University of Virginia Library

To Mr. Thomas Jordan on his Fancies.

To his Friend the Author Mr. Thomas Jordan, on his Varieties.

I must not Iordan passe, though the waves glide
with equall favour of the winde and tide:
Nor for the land will I forsake the streames,
On whose brow danceth flowrie Anadems.
But every limbe bathing in fresh delight,
Quicken the bravery of my appetite,
I scud amid'st the Curles, and with my palme,
Stroake the delicious waters in a calme,
Whose vertues are more powerfull in their birth,
Then all the distillations of the earth;
To sip of this from Cupids hollow hand,
Creates effects more strange then dart, or brand:
Quaffe Candid Reader, but dull clots be gone,
For Iordan's waters, are pure Helicon.

On my Friend and adopted sonne Mr. Thomas Jordan the Infant-Poet of our Age.

POETICALL VARIETIES.

A Gentleman in love with twenty Mistresses.

I prethee leave me love, goe place desire
In those cold hearts that ne're felt Am'rous fire,
Or let me be thy Martyr, let me burne
Till I am nought but ashes, and my urne
Translated to some common Spicerie,
May serve thee more then thy Artillerie.
Coy Madams tasting me in their hot spice,
Shall feele more flames then all the learn'd advice
Of Esculapius can alay, though he
Descend from Heaven to teach new Mystery;
If this may not be granted, let me crave
As many hearts as flames, then shall I have
A multitude of fayre-ones; Then I may
Enjoy my Rosa, spend the Am'rous day
Within her armes, and at the night retire
To Violetta, quench another fire
In her cold bosome, but ere day doth rise
Salute the Morne in my Aurora's eyes:
There like to an Idolater ile gaze
Till my Honoria rids me of the maze
And draws me to her Bower, where having spent
Some heavenly houres, ile finde out Millescent
(That wonder of perfection) we two,
Can teach the Turtles what they ought to doe;
With kisses moyst her Ruby lips ile cover.
But then Castara sayes doe not love her;
Who with a witty sweete indulgent smile
Tells me I doe forget her all this while.
Then doe I kisse and study to excuse,
But yet am strait instructed by my Muse.
Bellara wants me, theres a minde as faire
And beautifull as all the other Are:
In their externall features, such a one
Might have perswaded desperate Phaeton,
To have forsooke his Chariot; her I love
Next to my Beades, till Fancy bids me prove
My chast Eliza, in her Virgin brest,
Lyes farre more worth then Poets have exprest.
In painting out Pandora, I confesse
I honour her as I doe happinesse;
But not like my belov'd Beata, shee
Can give instructions to Mortalitie,
How we may scape Hells fatall fire and come,
To (loves blest Paradise) Elizium;
Except Thalia (one as faire and kind)
Perswad's us to be of another minde;
Makes us beleeve Elizium is a place
But feign'd unlesse it be in her embrace.
Where I could ever rest, thence never part
Would Eglentina send me backe my heart,
Yet such sweete chaines of love shee binds it in,
That should I thinke to loose, twould be a sin
To great for Absolution, I must rest
Untill Dulcella (not more faire then blest)
Please for to give release, in her it lyes
To make me hug my owne deare perjuries;
And yet shee knowes Ambrosia being by
I can neglect her and her potencie.
Ambrosia can conduct my happy feete
To Columbina (shee that is more sweet
Then natures perfum'd violet) he that knowes
Her sweetnesse, as I doe, will say the Rose
Breaths but contagion, yet Candora shall
Maintaine though shee be sweet, shee has not all
Kind nature did bestow, for in her brest
Arabiahs, and the chast Phænix nest.
Must I though lose Fidelia and deny
My faith to Anabella, let me dye
When I remember not the sacred love
Twixt me and my Musea; The fond Dove
Affects not like Lucella, they are all
So faire, so sweet I know not which to call
My best or happiest, for unhappy I,
Must love but one of all, or by love dye;
Ile leave all therefore, and my selfe encline
To court Vrania, shees a love divine.

A Gentleman's deploration for his Mistresse, falling from Vertue.

Patience , inhabit humble soules; extend
Thy passive power to those whose sorrowes end;
Mine are eternall, powerfull, and immense;
Such as may teach thee wrath fond Patience;
Ixion's wheele is easie, and the stone
Sissiphus rowles he doth but sleepe upon,
Compar'd to mine; The greatnesse of my wrongs
Would want Oration, though an hundred tongues
Guided by fluent Orators, should dare
In thrifty speech but briefly to declare;
They would destroy all Memories, all Sence,
And drive all Language from Intelligence.
Thou that art rich in sorrow, and canst sweare
Thou hast more then Mortality can beare.
Attend, and give me audience, I will shew
Thy quaking sense what thou shalt feare to know;
Thou wilt beleeve (if I at large declare)
Sorrow hath tane her dwelling in thy Eare.
And thinke thou mayst with lesser patience
Endure thy wrongs, than give mine audience.
Felina's falen from vertue; shees acute
In learned Levitie, turn'd Prostitute.
I lov'd her dearely, while her eyes were pure,
While she blush'd innocent, and kiss'd to cure.
When smiles were modest ensignes, while her breath,
Carried more balme then poyson, life then death;
When shee weep'd honest greefe; and I did see,
Her Salutations were humilitie;
Then was shee perfect Virgin; then did I
Contract my heart to this Idolatry.
Her eyes doe now looke glorious, but to tell
Vnhappy man, the fairest way to Hell.
Shee blushes now for guilt, smiles to doe ill,
Breath's but to poyson, kisses but to kill;
Weep's to ensnare, salut's but to destroy,
Flatters to ceaze, imbraceth to betray;
Betrayes to get no profit, or renowne,
But falls her selfe, to plucke another downe.
Oh false Felina, must your beautie be
Expos'd to Incest, and Adulterie.
You are a Whore, and tis the choysest name
That he will render, who first caus'd your shame;
Sometimes you are his Mistresse, when his lust
Hath itching Feavers, and must take on trust,
But having done hee loaths ye, nay will sweare,
Tis you that made him turne Adulterer.
Perhaps youle then repent and thinke on me,
(That onely priz'd you for your puritie)
Resolve to be reserv'd, and never looke
Vpon (that dangerous forbidden Book)
Incontinence. Then doth another come,
Who gives your penitence a Martyrdome,
Whom you embrace with such an appetite,
As if you had beene kept from your delight
An age of houres; you deities (that see
Such shipwrack made of divine puritie)
Lend me your perfect patience, or I feare
My sorrow will become my murtherer,
Release me of the contract that I vow'd
Vnto Felina; Let her not be proud
Of my undoing too, that I may beare
My sorrowes like a man, and let my care
Be to admonish those that meane to wed,
No path so full of danger man can tread,
Let not fraile beauty, (thats the rode we passe;
Be much ador'd; faire my Felina was.
Let not your Mistresse wealth or wit surprize,
For faire Felina was both rich and wise.
And let not blushes Ladies vertues tell,
Felina was once Chast, and yet shee fell.

To his Mistrisse Philonella, being at her Looking-glasse.

My sweetest Philonella, turne away
From that Angelick figure, lest you pay
An adoration to your shade; your eye
May win an Hermit to Idolatrie.
Admit your soule be better guarded, know
I have still cause for doubt, lest some rash vow
(Made in an amrous extasie) should tye
Your selfe to your faire shade eternally,
Which heaven defend, when you bring this to passe.
Be kind you powers, translate me to her glasse,
That when the currall creatures come to give
Their daily tribute to me, I may live
The glory of a lover, and enjoy
More kisses then Adonis (Mirrhas boy)
Oh but some danger will pursue this blisse
Love is a feeding Feaver, and each kisse
Creats another appetite, Alas
I shall become your beauties burning glasse.
Sad lovers will relate, (should you expire)
Narcissus dyed by water, you by fire,
Both for one Amorous folly; yet (as he
Is now a Flower) could you a Phœnix be,
And I the sweete Arabian tree, so blest
With the rich treasure of your spicie nest;
Most willingly I should desire the blisse,
Of so divine a Metamorphosis.
Apollo sure would leave his Daphnean tree,
(With Lyrick Ayres) to keepe us company.
But these are fancies, leave your glasse, I vow,
You are to me a better Phœnix now.

To Clora a farewell, once his coy Mistresse.

Clora farewell, you may be cruell now
And keepe the never-violated vow
You made unto your goddesse; I am free
As the great Monarch, whose large Emperie
Containes a thousand Regions, I can sit
Viewing your beauty, yet betray my wit
Vnto no greater folly; I can say
Your cheekes are Iuly Roses, and the day
Borrowes its radiant lustre from your eyes,
And yet retaine my owne; I can be wise;
I doe disdaine the power that made me turne
Apostata to reason; and doe burne
With a devoute vexation, I should spend
My pretious time to such a thriftlesse end
As to be your Admirer, therefore when
You shall dispute the follies of yongmen,
Let me intreate you, (though it raise your fame
High as Diana's selfe) you will not name
Me'mongst your captiv'd servants, lest that I
Ruine that fame, and you repenting dye.

To Leda his coy Bride, on the Bridall Night.

A Paradox on his Mistresse, who is cole Blacke, Blinde, Wrinckled, Crooked and Dumbe.

A Dialogue betwixt Castadorus and Arabella in bed.

Arabella
Deare Castadorus let me rise
Aurora gins to leere me,
Shee tells me I doe wantonize,

Castadorus.

Arabella.
Nay fye, why Castadorus.

Castadorus.
What, Arabella can one night
Of loving dalliance tyre yee?
I could lye ever (if I might).
One houre let me desire yee.

Arabella.
Fy, fy, you hurt me, let me goe
If you so roughly use me,
What can I say, or thinke of you;
I prethee (Love) excuse me.

Castadorus.
Thy beauty and my love defend
I should ungently move thee,
Tis kisses (sweete) that I intend,
Is it not I that love thee?

Arabella.

To his faithlesse Mistresse Vxoria.

Where was I, when I cald my mistresse faire
As the bright East (when clouds dispersed are
To the vast North) how did I grossely erre,
When (rashly confident) I durst preferre
Her vertue boye Dianas! when we met,
Why did I thinke the coole lip't Violet
Kiss'd not more chastly sweet, or did suppose
Her cheekes begat a colour in the rose!
But (worst of all) what madnesse Seaz'd my sence
When I conceiv'd her craft, pure innocence!
Yee men of happy soules, (I meane) that be
Vnblasted with the breath of perjurie
Proceeding from fraile woman; keepe ye so,
Or you will finde, earth cannot beare a foe
So full of killing mischeife; all that prove
Embrace their ruine, and yet call it love.
Oh in what Chaos did that Caytiffe dwell,
That taught the Age so good a word for Hell!
Because your Mistresse eyes starrelike appeare,
Will you blaspheming cry that Heaven's there?
Tis melancholly madnesse, and Ile prove
You are seduc'd by sorcery not love,
Her heart is deepe perdition; can her eye
Retaine one part of Heaven, Hell so nigh?
I am experienc'd, read your Fate in me,
Let Adam's tasting the excluded tree
Worke feare in you; good Angels tongues forbid
That you should lose your Eden as we did.
Women have subtle slights, theile tell ye then,
What Evah lost, Mary restor'd agen,
Producing all her virgin purity
To be their honour, though impiety
Distracted into Arrogance, and lust
Engrosse their soules and bodies, yet they must
In the blacke booke of their lives fatall story
Write for their owne, the Virgin Maries glory.
Such false Vxoria is, but if there be
A woman Phœnix let her pardon me,
Shee was excluded, when shee knowes my wrong,
I know sheele be too just to blame my tongue,
And thus conceive, what vertue can he finde
In any woman, hath his owne unkind?

To her perjur'd Love Maritus, her dishonorer.

Oh my undoing faith, now I repent
My hope ere gave my charity consent
To be thy love Maritus, couldst thou spy
Within the Sphere of my transparant eye
One Cupid loosely revell to invite
Thy soule to so unchast an appetite
That for its satisfaction I must dye,
Kild in my inocence by perjury?
Oh false Maritus I have heard you tell
That in my eyes two purer Cherub's dwell,
Then those that guard Elizium; and my lip
So chastly coole, that should a Letcher sip,
He might convert to Angell; my hands touch
To a more guilty person doe as much.
What worser thing are you, these vertues can
Convert them Angells, and not you to man;
Have you a soule? do you beleeve it must
(When to some urne you have resign'd your dust)
Have any residence? doe you not feele
In your wide conscience, that Ixions wheele
The Poets paint for Morall, yet agree
To take his torment as one worse then he?
Repent, sigh, weepe (Maritus) your wilde youth
Hath murther'd innocence, and wounded truth
Whilst I stand my owne statue, and my eyes
Write this in teares—
HERE MY DEAD HONOR LYES.

A vow to his inestimable Mistresse.

By the two Rosie blushes that did move
In your chaste cheekes when I reveal'd my love,
By those Favonian sighs whose gentle calme
Perfum'd the Ayre sweet, as Iudean balme,
By those two Ruby Portalls, that disclose
Two Hemispheres of Pearle, contriv'd to pose
The yet amaz'd beholder, by your eyes,
Brighter to me then Titan when he flyes
Over Arabian mountaines ere his heate
Doth cause the toyling rurall Negro sweate
Vnder his spicy burthen, by your haire,
Which pardon sweetest if I terme a snare
To catch a Cupid in, and falling low
Into your bosome where the banks of Poe
Shew nurseryes of Lillies, I protest
With a chast kisse upon your virgin brest
(Love's sacred register of vowes) in thee
My love and life hath chose eternity;
Yet take my countervow this zealous kisse
I will be true—so Angels meete their blisse.

A Dialogue betweene Icarus and surprized Phillida.

Phil.
Pretty sweete one looke on me
Faine I would thy captive be,
Bound by thee is libertie.

Icar.
Be not so unkindly wise
For your lookes will bribe my eyes
To divulge where my heart lyes.

Phil.
If they doe, thou needst not feare,
By my innocence I sweare,
Ile but place another there.

Icar.
Thats my feare I dare not prove
Nor my resolution move,
Cause I know you are in love.

Phil.

Loves progresse.

Love is my honest character; I am
The child of a faire mother, and I came
From yon' celestiall Pallace, to surround
This universe, I did so, and have found
My deity ador'd by all, I was
Their onely Genius; brought all acts to passe;
I enter'd a great Citty where I spy'd
A fourescore Bridegroome and a sixteene Bride,
Going to Hymens Temple, though her eye
Look'd but disdainefull of his Gravity
(Shee was compeld) I pittying the wrong
Shot a sharpe shaft, shee lov'd, and he grew young;
This was my first effectuall worke and then
I met a venerable Cittizen,
A Vsurer, well troubled with the strife
Of worldly cares, and yet without a wife;
I made him wed his maide, and breake his store
For pious uses, to maintaine the poore.
I interrupted (next) the serious Muse
Of a sad Student, busy to peruse
The hearts of mineralls, who let gold flye
To purchase glasse, and practise Alchimy;
I did infuse a Quintessence that made
My wise Philosopher mistake his trade,
Dazeld his fancy so, that he did spie
Faces and lips in his Philosophie;
Sweete Roseat blushes, smiles, choyse locks of hayre,
Soft fingers, and such eyes as women weare;
When all was perfected in every part
A Lady was th'Elixir of his Art.
Love is a Courtier (too) I went to Court,
There did I see a generall resort
Of royall persons, Dukes, Earles, Lords and Knights,
Each one his Lady, and most choyce delights
Vshering their pompe; the Virgin Ladies (too)
Frequent that Senat, who prepare to doe
Their amrous rites to love; the youthfull squires
Neglect no office that may keepe the fyers
Of Cupid ever burning; yet mongst these
Diana had a vestall did displease
My angry soule; shee was a virgin faire
As lovely Psyche; in her trameld haire
Hung pretious Diamonds, yet might you spie
No lustre in them, cause her eyes were by,
And to reveale her fully, I durst sweare
I had beheld another Venus there.
This Lady was belov'd ador'd and sought
By a rich heyre, (that as much vertue brought
As shee had beauty) in whose soule did move
The divine graces, yet he was in love
With this coy peece of Ladyship; but shee
Contemn'd as much, now note the destinie,
I could not brooke her humour, but did burne
With hot vexation; which did suddaine turne
To royall madnesse, and in zealous rage
I made him wed a Countesse, shee a Page.
Thus did I traverse earth, and now am come
To rest my tyr'd limbs in Elizium.

To his most excellent Mistresse, Avis Booth.

Melpomene , forget thou art a Muse
Or in thy tragicke braine a juice infuse
May keepe thee sleeping, let Thalia bring
From greene Parnassus, plenty of that spring
Inspires our Laureat Lovers; could I prayse
Lov'd Avis to her worth, I might weare Bayes
Throwne from faire Daphne's armes bedew'd with teares,
For greefe all others are her ravishers.
Who but beholds her cheekes and not supposes
December to be Iune, there live such Roses;
Here would I rest, should I ascend her eyes,
Tis fear'd my owne would be their sacrifice;
Ile leave particulars lest I should wrong
Those that must nere enjoy her, if my tongue
(Made eloquent by her) could but declare
Each beauty fully, love and sad despaire
Would execute all hearers, there would be
A civill warre twixt faith and Piety;
Since sheele breed ruine if I should discover
Ile draw the Curtaines close; but let no lover
Compare his Mistresse to her, lest that I
Describe at large, and he by surfeit dye,
Such vertue hath her beauty, for shee is
A Rara Avis, and my faire Mistrisse.

Achrostick to his Mistresse.

A Gentleman desirous to have his Lady's Picture drawne, describes her thus.

Ingenious Artist teach thy Pencill how
To paint a goddesse, I would let thee know
I have a Mistresse thy admired Art
Must limne like my description; doe no start
If I command a worke above thy skill
And send thee once more to Parnassus hill
To heare Thalia's Lectures; have you seene
The lovely feature of the Cyprian Queene,
Her cheekes resemble somewhat; though each Rose
In her's seemes pluckt, and my Aurelia's growes;
Yet they may passe; the Lillyes that doe stand
Upon her breasts, tells you my Mistresse hand
Is patterne to their whitenesse; let her eyes
Not want that heavenly vertue to surprize
Onely my heart, let them be lov'd by none
Whose glories are to captive every one.
Tis onely my ambition for to be
Fit for my Mistresse, and shee fit for me.
But to my first description; for those haires
Adorne her head, paint them Diana weares;
And let her forehead not inferior be
To that which shewes great Iuno's majestie,
Let those two Rosy portalls, that I call
Her ruby lippes, be but so magicall
As his her owne, so sweet, so balmie made,
Sure I shall leave the substance for the shade.
If you thinke these Enigma's and that I
Strive but to pose you with my Poetry;
Making an argument you never saw
Such goddesses fayn'd by Poetick law:
I answer such divine powers you shall see
Get but a Mistresse, be in love (like me)

Chaste Love sitting under a Grove of yong Bay-trees, is thus solicited by Lust.

Love.

What a Whore is.

Nature's unhappy workemanship; if Faire
So much the worse, all mischiefes doubled are:
If Modest, ther's a hell in her intent,
Shee kills secure, when shee seemes innocent:
If coy and nice, take heede, it is a slight,
Shee useth but to strengthen Appetite:
If witty, in her power more dangers lye,
Shee'le give you Logick for Adultery,
Prove lust legitimate; at last beguile
Your easy sense with a deluding smile,
More subtle then her Logick; in such wayes
Shee spends her pretious nere returning dayes.
(The glory of her youth) And (which is worse)
Had shee Helena's beauty, yet the curse,
Of Strumpets will attend her; sicknesse seases
Her over-charged body, and diseases,
Will understand no Phisicke, but prepare
Her limbes for earth, ere a repentant Prayer
Can cherish her lost soule; Thus shee defloure's
Her living kindred and dead ancestors
Of all their fertile fame, so buried lyes,
A pittifull example to the wise;
But those whom shee abus'd in life will laugh
Her finall fall, and curse an Epitaph.

An abused Man: Quasi, a Cuccold.

Yee Gods that lend me Patience, tell me why
My guiltlesse fame (pure as your Piety)
Must suffer for its innocence; can fate
For vertuous men such ills predestinate:
Ist not enough you have confin'd my life
To the loath'd prison of an unchast wife;
Extinguish'd Hymens Tapers, and bespread
With Ewe and Cypresse my poore nuptiall bed,
But I must suffer the injurious wrong
And Contumelie of each idiots tongue,
Take the reproach of him (perhaps) that thrives
In his warme Plush by nought else but his wives
(Thrice bought) adultery, yet such as he
Must on my Patience brand his Calumny:
Teach wiser men, and such as know the price
Of a chast wife, It is a Paradise
All candid soules enjoy not, if they doe,
Yee are unjust, my merits claime one (too)
But I repent my rage, conceive agen
The reason why you punish vertuous men;
To make it in their suffering appeare
They must attend, their heaven is not here;
Yet tell my rude abusers onely this,
Not my unkindnesse causeth her amisse,
Nor is it poverty my torment brings,
For such as mine may be the fate of Kings.

Lust loseth all.

Lvst (The hot mother of unchast desires,
Blacke spotted feavers and destroying fires)
I must take breath to curse yee, for I see
My ruine will be perfected by thee,
Why do men call thee love, when as no hate
Retaine's a Plague, maks man more desperate:
Thou rob'st him of all honour, mak'st his name
Become the onely title of a shame;
Oh may thy fawning falsehood nere have rest
Within the confine's of a noble brest.
All the choice vertues, that I ere could boast
My soule enjoy'd, insatiate lust hath lost:
Religion bid me first farewell, for I
Behold no beauty in Divinity;
Then wisedome left the mansion of my minde
To follie's trust (who never was enclin'd
Vnto chast lawes) I did not wisedome misse,
Wealth can obtaine a lustfull Mistresse:
But soone as wisedome from my soule did slide,
Reason remov'd and bad me seeke a guide,
Which thus I did, my present fancy flyes
Vnto the daylight of my Mistresse eyes,
Which being darken'd by divine decree,
I lost my way, and was as blind as shee:
But when Religion, Wisedome, Reason went,
Faith left me (too) and with a firme consent
Her sister Hope did follow, both agree
To heaven to transport kind charity;
Love lost his labour in me, for unjust
I did convert his civill lawes to lust.
Honor declin'd, saying it is not right
Man should be servant to his appetite:
Manhood exild himselfe and would not owne
Me nor my acts, I was all Woman growne.
Who thinks I am no loser? who will say
Hee's not undone that hath no more to play?
Let no man then expose his life and fame
He must needs lose, the divells in the game;
He that buyes pleasure at so deare a price
Obtaine's an apple to lose Paradise.

A Dialogue betwixt Adversus and his Mistresse the Lady Contra.

Adver.
Fayre Contra, in the bosome of yon shade
Remaynes a soft repose, by nature made
To give your beauty welcome, tis a Bower
Solicited by every fragrant Flower
Nurs'd in this Rosy Province, shall I crave
I may conduct you to it, (sweete) I have
A gentle story to reveale, so deare
Vnto my selfe, that none but your chast eare
May heare the petty volume, be but pleas'd
To fit and heare and my desire is eas'd.

Contra.

Adver.
Oh the blind curse of lovers it doth make
Man become Idiot for his mistresse sake,
But I disdaine the taske and let you know
(Your superficiall fayre-one) that I bow
No to the feature of your femall kind,
But to a brest enrich'd with a faire minde;
If yours be so, I love you, but if not,
My love (like to my story) is forgot:
Must I become a Zane, laugh and toy,
Your ever-losing favour to enjoy;
Doth your wise Ladiship conceit it fit,
I should implore the vertue of your wit
With idle mirth, reserv'd for wanton guests,
Or must I plead my marriage love in jests?
Tis a severe conjunction that doth tye
Two soules in one unto eternity,
And requires serious wisedome, such as may
Keepe the knot tyed more then the marriage day;
Perhaps you are engag'd, your heart doth dwell
Within anothers, love him then—farewell.

Contra Sola.
Thus Virgins sport away their loves, thus I
Have at one blast lost more felicity
Then many Queenes can boast, some pittying fate
Contrive a meanes I may be fortunate
In his lov'd love agen, Oh be so kind
To render me the object of his minde;
If your strickt Canons this request deny,
And that your sentence tells me I must dye
For my transgression, I no mourners crave,
But let some Zane laugh me to my grave;
No Epitaph be writ nor yet a stone
With this Inscription, Heere lies buried One,
Lest my lost Love should come, and when he spies
My Sepulcher with pitty lose his eyes.

Rara Avis in terr is nigroque Similima Cigno.

Flye, flye my nimble Genius round about
The peopled world, find me this Riddle out,
There is much doubt int, to the City flye
Amongst the Femall Beauties, where each eye
Begets a gazing admiration; there
Chuse me a young Wench that doth know shees faire,
Who in Thought, Word, and Deed is chast, and yet
Hath beene thrice tempted by Wealth, Worth and Wit.
In the same City doe the best you can
By narrow search, to spye me out a Man
Wedded to Femall follies, yet shall be
The Cities Lord Major for his Gravity.
Repaire to Court, you shall a Lady see
Deck'd like Aurora in choice Bravery,
Winne her from those delights, see if you can
Perswade her Ladiship turne Puritan.
Perchance shee hath a husband, one that is
Of youthfull mettall, can Dance, Sing, and Kisse,
Court amorous Ladies, is compleatly faire,
That owes to Art for a large crispy haire.
Produce him (too) he with the rest may passe
If he did nere behold a Looking-Glasse,
Take Cart and to the Country goe with speede,
Where Clownes, Cowes, Calfes, Sheepe, and fat Oxen feede,
Perswade some great Corne-master, that hath bin
A Grand Offender in the thriving Sin
Of Transportation; onely to refraine
That thrifty course, and give his Country Graine,
Bid his Old wife forsake her Country tongue,
And trade in Complement, tell her shees young;
If you can make her leave her Country Iigge,
Shave off her Haire and weare a Periwigge,
Bring her, and all the rest, I dare say than
I have as Rare a Bird, as your blacke Swan.

To his Mistris Elizabeth Brooke.

Elizabeth inspire me, then I shall
Write nought obscene, but Beauty, Vertue all.
There was a Queene of whom Fames tongue can tell
Cald Vertue Servant, shee did all Excell,
Durst call themselves Elizabeth; to me,
Methinkes you keepe her still in Memorie,
Did I not thinke you chaste, as is the Snow
Girt in Diana's girdle, faire one know
I could not court you, though your beauty might
Play the faire thiefe, and steale me at first sight,
I should affect no longer then I gaz'd:
Beauty and Vertue both make Soules amaz'd
Be you my Brooke, my shadow, and I vow
Like fond Narcissus to kisse none but you,
And in that christall Rivolet, your Eye
Bury my Sight, my Selfe—tis life to dye.

A Dialogue betwixt Fidelius and his Silent Mistris Flora.

Fide.
My dearest Flora can you love me.

Flo.
Prethee prove me.

Fide.
Shall I have your hand to kisse.

Flo.
Yes, yes.

Fide.
On this whitenesse let me sweare.

Flo.
No pray forbeare.

Fide.
I love you dearer then my eyes.

Flo.
Be wise.

Fide.
I prize no happinesse like you.

Flo.
Will you be True.

Fide.
As is the Turtle to her Mate.

Flo.
I hate—

Fide.
Who my Divinest Flora, me.

Flo.
No, flatterie.

Fide.
He that flatters, may he dye.

Flo.
Perpetually.

Fide.
And his blacke Vrne be the cell.

Flo.
Where furies dwell.

Fide.
May his Name be blasphemous.

Flo.
To us.

Fide.
His Memory for ever Rot.

Flo.
And be forgot.

Fide.
Least it keepe our age and youth.

Flo.
From Love and Truth.

Fide.
Thus upon your Virgin hand.

Flo.
Your Vowes shall stand.

Fide.
This kisse confirmes my Act and Deed.

Flo.
You may exceed.

Fide.
Your Hand, your Lippe, Ile vow on both

Flo.
A dangerous oath.

Fide.
My Resolution nere shall start,

Flo.
You have my heart.

A Ladies Complaint for the losse of her Love Theodorus.

Lend me thy Arrowes Cupid, teach me how
To weare thy Quiver and to bend thy Bow,
Shew me that Shaft in which a Power doth lye
To make man chastly Love eternally;
I have my eyes faire Boy with which Ile find
The marke that thou wilt misse, las, thou art blind,
I See too much, and wish I could not see,
Lesse I had power my bondage for to free
Or bind another; Theodorus then
Should be my honour'd Prisoner once agen,
Did I appeare so worthlesse, is my face
So poorely barren of the Female Grace
Which Courts our Amorous youth, that I must be
The Subject of a mans Inconstancy,
What though there be no Cupids in my Eyes,
Plac'd to make Erring Love idolatrize,
What though the Roses in my Cheekes doe faint,
And I disdaine with an Adulterate paint
To Adde a Sinnefull Beauty, my chaste minde
Shall cast a lustre when all eyes are blind,
That might have made my Theodorus Love
With divine Loyalty, and constant proove,
For Love that's onely fixed in faire Eyes
And fading Colours, with their downefall dyes
Beleeve me Theodorus, I divine,
(Though thou art gone, and the sad losse is mine)
Thou wilt not be a winner; Oh take heede
Women are gilded follies, that exceed
A gluttons Riot, Men doe oft refuse
(For Beauties sake) though they unchastly chuse,
If they be beautiously faire, can that
Secure their Mindes from Thoughts adulterate,
And should they lose their Honour, can they then
With all their Beauties fetch it backe agen,
But be your owne adviser, let not me
Discourage your opinion, but be free
In your new choice; if my wish take effect,
You never shall repent you did neglect
My courser Fortunes; if your Mistris be
An Angell in your eyes, shees so to me,
Envye is still my Enemy; although
I lov'd you fondly, I must have you know
Twas very chastly (too) and (without Wonder)
Hearts may contract when Bodies are asunder.
Yet love your Mistris, and be truely zealous,
I can Affect, yet never make her jealous.

A Morall Eclogue presented by Vertue, Wealth, and Beauty.

Wealth.
Come hither Beauty, what sad dumpe hath got
The upper hand of thy choice thoughts, what blot
Hath overcome thy Beauty; thou art sad,
Thoughts discontented and conceal'd, make mad
The serious Contemplator, then declare,
Ime a Phisitian, tell me what they are.

Beauty.
Insatiate Wealth, I will; I come to crave
Along-lost Servant, you unjustly have,
And such a Servant none ere had but (shee
Whom Iove embrac'd) Cadmean Semele,
Though Nature make all men that mortall are
All of one mould, shee can but claime a share
In this great Master piece; ere he was fit
Twelve Natures did in consultation sit,
Had he but liv'd when the Egyptian Queene
(Faire Cleopatra) Raign'd, to have beene seene,
By her in her high court, sure none but he
Had exchang'd places with Marke Anthony;
Or Hellen veiw'd him, ere shee went from Greece,
No Warres had beene, he could have kept the Peace.

Wealth.
Is this your cause of Griefe, admit I have
This honourable Servant which you crave,
I am the worthier Mistris, whats in you
But a faire face, Riches doth me endue,
What will your Beauty doe when Fortune shall
Deale cruelly, and let your states both fall,
Begge with your Beauty, can your Beauty then
Contrive a meanes to raise you up agen.
But stay, yonder comes vertue; doe but see
How poore shee goes, yet shees as nice as thee.

Vertue.
Health to you Ladies; Beauty, unto you
My message comes; I have a Servant true,
Corrupted by your eyes, till he did see
Your faining Smiles he was content with me;
Pray give him backe againe: my mourning state
Directs the Turtle that hath lost her Mate
To beate her feather'd bosome, Griefe and I
Are in contention for the Majesty
Of perfect sorrow, and we finde that none
Have such true griefe as those whose Love's are gone;
Such is my state, faire Lady, doe not then
Detaine my Love, but send him home agen.

Beauty.
What Love doe I detaine, what Servant, where
Did I subdue him, whats his Character?

Vertue.
When first I did behold him, I could spye
The simple Soule of Candid Majesty
Take state in either cheeke; for his defence,
He never Blush'd, but to shew Innocence:
When he did court me, a sweete Passion strove
To tell me, that he liv'd in perfect love,
I saw he did, and yet am bold to tell,
He might have wrought Faith in an Infidell,
He had Exteriour Beauty, (too) his eyes
Had luster from his inward Purities.
They were a Frontispiece to all the good
His Soule possessd; greater in Grace then blood;
His name is Bellizarus, let me have
His person (too) tis all the blisse I crave.

Wealth.
That is my Love coy Vertue.

Beauty.
Which I claime.

Vertue.
But is my due.

Wealth.
Oh ye both lose your Aime,
He hath a wealthy Fortune, shall it be
Exposed to the certaine jeopardy
Of Beauty or poore Vertue; let him thrive
In my esteemes, Wealth keepes the heart alive.
Ile shew him Mynes of Treasure, which shall buy
Pleasures, that may perswade Mortality
Into a Godhead; Ile a Pallace build
Of chequer'd Marble, whose large roofe shall yeeld
Vnparalleld delights; a thousand boyes
(Faire as Adonis) with melodious noyse
Of new found Timbrils, shall awake his Sense
From sullen sadnesse (with profuse expence,)
Ile purchase curious dyet, whose choise taste
Shall create Odors in his Breath, Ile waste
My (unknowne) Treasure to a Myte, that he
May hate you both, and keepe his Love with me.

Beauty.
You argue weakely for him; in my Eye,
A Lover's Amorous Passion can descry
Tenne thousand fairer boyes, young Cupids all,
And with my voyce (at his commanding call)
Ile warble various fancies, that shall make
His heart; cold Melancholy quite forsake
This Ruby Lippe being connex'd with his,
Shall be more pleasing then that Nectar is
Iove doth revive his Youth with; for his Scent,
My breath is sweeter then that Continent
The Phœnix keepes her nest in when she burnes
In Aromats, and a New Phœnix turnes.
These but a modell of the pleasures be
He shall enjoy, let him returne to me.

Vertue.
If he be true, no argument should make
His honest soule his first chast love forsake,
Then (were he yours and I by strife should win)
How could I be a vertue but a sin:
Fond women, know ile teach him how to clime
Beyond your hopes, to treasures more sublime;
Ile shew him how to be content with that
Would make you sorrowsicke and desperate:
Fortune can wound you wealth, & (beauty) know
The sweetest Roses that doe fayrest blow,
Will shatter into ruine; you must feare
Beauty will fade, Springs last not all the yeare:
You talke of Boyes and Cupids, I can see
Through the pure cristalls of divinitie:
A heaven set with Angels, of whose glory
No mortalls pen could ere write perfect story,
And to this joy ile bring him, if he be
So wise to cast you off and live with me.

Wealth.
Yet he is mine, and if the God of love
Looke pleasing (as he did) I then will move
My next suite unto Hymen, and weele be
Ioyntly contracted by his Deity:
Do not you rayle then, not you tyre your heart,
I have possession thats the greater part.

Vertue.
I must returne to sorrow, weepe, and wayle
For his lost soule.

Beauty.
I to revenge, and raile.
Vse your owne counsell, when your rayling's past
Goe mourne with vertue and your beauty blast.

The complaint of an old Lady for the losse of her beauty.

Age (Beauties tyrant) why dost thou,
Furrowe my brow?
With what poyson hast thou made,
My Lillies fade;
What strange colour is this hayre
That I weare?
Oh for love's sake tak't away,
Tis to gray;
In my cheekes no Roses grow,
Bud or blow;
But are gone, for ever gone,
Every one;
In my eyes no Cupids dance
To advance
The bravery of Appetite
To delight;
I to Venus shrine will goe
With my woe,
And declare unto her all
My beauties fall;
There complaine that crooked Age
Full of rage,
Hath for ever banished
White and red;
So perhaps I may obtaine
Allagaine.
And disgracefull Age expell
To her Cell;
But if not, most sure I shall
Ruin'd fall;
For when beauty is away
All's but Clay,
Fickle feature growes but brave
For a Grave,
Where the beauty most repleate
Wormes will eate.
Go then Beauty be not seene
But in Virgin's at sixteene,
When they are as old as I
Let their Beauty fading dye,
Tis an age for to decline
To our graves, not Venus shrine.

A Gentleman deploring his former follies.

Reason I doe salute thy brightnesse, thou
Expellsts the mists of error; from thy brow
A radiant Beame is shot into my soule,
By which I have discovered how foule
My former follies made me; it is thee
That makst poore Man become a monarchy:
Hadst thou been with me when the greedy grape
Ingross'd my senses, and committed Rape
Vpon my understanding, I might be
Lesse in Arrerage for Ebriety.
Had I enjoy'd thy company when I
(Inflam'd with feaver-burning luxury)
Ruin'd a Ladies fame, shee had beene pure
And kept her mayden innocence secure;
I had beene happy, for my tainted name
Had beene an honest Character, no shame,
Had I employ'd thy councell (when my wrath)
Ayded by envy trod a guilty path
Vnto my freinds confusion, but because
He was not regular in Bacchus lawes,
My spleene had beene more temperate, for I
Had conquer'd rashnesse by sobrietie.
Hadst thou bin present when my ruder tongue
Calumniously did doe my Mistresse wrong,
Who chastly loved when I did boldly say,
Shee was my looser creature to alay
Lascivious desires; that shee would doe
What (heaven) knowes) I nere seduc'd her to,
Thou hadst corrected the egregious ill,
And I had liv'd her honor'd servant still.
Hadst thou beene pleas'd ever to lend thy store
Of saving helpe, such follyes on my score
Had nere beene written, tis not yet too late
For devoute penitence to expiate;
Be my Adjutor, Reason tis in thee
That I will seeke mans mediocritie.

ELEGIACK POEMS.

An Elegie on his Inestimable friend, Mr. Richard Gunnell, Gent.

Goe sell your smiles for weeping, change your mirth
For mourning dirges, lave the pretious earth
Of my inestimable friend with teares
(Fertill as them the cheeke of Aprill weares,
When Flora propagates her blessing on
Th'approaching Daffadills) under this stone
Lyes his neglected ashes, Oh that they
Who knew his vertues best should let his Clay
Lye unregarded so, and not appeare
With a full sorrow, in each eye a teare
Once, daily ore his urne, how can they thinke
A pleasing thought, sit and securely drinke
Insatiate carrowses; these are they
Can lose both friends and sorrowes in one day
(Not worth my observation) let me turne
Againe to my sad duty, where ile mourne
Till my corporeall essence doe become
A glyding rivolet; and pay the summe
To thy deare memory; my streame shall lend
A drop to none les he hath lost a friend:
The melancholly mad-man that will prove
His passion for his Mistresse is but love,
Were best be thrifty in his teares, for I
Will not supply him though his mistresse dye;
My ford is thine deare Gunnell and for thee
My Christall Channell flowes so currently,
Tagus and great Pactolus may be proud
Of their red sands, let me my Rivers shrowd
In course Meanders, where the waters shall
In a griev'd murmure, Gunnell, Gunnell, call,
It is for thee I flow, for thee I glide,
I had retain'd my floods hadst thou not dyed.
And little water birds shall chaunt this theame,
Thy Iordan mourner is a Iordan streame.

An Epitaph on his kind friend, Mr. Iohn Honiman, Gent.

Thou that couldst never weepe, and know'st not why
Teares should be spent but in mans infancy,
Come and repent thy error for here lyes
A Theame for Angels to write Elegies,
Had they the losse as we have; such a one
As nature kild for his perfection,
And when shee sends those vertues backe agen
His stocke shall serve for twenty vertuous men.
In Aprill dyed this Aprill to finde May
In Paradise, or celebrate a day
With some celestiall creature, had he beene
Design'd for other then a Cherubin;
Earth would have gave him choice; he was a man
So sweetly good, that he who wisely can
Describe at large, must such another be,
Or court no Muses but Divinitie.
Here will I rest, for feare the Readers eyes
Vpon his urne become a Sacrifice.

An Elegie on Mr. Iohn Raven, Gent.

No sooner did sad Rumour wound my eares
With thy decease, but Myriads of teares
Sprung in my fluent eyes, I sigh'd, Oh me
Is Raven dead, why could the fatall THREE
Not give some dispensation for a man
Deserv'd the yeares of Nestor; I began
Much to invoke the destinies, but they
Gave me no answer, sure they doe obey
Some greater power, whose immense soveraignty
Admits no Inquisition How or Why;
(The curse of frailty) we but see to chuse,
Chuse to enjoy, ere we enjoy we lose:
So is thy life to us, what if thou be
Enthron'd a Monarch for thy piety,
Our losse is still the same, we lose our prize,
Because we cannot see thee with these eyes,
We doe not doubt thy welfare (dearest friend)
But doe beleeve thy meritorious end
Hath won eternity, and yet indeed
We cannot chuse but grieve, teares will exceed
Though they allow no cause, for if thou be
So truly happy as divinitie
Declares the blessed transmigration, then
Twere sinfull griefe to wish thee here agen:
Thy death is my instruction, and thy blisse
The subject of my contemplation is.
Heaven inspire thy merit into me,
And I shall dye, to deserve life with thee.

An Elegie on his beloved friend Mr. Charles Rider, Student in the Art of Limning, or Picture-drawing.

If you can weepe, draw neere; but if your eyes
Deny to yeeld a liquid Sacrifice,
Laughter perplex yee, may you never be
Worthy to be preserv'd in memory
But amongst Fooles and Iesters, such as know
No season for their mirth, but will allow
Their idle jests, and their more anticke slights
On Funeralls as well as Brydall nights.
Here (you that have the magazin of teares)
Exhaust your thrifty fountains, he that weares
Black with an honest sorrow I advise
To ayde us in our (too sad) obsequies.
There is an Artist dead, who ist that can
Deny but hee's the friend of every man
That maks wise use of knowledg; he was rare
In limning decent Figures; his chaste care
Could nere permit his fancy to encline
To the rude draughts of lustfull Aretine:
But had his eyes beheld the silent feature,
Posture & face, of some excelling creature;
(Pure as her simple Beauty) such a one
Was patterne for his Pencill, or else none.
To be particular, I should appeare
Foe to my selfe, since each word claim's a teare;
But what my full fraught eyes deny to show,
Expect in some large booke in Folio.
His vertues are too many for to be
Composed in a weeping Elegie:
But he is dead, that all-devouring death
That scornes to give religious Monarchs breath
An houre beyond his limits, hath thought fit
To use his power on thee; may thy soule sit
In Angells habitations, while we
Deplore thy death, and blesse thy memory.
Since thou wert meritorious, I crave
That I may stick this Lawrel on thy grave,
Where if the bounteous heavens please to raise
Showres like my teares, twill grow a Grove of Bayes.

An Elegie on the death of a Male-child drown'd in Ice.

Blest Infant to thy Marble I am sent
By pittying fate and my owne discontent,
To be resolv'd, why (in thy budding youth)
Thou wert thus rudely ravish'd, that the truth
Vnto thy mourning friends I may relate,
Who with their tears thy cold urne consecrate.
How didst thou get thy ruine? what fate sent
Thy beautious body to that element
Devoures those it embraceth? couldst thou be
Flatter'd to hugge the infidelity
Of wanton Thetis? sure it was not so,
Twas thy owne Beauty wrought thy overthrow;
Shee was enamor'd of thee, and could finde
No way but this to sate her ravenous minde.
Shee did convert to Christall, for shee saw
None but thy beauty, could thy beauty draw:
For there thy eyes surpriz'd by their owne sight
Eclips'd each other, making midday, night:
Blacke night, worse waters, may yee ever be
Vs'd to make beauty blacke, so curs'd by me;
May never discontents or sorrowes rise
In greefe-afflicted bosomes, if their eyes
Bannish you thence, for when your floods are spent,
There shall not be a cause for discontent:
Rest peaceably (sweete boy) though to us dead,
Iove shall for thee exchange his Ganemed.

An Elegie and Epitaph on his Mistresse Fidelia.

Patience (the great Physition of the minde)
Hath lost his Art, for no balme can he finde
To give me cure, there is no Patience left,
It is a vertue which the gods bereft.
With my Fidelia, and since shee is gone
What good is left me, but distraction;
Yet in her name I doe a vertue finde
Charmes all my senses, tells my raging minde
Shee hath but left the earth for heaven to try
What throne the Gods prepare for shee and I.
Which having done, I then shall heare from her
By that supreame commanding Harbinger,
That summons Princes, Queenes, religious Kings
To cast off earth and put on Cherub's wings:
My soule thus charmed into sweete content,
Ile waite, and write thus on her monument.

The Epitaph.

An Epicedium on his Mistresse Arbella.

Yee are too quick, yee Pioners of death
To execute your charge, I have yet breath
Struggles within my labouring brest, to come
And sigh an hasty Epicedium
On my Arbella; Oh what stupid sleepe
Ceazes your faculties, you doe not weepe
Your selves to restlesse rivolets; my eyes
Must act alone Arbella's obsequies;
Doe you want common sense, how can you heare
Arbella nam'd (dead nam'd) and shed no teare;
Know you not how to weepe, pray looke on me,
Methinks each man should be a Niobe,
And teach me to be fluent: fall, oh fall
Like Aprill dew, for these are Scythians all,
And know not how to weepe unlesse the winds
Ravish their teares; they have no weeping minds:
But I am spent entomb, her now, yet stay,
For pitties sake banish the wormes away,
They will pollute her beauty; let them have
A wealthy banquet in some Gluttons grave:
Yet they may stay, for if they can descry
Her beauteous cheekes, they will by famine dye,
Rather then plucke those Roses, now growne white
As was her innocence (before the light)
Envied the lustre of her eyes, and sent
Her beauty to enrich a Monument:
Where (since her Saint-like essence is divine)
I will forget her Tombe, and fix a Shrine.