University of Virginia Library

The Book to the Reader.

I'm troubled with no lesse
Than the Plague of the Press,
you see the Spots are on me:
Yet, I would not be crost,
Lest my Author be lost;
but I'd have—Mercy vpon Me.

Upon my first sight of OSTELLA.

In what dark world have I entomb'd my sight
thus long, till now, I ne're saw perfect light:
The Sun his common favours doth dispense,
aswell unto the Peasant as the Prince.
Each Ploughman whistles forth Aurora's ray.
and proudly vaunts, an interest in the day;
The Moon we know doth slender light maintain,
she's scarce in the full, before she's in the wain:
The Stars (those petty instruments of light,)
seldome appear, but in a frosty night.
These lights do rule by turns. Nor can One take,
anothers time on; or All one light make.
When here is one whose lustre doth excell
all naturall causes; heaven on her brow doth dwell.
Her glori's still the same, and ne're declines,
but with the self-same Majesty still shines.
Sure did those Negro's that adore the Sun:
but feel her temperate heat they soon would shun
That Heresie, and offer sacrifice
to the Celestial vigour of her eys.
All share not in this blisse, she hath the sence
to curb by want the common insolence:
Her beams are lasting such a heat is pure,
for though her light be sparing, it is sure.

My Resolution.

Return me not disdain, for if you do,
By all those nimble Fairies wait on you
I will indict you for a witch; and tell
how you do hang on er'y hair a spell.
Your brows are Magick circles in each eye,
where fools think Cupids lodge, do spirits lie.
That in unseen Flames issue forth and kill
such, your hate pointeth out slaves to your will;
That in the Dimples of your Cheeks we may,
discern chain'd hearts, kept for your sport, who pay
Each hour a death, yet die not; that your breath
darts more infection than the spleen of Death.
That 'twixt those two round hills (now to our view,)
lie buried all those hearts your Anger slew.
That slaughtered hearts you make your chiefest Fare,
whose dying Groans speak musick in your ear:
That for your drink y'ave Lovers bloud and tears
distilled through the Limbeck of their fears.
That when you kisse you Traytor like betray,
or with it some strong Philtre do convey.
That after once poor man hath seen your face,
your Devils will not suffer him to raze
It out on's memory; but 'twill appear,
to terrifie him, his Hell er'y where.
That you can walk unseen and so torment,
poor man he shall not have grace to repent.
And if these accusations will not take
with potent proofs, and you a Circe make,
I must conclude for 'tis part of my fear,
you have bewitch'd the Judge and charm'd his ear:
And if the Iury find you not, Them too:
yet I will stand it out with them and you,
Then be advis'd and bribe me with a kisse,
not of a Killing temper but of blisse.
For which Il'e change the scene and will acquaint
the World, you are no Devil but my Saint.

Ostella discribed.

Let others search for Metaphors to raise
unto their Mistress Pyramides of praise
If mine deserve it, shee in time may have it,
in the mean time 'tis labour and 'ile save it,
Onely without the help of Art as nature,
hath ornamented her behold her Feature.
Her hair is lovely brown, her Face is fair,
Her eyes are black, her cheeks such colours wear.
As Art may imitate, but not excell,
her forehead high, composed passing well;
Her nose of modest size, her mouth the like,
her lips are full and red, the veins do strike;
Into Meanders, down her Neck and Breast;
her Brest round, plump, and white; her skin the best
That Nature ever blanch'd; her fingers small;
Hand, long and white, of Person something Tall,
Her waste of just proportion for a span,
straight shap'd; her feet (for there's the last I can
Discover) slender, instep somewhat high:
you have the full of my discovery.
Each Painter thus may take her Outward part,
But he must needs have skill, can take her Heart.

In the Morning

To Ostella, an Advise before she send an Answer.

Ostella smiling.

To Ostella upon the pain of her Tooth-ach.

To Ostella upon the lamenting the death of her Sparrow.

Vpon the Sparrow.

A Summons to a Seige.

The Retreat.

Ostella's Kisse.

Returning to my Chamber at night to the Taper.

Hence Feeble light, I will not have thee burn
near me, go and attend some needy Vrn,
Until 'its Damp undo thee I retain
a stronger Flame in my Ostella's name;
Which Fate cannot expire, not yet the Breath
of Furies which hate Light, nor envious Death.
It is a virtuous flame, and shall aspire
to Heaven, when the whole world speaks but One Fire.
Wilt not henceh Hw officious do'st thou grow,
I've known the time Thou would'st not serve me so,
E're this time of thy self thou hast gone out,
when I did need Thee most, thou went'st about
To help me least, go weep thy self away,
I want thee not, 'tis madnesse to burn day:
This service is not welcome, then begon:
there are more ways to waft thy self upon
Than by thy tedious waiting, and pretence
of service, to become a meer offence:
It were more Charity to watch the Dead,
the thought of Love shall light my Soul to Bed.

To Love.

It is no marvel, Love thou liv'st so long,
and though exactly Old, art perfect Young;
To all mens sense thou hadst consum'd and di'd,
had not our kinder heat thy want suppli'd.
Thou dost extract thy Comfort from our Hearts;
our Feebleness thy Nutriment imparts:
Thou suck'st us dry, and leav'st us ne're a Vein
unsearch'd, that may thy Youth and Pride maintain
At their luxurious height, In that poor we
are tortur'd sev'ral ways to nourish Thee:
And yet thou (cruel) ne're art satisfi'd,
but to support thine doth our States divide.
By weak'ning us, thou do'st renew thy strength;
by shortning of our lives thine receive length.
Thou tak'st thy Beauty from our Cheeks; thy Youth
from ours; and thy Decrees are from our Truth
Originally fram'd; though young, art sage,
and Thou deriv'st thy Youth from others Age.
Sure thou extract'st the very Quintesence
of Life from Hearts, for Mine left me long since.
After this rate Thou may'st for ever live,
since Our decaying's Thy Preservative.

To Ostella's Brother.

It is not now, as when my Soul was free,
and could contract my time to Mirth and Thee;
Meet the lov'd Sack with lips as resolute,
as Merchants in the heat of their pursuit,
Of th' Virtue on't, when our exacter taste
to make their Wits secure, Our own did wast;
When our Succeeding Cups, did Musick send
through eithers ear, in health to eithers friend:
When, our Comptrolless, Mirth her Voice did fit,
and laugh'd ev'n Melancholly out on's Wit;
When ev'ry Brow was clear, and ev'ry Heart
unthrall'd, shew'd Friendships Concord without Art:
Then was the time of times! But now (alas)
I have not so much Heart will break a Glasse
My Soul is out of tune as well as I,
I'm a meer Eunuch to Society;
Fly all things but my Passion, and do stalk
along the Thames sides Melancholly walk,
As though I meant a Wedding with the Willows,
bidding adue to Sack, Mirth, and Boon-fellows.
This was thy fault then blame thy self not me:
had I ne're seen thy Sister, I had been I.
This is a Metamorphosie, as true,
as Ovid ere in's strength of Fancy drew.

Ostella visiting me in time of Sicknesse.

Blest be that Tongue that whisper'd in your Ear,
my Sicknesse: Heaven did surely send you here,
Upon some Angels Wing to give repose
to my Distracted Thoughts, this Pitty shews
You are ally'd to Heaven, I was but now,
cold as the Morning Air, or Deaths chill Brow:
And now a soft Heat steals through ev'ry Vein,
and warms my Heart, thus you revive the Slain,
The Dark Cimmerian that hath seal'd his eyes
up in continuall sleep, would rouze and rise
To blesse this happy Omen, so from far
the Kings rejoic'd when as the Eastern Star
Appeard to them; like Comfort You do bring:
for when good Works are done Angels do sing.

My Scorn to Cupid, or Cupid ungodded.

A God! some jugling Gypsies Brat
that silly People wonder at,
Whose faiths thou hast abus'd with lies,
And fortune-telling fopperies.
No more assume the title God
that fitter art to have the Rod:
But use thy Quiver and thy Bow,
to kill Iack-Daws, or fright the Crow,
Nor boast thy Parentage or Power
th'ast lost thy Godhead in one hour.
Henceforth in scorn thy Figure shall,
be plac'd on ev'ry Potters Stall.
Or on the Tester of some Bed;
thy Altar be some Cup-boards head,
No fumes of Sacrifice shall rise,
less from the Mists of Childrens eys;
When in their Play they Ruine Thee,
and thou the Sacrificed be.
No, No, thou shalt abuse no more
our Faiths, with thy huge Deeds of Yore,
Fame lies to prate so much of thee,
could'st thou so great a Conquerour be,
Or'e Gods themselves, and now want'st wit,
sufficient Power, and Strength to hit
A Heart of Flesh, and not of Flint?
odd's death, I think the Divels in't.

Loves melancholly.

I live in th' World, but how? in such deep Woe,
as though I were not made 'its joys to know:
I eat, yet feed not; from the choisest food,
I can't extract that goodness doth me good.
I drink, and often, still my Sorrow's dry,
and to chase sadness keep much company.
Them I disturb; for when their Mirth flies high,
damp't with a fit I break Society.
Retir'd vnto my Chamber, I converse
with some known Author either Prose or verse;
In my Survey, if any joys I find,
conferr'd on any, I am strucken Blind;
If any Mans hard Fate be queintly shewn,
I straight Compare his Torments with mine own;
And finding mine exceed, leave off to Read,
the Weight of Sorrow, bears me to my Bed:
There if I sleep my troubled Soul doth Walk,
and just as Mad-men use, to 'its self doth talk.
Awake, my Fancy wanders too and fro,
as though I knew not where to rest or go.
In such distracted Passions I am thrown,
I'm neither well in Publick nor alone:
I'm young and apt for Pleasure single too,
Objects enough that may my fancy Wooe,
And yet not Helens Beauty can delight
my eye or raise in me an appetite:
Nor is this Miracle I do impart,
And yet I breath, live, move, without a heart.

Ostella's Scorn.

To Ostella.

A Tempest.

Help Love, or els I sink; (for know,
he best can help that causeth Woe.)
Help then, and with thy smoother Palm,
the fury of my Passion Calm:
Succeeding tears in Billows rise,
as there were Seas met in my eyes,
My Sighs united, proudly groan,
as the four Winds combin'd in one.
Hark how they roar! my Sighs and Tears
sure have conspir'd to tempt my fears.
See how they swell! now they are met,
and even a Tempest do beget:
It shakes my Bark, her Ribs do Crack,
and now my hopes expect a Wreck.
Help Love for Pity, then I pray,
ere my poor Heart be cast away.

To Death.

Thou Grand Physitian to a troubled Brest,
thou that both kill'st, and cur'st, in one exprest
Thou Terrour and thou Comforter no less
then Messenger of Hell and Happinesse;
Thou Conquerour of frail Humanity,
who yet t'imprisoned Souls giv'st liberty.
Why come not I within the benefit,
of thy Decree? thy lingring doth beget
My Jealousie: say, for my life to me
is hatefuller then thy Grim shape can be.
In ev'ry Street Mortality appears,
and yet I live though drowned in my Tears:
Kill me, and make me happy in my Death,
that living draw but discontented Breath.
I thus invok'd in Wrath, He made Reply
Lovers were made for Torment not to Die.

A Bird presented to Ostella.

Fair Bird thou art design'd to be
a Messenger from Love and me,
An Embassy though not so high
as that which from the Ark did flie
Yet such as Nice Divines admit
and Loves Religion Warrants it.
Go, and those sadder Notes of thine
which so improv'd by Discord mine,
Unto the Soveraign of my Heart
Peal forth in a confused Art,
Sing out my sigh, chatter my Groans:
imperfect speech best breaks our Moans.
Strike all Hearts sad that hers may know
How much of pitty she doth ow
To mine: pursue her day, by day,
Let her not eat nor drink nor pray,
Till for her own safe ease and rest,
her bosom does become thy Nest,
Where if th'art Martyred by her eys,
Thou shalt from thence a Phœnix rise.

Imagination.

How pleasingly doth thy Deceit
insinuate into our Sense,
Where having taken up a Seat,
what 'tis we wish thou steal'st from thence,
And to thy self thou form'st the Shape
which represented to the Mind,
Doth on its Peace Commit a Rape,
leaving our Fancy unconfin'd:
That time that for our Rest is lent
imploy'd our thoughts awake to keep,
Is priz'd to be the sweetest spent,
although it doth exile our Sleep:
What Numerous Joys do'st thou beget
to flatter each inclining thought,
As seem t'exceed the Appetite,
whose subtilty the Wonder wrought!
But (oh) the falsenesse of thy Charms,
that such bewitching joys prepare,
That when we think th'are in our Arms,
Ixion like, we grasp the Air.

Ostella saying she pittied me, but could not help me.

Pitty without Relief is just
one on a sleevelesse Errand sent:
That wanting what should Shape his trust
returns more simple than he went.
For, Naked Pitty brings but Cold
and heartless Comfort on his back,
It onely guilds the grief is told
and make us worse in what we lack.
Compassion bears a Sense with it,
as though it felt th' afflicted'st Grief,
Loves Messenger it's tearmed fit,
It never comes without relief.
But th'Pitty that proceeds from you,
adorns my Temples and my Eyes
With Wreaths of Roses mixt with Rue,
deckt onely up for Sacrifice,
And in the sweetnesse of that breath
You do but Musick forth my Death.

Reason.

Ostella saying, she would not say she did, could, nor would not Love me.

I'm wrapt in such a Mist, Reasons cleer light
can't lead me through lost betwixt; Day and Night:
'Twixt Doubt and Joy my faculties do rise,
and War with in me, and my sense dispise,
One while I'm lifted to the Throne of Blisse,
straight Ponierd by my Fears and struck to th' Abiss.
Now I am sinking, now, I Tryton like
ride on the Neck of Danger and do strike
With my strong hopes my fears into the Main;
now I'm a Prince, and now a Slave again.
And thus my fainting joy 'twixt hope and fear,
doth Ebb, and Flow, now Wing'd, now Clog'd, in th' Air,
Mockt with the shadow of thy Love, which I
seeking to catch at, my pursuit doth flie.
Why did'st not say, thou did'st not, nor could'st Love me?
but those are spoken plain enough to move me:
Yet why that nimble close then? though thou could'st not
to sweeten it thou wouldst not say thou would'st not?
If thou nor do'st, nor canst, what hope can I
assume thou ever wilt? oh Destiny!
So flattering Oracles did tell Mens fate
and yet in th' Mistery conceal'd their hate.

To Ostella my Choice.

Ostella Confessing She loved Me.

A blest confession, for which expect
(though you have justly merited Neglect
From Love and me,) an Absolution for
all your past ills against us, since that War
Brought on this happy Peace, This Truce doth give
me more than hope, assurance I shall live,
Nay live to joy in You the onely sum
of all my hopes, from whence my Blisse must come.
The Gods will recompence you for this Deed,
And amplifie your Glory in your Seed;
But I admire you held me in suspence
so long knowing my Loves pure innocence;
That though with Love I seem'd to be all fire,
yet was a Stoick to impure desire;
But I have found the Reason, and you know it,
The cleernesse of this Truth doth plainly shew it,
“The longer growth Diseases do indure,
“The more the Grief, more famous is the Cure
So from your Patients Tortour you would raise
an honour, and by Curing him, a praise.
And by that Weaknesse I'm more hearty grown
Than if my Strength had never Weaknesse known.
'Twas pretty Policy which I commend,
that Sorrow's sweetn'd that doth find an End.
Your Answers pli'de me as you'd beat back fire
not to suppress the Flame, but raise it higher.

Ostella asking why: I loved Her.

The Nut to Ostella.

To Ostella.

I sent my Heart ev'n as my Child to thee,
to be brought up, as thine shall be with me:
Be carefull of't as th' Apple of thy eye,
so shall I be of thine, or may I die,
Let mine not sorrow, I shall comfort thine;
in this we prove our Amity Divine.
But if mine droops, thine holds not up the head;
as mine doth fare, thine shall be cherished.
Mine's of a softly Nature, and may be
wound like a twig, ev'n any way by thee,
But thine more stubborn was, until in tears
I bath'd it supple, ev'n with Cares and Fears:
It would not stoop: But Heaven to Crown the end
of my sad toyl, at last, did make it bend.
And now it proves a greater joy to me,
than did mine own before it came to thee.

The FACTION. To Ostella.

Beauty glorious as the Light
that unveils the face of Day;
Think it is her proper Right,
that all Hearts should her obey:
And in Competition stands
with All-Conquering Love, who try
By eithers power which most Commands,
and best deserves the Diety.
Loves inviting oylie words
on his party many gain.
Beauties beams wound worse than swords,
strongly do her side maintain.
Eithers strength 'ginning to waste
streight they unto Reason fly,
Who well season'd bids them taste
of this sharp Antipathy,
Love not linckt to Beauties Rays
is Majesty in disguise
And looseth its reverent praise
'cause 'tis clouded from our eyes;
Beauty without Love declines
as the Heart that wanteth heat,
Or the Flowr that droops and pines,
when the Sun should it repleat:
And so wisely did Decree
Love and Beauty should agree;
And least the Union should undo,
sends them to reside with you.

Ostella asking me how I liked a painted Lady came to see her.

VVhy I will tell thee: Is that face her own,
she makes so much on't, or takes't up on Loan?
I promise if't be so, she doth deserve
to have it lent again, she doth preserve
It with such care, but this is jest. I know
she is a painted cloath, a Puppet show;
I must confesse when she unvail'd, I stood
in such amazement as though made of Wood:
Perhaps she did conceive as much, just so
when Persius did uncase unto his foe
Medusa's head, they were transform'd as I
beholding her strange Metamorphosie.
I'm sure my Heart was Marble; I forgot
all civill manners, and saluted not:
I might have prejudic'd her, if I had,
kist off her colours, then she had been mad:
And I did ow such dear regard to thee,
because she was thy friend so Wise to be.
Shee was thy foil, Ostella, for, when I,
compar'd with hers thy Native Livery,
Finding hers false, and she to Art was more,
beholding, than Nature for that poor
Decaying Pride, which the least Air doth vade,
I blest my fortune that by thee was made:
'Twere Sin to doubt her inside cause, with thee
she doth converse the Soul of Piety.
Yet be she what she wil, this joyes my Heart,
Thou art the Pride of Nature not of Art.

Vpon my assurance of Ostella's Love.

And do'st thou Love indeed, in very deed,
Ostella? prithee speak, and yet take heed:
'Tis requisite my Question be deni'd,
lest I do surfet e're I'm satisfi'd:
So from that sweet receive my ban, and be
as slow in thanks for Love as Cruelty.
Yet be not Cruel neither, 'tis not just
thou should'st be so, and worse I should mistrust
Thy spotless Faith: I would not have thee hate,
nor would I have thy Love become my Fate;
For the excess of each may dang'rous prove,
and seeking to preserve, may ruine Love.
Lightning is swift, as soon it doth retire;
let our flames softly burn, and not expire,
By whose kind heat our hearts may warm, not burn:
there's safetie in't, we may out-last our Urn.
Tell me, do'st Love? Yet do not tell me so:
and yet I know thou do'st; for on thy Brow
I read it, 't can't be hid by all the skill
thy Art can purchase; Yet delight thy will
As I shall mine. Answer me then, and prove
by Paradox, thou do'st not, yet do'st Love.

Ostella veiled.

Ostella , thou do'st injure me
by this Veil of Modesty.
Thou the Sun of my Delight
thus obscur'd, I am in night,
I would not shew thee sweet to sell
but to be admir'd is well;
For from thee by others praise
I to my self a Trophie raise,
'Tis my Pride the World should be
in Love with thee, as thou with me:
Which adds a glory to my Fate;
that they for thee me Emulate.
Open thy Beauty to the Day
give thy Cupids leave to Prey;
Enflame all Hearts, make the World thine,
I have the glory thou art mine.

Ostella shewing me Verses sent to her by a friend of mine.

Verses to thee! is he so Love-some grown
just on a sudden, are the lines his own?
Or doth he Court by Proxy, and hath paid
dear for his wit to one whose need hath made
Him a profest Poet, that he should be
guilty of Wit, Condemns himself and me.
Miracles may chance to walk, and light on him
he's empty enough, and may receive to th'brim.
But yet why should I doubt this, since thy eye
can make a Spark a Flame in Poetry,
And were not I as confident of Thee
as Saints of Heaven are, a Jealousie
Would work into my Faculties, thy Love
might leave my Sphear, and in anothers move.
Women are Charm'd when praises do perswade,
for then harmonious Spels their Ears invade.

Ostella advising me to leave off drinking Wine.

How dearest! art thou weary of thy Fame,
that thou would'st banish that preserves the same?
When I would write on th' Vigour of thy eye,
a sprightly Glasse of Sack I've standing by,
From whence my Pen takes life and speed; that Smile
of thine, thou ow'st to Sack for my fair Guile.
That lively Colour of thy Cheek and Lip,
from the rich Claret did my fancy sip,
And from the mantling sparks which thence arise
I Metaphor'd the Cupids in thy eyes.
From the Lov'd Grape I can create Conceit,
enough to raise Dejection to the Seat
Of Honour, 'tis the Nepenthean Spring
about the which the jolly Muses sing
Thy praises from my Verse. Oh let me lack
all things else usefull, so thoust give me Sack.
Thou maiest as well go bid me leave to live,
as have me leave the means which life doth give:
Faith leave my Wine, and farewel Poetry,
forgetting which none will remember Thee.

To one asking how he should know my Mistresse.

My Vow to Ostella upon her doubting my faith.

Vpon an occasion; to Ostella, Of Jealousie.

Ostella forth of Town: To my Heart.

To the worst of Passions.

Thou that destroi'st our Peace, giv'st Liberty
to fury, ruine; Thou grand Enemy
To man; Thou, whose unlimited pretence
deposeth Reason, and confounds our sense.
Thou, whose Tyrannick Cruelty extends
to th' separation of long linked friends.
Thou, that art all irregularity,
rash, inconsiderate, madly bold and free,
A foe to goodnesse, Author of our ill.
thou, that art Wisdoms inconsistent still.
Thou, who can boast thou ne'r wert overcome,
and slav'dst so many gallant Hearts at Rome.
Thou, that didst vanquish Cæsar, know I'le prove
greater than He, and Conquer Thee with Love.

The Iealous Lovers, A Dialogue.

Thirsis.
Say, Daphnes say, for I desire to know
The cause from whence these sad effects do grow:
Art thou in Love?

Dap.
O yes.

Thirsis.
With whom? confesse.

Daph.
With my Murderess.

Thir.
Love baits on easie hearts; is thine so tame
To hugg thy Ruine, and appear his Game?
Who is the Shepherdess?

Dap.
Doest ask her name?
Have not the Winds whisper'd her Beauties fame
Through ev'ry Ear? do'st not observe each Tree
Wears on it's Brest her name? My misery.

Thir.
Did she e're love thee, Daphnes, say,

Daph.
She did,

Thir.
Are those flames now extinguisht, or but hid?

Daph.
Extinguisht as my Jealousie, which made
Her leave this walk, which now appears a shade,
Wanting her Beams to warm it, and my Heart
Cold as the Deaths Dart.

Thir.
Didst thou abuse her Love?

Daph.
I cannot tell,
Unless it were by loving too too well,
Excessive Love, and her exceeding Grace
Supplanted Reason, and gave Passion place.

Thir.
Such was my fate.

Daph.
Too cruell mine.

Thir.
It may be so.
But there is no example of my Woe.

Chorus.
Since we derive our heat both from one fire.
let thy Heart mix with mine and so Expire,
That to her Glory from us may arise,
in one pure flame a double Sacrifice.

To my Thoughts.

VVhen fortune flatters you, beleeve her not,
she then upon your safety hath a plot;
And if she threaten, be the same you are,
and seem the fulnesse of her spleen to dare.
Though all the World should in division be
For emptie glories, golden Slavery,
Be you united; let not their disease
Poison the sweet Contentment of your Peace.
For while you keep together, and be true
unto your selves, the World cann't Conquer you.
In this y'exceed the happiness of Kings
arm'd still against the Tide, and change of things.
That neither hopes of Honour can dissolve,
nor Misery with sad dispair involve.
Thus be your selves, and tread upon the Neck
of Danger, and dispise Dame Fortunes beck.
Let her to you be held but Air, or Name,
not worthy to deserve from you a Fame.
“None is so worthy to be envi'd at,
as such as whose content is wonder'd at.
So in th' midst of th' Worlds strife and debate
your cheerfulnesse doth soar above your Hate.

To Ioy.

Unconstant as a smile, uncertain as
beauty, or life, or a reflecting Glass.
Shorter than the dayes glory, that brings on
a tedious winters night t'exact upon
The virtue of our Patience; Or the tears
of Widdows which but serve to drown their fears.
Oh had I not acquainted been with thee,
I'd been insensible of misery,
And comforted my self in my first State,
with th' thought that all men suffer'd the like Fate.
Better 't had been still to have liv'd in Woe,
than once thy happinesse and sweets to know:
He that ne'r tasted of Delicious fare,
thinks his own Cates the best and primest ware;
His Water is his Wine, which he doth drink
with greater Pleasure from the fountains brink,
Than ev'r the Epicurean Roman found,
when in variety he did abound.
Such unto whom Nature denies a sight
can make no difference betwixt dark and light,
But to have known the day, and suddenly,
by some sad accident deprived be
Of th' Vertue of th' splendour, he inward finds
a greater Torture than whom Nature blinds.
So had'st thou not apted my Heart for thee,
I had not found how great thy want would be.
Unkind in thy departure, th' amorous Wind
though swift in course, doth leave a Sweet behind
On its lov'd Flowrs, but thou in taking leave
giv'st us a kiss, as meaning to deceive,
Yielding us up into the hands of Grief,
whence there is scarce redemption or relief.
Yet while th'art with us, thou do'st act thy part
with such delightfull and reviving Art,
That dead Hearts are stir'd up to life by thee,
but violent things do seldome last we see:
Thou art but here to day, and gone to morrow,
the Scene is past, now enter Tyrant Sorrow.

Ostella's Welcome to Town.

Welcome Ostella with thy Beams more bright,
Than those that brought the Chaos, form, and Light:
Welcome, as is a timely season'd Spring,
And the kind tokens it with it doth bring:
Welcome, as are the Seasons of the Year
Unto the earth, or News unto the Ear
Of him that hath long time lain doom'd to die;
A pardons brought for his Delivery:
Welcome, as health to the afflicted Sense,
Or wealth in its intended innocence:
Welcome, as Ransoms to poor Captives are,
Or as deliv'rance to the Mariner:
Welcome, as peace to a Distracted State,
On which a tedious War hath quarter'd hate:
Welcome, as is the end to all my fears,
And welcome, as the Musick of the Sphears
To a departing Soul, or Angels sing
A Message to't, which heavenly Comfort bring:
Welcome my Dearest unto me, as Joy
To the sad Heart, whom Love sought to distroy.
Welcome, as is loves best fruition to
The longing Souls of them did long time Woo.
Welcome, as is my fancy to my Pen,
When it is rich, and fit for sight of men:
Welcome, as is restored Roses to
The Cheeks, the hand of sickness would undo:
Welcome, to me thou Sum of earthly good:
Welcome, as honour to deserving bloud:
Welcome, as Conquest to the valiant mind:
Welcome, as Restauration to the blind:
Welcome, to me as is that holy fire
Into the Vestals Brests Heaven doth inspire:
Welcome, as is their blisse, when they resign
Their Clay to earth, and do become Divine:
Welcome, as is Divine untainted Love,
And welcome, as a blessing from above.

A Dialogue between Love and Honour.

Honour.

Love.

Honour.

Love.

Honour.

Love.

Honour.

Love.

Honour.

Chorus.

Ostella weeping for my Imprisonment.

Ostella questioning of me concerning Clarinda, a former Mistress.

T'were sin to lie, Ostella, and to thee
the greatest piece of Wilfull Treachery.
That Wickednesse can gloze: That she whom You
do stile Clarinda, I did own is true.
So may the Babe suck Venom from the Tet;
and so the Dew may blast the Violet.
Such was my Innocence abus'd by her:
the Wisest in their Loves do soonest erre.
But I, that hardly could judg black from white,
mistook my Day, and wrapt my self in Night.
The little Bees, unskil'd, so may in flight,
mistake the Rose, and suck the Aconite:
Shee Courted me with such destroying tears
as th' Crocodile, or the curst Hinbane wears;
And like the Spider, wove a curious Net
of her enticinng Hair my Heart to get;
A Bird of Paradice was thought to be,
but she a Bird of Rapine prov'd to me.
In th' Summer of my Fortunes she did sing
much like the Swallow; but the Winters sting
Poys'ning my Hopes; she, like the Licorish Fly,
follows the next Sweet 'til sh' as suckt it dry.
The Morning dew so leaves the Violet,
when the Suns prouder Beams exhaleth it:
And this decreed Truth I've bought with smart,
that there's most danger where appears most Art,
These were my Childish Errors, for which I
have oft distill'd my Sorrow from my eye
The blind Man so in darkness walks, and yet
discerning not his want, nev'r questions it:
But You have form'd me new, and giv'n a sight
to my dark Judgement, I know now the Light:
And I will prize it Dearest as my Soul,
Which thou hast partly Cleans'd, once sadly foul.
As by the Suns infusive heat, the Earth
receives the Virtue, to give Gold a Birth,
Out of its sordid Womb. So from your eys
my Heart receives the Joys of Paradise:
Which I was losing. Am refined now.
by your pure fires: rejoycing Angels owe
You thanks for my reclaiming which Create
new Joys with Them, which bear a lasting Date.
Thus I'm become thy Convert (Dear) and will
pay all the Good I've forfeited for Ill.
Clarinda's Name shall like the Shaddow be
forgot ere Night; Thine to Eternity
Shall last. Oh I could Curse that wretched Pen
that wrote her mine, the common Stool for Men.
May all those Books as fast as bought, have flame:
may she as they Consume, Burn with the same;
That so th' infection of her name that fils
the earth with loosenesse and the Air with ills,
May die with her, and from her Grave shall rise,
as from a Load of Dung, Maggots and flies.
Pardon (Ostella) this unusuall rage
wrongs hid stirr'd up, in Man new Wars do wage.
Goodness perverted troubles a Calm State,
and Love abus'd grows desperate with hate.
Look on me Dear with that compassionate Sense
as you would on betrayed innocence,
Cloath'd in a Robe of Penitence from your eye
gratious Ostella let my pardon flie.
Confession and Contrition may win
from Heaven forgiveness for the greatest sin.
Your Saint like temper doth my faith perswade;
Your Mercy can Out-vy the faults I made.
Deceive not then my confidence I am
your votary now; and in my Heart a Flame
Burns with Religious Duty, and when I
Extinguish it may I unpitti'd die.
The fervent Light shall sooner leave the World,
(which through the darkest Roab that ore it's hurl'd
By night shoots forth some Splendor,) and the Air,
the holy Vestals breath in frequent Prayer,
Become infectious Saints from Heaven shall fall
into Perdition. All now righteous shall
Become Apostats, and this Globe receive
by its own weight its Tomb and Nature leave
To Propogate her kind ev'r my Faith wasteth
for know Ostella Love 'bove Nature lasteth.

To Ostella upon her Reproving me and Councelling me from some Inconveniences.

The Breath of Winter that doth Curd the Earth
to give the Season free and timely Birth
Comes not so sharply violent as this,
from you to me, 't hath nipt the budding Blisse
In me, your Beams of Goodnesse cherisht. All
the Comforts I receiv'd from this sweet Gall
Is this, that I to You may be more Pure,
you pierce my Heart to make a way for Cure.
It is a stinging Salve, a tickling Smart,
a pleasing Potion, that doth turn my Heart
Into faint Qualms, to clear and set it right,
a bitter Prologue to a sweet Delight.
A sharp Reproof brings Mercy in the end,
so Iudges Chide when Pardon they intend.
Unskilfull Surgeons may the Vlcerous place:
make, by false Applications in worse case
And when they see the Vertue of their Skill
extends not to a Cure, make hast to Kill.
But thou, Physitian-like, wisely do'st give
Cor'sives where needed, and the Lenitive
In its due place, that the afflicted Sense
may gather something Cordial from thence.
Thy Councel to my Ears did cruel seem
but the effect on't did my Heart redeem,
From the loose humours that were gath'ring to
a Head, its prim'tive whitenesse to undo
So Physick when Diseases do abound,
doth make Vs sharply Sick e're perfect Sound.

Musick in the dead Season of the Night.

Ostella hark! how sweetly doth the sound
of Musick in our Ears resound!
How 'tis advanced by the Night!
whose silence adds to the Delight,
Our Senses dead as Night, are by
the Virtue of it's Harmony
Stirr'd and reviv'd, who frisk and play
like wanton Kids in th' dawn of Day.
One Voice doth now more Comfort bring
then the whole Quire of Birds in th'Spring.
It comes to vsit us, like that
rare thing in Man so wond'red at,
Friendship, to set our Spirits free,
when thrall'd in Fortunes Slavery.

Ostella commanding my absence for a time.

Revoke that Doom, Ostella, call it back,
it is so heavie that my Heart doth Crack
Under its weight; thou maiest as well Command
my Soul to leave its Mansion: 't shall not stand.
How can I live, Ostella, when that I
do want the vertual Influ'nce of thine eye?
Suppose Ostella, that that glorious light
thou now enjoy'st by th'virtue of thy sight
Should be hid from thee, would not th' sudden Change
depose thy Comfort: and thy hopes estrange?
The Memory of what you once possest,
Would Tyrantslike strike Daggers to your Brest a
Danger once past bring to our Memory,
a kind of a delight when we are free:
When safely we may tell what shelves or Rocks
compos'd for Ruine we have scap'd, what Shocks
Our Barks received by some rude Waves, and how,
we cousen'd Ruine of of its sport: this now
Might reassume content, But when we think
On our lost happinesse, our souls doth sinck
Beneath the hope of Remedy, or Relief.
nothing is then so powerfull as our Grief.
Mans Misery doth so much more distroy.
by how much more he was depriv'd his Ioy.
And were I blind (not absent) and coul'd hear
thy voice 'twould send Loves harmony through my Ear
Unto my Heart, and so restore that Sense
that was defective: thus thy Excellence
Would so unite my thoughts that discontent
durst not approrch ne'r my Hearts Continent.
But so exil'd the very sum of Blisse
enthron'd my soul would prove my Extasis.
But 'tis your wise Apologie to say,
'tis but a fortnight you enjoin my stay:
When know each minute is an Age to one
whose Love in all transcends comparison.
How is his heart afflicted with the shape
of jealous fears when they commit a Rape,
Upon his Reason, and what he admir'd,
he now suspects; his faith almost expir'd
Thinks on his former and his present State;
examines to his own by others Fate,
Concludes his Mistresse glorious, then dispairs
with th' thought of his own Indigence, and in's Prayers
He weeps to think that other men may be
deserving of her favours more then he.
Minuts produce this, what will hours do then
and days, and weeks, oh call that back again
That cruell imposition and set free
my exil'd Heart to's ancient liberty
And I'le confess to me thou life do'st give
since without thee it is a death to live.

To Time.

A Dialogue between Nature and Art.

Nature.
Contend with me! Art, th'art too bold.
Am I not Empresse of this Mould?
The Rose from me its Red receives;
The Lilly whitenesse, Trees their Leaves.
Am I not Former of all things,
Who give both birth and life to Kings.

Art.
The former true I were to blame
Not to confess't but know I am
Reformer and that bears a Name
As large in the expanse of Fame
What thou in framing Careless wert
Is both suppli'd and helpt by Art,
The Tawny are made fair by me,
The crooked Streight as Cedar-tree,
The Pale Cheeks I suppli'd with Red,
To which thy Rose doth look as dead;
And not a Creature comes from thee
But I can draw more Buxomly.

Nature.
By this thou shew'st thou ha'st the fame
To imitate but not to frame;
Canst thou unto the Rose give sent;
Or breath a Vertuall Ornament
In Flours or Fruit, or Man or Beast,
Or yield a vitall to the least?
If so, I'le yield my self to thee,
And wee'l be friends undoubtedly.

Art.
First tell me if thou canst preserve
What thou do'st frame, and do not swerve
From Reason, Silence renders no;
Then be not troubled to know
I can, and by that consequence
Ought to have the preheminence:
For he that can preserve from Death,
Can without doubt give more than breath:
The Rose and Lilly I can keep
Fresh as in Iune, from Death or sleep:
And if my Pencil fall, my Pen
Can keep alive the acts of men
That life is nothing worth forgot
Ev'n shadow like where I am not
For I can do more than I've said,
By powerfull verse revive the dead.

Nature.
Then Art.

Art.
Then Nature.

Both.
Let's oh let's agree,
And keep alive Ostella's Memory,
That wheresoev'r Nature and Art doth Rest,
Ostella may with Glory be exprest.

To Ostella upon her saying she wonder'd how one S. B. got into preferment, and not I.

He is not worth your Wonder, what in Place
he is? Plusht to the Ears, dawb'd o're with Lace.
His fingers some superfluous Diamonds wear,
at which the Drawers and the Fidlers Stare.
His Ladies Chamber Maids perhaps do take
upon them much his Love for his Stones sake.
Ne'r wonder how the slave his Tallent imps,
let him be damn'd, he's one of Fortunes Pimps.

To Ostella, commending meeknesse of Spirit.

It is not safe to be too soft of Spirit,
a sottish patience hath a Cowards Merit:
It gives occasion many times to ill,
and Cruell Natures, whose harsh Custome still
Seeks not out whom deserves, but who will bear,
the most, to wrong the easie hearted Hair,
It draws on injuries, which Promethean hearts
repell with flames of courage, the Minds Darts,
This is a Maxime we ought all to know,
he that will bear the weight sha'nt want the Wo,
He that's besotted to his fear or ease,
doth make his Patience prove his worst disease.

The Swallow.

Mark Ostella when the Spring,
hath dissolv'd the frosty King,
And reseats her self on Earth;
giving Flow'rs and Plants a Birth;
When the glorious Sun doth shine
full of heat as doth thy eyn,
When the feather'd Songsters do
seem the Princely maid to Woo,
Then, oh then, to us will come
to our Cottage to our home
An amorous guest, who will salute
you from the chimney top with Flute,
Like Notes; when you least need the same
to sing to you 'twill be on flame.
But when the tedious Winters night
comes on, that wants both heat and light,
And that his pretty musick may
with pleasure pass the time away,
Which else perhaps might sadnesse bring;
your Guess is hoarse and cannot sing
Acquaintance so leaves Men in Misery,
who did adore him in Prosperity.

Vpon my Departure.

Give me a parting kiss, oh why in store
kept you this bliss, ravish me with one more;
Come let my Sighs dry up the Dew doth make
thy Roses to look pale, thy Lillies quake
Into cold fear, keep in those tears a while,
for I have heard Water will Diamonds spoil:
Seal on my Lips my licence to depart,
one kiss more and I'm gone: how sweet thou art?
And leav'st behind such an effectuall power,
all sweets to thine hereafter will be sour.
Heaven send us happiness to meet agen,
my lips will never sweetness taste till then;
But I must hence, Fame calls me to the field,
Virtue hath set her Standard up, the Shield
Of Honour's wav'd at me, and I must hence;
but what on th'sudden doth enlarge my Sense
Tells me I need not further go, for here
Virtue and Honour rest as in their Sphear,
And may be purchas'd with less danger, (oh)
that, that, alone inflames my Soul to go
For Man conceives that Honour slightly bought,
that's not through danger, and with hazard sought,
I goe, but leave a sadder heart behind,
than e're thou mad'st it glad by being kind:
How Reason flies me! what brave Act can come
into his hands that leaves his heart at home?
But if Ostella thou wilt give me thine,
I by my Flames will make it Masculine.

DAPHNES.