A garden of graue and godlie flowers :: :: University of Virginia Library

Most powerfull Peers, cheef Pillers of th'Empire,
Strong Pedestals, whereon the State does stay,
Ministring Mercur's, to the Sacrat Syre,
Our Joue Great James and our Agustus ay:
Those lurid, sad, and those Thanatik Theams,
J consecrat to your most Noble Nam's.

Your Lò. Most humble Orator M. Alex. Gardyne.

TO THE TRVELIE RELIGIOVS, RIGHT HONORABLE, AND VERIE LEARNED Alexander Gordon of Clunie. S.

1

Looke for no liuely lyn's that may allure,
Or verse of worth, that will provok to view,
They want all pow'r Poetick to procure,
And frame a louely liking vnto Yow,
My minor Muse, no neu'r a draught she drew,
From Helicon, or Aganippe well,
Bot ever still a lower flight she flew,
Nór Pindus hight, where Delius does dwell:
No such a friendlie fortune Her befell,
For to be plunged in Parnassus springs,
Or see the Sisters in their Sacrat Cell,
VVhence Poets all, their braue inventions brings:
Bot she her grouth got in Garden whair,
Nor Pallas, nor Apollo doeth Repair.

2

That gallant Greeke, cognominate the Grand,
Who sometime All the Mundane Monarchie,
By Martiall might did conquesse and command,
Voutchafed with a louelie looking eie:
Als well to view, and with desire did see,
An halting Uulcan, as an Venus fair,
His Royall Father Philip likwise Hee
To take (tho a Potentat) did not spair,
(A Grace J grant in such a Roy bot rair,
And from a Pesant, in a publict place)
A Globe of Graips, and what I mark was mair,
He tooke them friendlie but a frowning face:
Swa if this small (Sir) you shall accept also,
You shall make vp a ternarie of two.

3

The Perseans keept a custome with their King,
To giue him gifts, mean, or magnificent;
Amongs those One, did for Oblation bring,
A water Coup, and did his Prince present:
He gratious Lord, as it had excellent,
And Royall bene respected the Propine,
As if there had bene from some Sengzeour sent,
A Jemme or Jewell, of the Iles of Inde,
Remarking much the meaning, and the minde
Affected well, he in that fellow fand,
More nor the worth, the qualitie and kinde,
Of that he held into his Hienes hand:
Then Gratious more, proue nor the Persian Kings,
That made so much of light and little things.

4

Bot Sir, if to, my will, or to your Worth,
My worthles verse they war equivalent;
J should not feare, to send them freely forth,
To byd the Braish, of each Arbitriment,
Yet if my trauels taine can but content,
And moue thy minde, my labors to Allow,
My paines Jmploid, are profitably spent,
Jf that they bot, doe help to honour you,
Bot had I borne, the Bayes aboue my Brow,
Or beene circunded with the Laurell greene,
I should more largely notefie it now
How much t'augment thy Greatnes, J am ge'ine,
And make the world and this Se-circled Ile,
Amazd t'admire, Thee in moir stately style,

Aberden the 25 of August. 1609.

Your Hon. bounden and deuoted, Mr. Alex. Gardyne,

TO THE DISCRET READER.

I publish nought, nor put I to the Presse,
Thir Poesies, to purchase me an praise,
Nor, is my drift, nor my deuise to dresse,
Elabrat lines, vpon Respects to raise,
And mount my Muse, upon the front of Fame,
To get me Gaine, or t'eternize my Name.

Nor doe I on, self-confidence or skill,
For price, or place, presumptuously aspyre,
My meaning much, you doe mistake: my will,
Is to get done, my Distitch lasts desire,
Slip all the smooth, sleik what you see vnsound,
Help whair they halt, Abreage when they abound.

Thine if you merit, Alex. Gardyne.

CERTAINE ENCOMIASTICK POESIES to the Author.

[I seeme like Cynthia while thou shines I sweare]

I seeme like Cynthia while thou shines I sweare,
I am mistun'd whairas Thou sweetely sings,
And barren too, whair Thou begins to beare,
Whose Rustick Muse bot Bastard brats forth brings:
Yet what I can, Ile doe it in thy sight,
Wart but to len, a luster to thy light.

I will not prease, to pratle of thy praise,
Thy worke bears witnesse of thy wondrous worth,
Bot while I liue and when I end my daies
J most intreat thy fauour this farre forth:
About thy Garden place me neere hand by,
That J may smell thy floures whair eu'r J lye.

So shall I rest contented Jn thy fauor,
Grac'd, while J grow, In such a glorious Ground,
Whair Vertue, Wit, and worth so sweetly sauour,
Whair Eloquence and Art so much Abound:
Whair I shall proue part of thy sweet Reposes,
Surpassing sugred Myrrh and musced Roses.

Anonimos.

[As Beautie still desires to be in sight]

As Beautie still desires to be in sight,
Of saddest Sable and mishapen Statures,
The more to grace thair admirable light,
By the default of such deformed Creatures:
As Cynthya be day can giue no glance
While bright Apollo showes his Radiance.

So gratious Gardyne wonder of thy Age,
Thou gains a world of praise for euerie verse,

Thy Countries honour thus thou does agraige,
All Nations thy, Jnuentions sall rehearse:
Poore pettie Poems now your heads goe hide,
While greater light here stains your glistring pride.

Ane light that showes be shining euery whair,
What Lamps are lost in British learned brains,
For lack of Patrons to maintain the rair,
And royall spirits that the Earth retaines:
Liue Gardine then, and loue thy Patron best.
Ile praise you both, and pray for all the rest.

P. G.

[With Pyrameids, of Poliz'd Porphir proud]

With Pyrameids, of Poliz'd Porphir proud,
Great Princes Toumbs, are beautified we see,
And with the gold of Ophyr fortunes Good,
Their palaces stand poynting at the skie:
Thus while they liue their glorie they maintaine,
Thus while they die, they make it liue againe.

Yet all that life, is bot a liuing Death,
And all this death, a dying life, and All,
Their Trains, and honours, that attend their breath,
Are but Rich marks, ye more to frame their fall,
And after life, that painted honours stone,
With flying Time, consumed is and done.

Liue than, that life, come not vnto decay,
And if it come, yet that it shall nought die,
Into this Garden gather vp thou may
How still thy Name, may still eternall be:
For be those fruites of Alexanders lore,
Thou dies in Vertue for to line in Gloir.

Mx. W. Bar.

SONET.

[Two sorts of men be bound to loue thy lyns]

Two sorts of men be bound to loue thy lyns,
Two sorts therefore aught to proclame thy Praise,
Thir sev'rall sorts, them selues shows and defines.
The Dead, and als the Living in their daies,
The Dead they should ascent to thy Assayes
Since by thy Lines, Resussitat and sure,
Their Fame revived, and immortall stayes,
And by thy Deed, eternall shall indure.
The Living too, vnlesse they thee injure,
Into whose praise, thy Poesies thou pend,
Should in Thy Cause, at Criticks hands procure,
And spair no pains, thy Fame for to defend:
Wherefore I judge, (and justlie) all ingins,
Aliue and Dead, be bound to loue thy lines.

[Greene Garden great, and gallant is thy glore]

Greene Garden great, and gallant is thy glore,
And happie thou, that such a troup contains,
A comelie Court, a rich and stable store,
Hem'd here within thy heavenlie hedge remains:
Great Delius, dishanting Parnass vses,
And with him all, these Maids admir'd the Muses.

That tripill Tryn haue here transferd their seat,
And here Apollo hes his Palion pitcht,
Whereby no Wene, Invention nor conceat,
Is not thy Muse attempted not, nor toucht:
Wherefore J think condinglie thou may clame
One leafe out of the Lawrell Diademe.

Since in thy Breast boyls those inspiring springs,
From whence does flow that liuelie liquor sweet:
Wherein Thou baths thy Virgin Muses wings,
And at thy pleasure in those fonts does fleet:
From whence thy Muse exceeding store extracts,
That through the Mundan Map thee famous maks.

W. T.

[In Good or Bad, the worke bewrays the Man]

In Good or Bad, the worke bewrays the Man,
And by the frute we clearlie know the Tree,
How cunning and, how great a Gardner than
Declares thy gallant Garden thee to bee?
For therein thou maks blind and sensles see,
Thy worthie worke, vnto my selfe a sight,
That stupefacts my sense, delud's my eie,
And yet it lens vnto my life a light:
For while with Reason I doe reckon Right,
And see such store doe from one stock Proceed,
Frutes fresh and fair, diverslie drest and dight,
Yet discrepant in sapor, shape and seed:
I must say then, thou by a thousand wayes,
Thy practise and Poetick powre displayes.

Mr. I. Lest.

[Whose pleasure is into his Paradise]

Whose pleasure is into his Paradise,
And Adam like his Eden hath advisd,
Relent thy course by Gardens graue advise,
Whose Muse divine this sweetest Subject chusd,
Inspir'd hereby, he hes profoundly infusd,
Rare Recipies thy Soule for to renew,
Read with remorse, and rightlie if thou vse,
Thou shall rejoce, that in our Ground there grew
A Garden whence springs Cedars to subdew:
Soule-killing soars resulting from thy sin,
Then wandring worldling, hold this in thy view,
Lest if thou stray, thou enter not therein
This Gardens-flowrs: had Alexander seene,
His heart had not halfe so ambitious beene.

Alex. Ste.

VPON HIS MAJESTIES Armes quartered.

Lord be thy boundles bountie from aboue,
The British Great, long tripartited Throne,
Vnited now, in pleasure, peace and loue,
To thee and thine (Great Iames) shal Al-be-on
Distractions, greefs, and grudges all are gone,
Competitors, that preast thy Crowns to clame,
Hes ceas'd their sutes, and leau's to thee Alone,
The Irish, French, and th'English Diademe,
Out of all doubt impertinent to them;
And be all Laws belonging vnto thee,
As lo my sacred Soveraigne supreme,
Behold here with thy Royall eies, and see
The Leopards, and Flowres of France they bring
The Harpe, to sport their Lord, thee Lyon King.

TO HIS SACRED MAIESTIE PROCLAMED KING OF Great Britane.

Most magnanime, and high imperiall Prince,
Whom IOV A just, vndoubtedlie ordains,
In peace be A, fore-pointed providence,
Of Al-be-on all, to rule the royall rains,
The bloodie broyls, where but th'vngodlie gains,
Great Ioue, sweete Time, and sacred Soverain you,
Haue broght to end, and everie strength constrains,
Before your feete, debased like to bow,
The threatning storms of bold Bellonas brow,
To pleasant peace long intertain'd shall turne,
As may be noted evidentlie now,
Whill all your bounds, with blasing bon-fires burne:
Amidst this mirth, and those triumphing things,
Giue God the glore, the Creator of Kings.

Congratvlation FOR HIS MAIESTIES DELIVERIE FROM THE SVLPHVRIOVS Treason in the Parliament house.

Sonet. 1.

Lift vp your hearts and hands vnto the Lord,
Applaud, giue praise, and with the Psalmist sing,
Vnto his Maiestie Misericord,
For saif conserving of thee Soveraigne King:
Giue glore to God, and thank him for this thing,
Laud we the Lord, with heavenlie hyms on hie,
That by that bloodie boutchrie did him bring:
Devisd for him with secret subtiltie.
Extend the Truth, tell this eternallie,
With mirrie minds conjunctlie all rejoes,
IEHOVA just, Almightie, magnifie,
That fred him from the furie of his foes.
Triumph and sing for this deliverance sweet,
Praise to the Father, Sonne, and holie Sprit.

Sonet 2.

It is not flamm's of artificiall fir's,
That thou the Lord craves for a recompence:
Nor is it pompe ostentiue thou requjr's,
For wondrous preservation of the Prince,
It is not Mundane vane magnificence,
Nor sliding show's, that momentarie bee,
Bot it is zeale, thanks, and obedience,
With gladnesse of the minde to glorifie,
Thee thee the Lord, that hes so lovinglie,
Even from a fore-decrited death, out-drawen:
Thy servant that, sinceirlie serveth Thee,
To cause on him, thy loue, and care, be knawne.
A paill of pray'r, not artificiall fir's,
The Lord for this, deliverance desir's.

TO THE CITTIE OF ABERDEN at the death of that excellent D. David Bishop of Aberd.

The Prince of preaching Pastors in thir parts,
Thy Archidoctor dearest and divine;
The light of learning in the liberall Arts,
Thy senior sage, in everie Science sine,
Thy faithful Father, and informer fine:
Thy dearest Dauid in the Lord is lost,
Thy Cypr'an Ambrose, and thy Augustine,
The Earth for Heaven thy Cunninghame hes cost:
Whill as Religion with her lowd laments,
For his departure powreth out her plaints.

To Church and King, what detriment and skaith,
The breaths-abridging Burrio does bring:
Here in this death, is eminent to baith,
For lo the Church, a Columne; and the King
A Consull graue, inlaiks in everie thing
The people a Platter of their publict pace,
Ane Symboll sure, and an assured signe,
Of some approching perrell to the place:
Where he was wont divinlie to indite
The misteries of holie sacred write.

THE OPINION OF THE worldlie estate of the honorable and learned Mr Walter Steward Principall of the Kings Colledge of Aberdon at his death.

Life, Lordships, friends, all ease and earthlie glore,
Pomp, Pleasure, Pride, Renown & worldly wealth,
Sprit, manhood, strength, estate, and treasures store,
Blood, beutie, clan, and honour here but health,
Like dying lamps into the longest night,
Are false deluding dainties but delight.

Preheminence, soveranitie, and place,
Great dignities, and transitorious joyes:
Promotions high, discents from royall race,
Time turnes to nought, Death alters and destroyes:
As water-bell's with little blasts are blowen,
So with lesse breaths they are againe ou'r-throwen.

Wit, learning, skill, sweet Eloquence and vene,
Jn faculties, intelligence profound:
Soliditie, and quicknes of the braine,
And in all Earthlie blessings to abound:
Are alway vaine, and foolishnes in fine,
Without that Wisdome heavenlie and divine.

Men are not made for ever permanent,
In Mein, nor Monarches is no steadfast strength,
Men are no more, here bot a trau'ling tent,
And they shall leaue this lingring life at length:

Remoue and wend out of this vaill their wayes,
For they the part of posting Pilgrims playes.

What they in their Inventiue braine haue bred,
Be means of their imagination vaine:
And with expence perfectlie haue exped,
By ill governing is disgrac'd againe:
And that which Fame and Fortune hiest bure,
Oft lies full lowe, inglorious and obscure.

Why do we then in fragill flesh confide,
And boldlie buildes our aspirance and trust;
Since nothing breaths that here is borne to bide.
Of Nothing all, all vnto Nothing must:
Revert and turne, Death will in end devore,
And flesh transchange to filth, as a before.

Disdaine those base and lowest earthlie things,
Flie through the skies vnto his burning throne;
Whose blessed sight to the beholders brings,
(Be meere affection, and his loue alone:)
Those sacred, holie, benefits and blest,
Peace, wealth and ease, content and quiet rest.

Abandon then those all alluring baits,
Which to the Soule frams ruine and decay;
Be not infected with those frivole fraits,
That are in heavenlie happines a stay:
So in the earth your Names shall be renownd,
And in the heavens with Christ coheird & crownd.

Non est mortale quod opto.

Not mortal, no, nor earthlie is my aime,
Nor point's it to, great Powers or empir's
To Favours fraill, nor to officious Fame,
Nor is it sworn, to sensuall desires:
Nor wold I wish what worldlings covet most,
Glore got with ease, and with lesse labor lost.

No tracking trash, nor transitorious things,
Not Mammons muck, that Mundans most on muse;
Impeds my Sprit, which still aspiring springs,
That onely and Eternal good, to chuse:
Which Spirits bad, nor Angels blest aboue,
Not in a point can alter, change, or moue.

No, bot it is that pure impassiue Spirit;
That ere all time was, shall, and onely is:
Good, just and wise, immortall, infinit,
God all in all, all onely is my wishe:
For in the same excessiuelie I shall,
Haue infinit, and what I wold haue, all.

VPON THE HONORABLE the Laird of Tolquhon.

1

Attend, come view, behold here shall you see
Into this graue, as in a stealed glasse,
The suddaine change of men that mortall bee,
Now men, now metamorphos'd in a masse,
Now paill and wan, that even now vitall vvas,
Now braue, now blyth, now bodie but a breath,
Now flesh and blood, now are we dust and asse,
Now like to liue, now subject vnto death,
Now firie is, now frosen hard our faith,
Now faithfull friends, now false and fained foes,
Now patient, now angrie full of wraith,
Now filthie weid, now fragrant like the rose:
Now pampred vp like painted pots are wee,
And drosse againe, in twinkling of an eie.

2

Religion laiks out of this land a lampe,
Thou Publict-well weep for thy member may,
Thou Uertue wants the Captaine of thy camp,
Thou Countrey him that did thee honour ay:
You Poore haue lost, that seldome said you nay,
You Friends your best, and onely permanent:
Vnto you sex, the damnage done this day,
What pithie pen in paper can imprent,
Truth, Vertue, Friends, Well, Countrey, Poore, lament,
His death to you that deutie did discharge,
And wroght with wit and wisdome to invent,
But others losse, your limits to inlarge:
Then sex in one, come honour now his death,
Aliue who to dishonour you was leath.

To the Countrey where he lyes.

Of Buchan ground thou hes in graue thy glore,
And of thy Lairds the light within thee lyes:
Thou keeps his corps that best could thee decore,
And was be vote (amongs the wisest) wyse,
Thou does depresse that causd thee to arise,
And made thy Fame in everie Firth to flee,
His Trophee then Eternall maks thee twise,
First that thou bred one worthie such as hee,
Next that his bones should in thee buried bee;
And though thou Earth, his earthlie joints enjoy,
Devised, made, and destinate to die,
Yet doubtles death dow never his deeds destroy:
For thought ye both do your deuour in this,
Fame and Remembrance shall amend your mis.

Prosop. to his liuing friends.

Cease mortall men, for me mourne ye no more,
You griue your God, and craibs him but a cause,
Ye follow fast, though that I go before,
Death for thee last, be course each of you knowes,
The daily dead you sure example showes,
You weep in vaine, your mourning Me dismaies,
Ye get no wrong, God sheares bot where he sow's:
Your childish plaints, your weaknes lo bewrais,
Think after Death what state stil for you staies,
Pray with S. Paul for dissolution syne,
Think not by Death the better part decaies,
Bot think that death men worldlie maks divine:
The Scripture says, we shall dissolue, not die,
Then wait the houre, and mourne no more for mee.

Vpon his deare friend Mr A. M.

Giflosse of friends, if damnage great, or skaith,
May moue to mourne, to waill, or to lament:
The first I think the greatest of them baith,
Yneugh for me, and a fit argument,
Too much for those not toucht with such intent,
For friendes or Fortune, once to mone or moue,
To all I say, this is sufficient,
Agreing to all harmed Mens behoue,
Prick with the spur, and force of onfold loue,
To such a one as by a just desert,
Sould longer liu'd, bot (weerds) I you reproue,
And curst be thou death with thy dreadfull dart:
That in the spring and prime time of his yeere,
Hath from his being broght him to his Beere.

Vpon the verteous and worthie Virgin Helen Chein.

Injurious Death, thy rage is but regarde,
No reason reuls where once thou gets a rest:
With reprobats the right reap's like rewarde,
The godles, good, the mein, and mightiest,
Thy dart to dust, does reddie bring the best,
And ay thou wretch, the worthiest invyes,
As on this Maid thou hes made manifest,
That here interd into this Temple lyes,
The wisest wight that Nature could devise,
Whose Fame thy force and furie shall confound,
When from each pen her praise proceid thou spies,
Then Death all shall, to thy disgrace redound:
And where she rests shall be inrold thy rage,
For marring her in morning of her age.

Vpon the honorable the Laird of Corss.

The glorious Gods, ô seldome wonder strange,
Drest in their dule, convoied all with cair,
Wrath for thy wrack, all willing to revenge,
Thy wrong, down from the watrie voulted Air,
Hes left the Heavens, their habitations thair,
Thy dolent death to quite it, if they can:
The thundring Ioue to magnifie thee mair,
Hes vou'd to venge vpon the Sprit's that span
Thy threid so thin; the mightie Mars, say's than
The spoyls of death shall grace the graue aboue,
In spight of death, in witnes that thou wan
Of all the Gods, the favour, grace, and loue.
Apollo last, laments thee with the laue,
And vow's t'ingraph thy glore aboue thy graue,

Upon the honorable I. Irv. of Pet.

Like as the Date, or silver plumed Palme,
That planted is vpon an open plaine,
But helpe of hedge, to keep it close and calme,
From v'olent winds, and from the rapping raine,
Does vpright rise, and levell like a rash,
And blooming bears her frute, and floorish fresh.

So he that back, as to his mothers womb,
This quiet Caverne, and this silent Cell,
Returned is, into this terrene tombe,
Against those foes, the World, the Devill, and Hell:
He stoutlie stroue throgh force of faith & strength,
And Iacob-like, here Victor-lyes at lenth.

DIALOG VPON THE DEATH OF P. F. Baillie of Aberden.

CIVES.

Stay stranger thou, that so preceislie spyes
With earnest eies, and on those Graues does gaze,
Look here below, where thou shalt see there lyes
Mater to make thee both to mourne and maze:
For yeares a youth, dead in his tender dayes,
Enrichd with graces reasonable, and rare,
As thou shalt see all those lamenting layes,
And dulefull ditons cunninglie declare:
Then thou hes to dilat an other day,
Of such a man thou red into thy way.

PEREG.

The mourning of so many modest men,
The Deads deserts, does evidently showe,
And causeth all inquisitiue to ken
What was his worth, that here is layd so lowe,
Through dint of death, and destanies ov'rthrowe,
And what his parts were, by their plaints appears,
Which surelie seru's him for to sound to blow,
And put his praise in all the honests ears:
And for my selfe, J wolde enlarge the same,
And forther eik a fether to his fame.

Brethring in brugh, and ye his brether borne,
And all that hes of his acquentance bene:
Doe what ye can, his death for to adorne,
And mourne no more, it will not mend to mein,
Set forth the Fame of the defunct your friend:
Ye Poets kyth, your cunnings, craft, and can,

To cause his fame, still floorish, fresh, and greene,
And be zour Muse, immortall make the man:
So zow's be Partner of the praise, and be,
Remembred both, and honoured as He.

Giue zit no partiall nor a sparing praise,
Pen onely that, that reason weele, may craue,
Jt buits nought much, aboue all bounds to blaze,
Superfluous praises, graces not the Graue,
Rander the right, and let alone the leaue,
Extend the Truth, and surely so you shall,
Alot him all the honour he would haue,
Both in his life, and his last funerall:
Wouchaif to write, and lend him lin's thairfoir,
That be zour means, he may liue euermoir.

Remors and sorrow for sinne.

1

Lord lend me light, for to lament my life,
And sharpe my fight, to sorrow for my sin;
Restraine the furie, and the mortall strife,
Of spreit, and flesh, that Iam entred in:
Permit me not, without recourse to rin,
Nor walk the waies, of the vnchastiz'd child,
Bot giue me grace, and grant me to begin,
For to refuse, the folies that defyld,
My sinfull soule, and all my senses syld,
With showes of wordly vanities, and welth,
And those inglorious glosis that begyld,
And did with hold, me from my heauenly health:
Lord be thy spreit, make me perceaue & spy-them,
And then renounce, and vtterly deny-them.

2

God grant me grace, for to digest my greif,
And for the spreit, of patience I pray:
Lord send my Soule, that long desir'd releif,
And now conuert, my Carioune to clay;
Contract the Time, Lord thraw the threid in twa,
And let me murne my miseries no moir,
Dislodge this life, and doe not long delay,
To enter me, in Thy eternall gloir,
Whair J may liue Thy louing face befoir,
Thair with thy Saincts, vncessantly to sing,
Thy perfect praise, and but all end adoir,
Thy holy name, high Prophet, Preist, and King:
Vntie my tongue, that I may sing, and say,
O holy God, all holy, holy, ay.

Inuocation for seasonable weather.

O puissant Prince, and King Cunctipotent,
Whose bodie rent, was on the rack, or Rude,
For mans great good, O Lord thy selfe was shent,
Of that intent, the Deuill to denude;
Vs to seclude, from that feirce fierie flood,
Whilk reddie stood, to drink vp, and demain,
That thou had then, boght with thy blissed blood,
The heauenly foode, that fed thy Isra'l faine,
Lord send againe, to Nurish vs thy awne,
Since floods of Raine, down falls out from the Aer,
That we despaire, to reape the fruites, and graine,
Whairwith the plaine, is now ore'spread alwhair,
My sute then Lord, with spreit deprest receaue,
Grant J may haue, that heir I humbly craue.

A PRAYER FOR THE ESTATE of the Church.

O Lord that art the strength and steadfast rock,
Let thy out-streatched arme frie and defend,
That now in danger be, thy faithfull flock,
Which was, which is, and shall be to the end:
Cause now thy care vpon the Church be kend,
When Reprobats vprises to rebell,
And with their tricks and treasons does intend,
To wrest thy Word, thou dictat hes thy sell,
Thought of the trueth, no thing them selues can tell,
Bot boasts vs with the strength of strangers sword,
Apostat Papists, from all parts expell,
Or turne them truelie to avow thy word.
Imped their Platt's, their mintings make amîsse,
That ought bot well to thy Evangell wisse.

Comfort for my innocent afflicted friend.

Let not blasphemous barking beasts bereaue,
Nor causles thy accustom'd courage quaill,
For giltles states the keenest courage craue,
And most does in adversitie availl:
Though raging Rog's, without all reason raill,
And wicked wretches at thy worth envy,
Yet all their falset in the fin shall faill,
When everie one thine innocence shall try:
To their eternall infamie and shame,
And to the lawd and honour of thy Name.

None bot the worthie are envyed worst,
And few traduc'd bot of the best estate,

The finest oft we finde vnfriendlie forst,
And with the beastlie borne at greatest hate;
Fooles onely at their Betters fortune frait,
And swels to see their credit to encresse,
Their malice yet should not thy mind amait,
Nor make thy priuat pleasures proue the Lesse:
Bot rather moue thee mirthfull more to bee,
And flout thy foolish foes that frouns on thee.

A Passion.

What greefe, what anguish great,
What black and bitter baill,
So hurts and harmes my heavie heart,
And never makes to haill?
What hudge misfortunes mee,
Confounds, defaits, and foiles,
What daft desire, like flamm's of fire,
Within my bowels boyls?
What subtill slight desaits,
What trains my soule to trap?
What wicked wiles my will invents,
Me Wretch in woe to wrap?
What lubrick pleasant showes,
With false impoysoned baits,
My fond fantastick fancie finds,
To sensuall consaits?
What wylde corrupted thoughts,
As from their rute and stock,
Out of my heart, like armies hudge,
About my braine doe flock?
What hundreth thousand ill's,
From that first sinfull seeds,

Into my minde immur'd alace,
All bad abuses breeds?
What willingnes to vice?
What forwardnesse to fall?
What prompnes to trespasse is nur-
ced in my naturall?
VVhat readinesse to stray,
VVhat rage from right to rin,
A beastlie bygate to embrace,
The sink of shame and sin?
VVhat inward foolish force,
VVhat inclinations ill,
Into my endlesse errors ay
Makes me continue still?
Or what a madnesse is't,
That but remorse or feare,
I with my God almost, his Word
And will reveild I weir.
Who in his Wisdome hes
All Natures made of naught,
And ilk a Creature and kind,
Their severall courses taught.
The Bodies all aboue,
The spheir and cirled Heauen,
He maks rin restlesse round about,
As violentlie drawen.
The sure and solid Ground,
Just placed lik a prick,
In mids alike vnmoueable,
Does still and stable stick.
With both the sorts of Seas,
Embrodered about,

That still does brash and beat their banks,
With many roar and rout.
He all aboue the Earth,
The Region of the Air,
Right properlie appointed for
His Palace did prepare.
Although the Heaven of Heavens,
Most polished perfite,
His Grace and Godhood not contains,
Full glorious, and grite.
For in the Earth and Deeps,
And Firmament most fair,
His blessed Sprit and Essence is,
Ov'r all and everie-where.
He all and everie thing,
H'apointed hes and plac'd;
And what his Providence perform'd,
Is nothing void nor waist.
The thrid and highest Heaven,
Great GOD he did ordaine,
For Angels, and the blessed Band,
A mansion to remaine.
The subtle Air belowe,
And Firmament for Fowles,
The deadlie Deepe, and black Abyss,
For damned sprits and soules.
For fleeting finned Fish,
Fresh Waters, Floods and Seas:
For savage, wilde, and bloody Beastes,
He planted Parks and Trees.
Yet of those all the vse,
As Nature taught, we ken.

He hes appointed for supplie,
And nurishment to men,
And sapentlie hes set
In season ilk a sort,
And all things as he thinks it good,
Provids for their support.
All formes of Fishe the Floods,
Her eating Flesh the Field,
All healthsome Fowles for foode, the Air,
He hes ordain'd to yeeld.
The Glob ætheriall,
And closse compacted spheir,
He peopled hes with lightsome lamps,
The streaming starr's, and cleir.
Some of those litler Lights,
But steiring steadfast stay,
And some their circled courses change,
And alter erring ay.
And such like Hee hes set
These ornaments amang,
That through the voults of Cristall skyes,
Full gleglie glansing gang.
Twa-glimsing golden Globes,
With bodies broad and bright,
The Greater for to guide the day,
The Lesse to rule the night.
The silver Cynthia,
Doeth both incresse and waine
Into a Month: and Phœbus course
A yeare concludes againe.
The twise two Elements,
And everie other thing;

Abers not by thair limit bounds,
Be th'All-creating-King.
Bot onl'vnthankfull man
Tho to his vse alone,
Great good and gratious God did all,
Befoir exprest, compone:
Zit all the Creatures,
That He hes made amang,
Man only know's the right and zit,
Does walk awry, and wrang,

Fortis est falsam infamiam contemnere.

All they that loue, and liueth be the law,
And they that stur, hir statutes to trangres,
All they of God, that his commands do knaw,
Than leud Reports, they nothing compt of lesse,
All they in life, who puritie professe,
Than sland'ring tongues, they nothing more detest,
Wha seiks to smoir, while they the more increase,
The giltles Fame, the pure, and perfect best,
The Scripture shewes, the wiser sort, expreems,
Detracting tongues, a vice vnworthiest,
Which God most vile, and odious esteems,
Of falls infamous lies, than think no mair,
Bot as words lost, and Echoes in the air.

Ane prayer for the faithfull.

O Lord whose force, and righteousnes do reach,
From Monarchies, vnto the meinest Mote,
O Lord whose Regall staitlines does streach,
O're all not passing once the smallest iott,

O Lord that sau'd, vnlost thy seruant Lot,
And for distrust, strake vp his wife in stone,
O Christ that cur'd, by touching of thy cott,
The blind, the lame, and all, with greifs, begone,
Look Lord, I pray, down from thy thundring throne,
And veiw vs wratches with thy eies deuine,
Guide vs with grace from danger eu'rie one,
Whom thou elects, and chuses to be thine,
Blisse vs on Earth, and giue vs perfect pace,
And in the Heauens fruition of thy face.

VPON THE REVEREND AND GODLY M. N. H. Commissar of Aber.

Here lies inclosde, within this Caue of clay,
His bloodles bones that boldly did imbrace,
In Christ, the Truth, vnto his dying day,
Whose like now few, are liue and left, alace,
Pereit to Poize, with pietie, the place,
That vpright He, did but a spot preserue,
By guide gouerning, godlines, and grace,
Which now to sound, (that surely cannot swerue)
Thy publict praise, O happie Soule shall serue,
Though thou be dead, and death thy drosse, deuoir,
Thy laud shall not, inlaik, that does deserue,
For to remain, jmmortall euermoir,
Thy Name, by Fame, into this land shall liue,
Though seasons slide, it permanent shall priue.

DIALOGVE VPON THE VERTVOVS and Right honourable Sir Thomas Gordon of Clunie Knight.

Interlo. Resp. Pub. Weal. Fame.

[Pub.]

Whair flies thou Fame, so frantick-like, and fast?
What chance, or change? what may thy murning moue?
What grieus thee thus, how goes thou so agast,
What newes in Earth, what in the Heavens aboue?
Thou Tongue of Time, thou wingd-foote Herold stay,
T'impart th'imployments vnto vs we pray.

Fame.

The force of my, Affaires and woes scarse can,
Permit a pause much-lesse to bide, and breath,
Bot wit Thou weele, the World it wants a Man,
By the vntimous, Tyranie of death.
Whose worthines, to sound out J am send,
Vnto the Heauen and to the Worlds end.

Pub.

Whom haue J lost?

Fa.

A manfull member you,
That lou'd the Lord, and held Religion deere,
Alas remoued, and transported now,
From yow, the faithsull, that are fechtand here.
Vnto his Home, the high and stately Heauen,
That God vnto, the glorified hes giuen.

And hes thee left, as Orphane to bewaill,
And weept his want, with teares and tragick toone.
That from this wofull and this wratched vail,
His shyning vertues Sunne hes set so soone,
By whose eclipsed and declined light,
This day is darke, like the Cymmeriane night.

His sanctified Soule celestiall,
From whence it came, to God againe is gone,
Vp to the highest heauen imperiall,
Th'appointed Pallace of the Lord, where None,
Bot Soules of Saints, and blessed Angels be,
Elect to life, from all Eternitie.

His Name, Remembrance, and his Memorie,
The Earth vp to, the firmament, shall fill,
The mouth's of men, shall minister with me,
To cause them vncorrupt continue still,
And grasse-like grow, great, glorious, and greene,
As if they were, substantially seene.

How greatly than, thou graced are, O graue,
(A seuen foote Cell,) made of the marble mold,
His knighted Corps, with honour thou shall haue,
Whose Fame, skarse can, the vniuersall hold,
Whairbe the age, succeeding, this, shall see,
How rair a Man, heir buried lies, in Thee.

To his louing friends.

Prosop.

1

You Honourable, Deere, and louing, Frends,
To whome God giues, his graces great, and guid,

Mark this Mort-head, and your ensewing ends,
See how it stands, think some-time how it stood,
Now bot bare bones, and hes beines, but their blood,
No worldlie wit to Kingdomes, Crowns, nor kin,
Brings with them blessings or Beatitude,
Nor will they Heauen vnto the wicked win,
All Earthlie pompe, if not divod of sin,
Shall turne to this wherein my bones are borne,
A trimmed Tomb, with rotten waires within,
Brought forth to day, and buried on the morne:
Liue therefore godlie, verteous, well and wise,
Such happiest, and onely blessed dies.

2

God gaue to me of friends sufficient,
Of worldlie wit, a reasonable store;
Of Thesaure too, vntill I was content,
And honour here, yea, whill I crav'd no more:
Yet all is nought, and bot a glosse of glore,
Like the Sol-sequium, a fading flowre,
That with the Sun does all the day decore
The Gardens greene; sine setteth in an houre.
Bot Christ my King, and Souls-sweet Saviour,
My comfort is, my honour, health, and all,
Everlasting life, and never tracking treasure,
That permanent shall be perpetuall:
Leaue then deare Friends, wealth vanishing & vaine,
Make Christ with me your God, your goods, your gain.

A strong Opiniator.

For Fortunes favour or her fead,
I nether eik nor pairs my trynde;
Though misreport of me be made,
I nether vex nor moue my minde:
For who to misreport pretend,
Dismakes their malice in the end.

I pance not on no present things,
Nor covets those that are to come:
I sturt not for Cupido's stings,
Nor am I driven to doe as some.
For privat pleasure to prescriue,
The day of death, or terme of liue.

I fash me not with Court effairs,
I sute not for a seat supreame:
I am not cloy'd with Countrey cares,
Nor hunt I for renoune of Name:
For I finde sooth that wise men sayes,
Fame conquest soone, als soone decayes.

To gather geare is good I grant,
Bot godlie nought therein to glore:
Then some-time haue, and some-time want,
I for my selfe, I wolde no more:
It surfets oft, and seemeth sore,
To want, or to be still in store.

With faithfull Friends I doe not fash,
No ended bargane back I bring:

I waist me not in vaine to wash
The woeb J wait that wil not wring:
For folie is to enterprise
That not into my power lies.

J doe not hate no others hap.
And am content here with my owne:
I striue not to mount vp a stap,
To be two grees againe down-throwne.
Bot I employ me in that place,
Where glore I gaine not, nor disgrace.

Th'vnpleasant Proud I plaine dispise,
From Fooles J flee as from my foes,
I loue and honour ay the wise,
And still I doe mislike of those,
As Sancts that bears a Sanct-like shoe,
And yet in deed are no wayes so.

For doubtsome changes that may chance,
I nether glade, nor yet I grieue:
For hope of things that may advance,
I nether like to die nor liue:
For worldlie thing is not can
One liue, once make an happie man.

For swelling rage of sorrowes showr's,
As vnassaulted sure I sitt:
And for vnconstant stormie showr's,
As fixed fast, I'fotch no futt:
So as a Bulwark on the strand,
Rebeatting Fortunes bloes I stand.

For cumming storm's, I doe forecast,
Of greàtest ill's J choose the best:
J set no saill, I hew no mast,
No vehement I know can lest.
And as no Pilat vnexpert,
I view the Compas and the Cart.

For instant greefe, for gladnesse gone,
Beleiue J nether heat nor coole,
At all events I still am one,
For ought J nether joy nor doole:
So both in peace and in debate,
J still remaine in one estate.

Upon the death of the honorable Ladie D. H. B. L. Essel.

And what be these thy pleasures all.
which thou shall leaue at length:
They are like shooting starres,
That make a shining shoe,
Or like to these straight running streams,
That but regresse doe goe.
All flesh is grasse, and grasse,
Be course it does decay,
So shall the glorie of the flesh,
Evainish [illeg.] once away.
Th'vnhappie Heire of Sin,
The Sonne of yre forlorne
And giltie banisht from thy blisse,
By Nature thou art borne,
O then whence springs thy Pride,
Conceau'd in Sin since ze,
Be borne in bail, in labour liues,
And out of doubt must die.
Vane is the trust in men,
Thar glorie vaine, and than.
Amongs all vanities, most vaine,
The vainest Vaine, is Man.
When passing pleasures off,
This posting life most please,
Zit they, they passe, and fade, they flie,
And perish does all these.
To vermine ze convert,
From worms to dust ze doe.
Dissolue and all your pompe departs,
To Earth, and ashes too.
Bot O vaine glorious worme,
In pleasure, pride, and pompe,

That liues thy life looke here below
To me a liueles lompe.
Wha while I plaid my part,
On the vnstable stage,
And in this wofull wordly vaile,
Past o're my pilgrimage,
My Nature fram'd me faire,
My Fortune gaue me welth,
And many daies my gratious God,
With honour gaue me health,
Preferment, Pleasure, wit,
Contentment, and delight,
Thou wretched world saw me possesse,
With solace in thy sight:
Yet honour, beautie, birth,
Riches, renowne, and rent,
Nor kingdomes can releiue the life,
When here hir space is spent.
For Prince nor Peasant poore,
The Libertine, and slaue
The Monarch and the Miser meine,
Shall all goe to the Graue.
Wit wordly, nor vaine welth,
Nobilitie, nor blood,
T'exeme the one day, from thy death,
Shall doubtles doe no good,
Th'ambitious hautie head?
What helps his honour him,
VVhen dreidful death, that ghostly Groome
Leane, Meagre, Pale, and grimme,
Feirce, and inflexible,
To peirce him shall appeare?

Shall lordships then prolong his life,
Or honour hold him heir?
No not one houre, although,
He did possesse all that,
Great Cæsar, Cyrus, Salomon,
VVith all their glory gat.
Inane, and futill was,
And like a floure, fast fled,
The pleasures all, that they possest,
And honours which they had;
A Sar'cine Saladine,
Once Emp'rour of the East,
VVhen death did him attach, and with,
That rigrous rod arrest,
Through Askalon sometime,
In Palestine a Towne,
That proud and pagane Potentat,
Cause carrie vp and downe,
Vpon his launce, his linning shirt,
And thus causd crie: no moir,
Hes now deid Saladine of all,
His treasures, wealth, and stoir.
All pleasure so shall passe,
Gold treasure is but trash,
And as the Sunne dissolues the snow,
So wealth away does wash.
And what while we are here,
Seemes to the sense most sweet,
Or best does please, it is nought but,
Vexation of the spreit,
This world then it is nought,
That onely worthy wairs?

That suld the Christian Conscience cloy,
Nor too much clag, with cares?
No no that is it nought,
Since euery thing, and all,
That earthly is, shall haue an end,
And is but temporall,
Weell since this world within,
We no thing firme can finde,
And what this life, most large does len,
Shall all be left behind,
Goods, children, kin, and frends,
And which more deare, we loue,
Our life we leaue, theirs no remeid,
But from this Monde remoue.
Here honour keepes no hold,
Nor does delights indure,
Zone heauē, this Earth, the Aer, that Sea,
From shifting are not sure:
Nor no thing on the Earth,
(That helps to humane vse,)
From alteration quite exempe,
Did th'All-Diuine produce.
For man, beast, fish, and foule,
Plant, metall, stones, and Trees,
Once widders, wracks, once rots, or rusts,
Decayes, departs, or dies.
Than thou art madde O man,
Into those toyes to trust,
That temp'rall are, zea transitore:
And nought but drosse and dust.
Herefore what is but dust,
And what thou deems most deere.

This grassie glore forget, and think
On Heaven whill thou art here.
There lay thy compt a Crowne
To conquesse, and atchyue:
Here throughlie think that there the life,
Ay lasting thou must liue.
Here guide thee so, at lest
To grow in grace, begin
From hollow of thy heart, to hate
Iniquitie and sin.
Prepare provision here,
And make thee in some measure,
There onely there for to extruct,
A never tracking treasure.
And there to dwell here must
Th'endevours be addrest;
Where ever, and perpetuallie
Is pleasure, peace and rest.
And where in full of joy's
The just and blessed byd's,
But change beyond all date of day's,
All termes, all times, and tyd's.
Where Mourning shall in Mirth,
Losse be exchangd in Gaine;
And where Mortalitie refind,
Immortall shall remaine.

EIDEM.

Since Death, distresse, wrack, wretchednes, and woe,
Since mourning, and since miserie to Man,
Peculiar are, and thy adherents, O!
Why should thou start, and strange esteme them than,

Since Policie nor power carnall can,
Divert, remoue, nor in a point preveine,
Thy danger, or Misfortune fatall, whan,
To sease on thee, too sharplie they are seene:
No Kingdoms, Crowns, no Kin, nor Consobrein,
Nor nothing here that being hes nor Breath,
Not Tyrants with their Terrors can retein,
The vildest worme, from dying once the Death:
Since nought can Death, nor sorrows saif from thee
Lamenting liue, and living learne to die.

In what a Labarinthian sink of sin?
In what a Maze, in what a miserie?
Into what greef, and with what grons begin?
The Dulfull dait of Mans Nativitie,
Woe, weeping, Care, and cryes continuallie,
Are at his Birth, and at his Burial both,
In sicknes sore, or sorrows suredlie,
The Time twixt Life and Death, he groning goth,
So sillie Man, does bot lament and mourne,
Whill to the ground, his Grandame he returne.

He weeps when from the bellie he is borne,
And enters first (the stage) distilling tears,
So to the world, he mourning giu's gud-morne,
And as he liu's, so to lament he lears,
His lewd-led-life, occasion giu's of fears,
Feare breeds complaints, perplexities, and paine,
So thus his life, it vanishes, and wears,
He comes in greef, and groning goes againe,
Lamenting first, he looks vpon the light,
Lamenting last, he giues againe good-night.

To the same honorable Ladie.

Melpomine al Murners Tragick Muse,
Some vnknowne kinde of sadest sable chuse,
T'invest thy selfe there-with whereby, thou may,
Expreslie more, divulgat, and bewray,
Thy care and cause, all Creaturs to ken,
Thy grieu's more great, nor's ordinar to men,
Convene thy wits, vse all thy Airt and skill,
For words thou wont to write, now Tears distil,
And vnto Tritone that the Trident bears,
Pay triple tribute, of salt brimmish tears.
Desire thy sweet and sacred Sisters sine,
To trim their Harps, to tragick toons like thine,
And pray your Prince, Apollo for to borrow
Some of Neptunus tears, to show your sorrow.
Th'Arrabick gulphe, the East nor Ocean seas,
Shall b'insufficient to suffice your eies.
Although ye should, yea recolect the raine,
And gathred all in drops disgorg't againe,
Yet all this should not plentie, proue, nor store,
Thy departure, dear Ladie, to deplore,
No thought they all, that liue of humane line,
Cœlestiall signes, and Dieties divine.
And all that care can kno, or sorrow see,
Should too tear-wash, this terren Tomb with me,
Though th'Echoing Air it murmour should and mone
Tho light-foot winds shold whissel their grifs & grone,
And though the fire ascend be Nature light,
As sorrowfull to see so sad a sight,
And th'Earth aggrieud her Entrels hudge should teare
Most discontent thy burdenn dead to beare,

Although the shyning Sun himselfe should shrowd,
Most carefull for thy cause within a cloud.
And though the Clouds lamenting looke and lowre,
And tears for ràine vpon the planes should powre.
Though brutish Beasts should brey, burst, rage & rore,
And schools of Fish seeme t'ambiset the shore:
All mourning in their maner to the end,
Their heavines to haue vs apprehend.
Though Creeping things, and flights of Fowles al-whair,
Deiue with their din, the deiphs, the earth, the Air,
And though that Monster many mouthed Fame,
Thy onely praise should publish and proclame;
Still elevat aboue the Rounds, and rear-it,
And blaz't abroad als far as Fame can bear-it.
And it in Diamonds indent and masse,
Jt into Marble, and in bookes of Brasse.
And last, though Men in numbers infinite,
Should in complaints, consume, and spend their sprit:
And be so sad as never seene was such,
Murne what they may, they can not murne too much.
Although their backs the black doole bages bear's,
Though mournfull minds too testifies their tears.
And though with lynes lugubrious and sad,
Thy Coffin they haue covered and spred.
Yea though they should conglomerat and joine
All th'earthl'-ingens, with those the best abone.
And then draw from the Thesaurie of Arts,
On perfectlie perfect in whole and parts.
Yet should he not ineugh deplore and praise
Thy Death and thy Deserving in thy daies.

Vpon the honest and vertuous, Ag. Chal.

These be the treasours that this Tombe containes,
Earth, dust, and ashe, much pampred in our pride,
Now but a band, of bosse, and bloodles bains,
That but short time, here in their beauties bide,
Flesh is most fraile, and suddantly does slide,
No durance is nor certentie of daies,
No mortall men, hes wherein to confide,
But in the Lord, through Christ, the Scripture saies,
So while each one, their part like Stagers plaies,
Vpon this worlds, vaine Theatre I wold,
They learnd to die, vnto the Lord alwaies,
So for to rest, inregistred, and rold,
Amongs the happie, companie of those,
To life elect, be mercie, loue, and choise.

Vpon the Right honourable A. I. of Drum.

Fame.

Come me (the Herold of the heauens) behold,
Remembrance mouth, and neuer dying Fame,
Tongue vnto Time, and Trenchman vncontrold,
Reporter cheefe, and Publisher supreame,
In Ioyfull Thesis, or in tragick Theame,
VVhat be aboue, or in the Earth, belaw,
By Prouidence, preordain'd to proclaime,
Jn swiftest sort, to signifie and shaw,
The will, decrees, Occurrents, now, and then,
Of Gods eternall, and of mortall Men.

Truth, Vertue, Loue, Faith, Pietie and Peace,
Prest with complaints, importun'd, and oprest;
Their Synode set, this Sepulture the place,
This Death, their Dolor, to dilate a drest,
In mourning manner for to manifest,
What all the liuing, and this Land hath lost,
A Baron bold, of blood, an of the best,
A mundane Mirrour but a Matcha almost,
A perfect Paterne plenished withall,
The excellent, and virtues Cardinall.

Each one of these, are damnified by daith,
Each one of these, are wounded with this wrack,
Each one of these, are iustly wrongd and wraith,
To each of these, an Louer is in lackt,
Each one of these, with Death their band, shal break,
To honour him, and in Remembrance haue,
And each of these, hes sworne this for his sake,
For to ingrosse, his graces on his graue,
And hing on high, aboue, his honours Herse,
His worthines, and vertues into verse.

Receiue then Earth, and in thy bosome lay,
This fragill frame, in substance like thy sell,
A Man of mold, conuerted into clay,
Whose Truth and whose, integritie to tell,
Leaue vnto Me, the restless ringing Bell,
Time Death, nor Age, shal in Obliuion bring,
Nor from my Troumpe, his passing praise, expell,
Altho that death, or'threw the earthly Thing,
The heauenly half is hence to heauen againe,
Which both by me, remembred shall remaine.

VPON THAT HONORABLE AND worthie Gent. M. Patrik Cheyn of Rainstone.

What both thy worth, & what thou was to wriet,
What hapines; and honour here thou had:
What prouidence, and prudencie of spreit,
And what a life, beloued thouhes led;
Needs not be pens, of Poets be exprest,
That of it selfe, is so made manifest.

Thy loue to freinds, and to thy countrie weel,
Who could not know, thy constancie, and Cair,
Vnto this Citie, syne and Common-weell,
Of all an most, affected euermair,
Deseruing weell, of both, thou was I wait:
Since for thy graue, their greife is now so great,

An Ieme, an Iewell, and a chosen Cheyne,
A Cheane, both be, thy Nature, and thy Name:
Vnto this Burgh, thou euermair hes beene,
But death, alace, soone sundered the same;
And from all common cummers hes conuoi'd,
Thee thee to heauen in whom we iustly ioi'd

THE CONTENTS AND SVMME of the Authors his Christian Knight

[_]

Translated.

1

Permit, and let, thy louing lookes alight,
And with wel-willing eies vouchsafe to view;
The young vnwise, and wilfull wandring Knight,
Drest in apparell and an habit new;
Which in a ground, and barren Garden grew,
Almost vnworthy, to be worne, and zit:
The Portrat right, the Type, the Figure true,
And very viue Anatomie of wit:
To monstrate these, the Misses we commit.
And make them all, be sensible, and seene,
Yea th'image and, the Idea is it,
That represents, most Efauld to the eyne:
The nat'rall man, imprudent and prophane,
Be grace of God, regenerate againe.

2

Of Sathans snares, that souls incites to sin,
Here is detected the vndoubted Truth,
And all that may, inveit to vice, whairin,
Oft falls th'vndanted and rebellious youth,
Here are the sinns, deciphered of slouth.
Of Misbeleefe, of Malice, and Envie,
And heir of sinne, also to drench the drouth,
The Well diuine, and spring of verrue spie,
Heir is the Touch where thou may truly trie,
If thou hes fully faithfull beene, befoir,

And here are perfect plasteres to apply,
To salue the soule, and to heale sound her soare:
And here as in, a mirrour markthou may,
To life or death, the right or radie way.

At the death of the right honourable Sir J. Wisehart of Pettarro Kn.

The world it is, a Theater and Men,
The Actors are, vpon this statelie stage;
Whereof some yong, some midlings, now, and then,
Some in the verie Euening of their age,
Presents themselfs, preparde to play their page;
Yet in a moment, suddenlie, and soone,
As poasting Palmers, poast a Pilgrimage,
They dryving o'r, we dow, decerne, haue doone.
And glyds into the Graue, the Den of Death,
That each one for his place retering hath.

Yet Death, nor this the Graue vnto the good,
Nor should affright, no nor dismay them must,
Albeit the boulke, the marrow, bons, and blood,
They reconvert in Ashes, Earth and Dust.
For Iesus Christ, th'Omnipotent and just,
From both he struke the sting, and stayd that strife,
To all that in his mercies truelie trust,
And plainlie made them Ledders vnto life:
Whereby to Heaven, that glorious Scene t'ascend,
Triumphand Actors ever more but end.

Men should not then, too much bot measure mourne,
Nor for their Friends, impatientlie deplore;
Who as they take, long ere their Time returne,
And goe to graue, their hours prefix'd before,

Wherein they doe their Maker moue the more,
Whill thus at his appointments they repine,
And with their groning derogats his glore,
Which in his great Synedrione divine,
H'apoints that all, that ever breathd, and bee,
Should ere they liue, taste the first death, and dee.

Death is the Port of Peace, Restrent from strife,
Place of Repose, Conclaue of all Content:
The gate to Glore, the Line that leeds to Life,
The way of flesh, that worldlings ever went,
It was the battering Bombard Iesus bent,
To break and brvse the Serpent and our Sin.
Jt was the Ramme, that Heauens-strong Ramperds rent
To make Men mount, and easilie enter in:
In Sion sure, saif sanctified for Them,
The heavenlie, holie, new Ierusalem.

To his verie louing friend Mr. T. M.

A mortall man, Immortalized now,
This earthlie Urne, this compond caskat keeps
Call'd from the Cairs that crosse and cumber you,
Content in Christ here sound and softlie sleeps,
Flesh, blood and bones (the slouchs and truelie typ's
Of the restrained and imprisond sperit,
Wherein oprest, as from a Pit it peeps.)
Jmmast, are now, in mold, a Mantion meet,
Preordaind for the verie best, albeit,
They by their birth, be of Basilik blood,
For Death, that all devours, thus does decreit,

All flesh shall to, the creeping frie be food:
And men howsoev'r in pleasurs Seas they suom,
Once shall confind be in a terrene Tomb.

TO A COVRAGIOVS YOVNG MAN William Keith, who for his Countries honour, slew an Englishman and suffered for the same.

1

Wold not the Ghost of that great Greek be glade,
That paind so much to pen a Pagans praise,
Jf he the happines, or honor had
To be a liue, now dead into thir daies,
To make his tongue a trump t'impen and blase
Through all the Anguls of the Vniverse,
Into most loftie, and most learned layes,
And in more then his wonted wondrous verse,
To cause couragious Keyth thy praise to perse,
Als well the Spheirs, as that lowe place of paine,
And in thy honor here vpon thy Herse,
To leaue thir lyn's for ever to remaine:
Here lyes a youth, who for his Countreys cause
A Saxon slew, sine suffred be the Laws.

2

To silence time, thy praise shall never put,
Nor once Envy thy ventrous worth shall wrong,
No though the graue vpon thy gore doe glut
Whill man is man, thy laud shall liue so long,
Thy fact to Fame sure shall become a song,
And valiant Will'am thou shall ever more,
Be memoriz'd, and mentioned among,
Those Gallants that haue gaind and gotten glore,
Thy famous friends for fensing a-before,

Their Natiue Soyle, from ferce and faithles foes,
As Cronicles, their kinde, for to decore,
And Kamus Crosse, their vpset Trophies choes:
So with thy Friends, thy Fame shall flee stout Keith,
Altho thou boghtit dearlie with thy deith.

3

What was his kindnes and his courage keene,
Belgick thy broyls, a Record best can bair,
Where he broght vp neere from his Birth hes beene,
Nought bot to make his martiall minde grow mair,
Wherefore thou justlie should erect, and rear
To Mars his Man, a martiall Monument,
Since that he as a sojour serving thair,
Into thy querrell willing, and content,
His Blood oft-tims in thy employments spent.
And this more too, to grace and do thee good,
Vpon thy foes, thy praises he did prent.
In Crimson Red, and Characters of blood.
To honor him, then thou hes mater much,
And of our Soyle full many thousands such.

To the Cittie Aberden at the death of Jho. Fo. Ba.

Fair Virgin Mother, Widow-like lament,
Thy Martiall Son, and Lamb-like lover lost,
Peirs everie ear, and place, with thy complent,
Whill they admire, that are remotest most,
Apend thy plaints, to everie Pole and post,
Chalcographiz'd, with Charecters of wo,
And let thy grief's vpon thy Goun b'ingrost,
That everie eie may see thy sorrow so:

O silent sad, and greiued, may thou goe,
Since to thy wracks, this wrack is ioyn'd the worst,
For dreadfull Death hes by one bitter blo,
One of thy firmest, forts vnfreindly forst,
And maind the of, an of thy members strong;
That boore thy burden louingly, and long.

To the defunct his spouse.

Deere fruitefull vine, alone to languish left,
Let not thy clusters, through thy care decay,
Though raging Death hes by all reason reft,
And out of time, hes hint thy heid away,
Take thou on Thee, to be the staffe and stay,
And beare thair birth, and all, the load alone,
That both aliue, in loue togidder ay,
You to this houre, haue gladly vndergone,
Through mourning much; and out of measure moue,
No not thy selfe, nor put in perill those,
To whom thou must, be All, and th'only one.
(Except the Lord,) to place in the repose,
Wherefore praise God, and take in patience this,
Thy husbands death, from bail brought to his blis.

To his courteous freind, T. B.

Giue quick engines, that trusting to attaine,
The height of Honour and a liuing Fame,
With penning of, their Poesies prophane,
Should purchase praise, and winne a noble Name,
What then braue Buck, should be thy part, herein,
That shawes the sortow of the Soule for sinne.

For while as foorth, some busied be to bring,
The bad inuentions, of their boyling Braine,
Thou happie Thou, harps on an higher string;
And showes a Man, regenerat again,
Wherefore we should, Thee thanks most gratefull giue,
Because a woeb, much worthier Thou wiue.

While wordly Writers witles and vnwise,
Be full of folies, and of friuole fraits,
Thy pen and paines, to profit moir tho'applies,
And both diuine, and worthily thou wraites,
Than since thou such, a sacred subiect sings,
Flie with the pens, of praise and honours wings.

VPON THE DEATH OF THE WORSHIPFULL M. Alex. Cheyn Commisser of Aber.

Now now, at last, and nought, while now haue I,
Put a Catastroph, to this course of cair,
World, Flesh, and Feind, your forces J defie,
Your works are wrought, your mights may nowe no mair,
Now I am quit, and from your cummers clair,
Graue, Hell, and Sinne, your powers J despise,
Death is the dore, through Faith ye step, and stair,
That makes my soule, mount, sore, and skall the skies,
Albeit the bones, left here consuming lies,
Yet certainly, J am assur'd they shall,
To rest and ring, in their Redeemer rise,
Since Sathan, Sinne, the graue, death, hell and all,
That Lyon strong, and yet a louing Lamb,
Tryumphantly, vpon the crosse o'rcame.

An description of the World.

What is this World, a Theater of woe?
A golfe of greif, that still the greater growes,
A Faire where fooles, are flitting to and fro,
A Sea of sorrow, that still ebs and flowes,
A Forge where Belial the bellowes blowes,
A Shippe of sensuall Soules, neir sunk for sinne
Whair ramping Rage, is Ruther-man and rowes,
A wratched Vail, full of all Vice within,
A Booth of busines where restles rin,
To wrack himselfe, the wicked worldly worme,
A deadly Den, of dolor, and of din,
An onstai'd stage, of state, a strife, a storme,
Th'vnquiet Court, of discontent and Cair,
The Place of Pride, and well-spring of Dispaire.

A desire of an Repentant spirit.

Would God my Soule, for sinne such sorrow felt,
As could cause Me spend al my time in Tears,
Would God my Heart, would euerie moment melt,
And for my faults, be fraughted full of feares,
Would God my flesh, that fights, and battell beares,
Against the powers, of the spreit, would spair,
And rest from wrastling and their jnward weares,
That does augment, and bot increase my cair,
Would God my Plaints, could penetrat the Air,
To purchase Peace, to my perplexed Spreit,
And neuer cease t'assend, nor rest; but whair,
Thay face for face, might with th'Almightie meit,
To pray him for, a pardon, and a place,
Vnto Repentance, godlines, and grace.

An admonition to the Soule to watch.

Poore sillie Soule, thou sees not how are set,
Thy fatall foes, about the in a Ball,
The Feind, and Flesh, Thee in the gyues to get,
Of lothsome Lust, and pleasures sensuall,
They will obiect, All what, may frame thy fall,
And cast before, the Beautie for a bait,
Opinions strange, fals, and hereticall,
Promotions, Riches, Honour, and Estate,
All what they can, find out for to defait,
And with thy God, to get the in disgrace,
They will essay, each secular conceit,
To hold the from, thy heauenly Fathers face,
Heirfore on him, prepare the to depend,
He onely may, the from thy foes defend.

Invocation to the Lord Iesus to saue the wounded soule.

O Sonne of God, Silo sweet sauiour,
Thou that my sheild, and my assistance art,
The pretious oyntments of thy pitie poure,
Into my Soule, and wofull wounded heart,
J'le prostrat, Me in publict, and in part,
My former fowle offences to confesse,
My secret sinnes sore makes my Soule to smart,
And I am wofull for my wickednes,
With hiest vp hands, and hartly humblenes,
I pray the pardon my impietie,

Thy word divine, my God grants me regres,
And bids me seek the sweet societie:
For thou art ay, says the Apostle Paull,
At hand to help, the wofull wounded Saull.

A Prayer for apaising of the Plague.

Ovr wicked liu's hes wakned Lord, thy wrath,
In kindling it for our iniquitie,
Jt maks thee blowe, this thy devouring breath,
To punish vs, for our impietie.
Our fall's and faults, hes forc'd thee to let flee,
At the Noone day, thy Arrows Pestilent,
Yet in thy mercies Lord, remember: Wee
Are thy owne Sons, on whom the same is sent,
Albeit thy Bow, against our breasts be bent,
And thou the Rod, does hold into thy hand,
We hope thou will inspire vs to repent,
And from th'Infection last releif the Land,
That in the greatnes of her greef does grone,
Looking, O Lord, for thy releif alone.

Vpon the Death of a verteous young man. Wm. Ke.

[1]

With-hold thy haist, spair Passinger thy pace,
And marke amongs, those Marble Monuments,
This Graue, yet grene, and litle ludge alace,
And thereon spend, some parte of thy complents,
Mourne. mourne with Mee, a Miriad of laments,
And on th'Interr'd streams of thy tears distill,
Whoes want the Wise, both pitties. and repents,
And whill They liue, the Verteous all, they will
Their plaints powre out, disperse, effund and fill.

The Continent her Caverns with their cryes,
For never shall their Sorrows cease; not whill
They deaue the Dead, into those lairs that lyes:
For trust thou me, this terren Tomb contains,
A Relict rare, a godlie Young-mans Bains.

PROSOP OF THE DEFVNCT TO his lamenting friends.

A paise your plaints, since Fortune, Fate, nor Chance,
VVas not the cause, nor framers of my fall,
Bot be a pre-apointed Ordinance,
The Lord hes thus concluded me to call:
For Men are nought one way Attached all,
Nor by one kinde of Death ordaind to die,
No, no, but this Priuation temporall,
Hes different, and divers sorts we see:
From Prison some departe, and some flit free,
And some be force, be butcherie or blood,
Yea, some be everie Element there bee,
That does, we knowe, this corrupt course conclude,
Yet dies thou this, I that, he so and so,
Die wee in Christ, the maner maters no.

3

Die ye in Christ, ye die well dying so,
For Fire nor Sword, the Water, Earth nor Air,
They haue no power, nor the Puissance, no,
But speciall permission to impair,
Nor for to harme into thy head an hair,
Vnlesse the Lord, passe, suffer, or permit,
For he hes ay, a kinde, and constant Cair,
And ou'r his chosen still continues it,
His favours are not fragill, fraill, nor flit

This way or that, like worldlings now and than,
No, no, bot with his kindnes kind is knit,
Protection too, each constant Christian:
Then die, depart, or howsoever ye go,
Die ye in Christ, ye die well dying so.

DIALOGVE.

A new yeares gift.

Interl. Charites, and the Author.

Author.

This Morning as J from my rest araize,
And went to walke into the open Air,
I peradventure met whereon J gaize,
Thrie minzard Maids, all wonderfullie fair:
Their Robs a like, replendant rich and rair,
Whereat I was more moved to admire,
Who they shold be, whence from they came, & whair
They at that time, intended to retire:
Whill thus on them, like one but life I looke,
One forward came, and be the sleif Me shooke.

Gra.

Where be thy minde, when thou art musing thus?
Why stonish'd stands thou? we intreat thee tell?
Quod one, what wonders hes thou seene on vs,
That maks thee so, for to forget thy sell,
Art thou inchanted be some Magick spell?
Or thinks thou vs of that accursed crew?
With Lucifer, that from the Heaven down fell,
And now art come to vex and wearie yow:
Or why is it, so stupefact thou stands,
Without so much as moving head or hands.

Auth.

I mis-regarde, not such thrie fair, so far
Nor doe I thinke, the forme of those and thine:
For to be such, as you haue said, that ar,
Appeirandlie, Jmmortall and Divine,
Swa that sweet Saints, this musing is of mine,
A moldie grosnes, in my mortall eies,
Which can not see, nor suffer for to shyne,
Your glorie great, for their infirmities:
And with my selfe, I am debaitting who
Thy selfe should be, and thy Companions two.

Gra.

Recall thy sprits, thy musing then remoue,
Debar all doubts, and wit thou this that wee
Are called Faith, strong Hope, and constant Loue,
Of IOVA just, th'vndoubted Daughters three,
Come of Intention for to talke with thee,
And giue thee some directions thou must doo,
For thou of vs, art the appointed hee
To beare Imbassage, or our blessing too,
A much respected honorable Pair,
Thus it in few, deliver and declair.

J Loue, the first, and greatest of the Graces,
Saluts them say, conjunct and severall,
And promies them with all my friendl' embraces,
Prosperitie and Peace perpetuall,
And I, quod Faith, adds to the former All,
A working quick, and justifeing Faith.
And I quod Hope, my Anchor sends, which shall
Sustaine them surelie, in the Seas of Death:

For be it, and, with what, thir two haue giuen,
Their Ancring shall, be happie into heuin.

Now Friend we deeme, dissolued is thy doubt,
Since thou of vs, hes got a knowledge cleir,
And we (because, th'Anuall course is out,
And this day enters the succeeding zeir,
Haue purposed vnto Thee to appeir,)
And chusd The to, make manifest our minde,
Vnto that two, that we doe hold so deir,
And hes their Hearts, into one brest combind,
Who mutually, shall linked liue, and die,
Full of our Hope, our Faith, and Charitie,

An Confession of sinnes and Incalling of the Lord.

O God which art, great, good, and gratious,
Most holy powerfull, and glorious,
We that are ashes of the Earth, and dust,
When we fall down before the feet, (we must,)
Of thy high Maiestie confesse, that we,
Are Sinners vile, borne, and conceiued be,
In sinne, and that, by Nature we, no lesse,
Are nor a lumpe of Vice and wickednes,
Whose Naturall and propertie, appears,
To grow in sinne, as we increase in yeares,
And in the works of wickednes, and wrong,
Waxes and growes, ay more, and more, more strong,
As does the body, and the minde, their strength,
And force receiue, through tract of time and length.

Thair is in vs, no good affection found,
No knowledge cleir, wholesome, sincere nor sound,
Nor manner how thy bidding to obey,
Nor how aplease thy maiestie we may,
Last Lord their byds, into our flesh, and blood,
Nothing that is, or can be called good,
And thought our state, accursed doth herein,
Yea wratched most, apeare: yet is, our sinne,
More sinfull much, and out of measure maid,
By the exceeding grace, thou Lord hes laid,
And offred vs, in the Evangell cleir,
Of thy vndoubted diuine Sonne most deir.
Wharby from profiting, so much, we ar,
That of our selfe, we should waxe, war and war.

For moir the light, of knowledge is made plaine,
We would alace, the blinder more remaine,
The more t'obey, thee we are taught, we would,
Be froward moir, moir stubberner, and bold,
Giue that by mightie power of thy spriet,
It were not fruitefull made and mollifeit,
And thought that this, corruption Naturall,
VVe haue to gidder, and in common All,
VVith Adams putrified, and rotten race,
That fell from God, through misbeleif alace,
Yet we confesse, in vs, it buds much moir,
Nor into vthers, it hes done befoir,
And so much moir, set forth, increst, and grew,
Though we mo waies, the same had to subdue.
And we we had, yea much more meanes to kill,
Than others had, this wickednes and ill.

Whair first of all, the offer gratious,
Of that great treasure of thy word to vs,
Does make vs faultie, into many parts,
Of th'Adamantine, hardnes of our hearts,
For passing vther Nations thou hes lent,
And trusted vs, that Iewell excellent.
And yet it hes, (with no small number bot,
A slender and, a small intreatment got,
And felt as great, resistance obstinate,
As at those gates it neuer knocked at.
For in this land, a Portion is (O Lord,)
That partly neu'r, wold yeild vnto thy word,
And partly when, they had confes'd the same
Defection made, and Apostates became,
So proudly as, it weare, stands at defence.
(Jn their conceits,) Lord with thine excelēce
The rest which makes, therof profession,
And seemes t'assent and giues thereto submission,
They doe it not, accordingly, bot skant,
Of zeale they are, in their profession fant,
For first thair, many of our people be,
Which through affection fond, to Papistrie,
So blinded are, miscarried and led,
That straying still, in ignorance they tred,
Yea of the Truth, it selfe thought faithfully,
The word is preached in aboundancie,
Yet in thy Seruice true, and knowledge they,
Are now more raw, and inexpert alway,
Nor they before, haue beene, be many fold,
When blindly thay, idolatriz'd of old.

And whair a kind, of knowledge is, the which,
To any of sufficiencie is such,
Yea requisite, as is and should euin,
Sufficient for th'Inheritors of heauin,
Jt is yet seene, for the most part, to be,
Conioynd in league, with such hypocrasie,
As makes Thee that, does searse, the secret raen,
Detest, abhor, more hate, them and disdaine,
Then if they had, in all their Errors ill,
And in dark ignorance continued still,
Now for that few, of vs and remanant,
Which truly still, (of grace participant,)
And faithfully in thee beleeued haith,
It is with such, infirmitie of faith,
And with so small correction of our
Forepast trespasses and behauiour,
That our profession, that notorious,
Should be of thy great Gospell glorious
Supported is, and borne, with so few stuites,
And so small shaw, of good, and godly fruites,
Whose dignit' and excellencie alon,
Requireth more than we can minde vpon.
So that this makes, our Enemies, and Foes,
Condemne vs, and some also are of those,
That are our owne, which doubtingly suspect,
Giue we, or no, be thine, and thy elect,

The cause of this, our state, we grant whairin,
We stand it is, the hudgenes of our sinne.
That beeing put, in trust, for to possesse,
This treasure of, infinite worthines.
Thy Gospell great, and be preferred thus,
Before our neighbours Christians with vs,

And yet in grait Obedience, to Thee,
Behinde them all, (we will confesse) are wee
In knowledge first, bot we are last in zeale,
In Doctrine far before them, bot we faill
To practise what, is preach'd, and ay we finde
In Discipline, we ever are behinde,
The bands aod holie zock Lord of thy Law,
Full heavilie we suffer, thoill, and draw:
Whereby our liues too vitious and vaine,
We should amend, correct, reforme, and straine
Our fond affections all, and everie thing,
In vs enorme, we should in bondage bring.
The Gospell that vnto vs did aduce,
Of honors and, of pleasures frier vse?
It welcome was, and we did it embrace
Bot that same Gospell that our wickednes
Reproved, and did threatten punishment,
We was there-with, no thing so well content.
It that did our Ambition rebuke,
We skarcelie heard, or lent thereto a looke:
And that thereof, that does most neerlie touch,
Salvation of, the Soule, we make of much.
Bot that againe, that doeth directlie more,
Seme to respect, O Lord, thy heavenlie glore;
And to the profite of our Neighbours all,
We make no compt, nor care for it, bot small.
And though the treasure of thy Word hes bene
A pretious gift, as like was never seene.
Th'assured signe of our Salvation,
Which to vs bairlie came not, nor alone,
Bot with aboundance, plentifull, and peace,
And permanent, so long, and large a space.

As surelie never this (litle thankfull Land)
Before in many passed ages fand:
Which benefits our neighbour Nations long,
Haue looked for, and wish'd (thir) them among.
This makes vs Lord, herefore accursedlie,
A great deall more, in fault and giltie be;
Because we haue still proven our selfs so plaine,
Vngratfull for those thy great gifts againe.
There is likwise, an other Ledder heir,
Whereon our sins they seme, and they appeir
To mount and clim more high, in that, that Wee
Surmount into, this lifs commoditie.
Our old Ancestours, that profest with vs,
Even this thy holie Gospell glorious:
And yet we are, yea everie day be day,
A great deale worse, and wickeder nor thay.
In blessings out-ward we be far aboue,
Our Nightbours yet, far les to Thee in loue,
And grants we falt, even in the grosse offence,
Of th'outward tokens of Obedience.

SCOTLAND HER GRIEF AT HIS Majesties going into England

O England now exult,
And sing a cheerfull sang,
Now may thou joy, since such a Roy,
Neu'r over thy Regions rang.
Our Soveraigne sweet, our Jemme,
Iosias and our Iames,
The onely Starr that guids thy state,
And brights thee with his beams.

Thou now posseids with peace,
And hes with Loue at length.
That never could be win with war,
Nor yet constraind be strength.
Faits, Time and Right hes made
Thee, to triumph into,
That not thy Martiall minded Men,
Nor actiue deeds could do.
The onely Ornament,
And Sun-shine of the Earth,
By destinies ordainde, to bruke
All Britaine, or his Berth.
Thou hes, and now enjoi's
Our verie Soule and Sark,
A Dy'mond in thy Dyall set,
The hight of Honors wark.
These Royall vertues haill,
That thou to fore hes found
In thy preceeding Princes all,
Even from his birth abound:
And gloriouslie into
His Princelie person shine,
O England to thy comfort now,
And Scotland vnto thine.
In deed Thou should rejoice,
And be appleased since,
But grudge thou saw with glore the great
Preferment of thy Prince.
For now thou may behold
His Hienes Head to hemme,
(Beside the old vnconquest Crowne)
A Triple Diademe.

All men may clearlie know
What God his wisdome wroght,
And by thy Prince, his patience,
Beyond beleif is broght
Unto an happie end,
For in the British Throne,
Religion raign's, Peace there is plac'd
And Iustice joind in one.
There Majestie does moue,
There Fortitude is fixt,
And there with Rigour or Revenge,
Is marvellous Mercie mixt.
There may thou view from East,
And from the setting Sunne,
Elected Legats send, and from
Remottest Regions runne,
T'applaud thy Prince his praise,
Their Pretious presents brings
From Europe, Afric, Asia,
And from Amerik Kings.
Not that thy Lord inlaiks,
For his great state, such store,
No, no, his Highnes hes his owne,
In infinite before.
Bot yet because they see
Him blessed from aboue,
Thus they resort, to signifie
Vnto thy Lord, their loue.
So Inely thou may joi's,
To heare his Name renound,
Since from his boundant benefits,
Some back to thee rebound.

And yet I grant thy griefe,
Is greater then thy gaine,
For but thy Head vnhappie thou,
Dismembred mone remaine.
And now shall heare his will,
Bot be commission that,
He from his mouth mellifluous
Wont to communicat,
Most patiently and as,
Thy Parent and thy Prince,
Divulgating his Laws wirh loue
And diuine Eloquence.
Thou must solicite be,
And carefull now t'inquire,
What credit beares the spurring Posts,
To the Synedrion heir.
Poore Orphane widow like,
Be thou in sable seene,
While as thy fister England goes,
Now gallantly in greene.
And like pale Luna loure,
VVhen her Apollos light,
Is in eclipse, or with a cloude,
Secluded from her sight.
For loe thy golden Sunne,
Into the South he shines,
VVhile thou Solsequium-like, for thy,
Abstracted Titan tynes,
A bodie hudge thou ar,
Exhibit but a Hart.
Vpon the worlds inconstāt stage,
To play the Monsters part.

Poore Ladie now, thy Life,
Thy Lord, and thy Belou'd,
And next that mightie Mobile,
Thy Mouer, is remou'd,
Yet for thy great King Iames,
His Iubile reioyes,
Since he aboue the British blood,
Thy old, now freinded foes,
Thou to his honour high,
Dilucidlie decerns,
With measure howe, he moderates,
And like a God gouerns,
For whose long happie life,
Prosperitie, and Peace,
His royall Reigne, his gratious, Queene,
And for their hopefull Race,
Jncall, protest, and pray,
(From whose blis'd spreit all springs,)
IeHovah, Eli, Elohim, th'Almightie King of Kings.

An humble confession of Sinne.

In Reuerence, on bare, and bended kneis,
Debast I bow, (if I dare be fo bold,)
My soule most sad, with weeping watrie eies,
Before thy feet, vpon my face I fold,
My eies, my heart, my hands, Iehoue I hold,
To heauin, to Thee, and prostrat will display,
My Misles made, but measure many fold,
And all the words, I wairt in vain, bewray,
None will I hide, but open Lord, shall lay,
My Sinne both seene, and secret to my shame,

And my delicts, done all vnto this day,
I in thy publict Presence shall proclame,
And to my Turpitud sound out, I shall,
My Sins committed, and omitted all.

Vpon his louing, deere and Courteous friend, Pa. Q.

Who doe of chance, or vtherwise that, hath,
An deepe desire, and earnest care to kno,
This Trophe sad, of still triumphing death,
Whair liueles lies, an earrhly lumpe bot lo,
How rair a liue to signifie and sho,
Nor Maroes Muse, wold an more cunning craue,
To wreit his want, what worketh it, of woe,
T'ingraph each, greife by gazing on his Graue,
To not the noy when men looke on the leaue
His Commorads, and Consorts Christian
To count the care, his kin for him conceaue
To dyte the duile, of wife and Orphans whane,
Their father they, and sho does misse her Mane.
An man, whose make, here hardly may be haid?
What can? what shall? what is? or resteth thane,
To say bot this, that safely may be said,
Lo where a youth, on Beirtrees brought to bed,
Ay faithfull fast, traist, vertuous, and wise,
Deir to his freinds, and of his foes ay dred,
Here vnderneath, to be lamented lies
And shall, ay while, the latter day constraine,
The Earth to raise, and render him againe.

Sighs of an sorrowfull soule.

Sigh, sadly sigh, sob for thy Sinnes and sound,
Weepe waile, and woe, mourn mirthles Man, and mone,
Redouble thy dolor, til each Den redound;
VVith noysome notes, thy accents euerie one,
Crie carefull crie, while euery sensles stone,
Peirst with thy plaints, for pitie plead, and pleane,
VVith tragicke teares, toone out thy griefs, and grone
VVhile marble mazed at thy mones remaine,
Thou writes thy woes, thou weeps, thou vowes in vain
Giue not anon, from straying thus, thou stay,
Thou's driue thy daies, in dateles deepe disdaine,
Then sadly sigh poore Soule, and sighing say,
Sad be each sigh, moir noysome euerie note,
That treads the tracture of my troubled throte.

A description of the fragilitie of man.

What be we wratches but,
A Masse of putrid mold,
VVhich vgly wormes and wild deuoures,
VVhen we are dead, and cold,
Borne in this wofull vail,
Jn moments, ar nought Men,
And in a period, departs?
VVhat are we nothing then,
Learne then to die, and let,
Not hope of youth, nor years,
Delude the least, the Fates, ay ferce,
That Man nor Beast forbeares,

Come on thee suddaine shall,
And warne thee vn-a-ware,
For mortall none, tho neere so wise,
From those excemed are.
Time flees, your gilt does grow,
Death at your doores does call,
Then take your time, and learne in time
To liue Perpetuall.
For you are nought, bot like
Dust driven with wind away,
And like vnto a brittle glasse,
Or shaddows fleing ay.
Or Roses redolent,
That in the morning shines,
And when the night draws neere anone,
Their pleasant tincture tines.
Now liuely-like anone,
Feasts for the creeping fry,
Now strong and fair, and now anone
A lump but life we ly.
T'accumulat great goods,
or what does profit vs
Jemm's, Jewels, Silver, Gold,
And all apparrell pretious?
What Scepters, Crowns, Estat's,
Or Kingdoms great to guide?
And what in Princelie Palaces
Shall buit vs to abide?
And others in our pryde,
What helps it to despise?
Or to account our selfs like to,
The Lord alone most wise.

If dreadfull Death shall come,
Most horrible and haw,
And with her Syth, (that here you see)
All which GOD made shall maw.
Or if like earthlie dust,
Or slyding shaddows, wee
O wretched misers miserable,
Shall fall away and flee.
And all the pride of flesh,
And this small glance of glore,
Shall in the day of Death departe,
Without returning more.

Idem.

Mark mortall Man, and surelie thou shall see,
What in short space it shall become of thee:
And then thou shall desist, for to desire
The worldlie Pleasures, that so soone expire:
By no device, ingine, nor craft can Thou,
Fearfull to flesh, Death certaine, once eshew.
Thou should not then s'exult nor joifull bee,
Because per-haps to morrow thou shall dee:
And in a little ludge, a caue or cott,
Thy flesh and bones shall soone consume and rott.

THE AUTHOR HIS REPENTANCE fro wryting Poesies prophane.

Could I or this my scattered skrols recall,
Or my dispersed Poesies repeit,
Most willinglie I wold revock them all,
And sound from singing of such Toys retreit.
I wold envy 'gainst wanton verse and writ,
Invectiuelie of all inventions vaine:

For it infects the well desposed Sprit,
For to peruse such Poesies prophane:
They breed abuse, and brings into the braine
Phantastick folies, and phanatik freats,
Which are in deed not bot presumptions plaine,
Or at the most (but profite) poore conceats:
VVherefore, were those else published to pen,
I should assume some sadder subject then.

A PROFITABLE ADMONITION, if wiselie followed.

Lose not the Garlant of eternall Glore,
For things that here, bot for a time shall tarie:
Officious Fame, goods, or vnstable store,
That facil Fortune both does bring and carie:
In danger not, nor doe in perrell put
Th'immortall mark, whereat the Soule does shut.

Tho pretious pearles thou purches, what suppose?
And gaine more gold nor Crœsus got, what than?
If thou the Heaven, and heavenlie Soule shall lose,
For all thy wealth; thou's miserable Man.
And truelie loses in a moment more,
Ten thousand fold, nor thou could find before.

I giue and grant, that thou inlarge thy roumes,
For to cotaine thy infinite incresse:
And that secure in Honors Seas thou soums,
Yet thou in fine, must needs of force confesse.
If that thy Soule shall suddainlie be taine,
What thou possest, was wealth, for nought in vaine.

Though thou be made, and creat were a King,
And supreme Emperour inaugurate:
Or at thy wish had everie earthlie thing,
Of Monument most, with Mundans estimate:
If that the Soule her heavenlie life yow losse,
Curst is with those, corruptible thy cosse.

Altho thou haue both health and honor here,
And pleasure past the compas of compare:
And that thou previlegiat appeir,
Aboue the world, and worldlings every-where
Want thou a sanctified Soule, what shall
Availl thy Pleasures and Promotions all?

OF THE ESSENCE, WISDOME, and Power of God.

God onely great, he guideth and governs,
The restles Rounds, that rules aboue, and all
Th'invirond Earth, with Seas that each decerns,
Just circular, and perfite Sphericall,
His blessed Beeing built the double Ball,
And did appoint fit places for the Sphæres,
From th'Earthlie Orbs destinct, and severall.
Which we grosse Mortals marvels and admirs,
His Providence and Power plaine appears,
In th'artificiall forming of this Frame,
Whose various works, dilucidats and cleirs,
Into the sure concerving of the same:
His wondrous Wit, exceeding all in gins,
Of Seculars, and of the best Divins.

Vpon the certaintie of death and the vncertaintie of the houre.

No thing then death more certaine is we see,
Yet nor the houre, incertaine nothing more:
Than if as thou, were eu'rie day to die,
Gouerne thy selfe, and learne to liue therefore,
So shall thou not, neede for to count, nor cair,
Whence death shall come, how when, nor whair.

Jt is this life, here well, or lewdly led,
That this first Death, makes dreidfull, now or no,
Jf in misdeeds, thy dayes thou driue, then dred,
And full of dolor is, this Death, and O;
Perplexed so, and so annoy'd that None,
Can weel the passions of the Spreit expone.

For all that thou, hes done vnto that day,
Thy secret sinnes, thy seene, and publict shall,
Dismasked all, arryue into array.
T'accuse the in, thy Conscience, and call;
The to account, so spatious and large,
That Liuers lewd, can scarsely scarse discharge.

Man his Immoderate care for transitorious things.

Ovr labours, studies, exercise, and Paine,
And for this corps, is our continuall cair,
For why t'acquire, thairto some gloir, or gaine,
No perrill nor impietie, we spair.

VVeneuer leaue, bot labours late air,
And for t'attract, vile trash, we neuer tyre,
Like frantick fooles, and furious we fair,
VVhile we possesse, that wherunto w'aspire,
Through per'lous paths, salt seas, and flashing fire,
But Prouidence, we passe, we post, we Ply,
For to enioy, the depth of our desire,
No nought the night, in quiet can we lie,
Bot puts vnto, all hazards but a Host,
The Soule to Christ, that did so deerely cost.

Meanes how to bridle the carnall desires of men.

No thing so fit, to danton the desires,
And appetites, of fragill fleshly Men;
That so much raignes, and ouer them empires,
Nor with considred, Conscience to ken:
And wisely wey, what is this Bodie that,
They fearce so full, and dresse, so delicat.

VVould they consider, and bot sight the same,
And but selfe loue, these circumstances see?
VVhat is their kind? whairof compound they came?
And then how short, here thair abydings be:
Or at the least? how much incertaine since,
One houre they are, and or an vther hence.

Or would men mortall meditate, and marke,
Of Nothing how, the great Creator choosd,
To frame so fair, the worlds most wondrous wark,
And from no monstrous masse, but forme confusde;
As Fablers fain, into their wanton verse,
Created He the boundles Vniverse.

And how of th'Earth, the grossest Element,
He all the kinds, of Creatures compones,
And how th'Artificer most Excellent,
Thair fragill flesh, thair Bodies, blood, and bones:
Did make, of mater most despisd, and basse,
The Earth her dust, her excrements; and ashe,

Thus that they are, (wold they bot well aduise)
Dung, dust, and ash, which so aliue, they loue,
And looke againe, when dead, but life, one lies,
How putrid and, vnpleasant soone they prooue,
These would they wey, view, warlie, and aduart,
They should not then, so primp the Earthly part.

Comparison betwixt the bed and the Graue.

The bed, which most, for our repose we haue,
Whair in the nat'ral night we softly, sleepe,
May fitly be, compared to the graue,
That these our corps, when they are cold, does keep,
And not vnto, that Den, or Dreadfull deepe,
Whairin the damn'd shall dying neuer dye,
Bot thair, in euer skalding lead, shall sleepe,
And euermoir, eternal Torments trie,
Jnto our Couch, we sensles seeme, and lie,
As if no braith, were in our breasts, nor braine,
Bot once our sleeping termes expir'd we spie,
And cleirly knowes, we liuely grow againe,
So in the graue (that of the dust is drest,
A little time, and then to rise) we rest.

Of the breuitie and miseries of man his life.

This transitorious time,
And present passing life,
The Scripture cals, an Pilgrimage,
A trauell, way, a strtfe,
Because continually,
Jt but all resting rins,
And plies vnto an end fra once,
Jt enters and begins,
For like as they, whom ships,
Or wheeled coatches carrie,
Altho they either sit, or sleepe,
They tine no time, nor tarrie,
Bot as with wings, and wind,
Supported they proceed,
(Though they their passage cannot spy,)
And spurring, posts with speed.
So eu'ry one, of vs,
Albeit we busied be,
With wordly works, and plainely so,
Cannot perceiue, nor see,
Our life of little length,
Like waxen tapers spend,
Yet but dignoscing, driues our daies,
And we draw to our end.
The Posts and passengers,
As many gaits they goe,
So much they see, and hauing seene,
They seeke no more, and so,
What in their way they view,
Before them what they finde,

They gaze vpon, then goes and leaues
What they beheld behinde.
As forward then they fair,
Before them set, they see
Most wondrous worthie works t'invit,
the most envyous eie:
Which for a while th'admire,
As glorious, rich, and rare,
Yet they returne to travell on,
And may not tarie there.
Thereafter Middows, Fields,
And Pastures plaine they spy;
Whereat they wonder and they gaze,
And gazing they go by.
Then in their progresse they
They obviat, and meete
Sometime with silver Sanded Streams
Some sowre, some sharp, some sweet
Sometimes with Fountains fresh,
And Conduits cristalene,
And oft with Orchards full of frute,
And Forrests grassie grene.
Which for a time content,
They visie and rejoes,
Bot shortlie satiat with the sight,
They take their gaits and goes.
Where they before them finde,
A wilde vnpleasant way,
Of thistles, thornes, and brears, where they
Constrained are to stay:
Yet with great greef and paine,
Woe and vexation sore:

These perlous paths, they over passe,
Then minds on them no more.
Suchlike some one will be
Incarcerat, and cast
Jn firmance, or in prison put,
And therein fettered fast.
Vext, and afflicted too,
Or to the torment taine:
Yet all these greefs, he will forget,
If he b'inlargd againe.
Even so with vs it is,
One moment we do meete,
With many most delightfull things,
All pleasant to the Sperit.
An other while we finde,
Displeasant Greefs, most grosse,
And Sorrows, that excedinglie,
Our cheef Contents, does crosse.
Yet all our greefs and game,
Jnto an houre, O nay,
Jnto a moment, they shall melt
And vanish will away.
In publict paths we see
A new imprinted passe,
Anone an other with his foot,
That foor-step doth deface.
An other comes, and with
His dust-depressing dint,
Incontinent he does cancell,
His Predicessours print.
And thus our nat'rall life.
Whereof we make so much,

And mainlie muses to mentaine,
Js it not see you such?
Saith Basile, ask and speir
At these thy grow's and grange,
Vnto thy days how many Names,
They vse to chop and change.
Some-time they did belong
To such a one, and sine
An other did possesse the same,
And lastlie they are thine.
Perhaps some other yet
Shall in thy place succead,
And occupie the place, when thou
Art dispossesd, or dead.
Or lastlie those now thy
Possessions present shall
Be call'd, perteining to such one,
Whose scarcelie none can tell.
And why? because this life
Is like a walking way;
Wherein one passinger expels,
By course an other way.
Bot loe, a little looke,
More hie, to hier things,
And mark the mutabilities
Of Monarchies and Kings.
How many everie age
We see aims, points, aspires,
And covets Crowns, Swords, Scepturs, Thrones,
Great Kingdomes and Empyres.
And when oft-times they haue
With troubles, travels, toyle;

De-population of the land,
Impietie, and spoyle:
And oft-times too with death,
Of innocents obtaind,
All their ambitious bold desires
The'are forc'd and constraind:
And to giue place compeld,
Not obstant their Estates,
To their Successours, or them selfs,
Be satled in their seats.
This day one rules or raignes,
To morrow he is dead,
Yet others shortlie shall ascend,
And in his seat succeid.
Departed, buried, dead,
And to the graue once gone,
Fairwel, th'are well away, soone shall
Be re-possest their throne.
Like Maskars on a stage,
They passe their time, and play,
Some sittes, salutes, ascends, descends
They come and goe away.
Consider this we should,
That man his life is bot
A journey, or seducing way,
And time that taries not.
Bot speciallie to those
Most doubtles dangerous,
That they be here but Passingers,
Which be oblivious.
And who too much does stand
Vpon occurrent things,

The which occasion, represents,
And oft for obiect brings,
For know the night will come,
And quickly it will come,
When many shall be fast asleepe,
Whairof, there shall be some,
Whose negligence, and slouth,
Shalbe a bar to them,
To beare them back, from the most ho-
ly hie Ierusalem,
Whairby they shall become,
(A fearefull sorie sight,)
An pray vnto th'infernall Wolfes,
That wander be the night.

To his Maiesties great Commissioner G. E. Marshall Lo. K. and Altrie.

Great Fabius, far famous for his facts,
Be long delaies, he did restore the state,
Nought greatest hast, the gravest Actions acts,
Nor are they lost, altho a-doing late;
So generous, and Thou most worthie Than,
Walk with that wise and Inclite Fabian.

Alex. Rupeo. Suo, S.

Kjnd, Cunning, Crag, I can nought bot commend,
Thy wondrous wit, thy Judgement, thy Ingyne,
For thy attempts, brought to so braue an end,
Bewrayes thee for, none wordly, bot divine,
And if thou list, from Men to lead thy Line,
Or brwik, that they, thy first for-Beares ware

Then 'cording too, this Judgement meane of mine,
Thee to no Craig, nor Petra, I compare,
Bot I avow, proclame, and does declare,
Thee, (th'only he, that sol'deserues the same,)
That learned old, the great Petrarchas heare,
He was the Craig, of whom, thou (sandie) came.
For with thy works, that worthie thou reuiu's,
And by thy lines, his Ladie Laura liues.

Vpon thee honourable gentleman Iohn Da. and Iohn Sibalds of Kair.

Looke here below, into this ludge, whair lies,
Dead in the Lord, the father, sonne, and Oyo,
By name, and Nature, SIB-BALD both and wise.
Honest, discret, and sotiall also,
Whose spreits aboue, in mouths of men Remaines,
Their fame, their flesh, this Terren Tombe contains.

To the Ghost of the most noble Ladie, Ladie Elizabeth Gordon Countesse of Dunbar.

If Vertue, wit, and if discretion doe,
With pietie expostulat a praise,
If th'outward shape, may be collauded to,
Than thou adorn'd with those into thy daies,
Must nocht (Madam) expect nor looke for lesse,
Nor all that Art or Poesie can expresse.

Thought all that Art, or Poesie can expresse,
About thy pale imprinted war, and pend:
Yet should thy praise (great Ladie) I confesse
Permit no point, no period, nor end:
Bot be a solemne subiect to be sung,
In th'after age, with each Poetick Tongue.

Of changing Fortune and her effects into This age.

He first that did a Fortune faine to be,
And but her eyes vpon a Rolling Round,
Shuip her to sit, in my opinion, He,
May passe for an, both famous, and Profound,
For lo as shee, vnsatled seemes to sit,
So flowing ay, all her affaires does flitt.

Behold each day, and see a sundrie change,
The Proud deprest, and simple Spreits promou'd
The skilfull scornd, and what is yet more strange,
The Foole preferd, and loiterers belou'd:
And all things known, come of contrarious kinde,
Turnd topsie turvie be this fortune blinde.

TO THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED and most noble Earle George Earle of Anzie. L. G. &c.

Great gallant Youth, thy Bogie-valley, wailes,
And louingly, laments thy absence long,
Thy Bogie bursts, and as inragd she railes,
And waries all the world for this wrong:

Mourning shee moues the Montanes all among,
And as she slides, shee soughs, she shoutes and sings,
With weeping voice, a sad and sorie song,
VVailing thy want, her watrie eies shee wrings,
While spaits of Tears, that from those fontains springs
The Valies low, like furious floods o're flowes
And all her banks, in their disdaine down dings
And with a thought, like thunder all ore throwes:
Yet noble Lord, haist home and you shall see,
Both Bog and Bogie-waill be blyth of Thee.

EPITAPH VPON THE HONORABLE young Gentleman of singular expectation preuented by death Walter Vrquart apeir. of Cragstoun.

Convert zour eyes vnto this Voult and view
This Sepulture, or this spelunck espie:
Whair (woe is me,) Wit, worth, and valour true,
Apollos freind, and Pallas loue does lie,
Of such deserts, while both those Gods disdaine,
That such a man, mongst mortals should remaine.

TO THE MOST HONOVRED LADIE, The Ladie Clunie.

When I revolue, or reckens, or recounts
All fauours fond, from my affected frends.
Aboue those all so high Thy merits mounts,
That my conceit, them scarcely comprehends.
So boundles be, thy benefits but ends,
While J ashame, for surely I must say
If nought my Muse, were mindefull of a mends,
For very woe, I vanish would away:
Bot since jn part, Shee preeses to repay,
And gladly yeelds, her indeauours as yours,
Then I protest, I repotest, and pray,
That these the labours of her idle hours:
In part for payment of my depts, receaue,
And hope at least (good Lady) for the leaue.

Deus vnita protegat Sceptra Mag. Brit.

Those Crownes conjoind and now vnited, Lord,
Into thy mercie with thy power protege:
And keepe thou them, at quiet, and accord,
Each with their old, and princely priuiledge:
And let no Wrong: nor no attempt betide,
Those royall Realmes vnited to deuide.

What greater joy, nor see two Kingdomes knit
Togither-chain'd, and locked into Loue,
And for two Kings, to see on Cæsar sit,
And both with Maiestie and Mercie moue:
Two royall Scepters with one happie hand,
And or'e two Countries quietly command.

No greater Grace nor richer blessing be,
Imparted to, no Prince his Subiects then.
Thou louing Lord (of thy benignitie,)
Bestowes on Britans, Scots and Englishmen,
For O we haue: from heauen a happie Head,
And from the same, a Sonne for to succead.

FJNIS.

University of Virginia Library

TO THE MOST NOBLE LORDS OF HIS MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTIE his most honorable Privie Councel, and Colledge of Iustice.