University of Virginia Library

To his intimate and learned friend Master Thomas Nabbes on his ensuing Poems.

Let those who to the world oft publish forth
Their owne deserts, in praysing others worth,
Throng for a roome; and pride themselves to be
Ranck'd in the front of thy learn'd poesie.
It shall suffice mee (who have never yet
Studied to humour others, nor have sweat
Like some, two houres in plodding jests, which may
At the first sight their authour's wits betray)
To have a meaner roome: for I nor come
To begge the reader mittigate thy doome;
Nor with intent to praise thy worke or thee:
For that would seeme a plaine Tautologie.
Those, whose diviner soules Phœbean flame
Hath throughly kindled, such as have a name
I'the list of Phœbu's darlings, will admire
The eager flames of thy poetique fire.
None will dislike ought here, but such dull things
Whose soules are out of tune; When Phœbus sings
Some bayards will be bold to judge his straine
Harsh and unpleasing; yet applaud the vaine—
—Confused sound of some hoarse pipers voyce,
And say 'tis rare, and makes an excellent noyse.
If that it chance some fancy not thy straine
Th'are dull and ignorant; the wiser traine
Will praise thee for't, and utter still with fame
The often mention of thy honourd name.
Let critiques censure, and these lines condemne,
Secur'd by thine owne bayes, their rage contemne.

To his honoured friend Master Thomas Nabbes.

Had I the massie wealth of Cheops, then
I'de raise a Piramid unto thy pen
That should for State put downe the empty fame
Of Mausoleus tombe, blot out the name
The Sunnes Colossus had in that same day
When it bestrid the spatious Rhodian bay.
Let Momus prate; thou art above him farre:
The curre that barkes at, cannot hurt the starre.
But why should I presume? for mee to praise
Thy winged raptures, rhapsodies and layes
Were with darke Lanterne up and downe to runne,
And shew th'admiring world the glittring Sunne.

THE SPRINGS GLORY

Within an Arch of agreeable workmanship, a Scæne of Winter presents it selfe, the Trees and Earth covered with Snow, and in the middle thereof a prospect of a faire house as the Mansion of Christmasse.
Venus and Cupid descend.
Venus.
Without good meat and drinke must Venus freeze?
Must I derive my flames and my desire
From Ceres and from Bacchus? shall the fire
That burnes in hearts, and payes me solemne rites
Kindle from fulnesse and gorg'd appetites?
It shall not Sonne. Learne of thy Sea-borne mother
Never to borrow power from any other.
The vertue that's our owne, who dares to claime?
Are not both Gods and men by thy sure ayme,
When at their bosomes thou direct'st a Dart,
Wounded with passion past the cure of art?
Did not the god of Medicine himselfe want;
(When he was struck by thee) a soveraigne plant
To heale his hurt? nor did it rancor by
Abundance of choyce cates and luxurie?
'Twas meerely thy effect. Why then should we
To Ceres or to Bacchus deity
Assigne our rights?

Cupid.
In part we must; for they
Are aiders in our worke, and therefore may
Share in the attributes of power. If wine
Did not the spirits and the bloud refine,
Making them warme and active, I should throw
My shafts at rocks of ice, and from my Bow
The winged arrows of desire would flie
With empty and succeslesse battery.
If Ceres bounties flow'd not, where should I
Find any flame to light my torches by?
Fulnesse and ease assist me more then all
The helpes I have besides.

Venus.
And therefore shall
They be preferr'd? Thou art a foolish boy.
Their base effects are lust; they love to joy
In what is sensuall onely. Our pure heate
Borrowes no activenesse from drinke or meate;
It moves more in the soule. God Bacchus shall
Have his due attributes, and Ceres call
The plough, crookt sickle, flayle and many more
Her owne admir'd inventions, and the store
Shee gathers for mens use. But should the mind
Make these her only objects, what a blind
And dangerous issue of effects would grow
From such a seed! high spirits strive to know
More then a common eye sees, and aspire
Still upwards like the Piramide of fire,
When earth tends to its centre. We must move
More then the sense; else 'tis not perfect love. To them Ceres and Bacchus.

Here's Ceres and Lyæns.

Ceres.
Wee are told
By Maia's sonne that you intend to scould
With me and Bacchus.

Venus.
I have cause to chide.
You'ld rob me of my titles, and beside
Make it a gluttons tenent, there can be
No love without you.

Ceres.
And your Deity
Hath summond us for this: 'tis very good.
I must confesse you made your father wood
To ravish faire Europa. Having seene
Traynes of Arcadian Virgins on the greene
Tread their chaste measures, or with nimble pace
Through the Parthenian groves, and thickets chace
A well-breath'd Stagge, one of them straight-wayes must
Be tempted to her ruine by his lust:
And this employment Venus still is thine.

Venus.
Ceres is madd still for her Proserpine:
Whose rape hath made her queene of the Abysse.
Who to be so rewarded would not kisse
The blacke lips of hells king? and to his bed
Bring the short pleasures of a Maydenhead?
Repine not at it then.

Ceres.
I must whilst day
Hath any light, or heavens bright eye a ray.
It was your sonnes greatest to boast of; he
That suffers not th'infernals to goe free
Of his diseases.

Bacchus.
Rather Ceres mine:
For if the God had never tasted wine,
Not all the heate of his infernall fire
Could e're have thaw'd him into one desire;
Or kindled the least flame in his cold brest
Without my vertue.

Venus.
'Tis an idle jest.
Doth Bacchus thinke he can with heate of wine
Light the bright flame of love, that is divine,
And burnes not from such causes, but takes fire
From th'elementall part of pure desire
Unmixt with grossnesse? Thy effects are foule;
And motions of the sense, not of the soule.
Subscribe then to our power; my sonne and I
Must have the attributes.

Ceres.
Let him lay by
His quiver rather. Ceres meanes to be
The Queene of Love, and Bacchus deity
Include all that is Cupids.

Venus.
First I'le leave
To be immortall, and my selfe bereave
Of all that I can claime above the skye,
Or under heavens archt roofe, if destiny
May give it confirmation. Take a Dart
And ayme it at her proud imperious heart
To shew in thy revenge what thou canst doe.

Cupid.
I must not Mother. Wee'le referre it to
Another tryall, and if Bacchus can
Confirme what he so saucily began
To argue, by example, wee'le deny
Nothing that's due unto his deity.

Bacchus.
Content. To them Christmasse and Shrovetide Enter.
Christmas is personated by an old reverend Gentleman in a furr'd gowne and cappe, &c. And Shrovetide by a fat Cooke with a frying-pan, &c.

And see occasion hath comply'd
Even with our wish. It cannot be deny'd
But these share both our bounties; have free use
Of all our gifts: and if you'le not refuse
A tryall from them—

Venus.
Let them speake, whil'st we
To their dispose referre the victory.

Shrovetide.

I say Christmas you are past date, you are out of the Almanack. Resigne, resigne. Let the Oven give place to the Frying-pan, and Minc't-pies yeild superiority to pancakes and Fritters.

Christmas.

Resigne to thee! I that am the King of good cheere and feasting, though I come but once a yeare to raigne over bak't, boyled, roast, and plum-porridge, will have being in despight of thy lard-ship. Thou art but my fagge-end, and I must still be before thee.

Shrovetide.

But thou wilt never be before-hand. Thou art a prodigall Christmas; and Shrovetide hath seene thee many times in the Poultry.

Christmas.

Dost scorne my liberality, thou rasty bacon, tallow-faced scullion? Though thou be as fat as a Flemming, I'le have Lent choke thee with a red-herring.

Shrovetide.

I'le arme my selfe for that. In three dayes I can victuall my garrison for seven weekes: and it shall goe hard but I will domineere in Lent despite of the thin-chapt surgeon that makes men skillitons.

Christmas.

As how?

Shrovetide.

At any Noblemans house, I can licke my fingers in a privy kitchin. Though I bee out of commons in the hall, there's flesh to be had sometimes in a chamber besides a Landresse. The very three-penny ordinary will keepe me in an upper gallery, and I can be invisible even in the pye-house. Should all faile, the wenches I got with child shall long, and have the Phisitians ticket.

Christmas.

Thou get children!

Shrovetide.

Yes more then Christmas, and better too: for thine are all unthrifts, whores, or murderers. Thy sonne Jn and in, undid many a Citizen. Thou hast a Daughter called my Ladyes hole, a filthy black slut shee is; and Put is common in every Bawdy house. 'Tis thought Noddy was none of thine owne getting, but an Aldermans, that in exchange cuckolded thee, when thou wast a Courtier. Thou hast one sonne bred up in the Country called Christmas gambolls, that doth nothing but breake mens necks; and many more that would undoe the Common-wealth, were it not for the Groome porter.

Christmas.

Do'st see these sirrah?

Shrovetide.

Ceres and Bacchus: I am their worshipper. Were Stewes tolerated, and Venus the Grand Bawd of them, without good meate and drinke, your young Factors would never be able to breake their Masters or Mistresses, nor your shee-silke-worme in Cheape care a button for her foreman.

Ceres.
Venus being overcome, I hope will yeeld,
Now shee is vanquisht in the open field,
And her weake forces scatter'd: nor can they
Gather new head to make a second fray.

To them Lent enters.
Hee is figur'd in a leane Man, his habit like trouses, and what other anticke devices may be thought proper.
Venus.
Yes: with this champion; and his fresh supply
I'le wage new warre, and call backe victory.

Shrovetide.

This leane thin-gut starveling, begot by a Spaniard, and nurst at the lower end of Friday-street.

Lent.

Why thou Helluo of hennes and bakon, thou larder house of collops and egges; thou that makest the kitchin proclaime

its employment through the neighbourhood, with the seat of thy Lard and crumpets, what canst thou boast of?

Christmas.

Children, children, thou parcht starveling: thou canst get nothing but Anatomies.

Lent.

Children! I get more (I maintaine not their lawfulnesse) then Christmas and Shrovetide. Oh the vertue of Oysters, Lobsters, Sturgeon, Anchoves, & Caveary. Why thou grout-headed bladder, puft with the windinesse of pared apples coffered in batter: for every Brawne or hogge, either Christmas or thy selfe have demolisht; I have a thousand Herrings, despight of the Dutchmens wastfull theft, let them rob the foure Seas never so often. Besides, I couple more then the Parson of Pancrace: I meane City woodcocks, with Suburb-wagtailes.

Christmas.

Thou couple?

Lent.

Who more? Is not S. Valentines day mine? are not Codds mine, thou codds-head, and Maides mine? put them together thou wilt find they are things—

Shrovetide.

Thou art a thing of emptinesse, and Lent was ever a Iack by conversion.

Lent.

Such a Iack as can come aloft, and doe Venus more credit then thy fulnesse. Doe not I share of Aries, Taurus, and Gemini; the Innes I lye at in my progresse. Yet no cuckold can deny but Aries and Taurus should follow Gemini. And it follows, or should, that I having two fathers my selfe, should get most children.

Christmas.

Who were thy fathers prethee?

Lent.

Devotion and Pollicy; and I have begotten Hipocrisie on a holy sister, that despight of all Informers would have flesh, her belly full. Let Christmas and Shrovetide eate and drinke; I'le be for Venus, though I feed upon nothing but herring-cobbs.

Venus.
Who's now the conquerour? Will Ceres now
Subscribe unto my power? and Bacchus bow
To Cupids awefull strength?

Ceres.
Not till it is
Confirm'd by better evidence then his.

Lent.

Then mine I Observe.

Here the Scæne suddenly changeth into a Prospect, with trees budded, the earth somewhat greene, and at one side an old Barne, out of which issues a company of beggars, with a Bag-pipe.

See you these good fellowes, that preferre the warme Sunne, before the scrapps which niggardly Christmas and Shrovetide feast them with; and would get a better race under a hedge to people New England, then the Seperatists that possesse it. Whilst they entertaine yee, Ile summon the Spring, and she shall moderate.

The Beggars dance.
Exeunt.
After the dance, is heard the chirping of birds; and whilst the following Song is singing, the Scæne againe changeth into a pleasant Arbour, in which the Spring in a greene robe wrought over with flowers presents her selfe.
Spring.
Thus breake my gloryes forth that late lay hid
Within the icye earth, and were forbid
By Winters nipping cold to show their heads
Above the snowy covering of their beds.
The winds not rugged now, but calme and fayre,
Sweepe flowry Gardens, and perfume the ayre.
The woods shrill Choristers (whose frozen throtes
Late wanted motion,) now have found their notes;
Strayning their little organes to sound high,
And teach men art from Natures harmony.
Come you to welcome me?

Ceres.
Yes lovely Maid;
And to have judgement from you, who most aide
In Loves great worke.

Spring.
Is there a strife betweene
The goddesse of desire, and plenties Queene?
Will they subscribe, Ile moderate.

All.
Content.

Spring.
First heare my reasons; then my sentence: bent
'Gainst neithers honours; for I must comply
With both as vertues. Venus Deity
Is powerfull over all; and Ceres gives
Each that hath being that by which he lives.
Yet many times excesse perverts the end
Of pure intentions; and extreames extend
Their powers to undoe those acts are free
In their owne natures from impuritie.
Love ought to be Platonick, and Divine;
Such as is onely kindled, and doth shine
With beames, that may all darke effects controule
In the refin'd parts of the glorious soule.
Men doe abuse your gifts, when they delight
Onely to please their sensuall appetite,
And heat the bloud from fulnesse; whence there growes
No perfect love, but such as onely knowes
The coursest difference, and therefore must
Presume to owne no other name but lust.
In me let Temperance teach you to apply
Things to their best ends; and to rectifie
All motions that intend effects, beside
What may runne cleere and currant with the tide
Of purest love: in which let all your jarres
Be reconcil'd, and finish your sterne warres.

All.
Thus we embrace in peace.

Spring.
The Spring leades them a measure; after which they retire backe to the Scæne.

The Spring being received into the Scæne it closeth.

An Encomium on the leaden Steeple at Worcester,

repayred after a long time of neglect in the yeare 1628. by the then Deane, who is now the right Reverend, and right Honourable the Lord Bishop of London, and Lord high Treasurer of England.

If e're the Thespian Maidens did inspire
A breath of raptures warm'd with sacred fire,
Let them assist. And you whose songs have rays'd
Their fames above their ruines, and so prays'd
Th'Ægyptian Pyramis; The Delian Fane;
Th'Ephesian Temple holy to Diane;
With Romes vast wonder; Mausoleus shrine;
The Sunnes Colossus; thus to make them shine
In their dead ashes, may your Genij
Passe all by transmigration into me.
But chiefly thou blest

The Founder canonized for his sanctity.

Saint, now made divine,
Crown'd with rewards of glory, sweetly shine
On these submissive vowes. Let me invite
Thy holy freenesse to accept the mite
Of his devotion, who doth onely show
His will to pay what thousands abler owe.
And thou rare fabrick, who dost comprehend
Proportions beauty in a perfect end
Of all her elements, which formed stand
On thy octædra base, let no black hand
Blot out thy name; for thou deserv'st the skill
Of all that ever climb'd the Muses hill.
Since thy Hiena's strength for many an age
Hath conquer'd stormes, and the impetuous rage
Of burning ayre, whilst others fatall ends
Have taught prevention to their widow'd friends,
I'le sing thy fame; and tell the

One that begged the Steeple to have sold the timber and lead; which was opposed by the Citizens.

Northerne spye
That would have rais'd himselfe by beggery
From thy lamented dust: that tooke such cares
How into rounds he might convert thy squares,
Transgressing thus a Geometrick rule,
He prov'd himselfe a true proportion'd fule.
When from thy altitude I doe survey
The distant risings of th'unequall way
That leads beyond perceptions warry eye;
Th'exalted mountaines joyning to the skie:
The confluence of so many various beames
Doe drowne my seeing organes with their streames,
And stupifie the sense. Sometimes againe
I view the subject regions; where my braine
With a vertigo labours; and doth runne
Beyond all comprehension, 'till the Sunne
Seemes to decline, and with his golden chin
To kisse thy bowle, and fixe himselfe therein.
When freed from this confusion I descend
To contemplate thy wonders, every end
Gives new beginning to a second birth
Of artfull prodigies to fright the earth:
And make thy forme seeme a demonstrative
Of those Platonick worlds in number five;
Containing angles infinite in shew
As those small puncts, from whose concretion grow
What else may be divided. Let such dreames
(Rays'd from opinions fancie) be the theames
Of their fanatick founders; whilst to thee
I attribute no immortality,
As part of what must perish: such a trick
Would make me seeme a wilfull heretick
'Gainst Natures doctrine, and debase thy glory
By false allusions. Rather shall thy story
Be drawne from what thou art: a perfect frame
To figure out the greatnesse of his name,
That did at thy erection justifie
By miracles his blessed

At the building thereof a workman falling from aloft lay for dead: Whom the Founder passing by revived and made whole by praying over him. Recorded in the window of the Cloister.

sanctitie.
A pile exalted stands thy bulke within,
(Which doth uphold thy superficiall skin)
Of consecrated Oakes: Olympian Iove
Had none so faire in's Dodonean grove.
In these each regularitie doth designe
By a transverse, or a perpending line
Some principle of Art; which shewes the eye
Of understanding what's Geometrie.
As thou dost climbe thy forme contracts each side
Into a point, which makes a Pyramide:
And then a Globe corrects thy high ascent
From joyning with the firie element,
Fearing your correspondence. There doth sit
The watchfull Cock (of care an Embleme fit)
To guard thee from surprizals, and to show
From what bad coast the envious windes doe blow;
Who with their batteries have assayl'd thee long;
And would enforce thy chastitie (though strong)
To a base prostitution; and unite
Thee with thy

A steeple joyning to it, upon which it seem'd to bee falling.

sister steeple by their might
In fatall ruines. But thy conquests prove
Time hath beene kinder: and (for age may love
Faire beauties, raising heates from cold desires)
He meanes to claspe thee in his latest fires.
Thy

The outside being all lead.

ponderous outside now weighes downe my skill,
Though it susteine it selfe. Some learned will
Dispos'd it so for feare the weight might crack
The earths strong axle tree, or sinewed back.
So had our glory with the rest beene lost;
And all in new confusion had beene tost:
Unlesse thy beauty once againe might move
A reconcilement by the power of Love
That he might thee enjoy. But why in vaine
Doe I dilate what's greater then the straine
Of my weake powers; since what I so desire
To comprehend I onely can admire.
Yet I will be thy champion to defend
Thy fame against opposers, and contend
With

Some that writ base libels upon it.

those that Satyre thee; that vainly spend
Their froth collections for the hated end
Of scorne and laughter, and neglect to pay
Their talents lent them by the King of day.
And though

The repayring thereof neglected, till the Deanes comming thither.

some lately strove to rust thee more
Then times continuance ever did before.
Vertue hath sent good spirits from her clime
Who will preserve thee to the length of time:
Repayre thy breaches, and adorne thy brow;
And make thee shine againe to us below.
And for these vowes which I have payd thy worth,
Oh might I begge, that when my soule goes forth
Of this foule earth, to climbe above thy head,
And that the rest be reckoned with the dead,
Thou wouldst preserve my dust within thy wombe:
So should poore Irus have a Celsus tombe.

Upon the losing of his way in a Forrest parting from his company to goe home, towards the evening.

You that have ever wander'd in the darke,
And thinking to hit home, still mist the marke,
Listen, whilst to the world I doe relate
A sad disaster, which the will of Fate
Dispos'd me to through error. Gently blew
The murmuring winds, and where th'earths sweetnesse grew
It scatter'd choyce perfumes: which did invite
To satisfie our senses appetite
My selfe and others. Th'instrument of heate
Cloth'd in his glory, from his azure seate
Directed cheerefull beames. So forth we went
To suck the purer ayre, and Southward bent
Our wanton course: when spungie clowds began
(As if the Sunne had squeez'd them) to drop raine.
This made us to retire: by which we see
All things are subject to incertaintie.
The golden tressed ruler of the day
Had now for his bright beames made open way.
Our number then increast, and so together
We journied with delight; but knew not whether.
A house at length did entertaine us, where
We dranke no English Ale, nor German Beere,
Nor Welch Metheglin; having stay'd a while
A

Perry.

pleasant juyce was brought, made us beguile
Time with more words then matter. Weary now
And surfeited with pleasures, hast did blow
The sayles of my desires, nor would I stay
For any guide to teach me lose my way.
Th'inflating liquor having made me blind,
I that came in before went out behind.
Here Error first began the Tragick jest:
I tooke the North for South, the East for West.
Darknesse increast; and night the ayde to harmes
Hugg'd the worlds fabrick in her Ebon armes.
When (oh the fate of darknesse) 'cause 'twas night;
Or misled by that Error, or some sprite;
Or the conceited mischiefe which men call
The king of Fairies Poast; or whether all
Had met in counsaile to contrive my harme;
Or witcht to't by some other envious charme;
I mist the path, straying through unknowne places;
And alwayes backwards went with forward paces.
Oh thou that art my lifes commanding light
Th'ascendent in my birth, was it thy might
And powerfull influence did direct my will
To be the better meanes of a worse ill?
And

An Astrologer in the company that maintained a nuncius inanimatus to bee effected by the beames of the Moone, and many other ridiculous things.

Hermes thou whose understanding eye
Sees all the secrets of Phylosophie;
Thou cunning Moule that knowst to worke thy way
Through thickest mysteries to the cleerest day
Of radiant knowledge, was not this dayes fate
Writ in thy booke of Moones predestinate
For griefe and danger? Yes, thou knew'st 'twas writ;
And by prevention couldst have hindred it.
But 'twas my error onely: had she shone
I should have read it plainly in the Moone:
For such thy powerfull art is, it can bind
The starres in characters to speake thy mind.
Now being thus from loving friends divided
Into a desart Forrest was I guided,
Where horrour did present a thousand feares,
But none of meeting Lyons, Wolves; or Beares.
Yet there were divers beasts; and never a one
But I would have beene glad to feed upon.
Yet my sharpe hunger I was forc't to brooke:
Unlesse the divell there was ne're a cooke.
And here some thoughts of him made me suppose
That every tree I saw had cloven toes.
And when I spy'd the glimpses of a hill,
I durst have sworne that walkt, and I stood still.
A Salamander I did oft expect;
A Pigmie or a Sylvan to direct
My knowledge to some treasure: but my mind
Was vainly bent on what I ne're could find.
My friends that now had mist me, scatterdly
Were gone abroad with lights to search for me.
But all in vaine: their showtes I did mistake
For Owles; and thought each light a flaming Drake.
So that by shunning of their guidance thus
I prov'd my felfe the ignis fatuus.
Meeting a ragged colt, I fear'd the elfe;
And then I thought 'twas time to blesse my selfe.
But every thing I met with ranne away
As if I were a greater sprite then they.
Arm'd with a mighty staffe, but patience none,
In silent language I began to moane
My sad mishap; which could not answer'd be
By any there, but with like silencie.
But ow at length it wonne my cruell fate
To be a little more compassionate.
Hearing a dogge barke I lift up mine eye
When through the foggy ayre I could descrye
A ragged chimney, and a roofe that had
Two trusse of straw upon't: this made me glad.
He that this weather-beaten Mansion own'd

A Smiths house.

Being newly gone to bed, sweet slumbers crown'd
His labour with sound rest: the fire was then
Newly put out; for had it burning beene,
Mixt with the noyse of hammers, who can tell
But that I might have taken it for hell.
Onely the doores were fast, and Hilax voyce
Was a shrill treble, not a hellish noyse
Like Cerberus. By this arriv'd, I heard
The people snorting: Then I greatly fear'd
A sharpe repulse. But using gentle words,
With, Friend I am a servant of my Lords,
I enter'd; where the rest of night I nested,
And m'almost tired spirits warmly rested.
And after Chantieloere had summond day
I payd some thankes, and homewards hit my way.
And sure 'twas left behind; else in this fit
'Twas ten to one but I had lost my wit.

Vpon excellent strong Beere which he dranke at the Towne of Wich in Worcester shire where Salt is made.

On a black speck in forme of a starre under a faire Ladies eye.

What prodigie is this to fright
The well-pleas'd sense from its delight?
To see a Starre whose light is turn'd
Into sad black, as if it mourn'd:
When plac'd in such a heaven, where
Nothing but gladnesse can appeare.
'Tis Merope, who yet doth hide
Her glory being stellified.
And blushing at her mortall choyce
When all her sisters doe rejoyce
By Gods embrac't, hath left the skie
To steale more lustre from this eye.
But comming neere that globe of light,
By chance the lids close in the sight,
And so prevent the theft, whereby
Shee is ecclipst eternally.
Nor will shee evermore in heaven
Be seene to make the number seven.
Onely if this fayre one were
But fixt a constellation there
Whence shee descended, 'twere a grace
To be a darke starre on that face
Above the other sixe we see
Shine on the Monsters crooked knee.

An Elegie on the death of the hopefull Mr. William Roberts, aged 11.

Sonne to the Worshipfull Nicholas Roberts Esquire.

What subject hath Death brought for my sad Muse
To practise art, and sorrow on? to use
(Her lightsome layes, & spritefull ayres lay'd by)
Some mixture of Cromatick harmonie:
'Tis a sad subject, and requires each tone
And cadence to be finisht in a groane.
Words such as we from griefe can onely heare,
Strayning the heart-strings that restraine them there,
'Tis a sad subject now, that living might
Have beene an equall object of delight
With any one that fancy could devise
To please the inward, or the outward eyes.
A youth in whose sweet face each grace did dwell,
As if there were their Acidalian well:
And that they left Boetias cooling streames
To warme their naked beauties in his beames.
A youth whose colours, symetrie and eye
Made up a forme to paint a Cupid by.
Yet ('gainst the tenent) Natures livelier part
Should still excell the workmanship of art.
A youth whose fayre and glorious mind became
The Mansion of all vertues that have name.
And by his inclination did expresse
More age in's youth, then manyes age possesse.
But now Deaths ashye hand hath chang'd the hew
Of those bright cheekes where Roses lately grew:
And triumphs o're his earth, that yet will be
In spight of Fate more conquerour then he.
Come Libitina then; deck thy sad browes
With wreathes of funerall Yough, and Cypresse boughes.
Command thy flaming altars to be drest
With spice stolne from a dying Phenix nest.
Let every teare that falls upon his urne
Into a Pearle (and that most orient) turne,
'Till they have rais'd a pile, whose costly frame
May make forgotten Mausoleums name.
But why should empty wishes thus be spent?
His corpes enough enrich his monument.
And the long sacred clay is hallowed more
By holding of his reliques, then before.
You then whom nature, or respects doe tye
T'expresse affection by the outward eye
Weepe not for's losse so much, since it hath given
A shrine more to the earth, a Saint to heaven.

An Epigramme on an old unhandsome, yet lustfull woman;

who was discovered to weare drawers of black taffata.

The divel's in't: did ever Witch
In mourning cloth her wrinckled breech?
Vnlesse the Incubus were dead
That had her wither'd maydenhead?
Why that part veil'd? the face left free,
That hath no lesse deformitie?
A pox on both, the reason's smelt:
Shee'd have one seene, the other felt.
That neither sense into mislike might grow,
Though she be light, she keepes all darke below.

On a faire Lady, whom a meane Gentleman hearing her sing, and play, fell in love with.

I'm sure in heaven. No mortall eare
Did ever such sweet Musicke heare.
A voyce as if each ravishing note
Were relisht from an Angels throte.
Apply'd to cordes are strooke so cleere,
As if each finger mov'd a spheare.
So full expressing every part,
That concord need no other art.
Besides, my instruments of sight
Are dazzell'd with a glorious light.
The Sun's but shaddow to her eye;
And day more darke then midnights skye.
Yet midst this heaven there is a hell:
The spice she breathes I may not smell.
Nor dare to quench my longing sipp
One drop of Nectar from her lipp.
Nor touch her hand; much lesse what's hidden,
And by a stricter law forbidden.
But might I purge my earth to move
In her high orbe so farre above
My pitch of flight; or but aspire
To rarifie it with her fire,
I'de in a perfect heaven be
In spight of my mortalitie.

An Epithalamium on the hopefull happy Mariage of Master Bvrlacye, and Mistris Alice Bankes married in December. 1637.

Vp grey-ey'd morning, combe thy golden hayre,
And with thy blushes staine the freckled ayre.
Rouse the forgetfull Sunne from Thetis bed,
And bid him shake the tresses on his head;
That flames of light may usher in his way,
And give beginning to a glorious day.
Vpon the God of Unions altars see
What piles are kindled of rich spicery.
As when the Phenix in her pregnant death
Expires her soule with her Panchaian breath.
Me thinkes th'art lazie Phebus. If thou please
To dwell so long with our Antipodes,
Remaine there still: thy radiance wee'le supply
With brighter beames shot from the Brides faire eye:
That shall create a day where thy light failes
In darkest bottomes of Cimmerian vales:
And through all seasons their effects dispence
Above the power of thy weake influence.
December shall translate himselfe to May,
And with the Summers sweetes checker her away.
And tis his hope her lasting course will bring
A change in time for him to lead the Spring.
The Northerne ayre that mov'd with waving ice
Melted, as if 'twould quench the sacrifice,
And clowd the dayes pompe. But from those cold showres
Shall grow new issues of most fragrant flowres,
Warm'd into life, and taking perfect birth
Where her soft steps doe fructifie the earth.
As shee doth passe the birds shall streine their throtes.
And beate the ayre with artificiall notes,
Forgetting wildnesse. Yea, sad Philomel
Shall cease the story of her fate to tell,
And tune delightfull ayres, such as are song
To Victorie by a triumphing throng.
Now Sir to meet your joyes, your selfe addresse,
Cloth'd in the glory of a happinesse,
Which beauty, chastitie, and constant love
Make absolute, and is confirm'd above.
Take to your soft embraces a pure frame
Where all the vertues dwell that have a name.
When every sense is fill'd, in them you'le find
Endlesse delights to feast th'immortall mind.
Being possest of all that chast desire
Can warme your active soules to with his fire,
Enjoy them without change: to such as you
The repetition will present them new.
Whilst all mens zealous wishes are to see
Those pleasures blest in a posteritie.

On a Mistresse of whose affection hee was doubtfull.

What though with figures I should raise
Above all height my Mistresse praise:
Calling her cheeke a blushing rose,
The fairest Iune did e're disclose.
Her forehead Lillies, and her eyes
The luminaries of the skies.
That on her lippes Ambrosia growes,
And from her kisses Nectar flowes:
Too great hyperboles; unlesse
Shee loves me, shee is none of these,
But if her heart, and her desires
Doe answer mine with equall fires,
These attributes are then too poore.
Shee is all these, and ten times more.

An Elegie on a lovely young child drown'd at London Bridge, in the yeare 1335.

Where's funerall Goddesse? why doth she delay
The solemne rites belong to this sad day?
Slights she so small a Herse? will she denie
The dues belong to every memorie?
Come and attend them, whence thou shalt derive
A glory great as Fate did ever give
Thy last respected Deity: shalt have
As much true honour by his little grave,
As if it were some great Colossus tombe
Swelling a Mountaine from the earths stretcht wombe,
And thou unruly streame that didst deprive
His parents of their chiefest joy alive,
What sinne of his made thee the instrument
And meanes, of such a seeming punishment?
His innocence ne're tempted heaven; his face
Might move some wanton God to an embrace.
Which makes me thinke thy amorous Geneus might
Attempt him from us for his Catamite.
If so, you were good waters, and doe winne
Eternall songs for hindring such a sinne.
But this sufficeth not. Eyes flow amaine,
As if they meant to drowne him once againe.
Or fearing you asham'd of what y'have done
Should into Neptunes boundlesse bosome runne,
To hide your selves leaving the channell dry,
Their floud of teares should that defect supply.
Or else congeal'd to Pearles, a shrine should be
To keepe his ashes, and his memory.

A PRESENTATION

Intended for the Prince his Highnesse on his Birth-day the 29 of May, 1638. annually celebrated.

A Curtaine being drawne, an Ale-house is discovered, out of which Time drives certaine ignorant, and yet Great undertaking Almanack-makers.
Time.
And must I still be vext! shall my gray age
Be play'd upon, as if I were a Page
To your fond Art, not Nature: did not live
But by the stipend which you yearely give.
Your owne's but fourty shillings, and that price
Bindes you to order me by sage advice
With Ticho Brach, and Ptolomy, so farre
You dare out-doe a learn'd Albumazar.
And with Predictions cheat the faith of men,
That make your bookes their gods; and from your raigne
Or drought foretold inhaunce the price of graine,
This is the end of your high practise.

1. Alm.
Wee
Doe all by just rules of Astrologie.

Time.
Starre-gazing idiots, you Astrologers!
That understand not what the name inferres.
You have not enough Grammar to conceive
The words true Etymon; and therefore leave
Your vaine replies, lest I apply them to
Another use.

2. Alm.
What would Time have us doe?

Time.
Not fright credulitie with this yeares wonders;
Eclipses; tempests; frosts; snowes; stormes and thunders.
And you that sad fates sadly doe report
In borrowed Latine from the Innes a court;
Let not great Princes; Statesmen, and whole Nations
Suffer this yeare by your Prognostications:
As if you could the fates of all men teach,
When your conjecture hath obtain'd the reach
Of probabilitie: for which your eares
May stand in time as fixt starres on the spheares
Of some round pillory. 'Twill teach you how
'Tis judgement to be silent, though you know.

3. Alm.
Why Astra regunt homines.

Time.
'Tis true:
Starres governe men; but Time shall governe you;
And regulate your studies: or he'le be
No longer ruler o're his Pentarchie.
You shall not stuffe your annuall bookes with rimes
Bought of the Ballad-mongers of the times;
In which (and that shewes little Poetrie)
He must enveigh 'gainst wine and venerie.
Prescribe the fittest time for cutting cornes:
And when the Pigges should feare the gelders hornes.
These are your labours; and by such as these
Each of you shewes himselfe Philomates.
You likewise thinke 'tis grace your yeares workes are
Fixt on the backside of some chalkie barre,
Where's your owne score, perhaps for Ale or Beere
You will not pay 'till the Platonick yeare.

4. Alm.
Time Satyres me.

Time.
Indeed Time cannot lye:
You know his Motto: καιρος ου χρονιζει.
'Tis well that you can make the country Squire
For two pence yearely a Chronologer.
Tell him how long 'tis since the world began;
And since the Conquest every Monarches raigne.
Then with this store enabled hee's complete;
Can welcome friends with talke as well as meate,
Before poore tenants have their rent to pay
The Landlord's skilfull in the quarter day:
Knowes every Termes returnes, and when he's ti'de
By a Subpæna on his mare to ride
To London; where he onely learnes to boast
How much his journey, and his law-sutes cost.

2. Alm.
Time knowes that we are schollers.

Time.
So you are;
And learn'd ones too: whose speculations dare
Reach at sublime things, when you cannot spye
What snakes of folly at your owne feet lye.

3. Alm.
What would Time have us then?

Time.
I'de have you be
Not vaine prescribers of mens destinie;
But Registers of actions, such as may
Challenge deserv'dly a peculiar day
To every owner. You me thinkes should show
The executions done by th'English bow,
When black Prince Eaward bravely did advance
His Ensignes through the very heart of France.
I will have all the world observe this day,
So glorious by the birth of him, that may
Fill volumes with his acts, and challenge more
Then all the great Heroes went before.

4. Alm.
Such things as those Historians ought to day.

Time.
Be nothing, or be you Historians too.
Practise a reformation, or (fond Elves)
Chang'd into Satyres you shall lash your selves.

Exit.
1. Alm.
Is the gray dotard gone?
Wee are then alone:
Good fellowes every one
Let's call my hostesse Joane.

2. Alm.

Well said rithmer; thy halting verses will hardly support the fat cripple any longer that begs with them. Would wee had some Ale.

3. Alm.

Hang this Time that would alter our profession, which is of equall antiquitie with him. Suppose wee have abilities; must we use them as he please? No: let us inspire our selves with Ale, and compile an everlasting Ephimerides.

1. Alm.
Where's the stock boy?
Doe not mock boy:
Lest I knock boy
Your learn'd block boy.

3. Alm.

Hast thou none left of thy sixe yeares before hand? If the Stationers refuse to trust, our bookes shall never more credit the Company with rubricks in the title.

2. Alm.

Wee'le try all the houses in the Zodiac; and if they will not trust, wee'le pull'downe the signes.

3. Alm.

Here is the signe of the Moone, the rendevous of our fraternitie. If the worst comes to the worst, wee'le pawne Time for the reckoning.

4. Alm.

By your favour we may more easily spend him.

Hostesse enters.
3. Alm.

Here comes shee will fill us the comfortable liquor.

2. Alm.

By the dozen?

3. Alm.

By the score boy. Wilt not Hostesse?

Host.

No indeed sir. I'le hazard no more upon your next yeares Almanack. You say there's a man in the Moone drinkes Claret; keepe him company. The woman at the Moone will keepe her Ale for better customers.

3. Alm.

Shall wee have no Ale then?

Hostesse.

Not a cockle-shell full without money before-hand.

3. Alm.

Here's two groats; fetch every man his pot, and before we drinke a health wee'le curse thee.

Host.

The Foxe will fare the better.

Exit.
3. Alm.

Maist thou have alwayes pennilesse guests like us, 'till thou pawne thy petticoate to pay the Brewer, and thy glorious shelves shine not so much as with an earthen platter. Instead of Shoelane hangings may the walls of thy house be painted with chalke; and the figures of no more valew then cyphars. Mayst thou weekly be subject to informers, and thy forfeited licence be put to the last use of wast paper.

Host. enters with drinke, and exit presently.
Host.

Stop your mouth sir.

3. Alm.

Hast thou brought Ale? cry thee mercy. Here's a health to the Prince, whose Birth-day Time would have should be the whole subject of an Almanack.

4. Alm.

Let him give the conceipt to a Poet; it may be worth a day to him.

They drinke, and are transformed into Satyres, hornes growing out of their heads.
3. Alm.

Time enters.
Ha! hath Circes given us an inchanted cup; or are our wives turn'd City Witches? These are fine jestes.

Time.
'Tis your owne idle humour makes you beasts.

2. Alm.
Forgive us Time.

Time.
Nay dance a Horne-pipe now.
That done perhaps I'le crop your well-growne brow.

They dance: at the end whereof their hornes fall away.
3. Alm.

Ha! wee are men againe.

Time.
Hence: since you sleight all counsaile, that is mine,
I'le employ others in my great designe.

Time drives them forth. A Symphonie of Musicke with chirping of Birds, singing of Nightingales and Cuckoes. The Scæne changing into a pleasant Garden, Time brings in May, attended by Flora and Vertumnus, who sing the following Song.

The Song.

Time.
Welcome to Time thou comfort of the earth,
That with thy warme dewe giv'st a lively birth
To all her glories, which cold winter late
Wrapt in his clowdes of ice: she desolate
Vngarnisht then, wore nothing on her head
But snow and barrennesse, nor was her bed
Cover'd with greene: then heavens crystall eye
Seldome peepe out of his bright canopie.
But now thou hast unto the infant Spring
Given perfection; and thy blessings bring
The Summers hopes on. Thou Times Queene shalt be
Whilst Flora and Vertumnus waite on thee.
Thou own'st a glory yet transcends the best
Of these, as day light doth the the time of rest.
This day, that makes Time young, in hope to see
A thousand revolutions e're he be
Dissolv'd, to gaze on Trophies shall adorne
The Princes life, and acts was this day borne.
Goe my delight, exhaust the treasurie
Of all thy pleasures; to his gracious eye
Present the choycest.

May.
I have none that are
Worthy his high acceptance: they are farre
Inferiour to the things that should set forth
The fulnesse of his glory and his worth.
The pastimes which belong to me are rude,
Fitter for course ones, and the multitude.
Yet (so the error may be pardon'd) they
Shall enter to delight him as they may.

A Morisk Dance.
Time.
Hee's pleas'd with this. Greatnesse and goodnesse ayme
At such proportion in his Princely frame,
That every part of his, his heart, his eye,
Expresse them in a due equallitye.
I have another to present him, then
Wee'le yeeld to change.

May.
I'le never change whilst men
Keepe registers of Time. And though it be
Custome, that they doe chiefly welcome me
At my first entrance, this shall be my day
As th'onely one that crownes the pride of May,
I'le weare no other flowres upon my head
But the Deluce; with Roses, white and red;
And the stout Thistle: each of which implies
An Embleme full of sacred Mysteries.
The Lillie and the Rose are beauties flowres:
They deck; the Thistle shall defend his bowers.
The white and red Rose thornelesse, signifie
A gentle rule: The Lillie, soveraigntie.
The Thistle strength and power to quell his foes
That rudely dare attempt to gather those.
Besides, these severall flowers doe appertaine
To Nations subject to his future raigne.
And this is all poore May can straine her powers
To doe; to make her Garland of his flowers.
And cause men yearely on this day to see
His name preserv'd unto posteritie.
Time hath some rich thing to present.

Time.
I have
(As Time is powerful!) summond from the grave
Eight Princes all of Wales, whose histories
Shall be instruction, and their memories
Present Heroick actions so t'his mind,
That though their fortunes were not alwayes kind,
Their vertues he shall strictly imitate,
And make those vertues awfull over Fate.
Vertumnus you, and Flora you be gone.
And if their ayrie formes are quite put on
Let them appeare; whilst lovely May and I
Listen to th'Birds and Natures harmonie.

Another Symphonie with like chirping, whilst the Scæne is varied into a glorious expression of Elizium: in which appeare the eight Maskers, representing eight Princes of Wales, distinguisht by the severall impresses, and inscriptions on their Shields. Who whilst the following song is singing, approach the Presence, salute the Prince, then place themselves in a figure for the Dance,

The Song.

The Dance ended they retire, whilst Time speakes the Epilogue.
Time.
Old Time leaves all his blessings that he may
Here with this presence; and will every day
Confirme possession. Sadly sets the Sunne
After his dayes course cheerefully was runne.
The Moone lookes pale; the Tapers dimnly burne:
The feare of your departure makes them mourne.
Sweet rest attend ye all: Good night 'tis late,
Many birth-dayes may you thus celebrate.

Time being received into the Scæne it closeth.