The Works in Verse and Prose :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works in Verse and Prose

(including hitherto unpublished Mss.) of Sir John Davies: for the first time collected and edited: With memorial-introductions and notes: By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart. In three volumes

Davies, John (1569-1626)

VOL. I: VERSE.

Epigrams, with Additions.

Appendix to Epigrams:

Hitherto Unpublished Poems.

Miscellaneous Poems.

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I. VOL. I: VERSE.

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Square brackets denote editorial insertions or emendations.

Nosce Teipsum.

Dedication

TO MY MOST GRACIOVS DREAD SOVERAIGNE.

To that cleere maiestie which in the North
Doth, like another sunne in glory rise,
Which standeth fixt, yet spreads her heauenly worth;
Loadstone to hearts, and loadstarre to all eyes:

Like Heau'n in all; like th'Earth in this alone,
That though great States by her support doe stand,

Yet she herselfe supported is of none,
But by the finger of the Almightie's hand:

To the diuinest and the richest minde,
Both by Art's purchase and by Nature's dowre,
That euer was from Heau'n to Earth confin'd,
To shew the utmost of a creature's power:

To that great Spirit, which doth great kingdomes mooue,
The sacred spring whence right and honour streames,
Distilling vertue, shedding peace and loue,
In euery place, as Cynthia sheds her beames:

I offer up some sparkles of that fire,
Whereby wee reason, liue, and moue and be;
These sparkes by nature euermore aspire,
Which makes them to so high an highnesse flee.

Faire soule, since to the fairest body knit,
You giue such liuely life, such quick'ning power,
Such sweet celestiall influences to it,
As keepes it still in youth's immortall flower:

(As where the sunne is present all the yeere,
And neuer doth retire his golden ray,
Needs must the Spring bee euerlasting there,
And euery season like the month of May.)

O! many, many yeeres may you remaine
A happy angell to this happie Land:
Long, long may you on Earth our empresse raigne,
Ere you in Heauen a glorious angell stand.

Stay long (sweet spirit) ere thou to Heauen depart,
Which mak'st each place a heauen wherein thou art.
Her Maiestie's least and vnworthiest subiect

JOHN DAVIES.

Introduction.

OF HUMANE KNOWLEDGE.

Why did my parents send me to the Schooles,
That I with knowledge might enrich my mind?
Since the desire to know first made men fools,
And did corrupt the root of all mankind:

For when God's hand had written in the hearts
Of the first parents, all the rules of good,
So that their skill infusde did passe all arts
That euer were, before, or since the Flood;

And when their reason's eye was sharpe and cleere,
And (as an eagle can behold the sunne)

Could haue approcht th'Eternall Light as neere,
As the intellectuall angels could haue done:

Euen then to them the spirit of lyes suggests
That they were blind, because they saw not ill,
And breathes into their incorrupted brests
A curious wish, which did corrupt their will.

For that same ill they straight desir'd to know:
Which ill, being nought but a defect of good,
In all God's works the Diuell could not show
While man their lord in his perfection stood.

So that themselues were first to doe the ill,
Ere they thereof the knowledge could attaine;
Like him that knew not poison's power to kill,
Vntill (by tasting it) himselfe was slaine.

Euen so by tasting of that fruite forbid,
Where they sought knowledge, they did error find;

Ill they desir'd to know, and ill they did;
And to giue Passion eyes, made Reason blind.

For then their minds did first in Passion see
Those wretched shapes of miserie and woe,
Of nakednesse, of shame, of pouertie,
Which then their owne experience made them know.

But then grew Reason darke, that she no more,
Could the faire formes of Good and Truth discern;
Battes they became, that eagles were before:
And this they got by their desire to learne.

But we their wretched of-spring, what doe we?
Doe not we still taste of the fruit forbid
Whiles with fond fruitlesse curiositie,
In bookes prophane we seeke for knowledge hid?

What is this knowledge but the sky-stolne fire,
For which the thiefe still chain'd in ice doth sit?

And which the poore rude satyre did admire,
And needs would kisse but burnt his lips with it.

What is it? but the cloud of emptie raine,
Which when Ioue's guest imbrac't, hee monsters got?
Or the false payles which oft being fild with paine,
Receiv'd the water, but retain'd it not!

Shortly, what is it but the firie coach
Which the youth sought, and sought his death withal?
Or the boyes wings, which when he did approch
The sunne's hot beames, did melt and let him fall?

And yet alas, when all our lampes are burnd,
Our bodyes wasted, and our spirits spent;
When we haue all the learnèd volumes turn'd,
Which yeeld mens wits both help and ornament:

What can we know? or what can we discerne?
When Error chokes the windowes of the minde,
The diuers formes of things, how can we learne,
That haue been euer from our birth-day blind?

When Reason's lampe, which (like the sunne in skie)
Throughout man's little world her beames did spread;
Is now become a sparkle, which doth lie
Vnder the ashes, halfe extinct, and dead:

How can we hope, that through the eye and eare,
This dying sparkle, in this cloudy place,
Can recollect these beames of knowledge cleere,
Which were infus'd in the first minds by grace?

So might the heire whose father hath in play
Wasted a thousand pound of ancient rent,
By painefull earning of a groate a day,
Hope to restore the patrimony spent.

The wits that diu'd most deepe and soar'd most hie
Seeking man's pow'rs, haue found his weaknesse such:
“Skill comes so slow, and life so fast doth flie,
“We learne so little and forget so much.

For this the wisest of all morall men
Said, ‘He knew nought, but that he nought did know’;
And the great mocking-Master mockt not then,
When he said, ‘Truth was buried deepe below.’

For how may we to others' things attaine,
When none of vs his owne soule vnderstands?
For which the Diuell mockes our curious braine,
When, ‘Know thy selfe’ his oracle commands.

For why should we the busie soule beleeue,
When boldly she concludes of that and this,
When of her selfe she can no iudgement giue,
Nor how, nor whence, nor where, nor what she is?

All things without, which round about we see,
We seeke to knowe, and how therewith to doe:
But that whereby we reason, liue and be,
Within our selues, we strangers are thereto.

We seeke to know the mouing of each spheare,
And the strange cause of th'ebs and flouds of Nile;
But of that clocke within our breasts we beare,
The subtill motions we forget the while.

We that acquaint our selues with euery Zoane
And passe both Tropikes and behold the Poles
When we come home, are to our selues vnknown,
And vnacquainted still with our owne soules.

We study Speech but others we perswade;
We leech-craft learne, but others cure with it;
We interpret lawes, which other men haue made,
But reade not those which in our hearts are writ.

Is it because the minde is like the eye,
Through which it gathers knowledge by degrees—
Whose rayes reflect not, but spread outwardly:
Not seeing itselfe when other things it sees?

No, doubtlesse; for the mind can backward cast
Vpon her selfe her vnderstanding light;
But she is so corrupt, and so defac't,
As her owne image doth her selfe affright.

As in the fable of the Lady faire,
Which for her lust was turnd into a cow,
When thirstie to a streame she did repaire,
And saw her selfe transform'd she wist not how:

At first she startles, then she stands amaz'd,
At last with terror she from thence doth flye,
And loathes the watry glasse wherein she gaz'd,
And shunnes it still, though she for thirst doe die:

Euen so Man's soule which did God's image beare,
And was at first faire, good, and spotlesse pure,
Since with her sinnes her beauties blotted were,
Doth of all sights her owne sight least endure:

For euen at first reflection she espies,
Such strange chimeraes, and such monsters there,
Such toyes, such antikes, and such vanities,
As she retires, and shrinkes for shame and feare.

And as the man loues least at home to bee,
That hath a sluttish house haunted with spirits;
So she impatient her owne faults to see,
Turnes from her selfe and in strange things delites.

For this few know themselues: for merchants broke
View their estate with discontent and paine;
And seas are troubled, when they doe reuoke
Their flowing waues into themselues againe.

And while the face of outward things we find,
Pleasing and faire, agreeable and sweet;
These things transport, and carry out the mind,
That with her selfe her selfe can neuer meet.

Yet if Affliction once her warres begin,
And threat the feebler Sense with sword and fire,
The Minde contracts her selfe and shrinketh in,
And to her selfe she gladly doth retire:

As spiders toucht, seeke their webs inmost part;
As bees in stormes vnto their hiues returne;
As bloud in danger gathers to the heart;
As men seek towns, when foes the country burn.

If ought can teach vs ought, Affliction's lookes,
(Making vs looke vnto ourselues so neere,)
Teach vs to know ourselues beyond all bookes,
Or all the learned S[c]hooles that euer were.

This mistresse lately pluckt me by the eare,
And many a golden lesson hath me taught;
Hath made my Sense quicke and Reason cleare,
Reform'd my Will and rectifide my Thought.

So doe the winds and thunders cleanse the ayre:
So working lees settle and purge the wine:
So lop't and prunèd trees doe flourish faire:
So doth the fire the drossie gold refine.

Neither Minerua nor the learnèd Muse,
Nor rules of Art, nor precepts of the wise,
Could in my braine those beames of skill infuse,
As but the glance of this Dame's angry eyes.

She within lists my ranging minde hath brought,
That now beyond my selfe I list not goe;
My selfe am center of my circling thought,
Onely my selfe I studie, learne, and know.

I know my bodie's of so fraile a kind,
As force without, feauers within can kill:
I know the heauenly nature of my minde,
But 'tis corrupted both in wit and will:

I know my soule hath power to know all things,
Yet is she blinde and ignorant in all;
I know I am one of nature's little kings,
Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.

I know my life's a paine and but a span,
I know my Sense is mockt with euery thing:
And to conclude, I know my selfe a man,
Which is a proud, and yet a wretched thing.

OF THE SOULE OF MAN AND THE IMMORTALITIE THEREOF.

The lights of heau'n (which are the World's fair eies)
Looke downe into the World, the World to see:
And as they turne or wander in the skies,
Suruey all things that on this center bee.

And yet the lights which in my towre dos shine,
Mine eyes which view all obiects, nigh and farre,
Looke not into this little world of mine,
Nor see my face, wherein they fixed are.

Since Nature failes vs in no needfull thing,
Why want I meanes my inward selfe to see?
Which sight the knowledg of my self might bring,
Which to true wisdome is the first degree.

That Power which gaue me eyes the World to view,
To see my selfe infus'd an inward light,
Whereby my soule, as by a mirror true,
Of her owne forme may take a perfect sight,

But as the sharpest eye discerneth nought,
Except the sunne-beames in the ayre doe shine:
So the best soule with her reflecting thought,
Sees not her selfe without some light diuine.

O Light which mak'st the light, which makes the day!
Which set'st the eye without, and mind within;
'Lighten my spirit with one cleare heauenly ray,
Which now to view it selfe doth first begin.

For her true forme how can my sparke discerne?
Which dimme by nature, Art did neuer cleare;
When the great wits, of whom all skill we learne,
Are ignorant both what shee is, and where.

One thinks the soule is aire; another, fire;
Another blood, diffus'd about the heart;
Another saith, the elements conspire,
And to her essence each doth giue a part.

Musicians thinke our soules are harmonies,
Phisicians hold that they complexions bee;
Epicures make them swarmes of atomies,
Which doe by chance into our bodies flee.

Some thinke one generall Soule fils euery braine,
As the bright sunne sheds light in euery starre;
And others thinke the name of soule is vaine,
And that we onely well-mixt bodies are.

In judgement of her substance thus they vary;
And thus they vary in iudgement of her seat;
For some her chaire vp to the braine doe carrie,
Some thrust it downe into the stomackes heat.

Some place it in the root of life, the heart;
Some in the liuer fountaine of the veines,
Some say, she is all in all, and all in part:
Some say, she is not contain'd but all containes.

Thus these great clerks their little wisdome show,
While with their doctrines they at hazard play,
Tossing their light opinions to and fro,
To mocke the lewd, as learn'd in this as they.

For no craz'd braine could euer yet propound,
Touching the soule, so vaine and fond a thought,
But some among these masters haue been found,
Which in their Schooles the self-same thing haue taught.

God onely wise, to punish pride of wit,
Among mens' wits hath this confusion wrought,
As the proud towre whose points the clouds did hit,
By tongues' confusion was to ruine brought.

But Thou which didst man's soule of nothing make,
And when to nothing it was fallen agen,

To make it new the forme of man didst take,
And God with God, becam'st a Man with men.

Thou, that hast fashioned twice this soule of ours,
So that she is by double title Thine,
Thou onely knowest her nature and her pow'rs,
Her subtill forme Thou onely canst define.

To iudge her selfe she must her selfe transcend,
As greater circles comprehend the lesse;
But she wants power, her owne powers to extend,
As fettered men can not their strength expresse.

But Thou bright Morning Starre, Thou rising Sunne,
Which in these later times hast brought to light
Those mysteries, that since the world begun,
Lay hid in darknesse and eternall night;

Thou (like the sunne) dost with indifferent ray,
Into the palace and the cottage shine,
And shew'st the soule both to the clerke and lay,
By the cleare lampe of Thy Oracle diuine.

This Lampe through all the regions of my braine,
Where my soule sits, doth spread such beames of grace,
As now, me thinks, I do distinguish plain,
Each subtill line of her immortall face.

The soule a substance, and a spirit is,
Which God Himselfe doth in the body make,
Which makes the Man: for euery man from this,
The nature of a man, and name doth take.

And though this spirit be to the body knit,
As an apt meane her powers to exercise,
Which are life, motion, sense, and will, and wit,
Yet she suruiues, although the body dies.

That the soule is a thing subsisting by it selfe without the body.

She is a substance, and a reall thing,
Which hath it selfe an actuall working might,
Which neither from the senses' power doth spring,
Nor from the bodie's humors, tempred right.

She is a vine, which doth no propping need
To make her spread her selfe or spring vpright;
She is a starre, whose beames doe not proceed
From any sunne, but from a natiue light.

For when she sorts things present with things past,
And thereby things to come doth oft foresee;
When she doth doubt at first, and chuse at last,
These acts her owne, without her body bee.

When of the deaw, which the eye and eare doe take
From flowers abroad, and bring into the braine,
She doth within both waxe and hony make:
This worke is her's, this is her proper paine.

When she from sundry acts, one skill doth draw,
Gathering from diuers fights one art of warre,
From many cases like, one rule of law;
These her collections, not the sense's are.

When in th'effects she doth the causes know,
And seeing the stream, thinks wher the spring doth rise;

And seeing the branch, conceiues the root below;
These things she viewes without the bodie's eyes.

When she, without a Pegasus, doth flie
Swifter then lightning's fire from East to West,
About the center and aboue the skie,
She trauels then, although the body rest.

When all her works she formeth first within,
Proportions them, and sees their perfect end,
Ere she in act does anie part begin;
What instruments doth then the body lend?

When without hands she doth thus castles build,
Sees without eyes, and without feet doth runne
When she digests the world, yet is not fil'd:
By her owne power these miracles are done.

When she defines, argues, diuides, compounds,
Considers vertue, vice, and generall things,
And marrying diuers principles and grounds,
Out of their match a true conclusion brings.

These actions in her closet all alone,
(Retir'd within her selfe) she doth fulfill;
Vse of her bodie's organs she hath none,
When she doth vse the powers of wit and will.

Yet in the bodie's prison so she lies,
As through the bodie's windowes she must looke,
Her diuers powers of sense to exercise,
By gath'ring notes out of the World's great book.

Nor can her selfe discourse or iudge of ought,
But what the Sense collects and home doth bring;
And yet the power of her discoursing thought,
From these collections is a diuers thing.

For though our eyes can nought but colours see,
Yet colours giue them not their powre of sight:
So, though these fruits of Sense her obiects bee,
Yet she discernes them by her proper light.

The workman on his stuffe his skill doth show,
And yet the stuffe gives not the man his skill;
Kings their affaires do by their seruants know,
But order them by their owne royall will.

So, though this cunning mistresse and this queene
Doth, as her instrument the senses vse,
To know all things that are felt, heard, or seene,
Yet she her selfe doth onely iudge and chuse:

Euen as our great wise Empresse that raigns
By soueraigne title ouer sundry Lands,
Borrowes in meane affaires her subiects paines,
Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands;

But things of waight and consequence indeed,
Her selfe doth in her chamber them debate,
Where all her counsellers she doth exceed
As farre in iudgement, as she doth in State.

Or as the man whom she doth now aduance,
Vpon her gracious mercy-seat to sit,
Doth common things, of course and circumstance,
To the reports of common men commit:

But when the cause it selfe must be decreed,
Himselfe in person, in his proper Court,
To graue and solemne hearing doth proceed,
Of euery proofe and euery by-report.

Then, like God's angell he pronounceth right,
And milke and hony from his tongue doth flow:
Happie are they that still are in his sight,
To reape the wisedome which his lips doe sow.

Right so the Soule, which is a lady free,
And doth the iustice of her State maintaine,
Because the senses ready seruants be,
Attending nigh about her Court, the braine:

By them the formes of outward things she learnes,
For they returne into the fantasie:
What euer each of them abroad discernes,
And there inrole it for the Minde to see.

But when she sits to iudge the good and ill,
And to discerne betwixt the false and true,

She is not guided by the Senses' skill,
But doth each thing in her owne mirrour view.

Then she the Senses checks, which oft do erre,
And euen against their false reports decrees;
And oft she doth condemne what they preferre,
For with a power aboue the sense, she sees.

Therefore no sense the precious ioyes conceiues,
Which in her priuate contemplations bee;
For then the rauish't spirit the senses leaues,
Hath her owne powers, and proper actions free.

Her harmonies are sweet, and full of skill,
When on the Bodie's instruments she playes:
But the proportions of the wit and will,
Those sweete accords, are euen the angels' layes.

These tunes of Reason are Amphion's lyre,
Wherewith he did the Thebane citie found:

These are the notes wherewith the heauenly quire,
The praise of Him which made the heauen doth sound.

Then her selfe-being nature shines in this,
That she performes her noblest works alone;
The worke, the touch-stone of the nature is,
And by their operations, things are knowne.

That the soule is more then a perfection or reflection of the sence.

Are they not sencelesse then, that thinke the Soule
Nought but a fine perfection of the Sense,
Or of the formes which fancie doth enroule,
A quicke resulting, and a consequence?

What is it then that doth the Sense accuse,
Both of false judgements, and fond appetites?
What makes vs do what Sense doth most refuse?
Which oft in torment of the Sense delights?

Sense thinkes the planets, spheares not much asunder:
What tels vs then their distance is so farre?
Sense thinks the lightning borne before the thunder:
What tells vs then they both together are?

When men seem crows farre off vpon a towre,
Sense saith, th'are crows: what makes vs think them men?
When we in agues, thinke all sweete things sowre,
What makes vs know our tongue's false iudgement then?

What power was that, whereby Medea saw,
And well approu'd, and prais'd the better course,
When her rebellious Sense did so withdraw
Her feeble powers, as she pursu'd the worse?

Did Sense persawde Vlisses not to heare
The mermaids' songs which so his men did please,

As they were all perswaded, through the eare
To quit the ship and leape into the seas?

Could any power of Sense the Romane moue,
To burn his own right hand with courage stout?
Could Sense make Marius sit vnbound, and proue
The cruell lancing of the knotty gout?

Doubtlesse in Man there is a nature found,
Beside the Senses, and aboue them farre;
“Though most men being in sensuall pleasures drown'd,
“It seemes their Soules but in their Senses are.

If we had nought but Sense, then onely they
Should haue sound minds, which haue their Senses sound:
But Wisdome growes, when Senses doe decay,
And Folly most in quickest Sense is found.

If we had nought but Sense, each liuing wight,
Which we call brute, would be more sharp then we;
As hauing Sense's apprehensiue might,
In a more cleere and excellent degree.

But they doe want that quicke discoursing power,
Which doth in vs the erring Sense correct;
Therefore the bee did sucke the painted flower,
And birds, of grapes, the cunning shadow peckt.

Sense outsides knows; the Soule thro' al things sees:
Sense, circumstance; she, doth the substance view:
Sense sees the barke, but she, the life of trees:
Sense heares the sounds, but she, the concords true.

But why doe I the Soule and Sense diuide?
When Sense is but a power, which she extends,
Which being in diuers parts diuersifide,
The diuers formes of obiects apprehends?

This power spreds outward, but the root doth grow
In th'inward Soule, which onely doth perceiue;
For th'eyes and eares no more their obiects know,
Then glasses know what faces they receiue.

For if we chance to fixe our thoughts elsewhere,
Although our eyes be ope, we cannot see:
And if one power did not both see and heare,
Our sights and sounds would alwayes double be.

Then is the Soule a nature, which containes
The powre of Sense, within a greater power
Which doth imploy and vse the Senses paines,
But sits and rules within her priuate bower.

That the Soule is more then the Temperature of the Humors of the Body.

If shee doth then the subtill Sense excell,
How gross are they that drown her in the blood!
Or in the bodie's humors tempred well,
As if in them such high perfection stood?

As if most skill in that Musician were,
Which had the best, and best tun'd instrument:

As if the pensill neate and colours cleare,
Had power to make the Painter excellent.

Why doth not beautie then refine the wit?
And good complexion rectifie the will?
Why doth not health bring wisdom still with it?
Why doth not sicknesse make men bruitish still?

Who can in memory, or wit, or will,
Or ayre, or fire, or earth, or water finde?
What alchymist can draw, with all his skil,
The quintessence of these, out of the mind?

If th'elements which haue nor life, nor sense,
Can breed in vs so great a powre as this,
Why giue they not themselues like excellence,
Or other things wherein their mixture is?

If she were but the Bodie's qualitie
Then would she be with it sicke, maim'd and blind;
But we perceiue where these priuations be
A healthy, perfect, and sharpe-sighted mind.

If she the bodie's nature did pertake,
Her strength would with the bodie's strength decay:
But when the bodie's strongest sinewes slake,
Then is the Soule most actiue, quicke and gay.

If she were but the bodie's accident,
And her sole being did in it subsist,
As white in snow, she might her selfe absent,
And in the bodie's substance not be mist.

But it on her, not shee on it depends;
For shee the body doth sustaine and cherish:
Such secret powers of life to it she lends,
That when they faile, then doth the body perish.

Since then the Soule works by her selfe alone,
Springs not from Sense, nor humors, well agreeing:
Her nature is peculiar, and her owne:
She is a substance, and a perfect being.

That the Soule is a Spirit.

But though this substance be the root of Sense,
Sense knowes her not, which doth but bodies know:
She is a spirit, and heauenly influence,
Which from the fountaine of God's Spirit doth flow.

She is a spirit, yet not like ayre or winde,
Nor like the spirits about the heart or braine;
Nor like those spirits which alchymists do find,
When they in euery thing seeke gold in vaine.

For shee all natures vnder heauen doth passe;
Being like those spirits, which God's bright face do see;
Or like Himselfe, Whose image once she was,
Though now (alas!) she scarce His shadow bee,

Yet of the formes, she holds the first degree,
That are to grosse materiall bodies knit;

Yet shee her selfe is bodilesse and free;
And though confin'd, is almost infinite.

Were she a body how could she remaine
Within this body, which is lesse then she?
Or how could she the world's great shape contain,
And in our narrow brests containèd bee?

All bodies are confin'd within some place,
But she all place within her selfe confines;
All bodies haue their measure, and their space,
But who can draw the Soule's dimensiue lines?

No body can at once two formes admit,
Except the one the other doe deface;
But in the soule ten thousand formes doe sit,
And none intrudes into her neighbour's place.

All bodies are with other bodies fild,
But she receiues both heauen and earth together;
Nor are their formes by rash incounter spild,
For there they stand, and neither toucheth either.

Nor can her wide imbracements fillèd bee;
For they that most, and greatest things embrace,
Inlarge thereby their minds' capacitie,
As streames inlarg'd, inlarge the channel's space.

All things receiu'd doe such proportion take,
As those things haue, wherein they are receiu'd:
So little glasses little faces make,
And narrow webs on narrow frames be weau'd;

Then what vast body must we make the mind
Wherin are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and lands:
And yet each thing a proper place doth find,
And each thing in the true proportion stands?

Doubtlesse this could not bee, but that she turnes
Bodies to spirits, by sublimation strange,
As fire conuerts to fire the things it burnes,
As we our meats into our nature change.

From their grosse matter she abstracts the formes,
And drawes a kind of quintessence from things;
Which to her proper nature she transformes,
To beare them light on her celestiall wings:

This doth she, when, from things particular,
She doth abstract the universall kinds,
Which bodilesse and immateriall are,
And can be lodg'd but onely in our minds:

And thus from diuers accidents and acts,
Which doe within her obseruation fall,
She goddesses, and powres diuine, abstracts:
As Nature, Fortune, and the Vertues all.

Againe, how can she seuerall bodies know,
If in her selfe a bodie's forme she beare?
How can a mirror sundry faces show,
If from all shapes and formes it be not cleare?

Nor could we by our eyes all colours learne,
Except our eyes were of all colours voide;
Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discerne,
Which is with grosse and bitter humors cloide.

Nor may a man of passions iudge aright,
Except his minde bee from all passions free;
Nor can a Iudge his office well acquite,
If he possest of either partie bee.

If lastly, this quicke power a body were,
Were it as swift as is the winde or fire,
(Whose atomies doe th'one down side-waies beare,
And make the other in pyramids aspire:)

Her nimble body yet in time must moue,
And not in instants through all places slide;
But she is nigh, and farre, beneath, aboue,
In point of time, which thought cannot deuide;

She is sent as soone to China as to Spaine,
And thence returnes, as soone as shee is sent;
She measures with one time, and with one paine,
An ell of silke, and heauen's wide spreading tent.

As then the Soule a substance hath alone,
Besides the Body in which she is confin'd;
So hath she not a body of her owne,
But is a spirit, and immateriall minde.

Since body and soule haue such diuersities,
Well, might we muse, how first their match began;
But that we learne, that He that spread the skies,
And fixt the Earth, first form'd the soule in man.

This true Prometheus first made Man of earth,
And shed in him a beame of heauenly fire;
Now in their mother's wombs before their birth,
Doth in all sonnes of men their soules inspire.

And as Minerua is in fables said,
From Ioue, without a mother to proceed;
So our true Ioue, without a mother's ay'd,
Doth daily millions of Mineruas breed.

Erroneous opinions of the Creation of Soules.

Then neither from eternitie before,
Nor from the time when Time's first point begun,
Made He all soules: which now He keepes in store,
Some in the moone and others in the sunne:

Nor in a secret cloyster doth Hee keepe
These virgin-spirits, vntil their marriage-day;
Nor locks them vp in chambers, where they sleep,
Till they awake, within these beds of clay.

Nor did He first a certaine number make,
Infusing part in beasts, and part in men,
And, as vnwilling further paines to take,
Would make no more then those He framèd then.

So that the widow Soule her body dying,
Vnto the next-borne body married was;

And so by often changing and supplying,
Mens' soules to beasts, and beasts to men did passe.

(These thoughts are fond: for since the bodies borne
Be more in number farre then those that dye,
Thousands must be abortiue, and forlorne,
Ere others' deaths to them their soules supply.)

But as God's handmaid Nature, doth create
Bodies in time distinct, and order due;
So God giues soules the like successiue date,
Which Himselfe makes, in bodies formèd new:

Which Him selfe makes, of no materiall thing:
For vnto angels He no power hath giuen,
Either to forme the shape, or stuffe to bring
From ayre or fire, or substance of the heauen.

Nor He in this doth Nature's seruice use;
For though from bodies, she can bodies bring,
Yet could she neuer soules from Soules traduce,
As fire from fire, or light from light doth spring.

Objection:—That the Soule is not traduced [from the Parents.]

Alas! that some, that were great lights of old,
And in their hands the lampe of God did beare,
Some reuerend Fathers did this error hold,
Hauing their eyes dim'd with religious feare!

For when (say they) by Rule of faith we find,
That euery soule vnto her body knit,
Brings from the mother's wombe, the sinne of kind,
The roote of all the ill she doth commit

How can we say that God the Soule doth make,
But we must make Him author of her sinne?

Then from man's soule she doth beginning take,
Since in man's soule corruption did begin.

For if God make her, first He makes her ill,
(Which God forbid our thoughts should yeeld vnto!)
Or makes the body her faire forme to spill,
Which, of it selfe it had not power to doe.

Not Adam's body, but his soule did sinne
And so her selfe vnto corruption brought;
But our poore soule corrupted is within,
Ere shee had sinn'd, either in act, or thought:

And yet we see in her such powres diuine,
As we could gladly thinke, from God she came:
Faine would we make Him Author of the wine,
If for the dregs we could some other blame.

The Answere to the Objection.

Thus these good men with holy zeale were blind,
When on the other part the truth did shine;
Whereof we doe cleare demonstrations find,
By light of Nature, and by light Diuine.

None are so grosse as to contend for this,
That soules from bodies may traducèd bee;
Betweene whose natures no proportion is,
When roote and branch in nature still agree.

But many subtill wits haue iustifi'd,
That soules from soules spiritually may spring;
Which (if the nature of the soule be tri'd)
Will euen in Nature proue as grosse a thing.

Reasons drawne from Nature.

For all things made, are either made of nought,
Or made of stuffe that ready made doth stand;
Of nought no creature euer formèd ought,
For that is proper to th'Almightie's hand.

If then the soule another soule doe make,
Because her power is kept within a bound,
Shee must some former stuffe or matter take:
But in the soule there is no matter found.

Then if her heauenly Forme doe not agree
With any matter which the world containes,
Then she of nothing must created bee,
And to create, to God alone pertaines.

Againe, if soules doe other soules beget,
'Tis by themselues, or by the bodie's power:
If by themselues, what doth their working let,
But they might soules engender euery houre?

If by the body, how can wit and will
Ioyn with the body onely in this act?
Sith when they doe their other works fulfill,
They from the body doe themselues abstract?

Againe, if soules of soules begotten were,
Into each other they should change and moue,
And change and motion still corruption beare;
How shall we then the soule immortall proue?

If lastly, soules doe generation vse,
Then should they spread incorruptible seed:
What then becomes of that which they doe lose,
When th'acts of generation doe not speed?

And though the soule could cast spirituall seed,
Yet would she not, because she neuer dies;
For mortall things desire their like to breed,
That so they may their kind immortalize.

Therefore the angels, sonnes of God are nam'd,
And marry not, nor are in marriage giuen:
Their spirits and ours are of one substance fram'd,
And haue one Father, euen the Lord of heauen:

Who would at first, that in each other thing,
The earth and water liuing soules should breed;
But that man's soule whom He would make their king,
Should from Himselfe immediatly proceed.

And when He took the woman from man's side,
Doubtlesse Himselfe inspir'd her soule alone:
For 'tis not said, He did man's soule diuide,
But tooke flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone.

Lastly, God being made Man for man's owne sake,
And being like Man in all, except in sin,
His body from the virgin's wombe did take;
But all agree, God form'd His soule within.

Then is the soule from God; so Pagans say,
Which saw by Nature's light her heauenly kind:
Naming her kin to God, and God's bright ray,
A citizen of Heauen to Earth confined.

But nowe, I feele, they plucke me by the eare
Whom my young Muse so boldly termèd blind,
And craue more heauenly light, that cloud to clear,
Which makes them think God doth not make the mind.

Reasons drawne from Diuinity.

God doubtlesse makes her, and doth make her good,
And graffes her in the body, there to spring;
Which, though it be corrupted, flesh and blood
Can no way to the Soule corruption bring:

And yet this soule (made good by God at first,
And not corrupted by the bodie's ill)
Euen in the wombe is sinfull, and accurst,
Ere shee can iudge by wit or chuse by will.

Yet is not God the Author of her sinne
Though Author of her being, and being there;
And if we dare to iudge our Iudge herein,
He can condemne vs, and Himselfe can cleare.

First, God from infinite eternitie
Decreed, that what hath beene, is, or shall bee done;
And was resolu'd, that euery man should bee,
And in his turne, his race of life should run:

And so did purpose all the soules to make,
That euer haue beene made, or euer shall;
And that their being they should onely take
In humane bodies, or not bee at all.

Was it then fit that such a weake euent
(W[e]aknesse it selfe,—the sinne and fall of Man)
His counsel's execution should preuent,
Decreed and fixt before the World began?

Or that one penall law by Adam broke,
Should make God breake His owne eternall Law,
The setled order of the World reuoke,
And change all forms of things which He foresaw?

Could Eue's weake hand, extended to the tree,
In sunder rend that adamantine chaine,

Whose golden links, effects and causes be,
And which to God's owne chair doth fixt remaine.

O could we see, how cause from cause doth spring!
How mutually they linkt and folded are!
And heare how oft one disagreeing string
The harmony doth rather make then marre?

And view at once, how death by sinne is brought,
And how from death, a better life doth rise,
How this God's iustice, and His mercy tought:
We this decree would praise, as right and wise.

But we that measure times by first and last,
The sight of things successiuely, doe take,
When God on all at once His view doth cast,
And of all times doth but one instant make.

All in Himselfe as in a glasse Hee sees,
For from Him, by Him, through Him, all things bee:
His sight is not discoursiue, by degrees,
But seeing the whole, each single part doth see.

He lookes on Adam, as a root, or well,
And on his heires, as branches, and as streames:
He sees all men as one Man, though they dwell
In sundry cities, and in sundry realmes:

And as the roote and branch are but one tree,
And well and streame doe but one riuer make:
So, if the root and well corrupted bee,
The streame and branch the same corruption take:

So, when the root and fountaine of Mankind
Did draw corruption, and God's curse, by sin:
This was a charge that all his heires did bind,
And all his off-spring grew corrupt therein.

And as when the hand doth strike, the Man offends,
(For part from whole, Law seuers not in this)
So Adam's sinne to the whole kind extends;
For all their natures are but part of his.

Therefore this sinne of kind, not personall,
But reall and hereditary was;
The guilt whereof, and punishment to all,
By course of Nature, and of Law doth passe.

For as that easie Law was giuen to all,
To ancestor and heire, to first and last,
So was the first transgression generall,
And all did plucke the fruit and all did tast.

Of this we find some foot-steps in our Law,
Which doth her root from God and Nature take:
Ten thousand men she doth together draw,
And of them all, one Corporation make:

Yet these, and their successors, are but one,
And if they gaine or lose their liberties,
They harme or profit not themselues alone,
But such as in succeeding times shall rise.

And so the ancestor, and all his heires,
Though they in number passe the stars of heauen
Are still but one; his forfeitures are theirs,
And vnto them are his aduancements giuen:

His ciuill acts doe binde and bar them all;
And as from Adam, all corruption take,
So, if the father's crime be capitall
In all the bloud, Law doth corruption make.

Is it then iust with vs, to dis-inherit
The vnborn nephewes for the father's fault?
And to aduance againe for one man's merit,
A thousand heires, that have deservèd nought?

And is not God's decree as iust as ours,
If He, for Adam's sinne, his sonnes depriue,
Of all those natiue vertues, and those powers,
Which He to him, and to his race did giue?

For what is this contagious sinne of kinde
But a priuation of that grace within?
And of that great rich dowry of the minde
Which all had had, but for the first man's sin?

If then a man, on light conditions gaine
A great estate, to him and his, for euer;
If wilfully he forfeit it againe
Who doth bemone his heire or blame the giuer?

So, though God make the Soule good, rich and faire,
Yet when her forme is to the body knit,
Which makes the Man, which man is Adam's heire
Iustly forth-with He takes His grace from it:

And then the soule being first from nothing brought,
When God's grace failes her, doth to nothing fall;
And this declining pronenesse unto nought,
Is euen that sinne that we are borne withall.

Yet not alone the first good qualities,
Which in the first soule were, depriuèd are;
But in their place the contrary doe rise,
And reall spots of sinne her beauty marre.

Nor is it strange, that Adam's ill desart
Should be transferd vnto his guilty Race,
When Christ His grace and iustice doth impart
To men vniust, and such as haue no grace.

Lastly, the Soule were better so to bee
Borne slaue to sinne then not to be at all:
Since (if she do belieue) One sets her free,
That makes her mount the higher for her fall.

Yet this the curious wits will not content;
They yet will know (sith God foresaw this ill)
Why His high Prouidence did not preuent
The declination of the first man's will.

If by His Word He had the current staid
Of Adam's will, which was by nature free,
It had bene one, as if His Word had said,
I will henceforth that Man no man shall bee.

For what is Man without a moouing mind,
Which hath a iudging wit, and chusing will?
Now, if God's power should her election bind,
Her motions then would cease and stand all still.

And why did God in man this soule infuse,
But that he should his Maker know and loue?
Now, if loue be compeld and cannot chuse,
How can it gratefull or thankeworthy proue?

Loue must free-hearted be, and voluntary,
And not enchanted, or by Fate constraind;
Nor like that loue, which did Ulisses carry,
To Circe's ile, with mighty charmes enchaind.

Besides, were we vnchangeable in will,
And of a wit that nothing could mis-deeme;
Equall to God, Whose wisedome shineth still,
And neuer erres, we might our selues esteeme.

So that if Man would be vnuariable,
He must be God, or like a rock or tree;

For euen the perfect Angels were not stable,
But had a fall more desperate then wee.

Then let vs praise that Power, which makes vs be
Men as we are, and rest contented so;
And knowing Man's fall was curiositie,
Admire God's counsels, which we cannot know.

And let vs know that God the Maker is
Of all the Soules, in all the men that be:
Yet their corruption is no fault of His,
But the first man's that broke God's first decree.

Why the Soule is United to the Body.

This substance, and this spirit of God's owne making,
Is in the body plact, and planted heere,
“That both of God, and of the world partaking,
“Of all that is, Man might the image beare.

God first made angels bodilesse, pure minds,
Then other things, which mindlesse bodies be;

Last, He made Man, th'horizon 'twixt both kinds,
In whom we doe the World's abridgement see.

Besides, this World below did need one wight,
Which might thereof distinguish euery part,
Make vse thereof, and take therein delight,
And order things with industry and art:

Which also God might in His works admire,
And here beneath, yeeld Him both praier and praise;
As there, aboue, the holy angels quire
Doth spread His glory with spirituall layes.

Lastly, the bruite, unreasonable wights,
Did want a visible king on them to raigne:
And God, Himselfe thus to the World vnites,
That so the World might endlesse blisse obtaine.

In what manner the Soule is united to the Body.

But how shall we this union well expresse?
Nought ties the soule; her subtiltie is such
She moues the bodie, which she doth possesse,
Yet no part toucheth, but by vertue's touch.

Then dwels shee not therein as in a tent,
Nor as a pilot in his ship doth sit;
Nor as the spider in his web is pent;
Nor as the waxe retaines the print in it;

Nor as a vessell water doth containe;
Nor as one liquor in another shed;
Nor as the heat doth in the fire remaine;
Nor as a voice throughout the ayre is spread:

But as the faire and cheerfull Morning light,
Doth here and there her siluer beames impart,
And in an instant doth her selfe vnite
To the transparent ayre, in all, and part:

Still resting whole, when blowes the ayre diuide;
Abiding pure, when th'ayre is most corrupted;
Throughout the ayre, her beams dispersing wide,
And when the ayre is tost, not interrupted:

100

So doth the piercing Soule the body fill,
Being all in all, and all in part diffus'd,
Indiuisible, incorruptible still,
Not forc't, encountred, troubled or confus'd.

And as the sunne aboue, the light doth bring,
Though we behold it in the ayre below;
So from th'Eternall Light the Soule doth spring,
Though in the body she her powers doe show.

How the Soul doth exercise her Powers in the Body.

But as the world's sunne doth effects beget,
Diuers in diuers places euery day;
Here Autumnes temperature, there Summer's heat,
Here flowry Spring-tide, and there Winter gray:

Here Euen, there Morne, here Noone, there Day, there Night;
Melts wax, dries clay, mak[e]s flowrs, som quick, som dead;
Makes the More black, and th'Europœan white,
Th'American tawny, and th'East-Indian red:

101

So in our little World: this soule of ours,
Being onely one, and to one body tyed,
Doth vse, on diuers obiects diuers powers,
And so are her effects diuersified.

The Vegetatiue or quickening Power.

Her quick'ning power in euery liuing part,
Doth as a nurse, or as a mother serue,
And doth employ her oeconomicke art,
And busie care, her houshold to preserue.

Here she attracts, and there she doth retaine,
There she decocts, and doth the food prepare;
There she distributes it to euery vaine,
There she expels what she may fitly spare.

This power to Martha may comparèd be,
Which busie was, the houshold-things to doe;
Or to a Dryas, liuing in a tree:
For euen to trees this power is proper too.

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And though the Soule may not this power extend
Out of the body, but still vse it there,
She hath a power which she abroad doth send,
Which views and searcheth all things euery where.

The power of Sense.

This power is Sense, which from abroad doth bring
The colour, taste, and touch, and sent, and sound,
The quantitie and shape of euery thing
Within th'Earth's center, or Heauen's circle found.

This power, in parts made fit, fit obiects takes,
Yet not the things, but forms of things receiues;
As when a seale in waxe impression makes,
The print therein, but not it selfe it leaues.

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And though things sensible be numberlesse,
But onely fiue the Sense's organs be;
And in those fiue, all things their formes expresse,
Which we can touch, taste, feele, or heare, or see.

These are the windows throgh the which she views
The light of knowledge, which is life's load-star:
“And yet while she these spectacles doth vse,
“Oft worldly things seeme greater then they are.

Sight.

First, the two eyes that haue the seeing power,
Stand as one watchman, spy, or sentinell,
Being plac'd aloft, within the head's high tower;
And though both see, yet both but one thing tell.

104

These mirrors take into their little space
The formes of moone and sun, and euery starre,
Of euery body and of euery place,
Which with the World's wide armes embracèd are:

Yet their best obiect, and their noblest vse,
Hereafter in another World will be,
When God in them shall heauenly light infuse,
That face to face they may their Maker see.

Here are they guides, which doe the body lead,
Which else would stumble in eternal night;
Here in this world they do much knowledge read,
And are the casements which admit most light:

They are her farthest reaching instrument,
Yet they no beames vnto their obiects send,
But all the rayes are from their obiects sent,
And in the eyes with pointed angles end:

If th'obiects be farre off, the rayes doe meet
In a sharpe point, and so things seeme but small:

105

If they be neere, their rayes doe spread and fleet,
And make broad points, that things seeme great withall.

Lastly, nine things to Sight requirèd are;
The power to see, the light, the visible thing,
Being not too small, too thin, too nigh, too farre,
Cleare space, and time, the forme distinct to bring.

Thus we see how the Soule doth vse the eyes,
As instruments of her quicke power of sight;
Hence do th'Arts opticke and faire painting rise;
Painting, which doth all gentle minds delight.

Hearing.

Now let vs heare how she the Eares imployes:
Their office is the troubled ayre to take,
Which in their mazes formes a sound or noyse,
Whereof her selfe doth true distinction make.

106

These wickets of the Soule are plac't on hie
Because all sounds doe lightly mount aloft;
And that they may not pierce too violently,
They are delaied with turnes and windings oft.

For should the voice directly strike the braine,
It would astonish and confuse it much;
Therfore these plaits and folds the sound restraine,
That it the organ may more gently touch.

As streames, which with their winding banks doe play,
Stopt by their creeks, run softly through the plaine:
So in th'Eares' labyrinth the voice doth stray,
And doth with easie motion touch the braine.

It is the slowest, yet the daintiest sense;
For euen the Eares of such as haue no skill,
Perceiue a discord, and conceiue offence;
And knowing not what is good, yet find the ill.

107

And though this sense first gentle Musicke found,
Her proper obiect is the speech of men;
But that speech chiefely which God's heraulds sound,
When their tongs vtter what His Spirit did pen.

Our Eyes haue lids, our Eares still ope we see,
Quickly to heare how euery tale is proouèd;
Our Eyes still moue, our Eares vnmouèd bee,
That though we hear quick we be not quickly mouèd.

Thus by the organs of the Eye and Eare,
The Soule with knowledge doth her selfe endue:
“Thus she her prison may with pleasure beare,
“Hauing such prospects, all the world to view.

These conduit-pipes of knowledge feed the Mind,
But th'other three attend the Body still;
For by their seruices the Soule doth find,
What things are to the body good or ill.

108

Taste.

The bodie's life with meats and ayre is fed,
Therefore the soule doth vse the tasting power,
In veines, which through the tongue and palate spred,
Distinguish euery relish, sweet and sower.

This is the bodie's nurse; but since man's wit
Found th'art of cookery to delight his sense,
More bodies are consum'd and kild with it,
Then with the sword, famine, or pestilence.

Smelling.

Next, in the nosthrils she doth vse the smell:
As God the breath of life in them did giue,
So makes He now this power in them to dwell,
To iudge all ayres, whereby we breath and liue.

109

This sense is also mistresse of an Art,
Which to soft people sweete perfumes doth sell;
Though this deare Art doth little good impart,
Sith they smell best, that doe of nothing smell.

And yet good sents doe purifie the braine,
Awake the fancie, and the wits refine;
Hence old Deuotion, incense did ordaine
To make mens' spirits apt for thoughts diuine.

Feeling.

Lastly, the feeling power, which is Life's root,
Through euery liuing part it selfe doth shed,
By sinewes, which extend from head to foot,
And like a net, all ore the body spred.

Much like a subtill spider, which doth sit
In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide:
If ought doe touch the vtmost thred of it,
Shee feeles it instantly on euery side.

110

By Touch, the first pure qualities we learne,
Which quicken all things, hote, cold, moist and dry;
By Touch, hard, soft, rough, smooth, we doe discerne:
By Touch, sweet pleasure, and sharpe paine, we try.

The Imagination, or Common Sense.

These are the outward instruments of Sense,
These are the guards which euery thing must passe
Ere it approch the mind's intelligence,
Or touch the Fantasie, Wit's looking-glasse.

The Imagination or Common Sense.

And yet these porters, which all things admit,
Themselues perceiue not, nor discerne the things;
One common power doth in the forehead sit,
Which all their proper formes together brings.

111

For all those nerues, which spirits of Sence doe beare,
And to those outward organs spreading goe,
Vnited are, as in a center there,
And there this power those sundry formes doth know.

Those outward organs present things receiue,
This inward Sense doth absent things retaine;
Yet straight transmits all formes shee doth perceiue,
Vnto a higher region of the braine.

The Fantasie.

Where Fantasie, neere hand-maid to the mind,
Sits and beholds, and doth discerne them all;
Compounds in one, things diuers in their kind;
Compares the black and white, the great and small.

112

Besides, those single formes she doth esteeme,
And in her ballance doth their values trie;
Where some things good, and some things ill doe seem,
And neutrall some, in her fantasticke eye.

This busie power is working day and night;
For when the outward senses rest doe take,
A thousand dreames, fantasticall and light,
With fluttring wings doe keepe her still awake.

The Sensitiue Memorie.

Yet alwayes all may not afore her bee;
Successiuely, she this and that intends;
Therefore such formes as she doth cease to see,
To Memorie's large volume shee commends.

The lidger-booke lies in the braine behinde,
Like Ianus' eye, which in his poll was set:
The lay-man's tables, the store-house of the mind,
Which doth remember much, and much forget.

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Heere Sense's apprehension, end doth take;
As when a stone is into water cast,
One circle doth another circle make,
Till the last circle touch the banke at last.

The Passions of Sense.

But though the apprehensiue power doe pause,
The motiue vertue then begins to moue,
Which in the heart below doth Passions cause,
Ioy, griefe, and feare, and hope, and hate, and loue.

These passions haue a free commanding might,
And diuers actions in our life doe breed;
For, all acts done without true Reason's light,
Doe from the passion of the Sense proceed.

But sith the braine doth lodge the powers of Sense,
How makes it in the heart those passions spring?

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The mutuall loue, the kind intelligence
'Twixt heart and braine, this sympathy doth bring.

From the kind heat, which in the heart doth raigne,
The spirits of life doe their begining take;
These spirits of life ascending to the braine,
When they come there, the spirits of Sense do make.

These spirits of Sense, in Fantasie's High Court,
Iudge of the formes of obiects, ill or well;
And so they send a good or ill report
Downe to the heart, where all affections dwell.

If the report bee good, it causeth loue,
And longing hope, and well-assurèd ioy:
If it bee ill, then doth it hatred moue,
And trembling feare, and vexing griefe's annoy.

Yet were these naturall affections good:
(For they which want them, blockes or deuils be)
If Reason in her first perfection stood,
That she might Nature's passions rectifie.

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The Motion of Life.

Besides, another motiue-power doth rise
Out of the heart: from whose pure blood do spring
The vitall spirits; which, borne in arteries,
Continuall motion to all parts doe bring.

The Locall Motion.

This makes the pulses beat, and lungs respire,
This holds the sinewes like a bridle's reines,
And makes the Body to aduance, retire,
To turne or stop, as she them slacks, or straines.

Thus the soule tunes the bodie's instrument;
These harmonies she makes with life and sense;
The organs fit are by the body lent,
But th'actions flow from the Soule's influence.

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The intellectuall Powers of the Soule

But now I haue a will, yet want a wit,
To expresse the working of the wit and will;
Which, though their root be to the body knit,
Vse not the body, when they vse their skill.

These powers the nature of the Soule declare,
For to man's soule these onely proper bee;
For on the Earth no other wights there are
That haue these heauenly powers, but only we.

The Wit or Understanding.

The Wit, the pupill of the Soule's cleare eye,
And in man's world, the onely shining starre;
Lookes in the mirror of the Fantasie,
Where all the gatherings of the Senses are.

From thence this power the shapes of things abstracts,
And them within her passiue part receiues;

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Which are enlightned by that part which acts,
And so the formes of single things perceiues.

But after, by discoursing to and fro,
Anticipating, and comparing things;
She doth all vniversall natures know,
And all effects into their causes brings.

Reason, Understanding.

When she rates things and moues from ground to ground,
The name of Reason she obtaines by this:
But when by Reason she the truth hath found,
And standeth fixt, she Vnderstanding is.

Opinion, Iudgement.

When her assent she lightly doth encline
To either part, she is Opinion light:
But when she doth by principles define
A certaine truth, she hath true Judgement's sight.

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And as from Senses, Reason's worke doth spring,
So many reasons, understanding gaine;
And many understandings, knowledge bring;
And by much knowledge, wisdome we obtaine.

So, many stayres we must ascend vpright
Ere we attaine to Wisdome's high degree:
So doth this Earth eclipse our Reason's light,
Which else (in instants) would like angels see.

Yet hath the Soule a dowrie naturall,
And sparkes of light, some common things to see;
Not being a blancke where nought is writ at all,
But what the writer will, may written be

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For Nature in man's heart her lawes doth pen;
Prescribing truth to wit, and good to will;
Which doe accuse, or else excuse all men,
For euery thought or practise, good or ill:

And yet these sparkes grow almost infinite,
Making the World, and all therein their food;
As fire so spreads, as no place holdeth it,
Being nourisht still, with new supplies of wood.

And though these sparkes were almost quencht with sin,
Yet they whom that Iust One hath iustifide,
Haue them encreasd with heauenly light within,
And like the widowe's oyle still multiplide.

The Power of Will.

And as this wit should goodnesse truely know,
We haue a Will, which that true good should chuse:
Though Wil do oft (when wit false formes doth show)
Take ill for good, and good for ill refuse.

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The Relations betwixt Wit and Will.

Will puts in practice what the Wit deuiseth:
Will euer acts, and Wit contemplates still:
And as from Wit, the power of wisedome riseth,
All other vertues daughters are of Will.

Will is the prince, and Wit the counseller,
Which doth for common good in Counsell sit;
And when Wit is resolu'd, Will lends her power
To execute what is aduis'd by Wit.

Wit is the mind's chief iudge, which doth controule
Of Fancie's Court the iudgements, false and vaine:
Will holds the royall septer in the soule
And on the passions of the heart doth raigne.

Will is as free as any emperour,
Naught can restraine her gentle libertie:
No tyrant, nor no torment, hath the power,
To make vs will, when we vnwilling bee.

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The Intellectuall Memorie.

To these high powers, a store-house doth pertaine,
Where they all arts and generall reasons lay,
Which in the Soule, euen after death, remaine
And no Lethæan flood can wash away.

This is the Soule, and these her vertues bee;
Which, though they haue their sundry proper ends
And one exceeds another in degree,
Yet each on other mutually depends.

Our Wit is giuen, Almighty God to know;
Our Will is giuen to loue Him, being knowne:
But God could not be known to vs below,
But by His workes which through the sense are shown.

And as the Wit doth reape the fruits of Sense,
So doth the quickning power the senses feed:
Thus while they doe their sundry gifts dispence,
“The best, the seruice of the least doth need.

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Euen so the King his Magistrates do serue,
Yet Commons feed both magistrate and king:
The Commons' peace the magistrates preserue
By borrowed power, which from the Prince doth spring.

The quickning power would be, and so would rest;
The sense would not be onely, but be well:
But Wit's ambition longeth to the best,
For it desires in endlesse blisse to dwell.

And these three powers, three sorts of men doe make;
For some, like plants, their veines doe onely fill;
And some, like beasts, their senses' pleasure take;
And some, like angels, doe contemplate still.

Therefore the fables turnd some men to flowres,
And others, did with bruitish formes inuest;
And did of others, make celestiall powers,
Like angels, which still trauell, yet still rest.

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Yet these three powers are not three soules, but one;
As one and two are both containd in three,
Three being one number by it selfe alone:
A shadow of the blessed Trinitie.

An Acclamation.

Oh! what is man (great Maker of mankind!)
That Thou to him so great respect dost beare!
That Thou adornst him with so bright a mind,
Mak'st him a king, and euen an angel's peere!

O! what a liuely life, what heauenly power,
What spreading vertue, what a sparkling fire,
How great, how plentifull, how rich a dower
Dost Thou within this dying flesh inspire!

Thou leau'st Thy print in other works of Thine,
But Thy whole image Thou in Man hast writ:
There cannot be a creature more diuine,
Except (like Thee) it should be infinit.

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But it exceeds man's thought, to thinke how hie
God hath raisd man, since God a man became:
The angels doe admire this Misterie,
And are astonisht when they view the same.

That the Soule is Immortal, and cannot Die.

Nor hath He giuen these blessings for a day,
Nor made them on the bodie's life depend:
The Soule though made in time, suruiues for aye,
And though it hath beginning, sees no end.

Her onely end, is neuer-ending blisse;
Which is, th'eternall face of God to see;
Who Last of Ends, and First of Causes, is:
And to doe this, she must eternall bee,

How senselesse then, and dead a soule hath hee,
Which thinks his soule doth with his body die!

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Or thinkes not so, but so would haue it bee,
That he might sinne with more securitie.

For though these light and vicious persons say,
Our soule is but a smoake or ayrie blast;
Which, during life, doth in our nostrils play,
And when we die, doth turne to wind at last:

Although they say, ‘Come let us eat and drinke’;
Our life is but a sparke, which quickly dies:
Though thus they say, they know not what to think,
But in their minds ten thousand doubts arise.

Therefore no heretikes desire to spread
Their light opinions, like these Epicures:
For so the staggering thoughts are comfortèd,
And other mens' assent their doubt assures.

Yet though these men against their conscience striue,
There are some sparkles in their flintie breasts
Which cannot be extinct, but still reuiue;
That though they would, they cannot quite bee beasts;

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But who so makes a mirror of his mind,
And doth with patience view himselfe therein,
His Soule's eternitie shall clearely find,
Though th'other beauties be defac't with sin.

Reason I. Drawne from the desire of Knowledge.

First in Man's mind we find an appetite
To learne and know the truth of euery thing;
Which is co-naturall and borne with it,
And from the essence of the soule doth spring.

With this desire, shee hath a natiue might
To find out euery truth, if she had time;
Th'innumerable effects to sort aright,
And by degrees, from cause to cause to clime.

But sith our life so fast away doth slide,
As doth a hungry eagle through the wind,
Or as a ship transported with the tide;
Which in their passage leaue no print behind;

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Of which swift little time so much we spend,
While some few things we through the sense doe straine;
That our short race of life is at an end,
Ere we the principles of skill attaine.

Or God (which to vaine ends hath nothing done)
In vaine this appetite and power hath giuen;
Or else our knowledge, which is here begun,
Hereafter must bee perfected in heauen.

God neuer gaue a power to one whole kind,
But most part of that kind did vse the same;
Most eies haue perfect sight, though some be blind;
Most legs can nimbly run, though some be lame:

But in this life no soule the truth can know
So perfectly, as it hath power to doe:
If then perfection be not found below,
An higher place must make her mount thereto.

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Reason II. Drawn from the Motion of the Soule.

Againe how can shee but immortall bee?
When with the motions of both Will and Wit,
She still aspireth to eternitie,
And neuer rests, till she attaine to it?

Water in conduit pipes, can rise no higher
Then the wel-head, from whence it first doth spring:
Then sith to eternall God shee doth aspire,
Shee cannot be but an eternall thing.

“All mouing things to other things doe moue,
“Of the same kind, which shews their nature such:
So earth falls downe and fire doth mount aboue,
Till both their proper elements doe touch.

And as the moysture, which the thirstie earth
Suckes from the sea, to fill her emptie veines,

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From out her wombe at last doth take a birth,
And runs a Nymph along the grassie plaines.

Long doth shee stay, as loth to leaue the land,
From whose soft side she first did issue make:
Shee tastes all places, turnes to euery hand,
Her flowry bankes vnwilling to forsake:

Yet Nature so her streames doth lead and carry,
As that her course doth make no finall stay,
Till she her selfe vnto the Ocean marry,
Within whose watry bosome first she lay:

Euen so the Soule which in this earthly mold
The Spirit of God doth secretly infuse;
Because at first she doth the earth behold,
And onely this materiall world she viewes:

At first her mother-earth she holdeth deare,
And doth embrace the world and worldy things:
She flies close by the ground, and houers here,
And mounts not vp with her celestiall wings.

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Yet vnder heauen she cannot light on ought
That with her heauenly nature doth agree;
She cannot rest, she cannot fix her thought,
She cannot in this world contented bee:

For who did euer yet, in honour, wealth,
Or pleasure of the sense, contentment find?
Who euer ceasd to wish, when he had health?
Or hauing wisedome was not vext in mind?

Then as a bee which among weeds doth fall,
Which seeme sweet flowers, with lustre fresh and gay:
She lights on that, and this, and tasteth all,
But pleasd with none, doth rise, and soare away;

So, when the Soule finds here no true content,
And, like Noah's doue, can no sure footing take,
She doth returne from whence she first was sent,
And flies to Him that first her wings did make.

Wit, seeking Truth, from cause to cause ascends,
And neuer rests, till it the first attaine:
Will, seeking Good, finds many middle ends,
But neuer stayes, till it the last doe gaine.

Now God, the Truth, and First of Causes is:
God is the Last Good End, which lasteth still,
Being Alpha and Omega nam'd for this;
Alpha to Wit, Omega to the Will.

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Sith then her heauenly kind shee doth bewray,
In that to God she doth directly moue;
And on no mortall thing can make her stay,
She cannot be from hence, but from aboue.

And yet this First True Cause, and Last Good End,
Shee cannot heere so well, and truely see;
For this perfection shee must yet attend,
Till to her Maker shee espousèd bee.

As a king's daughter, being in person sought
Of diuers princes, who doe neighbour neere,
On none of them can fixe a constant thought,
Though shee to all doe lend a gentle eare:

Yet she can loue a forraine emperour,
Whom of great worth and power she heares to be,
If she be woo'd but by embassadour,
Or but his letters, or his pictures see:

For well she knowes, that when she shall be brought
Into the kingdome where her spouse doth raigne.
Her eyes shall see what she conceiu'd in thought,
Himselfe, his state, his glory, and his traine.

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So while the virgin soule on Earth doth stay,
She woo'd and tempted is ten thousand wayes,
By these great powers, which on the Earth beare sway;
The wisdom of the world, wealth, pleasure, praise:

With these sometime she doth her time beguile,
These doe by fits her Fantasie possesse;
But she distastes them all within a while,
And in the sweetest finds a tediousnesse.

But if upon the World's Almighty King
She once doe fixe her hnmble louing thought,
Who by His picture, drawne in euery thing,
And sacred messages, her loue hath sought;

Of Him she thinks, she cannot thinke too much;
This hony tasted still, is euer sweet;
The pleasure of her rauisht thought is such,
As almost here, she with her blisse doth meet:

But when in Heauen she shall His Essence see,
This is her soueraigne good, and perfect blisse:
Her longings, wishings, hopes all finisht be,
Her ioyes are full, her motions rest in this:

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There is she crownd with garlands of content,
There doth she manna eat, and nectar drinke:
That Presence doth such high delights present,
As neuer tongue could speake, nor heart could thinke.

Reason III. From Contempt of Death in the better Sort of Spirits.

For this the better Soules doe oft despise
The bodie's death, and doe it oft desire;
For when on ground, the burdened ballance lies
The emptie part is lifted vp the higher:

But if the bodie's death the soule should kill,
Then death must needs against her nature bee;
And were it so, all soules would flie it still,
For Nature hates and shunnes her contrary.

For all things else, which Nature makes to bee,
Their being to preserue, are chiefly taught;
And though some things desire a change to see,
Yet neuer thing did long to turne to naught.

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If then by death the soule were quenchèd quite,
She could not thus against her nature runne;
Since euery senselesse thing, by Nature's light,
Doth preseruation seeke, destruction shunne.

Nor could the World's best spirits so much erre,
If death tooke all—that they should all agree,
Before this life, their honour to preferre;
For what is praise to things that nothing bee?

Againe, if by the bodie's prop shee stand;
If on the bodie's life, her life depend,
As Meleager's on the fatall brand,—
The bodie's good shee onely would intend:

We should not find her halfe so braue and bold,
To leade it to the Warres and to the seas;
To make it suffer watchings, hunger, cold,
When it might feed with plentie, rest with ease.

Doubtlesse all soules have a suruiuing thought;
Therefore of death we thinke with quiet mind;
But if we thinke of being turn'd to nought,
A trembling horror in our soules we find.

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Reason IV. From the Feare of Death in the Wicked Soules.

And as the better spirit, when shee doth beare
A scorne of death doth shew she cannot die;
So when the wicked soule death's face doth feare,
Euen then she proues her owne eternitie.

For when Death's forme appeares, she feareth not
An vtter quenching or extinguishment;
She would be glad to meet wilh such a lot,
That so she might all future ill preuent:

But shee doth doubt what after may befall;
For Nature's law accuseth her within,
And saith, 'tis true that is affirm'd by all,
That after death there is a paine for sin.

Then she which hath bin hud-winkt from her birth,
Doth first her selfe within Death's mirror see;
And when her body doth returne to earth,
She first takes care, how she alone shall bee.

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Who euer sees these irreligious men,
With burthen of a sicknesse weake and faint,
But heares them talking of Religion then,
And vowing of their soules to euery saint?

When was there euer cursed atheist brought
Vnto the gibbet, but he did adore
That blessed Power, which he had set at nought,
Scorn'd and blasphemèd all his life before?

These light vaine persons still are drunke and mad,
With surfettings and pleasures of their youth;
But at their deaths they are fresh, sober, sad;
Then they discerne, and then they speake the truth.

If then all soules, both good and bad, doe teach,
With generall voice, that soules can neuer die;
'Tis not man's flattering glosse, but Nature's speech,
Which, like God's Oracle, can neuer lie.

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Reason V. From the generall Desire of Immortalitie.

Hence springs that vniuersall strong desire,
Which all men haue of Immortalitie:
Not some few spirits vnto this thought aspire,
But all mens' minds in this vnited be.

Then this desire of Nature is not vaine,
“She couets not impossibilities;
“Fond thoughts may fall into some idle braine,
“But one assent of all, is euer wise.

From hence that generall care and study springs,
That launching and progression of the mind,
Which all men haue so much, of future things,
That they no ioy doe in the present find.

From this desire, that maine desire proceeds,
Which all men haue suruiuing Fame to gaine,
By tombes, by bookes, by memorable deeds;
For she that this desires, doth still remaine.

Hence lastly, springs care of posterities,
For things their kind would euerlasting make:
Hence is it that old men do plant young trees,
The fruit whereof another age shall take.

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If we these rules unto our selues apply,
And view them by reflection of the mind;
All these true notes of immortalitie
In our heart's tables we shall written find.

Reason VI. From the very Doubt and Disputation of Immortalitie.

And though some impious wits do questions moue,
And doubt if soules immortall be, or no;
That doubt their immortalitie doth proue,
Because they seeme immortall things to know.

For he which reasons on both parts doth bring,
Doth some things mortall, some immortall call;
Now, if himselfe were but a mortall thing,
He could not iudge immortall things at all.

For when we iudge, our minds we mirrors make:
And as those glasses which materiall bee,
Formes of materiall things doe onely take,
For thoughts or minds in them we cannot see:

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So, when we God and angels do conceiue,
And thinke of truth, which is eternall too;
Then doe our minds immortall formes receiue,
Which if they mortall were, they could not doo:

And as, if beasts conceiu'd what Reason were,
And that conception should distinctly show,
They should the name of reasonable beare;
For without Reason, none could Reason know:

So, when the Soule mounts with so high a wing,
As of eternall things she doubts can moue;
Shee proofes of her eternitie doth bring,
Euen when she striues the contrary to proue.

For euen the thought of immortalitie,
Being an act done without the bodie's ayde
Shewes, that her selfe alone could moue and bee,
Although the body in the graue were layde.

That the Soule cannot be destroyed.

And if her selfe she can so liuely moue,
And neuer need a forraine helpe to take,
Then must her motion euerlasting proue,
Because her selfe she neuer can forsake.

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But though corruption cannot touch the minde
By any cause that from it selfe may spring,
Some outward cause Fate hath perhaps designd,
Which to the Soule may vtter quenching bring.

Perhaps her cause may cease, and she may die;
God is her cause, His Word her Maker was;
Which shall stand fixt for all eternitie
When Heauen and Earth shall like a shadow passe.

Perhaps some thing repugnant to her kind,
By strong antipathy, the soule may kill:
But what can be contrary to the minde,
Which holds all contraries in concord still?

She lodgeth heat, and cold, and moist, and dry,
And life, and death, and peace, and war together;
Ten thousand fighting things in her doe lye,
Yet neither troubleth, or disturbeth either

Perhaps for want of food the soule may pine;
But that were strange, sith all things bad and good,
Sith all God's creature's mortall and divine,
Sith God Himselfe, is her eternall food.

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Bodies are fed with things of mortall kind,
And so are subiect to mortalitie:
But Truth which is eternall, feeds the mind;
The tree of life, which will not let her die.

Yet violence, perhaps the soule destroyes:
As lightning, or the sun-beames dim the sight;
Or as a thunder-clap, or cannon's noyse,
The power of hearing doth astonish quite.

But high perfection to the soule it brings,
T'encounter things most excellent and high;
For, when she viewes the best and greatest things
They do not hurt, but rather cleare her eye,

Besides,—as Homer's gods 'gainst armies stand,—
Her subtill forme can through all dangers slide:
Bodies are captive, minds endure no band,
And Will is free, and can no force abide.

But lastly, Time perhaps at last hath power
To spend her liuely powers, and quench her light;

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But old god Saturne which doth all deuoure,
Doth cheerish her, and still augment her might.

Hauen waxeth old, and all the spheres aboue
Shall one day faint, and their swift motion stay;
And Time it selfe in time shall cease to moue;
Onely the Soule suruives, and liues for aye.

“Our Bodies, euery footstep that they make,
“March towards death, vntill at last they die;
“Whether we worke, or play, or sleepe, or wake,
“Our life doth passe, and with Time's wings doth flie:

But to the soule Time doth perfection giue,
And ads fresh lustre to her beauty still;
And makes her in eternall youth to liue,
Like her which nectar to the gods doth fill.

The more she liues, the more she feeds on Truth;
The more she feeds, her strength doth more increase:
And what is strength, but an effect of youth?
Which if Time nurse, how can it euer cease?

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Objections against the Immortalitie of the Soule.

But now these Epicures begin to smile,
And say, my doctrine is more false then true;
And that I fondly doe my selfe beguile,
While these receiu'd opinions I ensue.

Objection I.

For what, say they, doth not the Soule waxe old?
How comes it then that agèd men doe dote;
And that their braines grow sottish, dull and cold,
Which were in youth the onely spirits of note?

What? are not soules within themselues corrupted?
How can there idiots then by nature bee?
How is it that some wits are interrupted,
That now they dazeled are, now clearely see?

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Answere.

These questions make a subtill argument,
To such as thinke both sense and reason one:
To whom nor agent, from the instrument,
Nor power of working, from the work is known.

But they that know that wit can shew no skill,
But when she things in Sense's glasse doth view,
Doe know, if accident this glasse doe spill,
It nothing sees, or sees the false for true.

For, if that region of the tender braine,
Where th'inward sense of fantasie should sit,
And the outward senses gatherings should retain,
By Nature, or by chance, become vnfit:

Either at first vncapable it is,
And so few things, or none at all receiues;
Or mard by accident, which haps amisse
And so amisse it euery thing perceiues.

Then, as a cunning prince that vseth spyes,
If they returne no newes doth nothing know;

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But if they make aduertisement of lies,
The Prince's counsel all awry doe goe.

Euen so the soule to such a body knit,
Whose inward senses vndisposèd be,
And to receiue the formes of things vnfit;
Where nothing is brought in, can nothing see.

This makes the idiot, which hath yet a mind,
Able to know the truth, and chuse the good,
If she such figures in the braine did find,
As might be found, if it in temper stood.

But if a phrensie doe possesse the braine,
It so disturbs and blots the formes of things,
As Fantasie prooues altogether vaine,
And to the Wit no true relation brings.

Then doth the Wit, admitting all for true,
Build fond conclusions on those idle grounds:
Then doth it flie the good, and ill pursue,
Beleeuing all that this false spie propounds.

But purge the humors, and the rage appease,
Which this distemper in the fansie wrought,
Then shall the Wit, which never had disease,
Discourse, and iudge discreetly, as it ought.

146

So, though the clouds eclipse the sunne's faire light,
Yet from his face they doe not take one beame;
So haue our eyes their perfect power of sight,
Euen when they looke into a troubled streame.

Then these defects in Senses' organs bee,
Not in the soule or in her working might:
She cannot lose her perfect power to see,
Thogh mists and clouds do choke her window light.

These imperfections then we must impute,
Not to the agent but the instrument:
We must not blame Apollo, but his lute,
If false accords from her false strings be sent.

The Soule in all hath one intelligence;
Though too much moisture in an infant's braine,
And too much drinesse in an old man's sense,
Cannot the prints of outward things retaine:

Then doth the soule want worke, and idle sit,
And this we childishnesse and dotage call;
Yet hath she then a quicke and actiue Wit,
If she had stuffe and tooles to worke withall:

For, giue her organs fit, and obiects faire;
Giue but the aged man, the young man's sense;

147

Let but Medea, Æson's youth repaire,
And straight she shewes her wonted excellence.

As a good harper stricken farre in yeares,
Into whose cunning hand the gowt is fall:
All his old crotchets in his braine he beares,
But on his harpe playes ill, or not at all.

But if Apollo takes his gowt away,
Thut hee his nimble fingers may apply,
Apollo's selfe will enuy at his play,
And all the world applaud his minstralsie.

Then dotage is no weaknesse of the mind,
But of the sense; for if the mind did waste,
In all old men we should this wasting find,
When they some certain terme of yeres had past:

But most of them, euen to their dying howre,
Retaine a mind more liuely, quicke, and strong,
And better vse their vnderstanding power,
Then when their braines were warm, and lims were yong.

148

For, though the body wasted be and weake,
And though the leaden forme of earth it beares,
Yet when we heare that halfe-dead body speake,
We oft are rauisht to the heauenly spheares.

Objection II.

Yet say these men, If all her organs die,
Then hath the soule no power her powers to vse:
So, in a sort, her powers extinct doe lie,
When vnto act shee cannot them reduce.

And if her powers be dead, then what is shee?
For sith from euery thing some powers do spring,
And from those powers, some acts proceeding bee,
Then kill both power and act, and kill the thing.

Answere.

Doubtless, the bodie's death when once it dies,
The instruments of sense and life doth kill;
So that she cannot vse those faculties,
Although their root rest in her substance still.

149

But (as the body liuing) Wit and Will
Can iudge and chuse, without the bodie's ayde;
Though on such obiects they are working still,
As through the bodie's organs are conuayde:

So, when the body serues her turne no more,
And all her senses are extinct and gone,
She can discourse of what she learn'd before,
In heauenly contemplations, all alone.

So, if one man well on a lute doth play,
And haue good horsemanship, and learning's skill:
Though both his lute and horse we take away,
Doth he not keep his former learning still?

He keepes it doubtlesse, and can vse it to[o];
And doth both th'other skils in power retaine;
And can of both the proper actions doe,
If with his lute or horse he meet againe.

So (though the instruments by which we liue,
And view the world, the bodie's death doe kill;)
Yet with the body they shall all reuiue,
And all their wonted offices fulfill.

150

Objection III.

But how, till then, shall she herselfe imploy?
Her spies are dead which brought home newes before:
What she hath got and keepes, she may enioy,
But she hath meanes to vnderstand no more.

Then what do those poore soules, which nothing get?
Or what doe those which get, and cannot keepe?
Like buckets bottomlesse, which all out-let
Those soules, for want of exercise, must sleepe.

Answere.

See how man's soule against it selfe doth striue:
Why should we not haue other meanes to know?
As children while within the wombe they liue,
Feed by the nauill: here they feed not so.

151

These children, if they had some vse of sense,
And should by chance their mothers' talking heare,
That in short time they shall come forth from thence,
Would feare their birth more then our death we feare.

They would cry out, ‘If we this place shall leaue,
Then shall we breake our tender nauill strings:
How shall we then our nourishment receiue,
Sith our sweet food no other conduit brings?’

And if a man should to these babes reply,
That into this faire world they shall be brought,
Where they shall see the Earth, the Sea, the Skie,
The glorious Sun, and all that God hath wrought:

That there ten thousand dainties they shall meet,
Which by their mouthes they shall with pleature take;
Which shall be cordiall too, as wel as sweet,
And of their little limbes, tall bodies make:

152

This would they thinke a fable, euen as we
Doe thinke the story of the Golden Age;
Or as some sensuall spirits amongst vs bee,
Which hold the world to come a fainèd stage:

Yet shall these infants after find all true,
Though then thereof they nothing could conceiue:
As soone as they are borne, the world they view,
And with their mouthes, the nurses' milke receiue.

So, when the soule is borne (for Death is nought
But the soule's birth, and so we should it call)
Ten thousand things she sees beyond her thought,
And in an vnknowne manner knowes them all.

Then doth she see by spectacles no more,
She heares not by report of double spies;
Her selfe in instants doth all things explore,
For each thing present, and before her, lies.

153

Objection IV.

But still this crue with questions me pursues:
If soules deceas'd (say they) still liuing bee,
Why do they not return, to bring vs newes
Of that strange world, where they such wonders see?

Answere.

Fond men! If we beleeue that men doe liue
Vnder the Zenith of both frozen Poles,
Though none come thence aduertisement to giue,
Why beare we not the like faith of our soules?

The soule hath here on Earth no more to doe,
Then we haue businesse in our mother's wombe:
What child doth couet to returne thereto?
Although all children first from thence do come?

154

But as Noah's pidgeon, which return'd no more,
Did shew, she footing found, for all the Flood;
So when good soules, departed through Death's dore,
Come not againe, it shewes their dwelling good.

And doubtlesse, such a soule as vp doth mount,
And doth appeare before her Maker's Face,
Holds this vile world in such a base account,
As she looks down, and scorns this wretched place.

But such as are detruded downe to Hell,
Either for shame, they still themselues retire;
Or tyed in chaines, they in close prison dwell.
And cannot come, although they much desire.

Objection. V.

Well, well, say these vaine spirits, though vaine is is
To thinke our soules to Heauen or Hell to go;
Politike men haue thought it not amisse,
To spread this lye, to make men vertuous so.

155

Answere.

Doe you then thinke this morall vertue good?
I thinke you doe, euen for your priuate gaine,
For Common-wealths by vertue euer stood,
And common good the priuate doth containe.

If then this vertue you doe loue so well,
Haue you no meanes, her practise to maintaine,
But you this lye must to the people tell,
That good soules liue in ioy, and ill in paine?

Must vertue be preseruèd by a lye?
Vertue and Truth do euer best agree;
By this it seemes to be a veritie,
Sith the effects so good and vertuous bee.

For, as the deuill father is of lies,
So vice and mischiefe doe his lyes ensue:
Then this good doctrine did not he deuise,
But made this lye, which saith it is not true.

156

The Generall Consent of All.

For, how can that be false, which euery tongue
Of euery mortall man affirmes for true?
Which truth hath in all ages been so strong,
As lodestone-like, all hearts it euer drew.

For, not the Christian, or the Iew alone,
The Persian, or the Turke, acknowledge this:
This mysterie to the wild Indian knowne,
And to the Canniball and Tartar is.

This rich Assyrian drugge growes euery where;
As common in the North, as in the East:
This doctrine does not enter by the eare,
But of it selfe is natiue in the breast.

None that acknowledge God, or prouidence,
Their soule's eternitie did euer doubt;
For all Religion takes her root from hence,
Which no poore naked nation liues without.

For sith the World for Man created was,
(For onely Man the vse thereof doth know)

157

If man doe perish like a withered grasse,
How doth God's Wisedom order things below?

And if that Wisedom still wise ends propound,
Why made He man, of other creatures King;
When (if he perish here) there is not found
In all the world so poor and vile a thing?

If death do quench vs quite, we haue great wrong,
Sith for our seruice all things else were wrought,
That dawes, and trees, and rocks, should last so long,
When we must in an instant passe to nought.

But blest be that Great Power, that hath vs blest
With longer life then Heauen or Earth can haue;
Which hath infus'd into our mortall breast
Immortall powers, not subiect to the graue.

For though the Soule doe seeme her graue to beare,
And in this world is almost buried quick,
We haue no cause the bodie's death to feare,
For when the shell is broke, out comes a chick.

158

Three Kinds of Life answerable to the three Powers of the Soule.

For as the soule's essentiall powers are three,
The quickning power, the power of sense and reason:
Three kinds of life to her designèd bee,
Which perfect these three powers in their due season.

The first life, in the mother's wombe is spent,
Where she her nursing power doth onely vse;
Where, when she finds defect of nourishment,
Sh' expels her body, and this world she viewes.

This we call Birth; but if the child could speake,
He Death would call it; and of Nature plaine,
That she would thrust him out naked and weake,
And in his passage pinch him with such paine.

Yet, out he comes, and in this world is plac't
Where all his Senses in perfection bee:
Where he finds flowers to smell, and fruits to taste;
And sounds to heare, and sundry formes to see.

159

When he hath past some time vpon this stage,
His Reason then a litle seemes to wake;
Which, thogh the spring, when sense doth fade with age,
Yet can she here no perfect practise make.

Then doth th'aspiring Soule the body leaue,
Which we call Death; but were it knowne to all,
What life our soules do by this death receiue,
Men would it birth or gaole deliuery call.

In this third life, Reason will be so bright,
As that her sparke will like the sun-beames shine,
And shall of God enioy the reall sight.
Being still increast by influence diuine.

An Acclamation.

O ignorant poor man! what dost thou beare
Lockt vp within the casket of thy brest?
What iewels, and what riches hast thou there!
What heauenly treasure in so weake a chest!

160

Looke in thy soule, and thou shalt beauties find,
Like those which drownd Narcissus in the flood:
Honour and Pleasure both are in thy mind,
And all that in the world is couuted Good.

Thinke of her worth, and think that God did meane,
This worthy mind should worthy things imbrace;
Blot not her beauties with thy thoughts vnclean,
Nor her dishonour with thy passions base:

Kill not her quickning power with surfettings,
Mar not her sense with sensualitie;
Cast not her serious wit on idle things:
Make not her free-will, slaue to vanitie.

And when thou think'st of her eternitie,
Thinke not that Death against her nature is;
Thinke it a birth: and when thou goest to die,
Sing like a swan, as if thou went'st to blisse.

161

And if thou, like a child, didst feare before,
Being in the darke, where thou didst nothing see;
Now I haue broght thee torch-light, feare no more;
Now when thou diest, thou canst not hud-winkt be.

And thou my Soule, which turn'st thy curious eye,
To view the beames of thine owne forme diuine,
Know, that thou canst know nothing perfectly,
While thou art clouded with this flesh of mine.

Take heed of ouer-weening, and compare
Thy peacock's feet with thy gay peacock's traine:
Study the best and highest things that are,
But of thy selfe an humble thought retaine.

Cast downe thy selfe, and onely striue to raise
The glory of thy Maker's sacred Name:
Vse all thy powers, that Blessed Power to praise,
Which giues thee power to bee, and vse the same.

Finis.

171

Orchestra.

175

[Dedications.]

I. TO HIS VERY FRIEND, MA. RICH. MARTIN.

To whom shall I this dauncing Poem send,
This suddaine, rash, half-capreol of my wit?
To you, first mouer and sole cause of it,
Mine-owne-selues better halfe, my deerest frend.
O, would you yet my Muse some Honny lend
From vour melllifluous tongue, whereon doth sit
Suada in Maiestie, that I may fit
These harsh beginnings with a sweeter end.
You know the modest Sunne full fifteene times
Blushing did rise, and blushing did descend,
While I in making of these ill made rimes,
My golden howers unthriftily did spend:
Yet, if in friendship you these numbers prayse,
I will mispend another fifteene dayes.

176

II. TO THE PRINCE.

Sir, whatsoeuer you are pleas'd to doo
It is your special praise that you are bent,
And sadly set your princely mind thereto:
Which makes you in each thing so excellent.

Hence is it that you came so soon to bee
A man-at-armes in euery point aright;
The fairest flowre of noble chiualrie;
And of Saint George, his band, the brauest knight.

And hence it is, that all your youthfull traine
In actiueness and grace, you doe excell,
When you doe courtly dauncings entertaine
Then Dauncing's praise may be presented well

To yov, whose action adds mere praise thereto,
Then all the Muses with their penns can doo.

177

Orchestra,

OR A POEME OF DAUNCING.

1

Where liues the man that neuer yet did heare
Of chaste Penelope, Ulisses' Queene?
Who kept her faith vnspotted twenty yeere,
Till he return'd that farre away had beene,
And many men, and many townes had seen:
Ten yeare at siege of Troy he lingring lay,
And ten yeare in the Mid-land-Sea did stray.

2

Homer, to whom the Muses did carouse
A great deepe cup with heauenly nectar filld,
The greatest, deepest cup in Joue's great house,
(For Ioue himselfe had so expresly willd)
He dranke off all, ne let one drop be spilld;
Since when, his braine that had before been drie,
Became the well-spring of all Poetrie.

178

3

Homer doth tell in his aboundant verse,
The long laborious trauailes of the man:
And of his lady too he doth reherse,
How shee illudes with all the art she can,
Th'vngratefull loue which other lords began;
For of her lord, false Fame long since had sworn,
That Neptune's monsters had his carkase torne.

4

All this he tells, but one thing he forgot,
One thing most worthy his eternall song:
But he was old, and blind, and saw it not,
Or else he thought he should Ulisses wrong,
To mingle it his tragike acts among:
Yet was there not in all the world of things,
A sweeter burden for his Muses wings.

5

The courtly loue Antinous did make,
Antinous that fresh and iolly knight,
Which of the gallants that did vndertake
To win the widdow, had most wealth and might,
Wit to perswade, and beautie to delight:
The courtly loue he made vnto the Queene,
Homer forgot, as if it had not beene.

179

6

Sing then Terpischore, my light Muse sing
His gentle art, and cunning curtesie:
You lady can remember euery thing,
For you are daughter of Queene Memorie;
But sing a plaine and easy melodie:
For the soft meane that warbleth but the ground,
To my rude eare doth yeeld the sweetest sound.

7

One onely night's discourse I can report,
When the great Torch-bearer of Heauen was gone
Downe in a maske vnto the Ocean's Court,
To reuell it with Thetis all alone;
Antinous disguisèd and vnknowne,
Like to the Spring in gaudie ornament,
Vnto the Castle of the Princesse went.

8

The soueraine Castle of the rockie Ile,
Wherein Penelope the Princesse lay,
Shone with a thousand lamps, which did exile
The shadowes darke, and turn'd the night to day:
Not Ioue's blew tent, what time the sunny ray
Behind the Bulwarke of the Earth retires,
Is seene to sparkle with more twinckling fires.

180

9

That night the Queen came forth from far within,
And in the presence of her Court was seene;
For the sweet singer Phæmius did begin
To praise the worthies that at Troy had beene:
Somewhat of her Ulisses she did weene.
In his graue hymne the heau'nly man would sing,
Or of his warres, or of his wandering.

10

Pallas that houre with her sweet breath diuine
Inspir'd immortall beautie in her eyes,
That with cælestiall glory she did shine,
Brighter then Venus when shee doth arise
Out of the waters to adorne the skies;
The Wooers all amazèd doe admire
And checke their owne presumptuous desire.

11

Onely Antinous when at first he view'd
Her starbright eyes, that with new honour shind,

181

Was not dismayd, but there-with-all renew'd
The noblesse and the splendour of his mind;
And as he did fit circumstances find,
Unto the throne he boldly gan aduance,
And with faire maners wooed the Queen to dance.

12

‘Goddesse of women, sith your heau'nlinesse
‘Hath now vouchsaft it selfe to represent
‘To our dim eyes, which though they see the lesse
‘Yet are they blest in their astonishment:
‘Imitate heau'n, whose beauties excellent
‘Are in continuall motion day and night,
‘And moue thereby more wonder and delight.

13

‘Let me the moouer be, to turne about
‘Those glorious ornaments, that Youth and Loue
‘Haue fixed in you, euery part throughout:
‘Which if you will in timely measure moue,
‘Not all those precious iemms in heau'n aboue
‘Shall yeeld a sight more pleasing to behold,
‘With all their turnes and tracings manifold.’

14

With this the modest Princesse blusht and smil'd,
Like to a cleare and rosie euentide

182

And softly did returne this answer mild:
‘Faire Sir, you needs must fairely be denide
‘Where your demaund cannot be satisfide:
‘My feet, which onely Nature taught to goe,
‘Did neuer yet the art of footing know.

15

‘But why perswade you me to this new rage?
‘(For all disorder and misrule is new)
‘For such misgouernment in former age,
‘Our old diuine Forefathers neuer knew;
‘Who if they liu'd, and did the follies view,
‘Which their fond nephews make their chiefe affaires,
‘Would hate themselues that had begot such heires.’

16

‘Sole heire of Vertue and of Beautie both,
‘Whence cometh it (Antinous replies)
‘That your imperious vertue is so loth
‘To graunt your beauty her chiefe exercise?
‘Or from what spring doth your opinion rise
‘That dauncing is a frenzy and a rage,
‘First knowne and vs'd in this new-fangled age?

183

17

‘Dauncing (bright Lady) then began to bee,
‘When the first seeds whereof the World did spring,
‘The fire, ayre, earth, and water—did agree,
‘By Loue's perswasion,—Nature's mighty King,—
‘To leaue their first disordred combating,
‘And in a daunce such measure to obserue,
‘As all the world their motion should preserue.

18

‘Since, when, they still are carried in a round,
‘And changing, come one in another's place:
‘Yet doe they neither mingle nor confound,
‘But euery one doth keepe the bounded space
‘Wherein the Daunce doth bid it turne or trace:
“This wondrous myracle did Loue deuise,
“For Dauncing is Love's proper exercise.

19

‘Like this, he fram'd the gods’ eternall Bower,
‘And of a shapelesse and confused masse,
‘By his through-piercing and digesting power,
‘The turning vault of heauen formèd was:

184

‘Whose starry wheeles he hath so made to passe,
‘As that their moouings do a musicke frame,
‘And they themselues still daunce vnto the same.

20

‘Or if this All which round about we see,
‘(As idle Morpheus some sicke braines hath taught)
‘Of vndeuided motes compacted bee:
‘How was this goodly Architecture wrought?
‘Or by what meanes were they together brought?
‘They erre that say they did concurre by chance:
‘Loue made them meet in a well-ordered daunce.

21

‘As when Amphion with his charming lire
‘Begot so sweet a syren of the ayre,
‘That with her Rethorike made the stones conspire
‘The ruines of a citie to repaire:
‘(A worke of wit and reason's wise affaire)
‘So Loue's smooth tongue, the motes such measure taught
‘That they ioyn'd hands; and so the world was wrought.

22

‘How iustly then is Dauncing tearmèd new,
‘Which with the World in point of time begun?

185

‘Yea Time it selfe, (whose birth Ioue neuer knew,
‘And which indeed is elder then the sun)
‘Had not one moment of his age outrunne,
‘When out leapt Dauncing from the heap of things,
And lightly rode vpon his nimble wings.

23

‘Reason hath both their pictures in her treasure,
‘Where Time the measure of all mouing is;
‘And Dauncing is a moouing all in measure;
‘Now if you doe resemble that to this,
‘And thinke both one, I thinke you thinke amis:
‘But if you iudge them twins, together got,
‘And Time first borne, your iudgement erreth not.

24

‘Thus doth it equall age with age inioy,
‘And yet in lustie youth for euer flowers;
‘Like loue his sire, whom Paynters make a boy,
‘Yet is the eldest of the heau'nly powers:
‘Or like his brother Time whose wingèd howers
‘Going and comming will not let him dye,
‘But still preserve him in his infancie.’

186

25

This said; the Queene with her sweet lips diuine,
Gently began to moue the subtile ayre,
Which gladly yeelding, did itselfe incline
To take a shape betweene those rubies fayre;
And being formèd, softly did repayre
With twenty doublings in the emptie way,
Vnto Antinous eares, and thus did say:

26

‘What eye doth see the heau'n but doth admire
‘When it the moouings of the heau'ns doth see?
‘My selfe, if I to heau'n may once aspire,
‘If that be dauncing, will a Dauncer be:
‘But as for this your frantick iollitie
‘How it began, or whence you did it learne,
‘I neuer could with Reason's eye discerne.

27

Artinous answered: ‘Iewell of the Earth,
‘Worthy you are that heau'nly daunce to leade;
‘But for you thinke our dauncing base of birth,
‘And newly-borne but of a braine-sicke head,
‘I will foorthwith his antique gentry read;
‘And for I loue him, will his herault be,
‘And blaze his Armes, and draw his petigree.

187

28

‘When Loue had shapt this World,—this great faire wight,
‘That all wights else in this wide womb containes:
‘And had instructed it to daunce aright,
‘A thousand measures with a thousand straines,
‘Which it should practise with delightfull paines,
‘Vntill that fatall instant should reuolue,
‘When all to nothing should againe resolue:

29

‘The comely order and proportion faire
‘On euery side, did please his wandring eye:
‘Till glauncing through the thin transparent ayre,
‘A rude disordered rout he did espie
‘Of men and women, that most spightfully
‘Did one another throng, and crowd so sore,
‘That his kind eye in pitty wept therefore.

30

‘And swifter then the lightning downe he came,
‘Another shapelesse Chaos to digest:
‘He will begin another world to frame,

188

‘(For Loue till all be well will neuer rest)
‘Then with such words as cannot be exprest,
‘He cutts the troups, that all a sunder fling,
‘And ere they wist, he casts them in a ring.

31

‘Then did he rarifie the element,
‘And in the center of the ring appeare;
‘The beams that from his forehead spreading went,
‘Begot an horrour, and religious feare
‘In all the soules that round about him weare;
‘Which in their eares attentiueness procures,
‘While he, with such like sounds, their minds allures.

32

‘How doth Confusion's mother, headlong Chance,
‘Put Reason's noble squadron to the rout?
‘Or how should you that haue the gouernance
‘Of Nature's children, Heauen and Earth throughout,
‘Prescribe them rules, and liue your selues without?
‘Why should your fellowship a trouble be,
‘Since man's chiefe pleasure is societie?

189

33

‘If sence hath not yet taught you, learne of me
‘A comely moderation and discreet:
‘That your assemblies may well ordered bee
‘When my vniting power shall make you meet,
‘With heau'nly tunes it shall be tempered sweet:
‘And be the modell of the World's great frame,
‘And you Earth's children, Dauncing shall it name.

34

‘Behold the World how it is whirled round,
‘And for it is so whirl'd, is namèd so;
‘In whose large volume many rules are found
‘Of this new Art, which it doth fairely show:
‘For your quicke eyes in wandring too and fro
‘From East to West, on no one thing can glaunce,
‘But if you marke it well, it seemes to daunce.

35

‘First you see fixt in this huge mirrour blew,
‘Of trembling lights, a number numberlesse:
‘Fixt they are nam'd, but with a name vntrue,

190

‘For they all mooue and in a Daunce expresse
‘That great long yeare, that doth containe no lesse
‘Then threescore hundreds of those yeares in all,
‘Which the sunne makes with his course naturall.

36

‘What if to you these sparks disordered seeme
‘As if by chaunce they had beene scattered there?
‘The gods a solemne measure doe it deeme,
‘And see a iust proportion euery where,
‘And know the points whence first their mouings were;
‘To which first points when all returne againe,
‘The axel-tree of Heau'n shall breake in twaine.

37

‘Vnder that spangled skye fiue wandring flames
‘Besides the King of Day, and Queene of Night,
‘Are wheel'd around, all in their sundry frames,
‘And all in sundry measures doe delight,
‘Yet altogether keepe no measure right:

191

‘For by it selfe each doth it selfe aduance,
‘And by it selfe each doth a galliard daunce.

38

Venus, the mother of that bastard Loue,
‘Which doth vsurpe the World's great Marshal's name,
‘Iust with the sunne her dainty feete doth moue,
‘And vnto him doth all the iestures frame:
‘Now after, now afore, the flattering Dame,
‘With diuers cunning passages doth erre,
‘Still him respecting that respects not her.

39

‘For that braue Sunne the Father of the Day,
‘Doth loue this Earth, the Mother of the Night;
‘And like a reuellour in rich aray,
‘Doth daunce his galliard in his lemman's sight,
‘Both back, and forth, and sidewaies, passing light;
‘His princely grace doth so the gods amaze,
‘That all stand still and at his beauty gaze.

40

‘But see the Earth, when she approcheth neere,
‘How she for ioy doth spring, and sweetly smile;

192

‘But see againe her sad and heauy cheere
‘When changing places he retires a while:
‘But those blake cloudes he shortly will exile,
‘And make them all before his presence flye,
‘As mists consum'd before his cheerefull eye.

41

‘Who doth not see the measures of the Moone,
‘Which thirteene times she daunceth euery yeare?
‘And ends her pauine, thirteene times as soone
‘As doth her brother, of whose golden haire
‘She borroweth part, and proudly doth it weare;
‘Then doth she coyly turne her face aside,
‘Then halfe her cheeke is scarse sometimes discride.

42

‘Next her, the pure, subtile, and clensing Fire
‘Is swiftly carried in a circle euen:
‘Though Vulcan be prouounst by many, a lyer,
‘The only halting god that dwels in heauen:

193

‘But that foule name may be more fitly giuen
‘To your false Fire, that farre from heauen is fall:
‘And doth consume, waste, spoile, disorder all.

43

‘And now behold your tender nurse the Ayre
‘And common neighbour that ay runns around:
‘How many pictures and impressions faire
‘Within her empty regions are there found,
‘Which to your sences Dauncing doe propound!
‘For what are Breath, Speech, Ecchos, Musicke, Winds,
‘But Dauncings of the Ayre in sundry kinds?

44

‘For when you breath, the ayre in order moues,
‘Now in, now out, in time and measure trew;
‘And when you speake, so well she dauncing loues,
‘That doubling oft, and oft redoubling new,
‘With thousand formes she doth her selfe endew:
‘For all the words that from our lips repaire
‘Are nought but tricks and turnings of the ayre.

194

45

‘Hence is her pratling daughter Eccho borne,
‘That daunces to all voyces she can heare:
‘There is no sound so harsh that shee doth scorne,
‘Nor any time wherein shee will forbeare
‘The ayrie pauement with her feet to weare:
‘And yet her hearing sence is nothing quick,
‘For after time she endeth euery trick.

46

‘And thou sweet Musicke, Dauncing's onely life,
‘The eare's sole happinesse, the ayre's best speach,
‘Loadstone of fellowship, charming-rod of strife,
‘The soft mind's Paradice, the sicke mind's leach,
‘With thine own tong, thou trees and stons canst teach,
‘That when the Aire doth dance her finest measure,
‘Then art thou borne, the gods and mens sweet pleasure.

47

‘Lastly, where keepe the Winds their reuelry,
‘Their violent turnings, and wild whirling hayes,

195

‘But in the Ayre's tralucent gallery?
‘Where shee herselfe is turnd a hundreth wayes,
‘While with those Maskers wantonly she playes;
‘Yet in this misrule, they such rule embrace,
‘As two at once encomber not the place.

48

‘If then fire, ayre, wandring and fixed lights
‘In euery prouince of the imperiall skie,
‘Yeeld perfect formes of dauncing to your sights,
‘In vaine I teach the eare, that which the eye
‘With certaine view already doth descrie.
‘But for your eyes perceiue not all they see,
‘In this I will your Senses master bee.

49

‘For loe the Sea that fleets about the Land,
‘And like a girdle clips her solide waist,
‘Musicke and measure both doth vnderstand:
‘For his great chrystall eye is alwayes cast
‘Vp to the Moone, and on her fixèd fast:
‘And as she daunceth in her pallid spheere,
‘So daunceth he about his center heere.

196

50

‘Sometimes his proud greene waues in order set,
‘One after other flow vnto the shore,
‘Which, when they haue with many kisses wet,
‘They ebbe away in order as before;
‘And to make knowne his courtly loue the more,
‘He oft doth lay aside his three-forkt mace,
‘And with his armes the timorous Earth embrace.

51

‘Onely the Earth doth stand for euer still:
‘Her rocks remoue not, nor her mountaines meet,
‘(Although some wits enricht with Learning's skill
‘Say heau'n stands firme, and that the Earth doth fleet,
‘And swiftly turneth vnderneath their feet)
‘Yet though the Earth is euer stedfast seene,
‘On her broad breast hath Dauncing euer beene.

52

“For those blew vaines that through her body spred,
‘Those saphire streames which from great hils do spring.
‘(The Earth's great duggs: for euery wight is fed

197

‘With sweet fresh moisture from them issuing):
‘Obserue a daunce in their wilde wandering;
‘And still their daunce begets a murmur sweet,
‘And still the murmur with the daunce doth meet.

53

‘Of all their wayes I love Meander's path,
‘Which to the tunes of dying swans doth daunce:
‘Such winding sleights, such turns and tricks he hath,
‘Such creeks, such wrenches, and such daliaunce,
‘That whether it be hap or heedlesse chaunce,
‘In this indented course and wriggling play
‘He seemes to daunce a perfect cunning hay.

54

‘But wherefore doe these streames for euer runne?
‘To keepe themselues for euer sweet and cleare:
‘For let their euerlasting course be donne,

198

‘They straight corrupt and foule with mud appeare.
‘O yee sweet Nymphs that beautie's losse do feare,
‘Contemne the drugs that Physicke doth deuise,
‘And learne of Loue this dainty exercise.

55

‘See how those flowres that have sweet beauty too,
‘(The onely jewels that the Earth doth weare,
‘When the young Sunne in brauery her doth woo):
‘As oft as they the whistling wind doe heare,
‘Doe waue their tender bodies here and there;
‘And though their daunce no perfect measure is,
‘Yet oftentimes their musicke makes them kis.

56

‘What makes the vine about the elme to daunce,
‘With turnings, windings, and embracements round?
‘What makes the loadstone to the North aduaunce
‘His subtile point, as if from thence he found
‘His chiefe attractiue vertue to redound?
‘Kind Nature first doth cause all things to loue,
‘Loue makes them daunce and in iust order moue.

199

57

‘Harke how the birds doe sing, and marke then how
‘Iumpe with the modulation of their layes,
‘They lightly leape, and skip from bow to bow:
‘Yet doe the cranes deserue a greater prayse
‘Which keepe such measure in their ayrie wayes,
‘As when they all in order rankèd are,
‘They make a perfect forme triangular.

58

‘In the chiefe angle flyes the watchfull guid,
‘And all the followers their heads doe lay
‘On their foregoers backs, on eyther side;
‘But for the captaine hath no rest to stay,
‘His head forewearied with the windy way,
‘He back retires, and then the next behind,
‘As his lieuetenaunt leads them through the wind.

59

‘But why relate I euery singular?
‘Since all the World's great fortunes and affaires
‘Forward and backward rapt and whirled are,
‘According to the musicke of the spheares:
And Chaunge herselfe her nimble feete vpbeares

200

‘On a round slippery wheele that rowleth ay,
‘And turnes all States with her imperuous sway.

60

‘Learne then to daunce, you that are Princes borne,
‘And lawfull lords of earthly creatures all;
‘Imitate them, and thereof take no scorne,
‘For this new art to them is naturall—
‘And imitate the starres cælestiall:
‘For when pale Death your vital twist shall seuer,
‘Your better parts must daunce with them for euer.

61

‘Thus Loue perswades, and all the crowd of men
‘That stands around doth make a murmuring:
‘As when the wind loosd from his hollow den,
‘Among the trees a gentle base doth sing,

201

‘Or as a brooke through pebbles wandering:
‘But in their looks they vttered this plain speach,
‘That they would learn to daunce, if Loue would teach.

62

‘Then first of all he doth demonstrate plaine
‘The motions seauen that ar in Nature found,
‘Upward and downeward, forth and backe againe,
‘To this side and to that, and turning round;
‘Whereof a thousand brawles he doth compound,
‘Which he doth teach vnto the multitude,
‘And euer with a turne they must conclude.

63

‘As when a Nymph arysing from the land,
‘Leadeth a daunce with her long watery traine
‘Down to the Sea, she wries to euery hand,
‘And euery way doth crosse the fertile plaine:
‘But when at last shee falls into the maine,
‘Then all her trauerses concluded are,
‘And with the Sea her course is circulare.

202

64

‘Thus when at first Loue had them marshallèd,
‘As earst he did the shapeless masse of things,
‘He taught them rounds and winding heyes to tread,
‘And about trees to cast themselues in rings:
‘As the two Beares, whom the First Mouer flings
‘With a short turn about heauen's axel tree,
‘In a round daunce for ever wheeling bee.

65

‘But after these, as men more cruell grew,
‘He did more graue and solemn measures frame,
‘With such faire order and proportion true,
‘And correspondence euery way the same,
‘That no fault-finding eye did euer blame;
‘For euery eye was mouèd at the sight
‘With sober wondring, and with sweet delight.

66

‘Not those yong students of the heauenly booke,
‘Atlas the great, Promethius the wise,

203

‘Which on the starres did all their life-time looke,
‘Could euer finde such measures in the skies,
‘So full of change and rare varieties;
‘Yet all the feete whereon these measures goe,
‘Are only spondeis, solemne, graue and sloe.

67

‘But for more diuers and more pleasing show,
‘A swift and wandring daunce she did inuent,
‘With passages vncertaine to and fro,
‘Yet with a certaine answer and consent
‘To the quicke musicke of the instrument.
‘Fiue was the number of the Musick's feet,
‘Which still the daunce did with fiue paces meet.

68

‘A gallant daunce, that lively doth bewray
‘A spirit and a vertue masculine;
‘Impatient that her house on earth should stay
‘Since she her selfe is fiery and diuine:
‘Oft doth she make her body vpward fline,
‘With lofty turnes and capriols in the ayre,
‘Which with the lusty tunes accordeth faire.

204

69

‘What shall I name those currant trauases,
‘That on a triple dactile foot doe runne
‘Close by the ground with sliding passages,
‘Wherein that Dauncer greatest praise hath wonne
‘Which with best order can all orders shunne:
‘For euery where he wantonly must range,
‘And turne, and wind, with vnexpected change.

70

‘Yet is there one, the most delightfull kind,
‘A loftie iumping, or a leaping round,
‘Where arme in arme two dauncers are entwind
‘And whirle themselues with strict embracements bound,
‘And still their feet an anapest do sound:
‘An anapest is all their musick's song,
‘Whose first two feet are short, and third is long.

71

‘As the victorious twinnes of Læda and Ioue
‘That taught the Spartans dauncing on the sands
‘Of swift Eurotas, daunce in heaun aboue,
‘Knit and vnited with eternall hands;

205

‘Among the starres their double image stands,
‘Where both are carried with an equall pace,
‘Together iumping in their turning race.

72

‘This is the net wherein the Sunn's bright eye
‘Venus and Mars entangled did behold;
‘For in this daunce, their armes they so imply
‘As each doth seeme the other to enfold:
‘What if lewd wits another tale haue told
‘Of iealous Vulcan, and of yron chaynes?
‘Yet this true sence that forgèd lye containes.

73

‘These various formes of dauncing, Loue did frame
‘And beside these, a hundred millions moe;
‘And as he did inuent, he taught the same,
‘With goodly iesture, and with comly show,
‘Now keeping state, now humbly honoring low:
‘And euer for the persons and the place
‘He taught most fit and best according grace.

206

74

‘For Loue, within his fertile working braine
‘Did then conceiue those gracious Virgins three,
‘Whose ciuell moderation does maintaine
‘All decent order and conueniencie,
‘And faire respect, and seemlie modestie:
‘And then he thought it fit they should be borne,
‘That their sweet presence dauncing might adorne.

75

‘Hence is it that these Graces painted are
‘With hand in hand dauncing an endlesse round;
‘And with regarding eyes, that still beware
‘That there be no disgrace amongst them found;
‘With equall foote they beate the flowry ground,
‘Laughing, or singing, as their passions will:
‘Yet nothing that they doe becomes them ill.

76

‘Thus Loue taught men, and men thus learnd of Loue
‘Sweet Musick's sound with feet to counterfaite;

207

‘Which was long time before high thundering Ioue
‘Was lifted vp to Heauen's imperiall seat:
‘For though by birth he were the Prince of Creete,
‘Nor Creet, nor Heau'n should the yong Prince haue seen,
‘If dancers with their timbrels had not been.

77

‘Since when all ceremonious misteries,
‘All sacred orgies and religious rights,
‘All pomps, and triumphs, and solemnities,
‘All funerals, nuptials, and like publike sights,
‘All Parliaments of peace, and warlike fights,
‘All learnèd arts, and euery great affaire
‘A liuely shape of dauncing seemes to beare.

78

‘For what did he who with his ten-tong'd lute
‘Gaue beasts and blocks an vnderstanding eare?
‘Or rather into bestiall minds and brute
‘Shed and infus'd the beames of reason cleare?

208

‘Doubtlesse for men that rude and sauage were
‘A ciuill forme of dauncing he deuis'd,
‘Wherewith vnto their gods they sacrifiz'd.

79

‘So did Musæus, so Amphion did,
‘And Linus with his sweet enchanting song;
‘And he whose hand the Earth of monsters rid,
‘And had men's eares fast chaynèd to his tongue
‘And Theseus to his wood-borne slaues among,
‘Vs'd dauncing as the finest policie.
‘To plant religion and societie.

80

‘And therefore now the Thracian Orpheus lire
‘And Hercules him selfe are stellified;
‘And in high heau'n amidst the starry quire,
‘Dauncing their parts continually doe slide;
‘So on the Zodiake Ganimed doth ride,
‘And so is Hebe with the Muses nine
‘For pleasing Ioue with dauncing, made diuine.

81

‘Wherefore was Proteus sayd himsel fe to change
‘Into a streame, a lyon, and a tree,

209

‘And many other formes fantastique, strange,
‘As in his fickle thought he wisht to be?
‘But that he daunc'd with such facilitie,
‘As like a lyon he could pace with pride,
‘Ply like a plant, and like a riuer slide.

82

‘And how was Cæneus made at first a man,
‘And then a woman, then a man againe,
‘But in a daunce? which when he first began
‘Hee the man's part in measure did sustaine:
‘But when he chang'd into a second straine,
‘He daunc'd the woman's part another space,
‘And then return'd into his former place.

83

‘Hence sprang the fable of Tiresias,
‘That he the pleasure of both sexes tryde:
‘For in a daunce he man and woman was
‘By often change of place from side to side:
‘But for the woman easily did slide
‘And smoothly swim with cunning hidden art,
‘He tooke more pleasure in a woman's part.

210

84

‘So to a fish Venus herselfe did change,
‘And swimming through the soft and yeelding waue,
‘With gentle motions did so smoothly range,
‘As none might see where she the water draue:
‘But this plaine truth that falsèd fable gaue,
‘That she did daunce with slyding easines,
‘Plyant and quick in wandring passages.

85

‘And merry Bacchus practis'd dauncing to[o],
‘And to the Lydian numbers, rounds did make:
‘The like he did in th'Easterne India doo,
‘And taught them all when Phœbus did awake,
‘And when at night he did his coach forsake:
‘To honor heaun, and heau'ns great roling eye
‘With turning daunces, and with melodie.

86

‘Thus they who first did found a Common-weale,
‘And they who first Religion did ordaine,
‘By dauncing first the peoples hearts did steale:

211

‘Of whom we now a thousand tales doe faine;
‘Yet doe we now their perfect rules retaine
‘And vse them stil in such deuises new,
‘As in the World, long since their withering, grew.

87

‘For after townes and kingdomes founded were,
‘Betweene greate States arose well-ordered War;
‘Wherein most perfect measure doth appeare,
‘Whether their well-set rankes respected are
‘In quadrant forme or semicircular:
‘Or else the march, when all the troups aduance,
‘And to the drum in gallant order daunce.

88

‘And after Warrs, when white-wing'd Victory
‘Is with a glorious tryumph beautified,
‘And euery one doth Io Io cry,
‘Whiles all in gold the conquerour doth ride;
‘The solemne pompe that fils the Citty wide
‘Obserues such ranke and measure euerywhere,
‘As if they altogether dauncing were.

89

‘The like iust order mourners doe obserue,
‘(But with vnlike affection and atire)

212

‘When some great man that nobly did deserue,
‘And whom his friends impatiently desire,
‘Is brought with honour to his latest fire:
‘The dead corps too in that sad daunce is mou'd
‘As if both dead and liuing, dauncing lou'd.

90

‘A diuers cause, but like solemnitie
‘Vnto the Temple leads the bashfull bride:
‘Which blusheth like the Indian iuory
‘Which is with dip of Tyrian purple died:
‘A golden troope doth passe on euery side,
‘Of flourishing young men and virgins gay,
‘Which keepe faire measure all the flowry way.

91

‘And not alone the generall multitude,
‘But those choise Nestors which in councell graue
‘Of citties, and of kingdomes doe conclude,
‘Most comly order in their sessions haue:
‘Wherefore the wise Thessalians euer gaue
‘The name of leader of their Countrie's daunce
‘To him that had their Countrie's gouernance.

213

92

‘And those great masters of their liberall arts,
‘In all their seeurall Schooles doe Dauncing teach:
‘For humble Grammer first doth set the parts
‘Of congruent and well-according speach:
‘Which Rethorike whose state the clouds doth reach,
‘And heau'nly Poetry, doe forward lead,
‘And diuers measures diuersly doe tread.

93

‘For Rhetorick, clothing speech in rich aray
‘In looser numbers teacheth her to range,
‘With twenty tropes, and turnings euery way,
‘And various figures, and licencious change;
‘But Poetry with rule and order strange,
‘So curiously doth moue each single pace,
‘As all is mard if she one foot misplace.

94

‘These Arts of speach, the guids and marshals are;
‘But Logick leadeth Reason in a daunce:
‘(Reason the cynosure and bright load-star,
‘In this World's sea t'auoid the rock of chaunce.)
‘For with close following and continuance
‘One reason doth another so ensue,
‘As in conclusion still the daunce is true.

214

95

‘So Musicke to her owne sweet tunes doth trip
‘With tricks of 3, 5, 8, 15, and more:
‘So doth the Art of Numbering seeme to skip
‘From eu'n to odd in her proportion'd score:
‘So doe those skils, whose quick eyes doe explore
‘The iust dimension both of Earth and Heau'n,
‘In all their rules obserue a measure eu'n.

96

‘Loe this is Dauncing's true nobilitie:
‘Dauncing, the child of Musicke and of Loue;
‘Dauncing it selfe, both loue and harmony,
‘Where all agree, and all in order moue;
‘Dauncing, the Art that all Arts doe approue:
‘The faire caracter of the World's consent,
‘The Heau'ns true figure and th'Earth's ornament.

97

The Queene, whose dainty eares had borne too long,
The tedious praise of that she did despise,
Adding once more the musicke of the tongue
To the sweet speech of her alluring eyes,
Began to answer in such winning wise,
As that forthwith Antinous' tongu[e] was tyde,
His eyes fast fixt, his eares were open wide.

215

98

‘Forsooth (quoth she) great glory you haue won,
‘To your trim minion, Dauncing, all this while,
‘By blazing him Loue's first begotten sonne;
‘Of euery ill the hateful father vile
‘That doth the world with sorceries beguile:
‘Cunningly mad, religiously prophane,
‘Wit's monster, Reason's canker, Sence's bane.

99

‘Loue taught the mother that vnkinde desire
‘To wash her hands in her owne infant's blood;
‘Loue taught the daughter to betray her sire
‘Into most base vnworthy seruitude;
‘Loue taught the brother to prepare such foode
‘To feast his brothers that the all-seeing sun
‘Wrapt in a clowd, that wicked sight did shun.

100

‘And euen this self same Loue hath dauncing taught,
‘An Art that showes th'Idea of his minde
‘With vainesse, frenzie, and misorder fraught;
‘Sometimes with blood and cruelties vnkinde:

216

‘For in a daunce, Tereus' mad wife did finde
‘Fit time and place by murther of her sonne,
‘T'auenge the wrong his trayterous sire had done.

101

‘What meane the mermayds when they daunce and sing
‘But certaine death vnto the marriner?
‘What tydings doe the dauncing dilphins bring,
‘But that some dangerous storme approcheth nere?
‘Then sith both Loue and Dauncing lyueries beare
‘Of such ill hap, vnhappy may I proue,
‘If sitting free I either daunce or loue.’

102

Yet once again Antinous did reply;
‘Great Queen, condemn not Loue the innocent,
‘For this mischeuous lust, which traterously
‘Vsurps his name, and steales his ornament:

217

‘For that true Loue which Dauncing did inuent,
‘Is he that tun'd the World's whole harmony,
‘And linkt all men in sweet societie.

103

‘He first extracted from th'earth-mingled mind
‘That heau'nly fire, or quintessence diuine,
‘Which doth such simpathy in beauty find,
‘As is betweene the elme and fruitful vine,
‘And so to beauty euer doth encline:
‘Life's life it is, and cordiall to the heart,
‘And of our better part, the better part.

104

‘This is true Loue, by that true Cupid got,
‘Which daunceth galliards in your amorous eyes,
‘But to your frozen hart approcheth not—
‘Onely your hart he dares not enterprise;
‘And yet through euery other part he flyes,
‘And euery where he nimbly daunceth now,
‘Though in your selfe, your selfe perceiue not how.

218

105

‘For your sweet beauty daintily transfus'd
‘With due proportion throughout euery part,
‘What is it but a daunce where Loue hath vs'd
‘His finer cunning, and more curious art?
‘Where all the elements themselues impart,
‘And turne, and wind, and mingle with such measure,
‘That th'eye that sees it, surfeits with the pleasure?

106

‘Loue in the twinckling of your eylids daunceth,
‘Loue daunceth in your pulses and your vaines,
‘Loue when you sow, your needle's point aduanceth
‘And makes it daunce a thousand curious straines
‘Of winding rounds, whereof the forme remaines:
‘To shew, that your faire hands can daunce the hey,
‘Which your fine feet would learne as well as they.

107

‘And when your iuory fingers touch the strings
‘Of any siluer-sounding instrument,
‘Loue makes them daunce to those sweete murmerings,

219

‘With busie skill, and cunning excellent:
‘O that your feet those tunes would represent
‘With artificiall motions to and fro,
‘That Loue this art in ev'ry part might sho[w]e!

108

‘Yet your faire soule, which came from heau'n aboue
‘To rule thys house, another heau'n below,
‘With diuers powers in harmony doth moue,
‘And all the vertues that from her doe flow,
‘In a round measure hand in hand doe goe:
‘Could I now see, as I conceiue thys Daunce,
‘Wonder and Loue would cast me in a traunce.

109

‘The richest iewell in all the heau'nly treasure
‘That euer yet vnto the Earth was showne,
‘Is perfect Concord, th'onely perfect pleasure
‘That wretched earth-borne men haue euer knowne,
‘For many harts it doth compound in one:
‘That when so one doth will, or speake, or doe,
‘With one consent they all agree tbereto.

220

110

‘Concord's true picture shineth in this art,
‘Where diuers men and women rankèd be,
‘And euery one doth daunce a seuerall part,
‘Yet all as one, in measure doe agree,
‘Obseruing perfect vniformitie;
‘All turne together, all together trace,
‘And all together honour and embrace.

111

‘If they whom sacred Loue hath link't in one,
‘Doe as they daunce, in all their course of life,
‘Neuer shall burning griefe nor bitter mone,
‘Nor factious difference, nor vnkind strife,
‘Arise betwixt the husband and the wife:
‘For whether forth or bake or round he goe
‘As the man doth, so must the woman doe.

112

‘What if by often enterchange of place
‘Sometime the woman gets the vpper hand?
‘That is but done for more delightfull grace,
‘For one that part shee doth not euer stand:

221

‘But, as the measure's law doth her command,
‘Shee wheeles about, and ere the daunce doth end,
‘Into her former place shee doth transcend.

113

‘But not alone this correspondence meet
‘And vniform consent doth dauncing praise;
‘For Comlines the child of order sweet,
‘Enamels it with her eye-pleasing raies:
‘Fair Comlines, ten hundred thousand waies,
‘Through dauncing shedds it selfe, and makes shine
‘With glorious beauty, and with grace diuine.

114

‘For Comliness is a disposing faire
‘Of things and actions in fit time and place;
‘Which doth in dauncing shew it selfe most cleere,
‘When troopes confus'd, which here and there doe trace
‘Without distinguishment or bounded space:
‘By dauncing's rule, into such ranks are brought,
‘As glads the eye, as rauisheth the thought.

222

115

‘Then why should Reason iudge that reasonles
‘Which is wit's ofspring, and the worke of art,
‘Image of concord and of comlines?
‘Who sees a clock mouing in euery part,
‘A sayling pinnesse, or a wheeling cart,
‘But thinks that Reason, ere it came to passe
‘The first impulsiue cause and mouer was?

116

‘Who sees an Armie all in ranke aduance,
‘But deemes a wise Commaunder is in place,
‘Which leadeth on that braue victorions daunce?
‘Much more in Dauncing's Art, in Dauncing's grace,
‘Blindnes it selfe may Reason's footstep trace:
‘For of Loue's maze it is the curious plot,
‘And of Man's fellowship the true-loue knot.

117

‘But if these eyes of yours, (load-starrs of Loue,
‘Shewing the World's great daunce to your mind's eye!)
‘Cannot with all their demonstrations moue

223

‘Kinde apprehension in your fantasie,
‘Of Dauncing's vertue, and nobilitie:
‘How can my barbarous tongue win you there to
‘Which Heau'n and Earth's faire speech could neuer do?

118

‘O Loue my king: if all my wit and power
‘Haue done you all the seruice that they can,
‘O be you present in this present hower,
‘And help yonr seruant and your true Leige-man,
‘End that perswasion which I earst began:
‘For who in praise of Dauncing can perswade
‘With such sweet force as Loue, which Dancing made?

119

Loue heard his prayer, and swifter then the wind,
Like to a page, in habit, face, and speech,
He came, and stood Antinous behind,
And many secrets to his thoughts did teach:
At last a christall mirrour he did reach
Vnto his hands, that he with one rash view,
All formes therein by Loue's reuealing knew.

224

120

And humbly honouring, gaue it to the Queene
With this faire speech: ‘See fairest Queene (quoth he)
The fairest sight that euer shall be seene,
‘And th'onely wonder of posteritie,
‘The richest worke in Nature's treasury;
‘Which she disdaines to shew on this World's stage,
‘And thinkes it far too good for our rude age.

121

‘But in another World deuided far:
‘In the great, fortunate, triangled Ile,
‘Thrise twelue degrees remou'd from the North star,
‘She will this glorious workemanship compile,
‘Which she hath beene conceiuing all this while
‘Since the World's birth, and will bring forth at last,
‘When sixe and twenty hundred yeares are past.’

122

Penelope, the Queene, when she had view'd
The strange eye-dazeling, admirable sight,
Faine would have praisd the state and pulchritude,

225

But she was stricken dumbe with wonder quite,
Yet her sweet minde retain'd her thinking might:
Her rauisht minde in heaunly thoughts did dwel,
But what she thought, no mortall tongue can tel.

123

You lady Muse, whom Ioue the Counsellour
Begot of Memorie, Wisdom's treasuresse,
To your diuining tongue is giuen a power
Of vttering secrets large and limitlesse:
You can Penelope's strange thoughts expresse
Which she conceiu'd, and then would faine haue told,
When shee the wond'rous christall did behold.

124

Her wingèd thoughts bore vp her minde so hie,
As that she weend shee saw the glorious throne
Where the bright moone doth sit in maiesty:
A thousand sparkling starres about her shone,
But she herselfe did sparkle more alone,
Then all those thousand beauties would haue done
If they had been confounded all in one.

226

125

And yet she thought those starrs mou'd in such measure,
To do their soueraigne honor and delight,
As sooth'd her minde, with sweet enchanting plesure,
Although the various change amaz'd her sight,
And her weake iudgement did entangle quite:
Beside, their mouing made them shine more cleare,
As diamonds mou'd more sparkling do appeare.

126

This was the picture of her wondrous thought;
But who can wonder that her thought was so,
Sith Vulcan king of fire that mirror wrought,
(Who things to come, present, and past, doth know)
And there did represent in liuely show
Our glorious English Court's diuine image,
As it should be in this our Golden Age.

[_]

The following stanzas, omitted from the 1622 edition of the poem, appear in the first edition of 1596.

127*

Away, Terpsechore, light Muse away!
And come Vranie, prophetesce diuine;
Come, Muse of heau'n, my burning thirst allay:
Euen now for want of sacred drinke I tine:
In heau'nly moysture dip thys pen of mine,
And let my mouth with nectar ouerflow,
For I must more then mortall glory show.

128*

O, that I had Homer's aboundant vaine,
I would hierof another Ilias make;
Or els the man of Mantua's charmèd braine,
In whose large throat great Joue the thunder spake.
O that I could old Gefferie's Muse awake,
Or borrow Colin's fayre heroike stile,
Or smooth my rimes with Delia's servant's file.

230

129*

O, could I, sweet Companion, sing like you,
Which, of a shadow, under a shadow sing;
Or, like Salue's sad lover true,
Or like the Bay, the Marigold's darling,
Whose suddaine verse Loue covers with his wing:
O that your braines were mingled all with mine,
T'inlarge my wit for this great worke diuine!

130*

Yet, Astrophell might one for all suffize,
Whose supple Muse Camelion-like doth change
Into all formes of excellent deuise:
So might the Swallow, whose swift Muse doth range

231

Through rare Idæs, and inuentions strange,
And euer doth enioy her ioyfull Spring,
And sweeter then the Nightingale doth sing.

131*

O, that I might that singing Swallow heare,
To whom I owe my seruice and my loue!
His sugred tunes would so enchant mine eare,
And in my mind such sacred fury moue,
As I should knock at Heau'ns gate aboue,
With my proude rimes, while of this heau'nly state
I doe aspire the shadow to relate.

227

127

Her brighter dazeling beames of maiestie
Were laid aside, for she vouchsaft awhile
With gracious, cheereful, and familiar eye
Vpon the reuels of her Court to smile;
For so Time's journeis she doth oft beguile:
Like sight no mortall eye might elsewhere see,
So full of State, Art, and varietie.

128

For of her barons braue, and ladies faire,—
Who had they been elsewhere, most faire had been:
Many an incomparable louely payre,
With hand in hand were interlinkèd seene,
Making faire honour to their soueraigne Queene;
Forward they pac'd, and did their pace apply
To a most sweet and solemne melody.

129

So subtile and curious was the measure,
With such vnlookt for chaunge in euery straine;
As that Penelope rapt with sweet pleasure,
Weend shee beheld the true proportion plaine

228

Of her owne webb, weavd and unweaud againe;
But that her art was somewhat lesse she thought,
And on a meere ignoble subiect wrought.

130

For here like to the silkeworme's industry,
Beauty it selfe out of it selfe did weaue
So rare a worke, and of such subtilty,
As did all eyes entangle and deceiue,
And in all mindes a strange impression leaue:
In this sweet laborinth did Cupid stray,
And neuer had the power to passe away.

131

As when the Indians, neighbours of the morning,
In honour of the cheerefull rising sunne,
With pearle and painted plumes themselues adorning,
A solemne stately measure haue begun;
The god well pleasd with that faire honour done,
Sheds foorth his beames, and doth their faces kis
With that immortal glorious face of his.

132

So, &c., &c. [OMITTED]

229

Finis.

233

Hymnes of Astrœa.

237

HYMNE I. Of Astrœa.

Early before the day doth spring,
Let us awake my Muse, and sing:
It is no time to slumber,
So many ioyes this time doth bring,
As Time will faile to number.

But whereto shall we bend our layes?
Euen vp to Heauen, againe to raise
The Mayd, which thence descended:
Hath brought againe the golden dayes,
And all the world amended.

Rudenesse it selfe she doth refine,
Euen like an Alchymist diuine,
Grosse times of yron turning
Into the purest forme of gold:
Not to corrupt, till heauen waxe old,
And be refined with burning.

238

HYMNE II. To Astrœa.

Eternall Virgin, Goddesse true,
Let me presume to sing to you.
Ioue, euen great Ioue hath leasure
Sometimes to heare the vulgar creu,
And heares them oft with pleasure.

Blessèd Astrœa, I in part
Enioy the blessings you impart,
The Peace, the milke and hony,
Humanitie, and civil Art,
Aricher dower then money.

Right glad am I that now I liue,
Euen in these dayes whereto you giue
Great happinesse and glory;
If after you I should be borne,
No doubt I should my birth-day scorne,
Admiring your sweet storie.

239

HYMNE III. To the Spring.

Earth now is greene, and heauen is blew,
Liuely Spring which makes all new,
Iolly Spring, doth enter;
Sweete yong sun-beames doe subdue
Angry, agèd Winter.

Blasts are milde, and seas are calme,
Euery meadow flowes with balme,
The Earth weares all her riches;
Harmonious birdes sing such a psalme,
As eare and heart bewitches.

Reserue (sweet Spring) this Nymph of ours,
Eternall garlands of thy flowers,
Greene garlands neuer wasting;
In her shall last our State's faire Spring,
Now and for euer flourishing,
As long as Heauen is lasting.

240

HYMNE IV. To the Moneth of May.

Each day of thine, sweet moneth of May,
Loue makes a solemne holy-day.
I will performe like duty,
Sith thou resemblest euery way
Astrœa, Queen of beauty.

Both you fresh beauties do pertake,
Either's aspect doth Summer make,
Thoughts of young Loue awaking;
Hearts you both doe cause to ake,
And yet be pleas'd with akeing.

Right deare art thou, and so is shee,
Euen like attractiue sympathy,
Gaines vnto both like dearenesse;
I weene this made Antiquitie
Name thee, sweet May of Maiestie,
As being both like in clearnesse.

241

HYMNE V. To the Larke.

Earley, cheerfull, mounting Larke,
Light's gentle vsher, Morning's clark,
In merry notes delighting:
Stint awhile thy song, and harke,
And learne my new inditing.

Beare vp this hymne, to heau'n it beare,
Euen vp to heau'n, and sing it there,
To heau'n each morning beare it;
Haue it set to some sweet sphere,
And let the Angels heare it.

Renownd Astrœa, that great name,
Exceeding great in worth and fame,
Great worth hath so renownd it;
It is Astrœa's name I praise,
Now then, sweet Larke, do thou it raise,
And in high Heauen resound it.

242

HYMNE VI. To the Nightingale.

Euery night from euen till morne,
Loue's Quirister amidde the thorne
Is now so sweet a singer:
So sweet, as for her song I scorne
Apollo's voice, and finger.

But Nightingale, sith you delight
Euer to watch the starry night:
Tell all the starres of heauen,
Heauen neuer had a starre so bright,
As now to Earth is giuen.

Royall Astrœa makes our day
Eternall with her beames, nor may
Grosse darknesse ouercome her;
I now perceiue why some doe write,
No countrey hath so short a night,
As England hath in Summer.

243

HYMN VII. To the Rose.

Eye of the Garden, Queene of flowres,
Love's cup wherein he nectar powres,
Ingendered first of nectar:
Sweet nurse-child of the Spring's young howres,
And Beautie's faire character.

Blest iewell that the Earth doth weare,
Euen when the braue young sunne draws neare,
To her hot Loue pretending;
Himselfe likewise like forme doth beare,
At rising and descending.

Rose of the Queene of Loue belou'd;
England's great Kings diuinely mou'd,
Gaue Roses in their banner;
It shewed that Beautie's Rose indeed,
Now in this age should them succeed,
And raigne in more sweet manner.

244

HYMNE VIII. To all the Princes of Europe.

Europe, the earth's sweet Paradise,
Let all thy kings that would be wise,
In politique deuotion:
Sayle hither to obserue her eyes,
And marke her heaunly motion.

Braue Princes of this ciuill age,
Enter into this pilgrimage:
This saint's tongue is an oracle,
Her eye hath made a Prince a page,
And works each day a miracle.

Raise but your lookes to her, and see
Euen the true beames of maiestie,
Great Princes, marke her duly;
If all the world you doe suruey,
No forehead spreades so bright a ray,
And notes a Prince so truly.

245

HYMNE IX. To Flora.

Empresse of flowers, tell where away
Lies your sweet Court this merry May,
In Greenewich Garden allies?
Since there the heauenly powers do play
And haunt no other vallies.

Beautie, vertue, maiestie,
Eloquent Muses, three times three,
The new fresh Houres, and Graces,
Haue pleasure in this place to be,
Aboue all other places.

Roses and lillies did them draw,
Ere they diuine Astrœa saw;
Gay flowers they sought for pleasure:
Instead of gathering crownes of flowers,
Now gather they Astrœa's dowers,
And beare to heauen that treasure.

246

HYMNE X. To the Moneth of September.

Each moneth hath praise in some degree;
Let May to others seeme to be
In sense the sweetest Season;
September thou are best to me,
And best dost please my reason.

But neither for thy corne nor wine
Extoll I those mild dayes of thine,
Though corne and wine might praise thee;
Heauen gives thee honour more diuine,
And higher fortunes raise thee.

Renownd art thou (sweet moneth) for this,
Emong thy dayes her birth-day is;
Grace, plenty, peace and honour,
In one faire hour with her were borne,
Now since they still her crowne adorne,
And still attend vpon her.

247

HYMNE XI. To the Sunne.

Eye of the world, fountaine of light,
Life of Day, and death of Night:
I humbly seeke thy kindnesse:
Sweet, dazle not my feeble sight,
And strike me not with blindnesse.

Behold me mildly from that face,
Euen where thou now dost run thy race,
The spheare where now thou turnest;
Hauing like Phaeton chang'd thy place,
And yet hearts onely burnest.

Red in her right cheeke thou dost rise,
Exalted after in her eyes,
Great glory there thou shewest:
In th'other cheeke when thou descendest,
New rednesse vnto it thou lendest,
And so thy round thou goest.

248

HYMNE XII. To her Picture.

Extreame was his audacitie,
Little his skill, that finisht thee;
I am asham'd and sorry,
So dull her counterfeit should bee,
And she so full of glory.

But here are colours red and white,
Each line, and each proportion right;
These lines, this red and whitenesse,
Haue wanting yet a life and light,
A maiestie, and brightnesse.

Rude counterfeit, I then did erre,
Euen now when I would needs inferre
Great boldnesse in thy maker:
I did mistake, he was not bold,
Nor durst his eyes her eyes behold:
And this made him mistake her.

249

HYMNE XIII. Of her Minde.

Earth, now adiew, my rauisht thought
Lifted to Hea'u sets thee at nought;
Infinite is my longing,
Secrets of angels to be taught,
And things to Heau'n belonging.

Brought downe from heau'n of angels kind,
Euen now doe I admire her mind:
This is my contemplation,
Her cleare sweet spirit, which is refin'd
Aboue humane creation.

Rich sun-beame of th'Æternall light,
Excellent Soule, how shall I wright;
Good angels make me able;
I cannot see but by your eye,
Nor, but by your tongue, signifie
A thing so admirable.

250

HYMNE XIV. Of the Sun-beames of her Mind.

Exceeding glorious is the starre,
Let vs behold her beames afarre
In a side line reflected;
Sight bears them not, when neere they are,
And in right lines directed.

Behold her in her vertues' beames,
Extending sun-like to all realmes;
The sunne none viewes too neerly;
Her well of goodnes in these streames,
Appeares right well and clearely.

Radiant vertues, if your light
Enfeeble the best iudgement's sight,
Great splendor aboue measure
Is in the minde from whence you flow:
No wit may haue accesse to know,
And view so bright a treasure.

251

HYMNE XV. Of her Wit.

Eye of that mind most quicke and cleere,—
Like Heauen's eye, which from his spheare
Into all things prieth:
Sees through all things euery where,
And all their natures trieth.

Bright image of an angel's wit,
Exceeding sharpe and swift like it,
Things instantly discerning:
Hauing a nature infinit,
And yet increas'd by learning.

Rebound vpon thy selfe thy light,
Enioy thine own sweet precious sight
Giue us but some reflection;
It is enough for vs if we
Now in her speech, now policie,
Admire thine high perfection.

252

HYMNE XVI. Of her Will.

Euer well affected will,
Louing goodnesse, loathing ill,
Inestimable treasure!
Since such a power hath power to spill,
And save vs at her pleasure.

Be thou our law, sweet will, and say
Euen what thou wilt, we will obay
This law, if I could reade it:
Herein would I spend night and day,
And study still to plead it.

Royall free will, and onely free,
Each other will is slaue to thee;
Glad is each will to serue thee:
In thee such princely power is seene,
No spirit but takes thee for her Queene,
And thinkes she must obserue thee.

253

HYMNE XVII. Of her Memorie.

Excellent iewels would you see,
Louely ladies? come with me,
I will (for loue I owe you).
Shew you as rich a treasurie,
As East or West can shew you.

Behold, if you can iudge of it,
Euen that great store-house of her wit:
That beautiful large Table,
Her Memory, wherein is writ
All knowledge admirable.

Reade this faire book and you shall learne
Exquisite skill; if you discerne,
Gaine heau'n by this discerning;
In such a memory diuine,
Nature did forme the Muses nine,
And Pallas Queene of Learning.

254

HYMNE XVIII. Of Her Phantasie.

Exquisite curiositie,
Looke on thy selfe with iudging eye,
If ought be faultie, leaue it:
So delicate a phantasie
As this, will straight perceiue it.

Because her temper is so fine,
Endewed with harmonies diuine;
Therefore if discord strike it,
Her true proportions doe repine,
And sadly do mislike it.

Right otherwise a pleasure sweet
Euer she takes in actions meet,
Gracing with smiles such meetnesse;
In her faire forehead beames appeare,
No Summer's day is halfe so cleare,
Adorn'd with halfe that sweetnesse.

255

HYMNE XIX. Of the Organs of her Minde.

Eclipsed she is, and her bright rayes,
Lie under vailes, yet many wayes
Is her faire forme reuealed;
She diuersly her selfe conueyes,
And cannot be concealed.

By instruments her powers appeare
Exceedingly well tun'd and cleare.
This lute is still in measure,
Holds still in tune, euen like a spheare,
And yeelds the world sweet pleasure.

Resolue me, Muse, how this thing is,
Euer a body like to this
Gaue Heau'n to earthly creature?
I am but fond this doubt to make
No doubt the angels bodies take,
Above our common nature.

256

HYMNE XX. Of the Passions of her Heart.

Examine not th'inscrutable heart,
Light Muse of her, though she in part
Impart it to the subiect;
Search not, although from Heau'n thou art,
And this an heauenly obiect.

But since she hath a heart, we know,
Euer some passions thence doe flow,
Though ever rul'd with Honor;
Her judgment raignes, they waite below,
And fixe their eyes vpon her.

Rectified so, they in their kind
Encrease each vertue of her mind,
Gouern'd with mild tranquilitie;
In all the regions vnder heau'n,
No State doth beare it selfe so euen,
And with so sweet facilitie.

257

HYMNE XXI. Of the innumerable vertues of her minde.

Ere thou proceed in these sweet paine
Learne Muse how many drops it raines
In cold and moist December;
Sum up May flowres, and August graines,
And grapes of mild September.

Beare the Sea's sand in memory,
Earth's grasses and the starres in skie,
The little moates which mounted,
Hang, in the beames of Phœbus' eye,
And neuer can be counted.

Recount these numbers numberlesse,
Ere thou her vertue canst expresse,
Great wits this count will, cumber.
Instruct thy selfe in numbring Schooles;
Now courtiers vse to begge for fooles,
All such as cannot number.

248

HYMNE XXII. Of her Wisdome.

E[a]gle-eyed Wisdome, life's loadstarre,
Looking neere on things afarre;
Ioue's best beloued daughter,
Showes to her spirit all that are,
As Ioue himselfe hath taught her.

By this straight rule she rectifies
Each thought that in [her] heart doth rise:
This is her cleane true mirror,
Her looking-glasse, wherein she spies
A[ll] forms of Truth and Error.

Right princely vertue fit to raigne,
Enthroniz'd in her spirit remaine,
Guiding our fortunes euer;
If we this starre once cease to see,
No doubt our State will shipwrackt bee
And torne and sunke for euer.

259

HYMNE XXIII. Of her Justice.

Exil'd Astrœa is come againe,
Lo here she doth all things maintaine
In number, weight, and measure:
She rules vs with delightfull paine,
And we obey with pleasure.

By Loue she rules more then by Law,
Euen her great mercy breedeth awe;
This is her sword and scepter;
Herewith she hearts did euer draw,
And this guard euer kept her.

Reward doth sit in her right-hand,
Each vertue thence taks her garland
Gather'd in Honor's garden:
In her left hand (wherein should be
Nought but the sword) sits Clemency
And conquers Vice with pardon.

260

HYMNE XXIV. Of her Magnanimitie.

Euen as her State, so is her mind,
Lifted aboue the vulgar kind:
It treades proud Fortune vnder;
Sun-like it sits aboue the wind,
Aboue the stormes and thunder.

Braue spirit, large heart, admiring nought,
Esteeming each thing as it ought,
That swelleth not, nor shrinketh:
Honour is alwayes in her thought,
And of great things she thinketh

Rocks, pillars, and heauen's axel tree,
Exemplifie her constancy;
Great changes neuer change her:
In her sexe, feares are wont to rise,
Nature permits, Vertue denies,
And scornes the face of Daunger.

261

HYMNE XXV. Of her Moderation.

Empresse of kingdomes though she be,
Larger is her soueraigntie
If she her selfe doe gouerne;
Subiect vnto her self is she,
And of her selfe true soueraigne.

Beautie's crowne though she do weare,
Exalted into Fortune's chaire,
Thron'd like the Queene of Pleasure:
Her vertues still possesse her eare,
And counsell her to measure.

Reason, if shee incarnate were,
Euen Reason's selfe could neuer beare
Greatnesse with moderation;
In her one temper still is seene,
No libertie claimes she as Queene,
And showes no alteration.

262

HYMNE XXVI. To Enuy.

Enuy, goe weepe; my Muse and I
Laugh thee to scorne: thy feeble eye
Is dazeled with the glory
Shining in this gay poesie,
And little golden story.

Behold how my proud quill doth shed
Eternall nectar on her head;
The pompe of coronation
Hath not such power her fame to spread,
As this my admiration.

Respect my pen as free and franke
Expecting not reward nor thanke,
Great wonder onely moues it;
I never made it mercenary,
Nor should my Muse this burthen carrie
As hyr'd, but that she loues it.

Finis.

263

Minor Poems.

265

I. Yet other Twelve Wonders of the World.

BY SIR JOHN DAUIS.

I. The Courtier.

Long haue I liu'd in Court, yet learn'd not all this while
To sel poore sutors, smoke: nor where I hate, to smile;
Superiors to adore, inferiors to despise,
To flye from such as fall, to follow such as rise;
To cloake a poore desire vnder a rich array,
Not to aspire by vice, though 'twere the quicker way.

266

II. The Divine.

My calling is Diuine, and I from God am sent;
I will no chop-church be, nor pay my patron rent;
Nor yeeld to sacriledge; but like the kind, true mother,
Rather will loose all the child, than part it with another.
Much wealth, I will not seeke; nor worldly masters serue,
So to grow rich and fat, while my poore flock doth sterue.

267

III. The Soldier.

My occupation is the noble trade of Kings,
The tryall that decides the highest right of things;
Though Mars my master be, I doe not Venus loue,
Nor honour Bacchus oft, nor often sweare by Joue;
Of speaking of myselfe I all occasion shunne,
And rather loue to doe, then boast what I huae done.

IV. The Lawyer.

The Law my calling is; my robe, my tongue, my pen,
Wealth and opinion gaine, and make me Iudge of men.

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The knowne dishonest cause I neuer did defend,
Nor spun out sutes in length, but wisht and sought an end:
Nor counsell did bewray, nor of both parties take:
Nor euer tooke I fee for which I neuer spake.

V. The Physician.

I study to vphold the slippery state of man,
Who dies, when we haue done the best and all we can.
From practise and from bookes, I draw my learnèd skill,
Not from the knowne receipt of 'Pothecaries bill.
The earth my faults doth hide, the world my cures doth see;
What youth and time effects is oft ascribde to me.

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VI. The Merchant.

My trade doth euery thing to euery land supply,
Discouer unknowne coasts, strange countries to ally;
I neuer did forestall, I neuer did ingrosse,
No custome did withdraw, though I return'd with losse.
I thriue by faire exchange, by selling and by buying,
And not by Iewish vse, reprisall, fraud, or lying.

VII. The Country Gentleman.

Though strange outlandish spirits praise towns, and country scorn,
The country is my home, I dwel where I was born:
There profit and command with pleasure I pertake,
Yet do not haukes and dogs my sole companions make.
I rule, but not oppresse; and quarrels not maintaine;
See towns, but dwel not there, t'abridge my charg or train.

VIII. The Bachelor.

How many things as yet are deere alike to me,
The field, the horse, the dog, loue, armes or liberty!
I haue no wife as yet, whom I may call mine owne,
I haue no children yet, that by my name are knowne.
Yet if I married were, I would not wish to thrive,
If that I could not tame the veriest shrew aliue.

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IX. The Married Man.

I only am the man, among all married men,
That do not wish the priest, to be unlinckt agen.
And though my shoo did wring, I wold not make my mone,
Nor think my neighbors chance more happy then mine own,
Yet court I not my wife, but yeeld obseruance due,
Being neither fond nor crosse, nor iealous nor vntrue.

X. The Wife.

The first of all our sex came from the side of man,
I thither am return'd, from whence our sex began:
I doe not visite oft, nor many, when I doe,
I tell my mind to few, and that in counsell too.
I seeme not sick in health, nor sullen but in sorrow;
I care for somewhat else, then what to weare to morrow.

XI. The Widow.

My husband knew how much his death would grieue me
And therefore left me wealth to comfort and relieue me:

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Though I no more will haue, I must not loue disdaine;
Penelope herselfe did sutors entertaine,
And yet to draw on such as are of best esteeme,
Nor yonger then I am, nor richer will I seeme.

XII. The Maid.

I marriage would forsweare, but that I heare men tell,
That she that dies a maid must leade an ape in hell.
Therefore if Fortune come, I will not mock and play,
Nor driue the bargaine on, till it be driuen away.
Tithes and land I like, yet rather fancy can
A man that wanteth gold, then gold that wants a man.

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II. A Contention

BETWIXT A WIFE, A WIDDOW, AND A MAIDE.

Wife.
Widdow, well met; whither goe you to day?
Will you not to this solemne offering go?
You know it is Astrea's holy day,
The saint to whom all hearts deuotion owe.

Widow.
Marry, what else? I purpos'd so to doe:
Doe you not marke how all the wiues are fine,
And how they haue sent presents ready too,
To make their offering at Astrea's shrine?

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See then, the shrine and tapers burning bright!
Come, friend, and let vs first ourselues advance;
We know our place, and if we haue our right,
To all the parish we must leade the dance.
But soft! what means this bold presumptuous Maid,
To goe before, without respect of vs?
Your frowardnesse (proude maide!) must now be staide:
Where learnd you to neglect your betters thus?

Maid.
Elder you are, but not my betters here:
This place to maids a priuiledge must giue;
The Goddesse, being a maid, holds maidens deare,
And grants to them her own prerogatiue.
Besides, on all true virgins, at their birth,

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Nature hath set a crowne of excellence,
That all the wiues and widdowes of the earth,
Should giue them place, and doe their reuerence?

Wife.
If to be borne a maide be such a grace,
So was I borne, and grac't by Nature to;
But seeking more perfection to embrace,
I did become a wife as others doe.

Widow.
And if the maid and wife such honour haue
I haue beene both, and hold a third degree;
Most maides are wardes, and euery wife a slaue:
I haue my livery sued, and I am free.

Maid.
That is the fault, that you haue maidens beene,
And were not constant to continue so;
The fals of angels did increase that sinne,
In that they did so pure a state forgoe:
But, wife and widdow, if your wits can make
Your state and persons of more worth then mine,
Aduantage to this place I will not take;
I will both place and priuiledge resign.

Wife.
Why marriage is an honourable state!

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Widow.
And widdow-hood is a reuerend degree!

Maid.
But maidenhead, that will admit no mate,
Like maiestie itselfe must sacred be.

Wife.
The wife is mistresse of her family:

Widow.
Much more the widdow, for she rules alone:

Maid.
But mistresse of mine owne desires am I,
When you rule others wils, and not your owne.

Wife.
Onely the wife enjoys the vertuous pleasure:

Widow.
The widow can abstaine from pleasures known;

Maid.
But th'vncorrupted maid preserues such measure,
As being by pleasures wooed, she cares for none.

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Wife.
The wife is like a faire supported vine;

Widow.
So was the widdow, but now stands alone,
For being growne strong, she needs not to incline.

Maid.
Maids, like the earth, supported are of none.

Wife.
The wife is as a diamond richly set;

Maid.
The maide vnset doth yet more rich appeare;

Widow.
The widdow a iewel in the cabinet,
Which though not worn is still esteem'd as deare.

Wife.
The wife doth loue and is belou'd againe;

Widow.
The widdow is a wakt out of that dreame,

Maid.
The maid's white minde had neuer such a staine;
No passion troubles her cleare vertue's streame;

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Yet, if I would be lou'd, lou'd would I be,
Like her whose vertue in the bay is seene:
Loue to wife fades with satietie,
Where loue neuer enioy'd is euer greene.

Widow.
Then what's a virgin but a fruitlesse bay?

Maid.
And what's a widdow but a rose-lesse bryer?
And what are wiues but woodbinds which decay
The stately oakes by which themselues aspire?
And what is marriage but a tedious yoke?

Widow.
And what's virginitie but sweete selfe loue?

Wife.
And what's a widdow but an axell broke,
Whose one part failing, neither part can mooue?

Widow.
Wiues are as birds in golden cages kept

Wife.
Yet in those cages cheerfully they sing:

Widow.
Widdowes are birds out of these cages lept
Whose joyfull notes makes all the forrest ring.

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Maid.
But maides are birds amidst the woods secure,
Which neuer hand could touch, nor yet could take;
Nor whistle could deceiue, nor baite allure,
But free vnto themselues doe musicke make.

Wife.
The wife is as the turtle with her mate;

Widow.
The widdow as the widdow done alone,
Whose truth shines most in her forsaken state;

Maid.
The maid a Phœnix, and is still but one.

Wife.
The wife's a soule vnto her body tyed;

Widow.
The widdow a soule departed into blisse.

Maid.
The maid, an angell, which was stellified,
And now t'as faire a house descended is.

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Wife.
Wives are faire houses kept and furnisht well;

Widow.
Widdowes old castles voide, but full of state:

Maid.
But maids are temples where the gods do dwell,
To whom alone themselues they dedicate;
But marriage is a prison during life,
Where one way out, but many entries be:

Wife.
The nun is kept in cloyster, not the wife,
Wedlocke alone doth make the virgin free.

Maid.
The maid is euer fresh, like morne in May;

Wife.
The wife with all her beames is beautified,
Like to the high noone, the glory of the day;

Widow.
The widow, like a milde sweet, euen-tide.

Wife.
An office well supplide is like the wife;

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Widow.
The widow, like a gainfull office voide;

Maid.
But maids are like contentment in this life,
Which al the world haue sought, but none enioy'd.
Go, wife, to Dunmow, and demaund your flitch.

Widow.
Goe, gentle maide, goe, leade the apes in hell.

Wife.
Goe, widow, make some younger brother rich,
And then take thought and die, and all is well.
Alas, poor maid! that hast no help nor stay.

Widow.
Alas, poore wife! that nothing dost possesse.

Maid.
Alas, poore widdow! Charitie doth say,
Pittie the widow and the fatherlesse!

Widow.
But happy widdowes haue the world at will.

Wife.
But happier wiues, whose ioys are euer double.

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Maid.
But happiest maids, whose hearts are calme and still;
Whom feare, nor hope, nor loue, nor hate doth trouble.

Wife.
Euery true wife hath an indented heart,
Wherein the covenants of loue are writ;
Whereof her husband keepes the counterpart,
And reads his comforts and his ioyes in it.

Widow.
But euery widdowe's heart is like a booke,
Where her ioyes past, imprinted doe remaine;
But when her iudgement's eye therein doth looke,
She doth not wish they were to come againe.

Maid.
But the maid's heart a faire white table is,
Spotlesse and pure, where no impressions be,
But the immortal caracters of blisse,
Which onely God doth write, and angels see.

Wife.
But wiues haue children: what a ioy is this!

Widow.
Widows haue children too; but maids haue none.

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Maid.
No more haue angels; yet they haue more blisse
Then euer yet to mortall man was knowne.

Wife.
The wife is like a faire manurèd field;

Widow.
The widow once was such, but now doth rest;

Maid.
The maide, like Paradice, vndrest, vntil'd,
Beares crops of natiue vertue in her breast.

Wife.
Who would not dye as wife, as Lucrece died?

Widow.
Or liue a widdow, as Penelope?

Maid.
Or be a maide, and so be stellified,
As all the Vertues and the Graces be.

Wife.
Wiues are warme Climates well inhabited;
But maids are frozen zones where none may dwel.

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Maid.
But fairest people in the North are bred,
Where Africa breeds Monsters blacke as hell.

Wife.
I haue my husband's honour and his place.

Widow.
My husband's fortunes all suruiue to me,

Maid.
The moone doth borrow light: you borrow grace:
When maids by their owne vertues gracèd be.
White is my colour; and no hew but this
It will receiue; no tincture can it staine.

Wife.
My white hath tooke one colour; but it is
My honourable purple dyed in graine.

Widow.
But it hath beene my fortune to renue
My colour twice from that it was before;
But now my blacke will take no other hue,
And therefore now I meane to change no more.

Wife.
Wiues ar faire apples seru'd in golden dishes;

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Widow.
Widows good wine, which time makes better much;

Maid.
But maids are grapes, desired by many wishes,
But that they grow so high as none can touch.

Wife.
I haue a daughter equals you, my girle,

Maid.
The daughter doth excell the mother, then:
As pearles are better then the mother of pearle;
Maids loose their value when they match with men.

Widow.
The man with whom I matcht, his worth was such
As now I scorne a maide should be my peare:

Maid.
But I will scorne the man you praise so much,
For maids are matchlesse, and no mate can beare.
Hence is it that the virgine neuer loues,
Because her like she finds not anywhere;

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For likenesse euermore affection moues,
Therefore the maide hath neither loue nor peeres.

Wife.
Yet many virgins married wiues would be;

Widow.
And many a wife would be a widdow faine.

Maid.
There is no widdow but desires to see,
If so she might, her maiden daies againe.

Widow.
There neuer was a wife that liked her lot:

Wife.
Nor widdow but was clad in mourning weeds.

Maid.
Doe what you will, marry or marry not,
Both this estate and that, repentance breedes.

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Wife.
But she that this estate and that hath seene,
Doth find great ods betweene the wife and girle.

Maid.
Indeed she doth, as much as is betweene
The melting haylestone and the solid pearle.

Wife.
If I were widdow, my merry dayes were past;

Widow.
Nay, then you first become sweete Pleasure's guest.

Wife.
For maydenhead is a continuall fast,
And marriage is a continual feast.

Maid.
Wedlock indeed hath oft comparèd bin
To publike Feasts, where meete a publike rout,
Where they that are without would faine go in,
And they that are within would faine go out.
Or to the iewell which this vertue had,

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That men were mad till they might it obtaine;
But when they had it, they were twise as mad,
Till they were disposest of it againe.

Wife.
Maids cannot iudge, because they cannot tell,
What comforts and what ioyes in marriage be.

Maid.
Yes, yes; though blessed saints in heauen do dwell,
They doe the soules in Purgatory see.

Widow.
If euery wife do liue in Purgatory,
Then sure it is that Widdowes liue in blisse,
And are translated to a state of glory;
But Maids as yet haue not attaind'd to this.

Maid.
Not maids? To spotlesse maids this gift is giuen,
To liue in incorruption from their birth:
And what is that, but to inherit heauen
Euen while they dwell vpon the spotted earth?
The perfectest of all created things;
The purest gold, that suffers no allay;
The sweetest flower that on th'earth's bosome springs;

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The pearle vnbord, whose price no price can pay;
The christall glasse that will no venome hold;
The mirror, wherein Angels loue to looke:
Dianae's bathing Fountaine, cleere and cold;
Beautie's fresh rose, and Vertue's living booke,
Of loue and fortune both, the mistresse borne,
The soueraigne spirit that will be thrall to none:
The spotlesse garment that was neuer worne;
The princely eagle that still flyes alone.
She sees the world, yet her cleere thought doth take
No such deepe print as to be chang'd thereby;
As when we see the burning fire doth make
No such impression as doth burne the eye.

Wife.
No more (sweete maid) our strife is at an end,
Cease now; I fear we shall transformèd be
To chattering pies, as they that did contend
To match the Muses in their harmony.

Widow.
Then let vs yeeld the honour and the place,
And let vs both be sutors to the Maid;
That, since the goddesse giues her speciall grace,
By her cleere hands the offring be conuaide

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Maid.
Your speech I doubt hath some displeasure mou'd;
Yet let me haue the offring, I will see:
I know she hath both wiues and widdowes lou'd,
Though she would neither wife nor widdow be

III. A Lottery.

Presented before the late Queene's Maiesty at the Lord Chancelor's House, 1601.

A Marriner with a boxe under his arme, contayning all the seuerall things following, supposed to come

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from the Carrick came into the Presence, singing this Song:

Cynthia Queene of Seas and Lands,
That Fortune euery where commands,
Sent forth Fortune to the Sea,
To try her fortune eury way.
There did I Fortune meet, which makes me now to sing,
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.

All the Nymphs of Thetis' traine
Did Cynthia's Fortunes entertaine;
Many a iewell, many a iem,
Was to her fortune brought by them.
Her fortune sped so well, as makes me now to sing,
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.

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Fortune, that it might be seene
That she did serue a royall Queene
A franke and royall hand did beare,
And cast her fauors euery where.
Some toyes fell to my share, which makes me now to sing,
There is no fishing to the Sea, nor seruice to the King.

And the Song ended, he vttred this short Speech:

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God saue you faire ladies all: and for my part, if euer I be brought to answere [for] my sinnes, God forgiue my sharking, and lay usury to my charge. I am a Marriner, and am now come from the sea, where I had the fortune to light upon these few trifles. I must confesse I came but lightly by them; but I no sooner had them, but I made a vow, that as they came to my hands by Fortune, so I would not part with them but by Fortune. To that end I have euer since carried these Lots about me, that if I met with fit company, I might deuide my booty among them. And now, (I thanke my good fortune)! I am lighted into the best company of the world, a company of the fairest ladyes that euer I saw. Come Ladies, try your fortunes; and if any light upon an unfortunate blanke, let her thinke that fortune doth but mock her in these trifles, and meanes to pleasure her in greater matters.

The Lots.

I. Fortune's Wheele.

Fortune must now no more on triumph ride;
The Wheeles are yours that did her Chariots guide.

II. A Purse.

You thriue, or would, or may; your Lot's a Purse
Fill it with gold, and you are nere the worse.

III. A Maske.

Want you a Maske? heere Fortune giues you one,
Yet Nature giues the Rose and Lilly none.

IV. A Looking-Glasse.

Blinde Fortune doth not see how faire you be,
But giues a glasse, that you your selfe may see.

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V. A Hankerchiefe.

Whether you seeme to weepe, or weepe indeed,
This Handkerchiefe will stand you well in steed.

VI. A Plaine Ring.

Fortune doth lend you, hap it well or ill,
This plaine gold Ring, to wed you to your will.

VII. A Ring, with this Poesie:
As faithfull as I find

Your hand by Fortune on this Ring doth light,
And yet the words do hit your humour right.

VIII. A Pair of Gloues.

Fortune these Gloues to you in challenge sends,
For that you loue not Fooles, that are her friends.

IX. A Dozen of Points.

You are in euery point a louer true,
And therefore Fortune giues the Points to you.

X. A Lace.

Giue her the Lace, that loues to be straight lac'd:
So Fortune's little gift is aptly plac'd.

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XI. A Paire of Kniues.

Fortune doth giue this paire of Kniues to you,
To cut the thred of Loue, if't be not true.

XII. A Girdle.

By Fortune's girdle you may happy be,
But they that are lesse happy, are more free.

XIII. A Payre of Writing-Tables.

These Tables may containe your thoughts in part,
But write not all that's written in your heart.

XIV. A Payre of Garters.

Though you haue Fortune's Garters, you mnst be
More staid and constant in your steps then she.

XV. A Coife and Crosse-Cloth.

Frowne in good earnest, or be sick in iest,
This Coife and Crosse-cloth will become you best.

XVI. A Scarfe.

Take you this Scarfe, bind Cupid hand and foote;
So Loue must aske you leaue, before he shoote.

XVII. A Falling Band.

Fortune would have you rise, yet guides your hand
From other Lots to take the Falling band.

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XVIII. A Stomacher.

This Stomacher is full of windowes wrought,
Yet none through them can see into your thought.

XIX. A Pair of Sizzers.

These scissars do your huswifery bewray,
You loue to work though you were borne to play.

XX. A Chaine.

Because you scorne Loue's Captiue to remaine,
Fortune hath sworne to leade you in a chaine.

XXI. A Prayer-Booke.

Your Fortune may prooue good another day;
Till Fortune come, take you a Booke to pray.

XXII. A Snuftkin.

'Tis Summer yet, a Snuftkin is your Lot!
But 'twill be Winter one day, doubt you not.

XXIII. A Fanne.

You loue to see, and yet to be vnseen;
Take you this Fanne to be your beautie's skreene.

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XXIV. A Pair of Bracelets.

Lady! your hands are fallen into a snare,
For Cupid's manicles these bracelets are.

XXV. A Bodkin.

Euen with this Bodkin you may liue unharmèd,—
Your beauty is with vertue so well armèd.

XXVI. A Necklace.

Fortune giues your faire neck this lace to weare;
God grant a heauier yoke it neuer beare!

XXVII. A Cushinet.

To her that little cares what Lot she wins,
Chance gives a little Cushinet to stick pinnes.

XXVIII. A Dyalle.

The Dyal's your's; watch Time, least it be lost;
Yet they most lose it that do watch it most.

XXIX. A Nutmeg with a Blanke Parchment in it.

This Nutmeg holds a blanke, but chance doth hide it;
Write your owne wish, and Fortune will prouide it.

XXX. Blanke.

Wot you not why Fortune giues you no prize?
Good faith! she saw you not—she wants her eyes.

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XXXI. Blanke.

You are so dainty to be pleazd, God wot,
Chance knowes not what to giue you for a Lot.

XXXII. Blanke.

'Tis pitty such a hand should draw in vaine;
Though it gaine nought, yet shall it pitty gaine.

XXIII. Blanke.

Nothing's your Lot, that's more then can be told,
For nothing is more precious then gold.

XXXIV. Blanke.

You faine would haue, but what, you cannot tell.
In giuing nothing, Fortune serues you well.

Sir I. D.

IV. Canzonet.

A HYMNE IN PRAISE OF MUSICKE.

Praise, pleasure, profite, is that threefold band,
Which ties mens minds more fast then Gordion's knots:

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Each one some drawes, all three none can withstand,
Of force conioynd, conquest is hardly got.
Then Musicke may of hearts a monarch be,
Wherein prayse, pleasure, profite so agree.

Praise-worthy Musicke is, for God it praiseth,
And pleasant, for brute beasts therein delight;
Great profit from it flowes, for why it raiseth
The mind ouerwhelmed with rude passions might:
When against reason passions fond rebell,
Musicke doth that confirme, and those expell.

If Musicke did not merit endlesse praise,
Would heauenly Spheares delight in siluer round?
If ioyous pleasure were not in sweet layes
Would they in Court and Country so abound?
And profitable needes we must that call,
Which pleasure linkt with praise, doth bring to all.

Heroicke minds with praises most incited,
Seeke praise in Musicke and therein excell:
God, man, beasts, birds, with Musicke are delighted,

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And pleasant t'is which pleaseth all so well:
No greater profit is then self-content,
And this will Musicke bring, and care preuent.

When antique Poets Musick's praises tell,
They say it beasts did please, and stones did moue:
To proue more dull then stones, then beasts more fell
Those men which pleasing Musicke did not loue,
They fain'd, it cities built, and States defended,
To show the profite great on it depended.

Sweet birds (poor men's Musitians) neuer slake
To sing sweet Musicke's praises day and night:
The dying Swans in Musicke pleasure take,
To shew that it the dying can delight:
In sicknesse, health, peace, warre, we do it need
Which proues sweet Musick's profit doth exceed.

But I by niggard praising do dispraise,
Praise-worthy Musicke in my worthlesse rime:
Ne can the pleasing profit of sweet laies,
Any saue learned Muses well define,
Yet all by these rude lines may clearely see,
Praise, pleasure, profite in sweet Musicke be.

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V. Reason's Moane.

When I peruse heauen's auncient written storie,
part left in bookes, and part in contemplation:
I finde Creation tended to God's glory:
but when I looke upon the foule euasion,
Loe then I cry, I howle, I weepe, I moane,
and seeke for truth, but truth alas! is gone.

Whilom of old before the earth was founded,
or hearbs or trees or plants or beasts, had being,
Or that the mightie Canopie of heauen surrounded
these lower creatures; ere that the eye had seeing,
Then Reason was within the mind of Ioue,
embracing only amitie and loue.

The blessed angels' formes and admirable natures,
their happie states, their liues and high perfections,
Immortall essence and vnmeasured statures,
the more made known their falls and low directions.

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These things when Reason doth peruse
she finds her errors, which she would excuse

But out alas! she sees strife is all in vaine;
it bootes not to contend, or stand in this defence
Death, sorow, grief, hell and torments are her gaine,
and endlesse burning fire, beeomes our recompence.
Oh heauie moane! oh endlesse sorrowes anguish,
neuer to cease but euer still to languish.

When I peruse the state of prime created man
his wealth, his dignitie and reason:
His power, his pleasure, his greatnesse when I scan
I doe admire and wonder, that in so short a season,
These noble parts, should haue so short conclusion:
and man himselfe, be brought to such confusion.

In seeking countries far beyond the seas, I finde,
euen where faire Eden's pleasant garden stood:
And all the coasts vnto the same confinde,
gall to cruell wars; men's hands embru'd in blood,
In cutting throats, and murders, men delight:
so from these places Reason's banisht quite.

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O Ierusalem! that thou shouldst now turn Turke,
and Sions hil, where holy rites of yore were vs'd,
Oh! that within that holy place shonld lurke
such sacrilege: whereby Ioue's name's abusde.
What famous Greece, farewel: thou canst not bost
thy grcat renowne: thy wit, thy learning's lost.

The further search I make, the worse effect I finde,
All Asia swarmes with huge impietie:
All Affrick's bent vnto a bloody minde:
all treachers gainst Ioue and his great deitie.
Let vs returne to famous Britton's king,
whose worthy praise let all the world goe sing,

Great Tetragramaton out of thy bounteous loue
let all the world and nation's truely know,
That he plants peace, and quarrell doth remoue:
let him be great'st on all the earth belowe.
Long may he liue, and all the world admire,
that peace is wrought as they themselues desire.

What Vnion he hath brought to late perfection,
twixt Nations that hath so long contended:

303

Their warres and enuies by him receiue correction,
And in his royal person all their iars are ended.
And so in briefe conclude, ought all that liue
giue thanks to him for ioy that peace doth giue.

By power and will of this our mightie king
reason doth shewe it, that God wrought a wonder:
Countries distract he doth to Vnion bring
and ioynes together States which others sunder:
God grant him life till Shiloe's comming be
in heauen's high seate he may enthronized be.

VI. On the Death of Lord Chancellor Ellesemere's Second Wife in 1599.

You that in Judgement passion neuer show,
(As still a Judge should without passion bee),
So judge your self; and make not in your woe
Against your self a passionate decree.

304

Griefe may become so weake a spirit as mine:
My prop is fallne, and quenchèd is my light:
But th'Elme may stand, when with'red is the vine,
And, though the Moone eclipse, the Sunne is bright.

Yet were I senselesse if I wisht your mind,
Insensible, that nothing might it moue;
As if a man might not bee wise and kind.
Doubtlesse the God of Wisdome and of Loue,
As Solomon's braine he doth to you impart,
So hath he given you David's tender hart.

Yr. Lps in all humble Duties and condoling with yr. Lp. most affectionately Jo. Davys.

305

VII Tityrus to his Faire Phillis.

The silly swaine whose loue breeds discontent,
Thinkes death a trifle, life a loathsome thing,
Sad he lookes, sad he lies.

But when his Fortune's mallice doth inuent,
Then of Loue's sweetnes he will sweetly sing,
Thus he liues, thus he dies.

Then Tityrus whom Loue hath happy made,
Will rest thrice happy in this mirtle shade
For though Loue at first did greeue him:
Yet did Loue at last releeue him.

I.D.

306

VIII. A Riddle vpon a Coffin.

There was a man bespake a thing,
Which when the owner home did bring,
He that made it did refuse it;
And hee that brought it would not vse it;
And he that hath it doth not know,
Whether hee hath it, yea or no.

[_]

From the “Philosopher's Banquet, second edit. 1614, 8 vo., p. 261.

307

Epigrams, with Additions.

313

Ad Musam. 1.

Fly, merry Muse unto that merry towne,
Where thou maist playes, revels, and triumphs see;
The house of Fame, and theater of renowne,
Where all good wits and spirits loue to be.
Fall in betweene their hands that loue and praise thee,
And be to them a laughter and a jest:
But as for them which scorning shall reproue thee
Disdaine their wits, and thinke thine one the best:
But if thou finde any so grose and dull,
That thinke I do to priuate taxing leane,

314

Bid him go hang, for he is but a gull,
And knows not what an Epigramme does meane,
Which taxeth, under a peculiar name,
A generall vice, which merits publick blame.

Of a Gull. 2.

Oft in my laughing rimes, I name a Gull;
But this new terme will many questions breed;
Therefore at first I will expresse at full,
Who is a true and perfect Gull indeed:
A Gull is he who feares a veluet gowne,
And, when a wench is braue, dares not speak to her;
A Gull is he which trauerseth the towne,
And is for marriage known a common woer;
A Gull is he which while he proudly weares,
A siluer-hilted rapier by his side,
Indures the lyes and knocks about the eares,
Whilst in his sheath his sleeping sword doth bide;
A Gull is he which weares good handsome cloaths,
And stands, in Presence, stroaking up his haire,

315

And fills up his unperfect speech with oaths,
But to define a Gull in termes precise,—
A Gull is he which seemes, and is not wise.

In Ruffum. 3.

Rufus the Courtier at the theater,
Leaving the best and most conspicuous place,

316

Doth either to the stage himselfe transferre,
Or through a grate doth shew his double face:
For that the clamorous fry of Innes of Court,
Fills up the priuate roomes of greater price:
And such a place where all may haue resort,
He in his singularity doth dispise.
Yet doth not his particular humour shun
The common stews and brothells of the towne,
Though all the world in troops doe hither run,
Cleane and uncleane, the gentle and the clowne:
Then why should Rufus in his pride abhorre,
A common seate, that loues a common whore.

317

In Quintam. 4.

Quintus the dancer useth euermore,
His feet in measure and in rule to moue:
Yet on a time he call'd his Mistresse, ‘whore’
And thought with that sweet word to win her loue:
Oh had his tongue like to his feet beene taught
It neuer would haue uttered such a thought.

In Plurimos. 5.

Faustinus, Sextus, Cinnæ, Ponticus,
With Gella, Lesbia, Thais, Rhodope,
Rode all to Stanes for no cause serious,
But for their mirth, and for their leachery:
Scarce were they setled in their lodging, when
Wenches with wenches, men with men fell out,
Men with their wenches, wenches with their men;
Which straight dissolues their ill-assembled rout.
But since the Deuill brought them thus together,
To my discovrsing thoughts it is a wonder,

318

Why presently as soone as they came thither,
The selfe same deuill did them part asunder.
Doubtlesse it seemes it was a foolish deuill,
That thus did part them e're they did some euill.

In Titam. 6.

Titas, the braue and valorous young gallant,
Three yeares together in this towne hath beene;
Yet my Lord Chancellor's tombe he hath not seene
Nor the new water-worke, nor the Elephant.
I cannot tell the cause without a smile,—
He hath beene in the counter all this while.

In Faustum. 7.

Faustus, nor lord, nor knight, nor wise, nor old,
To euery place about the towne doth ride;
He rides into the fields, Playes to behold,
He rides to take boat at the water side:
He rides to Pauls', he rides to th'Ordinary

319

He rides unto the house of bawdery too,—
Thither his horse doth him so often carry,
That shortly he will quite forget to goe.

In Katum. 8.

Kate being pleas'd wisht that her pleasure could
Indure as long as a buffe-jerkin would:
Content thee, Kate; although thy pleasure wasteth,
Thy pleasure's place like a buffe-jerkin lasteth,
For no buffe-jerkin hath beene oftner worne,
Nor hath more scrapings or more dressings borne.

In Librum. 9.

Liber doth vaunt how chastly he hath liu'd,
Since he hath bin seuen yeares in towne, and more,
For that he sweares he hath four onely ---
A maid, a wife, a widdow, and a whore:
Then, Liber, thou hast—all women-kinde,
For a fifth sort, I know thou canst not finde.

320

In Medontem. 10.

Great captaine Mædon weares a chaine of gold,
Which at fiue hundred crownes is valuèd;
For that it was his grand sire's chaine of old,
When great King Henry, Bulloigne conquerèd.
And weare it Mædon, for it may ensue,
That thou, by vertue of this massie chaine,
A stronger towne than Bulloigne maist subdue,
If wise men's sawes be not reputed vaine;
For what said Philip king of Macedon?
There is no castle so well fortified,
But if an asse laden with gold comes on,
The guard will stoope, and gates flye open wide.

In Gellam. 11.

Gella, if thou dost loue thy selfe, take heed,
Lest thou my rimes unto thy louer read;
For straight thou grin'st, and then thy louer seeth
Thy canker-eaten gums and rotten teeth.

321

In Quintam. 12.

Quintus his wit infused into his braine,
Mislikes the place, and fled into his feet;
And there it wandered up and downe the street,
Dabled in the dirt, and soakèd in the raine,
Doubtlesse his wit intends not to aspire,
Which leaues his head, to travell in the mire.

In Severum. 13.

The Puritan Severus oft doth read
This text, that doth pronounce vain speech a sin,—
“That thing defiles a man, that doth proceed,
From out the mouth, not that which enters in.”
Hence it is, that we seldome heare him sweare:
And thereof as a Pharisie he vaunts:
But he devours more capons in one yeare,
Then would suffice an hundred Protestants.
And sooth, those sectaries are gluttons all,
As well the thred-bare cobler, as the knight;
For those poore slaues which haue not wherewithall,
Feed on the rich, till they devour them quite;
And so, as Pharoe's kine, they eate up clean,
Those that be fat, yet still themselues be lean.

322

In Leucam. 14.

Leuca, in Presence once, a ------ did let;
Some laught a little; she refus'd the place;
And mad with shame, did then her gloue forget,
Which she return'd to fetch with bashfull grace;
And when she would haue said “my gloue”
My ------ (qd. she:) which did more laughter moue.

In Macrum. 15.

Thou canst not speake yet, Macer, for to speake,
Is to distinguish sounds significant:
Thou with harsh noise the ayre dost rudely breake;
But what thou utterest common sence doth want,—
Halfe English words, with fustian termes among
Much like the burthen of a Northerne song.

In Fastum. 16.

“That youth,” saith Faustus, “hath a lyon seene,
Who from a dicing-house comes money-lesse”:
But when he lost his haire, where had he beene?
I doubt me he had seene a Lyonesse?

323

In Cosmum. 17.

Cosmus hath more discoursing in his head
Than love, when Pallas issued from his braine;
And still he strives to be deliveréd
Of all his thoughts at once, but all in vaine;
For, as we see at all the play-house doores,
When ended is the play, the dance, and song,
A thousand townes-men, gentlemen and whores,
Porters and serving-men, together throng,—
So thoughts of drinking, thriuing, wenching, warre,
And borrowing money, raging, in his mind,
To issue all at once so forward are,
As none at all can perfect passage find.

In Flaccum. 18.

The false knave Flaccus once a bribe I gaue:
The more foole I to bribe so false a knaue:
But he gaue back my bribe; the more foole he,
That for my folly did not cousen me.

In Cinean. 19.

Thou doggèd Cineas, hated like a dogge,
For still thou grumblest like a masty dogge,

324

Compar'st thyself to nothing but a dogge;
Thou saith thou art as weary as a dogge,
As angry, sicke, and hungry as a dogge,
As dull and melancholly as a dogge,
As lazy, sleepy, and as idle as a dogge:
But why dost thou compare thee to a dogge
In that, for which all men despise a dogge?
I will compare thee better to a dogge;
Thou art as faire and comely as a dogge,
Thou art as true and honest as a dogge,
Thou art as kind and liberall as a dogge,
Thou art as wise and valiant as a dogge.
But Cineas, I have [often] heard thee tell,
Thou art as like thy father as may be:
'Tis like enough; and faith I like it well;
But I am glad thou art not like to me.

In Gerontem. 20.

Geron's mouldy memory corrects
Old Holinshed, our famous Chronicler,
With morall rules; and policy collects
Out of all actions done these fourscore yeares;
Accounts the time of euery old event,

325

Not from Christ's birth, nor from the Prince's raigne,
But from some other famous accident,
Which in mens generall notice doth remaine,—
The siege of Bulloigne and the Plaguy Sweat,
The going to St. Quintin's and New-haven,
The rising in the North, the Frost so great
That cart-wheeles' prints on Thamis face were graven,
The fall of money, and burning of Paul's steeple;
The blazing starre, and Spaniard's ouerthrow:
By these events, notorious to the people,
He measures times, and things forepast doth show:
But most of all, he chiefly reckons by
A priuate chance,—the death of his curst wife;
This is to him the dearest memory,
And the happiest accident of all his life.

326

In Marcum. 21.

When Marcus comes from Minnes, hee still doth sweare,
By “come on seauen,” that all is lost and gone;
But that's not true; for he hath lost his haire,
Onely for that he came too much at one.

In Ciprum. 22.

The fine youth Ciprius is more tierse and neate,
Than the new garden of the Old Temple is;
And still the newest fashion he doth get,
And with the time doth change from that to this;
He weares a hat of the flat-crowne block,
The treble ruffes, long cloake, and doublet French;
He takes tobacco, and doth weare a lock,
And wastes more time in dressing than a wench:
Yet this new fangled youth, made for these times,
Doth aboue all praise old George Gascoine's rimes?

327

In Cineam. 23.

When Cineas comes amongst his friends in morning,
He slyly spies who first his cap doth moue;
Him he salutes, the rest so grimly scorning,
As if for euer they had lost his loue.
I seeing how it doth the humour fit
Of this fond gull to be saluted first,
Catch at my cap, but moue it not a whit:
Which to[o] perceiuing, he seemes for spite to burst.
But Cineas, why expect you more of me,
Than I of you? I am as good a man,
And better too by many a quality,
For vault, and dance, and fence and rime I can:
You keep a whore at your own charge, men tell me,
Indeed friend (Cineas) there in you excell me.

In Gallum. 24.

Gallas hath beene this Summer-time in Friesland,
And now return'd, he speaks such warlike words,

328

As, if I could their English understand,
I feare me they would cut my throat like swords;
He talkes of counter-scarfes and casomates,
Of parapets, of curteneys, and palizadoes;
Of flankers, ravelings, gabions he prates,
And of false-baits, and sallies and scaladoes.
But, to requite such gulling tearmes as these,
With words of my profession I reply;
I tell of fourching, vouchers, and counterpleas,
Of withermans essoynes, and Champarty.
So, neither of us understanding one another,
We part as wise as when we came together.

329

In Decium. 25.

Audacious painters have Nine Worthies made;
But poet Decius, more audacious farre,
Making his mistris march with men of warre,
With title of “Tenth Worthy” doth her lade.
Me thinks that gull did use his tearmes as fit,
Which tearm'd his loue “a gyant for her wit.”

330

In Gellam. 26.

If Gella's beauty be examinèd,
She hath a dull, dead eye, a saddle nose,
And ill-shap't face, with morphew ouer-spread,
And rotten teeth, which she in laughing shows;
Briefly, she is the filthiest wench in towne,
Of all that doe the art of whoring use:
But when she hath put on her sattin gowne,
Her out lawne apron, and her velvet shooes,
Her greene silke stockins and her petticoat
Of taffaty, with golden fringe a-round,
And is withall perfumed with civet hot,
Which doth her valiant stinking breath confound,—
Yet she with these additions is no more
Than a sweet, filthy, fine, ill-favoured whore.

331

In Syllam. 27.

Sylla is often challenged to the field,
To answer as a gentleman, his foes:
But then he doth this answer onely yeeld,—
That he hath livings and faire lands to lose.
Silla, if none but beggars valiant were,
The King of Spaine would put us all in feare.

In Sillam. 28.

Who dares affirme that Silla dares not fight?
When I dare sweare he dares adventure more
Than the most braue and all-daring wight,
That euer armes with resolution bore;
He that dares touch the most unwholsome whore
That euer was retir'd into the Spittle
And dares court wenches standing at a doore,
(The portion of his wit being passing little);
He that dares give his dearest friends offences,

332

Which other valiant fooles doe feare to doe:
And when a feaver doth confound his sences,
Dare eate raw beefe, and drink strong wine thereto:
He that dares take tobacco on the stage,
Dares man a whore at noone-day through the street:
Dares dance in Paul's, and in this formall age,
Dares say and doe whateuer is unmeet;
Whom feare of shame could neuer yet affright,
Who dares affirme that Sylla dares not fight?

333

In Haywodum, 29.

Haywood, that did in Epigrams excell,
Is now put downe since my light Muse arose;
As buckets are put downe into a well,
Or as a schoole-boy putteth downe his hose.

334

In Dacum. 30.

Amongst the poets Dacus numbred is,
Yet could he neuer make an English rime,
But some prose speeches I haue heard of his,
Which haue been spoken many an hundreth time;
The man that keeps the Elephant hath one,
Wherein he tells the wonders of the beast:
Another Bankes pronouncèd long agon,
When he his curtailes qualities exprest:
He first taught him that that keeps the monuments,
At Westminster, his formall tale to say,
And also him which Puppets represents,
And also him which with the Ape doth play:
Though all his Poetry be like to this,
Amongst the poets Dacus numbred is.

335

In Priscum. 31.

When Priscus, rais'd from low to high estate,
Rode through the street in pompous jollity,
Caius, his poore familiar friend of late,
Bespake him thus: “Sir, now you know not me.’
“'Tis likely friend,” (quoth Priscus) “to be so,
For at this time myselfe I do not know.”

In Brunum. 32.

Brunus, which deems himselfe a faire sweet youth
Is thirty nine yeares of age at least;
Yet was he neuer, to confesse the truth,
But a dry starveling when he was at best:
This gull was sicke to shew his night-cap fine,
And his wrought pillow over-spread with lawne;
But hath beene well since his griefe's cause hath line
At Trollup's by Saint Clements Church, in pawne.

In Francum. 33.

When Francus comes to sollace with his whore,
He sends for rods, and strips himselfe stark naked;

336

For his lust sleeps and will not rise before,
By whipping of the wench it be awakèd.
I enuie him not, but wish I had the powre
To make myselfe his wench but one halfe houre.

In Castorem. 34.

Of speaking well why doe we learne the skill,
Hoping thereby honour and wealth to gaine;
Sith rayling Castor doth, by speaking ill,
Opinion of much wit and gold obtaine?

In Septimium. 35.

Septimius liues, and is like garlick seene,
For though his head be white, his blade is greene:
This old mad coult deserves a Martyr's praise,
For he was burnèd in Queene Marie's daies.

Of Tobacco. 36.

Homer, of Moly and Nepenthe sings;
Moly, the gods' most soueraigne hearb diuine,
Nepenthe, Heauen's drinke, most gladnesse brings,

337

Heart's griefe expells, and doth the wits refine.
But this our age another world hath found,
From whence an hearb of heauenly power is brought;
Moly is not so soueraigne for a wound,
Nor hath Nepenthe so great wonders wrought.
It is Tobacco, whose sweet substantiall fume
The hellish torment of the teeth doth ease,
By drawing downe, and drying up the rheume,
The mother and the nurse of each disease;
It is Tobacco, which doth cold expell,
And cleares the obstructions of the arteries,
And surfeits, threatning death, dijesteth well,
Decocting all the stomack's crudities;
It is Tobacco, which hath power to clarifie
The cloudy mists before dimme eyes appearing;
It is Tobacco, which hath power to rarifie
The thick grosse humour which doth stop the hearing;
The wasting hectick, and the quartaine feuer,

338

Which doth of Physick make a mockery;
The gout it cures, and helps ill breaths for euer,
Whether the cause in teeth or stomack be;
And though ill breaths were by it but confounded,
Yet that [vile] medicine it doth farre excell,
Which by Sir Thomas Moore hath beene propounded:
For this is thought a gentleman-like smell.
O, that I were one of those Mountebankes,
Which praise their oyles and powders which they sell!
My customers would giue me coyne with thanks;
I for this ware, for sooth a tale would tell:
Yet would I use none of these tearmes before;

339

I would but say, that it the ------ will cure;
This were enough, without discoursing more,
All our braue gallants in the towne t'allure.

In Crassum. 37.

Crassus, his lyes, are not pernicious lyes,
But pleasant fictions, hurtfull unto none
But to himselfe; for no man counts him wise,
To tell for truth that which for false is knowne.
He sweares that Gaunt is three score miles about,
And that the bridge at Paris on the Seyn
Is of such thicknesse, length and breadth throughout,
That sixe score Arches can it scarce sustaine;
He sweares he saw so great a dead man's scull
At Canterbury, dig'd out of the ground,
That would containe of wheat three bushels full;
And that in Kent are twenty yeomen found,
Of which the poorest euery yeare dispends,
Fiue thousand pounds: these and fiue thousand mo,
So oft he hath recited to his friends,
That now himselfe perswades himselfe 'tis so.

340

But why doth Crassus tell his lyes so rife,
Of Bridges, Townes, and things that haue no life?
He is a Lawyer, and doth well espie,
That for such lyes an Action will not lye.

In Philonem. 38.

Philo the Lawyer and the Fortune-teller;
The Schoole-master, the Midwife, and the Bawd,
The conjurer, the buyer, and the seller
Of painting, which with breathing will be thaw'd,
Doth practise Physicke; and his credit growes,
As doth the Ballad-singer's auditory,
Which hath at Temple-barre his standing chose,
And to the vulgar sings an Ale-house story:
First stands a Porter; then an Oyster-wife
Doth stint her cry, and stay her steps to heare him;
Then comes a Cut-purse ready with a knife,
And then a Countrey clyent passeth neare him;
There stands the Constable, there stands the whore,
And, listening to the song, heed not each other;
There by the Serjeant stands the debitor,
And doth no more mistrust him than his brother:
Thus Orpheus to such hearers giueth musick,
And Philo to such patients giueth physick.

341

In Fuscum. 39.

Fuscus is free, and hath the world at will;
Yet, in the course of life that he doth lead,
He's like a horse which, turning round a mill,
Doth always in the self-same circle tread:
First, he doth rise at ten; and at eleuen
He goes to Gyls, where he doth eate till one;
Then sees a Play till sixe; and sups at seven;
And, after supper, straight to bed is gone;
And there till ten next day he doth remaine,
And then he dines; and sees a Comedy;
And then he suppes, and goes to bed againe;
Thus round he runs without variety,
Saue that sometimes he comes not to the Play,
But falls into a whore-house by the way.

In Afram. 40.

The smell-feast Afer, trauailes to the Burse
Twice euery day, the newest newes to heare;
Which, when he hath no money in his purse,
To rich men's tables he doth often beare:

342

He tells how Gronigen is taken in,
By the braue conduct of illustrious Vere,
And how the Spanish forces Brest would win,
But that they doe victorious Norris feare.
No sooner is a ship at sea surpris'd,
But straight he learnes the news, and doth disclose it:
No sooner hath the Turk a plot deuis'd
To conquer Christendom, but straight he knows it:
Faire written in a scrowle he hath [the] names
Of all the widdows which the Plague hath made;
And persons, times, and places still he frames,
To euery tale, the better to perswade:
We call him Fame for that the wide-mouth slaue
Will eate as fast as he will utter lies;
For Fame is said an hundred mouths to haue,
And he eates more than would fiue score suffice.

343

In Paulum. 41.

By lawfull mart, and by unlawfull stealth,
Paulus in spite of enuy, fortunate,
Deriues out of the Ocean so much wealth,
As he may well maintaine a lord's estate;
But on the land a little gulfe there is,
Wherein he drowneth all the wealth of his.

In Licum. 42.

Lycus, which lately is to Venice gone,
Shall if he doe returne, gaine three for one:
But ten to one, his knowledge and his wit
Will not be bettered or increas'd a whit.

In Publium. 43.

Publius [a] student at the Common-law,
Oft leaves his Bookes, and for his recreation,

344

To Paris-garden doth himselfe withdrawe;
Where he is rauisht with such delectation,
As downe among the beares and dogges he goes;
Where, whilst he skipping cries “to head to head,”
His satten doublet and his veluet hose
Are all with spittle from aboue be-spread:
When he is like his father's countrey hall,
Stinking with dogges, and muted all with haukes;
And rightly too on him this filth doth fall,
Which for such filthy sports his bookes forsakes,
Leaving old Ployden, Dyer, Brooke alone,
To see old Harry Hunkes, and Sacarson.

345

In Sillam. 44.

When I this proposition had defended,
“A coward cannot be an honest man,”
Thou, Silla, seem'st forthwith to be offended,
And holds the contrary, and sweares he can;
But when I tell thee that he will forsake
His dearest friend, in perill of his life,
Thou then art chang'd, and sayst thou didst mistake;
And so we end our argument and strife:
Yet I think oft, and thinke I thinke aright,
Thy argument argues thou wilt not fight.

In Dacum. 45.

Dacus with some good colour and pretence,
Tearmes his love's beauty “silent eloquence:”
For she doth lay more colour on her face
Than ever Tully us'd his speech to grace.

346

In Marcum. 46.

Why dost thou, Marcus, in thy misery,
Raile and blaspheame, and call the heauens unkind?
The heauens doe owe no kindnesse unto thee,
Thou hast the heauens so little in thy minde;
For in thy life thou neuer usest prayer
But at primero to encounter faire.

Meditations of a Gull. 47.

See, yonder melancholy gentleman,
Which, hood-wink'd with his hat, alone doth sit!
Thinke what he thinks, and tell me if you can,
What great affaires troubles his little wit.
He thinks not of the warre 'twixt France and Spaine,
Whether it be for Europe's good or ill,
Nor whether the Empire can itselfe maintaine
Against the Turkish power encroaching still;

347

Nor what great towne in all the Netherlands,
The States determine to beseige this Spring,
Nor how the Scottish policy now stands,
Nor what becomes of the Irish mutining.
But he doth seriously bethinke him whether
Of the gull'd people he be more esteem'd
For his long cloake or [for] his great black feather,
By which each gull is now a gallant deem'd;
Or of a journey he deliberates,
To Paris-garden, Cock-pit or the Play;
Or how to steale a dog he meditates,
Or what he shall unto his mistriss say:
Yet with these thoughts he thinks himself most fit
To be of counsell with a king for wit.

Ad Musam. 48.

Peace, idle Muse, haue done! for it is time,
Since lousie Ponticus enuies my fame,
And sweares the better sort are much to blame
To make me so well nowne for my ill rime:
Yet Bankes, his horse, is better knowne than he.

348

So are the Cammels and the westerne Hay,
And so is Lepidus his printed Dog:
Why doth not Ponticus their fames enuie?
Besides, this Muse of mine, and the blacke feather

349

Grew both together [fresh] in estimation:
And both growne stale, were cast away together:
What fame is this that scarce lasts out a fashion?
Onely this last in credit doth remaine,
That from henceforth, each bastard cast-forth rime,
Which doth but savour of a libell vaine,
Shall call me father, and be thought my crime;
So dull, and with so little sence endu'd,
Is my grose-headed Judge, the multitude.

Finis

I. D.

351

Appendix to Epigrams:

(FROM THE HARLEIAN MSS. 1836.)

1. In Superbiam. Epi. 4.

I tooke the wall, one thrust me rudely by,
And tould me the King's way did open lye.
I thankt him yt he did me so much grace,
to take the worse, leave me the better place;
For if by th'owners wee esteeme of things,
the wall's the subjects, but the way's the King's.

352

2. Epi. 5.

[I that the Winter's daughter am]

NIX IX CORNIX

SNOW 9 A CROW.

NIX:.

I that the Winter's daughter am
whilst thus my letters stand,
Am whiter then the plumbe of swan
or any ladye's hand;

IX:.

Take but away my letter first,
and then I doe encline
That stood before for milke white snowe
to be the figure nine.
And if that further you desire
by change to doe som trickes,
As blacke as any bird I am.

CORNIX: by adding COR to NIX.

3. Epi. 6.

[Health is a jewell true, which when we buy]

Health is a jewell true, which when we buy
Physitians value it accordingly.

4. In Amorosum. Epi. 7.

A wife you wisht me (sir) rich, faire and young
with French, Italian, and the Spanish tongue:

353

I must confesse yor kindnesse verie much
but yet in truth, Sir, I deserve none such.
for when I wed—as yet I meane to tarry—
A woman of one language i'le but marry,
and with that little portion of her store,
expect such plenty, I would wish no more.

5. Epi. 9.

[Westminster is a mill that grinds all causes]

Westminster is a mill that grinds all causes,
but grinde his cause for mee there, he yt list:
For by demures and errours, stayes and clauses,
the tole is oft made greater then the grist.

6. Epi. 10.

[He that doth aske St. James they [?] say, shall speed]

He that doth aske St. James they [?] say, shall speed:
O yt Kinge James would answere to my need.

355

Hitherto Unpublished Poems.

Metraphrase of Some of the Psalms. &c.

363

PSALM I.

That man is blest which hath not walkt aside,
Takeinge ungodly counsell for his guide;
Nor in the way of synners stood and staied,
Nor in the couch of Scorners downe him layed,
But in God's Lawe hath plac't his whole delight,
And studieth to performe it, day and night:
Hee, like a plant which by a streame doth growe,
His timely fruite shall in due season showe;
Whose leafe shall not decay but flourish euer,
And all thinges prosper which hee doth endeauour

364

But with th'vngodly it shall not bee soe,
But as the dust, which as the whirlewindes to and fro
Uppon the surface of the earth doth driue,
They shall a restless life and fruitles liue;
Nor shall they stand vpright when they are tride,
Nor in the assembly of the just abide:
But in his way God doth the good man cherish,
When wicked men in their bad way shall perish.

PSALM II.

Why doe the nations thus in furie rise?
Why doe the people such vaine plotts deuise?
Monarches stand vp and Princes doe conspire
Against the Lord, and His Annoynted Heire:
‘Let vs in sunder breake their bandes,’ say they,
‘And let vs lightly cast their yokes away.’
But Hee that sitts in Heauen shall them deride,
And laugh to scorne their follie and their pride;
And in His wrath Hee shall reproue them sore,
And vex them in His anger, more and more:
Sayinge, ‘I sett on Sion hill My Kinge,
To preach my Lawe, and shew this heauenly thinge;
Thou art My Sonne, this day I Thee begott,
Aske, and I will assigne thee for Thy Lott
Of heritage the Landes and Nations all,
Betweene the Sunne's vprisinge & his fall.’
Thou with an iron rodd shalt keepe them vnder,

365

And breake them like an earthen pott in sunder,
Bee wise, yee Monarches, and yee Princes then;
Bee learnèd, yee that judge the sonnes of men;
Serue yee the Lord, with humble feare Him serue;
Rejoyce in Him, yet tremblinge Him obserue;
Kisse yee the Sonne, lest yee Him angrie make,
And perish, while His just wayes yee forsake,
If His just wrath but once enkinled bee:
Who trust in Him, a blessed man is hee.

PSALM III.

Lord! how my foes in number doe encrease,
That rise against mee, to disturbe my peace!
Many there are which to my soule haue said,
His God to him not safety yeilds nor aid;
But God is my defence, my Succour nigh,
My glory, and my head Hee lifteth high:
To Him with earnest praier appealèd I,
And from His Holy Hill Hee heard my crie:
I layed mee downe and slept, and rose againe,
For mee the Lord doth euermore sustaine:
Though Thousand of my foes besett mee round,
Noe feare of them my courage shall confound:
Rise Lord! and saue mee; Thou hast giuen a stroke
On my foes cheeke, that all his teeth are broke:
Saluation cometh from this Lord of ours,
Who blessings on His people daily powers.

366

PSALM IV.

O God! whose righteousnes by grace is mine,
A gracious eare vnto my voyce encline:
Thou that hast set mee free when I was thrall,
Bee mercifull, and heare my prayer withall.
Vaine, worldly men, how long will yee dispise
God's honnour, and His truth, and trust in lies?
God for Himselfe, the good man doth select,
And when I crie Hee doth not mee reject.
Bee angrie, but bee angrie without synne;
Try your owne hearts in silence, close within.
To God, of godly workes, an offeringe make,
Then trust in Him that will not His forsake.
For that which good is, many seeke and pray,
‘And who shall shew the same to vs’? say they,
Lord! shew to vs thy countenance diuine,
And cause the Beames thereof on vs to shyne:
Soe shall my heart more joyfull bee and glad,
Then if encrease of corne and wine I had.
To peace therefore lye down will I and sleepe
For God alone doth mee in safetie keepe.

367

PSALM V.

Lord weigh my words, and take consideration
Of my sad thoughts and silent meditation:
My God, my Kinge, bowe downe Thine eare to mee,
While I send vp mine humble prayer to Thee.
Early, before the morne doth bringe the day,
I will O Lord, look vp to Thee and pray:
For Thou with synne art neuer pleasèd well,
Nor any ill may with Thy goodnes dwell:
The foole may not before thy wisdome stand,
Nor shall the impious scape Thy wrathfull hand:
Thou wilt destroy all such as vtter lies;
Blood and deceit are odious in Thine eyes;
But, trustinge in Thy manie mercies deare,
I will approch Thy house with holy feare.
Teach me Thy plaine and righteous way to goe,
That I may neuer fall before my foe,
Whose flatteringe tongue is false and heart jmpure,
And throat, an open place of sepulture.
Destroy them, Lord, and frustrate their devices,
Cast out those Rebells for their manie vices;
But all that trust in Thee and loue Thy name,

368

Make them rejoyce and rescue them from shame.
Thou wilt Thy blessinge to the righteous yeild
And guard them with Thy grace as with a sheild.

PSALM VI.

To iudge mee, Lord, in Thy just wrath forbeare,
To punish mee in Thy displeasure spare;
O! I am weake; haue mercie, Lord, therefore,
And heale my bruisèd bones which payne mee sore.
My soule is alsoe trubled and dismayed;
But, Lord, how long shall I expect Thine aid!
Turne Thee, O Lord, my soule from death deliuer,
Euen for Thy mercie's sake which lasteth euer:
They which are dead remember not Thy name.
Nor doth the silent Graue thy praise proclaime;
I faint and melt away with greifes and feares,
And euery night my bed doth swymme with teares.
Myne eyes are suncke and weaknèd is my sight;
My foes haue vexed mee with such dispight.
Away from mee, yee sinfull men, away!
The Lord of Heauen doth heare mee when I pray.
The Lord hath my petition heard indeed:
Receaue my prayer and I shall surely speed;
But shame and sorrow on my foes shall light,
They shall be turn'd and put to suddaine flight.

369

PSALM VII.

O Lord, my God! I put my trust in Thee,
From all my Persecutors rescue mee:
Lest my proud foe doth like a lyon rend mee,
While there is non to succour and defend mee:
Lord God! if I bee guilty found in this,
Wherewith my foes haue chargèd mee amisse,
If I did vse my freind vnfreindly soe,
Nay, if I did not helpe my causlesse foe,
Let him preuaile, although my cause bee just,
And lay my life and honnour in the dust.
Vp, Lord! and stand against my furious foes,
Thy judgement against them for mee disclose;
Soe shall Thy People flocke about Thee nigh,
For their sakes therefore lift Thy selfe on high.
Judge of the world, giue sentence on my parte,
Accordinge to the cleanes of my heart:
Let wickednes be brought vnto an end,
And guide the just, that they may not offend.
Thou God art just, and Thou Searcher art
Of hart and raynes, and euery inward part:
My helpe proceedeth from the Lord of Might,
Who saueth those which are of hart vpright;
A powerfull and a patient Judge is Hee,
Though euery day His wrath prouokèd bee:
But, if men will not turne, His sword Hee whets,

370

And bends His bowe, and to the stringe Hee setts
The instruments of death, His arrowes keene,
Gainst such as rebells to His will haue beene.
The jmpious man conceaues jniquity,
Trauailes with mischief, and brings forth a ly:
The Righteous to entrapp hee digs a pitt,
But hee himselfe first falls and sinks in it.
The wicked plotts his workinge braine doth cast,
Light with a mischeife on himselfe at last.
My thankes with God's great justice shall accord,
And I will highly praise the highest Lord.

PSALM VIII.

O God, our Lord! how large is the extent
Of Thy great name and glorie excellent!
It fills this world, but it doth shyne most bright
Aboue the heauens, in th'vnapproachèd light.
By suckinge Babes thou dost thy strength disclose,
And by their mouth to silence put Thy foes.
When I see Heauen wrought by Thy mighty hand,
And all those glorious lights in order stand,
Lord! what is man that Thou on him dost looke!
Or of the Sonne of Man such care hast tooke!
Next Angells in degree Thou hast him plac't,

371

And with a crowne of honour hast him grac't:
Thou hast him made lord of Thy Creatures all,
Subjectinge them to his commaund and call;
All birds and aiery fowles are vnder him,
And fishes all which in the Sea doe swymme.
O Lord, our God! how large is the extent
Of Thy great name and glorie excellent!

PSALM IX.

Thee will I thanke euer with my hart entire,
And make the world Thy wondrous workes admire;
In Thee rejoyce, in Thee trihumph will I,
My songs shall praise Thy name, O God, most High!
While my proud foes are put to shamefull flight,
And fall and perish at Thy dreadfull sight.
Thou, righteous Judge, dost sitt vpon Thy Throne
And dost maintaine my rightfull cause alone;
Thou checkst the Heathen; and the wicked race
Thou dost destroy, and all their names deface.
O Enemy! behould thy finall fall,
Thy Citties perish and their names withall;
But God, our Lord, for euer shall endure,
His judgement Seate, Hee hath establisht sure,
Where Hee judges the World with equall right,

372

And measures Justice vnto euery weight:
He likewise will become a Bulwarke strong
And tymely aide to them that suffer wrong.
Who knowes Thy name in Thee His trust will place,
Who neuer failest them that seeke Thy face.
O, praise the Lord! you that in Sion dwell,
His noble Acts among the Nations tell;
When of oppression Hee enquiry makes,
Of euery poore man's plaint Hee notice takes.
Haue mercy, Lord! and take into Thy thought
My trubles, which my hatefull foes haue wrought.
Thou from the gates of death my Soule dost raise,
That I in Sion's Gates may sing Thy praise;
The sweet saluation which Thou dost jmpart
Shall bee the joy and comfort of my heart.
The Infidells make pitts, and sinke therein,
Their feet are caught in their owne proper synne;
Thy judgement Lord, Thou hast thereby declar'd
When wicked men in their owne workes are snar'd:
Hell is a place for impious men assign'd
And such as doe cast God out of their minde;
But poore men shall not bee forgotten euer
Nor meeke mens' patience, if they doe perseuer.

373

Rise Lord! and let [not] man aboue Thee rise
And judge the Infidel with angrie eyes:
Strike them with feare, that, though they know not Thee,
Yet they may know that mortall men they bee.

PSALM X.

Why standest Thou O Lord! so farr away
And hids't Thy face when trubles mee dismay?
The wicked for his lust the poore man spoyles;
Lord! take him in the trap of his owne wiles.
Hee makes his boaste of his profane desires
Contemninge God, while hee himselfe admires:
Hee is soe proud, that God hee setts at naught,
Nay rather, God comes neuer in his thought.
Thy judgements Lord, are farr aboue his sight
This makes him to esteeme his foes soe light,
And in his hart to say, I cannot fall,
Nor can misfortune light on mee at all:
His mouth is full of execrat[i]ons vile;
Under his tongue doth sit ungodly guile;
Close in the corners of the waies he lies,
And lurkes, and waits, the simple to surprize:

374

Euen as a lyon lurkinge in his den,
To assault and murther innocent poore men;
Gainst whom his eyes maliciously are sett,
To catch them when they fall into his nett.
Himselfe hee humbles, bowes and crouchinge stands
Till poore men fall into his powerfull hands;
Then, in his heart hee sayth ‘God hath forgott:
Hee turnes away His face and sees it not.’
Arise O Lord! and lift Thy hand on high,
The poore forgett not which oppressèd ly:
For why should wicked men blaspheme Thee thus
‘Tush! God is carelesse and regards not us’?
Surely Thou seest the wronge which they haue done,
And all oppressions underneath the sunne;
To Thee alone the poore his cause commends
As th'only freind of him that wanteth freinds.
Lord! breake the power of the malicious minde
Take ill away, and Thou not ill shalt finde.
The Lord is kinge, and doth for euer raigne,
Nor miscreants shall within His Land remaine;
Hee hearkeneth to the poore, but first prepareth
Their hearts to pray; then their petition heareth:
That Hee poore orphans, may both help and saue,
That worldly men on them no power may haue.

375

PSALM XI.

I trust in God: to mee why should you say,
‘Fly like a bird to mountaines farr away’?
Their bowes and arrowes wicked men prepare,
To peirce the hearts of them that faithfull are:
Euen him whome God hath made a corner-stone
They haue cast downe; but what hath Hee misdone?
God in His holy temple doth remaine,
The heauen of Heauens: where Hee doth sitt and raigne.
Upon the poore He casteth downe His eye,
The sonnes of Men he doth discerne and trie;
The just and righteous men hee doth approue,
But hateth synners which their sinnes doe loue;
On them he rayneth snares, brimstone and fire,
This is their cup, their wages, and their hire;
The righteous God loues him whose way is right,
And on the just His gracious eye doth light.

PSALM XII.

Helpe Lord! for all the godly men are gon,
And of the faithfull, fewe there are, or non;
Each man to other doth vaine things jmpart,
With lipps deceiptfull, and with double hart;

376

The Lord will soone cutt of the lipps that lie,
And root out tongues that speake proud words and high.
‘With mighty words wee will preuale’ say they:
What Lord is Hee that dareth us gainesay?
‘Now for the trubles and oppressions sore
The gronings and the sighings of the poore,
I will arise’ sayth God, ‘and quell their foes
That swell with pride; and them in rest repose.’
God's words are pure, and chaste, like siluer tride
Which hath with seauen fires bene purified.
Thou wilt preserue them Lord! and guard them still,
From this vile race of men which wish them ill.
The ungodly walke in circles, yet goe free
When such as feare not God, exalted bee.

PSALM XIII.

How long O Lord! shall I forgotten bee?
How long wilt Thou Thy bright Face hide from mee?
How long shall I my thoughts tosse to and fro
And bee thus vext by my insultinge foe?
Giue ease, O Lord; giue light unto mine eyes,
Lest death in endlesse sleepe doth mee surprise;
Lest my proud foe vaunt that hee doth preuaile,

377

And laugh at mee when I shall faint or faile;
But in Thy mercie all my trust is pight
And thy saluation is my hearte's delight;
Of Thy sweet kindnes therefore sing will I,
And highly praise the name of God, Most High.

PSALM XIV.

‘There is noe God,’ the foole sayth in his heart,
Yet dares not with his tongue his thought impart;
All are corrupt and odious in God's sight,
Not one doth good, not one doth well, vpright.
God cast His eyes from heauen on all mankinde,
And lookt if Hee one righteous man could finde;
But all were wicked, all from God were gone,
Not one did good, in all the world, not one;
Their throat an open graue, their flattering tongue
And lyinge lips, like stinge of wasps haue stung.
With bitter cursing, they their mouthes doe fill;
Their feet are swift the guiltles blood to spill;
Sad, wretched mischeife, in their wayes doth lye
But for the wayes of peace they passe them by;
Noe feare of God haue they before their eyes,

378

Nor knowledge, while these mischeifes they devise;
While they God's people doe with might oppresse
And eat them up like bread with greedines;
And since on God they neuer vse to call,
They fear'd when cause of feare was non at all.
But to the righteous man and to his race,
God present is with His protectinge grace;
Though fooles doe mocke the counsell of the poore,
Because in God hee trusted euermore.
Who shall saluation out of Sion giue
To Israell but God? Who shall releiue
His people and of Captiues make them free:
Thou Jacob joyfull, Israell glad shall bee,

PSALM XV.

Lord! who shall dwell in thy bright tent with Thee
And of Thy rest in heauen pertaker bee?
Euen hee that is vpright in all his wayes
And from his hart speakes truth in all hee sayes;
Who hath forborne to doe his neighbour wrong

379

Nor him deceau'd or slaunderèd with his tong;
Who of himselfe an humble thought doth beare
But highly valewes them which God doe feare;
Who of his promis doth himselfe acquitt,
Though losse hee suffer by performinge it;
Nor hath from bitinge vse his monie lent,
Nor tooke reward against the innocent;
Who shall obserue these poynts, and doe them all,
Assuredly that man can neuer fall.

PSALM XVI.

Mee thy poore seruant Lord! preserue and saue,
For all my trust in Thee repos'd I haue:
Lord! said my soule, Thou art my God, to Thee
My goods are nothinge when they offered bee;
But my delight[s] are in those saints of Thine,
Which liue on Earth, and doe in vertue shine;
But they which runn to worshipp idolls vaine,
Shall multiply their sorrow and their paine.
Of their blood offerings will I not pertake,
Nor of their names shall my lipps mention make.
The portion of mine heritage and cupp
Is God Himselfe who houlds and keepes mee upp;

380

In a faire ground to mee my lott did chance,
Soe I possesse a rich Inheritance:
Thankes bee to God His warninge giues mee light,
My raynes with paine doe chasten me by night;
I looke to God in my endeauors all,
Hee stands soe neare mee that I cannot fall;
This hath my heart and tongue with joyes possest,
And now my flesh in hope to rise, shall rest;
My soule shall not bee buryed in the graue,
Nor shall Thy Holy One corruption haue;
Shew mee the path of life; for in Thy sight
Doth endles pleasure rest and full delight.

PSALM XVII.

Heare my just cause Lord! heare my prayer and crie,
Which come from lipps not vs'd to faine or lie:
Lord, let my sentence from Thy mouth be giuen,
For Thou regards't things only just and euen;

381

In the darke night of my aduersitie,
Thou did'st my heart examine, proue and trie;
And yet vpon this triall did'st not finde
My heart or tongue to any ill enclinde;
For that their workes against Thy Word are done
I doe their wayes which tend to ruine, shunn.
Lord! in Thy pathes doe Thou my goings guide,
Lest in this slippery life my footstepps slide:
Thy name haue I invok't, Thou shalt mee heare
And to my humble words incline Thy eare;
O Sauiour! of all those that trust in Thee
Thy mercies full of wonder shew to mee;
Preserue mee as the apple of Thine eye,
Under Thy winges in safetie let me lie;
Saue mee from them which Thy right hand oppose,
And from my ungodly circumuenting foes;
Their fatt estates doe them soe fortifie
As they presume to speake proud words and high;
In all my wayes in wait for mee hee lies,
To cast mee downe hee downewards casts his eyes
Euen like a lyon, watching for his prey,
Or lyon's whelpes which lurke beside the way.
Vp Lord! defeat, defeat this foe of mine,
That wicked man who is a sword of Thyne;
From worldly men vouchsafe my soule to saue,
Who in their mortall life their portion haue;

382

Whose bellies with Thy treasure Thou dost fill,
Who children haue, and leaue them wealth at will;
But I Thy face in righteousnes shall see
And with Thy presence shall contented bee.

PSALM XVIII.

Thou art my strength, O Lord! Thee will I loue,
Thou art my Rocke, which nothing can remoue:
My God, in Whome my trust I will repose,
My Sauiour, sheild and horne, against my foes;
Lord, most praise worthy, pray will I to Thee
Soe shall I from my foes protected bee;
When deadly sorrowes did besett mee round,
And floods of wickednes did mee surhound
When paines of hell I felt in my desease,
And pangs of death upon my soule did sease;
On God I callèd in that instant truble,
And my complaints unto the Lord did dubble:
But when His wrath and vengeance kindled were,
The Earth did quake, and mountaines shooke for feare,
And coles grew redd with His inflaminge jre;

383

Hee bowed the heauens, and did descend withall,
And shadowes darke beneath His feet did fall:
Hee ridinge on the Cherubins did fly,
And with the wingèd windes was borne on high;
Darkness His clossett, His pauilion wide
Made of blacke clouds, His face a while did hide;
But at His presence right away they flew
When haile and coles of fire abroad Hee threw;
The Lord from heauen did send His thunder lowd
With fire and haile from out the broken cloud;
A shower of arrowes on His foes did fall,
His thunderboults and lightenings slewe them all;
Fountaines were dride and the earthe's foundation mou'd
When synners, in His wrath, the Lord reprou'd;
But Hee from heauen shall send His angell's downe
And take mee vp when waters would mee drowne;
Hee from my foe, too mightie and too strong,
Shall saue mee when Hee doth mee mightie wrong,
Preuentinge mee my disastrous day:
But then the Lord was my support and stay;
When I was captiue, Hee did sett mee free,
And brought mee forth because Hee fauoured mee
Hee shall reward mee as my dayes bee right.
And hands bee cleare: soe shall Hee mee requite;

384

For I still kept His pathes, and did not shunn
To walke therein, as other men haue done:
But euer sett His lawes before mine eyes,
And neuer did His holy words dispise.
My heart was vncorrupt before Him still,
Pursuinge goodnes and eschewinge ill;
Hee shall reward mee as my deeds bee right,
And hands bee cleane: soe shall he mee requite.
Unto the good Thou wilt thy goodnes show,
And righteous men Thy righteousnes shall know;
The pure of heart shall Thee behold most pure
But froward men Thy curses shall endure;
Them will God raise, which under pressures ly,
And proud men humble which doe looke soe high;
Hee shall sett up for mee a candle bright,
My God shall turne my darkness vnto light.
Through Thee, an host of men, I conquere shall,
And with Thy helpe transcend the highest wal;
God's way is pure, His word is tride with fire;
All those that trust in Him will Hee vphould;
Hee heals all them which unto Him retire;
For who is God? or who hath strength and power

385

Except our Lord, our God and only our?
Hee girdeth mee with furniture to fight
And guideth mee, and houldeth mee upright;
My feet as swift as hart's feet Hee doth make,
And vp to honnor's tower Hee doth mee take;
Hee giues such strength unto my fingers weake,
As that my arme a bowe of steele shall breake
Thy hands shall bee my safety and protection,
Thou shalt aduance mee with Thy sweet correction;
Thou for my feet shalt make a passage wide,
Soe as my steps shall neuer goe aside;
I shall pursue, and in pursuite outgoe,
And neuer turne till I haue quelld my foe;
When I him smite hee shall not rise at all,
If once at my victorious feet hee fall.
Thou hast girded mee with a sword of strength,
Wherewith I shall subdue my foes at length;
For thou shalt turne the stubburne necke about
Of them that hate mee till I root them out;
Then shall they crie (but helpe there shall be non)
Euen to the Lord, Who shall not heare their mone.
My foes to powder I shall breake and bray
And tread them down like mire amid the way.

386

Thou my rebellious subjects shalt accord,
And ouer Heathen Nations make mee Lord;
A people whome I knowe not shall mee serue,
And with base adulation mee obserue;
These Aliens all, shall faint and bee dismaied
And in their strongest Castles bee afraid.
Liue Lord! my strength: and blessed bee therefore,
And praisèd bee my Sauiour euermore,
Who doth repay my foes with vengeance due,
And unto mee my vassals doth subdue;
Who doth not only saue but sett mee high
Aboue my foes, and there feirce crueltie.
For this, both of my thanks and praise to Thee,
The Heathen Nations witneses shall bee;
For wealth and power and blessings manie moe,
On Dauid and his race Thou shalt bestowe.

PSALM XIX.

The workmanship of heauen soe bright and faire,
Thy power O Lord, and glorie doth declare;
One day Thy praise doth to another preach,
One night another doth in order teach;
Where euer any tongue or voyce doth sound,
In all the world their speech is heard around.
In middest of heauen, the hands of God hath pight

387

For the sunne's lodgeinge, a pauilion bright;
Who as a bridegroome from his chamber goes;
Or Giant, marchinge forth against his foes,
Hee issues; and from East to West doth runne:
His peircinge heat noe liueinge weight can shun.
God's lawe is perfect and man's soule renues,
And simple mindes with knowledge it endues;
Right are His statutes and rejoyce the heart,
Light to the eyes His precepts pure impart;
His feare is cleane and soe endures for aye;
His judgements true and righteous euery way;
More sweet then honie, to bee valewed more
Then many heapes of finest goulden oare.
They rectifie withall Thy seruants minde,
And who soe keeps them great reward shall finde;
But Lord who knowes how oft hee doth transgresse?
O clense mee from my secret wickednes!
Nor let presumptuous sinns beare rule in mee,
Soe shall I from the great offence bee free;
And Lord! my strength and Sauiour! soe direct
My words and thoughts as Thou maiest them accept.

388

PSALM XX.

The Lord giue eare to thee in thy distresse!
And bee thy Sheilde, when trubles thee oppresse!
And let His help come downe from heauen for thee!
And strength from Syon Hill imparted bee!
Let Him remember, and accept withall,
Thine offerings and thy sacrifices all;
And of His bountie euermore fulfill
Thy hearts desire; and satisfie thy will.
But wee will glory in our great God's name
And joy in our saluation through the same;
And pray unto the Lord our God, that Hee
The effect of all thy prayers will graunt to thee.
Hee now I know will heare, and helpe will bringe,
With His strong hand to His annoynted Kinge;
On chariots some, on horses some, rely,
But wee inuoke the name of God Most High.
Those others are bowed downe and fall full lowe,
When wee are risen and vpright doe goe.
Saue us O Lord of Heauen! and heare us thence,
When wee inuoke Thy name for our defence.

PSALM XXI.

Glad is the kinge, and joyfull in his hart,
That Thou O Lord, his strength and safety art;

389

That Thou hast giuen him what his heart desired,
And not denied him what his lipps required;
Preuentinge him with blessings manifould,
And crowninge him with pure refinèd gould.
Hee askt Thee life, Thou gauest him length of daies,
Euen endlesse life, to giue Thee endlesse praise;
His safety, through Thy prouidence deuine
With honour great and glorie makes him shine;
Blisse without end Thou wilt to him jmpart,
The sunn-beames of Thy face will cheare his hart:
For in Thy mercy hee doth trust withall,
Which stayes his stepps that hee shall neuer fall;
But Thy long hand shall reach Thy flyinge foe
And finde him when he most secure doth goe,
Thine enimies shall (when kindled is Thine ire)
As in a furnace be consumed with fire;
Their ofspringe from the Earth shall rotted bee,
Their second generation non shall see:
For against Thee and Thine their councell was,
Yet could not bringe their wicked plott to passe,
But turn'd their backes and put themselues to chase,
When Thou hadst bent Thy bowe against their face;
Bee pleased in Thine owne strength Thyselfe to raise
Soe shall wee Lord, Thy power and mercie praise.

390

PSALM XXII.

My God! my God! why leauest Thou mee? and why
Dost Thou soe farr withdraw Thee from my crie?
I cry all day, but Thou dost not giue eare;
At night I cease not, yet Thou wilt not heare;
Yet Thou art holy still, Thou God of might,
Thy people's great renowne and glory bright;
When our forefathers plac't their hope in Thee
From cruell bondage Thou didst sett them free;
In Thee they trusted, and to Thee they prayed,
And neuer faild of Thy celestiall aid;
But as for mee, a worme not man, am I;
A scorne to euery man that passeth by;
They laugh and mocke, my poore estate to see;
They draw their mouth and shake their heads at mee;
And say, ‘hee hop't in God, that Hee should saue him,
Now let God rescue him if Hee will haue him.’
But Thou Lord from my mother's wombe didst take mee,
And when I suck't her brest didst not forsake mee;
Euen from my birth I was to Thee bequeathèd,
And Thou hast bene my God since first I breathèd.

391

O leaue mee not when trubles doe mee presse,
And there is non to helpe mee in distresse;
Many strong beasts haue mee invironèd
As fatt and feirce as bulls in Bashan fedd;
They runne on mee with open mouthes and wide;
Like hungry lyons rampinge in their pride.
My soule, like water on the earth is spilt,
My joynts are loosed, my heart like wax doth melt,
My synewes shrunke are, like a potsheard drie,
My tongue cleaues to my jawes, dead dust am I.
For many doggs haue compast me about,
I am besett with a malitious rout;
They peirce My hands and feet, and stare on Mee,
And euery ribb of My leane bodie see;
They spoyle Mee of My garments, and beside,
The parts thereof by lotts they doe deuide.
Lord! bee not farr, when I Thy help shall need,
Thou art My strength, O succour Mee with speed!
And sheild Mee from the sword and from the power
Of doggs, which would My dearest Soule deuoure!
And from the lyon's mouth, and from the hornes
Of many, fearce, insultinge unicornes!
Among My kinn will I declare Thy name,
And in the great Assembly spread the same.
Yee that feare Him His praise and glory tell,
And honnour Him yee seed of Israell;

392

Hee scorneth not the poore, nor hides His face,
But heares his suit when hee laments his case.
When all Thy faithfull folke assembled bee,
I sound Thy praise and pay my vowes to Thee.
The Lord shall fully satisfie the meeke,
Their soule shall liue which His light face doe seeke;
The East and West shall turne to their right minde,
And to the true God's worshipp be inclinde;
Who doth, of all the world the Scepter beare,
Rules and commaunds the nations euery where;
The fatt shall eate and worshipp Him therefore,
And they that lye in dust shall Him adore.
Euen hee which cannot his own life preserue,
Nor quicken his owne soule the Lord shall serue.
Their seed, O Lord! shall serue to worshipp Thee,
And with Thy chosen people numbred bee;
And to their children's children, shall expresse
Thine euerlasting truth and righteousnes.

PSALM XXIII.

The Lord my Sheaperd is, Hee doth mee feed,
His bounty euermore supplies my need;
When I in pastures greene my fill haue tooke,
Hee leads mee forth into the siluer brooke;
Hee turnes my soule, when it is gon astray,

393

For His name's glory, to His right way;
Therefore although my soule detruded were,
Euen to Hell's gates, yet I not ill should feare;
When Thou art with mee, what should mee dismay?
Thy crooke, my comfort is; Thy staffe, my stay;
My table Thou hast spread and furnisht soe,
As glads my heart, and greiues my enuious foe;
Thy balme powr'd on my head, doth sweetly smell;
Thou makst my cup aboue the brimme to swell.
Thy mercy, while I breathe, shall follow mee,
And in Thy house my dwellinge-place shall bee.

PSALM XXIV.

The Earth, and all things which on the Earth remaine,
Euen all the world, doth to the Lord pertaine;
Amid the Sea, Hee founded hath the Land
And made this Globe aboue the floods to stand.
Who shall unto Jehouah's Mount ascend?
Or who shall in his holy place attend?
Euen hee whose hands are cleane, whose heart is pure,
Whose tongue is true, whose oath is just and sure.

394

He shall receaue both righteousnes and blisse
From God, Whose mercy his saluation is.
Such are the seed of Jacob's faithfull race,
Which seeke the Lord, and loue to see His face;
Ye euerlasting Gates, your heads upreare,
And let the King of Glory enter there.
That glorious name, to Whome doth it belong?
To God Most Mightie and in warr most stronge.
Eternall dores, lift [up] your heads, I say
That there, the King of Glorie enter may.
The King of Glory enters, what is Hee?
The Lord of Hosts is knowne that Kinge to bee.

PSALM XXV.

Mine humble soule O Lord! I lift to Thee,
On Whome my trust shall euer fixed bee;
O suffer not my cheekes with shame to glowe,
Nor make me slaue to my insultinge foe;
For they which hope in Thee incurr noe blame,
But wilfull synners shall bee clothed with shame.
To mee, O Lord! vouchsafe Thy wayes to show,
And Thy right pathes, that I therein may goe;
Teach mee the way of truth, direct my will;
Thou art my Sauiour, I attend Thee still;
Receaue mee Lord, and to remembrance call
Thy ould compassions, and Thy mercies all;

395

But of Thy wonted grace to mee, O Lord
Of the errours of my youth keepe noe record;
The Lord is good, and for His goodnes' sake
Hee teaches sinners, godly wayes to take;
Yet Hee His learninge doth to non impart
But to the meeke and to the humble hart;
His pathes are grace and truth; that only way
Hee leads all those which doe His will obey.
For Thy name's glorie, I doe Thee intreat
To my great sinns, extend Thy mercie great
To him which feares the Lord, the Lord doth showe
How in his callinge hee may safely goe;
His soule shall bee at ease and all his rac,
Shall in the Land possesse a blessed place;
His couenant and His counselles neare,
God shewes to them in whome Hee plants His feare;
My looke to Him shall euer raisèd bee,
Who from the nett my captiue feet doth free.
Haue mercy Lord on mee! and turne Thy face
To see my desolate and wither'd case;
Enlargèd is my greife and heauines,

396

But Lord, enlarge Thou mee from my distresse!
Looke on the wofull State that I am in;
Remitt the cause thereof, which is my synne;
My foes consider, and their multitude
Which mee with deadly hatred hath pursude;
And keepe my soule from sinne, my face from shame,
Who trust in Thee and call upon Thy name.
Let truth and righteousnes without deceipt
Still wait on mee, because on Thee I wait;
And sett Thy faithfull Israell at rest
From all the trubles which doe him molest.

PSALM XXVI.

Bee thou my Iudge, O Lord! my cause is just;
I shall not stagger while in Thee I trust.
Weigh and examine mee, search all my vaines,
The bottom of my heart and inward raines;
I sett Thy goodnes euer in my sight,
Which in Thy truth doth guide my stepps aright;
I use not to conuerse with persons vaine,
Nor with dissemblers fellowship retaine;

397

My soule the assembly of the wicked hates,
Nor will I sitt among ungodly Mates;
Repentance haueing made my conscience cleare,
Then will I Lord, approach Thine Alter neare;
That I may thanke [Thee] both with harte and voyce,
And tellinge of Thy wondrous workes rejoyce
Thy temple Lord, I loue exceeding well,
Wherein Thy Majestie and Glorie dwell.
O let not sinfull men my soule enclose,
Nor of my life let sinfull men dispose;
Whose hands are foule, their sinnes them foule doe make,
And full of guifts which they coruptly take;
But I to leaue a blamelesse life entend:
O Lord therein with mercie mee defend.
My foot stands right and therefore all my dayes
In all assemblies I the Lord will praise.

PSALM XXVII.

God is my light, saluation, strength and aid
Of whome and what shall I then bee afraid?
The wicked came to haue devour'd mee quite,
But stumbled in their way, and fell downe-right.
Though mighty armies in my wayes were laid,
I stand secure, I cannot bee dismaid.

398

One thinge I wish, euen while I liue to dwell,
In God's faire House, where beauty doth excell;
His tent, in time of truble, shall mee hide,
And I shall on His rocke of safety bide;
Now shall Hee lift my head aboue my foes,
Which mee with armèd multitudes, enclose;
And now will I His praise in trihumph singe,
And joyfull offerings to His temple bringe;
And let my cries approach Thy gracious eare
Vouchsafe in mercie my complaints to heare;;
My heart doth tell that Thou bidst mee still
Thy face to seeke: Lord! seek Thy face I will.
Then doe not hide from mee Thy face soe bright,
Nor in Thy wrath exclude mee from Thy sight;
Thou euer wast mine aid, since I was borne:
God of my safety leaue me not forlorne.
My father and my mother both forsooke mee,
But then the Lord to his tuition tooke mee;
Teach mee the way that I therein may goe,
Soe shall I neuer fall before my foe;
Nor fall into their power which doe me hate,
And brought false oathes against mee in the gate.
My heart had fail'd but that my hope to see.
God's endlesse blisse in heauen did comfort mee.
Then stay God's time, Hee shall thee stay at length
And Hee till then shall arme thy heart with strength.

399

PSALM XXVIII.

Heare (Lord my strength!) the crie I make to Thee!
I am but dead, if Thou seeme deafe to mee:
Heare, when with humble prayer, I Thee entreat,
With lifted hands before Thy mercy seate.
But rancke mee not with those which wicked are,
Whose lipps speake peace, whose hearts are full of warr;
Accordinge to their actions let them speed,
And as their merrit is, soe make their need;
For that they see Thy workes, and yet neglect them,
Thou shalt destroy and neuer more erect them,
The Lord bee praisd Who hath vouchsaft to heare,
And lend unto my prayer a gracious eare;
His sheild protects, His strength doth mee duance;
My tongue shall sing His praise, my heart shall adance;
Hee to His seruants, force and vertue giues;
Through Him in safetie His annoynted liues.
Saue Thy peculier people, Lord! and blesse them,
And lift their heads aboue them that oppresse them.

400

PSALM XXIX.

Yee kings, since by God's power and grace, yee raigne
Glory and power ascribe to Him againe;
Yeild Him the honnour due to His great name,
And in His glorious Courts, His praise proclaime;
His voyce doth cause the Seas, to swell and shake,
And in the heauens the dreadfull thunder make;
Jehouah's voice effects of power doth breed,
It is a stronge and glorious voyce indeed;
His voyce the cedar doth in sunder teare,
The Cedars which Mount Lebanus doth beare;
Makes Lebanus, and Hermon hill, to tremble
And skippinge Calues and Unicornes, resemble;
Doth breake the clouds, and flames of fire deuide,
The deserts shake, euen Cader['s] desert wide;
Makes hindes to calue, for feare makes forrests bare,
While in His temple wee His praise declare;
The Lord vpon the water-floods doth raigne.
The Lord a Kinge for euer doth remaine;
The Lord shall still His people's strength encrease,
And giue to them the blessinge of His peace.

401

PSALM XXX.

Highly the Lord I praise Who setts mee high
Aboue my proud insultinge enimie;
Sicke to the death, I cried to God for ease,
And Hee hath cur'd my dangerous disease;
Hee from the graue hath lifted up my head
And hath reduc't mee from among the dead.
Yee saints of His in songs His praise expresse,
With thankes make mention of His holines;
For momentarie His displeasure is,
When in His fauour there is life and blisse;
Sad sorrow may continue for a night,
But joy returneth with the morninge light.
When my estate did prosper, then said I
I shall not fall, my seat is fixt on high.
But when Thou Lord, dost turne Thy face aside,
Then was I trubled, and to Thee I cride;
To Thee began I then againe to pray,
And in my humble prayer thus did say:

402

What profit can there by my death arise,
When buried in the graue my body lies?
Shall dust and ashes celebrate Thy name?
Or shall the silent Toombe Thy truth proclaime?
Lord, heare my prayer, and then Thy mercie show
In aidinge mee against my cruell foe!
Loe now to dancinge, Thou hast turn'd my sadnes,
Out of my sackloth guarded mee with gladnes.
For this shall euerie good man singe Thy praise,
And I shall thanke and blesse Thee all my dayes.

PSALM XXXI.

In Thee, O Lord! haue I put all my trust,
Then rescue mee from shame, as Thou art just;
Giue eare, and soone from perill sett mee free;
Bee Thou a Rocke and stronge defence to mee;
Thou art my Rocke and Castle when I stray;
Bee Thou my Guide, and leade mee in the way.
Thou art my strength; O cleare mee from that net
Which priuily my foes for mee haue sett!
Into Thy handes my soule I doe committ:

403

Lord God of truth Thou hast redeemèd it.
I hate all those which in vain lies delight,
For all my trust is in the Lord of might.
Thy mercies glad my heart: for in my woe
Thou hast vouchsaft my [weary] soule to knowe.
Thou hast not left mee prisoner with my foe,
But sett mee free that I at large may goe.
Yeild to my trubles mercifull releife,
My eares waxe deafe, my heart doth melt with greife.
Few are my yeares, in number to be tould,
Yet sorrow, care, and greife, hath made mee ould;
My strength with prayer and anguish doth decay,
My joynts growe weake, my bones consume away;
I am a scorne to all my enimies,
But specially my Neighbours mee dispise;
My very presence did my freinds affright,
And all my ould acquaintance shun my sight.
I am forgott as if I buried lay
And viler then a broken pott of clay.
I heard the waylings of the multitude
And trembled while they did my death conclude
But all my hope hath beene O Lord in Thee,
Whome I professe my only Lord to bee;
My tyme is in Thy hand, O doe not leaue
Mee in their hands which would my life bereue.
O turne to mee the brightnes of Thy face,

404

And saue mee through Thy mercy and Thy grace;
Make not mee blush which did invoke Thy name,
But put my foes to silence and to shame;
And let the lipps bee dumbe which vtter lyes
Against the righteous in spightfull-wise.
O what blessings, dost Thou keepe in store
For them that feare and loue Thee euermore;
Thou shalt protect them from the great mens' pride,
And in Thy Tent from stormes of tongues them hide.
Blest bee the Lord Whose mercies manifold
Doe keepe mee safer then the strongest hold;
When I with passion was transported quite
I said I was sequester'd from His sight;
And yet for all my weaknes, heard was I,
When to my Maker I did make my crie.
Loue Him yee Saints of His who guardeth those
Who trust in Him: and pay'st their proudest foes.
Yee that rely on Him be strong of hart
And Hee to you shall heauenly strength jmpart.

405

PSALM XXXII.

Happie indeed and truly blest is hee
Whose sinnes remitted and faults couerèd bee;
To whome the Lord doth not jmpute his sinne,
Whose single heart hath not deceipt therein.
When I was silent I consum'd away,
And pyninge greife did waste mee day by day;
Thy hand on mee was heauy still, whereby
My moisture grewe like draught in Summer drie.
My sinne I will acknowledge Lord to Thee,
My secret faults shall not concealèd bee;
I said, I will my synnes to God confesse,
And God forthwith forgaue my wickednesse.
If good men seeke Him when Hee may be found
The world's high waues shall neuer them surround;
Thou hid'st mee close and sauest mee from annoy,
And dost enuirone mee with songs of joy;
When thou hast sett mee in Thyne owne right way,
Thine eye doth guide mee that I doe not stray.
Then must I not be brute, as horse and mule
Which men with bitt and bridle only rule.
With many whipps, God doth the wicked chase
But doth with mercies faithfull men embrace;
Bee glad, rejoyce, and glory in the Lord
All yee whose hearts doth with His will accord.

406

PSALM XXXIII.

Rejoyce yee righteous in the Lord, and singe;
To guiue God thankes, it is a comely thinge:
Singe prayses unto him and sett your songs
To harpe and lute, that speaketh with ten tongues;
Singe to the Lord a new composèd songe,
With chearefull heart and with affection stronge;
For His most holy Word is euer true,
And all His workes His constancie doe shew.
Hee loueth right and justice euermore,
And with His blessinge Hee the earth doth store;
For by His word the heauens created were;
His breath made euery Starr and euery sp'ere;
The Seas, as in a Storehouse Hee doth keepe,
And heapes them up as treasures in the deepe;
The earth before the Lord shall quake for feare,
And all that dwell on His round Center here:
Hee spake, and they were made; at His commaund
The heauens began to moue, the earth to stand.
Counsells of princes and of Nations great,
And peoples' plotts, His wisdome doth defeat;
But God's owne counsell, purpose and decree,
Eternall stand, and cannot frustrate bee.

407

That Nation hath true happines and blisse,
Whose God and Lord, the Lord Jehouah is;
Downe from the highest heauen the Lord did looke,
And of all men a full suruey Hee tooke;
From Heauen aboue the Lord did cast His eye,
And all mens wayes and wanderings did espie.
Hee formèd all their hearts, and undertands
Their thoughts, their words and workes of all their hands.
The greatest armies cannot saue a Kinge,
Nor strength unto a stronge man safety bringe;
His trust is vaine who trusteth in his horse,
And seekes deliuerance by soe small a force;
With gracious eye the Lord behoulds the just,
Which Him doe feare and in His mercie trust:
In tyme of dearth their hungrie soules to feed
And from deathe's jawes to rescue them with speed.
Our soules with patience for the Lord haue staid,
Who is our only sheild, support and aid;
Our hearts shall Him as our true joy embrace,
For wee our only trust in Him doe place.
Thy mercie Lord to us exceeded bee
According to the hope wee haue in Thee.

408

PSALM XXXIV.

Lord euermore will I giue thankes to Thee,
And in my mouth Thy praise shall euer bee;
My soule shall boast that shee Thy seruant is,
The humble shall bee glad to heare of this;
Come then, O come, and let vs praise the Lord
And magnifie His name with sweet accord.
I sought the Lord by prayer which He did heare,
And saued mee from that ill my soule did feare.
Looke towards God, thou shalt enlightenèd bee,
And noe foule shame shall euer light on thee.
The poor man's crie, the Lord doth quickly heare,
And doth for all his trubles quitt him cleare;
Such as feare God His Angell guards them all,
From euery mischeife that may them befall.
O taste the Lord, and see how sweet Hee is,
The man that trusts in Him liues still in bliss.
O feare the Lord, yee that are saints of His,
Who feare the Lord noe needfull thinge shall misse.
Rich become poore, and lyons hungrie bee,
But such as feare the Lord noe want shall see.
Come then yee children, listen and giue eare,
And I will teach you this religious feare:
What man art thou that longest long to liue,
And wouldst that God to thee good dayes should giue;

409

Refraine thy tongue from speaking ill the while,
And from thy lipps let there proceed noe guile;
Doe that is good, decline from that is ill
Seeke peace with God and men, and hould it still.
Upon good men God casts a gentle eye,
And bends a gentle eare unto their crye.
But to the wicked shewes an angrie browe,
Till they bee quite exterpèd, root and bow;
But when the righteous cry, the Lord doth heare them
And from all trubles absolutely cleare them;
God's present helpe the Lord doth finde
And such Hee saues as are of humble minde.
The righteous into many trubles fall,
But God's sweet mercy brings them out of all;
Their very bones so keepe and count doth Hee,
As not one broken nor one lost, shall bee.
But some foule death shall on the wicked light,
And they which hate the just, shall perish quite;
But of his seruants, God the Sauiour is;
They trust in Him; their hope they cannot misse.

PSALM XXXV.

Plead Thou my cause, O Lord my Advocate!
Against all those with whome I haue debate;

410

Fight against them that doe against mee fight,
Take up Thy shield, and helpe mee with Thy might;
Lift up Thy launce, stopp them which mee pursue,
Say to my soule, I am Thy Sauiour true;
Let shame on them which seeke my ruin light,
And with confusion turne them all to flight.
Let them bee like the dust before the winde,
With God's feirce angell followinge them behinde;
Set them in slipperie wayes, and darke withall,
And let God's Angell smite them as they fall;
For they have spred a nett and dig'd a pitt,
Euen without cause to catch my soule in it:
But in that pitt let them fall vnawares,
And bee entangled in their proper snares;
But thou my soule, whom God thus guides from ill,
Rejoyce in Him, and His saluation still;
My bones shall say, Lord who is like to Thee?
Who poore weake men from their strong foe dost free:
False witnesses arose with oathes untrue,
And chargèd mee with things I neuer knew;

411

They to my greife did ill for good requite,
And recompenc't my kindnes with dispight;
Yet in their sicknes I did sackcloth weare,
And fast and pray with many a secret teare;
I could not more for freind or brother mourne,
Or if my mother to her graue were borne:
But in my woe they made great mirth and glee,
The very abjects mockt and mowde at mee;
Base flatterers and jesters came withall,
[And] gnasht their teeth to show their bitter gall.
How long shall this bee Lord? my soule withdraw
From these men's wrongs, and from the lyon's jaw:
Soe in Thy Church shall I my thankes proclaime,
And in our Great Assembly praise Thy name;
Let not my foes trihumph on mee againe,
Nor with their mockinge eyes shew their disdaine;
They meet and parte, but peace they doe not seeke
But to supplant the peaceable and meeke;
They gape and drawe their mouthes in scornefull wise
And cry, fie, fie, wee sawe it with our eyes.
But Thou their deed (O Lord!) dost alsoe see;
Then bee not silent soe, nor farr from mee.

412

Awake, stand up O God and Lord of might,
Auenge my quarrell, judge my cause aright;
To Thy doome rather lett mee fall or stand
Then subject bee to their insultinge hand;
Then they should say, soe, soe, these things goe right,
We haue our will, aud haue deuour'd him quite.
Shame bee to them that joy in my mischance,
Aud which to cast mee downe themselues aduance;
Let them bee glad that my wellwishers bee
And blesse the Lord that hath soe blessèd mee.
As for my tongue it shall sett forth Thy praise,
And celebrate Thy justice all my dayes.

PSALM XXXVI.

The wicked man's bould sinnes my heart doe tell,
Noe feare of God before his eyes doth dwell;
Yet flattereth hee himselfe in his owne sight
Untill his hatefull deeds bee brought to light;
His words are lies, and most deceiptfull too,
He leaues of[f] quite all honest deeds to doe;
Hee on his bed doth nought but mischeife muse,
Hee shunns noe ill and noe good way doth choose;
Thy mercie Lord doth to the heauens extend,
Thy faithfullnes doth to the Cloudes assend;
Thy justice stedfast as a mountaine is,

413

Thy judgements deepe as is the great Abisse;
Thy noble mercies saue all liueinge thinges,
The sonnes of men creepe underneath Thy winges:
With Thy great plenty they are fedd at will,
And of Thy pleasure's streame they drinke their fill;
For euen the well of life remaines with Thee,
And in Thy glorious light wee light shall see;
To them that know Thee, Lord, bee loveinge still,
And just to them whose heart intends noe ill;
Let not the foot of pride tread on my Crowne
Nor the hand of the vngodly cast mee downe:
False are the wicked in ther slippery wayes,
And haue noe power againe themselues to raise.

PSALM XXXVII.

If ill men prosper doe not Thou repine,
Nor enuy them though they in glory shyne;
For as the grasse they shall be mowen away,
And as greene hearbes shall turne to withered hay:
Trust thou in God and still bee doinge good,
And thou shalt neuer want noe house nor food;
Delight in Him, Hee shall to thee jmparte,

414

The full desires and wishes of Thy heart;
On Him rely, to Him thy way commend,
And Hee shall bringe it to a blessed end;
Thine vpright light shall shine like the morninge light;
And Thy just dealinge like the noone-day bright;
Bee still and frett not, but God's leasure stay
Though wicked men doe prosper in their way;
Suppresse Thine anger, let offences die,
Lest thou be mouèd to offend thereby;
Expect a while, obserue what will befall;
Th'ungodly shall bee gon, their place and all.
The Lord shall root out sinners out of hand,
When good men and their heires shall hould their Land.
Meeke persons shall enjoy the earthe's encrease,
And shall abound in plentie and in peace;
Against the just the wicked haue combin'd,
And in dispight their teeth at them they grinde;
But God with scorne behoulds them from the skie,
For that Hee sees their day of ruin nigh;
The vngodly drawes his sword and bends his bowe
To slay the just, the weake to ouerthrowe:
But his bent bowe shall breake and make him start,
And his owne sword shall peirce his wicked heart;
That little which the just enjoyes with peace.

415

'Tis better then th'ungodlie's great encrease;
For th'armes of jmpious men the Lord will breake,
And giue the righteous strength when they are weake;
The just man's dayes the Lord doth know and see,
That his inheritance shall endlesse bee;
The tymes of danger shall not him confound
And in the dayes of dearth, hee shall abound;
Thy foes O Lord, shall perish and consume
Like fatt of lambes, and vanish into fume;
Th'ungodly want and borrow, but repay not,
The good men frankly giue, [and] yet decay not;
Their seat is firme whome God hath best belou'd
But such as Hee doth curse shall bee remou'd.
The good man's goings soe directeth Hee
As it most pleasinge to Himselfe may bee;
Oft falls the just, yet is not cast away,
For God's owne hand is his support and stay;
Though I am ould, the just man or his seed
I neuer sawe forsaken or in need;
Hee doth giue daily almes, and frankly lend,
Which makes his offspringe blessèd in the end;
Shun to doe ill, bee euer doinge well
And euermore thou shalt in safety dwell;

416

The Lord who loueth right, forsaketh neuer,
Those that are His, but keepeth them for euer;
His children Hee correcteth now and then
But roots out quite the race of wicked men.
As long as Heauen shall moue and Earth shall stand
The righteous men inherit shall the Land;
The just man's mouth is wisdome's flowinge well,
His tongue, of truth and judgement loues to tell;
And in his heart the lawe of God doth bide
Which makes him walke vpright and neuer slide;
The wicked sees the just with enuious eye,
And lie's in waite to wound him mortally;
But God will neuer leaue him to his hands
Nor him condemne when hee in judgement stands:
Then wait thou on the Lord, and keepe His way,
Hee shall thy patience with promotion pay;
Thy dwellinge in the Land shall stablisht bee
When thou the fall shalt of the wicked see.
The vngodly in great power myselfe haue seene
Soe that hee flourisht like a bay-tree greene;
But soone's I passèd by, and gon was hee,
His place I sought, but noe where could it see;
Keepe a cleare conscience, right and truth intend,

417

For that brings peace and comfort in the end;
When sinners shall at once together fall,
And in the end shall bee exterpèd all;
But good mens' safety doth from God proceed
Who is their strength in truble, helpe at need;
Against the wicked Hee assists the just,
And rescues them, because in Him they trust.

PSALM XXXVIII.

If for my sinnes Thine anger kindled bee,
Lord! let not then Thy justice chastise mee;
Thine arrowes fixèd in my flesh doe stand,
I feele the pressure of Thy heauie hand;
I haue noe health Thine anger is soe much,
My bones noe rest; my greiuous synne is such,
My wickednes doth mount aboue my head
And fallinge presse mee like a load of lead;
My ulcers are corrupted and doe smell.
Caus'd by my folly which I blush to tell.
I am with greife soe broken and soe torne,
As I all day in heart and habit mourne.
My loynes are fillèd with a sore desease,
Noe parte of all my bodie feeleth ease;
I am soe faint, soe feeble, and soe sore,
As paine and anguish make mee crie and roare;
Thou Lord! the longings of my heart dost see,

418

My sighes and groanings are not hidd from Thee.
My heart doth pant, my sinewes faile mee quite,
My weepinge eyes haue lost their power of sight;
Meane while, my freinds and neighbours they looke on,
My nearest kinsmen farthest of[f] are gon:
And they which seeke my life haue layed their snares
And sett their trapps to catch mee vnawares.
They that to doe mee mischeife lye in wait
Doe plott and practise nothinge but deceit;
But as for mee in silent patience
I seemèd deafe and dumbe and voyd of sence,
As one whose eare admitts not any sound,
And in whose mouth there is noe answeare found.
For on the Lord I euermore rely,
Though I stand mute, Thou shalt for mee replie:
My suite is that my foes may not preuaile
Who greatly joy to see my footinge faile;
For in a place of stumblinge sett am I,
My sad estate is still before mine eye;
But I with sorrow will confesse my synne,
And greiue that I offend my God therein;
And yet my foes doe liue and grow in might,

419

They grow in numbers which do beare mee spight.
They which doe ill for good, doe hate mee too,
Because I loue good turnes for ill to doe;
Lord leaue mee not nor from mee farr depart
Saue mee with speede: for Thou my safety art

PSALM XXXIX.

I said I will bee wary in my way;
Lest I offend in that my tongue should say,
I will my mouth as with a bridle hould,
While wicked men with enuy mee behould:
I dumbe did stand and from all speech refraine,
Euen from good words, which was to mee a paine:
My heart was hott: while I such doubts did cast
The fire brake out, and thus I spake at last:
‘Lord of my life reueale to mee the end,
The period showe, to which my dayes doe tend’!
My life is but the measure of a spann,
Nought as to Thee, so vaine a thinge is man:
Who dreaminge walks, and toyles for wealth in vaine,
And doth not know to whome it shall remaine.
But what doe I expect? what is my hope!
Of my desires Thou art the only scope.
Lord! from my synnes Thine indignation turne
And make mee not to wicked fooles a scorne.

420

When Thou didst strike I silent was and dum[b]
Because I knewe the blowe from Thee did come.
Remoue Thy hand, withdrawe Thy plague from me
Wherewith my vitall spirrits consumèd bee:
Thy plagues for sinne doth like a moth consume
Man's beauty vaine, which is nought else but fume.
Lord! heare my prayer, and listen to my cries,
Let not Thy gracious eye my teares dispise:
For I am but Thy guest, and sojourne heare,
On earth a pilgrim as my fathers were;
O spare a little, and my strength restore
Before I goe from hence to come noe more.

PSALM XL.

Long on the Lord, I waited patiently,
Till He enclin'd His eare, and heard my cry:
Drew mee from out the pitt of mire and clay
Did sett mee on firme ground and guide my way:
Put in my mouth a new and joyfull song
Of thankes and praise, that to Himselfe belong.
Of this great mercie, many shall haue sense,

421

And of the Lord haue feare and confidence.
Blest is the man who hath on God relide,
Not turninge vnto lies or worldly pride;
O Lord! Thy workes of wonder, they are such
Thy care and loue to vsward is soe much,
They are soe great, they are soe numberlesse,
As if I would, I could not them expresse.
My sacrifice of meates Thou would'st not take,
But Thou mine eare didst peirce and open make.
Thou didst not aske burnt-offerings at my hand
Then Lord said I ‘I come at Thy commaund;
Thy Booke eternall, doth of mee record,
That I should come to doe Thy will O Lord!
To doe Thy will my heart is pleasèd well,
For in my heart Thy lawe doth euer dwell;
Thy truth I haue to all Thy people tould,
Therein Thou knowest my tongue I cannot hould:
Thy justice in my heart is not conceal'd,
Thy mercy to the world I haue reueal'd;
I haue not spar'd to make Thy bounty knowne,
But in the Great Assembly haue it showne.
Take not Thy wonted mercy Lord, from mee,
But let Thy goodnes still my safety bee.
My trubles numberlesse such hould haue tooke
On my weake soule, as vp I cannot looke:

422

My sinnes beinge more then haires upon my head,
Make my heart faint and vitall spirrits dead:
But bee it Lord, Thy pleasure and Thy will,
With speed to saue and rescue mee from ill:
Bringe them to shame that would my life destroy,
Reproue them Lord that wish my soule's annoy:
Let them bee left to scorne and pride, which blame
Which scorninge say to me, fie, fie, for shame.
But let all those that seeke their blisse in Thee
Rejoyce and say, the Lord's name praisèd bee’.
For mee who am contemtible and poore,
The Lord takes care, and feeds mee euermore:
Thou Lord art my protection, and my aid,
Let not Thy gracious helpe bee long delay'd.

PSALM XLI.

That man is blest who doth the poore regard;
In tymes of truble God shall him reward,
Prolong his life, and blesse him in the Land,
And free him from his foes' oppressing hand:
Shall comfort him when sicke and weake hee lies,
And make his bedd till hee in health doe rise;
My synne hath giuen my soule a greiuous wound,

423

Apply Thy mercy Lord, and make it sound;
Thus speakes my foe of mee to show his spight,
‘When shall his life and honnour perish quite’?
Hee vissitts mee, but with false heart and tongue
And thereof vaunts, his complices amonge:
Euen all my foes against mee doe conspire,
And with one minde my ruin doe desire;
‘Let him,’ say they of mee, ‘in judgement fall
And when hee once is downe not rise at all.’
The freind I trusted, which did eat my bread,
Hath lifted vp his heele against my head.
Thy mercie's winges on mee O Lord display;
Raise mee againe, and I shall them repay.
By this I doe Thy gracious fauour see,
In that my foe doth not trihumph on mee.
Thou in my health uphouldst mee with Thy hand,
And in Thy presence I shall euer stand.
The name of Jacob's God bee blessèd then,
From age to age for euermore: Amen.

PSALM XLII.

As for the streames the hunted hart doth bray,
Soe for God's grace my heart doth pant and pray.
My soule doth thirst (O God of life!) for Thee

424

When shall I come Thy blessed face to see?
My teares are all my food both night and day,
While ‘where is now thy God?’ the wicked say.
I powrèd out my hart, while thus I thought
And to God's House the multitude I brought:
With songs of praise and thankfullnes withall,
To celebrate the Lord's great festiuall:
Then why art thou my soule soe full of woe,
Vnquiet in thyselfe and vexèd soe?
O put thy trust in God and thankfull bee,
For his sweet helpe His presence yeilds to Thee.
My soule is greiu'd remembringe all the ill
I felt in Jordan's vale and Hermon hill.
One depth of sorrow doth to another call,
Thy waves O God haue ouergon mee all:
I prais'd at night God's bounty of the day,
And vnto Him that giues mee life did pray.
God of my strength, why hast Thou left mee soe,
With heauy hart oppressèd by my foe?
My foe doth cut my bones as with a sword,
While hee in scorne repeats this bitter word,
‘Where is thy God?’ his speech to mee is such:
‘Where is thy God, of which thou talk'st soe much?’

425

But why art thou my soule dejected soe?
Why art thou trubled and soe full of woe?
Trust thou in God, and giue Him thankfull praise
Who is Thy present helpe in all thy wayes.

PSALM XLIII.

Judge thou my cause, [O God!] and right mee then
Against vngodly and deceiptfull men.
O God, my strength, why sett'st Thou mee aside
And leau'st mee to my foes' oppressinge pride?
Send forth Thy light and truth and guide mee still
In the right way to Thy most holy hill.
God of my joy, before Thine Alter high,
My thankfull harte, my harpe shall justifie.
Then why art thou my soule dejected soe?
Why art thou trubled and soe full of woe?
O put thy trust in God and thankfull bee
For that sweete aide His presence giues to thee.

426

PSALM XLIV.

Lord! of Thy workes, our fathers haue vs tould,
Some in their dayes, and former times of ould;
How Thou hast rooted out the Pagan race,
And Thy choice people planted in their place:
Who did not with their owne sword winne the Land,
Nor make the conquest with their proper hand;
But by Thine Arme, Thy fauour and Thy grace,
Thy countenance and brightness of Thy face,
Thou art my Kinge, O God, and royall Guide,
And Thou for Jacob's safety dost prouide.
Wee through Thine aid our foes doe bouldly meet
And by Thy vertue cast them at our feet;
Therefore my trust I place not in my bowe,
Nor in my sword, to saue mee from my foe.
Thou only sau'st vs from our enimies,
Confoundinge them that doe against vs rise.
Wee boast and glory in our strength therefore,
And to Thy name singe praises euermore;
But now Thou standest of[f] and leau'st vs quite,
And dost not lead our armies out to fight;
Thou mak'st vs fly before our foes with feare,

427

While they from vs rich spoyles away doe beare;
Like sheepe, to feed them Thy poore flock is giuen,
Or scatterèd into seuerall Nations driuen.
Thyne owne deare people Thou dost sell for naught,
And setts on them noe price when they are bought;
Thou hast vs made vnto our Neighbours all,
An object of reproch and scorne withall:
To Nations which doe worship Idolls dumbe
Wee are a byword of contempt become;
All the day long my shame is in my sight,
Which makes mee hide my face and shun the light,
Not able to endure the blasphemies
And scornes of my reuengefull enimies.
For all these ills wee doe not Thee forgett,
Thy blessed Couenant wee renounce not yet.
Our hearts recede not from the Lawe deuine,
Nor doe our footsteps from Thy pathes declyne,
Though wee in dennes of dragons haue bene plac't,
And with death's fearefull shadowes ouercast.
If wee the name of our true God forgett,
And Idolls false wee in His place doe sett,
Shall not Hee search [it] out, Whose eye doth see
The heart of man whose thoughts most trubled bee?

428

But for Thy cause Lord wee are martir'd still,
Like sheep which slaughter-men cull out to kill.
Up Lord! why dost Thou seeme to slumber thus?
Awake and bee not alwayes farr from vs:
Why hidest Thou from vs Thy blessed face,
Forgettinge our distresse and wretched case?
Our soules euen to the dust are humbled lowe,
Our prostrate bodies to the ground doe growe.
Arise and helpe vs Lord! defend vs still,
And saue vs for Thy mercie's sake from ill.

PSALM XLV.

My heart is mou'd to vtter some good thinge
Which I entend to offer to the kinge.
My tongue shall bee the pen, and swiftly write
What in my heart deuotion doth endite.
Fairest of men, whose lipps with grace abound,
Whom with eternall blessings God hath crown'd
Gird Thy sharp sword vpon Thine armed thigh,
And shew Thyselfe in power and majestie.
Ride on with Thy great honnour prosperously,
Raigne and trihumph, and bee Thou mounted high,
Borne vp with justice, truth and meeknes' wings:
And Thy right hand shall teach Thee dreadfull things;

429

Thine arrowes sharpe shall make Thy foes to fall,
Which Thou shalt shoote and peirce their hearts withall.
Eternall is Thy judgement-seat O God!
Thy scepter is a true directinge rod,
Right hast Thou lou'd and loth'st vnrighteousnes,
And therefore God Thy God Who doth Thee blesse,
Hath powr'd on Thee O Prince of Princes best,
More oyle of gladnes then on all the rest:
Thy garments, which Thy person shall aray,
Brought out of Iuory wardrobes where they lay,
Of Myrrh, of Alloes, and of Casha smell;
Which odours doe refresh and please Thee well.
The queene all cladd in gould at Thy right hand,
Daughters of Kings attendinge her, shall stand.
Attend faire daughter, listen and giue eare
Forgett thy father's house and Cuntry deare.
Soe shall the Kinge take pleasure in thy beautie;
Hee is thy Lord, yeild him both loue and duty.
The Tyrian virgins shall bringe giufts to thee,
And merchants rich, thy suppliants shall bee.
The daughter of the kinge is rich without,
Her gownes embroidered all with gould about;
And yet within, shee is more glorious farr,
The jewells of her minde more precious are.
In finest dressinge with the needle wrought,
Shee with her fellow virgins shall bee brought.

430

They shall with joy, O Kinge bee brought to Thee,
And in Thy princely Courte receauvèd bee.
Thou in thy father's stead, O Bride shalt gaine
Sonnes, which in sundry Prouinces shall raigne.
Thee Lord, will I remember, all my dayes,
And all the world shall giue Thee endlesse praise.

PSALM XLVI.

God is our hope and strength, which neuer failes;
Our present helpe, when mischeife vs assailes.
Though the earth remouèd, and the mountaines were
Amid the Ocean cast, wee would not feare.
Though raginge Seas a dreadfull noise doe make,
Thou[gh] floodes and tempestes hills doe shake,
There is a streame, which though it bee not great,
Makes glad God's Cittie, and His holy seate.
God in her Center dwells, and makes His place
Unmoueable, by His preuentinge grace.
They were enrag'd which heathen kingdomes sway
But when God spake, the Earth did melt away.

431

The Lord of Hosts assists vs with His power,
And Jacob's God to vs becomes a Tower.
Come, and behould what workes the Lord hath wrought,
And Hee, His foes hath to destruction brought.
In all the world Hee warr to peace doth turne,
The bowe and speare doe breake and chariotts burne;
Bee quiet then and still, and know that I
Am Lord of the world and God Most High:
The Lord of Hosts assists vs with His power,
And Jacob's God to vs becomes a Tower.

PSALM XLVII.

Clap hands yee people, with applause rejoyce,
Singe to the Lord with loud and chearfull voyce;
His throne is high, his judgement breedeth feare,
On all the earth Hee doth the Scepter beare.
Hee makes much people our commaund obey,
And many Nations at our feet doth lay;
And hath for vs an heritage in store,
Euen Jacob's portion whom Hee lou'd before.
In glorious trihumph God is mounted high,
The Lord with trumpet's sound ascends the skie.
Singe, singe, vnto our God, vnto our Kinge,
All praises due, euen all due praises singe.
Kingdomes of the earth to Him belonge,

432

Singe wisely then, and vnderstand your song.
In all the heathen Hee doth raigne alone,
And sitts in judgment in His holy throne.
The heathen princes which were seuerd farr,
To Abraham's faithfull seed now joynèd are.
And God, Whose highnes doth the heauens transcend
As with a buckler doth the earth defend.

PSALM XLVIII.

Great is the Lord and highly to bee praised
In God's owne Cittie, Syon hill is rays'd;
The beautie and the joy of all the Land,
The great king's Cittie on the North doth stand;
In his faire Pallaces God's name is knowne,
Where Hee doth cherish and protect His owne.
Though manie kings against her gathred bee,
They stand astonisht her great strength to see.
As when a woman doth in trauell fall,
A suddaine feare and tremblinge takes them all;
And God shall breake them though they bee combin'd,
As shipps are broken with an Easterne winde.
What wee haue heard, wee see Thou dost fullfill
Thou God of Hosts vphoulds't Thy Cittie still:
Amidst Thy temple Lord, wee doe attend
Till Thou to vs Thy grace and fauour send.

433

Great is Thy name, O God, Thy praise noe lesse,
And Thy right hand is full of righteousnes.
Rejoyce O Sion, and your joyes renew,
Daughters of Judah, for His judgements true.
About the walls of Sion walke yee round,
And tell the towers wherewith that forte is crownd;
Obserue her bulwarks and her turretts high,
And tell the same to your posterity.
This euer liuinge God our God is Hee,
And shall our Guide while we haue liuinge, bee.

PSALM XLIX.

Heare this yee people, all yee people heare;
Listen to mee and giue attentiue care,
All yee that in the world residinge bee,
Both rich and poore, of high and low degree:
My mouth shall vtter, and my heart deuise,
Matters of greatest skill, profound and wise.
Mine eares to parables will I encline,
And singe vnto my harpe, of things deuine.
Then why should I in ill times fearfull bee,

434

When mischeife at my heeles doth follow mee.
Howbeit, some doe in their riches trust,
And glory in their wealth, which is but dust;
Yet non from death his brother's life can stay,
Nor vnto God for Him a ransome pay.
For it cost more the soule of man to saue,
Then all the wealth is worth, which worldlyngs haue.
Nor may men hope to liue on earth for euer,
Though long they last, ere soule and body seuer.
That fooles and wise men die alike, they finde
And vnto strangers leaue their wealth behinde.
Their houses yet they thinke shall euer stand,
They giue their proper names vnto their land;
Yet noe man can in honnour euer bee,
But as the brute beast dies, euen soe does hee.
This is their follie, this their stumblinge wayes;
And yet the children doe their fathers praise.
They are shut vp in graues as sheepe in folde,
And hungry death feeds on their bodies cold.
The just shall rule them when the sunne doth rise,
With them their pride and beauty buried lies;
But God shall from Deathe's power my soule deliuer,

435

When Hee shall take it to Himselfe for euer.
Then let not feare and enuy thee surprize,
When thou seest men in wealth and honnour rise,
For to their graues they naught away shall beare,
Nor shall their glory waite vpon them there;
Yet they themselues thought happie all their dayes,
For him who helpes himselfe others will praise.
As his forefathers all are gon before,
Soe shall hee die and see the light noe more.
Soe man on honnour little doth foresee,
But as brute beasts doe perish, soe dies hee.

PSALM L.

The Lord, the God of Gods, the world doth call,
Euen from the sunn's vprisinge to his fall;
From out of Sion doth the Lord appeare,
And shewes the brightnes of his beauty cleare.
In trihumph, not in silence come shall hee,
His vsher fire, his guard a storme shall bee.
Hee by His summons heauen and earth will call
That Hee [may] judge at once his creatures all.

436

To Mee, saith Hee, let all My saints repaire,
Which worshipp Mee with sacrifice and prayer,
God's justice shall from heauen declarèd bee.
For Who is judge of all the world but Hee?
Harke Israell! I am thy God, giue eare;
I will against thee speake and witnes beare.
Not for the dailie taske of sacrifice,
Or that burnt offerings shine not in Mine eyes:
I want them not, nor will I take at all
Goat from thy fould or bullocke from thy stall;
All beasts are Mine within the forrest wide,
And cattle on a thousand hills beside;
I knowe all fowles which in the aire doe fly,
And see all beasts which in the feild doe lye.
If I were hungrie would I begg of thee,
When all things in the world belong to Mee.
Art thou O man, soe simple as to thinke
That bulls' flesh is my meat, goats' blood my drinke? [OMITTED]

437

PSALM LXVII.

Shew us Thy mercy, Lord, and grace diuine:
Turne Thy bright face that it on vs may shine,
That all the men on Earth enlight'ned so
Theire owne saluation and Thy wayes may know.
O let Thy people praise Thy blessed name,

438

And let all tongues and nations doe the same;
And let all mortall men rejoyce in this,
That God['s] their judge, and iust His iudgment, is
O let Thy people praise Thy blessed name,
And let all tongues and nations doe the same:
Then shall the Earth bringe forth a rich encrease,
And God shall blesse vs with a fruitfull peace.
Euen God shall bless vs and His holy feare,
Possesse the harts of all men euery where.

PSALM XCV.

Come let vs hartily reioyce and singe
To God our mightie Sauiour, and our Kinge;
Present the prayse which doth to Him belonge,
And show our gladnes in a cheerfull songe;
For God our Lord, the greatest God is Hee,
And Monarch of all gods that worshipt bee.
The Earth's round globe, Hee holdeth in His hand:
And the highest mountaynes are at His command.

439

The sea is His, Hee hath it made of old,
And the dry land His blessed hands did mould:
Come let vs worship then, and humble fall
Before our mightie God which made vs all.
Hee is our Lord, and wee His people bee;
Our shepheard, and His proper sheep are wee.
This day yf you His holy voice will heare,
Let not your hearts bee hardned as they were,
When in the desert you His wrath did moue,
And temptinge Him His mightie power did proue.
Full forty yeeres this nation greeud mee so,
Their erringe harts my wayes would neuer know;
Therefore displeas'd by oath I did protest
They neuer should possesse my Land of rest.

PSALM C.

Bee ioyfull in the Lord, yee nations all,
Cheer vp your harts in mirth, and songs withall;
The Lord is God, not wee but Hee alone
Hath made vs all, and feeds vs euery one.
Then enter yee His gates and courts with prayse,
And striue with hart and voice His name to raise.
For why? the Lord is sweet, His mercy rare,
His truth for euer constant shall endure.

440

PSALM CIII.

My soule with all thy powers thy Maker praise;
Forget not all His benefits to thee,
Who pardons all thy sinnes, and doth thee rayse
When thou art fal'n through any infirmitie:
Who doth thee saue from mischeifs that would kill thee
And crowneth thee with mercies euer more.
And with the best of thinges doth feed and fill thee,
And egle-like thy youth and strength restore.
When men oppressèd doe to Him appeale,
Hee righteth euery one against His foe;
Hee vnto Moses did His lawes reueale,
And vnto Jacob's eare His workes did show.
Hee is more full of grace then wee of sinne;
To anger slowe, compassionate and kind;
Hee doth not euer chide, and never linne,
Nor keepes displeasure alwayes in His minde,
Nor after our misdeedes doth Hee vs charge;
Nor takes Hee of our faults a strict account,
But as the space from earth to heauen is large,
So farr His mercy doth our sinnes surmount.

441

As east from west is distant farr away,
Soe farr doth Hee from vs our sinnes remoue:
As fathers, kindnes to their sonnes bewray,
Soe God to them that feare Him showes His loue.
For Hee that made vs and knowes all, doth know
The matter whereof man was made of old;
That wee were formèd heer on earth below
Of dust and clay, and of noe better mold.
Man's age doth wither as the fadinge grasse;
He flourisheth, but as ye flower in May,
Which when the South-wind ouer it doth passe
Is gone; and where it grew noe man can say.
But God's sweet kindnes euer doth consist;
His truth, from age to age, continew shall
To them that in His righteous lawes persist
And thinke vppon them to performe them all.
Heauen is God's seat; there doth His glorie dwell,
But ouer all, His empire doth extend;
Praise Him yee angells which in strength excell,
And His command doe euermore attend.

442

Praise Him yee hosts of heauen which serue Him there,
Whose seruice with His pleasure doth accord;
And praise Him all His creatures euery where;
And thou my soule for thy part, praise the Lord.

PSALM XCI.

1

Who vnder the Most High Himselfe doth hide,
In most assurèd safety shall abide.

2

Thou art, O Lord, my hope and my defence,
My God, in Thee is all my confidence.

3

Hee shall preserue thee from the hunter's snare,
And from the pestilent contagious aier.

4

His winges shall both protect and cherish thee,

5

His faithfull promise shall thy buckler bee.
Noe terror of the night shall thee dismay,
Nor Satan's arrow flyinge in the day,

6

Nor mortall plague which in the darke annoyes,

7

Nor that ill angell which at none destroyes
Thousands, ten thousands shall about thee fall,
Yet noe such ill shall thee approach at all;

8

Yea with thine eyes thou shalt behould and see,
The iust reward of such as impious bee,

443

9

Thou art my hope, I will on Thee rely,
Thy tower of safety, Lord, is sett soe high.

10

Noe mischeefe, noe mischance shall Thee betide
No plague come near the place where Thou shalt bide.

11

The Lord his angells will Thy keepers make,
In all Thy righteous wayes which Thou shalte take;

12

They in their hands shall thee sustaine and stay
That Thou shalt neuer stumble in Thy way.

13

Uppon the basilisk and adder's head,
Dragon and lyon Thou shalt safely tread.

14

Thy loue to Mee shall saue Thee from mischance,
Thy knowledge of My name shall Thee aduance.

15

I will Him hear, and help him in His trouble;
I will protect Him and His honour duble.

[16]

With length of dayes, Hee satisfied shall bee,
And Hee at last shall my saluation see.

PSALM CL.

To Him with trumpets and with flutes,
With cornets, clarions and with lutes;
With harpes, with organs and with shawmes,
With holy anthems and with psalmes;
With voice of angells and of men
Sing! Alelugia! Amen, Amen.

445

Miscellaneous Poems.

Hitherto Unpublished.

447

OF FAITH THE FIRST THEOLOGICALL VERTUE.

Faith is a sunbeame of th'Æternall light,
That in man's soule infusd by grace doth shine:
Which giues her dazled eye soe cleare a sight
As evidently sees the truith divine;
This beame that cleares our eyes, inflames our hearts,
And Charitie's kind fire doth there begett;
For sunlike, it both light and heate imparts:
Faith is the light, and Charitie the heate:
This light of faith the noblest wisdome is,
For it the onely truith allowes and a'plyes:
The virgin's lamp, that lights the soule to blisse;
The Jacob's scales, whereby shee clymes the skyes;
The eye that sees, the hand that apprehends;
The cause of causes, and the end of ends.

448

A SONGE OF CONTENTION

BETWEENE FOWRE MAIDS CONCERNINGE THAT WHICH ADDETH MOST PERFECTION TO THAT SEXE.

The first for Beauty.

Our fairest Garland, made of beautye's flowers,
Doth of it selfe supply all other dowers:
Women excell the perfects' men in this,
And therefore herein theire perfection is:
For beautye wee the glorious heauens admire;
Faire feilds, faire howses, gold and pearle, desire.
Beautye doth alwayes health and youth imploy
and doth delight the noblest sense, the eye.

The second for Witte.

Beautye delights the soule, but witte the Reason:
Witte lasts an age, and beautye but a season:
The sense is quickly cloyd with beautye's tast;
When witt's delight still quicke and fresh doth last:
Beautye, weake eyes with her illusion blindes,
Witte conquers spirits and triumphs ouer minds:
Deade things haue beautye, onely man hath witte,
and man's perfection doth consist in it.

449

The third for Wealth.

Wealth is a power that passeth nature farre:
Makes euery goose a swanne, and sparke a starre
Queene money, bringes and giues with royall hands
Freinds, kindred, honour, husband, house and lands;
Not a faire face, but fortune faire, I craue,
Lett mee want witte soe I fooles' fortune haue.

The fourth for Vertue.

Yet those perfections most imperfect bee,
If there bee wantinge vertuous modestye;
Vertue's aspect would haue the sweetest grace
If wee could see as wee conceaue her face:
Vertue guids witte, with well affected will,
Which if witte want, it proues a dangerous ill:
Vertue gaines wealth with her good gouerment
If not, sh'is rich, because shee is content.

A MAID'S HYMNE IN PRAISE OF VIRGINITY.

Sacred virginity, vnconquered Queene!
Whose kingdome never hath invaded beene;

450

Of whose sweete rosy crowne noe hand hath power
Once but to touch, much lesse to plucke a flower:

Gainst whome proud love,—which on the world doth raigne,—
With armies of his passions fights in vaine;
In whome gray Winter neuer doth appeare
To whome greene Springtide lasteth all the yeare.

O fresh immortall baye, vntroubled well,
Or violett, which vntoucht doest sweetest smell;
Faire vine, which without prop doest safely stand
Pure gold, new coynd, which neuer past a hand.

O temperance, in the supreame degree
And hiyest pitch that vertue's winges can flee:
O more then humane spirit, of Angells' kind:
O white, unspotted garment of the mind,

Which first cloathed man, before hee was forlorne;
And wherein God Himselfe chose to bee borne.
Within my soule, O heavenly vertue rest,
Untill my soule with heaven it selfe bee blest.

451

PART OF AN ELEGIE IN PRAISE OF MARRIAGE.

When the first man from Paradise was driven,
Hee did from thence his onely comfort beare:
Hee still enioyes his wife, which God had giuen,
Though hee from other joyes deuorced were.

This cordiall comfort of societye,
This trueloue knott, that tyes the heart and will,
When man was in th'extremest miserye
To keepe his heart from breakinge, existed still

There is a tale [when] then the world beganne,
Both sex in one body did remaine:
Till Joue, offended with that double man
Caused Vulcan to divide him into twayne.

In this diuision, hee the hart did seuer,
But cunningly hee did indent the heart,
That if they should be reunited euer,
Each part might knowe which was the counterpart

Since when, all men and woman thinke it longe
Each of them their other part haue mett:

452

Sometimes the[y] meete ye right, some times ye wrong
This discontent, and that doth ioy begett.

It ioye begetts in there indented harts,
When like indentures they are matcht aright:
Each part to other mutuall joy imparts,
And thus the man which Vulcan did deuide,

Is nowe againe by Hymen made entire,
And all the ruine is ræedified,
Two beeinge made one by their diuine desire.
Sweete marriage is the honny neuer cloyinge,

The tune, which beinge still plaid, doth euer please,
The pleasure which is vertue's in inioyinge.
It is the band of peace and yoake of ease,
It is a yoake, but sweete [and] light it is;

The fellowship doth take away the trouble,
For euery greife is made halfe lesse by this,
And euery ioy is by reflection double.
It is a band, but one of loue's sweete bands,

Such as hee binds the world's great parts withall:
Whose wonderous frame by there convention stands
But beinge disbanded would to ruine fall.

453

[A FRAGMENT OF A LOVE ELEGIE.]

But those impressions by this forme are staynde,
and blotted out as if they had not beene:
And yet if nothing else in mynde I beare,
makes me not lesse learn[è]d then before:
For that in her as in a merrour cleare,
I see and learne far better things and more.
The students of the world and Natur's booke,
Beauty and order in the world doe noate;
She is my little world; on her I looke,
and doe in her the same p'fections quoate:
For in her eyes the beames of beauty shine,
and in her sweete behaviour and her grace,
Order apears, and comlines divine,
Befitting every tyme and every place.

3.

Vnto that sparkling wit, that spirit of fire,
That pointed diomond looke, that ægle's eye
Whose lyghtning makes audacity retire
and yet drawes on respectiue modesty,
With wings of feare and loue, my spirit doth fly
and doth therein a flame of fire resemble;
Which, when it burnes most bright and mounts most high,

454

then doth it waver most and most doth tremble.
O that my thoughts were words, or could I speake
The tongue of Angles, to expresse my mynde:
For mortall speach is far too faint and weeke
to utter passion of so high a kynde.
You have a beauty of such life and light
As it hath power all wandring eyes to stay:
To move dombe tongues to speake, lame hands to write,
Stayde thoughts to run, hard harts to melt a way:
Yet painters' can of this draw every line
And every wittles person that hath eyes,
Can se[e] and judg and sweare it is divine:
For in these outwarde formes all fooles are wise.
But that which my admireing spirit doth veiw,
I[n] thought whereof it would for ever dwell,
Eie never saw, the pensill never drew,
Pen neuer coulde describe, tongue never tell:
It is the invisible beauty of your mynde
Your cleare immagination, lively witt,
So tund, so temp'rd, of such heavenly kind,
As all mens spirits ar charmd and rapt with it.
This life within begetts your lively looke,
As fier doth make all metalls looke like fier;
Or your quicke soule by choise this body tooke,
As angells wth bright formes themselves attire.

455

O that my brest might ope, and hart might cleave
That so you might my silent wondring veiw:
O that you might my soreing spirit p'ceive,
How still with trembling wings it waites on you.
Then should you se[e] of thoughts an endles chaine,
Whose links are vertues, and yor vertues bee;
Then should you see how your faire forme doth raigne
Through all the regions of my fantesie.
Then should you fynde that I was yours as much
As ar your sharpe conceits borowd of none;
Or as your native beautyes, that are such
As all the world will sweare it is your owne.

4.

As they that worke in mines, rich vaines beray,
By some few garaines of ore whereon the[y] hit:
And as one letter found is oft a kay
To many lines that ar in cipher writt;
So I by your few loveing lines descry
Of your long hiden love the golden mine;
And reade therein with a true lover's eye
Of the hart's volume, every secrett line.
But what availes it now, alas to know
That once a blessed man I might haue beene?

456

Since I haue lett, by lookeing downe too low
My highest fortunes sore away vnseene:
And yett if I had raisd my humble eyes
As high as heauen I could not haue discer[n]d
Of invisible thoughts which in your hart did rise,
Unles of you I had my lesson learnd.
But all was darke and folden vp to me;
As soon might I my selfe, my selfe haue taught
To read ye blacke records of destiny,
As read the ridles of the silent thought:
But whereto may I best resemble this?
Your loue was like the springing of a tree:
We cannot see the growing when it is,
But that it hath sprunge up and growne, we see.
Or it is like to wealth by fairyes brought,
Which they bring still while they invisible goe;
But all doth vanish and doth turne to nought,
If once a man enricht, those fairyes know:
But now your loue (say you) is dead and gone;
But my strong faith shall giue it life againe.
By strength of fancy miricles are done,
And true beleefe doth seldom hope in vaine.
Your Phœnix loue is vnto ashes turnd
But now the fier of my affection true,
Which long within my hart hath kyndly burnd,
Shall spreade such heate as it shall liue anew.

457

Or if the fyer of your celestiall loue,
Be mounted vp to heauen and cannot dye:
Another slye Prometheus will I prove,
and play the theife to steale it from the skye.
When you vouchsaft to love vnworthy me,
Your loue discended like a shower of raine;
Which on the earth, euen senceles though she bee,
when once it falls, returneth not againe.
Then why should you withdraw the heauenly dew
Which fell sometymes on your despairing lover?
Though then his earthly spirit full little knew
How good an Angle did about him houer.
O you the glory of your sex and race!
You that all tymes and places hapie make!
You that in beeing vertuous vertue grace,
and make men love it better for your sake:
One sunbeame yet of favour cast on mee,
Let one kinde thought in your cleare fancy rise:
Loue but a thought, or if that may not be
Be pleasd that I may love, it shall suffise.

TO THE Q:[UEENE.]

What Musicke shall we make to you?
To whome the strings of all men's harts

458

Make musicke of ten thousand parts:
In tune and measure true,
With straines and changes new.

How shall wee fraime a harmony
Worthie your eares, whose princely hands
Keepe harmony in sundry lands:
Whose people divers be,
In station and degree?
Heauen's tunes may onely please,
and not such aires as theise.

For you which downe from heauen are sent
Such peace vpon the earth to bring,
Haue h[e]ard ye quire of Angells sing:
and all the sphæres consent,
like a sweete instrument.

How then should theise harsh tunes you heare

459

Created of ye trubled ayer
breed but distast—when you repaire—
to your celestiall eare?
So that this center here
for you no musicke fynds,
but harmony of mynds.

[TO FAIRE LADYES.]

Ladyes of Founthill, I am come to seeke
My hart amongst you, which I late did leese;
but many harts may be perhaps alike:
Therefore of mine, the proper markes, are theise.
It is not hard, though true as steele it be,
And like ye diomond, cleare from any spot;
Transmixt with many darts you shall it se[e]
but all by vertue, not by Cupid, shot;
It hath no wings, because it needeth none,
Being now arived and settled where it would;
Wingèd desires and hopes from it gon are,
but it is full of joyes as it can hold.
Faine would I find it where it doth remaine
but would not haue it though I might againe.

460

UPON A PAIRE OF GARTERS.

Go loveinge wood-bynde clip with louely grace,
those two sweete plants which beare ye flowers of loue;
Go silken vines, those tender elmes embrace,
Which flourish still, although their roots doe moue.
As soone as you possess your blessed places,
You are advancèd and ennobled more
Then dyodemes, which were white silken laces
That ancient kings about there forehead wore:
Sweete bands, take heed lest you vnge[n]tly bynd,
Or with your stricktnes make too deepe a print:
Was neuer tree had such a tinder rynd,
Although her inward hart be hard as flynt;
And let your knots be fast and loose at will,
she must be free, though I stand bounden still.

[TO HIS LADY-LOVE.]

In his sweete booke, ye treasury of witt,
All virtues, beautyes, passions, written be:
And with such life they are sett forth in it
as still methinkes yt which I read I see.
But this booke's Mrs. is a liveing booke,
Which hath indeed those vertues in her mynde,
And in whose face though envye's selfe do looke,
Even envye's eye shall all those beautyes fynd.

461

Onely ye passions yt are printed here
In her calme thoughts can no impression make:
She will not love, nor hate, nor hope, nor feare,
Though others seeke theise passions for her sake.
So in ye sonne, some say there is no heate
though his reflecting beames doe fire begett.

[TOBACCO.]

Honnour of Moly and Nepen-the singes:
Moly, the gods most soveraigne hearbe divine.
Nepen, ye Hellen's drink, which gladnes brings
Hart's greife repells, and doth ye witts refine.
But this our age another world hath found,
From whence an hearbe of heavenly power is brought:
Moly is not soe soveraigne for a wound
Nor hath Nepenth[e] so great wonders wrought.
It is tobacco: whose sweete subtile fume
The hellish torment of ye teeth doth ease,
By drawing downe and drieing vp ye rume
The mother and the nurse of each disease.

462

ELEGIES OF LOUE.

Like as the diuers fretchled Butter-flye,
When Winter's frost is fallne upon his winge,
Hath onely left life's possibility,
and lies halfe dead untill the chere full Spring:

But then the Sunne from his all quickning eye,
Darts forth a sparkle of the liuinge fire:
Which with kinde heate, doth warme the frozen flye
and with newe spirit his little breast inspire:

Then doth hee lightly rise and spread his winges,
And with the beames that gaue him life doth playe:
Tasts euery flower that on th'earthe's bosoome springs,
and is in busye motion all the day:

Soe my gaye Muse, which did my heart possesse,
And in my youthful fantasie doth raigne:
Which cleard my forehead with her cheerefullnes
and gaue a liuely warmth unto my brayne:

463

With sadder studye, and with graue conceite
Which late my Immagination entertaynd:
Beganne to shrinke, and loose her actiue heate
and dead as in a læthargy remaynd.

Long in that senseles sleepe congeald shee laye,
Untill euen now another heauenly eye,
And cleare as that which doth begett the daye,
and of a like reviuinge simpathy:

Did cast into my eyes a subtile beame,
Which peirieinge deepe, into my fancy went,
And did awake my muse out of her dreame,
and unto her new life and vertue lent:

Soe that shee now begins to raise her eyes
Which yett are dazled with her beautye's raye;
And to record her wonted melodyes,
Although at first shee bee not full so gaye.

TO THE KINGE

UPON HIS MA'TIES FIRST COMMING INTO ENGLAND.

O now or neuer, gentle Muse, be gaye:
And mount up higher with thy paper winges,

464

Than doth the larke when hee sallutes the daye,
And to the morne a merry wellcome singes.

Thou must goe meete King James, upon the way
Advanceing Southward, with his golden trayne;
And know him too thou maist at first survaye,
by proper noates and by distinctions plaine.

By his faire outward formes, and princely port,
By honour done to him with cap and knee,
Hee is distinguist to the vulgar sort:
but truer characters will rise to thee.

Thy sight had once an influence divine,
Which gaue it power the Soule of man to vew:
Wipe and make cleare that dazled eye of thine,
and thou shalt see his reall markes and true.

Looke over all that divers troope, and finde
Who hath his spirits most joviall and free;
Whose body is best tempred, and whose mind
is ever best in tune; and that is hee.

See who it is, whose actions doe bewraye
That threefold power, which rarely mixt wee see;
A judgment grave, and yett a fancy gaye
joynd with a rich remembrance, That is hee.

Marke who it is, that hath all noble skill,
Which may to publicke good referrèd bee:

465

The sharpest witte and best affected will,
whence floes a streame of vertues, That is hee.

If any more then other clearely wise,
Or wisely just, or justly valiant bee;
If any doe faint pleasure more dispise
or bee more maister of himselfe, its hee.

But soft, thine eagle's eye will soone bee dim,
If thou this risinge sonne directly vewe:
Looke sidewayes on the beames that spread from him,
Faire peace, with Plenty, and Religion true.

With that strong g'ard of Angells which doe houer
About his sacred person, daye and night:
And with invissible winges his head doe cover,
that danger's darts thereon may neuer light.

Now on, for wingèd Time with thee goes on,
Which like old Æson hath his youth renewed,
His hower glasse turnd, and his sickle gon,
and all his graye and broken feathers mewd.

On, for the brave young sonne above his head
Comes North ward, that hee may his glory meete;

466

While the fresh Earth in all her pride doth spread,
greene velvett carpetts underneath his feete.

On, for the birdes will helpe to fill the songe,
Whereto all English hartstringes will a gree:
An' th'Irish harpstringes that have jarrd soe longe,
to make the Musicke full, now tunèd bee.

There is noe eye cast downe, there is no voyce
Which to expresse the harts assent, is dumbe:
The world of thinges doth every where rejoyce
In certaine hope of blessed times to come.

While thousands doe posses and fill the wayes,
The[y] both desire and hinder his repaire;
They fill the emptie aire with prayer and praise,
which hee requitts with demonstrations faire.

TO THE QUEENE AT THE SAME TIME.

If wee in peace had not received the kinge
Wee see wee had beene conquered, since wee see
The Queene such armyes doth of beauties bringe
As all our eyes and hearts her vassals bee.

The Danish armyes once great honnour wonne
Upon this Land; yett conquered but a part.
But you greate Lady more, alone, haue done
For at first sight you conquer'd every heart.

467

Starre of the North! upon these Northerne Realmes
Long may your vertues and your beauties raigne:
Beyond our Cinthiae's yeares, whose golden Beames
Ar[e] sett with vs, and cannot shine againe:

Well may it bee; though sunne and moone goe downe
Seas haue noe power the North pole starre to drowne

MIRA LOQUOR SOL OCCUBUIT NOX NULLA SECUTA EST.

By that Eclipse which darkned our Appollo,
Our sunne did sett, and yett noe night did follow;
For his successor's vertues shone soe bright,
As they continued still, there former ligbt;
And gaue the world a farther expectation
To adde a greater splendor to our Nation.

CHARLES HIS WAINE.

Brittaine doth vnder those bright starres remaine,
Which English Shepheards, Charles his waine, doe name;
But more this Ile is Charles, his waine,
Since Charles her royall wagoner became.
For Charles, which now in Arthure's seate doth raigne,
Is our Arcturus, and doth guide the waine.

468

OF THE NAME OF CHAROLUS, BEING THE DIMINATIVE OF CHARUS.

The name of Charles, darlinge signifies:
A name most fitte, for hee was ever such.
Neuer was Prince soe deare in all mens eyes,
Soe highly valued or esteemd soe much:
Edgar was England's darlinge, once wee find,
But Charles the Darlinge is of all mankind.

VERSES SENT TO THE KINGE WITH FIGGES: BY Sr. JOHN DAVIS.

To add unto the first man's happiness,
His maker did for him a garden make;
And placd him there, that hee the same might dresse,
And pleasure great with little labour take.
And this with nature stands, and reason right,
That man who first was formèd of the earth
In trimminge of the earth should take delight,
And her adorne from whom hee tooke his birth.
Nor her for this doth hee ungratefull finde;
For shee in gardens her best fruites doth yealde.
The Earth in gardens is a mother kinde,
When shee is but a steepdame in the feild.
Sir, in your service God hath mee soe blest
As I haue beene enabled to acquire

469

A garden, ready planted, trimd and drest,
Whereto in vacant times I doe retire.
This garden, and the fruite thereof, indeede
Are fruites of your great favour unto mee;
And therefore all the fruites which thence proceed
A proper offeringe to your Highnes bee:
But if this verse or boldness, meritt blame,
Those figge leaues, Sr. I hope shall hide the same.

[LOVE-LINES.]

Stay lovely boy! why flyest thou mee
that languish in theis flames for thee?
I'me black 'tis true—why so is night,
yet louers in darke shades delight:
the whole World, doe but close thyne eye
will appeare as black as I;
or open'd view but what a shade
is by thyne owne fayre body made,
that follows thee where ere thou goe:
Ah, who alow'd would not doe so?
Lett mee for euer dwell so nigh,
and thou shalt need no shade but I.

470

[LOVE-FLIGHT.]

Black Mayel, complayne not yt I flye,
since fate commaunds antipathy:
prodigious must yt vnion proue,
where day and night togeather moue:
and the commotion of our lipps
not kisses make but an eclipps;
where the commixèd blacke and white
portend more terrour then delight:
yet if thou wilt my shaddow bee,
enioy thy deerest wish, but see
that like my shaddow's property
thou hast away as I come nye:
els[e] stay till death hath blinded mee
then Ile bequeath my selfe to thee.

AN ELEGIECALL EPISTLE ON SIR JOHN DAVIS DEATH.

Morgan! to call thee sadd and discontente
Were to proclaime thee weake; twere an evente
Of more then folly, since the obscurest eye
Is witness of thy magnanimity:
And yett to tell thee that thou hast noe cause
To greife, were to belye thy worth, because

471

The gapinge wound speakes out the sovldiers fame,
And deepe despites giue fortitude a name.
Tis true hee's dead, and the sterne fates (accurst)
There browes haue wrinkled, and haue done their worst
To spite this State and thee, in tearinge hence
That Nature's Accademy, that Starre, from whence
Streamd such full influence, of what the mind
Accounteth quintisentiall; and the vnkinde
And cruell Death, hath blasted such a flower,
Stolne such a gemme, as makes the sad Earth poore.
And yett alasse hee is not fledd for want
Of what could make the ambitious, proud soule vaunt:
For whilst hee liv'd hee brocke up Honour's gates
And pluckt bright fame from snarling Envie's grates
Doomd to obliuion; and his unmatchèd penne
(Drop'd from the winge of some bright Seraphin)
Inculpes him thus to all eternitye
The eldest of the Muses proginie.
Said I hee's dead? not soe; he could not die,
But findinge that curst lucre, bribery

472

And puft ambition were the scarlett crimes
Of the Tribunall's tenants, and the times
Not suitinge with his vertues, cause his manner
Was to deserue and not desire, an honour
Hee's sor'd aloft, where nought but virtue's pris'd,
And where base Mammon is not idoliz'd:
To that Kinge's Bench where Iustice is not go uld,
Nor honours with old Ladies bought and sould;
To heauen's Exchequer, with intent to paye,
And render thence the Royall subsidaye
Of his rich spirit, which his soueraigne tooke
Without subscription, and crost Nature's booke.