swarmes consumes
Till Dust thrown on them makes them vaile their plumes.
Thy friends to thee a Monument would raise,
And limne thy Vertues; but dull griefe thy Praise
Breakes in the Entrance, and our Taske proves vaine,
What duty writes that woe blots out againe:
Yet Love a Pyramid of Sighs thee reares,
And doth embaulme thee with Fare-wells and Teares.

xxxv. Rose.

Though Marble, Porphyry, and mourning Touch—
May praise these spoiles, yet can they not too much;
For Beauty last, and this Stone doth close,
Once Earths Delight, Heavens care, a purest Rose.
And (Reader) shouldst thou but let fall a Teare
Upon it, other flow'rs shall here appeare,
Sad Violets and Hyacinths which grow
With markes of griefe: a publike losse to show.

xxxvi.

[Relenting Eye, which daignest to this Stone]

Relenting Eye, which daignest to this Stone
To lend a look, behold, here be laid one,
The Living and the Dead interr'd, for Dead
The Turtle in its Mate is; and she fled
From Earth, her [OMITTED] choos'd this Place of Griefe
To bound [OMITTED] Thoughts, a small and sad Reliefe.
His is this Monument, for hers no Art
Could frame, a Pyramide rais'd of his Heart.

xxxvii.

[Instead of Epitaphs and airy praise]

Instead of Epitaphs and airy praise
This Monument a Lady chaste did raise
To her Lords living fame, and after Death
Her Body doth unto this Place bequeath,
To rest with his, till Gods shrill Trumpet sound,
Though time her Life, no time her love could bound.

Posthumous Poems. II.

i.

[The scottish kirke the English church doe name]

The scottish kirke the English church doe name,
The english church the Scotes a kirke doe call;
Kirke and not church, church and not kirke, O shame!
Your kappa turne in chi, or perishe all:
Assemblies meet, post Bishopes to the court;
If these two Nationes fight, its strangeres sport.

ii.

[Against the king, sir, now why would yee fight?]

Against the king, sir, now why would yee fight?
Forsooth because hee made mee not a knight.
And yee my lordes, why arme yee against Charles?
Because of lordes hee would not make us Earles.
Earles, why lead you forth these angrye bandes?
Because wee will not quite the churches landes.
Most hollye church-Men, what is your intent?
The king our stipendes largelie did augment.
Commones, to tumult thus how are yee driuen?
Our priestes say fighting is the way to Heauen.
Are these iust cause of Warre, good Bretheren, grante?
Him Plunder! hee nere swore our couenant.
Giue me a thousand couenants, I'll subscriue
Them all, and more, if more yee can contriue
Of rage and malice; and let eurye one
Blake treason beare, not bare Rebellione.
I'll not be mockt, hist, plunder'd, banisht hence
For more yeeres standing for a . . . prince.
The castells all are taken, and his crown,
The sword and sceptre, ensignes of Renown,
With the lieutenant fame did so extoll,
And all led captiues to the Capitoll;
I'll not die Martire for any mortall thing,
It's enough to be confessour for a king.
Will this you giue contentment, honest Men?
I haue written Rebelles, pox vpon the pen!

iii.

[The King a Negative Voice most justly hath]

The King a Negative Voice most justly hath,
Since the Kirk hath found out a Negative Faith.

iv.

[In parlament one voted for the king]

In parlament one voted for the king,
The crowd did murmur hee might for it smart;
His voice again being heard, was no such thing,
For that which was mistaken was a fart.

v.

[Bold Scotes, at Bannochburne yee killd your king]

Bold Scotes, at Bannochburne yee killd your king,
Then did in parlament approue the fact;
And would yee Charles to such a non-plus bring,
To authorize Rebellion by an act?
Well, what yee craue, who knowes but granted maye be?
But if hee do it, cause swadle him for a Babye.

vi. A Replye.

Swadl'd is the Babye, and almost two yeeres
(His swadling tyme) did neither crye nor sturre,
But star'd, smyld, did lye still, void of all feares,
And sleept, though barked at by eurye curre:
Yea, had not wakt, if Leslea, that hoarse Nurce,
Had not him hardlie rock't; old wyues him curse!

vii.

[The king nor Bond nor oath had him to follow]

The king nor Bond nor oath had him to follow
Of all his subiects; they were giuen to Thee,
Leslea. Who is the greatest? By Apollo,
The Emprour thou, some palsgraue scarce seemd hee.
Could thou throw lordes as wee doe bishopes down,
Small distance were between thee and a crown.

viii. On Pime.

When Pime last night descended into Hell,
Ere hee his coupes of Lethè did carouse,
What place is this (said hee) I pray mee tell?
To whom a Diuell: This is the lower howse.

ix. The Statue of Alcides.

Flora vpon a tyme
Naked Alcides statue did behold,
And with delight admird each arme and lime:
Onlie one fault (shee said) could be of it told;
For by right symmetrye
The craftsman had him wrongd,
To such talle iointes a taller club belongd.
The club hung by his thigh:
To which the statuary angrie did replye,
Faire Nymphe, in auncient dayes your holes by farre,
Were not so hudglye vast as now they are.

x.

[Great lyes they preach who tell the church cannot err]

Great lyes they preach who tell the church cannot err,
Lesse lyes, who tell the king's not head of her;
Great lyes, who saye we may shed bretherens blood,
Lesse lyes, who tell dombe bishopes are not good;
Great lyes they preach, saye we for Religion fight,
Lesse lyes who saye the king does nothing right;
Great lyes & less lyes, fooles will saye heere I
Playe on Mens nailes. Who sayes so doth not lie.

xi.

[Most royall sir, heere I doe you beseech]

Most royall sir, heere I doe you beseech
Who art a lyon, to heare a lyons speech;
A Miracle; for since the dayes of Æsope
Till ours no lyon yet his voice dard hoise up
To such a Majestie. Then, king of Men,
The king of Beastes speakes to thee from his Den;
A fountaine now. That lyon which was lead
By Androclus through Rome had not a head
More rationale than this, bred in this Nation,
Who in your presence warbleth his oration;
For though hee heere enclosed be in plaster,
When hee was free hee was the Townes Shole Master.
Then like a Thisbè let mee not affraye
You when from Ninus Tombe shee ranne away.
This well yee see is not that Arethusa
The Nymphe of Sicily, no! Men may carowse a
Health of plump Lyȩus noblest Grapes
From these faire conduites, and turne drunke like apes.
This sacred spring I keep as did that Dragon
Hesperian apples. And now Sir, a plague on
This poore Town if heere yee be not Well come;
But who can question this, when euen a Well come
Is, euen the gate. I would say more;
But words now failing, dare not, least I rore.

xii. The country Maid.

A country Maid amazon-like did ryde,
To sit more sure with legge on either syde;
Her Mother who her spyed, sayd that ere long
Shee might due pennance suffer for that wrong;
For when tyme should more yeeres on her bestow,
That Horses haire between her thighes would grow.
Scarce winter twice was come, as was her told,
When shee found all to frizell there with gold,
Which first her made affraid, then turnd her sicke,
And keept her in her bed almost a weeke.
At last her mother calls, who scarce for laughter
Could heare the pleasant storie of her daughter;
But that this thought no longer should her vex
Shee said that barded thus was all the sex;
And to proue true that now shee did not scorne,
Reueald to her the gate where shee was borne.
The girle, that seeing, cryed, now freed of paine,
Ah! Mother, yee haue ridden on the maine.

xiii.

[Gods iudgments seldome vse to cease, vnlesse]

Gods iudgments seldome vse to cease, vnlesse
The sinnes which them procurd men doe confesse.
Our cryes are Baalles priestes, our fasting vaine,
Our prayers not heard, nor answered vs againe:
Till periurye, wrong, rebellion, be confest,
Thinke not on peace, nor to be fred of pest.

xiv.

[The King gives yearly to his Senate Gold]

The King gives yearly to his Senate Gold
Who can deny but Justice then is sold!

xv. Epitaph.

Heere Rixus lies, a Nouice in the lawes,
Who plaines Hee came to Hell without a cause.

xvi. Translation of the death of a sparrow, out of Passerat.

Ah! if yee aske (my friendes) why this salt shower
My blubbered eyes vpon this paper power,
Dead is my sparrow; he whom I did traine,
And turnd so toward, by a cat is slaine.
Skipping no more now shall hee on me attend.
Light displeaseth: would my dayes could end!
Ill heare no more him chirpe forth prettye layes;
Haue I not cause to curse my wretched dayes?
A Dedalus hee was to snatch a flye,
Nor wrath nor wildnesse men in him could spye;
If to assault his taile that any dard,
He pinchd their fingers, and against them warrd:
Then might bee seene the crest shake vp & down,
Which fixed was vpon his litle crown;
Like Hectores, Troyes strong bulwarke, when in ire
Hee ragd to set the Grecian fleet on fire.
But ah, alas! a cat this pray espyes,
Then with a traitrous leap did it surprise.
Vndoubtedlie this bird was killd by treason,
Or otherwise should of that feind had reason.
So Achilles thus by Phrigian heard was slaine,
And stout Camilla fell by Aruns vaine:
So that false horse which Pallas raisd gainst Troy,
Priame & that faire cittye did destroy.
Thou now, whose heart is swelled with this vaine glorye,
Shalt not liue long to count thy honours storye.
If any knowledge bideth after death
In sprites of Birdes whose bodyes haue no breath,
My dearlings sprit sal know in lower place,
The vangeance falling on the cattish race.
For neuer chat nor catling I sal find,
But mawe they shall in Plutos palace blind.
Ye who with panted pens & bodies light
Doe dint the aire, turne hadervart your flight,
To my sad teares apply these notes of yours,
Vnto this Idol bring a Harvest of flours;
Let him accepte from vs, as most deuine,
Sabean incense, milke, food, suetest vine;
And on a stone these vords let some engraue:
The litle Body of a sparrow braue
In a foul gloutonous chats vombe closd remaines,
Vhose ghost now graceth the Elysian plaines.

xvii. Saint Peter, after the denying his master.

Like to the solitarie pelican,
The shadie groues I hant & Deserts wyld,
Amongst woods Burgesses, from sight of Man,
From earths delights, from myne owne selfe exild.
But that remorse which with my falle beganne,
Relenteth not, nor is by change beguild,
But rules my soule, and like a famishd chyld
Renewes its cryes, though Nurse doe what shee can.
Looke how the shricking Bird that courtes the Night
In ruind walles doth lurke, & gloomie place:
Of Sunne, of Moone, of Starres, I shune the light,
Not knowing where to stray, what to embrace:
How to Heauens lights should I lift these of myne,
Since I denyed him who made them shine?

xviii.

[The woefull Marie midst a blubbred band]

xix. A Character of the Anti-Couenanter, or Malignant.

Would yee know these royall knaues
Of free Men would turne vs slaues;
Who our Vnion doe defame
With Rebellions Wicked Name?
Read these Verses, and yee il spring them,
Then on Gibbetes straight cause hing them.
They complaine of sinne and follye,
In these tymes so passing hollye
They their substance will not giue,
Libertines that we maye liue;
Hold that people too too wantom,
Vnder an old king dare cantom.
They neglecte our circular Tables,
Scorne our actes and lawes as fables,
Of our battales talke but meeklye,
With sermones foure content them weeklye,
Sweare King Charles is neither Papist,
Armenian, Lutherian, Atheist;
But that in his Chamber-Prayers,
Which are pour'd 'midst Sighs and Tears,
To avert God's fearful Wrath,
Threatning us with Blood and Death,
Persuade they would the Multitude,
This King too holy is and good.
They avouch we'll weep and groan
When Hundred Kings we serve for one,
That each Shire but Blood affords
To serve the Ambition of young Lords,
Whose Debts ere now had been redoubled,
If the State had not been troubled.
Slow they are our Oath to swear,
Slower for it Arms to bear;
They do Concord love and Peace,
Would our Enemies embrace,
Turn Men Proselytes by the Word,
Not by Musket, Pike, and Sword.
They Swear that for Religion's Sake
We may not massacre, burn, sack;
That the Beginning of these Pleas
Sprang from the ill-sped ABC's;
For Servants that it is not well
Against their Masters to Rebel;
That that Devotion is but slight
Doth force men first to swear, then fight;
That our Confession is indeed
Not the Apostolick CREED,
Which of Negations we contrive,
Which Turk and Jew may both subscrive;
That Monies should Men's Daughters marry,
They on frantick War miscarry,
Whilst dear the Souldiers they pay,
At last who will snatch all away,
And as Times turn worse and worse,
Catechise us by the Purse;
That Debts are paid with bold stern Looks,
That Merchants pray on their Compt-books;
That Justice, dumb and sullen, frowns
To see in Croslets hang'd her Gowns;
That Preachers ordinary Theme
Is 'gainst Monarchy to declaim;
That since Leagues we began to swear,
Vices did ne're so black appear;
Oppression, Blood-shed, ne're more rife,
Foul Jars between the Man and Wife;
Religion so contemn'd was never,
Whilst all are raging in a Fever.
They tell by Devils and some sad Chance
That that detestable League of France,
Which cost so many Thousand Lives,
And Two Kings by Religious Knives,
Is amongst us, though few descry;
Though they speak Truth, yet say they Lye.
Hee that sayes that night is night,
That halting folk walk not vpright,
That the owles into the spring
Doe not nightingalles outsing;
That the seas wee can not plough,
Plant strawberryes in the raine-bow;
That waking men doe not sound sleep,
That the fox keepes not the sheep;
That alls not gold doth gold appeare,
Belieue him not although hee sweere.
To such syrenes stope your eare,
Their societyes forbeare.
Tossed you may be like a waue,
Veritye may you deceaue;
True fools they may make of you;
Hate them worse than Turke or Jew.
Were it not a dangerous Thing,
Should yee againe obey the king,
Lordes losse should souueraigntie,
Souldiours haste backe to Germanie,
Justice should in your Townes remaine,
Poore Men possesse their own againe,
Brought out of Hell that word of plunder
More terrible than diuell & Thunder,
Should with the Couenant flye away,
And charitye amongst vs stay?
When yee find those lying fellowes,
Take & flowere with them the Gallowes;
On otheres yee maye too laye hold,
In purse or chestes if they haue Gold.
Who wise or rich are in the Nation,
Malignants are by protestation.
Peace and plentie should vs nurish,
True religion with vs flourish.

xx. Song of Passerat.

Amintas, Daphnè.
D.
Shephard loueth thow me vell?

A.
So vel that I cannot tell.

D.
Like to vhat, good shephard, say?

A.
Like to the, faire, cruell May.

D.
Ah! how strange thy vords I find!
But yet satisfie my mind;
Shephard vithout flatterie,
Beares thow any loue to me,
Like to vhat, good shephard, say?

A.
Like to the, faire, cruell May.

D.
Better answer had it beene
To say, I loue thee as mine eine.

A.
Voe is me, I loue them not,
For be them loue entress got,
At the time they did behold
Thy sueet face & haire of gold.

D.
Like to vhat, good shephard, say?

A.
Like to thee, faire cruell May.

D.
But, deare shephard, speake more plaine,
And I sal not aske againe;
For to end this gentle stryff
Doth thow loue me as thy lyff?

A.
No, for it doth eb & flow
Vith contrare teeds of grief & voe;
And now I thruch loues strange force
A man am not, but a dead corse.

D.
Like to vhat, good shephard, say?

A.
Like to thee, faire, cruel May.

D.
This like to thee, O leaue, I pray,
And as my selfe, good shephard, say.

A.
Alas! I do not loue my selff,
For I me split on beuties shelff.

D.
Like to vhat, good shephard, say?

A.
Like to the, faire, cruel May.

xxi.

[The Kirrimorians and Forfarians met at Muirmoss]

The Kirrimorians and Forfarians met at Muirmoss,
The Kirrimorians beat the Forfarians back to the Cross.
Sutors ye are, and Sutors ye'll be;
F---s upon Forfar, Kirrimuir bears the Gree.

xxii.

[Of all these Rebelles raisd against the king]

Of all these Rebelles raisd against the king
It's my strange hap not one whole man to bring:
From diuerse parishes yet diuerse men;
But all in halfes and quarteres: Great king, then,
In halfes and quarteres sith they come gainst Thee,
In halfes and quarteres send them back to mee.

Posthumous Poems. III.

i. D. A. Johnstones Eden-Bourgh.

Install'd on Hills, her Head neare starrye bowres
Shines Eden-Bourgh, prowd of protecting powers.
Justice defendes her Heart; Religion East
With temple decketh; Mars with towres doth guard the West;
Fresh Nymphes and Ceres seruing, waite vpon her,
And Thetis (tributarie) doth her honour.
The sea doth Venice shake, Rome Tiber beates,
Whilst shee but scornes her Vassall Watteres Threates.
For scepteres no where standes a Town more fitt,
Nor place where Town Worlds Queene may fairer sitt.

SONNETS.

ii. To the honorable Author, S[ir] J[ohn] Sk[ene].

All lawes but cob-webes are, but none such right
Had to this title as these lawes of ours,
Ere that they were from their cimerian Bowres
By thy ingenious labours brought to light.
Our statutes senslesse statues did remaine,
Till thou (a new Prometheus) gaue them breath,
Or like ag'd Æsons bodye courb'd to death,
When thou young bloud infus'd in eurye veine.
Thrice-happye Ghosts! which after-worlds shall wow,
That first tam'd barbarisme by your swords,
Then knew to keepe it fast in nets of words,
Hindring what men not suffer would to doe;
To Joue the making of the World is due,
But that it turnes not chaos, is to you.

iii.

[O Tymes, o Heauen that still in motion art]

O Tymes, o Heauen that still in motion art,
And by your course confound vs mortall wights!
O flying Dayes! o euer-gliding Nights,
Which passe more nimble than wind or archers dart!
Now I my selfe accuse, excuse your part,
For hee who fixd your farr-off shining lights,
You motion gaue, and did to mee impart
A Mind to marke and to preuent your slights.
Lifes web yee still weaue out, still (foole) I stay,
Malgrè my iust Resolues, on mortall things.
Ah! as the Bird surprisd in subtile springs,
That beates with wing but cannot flye away,
So struggle I, and faine would change my case,
But this is not of Nature, but of grace.

iv.

[Rise to my soule, bright Sunne of Grace, o rise!]

Rise to my soule, bright Sunne of Grace, o rise!
Make mee the vigour of thy Beames to proue,
Dissolue this chilling frost which on mee lies,
That makes mee lesse than looke-warme in thy loue:
Grant mee a beamling of thy light aboue
To know my foot-steps, in these Tymes, too wise;
O! guyde my course & let mee no mor moue
On wings of sense, where wandring pleasure flyes.
I haue gone wrong & erred, but ah, alas!
What can I else doe in this dungeon darke?
My foes strong are, & I a fragil glasse,
Houres charged with cares consume my lifes small sparke;
Yet, of thy goodnesse, if I grace obtaine,
My life shall be no lose, my death great gaine.

v.

[First in the orient raign'd th' assyrian kings]

First in the orient raign'd th' assyrian kings,
To those the sacred persian prince succeeds,
Then he by whom the world sore-wounded bleeds,
Earths crowne to Greece with bloodie blade he brings;
Then Grece to Rome the Raines of state resignes:
Thus from the mightie Monarche of the Meeds
To the west world successiuelie proceeds
That great and fatall period of all things;
Whilst wearied now with broyles and long alarmes,
Earths maiestie her diademe layes downe
Before the feet of the vnconquered crowne,
And throws her selfe (great Monarch) in thy armes.
Here shall she staye, fates haue ordained so,
Nor has she where nor further for to goe.

vi. Sonnet before a poëme of Irene.

Mourne not (faire Grece) the ruine of thy kings,
Thy temples raz'd, thy forts with flames deuour'd,
Thy championes slaine, thy virgines pure deflowred,
Nor all those greifes which sterne Bellona brings:
But murne (faire Grece) mourne that that sacred band
Which made thee once so famous by their songs,
Forct by outrageous fate, haue left thy land,
And left thee scarce a voice to plaine thy wrongs;
Murne that those climates which to thee appeare
Beyond both Pho̧bus and his sisteres wayes,
To saue thy deedes from death must lend thee layes,
And such as from Museus thou didst heare;
For now Irene hath attaind such fame,
That Heros Ghost doth weep to heare her name.

vii.

[I feare to me such fortune be assignd]

I feare to me such fortune be assignd
As was to thee, who did so well deserue,
Braue Hakerstowne, euen suffred here to sterue
Amidst basse minded freinds, nor true, nor kind.
Why were the fates and furies thus combind,
Such worths for such disasters to reserue?
Yet all those euills neuer made the suerue
From what became a well resolued mind;
For swelling Greatnesse neuer made the smyle,
Dispising Greatnesse in extreames of want;
O happy thrice whom no distresse could dant!
Yet thou exclaimed, ô Time! ô Age! ô Isle!
Where flatterers, fooles, baudes, fidlers, are rewarded,
Whilst Vertue sterues vnpittied, vnregarded.

viii, ix Sonnet qu'un poet[e] Italien fit pour vn bracelet de cheveux qui lui auoit estè donnè par sa maistresse.

In the same sort of rime.

O haire, sueet haire, part of the tresse of gold
Of vich loue makes his nets vher vretchet I
Like simple bird vas taine, and vhile I die
Hopelesse I hope your faire knots sal me hold;
Yow to embrasse, kisse, and adore I'm bold,
Because ye schadow did that sacred face,
Staine to al mortals, vich from starrie place
Hath jalous made these vho in spheares ar rold:
To yow I'l tel my thochts & invard paines
Since sche by cruel Heauens now absent is,
And cursed Fortune me from her detaines.
Alas! bear vitnesse how my reason is
Made blind be loue, vhile as his nets and chaines
I beare about vhen I should seeke my blisse.

x. Sonnet qu'un poet[e] Italien fit pour vn bracelet de cheveux qui lui auoit estè donnè par sa maistresse.

In frier sort of rime.

O haire, faire haire, some of the goldin threeds
Of vich loue veues the nets that passion breeds,
Vher me like sillie bird he doth retaine,
And onlie death can make me free againe;
Ah I yow loue, embrasse, kisse, and adore,
For that ye schadow did that face before;
That face so ful of beautie, grace, and loue,
That it hath jalous made Heauens quier aboue:
To yow I'l tel my secret thochts and grief
Since sche, deare sche, can graunt me no reliefe.
Vhile me from her, foul traitour, absence binds,
Vitnesse, sueet haire, vith me, how loue me blinds;
For vhen I should seeke vhat his force restraines,
I foolish beare about his nets and chaines.

xi. Sonnet qu'un poet[e] Italien fit pour vn bracelet de cheveux qui lui auoit estè donnè par sa maistresse.

Paraphrasticalie translated.

Haire, suet haire, tuitchet by Midas hand
In curling knots, of vich loue makes his nets,
Vho vhen ye loosest hang me fastest band
To her, vorlds lilie among violets;
Deare fatall present, kissing I adore yow,
Because of late ye shade gaue to these roses
That this earths beautie in ther red encloses;
I saw vhile ye them hid thay did decore yow:
I'l plaine my voes to yow, I'l tel my thocht,
Alas! since I am absent from my juel,
By vayvard fortune and the heauens more cruel.
Vitnesse be ye vhat loue in me hath vrocht,
In steed to seeke th' end of my mortall paines,
I take delyt to veare his goldin chaines.

xii, xiii. Bembo in his Rime. 2 Son.

In the same sort of Rime.

As the yong faune, vhen vinters gone avay
Vnto a sueter saison granting place,
More vanton growne by smyles of heuens faire face,
Leauith the silent voods at breake of day,
And now on hils, and now by brookes doth pray
On tender flowres, secure and solitar,
Far from all cabans, and vher shephards are;
Vher his desir him guides his foote doth stray,
He fearith not the dart nor other armes
Til he be schoot in to the noblest part
By cuning archer, vho in dark bush lyes:
So innocent, not fearing comming harmes,
Vandering vas I that day vhen your faire eies,
Vorld-killing schafts, gaue deaths vounds to my hart.

xiv. Bembo in his Rime. 2 Son.

In rime more frie.

As the yong stag, vhen vinter hids his face
Giuing vnto a better season place,
At breake of day comes furth vanton and faire,
Leauing the quiet voods, his suet repaire,
Now on the hils, now by the riuers sides,
He leaps, he runs, and vher his foote him guides,
Both sure and solitaire, prayes on suet flowrs,
Far fra al shephards and their helmish bours;
He doth not feare the net nor murthering dart,
Til that, pour beast, a schaft be in his hart,
Of on quho pitilesse in embush laye:
So innocent vandring that fatall daye
Vas I, alas! vhen vith a heauenlie eie,
Ye gaue the blowe vher of I needs must die.

xv. Bembo in his Rime. 2 Son.

Paraphrasticalie translated.

As the yong hart, when sunne with goldin beames
Progressith in the first post of the skie,
Turning old vinters snowie haire in streames,
Leauith the voods vher he vas vont to lie,
Vher his desir him leads the hills among,
He runes, he feades, the cruking brookes along,
Emprison'd onlie with heauens canopie;
Vanton he cares not ocht that dolour brings,
Hungry he spares not flowres vith names of kings;
He thinkes al far, vho can him fol espie,
Til bloudie bullet part his chefest part:
In my yong spring, alas! so vandred I,
Vhen cruel sche sent out from iettie eie
The deadlie schaft of vich I bleding smart.

MADRIGALS.

xvi. On the image of Lucrece.

Wise Hand, which wiselie wroght
That dying Dame who first did banish kings,
Thy light & shadow brings
In doubt the wondring thought,
If it a substance be or faignet show,
That doth so liuelie smart.
The colours stroue for to haue made her liue,
Wer not thy hart said No,
That fear'd perchance the wound so should her griue:
Yet in the fatall blow
She seemes to speake, nay speakes with Tarquins hart;
But death her stays, surprising her best part.

xvii. Neroes image.

A cunning hand it was
Of this hard rocke did frame
That monster of all ages, mankinds shame,
Ferce Nero, hells disgrace:
Of wit, sence, pitie void,
Did he not liuing, marble hard surpasse,
His mother, master, countrie, all destroyed?
Not altring his first case,
A stone he was when set vpon a throne,
And now a stone he is, although throwne downe.

xviii. Amphion of marble.

This Amphion, Phidias frame,
Though sencelesse it apeare,
Doth liue, and is the same
Did Thebes towres vpreare;
And if his harpe he tuitche not to your eare,
No wonder, his harmonious sounds alone
Wauld you amaze, & change him selfe in stone.

xix. Of a Be.

Ingenious was that Bee
In lip that wound which made,
And kind to others, though vnkind to thee;
For by a iust exchange,
On that most liulie red
It giues to those reuenge,
Whom that delitious, plump, and rosie part,
All pittilesse (perhaps) now wounds the hart.

xx. Of Chloris.

Forth from greene Thetis Bowers
The morne arose; her face
A wreath of rayes did grace,
Her haire raind pearles, her hand & lap dropt flowres.
Led by the pleasant sight
Of those so rich and odoriferous showres,
Each shepheard thither came, & nimphes bright:
Entrancd they stood; I did to Chloris turne,
And saw in her more grace than [in] the Morne.

xxi. Chloris enamoured.

Amintas, now at last
Thou art reuengd of all my rigor past;
The scorning of the, softnesse of thy hart,
Thy longings, causefull teares,
Doe double griefe each day to mee impart.
I am not what I was,
And in my Miseries I thyne doe glasse;
Ah! now in perfect yeares,
E'r Reason could my coming harmes descrie,
Made loues fond Taper flie,
I burne mee thinkes in sweet & fragrant flame:
Aske mee noe more: Tongue hide thy Mistres shame.

xxii. Regrat.

In this Worlds raging sea
Where many Sillas barke,
Where many Syrens are,
Saue, and not cast away,
Hee onlye saues his barge
With too much ware who doth it not o'recharge;
Or when huge stormes arise,
And waues menace the skies,
Giues what he got with no deploring show,
And doth againe in seas his burthen throw.

xxiii. A sigh.

Sigh, stollen from her sweet brest,
What doth that marble hart?
Smartes it indeed, and feales not others smart,
Grieues it, yet thinkes that others grieued ieast?
Loue or despight, which forct thee thence to part
Sweet harbinger, say from what vncouth guest?
Sure thou from loue must come,
Who sighd to see there drest his marble Tombe.

xxiv. Stollen pleasure.

My sweet did sweetlie sleep,
And on her rosie face
Stood teares of pearle which Beauties selfe did weepe;
I (wond'ring at her grace)
Did all amazd remaine,
When loue said, foole, can lookes thy wishes crowne?
Time past comes not againe.
Then did I mee bow downe,
And kissing her faire brest, lips, cheekes, & eies,
Prou'd heere on earth the ioye of Paradise.

xxv. Of a Kisse.

Lips, double port of loue,
Of joy tell all the arte,
Tell all the sweetnesse lies
In earthlie paradise,
Sith happy now yee proue
What blisse
A kisse
Of sweetest Nais can bring to the hart.
Tell how your former joyes
Haue beene but sad annoyes:
This, onlye this, doth ease a long felt smart,
This, onlye this, doth life to loue impart.
Endymion, I no more
Enuie thy happye state,
Nor his who had the fate
Rauisht to be and huggd on Ganges shore:
Enuie nor yet doe I
Adon, nor Joues cup-bearer in the skie.
Deare crimson folds, more sweetnesse yee doe beare
Than Hybla Tops or Gardenes of Madere.
Sweet, sweetning Midases, your force is such,
That eurye thing turnes sweet which yee doe touch.

xxvi. A Locke desired.

I neuer long'd for gold;
But since I did thy dangling haire behold,
Ah! then, then was it first
That I prou'd Midas thrist;
And what both Inde and rich Pactolus hold
Can not my flames allay,
For onlie yee, faire Treseresse, this may,
Would yee but giue a locke to helpe my want,
Of that which prodigall to winds yee grant.

xxvii. Persuasive dissuading.

Show mee not lockes of Gold,
Nor blushing Roses of that virgine face,
Nor of thy well-made leg and foote the Grace;
Let me no more behold
Soule-charming smyles nor lightnings of thyne eye,
For they (deare life) but serue to make mee dye.
Yes, show them all, and more; vnpine thy brest,
Let me see liuing snow
Where straw-berries doe grow;
Show that delitious feild
Which lillies still doth yeeld,
Of Venus babe the Nest:
Smyle, blush, sigh, chide, vse thousand other charmes;
Mee kill, so that I fall betweene thyne armes.

xxviii.

[Prometheus am I]

Prometheus am I,
The Heauens my ladyes eye,
From which I stealing fire,
Find since a vulture on my hart to tyre.

xxix. Non vltra.

When Idmon saw the eyne
Of Anthea his loue,
Who yet, said he, such blazing starres hath seene,
Saue in the heauens aboue?
She thus to heare her praise
Blusht, and more faire became.
For nought (said he) thy cheekes that Morne do raise
For my hart can not burne with greater flame.

xxx. Fragment.

[Now Phœbus vhept his horse vith al his might]

Now Phœbus vhept his horse vith al his might,
Thinking to take Aurora in her flight;
But sche, vho heares the trampling of his steeds,
Gins suiftlie gallop thruch heauens rosie meeds.
The more he runs, the more he cums her neare;
The lesse her sped, sche finds the more her feare.
At last his coursiers angry to be torne,
Her tooke; sche vith a blush died al the morne.
Tethis, agast to spie her greens made red,
All drousie rose furth of her corral bed,
Thinking the Nights faire Queen suld thole sume harmes,
Sche saw poor Tithons vyff in Phœbus armes.

xxxi. Fragment.

[It Autumne vas, and cheereful chantecleare]

It Autumne vas, and cheereful chantecleare
Had varn'd the vorld tuise that the day drew neare;
The three parts of the night almost var spent,
Vhen I poure vretch, vith loue & fortune rent,
Began my eies to close, & suetest sleep,
Charming my sence, al ouer me did creep,
But scars vith Lethè drops & rod of gold
Had he me made a piece of breathing mold ...

EPIGRAMS, &c.

xxxii.

[The king good subiectes can not saue: then tell]

The king good subiectes can not saue: then tell
Which is the best, to obeye or to rebell?

xxxiii.

[Happie to be, trulye is in some schoole-]

Happie to be, trulye is in some schoole-
Maisteres Booke, be either king or foole.
How happie then are they, if such men bee,
Whom both great fooles and kinges the world doth see.

xxxiv.

[When Charles was yong, to walke straight and vpright]

When Charles was yong, to walke straight and vpright,
In Bootes of lead thralld were his legges, though Rockes;
Now old, not walking euen vnto their sight,
His countrye lordes haue put him in their stokes.

xxxv.

[The parlament lordes haue sitten twice fiue weekes]

The parlament lordes haue sitten twice fiue weekes,
Yet will not leaue their stooles, knit vp their breekes;
Winter is come, dysenteryes preuaile:
Rise, fooles, and with this paper wype your taile.

xxxvi.

[The parlament the first of June will sit]

The parlament the first of June will sit,
Some saye, but is the yeere of God to it?
Fourtie: no, rather make it fourtie one,
And one to fourtie, but yee then haue none.

xxxvii.

[Zanzummines they obeye the king doe sweare]

Zanzummines they obeye the king doe sweare,
And yet against King Charles in armes appeare.
What king doe yee obeye, Zamzummines, tell,
The king of Beane, or the blake prince of Walles?

xxxviii.

[Behold (O Scots!) the reueryes of your King]

Behold (O Scots!) the reueryes of your King;
Those hee makes Lordes who should on gibbetes hing.

xxxix.

[S. Andrew, why does thou giue up thy Schooles]

S. Andrew, why does thou giue up thy Schooles,
And Bedleme turne, and parlament house of fooles?

xl. Epitaph of a Judge.

Peace, Passenger, heere sleepeth vnder ground
A Judge in ending causes most profound;
Thocht not long since he was laid in this place,
It's lustres ten since he corrupted was.

xli.

[Bishopes are like the turnores, most men say]

Bishopes are like the turnores, most men say;
Though now cryed down, they'll vp some other day.

xlii.

[When discord in a Towne the Toxan ringes]

When discord in a Towne the Toxan ringes,
Then all the rascalls turne vnto vs Kinges.

xliii. A prouerbe.

To singe as was of old, is but a scorne,
The kings chaffe is better than others corne;
Kelso can tell his chaffe away did fly,
Yet had no wind: Benedicite!
The corne unmowed on Duns-Law strong did shine,
Lesley, could thou haue shorne, it might beene thyne.

xliv. The creed.

Q.
How is the Creed thus stollen from vs away?

A.
The ten Commandements gone, it could not stay.

Q.
Then haue wee no Commandements? o wonder!

A.
Yes, wee haue one for all: goe fight & plunder.

xlv. On Marye Kings pest.

Turne, citezenes, to God; repent, repent,
And praye your beadlam frenzies may relent:
Thinke not Rebellion a trifling thing,
This plague doth fight for Marye & the king.

xlvi.

[Heere couered lies vith earth, vithout a tombe]

Heere couered lies vith earth, vithout a tombe,
Vhose onlie praise is, that he died at Rome.

xlvii. A prouerbe.

God neuer had a Church but there, Men say,
The Diuell a chapell hath raised by some wyles.
I doubted of this saw, till on a day
I Westward spied great Edinbroughs Saint Gyles.

xlviii.

[Flyting no reason hath, for at this tyme]

Flyting no reason hath, for at this tyme,
It doth not stand with reason, but in ryme.
That none saue thus should flyte, had wee a law,
What rest had wee? how would wyves stand in aw,
And learne the art of ryming! Then how well
Would this and all good flyting pamphlets sell!

xlix. On Pomponatius.

Trade softlie, passenger, vpon this stone,
For heere enclosed stayes,
Debarrd of Mercies Rayes,
A Soule, whose Bodye swore it had not one.

l. On the isle of Rhe.

Charles, would yee quaile your foes, haue better lucke;
Send forth some Drakes, and keep at home the Ducke.

li. Epitaph.

Sancher whom this earth scarce could containe,
Hauing seene Italie, France, and Spaine,
To finish his travelles, a spectacle rare,
Was bound towards Heauen, but dyed in the aire.

lii. An image to the pilgrime.

To worship mee, why come ye, Fooles, abroad?
For artizans made me a demi-god.

liii.

[Rames ay runne backward when they would aduance]

Rames ay runne backward when they would aduance;
Who knowes if Ramsay may find such a chance,
By playing the stiff Puritane, to weare
A Bishopes rocket yet another yeare.

liv.

[Momus, with venom'd tooth, why wouldst thou teare]

Momus, with venom'd tooth, why wouldst thou teare
Our Muses and turne Mores those virgines faire?
Nor citizen nor manners doe they brand,
Nor of the Town ought, saue where it doth stand.
I curst (I doe confesse) some nastye Mire,
And lake, deem'd poison by all Pȩanes Quire:
Endwellares safe, I hartlie wisht the Towne
Turn'd in one Rock, and still wish 't o're-throwne.
Else-where a nobler Town might raised bee,
For skie, aire, sweeter, and in boundes more free;
Yet there to dwell no shame is, nor be borne;
Pearles dwell in oysteres, Roses grow on Thorne.
His Rome when Cesare purposed to make new,
Himselfe straight fire-brandes on their Rafteres threw.
If in these wishes ought deserueth blame,
A Caledonian king first wisht the same.
My Muse (perhaps) too bold is, but farre farre
From tartnesse brest, from gall her paperes are.

lv. On a glasse sent to his best beloued.

Oft ye me aske vhome my sweet faire can be?
Looke in this christal and ye sal her see;
At least some schade of her it vil impart,
For sche no trew glasse hath excep my hart.
Ah, that my brest var made of christal faire
That she might see her liulie portrat there!

lvi. Sextain.

[With elegies, sad songs, and murning layes]

With elegies, sad songs, and murning layes,
Quhill Craig his Kala wald to pitie moue,
Poore braine-sicke man! he spends his dearest dayes;
Such sillie rime can not make women loue.
Morice quho sight of neuer saw a booke
With a rude stanza this faire Virgine tooke.

lvii. Encomiastike verses before a book entitled Follies.

At ease I red your Worke, and am right sorrye
It came not forth before Encomium Morie,
Or in the dayes when good king James the first
Carowsd the Horses spring to quench his thirst;
I durst haue giuen my Thombe and layed a wager
Thy Name had grac't the chronicle of Jhon Maior.
Had thou liu'd in the dayes of great Augustus,
(Hence, vulgare dotards, hence, vnlesse yee trust vs)
Thy Workes (with geese) had kept the Capitole,
And thou for euer been a happy soule,
Thy statue had been raisd neare Claudianus,
And thou in court liu'd equall with Sejanus.
Cornelius Tacitus is no such Poet,
Nor Liuie; I'll say more ere that I goe yet.
Let all that heare doe weare celestiall bonnetes
Lyke thyne (they cannot write four-squared sonnetes)
Which shine like to that Mummye brought from Venice,
Or like the french kings relicks at Saint Denis.
It is a matter of regrate and pittie
Thou art not read into that famous citie
Of Constantine, for then the Turckes and Tartares
Had drunke with vs, and like to ours worne gartares;
And the strange Muphetees and hard Mameluckes
Had cut their beardes, and got by hart thy Bookes.
If any them detract, though hee were Xenaphon,
Thou shalt haue such reuenge as ere was tane of one,
From this our coast vnto the Wall of China,
Where Maides weare narrow shoes; thou hast been a
Man for enuie, though such forsooth was Horace,
Yet thou no lesse dost write than hee, and soare ass
As farre in this our tongue as any Latines,
Though some doe reade their verse, that ware fine satines;
Romes latest wonder, great Torquato Tasso,
Writing, to thee were a pecorious asse, hoe!
Now, to conclude, the nine Castalian lasses
Their Maidenheades thee sell for fannes and glasses.

EPITAPHS.

lviii. To the Memorie of his much louing and beloued Master, M. F. R.

No Wonder now if Mistes beclowde our Day,
Sith now our earth lakes her celestiall Ray;
And Pho̧bus murnes his preest, and all his quire,
In sables wrapt, weep out their sacred fire;
Far well of latin Muses greatest praise,
Whither thou red graue proses or did raise
Delight and wonder by a numbrous straine;
Fare well Quintilian once more dead againe;
With ancient Plautus, Martiall combined,
Maro and Tullie, here in one enshrined.
Bright Ray of learning which so cleare didst streame,
Fare well Soule which so many soules did frame.
Many Olympiades about shall come,
Ere Earth like thee another can entombe.

lix. D. O. M. S.

Justice Truth, Peace, and Hospitalitie,
Friendship and Loue, being resolued to dye
In these lewd Tymes haue chosen heere to haue
With just, true, pious, kynd Dalyell their Graue;
Hee Them cherish'd so long, so much did grace,
That they than this would choose no dearer place.

lx. Epitaph.

If Monumentes were lasting wee would raise
A fairer frame to thy desertes & praise;
But Auarice or Misdeuotiones Rage
These tumbling down, or brought to nought by age,
Twice making man to dye, This Marble beares
An Embleme of affection & our teares.

lxi. To the Memorie of the vertuous Gentlewoman Rachell Lindsay,

Daughter of Sir Hierosme Lyndsay, Principall King of Armes, and Wyfe to Lieutenant Colonell Barnad Lindsay, who dyed the .. day of May, the yeere 1645, after shee had liued .... yeeres.

The Daughter of a king, of princelye partes,
In Beautie eminent, in Vertues cheife,
Load-starre of loue, and load-stone of all Hartes,
Her freindes and Husbandes onlie Joy, now Griefe,
Enclosed lyes within this narrow Graue,
Whose Paragone no Tymes, no Climates haue.

lxii. To the Memorie of ---

lxiii. To the Memorie of the worthye ladye, the ladye Craigmillare.

This Marble needes no teares, let these be powr'd
For such whom Earths dull bowelles haue emboured
In chyld-head or in youth, and lefte to liue
By some sad chance fierce planetes did contriue.
Eight lustres, twice full reckened, did make Thee
All this lifes happinesse to know; and wee
Who saw thee in thy winter (as men flowres
Shrunke in their stemmes, or Iliums faire towres
Hidde in their rubbidge) could not but admire
The casket spoyled, the Jewell so intiere;
For neither judgment, memorye, nor sence
In thee was blasted, till all fled from hence
To thy great Maker; Earth vnto earth must,
Man in his best estate is but best Dust.
Now euen though buryed yet thow canst not dye,
But happye liust in thy faire progenie
To out-date Tyme, and neuer passe away.
Till Angelles raise thee from thy Bed of claye,
And blist againe with these heere loud thow meet,
Rest in fames Temple and this winding sheet:
Content thou liu'd heere, happye though not great,
And dyed with the kingdome and the state.

lxiv. D. O. M. S.

So falles by Northern blast a Virgine rose,
At halfe that doth her bashfull bosome close;
So a sweet flowrish languishing decayes
That late did blush when kist by Phoebus rayes.
Though vntymelie cropp'd, leaue to bemoan his fate,
Hee dyed with our Monarchie and State.

His Mother out of that care and loue she caryed to him, to continue heere his memorie (some space) raised this Monument, Anno 1649, mense ...

Immortale decus superis.

Posthumous Poems. IV.

ECLOGUES.

i. Eclogue.

[Damon and Moeris by a christal spring]

ii. Eclogue.

[Vhile dayes bright coachman makes our schadows schort]

Syrenus. Montanus.
Sy.
Vhile dayes bright coachman makes our schadows schort,
And panting rests him in his halff dayes course,
Vhile gladder shephards giue them selues to sport,
Let vs deare Montane rest vs by this source,
Vher ve may stanche our thrist vith coldest streames,
And vnder schade be fred of Phebus beames.

M.
Content am I; but since Syluanus left
This earthlie round I neuer like that spring,
The vearie place from me my ioyes hath reft,
Vhen I behold vher he vas vont to sing,
Syluane vell knowne, the honor of our voods,
Vho made the rocks to heare & stayed the floods.

Sy.
Bevaile not Syluane, since he is releu'd
Of flesclie bonds and these our mortal toiles,
Vith sad misfortunes now he is not grieuet.
This earth is framd for deaths triumphing spoiles;
The pleasant leaues, the suetest floures decayes,
And fairest things doth last the fewest dayes.

M.
Th'enuyous heauens, befor the course of time
Stole the from earth for to enrich theer spheares,
Vhile scars thow flourish't in thy youthful prime,
Filling our harts vith voe, our eies vith teares.
Syren, for these deare dayes that heer thow spent,
Stay not my grief but help me to lament.

Sy.
If floods of teares from the elysian plaine
Culd call a happie gost, if sights culd giue
A sparke of lyff, then Phillis schoures of raine
And lasting grones might make him yet to liue.
Yet in remembrance of this orphane place,
And her Il murne, Il sing vith the a space.

M.
A streame of teares, poore riuer christalline,
Len these mine eies; so may along thy banks
Sueet roses, lilies, & the columbine,
In pleasant flourish keep theer statlie ranks,
To vash Syluanus Tombe, that of my sorrow
The floods, the hils, the mids, a part may borrow.

Sy.
Len me the voice that Boreas hath the giuen,
Stracht reachet pin, vhen he his blows redoubles;
So may thy loftie head mont vp to heauen,
& neare heareefter feare his angry troubles,
That my sad accents may surpasse the skies,
& make heuens echoes answer to my cries.

M.
Forests since your best darling now is gone,
Vho your darke schadows suetnet vith his layes,
Teache al your nightingales at once to grone,
Cut your greene lockes, let fal your palmes & bayes,
Let not a mirtil tree be in yow found,
But eurie vher vith cypress sad abound.

Sy.
Faire Midows from vhose tender bosome springs
The vhite Narcissus, Venus deare delight,
The Hyacinth, & others vho var kings
And ladies faire vhen thay enioyd this light,
In mourning blake your princely coulours die,
Bow downe your heads, vhile sighing zephires flee.

M.
Vhat now is left vnto this plane but veeping?
This litil flood that sometime did inuite
Our vearied bodies to sueet rest and sleeping,
Vith his soft murmur semes to vaile our plight,
Telling the rocks, the banks, vheer ere he goes,
& the vyde ocean, our remedlesse voes.

Sy.
As Philomela sight vpon a tree,
Me thocht (for vhat thinks not a troublet mynd?)
Vith her old grieues, amids her harmonie,
Syluanus death, our losse, sche oft combind,
Vherto tuo vidow turtles lent theer eares,
Syne planed that Nature had not giuen them teares.

M.
The earth althocht cold vinter kil her flowres,
And al her beautie eurie vher deface,
Vhen Phebus turnes into his hoter boures,
Made ful of lyff smiles vith her former grace;
But so soone as, alas, mans giuen to death,
No sunne againe doth euer make him breath.

Sy.
The Moone that sadlie cheers the gloomie night,
Vhen sche in deaths blake armes a vhile remaines,
New borne doth soone recev her siluer light
And queenlike glances or the silent plaines;
The stars sunke in the vest again doth rise;
But man, forgot, in vglie horror lies.

M.
Ah souueraine poures, vhen ye did first deuise
To make poore man, vhy brak ye not the molde?
Vith fleschie maskes vhy did ye sprits disguyse?
Caussing a glasse so foole that liquor hold,
Vith cryes & paine him bringing to the light,
Happie t'haue sleepe in a eternal night.

Sy.
Happie t'haue sleepe in a eternal night
& neuer interrup that silent rest,
He felt no voes if he had no delight,
He did not know vhat's euil, of nocht vhat's best;
If he vsd not th'vnperfyt piece of reason,
He feard not voes to come at eurie season.

M.
If that I var againe for to be framd,
& that the heuens vald freelie to me giue
Vhat of the things below I suld be made,
A hart, a doue, I rather choose to liue,
Then be a man, my losses stil lamenting,
Tost first with passion, then vith sore repenting.

Sy.
If I var one of yow my sille lambes,
I suld not beene oprest vith th'vncuth caire
That mankind hath, nor felt the cruel flames
Of Phillis eies, nor knowne vhat vas despaire:
Sueet harmlesse flocke, vhen as ye stray alone,
Ar ye affraid of Styx or Phlegeton?

M.
The mids ar not embled vith so manie floures,
So many hews heuens doth neuer borrow,
So many drops hath not the april schoures,
As ve poore vretchet men hath vorlds of sorrow:
For these, o glorious gifts of noble skies,
Vith bitter teares ye fillet hath our eies.

Sy.
Vith bitter teares ye fillet hath our eies,
And fostreth vith beguiling hope our mind
Vith promist good that doth vs stil intice:
Lo, seeke ve ve vot not vhat, and so mad blind
Ve follow lies and change to taste of ioyes,
But hauing changd ve find but new annoyes.

M.
If lies bred ioyes and vertue bring voe,
Fals thochts be ful of comfort, trewth of sadnesse,
Velcome braue lies of that I neuer know!
Vnhappie trewth to take from me my gladnesse;
For thocht ve veep our voes ve cannot mend them,
& ve may end our selues befor ve end them.

SONNETS AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

iii. In Sr. P. d. R.

Great Paragon, of Poets richest Pearle,
Beneath the artick circles statlie pole
Abut quoes point the sphears of knouledge role,
The magnes of al mynds, ear-charming Mearle;
The perfumd cabinet quher muses duel,
Enameling neu-found skyes vith starres of gold,
Quher Pallas vith the free-borne queens enrold,
And beutie, stryffs it selff for to excel.
Farre-virthier Orpheus then they quho suel
Vith sacred Pegasus azure streames,
Or he quho brocht from Heauen the fyrie beames:
Mor fit for Pho̧bus Bay then Phebus sel.
Thy perfyt praises if the vorld vold vrit
Must haue againe thy selff for to end it.

iv.

[Faire cruel Siluia since thow scornes my teares]

Faire cruel Siluia since thow scornes my teares,
And ouerlookes my cares vith carelesse eie;
Since my requests in loue offends thy eares,
Hensefoorth I vowe to hold my pace in thee and die.
But vhile I hold my pace thes things sal crie:
The brookes sal murmure, & the vinds complaine;
The hils, the dails, the deserts vher I lie,
Vith Echoes of my plents sal prech my paine.
Yet put the case thay silent vald remaine;
Imagine brookes & vinds vald hold theer pace,
Suppone hils, dailes, and deserts vald disdaine
T'acquant thy deaff disdaines vith my disgrace;
Yet vhile thay dombe, thow deaff, to me sal proue,
My death sal speake and let the know my loue.

v.

[Great Queene whom to the liberall Heauens propine]

Great Queene whom to the liberall Heauens propine
All what their force or influence can impart;
Whose Vertues rare, whose Beauties braue but art
Makes thee aboue thy sacred sex to shine.
Resembling much those Goddesses diuine;
The thundrers Bride for thy heroicke hart,
Cytherȩa for proportion of each part,
Joues braine-born gyrle for judgment and ingyne.
But now I feare my flatrie flows to farre;
Three Goddesses in one are rarelie seene,
Nor can a goddesse be vngrate—you are.
What rests then but, a Woman, and a Queene:
A Woman in vnconstancie and change,
A Queene because so statlie & so strange.

vi. De Porcheres, on the eies of Madame la Marquise de Monceaux,

Thus englished.

Wer these thine eies, or lightnings from aboue,
Vhose glistring glances dazel'd so my sight?
I tooke them to be lightnings send from Joue
To threten that theer thunder bolt vald light.
But lightnings culd not lest so long so bright.
Thay rather semed for to be suns, vhose rayes
Promou'd to the Meridian of theer might,
Did change my noisome nights in joyful dayes.
But euen in that theer nomber them bevrayes
Suns ar thay not: the vorld endures but one.
Theer force, theer figure, & theer coulour sayes
That thay ar heuens; but heuens on earth ar none.
Be vhat thay vil, theer poure in force agrees:
The heauns, the sune, the lightnings, and her eies.

vii.

[Ah! eyes, deare eyes, how could the Heuens consent]

Ah! eyes, deare eyes, how could the Heuens consent
To giue to you occasion of those teares?
Brest, sugred Brest that Globes of Beautie beares,
With sighes why should yee swell—with teares be sprent?
Hair, that in spight of griefe art excellent,
What haue you done? That hand you wronglie teares;
Voice, through deare portes of pearle and rubies sent,
Why should yee moane? mor fit to tune heauens spheares.
Foule Grief, the scourge of life, from heauen exild,
Child of Mishap, the Hells extreame disgrace,
Brother to paine, Mans weaknesse, forster child,
How did thou mount to so diuine a place?
Yet Grief, come there, so stranglie she thee furmes,
That thou seemst Joy, while shee thus sweetlie murnes.

viii. To my Ladye Mary Wroath.

For beautye onlye, armd with outward grace,
I scorne to yeeld, to conquerre, or to striue;
Let shallow thoughtes that can no deeper dyue,
As fits their weaknesse, rest vpon a face.
But when rare partes a heunlye shape confines,
Scarce reacht by thoughtes, not subiect to the sight,
Yet but the lanterne of a greater light,
Wher worth accomplisht crownd with glorie shines,
Then when bright vertue raignes in beautyes throne,
And doth the hart by spirituall magick moue,
Whilst reasone leads though passiones follow loue,
Lothd may hee be that likes not such a one.
If it not lou'd so braue a mynd thus shown,
I hated had the basenesse of myne own.

ix.

[Our faults thy wrath deserued haue, alas!]

Our faults thy wrath deserued haue, alas!
And thou must craue iust count of eurye deed;
But if our faults their punishment doe passe,
Thy Goodnesse farre our errors doth exceed.
All, all crye mercye, chargd with grief & teares,
A iust remorse orthrowing wylier powers;
Reason can not effect in many yeeres
What thy great wisdome can in few short howres.
Passed ills wee see the present murne,
Stand fearfull & amazd of what should come,
Euen those hidden fires eternaly that burne;
For wretched life deserueth such a doome.
But loue to vs a ray send from thy face,
And after open wyde the Gates of Grace.

x.

[Or the vinged boy my thochts to the made thral]

Or the vinged boy my thochts to the made thral,
When babie-like I knew not vhat vas loue,
My vit embrasing al my vit could proue,
At others lacing, fearing not my fal,
Vith two faire eies vher Cupids mother smyld,
Thow oft inuited me to venter boldlie,
As if my sad lookes spake minds langage coldlie,
Til vith thes gleames in end I vas beguild.
But free thow kneust I vas no more mine awne,
Charmed in thes circles vher I forc'st remaine;
Churlish thow doth thy vonted smyles retaine,
And, voe is me! giues oft a cruel frowne.
Alas! if loue in lookes hath made such change,
Vnkind I loue the not but yet am strange.

xi. Essay out of the Italien.

Melpomene in Athenes neuer song
More sueter accents, nor a more sad dittie,
Nor neare made harts bleed vith a greater pitie,
Vhere Tyber playes his floury banks along,
Then vhen she veeping daigned by Forth to sing,
Forth vhere thy heuenlie suannet loues to dwel,
Forth that may claime the name of that faire vel
Vhich Horses haue from flintie rocke mad spring.
But Medwaye, Seuern, Tames vil not consent.
To Monarks fals if y'il not giue such praise,
Yet grant at least to them, in sueet sad layes
Vho help faire Sions virgins, to lament.
And if these trumpets yeilds not schrillest sounds,
Forth boasts of him vho song the Turquish vounds.

xii. To Anne, the french Queen, new come from Spaine, and applyable to Marye of England, meeting the King at Douer.

xiii. Fragment.

[Like vnto her nothing can be namd]

Like vnto her nothing can be namd:
The mold is broke vherin dear sche vas framd.
Vho may of her rare beautie count ich part,
And all these gifts heauen doth to her impart,
On Affricke shores the sand that ebs & flows,
The skalie flockes that vith old Proteus goes,
He sur may count, and al these vaues that meet
To vashe the Mauritanian Atlas feet—
Her curlet haire, faire threeds of finest gold,
In nets & curious knots mens harts to hold,
Her forhead large & euen of vhich the lilies
Do borrow beautie & the daffadilies,
Faire ebaine bows aboue her heunlie eies,
Vher tratrous loue in silent ambush lies,
Vell framd her nose, her cheekes vith purest red,
Cinabre like, most dantelie ar spred,
Prettie & schort her eares, vith heunlie smiles
Her visage schind that sadest eies beguiles,
To orient perles her teeth do nothing yeild,
Nor lips to coral, or of gueles a feild;
Juno vith maiestie, & faire aurore,
Vith blush & fingers did this sueet decore;
The Graces gaue theer smiles & did reioice
To heare her sing vith Phebus heaunlie voice,
Pallas gaue vit, the vertews gaue theer part:
Liuing the heauen thay loget in her hart.

xiv. Fragment.

[A faire, a sueet, a pleasant heunlie creature]

A faire, a sueet, a pleasant heunlie creature
Lycoris vas—the miracle of Nature:
Her haire more faire then gold of Tagus streames
Or his that cheeres the vorld vith golden beames,
Her suetest mouth & lips that halff shee closes
Did nothing yeild to corral & fresh roses,
Her brow more vhite, more beautiful & gay
Then is a day but clouds in mids of May,
Vnder the vhich tuo equal planets glancing
Cast flames of loue, for loue theer stil is dancing;
Vhile jurie, vith a dantiest purple spred,
Of her faire cheks resembld the fairest red;
Her nek semd framd by some most curious master,
Most vhite, most smoth, a piece of alabaster;
Vpon her brest two aples round did grow,
Vith tops of strawberries more vhite then snow:
So far in grace sche did excell each other
That Cupid vald haue taine her for his mother.

xv. To my ladye Mary Wroath.

MADRIGALS AND EPIGRAMS.

xvii.

[Loue once thy lawes]

Loue once thy lawes
I did rebellious blame,
When they did cause
My chastest hart to flame
With fruitlesse vaine desire
Of her, who scorneth both thy dartes & fire.
But now (iust Loue)
Thee and thy lawes I free,
And doe reproue
My selfe, since plaine I see
The best but worthye is
To couuet, not enjoye such blisse.

xviii. Of Anthea.

When Hylas saw the eyne
Of Anthea his loue,
Who e're (said hee) such burning lampes hath seene,
Vnlesse in Heauen aboue?
Shee at his sillie praise
With blush more faire became.
In vaine (said hee) cheekes [in] skies that Morne do raise,
For my hart can not feele a greater flame.

xix.

[In ashe her lies the wanton God of loue]

In ashe her lies the wanton God of loue,
By her whom for I die.
For longtyme hauing hee
Bent all his powres her marble hart to moue,
In spight of dart of gold
And torch of heunlye fire
That neere would know desire,
Nay what is strange more harder grew & cold,
Hee dowbting if the flame vnquencht remand the same,
Wherwith hee heuen & earth did burne of old,
Proud on him selfe his brandones force,
Which, ere hee wist, consumd his litle corse.

xx. On a lamp.

Faithfull and loued light
That silent sees our thefts,
Be glad at the sweet sound of kisses sweet.
Oh! doe not dye! but if thou lou'st to die,
Dye amidst our delight
When languish both our brests.
So, thou mayst dye at ease;
For lamps to mee, no starres, are her faire eyes.

xxi. Amarillis to her dog Perlin.

Faire Perlin doe not barke,
Poore foole dost thou not know
My louer, my desire?
If thou dost turne my fow,
Who to mee shall be true?
Thou neare shall after any kisses haue.
Ist not enough all day
That thou do with mee stay?
Giue place to night, and like her silent bee,
Lulld with the noyse that kisses make to thee.

xxii.

[This Monument vnder]

This Monument vnder
Doth lie the wonder
Of that faire brest which Loue dar'd neuer tuch.
His courage kill'd him; but was it not much
A flea should bold and naked without armes
Of Loueres wronged thus reuenge the harmes?
Amantes proprio aere
Militi bene merenti posuere.

xxiii.

[The Gods haue heard my vowes]

xxiv. On the lut of Margarite.

The harmonie vherto the heauens doe dance,
Keeping to curious notes a suoft cadance,
Nor al Joues quiristers ar not so suet
As is the voice & lut of Margarite.
If angry vith his sheares he had vndoone thee,
Her onlie voice vald serue againe to tune thee;
If he phlegrean squadrons vald bring vnder,
Her lut vald combat better then his thunder.

xxv.

[If it be trew that Echo doth remaine]

If it be trew that Echo doth remaine
Mong hardest rockes, alas
Calling so oft for Grace
To her hard hart, vhy anser'st not againe?
Vhile vinds and tempests blow
The Echoes silent ar,
And neuer answer: sounds are sent to far.
So, troublet vith thy stormes of loue and voe,
Or distant then vhen most thy griefe doth flow,
Sche doth no answer giue.
Yet this thow may beleaue
That silence ofter is aye then no.

xxvi.

[Idas to schune sunnes beames]

Idas to schune sunnes beames
Did soume in cristal flood.
Perchance, like faire Aurore,
At Ganges bankes Phillis came to the schore.
He lookt vher as sche stood,
And stracht did burne amidst these coldest streames.

xxvii.

[O most perfidious face]

O most perfidious face
That hauing lost thy loue
Dost yet retaine thy wonted hew & grace!
Thy smyling eyes said
Thy splendour should be gone,
Thy cheekes faire roses fade
And furrowed be with wrinkles shown,
Ere thy affection any whit decay,
Which now is cold & dead.
Now, Tyme, haste, make her old:
In siluer turne her lockes, her face like gold.

xxviii. Epitaph.

Heere lyes a Docter who with droges and pelfe
Could not corrupte Death, but dyed himselfe.

xxix. Epitaph.

Heer lyes a cooke who went to buye ylles,
But met death in the Market who turned vp his heeles.

xxx.

[That which preserueth cherries, peares and plumes]

That which preserueth cherries, peares and plumes
Can not preserue the liuer, lights and lungs.

xxxi.

[A lady in her prime to whom was giuen]

A lady in her prime to whom was giuen
As much perfection as could flow from Heauen,
Who, had shee liud when good was loud of men,
Had made the Graces fiue, the Muses ten.

xxxii.

[Strange is his end, his death most rare and od]

Strange is his end, his death most rare and od,
Who made his god his gold, his gold his god.

xxxiii.

[Killd by ingratitude heere blest within doth rest]

Killd by ingratitude heere blest within doth rest:
To marye or not to marye which is best.

xxxiv. Epitaphe on a Cooke.

Heere lyes a sowre and angry cooke,
A miser, wretched man;
Who liued in smoke, & dyed in smoke,
Besides his frying pan.

xxxv. On a noble man who died at a counsel table.

Vntymlie Death that neither wouldst conferre,
Discourse nor parley with our great Treasurer,
Had thou beene as hee was or one of his tribe,
Thou wouldst haue spar'd his life & tane a Bribe.
Hee who so long with gold & subtil wit,
Had iniurd strong law & almost conquerd it,
Hee who could lenthen causes and was able
To sterue a suiter at the counsel Table,
At lenth not hauing euidents to show,
Was faine (Good lord) to take's Death. It was so.

xxxvi.

[Mops gaue his fath to Anne and Helen, yet doth ow]

Mops gaue his fath to Anne and Helen, yet doth ow:
Quho sayes good Mopsus hath no fath he lies, for he hath tuo.

xxxvii.

[Tom moneyless his agnus dei hath sold]

Tom moneyless his agnus dei hath sold,
For he had rather vant his God then gold.

xxxviii.

[To build a tombe Jhone doth him daylie paine]

To build a tombe Jhone doth him daylie paine;
For suth he fears his father rise againe.

xxxix.

[Ye veep as if your husbands death yow griuit]

Ye veep as if your husbands death yow griuit;
Ye onlie veep the old man so long liuit.

xl.

[Hear lyeth Jean that some tyme vas a maid]

Hear lyeth Jean that some tyme vas a maid;
But quhen that vas, it cannot vel be said.

xli.

[Paule vent to Toune to saue him selfe from horning]

Paule vent to Toune to saue him selfe from horning;
Scarse vas he gone, vhen Kite him hornd that morning.

xlii. On the poems of ------

Thocht poets skil her vant, thinke it no crime,
For he knows nocht of poesie but rime.

xliii.

[Zoilus eies in glasse did see them selues looke euen]

Zoilus eies in glasse did see them selues looke euen:
That each of them micht gree, then both did pray to heauen.

xliv.

[A foolish change made vretchet Chremes dead]

A foolish change made vretchet Chremes dead:
His hairs gat gold, and they left him but lead.

xlv.

[Jeane cal not your husband hart vhen ye him kis]

Jeane cal not your husband hart vhen ye him kis:
The harts doo losse ther hornes, but he keeps euer his.

xlvi.

[Thocht louers lie borne by the streame of yuth]

Thocht louers lie borne by the streame of yuth,
Yet vhen thay say ther dames no mortal creatures
Can be, but something els, sure they say truth:
Vomen adord in feinds do change ther natures.

xlvii.

[Into the sea al cornards Thomas vist]

Into the sea al cornards Thomas vist,
But his faire vyff to suyme bad him learne first.

xlviii.

[Chremes did hing him selff vpon a tree]

Chremes did hing him selff vpon a tree
Because the price of Ceres fruits did alter;
His seruant ran and cut the rope, but he,
Com'd to him selff, socht monnoye for the halter.

xlix.

[Be reasons good Jhon him a christian proueth]

Be reasons good Jhon him a christian proueth:
H'il drinke strong vine, & flesh of suine vel loueth.

l.

[Vhy byeth old Chremes land so near his death?]

Vhy byeth old Chremes land so near his death?
Like loueth like: he halfe earth liketh earth.

li. Charles the IX of France.

Vhy vomets Charles so much blood from his brest?
The bloud he dranke he culd not vel dygest.

lii. Out of Passerat.

Vho cuckhold is & tries it not,
A honest man he is God vot;
Vho vell it sees yet vil not see,
A vise subtile man is hee;
Vho searcheth if his head be hornd,
At best is vorthie to be scornd.

liii.

[Samarias Motheres when to Death they steru'd]

Samarias Motheres when to Death they steru'd
Did make a couenant their sonnes to eate;
The first (poor foole) aduanced hers for meate,
The other, pitifull, hid and preseru'd:
Comparisones are odious, therefore I
To Britannes kingdome will not this applye.

liv.

[Two Bittes of Noses may make on tall nose.]

Two Bittes of Noses may make on tall nose.
Philip on Nose-bit had, Leslea another;
Leslea a goodlye piece to make of those
Determinates to ioyne the two together;
But when Philps nose should but haue been his pray,
He tooke his head: lords was not that foule playe?

lv. Epitaph.

Truth hatred breedes.
Who lyes beneath this stone
Thou shalt not know,
Yet know hee's not alone:
About him staye some findes for his euill deedes.
Let him who reedes
In haste this place foregoe.

lvi. Discontented Phillis.

Blacke are my thoughts as is my Husbands haire,
My fortune ill-proportiond like his face,
My Mind wantes joyes, his countenance all grace,
His wit is lead, Myne heauye is with care:
In things so great since so conforme wee be,
Who then can say but that wee well agree.

lvii. Vindiciae against the Com̄ones for B. C.

Some are that thinke it no way can agree
A Bishop good good Minister can bee,
Nay, that no more be in one man these can
Than to be honest and a Puritan.
How farre they runne astray and strangelie erre,
This Man showes, Man good, Bishop, Minister.
Onlie one fault hee had, for he did proue
Too meeke for this world, too too much a doue.
Hence Harmelesse liu'd hee and exposd to wronges,
And now lyes murthered by injurious tongues.
Such which talke still of Relligion,
Yet hold it best in practike to haue none,
Who deeme men like to him to be great euills,
May God to preach to them raise vp some else.

lviii.

[Heere lye the Bones of a gentle horse]

Heere lye the Bones of a gentle horse
Who liuing vsed to carrye the corse
Of an insolent preacher. O had the asse
Of Balaam him carryed, he had told what hee was!
Now courteous readeres tell so, if yee can,
Is the Epitaph of the horse or of the Man?

Poems of Doubtful Authenticity.

I.

VIL: DRUMMONDS LINES ONE THE BISCHOPES: 14 APPRYLL 1638.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Doe all pens slumber still, darr not one tray
In tumbling lynes to lett some pasquill fly?
Each houer a Satyre creuith to display
The secretts of this Tragick Comick play.
If Loue should let me vrett, I think you'd see
The Perenies and Alpes cum skipe to me,
And lauch them selues assunder; If I'd trace
The hurly-burly of stait bussines,
And to the vorld abused once bot tell
The Legend of Ignatian Matchiuell,
That old bold smouking Monster, and the pryde
Of thesse vsurping prælats that darr ryde
Vpone Authority, and Looke so gay
As If (goodmen) they ought (forsuith) to suay
Church, stait, and all: plague one that damned crew
Of such Hells black-mouth'd houndes; its of a New
That Roman pandars boldly dar'd to vo
Nay, straine a gentle king thesse things to doo,
That Moue the French, Italian, & Spaine,
In a luxurious and insulting straine
To sing te Deum, causse they houpe to see
The Glorie of the popeisch prelacie
Raissed aboue his Royall throne apaice,
To Droune his miner Light vith prouder face.
Thesse hounds they haue ingaged him one the stage
Of Sharpe-eyed Europe, nay, ther's not a page
Bot thinks he may laugh freily quhen he sees
Kings Buffons acte, and Bischopes Tragedies.
Should aney dauly with the lyons paw,
Then knou a distance, Se[r]pents stand in aw.
Naye, pray you Heauens, once lend me bot your thunder,
Ile crusch and teare thesse sordid slaues assunder,
And leuell with the dust ther Altars horne,
With the lascivious organs, pieties scorne;
Or lett me be as king, then of their skine
Ile causse dresse lether and fyne Marikin,
To couer coatches (quher they wount to ryde)
And valk in bootes and shoes made of ther hyde,
Vhipe them at neighbour princes courts to show,
That No Nouations Scotts zeall can allow.
I sacrefisse vold such presumtious slaues
To my deir people, beat to dust the knaues,
Then of the pouder of ther bons to dray
The hare and pereuige to the popes lackay.
I noblie should resent and take to heart
Thesse pedants pryde that make poore Brittane smart,
Confound the church, the stait, and all the nation
With appish fooleries and abomination,
Leaues churches desolate, and stopes the mouth
Of faithfull vatchmen quho dare preach bot treuth;
Incendiary fyrebrands, whosse proud wordes
Drope blood, and sounds the clattring Noysse of Suordis.
Had I bot halffe the spyte of Galloway Tom,
That Roman snakie viper, I'd fall from
Discreitter lynes, and rube ther itching eare
With Spanish Nouells: bot I will forbeare.
Becausse my foster and my amorous quill
Is not yet hard, proud pasquills to distill,
I doe intreat that droll Johne de Koell
To sting them with satyres hatcht in hell;
Each doge chyde thesse tabacco breathed deuyns,
Each pen dairt volums of acutest lynes,
And print the shame of that blacke troupe profaine
In liuid vords, with a Tartarian straine.
Since I a Louer am, and know not how
To lim a Satyre in halffe hyddeous hew,
Lyke to polypragmatick Macheuell,
In pleasant flame (not stryffe) I loue to duell.
Bot nou to Paris back I goe to tell
Some neues to plotting Riceleu: fair you well.

II. FOR THE KINGE.

Seinge.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

From such a face quhois excellence
May captiuate my souerainges sense,
And make him, Phœbus lyk, his throne
Reseinge to some young Phaeton
Quhosse skilles and unluckey hand
May proue the Ruine of this Land,
Vnlesse Grate Ioue, doune from the skayes
Beholding our calamities,
Strick with his hand that can not er
The proud vsurping character,
And cur, tho' Phœbus er, our voe:
From such a Face as may work so,
Quhersoeuer he has his being,
Blis my souerainge & his seing.

Heiringe.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

From Jests profaine and flatring toungues,
From Baudie tailles, from beastly songes,
From after-supper suites that feir
A parliament & byes it deir;
From Spanisch tretties that may wound
Our countries peace, our Gospell sound;
From Ioues fals freinds that wald intyss
My souerainge from heauens paradize;
From profeitts such as Achabes wer,
Quhosse flattring smouthes my souerainges eare,
With fanceis more nor hes maker feiring;
Bliss My soueraing & his heiring.

Taistinge.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

From all fruittes that are forbiddin,
Such for wich old Eue was chiddin;
From Bread of Labowrers, Suyet & toyle,
From the poore widowes mythe & oyle;
From the canditis poysoned baittes
Of Jesuitts and the desaittes,
Italian sallets, & Romisse d[r]ogis,
The milk of Babells proud houris duggis;
From Blood of Innocents oftin vrongit
From thair estaits thats from them throngit;
From Wyne that may disturbe the braine,
And from the dangerous figges of Spaine;
At all banquetts & al feasting,
Bliss my soueraing and his taisting.

Smellinge.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Quher Myrre and Incence are often throwen
One Altars built to gods unknowen,
O lett my soueraing neuer smell
Such damd perfumes; thy'r fitt for hell.
Lett no such sent his nossethirles staine,
From smells that poyson may the braine,
Heauens still preserue him. Nixt I craue
Thow will be pleassed, Grate God, to saue
My soueraing from a Ganemed
Quhosse hoourische breath hath pouer to lead
His Maiestie such way he list;
O neuer lett such lippes be kist;
From any breath so far excelling
Bliss my soueraing & his smelling.

Feillinge.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

From prick of Conscience, such a stinge
As kills the soule, Heauens blisse my king;
From such a brybe as may withdraw
His thoughts from Equitie and Law;
From such a smouth and bardles chine
As may prouocke or tempt to sin;
From such a hand quhosse palme may
My soueraing leid out from the way;
From things pollutit and wncleine,
From all thats beastly and obschene;
From quhat may set his soule one reilling,
Bliss my soueraing & his feillinge.

Epiloge.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[And nou, grate God, I humbley pray]

And nou, grate God, I humbley pray
That thow may take the selue away,
That keipis my soueraings Eiyes from woing
The thing that may be his vndooing.
And lett him heir, good God, the soundis
As weill of men as of hes houndis.
Giue him a taist, and truly too
Of quhat hes subiects undergo.
Giue him all feilling of ther wois,
Then sune no doubt his royall noisse
Will quickly smell thesse Rascalls furthe,
Quhosse blacke deids haue ecclipsit his worth;
Then found syne scurgit for ther offences,
Heauens blisse my soueraign and his senses.

III. HYMNS.

i. Hymn.

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[Him whom the Earth, the Sea, and Sky]

ii. An Evening Hymn.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

iii. Complaint of the Blessed Virgin.

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The Mother stood with Grief confounded,
Near the Cross; her Tears abounded
While her dear Son hanged was,
Through whose Soul, her Sighs forth venting,
Sadly mourning and lamenting,
Sharpest Points of Swords did pass.
O how sad and how distress'd,
Was the Mother ever-bless'd,
Who God's only Son forth-brought:
She in Grief and Woes did languish,
Quaking to behold what Anguish
To her noble Son was wrought.

iv. Hymn upon the Nativity.

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v. Hymn upon the Innocents.

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vi. Dedication of a Church.

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Jerusalem, that place Divine,
The Vision of sweet Peace is nam'd,
In Heaven her glorious Turrets shine,
Her Walls of living Stones are fram'd,
While Angels guard her on each Side,
Fit Company for such a Bride.
She deckt in new Attire from Heaven,
Her Wedding-Chamber now descends,
Prepar'd in Marriage to be given
To Christ, on whom her Joy depends.
Her Walls wherewith she is inclos'd,
And Streets are of pure Gold compos'd.
The Gates adorn'd with Pearls most bright
The Way to hidden Glory show;
And thither by the blessed Might
Of Faith in Jesus's Merits go
All these who are on Earth distrest,
Because they have Christ's Name profest.
These Stones the Work-men dress and beat,
Before they throughly Polisht are,
Then each is in his proper Seat
Establisht by the Builder's Care,
In this fair Frame to stand for ever,
So joyn'd that them no Force can sever.
To God, who sits in highest Seat,
Glory and Power given be,
To Father, Son, and Paraclete,
Who reign in equal Dignity;
Whose boundless Power we still adore,
And sing their Praise for ever-more.

vii. Hymn.

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[Jesv, our Prayers with Mildness hear]

viii. Hymn.

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[Benign Creator of the Stars]

ix. Hymn for Sunday.

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x. Hymn for Monday.

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xi. Hymn for Tuesday.

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xii. Hymn for Wednesday.

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xiii. Hymn for Thursday.

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xiv. Hymn for Friday.

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xv. Hymn for Saturday.

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xvi. Upon the Sundays in Lent.

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Hymn.

xvii. On the Ascension Day.

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xviii. Hymn for Whitsunday.

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xix. On the Transfiguration of our Lord, the Sixth of August; A Hymn.

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xx. On the Feast of St. Michael the Arch-Angel.

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To Thee, O Christ, Thy Father's Light,
Life, Vertue, which our Heart inspires,
In Presence of thine Angels bright,
We sing with Voice and with Desires:
Our selves we mutually invite
To Melody with answering Quires.
With Reverence we these Souldiers praise,
Who near the heavenly Throne abide,
And chiefly him whom God doth raise
His strong Celestial Host to guide,
Michael, who by his Power dismays,
And beateth down the Devils pride.

V.

TO THE READER.

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The attribution of this poem is questionable.

No cankring Envy, Malice, nor Despite
Stirr'd vp these men so eagerly to flyte,
But generous Emulation; so in Playes
Best actors flyte and raile, and thousand wayes
Delight the itching Eare; So wanton Curres
Walk'd with the gingling of a Courteours spurres,
Barke all the night, and never seeke to bite:
Such bravery these verses mov'd to write,
Would all that now doe flyte would flyte like those,
And Lawes were made that none durst flyte in prose;
How calme were then the world? perhaps this Law
Might make some madding wives to stand in aw,
And not in filthy Prose out-roare their men:
But read these Roundelayes to them till then.
Flyting no reason hath, and at this tyme
Heere it not stands by Reason, but by Ryme;
Anger t'asswage, make Melancholy lesse,
This flyting first was wrote, now tholes the Presse.
Who will not rest content with this Epistle,
Let him sit downe and flyt, or stand or whistle.