The Poetical Recreations of Mr. Alexander Craig :: :: University of Virginia Library

TO THE MOST HONORABLE MY SINGVLAR GOOD LORD AND PATRON G. E. OF DVNBAR, LORD AND GOVERNOVR OF BERWICK, HEIGH Thesaurer of Scotland, great Maister of the Minerals there, Lieutenent of the middle Shyres of Great Britane, one of his Majesties honorable privie Counsell, and Knight of the most noble order of the Garter.

TO HIS MOST EXCELLENT MAIESTIE THE HVMBLE PETITION OF his Heighnes Orator Al. Craig at Christmas in VVhitehall.

Apelles some-time came
To Ptolomæus feast,
And had well nye return'd againe
Inglorius and disgrac't.
For Ptolomæus ask'd,
Who cald him to that place,
Then with a coale vpon the wall,
He painted Planus face.
The King knew Planus well,
And did at once protest
That hee should fast, and hee would feast
Appelles with the best.
So am I come Great King,
Vnto thy Christmas chere,
And Povertie against my will,
Invit's me to be heere.
You are a greater King
Then Lagus sonne, altho

With Ægipt, Afric, he vsurpt,
And was th' Arabians fo.
Let Povertie I pray,
Receaue his due disgrace:
And let thy Poet at this feast
Supplie the Painters place.
But Lacon some-time said
Vnto a begging slaue,
Giue what I will it is thy craft
To beg, and ever craue.
Be not affrai'd for that,
(Thogh for this time J cry)
Jf succurd once, nor seeke againe
J rather sterue and dye.

COMPLAINT TO HIS Majestie.

Loue , want, and Cares, all contrare me conspyre,
First, second, last, for me too many bee:
Want breakes my heart, and drown's my high desyre,
And makes my Muse so lowe a course to flee.
But were J rich, the cruell fair wold rew,
Then sould J sing and bid my Cares adew.

O happie Artist, and Mechanick slaue,
Thou mai'st a price vpon thy paines impose:
My wair is such, I know not what to craue,
And so but looke both Loue and Lynes I lose:
Strange thing betwix my Soveraigne and my sant,
I waist my wits, and rape but woes and want.

Yet might these two reward me if they wold,
And purge me both from povertie and paine:
She with good wil, my royall Syre with gold,
And so preserue, and saue their slaue vn-slane.
With modest lookes, and silent sighs J serue,
The shameles begger thriu's, and yet I sterue.

TO John LORD Ramsay, Vicunt of Hadington, the Author bemoneth his hard Fortunes in England.

Alas, why sould Calisthenes remaine
Where Agis both and Cleo beare the sway,
These Sicophants and Parasites profaine,
Draw Macedoes magnific minde astray:
Jt Aristip in Court make any stay,
Some Tyran straight shall spit into his face,
Thus feeling ill, and fearing worse each day,
A miriad of mis-fortunes I embrace.
How carefull is Entimeon poore thy case
At home, abrod, since Fortun is thy foe;
But ere thou turne to Griece with more disgrace,
Jn Persia die, and there intomb thy woe:
To him that liues, and must die Fortunes slaue,
Jf nothing else, good Persians grant a graue.

AD EVNDEM DE EODEM.

Beyond the Mountains of the frostie North,
I some-time seru'd a Caledonian Dame:
The first of all for Vertue, wit, and Worth,
That ever yet adorn'd the rols of fame:
She fed my heart on fansies sweetest flame,
Yet haue I left both heart and her behind,
And to this land spoild of my heart I came
To follow Fortune, which J can not find:
Strange is the state wherein I stand, J see
Twix Fortune heere, and my affections there:
I fled from these, this flees againe from mee,
Here Povertie, and yonder springs Dispare.
Blind Cupid thus, blind Fortune are againe mee,
My Loue at home, my Luck abrod disdaine mee.

NEW YEARE GIFT TO his Majestie.

To Cresus rich shall Codrus gifts propyne,
To Maro wise must Mevius ryms present:
O pearles Prince, O Poet most divyne,
My Muse is dead, my moyen all is spent:
Wise Maro writ, weake Mevius wonder ay,
Rich Cresus giue, poore Codius beg and pray.

TO HIS MAJESTIE IN NAME of his Noble Master.

The faithfull heart is ever fraught with feare,
And jelousie is still conjoind with loue:
How can J then (dread Liege) be frie from care,
Since from thy sight J see J must remoue:
And thou my Phosphor, yea my Phœbus bright,
Whose presence day, whose absence breeds my night

Yet feare J not for that within thy minde,
That ouglie ghaist vnkindnes can haue place:
But cause J know, some claw-backs are inclinde
With all their force my Fortunes to disgrace:
Be thou the poynt, and J the circling line,
Mine be the pangs, and all the pleasurs thine.

J'le kyth a constant Palinure to thee,
A trustie steirs-man both in storme and calme;
That in my works the wondring world shall see
The truest hand, that ever held a helme:
Thogh (I confesse) I am not skild like him,
Yet let me sink, so sweet Æneas swim.

Thus will J goe, because thou do'st command,
Even for thy sake from out thy sight some space:
And after kissing of thy sacred hand,
J pray the Gods protege thy state in peace:
And when J cease for to be true to thee,
Curst be my life, and wretched may J dye.

TO MY LORD SARVSBVRIE.

Two potent Kings over Siciles two Empyre,
That famous Ile where Siracusa stood:
Where gainst the heavens Encelad voms his fyre,
King Philip bruks with much Iberian blood:
But wise King Iames (O blest and happie case)
Commands a Cecill of more price in peace.

TO MY LORD HAY, AT HIS LEGATION to France.

Since thou must sail to see the Celtick shore,
From titular to him that keeps the Crown:
Which with thy Name thy Nation shall decore,
And fett more quils to further thy renown:
My wishes both, and prayers shall attend thee,
At home, abroad, the living Lord defend thee.

TO MY LORD ADMIRALL AT his mariage with Ladie Margaret Stewart.

Mars , Hercules, and Iupiter we finde,
With Venus, Lyda, Læda were in loue,
And for obedience to the Archer blind,
The Sword, the Club, and Scepter they remoue:
And Neptuns deput leau's the fomie strand,
To pearse a Margarit fet from Murray land.

A Counsell to Courteours.

The bibull Spoynge in tepid water set,
Drinks till it fill each small and greedie pore:
But if the Barber in his hand it get,
He wrings all out, which it hath drunk a fore:
You that in Court with Kings and Princes stay,
Mark well in minde the water-spoynge I pray.

For if you stand on top of Fortunes wheele,
Be ware lest with the bibull spoynge you swal,
Drink not too much as gluttons, govern well,
Clim not too hie, incase you catch a fall:
The King makes vp, the King againe makes downe,
Both wealth and wrack awaits vpon a Crowne.

To my Lady Hartfurde at his Majesties first progres to Totnem.

There the wyld farne smelled as sweet as perfume, naturaly.

The tempest beat and falling Farne (fair Dame)
Receaves new life, new strength, new smell wee see:
And for thy sake thy Soveraigne weares the same
Heigh on his head to serue and honour thee:
These are the frutes thy bewtie braue brings forth,
Thy least propynes are valued of most worth.

TO HIS DEAR FRIEND Mr. Al. Dickson Mr. of the Art of Memorie who dyed at Winchester in England. EPITAPH.

That Thracian forme at birth of friends to weepe,
And to be glad when as againe they dye:
My sigh-swolne heart can not content to keepe,
Since J deare friend must sigh, and murne for thee.
Now haue I los'd my second selfe J see,
To whom shall J (since thou atr dead) bemone:
Most rich of all (the Scythians say) is hee
That hath true friends, now I, alas, haue none:
No other death of ould the Hircans choos'd,
But to be kild by these same dogs they fed:
Displeasure so to be ingratlie vs'd,
Hath broght braue Dickson to his cognat bed.
Thou taught the Art of Memorie to those
That seemd thy friends, yet prou'd in end thy foes.

TO HIS VNKINDE FRIEND.

Of all the wounds whereof that Roman great,
Braue Iulius Cæsar in the senat died:
The wounds from Brutus (burreau most ingrate)
Did grieue him most, on Brutus still he cri'd:
So were my life to take last leaue of mee,
Still wold I cry (vnkinde, vnkinde) on thee.

TO HIS CVSNING FRIEND.

Athenian Chares promis'd much to many,
Most prodigall of smooth perswading words:
And yet perform'd no thing at all to any,
Such are the frutes false eloquence affords:
Like Larus leane of flesh he had no store,
But multitude of fethers fair, no more.

Since Chares thus concludes to play the knaue,
And still persists proud, impius, false, profane:
Shall he begyle, and gull me like the laue,
Yes, faith, once more to exercise his vane:
Yet since experience Chares maks me wise,
I shrew my heart, and thou begyle me thrise.

TO COVETOVS COVRTIERS.

A greedie Mouse did by a privat way
Steale to the pantrie of a wealthie man:
VVhere many dishes were, and wold assay
Each dish of all: but at the last began
To teast an Oister, when her guts were filled,
The Oister clos'd, and thus the Mouse was killed,

Thou that hast crept in credit but by stealth,
And teasts each dish, sib to the greedie Mouse:
VVho builds and maks of others wrack thy wealth,
And soulles man will not oversee a souse:
Thogh Prince behold, and privat men must thol thee,
Some sharp-sheld oister some-time sall controll thee.

TO VIRTEOVS AND NOBLE Cynthia.

Fane wold J render thanks for thy good-will:
But thanks are words, and words compense no deeds,
And thus must J remain thy debter still,
For which my heart within my bosome bleeds:
But if it chance that in thy debt I die,
My froward Fortune hath the fault, not I.

TO HIS DEAR FRIEND, AND fellow student Mr. Robert AEton.

Sing swift hoof'd Æthon to thy matchles selfe,
And be not silent in this pleasant spring:
I am thy Echo, and thy Aerie elf,
The latter strains of thy sweet tunes I'll sing:
Ah, shall thy Muse no further frutes forth-bring,
But Basia bare, and wilt thou write no more
To higher notes, J pray thee tune thy string:
Be still admir'd as thou hast bene of yore,
Write Æthon writ, let not thy vain decay,
Least we become Cymerians dark, or worse.
If Æthon faill, the Sun his course must stay,
For, Phœbus Chariot laks the cheefest horse:
Thogh Fortun frown, ah, why should vertue die,
Sing Æthon sing, and J shall Echo thee.

AETHON Cragio Svo.

Fane wold I sing, if songs my thoghts culd ease,
Or calme the tempest of my troubled mynde:
Fane wold J force my silent Muse to please,
The gallant humor of thy wanton vane:
But O a miser mancipat to paine,
Sould slaue to sorrow, wedded to mischief,
By mirth of songs, perhaps more greefe might gane,
Jn vane of them J should expect releif:
Then sacred Craig if thou wold ease my greef,
Jnvite me not to wantonize with thee:
But tune thy notes vnto my mourning cleif,
And when J weepe, weepe thou to Echo mee.
Perhaps the teares that from a Craig shall floe,
May proue a Soveraigne balme to cure my woe.

AGAINST THE SELLERS of Tobacco.

Thou that hast made of selling smoak a trade,
And Jew and Gentill but remorse do'st gull,
And by these base Nicotian bleads are glade
To spoill, mar, blek, the stomach, brane, and skull:
As thou deseru'st Turinus-like J doome thee,
By selling smoak thou liv'st, let smoak consume thee.

TO HIS LORD AND Mr. George Earle of Dunbar.

Braue Alcibiad curious once to know
Jf all were frinds, that so appeard to bee,
To each of all in secret he did show,
The purtrate of a new-slane-man, said hee:
This is a friend whom J haue kild, J pray
Jn quiet forme come cary him away.

Yet none of all that Crew wold giue consent,
Nor help to put the painted tree a part:
Saue Kallias kinde, who only was content,
Hap what might hap, to help with hand and hart:
Such is my luck (most loving Lord) I see,
J haue not found a Kallias kinde, but thee.

Thou art the great Mæcenas of my Muse,
My patron, Lord, my Master, and my All:
Whom (whil J liue) but change in me I chuse,
To loue, to serue, and to attend as thrall:
Thogh time and absence breed suspect, what than?
J am in spight of Fortuns nose thy man:

TO LADIE ANNA HAY COVNTES OF Winton, one of the Ladies of her Majesties most royall bed chalmer,

at her return from England.

Ah, whither now sweet Ladie wilt thou go?
From Court to Cuntrie, what new change is this?
And wilt thou needst (sweet Sant) be gone? and so
Bereaue south-Britan of so rare a blis,
Yes thou must go, J see there is no stay,
And take ten thousand Thousand hearts away.

Take then my heart, my better part with thee,
My wishes, vow's, my prayers, all these all:
For J am thine devoted till J die,
And still shall beare the bloodie yock as thrall:
And when my head shall turne to hoarie gray,
The world shall see that I shall serue An Hay.

A DISSVVASION TO HIS friend from his intended mariage.

Fair famous Ile where Zoroastres raign'd,
Where Bactrum once the statelie cittie stood:
VVhich (when th' ould name Ariaspe) was disdain'd,
VVas Bactria cal'd from fertill Bactrus flood;
VVhere some-time Ceter, Arams sonne began,
Of thousand citties the foundation sure.
In thee the wyues abuse the maried man,
And both with slaue and stranger play the whoore,
The Dame with Distaff beats her yeelding Lord,
And for her pryde but punishment skaips free:
And poore Acteon dare not speak one word,
From Bactrian wyues the Lord deliver thee:
Nor lead a life infamous, heart-brock, thrall,
Far better were to wed no wife at all.

A DESCRIPTION OF A PARDOND, yet still vnrepenting proditor Plexirtus.

When false and proud Plexirtus did conspire,
His King and Lord Leonat to dethrone:
He found the fates were foes to his desire,
At last when all his bastard-hopes were gone,
A halter fair about his hals he tyes,
And on the Prince for pardon still he cryes.

The Clement King Leonat was contented
To pardon all his faults and foull offences:
And yet we read the Rebell noght repented,
Saue that he could not practize his pretenses:
It's pittie then the Prince can not perceaue,
Plexirtus was, and will be still a knaue.

EPITAPH OF IOHN FIRST MARQUES of Hammilton.

Blest was thy life, and blessed didst thou die,
Thy Oyle was burning, and thy Lamp gaue light,
VVhen lifes prowd foe, pale death did summond thee
To render earth her due, and heavens their right:
Thogh death did then thy soule and bodie sever,
Once thou shalt be conjoind, and liue for ever.

Aliud.

Here rests within this Tomb of truth th' vnmatched zeale
The father, & the faithful friēd, of Church, & cōmon wel:
In storme and calme inclind to doe his Kings command,
Of peace the parent, child of Mars, cheef glorie of the land.

FORTVNA SAEVO LAETA NEGOTIO: transmutat incertos honores.

Strange are the changes of this changing age,
The cloun turns knight, the knight again turns cloun:
Now is he Lord, who, was of late a page,
And he that threatned all, is now thrown doun:
Thrise happie he, whose heart can be content,
To serue his God in peace with sober rent.

To his afflicted friend.

In wether fair, and in a temperat spring,
The waikest bird with warbling songs will soare,
But in a storme, or winters rage to sing
With mirrie notes, deserues a praise much more:
Thy spring is gone, thy winter growes, O than
Sing sweetlie now, and shew thy selfe a man.

To his fortunate friend.

The Fox and Kat, were walking by the way,
(As Æsop fains) and lo for all his wits
The Fox became to hungrie hounds a pray,
Whilst in a trie the Kat securlie sits.
Since Foxes false (dear friend) must fall, and die,
Climb with the Kat, and make the truth thy trie.

Vivitur parvo bene.

He that can walk on ground that's fair and plane,
Shall seldome fall, or if he chance to fall,
He measures but his lenth, he'ill rise agane,
And haue no harme, nor any hurt at all:
But he must fall of force that climbs too hie,
And if he fall, it's ten to one he'ill die.

Heigh hoised sailes giue vantage to the storme,
And if thy state be stately, large, and fair,
The farer mark for mischief to deforme,
With spightfull sport proud Fortun play's her there:
Fair marks are hit with shots and shafts mischivous,
Which make the wounds more deep & much more grievous.

Contented Codrus with his Cuntrie Dame,
Suppose his Farme were set on fire he fear's not,
His wife and he will warme them with the flame,
Come what can come, his compts are cast, he cares not:
Jf want and wealth were alwaies at my will,
Away with wealth, let me be Codrus still.

A Prayer for his imprisoned friend.

The famous Persians had a forme, we reed,
That if a Noble were condemd to dee,
They spar'd himselfe, and hang'd his cloaths with speed,
Poore prisoner, God grant the like to thee:
Vcalegon his house is set on fire,
A neighbor kinde wold quench lest it burne nyer.

When Pollio proud did to his feast requyre
Augustus Cæsar, at a solemne time:

He needs wold kill a serving slaue in yre,
For breaking of a banquet glasse, small crime:
But Cæsar said, poore slaue, thou shalt not dee,
Th' offence is naght, feare is eneugh for thee.

To Idea for his long absence.

Attilius ruler of the Roman host,
Beg'd leaue his wife and children deare, to see
His poore effairs he did performe with post,
And made returne with all the hast might bee,
He was for this no run-away, but rather
A loving husband, and a faithfull father.

I haue like him (wise Dame) at home a wife,
With whom in peace the poasting hours I spend,
Yet will J loue thee, whill J haue a life,
And till J die my loue shall never end:
My poore Adoes withdraw me oft from thee,
Yet where thou art, my heart shall ever bee.

To eloquent Erantina.

Cleombrotus a Heathen man did heare
Wise Plato, with such reverence and respeck,
As for the loue he to his lessons beare,
He went abrod (kinde man) and brok his neck:
Thy charming words inchant me so that J
Doe nothing now, but mourne, sigh, weep, and die.

To his absent and loving Lesbia.

Deare heart, dear heart, dear, dear, dear heart againe,
More dear then writ can shew, or waxe can seale:
O! if thou knew the care, the woe, the paine
I felt since last I tooke from thee fair-well:
The night in black chimerick thoghts I spend,
Ere Phlegon rise, I wish the day to end.

The dark is lothsome, and the day semes long,
Because, alas, J am not where thou art:
This is not mine, but frowning Fortunes wrong,
Yet hope (deare heart) vp-holds my dying heart:
Look then for me, before few dayes take end,
Till when my thoghts to thine, I doe commend.

To absent Idea.

With puissant pow'r when princely Pompey went,
And made him for Pharsalic battell bowne:
With heavie hearts his sogeors did lament,
And oft look'd back to Rome their natiue towne:
Each in him selfe a civil combat felt,
To leaue the place wher friends, wiues, childrē dwelt.

I may for this be deem'd a Roman borne,
I am so full of kindnesse and of loue,
In deepest sort (deare heart) I dare be sworne,
My minde from thee no distance may remoue:
And for thy sake (beare witnesse naked God)
I loue thy Bowns wherein thou mak'st abod.

To Idea at her bownes.

Ah, whither now (sweet Sant) art thou retired?
Souls-raviser, alas, where art thou gone?
Thy bewtie now can be no more admired,
Since thou delightst to lurke and liue alone:
Now Hermit-like thou hantst, the more the pittie,
And for the Farme forbear's the famous Cittie.

Look to thy selfe, thou dwel'st too neere the sea,
Neptun no doubt will from those rocks bereaue thee:
And with his wife divorse for loue of thee:
Yet am I glade, none but a God must haue thee:
VVhen winds and waves, and all are at thy will,
Proue not vnkinde, J pray thee loue me still.

TO HIS BANISHED FRIEND

Two wofull weeds, the mother Church must weare,
One Crimson rid, the other mourning black:
The black betokneth sorrow, pane, and care,
The rid bods death, fearce persecution, wrack:
It maters not what rags she beare abrod,
Once she'll be cloth'd in robs of white with God.

To his singular good Lord and Master.

Long mai'st thou liue an argument of praise,
A lordlie subject to my loving pen,
That on thy worth the wondring world may gaise,
A magistrat admir'd amongst all men.
Yea, more and more heavens grant thee from aboue,
The Makers mercie, and the Masters loue.

Auream quisquis mediocritatem.

It merits praise to manage litle well,
A cunning coachman turns in litle roume:
In poore estate a rich content I feell,
And smyle to see a wretches wealth consume:
J'ill studie then to steward what J haue,
And not be curious more and more to craue.

His regrate for the lose of time at Court.

O how Time slips, and slelie slids away,
God is forgot, and woe is me therefore:
J waste the night, and weare away the day,
I sleepe, dres, feed, talke, sport, and doe no more:
Far better were with care to haue redemed,
Nor sell for noght the thing I most estemed.

To his aspyring friend.

Since charge and honor march together still
For charge but honour were a toyle too great:
And honor but a charge were ease at will,
To want them both is not the worst estate:
I loath those loads which lightnesse first pretend,
But break the neck before the journeys end.

Nulla dies sine linea.

The standing poole will quicklie stink and rott,
The currant streame is cleanlie both and cleare:
The idle man is Sathans prey, God wott,
A verteous minde the Devill darr not draw neare,
My fantasies can profit few, and yet
It hurteth none, but doth me good to writ.

The praise of Glad-povertie.

Three sorts of men vnto the market go,
One buyes, one selles, an other doth behold,
Great greef and care is in the former two,
Th' expectant waiks secure and vncontrold.
He liu's (poore man) contented with his lot,
Vsing the world as if he vs'd it not.

His vnambitious minde.

Three things there be for which J'ill not contend,
The Way, the wall, and Tables highest seat:
What foole is he will frown, or yet offend
For any place, so hee can reach his meat.
But in good faith, the idlest strife of all,
Js in my judgement for the way, or wall.

To his friend who seemd sorie when he left Court.

I scorne to liue at Court, because J spy
The wicked heaps vp wealth, the foole hath grace:
The wise man weeps, and in disgrace must die,
And vanitie must march in vertues place:
Far better were on shore secure t'abide,
Nor saill in vane against both wind and tide.

Against Pryde.

Th' ambitious man no greater foe can haue,
Then is himselfe, for whilst he still aspires,
He grinds his heart for greef vnto the graue,
With foolish hopes, with fear's, and fond desires:
God grant my pryde may grow to this degree,
Jn earth his child, in heaven his Sant to bee.

To vnfortunat and pure Æmilian at Court.

Emilian begs with heart half-brok for sorrow,
Yet finds not frute at all, but long delay:
As leaue me now, or come againe to morrow,
My lasure serues not yet, I pray thee stay:
None pitties thee Æmilian, do not griue,
They get no thing, that haue no thing to giue.

That he neither loues to be too glad nor too sad.

Ioyes come like oxen heavie peas'd and slo,
But tak their leaue like horses running post:
Greifs come at post, on foot againe they go,
And leaue sad discontentment with their host:
Both Ioys and Griefs as passingers J'il vse,
They shall not be my ghaists, if J can chuse.

His contents at his Tugur.

When lose of Tyme at Court was all my gane,
To take my leaue, J thoght it was my best:
And in some privat mansion to remaine,
Where J might frie from Envyes rage take rest:
Now blest be God, no Portar bars my doore
By day, by night none keeps me but my kurre.

Against ignorance and ill example.

The law of God is Lanterne full of light,
And good example beares this Lantern still:
Which shews the way to walk, and march vpright,
To doe all good, and to decline from ill:
Without this light who walks, he can not see,
And such (will God) shall be no gyde to thee.

To Mistres Hartside at Orknay her natall soyle.

Proscribed Orcas thogh J hate thy forms,
J must commend and praise thy courage still,
I saw thee proue both wise and stout in storms,
And thou art barren sore against my will:
For had thou sonnes of thy Amazon stamp,
They might be Captains of the Emperors camp.

Perswasions of certainties are vnnecessarie.

No greater fools then Philodoxes fond,
And such as loue opinions of their own:
Thy wit (wise Plato) when I think vpon'd,
Made men to doubt on things that were well known:
These Why, How, What, mad questions of thy schools,
Wold make the wise men of our age seeme fools.

Against drunkards and lichers.

In sinfull Sodome to liue cleane and poore,
Jn Asia chast amid allurements such:
To hate in Rome the bordell and the whoore,
And to be still abstemius with a Dutch:
Do'th merit praise, yet this much with correction,
J find but few can haunt them but infection.

To his Lord and Master G. E. Dunbar.

Alas, that Time should be a foe to fame,
To clip the wings of true report in rage:
Alas, that th' earth should march a noble name:
Like to a bird thats compast with a kage:
Fame clip'd with time, & hemb'd with earth's embrace
By Poets yet out strips both time and place.

Thy fame (dear Lord) is frie from all disgrace,
(Still be it so till fire dissolue this frame)
Till when about the worlds broad spatious face,
My ryms shall run t'immortalize thy Name:
Foill to thy fame no time, no place shall giue,
So long as Craig, or yet his lines can liue.

Against ingratitude.

First let me die before I proue ingrate,
No, let the earth devore me ere J die:
Before I liue in such a wretched state,
To haue no hand but one, no tongue to cry:
Vnthankfull mouths are graues, then if J take,
I will at least giue praise and prayers back.

To his Lord and Master to be ware of envy.

Deepe danger lyes (deare Lord) in smoothest looks,
Envy is false, and waits thee at thy back:
The poysning bare is hung at golden hooks,
They serue as friends that fane wold see thy wrack.
Envy awaits on vertue as her slaue,
Yet still delights in digging vertues graue.

O pale Envy, the ouldest childe of Pryd,
The Dame of Murther, Treasons onely nurse,
Of glore the stane, of squint-ey'd fraud the bryd:
The blesse of Hell, and Heavens cheefest curse.
God grant my Lord be harmeles from thy hate,
Thy blood thy drink, thine owne heart be thy meat.

To John EARLE OF MONTROSE first Vice-Roy of Scotland. EPITAPH.

If Rhadamanthus in th' Elisian field,
VVith Æacus and Minos Judges bee.
And Gods over ghosts, they all of due must yeeld,
For Piëtie, Truth, Justice, place to thee:
At least Montroes for Minos must command,
And beare his Scepter in the blessed land.

The Rapt of Proserpina.

Shall Ceres daughter still remane at hell?
Shall Pluto comb her curling loks of amber?
Shall bewtie braue in loathsome bondage dwell?
And be imprison'd in a pitch-black chamber?
Ah, sleuthfull Ceres, thou art much to blame,
Thy negligence hath broght thy child to shame.

Proserpina hath bewtie both and wealth.
A pleasant prey entiseth many a theif:
Of bewtie rapt, of riches must be stealth,
And from the hels we heare is no releif:
Proserpina is Plutoes wife it's known,
The devill is black, yet let him bruke his own.

Against Sycophants and Parasits.

False Sycophant that wrongs the virteous name,
Proud Parasit thou poysons him that hear's thee:
And brings the absent to disgrace and shame,
Who neither cares for forged lies, nor fear's thee:
When Titan shyns we see the vermin swarme,
Thou dwel'st at court because thou know'st it's warm.

False flattering foole, thou art but friendships Ape,
Camelion-like thou changest every hew,
Saue white alone: thou loath's an honest shape.
As cheef companion of the cursed crew:
Proud Trencher flee thy pansh once fild, thou'ill goe
And proue to him that feeds thee best a foe.

The praise of humilitie in his L. and Mr.

It seems (me think) a thing of small effect,
When Fortun frowns for to be meek and lowlie:
But he that can eies, heart, looks thoghts, deject,
VVhen Fortun fauns is happie both and holie:
He looks like God, and hath his makers show,
VVhose pow'r is much, whose sprit is meek and low.

Of true friendship.

In shaddie night the glow-worme shines like fire,
And yet no heat to frostie hand she lends:
In calme who swear's he lou's thee, is a lier,
He'ill shrink in storme, and so his friendship ends:
Let Pythias then take Damon by the hand,
VVho for his friend in Fortuns stormes can stand.

TO THE MOST HONORABLE and religious Lord G. Earle Marschell, great Commissionar of Scotland for his Majestie.

Braue Cincinnatus from his house was broght,
To be Dictator in the towne of Rome:
Thou in this sort, (Religious Lord) art soght,
Thy Princes place and seat for to assume:
He in a month put Rome to rest and peace,
And thou hast done much more in much lesse space.

Contempt of Death.

Men seldome wish to die, thogh nev'r so old,
This day of death they doe adjorne, till morrow:
And by them all this fond excuse was told,
(The life is sweete) suppose they liue in sorrow:
Blind, lame, dumb, deaf, sick, poore, and more we see,
Men dam'd wold liue, yet know they needs must die.

My wofull heart must weepe to see such fools,
As th' ould, poore, blind, leame, damd, diseas'd, deaf, dum:
Broght vp and traind in Epicurus schools,
Can not beleeue there is a life to come.
God saies, I haue a Crown of glore to giue thee,
Then call, kill, Crown, for Lord I doe beleeue thee.

FINIS.