CASTARA  
LONDON. Printed for Will: Cook, & are sold at his shop at Furnivals' Inn Gate, in Holborn. 1640.  
W. M. sculpsit    

CASTARA:  
— Carmina non prius Audita, Musarum sacerdos Virginibus.—  
The third Edition. Corrected and augmented  
LONDON Printed by T. Cotes, for Will. Cook: and are to be sold at his Shop near Fernivals-Inne Gate in Holborn. 1640.   

The Author.  
THe Press hath gathered into one, what fancy had scattered in many loose papers. To write this, love stole some hours from businensse, and my more serious study. For though Poetry may challenge if not priority, yet equality with the best Sciences, both for antiquity and worth; I never set so high a rate upon it, as to give myself entirely up to its devotion. It hath too much air, and (if without offence to our next transmarine neighbour,) wantoness too much according to the French garb. And when it is wholly employed in the soft strains of love, his soul who entertains it, loseth much of that strength which should confirm him man. The nerves of judgement are weakened most by its dalliance, and when woman, (I mean only as she is externally fair) is the supreme object of wit, we soon degenerate into effeminacy. For the religion of fancy declines into a mad superstition, when it adores that Idol which is not secure from age and sickness. Of such heathens, our times afford us a pitied multitude, who can give no nobler testimony of twenty years' employment, than some loose copies of lust happily expressed. Yet these the common people of wit blow up with their breath of praise, and honour with the Sacred name of Poets: To which as I believe they can never have any just claim, so shall I not dare by this essay to lay any title, since more sweat and oil he must spend, who shall arrogate so excellent an attribute. Yet if the innocency of a chaste Muse shall be more acceptable, and weigh heavier in the balance of esteem, than a fame, begot in adultery of study; I doubt I shall leave them no hope of competition. For how unhappy soever I may be in the elocution, I am sure the Theme is worthy enough. In all those flames in which I burned, I never felt a wanton heat, nor was my invention ever sinister from the straight way of chastity. And when love builds upon that rock, it may safely contemn the battery of the waves, and threatenings of the wind. Since time, that makes a mockery of the firmest structures shall itself be ●umated, before that be demolished. Thus was the foundation laid. And though my eye in its survey, was satisfied, even to curiosity, yet did not my search rest there. The Alabaster, Ivory, Porphir, jet, that lent an admirable beauty to the outward building, entertained me with but a half pleasure, since they stood there only to make sport for ruin. But when my soul grew acquainted with the owner of that mansion; I sound that Oratory was dumb when it began to speak her, and wonder (which must necessarily seize the best at that time) a lethargy, that dulled too much the faculties of the mind, only fit to busy themselves in discoursing her perfections, Wisdom, I encountered there, that could not spend itself since it affected silence, attentive only to instructions, as if all her senses had been contracted into hearing: Innocence, so not vitiated by conversation with the world, that the subtle witted of her sex, would have termed it ignorance: Wit, which seated itself most in the apprehension, and if not enforced by good manners, would scarce have gained the name of affability. Modesty, so timorous, that it represented a besieged City, standing watchfully upon her guard, strongest in the loyalty to her Prince. In a word, all those virtues which should restore woman to her primitive state of beauty, fully adorned her. But I shall be censured, in labouring to come nigh the truth, guilty of an indiscreet Rhetoric. However such I fancied her, for to say she is, or was such, were to play the Merchant, and boast too much the value of a jewel I possess, but have no mind to part with. And though I appear to strive against the stream of best wits, in erecting the self same Altar both to chastity and love; I will fo● once adventure to do well, without a precedent. Nor if my rigid friend question superciliously the setting forth of these Poems, will I excuse myself (though justly perhaps I might) that importunity prevailed, and clear judgements advised: This only ● dare say, that if they are not strangled with envy of the present, they may happily live in the not dislike of future times. For than partiality ceaseth, and virtue is without the idolatry of her clients, esteemed worthy honour. Nothing new is free from detraction, and when Princes alter customs even heavy to the subject, best ordinances are interpreted innovations. Had I slept in the silence of my acquaintance, and affected no study beyond that which the chase or field allows, Poetry had then been no scandal upon me, and the love of learning no suspicion of ill husbandry. But what malice, begot in the Country upon ignorance, or in the City upon Criticism, shall prepare against me, I am armed to endure. For as the face of virtue looks fair without the adultery of Art, so fame needs no aid from rumour to strengthen herself. If these lines want that courtship, (I will not say flattery) which insinuates itself into the favour of great men, best; they partake of my modesty: If Satire to win applause with the envious multitude; they express my content, which maliceth none, the fruition of that, they esteem happy. And if not too indulgent to what is my own; I think even these verses will have that proportion in the world's opinion, that heaven hath allotted me in fortune; not so high, as to be wondered at, nor so low as to be contemned.   

To his best friend and Kinsman William Habington, Esquire.  
NOt in the silence of content and store  
Of private sweets aught thy Muse charm no more  
Than thy Castara's ear. 'Twere wrong such gold  
Should not like Mines, (poor named to th●●) behold  
Itself a public joy. Who her restrain,  
Make a close prisoner of a Sovereign.  
Enlarge her then to triumph. While we'see  
Such worth in beauty, such desert in thee,  
Such mutual flames between you both, as show  
How chastity, though ye, like love can glow,  
Yet stand a Virgin: How that full content  
By virtue is to souls united, lent,  
Which proves all wealth is poor all honours are  
But empty tit●es, highest power but care,  
That quits not cost. Yet Heaven to Virtue kind,  
Hath given yo● plenty to suffice a mi●de  
That knows but temper. For beyond your state  
M●y be a pro●der, not a happier Fa●e.  
I Write not this in hope t' ●ncroach on fame,  
O● add a greater lustre to your name.  
Bright in itself enough. We two are known  
To th' World, as to ourselves, to be but one  
In blood as study: And my careful love  
Did never action worth my name, approve,  
Which served not thee. Nor did we ere cont●nd,  
But who should be best pattern of a friend.  
Who read thee, praise thy fancy, and admire  
Thee burning with so high and pure a fire,  
As reaches heaven itself But I who know  
Thy soul religious to her ends, where grow  
No sinnes by art or custom, boldly can  
Style thee more than good Poet, a good man.  
Then let thy temples shake off vulgar bays,  
The hast ●uilt an Altar which enshrines ●hy praise:  
And to the faith of after time commends  
Ye the best pair of lovers, us of friends.  
GEORGE TALBOT.   

A Mistress  
IS the fairest treasure, the avarice of Love can covet; and the only white, at which he shoots his arrows, nor while his aim is noble, can he ever hit upon repentance. She is chaste, for the devil enters the Idol and gives the Oracle, when wantonness possesseth beauty, and wit maintains it lawful. She is as fair as Nature intended her, helped perhaps to a more pleasing grace by the sweetness of education, not by the slight of Art. She is young, for a woman past the delicacy of her spring, may well move by virtue to respect, never by beauty to affection. She is innocent even from the knowledge of si●ne, for vice is too strong to be wrestled with, and gives her frailty the foil. She is not proud, though the amorous youth interpret her modesty to that sense; but in her virtue wears so much Majesty, lust dares not rebel, nor though masked, under the pretence of love, capitulate with her. She entertains not every parley offered, although the Articles pretended to her advantage: advice and her own fears restrain her, and woman never owed ruin to too much caution. She glories not in the plurality of servants, a multitude of adorers heaven can only challenge; and it is impiety in her weakness to desire superstition from many. She is deaf to the whispers of love, and even on the marriage hour can break off, without the least suspicion of scandal, to the former liberty of her carriage. She avoids a too near conversation with man, and like the Parthian overcomes by flight. Her language is not copious but apposite, and she had rather suffer the reproach of being dull company, than have the title of Witty, with that of Bold and Wanton. In her carriage she is sober, and thinks her youth expresseth life enough, without the giddy motion, fashion of late hath taken up. She danceth to the best applause but dotes not on the vanity of it, nor licenceth an irregular meeting to vaunt the levity of her skill. She sings, but not perpetually, for she knows, silence in woman is the most persuading oratory. She never arrived to so much familiarity with man as to know the demunitive of his name, and call him by it; and she can show a competent favour: without yielding her hand to his gripe. She never understood the language of a kiss, but at salutation, nor dares the Courtier use so much of his practised impudence as to offer the rape of it from her; because chastity hath write it unlawful, and her behaviour proclaims it unwelcome. She is never sad, and yet not jiggish; her conscience is clear from guilt, and that secures her from sorrow. She is not passionately in love with poetry, because it softens the heart too much to love: but she likes the harmony in the Composition; and the brave examples of virtue celebrated by it, she proposeth to her imitation. She is not vain in the history of her gay kindred ●r acquaintance; since virtue is often tenant ●o a cottage, and familiarity with greatness (if worth be not transcendent above the title) is but a glorious servitude, fools only are willing to suffer. She is not ambitious to be praised, and yet vallues death beneath infamy. And I'll conclude, (though the next synod of Ladies condemn this character as an heresy broached by a Precision) that only she who hath as great a share in virtue as in beauty, deserves a noble love to serve her, and a free Poesy to speak her.   


To CASTARA, A Sacrifice.  
LET the chaste Phoenix from the flowery East,  
Bring the sweet treasure of her perfumed nest,  
As incense to this Altar▪ where the name  
Of my Castara's graved by th' hand of fame.  
Let purer Virgins, to redeem the air  
From loose infection, bring their zealous prayer,  
T'assist at this great feast: where they shall see,  
What rites Love offers up to Chastity.  
Let all the amorous Youth, whose fair desire  
Felt never warmth but from a noble fire,  
Bring hither their bright flâmes: which here shall shine  
As Tapers fixed about Custara's s●rine.  
While I the Priest, my untamed heart, surprise,  
And in this Temple make't her sacrifice.   

To CASTARA, Praying.  
I Saw Castara pray, and from the sky,  
A winged legion of bright Angel▪ fly  
To catch his vows, for fear her Vrgin prayer,  
Might chance to mingle with impurer air.  
To vulgar eyes, the sacred truth I write,  
May seem a fancy. But the Eagles sight  
Of Saints, and P●ets, miracles oft view,  
Which to dull Heretics appear untrue.  
Fair zeal begets such wonders. O divine  
And purest beauty, let me thee enshrine  
In my devoted soul, and from thy praise,  
T'enrich my garland, pluck religious Bays.  
Shine thou the star by which my thoughts shall move,  
Best subject of my pen, Queen of my love.   

To Roses in the bosom of CASTARA,  

YE blushing Virgins happy are  
In the chaste Nunnery of her breasts,  
For he'd profane so chaste a fair,  
Who ere should call them Cupid's nests.   

Transplanted thus how bright ye grow,  
How rich a perfume do ye yield?  
In some close garden, Cowslips so  
Are sweeter than i'th' open field.   

In those white Cloisters live secure  
From the rude blasts of wanton breath,  
Each hour more innocent and pure,  
Till you shall wither into death.   

Then that which living gave you room,  
Your glorious sepulchre shall be.  
There wants no marble for a tomb,  
Whose breast hath marble been to me.    

To CASTARA, A Vow.  
BY those chaste lamps which yield a silent light,  
so the cold Urns of Virgins; By that night,  
Which guilty of no crime, doth only hear  
The Vows of recluse Nu●s and th' Au'thrits prayer;  
And by thy chaster self; My fervent zeal  
Like mountain y●e, which the North winds congeal,  
To purest Crystal, feels no wanton fire.  
But as the humble Pilgrim, (whose desire  
Blest in Christ's cottage view, by Angel's hands,  
Transported from sad Bethlem,) wondering stands  
At the great miracle So I at thee,  
Whose beauty is the shrine of chastity.  
Thus my bright Muse in a new orb shall move,  
And even teach Religion how to love.   

To CASTARA, Of his being in Love.  
Where am I? not in Heaven: for oh I feel  
The Stone of Sisyphus, Ixion's wheel;  
And all those tortures, Poets (by their wine  
Made judges) laid on Tant ●lus, are mine.  
Nor yet am I in hell; for still I stand,  
Though giddy in my passion, on firm land.  
And still behold the seasons of the year,  
Springs in my hope, and Winters in my fear.  
And sure I'm 'bove the earth, F●r th' highest star  
Shoots beams, but dim, to what Castara's are,  
And in her sight and favour I even shine  
In a bright orb beyond the Crystalline.  
If then Castara I in Heaven nor move,  
Nor Earth, nor Hell; where am I but in Love?   

To my honoured Friend, Mr. E. P.  
NOt still i'th' shine of Kings. Thou dost retire  
Sometime to th' Holy shade, where the chaste choir  
Of Muses doth the stubborn Panther awe,  
And give the wildness of ●is nature law.  
The wind his chariot stops: Th' attentive rock  
The rigour doth of its creation mock,  
And gently melts away: Argus to hear  
The music, turns each eye into an ear.  
To welcome thee, Endy●ion, glorious they  
Triumph to force th●se creatures disobey  
What nature hath enacted. But no charm  
The Muses have these monsters can disarm  
Of their in nated rage: No spell can tame  
The North-winds fury, but Castara's name.  
Climb yonder forked hill, and see if there  
Ith' bark of every Daphne, not appear  
Castara written; And so marked by me,  
How great a Prophet grows each Virgin tree?  
Lie down, and listen what the sacred spring  
In her harmonious murmurs, strives to sing  
To th' neighbouring bank, ere her loose waters err  
Through common channels; sings she not of her?  
Behold yond violet, which such honour gains,  
That growing but to emulate her veins,  
It's azur'd like the sky: when she doth bow  
T'invoke Castara, heaven perfumes her vow.  
The trees the water, and the flowers adore  
The Deity of her s●x, and through each poor  
Breath forth her glories. But unquiet love  
To make thy passions so uncourtly prove,  
As if all ears should hear her praise alone.  
Now listen thou; Edymion sings his own.   

To CASTARA.  

Do not their profane Orgies hear,  
Who but to wealth no altar's rear.  
The soul's oft poisoned through the ear.   

Castara rather seek to dwell  
Ith' silence of a private cell.  
Ri●h discontent's a glorious hell.   

Yet Hi●dlip doth not want extent  
Of room (though not magnificent)  
To give free welcome to content.   

There shalt thou see the early Spring,  
That wealthy stock of nature bring,  
Of which the Sibyl's books did sing.   

From fruitless Palms shall honey flow,  
An● barren Winter Harvest show,  
While Lilies in his bosom grow,   

No North wind shall the corn infest,  
But th● soft spirit of the East,  
Our scent with perfumed banquets feast.   

A Satire here and there shall trip,  
In hope to purchase leave to sip  
Sweet Nectar from a Fairy's lip.   

The Nymphs with quivers shall adorn  
Then active sides and rouse the morn  
With the shrill music of their horn.   

Wakened with which, and viewing thee,  
Fair Daphne her fair self shall free,  
From the chaste prison of a tree:   

And with Nar●lssu● (to thy face  
Who humbly will ascribe all grace)  
Shall once again pursue the chase.   

So they whose wisdom did discuss  
Of these as fictions: shall in us  
Find, they were more than fabulous.    

To CASTARA, Softly singing to herself.  
SIng forth sweet Cherubin (for we have choice  
Of reasons in thy beauty and thy voice,  
To name thee so, and scarce appear profane)  
Sing forth, that while the orbs celestial strain  
To echo thy sweet note, our humane ears  
May then receive the Music of the Spheres.  
But yet take heed, lest if the Swans of Thames,  
That add harmonious pleasure to the streams,  
Oth' sudden hear thy well-divided breath,  
Should listen, and in silence welcome death:  
And ravished Nightingales, striving too high  
To ●each thee, in the emulation die.  
And thus there will be left no bird to sing  
Farewell to th' Waters, welcome to the Spring.   

To a Wanton.  
IN vain fair sorceress, thy eyes speak charms,  
In ●aine thou mak'st loose circles with thy arms.  
I'm 'bove thy spells No magic him can move,  
In whom Castara hath inspired her love.  
As she, keep thou strict cent'nell o'er thy ear,  
Lest it the whispers of sof● Courtiers hear;  
Read not his raptures, whose invention must  
Write journey work, both for his Patron's lust.  
And his own plush: let no admirer feast  
His eye o'th' n●ked banquet of thy breast.  
If this fair precedent, nor yet my w●nt  
Of love, to answer thine, make thee recant  
Thy sorc'ries; Pity shall to justice t●rne,  
And judge thee▪ witch, in thy own flames to burn.   

To the Honourable my much honoured friend, R. B. Esquire.  
WHile you dare trust the loudest▪ tongue of fame,  
The zeal you bear your Mistress to proclaim▪  
To th' talking world: I in the silenst grove,  
Scarce to myself dare whisper that I lo●e  
Thee, titles Brud'nell, riches thee adorn,  
And vigorous youth to vice not headlong borne  
By th' tide of custom: Which I value more  
Th●n what blind superstitious fools adore,  
Who greatness in the chair of bliss enthrone,  
Greatness we borrow, Ver●ue is o●r own.  
In thy attempt be prosperous, and when ere  
Thou shalt prefix the hour; May Hym●n wear  
His brightest robe; where some famed Persian shall  
Work by the wonder of her needle all  
The nuptial joys; which (if we Poets be  
True Propheiss) bounteous heaven designs fo● thee.  
I envy not, but glory in thy fate,  
While in the narrow limits of my state  
I b●und my hopes Which if Castara deign  
Once to entitle he●s; the wealthiest grain  
My earth, untild shall bear; my trees shall groan  
Under their fruitful burden, and at one  
And the same season▪ Nature forth shall bring  
Riches of A●tumne, pleasures of the Spring.  
But dig and thou shalt find a purer Mine  
Than th' Indian's boast: Taste of this generous Vine,  
And her blood sweeter will than Nectar prove,  
Such miracles wait on a noble love.  
B●t should she scorn my suit, I'll ●rend that path  
Which none but some sad Fairy beaten hath.  
There force wronged Philomela, hearing my m●ne,  
To ●igh my greater griefs, forget her own.   

To CASTARA, Enquiring why I loved her.  

WHy doth the stubborn iron prove  
So gentle to th'▪ magnetic stone?  
How know you that the orbs do move;  
With music too? since heard of none?  
And I will answer why I love.   

'Tis not thy virtues, each a star  
Which in thy souls bright sphere do shine,  
Shooting their beauties from a far,  
To make each gazer's heart like thine;  
Our virtues often Meteor's are.   

'Tis not thy face. I cannot spy,  
When Poets weep some Virgin's death,  
That Cupid wantoness in her eye,  
Or perfumes vapour from her breath,  
And amongst the dead thou once must lie.   

Nor is't thy birth. For I was ne'er  
So vain as in that to delight:  
Which balance it▪ no weight doth bear,  
Nor yet 〈◊〉 object to the sigh●,  
But only fills the vulgar ear.   

Nor yet thy fortunes: Since I know  
They in their motion like the Sea:  
Ebb from the good, to the impious flow:  
And so in flattery betray,  
That raising they but overthrow.   

And yet these attributes might prove  
Fuel enough t'inflame desire;  
But there was something from above,  
Shot without reasons guide, this fire.  
I know, yet know not, why I love.    

To CASTARA, Looking upon him.  

TRansfix me with that flaming dart,  
I●h ' eye, or breast or any part,  
So thou, Ca●ta●a, spare my heart.   

The cold Cimmerian by th●t bright  
Warms wound▪ i'th' darkness of his night,  
Might both recover heat, and light.   

The rugged Scythian gently move,  
Ith' whispering shadow of some gro●e,  
That's consecrate to sportive Love.   

December see the Prim rose grow,  
The Rivers in soft murmurs flow,  
And from his head shake off h●s snow.   

And crooked age might feel again  
Those heats of which youth did complain,  
While fresh blood swells each withered vein.   

For the bright lustre of thy eyes▪  
Which but ●o warm them would suffice,  
May burn me to a sacrifice.    

To the right honourable the Countess of Ar.  
Winged with delight (yet such as still doth bear  
chaste virtue's stamp) those Children of the year  
The days, hast nimbly; and while as they fly,  
Each of them with their predecessors vie,  
Which yields most pleasure; you to them d●spence,  
What Time lost with his cradle, innocence.  
So ● (if fancy not delude my fight,)  
See often the pale monarch of tho night,  
Diana, 'mong her nymphs. For every choir  
Of vulgar stars, who lend their weaker fire  
To conquer the night's chillness, with their Queen,  
In harmless revels tread the happy green.  
But I who am proseribed by tyrant love,  
Seek out a silent exile in some grove,  
Where nought except a solitary Spring,  
Was ever heard, to which the Nymphs did sing  
Narcissus obsequies: For only there  
Is mufique apt to catch an amorous ear▪  
Castara! oh my heart! How great a flame  
Did even shoot into me with her name?  
Castara hath betrayed me to a zeal  
Which thus distracts my hopes. Flints may conceal  
In their cold veins a fire. But I whose heart  
By Love's dissolved, ne'er practised that cold art.  
But truce thou warring passion, for I'll now▪  
Madam to you address this solemn vow.  
By Virtue and yourself (best friends) I find  
In the interior province of your mind  
Such government: That if great men obey▪  
Th● example of your order, they will sway▪  
Without reproof▪ for only you unite  
Honour with sweetness, virtue with delight.   

Upon CASTARA'S frown or smile.  

LEarned shade of Tycho Brache, who to us,  
The stars prophetic language didst impart,  
And even in life their mysteries discuss:  
Castara hath o'erthrown thy strongest ar●.   

When custom struggles from her beaten path,  
Then accidents must needs uncertain be,  
For if Castara smile; though winter hath  
Locked up the rivers: Summer's warm in me.   

And Flora by the miracle revived,  
Do●h ●ven at her own beauty wondering stand,  
But should she frown, the Northern wind arrived,  
In ●idst of Summer, leads his frozen band:  
Which doth to y●e my youthful blood congeal,  
Yet in the midst of ye, still flames my zeal.    

In CASTARA, All fortunes.  
YE glorious wits, who find then Parian stone,  
A nobler quarry to build trophies on,  
Purchased against conquered time, go court loud fame,  
He wins it, who but sings Castara's name?  
Aspiring souls, who grow but in a Spring,  
Forced by the warmth of some indulgent King:  
Know if Castara smile: I dwell in it,  
And vie for glory with the Favourite.  
Ye sons of avarice, who but to sha●e  
Uncertain treasure with a certain care.  
Tempt death in th' horrid Ocean: ay, when ere  
I but approach her, find the Indies there.  
Heaven brightest Saint, kind to my vows made thee  
Of all ambition courts, th' Epitome.   

Upon thought Castara may die.  
IF she should die, (as well suspect we may,  
A body so compact should ne'er decay)  
Her brighter soul would in the Moon inspire  
More chastity, in dimmer stars more fire.  
You twins of Leda (as your parents are  
In their wild lusts) may grow irregular  
Now in your motion: for the mariner  
Henceforth shall only stee●e his course by her.  
And when the zeal of after time shall spy  
Her uncorrupt i'th' happy marble lie;  
The roses in her checks unwithered,  
'Twill turn to love, and dote upon the dead.  
For he who did to her in life dispense  
A heaven, will banish all corruption thence.   

Time to the moments, on sight of CASTARA.  
YOu younger children of your father stay,  
Swift flying moments (which divide the day  
And with your number measure out the year  
In various seasons) stay and wonder here.  
For since my cradle, I so bright a grace  
ne'er saw, as you s●e in Castara's face;  
Whom nature to revenge some youthful crime  
Would never frame, till age had weakened Time.  
Else spite of fate, in some fair form of clay  
My youth I de▪ bodied, thrown my sith away,  
And broke my glass. But since that cannot be,  
I'll punish Nature for her injury.  
On nimble moments in your journey fly,  
Castara shall like me, grow old, and die.   

To a friend enquiring her name, whom he loved.  

FOnd Love himself hopes to disguise  
From view, if he but covered lies,  
Ith' veil of my transparent eyes.   

Though in a smile himself he hide,  
Or in a sigh, thou art so tried  
In all his arts, he'll be descried.   

I must confess (Dear friend) my flame,  
Whose boasts Castara so doth tame,  
That not thy faith, shall ●now her n●me.   

'twere profanation of my zeal,  
If but abroad one whisper steal,  
They love betray who him reveal.   

In a dark cave which never eye  
Could by his subtlest ra● descry,  
It doth like a rich mineral lie.   

Which if she with her fl●me refine,  
I'd force it from that obscure Mine,  
And then it like pure gold should shine.    

A Dialogue between HOPE and FEAR.  FEAR, 
Check thy forward thoughts and know  
Hymen only joins their hands;  
Who with even paces go,  
She in gold, he rich in lands.  HOPE. 

But Castara's purer fire,  
When it meets a noble flame:  
Shuns the smoke of such desire,  
joins with love, and burns the same.   FEAR. 

Yet obedience must prevail,  
They who o'er her actions sway:  
Would have her in th' Ocean sail,  
And contemn t●y narrow sea.   HOPE 

Parent's laws must bear no weight  
When they h●ppinesse pr●v●nt.  
And our sea is not so straight,  
But it room hath for content.   FEAR. 

Thousand hearts as victims stand,  
At the Altar of her eyes.  
And will partial she command,  
Only thine for sacrifice?   HOPE. 

Thousand victims must return;  
She the purest will design:  
Choose Castara which shall burn,  
Choose the purest, that is, mine.    

To CUPID, Upon a dimple in CASTARA'S cheek.  
NImble boy in thy warm flight,  
What cold tyrant dimmed thy sight?  
Hadst thou eyes to see my fair,  
Thou wouldst sigh thyself to air:  
Fearing to create this one,  
Nature had herself undone.  
But if you when this you hear  
Fall down murdered through your ear,  
Beg of jove that you may have  
In her cheek a dimpled grave.  
Lily, Rose, and Violet,  
Shall the perfumed Hearse beset  
While a beauteous sheet of Lawn,  
O'er the wanton corpse is drawn:  
And all lovers use this breath;  
" Here lies Cupid blest in death.   

Upon CVPID'S death and burial in CASTARA'S cheek.  
Cupid's dead. Who would not die,  
To be interred so near, her eye?  
Who would fear the sword, to have  
Such an Alabaster grave?  
O'er which two bright caper's burne,  
To give light to the beauteous Vine.  
At the first Castara smiled,  
Thinking Cupid her beguiled,  
Only counterfeiting death▪  
But when she perceived his breath  
Quite expired: the mournful Girl,  
To entomb the boy in Pearl,  
Wept so long; till piteous jove,  
From the ashes of this Love,  
Made ten thousand Cupids rise,  
But confined them to her eyes:  
Where they yet, to show they lack  
No due sorrow, still we are black.  
But the blacks so glorious are  
Which they mou●ne in, that the fair  
Quires of stars, look pale and ●●et,  
Seeing themselves out shined by jet.   

To Fame.  
FLy on thy swiftest wing, ambitious Fame,  
And speak to the cold North Castara's name:  
Which very breath will, like the East wind, bring,  
The temperate warmth, and music of the Spring.  
Then from the Arctic to th' Antarctic Pole,  
Haste nimbly and inspire a gentler soul,  
By naming her, ●th' torrid South; that he  
May mild as Zephor●● cool whispers be.  
Nor let the West where heaven already joins  
The vastest Empire, and the wealthiest Mines,  
Nor th' East in pleasures wanton, her condemn,  
For not distributing her gifts on them.  
For she with want would have her bounty meet.  
Love's noble charity is so discreet.   

A Dialogue between ARAPHILL and CASTARA:  ARAPH. 
DOst not thou Castara read  
Amorous volumes in my eyes?  
Doth not every motion plead  
What I'd show, and yet disguise?  
Senses act each others part.  
Eyes, as tongues, reveal the heart.  CAST 
I saw love as lightning break  
From thy eyes, and was content  
Oft to hear thy silence speak.  
Silent love is eloquent.  
So the sense of learning hears,  
The dumb music of the Spheres.  ARAPH. 
Then there's mercy in your kind,  
Listening to an unfeigned love.  
Or strives he to tame the wind,  
Who would your compassion move?  
No y'are piteous as you're fair.  
Heaven relents, o'ercome by prayer.  CAST 
But loose man too prodigal  
Is in the expense of vows;  
And thinks to him kingdoms fall  
When the heart of woman bows:  
Frailty to your arms may yield;  
Who resists you wins the field.  ARAPH. 
Triumph not to see me bleed,  
Let the Boar cha●ed from his den,  
On the wounds of mankind feed,  
Your soft sex should pity men.  
Malice well may practise Art,  
Love hath a transparent heart.  CAST 
Yet is love all one deceit,  
A warm fr●st, a frozen fire.  
She within herself is great,  
Who is s●ave to no desire▪  
Let youth act, and age advise,  
And then love may find his eyes.  ARAPH. 
Hymen's torch yields a dim light,  
When ambition joins our hands,  
A proud day, but mournful night,  
She sustains, who marries lands.  
Wealth slaves man, but for their Ore,  
Th' Indians had been free, though poor.  CAST 
And yet wealth the fuel is  
Which maintains the nuptiallfire,  
And in honour there's a bliss,  
Th' are immortal who aspire.  
But truth says no joys are sweet,  
But where hearts united meet.  ARAPH. 
Roses breathe not such a scent,  
To presume the neighbouring groves;  
As when you affirm content,  
In no sphere of glory moves.  
Glory narrow souls combines:  
Noble hearts Love only joins.   

To CASTARA, Intending a journey into the Country.  
WHy haste you hence Castara? can the earth,  
Aglorious mother, in her flowery birth,  
Show Lilies like thy brow? Can she disclose  
In emulation of thy cheek, a Rose,  
Sweet as thy blush; upon thyself then set  
Just value, and scorn it thy counterfeit.  
The Spring's still with thee; But perhaps the field,  
Not warmed with thy approach, wants force to yield  
Her tribute to the Plough; O rather let  
Th' ingrateful earth for ever be in debt  
To th' hope of sweeting industry, than we  
Should starve with cold, who have no heat but thee.  
Nor fear the public good. Thy eyes can give  
A life to all, who can deserve to live.   

Upon CASTARA'S departure.  
I Am engaged to sorrow, and my heart  
Feels a distracted rage. Though you depart  
And leave me to my fears; let love in spite  
Of absence, our divided souls unite.  
But you must go. The melancholy Doves  
Draw Venus' chariot hence: The sportive Loves  
Which wont to wanton here hence with you fly,  
And like false friends forsake me when I die.  
For but a walking tomb, what can he be;  
Whose best of life is forced to part with thee?   

To CASTARA, Upon a trembling kiss at departure.  
TH' Arabian wind, whose breathing gently blows  
Purple to th' Violet, blushes to the Rose,  
Did never yield ●n odour rich as this.  
Why are you then so thrifty of a kiss,  
Authorised even by custom? Why doth fear  
So tremble on your lip, my lip being near?  
Think you I parting with so sad a zeal,  
Will act so black a mischief, as to steal  
Thy Roses thence? And they, by this device,  
Transplanted: somewhere else force Paradise?  
Or else you fear, lest you, should my heart skip  
Up to my mouth, t'encounter with your lip,  
Might rob me of it: and be judged in this,  
T'have judas like betrayed me with a kiss.   

In CASTARA, Looking back at her departing.  

Look back Castara. From thy eye  
Let yet more flaming arrows fly:  
To live is thus to burn and die.   

For what might glorious hope desire,  
But that thyself, as I expire,  
Should bring both death and funeral fire?   

Distracted Love, shall grieve to see  
Such zeal in death: For fear lest he  
Himself, should be consumed in me.   

And gathering up my ashes, weep,  
That in his tears he then may steep:  
And thus embâlmed, as relics, keep.   

Thither let lovers pilgrims turn,  
And the loose flames in which they burn,  
Give up a● offerings to my Urn.   

That them the virtue of my shrine,  
By miracle so long refine;  
Till they prove innocent as mine.    

Upon CASTARA'S absence.  
'tIs madness to give Physic to the dead;  
Then leave me friends: Yet haply you'd here read  
A lecture; but I'll not dissected be,  
T'instruct your Art by my anatomy.  
But still you trust your sense, swear you descry  
No difference in me. All's deceit o'th' eye,  
Some spirit hath a body framed in th' ay●e,  
Like mine, which he doth to delude you wear:  
Else heaven by miracle makes me survive  
Myself, to keep in me poor Love alive.  
But I am dead, yet l●t none question where  
My best part rests, and with a sigh or tear,  
Profane ●he Pomp, when they my corpse inter,  
My soul imparadised, for 'tis with her.   

To CASTARA, Complaining her absence in the Country.  
THe lesser people of the air conspire  
To keep thee from me. Philomela with higher  
And sweeter note●, woos thee to weep her rape,  
Which would appease the gods & change her shape.  
The early Lark, preferring 'fore soft rest  
Obsequious duty▪ leaves his downy nest,  
And doth to thee harmonious tribute, pay;  
Expecting from thy eyes the break of day.  
From which the Owl is frighted, and doth rove  
(As never having felt the warmth of love.)  
In uncouth vaults, and the i'll shades of night,  
Not biding the bright lustre of thy ●ight.  
With him my fate agree●. Not viewing thee  
I'm lost in mists, at best, but meteors see.   

To THAMES.  
SWift in thy wa●ry chariot, courteous Thames,  
Hast by the happy error of thy streams,  
To kiss the banks of Marlowe, which doth show  
Fai●e Scymors, and beyond that never flow.  
Then summon all thy Swans, that who did give  
Music to death, may henceforth sing, and live,  
For my Castara. She can life restore,  
Or quicken them who had no life before.  
How should the Poplar else the Pine provoke,  
The stately Cedar challenge the rude Oak  
To dance at sight of her? They have no sense  
From nature given, but by her influence.  
If Orpheus did those senseless creatures move,  
He was a Prophet, and fore sang my love.   

To the right honourable the Earl of Shrews.  
MY Muse (great Lord) when last you heard her sing  
Did to your Uncle's Urn, her offerings bring:  
And if to fame I may give faith, your ears  
Delighted in the music of her tears.  
That was her debt to virtue. And when e'er  
She her bright head among the clouds shall rear,  
And add to th' wondering heavens a new flame,  
she'll celebrate the Genius of your name.  
Wild with another ra●e, inspired by love,  
She charms the Myrtles of the Idalian grove.  
And while she gives the Cyprian storms a law,  
Those wanton Doves which Cyther●ia draw.  
Through th' amorous air: Admire what power doth sway  
The Ocean, and arrest them in their way.  
She sings Castara ●hen▪ O she more bright,  
Than is the Starry Senate of the night;  
Who in their motion did like stragglers err,  
'Cause they derived no influence from her,  
Who's constant as she's chaste. The Sun hath been  
Clad like a neighbouring shepherd often seen  
To hunt those Dales, in hope then Daphne's, there  
To see a brighter face. Th' ginger  
In th' interim died, whose proud Art could not show  
Whence that Eclipse did on the sudden grow.  
A wanton Satire eager in the chase  
Of some fair Nymph, beheld Castara's face,  
And left his loose pursuit; who while he eyed,  
Vnchastely, such a beauty, glorified  
With ●uch a virtue; by heavens great commands,  
Turned marble, and there yet a Statue stands.  
As Poet thus. But as a Christian now,  
And by my zeal to you (my Lord) I vow,  
She doth a flame so pure and sacred move;  
In me imp ety 'twere not to love.   

To CUPID. Wishing a speedy passage to CASTARA.  
THank▪ es Cupid, but the Coach of Venus moves  
For me too slow, drawn but by lazy Doves.  
ay▪ lest my journey a delay should find,  
Will leap into the chariot of the wind.  
Swift as the flight of lightning through the air,  
he'll hurry me till I approach the fair,  
B●t unkind Seymors. Thus he will proclaim,  
What tribute winds owe to Castara's name.  
Viewing this prodigy, astonished they,  
Who first access denied me, will obey,  
With fear what love comm●nds: Yet censure me  
As guilty of the blackest ●or●ery.  
But after to my wishes m●●de● prov●●  
When they know this the miracle 〈◊〉 l●ve▪   

To CAS●A●●. Of ●o●e.  
HOw f 〈…〉  
 
And o'er th' obedient elements command.  
he's lame as he is blind, for here I stand  
Fixed as the earth. Throw then this Idol down  
Ye lovers who first made it; which can frown  
Or smile but as you please. But I'm untame  
In rage. Castara call thou on his name,  
And though he'll not bear up my vows to thee,  
he'll triumph to bring down my Saint to me.   

To the Spring, Upon the uncertainty of CASTARA'S abode.  
Fair Mistress of the earth, with garlands crowned  
Rise, by a lover's charm, from the parched ground,  
And show thy flowery wealth: that she. where ere  
Her stars shall guide her, meet thy beauties there.  
Should she to the cold Northern climates go,  
Force thy affrighted Lilies there to grow,  
Th● Roses in those gelid field● t'appear,  
She absent I have al● their Winter here.  
Or if to th' ●orrid Zone ●er way she bend,  
Her the cool breathing of Favonius lend,  
Thither command the birds to bring their quires,  
That Zone is temperate I have all his fires.  
Attend her, courteous Spring, though we should here  
Lose by it all the treasures of the yee●e.   

To Reason, Upon CASTARA'S absence.  
WIth your calm precepts go, and lay a storm  
In some breast phlegmatic which would conform  
Her life to your cold laws: In va●ne y'●ngage  
Yourself on me. I will obey my rage.  
she's gone, and I am ●ost. Some unknown grove  
I'll find, whereby the miracle of Love  
I'll turn t'a fountain, and divide the year,  
By numbering every moment with a tear▪  
Where if Castara (to avoid the beams  
Oth' n●igh'bring Sun) shall wand'ring meet my streams.  
And tasting hope her thirst alaid shall be,  
she'll feel a sudden flame, and burn like me:  
And thus distracted cry. Tell me thou clear,  
But treacherous Fount, what lover's coffined here?   

An answer to CASTARA'S question.  
'tIs I Castara, who when thou wert gone,  
Did freeze into this melancholy stone,  
To weep the minutes of thy absence. Where  
Can grief have freer scope to mourn than here?  
The Lark here practiseth a sweeter strain,  
Aurora's early blush to entertain,  
And having too deep tasted of these streams,  
He loves, and amorously courts her beams.  
The courteous turtle with a wand'ring zeal,  
Saw how to stone I did myself congeal,  
And murmuring asked what power this change did move,  
The language of my waters whispered, Love.  
And thus transformed I'll stand, till I shall see,  
That heart so stoned and frozen, thawed in thee.   

To CASTARA, Upon the disguising his affection.  
PRonounce me guilty of a Blacker crime,  
Then e'er in the Large volume writ by Time,  
The sad Historian reads, if not my Art  
Dissembles love, to veil an amorous heart,  
For when the zealous anger of my friend  
Cheques my unusual sadness: I pretend  
To study virtue, which indeed I do,  
He must court virtue who aspires to you.  
Or that some friend is dead and then a tear,  
A sigh or groan steals from me: for I fear  
Lest death with love hath struck my heart, and all  
These sorrow's usher but its funeral.  
Which should revive, should there you a mourner▪ be,  
And force a nuptial in an obsequy.   

To the honourable my honoured kinsman Mr. G. T.  
THrice hath the pale-faced Empress of the night,  
●ent in her chaste increase h●r borrowed light,  
To guide the vowing Mariner: since mute  
Talbot thoust been, too slothful to salute  
Thy exiled servant Labour not t'excuse  
This dull neglect: Love never wants a Muse.  
When thunder summons from eternal sleep  
Th' imprisoned ghosts▪ & spreads o'th' frighted deep  
A veil of darkness; penitent to be  
I may forget, yet still remember thee,  
Next to my fair, under whose eyelids move,  
In nimble measures beauty, wit, and love.  
Nor think Castara (though the sex be frail,  
And ever like uncertain vessels sail  
On th' ocean of their passions; while each wind,  
Triumphs to see their more uncertain mind,)  
Can be induced to alter. Every star  
May in its motion grow irregular;  
The Sun forget to yield his welcome flame  
To th' teeming earth, yet she remain the same.  
And in my arms (if Poets may divine)  
I once that world of beauty shall intwine.  
And on ●er lips print volumes of my love,  
Without a froward check, and sweetly move  
Ith' Labyrinth of delight. If not, I'll draw  
Her picture on my heart, and gently thaw  
With warmth of zeal, until I heaven entreat,  
To give true life to th' eyrie counterfeit.   

Echo to Narcissus. In praise of CASTARA'S discreet Love.  
Scorned in thy watery Urn Na●cissus lie,  
Thou shalt not force more tribute from my eye  
T'increase thy streams: or make me weep a shower,  
To add fresh beauty to thee, now a flower.  
But should relenting heaven restore thee sense,  
To see such wisdom temper innocence,  
In fair Castara's loves how she discreet,  
Makes causion with a noble freedom meet,  
At the same moment; thou'dst confess fond boy,  
Fools only think them virtuous, who are coy.  
And wonder not that I, who have no choice  
Of speech, have praising her so free a voice▪  
Heaven her severest sentence doth repeal,  
When to Castara I would speak my zeal.   

To CASTARA, Being debarred her presence.  
Banished from you, I charged the nimble wind,  
My unseen Messenger, to speak my mind,  
In amorous whispers to you. But my Muse  
Lest the unruly spirit should abuse  
The trust reposed in him, said it was due  
To her alone, to sing my loves to you.  
Hear her then speak. Bright Lady, from whose eye,  
Shot lightning to his heart, who joys to die  
A martyr in your flames: O let your love  
Be great and firm as his: Then nought shall move  
Your settled faiths, that both may grow together:  
Or if by Fate divided, both may wither.  
Hark! 'twas a groan. Ah how sad absence rends  
His troubled thoughts! See, he from Marlowe sends  
His eyes to Seymors. Then chides th' envious trees,  
And unkind distance. Yet his fancy sees  
And courts your beauty, joys as he had cleaved  
Close to you, and then weeps because deceived.  
Be constant as y'are fair. For I foresee  
A glorious triumph waits o'th' victory  
Your love will purchase, showing us to prise  
A true content. There only Love hath eyes.   

To Seymors, The house in which CASTARA lived.  
Blessed Temple, hail, where the chaste Altar stands,  
Which Nature built, but the exacter hands  
Of Virtue polished. Though sad Fate deny  
My profane feet access, my vows shall fly,  
May those Musicians, which divide the air  
With their harmonious breath, their flight prepare,  
For this glad place, and all their accents frame,  
To teach the Echo my Castara's name.  
The beauteous troops of graces led by love  
In chaste attempts, possess the neighbouring grove  
Where may the Spring dwell still. May every tree  
Turn to a Laurel, and prophetic be.  
Which shall in its first Oracle divine,  
That courteous Fate decrees Castara mine.   

To the Dew, In hope to see CASTARA walking.  

BRight Dew which dost the field adorn  
As th' earth to welcome in the morn,  
Would hang a jewel on each corn.   

Did not the piteous night, whose ears  
Have oft been conscious of my fears,  
Distil you from her eyes as tears?   

Or that Castara for your zeal,  
When she her beauties shall reveal,  
Might you to Diamonds congeal?   

If not your pity, yet how ere  
Your care I praise, against she appear,  
To make the wealthy Indies here.   

But see she comes. Bright lamp o'th' sky,  
Put out thy light: the world shall spy,  
A fairer Sun in either eye.   

And liquid Pearl, hang heavy now  
On every grass that it may bow  
In veneration of her brow.   

Yet if the wind should curious be.  
And were I here should question thee,  
he's full of whispers, speak not me.   

But if the busy tell-tale day,  
Our happy interview betray;  
Lest thou confess too, melt away.    

To CASTARA.  
STay under the kind shadow of this tree  
Castara, and protect thyself and me  
From the Sun's rays. Which show the grace of Kings,  
A dangerous warmth with too much favour brings.  
How happy in this shade the humble Vine  
Doth 'bout some taller tree herself intwine,  
And so grows fruitful; teaching us her fate  
Doth bear more sweets, though Cedars bear more state:  
Behold Adonis in yand' purple flower,  
'Twas Venus' love: That dew, the briny shower,  
His coyness wept, while struggling yet alive:  
Now he reputes and gladly would revive,  
By th' virtue of your chaste & powerful charms,  
To play the modest wanton in your arms.   

To CASTARA, Venturing to walk too far in the neighbouring wood.  
DAre not too far Castara, for the shade  
This courteous thicket yield; hath man betrayed  
A prey to wolves to the wild powers o'th' wood,  
Oft travellers pay tribute with their blood.  
If careless of thyself of me take care,  
For like a ship where all the fortunes are  
Of an adventurous merchant; I must be,  
If thou shouldst perish bankrupt in thee.  
My fears have mocked me. Tiger's when they shall  
Behold so bright a face, will humbly fall  
In adoration of thee. Fierce they are  
To the deformed, obsequious to the fair.  
Yet venture not; 'tis nobler far to sway  
The heart of man, than beasts, who man obey.   

Upon CASTARA'S departure.  
Vows are vain. No suppliant breath  
Stays the speed of swift-h●el'd death.  
Life with her is gone and I  
Learn but a new way to die.  
See the flowers condole, and all  
Whither in my funeral.  
The bright Lily, as if day,  
Parted with her fades away.  
Violets hang their heads, and lose  
All their beauty. That the Rose  
A sad part in sorrow bears,  
Witness all those dewy tears,  
Which as Pearl, or Diamond like,  
Swell upon her blushing check.  
All things mourn, but oh behold  
How the withered Marigold  
Closeth up now she is gone,  
judging her the setting Sun.   

A Dialogue between NIGHT and ARAPHIL.  NIGHT. 

LEt silence close thy troubled eyes,  
Thy fear in Lethe steep:  
The stars bright cent'nels of the skies,  
Watch to secure thy sleep.   ARAPH. 

The Norths unruly spirit lay  
In the disordered Seas:  
Make the rude Winter calm as May,  
And give a lover ease.   NIGHT. 

Yet why should fear with her pale charms,  
Bewitch thee so to grief?  
Since it prevents n'insuing harms,  
Nor yields the past relief.   ARAPH. 

And yet such horror I sustain  
As the sad vessel, when  
Rough tempests have incensed the Main,  
Her Harbour now in ken.   NIGHT. 

No conquest wears a glorious wreath,  
Which dangers not obtain:  
Let tempests against the shipwreck breathe,  
Thou shalt thy harbour gain.   ARAPH. 

Truths Delphos doth not still foretell.  
Though Sol th' inspirer be.  
How then should night as blind as hell,  
Ensuing truths foresee?   NIGHT. 

The Sun yields man no constant flame▪  
One light those Priests inspires.  
While I though black am still the same,  
And have ten thousand fires.   ARAPH. 

But those, says my prophetic fear,  
As funeral torches burn,  
While thou thyself the blacks dost wear,  
T' attend me to my Urn.   NIGHT. 

Thy fears abuse thee, for those light●  
In Hymen's Church shall shine,  
When he by th' mystery of his rites,  
Shall make Castara thine.    

To the Right Honourable, the Lady, E. P.  
YOur judgement's clear, not wrinkled with the Time,  
On th' humble fate; which censures it a crime,  
To be by virtue ruined. For I know  
YE are not so various a● to ebb and flow  
Ith' stream of fortune, whom each faithless wind  
Distracts, and they who made her, framed her blind.  
Possession makes us poor. Should we obtain  
All those bright gems, for which i'th' wealthy Main,  
The tanned slave dives; or in one boundless chest  
Imprison all the treasures of the West,  
We still should want. Our better part's immense,  
Not like th' inferior, limited by sense.  
Rich with a little, mutual love can lift  
Us to a greatness, whether chance nor thrift  
e'er raised her servants. For though all were spent,  
That can create an Europe in content.  
Thus (Madam) when Castara lends an ear  
Soft to my hope, I Love Philosopher,  
Win on her faith. For when I wondering stand  
At th' intermingled beauty of her hand,  
(Higher I dare not gaze) to this bright vein  
I not ascribe the blood of Charlemagne  
Derived by you to her. Or say there are  
In that and th' other Marmion, Rosse, and Par●  
Fitzhugh, Saint Quintin, and the rest of them  
That add such lustre to great Pembroke's stem.  
My love is envious. Would Castara were  
The daughter of some mountain cottager  
Who with his toil worn out, could dying leave  
Her no more dowry, than what she did receive  
From bounteous nature. Her would I then lead  
To th' Temple, rich in her own wealth; her head  
Crowned with her hairs fair treasure; diamonds in  
Her brighter eyes; soft Ermines in her skin;  
Each Indie in each cheek. Then all who vaunt,  
That fortune, them t' enrich, made others want,  
Should set themselves out glorious in her stealth,  
And try if that, could parallel this wealth.   

To CASTARA, Departing upon the approach of Night.  
What should we fear Castara? The cool air,  
That's fall'n in love, and wantoness in thy hair,  
Will not betray our whispers. Should I steal  
A Nectared kiss, the wind dares not reveal  
The pleasure I possess. The wind conspites  
To our blessed interview, and in our fires  
bath like a Salamander, and doth sip,  
Like Bacchu● from the grape, life from thy lip.  
Nor think of night's approach. The world's great eye  
Though breaking Nature's law, will us supply  
With his still flaming lamp: and to obey  
Our chaste desires, fix here perpetual day.  
But should he set, what rebel night dares rise,  
To be sub du'dith ' victory of the eyes?   

An Apparition.  

MOre welcome my Castara, then was light  
To the disordered Chaos. O what bright  
And nimble chariot brought thee through the air?  
While the amazed stars to see so fair  
And pure a beauty from the earth arise,  
Changed all their glorious bodies into eyes.  
O let my zealous lip print on thy hand  
The story of my love, which there shall stand  
A bright inscription to be read by none,  
But who as I love thee, and love but one.   

Why vanish you away? Or is my se●se  
Deluded by my hope? O sweet offence  
Oferring nature▪ And would heaven this 〈◊〉  
Been true; or that I thus were ever mad.    

To the Honourable Mr. Wm. E▪  
He who is good is happy. Let the loud  
Artillery of Heaven break through a cloud  
And dart its thunder at him; he'll remain  
Unmoved, and nobler comfort entertain  
In welcomming th'approach of death, than vice  
Ere found in her fictitious Paradise.  
Time mocks our youth, and (while we number past  
Delights, and raise our appetite to taste  
Ensuing) brings us to unflattered age.  
Where we are left to satisfy the rage  
Of threatening Death: Pomp, beauty, wealth, and all  
Our friendships, shrinking from the funeral.  
The thought of this begets that brave disdain  
With which thou viewst the world and makes those vain  
Treasures of fancy, serious fools so court,  
And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport.  
What should we cov●● here? Why interpose  
A cloud betwixt us and heaven? Kind Nature chose  
M●ns soul th'Exchecquer where she'd ●oord her wealth,  
And lodge all her rich secrets; but by th'stealth  
Of our own vanity, beware left so poor,  
The creature merely sensual knows more.  
The learned Halcyon by her wisdom finds  
A gentle season, when the seas and winds  
Are silenced by a calm, and then brings forth  
The happy miracle of her ●a●e birth,  
Leaving with wonder all our arts possessed,  
That view the architecture of her nest.  
Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestow  
Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow  
By age to dotage: while the sensitive  
Part of the World in its first strength doth live.  
Folly? what dost thou in thy power contain  
Deserves our study? Merchant's plough the main  
And bring home th' Indies, yet aspire to more,  
By avarice in the possession poor.  
And yet that Idol wealth we all admit  
Into the soul's great temple, Busy wit  
Invents new Orgies, fancy frames new rites  
To show its superstition, anxious nights  
Are watched to win its favour: while the beast  
Content with Nature's courtesy doth rest.  
Let man then boast no more a soul, since he  
Hath lost that great prerogative. But thee  
(Whom Fortune hath exempted from the heard  
Of vulgar men, whom virtue hath preferred  
far higher than thy birth) I must commend,  
Rich in the purchase of so sweet a friend.  
And though my fate conducts me to the shade  
Of humble quiet, my ambition paid  
With safe content, while a pure Virgin fame  
Doth raise me trophies in Castara's name.  
No thought of glory swelling me above  
The hope of being famed for virtuous love.  
Yet wish I thee, guided by the better stars  
To purchase unsafe honour in the wars  
Or envied smiles at court; for thy great race,  
And merits, well may challenge th' highest place.  
Yet know, what busy path so ere you tread  
To greatness, you must sleep among the dead.   

To CASTARA, The vanity of Avarice.  

Hark? how the traitor wind doth cour●  
The Sailors to the main▪  
To make their avarice his sport▪  
A tempest checks the fond disdain!  
They bear a safe though humble port.   

we'll sit my Love upon the shore,  
And while proud billows rise  
To war against the sky, speak o'er  
Our Loves so sacred mysteries.  
And charm the Sea to th' calm it had before,   

Where's now my pridet ' extend my same  
Where ever statues are?  
And purchase glory to my name  
In the smooth court or rugged war?  
My love hath laid the Devil, I am tame.   

I'd rather like the viols grow  
Unmarked i'th' shaded vale,  
Then on the hill those terrors know  
Are breathed forth by an angry gal●,  
There is more pomp above, more sweet below▪   

Love, thou divine Philosopher  
(While covetous Landlords rend,  
And Courtier's dignity prefer)  
Instructs us to a sweet content,  
Greatness is self, doth in itself interr●,   

Castara, what is there above  
The treasures we possess?  
We two are all and one, we move  
Like stars in th' orb of happiness.  
All blessings are Epitomised in Love.    

To my honoured Friend and Kinsman, R. St. Esquire.  
IT shall not grieve me (friend) though what I write  
Be held no wit at Court. If I delight  
So far my sullen Genius, as to raise  
It pleasure; I have money, wine, and bays  
Enough to crown me Poet. Let those wits,  
Who teach their Must the art of Parasies  
To win on easi● greatness; or the yongue  
Spruce Lawyer who's all impudence and tongue  
Sweat to divulge their fames: thereby the one  
Gets seas; the other hire, l'em best unknown:  
Sweet silence I embrace thee, and thee Fate  
Which didst my birth so wisely moderate;  
That I by want am neither vilified,  
Nor yet by riches flattered into pride.  
Resolve me friend (for it must folly be  
Or else revenge against niggard Destiny,  
That makes some Poets rail?) Why are their times  
So steeped in gall? Why so obrayde the times?  
As if no sin called down heaven's vengeance more  
Than cause the world leaves some few writers poor?  
'tis true, that Chapman's reverend ashes must  
Lie rudely mingled with the vulgar dust,  
'Cause careful heyers the wealthy only have;  
To build a glorious trouble o'er the grave.  
Yet do I not despair, some one may be  
So seriously devout to Poesy  
As to translate his relics, and find room  
In the warm Church, to build him up a tomb.  
Since Spencer hath a Stone; and Draytons' brows  
Stand petrified i'th' wall, with Laurel bows  
Yet girt about; and nigh wise Henry's hearse,  
Old Chaucer got a Marble for his verse.  
So courteous is Death; Death Poets brings  
So high a pomp, to lodge them with their Kings:  
Yet still they mutiny. If this man please  
His silly Patron with Hyperboles.  
Or most mysterious nonsense, give ●is brain  
But the strappado in some wanton strain;  
he'll swear the State looks not on men of parts  
And, if but mentioned, slight all other Arts.  
Vain ostentation! Let us set so just  
A rate on knowledge, that the world may trust  
The Poet's Sentence, and not still aver  
Each Art is to itself a flatterer.  
I write to you Sir on this theme, because  
Your soul is clear, and you observe the laws,  
Of Poesy so justly, that I choose  
Yours only the example to my muse.  
And till my brownes' hair be mixed with grey  
Without a blush, I'll tread the sportive way,  
My Muse directs; A Poet youth may be,  
But age doth dote without Philosophy.   

To the World. The Perfection of Love.  

YOu who are earth, and cannot rise  
Above your sense,  
Boasting the envied wealth which lies  
Bright in your Mistress lips or eyes,  
Betray a pitied eloquence.   

That which doth join our souls, so light.  
And quick doth move.  
That like the Eagle in his flight,  
It doth transcend all humane sight,  
Lost in the element of Love.   

You Poets reach not this, who sing  
The praise of dust  
But kneaded▪ when by theft you bring  
The rose and Lily from the Spring  
T'adorn the wrinkled face of lust.   

When we speak Love, nor art, nor wi●  
We gloss upon:  
Our souls engender, and beget  
Ideas, which you sergeant  
In your dull progagation.   

While Time seven ages shall disperse▪  
we'll talk of Love,  
And when our tongues hold no commerce▪  
Our thoughts shall mutually converse.  
And yet the blood no rebel prove.   

And though we be▪ of several kind  
Fit for offence:  
Yet are we so by Love refined,  
From impure dross we are all mind.  
Death could not more have conquered sense.   

How suddenly those flames expire  
Which scorch our clay?  
Promet●eas-like when we steal fire  
From heaven 'tis endlesle and entire  
It may know age, but not decay.    

To the Winter.  
WHy dost thou look so pale, decripit man?  
Why do thy cheeks curl like the Ocean,  
Into such furrows? Why dost thou appear  
So shaking like an ague to the year?  
The Sunse is gone. But yet Castara stays,  
And will add stature to thy Pigmy days,  
Warm moisture to thy veins: her smile can bring  
Thee the sweet youth, and beauty of the Spring.  
Hence with thy Palsy then, and on thy head  
Wear flowery chaplets as a bridegroom led  
To th' holy Fane. Banish thy aged ruth,  
That Virgins may admire and court thy youth.  
And the approaching Sun when she shall find  
A Spring without him, fall, since useless, blind.   

Upon a visit to CASTARA in the Night.  
'TWas Night: when Phoebe guided by thy rays,  
Chaste as my zeal, with incense of her praise,  
I humbly crept to my Castara's shrine.  
But oh my fond mistake! for there did shine  
A noon of beauty, with such lustre crowned,  
As showed 'mong th' impious only night is found.  
It was her eyes which like two Diamonds shined,  
Brightest i'th' dark. Like which could th' Indian find,  
But one among his rocks, he would out vie  
In brightness all the Diamonds of the Sky.  
But when her lips did ope● the Phoenix nest  
Breathed forth her odours; where might love once feast,  
he'd loathe his heavenly furfets: if we dare  
Affirm, love hath a heaven without my fair.   

To CASTARA. Of the chastity of his Love.  
WHy would you blush Castara, when the name  
Of love you hear? who never felt his flame,  
Ith' shade of melancholy night doth stray,  
A blind Cymmerian banished from the day.  
Let's chastely love Castara, and not soil  
This Virgin lamp, by pouring in the oil  
Of impure thoughts. O let us sympathise,  
And only talk i'th' language of our eyes,  
Like two stars inconjunction. But beware  
Left th' Angels who of love compacted are,  
Viewing how chastely burns thy zealous fire,  
Should soa●ch thee hence, to join thee to their choir.  
Yet take thy flight: on earth for surely we  
So joined, in heaven cannot divided be.   

The Description Of CASTARA.  

LIke the Violet which alone  
Prospers in some happy shade:  
My Castara lives unknown,  
To no loser eye betrayed,  
For she's to herself untrue,  
Who delights i'th' public view,   

Such is her beauty, as no arts  
Have enriched with borrowed grace▪  
Her high birth no pride imparts,  
For she blushes in her place.  
Folly boasts a glorious blood,  
She is noblest being good.   

Cautious she knew never yet  
What a wanton courtship meant:  
Not speaks loud to boast her wit,  
In her silence eloquent.  
Of herself survey she takes,  
But between men no difference makes.   

She obeys with speedy will  
Her grave Parents wise commands.  
And so innocent, that ill,  
She nor acts, nor understands.  
women's, feet run still astray,  
If once to ill they know the way.   

She sails by that rock, the Court,  
Where oft honour splits her mast:  
And retir'dnesse thinks the port,  
Where her fame may anchor cast.  
Virtue safely cannot sit,  
Where vice is enthroned for wit.   

She holds that day's pleasure best,  
Where sin waits not on delight,  
Without mask, or ball, or feast,  
Sweetly spends a winter's night.  
O'er that darkness, whence is thrust,  
Prayer and sleep oft governs lust.   

She her throne makes reason climb,  
While wild passions captive lie.  
And each article of time,  
Her pure thoughts to heaven fly:  
All her vows religious be,  
And her love she vows to me.    
FINIS.   

CASTARA: The Second part.  
Uatumque lascivos triumphos, Calcat Amor, pede conjugali.  
LONDON Printed for WILLIAM COOK and are to be sold at his Shop, near Furnivals-inn Gate in Holborn. 1639.   

A Wife.  
IS the sweetest part in the harmony of our being. To the love of which, as the charms of Nature inchant us, so the law of grace by special privilege invites us. Without her, Man if piety not restrain him; is the creator of sin; or, if an innated cold render him not only the business of the present age; the murderer of posterity. She is so religious that every day crownes her a martyr, and her zeal neither rebellious nor uncivil. She is so true a friend, her Husband may to her communicate even his ambitions, and if success Crown not expectation, remain nevertheless uncontemned, She is colleague with him in the Empire of prosperity; and a safe retiring place when adversity exiles him from the World. She is so chaste, she never understood the language lust speaks in, nor with a smile applauds it, although there appear wit in the Metaphor. She is fair only to win on his affections, nor would she be Mistress of the most eloquent beauty; if there were danger, that might persuade the passionate auditory, to the least irregular thought. She is noble by a long descent, but her memory is so evil a herald, She never boasts the story of her Ancestors. She is so moderately rich, that the defect of portion doth neither bring penury to his estate, nor the superfluity licence her to Riot. She is liberal, and yet owes not ruin to vanity, but knows Charity, to be the soul of goodness, and Virtue without reward often prone to be her own destroyer. She is much at home, and when she visits 'tis for mutual commerce, not for intelligence. She can go to Court, and return no passionate doater on bravery; and when she hath seen the gay things muster up themselves there, she considers them as Cobwebs the Spider vanity hath spun. She is so general in her acquaintance, that she is familiar with all whom fame speaks virtuous; but thinks there can be no friendship but with one; and therefore hath neither she friend nor private servant. She so squares her passion to her Husband's fortunes, that in the Country she lives without a froward Melancholy, in the town without a fantastic pride. She is ●o temperate, she never read the modern policy of glorious surfeits; since she finds Nature is no Epicure if art provoke her not by curiosity. She is inquisitive only of new ways to please him, and her wit sails by no other compass than that of his direction. She looks upon him as Conjurers upon the Circle, beyond which there is nothing but Death and Hell; and in him she believes Paradise circumscribed. His virtues are her wonder and imitation; and his errors, her credulity thinks no more frailty, then makes him descend to the title of Man. In a word, she so lives that she may die; and leave no cloud upon her Memory, but have her character nobly mentioned: while the bad Wife is flattered into infamy, and buys pleasure at too dear ● rate, if she only pays for it Repentance.   

The Second Part.  

To CASTARA, Now possessed of her in marriage.  
THis day is ours. The marriage Angel now  
Sees th' Altar in the od●ur of our vow,  
Yield a more precious breath, then that which moves  
The whispering leaves in the Pa●chayan, groves.  
View how ●is temples shine, on which he wea●e●  
A wreath of pearl, made of those precious tears  
Thou slepst a Virgin, when cross winds did blow,  
Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow.  
But now Castara smile, No envious night  
Dares interpose itself, t'ecclipse the light  
Of our clear joys. For even the laws divine  
Permit our mutual love so to entwine.  
That Kings, to balance true content, shall say;  
Would they were great as we, we blessed as they.   

To CASTARA, Upon the mutual love of their Majesties.  
DId you not see, Castara, when the King  
Met his loved Queen; what sweetness she did bring  
T' encounter his brave heat; how great a flame  
From their breasts meeting, on the sudden came?  
The Stoic, who all easy passion flies,  
Could he but hear the language of their eyes,  
As heresies would from his faith remove  
The tenets of his sect, and practise love.  
The barbarous nations which supply the earth  
With a promiscuous and ignoble birth,  
Would by this precedent correct their life,  
Each wisely choose, and chastely love a wife.  
Prince's example is a law. Then we  
If loyal subjects, must true lovers be.   

To Zephyrus.  
WHose whispers soft as those which lovers breath  
Castara and myself I here bequeath  
To the calm wind. For heaven such joys afford  
To her and me, that there can be no third.  
And you kind stars, be thriftier of your light:  
Her eyes supply your office with more bright  
And constant lustre. Angel's gaurdians, like  
The nimbler ship boys shall be joyed to strike  
Or housh up sail; Nor shall our vessel move  
By Card or Compass, but a heavenly love.  
The couresie of this more prosperous gale  
Shall swell our Canvas, and we'll swiftly sail  
To some blessed Port, where ship hath never lane  
At anchor, whose chaste soil no foot profane  
Hath ever trod; Where nature doth dispense  
Her infant wealth, a beauteous innocence.  
Pomp (even a burden to itself) nor Pride,  
(The Magistrate of sins) did ere abide  
On that so sacred earth Ambition ne'er,  
Built for the sport of ruin, fabrics there.  
Thence age and death are exiled, all offence  
And fear expelled, all noise and faction thence.  
A silence there so melancholy sweet,  
That none but whispering Turtles ever meet,  
Thus Paradise did our first Parents Woo,  
To harmless sweets, at first possessed by two.  
And o'er this second, we'll usurp the throne;  
Castara we'll obey and rule alone▪  
For the rich virtue of this soil I fear,  
Would be depraved, should but a third be there.   

To CASTARA In a Trance.  
FOrsake me not so soon. Castara stay,  
And as I break the prison of my Clay,  
I'll fill the Canvas with m'expiring breath,  
And with thee sail o'er the vast maine of death.  
Some Cherubin thus as we pass shall play.  
Go happy twins of love: The courteous Sea  
Shall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shall sleep▪  
Or only whisper music to the deep.  
Every ungentle rock shall melt away,  
The Sirens sing to please, not to betray.  
Th' indulgent sky shall smile: each starry choir  
Contend, which shall afford the brighter fire.  
While Love the Pilot, steers his course so even,  
ne'er to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.   

To DEATH, CASTARA being sick.  
HEnce profane grim man, nor dare  
To approach so near my fair.  
Marble vaults, and gloomy caves,  
Churchyards, Charnel houses, graves,  
Where the living loath to be,  
Heaven hath designed to thee▪  
But if needs amongst us thou ' it rage,  
Let thy fury feed on age.  
Wrinkled brows, and withered thighs.  
May supply thy sacrifice.  
Yet perhaps as thou flew'st by,  
A flamed dar● shot from her eye,  
Singed thy wings with wanton fire,  
Whence thouart forced to hover nigh her.  
If Love so mistook his aim,  
Gently welcome in the flame:  
They who loathed thee, when they see  
Where thou harbor'st will love thee.  
Only I, such is my fate,  
Must thee as a rival hate,  
Court her gently, learn to prove.  
Nimble in the thefts of love.  
Gaze on th' errors of her hair:  
Touch her lip; but oh beware,  
Lest too ravenous of thy bliss,  
Thou shouldst murder with a kiss.   

To CASTARA Inviting her to sleep,  
Sleep my Castara, silence doth invite  
Thy eyes to close up day; though envious night  
Grieves Fate should her the sight of them debar,  
For she is exiled, while they open are.  
Rest in thy peace secure, With drowsy charms,  
Kind sleep bewitcheth thee into her arms;  
And finding where Loves chiefest treasure lies,  
Is like a thief stole under thy bright eyes.  
Thy innocence rich as the gaudy quil●  
Wrought by the Persian hand, thy dreams from guil●:  
Exempted, heaven with sweet repose doth crown  
Each virtue softer than the Swans famed down.  
As exoroists wild spirits mildly lay▪  
May sleep thy fever calmly chase away.   

Upon CASTARA'S recovery.  
SHe is restored to life. Unthrifty Death,  
Thy mercy in permitting vital breath  
Back to Castara, hath enlarged us all,  
Whom grief had martyred in her funeral.  
While others in the ocean of their tears,  
Had sinking, wounded the beholder's ears.  
With exclamations: I without a groan,  
Had suddenly congealed into a stone:  
There stood a statue, till the general doom;  
Had ruined time and memory with her tomb.  
While in my heart, which marble, yet still bled,  
Each Lover might this Epitaph have read.  
Her earth lies here below; her soul's above,  
This wonder speaks her virtue, and my love.   

To a Friend, Inviting him to a meeting upon promise.  

MAy you drink bear, or that adulterate wine  
Which makes the zeal of Amsterdam divine;  
If you make breach of promise. I have now  
So rich a Sack, that even yourself will bow  
●'adore my Ge●i●●. Of this wine should Pr●nne▪  
Drink but a plenteous glass, he would begin  
A health to Shakespeare's ghost, But you may bring▪  
Some excuse forth, and answer me the King  
To day will give you audience, or that on  
Affairs of state, you and some serious Don  
Are to resolve; or else perhaps you'll sin  
So far●e, as to leave word y'are not within:   

The least of these, will make me only think  
Him subtle, who can in his closet drink  
Drunk even alone, and thus made wise create  
As dangerous plots as the Low Country state,  
Projecting for such baits, as shall draw o'er  
To Holland, all the herrings from our shore,   

But y'are too full of candour: and I know  
Will sooner stones at Sali●bury casements throw,  
Or buy up for the silenced Levi●s, all  
The rich impropri●tion●, then let palls  
So pure Canary, and break such an oath:  
Since charity is sinned against in both.   

Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeal,  
Who canst with conscience safe, ' ●ore hen and veal  
Say grace in Latin; while I saintly sing  
A Penitential verse in oil and Ling.  
Come then, and bring with you prepared for fight,  
Unmixed Canary, Heaven send both prove right▪  
This I am sure: My seek will disengage  
All humane thoughts, inspire so high a rage,  
That Hippocrene shall henceforth Poets lack,  
Since more Enthusiasms are in my sack.  
Heightened with which, my raptures shall commend,  
How good Castara is, how dear my friend.    

To CASTARA, Where true happiness abides.  
CAstara whisper in some dead man's ear,  
This subtle quaere; and he'll point out where,  
By answers negative, true joys abide.  
he'll say they flow not on th' uncertain tide  
Of greatness, they can no firm basis have,  
Upon the tripidation of a wave.  
Nor lurk they in the caverns of the earth,  
Whence all the wealthy minerals draw their birth,  
To covetous man so fatal. Nor i'th' grace  
Love they to wanton of a brighter face,  
For theyare above Times battery; and the light  
Of beauty, age's cloud will soon be night.  
If among these Content, he thus doth prove,  
Hath no abode; where dwells it but in Love▪   

To CASTARA.  
FOrsake with me the earth, my fair,  
And travel nimbly through the air,  
Till we have reached th'admiring skies;  
Then lend sight to those heavenly eyes  
Which blind themselves, make creatures see.  
And taking view of all, when we  
Shall find a pure and glorious sphere;  
we'll fix like stars for ever there.  
Nor will we still each other view,  
we'll ga●e on lesser stars than you;  
See how by their weak influence they,  
The strongest of men's actions sway.  
In an inferior or be below,  
we'll see Calisto loosely throw  
Her hair abroad: a● she did wear,  
The selfsame beauty in a Bear,  
As when she a cold Virgin stood,  
And yet inflamed Ioves lustful blood.  
Then look on Lede, whose fair beams  
By their reflection gild those streams,  
Where first unhappy she began  
To play the wanton with a Swan.  
If each of these loose beauties are  
Transformed to a more beauteous star  
By the adulterous lust of jove;  
Why should not we, by purer love?   

To CASTARA, Upon the death of a Lady.  
CAstara weep not, though her tomb appear,  
Sometime thy grief to answer with a tear:  
The marble will but wanton with thy woe.  
Death is the Sea, and we like Rivers flow  
To lose ourselves in the insatiate Maine,  
Whence Rivers may, she ne'er return again.  
Nor grieve this Crystal stream so soon did fall  
Into the Ocean; since she perfumed all  
The banks she passed, so that each neighbour field  
Did sweet flowers cherish by her watering, yield.  
Which now adorn her Hearse. The violet there  
On her pale cheek doth the ●ad livery wear,  
Which heavens compassion gave her; And since she.  
'Cause clothed in purple can no mourner be,  
As incense to the tomb she gives her breath,  
And fading on her Lady waits in death;  
Such office the Egyptian handmaids did  
Great Cleopatra, when she dying chid.  
The Asps slow venom, trembling she should be  
By Fate robbed even of that black victory  
The flowers instruct our sorrows. Come then all  
Ye beauties, to true beauty's funeral,  
And with ●er to increase death's pomp, decay.  
Since the supporting fabric of your clay  
Is fall'n, how can ye stand? How can the night  
Show stars, when Fate puts out the days great light,  
But 'mong the fair, if there live any yet,  
She's but the fairer Digbies' counterfeit.  
Come you who speak your titles. Read in this  
Pale book, how vaine● bo●ast your greatness i●.  
What's honour but a hatchment? what is here  
Of Percy left, and Stanley, names most dear  
To virtue? but a crescent turned to th'wane,  
An Eagle groaning o'er an infant ●●aine?  
Or what avails her, that she once was led,  
A glorious bride to valiant Digbies' bed,  
Since death hath them divorced? If then alive  
There are, who these s●d obsequies survive  
And vaunt a proud descent▪ they only be  
Loud herald's to set forth her pedigree.  
Come all who glory in your wealth, and view  
The emblem of your frailty. How untrue  
(Though flattering like friends) your treasures are,  
Her Fare hath taught: who, when what ever rare  
The either Indies boast, lay richly spread  
For her to wear, lay on her pillow dead.  
Come likewise my Castara and behold,  
What blessings ancient prophecy foretold,  
Bestowed on her in death. She passed away  
So sweetly from the world, as if her clay  
Laid enely down to slumber. Then forbear  
To let on her blessed ashes fall a tear.  
But if thouart too much woman, softly weep,  
Lest grief disturb the silence of her sleep.   

To CASTARA, Being to take a journey.  
WHat's death more than departure; the dead go  
Like travelling exiles, compelled to know  
Those regions they heard mention of: 'tis th'u'rt  
Of sorrows, says, who die do but depart.  
Then weep thy funeral tears: which heaven t' adorn  
The beauteous tresses of the weeping morn,  
Will rob me of: and thus my tomb shall be  
As naked▪ as it had no obsequy.  
Know in these lines, sad music to thy ear,  
My sad Castara, you the sermon here  
Which I preach o'er my hearse: And dead, I tell  
My own lives story, ring but my own knell.  
But when I shall return, know 'tis thy breath  
In sighs divided, rescues me from death.   

To CASTARA, Weep.  
CAstara! O you are too prodigal  
Oth' treasure of your tears; which thus let fall  
Make no return: well placed calm peace might bring  
To the loud wars, ●ach free a captived King.  
So the unskilful Indian those bright gems,  
Which might add add majesty to Diadems,  
'Mong the waves scatters, as if he would store  
The thankless Sea, to make our Empire poor:  
When heaven darts thunder at the womb of Time,  
Cause with each moment it brings forth a crime,  
Or else despairing to root out abuse,  
Would ruin vicious earth; be then profuse.  
Light, chased rude chaos from the wo●ld before,  
Thy tears, by hindering its return work more.   

To CASTARA, Upon a sigh.  
I Herd a sigh, and something in my ear  
Did whisper, what my soul before did fear.  
That it was breathed by thee. May th'easy Spring  
Enriched with odours, wanton on the wing  
Of th'eastern wind, may never his beauty fade,  
If he the treasure of this breath conveyed;  
'Twas thine byth' music which th'harmonious breath  
Of Swans is like, prophetic in their death:  
And th'odour, for as it the nard expires,  
Perfuming Phoenixlike his funeral fires.  
The winds of Paradise send such a gale,  
To make the Lover's vessels calmly sail  
To his loved Port. This shall, where it inspires,  
Increase the chaste, extinguish unchaste fires.   

To the Right Honourable the Lady F.  
Madam.  
YOu saw our loves, & praised the mutual flame:  
In which as incense to your sacred name  
Burns a religious zeal. May we be lost  
To one another, and our fire be frost;  
When we omit to pay the tribute due  
To worth and virtue, and in them to you▪  
Who are the soul of women. Others be  
But beauteous parts oth'female body; she  
Who boasts how many nimble Cupids skip  
Through her bright face, is but an eye or lip;  
The other who in her soft breasts can show  
Warm Violets growing in a bank of snow,  
And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin:  
Nor is she but a hand, who holds within  
The crystal viol of her wealthy palm,  
The precious sweeting of the Eastern balm.  
And all these if you them together take,  
And join with art. ●ill but one body make,  
To which the soul each vital motion gives;  
You are infused into it, and it lives.  
But should you up to your blessed mansion fly,  
How loathed an object would the carcase lie?  
You are all mind. Castara when she looks,  
On you th' Epitome of all▪ that ●ookes  
Or e'er tradition taught; who gives such praise  
Unto your sex, that now even customs says  
He hath a female soul, who ere hath writ  
Volumes which learning comprehend, and w●it.  
Castara cries to me; Searchou● and find  
The Mines of wisdom in her learned mind,  
And trace her steps to honour; I aspire  
Enough to worth, while I her worth admire.   

To CASTARA. Against opinion.  
Why should we build, Castara, in the air  
Of frail opinion? Why admire as fair,  
What the weak faith of man gives us for right?  
The juggling world cheats but the weaker sight,  
What is in greatness happy? As free mirth,  
As ample pleasures of th' indulgent earth  
We joy who on the ground our mansion find,  
As they, who sail like witches in the wind  
Of Court applause. What can their powerful spell  
Over enchanted man, more than compel  
Him into various forms? Nor serves their charm  
Themselves to good, but to work others harm.  
Tyrant Opinion but depose. And we  
Will absolute i'th' happiest Empire be.   

To CASTARA. Upon Beauty.  
CAstara, see that dust, the sportive wound  
So wantoness with. 'Tis haply all you'll find  
Left of some beauty: and how still it flies.  
To trouble, as it did in life, our eyes.  
O empty boast of flesh? Though our heirs gild  
The far fetch Phrygian marble, which shall build  
A burden to our a he●, y●t will death  
Betray them to the sport of every breath.  
Dost thou, poor relic of our frailty, still  
Swell up with glory? Or is it thy skill,  
To mock weak man, whom every wind of praise  
Into the air, doth 'bove his centre raise.  
If so, mock on, And tell him that his lust  
To beauty's, madness. For it courts but dust.   

To CASTARA, Melancholy.  
WEre but that sigh a penitential breath  
That thou art mine: It would blow with it death,  
T' enclose me in ray marble Where I'd be  
Slave to the tyrant worms, to set thee free.  
What should we envy? Though with larger sail  
Some dance upon the Ocean: yet more frail  
And faithless is that wave, than where ●e glide,  
Blest in the safety of a private tide.  
We still have land in ken. And 'cause our boat  
Dares not affront the weather, we'll ne'er float  
far from the shore. To daring them each cloud  
Is big with thunder, every wind speaks loud.  
And though wild rocks about the shore appear  
Yet virtue will find room to anchor there.   

A Dialogue between ARAPHILL and CASTARA.  ARAPH. 

CAstara, you too fond court  
The silken peace with which we covered are,  
Unquiet time may for his sport,  
Up from its iron den rouse sleepy war.   CAST 

Then in the language of the drum,  
I will instruct my yet affrighted ●are,  
All women shall in me be dumb;  
If I but with my Araphill be there?   ARAPH, 

If Fate like an unfaithful gale,  
Which having vowed to th' ship a fair event,  
Oth' sudden rents her hopeful sail;  
Blow ruin; will Castara then repent?   CAST 

Love shall in that tempestuous shower  
Her brightest blossom like the blackthorn show:  
Weak friendship prospers by the power  
Of fortune's Sun. I'll in her winter grow.   ARAPH. 

If on my skin the noisome scar  
I should o'th' leprosy, or canker wear;  
Or if the sulphurous breath of war  
Should blast my youth; Should I not be thy fear?   CAST 

In flesh may sickness horror move,  
But heavenly zeal will be by it refined,  
For than we'd like two Angels love,  
Without a sense; embrace each others mind.   ARAPH. 

Were it not impious to repine;  
Against rigid Fate I should direct my breath.  
That two must be, whom heaven did join  
In such a happy one, disjoined by death.   CAST 

That's no divource. Then shall we see  
The rites in life, were tips o'th' marriage state,  
Our souls on earth contracted be;  
But they in heaven their nuptials consummate.    

To the Right Honourable HENRY Lord M.  
My Lord.  
MY thoughts are not so rugged, nor doth earth  
So far predominate in me, that mirth  
Looks not as lovely as when our delight  
First fashioned wings to add a nimbler flight  
To lazy time; who would, to have surveyed  
Our varied pleasures, there have ever stayed.  
And they were harmless. For obedience  
If frailty yields to the wild laws of sense;  
We shall but with a sugared venom meet;  
No pleasure, if not innocent as sweet.  
And that's your choice: who add the title good  
To that of noble. For although the blood  
Of Marshal, Standley, and ‛ La Pole doth flow  
With happy Brandon's in your veins; you owe  
Your virtue not to them. Man builds alone  
Oth' ground of honour: For deserts our own.  
Be that your aim. I'll with Castara si●  
Ith' shade, from heat of business. While my wit  
Is neither big with an ambitious aim,  
To build tall Pyramids Ith' court of fame,  
For after ages, or to win conceit  
Oth' present, and grow in opinion great.  
Rich in ourselves, we envy not the East,  
Her rocks of Diamonds, or her gold the West.  
Arabia may be happy in the death  
Of her reviving Phoenix, In the breath  
Of cool Favonius, famous be the grove  
Of Tempe; while we in each others love.  
For that let us be famed. And when of all  
That Nature made us two, the funeral  
Leaves but a little dust; (which then as wed,  
Even after death, shall sleep still in one bed.)  
The Bride and Bridegroom on the solemn day,  
Shall with warm zeal approach our Urn, to pay,  
Their vows, that heaven should bliss so far their rites.  
To show them the fair paths to our delights.   

To a Tomb.  
TYrant o'er tyrants, thou who only dost  
Clip the lascivious beauty without lust;  
What horror at thy sight shoots through each sense;  
How powerful is thy silent eloquence,  
Which never flatters? Thou instruct'st the proud,  
That their swollen pomp is but an empty cloud,  
Slave to each wind. The fair, those flowers they have  
I'resh in their cheek, are strewed upon a grave.  
Thou tell'st the rich, their I doll is but earth.  
The vainly pleased, that Siren-like their mirth  
Betrays to mischief, and that only he  
Da●es welcome death, whose aims at virtue be.  
Which yet more zeal doth to Castara move.  
What checks me, when the tomb persuades to love   

To CASTARA. Upon thought of Age and Death.  
THe breath of time shall blast the flowery Spring,  
Which so perfumes thy cheek, and with it bring  
So d●rke a mist, as shall eclipse the light  
Of thy fair eyes, in an eternal night.  
Some melancholy chamber of the earth,  
(For that like Time devours whom it gave breath),  
Thy beauties shall entomb, while all who ere  
Loved nobly, offer up their serrowes there.  
But I whose grief no formal limits bound,  
Beholding the dark caverne of that ground,  
Will there immure myself. And thus I shall  
Thy mourner be, and my own funeral.  
Else by the weeping magic of my verse,  
Thou hadst revived▪ to triumph o'er thy hearse.   

To the Right Honourable, the Lord P.  
My Lord.  
THe reverend man by magic of his prayer  
Hath charmed so, that I and your daughter ar●  
Contracted into one. The holy lights  
Smiled with a cheerful lustre on our rites,  
And every thing presaged full happiness  
To mutual love; if you'll the omen bless.  
Nor grieve, my Lord, 'tis perfected. Before  
Afflicted Seas sought refuge on the shore  
From the angry Northwind. Ere th' astonished Spring  
Herd in the air the feathered people sing,  
Ere time had motion, or the Sun obtained  
His province o'er the day, this was ordained.  
Nor think in her I courted wealth or blood,  
Or more uncertain hopes: for bad I stood  
On th' highest ground of fortune, the world known  
No greatness but what waited on my throne;  
And she had only had that face and mind,  
I, with myself, had th'earth to her resigned.  
In virtue there'● an Empire, And so sweet  
The rule is when it doth with beauty meet,  
As fellow Consul; that of heaven they  
Nor earth partake; who would her disobey.  
This captived me. And ere I questioned why  
I ought to love Castara, through my eye,  
This soft obedience stole into my heart.  
Then found I love might lend to th'quick-eyed art  
Of Reason yet a purer sight: For he  
Though blind, taught her these Indies first to see,  
In whose possession I at length am blest.  
And with myself at quiet, here I rest,  
As all things to my power subdued. To me  
there's nought beyond this. The whole wo●ld is she.   

His Muse speaks to him.  
THy vows are heard, and thy Castara's name  
Is writ as fair i'th' Register of Fame,  
As th' ancient beauties which translated are  
By Poets up to heaven; each there a star.  
And though Imperial Tiber boast alone  
Ovid's Corinaa, and to Ar● is known  
But Petrarchs' Laura; while our famous Thames  
Doth murmur Sydneyes' Stella to her streams.  
Yet hast thou Severee left, and she can bring  
As many quires of Swans, as they to sing  
Thy glorious love: Which living shall by thee  
The only Sov'ragine of those waters be.  
Dead in love's firmament, no star shall shine  
So nobly fair, so purely chaste as thine.   

To Vain hope.  
THou dream of madmen, ever changing gale,  
Sw●ll with thy wanton breath the gaudy sail  
Of glorious fools. Thou guid'st them who thee court  
To rocks, to quicksands, or some faithless port.  
Were I not mad, who when secure at ease,  
I might i'th' cabin pass the raging Seas,  
Would like a frantic shipboy wildly haste,  
To climb the giddy top of th' unsafe mast?  
Ambition never to her hopes did fain  
A greatness, but I really obtain  
In my Castara. Wer'● not fondness then  
T'embrace the shadows of true bliss? And when●●  
My Paradise all flowers and fruits doth breed:  
To rob a barren garden for a weed?   

To CASTARA, How happy, though in an obscure fortune.  
WEre we by fate thrown down below our sear;  
Could we be poor? Or question Nature's care▪  
In our provision? She who doth afford  
A feathered garment fit for every bird,  
And only voice enough t'express delight.  
She who apparels Lilies in their white.  
As if in that she'd teach man's duller sense,  
Who'reare highest, should be so in innocence.  
She who in damask doth attire the Rose,  
(And man t'himselfe a mockery to propose,  
'Mong whom the humblest judges grow to sit)  
She who in purple clothes the Violet.  
If thus she cares for things even void of sense;  
Shall we suspect in us her providence?   

To CASTARA.  
WHat can the freedom of our love enthrall?  
Castara were we dispossessed of all  
The gifts of fortune; richer yet than she  
Can make her slaves, we'd in each other be.  
Love in himself's a world. If we should have  
A mansion but in some forsaken cave;  
we'd smooth misfortune: and ourselves think then  
Retired like Princes from the noise of men,  
To breathe a while unflattered. Each wild beast,  
That should the silence of our cell infest,  
With clamour, seeking prey; we'd fancy wear  
Nought but an avaricious Courtier.  
Wealth's but opinion. Who thinks others more  
Of treasures have, than we, is only poor.   

On the death of the Right Honourable, GEORGE Earl of S.  

BRight Saint, thy pardon, if my sadder verse,  
Appear in sighing o'er thy glorious hearse,  
To envy heaven. For fame itself now wears  
Griefs Livery, and only speak in tears.  
And pardon you Castara if a wh●le  
Your memory I banish from my stile;  
When I have paid his death the tribute due,  
Of sorrow, I'll return to Love and you.  
Is there a name like Talbot, which a shower  
Can force from every eye? And hath even power  
To alter nature's course? How else should all  
Run wild with mourning, and distracted fall:  
Th' illiterate vulgar in a well tuned breath,  
Lament their loss, and learnedly chide death,  
For its bold rape, while the sad Poet's song  
Is yet unheard, as if grief had no tongue▪  
Th'amazed mariner having lost his way  
In the tempestuous desert of the Sea,  
Looks up but finds no stars. They all conspire  
To dark themselves, t'enlighten this new fire.  
The learned Astronomer with daring eye,  
Searching to track the Spheres through which you fly,  
(Most beauteous soul) doth in his journey fail,  
And blushing, says, the subtlest art is frail,  
And but truths counterfeit. Your flight doth reach,  
Fair Virtue hath an Orb beyond his reach.   

But I grow dull with sorrow. Unkind Fate  
To play the tyrant and subvert the state  
Of settled goodness. Who shall henceforth stand▪  
A pure example to inform the Land  
Of her loose riot? Who shall countercheck  
The wanton pride of greatness; and direct  
Strayed honour in the true magnific way?  
Whose life shall show what triumph 'tis t'obey  
The hard commands of reason? And how sweet  
The nuptials are, when wealth and learning meet?  
Who will with silent piety confute  
Atheistic Sophistry, and by the fruit  
Approve Religions tree? who'll teach his blood  
A Virgin law and dare be great and good?  
Who will despise his styles? And nobly weigh  
In judgements balance, that his honoured clay  
Hath no advantage by them? Who will live  
So innocently pious, as to give  
The world no scandal? who'll himself deny,  
And to warm passion a cold martyr die?  
My grief distracts me. If my zeal h●th said,  
What checks the living; know I serve the dead.  
The dead, who needs no monumental vaults,  
With his pale ashes to entomb his faults.  
Whose sins beget no libels, whom the poor  
For benefit, for worth, the rich adore.  
Who lived a solitary Pnaenix, free  
From the commerce with mischief, joyed to be  
Still gazing heaven-ward, where his thoughts did move●  
Fed with the sacred fire of zealous love,  
Alone he flourished, till the fatal hour  
Did summon him, when gathering f●●m each flower  
Their virtuous odours, from his perfumed nest,  
He took his slight to everlasting rest.  
There shine great Lord, and with prepitious eyes,  
Look down, and smile upon this sacrifice.    

To my worthy Cousin Mr. E. C. In praise of the City Life, in the long Vacation.  
I Like the green plush which your meadows wear,  
I praise your pregnant fields, which duly bear  
Their wealthy burden to th'industrious Boar.  
Nor do I disallow that who are poor  
In mind and fortune, thither should retire:  
But hate that he who's warm with holy fire  
Of any knowledge, and 'mong us may feast  
On Nectared wit, should turn himself t' a beast,  
And graze i'th' Country, Why did nature wrong  
So much her pains, as to give you a tongue  
And fluent language; If converse you hold  
With Oxen in the stall, and sheep i'th' fold?  
But now it's long Vacation you will say  
The town is empty, and who ever may  
To th'pleasure of his Country home repair,  
Flies from th'infection of our London air.  
In this your error. Now's the time alone  
To live here; when the City Dame is gone,  
T'her house at Bra●dford; for beyond that she  
Imagines there's no land, but Barbary,  
Where lies her husband's Factor. When from hence  
Rid is the Country justice whose nonsense  
Corrupted had the language of the Inn,  
Where he and his horse littered: We begin  
To live in silence, when the noise o'th' Bench  
Not deafens Westminster, nor corrupt French  
Walks Fleet- street in her gown. Ruffs of the Bar,  
By the Vacations pour translated are,  
To Cutwork band●. And who were busy here,  
Are gone to sow sedition in the shire.  
The are by this is purged, and the Term's strife,  
Thus fled the City: we the civil life  
Led happily. When in the gentle way,  
Of noble mirth, I have the long lived day,  
Contracted to a moment: I retire  
To my Castara, and meet such a fire  
Of mutual love: that if the City were  
Infected, that would purify the air.   

Love's Aniversarie To the Sun.  
THou art returned (great Light) tothat blest hour  
In which I first by marriage sacred power,  
Joined with Castara hearts: And as the same  
Thy lusty is, as then so is our flame:  
Which had increased, but that by love's decree,  
'Twas such at first, it ne'er could greater be.  
But tell me (glorious Lamp) in thy survey,  
Of things below thee, what did not decay  
By age to weakness? I since that have seen  
The Rose bud forth and fade, the tree grow green  
And wither, and the beauty of the field  
With Winter wrinkled. Even thyself dost yield  
Something to time, and to thy grave fall nigher.  
But virtuous love is one sweet endless fire.   

Against them who lay unchastity to the sex of Women.  

THey meet but with unwholesome Springs,  
And Summers which infectious are:  
They hear but when the Meremaid sings,  
And only see the falling star:  
Who ever dare,  
Affirm no woman chaste and fair.   

Go cure your fevers: and you'll say  
The Dog-days scorch not all the year:  
In Copper Mines no longer stay,  
But travel to the West, and there  
The right ones see:  
And grant all gold's not Alchemy.   

What mad man 'cause the glow-worms flame  
Is cold, swears there's no warmth in fire?  
'Cause some make forfeit of their name,  
And slave themselves to man's desire;  
Shall the sex free  
From guilt, damned to the bondage be?   

Nor grieve Castara, though 'twere frail,  
Thy Virtue then would brighter shine,  
When thy example should prevail,  
And every woman's faith be thine,  
And were there none;  
'Tis Majesty to rule alone.    

To the Right Honourable and excellently learned, WILLIAM Earl of St.  
My Lord,  
THe Laurel doth your reverend temples wreath  
As aptly now, as when your youth did breathe  
Those tragic raptures which your name shall save  
From the black edict of a tyrant grave.  
Nor shall your Day ere set, till the Sun shall  
From the blind heavens like a cynder fall;  
And all the elements intent their strife,  
To ruin what they framed; Then your fame's life,  
When desperate Time lies gasping shall expire  
Attended by the world i'th' general fire.  
Fame lengthens thus herself. And I to tread  
Your steps to glory, search among the dead,  
Where Virtue lies obscured; that as I give  
Life to her tomb, I spite of time may live.  
Now I resolve in triumph of my verse,  
To bring great Talbot from that foreign hearse,  
Which yet doth to her fright his dust enclose:  
Then to sing Herbert who so glorious rose,  
With the fourth Edward, that his faith doth shine  
Yet in the faith of noblest Pembroke's line.  
Sometimes my swelling spirits I prepare  
To speak the mighty Percy, nearest heir,  
In merits as in blood, to CHARLES' the great:  
Then Darbies' worth and greatness to repeat:  
Or Morleyes' honour, or Mounteagl●s fame,  
Whose valour lives eternised in his name.  
But while I think to sing those of my blood,  
And my Castara's; Love's unruly flo●d  
Breaks in, and bears away what ever stands,  
Built by my b●sie fancy on the sands.   

To CASTARA, Upon an embrace.  

'BOut th' Husband Oak, the Vine  
Thus wreaths to kiss his levy face:  
Their streams thus Rivers join,  
And lose themselves in the embrace.  
But Trees want sense when they enfold,  
And Waters when they meet, are cold.   

Thus Turtles bill, and groan  
Their loves into each others ear:  
Two flames thus burn in one,  
When their curled heads to heaven they rear.  
But Birds want soul though not desire:  
And flames material soon expire.   

If not profane; we'll say  
When Angels colse, their joys are such▪  
For we no love obey  
That's bastard to a fleshly touch.  
Let's close Castara then since thus  
We pattern Angels and they us.    

To the Honourable, G. T.  
LEt not thy groans force Echo from her cave,  
Or interrupt her weeping o'er that wave,  
Which last Narcissu● kissed; let no dark grove  
Be taught to whilper stories of thy love.  
What though the wind be turned? Canst thou not sail  
By virtue of a clean contrary gale,  
Into some other Port? Where thou wilt find,  
It was thy better Genius changed the wind.  
To ste●re thee to some Island in the West,  
For wealth and pleasure, that transcends thy East.  
Though Astrodora, like a sullen star  
Eclipse herself; Ith' sky of beauty are  
Ten thousand other fires, some bright as she.  
And who with milder beams, may shine on thee.  
Nor yet doth this Eclipse bear a portent,  
That should affright the world: The firmament  
Enjoys the light it did, a Sun as clear,  
And the young Spring doth like a Bride appear,  
As fairly wed to the Thessalian grove  
As e'er it was, though she and you not love.  
And we two, who like two bright stars have shined  
Ith' heaven of friendship, are as firmly, joined  
As blood and love first framed us. And to be  
Loved, and thought worthy to be loved by thee,  
I● to be glorious. Since fame cannot lend  
An honour, equals that of Talbots friend.  
Nor envy me that my Castara's flame  
Yields me a constant warmth: Though first I cam●  
To marriage happy Lands: Seas to thee  
Will yield as smooth away, and winds as free.  
Which shall conduct thee (if hope may divine;)  
To this delicious port: and make love thine.   

To CASTARA. The reward of Innocent Love.  

WE saw and wooed each others eyes,  
My soul contracted then with thine,  
And both burnt in one sacrifice.  
By which our Marriage grew divine.   

Let wilder youth, whose soul is sense,  
Profane the Temple of delight.  
And purchase endless penitence,  
With the stolen pleasure of one night.   

Time's ever ours, while we despise  
The sensual idol of our clay.  
For though the Sun do set and rise,  
We joy one everlasting day.   

Whose light no jealous clouds obscure,  
While each of us shine innocent.  
The troubled stream is still impure,  
With virtue flies away content.   

And though opinion often err,  
we'll court the modest smile of fame.  
For sins black danger circle's her,  
Who hath infection in her name.   

Thus when to one dark silent room,  
Death shall our loving coffins thrust;  
Fame will build columns on our tomb,  
And add a perfume to our dust.    

To my noblest Friend, Sir I. P. Knight.  
Sir,  
THough my dear Talbots Fate exact, a sad  
And heavy brow; my verse shall not be clad  
For him this hour in mourning: I will write  
To you the glory of a pompous night,  
Which none (except sobriety) who wit  
Or clothes could boast, but freely did admit.  
I (who still sin for company) was there  
And tasted of the glorious supper, where  
Meat was the least of wonder. Though the nest  
Oth' Phoenix rifled seemed t'amaze the feast,  
And th' Ocean left so poor that it alone  
Could since vaunt wretched herring and poor john.  
Lucullus surfeits, were but types of this,  
And whatsoever riot mentioned is  
In story, did but the dull Zanye play,  
To this proud night; which rather we'll term day.  
For th' artificial lights so thick were set,  
That the bright Sun seemed this to connterfeit  
But seven (whom whether we should Sages call  
Or deadly sins, ●le not dispute) were all  
Invited to this pomp. And yet I dare  
Pawn my loved Muse▪ th' Hungarian did prepare  
Not half that quantity of victual, when  
He laid his happy siege to No●ilinghen.  
The mist of the perfumes was breathed so thick  
That Liex himself though his sight famed so quick,  
Had there scarce spied one sober: For the wealth  
Of the Canaries was exhausted, the health  
Of his good Majestye to celebrate,  
Who'll judge them loyal subjects without that:  
Yet they, who some fond privilege to maintain,  
Would have rebelled; their best freehold, their brain  
Surrendered there; and five fifteen did pay  
To drink his happy life and reign. O day  
It was thy piety to fly; th' hadst been  
Found accessary else to this fond sin.  
But I forget to speak each stratagem  
By which the dishes entered, and in them  
Each luscious miracle, As if more books  
Had written been o'th' mystery of Cooks  
Then the Philos'phers' stone, here we did see  
All wonders in the kitchen Alchemy.  
But I'll not leave you there, before you part  
You shall have something of another art.  
A banquet raining down so fast, the good  
Old Patriarch would have thought a general flood▪  
Heaven opened and from thence a mighty shower  
Of Amber comfits it sweet self did power  
Upon our heads, and Suckets from our eye  
Like thickend clouds did steal away the sky,  
That it was questioned whether heaven were  
Blackfriars, and ●ach star a confectioner▪  
But I too long detain you at a feast  
You haply surfeit of; now every guest  
Is reeled down to his coach; I licence crauè  
Sir, but to kiss your hands, and take my leave:   

To the Right Honourable Archibald Earl of Ar.  
IF your example be obeyed  
The serious few will live i'th' silent shade:  
And not endanger by the wind  
Or Sunshine, the complexion of their mind:  
Whose beauty wears so clear a skin  
That it decays with the least taint of sin.  
Vice grows by custom, nor dare we  
Reject it as a slave, where it breathes free.  
And is no privilege denied;  
Nor if advanced to higher place envied.  
Wherefore your Lordship in yourself  
(Not launched fa●re in the main, nor nigh the shelf  
Of humbler fortune) lives at ●ase,  
Safe from the rocks oth'shore, and storms oth'Sea●.  
Your soul's a well built City, where  
There's such munition, that no war breeds fear:  
No rebels wild distractions move;  
For you the heads have crushed; Rage, Envy, Love.  
And therefore you defiance bid  
To open enmity, or mischief hid  
In fawning hate and supple pride,  
Who are on every corner fortified.  
Your youth not rudely led by rage  
Of blood, is now the story of your age  
Which without boast you may aver  
'Fore blackest danger, glory did prefer:  
Glory not purchased by the breath  
Of Sycophants, but by encountering death.  
Yet wildness nor the fear of laws  
Did make you fight, but justice of the cause.  
For but mad prodigals they are  
Of fortitude, who for itself love war.  
When well made peace had closed the eyes  
Of discord, sloth did not your youth surprise.  
Your life as well as pour, did awe  
The bad, and to the good was the best law:  
when most men virtue did pursue  
In hope by it to grow in fame like you.  
Nor when you did to court repair,  
Did you your manners alter with the air.  
You did your modesty retain  
Your faithful dealing the same tongue and brain.  
Nor did all the soft flattery there  
Enchant you so, but still you truth could hear.  
And though your roofs were richly guilt,  
The basis was on no wards ruin built.  
Nor were your vassals made a prey,  
And for●'t to curse the Coronation day.  
And though no bravery was known  
To outshine yours, you only spent your own.  
For 'twas the indulgence of fate,  
To give ye a moderate mind, and bounteous state?  
But I, my Lord, who have no friend  
Of fortune, must begin where you do end.  
'Tis dangerous to approach the fire  
Of action; nor is't safe, far to retire,  
Yet better lost i'th' multitude  
Of private men, then on the state t' intrude,  
And hazard for a doubtful smile,  
My stock of fame, and inward peace to spoil.  
I'll therefore nigh some murmuring brook  
That wantoness through my meadows, with a book  
With my Castara, or some friend,  
My youth not guilty of ambition spend.  
To my own shade (if fate permit)  
I'll whisper some soft music of my wit.  
And flatter so myself, I'll see  
By that, strange motion steal into the tree.  
But still my first and chiefest care  
Shall be t'app●ase offended heaven with prayer:  
And in such mould my thoughts to cast,  
That each day shall be spent as 'twere my last.  
How ere its sweet lust to obey,  
Virtue though rugged, is the safest way.   

An Elegy upon The Honourable Henry Cambell, son to to the Earl of Ar.  

IT's false Arithmetic to say thy breath  
Expired to soon, or irreligious death  
Profaned thy holy youth. For if thy years  
Be numbered by thy virtues or our tears,  
Thou didst the old Methusalem outlive.  
Though Time, but twenty years' account can give  
Of thy abode on earth, yet every hour  
Of thy brave youth by virtues wondrous po●●re  
Was lengthened to a year. Each well-spent day  
Keeps young the body, but the soul makes grey.  
Such miracles works goodness: and behind  
thoust left to us such stories of thy mind  
Fit for example; that when them we read,  
We envy earth the treasure of the dead.  
Why do the sinful riot and survive  
The fevers of their surfeits? Why alive  
Is yet disordered greatness, and all they  
Who the loose laws of their wild blood obey?  
Why lives the gamester, who doth black the night  
With cheats and imprecations? Why is light  
Looked on by those whose breath may poison it:  
Who sold the vigour of their strength and wit  
To buy diseases: and thou, who fair truth  
And virtue didst adore, lost in thy youth?   

But I'll not question fate. Heaven doth convey  
Those first from the dark prison of their clay  
Who are most fit for heaven. Thou in war  
Hadst ta'en degrees, those dangers felt, which are  
The props on which peace safely doth subsist  
And through the Cannon's blue and horrid mist  
Hadst brought her light: And now wert so complete  
That naught but death did want to make thee great.   

Thy death was timely then bright soul to thee.  
And in thy fate thou suffer'dst not. 'Twas we  
Who died robbed of thy life: in whose increase  
Of real glory both in war and peace,  
We all did share: and thou away we fear  
Didst with thee, the whole stock of honour bear,   

Each than be his own mourner. we'll to thee  
Write hymns, upon the world an Elegy.    

To CASTARA,  
WHy should we fear to melt away in death;  
May we but die together. When beneath  
In a cool vault we sleep, the world will prove  
Religious, and call it the shrine of Love.  
There, when o'th' wedding eve some beauteous maid,  
Suspicious of the faith of man, hath paid  
The tribute of her vows; o'th' sudden she  
Two violets sprouting from the tomb will see:  
And cry out, ye sweet emblems of their zeal  
Who live below, sprang ye up to reveal  
The story of our future joys, how we  
The faithful patterns of their love shallbe▪  
If not; hang down yours heads oppressed with dew;  
And I will weep and wither hence with you.   

To CASTARA, Of what we were before our creation.  
WHen Pelion wondering saw, that rain which fell  
But now from angry Heaven, to Heaven ward swell:  
When th'Indian Ocean did the wanton play,  
Mingling its billows with the Baltic sea:  
And the whole earth was water: O where then  
Were we Castara? In the fate of men  
Lost underneath the waves? Or to beguile  
Heaven's justice, lurked we in Noah's floating Isle?  
We had no being then. This fleshly frame  
Wed to a soul, long after, hither came  
A stranger to itself. Those months that were  
But the last age, no news of us did hear.  
What pomp is then in us? Who th'other day  
Were nothing; and in triumph now, but clay.   

To the Moment last passed.  
O Whither dost thou fly? Cannot my vow  
Entreat thee tarry? Thou wert here but now,  
And thou art gone: like ships which plough the Sea,  
And leave no print for man to track their way.  
O unseen wealth! who thee did husband, can  
Outvie the jewels of the Ocean,  
The mines of th' earth! One sigh well spent in thee  
Had been a purchase for eternity!  
We will not lose thee then. Castara, where  
Shall we find out his hidden sepulchre;  
And we'll revive him Not the cruel stealth  
Of fate shall rob us, of so great a wealth▪  
Undone in thriftd while we be sought his stay,  
Ten of his fellow moments fled away.   

To CASTARA. Of the knowledge of Love.  
WHere steeps the Northwind when the South inspires  
Life in the spring, and gathers into quires  
The scattered Nightingales; whose subtle ears  
Herd first th'harmonious language of the Spheres;  
Whence hath the stone Magnetic force t'allure  
Th'enamoured iron; From a seed impure  
Or natural did first the Mandrake grow;  
What powreith ' Ocean makes it ebb and flow;  
What strange materials is the azure sky  
Compacted of; of what its brightest eye  
The ever flaming Sun; what people are  
In th' unknown world; what worlds in every star;  
Let curious fancies at this secret rove;  
Castara what we know, we'll practise, Love.   

To the Right Honourable the Countess of C.  
Madam,  
SHould the cold Muscovit, whose fur and stove  
Can scarce prepare him heat enough for love,  
But view the wonder of your presence, he  
Would scorn his winter's sharpest injury:  
And trace the naked groves, till he found bays  
To write the beauteous triumphs of your praise,  
As a dull Poet even he would say,  
Th' unclouded Sun had never shown them day  
Till that bright minute; that he now admires  
No more why the coy Spring so soon retires  
From their unhappy clime; It doth pursue  
The Sun, and he derives his light from you.  
he'd tell you how the fettered Baltic Sea  
Is set at freedom, while the ye away▪  
Doth melt at your approach; how by so fair  
Harmonious beauty, their rude manners are  
Reduced to order; how to them you bring  
The wealthiest mines below, above the Spring.  
Thus would his wonder speak For he would want  
Religion to believe, there were a Saint  
Within, and all he saw was but the shrine.  
But I here pay my vows to the divine  
Pure essence there enclosed, which if it were  
Not hid in a fair cloud, but might appear  
In its full lustre, would make Nature live  
In a state equal to her primitive.  
But sweetly that's obscured. Yet though our eye  
Cannot the splendour of your soul descry  
In true perfection, by a glimmering light,  
Your language yields us, we can guess how bright  
The Sun within you shines, and curse th'unkind  
Eclipse, or else ourselves for being blind.  
How hastily doth Nature build up man  
To leave him so imperfect? For he can  
See nought beyond his sense; she doth control  
So far his fight he ne'er discerned a soul.  
For had yours been the object of his eye;  
It had turned wonder to Idolatry.   

The harmony of Love.  

AMphi●n, O thou holy shade!  
Bring Orpheus up with thee:  
That wonder may you both invade,  
Hearing Love's harmony.  
You who are soul, not rudely made  
Up, with Material ears,  
And fit to reach the music of these spheres.   

Hark! when Castara's orbs do move  
By my first moving eyes,  
How great the Symphony of Love,  
But 'tis the destinies  
Will not so far my prayer approve,  
To bring you hither, here  
Lest you meet heaven, for Elysium there.   

'tis no dull Sublunary flame  
Burns in her heart and mine.  
But something more, then hath a name.  
So subtle and divine,  
We know not why, nor how it came.  
Which shall shine bright, till she  
And the whole world of love, expire with me.    

To my honoured friend Sir Ed. P. Knight.  
YOu'd leave the silence in which safe we are,  
To listen to the noise of war;  
And walk those rugged paths▪ the factious tread,  
Who by the number of the dead  
Reckon their glories and think greatness stood  
Unsafe, till it was built on blood.  
Secure i'th' wall our Seas and ships provide  
(Abhorring wars so barbarous pride.  
And honour bought with slaughter) in content  
Le's breathe though humble, innocent.  
Folly and madness! Since 'tis odds we ne'er  
See the fresh youth of the next year.  
Perhaps not the chaste morn, herself disclose  
Again, t' out-blush th' emulous rose,  
Why doth ambition so the mind distress.  
To make us scorn what we possess?  
And look so far before us? Since all we  
Can hope, is varied misery?  
Go find some whispering shade near A●ne or Poe,  
And gently 'mong their violets throw  
Your wearied limbs, and see if all those fair  
Enchantments can charm grief or care?  
Our sorrows still pursue us, and when you  
The ruin'd Capitol shall view  
And statues, a disordered heap; you can  
Not cure yet the disease of man,  
And banish your own thoughts. Go travail where  
Another Sun and Stars appear,  
And land not touched by any covetous fleet,  
And yet even there yourself you'll meet.  
Stay here then, and while curious exiles find  
New toys for a fantastic mind;  
Enjoy at home what's real: here the Spring  
By her aerial quires doth sing  
As sweetly to you as if you were laid  
Under the learned Thessalian shade,  
Direct your eyesight inward, and you'll find  
A thousand regions in your mind  
Yet undiscovered. Travel them, and be  
Expert in home cosmography.  
This you may do safe both from rock and shelf:  
Man's a whole world within himself.   

To CASTARA.  

GIve me a heart where no impure  
Disordered passions rage,  
Which jealousy doth not obscure,  
Nor vanity t'expence engage,  
Nor wooed to madness by quaint oaths,  
Or the fine Rhetoric of clothes,  
Which not the softness of the age  
To vice or folly doth decline;  
Give me that heart (Castara) for 'tis thine.   

Take thou a heart where no new look  
Provokes new appetite:  
With no fresh charm of beauty took,  
Or wanton stratagem of wit;  
Not Idly wand'ring here and there,  
Led by an amorous eye or ea●e.  
A●ming each beauteous ma●ke to hit;  
Which virtue doth to one confine:  
Take thou that heart, Castara, for 'tis mine.   

And now my heart is lodged with thee,  
Observe but how it still  
Doth listen how thine doth with me;  
And guard it well, for else it will  
Run hither back; not to be where  
I am, but 'cause thy heart is here.  
But without discipline, or skill.  
Our hearts shall freely between us move;  
Should thou or I want hearts, we'd breathe by love.    

To CASTARA. Of true delight.  

WHy doth the ear so tempt the voice,  
That cunningly divides the air?  
Why doth the palace buy the choice  
Delights o'th' sea, to enrich her fare?   

As soon as I, my ear obey  
The Echoes lost even with the breath.  
And when the sewer takes away  
I'm left with no more taste, than death.   

Be curious in pursuit of ey●s  
To procreate new loves with thine;  
Satiety makes sense despise  
What superstition thought divine.   

Quick fancy how it mocks delight?  
As we conceive, things are not such,  
The glowworm is as warm as bright,  
Till the deceitful flame we touch.   

When I have sold my heart to Just  
And bought repentance with a kiss  
I find the malice of my dust,  
That told me hell contained a bliss.   

The Rose yields her sweet blandishment  
Lost in the fold of lovers wreathes,  
The violet enchants the sent  
When early in the Spring she breathes.   

But winter comes and makes each flower  
Shrink from the pillow where it grows,  
Or an intruding cold hath power  
To scorn the perfume of the Rose.   

Our senses like false glasses show  
Smooth beauty where brows wrinkled are,  
And makes the cozened fancy glow.  
Chaste virtue's only true and fair.    

To my noblest Friend, I. C. Esquire.  
Sir,  
I Ha●e the Country's dirt and manners, yet  
I love the silence; I embrace the wit  
And courtship, flowing here in a full tide.  
But loathe the expense the vanity and pride.  
No place each way is happy. Here I hold  
Commerce with some, who to my ear unfold▪  
(After a due oath ministered) the height  
And greatness of each star shines in the state,  
The brightness the eclipse, the influence.  
With others I common, who tell me whence  
The torrent doth of foreign discord flow:  
Relate each skirmish, battle, overthrow,  
Soon as they happen; and by rote can tell  
Those German towns, even puzzle me to spell.  
The cross or prosperous fate of Princes, they  
Ascribe to rashnes●ee, cunning or delay:  
And on each action comment, with more skill  
Then upon Livy, did old Mat●havill.  
O busy folly! Why do I my brain  
Perplex with the dull policies of Spain,  
Or quick designs of France? Why not repair  
To the pure innocence o'th' Country air:  
And neighbour thee, dear friend? Who so dost give  
Thy thoughts to worth and virtue, that to live  
Bl●st, is to trace thy ways. There might not we  
Arm against passion with Philosophy;  
And by the aid of leisure, so control,  
Whatever is earth in us, to grow all soul?  
Knowledge doth ignorance engender when  
We study mysteries of other men  
And foreign plots. Do but in thy own shade  
(●hy head upon some flowery pillow laid,  
Kind Nature's housewifery) contemplate all  
His stratagems who laborus to enthral.  
The world to his great Master; and you'll find  
Ambition mocks itself, and grasps the wind  
Not conquest makes us great. Blood is to dear  
A price for glory: Honour doth appear  
To statesmen like a vision in the night,  
And jugler-like works o'th' deluded sight.  
Th' unbusied only wise: For no respect  
Endangers them to error; They affect  
Truth in her naked beauty, and behold  
Man with an equal eye, not bright in gold  
Or tall in title; so much him they weigh  
As Virtue raiseth him above his clay.  
Thus let us value things: And since we find  
Time bends us toward death, le's in our mind  
Create new youth; and arm against the rude  
Assaults of age; that no dull solitude  
●th' country dead are thoughts, nor busy care  
●th' town make us not think, where now we are  
And whether we are bound. Time ne'er forgot  
His journey, though his steps we numbered not.   

To CASTARA. What Lovers will say when she and he are dead.  

I Wonder when weare dead, what men will say;  
Will not poor Orphan Lovers weep,  
The parents of their Love's decay;  
And envy de●th the treasure of our sleep?   

Will not each trembling Virgin bring her fears  
To th' holy silence of my Urn?  
And chide the Marble with her tears,  
'Cause she so soon faith's obsequy must mourn.   

For had Fate spared but Arap●ill (she'll say)  
He had the great example stood,  
And forced unconstant man obey  
The law of Love's Religion, not of blood.   

And youth by female perjury betrayed,  
Will to Castara's shrine deplore  
His injuries, and death upbraid,  
That woman lives more guilty, then before.   

For while thy breathing purified the air  
Thy Sex (he'll say) d●d only move  
By the chaste influence of a fair,  
Whose virtue shined in the bright orb of love.   

Now woman▪ like a Meteor vapoured forth  
From dung hills, doth amaze our eyes;  
Not shining with a real worth,  
But subtle her black errors to disguise▪   

Thus will they talk, Castara, while our dust  
In one dark vault shall mingled be.  
The world will fall a prey to lust,  
When Love is dead, which hath one fate with me.    

To his Muse.  
HEre Virgin fix thy pillars, and command  
They sacred may to after ages stand  
In witness of love's triumph. Yet will we  
Castara, find new worlds in Poetry,  
And conquer them. Not dully following those  
Tame lovers, who dare clothe their thoughts in prose.  
But we will henceforth more Religious prove,  
Concealing the high mysteries of love  
From the profane▪ Harmonious like the spheres,  
Our souls shall move, not reached by humane ears.  
That Music to the Angels, this to fame,  
I here commit. That when their holy flame,  
True lovers to pure beauties would rehearse,  
They may invoke the Genius of my verse.   
FINIS.   

A Friend  
IS a man. For the free and open discovery of thoughts to woman can not pass without an over licentious familiarity, or a justly occasioned suspicion; and friendship can neither stand with vice nor infamy. He is virtuous, for love begot in sin is a misshapen monster, and seldom outlives his birth. He is noble, and inherits the virtues of all his progenitors; though happily unskilful to blazon his paternal coat; So little should nobility serve for story, but when it encourageth to action. He is so valiant, fear could never be listened to, when she whispered danger; and yet fights not, unless religion confirms the quarrel lawful. He submits his actions to the government of virtue, not to the wild decrees of popular opinion; and when his conscience is fully satisfied, he cares not how mistake and ignorance interpret him. He hath so much fortitude he can forgive an injury; and when he hath overthrown his opposer, not insult upon his weakness. He is an absolute governor; no destroyer of his passions, which he employs to the noble increase of virtue. He is wise, for who hopes to reap a harvest from the sands, may expect the perfect offices of friendship from a fool. He hath by a liberal education been softened to civility; for that rugged honesty some rude men profess, is an indigested Chaos; which may contain the seeds of goodness, but it wants form and order.  
He is no flutterer; but when he finds his friend any way imperfect, he freely but gently informs him; nor yet shall some few errors cancel the bond of friendship; because he remembers no endeavours can raise ●an above his frailty. He is as slow to enter into that title, as he is to forsake it; a monstrous vice must disoblige, because an extraordinary virtue did first unite; and when he parts, he doth it without a duel. He is neither effeminate, nor a common courtier; the first is so passionate a doater upon himself, he cannot spare love enough: to be justly named friendship: the latter hath his love so diffusive among the beauties, that man is not considerable. He is not accustomed to any sordid way of gain, for who is any way mechanic, will sell his friend upon more profitable terms. He is bountiful, and thinks no treasure of fortune equal to the preservation of him he loves; yet not so lavish, as to buy friendship, and perhaps afterward find himself overseen in the purchase. He is not exceptio●s, for jealousy proceeds from weakness, and his virtues quit him from suspicions. He freely gives advice, but so little peremptory is his opinion that he ingenuously submits it to an abler judgement. He is open in expression of his thoughts and easeth his melancholy by enlarging it; and no Sanctuary preserves so safely, as he his friend afflicted. He makes use of no engines of his friendship to extort a secret; but if committed to his charge, his heart receives it, and that and it come both ●o light together. In life he is the most amiable object to the soul, in death the most deplorable.   

The Funerals of the Honourable, my best friend and Kinsman, GEORGE TALBOT, Esquire.  

Elegy, 1.  
T Were malice to thy fame, to weep alone:  
And not enforce an universal groan  
From ruinous man, and make the World complain:  
Yet I'll forbid my grief to be profane  
In mention of thy praise; I'll speak but truth  
Yet write more honour than ere shined in youth.  
I can relate thy business here on earth,  
Thy mystery of life, thy noblest birth  
Outshined by nobler virtue: but how far  
The hast ta'en thy journey 'bove the highest star,  
I cannot speak, nor whether thou art in  
Commission with a Throne, or Cherubin.  
Pass on triumphant in thy glorious way,  
Till thou hast reached the place assigned: we may  
Without disturbing the harmonious Spheres,  
bath here below thy memory in our tears.  
Ten days are past, since a dull wonder seized  
My active soul: Loud storms of sighs are raised  
By empty griefs; they who can utter it,  
Do not vent forth their sorrow, but their wit,  
I stood like Niobe without a groan,  
Congealed into that monumental stone  
That doth lie over thee: I had no room  
For witty grie●e, fit only for thy tomb.  
And friendship's monument, thus had I stood;  
But that the flame I bear thee, warmed my blood  
With a new life. I'll like a funeral fire  
But burn a while to thee, and then expire.   

Elegy, 2.  
TAlbot is dead. Like lightning which no part  
Oth' body touches, but first strikes the heart,  
This word hath murdered me. there's not in all  
The stock of sorrow, any charm can call  
Death sooner up. For musiqus in the breath  
Of thunder, and a sweetness even i'th' death  
That brings with it, if you with this compare  
All the loud noises, which torment the air.  
They cure (Physicians say) the element  
Si●ke with dull vapours, and to banishment  
Confine infections; but this fatal shriek,  
Without the least redress, is uttered like  
The last day's summons, when Earth's trophies lie  
A scattered heap, and time itself must die.  
What now hath life to boast of? Can I have  
A thought less dark than th' horror of the grave  
Now thou dost dwell below? Were't not a fault  
Past pardon, to raise fancy 'bove thy vault?  
Hail Sacred house in which his relics sleep?  
Blessed marble give me leave t'approach and weep,  
These vows to thee! for since great Talb●t's gone  
Down to thy silence, I commerce with none  
But thy pale people: and in that confute  
Mistaking man, that dead men are not mu●●.  
Delicious beauty, lend thy flattered ear  
Accustomed to warm whispers, and thou'lt hear  
How their cold language tells thee, that thy skin  
Is but a beauteous shrine, in which black sin  
Is Idolised; thy eyes but Spheres where lust  
Hath its loose motion; and thy end is dust.  
Great Atlas of the state, descend with me,  
But hither, and this vault shall furnish thee  
With more avisoes, than thy cos●ly spies,  
And show how false are all those mysteries  
Thy Sect receives, and though thy palace swell  
With envied pride, 'tis here that thou must dwell.  
It will instruct you, Courtier, that your Art  
Of outward smoothness and a rugged heart  
But cheats yourself, and all those subtle ways  
You tread to greatness, is a fatal maze  
Where you yourself shall lose, for though you breath  
Upward to pride, your centre is beneath.  
And 'twill thy Rhetoric false flesh confound;  
Which flatters my frail thoughts, no time can wound  
This unarmed frame, Here is true eloquence  
Will teach my soul to triumph over sense,  
Which hath its period in a grave, and there  
Shows what are all our pompous surfeits here.  
Great Orator! dear Talbot! Still, to thee  
May I an auditor attentive be▪  
And piously maintain the same commerce  
We held in life! and if in my rude verse  
● to the world may thy sad precepts read;  
I will on earth interpret for the dead.   

Elegi●, 3.  
LEt me contemplate thee (fair soul) & though  
I cannot track the way, which thou didst go  
In thy celestial journey; and my heart  
Expanssion wants, to think what now thou art  
How bright and wide thy glories; yet I may  
Remember thee, as thou wert in thy clay.  
Best object to my heart! what virtues be  
Inherent even to the least thought of thee!  
Death w●h tothth' vigorous ●eate of▪ youth brings fe●●●  
In its lean look; doth like a Prince appear,  
Now glorious to my eye, since it possessed  
The wealthy empire of that happy chest  
Which harbours thy rich dust; for how can he  
Be thought a bankrupt that embraces thee?  
Sad midnight whispers with a greedy ear  
I catch from lonely graves, in hope to hear  
N●wes from the dead, nor can pale visions fright  
His ey●, who since thy death feels no delight  
In man's acquaintance. Memory of thy fa●e  
Doth in me a sublimer soul create.  
And now my sorrow follows thee, I tread  
The milky way, and see the snowy head  
Of Atlas▪ far below, while all the high  
S●olne buildings seem but atoms to my eye.  
I'm heightened by my ruin; and while I  
Weep or● the vault where thy sad ashes lie,  
My soul with thine doth hold commerce above;  
Where we discern the stratagems, which Love,  
Hate, and ambition, use, to cozen man;  
So frail that every blast of honour can  
Swell him above himself, each adverse gust  
Him and his glories shiver into dust.  
How small seems greatness here! How not a span  
His empire, who commands the Ocean.  
Both that, which boasts so much it's mighty ore,  
And th'other, which with pearl, ●ath paved its shore  
Nor can it greater seem, when this great All  
For which men quarrel so, is but a ball  
Cast down into the air to sport the stars.  
And all our general ruins, mortal wars,  
Depopulated states, caused by their sway;  
And man's so reverend wisdom but their play.  
From thee, dear Talbot, living I did learn  
The Arts of life, and by thy light discern  
The truth, which men dispute. But by thee dead  
I'm taught, upon the world's gay pride to tread:  
And that way sooner master it, than he  
To whom both th' Indies tributary be.   

Elegy, 4.  
MY name, dear friend, even thy expiring breath  
Did call upon: affirming that thy death  
Would wound m● poor sad heart Sad it must be  
Indeed, lost to all thoughts of mi●th in thee.  
My Lord, if I with licence of your tears,  
(Which your great brother's hearse as diamonds wears  
T' enrich deaths glory) may but speak my owne●  
I'll pr●ve it, that no sorrow ere was known  
Real as mine. All other mourners keep  
In grief a method: without form I weep.  
The son (rich in his father's fate) hath eyes  
Wet just as long as are the obsequies.  
The widow formerly a year doth spend  
In her so courtly blacks. But for a Friend  
We weep an age, and more than th' Anchorit, have  
Our very thoughts confined within a Grave.  
chaste Love who hadst thy triumph in my flame  
And thou Castara who had hadst a name,  
But for this sorrow glorious: Now my verse  
Is lost to you, and only on Talbots hearse  
Sadly attends. And till times fatal hand  
Ruins, what's left of Churches, there shall stand.  
There to thyself, dear Talbot I'll repeat  
Thy own brave story; tell thyself how great  
Thou wert in thy mind's Empire, and how all  
Who outlive thee, see but the Funeral  
Of glory: and if yet some virtuous be,  
They but weak apparitions are of thee.  
So settled were thy thoughts, each action so  
Discreetly ordered, that nor ebb nor flow  
Was ere perceived in thee: each word mature  
And every scene of life from sin so pure  
That scarce in its whole history, we can  
Find vice enough, to say thou we●t but man.  
Horror to say thou wert! Cursed that we must  
Address our language to a little dust,  
And seek for Talbot there. Injurious fate,  
To lay my life's ambition desolate.  
Yet thus much comfort have I, that I know,  
Not how it can give such another blow.   

Elegy, 5.  
Chaste as the Nuns first vow, as fairly bright  
As when by death her Soul shines in full light  
Freed from th' eclipse of Earth, each word that came  
From thee (dear Talbot) did beget a flame  
T'enkindle virtue: which so fair by thee  
Became, man that blind mole her face did see.  
But now to'our eye she's lost, and if she dwell  
Yet on the earth; she's conffined in the cell  
Of some cold Hermit; who so keeps her there,  
As if of her the old man jealous were.  
Nor ever shows her beauty, but to some  
Carthusian, who even by his vow, is dumb!  
So 'mid the ice of the far Northern sea,  
A star about the Arctic Circle, may  
Then ours yield clearer light; yet that but shall  
Serve at the froxens Pilots funeral.  
Thou (brightest constellation) to this main  
Which all we sinners traffic on, didst deign  
The bounty of thy fire, which with so clear  
And constant beams did our frail vessels steer,  
That safely we, what storm so ere boar sway,  
Past o'er the rugged Alps of th' angry Sea.  
But now we sail at random. Every rock  
The folly doth of our ambition mock  
And splits our hopes: To every Sirens breath  
We listen and even court the face of death,  
If painted o'er by pleasure: Every wave  
if'ft hath delight w'embrace though't prove a grave.  
So ruinous is the defect of thee,  
To th'undone world in general. But to me  
Who lived one life with thine, drew but one breath,  
Possessed with th' same mind & thoughts, 'twas death.  
And now by fate: I but myself survive,  
To keep his memory, and my griefs alive.  
Where shall I then begin to weep? No grove▪  
Silent and dark, but is profaned by Love:  
With his warm whispers, and faint idle fears,  
His busy hopes, loud sighs, and caselesse tears  
●ach ●are is so enchanted; that no breath  
Is listened to, which mocks report of death.  
I'll turn my grief then inward and deplore  
My ruin to myself, repeating o'er  
The story of his virtues; until I  
Not write, but am myself his Elegy.   

Elegy, 6.  
Go stop the swift-winged moments in their flight  
To their yet unknown coast, go hinder night  
From its approach on day, and force day rise  
From the fair East of some bright beauty's eye●:  
Else vaunt not the proud miracle of verse.  
It hath no power. For mine from his black hearse  
Redeems not Tal●ot, who could as the breath  
Of winter, coffined lies; silent as death,  
Stealing on th' Anch'rit, who even wants an ear  
To breath into his soft expiring prayer.  
For had thy life been by thy virtues spun  
Out to a length, thou hadst outlived the Sun  
And closed the world's great eye: or were not all  
Our wonders fiction, from thy funeral  
Thou hadst received new life, and lived to be  
The conqueror o'er death, inspired by me.  
But all we Poets glory in, is vain  
And empty triumph: Art cannot regain  
One poor hour lost, nor rescue a small fly  
By a fool's finger destinate to die.  
Live then in thy true life (great soul) for set  
At liberty by death thou owest no debt  
TO exacting Nature: Live, freed from the sport  
Of time and fortune in yand' starry court  
A glorious Potentate: while we below  
But fashion ways to mitigate our woe.  
We follow camps, and to our hopes propose  
Th' insulting victor; not remembering those  
Dismembered trunks who gave him victory  
By a loathed fa●e: We covetous Merchants be  
And to our a●mes pretend treasure and sway,  
Forgetful of the treasons of the Sea.  
The shootings of a wounded conscience  
We patiently sustain to serve our sense  
With a short pleasure; So we empire gain  
And rule the fate of business, the sad pain  
Of action we contemn, and the affright  
Which with pale visions still attends our night.  
Our-joyes false apparitions, but our fears  
Are certain prophecies. And till our ears  
Reach that celestial music, which thine now  
So cheerfully receive, we must allow  
No comfort to our griefs: from which to be  
Exempted, is in death to follow thee.   

Elegy, 7.  
THere is no peace in sin. Eternal war  
Doth rage 'mong vices. But all virtues are  
Friends 'mong themselves, and choicest accents be  
Harsh Echoes of their heavenly harmony.  
While thou didst live we did that union find  
In the so fair republic of thy mind,  
Where discord never swelled. And as we dare  
Affirm those goodly structures, temples are  
Where well-tuned quires strike zeal into the ear:  
The music of thy soul made us say, there  
God had his Altars; every breath a spice  
And each religious act a sacrifice.  
But death hath that demolished. All our eye  
Of thee now sees doth like a City lie  
Razed by the cannon. Where is then that flame  
That added warmth and beauty to thy frame?  
Fled heaven-ward to repair, with its pure fire  
The losses of some maimed Seraphic choir?  
Or hovers it beneath, the world t'uphold  
From general ruin, and expel that cold  
Dull humour weakens it? If so it be;  
My sorrow yet must praise fates charity.  
But thy example (if kind heaven had deigned  
Frailty that favour) had mankind regaind  
To his first purity. For that the wit  
Of vice, might not except against th' Ancherit  
As too to strict; thou didst uncloystered live:  
Teaching the soul by what preservative,  
She may from sin's contagion live secure,  
Though all the air she sucked in, were impure▪  
In this dark mist of error with a clear.  
Unspotted light, thy virtue did appear.  
T' obrayed corrupted man. How could the rage.  
Of untamed lust have scorched decrepit age;  
Had it seen thy chaste youth? Who could the wealth  
Of time have spent in riot, or his health  
By surfeits forfeited; if he had seen  
What temperance had in thy diet been?  
What glorious fool had vaunted honours bought  
By gold or practice, or by rapine brought  
From his forefathers, had he understood  
How Talbot valued not his own great blood!  
Had Politiciana seen him scorning more  
The unsafe pomp of greatness, than the poor  
Thatched roofs of shepherds, where th' unruly wind  
(A gentler storm than pride) unchecked doth find  
Still free admittance: their pale labours had  
Been to be good, not to be great and bad.  
But he is lost in a blind vault, and we  
Must not admire though sins now frequent be  
And uncontrol'd: Since those fair tables where  
The Law was writ by death now broken are,  
By death extinguish 'tis that Star, whose light  
Did shine so faithful: that each ship sailed right  
Which steered by that. Nor marvel then if we,  
(That failing) lost in this world's tempest be.  
But to What Orb so ere ●hou dost retire,  
Far from our ken: 'tis blest, while by thy fire  
Enlightened. And since thou must n●ver here  
Be seen again: may I o'ertake thee there   

Elegy, 8.  
BOast not the reverend Vatican, nor all  
The cunning Pomp of the Escurial.  
Though there both th' Indies met in each small room  
The are short in treasure of this precious tomb.  
Here is th' Epitome of wealth, this chest  
Is Nature's chief Exchequer, hence the East  
When it is purified by th' general fire  
Shall see these now pale ashes sparkle higher  
Than all the gems she vaunts: transcending far  
In fragrant iustre the bright morning star.  
'tis true, they now seem dark. But rather we  
Have by a cataract lost sight, than he  
Though dead his glory. So to us black night  
Brings darkness, when the Sun retains his light.  
Thou eclipsed dust! Expecting break of day  
From the thick mists about thy Tomb, I'll pay  
Like the just Lark, the tribute of my verse  
I will invite thee, from thy envious hearse  
To rise, and 'bout the World thy beams to spread,  
That we may see, there's brightness in the dead,  
My zeal deludes me not. What perfumes come  
From th' happy vault? In her sweet martyrdom  
The nard breathes never so, nor so the rose  
When the enamoured Spring by kissing blows  
Soft blushes on her cheek, nor th' early East  
Vying with Paradise, i'th' Phoenix nest.  
These gentle perfumes usher in the day  
Which from the night of his discoloured clay  
Breaks on the sudden: for a Soul so bright  
Of force must to her earth contribute light.  
But if w' are so far blind, we cannot see  
The wonder of this truth; yet let us be  
Not infidels: nor like dull Atheists give  
Ourselves so long to lust, till we believe  
(T' allay the grief of sin) that we shall fall  
To a loathed nothing in our Funeral.  
The bad man's death is horror. But the just  
Keeps something of his glory in his dust.   
FINIS.   

CASTARA: THE THIRD PART.  
LONDON Printed by Tho. Cotes, for Will. Cook. 1640.   

A Holy Man  
IS only▪ Happy. For infelicity and sin were borne twins; Or rather like some prodigy with two bodies, both draw and expire the same breath. Catholic faith is the foundation on which he erects Religion; knowing it a ruinous madness to build in the air of a private spirit, or on the sands of any new schism. His impiety is not so b●ld to bring divinity down to the mistake of reason, or to deny those mysteries his apprehension reacheth not. His obedience moves still by direction of the Magistrate: And should conscience inform him that the command is unjust; he judgeth it nevertheless high treason by rebellion to make good his threats; o● it were the basest cowardice, by dissimulation of religion, to preserve temporal respects. He knows humane policy but a crooked rule of action: and therefore by a distrust of his own knowledge attains it: Confounding with supernatural illumination, the opinionated judgement of the wise. In prosperity he gratefully admires the bounty of the Almighty giver, and useth, not abuseth plenty: But in adversity he remains unshaken, and like some eminent mountain hath his head above the clouds. For his happiness is not meteor-like exhaled from the vapours of this world; but shines a fixed star, which when by misfortune it appears to fall, only casts away the slimy matter. Poverty he neither fears nor covets, but cheerfully entertains; imagining it the fire which tries virtue: Nor how tyrannically soever it usurp on him, doth he pay to it a sigh or wrinkle: for he who suffers want without reluctancy, may be poor not miserable. He sees the covetous prosper by usury, yet waxeth not lean with envy: and when the posterity of the impious flourish, he questiones not the divine justice; for temporal rewards distinguish not ever the merits of men: and who hath been of council with the Eternal? Fame he weighs not, but esteems a smoke, yet such as carries with it the sweetest odour, and riseth usually from the Sacrifice of our best actions. Pride he disdains, when he finds it swelling in himself; but easily forgiveth it in another: Nor can any man's error in life, make him sin in censure, since seldom the folly we condemn is so culpable as the severity of our judgement. He doth not malice the overspreading growth of his aequ●lls: but pities, not despiseth the fall of any man: Esteeming yet no storm of fortune dangerous, but what is raised through our own demerit. When he looks on others vices, he values not himself virtuous by comparison, but examines his own defects, and finds matter enough at home for reprehension: In conversation his carriage is neither plausible to flattery, nor reserved to rigour: but so demeans himself as created for society. In solitude he remembers his better part is Angelical; and therefore his mind practiseth the best discourse without assistance of inferior Organs. Lust i● the Basilisk he flies, a Serpent of the most destroying venom: for it blasts all plants with the breath, & carries the most murdering Artillery in the eye: He is ever merry but still modest. Not dissolved into undecent laughter, or tickled with wit scurrilous or injurious. He cunningly searcheth into the virtues of others, and liberally commends them: but buries the vices of the imperfect in a charitable silence, whose manners he reforms not by invectives but example: In prayer he is frequent not apparent: yet as he labours not the opinion, so he foares not the scandal of being thought good. He every day travails his meditations up to heaven, and never finds himself wearied with the journey: but when the necessities of nature return him down to earth, he esteems it a place, he is condemned to. Devotion is his Mistress en which he is passionately enamoured: for that he hath found the most Sovereign antidote against sin, and the only balsam powerful to cure those wounds he hath received through frailty. To live he knows a benefit, and the contempt of it ingratitude, and therefore loves, but not dotes on life. Death how deformed soever an aspect it wears, he is not frighted with: since it not annihilates, but uncloudes the soul. He therefore stands every moment prepared to dye● and though he freely yields up himself, when age or sickness summon him; yet he with more alacrity puts off his earth, when the profession of faith crownes him a martyr.   


Domine labia mea aperies DAVID.  

No monument of me remain, My man orie rust  
In the same marble with my dust:  
Ere I the spreadingst Laurel gain,  
By writing wanton or profane.   

Ye glorious wonders of the skies, Shine still bright stars,  
Th' Almighty's mystic Characters!  
I'll not your beauteous lights surprise  
T' illuminate a woman's eyes▪   

Nor to perfume her veins, will I In each one set  
The purple of the violet.  
The untouched flower may grow and die  
Safe from my fancie● injury.   

Open my lips, great God and then I'll soar above  
The humble flight of carnal love.  
Upward to thee I'll force my pen,  
And trace no path of vulgar men.   

For what can our unbounded souls Worthy to be  
Their object find, excepting thee?  
Where can I fix? since time controuses  
Our pride, whose motion all things rolls.   

Should I myself ingratiate T● a Prince's smile;  
How soon may death my hopes beguile?  
And should I farm the proudest state,  
I'm Tenant to uncertain fate.   

If I court gold; will it not rust?  
And if my love  
Toward a female beauty move;  
How will that surfeit of our lust  
Distaste us, when resolved to dust?   

But thou Eternal banquet! where For ever we  
May feed without satiety!  
Who harmony art to the ear,  
Who art, while all things else appear!   

While up to thee I shoot my flame Thou dost dispense  
A holy death, that murders sense,  
And makes me scorn all pomps, that aim  
At other triumphs than thy name.   

It crownes me with a victory So heavenly, all  
That's earth from me away doth fall.  
And I, from my corruption free,  
Grow in my vows even part of thee▪    

Versa est in luctum cythara mea. JOB.  

LOve! I no orgies sing  
Whereby thy mercies to invoke:  
Nor from the East rich perfumes bring  
To cloud thy Altars with the precious smoke.   

Nor while I did frequent  
Those fanes by lovers raised to thee:  
Did I lose heathenish rites invent,  
To force a blush from injured Chastity.   

Religious was the charm  
I used affection to entice:  
And thought none burnt more bright or warm,  
Ye● chaste as winter was the Sacrifice.   

But now I thee bequeath  
To the soft silken youths at Court:  
Who may their witty passions breath,  
To raise their Mistress smile, or make her sport.   

They'll smooth thee into rhyme,  
Such as shall catch the wanton ear:  
And win opinion with the time,  
To make them a high sail of honour bear.   

And may a powerful smile  
Cherish their flatteries of wit!  
While I my life of fame beguile  
And under my own vine uncourted sit.   

For I have scene the Pine  
Famed for its travels o'er the Sea:  
Broken with storms and age decline,  
And in some creek unpitied rot away.   

I have seen Cedars fall,  
And in their room a Mushroom grow:  
I have seen Comets, threatening all,  
Vanish themselves: I have seen Princes so.   

Vain trivial dust! weak man!  
Where is that virtue of thy breath,  
That others save or ruin can,  
When thou thyself art called t' account by death?   

When I consider thee  
The scorn of Time, and sport of fate:  
How can I turn to jollity  
My ill-strung Harp, and court the delicate?   

How can I but disdain  
The empty fallacies of mirth;  
And in my midnight thoughts retain,  
How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?   

Fond youth! too long I played  
The wanton with a false delight.  
Which when I touched, I found a shade  
That only wrought on th' error of my ●ight.   

Then since pride doth betray  
The soul to flattered ignorance:  
I from the World will steal away  
And by humility my thoughts advance.    

Perdam Sapientiam Sapientum  
To the Right Honourable the Lord Windsor.  
My Lord  

FOrgive my envy to the World; while I  
Commend those sober thoughts persuade you fly  
The glorious troubles of the Court. For though  
The vale lies open to each overflow,  
And in the humble sh●de we gather ill  
And aguish airs: yet lightnings oftener kill  
Oth' naked heights of mountains, whereon we  
May have more prospect, not security.  
For when with loss of breath, we have o'ercome  
Some steep ascent of power, and forced a room  
On the so envied hill; how do our hearts  
Pant with the labour, and how many arts  
More subtle must we practise, to defend  
Our pride from sliding, than we did t' ascend?  
How doth success delude the mysteries  
And all th' involved designments of the wise?  
How doth that Power, our Pollitickes call chance,  
Rack them till they confess the ignorance  
Of humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortified  
So strong with reason that it doth deride  
All adverse force o'th' sudden finds its head  
Entangled in a spider's slender thread.  
Celestial Providence! How thou dost mock  
The boast of earthly wisdom? On some rock  
When man hath a structure, with such art,  
It doth disdain to tremble at the dart  
Of thunder, or to shrink opposed by all  
The angry winds, it of itself doth fall,  
Even in a calm so gentle that no air  
Breathes loud enough to stir a Virgin's hai●e!  
But misery of judgement! Though past time  
Instruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes,  
And show us how we may secure our state  
From pitied ruin, by another's fate;  
Yet we contemning all such sad advice,  
Pursue to build thougth on a precipice.   

But you (my Lord) prevented by foresight  
To engage yourself to such an unsafe height,  
And in yourself both great and rich enough  
Resused t'expose your vessel to the rough  
Uncertain sea of business: whence even they  
Who make the best return, are forced to say:  
The wealth we by our worldly traffic gain,  
Weighs light if balanced with the fear or pain.    

Paucitatem dierum meorum nuncia mihi. DAVID.  

TEll me O great All knowing God▪  
What period  
Hast thou unto my days assigned?  
Like some old leafless tree, shall I  
Whither away: or violently  
Fall by the axe, by lightning, or the Wind?   

here, where I first drew vital breath  
Shall I meet death?  
And find in the same vault a room  
Where my forefathers' ashes s●eepe?  
Or shall I die, where none shall weep  
My timeless fate, and my cold earth entomb?   

Shall I'gainst the swift Parthians fight  
And in their flight  
Receive my death? Or shall I see  
That envied peace, in which we are,  
Triumphant yet, disturbed by war;  
And perish by th' invading enemy?   

Astrologers, who calculate  
Uncertain fate  
Affirm my scheme doth not presage  
Any abridgement of my days:  
And the Physician gravely says,  
I may enjoy a reverend length of age.   

But they are jugglers, and by slight  
Of art the sight  
Of faith delude: and in their school  
They only practise how to make  
A mystery of each mistake,  
And teach strange words credulity to fool.   

For thou who first didst motion give,  
Whereby things live  
And Time hath being! to conceal  
Future events didst think it fit  
To check th' ambition of our wit,  
And keep in awe the curious search of zeal.   

Therefore so I prepared still be,  
My God for thee:  
Oth' sudden on my spirits may  
Some kill Apoplexy se●ze,  
Or let me by a dull disease  
Or weakened by a feeble age decay.   

And so I in thy favour die,  
No memory  
For me a well-wrought tomb prepare,  
For if my soul be 'mong the blessed  
Though my poor ashes want a ch●st,  
I shall forgive the trespass of my heir.    

Non nobis Domine DAVID.  

NO marble statue, nor high  
Aspiring Pyramid be raised  
To lose its head within the sky!  
What claim have I to memory?  
God be thou only praised!   

Thou in a moment canst defeat  
The mighty conquests of the proud,  
And blast the laurels of the great.  
Thou canst make brightest glory set  
Oth' sudden in a cloud.   

How can the feeble works of Art  
Hold our against the assault of storms?  
Or how can brass to him impart  
Sense of surviving fame, whose heart  
Is now resolved to worms?   

Blind folly of triumphing pride!  
Eternity why buildest thou here?  
Dost thou not see the highest tide  
Its humbled stream in th' Ocean hide,  
And n●●●●he same appear?   

That tide which did its banks o'erflow,  
As sent abroad by th' angry sea  
To level vastest buildings low,  
And all our Trophies overthrow;  
Ebbs like a thief away.   

And thou who to preserve thy name  
Leav'st statues in some conquered land!  
How will posterity scorn fame,  
When th' Idol shall receive a maim,  
And lose a foot or hand?   

How wilt thou hate thy wars, when he  
Who only for his Fire did raise  
Th● counterfeit in stone; with thee  
Shall stand Competitor, and be  
Perhaps thought worthier praise?   

No Laurel wreath about my brow!  
To thee, my God, all praise, whose law  
The conquered doth and conqueror bow!  
For both dissolve to air, if thou  
Thy influence but withdraw.    

Solum mihi superest s●pulchruu●. JOB.  

WElcome thou safe retreat!  
Where th' injured man may fortify  
Against the invasions of the great:  
Where the lean slave, who th' Oar doth ply,  
Soft as his Admiral may lie.   

Great Statist! 'tis your doom  
Though your defignes swell high, and wide:  
To be contracted in a tomb!  
And all your happy cares provide  
But for your heir authorised pride.   

Nor shall your shade delight  
Ith' pomp of your proud obsequies.  
And should the present flattery write:  
A glorious Epitaph, the wise  
Will say, The Poet's w●● here lies.   

How reconciled to fate  
Will grow the aged Villager,  
When he shall see your funeral state?  
Since death will him as warm inter  
As you in your gay sepulchre.   

The great decree of God  
Makes every path of mortals lead  
To this dark common period.  
For what by ways so ere we tread,  
We end our journey 'mong the dead.   

Even I, while humble zeal  
Makes fancy a sad truth indite,  
Insensible a way do steal:  
And when I'm lost in deaths cold night,  
Who will remember, now I write?    

Et fugit velut umbra. JOB.  
To the Right Honourable the Lord Kintyre.  
My Lord  

THat shadow your fair body made  
So full of sport it still the mimic played  
Even as you moved and looked but yesterday  
So huge in stature; Night hath stolen away.  
And this is th' emblem of our life: To please  
And flatter which, we sail o'er broken seas  
Unfaithful in their rocks and tides; we dare  
All the sick humours of a foreign air.  
And mine so deep in earth, as we would try  
To unlock hell, should gold there hoarded lie.  
But when we have built up an aedefice  
T'outwrastle Time, we have but built on ice:  
For firm lowever all our structures be,  
Polished with smoothest Indian Ivory,  
Raised high on marble, our unthankful heir  
Will scarce retain in memory, that we were▪  
Tracke through the air the footsteps of the wind,  
And search the print of ships sailed by; then find  
Where all the glories of those Monarches be  
Who bore such sway in the world's infancy.  
Time hath devoured them all: and scarce can fame  
Give an account, that ere they had a name.  
How can he then who doth the world control  
And strikes a terror now in either Pole,  
Th' insulting Turk secure himself that he  
Shall not be lost to dull Posterity?  
And though the Superstition of those Times  
Which deified Kings to warrant their own crimes  
Translated Caesar to a star; yet they,  
Who every Region of the sky Survey;  
In their Celestial travail, that bright coast  
Could ne'er discover which contains his ghost.  
And after death to make that awe survive  
Which subjects owe their Princes yet alive,  
Though they build palaces of bralle and jet  
And keep them living in a counterfeit;  
The curious looker on soon passes by  
And finds the tomb a sickness to his eye.  
Neither when once the soul is gone doth all  
The solemn triumph of the funeral  
Add to her glory or her pain release:  
Then all the pride of war, and wealth of peace  
For which we toiled, from us abstracted be  
And only serve to swell the history.   

These are sad thoughts (my Lord) and such as fright  
The easy soul made tender with delight,  
Who thinks that he hath forfeited that hour  
Which adds not to his pleasure or his power.  
But by the friendship which your Lordship daignes  
Your Servant, I have found your judgement reigns  
Above all passion in you: and that sense  
Could never yet demolish that strong fence  
Which Virtue guards you with: By which you are  
Triumphant in the best, the inward war.    

Nox nocti indicat Scientiam DAVID.  

WHen I survey the bright  
Celestial sphere:  
So rich with jewels ●ung▪ that night  
Doth like an Aethiop bride appear.   

My soul her wings doth spread  
And heaven-ward flies,  
Th' Almighty's Mysteries to read  
In the large volumes of the skies.   

For the bright firmament  
Shoots forth no flame  
So silent, but is eloquent  
In speaking the Creator's name.   

No unregarded star  
Contracts its light  
Into so small a Character,  
Removed far from our humane sight:   

But if we steadfast look,  
We shall discern  
In it as in some holy book,  
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.   

It tells the Conqueror,  
That farre-stretcht power  
Which his proud dangers traffic for,  
Is but the triumph of an hour.   

That from the farthest North;  
Some Nation may  
Yet undiscovered issue forth,  
And o'er his new got conquest sway.   

Some Nation yet shut in  
With hills of ice  
May be let out to scourge his sin  
Till they shall equal him in vice.   

And then they likewise shall  
Their ruin have,  
For as yourselves your Empire's fall,  
And every Kingdom hath a grave.   

Thus those Celestial fires,  
Though seeming mute  
The fallacy of our desires  
And all the pride of life confute.   

For they have watched since first  
The World had birth:  
And found sin in itself accursed,  
And nothing permanent on earth.    

Et alta a longè cognoscit. DAVID.  
TO the cold humble hermitage  
(Not tenanted but by discoloured age,  
Or youth enfeebled by long prayer  
And tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repair▪  
But from the lofty gilded roof  
Stained with some Pagan fiction, keeps a loof.  
Nor the gay Landlord daignes to know  
Whose buildings are like Monsters but for show.  
Ambition! whither wilt thee climb,  
Knowing thy art, the mooker● of time?  
Which by examples tells the high  
Rich structures, they must as their owners die:  
And while they stand, their tenants are  
Detraction, flattery, wantonness, and care,  
Pride, envy, arrogance, and doubt,  
Surfeit, and ease still tortured by the gout.  
O rather may I patient dwell  
In th' injuries of an ill-covered cell!  
'Gainst whose too weak defence the hail,  
The angry winds, and frequent showers prevail.  
Where the swift measures of the day,  
Shall be distinguished only as I pray:  
And some stars solitary light  
Be the sole taper to the tedious night▪  
The neighbo'ring fountain (not accursed  
Like wine with madness) shall allay my thirst:  
And the wild fruits of Nature give  
Diet enough, to let me feel I feel, I live▪  
You wantoness! who impoverish Seas,  
And th' air dispeople, your proud taste to please!  
A greedy tyrant you obey▪  
Who varies still its tribu●e with the day.  
What interest doth all the vain  
Cunning of surfeit to your senses gain?  
Since it obscure the Spirit must  
And bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust.  
While who forgetting rest and far;  
Watcheth the fall and rising of each star,  
Ponders how bright the orbs do move,  
And thence how much more bright the heavens abov●  
Where on the heads of Cherubins  
Th' Almighty sits dis●aining our bold sins:  
Who while on th' earth we gr●veling lie  
Dare in our pride of building tempt the sky.   

Universum statum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus. DAVID.  

MY Soul! When thou and I  
Shall on our frighted deathbed lie;  
Each moment watching when pale death  
Shall snatch away our latest breath,  
And between two long joined Lovers force  
An endless sad divorce:   

How wilt thou then? that art  
My rational and nobler part,  
Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try  
To draw from weak Philosophy  
Some strength: and flatter thy poor state,  
'Cause 'tis the common fate?   

How will thy spirits pant  
And tremble when they feel the want  
Of th' usual organs; and that all  
The vital powers begin to fall?  
When 'tis decreed, that thou must go,  
Yet whether; who can know?   

How fond and idle then  
Will seem the mysteries of men?  
How like some dull ill-acted part  
The subtlest of proud humane art?  
How shallow even the deepest sea,  
When thus we ebb away?   

But how shall I (that is  
My fainting earth) look pale at this?  
Disjointed on the rack of pain.  
How shall I murmur, how complain;  
And craving all the aid of skill,  
Find none, but what must kill?   

Which way so ere my grief  
Doth throw my fight to court relief,  
I shall but meet despair; for all  
Will prophesy my funeral:  
The very silence of the room  
Will represent a tomb.   

And while my children's tears,  
My Wives vain hopes, but certain fears,  
And counsels of Divines advance  
Death in each doleful circumstance:  
I shall even a sad mourner be  
At my own obsequy.   

For by examples I  
Must know that others sorrows die  
Soon as ourselves, and none survive  
To keep our memories alive.  
Even our falls tombs, as loath to say  
We once had life, decay.    

Laudate Dominum de caelis DAVID.  

YOu Spirits! who have thrown away  
That enveous weight of clay  
Which your celestial flight denied:  
Who by your glorious troops supply  
The winged Hierarchy,  
So broken in the Angel's pride!   

O you! whom your Creator's sight  
Inebriates with delight!  
Sing forth the triumphs of his name  
All you enamoured souls! agree  
In a loud symphony:  
To give expressions to your flame!   

To him, his own great works relate,  
Who deigned to elevate  
You 'bove the frailty of your birth:  
Where you stand safe from that rude war,  
With which we troubled are  
By the rebellion of our earth   

While a corrupted air beneath  
Here in this World we breathe  
Each hour some passion us assails:  
Now lust casts wildfire in the blood,  
Or that it may seem good,  
Itself in wit or beauty veils.   

Then envy circle's us with hate,  
And lays a siege so straight,  
No heavenly succour enters in:  
But if Revenge admittance find,  
For ever hath the mind  
Made forseit of itself to sin.   

Assaulted thus, how dare we raise  
Our minds to think his praise,  
Who is Eternal and immense?  
How dare we force our feeble wit  
To speak him infinite,  
So far above the search of sense?▪   

O you! who are immaculate  
His name may celebrate  
In your souls bright expansion.  
You whom your virtues did unite  
To his perpetual light,  
That even with him you now shine one.   

W●ile we who t' earth contract our hearts,  
And only study Arts  
To shorten the sad length of Time:  
In place of joys bring humble fears:  
For hymns, repentant tears  
And a new sigh for every crime.    

Qui quasi flos egreditur.  
To the Right Honourable, the Lady Cat. T.  

Fair Madam! You  
May see what's man in yo●d' bright rose▪  
Though it the wealth of Nature owes,  
It is oppressed, and bends with dew.   

Which shows, though fate  
May promise still to warm our lips,  
And keep our eyes from an eclipse;  
It will our pride with tears abate.   

Poor ●illy flower!  
Though in thy beauty thou presume,  
And breath which doth the spring presume▪  
Thou may'st be cropped this very hour.   

And though it may  
Then thy good fortune be, to rest  
Oth' pillow of some Lady's breast;  
Thou'lt whither, and be thrown away.   

For 'tis thy doom  
However, that there shall appear  
No memory that thou grew'st here,  
Ere the tempestuous winter come.   

But flesh is lo●th  
By meditation to fore see  
How loathed a nothing it must be:  
Proud in the triumphs of its growth.   

And tamely can  
Behold this mighty world decay  
And wear by th' age of time away:  
Yet not discourse the fall of man.   

But Madam these  
Are thoughts to cure sick humane pride▪  
And medicines are in vain applied,  
To bodies far 'bove all disease.   

For you so live  
As th' Angels in one perfect state;  
Safe from the ruins of our fate,  
By virtues great preservative.   

And though we see  
Beauty enough to warm each heart;  
Yet you by a chaste Chemic Art,  
Calcine frail love to piety.    

Quid gloriaris in malicia? DAVID.  

SWell no more proud man, so high▪  
For enthroned where ere you sit  
Raised by fortune, sin and wit:  
In a vault thou dust must lie.  
He who's lifted up by vice  
Hath a neighb'ring precipice▪  
Dazzling his distorted eye.   

Shallow is that unsafe sea  
Over which you spread your sail:  
And the Bark you trust to, frail  
As the Winds it must obey  
Mischief, while it prospers, brings▪  
Favour from the smile of Kings  
Useless soon is thrown away,   

Profit, though sin it extort,  
Princes even accounted good,  
Courting greatness ne'er withstood,  
Since it Empire doth support.  
But when death makes them repent  
They condemn the instrument,  
And are thought Religious for't.   

Pitched down from that height you bear,  
How distracted will you lie;  
When your flattering Clients fly  
As your fate infectious were?  
When of all th' obsequious throng  
That moved by your eye and tongue  
N●ne shall in the storm appear?   

When that abject insolence  
(Which submits to the more great,  
And disdains the weaker state,  
As misfortune were offence)  
Shall at Court be judged a crime  
Though in practice, and the Time  
Purchase wit at your expense.   

Each small tempest shakes the proud;  
Whose large branches vainly sprout  
'Bove the measure of the root.  
But let storms speak ne'er so loud,  
And th' astonished day benight;  
Yet the just shines in a light  
Fair as noon without a cloud.    

Deus Deus Meus. DAVID.  

WHere is that fool Philosophy,  
That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sense;  
Great God when I consider thee,  
Omnipotent, Eternal, and imen?  
Unmoved thou didst behold the pride  
Of th' Angels, when they to defection fell?  
And without passion didst provide  
To punish treason, racks and death in hell.  
Thy Word created this great All,  
Ith' lower part whereof we wage such wars:  
The upper bright and spherical  
By purer bodies tenanted, the stars.  
And though six days it thee did please  
To build this frame, the seventh for rest t' assign▪  
Yet was it not thy pain or ease,  
But to teach man the quantities of Time.  
This world so mighty and so fair,  
So'bove the reach of all dimension:  
If to thee God we should compare,  
Is not the slenderst atame to the Sun.  
What then am I poor nothing man!  
That elevate my voice and speak of thee?  
Since no imagination can  
Distinguish part of thy immensity?  
What am I who dare call thee God  
And raise my fancy to discourse thy power?  
To whom dust is the period,  
Who am not sure to farm this very hour?  
For how know I the latest sand  
In my frail glass of life, doth not now f●ll?  
And while I thus astonished stand  
I but prepare for my own funeral?  
Death doth with man no order keep:  
It reckons not by the expense of years.  
But makes the Queen and beggar weep,  
And ne'er distinguishes between their tears.  
He who the victory doth gain  
Falls as he him pursues, who from him flies,  
And is by too good fortune slain.  
The Lover in his amorous courtship dies.  
The statesman suddenly expires  
While he for others ruin doth prepare:  
And the gay Lady while she admires  
Her pride, and curls in wanton nets her hair.  
No state of man is fortified  
Against the assault of th' universal doom:  
But who th' Almighty fear, deride  
Pale death, and meet with triumph in the tomb.    

Quoniam ego in flagella paratus sum. DAVID.  

FIX me on some bleak precipice,  
Where I ten thousand years may stand:  
Made now a statue of ice,  
Then by the summer scorched and tanned▪   

Place me alone in some frail bone  
‛ Mid the horrors of an angry Sea:  
Where I while time shall move, may float  
Despairing either land or day!   

Or under earth my youth confine  
To th' night and silence of a cell:  
Where Scorpions may my limbs entwine.  
O God So thou forgive me hell.   

Eternity! when I think thee,  
(Which never any end must have,  
Nor knewest beginning) and foresee  
Hell is designed for sin a grave.   

My frighted flesh trembles to dust,  
My blood ebbs fearfully away:  
Both guilty that they did to lust  
And vanity, my youth be●ray.   

My eyes, which from each beauteous sight  
Drew Spider-like black venom in:  
Close like the marigold at night  
Oppressed with dew to bathe my sin.   

My ears shut up that easy door  
Which did proud fallacies admit:  
And vow to hear no follies more;  
Deaf to the charms of sin and wit.   

My hands (which when they touched some f●ire▪  
Imagined such an excellence,  
As th' Ermines skin ungentle were)  
Contract themselves, and lose all sense.   

But you bold sinners! still pursue  
Your valiant wickedness, and brave  
Th' Almighty justice: he'll subdue  
And make you cowards in the grave.   

Then when he as your judge appears,  
In vain you'll tremble and lament.  
And hope to soften him with tears,  
To no advantage penitent.   

Then will you scorn those treasures, which  
So fiercely now you dote upon:  
Then curse those pleasures did bewitch  
You to this sad illusion.   

The neighbouring mountains which you shall  
Woo to oppress you with their weight:  
Disdainful will deny to fall▪  
By a sad death to ease your fate.   

In vain some midnight storm at sea  
To swallow you, you will desire:  
In vain upon the wheel you'll pray  
Broken with torments to expire.   

Death, at the fight of which you start,  
In a mad fury than you'll Court:  
Yet hate th' expressions of your heart,  
Which only shall be sighed for sport.   

No sorrow then shall enter in  
With pity the great judges ears.  
This moment's ours. Once dead, his sin  
Man cannot expiate with tears.    

Militia est vita hominis.  
To Sir Hen Per.  
Sir  
WEre it your appetite of glory, (which  
In noblest times, did bravest souls bewitch  
To fall in love with danger,) that now draws  
You to the fate of war; it claims applause:  
And every worthy hand would pluck a bough  
From the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.  
Since you unforced part from your Lady's bed  
Warm with the purest love, to lay your head  
Perhaps on some rude turf, and sadly feel  
The night's cold damps wrapped in a sheen of steel.  
You leave your well grown woods; and meadows which  
Our Severne doth with fruitful streams enrich.  
Your woods where we see such large herds of Dear  
Your meads whereon such goodly flocks appear.  
You leave your Castle, safe both for defence  
And sweetly wanton with magnificence  
With all the cost and cunning beautified  
That adds to state, where nothing wants but pride.  
These charms might have been powerful to have stayed  
Great minds resolved for action, and betrayed  
You to a glorious ease: since to the war  
Men by desire of prey invited are,  
Whom either sin or want makes desperate  
Or else disdain of their own narrow fate,  
But you nor hope of fame or a release  
Of the most sober government in peace,  
Did to the hazard of the army bring:  
Only a pure devotion to the King  
In whose just cause whoever fights, must be  
Triumphant: since even death is victory.  
And what is life, that we to wither it  
To a weak wrinkled age, should torture wit  
To find out Nature's secrets; what doth length  
Of time deserve, if we want heat and strength?  
When a brave quarrel doth to arm●s proyoke  
Why should we fear to venture this thin smoke  
This empty shadow, life? t●is which the wise  
As the fool's Idol, soberly despise?  
Why should we not throw willingly away  
A game we cannot save, now that we may  
Gain honour by the gift? since haply when  
We only shall be statue of men  
And our own monuments, Peace will deny  
Our wretched age so brave a 'cause to die.  
But these are thought! And action 'tis doth give  
A soul to courage, and make virtue live:  
Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongue  
Of bold Philosophy, but in the strong  
Undaunted spirit, which encounters those  
Sad dangers, we to fancy scarce propose  
Yet 'tis the true and highest fortitude  
To keep our inward enemies subdued:  
Not to permit our passions over sway  
Our actions, nor our wanton fl●sh betray  
The souls chaste Empire: for however we  
To th' outward show may gain a victory  
And proudly triumph: if to conquour sin  
We combat not, we are at war within.   

Vias tuas Domine demonstr a mihi.  

WHere have I wandered? In what way Horrid as night  
Increased by storms did I delight?  
Though my sad soul did often say  
'Twas death and madness so to stray.   

On tha● false ground I joyed to tread Which seemed most fair,  
Though every path had a new snare,  
And every turning still did lead,  
To the dark Region of the dead.   

But with the surfeit of delight I am so tired  
That now I loathe what I admired,  
And my distasted appetite  
So 'bhors the meat, it hates the sight.   

For should we naked sin descry Not beautified  
By th' aid of wantonness and pride  
Like some misshapen birth 'twould lie  
A torment to th' affrighted eye.   

But clothed in beauty and respect Even o'er the wise,  
How powerful doth it tyrannize!  
Whose monstrous form should they detract  
They famine sooner would affect.   

And since those shadows which oppress My sight begin  
To clear, and show the shape of sin,  
A Scorpion sooner be my guest,  
And warm his venom in my breast.   

May I before I grow so vile By sin again,  
Be thrown off as a scorn to men!  
May th' angry world decree, t' excile  
Me to some yet unpeopled Isle.   

Where while I straggle, and in vain Labour to find  
Some creature that shall have a mind,  
What justice have I to complain  
If I thy inward grace retain?   

My God if thou shalt not exclude Thy comfort thence:  
What place can seem to troubled sense  
So melancholy dark and rude,  
To be esteemed a solitude.   

Cast me upon some naked shore Where I may track  
Only the print of some sad wrack;  
If thou be there, though the seas roar,  
I shall no gentler calm implore.   

Should the Cymmerians, whom no ray Doth ere enlight  
But gain thy grace, th' have lost their night:  
Not sinners at high noon, but they  
'Mong their blind clouds have found the day.    

Et Exaltavit Humiles.  

HOw cheerfully th' unpartial Sun  
Gilds with his beams  
The narrow streams  
Oth' Brook which silently doth run  
Without a name?  
And yet disdains to lend his flame  
To the wide channel of the Thames?   

The largest mountains barren lie  
And lightning fear,  
Though they appear  
To bid defiance to the sky;  
Which in one hour  
W'have seen the opening earth devour  
When in their height they proudest were.   

But th' humble man heaves up his head  
Like some rich vale  
Whose fruits ne'er fail  
With flowers, with corn, and vines o'erspread.  
Nor doth complain  
Oreflowed by an ill seasoned rain  
Or battered by a storm of hail.   

Like a tall Bark with treasure fraught  
He the seas clear  
Doth quiet steer:  
But when they are t' a tempest wrought;  
More gallantly  
He spreads his sail, and doth more high  
By swelling of the waves, appear.   

For the Almighty joys to force  
The glorious tide  
Of humane pride  
To th' lowest ebb; that o'er his course  
(Which rudely bore  
Down what opposed it heretofore)  
His feeblest enemy may stride.   

But from his ill-thatcht roof he brings  
The Cottager  
And doth prefer  
Him to th' adored state of Kings:  
He bids that hand  
Which labour hath made rough and ●and  
The all commanding Sceptre bear.   

Let then the mighty cease to boast  
Their boundless sway:  
Since in their Sea▪  
Few sail, but by some storm are lost.  
Let them themselves  
Beware for they are their own shelves  
Man still himself hath cast away.    

Dominus Dominantium.  

SVpreame Divinity! Who yet  
Could ever find  
By the bold scrutiny of wit,  
The treasury where thou lock'st up the wind?   

What Majesty of Princes can  
A tempest awe;  
When the distracted Ocean  
Swells to Sedition, and obeys no Law?   

How wretched doth the Tyrant stand  
Without a boast?  
When his rich fleece even touching land  
He by some storm in his own Port sees lost?   

Vain pomp of life! what narrow bound  
Ambition  
Is circled with? How false a ground  
Hath humane pride to build its triumphs on?   

And Nature how dost thou delude  
Our search to know?  
When the same winds which here intrude  
On us with frosts and only winter blow:   

Breath temprate on th' adjoining earth;  
And gently bring  
To the glad field a fruitful birth  
With all the treasures of a wanton Spring.   

How diversely death doth assail;  
How sporting kill?  
While one is scorched up in the vale  
The other is congealed o'th' neighbouring hill.   

While he with heats doth dying glow  
Above he sees  
The other hedged in with his snow  
And envies him his ice although he frieze.   

Proud folly of pretending Art,  
Be ever dumb.  
And humble thy aspiring heart,  
When thou findest glorious Reason overcome.   

And you A strologers, whose eye  
surveys the stars!  
And off●r thence to prophesy  
Success in peace, and the event of wars.   

Throw down your eyes upon that dust  
You proudly tread!  
And know to that resolve you must!  
That is the scheme where all their fate may read.    

Cogitabo pro peccato meo.  

IN what dark silent grove  
Profaned by no unholy love.  
Where witty melancholy ne'er  
Did carve the trees or wound the air,  
Shall I religious leisure win  
To weep away my sin?   

How fond have I spent  
My youths unvalued treasure, lent  
To traffic for Celestial joys?  
My unripe years pursuing toys;  
judging things best that were most gay▪  
Fled unobserved away.   

Grown elder I admired  
Our Poets as from heaven inspired  
What Obelisks decreed I fit  
For spencers Art, and Sydnyes wit?  
But waxing sober soon I found▪  
Fame but an Idle sound.   

Then I my blood obeyed  
And each bright face an Idol made:  
Verse in an humble Sacrifice,  
I offered to my Mistress eyes.  
But I no sooner grace did win  
But met the devil within.   

But grown more politic  
I took account of each state trick:  
Observed each motion, judged him wise,  
Who had a conscience fit to rise.  
Whom soon I found but form and rule  
And the more serious fool.   

But now my soul prepare  
To ponder what and where we are  
How frail is life, how vain a breath▪  
Opinion, how uncertain death:  
How only a poor stone shall bear  
Witness that once we were.   

How a shrill. Trumpet shall  
Us to the bar as traitors call.  
Then shall we see too late that pride  
Hath hope with flattery belied  
And that the mighty in command  
Pale Cowards there must stand.    

Recogitabo tibi omnes annos meos. ISAY.  

TIme! where didst thou those years inter  
Which I have seen decease?  
My souls at war and truth bids her▪  
Find out their hidden Sepulchre,  
To give her troubles peace.   

Pregnant with flowers doth not the Spring  
Like a late bride appear?  
Whose feathered Music only bring  
Caresses, and no Requiem sing  
On the departed year?   

The Earth, like some rich wanton heir,  
Whose Parents coffined lie,  
Forgets it once looked pale and bare  
And doth for vanities prepare,  
As the Spring ne'er should die.   

The present hour, flattered by all  
Reflects not on the last;  
But I, like a sad factor shall  
IT account my life each moment call,  
And only weep the past.   

My memory tracks each several way  
Since Reason did begin  
Over my actions her first sway:  
And teacheth me that each new day  
Did only vary sin.   

Poor bankrupt Conscience! where are those  
Rich hours but farmed to thee?  
How carelessly I some did lose,  
And other to my lust dispose  
As no rent day should be?   

I have infected with impure  
Disorders my past years.  
But I'll to penitence inure  
Those that succeed. There is no cure  
Nor Antidote but tears.    

Cupio dissolvi. Paul.  

THe soul which doth with God unite,  
Those gayities how doth she slight  
Which o'er opinion sway?  
Like sacred Virgin wax, which shines  
On Altars or on Martyr's shrines  
How doth she burn away?   

How violent are her throws till she  
From envious earth delivered be,  
Which doth her flight restrain?  
How doth she dote on whips and racks,  
On fires and the so dreaded Axe,  
And every murdering pain?   

How soon she leaves the pride of wealth,  
The flatteries of youth and health  
And fames more precious breath.  
And every gaudy circumstance  
That doth the pomp of life advance  
At the approach of death?   

The cunning of Astrologers  
Observes each motion of the stars  
Placing all knowledge there:  
And Lovers in their Mistress eyes  
Contract those wonders of the sky's.  
And seek no higher sphere.   

The wand'ring Pilot sweats to find  
The causes that produce the wind  
Still gazing on the Pole.  
The Politician scorns all Art  
But what doth pride and power impart.  
And swells the ambitious soul.   

But he whom heavenly fire doth warm,  
And against these powerful folly's arm,  
Doth soberly disdain  
All these fond humane mysteries  
As the deceitful and unwise  
Distempers of our brain.   

He as a burden bears his clay,  
Yet vainly throws it not away  
On every idle cause:  
But with the same untroubled eye  
Can or resolve to live or die,  
Regardless of th' applause.   

My God If 'tis thy great decree  
That this must the last moment be  
Wherein I breathe this air;  
My heart obeys joyed to retreat  
From the false favours of the great  
And treachery of the fair.   

When thou shalt please this soulet ' enthrowne,  
Above impure corruption;  
What should I grieve or fear.  
To think this breathless body must  
Become a loathsome heap of dust  
And ne'er again appear.   

For in the fire when Ore is tried;  
And by that torment purified:  
Do we deplore the loss?  
And when thou shalt my soul refine,  
That it thereby may purer shine  
Shall I grieve for the dross?    
FINIS.