A GARDEN OF GRAVE AND GODLY FLOWERS: SONNETS, ELEGIES, AND EPITAPHS. Planted, polished, and perfected By Mr. ALEXANDER GARDYNE.  Et sacer & magnus Vatum labour. 
EDINBURGH Printed by THOMAS FINLASON. 1609. With Licence.   

TO THE MOST NOBLE LORDS OF HIS MOST EXCELLENT Majesty his most honourable Privy Council, and College of justice.  
MOst powerful Peers, chief Pillars of th' Empire,  
Strong Pedestals, whereon the State does stay,  
Ministering Mercurs, to the Sacrat Sire,  
Our Jove Great JAMES and our Agustus ay:  
Those lurid, sad, and those Thanatik Themes,  
I consecrat to your most Noble name's.  
Your Lo. Most humble Orator M. Alex. Gardyne.   

TO THE TRVELIE RELIGIOUS, RIGHT HONOURABLE, AND VERY LEARNED ALEXANDER GORDON of Clunie. S.  

Look for no lively lyn's that may allure,  
Or verse of worth, that will provok to view,  
They want all power Poetic to procure,  
And frame a lovely liking unto You,  
My minor Muse, no ne'er a draft she drew,  
From Helicon, or Aganippe well,  
Bot ever still a lower flight she flew,  
Nor Pindus' height, where Delius does dwell:  
No such a friendly fortune Her befell,  
For to be plunged in Parnassus springs,  
Or see the Sisters in their Sacrat Cell,  
Whence Poets all, their brave inventions brings:  
Bot she her growth got in Garden whair,  
Nor Pallas, nor Apollo doth Repair.   

2.  
THat gallant Greek, cognominate the Grand,  
Who sometime All the Mundane Monarchy,  
By Martial might did conquest and command,  
Voutchafed with a lovely looking eye:  
Als well to view, and with desire did see,  
An halting Vulcan, as an Venus' fair,  
His Royal Father Philip likewise He  
To take (though a Potentat) did not spair,  
(A Grace I grant in such a Roy bot rair,  
And from a Peasant, in a public place)  
A Globe of Graips, and what I mark was mair,  
He took them friendly but a frowning face:  
Swa if this small (Sir) you shall accept also,  
You shall make up a ternary of two.   

3.  
THe Persians kept a custom with their King,  
To give him gifts, mean, or magnificent;  
Amongst those One, did for Oblation bring,  
A water Coup, and did his Prince present:  
He gracious Lord, as it had excellent,  
And Royal been, respected the Propine,  
As if there had been from some Sengȝeour sent,  
A Gem or Jewel, of the Isles of Ind,  
Remarking much the meaning, and the mind  
Affected well, he in that fellow found,  
More nor the worth, the quality and kind,  
Of that he held into his Hienes hand:  
Then Gracious more, prove nor the Persian Kings,  
That made so much of light and little things.   

4  
Bot Sir, if to, my will, or to your Worth,  
My worthless verse they war equivalent;  
I should not fear, to send them freely forth,  
To bid the Braish, of each Arbitrament,  
Yet if my travels ta'en can but content,  
And move thy mind, my labours to Allow,  
My pains Jmploid, are profitably spent,  
If that they bot, do help to honour you,  
Bot had I borne, the Bays above my Brow,  
Or been circunded with the Laurel green,  
I should more largely notify it now  
How much t'augment thy Greatness, I am ge'ine,  
And make the world and this Se-circled I'll,  
Amazed t'admire, Thee in moir stately style,   
Aberden the 25. of August. 1609. Your Hon. bounden and devoted, Mr. Alex. Gardyne,   

TO THE DISCREET READER.  

I Publish nought, nor put I to the Press,  
Their Poesies, to purchase me an praise,  
Nor, is my drift, nor my devise to dress,  
Elabrat lines, upon Respects to raise,  
And mount my Muse, upon the front of Fame,  
To get me Gain, or t'eternize my Name.   

Nor do I on, self-confidence or skill,  
For price, or place, presumptuously aspire,  
My meaning much, you do mistake: my will,  
Is to get done, my Distitch lasts desire,  
Slip all the Smooth, sleik what you see unfound,  
Help whair they halt, Abreage when they abound.   
Thine if you merit, Alex. Gardyne.   

CERTAIN ENCOMIASTIC Poesy's to the Author.  


I Seem like Cynthia while thou shines I swear,  
I am mistuned whairas Thou sweetly sings,  
And barren too, whair Thou begins to bear,  
Whose Rustic Muse bot Bastard brats forth brings:  
Yet what I can, I'll do it in thy sight,  
Wart but to len, a lustre to thy light.   

I will not press, to prattle of thy praise,  
Thy work bears witness of thy wondrous worth,  
Bot while I live and when I end my days  
I must entreat thy favour this far forth:  
About thy Garden place me near hand by,  
That I may smell thy flowers whair e'er I lie.   

So shall I rest contented In thy favour,  
Graced, while I grow, In such a glorious Ground,  
Whair Virtue, Wit, and worth so sweetly favour,  
Whair Eloquence and Art so much Abound:  
Whair I shall prove part of thy sweet Reposes,  
Surpassing sugared Myrrh and musced Roses.   
Anonimos.   


AS Beauty still desires to be in sight,  
Of saddest Sable and misshapen Statures,  
The more to grace their admirable light,  
By the default of such deformed Creatures:  
As Cynthya be day can give no glance  
While bright Apolo shows his Radiance.   

So gracious Gardyne wonder of thy Age,  
Thou gains a world of praise for every verse,  
Thy Country's honour thus thou does agraige,  
All Nations thy, Jnuentions shall rehearse:  
Poor petty Poems now your heads go hide,  
While greater light here stains your glistering pride.   

Ane light that shows be shining every whair,  
What Lamps are lost in British learned brains,  
For lack of Patrons to maintain the rair,  
And royal spirits that the Earth retains:  
Live Garden then, and love thy Patron best.  
I'll praise you both, and pray for all the rest.   
P. G.   


With Pyrameids, of Polized Pophir proud,  
Great Princes Toumbs, are beautified we see,  
And with the gold of Ophir fortunes Good,  
Their palaces stand pointing at the sky:  
Thus while they live their glory they maintain,  
Thus while they die, they make it live again.   

Yet all that life, is bot a living Death,  
And all this death, a dying life, and All,  
Their Trains, and honours, that attend their breath,  
Are but Rich marks, ye more to frame their fall,  
And after life, that painted honours stone,  
With flying Time, consumed is and done.   

Live than, that life, come not unto decay,  
And if it come, yet that it shall nought die,  
Into this Garden gather up thou may  
How still thy Name, may still eternal be:  
For be those fruits of Alexander's lore,  
Thou dies in Virtue for to live in Gloir.   
Mr. W. Bar.   

SONNET.  

TWo sorts of men be bound to love thy lyns,  
Two sorts therefore aught to proclaim thy Praise,  
Their several sorts, themselves shows and defines.  
The Dead, and als the Living in their days,  
The Dead they should ascent to thy Assays  
Since by thy Lines, Resussitat and sure,  
Their Fame revived, and immortal stays,  
And by thy Deed, eternal shall endure.  
The Living too, unless they thee injure,  
Into whose praise, thy Poesies thou penned,  
Should in Thy Cause, at Critics hands procure,  
And spair no pains, thy Fame for to defend:  
Wherefore I judge, (and justly) all engines,  
Alive and Dead, be bowed to love thy lines.   

Green Garden great, and gallant is thy glore,  
And happy thou, that such a troop contains,  
A comely Court, a rich and stable store,  
Hemmed here within thy heavenly hedge remains:  
Great Delius, dishanting Parnass uses,  
And with him all, these Maids admired the Muses.   

That tripill Tryn have here transferred their seat,  
And here Apollo hes his Palion pitched,  
Whereby no Ween, Invention nor conceit,  
Is not thy Muse attempted not, nor touched:  
Wherefore I think condinglie thou may claim  
One leaf out of the Laurel Diadem.   

Since in thy Breast boils those inspiring springs,  
From whence does flow that lively liquor sweet:  
Wherein Thou baths thy Virgin Muses wings,  
And at thy pleasure in those fonts does fleet:  
From whence thy Muse exceeding store extracts,  
That through the Mundan Map thee famous makes.   
W. T.   


IN Good or Bad, the work bewrays the Man,  
And by the fruit we clearly know the Tree,  
How cunning and, how great a Gardener than  
Declares thy gallant Garden thee to be?  
For therein thou makes blind and senseless see,  
Thy worthy work, unto myself a sight,  
That stupefacts my sense, delud's my eye,  
And yet it lens unto my life a light:  
For while with Reason I do reckon Right,  
And see such store do from one stock Proceed,  
Fruits fresh and fair, diversly dressed and dight,  
Yet discrepant in sapor, shape and seed:  
I must say then, thou by a thousand ways,  
Thy practice and Poetic power displays.   
Mr. I. Lesl.   


WHose pleasure is into his Paradise,  
And Adam like his Eden hath advisd,  
Relent thy course by Gardens grave advice,  
Whose Muse divine this sweetest Subject choosed,  
Inspired hereby, he hes profoundly infufd,  
Rare Recipies thy Soul for to renew,  
Read with remorse, and rightly if thou use,  
Thou shall rejoce, that in our Ground there grew  
A Garden whence springs Cedars to subdue:  
Soul-killing soars resulting from thy sin,  
Then wandering worldling, hold this in thy view,  
Lest if thou stray, thou enter not therein  
This Gardens-flowrs: had Alexander seen,  
His heart had not half so ambitious been.   
Alex. Ste.   

   

UPON HIS MAJESTY'S Arms quartered.  
LORD be thy boundless bounty from above,  
The British Great, long tripartited Throne,  
United now, in pleasure, peace and love,  
To thee and thine (Great james) shall Al-be-on  
Distractions, griefs, and grudges all are gone,  
Competitors, that priest thy Crowns to claim,  
Hes ceased their suits, and leave's to thee Alone,  
The Irish, French, and th' English Diadem,  
Out of all doubt impertinent to them;  
And be all Laws belonging unto thee,  
As lo my sacred Sovereign supreme,  
Behold here with thy Royal eyes, and see  
The Leopards, and Flowers of France they bring  
The Harp, to sport their Lord, thou Lion King.   

TO HISSACRED MAJESTY PROCLAIMED KING OF Great Britain.  
MOst magnanime, and high imperial Prince,  
Whom JOVA just, undoubtedly ordains,  
In peace be A, fore-pointed providence,  
Of Al-be-on all, to rule the royal rains,  
The bloody broils, where but th'ungodly gains,  
Great jove, sweet Time, and sacred Sovereign you,  
Have brought to end, and every strength constrains,  
Before your feet, debased like to bow,  
The threatening storms of bold Bellona's brow,  
To pleasant peace long entertained shall turn,  
As may be noted evidently now,  
while all your bounds, with blazing bonfires burn:  
Amidst this mirth, and those triumphiug things,  
Give GOD the glore, the Creator of Kings.   

CONGRATULATION FOR HIS majesties DELIVERY FROM THE SULPHUROUS Treason in the Parliament house.  

Sonnet. 1.  
LIft up your hearts and hands unto the Lord,  
Applaud, give praise, and with the Psalmist sing,  
Unto his Majesty Misericord,  
For saif conserving of thee Sovereign King:  
Give glore to God, and thank him for this thing,  
Laud we the Lord, with heavenly hymns on high,  
That by that bloody boutchrie did him bring:  
Devisd for him with secret subtlety.  
Extend the Truth, tell this eternally,  
With merry minds conjunctly all rejoes,  
jehovah just, Almighty, magnify,  
That fred him from the fury of his foes.  
Triumph and sing for this deliverance sweet,  
Praise to the Father, Son, and holy Spirit.   

Sonnet 2.  
IT is not flamm's of artificial firs,  
That thou the Lord craves for a recompense:  
Nor is it pomp ostentive thou requjr's,  
For wondrous preservation of the Prince,  
It is not Mundane vane magnificence,  
Nor sliding shows, that momentary be,  
Bot it is zeal, thanks, and obedience,  
With gladness of the mind to glorify,  
Thee thee the Lord, that hes so lovingly,  
Even from a fore-decrited death, out-drawen:  
Thy servant that, sincerely serveth Thee,  
To cause on him, thy love, and care, be knawne.  
A pail of prayer, not artificial firs,  
The Lord for this, deliverance desir's.    

TO THE CITY OF ABERDEN at the death of that excellent D. DAVID Bishop of Aberd.  

THe Prince of preaching Pastors in their parts,  
Thy Archidoctor dearest and divine;  
The light of learning in the liberal Arts,  
Thy signior sage, in every Science sine,  
Thy faithful Father, and informer fine:  
Thy dearest David in the Lord is lost,  
Thy Cypr'an Ambrose, and thy Augustine,  
The Earth for Heaven thy Cunninghame hes cost:  
while as Religion with her loud laments,  
For his departure poureth out her plaints.   

To Church and King, what detriment and scathe,  
The breaths-abridging Burrio does bring:  
Here in this death, is eminent to baith,  
For lo the Church, a Column; and the King  
A Consul grave, inlaiks in every thing  
The people a Platter of their public pace,  
Ane Symbol sure, and an assured sign,  
Of some approaching peril to the place:  
Where he was wont divinlie to indite  
The mysteries of holy sacred write.    

THE OPINION OF THE worldly estate of the honourable and learned Mr Walter Steward Principal of the King's College of Aberdon at his death.  

LIfe, Lordships, friends, all ease and earthly glore,  
Pomp, Pleasure, Pride, Renown & worldly wealth,  
Spirit, manhood, strength, estate, and treasures store,  
Blood, beauty, clan, and honour here but health,  
Like dying lamps into the longest night,  
Are false deluding dainties but delight.   

Pre-eminence, soveranitie, and place,  
Great dignities, and transitorious joys:  
Promotions high, descents from royal race,  
Time turns to nought, Death altars and destroys:  
As water-bell's with little blasts are blown,  
So with less breaths they are again ou'r-throwen.   

Wit, learning, skill, sweet Eloquence and vene,  
In faculties, intelligence profound:  
Solidity, and quickness of the brain,  
And in all Earthly blessings to abound:  
Are alway vain, and foolishness in fine,  
Without that Wisdom heavenly and divine.   

Men are not made for ever permanent,  
In Mein, nor monarchs is no steadfast strength,  
Men are no more, here bot a trau'ling tent,  
And they shall leave this lingering life at length:  
Remove and wend out of this vale their ways,  
For they the part of posting Pilgrims plays.   

What they in their Inventive brain have bred,  
Be means of their imagination vain:  
And with expense perfectly have exped,  
By ill governing is disgraced again:  
And that which Fame and Fortune highest bure,  
Oft lies full low, inglorious and obscure.   

Why do we then in fragile flesh confide,  
And boldly builds our aspirance and trust;  
Since nothing breathes that here is borne to bide.  
Of Nothing all, all unto Nothing must:  
Revert and turn, Death will in end devore,  
And flesh transchange to filth, as a before.   

Disdain those base and lowest earthly things,  
Fly through the skies unto his burning throne;  
Whose blessed sight to the beholders brings,  
(Be mere affection, and his love alone:)  
Those sacred, holy, benefits and blessed,  
Peace, wealth and ease, content and quiet rest.   

Abandon then those all alluring baits,  
Which to the Soul frams ruin and decay;  
Be not infected with those frivole fraits,  
That are in heavenly happiness a stay:  
So in the earth your Names shall be renowned,  
And in the heavens with Christ coheird & crowned.    

Non est mortale quod opto.  

NOt mortal, no, nor earthly is my aim,  
Nor points it to, great Powers or empirs  
To Favours fraill, nor to officious Fame,  
Nor is it sworn, to sensual desires:  
Nor would I wish what worldlings covet most,  
Glore got with ease, and with less labour lost.   

No tracking trash, nor transitorious things,  
Not Mammon's muck, that Mundans most on muse;  
Impeds my Spirit, which still aspiring springs,  
That only and Eternal good, to choose:  
Which Spirits bad, nor Angels blest above,  
Not in a point can alter, change, or move.   

No, bot it is that pure impassive Spirit,  
That ere all time was, shall, and only is:  
Good, just and wise, immortal, infinite,  
God all in all, all only is my wish:  
For in the same excessively I shall,  
Have infinite, and what I would have, all.    

UPON THE HONOURABLE the Laird of Tolquhon.  

ATtend, come view, behold here shall you see  
Into this grave, as in a stealed glass,  
The sudden change of men that mortal be,  
Now men, now metamorphosed in a mass,  
Now paill and wan, that even now vital was,  
Now brave, now blithe, now body but a breath,  
Now flesh and blood, now are we dust and ass,  
Now like to live, now subject unto death,  
Now fiery is, now frozen heard our faith,  
Now faithful friends, now false and feigned foes,  
Now patient, now angry full of wrath,  
Now filthy weighed, now fragrant like the rose:  
Now pampered up like painted pots are we,  
And dross again, in twinkling of an eye.   

2.  
REligion laiks out of this land a lamp,  
Thou Publict-well weep for thy member may,  
Thou Virtue wants the Captain of thy camp,  
Thou Country him that did thee honour ay:  
You Poor have lost, that seldom said you nay,  
You Friends your best, and only permanent:  
Unto you sex, the damage done this day,  
What pithy pen in paper can imprent,  
Truth, Virtue, Friends, Well, Country, Poor, lament,  
His death to you that duty did discharge,  
And wrought with wit and wisdom to invent,  
But others loss, your limits to enlarge:  
Then sex in one, come honour now his death,  
A live who to dishonour you was loath.    

To the Country where he lies.  
OF Buchan ground thou hes in grave thy glore,  
And of thy Lairds the light within thee lies:  
Thou keeps his corpse that best could thee decore,  
And was be vote (amongst the wisest) wise,  
Thou does depress that caused thee to arise,  
And made thy Fame in every Firth to flee,  
His Trophy then Eternal makes thee twice,  
First that thou bred one worthy such as he,  
Next that his bones should in thee buried be;  
And though thou Earth, his earthly joints enjoy,  
Devised, made, and destinate to die,  
Yet doubtless death dough never his deeds destroy:  
For thought ye both do your devour in this,  
Fame and Remembrance shall amend your mis.   

Prosop. to his living friends.  
CEase mortal men, for me mourn ye no more,  
You grieve your God, and craibs him but a cause,  
Ye follow fast, though that I go before,  
Death for thee last, be course each of you knows,  
The daily dead you sure example shows,  
You weep in vain, your mourning Me dismays,  
Ye get no wrong, God shears bot where he sow's:  
Your childish plaints, your weakness lo bewrais,  
Think after Death what state still for you stays,  
Pray with S. Paul for dissolution sign,  
Think not by Death the better part decay,  
Bot think that death men worldly makes divine:  
The Scripture says, we shall dissolve, not die,  
Then wait the hour, and mourn no more for me.   

Upon his dear friend Mr. A. M.  
GIflosse of friends, if damage great, or scathe,  
May move to mourn, to wail, or to lament:  
The first I think the greatest of them baith,  
enough for me, and a fit argument,  
Too much for those not touched with such intent,  
For friends or Fortune, once to moan or move,  
To all I say, this is sufficient,  
agreeing to all harmed men's behove,  
Prick with the spur, and force of onfold love,  
To such a one as by a just desert,  
Sold longer lived, bot (weerds) I you reprove,  
And cursed be thou death with thy dreadful dart:  
That in the spring and prime time of his year,  
Hath from his being brought him to his Beer.   

Upon the virtuous and worthy Virgin Helen Chein.  
INjurious Death, thy rage is but regard,  
No reason revels where once thou gets a rest:  
With reprobates the right reap's like reward,  
The godless, good, the mein, and mightiest,  
Thy dart to dust, does ready bring the best,  
And ay thou wretch, the worthiest invyes,  
As on this Maid thou hes made manifest,  
That here interred into this Temple lies,  
The wisest wight that Nature could devise,  
Whose Fame thy force and fury shall confound,  
When from each pen her praise proceeded thou spies,  
Then Death all shall, to thy disgrace redound:  
And where she rests shall be enrolled thy rage,  
For marring her in morning of her age.   

Upon the honourable the Laird of Corss.  
THe glorious Gods, o seldom wonder strange,  
Dressed in their dole, convoied all with cair,  
Wrath for thy wrack, all willing to revenge,  
Thy wrong, down from the watery vaulted Air,  
Hes left the Heavens, their habitations their,  
Thy dolent death to quite it, if they can:  
The thundering jove to magnify thee mair,  
Hes vowed to venge upon the Sprit's that span  
Thy thirded so thin; the mighty Mars, says than  
The spoils of death shall grace the grave above,  
In spite of death, in witness that thou won  
Of all the Gods, the favour, grace, and love.  
Apollo last, laments thee with the lave,  
And vow's t'ingraph thy glore above thy grave,   

Upon the honourable I. Iru. of Pet.  

LIke as the Date, or silver plumed Palm,  
That planted is upon an open plain,  
But help of hedge, to keep it close and calm,  
From v'olent winds, and from the rapping rain,  
Does upright rise, and level like a rash,  
And blooming bears her fruit, and flourish fresh.   

So he that back, as to his mother's womb,  
This quiet Caverne, and this silent Cell,  
Returned is, into this terrene tomb,  
Against those foes, the World, the Devil, and Hell:  
He stoutly strove through force of faith & strength,  
And jacob-like, here Victor-lyes at length.    

DIALOG UPON THE DEATH OF P. F. bailie of Aberden.  CIVES. 
STay stranger thou, that so preceislie spies  
With earnest eyes, and on those Graves does gaze,  
Look here below, where thou shalt see there lies  
Mater to make thee both to mourn and maze:  
For years a youth, dead in his tender days,  
Enriched with graces reasonable, and rare,  
As thou shalt see all those lamenting lays,  
And dulefull ditons cunningly declare:  
Then thou hes to dilat an other day,  
Of such a man thou red into thy way.  PEREG. 

The mourning of so many modest men,  
The Deads' deserts, does evidently show,  
And causeth all inquisitive to ken  
What was his worth, that here is laid so low,  
Through dint of death, and destanies ov'rthrowe,  
And what his parts were, by their plaints appears,  
Which surely serves him for to sound to blow,  
And put his praise in all the honests ears:  
And for myself, I would enlarge the same,  
And further eik a feather to his fame.   

Brethring in brugh, and ye his brother borne,  
And all that hes of his acquentance been:  
Do what ye can, his death for to adorn,  
And mourn no more, it will not mend to mein,  
Set forth the Fame of the defunct your friend:  
Ye Poets kith, your cunnings, craft, and can,  
To cause his fame, still flourish, fresh, and green,  
And be your Muse, immortal make the man:  
So ȝow's be Partner of the praise, and be,  
Remembered both, and honoured as Herald   

Give ȝit no partial nor a sparing praise,  
Pen only that, that reason we'll, may crave,  
It buits nought much, above all bounds to blaze,  
Superfluous praises, graces not the Grave,  
Rander the right, and let alone the leave,  
Extend the Truth, and surely so you shall,  
Allot him all the honour he would have,  
Both in his life, and his last funeral:  
Wouchaif to write, and lend him lin's thairfoir,  
That be your means, he may live evermoir.    

remorse and sorrow for sin.  

LOrd lend me light, for to lament my life,  
And sharp my fight, to sorrow for my sin;  
Restrain the fury, and the mortal strife,  
Of spreit, and flesh, that I am entered in:  
Permit me not, without recourse to run,  
Nor walk the ways, of the unchastized child,  
Bot give me grace, and grant me to begin,  
For to refuse, the follies that defyld,  
My sinful soul, and all my senses syld,  
With shows of worldly vanities, and wealth,  
And those inglorious glosis that begyld,  
And did withhold, me from my heavenly health:  
Lord be thy spreit, make me perceive & spy-them,  
And then renounce, and utterly deny-them.   

2  
God grant me grace, for to digest my grief,  
And for the spreit, of patience I pray:  
Lord send my Soul, that long desired relief,  
And now convert, my Carioune to clay;  
Contract the Time, Lord thraw the thirded in twa,  
And let me murne my miseries no moir,  
Dislodge this life, and do not long delay,  
To enter me, in Thy eternal gloir,  
Whair I may live Thy loving face befoir,  
Thair with thy Saints, uncessantly to sing,  
Thy perfect praise, and but all end adoir,  
Thy holy name, high Prophet, Priest, and King:  
Untie my tongue, that I may sing, and say,  
O holy God, all holy, holy, ay.    

Invocation for seasonable weather.  
O Puissant Prince, and King Cunctipotent,  
Whose body rend, was on the rack, or Rude,  
For man's great good, O Lord thyself was shent,  
Of that intent, the Devil to denude;  
Us to seclude, from that fierce fiery flood,  
Whilk ready stood, to drink upî and demain,  
That thou had then, bought with thy blessed blood,  
The heavenly food, that fed thy Isra'l fain,  
Lord send again, to nourish us thy own,  
Since floods of Rain, downfalls out from the Aer,  
That we despair, to reap the fruits, and grain,  
Whairwith the plain, is now ore'spread alwhair,  
My suit then Lord, with spreit depressed receive,  
Grant I may have, that heir I humbly crave.   

A PRAYER FOR THE ESTATE of the Church.  
O Lord that art the strength and steadfast rock,  
Let thy out-streatched arm fry and defend,  
That now in danger be, thy faithful flock,  
Which was, which is, and shall be to the end:  
Cause now thy care upon the Church be kend,  
When reprobates uprises to rebel,  
And with their tricks and treasons does intend,  
To wrest thy Word, thou dictat hes thy sell,  
Thought of the truth, no thing themselves can tell,  
Bot boasts us with the strength of stranger's sword,  
Apostate Papists, from all parts expel,  
Or turn them truly to avow thy word.  
Imped their Platts, their mintings make amîsse,  
That aught bot well to thy evangel wisse.   

Comfort for my innocent afflicted friend.  

LEt not blasphemous barking beasts bereave,  
Nor causeless thy accustomed courage quail,  
For guiltless states the keenest courage crave,  
And most does in adversity availl:  
Though raging Rogs, without all reason raill,  
And wicked wretches at thy worth envy,  
Yet all their falset in the sin shall fail,  
When every one thine innocence shall try:  
To their eternal infamy and shame,  
And to the lewd and honour of thy Name.   

None bot the worthy are envied worst,  
And few traduced bot of the best estate,  
The finest oft we find unfriendly forced,  
And with the beastly borne at greatest hate;  
Fools only at their Betters fortune frait,  
And swells to see their credit to increase,  
Their malice yet should not thy mind amait,  
Nor make thy private pleasures prove the Less:  
Bot rather move thee mirthful more to be,  
And flout thy foolish foes that frouns on thee.    

A Passion.  
WHat grief, what anguish great,  
What black and bitter bail,  
So hurts and harms my heavy heart,  
And never makes to hail?  
What huge misfortunes me,  
Confounds, defaits, and foils,  
What daft desire, like flamm's of fire,  
Within my bowels boils?  
What subtle slight desaits,  
What trains my soul to trap?  
What wicked wiles my will invents,  
Me Wretch in woe to wrap?  
What lubric pleasant shows,  
With false empoisoned baits,  
My fond fantastic fancy finds,  
To sensual conceits?  
What wild corrupted thoughts,  
As from their rute and stock, 
(⸫)   
Out of my heart, like armies huge,  
About my brain do flock?  
What hundredth thousand ill's,  
From that first sinful seeds,  
Into my mind immured alas,  
All bad abuses breeds?  
What willingness to vice?  
What forwardness to fall?  
What prompnes to trespass is nurced in my natural?  
What readiness to stray,  
What rage from right to run,  
A beastly begot to embrace,  
The sink of shame and sin?  
What inward foolish force,  
What inclinations ill,  
Into my endless errors ay  
Makes me continue still? 
(⸪)   
Or what a madness is't,  
That but remorse or fear,  
I with my God almost, his Word  
And will revealed I weir.  
Who in his Wisdom hes  
All Natures made of nought,  
And ilk a Creature and kind,  
Their several courses taught.  
The Bodies all above,  
The spheir and cirled Heaven,  
He makes run restless round about,  
As violently drawn.  
The sure and solid Ground,  
Just placed like a prick,  
In mids alike unmovable,  
Does still and stable stick.  
With both the sorts of Seas,  
Embroidered about,  
That still does brash and beat their banks,  
With many roar and rout.  
He all above the Earth,  
The Region of the Air,  
Right properly appointed for  
His Palace did prepare.  
Although the Heaven of Heavens,  
Most polished perfit,  
His Grace and Godhood not contains,  
Full glorious, and grite.  
For in the Earth and Deeps,  
And Firmament most fair,  
His blessed Spirit and Essence is,  
over all and everywhere.  
He all and every thing,  
H'apointed hes and placed;  
And what his Providence performed,  
Is nothing void nor waist.  
The third and highest Heaven,  
Great GOD he did ordain,  
For Angels, and the blessed Band,  
A mansion to remain.  
The subtle Air below,  
And Firmament for Fowls,  
The deadly Deep, and black Abyss,  
For damned spirits and souls.  
For fleeting finned Fish,  
Fresh Waters, Floods and Seas:  
For savage, wild, and bloody Beasts,  
He planted Parks and Trees.  
Yet of those all the use,  
As Nature taught, weken.  
He hes appointed for supply,  
And nourishment to men,  
And sapentlie hes set  
In season ilk a sort,  
And all things as he thinks it good,  
Provides for their support.  
All forms of Fish the Floods,  
Her eating Flesh the Field,  
All healthsome Fowls for food, the Air,  
He hes ordained to yield.  
The Glob aetherial,  
And close compacted spheir,  
He peopled hes with lightsome lamps,  
The streaming star's, and cleir.  
Some of those litler Lights,  
But steiring steadfast stay,  
And some their circled courses change,  
And alter erring ay.  
And such like He hes set  
These ornaments among,  
That through the voults of Crystal skies,  
Full gleglie glancing gang.  
Twa-glimsing golden Globes,  
With bodies broad and bright,  
The Greater for to guide the day,  
The Less to rule the night.  
The silver Cynthia,  
Doth both increase and wain  
Into a Month: and Phoebus' course  
A year concludes again.  
The twice two Elements,  
And every other thing;  
Abers not by their limit bounds,  
Be th' All-creating King.  
Bot onl' unthankful man  
though to his use alone,  
Great good and gracious God did all,  
Befoir expressed, compone:  
ȝit all the Creatures,  
That He hes made among,  
Man only knows the right and ȝit,  
Does walk awry, and wrong,   

Fortis est falsam infamiam contemnere.  
ALL they that love, and liveth be the law,  
And they that stur, her statutes to trangres,  
All they of God, that his commands do knaw,  
Than lewd Reports, they nothing count of less,  
All they in life, who purity profess,  
Than slandering tongues, they nothing more detest,  
Wha seiks to smoir, while they the more increase,  
The guiltless Fame, the pure, and perfect best,  
The Scripture shows, the wiser sort, expreems,  
Detracting tongues, a vice unworthiest,  
Which God most vile, and odious esteems,  
Of falls infamous lies, than think no mair,  
Bot as words lost, and Echoes in the air.   

Ane prayer for the faithful.  
O Lord whose force, and righteonsnes do reach,  
From Monarchies, unto the meinest Mote,  
O Lord whose Regal staitlines does stretch,  
O'er all not passing once the smallest jot,  
O Lord that saved, unlost thy servant Lot,  
And for distrust, struck up his wife in stone,  
O Christ that cured, by touching of thy cott,  
The blind, the lame, and all, with griefs, begun,  
Look Lord, I pray, down from thy thundering throne,  
And view us wratches with thy eyes divine,  
Guide us with grace from danger every one,  
Whom thou elects, and chooses to be thine,  
Bliss us on Earth, and give us perfect pace,  
And in the heavens fruition of thy face.   

UPON THE REVEREND AND GODly M. N. H. Commissar of Aber.  
HEre lies enclosed, within this Cave of clay,  
His bloodless bones that boldly did embrace,  
In Christ, the Truth, unto his dying day,  
Whose like now few, are liveand left, alas,  
Pereit to Poise, with piety, the place,  
That upright He, did but a spot preserve,  
By guide governing, godliness, and grace,  
Which now to sound, (that surely cannot swerver)  
Thy public praise, O happy Soul shall serve,  
Though thou be dead, and death thy dross, devoir,  
Thy laud shall not, inlaik, that does deserve,  
For to remain, immortal evermoir,  
Thy Name, by Fame, into this land shall live,  
Though seasons slide, it permanent shall prive.   

DIALOGUE UPON THE VIRTUOUS and Right honourable Sir Thomas Gordon of Clunie Knight.  
Interlo. Resp. Fame.  Pub. Weal. 
WHair flies thou Fame, so frantic-like, and fast?  
What chance, or change? what may thy mourning move?  
What grieus thee thus, how goes thou so aghast,  
What news in Earth, what in the Heavens above?  
Thou Tongue of Time, thou wingd-foote Herold stay,  
T'impart th'employments unto us we pray.  Fame. 
The force of my, Affairs and woes scarce can,  
Permit a pause much less to bide, and breath,  
Bot wit Thou we'll, the World it wants a Man,  
By the untimous, Tyranny of death.  
Whose worthiness, to sound out I am send,  
Unto the Heaven and to the World's end.  Pub. 

Whom have I lost? Fa. A manful member you,  
That loved the Lord, and held Religion dear,  
Alas removed, and transported now,  
From you, the faithful, that are fechtand here.  
Unto his Home, the high and stately Heaven,  
That God unto, the glorified hes given.   

And hes thee left, as Orphan to bewail,  
And wept his want, with tears and tragic toone.  
That from this woeful and this wratched vail,  
His shining virtues Sun hes set so soon,  
By whose eclipsed and declined light,  
This day is dark, like the Cymmeriane night.   

His sanctified Soul celestial,  
From whence it came, to God again is gone,  
Up to the highest heaven imperial,  
Th'appointed Palace of the Lord, where None,  
Bot Souls of Saints, and blessed Angels be,  
Elect to life, from all Eternity.   

His Name, Remembrance, and his Memory,  
The Earth up to, the firmament, shall fill,  
The mouth's of men, shall minister with me,  
To cause them uncorrupt continue still,  
And grasse-like grow, great, glorious, and green,  
As if they were, substantially seen.   

How greatly than, thou graced are, O grave,  
(A seven foot Cell,) made of the marble mould,  
His knighted Corpse, with honour thou shall have,  
Whose Fame, scarce can, the universal hold,  
Whairbe the age, succeeding, this, shall see,  
How rair a Man, heir buried lies, in Thee.    

To his loving friends.  

Prosop.  
YOu Honourable, Dear, and loving, Friends,  
To whom God gives, his graces great, and guide,  
Mark this Mort-head, and your ensuing ends,  
See how it stands, think sometime how it stood,  
Now bot bare bones, and hes beines, but their blood,  
No worldly wit to Kingdoms, Crowns, nor kin,  
Brings with them blessings or Beatitude,  
Nor will they Heaven unto the wicked win,  
All Earthly pomp, if not divod of sin,  
Shall turn to this wherein my bones are borne,  
A trimmed Tomb, with rotten waires within,  
Brought forth to day, and buried on the morn:  
Live therefore godly, virtuous, well and wise,  
Such happiest, and only blessed dies.   

2.  
GOD gave to me of friends sufficient,  
Of worldly wit, a reasonable store;  
Of Thesaure too, until I was content,  
And honour here, yea, while I craved no more:  
Yet all is nought, and bot a gloss of glore,  
Like the Sol-sequium, a fading flower,  
That with the Sun does all the day decore  
The Gardens green; sine setteth in an hour.  
Bot Christ my King, and Souls-sweet Saviour,  
My comfort is, my honour, health, and all,  
Everlasting life, and never tracking treasure,  
That permanent shall be perpetual:  
Leave then dear Friends, wealth vanishing & vain,  
Make Christ with me your God, your goods, your gain.    

A strong Opiniator.  

FOr Fortune's favour or her fead,  
I neither eik nor pairs my trind;  
Though misreport of me be made,  
I neither vex nor move my mind:  
For who to misreport pretend,  
Dismakes their malice in the end.   

I pance not on no present things,  
Nor covets those that are to come:  
I sturt not for Cupido's stings,  
Nor am I driven to do as some.  
For private pleasure to prescrive,  
The day of death, or term of live.   

I fash me not with Court effairs,  
I suit not for a seat supreme:  
I am not cloyed with Country cares,  
Nor hunt I for renown of Name:  
For I find sooth that wise men says,  
Fame conquest soon, als av decays.   

To gather gear is good I grant,  
Bot godly nought therein to glore:  
Then sometime have, and sometime want,  
I for myself, I would no more:  
It surfeits oft, and seemeth sore,  
To want, or to be still in store.   

With faithful Friends I do not fash,  
No ended bargain back I bring:  
I waste me not in vain to wash  
The woeb I wait that will not wring:  
For folly is to enterprise  
That not into my power lies.   

I do not hate no others hap.  
And am content here with my own:  
I strive not to mount up a stap,  
To be two grease again down-throwne.  
Bot I employ me in that place,  
Where glory I gain not, nor disgrace.   

Th'unpleasant Proud I plain despise,  
From Fools I flee as from my foes,  
I love and honour ay the wise,  
And still I do mislike of those,  
As Sancts that bears a Sanct-like shoe,  
And yet in deed are no ways so.   

For doubtsome changes that may chance,  
I neither glade, nor yet I grieve:  
For hope of things that may advance,  
I neither like to die nor live:  
For worldly thing is not can  
One live, once make an happy man.   

For swelling rage of sorrows showrs,  
As unassaulted sure I sit:  
And for unconstant stormy showrs,  
As fixed fast, I'fotch no futt:  
So as a Bulwark on the strand,  
Rebeatting Fortunes blows I stand.   

For coming storm's, I do forecast,  
Of greatest ill's I choose the best:  
I set no sail, I hue no mast,  
No vehement I know can jest.  
And as no Pilate unexpert,  
I view the Compass and the Cart.   

For instant grief, for gladness gone,  
Believe I neither heat nor cool,  
At all events I still am one,  
For aught I neither joy nor dole:  
So both in peace and in debate,  
I still remain in one estate.    

Upon the death of the honourable Lady D. H. B. L. Essel.  
The defunct La. to her living friends.  
YOu yet that brukes this breath,  
By birth who ever you be;  
Descend duwn deeply in yourself,  
Consider, search, and see  
From whence thou came, when, how,  
And whither thou must go,  
What strength thou hes, what stuf thou art,  
Learn careless man and know.  
Thou art but momentare,  
And not immortal made,  
Your flesh though fair,, it fragile is,  
And like a flower shall fade.  
What is thy Idol wealth?  
What is estate or strength?  
And what be these thy pleasures all.  
which thou shall leave at length:  
They are like shooting stars,  
That make a shining shoe,  
Or like to these strait running streams,  
That but regress do go.  
All flesh is grass, and grass,  
Be course it does decay,  
So shall the glory of the flesh,  
Evainish 〈◊〉 once away.  
Th'unhappy Heir of Sin,  
The Son of ire forlorn  
And guilty banished from thy bliss,  
By Nature thou art borne, 
(⸫)   
O then whence springs thy Pride,  
Conceived in Sin since ye,  
Be borne in bail, in labour lives,  
And out of doubt must die.  
Vane is the trust in men,  
Thar glory vain, and than.  
Amongst all vanities, most vain,  
The vainest vain, is man..  
When passing pleasures off,  
This posting life most please,  
ȝit they, they pass, and fade, they fly,  
And perish does all these.  
To vermin ye convert,  
From worms to dust ye do.  
Dissolve and all your pomp departs,  
To Earth, and ashes too.  
Bot O vain glorious worm,  
In pleasure, pride, and pomp,  
That lives thy life look here below  
To me a lifeless lump.  
Wha while I played my part,  
On the unstable stage,  
And in this woeful worldly vail,  
Past o'er my pilgrimage,  
My Nature framed me fair, 
(⸪)   
My Fortune gave me wealth,  
And many days my gracious God,  
With honour gave me health,  
Preferment, Pleasure, wit,  
Contentment, and delight,  
Thou wretched world saw me possess,  
With solace in thy sight:  
Yet honour, beauty, birth,  
Riches, renown, and rend,  
Nor kingdoms can relieve the life,  
When here her space is spent.  
For Prince nor Peasant poor,  
The Libertine, and slave  
The Monarch and the Miser meine,  
Shall all go to the Grave.  
Wit worldly, nor vain wealth,  
Nobility, nor blood,  
T'exeme the one day, from thy death,  
Shall doubtless do no good,  
Th'ambitious haughty head?  
What helps his honour him,  
When dreidful death, that ghostly Groom  
Lean, Meagre, Pale, and grim,  
Fierce, and inflexible,  
To pierce him shall appear?  
Shall lordships then prolong his life,  
Or honour hold him heir?  
No not one hour, although,  
He did possess all that,  
Great Caesar, Cyrus, Solomon,  
With all their glory got.  
I nane, and futill was,  
And like a flower, fast fled,  
The pleasures all, that they possessed,  
And honours which they had;  
A Sar'cine Salaedine,  
Once Emperor of the East,  
When death did him attach, and with,  
That rigrous rod arrest,  
Through Askalon sometime,  
In Palestine a Town,  
That proud and pagan Potentat,  
'Cause carry up and down,  
Upon his lance, his linen shirt,  
And thus caused cry: no moir,  
Hes now died Saladine of all,  
His treasures, wealth, and stoir.  
All pleasure so shall pass,  
Gold treasure is but trash,  
And as the Sun dissolves the snow,  
So wealth away does wash.  
And what while we are here,  
Seems to the sense▪ most sweet,  
Or best does please, it is nought but,  
Vexation of the spreit,  
This world than it is nought,  
That only worthy wars?  
That should the Christian Conscience cloy,  
Nor too much clag, with cares?  
No no that is it nought,  
Since every thing, and all,  
That earthly is, shall have an end,  
And is but temporal,  
we'll since this world within,  
We no thing firm can find,  
And what this life, most large does len,  
Shall all be left behind,  
Goods, children, kin, and friends,  
And which more dear, we love,  
Our life we leave, theirs no remeid,  
But from this Monde remove.  
Here honour keeps no hold,  
Nor does delights endure,  
gone heaven, this Earth, the Aer, that Sea,  
From shifting are not sure:  
Nor no thing on the Earth,  
(That helps to human use,)  
From alteration quite exempt,  
Did th' All-divine produce.  
For man, beast, fish, and foul,  
Plant, metal, stones, and Trees,  
Once widders, wracks, once rots, or rusts,  
Decays, departs, or dies.  
Than thou art mad O man,  
Into those toys to trust,  
That temp'rall are, ȝea transitore:  
And nought but dross and dust.  
Herefore what is but dust,  
And what thou deems most dear.  
This grassy glory forget, and think  
On Heaven while thou art here.  
There lay thy count a Crown  
To conquest, and atchyve:  
Here throughlie think that there the life,  
Ay lasting thou must live.  
Here guide thee so, atlest  
To grow in grace, begin  
From hollow of thy heart, to hate  
Iniquity and sin.  
Prepare provision here,  
And make thee in some measure,  
There only there for to extruct,  
A never tracking treasure.  
And there to dwell here must  
Th'endeavours be addressed;  
Where ever, and perpetually  
Is pleasure, peace and rest,  
And where in full of joy's  
The just and blessed bid's,  
But change beyond all date of day's,  
All terms, all times, and tyd's. 
(⸪)   
Where Mourning shall in Mirth,  
Loss be exchanged in Gain;  
And where Mortality refined,  
Immortal shall remain.   

EIDEM.  

SInce Death, distress, wrack, wretchedness, and woe,  
Since mourning, and since misery to Man,  
Peculiar are, and thy adherents, O!  
Why should thou start, and strange esteem them than,  
Since Policy nor power carnal can,  
Divert, remove, nor in a point preveine,  
Thy danger, or Misfortune fatal, when,  
To seize on thee, too sharply they are seen:  
No Kingdoms, Crowns, no Kin, nor Consobrein,  
Nor nothing here that being hes nor Breath,  
Not Tyrants with their Terrors can retain,  
The vildest worm, from dying once the Death:  
Since nought can Death, nor sorrows saif from thee  
Lamenting live, and living learn to die.   

In what a Labarinthian sink of sin?  
In what a Maze, in what a misery?  
Into what grief, and with what grons begin?  
The Dulfull dait of Man's Nativity,  
Woe, weeping, Care, and cries continually,  
Are at his Birth, and at his Burial both,  
In sickness sore, or sorrows suredlie,  
The Time twixt Life and Death, he groaning goth,  
So silly Man, does bot lament and mourn,  
while to the ground, his Grandam he return.   

He weeps when from the belly he is borne,  
And enters first (the stage) distilling tears,  
So to the world, he mourning gives gud-morne,  
And as he liu's, so to lament he lears,  
His lewd-led-life, occasion gives of fears,  
Fear breeds complaints, perplexities, and pain,  
So thus his life, it vanishes, and wears,  
He comes in grief, and groaning goes again,  
Lamenting first, he looks upon the light,  
Lamenting last, he gives again good-night.    

To the same honourable Lady.  
MElpomine all Murners Tragic Muse,  
Some unknown kind of saddest sable choose,  
T'invest thyself therewith whereby, thou may,  
Expressly more, divulgat, and bewray,  
Thy care and cause, all Creatures to ken,  
Thy grieu's more great, nor's ordinar to men,  
Convene thy wits, use all thy Airt and skill,  
For words thou wont to write, now Tears distill,  
And unto Tritone that the Trident bears,  
Pay triple tribute, of salt brimmish tears.  
Desire thy sweet and sacred Sisters fine,  
To trim their Harps, to tragic toons like thine,  
And pray your Prince, Apollo for to borrow  
Some of Neptunus' tears, to show your sorrow.  
Th'arrabic gulf, the East nor Ocean seas,  
Shall b'insufficient to suffice your eyes.  
Although ye should, yea recolect the rain,  
And gathered all in drops disgorged again,  
Yet all this should not plenty, prove, nor store,  
Thy departure, dear Lady, to deplore,  
No thought they all, that live of human line,  
Celestial signs, and Deities divine▪  
And all that care can know, or sorrow see,  
Should too tear-wash, this terren Tomb with me,  
Though th' Echoing Air it mumur should and moan  
though lightfoot winds should whissel their grifs & groan,  
And though the fire ascend be Nature light,  
As sorrowful to see so sad a sight,  
And th' Earth aggrieud her Entrels huge should tear  
Most discontent thy burdenn dead to bear,  
Although the shining Sun himself should shroud,  
Most careful for thy cause within a cloud.  
And though the Clouds lamenting look and lower,  
And tears for rain upon the planes should power.  
Though brutish Beasts should brey, burst, rage & roar,  
And schools of Fish seem t'ambiset the shore:  
All mourning in their manner to the end,  
Their heaviness to have us apprehend.  
Though Creeping things, and flights of Fowls alwhair,  
Deive with their din, the deiphs, the earth, the Air,  
And though that Monster many mouthed Fame,  
Thy only praise should publish and proclaim;  
Still elevat above the Rounds, and rear-it,  
And blazed abroad als far as Fame can bear-it.  
And it in Diamonds indent and mass,  
It into Marble, and in books of Brass.  
And last, though Men in numbers infinite,  
Should in complaints, consume, and spend their spirit:  
And be so sad as never seen was such,  
mourn what they may, they can not murne too much.  
Although their backs the black dole bages bear's,  
Though mournful minds too testifies their tears.  
And though with lines lugubrious and sad,  
Thy Coffin they have covered and spread.  
Yea though they should conglomerat and join  
All th' earthl'- ingens, with those the best above.  
And then draw from the Thesaurie of Arts,  
On perfectly perfect in whole and parts.  
Yet should he not ineugh deplore and praise  
Thy Death and thy Deserving in thy days.   

Upon he honest and virtuous, Ag. Chal.  
THese be the treasures that this Tomb contains,  
Earth, dust, and ash, much pampered in our pride,  
Now but a band, of boss, and bloodless bains,  
That but short time, here in their beauties bide,  
Flesh is most frail, and suddantly does slide,  
No durance is nor certainty of days,  
No mortal men, hes wherein to confide,  
But in the Lord, through Christ, the Scripture says,  
So while each one, their part like Stagers plays,  
Upon this worlds, vain Theatre I would,  
They learned to die, unto the Lord always,  
So for to rest, enregistered, and rolled,  
Amongst the happy, company of those,  
To life elect, be mercy, love, and choice.   

Upon the Right honourable A. I. of Drum.  
Fame.  

COme me (the Herold of the heavens) behold,  
Remembrance mouth, and never dying Fame,  
Tongue unto Time, and Trenchman uncontrolled,  
Reporter chief, and Publisher supreme,  
In joyful Thesis, or in tragic Theme,  
What be above, or in the Earth, belaw,  
By Providence, preordained to proclaim,  
In swiftest sort, to signify and shaw,  
The will, decrees, Occurrents, now, and then,  
Of God's eternal, and of mortal Men.   

Truth, Virtue, Love, Faith, Piety and Peace,  
priest with complaints, importuned, and oppressed;  
Their Synod set, this Sepulture the place,  
This Death, their Dolour, to dilate a dressed,  
In mourning manner for to manifest,  
What all the living, and this Land hath lost,  
A Baron bold, of blood, an of the best,  
A mundane Mirror but a Match almost,  
A perfect Pattern plenished withal,  
The excellent, and virtues Cardinal.   

Each one of these, are damnified by daith,  
Each one of these, are wounded with this wrack,  
Each one of these, are justly wronged and wrath,  
To each of these, an Lover is in lacked,  
Each one of these, with Death their band, shall break,  
To honour him, and in Remembrance have,  
And each of these, hes sworn this for his sake,  
For to engross, his graces on his grave,  
And hang on high, above, his honour's Hearse,  
His worthiness, and virtues into verse.   

Receive then Earth, and in thy bosom lay,  
This fragile frame, in substance like thy cell,  
A Man of mould, converted into clay,  
Whose Truth and whose, jntegritie to tell,  
Leave unto Me, the restless ringing Bell,  
Time Death, nor Age, shall in Oblivion bring,  
Nor from my Troumpe, his passing praise, expel,  
Although that death, or'threw the earthly Thing,  
The heavenly half is hence to heaven again,  
Which both by me, remembered shall remain.    

UPON THAT HONOURABLE AND worthy Gent. M. Patrick Cheyn of Rainstone.  

WHat both thy worth, & what thou was to wriet,  
What happiness, and honour here thou had:  
What providence, and prudency of spreit,  
And what a life, beloved thou hes led;  
Needs not be pens, of Poets be expressed,  
That of itself, is so made manifest.   

Thy love to friends, and to thy country we'll,  
Who could not know, thy constancy, and Cair,  
Unto this City, sign and Common-weell,  
Of all an most, affected evermair,  
Deserving well, of both, thou was I wait:  
Since for thy grave, their grief is now so great,   

An jeme, an jewel, and a chosen chain,  
A Chain, both be, thy Nature, and thy Name:  
Unto this Burgh, thou evermair hes been,  
But death, alas, soon sundered the same;  
And from all common comers hes convoyed,  
Thee thee to heaven in whom we justly joyed    

THE CONTENTS AND SUM of the Authors his Christian Knight  
Translated.  

PErmit, and let, thy loving looks alight,  
And with welwilling eyes vouchsafe to view;  
The young unwise, and wilful wandering Knight,  
Dressed in apparel and an habit new;  
Which in a ground, and barren Garden grew,  
Almost unworthy, to be worn, and ȝit:  
The Portrat right, the Type, the Figure true,  
And very vive Anatomy of wit:  
To monstrate these, the Misses we commit.  
And make them all, be sensible, and seen,  
Yea th'image and, the Idea is it,  
That represents, most Efauld to the eyen:  
The natural man, imprudent and profane,  
Be grace of God, regenerate again.   

2  
OF Satan's snares, that souls incites to sin,  
Here is detected the undoubted Truth,  
And all that may, inveit to vice, whairin,  
Oft falls th'undaunted and rebellious youth,  
Here are the sins, deciphered of sloth.  
Of Misbelief, of Malice, and Envy,  
And heir of sin, also to drench the drought,  
The Well divine, and spring of virtue spy,  
Heir is the Touch where thou may truly try,  
If thou hes fully faithful been, befoir,  
And here are perfect plasteres to apply,  
To salve the soul, and to heal sound her soar:  
And here as in, a mirror markthou may,  
To life or death, the right or radie way.    

At the death of the right honourable Sir J. Wisehart of Pettarro Kn.  

THe world it is, a Theatre and Men,  
The Actors are, upon this stately stage;  
Whereof some young, some midling, now, and then,  
Some in the very Evening of their age,  
Presents themselves, prepared to play their page;  
Yet in a moment, suddenly, and soon,  
As posting Palmers, post a Pilgrimage,  
They driving o'er, we dow, decern, have done.  
And glyds into the Grave, the Den of Death,  
That each one for his place retering hath.   

Yet Death, nor this the Grave unto the good,  
Nor should affright, no nor dismay them must,  
Albeit the boulke, the marrow, bons, and blood,  
They reconvert in Ashes, Earth and Dust.  
For jesus Christ, th'Omnipotent and just,  
From both he struck the sting, and stayed that strife,  
To all that in his mercies truly trust,  
And plainly made them Ledders unto life:  
Whereby to Heaven, that glorious Scene t'ascend,  
Triumphand Actors ever more but end.   

Men should not then, too much bot measure mourn,  
Nor for their Friends, impatiently deplore;  
Who as they take, long ere their Time return,  
And go to grave, their hours prefixed before,  
Wherein they do their Maker move the more,  
while thus at his appointments they repine,  
And with their groaning derogats his glore,  
Which in his great Synedrione divine,  
H'apoints that all, that ever breathed, and be,  
Should ere they live, taste the first death, and dye.   

Death is the Port of Peace, Restrent from strife,  
Place of Repose, Conclave of all Content:  
The gate to Glore, the Line that leeds to Life,  
The way of flesh, that worldlings ever went,  
It was the battering Bombard jesus bend,  
To break and bruise the Serpent and our Sin.  
It was the Ram, that Heavens-strong Ramperds rend  
To make Men mount, and easily enter in:  
In Zion sure, saif sanctified for Them,  
The heavenly, holy, new jerusalem.    

To his very loving friend Mr. T. M.  
A Mortal man, Immortalised now, 
(⸫)   
This earthly Urn, this compond caskat keeps  
Called from the Cares that cross and cumber you,  
Content in Christ here sound and softly sleeps,  
Flesh, blood and bones (the slouches and truly typ's  
Of the restrained and imprisoned spirit,  
Wherein oppressed, as from a Pit it peeps.)  
Jmmast, are now, in mould, a Mansion meet,  
Preordaind for the very best, albeit,  
They by their birth, be of Basilik blood,  
For Death, that all devours, thus does decreet,  
All flesh shall to, the creeping fry be food:  
And men howsoe'er in pleasures Seas they suom,  
Once shall confined be in a terrene Tomb.   

TO A COURAGEOUS YOUNG MAN William Keith, who for his Country's honour slew an Englishman and suffered for the same.  

Would not the Ghost of that great Greek be glade,  
That pain so much to pen a Pagans praise,  
If he the happiness, or honour had  
To be a live, now dead into their days,  
To make his tongue a trump t'impen and blaze  
Through all the Anguls of the Universe,  
Into most lofty, and most learned lays,  
And in more than his wont wondrous verse,  
To cause courageous Keyth thy praise to pierce,  
Als well the Spheirs, as that low place of pain,  
And in thy honour here upon thy Hearse,  
To leave their lyns for ever to remain:  
Here lies a youth, who for his countries cause  
A Saxon slew, sine suffered be the Laws.   

2.  
TO silence time, thy praise shall never put,  
Nor once Envy thy venturous worth shall wrong,  
No though the grave upon thy gore do glut  
while man is man, thy laud shall live so long,  
Thy fact to Fame sure shall become a song,  
And valiant Will'am thou shall ever more,  
Be memorised, and mentioned among,  
Those Gallants that have gained and gotten glory,  
Thy famous friends for fencing a-before,  
Their Native Soil, from fierce and faithless foes,  
As Chronicles, their kind, for to decore,  
And Kamus Cross, their upset Trophies choes:  
So with thy Friends, thy Fame shall flee stout Keith,  
Although thou bought it dearly with thy deith.   

3.  
WHat was his kindness and his courage keen,  
Belgic thy broils, a Record best can bair,  
Where he brought up near from his Birth hes been,  
Nought bot to make his martial mind grow mair,  
Wherefore thou justly should erect, and rear  
To Mars his Man, a martial Monument,  
Since that he as a sojour serving their,  
Into thy quarrel willing, and content,  
His Blood oft-tims in thy employments spent.  
And this more too, to grace and do thee good,  
Upon thy foes, thy praises he did prent.  
In Crimson Red, and Characters of blood.  
To honour him, than thou hes matter much,  
And of our Soil full many thousands such.    

To the City Aberden at the death of Jho. Fo. Ba.  
FAir Virgin Mother, Widow-like lament,  
Thy Martial Son, and Lamblike lover lost,  
Peirs every ear, and place, with thy complent,  
while they admire, that are remotest most,  
Apend thy plaints, to every Pole and post,  
Chalcographized, with Characters of woe,  
And let thy grief's upon thy Goun b'ingrost,  
That every eye may see thy sorrow so:  
O silent sad, and grieved, may thou go,  
Since to thy wracks, this wrack is joined the worst,  
For dreadful Death hes by one bitter blo,  
One of thy firmest, forts unfreindly forced,  
And maind the of, an of thy members strong;  
That boor thy burden lovingly, and long.   

To the defunct his spouse.  
Dear fruitful vine, alone to languish left,  
Let not thy clusters, through thy care decay,  
Though raging Death hes by all reason reft,  
And out of time, hes hint thy head away,  
Take thou on Thee, to be the staff and stay,  
And bear their birth, and all, the load alone,  
That both alive, in love togidder ay,  
You to this hour, have gladly undergone,  
Through mourning much; and out of measure move,  
No not thyself, nor put in peril those,  
To whom thou must, be All, and th'only one.  
(Except the Lord,) to place in the repose,  
Wherefore praise God, and take in patience this,  
Thy husband's death, from bail brought to his bliss.   

To his courteous friend, T. B.  

Give quick engines, that trusting to attain,  
The height of Honour and a living Fame,  
With penning of, their Poesy's profane,  
Should purchase praise, and win a noble Name,  
What then brave Buck, should be thy part, herein,  
That shawes the sortow of the Soul for sin.   

For while as forth, some busied be to bring,  
The bad inventions, of their boiling Brain,  
Thou happy Thou, harps on an higher string;  
And shows a Man, regenerate again,  
Wherefore we should, Thee thanks most grateful give,  
Because a woeb, much worthier Thou wive.   

While worldly Writers witless and unwise,  
Be full of follies, and of frivole fraits,  
Thy pen and pains, to profit moir tho'applies,  
And both divine, and worthily thou wraites,  
Than since thou such, a sacred subject sings,  
Fly with the pens, of praise and honours wings.    

UPON THe DEATH OF THE Worshipful M. Alex. Cheyn Commisser of Aber.  
NOw now, at last, and nought, while now have I,  
Put a Catastroph, to this course of cair,  
World, Flesh, and Fiend, your forces I defy,  
Your works are wrought, your mights may now no mair,  
Now I am quit, and from your comers clair,  
Grave, Hell, and Sin, your powers I despise,  
Death is the door, through Faith ye step, and stair,  
That makes my soul, mount, sore, and skall the skies,  
Albeit the bones, left here consuming lies,  
Yet certainly, I am assured they shall,  
To rest and ring, in their Redeemer rise,  
Since Satan, Sin, the grave, death, hell and all,  
That Lion strong, and yet a loving Lamb,  
Triumphantly, upon the cross o'rcame.   

An description of the World.  
WHat is this World, a Theatre of woe?  
A golf of grief, that still the greater grows,  
A Fair where fools, are flitting to and fro,  
A Sea of sorrow, that still ebbs and flows,  
A Forge where Belial the bellows blows,  
A Ship of sensual Souls, near sunk for sin  
Whair ramping Rage, is Ruther-man and rows,  
A wratched Veil, full of all Vice within,  
A Booth of business where restless q,  
To wrack himself, the wicked worldly worm,  
A deadly Den, of dolour, and of din,  
An onstaied stage, of state, a strife, a storm,  
Th'unquiet Court, of discontent and Cair,  
The Place of Pride, and wellspring of Despair.   

A desire of an Repentant spirit.  
WOuld God my Soul, for sin such sorrow felt,  
As could cause Me spend all my time in Tears,  
Would God my Heart, would every moment melt,  
And for my faults, be fraughted full of fears,  
Would God my flesh, that fights, and battle bears,  
Against the powers, of the spreit, would spair,  
And rest from wrestling and their jnward wears,  
That does augment, and bot increase my cair,  
Would God my Plaints, could penetrate the Air,  
To purchase Peace, to my perplexed Spreit,  
And never cease t'assend, nor rest; but whair,  
They face for face, might with th'almighty meit,  
To pray him for, a pardon, and a place,  
Unto Repentance, godliness, and grace.   

An admonition to the Soul to watch.  
Poor silly Soul, thou sees not how are set,  
Thy fatal foes, about the in a Ball,  
The Fiend, and Flesh, Thee in the gives to get,  
Of loathsome Lust, and pleasures sensual,  
They will object, All what, may frame thy fall,  
And cast before, the Beauty for a bait,  
Opinions strange, falls, and heretical,  
Promotion, Riches, Honour, and Estate,  
All what they can, find out for to defait,  
And with thy God, to get the in disgrace,  
They will essay, each secular conceit,  
To hold the from, thy heavenly Father's face,  
Heirfore on him, prepare the to depend,  
He only may, the from thy foes defend.   

Invocation to the Lord jesus to save the wounded soul.  
O Son of God, Silo sweet saviour,  
Thou that my shield, and my assistance art,  
The precious ointments of thy pity pour,  
Into my Soul, and woeful wounded heart,  
J'll prostrate, Me in public, and in part,  
My former fowl offences to confess,  
My secret sins sore makes my Soul to smart,  
And I am woeful for my wickedness,  
With highest up hands, and heartily humbleness,  
I pray the pardon my impiety,  
Thy word divine, my God grants me regress,  
And bids me seek the sweet society:  
For thou art ay, says the Apostle Paul,  
At hand to help, the woeful wounded saul.   

A Prayer for apaising of the Plague.  
Our wicked liu's hes wakened Lord, thy wrath,  
In kindling it for our iniquity,  
It makes thee blow, this thy devouring breath,  
To punish us, for our impiety.  
Our falls and faults, hes forced thee to let flee,  
At the Noon day, thy Arrows Pestilent,  
Yet in thy mercy's Lord, remember: We  
Are thy own Sons, on whom the same is sent,  
Albeit thy Bow, against our breasts be bend,  
And thou the Rod, does hold into thy hand,  
We hope thou will inspire us to repent,  
And from th' Infection last relief the Land,  
That in the greatness of her grief does groan,  
Looking, O Lord, for thy relief alone.   

Upon the Death of a virtuous young man. Wm. Ke.  
Withhold thy haste, spair Passenger thy pace,  
And mark amongst, those Marble Monuments,  
This Grave, yet green, and little judge alas,  
And thereon spend, some part of thy complents,  
Mourn. mourn with Me, a Myriad of laments,  
And on th' Interred streams of thy tears distill,  
whose want the Wise, both pities. and reputes,  
And while They live, the Virtuous all, they will  
Their plaints power out, disperse, effund and fill.  
The Continent her Caverns with their cries,  
For never shall their Sorrows cease; not while  
They deave the Dead, into those lairs that lies:  
For trust thou me, this terren Tomb contains,  
A Relict rare, a godly Youngman's Bains.   

PROSOP OF THE DEFUNCT TO his lamenting friends.  

2.  
A Poise your plaints, since Fortune, Fate, nor Chance,  
Was not the cause, nor framers of my fall,  
Bot be a pre-apointed Ordinance,  
The Lord hes thus concluded me to call:  
For Men are nought one weigh Attached all,  
Nor by one kind of Death ordained to die,  
No, no, but this Privation temporal,  
Hes different, and diverse sorts we see:  
From Prison some depart, and some flit free,  
And some be force, be butchery or blood,  
Yea, some be every Element there be,  
That does, we know, this corrupt course conclude,  
Yet dies thou this, I that, he so and so,  
Die we in Christ, the manner matters no.   

3.  
DIe ye in Christ, ye die well dying so,  
For Fire nor Sword, the Water, Earth nor Air,  
They have no power, nor the Puissance, no,  
But special permission to impair,  
Nor for to harm into thy head an hair,  
Unless the Lord, pass, suffer, or permit,  
For he hes ay, a kind, and constant Cair,  
And o'er his chosen still continues it,  
His favours are not fragile, fraill, nor flit  
This way or that, like worldlings now and than,  
No, no, bot with his kindness kind is knit,  
Protection too, each constant Christian:  
Then die, depart, or howsoever ye go,  
Die ye in Christ, ye die well dying so.    

DIALOGUE. A new years' gift.  
Interl. Charites, and the Author.  Author. 
THis Mornings as I from my rest araize,  
And went to walk into the open Air,  
I peradventure met whereon I gaize,  
Thrie minȝard Maids, all wonderfully fair:  
Their Robs a like, replendant rich and rair,  
Whereat I was more moved to admire,  
Who they should be, whence from they came, & whair  
They at that time, intended to retire:  
while thus on them, like one but life I look,  
One forward came, and be the sleif Me shook.  Gra. 
Where by thy mind, when thou art musing thus?  
Why astonished stands thou? we entreat thee tell?  
Quod one, what wonders hes thou seen on us,  
That makes thee so, for to forget thy cell,  
Art thou enchanted be some Magic spell?  
Or thinks thou us of that accursed crew?  
With Lucifer, that from the Heaven down fell,  
And now art come to vex and weary you:  
Or why is it, so stupefact thou stands,  
Without so much as moving head or hands.  Auth. 
I misregarde, not such thrie fair, so far  
Nor do I think, the form of those and thine:  
For to be such, as you have said, that are,  
Appeirandlie, Immortal and Divine,  
Swa that sweet Saints, this musing is of mine,  
A mouldy grossness, in my mortal eyes,  
Which can not see, nor suffer for to shine,  
Your glory great, for their infirmities:  
And with myself, I am debaitting who  
Thyself should be, and thy Companions two.  Gra. 

Recall thy spirits, thy musing then remove,  
Debar all doubts, and wit thou this that we  
Are called Faith, strong Hope, and constant Love,  
Of JOVA just, th'undoubted Daughters three,  
Come of Intention for to talk with thee,  
And give thee some directions thou must do,  
For thou of us, art the appointed he  
To bear Embassage, or our blessing too,  
A much respected honourable Pair,  
Thus it in few, deliver and declare.   

I Love, the first, and greatest of the Graces,  
Salutes them say, conjunct and several,  
And promies them with all my friendl' embraces ',  
Prosperity and Peace perpetual,  
And I, quod Faith, adds to the former All,  
A working quick, and justifeing Faith.  
And I quoth Hope, my Anchor sends, which shall  
Sustain them surely, in the Seas of Death:  
For be it, and, with what, their two have given,  
Their Ancring shall, be happy into hevin.   

Now Friend we deem, dissolved is thy doubt,  
Since thou of us, hes got a knowledge cleir,  
And we (because, th' annual course is out,  
And this day enters the succeeding year,  
Have purposed unto Thee to appeir,)  
And choosed The to, make manifest our mind,  
Unto that two, that we do hold so deir,  
And hes their Hearts, into one breast combined,  
Who mutually, shall linked live, and die,  
Full of our Hope, our Faith, and Charity,    

An Confession of sins and Incalling of the Lord.  

O God which art, great, good, and gracious,  
Most holy powerful, and glorious,  
We that are ashes of the Earth, and dust,  
When we fall down before the feet, (we must,)  
Of thy high Majesty confess, that we,  
Are Sinners vile, borne, and conceived be,  
In sin, and that, by Nature we, no less,  
Are nor a lump of Vice and wickedness,  
Whose Natural and property, appears,  
To grow in sin, as we increase in years,  
And in the works of wickedness, and wrong,  
Waxes and grows, ay more, and more, more strong,  
As does the body, and the mind, their strength,  
And force receive, through tract of time and length.  
Thair is in us, no good affection found,  
No knowledge cleir, wholesome, sincere nor sound,  
Nor manner how thy bidding to obey,  
Nor how aplease thy majesty we may,  
Last Lord their bids, into our flesh, and blood,  
Nothing that is, or can be called good,  
And thought our state, accursed doth herein,  
Yea wratched most, appear: yet is, our sin,  
More sinful much, and out of measure maid,  
By the exceeding grace, thou Lord hes laid,  
And offered us, in the evangel clear,  
Of thy undoubted divine Son most deir.  
Wharby from profiting, so much, we are,  
That of ourself, we should wax, war and war.   

For moir the light, of knowledge is made plain,  
We would alas, the blinder more remain,  
The more t'obey, thee we are taught, we would,  
Be froward moir, moir stubberner, and bold,  
Give that by mighty power of thy spriet,  
It were not fruitful made and mollifeit,  
And thought that this, corruption Natural,  
We have togidder, and in common All,  
With Adam's putrefied, and rotten race,  
That fell from God, through misbeleif alas,  
Yet we confess, in us, it buds much moir,  
Nor into others, it hes done befoir,  
And so much moir, set forth, increst, and grew,  
Though we more ways, the same had to subdue.  
And we we had, yea much more means to kill,  
Than others had, this wickedness and ill.  
Whair first of all, the offer gracious,  
Of that great treasure of thy word to us,  
Does make us faulty, into many parts,  
Of th'Adamantine, hardness of our hearts,  
For passing uther Nations thou hes lent,  
And trusted us, that jewel excellent.  
And yet it hes, (with no small number bot,  
A slender and, a small entreatment got,  
And felt as great, resistance obstinate,  
As at those gates it never knocked at.  
For in this land, a Portion is (O Lord,)  
That partly ne'er, would yield unto thy word,  
And partly when, they had confessed the same  
Defection made, and Apostates became,  
So proudly as, it wear, stands at defence.  
(In their conceits,) Lord with thine excellence  
The rest which makes, thereof profession,  
And seems t'assent and gives thereto submission,  
They do it not, accordingly, bot scant,  
Of zeal they are, in their profession fant,  
For first their, many of our people be,  
Which through affection fond, to Papistry,  
So blinded are, miscarried and led,  
That straying still, in ignorance they tread,  
Yea of the Truth, itself thought faithfully,  
The word is preached in abundancy,  
Yet in thy Service true, and knowledge they,  
Are now more raw, and inexpert alway,  
Nor they before, have been, be many fold,  
When blindly they, idolatrized of old.  
And whair a kind, of knowledge is, the which,  
To any of sufficiency is such,  
Yea requisite, as is and should evin,  
Sufficient for th'Inheritors of heavin,  
It is yet seen, for the most part, to be,  
conjoined in league, with such hypocrisy,  
As makes Thee that, does scarce, the secret raen,  
Detest, abhor, more hate, them and disdain,  
Then if they had, in all their Errors ill,  
And in dark ignorance continued still,  
Now for that few, of us and remanant,  
Which truly still, (of grace participant,)  
And faithfully in thee believed hath,  
It is with such, infirmity of faith,  
And with so small correction of our  
Forepast trespasses and behaviour,  
That our profession, that notorious,  
Should be of thy great Gospel glorious  
Supported is, and borne, with so few stuites,  
And so small shaw, of good, and godly fruits,  
Whose dignit' and excellency alone,  
Requireth more than we can mind upon.  
So that this makes, our Enemies, and Foes,  
Condemn us, and some also are of those,  
That are our own, which doubtingly suspect,  
Give we, or no, be thine, and thy elect,  
The cause of this, our state, we grant whairin,  
We stand it is, the hudgenes of our sin.  
That being put, in trust, for to possess,  
This treasure of, infinite worthiness.  
Thy Gospel great, and be preferred thus,  
Before our neighbour's Christians with us,  
And yet in grait Obedience, to Thee,  
Behind them all, (we will confess) are we  
In knowledge first, bot we are last in zeal,  
In Doctrine far before them, bot we fail  
To practise what, is preached, and ay we find  
In Discipline, we ever are behind,  
The bands aod holy ȝock Lord of thy Law,  
Full heavily we suffer, th'oil, and draw:  
Whereby our lives too vicious and vain,  
We should amend, correct, reform, and strain  
Our fond affections all, and every thing,  
In us enorm, we should in bondage bring.  
The Gospel that unto us did aduce,  
Of honours and, of pleasure's friar use?  
It welcome was, and we did it embrace  
Bot that same Gospel that our wickedness  
Reproved, and did threaten punishment,  
We was therewith, no thing so well content.  
It that did our Ambition rebuke,  
We scarcely heard, or lent thereto a look:  
And that thereof, that does most nearly touch,  
Salvation of, the Soul, we make of much.  
Bot that again, that doth directly more,  
Seem to respect, O Lord, thy heavenly glore;  
And to the profit of our Neighbours all,  
We make no count, nor care for it, bot small.  
And though the treasure of thy Word hes been  
A precious gift, as like was never seen.  
Th'assured sign of our Salvation,  
Which to us bairlie came not, nor alone,  
Bot with abundance, plentiful, and peace,  
And permanent, so long, and large a space.  
As surely never this (little thankful Land)  
Before in many passed ages found:  
Which benefits our neighbour Nations long,  
Have looked for, and wished (their) them among.  
This makes us Lord, herefore accursedly,  
A great deal more, in fault and guilty be;  
Because we have still proven ourselves so plain,  
Ungrateful for those thy great gifts again.  
There is likewise, an other Leather heir,  
Whereon our sins they seem, and they appeir  
To mount and climb more high, in that, that We  
Surmount into, this life commodity.  
Our old Ancestors, that professed with us,  
Even this thy holy Gospel glorious:  
And yet we are, yea every day be day,  
A great deal worse, and wickeder nor they.  
In blessings outward we be far above,  
Our Nightbours yet, far les to Thee in love,  
And grants we fault, even in the gross offence,  
Of th'outward tokens of Obedience.    

SCOTLAND HER GRIEF AT HIS Majesty's going into England,  
O England now exult,  
And sing a cheerful sang,  
Now may thou joy, since such a Roy,  
Ne'er over thy Regions rang.  
Our Sovereign sweet, our Gem,  
josias and our james,  
The only Star that guides thy state,  
And brights thee with his beams.  
Thou now posseids with peace,  
And hes with Love at length▪  
That never could be win with war,  
Nor yet constrained be strength.  
Faits, Time and Right hes made  
Thee, to triumph into,  
That not thy Martial minded Men,  
Nor active deeds could do.  
The only Ornament,  
And Sunshine of the Earth,  
By destinies ordained, to bruke  
All Britain, or his Birth.  
Thou hes, and now enjoi's  
Our very Soul and Sark,  
A Dy'mond in thy Dial set,  
The height of honours wark,  
These Royal virtues hail,  
That thou tofore hes found  
In thy preceding Princes all,  
Even from his birth abound:  
And gloriously into  
His Princely person shine,  
O England to thy comfort now,  
And Scotland unto thine.  
In deed Thou should rejoice,  
And be appleased since,  
But grudge thou saw with glore the great  
Preferment of thy Prince.  
For now thou may behold  
His Hienes Head to hem,  
(Beside the old unconquest Crown)  
A Triple Diadem.  
All men may clearly know  
What God his wisdom wrought,  
And by thy Prince, his patience,  
Beyond belief is brought  
Unto an happy end,  
For in the British Throne,  
Religion reign's, Peace there is placed  
And justice joined in one.  
There Majesty does move,  
There Fortitude is fixed,  
And there with Rigour or Revenge,  
Is marvelous Mercy mixed.  
There may thou view from East,  
And from the setting Sun,  
Elected Legates send, and from  
Remottest Regions run,  
T'applaud thy Prince his praise,  
Their Precious presents brings  
From Europe, Afric, Asia,  
And from Amerik Kings.  
Not that thy Lord inlaiks,  
For his great state, such store,  
No, no, his Highness hes his own,  
In infinite before.  
Bot yet because they see  
Him blessed from above,  
Thus they resort, to signify  
Unto thy Lord, their love.  
So Inely thou may joi's,  
To hear his Name renowned,  
Since from his boundant benefits,  
Some back to thee rebound.  
And yet I grant thy grief,  
Is greater than thy gain,  
For but thy Head unhappy thou,  
Dismembered moan remain.  
And now shall hear his will, 
(⸪)   
Bot be commission that,  
He from his mouth mellifluous  
Want to communicate,  
Most patiently and as,  
Thy Parent and thy Prince,  
Divulgating his Laws with love  
And divine Eloquence.  
Thou must solicit be,  
And careful now t'inquire,  
What credit bears the spurring Posts,  
To the Synedrion heir.  
Poor Orphan widow like,  
Be thou in sable seen,  
While as thy sister England goes,  
Now gallantly in green.  
And like pale Lnna louvre,  
When her Apollo's light,  
Is in eclipse, or with a cloud,  
Secluded from her sight. 
(⸫)   
For lo thy golden Sun,  
Into the South he shines,  
While thou Solsequium-like, for thy,  
Abstracted Titan tynes,  
A body huge thou are,  
Exhibit but a Hart.  
Upon the world's inconstant stage,  
To play the Monster's part.  
Poor Lady now, thy Life,  
Thy Lord, and thy Beloved,  
And next that mighty Mobile,  
Thy Mover, is removed,  
Yet for thy great King james,  
His jubilee reioyes,  
Since he above the British blood,  
Thy old, now friended foes,  
Thou to his honour high,  
Dilucidlie decerns,  
With measure how, he moderates,  
And like a God governs,  
For whose long happy life,  
Prosperity, and Peace,  
His royal Reign, his gracious, Queen,  
And for their hopeful Race,  
in-call, protest, and pray,  
(From whose blised spreit all springs,)  
jehovah, Eli, Elohim, th'almighty King of Kings.   

An humble confession of sin..  
IN Reverence, on bare, and bended kneiss,  
Debast I bow, (if I dare be so bold,)  
My soul most sad, with weeping watery eyes,  
Before thy feet, upon my face I fold,  
My eyes, my heart, my hands, jehove I hold,  
To heavin, to Thee, and prostrate will display,  
My Misles made, but measure manifold,  
And all the words, I wairt in vain, bewray,  
None will I hide, but open Lord, shall lay,  
My Sin both seen, and secret to my shame,  
And my delicts, done all unto this day,  
I in thy public Presence shall proclaim,  
And to my Turpitud sound out, I shall,  
My Sins committed, and omitted all.   

Upon his loving, dear and Courteous friend, Pa. Q.  
WHo do of chance, or otherwise that, hath,  
An deep desire, and earnest care to know,  
This Trophy sad, of still triumphing death,  
Whair lifeless lies, an earrhly lump bot lo,  
How rair a live to signify and sho,  
Nor Maro's Muse, would an more cunning crave,  
To wreit his want, what worketh it, of woe,  
T'ingraph each, grief by gazing on his Grave,  
To not the noy when men look on the leave  
His Commorads, and Consorts Christian  
To count the care, his kin for him conceive  
To dyte the duile, of wife and Orphans when,  
Their father they, and sho does miss her Mane.  
An man, whose make, here hardly may be haid?  
What can? what shall? what is? or resteth then,  
To say bot this, that safely may be said,  
Lo where a youth, on Beirtrees brought to bed,  
Ay faithful fast, traist, virtuous, and wise,  
Deir to his friends, and of his foes ay dread,  
Here underneath, to be lamented lies  
And shall, ay while, the latter day constrain,  
The Earth to raise, and render him again.   

Sighs of an sorrowful soul.  
Sigh, sadly sigh, sob for thy Sins and sound,  
Weep wail, and woe, mourn mirthless Man, and moan,  
Redouble thy dolour, till each Den redound;  
With noisome notes, thy accents every one,  
Cry careful cry, while every senseless stone,  
Pierced with thy plaints, for pity plead, and pleane,  
With tragic tears, toone out thy griefs, and groan  
While marble mazed at thy moans remain,  
Thou writes thy woes, thou weeps, thou vows in vain  
Give not anon, from straying thus, thou stay,  
Thou's drive thy days, in dateless deep disdain,  
Then sadly sigh poor Soul, and sighing say,  
Sad be each sigh, moir noisome every note,  
That treads the tracture of my troubled throat.   

A description of the fragility of man.  
WHat be we wratches but,  
amass of putrid mould,  
Which ugly worms and wild devours,  
When we are dead, and cold,  
Borne in this woeful vail,  
In moments, are nought Men,  
And in a period, departs?  
What are we nothing then,  
Learn then to die, and let,  
Not hope of youth, nor years,  
Delude the least, the Fates, ay fierce,  
That Man nor Beast forbears,  
Come on thee sudden shall,  
And warn thee un-a-ware,  
For mortal none, though near so wise,  
From those excemed are.  
Times flees, your gilt does grow,  
Death at your doors does call,  
Then take your time, and learn in time  
To live Perpetual.  
For you are nought, bot like  
Dust driven with wind away,  
And like unto a brittle glass,  
Or shadows fleeing ay.  
Or Roses redolent,  
That in the morning shines,  
And when the night draws near anon,  
Their pleasant tincture tines.  
Now lively-like anon, 
(⸪)   
Feasts for the creeping fry,  
Now strong and fair, and now anon  
A lump but life we lie.  
T'accumulat great goods,  
or what does profit us  
Jemm's, Jewels, Silver, Gold  
And all apparel precious?  
What Sceptres, Crowns, Estats,  
Or Kingdoms great to guide?  
And what in Princely Palaces  
Shall buit us to abide?  
And others in our pride, 
(⸫)   
What helps it to despise?  
Or to account ourselves like to,  
The Lord alone most wise.  
If dreadful Death shall come,  
Most horrible and haw,  
And with her Sith, (that here you see)  
All which GOD made shall maw.  
Or if like earthly dust,  
Or sliding shadows, we  
O wretched misers miserable,  
Shall fall away and flee.  
And all the pride of flesh,  
And this small glance of glore,  
Shall in the day of Death depart,  
Without returning more.   

Idem.  
MArk mortal Man, and surely thou shall see,  
What in short space it shall become of thee:  
And then thou shall desist, for to desire  
The worldly Pleasures, that so soon expire:  
By no device, engine, nor craft can Thou,  
Fearful to flesh, Death certain, once eshew.  
Thou should not then s'exult nor joyful be,  
Because perhaps to morrow thou shall dye:  
And in a little judge, a cave or cott,  
Thy flesh and bones shall soon consume and rot.   

THE AUTHOR HIS REPENTANCE fro writing Poesies profane.  
COuld I or this my scattered skrols recall,  
Or my dispersed Poesy's repeit,  
Most willingly I would revock them all,  
And sound from singing of such Toys retreat,  
I would envy against wanton verse and writ,  
Invectivelie of all inventions vain:  
For it infects the well disposed Spirit,  
For to peruse such Poesy's profane:  
They breed abuse, and brings into the brain  
Fantastic follies, and phanatik frets,  
Which are in deed not bot presumptions plain,  
Or at the most (but profit) poor conceits:  
Wherhfore, were those else published to pen,  
I should assume some sadder subject then.   

A PROFITABLE ADMONITION, if wisely followed.  

LOse not the Garlant of eternal Glore,  
For things that here, bot for a time shall tarry:  
Officious Fame, goods, or unstable store,  
That facile Fortune both does bring and carry:  
Endanger not, nor do in peril put  
Th'immortal mark, whereat the Soul does shut.   

though precious pearls thou purches, what suppose?  
And gain more gold nor Croesus' got, what than?  
If thou the Heaven, and heavenly Soul shall lose,  
For all thy wealth, thou's miserable man..  
And truly loses in a moment more,  
Ten thousand fold, nor thou could find before.   

I give and grant, that thou enlarge thy rooms,  
For to cotaine thy infinite increase:  
And that secure in honours Seas thou soums,  
Yet thou in fine, must needs of force confess.  
If that thy soul shall suddenly be ta'en,  
What thou possessed, was wealth, for nought in vain.   

Though thou be made, and create were a King,  
And supreme Emperor inaugurate:  
Or at thy wish had every earthly thing,  
Of Monument most, with Mundans estimate:  
If that the Soul her heavenly life you loss,  
Cursed is with those, corruptible thy cross.   

Although thou have both health and honour here,  
And pleasure past the compass of compare:  
And that thou previlegiat appeir,  
Above the world, and worldlings everywhere  
Want thou a sanctified Soul, what shall  
Availl thy Pleasures and Promotions all?    

OF THE ESSENCE, WISDOM, and Power of God.  
GOD only great, he guideth and governs,  
The restless Rounds, that rules above, and all  
Th'environed Earth, with Seas that each decerns,  
Just circular, and perfit Spherical,  
His blessed Being built the double Ball,  
And did appoint fit places for the Spheres,  
From th'Earthly Orbs destinct, and several.  
Which we gross Mortals marvels and admirs,  
His Providence and Power plain appears,  
In th'artificial forming of this Frame,  
Whose various works, dilucidats and cleirs,  
Into the sure concerving of the same:  
His wondrous wit, exceeding all engines,  
Of Seculars, and of the best Divins.   

Upon the certainty of death and the uncertainty of the hour.  

NOthing then death more certain is we see,  
Yet nor the hour, incertain nothing more:  
Than if as thou, were every day to die,  
Govern thyself, and learn to live therefore,  
So shall thou not, need for to count, nor cair,  
Whence death shall come, how when, nor whair.   

It is this life, here well, or lewdly led,  
That this first Death, makes dreidfull, now or no,  
If in misdeeds, thy days thou drive, then dread,  
And full of dolour is, this Death, and O;  
Perplexed so, and so annoyed that None,  
Can we'll the passions of the spreit expone.   

For all that thou, hes done unto that day,  
Thy secret sins, thy seen, and public shall,  
Dismasked all, arrive into array.  
T'accuse the in, thy Conscience, and call;  
The to account, so spacious and large,  
That Livers lewd, can scarcely scarce discharge.    

Man his Immoderate care for transitorious things.  
Our labours, studies, exercise, and Pain,  
And for this corpse, is our continual cair,  
For why t'acquire, thereto some gloir, or gain,  
No peril nor impiety, we spair.  
Wenever leave, bot labours late air,  
And for t'attract, vile trash, we never tire,  
Like frantic fools, and furious we fair,  
While we possess, that whereunto w'aspire,  
Through perilous paths, salt seas, and flashing fire,  
But Providence, we pass, we post, we Ply,  
For to enjoy, the depth of our desire,  
No nought the night, in quiet can we lie,  
Bot puts unto, all hazards but a Host,  
The Soul to Christ, that did so dearly cost.   

Means how to bridle the carnal desires of men.  

NOthing so fit, to danton the desires,  
And appetites, of fragile fleshly Men;  
That so much reigns, and over them empires,  
Nor with considered, Conscience to ken:  
And wisely weigh, what is this Body that,  
They fierce so full, and dress, so delicate.   

Would they consider, and bot sight the same,  
And but self love, these circumstances see?  
What is their kind? whereof compound they came?  
And then how short, here their abidings be:  
Or at the least? how much incertain since,  
One hour they are, and or an uther hence.   

Or would men mortal meditate, and mark,  
Of Nothing how, the great Creator choosd,  
To frame so fair, the world's most wondrous wark,  
And from no monstrous mass, but form confused;  
As Fablers fain, into their wanton verse,  
Created He the boundless Universe.   

And how of th' Earth, the grossest Element,  
He all the kinds, of Creatures compones,  
And how th' Artificer most Excellent,  
Their fragile flesh, their Bodies, blood, and bones:  
Did make, of matter most despised, and basse,  
The Earth her dust, her excrements, and ash,   

Thus that they are, (would they bot well advise)  
Dung, dust, and ash, which so alive, they love,  
And look again, when dead, but life, one lies,  
How putrid and, unpleasant soon they prove,  
These would they weigh, view, warly, and adart,  
They should not then, so primp the Earthly part.    

Comparison hetwixt the bed and the Grave.  
THe bed, which most, for our repofe we have,  
Whairin the natural night we softly, sleep,  
May fitly be, compared to the grave,  
That these our corpse, when they are cold, does keep,  
And not unto, that Den, or Dreadful deep,  
Whairin the damned shall dying never die,  
Bot their, in ever scalding lead, shall sleep,  
And evermoir, eternal Torments try,  
Into our Couch, we senseless seem, and lie,  
As if no braith, were in our breasts, nor brain,  
Bot once our sleeping terms expired we spy,  
And clearly knows, we lively grow again,  
So in the grave (that of the dust is dressed,  
A little time, and then to rise) we rest.   

Of the brevity and miseries of man his life.  
THis transitorious time,  
And present passing life,  
The Scripture calls, an Pilgrimage,  
A travel, way, a strtfe,  
Because continually,  
It but all resting rins,  
And plies unto an end fra once,  
It enters and begins,  
For like as they, whom ships,  
Or wheeled coaches carry,  
Although they either sit, or sleep,  
They tine no time, nor tarry,  
Bot as with wings, and wind,  
Supported they proceed,  
(Though they their passage cannot spy,)  
And spurring, posts with speed.  
So every one, of us,  
Albeit we busied be,  
With worldly works, and plainly so,  
Cannot perceive, nor see,  
Our life of little length,  
Like waxen tapers spend,  
Yet but dignoscing, drives our days,  
And we draw to our end.  
The Posts and passengers,  
As many gaits they go,  
So much they see, and having seen,  
They seek no more, and so,  
What in their way they view,  
Before them what they find,  
They gaze upon, then goes and leaves  
What they beheld behind.  
As forward than they fair,  
Before them set, they see  
Most wondrous worthy works t'invit,  
the most envious eye:  
Which for a while th'admire,  
As glorious, rich, and rare,  
Yet they return to travel on,  
And may not tarry there.  
Thereafter Middows, Fields,  
And Pastures plain they spy;  
Whereat they wonder and they gaze,  
And gazing they go by.  
Then in their progress they  
They obviate, and meet  
Sometime with silver Sanded Streams  
Some sour, some sharp, some sweet  
Sometimes with Fountains fresh,  
And Conduits cristalene,  
And oft with Orchards full of fruit,  
And Forests grassy green.  
Which for a time content,  
They visie and rejoes,  
Bot shortly satiat with the sight,  
They take their gaits and goes.  
Where they before them find,  
A wild unpleasant way,  
Of thistles, thorns, and brears, where they  
Constrained are to stay:  
Yet with great grief and pain,  
Woe and vexation sore:  
These perilous paths, they over pass,  
Then minds on them no more.  
Suchlike some one will be  
Incarcerat, and cast  
In firmance, or in prison put,  
And therein fettered fast.  
Vexed, and afflicted too,  
Or to the torment ta'en: 
(⸫)   
Yet all these griefs, he will forget,  
If he b'inlargd again.  
Even so with us it is,  
One moment we do meet,  
With many most delightful things,  
All pleasant to the Spirit.  
An other while we find,  
Displeasant Griefs, most gross,  
And Sorrows, that exceedingly,  
Our chief Contents, does cross,  
Yet all our griefs and game,  
Into an hour, O nay,  
Into a moment, they shall melt  
And vanish will away.  
In public paths we see  
A new imprinted pass, 
(⸪)   
Anon an other with his foot,  
That foor-step doth deface.  
An other comes, and with  
His dust-depressing dint,  
Incontinent he does cancel,  
His predecessor's print.  
And thus our natural life.  
Whereof we make so much,  
And mainly muses to mentaine,  
Is it not see you such?  
Saith Basile, ask and spear  
At these thy grows and grange,  
Unto thy days how many Names,  
They use to chop and change.  
Sometime they did belong  
To such a one, and sine  
An other did possess the same,  
And lastly they are thine.  
Perhaps some other yet  
Shall in thy place succead,  
And occupy the place, when thou  
Art dispossesd, or dead.  
Or lastly those now thy  
Possessions present shall  
Be called, pertaining to such one,  
Whose scarcely none can tell.  
And why? because this life  
Is like a walking way;  
Wherein one passenger expels,  
By course an other way.  
Bot lo, a little look,  
More high, to higher things,  
And mark the mutabilities  
Of Monarchies and Kings.  
How many every age  
We see aims, points, aspires,  
And covets Crowns, Swords, Scepturs, Thrones,  
Great Kingdoms and empires,  
And when oft-times they have  
With troubles, travels, toil;  
De-population of the land,  
Impiety, and spoil:  
And oft-times too with death,  
Of innocents obtained,  
All their ambitious bold desires  
theyare forced and constrained:  
And to give place compelled,  
Not obstant their Estates,  
To their Successors, or themselves,  
Be settle in their seats.  
This day one rules or reigns,  
To morrow he is dead,  
Yet others shortly shall ascend,  
And in his seat succeeded.  
Departed, buried, dead,  
And to the grave once gone,  
Fairwel, theyare well away, soon shall  
Be repossessed their throne.  
Like Maskars on a stage,  
They pass their time, and play,  
Some sits, salutes, ascends, descends  
They come and go away.  
Consider this we should,  
That man his life is bot  
A journey, 
(⸫)  or seducing way,  
And time that tarries not.  
Bot specially to those  
Most doubtless dangerous,  
That they be here but Passengers,  
Which be oblivious.  
And who too much does stand  
Upon occurrent things,  
The which occasion, represents,  
And oft for object brings,  
For know the night will come,  
And quickly it will come,  
When many shall be fast asleep,  
Whairof, there shall be some,  
Whose negligence, 
(⸫)  and sloth,  
shallbe a bar to them,  
To bear them back, from the most holy high jerusalem,  
Whairby they shall become,  
(A fearful sorry sight,)  
An pray unto th'infernal Wolves,  
That wander be the night.   

To his majesties great Commissioner G. E. Martial Lo. K. and Altrie.  
GReat Fabius, far famous for his facts,  
Be long delays, he did restore the state,  
Nought greatest haste, the gravest Actions acts,  
Nor are they lost, although adoing late;  
So generous, and Thou most worthy Than,  
Walk with that wise and Inclite Fabian.   

Alex. Rupeo. Suo, S.  
KJnd, Cunning, Crag, I can nought bot commend,  
Thy wondrous wit, thy Judgement, thy Engine,  
For thy attempts, brought to so brave an end,  
bewrays thee for, none worldly, bot divine,  
And if thou list, from Men to lead thy Line,  
Or brwik, that they, thy first forbears ware  
Then'cording too, this Judgement mean of mine,  
Thee to no Craig, nor Petra, I compare,  
Bot I avow, proclaim, and does declare,  
Thee, (th'only he, that sol'deserues the same,)  
That learned old, the great Petrarchas hear,  
He was the Craig, of whom, thou (sandy) came.  
For with thy works, that worthy thou reuiu's,  
And by thy lines, his Lady Laura lives.   

Upon thee honourable gentleman john Da. and john Sibalds of Kair.  
Look here below, into this judge, whair lies,  
Dead in the Lord, the father, son, and Oyo,  
By name, and Nature, SIB-BALD both and wise.  
Honest, discreet, and sotiall also,  
Whose spreits above, in mouths of men Remains,  
Their fame, their flesh, this Terren Tomb contains.   

To the Ghost of the most noble Lady, Lad e Elizabeth Gordon Countess of Dunbar.  
IF Virtue, wit, and if discretion do,  
With piety expostulat a praise,  
If th'outward shape, may be collauded to,  
Than thou adorned with those into thy days,  
Must not (Madam) expect nor look for less,  
Nor all that Art or Poesy can express.  
Thought all that Art, or Poesy can express,  
About thy pale imprinted war, and penned:  
Yet should thy praise (great Lady) I confess  
Permit no point, no period, nor end:  
Bot be a solemn subject to be sung,  
In th'after age, with each Poetic Tongue.   

Of changing Fortune and her effects into This age.  

HE first that did a Fortune fain to be,  
And but her eyes upon a Rolling Round,  
Shuip her to sit, in my opinion, He,  
May pass for an, both famous, and Profound,  
For lo as she, unsatled seems to sit,  
So flowing ay, all her affairs does flit.   

Behold each day, and see a sundry change,  
The Proud depressed, and simple Spreits promoved  
The skilful scorned, and what is yet more strange,  
The Fool preferred, and loiterers beloved:  
And all things known, come of contrarious kind,  
Turned topsy-turvy be this fortune blind.    

TO THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED and most noble Earl George Earl of Anzie. L. G. etc.  
GReat gallant Youth, thy Bogie-valley, wails,  
And lovingly, laments thy absence long,  
Thy Bogie bursts, and as enraged she rails,  
And waries all the world for this wrong:  
Mourning she moves the Montanes all among,  
And as she slides, she soughs, she shouts and sings,  
With weeping voice, a sad and sorry song,  
Wailing thy want, her watery eyes she wrings,  
While spaits of Tears, that from those fontains springs  
The Valies low, like furious floods o'er flows  
And all her banks, in their disdain down dings  
And with a thought, like thunder all over throws:  
Yet noble Lord, haste home and you shall see,  
Both Bog and Bogie-waill be blithe of Thee.   

EPITAPH UPON THE HONOURABLE young Gentleman of singular expectation prevented by death Walter Vrquart apeir. of Cragstoun.  
COnvert your eyes unto this Voult and view  
This Sepulture, or this spelunck espy:  
Whair (woe is me,) Wit, worth, and valour true,  
Apollo's friend, and Pallas love does lie,  
Of such deserts, while both those God's disdain,  
That such a man, 'mongst mortals should remain.   

TO THE MOST HONOURED Lady, The Lady Clunie.  
WHen I revolve, or reckons, or recounts  
All favours fond, from my affected friends.  
Above those all so high Thy merits mounts,  
That my conceit, them scarcely comprehends.  
So boundless be, thy benefits but ends,  
While I ashame, for surely I must say  
If nought my Muse, were mindful of a mends,  
For very woe, I vanish would away:  
Bot since in part, She preeses to repay,  
And gladly yields, her endeavours as yours,  
Then I protest, I repotest, and pray,  
That these the labours of her idle hours:  
In part for payment of my depts, receive,  
And hope at least (good Lady) for the leave.   

Deus unita protegat Sceptra Mag. Brit.  

THose Crowns conjoind and now united, Lord,  
Into thy mercy with thy power besiege:  
And keep thou them, at quiet, and accord,  
Each with their old, and princely privilege:  
And let no Wrong: nor no attempt betide,  
Those royal Realms united to divide.   

What greater joy, nor see two Kingdoms knit  
Togither-chained, and locked into Love,  
And for two Kings, to see on Caesar sit,  
And both with Majesty and Mercy move:  
Two royal Sceptres with one happy hand,  
And o'er two Countries quietly command.   

No greater Grace nor richer blessing be,  
Imparted to, no Prince his Subjects then.  
Thou loving Lord (of thy benignity,)  
Bestows on Britan's, Scots and Englishmen,  
For O we have: from heaven a happy Head,  
And from the same, a Son for to succead.   
FJNIS.   

¶ To such as shall peruse this Book.  
POETRY is so every way made the Herald of wantonness, as there is not now any thing too unclean for lascivious rhyme; which among some (in whose hearts God hath wrought better things) hath been the cause, why so general an imputation is laid upon this ancient and industrious Arte. And I, to clear (as I might) verse, from the soil of this unworthiness, have herein (at least) proved that it may deliver good matter, with fit harmony of words, though I have erred in the latter. The way to Do well, is not so doubtful, as not to be sought; neither so dark, but it may be found. I confess, I have, touching my particular, been long carried with the doubts of folly, youth, and opinion, and as long miscarried in the darkness of unhappiness, both in mention and action. This was not the path that led to a contented rest, or a respected name. In regard whereof, I have here set forth the witness that may testify what I desire to be. Not that many should know it, but that many should take comfort by it. And (kind Reader) this is my request, that faults in Printing may be charitably corrected; that the sense of the matter may be wisely (and herein truly) construed, and so shall ye both approve your own judgements, and right the Author in his hopes.  
Farewell.