The chast and lost lovers living shadowed in the person of Arcadius and Sepha and illustrated with the several stories of Haemon and Antigone, Eramio and Amissa, Phaon and Sappho, Delithason and Verista ... : to which is added the contestation betwixt Bacchus and Diana, and certain sonnets of the author to Aurora / digested into three poems by Will. Bosworth.
         Bosworth, William, 1607-1650?
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A28854 of text R4184 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Wing B3800). Textual changes  and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more  computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life.  The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with  MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish.  This text has not been fully proofread 
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         EarlyPrint Project
         Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO
         2017
         A28854
         Wing B3800
         ESTC R4184
         11791998
         ocm 11791998
         49247
         
           
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         Early English books online.
      
       
         (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A28854)
         Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 49247)
         Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 810:11)
      
       
         
           
             The chast and lost lovers living shadowed in the person of Arcadius and Sepha and illustrated with the several stories of Haemon and Antigone, Eramio and Amissa, Phaon and Sappho, Delithason and Verista ... : to which is added the contestation betwixt Bacchus and Diana, and certain sonnets of the author to Aurora / digested into three poems by Will. Bosworth.
             Bosworth, William, 1607-1650?
          
           [16], 127 p.
           
             Printed for William Shears ...,
             London :
             1653.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
       
         
           English poetry -- Early modern, 1500-1700.
        
      
    
       A28854  R4184  (Wing B3800).  civilwar no The chast and lost lovers: lively shadowed in the persons of Arcadius and Sepha, and illustrated with the severall stories of Hæmon and Anti Bosworth, William 1653    36138 223 0 0 0 0 0 62 D  The  rate of 62 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the D category of texts with between 35 and 100 defects per 10,000 words. 
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        2002-05 Allison Liefer
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             THE
             CHAST
             and
             LOST
             LOVERS
             :
             Lively
             shadowed
             in
             the
             persons
             of
             
               Arcadius
            
             and
             
               Sepha
               ,
            
             and
             illustrated
             with
             the
             severall
             stories
             of
             
               Haemon
            
             and
             
               Antigone
               ,
               Eramio
            
             and
             
               Amissa
               ,
               Phaon
            
             and
             
               Sappho
               ,
               Delithason
            
             and
             
               Verista
               .
            
          
           
             Being
             a
             description
             of
             several
             LOVERS
             smiling
             with
             delight
             ,
             and
             with
             hopes
             fresh
             as
             their
             youth
             ,
             and
             fair
             as
             their
             beauties
             in
             the
             beginning
             of
             their
             Affections
             ,
             and
             covered
             with
             Bloud
             and
             Horror
             in
             the
             conclusion
             .
          
           
             To
             this
             is
             added
             the
             Contestation
             betwixt
             
               Bacchus
            
             and
             
               Diana
               ,
            
             and
             certain
             Sonnets
             of
             the
             Author
             to
             AURORA
             .
          
           
             Digested
             into
             three
             Poems
             ,
             by
             
               Will
               .
               Bosworth
               ,
            
             Gent.
             
          
           
             —
             Me
             quoque
          
           
             Impune
             volare
             ,
             &
             sereno
          
           
             Calliope
             dedit
             ire
             coelo
             .
          
           
             
               London
               ,
            
             Prnted
             for
             
               William
               Shears
               ,
            
             and
             are
             to
             be
             sold
             at
             the
             sign
             of
             the
             Bible
             in
             St.
             
               Pauls
            
             Church-Yard
             ,
             1653.
             
          
        
         
         
         
           
             To
             the
             true
             Lover
             of
             all
             good
             Learning
             ,
             the
             Honourable
             John
             Finch
             ,
             
               Esq
            
          
           
             
               
                 
                   SIR
                   ,
                
              
               
                 IF
                 
                   Poetry
                
                 be
                 truly
                 conceived
                 to
                 carry
                 some
                 
                   Divinity
                
                 with
                 it
                 ;
                 and
                 
                   Poets
                   ,
                
                 on
                 what
                 Subjects
                 soever
                 their
                 Fancies
                 have
                 discoursed
                 ,
                 have
                 bin
                 intitaled
                 
                   Divine
                   ,
                
                 as
                 the
                 
                   Divine
                   Mr.
                   Spencer
                   ,
                
                 the
                 
                   Divine
                   Ronsard
                   ,
                
                 the
                 
                   Divine
                   Ariosto
                   ;
                
                 how
                 much
                 more
                 properly
                 may
                 they
                 be
                 esteemed
                 to
                 be
                 
                   Divine
                   ,
                
                 who
                 have
                 made
                 chast
                 Love
                 their
                 Argument
                 ,
                 which
                 is
                 a
                 fire
                 descended
                 frō
                 Heaven
                 ,
                 and
                 (
                 habituall
                 in
                 its
                 Action
                 )
                 is
                 alwayes
                 ascending
                 and
                 aspiring
                 to
                 it
                 :
                 This
                 is
                 that
                 Love
                 which
                 
                   Xenophon
                
                 doth
                 distinguish
                 from
                 the
                 sensuall
                 ,
                 and
                 doth
                 call
                 it
                 
                   The
                   heavenly
                   Venus
                   ,
                
                 and
                 with
                 this
                 our
                 
                   Poet
                
                 being
                 powerfully
                 inspired
                 hath
                 breathed
                 
                 forth
                 these
                 happy
                 raptures
                 ,
                 to
                 declare
                 ,
                 That
                 Love
                 and
                 the
                 Muses
                 are
                 so
                 near
                 of
                 kinne
                 ,
                 that
                 the
                 greatest
                 
                   Poets
                
                 are
                 the
                 greatest
                 Lovers
                 .
              
               
                 And
                 Sir
                 ,
                 although
                 there
                 is
                 no
                 man
                 a
                 more
                 absolute
                 master
                 of
                 his
                 passions
                 than
                 your self
                 ,
                 and
                 therefore
                 you
                 cannot
                 be
                 said
                 to
                 be
                 subjected
                 unto
                 Love
                 ,
                 yet
                 it
                 shall
                 be
                 no
                 dishonor
                 to
                 you
                 to
                 acknowledge
                 your self
                 to
                 be
                 a
                 lover
                 of
                 the
                 Muses
                 .
                 In
                 this
                 confidence
                 I
                 have
                 made
                 bold
                 to
                 tender
                 unto
                 you
                 these
                 Poems
                 ,
                 the
                 work
                 of
                 a
                 young
                 Gentleman
                 of
                 19
                 years
                 of
                 Age
                 ,
                 who
                 had
                 he
                 lived
                 ,
                 might
                 have
                 been
                 as
                 well
                 the
                 Wonder
                 as
                 the
                 Delight
                 of
                 the
                 Arts
                 ,
                 and
                 been
                 advanced
                 by
                 them
                 amongst
                 the
                 highest
                 in
                 the
                 Temple
                 of
                 Fame
                 .
                 The
                 Myrtle
                 and
                 the
                 Cypresse
                 Groves
                 ,
                 which
                 he
                 made
                 more
                 innocent
                 by
                 his
                 Love
                 ,
                 shall
                 remember
                 ,
                 and
                 the
                 musick
                 of
                 the
                 Birds
                 shall
                 teach
                 every
                 tree
                 to
                 repeat
                 to
                 one
                 another
                 his
                 chast
                 complaint
                 ,
                 and
                 the
                 flourish
                 of
                 the
                 trees
                 shall
                 endeavour
                 to
                 raise
                 unto
                 Heaven
                 his
                 name
                 ,
                 which
                 they
                 shall
                 
                 wear
                 ingraved
                 on
                 their
                 leaves
                 .
                 These
                 are
                 onely
                 his
                 first
                 flights
                 ,
                 his
                 first
                 fruits
                 ,
                 the
                 early
                 flowers
                 of
                 his
                 youth
                 ;
                 flowers
                 they
                 are
                 ,
                 but
                 so
                 sweetly
                 violent
                 ,
                 that
                 as
                 their
                 Beauties
                 doe
                 arrest
                 our
                 eyes
                 ,
                 so
                 (
                 I
                 hope
                 )
                 their
                 perfume
                 will
                 continue
                 through
                 many
                 Ages
                 to
                 testifie
                 the
                 Influence
                 of
                 your
                 protection
                 ,
                 and
                 the
                 most
                 gracefull
                 resentments
                 of
                 him
                 who
                 is
              
               
                 
                   Sir
                   ,
                
                 
                   Your
                   most
                   humble
                   and
                   devoted
                   servant
                   ,
                   
                     R.
                     C.
                     
                  
                
              
            
          
        
         
         
           
             To
             the
             Reader
             .
          
           
             THis
             Booke
             hath
             the
             fate
             which
             the
             modesty
             of
             Antiquity
             did
             assigne
             to
             their
             Bookes
             ,
             which
             is
             ,
             not
             to
             be
             extant
             till
             the
             Death
             of
             the
             Auth●…r
             ,
             declining
             thereby
             the
             p●…esumption
             of
             an
             assumed
             and
             a
             sawcy
             Immortality
             ,
             and
             owing
             this
             new
             life
             ,
             which
             by
             their
             remaining
             labours
             they
             received
             ,
             to
             the
             Benefit
             and
             Commendation
             of
             Posterity
             .
             These
             Poems
             are
             secure
             in
             themselves
             ,
             and
             neither
             fear
             the
             tongue
             of
             the
             Detractor
             ,
             nor
             desire
             the
             praise
             of
             the
             Encomiastick
             ,
             their
             one
             worth
             can
             best
             speak
             their
             own
             merit
             ,
             but
             this
             it
             shall
             be
             lawfull
             for
             me
             to
             insert
             ,
             that
             in
             one
             Book
             and
             of
             so
             small
             a
             bulke
             you
             shall
             seldome
             see
             more
             cont●…ined
             ,
             
               
                 —
                 He
                 doth
                 swell
              
               
                 Not
                 with
                 th'how
                 much
                 he
                 writeth
                 ,
                 but
                 th'how
                 well
                 .
              
            
             You
             shall
             find
             in
             this
             System
             the
             Idea
             of
             Poetry
             at
             large
             ,
             and
             in
             one
             garland
             all
             the
             flowers
             on
             the
             Hill
             of
             
               Parnasus
               ,
            
             or
             on
             the
             banks
             of
             
               Helicon
               .
            
          
           
             The
             high
             ,
             the
             fluent
             ,
             and
             the
             pathetick
             discourses
             of
             his
             lovers
             ,
             and
             the
             transformation
             of
             them
             after
             
             their
             death
             into
             precious
             stones
             ,
             into
             Birds
             ,
             into
             Flowers
             ,
             or
             into
             Monuments
             of
             Marble
             ,
             you
             shall
             finde
             hath
             allusion
             to
             
               Ovids
               Metamorphosis
               ,
            
             which
             in
             
               Ovids
            
             own
             iudgement
             was
             the
             best
             piece
             that
             ever
             he
             composed
             ,
             and
             for
             which
             with
             most
             confidence
             ,
             he
             doth
             seem
             to
             challenge
             to
             himself
             the
             deserved
             honour
             of
             a
             perpetuall
             Fame
             .
          
           
             The
             strength
             of
             his
             fancy
             ,
             and
             the
             shadowing
             of
             it
             in
             words
             he
             taketh
             from
             Mr.
             
               Marlow
            
             in
             his
             
               Hero
            
             and
             
               Leander
               ,
            
             whose
             mighty
             lines
             Mr.
             
               Benjamin
               Iohnson
            
             (
             a
             man
             sensible
             enough
             of
             his
             own
             abilities
             )
             was
             often
             heard
             to
             say
             ,
             that
             they
             were
             Examples
             fitter
             for
             admiration
             than
             for
             parallel
             ,
             you
             shall
             find
             our
             Author
             every where
             in
             this
             imitation
             .
             This
             the
             one
             .
             
               
                 Some
                 say
                 fair
                 
                   Cupid
                
                 unto
                 her
                 inclin'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Mourn'd
                 as
                 he
                 went
                 ,
                 and
                 thinking
                 on
                 her
                 pin'd
                 .
              
            
             And
             in
             another
             place
             ,
             
               
                 And
                 as
                 she
                 went
                 ,
                 casting
                 her
                 eyes
                 aside
                 ,
              
               
                 Many
                 admiring
                 at
                 her
                 beauty
                 dy'd
                 .
              
            
             This
             the
             other
             ,
             
               
                 And
                 mighty
                 Princes
                 of
                 her
                 love
                 deny'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Pin'd
                 as
                 they
                 went
                 ,
                 &
                 thinking
                 on
                 her
                 dy'd
                 .
              
            
             You
             shall
             finde
             also
             how
             studious
             he
             is
             to
             follow
             him
             in
             those
             many
             quick
             and
             short
             sentences
             at
             the
             close
             of
             his
             fanc●…
             ,
             with
             which
             he
             every where
             doth
             adorn
             his
             writings
             .
          
           
             The
             weaving
             of
             one
             story
             into
             another
             and
             the
             significant
             flourish
             that
             doth
             attend
             it
             is
             the
             peculiar
             Grace
             of
             Sir
             
               Philip
               Sidney
               ,
            
             whom
             our
             Author
             doth
             so
             happily
             imitate
             ,
             as
             if
             he
             were
             one
             of
             the
             same
             Inteligences
             
             that
             moved
             in
             that
             incomparable
             Compasse
             .
          
           
             His
             making
             the
             end
             of
             one
             Verse
             to
             be
             the
             frequent
             beginning
             of
             the
             other
             (
             besides
             the
             Art
             of
             the
             Trope
             )
             was
             the
             labour
             and
             delight
             of
             Mr.
             
               Edmund
               Specer
               ,
            
             whom
             Sir
             
               Walt
               Raleigh
            
             and
             
               S.
               Ke●…e●●
               Digby
            
             were
             used
             to
             call
             the
             
               English
               Virgill
               ,
            
             and
             indeed
             
               Virgill
            
             himself
             did
             often
             use
             it
             ,
             and
             in
             my
             opinion
             with
             a
             greater
             grace
             ,
             making
             the
             last
             word
             only
             of
             his
             Verso
             to
             be
             the
             beginning
             of
             the
             Verse
             following
             ,
             as
             
               
                 —
                 Sequitur
                 pulcherrimus
                 Astur
              
               
                 Astur
                 equo
                 sidens
                 ,
                 &
                 ve●…si●…oloribus
                 armis
                 .
              
            
             
               Virgill
            
             hath
             nothing
             more
             usuall
             than
             this
             gracefull
             way
             of
             repetition
             ,
             as
             those
             who
             are
             most
             conversant
             with
             him
             ,
             can
             readily
             witnesse
             with
             me
             .
             Our
             Authors
             making
             use
             of
             one
             and
             the
             same
             Verse
             in
             several
             places
             is
             also
             taken
             from
             
               Virgill
               ,
            
             as
             you
             shall
             often
             find
             in
             his
             Georgicks
             ,
             which
             he
             would
             never
             have
             let
             passe
             (
             being
             full
             twelve
             years
             in
             the
             compleating
             of
             that
             work
             )
             if
             he
             had
             conceived
             it
             would
             have
             bin
             looked
             upon
             as
             an
             imperfection
             either
             of
             two
             much
             Haste
             or
             Sloth
             ,
             and
             this
             also
             is
             often
             to
             be
             found
             in
             
               Homer
               .
            
          
           
             You
             behold
             now
             how
             many
             ,
             and
             what
             great
             Examples
             our
             Author
             hath
             propounded
             to
             himself
             to
             imitate
             ,
             if
             it
             be
             obiected
             ,
             that
             it
             is
             a
             disparagement
             to
             imitate
             any
             ,
             be
             they
             never
             so
             excelent
             (
             according
             to
             that
             of
             
               Horace
               )
               O
               imitatorum
               stultum
               pecus
               ;
            
             It
             is
             no
             absurdity
             to
             make
             answer
             ,
             that
             
               Horace
            
             wrote
             that
             in
             a
             criticall
             hour
             ,
             when
             he
             abounded
             with
             a
             hypercrytical
             sense
             for
             if
             you
             please
             to
             look
             upon
             the
             Fragments
             of
             those
             Greek
             Poets
             ,
             which
             in
             many
             books
             are
             inserted
             
             at
             the
             end
             of
             
               Pindar
               ,
            
             you
             shall
             undoubtedly
             find
             that
             
               Horace
            
             hath
             translated
             as
             much
             of
             them
             as
             are
             now
             extant
             word
             for
             word
             ,
             and
             put
             them
             into
             the
             first
             book
             of
             his
             Odes
             ,
             which
             is
             very
             easie
             in
             this
             place
             to
             be
             represented
             ,
             but
             that
             it
             is
             much
             beyond
             our
             room
             ,
             and
             a
             little
             besides
             our
             subiect
             .
          
           
             But
             more
             fully
             to
             satisfie
             the
             obiection
             ,
             it
             may
             be
             answered
             ,
             that
             in
             this
             
               Horace
            
             had
             no
             relation
             at
             all
             to
             the
             words
             or
             fancy
             of
             the
             Imitator
             ,
             but
             to
             these
             new
             numbers
             ,
             and
             measures
             ,
             which
             he
             first
             taught
             the
             
               Roman
            
             Muse
             to
             tread
             ,
             and
             this
             makes
             him
             so
             much
             to
             magnifie
             himself
             .
          
           
             
               Libera
               per
               vacuum
               posui
               vestigia
               princeps
               .
            
             The
             works
             of
             
               Virgill
            
             are
             nothing
             else
             but
             mere
             Imitations●…
             in
             his
             
               Eclogues
            
             he
             followeth
             
               Theocritus
               ,
            
             in
             his
             
               Aeaeids
               ,
               Homer
               ,
            
             in
             his
             
               Georgicks
            
             he
             imitateth
             
               Hesiod
               ,
            
             which
             he
             conceiveth
             to
             be
             so
             far
             from
             his
             preiudice
             ,
             that
             he
             esteemeth
             it
             his
             glory
             .
             
               Ascraeumque
               
               cano
               Romana
               per
               oppida
               carmen
               .
            
             And
             yet
             because
             the
             same
             subiect
             was
             not
             treated
             on
             before
             by
             any
             Latine
             Poet
             ,
             you
             may
             observe
             how
             confident
             he
             is
             of
             himself
             :
             
               
                 —
                 Iuvat
                 ire
                 viam
                 quâ
                 nulla
                 priorum
              
               
                 Castaliam
                 molli
                 deducitur
                 orbita
                 clivo
                 .
                 
              
            
             These
             praelibations
             may
             serve
             not
             only
             to
             discharge
             our
             Author
             ,
             but
             to
             raise
             him
             above
             those
             accusations
             which
             peradventure
             some
             distemper'd
             Criticks
             might
             have
             charged
             him
             with
             .
             The
             other
             part
             of
             his
             invention
             is
             intirely
             his
             own
             ,
             smooth
             yet
             smart
             ,
             and
             as
             clear
             as
             it
             
             is
             active
             !
             Now
             when
             all
             this
             shall
             be
             done
             at
             nineteen
             years
             of
             age
             ,
             and
             out
             of
             a
             desire
             onely
             to
             please
             you
             ,
             what
             entertainment
             should
             you
             give
             unto
             it
             ?
             with
             what
             flowers
             should
             you
             crown
             his
             memory
             ,
             who
             brought
             so
             many
             flowers
             to
             crown
             your
             delight
             ?
             Take
             them
             ,
             and
             peruse
             them
             ,
             his
             leaves
             invite
             every
             hand
             to
             turn
             them
             over
             ;
             The
             young
             men
             may
             read
             them
             for
             their
             Information
             ,
             and
             with
             some
             sympathy
             of
             affection
             ;
             The
             old
             men
             for
             their
             Recreation
             ,
             The
             Ladies
             may
             learn
             them
             by
             heart
             ,
             and
             repeat
             them
             to
             one
             another
             ,
             for
             this
             the
             Muses
             ,
             upon
             their
             credit
             ,
             have
             given
             me
             in
             charge
             to
             impart
             unto
             them
             ,
             That
             whatsoever
             they
             shall
             lay
             forth
             on
             his
             praises
             (
             the
             Book
             readover
             )
             they
             will
             finde
             it
             paid
             back
             to
             them
             in
             the
             reckoning
             .
          
           
             R.
             C.
             
          
        
         
         
           
             On
             the
             Amorous
             and
             pathetick
             story
             of
             Arcadius
             and
             Sepha
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             LO
             here
             the
             Muse
             which
             to
             our
             eye
             discovers
          
           
             The
             bleeding
             Fate
             of
             many
             haples
             Lovers●…
          
           
             What
             though
             his
             warbling
             lyre
             not
             gravely
             rings
          
           
             With
             such
             deep
             notes
             as
             lofty
             
               CLIO
            
             sings
             ,
          
           
             His
             Muse
             is
             soft
             ,
             as
             sweet
             ,
             and
             though
             not
             strong
             ,
          
           
             Pathetick
             ,
             lively
             ,
             all
             on
             fire
             ,
             and
             young
             ,
          
           
             Flowing
             with
             tears
             and
             smiles
             ,
             and
             full
             of
             sport
             ,
          
           
             As
             fits
             the
             subject
             of
             fair
             
               VENVS
            
             Court
             ,
          
           
             And
             this
             may
             Court
             you
             to
             peruse
             his
             Book
             ;
          
           
             So
             oft
             i'
             th'
             streets
             with
             prompter
             eyes
             wee
             look
          
           
             On
             lovely
             Girls
             who
             but
             their
             shooe-strings
             tye
             ,
          
           
             Than
             Wives
             ,
             their
             Garters
             making
             fast
             more
             high
             .
          
           
             L.
             B.
             
          
        
         
         
           
             On
             the
             exact
             and
             elabourate
             story
             of
             Arcadius
             and
             Sepha
             ,
             and
             the
             rest
             of
             the
             Beavy
             of
             the
             Lovers
             :
          
           
             WHat
             brave
             young
             Man
             is
             this
             ,
             whose
             lute
             doth
             lead
          
           
             The
             dancing
             Rocks
             ,
             and
             teach
             the
             Woods
             to
             tread
             ?
          
           
             Is
             
               Thracian
               Orpheus
            
             reviv'd
             ,
             whose
             laye
          
           
             Hath
             now
             charm'd
             Hell
             ,
             to
             get
             himself
             away
             ?
          
           
             (
             Son
             of
             the
             Arts
             and
             Heav'n
             )
             our
             hearts
             we
             fill
             ,
          
           
             With
             joy
             and
             zeal
             to
             gratulate
             thy
             skill
             ;
          
           
             What
             fitting
             tributes
             shall
             we
             bring
             thee
             now
             ,
          
           
             To
             crown
             thy
             merits
             ,
             and
             adorn
             thy
             brow
             ;
          
           
             For
             since
             thy
             harp
             to
             follow
             Trees
             are
             grac'd
             ,
          
           
             Bayes
             of
             themselvs
             unto
             thy
             Brows
             maks
             haste
          
           
             F.
             L.
             
          
        
         
         
           
             An
             Epitaph
             on
             the
             deceased
             Author
             ,
             in
             allusion
             to
             his
             Sonnets
             on
             Aurora
             .
          
           
             SAd
             Lover
             ,
             thou
             who
             to
             thy
             cruel
             Saint
             ,
          
           
             Didst
             teach
             thy
             Muse
             to
             breath
             thy
             last
             complaint
             ,
          
           
             Whilst
             thou
             the
             Ends
             that
             Sex
             aim'd
             at
             mad'st
             known
             ,
          
           
             Me
             thought
             I
             heard
             thee
             thus
             to
             speak
             thy
             own
             ;
          
           
             Lo
             here
             the
             Glory
             of
             all
             Womens
             pride
             ,
          
           
             The
             matchless
             Trophy
             of
             their
             Beauties
             might
             ,
          
           
             To
             kill
             by
             Treason
             ,
             and
             hid
             fires
             provide
          
           
             Those
             to
             devour
             whom
             they
             do
             most
             invite
             ;
          
           
             Poor
             injur'd
             ashes
             !
             you
             too
             late
             have
             try'd
             ,
          
           
             How
             ill
             they
             doe
             the
             gentlest
             hearts
             requite
             ;
          
           
             O
             that
             in
             Beauties
             should
             those
             flames
             be
             known
             ,
          
           
             Which
             burn
             our
             brests
             ,
             yet
             never
             warm
             their
             own
             !
          
           
             E.
             G.
             
          
        
         
         
           
             On
             the
             deathlesse
             Poems
             of
             the
             deceased
             Author
             .
          
           
             HAppy
             young
             Man
             ,
             who
             though
             laid
             under
             ground
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             name
             to
             Honour
             a
             sure
             way
             hath
             found
             ;
          
           
             Thy
             chast
             
               Arcadius
            
             shall
             with
             
               Sepha
            
             live
             ,
          
           
             Whiles
             the
             kind
             Sun
             warmth
             to
             the
             Earth
             shal
             give
             ,
          
           
             And
             every
             Age
             shall
             take
             delight
             to
             see
          
           
             Fair
             
               Haemon
            
             met
             with
             fair
             
               Antigone
               ;
            
          
           
             Whiles
             thankfull
             Rivers
             to
             the
             Seas
             make
             hast
          
           
             
               Eramioes
            
             and
             
               Amissaes
            
             love
             shall
             last
             ;
          
           
             No
             more
             shall
             
               Phaon
            
             by
             contempt
             be
             led
             ,
          
           
             But
             foot
             to
             foot
             shall
             now
             with
             
               Sappho
            
             tread
             ,
          
           
             And
             
               Delithasons
            
             youth
             ,
             and
             chast
             desires
          
           
             Shall
             keep
             more
             warm
             his
             fair
             
               Veristaes
            
             fires
             ;
          
           
             Thus
             whilst
             that
             thou
             with
             thy
             immortall
             layes
             ,
          
           
             Beauty
             ,
             and
             Love
             ,
             and
             Innocence
             dost
             praise
             ,
          
           
             That
             praise
             which
             thou
             to
             others
             worths
             dost
             lend
             ,
          
           
             Doth
             make
             thy
             own
             high
             as
             the
             Stars
             ascend
             .
          
           
             S.
             P.
             
          
        
         
         
           
             On
             these
             laboured
             Poems
             of
             the
             deceased
             Authour
             ,
             Mr.
             WILLIAM
             BOSWORTH
             .
          
           
             THese
             bleeding
             ,
             Lovers
             ,
             and
             unstaind
             desires
             ,
          
           
             Their
             undry'd
             tears
             ,
             &
             their
             religious
             fires
             ,
          
           
             And
             their
             Stars
             sullen
             malice
             ,
             which
             did
             bend
          
           
             Their
             lives
             and
             loves
             to
             an
             untimely
             end
             ,
          
           
             May
             bring
             the
             pious
             Reader
             with
             perfumes
          
           
             Of
             flowr's
             and
             sighs
             to
             worship
             at
             their
             tombs
          
           
             And
             their
             high
             flames
             admire
             ;
             But
             ô
             forbear
          
           
             That
             hasty
             zeal
             ,
             and
             do
             not
             tread
             too
             near
             ,
          
           
             For
             know
             the
             flames
             so
             ardent
             were
             that
             burn'd
          
           
             Their
             suffering
             hearts
             ,
             and
             them
             to
             ashes
             turn'd
             ,
          
           
             That
             by
             your
             sighes
             they
             may
             too
             soon
             be
             blown
          
           
             Into
             new
             life
             ,
             and
             fet
             on
             fire
             your
             own
             .
          
           
             L.
             C.
             
          
        
         
         
         
           
             The
             BOOKE
             to
             the
             READER
             .
          
           
             
               Reader
               ,
            
          
           
             
               MY
               Author
               vow'd
               to
               prattle
               forth
               his
               Loves
               ,
            
             
               And
               fill
               the
               azure
               skyes
               with
               watry
               clouds
               :
            
             
               My
               Author
               vow'd
               to
               dwell
               in
               shady
               groves
               ,
            
             
               And
               paint
               his
               Fortune
               in
               
                 Diana's
              
               shrouds
               .
            
             
               For
               the
               best
               Artist
               that
               the
               world
               admires
               ,
            
             
               Was
               but
               the
               Artist
               of
               his
               own
               Desires
               .
            
          
           
             
               You
               must
               not
               then
               expect
               a
               curious
               straine
               ,
            
             
               That
               best
               befits
               the
               queintness
               of
               his
               story
               ,
            
             
               No
               ,
               that
               's
               a
               shadow
               for
               a
               riper
               brain
               ,
            
             
               Let
               them
               report
               it
               ,
               that
               have
               had
               the
               glory
               ,
            
             
               The
               guilded
               tresses
               of
               the
               clearest
               shining
               ,
            
             
               Have
               neither
               force
               in
               rising
               nor
               declining
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               take
               the
               branches
               of
               his
               tender
               vine
               ,
            
             
               Which
               here
               you
               have
               presented
               ,
               though
               he
               fears
               ,
            
             
               You
               'l
               draw
               his
               meaning
               by
               too
               strict
               a
               line
               ,
            
             
               For
               yet
               he
               ne'r
               attain'd
               to
               thrice
               seven
               years
               .
            
             
               Yet
               let
               me
               pass
               ,
               and
               e're
               his
               day
               see's
               night
               ,
            
             
               His
               Hawk
               may
               please
               you
               with
               a
               fairer
               slight
               .
            
          
        
      
    
     
       
       
         
           Arcadius
           and
           Sepha
           .
        
         
           
             (
             1
             )
          
           
             NEar
             to
             the
             
               Caspian
            
             streights
             ,
             where
             Dolphins
             sing
             ,
          
           
             
               Hippobatos
               ,
            
             a
             verdant
             Meadow
             lay
             ,
          
           
             Along
             which
             Meadow
             ran
             a
             silver
             Spring
             ,
          
           
             Winding
             her
             streams
             as
             careless
             of
             her
             way
             ,
          
           
             Here
             would
             she
             stay
             ,
             and
             seem
             returning
             home
             ,
          
           
             Till
             with
             her self
             ,
             her self
             was
             overcome
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             2
             )
          
           
             Down
             by
             which
             brook
             there
             sate
             a
             little
             Ladd
             ,
          
           
             A
             little
             Ladd
             nam'd
             
               a
            
             
               Epimenides
               ,
            
          
           
             Close
             to
             his
             foot
             a
             little
             Dog
             he
             had
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Masters
             face
             Character'd
             his
             disease
             ,
          
           
             Sighing
             he
             said
             ,
             and
             to
             the
             Powers
             above
             ,
          
           
             Make
             me
             (
             ô
             Gods
             )
             immortall
             for
             my
             love
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             3
             )
          
           
             Snatch
             hence
             my
             soul
             ,
             the
             better
             part
             I
             have
             ,
          
           
             And
             him
             of
             his
             detested
             life
             deprive
             ,
          
           
             Who
             vows
             to
             live
             obscurely
             in
             a
             Cave
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             
               Sepha
            
             die
             ,
             and
             I
             remain
             alive
             ?
          
           
             Satyres
             goe
             weep
             ,
             and
             when
             ye
             hear
             her
             name
             ,
          
           
             Blow
             forth
             my
             Loves
             inevitable
             fame
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             4
             )
          
           
             Let
             swiftest
             thoughts
             possess
             my
             
               Sepha's
            
             name
             ,
          
           
             And
             sound
             her
             praise
             as
             swift
             as
             Eagles
             flie
             ,
          
           
             Let
             Marble
             be
             proud
             to
             preserve
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             Left
             rotten
             time
             out-slip
             her
             memorie
             ,
          
           
           
             Lest
             Trumpets
             cease
             to
             sound
             ,
             and
             so
             forbear
             it
             .
          
           
             Let
             Ecchoe's
             learn
             to
             dictate
             when
             they
             hear
             it
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             5
             )
          
           
             Ye
             sliding
             streams
             ,
             that
             pass
             so
             gently
             by
             ,
          
           
             Winding
             your
             waves
             ,
             and
             do
             not
             faster
             flee
             ,
          
           
             Ioy
             you
             to
             hear
             my
             
               Sepha's
            
             Elegy
             ?
          
           
             Or
             doe
             you
             linger
             to
             condole
             with
             me
             ?
          
           
             'T
             is
             to
             condole
             ,
             since
             such
             is
             my
             estate
             ,
          
           
             Your
             bubling
             streams
             do
             murmur
             at
             my
             fate
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             6
             )
          
           
             Ye
             little
             Birds
             that
             us'd
             to
             sit
             and
             sing
             ,
          
           
             While
             
               Driades
            
             with
             Musicks
             nimble
             touch
             ,
          
           
             (
             When
             woods
             and
             valleys
             did
             of
             
               Sepha
            
             ring
             )
          
           
             Present
             harmonious
             tunes
             ,
             to
             make
             her
             couch
             ,
          
           
             A
             nest
             of
             Heav'nly
             raptures
             ,
             sweeter
             far
             ,
          
           
             With
             purer
             notes
             ,
             than
             earthly
             noises
             are
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             7
             )
          
           
             Why
             doe
             you
             now
             my
             
               Sepha's
            
             tunes
             forbear
             ?
          
           
             Why
             doe
             you
             cease
             to
             tune
             my
             
               Sepha's
            
             layes
             ?
          
           
             Why
             do'n't
             you
             now
             to
             wonted
             trees
             repair
             ?
          
           
             Why
             do'n't
             you
             sit
             and
             sing
             my
             
               Sepha's
            
             praise
             ?
          
           
             Ye
             warbling
             Chanters
             that
             such
             Musick
             bred
             ,
          
           
             Are
             ye
             grown
             weary
             ,
             or
             is
             
               Sepha
            
             dead
             ?
          
        
         
           
             (
             8
             )
          
           
             Or
             Sepha
             dead
             ?
             is
             ,
             Heav'nly
             
               Sepha
            
             dead
             ?
          
           
             No
             more
             shall
             earth
             be
             happy
             with
             her
             sweet
             ,
          
           
             No
             more
             shall
             eyes
             be
             with
             her
             beauty
             fed
             ,
          
           
             No
             more
             shall
             slowers
             be
             proud
             to
             kiss
             her
             feet
             ,
          
           
             No
             more
             shall
             
               Phoebus
            
             court
             her
             in
             a
             shower
             ,
          
           
             No
             more
             shall
             Bee's
             mistake
             her
             for
             a
             flower
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             9
             )
          
           
             In
             blessed
             times
             when
             vertuous
             
               Sepha
            
             liv'd
             ,
          
           
             The
             happy
             earth
             was
             with
             her
             beauty
             drest
             ,
          
           
           
             Each
             greedy
             eye
             ,
             that
             saw
             not
             
               Sepha
               ,
            
             griev'd
             ,
          
           
             Each
             flower
             was
             proud
             ,
             to
             be
             by
             
               Sepha
            
             prest
             ,
          
           
             Love-showring
             
               P●…oebus
            
             spar'd
             no
             am'rous
             time
             ,
          
           
             And
             Bees
             on
             her
             did
             think
             to
             gather
             Thyme
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             10
             )
          
           
             Blest
             be
             the
             season
             ,
             and
             the
             hower
             blest
             ,
          
           
             When
             first
             my
             eyes
             in
             
               Sepha's
            
             eyes
             were
             seen
             ,
          
           
             When
             first
             my
             hopes
             began
             to
             build
             their
             nest
             ,
          
           
             When
             first
             I
             saw
             her
             walking
             on
             yo●…
             Green
             ,
          
           
             When
             first
             my
             lips
             s●…ipt
             Nectar
             from
             her
             brest
             ,
          
           
             Blest
             be
             the
             season
             ,
             and
             the
             hower
             blest
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             11
             )
          
           
             Ye
             stately
             Pines
             that
             dwell
             on
             lofty
             Hils
             ,
          
           
             Stoop
             down
             your
             heads
             with
             a
             dejected
             fall
             ,
          
           
             Let
             
               Boreas
            
             go
             sport
             with
             whom
             he
             wills
             ,
          
           
             And
             though
             you
             knew
             her
             not
             ,
             nor
             never
             shall
             ,
          
           
             Sob
             forth
             her
             plaints
             with
             a
             bewailing
             eye
             ,
          
           
             And
             say
             't
             was
             
               Sepha's
            
             death
             that
             made
             you
             dye
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             12
             )
          
           
             
               Smilax
               ,
            
             and
             
               Crocus
               ,
            
             little
             blushing
             flowers
             ,
          
           
             Hence
             cease
             your
             red
             ,
             and
             let
             your
             pale
             begin
             ,
          
           
             And
             ,
             say
             you
             want
             those
             sweet
             distilling
             showers
             ,
          
           
             That
             
               P●…oebus
            
             us'd
             to
             Court
             fair
             
               Sepha
            
             in
             ,
          
           
             Lillies
             forbear
             to
             stoop
             your
             drooping
             heads
             ;
          
           
             For
             now
             your
             shame
             ,
             the
             fairest
             Lillie's
             dead
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             13
             )
          
           
             That
             Lillie's
             dead
             in
             whom
             all
             graces
             been
             ,
          
           
             That
             Lillie's
             dead
             ,
             the
             fairest
             of
             the
             Nine
             ;
          
           
             That
             Lillie's
             dead
             ,
             where
             Natures
             art
             was
             seen
             ,
          
           
             That
             Lillie's
             dead
             ,
             whose
             odours
             were
             divine
             .
          
           
             That
             Lower
             ,
             than
             whom
             more
             fairer
             there
             was
             none
             ;
          
           
             Is
             pluck't
             away
             ,
             the
             fairest
             Lillie's
             gone
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             (
             14
             )
          
           
             She
             was
             the
             fairest
             ,
             and
             the
             sweetest
             creature
             ,
          
           
             That
             ever
             yet
             was
             subject
             to
             the
             Gods
             ,
          
           
             For
             they
             resolv'd
             she
             was
             the
             only
             feature
             ,
          
           
             In
             whom
             they
             joy'd
             ,
             the
             Powers
             delight
             in
             odds
             ,
          
           
             To
             deck
             their
             tents
             ,
             Fair
             
               Sepha
            
             't
             was
             that
             mov'd
          
           
             My
             soul
             to
             bless
             ,
             thee
             
               Sepha
            
             whom
             I
             lov'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             15
             )
          
           
             Some
             Poets
             feign
             there
             is
             a
             Heav'n
             on
             Earth
             ,
          
           
             Earth
             hath
             its
             joyes
             to
             make
             a
             happy
             time
             ,
          
           
             Admired
             odors
             giving
             a
             new
             birth
             ,
          
           
             And
             sweetning
             joyes
             ,
             with
             
               M●…lli-●…lor●…'s
            
             thyme
             ;
          
           
             'T
             is
             not
             a
             feigned
             ,
             but
             Heav'n
             rightly
             fam'd
             ,
          
           
             For
             I
             enjoy'd
             the
             Heav'n
             the
             Poets
             nam'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             16
             )
          
           
             
               Iove
            
             was
             propitious
             when
             ●…
             first
             begun
          
           
             To
             Court
             fair
             
               Sepha
               ,
            
             Eccho's
             nimble
             charm
             :
          
           
             Rose-cheek't
             
               Adonis
               ,
            
             fairer
             than
             the
             Sun
             ,
          
           
             Had
             not
             a
             sweeter
             choice
             ,
             nor
             kinder
             harm
             ;
          
           
             Rough-footed
             Satyres
             ,
             Satyres
             ,
             Nymphs
             and
             Fauns
             ,
          
           
             Scatter'd
             her
             praise
             througho●…t
             
               Diana's
            
             lawns
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             17
             )
          
           
             If
             I
             but
             walk't
             in
             
               T●…mpe
               ,
            
             or
             the
             Groves
             ,
          
           
             To
             meditate
             my
             melancholly
             layes
             ,
          
           
             I
             was
             saluted
             with
             the
             murm'ring
             loves
          
           
             Of
             shady
             Pines
             ,
             repining
             at
             her
             praise
             ,
          
           
             Griev'd
             at
             her
             praise
             ,
             when
             they
             her
             name
             did
             hear
             ,
          
           
             They
             sigh
             for
             want
             of
             her
             sweet
             presence
             there
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             18
             )
          
           
             Or
             if
             ,
             (
             weary
             of
             sighs
             )
             I
             left
             the
             bowers
             ,
          
           
             To
             recreate
             me
             in
             the
             whispring
             Air
             .
          
           
             I
             was
             saluted
             with
             distilling
             showers
             ,
          
           
             That
             brought
             me
             tidings
             of
             my
             sweetest
             fair
             .
          
           
           
             Coming
             from
             Heav'n
             they
             told
             me
             news
             of
             this
             ,
          
           
             
               Iove
            
             had
             prepar'd
             already
             for
             her
             bliss
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             19
             )
          
           
             If
             to
             the
             Mountains
             I
             a
             voyage
             took
             ,
          
           
             Mountains
             with
             Roses
             ,
             and
             with
             Pinks
             adorn'd
             ,
          
           
             There
             lay
             
               Adonis
            
             by
             his
             silver
             hook
             ,
          
           
             Courted
             by
             
               Venus
               ,
               Venus
            
             by
             him
             scorn'd
             ,
          
           
             
               Venus
            
             with
             tears
             presents
             young
             
               Cupid's
            
             letter
             ,
          
           
             He
             hates
             her
             vows
             ,
             and
             loves
             fair
             
               Sepha
            
             better
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             20
             )
          
           
             If
             to
             the
             Garden
             
               Flora
            
             me
             invited
             ,
          
           
             Where
             all
             the
             dainty
             flowers
             are
             said
             to
             lye
             ,
          
           
             Those
             dainty
             ●…lowers
             ,
             that
             so
             much
             on●…e
             delighted
             ,
          
           
             Are
             now
             abasht
             ,
             and
             in
             their
             beauty
             dye
             ,
          
           
             Lillies
             and
             Roses
             startle
             at
             her
             name
             ,
          
           
             One
             pale
             for
             fear
             ,
             the
             other
             red
             for
             shame
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             21
             )
          
           
             If
             to
             the
             Woods
             perswaded
             by
             my
             Muse
             ,
          
           
             Even
             there
             were
             Ecchoes
             of
             ●…air
             
               Sepha's
            
             glory
             ,
          
           
             The
             warbling
             Chanters
             made
             a
             fine
             excu●…e
             ,
          
           
             For
             her
             delay
             ;
             and
             chanted
             forth
             the
             story
          
           
             Of
             her
             best
             praise
             ;
             by
             which
             I
             understood
             ,
          
           
             They
             striv'd
             with
             tunes
             to
             tell
             her
             to
             the
             wood
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             22
             )
          
           
             If
             I
             but
             chanc'd
             to
             walk
             unto
             the
             springs
             ,
          
           
             There
             sate
             the
             Muses
             warbling
             forth
             her
             story
             ,
          
           
             Wanton
             
               Thalia
            
             with
             sweet
             raptures
             sings
             ,
          
           
             Folding
             her
             name
             in
             Heav'ns
             immortall
             glory
             .
          
           
             With
             Hymnes
             ,
             and
             layes
             ,
             they
             prattle
             forth
             delight
             ,
          
           
             And
             count
             her
             name
             the
             pen
             with
             which
             they
             write
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             23
             )
          
           
             Yet
             sad
             
               Melpomine
            
             rejoyceth
             not
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             ought
             but
             imprecations
             'stows
             upon
             her
             ,
          
           
           
             She
             saith
             her
             beauty
             is
             to
             her
             a
             blot
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             so
             much
             goodness
             robs
             them
             of
             their
             honor
             ,
          
           
             Help
             then
             
               Melpomine
            
             with
             thy
             sad
             ver●…e
             ,
          
           
             To
             tell
             her
             fate
             ,
             and
             houl
             upon
             her
             Herse
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             24
             )
          
           
             These
             were
             the
             plaints
             the
             〈◊〉
             Lad
             bestow'd
          
           
             The
             funeralls
             of
             his
             fair
             
               Sepha's
            
             death
             ,
          
           
             Behold
             said
             he
             ,
             the
             service
             that
             I
             ow'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             vow'd
             to
             pay
             (
             
               Sepha
            
             )
             shall
             be
             my
             breath
             ,
          
           
             When
             heard
             by
             Ladies
             of
             renowned
             glory
             .
          
           
             They
             urg'd
             him
             to
             relate
             his
             
               Sepha's
            
             story
             .
          
        
         
           
             (
             25
             )
          
           
             Ladies
             (
             said
             he
             )
             if
             your
             unhappy
             ears
             ,
          
           
             Admit
             such
             sad
             disas●…ers
             to
             have
             room
             ,
          
           
             I
             by
             your
             looks
             your
             inward
             thoughts
             appears
             ,
          
           
             You
             'l
             Elegize
             this
             story
             that
             shall
             come
             .
          
           
             You
             'l
             sigh
             to
             hear
             my
             
               Se●…ha's
            
             hap
             ,
             while
             I
             ,
          
           
             Bend
             all
             my
             power
             to
             tell
             her
             fate
             ,
             and
             dye
             .
          
        
      
       
       
       
         
           THE
           HISTORIE
           OF
           ARCADIUS
           and
           SEPHA
           .
        
         
           
             Liber
             Primus
             .
          
           
             
               AMidst
               
                 Campania
              
               Fields
               ,
               near
               
                 Sabine
              
               Bowers
               ,
            
             
               Plain
               to
               each
               view
               there
               stood
               two
               stately
               Towers
               ,
            
             
               Mounting
               aloft
               the
               skies
               their
               cloudy
               heads
               ,
            
             
               As
               proud
               as
               high
               ,
               disdaining
               their
               first
               Beds
               ;
            
             
               So
               curious
               was
               their
               building
               ,
               and
               their
               stone
               ,
            
             
               That
               both
               alike
               ,
               they
               both
               were
               took
               for
               one
               ,
            
             
               Shewing
               
               
               type
               of
               their
               conjoyning
               arts
               ,
            
             
               The
               true
               conjunction
               of
               each
               others
               hearts
               .
            
             
               Two
               stately
               Towers
               for
               their
               buildings
               fam'd
               ,
            
             
               One
               
                 Arathea
                 ,
              
               th'other
               
                 Talmos
              
               nam'd
               ;
            
             
               In
               
                 Talmos
                 ,
                 Sepha
              
               dwelt
               ,
               whose
               heav'nly
               face
               ,
            
             
               Gave
               to
               each
               quill
               a
               line
               ,
               each
               line
               a
               grace
               ,
            
             
               In
               whispring
               forth
               her
               praise
               ,
               whose
               radiant
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Like
               starry
               lamps
               that
               emulate
               the
               skies
               ,
            
             
               In
               height
               and
               beauty
               with
               their
               gl●…ttering
               light
               ,
            
             
               Shone
               like
               the
               clearest
               stars
               i'
               th'
               darkest
               night
               .
            
             
             
               Vpon
               her
               head
               she
               wore
               a
               Laurell
               Crown
            
             
               Knit
               up
               with
               sundry
               flowers
               ,
               on
               which
               Renown
               ,
            
             
               As
               chiefest
               Empress
               of
               her
               fate
               and
               beauty
               ,
            
             
               Did
               sympathize
               with
               a
               religious
               duty
               :
            
             
               
                 Hesperides
                 ,
              
               in
               whose
               calm
               heart
               did
               rest
            
             
               No
               sullen
               strains
               ,
               but
               Lyrick
               ,
               and
               a
               nest
            
             
               Of
               Heav'nly
               raptures
               ,
               perfum'd
               odours
               sweet
               ,
            
             
               Which
               
                 Nectar
              
               and
               
                 Nepenthe
              
               breathings
               ,
               meet
            
             
               For
               Heav'ns
               great
               Queen
               ,
               such
               was
               her
               vertue
               given
               ,
            
             
               That
               where
               she
               was
               ,
               there
               was
               a
               second
               Heav'n
               .
            
             
               Her
               face
               so
               sweet
               as
               Nature
               can
               devise
               ,
            
             
               Was
               drest
               with
               sparkling
               Diamonds
               of
               her
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               The
               sweet
               composure
               of
               whose
               beauty
               yeelds
            
             
               A
               Medall
               of
               the
               true
               
                 Elisian
              
               fields
               ;
            
             
               Her
               forehead
               ,
               fittest
               place
               to
               go
               before
               ,
            
             
               (
               Since
               who
               so
               speaks
               of
               beauty
               treads
               it
               o're
               )
            
             
               Was
               justly
               call'd
               a
               path
               ,
               whereon
               did
               pass
               ,
            
             
               A
               way
               that
               leads
               you
               where
               all
               beauty
               was
               .
            
             
               Close
               by
               that
               path
               ,
               two
               radiant
               lamps
               did
               rise
               ,
            
             
               Which
               some
               abruptly
               did
               intitle
               eyes
               ;
            
             
               Too
               mean
               a
               name
               for
               two
               such
               Heav'nly
               lights
               ,
            
             
               As
               far
               beyond
               all
               eyes
               ,
               as
               dayes
               from
               nights
               :
            
             
               To
               whom
               was
               added
               that
               Coelestiall
               grace
            
             
               Of
               perfect
               pureness
               to
               adorn
               the
               face
               ,
            
             
               That
               whensoe're
               these
               seeing
               lamps
               did
               move
               ,
            
             
               They
               'd
               light
               spectators
               on
               their
               way
               to
               love
               .
            
             
               Between
               which
               eyes
               (
               if
               eyes
               they
               may
               be
               nam'd
               )
            
             
               A
               pillar
               ,
               (
               as
               of
               purest
               marble
               fram'd
               )
            
             
               Then
               call'd
               her
               nose
               ,
               did
               lead
               you
               to
               two
               plains
               ,
            
             
               Pure
               white
               and
               red
               ,
               like
               milk
               which
               clarret
               stains
               .
            
             
               Two
               flowry
               fields
               where
               
                 Flora
              
               seem'd
               to
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               Where
               white
               and
               red
               were
               striving
               to
               excell
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               raptures
               seem'd
               like
               a
               Celestiall
               nest
               ,
            
             
               Whereon
               distressed
               lovers
               seem'd
               to
               rest
               ,
            
             
             
               Which
               Paradise
               if
               any
               lover
               seeks
               ,
            
             
               It
               was
               presented
               in
               fair
               
                 Sepha's
              
               cheeks
               .
            
             
               Two
               pearls
               of
               that
               inestimable
               price
               ,
            
             
               So
               far
               beyond
               th'
               perfection
               of
               her
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Impall'd
               with
               that
               excessive
               form
               of
               bliss
               ,
            
             
               Smiling
               ,
               you
               'd
               think
               th'
               invited
               you
               to
               kiss
               .
            
             
               What
               name
               or
               title
               fits
               fair
               
                 Sepha's
              
               lips
               ?
            
             
               Shall
               some
               
                 Ambrosian
              
               cup
               ,
               where
               great
               
                 Jove
              
               sips
            
             
               
                 Nectar
              
               from
               
                 Ganamed
                 ?
              
               too
               mean
               it
               is
               ,
            
             
               To
               bear
               their
               form
               ,
               it
               is
               too
               mean
               by
               this
               ,
            
             
               
                 Jove
              
               out
               of
               them
               
                 Nepenthe
              
               us'd
               to
               sip
               ,
            
             
               But
               that
               
                 Nepenthe
              
               grew
               on
               
                 Sepha's
              
               lip
               .
            
             
               Then
               gan
               her
               teeth
               in
               a
               most
               perfect
               line
               ,
            
             
               Plac't
               each
               by
               other
               through
               her
               lips
               to
               shine
               ,
            
             
               More
               white
               ,
               more
               true
               ,
               than
               Nature
               could
               prefer
            
             
               To
               any
               other
               was
               it
               not
               to
               her
               .
            
             
               Those
               that
               ne're
               saw
               ,
               might
               judge
               what
               they
               had
               been
               ,
            
             
               Like
               picture
               pearl
               ,
               through
               crimson
               shadows
               seen
               ;
            
             
               So
               was
               her
               chin
               like
               Christall
               over
               red
               ,
            
             
               So
               was
               her
               hair
               in
               decent
               manner
               spred
               ;
            
             
               Which
               she
               all
               careless
               down
               her
               back
               did
               wear
               ,
            
             
               As
               a
               fit
               object
               for
               the
               wanton
               Air
               ,
            
             
               Careless
               to
               sport
               with
               ,
               next
               to
               them
               was
               prais'd
            
             
               Her
               neck
               ,
               as
               of
               a
               Marble
               pillar
               rais'd
               ,
            
             
               Proud
               to
               support
               the
               weight
               of
               such
               a
               f●…ce
               ,
            
             
               In
               whom
               three
               Graces
               seem'd
               to
               be
               one
               grace
               .
            
             
               Then
               might
               you
               see
               her
               Amber
               brests
               ,
               more
               white
            
             
               Than
               
                 Scithian
              
               snow
               ,
               and
               yeelding
               more
               delight
            
             
               Than
               silly
               quill
               is
               able
               to
               report
               ,
            
             
               They
               were
               the
               hills
               where
               
                 Cupid
              
               us'd
               to
               sport
               .
            
             
               Between
               which
               hills
               there
               lay
               a
               pleasant
               Alley
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               milky
               paths
               did
               lead
               into
               the
               Valley
               .
            
             
               This
               was
               that
               
                 Sepha
              
               who
               unhappy
               dy'd
               ,
            
             
               This
               was
               that
               
                 Sepha
              
               for
               whose
               hap
               I
               cry'd
               ;
            
             
             
               This
               was
               that
               
                 Sepha
                 ,
              
               whom
               the
               Valleys
               miss
               ,
            
             
               And
               this
               was
               her
               whose
               Tragick
               stories
               this
               .
            
             
               
                 Sepha
                 ,
              
               the
               glory
               of
               the
               scorned
               earth
               ,
            
             
               In
               
                 Talmos
              
               dwelt
               ,
               sometimes
               a
               place
               of
               mirth
               ,
            
             
               The
               ground
               whereon
               it
               stood
               was
               deck't
               with
               flowers
               ,
            
             
               Here
               lay
               a
               Meadow
               ,
               there
               were
               
                 Sabine
              
               bowers
               .
            
             
               The
               house
               was
               with
               a
               Grove
               of
               trees
               inclos'd
               ,
            
             
               Proud
               of
               the
               beauty
               that
               therein
               repos'd
               :
            
             
               Only
               a
               glead
               there
               lay
               ,
               the
               trees
               between
               ,
            
             
               Where
               
                 Arathea
              
               was
               of
               
                 Talmos
              
               seen
               .
            
             
               In
               
                 Arathea
              
               young
               
                 Arcadius
              
               dwelt
               ,
            
             
               A
               man
               where
               Nature
               had
               so
               freely
               dealt
            
             
               Her
               chiefest
               art
               ,
               and
               artificiall
               skill
               ,
            
             
               Pleasing
               each
               eye
               ,
               but
               most
               to
               
                 Sephas
              
               will
               .
            
             
               Oft
               by
               her
               window
               did
               
                 Arcadius
              
               ride
               ,
            
             
               Sometimes
               to
               hunt
               ,
               and
               sometimes
               to
               divide
            
             
               The
               Air
               with
               riding
               swift
               
                 Italian
              
               horses
               ,
            
             
               Here
               making
               stops
               ,
               there
               running
               at
               full
               courses
               ,
            
             
               When
               she
               (
               unknown
               to
               him
               )
               with
               watchfull
               eye
               ,
            
             
               Oft
               saw
               his
               going
               ,
               and
               his
               coming
               by
               ,
            
             
               So
               that
               of
               fire
               which
               Lovers
               sometimes
               find
               ,
            
             
               A
               spark
               began
               to
               kindle
               in
               her
               mind
               .
            
             
               Once
               did
               she
               blame
               unkindly
               
                 Cupid
              
               much
               ;
            
             
               Darling
               said
               she
               ,
               and
               is
               thy
               power
               such
               ?
            
             
               Vnkindly
               thus
               pure
               streams
               to
               overcome
               ,
            
             
               And
               force
               a
               heart
               to
               love
               she
               knows
               not
               whom
               ?
            
             
               Is
               he
               too
               good
               that
               thus
               thou
               dost
               deny
            
             
               Me
               to
               receive
               one
               courting
               from
               his
               eye
               ?
            
             
               
                 Cupid
                 ,
              
               scorn'st
               thou
               my
               prayers
               ?
               or
               dost
               thou
               shame
               ?
            
             
               Is
               he
               so
               mean
               to
               let
               me
               know
               his
               name
               ?
            
             
               Yet
               let
               me
               live
               ,
               let
               me
               his
               feature
               se●…
               ,
            
             
               If
               hee
               's
               but
               vertuous
               ,
               't
               is
               enough
               for
               me
               .
            
             
               This
               said
               ,
               her
               eyes
               drawn
               by
               a
               heavy
               sound
               ,
            
             
               Saw
               young
               
                 Arcadius
                 ,
              
               groveling
               on
               the
               ground
               ,
            
             
             
               Whose
               too
               too
               nimble
               horse
               ,
               in
               striving
               most
            
             
               To
               please
               his
               master
               ,
               his
               blest
               burthen
               lost
               .
            
             
               Once
               did
               she
               speak
               ,
               once
               did
               she
               move
               her
               tongue
               ,
            
             
               What
               sad
               mishap
               said
               she
               ,
               did
               thee
               that
               wrong
               ?
            
             
               How
               didst
               thou
               of
               thy
               wonted
               favours
               miss
               ?
            
             
               Was
               the
               ground
               greedy
               thy
               fair
               limbs
               to
               kiss
               ?
            
             
               At
               whose
               Celestiall
               voice
               ,
               like
               a
               sweet
               charm
               ,
            
             
               He
               started
               up
               ,
               and
               said
               ,
               I
               had
               no
               harm
               ;
            
             
               Thanks
               for
               your
               love
               ,
               and
               with
               a
               decent
               grace
               ,
            
             
               Stoops
               down
               his
               hat
               ,
               by
               which
               she
               saw
               his
               face
               .
            
             
               
                 Sepha
              
               (
               said
               she
               )
               be
               glad
               ,
               for
               thou
               hast
               found
               ,
            
             
               And
               seen
               the
               Arrow
               that
               thy
               heart
               did
               wound
               .
            
             
               Well
               ,
               young
               
                 Arcadius
              
               gets
               him
               to
               his
               steed
               ,
            
             
               Who
               guilty
               of
               the
               last
               unhappy
               deed
               ,
            
             
               With
               nimble
               strokes
               his
               master
               to
               delight
               ,
            
             
               Slips
               o're
               the
               plain
               from
               fairest
               
                 Sepha's
              
               sight
               .
            
             
               Go
               then
               ,
               said
               she
               ,
               the
               height
               of
               beauties
               pride
               ,
            
             
               And
               worlds
               chief
               mirror
               ;
               if
               thy
               heart
               is
               ty'd
            
             
               To
               any
               Lady
               whom
               thou
               call'st
               thy
               own
               ,
            
             
               As
               sure
               it
               is
               ,
               or
               else
               thou
               wouldst
               have
               shown
            
             
               Some
               more
               respects
               to
               me
               ,
               but
               if
               thou
               art
               ,
            
             
               If
               to
               another
               thou
               hast
               linkt
               thy
               heart
               ,
            
             
               Twice
               happy
               thou
               ,
               thrice
               she
               ,
               that
               shall
               imbrace
            
             
               Thy
               slender
               body
               ,
               and
               enjoy
               thy
               face
               .
            
             
               This
               said
               ,
               she
               to
               a
               silent
               chamber
               goes
               ,
            
             
               Weary
               of
               love
               ,
               but
               more
               of
               mind
               ,
               and
               throws
               ,
            
             
               Sometimes
               her
               restless
               body
               on
               a
               bed
               ,
            
             
               Where
               love
               is
               with
               imaginations
               ●…ed
               ,
            
             
               Then
               to
               the
               window
               would
               she
               take
               her
               way
               ,
            
             
               And
               view
               the
               place
               where
               young
               
                 Arcadius
              
               lay
               ,
            
             
               Thence
               would
               she
               to
               her
               closet
               ,
               where
               alone
               ,
            
             
               Alone
               she
               sate
               her
               sorrowes
               to
               bemone
               ;
            
             
               If
               such
               was
               
                 Isis
              
               love
               to
               
                 Lignus
              
               son
               ,
            
             
               Then
               ignorant
               why
               he
               her
               love
               had
               won
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               
                 Iphis
              
               had
               in
               his
               
                 Ianthe
              
               got
               ,
            
             
               Not
               yet
               a
               man
               ,
               yet
               more
               than
               one
               mans
               lot
               ?
            
             
               If
               such
               was
               
                 Philoclea's
              
               a●…dent
               love
               ,
            
             
               From
               her
               own
               sex
               ,
               such
               free
               desires
               to
               move
               ?
            
             
               When
               
                 Zelmenes
              
               eyes
               such
               direfull
               vapors
               threw
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               her
               own
               ,
               prodigious
               accents
               drew
               ?
            
             
               If
               
                 Isis
              
               was
               of
               
                 Iphis
              
               change
               most
               glad
               ?
            
             
               And
               
                 Philoclea
              
               her
               own
               wishes
               had
               ?
            
             
               Why
               may
               not
               
                 Sepha
              
               be
               possest
               of
               hers
               ,
            
             
               Not
               half
               so
               far
               impossible
               as
               theirs
               ?
            
             
               But
               Heav'n
               conspird
               with
               an
               impatient
               eye
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               powers
               to
               act
               her
               Tragedy
               .
            
             
               Not
               that
               Injustice
               with
               the
               Gods
               did
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               For
               how
               could
               they
               'gainst
               that
               sweet
               face
               rebell
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               enmity
               against
               such
               beauty
               bred
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               double
               portion
               with
               amazement
               led
            
             
               Each
               greedy
               eye
               into
               a
               feild
               of
               Roses
            
             
               And
               Lillies
               which
               a
               
                 ●…hea●…re
              
               incloses
               .
            
             
               But
               Love
               whose
               passions
               with
               impartiall
               flames
               ,
            
             
               Now
               whisper'd
               'mongst
               the
               Gods
               ,
               aloud
               proclaims
               ,
            
             
               By
               
                 ●…ove●…
              
               consent
               to
               dispossesse
               us
               here
            
             
               Of
               our
               faire
               Heav'n
               ,
               for
               they
               did
               want
               her
               there
               :
            
             
               Conspicuous
               fate
               ,
               her
               heart
               already
               feels
            
             
               
                 Cupids
              
               dire
               bolt
               ,
               and
               at
               first
               Arrow
               yeelds
               ;
            
             
               No
               Warrier
               she
               ,
               nor
               striv'd
               with
               strugling
               hand
            
             
               The
               dart
               to
               break
               ,
               nor
               would
               she
               it
               withstand
               ,
            
             
               But
               gently
               stepping
               t'wards
               his
               Bow
               did
               hie
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Phoenix-like
              
               into
               the
               flames
               did
               flie
               ;
            
             
               So
               
                 Pilomel
              
               doth
               willingly
               depose
               ,
            
             
               Her
               tender
               brest
               against
               the
               Thorne
               ,
               so
               those
            
             
               Who
               (
               Bleeding
               easly
               )
               meet
               death
               void
               of
               paine
               ,
            
             
               
                 Pha●…iphae
              
               so
               in
               
                 Ida
              
               woods
               did
               raigne
               ,
            
             
               Twice
               did
               the
               honour
               of
               
                 Latona
              
               move
            
             
               A
               scornd
               defiance
               to
               
                 Arcadius
              
               Love
               ,
            
             
             
               But
               twice
               by
               
                 Ericyna
              
               t
               was
               defac't
               ,
            
             
               And
               twice
               more
               Love
               into
               her
               heart
               was
               plac't
               ,
            
             
               Wherefore
               unwilling
               to
               omit
               the
               art
               ,
            
             
               The
               Salve
               she
               thought
               would
               molli●…ie
               her
               smart
               ,
            
             
               Half
               doubting
               
                 Cupid
              
               who
               such
               change
               had
               wrought
               ,
            
             
               Gave
               speech
               the
               leave
               ,
               to
               ease
               her
               of
               her
               thought
               .
            
          
           
             
               Love
               ,
               who
               the
               greatest
               Potentates
               can
               tame
               ,
            
             
               (
               Ruine
               of
               zeale
               )
               at
               whose
               majestick
               name
               ,
            
             
               (
               Blind
               wicked
               boy
               )
               disguiz'd
               with
               all
               untruth
               ,
            
             
               The
               Gods
               have
               yeelded
               honour
               to
               his
               youth
               ,
            
             
               Sprung
               first
               from
               
                 Venus
              
               Goddess
               of
               his
               art
               ,
            
             
               If
               blind
               as
               some
               suppose
               how
               can
               he
               dart
            
             
               Showrs
               of
               such
               wrongs
               on
               silly
               Womans
               heart
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Thou
               Goddess
               of
               the
               Vallies
               and
               the
               Plains
               ,
            
             
               See
               how
               the
               wagg
               thy
               sacred
               rites
               disdains
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               thou
               
                 Latona's
              
               Daughter
               ,
               whose
               delights
            
             
               I
               vow
               to
               perfect
               ,
               and
               maintain
               thy
               rites
               ,
            
             
               In
               spite
               of
               
                 Cupid
                 ,
              
               see
               how
               he
               deposes
            
             
               Thy
               Holy
               Lawes
               ,
               see
               how
               he
               plucks
               thy
               Roses
               ,
            
             
               And
               crops
               the
               fairest
               Lillies
               of
               thy
               Closes
               .
            
          
           
             
               Into
               my
               heart
               some
               heavy
               thought
               is
               straid
               ,
            
             
               But
               there
               it
               shall
               not
               ,
               nor
               long
               hath
               it
               staid
               ,
            
             
               Some
               muddy
               cloud
               hath
               overwhelm'd
               my
               face
               ,
            
             
               And
               left
               behind
               it
               shaddowes
               of
               disgrace
               :
            
             
               Thus
               when
               the
               Heav'ns
               thy
               mighty
               Father
               lowrs
               ,
            
             
               His
               anger
               is
               some
               bitter
               tasted
               showrs
               ,
            
             
               To
               perish
               quite
               the
               odours
               of
               thy
               flowers
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               hath
               he
               given
               power
               to
               the
               Boy
               ,
            
             
               Who
               strives
               thy
               Virgin
               odours
               to
               destroy
               .
            
             
             
               Vrg'd
               by
               the
               daughter
               of
               
                 Oceanu●…
              
            
             
               His
               Frothy
               Mother
               ,
               enemy
               to
               us
               .
            
             
               And
               she
               doth
               practice
               his
               deceitfull
               smiles
               ,
            
             
               The
               fittest
               motions
               with
               which
               he
               beguiles
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               a
               touch
               thy
               Vestall
               lamps
               defiles
               .
            
          
           
             
               Vp
               (
               thou
               
                 Alphea
              
               )
               shew
               thy
               pow'r
               and
               skill
               ,
            
             
               Reserve
               thy
               virgins
               wholly
               to
               thee
               still
               ,
            
             
               Lend
               us
               the
               swiftest
               
                 ●…rethusa's
              
               feet
               ,
            
             
               To
               flie
               
                 Alpheus
                 ,
              
               make
               our
               prayers
               fleet
               :
            
             
               And
               that
               we
               may
               doe
               honor
               to
               thy
               name
               ,
            
             
               Do
               thou
               in
               
                 Ephesus
              
               thy
               will
               proclame
               ,
            
             
               That
               we
               with
               nettles
               may
               defie
               his
               flame
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               did
               she
               feed
               her
               thoughts
               on
               weak
               dispair
               ,
            
             
               Sighing
               her
               sorrows
               to
               the
               empty
               air
               ,
            
             
               Repining
               only
               that
               her
               heavy
               fate
            
             
               Prest
               down
               so
               hard
               to
               make
               her
               derogate
               .
            
          
           
             
               Might
               I
               (
               said
               she
               )
               
                 Idali●…'s
              
               garments
               wear
               ,
            
             
               I
               would
               be
               glad
               ,
               would
               she
               but
               hear
               my
               prayer
               ,
            
             
               Or
               
                 Dian
              
               thou
               to
               whom
               I
               am
               devoted
               ,
            
             
               Admit
               not
               my
               true
               zeal
               to
               be
               remoted
            
             
               From
               service
               thine
               ,
               if
               still
               thy
               power
               thou
               hast
               ;
            
             
               If
               
                 Citherea
              
               hath
               it
               not
               defac't
               ,
            
             
               Say
               whether
               yet
               he
               any
               hath
               imbrac't
               .
            
          
           
             
               Say
               whether
               yet
               he
               any
               hath
               embrac't
               ,
            
             
               If
               yet
               to
               thee
               his
               service
               be
               ally'd
               ,
            
             
               Let
               not
               his
               cheeks
               of
               any
               sorrows
               tast
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               pity
               such
               pure
               streams
               with
               worse
               be
               dy'd
               ;
            
             
               But
               howsoe're
               if
               happy
               him
               be
               ty'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Hymen
              
               link
               him
               to
               some
               other
               Bride
               ,
            
             
               Let
               not
               his
               name
               ,
               nor
               kindred
               be
               deni'd
               .
            
             
             
               And
               thus
               she
               discontinuing
               
                 Dian's
              
               fires
               ,
            
             
               Vext
               with
               excess
               of
               heat
               and
               love
               ,
               retires
            
             
               Into
               the
               garden
               ,
               where
               she
               takes
               free
               scope
            
             
               To
               vent
               her
               plaints
               ,
               but
               all
               deny
               her
               hope
               .
            
             
               Each
               flowr
               she
               sees
               gives
               a
               fresh
               appetite
            
             
               To
               that
               sweet
               flowr
               she
               wants
               ;
               there
               's
               no
               delight
               ,
            
             
               But
               dreams
               and
               visions
               haunt
               her
               in
               her
               sleep
               ;
            
             
               The
               birds
               that
               us'd
               to
               sing
               ,
               now
               seem'd
               to
               weep
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               with
               heavy
               voice
               did
               seem
               to
               move
            
             
               Complaints
               ,
               and
               wail
               for
               her
               unhappy
               love
               .
            
             
               Nor
               could
               she
               say
               't
               was
               love
               did
               her
               oppress
               ,
            
             
               Since
               she
               was
               ignorant
               of
               what
               fair
               guess
            
             
               She
               was
               enamored
               ,
               she
               saw
               his
               face
               ,
            
             
               And
               knew
               he
               was
               a
               man
               ,
               but
               of
               what
               race
            
             
               And
               name
               she
               knew
               not
               ,
               nor
               knew
               where
               he
               dwelt
               ;
            
             
               (
               Oft
               so
               for
               unknown
               cause
               ,
               strange
               pains
               are
               felt
               )
            
             
               Oft
               from
               the
               garden
               would
               she
               send
               her
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               
                 Loves
                 faint
                 Embassadors
                 ,
              
               into
               the
               skies
               ,
            
             
               For
               help
               ,
               and
               oft
               with
               shrill
               complaining
               sounds
               ,
            
             
               Would
               weep
               forth
               prayers
               ,
               with
               which
               the
               air
               abounds
               .
            
             
               Thence
               would
               she
               unto
               
                 Venus
              
               Altar
               hast
               ,
            
             
               Where
               when
               the
               myrrhe
               and
               odors
               she
               had
               plac't
               ,
            
             
               And
               mixing
               plaints
               with
               the
               perfuming
               flame
               ,
            
             
               Grant
               me
               great
               Queen
               of
               Love
               to
               know
               his
               name
               .
            
             
               Thence
               would
               she
               unto
               
                 Dian's
              
               Altar
               hie
               .
            
             
               And
               do
               the
               like
               ,
               and
               thence
               to
               
                 Cupid
              
               flie
               ,
            
             
               But
               still
               return'd
               inrag'd
               ,
               amaz'd
               ,
               unblest
               ,
            
             
               Till
               fairest
               
                 Hecate
              
               heard
               her
               request
               .
            
             
               Not
               far
               from
               
                 Talmos
              
               there
               a
               City
               was
               ,
            
             
               
                 C●…speria
              
               nam'd
               
                 D●…lia's
              
               denoted
               place
               ,
            
             
               Where
               she
               a
               temple
               had
               sacred
               to
               her
               ,
            
             
               Where
               of●…
               unmarried
               people
               did
               prefer
            
             
               Their
               pray'rs
               ,
               remoted
               only
               for
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               No
               
                 ●…ymi
                 neall
              
               servants
               thither
               came
            
             
             
               Now
               was
               the
               time
               ,
               when
               cloth'd
               in
               
                 Scythian
              
               whites
            
             
               Her
               Priests
               were
               ready
               to
               perform
               her
               rites
               ;
            
             
               Her
               Cups
               were
               with
               
                 ●…asta●…ion
              
               liquors
               fill'd
               ,
            
             
               Her
               Altar
               with
               pale
               Sacrifices
               hill'd
               ,
            
             
               That
               all
               her
               virgins
               came
               to
               wait
               upon
               her
            
             
               Bearing
               their
               
                 ●…estall
              
               lamps
               
                 Diana●…s
              
               honor
               .
            
             
               When
               
                 Sepha
              
               t'wards
               her
               temple
               did
               repair
               ,
            
             
               Cloth'd
               all
               in
               yellow
               ,
               whose
               dishevell'd
               hair
               ,
            
             
               Stirr'd
               with
               the
               winde
               ,
               gave
               a
               reflective
               shine
               ,
            
             
               As
               
                 Iove
              
               had
               tow'd
               her
               in
               a
               golden
               shrine
               .
            
             
               Down
               to
               
                 Gargaphia
                 ,
              
               did
               she
               take
               her
               way
               ,
            
             
               Fear
               lending
               wings
               ,
               since
               Love
               had
               caus'd
               her
               stay
            
             
               Too
               long
               ,
               and
               as
               she
               tript
               o're
               those
               fair
               Lawns
               ,
            
             
               Roughfooted
               Satyres
               ,
               Satyres
               ,
               Nymphs
               and
               Fawns
               ,
            
             
               With
               various
               colour'd
               flowers
               which
               they
               had
               set
               ,
            
             
               Made
               for
               her
               feet
               a
               pleasant
               Carquenett
               .
            
             
               Her
               eyes
               when
               first
               they
               glanc't
               towards
               the
               place
               ,
            
             
               Whither
               she
               would
               ,
               O
               more
               than
               human
               race
               ,
            
             
               Said
               she
               ,
               be
               thou
               propitious
               to
               me
               still
               ;
            
             
               Impute
               not
               this
               delay
               ,
               want
               of
               good
               will
            
             
               Towards
               thy
               holy
               Laws
               ,
               and
               as
               she
               prayd
               ,
            
             
               The
               more
               she
               run
               ,
               the
               more
               she
               thought
               she
               staid
               ;
            
             
               Chiefly
               for
               this
               ,
               when
               first
               her
               tender
               feet
               ,
            
             
               With
               gentle
               motions
               brought
               her
               to
               those
               sweet
               ,
            
             
               Those
               diapred
               ,
               those
               rape
               enamor'd
               dales
               ,
            
             
               First
               mother
               to
               those
               cool
               perfumed
               gales
               ,
            
             
               Which
               
                 Zephyrus
              
               from
               flowry
               Meadows
               sends
               ,
            
             
               To
               court
               
                 Aurora
                 ,
              
               whose
               beauty
               extends
            
             
               (
               Like
               blushing
               sighs
               with
               which
               women
               beguile
               )
            
             
               Back
               to
               the
               same
               to
               grace
               them
               with
               a
               smile
               .
            
             
               She
               heard
               shrill
               voices
               ,
               shrill
               complaining
               cryes
               ,
            
             
               The
               hasty
               messengers
               of
               some
               dull
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Call
               her
               to
               witness
               with
               lamenting
               verse
               ,
            
             
               Like
               those
               that
               use
               to
               houl
               over
               the
               herse
            
             
             
               Of
               their
               dead
               friends
               ,
               to
               which
               as
               women
               use
               ,
            
             
               ●…he
               gives
               a
               skreek
               ,
               women
               can
               seldome
               chuse
               ;
            
             
               Which
               skreek
               ,
               whether
               it
               were
               for
               strangeness
               rather
               ;
            
             
               That
               all
               the
               Silvan
               dwellers
               'bout
               her
               gather
               ,
            
             
               Or
               whether
               't
               was
               the
               rareness
               of
               her
               voice
               ,
            
             
               As
               sure
               it
               was
               ,
               for
               that
               O
               Heav'nly
               noise
               ,
            
             
               Hath
               power
               to
               lead
               the
               wildest
               rudest
               ear
               ,
            
             
               Which
               once
               those
               Heav'nly
               raptures
               doth
               but
               hear
               ,
            
             
               From
               uncivility
               ,
               to
               deep
               amaze
               ;
            
             
               But
               be
               it
               what
               it
               will
               ,
               they
               all
               did
               gaze
            
             
               And
               flock
               about
               her
               ,
               silent
               ,
               pale
               ,
               and
               wan
               ,
            
             
               Till
               one
               (
               it
               seemes
               the
               chiefest
               of
               them
               all
               )
               began
               ,
            
             
               Hence
               ugly
               grief
               ,
               to
               which
               they
               all
               agree
               ,
            
             
               Though
               our
               King
               's
               gon
               ,
               wee
               'l
               make
               our
               Queen
               of
               thee
               ,
            
             
               Then
               gan
               they
               leap
               and
               dance
               ,
               with
               such
               delight
               ,
            
             
               Which
               put
               fair
               
                 Sepha
              
               into
               such
               a
               fright
               ,
            
             
               That
               from
               her
               eyes
               she
               let
               fall
               such
               a
               frown
               ,
            
             
               That
               seen
               of
               them
               ,
               they
               all
               fell
               trembling
               down
               .
            
             
               Yet
               such
               was
               
                 Sepha's
              
               vertue
               and
               good
               nature
               ,
            
             
               That
               she
               would
               not
               permit
               the
               smallest
               creature
               ,
            
             
               Through
               her
               to
               perish
               ,
               if
               from
               her
               there
               came
            
             
               Ought
               did
               extingish
               the
               desired
               flame
            
             
               Of
               life
               ,
               the
               same
               to
               her
               own
               heart
               return'd
               ;
            
             
               ●…or
               with
               the
               like
               desire
               of
               Love
               she
               burn'd
               :
            
             
               ●…he
               would
               have
               gon
               and
               left
               them
               ,
               but
               compassion
            
             
               Of
               their
               then
               grief
               ,
               caus'd
               a
               deliberation
               ,
            
             
               Half
               gon
               she
               turn'd
               again
               ,
               and
               with
               her
               hand
            
             
               Helping
               them
               up
               ,
               saith
               let
               me
               understand
               ,
            
             
               The
               cause
               you
               weep
               ,
               if
               it
               require
               my
               art
               ,
            
             
               With
               you
               to
               grieve
               ,
               with
               you
               I'●…
               bear
               a
               part
               .
            
             
               When
               one
               awakened
               with
               excess
               of
               bliss
               ,
            
             
               ●…ose
               up
               ,
               and
               gan
               to
               kiss
               her
               ●…ars
               with
               this
               .
            
             
             
               
                 Nisean
                 Silenus
              
               
                 a
              
               born
               of
               
                 Indian
              
               race
               ,
               
            
             
               Once
               kept
               yon
               hill
               ,
               you
               
                 Gaurus
              
               was
               his
               place
               ,
            
             
               His
               palace
               was
               with
               palest
               marble
               rais'd
               ,
            
             
               Imbrac't
               with
               blushing
               grapes
               ,
               and
               often
               prais'd
            
             
               By
               those
               ,
               which
               never
               yet
               the
               reason
               knew
               ,
            
             
               For
               those
               sweet
               smelling
               flowers
               about
               it
               grew
               .
            
             
               The
               way
               that
               leads
               you
               to
               this
               more
               than
               blest
            
             
               
                 Elizium
                 ,
              
               was
               bordred
               with
               a
               nest
            
             
               Of
               
                 Hyacinths
                 ,
              
               which
               now
               begin
               to
               spred
            
             
               Their
               
                 Amiclean
              
               flowers
               into
               a
               bed
               ;
            
             
               Like
               that
               of
               Lillies
               ,
               which
               our
               Poets
               say
               ,
            
             
               Leads
               now
               to
               him
               ,
               instil'd
               the
               
                 Milkie
                 way
                 ;
              
            
             
               There
               was
               no
               path
               went
               creeping
               through
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               Which
               might
               delude
               the
               most
               opprobrious
               name
               ,
            
             
               With
               ,
               
                 Fallicies
                 ,
              
               for
               so
               they
               might
               suppose
               ,
            
             
               The
               way
               that
               leads
               to
               honor
               doth
               inclose
            
             
               A
               world
               of
               bliss
               ,
               when
               each
               eye
               hath
               his
               charm
               ,
            
             
               The
               way
               to
               honor
               hath
               a
               world
               of
               harm
               .
            
             
               I
               speak
               not
               this
               to
               disallow
               the
               rites
            
             
               
                 Honoria
              
               claims
               ,
               the
               self-same
               way
               invites
            
             
               As
               well
               to
               honor
               ,
               as
               well
               not
               to
               honor
               ,
            
             
               For
               she
               hath
               equall
               ballance
               cast
               upon
               her
               ;
            
             
               But
               to
               uphold
               the
               blest
               
                 Silenian
              
               way
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               smooth
               egressions
               will
               admit
               no
               stay
               ,
            
             
               To
               those
               who
               t'wards
               
                 Brisean
              
               Altars
               hie
               ,
            
             
               Till
               they
               enjoy
               th'
               
                 Nisean
                 Canopy
                 :
              
            
             
               A
               vale
               there
               is
               ,
               which
               from
               a
               low
               descent
            
             
               Of
               a
               late
               Hill
               ,
               did
               somewhat
               represent
            
             
               
                 Phlegrean
              
               plains
               ,
               nurst
               by
               
                 Meanders
              
               waves
               ,
            
             
               Which
               cut
               their
               bedds
               ,
               and
               furrow
               their
               own
               graves
               .
            
             
               This
               was
               
                 Nemea
              
               call'd
               ,
               a
               fertile
               plain
               ,
            
             
               Bedew'd
               with
               blood
               of
               
                 Mifian
              
               cattle
               ,
               slain
            
             
             
               For
               sacrifice
               ,
               brought
               by
               th'
               
                 Ismenides
                 ,
              
            
             
               The
               wrath
               of
               just
               
                 Silenus
              
               to
               appease
               .
            
             
               Whose
               angry
               frowns
               fright
               you
               from
               that
               blest
               vale
               ;
            
             
               But
               till
               you
               to
               a
               far
               more
               pleasant
               dale
               ,
            
             
               Which
               mounted
               by
               two
               stepps
               doth
               yeeld
               a
               sight
            
             
               More
               smooth
               than
               glass
               ,
               more
               glorious
               than
               del●…ght
               .
            
             
               A
               heap
               of
               Pines
               there
               are
               ,
               which
               equall
               range
            
             
               On
               either
               side
               ,
               a
               pleasant
               sight
               but
               strange
               ,
            
             
               To
               those
               ne're
               saw
               't
               ,
               through
               which
               there
               lye●…a
               glede
               ,
            
             
               Smooth
               bladed
               grass
               ,
               which
               shews
               you
               the
               ab●…de
            
             
               Of
               
                 Bacchus
              
               guide
               ,
               then
               come
               you
               to
               a
               Court
               ,
            
             
               Where
               all
               the
               crew
               of
               Satyres
               doe
               resort
               ;
            
             
               And
               with
               shrill
               cryes
               do
               make
               his
               pallace-ring
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Io
                 ,
                 Io
                 ,
                 Bacchanalia
              
               sing
               .
            
             
               No
               wall
               there
               is
               that
               doth
               inclose
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               T
               is
               hem'd
               with
               lawrel
               trees
               of
               the
               bigst
               frame
               ,
            
             
               And
               under
               them
               there
               is
               a
               bushy
               hedge
            
             
               Of
               Rosemary
               ,
               which
               cut
               ev'n
               make
               a
               ledge
               ,
            
             
               For
               various
               colour'd
               flowers
               his
               Clients
               bring
               ,
            
             
               They
               are
               the
               curteous
               offrings
               of
               the
               spring
               .
            
             
               In
               midst
               of
               which
               fair
               Court
               there
               is
               a
               Fo●…t
               ,
            
             
               Of
               Christall
               streams
               ,
               where
               oft
               a
               Goddess
               wont
               ,
            
             
               With
               diverse
               Damsels
               ,
               Goddesses
               I
               think
               ,
            
             
               Because
               their
               beauty
               hath
               such
               power
               to
               link
            
             
               Men
               to
               their
               love
               ,
               for
               sure
               such
               Heav'nly
               faces
            
             
               Ne're
               sprung
               from
               mortall
               ;
               ne're
               from
               humane
               races●…
            
             
               But
               be
               they
               as
               they
               are
               ,
               in
               that
               same
               Well
            
             
               They
               us'd
               to
               bath
               ,
               the
               Statues
               there
               can
               tell
               ,
            
             
               
                 Chlamidias
              
               shrines
               th'
               are
               call'd
               ,
               and
               strong
               de●…ence
            
             
               That
               were
               erected
               at
               her
               going
               thence
               .
            
             
               Which
               story
               if
               you
               'l
               please
               but
               to
               admit
            
             
               And
               bless
               the
               ground
               so
               much
               ,
               as
               here
               to
               sit
            
             
               (
               Fair
               Lady
               )
               't
               is
               not
               tedious
               ,
               wee
               'l
               relate
            
             
               The
               Tragick
               ends
               ,
               and
               tell
               the
               heavy
               fate
            
             
             
               There
               lies
               intomb'd
               ,
               we
               will
               in
               ev'ry
               thing
            
             
               Present
               to
               you
               the
               figure
               of
               the
               spring
               .
            
             
               Time
               slips
               too
               fast
               (
               said
               
                 Sepha
              
               )
               and
               my
               way
            
             
               Is
               long
               ,
               I
               cannot
               well
               admit
               the
               stay
            
             
               To
               hear
               it
               told
               ,
               but
               since
               you
               say
               't
               is
               short
               ,
            
             
               I
               'l
               linger
               time
               to
               hear
               out
               your
               report
               .
            
             
               Then
               thus
               :
               Our
               God
               hearing
               what
               Heav'nly
               shapes
            
             
               Haunted
               those
               groves
               ,
               and
               with
               what
               store
               of
               grapes
            
             
               It
               did
               ●…abound
               ;
               said
               rise
               and
               le
               ts
               go
               see
               ,
            
             
               Perhaps
               it
               is
               a
               dwelling
               fit
               for
               me
               .
            
             
               Whither
               being
               come
               ,
               and
               having
               took
               a
               view
            
             
               Of
               each
               delight
               ,
               what
               pleasure
               might
               accrew
            
             
               By
               dwelling
               there
               ,
               said
               lets
               begin
               to
               build
               ;
            
             
               The
               ground
               is
               fragrant
               ,
               't
               is
               a
               pleasant
               field
            
             
               With
               odours
               drest
               ,
               Marble
               shall
               be
               our
               stone
               ,
            
             
               Cedar
               our
               Timber
               ,
               the
               Foundation
            
             
               On
               yonder
               hill
               ,
               yon
               hill
               that
               will
               be
               proud
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               instil'd
               the
               powrfull
               
                 Bacchus
              
               shroud
               .
            
             
               At
               this
               the
               Goddess
               laught
               ,
               and
               in
               a
               scorn
               ,
            
             
               More
               sham'd
               and
               ruddy
               than
               the
               blushing
               Morn
            
             
               Escap't
               from
               
                 Tytans
              
               arms
               ,
               doth
               nimbly
               rise
               ,
            
             
               While
               pale
               revenge
               sits
               trembling
               in
               her
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Ready
               to
               ruine
               those
               that
               dare
               presume
            
             
               To
               view
               ,
               much
               less
               to
               touch
               her
               hallow'd
               room
               ;
            
             
               She
               girts
               her
               armor
               on
               ,
               and
               to
               her
               side
            
             
               Her
               quiver
               ,
               full
               of
               bloody
               arrows
               ty'd
               ,
            
             
               In
               her
               left
               hand
               her
               bow
               ,
               and
               with
               the
               other
            
             
               Tearing
               the
               grapes
               from
               their
               beloved
               Mother
               ;
            
             
               Tramples
               them
               on
               the
               ground
               ,
               and
               in
               a
               rage
               ,
            
             
               (
               For
               so
               it
               seems
               no
               treaties
               could
               asswage
            
             
               Her
               furious
               wrath
               )
               
                 Bacchus
              
               said
               she
               ,
               thou
               Clown
            
             
               So
               shall
               I
               trample
               thy
               Imperiall
               Crown
               .
            
             
               How
               durst
               thou
               (
               vilain
               )
               dare
               to
               touch
               this
               Isle
               ?
            
             
               And
               with
               thy
               nasty
               carkass
               to
               defile
            
             
             
               My
               holy
               place
               ?
               (
               Egregious
               drunkard
               )
               how
            
             
               Durst
               thou
               presume
               t'
               offend
               my
               Virgin
               brow
               ?
            
             
               What
               recompence
               art
               able
               to
               bestow
               ?
            
             
               Or
               how
               wilt
               thou
               my
               powrfull
               wrath
               o're-goe
               ?
            
             
               How
               wilt
               thou
               my
               destroying
               anger
               miss
               ?
            
             
               Or
               what
               requitall
               shall
               I
               have
               for
               this
               ?
            
             
               Thy
               death
               I
               will
               not
               work
               lest
               it
               be
               known
               ,
            
             
               I
               so
               much
               goodnesse
               to
               thee
               should
               have
               shown
            
             
               In
               slaying
               thee
               ,
               t'
               would
               be
               as
               bad
               disgrace
               ,
            
             
               Should
               it
               be
               known
               that
               thou
               hast
               seen
               my
               face
               .
            
             
               Thou
               happy
               of
               this
               favour
               maist
               rejoice
               ,
            
             
               My
               damsels
               scorn
               that
               thou
               shouldst
               hear
               my
               voice
               ,
            
             
               What
               a
               vile
               stain
               ,
               what
               laughing
               there
               would
               be
               ,
            
             
               Should
               the
               world
               know
               I
               daign
               to
               speak
               to
               thee
               .
            
             
               How
               shall
               I
               Combate
               then
               ?
               or
               thee
               expell
            
             
               From
               the
               society
               of
               this
               blest
               Well
               ?
            
             
               See
               how
               these
               Roses
               at
               thy
               boldnes
               blush
               ,
            
             
               Those
               flowers
               dye
               which
               thy
               proud
               feet
               do
               crush
               .
            
             
               See
               how
               the
               trembling
               Lillies
               stoop
               a
               low
               ,
            
             
               Grow
               pale
               and
               droop
               ,
               for
               fear
               thou
               wilt
               not
               goe
               .
            
             
               The
               Birds
               no
               more
               will
               sing
               while
               thou
               art
               here
               ,
            
             
               These
               silver
               streams
               doe
               murmur
               plaints
               for
               fear
            
             
               Thou
               wilt
               their
               drops
               defile
               ,
               the
               very
               skyes
            
             
               Since
               thou
               cam'st
               hither
               have
               withdrawn
               their
               eyes
               .
            
             
               And
               since
               thou
               hast
               this
               flowry
               place
               defac't
               ,
            
             
               No
               more
               we
               shall
               of
               their
               sweet
               favour
               tast
            
             
               To
               cherish
               us
               ,
               here
               is
               a
               spacious
               way
               ,
            
             
               Be
               packing
               then
               or
               at
               thy
               perill
               stay
               .
            
             
               Vile
               words
               against
               a
               God
               ,
               who
               smiling
               said
               ;
            
             
               Here
               will
               I
               live
               ,
               ●…and
               thou
               shalt
               be
               my
               maid
               :
            
             
               Thy
               maid
               said
               she
               ,
               to
               do
               thee
               service
               then
               ,
            
             
               With
               this
               weak
               arm
               ,
               and
               these
               shall
               be
               thy
               men
               ,
            
             
               Sending
               him
               showrs
               of
               arrows
               ,
               which
               invade
            
             
               His
               Nurses
               hearts
               ,
               and
               there
               a
               Tavern
               made
               .
            
             
             
               
                 Bacchus
              
               at
               this
               grew
               wroth
               ,
               his
               rudy
               face
            
             
               Where
               the
               best
               beauty
               us'd
               to
               have
               a
               place
               ,
            
             
               Grew
               pale
               ,
               and
               pale
               :
               
                 Bellona
              
               now
               said
               he
               ,
            
             
               Be
               thou
               propitious
               to
               my
               Sov'raignty
               .
            
             
               What
               spitefull
               God
               hath
               sent
               these
               mortall
               shapes
               ?
            
             
               Wicked
               devourers
               of
               my
               sacred
               grapes
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               enmity
               alone
               against
               the
               fruit
               ,
            
             
               Will
               them
               suffice
               ,
               who
               seek
               to
               spoil
               the
               root
               .
            
             
               Fair
               Girl
               he
               said
               ;
               think'st
               thou
               I
               dread
               thy
               power
               ,
            
             
               Dare
               mickle
               Fortune
               on
               my
               pleasure
               lower
               ?
            
             
               My
               Father
               guides
               the
               motion
               of
               the
               year
               ,
            
             
               His
               dwelling
               is
               beyond
               the
               middle
               Sphere
               .
            
             
               Heav'n
               is
               his
               palace
               ,
               where
               his
               power
               's
               known
               ;
            
             
               Power
               waits
               on
               him
               ,
               
                 Elisium
              
               is
               his
               own
               ;
            
             
               My
               mother
               's
               of
               no
               base
               nor
               mean
               descent
            
             
               With
               whom
               all
               Graces
               had
               their
               Complement
               .
            
             
               And
               though
               shee
               's
               mortall
               ,
               yet
               her
               pedigree
               ,
            
             
               Portrays
               in
               brazen
               lines
               her
               memory
               ;
            
             
               From
               worthy
               
                 Cadmus
                 ,
              
               whose
               descent
               doth
               spring
            
             
               From
               old
               
                 Agenor
              
               the
               
                 Phoenician
              
               King
               .
            
             
               How
               dar'st
               thou
               then
               revile
               my
               holy
               fire
               ?
            
             
               I
               am
               a
               God
               ,
               and
               can
               withstand
               thine
               ire
               ?
            
             
               Can
               these
               thy
               threatnings
               then
               make
               me
               the
               worse
               ?
            
             
               Or
               dost
               thou
               think
               thy
               arrows
               can
               have
               force
            
             
               To
               pierce
               my
               powrfull
               skin●…
               Fond
               foe
               forbear
               ,
            
             
               Th'
               are
               fit'st
               for
               
                 Cupids
              
               use
               ,
               by
               
                 Styx
              
               I
               swear
            
             
               A
               secret
               influence
               hath
               my
               honor
               sav'd
               ,
            
             
               I
               have
               in
               
                 L●…the
              
               lake
               my
               body
               lav'd
               .
            
             
               This
               said
               ,
               his
               leavy
               javelin
               up
               he
               takes
               ,
            
             
               At
               sight
               of
               which
               the
               fearfull
               Goddesse
               quakes
               ,
            
             
               He
               turns
               him
               back
               to
               his
               devoted
               train
            
             
               In
               whose
               each
               hand
               a
               
                 Thirsis
              
               did
               remain
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               fiery
               valour
               never
               was
               withstood
               ,
            
             
               Good
               was
               their
               courage
               ,
               and
               their
               valour
               good
               .
            
             
             
               Forbear
               said
               he
               ,
               let
               not
               your
               anger
               light
            
             
               On
               these
               ,
               so
               far
               unworthy
               for
               your
               fight
               ,
            
             
               What
               stain
               shall
               we
               endure
               ?
               when
               it
               be
               said
               ,
            
             
               So
               many
               
                 Hecatompil●…ns
              
               have
               made
            
             
               War
               with
               a
               silly
               maid
               ?
               what
               though
               she
               strive
            
             
               Through
               haughty
               pride
               our
               honor
               to
               survive
               ?
            
             
               Vrge
               not
               her
               fight
               who
               cannot
               manage
               it
               .
            
             
               Fie
               ,
               are
               these
               subjects
               for
               your
               valour
               fit
               ?
            
             
               Forbear
               I
               say
               ,
               and
               let
               your
               wrath
               be
               kept
               ,
            
             
               For
               those
               who
               have
               our
               ancient
               honors
               swept
            
             
               Into
               a
               dirty
               lake
               ;
               let
               it
               suffice
            
             
               This
               moutain
               shall
               our
               Orgies
               memorize
               .
            
             
               With
               that
               another
               showr
               of
               darts
               she
               sends
            
             
               From
               nimble
               arms
               ,
               whose
               multitude
               extends
            
             
               All
               o're
               the
               Army
               which
               our
               God
               had
               there
               ,
            
             
               Enough
               to
               move
               a
               valiant
               God
               with
               fear
               ;
            
             
               So
               thick
               they
               came
               ,
               that
               like
               the
               Ev'ning
               cloud
               ,
            
             
               Or
               like
               an
               Arbor
               ,
               or
               a
               Leavy
               shroud
            
             
               Remaining
               long
               ,
               they
               might
               have
               caus'd
               a
               dearth
               ,
            
             
               They
               kept
               the
               courteous
               Sun
               from
               the
               dark
               earth
               .
            
             
               Go
               too
               said
               
                 Bacchus
                 ,
              
               let
               all
               pity
               fade
               ,
            
             
               And
               fight
               on
               now
               ,
               we
               now
               shall
               fight
               i'
               th'
               shade
               ;
            
             
               Then
               gan
               a
               desp'rate
               war
               ,
               but
               being
               divine
               ,
            
             
               No
               harm
               was
               done
               ,
               the
               greatest
               harm
               was
               mine
               ,
            
             
               Till
               fair
               
                 Antigone
                 ,
              
               alas
               too
               rare
               ,
            
             
               Too
               young
               alas
               ,
               alas
               too
               Heav'nly
               fair
            
             
               To
               leave
               this
               haven
               ,
               exchang'd
               her
               mortall
               hue
            
             
               And
               leapt
               to
               Heav'n
               ,
               I
               saw
               her
               as
               she
               slew
               .
            
             
               A
               wound
               she
               had
               ,
               nor
               was
               there
               any
               place
            
             
               But
               that
               alone
               ,
               but
               that
               which
               could
               deface
            
             
               Her
               rudy
               cheeks
               ,
               her
               lips
               that
               oft
               did
               shove
            
             
               Life
               to
               the
               hearts
               of
               those
               that
               saw
               them
               move
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               thus
               it
               chanc'd
               ,
               
               
                 Haemon
              
               the
               fairest
               boy
            
             
               Of
               
                 Thebes
              
               City
               ,
               would
               go
               sport
               and
               toy
            
             
               With
               
                 Cupids
              
               darts
               ,
               and
               
                 Cupid
              
               being
               blind
               ,
            
             
               (
               And
               Love
               you
               know
               when
               vext
               is
               oft
               unkind
               )
            
             
               Pull'd
               them
               away
               ,
               
                 Haemon
              
               would
               him
               withstand
               ,
            
             
               And
               as
               he
               held
               ,
               he
               chanc't
               to
               race
               his
               hand
               .
            
             
               This
               being
               slighted
               gan
               to
               fester
               in
               ,
            
             
               And
               having
               got
               a
               newly
               welcom'd
               skin
               ,
            
             
               Began
               to
               fester
               more
               ;
               it
               being
               small
               ,
            
             
               And
               of
               small
               pain
               was
               pitti'd
               not
               at
               all
               ,
            
             
               By
               him
               I
               mean
               ,
               who
               as
               it
               seems
               delighted
            
             
               In
               this
               new
               pain
               ;
               and
               that
               's
               the
               cause
               't
               was
               slighted●…
            
             
               Now
               was
               it
               grown
               unto
               a
               doubled
               height
            
             
               His
               brest
               within
               ,
               and
               with
               a
               nimble
               sleight
            
             
               Began
               his
               heart
               to
               bore
               ,
               when
               he
               o'recharg'd
               ,
            
             
               Could
               not
               suppress
               that
               fire
               which
               now
               inlarg'd
            
             
               It self
               with
               larger
               flames
               ;
               it
               kist
               his
               heart
               ,
            
             
               And
               he
               kist
               it
               ,
               like
               one
               loth
               to
               impart
            
             
               Some
               serious
               thought
               ,
               from
               his
               o'reburthened
               brest
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               detaining
               it
               can
               find
               no
               rest
               .
            
             
               Have
               you
               not
               seen
               the
               
                 H●…liconian
              
               spring
               ,
            
             
               Send
               her
               beloved
               streams
               a wandering
            
             
               The
               vale
               below
               ,
               who
               ready
               to
               fulfill
            
             
               (
               Though
               murmuring
               for
               grief
               )
               their
               mothers
               will
               ,
            
             
               Glide
               on
               apace
               ,
               yet
               oft
               with
               watry
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Look
               t'wards
               the
               place
               where
               their
               blest
               mother
               lyes
               ;
            
             
               While
               she
               with
               crooked
               bublings
               doth
               complain
               ,
            
             
               Now
               calls
               them
               in
               ,
               then
               thrusts
               them
               forth
               again
               .
            
             
               So
               was
               't
               with
               
                 Haemon
              
               loth
               to
               lose
               the
               bliss
               ,
            
             
               The
               pleasing
               joyes
               he
               hop't
               to
               reap
               from
               this
            
             
               His
               new
               intended
               life
               ,
               also
               unwilling
            
             
               To
               dispossess
               himself
               of
               those
               distilling
            
             
               And
               gratefull
               honours
               ,
               from
               
                 Diana
              
               came
               ,
            
             
               Due
               only
               to
               the
               lovers
               of
               her
               name
               .
            
             
             
               In
               both
               perplext
               alike
               he
               sits
               amaz'd
               ;
            
             
               (
               
                 Symptomes
                 of
                 Love
              
               )
               and
               o're
               the
               vaileys
               gaz'd
               ,
            
             
               Starts
               up
               ,
               sits
               down
               ,
               admires
               with
               foolish
               joy
            
             
               The
               fruits
               thereof
               ,
               detests
               as
               much
               
               th'annoy
            
             
               The
               same
               ingenders
               ,
               having
               'fore
               his
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               The
               sad
               examples
               of
               the
               miseries
            
             
               It
               hath
               produc't
               ;
               
                 Leanders
              
               heavy
               fate
               ,
            
             
               Makes
               him
               eschew
               it
               now
               as
               much
               with
               hate
               ,
            
             
               As
               e're
               before
               he
               to
               it
               zealous
               was
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               Tragedyes
               are
               unto
               him
               a
               glass
               .
            
             
               In
               this
               extreme
               ,
               what
               will
               not
               
                 Venus
              
               doe
               ?
            
             
               He
               studies
               how
               ,
               and
               can
               already
               woe
               .
            
             
               Admit
               said
               he
               ,
               the
               winged
               boy
               would
               send
            
             
               Into
               this
               place
               the
               picture
               of
               that
               friend
               ,
            
             
               I
               best
               could
               honor
               ,
               should
               I
               be
               approv'd
            
             
               Or
               no
               ?
               for
               yet
               he
               knew
               not
               whom
               he
               lov'd
               ;
            
             
               Or
               should
               I
               chance
               of
               that
               fair
               chance
               to
               chance
               :
            
             
               Could
               I
               in
               lovers
               phrase
               my
               love
               advance
               ?
            
             
               Say
               
                 Cupid
                 ,
              
               or
               if
               yet
               thou
               think'st
               I
               cannot
               ,
            
             
               Make
               tryall
               ,
               and
               if
               too
               much
               she
               disdain
               not
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               book
               I
               le
               quickly
               learn
               ,
               before
               the
               morn
            
             
               Descry
               our
               blots
               ,
               there
               's
               none
               a
               workman
               born
               ;
            
             
               And
               at
               our
               next
               encounter
               I
               'l
               so
               gain
            
             
               Thy
               approbation
               ,
               there
               shall
               not
               a
               stain
               ,
            
             
               Deface
               my
               quill
               to
               make
               my
               study
               faulter
               ,
            
             
               Whole
               showrs
               of
               Myrrh
               I
               'l
               pour
               upon
               thy
               Altar
               .
            
             
               Thy
               Altar
               shall
               with
               saffron
               streams
               appear
               ,
            
             
               And
               I
               with
               yellow
               garments
               will
               be
               there
               ;
            
             
               There
               will
               I
               be
               to
               see
               thy
               service
               don
               ,
            
             
               The
               Oaths
               betroth'd
               by
               thy
               beloved
               son
               ,
            
             
               On
               high
               
                 Hymerus
              
               hil
               ,
               and
               ere
               the
               same
            
             
               Had
               flown
               from
               
                 Haemons
              
               sacred
               breth
               ,
               there
               came
            
             
               A
               Lady
               by
               ,
               nor
               onely
               one
               there
               was
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               had
               there
               been
               no
               more
               ,
               she
               did
               su●…pass
            
             
             
               All
               beauties
               could
               have
               come
               ,
               
                 Antigone
              
            
             
               Whose
               face
               from
               sable
               night
               did
               snatch
               the
               day
               ,
            
             
               And
               made
               it
               day
               ,
               what
               need
               I
               shew
               the
               same
               ?
            
             
               I
               know'ts
               enough
               ,
               if
               you
               but
               know
               her
               name
               .
            
             
               
                 Antigone
              
               came
               thither
               ,
               thither
               came
            
             
               Blind
               
                 Cupids
              
               Love
               ,
               and
               there
               the
               good●…y
               frame
            
             
               Of
               Natures
               pride
               ,
               whose
               beauty
               can
               procure
            
             
               Each
               wink
               to
               make
               ,
               each
               love
               spectators
               sure
               .
            
             
               Three
               sisters
               they
               ,
               but
               one
               of
               all
               the
               rest
            
             
               More
               fair
               and
               lovely
               was
               ,
               and
               far
               more
               blest
            
             
               With
               Natures
               gifts
               ,
               and
               that
               was
               only
               she
            
             
               Whom
               men
               alone
               did
               call
               
                 Antigone
                 .
              
            
             
               Her
               cheeks
               bedeckt
               with
               lines
               of
               Christall
               veins
               ,
            
             
               Were
               like
               that
               rudy
               blush
               
                 Au●…o●…a
              
               gains
            
             
               From
               
                 Tellus
              
               breath
               ;
               whose
               odors
               doe
               incroach
            
             
               O're
               flowry
               fields
               to
               welcome
               her
               approach
               .
            
             
               She
               came
               with
               such
               a
               Majesty
               and
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               the
               Gods
               in
               her
               all-conquering
               face
               ,
            
             
               Had
               kept
               their
               Parlament
               ,
               the
               Milky
               way
               ,
            
             
               Running
               
                 Meander-like
              
               with
               crooked
               stray
            
             
               From
               her
               white
               chin
               ,
               lead
               to
               that
               hill
               which
               yields
            
             
               A
               prospect
               o're
               the
               fair
               
                 Elisian
              
               fields
               .
            
             
               Her
               upper
               garments
               were
               of
               milky
               hue
               ,
            
             
               And
               under
               them
               a
               coat
               of
               azure
               blue
               ;
            
             
               Some
               stars
               of
               Gold
               there
               were
               ,
               and
               those
               but
               small
               ,
            
             
               Were
               like
               the
               shour
               
                 Phoebus
              
               let
               on
               her
               fall
               .
            
             
               The
               blew
               seen
               through
               the
               white
               ,
               with
               that
               fair
               showr
            
             
               Seem'd
               like
               a
               cloud
               that
               did
               inshrine
               a
               power
               .
            
             
               Her
               hair
               not
               loose
               as
               some
               do
               use
               to
               wear
               ,
            
             
               Ribonds
               of
               Gold
               were
               proud
               to
               tye
               her
               hair
               ,
            
             
               And
               so
               delighting
               held
               it
               up
               so
               hard
               ,
            
             
               Lovers
               from
               favours
               of
               it
               were
               debarr'd
               .
            
             
               Each
               step
               she
               took
               ,
               was
               like
               a
               vertuous
               way
               ,
            
             
               Or
               path
               where
               her
               distressed
               Lovers
               lay
               :
            
             
             
               For
               as
               she
               went
               casting
               her
               eyes
               aside
               ,
            
             
               Many
               admiring
               at
               her
               beauty
               dyd
               ,
            
             
               Of
               all
               the
               gestures
               that
               her
               body
               had
               ,
            
             
               With
               one
               especiall
               gesture
               she
               was
               clad
               ;
            
             
               And
               that
               was
               this
               ,
               oft
               as
               thou
               us'd
               to
               walk
            
             
               Into
               the
               groves
               to
               hear
               the
               small
               birds
               talk
               ,
            
             
               
                 Antigone
              
               thy
               praise
               ,
               thou
               oft
               was
               us'd
               ,
            
             
               (
               I
               think
               by
               some
               diviner
               power
               infus'd
               )
            
             
               To
               ravish
               men
               ,
               often
               was
               thou
               indu'd
            
             
               With
               that
               sweet
               grace
               which
               each
               spectator
               ru'd
               ,
            
             
               A
               carelesse
               winding
               of
               thy
               body
               't
               was
            
             
               Reeling
               ,
               and
               nodding
               as
               thou
               by
               didst
               pass
               ,
            
             
               Like
               frisking
               Kidds
               upon
               the
               Mountains
               seen
               ,
            
             
               Or
               wanton
               Lambs
               that
               play
               upon
               the
               Green
               .
            
             
               Then
               wouldst
               thou
               leap
               from
               bank
               to
               bank
               ,
               and
               rise
            
             
               Th'
               
                 Iocastaean
              
               body
               into
               the
               skies
               .
            
             
               While
               
                 Zephyrus
              
               better
               to
               help
               the
               flee
               ,
            
             
               Would
               flie
               beneath
               ,
               but
               't
               was
               thy
               Heav'n
               to
               see
               .
            
             
               Then
               wouldst
               thou
               swing
               abroad
               thy
               tender
               hands●…
               ,
            
             
               At
               whose
               pure
               shine
               ,
               each
               eye
               amazed
               stands
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               thy
               finger
               beck
               ,
               which
               gave
               excuse
            
             
               To
               lovers
               ,
               saying
               thou
               call'dst
               ,
               but
               t
               was
               thy
               use
               ,
            
             
               This
               
                 Haemon
              
               saw
               ,
               ev'n
               as
               the
               smiling
               ground
               ,
            
             
               With
               various-colour'd
               flowers
               her
               temples
               crown'd
               ;
            
             
               She
               crops
               a
               rose
               ,
               and
               why
               so
               did
               she
               seek
               ,
            
             
               There
               was
               a
               purer
               Rosie
               in
               her
               cheek
               ;
            
             
               But
               (
               Lord
               to
               see
               )
               putting
               it
               to
               her
               nose
               ,
            
             
               What
               purer
               beauty
               could
               there
               be
               then
               those
               ?
            
             
               Like
               Corall
               held
               in
               her
               most
               most
               pure
               hands
               ,
            
             
               Or
               blood
               and
               sickly
               milk
               that
               mingled
               stands
               .
            
             
               The
               pale-fac'd
               Lillie
               from
               the
               stalk
               she
               tears
               ,
            
             
               Ev'n
               as
               the
               Lillie
               ,
               so
               
                 Narcissus
              
               fares
               ,
            
             
               Sweet
               
                 Crocus
              
               from
               his
               weeping
               root
               she
               twinds
            
             
               And
               him
               with
               his
               beloved
               
                 Smilax
              
               binds
               .
            
             
             
               Nor
               
                 Hyacinthus
              
               must
               this
               favours
               ●…lie
               ,
            
             
               Who
               with
               the
               
                 Cyprian
                 Anenomy
                 .
              
            
             
               After
               she
               had
               retir'd
               into
               a
               shade
               ,
            
             
               Of
               these
               disc●…lour'd
               flowers
               a
               posie
               made●…
            
             
               Then
               lying
               down●…
               (
               for
               sleep
               began
               to
               play
            
             
               The
               wanton
               with
               her
               eye-lids
               as
               she
               lay
               )
            
             
               She
               slept
               ;
               not
               seeing
               
                 Haemon
              
               who
               still
               kept
            
             
               Out
               of
               her
               sight
               ,
               or
               else
               she
               had
               not
               slept
               .
            
             
               Then
               gan
               the
               Silvan
               warblers
               to
               renew
            
             
               Their
               pleasant
               notes
               ,
               with
               all
               the
               merry
               crew
            
             
               Kind
               Spring
               affords
               ,
               each
               striving
               best
               to
               keep
               ,
            
             
               Their
               untaught
               quaver
               ,
               lull●…ng
               her
               asleep
               .
            
             
               Her
               Posie
               to
               her
               left
               hand
               she
               convey'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               on
               that
               hand
               her
               weary
               head
               she
               laid
               ;
            
             
               Her
               right
               hand
               had
               the
               office
               to
               employ
            
             
               A
               safeguard
               to
               her
               brest
               ,
               where
               
                 Haemons
              
               eye
            
             
               Stood
               ready
               fixt
               ,
               softly
               he
               would
               have
               stole
            
             
               The
               Posie
               thence
               ,
               but
               each
               wink
               did
               controle
            
             
               His
               bold
               attempt
               ,
               at
               last
               with
               ravish'd
               joy
               ,
            
             
               That
               Fortune
               op't
               to
               him
               so
               fair
               a
               way
            
             
               To
               so
               divine
               a
               mark
               ,
               he
               gently
               laid
            
             
               His
               trembling
               lips
               to
               hers
               ,
               and
               softly
               said
               ,
            
             
               Ye
               Powrs
               be
               thank't
               ,
               and
               if
               such
               power
               ye
               have
               ,
            
             
               As
               there
               's
               no
               power
               but
               what
               is
               yours
               ,
               ô
               save
            
             
               Your
               servant
               ,
               ô
               permit
               not
               her
               disdain
               ,
            
             
               T'
               acquaint
               my
               heart
               with
               just
               cause
               to
               complain●…
            
             
               Still
               let
               her
               sleep
               ,
               rob
               me
               not
               of
               this
               bliss
               ,
            
             
               Still
               let
               her
               sleep
               ,
               e're
               I
               this
               favour
               miss
               ,
            
             
               
                 Camelion-like
              
               I
               'l
               live
               upon
               her
               breath
               ,
            
             
               It
               
                 Nectar
              
               is
               ,
               and
               will
               preserve
               from
               death
               .
            
             
               With
               that
               she
               wak'd
               ,
               and
               seeing
               there
               so
               nie
               ,
            
             
               An
               unknown
               guest
               ,
               she
               rose
               and
               gan
               to
               flie
            
             
               Abash'd
               she
               would
               have
               spoke
               ,
               but
               too
               much
               fear
            
             
               Caus'd
               it
               so
               softly
               that
               one
               could
               not
               hear
            
             
             
               Whether
               she
               chid
               or
               no
               ,
               Great
               Queen
               said
               she
               ,
            
             
               Who
               art
               rewarder
               of
               Integrity
               ,
            
             
               Let
               me
               not
               be
               defil'd
               ;
               this
               
                 Haemon
              
               heard
               ,
            
             
               And
               would
               have
               answer'd
               ,
               but
               he
               was
               debarr'd
               .
            
             
               By
               her
               ensuing
               voice
               which
               might
               inflame
            
             
               Cold
               
                 Neptunes
              
               bosome
               ,
               if
               but
               heard
               the
               same
               .
            
             
               She
               views
               him
               well
               surveys
               with
               curious
               eye
            
             
               His
               face
               ,
               
                 *
              
               who
               with
               like
               language
               doth
               reply
               ,
            
             
               A
               face
               she
               saw
               ,
               the
               face
               she
               sure
               had
               known
            
             
               But
               that
               she
               did
               compar
               't
               with
               was
               her
               own
               ,
            
             
               Of
               beauty
               pure
               ,
               too
               pure
               she
               thought
               it
               was
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               the
               picture
               of
               a
               humane
               face
               ,
            
             
               Those
               speaking
               looks
               ,
               that
               Grace
               and
               Majesty
               ,
            
             
               Far
               better
               would
               befit
               a
               
                 Deity
                 .
              
            
             
               To
               whom
               she
               said
               ,
               but
               what
               I
               must
               omit
               ,
            
             
               Since
               I
               am
               ignorant
               ,
               nor
               is
               it
               fit
               ,
            
             
               To
               let
               my
               thoughts
               into
               those
               secrets
               pry
               ,
               which
               they
               deny
               ,
            
             
               For
               had
               she
               not
               been
               curious
               of
               her
               will
               ,
            
             
               She
               n'ere
               had
               whisper'd
               ,
               n'ere
               had
               been
               so
               still
               .
            
             
               But
               
                 Haemon
              
               thus
               ,
            
             
               Lady
               your
               looks
               a
               Tragick
               tale
               unfold
               ,
            
             
               I
               fear
               the
               end
               before
               I
               hear
               it
               told
               ,
            
             
               Why
               should
               you
               tremble
               so
               ?
               or
               be
               affraid
            
             
               Of
               him
               in
               whom
               your
               power
               is
               display'd
               ?
            
             
               Remit
               this
               boldness
               that
               I
               did
               intrude
            
             
               Into
               your
               sacred
               Grove
               ,
               ô
               fair
               exclude
            
             
               Not
               my
               complaints
               from
               your
               still
               honor'd
               praise
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               sable
               night
               give
               period
               to
               my
               dayes
               .
            
             
               Peace
               said
               
                 Antigone
                 ,
              
               shall
               ev'ry
               grove
               ,
            
             
               Where
               babling
               Echoes
               dwell
               witness
               your
               love
               ?
            
             
             
               So
               much
               I
               heard
               ,
               and
               saw
               her
               prettie
               look
            
             
               Shew
               him
               her
               face
               in
               which
               there
               lay
               a
               book
            
             
               By
               
                 Cupids
              
               finger
               wrote
               ,
               while
               he
               o're
               joy'd
               ,
            
             
               Kist
               as
               she
               spake
               ,
               and
               with
               her
               ribonds
               toy'd
               :
            
             
               He
               took
               her
               by
               the
               hand
               and
               softly
               crusht
            
             
               Sweet
               balm
               from
               thence
               ,
               at
               sight
               of
               which
               she
               blu●…
            
             
               He
               would
               have
               sav'd
               the
               same
               ,
               but
               of
               it
               mist
               ,
            
             
               She
               would
               have
               spake
               ,
               but
               as
               she
               spake
               he
               kist
               .
            
             
               Then
               met
               his
               hands
               about
               her
               tender
               wast
               ,
            
             
               So
               
                 Iupiter
              
               when
               
                 Danae
              
               he
               imbrac't
               ,
            
             
               And
               such
               like
               toyes
               they
               us'd
               as
               lovers
               use
            
             
               While
               a
               pure
               kiss
               (
               as
               if
               they
               would
               infuse
            
             
               Into
               each
               others
               brest
               their
               souls
               )
               was
               given
               ,
            
             
               For
               
                 Haemon
              
               vow'd
               by
               all
               the
               Powers
               of
               Heaven
               ,
            
             
               No
               impious
               thought
               that
               honour
               should
               molest
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               ingraven
               in
               his
               loyall
               brest
               .
            
             
               And
               that
               he
               was
               from
               all
               deceit
               as
               free
               ,
            
             
               As
               he
               desir'd
               to
               finde
               
                 Antigone
                 .
              
            
             
               Goe
               then
               said
               she
               ,
               't
               is
               but
               one
               lingring
               night
               ,
            
             
               Our
               bodies
               part
               ,
               but
               ah
               ,
               they
               parted
               quite
               .
            
             
               For
               she
               towards
               
                 Diana
              
               took
               her
               way
               ;
            
             
               Where
               then
               in
               Camp
               
                 Dianas
              
               virgins
               lay
               ,
            
             
               Ready
               to
               give
               our
               God
               their
               strong
               assault
               ,
            
             
               Where
               she
               was
               slain
               ,
               Oh
               ,
               't
               was
               her
               
                 Haemons
              
               fault
               ,
            
             
               For
               he
               belike
               that
               
                 Cupid
              
               had
               implor'd
            
             
               Which
               some
               call
               God
               ,
               that
               favour
               to
               afford
               ,
            
             
               Through
               his
               beloveds
               brest
               with
               his
               keen
               dart
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               an
               easie
               passage
               to
               her
               heart
               .
            
             
               Which
               
                 Cupid
              
               to
               fulfill
               did
               open
               lay
            
             
               A
               hole
               through
               which
               a
               Iavelin
               took
               his
               way
               .
            
             
               At
               this
               she
               starts
               ,
               revenge
               my
               death
               she
               cry'd
               ,
            
             
               
                 Haemon
              
               my
               love
               ,
               
                 Haemon
              
               farewell
               and
               dy'd
               .
            
             
               At
               this
               disaster
               
                 Dian
              
               did
               repine
               ,
            
             
               Hold
               ,
               hold
               said
               she
               (
               
                 Bacchus
              
               )
               the
               battle
               's
               thine
               .
            
             
             
               The
               hill
               I
               'le
               leave
               ,
               yet
               e're
               I
               take
               my
               way
               ,
            
             
               Permit
               that
               I
               by
               yonder
               spring
               do
               lay
            
             
               My
               Virgin
               dead
               ,
               which
               yeelded
               ,
               there
               she
               laid
            
             
               Her
               corps
               ,
               and
               over
               them
               a
               Statue
               made
               ;
            
             
               It
               stood
               upright
               ,
               and
               looking
               t'wards
               the
               East
               ,
            
             
               The
               blood
               ran
               trickling
               down
               her
               wounded
               brest
               ,
            
             
               And
               on
               each
               side
               her
               sisters
               statue
               stood
               ,
            
             
               With
               weeping
               clothes
               wiping
               away
               the
               blood
               .
            
             
               This
               being
               done
               
                 Diana
              
               left
               the
               place
               ,
            
             
               Fears
               making
               furrowes
               in
               her
               virgin
               face
               ,
            
             
               Her
               Sisters
               left
               to
               let
               her
               body
               lye
               ,
            
             
               But
               since
               their
               Statues
               did
               accompany
            
             
               Her
               tomb
               ,
               they
               took
               their
               way
               ,
               having
               don
               this
               ,
            
             
               To
               yon
               
                 Casperia
              
               where
               her
               Temple
               is
               .
            
             
               Now
               
                 Tytan
              
               weary
               of
               that
               sable
               bed
            
             
               Night
               did
               him
               lend
               ,
               towards
               
                 Aurora●…led
              
               ,
            
             
               When
               
                 Haemon
              
               weary
               of
               slow-footed
               hours
               ,
            
             
               Oft
               wisht
               the
               morning
               ,
               which
               come
               ,
               each
               cloud
               lowrs●…
            
             
               The
               windes
               spake
               loud
               ,
               and
               little
               birds
               were
               mute
               ,
            
             
               For
               
                 Sol
              
               had
               cloth'd
               him
               in
               a
               mourning
               sute
               ,
            
             
               The
               morning
               wept
               ,
               but
               what
               it
               might
               foreshow
            
             
               
                 Haemo
              
               suspected
               not
               ,
               sweet
               Winds
               did
               blow
            
             
               No
               more
               ,
               the
               Powers
               themselves
               with
               heavy
               eyes
            
             
               Gave
               a
               consent
               to
               weep
               her
               Tragedies
               .
            
             
               Straight
               to
               the
               place
               appointed
               there
               to
               meet
               ,
            
             
               He
               hi'd
               ,
               time
               lending
               wings
               unto
               his
               feet
               ,
            
             
               He
               calls
               his
               love
               ,
               
                 Antigone
              
               he
               cries
               ,
            
             
               Why
               art
               so
               slow
               to
               meet
               him
               who
               relies
            
             
               Vpon
               thy
               faith
               ,
               more
               than
               upon
               his
               own
               ?
            
             
               Then
               speaks
               unto
               the
               Trees
               ,
               have
               you
               not
               known
            
             
               Which
               way
               she
               went
               ?
               or
               hath
               she
               not
               bin
               here
               ?
            
             
               Is
               she
               too
               slow
               ?
               she
               is
               too
               slow
               I
               fear
               ,
            
             
             
               Himself
               replies
               ,
               and
               like
               a
               Tiger
               flees
               ,
            
             
               With
               raving
               eyes
               ,
               enquires
               of
               all
               he
               sees
               .
            
             
               The
               fairest
               Rosie
               that
               the
               garden
               bred
               ,
            
             
               Saith
               he
               ,
               hath
               now
               forgot
               the
               Mother
               bed
            
             
               Of
               its
               first
               birth●…
               I
               feare
               it
               hath
               been
               pulld
            
             
               By
               some
               unluckie
               hand
               ,
               whose
               drops
               have
               lulld
            
             
               It
               in
               a
               bath
               of
               Mildew
               ,
               or
               hath
               been
               ,
            
             
               Cause
               of
               mishap
               ,
               cause
               of
               some
               deadly
               sin
               ,
            
             
               Else
               why
               should
               
                 Phebus
              
               shame
               to
               show
               his
               face
               ?
            
             
               And
               creep
               behind
               a
               cloud
               ,
               lest
               some
               disgrace
            
             
               Should
               taint
               him
               of
               conspiracy
               ;
               or
               why
            
             
               Should
               
                 Coelum's
              
               vesture
               yeeld
               a
               Sympathy
            
             
               Of
               griefe
               ?
               or
               why
               should
               shrill
               complaining
               cryes
            
             
               Of
               Ecchoes
               strive
               to
               peirce
               the
               Azure
               Skies
               ?
            
             
               Wherefore
               do
               little
               Birds
               forbeare
               to
               sing
            
             
               To
               
                 Amphiluche
                 ,
              
               and
               her
               praises
               ring
            
             
               Along
               the
               vallies
               ?
               Why
               do
               Lillies
               fade
               ?
            
             
               Or
               why
               do
               Roses
               yield
               a
               ruddy
               shade
            
             
               For
               their
               late
               sickly
               leaves
               ?
               ther
               's
               some
               mishap
               ,
            
             
               Hath
               sure
               enforc't
               the
               Fatall
               Nymphes
               to
               crap
            
             
               Their
               still
               still
               brittle
               threads
               ,
               the
               virgin
               signe
            
             
               No
               more
               I
               see's
               belov'd
               ,
               but
               doth
               repine
               ,
            
             
               The
               custody
               thereof
               for
               thrice
               five
               years
               ,
            
             
               And
               that
               's
               the
               Infants
               time
               ;
               the
               Cypresse
               fears
            
             
               To
               bud
               ,
               lest
               in
               pale
               hours
               it
               should
               be
               torn
               ,
            
             
               And
               cropt
               lamented
               Herses
               to
               adorn
               .
            
             
               What
               this
               Eclipse
               ,
               what
               this
               cloud
               might
               presage
               ,
            
             
               This
               blushing
               Earth
               presenting
               now
               a
               stage
               ,
            
             
               I
               cann't
               conjecture
               ,
               unless
               it
               should
               be
            
             
               A
               Theatre
               to
               act
               a
               tragedie
               .
            
             
               With
               these
               ,
               and
               such
               like
               words
               ,
               he
               vents
               his
               Soul
               ,
            
             
               Of
               those
               o're
               burth'ning
               maladies
               ,
               and
               foul
            
             
               Conjectures
               ,
               which
               such
               torments
               did
               in●…lict
            
             
               Vpon
               his
               heart
               ,
               enough
               even
               to
               convict
            
             
             
               Him
               of
               a
               sincere
               love
               ,
               which
               like
               a
               wind
               ,
            
             
               Hurries
               him
               to
               the
               Spring
               ,
               there
               there
               to
               find
            
             
               His
               Mistris
               statue
               ,
               O
               unhappy
               eyes
            
             
               Of
               mine
               ,
               said
               he
               ,
               that
               view
               the
               obsequies
            
             
               Of
               my
               dear
               love
               ;
               what
               did
               not
               
                 Haemon
              
               say
               ?
            
             
               He
               beats
               his
               brest
               ,
               endeavours
               to
               allay
            
             
               His
               scorned
               life
               ,
               and
               from
               his
               head
               he
               tears
            
             
               Whole
               handfulls
               of
               his
               hairs
               .
            
             
               (
               Ye
               sullen
               Gods
               )
               what
               mov'd
               you
               to
               divide
            
             
               Her
               Soul
               from
               hence
               ;
               distracted
               
                 Haemon
              
               cryde
               ?
            
             
               Seek'd
               yea
               for
               some
               revenge
               ?
               t
               is
               true
               alas
               ,
            
             
               Because
               her
               vertues
               did
               your
               vertues
               passe
               .
            
             
               Ye
               Fatall
               Nymphs
               that
               hurry
               on
               the
               threads
            
             
               Of
               our
               weak
               lives
               ,
               and
               cut
               it
               in
               the
               midds
            
             
               Of
               our
               best
               time
               ,
               what
               moved
               you
               to
               be
            
             
               So
               envious
               against
               
                 Antigone
                 ?
              
            
             
               But
               since
               your
               Powrs
               have
               made
               me
               so
               accurst
            
             
               By
               her
               sad
               death
               ,
               ye
               Powrs
               now
               do
               your
               worst
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               help
               me
               first
               to
               weep
               before
               I
               die
               ,
            
             
               For
               my
               
                 Antigone
              
               an
               Elegie
               .
            
             
               With
               that
               he
               took
               his
               pen
               ,
               and
               having
               wrote
            
             
               Her
               heavy
               dirge
               with
               a
               lamenting
               note
               ,
            
             
               He
               laid
               him
               down
               upon
               her
               Tomb
               ,
               and
               praid
               ,
            
             
               Then
               with
               a
               Sphear
               a
               speedy
               passage
               made
            
             
               Towards
               his
               love
               ,
               ev'n
               to
               whose
               throne
               he
               cryd
               ,
            
             
               Make
               room
               for
               me
               my
               love
               ,
               so
               sigh'd
               and
               dyd
               .
            
             
               At
               this
               mischance
               the
               Fatalls
               did
               repine
               ,
            
             
               And
               turn'd
               his
               blood
               into
               a
               Columbine
               ,
            
             
               Which
               still
               retains
               his
               nature
               ,
               in
               three
               days
               ,
            
             
               It
               gains
               its
               prime
               ,
               and
               in
               its
               prime
               decays
               .
            
             
               His
               body
               then
               reposing
               on
               her
               urne
               ,
            
             
               The
               Gods
               did
               to
               a
               Marble
               statue
               turne
               ,
            
             
               Whole
               head
               upon
               his
               weary
               hand
               doth
               rest
               ,
            
             
               And
               looking
               stedfast
               on
               her
               wounded
               brest
               ,
            
          
           
           
             
               Surveys
               the
               blood
               ,
               that
               blood
               with
               watry
               eye
            
             
               Which
               leavs
               her
               brest
               to
               turn
               t'a
               Tulippie
               .
            
             
               So
               
                 Haemon
              
               t'wards
               
                 Elisium
              
               did
               flie
               .
            
             
               But
               e're
               he
               went
               he
               left
               this
               Elegie
            
             
               Vnder
               her
               feet
               ingraven
               ,
               on
               which
               be
            
             
               The
               lively
               praise
               of
               dead
               
                 Antigone
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Ravisht
               with
               
                 Necta
              
               breathing
               from
               those
               dales
               ,
            
             
               Where
               
                 Zephirus
              
               in
               all
               his
               worth
               remains
               ,
            
             
               I
               past
               th'
               
                 Arabian
              
               desarts
               ,
               and
               the
               vales
               ,
            
             
               And
               thence
               I
               jorney'd
               o're
               the
               
                 Scythian
              
               plains
               ,
            
             
               I
               jorney'd
               thence
               ,
               and
               in
               
                 Diana's
              
               bowers
               ,
            
             
               My
               eyes
               bedew'd
               me
               with
               distilling
               showers
               .
            
          
           
             
               I
               sate
               me
               down
               to
               think
               upon
               my
               loves
               ,
            
             
               The
               thought
               of
               which
               proceedings
               made
               me
               weep
               ,
            
             
               Vntill
               the
               warbling
               chanters
               of
               the
               groves
            
             
               Lull'd
               me
               into
               a
               sweet
               and
               pleasant
               sleep
               .
            
             
               Me
               thought
               I
               sported
               on
               th'
               
                 Are●…dian
              
               mountains
               ,
            
             
               And
               then
               I
               sate
               me
               by
               
                 Minerva's
              
               Fountains
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sitting
               and
               musing
               by
               those
               silver
               streams
               ,
            
             
               Where
               babling
               Ecchoes
               whisper'd
               forth
               my
               mone
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               awakened
               from
               some
               glorious
               dream
               ,
            
             
               The
               Muses
               shew'd
               me
               on
               a
               marble
               stone
               ,
            
             
               Character'd
               lines
               of
               gold
               ,
               whose
               triple
               layes
            
             
               I
               coppi'd
               out
               to
               prattle
               forth
               their
               praise
               .
            
          
           
             
               Aspire
               to
               honour
               her
               whose
               glories
               such
               ,
            
             
               Nature
               hath
               given
               that
               artificiall
               face
               ,
            
             
               No
               Muse
               nor
               Goddess
               can
               delight
               so
               much
               ,
            
             
               Excepting
               her
               who
               is
               her
               chiefest
               grace
               ;
            
             
               Oft
               so
               the
               Dove
               a
               whiter
               Turtle
               brings
               ,
            
             
               And
               from
               the
               self
               same
               root
               ,
               a
               fairer
               flower
               springs
               .
            
          
           
           
             
               Some
               say
               the
               fairest
               
                 Cupid
              
               being
               mov'd
               ,
            
             
               Mourn'd
               as
               he
               went
               ,
               and
               thinking
               on
               her
               ●…pin'd
               ,
            
             
               Intirely
               seeking
               ,
               seeking
               her
               he
               lov'd
               ,
            
             
               Till
               too
               much
               gazing
               on
               her
               made
               him
               blind
               ,
            
             
               He
               call'd
               her
               
                 Vesta
                 ,
              
               and
               to
               prove
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               Erected
               up
               a
               Trophee
               to
               her
               name
               .
            
          
           
             
               Durst
               I
               but
               tell
               the
               world
               how
               much
               I
               love
               her
               ,
            
             
               Omitting
               nothing
               that
               I
               could
               express
               ,
            
             
               Rapt
               in
               those
               Heav'nly
               joyes
               that
               seem'd
               to
               hover
               ,
            
             
               Only
               to
               crown
               her
               with
               their
               sacred
               bliss
               ;
            
             
               Too
               long
               I
               should
               upon
               her
               praises
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               Hymnes
               are
               unworthy
               of
               her
               worth
               to
               tell
               .
            
          
           
             
               
                 Symethis
              
               shows
               how
               far
               her
               voice
               exceeds
            
             
               Musicall
               charms
               ,
               whose
               sacred
               breath
               doth
               sink
            
             
               Inchanted
               hearts
               ,
               and
               where
               it
               stayes
               it
               breeds
            
             
               The
               sweet
               
                 Nepenthe
              
               which
               the
               Gods
               do
               drink
               .
            
             
               Having
               their
               love
               ,
               they
               make
               her
               what
               they
               can
               ,
            
             
               Equall
               to
               them
               ,
               too
               Heav'nly
               for
               a
               man
               .
            
          
           
             
               Many
               that
               view
               her
               sweet
               
                 Elisian
              
               face
            
             
               Admiring
               stand
               ,
               as
               if
               some
               silver
               hook
            
             
               Ran
               from
               her
               eyes
               to
               tye
               them
               to
               the
               place
               ,
            
             
               Tempting
               the
               Gods
               to
               read
               the
               am'rous
               book
            
             
               Her
               cheeks
               inclose
               ,
               while
               every
               wanton
               air
               ,
            
             
               As
               proud
               to
               kiss
               her
               ,
               sporteth
               with
               her
               hair
               .
            
          
           
             
               
                 Sestos
              
               injoy'd
               so
               beautifull
               a
               Lass
               ,
            
             
               Me
               thought
               her
               equall
               could
               not
               eas'ly
               be
               ,
            
             
               If
               yet
               with
               
                 Hero
              
               she
               compared
               was
               ,
            
             
               'T
               was
               not
               fair
               
                 Hero
              
               that
               's
               so
               fair
               as
               she
               ,
            
             
               Her
               face
               bedeckt
               with
               beauties
               sweet
               adorning●…
            
             
               Exceedeth
               far
               the
               blushing
               of
               the
               morning
               .
            
          
           
           
             
               Yet
               see
               how
               Fate
               hath
               stole
               her
               Soul
               away
               ,
            
             
               And
               wrapt
               it
               in
               the
               fair
               
                 Elisian
              
               rest
               ,
            
             
               Slow
               time
               ,
               admit
               me
               here
               no
               longer
               stay
               ,
            
             
               Till
               blest
               with
               her
               ,
               I
               never
               can
               be
               blest
               ;
            
             
               Receive
               dear
               Love
               into
               those
               Azure
               skyes
               ,
            
             
               This
               soule
               who
               whilome
               to
               thy
               bosome
               flyes
               .
            
          
           
             
               So
               much
               for
               this
               now
               for
               the
               cause
               we
               weep
               ,
            
             
               (
               Fair
               Lady
               )
               know
               
                 Bacchus
              
               is
               fall'n
               asleep
               .
            
             
               The
               nature
               of
               the
               Spring
               we
               have
               declar'd
               ,
            
             
               So
               have
               you
               of
               
                 Dianas
              
               battell
               heard
               ;
            
             
               At
               this
               she
               sigh'd
               ,
               and
               as
               she
               gently
               praid
            
             
               For
               some
               revenge
               ,
               the
               Satyres
               grew
               affraid
               :
            
             
               The
               winds
               spoke
               loud
               ,
               
                 Dian
              
               in
               choler
               burn'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               each
               of
               them
               cleaving
               to
               trees
               ,
               she
               turn'd
            
             
               To
               Ivie
               ,
               whence
               it
               still
               is
               twinding
               found
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Bacchus
              
               nurses
               are
               with
               Ivie
               crown'd
               .
            
             
               Thus
               Fortune
               ,
               (
               whose
               continuall
               wheely
               force
               ,
            
             
               Keeps
               constant
               course
               ,
               still
               keeps
               unconstant
               course
               )
            
             
               Bequeath'd
               her
               harme
               ;
               and
               
                 Se●…ha
              
               with
               amaze
               ,
            
             
               Tript
               o're
               the
               plains
               towards
               that
               sacred
               place
               ,
            
             
               
                 Casperia
              
               nam'd
               ,
               and
               as
               she
               thus
               did
               hie
               ,
            
             
               Trust
               me
               
                 Arcadius
              
               came
               riding
               by
               ,
            
             
               He
               look't
               on
               
                 Sepha
                 ,
              
               oh
               what
               good
               it
               wrought
            
             
               To
               her
               ,
               who
               with
               her
               earnest
               eyes
               besought
               ,
            
             
               One
               ravisht
               word
               to
               ope
               those
               lips
               ,
               but
               they
            
             
               Lurk●…
               still
               in
               glorie●…
               garden
               as
               they
               lay
               .
            
             
               At
               this
               she
               sigh'd
               ,
               ô
               how
               she
               sigh'd
               at
               this
               ,
            
             
               Farwell
               said
               she
               ,
               and
               if
               I
               needs
               must
               miss
            
             
               Of
               these
               fair
               hopes
               ,
               yet
               shall
               my
               tender
               mind
            
             
               Accuse
               thee
               not
               ,
               thy
               horse
               did
               prove
               unkind
               ,
            
             
               To
               carry
               thee
               so
               fast
               ;
               thu●…
               with
               this
               thought
               ,
            
             
               And
               such
               like
               meditations
               ,
               she
               was
               brought
            
             
             
               Vnto
               the
               Temple
               now
               with
               Roses
               strew'd
               ,
            
             
               Then
               to
               the
               altar
               with
               sweet
               balm
               bedew'd●…
            
             
               Where
               when
               the
               Rites
               and
               Ceremonies
               done
               ,
            
             
               She
               read
               this
               superscription
               was
               thereon
               .
            
          
           
             
               Those
               that
               
                 Idalia's
              
               wanton
               garments
               wear
               ,
            
             
               No
               Sacrifices
               for
               me
               must
               prepare
               ;
            
             
               To
               me
               no
               quav'ring
               string
               they
               move
            
             
               Nor
               yet
               
                 Alphaean
              
               musick
               love
               ,
            
             
               There
               's
               no
               perfume
            
             
               Delights
               the
               room
               ,
            
             
               From
               sacred
               hands
               ,
            
             
               My
               Altar
               stands
            
             
               Void
               and
               defac't
               ,
            
             
               While
               I
               disgrac't
               ,
            
             
               With
               angry
               eyes
            
             
               Revenge
               the
               cryes
            
             
               Of
               you
               who
               to
               my
               Altar
               hast
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               my
               lawes
               take
               your
               repast
               ;
            
             
               Pursue
               it
               still
               ,
               the
               chief
               of
               my
               pretence
            
             
               And
               happiness
               ,
               shall
               be
               your
               innocence
               .
            
          
           
             
               After
               
               sh'had
               read
               what
               vile
               reproach
               and
               stain
            
             
               Her
               Queen
               indur'd
               ,
               what
               just
               cause
               to
               complain
            
             
               Hung
               on
               her
               brest
               ,
               by
               an
               aspersion
               thrown
            
             
               Vpon
               her
               Damsells
               glories
               ,
               and
               her
               own
               ,
            
             
               She
               sighes
               ,
               and
               through
               enough
               and
               too
               much
               sorrow
               ,
            
             
               Disdaines
               to
               live
               ,
               for
               true
               love
               hates
               to
               borrow
            
             
               Art
               to
               bewail
               mishap
               ,
               and
               as
               she
               fainted
               ,
            
             
               Alas
               too
               much
               unfit
               ,
               and
               unacquainted
            
             
               With
               grief
               ,
               she
               sighing
               said
               with
               swelling
               eye
               ,
            
             
               The
               root
               depriv'd
               of
               heat
               ,
               the
               branches
               dye
               .
            
             
               Then
               gan
               her
               sense
               to
               play
               the
               Tragick
               part
            
             
               Of
               Fate
               ,
               and
               
                 Atropos
              
               joy'd
               in
               her
               art
               .
            
             
             
               Each
               thing
               she
               saw
               (
               as
               all
               were
               proud
               t'
               advance
            
             
               Themselves
               to
               her
               fair
               eyes
               )
               now
               seem'd
               to
               dance
               ,
            
             
               And
               turning
               round
               ,
               the
               Temple
               where
               she
               stood
               ,
            
             
               To
               her
               wet
               eyes
               presented
               a
               pale
               flood
               .
            
             
               While
               she
               with
               scrambling
               hands
               seeking
               to
               take
            
             
               Hold
               lest
               she
               fell
               ,
               fell
               down
               into
               that
               Lake
               .
            
             
               Where
               strugling
               still
               ,
               with
               many
               pretty
               dint
            
             
               Her
               curious
               hand
               did
               give
               the
               earth
               a
               print
               ,
            
             
               For
               
                 Sepha's
              
               sake
               ,
               which
               print
               the
               earth
               still
               keeps
               ,
            
             
               Of
               which
               wee
               'l
               speak
               a
               while
               ,
               while
               
                 Sepha
              
               sleeps
               .
            
             
               A
               foolish
               Prince
               (
               not
               wise
               because
               he
               vow'd
               
            
             
               Virginity
               to
               dwell
               within
               a
               cloud
               )
            
             
               And
               so
               much
               honor
               to
               her
               did
               ascribe
               ,
            
             
               Many
               had
               thought
               he
               had
               receiv'd
               a
               Bribe
            
             
               To
               vaunt
               her
               praise
               ,
               and
               Laurellize
               her
               name
               ,
            
             
               His
               mouth
               and
               he
               were
               Trumpets
               to
               her
               fame
               .
            
             
               I
               say
               a
               Maiden
               Prince
               was
               lately
               there
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               custome
               was
               twice
               five
               times
               ev'ry
               year
               ,
            
             
               Cloth'd
               all
               in
               white
               ,
               and
               stain'd
               with
               spots
               of
               black
               ,
            
             
               A
               yellow
               ribond
               ty'd
               along
               his
               back
               ,
            
             
               To
               offer
               Turtle
               doves
               with
               silver
               plumes
               ,
            
             
               And
               strew
               the
               place
               with
               Aromātick
               fumes
               .
            
             
               He
               was
               a
               Prince
               ,
               born
               of
               a
               royall
               blood
               ,
            
             
               And
               being
               nobly
               born
               ,
               was
               nobly
               good
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               onely
               good
               he
               was
               ,
               but
               stout
               and
               wise
               ,
            
             
               (
               Save
               that
               this
               fond
               opinion
               vail'd
               his
               eyes
               ,
               )
            
             
               Else
               he
               in
               ev'ry
               action
               was
               upright
               ,
            
             
               And
               free
               from
               vice
               ,
               as
               sorrow
               from
               delight
               .
            
             
               Of
               Courage
               good
               ,
               for
               valour
               oft
               had
               bound
            
             
               His
               Temples
               up
               ,
               and
               them
               with
               Laurell
               crown'd
               .
            
             
               Beauty
               lay
               lurking
               in
               his
               Magick
               face
               ,
            
             
               Worthy
               of
               praise
               since
               it
               chose
               such
               a
               place
               ;
            
             
               Those
               ruddy
               lips
               ,
               those
               cheeks
               so
               heav'nly
               fair
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Love
               did
               play
               the
               wantou
               with
               his
               hair
               ,
            
             
             
               Did
               witnesse
               it
               ,
               and
               witnesse
               this
               his
               line
               ,
            
             
               I
               found
               ingraven
               ore
               his
               golden
               shrine
               ,
            
             
               By
               some
               beloved
               hand
               ,
               whose
               pen
               doth
               speak
               ,
            
             
               (
               Though
               willingly
               his
               praise
               alas
               to
               weak
               .
            
          
           
             
               ●…o
               here
               he
               lies
               ,
               inshrind
               with
               his
               own
               s●●e
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               virtu●…'s
               gone
               abroad
               to
               tell
               his
               name
               .
            
          
           
             
               This
               Prince
               returning
               home
               by
               those
               dim
               lights
               ,
            
             
               After
               he
               had
               perform'd
               the
               sacred
               rites
            
             
               Of
               his
               pure
               zeal
               ,
               for
               night
               came
               peeping
               on
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               sable
               face
               had
               thru●…
               the
               weary
               Sun
            
             
               Beyond
               the
               Northern
               Pole
               ,
               whether
               it
               was
            
             
               To
               hide
               her
               fault
               ,
               and
               bring
               his
               end
               to
               passe
               ;
            
             
               Or
               whether
               t
               was
               to
               view
               his
               sacrifice
               ,
            
             
               She
               stealing
               came
               ,
               or
               t'
               keep
               him
               from
               the
               eyes
            
             
               Of
               those
               destroyers
               tha●…
               about
               did
               gather
            
             
               To
               steal
               his
               life
               ,
               or
               hast
               distruction
               rather
               ,
            
             
               To
               me
               t
               is
               not
               reveal'd
               ,
               but
               sure
               it
               is
               ,
            
             
               To
               sure
               alas
               ,
               Conspicuous
               fate
               was
               his
               .
            
             
               Could
               Heaven
               permit
               the
               deed
               ?
               or
               give
               consent
               ,
            
             
               (
               Who
               should
               be
               just
               )
               to
               the
               accomplishment
            
             
               Of
               this
               nefarious
               act
               ?
               could
               
                 Phaebus
              
               eye
            
             
               Be
               dazled
               so
               ,
               or
               yield
               a
               sympathy
            
             
               To
               this
               rebellious
               inhumanity
               ?
            
             
               Better
               had
               he
               renounc't
               the
               vowes
               he
               made
               ,
            
             
               And
               spent
               his
               days
               under
               some
               gloomy
               shade
               ;
            
             
               Better
               had
               he
               in
               flowry
               fields
               abide
               ,
            
             
               And
               lead
               his
               flock
               by
               purling
               Rivers
               side
               ;
            
             
               Better
               had
               he
               bestrid
               the
               fomy
               waves
               ,
            
             
               Where
               
                 Pactolus
              
               his
               weary
               body
               laves
               ;
            
             
               Yea
               better
               far
               he
               nere
               had
               been
               allide
            
             
               To
               
                 Dian's
              
               Laws
               far
               better
               had
               he
               dy'd
               .
            
             
             
               And
               die
               he
               did
               ,
               did
               death
               commit
               a
               sinne
               ?
            
             
               No
               ,
               yet
               when
               first
               his
               arrows
               doe
               begin
            
             
               Vntimely
               death
               to
               force
               ,
               t
               is
               often
               said
               ,
            
             
               His
               sulphur
               breath
               hath
               the
               sweet
               spring
               decaid
               .
            
             
               He
               was
               but
               young
               ,
               the
               girdle
               of
               the
               year
               ,
            
             
               By
               which
               our
               humane
               actions
               do
               appear
               ,
            
             
               And
               so
               we
               live
               and
               dye
               ,
               had
               nere
               imbrac't
            
             
               Thrice
               three
               times
               twice
               his
               young
               and
               tender
               wast
               ,
            
             
               Scarce
               could
               he
               stand
               upon
               the
               joyfull
               ground
               ,
            
             
               And
               crop
               those
               blushing
               cherries
               which
               he
               found
            
             
               Vpon
               their
               infant
               trees
               ,
               yet
               envious
               eye
               ,
            
             
               Conspir'd
               to
               end
               his
               perpetuity
               .
            
             
               And
               thus
               it
               was
               ,
               as
               young
               
                 Eramio
              
               came
            
             
               From
               
                 Dians
              
               temple
               (
               for
               so
               was
               his
               name
               )
            
             
               
                 Amissa
                 ,
              
               who
               had
               oft
               desir'd
               to
               free
            
             
               Her
               brest
               of
               that
               hell-knawing
               jealousie
            
             
               By
               her
               conceiv'd
               ,
               for
               this
               
                 Amissa
              
               had
            
             
               Bin
               with
               the
               beauty
               of
               
                 Eramio
              
               clad
               ,
            
             
               In
               a
               supreme
               desire
               towards
               his
               love
               ,
            
             
               Oft
               with
               her
               letters
               did
               she
               strive
               to
               move
               ,
            
             
               With
               
                 Cupids
              
               lawes
               him
               to
               retain
               alliance
               ,
            
             
               Till
               he
               ,
               who
               scorn'd
               obedience
               gave
               de●…iance
               .
            
             
               This
               could
               not
               cool
               that
               hea●…
               which
               had
               inspir'd
            
             
               A
               longing
               hopes
               to
               that
               which
               he
               desir'd
               ,
            
             
               She
               sighs
               ,
               and
               weeps
               ;
               she
               sighs
               and
               laughs
               ,
               she
               cryes
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               a
               rage
               doth
               heave
               towards
               the
               skyes
            
             
               Her
               feeble
               hands
               ,
               she
               studies
               how
               to
               tempt
            
             
               Him
               to
               her
               lure
               ,
               (
               lovers
               are
               oft
               exempt
            
             
               Of
               modesty
               )
               and
               in
               a
               rage
               doth
               go
            
             
               Towards
               her
               inke
               ,
               (
               as
               lovers
               use
               to
               doe
               )
            
             
               And
               frames
               this
               letter
               ,
               which
               I
               chanc'd
               to
               meet
               ,
            
             
               Ah
               me
               ,
               t
               was
               young
               
                 Eramio's
              
               winding
               sheet
               .
            
          
           
           
             
               Amissa
               to
               Eramio
               .
            
             
               
                 I
                 Heard
                 how
                 elder
                 times
                 enjoy'd
                 the
                 bliss
              
               
                 Of
                 uncouth
                 love
                 ,
                 Fame
                 the
                 Historian
                 is
                 ,
              
               
                 Men
                 whose
                 heroick
                 spirits
                 scorn
                 to
                 bend
              
               
                 Their
                 gallant
                 necks
                 to
                 any
                 servile
                 hand
                 ,
              
               
                 Whose
                 beauty
                 could
                 command
                 as
                 noble
                 eyes
                 ,
              
               
                 I
                 ,
                 and
                 as
                 many
                 as
                 these
                 Azure
                 skies
              
               
                 E're
                 shew'd
                 thy
                 face
                 ,
                 to
                 view
                 with
                 a
                 desire
              
               
                 Their
                 glorious
                 parts
                 ,
                 and
                 viewing
                 to
                 admire
                 ;
              
               
                 Yet
                 these
                 in
                 whom
                 each
                 God
                 have
                 plac●…d
                 an
                 eye
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 make
                 a
                 shrill
                 and
                 pleasant
                 harmony
              
               
                 Of
                 all
                 their
                 glories
                 in
                 one
                 sound
                 alone
                 ,
              
               
                 Yet
                 these
                 so
                 far
                 have
                 their
                 affection
                 shown
                 ,
              
               
                 With
                 sword
                 and
                 lance
                 to
                 make
                 their
                 faith
                 approv'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Though
                 as
                 thy self
                 not
                 half
                 so
                 well
                 belov'd
                 .
              
               
                 How
                 canst
                 thou
                 then
                 disdain
                 this
                 humble
                 ●…ute
              
               
                 Of
                 a
                 pure
                 love
                 ?
                 how
                 can
                 thy
                 pen
                 be
                 mute
                 ?
              
               
                 Many
                 detesting
                 love●…
                 and
                 scorn
                 his
                 name
                 ,
              
               
                 Yet
                 with
                 their
                 pens
                 will
                 certifie
                 the
                 same
              
               
                 By
                 answer
                 ,
                 that
                 they
                 may
                 that
                 harm
                 prevent
              
               
                 Of
                 future
                 hopes
                 ,
                 for
                 
                   Silence
                   gives
                   Consent
                   .
                
              
               
                 Shall
                 still
                 unkindness
                 overflow
                 the
                 brim
                 ?
              
               
                 
                   Leander
                
                 did
                 to
                 fairest
                 
                   Hero
                
                 swim
                 ,
              
               
                 But
                 I
                 must
                 come
                 my self
                 ,
                 and
                 void
                 of
                 good
              
               
                 To
                 strengthen
                 me
                 ,
                 must
                 make
                 my
                 tears
                 the
                 ●…lood
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 when
                 I
                 come
                 ,
                 thy
                 Tower
                 so
                 fast
                 is
                 barr'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Thy
                 supp●●●ts
                 weak
                 complaint
                 will
                 not
                 be
                 heard
                 ;
              
               
                 What
                 is
                 the
                 cause
                 thou
                 dost
                 affection
                 scorn
                 ?
              
               
                 Shall
                 base
                 contempt
                 those
                 lovely
                 browes
                 adorn
                 ?
              
               
                 Am
                 I
                 too
                 mean
                 ?
                 look
                 what
                 I
                 want
                 of
                 i●…
                 ,
              
               
                 So
                 much
                 my
                 loyall
                 love
                 shall
                 make
                 me
                 fit
                 .
              
               
               
                 Let
                 not
                 thy
                 thoughts
                 accuse
                 me
                 cause
                 I
                 sue
                 ,
              
               
                 For
                 true
                 love
                 clad
                 with
                 vertue
                 needs
                 must
                 wooe
                 ;
              
               
                 Nor
                 let
                 thy
                 Answer
                 show
                 I
                 am
                 refus'd
                 ,
              
               
                 But
                 use
                 me
                 now
                 ev'n
                 as
                 thou
                 would'st
                 be
                 us'd
                 .
              
               
                 Amissa
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 This
                 mov'd
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 much
                 ,
                 who
                 (
                 worthy
                 Knight
                 ,
                 )
              
               
                 As
                 ignorant
                 as
                 free
                 from
                 Loves
                 delight
                 ,
              
               
                 Like
                 purling
                 Quails
                 ,
                 who
                 ev'n
                 now
                 are
                 secure
                 ,
              
               
                 With
                 pleasant
                 tunes
                 are
                 train'd
                 unto
                 the
                 lure
              
               
                 Of
                 the
                 deceitfull
                 fowler
                 ,
                 so
                 was
                 he
              
               
                 As
                 this
                 his
                 Answer
                 will
                 a
                 witness
                 be
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Eramio
               to
               Amissa
               .
            
             
               
                 (
                 FAire
                 Queen
                 )
                 that
                 favour
                 which
                 you
                 pleas
                 to
                 give
              
               
                 To
                 my
                 unworthinesse
                 ,
                 shall
                 make
                 me
                 live
              
               
                 Renoun'd
                 ,
                 when
                 so
                 much
                 love
                 you
                 do
                 bequeath
                 ,
              
               
                 Blown
                 by
                 the
                 bellowes
                 of
                 your
                 flowry
                 breath
                 ,
              
               
                 Shall
                 fold
                 me
                 in
                 your
                 armes
                 ,
                 do
                 not
                 conceave
              
               
                 T
                 was
                 scorn
                 ,
                 or
                 want
                 of
                 love
                 that
                 made
                 me
                 leave
              
               
                 My
                 Answer
                 untill
                 now
                 ,
                 
                   Amissa
                
                 no
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 'mongst
                 your
                 other
                 vertues
                 please
                 to
                 know
                 ,
              
               
                 T
                 was
                 that
                 excessive
                 humble
                 love
                 I
                 had
                 ,
              
               
                 That
                 would
                 not
                 linke
                 your
                 honour
                 to
                 so
                 bad
                 ,
              
               
                 As
                 your
                 
                   Eramio
                   .
                
              
            
             
               
                 This
                 faire
                 
                   Amissa
                
                 saw
                 ,
                 what
                 sweet
                 content
              
               
                 To
                 her
                 it
                 brought
                 ,
                 let
                 those
                 whose
                 time
                 is
                 spent
              
               
                 On
                 
                   Cupids
                
                 Study
                 know
                 ,
                 the
                 same
                 I
                 leave
              
               
                 To
                 them
                 alone
                 ,
                 let
                 them
                 alone
                 conceave
                 .
              
               
                 It
                 was
                 not
                 long
                 (
                 though
                 lovers
                 think
                 it
                 long
                 )
              
               
                 E're
                 young
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 went
                 ,
                 (
                 new
                 love
                 is
                 strong
                 )
              
               
               
                 To
                 see
                 
                   Amissa
                   ,
                
                 where
                 (
                 't
                 is
                 open
                 said
                 )
              
               
                 There
                 was
                 a
                 private
                 contract
                 'twixt
                 them
                 made
                 ;
              
               
                 This
                 being
                 nois'd
                 ,
                 (
                 as
                 Fame
                 will
                 quickly
                 spred
                 )
              
               
                 Amongst
                 his
                 friends
                 ,
                 how
                 fondly
                 he
                 was
                 led
              
               
                 By
                 loves
                 Alarms
                 ,
                 with
                 letters
                 they
                 did
                 strive
              
               
                 
                   Dianas
                
                 holy
                 fiers
                 to
                 revive
              
               
                 Within
                 his
                 brest
                 ,
                 and
                 that
                 to
                 love
                 alone
                 ,
              
               
                 From
                 
                   Venus
                
                 free
                 ,
                 whereof
                 this
                 letter
                 's
                 one
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Fluentus
               to
               Eramio
               .
            
             
               
                 BE
                 not
                 so
                 serious
                 ,
                 striving
                 to
                 commend
              
               
                 The
                 blaze
                 of
                 Beauty
                 ,
                 sometimes
                 let
                 a
                 friend
              
               
                 Partake
                 of
                 your
                 well
                 tuned
                 notes
                 of
                 worth
              
               
                 Which
                 solely
                 to
                 your self
                 you
                 warble
                 forth
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 some
                 retired
                 shade
                 ,
                 do
                 not
                 adore
              
               
                 A
                 boy
                 for
                 God
                 ,
                 let
                 others
                 harms
                 before
                 ,
              
               
                 By
                 his
                 deceit
                 ,
                 make
                 you
                 at
                 last
                 be
                 wise
                 ,
              
               
                 It
                 was
                 for
                 something
                 
                   Cupid
                
                 lost
                 his
                 eyes
                 .
              
               
                 Love
                 is
                 a
                 thing
                 deceitfull
                 ,
                 and
                 will
                 charm
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 wounded
                 heart
                 unto
                 a
                 further
                 harm
                 ,
              
               
                 Such
                 are
                 
                 th'allurements
                 of
                 the
                 boy
                 ,
                 to
                 stain
              
               
                 The
                 vertuous
                 mind
                 and
                 make
                 destruction
                 plain
                 .
              
               
                 What
                 desp'rate
                 ends
                 to
                 many
                 do
                 ensue
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 in
                 their
                 blood
                 their
                 guilty
                 hands
                 imbrew
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 thee
                 't
                 is
                 known
                 ,
                 let
                 them
                 a
                 warning
                 move
                 ,
              
               
                 If
                 thou
                 desir'st
                 continuance
                 of
                 our
                 love
                 .
              
               
                 Fluentus
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Even
                 this
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 read
                 ,
                 and
                 being
                 mov'd
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 that
                 his
                 friends
                 despise
                 him
                 cause
                 he
                 lov'd
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 loves
                 excuse
                 whose
                 arrowes
                 he
                 did
                 kiss
                 ,
              
               
                 He
                 sate
                 a
                 while
                 ,
                 and
                 then
                 returned
                 this
                 ,
              
            
          
           
             
               Eramio
               to
               Fluentus●…
            
             
               
                 RApt
                 with
                 Ambrosian
                 favours
                 of
                 her
                 love
              
               
                 I
                 well
                 may
                 serious
                 strive
                 ,
                 when
                 
                   Tempe
                
                 grove
              
               
                 Delights
                 so
                 much
                 to
                 whisper
                 forth
                 the
                 prayse
                 ,
              
               
                 Of
                 my
                 sweet
                 love
                 ,
                 with
                 
                   Heliconian
                
                 lays
                 .
              
               
                 How
                 can
                 my
                 Muse
                 be
                 dumb
                 ?
                 or
                 cease
                 to
                 sing
              
               
                 Of
                 faire
                 
                   Amissa
                   ?
                
                 when
                 each
                 silver
                 spring
              
               
                 And
                 cooling
                 arbor
                 to
                 report
                 her
                 fame
                 ,
              
               
                 Dictates
                 my
                 Muse
                 in
                 ecchoing
                 back
                 her
                 name
                 ;
              
               
                 If
                 she
                 but
                 daigns
                 to
                 beautifie
                 the
                 aire
              
               
                 With
                 her
                 sweet
                 breath
                 ,
                 her
                 golden
                 knotted
                 haire
              
               
                 Receives
                 a
                 thousand
                 complements
                 of
                 love
                 ,
              
               
                 From
                 wanton
                 
                   Zephirus
                   ,
                
                 enough
                 to
                 move
              
               
                 Conceiv'd
                 delights
                 ,
                 so
                 joys
                 he
                 when
                 he
                 finds
              
               
                 How
                 much
                 her
                 
                   Nectar-breath
                
                 perfumes
                 the
                 winds
                 .
              
               
                 If
                 she
                 but
                 coverts
                 in
                 
                   Pathimne
                
                 bours
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 hide
                 her
                 from
                 those
                 sweet
                 distilling
                 showrs
              
               
                 That
                 come
                 to
                 kiss
                 her
                 from
                 their
                 cloudy
                 throne
              
               
                 Of
                 vapour'd
                 mists
                 ,
                 those
                 Pearls
                 finding
                 her
                 gone
              
               
                 Lament
                 and
                 die
                 ,
                 when
                 they
                 have
                 lost
                 the
                 sweet
              
               
                 They
                 mist
                 ,
                 yet
                 some
                 will
                 stay
                 to
                 kiss
                 her
                 feet
                 .
              
               
                 Why
                 will
                 you
                 then
                 disswade
                 me
                 from
                 that
                 chase
              
               
                 I
                 have
                 begun
                 ,
                 when
                 ev'ry
                 private
                 place
              
               
                 Records
                 her
                 praise
                 ?
                 nor
                 think
                 I
                 am
                 so
                 stupid
              
               
                 In
                 stead
                 of
                 higher
                 powers
                 to
                 honour
                 Cupid
                 ;
              
               
                 In
                 all
                 things
                 ther
                 's
                 a
                 mean
                 ,
                 I
                 will
                 be
                 warnd
              
               
                 By
                 others
                 harms
                 ,
                 for
                 since
                 I
                 have
                 been
                 scorn'd
              
               
                 By
                 some
                 ,
                 the
                 next
                 shall
                 teach
                 me
                 to
                 be
                 wise
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 shame
                 mishap
                 ;
                 poor
                 
                   Cupid
                
                 lost
                 his
                 eyes
                 ,
              
               
                 By
                 gazing
                 so
                 much
                 on
                 the
                 love
                 I
                 honour
                 ,
              
               
                 That
                 all
                 the
                 eyes
                 he
                 had
                 he
                 spent
                 upon
                 her
                 .
              
               
               
                 Glad
                 is
                 
                   Amissa
                
                 when
                 my
                 Muse
                 repeats
              
               
                 ●…er
                 friendly
                 looks
                 ,
                 and
                 then
                 again
                 her
                 threats
                 ,
              
               
                 ●…Gainst
                 those
                 that
                 bid
                 me
                 cease
                 to
                 tell
                 her
                 blisses
                 ,
              
               
                 Sweeter
                 than
                 life
                 ,
                 and
                 half
                 so
                 sweet
                 as
                 kisses
                 .
              
               
                 ●…f
                 therefore
                 serious
                 friendship
                 may
                 advise
                 you
                 ,
              
               
                 On
                 still
                 ,
                 for
                 if
                 you
                 cease
                 ,
                 your
                 love
                 denyes
                 you
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 if
                 another
                 chance
                 to
                 see
                 her
                 face
                 ,
              
               
                 Take
                 heed
                 ,
                 t
                 will
                 draw
                 him
                 on
                 to
                 win
                 the
                 race
                 .
              
               
                 Eramio
                 .
              
            
             
             
               
                 Which
                 when
                 
                   Fluentus
                
                 read
                 ,
                 and
                 fully
                 found
              
               
                 The
                 depth
                 of
                 his
                 affection
                 ,
                 and
                 his
                 wound
                 ,
              
               
                 This
                 he
                 return'd
                 ,
              
            
          
           
             
               Fluentus
               to
               Eramio
               .
            
             
               
                 REceive
                 with
                 this
                 my
                 thanks
                 ,
                 and
                 prosp'rous
                 fa●…e
              
               
                 To
                 your
                 proceedings
                 ,
                 love
                 instead
                 of
                 hate
                 ,
              
               
                 Kindness
                 for
                 coyness
                 ,
                 
                   Venus
                
                 sweet
                 embrace
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 
                   Iuno's
                
                 kiss
                 ,
                 with
                 all
                 the
                 pomp
                 and
                 grace
              
               
                 That
                 
                   Hymen
                
                 can
                 afford
                 ,
                 then
                 joyfull
                 I
                 ,
              
               
                 Will
                 come
                 and
                 sing
                 your
                 
                   Epithalamy
                   .
                
              
               
                 Thus
                 far
                 my
                 wishes
                 ,
                 but
                 if
                 counsell
                 may
              
               
                 Be
                 took
                 as
                 kindly
                 ,
                 boldly
                 then
                 I
                 say
                 ,
              
               
                 Trust
                 not
                 the
                 winds
                 ,
                 they
                 are
                 as
                 false
                 as
                 fleet
                 ;
              
               
                 As
                 fleet
                 as
                 am'rous
                 ,
                 kissing
                 all
                 they
                 meet
                 ,
              
               
                 Without
                 exception
                 :
                 Be
                 not
                 credulous
                 ,
              
               
                 What
                 Groves
                 doe
                 whisper
                 is
                 suspicious
                 ;
              
               
                 Ask
                 but
                 
                   Narcissus
                   ,
                
                 and
                 he
                 will
                 declare
                 ,
              
               
                 Eccho's
                 a
                 wanton
                 ,
                 onely
                 empty
                 air
                 ,
              
               
                 That
                 doth
                 but
                 mock
                 ,
                 the
                 mists
                 you
                 say
                 that
                 meet
              
               
                 To
                 court
                 your
                 love
                 ,
                 do
                 but
                 bemire
                 her
                 feet
                 ,
              
               
               
                 And
                 not
                 adorn
                 them
                 ,
                 
                   Temp
                   ,
                
                 and
                 the
                 groves
              
               
                 Are
                 now
                 forsook
                 of
                 shady
                 leaves
                 ,
                 and
                 loves
                 ;
              
               
                 
                   Flora
                
                 for
                 shame
                 resideth
                 in
                 the
                 earth
                 ,
              
               
                 Vntill
                 the
                 Spring
                 doe
                 give
                 her
                 a
                 new
                 birth
                 .
              
               
                 In
                 speculation
                 of
                 your
                 Mistris
                 eyes
                 ,
              
               
                 If
                 
                   Cupid
                
                 lost
                 his
                 sight
                 in
                 any
                 wise
                 ,
              
               
                 Beware
                 of
                 yours
                 ,
                 for
                 so
                 it
                 well
                 befits
                 ,
              
               
                 Lest
                 with
                 your
                 eyes
                 you
                 also
                 lose
                 your
                 wits
                 .
              
               
                 
                   Cupid
                
                 they
                 say's
                 a
                 God
                 ,
                 and
                 dares
                 commence
              
               
                 A
                 sute
                 with
                 
                   Iove
                   ,
                   Apollo
                
                 had
                 no
                 fence
              
               
                 Against
                 his
                 weapon
                 ;
                 Thus
                 conclude
                 I
                 then
                 ,
              
               
                 If
                 Gods
                 do
                 fail
                 ,
                 there
                 are
                 no
                 hopes
                 in
                 men
                 .
              
               
                 Reflect
                 on
                 this
                 ,
                 you
                 say
                 you
                 have
                 bin
                 scorn'd
              
               
                 By
                 some
                 ,
                 therefore
                 take
                 heed
                 you
                 be
                 not
                 horn'd
              
               
                 By
                 others
                 ,
                 for
                 this
                 Proverb
                 is
                 both
                 known
              
               
                 And
                 true
                 ,
                 an
                 evill
                 seldome
                 comes
                 alone
                 .
              
               
                 Run
                 not
                 too
                 fast
                 ,
                 although
                 you
                 see
                 her
                 face
                 ,
              
               
                 (
                 Love
                 will
                 beguile
                 ,
                 
                   Iove
                
                 did
                 a
                 cloud
                 imbrace
                 ,
                 )
              
               
                 Lest
                 when
                 with
                 pain
                 you
                 traverst
                 have
                 the
                 ground
                 ,
              
               
                 You
                 win
                 a
                 prize
                 is
                 better
                 lost
                 than
                 found
                 .
              
               
                 Fluentus
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 stood
                 amaz'd
                 ,
                 so
                 quick
                 a
                 change
              
               
                 Should
                 hurl
                 about
                 occasions
                 to
                 so
                 strange
              
               
                 An
                 intercepted
                 plot
                 :
                 O
                 Heav'ns
                 said
                 he
                 ,
              
               
                 Can
                 this
                 delusion
                 spring
                 from
                 Amity
                 ?
              
               
                 From
                 enmity
                 it
                 comes
                 ,
                 
                   Fluentus
                
                 knows
              
               
                 A
                 true
                 affected
                 heart
                 admits
                 no
                 shows
              
               
                 Of
                 wav'ring
                 thoughts
                 ,
                 to
                 cloak
                 a
                 reall
                 sign
              
               
                 Of
                 occult
                 things
                 ,
                 of
                 harmonies
                 divine
                 :
              
               
                 The
                 world
                 I
                 know
                 ,
                 ev'n
                 as
                 the
                 dwellers
                 use
                 it
                 ,
              
               
                 Is
                 pregnant
                 full
                 of
                 sinners
                 that
                 abuse
                 it
                 .
              
               
                 But
                 let
                 them
                 live
                 ,
                 while
                 I
                 in
                 faith
                 involv'd
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   Fluentus
                   ,
                
                 doe
                 by
                 this
                 make
                 thee
                 resolv'd
                 .
              
            
          
           
           
             
               Eramio
               to
               Fluentus
               .
            
             
               
                 REports
                 of
                 Gratulations
                 to
                 retain
              
               
                 Me
                 for
                 your
                 vowed
                 servant
                 are
                 but
                 vain
                 ,
              
               
                 For
                 prosperous
                 gales
                 may
                 drive
                 me
                 more
                 your
                 debtor
              
               
                 Through
                 
                   Neptunes
                
                 fomie
                 floods
                 ,
                 to
                 love
                 you
                 better
              
               
                 For
                 this
                 pretext
                 ,
                 
                   Epithalamium
                
                 like
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 mirror
                 of
                 which
                 influence
                 doth
                 strike
                 ,
              
               
                 That
                 Epithesis
                 to
                 my
                 humid
                 sense
                 ,
              
               
                 That
                 young
                 
                   Leander
                
                 like
                 ,
                 I
                 banish
                 hence
              
               
                 Foolish
                 dispaire
                 ,
                 when
                 such
                 an
                 easy
                 price
                 ,
              
               
                 Favour'd
                 by
                 love
                 ,
                 may
                 win
                 a
                 merchandise
                 ,
              
               
                 Richer
                 than
                 
                   Cholchos
                
                 pride
                 ,
                 such
                 power
                 and
                 force
                 ,
              
               
                 Have
                 your
                 Platonick
                 lines
                 ,
                 to
                 make
                 a
                 course
                 ,
              
               
                 That
                 once
                 seem'd
                 tedious
                 ,
                 when
                 it
                 was
                 begun
                 ,
              
               
                 Pleasant
                 and
                 short
                 to
                 those
                 that
                 needs
                 must
                 run
                 .
              
               
                 Thus
                 far
                 my
                 thanks
                 ,
                 your
                 counsell
                 being
                 had
              
               
                 Kindly
                 ,
                 and
                 seriously
                 ,
                 of
                 one
                 as
                 glad
              
               
                 As
                 may
                 be
                 ,
                 when
                 he
                 finds
                 a
                 friend
                 will
                 say
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 botch
                 his
                 lines
                 ,
                 to
                 make
                 an
                 hower
                 a
                 day
                 ;
              
               
                 Trust
                 me
                 the
                 winds
                 are
                 not
                 so
                 false
                 as
                 fleet
                 ,
              
               
                 Nor
                 amorous
                 ,
                 nor
                 kiss
                 they
                 all
                 they
                 meet
              
               
                 Without
                 exception
                 ,
                 those
                 be
                 foolish
                 winds
                 ,
              
               
                 Which
                 
                   Bore●…s
                
                 like
                 blusters
                 on
                 all
                 it
                 finds
                 .
              
               
                 There
                 is
                 indeed
                 a
                 breath
                 that
                 takes
                 delight
                 .
              
               
                 With
                 his
                 obdurate
                 busses
                 to
                 affright
              
               
                 
                   Chaldei
                
                 met
                 ,
                 come
                 from
                 
                   Lavinium
                
                 dales
              
               
                 In
                 love's
                 disgrace
                 ,
                 but
                 these
                 are
                 not
                 the
                 gales
              
               
                 My
                 Muse
                 reports
                 of
                 ,
                 t
                 is
                 a
                 pleasing
                 aire
                 ,
              
               
                 Which
                 only
                 sits
                 ,
                 and
                 nestles
                 in
                 the
                 haire
              
               
                 Of
                 my
                 dear
                 love
                 ,
                 which
                 like
                 a
                 feth'red
                 rain
                 ,
              
               
                 Circuits
                 the
                 Globe
                 and
                 thither
                 comes
                 again
                 ,
              
               
               
                 Witness
                 the
                 heads
                 of
                 those
                 
                   Aeolin
                
                 streams
                 ,
              
               
                 Whose
                 bubling
                 currents
                 murmur
                 forth
                 the
                 dreams
              
               
                 Of
                 Nymphs
                 ,
                 and
                 Satyres
                 ,
                 which
                 acount
                 the
                 groves
              
               
                 The
                 ardent
                 Salopia
                 for
                 their
                 loves
                 .
              
               
                 Ardent
                 
                   Narcissus
                
                 mist
                 the
                 love
                 he
                 sought
                 ,
              
               
                 Yet
                 ,
                 foolish
                 boy
                 ,
                 what
                 ere
                 he
                 wisht
                 he
                 caught
                 ,
              
               
                 He
                 lov'd
                 himself
                 ,
                 and
                 when
                 himself
                 he
                 misses
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 eccho's
                 mock
                 him
                 for
                 his
                 foolish
                 wishes
                 ,
              
               
                 (
                 Amidst
                 such
                 
                   Hero
                
                 and
                 such
                 
                   ●…hisban
                
                 choices
                 )
              
               
                 Thrusting
                 him
                 farther
                 with
                 their
                 wanton
                 voices
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 deeper
                 griefs
                 ,
                 mounted
                 on
                 
                 th'highest
                 tops
              
               
                 Dispair
                 could
                 grant
                 ;
                 those
                 clear
                 and
                 silver
                 drops
                 ,
              
               
                 Which
                 only
                 lingred
                 time
                 to
                 kiss
                 she
                 sweet
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 innocent
                 ,
                 the
                 pur●…
                 ,
                 and
                 heavenly
                 feet
              
               
                 Of
                 my
                 faire
                 love
                 ,
                 amaz'd
                 him
                 to
                 behold
                 ,
              
               
                 For
                 what
                 they
                 touch't
                 they
                 straitway
                 turn'd
                 to
                 gold
                 ;
              
               
                 For
                 shame
                 Queen
                 
                   Flora
                
                 daigns
                 not
                 to
                 appeare
                 ,
              
               
                 Abash't
                 to
                 se●…
                 a
                 fairer
                 
                   Flora
                
                 here
                 ;
              
               
                 Nor
                 
                   Cynthia
                
                 did
                 more
                 chastity
                 embrace
              
               
                 Than
                 she
                 ,
                 nor
                 
                   Venus
                
                 a
                 more
                 lovely
                 face
                 ,
              
               
                 Whose
                 radient
                 eyes
                 that
                 kindle
                 
                   Cupids
                
                 fire
                 ,
              
               
                 Are
                 
                   Cos
                   amoris
                   ,
                
                 whetstones
                 of
                 desire
                 .
              
               
                 Then
                 strive
                 not
                 this
                 intire
                 knot
                 to
                 undoe
                 ,
              
               
                 For
                 I
                 can
                 love
                 thee
                 and
                 
                   Amissa
                
                 too
                 .
              
               
                 Eramio
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 This
                 by
                 the
                 one
                 wrot
                 ,
                 by
                 the
                 other
                 read
                 ,
              
               
                 Stopt
                 Letters
                 mouthes
                 ,
                 and
                 sudden
                 Parly
                 bred
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 which
                 dispute
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 did
                 haste
              
               
                 To
                 publish
                 proofs
                 ,
                 but
                 in
                 his
                 proofs
                 was
                 cast
                 .
              
               
                 O
                 dear
                 
                   Fluentus
                   ,
                
                 said
                 
                   Eramio
                   ,
                
              
               
                 In
                 whom
                 my
                 soul
                 revives
                 ,
                 by
                 this
                 I
                 know
              
               
                 Thou
                 art
                 upright
                 ;
                 so
                 will
                 I
                 be
                 upright
                 ,
              
               
                 No
                 more
                 the
                 wicked
                 boy
                 shall
                 taint
                 my
                 sight
              
               
               
                 With
                 his
                 deluding
                 parables
                 ,
                 I
                 hate
              
               
                 His
                 idle
                 lawes
                 ,
                 and
                 at
                 as
                 high
                 a
                 rate
              
               
                 Esteem
                 
                   Diana's
                
                 worship
                 ,
                 as
                 before
              
               
                 I
                 ever
                 did
                 ,
                 and
                 her
                 alone
                 adore
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 will
                 you
                 then
                 neglect
                 that
                 lovely
                 chase
                 ,
              
               
                 (
                 
                   Fluentus
                
                 said
                 )
                 you
                 so
                 much
                 did
                 imbrace
                 ?
              
               
                 I
                 will
                 said
                 he
                 ,
                 and
                 if
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 live
                 ,
              
               
                 No
                 more
                 I
                 will
                 my
                 youth
                 and
                 honour
                 give
              
               
                 To
                 foolish
                 love
                 ;
                 
                   Idalia's
                
                 son
                 I
                 bid
              
               
                 Thy
                 laws
                 adue
                 ;
                 and
                 so
                 indeed
                 he
                 did
                 .
              
               
                 Which
                 when
                 his
                 love
                 ,
                 the
                 faire
                 
                   Amissa
                
                 knew
                 ,
              
               
                 How
                 all
                 her
                 wished
                 joys
                 abortive
                 grew
                 ,
              
               
                 She
                 watch't
                 a
                 time
                 ,
                 even
                 as
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 came
              
               
                 From
                 sweet
                 
                   Casperia
                   ,
                   Dian's
                
                 sacred
                 flame
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 there
                 by
                 force
                 ,
                 love
                 conquering
                 did
                 move
                 her
                 ,
              
               
                 By
                 force
                 to
                 make
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 her
                 lover
                 .
              
               
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 starts
                 ,
                 mistrusting
                 even
                 as
                 reason
              
               
                 Her self
                 would
                 do
                 some
                 new
                 intended
                 treason
                 .
              
               
                 What
                 cause
                 said
                 he
                 hath
                 urg'd
                 you
                 to
                 this
                 plot
                 ,
              
               
                 Against
                 my
                 life
                 ,
                 (
                 ye
                 men
                 )
                 I
                 know
                 ye
                 not
                 ?
              
               
                 About
                 to
                 strike
                 ,
                 the
                 faire
                 
                   Amissa
                
                 cryes
                 ,
              
               
                 O
                 ●…old
                 thy
                 blow
                 ,
                 for
                 if
                 thou
                 strik'st
                 she
                 dies
              
               
                 Whose
                 death
                 thou
                 seek'st
                 .
                 And
                 came
                 the
                 cause
                 from
                 thee
              
               
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 said
                 ?
                 let
                 this
                 thy
                 glory
                 be
              
               
                 Thou
                 worst
                 of
                 Women
                 ,
                 that
                 thou
                 hast
                 receiv'd
              
               
                 Thy
                 death
                 from
                 him
                 ,
                 whose
                 hand
                 hath
                 thee
                 bereav'●…
              
               
                 Of
                 a
                 polluted
                 soul
                 ;
                 when
                 thou
                 shalt
                 come
                 ,
              
               
                 'Fore
                 
                   Rh●…damanth
                
                 there
                 to
                 receive
                 thy
                 doom
              
               
                 For
                 this
                 last
                 act
                 ,
                 lament
                 thy self
                 ,
                 and
                 houl
                 ,
              
               
                 In
                 that
                 thou
                 hast
                 been
                 tainted
                 with
                 so
                 foul
              
               
                 An
                 ignominious
                 stain
                 ;
                 could
                 thy
                 base
                 hear●…
              
               
                 Permit
                 fruition
                 to
                 this
                 dev'●…ish
                 art
              
               
                 Of
                 base
                 conspiracy
                 ?
                 O
                 hel-bred
                 evill
                 !
              
               
                 Hatch't
                 by
                 infernall
                 potions
                 of
                 that
                 Devill
              
               
               
                 Father
                 to
                 thee
                 ,
                 and
                 thine
                 ;
                 had
                 I
                 suppos'd
                 ,
              
               
                 So
                 faire
                 a
                 frame
                 as
                 thine
                 could
                 have
                 inclo'd
              
               
                 Such
                 hatefull
                 guess
                 within
                 ,
                 or
                 had
                 I
                 thought
              
               
                 Thy
                 often
                 flatt'ring
                 messages
                 had
                 wrought
              
               
                 By
                 that
                 black
                 art
                 ,
                 from
                 which
                 this
                 harm
                 proceeds
                 ,
              
               
                 Or
                 such
                 faire
                 beauty
                 could
                 have
                 mask'd
                 such
                 deeds
                 ,
              
               
                 Long
                 since
                 thy
                 soule
                 to
                 that
                 black
                 Cave
                 had
                 fled
              
               
                 Of
                 envious
                 night
                 ,
                 and
                 I
                 snatch'd
                 from
                 thy
                 head
              
               
                 Those
                 glorious
                 Anadems
                 thou
                 us'd
                 to
                 wear
                 ,
              
               
                 Chaplets
                 of
                 curious
                 flowers
                 I
                 did
                 prepare
              
               
                 For
                 thy
                 bewitching
                 browes
                 ,
                 O
                 how
                 I
                 hate
              
               
                 My
                 wicked
                 star
                 ,
                 my
                 too
                 too
                 envious
                 fate
                 ;
              
               
                 I
                 hate
                 the
                 time
                 that
                 did
                 induce
                 desire
              
               
                 Of
                 love
                 ,
                 I
                 hate
                 the
                 fewel
                 caus'd
                 the
                 fire
                 ,
              
               
                 I
                 hate
                 my
                 eyes
                 too
                 credulous
                 and
                 kind
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 thy
                 false
                 heart
                 ,
                 that
                 strikes
                 thy
                 beauty
                 blind
                 .
              
               
                 And
                 which
                 more
                 honour
                 from
                 thy
                 brest
                 discovers
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 give
                 example
                 to
                 young
                 foolish
                 lovers
                 ;
              
               
                 I
                 vow
                 by
                 heaven
                 ,
                 and
                 all
                 the
                 powers
                 there
                 be
              
               
                 Therein
                 ,
                 I
                 hate
                 my self
                 for
                 loving
                 thee
                 .
              
               
                 His
                 words
                 half
                 spoke
                 
                   Cyandus
                
                 daughter
                 cryes
                 ,
              
               
                 Is
                 this
                 the
                 meed
                 of
                 zealous
                 love
                 ?
                 and
                 dyes
                 .
              
               
                 For
                 young
                 
                   Eramio
                
                 in
                 this
                 plot
                 deceav'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Vp
                 from
                 the
                 ground
                 the
                 massie
                 stone
                 had
                 heav'd
                 ,
              
               
                 Borne
                 by
                 the
                 fury
                 of
                 a
                 Tyrannous
                 spite
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 as
                 his
                 present
                 anger
                 did
                 invite
                 ,
              
               
                 Hurl'd
                 it
                 amongst
                 them
                 ,
                 heard
                 you
                 not
                 the
                 sounds
                 ,
              
               
                 Of
                 strugling
                 vialls
                 powring
                 from
                 their
                 wounds
              
               
                 Consumed
                 oyle
                 ?
                 
                   Amissa's
                
                 feeble
                 heart
              
               
                 Paying
                 untimely
                 death
                 for
                 his
                 wish't
                 dart
              
               
                 Its
                 purest
                 streams
                 ,
                 but
                 lo
                 a
                 sudden
                 change
                 ,
              
               
                 Wrought
                 by
                 inspired
                 miracles
                 doth
                 range
              
               
                 There
                 deep
                 amased
                 eares
                 ,
                 amidst
                 the
                 throngs
              
               
                 Of
                 their
                 shrill
                 cryes
                 were
                 heard
                 
                   Elisian
                
                 songs
                 ,
              
               
               
                 Like
                 those
                 when
                 
                   Iove
                
                 his
                 
                   Ganimed
                
                 had
                 stol●…
                 ,
              
               
                 Gr●…nting
                 a
                 pleasant
                 convoy
                 to
                 her
                 soul
                 .
              
               
                 Her
                 soul
                 and
                 body
                 gon
                 those
                 Heav'ns
                 to
                 grace
                 ,
              
               
                 As
                 too
                 too
                 worthy
                 for
                 this
                 sordid
                 place
                 ;
              
               
                 Her
                 heart
                 to
                 manifest
                 the
                 cleer
                 complection
              
               
                 Of
                 her
                 upright
                 ,
                 of
                 her
                 unstain'd
                 affection
                 ,
              
               
                 Was
                 metamorphos'd
                 to
                 a
                 Diamont
                 ,
              
               
                 Which
                 so
                 
                 th'afflicted
                 lover
                 did
                 affront
              
               
                 With
                 visions
                 ,
                 dreams
                 ,
                 and
                 such
                 like
                 signs
                 ,
                 to
                 move
              
               
                 A
                 good
                 conceit
                 of
                 her
                 unspotted
                 love
                 .
              
               
                 Hold
                 ,
                 hold
                 ,
                 said
                 he
                 ,
                 let
                 my
                 revenge
                 alone
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 Gods
                 have
                 wayes
                 enowe
                 ,
                 if
                 once
                 but
                 shown
                 ,
              
               
                 The
                 time
                 will
                 come
                 ,
                 when
                 
                   V●●us
                
                 will
                 inspire
              
               
                 Into
                 each
                 scornfull
                 brest
                 tormenting
                 fire
                 ,
              
               
                 By
                 nought
                 to
                 be
                 extinguisht
                 ,
                 for
                 I
                 know
                 ,
              
               
                 If
                 Poets
                 can
                 divine
                 ,
                 it
                 must
                 be
                 so
                 ;
              
               
                 It
                 must
                 be
                 so
                 ,
                 and
                 those
                 who
                 now
                 deride
              
               
                 Her
                 holy
                 laws
                 ,
                 and
                 have
                 too
                 much
                 reli'd
              
               
                 Vpon
                 the
                 foolish
                 worships
                 of
                 the
                 Queen
              
               
                 Of
                 Chastity
                 ,
                 whose
                 power
                 is
                 still
                 unseen
                 ,
              
               
                 Ev'n
                 as
                 I
                 am
                 ,
                 so
                 will
                 I
                 alwayes
                 pray
                 ,
              
               
                 Shall
                 be
                 perplext
                 a
                 thousand
                 times
                 a
                 day
                 ;
              
               
                 This
                 hand
                 ,
                 (
                 curst
                 be
                 this
                 hand
                 ,
                 and
                 every
                 hand
              
               
                 That
                 rescu'd
                 me
                 ,
                 and
                 helpt
                 me
                 to
                 withstand
              
               
                 That
                 glorious
                 yoke
                 my
                 neck
                 should
                 daily
                 move
              
               
                 Vnder
                 
                   Amissa's
                
                 too
                 respective
                 love
                 .
                 )
              
               
                 This
                 hand
                 no
                 more
                 shall
                 sprinkle
                 the
                 persume
              
               
                 Of
                 Frankinsence
                 ,
                 in
                 
                   Dian's
                
                 hallowed
                 room
                 ,
              
               
                 But
                 if
                 it
                 ever
                 an
                 oblation
                 make
                 ,
              
               
                 To
                 any
                 Altar
                 ,
                 or
                 doe
                 e're
                 partake
              
               
                 In
                 any
                 solemn
                 sacrificers
                 vow
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 More
                 zeal
                 and
                 honor
                 shall
                 appear
                 in
                 mine
                 ,
              
               
                 
                   Amissa
                   ,
                
                 it
                 shall
                 be
                 upon
                 thy
                 shrine
                 .
              
               
               
                 These
                 words
                 were
                 stopt
                 ,
                 by
                 
                   Menothantes
                
                 Father
                 ,
              
               
                 Who
                 to
                 revenge
                 his
                 Sisters
                 death
                 ,
                 but
                 rather
              
               
                 To
                 quit
                 his
                 stock
                 of
                 an
                 abusive
                 crime
              
               
                 Was
                 laid
                 upon
                 the
                 Worthies
                 of
                 the
                 time
                 ,
              
               
                 Suppos'd
                 ,
                 though
                 false
                 by
                 him
                 ,
                 (
                 whereof
                 you
                 have
              
               
                 In
                 this
                 portraite
                 a
                 Copy
                 ,
                 which
                 I
                 leave
              
               
                 To
                 your
                 chast
                 eyes
                 ,
                 in
                 hope
                 you
                 will
                 permit
              
               
                 A
                 charitable
                 censure
                 over
                 it
                 ,
              
               
                 For
                 sweet
                 
                   Eramio's
                
                 sake
                 )
                 old
                 
                   Pae●●s
                
                 son
                 ,
              
               
                 Striving
                 to
                 perfect
                 what
                 he
                 had
                 begun
                 ,
              
               
                 (
                 To
                 which
                 his
                 bloody
                 heart
                 had
                 bin
                 inur'd
                 )
              
               
                 With
                 his
                 invenom'd
                 dart
                 a
                 death
                 procur'd
              
               
                 To
                 young
                 
                   Eramio
                   ,
                
                 who
                 sighing
                 said
                 ,
              
               
                 See
                 ,
                 see
                 ,
                 unhappy
                 fate
                 hath
                 me
                 betraid
                 .
              
               
                 But
                 while
                 speaks
                 ,
                 he
                 to
                 
                   Amissa
                
                 goes
                 ,
              
               
                 Invokes
                 the
                 powers
                 to
                 pardon
                 him
                 ,
                 and
                 throws
              
               
                 His
                 body
                 on
                 the
                 blood-besprinkled
                 ground
                 ,
              
               
                 Where
                 ,
                 when
                 distilling
                 tears
                 had
                 washt
                 her
                 wounds
                 ,
              
               
                 Ay
                 me
                 ,
                 said
                 he
                 ,
                 that
                 this
                 doth
                 us
                 betide
                 ,
              
               
                 So
                 kist
                 into
                 her
                 lips
                 his
                 soul
                 ,
                 and
                 dy'd
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 So
                 much
                 the
                 
                   Cretan
                
                 lad
                 ,
                 with
                 weeping
                 voice
              
               
                 Had
                 told
                 ,
                 and
                 was
                 about
                 to
                 tell
                 the
                 rest
                 ;
              
               
                 But
                 lest
                 said
                 he
                 (
                 Ladies
                 )
                 the
                 heavy
                 noise
              
               
                 Of
                 her
                 mishap
                 ,
                 should
                 your
                 chast
                 ears
                 molest
                 ,
              
               
                 A
                 while
                 give
                 respite
                 to
                 my
                 tongue
                 ,
                 that
                 I
              
               
                 May
                 gather
                 strength
                 to
                 end
                 her
                 Tragedy
                 .
              
            
          
           
             Finis
             Libri
             Primi
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             
               SO
               far
               my
               Childish
               Muse
               the
               wanton
               plaid
               ,
            
             
               To
               crop
               those
               sweets
               the
               flowry
               Meadons
               bore
               ,
            
             
               Pleasing
               her self
               in
               valleys
               as
               she
               straid
               ,
            
             
               Unable
               yet
               those
               lofty
               hills
               to
               soar
               ;
            
             
               But
               now
               her
               wings
               by
               stronger
               winds
               aspire
               ,
            
             
               In
               deeper
               songs
               to
               tune
               her
               warbling
               lyre
               .
            
          
           
             
               For
               what
               before
               her
               infant
               brain
               declar'd
               ,
            
             
               Was
               but
               a
               key
               to
               tune
               her
               quav'ring
               strings
               ,
            
             
               Allwaies
               to
               have
               her
               Instruments
               prepar'd
            
             
               To
               sing
               more
               sweet
               ,
               when
               she
               of
               
                 Sepha
              
               sings
               ,
            
             
               Who
               from
               above
               ,
               even
               for
               her
               virtues
               sake
               ,
            
             
               Will
               shrill
               my
               sound
               ,
               and
               better
               Musick
               make
               .
            
          
           
             
               Now
               let
               me
               tell
               how
               
                 EPIMINIDES
                 ,
              
            
             
               With
               weeping
               voice
               ,
               and
               penetrating
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Reviv'd
               the
               Ladies
               ,
               who
               themselvs
               did
               please●…
            
             
               By
               purling
               streams
               to
               wail
               his
               miseries
               ,
            
             
               Who
               ,
               while
               the
               Meads
               with
               his
               complainings
               rang
               ,
            
             
               Wiping
               his
               eyes
               ,
               these
               sad
               Encomions
               sang
               .
            
          
        
         
         
         
           
             THE
             HISTORIE
             OF
             ARCADIUS
             and
             SEPHA
             .
          
           
             Liber
             Secundus
             .
          
           
             
               I
               Told
               you
               (
               Ladies
               )
               if
               your
               tender
               hearts
            
             
               Admit
               attention
               ,
               while
               my
               tongue
               imparts
            
             
               Such
               heavie
               newes
               ,
               how
               young
               
                 Eramio
              
               came
            
             
               With
               yearly
               incense
               ,
               to
               the
               hallow'd
               fame
            
             
               Of
               the
               
                 Alphaean
              
               worship
               ,
               and
               how
               fate
            
             
               Abridg'd
               his
               life
               with
               nights
               eternall
               date
               .
            
             
               I
               told
               you
               also
               (
               leaving
               her
               asleep
               )
            
             
               How
               
                 Sepha's
              
               eyes
               ore-charg'd
               with
               tears
               did
               weep
               ,
            
             
               And
               as
               she
               swounded
               how
               her
               curious
               hands
            
             
               Did
               give
               the
               earth
               a
               print
               ,
               which
               print
               still
               stands
               ,
            
             
               To
               keep
               her
               fame
               alive
               ,
               but
               what
               it
               was
               ,
            
             
               Through
               too
               much
               grief
               my
               to●…gue
               did
               overpass
               ,
            
             
               As
               fit'st
               ,
               it
               seems
               ,
               to
               be
               inserted
               here
               ,
            
             
               That
               as
               my
               heavy
               story
               doth
               draw
               neer
            
             
               Towards
               her
               end
               ,
               so
               her
               immortall
               praise
               ,
            
             
               Rap't
               in
               her
               sweet
               Encomions
               may
               raise
            
             
             
               Conjugall
               tears
               from
               each
               distilling
               eye
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               praise
               and
               fame
               shall
               them
               accompany
            
             
               With
               her
               harmonious
               voice
               ,
               I
               mean
               the
               love
            
             
               Her
               soul
               will
               powr
               upon
               them
               from
               above
               .
            
             
               And
               that
               her
               eyes
               may
               make
               all
               sighs
               the
               fairer
               ,
            
             
               Her
               soul
               will
               smile
               to
               see
               the
               love
               they
               bare
               her
               .
            
             
               The
               spices
               which
               
                 Eramio
              
               had
               strew'd
            
             
               About
               the
               altar
               ,
               her
               wet
               eyes
               bedew'd
            
             
               With
               sorrowing
               tears
               ,
               which
               daily
               they
               did
               cast
            
             
               Vpon
               the
               same
               ,
               and
               made
               thereof
               a
               paste
               ;
            
             
               Like
               those
               congealed
               clouds
               which
               some
               have
               given
            
             
               A
               glorious
               title
               ,
               call'd
               the
               walls
               of
               Heaven
               .
            
             
               So
               
                 Sepha
              
               falling
               ,
               fell
               upon
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               From
               whose
               fair
               hand
               that
               fair
               impression
               came
               ,
            
             
               By
               some
               swift
               
                 Savo
              
               call'd
               ,
               for
               many
               say
            
             
               From
               thence
               
                 Campanian
              
               
                 a
              
               
                 Savo
              
               took
               her
               way
               ,
            
             
               And
               there
               it
               is
               where
               each
               
                 Campanian
              
               maid
               ,
            
             
               For
               yearly
               offerings
               her
               vow
               hath
               paid
            
             
               With
               the
               
                 Medean
              
               draughts
               ,
               t'
               revive
               the
               fame
            
             
               Of
               
                 Sepha
              
               dead
               ;
               
                 Savo
              
               from
               
                 Sepha
              
               came
               :
            
             
               But
               that
               's
               not
               all
               ,
               the
               print
               whereof
               I
               spake
               ,
            
             
               Though
               some
               affirm
               't
               is
               ,
               yet
               't
               is
               not
               a
               Lake
               .
            
             
               For
               if
               the
               spices
               which
               
                 Eramio
              
               cast
               ,
            
             
               Dry'd
               up
               her
               tears
               ,
               and
               thereof
               made
               a
               paste
               ,
            
             
               How
               can
               a
               Lake
               ensue
               ?
               but
               this
               is
               sure
               ,
            
             
               There
               was
               a
               corner
               of
               the
               altar
               pure
            
             
               From
               any
               blot
               ,
               on
               this
               
                 Eramio
              
               laid
            
             
               His
               Aromatick
               spices
               as
               he
               praid
               .
            
             
               This
               being
               turn'd
               into
               a
               past
               by
               those
            
             
               Distilling
               eyes
               (
               which
               dying
               seldome
               close
               ,
               )
            
          
           
             
               The
               palm
               of
               her
               fair
               hand
               did
               gently
               press
            
             
             
               The
               yeelding
               paste
               ,
               and
               as
               she
               up
               it
               reard
               ,
            
             
               Like
               a
               triangled
               heart
               the
               print
               appeard
               ,
            
             
               The
               fingers
               standing
               just
               upon
               the
               heart
               ,
            
             
               Presented
               
                 Cupids
              
               shafts
               ,
               which
               he
               doth
               dart
            
             
               On
               simple
               souls
               ,
               from
               whence
               ensues
               the
               bloud
               ,
            
             
               The
               blood
               being
               gon
               ,
               came
               that
               
                 ●…am●…anian
              
               flood
               ;
            
             
               Thus
               palm
               and
               fingers
               having
               shown
               the
               love
            
             
               By
               
                 ●…upids
              
               net
               intangled
               ,
               strait
               did
               move
            
             
               T'another
               form
               no
               figure
               there
               was
               seen
               ,
            
             
               While
               yet
               they
               gaze
               upon
               't
               ,
               the
               place
               grows
               green
               ;
            
             
               At
               this
               they
               stare
               ,
               at
               this
               a
               flower
               up-starts
               ,
            
             
               Which
               still
               presents
               the
               form
               of
               wounded
               hearts
               .
            
             
               This
               being
               seen
               by
               Nymphs
               that
               haunt
               the
               Springs
               ,
            
             
               Each
               took
               a
               slip
               ,
               it
               to
               their
               Mansion
               brings
               ,
            
             
               Where
               being
               set
               ,
               it
               's
               now
               in
               every
               grove
               ,
            
             
               A
               pretty
               flower
               ,
               and
               call'd
               the
               
                 L●…dy-glove
                 .
              
            
             
               Now
               let
               me
               tell
               of
               
                 Sepha
                 ,
              
               and
               her
               hap
            
             
               That
               did
               ensue
               ,
               while
               she
               in
               Fortunes
               lap
            
             
               Lies
               lull'd
               asleep
               ,
               (
               sleep
               had
               her
               sense
               bereav'd
               )
            
             
               (
               And
               chie●…ly
               for
               the
               love
               she
               had
               conceiv'd
            
             
               Of
               her
               
                 Arcadius
              
               )
               bethinking
               hard
               ,
            
             
               Either
               he
               is
               of
               charity
               debarr'd
               ,
            
             
               Or
               linkt
               t'
               anothers
               virtue
               ,
               and
               surmising
            
             
               Hee
               's
               not
               to
               be
               imbrac'd●…
               waking
               and
               rising
               ,
            
             
               She
               found
               her self
               by
               him
               to
               be
               imbrac't
               ,
            
             
               Who
               ,
               being
               present
               at
               her
               fall
               ,
               did
               haste
            
             
               To
               hale
               her
               breath
               again
               ;
               those
               eyes
               that
               wrought
            
             
               Confusion
               first
               ,
               now
               more
               confusion
               brought
               ;
            
             
               Having
               
                 Arcadus
              
               kist
               ,
               she
               thinks
               some
               dream
            
             
               Deludes
               her
               wandering
               sense
               ,
               in
               which
               extream
            
             
               Rapt
               with
               conceit
               of
               this
               her
               present
               good
               ,
            
             
               Her
               greedy
               eyes
               with
               ardent
               wishes
               woo'd
               ,
            
             
               That
               Heaven
               ,
               in
               which
               her
               present
               hopes
               remain'd
            
             
               A
               worlds
               continuance
               ,
               and
               she
               had
               obtain'd
            
             
             
               What
               she
               desir'd
               ,
               had
               not
               the
               winged
               boy
            
             
               Vnbent
               his
               bow
               ,
               with
               period
               of
               their
               joy
               .
            
             
               Yet
               something
               to
               her
               hopes
               he
               did
               admit
               ,
            
             
               To
               whet
               the
               heavy
               sacrificers
               wit
               ;
            
             
               While
               young
               
                 Arcadius
              
               with
               trembling
               hand
               ,
            
             
               Felt
               how
               the
               pulse
               ,
               as
               if
               at
               Deaths
               command
               ,
            
             
               Sounded
               a
               loud
               Alarm
               ;
               fair
               Heav'n
               said
               he
               ,
            
             
               In
               whom
               all
               grace
               and
               vertues
               planted
               be
               ,
            
             
               Why
               will
               you
               suffer
               that
               
                 a
              
               infernall
               hound
               ?
            
             
               To
               dare
               to
               come
               ,
               to
               give
               this
               heart
               this
               wound
               ?
            
             
               Vse
               that
               celestiall
               power
               ,
               the
               powerfull
               Gods
            
             
               Have
               giv'n
               ,
               that
               grief
               and
               you
               may
               live
               at
               odds
               .
            
             
               I
               know
               those
               eyes
               ,
               one
               wink
               from
               those
               fair
               eyes
            
             
               Have
               power
               to
               banish
               hence
               all
               miseries
            
             
               Are
               incident
               to
               man
               so
               rare
               a
               gift
            
             
               Did
               nature
               find
               ,
               when
               onely
               but
               this
               shift
            
             
               T'
               amaze
               spectators
               she
               for
               you
               had
               left
               ,
            
             
               For
               know
               when
               Nature
               fram'd
               you
               she
               befreft
            
             
               The
               world
               of
               all
               perfections
               ,
               to
               make
            
             
               You
               of
               divine
               ,
               and
               Heav'nly
               good
               partake
               ,
            
             
               As
               well
               as
               humane
               ,
               that
               there
               might
               agree
            
             
               In
               you
               ,
               of
               every
               grace
               a
               sympathy
               .
            
             
               So
               said
               ,
               the
               blushing
               damsell
               with
               delight
            
             
               Of
               this
               new
               friend
               ,
               did
               with
               her
               eyes
               requite
            
             
               His
               too
               soon
               ended
               speech
               ,
               O
               Heav'ns
               she
               said
               ,
            
             
               That
               have
               respect
               to
               me
               unworthy
               maid
               ,
            
             
               And
               daigne
               this
               good
               to
               me
               so
               oft
               desir'd
               ,
            
             
               Direct
               me
               so
               ,
               that
               e're
               I
               have
               expir'd
            
             
               This
               perfect
               bliss
               ,
               and
               am
               depriv'd
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               I
               may
               enjoy
               the
               knowledg
               of
               his
               name
               .
            
             
               Grant
               this
               (
               ye
               Gods
               )
               to
               me
               ,
               impatient
               ,
               till
            
             
               I
               know
               his
               naame
               ,
               his
               Countrey
               ,
               and
               his
               will
               .
            
             
               Then
               did
               she
               pull
               her
               scarf
               from
               off
               her
               face
               ,
            
             
               And
               putting
               by
               her
               hair
               with
               that
               sweet
               grace
               ,
            
             
             
               That
               
                 Venus
              
               us'd
               ,
               when
               to
               
                 Adonis
              
               eyes
            
             
               She
               did
               expose
               her
               love
               ,
               
                 Sepha
              
               did
               rise
            
             
               With
               such
               sweet
               looks
               as
               cannot
               be
               exprest
               ,
            
             
               And
               said
               ,
               these
               favors
               Sir
               ,
               and
               sigh'd
               the
               rest
               .
            
             
               Well
               ,
               thought
               
                 Arcadius
                 ,
              
               something
               there
               remains
               ,
            
             
               And
               t
               is
               some
               weighty
               cause
               that
               it
               detains
               ,
            
             
               (
               Grant
               Heav'n
               )
               that
               as
               I
               hope
               ,
               so
               it
               may
               prove
               ,
            
             
               By
               her
               unpollisht
               sentence
               to
               be
               love
               .
            
             
               For
               he
               in
               dreams
               and
               visions
               oft
               had
               seen
            
             
               A
               Lady
               ,
               who
               for
               him
               alone
               had
               been
            
             
               Tortur'd
               a
               thousand
               wayes
               ,
               with
               blubbred
               cheeks
               ,
            
             
               She
               oft
               had
               said
               ,
               receive
               her
               love
               ,
               who
               seeks
            
             
               No
               other
               life
               ,
               than
               for
               thy
               owne
               deserts
            
             
               T'
               enjoy
               thy
               presence
               ,
               and
               admire
               thy
               parts
               .
            
             
               She
               being
               now
               recover'd
               sate
               her
               down
            
             
               To
               view
               
                 Arcadius
                 ,
              
               whom
               the
               Priest
               did
               crown
            
             
               With
               wreaths
               of
               Lawrell
               ,
               which
               he
               alwayes
               wore
            
             
               For
               the
               upright
               affection
               that
               he
               bore
               .
            
             
               Then
               to
               the
               Altar
               went
               he
               ,
               where
               he
               praid
               ,
            
             
               While
               
                 Sepha
              
               overcome
               with
               passion
               ,
               said
               ,
            
             
               So
               loud
               that
               he
               might
               hear
               ,
               were
               I
               the
               Saint
            
             
               To
               whom
               he
               prayes
               ,
               sure
               I
               would
               hear
               his
               plaint
               .
            
             
               At
               this
               
                 Arcadius
              
               look't
               upon
               her
               lips
               ,
            
             
               And
               blest
               them
               that
               they
               let
               that
               message
               slip
               ;
            
             
               Then
               with
               his
               pure
               devotion
               onward
               goes
               ,
            
             
               and
               on
               the
               Altar
               throwes
            
             
               A
               winged
               heart
               ,
               which
               lately
               he
               had
               got
            
             
               For
               sacrifice
               ,
               about
               the
               heart
               was
               wrote
            
             
               These
               next
               insuing
               lines
               .
            
          
           
           
             
               The
               purest
               peice
               of
               Mans
               delight
               ,
            
             
               In
               whom
               his
               life
               ,
               and
               Love
               consists
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               softness
               keeps
               from
               gloomy
               night
               ,
            
             
               Which
               nought
               can
               peirce
               ,
               but
               Amatysts●…
            
             
               Is
               here
               presented
               on
               thy
               Throne
               ,
            
             
               Bedew'd
               with
               tears
               of
               faithfull
               vowes
               ,
            
             
               Presenting
               thee
               what
               is
               thy
               own
               ,
            
             
               The
               best
               to
               please
               thy
               virgin
               browes
               ,
            
             
               To
               fan
               thy
               face
               with
               her
               cool
               wings
               ,
            
             
               And
               fly
               the
               faster
               as
               she
               sings
               .
            
          
           
             
               Which
               I
               by
               chance
               ,
            
             
               The
               better
               hi●…
               sad
               story
               to
               advance
               ,
            
             
               Have
               Copi'd
               forth
               ;
               about
               the
               wings
               there
               was
            
             
               Some
               other
               Lines
               ,
               which
               I
               will
               not
               let
               '
               pass
               ,
            
             
               That
               (
               Gentle
               Ladies
               )
               ye
               may
               not
               have
               cause
               ,
            
             
               Of
               his
               devotion
               to
               detract
               th'
               applause
               .
            
          
           
           
             
               Fly
               swift
               my
               thoughts
               ,
               and
               through
               this
               sacred
               fire
               ,
            
             
               That
               by
               those
               sweet
               distilling
               drops
               above
               ,
            
             
               So
               may
               I
               live
               ,
               and
               scape
               the
               Dart
               ,
            
             
               And
               flourish
               like
               those
               Flowers
               it
               fills
            
             
               First
               let
               
                 V●…luptas
              
               weep
               ,
            
             
               
                 C●…st●…lio●…
              
               liquor
               's
               free
               ,
            
             
               ●…'re
               I
               forsake
            
             
               Or
               yet
               deny
            
          
           
             
               Mount
               up
               to
               her
               ,
               ●…et
               her
               to
               me
               retire
               ,
            
             
               She
               may
               infuse
               to
               me
               religious
               love
               ,
            
             
               While
               her
               sweet
               breath
               saivs
               up
               my
               heart
               ,
            
             
               With
               Nectar
               sweet
               ,
               which
               one
               frown
               kils
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Gloria
              
               fall
               asleep
               ,
            
             
               
                 Medea
              
               bitter
               bee
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               praise
               to
               make
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               
                 ●…i●…tie
                 .
              
            
          
           
           
             
               These
               and
               the
               like
               
                 Arcadius
              
               presents
               ,
            
             
               Mingled
               with
               deep
               ,
               and
               choice
               perfuming
               sents
            
             
               Of
               many
               bitter
               sighs
               ,
               he
               turnd
               him
               round
               ,
            
             
               Salutes
               the
               Priest
               ,
               the
               Altar
               ,
               and
               the
               ground
            
             
               Whereon
               it
               stood
               .
               then
               to
               faire
               
                 Sepha
              
               turns
               ,
            
             
               Who
               while
               her
               heart
               with
               strange
               affection
               burns
               ,
            
             
               Meets
               him
               with
               nimble
               eyes
               ,
               he
               gently
               bends
            
             
               A
               Trembling
               Cringe
               to
               
                 Sepha
                 ,
              
               who
               attends
            
             
               With
               her
               impatient
               eares
               that
               happy
               houre
               ,
            
             
               When
               the
               wish't
               Sun
               shall
               show
               that
               gracious
               flower
            
             
               She
               loves
               unknowne
               ,
               till
               a
               sigh
               doth
               bewray
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               the
               prologue
               for
               a
               following
               play
               ,
            
             
               These
               next
               ensuing
               words
               ,
               and
               such
               they
               were
               ,
            
             
               They
               did
               requite
               the
               time
               she
               stayd
               to
               hear
               .
            
             
               
                 Harpoc
                 a●…es
              
               may
               clame
               a
               vow
               I
               made
               ,
               
            
             
               (
               Faire
               Lady
               )
               under
               his
               beloved
               shade
               ;
            
             
               When
               my
               insipient
               years
               too
               too
               blame
               ,
            
             
               With
               rash
               attempts
               to
               Lauralize
               the
               fame
            
             
               Of
               
                 ●…upids
              
               power
               ,
               invested
               that
               disgrace
               ,
            
             
               Which
               still
               should
               be
               a
               shadow
               to
               my
               face
               .
            
             
               Then
               ,
               cause
               one
               way
               did
               lead
               to
               both
               their
               Towers
               ,
            
             
               He
               took
               hir
               Magick
               hand
               ,
               and
               with
               whole
               showers
            
             
               Of
               tears
               first
               washt
               them
               ,
               then
               with
               a
               faint
               kiss
               ,
            
             
               Dri'd
               them
               ,
               and
               walking
               homeward
               told
               her
               this
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               story
               of
               PHAON
               and
               SAPPHO
               .
            
             
               In
               
                 Lesbos
              
               famous
               for
               the
               comick
               layes
               ,
            
             
               That
               us'd
               to
               spring
               from
               her
               o'reflowing
               praise
               ,
            
             
               Twice
               famous
               
                 Sappho
              
               dwelt
               the
               fairest
               maid
            
             
               
                 Mit●…lin
              
               had
               ,
               of
               whom
               it
               once
               was
               said
            
             
               Amongst
               the
               Gods
               ,
               a
               sudden
               question
               was
               ,
            
             
               If
               
                 Sappho
                 ,
              
               or
               
                 Thalia
              
               did
               surpass
            
             
               In
               Lyribliring
               tunes
               ,
               it
               long
               remaind
               ,
            
             
               Till
               
                 Mn●…mosyne
              
               the
               Mother
               was
               constrain'd
               ,
            
             
             
               To
               say
               they
               both
               from
               her
               begetting
               sprang
               ,
            
             
               And
               each
               of
               th'
               others
               warbling
               
                 Lyra
              
               a
               sang
               .
            
             
               There
               was
               a
               Town
               in
               
                 Lesbos●…
              
               now
               defac'd
               ,
            
             
               
                 An●…issa
              
               nam'd
               ,
               by
               
                 Neptunes
              
               arms
               imbrac'd
               ;
            
             
               There
               
                 Sappho
              
               had
               a
               Tower
               ,
               in
               it
               a
               grove
            
             
               Bedeck'd
               with
               pearls
               ,
               and
               strew'd
               about
               with
               love
               ;
            
             
               
                 ●●u●…othean●…branches
              
               overspred
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               And
               from
               the
               shadowes
               perfect
               odors
               came
               .
            
             
               To
               dress
               it
               most
               there
               was
               a
               purple
               bed
               ,
            
             
               All
               wrought
               in
               works
               ,
               with
               azure
               mantles
               spred
               ,
            
             
               The
               tables
               did
               unspotted
               carpets
               hold
            
             
               Of
               
                 ●…yrian
              
               dyes
               ,
               the
               edges
               fring'd
               with
               gold
               .
            
             
               Along
               this
               grove
               there
               stealing
               ran
               a
               Spring
               ,
            
             
               Where
               
                 Sappho
              
               tun'd
               her
               Muse
               ,
               for
               she
               could
               sing
            
             
               In
               golden
               verse
               ,
               and
               teach
               the
               best
               a
               vain
            
             
               Beyond
               the
               musick
               of
               their
               sweetest
               straine
               .
            
             
               Here
               while
               she
               sang
               ,
               a
               ruddy
               youth
               appear'd
               ,
            
             
               Drawn
               by
               the
               sweetness
               of
               the
               voice
               he
               heard
               ,
            
             
               Sing
               on
               said
               he
               (
               fair
               Lady
               )
               let
               not
               me
               ,
            
             
               Too
               bold
               ,
               give
               period
               to
               your
               melody
               .
            
             
               Nor
               blame
               me
               for
               my
               over
               bold
               attempt
               ,
            
             
               (
               Although
               I
               yeeld
               of
               modesty
               exempt
            
             
               ●…n
               doing
               this
               )
               and
               yet
               not
               over
               bold
               ,
            
             
               For
               who
               so
               hears
               the
               voice
               ,
               and
               doth
               behold
            
             
               The
               lips
               from
               whence
               it
               comes
               ,
               would
               be
               as
               sad
            
             
               As
               I
               ,
               and
               trust
               me
               Lady
               if
               I
               had
            
             
               But
               skill
               to
               tempt
               you
               with
               so
               sweet
               a
               touch
               ,
            
             
               Assure
               you
               ,
               you
               your selfe
               would
               doe
               as
               much
               .
            
             
               She
               answers
               not
               ,
               for
               why
               the
               little
               God
            
             
               Had
               touch'd
               her
               heart
               before
               ,
               and
               made
               a
               rod
            
             
               For
               one
               contempt
               was
               past
               ,
               she
               view'd
               him
               hard
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               serious
               looks
               made
               
                 Phaon
              
               half
               affeard
            
             
               She
               was
               displeas'd
               ,
               about
               to
               goe
               she
               cryes
               ,
            
             
               Stay
               gentle
               Knight
               ,
               and
               take
               with
               thee
               the
               prize
               ,
            
             
             
               To
               thee
               alone
               assur'd
               ;
               the
               boy
               look'd
               pale
               ,
            
             
               But
               strait
               a
               ruddy
               blush
               did
               make
               a
               veil
            
             
               T'
               obscure
               the
               same
               ;
               while
               thus
               he
               panting
               stood
               ,
            
             
               A
               thousand
               times
               he
               wisht
               him
               in
               the
               Wood
            
             
               From
               whence
               he
               came
               ,
               and
               speaking
               not
               a
               word
               ,
            
             
               Let
               fall
               his
               hat
               ,
               his
               javelin
               and
               his
               sword
               .
            
             
               She
               being
               young
               ,
               and
               glad
               of
               an
               occasion
               ,
            
             
               Stoopt
               down
               to
               take
               them
               up
               ;
               he
               with
               perswasion
            
             
               Of
               an
               half
               shewing
               love
               ,
               detains
               her
               hand
            
             
               From
               it
               ,
               and
               with
               his
               fingers
               made
               the
               band
            
             
               To
               chain
               them
               fast
               ,
               (
               now
               Love
               had
               laid
               his
               scean
               )
            
             
               And
               draw'd
               the
               tragick
               plot
               ,
               whereon
               must
               lean
            
             
               The
               ground
               of
               all
               his
               Acts
               ;
               (
               great
               Deity
               )
            
             
               When
               thy
               foreseeing
               nove-sight
               can
               descry
            
             
               Things
               which
               will
               hap
               ,
               why
               dost
               thou
               train
               their
               love●…
            
             
               With
               pleasant
               musick
               to
               deceitfull
               groves
               ?
            
             
               See
               how
               the
               love
               of
               some
               with
               equall
               weight
               ,
            
             
               By
               vertue
               poiz'd
               ,
               live
               free
               from
               all
               deceit
               ,
            
             
               To
               whom
               thou
               help'st
               with
               thy
               beloved
               darts
               ,
            
             
               And
               link'st
               their
               true
               inviolable
               hearts
               ,
            
             
               Why
               deal'st
               not
               so
               withall
               ?
               are
               some
               too
               hard
               ?
            
             
               Or
               hath
               inchanted
               spells
               their
               heart●…
               debarr'd
            
             
               From
               thy
               keen
               shafts
               ?
               you
               Powers
               should
               be
               upright
            
             
               Not
               harm●…ull
               Gods●…
               yet
               thou
               still
               tak'st
               delight
            
             
               In
               bloody
               ends
               ,
               why
               did'st
               not
               wink
               at
               these
               ?
            
             
               And
               send
               thy
               shafts
               a
               thousand
               other
               wayes
            
             
               That
               more
               deserv'd
               thy
               anger
               ?
               or
               if
               needs
            
             
               Thou
               would'st
               be
               doing
               ,
               while
               thy
               power
               proceeds
            
             
               In
               lofty
               flames
               one
               flame
               requires
               another
               .
            
             
               Why
               did'st
               thou
               wound
               the
               one
               ,
               and
               not
               the
               other
               ?
            
             
               For
               (
               Lady
               )
               so
               it
               past
               between
               the
               lovers
               ,
            
             
               That
               after
               little
               pause
               
                 Sappho
              
               discovers
            
             
               Those
               kindled
               flames
               which
               never
               can
               expire
               ,
            
             
               But
               his
               contempt
               adds
               fuell
               to
               her
               fire
               .
            
             
             
               Immodest
               Girl
               he
               said
               ,
               why
               art
               so
               rude
            
             
               To
               woo
               ?
               when
               vertuous
               women
               should
               be
               woo'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               scarce
               obtain'd
               by
               wooing
               ,
               O
               forbeare
               ,
            
             
               Sweet
               
                 Sappho
              
               cry'd
               ,
               if
               I
               do
               not
               prepare
            
             
               A
               just
               excuse
               by
               none
               to
               be
               deny'd
               ,
            
             
               Never
               let
               me
               —
               so
               sate
               her
               down
               and
               cry'd
               .
            
             
               He
               mov'd
               for
               pity
               more
               to
               see
               her
               tears
               ,
            
             
               Than
               toucht
               with
               any
               loyall
               love
               he
               bears
               ,
            
             
               Sate
               down
               by
               her
               ,
               while
               she
               dispairing
               ,
               laid
            
             
               Her
               eyes
               on
               his
               ,
               her
               hands
               on
               his
               ,
               and
               said
               ,
            
             
               Ay
               me
               ,
               that
               
                 a
              
               herbs
               for
               love
               no
               cure
               afford
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               too
               too
               jealous
               actions
               will
               accord
            
             
               To
               nought
               but
               semblable
               desire
               ,
               that
               lost
               ,
            
             
               What
               pain
               more
               vile
               than
               lovers
               that
               are
               crost
            
             
               With
               hopeles
               hopes
               ?
               they
               say'ts
               a
               
                 b
              
               God
               that
               work●…
            
             
               The
               same
               ,
               but
               sure
               some
               Devill
               t
               is
               that
               lurks
            
             
               His
               opportunity
               how
               to
               destroy
               ,
            
             
               And
               tear
               the
               Soul
               from
               her
               aspiring
               joy
               .
            
             
               Now
               to
               prevent
               occasions
               that
               may
               fall
               ,
            
             
               Is
               serious
               love
               ,
               which
               will
               all
               harms
               appall
               ,
            
             
               Neglect
               whereof
               by
               many
               is
               deplor'd
               ,
            
             
               Ay
               me
               !
               that
               herbs
               for
               love
               no
               cure
               afford●…
            
             
               Now
               for
               the
               fault
               wherof
               I
               am
               accus'd
               ,
            
             
               O
               blame
               me
               not
               ,
               for
               't
               is
               no
               fault
               I
               us'd
               ;
            
             
               For
               if
               affection
               spurs
               a
               man
               to
               love
               ,
            
             
               ●…Tis
               that
               affection
               needs
               must
               make
               him
               move
            
             
               His
               sute
               to
               us
               ,
               and
               wee
               ,
               when
               we
               affect
               ,
            
             
               And
               see
               the
               like
               from
               them
               ,
               seem
               to
               neglect
            
             
               Their
               scorned
               sute
               ,
               but
               so
               our
               frowns
               appear
               ,
            
             
               Mixt
               with
               a
               faint
               desire
               ,
               and
               carefull
               fear
            
             
               It
               should
               displease
               them
               ,
               that
               we
               may
               unite
               ,
            
             
               A
               carelesse
               love
               ,
               with
               an
               intire
               delight
               .
            
             
             
               Again
               ,
               when
               men
               doe
               see
               a
               curious
               stone
               ,
            
             
               The
               onely
               hopes
               of
               their
               foundation
               ,
            
             
               How
               often
               doe
               they
               slight
               with
               scornfull
               eye
               ,
            
             
               Neglect
               ,
               disgrace
               ,
               dispraise
               ,
               and
               spurn
               it
               by
               ?
            
             
               The
               more
               to
               move
               and
               stir
               up
               an
               excesse
            
             
               Of
               disrespect
               ,
               and
               make
               the
               value
               lesse
               .
            
             
               Even
               so
               we
               handle
               men
               ,
               who
               still
               endure
            
             
               A
               thousands
               deaths
               ,
               to
               train
               us
               to
               their
               lure
               ,
            
             
               And
               were
               we
               sure
               they
               could
               not
               us
               forsake
               ,
            
             
               Wee
               'd
               dally
               more
               ,
               even
               more
               delight
               to
               make
               .
            
             
               Even
               so
               as
               men
               are
               caught
               ,
               even
               so
               are
               we
               ,
            
             
               When
               we
               affect
               those
               that
               our
               service
               flee
               ;
            
             
               What
               kind
               salutes
               ,
               imbraces
               and
               constraints
            
             
               Ought
               we
               to
               use
               ?
               lest
               our
               untun'd
               complaints
            
             
               Vnpitied
               die
               ,
               and
               we
               with
               sorrows
               scope
               ,
            
             
               As
               free
               from
               pleasure
               die
               ,
               as
               free
               from
               hope
               .
            
             
               Thou
               art
               a
               stranger
               
                 Pha●…n
              
               to
               this
               place
               ,
            
             
               But
               I
               have
               known
               thy
               name
               ,
               and
               know
               thy
               race
               ,
            
             
               
                 a
              
               
                 Eumenion
              
               stories
               do
               thy
               honor
               tel
               ,
            
             
               
                 Istria
                 Eumenion
              
               knew
               thy
               Parents
               well
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               Fathers
               head
               upheld
               the
               weighty
               Crown
            
             
               Of
               
                 Illyris
                 ,
              
               which
               none
               could
               trample
               down
               ,
            
             
               Though
               many
               envi'd
               ,
               free
               from
               harm
               he
               laid
            
             
               His
               bones
               to
               rest
               ,
               with
               whom
               the
               Crown
               decay'd
               .
            
             
               Now
               fate
               to
               shew
               a
               modell
               of
               her
               power
               ,
            
             
               On
               thy
               
                 Illyricum
              
               began
               to
               lower
               ;
            
             
               Thy
               
                 b
              
               Houshold
               Gods
               ,
               acquainted
               with
               the
               cryes
            
             
               Of
               thy
               decaying
               subjects
               ,
               cast
               their
               eyes
            
             
               This
               way
               ,
               and
               that
               ,
               t
               was
               yours
               O
               Gods
               to
               bid
            
             
               Deniall
               to
               sedition
               that
               was
               hid
            
             
             
               In
               
                 Catelinian
              
               brests
               ,
               and
               to
               surcease
            
             
               The
               period
               of
               your
               domestick
               ease
               .
            
             
               In
               this
               uprore
               (
               what
               fruits
               seditions
               bring
            
             
               May
               well
               be
               guest
               ,
               for
               every
               one
               was
               King
               )
            
             
               The
               better
               sort
               prepar'd
               for
               thee
               and
               thine
            
             
               A
               waftage
               over
               the
               beloved
               
                 Rhyne
              
            
             
               To
               
                 Lesbos
              
               this
               ;
               thou
               hadst
               not
               long
               bin
               here
               ,
            
             
               But
               private
               envy
               did
               thy
               walls
               uprear
               ,
            
             
               And
               did
               beguile
               to
               all
               posterity
            
             
               Thee
               of
               thy
               glory
               ,
               and
               the
               Crown
               of
               thee
               .
            
             
               These
               things
               thy
               houshold
               Gods
               (
               to
               
                 Lesbos
              
               brought
               )
            
             
               Foreseeing
               good
               ,
               have
               for
               thy
               own
               good
               wrought
               ,
            
             
               That
               thou
               maist
               gain
               a
               greater
               Crown
               than
               that
            
             
               
                 Illyrius
              
               had
               ,
               and
               be
               more
               honor'd
               at
            
             
               Those
               Festivalls
               ,
               when
               yearly
               thou
               partak'st
            
             
               Of
               Triumphs
               ,
               which
               to
               Chimney
               Gods
               thou
               mak'st
               .
            
             
               This
               was
               a
               work
               divine
               ,
               and
               happy
               too
               ,
            
             
               (
               If
               any
               happiness
               from
               grief
               ensue
               )
            
             
               That
               thou
               wast
               here
               conceal'd
               ,
               for
               many
               vow'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               thundred
               forth
               the
               fame
               thereof
               aloud
               ,
            
             
               Of
               thy
               ensuing
               death
               ,
               while
               thou
               wast
               still
            
             
               In
               pupill
               age
               ,
               and
               knew'st
               ,
               nor
               did'st
               no
               ill
               ,
            
             
               But
               't
               was
               the
               Providence
               of
               you
               that
               dwell
            
             
               In
               lofty
               Heav'ns
               (
               ye
               Powers
               )
               and
               to
               expell
            
             
               All
               harm
               from
               him
               who
               must
               your
               Lawes
               maintain
               ,
            
             
               That
               when
               his
               perfect
               strength
               he
               doth
               obtain
               ,
            
             
               He
               may
               reward
               their
               deeds
               that
               envy
               bred
               ,
            
             
               And
               maugre
               those
               that
               to
               rebellion
               led
               .
            
             
               Here
               wast
               thou
               brought
               ,
               here
               hast
               thou
               daily
               staid
               ,
            
             
               And
               (
               while
               thy
               better
               subjects
               sought
               thee
               )
               plaid
            
             
               Beguiling
               time
               away
               ;
               perhaps
               you
               'd
               know
               ,
            
             
               What
               mov'd
               the
               powers
               to
               permit
               thee
               so
            
             
               Vntimely
               ruine
               ,
               know
               they
               did
               anoint
            
             
               Thee
               King
               of
               famous
               
                 Lesbos
                 ,
              
               and
               appoint
            
             
             
               This
               means
               alone
               to
               make
               their
               power
               approv'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               bring
               thee
               here
               of
               me
               to
               be
               belovd
               .
            
             
               To
               this
               faint
               speech
               he
               intermission
               made
            
             
               With
               heavy
               sighs
               ,
               and
               then
               (
               fair
               Lady
               )
               said
               ,
            
             
               The
               Heav'ns
               have
               rob'd
               me
               of
               succeeding
               bliss
               ,
            
             
               And
               hid
               me
               from
               those
               means
               to
               grant
               you
               this
            
             
               I
               most
               desire
               ,
               behold
               my
               love
               I
               dye
               ,
            
             
               My
               trouled
               soule
               methinks
               doth
               seem
               to
               flye
            
             
               Through
               silent
               Caves
               and
               Fields
               ,
               two
               pleasant
               gates
            
             
               Ope
               wide
               to
               take
               me
               in
               ,
               wherein
               there
               waits
            
             
               A
               Crown
               of
               gold
               ,
               neither
               by
               arm
               or
               hand
            
             
               Supported
               ,
               but
               of
               its
               free
               power
               doth
               stand
               ,
            
             
               Now
               sits
               upon
               my
               head
               ,
               these
               things
               I
               see
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               I
               live
               ,
               can
               this
               a
               vision
               be
               ?
            
             
               About
               to
               stir
               ,
               O
               stir
               me
               not
               he
               cries
               ,
            
             
               My
               feet
               stick
               fast
               ,
               
                 Sappho
              
               farewell
               ,
               and
               dyes
               .
            
             
               While
               yet
               he
               speaks
               ,
               my
               Parents
               wayward
               fate
               ,
            
             
               Must
               be
               accompanied
               with
               the
               date
            
             
               Of
               my
               despised
               life
               ,
               a
               fearfull
               rind
            
             
               Of
               Citron
               trembling
               redd
               ,
               doth
               creeping
               bind
            
             
               His
               not
               half
               closed
               speech
               ,
               his
               curled
               hair
               ,
            
             
               Which
               gallants
               of
               his
               time
               did
               use
               to
               wear
            
             
               Of
               an
               indifferent
               length
               ,
               now
               upward
               heaves
               ,
            
             
               Towards
               the
               skyes
               their
               gold
               re●…ulgent
               leaves
               .
            
             
               
                 Sappho
              
               at
               this
               exclaims
               ,
               laments
               ,
               invokes
            
             
               No
               Power
               nor
               God
               ,
               but
               seeks
               by
               hasty
               strokes
               ,
            
             
               As
               a
               fit
               sacrifice
               unto
               her
               friend
               ,
            
             
               From
               her
               beloved
               brest
               her
               soul
               to
               send
               .
            
             
               A
               while
               she
               silent
               stood
               ,
               belike
               to
               think
               ,
            
             
               Which
               was
               the
               safest
               way
               for
               her
               to
               drink
            
             
               Of
               the
               same
               cup
               her
               
                 Phaon
              
               did
               ,
               at
               last
            
             
               (
               As
               evill
               thoughts
               will
               quickly
               to
               one
               haste
               )
            
             
               She
               saw
               the
               Spring
               that
               ran
               along
               the
               Grove
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               you
               fair
               streams
               must
               send
               me
               to
               my
               Love
               .
            
             
             
               Behold
               ,
               dear
               Love
               ,
               with
               what
               impatient
               heat
               ,
            
             
               My
               soul
               aspires
               to
               mount
               to
               that
               blest
               seat
               ,
            
             
               Where
               thou
               blest
               sit'st
               ,
               stretch
               out
               thy
               sacred
               hand
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               safe
               conduct
               draw
               me
               to
               that
               land
               ,
            
             
               That
               we
               may
               taste
               the
               joyes
               the
               vallie
               yeelds
               ;
            
             
               And
               hand
               in
               hand
               may
               walk
               th'
               
                 Elis●…an
              
               fields
               .
            
             
               This
               said
               ,
               she
               turns
               her
               face
               unto
               the
               Tree
               ,
            
             
               And
               kissing
               it●…
               said
               ,
               if
               thou
               still
               can'st
               see
               ,
            
             
               Behold
               how
               irksome
               I
               enjoy
               that
               breath
               ,
            
             
               Which
               still
               detains
               my
               meeting
               thee
               in
               death
               :
            
             
               With
               that
               she
               saw
               his
               sword
               ,
               which
               she
               did
               take
               ,
            
             
               And
               having
               kiss'd
               it
               for
               the
               owners
               sake
               ;
            
             
               Salutes
               her
               brest
               with
               many
               weeping
               wounds
               ,
            
             
               Then
               casts
               her self
               into
               the
               Spring
               ,
               and
               drown'ds
               .
            
             
               There
               is
               a
               Hill
               in
               
                 Paphlagonia
                 ,
              
               nam'd
            
             
               
                 Cytorus
                 ,
              
               whither
               this
               mischance
               was
               fam'd
               ;
            
             
               My self
               was
               present
               there
               when
               many
               rude
               ,
            
             
               And
               base
               untutur'd
               peasants
               did
               intrude
            
             
               Into
               our
               
                 a
              
               games
               ,
               they
               were
               ,
               as
               since
               I
               heard
            
             
               Those
               base
               insulting
               Traitors
               ,
               that
               debarr'd
            
             
               
                 Wendenlands
              
               Crown
               from
               righteous
               
                 Phaon's
              
               browe
               ,
            
             
               These
               (
               cause
               the
               Gods
               had
               quit
               them
               of
               the
               vowes
            
             
               They
               made
               to
               work
               his
               death
               )
               with
               open
               cries
               ,
            
             
               Proclam'd
               their
               thanks
               ,
               and
               sent
               them
               to
               the
               skies
               .
            
             
               But
               
                 Venus
                 ,
              
               who
               in
               constant
               love
               delights
               ,
            
             
               And
               ev'ry
               perfect
               amity
               requites
               ,
            
             
               Exil'd
               their
               joy
               ,
               each
               one
               perceives
               their
               arms
            
             
               To
               branches
               grow
               ,
               each
               one
               partakes
               the
               harms
            
             
               Of
               their
               deserts
               ,
               
                 b
              
               a
               tree
               there
               is
               which
               bears
            
             
               His
               summer
               hue
               ,
               and
               it
               in
               winter
               wears
               ,
            
             
               To
               this
               she
               turns
               them
               ,
               that
               continuall
               green
            
             
               Might
               manifest
               their
               never
               pard'ned
               sinne
               .
            
             
             
               This
               done
               I
               saw
               a
               Knight
               of
               courage
               bold
               ,
            
             
               Cloth'd
               all
               in
               argent
               armor
               ,
               strip'd
               with
               gold
               ,
            
             
               Who
               vow'd
               ,
               the
               death
               of
               one
               of
               us
               should
               pay
            
             
               For
               her
               mishap
               ,
               to
               crown
               the
               heavy
               day
            
             
               With
               Anadems
               from
               his
               victorious
               hand
               ,
            
             
               I
               too
               too
               over
               forward
               ,
               did
               demand
            
             
               What
               was
               the
               cause
               ;
               discourteous
               Knight
               he
               said
               ,
            
             
               Dost
               not
               repent
               thee
               that
               thou
               hast
               betraid
            
             
               That
               honor'd
               Lady
               ?
               while
               I
               ignorant
            
             
               Of
               what
               he
               meant
               ,
               he
               said
               t
               is
               not
               the
               want
            
             
               Of
               Launce
               ,
               shall
               keep
               thee
               safe
               ,
               till
               I
               have
               shown
            
             
               Thy
               just
               revenge
               ;
               so
               threw
               away
               his
               own
               .
            
             
               But
               with
               his
               sword
               he
               taught
               me
               what
               to
               doe
               ,
            
             
               And
               I
               my self
               had
               sword
               and
               armor
               too
            
             
               Ready
               to
               answer
               him
               ;
               the
               fight
               was
               long
               ,
            
             
               And
               had
               been
               longer
               too
               ,
               till
               I
               too
               strong
               ,
            
             
               With
               an
               unlucky
               blow
               ,
               ô
               wer
               't
               ungiven
               ,
            
             
               Betraid
               his
               life
               ,
               and
               sent
               his
               soul
               to
               Heaven
               :
            
             
               T
               was
               
                 ●…lphitheon
                 ,
              
               who
               of
               long
               had
               lov'd
            
             
               
                 Sappho
                 ,
              
               now
               dead
               ,
               whose
               sute
               I
               oft
               had
               mov'd
            
             
               In
               his
               behalf
               ,
               now
               hearing
               of
               her
               fate
               ,
            
             
               Either
               increast
               in
               him
               suspitious
               hate
            
             
               T'wards
               me
               ,
               or
               furious
               else
               did
               frantick
               strike
               ,
            
             
               Amaz'd
               ,
               unkind
               to
               every
               one
               alike
               ;
            
             
               Dying
               he
               knew
               me
               ,
               and
               bewaild
               his
               losse
               ,
            
             
               My
               friend
               
                 Arcadius
              
               said
               he
               ,
               the
               crosse
            
             
               Of
               this
               my
               present
               state
               ,
               ought
               not
               to
               be
            
             
               A
               blot
               to
               stain
               our
               former
               amitie
            
             
               I
               die
               ,
               let
               my
               remembrance
               have
               a
               place
            
             
               In
               thy
               just
               heart
               ,
               it
               shall
               be
               no
               disgrace
               .
            
             
               Though
               envy
               stole
               my
               sense
               ,
               ô
               't
               is
               no
               blot
               ,
            
             
               No
               fault
               at
               all
               was
               mine
               ;
               I
               knew
               thee
               not
            
             
               When
               here
               I
               met
               thee
               first
               ;
               My
               dearest
               friend
               ,
            
             
               I
               die
               ,
               love
               the
               remembrance
               of
               my
               end
               .
            
             
             
               So
               said
               ,
               he
               went
               away
               ,
               while
               I
               distraught
            
             
               For
               grief
               of
               this
               inhumane
               wicked
               fault
               ,
            
             
               Vow'd
               never
               more
               to
               move
               a
               Ladies
               heart
            
             
               Nor
               for
               my self
               ,
               nor
               for
               anothers
               part
               .
            
             
               
                 Arca●…ius
              
               ceast
               ,
               and
               
                 Se●…ha's
              
               turn
               was
               now
               .
            
             
               Who
               said
               (
               belov'd
               and
               worthy
               Knight
               )
               that
               vow
            
             
               You
               eas'ly
               may
               infringe
               ,
               and
               yet
               be
               blest
               .
            
             
               A
               rash
               conceit
               was
               never
               held
               the
               best
               .
            
             
               You
               say
               it
               may
               be
               ,
               and
               it
               shall
               be
               so
               .
            
             
               
                 Arcadius
              
               said
               ,
               chiefly
               for
               that
               I
               know
            
             
               When
               virtue
               ,
               beauty
               ,
               and
               intire
               delight
               ,
            
             
               Our
               nere
               dissolv'd
               affection
               doe
               unite
            
             
               The
               fault
               appears
               the
               less
               the
               glorious
               eyes
            
             
               Of
               the
               All-seeing
               power
               do
               despise
            
             
               Continuall
               grief
               ,
               
                 a
              
               and
               
                 ●…ove
              
               himself
               erst
               whi●…e
            
             
               Carousing
               bouls
               of
               wine
               is
               seen
               to
               smile
               .
            
             
               Fair
               Lady
               know
               ,
               as
               yet
               to
               me
               unknown
               ,
            
             
               Your
               beauty
               and
               your
               virtues
               have
               oreslown
            
             
               My
               willing
               yeelding
               sense
               ,
               a
               secret
               fire
               ,
            
             
               Continually
               increasing
               through
               desire
            
             
               To
               honor
               your
               admired
               parts
               ,
               doth
               move
               ,
            
             
               By
               nought
               to
               be
               extinguisht
               but
               your
               love
               .
            
             
               
                 b
              
               Love
               is
               a
               thing
               full
               of
               suspitious
               care
               ,
            
             
               By
               every
               churlish
               winde
               blown
               to
               dispair
               .
            
             
               Silent
               
                 Canius
              
               dy'd
               for
               love
               ,
               not
               known
            
             
               To
               her
               ,
               who
               did
               his
               pure
               affection
               own
               .
            
             
               I
               therefore
               ope
               my
               heart
               before
               your
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Not
               doubting
               but
               you
               'r
               kinde
               as
               well
               as
               wise
               ;
            
             
               Not
               doubting
               but
               you
               'r
               wise
               as
               well
               as
               kinde
               .
            
             
               Fair
               
                 Sepha
              
               said
               ,
               your
               worth
               I
               know
               may
               find
            
             
               Far
               better
               Ladies
               ,
               that
               may
               more
               content
            
             
               Your
               love
               than
               I
               ,
               and
               then
               you
               will
               repent
            
             
             
               You
               of
               your
               deed
               ,
               which
               still
               will
               you
               mole●…t
               ,
            
             
               A
               rash
               conceit
               was
               never
               held
               the
               best
               .
            
             
               Though
               all
               the
               beauties
               in
               the
               world
               were
               one
               ,
            
             
               Said
               he
               ,
               and
               I
               by
               right
               might
               seize
               upon
            
             
               The
               same
               ,
               yet
               would
               I
               for
               thy
               vertues
               sake
               ,
            
             
               Aspire
               no
               better
               fortune
               ,
               than
               to
               make
            
             
               Thee
               my
               beloved
               wife
               ,
               
                 *
              
               where
               ere
               thou
               art
               ,
            
             
               What
               ere
               thou
               dost
               ,
               the
               Graces
               grace
               impart
            
             
               To
               thy
               sweet
               self
               ;
               this
               hair
               ,
               this
               lovely
               hair
               ,
            
             
               If
               loose
               ,
               as
               thou
               dost
               often
               use
               to
               wear
               ,
            
             
               Ostends
               thy
               freer
               beauty
               ,
               or
               if
               knit
               ,
            
             
               It
               shews
               rare
               wisdome
               is
               inclos'd
               in
               it
               .
            
             
               In
               fine
               they
               are
               the
               chains
               that
               link
               desire
            
             
               In
               ev'ry
               brest
               ,
               and
               kindle
               
                 Cupids
              
               fire
               ,
            
             
               For
               which
               soever
               way
               thou
               dost
               them
               wear
               ,
            
             
               They
               fetch
               thee
               honour
               ,
               and
               thy
               honour
               bear
               .
            
             
               To
               me
               she
               said
               you
               please
               to
               speak
               the
               best
               ,
            
             
               O
               thought
               you
               of
               me
               so
               I
               should
               be
               blest
               ,
            
             
               Not
               that
               my
               fond
               conceit
               desires
               to
               bee
            
             
               Linkt
               with
               each
               pleasing
               object
               that
               I
               see
               ,
            
             
               But
               of
               a
               long
               retain'd
               affection
               ,
               I
            
             
               Desire
               the
               bonds
               of
               perfect
               amity
               ;
            
             
               And
               since
               you
               please
               to
               honor
               me
               so
               well
            
             
               With
               common
               friendship
               ,
               that
               in
               all
               should
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               Tell
               me
               the
               name
               of
               that
               thrice
               blessed
               place
            
             
               Injoyes
               your
               presence
               ,
               and
               from
               what
               blest
               race
            
             
               You
               draw
               your
               line
               ;
               me
               
                 Arathea
              
               claims
            
             
               Said
               he
               ,
               my
               much
               unhappy
               Parents
               names
               ,
            
             
             
               Were
               
                 Capaneus
                 ,
              
               and
               
                 Evadne
                 ,
              
               they
            
             
               Of
               good
               report
               and
               noble
               progeny
               ,
            
             
               My
               Father
               ,
               led
               by
               just
               revenge
               ,
               was
               chief
            
             
               Of
               those
               that
               wrought
               distressed
               
                 Thebes
              
               grief
               ,
            
             
               Who
               having
               wed
               my
               Mother
               then
               but
               young
            
             
               And
               of
               a
               pleasant
               face
               ,
               whose
               Parents
               sprung
            
             
               From
               
                 Iuno's
              
               brests
               ,
               unto
               those
               wars
               was
               call'd
               ;
            
             
               Where
               after
               many
               skirmishes
               befall'd
            
             
               To
               him
               this
               sad
               mishap
               ,
               when
               various
               fights
            
             
               Had
               clos'd
               up
               many
               with
               eternall
               nights
               ,
            
             
               He
               furious
               ,
               and
               impatient
               of
               delay
               ,
            
             
               Resolv'd
               a
               quick
               dispatch
               ,
               and
               with
               that
               day
            
             
               To
               end
               the
               wars
               ,
               a
               Ladder
               he
               devises
               ,
            
             
               Of
               cords
               compos'd
               ,
               by
               which
               he
               enterprizes
            
             
               Apparent
               means
               to
               scale
               the
               walls
               ,
               but
               lo
               ,
            
             
               About
               to
               clime
               ,
               some
               wicked
               hand
               doth
               throw
            
             
               A
               stone
               upon
               him
               ;
               yet
               I
               'l
               clime
               he
               said
               ;
            
             
               But
               while
               his
               soldiers
               c●●e
               unto
               his
               aid
               ,
            
             
               For
               all
               their
               hopes
               upon
               his
               worth
               reli'd
               ,
            
             
               He
               gave
               directions
               for
               the
               wars
               and
               dy'd
               .
            
             
               My
               Mother
               too
               too
               heavy
               for
               his
               harm
               ,
            
             
               Did
               help
               his
               wounded
               body
               to
               unarm
               ,
            
             
               When
               all
               his
               friends
               to
               honor
               him
               the
               more
               ,
            
             
               Were
               present
               ,
               and
               his
               ruine
               did
               deplore
               .
            
             
               
                 a
              
               But
               while
               the
               fire
               consumes
               with
               greedy
               flame
            
             
               His
               ●…lesh
               ,
               my
               Mother
               runs
               into
               the
               same
               ;
            
             
               To
               shew
               when
               virtue
               shrines
               an
               upr●…ght
               heart
               ,
            
             
               Death
               never
               can
               united
               honor
               part
               .
            
             
               In
               this
               
                 Campania
              
               where
               my
               Castle
               stands
               ,
            
             
               I
               was
               instructed
               by
               the
               carefull
               hands
            
             
             
               Of
               
                 Callias
                 ,
              
               till
               understanding
               bad
            
             
               Revenge
               be
               done
               for
               wrongs
               my
               Parents
               had
               .
            
             
               I
               mov'd
               the
               wars
               afresh
               ,
               what
               means
               I
               made
               ,
            
             
               With
               all-perswading
               reasons
               to
               perswade
            
             
               The
               soldiers
               aid
               ,
               is
               this
            
          
           
             
               O
               You
               ,
               said
               I
               ,
               belov'd
               for
               upright
               wayes
               ,
            
             
               And
               fear'd
               of
               all
               for
               valour
               that
               obeys
            
             
               Your
               conqu'ring
               arms
               !
               I
               purpose
               not
               to
               add
            
             
               Words
               to
               your
               virtues
               ,
               nor
               my
               speech
               to
               cladd
            
             
               With
               flattring
               robes
               ,
               my
               just
               revenge
               shall
               cause
            
             
               A
               triumph
               for
               that
               never
               scorn'd
               applause
            
             
               Of
               your
               victorious
               fame
               ,
               which
               daily
               mov'd
            
             
               Towards
               your
               names
               ,
               O
               you
               so
               well
               belov'd
               !
            
             
               Your
               noble
               friend
               my
               Father
               ,
               to
               whose
               shrine
            
             
               You
               pay
               your
               yearly
               tears
               ,
               is
               now
               divine
               ,
            
             
               He
               sorry
               for
               that
               harm
               which
               would
               betide
            
             
               Your
               never
               conquered
               arms
               i●…
               that
               he
               dy'd
               ,
            
             
               Dy'd
               loth
               to
               leave
               you
               ,
               now
               there
               is
               a
               time
               ,
            
             
               To
               heap
               revenge
               against
               them
               for
               that
               crime
            
             
               Those
               Coward
               traytors
               acted
               ,
               when
               they
               slew
            
             
               Your
               noble
               friend
               my
               Father
               ;
               let
               us
               view
            
             
               The
               cause
               that
               moves
               us
               to
               display
               our
               war
               ,
            
             
               O
               is
               't
               not
               meritorious
               ,
               and
               far
            
             
               Beyond
               the
               price
               of
               their
               despised
               blood
               ?
            
             
               Your
               wisdome
               knowes
               your
               losse
               ,
               our
               cause
               is
               good
               ;
            
             
               Too
               good
               alas
               for
               them
               ,
               I
               know
               your
               love
            
             
               Still
               ,
               still
               ,
               remains
               alive
               ,
               which
               makes
               me
               move
            
             
               Those
               val●…ant
               hearts
               which
               alwayes
               you
               injoy'd
               ,
            
             
               To
               seek
               revenge
               'gainst
               those
               that
               have
               destroyd
            
             
               Your
               noble
               friend
               my
               Father
               :
               This
               ,
               o
               this
            
             
               Makes
               me
               require
               your
               help
               ,
               nor
               greater
               bliss
            
             
               Can
               to
               your
               dying
               tombes
               more
               honour
               gather
               ,
            
             
               Than
               to
               revenge
               your
               noble
               friend
               my
               Father
               .
            
             
             
               O
               you
               so
               well
               belov'd
               ,
               I
               need
               not
               show
            
             
               The
               sloth●…ull
               
                 Thebans
              
               fearfulness
               ,
               you
               know
            
             
               The
               manner
               ,
               and
               the
               matter
               of
               their
               war
               ,
            
             
               How
               through
               disorder
               ,
               and
               discord
               they
               jar
            
             
               Amongst
               themselves
               ,
               your
               swords
               their
               Towers
               shake
            
             
               At
               the
               remembrance
               of
               your
               names
               they
               quake
               .
            
             
               When
               in
               the
               skirmage
               you
               your
               valour
               send
               ,
            
             
               To
               court
               their
               necks
               ,
               and
               shew
               their
               lives
               their
               end
               ,
            
             
               Bethink
               you
               for
               whose
               sake
               you
               fight
               ,
               and
               let
            
             
               His
               wonted
               valor
               and
               remembrance
               whet
            
             
               Your
               all-commanding
               swords
               ,
               what
               greater
               gain
            
             
               Than
               their
               subjection
               can
               you
               obtain
               ?
            
             
               Honor
               from
               thence
               will
               spring
               ,
               their
               wealth
               &
               glorie●…
            
             
               By
               you
               enjoy'd
               ,
               will
               fill
               your
               famous
               stories
            
             
               With
               never-dying
               fame
               ,
               and
               for
               your
               merit
               ,
            
             
               Your
               Sons
               shall
               everlasting
               praise
               inherit
               .
            
             
               We
               for
               revenge
               ,
               renown
               ,
               and
               amity
               ,
            
             
               Our
               wars
               display
               ,
               they
               but
               for
               liberty
               ;
            
             
               When
               we
               have
               girt
               their
               City
               with
               the
               choice
            
             
               Of
               Martiall
               men
               ,
               then
               shall
               we
               hear
               their
               voice
            
             
               Come
               creeping
               to
               us
               ,
               but
               our
               ears
               are
               stopt
            
             
               From
               Traytors
               mouths
               ,
               till
               we
               have
               overtopt
            
             
               (
               For
               justice
               sake
               ,
               on
               which
               we
               have
               reli'd
               )
            
             
               Their
               weighty
               sins
               ,
               and
               high
               aspiring
               pride
               .
            
             
               O
               you
               belov'd
               of
               all
               ,
               t
               is
               not
               a
               cause
            
             
               Of
               little
               worth
               ,
               nor
               only
               for
               applause
            
             
               I
               move
               you
               to
               this
               War
               ,
               survey
               your
               hearts
               ,
            
             
               There
               see
               his
               tomb
               ,
               his
               wounds
               ,
               and
               his
               deserts
            
             
               Ever
               to
               be
               admir'd
               ,
               your
               noble
               freind
            
             
               My
               Father
               ,
               whose
               too
               too
               unhappy
               end
            
             
               Requires
               their
               blood●…
               desires
               no
               greater
               bliss
               ,
            
             
               Than
               to
               present
               his
               joyfull
               soul
               with
               this
               .
            
             
             
               These
               and
               such
               words
               I
               us'd
               ,
               with
               me
               they
               swore
            
             
               To
               fetch
               the
               glory
               which
               the
               
                 Thebans
              
               wore
               ,
            
             
               And
               plac't
               upon
               my
               Fathers
               tombe
               ,
               to
               crown
            
             
               Him
               with
               Heroick
               conquests
               ,
               and
               renown
               .
            
             
               With
               me
               they
               went
               ,
               with
               me
               they
               overcame
            
             
               The
               
                 Thebans
              
               pride
               ,
               and
               brought
               with
               them
               their
               fame
               .
            
             
               Detain'd
               at
               wars
               ,
               I
               saw
               you
               not
               ,
               till
               late
            
             
               Returning
               home
               ,
               my
               ever
               happy
               fate
            
             
               Blest
               me
               to
               hear
               your
               voice
               ;
               My
               nimble
               Steed
            
             
               To
               gratulate
               my
               labour
               with
               the
               deed
               ,
            
             
               So
               well
               belov'd
               (
               as
               if
               he
               knew
               my
               mind
               )
            
             
               Lost
               me
               ,
               that
               you
               fair
               Lady
               might
               me
               find
               .
            
             
               At
               this
               she
               smiles
               ,
               while
               his
               lov'd
               tale
               goes
               on
               ;
            
             
               Now
               since
               it
               is
               your
               chance
               to
               light
               upon
            
             
               What
               was
               ordain'd
               your
               own
               ,
               debar
               me
               not
            
             
               That
               service
               from
               ,
               which
               is
               my
               own
               by
               lot
               .
            
             
               While
               I
               infolded
               in
               your
               love
               declare
            
             
               Those
               sweet
               contents
               in
               
                 Venus
              
               pleasures
               are
               .
            
             
               
                 a
              
               For
               who
               with
               more
               delight
               can
               live
               ?
               What
               are
            
             
               Those
               joyes
               that
               may
               with
               these
               delights
               compare
               ?
            
             
               She
               blusht
               and
               said
               ,
               for
               e're
               she
               spake
               she
               blusht
               ,
            
             
               Then
               from
               her
               sweet
               ,
               but
               angry
               lips
               there
               rusht
            
             
               This
               angry
               speech
               ,
               (
               beloved
               Sir
               )
               I
               owe
            
             
               More
               inward
               zeal
               than
               yet
               I
               will
               bestow
            
             
               On
               your
               lascivious
               love
               ,
               and
               being
               near
            
             
               Her
               
                 Talmos
                 ,
              
               flung
               away
               ,
               and
               would
               not
               hear
            
             
               His
               quick-prepar'd
               excuse
               ,
               who
               over-waid
            
             
               With
               death-tormenting
               grief
               ,
               look'd
               up
               and
               said
               ,
            
             
               Shall
               these
               contempts
               ore-rule
               thy
               virtuous
               will
               ?
            
             
               O
               
                 Sepha
                 ,
              
               knowest
               thou
               whom
               thy
               scorns
               do
               kill
               ?
            
             
               Well
               she
               goes
               on
               ,
               nor
               looks
               behind
               to
               see
            
             
               The
               fruits
               of
               her
               disdain
               ,
               his
               Amitie
               ,
            
             
             
               But
               hasted
               home
               ,
               by
               fond
               suspition
               led
               ;
            
             
               (
               So
               
                 Arethusa
              
               from
               
                 Alphaeus
              
               fled
               )
            
             
               Till
               to
               her
               chamber
               come
               ,
               she
               unawares
               ,
            
             
               (
               Beginning
               now
               to
               be
               perplext
               with
               cares
               )
            
             
               Look'd
               from
               a
               window
               ,
               from
               a
               window
               spy'd
            
             
               Her
               fair
               
                 Arcadius
              
               dead
               ,
               even
               then
               she
               cry'd
               .
            
             
               Her
               nimble
               feet
               had
               not
               such
               power
               to
               bear
            
             
               Her
               half
               so
               fast
               away●…
               as
               now
               her
               fear
            
             
               Returns
               her
               to
               him
               ,
               ready
               to
               complain
            
             
               Vpon
               her
               fate
               ,
               her
               tender
               eyes
               doe
               strain
            
             
               Balm
               to
               bedew
               his
               cheeks
               ,
               till
               a
               sweet
               kiss
               ,
            
             
               (
               It
               seems
               beloved
               better
               than
               that
               blisse
            
             
               The
               Heav'ns
               bestow'd
               )
               recall'd
               his
               sleepy
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Who
               opening
               first
               ,
               straight
               shut
               again
               and
               lyes
            
             
               Clos'd
               in
               her
               arms
               ,
               as
               if
               nought
               more
               could
               grace
               him
               ,
            
             
               With
               greater
               joyes
               ,
               than
               when
               her
               arms
               imbrace
               him
               :
            
             
               At
               length
               remembrance
               (
               usherd
               by
               a
               grone
               )
            
             
               Proclaim'd
               his
               life
               ;
               and
               am
               I
               left
               alone
               ?
            
             
               He
               said
               ,
               then
               op't
               his
               eyes
               ,
               whose
               fixed
               sight
            
             
               Not
               yet
               from
               deaths
               imbracings
               free
               ,
               did
               light
            
             
               Vpon
               her
               face
               ,
               about
               his
               voice
               to
               raise
               ,
            
             
               Soft
               kisses
               stop
               his
               speech
               ,
               those
               past
               he
               sayes
               ,
            
             
               Yee
               Gods
               ,
               whose
               too
               too
               hasty
               shafts
               have
               strook
            
             
               Beguiling
               joyes
               into
               my
               eyes
               ,
               and
               took
            
             
               My
               heavy
               soule
               from
               that
               thrice
               blessed
               place
            
             
               Where
               
                 Sepha
              
               dwells
               ,
               who
               must
               
                 Elisium
              
               grace
               ,
            
             
               What
               yeelds
               this
               Heav'n
               ?
               O
               would
               I
               still
               might
               live
               ,
            
             
               Her
               presence
               yeelds
               more
               joyes
               than
               Heav'n
               can
               give
               ;
            
             
               Invest
               me
               with
               all
               pleasures
               that
               you
               please
            
             
               In
               Heav'n
               to
               have
               ,
               with
               Canticles
               of
               ease
            
             
               That
               follow
               pious
               soules
               ,
               they
               nought
               will
               yield
            
             
               To
               me
               but
               grief
               ;
               while
               o're
               th'
               
                 Elisian
              
               field
               ,
            
             
               And
               gloomy
               shades
               ,
               continuall
               steps
               I
               take
            
             
               For
               her
               safe
               wastage
               or'e
               the
               
                 Stygian
              
               lake
               .
            
             
             
               These
               words
               he
               spake
               ,
               taking
               her
               face
               for
               Heaven
               ,
            
             
               (
               In
               whom
               the
               Powers
               ,
               all
               powerfull
               grace
               had
               given
               )
            
             
               Where
               still
               he
               thought
               he
               was
               ,
               while
               
                 Sepha
              
               griev'd
               ,
            
             
               With
               cordiall
               water
               from
               her
               eyes
               ,
               reviv'd
            
             
               His
               not
               yet
               living
               sense
               ,
               with
               greedy
               eyes
            
             
               He
               views
               her
               face
               ,
               who
               with
               this
               speech
               replyes
               .
            
             
               To
               me
               't
               is
               strange
               ,
               that
               you
               (
               within
               whose
               brest
            
             
               Such
               rare
               undaunted
               strength
               and
               wit
               doth
               rest
               )
            
             
               Through
               foolish
               grief
               should
               yeeld
               your
               sacred
               soul
            
             
               To
               
                 Charons
              
               boat
               ,
               who
               shall
               your
               death
               condole
            
             
               So
               slightly
               caus'd
               ?
               shall
               I
               ?
               beleeve
               me
               no
               ,
            
             
               I
               'le
               rather
               seek
               some
               noble
               means
               to
               show
            
             
               How
               much
               you
               strive
               with
               faint
               tormenting
               mind
            
             
               To
               raise
               that
               heart
               wherein
               you
               lie
               inshrind
               .
            
             
               Should
               men
               dispair
               for
               once
               or
               twice
               refusall
               ,
            
             
               Few
               men
               would
               speed
               ,
               for
               to
               our
               Sex
               t
               is
               usual
               ;
            
             
               And
               often
               ,
               words
               outstep
               the
               carelesse
               lip
               ,
            
             
               Which
               past
               ,
               repent
               that
               e're
               they
               let
               them
               slip
               .
            
             
               Now
               let
               this
               message
               in
               thy
               bosome
               light
            
             
               
                 Arcadius
                 ,
              
               thou
               art
               the
               sole
               delight
            
             
               Of
               this
               my
               wretched
               life
               ,
               for
               thee
               I
               live
               ,
            
             
               To
               live
               with
               thee
               ,
               to
               thee
               my
               love
               I
               give
               .
            
             
               Preserve
               it
               then
               so
               worthy
               to
               be
               lov'd
               ,
            
             
               That
               of
               thee
               alwayes
               I
               may
               be
               belov'd
               :
            
             
               Let
               no
               lascivious
               thought
               pollute
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               Which
               may
               increase
               a
               scandall
               to
               my
               name
               ,
            
             
               But
               with
               unstain'd
               desires
               let
               me
               be
               led
            
             
               By
               
                 Hymens
              
               rites
               unspotted
               to
               thy
               bed
               .
            
             
               Have
               you
               not
               heard
               young
               lambs
               with
               wailing
               cries
            
             
               Lament
               their
               dams
               departure
               ?
               who
               still
               lies
            
             
               Vnder
               the
               sheerers
               hands
               ?
               with
               discontent
            
             
               Thinking
               them
               dead
               ,
               their
               sudden
               death
               lament
               ?
            
             
               While
               they
               to
               hinder
               the
               bemoning
               notes
            
             
               Get
               up
               ,
               and
               pay
               their
               ransome
               with
               their
               coats
               .
            
             
             
               Even
               so
               
                 Arcadius
              
               with
               attentive●…
               care
               ,
            
             
               Observ'd
               each
               word
               her
               heav'nly
               lips
               did
               spare
               ,
            
             
               Still
               fearing
               lest
               some
               various
               conclusion
               ,
            
             
               Should
               draw
               his
               life
               to
               sable
               nights
               confusion
               .
            
             
               But
               when
               he
               heard
               the
               full
               ,
               Ladies
               I
               know
            
             
               You
               can
               conceive
               what
               streams
               of
               joy
               did
               slow
            
             
               In
               his
               still
               honor'd
               brest
               ,
               he
               nimbly
               rose
               ,
            
             
               Conjur'd
               the
               Air
               to
               keep
               her
               message
               close
            
             
               From
               babling
               Ecchoes
               ,
               to
               her self
               he
               vows
            
             
               An
               amrous
               kiss
               ,
               and
               she
               his
               kiss
               allows
               .
            
             
               He
               crav'd
               remission
               for
               his
               faulty
               words
               ,
            
             
               Now
               askt
               ,
               and
               straight
               remission
               she
               affords
               ,
            
             
               And
               binds
               him
               to
               the
               limits
               of
               unstain'd
            
             
               Desire
               ,
               and
               with
               her
               golden
               tresses
               chain'd
            
             
               His
               heart
               from
               all
               deceit
               ,
               with
               such
               pure
               grace
               ,
            
             
               As
               ought
               in
               ev'ry
               lover
               to
               have
               place
               ;
            
             
               To
               
                 Talmos
              
               she
               (
               proud
               of
               her
               prize
               )
               him
               ledd
               ,
            
             
               (
               For
               know
               fair
               
                 Sepha's
              
               parents
               both
               were
               dead
               )
            
             
               Where
               entertain'd
               with
               many
               royall
               sips
            
             
               He
               drunk
               full
               boules
               of
               Nectar
               from
               her
               lips
               .
            
             
               Time
               hasty
               to
               produce
               the
               marriage
               day
            
             
               Of
               these
               impatient
               lovers
               ,
               hy'd
               his
               way
               ;
            
             
               And
               
                 Sepha
              
               after
               many
               sweet
               imbraces
               ,
            
             
               Fraught
               with
               conceit
               ,
               and
               stuft
               with
               interlaces
            
             
               Of
               their
               ensuing
               pleasure
               ,
               did
               permit
            
             
               
                 Arcadius
              
               departure
               ,
               who
               unfit
            
             
               For
               any
               service
               ,
               but
               the
               winged
               God
               ,
            
             
               To
               
                 Arathea
              
               went
               ,
               and
               as
               he
               rode
               ,
            
             
               Oft
               blam'd
               orehasty
               time
               their
               joy
               t'
               undo
               ,
            
             
               But
               prais'd
               him
               for
               the
               sports
               that
               should
               ensue
               .
            
             
               Now
               was
               it
               when
               the
               fraction
               of
               the
               day
            
             
               From
               sable
               night
               had
               made
               
                 Aurora
              
               way
               ,
            
             
               When
               
                 a
              
               I
               ,
               ambiguous
               of
               succeding
               fate
               ,
            
             
               Forsook
               my
               native
               countrey
               for
               the
               hate
            
             
             
               'Gainst
               me
               conceiv'd
               ,
               me
               
                 a
              
               
                 Minos
              
               Country
               bred
            
             
               Whose
               hundred
               Cities
               with
               amazement
               led
            
             
               Each
               eye
               to
               view
               their
               pride
               ;
               My
               Father
               old
               ,
            
             
               And
               I
               a
               pretty
               stripling
               ,
               did
               uphold
            
             
               The
               staffe
               of
               his
               declining
               age
               ,
               with
               care
            
             
               I
               cherisht
               him
               ,
               and
               did
               the
               burthen
               bear
            
             
               Of
               his
               domestick
               ployments
               ,
               now
               it
               was
               ,
            
             
               (
               When
               all
               his
               businesse
               through
               my
               hands
               did
               pass
               )
            
             
               That
               once
               he
               sent
               me
               to
               attend
               the
               sheep
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Woods
               sweet
               chanters
               summon'd
               me
               to
               sleep
               :
            
             
               Within
               a
               Cave
               of
               
                 Par●…an
              
               stone
               compos'd
               ,
            
             
               I
               laid
               me
               down
               ,
               I
               laid
               me
               down
               ,
               and
               clos'd
            
             
               My
               duskish
               eyes
               ,
               sure
               some
               inchantments
               kept
            
             
               The
               same
               with
               Magick
               spells
               ,
               for
               there
               I
               slept
            
             
               Whole
               seventeen
               years
               away
               ;
               awak'd
               at
               last
               ,
            
             
               I
               got
               me
               up
               ,
               and
               to
               my
               home
               did
               haste
               ,
            
             
               Not
               knowing
               so
               much
               time
               away
               was
               sled
               ,
            
             
               I
               call'd
               my
               friends
               ,
               but
               ●…o
               ,
               my
               friends
               were
               dead
               .
            
             
               This
               known
               I
               left
               
                 b
              
               
                 Minoia
                 ,
              
               and
               spent
            
             
               My
               dayes
               in
               
                 Rome
                 ,
              
               not
               caring
               where
               I
               went
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               what
               I
               did
               ;
               nor
               there
               I
               long
               remaind
               ,
            
             
               Cause
               more
               mishap
               was
               to
               my
               life
               ordain'd
               :
            
             
               
                 c
              
               
                 Mugiona
              
               stands
               pointing
               to
               a
               way
            
             
               Call'd
               
                 d
              
               
                 Appia
                 ,
              
               through
               which
               my
               journey
               lay
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               many
               dayes
               were
               spent
               before
               I
               came
            
             
               Vnto
               that
               Town
               which
               
                 e
              
               
                 Sora
              
               hath
               to
               name
               ;
            
             
               And
               there
               a
               while
               I
               staid
               ,
               a
               while
               I
               strove
            
             
               To
               kill
               those
               griefs
               ,
               which
               never
               ceas'd
               to
               move
            
             
               A
               desp'rate
               end
               ,
               for
               that
               unwisht
               mischance
            
             
               Still
               gnawing
               on
               my
               soul
               ,
               about
               t'
               advance
            
             
               My
               sword
               towards
               my
               end
               ,
               ô
               stay
               a
               while
            
             
               A
               voice
               bespake
               ,
               let
               not
               thy
               wrath
               beguile
            
             
             
               Thee
               of
               succeding
               joyes
               ;
               amaz'd
               I
               stood
               ,
            
             
               Not
               knowing
               why
               to
               save
               ,
               or
               spill
               my
               blood
               .
            
             
               My
               eyes
               could
               shew
               me
               nothing
               ,
               but
               my
               ears
            
             
               Granted
               a
               convoy
               for
               the
               sob'd-forth
               tears
            
             
               Of
               a
               distressed
               Lady
               ,
               what
               mishap
            
             
               Hath
               Fortune
               more
               ,
               said
               she
               ,
               than
               to
               intrap
            
             
               Our
               joyes
               ,
               and
               cut
               them
               off
               ?
               the
               voice
               did
               guide
            
             
               Me
               to
               a
               little
               grove
               ,
               wherein
               I
               spi'd
            
             
               A
               wretched
               Lady
               with
               torn
               hair
               discover
               ,
            
             
               (
               O're
               the
               dead
               corps
               of
               her
               beloved
               lover
               )
            
             
               
               Th'irreparable
               loss
               ,
               and
               hatefull
               breath
               ,
            
             
               She
               did
               sustain
               through
               his
               untimely
               death
               .
            
             
               Agast
               she
               trembled
               ,
               and
               with
               liquid
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Sent
               with
               her
               lovers
               soul
               into
               the
               skyes
               ,
            
             
               Prayes
               that
               her
               end
               may
               with
               his
               end
               appear
               ,
            
             
               Or
               here
               to
               have
               him
               ,
               or
               to
               have
               him
               there
               .
            
             
               A
               while
               I
               stood
               ,
               either
               with
               fear
               o'regon
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               with
               grief
               not
               able
               to
               go
               on
               ,
            
             
               Till
               she
               with
               sword
               tug'd
               from
               his
               wounded
               brest
               ,
            
             
               Made
               passage
               for
               her
               souls
               eternall
               rest
               .
            
             
               I
               hi'd
               me
               to
               her
               ,
               but
               my
               steps
               were
               lost
               ,
            
             
               The
               wound
               was
               given
               ;
               saith
               she
               ,
               since
               we
               are
               crost●…
            
             
               Of
               Terrene
               pleasures
               ,
               and
               those
               joyes
               do
               miss
               ,
            
             
               Our
               soules
               shall
               wed
               in
               Heav'ns
               eternall
               bliss
               .
            
             
               I
               striv'd
               to
               stop
               her
               blood
               ,
               but
               she
               deny'd
            
             
               That
               any
               favour
               should
               to
               her
               betide
               ,
            
             
               Since
               she
               was
               cross'd
               in
               all
               designes
               ,
               and
               said
               ,
            
             
               If
               the
               entreaties
               of
               a
               dying
               maid
               ,
            
             
               Sir
               Knight
               may
               move
               you
               ,
               grant
               this
               last
               request
               ,
            
             
               With
               your
               own
               sword
               give
               period
               to
               the
               rest
            
             
               Of
               him
               who
               did
               my
               
                 Delithason
              
               slay
               ,
            
             
               O're
               yon
               ambitious
               hill
               he
               took
               his
               way
               .
            
             
               I
               vow'd
               their
               deaths
               revenge
               ,
               withall
               desir'd
               ,
            
             
               Since
               she
               would
               die
               ,
               before
               her
               life
               expir'd
            
             
             
               Its
               glorious
               date
               ,
               t'
               acquaint
               my
               pitying
               ears
            
             
               With
               her
               sad
               story
               ,
               while
               whole
               shours
               of
               tears
            
             
               Imbalm
               the
               body
               dead
               ;
               alas
               said
               she
               ,
            
             
               You
               cause
               me
               to
               renew
               the
               grief
               must
               be
            
             
               My
               pasport
               to
               his
               foul
               ,
               then
               faintly
               rais'd
            
             
               Her
               weary
               head
               :
               For
               ever
               be
               ye
               prais'd
            
             
               (
               Ye
               Powrs
               )
               that
               grant
               me
               liberty
               t'
               unfold
            
             
               Our
               Tragick
               ends
               ,
               and
               then
               this
               story
               told
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               Story
               of
               Delithason
               and
               Verista
               .
            
             
               Not
               far
               remote
               there
               are
               four
               little
               lands
               ,
            
             
               Rul'd
               by
               that
               
                 a
              
               God
               ,
               who
               girts
               them
               with
               his
               hands
               ;
            
             
               
                 b
              
               
                 Statinae
              
               call'd
               ,
               in
               these
               my
               Father
               dwelt
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               alwayes
               scraping
               ,
               but
               nere
               fill'd
               hand
               felt
            
             
               A
               mean
               of
               Fortunes
               good
               ,
               (
               whether
               by
               Fate
               ,
            
             
               Or
               fore-ordained
               to
               expire
               the
               date
            
             
               Of
               my
               distressed
               life
               )
               to
               me●…t's
               unknown
               ,
            
             
               But
               wealth
               (
               with
               which
               those
               Isles
               have
               ever
               flown
               )
            
             
               Heap'd
               to
               his
               hands
               a
               still
               encreasing
               croud
            
             
               Of
               gilded
               pills
               ,
               those
               riches
               made
               him
               proud
               .
            
             
               Amongst
               the
               other
               fortunes
               that
               he
               had
               ,
            
             
               (
               O
               whether
               shall
               I
               term
               it
               good
               or
               bad
               )
            
             
               The
               Heav'ns
               assign'd
               him
               me
               ,
               
                 Verista
              
               nam'd
               ,
            
             
               Who
               yet
               but
               young
               ,
               a
               false
               report
               had
               fam'd
            
             
               Rare
               beauty
               of
               me
               ;
               this
               ,
               ô
               this
               declar'd
               ,
            
             
               Draw'd
               many
               Princes
               that
               the
               same
               had
               heard
               ,
            
             
               To
               try
               the
               judgment
               of
               their
               eyes
               ,
               which
               fame
            
             
               By
               some
               confirm'd
               ,
               this
               
                 Delithason
              
               came
               ,
            
             
               (
               Not
               like
               a
               Prince
               ,
               as
               like
               a
               Prince
               he
               might
               ,
            
             
               Because
               he
               was
               a
               Prince
               )
               but
               like
               a
               Knight
            
             
               With
               Sword
               and
               Lance
               ,
               but
               first
               I
               'd
               have
               you
               know
            
             
               My
               Father
               amongst
               many
               had
               a
               foe
            
             
             
               Of
               Gyants
               race
               ,
               whose
               heart
               enur'd
               to
               wrong
               ,
            
             
               To
               rapes
               ,
               and
               base
               oppressions
               had
               long
            
             
               Appli'd
               his
               strength
               ,
               and
               now
               to
               torture
               more
            
             
               My
               Fathers
               brest
               that
               life
               might
               give
               him
               o're
               ,
            
             
               This
               quarrell
               pick'd
               ,
               he
               came
               and
               did
               demand
            
             
               Me
               for
               his
               wife
               ,
               and
               cause
               we
               did
               withstand
            
             
               His
               wish
               ,
               with
               kindled
               rage
               from
               
                 Pluto's
              
               Cell
               ,
            
             
               He
               shakes
               his
               dangling
               locks
               ,
               and
               down
               to
               Hell
            
             
               A
               journey
               takes
               ,
               
                 a
              
               
                 Erinnis
              
               he
               implor'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               the
               Furies
               which
               he
               there
               ador'd
               ,
            
             
               T'
               assist
               his
               new
               found
               plot
               ,
               nor
               yet
               in
               vain
            
             
               They
               adde
               their
               help
               ,
               with
               fire
               they
               rent
               in
               twain
            
             
               A
               Town
               my
               Father
               own'd
               ,
               the
               dwellers
               there
            
             
               Affraid
               of
               death
               ,
               t'
               abolish
               quite
               their
               fear
               ,
            
             
               Plastred
               the
               walls
               with
               brains
               ,
               their
               limbs
               bestrew'd
            
             
               The
               blushing
               streets
               with
               streams
               of
               blood
               bedew'd
               .
            
             
               To
               this
               he
               adds
               a
               mischief
               worse
               ,
               and
               throwes
            
             
               Blasphemous
               oaths
               ,
               on
               which
               he
               did
               repose
               ,
            
             
               Vp
               to
               
                 b
              
               
                 Saturnus
              
               son
               ,
               
                 c
              
               the
               sacred
               stones
               ,
            
             
               On
               which
               the
               people
               laid
               oblations
               ,
            
             
               He
               hurls
               about
               the
               Temple
               ,
               from
               the
               posts
            
             
               The
               gold
               he
               tears
               ,
               and
               in
               his
               mischief
               boasts
               .
            
             
               By
               this
               my
               brother
               ,
               guided
               by
               the
               cryes
            
             
               Of
               conquer'd
               sounds
               ,
               came
               staring
               in
               ,
               and
               spies
            
             
               The
               honors
               of
               Celestiall
               Gods
               defac't
               ,
            
             
               A
               sling
               he
               had
               ,
               and
               from
               that
               sling
               did
               cast
            
             
               The
               over
               hastie
               stone
               ,
               and
               though
               he
               well
            
             
               Could
               use
               his
               sling
               ,
               yet
               did
               his
               art
               excell
            
             
               In
               managing
               his
               sword
               ,
               now
               heav'd
               aloft
               ,
            
             
               Threatning
               the
               Gyants
               death
               ,
               said
               he
               ,
               how
               oft
            
             
               Shall
               I
               be
               vext
               with
               too
               too
               partiall
               eye
            
             
               Of
               thy
               outrage
               ?
               perish
               with
               this
               and
               dye
               .
            
             
             
               His
               speech
               scarce
               clos'd
               ,
               
                 d
              
               
                 Marfilos
              
               smear'd
               with
               blood
               ,
            
             
               A
               colebrand
               snatcht
               wch
               .
               by
               the
               altar
               stood
               ,
            
             
               And
               sends
               it
               to
               my
               brother
               ,
               't
               was
               espy'd
            
             
               By
               
                 Delithason
              
               this
               ,
               about
               to
               slide
            
             
               Along
               the
               Air
               ,
               with
               Lance
               he
               stopt
               his
               hand
               ,
            
             
               And
               sent
               his
               soul
               to
               that
               infernall
               land
               ,
            
             
               Where
               ghosts
               with
               hideous
               cries
               indure
               the
               right
            
             
               Of
               their
               deserts
               ,
               cloath'd
               in
               Eternall
               night
               .
            
             
               Thus
               
                 Delithason
              
               by
               the
               clamors
               call'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               by
               the
               Gyants
               death
               the
               same
               appall'd
               ;
            
             
               Restor'd
               to
               every
               man
               his
               own
               ,
               the
               rather
            
             
               To
               get
               (
               the
               seldom
               got
               )
               love
               of
               my
               Father
               ;
            
             
               Who
               nothing
               thankfull
               for
               so
               great
               a
               favour
               ,
            
             
               Gave
               thanks
               indeed
               ;
               but
               with
               so
               rude
               behaviour
               ,
            
             
               That
               nought
               was
               heard
               but
               sighs
               and
               pittious
               moan
               ,
            
             
               How
               to
               regain
               the
               harm
               to
               him
               was
               done
               .
            
             
               I
               must
               said
               said
               he
               ,
               omit
               the
               charge
               I
               us'd
            
             
               In
               keeping
               house
               ,
               by
               which
               I
               have
               abus'd
            
             
               My
               quite-consumed
               stock
               ;
               I
               must
               omit
            
             
               The
               courteous
               entertainment
               that
               is
               fit
            
             
               For
               worthy
               guess
               ,
               and
               so
               to
               end
               the
               strife
            
             
               Of
               sleeping
               age
               ,
               with
               a
               retired
               life
               ;
            
             
               To
               this
               the
               Prince
               ,
               (
               whose
               ever
               piety
            
             
               Still
               lent
               discourteous
               acts
               a
               noble
               eye
               )
            
             
               Sayes
               ,
               aged
               Father
               your
               declining
               head
            
             
               Should
               scorn
               to
               be
               to
               base
               Rebellion
               led
            
             
               Against
               the
               Lawes
               of
               Hospitality
               ;
            
             
               Decrepit
               age
               should
               on
               the
               good
               rely
            
             
               Which
               she
               hath
               done
               ,
               not
               on
               her
               present
               wealth
               ,
            
             
               The
               souls
               decay
               ,
               opposer
               to
               her
               health
               .
            
             
               O
               whither
               shall
               I
               turn
               ?
               assist
               me
               now
            
             
               Ye
               ever
               helping
               Powers
               ,
               let
               not
               a
               vow
            
             
               So
               firmly
               made
               before
               your
               holy
               fires
               ,
            
             
               So
               eas'ly
               be
               infring'd
               ;
               but
               who
               aspires
            
             
             
               To
               mount
               the
               chariot
               where
               the
               glorious
               Sun
            
             
               The
               orb
               surveys
               ,
               with
               pride
               shall
               be
               undon
               .
            
             
               And
               shall
               I
               silent
               dye
               ?
               Shall
               this
               exile
            
             
               From
               hopes
               ,
               the
               pure
               bond
               of
               my
               love
               defile
               ?
            
             
               Shall
               my
               desir'd
               desires
               with
               horrid
               sound
            
             
               Of
               a
               faint
               heart
               increase
               m'increasing
               wound
               ?
            
             
               No
               ,
               Love
               must
               fear
               no
               harm
               ,
               he
               is
               not
               fit
            
             
               T'
               enjoy
               Loves
               fruits
               ,
               that
               hath
               not
               firmly
               knit
            
             
               A
               resolution
               to
               his
               hopes
               ,
               and
               ty'd
            
             
               Himself
               ,
               though
               oft
               ,
               yet
               ne're
               to
               be
               deny'd
               .
            
             
               Father
               ,
               the
               wings
               of
               ever
               warbling
               fame
            
             
               Exempt
               alone
               ,
               chatter'd
               the
               glorious
               name
            
             
               Of
               your
               
                 Verista's
              
               beauty
               ,
               't
               was
               my
               chance
               ,
            
             
               When
               ev'ry
               Eccho
               did
               the
               same
               advance
            
             
               In
               lofty
               tunes
               ,
               to
               hap
               into
               your
               fight
               ,
            
             
               And
               being
               greedy
               of
               so
               great
               a
               sight
               ,
            
             
               Gave
               period
               to
               all
               hopes
               of
               other
               beauty
               ,
            
             
               And
               did
               besiege
               her
               heart
               ,
               't
               is
               now
               her
               duty
            
             
               My
               pleasure
               to
               obey
               ,
               for
               
                 Hymens
              
               lights
            
             
               Have
               linkt
               our
               hearts
               ,
               with
               honour
               of
               those
               rites
            
             
               To
               Lovers
               due
               ,
               be
               willing
               then
               to
               it
            
             
               Since
               Fate
               hath
               stop'd
               all
               means
               the
               bond
               t'
               unknit
               .
            
             
               But
               if
               you
               will
               not
               ,
               if
               you
               will
               persever
            
             
               In
               hatred
               to
               those
               Princes
               ,
               that
               endeavor
            
             
               To
               bless
               their
               happy
               lives
               in
               blessing
               her
               ;
            
             
               I
               say
               again
               ,
               if
               still
               you
               will
               prefer
            
             
               Your
               will
               before
               all
               reason
               without
               reason
               ,
            
             
               As
               hitherto
               you
               have
               don
               ,
               there
               's
               a
               Season
            
             
               Call'd
               quiv'ring
               winter
               ,
               with
               his
               milky
               bride
               ,
            
             
               Will
               freez
               your
               honor
               ,
               and
               abate
               your
               pride
               .
            
             
               Imperiall
               I
               ,
               in
               fair
               
                 Zephire
              
               sit
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               wealthy
               
                 Caria
              
               bounds
               ,
               and
               brags
               of
               it
               ,
            
             
               There
               slowes
               that
               paltry
               gold
               so
               much
               I
               hate
               ,
            
             
               I
               think
               the
               more
               t'
               impare
               my
               quiet
               state
               .
            
             
             
               Luxurious
               brat
               ,
               and
               enemy
               to
               wealth
               ,
            
             
               My
               Father
               said
               ,
               
               th'hast
               got
               the
               Crown
               by
               stealth
               ,
            
             
               With
               it
               
                 Verista's
              
               love
               ,
               and
               do'st
               thou
               think
            
             
               My
               Daughter
               shall
               of
               that
               stolne
               honour
               drink
               ?
            
             
               First
               let
               my
               hands
               imbrew
               their
               wrinkled
               skin
            
             
               In
               her
               false
               breast
               ,
               first
               let
               the
               spoyle
               begin
            
             
               Vpon
               my
               off-spring
               ,
               can
               thy
               boasts
               assure
               her
               ?
            
             
               Or
               the
               bare
               title
               of
               a
               Crown
               procure
               her
            
             
               Contented
               wealth
               ?
               Say
               ,
               can
               so
               great
               a
               name
               ,
            
             
               As
               Queen
               of
               
                 Caria
              
               wipe
               away
               the
               blame
            
             
               Of
               disobedience
               ?
               or
               release
               the
               oath
            
             
               Of
               duty
               ?
               or
               of
               zealous
               care
               ?
               or
               both
               ?
            
             
               Which
               she
               (
               when
               subject
               to
               my
               tender
               rodds
               ,
               )
            
             
               Made
               in
               the
               presence
               of
               the
               better
               Gods
               ?
            
             
               Here
               
                 Delithason
              
               staid
               his
               speech
               ,
               too
               late
               ,
            
             
               He
               said
               ,
               you
               vent
               your
               nere
               consumed
               hate
               .
            
             
               The
               Gods
               observe
               your
               deeds
               ,
               and
               though
               a
               while
            
             
               They
               slack
               their
               vengance
               ,
               t
               is
               but
               to
               beguile
            
             
               The
               Offenders
               with
               false
               hopes
               ;
               so
               said
               ,
               he
               turn'd
            
             
               His
               head
               about
               ,
               and
               on
               the
               Altar
               burn'd
            
             
               Prepared
               Incense
               ,
               strait
               the
               Altar
               brake
            
             
               In
               twain
               ,
               and
               after
               a
               fierce
               Thunder-clap
               ,
            
             
               Sweet
               Musick
               breath'd
               ,
               in
               which
               a
               Chanter
               cry'd
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               time
               's
               expir'd
               ,
               and
               thou
               art
               deifi'd
               .
            
             
               Amaz'd
               the
               people
               stand
               ,
               nor
               yet
               to
               whom
               ,
            
             
               They
               can
               conceive
               this
               prophecie
               should
               come
               ;
            
             
               No●…
               I
               alas
               ,
               no
               ,
               nor
               my
               feeble
               heart
               ,
            
             
               Fore-thought
               of
               this
               ,
               of
               this
               untimely
               dart
               ,
            
             
               For
               so
               it
               hapt
               ,
               
                 a
              
               
                 Marfilos
              
               had
               a
               son
               ,
            
             
               (
               From
               a
               corrupted
               spring
               ill
               waters
               run
               )
            
             
               Who
               (
               wicked
               )
               at
               his
               fathers
               death
               repining
               ,
            
             
               Iust
               as
               the
               Sun
               was
               to
               his
               bed
               declining
               ,
            
             
               Observ'd
               when
               I
               and
               
                 Delithason
              
               hy'd
            
             
               T'wards
               his
               
                 Zephire
                 ,
              
               (
               for
               being
               denide
            
             
             
               My
               Fathers
               Blessing
               ,
               privily
               we
               got
            
             
               Away
               ,
               when
               careless
               he
               observed
               not
               )
            
             
               And
               passing
               through
               this
               wood
               ,
               this
               Bloody
               wood
            
             
               (
               A
               closet
               for
               those
               that
               delight
               in
               Blood
               )
            
             
               The
               Gyants
               son
               a
               twinded
               Iavelin
               cast
               ,
            
             
               And
               made
               this
               wound
               you
               see
               ,
               that
               don
               ,
               in
               haste
            
             
               Knowing
               his
               dart
               this
               spotless
               heart
               had
               sped
               ,
            
             
               Vnto
               his
               home
               ,
               his
               fathers
               den
               he
               fled
               :
            
             
               About
               to
               tell
               the
               rest
               she
               stopt
               ,
               and
               dy'd
               ,
            
             
               When
               I
               by
               vertue
               of
               my
               promise
               ty'd
               ,
            
             
               After
               I
               had
               repos'd
               them
               in
               one
               Vrne
               ,
            
             
               Towards
               
                 Statinae
              
               did
               my
               voyage
               turne
               ,
            
             
               And
               (
               lest
               too
               long
               I
               should
               delay
               the
               joy
               ,
            
             
               Hasty
               
                 Arcadius
              
               wishes
               to
               enjoy
               )
            
             
               Stuft
               up
               with
               Ire
               ,
               I
               did
               not
               long
               pursue
            
             
               His
               steps
               ,
               before
               at
               him
               I
               had
               a
               view
               .
            
             
               Ho!
               villaine
               stay
               ,
               I
               cry'd
               ,
               receive
               the
               meed
               ,
            
             
               The
               Gods
               alot
               thee
               for
               thy
               wicked
               deed
               ,
            
             
               Stay
               Murtherer
               ,
               thy
               haste
               shall
               not
               prefer
               ,
            
             
               Injustice
               before
               right
               ,
               stay
               Murtherer
               ,
            
             
               While
               yet
               I
               spake
               ,
               my
               Lance
               his
               shoulders
               caught
               ,
            
             
               My
               Sword
               beguild
               him
               of
               his
               head
               ,
               and
               taught
            
             
               This
               lesson
               to
               the
               world
               ,
               
               th'allseeing
               Eye
               ,
            
             
               Le
               ts
               not
               apparent
               wrongs
               unpunish'd
               dye
               .
            
             
               My
               vow
               dissolv'd
               ,
               I
               bent
               my
               course
               again
            
             
               Towards
               
                 a
              
               
                 ●…b●…lla
                 ,
              
               whose
               high
               walls
               disdain
            
             
               A
               rivall
               in
               their
               prid
               ,
               there
               is
               a
               way
            
             
               That
               leads
               thereto
               ,
               by
               which
               a
               medow
               lay
               ,
            
             
               In
               it
               I
               saw
               a
               Knight
               of
               Silver
               hew
               ,
            
             
               With
               sword
               ,
               hold
               a
               stout
               Combat
               against
               two
            
             
               Of
               fiery
               looks
               ,
               I
               hy'd
               me
               to
               the
               sight
               ,
            
             
               Either
               by
               force
               or
               Treaty
               to
               unite
            
             
             
               Their
               various
               minds
               ,
               but
               what
               can
               words
               prevail
               ,
            
             
               Where
               bloody
               resolutions
               do
               assail
            
             
               A
               spotless
               minde
               ?
               no
               time
               they
               would
               admit
               ,
            
             
               Through
               hasty
               fight
               ,
               t'
               inquire
               the
               cause
               of
               it
               .
            
             
               A
               while
               I
               view'd
               the
               Combate
               ,
               till
               the
               Knight
            
             
               In
               silver
               armor
               on
               the
               neck
               did
               light
            
             
               Of
               one
               of
               th'
               adverse
               side
               ,
               who
               unacquainted
            
             
               With
               such
               rough
               complements
               ,
               fell
               down
               and
               fainted
               .
            
             
               So
               done
               ,
               he
               said
               ,
               by
               all
               the
               Powers
               that
               dwell
            
             
               In
               lofty
               thrones
               ,
               thy
               valour
               doth
               excell
            
             
               Thy
               neighb'ring
               Princes
               ,
               but
               thy
               unjust
               cause
               ,
            
             
               Repugne
               against
               the
               splendor
               ,
               and
               the
               lawes
            
             
               Of
               Martiall
               discipline
               ,
               content
               thee
               then
            
             
               With
               this
               ,
               thou
               art
               the
               happiest
               of
               men
            
             
               In
               that
               th'
               hast
               scap'd
               revenge
               to
               traytors
               due
               ,
            
             
               Do
               other
               matters
               cause
               thee
               to
               pursue
            
             
               This
               spite
               ,
               besides
               thy
               false
               suspect
               ?
               or
               can
            
             
               Thy
               ever-stain'd
               affection
               (
               which
               began
            
             
               And
               ends
               with
               lust
               ,
               not
               love
               )
               enchant
               thy
               sense
            
             
               So
               far
               with
               stupid
               blindnesse
               to
               commence
            
             
               Hatred
               for
               this
               ?
               withdraw
               thy self
               and
               yeeld
            
             
               To
               me
               thy
               life
               ,
               thy
               weapon
               ,
               and
               the
               field
               .
            
             
               So
               shall
               my
               arms
               with
               amity
               imbrace
            
             
               Thy
               neck
               ;
               where
               else
               't
               will
               shew
               thee
               thy
               disgrace
               .
            
             
               No
               sooner
               said
               ,
               but
               we
               might
               hear
               the
               sounde
            
             
               Of
               trampling
               horses
               beat
               the
               tender
               ground
            
             
               For
               swifter
               speed
               now
               to
               us
               seen
               ,
               and
               now
            
             
               Dismount
               their
               Steeds
               ,
               and
               to
               the
               adverse
               bow
               ,
            
             
               Pardon
               said
               they
               (
               great
               Prince
               )
               that
               our
               neglect
            
             
               Infring'd
               the
               Laws
               of
               our
               indeer'd
               respect
               .
            
             
               But
               when
               they
               saw
               his
               armor
               stain'd
               ,
               and
               view'd
               ,
            
             
               His
               dead
               companion
               with
               blood
               imbru'd
               ,
            
             
               They
               re-amount
               the
               nimble
               Steeds
               they
               rid
               ,
            
             
               (
               For
               Marble
               look'd
               not
               paler
               than
               they
               did
               )
            
             
             
               And
               to
               the
               silver
               Knight
               their
               anger
               bent
               ,
            
             
               Who
               with
               excess
               of
               bleeding
               almost
               spent
               ,
            
             
               Held
               up
               his
               hand
               to
               me
               ,
               to
               me
               he
               said
               ,
            
             
               (
               For
               they
               were
               three
               )
               see
               how
               I
               am
               betraid
            
             
               With
               these
               unequall
               odds
               ,
               no
               more
               you
               need
            
             
               To
               move
               me
               up
               I
               said
               ,
               fear
               not
               ,
               proceed
            
             
               With
               your
               own
               hands
               to
               lacerate
               in
               twain
            
             
               Their
               conscious
               hearts
               ,
               to
               me
               your
               prayers
               are
               vain
               .
            
             
               I
               am
               too
               weak
               to
               shelter
               you
               from
               harms
               ,
            
             
               Though
               arm'd
               ,
               yet
               I
               'm
               unskill'd
               to
               use
               my
               arms
               ,
            
             
               But
               what
               I
               am
               I
               'm
               yours
               ,
               with
               that
               our
               swords
            
             
               We
               drew
               ,
               and
               blows
               supply'd
               the
               want
               of
               words
               .
            
             
               While
               he
               (
               most
               noble
               and
               most
               valiant
               Knight
               )
            
             
               Each
               blow
               he
               took
               ,
               each
               blow
               he
               did
               requite
            
             
               With
               treble
               use
               ,
               awhile
               they
               hold
               us
               play
               ,
            
             
               Till
               overcome
               ,
               their
               lives
               did
               end
               our
               fray
               .
            
             
               This
               done
               ,
               and
               all
               things
               hist
               ,
               I
               thought
               it
               good
            
             
               To
               stop
               the
               conduits
               of
               his
               flowing
               blood
               ,
            
             
               When
               mounted
               on
               our
               Steeds
               ,
               with
               gentle
               gate
            
             
               Riding
               toward●…
               his
               home
               ,
               he
               did
               relate
            
             
               The
               tragick
               story
               thus
               ;
               I
               am
               said
               he
            
             
               
                 Arcadius
                 ,
              
               and
               yonder
               Towr
               you
               see●…
            
             
               Is
               mine
               ,
               this
               Prince
               whom
               now
               we
               slew
               ,
            
             
               Hearing
               what
               pure
               unstain'd
               affection
               grew
            
             
               'Tween
               me
               ,
               and
               one
               nam'd
               
                 Sepha
              
               in
               her
               heart
               ,
            
             
               He
               came
               ,
               and
               did
               prescribe
               a
               double
               part
               :
            
             
               On
               this
               our
               quarrell
               grew
               ,
               and
               what
               success
            
             
               In
               it
               he
               had
               ,
               your
               valour
               will
               express
               .
            
             
               Not
               I
               ,
               said
               I
               ,
               't
               was
               you
               your
               conquering
               hand
               ,
            
             
               Your
               cause
               ,
               your
               sword
               ,
               your
               strength
               that
               did
               withstand
            
             
               Their
               greedy
               hopes
               ,
               the
               Gods
               do
               close
               their
               eyes
            
             
               From
               impious
               vassals
               ,
               and
               exclude
               their
               cryes
               .
            
             
               And
               since
               you
               please
               t'
               intitle
               me
               your
               friend
               ,
            
             
               O
               let
               my
               willing
               service
               you
               attend
               ,
            
             
             
               And
               what
               you
               think
               will
               magnifie
               your
               name
               ,
            
             
               Withall
               conceive
               me
               ready
               for
               the
               same
               .
            
             
               'T
               was
               Summer
               then
               ,
               and
               having
               cur'd
               his
               wounds
            
             
               Call'd
               out
               by
               th'
               noise
               of
               his
               pursuing
               hounds
               ,
            
             
               We
               gallopp'd
               o're
               the
               plains
               ,
               now
               by
               a
               Wood
            
             
               Our
               way
               we
               took
               ,
               where
               purple
               statues
               stood
               ,
            
             
               O
               blesse
               me
               here
               he
               cry'd
               ,
               and
               softly
               said
               ,
            
             
               Inshrind
               in
               these
               four
               pleasant
               Nymphs
               are
               laid
               .
            
             
               Then
               by
               a
               Tower
               ,
               in
               this
               said
               he
               remains
            
             
               The
               fairest
               flower
               ,
               the
               pride
               of
               all
               the
               plains
               ,
            
             
               'T
               is
               
                 Sepha's
              
               house
               ,
               the
               Goddess
               of
               my
               heart
               ,
            
             
               In
               whose
               fair
               cheeks
               ,
               Love
               with
               his
               golden
               dart
            
             
               Sits
               sporting
               ,
               dasht
               with
               a
               Vermilion
               dye
               ,
            
             
               Th'
               are
               like
               the
               blush
               came
               from
               
                 Endymions
              
               eye
               ,
            
             
               When
               twin-born
               
                 Cynthia
              
               to
               suffice
               her
               will
               ,
            
             
               Had
               courted
               him
               on
               sleepy
               
                 La●…mos
              
               hill
               .
            
             
               No
               sooner
               said
               ,
               but
               
                 Sepha
              
               said
               't
               is
               true
               ,
            
             
               If
               lik'd
               of
               you
               ,
               for
               
                 Sepha
              
               lives
               by
               you
               ,
            
             
               And
               spying
               me
               she
               blush'd
               ,
               lovers
               doe
               so
               ,
            
             
               For
               conscious
               minds
               appear
               by
               
               th'outward
               shew
               ;
            
             
               All
               salutations
               past
               ,
               she
               led
               us
               in
               ,
            
             
               Where
               first
               our
               root
               of
               ruine
               did
               begin
               :
            
             
               For
               such
               firm
               bonds
               of
               constant
               amity
               ,
            
             
               Had
               link'd
               
                 Arcadius
              
               loyall
               heart
               to
               me
               ,
            
             
               (
               Which
               by
               our
               outward
               actions
               was
               not
               hid
               ,
            
             
               For
               never
               two
               lov'd
               better
               than
               we
               did
               )
            
             
               That
               she
               perceiving
               how
               he
               stood
               inclin'd
               ,
            
             
               The
               more
               to
               please
               and
               gratulate
               his
               mind
               ,
            
             
               Vs'd
               me
               with
               courteous
               terms
               ,
               he
               discontent
               ,
            
             
               (
               Suspition
               is
               a
               tryall
               eminent
            
             
               Of
               true
               affection
               )
               thought
               some
               new-born
               love
            
             
               '
               Twards
               me
               increast
               ,
               her
               tender
               heart
               did
               move
            
             
               As
               
                 Helen
              
               did
               to
               
                 Paris
                 ,
              
               took
               occasion
               ,
            
             
               T'
               assist
               her
               loyall
               love
               with
               this
               perswasion
               ;
            
             
             
               For
               sitting
               in
               a
               pleasant
               bower
               which
               hung
            
             
               With
               various
               flowres
               he
               took
               a
               Lute
               and
               sung
               .
            
          
           
             
               See'st
               not
               my
               love
               with
               what
               a
               grace
               ?
            
             
               The
               Spring
               resembles
               thy
               sweet
               face
               ?
            
             
               Here
               let
               us
               sit
               ,
               and
               in
               these
               bowers
               ,
            
             
               Receive
               the
               odors
               of
               the
               flowers
               ,
            
             
               For
               
                 Flora
              
               by
               thy
               beauty
               wood
               ,
            
             
               conspires
               thy
               good
               .
            
          
           
             
               See
               how
               she
               sends
               her
               fragrant
               sweet
               ,
            
             
               And
               doth
               this
               homage
               to
               thy
               feet
               ,
            
             
               Bending
               so
               low
               her
               stooping
               head
               ,
            
             
               To
               kiss
               the
               ground
               where
               thou
               dost
               tread
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               her
               flowers
               proudly
               meet
               ,
            
             
               to
               kiss
               thy
               feet
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               let
               us
               walk
               my
               dearest
               love
               ,
            
             
               And
               on
               this
               carpet
               strictly
               prove
            
             
               Each
               others
               vow
               ,
               from
               thy
               request
            
             
               No
               other
               love
               invades
               my
               brest
               .
            
             
               For
               how
               can
               I
               contemn
               that
               fire
            
             
               which
               Gods
               admire
               ?
            
          
           
             
               To
               crop
               that
               Rose
               why
               dost
               thou
               seek
               ,
            
             
               When
               there
               's
               a
               purer
               in
               thy
               cheek
               ?
            
             
               Like
               Corall
               held
               in
               thy
               fair
               hands
               ,
            
             
               Or
               blood
               and
               milk
               that
               mingled
               stands
               ;
            
             
               To
               whom
               the
               Powers
               all
               grace
               have
               given
               .
            
             
               a
               type
               of
               Heaven
               .
            
          
           
             
               Yon
               Lillie
               stooping
               '
               twards
               this
               place
               ,
            
             
               Is
               a
               pale
               shadow
               for
               thy
               face
               ,
            
             
               Vnder
               which
               veil
               doth
               seem
               to
               rush
               ;
            
             
               Modest
               
                 Endymions
              
               ruddy
               blush
               .
            
             
             
               A
               blush
               indeed
               ,
               more
               pure
               and
               fair
            
             
               than
               Lillies
               are
               .
            
          
           
             
               Glance
               on
               those
               flowers
               thy
               radiant
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               Through
               which
               cleer
               beams
               they
               'l
               sympathize
            
             
               Reflective
               love
               ,
               to
               make
               them
               far
            
             
               More
               glorious
               than
               th'
               
                 Hesperian
              
               star
               ,
            
             
               For
               every
               swain
               amazed
               lies
               ,
            
             
               and
               gazing
               dies
               .
            
          
           
             
               See
               how
               these
               ●…illy
               flowers
               twine
               ,
            
             
               With
               s●…eet
               imbracings
               ,
               and
               combine
               ,
            
             
               Striving
               with
               curious
               looms
               to
               set
            
             
               Their
               pale
               and
               red
               into
               a
               net
               ,
            
             
               To
               shew
               how
               pure
               desire
               doth
               rest
            
             
               for
               ever
               blest
               .
            
          
           
             
               Why
               wilt
               thou
               then
               unconstant
               be
               ?
            
             
               T'
               infringe
               the
               lawes
               of
               amity
               ?
            
             
               And
               so
               much
               dis-respect
               my
               heart
               ?
            
             
               To
               derogate
               from
               what
               thou
               art
               ?
            
             
               When
               in
               harmonious
               love
               there
               is
            
             
               
                 Elisian
              
               bliss
               .
            
          
           
             
               
                 Sepha
              
               at
               this
               was
               pleas'd
               ,
               displeas'd
               was
               he
            
             
               To
               see
               her
               smile
               ;
               leave
               off
               thy
               jealousie
            
             
               
                 ●…rcadius
              
               she
               said
               ,
               I
               am
               possest
            
             
               With
               that
               firm
               love
               ,
               which
               nere
               shall
               leave
               my
               brest
               .
            
             
               First
               shall
               the
               Sun
               forget
               his
               course
               to
               flie
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Pindus
              
               hills
               shall
               soar
               about
               the
               skie
               .
            
             
               First
               shall
               the
               
                 Roman
                 Eagles
              
               lose
               their
               wings
               ,
            
             
               And
               musick
               murmur
               musick
               without
               strings
               .
            
             
               First
               shall
               the
               Sea-born
               Goddesse
               leave
               the
               fan
            
             
               Of
               ardent
               love
               ,
               and
               turn
               precisian
               :
            
             
             
               And
               fearfull
               Hares
               pursue
               the
               thundring
               cry
            
             
               Of
               
                 Cretan
              
               Hounds
               ,
               and
               
                 Ovids
              
               mem'ry
               dy
               ,
            
             
               Er'e
               I
               ,
               who
               to
               thee
               do
               my
               soul
               betroth
               ,
            
             
               Forsake
               my
               word
               ,
               or
               falsify
               my
               oath
               .
            
             
               So
               said
               ,
               she
               hangs
               her
               lip
               ,
               and
               lours
               her
               head
               ,
            
             
               (
               Lovers
               are
               oft
               asham'd
               of
               what
               they
               sed
               )
               ●…
            
             
               While
               he
               with
               hymns
               of
               joy
               the
               debt
               did
               pay
            
             
               Of
               upright
               love
               ,
               and
               nam'd
               the
               wedding
               day
               .
            
             
               Which
               come
               ,
               and
               all
               things
               ready
               ,
               
                 Sepha
              
               drest
            
             
               Her
               hair
               ,
               her
               coats
               were
               blew
               ,
               upon
               her
               brest
            
             
               She
               wore
               a
               Stone
               of
               curious
               art
               compos'd
               ,
            
             
               Wherein
               two
               naked
               lovers
               were
               inclos'd
               ;
            
             
               Both
               striving
               ,
               till
               the
               maid
               who
               did
               resist
               ,
            
             
               Grew
               weak
               ,
               and
               then
               he
               us'd
               her
               as
               he
               list
               .
            
             
               Now
               Ladies
               ,
               know
               ;
               a
               Prince
               there
               was
               whom
               fame
            
             
               Had
               taken
               captive
               with
               fair
               
                 Sepha's
              
               name
               ,
            
             
               Who
               hearing
               of
               the
               wedding
               day
               ,
               wherein
            
             
               Their
               hands
               should
               be
               linkt
               ,
               as
               their
               hearts
               had
               bin
               ;
            
             
               And
               hearing
               of
               the
               weakness
               of
               the
               guard
               ,
            
             
               That
               should
               conduct
               them
               to
               the
               Church
               ,
               prepar'd
            
             
               To
               rob
               us
               of
               her
               ;
               as
               you
               pass
               the
               plain
               ,
            
             
               There
               is
               a
               prety
               hillock
               that
               would
               fain
            
             
               Be
               call'd
               a
               hill
               ,
               behind
               this
               hill
               they
               hide
            
             
               Themselves
               ,
               their
               weapons
               ,
               and
               doe
               there
               reside
               .
            
             
               Now
               we
               in
               whom
               no
               thought
               of
               treachery
            
             
               Had
               told
               us
               of
               mishap
               ,
               with
               jollity
            
             
               Hy'd
               to
               the
               temple
               ,
               there
               ,
               o
               there
               the
               chance
            
             
               Of
               base
               conspiring
               mischief
               did
               advance
            
             
               It self
               ,
               dejected
               us
               ,
               a
               horrid
               voice
            
             
               Of
               threatning
               people
               sent
               a
               hideous
               noise
            
             
               Vnto
               our
               ears
               ,
               now
               to
               our
               eys
               their
               arms
            
             
               With
               glittring
               shields
               foretell
               our
               following
               harms
               .
            
             
               Vnweapon'd
               we
               ,
               for
               battels
               are
               refus'd
            
             
               On
               wedding
               days
               ,
               and
               other
               weapons
               us'd
               ,
            
             
             
               So
               that
               the
               easier
               they
               our
               necks
               did
               bend
            
             
               Vnto
               their
               yoke
               ,
               now
               had
               they
               took
               my
               friend
            
             
               The
               yong
               
                 Arcadius
              
               and
               his
               lovely
               bride
               ,
            
             
               The
               onely
               prize
               they
               waited
               for
               ,
               and
               hy'd
            
             
               Them
               on
               their
               way
               ,
               born
               by
               the
               heat
               of
               love
            
             
               '
               Twards
               
               th'one
               ,
               '
               twards
               
               th'other
               hate
               their
               speed
               did
               move
               ,
            
             
               When
               I
               (
               ô
               ne're
               till
               then
               unfortunate
               )
            
             
               Saw
               Tyranny
               and
               malice
               at
               debate
               ,
            
             
               Who
               first
               should
               steal
               away
               the
               spotless
               life
            
             
               Of
               my
               
                 Arcadius
                 ,
              
               at
               last
               a
               knife
               ,
            
             
               His
               unstain'd
               bosome
               pierc'd
               ,
               who
               dying
               cry'd
               ,
            
             
               Let
               
                 Sepha
              
               live
               ,
               and
               I
               am
               satisfied
               .
            
             
               You
               ravishers
               said
               I
               of
               others
               blood
               ,
            
             
               By
               this
               discern
               if
               Traytors
               ends
               are
               good
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               a
               sword
               snatch'd
               from
               anothers
               arm
               ,
            
             
               Cleft
               one
               ,
               and
               said
               be
               sharer
               in
               his
               harm
               ;
            
             
               With
               that
               a
               second
               ,
               and
               a
               third
               I
               slew
               ,
            
             
               And
               so
               a
               fourth
               ,
               till
               such
               a
               tumult
               grew
               ,
            
             
               That
               after
               divers
               blows
               away
               they
               fled
               ,
            
             
               And
               left
               me
               ,
               as
               they
               well
               might
               think
               ,
               for
               dead
               .
            
             
               Mean
               while
               
                 Campanian
                 Sepha
              
               took
               her
               flight
            
             
               Into
               a
               Wood
               ,
               born
               there
               by
               horrid
               fright
               .
            
             
               Where
               long
               she
               could
               not
               stay
               ,
               by
               carefull
               heed
            
             
               Drawn
               forth
               ,
               to
               know
               how
               her
               known
               love
               did
               speed
               ,
            
             
               And
               now
               she
               finds
               ,
               what
               nere
               she
               wisht
               to
               find
               ,
            
             
               With
               his
               dear
               bloud
               the
               blushing
               flowers
               lin'd
               ;
            
             
               She
               sayes
               not
               much
               ,
               lest
               helplesse
               words
               should
               stay
            
             
               Her
               soul
               too
               long
               ,
               but
               kneeling
               down
               doth
               pray
               ,
            
             
               Then
               took
               the
               knife
               by
               his
               own
               blood
               made
               foul
               ,
            
             
               And
               falling
               down
               upon
               't
               advanc't
               her
               soul
               .
            
             
               Awak'd
               from
               out
               my
               sound
               ,
               I
               saw
               how
               Fate
            
             
               Had
               plaid
               the
               wanton
               ,
               and
               expir'd
               their
               date
               :
            
             
               I
               took
               their
               bodies
               and
               them
               both
               did
               burn
               ,
            
             
               I
               put
               them
               both
               together
               in
               one
               Vrn
               ;
            
             
             
               Strait
               both
               their
               ashes
               ,
               Male
               and
               Female
               grew
               ,
            
             
               And
               from
               the
               same
               admired
               
                 Phaenix
              
               flew
               ;
            
             
               From
               whence
               I
               Prophesie
               it
               shall
               revive
            
             
               By
               death
               ,
               for
               t
               is
               their
               fame
               shall
               keep
               't
               alive
               ,
            
             
               Which
               growing
               old
               towards
               the
               Sun
               shall
               flie
               ,
            
             
               And
               till
               the
               Heavens
               dissolve
               shall
               never
               dye
               .
            
          
           
             
               Here
               
                 Epimenides
              
               his
               story
               ceast
               ,
            
             
               And
               bending
               down
               his
               panting
               bosome
               dyes
               :
            
             
               Whose
               death
               the
               Ladies
               former
               griefs
               increast
               ,
            
             
               They
               sent
               his
               Soule
               to
               
                 Elizium
              
               with
               their
               cryes
               ,
            
             
               Vpon
               whose
               shrine
               they
               wrot
               his
               death
               ,
               to
               show
            
             
               From
               Heaven
               he
               came
               ,
               to
               Heaven
               he
               needs
               must
               go
               .
            
          
           
             FINIS
             .
          
        
      
       
       
       
         
           Hinc
           Lachrimae
           ,
           OR
           THE
           AVTHOR
           TO
           AVRORA
           :
        
         
           
             1
          
           
             WHy
             should
             my
             pen
             aspire
             so
             high
             a
             strain
             ,
          
           
             A
             verse
             to
             guide
             ,
             to
             guide
             a
             verse
             unfit
             ?
          
           
             Are
             they
             the
             fittest
             voices
             to
             complain
             ?
          
           
             Admit
             they
             be
             ,
             they
             're
             for
             a
             riper
             wit
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             you
             who
             these
             unpolisht
             lines
             shall
             read
             ,
          
           
             Deride
             them
             not
             ,
             they
             from
             distraction
             came
             ,
          
           
             Let
             that
             suffice
             ,
             my
             love
             alone
             shall
             plead
          
           
             For
             their
             defect
             ,
             and
             shall
             excuse
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             Excuse
             the
             same
             ,
             for
             what
             from
             love
             doth
             spring
             ,
          
           
             To
             lovers
             only
             resolution
             bring
             .
          
        
         
           
             2
          
           
             
               Caelums
            
             faire
             daughter
             hath
             bereft
             my
             heart
          
           
             Of
             those
             sweet
             hopes
             to
             lovers
             only
             due
             ,
          
           
             Vnwilling
             she
             those
             pleasures
             to
             impart
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             too
             much
             joy
             should
             make
             me
             cease
             to
             rue
             ,
          
           
           
             Lest
             her
             fair
             eyes
             should
             work
             that
             gracious
             hap
             ,
          
           
             Which
             she
             would
             not
             permit
             I
             should
             enjoy
             ,
          
           
             While
             I
             lye
             lull'd
             in
             Fates
             unconstant
             lap
             ,
          
           
             With
             grief
             converse
             ,
             and
             still
             with
             sorrow
             toy
             :
          
           
             For
             such
             a
             gentle
             pain
             she
             doth
             me
             send
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             she
             would
             not
             wish
             my
             life
             ,
             nor
             end
             .
          
        
         
           
             3
          
           
             Yet
             such
             it
             is
             that
             I
             will
             not
             exchange
          
           
             My
             life
             with
             those
             whom
             Fortune
             kind
             intreats
             ,
          
           
             And
             since
             it
             is
             her
             arrow
             that
             doth
             range
          
           
             My
             tender
             heart
             ,
             I
             kisse
             the
             rod
             that
             beats
             .
          
           
             I
             laugh
             at
             
               Cupid
               ,
            
             who
             is
             overjoy'd
          
           
             With
             fond
             conceit
             ,
             that
             he
             hath
             wrought
             this
             fire
             ,
          
           
             But
             let
             him
             be
             with
             self-conceit
             destroy'd
             ,
          
           
             'T
             was
             not
             his
             power
             ,
             t
             was
             my
             own
             desire
             ,
          
           
             Though
             
               Venus
            
             hood-wink'd
             son
             doth
             bear
             the
             name
             ,
          
           
             
               Azile's
            
             vertue
             't
             was
             did
             me
             inflame
             .
          
        
         
           
             4
          
           
             'T
             was
             thee
             
               Azile
               ,
            
             of
             whose
             loves
             I
             sang
             ,
          
           
             'Tween
             thee
             and
             me
             among
             the
             gentle
             
               Gothes
               ,
            
          
           
             Something
             it
             was
             when
             all
             the
             valleys
             rang
          
           
             Too
             true
             ,
             the
             breach
             of
             thy
             beplighted
             oaths
             .
          
           
             I
             little
             thought
             my
             willing
             warbling
             quill
             ,
          
           
             With
             her
             shrill
             notes
             did
             miss
             to
             sing
             the
             truth
             ,
          
           
             But
             now
             I
             finde
             through
             too
             dear
             gotten
             skill
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             art
             despiser
             of
             my
             blooming
             youth
             ,
          
           
             What
             there
             I
             said
             ,
             how
             much
             thy
             soul
             rely'd
          
           
             Vpon
             thy
             faith
             ,
             these
             Poems
             say
             I
             ly'd
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             5
          
           
             Else
             why
             should
             I
             complain
             of
             this
             mischance
             ,
          
           
             Had
             it
             not
             been
             contrary
             to
             thy
             vowes
             ?
          
           
             With
             tears
             thou
             mad'st
             them
             ,
             and
             what
             furtherance
             ,
          
           
             Of
             si●●●es
             were
             more
             ,
             Heavn's
             ruler
             onely
             knows
             .
          
           
             Heav'n
             knows
             my
             faith
             ,
             how
             I
             have
             loyall
             been
             ,
          
           
             And
             have
             not
             broke
             the
             smallest
             string
             of
             love
             .
          
           
             To
             see
             my
             constance
             will
             augment
             thy
             sin
             ,
          
           
             How
             loyall
             I
             ,
             how
             wav'ring
             thou
             dost
             prove
             ,
          
           
             But
             t
             was
             thy
             will
             ,
             that
             I
             thy
             favour
             mist
             ,
          
           
             I
             'm
             thine
             ,
             and
             thou
             maist
             use
             me
             as
             thou
             list
             .
          
        
         
           
             6
          
           
             Even
             as
             thou
             list
             
               Azile
               ,
            
             I
             'l
             rejoyce
             ,
          
           
             And
             tremble
             at
             thy
             eyes
             when
             e're
             they
             move
             ;
          
           
             Command
             thy
             will
             ,
             I
             will
             obey
             thy
             voice
             ,
          
           
             Vnless
             thou
             bidst
             me
             cease
             to
             owe
             thee
             love
             .
          
           
             There
             pardon
             me
             dear
             love
             ,
             for
             such
             a
             root
          
           
             It
             hath
             obtain'd
             in
             my
             triangle
             heart
             ,
          
           
             That
             since
             thou
             first
             didst
             thereon
             place
             thy
             foot
             ,
          
           
             The
             pain
             increas'd
             ,
             and
             still
             I
             feel
             the
             smart
             ;
          
           
             No
             pain
             at
             all
             ,
             since
             it
             from
             thee
             ensues
             ,
          
           
             And
             Love
             ,
             thou
             maist
             command
             them
             as
             thy
             dues●…
          
        
         
           
             7
          
           
             Even
             as
             thy
             dues
             ,
             and
             what
             I
             can
             procure
             ,
          
           
             More
             from
             my
             heart
             ,
             to
             thee
             shall
             be
             presented
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             hadst
             thou
             but
             the
             tenth
             part
             I
             endure
             ,
          
           
             I
             'm
             sure
             thy
             last
             neglect
             should
             be
             repented
             ;
          
           
           
             Thou
             wouldst
             be
             sorry
             that
             I
             have
             mispent
          
           
             My
             time
             in
             sighs
             ,
             for
             prayers
             only
             free
             ,
          
           
             But
             pray'rs
             are
             killd
             through
             too
             much
             discontent
             ,
          
           
             For
             he
             that
             loves
             can
             never
             zealous
             be
             .
          
           
             T
             is
             thee
             alone
             must
             be
             my
             gracious
             Saint
             ,
          
           
             Gainst
             thee
             ,
             and
             to
             thee
             onely
             's
             my
             complaint
             .
          
        
         
           
             8
          
           
             How
             oft
             have
             I
             been
             subject
             of
             thy
             scorn
             ?
          
           
             How
             often
             kill'd
             by
             thy
             impetuous
             eyes
             ?
          
           
             How
             oft
             have
             I
             the
             warlike
             Ensign
             born
          
           
             Of
             thy
             fierce
             heart
             ,
             enur'd
             to
             cruelty
             ?
          
           
             So
             oft
             hast
             thou
             ,
             after
             the
             tyde
             was
             past
             ,
          
           
             Of
             disrespect
             ,
             my
             heavy
             soul
             repriev'd
          
           
             From
             that
             dejected
             state
             ,
             so
             oft
             thou
             hast
             ,
          
           
             Witnest
             with
             vowes
             ,
             if
             vows
             may
             be
             beleev'd
             ,
          
           
             O
             that
             I
             could
             thy
             former
             love
             descry
             ,
          
           
             To
             reassume
             thy
             late
             humanity
             .
          
        
         
           
             9
          
           
             Wouldst
             thou
             but
             think
             with
             what
             intire
             delight
          
           
             My
             soul
             was
             carried
             to
             those
             joyes
             ,
             and
             whither
             ,
          
           
             Wouldst
             thou
             but
             think
             how
             strong
             we
             did
             unite
          
           
             Into
             one
             bond
             our
             mutuall
             loves
             together
             ,
          
           
             Wouldst
             thou
             but
             reconcile
             thy
             wandring
             sense
             ,
          
           
             And
             cease
             t'
             afflict
             with
             thy
             impartiall
             eyes
             ;
          
           
             Wouldst
             thou
             but
             hear
             the
             prayer
             which
             I
             commence
             ,
          
           
             One
             shour
             might
             cherish
             yet
             the
             root
             which
             dyes
             .
          
           
             But
             thou
             art
             wise
             ,
             and
             canst
             thy
             worth
             refine
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             use
             me
             gently
             ,
             'cause
             thou
             knowst
             I
             'm
             thine
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             10
          
           
             What
             though
             thy
             birth
             require
             a
             higher
             place
             ,
          
           
             Than
             my
             low
             heart
             is
             able
             to
             bestow
             ?
          
           
             Admit
             it
             doe
             ,
             yet
             count
             it
             no
             disgrace
             ,
          
           
             'T
             is
             my
             humility
             that
             makes
             me
             low
             ,
          
           
             And
             since
             I
             have
             aspir'd
             so
             high
             a
             favour
             ,
          
           
             Which
             once
             I
             had
             ,
             but
             now
             I
             cann't
             obtain
             ,
          
           
             I
             'l
             spend
             my
             dayes
             ,
             even
             with
             as
             sad
             behaviour
             ,
          
           
             And
             study
             most
             ,
             how
             most
             I
             may
             complain
             .
          
           
             O
             that
             my
             plaints
             would
             mollifie
             thy
             heart
             ,
          
           
             And
             once
             thou
             wouldst
             give
             period
             to
             my
             smart
             .
          
        
         
           
             11
          
           
             What
             though
             thy
             riches
             ask
             as
             high
             a
             fortune
             ?
          
           
             And
             with
             thy
             birth
             doth
             bear
             an
             equall
             sway
             ?
          
           
             O
             were
             that
             all
             ,
             I
             know
             I
             might
             importune
          
           
             A
             little
             help
             ,
             for
             riches
             will
             decay
             .
          
           
             Even
             as
             thy
             wealth
             ,
             so
             will
             thy
             beauty
             fade
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             thou
             wilt
             repent
             thee
             of
             my
             wrong
             ,
          
           
             A
             secret
             sorrow
             shall
             thy
             brest
             invade
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             heart
             shall
             be
             as
             faulty
             as
             thy
             tongue
             ,
          
           
             They
             both
             shall
             vex
             ,
             and
             this
             shall
             be
             the
             tryall
             ,
          
           
             One
             gave
             consent
             ,
             the
             other
             gave
             denyall
             .
          
        
         
           
             12
          
           
             When
             tho●…
             shalt
             be
             of
             all
             thy
             youth
             depriv'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             shalt
             with
             ages
             wrinkled
             rowes
             be
             clad
             ;
          
           
             When
             thou
             shalt
             sit
             and
             think
             how
             much
             I
             striv'd
          
           
             Thy
             love
             to
             gain
             ,
             and
             what
             reward
             I
             had
             ;
          
           
           
             When
             thy
             deceitfull
             promises
             shall
             call
          
           
             Thee
             to
             the
             bar
             ,
             and
             there
             arraign
             thy
             thoughts
             ,
          
           
             When
             thou
             with
             heavy
             eyes
             shalt
             summon
             all
          
           
             The
             harms
             which
             thy
             unkindness
             in
             me
             wrought
             ,
          
           
             When
             thou
             shalt
             hear
             of
             my
             distracted
             mind
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             wilt
             repent
             thee
             that
             thou
             wast
             unkind
             .
          
        
         
           
             13
          
           
             And
             that
             thou
             maist
             remember
             thy
             disdain
             ,
          
           
             Even
             these
             I
             wrote
             ,
             that
             thou
             mayst
             read
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             shalt
             find
             what
             just
             cause
             to
             complain
          
           
             From
             thee
             I
             had
             ,
             by
             thy
             unkindness
             came
             ;
          
           
             That
             so
             thou
             maist
             be
             sorry
             for
             my
             harm
             ,
          
           
             And
             wet
             thy
             eyes
             ;
             for
             once
             I
             know
             you
             lov'd
             me
             ;
          
           
             O
             let
             that
             love
             be
             to
             thy
             heart
             a
             charm
             ,
          
           
             But
             since
             nor
             pray'rs
             ,
             nor
             vows
             ,
             nor
             tears
             have
             mov'd
             thee
             ,
          
           
             Even
             these
             I
             wrote
             to
             shew
             to
             future
             years
             ,
          
           
             How
             much
             
               Azile
            
             thou
             hast
             scorn'd
             my
             tears
             .
          
        
         
           
             14
          
           
             How
             much
             
               Azile
            
             thou
             hast
             scorn'd
             my
             tears
             ,
          
           
             And
             hast
             detain'd
             that
             which
             thou
             know'st
             is
             mine
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             heart
             is
             his
             ,
             even
             to
             whose
             heart
             he
             fears
          
           
             No
             hopes
             will
             come
             ,
             and
             therefore
             doth
             repine
          
           
             Even
             to
             his
             death
             ,
             for
             which
             way
             can
             he
             chuse
          
           
             When
             the
             remembrance
             of
             thy
             faith
             shall
             creep
          
           
             Before
             his
             eyes
             ,
             and
             therein
             shall
             infuse
          
           
             A
             thousand
             tears
             ,
             how
             can
             he
             chuse
             but
             weep
             ?
          
           
             O
             happy
             yet
             ,
             wouldst
             thou
             this
             discontent
          
           
             But
             call
             to
             mind
             ,
             and
             in
             that
             mind
             repent
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             15
          
           
             The
             time
             will
             come
             ,
             when
             thy
             beloved
             face
          
           
             Shall
             lose
             the
             spring
             ,
             with
             which
             it
             now
             is
             clad
             ,
          
           
             When
             thou
             art
             old
             ,
             thou
             in
             some
             secret
             place●…
          
           
             Wilt
             sit
             ,
             and
             think
             of
             all
             the
             wrongs
             I
             had
             ,
          
           
             Then
             wilt
             thou
             read
             these
             my
             unpolish'd
             plaints
             ,
          
           
             The
             Chronicles
             of
             my
             unpittied
             cryes
             ,
          
           
             When
             thou
             art
             old
             ,
             perhaps
             thy
             heart
             shall
             faint
          
           
             For
             shame
             ,
             and
             let
             one
             tear
             forsake
             thy
             eyes
             ;
          
           
             I
             know
             thou
             wilt
             ,
             and
             e're
             thy
             Sun
             expire
          
           
             His
             glorious
             date
             ,
             thou
             wilt
             recall
             thy
             ire
             .
          
        
         
           
             16
          
           
             Though
             now
             thy
             eyes
             are
             carried
             from
             the
             wounds
          
           
             Thy
             eyes
             did
             give
             ,
             when
             first
             my
             eyes
             beheld
             them
             ,
          
           
             Though
             now
             thy
             ears
             deny
             to
             hear
             the
             sounds
          
           
             O●…
             my
             just
             plaints
             ,
             and
             therefore
             hast
             expell'd
             them
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             once
             before
             thy
             Soul
             shall
             take
             her
             way
          
           
             Towards
             those
             fields
             ,
             the
             fair
             
               Elisian
            
             rest
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             wilt
             be
             greedy
             of
             an
             howers
             stay
             ,
          
           
             To
             tell
             the
             world
             ,
             how
             thou
             hast
             me
             opprest
             .
          
           
             I
             know
             thou
             wilt
             ,
             and
             though
             a
             while
             the
             shade
          
           
             Obscure
             the
             Sun
             ,
             at
             last
             the
             cloud
             will
             fade
             .
          
        
         
           
             17
          
           
             Tell
             me
             how
             oft
             thou
             hast
             with
             serious
             voice
             ,
          
           
             Vow'd
             for
             thy
             love
             no
             harm
             I
             should
             endure
             ?
          
           
             Tell
             me
             if
             erst
             thou
             didst
             not
             like
             thy
             choice
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             thy
             vows
             didst
             crown
             our
             nuptials
             sure
             ?
          
           
           
             Tell
             me
             if
             once
             upon
             those
             blessed
             Stairs
             ,
          
           
             T●●
             Stairs
             my
             thought
             that
             guided
             unto
             Heaven
             ,
          
           
             When
             I
             surprised
             by
             thee
             unawares
             ,
          
           
             Had
             there
             thy
             loves
             assurance
             fully
             given
             ,
          
           
             Or
             if
             thou
             wilt
             not
             tell
             ,
             yet
             say
             in
             this
             ,
          
           
             If
             I
             have
             spoke●…
             or
             wrot
             a
             word
             amiss
             .
          
        
         
           
             18
          
           
             Mistake
             me
             not
             ,
             my
             pen
             was
             nere
             defil'd
             ,
          
           
             With
             any
             staine
             ,
             that
             may
             thy
             honour
             staine
             ,
          
           
             From
             all
             lascivious
             thoughts
             I
             am
             exil'd
             ,
          
           
             So
             shall
             my
             pen
             immodest
             sense
             refrain
             ;
          
           
             Thou
             art
             as
             free
             ,
             as
             pure
             from
             any
             blot
             ,
          
           
             And
             therefore
             shalt
             with
             Lotus
             crown
             thy
             brows
             ,
          
           
             If
             ever
             thou
             did'st
             sin
             ,
             I
             knew
             it
             not
             ,
          
           
             Excepting
             this
             the
             fraction
             of
             thy
             vowes
             ,
          
           
             I
             vow
             by
             Heaven
             and
             all
             the
             powers
             therein
             ,
          
           
             Excepting
             this
             ,
             I
             never
             knew
             thee
             sin
             .
          
        
         
           
             19
          
           
             Ye
             slowry
             Meads
             where
             I
             do
             use
             to
             sing
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             complaining
             notes
             do
             often
             fill
             ye
             ,
          
           
             Ye
             purling
             streams
             ,
             where
             I
             with
             quav'ring
             string
             ,
          
           
             Make
             Musick
             ,
             tell
             the
             praise
             of
             my
             
               Azile
               ,
            
          
           
             Ye
             shady
             Groves
             and
             melancholly
             places
             ,
          
           
             Where
             oft
             I
             do
             retire
             to
             sigh
             my
             wrongs
             ,
          
           
             Ye
             lofty
             hills
             that
             oft
             hear
             my
             disgraces
             ,
          
           
             To
             whom
             I
             chatter
             forth
             my
             heavy
             songs
             ,
          
           
             Let
             these
             perswasions
             now
             your
             voices
             move
             ,
          
           
             Say
             if
             I
             ever
             spake
             against
             my
             love
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             20
          
           
             When
             I
             with
             Lillies
             do
             adorne
             my
             head
             .
          
           
             And
             dress
             my
             face
             by
             pleasant
             silver
             brook
             ,
          
           
             When
             I
             my
             snowy
             flock
             do
             gently
             lead
             ,
          
           
             And
             guide
             their
             steps
             with
             willing
             Shepherds
             hook
             ,
          
           
             When
             I
             with
             Daffadill's
             doe
             garlands
             make
             ,
          
           
             And
             therewith
             have
             my
             back
             and
             arms
             inshrin'd
             ,
          
           
             When
             I
             to
             oaten
             pipe
             doe
             me
             betake
             ,
          
           
             To
             tell
             of
             my
             
               Azile
               ,
            
             and
             her
             mind
             ,
          
           
             When
             I
             so
             oft
             with
             flowers
             my
             hands
             have
             drest
             ,
          
           
             What
             was
             it
             but
             to
             please
             
               Azile
            
             best
             ?
          
        
         
           
             21
          
           
             The
             firstlings
             of
             my
             flock
             to
             her
             I
             gave
             ,
          
           
             Twice
             happy
             flock
             to
             send
             your
             presents
             thither
             ,
          
           
             Thrice
             happy
             flock
             ,
             for
             she
             the
             last
             shall
             have
             ,
          
           
             The
             last
             was
             hers
             ,
             I
             sent
             them
             both
             together
             .
          
           
             She
             took
             them
             both
             ,
             and
             with
             a
             gentle
             eye
             ,
          
           
             (
             Where
             courtesie
             ,
             and
             grace
             together
             lay
             ,
          
           
             As
             loth
             to
             rob
             ,
             yet
             lother
             to
             deny
             )
          
           
             She'wd
             on
             the
             hills
             her
             willingness
             to
             stay
             ,
          
           
             Blest
             be
             the
             time
             when
             first
             her
             love
             I
             mov'd
             ,
          
           
             Too
             silly
             Shepherd
             so
             to
             be
             belov'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             22
          
           
             Too
             silly
             Shepherd
             ,
             and
             unworthy
             too
             ,
          
           
             That
             durst
             presume
             that
             fair
             fruit
             to
             attempt
             ,
          
           
             But
             since
             intire
             affection
             made
             me
             wooe
             ,
          
           
             O
             judg
             me
             not
             of
             modesty
             exempt
             ,
          
           
           
             For
             though
             I
             did
             aspire
             so
             high
             a
             taske
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             best
             it
             is
             ,
             and
             best
             to
             be
             commended
             ,
          
           
             I
             eas'ly
             can
             maintaint't
             ,
             no
             help
             I
             aske
             ,
          
           
             Let
             love
             and
             honour
             joyne
             ,
             dispute
             is
             ended
             ;
          
           
             I
             'le
             mount
             the
             highest
             steps
             that
             honour
             calls
             ,
          
           
             He
             falls
             no
             lower
             than
             the
             ground
             that
             falls
             .
          
           
             Qui
             jacet
             i●…●…err●…m
             ,
             non
             habet
             unde
             cad●…t
             :
          
        
         
           
             23
          
           
             And
             that
             the
             easier
             I
             may
             climb
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             I
             'le
             build
             a
             ladder
             of
             heroick
             wood
             ,
          
           
             Each
             step
             imbellisht
             in
             the
             purest
             frame
             ,
          
           
             Of
             Corall
             born
             in
             the
             
               Tyrraean
            
             flood
             ,
          
           
             That
             when
             my
             wishes
             have
             attain'd
             their
             will
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             my
             thoughts
             have
             perfected
             my
             art
             ,
          
           
             That
             when
             my
             cares
             have
             rested
             on
             a
             hill
             ,
          
           
             The
             only
             rock
             of
             my
             repining
             heart
             ,
          
           
             None
             may
             condemn
             me
             ,
             for
             I
             did
             aspire
          
           
             To
             vertue
             clad
             in
             constant
             loves
             atire
             .
          
           
             Sidne●…
             .
          
        
         
           
             24
          
           
             Yet
             many
             will
             conjecture
             much
             amiss
             ,
          
           
             Because
             my
             love
             so
             slowly
             is
             requited
             ,
          
           
             Each
             spitefull
             Satyre
             will
             surmise
             by
             this
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             hat'st
             me
             cause
             my
             pains
             have
             thee
             delighted
             ;
          
           
             But
             let
             them
             please
             themselves
             with
             thought
             thereof
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             their
             wits
             ascribe
             their
             own
             applause
             ,
          
           
             I
             free
             from
             anger
             at
             their
             harms
             will
             laugh
             ,
          
           
             For
             some
             vex
             most
             when
             none
             will
             give
             them
             cause
             ,
          
           
             That
             when
             thou
             seest
             how
             loyall
             I
             am
             thine
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             may'st
             conceive
             the
             greatest
             harme
             is
             mine
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             25
          
           
             The
             Morning
             blush
             is
             like
             
               Azile
            
             made
             ,
          
           
             
               Azile's
            
             cheeks
             are
             like
             the
             morning
             blush
             ,
          
           
             If
             faire
             
               Aurora
            
             please
             to
             be
             the
             shade
             ,
          
           
             Why
             should
             
               Az●…le
            
             scorne
             to
             be
             the
             bush
             ?
          
           
             Thou
             art
             that
             bush
             
               Azile
            
             under
             whom
             ,
          
           
             My
             buskin
             Muse
             sings
             free
             from
             contrie
             strife
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             art
             that
             
               Lotus
            
             to
             whose
             shade
             I
             come
             ,
          
           
             To
             sup
             my
             milke
             ,
             and
             sport
             away
             my
             life
             ,
          
           
             That
             when
             thou
             ●…eest
             my
             harmless
             sports
             excell
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             mayst
             remember
             once
             thou
             knew'st
             me
             well
             .
          
        
         
           
             26
          
           
             Thou
             mayst
             remember
             once
             thou
             knew'st
             me
             well
             ,
          
           
             And
             did'st
             not
             shame
             t'
             account
             me
             as
             thy
             own
             ,
          
           
             Then
             loyall
             love
             within
             thy
             breast
             did
             dwel
             ,
          
           
             And
             faith
             ,
             but
             now
             no
             faith
             in
             thee
             is
             known
             .
          
           
             When
             we
             in
             Evenings
             have
             the
             vallies
             trac'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             sipt
             fresh
             aire
             to
             cloze
             the
             hasty
             day
             ,
          
           
             When
             with
             thy
             steps
             thou
             hast
             the
             mountains
             grac'd
             ,
          
           
             To
             see
             how
             
               Hes●…er
            
             hy'd
             him
             on
             his
             way
             ,
          
           
             Why
             wast
             not
             carefull
             then
             to
             keep
             thy
             vow
             ,
          
           
             For
             there
             thou
             mad'st
             me
             promises
             enow
             .
          
        
         
           
             27
          
           
             And
             then
             the
             Spring
             of
             my
             unstaind
             affection
             ,
          
           
             With
             Roses
             drest
             ,
             and
             Lillies
             sweetly
             grew
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             ruddie
             look
             ,
             gave
             it
             a
             faire
             complexion
             ,
          
           
             Till
             frowning
             Winter
             gave
             't
             another
             hue
             ,
          
           
           
             But
             stay
             thou
             know'st
             already
             why
             I
             sing
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             my
             heavy
             verse
             so
             gently
             move
             thee
             ,
          
           
             For
             that
             alone
             I
             did
             these
             sonnets
             bring
             ,
          
           
             That
             by
             these
             plaints
             thou
             mayst
             perceive
             I
             love
             thee
             ,
          
           
             For
             out
             of
             nothing
             ,
             nothing
             can
             be
             brought
             ,
          
           
             And
             that
             which
             is
             ,
             can
             nere
             be
             turnd
             to
             nought
             .
          
        
         
           
             28
          
           
             How
             can
             I
             smother
             then
             my
             long
             pent
             love
             ,
          
           
             Allmost
             unknown
             to
             thee
             so
             long
             conceald
             ?
          
           
             O
             you
             that
             can
             assist
             me
             from
             above
             ,
          
           
             For
             by
             your
             means
             ●…twas
             first
             of
             all
             reveald
             ,
          
           
             Since
             when
             my
             heart
             in
             such
             sure
             hope
             remains
             ,
          
           
             That
             I
             will
             not
             exchange
             my
             part
             in
             her
             ,
          
           
             Not
             for
             the
             purest
             face
             the
             world
             contains
             ,
          
           
             For
             before
             all
             her
             love
             I
             will
             prefer
             ;
          
           
             And
             know
             in
             their
             fruition
             I
             shall
             want
          
           
             Those
             sweet
             contents
             which
             these
             complainings
             grant
             .
          
        
         
           
             29
          
           
             Twice
             hath
             the
             Sun
             drencht
             in
             
               Iberian
            
             Seas
             ,
          
           
             Twice
             fifty
             times
             renew'd
             his
             fiery
             Car
             ,
          
           
             Since
             with
             thy
             sight
             thou
             did'st
             impart
             some
             ease
             ,
          
           
             And
             since
             I
             spoke
             to
             thee
             ran
             twice
             so
             far
             ,
          
           
             But
             yet
             thou
             seest
             thy
             still
             dejected
             friend
             ,
          
           
             Admits
             no
             period
             to
             the
             love
             he
             owes
             ,
          
           
             And
             though
             thy
             absence
             gives
             all
             pleasures
             end
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             know
             thy
             presence
             far
             more
             grief
             bestows
             ,
          
           
             For
             this
             will
             vex
             ,
             when
             one
             their
             own
             shall
             see
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             not
             dare
             thereof
             the
             owner
             be
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             30
          
           
             Ay
             me
             ,
             when
             I
             alone
             sit
             and
             bemone
             me
             ,
          
           
             Of
             thy
             hard
             heart
             ,
             and
             my
             unjust
             correction
             ,
          
           
             When
             by
             my self
             I
             sit
             ,
             and
             think
             upon
             thee
             ,
          
           
             With
             what
             sure
             bonds
             I
             'm
             brought
             into
             subjection
             ,
          
           
             Then
             ,
             then
             my
             heart
             ,
             grieving
             to
             be
             restraind
             ;
          
           
             Beats
             up
             a
             loud
             alarm
             ,
             to
             come
             to
             thee
             ,
          
           
             If
             when
             I
             think
             of
             thee
             I
             am
             so
             pain'd
             ,
          
           
             What
             do
             I
             then
             when
             I
             thy
             face
             do
             see
             ?
          
           
             Such
             is
             my
             paine
             ,
             if
             paines
             may
             be
             believ'd
             ,
          
           
             Griev'd
             at
             thy
             sight
             ,
             and
             at
             thy
             absence
             griev'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             31
          
           
             What
             though
             I
             have
             transgrest
             against
             thy
             will
             ?
          
           
             And
             run
             as
             idle
             wayes
             as
             many
             other
             ?
          
           
             I
             am
             not
             minded
             to
             pursue
             them
             still
             ,
          
           
             If
             thou
             no
             more
             wilt
             thy
             affections
             smother
             ,
          
           
             And
             know
             
               Azile
            
             that
             the
             chiefest
             cause
          
           
             Of
             all
             mishaps
             ,
             sprung
             first
             from
             thy
             unkindness
             ,
          
           
             It
             is
             a
             statute
             made
             in
             
               Cupids
            
             laws
             ,
          
           
             Neglected
             Lovers
             spend
             their
             dayes
             in
             blindness
             ,
          
           
             And
             so
             it
             is
             ,
             when
             once
             depriv'd
             the
             bliss
          
           
             Of
             constant
             love
             ,
             we
             other
             blessings
             miss
             .
          
        
         
           
             32
          
           
             And
             so
             run
             headlong
             careless
             of
             our
             good
             ,
          
           
             Into
             all
             danger
             that
             the
             world
             hath
             sent
             ,
          
           
             But
             Heaven
             be
             prais'd
             ,
             that
             I
             have
             this
             withstood
             ,
          
           
             I
             never
             knew
             what
             carnall
             action
             ment
             ;
          
           
           
             For
             other
             sins
             ,
             I
             know
             I
             have
             a
             share
             ,
          
           
             As
             deep
             as
             any
             that
             committed
             sin
             ,
          
           
             And
             more
             must
             have
             ,
             I
             yet
             cannot
             forbear
             ,
          
           
             Such
             is
             the
             state
             my
             restless
             soule
             lives
             in
             ,
          
           
             Such
             is
             my
             state
             ,
             unless
             thou
             dost
             relent
          
           
             My
             dayly
             wrong
             ,
             and
             then
             I
             shall
             repent
             .
          
        
         
           
             33
          
           
             If
             thou
             misdoubt
             ,
             as
             thou
             mayst
             well
             misdoubt
             ,
          
           
             Because
             I
             'm
             now
             so
             wild
             ,
             and
             vaine
             withall
             ,
          
           
             That
             should
             I
             speed
             ,
             my
             love
             would
             quickly
             out
             ,
          
           
             And
             I
             unto
             my
             old
             rebates
             would
             fall
             ,
          
           
             O
             let
             the
             thought
             thereof
             no
             place
             obtaine
             ,
          
           
             But
             banish
             it
             ,
             as
             enemy
             to
             good
             ;
          
           
             Try
             me
             a
             while
             before
             I
             reap
             the
             gaine
             ,
          
           
             Which
             so
             long
             wisht
             ,
             hath
             so
             long
             been
             withstood
             ,
          
           
             Try
             me
             I
             say
             ,
             and
             thou
             shalt
             me
             restore
             ,
          
           
             For
             verjuyce
             sweetned
             once
             ,
             will
             sowre
             no
             more
             .
          
        
         
           
             34
          
           
             Alas
             my
             love
             ,
             what
             love
             appears
             in
             this
             ?
          
           
             To
             omit
             the
             cure
             ,
             which
             only
             may
             procure
          
           
             Thy
             Clyents
             ease
             ?
             guide
             not
             thy
             love
             amiss
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             thy
             neglect
             make
             thy
             distruction
             sure
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             my
             blood
             〈◊〉
             ●…prinkled
             on
             thy
             Coate
             ,
          
           
             Will
             bring
             a
             horrid
             〈◊〉
             unto
             thy
             Soule
             ,
          
           
             I
             vow
             by
             Heaven
             that
             all
             〈◊〉
             world
             shall
             know
             't
             ;
          
           
             There
             's
             nothing
             can
             〈◊〉
             resolve
             controll
             ,
          
           
             By
             Heaven
             I
             vow
             ,
             and
             this
             the
             truth
             relates
             ,
          
           
             Deny
             againe
             ,
             I
             'le
             dye
             before
             thy
             gates
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             35
          
           
             But
             stay
             complaints
             ,
             returne
             unto
             your
             owner
             ,
          
           
             And
             blame
             her
             not
             ,
             shee
             s
             free
             from
             any
             blame
             ,
          
           
             There
             can
             no
             spotted
             scandall
             rest
             upon
             her
             ,
          
           
             T
             is
             your
             presumption
             ,
             and
             it
             is
             your
             shame
             .
          
           
             But
             say
             againe
             ,
             although
             you
             are
             unfit
          
           
             To
             kiss
             her
             ears
             ,
             yet
             you
             'l
             take
             no
             deniall
             ,
          
           
             And
             that
             you
             '
             l
             not
             her
             plighted
             troth
             remit
             ,
          
           
             But
             will
             remit
             it
             to
             a
             further
             tryall
             ,
          
           
             Even
             to
             his
             doom
             ,
             who
             will
             all
             things
             destroy
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             reward
             her
             inhumanity
             .
          
        
         
           
             36
          
           
             And
             there
             reward
             thy
             inhumanity
          
           
             Vnkind
             
               Azile
               ,
            
             rapt
             in
             liquid
             charms
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             canst
             not
             with
             an
             unstaind
             Conscience
             dye
             ,
          
           
             Vnless
             thou
             dost
             give
             period
             to
             my
             harms
             .
          
           
             Is
             it
             thy
             wealth
             that
             makes
             thee
             thus
             refraine
             me
             ?
          
           
             As
             it
             is
             thine
             ,
             so
             shall
             it
             still
             be
             thine
             .
          
           
             Is
             it
             thy
             birth
             that
             makes
             thee
             thus
             disdaine
             me
             ?
          
           
             O
             scorn
             me
             not
             ,
             I
             come
             of
             Noble
             Line
             ,
          
           
             For
             by
             the
             
               Norman
            
             Duke
             our
             browes
             were
             crown'd
             ,
          
           
             With
             Lawrell
             branches
             ,
             and
             our
             names
             renown'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             37
          
           
             Cease
             then
             t'
             afflict
             ,
             and
             shew
             that
             heart
             some
             ease
             ,
          
           
             Which
             in
             offences
             never
             gave
             thee
             none
             ,
          
           
             Vnless
             it
             was
             in
             striving
             best
             to
             please
             ,
          
           
             Therein
             indeed
             it
             hath
             been
             very
             prone
             ,
          
           
           
             And
             that
             thou
             know'st
             ,
             there
             's
             none
             doth
             know
             so
             wel
             ,
          
           
             How
             my
             poore
             love
             did
             run
             in
             full
             carier
             ,
          
           
             My
             dayly
             presence
             did
             my
             passions
             tell
             ,
          
           
             My
             dayly
             passions
             in
             thy
             presence
             were
             .
          
           
             O
             happy
             time
             when
             thy
             sweet
             presence
             gave
             it
             ,
          
           
             But
             now
             I
             have
             most
             need
             I
             cannot
             have
             it
             .
          
        
         
           
             38
          
           
             Believe
             
               Azile
               ,
            
             when
             of
             thee
             I
             think
             ,
          
           
             As
             such
             sweet
             thoughts
             are
             in
             me
             very
             rife
             ,
          
           
             I
             'm
             ready
             of
             prepared
             bane
             to
             drinke
             ,
          
           
             Or
             any
             poyson
             that
             will
             end
             my
             Life
             ;
          
           
             And
             still
             because
             ,
             my
             still
             consuming
             heart
             ,
          
           
             Injoyes
             no
             rest
             ,
             wisht
             rest
             I
             never
             have
             ,
          
           
             But
             of
             turmoyls
             and
             troubles
             I
             have
             part
             ,
          
           
             But
             t
             is
             not
             trouble
             that
             a
             Soul
             must
             save
             ,
          
           
             A
             sweet
             content
             doth
             lead
             the
             way
             from
             wrath
             ,
          
           
             He
             safest
             lives
             that
             quiet
             conscience
             hath
             .
          
        
         
           
             39
          
           
             But
             I
             have
             none
             ,
             nor
             never
             must
             have
             any
             ,
          
           
             Vnless
             thy
             eyes
             do
             shine
             upon
             my
             face
             ,
          
           
             Amongst
             thy
             noble
             virtues
             which
             are
             many
             ,
          
           
             O
             let
             this
             favour
             thy
             poore
             Servant
             grace
             ;
          
           
             Since
             thou
             disdainest
             to
             bestow
             thy
             heart
          
           
             On
             me
             so
             far
             dejected
             ,
             so
             unworthy
             ,
          
           
             Tell
             me
             what
             cause
             it
             is
             ,
             and
             t
             will
             impart
             ,
          
           
             Ease
             to
             those
             dayly
             pains
             I
             suffer
             for
             thee
             ;
          
           
             So
             shall
             my
             soule
             be
             quiet
             ,
             so
             my
             paine
          
           
             Releast
             ,
             and
             I
             shall
             heare
             thee
             speak
             againe
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             40
          
           
             And
             that
             's
             a
             favour
             far
             beyond
             desert
             ,
          
           
             But
             not
             beyond
             desire
             I
             have
             to
             love
             thee
             .
          
           
             Dost
             thou
             desire
             ?
             I
             'le
             rip
             my
             wounded
             heart
             ,
          
           
             And
             shew
             thee
             that
             which
             there
             perhaps
             may
             move
             thee
             ;
          
           
             O
             let
             me
             find
             accesse
             unto
             thy
             breast
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             receive
             my
             almost
             wearied
             Soule
             ,
          
           
             Her
             wings
             are
             weary
             ,
             and
             implore
             some
             rest
             ,
          
           
             Her
             wearied
             wings
             their
             slippery
             fate
             condole
             ;
          
           
             And
             scorne
             me
             not
             that
             I
             so
             much
             have
             sought
             thee
             ,
          
           
             For
             know
             
               Azile
            
             I
             have
             dearly
             bought
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           
             41
          
           
             For
             know
             
               Azile
            
             I
             have
             dearly
             paid
          
           
             For
             thee
             ,
             if
             of
             thee
             I
             am
             e're
             possest
             ,
          
           
             Possess
             me
             then
             with
             thy
             prevailing
             ayd
             ,
          
           
             And
             ayd
             to
             that
             shore
             that
             must
             make
             me
             blest
             ,
          
           
             There
             shall
             I
             sing
             
               Encomions
            
             to
             thy
             praise
             ,
          
           
             And
             praise
             the
             lustre
             of
             thy
             noble
             Spirit
             ,
          
           
             When
             ravish't
             by
             those
             
               Epithalm●…an
            
             layes
          
           
             Of
             Nymphs
             ,
             thou
             shalt
             their
             Nymph-like
             grace
             inherit
             ,
          
           
             And
             
               Hyme●…
            
             in
             a
             saffron
             vaile
             shall
             come
             ,
          
           
             O're
             a
             faire
             field
             bestrew'd
             with
             Margerum
             .
          
        
         
           
             42
          
           
             There
             shall
             the
             scores
             of
             either
             love
             be
             read
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             my
             pains
             in
             which
             thou
             hast
             delighted
             ,
          
           
             There
             shall
             my
             love
             for
             her
             offences
             plead
             ,
          
           
             There
             shall
             my
             vowes
             be
             paid
             ,
             my
             pains
             requited
             ,
          
           
           
             And
             those
             that
             do
             except
             against
             my
             age
             ,
          
           
             
               Harpocrates
            
             to
             silence
             shall
             conjure
             ,
          
           
             A
             Vultur
             shall
             his
             starv'd
             desire
             asswage
             ,
          
           
             Vpon
             their
             hearts
             ,
             cause
             they
             my
             pains
             procure
             ,
          
           
             What
             though
             !
             scarce
             have
             twice
             ten
             winters
             told
             ,
          
           
             As
             much
             as
             is
             in
             man
             ,
             in
             me
             behold
             .
          
        
         
           
             43
          
           
             As
             much
             as
             is
             in
             man
             in
             me
             should
             be
             ,
          
           
             But
             that
             thou
             hast
             bereft
             me
             of
             my
             heart
             ,
          
           
             I
             want
             those
             glozing
             words
             of
             flattery
             ,
          
           
             By
             which
             some
             men
             gaine
             more
             than
             by
             desert
             ,
          
           
             I
             want
             that
             wit
             which
             ought
             to
             parallell
          
           
             Thy
             virtues
             ,
             and
             procure
             deserving
             bliss
             ,
          
           
             I
             want
             that
             strength
             and
             vigour
             to
             repell
             ,
          
           
             Dejected
             griefe
             ,
             which
             guides
             loves
             wheele
             amiss
             ,
          
           
             I
             want
             those
             means
             which
             should
             all
             good
             supplant
          
           
             Within
             my
             brest
             ,
             and
             chiefely
             thee
             I
             want
             .
          
        
         
           
             44
          
           
             Loves
             coach
             they
             say
             is
             made
             of
             Ebony
             ,
          
           
             And
             drawn
             by
             Turtle
             Doves
             of
             Silver
             hue
             ,
          
           
             To
             shew
             the
             brightnesse
             of
             pure
             amity
             ,
          
           
             With
             Turtles
             yoak't
             ,
             than
             Turtles
             what
             more
             true
             ?
          
           
             Along
             whose
             sides
             the
             purple
             silke
             doth
             twind
          
           
             The
             silver
             Ouches
             to
             the
             golden
             wheels
             ,
          
           
             So
             outward
             beauty
             should
             a
             lover
             bind
             ,
          
           
             For
             who
             the
             outward
             love
             the
             inward
             feels
             ,
          
           
             Eye
             sight
             confirmes
             ,
             but
             vertues
             motives
             be
             ,
          
           
             T
             is
             not
             alone
             thy
             face
             I
             love
             but
             thee
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             45
          
           
             Thee
             for
             thy
             virtues
             I
             alone
             admire
             ,
          
           
             
               Azile
            
             mine
             ,
             but
             mine
             no
             more
             thou
             art
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             canst
             thou
             not
             those
             raging
             flames
             expire
          
           
             Of
             Love
             ,
             unless
             thou
             hast
             a
             double
             heart
             ,
          
           
             O
             double
             not
             my
             pains
             (
             my
             dearest
             love
             )
          
           
             Nor
             let
             the
             Torments
             of
             my
             Soule
             increase
             ,
          
           
             For
             private
             envy
             will
             all
             truth
             reprove
             ,
          
           
             That
             Kingdome
             safest
             lives
             that
             lives
             in
             peace
             ,
          
           
             How
             can
             we
             then
             a
             true
             concordance
             find
             ,
          
           
             When
             we
             two
             ,
             one
             ,
             have
             both
             a
             diff'rent
             mind
             ?
          
        
         
           
             46
          
           
             A
             Poet
             said
             ,
             if
             
               Cupid
            
             be
             a
             power
             ,
          
           
             Let
             him
             possess
             me
             now
             with
             his
             desire
             ,
          
           
             When
             suddenly
             his
             eyes
             began
             to
             loure
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             expir'd
             his
             life
             in
             helpless
             fire
             ,
          
           
             And
             so
             must
             I
             perish
             within
             that
             flame
             ,
          
           
             If
             these
             will
             not
             thy
             heart
             to
             pitty
             bend
             ,
          
           
             If
             still
             thy
             slinty
             heart
             remains
             the
             same
             ,
          
           
             I
             wish
             that
             with
             this
             line
             ,
             my
             life
             might
             end
             ;
          
           
             And
             this
             cmplaint
             about
             the
             earth
             be
             hurl'd
             ,
          
           
             Alive
             to
             death
             ,
             but
             dead
             unto
             the
             world
             .
          
        
         
           
             47
          
           
             And
             hear
             I
             stay
             ,
             expecting
             now
             the
             doom
             ,
          
           
             And
             sentence
             of
             eternall
             joy
             ,
             or
             grief
             ,
          
           
             Which
             from
             thy
             sweet
             ,
             or
             fatall
             lipsmust
             come
             ,
          
           
             For
             while
             I
             live
             thou
             of
             my
             heart
             art
             chiefe
             ;
          
           
           
             Then
             shew
             thy selfe
             as
             thou
             desir'st
             to
             be
             ,
          
           
             Vnstaind
             in
             all
             thy
             wayes
             ,
             in
             all
             upright
             ,
          
           
             That
             following
             dayes
             with
             pure
             integrity
             ,
          
           
             May
             sweet
             my
             sorrowes
             past
             with
             some
             delight
             ;
          
           
             And
             here
             I
             rest
             expecting
             the
             regard
             ,
          
           
             Of
             faithfull
             love
             ,
             and
             his
             deserv'd
             reward
             .
          
           
             Peliander
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
       
       
         
           To
           the
           immortall
           memory
           of
           the
           fairest
           and
           most
           vertuous
           Lady
           ,
           the
           Lady
        
         
           
             HEr
             tongue
             hath
             ceast
             to
             speak
             ,
             which
             might
             make
             dumb
          
           
             All
             tongues
             ,
             might
             stay
             all
             Pens
             ,
             al
             hands
             benum
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             must
             I
             write
             ,
             O
             that
             it
             might
             have
             been
          
           
             While
             she
             had
             liv'd
             ,
             and
             had
             my
             verses
             seen
             ,
          
           
             Before
             sad
             cries
             deaf'd
             my
             untuned
             ears
             ,
          
           
             When
             verses
             flow'd
             more
             easily
             than
             tears
             .
          
           
             Ah
             why
             neglected
             I
             to
             write
             her
             praise
             ,
          
           
             And
             paint
             her
             Vertues
             in
             those
             happy
             dayes
             !
          
           
             Then
             my
             now
             trembling
             hand
             and
             dazled
             eye
             ,
          
           
             Had
             seldome
             fail'd
             ,
             having
             the
             pattern
             by
             ;
          
           
             Or
             had
             it
             err'd
             ,
             or
             made
             some
             strokes
             amiss
             ,
          
           
             (
             For
             who
             can
             portray
             Vertue
             as
             it
             is
             ?
             )
          
           
             Art
             might
             with
             Nature
             have
             maintain'd
             her
             strife
             ,
          
           
             By
             curious
             lines
             to
             imitate
             true
             life
             .
          
           
             But
             now
             those
             Pictures
             want
             their
             lively
             grace
             ,
          
           
             As
             after
             death
             none
             well
             can
             draw
             the
             face
             :
          
           
             We
             let
             our
             friends
             passe
             idlely
             like
             our
             time
             ,
          
           
             Till
             they
             be
             gone
             ,
             and
             then
             we
             see
             our
             crime
             ,
          
           
             And
             think
             what
             worth
             in
             them
             might
             have
             been
             known
             ,
          
           
             What
             duties
             done
             ,
             and
             what
             affection
             shown
             :
          
           
             Vntimely
             knowledge
             ,
             which
             so
             dear
             doth
             cost
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             begins
             when
             the
             thing
             known
             is
             lost
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             this
             cold
             love
             ,
             this
             envy
             ,
             this
             neglect
             ,
          
           
             Proclaims
             us
             modest
             ,
             while
             our
             due
             respect
          
           
           
             To
             goodness
             is
             restrain'd
             by
             servile
             fear
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             to
             the
             world
             ,
             it
             flatt'ry
             should
             appear●…
          
           
             As
             if
             the
             present
             hours
             deserv'd
             no
             praise
             :
          
           
             But
             age
             is
             past
             ,
             whose
             knowledge
             only
             stayes
          
           
             On
             that
             weak
             prop
             which
             memory
             sustains
             ,
          
           
             Should
             be
             the
             proper
             subject
             of
             our
             strains
             :
          
           
             Or
             as
             if
             foolish
             men
             asham'd
             to
             sing
          
           
             Of
             Violets
             ,
             and
             Roses
             in
             the
             Spring
             ,
          
           
             Should
             tarry
             till
             the
             flow'rs
             were
             blown
             away
             ,
          
           
             And
             till
             the
             Muses
             life
             and
             heat
             decay
             ;
          
           
             Then
             is
             the
             fury
             slack'd
             ,
             the
             vigour
             ●…led
             ,
          
           
             As
             here
             in
             mine
             ,
             since
             it
             with
             her
             was
             dead
             :
          
           
             Which
             still
             may
             sparkle
             ,
             but
             shall
             flame
             no
             more
             ,
          
           
             Because
             no
             time
             shall
             her
             to
             us
             restore
             :
          
           
             Yet
             may
             these
             Sparks
             ,
             thus
             kindled
             with
             her
             fame
             ,
          
           
             Shine
             brighter
             ,
             and
             live
             longer
             than
             some
             flame
             .
          
           
             Here
             expectation
             urgeth
             me
             to
             tell
          
           
             Her
             high
             perfections
             ,
             which
             the
             world
             knew
             well
             .
          
           
             But
             they
             are
             far
             beyond
             my
             skill
             t'
             unfold
             ,
          
           
             They
             were
             poor
             vertues
             if
             they
             might
             be
             told
             .
          
           
             But
             thou
             ,
             who
             fain
             would'st
             take
             a
             gen'rall
             view
          
           
             Of
             timely
             fruits
             which
             in
             this
             garden
             grew
             ,
          
           
             On
             all
             the
             vertues
             in
             mens
             actions
             look
             ,
          
           
             Or
             read
             their
             names
             writ
             in
             some
             morall
             book
             ;
          
           
             And
             sum
             the
             number
             which
             thou
             there
             shalt
             find
             :
          
           
             So
             many
             liv'd
             ,
             and
             triumph'd
             in
             her
             mind
             .
          
           
             Nor
             dwelt
             these
             Graces
             in
             a
             house
             obscure
             ,
          
           
             But
             in
             a
             Palace
             fair
             ,
             which
             might
             allure
          
           
             The
             wretch
             ,
             who
             no
             respect
             to
             vertue
             bore
             ,
          
           
             To
             love
             It
             ,
             for
             the
             garments
             which
             it
             wore
             .
          
           
             So
             that
             in
             her
             the
             body
             and
             the
             soule
          
           
             Contended
             ,
             which
             should
             most
             adorn
             the
             whole
             .
          
           
             O
             happy
             soul
             for
             such
             a
             body
             meet
             ,
          
           
             How
             are
             the
             firm
             chains
             of
             that
             union
             sweet
             ,
          
           
           
             Dissever'd
             in
             the
             twinkling
             of
             an
             eye
             ?
          
           
             And
             we
             amaz'd
             dare
             ask
             no
             reason
             why
             ,
          
           
             But
             silent
             think
             ,
             that
             God
             is
             pleas'd
             to
             show
             ,
          
           
             That
             he
             hath
             works
             ,
             whose
             ends
             we
             cannot
             know
             :
          
           
             Let
             us
             then
             cease
             to
             make
             a
             vain
             request
             ,
          
           
             To
             learn
             why
             die
             the
             fairest
             ,
             why
             the
             best
             ;
          
           
             For
             all
             these
             things
             ,
             which
             mortals
             hold
             most
             dear
             ,
          
           
             Most
             slipp'ry
             are
             ,
             and
             yeeld
             less
             joy
             than
             fear
             ;
          
           
             And
             being
             lifted
             high
             by
             mens
             desire
             ,
          
           
             Are
             more
             propitious
             marks
             for
             heav'nly
             fire
             ;
          
           
             And
             are
             laid
             prostrate
             with
             the
             first
             assault
             ,
          
           
             Because
             ,
             our
             love
             makes
             their
             desert
             their
             fault
             .
          
           
             Then
             justice
             ,
             us
             to
             some
             amends
             should
             move
          
           
             For
             this
             our
             fruitless
             ,
             nay
             our
             hurtfull
             love
             ;
          
           
             We
             in
             their
             Honour
             ,
             piles
             of
             stone
             erect
          
           
             With
             their
             dear
             Names
             ,
             and
             worthy
             praises
             deckt
             :
          
           
             But
             since
             those
             fail
             ,
             their
             glories
             we
             reherse
             ,
          
           
             In
             better
             Marble
             ,
             everlasting
             verse
             ,
          
           
             By
             which
             we
             gather
             from
             consuming
             hours
             ,
          
           
             Some
             parts
             of
             them
             ,
             though
             time
             the
             rest
             devours
             ;
          
           
             Then
             if
             the
             Muses
             can
             forbid
             to
             die
             ,
          
           
             As
             we
             their
             Priests
             suppose
             ,
             why
             may
             not
             I
             ?
          
           
             Although
             the
             least
             and
             hoarsest
             in
             the
             quire
             ,
          
           
             Clear
             beams
             of
             blessed
             immortality
             inspire
          
           
             To
             keep
             thy
             blest
             remembrance
             ever
             young
             ,
          
           
             Still
             to
             be
             freshly
             in
             all
             ages
             sung
             :
          
           
             Or
             if
             my
             work
             in
             this
             unable
             be
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             shall
             it
             ever
             live
             ,
             upheld
             by
             thee
             :
          
           
             For
             thou
             shalt
             live
             ,
             though
             Poems
             should
             decay
             ,
          
           
             Since
             Parents
             teach
             their
             Sons
             ,
             thy
             praise
             to
             say
             ;
          
           
             And
             to
             Posterity
             ,
             from
             hand
             to
             hand
          
           
             Convey
             it
             with
             their
             blessing
             and
             their
             land
             .
          
           
             Thy
             quiet
             rest
             from
             death
             ,
             this
             good
             derives
             ,
          
           
             Instead
             of
             one
             ,
             it
             gives
             thee
             many
             lives
             :
          
           
           
             While
             these
             lines
             last
             ,
             thy
             shadow
             dwelleth
             here
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             fame
             ,
             it self
             extendeth
             ev'ry
             where
             ;
          
           
             In
             Heav'n
             our
             hopes
             have
             plac'd
             thy
             better
             part
             :
          
           
             Thine
             Image
             lives
             ,
             in
             thy
             sad
             Husbands
             heart
             :
          
           
             Who
             as
             when
             he
             enjoy'd
             thee
             ,
             he
             was
             chief
          
           
             In
             love
             and
             comfort
             ,
             so
             is
             he
             now
             in
             grief
             .
          
        
      
       
       
         
           To
           his
           dear
           Friend
           Mr.
           Iohn
           Emely
           upon
           his
           Travells
           .
        
         
           HAve
           other
           Nations
           got
           that
           tempting
           art
           ?
        
         
           Or
           Seas
           ?
           (
           O
           thou
           the
           second
           of
           my
           heart
           )
        
         
           To
           steal
           thee
           from
           us
           ?
           shall
           thy
           presence
           plant
        
         
           Those
           goods
           elsewhere
           ,
           which
           Countrey
           thine
           doth
           want
           ?
        
         
           And
           chiefly
           me
           ,
           who
           every
           winde
           abjure
        
         
           That
           loudly
           roars
           ,
           to
           make
           thy
           passage
           sure
           ,
        
         
           As
           much
           I
           blame
           the
           calms
           ,
           for
           secret
           fear
           ,
        
         
           Though
           without
           cause
           ,
           in
           all
           things
           will
           appear
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           my
           thinks
           the
           
             Cantabrician●…lood
          
           ,
        
         
           With
           open
           jawes
           growes
           thirsty
           for
           thy
           blood
           ,
        
         
           Which
           if
           great
           
             ●…aelums
          
           off-spring
           doth
           appall
        
         
           The
           calm
           I
           ●…ear
           sits
           smiling
           at
           thy
           fall
           .
        
         
           Or
           if
           
             Sicilian
          
           Seas
           thou
           surrowest
           o're
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           danger
           by
           
             Charibdis
          
           I
           deplore
           ,
        
         
           And
           
             Scilla's
          
           rock
           ,
           whose
           bloody
           mouth
           doth
           lye
        
         
           For
           thee
           ,
           if
           more
           towards
           the
           North
           you
           flye
           .
        
         
         
           If
           to
           
             Eoum
             ,
          
           or
           to
           
             Indus
          
           arm
           ,
        
         
           
             Paropanisian
          
           rocks
           will
           do
           thee
           harm
           .
        
         
           If
           on
           
             Propontis
             ,
          
           or
           
             Tanais●…lood
          
           ,
        
         
           
             Tanai's
          
           and
           
             Hellespont
          
           are
           stain'd
           with
           blood
           .
        
         
           What
           pleasure
           then
           allures
           thee
           to
           their
           coast
           ?
        
         
           In
           safest
           beds
           pleasure
           resideth
           most
           .
        
         
           Nor
           Countrey
           can
           ,
           nor
           other
           Nations
           give
        
         
           More
           sweet
           content
           ,
           than
           where
           thy
           Parents
           live
           .
        
         
           What
           will
           it
           boot
           to
           view
           the
           snowy
           hills
        
         
           Of
           
             Al●…ine
          
           high
           ?
           whose
           fleecy
           moisture
           fills
        
         
           The
           humble
           dales
           ?
           or
           what
           will
           it
           prevail
           ,
        
         
           To
           hear
           th'
           exub'rance
           of
           a
           forrain
           tale
           ?
        
         
           What
           joy
           can
           it
           produce
           to
           hear
           the
           swains
           ,
        
         
           Leading
           their
           flocks
           along
           the
           
             Scythian
          
           plains
           ,
        
         
           T'
           accord
           their
           voices
           to
           the
           slender
           reeds
        
         
           Of
           
             Amarillis
          
           praise
           ?
           or
           what
           exceeds
        
         
           With
           sweeter
           pleasure
           ,
           and
           more
           bright
           doth
           shine
        
         
           In
           other
           Countryes
           ,
           than
           it
           doth
           in
           thine
           ?
        
         
           Now
           to
           
             Olimpian
          
           hills
           thou
           tak'st
           thy
           way
           ,
        
         
           Farr
           happier
           wouldst
           thou
           in
           our
           valleys
           stay
           ,
        
         
           And
           see
           thy
           Countrey
           
             Hero's
          
           sports
           prepare
           ,
        
         
           More
           pleasant
           than
           
             Olimpian
          
           pleasures
           are
           .
        
         
           No
           service
           we
           to
           
             Nereus
          
           Altar
           vow
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           dread
           we
           
             Neptune
             ,
          
           nor
           to
           
             Neptune
          
           bow
           ,
        
         
           But
           free
           from
           fear
           ,
           in
           blushing
           mornings
           walk
           ,
        
         
           Through
           shady
           groves
           ,
           to
           hear
           woods
           chanters
           talk
        
         
           Ruddy
           
             A●…roras
          
           praise
           ,
           and
           with
           free
           mone
           ,
        
         
           To
           Eccho's
           only
           sigh
           our
           loves
           alone
           .
        
         
           In
           Summer
           time
           we
           walk
           the
           flowry
           meads
           ,
        
         
           Where
           
             Flora
          
           o're
           her
           spotted
           Carpet
           leads
        
         
           Our
           eyes
           ,
           and
           gluts
           us
           with
           discoloured
           shows
        
         
           Of
           Flowers
           ,
           which
           on
           her
           am'rous
           bosome
           grows
           .
        
         
         
           Then
           
             Zephirus
          
           with
           fair
           
             Nepenthe
          
           sents
           ,
        
         
           Comes
           stealing
           o're
           the
           flowers
           ,
           and
           present●…
        
         
           Sweets
           odors
           to
           us
           ,
           while
           by
           silver
           brook
           ,
        
         
           We
           sit
           ,
           and
           cheat
           the
           Fishes
           with
           a
           hook
           .
        
         
           And
           when
           the
           Meadows
           are
           disburthened
        
         
           Of
           grasse
           ,
           and
           with
           their
           withred
           Cocks
           are
           spred
           ,
        
         
           Then
           with
           our
           Nymphs
           and
           Ladies
           we
           resort
           ,
        
         
           Vnto
           those
           Cocks
           ,
           and
           on
           ,
           and
           o're
           them
           sport
           .
        
         
           So
           Frisking
           Kidds
           their
           pleasures
           will
           display
           ,
        
         
           And
           with
           their
           loves
           in
           smiling
           Evenings
           play
           .
        
         
           When
           going
           forwards
           with
           sweet
           tunes
           receiv'd
        
         
           Our
           fingers
           in
           each
           others
           interweav'd
           ,
        
         
           We
           chat
           of
           love
           ,
           and
           all
           the
           way
           we
           walke
           ,
        
         
           We
           make
           the
           boy
           the
           subject
           of
           our
           talk
           ;
        
         
           So
           sport
           we
           o're
           the
           Meads
           ,
           till
           
             Hesper
          
           come
           ,
        
         
           Allur'd
           by
           our
           delights
           to
           light
           us
           home
           .
        
         
           The
           night
           we
           pass
           in
           contemplations
           sweet
           ,
        
         
           (
           Contented
           thoughts
           makes
           sable
           night
           more
           fleet
           )
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           morning
           (
           morning
           beautifi'd
        
         
           With
           glorious
           
             Sol
             ,
          
           who
           decks
           it
           with
           his
           pride
           )
        
         
           We
           ride
           about
           the
           fields
           to
           recreate
        
         
           Our
           o're-joy'd
           minds
           ,
           minds
           never
           staind
           with
           hate
           .
        
         
           Where
           fearfull
           hares
           before
           our
           Greyhounds
           flye
           ,
        
         
           A
           while
           they
           run
           ,
           and
           run
           awhile
           they
           dy
           .
        
         
           Then
           cast
           we
           off
           our
           nimble
           winged
           hawk
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           speedy
           flight
           all
           baser
           preys
           doth
           bawk
           ,
        
         
           And
           up
           ,
           his
           envying
           strength
           doth
           manage
           well
           ,
        
         
           'Gainst
           him
           ,
           who
           from
           
             Minervas
          
           turrets
           fell
           .
        
         
           Now
           to
           her
           Altar
           we
           ,
           whose
           golden
           hairs
        
         
           Presents
           our
           corn
           ,
           whole
           handfulls
           of
           our
           ears
        
         
           Do
           bear
           ,
           who
           smiling
           on
           her
           Altar
           ,
           takes
        
         
           Our
           Off'rings
           ,
           and
           next
           fruitfull
           harvest
           makes
           .
        
         
         
           When
           you
           
             Carpathean
             ,
          
           and
           
             Aegaean
          
           Seas
        
         
           With
           odors
           stain
           ,
           their
           flatt'red
           God
           to
           please
           .
        
         
           If
           palsie
           
             Hy●…ms
          
           with
           his
           frozen
           head
        
         
           Doth
           hide
           fair
           
             C●…r●…s
          
           in
           his
           Icy
           bed
           ,
        
         
           With
           gins
           we
           snatch
           the
           silly
           birds
           ;
           and
           snare
        
         
           With
           our
           deceitfull
           royls
           ,
           the
           fearfull
           Hare
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           
             Sydonian
          
           Bores
           with
           angry
           pace
           ,
        
         
           Through
           thick
           
             S●…ymphal●…an
          
           Woods
           our
           Hounds
           doe
           chase
           ;
        
         
           Who
           o're
           our
           steepy
           hills
           their
           way
           doe
           flye
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Countrey
           swains
           their
           speedy
           flight
           descry
           :
        
         
           And
           with
           a
           hollow
           of
           rejoycing
           sounds
           ,
        
         
           Blown
           up
           ,
           encourage
           our
           pursuing
           Hounds
           .
        
         
           Retiting
           home
           ,
           we
           praise
           ,
           or
           discommend
        
         
           Their
           long-maintained
           race
           ,
           or
           hasty
           end
           .
        
         
           When
           loggs
           of
           wood
           in
           spacious
           Chimneys
           laid
        
         
           Of
           a
           consuming
           fire
           ,
           a
           fire
           are
           made
           ,
        
         
           And
           we
           with
           our
           beloved
           wives
           declare
           ,
        
         
           Those
           sweet
           contents
           in
           Countrey
           pleasures
           are
           .
        
         
           O
           might
           I
           taste
           those
           Marriage
           joyes
           ,
           and
           tell
        
         
           What
           pure
           delight
           in
           upright
           Love
           doth
           dwell
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           to
           feast
           lov'd
           Christmas
           with
           delight
           ,
        
         
           Our
           neighbours
           to
           our
           suppers
           we
           invite
           ;
        
         
           Which
           past
           ,
           and
           stools
           before
           the
           fier
           set
           ,
        
         
           All
           former
           wrath
           and
           wranglings
           we
           forget
           ,
        
         
           And
           while
           the
           Apples
           in
           the
           fiers
           rost
           ,
        
         
           Of
           kindnesse
           wee
           ,
           and
           Countrey
           friendship
           boast
           ,
        
         
           Till
           with
           a
           Wassell
           ,
           which
           our
           wives
           impart
        
         
           With
           sugred
           hands
           ,
           we
           close
           the
           night
           ,
           and
           part
           .
        
         
           These
           things
           thy
           nation
           yields
           us
           ,
           and
           would
           prove
        
         
           More
           blest
           ,
           wouldst
           thou
           adorn
           her
           with
           thy
           love
           .
        
         
         
           For
           if
           thou
           still
           depriv'st
           us
           of
           that
           light
        
         
           Thy
           presence
           gives
           ,
           and
           that
           intire
           delight
           ,
        
         
           By
           which
           thy
           Country
           smiles
           ,
           she
           will
           decay
        
         
           In
           fame
           ,
           and
           her
           renown
           will
           fade
           away
           .
        
         
           And
           I
           pursue
           thee
           o're
           
             Bononian
             Rhyne
             ,
          
        
         
           And
           to
           thee
           my
           dejected
           life
           confine
           .
        
         
           Will
           :
           Bosworth
           .
        
         
           FINIS
        
      
    
     
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A28854e-30
           
             Virg.
             Georg.
             lib.
             3.
             
          
           
             Lib.
             Georg
             2.
             
          
        
         
           Notes for div A28854e-2310
           
             a
             A
             Poet
             of
             Creet
             .
          
        
         
           Notes for div A28854e-4820
           
             a
             
               Silenus
            
             herein
             is
             used
             for
             
               Bacchus
               .
            
          
           
             The
             Tale
             of
             
               Bacchus
            
             &
             
               Diana
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               sto●●
            
             Haemon
             Antigone
             .
          
           
             *
             Alterna
             faci●…s
             sibi
             dat
             resp●…nsa
             rubore
             ,
             &
             tener
             affectum
             prodit
             ●…trique
             pudor
             .
          
           
             The
             story
             of
             
               Eramio
            
             and
             
               Amissa
               .
            
          
           
             a
             A
             River
             in
             
               Campania
               .
            
          
           
             a
             grief●…
             
          
           
             The
             Go●…
             of
             Silence
             
          
           
             a
             Hei
             mihi
             quod
             nullis
             amor
             est
             medicabilis
             herbls●…
             
          
           
             b
             Credo
             ali
             quis
             Daemon
             ,
             &c.
             
          
           
             a
             An
             
               Italian
            
             who
             wrote
             the
             private
             sedition
             of
             
               Illyricum
               .
            
          
           
             b
             
               These
               sprung
               first
               from
               the
               Sons
               of
               
                 Lara
                 ,
              
               by
               the
               Painims
               called
               Houshold
               Gods
               ,
               of
               whom
               Ovid
               :
               
                 
                   Ponitur
                   ad
                   Patrios
                   barbara
                   praeda
                   d●…os
                   .
                
              
            
          
           
             a
             Playes
             called
             
               Actis
               ,
            
             used
             every
             fifth
             year
             in
             honour
             of
             
               Apollo
               .
            
          
           
             b
             
               The●●x
            
             tree
             .
          
           
             a
             Semel
             in
             anno
             ridet
             Apollo
             .
          
           
             b
             Res
             est
             solliciti
             plena
             cimoris
             amor
             .
          
           
             *
             
               Tibullus
               Lib.
               4
               
                 
                   Illam
                   qui●…quid
                   agit
                   ,
                   quoquo
                   vestigia
                   vertit
                   ,
                
                 
                   Composuit
                   furtim
                   ,
                   subsequ●…turque
                   decor
                   ,
                
                 
                   Seu
                   solvit
                   crines
                   susis
                   decet
                   esse
                   capillis
                   ,
                
                 
                   Seu
                   compsit
                   ,
                   comp●…is
                   est
                   reveren●…a
                   comis
                   .
                
              
            
          
           
             a
             
               An
               ancient
               use
               to
               burn
               the
               bodies
               of
               the
               dead
               ,
               and
               put
               the
               Ashes
               into
               Vessels
               which
               they
               called
               ●●nes
               ;
               whereof
               
                 Ovid
                 Met
                 :
                 Lib.
                 4.
                 
              
               
                 
                   Quodque
                   rogis
                   superest
                   ,
                   una
                   requiescit
                   in
                   urna
                   .
                
              
            
          
           
             a
             
               Catullu●…
               .
            
             Quis
             me
             uno
             vivit
             felicior
             ?
             aut
             magis
             hac
             est
             optand●●
             vitâ
             dicere
             quis
             poterit
             .
          
           
             a
             Epimenides
             .
          
           
             a
             Creet
             .
          
           
             b
             Creet
             .
          
           
             c
             A
             gate
             in
             
               Rome
               .
            
          
           
             d
             A
             high
             way
             from
             
               Rome
            
             to
             
               Campania
               .
            
          
           
             e
             A
             town
             in
             
               Campania
               .
            
          
           
             a
             Neptune
             .
          
           
             b
             Islands
             
               about
            
             Campania
             .
          
           
             a
             A
             Fury
             of
             Hell
             .
          
           
             b
             
               Iupiter
            
             of
             
               Saturn
            
             and
             〈◊〉
             
          
           
             c
             The
             Altars
             .
          
           
             d
             the
             Gyant
             .
          
           
             a
             The
             Gyant
             .
          
           
             a
             A
             Town
             in
             Campania
             .