Jewels of ingenvity, Set in a Coronet of Poetry :: :: University of Virginia Library

Cormina qui facimus, mittamus Carmina tantum.
Nam Chorus ante alios aptus Amore sumus,
Ovid. de Art. Amand, lib. 1.

To the most absolute Lover of Arts and Ingenuity, The worthily honoured, Matthew Gilley Esq

An Acrostical Encomium, Composed on the Noble Name, and Heroick Nature of Sir FRANCIS ENGLEFIELD, Baronet.

Fame (in the noblest sence) whose wandring wings
Renown the Actions of Triumphant Kings:
All this year is at leisure to set forth,
No other Excellency, but your worth
Could I court every Muse, and should I be
Inspir'd with all Poetick Mystery;
Should I rich Jems from every Science pick

Englefield's name would teach new Rhetorick,
Nothing can be said, read, or understood,
Great Sir, but what your merits can make good,
Love is your constitution, and you fit,
Every action to the rules of Wit:
Fidelity and Honour both comply,
In consort, to compleat your gallantry;
Every favour in your Gifts or Letters,
Leaves the Receiver bound in Golden Fetters:
Don, Johnson, Fletcher, and (your name-sake) Francis

Beaumont in you might find new Theams for Fancies
Arts are your Privy Councel: He doth know
Reason enough, that hath but studied you:
One of your lowest, single vertues, wou'd
Nobilitate a Clown, and change his bloud:
Englefield's honour shall nere leave his name.
Till England and the World meet in one flame.

An Acrostick,

Consecrated to the renowned name of the most Youthfull, Beautifull, Virtuous, and truly Honourable, The Lady CECILIA ARUNDELL, Daughter to the Right Honourable, the Lord Arundell of Warder.

Could I contain all Languages, and be
A Prelate in the Art of Poetry:
Eminent Lady! I should scarce inherit
Rhetorick enough to write your meanest merit:
Cherubims tongues, are fittest to relate,
Virtues (like yours) which none can imitate:
If I should call you beautiful and wise,
Noble, chast, merciful, and say your Eyes
Lend lustre to the day, they'd think I do
Dissemble though all these come short of you:
If I should say but what your virtues be,
Every Truth would look like Flattery;
As men that round about the World have been,
Live mute, and dare not tell what they have seen.
Lady you are a Jewel to be set
In a true Heart, the noblest Coronet.

MUSICK

Anagram. CUM KIS.

Ther's harmony in Love, I know by this,
The Anagram of Musick, is Cum Kis.

Three Marriage Songs.

The first at their going to the Temple.

I

Now our bright joy 'gins to appear,
And the white Boy Cupid comes near:
Unto Juno's Altar we run,
Where you know what's to be done
Bright Hymen in glory before them doth go,
In season with reason to make one of two.

II

May you never meet with those woes
Which may sever your hands when they close;
May blisses fall from above,
And kisses keep you in love:
May all you can wish, or good Heaven can give,
Present ye with Plenty so long as you live.

Second Song at Dinner.

I

Now the Board is filled with Plenty,
And the Wine runs round the room,
Eat and drink what Jove hath sent ye,
Joy like this doth seldome come.

II

Fill us off the sprightly Claret,
And let every one beside
Drink it free, and roundly share it
To the Bridegroom and the Bride.

III

Now me thinks the roof is reeling,
And the very sky looks blew,

Every Virgin hath a feeling,
What the Bride must undergo,
Every Lady would be willing,
But to do as she must do.

The third Song at their preparation to Bed.

Welcome gentle night
Thou bring'st all delight,
When thy sable Curtain spreads
Upon the melting mirth of marriage Beds.
Here those joys are free,
Which no eye may see
But the Bridegroom and the Bride,
Between the twilight and the morning-tide.
In Cupids Bushes.
They hide their Blushes.
This Battel breeds no scar,
Such sights as these
Did sweetly please,
The Queen of Pleasure, and the God of War.
When this is doing,
There ends the Wooing,
I will no further pry
What more I know,
I dare not show,
Each Lover here can tell as well as I.

On three Gentlemen that did accidentally meet in a Tavern, all black men, and every mans name John Crow.

Three (birds by accident) all met together
That never met before, Birds of a feather:
All of a Name too, if you did but call
Gently upon John Crow, ye nam'd them all.
A Trinity of Crows, a very riddle,
John Crow is first, and last and in the middle:
John Crow doth wear six legs, six hands, three faces,
And (at one time) is in three several places:
Yet in the royal and more noble part,
They were but one (videlicet) one heart;
Such as did all rebellious birds detest,
And paid true homage to the Eagles nest.
These Crows do roost in Churches, and could nere
Endure the Rooks that built at Westminster.
No City Ravens, nor old country Dawes,
That flutterd and cry'd out the Cause, the Cause;
But in a word, to have the the truth exprest,
They are three birds, that scorn to foul their nest,
Nor need they fear cold in the sharpest weather,
If every late pluckt bird, own had his feather.

Orthography.

How can such men be innocent that spell
Reason with T. and write God with an L.

An Acrostick on the Names of Mr. Timothy Steevenson, and Mr. Francis Jordan.

True hearts united under-neath one roof,
Excludes all ill, and makes them mischief-prooF
In union, all sorts of Virtues are:
Love is the bond of Peace, and strength of WaR
Mars must use Love, as well as Martial Law,
If ever England gain AmericA
Order, guide all your consultations, then
Zealous affection makes ye happy meN
The World is false, the Bonds of friendship crack,
And Amity her self is on the RaC
How happy then, are those few friends that be
Bound to each other in FidelitI
You two are such, may all that Love profess
Expresse their hearts towards you to be no lesS
Sincerity and Secresie comply,
To keep your firm and lasting AmitI
The greatest strength, division hath brought low
Heaven wer't not for Union would be sO
Emperours, Kings, Princes, all Powers that are,
Totter to pieces in a Civil WaR
Envy doth then grow fat, when she can tread
Upon the Limbs of a divided heaD
Vse but these Contemplations, and you may
Count your selves richer then all AffricA
Excuse my rugged Counsel, you are Men
Know better guides to lead you, then my PeN
Nothing that may disturb your Peace appear,
Suspicion-like, to put your thoughts in fear:
One bond contain ye, and may false misprision
Never have any power to work division:
Hearts (like the Flint and Steel) each other strike,
And Need Not Err, But Each Doth Each Love Like:
They Love for Love, that's a true Lovers action,
Such as the Cause is, such the Satisfaction.

A Panigerick

Composed on the meritorious Name of the most accomplished Mr. GEORGE SLAUGHTER.

Greatness and goodness that but seldom do
Enter into one man, are both in you;
One single heart, at one time doth inherit
(Rightfully to) one great, and oue good spirit:
Graceful in all your actions, you are what
Every gallant man should imitate.

Slaughter and Mercy in one Man agree,
Love mixt with strength, valour with curtesie:
And may you nere be thought a Ladies friend
Unless you use them to a noble end:
Go forth and prosper, may you alwayes be
Happy in Love; and in Hostilitie.
Truth guide your will, Reality your thought,
Errors in Love and Loyalty are naught:
Return victorious, and may nothing prove
Repugnant to your Valour and your Love

On Love.

Hhe that endures the rack of Loves desire
Doth fry in frost, and he doth freeze in fire.

On Womens Love.

In these extremities most Women move,
Rack where they hate, and cloy men where they love

On a little Gentleman and one Mr. Story that quarreld in the street.

The little man, by tother mans vain-glory,
It seems was roughly us'd, so saies the Story.
But being a little heated, and high blown
In anger, flyes on Story, plucks him down:
And when they rise, I know not how it fated,
One got the worst, the Story was translated
From white to red, but ere the fight was ended
It seemes a Gentleman that one befriended
Came in and parted them. The little blade
Ther's no man could desire or yet perswade
But he would fight still, till another came
And with perswasions counsel'd 'gainst the same.
'Twas in this manner, friend you shall not fight
With one that's so unequal to your height,
Story is tall, the tother made reply,
I'de pluck him down were he three stories high.

On Ben. Johnson and a Country man.

Ben. Johnson in a Tavern once began
Rudely to talk to a plain Country man.
And thus it was, Thou dull laborious Moyle
That I beleeve wert made for nought but toyle;
For every Acre of thy Land I have
Twenty of wit: Such Acres Sir, are brave,
Replyed the Country man: What great Mistakers
Have we been of your wealth, Mr. Wise Acres.

A POEM COMMENDATORY, To the incomparable Pattern of inimitable Perfection,

Mrs. ELIANOR ENGLEFIELD Sister unto the justly honoured, Sir Francis Englefield, Baronet.

Madam,

Your Merit at this minute raises
My Pen to paint the Picture of your Praises;
And 'tis most fit some good hand should hold forth,
Their virtues who are modest in their worth;
For he whose wary eys shal look upon
Your features with examination,
May easily discern as many charms
As theirs that are lock'd in great Princes Arms:
I do not say your Eys are Stars, or that
Your Lip and Cheek are to be wondred at;
Nor that your Alablaster Brow and Breast,
Out-shine the Snow, out-scent the Phœnix nest:
But that in every part of you doth move,
Something for every one to fall in Love:
That man which would all female feature view,
Hath lost his eyes that finds it not in you:
Love leads you by the hand, and your fair youth,
Knows nothing but what's relative to truth:
Imperial innocence in either eye,
Declares whole volumes of divinity:
Such looks as yours would make a Poet grow
Fluent and chast but love in Folio:

Arts are your honourers, the Wise do sip
Sententious sweetnesse from your sacred Lip:
Beauty and Grace, the onely perfect path
Of Love and Honour your perfection hath:
Excuse my language, Madam, for your high
Deservings are above all flattery:
Truth fills me with these praises, you excel
In merit more then I can write or tell:
Heaven inspire you, may the crowned crue
Of Cherubims for ever wait on you;
Faith fils your frame it shews where ere you pass
Transparent as a Lilly clos'd in Glass:
Opinions not your rule, what ere you see,
Is through the Opticks of pure Piety:
Wisdome with true Religion is your Law,
And kept like the Decrees in Persia,
Knowing no alteration: May the bright
Beams of eternal glory be your light;
Eternal joys dwell with you: May you do
Nothing but what your Maker prompts you to:
Noble intentions, guide your thoughts, and may
No evill meet you till your Funeral day:
As you are blest with Beauty, so may you
Be faithfull where you find a Servant true:
Love is a Princely Passion, if it be
Accommodated with Fidelity:
Constancy Crowns all Union, if that Virtue
Knit a firm knot, falshood can never hurt you.
Excuse these rude expressions, what I do
Madam! your fair deserts invite me to.

An Elegy and Epitaph,

Sacred to the immortal memory of that deplored, and unparallel'd Lady, The Lady Mary Roper. Lately a Loyal Wife to the Right Honourable Christopher Lord Roper, Baron of Tenham, and Sister to the Worshipfull, Sir Francis Englefield, Baronet.

Who in her prime of Youth, Beauty, and Virtue, Cancel'd the Bonds of her Creation, by exchanging this Temporal Life, for Eternal Felicity.

The Elegy.

Take heed good Reader, for unlesse thy eyes
Are fitted to become a Sacrifice,
This is no Object for thy sight: We have
Emptied a Sea of Sorrow in one Grave:
She is deceas'd in whose bright Soul did move,
All that good men admire and Angels love;
To whose bright eyes more lustre did resort,
Then would illuminate a Princes Court:
Whose Beauty, though in yon Celestial Sphere,
Cannot, be sure, much brighter then 'twas here:
Fair as unshaded light, or as the day
In its first birth, when all the year was May;
Sweet as the Altars smoak when as it flies,
In zeal from an accepted Sacrifice;
Fragrant as Beds of Roses, or the blew
Violet whose veins swel with the morning dew.

Kind as the willing Saints and chaster far
Then in their Prayers forgiven Hermits are:
In brief, she had whatever was call'd good
That wore the interest of flesh and blood;
You'd say (had you this beauty look'd upon)
The Soul had then her best apparel on.
Reader, I see thy Tears begin to fall,
Therefore this brevity shall shut up all;
For fear thou flow from hence (in a Spring-tide)
To Heaven to be further satisfi'de:
Yet ere thou dri'st thy eyes, prithee vouchsafe
With reverend care to read her Epitaph.

The Epitaph.

Here grows a Plant, whose fertile root doth even
Extend its branches to the height of Heaven:
So sweet a flower it bears for sight and touch;
That God's own Garden, is compos'd of such:
Eden was beautifull, but this bright Stem
Reaches the Walls of new Jerusalem;
Chaplets of such sweet Flowers transplanted there
Redeemed Saints, and mighty Martyrs were:
Arch-Angels sing to see her second birth,
Yield such occasion to advance their mirth:
Farewell fair innocent, may every Reader
Onely desire to follow such a Leader:
Rest in thy joy, whilest we with many a tear,
Do grieve cause thou art gone, and we are here.

FINIS.