Poemata sacra Latinae & Anglicae scripta [by John Saltmarsh] |
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TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL SIR THO. METHAM MY HONOURED FRIEND, and his vertuous Lady, the Lady METHAM.
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 | Poemata sacra |  |
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL SIR THO. METHAM MY HONOURED FRIEND, and his vertuous Lady, the Lady METHAM.
Sir,
Madam,
Pardon
; it is a dutie that enflames
And makes me gild my paper with your names.
Nor (honour'd Pair) can't a dishonour seem
To grace into the world a holy theam.
I will not build a paper wall betwixt
You and your Lady: your two souls are mixt
In essence; vain then to divide this pair,
When spirits most indivisible are.
Yet I will act the Chymist; they have art
Which can unmingle essences, and part.
I'le take you two asunder with a pen,
Yet so as that I'le mingle you agen.
And makes me gild my paper with your names.
Nor (honour'd Pair) can't a dishonour seem
To grace into the world a holy theam.
I will not build a paper wall betwixt
You and your Lady: your two souls are mixt
In essence; vain then to divide this pair,
When spirits most indivisible are.
Yet I will act the Chymist; they have art
Which can unmingle essences, and part.
I'le take you two asunder with a pen,
Yet so as that I'le mingle you agen.
Sir, you have been a Courtier long: the Court
Did almost snow upon your head, not hurt
Your candid soul; and, which I most admire,
You have the art, the vertue to retire;
And not, as some, who like a meteor blaze
Of exhal'd complements: no, no, your dayes
You happily divide in equall sort,
Sharing to th'Countrey half, half to the Court.
Let on your thoughts my meditations wait,
Which now triumph they'r born to such a fate.
Did almost snow upon your head, not hurt
Your candid soul; and, which I most admire,
You have the art, the vertue to retire;
Of exhal'd complements: no, no, your dayes
You happily divide in equall sort,
Sharing to th'Countrey half, half to the Court.
Let on your thoughts my meditations wait,
Which now triumph they'r born to such a fate.
Nor, Madam, are you by my pen forgot:
Yet to your beauties ink were but a blot.
What? shall I passe like lightning by? we say
Objects of worth do court a longer stay.
Let me survey, admire, commend: You are
The true Pandora, you the wise, the faire,
The eloquent Pandora. Would you know
That Lady? ask the gods, they did bestow
Themselves on her: Venus did, as they feigne,
Dwell in her features, Pallas in her brain,
And nimble Mercury lodg'd in her tongue:
Apollo in her voice breath'd when she sung.
Then may my Muse, to adde unto your state,
Like a poore virgin in your chamber wait.
I've drawn some lines betwixt you; but now deigne
That I may tie and twist you up again.
Yet to your beauties ink were but a blot.
What? shall I passe like lightning by? we say
Objects of worth do court a longer stay.
Let me survey, admire, commend: You are
The true Pandora, you the wise, the faire,
The eloquent Pandora. Would you know
That Lady? ask the gods, they did bestow
Themselves on her: Venus did, as they feigne,
Dwell in her features, Pallas in her brain,
And nimble Mercury lodg'd in her tongue:
Apollo in her voice breath'd when she sung.
Then may my Muse, to adde unto your state,
Like a poore virgin in your chamber wait.
I've drawn some lines betwixt you; but now deigne
That I may tie and twist you up again.
The traverse of my verse remov'd (blest Paire)
Meet and unite like to divided aire.
Meet and unite like to divided aire.
Your humble servant John Saltmarsh.
| Poemata sacra | |