University of Virginia Library

THE AUTHOR, TO THE READER.

When as our English Poets, those happier men
That can drop wonders from their fluent pen:
Have with their miracles of Poetry
Feasted thy eares, and satisfi'd thy eye;
Then turn aside; and 'mongst the vulger things,
Place what my new-born Muse abruptly sings.
Which though it be but meane (as tis confest)
'T hath ventured hard to pleas thee, since tis prest:
If thou smile on it, I shall think my braine
Hath labour'd for this issue not in vain,
If otherwise thou do contemn my layes.
My pleasur's more to me, then all thy praise.

A Pleasant Grove of new Fancies.

On a Lillie in his Ladies hand.

Blest in thy happy bed fair Lilly lye,
To shade thee from the Sun of her bright eye;
But do not in a wanton pride prefer
Thy self, as adding whiteness unto her,
Alas what glory could in thee appear
So eminent, if not transplanted there?
But see, thou fad'st already, poor proud flowr
Whose fate is limited to one short hour;
And since thou wouldst for such a beutie vie,
Thy conquerd envie makes thee pale & die.
Come sit thee down, & with a myslin charm
Ceaze my incircled arm,
Till lockt in fast, imbraces we discover
In every eye a lover,
Then lost in that sweet extacy of blisses,
Wee'l speak our thoughts in kisses.
In which wee'l melt our souls, and mix them so,
That what is thine or mine, ther's none shall know:
Rare mystery of love, and wondere too.
Which none but we can do:
Nor shall the leaden spirits of all those,
Who speak of love in tame prose:
Believe our joyes: but duly ceusure us,
Onely for loving thus.
Ah! how I smile, that doubtly blest, we do
Injoy our selves, and all their envy too.

His Choyce.

What care I though she be faire
Hair snow-like, or Sun-like eye,
If in that beauty I not share,
Were she deformed, what care I.
What care I though she be foule
Haire, swarthy hand, or Sun-burnt eye,
So long as I enjoy her soule,
Let her be so, why what care I.
Dim sight is cozened with a glass,
Of gaudy govvn or humerous haire,
Such gold in melting leave more dross
Then some unpolish't prices share,
Be she faire, or foule, or either,
Or made up of all together,
Be her heart mine, haire, hand, or eye
Be what it will, why what care I.

To his Mistress when she was going into the Country.

To his Mistress on her scorne.

Resolve me dearest, vvhy two hearts in one
Should know the sin of separation.
Must the sweet custome of our oft stolne kisses,
Be lost, and we live empty of those blisses:
Or do the frowns of some old over seer
Nourish thy feare, or make thy love less steer?
Why did'st thou suffer me those sweets to steale,
Which but thine own, no tongue can e're reveale,
And prompt me to a daring to believe,
That my sad heart should finde no cause to grieve,
Yet now at last hast mockt my hope so far,
That I have not a cloud, though meant a star
Well, take thy tryumph, study but to be
True to thy selfe, as thou art false to me.
And thou shalt meet a conquest, yet when I
Have groan'd unto the world my Elegy,
And thy unjust disdaine, perhaps I shall
Obtaine this honour in my funeral.
Thy poysonous guilt mixt with thy purged breath,
May make thee wither with me unto death.
So shall I triumph in my ashes too,
In that my innocence hath conquer'd you,
And then my eye rejoyce, in that I have
Thy scorne, to be a mourner at my grave.

The Question and Anwser.

To his Worthy friend and Mistress.

To his Mistress.

While as the locks of time, and smoother far
Than sliding streames skin and tresses are.
Sweet as Arabian Odours, when in fire
Their strugling spirits upwards do expire.
(VVhen as the courteous wind doth court our sence,
And nourish it with sweet intelligence)
Is thy pure breath; only this difference know,
That sent is forc't, but thine is natural so
Soft as the plumy moss that overspreads
The tender circle of young Turtle heads,
Are thy two breasts, which enviously do swell
To think that that should this, this that excell:
And yet asham'd such strife their pride hath bread,
Both blush and tip themselves with bashfull red.
Typs, locks, streams, odours, down, nor blushes are
So red, so sweet, so smooth, so faire.

Anagramme.

Fooles Paradise, or Reason Bewitcht.

Simple as are the Elements unmixt,
Stedfast as is the earth, whose footing's fixt;
Untainted like the silver suite of Swan,
Alone like truth, well ordered like a man,
Like these in each of these was I, untill
Upon a time, Reason fell foule with Will,
Who back't with sence, that it might battaile move,
Implor'd the ayde of all commanding Love,
Love by his mother taught, doth soone comply,
To be an Actor in this treachery.
The battell's wag'd, and reason fleye the field,
While Sence and Will to Love the Conquest yeeld.
I now, loves subject, am inforclt to doe
What ever his designes commands me to do;
See, see (quoth hee) do you behold that maid,
Whose equall doth not breathe; and there he staid,
To draw fresh aire, So quicke was he to give
Mee notice that I must no longer live,
In my owne selfe, but her whom when I spy'd,
Mee thought I had been happy to have dy'd
Since I at once saw severally in one,
What joyn'd together made perfection.
This was Florella that bright shining starre,
Who might have caused a second Trojan warre,
Were there a second Paris, for her face,
The world might strive, but then there sate a grace
So chast that might expell each spurious thought,
Such as foule Hellen to her Paris brought.
There I might read in my Florella's lookes,
(Such are indeed beauties most perfect bookes)
Loves pleasant Lecture where I might espie
How Cupid once sought entrance at her eye
Whom she repell'd, like snow and chast and cold
Could not admit a Sympathy to hold,
With his hot flames, but melting quite put out
That ardent fire which warm'd her round about.
Cupid denied of this did backward start,
And ran for hast to hide him in her heart,
Where he renewed fresh flames, and by delay,
So I corcht his wings he could not fly away
Thus force perforce in her my conquer'd breast
Is the poore Inne of such a God-borne guest,
Whom while I harbor, it is hard to tell
Whether his presence be a Heaven or Hell.
Such pleasurable paine, such painfull pleasure
Sometimes below, and sometimes above measure.
Mars on a time forsook his Venus bed,
Protesting he no longer would be led
To these embraces, which like Circles charmes,
Made him forget th'Heroicke use of Armes,
Venus heard this whiles halfe in anger shee
Did thrust her darling Cupid off her knee.
Downe falls the youngster and in salling so
Broke all his Arrows, quiver and his bow,
His grandame Nature pittying the mischance,
Wipes the wagges eyes, told him she would advance
Him to his former office: for a dart
That should transfixe the most obdurate heart.
She would create an eye, and for a bow
She'd make a brow, whose art inclining so,
Should shoote such shafts, that deity should yeeld
Themselves glad prisoners in the maiden field,
When streight she made Florella, such a maid,
Who being nam'd, need there ought else be said?
'Tis not long since that I heard Lovers whine
At whose deep wounds, which from their Mistris eyne
They bleeding had ceceiv'd, cause they could winne
No mercy from them, whilst I thought some pinne
Had scratch'd their tender hands, till I too late
Grew sensible they were unfortunate
In their lost loves, 'cause when Florella fround,
Shee like a Commet strucke mee to the ground,
Till shee was pleas'd to cleare her glorious eyes,
Which summon'd mee from death to life to rise.
Wherefore you speedy Merchant doe you runne
Beyond the bounds of the all-bounding Sunne,
To seeke for Rubies, Pearle, and Ivory,
Adventuring hazard both of Land and skie,
When my Florella can afford all this
Without your search in the tumultuous Seas.
Rubies and Pearle, her lips and teeth, her skinne,
Like hollow Ivory, lockes those gems within,
For which you fondly up and downe doe rome
When you may better find this wealth at home,
What would the Northerne Climate hold too deare
To purchase my Florella to live there?
That where the niggard sute denies to shine,
They might receive more lustre from her eyne.
But that I know she loves Religion best,
She had long since, seene India the West,
But least those Pagans who adore the rise
Of the bright Sunne, should doate upon her eyes,
She was resolv'd to stay; wo had I bin
Had she gone thither to encrease their sinne.
East India nothing holds that's worth her view,
There's nothing there, that shee can take for new,
Their aire-perfuming spices, pretious gum,
Their fragrant odors, pleasants, Cinamum
All these and sweeter farre, shee breathes whose smell
Doth all things but it selfe, highly excell:
Once to my friend I did these lines rehearse,
Who streightway smil'd and did applaud my verse
But Ah! I feare 'twas my Florella's name
That brib'd his tongue, so to belie my fame.
Once, and but once I chanc'd to have the sight
Of my Florella, who makes darkness light:
When leaden Morpheus did her sence surprize,
In the lock't casket of her closed eys,
Faine would I steale a kisse, but as I strove,
Those scarlet Judges of my sleeping love
Did swell against my pride, and angry red,
Charg'd mee stand back from her forbidden bed:
While they her precious breath did seem to smother.
Each privately did steale a touch from the other,
I envious at their new begotten blisse
Was hold on her soft lips to print a kisse.
At which she wak't: And have you ever seene
How faire Aurora, heavens illustrious queene.
Shakes off her sable Robe, and with a grace
Smiles in the front of a faire morning face.
Just so my love as if night had beene noone,
Discards the element of the uselesse moone:
And from her glorious tapers sent a fire,
To light the darkest thoughts to quicke desire.
While thus from forth her rosall gate she sent,
Breath form'd in words, the marrow of content.
And have you Sir, at such a tempting time
Betrayd my honour, to this welcome crime,
By stealing pleasure from me, 'twas thy Love
I know, that did thee to this trespasse move
For I have prov'd thy faith which since I finde
The trusty Inmate of a loyall minde,
Of force I must except it; and in part
Of recompence, afford thee all my heart,
Thus having ceaz'd my prize; I told her, sweet,
As by no fouler name we ere may greete,
So what is mine I tender, all, my selfe,
The poorest part of thy unvalued wealth.
Thou hast won much in this, thy mercy showne,
That thus at last thou dost receive thy owne
Least they who after me like fare shall prove,
Should say, See what it is to be in Love.
I am in portu.

Loves Apostacy to his friend Mr. E. D.

Tut, let her goe, can I indure all this,
Yet dye, to doate upon a maydens kisse?
Is there such Magicke in her lookes, that can,
Into a foole, transfigurate a man?
Didst thou not love her? true: and shee disdaine
To meete thy vertue? let her meete her shame.
Were she as faire as she her selfe would be,
Adorn'd with all the cost of bravery:
Could she melt hearts of flint, and from her eye
Give her beholders power to live or die.
I'de rather begge she would pronounce my death,
Then be her scorne, though that preserv'd my breath
Rise heart! and be not foold; S'foot what a shame
Were it for thee to re-incence one flame
From the declining spark! dost thou not know
As shees a woman, her whole Sex doth owe
To thine all honor? her false heart & pride
Dare not oppose thy faith; then turn high tide,
And let her (since her scorn doth so disease thee)
By her repentance strive again to pleas thee.

The broken-heart-song.

Count the sighs, and count the tears,
Which have in part my budding yeers;
Comment on my woful look,
Which is now black sorrows book.
Read how love is overcome,
Weep and sigh, and then be dumb.
Say it was your charity
To help him whose eyes are dry.
Here paint my Cleora's name,
Then a hurt, and then a flame;
Then mark how the heart doth fry
When Cleora is so nigh:
Though the flame did do its part,
Twas the name that broke the heart.
Peace no more, no more you need
My sad History to read.
Fold the Paper up agen
And report to other men,
These complaints can justly prove
Hearts may break that be in love.

Women are mens shadows.

Women are not mens shadows.

E. Contra.

To himself of his Mistris.

An Epigram.

What though thou merit not? why know there lies
Vail'd in the courteous candor of her eyes,
A saving mercy, that can lend a wing
For dul despair to mount on, tis a thing
Beyond the common reach, to know how sweet
He lives, that doth in death a pardon meet.
But thou art poor; true, but her better part
Nere lookt upon the habit, but the heart.
Shee that has vertue cannot dote on those,
Whose best perfection is a sute of clothes.
Who court th'attracting beauties of the age
With some con'd stuff brought from the Cockpit stage:
Or gull their Mistris by some Poeme shown,
Which, 'cause they paid for, they dare call their own,
When, if their brains were ransackt, you might know
They nere commenc't beyond their Criss-cross-rowe.
Then hope (poor heart) and strongly that shee will
At last imbrace thee, for she hath the skill
To school thee first with frowns, that so her favor
May, when she smiles, last with the greater savour.

To his Superlative Mistris.

Another Epigram.

Compare the Bramble to the stately Pine;
The fruitles Thistle to the vertuous Vine;
Compare the Charcole to the snow-white Down,
The wreath of Rushes to th'Imperial crown.
Compare the Raven to the turtle Dove,
The Moors of India to the queen of Love.
Compare the Candle to the splendent Moon
The fogs of night, to Phœbus eye at noon.
Compare the Kite to sweet-breath'd Philomel,
The Lerman Lake to th'Helliconian Well,
If these admit comparison, then she
That can admit of no equalitie,
May find a parallel; but let some men
Rack their dul brains to praise their Mistris when
The utmost of their language they have spent
Let them sit down and sigh, and be content
Their Idols eyes to Sunbeams to compare,
Or by the rose her blased lips declare.
My Mistris must beyond their Saints, survive
In that unequald height, Superlative.

Of one Mary Frail, who lay with Mr. Reason.

Mary was long desirous for to marry,
And vow'd that past fifteen she would not tarry;
I am sure this vow of modesty did saile;[OMITTED]
To quaver on her lips even in her song.
Or if one touch the Lute with art & cunning,
Who would not love those hands for their swift running?
And her I like that with a majesty
Folds up her arms, and makes low courtesie;
To leave my self, that am in love with all,
Som one of these might make the chasest fall:
If she be tall, she's like an Amazon,
And therefore fills the bed she lies upon.
If short she lies the rounder, to say troth
Both short & long please me, for I love both.
I think what one undeckt would be, being drest,
Is she attired, then shew her graces best.
A white wench thralls me, so doth golden yellow,
And nut-brown girls in doing have no fellow.
If her white neck be shadowed with black hair,
Why so was Leda's, yet was Leda fair:
Amber trest is she, then on the morn think I
My Love alludes to every History:
A yong wench pleaseth, & an old is good,
This for her looks that for her woman-hood.
Nay what is she that any man loves,
But my ambitious ranging mind approves.

The new Petition.

Apollo once disdained not to keep,
So he might keep, his love Admetus sheep:
The distaff Hercules did excercise,
T'extract a smile from his deare Ladies eyes
Olympick Joan disdained not to take
A bulls effigies for Eutopus sake:
Achilles fitter far to deale with steel,
Did labour for his Mistress at the reel.
Love spar'd Leander his pledg'd faith to save,
Died, hugging in his armes the murdring wave.
Whil'st a new death his Heroe doth devise,
And drownd her selfe ith Ocean of her eyes.
By Pyramus, the world did understand
That love and life, lay linked hand in hand.
When one was lost in Thisbe, th other flew,
Through the peirc't portals of his wound, yet new.
Which when his Thisbe saw, tis hard to say,
VVhose spirit posted fastest on the way.
Thus some dejection, others did invade
Great oposition, and have willingly laid,
Their lives at needless hazzard, some have died,
And so have to the utmost satisfied
What tyrant love could force, & beyond this,
The great and true non ultra fixed is.
Yet happy this, since whatsoe're they tried,
Was on their Mistress part regratified.
Oh who would, when he saw an equal flame
Of love in her he lov'd, owe so much shame
As to esteem his life, if her least grief,
Did but invite his blood for her reliefe
But this forenamed courteous Ghost can bear
Me witness, I have shed full many a teare,
Spoke the best language, Rhetorick affords.
[illeg.]imb'd out my heart even to the life in words,
Would, what they did, did like occasion proffer,
And till that, do I can no more, but offer.
And yet for all my sufferings, she that is,
If I dare reach to call her so, my bliss,
[illeg.]lights all my sorrows; Oh weat eye could now
Forbear to yeeld a tear, when seeing how
I love, I am neglected weep with me
All you that read my wrongs, so if you be
Compationate, perhaps your tears may move
The frozen Mercy of my ice-white love
Which if they do, if you at any time
Shall want a drop, I'le lend you some mine:
Methinks I see you weep dear Mistress, then
Behold a Noble sea of pittying men
Doth waft me to your favour, if you daigne
Yes now at last to ease me of my paine,
This glory shall unto your mercy rise,
That you haue wip't all tears from lovers eyes.

The Widdow Bride.

To the accomplish'd Lady of his thoughts.

Faire shall I name thee, to express thy worth!
Nay, thou hast something else to set thee forth,
Then thy externall beautie, which no time
Shall ere deface, and that is truly thine.
Though outward white, grac'd with an inward faire,
Vnite in one, exceedeth all compare.
For what may glorious Saints, whose divine feature
Immortalis'd above an human Creature,
Appropriate unto themselves save this,
Though they're invested with the roabe of bliss!
Pure is their Store, the State of innocence,
Full be their Lamps of divine influence,
Complete's their Armour, and their order too,
“Thus they attend the Lambe where ere he go.
And thou terrestriall Angel, who canst give,
(Though young) example to the old to live,
Divines what thou shalt be: for I do see,
All sacred Craces treasured in thee;
As in some curious artful Cabbinet,
Where Patience shines as a rich Iewellet
Set in a precious Tablet, which may be best
Allusion have to thy unspoted brest,
Where vettues have their Mansion: should I speak
More freely of thy Merits? I wil seek
No modern Model to conform the State
Of my affections, or will imitate,
Any with affectation, but that grace
Which thou reserves in action, speech & pace.
Honor of ages, what a Sympathie
Of soul inthroning vertues works in thee,
To make thee more affected! Where desire
Of moderation tempers the heat of ire;
Content all self-repining, and delight
To see another prosper, that base spite
Which worldly Moles express from day to day
In seeing others flourish more then they.
No, thou art earthly Sainted, & canst taste
What fruit's in Mundane pleasure being past,
When this same Circle of our humane bless
Quite ran about, shal end with wretchednes;
And is not this above th'conceit of man,
That thou the weaker Sex shold seem to span
This abstract of thy life, with such respect
Unto thy soul form'd by that Architect,
Whose glory is thy aim? Nay, that thy prime
Scarcely arriv'd at the freshness of her time,
Should so disvalue earth, as to bestow
Thy heart on heaven thy frayler part below.
Where life like to a shade, whose vading glory
Suns up our discontents as in a Story,
Gets disesteem with thee, fixing thine eye
Upon a more transcendant Emperie.
But that which shal extend thy days more long
Then time can limit, is thy suffring wrong,
Smiling at injuries, as if thy brest
Were of that temper, griefs could not molest,
Nor soil her glorious Mansion, but appears
More eminent by th'injuries she bears.
I've heard indeed, som womans nature's such
As they can hardly ever bear too much;
The sense whereof, hows'ere our Criticks take it,
May be confirm'd in thee; for thou dost make it
The Trophy of thy triumph, and the crown
Of all thy conquest, to be onely known
Thy self in thy affliction, where relief
In Souls sole solace gives receit to grief.
For Palms prest down do ever rise the more,
And Spices bruis'd smel sweeter then before:
So as this sentence verifide may bee,
Thou tryes afflion, not affliction thee.
Mirror of women, what a triumphs this,
When there is nought, how great soere it is,
That can depress thy mind below the Sphere
Where it is fixed! For tis this I swear,
And only this which moves me to affect
Thy self far more then any light respect,
Drawn from the tincture of a moving faire,
Which to mindes Beautie's short above compare.
For I have known the smoothest sleekest skin
Soild with the blemish of so foul a sin,
As Beautie lost her lustre by that stain,
Which once made black could nere be white again,
But thou in both complete, art such an one,
As without assentation there is none
May glory more of what she doth possess,
Though on my Knowledg none doth glory less.
And happy he if he had known his hap,
Who might repose in such a Ladies lap,
Secure from cenusre; but how weak is sence
When Reason's darkned through concupiscence!
Alas of error, that our humane eye,
Expos'd to lust and boundless libertie,
Should derogate from man; where if we knew
How woman's to expect from man her dew,
As man from woman; we shold straight infer
‘To think of a strange beauty is to err.
He who did till those flowrie fields, which lay
Like Adons grove neer to the milkie way,
If he had known what happiness it is
In mutual love t'injoy a mutual bliss,
Where tvvo dividuate souls do selfly move
By one united Sympathie in love;
He vvould have thus concluded sure I am,
Who dotes on more then's own is less then man.
But novv to thee my lines their love extend,
Making thy self their Centre vvhere they end.
‘Thou mildest mould of matron modesty,
‘Live as thou liv'st, and gain eternity;
Patience shall give thee convoy, fame, renovvn,
Both vvhich contend to reach thee triumphs crovvn.

The true, and happy state of Love.

VVhat I have, that I crave,
Frank I lost, yet Frank I have;
Happy am I in possessing
Of her that gives love a blessing:
Blessed love have earthly rank,
Stated in my style of Frank,
Happy style that thinks no shame
In respect of nature, name,
Form, affection, and in all
To be Frank, as we her call.
Yet so Frank, that though she be
Free, it's in such modestie,
As no Creatures are, have bin,
Can, or may tax her of sin.
Pure in love, sincere in heart,
Fair by Nature, not by Art.
Crimson blushes which display,
Reddest even makes clearest day;
Clearest, where like Ida's snow
Lillies on her cheeks do grow;
Yet so mixt with true delight,
As the red contends with white;
Yet ore'comm'd with Modesty,
Red or white gets victory.
Thus two Franks in beauty one,
Yeelds enough to dote upon;
Equal both in favour, feature,
Honour, order, name and nature;
Both inclining to one stature,
Equal'd by no earthly creature.
Per if I should paint them out,
From the head unto the foot,
I should make you then confess
They were earthly Goddesses:
And that Nature made these two,
As those Mirrors which might show
Her perfection and her store,
Challenging, who could give more!
Thus both equal in one letter,
One to either, neither better;
Twin-like seem as Time had fixt them,
As two spheres not one betwixt them;
Yet if needs one th'best do crave,
In my thoughts it's she I have:
She, whose vertues do excel
As they seem imparallel;
Modest, yet not too precise,
Wise, yet not cnoceiued wise;
Still in action, yet her will
Is so pure it ne're acts ill;
Virgin-modest, yet delights
To discourse of Hymens rights;
Yet she blushes when she heares,
Ought that's light sound in her eares;
And with skarlet-die displaies
What to women yeelds most praises:
For praise-worthy 'tis in women,
To blush at that Act is common;
Since in speech those actions show
Ill, which modest are to do;
For a Maid should be afraid,
Hearing th'loss of Maiden-head.
With this Poem, and a Pearl
Sent to Frank my faithful Girle;
I conclude with friendly vow,
To my Frank her neighbours too.

An Elegiack Sonnet.

A Complaint of his seperation from his Mistris, caused by his friends injunction

A trick for your Learning.

Two Schollars in Thames-street were drinking hard,
And late; to whom a Constable repair'd,
And taxt them for't: Invited yet to drink,
He turn'd up glasses, till both nod and wink
At greatest faults he would; when sleep at last
Did bridle up his bruitish senses fast.
Mean while the waggish Mercuries conspire
T'abuse him, and two water-men they hire
To take him naping, & transport him thence
Th'way of all fish; who nere recover'd sense,
Nor from his dead sleep found himself alive,
Till both his Charons at Graves-end arrive.
To all harsh Magistrates a warning faire,
That they of too much wine and wit beware.

The Usurer.

He puts forth Money, as the Hangman sowes,
His fatal Hemp-seed, that with curses growes.
So growes his damn'd wealth in the Devils name,
That doth in hel the Harvest home proclaim;
For which deep reason my poor Muse preferrs
This sute, that Poets nere prove Vsurers.

To a Detractor.

Thou still art darting (like a Porcupine)
Thy quils against me, faulting every line
That my hand draws, and with the frost-like power
Of thy benummed verse, would nip the flower
Of thy sweet Poësie. I wish thee show
More favour to thy self, than thus to blow
Sparks in thine eyes. Art thou not (slave) afeard
To pluck a couchant Lyon by the beard,
That rouz'd will rend thee? thou but shootst in vain
Thy bolts of folly, that rebound again
From my unpierced Muse, whose lofty rime
Shall (Dial-like) stand in the face of time,
And look it down, when thou and thine shall lie
Damn'd up with dust in blind obscuritie.

To the Slanderer.

Could I but work a Transformation strange,
On thee, whose malice pricks & rankles so
I would thy Carrion to a Thistle change,
Which Asses baite upon, & Rusticks mow.

That he is love sick and cannot write Verses.

The bag of the Bee.

About the sweet bag of a Bee,
Tvvo Cupids fell at odds,
And vvhose the pretty prize should be,
They vowed to ask the gods:
Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stript them,
And taking from them each his flame,
With rods of Mirtle whipt them;
Which done, to still their wanton cries,
When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kist, and wipe't their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.

To his Mistris.

Chuse me your Valentine,
Next let us marry:
Love to the death will pine,
If we long tarry:
You have broke promise twice,
Dear to undo me;
If you prove faithless thrice,
None then will wooe you.

His Protestation to his Mistris.

Noon, day, and midnight shal at once be seen,
Trees at one time shall be both red and green.
Summer and winter shall at one time show
Ripe ears of corn, and up to th'ears in snow:
Seas shall be sandless, Fields be voyd of grass,
Shapeless the world, as when all Chaos was;
Before my dear sweet Love, I will bee
False to my Vow, or fall away from thee.

Upon Love.

To his Mistris.

Shew me thy feet, shew me thy legs, thy thighs,
Shew me those fleshly principalities;
Shew me that hil where smiling love doth sit
Having a living fountain under it.
Shew me thy wast, then let me therewithall
(By the ascension of thy Lavvn) see all.

On himself.

Love-sick I am, and must indure
A desperate grief that finds no cure:
Ah me! I try, and trying prove
No herbs can cure the power of Love:
Only our soveraign salve I know,
And that is death, the end of woe.

To the Virgins to make much of time.

Upon Cupid.

As lately I a garland bound,
'Mongst Roses I there Cupid found,
I took him, put him in my cup,
And drunk with wine, I drunk him up.
Hence then it is that my poor brest
Could never since find any rest.

Upon her Brests.

Display thy brests (my Dear) there let me
Behold that circummortal puritie,
Between whose glories there my lips Ile lay,
Ravish't in that fair Via Lactica.

Upon himself.

Mope-cy'd I am, as some have said,
Because Ive lived so long a maid,
But grant that I should wedded be
Should I a jot the better see?
No, I should think that marriage might
Rather then mend, put out the light.

Draw-Gloves.

At Draw-gloves weel play,
And prethee lets lay
A wager, and let it be this,
Who first to the Sun
Of twenty doth run,
Shall have for his winning a kiss.

To the Rose.

How Violets came blew.

Love on a day, wise Poets tell
Some time I wrangling spent,
Whether the Violets should excel,
or she in sweetest scent:
But Venus having lost the day,
Poor girls she fell on you,
And beat ye so, as some do say,
Her blows did make ye blew.

Counsel not to love.

He that will not love must be
My Schollar, and learn this of me:
There be in love as many fears
As the Summers corn hath ears.
Sighs and sobs, and sorrows more
Then the sand that makes the shore.
Freezing cold and fiery heats,
Fainting swoons and deadly sweats,
Now an ague, then a fever,
Both tormenting Lovers ever.
Wouldst thou know besides all these.
How hard a woman tis to please?
How cross, how sullen, and how soon
She shifts and changes like the Moon.
How false, how hallow shees in heart,
And how she is on her left part:
How high shees priz'd, and worth but small
Little thou't love, or not at all.

On the Willow-tree.

To his Mistris to command him any thing.

A Hymne to Venus.

Goddess I do love a girl
Ruby-lipt', and tooth't like Pearl,
If so be I may but prove
Lucky in this maid I love,
I will promise there shall be
Myrtels offered up to thee.

The good night to the Bride

Blessings in abundance come
To the Bride, and to her Groome,
May the Bed this short night
Know the fulness of delight:
Pleasures may here attend you,
And ere long a boy Love send you.
Curld and comely, and so trim,
Maids in time may ravish him:
Thus a dew of graces fall
On yon both; Good-night to all.

The Willow-Garland.

A willow-garland thou didst send
Perfumed last day to me,
Which did but only this portend,
I was forsook by thee:
Since it is so, Ile tell thee what,
To morrow thou shalt see
Me weare the Willow after that,
To dye upon the tree.

To a Teltale.

Thy glowing eares, to hot contention bent,
Are not unlike red Herings, broyl'd in Lent.

To Baull, the Cryer.

In thy rude Parish (as thou dost profess)
Thou'rt like the Baptist in the wilderness:
Yet ere for conscience off thy head should go,
Thou wouldst not cry Oyes, but roare out No.

On deaf Joan, the Ale-wife.

She prates to others, yet can nothing heare,
Just like a sounding jugg that wants an eare.

To Zounds the Swaggerer

What dost thou mean to revel, roare, and spend
To drink, and drabble, and swear so? wilt thou rend
Thy way to Hell? The Devil will spy day
At a small hole, and snach his Chuck away.

To the same.

[What Gulf's within thee, that thou swallow'st so?]

What Gulf's within thee, that thou swallow'st so?
It is to drown all thirsts before thou go
To that Infernall hat-house? such a ground
Of reasons deeper than I list to sound.

To his Mistris.

On Love.

I held Loves head vvhile it did ake,
And so it chanced to be
The cruel pain did him forsake,
And forthvvith came to me,
Ah me, how shal my grief be still'd,
Or where else shal we find,
One like to me who must be kild
For being too too kinde.

To his Mistris.

The Fairies.

If ye will with Mab finde grace,
Set each platter in its place;
Rake the fire up, and get
Water in ere Sun be set:
Wash your pales, and clense your Daries,
Sluts are loathsome to the Fairies;
Sweep your house, who doth not so
Mab will pinch her by the toe.

Cherry-Pit.

Iulia and I did lately sit
Playing for sport at Cherry-pit,
She threw, I cast, and having throwne,
I got the pit, and she the stone.

To Robbin Redbrest.

When I'me led out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me:
And while the wood-nimphs my cold corps inter,
Sing thou my Dirge sweet warbling Chorister,
For Epitaph in foliage next write this,
Here, here the tomb of William Redley is.

His Vision to his Mistris.

I dream'd we both were in a bed
Of Roses almost smothered;
But then I heard thy sweet breath say,
Faults done by night will blush by day;
I kist thee (panting) and I call
The night to record, that was all;
But ah! if empty dreams so please,
Love give me more such nights as these.
[OMITTED]

Charon and Philomel,

A Dialogue sung.

PHIL.
Charon, O gentle Charon, let me woo thee
By tears and pity now to come unto me:

Ch.
What voice so sweet & charming do I hear;
Say what thou art,

Ph.
I prethe fiast draw neer:

Ch.
A sound I hear, but nothing yet can see;
Speak where thou art:

Ph
O Charon pity me,
I am a bird, and though no name I tell,
My warbling note will say, I'm Philomel.

Ch.
What's that to me? I love not fish or fowls,
Nor beasts fond bird, but onely humane souls.

Ph.
Alas for me:

Ch.
Shame on thy witching note
That made me thus hoyst sail, & bring my boat;
But Ile return, what mischief brought me hither?

Ph.
A deal of love, & much grief together.

Ch.
What's thy request?

Ph.
That since she's now beneath,
Who fed my life, I'le follow her in death.

Ch.
And is that all? I'me gone:

Ph.
By love I pray thee.

Ch.
Talk not of love; all pray, but few souls pay me.

Ph.
Ile give the vows and tears.

Ch.
Can tears pay scores
For mending sails, for patching boat and oars?

Ph.
I'le beg a peny, or I'le sing so long,
Till thou shalt say, I've paid thee with a song.

Ch.
Why then begin, and all the while we make
Our sloathful passage on the Stigian Lake;
Thou and I'le sing, to make these dull shades merry,
Who else with tears would doubtless drown my Ferry.

To his Mistris.

To his Mistris, on the Day-break.

Stool-ball.

The May-pole.

To his Mistris.

Thou saiest, Thou lovest me; I say no:
But would to Love I could believe 'twas so:
Pardon my fear (Sweet) I desire
That thou be righteous found, and I the liar.

Charmes.

[Bring the holy Crust of bread]

Bring the holy Crust of bread,
Lay it underneath the head;
Tis a certain charm to keep
Hogs away, while children sleep.

Another.

[Let the superstitious wife]

Let the superstitious wife
Neer the childs heart lay a knife;
Point be up, and haft be down,
While she gossips in the Town.
This 'mongst other mistick Charms
Keeps the sleeping child from harms.

Another, to bring in the Witch.

[To house the hag you must do this]

To house the hag you must do this,
Commix with meal a little piss
Of him bewitched, they forthwith make
A little wafer, or a Cake;
And this rawly bak'd will bring
The old Hag in, no surer thing.

Another Charm for Stables.

[Hang up hooks and sheers to scare]

Hang up hooks and sheers to scare
Hence the hag that rides the Mart
Till they be all over wet
With the mire and the sweat;
This observ'd, the Mains shall be
Of your horses all knot-free.

Upon Cupid.

A Vow to Venus.

Happily I had sight
Of my dearest Deer last night;
Make her this day smile on me,
And Ile Roses give to thee.

Charms.

[This Ile tel you by the way]

This Ile tel you by the way,
Maydens when ye Leavens lay,
Cross your Dough, and your dispatch
Will be better for your batch.

Another.

[In the morning when you rise]

In the morning when you rise,
Wash your hands and clense your eyes,
Next be sure ye have a care
For to throw the water far;
For as far as that doth light,
So far keeps the evil sp'rit.

Another.

[If ye fear to be affrighted]

If ye fear to be affrighted,
When ye are by chance benighted,
In your pocket for a trust
Carry nothing but a crust;
For that holy piece of bread,
Charms the danger, and the dread.

St. Distaffs day, or the morrow after Twelf-day.

Partly work, and partly play,
Ye must on St Distaffs-day.
From the Plow soon free your teame,
Then come home, and fother them:
If the maids a spinning go,
Burn the Flax, and fire the towe;
Scorch their Plackets, but beware
That ye singe no maiden-haire;
Bring in pales of water then,
Let the maids bewash the men;
Give St Distaff all the right,
Then bid Christmass-sport good-night;
And next morrow every one
To his own Vocation.

On Poets.

These Darlings of free Nature want no vigour
Of brain, and therefore to grow richer liker
Than weaker heads, and might be blest with Angels,
(For which the souldier fights, and Lawyer wrangles)
Did not their lofty Fancies 'bove the welkin
Still sore, whilst others are for Treasures dilving
But fle, my verse is foundr'd, all this time
I dream'd on riches, I but rav'd in rime.

Of Warr.

War's like a curst wife, whence a man may cull
Some fruits of goodness, (though of mischief full:)
For those land-surfets wanton peace both breed,
Warr by incision cures, when Kingdoms bleed.

On Josephs Cloke.

The Snake his slough, the Dove her plumes cast,
(Whose innocence & purdence hold we fast)
As Joseph left his garment, yet retain'd
A jewel, which once lost is ne're regain'd.
Thou stone-cold chastity far off doth flye,
And Lust assumes the Cloke of modesty.

DREAMS.

The first Dream.

Went I this Morn in cruel sport
To fright the poor Hare from her fort?
Vp-rouze her from the solemn Cel
With horrors of a Fun'ral-Knel?
Did Tyrant-I seek others prize?
My self now made the Sacrifice?
Fates, you are equal, and thou Love,
Like mercy I [just Talio] prove
As meant to others; Torture, Pain,
Dire scourge! tis my reward again.
'Twas she the Huntresse was, by th'way,
That ayr'd her so, like beauteous May,
(Her Mistris rather) round bestowing
Such Beauties sweets; dull winter shewing
Fresh-cheek'd turnd Sommer. O, what raies
Then strook our eyes? what wonders blaze
Sweetst, Lightnings? what Soule rapes, divine
Confusions? that th'ore flowing shine
Spak't Heavenly Vision: if Earths race,
Then Woman, lovelyst woman 'twas;
Or rare I know not-What: she's All
Men excellence perfection call
Her Eyes shot day-light Beam-supplyes,
While th'Sun cloud-muffled seemd; close lyes
Asham'd on's gaudier blazing so,
Those Corpo-rayes to hers in shew;
Or't may be Love-dart feard, least he
By th'jealous Morn forsaken be;
Or, indeed struck, with amorous head
Jogd on, and so went sick to Bed:
The World not needing beg th'old Sun
Since they in her have two for one.
No Christal frost-work deckt the ground
T'intice her foot, whose Beamings round
That Morn disperst, perhaps ore-awd
The glaz'd Earth, Congelations thawd:
Her Pace Court-measure, graceful'st showd
While th'spic't ayr through her breath more good,
Purgd wholsom seemd: as Goblins light,
Fogs shun her Puerity, take flight.
Ten thausand Cupids came along
Playing in her Eyes, her cheeks, or hung
O'th Brest, Lips, Hayr; incamp'd appear
In Bright and lovely'st Musters there;
As with their quiverd Hoast would pierce
All Hearts, and conquer th'Vniverse:
A moving world of wonder shewing;
A Heaven of flesh all Joyes bestowing.
Twas fairely-sweetly-cruel she
That chas'd and seiz'd my liberty:
That let a Mint of lightnings fly
Heap of Granadoes from her Eye,
Dart-magazine that shot through mine;
I saw their flaming point to shine
All th'way they came, when through tht Eye
Th'Heart bled in kindest simpathy:
I Sigh, Fear, Muse; what wonders press
Through these glaz'd Organs, Souls possess!

On Phillis Close Nun-like Retirement.

Say beauteous Fillis why's so long
Adjournd our Day-break till all's stung
With Greenland-curse? O why (Mole-fashion)
Pore we on Clods, this dull Creation
Thou our Gem hid? with whom's inshrind,
The longings, blisses of Mankind:
Is't for our sins, that righteous Heaven
Hath us this Plague 'mongst others Given.
This Judgment sent (alas) that we
Must lose thy Presence, and want Thee?
Or did we too prophanely slight
That blessing, meanly rate thy Sight
Enjoyd? when thou (more justly-nice)
By want dost please t'inhanceyth Price:
An angry absence must alone
Make theemore reverenc't, and moreknown.
Or last; was't Charity divine
T'our errors, fraylties, did confine
Thee to thy Chamber, Prayers t'implore
And attone for us? O restore
That Face back, fayr Example t'us;
We shall grow good, less criminous.
Rare Beauties were not made at all
For cloystring, and live-burial,
Though Bats, Owls be: those glorious Seven
The unwasted Lamps of Earth and Heaven.
(Sky-brooches) lo, they were not thrust
To corners, log'd in Rubbish, dust,
But shine to th'world, and traverse by
Sphears blazing Pageants: whilst hid lye
(Earth-chested) Gold, Gems, wher's their glory:
Sight's all; that magnifies thy story.
Sometime tis wholsom, purest Maid,
To ayr thee through the field and shade;
When from some Hill fayr-map'd does ly
Small Europe, travailed by thine Eye:
And th'amazd People gazing round,
As though another Morn were found.
For as through sight thou Physick'st us:
And our dross-spirits refinest thus
To suttle Fire this Earth Ayr grown,
Pure Quintessentiall: whilst (anon)
The Bloods too revel't in each Veine
So thou dost Physick thy Selfe again.
Mays Sovereign, delicious ayr,
Twil make that Cheek more snowy-fayr
(If possible,) those Brests of spice
Thus fan'd more, Beds of Paradice:
Twill make that Angell-shape to strike
Our eyes with motion Angel-like,
Quick, sprightly; improve that daynti'st Frame
So lively, as if all Soul became:
Then shew thee oft deare Cordial; thus
Thou physickst both thy self and us.

Phillis Nun-like Coyness.

PHILLIS, Fayrest, why so coy
So daynty-nice? when but t'enjoy
One favour such a task doth prove,
Herculean Labour: tell me Love;
What though that daintier Hand touch mine,
(Of spotless Allablaster-shine)
Would't shew less fayr, and sulli'd be?
Or lose the fashion, if by me
But kindly prest? though never I
Their sacred white do come so nigh
But with washt hands, nor touch their Down
But reverentiall fear does crown
The Devout Palm: your Glove all day
May freelier touch; your Seizers may,
Silk, needle, lawn, nay, meaner thred:
Then is my Hand more vile indeed
Then these? or say, you purify
Those things by Touch, like Chimistry
May these course hands sublime, refine.
Or say those dayntier Lips touch mine,
Are they impoverisht in their store?
Or wast their Delicates the more
By often giving [since they are
A lasting sweetness] or less fair,
Ought lose their colour Ruby excelling?
The more they'r kiss'd, more red and swelling.
The wanton ayre with hovering play
May touch them, and the tawny Ray
Of Phœbus Toys, which often please;
Then are my lips more base then these?
The Fly may buzzing kiss, and touch
[Unblam'd] those Cherries; min's hut such.
'Las, can you chide and frown when I
[Nye starv'd] do beg the Charity
Th'Alms of one kiss? twas never yet
Held sin for Starvelings to crave meat;
That's free: would you not life bestow
Where your self nere the poorer grow?
Nay sweetest, wer't love-relish'd, this,
You would seem richer by a kiss:
Love's first-course, second Min age tis.

The second Dream.

Twas Fresh-cheek'd May with all her pride
And Progress bravery beautifi'd;
Her musk, perfumes, and Gems of price,
To take that sexe more daynty, nice,
When th'Chaos-World (late sullen) now
Turnd laughing all, stampd one whose brow
Fine new Creation: when froz'd Men
(Not snayls alone) seem'd Live agen:
Forth went the Nimph, whose eyes fayr ray
Had January turnd to May,
And spruc't the poor-clad earth howere
With Flowrs, though Flora banished the yeare:
Forth Phillis tript; whilst I alone
Ingross'd the blessing, th'honour won
T'attend her Walks chief Favourit,
Sole Guardian to my Souls delight:
Cal'd by her as if Heaven had cal'd
To Joyes, wherein blest Saints instal'd,
(Who would not glory?) Champion thence
To weak, yet purest Innocence:
For well my PHILLIS knew that I
Would not hurt, but protecting dye;
And (though, Temptation all, her shape)
Would punish, not commit a Rape.
Thus, though no morning-star am borne,
Yet was I Vsher to the Morn;
Or rather Sun-companion shew,
Whose hand inrich'd mine with its snow.
Naught envying now Great Turk; Mogor,
Tartarian China-bugbear or
Black Southern Prince; thus septer'd I
Durst boast a fayrer Monarchy.
Each Object as we tract below,
With rival-courtship seemd to wo
My Heavenly Fair; and bred in me
A kind of sportive Jealousie:
Birds chant love-songs, Gales whisper soft
Kind tales, steal kisses, whilst (methought)
Herbs, Flowers hung their love-sick heads,
Or bowd with reverence from their beds;
Hills animated seem'd rejoyce;
And (wanton) Eccho back her Voice:
O pregnant Son! say, what does prove
So all breeding as that Womb of Love?
Here, whilst I sacrific'd chast Vows,
Sigh-Incence, (made unspotted those
Blest Hands the Alters)t'either eare
Thus PHILLIS breath'd; O, breath'd sounds
Seraphick Musick! (words be gone
That poor Term) Thus she seemd to own—
Hold Fondling, don't expose abroad
Such sweetness to th'Ayrs common Road;
Be wise: th'Harmonious touch oth'Sphears
Not Musick is the Vulgar ears:
Repeat the Blisses to thine own;
Tell Venus, or Loves-self alone:
And feed you Lickerish eares, (reviv'd
Your dear Joyes,) Fancy makes new-liv'd:
Whilst Cupid scores up all, each word
(Th'Hour, Minute) in's chast Loves Record.

PHILLIS her Lute.

Sight, Smelling, Tasting, Feeling, all be gone;
And leave with me th'officious Eare alone:
Go Slumber, (or th'whole Covent) loytrers play;
Thou only attend (Souls Favourite) this way:
Bless, bless thy self and me, till seem translated
To new divine Joyes, by that Hand-Created.
List, list with reverence; devoutly O
Hearken; th'Orbs Minstrelsy's sham'd here below:
While PHILLIS gives Life to her sencless Lute,
And warbling language to what late was mute.
Heark, what delicious strains and Heavenly-rare
Do as twer sweeten, and inrich the Ayr!
Phebean Harps Great Master finds his skill
Scornd by th'Olimpicks, and but slighted still
When thou once playest; all listening unto thee;
T'whom mean hands like to Winds rude blustrings be,
Or th'note of bubling Brooks: All Musick is
Untun'd harsh Discord, and but noyse to This.
Away all dumpish cares, all pulling sorrow,
[You Cloud-drove] fly my vvorld, pack til the morrovv;
Let me forget I'm Earth, or burdened am
VVith dross of flesh, but t'Elemental flame
Seem rarifi'd turn'd Spirits (air does shevv
Poor, languid) dance my blood; your veins oreflovv
In glad tides; vvhilst those highst Soul-faculties
Frame all a Masque: that Lute Soul-revels please.
O, there's a svveetly, svveetly-solemn strain
Has laid all in a slumbering trance again.
And charmd all to amazement; view but round
How strange a Metamorphosis theres found;
Men stand by th'Walls, and furnish out the Room
Like Arras-pictures, or as to some Tomb
Belong'd for Monuments; whilst only flyes
A glimpse of Life or Twilight from their Eyes:
All's turnd a Sepulcher, so whist and dead
A silence raigns; the sweet death welcomed:
O, let me thus expire and melt away
To dissolution, Nature that Debt pay
of Vapour-breath, that else a boyling Feaver,
Stone, Poyson, sturdy Gout, or stab might sever:
Sweet-killing PHILLIS, thus the soul to stray
To Heaven 'twete t'have Heaven by the way:
Such death were but to live; the Gasps to this
Ore-ravishing Delights, too powerful bliss:
And then I dye a Martyr by thy hand
Though not in wrath, but [spight of countermand]
As fleeting souls last Farwel I must kiss
That beauteous Hand, first Fool! Alls spoild by this.

PHILLIS Hand and Glove.

Fair Phillis, my ambitious Muse
Through its aspiring zeal we'd choose
Rather to charm thy hand then Glove,
Court that Diviner form, my Love;
T'whom Snow with th'Alablaster mine
Great Style of Whiteness only assign:
Where azure streams in purling measure
Make Cupids Isles and Place of pleasure.
But this eclipses vails their light,
And pleads Commission for't; worse spight;
Whilst [cas'd up] beauteous they appear
Like sacred-Twin-like Relicks there:
Worth 'bove all Romes; like cloysterd Nuns,
Or silver Orb involved Moons:
Not nak'd to each unworthy eye
Or the Suns bolder kisses lye,
[Sight fit'st for King] but then devest,
Break forth like Morns their dusky East,
When silk and gold as touch more fine;
Some Needle-Miracle design;
VVhere laid to th'eye small new Creation,
Birds, Beasts so near inanimation;
So true that Natures self does start;
Halfe mothering that meer Child of Art:
Mock'd by this Landskip, nye mistakes
For her own work th'Hills, Plants, and Lakes.
Sweet'st Recluse-payr! you meanlyer-choice
Beauties triumph it now, rejoyce;
Let coorser Hands now boldly shew,
Seek t'enamour with worse Snow.
Your Gloves kind pardon, if I seem
Transported here with whats their Gem,
Chief Riches, Glory; wherefore spight
Should not ore-long debar my sight:
Since I love these too, even in this
Fine, Prittyest, winning beauty is;
Both as it self, and as 'tis thine:
So dainty-shap'd, Symmetrick, fine,
Pure-white withal, that it might stand
A rude-drawn Picture to that hand:
VVherein (methinks) breath highest sweets
VVhose sublimation Juno fits:
This Pattern seems for the best of gloves
(As that for hands) like th'Queen of Leves.
O Cupid wouldst ordain that I
Under that form might hug so nigh
That loved Hand; [miraculous feat!]
But ah, I fear my Youthful Heat,
Sighs soft-breath'd whispers, joyful Dance
Oth' panting-Heart, then colder Trance
With fervent raven us kisses, soon
Would blab the Cozenage; all undone:
When I'm cashir'd eternally:
Whereas that Favourit-Glove laid by
Recloaths that Beauty; exalted is
To its late Paradisian Bliss.

His third Dream of FILLIS Evening Walk and Voice.

Fillis and I (O, fondly'st-kind,
Indulgent Stars! thus still you bind;)
Fillis and I in Evening fair
Stole forth to take the Garden-air;
That sweet'st and mildest age of Day,
When Sun does sprinkle a kinder Ray;
Nor begets head-ach, whilst Goodnight
Sends from Far-West with drowsie light
The Morn, That, plac'd like pauses sweet
Tween th'Aguish fits of Cold and Heat.
Those harmless Gales were only straying
Which dance the leaves with nicer playing,
Nor whisper, whilst with kind of bliss
Mays Flowry beauteous strangers kiss
In sign of welcom: toyling oft
With Fillis Curles; when us'd (methought)
Reverence too, least through its sin
One curle disturb'd, or spoyld had been.
Th'Ayrs Concave still'd to quiet rest
Like Fillis gentle Maiden-brest.
Who, mask'd and vail'd, (that else had soon
Travers'd a gloomy Thick design'd
With Love-maze Laborynth, where inshrin'd
Th'Worlds beauty appeard: twas ambush-plot
To bear the Nightingales small throat,
Highst, strong'd to boot; (that, prais to be
The Shades prime Songster, harmony)
With rest oth Noise, who begun,
As if to th'then departing Sun
Would chirp a merry shril Goodnight,
And so long sing as he gave Light:
Which heard (the fine mirth jollity)
To smiling, pleasure, by and by
Fillis puts in to th'warbling quire:
Fair Goddess lo, which seemd t'inspire
Those little creatures with their skill;
Who now chant Anthems t'her praise still:
The ruder Place seem'd Chaos-wise
Turnd to a new drest Paradice,
Earth-Heaven, so well that face and tongue
Might to sweet Cherubins belong.
Gods (wrapt with joy oth' creation)
T'affairs divine held strait Vacation,
Breaking Heavens Parliament asunder
To see, to hear this Mortal wonder,
(The air trac'd in measures) while cros-armd
Some sate, inamourd shewing, Love-charmd;
Consulting all her soon translation
From this base earth to th'starry station
As their Quires Mistris, while She-powrs
Or prais'd, or envi'd from their Towrs,
Wood-satyres skipping wildly round:
This masque at least my Fancy found.
Lo th'All of Rapture, sweets how high!
Best Joyes the ears capacity
Could reach to, onely those above,
The dear Soul-melting Sounds of Love.
Her Lute was rare though dead the sound,
This living therefore rarer erownd:
That, was but hollow Timbers noise,
This, sweet, warm, lovely Womans voice:
Religion swayd, else I had nigh
Been guilty of Voice-Idolatry.

FILLIS and the Nightingale.

Rare charming Voice! but [O] how rare
Breath'd by that She so only fair!
Whose face and bodies beauties be
Compos'd with so rare Symmetry
(Heavens choice design) so sweetly accorded,
One Heavenly Consort all afforded;
And were the Harmony o'th Eye,
Seem'd Natures silent Melody:
Nere man so doubly-blest; th'eye, ear!
Record it Love, twas only here.
Each trembling Noat those Corals wrought
(VVhen born) seem'd swaddled, wrapt methought,
And (as soon dying) Embalm'd within
So sweet breath, as perfum'd 't had been;
Came flying in a precious air
Of Odors, 'bove Arabian far:
The same sweet noats you would have deemd
The several souls of Musick seemd;
VVhilst the whole Song rare sweetst compound,
VVherein th'Ear's Sugar, Sytrop found.
O could I've caught and kept alive
Those precious sounds beyond reprive
Those Spirits of Sweetness as they flye,
So t'have had constant Melody;
Nay Phillis self still by me in those:
Her Breath, preserv'd and relick'd close
Had serv'd for soveraign protection
Gainst poys'nous Plagues, and all infection.
If that fam'd Harp, could Rivers cause
To stand at wanton gaze and pause;
Beasts, stubborn Rocks, and burly Trees,
Made dance in Antique Revels thess;
Her voice must greater Magick prove
And make them court her fall in Love.
VVhile Fillis breath'd and clos'd her song,
Behold a pritty vvonder sprung;
Th'ambitious Nightingale replyd,
Through pertest emulations pride;
[Chief Chorister I 'th feathered Court
To th'Royal Eagle fam'd] in sport
VVould sing her part, and nimbly runs
Her fine-poiz'd quaint Divisions:
Novv Fillis, then the Nightingale,
Novv she then she, vvhich should prevail:
The Chirper falls to earnest novv,
No more must jesting strains allovv:
Tis sober Duel, no idle play,
Sharp brest-concention for the day:
Till the poor Bird presumes still higher,
As life vvould forfeit and expire.
VVhich pittying, I vvas fain to intreat
Her softer heart vvould make retreat,
And end the dangerous strife so nigh
By yeelding a false Victory:
This quarrel must not the loss prove
Of such a voice to th'Spring and Grove:
Her Mercy rather should reprive
[Double honors Trophie] keep alive.
VVhen loth to stifle yet my blisses,
I silenc'd those svveet lips vvith Kisses:
Though but th'ears airy joyes transfer'd
To th'solid touch; so, sav'd the Bird.

His fourth Dream of Cressas Funeral, the Love of Difloris.

Is any Pastors care so deaf to Fame,
That has not heard of fairest Cressas name?
[So us'd to bleatings] whom that Funeral-knel.
Which groand this Nimph to earth, did hearts congeal.
Hath not arriv'd to? happy sure's that He
In this, since knows not th'common Misery;
Distres'd Arcadias loss [with whom does share
Nature, Grand Mourner] her beloved fair
Cloyster'd in dust: nor [without company]
Dy'd she alone, a hundred seemd to dye
In Sorrow with her: The Suns self was gone
Fast from her Funerals, and Night came on
To bring her Sables. O what new-rais'd Train
Of Goblins strook my sight? which rov'd the Plain
With such dire ceremony, ruful guize,
As each did his own Funeral solemnize.
Lo, Deaths March twas; First went young swains by pairs
Each crownd with mournful Cipress, Usherers
To th solemn Herse: Those four next to '[illeg.] that le[illeg.]
Bare Shieldes, where pictur'd on a cole-black bed
A pale dead Virgin lay, prepar'd as twere
To Bridals and which beauteous did appear
Even in death; by deaths black arms imbract;
And over, in white Characters was plac't,
This, this my Lover, this my Bridal: So
All pass'd along. But following th'Herse did go
A single Swain; how dismal-lookt slow-pac't.
Trust bulk of wretchedness, ore whose face cast
A meer Life-damp; seem'd Ghost to th'Corps before;
Sighs storm'd about him, whilst he drench'd their shore
His torrent eys; and thus would needs excel,
Surpass in grief: About his Hat mix'd wel
Forsaken Willow, Cipress; where above
This written, Deaths my Rival. Next does move
The Virgin-train in white, which Censers bear
Dark-vail'd like Dooms-day Planets: Torchlight there
[illeg.]orc't frightful Noon. And thus they softly trace
Dire measure! how unwilling!) to th sad place
Where they must leave their slumbring Nimph behind
T'enrich the Covetous Earth; which (half struck blind)
The Youth beheld, never spake Sorrow more
Then now in silence: different Passions store;
Here sighs, there tears, pale looks there, yet all one
Consort in Grief: This, general alone,
All look'd their utmost, til now lost the sight,
With whom their eyes seem'd as 'twere bury'd quite;
And (blind to upper things in earth beneath
Are following her, as if in spite of death
Would stil enjoy: with many a pitying muse,
The rude ore churlish mold should so abuse
That daintiest Body, which (though one more nice)
Las, now complain'd not; but death-tranced lyes.
What Maiden adiews; what tears! Swain kiss'd the Place;
All saying, Richer-gem'd Earth never was.

Epitaph.

[Here Chastity it self doth lye]

Here Chastity it self doth lye,
And Beautie's self; whom never eye
Nor tongue could tempt as yet love;
Till Death his violent dart did prove;
And (powerful'st) wou unto his Bed:
Though She was even then Ravished.

PHILLIS Complaint.

Why was I born,
Or not born blind?
Though thence the scorn
Of whol mankind,
Their Pity, or Wonder;
That so I'd Womans Shape nere known;
Or seeing, had I mist but one,
But Thine alone;
We only kept asunder:
O then kinde Heavens you had blest
A Soul of Anguish,
That's now condemn'd to sad unrest
And endlesly must languish.
Yet check my Heart, no more
These Plaints give ore:
Since thou hadst rather die, through her rejection
Then not have seen so rare perfection

On his retired Lady.