The Treasury of Musick :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Treasury of Musick

Containing ayres and dialogues To Sing to the theorbo-lute or basse-viol. Composed

[The First Book]

The Second Book.

[dedication]

To my much Ingenuous Friend Mr. John Playford,

To my Beloved Friend and Fellow Mr. HENRY LAWES,

To my much Honoured Friend, Mr. HENRY LAWES,

[The Ayres of Mr. Henry Lawes]

[Ayres for one Voice to the Theorbo or Bass Viol]

SELECT DIALOGUES To Sing to the LUTE or VIOL.

The Third Book.

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The Second Book.

To all UNDERSTANDERS and LOVERS OF Vocal MUSICK.

To my much Ingenuous Friend Mr. John Playford,

upon his late Publication of two Excellent Books for VOCAL MUSICK, VIZ. SELECT AYRES and DIALOGUES, AND, The MUSICAL COMPANION.

Treasurer of Musick, how much we
Do Owe unto thy industrie!
Th'unhappy Science ne'r did sound
In a full Chord, 'till thou hadst bound
Up in one Book, the whole Consent
Of scatter'd Musick's Ornament.
The Choice Composers of our Age
Did each one in a private Page
Whisper unto his Muse, till now
They're made a Publick Quire by you;
Where, like to joyful Birds by th'Spring
Call'd to a pleasant Grove, they sing
Not more their own felicitie,
And Notes, than just Applause to thee.
For why? Musick ('tis true) has been
Dispos'd to Harmony, but when
Were the Musicians so much like
To be a Body Politique?
Their Corporation incompleat
Appear'd, before thou did'st the feat:
The Order of thy Book shall be
The List of their Societie,
And none shall dare t'intrude himself,
But such into their Common-wealth.
Dispers'd Absyrtus's useless Parts
Might be reduc'd with half the Arts
That thou hast exercis'd upon
Thy Musical Companion;
A Piece so choice, so trim, so drest,
Who would not covet such a Guest?

Nor let vain Momus Carp and Cry
This Work speaks thee a Plagiary,
For don't we know thy depth, and skill
In Musick? Thou dost change, or fill
What pleaseth not, or where it wants,
And regulate the false Descants.
Thou art as ready to translate,
As to transcribe, thy Book can say't.
Thy Composition too doth raise
Equal Advantage to thy praise,
And though thy bashful Muse holds forth
Too small a taste of her own worth,
It shews enough what thou canst do,
And to thy Commendation too,
That in a thing so rare thou art
Content thy Friends should share a part;
When some like Cæsar so high flown,
Resolve t'have all or none their own.

If pity'd Ign'rance yet should cast
Spite at thy Name, Oh! let him hast
For better Knowledge and Instruction
To Playford's famed Introduction.
If nimble Wits begin to play,
Thou'rt full of Catches too, as they,
And more than they can prove, or sing,
Thy Notes give Life to what they bring.
Th'Ingenuous Lover, when he looks
For Am'rous pastime in thy Books,
He'l Court thy Ayres with all Respect,
Thou countenanc'st none, but are Select.
And when the Virtuosi come,
For that sage Train thou fittest some
Good Entertainment, then set on
Thy Musical Companion.
A Man against the World, what shall
I say? How shall I Playford call?
The Field's too large, Helicon's too scant
To pay a drop to every plant
That sprouteth forth: And then I hear
(Methinks) thy Genius drawing near,
To check my vain attempt, and tell
Thy self does only speak thee well.
I will not therefore Gaul with Baies
Thy tender Brows, nor clog with Praise
Thy fertile Merit, only here
Take leave to pay my thanks, for fear
I tempt thy Native Modesty
To flush into too deep a Dye.

Cha. Pigeon. Soc. Gra. In.

To my Beloved Friend and Fellow Mr. HENRY LAWES,

On his Books of AYRES, lately Published.

Now I have view'd this Book of thine,
And find sweet Language, Notes more fine
And see thy Fuges wrought in the chime,
Thy Weaving far excells the Rhime;
And still thy choice of Lines are good,
Not like to those who get their Food
As Beggars Rags from Dunghills take,
(Such as comes next) ill Songs to make;
Who by a witty blind pretense
Take words that creep half way to sense;
Hippocrates or Galen's Feet,
And sing them too with Notes as meet;
Songs as all th'way to Gammut tend,
But in F Fa ut make an end;
With killing notes which ever must

Coriat.

Squeez the Spheres, and intimate the Dust:
These with their brave Chromaticks bring
Noise to the Ear, but mean No-thing:
Yet these will censure, when indeed
Shew them good Lines, They cannot read;
Or read them so, that in the close
You'll hardly judge them Rhime from Prose.

But why do I write this to Thee?
This is for shop-sale Frippery;
Thy richer store hath truly hit
The whole Age for their want of wit:
Live freely, and thy Phansie please,
We shall be censur'd by such Things as these.

John Wilson, Doct. in Musick.

To my much Honoured Friend, Mr. HENRY LAWES,

On his Books of AYRES, lately Published.

Things that are thus, thus excellently good,
Are hardly prais'd, 'cause hardly understood:
For though at the first hearing all admire,
Yet when into the severals men inquire,
(which make up the Composure) they are lost,
Such Ayr, Wit, Spirit, Harmony engross'd
In every piece, as makes each piece the best,
And yet (as good as 'tis) a Foyl to th'rest.
How greedily do the best judgements throng
To hear the Repetition of thy Song?
Which they still beg in vain; for when Re-sung
So much new Art and Excellence is flung
Round thy Admirers (unobserv'd before)
As makes the newly-ravish'd ravish'd more:
For comprehend thee fully none can do
Till like thy Musick th'are Eternal too.

'Tis Thou hast honour'd Musick, done her right,
Fitted her for a strong and useful Flight;
Shee droop'd and flaggd before, as Hawks complain
Of the sick Feathers in their Wing and Train:
But thou hast imp'd the Wings She had before.
Musick does owe Thee much, the Poet more;
Thou lift'st him up, and dost new Nature bring,
Thou giv'st his noblest Verse both Feet and Wing.

Live then above our Praise, immortal here,
The Atlas, the Support of Musicks Sphere:
To what a darkness would our Art decline,
Robb'd of thy glorious and diurnal Shine?
These fixed Tapers cannot do Thee right,
Nor fully speak thy Rays which gave them Light,
But as small Stars by Night in Consort met,
Would only tell the World, Our Sun is Set.

Charles Colman, Doct. in Musick.

[The Ayres of Mr. Henry Lawes]

A STORM

Cloris at Sea, near the Land, is surprized by a Storm: Amintor on the Shore, expecting her Arrival, THUS COMPLAINS:
Help, help, O help, Divinity of Love!

Help, help, O help, Divinity of Love! or Neptune will commit a Rape upon my Cloris; She's on his bosome, and without a wonder cannot scape. See, see, the Winds grow drunk with Joy, and throng so fast to see Loves Argo, and the wealth it bears, that now the tackling and the sails they tear: They fight, they fight! who shall convey Amintor's Love into her Bay; and hurl whole Seas at one another, as if they would the Welkin smother. Hold Boras, hold; He will not hear:

The Rudder cracks, the Main-mast falls; the Pilot swears, the Skipper bawls; a showre of Clouds in darkness fall, to put out Cloris light withall. Ye gods, where are ye? where are ye? Are ye all asleep, or drunk with Nectar: Why do you not keep a watch upon your Ministers of Fate? Tie up the Winds, or they will blow the Seas to heav'n, and drown your Deities. A calm, a calm! Miracle of Love; the Sea-born Queen, that sits above, hath heard Amintor's cryes, and Neptune now must lose his prize. Welcome, welcome Cloris to the Shore; Thou shalt go to Sea no more: We to Tempe's

Groves will go, where the calmer winds do blow, and embarque our hearts together, fearing neither Rocks nor Weather, but out-ride the storms of Love, and for ever constant prove.

No REPRIEVE.

Now now Lucatia, now make hast

Now now Lucatia, now make hast, if thou wilt see how strong thou art, there needs but one frown more to waste the whole remainer of my heart. Alas! undone to Fate, I bow my head ready to die, now die, and now now now am dead. You look to have an Age of tryal ere you a Lover will repay; but my state brooks no more denial, I cannot this one minute stay. Alas! undone to

Fate, I bow my head ready to die; now die, and now now now am dead. Look in my wound and see how cold, how pale and gasping my Soule lies, which Nature strives in vain to hold; whilst wing'd with sighs away it flies. Alas! undone to Fate, I bow my head ready to die; now die, and now now now am dead. See see already Charon's boat, who grimly asks, Why all this stay? Hark how the fatal Sisters shout! and now they call away away. Alas! undone to Fate, I bow my head, ready to die, now die, and now now now am dead.

A TALE out of Anacreon.

At dead low ebb of night

At dead low ebb of night, when none but Great Charles Wayn was driven on; When Mortals strict cessation keep, to re-recruit themselves with sleep; 'Twas then a Boy knockt at my gate. Who's there, said I, that calls so late? O let me In! he soon reply'd, I am a Childe; and then he cry'd, I wander without guide or light, lost in this wet, blind, Moonless night. In pity then I rose, and straight unbarr'd my dore, and sprang a light: Behold, It was a Lovely Boy, a sweeter sight ne're bless'd mine Eye: I view'd him round, and saw strange things; a

Bow, a Quiver, and two Wings; I led him to the fire, and then I dry'd and, chaf'd his hands with mine: I gently press'd his tresses, curles, which new faln rain had hung with perls: At last, when warm'd, the Yonker said, Alas my Bow! I am afraid the string is wet, 'Pray (Sir) let's try; let's try my Bow. Do, do, said I. He bent it; Shot so quick and smart, as though my liver reach'd my heart. Then in a trice he took his flight, and laughing said; My Bow is right, it is O 'tis! For as he spoke, 'twas not his Bow, but my Heart is broke.

To his Mistres going to SEA.

Farewell, fair Saint!

Farewell, fair Saint! May not the Sea and Wind swell like the Hearts and Eyes you leave behind; but calm and gentle as the Looks you bear, smile in your face, and whisper in your ear. Let no bold Billow offer to arise, that it may never look upon your Eyes; lest wind and wave, enamour'd of your form, should throng and crowd themselves into a Storm. But if it be your Fate, vast Seas! to Love; of my becalmed breast learn how to move: Move then but in a gentler Lovers pace; no furrows nor no wrinkles in your face: And ye fierce winds, see that you tell your

tale in such a breath as may but fill her Sail: So whilest ye court her each your sev'ral way, ye may her safely to her Port convey; and lose but in a noble way of Wooing, whilest both contribute to your own undoing.

A Complaint against Cupid.

Venus redress a wrong that's done

Venus redress a wrong that's done by that young sprightful Boy thy Son; he Wounds and then laughs at the Sore, Hatred it self could do no more; If I pursue, he's small and light,

both seen at once, and out of sight; if I do fly, he's wing'd, and then at the first step I'm caught again. Lest one day thou thy self mayst suffer so, or clip the Wantons wings, or break his Bow.

The Surprise.

Careless of Love, and free from Fears,
I sate and gaz'd on Stella's Eyes,
Thinking my Reason or my Years
Might keep me safe from all surprize.

But Love, that hath been long despis'd,
And made the Baud to others trust,
Finding his Deity surpriz'd,
And chang'd into degenerate Lust,

So that too late (alas!) I find
No steeled Armour is of proof,
Nor can the best resolved mind
Resist her Beauty and her Youth.

Summon'd up all his strength and power,
Making her Face his Magazine,
Where Virtue's grace, and Beauty's flower
He plac'd his Godhead to redeem.

But yet the folly to untwist,
That loving I deserve no blame;
Were it not Atheisme to resist
Where Gods themselves conspire her flame.

Beauties Excellency.

Gaze not on Swans, in whose soft breast
A full hatcht beauty seems to nest;
Nor Snow, which (falling from the Sky)
Hovers in its Virginity.

Gaze not on Roses, though new blown,
Grac'd with a fresh complexion;
Nor Lillies, which no subtle Bee
Hath rob'd by kissing Chymistrie.

For if my Emp'ress appears,
Swans moultring dye, Snow melts to tears;
Roses do blush and hang their heads,
Pale Lillies shrink into their beds.

Gaze not on that pure Milky way
Where night uses splendour with the day;
Nor Pearl, whose silver walls confine
The Riches of an Indian Mine.

The Milky way rides post, to shroud
Its baffled glory in a Cloud;
And Pearls do climb into her ear,
To hang themselves for Envy there.

So have I seen Stars big with light
Prove Lanthorns to the Moon-ey'd night;
Which when Sol's Rays were once display'd,
Sink in their Sockets, and decay'd.

To his Mistres upon his going to travel.

Dearest, do not now delay me,
Since thou know'st I must be gone;
Wind and Tide 'tis thought doth stay me;
But 'tis wind that must be blown
From thy breath, whose native smell
Indian Odours doth excel.

O then speak, my Dearest Fair!
Kill not him who vows to serve thee;
But persume the Neighb'ring Air,
For dumb silence else will starve me:
'Tis a word is quickly spoken,
Which restrain'd, a heart is broken.

Mediocrity in Love rejected.

Give me more Love, or more Disdain

Give me more Love, or more Disdain, the Torrid or the Frozen Zone bring equal ease unto my pain, the Temperate affords me none; either extream of Love or Hate is sweeter than a calm estate. Give me a storm, if it be Love, like Dana in that golden showre, I swim in pleasure; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devoure my vulture hopes, and he's possest of Heav'n, that's but from Hell releas'd: Then crown my Joys, or cure my Pain; give me more Love, or more Disdain.

The Self-Banished.

It is not that I love you less
Then when before your feet I lay,
But to prevent the sad encrease
Of hopeless Love I keep away:
In vain alas! for ev'ry thing
That I have known belong to you,
Your form dares to my fancy bring,
And make my old wounds bleed anew.
But I have vow'd, and never must
Your banish'd Servant trouble you;
For if he break, you may distrust
The vow he made to love you too.

Who in the Spring from the new Sun
Already hath a Feaver got;
Too late begins those shafts to shun
Which Phœbus through his veins hath shot;
Too late he would the pains asswage,
And to thick shadows does retire,
About with him he bears the rage,
And in his tainted bloud the fire.
But I have vow'd, &c.

To his Mistres objecting his Age.

Am I despis'd because you say

Am I despis'd because you say, and I believe, that I am gray? Know, Lady, you have but your day, and night will come, when men will swear Time has spilt snow upon your hair: Then when in your Glass you seek, but find no Rose-bud in your cheek; no, nor the bed to give the shew, where such a rare Carnation grew; and such a smiling Tulip too. Ah, then, too late, close in your Chamber keeping, it will be told, that you are old, by those true tears y'are weeping

To a Lady, more affable since the War began.

Cloris , since first our calm of Peace was frighted hence

Cloris , since first our calm of Peace was frighted hence, this good we find, Your favours with your fears increase, and growing mischief makes you kind: So the fair Tree, (which still preserves her Fruit and state when no Wind blowes) in Storms, from that uprightness swerves; and the glad Earth about her strowes with treasure, with treasure from her yeelding boughs.

Cloris Singing.

Yes, yes, 'tis Cloris sings

Yes, yes, 'tis Cloris sings, 'tis she; Mark how the Nymphs and Shepherds all flock to her: so the Master Bee the swarm leads with his awful call; so to the Thracian Lyre the floods resorted, and the listning woods: so shoals of Dolphins on the green waves spring, when Doris or her Sea-born Daughters sing; and so her Notes their hearts benum: one looks pale, others eyes ore-flow with tears of pleasure, perhaps some distil from sad hearts tears of woe; but as if fetter'd in a chain to soft their passions felt no pain, she stops no sooner, but th'inchanted throng straight cry, Sweet Cloris sing another Song.

The Unconstant Lover.

[I]

O how I hate thee now,
And my self too,
For loving such a false, false thing as thee!
Who hourly canst depart
From heart to heart,
To take new harbour as thou didst in me;
But when the world shall spie,
And know thy shifts as well as I,
They'l shut their hearts and take thee in no more;
He that can dwell with none, must out of dore.

II

Thy pride hath overgrown
All this great Town
Which stoops, and bowes as low as I to you;
Thy falshood might support
All the new Court
Which shifts, and turn, almost as oft as thou.
But to express thee by,
There's not an object low, or high,
For 'twill be found, when ere the measures tride,
Nothing can read thy falshood, but thy pride.

Night and day to his Mistres.

If when the Sun at Noon displayes his brighter rays

If when the Sun at Noon displayes his brighter rays, Thou but appear, he then all pale with shame and fear, quencheth his light, and grows more dim, compos'd to thee, then Stars to him. If thou but show thy face again, when darkness doth at midnight reign, darkness flyes, and light is hurl'd round about the silent world; so as alike thou driv'st away both light and darkness, night and day.

To his Rivall.

Seek not to know my Love

Seek not to know my Love, for she hath vow'd her Constant faith to me: her milde Aspects are mine, and thou shalt onely find a Stormy brow; for if her Beauty stir desire in mee, her Kisses quench the fire: Or I can to Loves Fountain goe, or dwell upon her Hills of Snow; But when thou burn'st, shee shall not spare one gentle Breath to cool the Air; thou shalt not climbe those Alps, nor spie where the sweet Springs of Venus lie: Search hidden Nature, and there find a treasure to enrich thy mind: Discover Arts not yet reveal'd,

But let my Mistress live conceal'd. Though men by knowledge wiser grow, yet here 'tis wisdome not to know.

To his Mistres.

I prethee Sweet to me be Kind, delight not so in Scorning

I prethee Sweet to me be Kind, delight not so in Scorning; I sue for Love; O let me find some pleasure midst my mourning! What though to you I vassal be? Let me my right inherit: Send back the Heart I gave to thee, since thine it cannot merit. So I shall to the world declare how good, how sweet and fair you are.

The Heart Intire.

Canst thou love me, and yet doubt
So much Falshood in my heart,
That a way I should find out
to impart
Fragments of a broken Love to you,
More then all b'ing less then due:
O, no! Love must clear Distrust,
Or be eaten with that Rust;
Short Love liking may find Jars,
The Love that lasteth knows no Wars.

There Belief begets Delight,
And so satisfies Desire,
That in them it shines as Light
No more Fire;
All the burning Qualities appeas'd,
Each in others joying pleas'd;
Not a whisper, not a thought
But 'twixt Both in common's brought;
Even to seem Two they are loath,
Love being only Soul to both.

Love in Despair.

A lover once I did espie

A lover once I did espie with bleeding Heart and weeping Eye; he sigh'd and groan'd, and curst the Boy that planted woe, supplanted joy; he wept and cry'd, How great's his pain that lives in Love, and loves in vain! Can there (says he) no Cure be found, but by the hand that gave the wound. Then let me die, which Ile endure, since she wants Charity to Cure: Yet let her one day feel the pain to wish sh' had cur'd, but wish in vain; for wither'd cheeks may chance recover some sparks of Love, but not a Lover.

Loves Fruition.

Come come, thou glorious object of my sight

Come come, thou glorious object of my sight: O my Joy, my Life, my only Delight! May this glad Minute be blest to Eternitie. See how the glim'ring Tapers of the Sky do gaze and wonder at our Constancy: How they croud to behold what our Arms do unfold! How all do envy our Felicities, and grudge the Triumph of Selindras Eyes! How Cynthia seeks to shroud her Crescent in yon Cloud, where sad Night puts her sable Mantle on thy Light; mistaking hasteth to be gone, her gloomy Shades give way as at th'approach of Day, and all the Planets shrink for fear to be ecclips'd

by a brighter Deitie. Look, O look, how the small Lights do fall and adore what before the Heavens have not shown, nor their godhead known. Such a Faith, such a Love as may move Mighty Jove from above to descend and remain amongst Mortals again.

Love in the Spring.

[I]

Pleasure, Beauty, Youth attend ye;
Love and Melting thoughts befriend ye:
While the spring of Nature lasteth
Use your time ere Winter hasteth.

II

Active blood and free delight,
Place and Privacy invite:
O be kind as you are fair,
Lose no advantage got for Air.

III

She is cruel that denies it,
Stealth of sport in love supplies it:
Bounty best appears in granting,
Else the Ears of Love are wanting.

IV

There's the sweet Exchange of Bliss
Where each Whisper proves a Kiss:
In the Gain are felt no pains,
For still in all the Loser gains.

The Lark.

Swift through the yielding Air I glide

Swift through the yielding Air I glide, while nights shall be, shades abide: Yet in my flight (though ne're so fast) I Tune and Time the wilde winds blast: And ere the Sun be come about, teach the young Lark his Lesson out; who early as the Day is born sings his shrill Anthem to the rising Morn: let never Mortal lose the pains to imitate my Aiery strains, whose pitch too high for humane Ears, was set me by the tuneful Spheres. I carrol to the Faries King, wakes him a mornings when I sing: And when the Sun stoops to the deep, Rock him again and his fair Queen asleep.

Loves Dying Passion.

Amarillis tear thy hair

Amarillis tear thy hair, beat thy breast, sigh, weep, despair; cry cry Ay me! Is Daphne dead? I see a paleness on his brow, and his cheeks are drown'd in snow; Whether, whether, whether are those Roses fled? O my heart! how cold, how cold he's growne? Sure his Lips are turn'd to stone. Thus, Thus then I offer up my blood, and bathe my body in his shrowd. Since living accents cannot move, Know Amarillis, know Amarillis dy'd for Love.

On a lost Heart.

What shall I do? I've lost my Heart

What shall I do? I've lost my Heart; 'tis gone I know not whether: Cupid cut's strings, then lent him wings and both are flowne together. Fair Ladies, tell, for Loves sweet sake, Did any of you find it? Come come, it lies in your Lips or Eyes, though you'l not please to mind it. Well, If 'tis lost, then farewell frost, I will enquire no more; for Ladies they steal Hearts away but only to restore.

Loves Flattery.

Ladies, fly from Loves smooth Tale

Ladies, fly from Loves smooth Tale, Oaths steep'd in tears do oft prevaile: Grief is Infectious, and the Air inflam'd with sighs will blast the Fair: Then stop your Ears when Lovers cry, lest your selves weep when no lost Eye shall with a sorrowing tear repay that pity which you cast away. Young men, fly when Beauty darts Am'rous glances at your hearts; the fixt mark gives the Shooter aim, and Ladies looks have power to maim: Now 'twixt the Lips, now in their Eyes, wrapt in a Kiss or Smile Love lies. Then fly betimes, for only they Conquer Love that run away.

A Dream.

I laid me down upon a pillow soft

I laid me down upon a pillow soft, and dream'd I clypt and kist my Mistress oft: She cry'd, Fie fie, away, you are too bold. I pray'd her be content, though she were cold, my veins did burn with flames of hot desire, and must not leave till she had quench'd my fire. Well, since (said she) I may not from you fly, do what you please, I give you liberty. With that I wak'd, but found I was deceiv'd; for which I storm'd like one of sense bereav'd.

Upon the Hearing Mrs. Mary Knight Sing.

You that think love can convey no other way but through the Eye

You that think love can convey no other way but through the Eye into the heart his fatal dart; Close up those Casements, and but hear this Syren sing, and on the wings of her clear voyce it will appear that Love can enter at the Ear. Then unveil your Eyes, behold the Curious mold where that voyce dwells: and as we know when the Cocks crow we freely may gaze on the day, So may you when the Musicks done, awake and see the Rising Sun.

The Thrifty Lover.

I lov'd thee once, Ile love no more

I lov'd thee once, Ile love no more; thine be the grief as is the blame: Thou art not what thou wert before; What reason I should be the same? He that can love unlov'd again, hath better store of Love than Brain. God send me Love my Debts to pay, whilest Unthrifts fool their Love away.

A Lover on his Dying Mistres.

Death cannot yet extinguish that entire pure flame her Eys did kindle in my breast

Death cannot yet extinguish that entire pure flame her Eys did kindle in my breast: now they are clos'd, and she is laid to rest, my heart hath embers left of chaste desire, which as the Elements, so they require something to feed and keep alive the rest, that heart in which her Image was exprest, shall be the fuel, sighs shall blow the fire: There now she seems to move her sweetest Lips, which ever must be so till they be none, bids me not grieve, she's but eclips'd who from the Eys, not from the Heart is gone; yet with mine Eys my Heart shal bear a part, because mine Eys first brought her to my Heart.

The Fly.

When this Fly liv'd she us'd to play

When this Fly liv'd she us'd to play in the Sunshine all the day, till coming neer my Cælia's sight, she found a new and unknown light, so full of glory as it made the Noon-day Sun a gloomy shade. Then this am'rous Fly became my Rivall, and did court my flame; she did from hand so Bosome skip; and from her breath, her cheek, her lip, suckt all the Incense, Mirrhe and Spice, and grew a Bird of Paradice. At last into her Eye she flew; there scorcht with flames, and drown'd in dew, like Phaeton from the Suns sphere she fell, and with her dropt a Tear, of which a Pearl was streight compos'd,

wherein her Ashes lie inclos'd: Thus she receiv'd from Cælia's Eye, Funeral flame, Tombe Obsequie.

Loves Torment.

I was foretold your Rebel Sex nor love nor pity knew,
And with what scorn you use to vex poor Hearts that humbly sue:
But I believe, to crown our pain, could we the fortress win,
A happy Lover sure should gain a Paradice within.
I thought Loves plagues like Dragons sate,
Only to fright us at the Gate.

If I did enter and enjoy what happy Lovers prove,
I would Kiss, and Sport, and Toy, and taste those Sweets of Love:
Or had they but a lasting fate, or if in Cælia's breast,
Or of Love might not abate, Jove was too mean a Guest:
But now her breach of faith far more
Afflicts than did her Scorn before.

Hard Fate! to have been once possest as Victor of a Heart,
Atchiev'd with labour and unrest, and then forc'd to Depart.
If the stout foe will not resigne when I besiege a Town,
I lose but what was never mine; but he that is cast down
From Injoy'd Beauty, feels a woe
Only deposed Kings can know.

Love Unveil'd.

When thou, Fair Cælia!

When thou, Fair Cælia! like the Setting Sun, shalt blush to see thy Day is done: And I a Martyr in thy Virgin flame, though dead bespot thy living fame, and call thee Murdress; Then thou shalt see thou hast deceiv'd thy self, not me: When from my constant Ashes Truth shall rise, and silence thy intended Obsequies. Then unpitied thou shalt fall, and we both die by each others Cruelty. Yet, pitious Fates! will not I die unmourn'd, though we both die, and both die scorn'd.

The Mournful Lovers.

Come, come, sad Turtle, mateless moaning

Come, come, sad Turtle, mateless moaning; droop no more for want of Owning: Here's a Breast for your Nest, like an Altar Cypress drest, sacrificing griefful groaning. Come, sad Turtle, O come hither, our fate's alike, let's die together. Come come, and use sigh-soothing skill, and with Loving gently kill, soon as Asps fatal clasps, whilest your sad glad feeder gasps, feed on woe, and feast your fill. Come, sad Turtle, O come hither; our Fate's alike, Let's die together.

Loves Power.

Behold and listen whilst the Fair breaks in sweet sound the willing Air

Behold and listen whilst the Fair breaks in sweet sound the willing Air: And with her own breath fans the fire which her bright Eyes did first inspire. What reason can that Love controll which two such ways commands the Soul. So when a flash of Lightning falls on our abodes, the danger calls for humane aid, with hopes the flame to conquer though from Heaven it came: But if the winds with it conspire, Men strive not, but deplore the fire.

Loves Ardency.

No more of Tears, I've now no more to quench my flame

No more of Tears, I've now no more to quench my flame, but make it scorch the more: My sighs that should have cool'd my hot desire, blow my flame high, and set me all on fire. No remedy to Cure me? Yes, there's one: If thou wilt girt me in thy Frozen Zone, then may I be as thou art, or make thee melt thy white snow, and turn to fire like me.

The Nightingale.

Hark how the Nightingale displayes
The latest pleasures of her throat,
And dies content, if her poor Note
Might serve but as one step to raise
A Trophie to your Beauties praise.

The Rose, in whose rich Odours lie
The perfum'd Treasures of the Year,
Doth blush to death when you appear,
And Martyr-like towards you doth fly,
To wear your Cheeks fresh Livery.

Aurora weeps to see a light
Outvie her splendour in your Eyes,
The Sun's asham'd to walk the skies;
And th'Envious Moon, grown pale for spight,
Vows ne're to Revel but with Night.

The saucy Wind with senseless care
(Seeming to feel soft sense of bliss)
Steals through your hair, your lips to kiss,
So Rivals me, who now despair
To touch your Lip, Cheek, Eye or Hair.

Loves Constancy.

That flame is born of Earthly fire
That soon enjoys, and soon expires:
His love with wings Ill-feather'd flies,
That cannot reach beyond his Eyes.

Where Hope doth fan the Idle fire
'Tis easie to Maintain desire;
But that's the Noble Love that dare
Continue Constant in Despare.

Cupid's Alarm.

Whether so gladly and so fast,
As if you knew all danger past
Of Combate and of War:
As you believ'd my arms were bound;
Or when I shoot, that ev'ry wound
I make is but a Scar.

Arm now your breasts with shields of Steel,
And plates of Brass, yet you shall feel
My Arrows are so keen,
Like Lightning that not hurts the skin,
Yet melts the sollid parts within;
They'l wound although unseen.

My Mother taught me long ago
To aim my Shafts, and draw my Bow,
When She did Mars subdue:
And now you must resigne to Love
Your warlike Shafts, that She may prove
Those Antique stories true.

Beauties Excellency.

Transcendent Beauty! thou that art light to mine Eyes, life to my Heart

Transcendent Beauty! thou that art light to mine Eyes, life to my Heart: And in whose Virtue rests alone the only true Philosophers Stone: For as th'Elixir can restore Nature decay'd as 'twas before, thy power hath wrought a stranger thing, by changing Autumn to a Spring.

Sympathy in Love.

Weep not, my dear for I shall go
Loaden enough with my own woe;
Add not thy heaviness to mine,
Since Fate our Pleasures must disjoyn.

Why should our Sorrows meet, if I
Must go and leave thy Company?
I wish not there's it shall relieve
My Heart, to think thou dost not grieve.

Yet grieve and weep, that I may bear
Every Sigh and every Tear;
And it shall glad my Heart to see
Thou wert thus loth to part from mee.

A Remembrance.

[1]

On this swelling bank (once proud
Of its burthen) Cloris lay:
Here she smil'd, and did uncloud
Those bright Suns ecclipse the day.

2

Here we sate, and with kind art
She about me twin'd her arms,
Clasp'd in hers my hand and heart
Fetter'd by those pleasing charms.

3

Here my love and joys she crown'd
Whil'st the hours stood before me,
With a killing glance did wound
And a melting kiss restore me.

4

On the doun of either breast
Whil'st with joy my soul retir'd,
My resigning heart did rest
Till her lips new life inspir'd.

5

The renewing of these sights,
Doth with grief and pleasure fill me,
And the thought of those delights
Both at once revive and kill me.

Sufferance.

[1]

Delicate Beauty, why should you disdain
With pity at least, to lessen my pain?
Yet if you purpose to render no cause,
Will, and not Reaon, is judge of those Laws.

2

Suffer in silence I can with delight
Courting your anger to live in your sight;
Inwardly languish, and like my disease,
Always provided my sufferance please.

3

Take all my comforts in present away,
Let all but the hope of your favour decay;
Rich in reversion I'le live as content,
As he to whom Fortune her fore-lock hath lent.

Mutual affection between Orinda and Lucatia.

Come, my Lucatia, since we see
That miracles mens faith do move
By wonder and by prodigie:
To the fierce angry world let's prove
There's a Religion in our Love.

For though we were design'd t'agree,
That Fate no liberty destroys,
But our Election is as free
As Angels, who with greedy choice
Are yet determin'd to their joys.

Our hearts are doubled by their loss,
Here mixture is addition grown,
We both difuse, and both ingross,
And we whose minds are so much one,
Never, yet ever are alone.

We court our own captivity,
Then Thrones more great and innocent,
'Twere banishment to be set free,
When we wear fetters, whose intent
Not bondage is, but ornament.

Divided joys are tedious found,
And griefs united easier grow,
We are our selves but by rebound,
And all our titles shuffl'd so,
Both Princes, and both Subjects too.

Loves Parting.

But that I knew before we met,
The hour would come that we must part,
And so had fortifi'd my heart,
I hardly could escape the net,
My Passions for my Reason set.

But why should Reason hope to win
A Victory that's so unkind,
And so unwelcom to my mind;
To yield is neither shame nor sin,
Besieg'd without, betray'd-within.

But Friends ne're part (to speak aright)
For who's but going is not gone;
Friends like the Sun must still move on,
And when they seem most out of sight,
There absence makes at most but night.

And though that night be ne're so long,
In it they either sleep or wake:
And either way enjoyments take,
In Dreams or Visions which belong
Those to the old: these to the young.

I'm old when going, gone 'tis night,
My Parting then shall be a Dream,
And last till the auspicious Beam
Of our next meeting gives new light,
And the best Vision that's your sight.

The Rose.

Go lovely Rose,
Tell her that wasts her time and me,
That now she knows
When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spi'd,
That hadst thou sprung
In Desarts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended dy'd.

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retir'd,
Bid her come forth,
Suffer her self to be desir'd,
And not blush to be admir'd.
Then die, that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee,
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair.

Active Love.

Tell me no more 'tis Love
Your passions move
In a fantastick sphere,
And only there:
Thus you confine
What is divine,
When Love hath pow'r, and can dispense
Sufficient to the soul and sense.

'Tis Love the sense informs,
And cold bloud warms;
Nor gives the soul a Throne
To us alone,
But bids them bend
Both to one end;
And then 'tis Love when thus design'd
They make another of their kind.

Not to be altred from Affection.

Can so much Beauty own a mind?
Oresway'd by tyranny,
As new afflicting ways to find
A doubtless faith to try,
And all example to out-do,
To scorn and make me jealous too:
Alass! she knows my fires are too great;
And though she be
Stone ice to me,
Her thaw to others cannot quench my heat.

That Law which with such force o're-ran
The Armies of my heart,
When no one thought I could out-man,
That durst once take my part.
For by assault she did invade,
No composition to be made:
Then, since all must yield as well as I
to stand in aw
of Victors Law
There's no prescribing in captivity.

That Love which loves for common ends,
Is but self-loving love;
But nobler conversation tends
Soul mysteries to prove.
And since Love is a passive thing,
It multiplies by suffering.
Then, though she throw life to the waning Moon,
on him her shine,
the dark part mine,
Yet I must love her still when all is done.

Policy in Love.

Art thou in Love? It cannot be;
'Twill prove too great a Raritie:
For Love is banisht from the mind,
And every Creature proves unkind.

Your sex we know hath too much power
To be confin'd above an hour,
And Ladies are become so wise
They'l please their own, not others Eyes.

No Archers from above are sent
Poor Cupid's Bow lies now unbent,
And Women boast that they can find
A nearer way to please the mind.

Yet still you sigh and keep adoe
Only to tempt poor men to wooe:
But sure if thou a Lover be
'Tis of thy Self, but not of Me.

A Glee at Christmas.

Tis Christmas now, 'tis Christmas now,
When Cato's self would laugh,
And smoothing forth his wrinkled brow,
Gives liberty to Quaff,
To Dance, to Sing, to Sport and Play;
For ev'ry hour's a Holy-day.

And for the Twelve days, let them pass
In mirth and jollity:
The Time doth call each Lad and Lass
That will be blithe and merry
Then Dance, and Sing, &c.

And from the Rising of the Sun
To th'Setting cast off Cares;
'Tis time enough when Twelve is done
To think of our Affairs.
Then Dance, and Sing, &c.

The Power of Love.

Where shall a man an object find that may preserve a quiet mind?

Where shall a man an object find that may preserve a quiet mind? Sad sorrow dwells in Loves fair Eyes, and Beauty stirs up Jealousies: A Lovers Hopes are mixt with Fears, and all his Joys, and all his Joys do end in Tears: Yet I must love, though't be my fate to be rewarded still with hate; for by experience now I feel Loves Darts are all Magnetick steel: For when I fly to ease my pain, an Arrow draws me back again.

Orpheus Hymn.

O King of Heaven and Hell, of Sea and Earth!

O King of Heaven and Hell, of Sea and Earth! who shak'st the world when

thou shout'st Thunder forth; whom Devils dread, and Hosts of Heaven praise, whom Fate (which masters all things else) obeys: Eternal Cause! who on the Winds dost ride, and Natures face wit, thick dark Clouds dost hide; Cleaving the Air with Balls of dreadful Fire; Guiding the Stars which run, and never tire. About thy Throne bright Angels stand, and Bow to be dispatch'd to Mortals here below. Thy early Spring in Purple robes comes forth: Thy Summers South does conquer all the North: And though thy Winter freeze the Hearts of Men, glad wine, from Autumn cheers them up agen.

Here endeth the AYRES of Mr. Henry Lavves.

[Ayres for one Voice to the Theorbo or Bass Viol]

A Blackmore Maid wooing a Fair Boy.

Why, Lovely Boy, why fly'st thou me

Why, Lovely Boy, why fly'st thou me, that languish in these flames for thee? I'm Black, 'tis true; why, so is Night, and Love doth in Dark shades delight. The whole world, do but close thine eye, will seem to thee as Black as I; or op't, and see what a Black shade is by thine own fair body made, that follows thee where ere thou go: O who allow'd would not do so? Let me for ever dwell so nigh, and thou shalt need no other Shade than I.

The Boys Answer to the Blackmore Maid.

Black Maid, complain not that I fly

Black Maid, complain not that I fly, since Fate commands Antipathy: Prodigious might that Union prove, where Night and Day together move; and the Conjunction of our Lips, not Kisses make, but an Ecclipse; in which the mixed Black and White pretends more Terrour than Delight: Yet, if my Shadow thou wilt be, enjoy thy dearest wish: But see thou take my Shadows property, that hastes away when I come nigh. Else stay till Death hath blinded me; and then I will bequeath my self to thee.

A Sacrificed Heart.

When I am Dead, and thou wouldst try the truth of Loves great Mysterie

When I am Dead, and thou wouldst try the truth of Loves great Mysterie, When thou a Sparkle dost espie Dancing before thy brighter Eye, O! do not doubt that Sparkle came from the Fervour of my Hearts flame; which thus to prove, open the Urn wherein my restless Ashes burn: Then rake that Dust, and thou shalt see the Fire remains that burns for thee.

Cupid Scorned.

Boast not, Blind Boy, that I'm thy prize;
'Twas not thy Dart,
But these that feather'd with her Eys
First took my heart.
Th'ill tutor'd Shafts, and childish Bow
On faintly Loving hearts bestow.

I vaunt my Flames, and dare defie
Those Bug-bear Fires
Which only serve to satisfie
Fools fond Desires:
Hord up for such thy Painted flame
As tremble when they hear thy Name.

My Heart thy Fires nor Shafts could peirce,
But holy Flashes
Swifter than Lightnings, or more fierce,
Burnt mine to Ashes;
Where let them sleep in unknown rest,
Since Fate concludes thy Urn her Breast.

On a Proud Lady.

Still to be Neat, still to be Drest
As you were going to a Feast:
Still to be powder'd still perfum'd!
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though Arts hid Causes are not found,
All is not sweet, All is not sound.

Give me a Look, give me a Face
That makes Simplicity a Grace;
Robes Loosly flowing, Hair as Free;
Such sweet neglects more taketh me
Then all th'Adult'ries of Art;
They strike my Eyes, but not my Heart.

To an Inconstant Lover.

Wilt thou be gone, thou Heartless man?
Here's none seeks to do thee wrong:
Here's food would warm the Coldest blood,
Joys would make an old man young:
Here are Eyes that would move Stones
To pity, Rocks to Love,
Cheeks of a Vermilion hew
Sweet as Roses in a dew.
Who but a silly Swain, or foolish Guest,
For homely Cates would leave so dainty a feast.

Wilt thou begon, thou Frosty man,
Is not Beauty a fair prize;
Dost rate thy pelf with true Loves wealth:
Foolish man, where are thine Eyes?
Here are Lips both fresh and fair,
Red as Cherries in their prime,
Globe-like Breasts both smooth and white,
Full of pleasure and delight:
Who but Ass would leave such dainty store
To feed on Thistles, when better meat's before.

Go get thee gone, thou Senseless man,
And make Marts with such as she
Who, both in Kind and Currish mind
Ev'ry way's as base as thee;
That hath Eyelids like some Witch,
Wrinkled Cheeks as black as pitch,
Lips as pale; and for her Breast,
Lank and loathsome as the rest:
May she disgrace her Sex, and thee so far
That thou mayst languish t'death with Loathing her

The Marigold.

[1.]

Mark how the Blushful morn in vain
Courts the Amorous Marigold
With sighing Blush, and weeping Rain,
Yet she refuses to unfold.
But when the Planet of the Day
Approacheth with his powerful Ray,
Then She spreads, then She receives his
Warmer beams into her Virgin Arms.

2.

So may'st thou thrive in Love, fond Boy,
If silent tears and sighs discover
Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy
The just reward of a bold Lover.

3.

But when with moving accent thou
Shalt constant Faith and Service vow,
Thy Cælia shall receive those charms
With open Ear, and with unfolded Arms.

Loves Constancy.

No more shall Meads be deckt with flowers

No more shall Meads be deckt with flowers, nor Sweetness live in Rosie Bowers; nor greenest Buds on Branches spring, nor warbling Birds delight to sing; nor April Violets paint the Grove, when once I leave my Cælia's Love, when once I leave my Cælia's Love. THE Fish shall in the Ocean burn, and Fountains sweet shall bitter turn; the humble Vail no Floods shall know, when Floods shall highest Hills ore-flow: Black Læthe shall Oblivion leave, before my Cælia I deceive, before my Cælia I deceive. LOVE shall his Bow and Shafts lay by,

and Venus Doves want wings to fly: The Sun refuse to show his Light, and Day shall then be turn'd to Night; and in that Night no Star appear, when ere I leave my Cælia dear, when ere I leave my Cælia dear. LOVE shall no more inhabit Earth, nor Lovers more shall love for Worth; nor Joy above in Heaven dwell, nor pain torment poor Souls in hell: Grim Death no more shall horrid prove; when ere I leave bright Cælia's Love, when ere I leave bright Cælia's Love.

Love Enflamed.

[1.]

Fire, Fire; Lo here I burn in such desire,
That all the tears that I can strain
Out of my Love-sick empty brain,
Cannot allay my scorching pain.
Come Humber, Trent, and silver Thames:
Dread Ocean haste with all thy Streams,
And if thou canst not quench my Fire,
O drown both me and my Desire.

2.

Fire, Fire, there is no Hell to my desire;
See all the Rivers backward fly,
For fear my Heart should drink them dry;
Come Heavenly showers, come pouring down,
Come you that once the World did Drown;
And if you cannot quench my Fire,
O Drown both me and my Desire.

Unwilling Parting.

No no, I tell thee no

No no, I tell thee no; though from thee I must go, yet my Heart says not so: It swears by Stella's eys, in whose daz'ling surprize it in Loves fetters lies: It swears by those Roses and Lillies so white, and those Rubies so bright, ne'r to part, ne'r to part from my dear dear Delight.

The Dying Lover.

[1]

Stay, Silly Heart, and do not break,
But give a Lover leave to speak,
To tell a Tale that Stones may move
To pity me that dies for Love.

2

Thy Heart is harder far than flint,
And will not suffer Cupid's print;
But beats his Arrows back to Jove,
By which, alas! I die for Love.

3

When I am gone, true Lovers mourn,
Deck all your heads with Wither'd Corn;
Wear on your Hand a Sable Glove,
To testifie I dy'd for Love.

4

Then bear me softly by her dore,
And there with Mourning Heads deplore,
Cry loud, look down you Pow'rs above,
On her that slew me for her Love.

5

Then in an unfrequented Cave
Where Fairies haunt, prepare my Grave
Among wilde Satyrs in a Grove,
That they may sing, I dy'd for Love.

6

Last, build my Tombe of Lovers bones,
Set round about with Marble-stones;
My Scutch'on bearing Venus Dove;
My Epitaph, I dy'd for Love.

The Lilly.

White though you be

White though you be, yet Lillies know from the first ye were not so: But Ile tell ye what befell ye; Cupid and his Mother lay in a Cloud while both did play: He with his prety finger prest the Ruby Nipple of her Breast; out of the which the Cream of Light like to a dew fell down on you, and made you White.

Wounded in Love.

For that one glance I wounded lie,
O look again, and let me die:
Kill me outright; I cannot brook
To live like one that's Planet strook.
Bless me again with those bright rays
That shorten, yet make sweet my days.

O shoot more Glances with thine Eyes
To shew th'accept'st the Sacrifice
Of my poor Heart, which now doth burn
Whilest I both Priest and Offering turn.
Ile blame no more those Eyes that prove
My ruin, since they caus'd my Love.

Loves Affection.

Be not proud, Pretty one, for I must love thee;
Thou art Fair, but Unkind, yet dost thou move me.
Red is thy Lips, and Cheeks like to thy Blushes:
The Flame that's in thine Eye burns mine to Ashes.
And on thy Breast, the place of Loves abiding,
Sits Cupid high enthron'd my pain deriding.
O! if a god thou art, wound Her that scorns me,
Or fall from that bright Sphere which so adorns thee.

Then might my Sighs and Tears move her Compassion,
And on her Heart of Flint make some Impression;
Knowing her Beauty hath so far insnar'd me,
And all the Joys of Peace hath quite debarr'd me.

O Gentle Nymph! thy Frown now would destroy me,
Having liv'd but in hope Once to injoy Thee:
And sure my Death would add nought to thy Glory,
But rather all your Fame die in the Story.

Cupid's Doomsday.

Wake all ye dead: What hoo! What hoo!
How soundly they sleep whose pillows lie low?
They mind not poor Lovers who walk above
On the Decks of the world in storms of Love:
No whisper now or Glance can pass
Through Wickets, or through Panes of Glass;
For our Windows and Dores are shut and barr'd,
Lie close in the Church, and in the Church-yard:
In ev'ry Grave make room, make room;
The World's at an End, and we Come, we Come.

The State is now Loves Foe, Loves Foe,
T'has seiz'd on his Arms, his Quiver and Bow;
T'has pinion'd his Wings, and fetter'd his Feet,
Because he made way for poor Lovers to meet:
But oh sad chance! his Judge was old;
Hearts cruel grow, when blood grows cold:
No Man being young, his Process would draw;
Oh Heav'ns! that Love should be subject to Law;
Lovers go Wooe the Dead, the Dead l
Lye two in a Grave, and to Bed, to Bed.

Madness in Love.

[I.]

Sure 'twas a Dream: How long, Fond Man, have I
Been lull'd into Captivity?
My Newgate was my Want of Wit,
I did my Self commit, my Bonds I Knit:
I my own Gaoler was, my only Foe
That did my freedome disallow:
I was a Prisoner 'cause I would be so.

II.

'Twas a fine life I liv'd when I did dress
My self to Court your peevishness;
When I did at your foot-stool lye,
Expecting from your eye to live or dye.

Now frowns or smiles, I care not which I have;
Nay, rather than I'le be your slave,
I'le Court the Plague to send me to my grave.

III.

And now I will shake off my chains, and prove
Opinion built the Gaol of Love;
Made all his Bonds, gave him his Bow,
His bloody Arrows too which murder so.

May all the Oaths which idle Lovers dream,
Be all contriv'd to make a Theam
For some carousing Poets drunken Flame.

Love and Honour.

That Herald he was but a dull Ass
Who before Love gave Honour the place;
For Nature and Love are both of a date,
And Honour but yesterday set up her State.

Honour we grant's the Daughter of Love,
And this doth them their Precedess prove;
For Honour's but Heat, 'tis Love is the Fire;
This may Preserve, but that Kindles Desire.

If you take away Love, then Dame Honour must
Come down a degree, and lie in the Dust:
'Tis a Green-sickness fancy to famish Love,
And feed upon Honour, which fatal may prove.

Then you may leave off, for 'tis Labour in vain
By Reason to Cure a True Lovers pain:
Then farewell dull Mortall, since it is most true
That with Honour and Love thou hast nothing to doe.

Cupid's Monarchy.

If you will Love, know this to be
The Laws of Cupid's Monarchy;
That to Refuse
Is to abuse
Loves Government; and I declare,
That such Loves Rebels, not his Subjects are.

To Love is not to be your Owne,
Love studies to please them alone
Whom it affects
With most respects
Of ought beside; for Love confin'd
Is but by Usurpation Love defin'd.

If you did Love as true as I,
You nothing would or cold deny,
But would conceive
That you receive
What you bestow: If this were true,
Your Heart would dwell in me as I in you.

The Vicissitude of Love.

[I]

Ah! Cloris, would the Gods allow
We still might Love as we Love now,
What Joys had all the world in store,
Or Heav'n it self to give us more;
For nothing sure so sweet can prove
As pleasures of beginning Love.

II

But Love when to its height arrivd
Of all our Joys is shortest liv'd;
His Morning past, he Sets so soon
That none can find an Afternoon:
And of that little time is lent
Half in Unkindness is misspent.

III

Since Fate to Love such short Life gives
And Love so tender whilest he lives,
Let us remove Mean fears away,
So to prevent his first decay:
For Love, like blood, let out before,
Will lose his pow'r, and Cure no more.

Loves Hue and Cry.

Oft have I searcht both Court and Town, and Country Village too,
The Black, the Fair, the lovely Brown, Bold, Coy and Simple too;
Yet amongst all I ne'r could find
One that's more Constant than the Wind.

If nobly born, She scorns to be Confined in her Love;
If Riches make her melt, we see varietie she'l prove:
And She whom Want betrays, no less
Counts Change her only happiness.
Since all will try, Ile now no more court dangerous Constancy,
But Ile change Objects, and adore this sweet Variety:
For, taught by their Example, I
Love nothing now but Liberty.

Cupid's Progress.

Vp Ladies, Up; prepare your Taking faces;
For Cupid rides a Hunting to day in Secret places;
His Bow is ready bent, to shew you his Intent;
His Quiver full of Darts, to wound the chiefest Hearts:
Then follow follow me all you that Gamesome be.

See where he comes with all his Am'rous Train!
Mark how the Ladies do trip it or'e the Plain!
His Gallants and his 'Squires, all clad in warm desires;
And those that did retire, Come on with fresh desire:
Then follow follow me, all you that Gamesome be.

Endymion's Dream.

Fall dew of Slumbers in a gentle Stream,
And my Endymion bless;
That he i'the Banquet of a Dream
May taste his future Happiness.
Softly, softly;
O let no rude affright
As he lies!
Break up his eyes,
But open them to real new Delight.

Drest Seraphins, put on your softest wings;
Glide eas'ly from above:
With blisses Heavens fruition brings
Refresh the panting hopes of Love.
Charm him, Charm him:
Then with a Bee-like Hum
Gently wake
For Hero's sake
Leander from Elizium.

Love admits no Rivall.

[I]

Indeed I never was but once so mad
To dote upon the Beauty of a Face;
And then, alas! my fortune was so bad,
To see another chosen in my place;
And yet I courted Her I'm very sure
With Love as true as his, and full as pure.

II

But if I ever be so fond again
To undertake the second part of Love;
Or reassume that most unhappy pain,
Or after Shipwrack do the Ocean prove:
She shall be tender-hearted, kind and free;
Or I'le be as Indifferent as She.

Transparent Love.

Cloris , 'twill be for eithers rest
Timely to know each others Breast:
I'le make the Obscure parts of mine
Cleer as your Charming Beauty shine:
And if you'l deal but so with me,
We soon shall part, or soon agree.

1

Know then, though you were twice as fair,
If it could be, as now you are;
Or if the Graces of the Mind
With a supportant Beauty shin'd;
Yet if you love me not, you'l see
I value those as you do me.

2

Though I a thousand times have sworn,
My Passion should transcend your Scorn;
Or that your bright triumphant Eyes
Creates a flame that never dyes;
Yet if to me you prove untrue,
Those Oaths should prove as false to you.

3

Though I should Love, and you should Hate,
'Twas (I confess) a meer Deceit;
And that my Flames should Deathless prove,
'Twas but to render so your Love.
I brag as, Cowards use to do,
Of Danger, they ne'r run into.

4

But now my Tenets I have told,
If you should them too rigid hold;
T'attempt the Change would be but vain,
The Conquest not being worth the pain:
With those I'le other Nymphs persue,
Cloris too much to lose Time and You.

Love without Flattery.

Admit, thou Darling of mine Eyes,
I serve some Idol lately fram'd;
That underneath a false disguise,
Our true Loves might the less be fam'd:
Canst thou that know'st my Heart suppose

I fall from Thee to worship Those.

Remember Dear how loth and slow
I was to cast a Look or Smile;
Or on Love, Lines to misbestow,
Till thou hadst chang'd both Face and Stile:
And art thou now affraid to see
That Mask put on thou mad'st for mee.

I cannot call these Childish fears
That come from Love, much less from Thee;
But wash away with frequent Tears
That Counterfeit Apostacie:
And henceforth kneel to ne'r a Shrine,
To blind the World, but only Thine.

The Crafty Lover.

No more will I contemplate Love,
Nor yet implore the Pow'rs above
To cast their Influence on a Mind
That can profess, and not be Kind.
If good Examples will not do,
I must decline the Practice too.

My Mistress I'le no more admire,
Her Beauty or her Love desire;
Though in proportion both agree,
When neither doth reflect on me:
I may without a guilty thought
Esteem those faculties from nought.

Let those who love to spend their days
In speaking Women, or their praise;
Apply their Virtue to their use,
As if 'twere real such abuse:
I can but scorn, 'twill never take;
I honour Virtue for its sake.

I will no longer sacrifice
To such unsacred Miseries,
Nor yet contribute to a pow'r
Exacts Obedience ev'ry hour:
No no, my thoughts are too too free
To fancy Her that Loves not me.

Love in a Riddle.

She that would not, I would chuse

She that would not, I would chuse; She which would, I would refuse: Venus could my Mind but Tame, but not satisfie the same. Inticements offer'd I despise; and deny'd, I slightly prize: I would neither glut my mind, nor yet too much torment find. Thrice girt Diana do not take me, nor Venus naked, Joyful make me: The first no pleasure hath to Joy me, and the last enough to Cloy me. But a Crafty Lass I'de have, that will grant the Love I crave; and Joyn at once in one these two, I will, and yet I will not doe.

Cassandra in Mourning.

[I]

Awake my Lute, arise my String,
And to my sad Cassandra sing;
like the old Poets, when the Moon
Had put her Sable Mourning on,
Aloud they sounded with a merry strain,
Until her brightness was restor'd again.

II

Too well I know from whence proceeds
Thy wearing of these Mourning weeds;
In cruel flames for thee I burn,
And thou for me do'st therefore mourn.
So sits a glorious Godess in the Skies,
Clouded i'th' Smoak of her own Sacrifice.

III

Wear other Virgins what they will!
Cassandra loves her Mourning still:
Thus the milky way so white
Is never seen but in the Night;
The Sun himself, although so bright he seem,
Is black as are the Moors that worship him

IV

But tell me, thou deformed Cloud,
How dar'st thou such a Body shroud?
So Satyres with black hideous Face
Of old did lovely Nimphs embrace:
That mourning e're should hide such glorious Maids
Thus Deities of old did live in shades.

V

Her Words are Oracles, and come
(Like those) from out some dark'ned room:
And her Breath proves that Spices do
Only in Scorched Countries grow:
If she but speak, an Indian she appears;
Though all o're black, at Lips She Jewels wears.

VI

Methinks I now do Venus spy
As she in Vulcan's arms did lye;
Such is Cassandra and her Shroud:
She looks like Snow within a Cloud:
Melt then, and yield! throw off thy mourning Pall!
Thou never can'st look white, until thou Fall.

The Desparing Lover.

[I]

Cruel Cælia, did you know,
Or at the least, but think my Woe,
Your fairer Mind
Would prove
So kind, that ev'ry Passion then would move
To pity, where you cannot love.

II

Could a Sigh, a Tear, a Grone,
Things pale Passion feeds upon;
A Midnight Grove,
Place fit for Love:
Could these but enter in your thought,
Youl'd then confess Love dearly sought.

III

Cruel Fairest, there you sit
As unconcern'd, as if my Wit
To Mirth did move,
Not to plead Love:
You'r like the Deer, which list'ning stand
To hear me Play, but slight the Hand.

IV

Fairest, like them, you admire
The Musick, but neglect the Fire,
The Air that beats
And gives me heat:
To tell you, Cruel Beauty, you
Have out-done Him that worships You.

Cloris Yielding.

Will Cloris cast her Sun-bright Eye,
Upon so mean a Swain as I?
Can she affect my Oaten Reed,
Or stoop to wear my Shepherds Weed.

What Rural Sport can I devise
To please her Ears, to please her Eyes;
Fair Cloris sees, fair Cloris hears,
With Angels Eyes, and Angels Ears.

On a Crowned Heart.

Thou sent'st to me a Heart was Crown'd

Thou sent'st to me a Heart was Crown'd, I thought it had been Thine; but when I saw it had a Wound, I knew that Heart was mine. A Bounty of a strange conceit, to send mine Own to me; and send it in a worse estate than it was sent to Thee. The Heart I sent, it had no stain, but was entirely sound; yet thou hast sent it back again sick of a deadly wound. O Heav'ns! How wouldst thou use a Heart that should Rebellious be, as thus to slay Him with a Dart that ever honour'd Thee.

Loves Enquiry.

[1]

Yes, I could Love, could I but find
A Mistress fitting to my mind;
Who neither Pride nor Gold could move
To buy her Beauty, sell her Love:
Were Neat, yet car'd not to be Fine;
And love me for my self, not mine:
Not Lady proud, nor City coy;
But full of freedom, full of joy.

2

Not wise enough to rule a State,
Nor so much Fool to be laugh'd at;
Nor Childish young, nor Beldam old,
Not Fiery hot, nor Icy cold;
Not richly Proud, nor basely Poor;
Not Chast, yet no reputed Whore.
If such a one I chance to find
I have a Mistress to my mind.

The Prudent Lover.

[1]

Not that I wish my Mistress
Or more, or less than what She is,
Write I these Lines, for 'tis too late,
Rules to prescribe unto my Fate.

2

But as the tender Stomachs call
For choice of Meats, yet brook not all;
So queasie Love may here impart
What Mistress 'tis best takes the Heart.

3

First, I would have her richly spread
With Natures Blossom, White and Red;
For flaming heat will quickly dye,
Where is no Jewel for the Eye.

4

Yet this alone will never win,
Unless some Treasure be within;
For where the Spoil's not worth the Prey,
Men raise the Siege and March away.

5

I care not much if she be proud,
A little pride may be allow'd;
The amorous Youth will pray and prate
Too freely, where he finds no state.

6

Then would I have her full of wit,
So she knows how to huswife it;
For she whose insolence will dare
To cry her Wit, will shew her ware.

7

Last, I would have her Loving be,
(Mistake me not) to none but me;
She that loves one, and loves one more,
She'le love a Kingdom o're and o're.

The Humorous Lover.

[1]

Well well, 'tis true,
I now am faln in Love, and 'tis with you:
And now I plainly see whilst
Y'are enthron'd by me above, You
All your arts and pow'rs improve
To tyrant over me,
And make my flames th'incentives of your scorn,
Whilst you rejoyce and feast your eyes
To see me quite forlorn.

2

But yet be wise,
And don't believe that I did think your Eyes
More bright than the Stars can be;
Or that your Face Angels out-vies
In their Celestial Liveries:
'Twas all but Poetry:
I could have said as much by any She;
You are not Beautious of your Self,
But are made so by Me.

3

Though we (like Fools)
Fathom the Earth, and drain the Schools
For Names t'express you by;
Out-rant the loudest Hyperboles
To dub you Saints and Deities
By Cupid's Heraldry:
We know y'are flesh and blood as well as Men,
And when we please can Mortalize,
And make you so agen.

4

Yet since my Fate
Hath drawn me to that Sin which I did hate,
I'le not my labour lose,
But will love on, as I begin,
To th'purpose, now my hand is in,
Spight of the Art you use;
And let you know the world is not so bare,
There's things enough to love besides
Such Toys as Ladies are.

5

I love good Wine,
I love my Book, and Muse, nay all the Nine;
I love my real Friend;
I love my Horse; and could I chuse
One that would not my Love abuse,
To Her my Love should bend:
I will love those that laugh, and those that sing,
And scorn to pine away my self
For any Female thing.

Lukewarmness in Love.

[I]

No more, no more,
Fond Love, give o're;
Dally no more with me:
Strike home and bold,
Be hot or cold,
Or leave thy Deitie.

II

In Love Lukewarm,
Will do more harm,
Then can Feavers heat:
Cold cannot kill,
So soon as will
A fainting dying Sweat.

III

I cannot tell,
When Sick or Well
Physick or Poyson give:
Still in my Grief,
There's no Relief,
Oh let me Dye or Live!

IV

If I must be
Thy Votarie,
Be thou my Friend or Foe:
If thou wilt have
Me be thy Slave,
Hold fast, or let me go.

The Triumphs of Death.

The Glories of our Birth and State Are shadows, not substantial things

The Glories of our Birth and State Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no Armor 'gainst our fate; Death layes his Icy-hand on Kings: Scepters and Crowns must tumble down, And in the Dust be equall layd With the poor crooked Syth & Spade. Some men with Swords may reap the Field, And plant fresh Lawrels where they kill'd; But their strong Nerves at last must yield, They tame but one another still. Early or late they bend to fate, And must give up their murm'ring breath While the pale Captive creeps to Death. The Garland withers on your brow, Then boast no more

your mighty deeds: Upon Death's purple Altar now, See where the Victor Victim bleeds. All heads must come to the cold Tomb, Only the Actions of the Just Smell sweet, and Blossom in the Dust.

Venus Hue and Cry after Cupid.

[1]

Beauties, have ye seen a Toy,
Called, Love a little Boy;
Almost Naked, Wanton, Blind,
Cruel; now and then as kind:
If he be amongst you, say,
He is Venus run away.

2

She that will now but now discover
Where this Winged-wag doth hover,
Shall to night receive a kiss,
How, or where her self would wish;
But who brings him to his Mother,
Shall have that kiss and another.

3

Marks he hath about him plenty,
You shall know him among twenty,
All his body is a fre,
And his breath a flame entire,
That brings shot (like light'ning) in
Wounds the Heart but not the skin.

4

Wings he hath which though you clip,
He will leap from Lip to Lip;
Over Liver, Lips, and Heart,
But ne're stay in any part:
And if by chance his Arrow misies,
He will shoot himself in kisses.

5

He doth bear a golden Bow,
And a Quiver hanging low,
Full of Arrows that out-brave
Dians Shafts; what if he have
Any head more sharp than other?
With that kiss he strikes his mother.

6

Still the fairest are his fuel,
When his daies are to be cruel,
Lovers hearts are all his food,
And his Bath's their warmest Blood:
Nought but wounds his hands doth season,
And he hates none like to reason.

7

Trust him not, his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet;
All his practice is deceit,
Ev'ry gift is a bait,
Not a kiss but poyson bears,
And most treason in his tears.

8

Idle minutes are his reign,
Them the stragler makes his gain,
By presenting Maids with toys,
And would have ye think 'em toys;
'Tis the ambition of the Else,
To have all childish as himself.

9

If by these you please to know him,
Beauties be not nice, but show him,
Though you had a will to hide him,
Now I hope ye'le not abide him:
Since ye hear his falser play,
And that he's Venus Ran-away.

Youths Vanity.

Though you are young, and I am old:
Though your veyns hot, and my blood cold:
Though Youth is Moist, and Age is Dry;
Yet Embers live when Flames do die.

The tender Graff is Easily broke,
But who shall shake the sturdy Oke?
You are more Fresh and Fair than I;
Yet Stubs do live when Flowers do die.

Thou that thy Youth dost vainly boast,
Know Buds are sooner nipt with Frost:
Think that thy Fortune still doth cry,
Fond Youth, To morrow thou must die.

And if to morrow thou Dy'st not,
To Die ere long will be thou lot:
Though thou of late didst Age deny,
Must welcome Death, and learn to Die.

Cupid Embraced.

I never knew what Cupid meant,
Nor what his Arrows were;
And yet I have been Discontent,
And shed many a Tear.

I have seen a Woman has been Fair,
And yet could never be
Caught in the Net-work of her Hair,
Or Faces Pagentry.

But then considering how in her
Virtue and Sweetness dwelt,
I wondred not at any stir,
That in my Heart I felt.

I wondred that my stubborn Heart,
That hath so long held out,
Should, by the piercing of his Dart
Unseen, be brought about.

But Cupid with a reverend Knee
I worship now, like those
That rank him as a Deity;
And Thank him for my Blows.

On a Stolen Heart.

What conscience say is it in Thee

What conscience say is it in Thee, when I'ave a Heart but one to take away that Heart from me, and so to leave me none: For shame or pity now encline to act a loving part, either to send me kindly Thine, or give me back my Heart: Covet not both: But if thou dost resolve to part with neither, why yet to shew that thou art Just, take Me take Me and Mine take Me and Mine together.

A Despairing Lover.

Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le love no more

Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le love no more; of Death I'm not afraid, my poor Heart is betray'd; She that disdains my Love, must I adore. Farewell, Farewell despairing Hopes, I'le live no more, I'le love no more. To crave from Cruel Eyes compassion, 'tis in vain; and with Laments and Cryes to sob out Tears, the witness of my pain. No Death shall cure my Sore: Farewell, Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le live no more to see when I complain a Cruel Soul disdain, that to my grief I love, when Her no tears can move, but rival tears: Ah! 'twas ne're heard before.

Farewell, Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le live no more: Ne're flatter more my sense with sweet and courteous Breath, 'twixt outrage and offence I am condemn'd, I am condemn'd to Death. No more on Joys I dote, but with a doleful Note my Life and Death deplore. Farewell, Farewell Despairing Hopes, I'le live no more, Ile live no more.

To his Theora.

If still Theora you wear this disguise of Scorn up on your Eyes

If still Theora you wear this disguise of Scorn up on your Eyes, and suffer not one smile approve th'obedience of my Immortal Love: Two Hells at once my Soul must try;

my own Affections, and your Cruelty. But if some kinder Aspect shall encline your Heart to pity mine, I'le breath such Joys no envious Fate shall blast with a surprize, or Time translate. Strange Providence! that Lovers still find Lips to Kiss as well as Eyes to Kill. Thus have you seen Waves chac'd by th'troubled Ayr, move nothing but Despair, till some more friendly Winds do stay their Murmers, and lead up a Beautious day. Great penances do make us prize (with greater sense) our hopes of Paradice.

To a Stream.

Cleer Stream, who dost with equal pace both thy self fly

Cleer Stream, who dost with equal pace both thy self fly, and thy self chace; forbear a while to flow, and listen to my woe: Then go and tell the Sea that all his Brine is fresh, compar'd to mine. Inform him that the gentle Dame who was the life of all my flame, i'th' glory of her bud hath past the dismal flood: Death by this only stroke Triumphs above the gentle pow'r of Love. Alas, Alas! I must give o're, my sighs will let me add no more. Go on, cleer Stream, but rest no more my troubled breast: And if my sad Complaint hath made thee stay, ther's Tears ther's Tears to mend thy way.

Loves Triumph.

Ah, ah, mighty Love! what pow'r unknown

Ah, ah, mighty Love! what pow'r unknown hast thou now us'd more then thy own? It was thy Conduct and Designe, but not thy Pow'r that vanquish'd mine: As a great Captain to his Name of ev'ry Conquest joyns the Fame; though 'twas not by his Power got, but Armies by his Conduct brought: So when thou could'st not do't alone, thou lead'st his troops of Virtues on And I now feel by my surprize, thou hast not only Darts; not only Darts, but Eyes. Just god, now take again thy Arms, and rally all I have of Charms: What Pow'r and Conduct

cannot doe, make his Belief contribute too: So when the Earth some promise shows that she does yet more Wealth enclose: Believing men search her rich Veins, and crown their hopes with unknown gains: May he but at the first incline to Love, then by my Faith and Time, his Justice after the surprize shall be more fetter'd, shall be more fetter'd than his Eyes.

On the soft and gentle Motions of Eudora.

Strike, Strike sweet Licoris

Strike, Strike sweet Licoris, strike th'harmonious Lute; but with a stroke so gentle as may sute the silent glyding of the Hours, or the yet calmer growth of Flow'rs, th'ascending

or the falling dew, which none can see, yet all find true. For thus alone can be shown how downy, how smooth Eudora doth move. How Ev'n her Actions appear: the Air of her Face of a gentler grace than these that do stroke the Ear: Her address so sweet, so becoming meet, that 'tis not the Loud, though Melodious string, can shew forth so soft, so noysless a thing. This, O this to express from thy Hand must fall than Musicks self something more Musicall.

[OMITTED]

The Dying Lover.

O fairest Lights!

O fairest Lights! whose cleer Aspect taught me Loves lesson at first sight, when on me those rays reflect, which awe my Love to deep respect; whilest Joy and Grief whilest Joy and Grief dispute their Rights: Ah how I die, Ah how I die, crown'd crown'd with Delight.

An old Knight to a young Lady.

Madam, your Beauty (I confess)
May our young Gallants wound or bless;
But cannot warm my frozen Heart,
Not capable of Joy or Smart;
'Cause neither Wit, nor Looks, nor Kindness
Can make Young a Superannuated man.

Those sparks that every minute fly
From your bright Eyes, do falling die;
Not kindle flames, as heretofore,
Because old I can love no more:
Beauty on wither'd Hearts no Trophy gains;
For Tinder over us'd, no Fire retains.

If you'l indure to be admir'd
By an old Dotard new Inspir'd,
You may enjoy the Quintessence
Of my past Loves without Expence:
For I can wait, and prate, I thank my Fate,
I can do all, but no new Fire Create.

Cupid's Power.

Disdain not, Fair one, since we know
Your Heart's a Mark for Cupid's Bow:
The Scorns you cast at Love will turn
Like Lightning back, and make you burn.

Let those whom Age hath set aside
To Court the Grave for their next Bride;
Or let the frigid Matron say
They will no god of Love obey.

But you who want nor Youth, nor Fire
To kindle Altus of Desire;
I doubt not but ere long you'l be
Loves Proselite as well as we.

To a Friend who desired no more then to admire the Mind, and the Beauty of Silvia.

[I]

Though Silvas Eyes a flame could raise
More fit for wonder then for praise;
And though her wit were cleer and high,
That 'twere resistless as her Eye;
Yet without Love she still shall find
I'm deaf to one, to the other blind.

II

Those Fools that think Beauty can prove
A cause sufficient for their Love,
I wish they never may have more,
To try how Looks can cure their sore:
'Tis such the Sex so high have set,
They take it not for gift, but debt.

III

If Love were unto Sight confin'd,
The god of it would not be Blind;
Nor would the pleasure of it be
So often in obscuritie:
No, to know Joys each sense hath right,
Equal at least to that of Sight.

IV

The gods, who knew the noblest part
In Love, sought not the Mind, but Heart;
And when hurt by the winged Boy,
What they admir'd, they did enjoy;
Knowing a Kindness Love could prove
The hope, reward, and cure of Love.

V

I'le rather my Affections keep
For Nimphs only injoy'd in sleep,
Then cast away an houre of Care
On any, 'cause she's only fair:
Nay, Sleep more pleasing Dreams do move
Then are your waking ones of Love.

VI

The Frensie's less love to endure,
Then after to decline the Cure;
Yet you do both, aiming no higher
Then for to see, and to admire,
An Idol you'l not only frame,
But you will too adore the same.

VII

Had therein Silvia nothing shin'd
But the unseen charms of her Mind,
You would have had the like esteem
For her that I have still for them:
If flesh and blood your flame inspire,
Then make those only your desire.

VIII

And Friend, that you may cleerly prove
'Tis not her Mind alone you love;
Let her 'twixt us her self impart,
Give you her Mind, and me her Heart:
As little cause then you will find
As I do now, to love her Mind.

The Earl to the Countess of Carbery.

You ask, my Dear, if I be well;
Feel thine own pulse, and that will tell:
Vain is all other Art
That beats the Temper of my Heart;
If I may call that mine
Is so entirely thine.
Dearest, then tell me how I doe;
For both my Health and Heart's in You.

When first I view'd thee, I did spy
Thy Soul stand beck'ning in thine Eye;
My Heart knew what it meant,
And at the very first Kiss went,
Two Balls of Wax so run
When melted into one:
Mix'd now with thine, my Heart now lies,
And much Loves Riddle as thy Prize.

For, since I can't pretend to have
That Heart, which I so freely gave;
Yet now 'tis Mine the more,
Because 'tis thine, then 'twas before:
Death will unriddle this;
For when thou 'rt call'd to bliss,
He needs not throw at me his Dart,
'Cause piercing thine, he kills my Heart.

Constancy in Love.

Love me no more, or else with scorn despise
All other Loves, though made your Sacrifice:
A Prince for Rivall should not share a bliss,
Till Fate decide it either mine or his.

In Love and Courage, Titles has no Claim,
Merit and Virtue give the highest Name.

Let then thy Cupid soar on Honours wings,
Thy Constancy and Love appear like Twins;
So shall thy Mind excell thy Shape much more
Than thou all other Beauties didst before,
Crowning with glory both thy self and me,
And when thou dy'st be thought a Deitie.

Cupid Discovered.

Cupid 's no god, a wanton Childe,
His Arts are weak, his Pow'rs are milde;
No active heat or nobler fire
Feathers his Arrows with Desire:
'Tis not his Bow or Shaft, 'tis Venus Eye
Makes him ador'd, and crowns his Deitie.

Each Amorous glance creates this Fire,
As Coyns dulls and chills Desire;
'Tis then the Face and Eyes we see,
Not the fond Boys Artillerie:
'Tis the Consentive nimbler Sense creates
Love's subtler piercing Fires, not the Fates.

Inconstancy in Love.

[I]

If thou wilt know the reason why
I hate thee now once held so Deer,
Upon thy Glass but cast thine Eye,
And thou shalt find it written there;
For as in that thou mayst survey
Thy fair, false Eyes, and lovely Face;
So nothing in thy Glass will stay,
When thou art parted from the place.

II

So when my Love did first pretend,
Me thought I saw my self in thee;
And therefore chose thee for a Friend,
That ought Anothers self to be:
All Vows and Oaths I made to Love
Thou shouldst repeat when I had done,
And by a sweet reflection prove
We were (though seeming Two) but One.

III

But when I absent was a while,
And others came to look in thee,
As they would laugh, so wouldst thou smile,
And no impression left of mee:
Now, though to have a Friend were best,
That might reflect thoughts as they pass,
My Mind shall rather go ill-drest
Than mind it self by such a Glass.

For a Bass.

When I taste my Goblet deep

When I taste my Goblet deep, all my Cares are rock'd a Sleep: Then I'm Crœsus, Lord of th'Earth, Singing Odes of Wit and Mirth; and with Ivy Garlands crown'd, I can kick the Globe round, round. Others Fight, but let me Drink; Boy, my Goblet fill to the brink; for when I lay down my head, better to be Drunk, better to be Drunk, Dead Drunk, than Dead.

The Greek's Song.

The thirsty Earth sucks up the Rain, and drinks, and gapes for Drink again: The Plants suck in the Earth, and are with constant drinking fresh and fair: The Sea it self which one would think should have but little need to drink, drinks ten thousand Rivers up, so fill'd they overflow flow the Cup: The busie Sun, and one would guess by's drunken fiery Face no less, drinks up the Sea; and when that's done, the Moon and Stars drinkes up the Sun.

They Drink and Dance, by their own light, they Drink and Revel all the Night. Nothing in Nature's sober found, but an Eternal Health goes Round.

CHORUS.

Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high; Fill all the Glasses there; for why should ev'ry Creature drink but I? Why Man of Mortals, tell me why?

Cælia's Complaint.

[I]

Poor Cælia once was very fair,
A quick bewitching Eye she had;
Most neatly look'd her braided Hair,
Her dainty Cheek would make you mad;
Upon her Lips did all the Graces play
And on her Breasts ten Thousand Thousand Cupids lay.

II

Then many a doting Lover came
From Seventeen till Twenty one;
Each told her of his mighty slame,
But She, forsooth, affected none:
One was not Handsome, th'other was not Fine;
This of Tobacco smelt, and that of Wine.

III

But t'other day it was my fate
To walk along that way alone;
I saw no Coach before her gate,
But at her dore I heard her moan:
She dropt a Tear, and sighing seem'd to say,
Young Ladies, Marry, Marry while you may.

Here Endeth the Ayres for One Voice to the Theorbo or Bass Viol.

105

SELECT DIALOGUES To Sing to the LUTE or VIOL.

[Sweet Lovely Nimph]

A Dialogue.

Shepherd and Nimph.
Shepherd.

Sweet Lovely Nimph! whose Eyes do move me above all other Swains to Love thee.

Nimph.

Shepherd, you feign; and I know there is no flattering Swain like you.

Shepherd.

O fair one! do not wrong me so; for if ever Shepherd Lov'd, I doe.

Nimph.

May I believe thy Vows unfained.

Shep.

Or may I die by you disdained.

CHORUS.

Then let us Joy, then let us Joy each others Love, and strive and strive who shall most Constant prove.

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[Why Sighs thou Shepherd]

A Dialogue.

Nimph and Shepherd
Nimph.

Why sighs thou, Shepherd? This passion is not common: Is't for thy Kids or Lambkins?

Shepherd.

For a Woman.

Nimph.

How fair is She that on so sage a brow prints Lowring Looks?

Shep.

Just such a toy as thou.

Nimph.

Is she a Maid?

Shepherd.

What man can Answer that?

Nimph.

Or Widow?

Shep.

No.

Nimph.

What then?

Shepherd.

I know not what: Saint-like she looks, a Syren if she sing; her Eyes are Stones; her Mind, her Mind is ev'ry thing.

Nimph.

If she be fickle, Shepherd leave to wooe, and fancy Me.

Shep.

No, no, Thou art Woman too.

Nimph.

But I am Constant.

Shepherd.

Then thou art not Fair.

Nimph.

Bright as the morning.

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Sheph.

Wav'ring as the Air.

Nimph.

What grows upon this Cheek?

Shepherd.

A pure Carnation.

Nimph.

Come taste a Kiss.

Shep.

O sweet, O sweet, O sweet temptation!

Chorus.

O sweet, O sweet temptation!

CHORUS.

Ah Love! how canst thou ever lose the Field? where Cupid lays the Siege the Town must yield: He warms the chiller blood, with glowing fire, and thaws the Icy frost of cold Desire. The Icy frost of cold Desire.

108

[Hast you Nimphs]

A Dialogue.

Nimph and Shepherd
Nimph.

Hast you Nimphs, make hast away, for this is Pan's high Holiday: Look, O look, the Swains appear.

Shepherd.

Fly not, Fly not, all are Lovers here, then do not fear.

Nimph.

Say, should we trust, mens Oaths are but words writ in Dust: O they can fain, cry they are slain; but when we yield, they scorn again.

Shepherd.

No, no, not so, we Men are Kind, but Women Cruel Cruel as the Wind: Upon the wide Sea they seldome Save, but bring new woes with a new Wave.

CHORUS.

Nimphs and Swains make hast away make away; For this is Pan's high Holiday, For this is Pan's high Holiday.

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A Dialogue.

Occasioned by the Death of the young Lord Hastings, who dyed some few days before he was to have been Married to Sir Theodore Meihern's Daughter, in June, 1649.

Charon and Eucosmia.
Eucosmia.

Charon , O Charon, draw thy Boat to th'Shore; and to thy many, take in one soul more.

Charon.

Who calls, who calls?

Eucosmia.

One o'rewhelm'd with ruth; have pity either on my tears or youth, and take me in a Virgin in distress, but first cast off thy wonted churlishness.

Charon.

I'd be as gentle as that Aire with yields a breath of Balm along the Elizium fields. Tell what thou art.

Eucosmia.

A Maid that had a Lover, then which thy self ne're wafted Sweeter over: He was.

Char.

Say what.

Eucosmia.

Ah me! my woes are deep.

Char.

Prethee relate, while I give ear, and weep.

Eucos.

Hastings, Hastings, was his name,

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and that one name has in it all good that is, and ever was: He was my Life, my Joy, my Love; but dy'd some houres before I should have been his Bride.

CHORUS.

Thus, thus the Gods celestial still decree to humane joys, contingent miserie.

Eucosmia.

The hallow'd Tapers all prepared were, and Hymen call'd to bless the Rites.

Charon.

Stop there.

Eucosmia.

Great are my woes.

Charon.

And great must that grief be which makes grim Charon here to pity thee: But now come in.

Eucosm.

More I would yet relate.

Charon.

I cannot stay, more Souls for wafting wait, and I must hence.

Eucosm.

Yet let me thus much know departing

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hence, where good and bad Souls go?

Charon.

Those Souls which ne're were drench'd in pleasures streams, the fields of Pluto are reserv'd for them, where drest with garlands there they walk the ground, whose blessed Youth with endless flowers is crown'd: But such as have been drown'd in the wilde sea, for those is kept the gulph of Hecate; where with their own contagion they are fed; and there do punish, and are punished. This know, the rest of thy sad story tell, when on the flood that nine times circles Hell.

CHORUS.

We, we sail from hence, we sail from hence to visit mortals never, but there to live where love shal last, where love shal last for ever.

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[And being set upon th'Elizium Shore, we'l sing such woes, such woes; we'l sing such woes, such woes, as ne'r came there before.]

A Dialogue.

Charon and Amintor.
Amintor.

Charon, O Charon! Hear a wretch opprest, and waft me ore to Shades of endless rest.

Charon.

What art that calls so loud?

Amintor.

One full of care.

Charon.

How cam'st thou here?

Amintor.

Through Shades of deep Despair.

Charon.

Why, from the Common path cam'st thou astray?

Amintor.

Grief was my Guide, and Love taught Grief the way.

Charon.

Where is my Pass?

Amin.

No Pass but Tears I have; to waft me o're is all the Pass I crave.

Char.

Away, fond man, avoyd the Shades beneath; Here cometh none, but through the gates of Death.

Amintor.

My woes are worse than Death.

Charon.

What's that to

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me? I never pity humane miserie.

Amintor.

Hard hearted wretch.

Charon.

Get hence, get hence; thou dost me wrong.

Amintor.

In thy despite, in thy despite I'le pass e're it be long.

Char.

Away away away away; Go see if Time can Thee recover: If not, If not, bring Deaths black Seal, I'le waft thee over.

Amintor.

Grief, rain a Sea of Tears for me to sail: And Love thy Quiver lend a Boat to make, the storm of sighs with speed will so prevail, that spite of Death we'll fiery o're the Lake.

CHORUS.
And being set upon th'Elizium Shore, we'l sing such woes, such woes; we'l sing such woes, such woes, as ne'r came there before.

114

[This Mossy Bank they prest]

A Dialogue.

Shepherd and Nimph.
Shepherd.

This Mossy-Bank they prest

Nimph.

That Aged Oke did canopy the happy Pair all Night from the dark Air.

CHORUS.

Here let us sit and sing the words they spoke, when the Day breaking their Embraces broke.

Shepherd.

See Love the blushes of the Morn appear, and now she hangs her pearly store robb'd from the Eastern Shore, i'th Cowslips-bell and Roses ear: Sweet, I must stay no longer here.

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Nimph.

Those streaks of doubtful light usher not Day, but show my Sun must set, no Morn' shall shine till thy return, the yellow Planet, and the grey Dawn shall attend the on thy way.

Sheph.

If thine Eyes gild my paths, they may forbear their useless shine.

Nimph.

My tears will quite extinguish their faint light.

Shep.

Those drops will make their beams more clear: Loves flames will shine on ev'ry tear.

CHORUS.

They wept and kist, and from their

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Lips and Eyes in a mix dew of briny Sweet their Joys and Sorrows meet: But she cryes out, Lips and Eyes in a mixt dew of briny Sweet their Joys their Joys and Sorrows meet: But she cryes out,

Nimph.

Shepherd arise, the Sun betrays us else to Spies.

Shepherd.

The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace; but when we want their help to meet, move with leaden feet.

Nimph.

Then let us pinion Time, and chace the day for ever from this place.

Sheph.

Heark!

Nimph.

Ah me! Stay.

Shep.

For ever.

Nimph.

No no, arise, we must be gone.

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Shepherd.

My Nest of Spice.

Nimph.

My Soul. My Paradice.

CHORUS.

Neither could say Farewell, but through their Eyes Grief interrupted Speech, Grief interrupted Speech, with Tears supplies.

118

[Shepherd well met]

A Dialogue.

[_]

[Two Trebles or Tenors.]

Shepherd and Nimph.
Nimph.

Shepherd well met, I prethee tell, what makes thy blubber'd Eyes to swell? what sadness in thy looks do dwell?

Shepherd.

My woe's too great for to relate.

Nimph.

Good Shepherd tell me what ill fate hath brought thee to this doleful state? Thy Dancing bore away the bell, thy cheerful Pipe did all excell: Why hast thou broke it, Shepherd tell?

Shepherd.

Ah! do not ask; for my sick heart panteth with

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such Infectious smart, thou canst not know but bear a part.

Nimph.

A part I'le bear most willingly.

CHORUS.

Griefs jointly borne are eas'd thereby: Griefs jointly borne are eas'd thereby.

Shepherd.

Since th'art in love with Miserie, know Clorin's dead: Now weep thy fill, weep thy fill; now weep thy fill, weep thy fill.

Nimph.

Indeed I shall.

CHORUS.

This story will all tears from our swolne Eyes distill, from our swolne

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Eyes distill, from our swoln Eyes distill: our tears our sighs are all in vain.

Nimph,

Can they not call her back again.

Shep.

No, with the gods, with the gods, with the gods she must remain.

CHORUS.

Cease mourning then, she shines above, she shines above; 'tis not lamenting, 'tis not lamenting can remove, can remove, can remove or lessen Grief; but shew our Love, but shew our Love, but shew our Love.

FINIS.