Virtus Rediviva :: :: University of Virginia Library

1 Shepherd.
What, have we slept! or doth the hastie Sun
Bring back the day, before the night be done?

2 Shep.
What melodie is this that charms our ears?
Is it the musick of th'harmonious Sphears?

Angels.
Peace shepherds, peace; glad tidings we ye bring,
Your God hath got a Son, and ye a King:
And he hath sent us with this newes to tell,
Who late was Ours, is your Immanuel.
Up, up to Bethlehem, there shall you see
An Human shape enclose the Deitie.
Behold, a cratch imprisons him, whose hands
Have fram'd the earth, and curbs the sea with bands.
He now begins to be, that no beginning knew,
He now begins to live, who being gave to you.
Go see th'Eternal God a child's become,
The ever-speaking Word himself lies dumb,

Who by his word feeds all is fed by meat,
Th'Almighty King of Heaven hath left his seat,
And now keeps Court on earth: haste ye and see
The cratch his throne, beasts his attendance be.
And all to be your Saviour, and to free
Ye men from sin, and Satans slaverie.

Chorus of Angels.
Glory to God on high, and peace on earth,
Good will to men by this our God-mans birth.

Shepherds.
Come, let's go see these wonders which are told,
Let what our ears have heard, our eyes behold.

Soliloquie.
Croud in, my soul, and see amongst the rest,
And by thy sight, oh be for ever-blest!
Hark how the Angels sing, the heavens rebound,
And earth with th'eccho of th'Angelick sound.
Never till now were the well-tuned Sphears
Heard to make melodie to mortal ears.
Now every pretty bird with's warbling throat,
To's new-born Maker elevates a note.
See how the earth, being big with pride to be
Out-gone by heaven, puts on her liverie
Of mirth, and laughs with joy to hear
Her Maker now will please to dwell on her.
The whole world was agreed to entertain
The King of peace, who now began his reign:
Mars shrunk for fear, Bellona hid her head,
When peace was born, all discords lay for dead.
Then why should bloody characters descrie
The blessed day of his Nativitie?
O let the purest white note out that morn
From all the rest, when Innocence was born.

On the Nativitie.

1

Hail holy tide,
Wherein a Bride,
A Virgin, and a Mother,
Brought forth a Son,
The like was done,
Except her, by no other.

2

A Virgin pure,
She did endure
After her Son, or rather.
It maybe said,
Shew as a maid,
And this Son was her Father.

3

Here riddles vex,
And do perplex
The eye of humane reason;
Heaven did combine,
With earth to joyn,
To consecrate this season.

4

Hail blessed Maid,
For by thine aid,
Eternal life is Ours,

Thou didst lie in,
And without sin,
The son of God was yours.

5

Hail happy birth,
Wonder of Earth
And heaven; the Angels sing
Anthems to thee,
As glad to see
Their new-born heavenly King.

6

Though thou art poore,
Kings thee adore,
And precious presents bring,
They kneel to you,
And humbly bow,
As to some sacred thing.

7

Thou that art able
To turn a stable
Into a Temple, come,
Possess my heart,
Cleanse every part,
And take it for thy home.

For Christmass-day

Lend me a pen pull'd from an Angels wing,
That I the news of this blest day may sing;
Or reach a feather of that holy Dove,
Wherewith to shew this miracle of love.
Darkness is turn'd to light, mid-night to morn;
Who can be silent when the Word is born!
Hark how the Angels sing, they bow, and more
Than Persians they this rising Sun adore.
The Court's remov'd, and the attendants flie
To wait upon this humane Deitie.
He, who was cloath'd with glorious Majesty,
Is veil'd with flesh, the better to comply
With mortal eyes; dis-robes himself of light,
Lays by his beams, stoops to our weaker sight:
And with his other favours this doth give,
That man may see the face of God, and live.
The Son of God becomes the son of man,
That men may be the sons of God again!
Here God is man, and man is God, he takes
Our nature to him, not his own forsakes.
A mortal God, Immortal man in one,
Thus heaven and earth are in conjunction.
See how the shepherds flock, and Kings (as proud
To be his subjects) to his presence croud.
Haste, haste my soul, there's danger in delay,
Since thou hast nothing else to offer lay
Thy self down at his feet; pray him to make
His lodging in thee, as he deign'd to take
Thy nature on himself.—But stay fond soul,
He's puritie it self, thou art too foul

To lodge so bright a guest, in whose pure eyes,
Heavens and Angels are deformities.
Yet see, he smiles, and beckens thee to come,
As if he meant to take thee for his home,
To wash thee with his blood; do not repine,
Thy sins are His, His righteousness is thine.
Hark, he invites himself to be thy guest,
Whose presence is thy physick and thy feast.
Behold he bowes the heavens, and comes down,
Takes up thy Cross, that thou mayst wear his Crown.
And in exchange assumes thy povertie,
Pays all thy debts, sets thee at libertie.
He sues to serve thee, and expects no more,
Thou shouldst give him, than he gave thee before.
His work is all his wages, and his will
Is all his hire; be thou obedient still:
Love him as he loves thee, and 'cause th' art poor,
Give him thy self, thy all, He asks no more.

Lord 'tis not fitting thou shouldst come
Into so base a room
First, with thy spirit cleanse my heart,
And by thy powerful art,
Thine and my enemies expel,
Make an Heaven of my Hell,
Then for ever in me dwell.
But, Lord, if thou vouchsafe to dwell
Within so dark a cell,
Take thou charge of the familie,
And let me dwell with thee.
Thine is the cost, be thine the care,
That Satan have no share,
For thou wilt find no room to spare.

For Christmas-day.

Invocat.

The Day, thy day is come,
O thou most glorious Sun,
When thou didst veil thy self, that we
Mortals might thy glory see.
Lend me a ray of light,
That I may see to write,
And Carol forth thy praise,
In ever-living layes.

Thyrsis.
What made the Sun poste hencc away
So fast, and make so short a day?

Damon.
Seeing a brighter Sun appear,
He ran and hid himself for fear:
Asham'd to see himself out-shin'd,
(Leaving us, and night behind)
He sneak'd away to take a nap,
And hide himself in Thetis lap.
When, loe, a brighter night succeeds,
A night none of his lustre needs:
A night so splendent, we may say,
The day was night, and night was day.

Thyrsis.
See, Damon, see, how he doth shroud
His baffl'd glory in a cloud;
From whence he peeps to see the Sun,
That hath his lusters all out-done.

Damon.
But ventring on he spies a star,
More glorious than his Hesper far;

Which with a fair and speaking ray,
Told plainly where his Master lay.
Ambitious then to steal a sight,
He saw it was the God of light;
Then strait he whips away his team,
The well lost minutes to redeem;
And flies through all the world, to tell
The newes of this great miracle.
It was not long before he came
Unto the lofty house of fame,
Where every whisper, every sound
Is taken at the first rebound,
And like an aiëry bubble blown
By vainer breath, till it be grown
Too big to be conceal'd, it flies
About a while, gaz'd at, then dies,
Something he tells, and hasts away,
He could not, and fame would not stay,
To near the rest; for she well knew,
By mixing of false tales with true,
To make it more. To Rome she plyes,
Her greatest Mart of truths and lyes;
The gods (says she) will dwell on earth,
And give themselves a mortal birth.
But they of fame had got the ods,
For they themselves made their own gods;
And car'd not to encrease their store,
For they had gods enough before.
To Solyma she takes her flight,
And puts the Citie in a fright:
Unwelcome newes fills Herods ears,
And then his head, with thoughts and fears.
The King of whom the Sages told,
And all the Prophecies of old,

Is born, sayes fame; a King who shall
Deliver Judah out of thrall:
Kings shall his subjects be, and lay
Their scepters at his feet; his sway
Shall know no bounds, nor end, but he
Beyond all time, so fates decree.
By this the Sun had cross'd the seas,
And told the newes to th'Antipodes.
The aiëry spirits pack'd hence away,
Chas'd by the beams of this bright day.
The fiends were in an uproar, hell
Trembl'd with the dismal yell.
The Prince of darkness was in doubt
The Lord of light would find him out;
And that the word of truth being come,
His oracles must all be dumb.
Pale death foresaw he was betray'd,
That King of terrors was afraid.
Glory be to God above,
For this miracle of love:
Ever blessed be the morn,
When the God of Love was born.
Love so charming that it can
Contract a God into a Man.
And by the magick of his birth,
Make an Heaven of the Earth.
Ever, ever sing we thus,
Till Angels come and joyn with us.
They rejoyce with all their powers,
Yet the Benefit is Ours.
They with joy the tydings bring,
Shall We be silint when They sing?

The 25. Cap. of Job Paraphras'd.

Then Bildad answers, dominion and fear
(Which rule us mortals) loe his In-mates are.
Can numbers shallow bounds confine his hoasts?
Or does his light baulk any unknown coasts?
Can man be Gods Corrival to be just?
Can he be clean that is defiled dust?
The Moon in th'ocean of his light is drown'd,
The stars impure in his bright eyes are found.
Then what is man? (alas!) poor worthless span,
Or what's his son? a worm, less than a man.

35. Cap. of Job.

Then 'gan Elihu speak, vileness dost dare
Thy righteousness with Gods thus to compare?
Thou sayst, what gain will righteousness bring in?
Or shall I thrive by that more than by sin?
I'll answer thee. Behold, the clouds that stand
His surer guard against thy sinning hand.
Legions of doubled sins cannot assault
Thy God, or pierce his starry-guarded vault.
Nor can thy stock of good encrease his store,
Thy hand may hurt, or help (like thee) the poor. &c.

On the Widows 2 Mites.

How comes it that the widows mites are more
Than the abundance the rich gave the poor?
Whilst they their worldly goods lib'rally hurl'd
She gave her heart, more worth than all the world.

On Christs Cross.

As from a Tree at first came all our woe,

So on a tree our remedie did grow.
One bare the fruit of death, the other life;
This was a well of Salem, that of strife.

On Christs Death and Resurrection.

What, can God die, or man live, being slain?
He dy'd as man, as God he rose again.

Gen. 2. 18.

When man was made, God sent an helper to him,
And so she prov'd, for she help'd to undoe him.

On the miracle of the Loaves.

This was a miracle indeed, when bread
Was by substraction multiplied:
Why wonder we at this strange feast,
When Gods's both giver, and a guest?

On Christ's Resurrection.

The Lord of life lay in a tomb,
as in the womb,
His Resurrection was a second birth,
from th'womb of th'earth.

On M. M. weeping at Christs death.

What, weep to see thy Saviour die,
Whereby thou liv'st eternally?
But now I know, 'twas cause thy sins
Were the sharp spears that wounded him.

Mark 12.

Give to God, &c.
And to Cæsar, &c,

Give God and Cæsar both, how shall I do?
Give Gods receiver, and thou giv'st him too.

On the world.

That the worlds goods are so inconstant found,
No wonder is, for that it self is Round.

Similis simili gaudet.

Wherefore doth Dives love his Money so?
That's earth, So's Hee, Like will to like we know.

On Calvus.

Calvus of late extream long locks doth wear:
The reason is Calvus hath lost his Hair.

On Malfido.

Malfido on his neighbour looks so grim,
Proximus is Postremus sure with him.

On Will: who had run through all trades and was now a Cobler.

I prethee Will whither wilt thou so fast?
Thou canst not farther, for th'art at thy Last.

Better fortune.

Whilst that the Huntsman stared, he became
Unto his dogs their banquet and their game:
But from Acteons fortune I am free,
Because whilst I saw her, she could not me.

On Cornuto.

Cornuto cries Hee's weary of his life,
He cannot bear the Lightness of his wife,
She wants so many Grains, she'l go with loss;
Yet a Light Woman is an Heavie Cross.

Mart. Ep. 24. lib. 2.

If unjust fortune hale thee to the bar,
In rags, paler than guilty prisoners are,
I'll stick to thee; banishd thy native soyl,
Through Seas and Rocks I will divide thy toyl.

On one who fell in love with Julia, throwing Snow-balls at him.

I'me all on fire; strange miracle of Love,
These Watry Snow-bals Hand-Granadoes prove?
If from cold clouds thou dost thy lightnings dart,
Julia, what Element will fence my heart?

J. Cesaris Epigram.

A Thracian lad on Ice-bound Heber playes,
The glassie Pavement with his waight decayes.
Whilsts with his lower parts the river fled,
The meeting Ice cut off his tender head,
Which having found, the Son-less mother urnd,
Those to be drownd were born, this to be burnd.

Hensii Epitaph. Englished.

Three wives I had in severall ages Past,
A Youth, a Man, an old man had the last;
The first was for the Work, a tender maid,
The second was for VVealth, the third for Ayd.

Out of Italian.

My Mistris hath my heart in hold,
But yet 'tis under locks of gold,
In which the wind doth freely play,
But my poor heart doth prisoner stay:
What happier prison can there be?
Confinement is my libertie.

H. Grotius, S. Petri Querela. Englished.

What place will hide my guilt? that there I may
Deceive th'approaches of discovering day.
I'll seek some gloomy cave, where I may lie
Entomb'd alive in shades of secrecie:
There seeing none, nor any seeing me,
I will indulge my tears with libertie.

Out of Italian.

I am a child, and cannot love,
Ah me! that I my death must prove.
Wilt thou that I thee adore,
Cruel thou must be no more.
Torments my heart cannot bear,
Nor must any grief come there.

To Henry the 4th. out of Bahusius.

O mighty King! glory of Princely race,
Thy Kingdoms safety, and it's chiefest grace:
We wish our Muse worthy thy worth t'adorn,
She nothing more desires, can nothing less perform.
Thou grace of arms, mak'st war a sport to be,
To labour's rest, to wake is sleep to thee.
Thy call makes souldiers, whom th'hast so in awe,
Thy word is a decree, thy beck a law.
Thou lead'st them on, thy deeds serve for commands,
They learn their dutie from thy feet and hands.
Thou conquer'st e're thou fight'st, fortune's decree
Assures thee triumph, 'fore the victorie.
Thy helmet lawrel, fights all trophies be,
To fight and conquer is all one with thee.
Thy mercie strives thy sword for to reprieve,
And when thou strik'st thy foe, thy self doth grieve.
Though forc'd to fight, to expiate their deed,
Thine eyes do weep, fast as thy foes do bleed.
Pardons are thy revenges, whilst thy sword
Doth wounds dispence, thy hand doth help afford.
Like dreadful lightning to the war thou com'st.
Conquerour, than conquer'd milder thou return'st.
To conquer others were too small, but thou
A nobler triumph o're thy self dost show.

Loves Duel, out of Anacreon.

Cupid all his arts did prove,
To invite my heart to love:
But I alwayes did delay,
His mild summons to obey:
Being deaf to all his charms,
Strait the god assumes his arms.
With his bow and quiver, he
Takes the field to duel me.
Armed like Achilles, I
With my shield and spear defie
His bold challenge: as he cast
His golden darts, I as fast
Catch'd his arrows in my shield,
Till I made him leave the field.
Fretting and dis-armed, then
Th'angry god returns agen,
All in flames; 'stead of a dart,
Throws himself into my heart,
Useless, I my shield require,
When the fort is all on fire;
I in vain the field did win,
Now the enemy's within.
Thus betray'd, at last I cry,
Love! th'hast got the victory.

With a Letter to Aglaia.

Goe happy paper, view those eyes,
Where beauties richest treasure lies;

The quiver whence he takes his darts,
Wherewith he wound's poor mortalls hearts.
But yet, fond paper, come not near
Those all-consuming flames, for fear
Thou perish by their cruell art,
That have inflam'd thy masters heart.

Yet if thou wil't so hardy be,
To venture on a batterie,
On that presuming Castle, say,
Wonder not I have found the way;
For (fairest Lady) hereby know,
The dart came first from your own Bow.

Excuse for absence.

You need inflict no other banishment,
The fault it selfe's my greatest punishment.
Oft would I pardon crave; but still my Muse
Prompts me, foul weather is a fair excuse.
If that will not suffice; then let this be,
That I have none, my best apologie.
Convict me of my crime, and as 'tis meet,
I'le do you daily Penance in a sheet.
But, prove me absent first, and then,
I'le write apologies, or burn my Pen.
Planets are where they worke, not where they move,
I am not where I live, but where I Love.

With Herberts Poeme.

The Poet's now become a Priest, and layes
His Poem at your feet, expects no Bayes,

But your acceptance; kind'le it with your eyes,
And make this Offering prove a Sacrifice.
The Vestal fire that's in your breast, will burn
Up all his drosse, and make it Incense turne;
And then your smile a second life will give,
Hee'l fear no death, if you but bid him live.
Pardon this bold ambition, tis his drift,
To make the Altar sanctifie the Gift.
Visit this Temple, at your vacant houres,
Twas Herberts Poem once, but now tis Yours.

On the death of M. A. S.

Fain would I pay my tribute to thy Herse,
And sigh thy death, in never dying verse.
But I in vain invoke my Muse, for she
(Alas!) is dead with him for company.
Like to those Indian wives who count the thred
Of their life ended when their Mate is dead.
When souls thus linck'd divorce, one cannot part,
Without the breaking of the others heart.
To vent my sorrowes yeelds me no relief,
He grieves but little that can tell his grief.
Let others less concern'd this truth approve,
And strive to shew their Wit, more than their Love
My grief confutes the Laws of Numbers, I
Whilst others Write, will Weep thine Elegie.
Each line my tears a Colons charge defray,
Verses have Periods, but no Period they.

Reader since He my better half is gone,
My heart is but his Monumentall Stone,
On which this Epitaph inscrib'd shall be:
I di'd in him, and yet he lives in me.

Laus & votum vitæ Beatæ.

Out of Lipsius.

Equall unto the Gods is he,
And much above what Mortalls be,
Who the uncertain day of fate,
Nor wisheth nor repineth at:
T'whom impotent Ambition, nor
The hope of gaine's Solicitor.
Whom Princes thundring threats can't move,
No, nor the darts of angry Jove.
But seated in Securitie,
Laughs at the vulgars vanitie.
Whose life's thread's spun so ev'n, that there
Can not be seen th'least knot of care.

O might I but thus far aspire,
To shape my life to my desire:
Nor Offices, nor Wealth I'de crave,
Nor with white Stee'ds in triumph brave,
To lead along poor Captiv'd Slaves.

I in vast Solitude should dwell,
A neighbour to the Muses Well:
Orchards, and Gardens to frequent,
There would I seat my sole content;
So that when as full ripened Death,
Shall put a period to my breath,
Tedious to none, and without strife,
Calmely to end my aged life.

On T. Bastard, and his Epigrams.

That thy names Bastard, friend, is thy hard fate,
Thy Births I'm sure are Legitimate.
Well may'st a Bastard be, all Common race
To thy diviner wit must need give place:
No, Jove himself begat thee, and thy Birth,
Gets in us Wonderment as well as mirth.

Momus to Bastard.

The proverb sayes, Bastards (remember it)
Must fling no stones; least they their father hit.

Answer.

Momus stand off, gald backs will winch, tis true,
Here's Salt, or we should never hear of you.

Again to Bastard.

Bastard, that is of best wit, say the Dutch,
Then as thy name is, so's thy nature such:
What if the multitude laugh at thy Name,
Know, their disprayses do advance thy fame.

To the Reader, Out of Faius.

Who will read these? None. Why? nor mock, nor jeere.
Nor Baudry (wishd by many) comes not here,
But one or other hap'ly they may finde,
Preferring good, before Jests, he will minde.
But if none read, griefe doth not me assault,
For if none read, then none can find a fault.

Upon His Sacred Majesties most happy Return, on the 29th. of May 1660.

Avvake dull Muse, the Sun appeares,
Open thine eyes, and dry thy teares:
The clouds disperse, and Sable night
Resignes to Charles his conquering light
Batts, Owles, and Night-birds flie away,
Chac'd by the beames of this bright day.
A day design'd by Destinie,
Famous to all Posteritie.
First for the birth of Charles, and now
'Tis His Three Kingdoms Birth-day too.
VVee mov'd before, but knew not how,
We could not say we liv'd, till now.
Like Flies in VVinter, so lay we,
In a dull, senceless Lethargie.
Toucht by his healing beames, we live,
His Presence a new life doth give.
Each loyall heart strook by his Rayes,
Is fill'd with gratitude and praise.
Those Phaëtons who had got the Raine,
And needs would guide great Charles his Waine;
Have found their Folly in their Fate;
And Phœbus now assumes his State.

The Trees who chose a woodden King,
To be their shade and covering:
Whilst they injuriously decline
The fruitfull Olive and the Vine
Consuming fire from the Bramble came;
They read their Folly by the Flame.
True Emblems of our giddy age,
Not rul'd by Reason, but by Rage:
The tayle would quarrell with the Head,
And no longer would be Led:
Th'inferiour Members soon give way,
And the Tayle must bear the sway,
Blind as it was, ('to ur misery)
With many a Sting, but never an Eye.
Then were we drag'd through mire & stones,
Which bruisd our flesh, and brake our bones,
Our Feet and Legs foundred and lame,
We saw our Folly in our Shame.
We praid, but no releif could find,
The Tayle was Deaf, as well as Blind:
Drums, Trumpets, Pulpits with their sound,
All our intreaties did confound;
Till pittying Heaven heard our cry,
And God vouchsafes, what men deny.
After a twelve years suffering,
Just Heaven Proclaims Great Charles our King:
Free (like Ulisses) from the harms
Of Forreign Syrens tempting charmes.
And now our Joyfull Land doth ring,
With Iö Pæan's to our King:
All England seemd One bonfire, Night
Seem'd to contend with Day for light.
For Bells our Kingdome hath been fam'd,
And the Ringing-Jsland nam'd:

More truly now, when every Bell
Aloud the joyful news doth tell.
That Charles is landed once again,
With Peace, and Plenty, in his Train.
No more shall brother brother kill,
Nor sonnes the blood of fathers spill:
No more shall Mars & Madness rage,
Peace shall bring back the Golden-age.
No more shall Loyalty be Treason,
Errour truth, and non-sence reason;
Nor will we sell our Liberty,
For a too-dear bought Slavery.
No more shall Sacriledge invade
The Church, nor Faction make a trade
Of Holy things; nor Gospel be
Lost in a law-less liberty.
No more hope we to see the time
When to be innocent's a crime.
No more, no more shall armed might
Though Wrong'd, o'recome the weaker Right.
Now shall all jarring discords be
Drown'd in the pleasing Harmony
Of peacefull lawes, whose stiller voice
Shall charme the Drum & Trumpets noise,
The Church shall be Triumphant, more
Than it was Militant before.
The withered Lawrell, and the Bayes
Revive to crown our happy dayes
These, and all other blessings we
Great and Good Charles, Expect from thee:
VVhose Vertues were enough alone,
To give Thee Title to the Crown.
You Conquerd without Arms, Your Words
VVin hearts, better than others Swords.

Pardons are Your revenges, we
Joy in Your Boundless Victory.
What others use to do with blowes,
You by Forgiving kill your foes:
Your mercy doth your Sword reprieve,
And for their faults, You most do grieve.
Your Martyr'd Fathers charity
(His last and greatest Legacy)
You most do prize. Could we but tread
That pace of virtue which you lead,
How quickly should we all agree,
To live in Love and Loyalty!
VVhilst others their rich Presents bring,
All I can give's, GOD SAVE THE KING.

FINIS.