University of Virginia Library

POEMS.

THE AUTHORS First DREAM of FLOSTELLA,

Seen in a Winters Morning, as he rode on Hunting.

Went I this Morn, in cruell sport,
To fright the poor Hare from her Fort?
Up-rouze her from the solemn Cell
With horrors of a Fun'rall-knell?
Did Tyrant-I seek others Prize?
My self now made the Sacrifice?
Fates, you are equall, and thou Love;
Like mercy I (just Talio) prove
As meant to others; Torture, Pain;
Dire Scourge! 'tis my reward again.
'Twas She my Huntress was, by th' way,
That ayr'd her so, like Princess May;
Such sweets and beauties scattring round.
Dull Winter seem'd turn'd jolly, Crown'd
With Rose-buds, fragrant breath'd. What Rayes
Then strook our eyes! what wonders blaze,
Sweet'st Lightnings! O, what Charms divine!
Th' ore-coming Glory did define
Some Angel-Form; if Earthly race,
Then Woman, lovely'st woman, 'twas;
Or rare I know not what: she's All
We Men admire, perfection call.
Her Looks shot day-light, Beame-supplyes,
While th' sun (cloud muffled scout) close lyes,
Asham'd on's gaudier blasing so,
Those Copper-rayes to hers in shew:
Perhaps, some Love-dart fear'd, least he
By th' jealous Morne forsaken be;
Or, indeed struck, with amorous head
Jog'd on, and so went sick to Bed:
The world not needing beg th' old Sun,
Since from her eyes flam'd Two for one,
No Christall frost worke deck'd the ground
T'intice her foot, whose Beamings round
That Morne disperst, perhaps ore-aw'd
The glaz'd Earth, Congelations thawd.
Her pace Court-measure, gratefull'st showd;
Whilst through her Breath, th' Aire, spicy, good,
Purg'd wholsome seem'd: as Goblins light,
Fogs shun her Purity, take flight.
Ten thousand Cupids came along,
Playing in her eyes, her cheeks, or hung
Oth' Brest, Lips, Hayr; incamp'd appeare,
In Bright and loveli'st Musters, there,
As with their quiver'd Hoast would peirce
All Hearts, and conquer th' Universe:
A moving world of wonder shewing;
Heaven of flesh all Joyes bestowing.
Twas fairely-sweetly-cruell Shee,
That chas'd and seiz'd my liberty;
That let whole Mint of lightnings fly,
Heap of Granadoes from her Eye,
Dart-magazine, that shot through mine;
I saw their flaming points to shine
All th' way they came, when, through the Eye,
Th' heart bled in kindest sympathy:
I hop'd, fear'd, mus'd (Non-self'd, confesse)
Strange Seeing Road! what wonders presse
Through th' eyes glaz'd Organs, Souls possess!

On FLOSTELLAS' Close Nun-like Retirement.

Why seemes (Sun cloath'd Flostel) so long
Deferd our Break of day, till stung
With Greenland curse? O Why (Mole fashion)
Pore wee on Clods, this dull Creation,
Our glory hid? with whom's inshrin'd
Those long'd for blisses of Man-kind.
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 wee too prophanely slight
That blessing, meanly rate thy Sight
Enjoy'd? when thou (more justly-nice)
By Want dost please t'inhance thy Price:
An angry Absence must alone
Make thee more reverenc't, and more known.
Or last, was't Charity divine,
Did through our frailties guilt confine
Thee to thy Cells, devouter floar,
T'obtaine our pardon? O, restore
That Face back, fair Example, thus,
Wee shall grow good, lesse criminous.
Rare Beautyes were not made at all
For cloistring, and live-burial,
Though Bats, Owles be; those glorious Seaven,
Th' unwasted Lampes of Earth and Heaven
(Sky-brooches) loe, they were not thrust
To Corners, lodg'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.
Some times 'tis wholsome, purest Mayd,
To ayre thee through the field and shade;
When from some Hill faire-map'd does lye
Small Europe, travel'd by thine Eye;
And th' amaz'd People gazing round,
As though another Morn were found.
For as through fight thou Physick'st us,
And our dross-spirits refinest thus
To suttle Fire; this Earth Ayre grown,
Pure Quintessentiall, whilst (anon)
Our Blouds dance revels in each veine;
So thou dost Physick thy Selfe againe.
Mayes soveraign, delicious ayre,
'Twill make that Cheeke more snowy-fayr
(If possible) those Brests of spyce,
Thus fan'd, more, Beds of Paradise:
Twil make that Angell-shape to strike
Our eyes with motion Angell-like
Quick, sprightly; improve that daintiest frame
So lively, as if all Soule became;
Then shew thee oft, deare Cordiall; thus
Thou physick'st both thy selfe and us.

FLOSTELLAS Nunlike Coynesse

Flostella fairest, why so coy,
So dainty nice? when but t'enjoy
One favour such a taske doth prove,
Herculean Labour: tell me Love;
What though that daintier hand touch mine
(Of Spotlesse Alablaster-shine)
Would't shew lesse faire and sulli'd be?
Or lose the Fashion, if by me
But kindly prest? though never I
That sacred white doe come so nigh,
But with wash't hands; nor touch their Down,
But reverentiall feare does crown
My Devout Palme your Glove all day
May freelyer touch, your Scisers may,
Silk, needle, lawn, nay, meaner thread;
Then is my Hand more vile indeed
Then these? or say, you purify
Those things by Touch, like Chimistry
May these coorse hands sublime, refine.
Or say, those daintier Lips touch mine,
Are they impoverish't in their store?
Or wast their Delicates the more
By often giving? (since they are
A lasting sweetnesse) or, less faire,
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 Phæbus, Toys, which often please;
Then are my Lips more base then these?
The Fly may buzzing kisse, and touch
(Unbalm'd) those Cherries; mine's but such
Las! can you chide and frowne, when I
(Nye starv'd) do beg the Charity,
Th' Almes of one kisse? twas never yet
Held sin for Starvelings to crave meat;
That's free; would you not Life bestow,
Where you your selfe ne'r the Poorer grow?
Nay, Sweetest, were't love-relish'd, this,
You would seeme Richer by a kisse;
Love's First-course, Second Mintage tis.

The Author's second Dreame of FLOSTELLAS Morning-Walk.

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 dainty, nice:
When th' Chaos-world (late sullen) now
Turn'd laughing all, stamp'd on whose brow
Fine new Creation: when froz'd Men
(Not snailes alone) seem'd Live agen.
Forth went the Nimphe, whose eyes fayr ray
Had January turnd to May,
And spruc't the poor-clad earth howere
With flow'rs, though Flora banish'd were:
Forth trip'd Fostel whilst I alone
Ingross'd that blessing, th' honour wonn
To attend, her Walks chief Favourite;
Sole Guardian to my souls delight:
Cal'd by her as if Heav'n had cal'd
To Joyes, wherein blest Saints instal'd
(Who would not glory?) Champion thence
To weake, yet purest Innocence.
For well FLOSTELLA knew that I
Would not hurt, but protecting dye;
And (though Temptations all, her shape)
Would punish, not commit a Rape.
Thus, though no morning-star am borne,
Yet was I usher to the Morn;
Did, next, her Sun-companion shew,
Whose hand inrich'd mine with its snow:
Naught envying now Great Turke, Mogor,
Tartarian China's Bugbeare, or
Black Southern Prince; thus scepter'd, I
Durst boast a fairer Monarchy.
Each Object, as we trac't below,
With rival-courtship seem'd to wooe
My Heavenly Fayr; and bred in me
A kind of sportive Jealousie:
Birds chant love songs, Gales whisper'd soft
Kind tales, stole kisses; whilst (me thought)
Hearbs, Flowres hung their love-sick heads
Or bow'd with reverence from their beds,
Hils animated seemd, rejoyce,
And (wanton) Eccho'd back her Voyce:
O pregnant Soule! say, what does prove
So all-breeding as that Womb of Love?
Here, whilst I sacrific'd such Vowes,
Sighs Incense as Love's zeal allowes
Her hand, Breast, th' Alters made to tl.' eare
Thus breath'd Flostel, O, breath'd sounds were
Seraphick Musick! (words? be gone
That poor Terme) Thus shee seem'd to own
Hold Fondling, don't expose abroad
Such sweetnesse to th' Ayres common Road;
Be wise; th' Harmonious touch oth' Sphears
Not Musick is for Vulgar eares:
Repeate the Blisses to thine owne;
Tell Venus, or Loves selfe alone:
And feed you lickerish eares (reviv'd
Your deare Joyes) Fancy makes new liv'd;
Whilst Cupid scores up all, each word,
Th' Houre, Minute, in's chast Loves Record.

FLOSTELLAS Lute.

Sight, Smelling, Tasting, Feeling all be gone,
And leave with me the officious Eare alone;
Go Slumber, or th' unheeded loytrers play,
Whilst thou attend (Souls Favourite) this way:
Blesse, blesse thy selfe and me, till seem translated
To new divine Ioyes, by that Hand Created.
List, list with reverence; devoutly O
Harken; th' Orbes Minstrelsyes sham'd here below:
Whilst gives Flostel Life to her senceless Lute,
And warbling language to what late was mute.
Harke, what delicious strains and Heavenly rare
Doe as 'twere sweeten, and inrich the Ayre!
Phebean Harps Great Master finds his skill
Scornd by th' Olimpicks, and neglected still
When thou once play'st; all listening unto thee;
T'whom meaner hands like Winds rude blustrings be
Or th' note of bubling Brooks: All Musick is
Untun'd harsh Discord, and but noise to This.
Away all dumpish cares, all puling sorrow
(You Cloud-drove) fly my World, pack til the morrow;
Let me forget I'm Earth, or burdend am
With drosse of flesh, but th' Elementall flame
Seem rarifi'd, turnd Spirits (Ayre doth show
Poore, languid) dance my Bloud, your veins o'erflow
In glad Tides; whilst those highest Soul faculties
Frame all a Masque: that Lute Soule-revels please.
O, ther's a sweetly, sweetly-solemn strain
Has laid all in a slumbring Trance again,
And charm'd all to amazement; view but round,
How strange a Metamorphosis there's found:
Men stand by th' walls, and furnish out the room
Like Arras-pictures, or as to some Tombe
Belong'd for Monuments; whilst only flies
A glimps of Life or Twilight from their Eyes.
Al's turnd a Sepulchre, so whist and dead
A silence raigns: the sweet Death welcomed.
O, let me thus expire and {waste} away
To dissolution, Nature that Debt pay
Of Vapour-breath, that else some boyling Feaver,
Stone, Poyson, sturdy Gout, or Stab might sever:
Sweet killing Flostel, thus the Soul to stray
To Heaven, 'twere t'have Heaven by the way:
Such death were but to live; the Gaspes to this,
Ore-ravishing Delights, too powerfull bliss.
And then I dye a Martyr by thy Hand,
Though not in wrath; But (spight of countermand)
As fleeting Souls last Farewell, I must kiss
That beauteous hand first: Fool! all's spoyld by this.

FLOSTELLAS Hand and Glove.

Fair FLOSTEL, my ambitious Muse,
Through its aspiring zeal wu'd choose
Rather to chant thy Hand then Glove,
Court that Diviner form, my Love;
T'whom Snow, with th' Alablaster mine,
Great stile of Whiteness do resigne:
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 those appear
Like sacred Twin-like Relicks there,
Worth 'bove all Romes; like cloyster'd Nuns,
Or silver, Orbe-involved Moons.
Nor nak'd to each unworthy eye,
Or the Sun's bolder kisses lye
(Sight fit'st for Kings) but then devest,
Break forth like Morns, their dusky East,
When Silk and Gold ask touch more fine;
Some Needle-miracle, designe.
Where shown to th' eye small new Creation;
Birds, Beasts so neer inanimation,
So true, that Natures self does start;
Half 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 meanly choyce
Beauties triumph it now, rejoyce;
Let coorser Hands now boldly shew.
And seek t'enamour with worse Snow.
Your Gloves kind pardon, if I seem
Transported here with what's their Gem,
Chief Riches, Glory; wherefore spight
Should not ore-long debar my Sight:
Since I love These too, even in this
Fine, pritty'st winning Beauty is;
Both as it self, and as 'tis Thine:
So dainty-shap'd, Symmetrick fine,
Pure-white withall, that it might stand
A rude-drawn Picture to that Hand:
From whence (methinks) breath highest sweets,
Whose sublimation Juno fits.
This Pattern seem's for best of Gloves
(As that for Hands) like Queen of Love's.
O Cupid, would'st ordain, that I,
Under that form might hug so nye
That loved Hand (stupendious feat!)
But ah, I fear my Youthfull Heat,
Sighes, soft-breath'd Whispers, joyfull Dance
Oth' Panting-heart, then colder Trance
With fervent ravenous Kisses, soon
Would blab the Cozenage; all undone;
When I'm cashier'd eternally:
Whereas, that Favourit-Glove layd by,
Recloathes that Beauty; exalted is
To it's late Paradisian Bliss.

The Authors third Dream of FLOSTELLAS Evening Walk, and Voyce.

Flostel and I (O, fondly'st-kind,
Indulgent Stars! thus still you bind)
Flostel and I in Evening fair
Stole forth to taste the Garden ayr;
That sweet'st and mildest Age of Day,
When Sun does sprinkle kinder ray;
Nor breeds our head-ach, whilst Good-night
Sends from far West with drowsy light:
That and the Morne, those pauses sweet
'Tween th' Aguish fits of Cold and Heate.
Those harmlesse Gales were only straying,
Which dance the leaves with nicer playing,
Nor whisper, whilst, with kind of blisse,
May's Flowry beauteous Strangers kiss
In signe of welcome: dandling oft
Flostellas Curles, when us'd (me thought)
Reverence too, least, through their sin,
One curle disturb'd or spoild had been:
Th' Ayres Concave still'd to quiet rest,
Like Flostels gentle Mayden-brest.
Who, mask'd and vail'd (that else had soone
Turn'd th' Evening into glorious Noon)
Travers'd a gloomy Thicke, design'd
For Love maze, Labourinth, where inshrin'd
Th' Worlds Beauty appeard. Twas ambush plot
T'ore-heare the Nightingales small throat,
High, strong'st to boot (That, prais'd to be
The Shades prime Songster, harmony)
VVith rest oth' Noyse, who all begun,
As if to th' then departing Sun
Would chirp some merry shril Good-night,
And so long Sing as he gave Light.
VVhich heard (prime mirthfull jollity)
By both, with pleased Eare, drawn nigh:
Flostel puts into th' warbling Quire;
Faire Goddesse lo, which seemd t'inspire
Those little creatures with their skill;
Chanting her praise in Anthems still.
The ruder place seem'd (Chaos-wise)
Turn'd to some new drest Paradise,
Earth-Heaven, so well that Face and Tongue
Might to sweet Cherubins belong.
Gods (rapt with joy oth' recreation)
T'affaires divine held strait Vacation,
Breaking Heavens Parliament asunder,
To see, to heare this Mortall Wonder
(Th' Ayr trac'd in measures) while cros-arm'd
Some fate, enamourd shewing, Love-charm'd:
Consulting all her soon Translation
From this base Earth to th' starry station,
As their Quire's Mistress; female pow'rs
Whilst prais'd, or envi'd from their Tow'rs:
Wood-satyres skipping wildly round;
This masque at least my fancy found.
Lo th' All of Rapture, sweets how high!
Best Ioyes the eares capacity
Could reach to, only those above,
The deare Soule melting Sounds of Love.
Her Lute was rare, though dead the sound;
This Living, therefore rather crown'd:
That, was but hollow Timbers noise,
This, sweet, warme, lovely Womans voice:
Religion sway'd, else I had nye
Been guilty of Voice-idolatry.

FLOSTELLA and the Nightingale.

Rare, charming Voice! but (O) how rare,
Breath'd by that shee so only fair!
Whose Face and bodi's beauties be
Compos'd with so rare Symmetry
(Heavens choice Designe) so sweetly accorded,
One heavenly consort all afforded;
And were the Harmony oth' eye;
Seem'd Natures silent Melody:
N'ere man so doubly blest; th' Eye, Eare!
Record it Love, 'twas only here.
Each trembling Noate, those Coralls wrought
(When born) seem'd swadled, wrapt methought,
And (as soone dying) Embalm'd within
So sweet Breath, as perfum'd 't had beene;
Came flying in a precious Ayre
Of Odours, 'bove Arabian far:
The same sweet Noats (you would have deem'd)
The severall souls of Musick seem'd.
O, had I caught and kept alive
Those precious sounds (beyond Reprive)
Those Spirits of sweetness as they flew!
So t'have had constant Musick, True
FLOSTELLAS Self 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 these;
Her Voyce must greater Magick prove,
And make them court her, fall in Love.
Whilst breath'd Flostel and clos'd her song
Behold, most pritty wonder sprung;
Th' ambitious Nightingale reply'd,
Through pertest emulations pride
(Chief Chorister ith' feather'd Court
To th' royall Eagle fam'd) in sport
Would sing her part, and nimbly runs
Her fine-poys'd, quaint divisions:
Now Flostel, then the Nightingale,
Now she, then she, which should prevail.
The Chirper's fal'n to earnest now,
No more must Jesting strains allow;
'Twas sober Duell, no idle play,
Sharp Brest contention for the Day:
Till th' ore-strain'd Bird presum'd still higher,
As life 'twould forfeit thus, Expire.
Which pirtying, I was fain to intreat,
Her softer Heart would make retreat;
And end that dangerous strife so nye,
By yeilding a false Victory:
This Quarrel must not ruin prove
Of such a voyce, to th' Spring and Grove:
Her Mercy rather should reprive
(Double honour's Trophie) keep alive.
When, loth to stifle yet my blisses,
I silenc'd those sweet Lips with kisses;
Though but th' Eares ayery Joyes transferr'd
To th' solid Touch; so, sav'd the Bird.

CRESSAS Funerall, the Love of DIFLORIS.

Is any Pastors Eare so deaf to fame,
That has not heard of fairest CRESSAS name?
So us'd to bleatings, whom that Funerall knell,
Which Groan'd this Nymph to earth; did hearts congeal,
Hath not arriv'd to? happy sure's that He
In this, since knowes not th' common Misery;
Distress'd Argadias loss, with whom does share
Nature, Grand Mourner; her Beloved fair
Cloyster'd in dust, nor (without company)
Dy'd she alone, for Hundreds! seem'd to dye
In sorrow with her; The Suns self was gone
Fast from her Funeralls, and Night came on
To bring her Sables. O what new-rays'd Train,
Of Goblins strook my sight! which rov'd the Plain
With such dire ceremony, rufull guise,
As each did his own Funerall solemnize:
Lo, Deaths March 'twas. First went young Swains by pairs
(Each crown'd with mournfull Cipress) Usherers
To th' solemn Herse; those Four next to't (that led)
Bare Shields, were pictur'd, on dark Cole-black Bed
Most pale-cheek'd Virgin lay, prepar'd as 'twere
For Bridalls, and which beauteous did appear
Even in Death, by Deaths black armes embrac't:
And over, in white Characters, was plac't,
This, this my Lover, this my Bridall: So
All pass'd along: But following th' Herse did go
A single Swain; how dismall look'd, slow-pac't!
Tra'st Bulk of wretchedness, o'r whose face cast
A meer Life-damp; seem'd Ghost, to th' Corps before:
Sighs bestorm'd about him, whilst be drench'd their shore
His Torrent-eyes; and thus, would needs excell,
Surpasse in grief. About his Hat (mix'd well)
Forsaken Willow, Cipresse wreath'd; above,
This written, Deaths my Rivall. Next did move
The Virgin-train in white, which Censers beare;
Dark vail'd like Dooms-day Planets: Torch-light there
Forc'd frightfull Noon. And thus they softly trace
(Dire measure! how unwilling) to th' sad place,
Where they must leave their slumbring Nymph behind,
T'enrich the covetous Earth; which (half struck blind)
Their Youth beheld: never spake Sorrow more
Then now in silence: different Passion store;
Here Sighes, there Tears, pale Looks there, yet all one
Consort in Grief; This generall alone;
All look'd their utmost, till 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 though in spight of Death
Would still Injoy: with many a pittying muse,
Th' hard ground's ore-churlish mold should so abuse
That daintiest Body, which though once more nice)
Las, now complain'd not; but Death-tranced lyes,
What Mayden Adieus, what Tears! Swaines kiss'd the Place;
All saying, Richer Gem'd Earth never was.

Song. Scornfulness.

The Goodmorrow.

Lovers mixt Weather.

The Spring-time.

The Face and Glass.

Presence.

Absence.

Beauty.

SONG. A French Villanell Englished. Il y a dans ce Village, &c.

EPITAPH On a young Lady.

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

SONG. Hero and Leander: Fram'd after that of Dido was a Carthage Queen, &c.

English'd out of Montemayor in Spanish. On Leander Leandro Amoroso Fuego ardia, &c.

Leander , burning in an Amorous fire,
Stole down to th' Liquid murmuring shore, attended
With one Love-thought alone, his dear Desire;
Through whose Bold force no danger apprehended:
Which flaming Light through streams when darted was,
God Neptune angry rouz'd, with Waves to quench it;
God Cupid too might better ceas'd that Blaze,
'Tween HERO'S wisht-for Armes have sought to Drench it
The Morns fair Light to th' Voyage, urg'd, as 'twere;
Night gently rose, with friendly'st shades surrounding;
More kind then either Love, or Fortune were:
O wretched Lovers fates, belief confounding!
That Love and Fortune both, in one combined,
Such dismall Death ith' end for him Designed.

Another English'd out of Montemayor, in Spanish: On a coy Mistress. Los Oios no peccaron en Miraros, &c.

Mine Eyes in Looking (Sweetest) does not sin,
If but pretend to view, and to Admire you;
Should my Soul Merit plead, aspire to win,
Wish't not worse Evill, then still to Want, desire you:
Nere speaks my Tongue to you, be't silent, dumb,
If word, with thought to move you, forth it warble:
My Tears, if plot to soften overcome,
You punish may, hardning your Brest as Marble:
But do not snatch from me your dearest Sight,
For though it cause (ith' End) my secret anguish,
Sad Life I'le spend in viewing you, earths Light;
Since no Life else, for none I feel, or languish:
My Soul, if lives without you's Dead, or dying;
Hope of its Torment still best Cure applying.

Happiness.

There is a precious thing whom we all bless
As Gem of Heaven, intitled Happiness;
For which the pin'd World plods and sweats, approves
From Towers to Thatch, from Silks to Leather Loves;
The gen'rall thirst and hunger onely this,
To frail Humanity prime Minion 'tis:
But most, how blindly hurry to th' wrong School
T'instruct them in't! their Tutor is most Fool.
Reason disclaim'd, Sence, Fancy proves their Guide;
Thus those deluded Pilgrims travell wide,
But ne'r enjoy, becomming still worse strayes,
In that their Magick-strow'd, unlucky Maze.
He, Honours Blazes, Popular breath's ayre
Hunts after; wanton Venus Breasts (made bare)
Th' Other admires, how Courts; with stallion-heat
Neighing after th' flesh: That, studies how to Eate,
Carouse to pleasure, Lauds his various mess;
Whose Hell-deep Gorge, tooth's nicety to please,
That Elementall store-house wanteth food;
Th' whole Globes a thin starv'd market: ther's his Good.
Th' fourth hugs his Mint, gay mettall does adore:
Th' fifth Horses, Hounds (keen sports-man) loves, playes o're
His life just like a Game; whilst Lazyer He
Sits yauning, looks about, an Idlesby.
All these Graspe ayery Blisses, bitter sweets;
Tarant'la-stung, but dye 'midst laughing fits;
Since onely Virtue (Heavens choyce Off-spring known,
Frail Earths best seasoning sweet, life's life alone)
This Soules Elixar, tenfold Indies weares,
And on her Votaries as Gift confers:
In Her stor'd All. Sublim'd this Virtue growes
Through Learning, arts; What's well, that former shows,
And yeilds both Comfort, Peace of a Good Action;
The nobler souls prime glory, and satisfaction:
Th' other gives Knowledge, unlocks to thine eye
Nature with each her richest Mystery
Infuse but Third to these, the Moderate mind
(Though shadow-like with virtue 't seems combin'd)
Who seeks but what's Enough, and there behold
That Happy man, great Lord oth' Western Gold
(If He'l but think so) Prince of this vast Round,
This Medley of Sea and Land, by himself Crown'd.
Nor can his starvling-Fortunes miserable
Make him or wretch'd, if to subsist but able,
T'uphold a Being, and worst Poverty
May Natures low Ambition satisfie.
Thus he enjoyes himself still, is the same,
Though's Changling Fortun's turn'd; nor finds a shame
In being Poor, or's heard to rayl upon
His Stars for their extortion; stands alone,
Like unmov'd Rock, the battering Wind and Wave,
Mocking their cholerick Frensies; bids 'em rave.
Sucks as sweet pleasing Ayre, talks, eats, and sleeps
As hearty as ever, whilst his Curtain keeps
Forth Care with Day: Good Bedfellow, as kind,
Soft, Down-support, does still his Pillow find.
And as friends flinch away, but laughs to see
Th' odd humour of the Age, how Poverty
Is left alone, save of her own lean Crew;
The Worlds grown Coy, known Face, strangers shew
And look on him A-squint, whilst cheerfull he
Finds from within the sweetest Company;
Can hug himself: That base Tribe pittying still.
And if his burlyer fortunes claim the style
Of Plump Prosperity, if now he showes
Some-body in the World, how kindly flowes
The late ebbing Rout, what Hails and Visits then!
Both make him Mirth, he's now belov'd agen.

English'd out of Petrark, in Italian. On his first view of LAURA. Era'l giorno, ch' al Sol si scoloraro, &c.

There was a Day when the Sun's beams grew pale
Through reverence of you, Lights chief Disposer,
When those fair Eyes (dear Mistress) ah too frail
Ungaurded bound my Soul, no band th' incloser:
Time serv'd not then for Breach repairs, or Fence
'Gainst CUPIDS storm, yet felt I sore suspition,
Strong fears (though loves disease more vulgar) whence
Chief sprung my bleeding woes, this thrall'd condition;
Love, treacherous love, found me disarmed there,
When through mine Eyes to th' Heart free road extending
(Eyes, now the Sluce to tears, sad Foords as 'twere)
Though little with Loves honour, glory ending;
Struck Naked me with Dart, whilst not Alone,
To Coy well-armed you his Bow was shown.

Another English'd out of Petrarch in Italian: On LAURA veyl'd. Lassare il Velo Oper Sole, O per Ombra, &c.

That you leave off your Veyl, by Sun or shade
(Mistress) I have not seen, nor can discover;
As though you thought my Grand desire allay'd
That way, which throngs my Heart, become all Lover;
Since secret thoughts, there harbour'd, lurking, do
Stiffe me still through Want, breed more Desiring:
I've seen choyce Goodness to adorn that Brow,
But since that Love disclos'd my inward firing,
Those Sunshine-curls with Clouds be-veyled o're;
Your splendid amorous Look, o'recast, obscured?
Thus, snatch'd from me what most I prize, Adore,
If govern'd by that Veyl, worst plagues endured;
Which, friezing me to Death, be't heat or cold,
Your fair Eyes sweetest Light does darken, infold.

The doubting Lover.

Through doubt, desire, he friezes, burns
(Quotidian Ague) both Zoanes turns,
Torrid, frozen: Lauds his Saint, adores;
Hugs his late slavery, yet deplores:
Thanks, blames his Stars, as kind, unkind;
Can talk t'himself, and wandring Wind;
Fool it with th' Eccho, pleas'd with Trees
Lone Rocks and Cells Societies:
Kisses his Chain, lov'd poyson'd Dart;
Hopes, fears: a poor Convulsion'd Heart!
Man of all weathers; lowrs this hour,
Next smiles; 'tis Sun-shine, Hony-shower.
How's her words poys'd! her each glance, look
How Anatomiz'd! Star-gaze, his Book:
He Nods, Sighs, Breaths, by Rule; so sore,
Love's Good-behaviour, binds all o're.
Idols his Creed; his Trade inrol'd
Under-ground delving, though seeks Gold.
In brief some Heaven's, more Hells do seize him.
Nought but t'enjoy or dye, can ease him.

The Despairing Lover.

How like's that wretch't, unhappy Lover,
Whose Travels nought but scorns discover,
To the chas'd Deer; their Dwellings are
Like-rac'd, and sadly alike they fare.
As Wilderness his Fancy shewes
About him, which wild thoughts compose.
Those Dogs that hunt him, lean Dispair,
Grief, Sorrow; fierce th' whole Kennell are:
Killingly fleet, well-nos'd for scent,
Too True, too Bloody-diligent:
Whose mouthes spit Venome, from whose eyes
Quick Balls of raging wild-fire flyes.
Those dismall Hornes that storm about
His eares, and ring his Funerall out,
Those last disdainfull breath'd Checks, came
From his o're-coy, Heart-breaking Dame;
Made terribler, far far more shrill
Through Fancy's doubling Eccho still.
The frightfull Hunter's glance, call'd View
(Whilst through the Road or Lawn pursue)
Seem's th' oft imagin'd Vision, forme,
Ot's Doom-fac'd Mistress; that she-storme.
That Shaft sheath'd in his side. Desire,
Worst-pointed with a flame of fire;
Which drinks Life-spirits, feeds upon
Blood, yea, fries th' marrow through the bone,
Full-blown with sighs, and sobbings oft:
Imbost with rage, and heat of thought.
Thus, when th' ore-hounded Wretch his Race
Has run, and so long held the Chase
As faintest gasping hopes supply
With fleeting breath; when 'midst the Cry,
No Comforts cooler stream relieving,
For Soyl; nor Reasons Bay help giving:
With Stag-like tears he falling dyes,
Scorns Triumph, and Love's Sacrifice.

English'd out of Montemayor, in Spanish. On a Pastorall Lover. Estava Lusitano repastando.

Young Lusitan sat grazing (Solemn turn'd)
His Snow white Flock, through Verdant Plain dispersing;
Green Sheep-book, Scepter-like, th' own hand adorn'd,
He view'd the ground, with's own sad Thoughts conversing:
And raising th' Eyes sometimes, forth Breathed this.
If prov'st so soveraign (my Disease) excelling,
Who sayes, that, Losing me not saving is?
Knows he not that in Pain there's Pleasure dwelling?
Since for my Care no salve of comfort sought?
She need not to regard thee: O Vandalessa
Those Ignorants mistake my Mystick lot;
For, since receiv'd thy Looks divine Impressa,
I count it Grief not to be griev'd, or Wounded:
My Malady's my Medcine thus compounded.

The Offering.

Sweet'st Saint,

Accept my Vowes, which Incence like [illeg.]
And sume before thee in solemn Sacrifice;
My flaming Heart my chast Desires allow,
'Those Morning offer'd Sighs, and Evening too;
Receive their kinder Breath, whereof each one
Seems to put up short begging Orison
Or Love-suit to thee: Pitty the complains
Each whispers in thine Eare. And least I fains
In my Devotions, please but other-while,
To Answer with the sparkle of a Smile
That I'm accepted; but if frowns you bring
Alas my Heart's turn'd meer dead Offering.
Fain wou'd I please my Saint, O gently bow
T'intrust my Ignorance, and teach me how:
Crown me thus far, thy Fav'rite votary,
And I'le disclaim all other Saints, but Thee.

The Complaint.

Why was I Born,
Or not born Blind?
Though thence the scars;
Of whole mankind,
Their Pitty, or Wonder;
That so I'de Womans shape nere known;
Or seeing, had I mist but one,
But Thine alone;
We onely kept asunder.
O then kind Heavens you had blest
A Soul of Anguish,
That's now condemn'd to sad un-rest,
And endlessly must languish:
Yet check my Heart, no more
These Plaints; give o're:
Since thou hadst rather dye through her rejection
Then not have seen so rare Perfection

Mutual Love, Conjugall.

Constancy.