PLEASURES VISION: WITH DESERTS COMPLAINT, AND A SHORT DIALOGUE of a Woman's Properties, between an old Man and a Young.  
BY ARTHUR NEWMAN of the Middle Temple Gent:  
LONDON, Printed by G. E. for Thomas Bayly, and are to be sold at his Shop in the Middle-row in Holborn near Staple Inn. 1619.   

TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFUL, AND truly Worthy, Sir George Newman Knight.  
I Have adventured this mean work to your learned Censure, only with a longing desire to make my love to you legible: and I was the more encouraged, in that I knew you would read with Patience; for I assure myself you will forget no Virtue. Yet since I expect for but a bewraying witness of mine idle hours, so great a privilege as your grave Patronage, I must acknowledge myself guilty of inexcusable presumption, that so the confession of my fault may plead for some favour, although not altogether for pardon. I can say little for myself but this, that if I have here done amiss, I promise all my endeavours for amendment hereafter. In the mean time I wish I had done better, and more for your sake, than mine own. For I honour your worth, and account it a happiness to preserve your love.  
Unfeignedly yours, ARTHUR NEWMAN.   

AD AMICUM suum omni laud et obseruantia dignissimum ARE NEWMAN.  
novi tenerum, novi iunevilibus annis  
cùm vox iucundi plena leporis erat,  
Et dixs de te mihi semper, Apolline cert●  
dignus eris: nec mens haec mihi vana fuit,  
Ecce Caballino sitis est nunc font lenata:  
pocula Castali●s nunc saturantur aquis,  
Digna trophaea feres, cingent tua tempera la●●i  
●t patria est meritis grata futura tuis.  PE: LOWER.  

PLEASURES VISION.  
WHen, in the Confines of the silent Night  
Refreshing Sleep seized on each wearied wight  
And did, with gentle Slumbers, and soft Ease,  
The raging Motions of sad Care appease;  
hushed were the moans of hapless wights oppressed:  
And harmless thoughts were ●ill'd in pleasant Rest:  
Now, bad, unquiet, and pernicious mind.  
Surceasd to plot their dangerous Designs:  
Now, st●ll'd was Strife, and troublesome Debate,  
And pining Envy, now forgot to hate:  
And darkness reigned, that harmless Sleep might be  
Hid f●om the Troubles which the Light doth see:  
And, in the Bed whereon myself was laid,  
There, d●ou c Slumbers, for th●● Lodging stayed:  
But me of Rest, deluding Marpheus ●eau●d;  
And, in a Dream my Senses so deceived  
That, as awaked, I saw, or seemed to see:  
A perfect Man, or Gallant, one was he:  
But by the strangeness of his outward show  
He seemed the last, and he was doubtless so.  
Light was his carriage, and his Gate affected,  
Oay his attire, and manly Shape neglected:  
For like a nice Dame that doth Pride affect,  
He with unmanlike Curiousness was decked:  
In Nations of disguises he was clad,  
And every Limb a several fashion had:  
And ever on himself he fond gas'd,  
As, with the strangeness of himself amazed:  
And on himself enamoured was he,  
As commonly Fantastics use to be.  
His unpremeditated words, like wind  
Were light, and blustering, and bewrayed his mind:  
Unconstant, and still wandering were his looks,  
And, in his face, as in lascivious books  
Whole Stories you of lightness might have read;  
For there, it wanton inhabited,  
Yet he, of Nature's best gifts, plenty had:  
And pity 'twas they were bestowed so bad,  
For those save Eyes which lewdness so proclaimed,  
Nature at first for ornament ordained:  
For she had done her part, and set him forth,  
With lively Shape, and outward signs of worth,  
And Hope at first said, this fair seeming Inn  
Had no ill guests that harboured within.  
His lightness was not Nature's fault, o no,  
It was his mind that those parts sniuted so:  
Then Nature, since thy bounty wronged hath been,  
In such again let it no more be seen.  
His youthful years did flourish in their prime;  
And lusty health, cheered up his looks: and Time  
On his untamed will did seem t'attend,  
As though to him a Servant, and a friend.  
Swift Time, that it might be by him well used,  
Oft show'd, that where it idly was abused,  
There it must vanish, and pe're come again,  
But oft be called, and cried for back, in vain:  
And Fortune looking on him, smoothed her Brow,  
And played the Prodigal that he might know  
She hath no bounds to limit her great power,  
But where she smiles, she cloies; yet if she lower,  
Then, acts a Misery beyond belief:  
And as the fills with joy, so kills with grief.  
Then Beauties decked with Nature, and with Art,  
Did all their sweets to his desires impart,  
They freely opened to complete his pleasure,  
Their all-alluring, and commanding treasure.  
Some had such tempting looks, and Angell-features,  
That, but I saw their frailty, heavenly Creatures  
I them had deemed: they power had to allure  
(Without great providence) holy, and pure.  
And sure there is no man (as I believe)  
That can behold such err but he must grieve.  
Others there were, and of an other kind  
Which also fancied his lustful mind.  
Some meanly fair, some foul, others their feature  
With Art did help, in spite, and scorn of Nature.  
With those he wantoned for variety;  
(For all, insatiable Lust must try.)  
Thus slept he in this Dream of false delight,  
Still acting shameful deeds, of shameless Night;  
And wasting Plenty, as with Spoil compounded  
In lavishing, and all Excess abounded:  
Banquets were Surfeits, and were near without  
Healths of abused Wine still quaffed about.  
He in the spoil of honest thrift did slow;  
And none (alas) said, this should not be so  
His Ears were slopped when was blamed by Fame,  
And some to add more fuel to his flame  
Falsely protested, pity 'twas that he  
Might not some King, or mighty Monarch be:  
And to such height his bounty did advance,  
" That he to his own music seemed to dance.  
None there distinguished Liberality  
From all-consuming Prodigality:  
For pledges of their love, they smooth words pawned,  
And just like dirty dogs upon him fawned,  
That leave no love sign but offensive Mire.  
Others there were, to humour his desire,  
That still with newfound Sports his fancy fed,  
And him from pleasure unto pleasure led,  
They had the Art, and only tricks to stray  
With all devices tending to decay.  
And, what he liked, or loathed, none gainsaid,  
But good, or bad, his will was still obeyed,  
Base servile minds even over humoured him,  
Whilst he in Seas of fleeting joys did swim.  
The uncontrolled life he did commend,  
And dearest deemed his numor-feeding friend:  
And still, Vice-punishing Authority,  
He, (outlaw-like) would slight; and braving try  
Desperate Exploits; to show he nought did fear,  
Nor yet his humour could, or would forbear.  
And such as he was, were his company,  
That ready always were for Villainy.  
No care, or grief did harbour near his heart,  
No cross did from his jollity him part.  
No want of Pleasure, Liberty, or Fase  
Did his contentments any way displease;  
For, all delights which might each Sense content,  
By Vanity herself to him were lent.  
But ah, extremes can ne'er endure, and Meat  
That is most sweet with sourest Sauce we eat:  
For, in a moment all this vanished,  
And he himself stood strangely altered:  
For, where as once he seemed a blooming Spring,  
O're-filld with plenty of each pleasing thing:  
Now feeble Age, and now disdained want,  
Seemed in his looks their dwelling seats to plant.  
His Eyes waxed hollow, looks lean, cold his heats,  
And cate had folded up his brows in pleates,  
He rend his hair, his face he bathed in tears,  
For precious Time misspent in youthful years:  
And, as chief Cause of his misery,  
On pleasures past exclaimed bitterly:  
For calling them to mind, he ten times more  
Did execiate his Fortune, than before.  
Many passed by, and laughed his woes to scorn:  
And some did patty, seeing him for forlorn.  
Yet, former friends, but like his shadow were  
That followed him in Sunshine every where;  
But, when a Storm of Trouble cometh on,  
They soon fall off; and like to shades are gone:  
Yea, each thing else, that he esteemed dear,  
But to augment his anguish did appear.  
And, all the flattering Hopes he erst possessed,  
Forsook him quite, and he was quite distressed.  
These alterations seemed to me so strange,  
That I enquired the Cause of all this change.  
Whereat his heavy Eyes on me he bent,  
Through streams of Tears, made thick with languishment,  
And, bid me lend his words attentive ear,  
That in my heart I might them better bear.  
I silent was; when, lo, this ruthful Man,  
With Sighs, and Sobs his speeches thus began.  
In prime of lusty head, when youthful Spleen,  
Had ne'er the wiles and guiles of Pleasure seen.  
Not dreamt, how precious is swift winged Time,  
Which, as it flees, our Fortune's fall, and climb:  
Nor yet, by oath charms once taking heed,  
But wild delights did wandering Senses feed:  
Then, my vain will untamed, untutored,  
Left Reason's Rule, and roaued as fancy led:  
Like to a lost Sheep, from his Shepherd strayed,  
Running to wrack without his Keeper's aid.  
I ne'er my own affections did control,  
For they commanded all within my Soul:  
Not I regarded future good, or ill,  
Nor had of Pleasure till my fall, my fill.  
I did amiss; and now with grief may say,  
Only for that, I threw myself away:  
Yet blinded, no familiar dangers knew,  
That waited on me; nor till I did rue,  
Percen●'d that woe on pleasure did attend,  
Which contraries, (too oft) in one do end.  
O! so my thoughts with pleasures spells were charmed,  
That they over came me 'gainst their force unarmed:  
For which, nought but Repentance yields relief,  
And yet (alas) that adds but grief to grief:  
Yet grief for gracelessness doth much relieve,  
Because we ought for gracelessness to grieve.  
Friends I obaied not, therefore they me leave,  
Pleasure I followed, that did me deceive:  
Fortune, and Time once gently on me smiled,  
I then mistaking both, myself beguiled,  
I Time misspent, and Fortune did neglect,  
Therefore with cause they do me now reject.  
I made the means, (for my good only) lent,  
By lavishing, of woe the Instrument.  
And then brave Prodigal Vice styled my name,  
Now therefore, Ruin, and the Map of shame:  
And wherein I myself thought most secure,  
I'm therein for mine Error most unsure.  
If man himself can promise aught; 'tis this,  
That what he aims at most, he most shall miss,  
For worldly certainty is but although,  
And so it vanisheth, and turns to nought.  
O! of all Creatures breathing vital Air,  
Man, of his wavering fate may most despair:  
For, there's no danger, misery, nor Care,  
But therein destined is to him a share.  
And his best earthly bliss no longer lasts,  
Then Vapours do, in whirling windy blasts:  
If rich, or poor, a Beggar, or a King,  
His Rose hath pricks, his honey hath a Sting:  
His comick-mirth is mixed with tragic woes,  
And Ebbs ensue when most he overfloes:  
He like the Moon may not at full remain,  
But (like her) changing still, must wax, and wain;  
He, only he, is nought but fortune's sport,  
The spoil of Time, and place where Cares resort,  
The plant that 'midst great heat, and moisture growth,  
Now green, now parched, now at a stay, 'twixt both.  
The very wheel which Fortune turneth still  
Is Man; for him she turns which way she will:  
He seems of Change a Character, or Map;  
Or what is still most subject to mishap.  
Or like a Ship, whose Pilot wanting skill,  
(Though far from Rocks) in doubt, and danger still:  
For here and there the Fortunes of Man kind,  
Are blown, and tossed like Ships in storming wind:  
What's past and present is the most that can  
By all allowed Art be known by Man:  
But, what ensuing Fate may or will be,  
Till past prevention he can never see;  
Nor yet know when, or where good hap, or ill  
May raise, or cast him to the Dale, or Hill  
He can but guess at most, and who doth so,  
He nothing truly, but by guess shall know.  
For what of him the Destiny's decree,  
Because he's Man, unknown must ever be,  
Then let not him presume that's fortunate,  
Since still uncertain is his doubtful state.  
Since Pleasure's Sirens are, that Ruin sing;  
Since Fortune's great do great misfortunes bring;  
Since there's no Earthly welfare or delight,  
That with the Morn doth rise, but sets ere Night.  
And why through dangers, restless cares, and pain,  
Should man attempt frail honours to obtain?  
When got, his puft-up thoughts so vainly range,  
That, what they are, and o! how soon they change,  
He cannot think▪ for with a thought they vary,  
So, hopes to hold those haps which cannot tarry.  
And who sees not, that to none other end  
Fortune doth oft to Man her favours lend,  
But, on poor him her Tyranny to try,  
And laugh to see him for her live, and die.  
For, when in greatest height of best delight,  
In thought secure, in honours shining bright;  
When rocked, and lulled in Pleasure's charming lap,  
Scorning to think that aught can breed mishap,  
Fortune, to show her ever-changing power,  
Turns in a Moment, all his sweet to sour,  
And from those destined Ills, o how shall he  
Poor servile bondman manumised be?  
To whom shall he appeal? or who hath power?  
Is't angry Heaven? Fates? Stars? or some thing lower?  
Yea, 'tis himself; for he was framed by jove,  
To be all other Creatu●es far above,  
Next to his ever-great all seeing Maker,  
Of wisdom, and safe providence partaker.  
But he as subject to his straying will,  
Embracing that for good, which tried is ill,  
And weighing not how frail a thing is man,  
Not yet for eseeing what Chance hourly can,  
Forgets himself, and without mean, or measure,  
Wakes to waste I me, yet dreams on nought but pleasure,  
And, with his faults so partially doth beat,  
That until ruined, cannot Ruin fear.  
He dreads no fire until he feel it burn,  
Till whipped with his own Rods doth never turn,  
Then his misdeeds, and then his Time misspent,  
With too late penitence he doth lament.  
Thus unaduiled Neghgence doth bring  
Him to be Sorrones helpless underling.  
Thus to himself he proves a traitorous foe,  
And Vipe: like is Mother of his woe:  
For, in his breast hes many a thought, and deed,  
That coming forth, do his destruction breed;  
And man, as fearing he should scanted be  
Of his forbidden destes, so eagerly  
Doth all then mottall baits ingurgitate,  
When therewith should ne'er be satiate.  
〈◊〉 being once to tun amiss inclined,  
H●● tau●●s he fees not, self will makes him blind,  
And leads him headlong unto cursed ends,  
E●e he can think what danger him attends:  
And now, youth's heedless and unbridled rage,  
And even some of green and tender Age.  
Vn●cemingly can vaunt how they will drink,  
Quaff, and carouse; and those themselves do link  
With men debauthed, vile, lauith, and profane,  
Which work their own, and their Associates bane:  
Which, like diseases, do Society  
Corrupt with their infectious Company:  
Which daily on the utter Ruin feed  
Of rash youth, which have neither head nor heed:  
And those things which for Comforts we should use,  
Lake wretches, they unthankfully abuse,  
For shame, for pity, for yourselves forbear,  
And ●●●ingsters sly their haunts; the Plague is there.  
Then harms, are by Examples still revealed,  
To ●●e we see permits them not concealed:  
That we may notice take, and safely shun,  
The dangers which so many have undone.  
But now our Corn is over grown with weed,  
And men even strive who may in vice exceed.  
The truest badge of a true Gallants will,  
Is to be dating in attempting Ill  
They must not seem their Vanives to hide,  
But mount the Pitch where most they may be spied:  
I or they are grown to such a monstrous height,  
In all they even glory to delight.  
They with brave outward shows much baseness hide,  
And fly aloft with wings of towering pride:  
They tag; and quench with blood hot Angers fires,  
And cool with Sin their heat of lewd desires,  
Or lewd ●●●es, begot of Fancies foul,  
That tune health, and wealth, and wit, and Soul.  
Ins●●●ou● to themselves, Sins very lees,  
And poisoned sweets, stolen from forbidden Trees,  
The fearful acts of black and shameless Night,  
Honey for Drones, for D●uells the delight,  
And we (too true) do by Experience see,  
That great and small by them still ruin'd be.  
It is not power, or golden Vanity,  
Still blinding I une, or masked Hypocrisy,  
Or making justice from her limns stray  
Can s●l●e these crimes, or wash then spots away  
'Twere Sin to think so for the end it tues,  
When the rewards of Vice are miseries,  
For come (and none how soon know) must the time,  
When known and pun●●● shall be every Cain.  
And those sweet Sins which did the Sense delight,  
Shall then their Fosterers with woe, requite.  
The fruit that we by Pleasures past shall gain,  
Will be soon s●e●●●ng joys, for lasting pain:  
O● all that we shall gain, will be but this,  
And remembrance, that we did amiss,  
For tell you ●ail●m●s, chaimed with vanity,  
And hapless wretches with the memory  
To●●●d of woe, and vengeance-crying in's;  
What have you got? the cheating Devil wins,  
And stalling down but counte●se●ted pleasure,  
You to gain that, do lose the priceless treasure  
Of all your grace, your liberty, and bleile,  
And he gets by your wool folly this.  
O● 〈◊〉 unto yourselves, for your own sake,  
For just account you for your selue ●●st make.  
Recall your thoughts, each fond desire s●●ey,  
And their frail motions ever disobey:  
M●pend not Time, and spoil not stour of youth,  
Believe not Pleasure, though her words seeme●●th.  
Due●● your Steps into none other Tract.  
But such as We tue treads in show and act.  
That way is safe, and never leads amiss,  
But crowns your journeys end with endless bliss.  
There are no Traps, there none will you betray,  
No Wolves on haimeles Lambs there dare to pray.  
Your Guidress here, whilst you with her do go,  
Warrants your safety 'gainst your greatest Foe:  
And no device can make her false to those,  
Which confidence in her defence repose.  
What she doth game, whilst you with her do live,  
The profit freely she to you will give:  
She will your Cause 'gainst all the world maintain  
And never shame you: but you friends shall gain  
Of all good Men; and such as run astray  
Shakstone l curse the Time, they followed not your way  
And of your goodness, to Posterity,  
When dead, you leave shall happy memory.  
Next do not Parents wary Counsel slight,  
Nor make not of true friends advise light:  
Faults which you see not, nor of them be told  
By your Companions, they with grief behold,  
And oft what dear expetience them hath bought,  
You may both hear, and learn, and shun for nought.  
And then, least like a muddy pool that standeth still,  
Filth self your body, and corrupt your will,  
In some good action ever busied be,  
So ne'er corrupting Idleness shall see  
A baneful Opportunity, to draw  
Your weakness to infringe the sacred Law  
Of heavenly Virtue, whom the Gods must right,  
Maugre all-horrid Hell's infernal might.  
And be of Company most circumspect,  
That you may good in brace, and bade reject:  
That with good liquor, your new Vessels may  
At first be filled, that still a taste may stay,  
Lest that the Bud in coming forth be blasted,  
And so the fruit be all untimely wasted.  
Then your minds forces muster, Sin to foil,  
Proclaim Defiance, Peace with it is spoil:  
If you want aid, and dare not break the Truce,  
Virtue will help to ruin Times abuse:  
And Vice, flee, when Virtue doth appear,  
Like thieves, that punishment of justice fear.  
O, think on this, and know that if you fight  
With Vice, by Virtue, till you kill it quite,  
Celestial Bliss your Victory shall crown,  
And treacherous Vice, with Ruin shall come down.  
For Time will all destroy that Time misspend,  
Then weigh your follies, and in time amend.  
A Sigh here stopped the passage of his breath,  
Whilst in his looks appeared meager death:  
And as an outward Sign of inward woe,  
He smote his Breast, while Tears did overfloe,  
Then seemed his looks, and lift-up hands to say,  
Take heed by me, so vanished he away.  
Whereat such passion did assail my heart,  
That I from Sleep, amazed, up did start.  
But what this Dream presaged I could not guess,  
Or if I could, I cannot well express:  
For various thoughts, had Arguments so many,  
That I ●nf●unded, understood not any.  
Till, after, viewing London's stately Streets,  
Wherein the Stream of Vanity still fleets;  
And swiftly runs away, as having been  
ne'er there at all; that more may still be seen.  
Then, what I sleeping did but seem to see,  
There, there, I waking found too true to be.  
FINIS.   

DESERTS COMPLAINT.  

LAte, wandting by a Valley side,  
Where weeping Streams did sadly glide,  
Sith Soll●● bright Rays could not appear,  
The place, or aught therein to cheer,  
I saw clad in a mourning Weed  
A Man whose griefs, my grief did breed.  
For Desa t desert there (alas)  
Upon his Brow engraven was,  
And coldly on cold Earth he lay  
Like some fra●'d picture of Decay.  
Or like an ancient Monument,  
Which was erected, to prevent  
Th'oblivion of some noble fact:  
Which, some dead Worthy once did act;  
And being ruined, would enforce  
All the spectators with remorse  
To breath forth helpless sighs; and then  
To roil on Time, and check those men  
That let Decay to disinherit  
True Worth of what it had by Merit.  
Thus did he lie, and like a Swan  
Dying, to ease his h●●t began  
In sad laments to sing his woe,  
And thus he sighing on did go.   

Where shall I run? where shall I fly?  
Where shall my plaints find remedy?  
Where are mine ancient friends? and where  
My followers that held me dear?  
Where may my now-lost honours be?  
Where is the Time that favoured me?  
And where and how, and what am I  
That in this wretched State here lie?  
Of former ●oyes am I not reft?  
And of the careless World quite left?  
Are not my followers distressed,  
Disdained, despised, poor, and oppressed?  
Are not my chiefest friends all dead?  
Are not many honours from me fled?  
And is not strangely Time disguised?  
O yes, for by it ●●me despised.  
I am an outcast, and dejected,  
And see with grief my Rites neglected:  
And many do usurp my place  
Which me, themselves, and it deface,  
And unto such, I plainly see,  
The world doth give what's due to me,  
If men despise, and slight me so,  
I cannot think where I may go.  
And what to do, I know not, I,  
Unless, I cease to be; and die.  
I am not frantic, for I know  
By sad Experience of my woe,  
My hapless words are too too true.  
Which they I fear too soon will rue,  
If to the Country I retire,  
There dull and earthly minds require  
Houses, and Acres, by which now  
Desert is measured, therefore how  
Can I, whom Fate hath seemed t'ordaine,  
This Reputations want to plain,  
And all frail outwards but to slight,  
Of them crave favour, much less right?  
Of my Complaints, and wrongs appease,  
Since dull-besotting Error these  
Doth so much blind, that they scarce see  
The odds between the Drone and Bee?  
And yet, if good on Earth do dwell  
'Tis in a simple rustics Cell.  
But let me wander in the City,  
O! both to her, and gentle pity,  
I am a stranger, and find none  
To entertain me; but alone  
I through her babbling streets do pass,  
That cry, What lack ye? when (alas)  
Though I what she hath lack, and she  
Be poor in what abounds in me,  
And each might other gladly pleasure,  
For each doth want the others treasure:  
Yet she, (as 'tis the use) affecting  
Only herself; and me respecting  
But like unto commodities  
Not vendable; am of no price.  
Thus her wise Ignorance doth slight me:  
And ne'er, I fear, will learn to right me.  
And when the stately Court I view,  
Whose glitting, and whose sunlike hue  
Dazzles the Eyes of every Wight  
That wants a Princelike eagle's sight;  
There I lie clouded, and this brightness  
May not reflex on me its lightness.  
I am obscure, and was not taught  
To sooth, or by him to be laughed,  
Th●t sees me strive to gain esteem,  
And not to be what I would seem.  
I cannot braving look, and be  
One, into whom could men but see,  
They might all baseness there behold,  
Yet those, than Impudence more bold,  
Can look, and vildly will assume  
To them great matters; and presume,  
When all their Fortunes do depend  
On others, and with others end.  
Yet sometimes in the Court I live,  
But want, and therefore none will give.  
From hence, if to the Camp I go,  
There's nothing now for me to do.  
For iusly Peace, although it please,  
And in the end must War appease,  
Yet so it injures Arms and me,  
That to my face, and grief I see  
The camp's a Market place, or Fair,  
Where all to buy and sell, repair.  
Desert gets nothing, not a friend  
That might, as 'tis the fashion, send  
A letter of Commends to any,  
That without me, preferreth many.  
Thus all my friends, I fear will fly me,  
Sith, now they get so little by me.  
Yet since the Camp, Court, Country, City,  
Will not my case, I theirs do pity.  
O! I so poor, and mean am deemed,  
With few I live, of few esteemed:  
I had a Time, but now (alas)  
I can but boast that once I was.  
O! once I was, now to my grief,  
I cannot be, I want relief.  
Yet once I joyed a Statesman's Seat,  
And such men only I, made great.  
And o how bright shined then their Fame,  
Which, well agreed with place and name:  
For then without Desert not any  
Can rise; though now I fear too many.  
When Fathers by my help had won,  
Honour, and Fame: yet if the Son,  
Did only house, and name inherit,  
And by Desert did nothing merit,  
Those illegitmate were deemed,  
And for their greatness less esteemed.  
'twas not, (o happy then) as now  
When a vild i'easant for the Blow,  
And nought else fit, yokes thee Desert,  
And servile makes which free borne wert.  
For his blind earthy mind can see  
No happiness more, then to be  
Blest, (as he thinks) with precious gold,  
For which he finds is bought and sold  
All honours, titles, all Earth's blisses,  
Which are the period of his wishes.  
But for the high Contents of mind,  
Their Heaven, his grossness cannot find:  
Yet this is he whom most men hold  
The wisest m●n; a man worth gold.  
This must Authority possess,  
That others faults he may redress,  
But knows not how: and why should he  
Blind in his own, another's see?  
Alas he doth usurp his place,  
And all the Rues thereof deface:  
But, sith by me, men should obtain it,  
If they without me might not gain it,  
Then reason would force some to prove me,  
And proving, all would better love me.  
Besides, preferments would attend  
On me that I might be the end,  
Whereat men's wronged thoughts might aim;  
And so a world of faults reclaim.  
For I ne'er undertook that thing  
That failed a blessed reward to bring;  
Though now to ill, by Times blind Error  
The good is turned for all Time's terror.  
Ah, once without me none aspired,  
For I in greatness was required;  
Which as it sti●●ed me to gain,  
So down on it the Heavens did rain  
Showers of honour, that still green,  
I ●a●rant, and growing it was seen:  
And then all such as me neglected  
Can never ri e but were defected.  
But then I was so loved, that he  
Was happy, which could follow me.  
Sometimes my Studies were divine,  
Wherein deep knowledge made me shine.  
I was a Shepherd, and did keep  
Free from the Fox and Wolf my Sheep:  
But now my Flock is lured from me,  
And Drones suck honey from the Bee.  
Parnassus Mount I did frequent,  
And with the sacred Muses spent  
Labour, and Time: they kind, and free  
From their own selves did give to me.  
But they their blessed gifts, so divined,  
That only they enriched the mind.  
And poor my Body was; and when  
I sought relief for it of men,  
My wants were laughed at, made a scorn,  
And I, in my distress forlorn.  
And still I saw, and wept to see  
How Fortune always ran from me,  
Who, with much Care and Labour, sought her,  
Whilst those that for her looked not, caught her.  
O 'tis decreed, for such is Fate,  
And such a Scholars injured state.  
I tedious Travels did endure,  
To make my understanding sure,  
And others woes have seen and known,  
That I might better shun mine own:  
Yea, foreign Tongues and manners gained,  
And dear Experience I obtained;  
Yet, homespun Clowns before me far,  
By Times abuse preferred are.  
When I return from bloody wars,  
With feebled Limbs, with wounds, and scars,  
Which, for but Truth, and honours sake,  
My prime of years did undertake.  
Yet if with odious want distressed,  
So slighted, and so unredressed,  
It thousands would enforce to swear,  
Desert must out of fashion wear:  
And out of fashion, who'll respect it?  
All will for fashion's sake neglect it:  
This Age is blind, it cannot see  
The sweet Content ●●e● hid in me.  
It thinks not how my Servants have,  
Which followed me, now dead in Grave,  
Still living honours, and loved Fame,  
That both Posterity and name  
Crowns with Observance and regard,  
Such is Deserts allowed Reward.  
But Tune and Error now contend,  
My Deuce and Rights from me to rend:  
Preferment now from me is fled,  
Which me as Husband once did wed,  
And would not lend a glance to any  
But only Me▪ yet now to many  
So common, like base Strumpets grown  
That all for Coin make them the●● own.  
And still-sought Opportunity,  
My once prevailing friend, o why  
Dost thou of help and favour reave me,  
And me in my distress thus leave me?  
I ne'er did thee neglect, or ever  
Did thee from my Achivements sever:  
But begged thy happy aid. But sure  
Corruption now doth thee allure.  
Thus am I wronged, disgraced, defamed,  
And yet the world is not ashamed  
To see how most unjustly I  
The aim am made of injury.  
Yet I ne'er shamed, or wronged this Land,  
But for her honours firm do stand:  
I ne'er did seek to waste her store,  
But was the mean to make it more.  
I ne'er was false, fond, or unjust,  
I ne'er with self-consuming Lust,  
Was to my Country blot, or stain,  
Nor Fame on me had cause to plain.  
No mifchiefe I did act, or plot,  
And State's abuser I am not:  
No Innocent I ere accused,  
And no injustice ever used.  
I ne'er with bribes was hired, or bought,  
Not I Authority e'er brought  
Desertlessly to least disgrace,  
By wronging her most sacred place.  
Nor am I plague of State, or power,  
And yet my Stars on me do lower.  
I no blaspheming Roarer was,  
No Brewer's beast, good-fellow-Asse.  
No bragadochio-braving-mate,  
No Swasher, no Repent-too-late:  
No grief of Reason, Ape of pride,  
No shadow, but a substance tried.  
O! I was never aught that's vile,  
Nor any ever did beguile.  
I was plain-dealing, and did fly  
All causes of indignity:  
I was not pitch that still defiles  
The toucher, I was free from guiles.  
My followers yet could never say,  
I lead them wrong, or to decay.  
Yet at the lowest Ebb am I  
Of Want, and scorned misery.  
O! 'tis my Fate, I may not thrive,  
Or bring home honey to the hive.  
And why? I am not eminent,  
Nor Princes Palaces frequent:  
Nor am I complemental matter,  
But hate to temporize and flatter.  
I am not like the Apes of Time,  
That often for a downfall climb;  
I rest content, and strive t'avoid  
Ambition, that is still employed  
In her own ruin; and doth gain  
Nothing but trouble for her pain.  
For shadows I do never strive,  
But am alas too good to thrive.  
I cozen none, nor have deceits,  
Nor can I fish with golden baits:  
With golden baits, that too too much  
Ensnare all those, that them but touch.  
And right, or wrong are sought for, when  
They draw like Lodestones Iron-men,  
They do corrupt, and always where  
Man goes, he finds Corruption there:  
For were't not so; and if exiled  
Were favour, that alas doth shield  
Desertless Upstarts; only raised  
That greatness might not still be praised;  
Then well-deservers well regarded  
Would be; the ill, as ill rewarded.  
And men in nought, but doing well  
Would strive each other to excel,  
And in mine ancient honours I  
Should be installed, and mount on high,  
I Time ob'curely should not spend,  
But whom I serve should me attend,  
And Ignorance should never bring  
Desert to be her understanding:  
Her underling that stands low,  
Lake obscure Shrubs; yet when winds blow  
Are ●afe, whilst every stormy gale  
Shakes lofty Cedars till they fall.  
Then Worldlings come, and love, and try,  
My bliss: I give security  
To all my Creditors; that never  
Desert shall fail, till Time dissever  
justice, and ●an: and Wisdom power  
Wants; while the Heavens for it lower.  
And thou Occasion g aunt thus much,  
I may no more thy baldness touch;  
O let me come before, that I  
May but thy lucky forelock spy,  
And I'll catch at it fast; if not  
(As now) let me be still forgot.  
And come you mental Virtues all  
Save me, lest you yourselves do fall▪  
You are defended, you revive  
Only, by keeping me alive.  
And ALBION to thee I cry,  
Save me for thy necessity.  
And Greatness do thou favour me,  
Than I again my friends shall see.  
Thou makest, or marrest, then grace me so,  
That I for thee may greater grow:  
But if thou slight'st me, and deny  
To do me right; know I must die,  
That all the Land may mourn for me,  
That, seruilizd, first made it free.  
Thus said, and being not employed  
In aught, that might dead Sleep avoid  
Forthwith a Drowsy slumber seied  
His senses, and his moans appeased,  
And, as of Man's society  
The slighted outcast he did lie.  
When, loc, a Virgin did arise  
From Earth; whom never mortal Eyes  
Beheld; or was by memory  
Recorded, to be noted by:  
Thought knew her not, she could be found  
No where, till now, but under ground.  
OBLIVION was her dismal name,  
Whom all the World may justly blame:  
For, soon she laid (o dire mishap!)  
Desert upon her fable lap.  
There she (alas) in silent sleep  
Him from the blinded world doth keep.   

Put stay, awake, awake Desert!  
We cannot say thou only wert.  
We dare not think so, and much less,  
Believe we are in such distress:  
Except we with conceit would all  
Despair, and hopeless with thee fall.  
But aged Heavens in their care  
To us and thee more gracious are:  
For thou art not of all friend's rest,  
Nor mayst thou of thy friends be left.  
He that the Sceptre of this land  
Doth sway, and nought but right command,  
Hath place, and being for thee; where  
He thee and thine expects; and there  
Thy followers are only placed:  
And only by him for thee graced.  
And though some shameless do intrude,  
Which never were with thee endued;  
Know that the glorious Sun displays  
On all things his reviving Rays:  
And to each Creature which doth live,  
He the best nourishment doth give,  
He shines upon the sweetest flowers,  
Which flourish in the choicest bowers:  
Yet he alas, can shine no where,  
But lurking weeds will start up there.  
Thou then Desert art not forlorn,  
Though weeds sometimes o'regrowne the Corne.   
FINIS.   

A DIALOGUE of a woman's Properties, between an old man and a young.  Old man.. 
IF grey Experience may deserve belief,  
I'll tell what Women are; (although with grief.)  
They and their beauties are so vain and frail,  
That with their dearest friends they most do fail.  
And their acquaint Tricks do so our judgements blind,  
Their guiles we never see, yet ever find.  Young man.. 
Must you so hardly ●gainst fair women speak,  
Because (alas) then gentle sex is weak,  
●eele not then frath●es burden they, unless  
We 〈◊〉 ph●●d with their unhappiness?  
And though they have some poor shifts, men have many:  
And too much would deceive them without any.  Old man.. 
Woman to show, what she would be, at first  
Made by her frailty, all the world accursed.  
And that by her (sure us by Fate concluded)  
Man shallbe ever, as at first, deluded.  
Then would all seeming Heaven, d●d but allot  
That only man might be, and woman not.  Young man.. 
For what she did, grieve more, than blame. Alas,  
His fatal subtlety, by which she was  
Unhappily beguiled was such, that she  
By it, if man by her, soon guiled might be.  
Yet Heaven this privilege doth women give,  
The world without them stands not, nor men live.  Old man.. 
Yea, woman still remains our fatal curse,  
And will all Vanities for ever nurse:  
She rebel is to reason; yet in wiles  
So witty, that she wisest men beguiles,  
For she is such a strange bewitching thing  
Man must her honey have, though with't a sting.  Young man.. 
To be our helps they are, and we do find,  
Beauty hath made them lovely, Nature kind;  
And Virtue being female cannot choose  
But sa●red gifts in her own Sex infuse:  
And their faults cannot be so much their own,  
As tempting man's, if all were rightly known.  Old man.. 
To gain their own wills, pleasingly they flatter,  
To gather lose love, they light looks can scatter:  
O▪ they to ruin sweetly can allure,  
And are as lustful, as in love unsure.  
To where may n●w Penelope be found,  
That chaste was tempted: she is under ground.  Young man.. 
She was; and being gone, we still have new  
Which are, despite all false seducements, true.  
And know this pretty family of Love  
Are in affection as the turtle Dove.  
Never alone, but with us, and about us,  
And out of question die they would without us.  Old man.. 
They sport, and toy, dissemble, crave, and feign:  
Then frown, than rage, then hate, and then disdain.  
And can seem kind, where most unkind they prove;  
Yet seld or never know whom best they love:  
For though they chance with their own choice to wed,  
Yet, Venus must have Mars in Vulcan's Bed.  Young man.. 
●●●ld they we e ●●inty, or remorseless, than  
They ne●●● would vnder●●e the wrongs of men.  
N●● le● th●●● 〈◊〉 be in●●●ed by those,  
In whom th●● con●idence, and tru●● repose.  
But they 〈…〉, and are so kind  
〈◊〉 ●●sily th●●e yielding souls do blind.  Old man.. 
〈◊〉 they ●●inded are, and ne'er will ●ee  
〈…〉 lo●●●n●sse be:  
〈…〉 ●eason ●ind  
〈…〉 them 〈◊〉 rotten find,  
And yet 〈…〉 enchanting features,  
Th●● 〈…〉 them. O bewitching creature.  Young man.. 
How we, sith they the weaker Vessels are,  
To tyrannize no forged slanders spare.  
And yet (so charitable is their love)  
They cannot from us their affections move.  
Then leave, if not for shame, for pity, thus  
To wrong them, if they err, it is for us.  Old man.. 
Although they seem us only to affect,  
'Tis their content, not ours, that they respect:  
They for their own ends cunningly can fine,  
And though they have't by natu e, yet they'll strain.  
Sure if on Faith by wiles gained might be bliss,  
Strait that I were a woman I would wish.  Young man.. 
Alas from subtlety so far they are  
That me● 〈◊〉 easily) do them ensnare:  
And i● the● wi●● have; we too often see,  
They but ●hei● gentle themselves to cozen be.  
But they would all be spotless, did men leave  
Their pitying hearts with falsehood to deceive.  Old man.. 
They are so fond, that being flattered, will  
C●●●ent to t●ei● own Infamy and ill,  
And ●●rets vn●dui●edly reveal,  
And not so much as then ow●● thoughts conceal.  
Yet they though writings ●oe beguile them still,  
Thei● flatterers make ●ooles, and ever will.  Young man.. 
When men fair speeches use, but to deceive,  
Wise women them of their intents bereave:  
And those which nought suspect, they do ensnare,  
And such still wronged for well-believing are.  
Yet men so shameless be, that for the same  
Whereof themselves are cause; they women blame.  Old man.. 
Women, when as they list, denials have;  
Yea oft when to betray themselves they crave.  
For where's the Phoenix, or the sable Swan,  
Mirror of women, wonder unto Man,  
But change of pasture greedy is to try,  
And of stolen Sin, craves still Variety.  Young man.. 
Sith thou are withered, and thy blood is cold,  
And hast no privilege to love, being old,  
Thy doting weakness envies those that may,  
Allowed by youth, with lovely Venus' play.  
But do not hinder them of licensed Time,  
Since 'tis but short, and natural the Crime.  Old man.. 
How counterfeit delights do blind the Sense  
Of such as da●e with Folly to dispense!  
Ah I do know, which would I never had  
Women are all, (I fear to say how) bad.  
What justly men deserve that them believe;  
The very thought thereof doth make me grieve.  Young man.. 
Speak on; and if their tempted faults be known  
To be less man's provoking then their own;  
I●le yield: ●nd even blame them cause I see  
They so full of delight, and beauty be.  
And all advantage of their weakness take;  
But then myself hard hearted I must make.  Old man.. 
Like Crocodiles they move destroying pity;  
They tune like Sirens a sweet baneful ditty:  
And are forgetfully of some commended,  
Only with their lose frailty to be friended.  
And their lascivious sex have careful been  
But in this only, to commit unscene.  Young man.. 
Sith thou art withered, and thy blood is cold,  
And hast no privilege to love, being old,  
Thy doting weakness envies those that may,  
Allowed by youth, with lovely Venus' play.  
But do not hinder them of licensed Time,  
Since 'tis but short, and natural the Crime.  Old man.. 
How counterfeit delights do blind the Sense  
Of such as dare with Folly to dispense!  
Ah I do know, which would I never had  
Women are all, (I fear to say how) bad.  
What justly men deserve that them believe;  
The very thought thereof doth make me grieve.  Young man.. 
Speak on; and if their tempted faults be known  
To be less man's provoking then their own;  
I'll yield: and even blame them cause I see  
They so full of delight, and beauty be.  
And all advantage of their weakness take;  
But then myself hard hearted I must make.  Old man.. 
Like Crocodiles they move destroying pity:  
They tune like Sirens a sweet baneful ditty:  
And are forgetfully of some commended,  
Only with their lose frailty to be friended.  
And there lascivious sex have careful been  
But in this only, to commit unseen.  Young man.. 
If that some one of them do tread awry;  
Must all be nought? o judge it Charity.  
But since mankind is subject to be tempted,  
Then from this Cross they cannot be exempted.  
Yet oftentimes, (such abstinence they have)  
They can refuse, what in their hearts they crave.  Old man.. 
Thou art a woman sure disguised; if not,  
Nature that thou should est be one did allot:  
And then some Hag, that once, one man might be  
That spoke of women well, hath thus changed thee.  
Else when for such known mischiefs I them blame,  
Thou ne'er wouldst speak, but hold thy peace for shame  Young man.. 
All know (unsufferable Man) they are  
For beauty and delight beyond compare.  
For conference so full of pleasing wit,  
For use so necessary, and so fit,  
That man without them, can by no means be,  
Nor ever will, if he be ruled by me.  Old man.. 
Nay sure these necessary harms were framed  
That man, as too too heedless might be blamed.  
His weakness cannot greatest weakness fly,  
In her strong-drawing frail society.  
Then happy they, that know what women are,  
But happier, which to know them never care.  Young man.. 
Old Father, I'll no more with thee contend,  
But must confess, as we, so they offend.  
Many of them are good, and many ill,  
Yet all in this err, all must have their will.  
But for your part, do you the strife here end,  
And for my prey I'll pray they may amend.  
FINIS.   

TO MY WORthy, and ingenious Friend, Mr. Arthur Newman, on his foresaid Book.  
NEWMAN, to praise thee to thy face, were not  
Friendship, but flattery. T' avoid which Blot,  
My tardy Verse is placed at the end  
Of all thy Book: (as if I did commend  
Thee dead, or absent.) Yet, if this my Verse  
Had come Before, not Ouer-tâne the Press,  
I had hung (such is thy provoking wort●)  
My Bays up, with the rest, to set thee ●●rth.  
For, this I prophesy: Thine early Fame  
Shall (oldly) prove as New, as (now) thy Name.  

Ad Eundem.  
QVisque Novo, Veteri nullus blanditur amico,  
Te (mihi qui Nows es nomine, front simul)  
Miror, et invideo. Tibi non (hoc) blandior ipse:  
Cum sic invidiâ Carmina digna tua.   G. Parr, in Art: Mag. Ox: