POEMS WITH THE MUSES LOOKING-GLASS: AND AMYNTAS.  
By THOMAS RANDOLPH Master of Arts, and late Fellow of Trinity College in Cambridge.  
OXFORD,  
Printed by LEONARD LICHFIELD Printer to the University, for FRANCIS BOWMAN: M. DC. XXXVIII.   


TO THE MEMORY OF HIS DEAR BROTHER Mr THO. RANDOLPH.  

IN such a solemn train of friends that sing  
Thy Dirge in pious lines, and sadly bring  
Religious Anthems to attend thy Hearse,  
Striving t'embalme thy precious name in verse:  
I, that should most, have no more power to raise  
Trophies to thee, or bring one grain of praise  
To crown thy Altar, than the Orbs dispense  
Motion without their sole Intelligence.  
For I confess that power which works in me  
Is but a weak resultance took from thee;  
And if some scattered seeds of heat divine  
Flame in my breast, they are derived from thine:  
And these low sickly numbers must be such,  
As when steel moves, the Loadstone gives the touch.  
So like a spongy cloud that sucks up rain  
From the fat soil to send it back again;  
There may be now from me some language shown  
To urge thy merit, but 'twas first thy own:  
For though the Doners influence be passed  
For new effects, the old impressions last;  
As in a bleeding trunk we oft descry  
Leaps in the head, and rollings in the eye,  
By virtue of some spirits, that alone  
Do tune those Organs though the soul be gone.  
But since I add unto this general noise  
Only weak sounds, and Echoes of thy voice;  
Be this a task for deeper mouths, while I  
That cannot bribe the Fancy, thaw the eye:  
And on that Grave where they advance thy praise  
Do plant a sprig of Cypress not of Bays.   

Yet flow these tears▪ not that thy Relics sit  
Fixed to their cell a constant Anchorit:  
Nor am I stirred that thy pale ashes have  
O'er the dark Climate of a private Grave  
No fair inscription: such distempers flow  
From poor lay-thoughts, whose blindness cannot▪ know  
That to discerning Spirits the Grave can be  
But a large womb to Immortality:  
And a fair virtuous name can stand alone  
Brass to the Tomb, and marble to the Stone.   

No, 'tis that Ghostly progeny we mourn,  
Which careless you let fall into the Urn:  
We had not flowed with such a lavish tide  
Of tears and grief, had not those Orphans died.  
For what had been my loss, who reading thine,  
A Brother might have kissed in every line.   

These that are left, Posterity must have;  
Whom a strict care hath rescued from the Grave  
To gather strength by Union; as the beams  
Of the bright Sun shot forth in several streams,  
And thinly scattered with less fervour pass,  
Which cause a flame contracted in a Glass.  
These, if they cannot much advance thy fame,  
May stand dumb Statues to preserve thy name:  
And like Sun-dialls to a day that's gone,  
Though poor in use, can tell there was a Sun.   

Yet (if a fair confession plant no Bays,  
Nor modest truth conceived a lavish praise)  
I could to thy great glory tell this age  
Not one envenomed line doth swell the page  
With guilty legends; but so clear from all  
That shoot malicious noise, and vomit gall,  
That 'tis observed in every leaf of thine,  
Thou hast not scattered snakes in any line.  
Here are no remnants tortured into rhyme  
To gull the reeling judgements of the time;  
Nor any stale reversions patch thy writ  
Gleaned from the rags and frippery of wit.  
Each syllable doth here as truly run  
Thine, as the light is proper to the Sun.  
Nay in those feebler lines which thy last breath  
And labouring brains snatched from the skirts of death  
Though not so strongly pure, we may descry  
The father in his last posterity,  
As clearly shown, as Virgin's looks do pass  
Through a thin lawn, or shadows in a glass:  
And in thy setting, as the Suns, confess,  
The same large brightness, though the heat be less.  
Such native sweetness flows in every line,  
The Reader cannot choose but swear 'tis thine.   

Though I can tell a rugged sect there is  
Of some fly-wits will judge a squint on this;  
And from thy easy flux of language guess  
The fancies weak, because the noise is less;  
As if that Channel which doth smoothly glide  
With even streams flowed with a shallow tide.  
But let a quick-discerning judgement look,  
And with a piercing eye untwist thy book  
In every loom, I know the second view  
Shall find more lustre than the first could do.  
For have you seen when gazing on the skies  
With strict survey a new succession rise  
Of several stars, which do not so appear  
To every formal glance that shoots up there:  
So when the serious eye has firmly been  
Fixed on the page, such large increase is seen  
Of various fancy, that each several view  
Makes the same fruitful book a Mart of new.   

But I forbear this mention; since I must  
Ransack thy ashes, and revile thy dust  
With such low characters, I mean to raise  
Thee to my contemplation, not my praise:  
And they that wish thy Picture clearly shown  
In a true Glass, I wish would use thy own:  
Where I presume how e'er thy virtues come  
Ill shaped abroad, thouart fairly dressed at home.   
RO. RANDOLPH. M. A. Student of C. Church.   

Lectori nimiùm critico qui Authoris Fescenninos sales plus justo rigidus interpretatur.  

DExtra quid Archetypae nudas mysteria chartae?  
Privatique aperis limina clausa joci?  
Non lucem patitur sed coelebs margo venenum,  
Et videt ingenuis toxica mista jocis.  
Quaeque stolata dedit sanctus Floralia vates,  
Exuis, & nudos das sine veste sales.  
Hin●… tota immeritam jugulat censura papyrum,  
Et levis ingenuos damnat arundo sales.  
Carnifices calamos & rauc●… jurgia Musae  
Simplicitas casti sentit honesta libri.  
Quid culpae fuerit si vatis amabile carmen  
Lascivam casto schemate lusit anum?  
Lintea si nudis iniecit pulchra pudendis?  
Uel tegit incastam larva modesta Deam?  
Nulla tuis regnant nisi nomina mascula chartis,  
Si quod foemineum est culpa legentis erit;  
(Vt proles uteri primò qui claustra reliquit,  
Mascula, foemineum vidimus arte Sporum.)  
Das thalami lusus cortin●… at tegmine sanctos,  
Cyntbia quos lectos gestiat esse suos.  
Dii benè, quam sanctis loquitur Venus impia verbis?  
Tyndaris & raptus hic stupet esse pios.  
Lecta puella tuis dum spectat crimina chartis,  
Visa sibi est furt●… sanctior ire su●….  
I nunc ingenu●… parcas lex julia chart●…,  
Scripta librum dederat, lecta lupanar erat.   
RO. RANDOLPH. ex Aede Christi.   


Blessed Spirit, when I first did see  
The Genius of thy Poetry,  
Nimble and fluent; in a strain  
Even with, if not beyond the brain  
Of Laureates that crowned the stage,  
And lived the wonders of the age:  
And this but sparkles from a fire  
That flamed up, and soared much higher;  
I gazed desirous to see  
Whither thy wit would carry thee.  
Thy first rise was so high, that even  
As needs it must, the next was heaven.   
I. T. A. M.   

In Authorem.  

CAnescant alii, sterilique aetatis honore  
Laetentur; fecit te tua Musa senem.  
●…arcarum labor est vit●… mensura peractae:  
Texuntur propriâ stamina vestra manu;  
Felix qui primo excedis, Randolphe, sub aevo,  
Nec Genii extincti praevia fata vides;  
Dii bene non dederint effoetae frig oravitae:  
Debes quo fueras natus in igne mori.   
THO. TERRENT M. A. 〈◊〉 Aede Christi:   

Upon Mr. Randolph's Poems, collected and published after his Death.  

AS when a swelling Cloud melted to showers,  
Sweetly diffuses fresh and active powers  
Into the shrunk and thirsty veins of earth;  
Blessing her barren womb with a new birth  
Of grain and fruit: and so redeems a land  
Of desperate people from th' destroying hand  
Of merc'lesse Plague, Famine, or Dearth; and then  
Collects its streams unto the Ocean:   

So thy diffusive soul, and fluent parts,  
(Great miracle of natural wit and Arts,)  
Rapt up some Regions 'bove our Sphere, did flow  
And shower their blessings down on us below:  
Whilst we, dull earth, in ecstasies did sit,  
Almost overwhelmed with thy Floods of Wit.  
What blood of verse is pumped from our dry Brains,  
Sprung like a rushing Torrent from thy Veins.  
When a long Drought presaged some fatal Dearth,  
Thy unexhausted Founts gave us new birth  
Of Wit and verse: when Cham, or Isis fell,  
Thy opened Floodgates made their rivulets swell  
'Bove their proud Banks: Where planted by thy hand  
Th' Hesperian Orchards, Paphian Myrtles stand,  
And those sweet Shades, where Lovers tell their blisses  
To th' whispering leaves, and summe'em up in kisses.  
There in full Choir the Muses used to sing  
Melodious Odes, bathing in Cham, their Spring:  
And all the Graces, TOM, dwelled with thee too,  
Crowning thy Front for old Citherons' Brow.   

Nor were we rich alone; Climes far from hence  
Acknowledge yet thy sovereign influence:  
Sicilians owe to thee their fruitful Vale,  
And Cotsall 〈◊〉 thy Dews created Dale.  
All Lands and Soils from hence were fruitful grown,  
And multiplied the measures thou hadst sown.  
Green-sword-untilled milkmaids wish no blisses  
Beyond a stammel Petticoat, and kisses,  
And thy sweet Dowry! This alone, they cry,  
Will make our Beasts and Milk to multiply.  
And the d●…ll Fallow Clowns, who never thought  
Of God or Heaven but in a flood or drought,  
Do gape and pray for Crops of Wit, and vow  
To make their Lads and Wenches Poets now.  
For they can make their fields to laugh and sing  
To th' Muse's Pipe, and Winter rhyme to spring.  
They pray for the first curse; like Scholars now,  
To earn their livings by their sweaty Brow.  
Then the fine Gardens of the Court, are set  
With Flowers sprung from thy Muse's Coronet.  
Those pretty Imps in Plush, that on trust go  
For their fine clothes, and their fine judgements too,  
The Frontispiece or Titlepage of Plays,  
Whose whole discourse is— As the Poet says.  
That Taverns drain, (for Ivy is the sign  
Of all such sack-shop wits, as well as wine.)  
And make their verses dance on either hand  
With numerous feet, whilst they want feet to stand.  
That score up ●…ests for every glass or cup,  
And th' total sum behind the Door cast up;  
These had been all dried up, and many more,  
That quafse up Helicon upon thy score.  
The sneaking Tribe, that drink and write by fits,  
As they can steal or borrow coin or wits,  
That Panders fee for Plots, and then belie  
The paper with— An excellent Comedy,  
Acted (more was the pity,) by th' Red Bull  
With great applause, of some vain City Gull;  
That damn Philosophy, and prove the curse  
Of emptiness, both in the Brain and Purse;  
These that scrape legs and trenchers to my Lord,  
Had starved but for some scraps picked from thy Bord.  
They'had tried the Balladiers or Fiddler's trade,  
Or a New Comedy at Tyburn made.  
Thus, TOM thy pregnant Fancy crowned us all  
With wealthy showers, or Mines Poetical.  
Nor did thy dews distil in a cold rain,  
But with a flash of Lightning oped thy brain,  
Which thawed our stupid spirits with lively heat,  
And from our frosts for●…'d a Poetic sweat.   

And now, Wit's Commonwealth by thee reprieved,  
(For its consumption shows it not long lived,)  
Thy far dispersed Streams divert their course,  
(Though some are damned up) to th' Muse's Source,  
This Ocean:— He that will fathom it,  
By's Lines shall sound an Ocean of wit;  
Not shallow, low, and troubled, but profound,  
And vast, though in these narrow limits Bound.  
The tribute of our eyes or pens, all we can pay,  
Are some poor drops to thy Pactolus' Sea,  
And first stolen thence, though now so muddy grown  
With our fowl channels, they scarce seem thy own.  
Thus have I seen a piece of Coin, which bore  
The Image of my King or Prince before,  
New cast into some Peasant, lose its grace;  
Yet's the same body with a fouler face.  
If our own store must pay; that Gold which was  
Lent us in sterling we must turn in brass.  
Hadst thou writ less or worse, than we might lay  
Something upon thy Urn thou didst not say:  
But thou hadst Fancies vast Monopoly,  
Our stock will scarce amount t'an Elegy!  
Yet all the Legacies thy Fatal day  
Bequeathed, thy sad Executor will pay.   

To late Divines (by Will and Testament)  
A Paraphrase on ●…ach Commandment,  
In Moral Precepts; with a Disputation  
Ending the Quarrels 'bout Predestination.  
To those that study how to spend the Day,  
And yet grow wise— The Ethics in a Play.  
To Poets, 'cause there is no greater curse,  
Thou bequeathdst— Nothing, in thy ●…mpty Purse.  
To City-Madams, that bespeak new faces  
For every Play or Feast, Thy Looking-glasses.  
And to their chambermaids, who only can  
Adorn their Lady's head, and dream on man,  
thoust left a Dowry; They till now, by stealth  
Writ only members of the Commonwealth.  
To Heaven thy Ravished Soul, (though who shall look  
Will say it lives in each line of thy Book.)  
Thy Dust, unnatural Relics that could die,  
To Earth; Thy Fame unto Eternity.  
A Husband to thy Widowed Poetry,  
Not from the Court but University.  
To thy sad Aunt, and now despairing mother,  
Thy little Orphans, and thy younger Brother;  
From all of which this free Confessions fit,  
The younger sister had the elder Wit.    

Ad Auhorem.  

MOllia quòd tenui currunt mihi carmina filo,  
Et meus in gyro stet breviore labor,  
Dum tua constrictis assurgit Musa Cothurnis,  
Et Ueneres casto vincit Avena I●…co,  
Cedimus inculti! Fato par Gloria nostro  
Quod Tua mirentur Carmina, Nostra legant.   
R. BRIDE-OAKE. A. M. No. Coll.   


WHat need thy book crave any other fame,  
It is enough that it bears Randolphs' name.  
Who sees the title, and him understood,  
Must much condemn himself, or say 'tis good.  
Go forth example to the Neophyte,  
Who hence should learn to Catechise his wit.  
And dress his Fancy by this glass: whose Muse  
Well-favoured is, should here her face peruse,  
It will not flatter, 'twill reflect the grace  
She takes from th'owner of a beauteous face:  
But if a menstruous, and illiterate eye  
Blast her, the various specks shall soon descry  
The foul beholder, and proclaim her spoil  
Not to result from thence, but his own foil.   
ED. GAYTON. M. A: ●…oan.   


Immortal BEN is dead; and as that ball  
On Ida tossed, so is his Crown by all  
The Infantry of wit. Vain Priests! That chair  
Is only fit for his true Son and Heir.  
Reach here the Laurel: Randolph●… 'tis thy praise:  
Thy naked Scull shall well become the Bays.  
See, Daphne courts thy Ghost: and spite of fate,  
Thy Poems shall be Poet Laureate.   
G. W. joan.   

To his worthy friend Mr ROBERT RANDOLPH of Ch. Ch. on the publishing of his Brother's Poems.  

WE thank you, worthy sir, that 'tis our hap  
To praise even Randolph now without a clap,  
And give our suffrage yet, though not our voice,  
To show the odds betwixt his fame and noise:  
Whose only modesty we could applaud,  
That seldom durst presume to blush abroad;  
And bear his vast Report, and setting forth  
His virtues, grow a sufferer of his worth,  
Was scarce his own acquaintance, and did use  
To hear himself reported but as news,  
So distant from himself, that one might dare  
To say those two were ne'er familiar:  
Whose polished Fancy hath so smoothly wrought,  
That 'tis suspected, and might tempt our thought  
To guess it spent in every birth, so writ  
Not as the gift but Legacy of his wit:  
Whose unbid brain drops so much flowing worth,  
That others are delivered, he brought forth;  
That did not course in wit, and beat at least  
Ten lines in fallow to put up one jest;  
Which still prevents our thought, we need not stay  
To th'end, the Epigram is in the way.  
The Town might here grow Poet, nay 'tis said  
Some May'ors could hence as easily rhyme as read;  
Whose loss we so much weep, we cannot hear  
His very Comedies without a tear;  
And when we read his mirth, are fain to pray  
Leave from our grief to call the work a play:  
Where fancy plays with judgement; and so fits  
That 'tis enough to make a guard of wits;  
Where lines fulfil themselves, and are so right  
That but a combats mention is a fight.  
His phrase does bring to pass, and he has lent  
Language enough to give the Things Event;  
The lines pronounce themselves, and we may say  
The Actors were but Echoes of the Play:  
Me thinks the book does act, and we not doubt  
To say it rather Enters than Comes out;  
Which even you seem to envy, whose device  
Has made it viler even by its price,  
And taught its value, which we count so great  
That when we buy it cheapest we but cheat;  
And when upon one Page we bles●…e our look,  
Howe'er we bargain we have gained the book;  
Freshmen in this are forced to have their right,  
And 'tis no purchase though 'twere sold in spite;  
So do we owe you still, that let us know  
He gave the world the Plays, and you the Show.   
IOS. HOWE.. Trin. Coll. OXON.   

On his beloved friend the Author, and his ingenious Poems.  

What need these busy wits? who hath a Mine  
His own, thus rich, needs not the scattered shine  
Of lesser heaps: Day dims a taper's light:  
And Lamps are useless, where there is no night.   

Why then this train of writers? foreign verse  
Can add no honour to a Poet's hearse,  
Whose every line, which he to paper lent,  
Builds for himself a lasting Monument.  
Brave verse this privilege hath; Though all be dumb,  
That is the Author's Epitaph and Tomb.  
Which when ambitious Pyles, th'ostents of Pride,  
To dust shall fall, and in their ruins hide  
Their then no more remembered Founders Name:  
These (like Apollo ever young) shall fame  
The first composer; whose weighed works shall tell  
What Noble thoughts did in his bosom dwell.   

But now I find the cause: they that do praise  
Desert in others, for themselves plant Bayss:  
For he that praises merit, loves it: thus  
he's good, for goodness that's solicitous.  
Else, though He diamonds keenly pointed write,  
They but proclaim a quainter Hypocrite:  
Thus in the future, it shall honour be,  
That men shall read their names bound up with thee,  
So country Moles, that would at Court appear,  
Intrude some Camel's train that does live there.  
So Creatures that had drowned else, did embark  
With Noah, and lived by being in his Ark.   

Or if not thus; as when in Royal state  
Nobles attend Kings to inaugurate:  
Or as last year when you both courts did see  
Beget joys noon in th'university;  
All the learned tribe in reverend Habits meet,  
As if the Schools were turned into the street;  
Where each one strove such duty to put on,  
As might give honour to their own Sun's Sun.  
Such honour here our dimmer pens would have,  
In pomp to wait him to his solemn grave:  
Since what he was, his own fruits better show,  
Then those which planted here, by others, grow.  
Rich jewels in themselves such lustre cast,  
As gold about them, is no grace, but Wast.   

Such was his Genius: Like the eyes quick wink;  
He could write sooner, than an other think.  
His play was Fancies flame, a lightning wit,  
So shot, that it could sooner pierce, then hit.  
What e'er he pleased, though but in sport to prove,  
Appeared as true, as pity dwells with love.  
Had he said thus, That discreet zeal might stan  
Both with the jesuit, and the Puritan,  
't'had been believed; That ●…tost from heat proceeds.  
That chastity from ease, and fullness breeds;  
That women ought to woo, as Eve at first  
Wooed Man, to make the world, and man accursed.  
All would be taken up for Truth: and sense  
Which knew Truth coming, would not going hence.   

Had he maintained Rich Lucan's work had been  
Mere History; there would no pen be seen,  
To call it Poem. If for Caesar stood,  
Great Pompey should be neither weak, nor Good.  
Oh! had he lived to plead the craggy Law,  
Which now unsettled holds the world in awe▪  
He would have met some Ostracism, I fear,  
Lest he had charmed the purple judge to err.   

Nor could he only in his Native speech  
Robe his ripe thoughts; but even the Copious, Rich,  
And lofty Greek, with Latin, did appear  
In him, as Orient in their proper sphere:  
That when in them, himself he pleased t' express;  
The ravished hearer, could not but confess,  
He might as well old Rome, or Athens claim  
For birth, as Britain, circled with the Main.   

'Tis true, we have these lauguages still left;  
But spoken, as apparel got by theft  
Is worn: disguised, and shadowed. Had he  
Lived but with us, till grave maturity;  
Though we should ever in his change have lost,  
We might have gained enough whereof to boast  
Our nations better Genius; But now  
Our hopes are nipped, ere they began to blow  
And sure I am, his loss must needs strike deep,  
For whom in verse, thus England's Eye doth weep.  
Whose tears thus dewed upon his mournful dust  
I will not longer trouble. They that must  
Carp though at best things; let them only read;  
These Poems here will strike that humour dead.  
Which I should praise too: but in them I see  
There is one blemish; for he hath named me.  
Else, I'll not think the Reader so distressed  
In wit: but that he will admire the rest.  
Concluding thence, though in his forenoon-youth,  
(And what I now shall write is modest truth,)  
He knows not him, who doth so much excel,  
That could so quickly, do so much, so well.   
OWEN FELTHAM Gent.   

On the death of Mr Randolph.  

When Donne, and Beaumond died, an Epitaph  
Some men (I well remember) thought unsafe;  
And said they did presume to write, unless  
They could their tears in their expression dress.  
But love makes me more bold, and tells me I  
In humble terms to vent my piety  
May safely dare; and reason thinks not fit,  
For which I loved, I now should fear that wit.  
Respect looks like a bargain, if confined  
To rules precise; and is more just than kind.  
If by a poised and equal testament  
It turns goodwill, into a covenant;  
Must every present offered to a Prince  
Be just proportioned to his eminence?  
Or ought my Elegy unjust be thought  
Because I cannot mourn thee as I ought?  
Such laws as these, (if any be so bold)  
Ought those unskilful but proud souls to hold,  
Who think they could and did, at a due rate  
Love thee; not me, whose love was passionate,  
And hath decreed▪ how ere the censure go,  
Thus much, although but thus, to let men know.  
I do admire no Comet did presage  
The mournful period of thy wondered age;  
Or that no Sibyl did thy death fore tell,  
Since that by it alone more ill befell  
The Laurell-God, then when the day was come  
Wherein his Delphick-Oracle was dumb:  
In meaner wits that proverb chance may hold  
(That they which are soon ripe are seldom old)  
But 'twas a poor one, and for thee unfit,  
Whose infancy might teach their best years wit;  
Whose talk was exemplary to their pains,  
And whose discourse was tutor to their strains;  
If thou wert serious, than the audience  
Herd Platoe's works in Tully's eloquence:  
If sad, the mourners knew no thrifty size  
In tears, but still cried out, oh lend more eyes.  
If merry, than the juice of Comedy  
So sweetened every word, that we might see  
Each slander by having enough to do  
To temper mi●…th, until some friend could woo  
Thee take the pains to write, that so that pressure  
Checking thy souls quick motions, some small leisure  
Might be obtained to make provision  
Of breath, against the next Scens action.  
I could go through thy works, which will survive  
The funeral of time; and gladly strive  
Beyond my power, to make that love appear  
Which after death is best seen in a tear;  
But praising one, I should dispraise the rest,  
Since whatsoe'er thou didst, was still the best:  
Since than I am persuaded that in thee  
Wit at her acmie was, and we shall see  
Posterity not daring to aspire  
To equalise, but only to admire  
The●… as their archetype; with thought of thee  
Henceforth I'll thus enrich my memory.  
While others count fro●… Earthquakes, and great frost;  
And say i'th' last dear year, 'twould thus much cost.  
My time-distinctions this shall be among,  
Since wits-decay, or Randolph's death,— so long.   
R. GOSTELOW. Mr. A. Oxon.   

To the pious Memory of my dear Brother in-Law Mr Thomas Randolph.  

REaders, prepare your Faith; who truly tells  
His History, must needs write miracles.  
He lisped Wit worthy th'press, as if that he  
Had used his Cradle as a Library.  
Some of these Fruits had birth, when other Boys  
(His Elders) played with Nuts; Books were his Toys.  
He had not long of Plays Spectator been  
But his small Feet wore Socks fit for the Scene.   

He was not like those costive Wits, who blot  
A choir of paper to contrive a Plot.  
And e'er they name it, cross it, till it look  
Razed with wounds like an old Mercer's Book.  
What pleased this year, is next in pieces torn,  
It suffers many deaths ere it be borne.   

For Humours to lie leidger they are seen  
Oft in a Tavern, and a Bowling-greene.  
They do observe each place, and company,  
As strictly as a Traveller or Spy.  
And deifying dunghills, seem t'adore  
The scum of people, Watchman, Changeling, Whore.  
To know the vice, and ignorance of all,  
With any Rags they'll drink a pot of Ale;  
Nay, what is more (a strange unusual thing  
With Poets) they will pay the reckoning;  
And sit with patience an hour by th' Heels  
To learn the Nonsense of the Constables.  
Such jig▪ like flim-flams being got to make  
The Rabble laugh, and nut-cracking forsake,  
They go Home (if th' have any) and there sit  
In Gown and Nightcap looking for some wit.  
ere they compose, they must for a long space  
Be dieted as Horses for the race.  
They must not Bacon, Beef, or Pudding eat,  
A jest may chance be starved with such gross meat.  
The Good Hour come, and their Brain tuned, they write,  
But slow as dying men their Wills indite.  
They pen by drams and scruples, from their quill  
Words (although dreggy) flow not, but distil.  
They sta●…e, and sour their faces; nay to vent  
The Brains they eat their finger's excrement:  
And scratch their Heads, as if they were about  
(Their wit so hide▪ bound is) to pull it out.  
Every bald speech though Comical it be  
To their racked members proves a Tragedy.  
When they have had the Counsel of some friend,  
And of their begging Epilogue made an end,  
Their Play salutes the world, and claims the Stage  
For its inheritance, being now of Age.   

But while they pumped their Fancy day and night;  
He nothing harder found than not to write.  
No diet could corrupt, or mend his strain;  
All tempers were the best to his sure Brain.  
He could with raptures captivate the King,  
Yet not endanger Button, or Bandstring.  
Poems from him gushed out so readily  
As if they'd only been in's Memory;  
Yet are they with as marble fancies wrought,  
As theirs whose pen waits for the thirteenth thought.  
They err who say things quickly done soon fade;  
Nature and He all in an Instant made.  
Those that do measure Fancies by the glass,  
And dote on such as cost more time, may pass  
In rank with Gulls, whom folly doth e●…tice  
To think that best which has the greatest price.  
Who poreing on, their Spongy Brain still squeeze,  
Neglect the cream, and only save the Lees.  
Stopping their flying quill, they clip Fame's wing,  
Make Helicon a puddle that's a Spring.   

Nor was his Hast hood winked; his Rage was wise,  
His Fury counsel had, his rashness eyes.  
Though he (as Engines arrows) shot forth wit,  
Yet aimed with all the proper marks to hit.  
His Ink ne'er stained the Surplice; he doth right  
That sometimes takes a care to miss the White.  
He turned no Scripture phrase into a jest;  
He was inspired with raptures, not possessed.   

Some Devilish Poets think their Muse does ill  
Unless their verses do profane or kill.  
They boldly write what I should fear to think,  
Words that do pale their paper, black their Ink.  
The Titles of their Satyrs fright some, more  
Than Lord have mercy writ upon a door.   

Although his wit was sharp as others, yet  
It never wounded; thus a Razor set  
In a wise Barber's hand tickles the skin,  
And leaves a smooth not carbonaded chin.  
So sovereign was his Phan sy, that you'd think  
His quickening pen did Balsam drop not Ink.  
Read's Elegies and you will see his praise  
Doth many souls 'fore th' Resurrection raise  
No venom's in his Book; his very S●…ake  
You may as safely as a Flower take.  
There's none needs fear to surfeit with his phrase,  
He has no Giant raptures to amaze  
And torture weak capacities with wonder:  
He (by his Laurel guarded) ne'er did Thunder  
As those strong bombast Wits, whose Poetry  
Sounds like a Charm, or Spanish Pedigree.  
Who with their Fancy towering 'bove the Sun,  
Have in their style Babells' confusion.  
If puny eyes do read their verses, they  
Will think 'tis Hebrew writ the English way.   

His Lines do run smooth as the feet of time;  
Each leaf though rich, swells not with gouty rhyme.  
Here is no thrum, or knot; Arachne ne'er  
Woven a more even web; and as they are  
Listed for smoothness, so in this again  
That each Thread's spun, and warped by his own brain.   

We have some Poetasters, who although  
They ne'er beyond the writing-Schoole did go,  
Sat at Apollo's Table, when as they  
But midwives are, not Parents to a Play.  
Were they betrayed, they'd be each Cobbler's scoff,  
Laughed at, as one whose Periwigs blown off.  
Their Brains lie all in Notes; Lord! how they'd look  
If they should chance to lose their Table-book!  
Their Bays, like Ivy, cannot mount at all  
But by some neighbouring tree, or joining wall.   

With what an ecstasy shall we behold  
This Book, which is no Ghost of any old  
Wormeaten Author; here's no jest, or hint,  
But had his Head both for its Ore an mint.  
Were't not for some Translations, none could know  
Whether he had e'er looked in Book or no.  
He could discourse of any subject, yet  
No cold premeditated sense repeat;  
As he that nothing at the Table talks,  
But what was cooked in's study or the walks;  
Whose wit (like a sun-dial) only can  
Go true in this, or that Meridian.  
Each Climate was to him his proper Sphere;  
You'd think he had been brought up every where.   

Was he at Court? his Compliments would be  
Rich wrought with Fancies best embroidery;  
Which the spruce Gallants Echo like would speak  
So oft, as they'd be threadbare in a week.  
They loved even his Abuses, the same ●…eere  
So witty 'twas, would sting and please their ear.   

Read's flowery Pastorals, and you will swear  
He was not johnsons' only, but Pan's Heir.  
His smooth Amyntas would persuade even me  
To think he always lived in Sicily.  
Those happier Groves that shaded him, were all  
As Trees of knowledge, and Prophetical:  
Dodon's were but the type of them, Leaves were  
Books in old time, but became Scholars here.  
Had he lived till Westminster Hall was seen  
In Forrest Townes, perhaps he fined had been.  
Whilst others made Trees Maypoles, he could do  
As Orpheus did, and make them Dancers too.   

But these were the light sports of his spare time;  
He was as able to dispute, as rhyme.  
And all (two gifts ne'er joined before) outwent  
As well in Syllogism as Compliment.  
Who looks within his clearer Glass, will say  
At once he writ an Ethick Tract and Play.  
When he in Cambridge Schools did moderate,  
(Truth never found a subtler Advocate)  
He▪ had as many Auditors, as those  
Who preach, their mouths being Silenced, through the Nose.  
The Grave Divines stood gazing, as if there  
In words was colour, or in th' eye an ear:  
To hear him they would penetrate each other,  
Embrace a Throng, and love a noy some smother.  
Though plodding Pates much time and oil had spent  
In beating out an obscure Argument;  
He could untie, not break, the subtlest knot  
Their puzzling Art could wove; nay he had got  
The trick on't so, as if that he had been  
Within each Brain, and the nice folding seen.  
Who went to th' Schools Peripatetics, came,  
If he disputed, home in Plato's name.  
His Oppositions were as Text; some lead  
With wonder, thought he had not urged but read.   

Nor was his judgement all Philosophy;  
He was in points of deep Divinity  
Only Not Doctor; his true Catho'lique Brain  
The Learning of a Council did contain.   

But all his Works are lost, his Fire is out;  
These are but's Ashes, which were thrown about  
And now raked up together; all we have  
With pious sacrilege snatched from his Grave  
Are a few meteours; which may make it ●…e'd  
That TOM is yet alive, but Randolph's dead.   

Thus when a Merchant posting o'er the sea  
With his rich loaden ship is cast away;  
Some light small Wares do swim unto the shore,  
But th'▪ great and solid Prizes ne'er rise more.   
RIC. WEST. Bac. of Arts, and Student of Chr. Church.    

ON THE INESTIMABLE CONTENT HE ENJOYS IN THE MUSES; TO THOSE of his Friends that dehort him from POETRY.  

GO sor did earth, and hope not to bewitch  
My high-born soul, that flies a nobler pitch!  
Thou canst not tempt her with adulterate show,  
She bears no appetite that flags so low.  
Should both the Indies spread their laps to me,  
And court my eyes to wish their Treasury,  
My better will they neither could entice;  
Nor this with gold, nor that with all her spice.  
For what poor things had these possessions shown,  
When all were mine, but I were not mine own!  
Others in pompous wealth their thoughts may please,  
And I am rich in wishing none of these.  
For say; which happiness would you beg first,  
Still to have drink, or never to have thirst?  
No servants on my beck attendant stand,  
Yet are my passions all at my command;  
Reason within me shall sole ruler be,  
And every sense shall we are her livery.  
Lord of myself in chief; when they that have  
More wealth, make that their Lord, which is my slave.  
Yet I as well as they, with more content  
Have in myself a Household government.  
My intellectual soul hath there possessed  
The Steward's place, to govern all the rest.  
When I go forth my Eyes too Ushers are,  
And dutifully walk before me bare.  
My Legs run Footmen by me. Go or stand  
My ready Arms wait close on either hand.  
My Lips are Porters to the dangerous door:  
And either Ear a trusty Auditor:  
And when abroad I go, Fancy shall be  
My skilful Coachman, and shall hurry me  
Through Heaven & Earth, and Neptune's watery plain,  
And in a moment drive me back again.  
The charge of all my Cellar, Thirst, is thine;  
Thou Butler art and Yeoman of my wine.  
Stomach the Cook, whose dishes best delight,  
Because their only sauce is Appetite.  
My other Cook digestion; where to me  
Teeth carve, and palate will the taster be.  
And the two Eyelids, when I go to sleep,  
Like careful grooms my silent chamber keep.  
Where least a cold oppress my vital part,  
A gentle fire is kindled by the Heart.  
And lest too great a heat procure my pain,  
The Lungs fan wind to cool those parts again.   

Within the inner closet of my brain  
Attend the nobler members of my train.  
Invention Master of my Mint grows there,  
And Memory my faithful Treasurer.  
And though in others 'tis a treacherous part,  
My Tongue is Secretary to my heart.  
And then the pages of my soul and sense,  
Love, Anger, Pleasure, Grief, Concupiscence,  
And all affections else are taught t'obey  
Like subjects, not like favourites to sway.  
This is my Manor-house, and men shall see  
I here live Master of my family.  
Say then thou man of worth; in what degree  
May thy proud fortune's overbalance me?  
Thy many barks plough the rough Ocean's back;  
And I am never frighted with a wrack.  
Thy flocks of sheep are numberless to tell;  
And with one fleece I can be clothed as well.  
Thou hast a thousand several farms to let;  
And I do feed on ne'er a Tenant's sweat.  
Thou hast the Commons to Enclosure brought;  
And I have fixed a bound to my vast thought.  
Variety is sought for to delight  
Thy witty and ambitious Appetite;  
Three Elements, at least, dispeopled be,  
To satisfy judicious gluttony▪  
And yet for this I love my Commons here,  
Above the choicest of thy dainty cheer.  
No widow's curse cators a dish of mine,  
I drink no tears of Orphans in my wine.  
Thou mayst perchance to some great office come,  
And I can rule a Common wealth at home.  
And that pre-eminence enjoy more free,  
Then thou puffed up with vain Authority.  
What boots it him a large command to have,  
Whose every part is some poor vices slave!  
Which over him as proudly Lords it there,  
As o'er the rustic he can domineer.  
Whilst he poor swains doth threat, in his own eyes  
Lust and Concupiscence do Tyrannize.  
Ambition wracks his heart with jealous fear,  
And bastard flattery captivates his ear.  
He on posterity may fix his care,  
And I can study on the times that were.  
He stands upon a pinnacle to show  
His dangerous height, whilst I sit safe below.  
Thy father hordes up gold for thee to spend,  
When death will play the office of a friend,  
And take him hence, which yet he thinks too late:  
My nothing to inherit is a fate  
Above thy birthright, should it double be;  
No longing expectation tortures me.  
I can my father's reverend head survey,  
And yet not wish that every hair were grey.  
My constant Genius says I happier stand,  
And richer in his life, then in his land.  
And when thou hast an heir, that for thy gold  
Will think each day makes thee an year to old;  
And ever gaping to possess thy store,  
Conceives thy age to be above fourscore  
'Cause his is one and twenty, and will pray  
The too slow hours to haste, and every day  
Bespeak thy Coffin, cursing every bell,  
That he hears toll, 'cause 'tis another's knell;  
(And justly at thy life he may repine,  
For his is but a wardship during thine.)  
Mine shall have no such thoughts, if I have one  
He shall be more a pupil then a son:  
And at my grave weep truth, and say death's hand,  
That bountifully unto thine gave land,  
But robbed him of a Tutor; Cursed store!  
There is no piety but amongst the poor.  
Go then confess which of us fathers be  
The happier made in our posterity:  
I in my Orphan that hath nought beside  
His virtue, thou in thy rich parricide.  
Thou several Artists dost employ to show  
The measure of thy lands; that thou mayst know  
How much of earth thou hast: while I do call  
My thoughts to scan how little 'tis in all.  
Thou hast thy hounds to hunt the timorous hare,  
The crafty fox, or the more noble dear;  
Till at a fault perchance thy Lordship be,  
And some poor city varlet hunt for thee.  
For 'tis not poor Actaeon's fault alone;  
Hounds have devoured more Masters sure then one.  
Whilst I the while pursueing my content,  
With the quick Nostrils of a judgement, sent  
The hidden steps of nature, and there see  
Your game maintained by her Antipathye.  
Thou hast a Hawk, and to that height doth fly  
Thy understanding, if it soar so high:  
While I my soul with Eagles Pinions wing,  
To stoop at Heaven, and in her Talons bring  
A glorious constellation, sporting there  
With him whose belt of stars adorns the sphere.  
Thou hast thy landscapes, and the painters try  
With all their skill to please thy wanton eye.  
Here shadowy groves, and craggy mountains there;  
Here Rivers headlong fall, there springs run clear;  
The Heaven's bright Rays through clouds must azure show,  
Circled about with Iris gaudy bow.  
And what of this? I real Heavens do see,  
True springs, true groves; whilst yours but shadows be.  
Nor of your houshhold stuff so proudly boast,  
Composed of curiosity and cost.  
Your two best chambers are unfurnished,  
Th' inner and upper room, the heart and head.   

But you will say the comfort of a life  
Is in the partner of our joys, a wife.  
You may have choice of brides, you need not woo  
The rich, the fair; they both are proffered you:  
But what fond virgin will my love prefer,  
That only in Parnassus' jointure her!  
Yet thy base ma●…ch I scorn, an honest pride  
I harbour here that scorns a market bride.  
Neglected beauty now is prized by gold,  
And sacred love is basely bought and sold.  
Wives are grown traffic, marriage is a trade,  
And when a nuptial of two hearts is made,  
There must of monies too a wedding be,  
That coin as well as men may multiply.   

O humane blindness! had we eyes to see,  
There is no wealth to valiant poetry!  
And yet what want I Heaven or Earth can yield?  
Me thinks I now possess the Elysian field.  
Into my chest the yellow Tagus flows,  
While my plate fleet in bright Pactolus' rows.  
Th' Hesperian Orchard's mine; mine, mine is all:  
Thus am I rich in wealth poëticall.  
Why strive you then my friends to circumvent  
My soul, and rob me of my blessed content?  
Why out of ignorant love counsel you me  
To leave the Muses and my poëtry?  
Which should I leave and never follow more,  
I might perchance get riches and be poor.   

In Anguem, qui Lycorin dormientem amplexus est.  

VEr erat, & flores per apertum libera campum  
(Vt Cereris spes una) legit mea flamma Lycoris.  
At nimio tandem studio, nimioque labore  
Admisit somnos virides defessa per herbas.  
Vtque erat, & placidum carpebant membrasoporem,  
Alternâ varius maculâ de flore propinquo  
Per vestes tacitè subrepsit Lubricus anguis.  
Vidi ego, & attonitam perculsus frigore mentem,  
Omnia pertimui: Tu me Rhodopëia conjux  
Serpentum insidiis blando direpta marito,  
Prima feris: sed cum tendentem innoxia vidi  
Spicula, nec lassae fraudem intentare puellae:  
Quam longè timor hic abiit, maiore secuto  
Namque levis totum lustravit vipera corpus;  
jamque suam Lybiam & steriles fastidit arenas:  
Et mirata femur, ventremque atque ubera lacte  
Candidiora suo; Tali fas, dixit, in arvo  
Fas mihi semper erit, perque istos serpere colles.  
Me videt & metuens cerni fugit improbus anguis.  
Sub niveoque latet collo, sua lilia credens;  
Purpureis mox usque genis allapsus, in istis  
Tutiùs est haerere rosis, & dulciùs, inquit.  
Tum frontem spectans, venasque in fronte tumentes,  
Quaenam (ait ille) jugo violae nascuntur in isto?  
Hinc ad Caesariem surgit, flavosque capillos,  
Et stupet ●…uratam formoso in vertice sylvam.  
Hesperiumque nemus iam credit, credidit hortum.  
Talibus aut foliis, aut tali fronde superbâ  
Non illi Myrtus Paphiae, Dodonaque Quercus,  
Thessala nec Pinus, nec erat Penëia laurus.  
Gaudia iam tota implêrant secura perîcli  
Pectora, descendit rursus, totosque per a●…tus  
Lascivus gestit numeroso ludere gyro.  
Caudaque formosum cingat dum frigida collum,  
Labra petit labris, & Nectaris osculalibat,  
Spirantesque haurit Zephiros, atque omnia Phoenix  
Quae potuit moriens precioso imponere bust●….  
Quicquid olent Arabes, saevum non inde venenum,  
Sed velut Hyblaeos discurrens incola campos,  
Mella legit nova naper Apis: jam credite, possit  
Inter Aristaei serpens armenta vagari.  
Ah quoties metui coelestes frigidus Artes,  
Rivalemque jovem! formâ ne callidus istâ  
Appeteret nostram, petiit Deoïda Nympham.  
Exerit ille caput (toto iam corde voluptas  
Insedit) Cantuque suae blanditur amicae,  
Dulciaque erectis 〈◊〉 sibila cristis.   

Excutitur Nymphae ●…omnus; iam membra refecta  
Luminaque attollit totum admittentia Phoebum.  
Dumque ibi dispersos flores, lapsamque coronam  
Colligit in gremio, maculosus cernitur angui●….  
Illa (sibi notae quanta est fiducia formae!)  
Nil metuens, tenerum tractavit pollice vermem,  
Admovitque sinu, colloque & pectore fovit.  
Hic ludens modo per digitos novus annulus ib●…t,  
Splendida nunc mediam complexus Zonae puellam;  
Vivaque per teretes pendens armilla lacertos.  
Gratior ut fieret cultus, in mille figuras  
Flectitur, innumeros ●…ese variavit in orbes,  
Candida multiplici constringens brachia nodo.   

Ah nimium superis, nimium est dilecta Lycoris!  
Eo●…s alii fluctus, & litt●…ra rubra  
Scrutantur; nulli misit prius Africa gemmas.  
Perniciem quaecunque parant & flebile virus  
Humano generi, cupiunt ornare Lycorin.  
Namque ea, parva licet, summo quae pendula tect●…  
Nectit opus, cum de serpente monilia facta  
Aemula vidisset, subito novus ardor amantis  
Pectus agit: Serpensnè, inquit, tibi gemma Licori?  
Nulla ego contulerim divinae munera formae!  
Nec mora; deposcit radios, sua retia mittit,  
Quaeque solet trepidis venabula tendere muscis,  
Et tibi subtiles meditatur Aranea telas.   

Tu tamen, ô serpens, qui nostris reptile felix  
Deliciis fruere & triplici rapis oscula linguâ,  
(Sic semper novus exuviis & pelle renatâ  
Perfectam repetas per saecula mill●… iuventam!)  
Vestras pulchram artes & pharmaca vestra Lycorin  
Edoceas, longam ne sentiat illa senectam,  
Nec fronti turpes inscribant tempora rugas.  
At nova perpetuò facies, eademque Lycorin  
Monstret, & in speculo nunquam sese altera quaerat,  
Et Venerem formâ superans aevoque Sybillam.  
At tandem hinc abiens, ô felicissime Serpens,  
Quando ren●…scentes numerâsti saepius annos,  
Accedas aftris sidus, Pythone remoto,  
Fluminis in morem flexus; Tu deinde Lycori  
Cum taedet vitae Serpenti proxima charo  
Stella nite, coelumque bea, tibi detque Cathedram  
Gassiopaea suam, det Bacchi Virgo Coronam.    

Englished thus 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  

THe spring was come, and all the fields grown fine  
My flame Lycoris like young Proserpina  
Went forth to gather flowers, bettering their scent  
They took more sweetness from her, than they lent.  
Now loaden with her harvest, and o'repressed  
With her sweet toil, she laid her down to rest.  
Lillies did strew her couch, and proud were grown  
To bear a whiteness purer than their own.  
Roses fell down soft pillows to her head,  
And blushed themselves into a deeper red  
To emulate her cheeks: Flora did set  
Her maids to work to wove the Violet  
Into a purple rug, to shield the fair  
Lycoris from the malice of the Air.  
When lo a snake hid in the neighbour bowers,  
(Ah who could think treason should lurk in flowers?)  
Shoots forth her chequered skin, and gently creeps  
o'er my Lycoris, that as gently sleeps.  
I saw it, and a sudden frost possessed  
My frighted soul in my then troubled breast.  
What fears appeared not to my mind and me?  
Thou first wert called bemoaned Eurydice;  
By serpents envy forced to expire,  
From Orpheus rapt, and his death conquering lyre.  
But when I found he wore a guiltless sting,  
And more of love did then of treason bring:  
How quickly could my former fear depart;  
And to a greater leave my jealous heart!  
For the smooth Viper every member scands,  
afric he loathes now, and the barren sands  
That nursed him, wondering at the glorious sight  
Of thighs and belly, and her breasts more white  
Than their own milk: Ah might I still (quoth he)  
Grawle in such fields, 'twixt two such mountains be!  
There me he spied, and fearing to be seen,  
Shrowds to her neck, thinking 't had Lillies been.  
But viewing her bright cheeks, he soon did cry  
Under you Roses shall I safer lie.  
Thence did her forehead with full veins appear,  
Good heaven (quoth he) what violets grow here  
On this clear Promontory? Hence he slides  
Up to her locks, and through her tresses glides,  
Her yellow tresses; dazzled to behold  
A glistering grove, an entire wood of Gold.  
Th' Hesperian wood he thinks he now hath seen,  
That thought, But now, they had an Orchard been;  
For leaves and boughs the Archimenian vine,  
The Dodon Oak and the Thessalian Pine  
must yield to these, no trees so bright as they,  
Nor Paphian Myrtles, nor Penëian bay!  
joy now filled all his breast, no timorows fear  
Of danger could find room to harbour there.  
Down slips he and about each limb he hurls  
His wanton body into numerous curls.  
And while his tail had thrown itself a chain  
About her neck, his head bears up again;  
With his black lips her warmer lips he greets,  
And there with kisses steeped in Nectar meets.  
Thence Zephyr's breath he sucks, then doth he smell  
Perfumes that all th' Arabian gums excel.  
And spices that do build the Phoenix Pyre,  
When she renews her youth in funeral fire.  
Nor seeks he poison there, but like the Bee  
That on mount Hybla plies her husbandry.  
He gathers honey thence, now, now I know  
With Aristaeus flocks a snake may go.  
Ah cold at heart, I feared some heavenly sleight,  
And love my rival; that his old deceit  
Had once again this borrowed shape put on  
To court my Nymph, as he Deöis won.  
Up lift the snake his head (for pleasure now  
Held all his soul) and with erected brow  
To flatter's Love he sung; he strives to play,  
And hisses forth a well tuned Roundelay.  
This wakes the Nymph; her eyes admit the day;  
Here flowers, and there her scattered garlands lay,  
Which as she picks up and with bents retyes,  
She in her lap the speckled Serpent spies.  
The Nymph no sign of any terror shows,  
(How bold is beauty when her strength she knows!)  
And in her hand the tender worm she grasped,  
While it sometimes about her finger clasped  
A ring enamelled, than her tender waist  
In manner of a girdleround embraced;  
And now upon her arm a braslet hung,  
Where for the greater ornament, he flung  
His limber body into several folds,  
And twenty winding figures, where it holds  
Her amorous pulse, in many a various twist,  
And many a love-knot ties upon her wrist.  
Lycoris to the Gods thou art too dear,  
And too too much of heaven beloved I fear.  
This or that Nymph's the red-sea spoils may be,  
But Lybia ne'er sent jewels but to thee.  
What e'er to us are deaths and poisons sent,  
Desire to be Lycoris ornament.  
For that same little spider that hangs up,  
Together with her web on the house top,  
When she beheld the snake a bracelet made,  
Struck with an envy, and a love; she said,  
And shall a snake thy Gem Lycoris be,  
And such bright for me receive no tires from me?  
Then flings her nets away, and throwing by  
Her subtle toil she sets to catch the fly;  
To th'loom Arachne goes, and plies it there,  
To work a robe for my Lycoris wear.   

But thou, o Serpent, which so blessed canst be  
To reap those joys for which I envy thee:  
That, happy worm, upon her lip hast hung,  
Sucking in kisses with thy three-forked tongue,  
(So may'st thou age and skin together cast,  
And oft recall thy youth, when it is past.)  
Teach my Lycoris what your Arts may be,  
Let her th' Ingredients of thy Cordials see.  
That she may ne'er grow old, that times dull plough  
May never print a wrinkle in her brow.  
I charge thee in the powerful Cupid's name  
May a new beauty always and the same  
Lycoris show, ne'er may she in her glass  
Look for her own, and find another face.  
Venus for beauty may she then appear,  
When she has lived to old Sibylla's year,  
And when, dear snake, thou wilt no more renew  
Thy youthful vigour, bid base earth adieu.  
Add glory to the night, or from his sphere  
Huge Python pull and fix thy torches there:  
Where like a river thou shalt bending go,  
And through the Orb a starry torrent flow.  
And thou Lycoris, when th' art pleased to take  
No more of life, next thy beloved Snake  
Shine forth a constellation, full, and bright;  
Bless the poor heavens with more majestic light.  
Who in requital shall present you there,  
Ariadne's Crown, and Cassiopae as Chair.    

A complaint against Cupid that he never made him in Love.  

HOw many of thy Captives (Love) complain  
Thou yoak'st thy slaves in too severe a chain?  
I'have heard 'em their Poetic malice show,  
To curse thy Quiver, and blaspheme thy bow.  
Calling thee boy, and blind; threatening the rod;  
Profanely swearing that thou art no God.  
Or if thou be; not from the starry place;  
But born below, and of the Stygian race.  
But yet these Atheists that thy shafts dislike,  
Thou canst be friendly to, and deign to strike.  
This on his Cloris spends his thoughts and time;  
That chants Corinna in his amorous rhyme.  
A third speaks raptures, and hath gained a wit  
By praising Caelia; else had missed of it.  
But I that think there can no freedom be,  
(Cupid) so sweet, as thy Captivity.  
I that could wish thy chains, and live content  
To wear them, not my Gives, but ornament:  
I that could any ransom pay to thee,  
Not to redeem, but sell my liberty;  
I am neglected; let the cause be known;  
Art thou a niggard of thy arrows grown,  
That wert so prodigal? or dost thou please  
To set thy Pillars up with Hercules  
Weary of conquest? or should I disgrace  
Thy victories, if I were deigned a place  
Amongst thy other Trophies? none of these,  
Witness thy daily triumphs: who but sees  
Thou still pursuest thy game from high to low;  
No age, no Sex can scape thy powerful bow.  
Decrepit age whose veins and bones may be  
An Argument against Philosophy,  
To prove an emptiness; that has no sense  
Left but his feeling, feels thy influence;  
And dying dotes: not babes thy shafts can miss;  
How quickly Infants can be taught to kiss!  
As the poor Apes being dumb these words would borrow,  
I was born to day to get a babe to morrow.  
Each ploughman thy propitious wounds can prove,  
Tilling the earth, and wishing 'twere his love.  
Am I invulnerable? is the dart  
Rebeaten, which thou level'st at my heart?  
Ill rest my Parents bones, if they have done  
As Tethis once did to her Godlike son  
The great Archilles, dipped in Stygian lake;  
Though I am so, Cupid, thy arrows take,  
Try where I am not proof, and let me feel  
Thy ' archery, if not i'th' heart, i'th' heel.  
Perchance my heart lies there; who would not be  
A Coward, to be valiant made by thee.  
I cannot say thy blindness is the cause,  
That I am barred the freedom of thy laws;  
The wretched outlaw of thy Mother's Court,  
That place of comfort, Paradise of sport.  
For they may say, that say thou blind canst be,  
Eagles want eyes, and only moles can see.  
Not Argus with so many lights did shine,  
For each fair Lady's sparkling eyes are thine.  
Think'st thou because I do the Muse's love,  
I in thy Camp would a faint soldier prove?  
How came Musaeus, and Anacreon then  
Into thy troops? how came Tibullus pen  
Amongst thy spears; and how came Ovid (say)  
To be enrolled great General in thy pay?  
And doubts thou me? suspect you I will tell  
The hidden mysteries of your Paphian cell,  
To the strait laced Diana? or betray  
The secrets of the night, unto the day?  
No Cupid, by thy mother's doves I swear,  
And by her sparrows, 'tis an idle fear.  
If Philomela descend to sport with me;  
Know I can be (great Love) as dumb as she,  
Though she hath lost her tongue; in such delights  
All should be like her, only talk by nights:  
Make me thy Priest (if Poets truth divine)  
I'll make the Muse's wanton; at thy shrine  
They all shall wait; and Diana's self shall be  
A votaress to thy Mother's Nunnery.  
Where zeal with nature shall maintain no strife;  
Where none swear chastity, and single life.  
To Venus-Nuns an easier oath is read,  
She breaks her vow, that keeps her maiden head.  
Reject not then your Flamin's ministry:  
Let me but deacon in thy Temples be:  
And see how I shall touch my powerful lyre,  
And more inspired with thine, than Phoebus' fire,  
Chaunt such a moving verse, as soon should frame  
Desire of dalliance in the coyest dame;  
Melting to amorous thoughts her heart of stone;  
And force her to untruss her Virgin Zone.  
Is Lucrece, or Penelope alive?  
Give me a Spartan Matron, Sabine wife;  
Or any of the vestals hither call,  
And I will make them be thy converts all.  
Who like good Proselytes more in heart then show,  
Shall to thy origies all so zealous go,  
That Thais shall, nor Helen such appear;  
As if they only Loves precisians were.  
But now my Muse dull heavy numbers sings,  
Cupid 'tis thou alone giv'st verse her wings.  
The Lawrell-wreath I never shall obtain,  
Unless thy torch illuminate my brain.  
Love Laurel gives; Phoebus as much can say,  
Had not he loved, there had not been the Bay.  
Why is my Presentation then put by?  
Who is't that my Induction dares deny?  
Can any Lady say I am unfit?  
If so, I'll sue my Quare Impedit.  
I'm young enough, my spirits quick and good;  
My veins swell high with kind and active blood.  
Nor am I marble; when I see an eye  
Quick, bright, and full, ' raid round with majesty;  
I feel my heart with a strange heat oppressed,  
As 'twere a lightning darted through my breast.  
I long not for the cherries on the Tree,  
So much as those which on a lip I see.  
And more affection bear I to the Rose  
That in a cheek, then in a garden grows.  
I gaze on beauteous Virgins with delight,  
And feel my temper vary at the sight;  
I know not why; but warmer streams do glide  
Through my veins, sure 'tis a wanton tide.  
But you perchance esteem my love the less,  
Because I have a foolish bashfulness,  
A shamefaced rose you find within my face,  
Whose modest blush frights you from my embrace;  
That's ready now to fall, if you'll but deign  
To pluck it once, it shall not grow again.  
Or do you therefore cast my love away,  
Because I am not expert in the play?  
My skills not known till it be ventured on;  
I have not Aristotle read alone.  
I am in Ovid a proficient too;  
And if you'd hear my Lecture, could to you  
Analize all his art, with so much more  
judgement and skill, then ere 'twas taught before.,  
That I might be chief master, he, dull fool,  
The under usher in the Cyprian School:  
For petty Pedagogue, poor Pedant, he  
First writ the Art, and then the remedy:  
But I could set down rules of love so sure,  
As should exceed Art, and admit no cure.  
Pictures I could invent (Love, were I thine)  
As might stand copies unto Aretine▪  
And such new dalliance study, as should frame  
Variety in that which is the same.  
I am not then uncapable (great Love)  
Wouldst thou my skill but with one arrow prove.  
Give me a Mistress in whose looks to joy,  
And such a Mistress (Love) as will be coy,  
Not easily won, though to be won in time;  
That from her niceness I may store my rhyme:  
Then in a Thousand sighs, to thee I'll pay  
My Morning Orisons, and every day  
Two Thousand groans, and count these amorous prayers  
I make to thee, not by my Beads, but Tears.  
Besides, each day I'll write an Elegy,  
And in as lamentable Poetry  
As any Inns of Courtman, that hath gone  
To buy an Ovid with a Littleton.   

But (Love) I see you will not entertain  
Those that desire to Live amidst your train;  
For death and you have got a trick to fly  
From such poor wretches as do wish you nigh.  
You scorn a yielding slave; and plainly show it,  
Those that contemn your power you make to know it.   

And such am I; I slight your proud commands;  
I mar'le who put a bow into your hands;  
A hobby-horse, or some such pretty toy,  
A rattle would befit you better, Boy.  
You conquer Gods and men? how stand I free,  
That will acknowledge no supremacy  
Unto your childish Godhead? does it cry?  
Give it a plum to still it's Deity.  
Good Venus let it suck; that it may keep  
Less bawling; gentle Nurse rock it a sleep.  
Or if you be past baby; and are now  
Come to wear breeches, much we then allow  
Your Boy ship leave to shoot at whom you please?  
No, whip it for such wanton tricks as these:  
If this do anger you, I'll send a Bee,  
Shall to a single duel challenge thee:  
And make you to your Mam run, and complain  
The litlle serpent stung thee once again.  
Go hunt the butter flies, and if you can  
But catch 'em, make their wings into a fan.  
we'll give you leave to hunt and sport at them,  
So you let men alone.— But I blaspheme  
(Great Love) I fear I have offended thee,  
If so, be merciful, and punish me.    

A gratulatory to Mr Ben. johnson for his adopting of him to be his Son.  

I Was not borne to Helicon, nor dare  
Presume to think myself a Muse's heir.  
I have no title to Parnassus' hill,  
Nor any acre of it by the will  
Of a dead Ancestor, nor could I be  
Aught but a tenant unto poetry.  
But thy Adoption quits me of all fear,  
And makes me challenge a child's portion there.  
I am a kin to Hero's being thine,  
And part of my alliance is divine.  
Orpheus, Musaeus, Homer too; beside  
Thy Brothers by the Roman Mother's side;  
As Ovid, Virgil, and the Latin Lyre,  
That is so like thy Horace; the whole choir  
Of Poets are by thy Adoption, all  
My uncles; thou hast given me power to call  
Phoebus himself my grandsire; by this grant  
Each Sister of the nine is made my Aunt.  
Go you that reckon from a large descent  
Your lineal Honours, and are well content  
To glory in the age of your great name,  
Though on a Heralds faith you build the same:  
I do not envy you, nor think you blessed  
Though you may bear a Gorgon on your Crest  
By direct line from Perseus; I will boast  
No farther than my Father; that's the most  
I can, or should be proud of; and I were  
Unworthy his adoption, if that here  
I should be dully modest; boast I must  
Being son of his Adoption, not his lust.  
And to say truth, that which is best in me  
May call you father, 'twas begot by thee.  
Have I a spark of that celestial flame  
Within me, I confess I stole the same  
Prometheus like, from thee; and may I feed  
His vulture, when I dare deny the deed.  
Many more moons thou hast, that shine by night,  
All Bankrups, were't not for a borrowed light;  
Yet can forswear it; I the debt confess,  
And think my reputation ne'er the less.  
For Father let me be resolved by you;  
Is't a disparagement from rich Peru  
To ravish gold; or theft, for wealthy Ore  
To ransack Tagus, or Pactolus' shore?  
Or does he wrong Alcinous, that for want  
Doth take from him a sprig or two, to plant  
A lesser Orchard? sure it cannot be:  
Nor is it theft to steal some flames from thee,  
Grant this, and I'll cry guilty, as I am,  
And pay a filial reverence to thy name.  
For when my Muse upon obedient knees,  
Asks not a Father's blessing, let her lose  
The fame of this Adoption; 'tis a curse  
I wish her 'cause I cannot think a worse.  
And here, as Piety bids me, I entreat  
Phoebus to lend thee some of his own heat,  
To cure thy Palsy; else I will complain  
He has no skill in herbs; Poets in vain  
Make him the God of Physic; 'twere his praise  
To make thee as immortal as thy Bayss;  
As his own Daphne; 'twere a shame to see  
The God, not love his Priest, more than his Tree.  
But if heaven take thee, envying us thy Lyre,  
'Tis to pen Anthems for an Angel's choir.    

In Lesbiam, & Histrionem.  

I Wonder what should Madam Lesbian mean  
To keep young Histrio, and for what scene  
So bravely she maintains him; that what sense  
He please to bless, 'tis done at her expense!  
The play-boy spends secure; he shall have more;  
As if both Indies did supply his store.  
As if he did in bright Pactolus swim,  
Or Tagus yellow waves did water him:  
And yet has no revenues to defray  
These charges, but the Madam, she must pay  
His prodigal disbursments: Madams are  
To such as he, more than a treble share.  
She pays (which is more than she needs to do)  
For her own coming in, and for his too.  
This is reward due to the sacred sin;  
No charge too much done to the beardless chin:  
Although she stint her poor old Knight Sr john,  
To live upon his exhibition,  
His hundred marks per Annum; when her joy,  
Her sanguine darling, her spruce active boy  
May scatter Angels; rub out filks, and shine  
In clothes of gold; cry loud the world is mine:  
Keep his Race-nags, and in Hyde-park be seen  
Brisk as the best (as if the stage had been  
Grownethe Court's Rival) can to Brackly go,  
To Lincoln Race, and to New-market too;  
At each of these his hundred pounds has vieed  
On Peggabrigs, or Shotten-herrings side;  
And loses without swearing. Let them curse  
That neither have a Fortunatus purse,  
Nor such a Madam; if this world do hold  
(As very likely 'twill) Madam's grown old  
Will be the best Monopolies; Histrio may  
At Maw, or Gleek, or at Primero play.  
Still Madam goes to stake; Histrio knows  
Her worth, and therefore dices too; and goes  
As deep, the Caster, as the only Son  
Of a dead Alderman, come to twenty one  
A whole week since; you'd know the reason why  
Lesbian does this; guess you as well as I;  
Then this I can no better reason tell;  
'Tis 'cause he plays the woman's part so well.  
I see old Madams are not only toil;  
No tilth so fruitful as a barren soil.  
Ah poor day labourers, how I pity you  
That shrink, and sweat to live with much ado!  
When had you wit to understand the right,  
'Twere better wages to have worked by night.  
Yet some that resting here, do only think  
That youth with age is an unequal link:  
Conclude, that Histrio's task as hard must be,  
As was Mezentius bloody cruelty.  
Who made the living to embrace the dead,  
And so expire: but I am rather lead  
His bargain of the two the best to call;  
He at one game keeps her, she him at all    

De Histrice. Ex Claudiano.  

Famed Stymphal, I have heard, thy birds in flight  
Shoot showers of arrows forth all levied right.  
And long the fable of those quills of steel  
Did seem to me a tale incredible.  
Now have I faith; the Porcupine I see,  
And then th' Herculean birds no wonders be.  
Her longer head like a swine's snout doth show;  
Bristles like horns upon her forehead grow.  
A fiery heat glows from her flaming eye;  
Under her shaggy back the shape doth lie  
As 'twere a whelp: nature all Art hath tried  
In this small beast, so strangely fortified.  
A threatening wood o'er all her body stands;  
And stiff with Pikes the spectled stalks in bands  
Grow to the war; while under those doth rise  
An other troop, girt with alternate dyes  
Of several hue; which while a black doth fill  
The inward space, ends in a solid quill.  
That lessening by degrees, doth in a while,  
Take a quick point, and sharpens to a Pile.  
Nor doth her squadrons like the hedgehogs stand  
Fixed; but she darts them forth, and at command  
far of her members aims; shot through the sky  
From her shaked side the Native Engines fly.  
Sometimes retiring, Farthian like, she'll wound  
Her following foe; sometimes in trenching round,  
In battle form, marshalling all her flanks,  
she'll clash her javelins to off right the ranks  
Of her poor enemies: lining every side  
With spears, to which she is herself allied.  
Each part of her's a soldier, from her back  
But stirred, a horse and horrid noise doth crack;  
That one would think the trumpets did incite  
Two adverse Armies to begin to fight;  
So great a noise, from one so small did rise.  
Then to her skill in Arms she is so wise  
As to add Policy, and a thrifty fear  
Of her own safety; she a wrath doth bear  
Not prodigal of weapons, but content  
With wary threatening; and hath seldom sent  
An arrow forth, caused by an idle strife,  
But spends 'em only to secure her life!   

And then her diligent stroke so certain is  
Without all error, she will seldom miss.  
No distance cousin's her; the dumb skin aims right,  
And rules the levy of the skilful sight.  
What humane labour, though we boast it such,  
Withal her reason can perform so much?  
They from the Cretan Goats their horns must take;  
And after, those with fire must softer make.  
Bull's guts must bend their bows; and e'er they fight  
Steel arms their darts; and feathers wing their flights.   

When lo a little beast we armed see  
With nothing but her own Artillery:  
Who seeks no for rain aid; with her all go,  
She to herself is Quiver, darts, and bow.   

One Creature all the Arts of warfare knows;  
If from examples then the Practice flows  
Of humane life; hence did th' Invention grow  
At distance to encounter with our foe.  
Hence the Cydoniaus instructed are  
Their Stratagems, and manner of their war.  
Hence did the Parthians learn to fight, and fly;  
Taught by this bird their skilful Archery.    

In Archimedis Sphaeram ex Claudiano.  

IOve saw the Heavens framed in a little glass,  
And laughing, to the Gods these words did pass;  
Comes then the power of mortal cares so far?  
In brittle Orbs my labours acted are.  
The statutes of the Poles, the faith of things,  
The Laws of Gods this Syracusian brings  
Hither by art: Spirits enclosed attend  
Their several spheres, and with set motions bend  
The living work: Each year the feigned Sun,  
Each Month returns the counterfeited Moon;  
And viewing now her world, bold Industry  
Grows proud, to know the heavens her subjects be.  
Believe Salmonius hath false thunders thrown,  
For a poor hand is Nature's rival grown.    

De Magnete. Ex Claudiano.  

WHo in the world with busy reason pries,  
Searching the seed of things, & there descries  
With what defect labours th' Eclipsed moon,  
What cause commands a paleness in the Sun,  
Whence ruddy comets with their fatal hair,  
Whence winds do flow, and what the Motions are  
That shake the bowels of the trembling earth;  
What strikes the lightning forth; whence clouds give birth  
To horrid thunders; and doth also know  
What light lends lustre to the painted Bow:  
If aught of truth his soul doth understand,  
Let him resolve a question I'll demand:   

There is a stone which we the loadstone style,  
Of colour ugly, dark, obscure, and vile:  
It never decked the sleiked locks of Kings,  
No Ornament, no gorgeous Tire it brings  
To Virgins beauteous necks, it never shown  
A splendent buckle in their maiden Zone:  
But only hear the wonders I will tell  
Of his black peeble, and 'twill then excel  
All bracelets, and what ere the diving Moor  
Amongst the red weeds seeks for i'th' Eastern shore:  
From Iron first it lives, Iron it eats,  
But that sweet feast it knows no other meats;  
Thence she renews her strength, vigour is sent  
Through all her nerves by that hard nourishment;  
Without that food she dies, a famine numm's  
Her meager joints, a thirst her veins consumes.  
Mars that frights Cities with his bloody spears,  
And Venus that releases humane fears,  
Do both together in one Temple shine,  
Both jointly honoured in a common shrine;  
But different Statues, Mars a steel put on,  
And Venus figure was Magnetic stone.  
To them (as is the custom every year)  
The Priest doth celebrate a Nuptial there.  
The torch the Choir doth lead, the threshold's green  
With hallowed Myrtles, and the beds are seen  
To smell with rosy flowers, the Genial sheet  
Spread over with a purple Coverlet.   

But hear (o strange) the statues seemed to move,  
And Cytherea runs to catch her Love;  
And like their former joys in heaven possessed,  
With wanton heat clings to her Mars'es' breast;  
There hangs a grateful burden; then she throws  
Her arms about his helmet, to Enclose  
Her Love in amorous Gives, lest he get out,  
Here live embraces chain him round about.  
He stirred with love breathed gently through his veins,  
Is drawn by unseen links and secret chains  
To meet his spoused Gem; the air doth wed  
The steel unto the stone; thus strangely led  
The Deities their stolen delights replayed,  
And only Nature was the bridal maid.  
What heat in these two Metals did inspire  
Such mutual league? what concord's powerful fire  
Contracted their hard minds? the stone doth move  
With amorous heat, the steel doth learn to love.  
So Venus oft the God of war withstood,  
And gives him milder looks; when hot with blood  
He rages to the fight, fierce with desire,  
And with drawn points whets up his active Ire;  
She dares go forth alone, and boldly meet  
His foaming steeds, and with a winning greet  
The tumour of his high swollen breast off wage,  
Tempering with gentle flames his violent rage.  
Peace courts his foul, the fight he disavows,  
And his red plumes he now to kisses bows.   

Ah cruel Boy large thy dominions be,  
The Gods and all their Thunders yield to thee:  
Great jove to leave his heaven thou canst constrain,  
And midst the brinish waves to Lowe again.  
Now the cold Rocks thou striksed, the senseless stone  
Thy weapon feels, a lustful heat doth run  
Through veins of flint, the steel thy Pow'er can ta'en;  
And rigid Marble must admit thy flame.    

De Seine Veronensi. Ex Claudiano.  

HAppy the man that all his days hath spent  
Within his own grounds, and no farther went:  
Whom the same house that did him erst behold  
A little Infant, sees him now grown old,  
That with his staff walks where he crawled before,  
Counts th' age of one poor cottage and no more.  
Fortune ne'er him with various tumult pressed,  
Nor drank he unknown streams, a wand'ring guest.  
He feared no Merchants storms, nor drums of war,  
Nor ever knew the strifes of the hoarse Bar.  
Who though to th' next Town he a stranger be,  
Yet heaven's sweet prospect he enjoys more free.  
From fruits, not Consuls, computation brings,  
By Apples Autumns knows, by flowers the springs.  
Thus he the day by his own orb doth prize;  
In the same field his Sun doth set and rise.  
That knew an oak a twig, and walking thither  
Beholds a wood and he grown up together.  
Neighbou'ring Veron he may for India take,  
And think the red sea is Benacus lake.  
Yet is his 〈◊〉 untamed, and firm his knees,  
Him the third age a lusty Grandsire sees.  
Go seek whose ' will the far Iberian shore,  
This man hath lived, though that hath travelled more.    

The second Epod: of Horace translated.  

HAppy the man which far from city care;  
(Such as ancient Mortals were)  
With his own oxen ploughs his father's land,  
Free from Usurer's griping hand.  
The soldier's trumpets never break his sleep,  
Nor angry seas that raging keep.  
He shuns the wrangling Hall, nor foot doth set  
On the proud thresholds of the Great:  
His life is this (O life almost divine)  
To marry Elms unto the Vine;  
To prune unfruitful branches, and for them  
To graft a bough of happier stem.  
Or else within the low couched valleys views  
His well clothed floc'ks of bleating ewes.  
Sometimes his honey he in pots doth keep,  
Sometimes he shears his fleecy sheep.  
And when his fruits with Autumn ripened bee  
Gathers his Apples from the Tree.  
And joys to taste the pears himself did plant,  
And Grapes that naught of purple want.  
Under an Oak sometimes he lays his head,  
Making the tender grass his bed.  
Mean while the streams along their banks do float,  
And birds do chant with warbling throat;  
And gentle springs a gentle murmur keep,  
To lull him to a quiet sleep.  
When winter comes, and th' air doth chiller grow,  
Threatening showers and shivering snow;  
Either with hounds he hunts the tusked swine  
That foe unto the corn and vine;  
Or lays his nets; or limbs the unctuous bush  
To catch the blackbird, or the thrush.  
Sometimes the Hare he courses, and one way  
Makes both a pleasure and a prey.  
But if with him a modest wife doth meet,  
To guide his house and children sweet;  
Such as the Sabine or Apulean wife,  
Something brown but chaste of life;  
Such as will make a good warm fire to burn,  
Against her wearied Mate's return;  
And shutting in her stalls her fruitful Neat,  
Will milk the kines distended Teat:  
Fetching her husband of her selfe-brew'd beer,  
And other wholesome Country cheer.  
Sup him with bread and cheese, Pudding or Pie,  
Such dainties as they do not buy:  
Give me but these, and I shall never care  
Where all the Lucrine oysters are;  
These wholesome Country dainties shall to me  
Sweet as Tench or Sturgeon be.  
Had I but these I well could be without  
The Carp, the Salmon, or the Trout:  
Nor should the Phoenix self so much delight  
My not ambitious appetite,  
As should an Apple snatched from mine own trees,  
Or honey of my labouring Bees.  
My Cattles udders should afford me food,  
My sheep my cloth, my ground my wood.  
Sometimes a lamb, snatched from the wolf shall be  
A banquet for my friend and me.  
Sometimes a Calfeta'ne from her lowing Cow,  
Or tender Issue of the Sow.  
Our Gardens salads yield, Mallows to keep  
Loose bodies, Lettuce for to sleep.  
The cakling Hen an egg for breakfast lays,  
And Duck that in our water plays.  
The Goose for us her tender plumes hath bred  
To lay us on a softer bed.  
Our blankets are not died with Orphan's tears,  
Our Pillows are not stuffed with cares.  
To walk on our own grounds a stomach gets,  
The best of sauce to tart out meats.  
In midst of such a feast, 'tis joy to come  
And see the well fed Lambs at home.  
'Tis pleasure to behold th' inversed Blow  
The Languid necks of Oxen bow.  
And view th' industrious servants that will sweat  
Both at labour and at meat.  
Lord grant me but enough; I ask no more  
Than will serve mine, and help the poor.    

An Elegy upon the Lady Venetia Digby.  

DEath, who'd not change prerogatives with thee,  
That dost such rapes, yet mayst not questioned be  
Here cease thy wanton lust, be satisfied,  
Hope not a second, and so fair a bride.  
Where was her Mars, whose valiant arms did hold  
This Venus once, that thou durst be so bold  
By thy too nimble theft? I know 'twas fear,  
Lest he should come, that would have rescued her.  
Monster confess, didst thou not blushing stand,  
And thy pale cheek turn red to touch her hand?  
Did she not lightning-like strike sudden heat  
Through thy cold limbs, and thaw thy frost to sweat?  
Well since thou hast her, use her gently, Death,  
And in requital of such precious breath  
Watch sentinel to guard her, do not see  
The worms thy rivals, for the Gods will be.  
Remember Paris, for whose pettier sin,  
The Trojan gates let the stout Grecians in;  
So when time ceases, (whose unthrifty hand  
Has now almost consumed his stock of sand)  
Myriad of Angels shall in Armies come,  
And fetch (proud ravisher) there Helen home.  
And to revenge this rape, thy other store  
Thou shalt resign too, and shalt steal no more.  
Till than fair Ladies (for you now are fair,  
But till her death I feared your just despair,)  
Fetch all the spices that Arabia yields,  
Distil the choicest flowers of the fields:  
And when in one their best perfections meet  
Embalm her course, that she may make them sweet.  
Whilst for an Epitaph upon her stone  
I cannot write, but I must weep her one.   

Epitaph.  
Beauty itself lies here, in whom alone,  
Each part enjoyed the same perfection.  
In some the Eyes we praise; in some the Hair;  
In her the Lips; in her the Cheeks are fair;  
That Nymphs fine Feet, her Hands we beauteous call,  
But in this form we praise no part, but all.  
The ages past have many beauties shown,  
And I more plenty in our time have known;  
But in the age to come I look for none,  
Nature despairs, because her patterns gone.    

An Epitaph upon Mrs I. T.  

REader if thou hast a tear,  
Thou canst not choose but pay it here.  
Here lies modesty, meekness, zeal,  
Goodness, Piety, and to tell  
Her worth at once, one that had shown  
All virtues that her sex could own.  
Nor dare my praise too lavish be,  
Lest her dust blush for so would she.  
Hast thou beheld in the spring's bowers  
Tender buds break to bring forth flowers:  
So to keep virtue's stock, pale death  
took her to give her infant breath.  
Thus her accounts were all made even,  
She robbed not earth to add to heaven.    

An Epithalamium.  

Muse be a bride-maid, dost not hear  
How honoured Hunt and his fair Deer,  
This day prepare their wedding cheer?   

The swiftest of thy pinions take,  
And hence a sudden journey make,  
To help 'em break their bridal Cake.   

Hast 'em to Church, tell 'em love says  
Religion breeds but fond delays,  
To lengthen out the tedious days.   

Child the slow Priest, that so goes on,  
As if he feared he should have done  
His sermon, ere the glass be run.   

Bid him post o'er his words, as fast  
As if himself were now to taste  
The pleasure of so ●…aire a waist.   

Now lead the blessed Couple home,  
And serve a dinner up for some;  
Their banquet is as yet to come.  
Maids dance as nimbly as your blood,  
Which I see swell a purple flood  
In Emulation of that good.   

The bride possesseth; for I deem  
What she enjoys will be the theme  
This night of every virgin's dream.   

But envy not their blessed content,  
The hasty night is almost spent,  
And they of Cupid will be shent.   

The Sun is now ready to ride,  
Sure 'twas the morning I espied,  
Or 'twas the blushing of the bride.   

See how the lusty bridegrooms veins  
Swell, till the active torrent strains  
To break those o'er stretched azure chains.   

And the fair bride ready to cry  
To see her pleasant loss so nigh,  
Pants like the sealed Pigeons eye.   

Put out the torch, Love lovesno lights,  
Those that perform his mystic rites  
Must pay their Orisons by nights.   

Nor can that sacrifice be done  
By any Priest, or Nun alone,  
But when they both are met in one.   

Now you that taste of Hymen's cheer,  
See that your lips do meet so near,  
That cockles might be tutored there;   

And let the whisper of your love  
Such short and gentle murmurs prove,  
As they were Lectures to the dove.   

And in such strict embraces twine  
As if you read unto the Vine,  
The, Ivy and the Columbine.   

Then let your mutual bosoms beat,  
Till they create by virtual heat  
Myrrh, Balm, and spikenard in a sweat.   

Thence may there spring many a pair  
Of Sons and Daughters strong and fair:  
How soon the Gods have heard my prayer!   

Me thinks already I espy  
The cradles rock, the babies cry,  
And drowsy Nurse's Lullaby.    

An Epitaph upon his honoured friend Mr War.  

HEre lies the knowing head, the honest heart,  
Fair blood, and courteous hands, and every part  
Of gentle War, all with one stone content,  
Though each deserved a several monument.  
He was (believe me Reader) for 'tis rare  
Virtuous though young, and learned though an heir.  
Not with his Blood, or Nature's gifts content  
He paid them both their tribute which they lent.  
His ancestors in him fixed their pride,  
So with him all revived, with him all died.  
This made death lingering come, ashamed to be  
At once the ruin of a family.  
Learn Reader here, though long thy line hath stood,  
Time breeds consumptions in the noblest blood.  
Learn (Reader) here to what our Glories come,  
Here's no distinction 'twixt the House and Tomb.    

Upon the loss of his little finger.  

Arithmetic nine digits, and no more  
Admits of, than I still have all my store.  
For what mischance hath ta'en from my left hand,  
It seems did only for a Cipher stand.  
But this I'll say for thee departed joint,  
Thou wert not given to steal, nor pick, nor point  
At any in disgrace; but thou didst go  
Untimely to thy Death only to show  
The other members what they once must do;  
Hand, arm, leg, thigh, and all must follow too.  
Oft didst thou scan my verse, where if I miss  
Henceforth I will impute the cause to this.  
A finger's loss (I speak it not in sport)  
Will make a verse a Foot too short.  
Farewell dear finger, much I grieve to see  
How soon mischance hath made a Hand of thee.    

On the Passion of Christ.  

WHat rends the temples veil, where is day gone?  
How can a general darkness cloud the Sun?  
Astrologers their skill in vain do try;  
Nature must needs be sick, when God can dye.    

Necessary observations.  

1 Precept.  
FIrst worship God, he that forgets to pray  
Bids not himself good morrow nor good day.  
Let thy first labour be to purge thy sin;  
And serve him first, whence all things did begin.   

2 Pre.  
Honour thy Parents to prolong thine end,  
With them though for a truth do not contend.  
Though all should truth defend, do thou lose rather  
The truth a while, then lose their Loves for ever.  
Who ever makes his father's heart to bleed,  
Shall have a child that will revenge the deed.   

3 Pre.  
Think that is just; 'tis not enough to do,  
Unless thy very thoughts are upright too.   

4 Pre.  
Defend the truth, for that who will not dye,  
A coward is, and gi●…s himself the lie.   

5 Pre.  
Honour the King, as sons their Parents do,  
For he's thy Father, and thy Country's too.   

6 Pre.  
A friend is gold; if true he'll never leave thee,  
Yet both without a touchstone may deceive thee.   

7 Pre.  
Suspicious men think others false, but he  
Cousins himself that will too credulous be.  
For thy friends sake, let no suspect be shown;  
And shun to be too credulous for thine own.   

8 Pre.  
Take well what e'er shall chance, though bade it be;  
Take it for good, and 'twill be so to thee.   

9 Pre.  
Swear not: An oath is like a dangerous dart  
Which shot rebounds to strike the shooters heart.   

10 Pre.  
The law's the path of life; then that obey,  
Who keeps it not, hath wand'ring lost his way.   

11 Pre.  
Thank those that do thee good, so shalt thou gain  
Their second help, if thou shouldst need again.   

12 Pre.  
To doubtful matters do not headlong run;  
What's well left off, were better not begun.   

13 Pre.  
Be well advised, and wary counsel make,  
ere thou dost any action undertake.  
Having undertaken, thy endeavours bend  
To bring thy Action to a perfect end.   

14 Pre.  
Safe in thy breast close lock up thy Intents;  
For he that knows thy purpose, best prevents.   

15 Pre.  
To tell thy miseries will no comfort breed,  
Men help thee most that think thou hast no need.  
But if the world once thy misfortunes know,  
Thou soon shalt lose a friend, and find a foe.   

16 Pre.  
Keep thy friends goods; for should thy wants be known,  
Thou canst not tell but they may be thine own.   

17 Pre.  
To gather wealth through fraud do not presume,  
A little evil got will much consume.   

18 Pre.  
First think, and if thy thoughts approve thy will  
Then speak, and after what thou speak'st fulfil.   

19 Pre.  
Spare not, nor spend too much; be this thy care,  
Spare but to spend, and only spend to spare.  
Who spends too much may want, and so complain.  
But he spends best that spares to spend again.   

20 Pre.  
If with a stranger thou discourse first learn  
By strictest observations to discern,  
If he be wiser than thyself; if so  
Be dumb, and rather choose by him to know.  
But if thyself perchance the wiser bee,  
Then do thou speak that he may learn by thee,   

21 Pre.  
If thou dispraise a man let no man know,  
By any circumstance that he's thy foe:  
If men but once find that, they ' l quickly see  
Thy words from hate, and not from judgement be.  
If thou wouldst tell his vice, do what you can  
To make the world believe thou lov'st the man.   

22 Pre.  
Reprove not in their wrath incensed men,  
Good council comes clean out of season then.  
But when his fury is appeased and passed,  
He will conceive his fault and men at last.  
When he is cool, and calm then utter it;  
No man gives Physic in the midst o'th' Fit.   

23 Pre.  
Seem not too conscious of thy worth, nor be  
The first that knows thy own sufficiency.  
If to thy King and Country thy true care  
More serviceable is then others are.  
That blaze in court, and every Action sway  
As if the Kingdom on their shoulders lay.  
Or if thou servest a master, and dost see  
Others preferred of less Desert than thee.  
Do not complain though such a Plaint be true,  
Lords will not give their Favours as a Due.  
But rather stay and hope: it cannot be  
But men at last must needs thy virtues see.  
So shall thy trust endure and greater grow,  
Whilst they that are above thee, fall below.   

24 Pre.  
Desire not thy meane-fortunes for to set  
Next to the stately Manors of the Great.  
He will suspect thy labours, and oppress,  
Fearing thy greatness makes his wealth the less.  
Great ones do love no Aequals: But must be  
Above the Terms of all comparitie.  
Such a rich Neighbour is compared best  
To the great Pike that eats up all the rest.  
Or else like Pharaohs Cow, that in an hour  
Will seven of his fattest friends devour.  
Or like the sea whose vastness swallows clean  
All other streams, though no increase be seen.  
Live by the Poor, they do the Poor no harm;  
So Bees thrive best when they together swarm.  
Rich men are Bears, and Poor men ought to fear 'em  
Like ravenous wolves; 'tis dangerous living near 'em.   

25 Pre.  
Each man three Devils hath self borne afflictions;  
Th' unruly Tongue, the Belly, and Affections.  
Charm these, such holy Conjurations can  
Gain thee the friendship both of God and man.   

26 Pre.  
So live with man as if God's curious eye,  
Did every where into thine Actions prie.  
For never yet was sin so void of sense,  
So fully faced with brazen Impudence.  
As that it durst before men's eyes commit  
Their beastly lusts, lest they should witness it.  
How dare they then offend, when God shall see,  
That must alone both judge and jury be.   

27 Pre.  
Take thou no care how to defer thy death,  
And give more respite to this Mortal breath.  
Wouldst thou live long? the only means are these  
'Bove Galens' diet, or Hypocrates.  
Strive to live well; Tread in the upright ways,  
And rather count thy Actions then thy days,  
Then thou hast lived enough amongst us here,  
For every day well spent I count a year.  
Live well, and then how soon so ere thou die,  
Thou art of Age to claim Eternity.  
But he that out lives Nestor, and appears  
T' have past the date of grey Mathusalem's years.  
If he his life to sloth and sin doth give,  
I say he only Was, he did not Live.   

28 Pre.  
Trust not a man unknown he may deceive thee;  
And doubt the man thou know'st for he may leave thee.  
And yet for to prevent exceptions too,  
'Tis best not seem to doubt although you do.   

29 Pre.  
Hear much but little speak, a wise man fears,  
And will not use his tongue so much as ears.  
The Tongue if it the hedge of Teeth do break  
Will others shame, and its own Ruin speak.  
I never yet did ever read of any  
Undone by hearing, but by speaking many.  
The reason's this, the Ears if chaste and holy,  
Do let in wit, the Tongue doth let out folly.   

30 Pre.  
To all alike be courteous, meek, and kind,  
A winning carriage with indifferent mind,  
But not familiar, that must be exempt,  
Grooms saucy love, soon turns into contempt.  
Be sure he be at least as good as thee,  
To whom thy friendship shall familiar be.   

31 Pre.  
judge not between two friends, but rather see  
If thou canst bring them friendly to agree.  
So shalt thou both their Loves to thee increase,  
And gain a Blessing too for making Peace;  
But if thou shouldst decide the cause i'th' end,  
How e'er thou judge thou sure shalt lose a friend.   

32 Pre.  
Thy credit wary keep, 'tis quickly gone;  
Being got by many Actions, lost by one,   

33 Pre.  
Unto thy Brother buy not, cell, nor lend,  
Such Actions have their own peculiar end;  
But rather choose to give him, if thou see  
That thou hast power, and he necessity.   

34 Pre.  
Spare in thy youth, lest Age should find thee poor  
When time is past, and thou canst spare no more.  
No coupled misery is so great in either,  
As Age and Want when both do meet together.   

35 Pre.  
Fly Dunkennesse, whose vile incontinence  
Takes both away the reason and the sense.  
Till with Circaean cups thy mind possessed  
Leaves to be man, and wholly turns a Beast.  
Think whilst thou swallowest the capacious Bowl,  
Thou lettest in Seas to wrack and drown the soul.  
That hell is open, to remembrance call,  
And think how subject drunkards are to Fall.  
Consider how it soon destroys the grace  
Of humane shape, spoiling the beauteous face.  
Puffing the cheeks, blearing the curious eye,  
Studding the face with vicious Heraldry.  
What Pearls and Rubies doth the wine disclose,  
Making the purse poor to enrich the Nose?  
How does it nurse disease, infect the heart,  
Drawing some sickness into every part!  
The stomach overcloyd, wanting a vent  
Doth up again resend her excrement.  
And then (o see what too much wine can do!)  
The very soul being drunk spews secrets too.  
The Lungs corrupted breath contagious air,  
Belching up fumes that unconcocted are.  
The Brain o'rewarmed (losing her sweet repose)  
Doth purge her filthy ordure through the nose.  
The veins do boil glutted with vicious food,  
And quickly Fevers the distempered blood.  
The belly swells, the foot can hardly stand  
Lamed with the Gout; the Palsy shakes the Hand.  
And through the flesh sick waters sinking in,  
Do bladder-like puff up the dropsied skin.  
It weaks the Brain, it spoils the memory;  
Hasting on Age, and wilful Poverty.  
It drowns thy better parts; making thy name  
To foes a laughter, to thy friends a shame.  
'Tis virtue's poison, and the bane of trust,  
The match of wrath, the fuel unto lust.  
Quite leave this vice, and turn not to't again,  
Upon Presumption of a stronger brain.  
For he that holds more wine than other can,  
I rather count a Hogshead then a man.   

36 Pre.  
Let not thy Impotent lust so powerful ●…ee  
Over thy Reason, Soul, and Liberty,  
As to enforce thee to a married life,  
ere thou art able to maintain a wife.  
Thou canst not feed upon her lips and face  
She cannot clothe thee with a poor embrace.  
Myself being yet alone, and but one still,  
With patience could endure the worst of ill.  
When fortune frowns, one to the wars may go  
To fight against his foes, and fortunes too.  
But (o) the grief were trebled for to see▪  
Thy wretched Bride half pined with Poverty.  
To see thy Infants make their dumb complaint  
And thou not able to relieve their want.  
The poorest beggar when he's dead and gone,  
Is rich as he that sits upon the Throne.  
But he that having no estate is w●…d,  
Starves in his grave, being wretched when he's dead.   

37 Pre.  
If e'er I take a wife I will have one  
Neither for beauty nor for portion;  
But for her virtues; and I'll married be  
Not for my lust, but for posterity.  
And when I am wed, I'll never jealous be,  
But make her learn how to be chaste by me.  
And be her face what 'twill, I'll think her fair  
If she within the house confine her care.  
If modest in her words and clothes she be,  
Not daubed with pride and prodigality.  
If with her neighbours she maintains no strife,  
And bear herself to me a faithful wife;  
I'd rather unto such a one be wed,  
Then clasp the choicest Helen in my bed.  
Yet though she were an Angel my affection  
Should only love, not dote on her perfection.    

An Elegy.  

LOve, give me leave to serve thee, and be wise  
To keep thy torch in, but restore blind eyes.  
I will a flame into my bosom take,  
That Martyr's Court when they embrace the stake:  
Not dull, and smoky fires, but heat divine,  
That burns not to consume, but to refine.  
I have a Mistress for perfections rare  
In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair.  
Like Tapers on the Altar shine her eyes;  
Her breath is the perfume of Sacrifice.  
And where soe'er my fancy would begin,  
Still her perfection lets religion in.  
I touch her like my Beads with devout care;  
And come unto my Courtship as my Prayer.  
We sit, and talk, and kiss away the hours,  
As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers.  
Go wanton Lover spare thy sighs and tears,  
Put on the Livery which thy dotage wears,  
And call it Love, where heresy gets in  
Zeal's but a coal to kindle greater sin.  
We wear no flesh, but one another greet,  
As blessed souls in separation meet.  
Were't possible that my ambitious sin,  
Durst commit rapes upon a Cherubin,  
I might have lustful thoughts to her, of all  
Earth's heavenly Choir the most Angelical.  
Looking into my breast, her form I find  
That like my Guardian-Angell keeps my mind  
From rude attempts; and when affections stir,  
I calm all passions with one thought of her.  
Thus they whose reasons love, and not their sense,  
The spirits love: thus one Intelligence  
Reflects upon his like, and by chaste loves  
In the same sphere this and that Angel moves.  
Nor is this barren Love; one noble thought  
Begets an other, and that still is brought  
To bed of more; virtues and grace increase,  
And such a numerous issue ne'er can cease.  
Where Children, though great blessings, only be  
Pleasures reprieved to some posterity.  
Beasts love like men, if men in lust delight,  
And call that Love which is but appetite.  
When essence meets with essence, and souls join  
In mutual knots, that's the true Nuptall twine:  
Such Lady is my Love, and such is true;  
All other Love is to your Sex, not You.    

An Apology for his false Prediction that his Aunt Lane would be delivered of a Son.  〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 The best Prophets are but good Guessers. 

ARe then the Sibyls dead? what is become  
Of the loud Oracles? are the Augurs dumb?  
Live not the Magis that so oft revealed  
Nature's intents? is Gipsisme quite repealed?  
Is Friar Bacon nothing but a name?  
Or is all witchcraft brained with Doctor Lamb?  
Does none the learned Bungies soul inherit?  
Has Madam Davers dispossessed her spirit?  
Or will the Welshmen give me leave to say  
There is no faith in Merlin? none, though they  
Dare swear each letter creed, and pawn their blood  
He prophesied, an age before the flood,  
Of holy Dee; which was, as some have said,  
Ten generations ere the Ark was made.  
All your predictions but Impostures are,  
And you but prophecy of things that were.   

And you Celestial jugglers that pretend  
You are acquainted with the stars, and send  
Your spies to search what's done in every sphere,  
Keeping your state intelligencers there.  
Your art is all deceit; for now I see  
Against the Rules of deep Astrology,  
Girls may be got when Mars his power doth vaunt,  
And boys when Venus is Predominant.  
Nor doth the Moon though moist and cold she be  
Always at full work to produce the she:  
Had this been true I had foretold no lie,  
It was the Art was in the wrong, not I  
Thence I so dully erred in my belief,  
As to mistake an Adam for an Eve:  
O gross mistake, and in the civil pleas  
Error Personae, Mr Doctor says,  
And may admit divorce, but farewell now  
You hungry star-fed Tribe, hence forth I vow  
Talmud, Albumazar, and Ptolemy,  
With Erra▪ Pater shall no Gospel be.  
Nor will I ever after this I swear  
Throw Dice upon the shepherd's Calendar.  
But why do I t' excuse my Ignorance  
Lay blame upon the Art? no, no, perchance  
I have lost all my skill: for well I know  
My Physiognomy two years ago  
By the small Pox was marred, and it may be  
A finger's loss hath spoilt my Palmistry.   

But why should I a gross mistake confesse●…  
No I am confident I did but guess  
The very truth: it was a male child then,  
But Aunt you stayed till 'twas a wench again.  
To see th' unconstancy of humane things,  
How little time great Alteration brings!  
All thing are subject unto change we know,  
And if all things, then why not sexes too▪  
Tiresias we read a man was borne  
Yet after did into a woman turn.  
Levinus a Physician of great fame,  
Reports that one at Paris did the same.  
And devout Papists say certain it is,  
One of their Popes by Metamorphosis  
Endured the same; else how could joan be heir  
To the succession of Saint Peter's chair.  
So I at Chairing cross have beheld one  
A statue cut out of the Parian stone  
To figure great Aloides; which when well  
The Artist saw it was not like to sell;  
He takes his chisel, and away he pares  
Part of his sinewy neck, shaving the hairs  
Of his rough beard and face, smoothing the brow,  
And making that look amorous; which but now  
Stood wrinkled with his anger; from his head  
He poles the shaggy locks, that had o'er spread  
His brawny shoulders with a fleece of hair,  
And works instead more gentle tresses there.  
And thus his skill exactly to express,  
Soon makes a Venus of an Hercules.  
And can it then impossible appear,  
That such a change as this might happen here.  
For this cause therefore (Gentle Aunt) I pray  
Blame not my Prophecy, but your delay.   

But this will not excuse me; that I may  
Directly clear myself, there is no way  
Unless the jesuits will to me impart  
The secret depth of their mysterious art.  
Who from their halting Patriot learn to frame  
A Crutch for every word that falls out lame.  
That can the subtle difference descry  
Betwixt aequivocation and a lie.  
And a rare escape by sly distinction find  
To swear the Tongue, and yet not swear the mind.  
Now armed with Arguments I nothing dread,  
But my own cause thus confidently plead.   

I said there was a boy with in your womb,  
Not actually, but one in time to come.  
Or by Antiphrasis my words might be  
That ever understands the contrary;  
Or when I said you should a manchild bear,  
You understood me of the sex I fear,  
When I did mean the mind; and thus define  
A woman but of spirit masculine.  
Or had I said it should a girl have been  
And it had proved a boy you should have seen  
Me solve it thus; I meant a boy by fate,  
But one that would have been effeminate.  
Or thus I had my just excuse begun,  
I said my Aunt would surely bring a son  
If not a daughter; what we seers foresee  
Is certain truth unless it falsehood be.  
Or I affirm because she brought forth one  
That will bring boys, she hath brought forth a son.  
For do not we call Father Adam thus,  
Because that he got those that have got us.  
What ere I said by simple Affirmation,  
I meant the right by mental reservation.    

An Epithalamium to Mt F. H.  

FRanke, when this Morn the harbinger of day  
Blushed from her Eastern pillow where she lay,  
Clasped in her Tython's arms red with those kisses  
Which being enjoyed by night, by day she misses:  
I walked the fields to see the teeming earth,  
Whose womb now swells to give the flowers a birth.  
Where while my thoughts with every object ta'en,  
In several contemplations rapt my brain,  
A sudden lustre like the Sun did rise,  
And with to great a light eclipsed mine eyes.  
At last I spied a Beauty, such another,  
As I have sometimes heard call the●… her Brother.  
But by the chariot, and her team of Doves,  
I guest her to be Venus, Queen of Loves.  
With her a pretty boy I there did see,  
But for his wings I'had thought it had been thee▪  
At last when I beheld his quiver of darts,  
I knew 'twas Cupid Emperor of our hearts.  
Thus I accosted them, Goddess divine,  
Great Queen of Paphos and Cytherian shrine:  
Whose Altars no man sees that can depart  
Till in those flames he sacrifice his heart;  
That conquerst Gods, and men; and heaven divine,  
Yea and hell too: Bea●…e witness Pr●…serpine.  
And Cupid, thou that canst thy Trophies show  
Over all these, and o'er thy Mother too;  
Witness the night which when with Mars she lay,  
Did all her sports to all the Gods betray:  
Tell me great Powers; what makes such glorious beams  
Visit the lowly banks of Ninus streams?  
Then Venus smiled, and smiling bid me know  
Cupid and she must both to Weston go.  
I guest the cause; for Hymen came behind  
In saffron robes, his Nuptial knots to bind.  
Then thus I prayed: Great Venus by the Love  
Of thy Adonu; as thou hop'st to move  
Thy Mars to second kisses; and obtain  
Beauties reward, the Golden fruit again:  
Bow thy fair ears to my chaste prayers, and take  
Such Orisons as purest Love can make.  
Thou, and thy boy I know are posting thither  
To tie pure hearts in purest bonds together.  
Cupid thou knowst the maid: I'have seen thee lie  
With all thy arrows lurking in her eye.  
Venus thou knowst her love, for I have seen  
The time thou wouldst have fain her Rival been.  
O bless them both! Let their affections meet  
With happy omens in the Genial sheet.  
Both comely, beauteous both, both equal fair,  
Thou canst not glory in a fitter pair.  
I would not thus have prayed if I had seen  
Fourscore and ten, wed to a young fifteen.  
Death in such Nuptials seems with love to play,  
And january seems to match with May:  
Autumn to wed the Spring; Frost to desire  
To kiss the Sun; Ice to embrace the fire.  
Both these are young, both sprightful, both complete,  
Of equal moisture, and of equal heat:  
And their desires are one; were all Loves such  
Who would love solitary sheets so much▪  
Virginity (whereof chaste fools do boast;  
A thing not known what, 'tis till it be lost)  
Let others praise; for me I cannot tell  
What virtue, 'tis to lead Baboons in hell.  
Woman is one with man when she is bribed▪  
The same in kind, only in sex divided.  
Had all died maids, we had been nothing then;  
▪ Adam had been the first, and last of men.  
How none O Venus then thy power had seen▪  
How then in vain had Cupid's arrows been▪  
Myself whose cool thoughts feel no hot desires,  
That serve not Venus flames, but Vesta's fires;  
Had I not vowed the cloisters, to confine  
Myself to no more wives then only nine  
Parnassus brood; those that hear Phoebus sing▪  
Bathing their naked limbs in Thespian spring.  
I'd rather be an Owl of Birds, than one  
That is the Phoenix if she live alone▪  
Two is the first of numbers; one naught can do,  
One than is good, when one is made of two.  
Which mystery is thine great Venus, thine;  
Thy union can two souls in one combine.  
Now by that power I charge thee bless the sheets  
With happy issue where this couple meets.  
The maid's a Harvy, one that may compare  
With fruit Hesperian▪ or the Dragonscare.  
Her Love a Ward; not he that awed the seas,  
Frighting the fearful Hamadryades.  
That Ocean terror, he that durst outbrave  
Dread Neptune's Trident, Amphitrites wave.  
This Ward a milder Pirate sure will prove,  
And only sails the Hellesp●…nt of Love,  
As once Leander did; his theft is best  
That nothing steals but what's within the breast▪  
Yet let that other Ward his thefts compare,  
And ransack all his treasures, let him bear  
The wealth of worlds, the bowels of the West  
And all the richest treasures of the East.  
The sands of Tagu●…, all Pactolus over,  
With both the Indies; yet this one gets more  
At once by Love; then he by force could get,  
Or ravish from the Merchants; let him set  
His Oars together; let him vainly boast  
Of spices snatched from the Canary coast;  
The Gums of Egypt, or the Tyrian fleece  
Died in his Native purple, with what Greece,  
Colchos, Arabia, or proud China yields,  
With all the Metals in Guiana fields.  
When this has set all forth to boast his pride  
In various pomp; this other brings his Bride,  
And I'll be judged by all judicious eyes,  
If she alone prove not the richer prize.  
O let not death have power their Love to sever!  
Let them both love, and live and die together.  
O let their beds be chaste, and banish thence  
As well all jealousies, as all offence!  
For some men I have known, whose wives have been▪  
As chaste as Ice: such as were never seen  
In wanton dalliance, such as until death  
Never smelled any, but their husband's breath.  
Yet the Goodman still dreamed of horns, still fearing  
His forehead would grow harder; still appearing  
To his own fancy, bull, or stag, or more,  
Or Ox at least, that was an Ass before.  
If she would have new clothes, he straight will fear  
She loves a Tailor; if she sad appear  
He guesses soon it is 'cause he's at home;  
If jocund, sure she has some friend to come.  
If she be sick, he thinks no grief she felt,  
But wishes all Physicians had been guelt.  
But ask her how she does, sets him a swearing,  
Feeling her pulse, is love tricks past the bearing.  
Poor wretched wife, she cannot look a wry  
But without doubt 'tis flat adultery.   

And jealous wives there be, that are afraid  
To entertain a handsome Chambermaid.  
far, far from them be all such thoughts I pray,  
Let their Loves prove eternal, and no day  
Add date to their affections, grant (o Queen)  
Their Loves like nuptial bays be always green.  
And also grant— But here she bid me stay,  
For well she knew what I had else to say.  
I asked no more, wished her hold on her race  
To join their hands, and send them night apace.  
She smiled to hear what I in sport did say,  
So whipped her doves and smiling rid away.    

To Mr Feltham on his book of Resolves.  

IN this unconstant Age when all men's minds  
In various change strive to outvie the winds.  
When no man sets his foot upon the square,  
But treads on globes and circles; when we are  
The Apes of Fortune, and desire to be  
Revolved on as fickle wheels as she.  
As if the planets, that our rulers are,  
Made the soul's motion too irregular.  
When minds change oftener than the Greek could dream,  
That made the Metempseucosed soul his theme;  
Yea oft to beastly forms▪ when truth to say  
Moons change but once a month, we twice a day.  
When none resolves but to be rich, and ill;  
Or else resolves to be irresolute still.  
In such a tide of minds, that every hour  
Do ebb and flow; by what inspring power,  
By what instinct of grace I cannot tell,  
Dost thou resolve so much, and yet so well?  
While foolish men whose reason is their sense,  
Still wander in the world's circumference:  
Thou holding passions raines with strictest hand  
Dost firm and fixed in the Centre stand.  
Thence thou art settled, others while they tend  
To rove about the circle find no end.  
Thy book I read, and read it with delight,  
Resolving so to live as thou dost wright.  
And yet I guess thy life thy book produces,  
And but expresses thy peculiar uses.  
Thy manners dictate, thence thy writing came,  
So Lesbians by their work their rules do frame,  
Not by the rules the work; thy life had been  
Pattern enough, had it of all been seen,  
Without a book; books make the difference here,  
In them thou liv'st the same but every where.  
And this I guess, though thouart unknown to me,  
By thy chaste writing; else it could not be  
(Dissemble ne'●…e so well) but here and there  
Some tokens of that plague would soon appear;  
Oft lurking in the skin a secret gout  
In books would sometimes blister, and break out.  
Contagious sins in which men take delight  
Must needs infect the paper when they write.   

But let the curious eyes of Lynceus look  
Through every nerve, and sinew of this book,  
Of which 'tis full: let the most diligent mind  
Prie through it, each sentence he shall find  
Seasoned with chaste, not with an itching salt,  
More favouring of the Lamp, then of the malt.  
But now too many think no wit divine,  
None worthy life, but whose luxurious line  
Can ravish Virgins thoughts. And is it fit  
To make a pandar, or a bawd of wit?  
But tell'em of it, in contempt they look,  
And ask in scorn if you would geld their book.  
As if th' effeminate brain could nothing do  
That should be chaste, and yet be masculine too.  
Such books as these (as they themselves indeed  
Truly confess) men do not praise, but read.  
Such idle books, which if per chance they can  
Better the brain, yet they corrupt the man.  
Thou hast not one bad line so lustful bred  
As to dye maid, or Matron's cheek in red.  
Thy modest wit, and witty honest letter  
Makes both at once my wit, and me the better.  
Thy book a Garden is, and helps us most  
To regain that, which we in Adam lost.  
Where on the Tree of knowledge we may feed,  
But such as no forbidden fruits doth breed.  
Whose leaves like those whence Eve her coat did frame,  
Serve not to cover, but to cure our shame.  
Fraught with all flowers, not only such as grows  
To please the eye, or to delight the nose.  
But such as may redeem lost healths again,  
And store of Hellebore to purge the brain.  
Such as would cure the furfet man did take  
From Adam's Apples: such as fain would make  
Man's second Paradise, in which should be  
The fruits of life, but no forbidden Tree.  
It is a Garden; ha' I thus did say:  
And maids, and Matrons blushing run away.  
But maids reenter these chaste pleasing bowers;  
chaste Matrons here gather the purest flowers.  
Fear not: from this pure Garden do not fly,  
In it doth no obscene Priapus lie.  
This is an Eden where no serpents be;  
To tempt the woman's imbecility.  
These lines rich sap the fruit to heaven doth raise;  
Nor doth the Cinnamon bark deserve less praise,  
I mean the style, being pure and strong and round,  
Not long but Pithy: being short breathed, but sound.  
Such as the grave, acute, wise Seneca sings,  
That best of Tutor to the worst of kings.  
Not long and empty; lofty but not proud;  
Subtle but sweet, high but without a cloud.  
Well settled full of nerves, in brief 'tis such  
That in a little hath comprised much,  
Like th' Iliads in a Nutshell: And I say  
Thus much for style; though truth should not be gay.  
In strumpet's glittering robes, yet nevertheless  
She well deserves a Matron's comeliness.  
Being too brave she would our fancies glut;  
But we should loathe her being too much the slut.  
The reasonable soul from heaven obtained  
The best of bodies; and that man hath gained  
A double praise; whose noble virtues are  
Like to the face, in soul and body fair.  
Who then would have a noble sentence clad  
In russet-thread-bare words, is full as mad  
As if Apelles should so fond dote,  
As to paint Venus in old Baucys coat.  
They err that would bring style so basely under;  
The lofty language of the Law was thunder.  
The wisest ' apothecary knows 'tis skill  
Neatly to candy o'er the wholesome pill.  
Best Physic then, when gall with sugar meets,  
Tempering Asbinthian bitterness with sweets.  
Such is thy sentence, such thy style, being read  
Men see them both together haply wed.  
And so resolve to keep them wed, as we  
Resolve to give them to posterity.  
Amongst thy resolves put my resolves in too;  
Resolve who's will, thus I resolve to do:  
That should my errors choose another's line  
Whereby to write, I mean to live by thine.    

In Natalem Augustissimi Principis Caroli.  

PRimatibi pertit soboles (dilecta Maria.)  
Elusitque uterum moesta Diana tuum.  
Tunc Coelo, nunc & terris foecunda fuisti,  
Quae potes & reges & peperisse deos.   

Thy first birth Mary was unto a tomb,  
And sad Lucina cheated thy blessed womb.  
To heaven thou then wert fruitful, now to earth,  
That canst give Saints as well as Kings a birth.    

Upon his Picture.  

WHen age hath made me what I am not now;  
And every wrinkle tells me where the plough  
Of time hath furrowed; when an Ice shall flow  
Through every vein, and all my head wear snow:  
When death displays his coldness in my cheek,  
And I, myself in my own Picture seek.  
Not finding what I am, but what I was▪  
In doubt which to believe, this, or my glass:  
Yet though I alter, this remains the same  
As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame,  
And first complexion; here will still be seen  
Blood on the cheek, and Down upon the chin.  
Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye,  
The ruddy Lip, and hair of youthful die.  
Behold what frailty we in man may see,  
Whose Shadow is less given to change than he.    

An Ode to Mr Anthony Stafford to hasten him into the Country,  

Come spur away,  
I have no patience for a longer stay;  
But must go down,  
And leave the chargeable noise of this great Town.  
I will the country see,  
Where old simplicity,  
Though hid in grey  
Doth look more gay  
Than foppery in plush and scarlat clad.  
Farewell you City-wits that are  
Almost at Civil war;  
'Tis time that I grow wise, when all the world grows mad.   

More of my days  
I will not spend to gain an Idiot's praise;  
Or to make sport  
For some slight Puny of the Inns of Court.  
Then worthy Stafford say  
How shall we spend the day.  
With what delights,  
Shorten the nights?  
When from this tumult we are got secure;  
Where mirth with all her freedom goes,  
Yet shall no finger lose;  
Where every word is thought, and every thought is pure.   

There from the tree  
we'll cherries pluck, and pick the strawberry.  
And every day  
Go see the wholesome Country Girls make hay.  
whose brown hath loulier grace,  
Then any painted face,  
That I do know  
Hyde-park can show.  
Where I had rather gain a kiss then meet  
Though some of them in greater state  
Might court my love with plate,  
The beauties of the Cheap, and wives of Lumbardstreet.   

But think upon.  
Some other pleasures▪ these to me are none,  
Why do I prate  
Of women, that are things against my fate  
I never mean to wed,  
That torture to my bed.  
My Muse is she  
My Love shall be.  
Let Clowns get wealth, and hairs; when I am gone,  
And the great Bugbear grisly death  
Shall take this ●…le breath,  
If I a Poem leave, that Poem is my Son.  
Of this no more;  
we'll rather taste the bright Pomona's store.  
No fruit shall scape  
Our palates, from the damsen, to the grape.  
Then full we'll seek a shade,  
And hear what musique's made;  
How Philomel  
Her tale doth tell:  
And how the other Birds do fill the choir;  
The Thrush and Blackbird lend their throats  
warbling melodious notes;  
We will all sports enjoy, which others but desire:   

Ours is the sky,  
Whereat what fowl we please our Hawk shall fly;  
Nor will we spare  
To hunt the crafty fox, or timorous hare▪  
But let our hounds run loose  
In any ground they'll choose,  
The Buck shall fall,  
The stag and all:  
Our pleasures must from their own warrants be,  
For to my Muse, if not to me,  
I'm sure all game is free;  
Heaven, Earth, are all but parts of her great Royalty.   

And when we mean  
To taste of Bacchus' blessings now and then,  
And drink by stealth  
A cup or two to noble Barkleys' health.  
I'll take my pipe and try  
The Phrygian melody;  
Which he that hears  
Le's through his ears  
A madness to distemper all the brain.  
Then I another pipe will take  
And Dorique music make,  
To Civilize with graver notes our wits again.    

An answer to Mr Ben Iohnso●…'s Ode●…o persuade him not to leave the stage,  

Been do not leave the stage  
Cause 'tis a loath some age;  
For Pride, and Impudence will grow too bold,  
When they shall hear it told  
They frighted thee: stand high as is thy cause,  
Their hiss is thy applause.  
More just were thy disdain,  
Had they approved thy vain.  
So thou for them, and they for thee were borne,  
They to incense, and thou as much to scorn.   

Wilt thou engross thy store  
Of wheat, and pour no more,  
Because their Bacon-braines have such a taste  
As more delight in mast?  
No; set'em forth a board of dainties, full  
As thy best Muse can cull;  
While they the while do pine  
And thirst, midst all their wine.  
What greater plague can hell itself devise,  
Then to be willing thus to tantalise?   

Thou canst not find them stuff  
That will be bad enough  
To please their palates; let 'em thine refuse  
For some Pie-corner Muse;  
She is to fair an hostess, 'twere a fin  
For them to like thine Inn:  
'Twas made to entertain,  
Guests of a nobler strain,  
Yet if they will have any of thy store,  
Give 'em some scraps, and send them from thy door.   

And let those things in plush,  
Till they be taught to blush  
Like what they will, and more contented be  
With what Broome swept from thee.  
I know thy worth, and that thy lofty strains  
Write not to clothes but Brains:  
But thy great spleen doth rise  
Cause moles will have no eyes;  
This only in my Ben, I faulty find  
He's angry, they ' le not see him that are blind.   

Why should the Scene be Mute  
Cause thou canst touch a Lute  
And string thy Horace? let each Muse of nine  
Claim thee, and say thou art mine.  
'Twere fond to let all other flames expire  
To sit by Pindar's fire:  
For by so strange neglect,  
I should myself suspect  
The Palsy were as well, thy brains disease;  
If they could shake thy Muse which way they please.   

And though thou well canst sing,  
The glories of thy King;  
And on the wings of verse his chariot bear  
To heaven, and fix it there:  
Yet let thy Muse as well some raptures raise,  
To please him, as to praise.  
I would not have thee choose  
Only a treble Muse;  
But have this envious, ignorant Age to know,  
Thou that canst sing so high, canst reach as low.    

A Dialogue. Thirsis. Lalage.  Th. 

MY Lalage when I behold  
So great a cold,  
And not a spark of heat in thy desire,  
I wonder what strange power of thine,  
Kindles in mine  
So bright a flame, and such a burning fire.   Lalag. 

Can Thirsis in Philosophy  
A truant be,  
And not have learned the power of the Sun?  
How he to sublunary things  
A favour brings,  
Yet in himself is subject unto none?   Th. 

But why within thy eyes appear  
Never a tear,  
That cause from mine perpetual showers to fall?   La. 

Fool 'tis the power of fire you know  
To melt the snow,  
Yet has no moisture in itself at all.   Th. 

How can I be, dear Virgin show,  
Both fire and snow?  
Do you that are the cause, the reason tell;  
More than miracle to me  
It seems to be,  
That so much heat with so much cold should dwell.   La. 

The reason I will render thee;  
Why both should be.  
Audacious Thirsis in thy love too bold,  
'Cause thy sauciness durst aspire  
To such a fire,  
Thy love is hot; but 'tis thy hope is cold.   Th. 

Let pity move thy gentle breast  
To one oppressed;  
This way, or that, give ease to my desire;  
And either let Love's fire be lost  
In hopes cold frost,  
Or hopes cold frost be warmed in loves quick fire.   La. 

O neither Boy; neither of these  
Shall work thy ease.  
I ' le pay thy rashness with immortal pain,  
As hope doth strive to freeze thy flame,  
Love melts the same:   Th. 

As Love doth melt it, Hope doth freezed again  
Come gentle swains lend me a groan  
To ease my moan.   Chorus. 

Ah cruel Love how great a power is thine?  
Under the Poles although we lie  
Thou mak'st us fry:  
And thou canst make us freeze beneath the line.    

A Dialogue betwixt a Nymph and a Shepherd.  Nymp. 

WHy sigh you swain? this passion is not common;  
ist for your kids, or Lambkins?   Sh: 
For a woman  Nymp. 

How ●…aire is she that on so sage a brow  
Prints lowering looks?   Shep: 
Just such a toy as thou.  Nymp. 
Is she a maid?  Sh: 
what man can answer that?  Nymp. 
Or widow?  Sh: 
No.  Nym: 
what then?  Sh: 

I know not  
Saintlike she looks, a Siren if she sing.  
Her eyes are stars, her mind is every thing.   Nymp. 

If she be fickle, Shepherd leave to woo  
Or fancy me.   Sh: 
No tho●… art woman too▪  Nymp. 
But I am constant.  Sh: 
Then thou art not fair.  Nymp. 
Bright as the morning.  Sh: 
Wavering as the Air.  Nymp. 
What grows upon this cheek?  Sh: 
A pure Carnation.  Nym. 
Come taste a kiss  Sh. 
O sweet, o sweet Temptation!  Cho. 

Ah Love, and canst thou never lose the field?  
Where Cupid lays a siege, the town must yield.  
He warms the chiller blood with glowing fire,  
And thaws the Icy frost of cold desire.    

A Pastoral Ode.  

COy Celia dost thou see  
Yond hollow mountain tottering o'er the plain,  
O'er which a fatal Tree  
With treacherous shade betrays the sleepy swain?  
Beneath it is a Cell,  
As full of horror as my breast of care,  
Ruin therein might dwell;  
As a fit room for guilt and black despair.  
Thence will I headlong throw  
This wretched weight, this heap of misery;  
And in the dust below,  
Bury my Carcase, and the thought of thee:  
Which when I finished have,  
O hate me dead, as thou hast done alive;  
And come not near my grave  
Lest I take heat from thee, and so revive.    

A Song.  

MVsick thou Queen of souls, get up and string  
Thy powerful Lute, and some sad requiem sing,  
Till Rocks requite thy Echo with a groan:  
And the dull cliffs repeat the duller tone:  
Then on a sudden with a nimble hand  
Runnne gently o'er the Chords, and so command  
The Pine to dance, the Oak his Roots forgo,  
The holm and aged Elm to foot it too;  
Myrtles shall caper, lofty Cedars run;  
And call the Courtly Palm to make up one;  
Then in the midst of all their jolly train,  
Strike a sad note; and fix 'em Trees again.    

The Song of Discord.  

LEt Linus and Amphion's lute,  
With Orpheus●…itterne ●…itterne now be mute.  
The harshest voice the sweetest note;  
The Raven has the choicest throat.  
A set of Frogs a choir for me,  
The Mandrake shall the chanter be.  
Where neither voice, nor tunes agree;  
This is discords Harmony.  
Thus had Orpheus learned to play,  
The following Trees had run away.    

To one Overhearing his private discourse.  

I Wonder not my Leda far can see,  
Since for her eyes she might an Eagle be,  
And dare the Sun; but that she hears so well  
As that she could my private whisperings tell,  
I stand amazed; her ears are not so long,  
That they could reach my words; hence than it sprung:  
Love overhearing fled to her bright ear,  
Glad he had got a tale to whisper there.    

Epigram: 47 ex decimo Libro Martialis,  

THese are things that being possessed  
Will make a life that's truly blessed:  
Estate bequeathed, not got with toil;  
A good hot fire, a grateful soil.  
No strife, warm clothes, a quiet soul,  
A strength entire, a body whole.  
Prudent simplicity, equal friends,  
A diet that no Art commends.  
A night not drunk, and yet secure;  
A bed not sad, yet chaste and pure.  
Long sleeps to make the nights but short,  
A will to be but what thou art▪  
Nought rather choose; contented lie,  
And neither fear, nor wish to dye.    

In Grammaticum Eunuchum.  

GRammaticam Diodore doces Eunuche puellos,  
Credo Solaecismum tu Diodore facis,  
Cum sis exectus quam nec Sporus ille Neronis,  
Nec mersus liquidis Hermaphroditus aquis.  
Non unam liquit tibi saeva novacula testem;  
Propria quae maribus cur Diodore legis?  
Quae genus aut sexum variant, Heteroclyta tantum▪  
Posthàc si sapias tu Diodore legas.    

To the Virtuous and noble Lady, the Lady Cotton.  

'tIs not to force more tears from your sad eye,  
That we write thus; that were a Piety  
Turned guilt and sin; we only beg to come  
And pay due tribute to his sacred tomb.  
The muses did divide his Love with you,  
And justly therefore may be mourners too.  
Instead of Cypress, they have brought fresh Bayss  
To crown his Urn, and every dirge is Praise.  
But since with him the learned tongues are gone,  
Necessity here makes us use our own.  
Read, in his praise your own, you cannot miss;  
For he was but our Wonder, you were his.    

An Elegy on the death of that Renowned and Noble Knight Sir Rowland Cotton of Bellaport in Shropshire.  

RIch as was Cottons worth, I wish each line;  
And every verse I breath like him, a Mine.  
That by his virtues might created be  
A new strange miracle, wealth in Poetry.  
But that invention cannot sure be poor,  
That but relates a part of his large store.  
His youth began, as when the Sun doth rise  
Without a Cloud, and clearly trots the skies.  
And whereas other youths commended be  
From conceived Hopes; his was maturity.  
Where other springs boast blossoms fairly blown,  
His was a harvest, and had fruits full grown.  
So that he seemed a Nestor here to reign  
In wisdom, Aeson-like, turned young again.  
This, Royal Henry, whose majestic eye  
Saw through men, did from his court descry,  
And thither called him, and then fixed him there  
One of the prime stars in his glorious sphere.  
And (Princely Master) witness this with me,  
He lived not there to serve himself but thee.  
No Silkworm Courtier such as study there  
First how to get their clothes, than how to wear.  
And though in favour high, he ne'er was known  
To promote others suits to pay for's own.  
He valued more his Master, and knew well,  
To use his Love was noble; base to sell.  
Many there belive in the Court we know  
To serve for Pageants, and make up the show;  
And are not serviceable there at all  
But now and then at some great Festival.  
He served for nobler use, the secret-cares  
Of commonwealths, and mystique State affairs;  
And when great Henry did his Maxims hear,  
He wore him as a jewel in his Eare.  
Yet short he came not, nay he all outwent  
In what some call a Courtier's compliment.  
An Active body that in subtle wise  
Turns pliable to any exercise.  
For when he leapt, the people dared to say  
He was borne all of fire, and wore no clay.  
Which was the cause too that he wrestled so,  
'Tis not fires nature to be kept below.  
His course he so performed with nimble pace,  
The time was not perceived measured the race.  
As it were true that some late Artists say,  
The Earth moved too, and run the other way.  
All so soon finished, when the match was won  
The Gazers by asked why they not begun.  
When he in mask used his harmonious feet,  
The Spheres could not in comelier order meet;  
Nor move more graceful, whether they advance  
Their measures forward, or retire their dance.  
There be have seen him in our Henry's Court  
The glory and the envy of that sport.  
And capering like a constellation rise,  
Having fixed upon him all the Lady's eyes.   

But these in him I would not virtues call,  
But that the world must know, that he had all.   

When Henry died (our universal woe)  
Willing was Cotton to dye with him too.  
And as near death he came as near could be;  
Himself he buried in obscurity,  
Entombed within his study walls, and there  
Only the Dead his conversation were.  
Yet was he not alone; for every day  
Each Muse came thither with her sprig of Bay.  
The Graces round about him did appear,  
The Genii of all Nations all met there.  
And while immured he sat thus close at home,  
To him the wealth of all the world did come.  
He had a language to salute the Sun,  
Where he unharnest, and where's team begun▪  
The tongues of all the East to him 'twere known  
As Natural, as they were borne his own.  
Which from his mouth so sweetly did entice,  
As with their language he had mixed their spice.  
In Greek so fluent, that with it compare  
Th' Athenian Olives, and they ●…aplesse are.  
Rome did submit her Fasces, and confes●…e  
Her Tully might talk more, and yet speak less.  
All Sciences were lodged in his large breast,  
And in that Palace thought themselves so blessed  
They never meant to part, but he should be  
Sole Monarch, and dissolve their Heptarchy.  
But o how vain is man's frail Harmony!  
We all are swans, he that sings best must die.  
Death knowledge nothing makes, when we come there,  
We need no Language, nor Interpreter.  
Who would not laugh at him now, that should seek  
In Cotton's Urn for Hebrew or for Greek?  
But his more heavenly graces with him yet  
Live constant, and about him circled sit  
A bright Retinue, and on each falls down  
A robe of Glory, and on each a Crown.   

Then Madam (though you have a loss sustained  
Both infinite, and ne'er to be regained  
Here in this world) dry your sad eyes, once more  
You shall again enter the Nuptial door  
A sprightly bride; where you shall clothed be  
In garments weaved of Immortality.  
Nor grieve because he left you not a Son,  
To Image Co●…ton forth now he is gone.  
For it had been a wrong to his great Name  
T' have lived in any thing but Heaven, and Fame.    

Ausonit Epigram 38.  

She which would not I would choose:  
She which would I would refuse.  
Venus could my mind but tame;  
But not satisfy the same.  
Enticements offered I despise,  
And denied I slightly prise.  
I would neither glut my mind,  
Nor yet too much torment find.  
Twice girt Diana doth not take me,  
Nor Venus' naked joyful make me.  
The first no pleasure hath to joy me,  
And the last enough to cloy me.  
But a crafty we●…ch I'd have  
That can sell the act I crave.  
And join at once in me these two,  
I will, and yet I will not do.    

On the Death of a Nightingale.  

Go solitary wood, and henceforth be  
Acquainted with no other Harmony,  
Then the Pies chattering, or the shrieking note  
Of bodeing Owls, and fatal Raven's throat.  
Thy sweetest Chanters dead, that warbled forth  
Lays, that might tempests calm, and still the North;  
And call down Angels from their glorious Sphere  
To hear her Songs, and learn new Anthems there.  
That soul is fled, and to Elysium gone;  
Thou a poor desert left; go then and run,  
Beg there to stand a grove, and if she please  
To sing again beneath thy shadowy Trees;  
The souls of happy Lovers crowned with blisses  
Shall flock about thee, and keep time with kisses.    

In filium Manlii insepultum.  

IN terrâ condivetuit Pater improbus, at Te  
In tumulo patitur nobiliore tegi.  
Pars canis est tumuli, tumuli pars altera Tigris,  
Altera pars Lupus est, & Leo for san erit.  
Marmoreos Regum tumulos contemne, sepulchra  
Sunt aliis tantum mortua, viva tibi.    

Upon the report of the King of Swedens' Death.  

I'll not believe 't; if fate should be so cross  
Nature would not be silent of her loss.  
Can he be dead, and no portents appear?  
No pale Eclipse of th' sun to let us fear  
What we should suffer, and before his light  
Put out, the world enveloped in Night?  
What thundering torrents the flushed welkin tore?  
What apparition killed him in the air?  
When Caesar died there were convulsion fits;  
And nature seemed to run out of her wits.  
At that sad object Tiber's bosom swelled,  
And scarce from drowning all, by jove withheld.  
And shall we give this mighty Conqueror  
That in a great and a more holy war,  
Was pulling down the Empire which he reared,  
A fall unmourned of Nature and unfeared;  
A death (unless the league of heaven withstood)  
Less wept then with an universal flood?  
If I had seen a Comet in the air  
With glorious eye, and bright disheveled hair,  
And on a sudden with his gilded train  
Drop down; I should have said that Sweden's slain,  
Shot like that star; or if the earth had shaken  
Like a weak floor, the falling roof had broke;  
I should have said the mighty King is gone;  
Feled as the tallest tree in Libanon.  
Alas if he were dead; we need no post,  
Very instinct would tell us what we lost.  
And a i'll damp (as at the general doom)  
Creep through each breast and we should know for whom.  
His Germane conquests are not yet complete,  
And when they are, there's more remaining yet.  
The world is full of sin, nor every Land  
O'er grown with schism hath felt his purging hand.  
The Pope is not confounded, and the Turk,  
Nor was he sure designed for a less work.  
But if our sins have stopped him in the source,  
In midst Career of his victorious course.  
And heaven would trust the dulness of our sense  
So far, not to prepare us with portents.  
'Tis we that have the loss, and he hath caught  
His heavenly garland ere his work be wrought.  
But I, before I'll undertake to grieve  
So great a loss, will choose not to believe.    

On Sr Robert Cotton the Antiquary.  

POsterity hath many fates bemoaned,  
But ages long since past for thee have groaned.  
Time's Trophies thou didst rescue from the grave  
Who in thy death a second burial have.  
Cotton, death's conquest now complete I see,  
Who ne'er had vanquished all things but in thee.    

An Elegy.  

Heaven knows my Love to thee, fed on desires  
So hallowed, and unmixed with vulgar fires,  
As are the purest beams shot from the Sun  
At his full height; and the devotion.  
Of dying Martyrs could not burn more clear,  
Nor Innocence in her first robes appear  
Whiter than our Affections; they did show  
Like frost forced out of flames, and fire from snow▪  
So pure the Phoenix when she did refine  
Her age to youth, borrowed no flames but mine.  
But now my day's overcast, for I have now  
Drawn Anger like a tempest o'er the brow  
Of my fair Mistress; those your glorious eyes  
Whence I was wont to see my day star rise,  
Threat like revengeful Meteors, and I feel  
My torment, and my guilt double my hell.  
'T was a mistake, and might have venial been,  
Done to another, but it was made sin,  
And justly Mortal too by troubling Thee,  
'Slight wrongs are treasons done to Majesty.  
O all ye blessed Ghosts of deceased Loves,  
That now live Sainted in th' Elysian groves  
Mediate for mercy for me; at her shrine  
Meet in full choir, and join your prayers with mine.  
Conjure her by the merits of your kisses,  
By your past sufferings and present blisses.  
Conjure her by your mutual hopes, and fears;  
By all your intermixed sighs, and tears,  
To plead my pardon; go to her and tell  
That you will walk the guardian sentinel,  
My souls safe Genii, that she need not fear  
A mutinous thought, or one close rebel there.  
But what needs that, when she alone sits there  
Sole Angel of that Orb; in her own sphere  
Alone she sits, and can secure it free  
From all irregular motions, only she  
Can give the balsam that must cure this sore;  
And the sweet Antidote to sin no more.    

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: Arist.  

FRom witty men and mad  
All Poetry conception had.  
No sires but these will Poetry admit  
Madness or wit.  
This definition Poetry doth fit,  
It is a witty madness, or mad wit.  
Only these two Poetic heat admits,  
A witty man, or one that's out of's wits.    

Ad Amicum Litigantem,  

WOuld you commence a Poet S ●, and be  
A graduate in the threadbare mystery?  
The Ox's ford will no man thither bring,  
Where the horse hoof raised the Pegasian spring.  
Nor will the bridge through which low Cham doth run,  
Direct you to the banks of Helicon.  
If in that art you mean to take degrees,  
Bedlam's the best of universities.  
There study it, and when you would no more  
A Poet be, go drink some Hellebore.  
Which drug when I had tasted, soon I left  
The bare Parnassus, and the barren cleft;  
And can no more one of their Nation be,  
Because recovered of my lunacy.  
But you may then succeed me in my place  
Of Poet, no pretence to make your grace  
Denied you, for you go to law, 'tis said;  
And then 'tis ta'en for granted you are mad.   

Felicem Anticyram! nullos ibi credo Poetas  
Insanos tumido corde fovere modos.  
Hanc, fama est tantum sanos admittere cives.  
Exulat hinc vester, (turba molesta) furor!  
Nullus in hâc Elegis, nullus jugulatur jambis;  
Incola non Satyram, non Epigramma timet.  
Nullus in hâc tener as recitator verberat aures;  
Non hic judicium, non petit ille tuum.  
Non hic te Chloris, non hic laudata fatigat  
Celia; nulla tuam mordet hirudo cutem.  
Putida nec medias disrumpunt carmina mensas;  
Mucida nec quisquam vina legendo facit.  
Nusquam aliquis, terrae securior errat, ob unum hoc  
Grates Helloboro quin agate ille suo.    

In Corydonem & Corinnam.  

AH miser, & nullo felix in amore! Corinnam  
Cum rogat illa, negas; cum negat illa, rogas.  
Ambos urit Amor, quid sit f●…licius▪ ambos▪  
Tempore non uno sed tamen ●…rit amor.  
Cum flagras Corydon, frigescit fibra Corinnae  
Cum tua frigescit fibra, Co●…inna calet.  
Cur aestas Corydonis▪ hyems sit facta Corrinnae?  
Quiduè Corinnae aestas sit Corydonis hyems?  
Vnde ignis glaciem▪ glacies unde efficit ignem?  
Desine crudeles, s●…e Cupido, jocos!  
Desine! sed nec te Corydonis tollere flammas,  
Tollere nec castas Virginis oro nives.  
Vre duos, extingue duos, & pectus utrumque  
Aut calor, aut teneat pectus utrumque gelu.    

paraphrased.  

AH wretch in thy Corinna's love unblessed!  
How strange a fancy doth torment thy breast?  
When she desires to sport thou sayest her nay;  
When she denies then thou desir'st to play.  
Love burns you both. (ô'tis a happy turn!)  
But 'tis at several times love both doth burn.  
When scorching heat hath Corydons' heart possessed,  
Then reigns a frost in cold Corinnas' breast.  
And when a frost in Corydon doth reign,  
Then is Corinnas' breast on fire again.  
Why then with Corydon is it summer prime,  
When with Corinna it is winter time?  
Or why should then Corin●…as summer be  
When it is winter Corydon with thee?  
Can lce from fire, or fire from Ice proceed?  
Ah jest not Love in so severe a deed!  
I bid thee not Corydons' flame to blow  
Clean out; nor clean to melt Corinnas' snow.  
Burn both! freeze both! let mutual Ferv our hold  
His and her breast, or his and here's a cold    

Ad ●…assum.  

Nostri, (Basse) solent pretio conducere stultos  
Quos in deliciis Aulicus omnis habet.  
At si quis cuperet sapientem vendere praeco,  
Rarus erit minimo qui velit asse virum.  
Vsque adeò nocet ingenium, tantoque putatur  
Quo minus est cerebri, charius esse caput.  
Vnde tot ignari veneres? cur stultus amatur?  
Hei mihi! cur tanti non sapuisse fuit?  
Haec ratio est, paribus gaudet Venus atque Cupido;  
Et nunquam similes non sibi iungit Amor.    

To one admiring herself in a Lookingglass.  

Fair Lady when you see the Grace  
Of Beauty in your Lookingglass▪  
A stately forehead, smooth and high,  
And full of Princely Majesty.  
A sparkling eye no gem so fair,  
Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star.  
A glorious cheek divinely sweet,  
Wherein both Roses kindly meet.  
A cherry Lip that would entice  
Even Gods to kiss at any price.  
You think no beauty is so rare  
That with your shadow might compare.  
That your reflection is alone,  
The thing that men most dote upon.  
Madam, alas your Glass doth lie e,  
And you are much deceived; for I  
A beauty know of richer grace  
(Sweet be not angry) 'tis your face.  
Hence then ö learn more mild to be,  
And leave to lay your blame on me;  
If me your real substance move;  
When you so much your Shadow Love.  
Wise nature would not let your eye  
Look on her own bright majesty;  
Which had you once but gazed upon,  
You could, except yourself, love none:  
What then you cannot love, let me,  
That face I can, you cannot see.   

Now you have what to love, you'll say  
What then is left for me I pray?  
My face sweet hart if it please thee;  
That which you can, I cannot see:  
So either love shall gain his due,  
Yours sweet in me, and mine in you.    

An Eglogue occasioned by two Doctors disputing upon predestination.  Corydon. 

HO jolly Thirsis whither in such haste?  
ist for a wager that you run so fast?  
Or past your hour below yo●… hawthorn tree  
Does longing Galatea look for thee?   Thirsis. 

No Corydon, I heard young Daphnis say  
Alexis challenged Tityrus to day  
Who best shall sing of Shepherd's Art, and praise;  
But hark I hear 'em, listen to their lays.   Tityrus. 

Alexis read, what means this mystic thing;  
An Ewe I had two lambs at once did bring:  
Th' one black as jet; the other white as snow:  
Say in just providence how it could be so?   Alexis. 

Will you Pan's goodness therefore partial call,  
That might as well have given thee none at all?   Tityrus. 

Were they not both eand by the self same Ewe?  
How could they merit then so different hue?  
Poor lamb alas; and couldst thou, yet unborn,  
Sin to deserve the Gild of such a scorn?  
Thou hadst not yet fouled a religious spring,  
Nor fed on plots of hollowed grass, to bring  
Staines to thy fleece; nor browzed upon a tree  
Sacred to Pan or Pales Deity.  
The Gods are ignorant if they not foreknow;  
And knowing, 'tis unjust to use thee so.   Alexis. 

Tytir with me contend, or Corydon;  
But let the Gods, and their high wills alone.  
For in our flocks that freedom challenge we,  
This kid is sacrificed, and that goes free.   Tityrus. 

Feed where you will my Lambs, what boots it us  
To watch, and water, fold, and drive you thus.  
This on the barren mountain's flesh can glean,  
That fed in flowery pastures will be lean.   Alexis. 

Blow, sow, and compass, nothing boots at all,  
Unless the dew upon the Tilth's do fall.  
So labour silly shepherds what we can  
All's vain, unless a blessing drop from Pan.   Tityrus. 
Ill thrive thy Thiefs if thou these lies maintain:  Alexis. 
And may thy Goats miscarry saucy swain.  Thyrsis. 

Fie, Shepherds fie! while you these strifes begin,  
Here creeps the wolf; and there the fox gets in.  
To your vain piping on so deep a reed  
The Lambkins listen, but forget to feed.  
It gentle swains befits of Love to sing,  
How Love left heaven; and heavens immortal King,  
His Coaeternall Father. O admire,  
Love is a Son as ancient as his fire.  
His Mother was a Virgin: how could come  
A birth so great, and from so chaste a womb!  
His cradle was a manger; Shepherds see  
True faith delights in poor simplicity.  
He pressed no grapes, nor pruned the fruitful vine,  
But could of water make a brisker wine.  
Nor did he plow the earth, and to his Barn  
The harvest bring, nor thresh, and grind the Corne.  
Without all these Love could supply our need;  
And with five L●…aves, five thousand Hunger's feed.  
More wonders did he, for all which suppose  
How he was crowned, with Lily, or with Rose?  
The winding Ivy, or the glorious Bay,  
Or myrtle, with the which Venus, they say,  
Girts her proud Temples? Shepherds none of them  
But wore (poor head) a thorny Diadem.  
Feet to the Lame he gave; with which they run  
To work their Surgeons last destruction.  
The blind from him had eyes; but used that light  
Like Basy lisques to kill him with their sight.  
Lastly he was betrayed (o sing of this)  
How Love could be betrayed! 'twas with a kiss.  
And then his Innocent hands, and guiltless feet  
Were nailed unto the Cross, striving to meet  
In his spread arms his spouse, so mild in show  
He seemed to court th' Embraces of his foe.  
Through his pierced side, through which a spear was sent,  
A torrent of all flowing Balsam went.  
Run Amarillis run: one drop from thence  
Cures thy sad soul, and drives all anguish hence.  
Go sunburnt Thestylis, go, and repair  
Thy beauty lost, and be again made fair.  
Lovesick Amyntas get a Philtrum here,  
To make thee Lovely to thy truly dear.  
But coy Licoris take the Pearl from thine,  
And take the blood shot from Alexis eyen.  
Wear this an Amulet against all Sirens smiles,  
The stings of snakes, and Tears of Crocodiles.  
Now Love is lead: Oh no, he never dies;  
Three days he sleeps, and then again doth rise  
(Like fair Aurora from the Eastern Bay)  
And with his beams drives all our clouds away:  
This pipe unto our flocks, this sonnet get.  
But ho, I see the Sun ready to set,  
Good night to all; for the great night is come;  
Flocks to your folds and shepherds hie you home.!  
To morrow morning, when we all have slept,  
Pan's Cornet's blown, and the great Sheepshears kept.    

An Eglogue to Mr johnson.  Tityrus 

Under his Beech why sittest thou here so sad  
Son Damon, that wast erst a jovial lad?  
These groves were wont to Echo with the sound  
Of thy shrill reed, while every Nymph danced round.  
Rouse up thy soul, Parnassus' mount stands high,  
And must be climbed with painful industry.   Damon. 

You Father on his forked top sit still,  
And see us panting up so steep a hill;  
But I have broke my reed, and deeply swore  
Never with wax, never to joint it more.   Tit. 

Fond boy▪ 'twas rashly done; I meant to thee,  
Of all the sons I have, by legacy  
To have be queathed my pipe, thou, thee of all,  
I meant it should her second Master call.   Dam. 

And do you think I durst presume to play  
Where Tityrus had worn his lip away!  
Live long thyself to tune it; 'tis from thee,  
It has not from itself such Harmony.  
But if we ever such disaster have  
As to compose our Tytirus in his grave;  
Yonder upon you aged Oak, that now  
Old trophies bears on every sacred bow,  
We'll hang it up a relic, we will do it,  
And learned swains shall pay devotion to it.   Tyt. 

Canst thou farewell unto the Muses bid?  
Then bees shall loathe the Thyme, the new weaned Kid  
Browse on the buds no more; the teeming ewes  
Henceforth the tender sallows shall refuse.   Dam. 

I by those Ladies now do nothing set;  
Let 'em for me some other servant get:  
They shall no more be Mistresses of mine,  
No, though my pipe had hope to equal thine.  
Thine which the floods have stopped their course to hear;  
To which the spotted Linx hath lent an ear.  
Which while the several Echoes would repeat,  
The Music has been sweet, the Art so great  
That Pan himself amazed at thy deep airs,  
Sent thee of his own bowl to drown thy cares.  
Of all the God's Pan doth the Pipe respect.  
The rest unlearned pleasures more affect.  
Pan can distinguish what thy Raptures be  
From Bavius loose lascivious Minstrelsy,  
Or Maevius windy Bagpipe, Maevius, he  
Whose wit is but a Tavern Tympany.  
If ever I flock of my own do feed,  
My fattest Lambs shall on his Altar bleed.   Tyt. 

Two Altars I will build him, and each year  
Will sacrifice two well-fed Bullocks there.  
Two that have horns; that while they butting stand  
Strike from their feet a cloud of numerous sand.  
But what can make thee leave the Muse's man,  
That such a Patron hast as mighty Pan?  
Whence is thy fury? Did the partial ear  
Of the rude Vulgar, when they late did hear  
Aegon, and thee contend which best should play,  
Him Victor deem, and give thy kid away?  
Does Amarillis cause this high despair?  
Or Galatea's coyness breed thy care?   Dam. 

Neither of these, the Vulgar I contemn;  
Thy pipe not always Tytirus wins with them:  
And as for Love, in sooth I do not know  
Whether he wears a bow, and shafts or no.  
Or did I, I a way could quickly find,  
To win the beauteous Galatea's mind,  
Or Amarillis: I to both could send  
Apples that with Hesperian fruit contend:  
And on occasion could have quickly guessed  
Where two fair ringdoves built their amorous nest.   Tyt. 

If none of these, my Damon then aread  
What other cause can so much passion breed!   Dam. 

Father I will, in those indulgent ears  
I dare unload the burden of my fears.  
The Reapers that with whetted sickles stand,  
Gathering the falling ears ' i'th' other hand;  
Though they endure the scorching summer's heat,  
Have yet some wages to allay their sweat:  
The Lopper that doth fell the sturdy Oak  
Labours, yet has good pay for every stroke.  
The Ploughman is rewarded: only we  
That sing, are paid with our own melody.  
Rich churls have learned to praise us, and admire,  
But have not learned to think us worth the hire.  
So toiling Ants perchance delight to hear  
The summer music of the Grassopper,  
But after rather let him starve with pain,  
Then spare him from their store one single grain.  
As when great junos' beauteous Bird displays  
Her starry tail, the boys do run and gaze  
At her proud train; so look they now adays  
On Poets; and do think if they but praise,  
Or pardon what we sing, enough they do:  
I, and 'tis well if they do so much too.  
My rage is swelled so high I cannot speak it,  
Had I Pan's pipe, or thine I now should break it!   Tit. 

Let moles delight in Earth; Swine dung hills rake;  
Crows pray on Cartion; Frogs a pleasure take  
In slimy pools; And Niggard's wealth admire;  
But we, whose souls are made of purer fire,  
Have other aims: Who songs for gain hath made,  
Has of a liberal Science framed a Trade.  
Hark how the Nightingale in yonder tree,  
Hid in the boughs, warbles melodiously  
Her various music forth, while the whole Choir  
Of other birds, flock round, and all admire!  
But who rewards her? will the ravenous Kite  
Part with her prey, to pay for her delight?  
Or will the foolish, painted, prattling jay  
Now turned a hearer, to requite her play  
Lend her a straw? or any of the rest  
Fetch her a feather when she builds her nest?  
Yet sings she ne'er the less, till every den  
Do catch at her last notes: And shall I then  
His fortunes Damon 'bove my own commend,  
Who can more cheese into the market send?  
Clowns for posterity may cark and care,  
That cannot outlive death but in an Heir:  
By more than wealth we propagate our Names,  
That trust not to successions, but our Flames.  
Let hidebound churls yoke the laborious Ox,  
Milk hundred goats, and shear a thousand flocks;  
Plant gainful Orchards, and in silver shine;  
Thou of all fruits shouldst only prune the Vine:  
Whose fruit being tasted, might erect thy brain  
To reach some ravishing, high, and lofty strain;  
The double birth of Bacchus to express,  
First in the grape, the second in the press.  
And therefore tell me boy, what is 't can move  
Thy mind, once fixed on the Muse's Love?   Dam. 

When I contented lived by Cham's fair streams,  
Without desire to see the prouder Thames,  
I had no flock to care for, but could sit  
Under a willow covert, and repeat  
Those deep and learned lays, on every part  
Grounded on judgement, subtil'ty, and Art,  
That the great Tutor to the greatest King,  
The shepherd of Stagira, used to sing:  
The shepherd of Stagira, that unfolds  
All nature's closet, shows what e'er it holds;  
The matter, form, sense, motion, place, and measure  
Of every thing contained in her vast treasure.  
How Elements do change; What is the cause  
Of Generation; what the Rule, and Laws  
The Orbs do move by; Censures every star,  
Why this is fixed, and that irregular;  
Knows all the Heavens, as if he had been there,  
And helped each Angel turn about her sphere.  
The thirsty pilgrim travelling by land,  
When the fierce Dogstar doth the day command,  
Half choked with dust, parched with the sultry heat;  
Tired with his journey, and o'ercome with sweat,  
Finding a gentle spring, at her cool brink  
Doth not with more delight sit down and drink,  
Then I record his songs: we see a cloud,  
And fearing to be wet, do run and shroud  
Under a bush; when he would sit and tell  
The cause that made her misty womb to swell;  
Why it sometimes in drops of rain doth flow,  
Sometimes dissolves herself in flakes of snow:  
Nor gazed he at a Comet, but would frame  
A reason why it wore a beard of flame.  
Ah Tytirus, I would withal my heart,  
Even with the best of my carved mazer's part,  
To hear him as he used divinely show,  
What 'tis that paints the diverse-coloured bow:  
Whence Thunders are discharged, whence the winds stray,  
What foot through heaven hath worn the milky way!  
And yet I let this true delight alone,  
Called thence to keep the flock of Corydon.  
Ah woe is me, another's flock to keep;  
The care is mine, the master shears the sheep!  
A flock it was that would not keep together;  
A flock that had no fleece, when it came hither  
Nor would it learn to listen to my lays,  
For 'twas a flock made up of several strays:  
And now I would return to Cham, I hear  
A desolation frights the Muses there!  
With rustic swains I mean to spend my time;  
Teach me there father to preserve my rhyme.   Tyt. 

Tomorrow morning I will counsel thee,  
Meet me at Faunus' Beech; for now you see  
How larger shadows from the mountains fall,  
And Corydon doth Damon, Damon, call.  
Damon, 'tis time my flock were in the fold,  
More than high time; did you not erst behold  
How Hesperus above yo●… clouds appeared,  
Hesperus leading forth his beauteous heard?    

A Pastoral Courtship.  

BEhold these woods, and mark my Sweet  
How all the boughs together meet!  
The Cedar his fair arms displays,  
And mixes branches with the Bays.  
The lofty Pine deigns to descend,  
And sturdy Oaks do gently bend.  
One with another subtly weaves  
Into one loom their various leaves;  
As all ambitious were to be  
Mine and my Phyllis canopy!   

Let's enter, and discourse our Loves;  
These are, my Dear, no tell-tale groves▪  
There dwell no Pies, nor Parrots there,  
To prate again the words they hear,  
Nor babbling Echo, that will tell  
The neighbouring hills one syllable.   

Being entered let's together lie,  
Twined like the Zodiaks Gemini!  
How soon the flowers do sweeter smell▪  
And all with emulation swell,  
To be thy pillow? These for thee  
Were meant a bed, and thou for me;  
And I may with as just esteem  
〈◊〉 thee, as thou mayst lie on them.  
And why so coy? What dost thou fear?  
There lurks no speckled Serpent here.  
No Venomous snake makes this his road,  
No Canker, nor the loath some ●…oad.  
And yo●… poo●… spider on the tree,  
Thy spinster will, no poisner be.  
There is no Frog to leap, and fright  
Thee from my arms, and break delight;  
Nor snail that o'er thy coat shall trace,  
And leave behind a slimy lace.  
This is the hallowed shrine of Love,  
No wasp nor hornet haunts this grove,  
Nor pismire to make pimples rise,  
Upon thy smooth and ivory thighs.  
No danger in these shades doth lie,  
Nothing that wears a sting, but I:  
And in it doth no venom dwell,  
Although perchance it make thee swell.   

Being set, let's sport a while, my Fair,  
I will tie Love knots in thy hair.  
See Zephyrus through the leaves doth stray,  
And has free liberty to play;  
And braids thy locks: And shall I find  
Less favour than a saucy wind▪  
Now let me sit, and fix my eyes,  
On thee that art my Paradis▪  
Thou art my all; the spring remains  
In the fair violets of thy veins▪  
And that it is a summer's day,  
Ripe Cherries in thy lips display.  
And when for Autumn I would seek,  
'Tis in the Apples o●… thy cheek.  
But that which only moves my smart,  
Is to see winter in thy heart.  
Strange, when at once in one appear  
All the four seasons of the year!  
I'll clasp that neck where should be set  
A rich and Orient Carcanet:  
But swains are poor, admit of then  
More natural chains, the arms of men.  
Come let me touch those breasts, that swell  
Like two fair mountains, and may well▪  
Be styled the Alps, but that I fear  
The snow has less of whiteness there.  
But stay (my Love) a fault I spy,  
Why are these two fair fountains dry,  
Which if they run, no Muse would please  
To taste of any spring but these.  
And Ganymed employed should be  
To fetch his love Nectar from thee.  
Thou shalt be Nurse fair Venus swears,  
To the Next Cupid that she bears.  
Were it not then discreetly done  
To open one spring to let two run?  
Fie, fie, this Belly, Beauty's mint,  
Blushes to see no coin stamped in't.  
Employ it then, for though it be  
Our wealth, it is your royalty;  
And beauty will have currant grace  
That bears the Image of your face.  
How to the touch the Ivory thighs  
Veil gently, and again do rise,  
As pliable to impression,  
As Virgin's wax, or Parian stone  
Dissolved to softness, plump and full,  
More white and soft then Cotsall wool;  
Or Cotten from the Indian Tree,  
Or pretty silkworms housewifry.  
These on two marble pillars raised  
Make me in doubt which should be praised;  
They, or their Columns must; but when  
I view those feet which I have seen  
So nimbly trip it o'er the Lawns  
That all the Satyrs and the fawns  
Have stood amazed, when they would pass  
Over the leys, and not a grass  
Would feel the weight, nor rush, nor bend  
Drooping betray which way you went.  
O then I felt my hot desires  
Burn more; and flame with double fires.  
Come let those thighs, those legs, those feet  
With mine in thousand windings meet.  
And woven in more subtle twines  
Then woodbine, Ivy, or the vines.  
For when Love sees us circling thus  
He'll like no Arbour more than us.  
Now let us kiss, would you be gone▪  
Manners at least allows me one.  
Blush you at this, pretty one stay,  
And I will take that kiss away.  
Thus with a second, and that too  
A third wipes of, so will we go  
To numbers that the stars out run,  
And all the Atoms in the Sun.  
For though we kiss till Phoebus' ray  
Sink in the seas, and kissing stay  
Till his bright beams return again,  
There can of all but one remain:  
And if for one good manners call,  
In one good manners grant me all.   

Are kisses all? they but forerun  
Another duty to be done.  
What would you of that minstrel say  
That tunes his pipes and will not play?  
Say what are blossoms in their prime,  
That ripen not in harvest time?  
Or what are buds that ne'er disclose  
The longed for sweetness of the rose?  
So kisses to a Lover's guest  
Are invitations not the feast.  
See every thing that we spy  
Is fruitful, saving you and I:  
View all the fields, survey the bowers,  
The buds, the blossoms and the flowers▪  
And say if they so rich could be  
In barren base Virginity.  
Earth's not so coy as you are now,  
But willingly admits the plow.  
For how had man or beast been fed,  
If she had kept her maiden head?  
Celia once coy as are the rest  
Hangs now a babe on either breast;  
And Chloris since a man she took,  
Has less of greenness in her look.  
Our ewes have eaned, and every dam▪  
Gives suck unto her tender Lamb.  
As by these groves we walked a long,  
Some Birds were feeding of their young,  
Some on their eggs did brooding sit,  
Sad that they had not hatched them yet.  
Those that were slower than the rest,  
Were busy building of their nest.  
You will not only pay the fine,  
You vowed and owed to V●…lentine.  
As you were angling in the brook  
With silken line and silver hook,  
Through Crystal streams you might descry  
How vast and numberless a fry  
The fish had spawned, that all along  
The banks were crowded with the throng.  
And shall fair Venus more command  
By water than she does by land?  
The Phoenix chaste yet when she dies,  
Herself with her own ashes lies.  
But let thy Love more wisely thrive  
To do the act while th' art alive.  
'Tis time we left our childish Love  
That trades for toys, and now approve  
Our abler skill; they are not wise  
Look Babies only in the eyes.  
That smooth red smile shows what you meant,  
And modest silence gives consent.  
That which we now prepare, will be  
Best done in silent secrecy.  
Come do not weep, what is't you fear?  
Lest some should know what we did here.  
See not a flower you pressed is dead,  
But re-erects his bended head;  
That who soe'er shall pass this way  
Knows not by these where Phyllis lay.  
And in your forehead there is none  
Can read the act that we have done.   

Phyllis.  
Poor credulous and simple maid!  
By what strange wiles art thou betrayed!  
A treasure thou hast lost to day  
For which thou canst no ransom pay.  
How black art thou transformed with sin!  
How strange a guilt gnaws me within!  
Grief will convert this red to pale;  
When every Wake, and whitsund-ale  
Shall talk my shame; break, break sad heart  
There is no Medicine for my smart,  
No herb nor balm can cure my sorrow,  
Unless you meet again to morrow.    

Upon a very deformed Gentlewoman, but of a voice incomparably sweet.  

I chanced sweet Lesbia's voice to hear,  
O that the pleasure of the ear  
Contented had the appetite;  
But I must satisfy the sight;  
Where such a ●…ace I chanced to see  
From which good Lord deliver me.  
ist not profane if I should tell  
I thought her one of those that fell  
With Lucifer's Apostate train  
Yet did her Angel's voice retain?  
A cherubin her notes descried,  
A Devil every where beside.  
Ask the dark woods, and they'll confess  
None did such Harmony express  
In all their bowers from May to june,  
Yet ne'er was face so out of tune.  
Her Virginal teeth false time did keep,  
Her wrinkled forehead went too deep.  
Lower than Gammath sunk her eyes,  
'Bove Ela though her nose did rise.  
I'll trust Musicians now that tell  
Best music doth in discords dwell.  
Her airs enticed the gentle choir  
Of Birds to come, who all admire,  
And would with pleasure longer stay,  
But that her looks frights them away.  
Which for a good Priapus goes  
And well may serve to scare the crows.  
Her voice might tempt th'immortal race,  
But let her only show her face,  
And soon she might extinguish thus  
The lusting of an Incubus.   

So have I seen a lute over worn,  
Old and rotten, patched and torn,  
So ravish with a sound, and bring  
A close so sweet to every string,  
As would strike wonder in our ears,  
And work an envy in the Spheres.   

Say monster strange, what mayst thou be?  
Whence shall I fetch thy Pedigree?  
What but a Panther could beget  
A beast so foul, a breath so sweet?  
Or thou of Siren's issue art,  
If they be fish the upper part.  
Or else blind Homer was not mad  
Then when he sung Ulysses had  
So strange a gift from Aeolus,  
Who odour-breathing Zephyrus  
In several bottles did enclose,  
For certain thou art one of those.  
Thy looks, where other women place  
Their chiefest Pride, is thy disgrace.  
The tongue, a part which used to be  
Worst in thy Sex, is best in thee.  
Were I but now to choose my dear  
Not by my eye, but by my ear,  
Here would I dote; how shall I woo  
Thy voice, and not thy body too?  
Then all the brood I get of thee,  
Would Nightingalls, and Cygnets be:  
Cygnets betimes their throats to try,  
Borne with more Music than they die.  
Say Lesbian, say, what God will bless  
Our Loves with so much happiness?  
Some women are all tongue, but o  
Why art not thou my Lesbian so!  
Thy looks do speak thee witch; one spell  
To make thee but invisible,  
Or dye; resign thyself to death,  
And I will catch thy latest breath;  
But that the nose will scarce I fear  
Find it so sweet, as did the ear.  
Or if thou wouldst not have me coy,  
As was the selfe-inam our Boy,  
Turn only Voice, an Echo prove,  
Here, here, by heaven, I fix my Love:  
If not, you Gods, to ease my mind,  
Or make her dumb, or strike me blind;  
For grief, and anger in me rise,  
Whilst she hath tongue, or I have eyes.    

The milkmaids Epithalamium.  

Joy to the Bridegroom and the Bride  
That lie by one another's side!  
O fie upon the Virgin Beds,  
No loss is gain but Maiden heads.  
Love quickly send the time may be  
When I shall deal my Rosemary!   

I long to simper at a feast,  
To dance, and kiss, and do the rest.  
When I shall wed, and Bedded be  
O then the qualm comes over me,  
And tells the sweetness of a Theme  
That I ne'er knew but in a dream.   

You Ladies have the blessed nights,  
I pine in hope of such delights.  
And silly Dam'sell only can  
Milk the cow's teats and think on man:  
And sigh and wish to taste and prove  
The wholesome Syllabub of Love.   

Make haste, at once twin-Brothers bear;  
And leave new matter for a star.  
Women and ships are never shown  
So fair as when their sails be blown.  
Then when the Midwife hears your moan,  
I'll sigh for grief that I have none.   

And you, dear Knight, whose every kiss  
Reaps the full crop of Cupid's bliss,  
Now you have found, confess and tell  
That single sheets do make up hell.  
And then so charitable be  
To get a man to pity me.    

An Eglogue on the noble Assemblies revivedon Cotsall Hills, by M. Robert Dover.  

Collen,  
Thenot.   Coll. 

What Clod-pates, Thenot, are our British swains,  
How lubber-like they loll upon the plains?  
No life, no spirit in 'em; every Clown  
Soon as he lays his Hook and Tarbox down,  
That aught to take his Reed, and chant his lays,  
Or nimbly run the winding of the Maze,  
Now gets a bush to roam himself, and sleep;  
'tis hard to know the shepherd from the sheep.  
And yet me thinks our English pastures be  
As flowery as the Lawns of Arcady;  
Our Virgins blithe as theirs, nor can proud Greece  
Boast purer air, nor sheer a finer fleece.   The. 

Yet view their outside, Collen, you would say  
They have as much brawn in their necks as they  
Fair Tempe brags of; lusty arms that swell  
With able sinews, and might hurl as well  
The weighty sledge; their legs, and thighs of bone,  
Great as Colossus, yet their strength is gone.  
They look like yonder man of wood, that stands  
To bond the limits of the Parish lands.  
Dost thou ken, Collen, what the cause might be  
Of such a dull and general Lethargy?   Coll. 

Swain, with their sports their souls were ta'en away,  
Till than they all were active, every day  
They exercised to wield their limbs, that now  
A renumbed to every thing, but flail and plow.  
Early in May up got the jolly rout  
Called by the Lark, and spread the fields about:  
One for to breath himself, would coursing be  
From this same Beech, to yonder Mulberry.  
A second leapt, his supple nerves to try,  
A third was practising his melody.  
This a new jig was footing, others were  
Busied at wrestling, or to throw the Bar:  
Ambitious which should bear the bell away,  
And kiss the Nut-brown Lady of the May.  
This stirr'd'em up; a jolly swain was he  
Whom Peg, and Susan after Victory  
Crowned with a garland they had made, beset  
With Daisies, Pinks and many a Violet,  
Cowslip, and Gillyflower. Rewards though small  
Encourage virtue; but if none at all  
Meet her, she languisheth, and dies, as now  
Where worth's denied the honour of a bough.  
And, Thenot, this the cause I read to be  
Of such a dull and general Lethargy.   The. 

Ill thrive the Lout that did their mirth gainsay,  
Wolves haunt his flocks, that took those sports away▪   Coll. 

Some melancholy swains about have gone  
To teach all zeal their own complexion:  
Choler they will admit sometimes I see,  
But Phlegm, and Sanguine no Religions be.  
These teach that Dancing is a jezabel;  
And Barley-break, the ready way to Hell.  
The Morris Idols, Whitsun'-ales can be  
But profane Relics of a jubilee!  
These in a Zeal, t'express how much they do  
The Organs hate, have silenced Bagpipes too;  
And harmless Maypoles, all are railed upon  
As if they were the towers of Babylon.  
Some think not fit there should be any sport  
I'th' Country, 'tis a dish proper to t'h Court.  
Mirth not becomes 'em, let the saucy swain  
Eat Beef, and Bacon, and go sweat again.  
Besides, what sport can in their pastimes be  
When all is but ridiculous foppery?   The. 

Collen, I once the famous Spain did see,  
A nation glorious for her gravity;  
Yet there an hundred Knights on warlike steeds  
Did skirmish out a fight armed but with Reeds;  
At which a thousand Lady's eyes did gaze,  
Yet was no better than our Prison-base.  
What is the Barriers but a Courtly way  
Of our more down right sport, the Cudgell-play?  
Football with us may be with them Balloon,  
As they at Tilt, so we at Quintaine run.  
And those old Pastimes relish best with me,  
That have least Art, and most simp●…itie.  
Collen, they say at Court there is an Art  
To dance a Lady's honour from her hart;  
Such wiles poor shepherds know not, all their sense  
Is dull to any thing but Innocence.  
The Country Lass, although her dance be good,  
Stirs not another's Galliard in the Blood.  
And yet their Sports by some controlled have been,  
Who think there is no mirth but what is sin.  
O might I but there harmless Gambols see  
Restored unto an ancient liberty,  
Where spotless dalliance traces o'er the Plains,  
And harmless Nymphs jet it with harmless swains!  
To see an age again of Innocent Loves  
Twine close as Vines, yet kiss as chaste as Doves,  
Me thinks I could the Thracian Lyre have strung,  
Or tuned my whistle to the Mantuan song.   Coll. 

Then tune thy whistle boy, and string thy Lyre,  
That age is come again, thy brave desire  
Pan hath approved; dancing shall be this year  
Holy as is the motion of a Sphere.   The. 

Collen, with sweeter breath Fame never blew  
Her sacred Trump, if this good news be true!   Coll. 
Know'st thou not Cotsall hills?  Th: 

Through all the land  
No Finer wool runs through the spinsters hand.  
But silly Collen, ill thou dost divine,  
Canst thou mistake a Bramble for a Pine?  
Or think this Bush a Cedar? or suppose  
Yon Hamlet, where to sleep each shepherd goes  
In circuit, buildings, people, power and name  
Equals the Bow ●…ring'd by the silver Thame?  
As well thou mayst their sports with ours compare,  
As the soft wool of Lambs, with the Goat's hair.   Coll. 

Last evening Lad, I met a noble swain,  
That spurred his springhtfull Palfrey o'er the plain,  
His head with ribbons crowned, and decked as gay  
As any Lass upon her Bridal day:  
I thought (what easy faiths we shepherd's prove!)  
This, not the Bull, had been Europa's Love!  
I asked the cause, they told me this was he  
Whom this day's Triumph crowned with Victory.  
Many brave steeds there were, some you should find  
So fleet as they had been sons of the wind:  
Others with hoofs so swift, beat o'er the race  
As if some engine shot 'em to the place.  
So many and so well winged Steeds there were,  
As all the Brood of Pegasus had been there.  
Rider, and horse could not distinguished be,  
Both seemed conjoined a Centaur's Progeny.  
A numerous troop they were, yet all so light  
Earth never groaned, nor felt'em in their flight.   

Such Royal Pastimes Cotsall mountains fill,  
When gentle swains visit her glorious hill:  
Where with such packs of Hounds they hunting go,  
As Cyrus ne'er did wind his Bugle to!  
Whose noise is musical; and with full cries  
Beats o'er the fields, and Echoes through the skies.  
Orion hearing wished to leave his Sphere,  
And call his Dog from heaven, to sport it there.  
Watt though he fled for life, yet joyed withal  
So brave a dirge sung forth his funeral.  
Not Sirens sweetlier rill, Hares as they fly  
Look back, as glad to listen, loath to die.   The. 

No doubt but from this brave Heroic fire  
In the more noble hearts, sparks of desire  
May warm the colder Boors, and emulous strife  
Give the old Mirth and Innocence a new life.  
When thoughts of fame their quickened souls shall fill  
At every glance that shewes'em Cotsall hill.   Coll. 

There shepherd, there, the solemn games be played,  
Such as great Theseus, or Alcides made:  
Such as Apollo wishes he had seen,  
And love desires had his invention been!  
The Nemean, and the Isthmian pastimes still  
Though dead in Greece, survive on Cotsall hill.   The. 

Oh happy hill! the gentle Graces now  
Shall trip o'er Thine and leave Citherons' brow:  
Parnassus cleft shall sink below his spring,  
And every Muse shall on thy frontlet sing.  
The Goddesses again in strife shall be,  
And from mount Ida make appeal to thee;  
Olympus pay thee homage and in dread  
The aged Alps shall bow his snowy head;  
Flora with all her storethy Temples Crown,  
Whose height shall reach the stars: Gods looking down  
Shall bless the Incense that thy flowers ex hale  
And make thee both a Mountain and a Vale.  
How many Ladies on thy top shall meet,  
And press thy tresses with their odorous feet?  
Whose eyes when wondering men see from a far,  
They'll think thee Heaven and each of them a star,   Coll. 

But gentle Collen say what God or man  
Fame we for this great work, Daphnis or Pan?   The. 

Daphnis is dead, and Pan hath broke his Reed,  
Tell all your flocks 'tis jovial Dover's deed.  
Behold the shepherds in their ribbons go,  
And shortly all the Nymphs shall wear'em too:  
Amazed to see such glory met together,  
Bless Dovers pipe, whose Music call'd'em hither.  
Sport you my Rams at sound of Dovers name;  
Big-bellied ewes make haste to bring a Lamb  
For Dovers fold: Go maids and Lilies get  
To make him up a glorious Coronet.  
Swains keep his holiday and each man swear  
To Saint him in the Shepherd's Calendar.    

Ad Medicum.  

HEu, quae me Colchis, magico quae Thessala cantu  
Sic cruciat miserum, & tantis coquit ilia flammis?  
Aut quae cer a meas torret liquefact a medullas?  
Mitius in Lybiam Phaebijubar antra leonis  
Ingressum furit, & Vulcania mitiùs Aetna  
Saeviit, ardentes cineres, multamque favillam  
In Calabros iaculata sinus: Heu, quis mihi vestes  
Induit Herculeas? nam sentio virus, & omnes  
Ebullire meas Nessaeo sanguine venas!  
Mille licet pas●…as fibrâ crescente volucres,  
Felicem Titium, multo quem frigore stringit  
Caucasus! O liceat mihi tecum monte sub illo  
Aeternum tractare gelu, glacieque perenni  
Demulcere animum, nivibusque extinguere flammas!  
Aut tecum sitiam, gelidis modò detur in undis  
Stare, tuisque meum lymphis solarier aestum,  
Tantal; namque uror miserè miser, aestuat intùs  
Indomitus, totosque ignis depascitur artus.  
Dum gliscit calor, & saevo coquit igne cruorem,  
Intumet extemplò cutis, exurgitque tumescens  
Purpureâ maculâ, & multo distincta rubore;  
Non alitèr quam de caelo cum decidit imber,  
Plurima (vidi etenim) medio natat aequore bulla;  
Aut quale in nostris (saepe est videre) culinis  
Cum primum verubus stridet caro: Belides in me,  
In me per petuam diffundite, Belides, urnam.  
Gens est, humanos, quae dicitur, impia, carnes  
Condere visceribus; me, me, petat, & voret ore  
jam tostum iecur: heu, fervent mea & omnia membra  
Apta Thyestaeis vivunt convivia mensis.  
At cum flamma satis totos bacchata per artus  
Len ius ardescens deferbuit, illicò turgens  
Descendit cutis, & paulò nunc mitius uror.  
Tandem omnis calor expirat, videorque repentè  
Taygeti montis, gelidive in vallibus Haemi  
Ramorum densâ requiescere tectus in umbra;  
Et tandèm revocata suas redit, improba, vires,  
Flamma, premitque iterum, solitisque caloribus urit▪  
Tunc mihi scintillant oculi; tremulumque videntes  
Imbelli spectant acie, binaomnia, bina  
Conspicor, & binis exurgit mensa lucernis;  
Tum videor Stygiis undis, ipsoque Acharonte  
Immergi, videor flagranti claudier aere,  
Inque Perillaeo mugire incendia Tauro.  
Sum meus ipse Rogus: quae tantas pabula possunt,  
Quo valeam tantas nutrire bitumine flammas?  
Si qua est herbarum virtus (quae maxima certeest)  
Extinguas plusquam Phaebeos, (Phoebe) calores:  
Extinguas, precor, & cocto mihi redde salutem,  
Vt semel annosum reparaverat Aesona Colchis:  
Vtque Aries iuvenem rediit grandaevus in Agnum.    

The Song of Orpheus.  

Hail sacred Deserts, whom kind nature made  
Only to shelter with a loving shade,  
The now neglected Music, glad to see  
Lions afford her hospitality,  
And Tigers bid her welcome, with the rest  
Of savage beasts accept her for a guest,  
Since Men refuse her, and scarce deign an ear  
To her high notes; or if they please to hear,  
'tis all; amongst my Pupils, you may see  
The birds that learned their sweetest lays of me;  
Those that chant Carols in this thankless age  
To pleasure men, rewarded with a Cage.    

A Mask for Lydia.  

SWeet Lydia take this mask, and shroud  
Thy face within the silken cloud,  
And veil those powerful Skies:  
For he whose gazing dares so high aspire,  
Makes burning glasses of his eyes,  
And sets his heart on fire.   

Veil, Lydia, veil, for unto me  
There is no basilisk but thee.  
Thy very looks do kill:  
Yet in those looks so fixed is my delight,  
Poor soul (alas) I languish still  
In absence of thy sight.   

Close up those eyes, or we shall find  
Too great a lustre strike us blind:  
Or if a Ray so good  
Ought to be seen, let it but then appear  
When Eagles do produce their brood '  
To try their young ones there.   

Or if thou wouldst have me to know  
How great a brightness thou canst show;  
When they have lost the Sun;  
Then do thou rise, and give the world this theme,  
Sol from th' Hesperides is run,  
And back hath whipped his team.   

Yet through the Goat when he shall stray,  
Thou through the Crab must take thy way;  
For should you both shine bright  
In the same Tropic, we poor moles should get  
Not so much comfort by the light,  
As torment by the heat.   

Where's Lydia now? where shall I seek  
Her charming lip, her tempting cheek  
That my affections bowed?  
So dark a sable hath eclipsed my fair,  
That I can gaze upon the cloud,  
That durst not see the Star.   

But yet me thinks my thoughts begin  
To say there lies a white within,  
Though black her pride control:  
And what care I how black a face I see,  
So there be whiteness in the soul,  
Still such an Ethiop be.    

A parley with his empty Purse.  

PVrse, who'll not know you have a Poets been  
When he shall look and find no gold herein?  
What respect (think you) will there now be shown  
To this foul nest, when all the birds are flown?  
Unnatural vacuum, can your emptiness  
Answer to some slight questions, such as these?  
How shall my debts be paid? or can my scores  
Be cleared with verses to my Creditors?  
Hexameter's no sterling, and I fear  
What the brain coins goes scarce for currant there.  
Can meeter cancel bonds? is here a time  
Ever to hope to wipe out chalk with rhyme?  
Or if I now were hurrying to the jail  
Are the nine Muses held sufficient bail?  
Would they to any composition come,  
If we should mortgage our Elysium,  
Tempe, Parnassus, and the golden streams  
Of Tagus, and Pactolus, those rich dreams  
Of active fancy? Can our Orpheus move  
Those rocks, and stones with his best strains of love?  
Should I (like Homer) sing in lofty tones  
To them Achilles, and his Myrmydons;  
Hector, and Aiax are but Sergeants names,  
They relish bay-salt, 'bove the Epigrams  
Of the most seasoned brain, nor will they be  
Content with Ode, or paid with Elegy.  
Muse, burn thy bays, and thy fond quill resign,  
One cross of theirs is worth whole books of mine.  
Of all the treasure which the Poets hold  
There's none at all they weigh, except our gold;  
And mine's returned to th' Indies, and hath sworn  
Never to visit this cold climate more.  
Then crack your strings good Purse, for you need none;  
Gape on, as they do to be paid, gape on.    

Upon Love fond refused for Conscience sake.  

NAture, Creation's law, is judged by sense,  
Not by the Tyrant conscience.  
Then our commission gives us leave to do  
What youth and pleasure prompts us to:  
For we must question else heavens great decree,  
And tax it with a Treachery;  
If things made sweet to tempt our appetite  
Should with a guilt stain the delight.  
Higher powers rule us, ourselves can nothing do;  
Who made us love, made't lawful too.  
It was not love, but love transformed to vice  
Ravished by envious Avarice,  
Made women first impropriate; all were free,  
Enclosures man's Inventions be.  
I'th' golden age no action could be found  
For trespass on my neighbour's ground:  
'Twas just with any Fair to mix our blood;  
The best is most diffusive good.  
She that confines her beams to one man's sight,  
Is a dark Lanth orne to a glorious Light.  
Say, does the Virgin-spring l●…sse chaste appear  
'Cause many Thirsts are quenched there?  
Or have you not with the same odours met  
When more have smelled your violet?  
The Phoenix is not angry at her nest,  
Cause her perfumes make others blessed:  
Though Incense to th'eternal Gods be meant,  
Yet mortals Rival in the scent.  
Man is the Lord of creatures, yet we see  
That all his vassals loves are free:  
The severe wedlock's fetters do not bind  
The Pard's inflamed, and amorous mind;  
But that he may be like a Bridegroom led  
Even to the Royal Lion's bed.  
The birds may for a year their loves confine,  
But make new choice each Valentine.  
If our affections then more servile be  
Then are our slaves, where's man's sovereignty?  
Why then by pleasing more, should you less please,  
And spare the sweets being more sweet than these?  
If the fiesh Trunk have sap enough to give  
That each insertive branch may live;  
The Gardener grafts not only Apples there,  
But adds the Warden and the Pear,  
The Peach, and Apricock together grow,  
The Cherry, and the Damson too.  
Till he hath made by skilful husbandry  
An entire Orchard of one Tree.  
So lest our Paradise perfection want,  
We may as well inoculate as plant.  
What's Conscience but a Beldame's midnight theme?  
Or nodding nurses idle dream?  
So feigned, as are the Goblins, Elves, and Fairies  
To watch their Orchards, and their Dairies.  
For who can tell when first her reign begun?  
I'th' state of innocence was none:  
And since large Conscience (as the proverb shows)  
In the same sense with bad one goes,  
The less the better then, whence this will fall,  
'Tis to be perfect to have none at all.  
Suppose it be a virtue rich, and pure,  
'Tis not for Spring, or Summer sure,  
Nor yet for Autumn; Love must have his prime,  
His warmer heats, and harvest time.  
Till we have flourished, grown, and reaped our wishes,  
What Conscience dares oppose our kisses?  
But when times colder hand leads us near home,  
Then let that winter-vertue come:  
Frost is till then prodigious; we may do  
What youth and pleasure prompts us to.    
FINIS.   

THE MUSES LOOKING-GLASS.  
By T. R.  
OXFORD, Printed by Leonard Lichfield, for Francis Bowman. 1638.   

THE MUSES LOOKING-GLASS.  

ACTUS I.  

SCEN. 1.  
Enter Bird a Featherman, and Mrs Flowrdew wife to a Haberdasher of small wares; the one having brought feathers to the Playhouse, the other Pins and Looking-glasses; two of the sanctified fraternity of Blackfriars.  Flo. 

SEe Brother how the wicked throng and crowd  
To works of Vanity! not a nook, or corner  
In all this house of sin, this cave of filthiness,  
This den of spiritual thiefs, but it is stuffed,  
Stuffed, and stuffed full as is a cushion  
With the lewd Reprobate.   Bird. 

Sister, were there not before Inns,  
Yes I will say Inns, for my zeal bids me  
Say filthy Inns, enough to harbour such  
As travelled to destruction the broad way;  
But they 〈◊〉 more and more, more shops of Satan.   Flowrd. 

〈◊〉 aboundeth, though pure zeal  
Teach, preach, huff, puff and snuff at it, yet still  
Still it aboundeth. Had we seen a Church,  
A new built Church erected North and South,  
It had been something worth the wondering at.   Bird. 
Good works are done.  Flowrd. 

I say no works are Good.  
Good works are merely Popish and Apocryphal.   Bird. 

But th'bad abound, surround, yea & confound us▪  
No matveile now if Play-howses increase,  
For they are all grown so obscene of late  
That one begets another.   Flowerd. 

Flat fornication!  
〈◊〉 wonder any body takes delight  
To hear them prattle.   Bird. 

Nay and I have heard  
That in a— Tragedy, I think they call it,  
They make no more of killing one another,  
Than you sell pins.   Flow. 

Or you sell feathers brother.  
But are they not hanged for it?   Bird. 

Law grows partial,  
And finds it but Chance-medley: And their Comedies  
Will abuse you, or me, or any body;  
We cannot put our moneys to increase  
By lawful Usury, nor Break in quiet,  
Nor put off our false wares, nor keep our wives  
Finer than others, but our Ghosts must walk  
Upon their stages.   Flow. 

Is not this flat conjureing,  
To make our Ghosts to walk ere we be dead?   Bird. 

That's nothing Mrs Flowrdew, they will play  
The Knave, the Fool, the Devil and all for money.   Flow. 

Impiety! O that men endued with reason  
Should have no more grace in them!   Bird. 

Be there not other  
Vocations as thriving, and more honest?  
Bailies, Promoters, jailors, and Apparitours,  
Beadles, and Marshal's men, the needful instruments  
Of the Republic; but to make themselves  
Such monsters? for they are monsters, theyare monsters,  
Base, sinful, shameless, ugly, vile, deformed  
Pernicious monsters▪   Flow. 

I have heard our Vicar  
Call Playhouses the Colledge●… of Transgression,  
Wherein the seven deadly sins are studied.   Bird. 

Why then the City will in time be made  
An University of Iniquity.  
We dwell by Blackfriars College, where I wonder  
How that profane nest of pernicious Birds  
Dare roost themselves there in the midst of us,  
So many good and well disposed persons.  
O impudence!   Flow. 

It was a zealous prayer  
I heard a Brother make, concerning Playhouses:   Bird. 
For Charity what is it?  Flow. 

That the Globe  
Wherein (quoth he) reigns a whole world of vice,  
Had been consumed! The Phoenix burnt to Ashes.  
The Fortune whipped for a blind whore: Blackfriers  
He wonders how it scaped demolishing  
I'th' time of reformation: lastly he wished  
The Bull might cross the Thames to the Bear-garden,  
And there be sound baited!   Bird. 
A good prayer.  Flow. 

Indeed it something pricks my Conscience,  
I come to sell 'em Pins and Looking-glasses.   Bird. 

I have their custom too for all their feathers:  
'Tis fit that we which are sincere Professors  
Should gain by Infidels.    

SCE. 2.  Enter Roscius a Player. 
Mr Roscius we have brought the things you spoke for.  Rosc. 
Why 'tis well.  Flow. 
Pray sir what serve they for?  Rosc. 
We use them in our Play.  Bird. 
Are you a Player?  Rosc. 
I am Sir, what of that?  Bird. 

And is it lawful?  
Good sister le's convert him, will you use  
So fond a calling?   Flow. 
And so impious?  Bird. 
So irreligious?  Flow. 
So unwarrantable?  Bird. 
Only to gain by vice?  Flow. 
To live by sin?  Rosc. 

My spleen is up: And live not you by sin?  
Take away vanity and you both may break.  
What serves your lawful trade of selling pins,  
But to joint gewgaws, and to knit together  
Gorgets, strips, neckcloths, laces, ribbons, ruffs,  
And many other such like toys as these,  
To make the Baby Pride a pretty Puppet?   

And you sweet Featherman, whose ware though light  
Oreweighs your Conscience, what serves your Trade  
But to plume folly, to give Pride her wings,  
To deck vainglory? spoiling the Peacock's tail  
T'adorn an Idiot's Coxcomb! O dull ignorance!  
How ill 'tis understood what we do mean  
For good and honest! They abuse our Scene,  
And say we live by vice: Indeed 'tis true  
As the Physicians by diseases do,  
Only to cure them: They do live we see  
Like Cooks by pamp'ring prodigality,  
Which are our fond accusers. On the stage  
We set an Usurer to tell this age  
How ugly looks his soul: A prodigal  
Is taught by us how far from liberal  
His folly bears him: Boldly I dare say  
There has been more by us in some one Play  
Laughed into wit and virtue, then hath been  
By twenty tedious Lectures drawn from sin  
And foppish humours; Hence the cause doth rise  
Men are not won by th'ears so well as eyes.  
First see what we present.   Flow. 

The sight is able  
To unsanctify our eyes, and make 'em Carnal.   Rosc. 
Will you condemn without examination?  Bird. 

No Sister, let us call up all our zeal,  
And try the strength of this temptation:  
Satan shall see we dare defy his Engines.   Flow. 
I am content.  Rosc. 

Then take your places here, I will come to you  
And moralise the plot.   Flow. 

That moralising  
I do approve, it may be for instruction.    

SCE. 3.  Enter a deformed fellow. Defor. 
Roscius, I hear you have a new Play to day.  Rosci. 

We want not you to play Mephostopholis.  
A pretty natural vizard!   Defor. 
What have you there?  Rosci. 
A Looking-glass, or two.  Defor. 

What things are they?  
Pray let me see them. Heaven, what sights are here!  
I a've seen a Devil. Looking-glasses call you them?  
There is no basilisk but a Looking-glass.   Rosci. 
'tis your own face you saw.  Defor. 

My own? thou liest:  
I'd not be such a Monster for the world.   Rosci. 
Look in it now with me, what ●…eest thou now?  Defor. 
An Angel and a Devil.  Rosci. 

Look on that  
Thou callst an Angel, mark it well, and tell me,  
Is it not like my face?   Defor. 
As 'twere the same.  Rosci. 

Why so is that like thine. Dost thou not see,  
'Tis not the glass but thy deformity  
That makes this ugly shape; if they be fair  
That view the Glass such the reflections are.  
This serves the body: The soul sees her face  
In Comedy, and has no other Glass.   Defor. 

Nay then farewell, for I had rather see  
Hell then a Looking-glass or Comedy.   Exit Defor. Rosci. 

And yet me thinks if 'twere not for this Glass,  
Wherein the form of man beholds his grace,  
We could not find another way to see  
How near our shapes approach Divinity.  
Ladies, let they who will your glass deride,  
And say it is an Instrument of Pride:  
I will commend you for it; there you see  
If ye be fair, how truly fair yeebee:  
Where finding beauteous faces, I do know  
You'll have the greater care to keep them so.  
A heavenly vision in your beauty lies,  
Which nature hath denied to your own eyes;  
Were it not pity you alone should be  
Debarred of that others are blessed to see?  
Then take your glasses, and yourselves enjoy  
The benefit of yourselves; it is no toy,  
Though ignorance at slight esteem hath set her,  
That will preserve us good or make us better.  
A Country slut, (for such she was, though here  
Ile City may be some as well as there:)  
Kept her hands clean, (for those being always seen  
Had told her else how sluttish she had been)  
But ●…ad her face as nasty as the stall  
Of a fishmonger, or a Usurer's Hall  
Daubed o●…e with dirt: One might have dared to say  
She was a true piece of Prometheus' clay,  
Not yet informed: And then her unkembed hair  
Dressed up with cobwebs, made her hag-like stare.  
One day within her pail (for Country Lasses  
(Fair Ladies) have no other Looking-glasses:).  
She spied her ugliness, and fain she would  
Have blushed if through so much dirt she could:  
Ashamed, within that water, that I say  
Which showed her filth, she washed her filth away.   

So Comedies, as Poets do intend them,  
Serve first to show our faults and then to mend them▪   

Upon our Stage two glasses oft there be,  
The Comic Mirror and the Tragedy:  
The Comic glass is full of merry strife,  
The low reflection of a Country life.  
Grave Tragedy void of such homely sports  
Is the sad glass of Cities and of Courts.  
I'll show you both, Thalia come and bring  
Thy Buskined sister, that of Blood doth ●…ing▪    

SCE. 4.  

Comedy.  
Tragedy.  
Mime.  
Satire.   Comed. 
Why do you stop? go on.  Trag. 

I charge him stay.  
My robe of state, Buskins, and Crown of Gold  
Claim a priority.   Come. 

Your Crown of Gold  
Is but the wreath of wealth; 'Tis mine of Laurel  
Is virtue's Diadem: This grew green and flourished,  
When nature pitying poor mortality,  
Hid thine within the bowels of the earth:  
Men looking up to heaven found this that's mine,  
Digging to find out hell they lied on thine.   Trage. 
I know youhave tongue enough.  Come. 

Besides my Birthright  
Gives me the first possession.   Trag. 
How, your Birthright?  Come. 

Yes sister, Birthright: and a Crown beside,  
Put on before the Altar of Apollo  
By his dear Priest Phenomoe, she that first  
Full of her God raged in Heroic numbers.   Trag. 

How came it then the magistrate decreed  
A public charge to furnish out my Chorus,  
When you were fain t' appear in rags and tatters,  
And at your own expenses?   Come. 

My reward  
Came after, my deserts went before yours.   Trag. 

Deserts? yes! what deserts, when like a gypsie  
You took a poor and begga●…ly Pilgrimage  
From village unto village; when I then  
As a fit ceremony of Religion  
In my full state contended at the Tomb  
Of mighty Theseus.   Come. 

I before that time  
Did chant out Hymns in praise of great Apollo  
The shepherd's Deity, whom they reverence  
Under the name of Nomius, in remembrance  
How with them once he kept Admetus' sheep.  
And 'cause you urge my poverty, what were you?  
Till Sophocles laid guilt upon your Buskins  
You had no ornaments, no robes of state,  
No rich and glorious Scene; your first Benefactors  
Who were they, but the reeling Priests of Bacchus;  
For which a Goat gave you reward and name?   Trag. 

But sister who were yours, I pray, but such  
As chanted forth religious, bawdy sonnets,  
In honour of the fine chaste God Priapus?   Come. 
Let age alone, merit must plead our Title.  Trag. 

And have you then the forehead to contend?  
I stalk in Princes Courts, great Kings, and Emperors▪  
From their close cabinets, and Council Tables  
Yield me the fatal matter of my Scene.   Come. 

Inferior persons, and the lighter vanities,  
(Of which this age I fear is grown too fruitful,)  
Yield subjects various enough to move  
Plentiful laughter.   Trag. 

Laughter! a fit object  
For Poetry to aim at.   Come. 

Yes, Laughter is my object: 'tis a property  
In man essential to his reason.   Trag. 

So;  
But I move horror; and that frights the guilty  
From his dear sins: he that sees Oedipus  
Incestuous, shall behold him blind withal.  
Who views Orestes as a Parricide,  
Shall see him lashed with Furies too; Th' Ambitious  
Shall fear Prometheus' Vulture; Daring Gluttony  
Stand frighted at the sight of Tantalus:  
And every Family great in sins as Blood  
Shake at the memory of Pelops house.  
Who will rely on Fortune's giddy smile  
That hath seen Priam acted on the stage!   Com. 

You move with fear, I work as much with shame,  
A thing more powerful in a generous breast.  
Who sees an eating Parasite abused;  
A covetous Bawd laughed at; an ignorant Gull  
Cheated; a glorious Soldier knocked, and baflleed;  
A crafty servant whipped; a niggard Churl  
Hoarding up dicing-monies for his son;  
A spruce fantastic Courtier, a mad roarer,  
A jealous Tradesman, an overweening Lady,  
Or corrupt Lawyer rightly personated,  
But (if he have a blush), will blush and shame  
As well to act those follies as to own them.   Trag. 

The subject of my Scene is in the persons  
Greater, as in the vices; Atheists, Tyrants,  
O'redaring Favourites, Traitors, Parasites,  
The Wolves and Cats of state, which in a language  
High as the men, and loud as are their crimes  
I thunder forth with terror and amazement  
Unto the ghastly wondering Audience.   Satire. 

And as my Lady takes deserved place  
Of thy light Mistress, so yield thou to me,  
Fantastic Mime.   Mime. 
Fond Satire why to thee?  Sat. 

As the Attendant of the nobler Dame,  
And of myself more worthy.   Mime. 
How more worthy?  Sat. 

As one whose whip of steel can with a lash  
Imprint the Characters of shame so deep,  
Even in the brazen forehead of proud sin,  
That not eternity shall wear it out.  
When I but frowned in my Lucilius brow,  
Each conscious cheek grew red, and a cold trembling  
Freezed the i'll soul; while every guilty breast  
Stood fearful of dissection, as afraid  
To be anatomised by that skilful hand,  
And have each artery, nerve, and vein of sin  
By it laid open to the public scorn.  
I have untrussed the proudest, greatest tyrants  
Have quaked below my powerful whip, half dead  
With expectation of the smarting jerk,  
Whose wound no salve can cure: each blow doth leave  
A lasting scar, that with a poison eats  
Into the marrow of their fames and lives;  
Th'eternal ulcer to their memories!  
What can your Apish-fine-gesticulations  
My manlike-Munkye Mime, vie down to this?   Mime. 

When men through sins were grown unlike the Gods,  
Apes grew to be like men; therefore I think  
My Apish imitation, Brother Beadle,  
Does as good service to reform bad manners  
As your proud whip, with all his ferkes, and jerkes.   

The Spartans' when they strove t'express the loathsomeness  
Of Drunkenness to their Children, brought a slave,  
Some captive, Helot, overcharged with wine  
Reeling in thus;— His eyes shot out with staring,  
A fire in his nose, a burning redness  
Blazing in either cheek, his hair upright,  
His tongue and senses faltering, and his stomach  
Oreburdened ready to discharge her load  
In each man's face he met. This made'em se●…  
And hate that sin of swine, and not of men.  
Would I express a complemental youth,  
That thinks himself a spruce and expert Courtier,  
Bending his supple hams, kissing his hands,  
Honouring shoestrings, s●…uing his writhed face  
To several postures of affection,  
Dancing an entertainment to his friend,  
Who would not think it a ridiculous motion?  
Yet such there be that very much please themselves  
In such like Antique humours. To out own sin●…s  
We will be Moles, even to the grossest of 'em,  
But in another's life we can spy forth  
The least of faults, with eyes as sharp as eagles,  
Or the Epidaurean serpent: Now in me,  
Where self-love casts not her Egyptian mists,  
They find this mis-becoming ●…oppishnesse,  
And afterwards apply it to themselves:  
This (Satire) is the use of Mimic Elves.   Trage. 

Sister let's lay this poor contention by,  
And friendly live together; if one womb  
Could hold us both, why should we think this room  
Too narrow to contain us? On this stage  
we'll plead a trial; and in one year contend  
Which shall do best, that past, she than that shall  
By the most sacred and impartial judgement  
Of our Apollo, best deserve the Bays,  
Shall hold the entire possession of the place.   Come. 

I were unworthy if I should  
Appeal from his tribunal; Be it so:  
I doubt not but his censure runs with me:  
Never may any thing that's sad and tragical  
Dare to approach his Presence; let him be  
So happy as to think no man is wretched,  
Or that there is a thing called misery.   Trag. 

Such is my prayer, that he may only see.  
Not be the subject of a Tragedy!  
Sister, a truce till then; that vice may bleed  
Let us join whips together.   Come. 

'Tis agreed.  
Mime, let it be your office to prepare  
The Masque which we intended:   Mime. 
'Tis my care.  Exeunt. Flow. 

How did she say? a Mass? Brother fly hence,  
Fly hence, Idolatry will overtake us.   Rosci. 

It was a Masque she spoke of, a rude Dance  
Presented by the seven deadly sins.   Bird. 

Still 'tis a Mass, sister, away, I tell you  
It is a mass, a mass, a mass of vile Idolatry.   Rosci. 

'Tis but a simple Dance, brought in to show  
The native fowl●…esse and deformity  
Of our dear fin, and what an ugly guest  
He entertains, admits him to his B●…est!   

Song and Dance.  
Say, in a Dance how shall we go,  
That never could a measure know!  
How shall we sing to please the Scene  
That never yet could keep a mean?  
Disorder is the Masque we bring,  
And Discords are the Tunes we sing.  
No sound in our harsh ears can find a place  
But highest Trebles, or the lowest Base.   Flow. 

See Brother, if men's hearts and Consciences  
Had not been seared, and cauterised, how could they  
Affect these filthy harbingers of hell!  
These Proctors of Belzebub, Lucifer's Hinch-boyes!   Rosci. 
I pray ye stir yourselves within a while.  Exeunt. 

Roscius Solus.  
And here, unless your favourable mildness  
With hope of mercy do encourage us,  
Our Author bids us end: he dares not venture  
Neither what's past, nor that which is to come  
Upon his Country, 'tis so weak, and impotent  
It cannot stand a trial, nor dares hope  
The benefit of his Clergy; But if rigour  
Sat judge, must of necessity be condemned  
To Vulcan or the Sponge: All he can plead  
Is a desire of Pardon; for he brings you  
No plot at all, but a mere Olla Podrida,  
A medley of ill-placed, and worse penned humours.  
His desire was in single Scenes to show  
How Comedy presents each single vice  
Ridiculous, whose number as their Character  
He borrows from the man to whom he owes  
All the poor skill he has, great Aristotle.  
Now if you can endure to hear the rest,  
Y'are welcome; if you cannot, do but tell  
Your meaning by some sign, and all farewell.  
If you will stay resolve to pardon first;  
Our Author will deserve it by offending.  
Yet if he miss a Pardon, as in justice  
You cannot grant it, though your mercy may,  
Still he hath this left for a comfort to him,  
That he picks forth a subject of his Rhyme  
May lose perchance his credit, not his time.   Exit.  
Finis Actus 1.   

ACTUS 2.  

SCENA I.  

Roscius.  
Bird.  
Flowrdew.   Rosc. 
REceive your places. The first that we present are the Extremes of a virtue necessary in our Conversation, called Comitas or Courtesy, which, as all other virtues, hath her deviations from the Mean. The one Colax, that to seem over Courteous falls into a servile flattery, the other (as fools fall into the contraries which they shun) is Dyscolus, who hating to be a slavish Parasite grows into peevishness and impertinent distaste.  Flow. 
I thought you taught two vices for one virtue!  Rosci. 
So does Philosophy, but the Actors enter.  

Colax.  
Dyscolus.   Colax. 

How far they sin against humanity  
That use you thus! Believe me 'tis a Symptom  
Of Barbarism, and rudeness so to vex  
A gentle, modest nature as yours is.   Dysco. 
Why dost thou vex methen?  Colax. 

I? Heaven defend!  
My breeding has been better; I vex you?  
You that I know so virtuous, just, and wise,  
So pious and religious, so admired  
So loved of all?   Dysc. 

Wilt thou not leave me then  
Eternal Torture? could your cruelty find  
No back but mine that you thought broad enough  
To bear the load of all these Epithets?  
Pious? Religious? he takes me for a fool.  
Virtuous? and Just? Sir, did I ever cheat you,  
Cousin, or gull you; that you call me just  
And virtuous? I am grown the common scoff  
Of all the world; the scoff of all the world.   Colax. 
The world is grown too vile then.  Dysc. 

So art thou.  
Heaven! I am ●…un'd ridiculous!   Colax. 

You ridiculous?  
But 'tis as impious Age; There was a time,  
(And pity 'tis so good a time had wings  
To fly away,) when reverence was paid  
To a grey head; 'twas held a sacrilege  
Not expiable to deny respect  
To one, Sir, of your years and Gravity.   Dysc. 

My years and gravity! Why how ol d am I?  
I am not rotten yet, or grown so rank  
As I should smell oth'grave: O Times and manners!  
Well Colax, well; go on: you may abuse me,  
Poor dust, and ashes, worms meat, years & gravity:  
He takes me for a Carcase! what see you  
So crazy in me? I have half my Teeth:  
I see with spectacles, do I not? and can walk too  
With th' benefit of my staff: mark if I cannot!—  
But you sir at your pleasure with years and gravity  
Think me decrepit.   Colax. 

How? Decrepit sir!  
I see young roses bud within your cheeks;  
And a quick active blood run free and fresh  
Through your veins.   Dysco. 

I am turned boy again!  
A very stripling schoolboy! have I not  
The Itch and kibes? am I not scabbed and mangy  
About the wrists and hams?   Colax. 
Still Dyscolus▪  Dysc. 

Dyscolus! and why Dyscolus? when were we  
Grown so familiar? Dyscolus! by my name  
Sure we are Pylades and Orestes! are we not?  
Speak good Pylades.   Colax. 

Nay worthy Sir  
Pardon my error, 'twas without intent  
Of an offence. I'll find some other name  
To call you by—   Dysc. 

What do you mean to call me?  
Fool? Ass? or Knave? my name is not so bad  
As that I am ashamed on't.   Colax. 

Still you take all worse than it was meant,  
You are too jealous.   Dysco. 

jealous? I ha'not cause for't: my wife's honest;  
Dost see my horns? Dost? if thou dost,  
Write Cuckold in my forehead; do, write Cuckold  
With Aquafortis, do. jealous! I am jealous▪  
Free of the Company! wife, I am jealous.   Colax. 
I mean suspicious.  Dysc. 

How, suspicious?  
For what? for Treason, Felony, or Murder?  
Carry me to the justice: bind me over  
For a suspicious person▪ hang me too  
For a suspicious person▪ O, O, O  
Some courteous plague ceazeme, and free my soul  
From this immortal Torment! every thing  
I meet with, is vexation, and this, this  
Is the vexation of vexations,  
The Hell of Hells, and Devil of all Devils.   Flow. 
For pity sake fret not the good old Gentleman.  Dysc. 

O! have I not yet torments great enough,  
But you must add to my affliction?  
Eternal silence cease you!   Colax. 

Sir we strive  
To please you, but you still misconstrue us.   Dysc. 

I must be pleased! a very babe, an infant!  
I must be pleased! give me some pap, or plums:  
Buy me a rattle, or a hobby-horse,  
To still me, do! be pleased? wouldst have me get  
A Parasite to be flattered?   Col. 

How? a Parasite?  
A cogging, flattering, slavish Parasite?  
Things I abhor and hate. 'tis not the belly  
Shall make my brains a captive. Flatterers!  
Souls below reason will not stoop so low  
As to give up their Liberty; only flatterers  
Move by another's wheel. They have no passions  
Free to themselves. All their affections,  
Qualities, humours, appetites, desires,  
Nay wishes, vows, and prayers, discourse & thoughts  
Are but another's Bondman. Let me tug  
At the Turks Galleys; be eternally  
Damned to a Quarry: In this state my mind  
Is free: A flatterer has nor soul nor body  
What shall I say?— No I applaud your temper,  
That in a generous braveness take distaste  
At such whose servile nature strives to please you.  
'tis royal in you Sir.   Dysc. 
Ha! What's that?  Colax. 
A feather stuck upon your cloak.  Dysc. 

A feather!  
And what have you to do with my feathers?  
Why should you hinder me from telling th'world  
I do not lie on flockbeds?   Colax. 

Pray be pleased.  
I brushed it off for mere respect I bore you.   Dysc. 

Respect! a fine respect, Sir, is it not,  
To make the world believe I nourish vermin?  
O death, death, death, if that our graves hatch worms  
Without tongues to torment us, let 'em have  
What teeth they will. I meet not here an object  
But adds to my affliction! Sure I am not  
A man; I could not then be so ridiculous:  
My ears are overgrown, I am an Ass;  
It is my ears they gaze at. What strange Harpy  
Centaur, or Gorgon am I turned into?  
What Circe wrought my Metamorphosis?  
If I be beast, she might have made me Lion,  
Or something not ridiculous! O Actaeon,  
If I do branch like thee, it is my fortune!  
Why look they on me else? There is with in  
A Glass they say, that has strange qualities in it;  
That shall resolve me. I will in to see  
Whether or no I man or Monster be.   Exit.  

SCEN. TWO,  To them Deilus, Aphobus. Bird. 
Who be these? They look like Presumption and Despair.  Rosc. 
And such they are. That is Aphobius, one that out of an impious confidence fears nothing. The other Deilus, that from an Atheistical distrust, shakes at the motion of a reed. These are the Extremes of Fortitude, that steers an even course between over much dar●…ing, and overmuch fearing.  Flowr. 
Why stays this reprobate Colax?  Rosc. 

Any vice  
Yields work for Flattery.   Flow. 
A good Doctrine mark it.  Deilus. 

Is it possible? did you not fear it, say you?  
To me the mere relation is anague.  
Good Aphobus no more such terrible stories;  
I would not for a world lie alone to night:  
I shall have such strange dreams!   Apho. 

What can there be  
That I should fear? The Gods? If they be good,  
'tis sin to fear them; if not good, no Gods,  
And then let them fear me. Or are they Devils  
That must affright me?   Deilus. 

Devils! where good Aphobus?  
I thought there was some conjureing abroad.  
'tis such a terrible wind! O here it is;  
Now it is here again! O still, still, still!   Apho. 
What's the matter?  Deilus. 

Still it follows me!  
The thing in black, behind; soon as the Sun  
But shines, it haunts me! Gentle spirit leave me!  
Cannot you lay him Aphobus? what an ugly looks it has!  
With eyes as big as saucers, nostrils wider  
Than Barber's basons!   Apho. 

'tis nothing Deilus  
But your weak Fancy, that from every object  
Draws arguments of fear. This terrible black thing—   Deil. 
Where is it Aphobus?  Apho. 
— Is but your shadow Deilus.  Deil. 
And should not we fear shadows?  Apho. 
No! why should we?  Deil. 

Who knows but they come learing after us  
To steal away the substance? Watch him Aphobus.   Apho. 
I nothing fear.  Colax. 

I do commend your valour,  
That fixes your great soul fast as a Centre,  
Not to be moved with dangers, let slight cockboats  
Be shaken with a wave, while you stand firm  
Like an undaunted rock, whose constant hardness  
Rebeats the fury of the raging Sea,  
Dashing it into froth. Base fear doth argue  
A low degenerate soul.   Deil. 
Now I fear every thing.  Colax. 

'tis your discretion. Every thing has danger,  
And therefore every thing is to be feared.  
I do applaud this wisdom: 'tis a symptom  
Of wary providence. His too confident rashness  
Argues a stupid ignorance in the soul,  
A blind and senseless judgement; give me fear  
To man the fort, 'tis such a circumspect  
And wary sentinel▪   Flow. 

Now shame take thee for  
A Luke warm formalist.   Colax. 

— But daring valour  
Uncapable of danger sleeps securely,  
And leaves an open entrance to his enemies.   Deil. 
What are they landed?  Apho. 
Who?  Deil. 

The enemies.  
That Colax talks of.   Apho. 

If they be I care not.  
Though they be Giants all, and armed with thunder.   Deil. 
Why do you not fear Thunder?  Apho. 

Thunder? no!  
No more than squibs and crackers.   Deil. 

Squibs and crackers?  
I hope there be none here! slid, squibs and crackers!  
The mere Epitomies of the Gunpowder Treason,  
Faux in a lesser volume.   Apho. 

Let fools gaze  
At bearded stars, it is all one to me  
As if they had been shaved— thus, thus would I  
Out-beard a Meteour, for I might as well  
Name it a prodigy when my candle blazes.  
Deil. Is there a Comet say you? Nay I saw it,  
It reached from Paul's to Charing, and portends  
Some certain imminent danger to th' inhabitants  
'twixt those two places: I'll go get a lodging  
Out of its Influence.   Colax. 

Will that serve?— I fear  
It threatens general ruin to the Kingdom.   Deil. 
I'll to some other Country.  Colax. 
There's danger too to cross the Seas.  Deil. 

Is there no way, good Colax,  
To cross the Sea by Land? O the situation!  
The horrible situation of an Island   Colax. 

You sir are far above such frivolons thoughts.  
You fear not death.   Apho. 
Not I  Col. 
Not sudden death.  Apho. 
No more than sudden sleeps: Sir I dare dye.  Deil. 

I dare not; Death to me is terrible:  
I will not dye.   Apho. 
How can you Sir prevent it?  Deil. 
Why I will kill myself.  Col. 

A valiant course;  
And the right way to prevent death indeed.  
Your spirit is true Roman!— But yours greater  
That fear not death, nor yet the manner of it,  
Should Heaven fall—   Apho. 
Why then we should have Larks.  Deil. 
I shall never eat Larks again while I breath.  Col. 

Or should the earth yawn like a sepulchre,  
And with an open throat swallow you quick?   Apho. 
'Twould save me the expenses of a grave.  Deil. 
I'had rather trouble my Executors by ' the half.  Apho. 
Canons to me are potguns.  Deil. 

Potguns to me  
Are Canons; the report will strike me dead.   Apho. 
A rapier's but a bodkin.  Deil. 

And a bodkin.  
Is a most dangerous weapon; since I read  
Of julius Caesar's death, I durst not venture  
Into a Tailor's shop for fear of Bodkins.   Apho. 

O that the valiant Giants would again  
Rebel against the Gods, and besiege Heaven,  
So I might be their leader.   Col. 

Had Enceladus  
Been half so valiant, jove had been his prisoner.   Apho. 

Why should we think there be such things as dangers?  
Scylla, Charybdis, Python are but fables.  
Medea's Bull, and Dragon very tales.  
Se●… monsters, serpents, all Poetical figments.  
Nay Hell itself, and Acheron mere inventions.  
Or were they true, as they are false, should I be  
So timorous as to fear these Bugbear Harpies,  
Medusa's, Centauris, Gorgon's?   Deill. 

O good Aphobus.  
Leave conjuring, or take me into th' circle.  
What shall I do good Colax?   Col. 

Sir walk in,  
There is they say a Looking-glass, a strange one  
Of admirable virtues, that will render you  
Free from enchantments.   Dei. 

How a Looking-glass?  
Dost think I can endure it? why there lies  
A man within't in ambush to entrap me.  
I did but lift my hand up, and he presently  
Catcht at it.   Colax. 

'Twas the shadow Sir of yourself.  
Trust me a mere reflection.   Deil. 
I will trust thee.  Exit. Apho. 
What Glass is that?  Colax. 

A trick to fright the Idiot  
Out of his wits, a glass so full of dread  
Rendering unto the eye such horrid spectacles  
As would amaze even you. Sir I do think  
Your optic nerves would shrink in the beholding▪  
This if your eye endure, I will confess you  
The Prince of Eagles.   Apho. 

Look to it eyes, if ye refuse this sight,  
My nails shall damn you to eternal night.   Exit. Col. 

Seeing no hope of gain, I pack them hence,  
'Tis gold gives flattery all her Eloquence.    

SCEN. 3.  

Acolastus  
Anaisthetus.   Rosci. 
Temperance is the mediocrity of enjoying pleasures, when they are present, and a moderate desire of them being absent; And these are the extremes of that virtue. Acolastus a voluptuous Epicure, that out of an immoderate, and untamed desire seeks after all pleasures promiscuously, without respect of honest or lawful. The other Anaisthetus a mere Anchorite that delights in nothing, not in those legitimate recreations allowed of by God and nature.  Acolast. 

O now for an eternity of eating!  
Fool was he that wished but a crane's short neck.  
Give me one, nature, long as is a Cable,  
Or sounding line, and all the way a palate  
To ●…ast my meat the longer. I would have  
My senses feast together, Nature envied us  
In giving single pleasures; let me have  
My ears, eyes, palate, nose, and touch, at once  
Enjoy their happiness; lay me in a bed  
Made of a summer's cloud; to my embraces  
Give me a Venus hardly yet fifteen,  
Fresh, plump, and active; she that Mars enjoyed  
Is grown too stale: And then at the same instant  
My Touch is pleased, I would delight my sight  
With Pictures of Diana, and her Nymphs,  
Naked, and bathing drawn by some Apelles;  
By them some of our fairest Virgins stand;  
That I may see whether 'tis Art or nature  
Which heightens most my blood and appetite.  
Nor cease I here. Give me the seven Orbs  
To charm my ears with their celestial lutes,  
To which the Angels that do move those spheres  
Shall sing some amorous ditty; nor yet here  
Fix I my bounds; The sun himself shall fire  
The Phoenix nest to make me a perfume,  
While I do eat the Bird, and eternally  
Quaff of eternal Nectar. These single, are  
But torments, but together; O together!  
Each is a Paradise. Having got such objects  
To please the senses, give me senses too  
Fit to receive those objects: Give me therefore  
An Eagles eye, a bloodhounds curious smell,  
A stags quick hearing, let my feeling be  
As subtle as the spiders, and my taste  
Sharp as a Squirrels. Then I'll read the Alcoran,  
And what delights that promises in future  
I'll practise in the present.   Bird, 
Heathenish Glutton!  Flow. 
Base belly-God, licentious Libertine!  Anai. 

And I do think there is no pleasure at all  
But in contemning pleasures; Happy Niobe  
And blessed Daphne, and all such as are  
Turned stocks and stones: would I were Laurel too,  
Or marble, I, or any thing insensible.  
It is a toil for me to eat or drink,  
Only for nature's satisfaction;  
Would I could live without it. To my ear  
Music is but a mandrake. To my smell  
Nard scents of rue, and wormwood; And I taste  
Nectar with as much loathing, and distaste  
As Gall, or aloes, or my Doctor's potion.  
My eye can meet no object but I hate it.   Acola. 
Come Brother Stoic be not so melancholy.  Anai. 
Be not so foolish Brother Epicure.  Aco. 

Come we'll go see a Comedy, that will raise  
Thy heavy spirits up.   Anai. 

A Comedy?  
Sure I delight much in those toys; I can  
With as much patience hear the Mariners  
Chide in a storm.   Aco. 
Then le's go drink a while.  Anai. 

'Tis too much Labour; Happy Tantalus  
That never drinks.   Aco. 

A little Venery  
Shall recreate thy soul.   Ana. 

Yes like an itch,  
For 'tis no better, I could wish an heir;  
But that I cannot take the pains to get one.   Aco. 

Why, marry, if your conscience be so tender,  
As not to do it otherwise; Then 'tis lawful.   Ana. 

True Matrimonies nothing else indeed  
But fornication licenced, lawful Adultery.  
O Heavens! how all my senses are wide sluices  
To let in discontent and miseries!  
How happy are the moles that have no eyes;  
How blessed the Adders that they have no ears.  
They neither see, nor hear aught that afflicts them.  
But happier they that have no sense all;  
That neither see, nor hear, taste, smell, nor feel  
Any thing to torment them: souls were given  
To torture Bodies, man has reason too  
To add unto the heap of his distractions.  
I can see nothing without sense, and motion,  
But I do wish myself transformed into it.   Colax. 

Sir I commend this temperance; your armed soul  
Is able to contemn these petty baits,  
These slight temptations, which we title pleasures;  
That are indeed but names; He'ven itself knows  
No such like thing; the stars nor eat, nor drink,  
Nor lie with one another; and you imitate  
Those glorious bodies, by which noble abstinence  
You gain the names of moderate, chaste, and sober;  
While this effeminate gets the infamous terms  
Of Glutton, Drunkard, and Adulterer;  
Pleasures, that are not man's, as man is man,  
But as his nature sympathies with beasts.  
You shall be the third Cato. This grave look  
And rigid eyebrow will become a censor.  
But I will fit you with an object Sir,  
My noble Anaisthetus that will please you.  
It is a Looking-glass, wherein at once  
You may see all the dismal groves and caves,  
The horrid vaults, dark cells, and barren deserts,  
With what in Hell itself can dismal be.   Anais. 
That is indeed a Prospect fit for me.  Exit. Acol. 

He cannot see a stock or stone, but presently  
He wishes to be turned to one of those.  
I have another humour, I cannot see  
A fat voluptuous sow with full delight  
Wallow in dirt, but I do wish myself  
Transformed into that blessed Epicure.  
Or when I view the hot salacious sparrow  
Renew his pleasures with fresh appetite,  
I wish myself that little bird of Love.   Colax. 

It shows you a man of a soft moving clay,  
Not made of flint; Nature has been bountiful  
To provide pleasures, and shall we be niggards  
At plenteous boards? He's a discourteous guest  
That will observe a diet at a feast.  
When Nature thought the earth alone too little  
To find us meat, and therefore stored the air  
With winged creatures, not contented yet  
She made the water fruitful to delight us.  
Nay I believe the other Element too  
Doth nurse some curious dainty for man's food,  
If we would use the skill to catch the Salamander:  
Did she do this to have us eat with temperance?  
Or when she gave so many different Odours  
Of spices, unguents, and all sorts of flowers,  
She cried not— stop your noses: would she give us  
So sweet a choir of winged Musicians  
To have us deaf? or when she placed us here,  
Here in a Paradise, where such pleasing prospects  
So many ravishing colours entice the eye,  
Was it to have us wink? when she bestowed  
So powerful faces, such commanding beauties  
On many glorious Nymphs, was it to say  
Be chaste and continent? Not to enjoy  
All pleasures, and at full, were to make nature  
Guilty of that she ne'er was guilty of,  
A vanity in her works.   Acol. 

A learned Lecture!  
'tis fit such grave and solid arguments  
Have their reward— here— half of my estate  
T'invent a pleasure never tasted yet,  
That I may be the first shall make it stale.   Col. 

Within Sir is a Glass, that by reflection  
Doth show the image of all sorts of pleasures  
That ever yet were acted, more variety  
Than Aretine's pictures.   Aco. 

I'll see the jewel;  
For though to do, most moves my appetite,  
I love to see, as well as act delight.   Exit. Bird. 

These are the things indeed the stage doth teach,  
Dear heart, what a foul sink of sins run here!   Flow. 
Insooth it is the common shore of lewdness.   

SCEN. 4.  

Asotus.  
Aneleutherus.   Rosc. 
These are Aneleutherus an illiberal Niggardly Usurer, that will sell heaven to purchase Earth. That, his son Asotus, a profuse Prodigal, that will sell earth to buy Hell. The extremes of Liberality which prescribes a mediocrity in the Getting and Spending of Riches.  Aneleu. 
Come boy, go with me to the Scriveners, go,  Asot. 
I was in hope you would have said a Bawdy house.  Anel. 
Thence to th'exchange.  Asot. 
No, to the Tavern Father.  Anel. 
Be a good husband boy, follow my counsel.  Asot. 

Your counsel? No dad, take you mine  
And be a good fellow— shall we go and roar?  
'Slid Father I shall never live to spend  
That you have got already— Pox of attorneys,  
Merchants, and Scriveners, I would hear you talk  
Of Drawers, Punks, and Panders.   Anel. 

Prodigal child!  
Thou dost not know the sweets of getting wealth.   Asot. 

Nor you the pleasure that I take in spending it.  
To feed on Caviar, and eat Anchovies!   Anel. 

Asotus, my dear son, talk not to me  
Of your Anchovies, or your Caviar.  
No, feed on Widows, have each meal an Orphan  
Served to your Table, or a glibery heir  
With all his lands melted into a mortgage.  
The Gods themselves feed not on such fine dainties,  
Such fatting, thriving diet.   Asot. 

Trust me Sir,  
I am ashamed la— now to call you Father,  
ne'er trust me now I'am, come be a Gentleman:  
One of your haveings, and thus cark and care?  
Come, I will send for a whole coach or two  
Of Bankside Ladies, and we will be jovial!  
Shall the World say you pine and pinch for nothing?  
Well do your pleasure, keep me short of moneys,  
When you are dead, as dye I hope you must,  
I'll make a shift to spend one half at least  
Ere you are coffined, and the other half  
Ere you are fully laid into your grave.  
Were not you better help away with some of it?  
But you will starve yourself, that when y'are rotten,  
One— Have at all of mine may set it flying.  
And I will have your bones cut into dice,  
And make you guilty of the spending of it:  
Or I will get a very handsome bowl  
Made of your scull, to drink't away in healths.   Aneil. 

That's not the way to thrive! No sit and brood  
On thy estate, as yet it is not hatched  
Into maturity.   Asot. 

Marry I will brood upon it,  
And hatch it into chickens, capons, hens,  
Larks, thrushes, quails, woodcocks, snites & pheasants  
The best that can be got for love or money.  
There is no life to drinking!   Anel. 

O yes, yes,  
Exaction, usury, and oppression.  
Twenty i'th' hundred is a very Nectar.  
And wilt thou, wasteful lad, spend in a supper  
What I with sweat and labour, care and industry  
Have been an age a scraping up together?  
No, no Asotus, trust gray-head experience;  
As I have been an ox, a painful ox,  
A diligent, toiling, and laborious ox  
To plow up Gold for thee; so I would have thee—   Asot. 
Be a fine silly Ass to keep it.  Anel. 
Be a good watchful Dragon to preserve it.  Colax. 

Sir, I overheard your wise instructions,  
And wonder at the gravity of your counsel.  
This wild unbridled boy is not yet grown  
Acquainted with the world; He has not felt  
The weight of need, that want is virtue's clog;  
Of what necessity, respect and value  
Wealth is; how base and how contemptible  
Poverty makes us. Liberality  
In some circumstances may be allowed;  
As when it has no end but honesty,  
With a respect of person, quantity,  
Quality, time and place; but this profuse,  
Vain, injudicious spending speaks him Idiot.  
And yet the best of liberality  
Is to be liberal to ourselves; and thus  
Your wisdom is most liberal, and knows  
How fond a thing it is for discreet men  
To purchase with the loss of their estate  
The name of one poor virtue liberality.  
And that too only from the mouth of beggars.  
One of your judgement would not I am sure  
Buy all the virtues at so dear a rate.  
Nor are you sir, I dare presume, so fond  
As for to weigh your gains by the strict scale  
Of equity, and justice; Names invented  
To keep us beggars! I would counsel now  
Your son to tread no steps but yours, for they  
Will certainly direct him the broad way  
That leads unto the place where Plenty dwells,  
And she shall give him honour.   Anel. 

Your tongue is powerful:  
Pray read this Lecture to my son; I go  
To find my scrivener, who is gone I hear  
To a strange Glass wherein all things appear.   Exit. Asot. 

To see if it can show him his lost ears.  
Now to your Lecture.   Col. 

And to such a one  
As you will be a willing Pupil to.  
Think you I meant all that I told your father?  
No, 'twas to blind the eyes of the old Hunks.  
I love a man like you that can make much  
Of his blessed Genius: Miracle of Charity!  
That open hand becomes thee; Let thy Father  
Scrape like the Dunghill cock the dirt, and mire,  
To find a precious Gem for thee, the Chicken  
Of the white Hen to wear. It is a wonder  
How such a generous branch as you, could spring  
From that old root of damned avarice!  
For every widow's house the father swallows,  
The son should spew a Tavern. How are we  
Richer than others, not in having much,  
But in be stowing;  
And that shines glorious in you. The chuff●… crownes  
Imprisoned in his rusty chest me thinks  
I hear groan out, and long till they be thine,  
In hope to see the light again. Thou canst not  
Stand in a flood of Nectar up to th' chin,  
And yet not dare to sup it; nor canst suffer  
The Golden Apples dangle at thy lips,  
But thou wilt taste the fruit. 'Tis generous this!   Asot. 

Gramercy, thou shalt be Doctor o'th' chair.  
Here— 'tis too little, but 'tis all my store,  
I'll in to pump my dad, and fetch thee more.   Exit. Colax. 
How like you now my art? is't not a subtle one?  Flow. 

Now out upon thee thou lewd reprobate!  
Thou man of sin, and shame, that sowest cushions  
Unto the elbows of iniquity.   Colax. 

I do commend this zeal; you cannot be  
Too fervent in a cause so full of goodness.  
There is a general frost hath ceased devotion,  
And without such like ardent flames as these  
There is no hope to thaw it. The word, Puritan,  
That I do glorify, and esteem rev'erend,  
As the most sanctified, pure, and holiest Sect  
Of all professors, is by the profane  
Used for a name of infamy, a byword, a slander,  
That I soothe vice I do but flatter them,  
As we give children plums to learn their prayers,  
T' entice them to the truth, and by fair means  
Work out their reformation.   Bird. 

'Tis well done,  
I hope he'll become a brother, and make  
A Separatist!   Flow. 

You shall have the devotions  
Of all the Elders. But this foppinesse  
Is weary some, I could at our Saint Antling's,  
Sleeping and all, sit twenty times as long,   Rosc. 

Go in with me to recreate your spirits,  
As Music theirs, with some refreshing song,  
Whose patience our rude Scene hath held too long.   Exeunt  
Finis Actus 2.   

ACTUS 3.  

SCENA 1.  

Roscius.  
Bird.  
Flowrdew.   Bird. 
I will no more of this abomination.  Rosc. 

The end crownes every action, stay till that.  
Just judges will not be prejudicated.   Flow. 
Pray sir continue still the moralising.  Rosc. 
The next we present are the extremes of Magnificence, who teaches a Decorum in great expenses, as Liberality in the lesser: One is Banausus, out of a mere ●…tent ation vainegloriously expensive; the other Microprepes one in glorious works extremely base and penurious.  

Banausus.  
Microprepes.   Banau. 

Being borne not for ourselves but for our friends,  
Our country and our glory, it is fit  
We do express the majesty of our souls  
In deeds of bounty and magnificence.   Micro. 

The world is full of vanity, and fond fools  
Promise themselves a name from building Churches  
Or any thing that tends to the Republic,  
'Tis the Re-private that I study for.   Banau. 

First therefore for the fame of my Republic.  
I'll imitate a brave Egyptian King,  
And plant such store of onions, and of garlic,  
As shall maintain so many thousand workmen,  
To th' building of a Pyamid at Saint Albon,  
Upon whose top I'll set a hand of brass,  
With a scroll in't to show the way to London,  
For th' benefit of Travellers.   Colax. 

Excellent!  
'Tis charity to direct the wand'ring Pilgrim.   Micro. 

I am Churchwarden, and we are this year  
To build our steeple up, now to save charges  
I'll get a high crowned hat with five Low-bels  
To make a peal shall serve as well as Bow.   Colax. 

'Tis wisely cast,  
And like a careful steward of the Church,  
Of which the Steeple is no part, at lest  
No necessary one.   Bird. 

Verily 'tis true.  
They are but wicked Synagogues where those instruments  
Of Superstition and Idolatry  
Ring warning to sin, and chime all in to the Devil.   Banau. 

And 'cause there is such swarms of heresies rising:  
I'll have an Artist frame two wondrous weathercocks  
Of Gold, to set on Paul's, and Grantam Steeple,  
To show to all the Kingdom what fashion next  
The Wind of Humour hither means to blow.   Micro. 
A wicker chair will fit them for a Pulpit.  Colax. 
It is the Doctrine sir that you respect.  Flow. 

In sooth I have heard as wholesome instructions  
From a zealous wicker chair, as e'er I did  
From the carved Idol of wainscoat.   Banau. 

Next, I intent to found an Hospital  
For the decayed Professors of the Suburbs,  
With a College of Physicians too at Chelsy  
Only to study the cure of the French Pox;  
That so the sinners may acknowledge me  
Their only benefactor, and repent.   Colax. 
You have a care sir of your country's health.  Micro. 
Then I will sell the lead to thatch the Chancel.  Ban. 

I have a rare device to set Dutch windmills  
Upon New-market Heath, and Salisbury Plain,  
To drain the Fens.   Colax. 
The Fens sir are not there.  Ban. 
But who knows but they may be?  Col. 

Very right:  
You aim at the prevention of a danger.   Micro. 
A Porter's frock shall serve me for a surplice▪  Flow 
Indeed a Frock is not so Ceremonious.  Ban. 

But the great work in which I mean to glory,  
Is in the raising a Cathedral Church:  
It shall be at Hoggs-Norton, with a pair  
Of stately Organs; more than pity 'twere  
The Pigs should lose their skill for want of practice!   Bird. 
Organs! fie on them for Babylonian Bagpipes!  Micro. 

Then for the painting, I bethink myself  
That I have seen in mother Redcap's Hall  
In painted cloth the story of the Prodigal.   Cola. 

And that will be for very good use and moral.  
Sir you are wise; what serve Egyptian Pyramids,  
Ephesian Temples, Babylonian Towers,  
Carian Coloss'es, Traian's water-works,  
Domitian's Amphitheatres, the vain cost  
Of ignorance and prodigality!  
Rome flourished when her Capitol was that ched,  
And all her Gods dwelled but in Cottages.  
Since Parian marble and Corinthian brass  
Entered her gaudy Temples, soon she fell  
To superstition, and from thence to ruin.  
You see that in our Churches, glorious Statues  
Rich Copes, and other ornaments of state  
Draw wand'ring eyes from their devotion,  
Unto a wanton gazing, and that other  
Rich edifices, and such gorgeous toys  
Do more proclaim our country's wealth then safety,  
And serve but like so many guilded baits  
T'entice a foreign Foe to our invasion.  
Go in, there is a Glass will show you sir,  
What sweet simplicity our Grands●…res used,  
How in the Age of Gold no Church was guilded.   Exit. Micro. Banau. 

O I have thought on't, I will strait way build  
A free school here in London, a free school  
Forth'education of young Gentlemen  
To study how to drink, and take Tobacco,  
To swear, to roar, to dice, to drab, to quarrel:  
'twill be the great Gymnasium of the Realm,  
The Phrontisterium of great Britayny.  
And for their better study I will furnish them  
With a large Library of Draper's books.   Colax. 

'Twill put down Bodlies, and the Vatican.  
Royal Banausus! how many Spheres fly you  
Above the earthy dull Microprepes!  
I hope to live to see you build a stews  
Shall outbrave Venice; To repair old Tyburn  
And make it Cedar. This magnificent course  
Doth purchase you an immortality.  
In them you build your Honour to remain  
Thexample and the wonder of Posterity.  
While other hidebound Churls do grudge themselves▪  
The Charges of a Tomb.   Ban. 

But I'll have one  
In which I'll lie embalmed with Mirth and Cassia,  
And richer unguents than th' Egyptian Kings.  
And all that this my precious Tomb may furnish  
The Land with Mummy.   Colax 

Yonder is a Glass  
Will show you plots and models of all monuments  
Formed the old way, you may invent a new  
'Twill make for your more glory.   Ban. 
Colax true.  Exit. Rosc. 
These are the extremes of Magnanimity. Caunus a fellow so highly conceited of his own parts, that he thinks no honour above him; the other Micropsychus a base and low spirited fellow▪ that undervaluing his own qualities, dares not aspire to those dignities, that otherwise his merits are capable of.   

SCEN. 2.  

Caunus.  
Micropsychus.   Cau. 
I wonder that I hear no news from Court!  Colax. 
All hail unto the honourable Caunus.  Cau. 

The honourable Caunus? 'tis decreed  
I am a Privy Counsellor; our new honours  
Cannot so alter us as that we can  
Forget our Friends, walk with us our familiar.   Micro. 

It puzzles me to think what worth I have,  
That they should put so great an honour on me.   Colax. 

Sir I do know, and see, and so do all  
That have not wilful blindness, what rare skill  
Of wisdom, Policy, judgement and the rest  
Of the state-vertues sit within this breast,  
As if it were their Parliament; but as yet  
I am not Sir the happy Messenger  
That tells you you are called unto the Helm;  
Or that the Rudder of great Brittany  
Is put into your Hands, that you may steer  
Our floating Delos till she be arrived  
At the blessed Port of Happiness, and surnamed  
The Fortunate Ifle from you that are the fortunate.   Cau. 

'Tis strange that I the best experienced  
The skilfulst and the rarest of all Carpenters,  
Should not be yet a Privy Counsellor!  
Surely the State wants eyes, or has drunk opium  
And sleeps; but when it wakes it cannot choose  
But meet the glorious beams of my deserts  
Bright as the rising Sun, and say to England,  
England behold thy light!   Micro. 

Make me a constable!  
Make me that am the simplest of my neighbours  
So great a Magistrate! so powerful an officer!  
I blush at my unworthiness: a Constable!  
The very Prince o'th' parish! you are one Sir  
Of an ability to discharge it better,  
Let me resign to you.   Cau. 

How? I a Constable?  
What might I be in your opinion Sir?   Micro. 
A Carpenter of worship▪  Cau. 

Very well;  
And yet you would make me a Constable.  
I'll evidently demonstrate that of all men  
Your Carpentes are best Statesmen; of all Carpenters  
I being the best, am best of Statesmen too:  
Imagine Sir the Commonwealth a Log,  
Or a rude block of wood; your Statesman comes,  
(For by that word I mean a Carpenter)  
And with the saw of Policy divides it  
Into so many boards or several orders,  
Of Prince, Nobility, Gentry, and the other  
Inferior boards called Vulgar, fit for nothing  
But to make styles, or planks to be▪ trod over,  
Or trampled on: This adds unto the Log  
Called Commonwealth at least some small perfection:  
But afterwards he plains them, and so makes  
The Commonwealth, that was before a board,  
A pretty Wainscoat; some he carves with Titles  
Of Lord, or Knight, or Gentleman; Some stand plain,  
And serve us more for use then Ornament,  
We call them Yeomen; (Board's now out of fashion.)  
And lest the disproportion break the frame,  
He with the pegs of amity and concord,  
As with the gluepot of good Government  
joints 'em together, makes an absolute Edifice  
Of the Republic: State-skilled Machiavelli  
Was certainly a Carpenter; yet you think  
A Constable a Giant Dignity.   Micro. 

Pray Heaven that Icarus-like I do not melt  
The waxen plumes of my ambition!  
Or that from this bright Chariot of the Sun  
I fall not headlong down with Phaeton,  
I have aspired so high: make me a Constable  
That have not yet attained to the Greek tongue!  
Why 'tis his office for to keep the peace,  
His Majesty's Peace: I am not fit to keep  
His Majesty's Hogs, much less his Peace, the best  
Of all his jewels: How dare I presume  
To charge a man in the King's name! I faint  
Under the burden of so great a place,  
Whose weight might press down Atlas: Magistrates  
Are only Sumpter-horses. Nay they threaten me  
To make me Warden of the Church.  
Am I a Patriot? or have I ability  
To present Knights-Recusant, Clergy-Reelers,  
Or Gentlemen-Fornicators?   Colax. 

You have worth  
Richly enamelled with a modesty.  
And though your lofty merit might sit crowned  
On Caucasus, or the Pyrenean mountains,  
You choose the humbler valley, and had rather  
Grow a safe shrub below, then dare the winds,  
And be a Cedar: Sir you know there is not  
Half so much honour in the Pilots place  
As danger in the storm. Poor windy Titles  
Of Dignity, and offices that puff up  
The bubble pride till it swell big, and burst,  
What are they but brave nothings? Toys called Honours  
Make them on whom they are bestowed no better  
Than glorious slaves, the servants of the Vulgar:  
Men sweat at Helm, as much as at the Oar.  
There is a Glass within shall show you sir  
The vanity of these filke-wormes, that do think  
They toil not, 'cause they spin so fine a thread.   Micro. 

I'll see it. Honour is a babies rattle,  
And let blind Fortune where she will, bestow her;  
Lay me on earth, and I shall fall no lower.   Exit. Cau. 
Colax what news?  Col. 

The Persian Emperor  
Is desperately sick.   Cau. 

Heaven take his soul!  
When I am the Grand Sophy, as 'tis likely  
I may be, Colax thou art made for ever.   Col. 
The Turk they say prepares again for Poland.  Cau. 
And I no Basshaw yet? Sultan repent it!  Col. 
The State of Venice too is in distraction.  Cau. 

And can that State be so supinely negligent,  
As not to know whom they may choose their Duke?   Col. 

Our Merchants do report th'inhabitants there  
Are now in consultation, for the settling  
The Crown upon a more deserving head  
Then his that bears it.   Cau. 

Then my fortunes rise  
On confident wings, and all my hopes fly certain.  
Colax be bold: thou seest the Prester john.  
Well England, of all Countries in the World  
Most blind to thy own good. other Nations  
Woo me to take the bridle in my hands  
With gifts and presents; had I lived in Rome  
Who durst with Caunus stand a candidate?  
I might have choice of Aedile, Consul, Tribune,  
Or the perpetual Dictator's place.  
I could discharge 'em all: I know my merits  
Are large, and boundless: A Cesar might be hewed  
Out of a Carpenter, if a skilful workman  
But undertook it.   Colax. 

'tis a worthy confidence.  
Let Birds of night and shame, with their owls eyes  
Not dare to gaze upon the sun of Honour;  
They are no precedents for Eagles: Bats  
Like dull Micropsychus; things of earth, and lead,  
May love a private safety; men in whom  
Prometheus has spent much of his stolen fire,  
Mount upwards like a flame, and court bright honour  
Hedged in with thousand dangers! What's a man  
Without desert? and what's desert to him  
That does not know he has it? Is he rich  
That holds within his house some buried chests  
Of Gold, or Pearl, & knows not where to look then?  
What was the Loadstone, till the use was found,  
But a fowl dotard on a fouler Mistress?  
I praise your Argus eyes, that not alone  
Shoot their beams forwards, but reflect and turn  
Back on themselves, and find an object there  
More worthy their intentive contemplation.  
You are at home no stranger, but are grown  
Acquainted with your virtues, and can tell  
What use the pearl is of, which Dunghill cocks  
Scrape into dirt again. This searching judgement  
Was not intended to work wood, but men.  
Honour attends you. I shall live to see  
A Diadem crown that head. There is within  
A Glass that will acquaint you with all places  
Of Dignity, authority, and renown,  
The State, and carriage of them: Choose the best,  
Such as deserve you, and refuse the rest.   Cau. 

I go, that want no worth to merit honour;  
'Tis honour that wants worth to merit me.  
Fortune, thou arbitress of humane things  
Thy credit is at stake: if I but rise  
The World's opinion will conceive thoust eyes.   Exit.  

SCEN. 3.  

Orgylus.  
Aorgus.   Rosc. 
These are the extremes of Meekness. Orgylus an angry quarrelsome man, moved with the least shadow, or appearance of Injury. The other in defect, Aorgus, a fellow so patient, or rather insensible of wrong, that he is not capable of the grossest abuse.  Org. 

Persuade me not, he has awaked a fury  
That carries steel about him. Daggs, and Pistols!  
To bite his thumb at me?   Aor. 

Why should not any man  
By't his own thumb?   Org. 

At me? wear I a sword  
To see men bite their thumbs— Rapiers and Daggers!-  
He is the son of a Whore.   Aor. 

That hurts not you.  
Had he bit yours, it had been some pretence  
T'have moved this anger— he may bite his own,  
And eat it too.   Org. 

Muskets, and Canons!-eate it?  
If he dare eat it in contempt of me,  
He shall eat something else too that rides here;  
I'll try his estridg stomach.   Aor. 
Sir be patient.  Org. 
You lie in your throat, and I will not.  Aor. 

To what purpose is this impertinent madness?  
Pray be milder.   Org. 
Your Mother was a whore, & I will not put it up.  Aor. 
Why should so slight a toy thus trouble you?  Org. 
Your Father was hanged, and I will be revenged.  Aor. 

When reason dorh in equal balance poise  
The nature of two injuries, yours to me  
Lies heavy, when that other would not turn  
An even scale; and yet it moves not me;  
My Anger is not up.   Org. 

But I will raise it;  
You are a fool!   Aor. 

I know it, and shall I  
Be angry for a truth?   Org. 

You are beside  
An arrant knave!   Aor. 
So are my betters sir.  Org. 

I cannot move him— O my spleen!— it rises,  
For very anger I could eat my knuckles.   Aor. 
You may, or bite your thumb all's one to me.  Org. 
You are a horned beast, a very Cuckold!  Aor. 

'Tis my wife's fault, not mine, I have no reason  
Then to be angry for another's fin.   Org. 

And I did graft your horns, you might have come  
And found us glued together like two goats;  
And stood a witness to your transformation.   Aor. 

Why if I had, I am so far from anger  
I would have e'en fall'n down upon my knees,  
And desired heaven to have forgiven you both.   Org. 

Your Children are all bastards, not one of them,  
Upon my knowledge, of your own begetting.   Aor. 

Why then I am the more beholding to them  
That they will call me father; it was lust  
Perchance, that did beget them, but I am sure  
'Tis charity to keep the Infants.   Org. 

Not yet stirred?  
'Tis done of mere contempt, he will not now  
Be angry, to express his scorn of me.  
'Tis above patience this, insufferable.  
Proclaim me coward, if I put up this!  
Dotard you will be angry, will you not?   Aor. 

To see how strange a course fond wrath doth go!  
You will be angry 'cause I am not so.   Or. 

ay, can endure no longer, if your spleen  
Lie in your breech, thus I will kick it up.-   Aor. 
Alpha. Beta. Gamma. Delta. Epsylon. Zeta. Eta. Theta. jota. Kappa. Lamda▪ Mu. Nu. Xi. Omicron. Pi. Ro. Sigma. Tau. Vpsilon. Phi. Chi. Psi. Omega.  Org. 
How? what contempt is this?  Aor. 

An antidote  
Against the poison, Anger: 'twas prescribed  
A Roman Emperor, that on every injury  
Repeated the Greek Alphabet, that being done  
His anger too was over. This good rule  
I learned from him, and Practise.   Org. 

Not yet angry?  
Still will you vex me? I will practise too?   (Kicks again) Aor. 
Aleph. Beth. Gimel.  Org. 

What new Alphabet  
Is this?   Aor. 

The Hebrew Alphabet, that I use  
A second remedy.   Org. 

O my Torment! still?  
Are not your Buttocks angry with my toes?   Aor. 

For aught I feel your toes have more occasion  
For to be angry with my Buttocks.   Org. 

Well,  
I'll try your Physic for the third assault;  
And exercise the patience of your nose.   Aor. 
A. B. C. D. E. F. G. H. I. K. L. M. N. O. P. Q. R. S. T. V. W. X. Y. Z.  Org. 
Are you not angry now?  Aor. 

Now sir, why now?  
Now you have done.   Org. 

O 'tis a mere plot this,  
To jeer my tameness: will no sense of wrong  
Waken the lethargy of a coward's soul?  
Will not this rouse her ●…rom her dead sleep, nor this?   Aor. 

Why should I sir be angry; if I suffer  
An injury, it is no guilt of mine;  
No, let it trouble them, that do the wrong;  
Nothing but peace approaches innocence.   Org. 

A bitterness overflows me; my eyes flame,  
My blood boyles in me, all my faculties  
Of soul and body move in a disorder;  
His patience hath so tortured me: Sirrah villain  
I will dissect thee with my rapiers point;  
Rip up each vein, and sinew of my storque,  
Anatomize him, searching every entrail,  
To see if nature, when she made this ass,  
This suffering ass; did not forget to give him  
Some gall!   Cola. 

Put it up good Orgylus,  
Let him not glory in so brave a death,  
As by your hand; it stands not with your honour  
To slain your rapier in a coward's blood.  
The Lybian Lions in their noble rage  
Will pray on Bulls, or mate the Unicorn;  
But trouble not the painted butterfly;  
Ants crawl securely by him.   Orgy. 

'Tis intolerable!  
Would thou wert worth the kill.   Colax. 

A good wish,  
Savouring as well discretion, as bold valour:  
Think not of such a baffled ass as this,  
More stone, than man: Medusa's head has turned him.  
There is in ants a choler, every fly  
Carries a spleen: Poor worms being trampled on  
Turn tail, as bidding battle to the feet  
Of their oppref●…ors. A dead palsy sure  
Hath struck a desperate numbness through his soul,  
Till it be grown insensible: Mere stupidity  
Hath ceased him: Your more manly soul I find  
Is capable of wrong, and like a flint  
Throws forth a fire into the strikers eyes.  
You bear about you valours whetstone, anger;  
Which sets an edge upon the sword, and makes it  
Cut with a ●…pirit: you conceive fond patience  
Is an injustice to ourselves, the suffering  
One injury invites a second, that  
Calls on a third, till wrongs do multiply  
And reputation bleed: How bravely anger  
Becomes that martial brow! A glass within  
Will show you sir when your great spleen doth rise  
How fury darts a lightning from your eyes.   Org. 

Learn anger sir against you meet me next;  
Never was man like me with patience vexed.   Exit. Aor. 

I am so far from anger in myself,  
That 'tis my grief I can make others so.   Colax. 

It proves a sweetness in your disposition,  
A gentle winning carriage— dear Aorgus  
O give me leave to open wide my breast,  
And let so rare a friend unto my soul;  
Enter, and take possession: such a man  
As has no gall, no bitterness, no exceptions,  
Whom nature meant a Dove, will keep alive  
The ●…ame of amity, where all discourse  
Flows innocent, and each free jest is taken.  
he's a good friend will pardon his friends errors,  
But he's a better takes no notice of them.  
How like a beast with rude and savage rage  
Breathed the distempered soul of Orgylus?  
The proneness of this passion is the Nurse  
That fosters all confusion, ruins states,  
Depopulates Cities, lays great Kingdoms waste;  
'Tis that affection of the mind that wants  
The strongest bridle; give it raines it runs  
A desperate course, and drags down reason with it.  
It is the whirlwind of the soul, the storm  
And tempest of the mind, that raises up  
The billows of disturbed passions  
To shipwreck judgement. O— a soul like yours  
Constant in patience! Let the North wind mee●…  
The South at sea, and Zephyrus breath opposite  
To Eurus; let the two and thirty sons  
Of Aeolus break forth at once, to plow  
The Ocean, and dispeople all the woods,  
Yet here could be a calm, it is not danger  
Can make this cheek grow pale, nor injury  
Call blood into it. Their's a Glass within  
Will let you see yourself, and tell you now  
How sweet a tameness dwells upon your brow.   Aor. 

Colax, I must believe, and therefore go;  
Who is distrustful will be angry too.    

SCEN. 4.  

Alazon.  
Eiron.   Rosc. 
The next are the extremes of Truth, Alazon one that arrogates that to himself which is not his, and Eiron one that out of an itch to be thought modest dissembles his qualities; the one erring in defending a falsehood, the other offending in denying a truth.  Alaz. 
I hear you're wondrous valiant.  Eir. 

ay! alas,  
Who told you I was valiant?   Alaz. 
The world speaks it.  Eir. 
She is deceived; but does she speak it truly?  Alaz. 

I am indeed the Hector of the age;  
But she calls you Achilles.   Eir. 

I Achilles?  
No, I am no Achilles: I confess  
I am no coward: That the world should think  
That I am an Achilles! yet the world may  
Call me what she please.   Alaz. 

Next to my valour,  
Which but for yours could never hope a second,  
Yours is reported.   Eir. 

I may have my share;  
But the last valour showed in Christendo●…e  
Was in Lepanto.   Alaz. 

Valour in Lepanto?  
He might be thought so sir, by them that knew him not;  
But I have found him a poor baffled snake:  
Sir, I have writ him, and proclaimed him coward  
On every post i'th' City.   Eiron. 
Who?  Alaz. 

Lepanto,  
The valour sir that you so much renown.   Eir. 

Lepanto was no man sir, but the place  
Made famous by the somuch mentioned battle  
Betwixt the Turks and Christians.   Alaz. 

Cry you mercy!  
Then the Lepanto that I meant, it seems  
Was but that Lepanto's namesake. I can  
Find that you are well skilled in History.   Eir. 

Not a whit; A novice, I! I could perchance  
Discourse from Adam downward; but what's that  
To History? All that I know is only  
Th' original, continuance, height, and alteration  
Of every Common wealth. I have read nothing  
But Plutarch, Livy, Tacitus, Suetonius,  
Appian, Dion, junius, P●…terculus,  
With Florus, justine, Sallust, and some few  
More of the Latin: For the modern, I  
Have all without book Gallobelgicus,  
Philip De-Comino, Machiavele, Guiccardine,  
The Turkish and Egyptian Histories,  
With those of Spain, France, and the Netherlands.  
For England, Polydore Virgil, Camden, Speed,  
And a matter of forty more, nothing  
Alas to one that's read in Histories.  
In the Greek I have a smack or so, at  
Zenophon, Herodotus, Thucydides, and  
Stows Chronicle.   Alaz. 

Believe me sir, and that  
Stows Chronicle is very good Greek; you little  
Think who writ it! Do you not see him? are  
You blind? I am the man.   Eir. 

Then I must number  
You with my best Authors in my Library.   Alaz. 

Sir, the rest too are mine, but that I venture '●…m  
With other names, to shun the opinion  
Of arrogance; so the subt'le Cardinal  
Calls one book Bellarmine, ' nother Tostatus,  
Yet one man's labour both. You talk of numbering;  
You cannot choose but hear how loud fame speaks  
Of my experience in Arithmetic:  
She says you too grow near perfection.   Eir. 

far from it I; some insight, but no more.  
I count the stars, can give the Totall sum,  
How many sands there be i'th' sea, but these  
Are trifles to the expert, that have studied   Pen. 

keth-mans' precedent. Sir, I have no skill  
In any thing, if I have any, 'tis  
In languages, but yet insooth I speak  
Only my mother Tongue; I have not gained  
The Hebrew, Chaldee, Syriack, or Arabic;  
Nor know the Greek with all her Dialects.  
Scaliger and Tom Coriate both excel me.  
I have no skill in French, Italian, Spanish,  
Turkish, Egyptian, China, Persian Tongues▪  
Indeed the Latin I was whipped into;  
But Ruscian, Slavonian, and Dalmatian  
With Saxon, Danish, and Albanian speech,  
That of the Cossaches, and Hungarian too,  
With Biscays, and the prime of languages,  
Dutch, Weltch, and Irish are too hard for me  
To be familiar in: and yet some think  
(But thought is free) that I do speak all these  
As I were borne in each. But they may err  
That think so; 'Tis not every judgement sits  
In the infallible chair. To confess truth  
All Europe, Asia, and Africa too;  
But in America, and the newfound world  
I very much fear there be some languages  
That would go near to puzzle me.   Alaz. 

Very likely.  
You have a pretty pittance in the Tongues;  
But Eiron, I am now more general;  
I can speak all alike, there is no stranger  
Of so remote a nation hears me talk  
But confidently calls me Countryman-  
The witty world giving my worth her due  
Surnames me the Confusion▪ I but want  
An Orator like you to speak my praise.   Eir. 

Am I an Orator Alazon? no;  
Though it hath pleased the wiser few to say  
Demosthenes was not so eloquent;  
But friends will flatter, and I am not bound  
To believe all Hyperboles: something sir  
Perchance I have, but 'tis not worth the naming▪  
Especially Alazon in your presence.   Alaz. 
Your modesty Eiron speaks but truth in this.  Colax. 

I need not flatter these, they'll do't themselves,  
And cross the Proverb that was wont to say  
One Mule doth scrub another, here each Ass  
Hath learned to claw himself.   Alaz. 

I do ●…urpasse  
All Orators. How like you my Orations?  
Those against Catiline; I account them best,  
Except my Philippics; all acknowledge me  
Above the three great Orators of Rome.   Eir. 
What three Alazon?  Ala. 

Marcus, Tullius,  
And Cicero, the best of all the three.   Eir. 
Why those three names are all the self same man's  Alaz. 

Then all is one. Were those three names three men.  
I should excel them all. And then for Poetry!   Eir. 
There is no Poetry but Homer's Iliads.  Alaz. 

Alas 'twas writeth ' nonage of my Muses.  
You understand th'Italian?   Eir. 

A little sir,  
I have read Tasso.   Ala. 
And Torquato too?  Eir. 
Their still the same.  Ala. 

I find you very skilful.  
Eiron, I err only to found your judgement.  
You are a Poet too.   Eir. 

The world may think so,  
But 'tis deceived, and I am sorry for't.  
But I will tell you sir some excellent verses  
Made by a friend of mine; I have not read  
A better Epigram of a Neoterique.   Ala. 
Pray do my eyes the favour sir to let me read 'um.  Eir. 

Strange sights there late was seen, that did affright  
The Multitude; the Moon was seen by night,  
And Sun appeared by day:— is it not good?   Ala. 
Excellent good, proceed.  Eir. 

Without remorse  
Each star and planet kept their wont course.  
What here could fright▪ them? (mark the answer now) O sir ask not that:  
The Vulgar know not why they fear, nor what.  
But in their humours too inconstant be,  
Nothing seems strange to them but constancy.  
Has not my friend approved himself a Poet?   Alaz. 

The Verses sir are excellent, but your friend  
Approves himself a thief.   Eir. 
Why good Alazon?  Alaz. 

A Plagiary I mean, the verses sir  
Were stolen.   Eir. 
From whom?  Alaz. 
From me, believe't I made 'um.  Eir. 

They are alas unworthy sir your owning.  
Such Trifles as my muse had stumbled on  
This morning.   Alaz. 

Nay, they may be yours: I told you  
That you come near me sir. Yours they may be.  
Good wits may jump: but let me tell you, Eiron,  
Your Friend must steal them if he have them.   Col. 

What pretty Gulls are these? I'll take 'em off;  
Alazon, you are learned.   Alaz. 
I know that.  Col. 
And virtuous.  Alaz. 
'tis confessed.  Col. 
A good Historian.  Alaz. 
Who dares deny it?  Col. 
A rare Arithmetician.  Alaz. 
I have heard it often.  Col. 

I commend your care  
That know your virtues! why should modesty  
Stop good men's mouths from their own praise? our neighbours  
Are envious, and will rather blast our memories  
With infamy, then immortalize our names:  
When Fame hath taken cold, and lost her voice,  
We must be our own trumpets; careful men  
Will have an Inventory of their goods,  
And why not of their virtues? should you say  
You were not wise, it were a sin to truth.  
Let Eirons' modesty tell bashful lies,  
To cloak and mask his parts; he's a fool for't.  
'twas heavenly counsel bid us know ourselves.  
You may be confident, chant your own encomiums,  
Ring out a Panegyrique to yourself▪  
And yourself write the learned Commentary  
Of your own actions.   Ala. 
So I have.  Col. 
Where is it?  Ala. 
'tis stolen.  Col. 

I know the thief, they call him Cesar.  
Go in good sir; there is within a Glass  
That will present you with the Felons face. Exit Alaz.  
Eiron, you hear the news!   Eir: 
Not I, what is it?  Col. 
That you are held the only man of Art.  Eir. 
Is't currant Colax?  Col. 

Currant as the air,  
Every man breathes it for a certainty.   Eir. 

This is the first time I heard on't in truth.  
Can it be certain? so much charity left  
In men's opinion?   Col. 

You call it charity  
Which is their duty: Virtue sir, like yours  
Commands men's praises. Emptiness and folly,  
Such as Alazon is, use their own Tongues,  
While real worth hears her own praise, not speaks it.  
Other men's mouths become your trumpeters,  
And winged fame proclaims you loudly forth  
From East to West, till either Pole admire you.  
Selfe-praise is bragging, and begets the envy  
Of them that hear it, while each man therein  
Seems undervalved: You are wisely silent  
In your own worth, and therefore 'twere a sin  
For others to be so: The fish would lose  
Their being mute, ere such a modest worth  
Should want a speaker: yet sir I would have you  
Know your own virtues, be acquainted with them.   Eir. 
Why good sir bring me but acquainted them.  Col. 

There is a glass within shows you yourself  
By a reflection; go and speak 'em there.   Eir. 
I should be glad to see 'em any where▪  Exit Eir. Rosc. 

Retire yourselves again, for these are sights  
Made to revive not burden with delights.   Exeunt omnes. 
Finis Actus 3.    

ACTUS IV.  

SCENA 1.  

Flowrdew,  
Bird,  
Roscius.   Bird. 

My indignation boileth like a pot,  
An overheated pot, still, still it boileth,  
It boyleth and it bubbleth with disdain.   Flow. 

My Spirit within me too fumeth, I say  
Fumeth, and steemeth up, and runneth over  
With holy wrath, at these delights of flesh.   Rosc. 
The Actors beg your silence— The next virtue, whose extremes we would present, wants a name both in the Greek and Latin,  Bird. 
Wants it a name? 'tis an unchristian virtue.  Rosc. 
But they describe it such a modesty as directs us in the pursuit, and refusal of the meaner honours●… and so answers to Magnanimity, as Liberality to Magnificence: But here, that humour of the persons, being already forestalled, and no Pride now so much practised, or countenanced as that of Apparel, let me present you Philotimia, an overcurious Lady too neat in her attire▪ and for Aphilotimus, Luparius a nasty sordid sloven.  Flower. 

Pride is a vanity worthy the correction.  
Philotimia▪ Luparus▪ Col●….   Phil. 

What mole dressed me to day? O patience▪  
Who would be troubled with these mop-eyd Chambermaids?  
there's a whole hair on this side more than t'other,  
I am no Lady else!— come on you sloven!  
Was ever Christian Madam so tormented  
To wed a swine as I am? make you ready.   Lupa. 

I would the Tailor had been hanged for me  
That first invented clothes— O nature, nature!  
More cruel unto man then all thy creatures!  
Calves come into the world with doublets on;  
And Oxen have no breeches to put off.  
The Lamb is borne with her Freeze-coat about her;  
Hogs go to bed in rest, and are not troubled  
With pulling 〈◊〉 their hose and shoes i'th'morning,  
With gar●…ing, ●…rdling, trussing, buttoning,  
And a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 that afflict humanity.   Phil. 

To 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉! she hath made this cheek  
By much too 〈◊〉, and hath forgot to whiten  
The natural redness of my nose, she knows not  
What 'tis wants dealbation! O fine memory!  
If she has not set me in the self same teeth  
That I wore yesterday, I am a jew.  
Does she think that I can eat twice with the same,  
Or that my mouth stands as the Vulgar does?  
What? are you snorting there? you'll rise, you sluggard  
And make you ready?   Lupa. 

Rise, and make you ready?  
Two works of that, your happy birds make one;  
They when they rise are ready. Blessed birds!  
They fortunate creatures sleep in their own clothes,  
And rise with all their feather beds about them:  
Would nakedness were come again in fashion;  
I had some hope then when the breasts went bare  
Their bodies too would have come to 't in time.   Phil. 

Beshrew her for't, this wrinkle is not filled!  
You'll go and wash— you are a pretty husband▪   Lupa. 

Our Sow ne'er washes, yet she has a face  
Me thinks as cleanly, Madam, as yours is▪  
If you durst wear your own.   Col: 

Madame Superbia▪  
youare studying the Lady's library,  
The Looking-glass; 'tis well! so great a beauty  
Must have her ornaments— Nature adorns  
The Peacock's tail with stars; 'tis she attires  
The Bird of Paradise in all her plumes;  
She decks the fields with various flowers; 'tis she  
Spangled the Heavens with all those glorious lights;  
She spotted th'Ermine's skin; and armed the fish  
In silver male: But man she sent forth naked  
Not that he should remain so, but that he  
Endued with reason should adorn himself  
With every one of these. The silkworm is  
Only man's spinster, else we might suspect  
That she esteemed the painted Butterfly  
Above her masterpiece: you are the Image  
Of that bright Goddess: therefore wear the jewels  
Of all the East; let the red sea be ransacked  
To make you glitter, look on Luparus  
Your Husband there, and see how in a sloven  
All the best characters of Divinity,  
Not yet worn out in man, are lost and buried.   Philo. 
I see it to my grief, pray counsel him.  Col. 

This vanity, in your nice Lady's humours  
Of being so curious in her toys, and dresses,  
Makes me suspicious of her honesty.  
These Cobweb-lawnes catch spider's sir, believe it▪  
You know that clothes do not commend the man,  
But 'tis the living; though this age prefer  
A cloak of Plush, before a brain of art.  
You understand what misery 'tis to have  
No worth but that we owe the dra●…er for;  
No doubt you spend the time your Lady loses  
In tricking up her body, to clothe the soul.   Lup. 

To clothe the soul? must the soul too be clothed?  
I protest sir, I had rather have no soul  
Then be tormented with the clothing of it.   Rosc. 
To these enter the extremes of modesty, a neer●… kinswoman of the virtues, Anaiskinthia or Impudence, a bawd; and Kataplectus an over bashful Scholar▪ where our Author hopes the women will pardon him, if of four and twenty vices he presents but two (Pride and Impudence) of their sex.   

SCENA 2.  

Anaiskintia.  
Kataplectus.   Philo. 

Here comes Anaiskintia too;— O fates!  
Acolastus, and Asotus have sent for me,  
And my breath not perfumed yet! Kat. O sweetmother,  
Are the Gentlemen there already?   Anais. 

Come away,  
Are you not ashamed to be so bashful? well,  
If I had thought of this in time, I would  
As soon have seen you fairly hanged as sent you  
To ' th' University.   Phil. 
What gentleman is that?  Anais. 

A shamefast Scholar Madam▪— look upon her,  
Speak to her, or you lose your exhibition:  
— You'll speak I hope, wear not away your buttons▪   Kata. 
What should I say?  Anaisk. 

Why tell her you are glad  
To see her Ladyship in health— nay out with it!  
Katap.— Gaudeo te bone valere—   Phil. 

A pretty Proficient!  
What standing is he of i'th' University?   Anais. 
He dares not answer to that question Madam.—  Philo. 
How long have you been in the Academy?  Katap. 
Profecto Doo— Domina sum Bac— Bac— Bac●…halaureus Artium.  Phil. 
What pity 'tis he is not impudent!  Anais. 

Nay all my cost I see is spent in vain;  
I having, as your Ladyship knows full well,  
Good practice in the Suburbs; and by reason  
That our Mortality there, is very subject  
To an infection of the French Disease,  
I brought my Nephew up i'th' University,  
Hoping he might (having attained some knowledge)  
Save me the charge of keeping a Physician;  
But all in vain: he is so bashful Madam,  
He dares not look upon a woman's water.   Colax. 

Sweet Gentleman, proceed in bashfulness!  
'Tis virtue's best preserver—   Kata. 
Recte dicis, sic inquit Aristoteles.  Col. 

That being gone  
The rest soon follow, and a swarm of vice  
Enter the soul, no colour but a blush  
Becomes a young man's cheek: pure sha●…efastnesse  
Is 〈◊〉 to the ●…ps; and ears, that nothing  
Might enter, or come out of man, but what  
Is good, and modest: Nature strives to hide  
The parts or shame, let her, the best of guides,   Katap. 
Natura dux 〈◊〉.  Colax. 
Teach us to do so too in our discourse.  Katap. 
Gratias tibi ago.  Philo. 
Enure him to speak bawdy.  Anais. 

A very good way; Kataplectus here's a Lady,  
would hear you speak obscenely:   Katap. 
Obscen●…m est, quod intra scenam agi non ●…portuit.  Anais. 

Off goes your Velvet cap! did I maintain you  
To have you disobedient? you'll be persuaded?   Katap. 
Liber is operam dare.  Anais. 
What's that in English.  Katap. 
To do an endeavour for children▪  Anais. 
Some more of this, it may be something one day.  Katap. 
Communis est omnium animantium coniunctionis appetituus procrea●… causâ.  Phil. 
Construe me that.  Katap. 
All creatures have a natural desire or appetite to be joined together in the lawful bon●…s of Matrimony, that they may have sons and daughters.  Anais. 

Your Laundress has bestowed her time but ill▪  
Why could not this have been in proper terms?  
If you should Catechise my head, and say,  
What is your name, would it not ●…ay, a head?  
So would my skin confess itself a skin;  
Nor any part about me be ashamed  
Of his own name, although I ●…atechiz'd  
All over. Come good Nephew, let not me  
Have any member of my body 〈◊〉.   Colax. 

Our Stoic, the gravest o●… Philosophers,  
Is just of your opinion, and thus argues;  
Is any thing obscene, the fil●…hinesse▪  
Is either grounded in the things themselves,  
Or in the words that signify those things;  
Not in the things, that would make nature guilty,  
Who creates nothing filthy, and u●…cleane,  
But chaste, and honest; if not in the things,  
How in the words, 〈◊〉 shadows of those things?  
To ma●…re ground, 〈◊〉 a cha●…t honest 〈◊〉;  
Another word that signifies the same,  
Unlawful: every man endures to hear,  
He got a child; speak plainer, and he blushes,  
Yet means the same. The Stoic thus disputes,  
That would have men to breath as freely down'ward,  
As they do upward.   Anais. 

I commend him Madam,  
Unto your Ladyship's service, he may me●…d  
With counsel! let him be your Gentleman-usher;  
Madam you may in time bring down his legs  
To the just size, now over grown with playing  
Too much at football.   Phylo. 

So he will prove a Stoic;  
I long to have a Stoic strut before me:  
Here kiss my hand. Come what is that in Latin?   Katap. 
Deo●…culor manum,  Phylo. 
My lip;— nay sir you must if I command you.  Katap. 
Osculorte, velosculor ate.  Phylo. 
His breath smells strong.  Anais. 
'Tis but of Logic Madam.  Phylo. 

He will come to it one day— you shall go with me  
To see an exquisite glass to dress me by.  
Nay, go! you must go first; you are too mannerly.  
It is the office of your place, so— on▪.   exeunt. Colax. 

Slow Luparus rise, or you'll be metamorphosed;  
Acteon's fate is imminent.   Lup. 
Where's my wife:  Cola. 
she's gone with a young Snip, and an old bawd.  Lup. 

Then I am cuckolded; if I be my comfort is  
She'has put me on a cap, that will not trouble me  
With pulling off, yet Madam I'll prevent you.   Exit. Rosci. 
The next are the extremes of justice..   

SCEN. 3.  Enter justice Nimis, justice Nihil. Plus and Minus their Clerks. Nim. 
Plus!  Plus. 
What says your worship?  Nim. 

Have my tenants  
That hold their lease of lust here in the suburbs,  
By copyhold from me, their Lord in chief,  
Paid their rend charge?   Plus. 

They have, an't please your worship;  
I Receiver general gave 'em my acquittance.   Parum. 

Sir I resign my Pen, and Inkhorn to you,  
I shall forget my hand, if I stay here.  
I have not made a Mittimus since I served you.  
Were I a reverend justice as you are,  
I would not sit a Cipher on the Bench,  
But do as justice Nimis does, and be  
The Dominus-fac-totun●… of the Sessions.   Nihil. 

But I will be a Dominus fac miserecordian▪  
Instead of your Totums: People shall not wish  
To see my spurs filled off, it does me good  
To take a merciful nap upon the Bench,  
Where I so sweetly dream of being pitiful,  
wake the better for it.   Nim. 

The yearly value  
Of my fair manor of Clerken-well●…, is pounds  
So many— besides New years' capons, the Lordship  
Of Turnball so— which with my Pick-hatch grange—  
And Shoreditch farm, and other premises  
Adjoining,— very good, a pretty maintenance  
To keep a justice of Peace, and Coram too:  
Besides the fines I take of young beginners,—  
With harriots of all such as dye, quatenus whores,  
And ruined bawds, with all Amercements due  
To such as hunt in Purly; this is something,  
With mine own Game reserved.   Plus. 

Besides a pretty pittance too for me,  
That am your worship's Bailie.   Parum. 

Will't please your worship sir, to hear the Catalogue  
Of such offenders, as are brought before you?   Nihil. 

It does not please me Sir, to hear of any  
That do offend; I would the world were innocent!  
Yet to express my mercy you may read them.   Par. 
First here is one accused for Cutting a purse,  Nihil. 

Accused, is that enough? if it be guilt  
To be accused, who shall be innocent?  
Discharge him Parum.   Parum. 

Here's another brought  
For the same fact, ta'en in the very Action.   Nihil. 

Alas it was for need, bid him take warning,  
And so discharge him too; 'Tis the first time.   Nimis. 
Plus, say, what hopes of gain brings this day's sin?  Plus. 

Anais kyntia Sir was at door  
Brought by the Constable.   Nimis. 

Set the Constable by the heels.  
she's at certain with us.   Plus. 
Then there's Intemperance the bawd.  Nim. 
A Tenant too.  Plus. 
With the young Lady, Madam Incontinence.  Nim. 

Search o'er my Doomsday book; is not she●… Plus  
One of my last compounders?   Plus. 

I remember it.  
Then there is jumping jude, Heroic Doll,  
With bouncing Nan, and Cis, your worship's sinner.   Nim. 
All Subsidy women, go free'em all.  Parum. 

Sir, here's a known offender: one that has  
Been stocked, and whipped innumerable times,  
Has suffered Bridewell often, not a jail  
But he's familiar with, burnt in the hand,  
Forehead, and shoulder, both his ears cut off,  
With his nose slit, what shall I do with him?   Nih. 

So often punished? nay, if no correction  
Will serve his turn; even let him run his course.   Plus. 
Here's Mistress Frailty too, the waiting woman.  Nim. 
For what offence?  Plus. 
A sin of weakness too.  Nim. 
Let her be strongly whipped,  Plus, 

An't please your worship  
She has a noble man's letter.   Nim. 

Tell her, Plus, she must  
Have the King's Picture too.   Plus. 

Besides  
She has promised me I should examine her  
Above i'th' garret.   Nim. 
What's all that to me?  Plus. 
And she entreats your worship to accept—  Nim. 

Nay, if she can entreat in English, Plus,  
Say she is injured.   Par. 

Sir here's Snip the Tailor  
Charged with a riot.   Nihil. 

Parum, let him go,  
He is our Neighbour.   Parum. 
Then there is a stranger for quarrelling.  Nihil. 

A stranger! o'tis pity  
To hurt a stranger, we may be all strangers,  
And would be glad to find some mercy Parun.   Plus. 

Sir here's a Gentlewoman of S. joanes' ' his  
Charged with dishonesty.   Nim. 

With dishonesty?  
Severity will amend her, and yet Plus  
Ask her a question, if she will be honest?   Plus. 
And here's a cobbler's wife brought for a scold.  Nim. 

Tell her of cooking-stooles, tell her there be  
Oyster queans, with Orange women,  
Carts, and coaches store, to make a noise;  
Yet i●… she can speak English  
We may suppose her silent.   Par. 

Here's a Bachelor  
And a Citizen's wife for flat Adultery;  
What will you do with them?   Nih. 

A Citizen's wife!  
Perchance her husband is grown impotent,  
And who can blame her then?   Par. 
Yet I hope you'll bind o'er▪ the Bachelor.  Nih. 

No: inquire  
First if he have no wife, for if the Bachelor  
Have not a wife of his own, 'twas but frailty;  
And justice counts it venial.   Plus. 

Here's one Adicus,  
And Sophron, that do mutually accuse  
Each other of flat felony!   Nim. 
Of the two which is the richer?  Plus. 
Adicus is the richer.  Nim. 
Then Sophron is the thief.  Plus. 

Here is with all,  
Panourgus come with one called Prodotes,  
Lay treason Sir to one another's charge;  
Panourgus is the richer.   Nim. 
he's the Traitor then.  Plus. 
How Sir the richer?  Nim. 

Thou art ignorant Plus;  
We must do some injustice for our credit,  
Not all for gain.   Plus. 

Eutrapeles complains Sir,  
Bomolochus has abused him.   Nim. 
Send Eutrapeles to th'jail.  Plus. 
It is Eutrapeles that complains Sir.  Nim. 

Tell him we are pleased to think 'twas he offended.  
Will must be law: were't not for Summum Ius,  
How could the land subsist?   Colax. 

ay, or the justices  
Maintain themselves— go on— The Land wants such  
As dare with rigour execute her Laws:  
Her festered members must be lanced and tented.  
he's a bad Surgeon, that for pity spares  
The part corrupted, till the Gangrene spread,  
And all the body perish; he that's merciful  
Unto the bad, is cruel to the good.  
The Pillory must cure the ears disease;  
The stocks the feet offences; let the back  
Bear her own sin, and her rank blood purge forth  
By the Phlebotomy of a whipping post:  
And yet the secret, and purse punishment  
Is held the wiser course; because at once  
It helps the virtuous and corrects the vicious.  
Let not the sword of justice sleep and rust  
Within her velvet sheath; preserve her edge,  
And keep it sharp with cutting. Use must whet her,  
Tame mercy is the breast that suckles vice,  
Till Hydra like she multiply her heads.  
Tread you on sin, squeeze out the Serpent's brains,  
All you can find— for some have lurking holes  
Where they lie hid. But there's within a glass  
Will show you every close offender's face.   Nim. 

Come Plus let's go in to find out these concealments;  
We will grow rich, and purchase honour thus—  
I mean to be a Baron of Snmmum Ius.   Exit. Ni. Plus. Parum. 

You are the strangest man, you will acknowledge  
None for offenders, here's one apprehended  
For murder.   Nihil. 
How!  Par. 
He killed a man last night.  Nih. 
How camed to pass.  Par. 
Upon a falling out.  Nih. 
They shall be friends I'll reconcile'em Parum.  Par. 
One of them is dead.  Nih. 
Is he not buried yet?  Par. 
No Sir.  Nih. 
Why then I say they shall shake hands.  Col. 

As you have done  
With Clemency, most Reverend justice Nihil;  
A gentle mildness thrones itself within you.  
Your Worship would have justice, use her balance  
More than her sword; nor can you endure to dye  
The robe she wears, deep scarlet, in the blood  
Of poor offenders: How many men hath rigour  
By her too hasty, and severe proceedings  
Prevented from amendment, that perchance  
Might have turned honest and have proved good Christians?  
Should jove not spare his thunder, but as often  
Discharge at us, as we dart sins at him,  
Earth would want men, and he himself want arms,  
And yet tyre Vulcan, and Pyracmon too.  
You imitate the Gods! and he sins less  
Strikes not at all, than he strikes once amiss.  
I would not have justice too falcon-eyed;  
Sometimes a wilful blindness much becomes her;  
As when upon the bench she sleeps and winks  
At the transgressions of Mortality:  
In which most merciful posture I have seen  
Your pitiful Worship snorting out pardons  
To the despairing sinner: there's within  
A Mirror sir like you! go see your face  
How like Astrea's 'tis in her own Glass.   Par. 

And I'll petition justice Nimi's Clerk  
To admit me for his under officer.   Exeunt.  

SCEN. 4.  

Agroicus.   Rosc. 
This is Agroicus, a rustic clownish fellow, whose discourse is all Country; An extreme of urbanity, whereby you may observe there is a virtue in jesting.  Agro. 
They talk of witty discourse, and fine conceits, and I ken not what a deal of prittle prattle would make a Cat piss to hear 'em. Cannot they be content with their Granam's English? They think they talk learnedly, when I had rather hear our brindled cur howl, or Sow grunt. They must be breaking of jests with a murrain, when I had as live hear 'em break wind Sir reverence! My son Dick is a pretty Bookish Scholar of his age, God bless him; he can write and read, and makes bonds, and bills, and hobligations, God save all. But by'r lady, if I wotted it would make him such a jacksauce, as to have more wit than his vore-vathers, he should have learned nothing for old Agroicus, but to keep a Tally. There is a new trade lately come up to be a vocation, I wis not what; they call 'em— Boets, a new name for Beggars I think, since the statute against Gypsies. I would not have my zon Dick one of those Boets for the best Pig in my styeby the mackins: Boets? heaven shield him, and zend him to be a good Varmer; if he can cry hy, ho, give, hut, give, ho, it is better I trow then being a Poet. Boets? I had rather see him remitted to the jail, and have his twelve God-vathers, good men and true contemn him to the Gallows; and there see him vairely persecuted. There is Bomolochus one of these Boets, now a bots take all the red-nose tribe of 'em for Agroicus! he does so abuse his betters! well 'twas a good world, when I virst held the Blow!  Col. 

They cared not then so much for speaking well  
As to mean honest, and in you still lives  
The good simplicity of the former times:  
When to do well was Rhetoric, not to talk.  
The tongue disease of Court spreads her infections  
Through the whole Kingdom, flattery, that was wont  
To be confined within the virge, is now  
Grown Epidemical, for all our thoughts  
Are borne between our lips: The heart is made  
A stranger to the tongue; as if it used  
A language that she never understood.  
What is it to be witty in these days,  
But to be bawdy, or profane, at least  
Abusive? Wit is grown a petulant wasp,  
And stings she knows not whom, nor where, nor why;  
Spews vinegar, and gall on all she meets  
Without distinction— buys laughter with the loss  
Of reputation, father, kinsman, friend;  
Hunt's Ordinaries only to deliver  
The idle Timpanies of a windy brain,  
That beats and throbs above the pain of childbed,  
Till every ear she meets be made a mid wife  
To her light Bastard-issue, how many times  
Bomolochus sides, and shoulders ache, and groan!  
he's so witty— here he comes— away—   Agro. 
His wit is dangerous and I dare not stay.  Exit.  

SCEN. 5.  

Bomolocus.   Rosc. 
This is the other extreme of Urbanity; Bomolocus a fellow conceited of his own wit, though indeed it be nothing but the base dreggs of scandal, and a lump of most vile and loathsome scurrility.  Bird. 

ay, this is he we looked for all the while!  
Scurrility! here she hath her impious throne,  
Here lies her heathenish dominion,  
In this most impious cell of corruption;  
For 'tis a Purgatory, a meerc Limbo,  
Where the black Devil and her dam Scurrility  
Do rule the roast; fowl Princes of the air!  
Scurrility! that is he that throweth scandals,  
Soweth, and throweth scandals, as 'twere dirt  
Even in the face of holiness, and devotion.  
His presence is contagious, like a dragon  
He belches poison forth, poison of the pit,  
Brimstone, hellish and sulphureous poison:  
I will not stay, but fly as far as zeal  
Can hurry me— the roof will fall and brain me,  
If I endure to hear his blasphemies,  
His graceless blasphemies.   Rosc. 

He shall vent none here;  
But stay, and see how justly we have used him.   Flow. 
Stay brother, I do find the spirit grow strong.  Col. 

Hail sacred wit!— Earth breeds not Bayss enough  
To crown thy spacious merit.   Bomo. 
Oh— Oh— Oh.  Col. 

Cratinus, Eupolis, Aristophanes,  
Or whatsoever other wit did give  
Old Comedies the reins, and let her lose  
To stigmatize what brow she pleased with slander  
Of people, Prince, Nobility— All must yield  
To this Triumphant brain!   Bomo. 
Oh— Oh— Oh.  Col. 

They say you'll lose a friend before a jest;  
'Tis true, there's not a jest that comes from you,  
That is the true Minerva of this brain,  
But is of greater value than a world  
Of friends, were every prayer of men we meet  
A Pylades and Orestes.   Bomo. 
Oh— Oh— Oh.  Col. 

Some say you will abuse your Father too,  
Rather than lose the opinion of your wit;  
Who would not that has such a wit as yours?  
'Twere better twenty Parents were exposed  
To scorn and laughter, than the simplest thought  
Or least conceit of yours, should dye abortive,  
Or perish a braine-Embrio.   Bomo. 
Oh— oh— oh.—  Col. 

How's this? that tongue grown silent that sirens  
Stood still to admire?   Bomo. 
Oh— oh— oh.—  Cola. 

'twere better that the spheres should lose their harmony,  
And all the Choristers of the wood grow hoarse!  
What wolf hath spied you first?   Bomo. 
Oh— oh— oh—  Cola. 

Sure Hermes envying that there was on earth  
An eloquence more than his, has struck you dumb!  
Malicious deity!   Bomo. 
Oh— oh— oho.—  Cola. 

Go in sir there's a Glass that will restore  
That tongue, whose sweetness Angels might adore.   Bomo. 
Oh— oh— oh— oh— oh— oh—. oh—  Exit. Rosc. 

Thus Sir you see how we have put a gag  
In the licentious mouth of base scurrility;  
He shall not Ibis-like purge upward here,  
To infect the place with pestilential breath;  
we'll keep him tongue-tied; you and all I promise  
By Phoebus and his daughters, whose chaste zones  
Were never yet by impure hands untied  
Our language shall flow chaste, nothing sound here  
That can give just offence to a strict ear.   Bird. 
This gag hath wrought my good opinion of you  Flow. 
I begin to think 'em lawful recreations.  Cclax. 

Now there's none left here, whereon to practise,  
I'll flatter my dear self— o that my skill  
Had but a body, that I might embrace it,  
Kiss it; and hug it, and beget a brood,  
Another brood of pretty skills upon it!  
Were I divided I would hate all beauties,  
And grow enamoured with my other half!  
Self-love, Narcissus, had not been a fault,  
Hadst thou, instead of such a beauteous face,  
Had but a brain like mine: I can gild vice,  
And praise it into Alchemy, till it go  
For perfect gold, and cozen almost the touchstone.  
I can persuade a toad into an ox,  
Till swelled too big with my Hyperboles  
She burst a sunder; and 'tis virtue's name  
Lends me a mask to scandalise herself.  
Vice, if it be no more, can nothing do;  
That art is great makes virtue guilty too.  
I have such strange varieties of colours,  
Such shift of shapes, blue Proteus sure begot me  
On a Chameleon, and I change so quick  
That I suspect my mother did conceive me,  
As they say Mares do, on some wind or other.  
I'll peep to see how many fools I made  
With a report of a miraculous Glass.  
— Heaven bless me, I am ruined! o my brain  
Witty to my undoing, I have jested  
Myself to an eternal misery.  
I see le●…ne hunger with her meager face  
Ride post to overtake me, I do prophesy  
A Lent immortal: Phoebus I could curse  
Thee and thy brittle gifts, Pandora's box  
Compared with this might be esteemed a blessing.  
The Glass which I conceived a fabulous humour  
Is to the height of wonder proved a truth.  
The two Extremes of every Virtue there  
Beholding how they either did exceed,  
Or want of just proportion, joined together,  
And are reduced into a perfect Mean:  
As when the skilful and deep learned Physician  
Does take two different poisons, one that's cold  
The other in the same degree of heat,  
And blend's them both to make an Antidote;  
Or as the Lutanist takes Flats and Sharpes,  
And out of those so dissonant notes, does strike  
A ravishing Harmony. Now there is no vice  
'Tis a hard world for Colax: What shift now?  
Dyscolus doth expect me— since this age  
Is grown too wise to entertain a Parasite,  
I'll to the Glass, and there turn virtuous too,  
Still strive to please, though not to flatter you.   Bird. 

There is good use indeedla to be made  
From their Conversion.   Flow. 

Very good insooth— lafoy  
And edifying.   Rosci. 

Give your eyes some respite.  
You know already what our Vices be,  
In the next Act you shall our Virtues see.   Exeunt.   

ACTUS▪ V.  

SCEN. 1.  

Roscius.  
Flowrdew.  
Bird.   Flow. 

Now verily I find the devout Bee  
May suck the honey of good Doctrine thence,  
And bear it to the hive of her pure family,  
Whence the profane and irreligious spider  
Gathers her impious Venom! I have picked  
Out of the Garden of this Play, a good  
And wholesome salad of instruction!  
What do you next present?   Rosci. 
The several Virtues.  Bird. 
I hope there be no Cardinal Virtues there!  Rosci. 
There be not.  Bird. 

Then I'll stay; I hate a Virtue  
That will be made a Cardinal: Cardinal virtues,  
Next to Pope-vertues, are most impious;  
And Bishop-vertues are unwarrantable:  
I will allow of none but Deacon-vertues,  
Or Elder-vertues.   Rosci. 
These are Moral virtues.  Bird. 
Are they Lay-vertues?  Rosci. 
Yes!  Bird, 

Then they are lawful,  
Virtues in Orders are unsanctified.   Rosci. 

We do present them royal, as they are  
In all their state, in a full dance.   Bird. 

What dance?  
No wanton jig I hope, no dance is lawful  
But Prinkam Prankam!   Flow. 

Will Virtues dance?  
I hate a Virtue in a Morris-dance!  
O vile, absurd, may pole— maid-marian virtue   Rosci. 
Dancing is lawful.  

Flourish.   Enter Mediocrity. Flow. 
Who's this?  Rosc. 
It is the mother of the Virtues.  Flow. 
Mother of Pearl I think, she is so gaudy  Rosci. 
It is the golden Mediocrity.  Flow. 
She looketh like the Idol of Cheapside.  

Mediocrity.   Med. 

I am that even course that must be kept  
To shun two dangerous gulfs; the middle tract  
'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; the small Isthmus  
That suffers not the Aegean tide to meet  
The violent rage of the Ionian wave.  
I am a bridge o'rean Impetuous sea;  
Free, and safe passage to the wary step!  
But he whose wantonness, or folly dares  
Decline to either side falls desperate  
Into a cetaine ruin.— Dwell with me,  
Whose mansion is not placed so near the Sun,  
As to complain of's neighbourhood, and be scorched  
With his director beams: nor so remote  
From his bright rays as to be situate  
Under the Icy Pole of the cold Bear;  
But in a temperate zone: 'tis I am she,  
I am the golden Mediocrity:  
The labour of whose womb are all the virtues,  
And every passion too commendable:  
Sisters so like themselves, as if they were  
All but one birth; no difference to distinguish them  
But a respect they bear to several objects:  
Else had their names been one as are their features.  
So when eleven fair Virgins of a blood  
All Sisters, and alike grown ripe of years,  
Match into several houses, from each family,  
Each takes a name distinct, and all are differented!  
They are not of complexion red or pale,  
But a sweet mixture of the flesh and blood,  
As if both roses were confounded there.  
Their stature neither Dwarf nor ●…yantish,  
But in a comely well disposed proportion!  
And all so like their mother, that indeed  
They are all mine, and I am each of them.  
When in the midst of dangers I stand up  
A wary confidence betwixt fear and daring,  
Not so ungodly bold as not to be  
Fearful of heaven's just anger when she speaks  
In prodigies, and tremble at the hazard  
Of my Religion, shake to see my Country  
Threatened with fire and sword, be a stark coward  
To any thing may blast my reputation:  
But I can scorn the worst of poverty,  
Sickness, Captivity, Banishment, Grim death,  
If she dare meet me in the bed of honour;  
Where, with my Country's cause upon my sword  
Not edged with hope or anger, nor made bold  
With civil blood, or customary danger;  
Nor the fool's whetstone, Inexperience;  
I can throw valour as a lightning from me,  
And then I am the Amazon fortitude!  
Give me the moderate cup of lawful pleasures,  
And I am Temperance. Take me wealths just steward,  
And call me Liberality; with one hand  
I'll gather riches home, and with the other  
Rightly distribute 'em, and there observe  
The persons, quantity, quality, time and place:  
And if in great expenses I be set  
Chief Arbitress, I can in glorious works,  
As raising Temples, Statues, Altars, shrines  
Vestures, and ornaments to Religion, be  
Neither too thrifty nor too prodigal.  
And to my country the like means observe,  
In building Ships, and Bulwarks, Castles, walls  
Conducts, theatres, and what else may serve her  
For use or ornament: And at home be royal  
In Buildings, Gardens, costly furniture,  
In entertainments free and hospitable,  
With a respect to my estate, and means,  
And then I may be named Magnificence;  
As Magnanimity, when I wisely aim  
At greatest honours, if I may deserve'm,  
Not for ambition, but for my Country's good,  
And in that virtue all the rest do dwell.  
In lesser dignities I want a name;  
And when I am not over patient,  
To put up such gross wrongs as call me coward,  
But can be angry, yet in that observe  
What cause hath moved my anger, and with whom,  
Look that it be not sudden, nor too thirsty  
Of a revenge, nor violent, nor greater  
Than the offence, know my time when, where  
I must be angry, and how long remain so;  
Then than you may surname me Mans●…ude.  
When in my carriage and discourse I keep  
The mean that neither flatters nor offends,  
I am that virtue the well nurtured Court  
Gives name, and should do being— Courtesy.  
'twixt fly dissembling and proud arrogance  
I am the virtue time calls daughter, Truth.  
Give me my sword and balance rightly swayed,  
And justice is the Title I deserve.  
When on this stage I come with innocent wit,  
And jests that have more of the sait then gall,  
That move the laughter and delight of all,  
Without the grief of one, free, chaste conceits,  
Not scurrile, base, obscene, ill●…berall  
Or contumelious slanders, I am then  
The virtue they have termed, Urbanity:  
To whom if your least countenance may appear.  
She vows to make her constant dwelling here.  
My daughters now are come—    

The Song— SCEN. 2.  The Masque, wherein all the Virtues dance together. Medi●…. 

You have seen all my daughters, Gentlemen,  
Choose you wives hence; you that are Bachelors  
Can find no better; And the married too  
May wed 'em, yet not wrong their former wives.  
Two may have the same wife, and the same man  
May wed two Virtues, yet no Bigamy:  
He that weds most is chastest; These are all  
The daughters of my womb; I have five more,  
The happy Issue of my Intellect,  
And thence surnamed the intellectual Virtues.  
They now attend not on their Mother's train,  
We hope they Act in each spectator's brain!  
I have a Niece beside, a beauteous one  
My daughters dear companion— lovely Friendship  
A royal Nymph; her we present not to,  
It is a virtue we expect from you.   
Exit cum Chorocantantium.   

SCEN. 3.  Bird. 
O Sister what a glorious train they be!  Flow 

They seem to me the Family of Love,  
But is there such a Glass; good Roscius?   Rosci. 

There is! sent hither by the great Apollo,  
Who in the world's bright eye and every day  
Set in his Car of light, survaies the earth  
From East to West: who finding every place  
Fruitful in nothing but fantastic follies,  
And most ridiculous humours, as he is  
The God of Physic, thought it appertained  
To him to find a cure to purge the earth  
Of ignorance and sin, two grand diseases,  
And now grown Epidemical: many Receipts  
He thought upon, as to have planted Hellebore  
In every Garden— But none pleased like this.  
He takes out water from the Muse's spring,  
And sends it to the North, there to be freezed  
Into a Crystal— That being done, he makes,  
A Mirror with it: and instills this virtue,  
That it should by reflection show each man  
All his deformities both of soul and body.  
And cure 'em both—   Flow. 

Good Brother le's go see it!  
Saints may want something of perfection.   Rosc. 

The Glass is but of one day's continuance,  
For Pluto, thinking if it should cure all,  
His Kingdom would grow empty, (for 'tis sin  
That People's hell) went to the fates and bid 'em  
Spin it too short a thread: (for every thing  
As well as man is measured by their spindle.)  
They, as they must obey, gave it a thread  
No longer than the Beast's of Hyppanis  
That in one day is spun, drawn out, and cut.  
But Phoebus to require the black God's envy,  
Will when the Glass is broke transfuse her virtue  
To live in Comedy— If you mean to see it  
Make haste—   Flow. 
We will go post to reformation.  Exeunt. Ros. 

Nor is the Glass of so short life I fear  
As this poor labour— our distrustful Author  
Thinks the same Sun that rose upon her cradle  
Will hardly set before her funeral:  
Your gracious and kind acceptance may  
Keep her alive from death, or when she's dead  
Raise her again, and spin her a new thread.    

SCEN. 4.  Enter Flowrdew and Bird. Flow. 

This ignorance even makes religion sin,  
Sets zeal upon the rack, and stretches her  
Beyond her length— Most blessed Looking-glass●…  
That didst instruct my blinded eyes to day,  
I might have gone to hell the Narrow-way!   Bird. 

Hereafter I will visit Comedies,  
And see them oft, they are good exercises!—  
I'll teach devotion now a milder temper,  
Not that it shall lose any of her heat  
Or Purity, but henceforth shall be such  
As shall burn bright although not blaze so much.   Exe●…nt.    

EPILOGUS.  
Roscius solus.  

Y'Have seen The Muse's Looking-glass, Lady's fair,  
And Gentle-youths; And others too who ere  
Have filled this Orb: it is the end we meant  
Yourselves unto yourselves still to present.  
A soldier shall himself in Hector see,  
Grave Councillors, Nestor, view themselves in thee.  
When Lucrece Part shall on our Stage appear,  
Every chaste Lady sees her shadow there.  
Nay come who will, for our indifferent Glasses  
Will show both fools, and knaves, and all their faces,  
To vex and cure them: But we need not fear,  
We do not doubt but each one now that's here,  
That has a fair soul and a Beauteous face,  
Will visit oft the Muse's Looking-glass.   
FINIS.   

AMYNTAS OR THE IMPOSSIBLE DOWRY.  
A PASTORAL ACTED before the KING & QUEEN at White-Hall.  
Written by THOMAS RANDOLPH.  Pastorem, Tityre, pingues Pascere oportet oves, diductum dicere Carmen. 
OXFORD,  
Printed by Leonard Lichfield, for Francis Bowman. 1638.   

dramatis Personae.  

Pilumnus. The high Priest of Ceres: Father to Damon and Urania.  
Medorus. Father to Laurinda.  
Claius. A wild Sylvan, father to Amyntas and Amaryllis.  
Corymbus. An under Priest.  


Two Rivals in Laurinda's Love.  
Damon.  
Alexis.    
Amyntas. A mad Shepherd.  
Laurinda. A wavering Nymph.  
Urania. A sad Nymph, enamoured on Amyntas.  
Amarillis. A distressed sheapheardesse, in love with Damon.  
Thestylis. An old Nymph, sister to Claius.  
jocastus. A fantastic shepherd & fairy Knight.  
Bromius. His man, a blunt Clown.  
Mopsus. A foolish Augur enamoured on Thestylis.  
Dorylas. A knavish boy.  
Echo.   

Chorus of Priests.  
Chorus of Shepherds.  
Chorus of Nymphs.   

Quorum fit mentio.  
Philaebus.  
Lalage.  
Mycon.   
The Scene Sicily, in the holy Vale.  
The time an Astrological day from Noon to Noon.   

PROLOGUS.  

Nymph.  
Shepherd.   Nym. 
I'll speak the Prologue.  Sheap. 
Then you do me wrong.  Nym. 
Why, dare your Sex compare with ours for Tongue?  Sheap. 
A Female Prologue!  Nym. 
Yes, as well as Male.  Shep. 
That's a new trick;  Nym. 
And t'other is as stale.  Shep. 
Men are more eloquent than women made▪  Nym. 
But women are more powerful to persuade.  Shep. 
It seems so; for I dare no more contend.  Nym. 
Then best give o'er the strife, and make an end.  Sheap. 
I will not yield.  Nym. 
Shall we divide it then?  Sheap. 
You to the Women speak.  Nym. 
You to the Men.  Sheap. 

Gentlemen, look not from us Rural swains  
For polished speech, high lines, or Courtly strains:  
Expect not we should bring a laboured Scene,  
Or compliments; we ken not what they mean.   Nym. 

And Ladies, we poor Country Girls do come  
With such behaviour as we learned at home.  
How shall we talk to Nymphs so trim and gay,  
That ne'er saw Lady yet but at a May?   She. 

His Muse is very bashful, should you throw  
A Snake into her Cradle, I do know  
She is no Hercules to outlive your Ire:   Nym. 

One Hiss would make the fearful fool expire,  
Without a sting.   Shep. 

Gentlemen do but you  
Like this, no matter what the Women do.   Nym. 

It was a saucy Swain thus to conclude!  
Ladies, the Gentlemen are not so rude,  
If they were ever schooled by powerful love,  
As to dislike the things you shall approve.  
If you but like him 'twill be greater praise  
Then if each Muse of Nine had fetched him Bayss.    

AMYNTAS.  

ACTUS I.  

SCENA 1.  

Laurinda.  
Dorylas.   Dor. 
'tIs news Laurinda that will ravish you!  Laur. 

How, ravish me? if't be such desperate news  
I pray conceal it▪   Dor. 
So I will.  Lau. 

Nay Dorylas,  
Pray tell it though.   Dor. 
'tis desperate news,  Laur. 
But prithee do.  Dor. 
I must conceal it.  Laur. 
Do not.  Dor. 
Mistress, you have prevailed: I will relate it.  Laur. 
No matter though whether you do or no.  Dor. 
No? then I will not tell you.  Laur. 

Yet I care not  
Much if I hear it.   Dor. 

And I care not much  
Whether I tell't or no.   Laur. 
What is it?  Dor. 
Nothing.  Laur. 
Sweet Dorylas let me know.  Dor. 

What pretty weathercocks  
These women are? I serve a Mistress here  
Fit to have made a Planet: she'll wax and wane  
Twice in a minute.   Laur. 

But good Dorylas  
Your news.   Dor. 
Why excellent News!  Laur. 
But what?  Dor. 

Rare news!  
News fit,   Laur. 
For what?  Dor. 

To be concealed: why Mistress  
The Rivals, those on whom this Powerful face  
Doth play the tyra●…t.—   Laur. 
Dorylas what of them?  Dor. 

Now, now she wanes: O for a dainty Husband  
To make her a full Moon. The amorous couple!  
Your brace of sweet hearts Damon and Alexis  
Desire your audience.   Lau. 

Is this all your news?  
You may conceal it.   Dor. 

Now you have heard it told  
I may conceal it! well I thank thee Nature  
Thou didst create me Man, for I want wit  
Enough to make up woman: but good Mistress  
What do you think of Damon?   Laur. 

As a man  
Worthy the best of Nymphs:   Dor. 
What of Alexis?  Laur. 

As one that may deserve the fairest Virgin  
In Sicily.   Dor. 
What Virgin?  Lau. 

Proserpina,  
Were she yet Ceres' daughter.   Dor. 
And what Damon?  Lau. 
He? Ceres' self, were she not yet a Mother:  Dor. 

Crect, Crect! There is no Labyrinth but a woman●…  
Laurinda, gentle Mistress tell me which  
Of these you love?   Lau. 
Why Damon best of any.  Dor. 
Why so, that's well and plain.  Lau. 
Except Alexis.  Dor. 
Why then you love Alexis best?  Lau. 
Of any.  Dor. 
I am glad on't.  Luu. 
But my Damon.  Dor. 

Be this true  
And I'll be sworn Cupid is turned a juggler?  
Praesto! you love Alexis best but Damon,  
And Damon but Alexis! Love you Damon?   Lau. 
I do.  Dor. 
And not Alexis?  Lau. 
And Alexis.  Dor. 
She would ha'both I think.  Laur. 
Not I by Ceres.  Dor. 
Then you love neither?  Lau. 
Yes, I do love either.  Dor. 

Either, and yet not both, both best, yet neither;  
Why do you torture those with equal Racks,  
That both vow service to you? If your love  
Have pray fered Damon, tell Alexis of it;  
Or if Alexis, let poor Damon know it,  
That he which is refused, smothering his flame,  
May make another choice, now doubtful hope  
Kindles desires in both.   Lau. 

Ah Dorylas,  
Thy years are yet uncapable of love!  
Thou hast not learned the mysteries of Cupid!  
Dost thou not see through all Sicilia,  
From gentlest shepherd's to the meanest swains,  
What inauspitious torches Hymen lights  
At every wedding? what unfortunate hands  
Link in the wedding ring? Nothing but fears  
jars, discontents, suspicions, jealousies,  
These many years meet in the Bridal sheets.  
Or if all these be missing, yet a Barrenness,  
A curse as cruel, or Abortive births  
Are all the blessings crown the Genial bed▪  
Till the success prove happier, and I find  
A blessed change, i'll temper my affection  
Conceal my flames, dissemble all my fires  
And spend those years I owe to Love and Beauty  
Only in choosing on whose love to fix  
My Love and beauty.   Dor. 

Rare Feminine wisdom:  
Will you admit 'em.   Lau. 

Yes, go call them hither.  
Yet do not, now I think on't: yet you may too;  
And yet come back again.   Dor. 
Nay I will go.  Lau. 
Why Dorylas.  Dor. 
What news?  Lau. 
Come back I say.  Dor. 
Yes to be sent again.  Lau. 
You'll stay I hope.  Dor. 
Not I by Ceres.  Lau. 
Dorylas.  Dor. 

No good Mistress  
Farewell for I at length have learned to know  
You call me back only to bid me go.   Exit. Lau. 

'tis no great matter sirrah:— when they come  
I'll bear myself so equal unto both,  
As both shall think I love him best, this way  
I keep both fires alive, that when I please  
I may take which I please.— But who comes here?    

SCEN. 2.  

Laurinda.  
Thestylis.   
O Thestylis y'are welcome!  Thest. 

If Laurinda,  
My too abrupt intrusion come so rudely  
As to disturb your private Meditations,  
I beg your pardon!   Lau. 

How now Thestylis?  
Grown Orator of late? has learned Mopsus  
Read Rhetoric unto you, that you come  
To see me with Exordiums?   Thest. 

No Laurinda;  
But if there be a charm called Rhetoric;  
An art, that woods and forests cannot skill;  
That with persuasive magic could command  
A pity in your soul, I would my tongue  
Had learned that powerful art!   Lau. 

Why Thestylis,  
Thou knowst the breasts I sucked were neither wolves  
Nor Tigers, and I have a heart of wax,  
Soft and soon melting; try this amorous heart; 'tis not  
Of flint or marble.   The. 

If it were, Laurinda,  
The tears of her, whose orator I come  
Have power to soften it. Beauteous Amaryllis,  
She that in this unfortunate age of love,  
This hapless time of Cupid's tyranny  
Placed her affection on a scornful shepherd,  
One that disdains her love.   Lau. 

Disdains her love!  
I tell thee Thestylis in my poor judgement,  
(And women if no envy blind their eyes,  
Best judge of women's beauties) Amaryllis  
May make a Bride worthy the proudest shepherd  
In all Sicilia: but wherein can I  
Pity this injured Nymph?   The. 

Thus she desires you,  
As you desire to thrive in him you love;  
As you do love him whom you most desire,  
Not to love Damon! Damon alas repaies  
Her love with scorn! 'tis a request she says  
She knows you cannot grant, but if you do not  
She will not live to ask again.   Lau. 

Poor Nymph.  
My Amaryllis knows my fidelity;  
How often have we sported on the Lawns,  
And danced a roundelay to jocastus pipe?  
If I can do her service Thestylis,  
Be sure I will: Good wench, I dare not stay  
Lest I displease my Father; who in this age  
Of hapless lovers watches me as close  
As did the Dragon the Hesperian fruit.  
Farewell.   Exit Laur. Thest. 

Farewell Laurinda! Thus poor ●…oole  
I toil for others; like the painful Bee  
From every flower cull honey drops of love  
To bring to others hives: Cupid does this  
Cause I am Claius sister. Other Nymphs  
Have their variety of loves, for every gown,  
Nay every petticoat; I have only one,  
The poor fool Mopsus! yet no matter wench,  
Fools never were in more request than now.  
I'll make much of him, for that woman lies  
In weary sheets, whose Husband is too wise.    

SCEN. 3.  

Thestylis.  
Mopsus.  
jocastus.   Mop. 

jocastus, I love Thestylis abominably,  
The mouth of my affection waters at her.   Io. 

Be wary Mopsus, learn of me to scorn  
The mortals; choose a better match: go love  
Some Fairy Lady! Princely Oberon  
Shall stand thy friend: and beauteous Mab his Queen  
Give thee a Maid of Honour.   Mop. 

How jocastus?  
Marry a puppet? Wed a mote i'th' Sun?  
Go look a wife in nutshells? woo a gnat  
That's nothing but a voice? No no, jocastus,  
I must have flesh and blood, and will have Thestylis.  
A fig for Fairies!   Thes. 

— 'tis my sweetheart Mopsus,  
And his wise brother: O the twins of folly!  
These do I entertain only to season  
The poor Amyntas madness.   Mop. 

Sacred red and white,  
How fares thy reverend beauty?   The. 

Very ill  
Since you were absent, Mopsus! where have you  
Been all this livelong hour?   Mop. 

I have been  
Discoursing with the birds.   The. 
Why, can birds speak?  Io. 

In Fairy land they can: I have heard 'em chirp  
Very good Greek and Latin.   Mop. 

And our Birds  
Talk better far than they: a newlaid egg  
Of Sicily shall out talk the bravest Parrot  
In Oberon's, Utopia.   The. 

But what languages  
Do they speak, servant?   Mop. 

Several languages,  
As Cawation, Chirpation, Hootation.  
Whistleation, Crowation, Cackleation,  
Shreekation, Hissation.   The. 
And Fooleation.  Mop. 

No, that's our language, we ourselves speak that,  
That are the learned Augurs.   The. 

What success  
Does your Art promise?   Mop. 
Very good.  The. 

What Birds  
Met you then first?   Mop. 
A Woodcock and a Goose.  The. 
Well met.  Mop. 
I told 'em so.  The. 
And what might this portend?  Mop. 

Why thus— and first the Woodcock— Wood and Cock,  
Both very good signs. For first the wood doth signify  
The fire of our love shall never goeout,  
Because it has more fuel: wood doth signify  
Morefuell.   The. 
What the Cock?  Mop. 

Better than t'other:  
That I shall crow over those that are my rivals,  
And roost myself with thee.   The. 
But now the Goose?  Mop. 

ay, I the Goose, that likes me best of all,  
thoust heard our gray-b●…ard sheapherds talk of Rome,  
And what the Geese did there: The Goose doth signify  
That I shall keep thy Capit●…ll.   The. 
Good gander!  Io. 
— It cannot choose but strangely please his highness!  The. 
What are you studying of jocastus, ha?  Io. 

A rare devise, a Masque to entertain  
His Grace of Fairy with.   The. 
A Masque? what is't?  Io. 

An Antimasque of fleaes, which I have taught  
To dance Currantoes on a spider's thread.   Mop. 

An Antimasque of fleaes? brother me thinks  
A mask of Birds were better, that could dance  
The morris in the air, Wrens and Robin-redbrests,  
Linnets, and Titmise.   Io. 

So! and why not rather  
Your Geese & Woodcocks? Mortal hold thy tongue,  
Thou dost not know the mystery.   The. 

'tis true  
He tells you Mopsus, leave your Augury,  
Follow his counsel, and be wise.   Mop. 

Be wise?  
I scorn the motion! follow his counsel and be wise?  
That's a fine trick i'faith! is this an age  
For to be wise in?   The. 

Then you mean I see,  
T'expound the Oracle.   Mop. 

I do mean to be  
Th'interpreter.   Io. 

— And then a jig of Pismires  
Is excellent.   Mop. 

What to interpret Oracles?  
A fool must be th'interpreter.   The. 

Then no doubt  
But you will have the honour.   Mop. 

Nay I hope  
I am as fair for't as another man.  
If I should now grow wise against my will,  
And catch this wisdom!   The. 
Never fear it Mopsus.  Mop. 

'twere dangerous venturing. Now I think on't too  
Pray Heaven this air be wholesome! is there not  
An antidote against it? what do you think  
Of garlic every morning?   The. 

Fie upon't,  
'Twill spoil our kissing! and beside I tell you  
Garlick's a dangerous dish, eating of garlic  
May breed the sickness, for as I remember  
'tis the Philosophers diet.   Mop. 

Certainly  
I am infected, now the fit's upon me!  
'tis some thing like an ague, sure I caught it  
With talking with a Scholar next my heart.   The. 
How sad a life live I,  

Betwixt their folly and Amyntas madness!  
For Mopsus I'll prescribe you such a diet  
As shall secure you.   Mop. 

Excellent she Doctor!  
Your women are the best Physicians,  
And have the better practice.   The. 

First my Mopsus,  
Take heed of fasting, for your hungry meal's  
Nurse wisdom.   Mop. 

True! O what a stomach have I  
To be her patient!   The. 

Besides, take special care  
You wear not threadbare clothes: 'twill breed at least  
Suspicion you are wise.   Io. 
I marry will it.  The. 

And walk not much alone; or if you walk  
With company, be sure you walk with fools,  
None of the wise.   Mop. 

No, no I warrant you,  
I'll walk with no body but my brother here,  
Or you, or mad Amyntas.   The. 

By all means  
Take heed of Travel, your beyond-sea wit  
Is to be feared.   Mop. 
If ere I travel hang me.  Io. 
Not to the Fairy land?  The. 

Thither he may.  
But above all things we are no beards, long beards  
Are signs the brains are full, because the excrements  
Come out so plentifully.   Io. 

Rather empty,  
Because they have sent so much out, as if  
Their brains were sunk into their beards: King Oberon  
Has ne'er a beard, yet for his wit I am sure  
He might have been a Giant. Who comes here?   Enter Dorylas. Dor. 

All hail unto the famed interpreter  
Of fowls and Oracles!   Mop. 
Thanks good Dorylas.  Dor. 

How fares the winged cattle? are the woodcocks,  
The jays, the daws, the cuckoos, and the owls  
In health?   Mop. 
I thank the gracious stars they are!  Dor. 

Like health unto the precedent of the jigs;  
I hope King Oberon and his joyall Mab  
Are. well.   Io. 

They are, I never saw their Graces  
Eat such a meal before.   Dir. 
E'en much good do't 'em!  Io. 
They're rid a hunting.  Do. 
Hare or Dear my Lord?  Io. 
Neither, a brace of snails of the first head.  The. 

But Dorylas, there's a mighty quarrel here,  
And you are chosen umpire.   Dor. 
About what?  The. 

The exposition of the Oracle:  
Which of these two you think the verier fool.   Dor. 

It is a difficult cause, first let me pose'em!  
You Mopsus, cause you are a learned Augur,  
How many are the seven Liberal Sciences?   Mop. 
Why much about a dozen.  Dor. 

You jocastus,  
When Oberon shaved himself, who was his Barber?   Io. 

I knew him well, a little dapper youth,  
They call him Periwinkle.   Dor. 

Thestylis,  
A weighty cause and asks a longer time.   The. 
we'll in the while to comfort sad Amyntas.  Exeunt The. Mop. Io,  

SCEN. 4.  

Dorylas.  
Laurinda.   Lau. 

I wonder much that Dorylas stays so long,  
Feign would I hear whether they'll come or no.   Do. 
Ha? would you so?  Lau. 

I see in your own messages  
You can go fast enough.   Dor. 

Indeed forsooth,  
I loitered by the way.   Lau. 
What, will they come?  Dor. 
Which of them?  Lau. 
Damon?  Dor. 
No.  Lau. 
Alexis' will?  Dor. 
Nor he.  Lau. 
How, neither? am I then neglected?  Dor. 
Damon will come.  Lau. 
And not Alexis too?  Dor. 
Only Alexis comes.  Lau. 

Let him not come.  
I wonder who sent for him, unless both  
I'll speak with none.   Dor. 
Why both will visit you.  Lau. 

Both? one had been too many. Was e'er Nymp●…  
So vexed as I? you saucy rascal you,  
How do you strive to cross me?   Dor. 

And sweet Mistress,  
Still I will cross you, 'tis the only way  
Truly to please you.    

SCENA 5.  Enter Medorus. Medo. 

So, you'll all please her,  
I wonder who'll please me? you all for her  
Can run on errants, carry lovesick letters,  
And amorous eglogues from her howling suitors,  
To her, and back again, be Cupid's Heralds,  
And point out meetings for her.   Dor. 

Truly Sir,  
Not I, pray ask my Mistress: Do I call  
Your sweetheart's— speak, nay speak it if you can,  
Do I?   Lau. 
Why no.  Do. 

Nay say your worst I care not,  
Did I go ever?   Lau. 
Never.  Dor. 

La-you now!  
We were devising nothing but a snare  
To catch the Polecat,  
Sirrah get you in;  
Take heed I do not find your haunts.   Dor. 
What haunts?  Med. 
You'll in!  Dor. 

I know no haunts I have but to the Dairy,  
To skim the milke-bowles like a liquorish Fairy.   Exit Dor. Me. 

He that's a woman's keeper, should have eyes  
A hundred more than Argus, and his ears  
Double the number: Now the news, what letters?  
What posy, ring or bracelet woos to day?  
What Grove to night is conscious of your whispers?  
Come tell me, for I know your trusty squire,  
Your little closet blabbes into your ear  
Some secret, let me know it.   Lau. 

Then you fear,  
Lest I should be in love.   Me. 

Indeed I do,  
Cupid's a dangerous boy, and often wounds  
The wanton roving eye.   Lau. 

Were I in love,  
Not that I am (for yet by Diana's bow  
I have not made my choice,) and yet suppose it,  
Suppose I say I were in love, What then?   Me. 

So I would have thee, but not yet my Girl,  
Till loves prove happier, till the wretched Claius  
Hath satisfied the Gods.   Lau. 
Why Claius, Father?  Me. 
Hast thou not heard it?  Lau. 
Never.  Me. 
'tis impossible.  Lau. 

How should I sir? you know that my discourse  
Is all with walls and pictures, I ne'er meet  
The Virgins on the downs.   Me. 

Why I will tell thee,  
Thou knowest Pilumnus?   Lau. 
The high Priest of Ceres?  Me. 

Yes: This Pilumnus had a son Philaebus,  
Who was, while yet he was, the only joy  
The staff and comfort of his father's age,  
And might have still been so, had not fond love  
Undone him.   Lau. 
How did love undo Philaebus?  Me. 

Why thus; one Lalage, a beauteous Nymph  
As ever eye admired, Alphestus daughter,  
Was by her father promised him in marriage.   Lau. 
Why hitherto his love had good success.  Me. 

But only promised: for the shepherd Claius,  
(A name accursed in Sicilian fields!)  
Being rich, obtained the beauteous Lalage  
From sweet Philaebus: he sad heart being robbed,  
Of all his comfort, having lost the beauty  
Which gave him life and motion; seeing Claius  
Enjoy those lips, whose cherries were the food  
That nursed his soul, spent all his time in sorrow,  
In melancholy sighs and discontents;  
Looked like a withered tree o'ergrown with moss,  
His eyes were ever dropping Iceacles.  
Disdain and sorrow made Pilumnus rage,  
And in this rage, he makes his moan to Ceres,  
(Ceres most sacred of Sicilian powers;)  
And in those moans he prosecutes revenge,  
And that revenge to fall on Lalage.   Lau. 
Would Ceres hear his prayers?  Me. 

Silly maid,  
His passions were not causeless; and with what justice  
Could she deny Pilumnus? how oft hath he sprinkled,  
The finest flower of wheat, and sweetest myrrh  
Upon her Altars! Lalage rued the time  
She flouted brave Philaebus. Now she was great  
With two sweet twins, the fair chaste Amaryllis,  
And mad Amyntas; (an unlucky pair!)  
These she brought forth, but never lived to see them:  
Lucina caused her sorrows stop her breath.  
Leaving this matchless pair of beauteous infants,  
In whom till now she lives.   Lau. 

After her death,  
How fared the sorrowful Philaebus?   Me. 

Worse  
Then ever: She being dead whose life was his,  
Whose looks did hold his eyes from shutting up,  
He pined away in sorrows, grief it was  
To see she was not his, but greater far  
That she was not at all. Her Exequys being past,  
He casts him down upon that turf of earth,  
Under whose roof his Lalage was housed,  
And parleyed with her ashes, till his own lamp  
Was quite extinguished with a fatal damp.  
Here ended th'noble shepherd.   Lau. 

Unhappy lover!  
'tis pity but the Virgins once a year,  
Should wash his tomb with maiden tears! but now  
Both Lalage being dead and her Philebus,  
How comes it other loves should prove unfortunate?   Med. 

Pilumnus having lost this hopeful Son,  
Though he had two more children, fair Urania  
And noble Damon; yet the death of Lalage  
Sufficed not his revenge, but he a new implores  
His goddess wrath against Claius:— Doth Ceres prise me thus?  
Shall Claius tread upon the flowery Plain,  
And walk upon the Ashes of my boy?  
Will I be Archyflamen where the Gods  
Are so remiss? let wolves approach their shrines;  
Their howl are as powerful as the Prayers  
Of sad Pilumnus!— Such disgusts at last  
Awakened Ceres: with hollow murmuring noise  
Her Ompha like a thunder'gins to roar.  
(The Ompha if it menace speaks at large  
In copious language, but perplexed terms.)  
And laid this curse on all Trinacria.   

Sicilian swains, ill luck shall long betide  
To every bridegroom, and to every bride:  
No sacrifice, no vow shall still mine Ire,  
Till Claius blood both quench and kindle fire.  
The wise shall misconceive me, and the wit  
Scorned, and neglected shall my meaning hit.   Lau. 

Angry and Intricate! Alas for love!  
What then became of Claius?   Me. 

Why the Ompha,  
Having denounced against him, and he knowing  
The hate of old Pilumnus fled away,  
I think he's sailed to the Antipodes.  
No tidings can be brought what ground receives him,  
Unless Corymbus make a happy voyage;  
Corymbus that will search both East and Occident  
And when he finds him spill his captive blood.  
Which Ceres grant he may! Tender Laurinda  
Now dost thou see the reason of my care,  
And why my watchful eyes so close observe  
Thy steps and actions.   Lau. 

And I promise, father,  
To temper my affections, till the Goddess  
Do mitigate her anger.   Med. 

Do so then:  
For now you see with what unfortunate choice  
Pilumnus daughter, delicate Urania loves  
The mad Amyntas: for the angry Goddess,  
Though she repaid the wrong done to Philaebus,  
Yet not approving the revengeful mind  
Of great Pilumnus, scourged him with his own ask,  
By threatening an unhappy marriage  
To his Urania, unless he that woos her  
Pay an impossible Dowry; for as others  
Give Portions with their daughters, Ceres' Priests  
Use to receive for theirs. The words are these,   

That which thou hast not, mayst not, canst not have  
Amyntas, is the Dowry that I crave▪  
Rest hopeless in thy love, or else divine  
To give Urania this, and she is thine:   

Which while the poor Amyntas would Interpret,  
He lost his wits. Take heed of love, Laurinda,  
You see th'unhappiness of it in others;  
Let not experience in thyself instruct thee.  
Be wise my Girl: so come and follow me.   Exit. Lau. 

I'll make a Garland for my kid and follow you.  
What a sad tale was here? how full of sorrow?  
Happy that heart that never felt the shaft  
Of angry Cupid!    

SCEN. 6.  

Damon  
Alexis.   

— Damon and Alexis?  
Their presence quickly puts these cogitations  
Out of my mind: Poor souls, I fain would pity them,  
And yet I cannot, for to pity one  
Were not to pity t'other, and to pity  
Both were to pity neither. Mine old Temper  
Is all the shift I have; some dew of comfort  
To either of them. How now bold intruders,  
How dare you venture on my privacy?  
If you must needs have this walk, be it so!  
I'll seek another: What? you'll let me go?   Da. 

Cruel Laurinda (if a word so foul  
Can have so fair a dwelling.) seal not up  
Thy eats, but let a pity enter there  
And find a passage to thy heart.   Alex. 

Laurinda,  
(The name which but to speak I would not wish  
For life or breath.) Let not thy powerful beauty  
Torment us longer: Tell us which of us  
You value most.   Da. 

And tother, for old friendship  
Strangling his bitter Corrosive in his heart,  
Hath promised to desist from further suit.   Alex. 

Or if he cannot so, as sure he cannot,  
Yet he will rather choose to dye then live  
Once to oppose your liking.   Lau. 

Since you are  
Grown so importunate, and will not be answered  
With modest silence; Know I wish you well.   Alex. 
How, me Laurinda?  Lau. 

Why I wish, Alexis,  
I were thy wife.   Da. 
Then most unhappy me!  Alex. 
That word doth relish immortality.  Lau. 
And I do wish thou were't my husband, Damon  Alex. 
Still more perplexed: what do you think I am?  Lau. 
My head, Alexis.  Da. 
And what I?  Lau. 
My heart.  Da. 
Which hand am I?  Lau. 
Damon, my right.  Alex. 
Which I?  Lau. 
My left, Alexis.  Alex. 
Thus you scorn my love.  Lau. 
Not I, Alexis: thouart my only hope.  Da. 
Then I am all despair, no hope for me.  Lau. 

Why so my Damon? thou art my desire.  
Alexis is my flame; Damon my fire.  
Alexis doth deserve my nuptial Bed,  
And Damon's worthy of my Maidenhead!   Exit Lau. Alex. 

Damon, desist thy suit or lose thy life;  
Thou heard'st Laurinda wish she were my wife.   Da. 

Thy wife, Alexis? But how can it be  
Without a Husband? and I must be he.   Alex. 

I am her head: That word doth seem t'impart  
She means my marriage.   Da. 

How without her heart?  
For that am I: beside you heard her say  
I was the right hand you the left, away,  
Desist Alexis, mine's the upper hand.   Alex. 

But, Damon, I next to her heart do stand:  
I am her hope, in that you plainly see  
The end of her intents doth aim at me.   Da. 

But I am her desire, in that 'tis shown  
Her only wish is to make me her own.   Alex. 
I am her flame.  Da. 
'Tis true, but I her fire.  Alex. 

The flames the hotter, therefore her desire  
Most aims at me.   Da. 

Yet when the flame is spent,  
The fire continues; Therefore me she meant.   Alex. 
She promised now I should enjoy her Bed.  Da. 
Alexis do, so I her Maidenhead.  Alex. 

I see she still conceals it, and with speeches  
Perplexed and doubtful masks her secret thoughts.   Da. 

Let's have another meeting, since her words  
Delude us thus, we'll have a pregnant sign  
To show her mind.   Alex. 

I go that way a hunting,  
And will call for her.   Da. 

I'll the while retire  
Into the Temple, if I linger here  
I am afraid of meeting Amaryllis,  
Who with unwelcome love solicits me.   Alex. 
And would she might prevail!  Da. 
Till then farewell.  Alex. 

All happiness to Damon be  
Except Laurinda.   Da. 
All but her to thee.  Alex. 
Thus we in love and courtesy contend.  Da. 
The name of Rival should not lose the Friend.  Exeunt.  
Finis actus I   

ACTUS 2.  

SCENE 1.  

Pilumnus  
Urania.   Vra. 

FAther persuade me not! The power of heaven  
Can never force me from Amyntas' love;  
'Tis rooted here so deep within my heart  
That he which pulls it out, pulls out at once,  
That and my soul together.   Pil. 

Fond Urania,  
Can ignorant love make thee affect the seed,  
The hateful seed of cursed Lalage?  
Did I for this beget thee?   Vra. 

Father, you know  
Divinity is powerful, Cupid's will  
Must not be questioned: When love means to sport  
(I'have heard yourself relate it) he can make  
The Wolf and Lamb kiss friendly; force the Lion  
T'forget his Majesty, and in amorous dalliance  
Sport with the frisking Kid. When Venus rides,  
she'll link the ravenous Kite, and milder Swan  
To the same chariot, and will yoke together  
The necks of Doves and Eagles; when as she  
Commands, all things lose their Antipathy,  
Even contrarieties: can I alone  
Resist her will? I cannot, my Amynt as  
Shall witness that!   Pil. 

I blame thee not so much  
For loving him, while yet he was Amynt as.  
But being mad and having lost himself,  
Why shouldst not thou lose thy affection too▪   Vra. 

I love him now the rather; he hath lost  
Himself for me, and should he lose me too?  
It were a sin he should!   Pil. 

What canst thou love  
In his distempered wildness?   Vra. 

Only that,  
His wildness; 'tis the comfort I have left  
To make my tears keep time to his distractions;  
To think as wildl●… as he talks; to marry  
Our griefs together, since ourselves we cannot.  
The Oracle doth ask so strange a Dowry,  
That now his company is the only bliss  
My love can aim at: but I stay too long  
I'll in to comfort him.   Pil. 
Do not Urania.  Vra. 

Do not?  
I must and will; Nature commands me no,  
But Love more powerful says it shall be so.   Exit. Pil. 

The Gods did well to make their Destinies  
Of women, that their wills might stand for law  
Fixed and unchanged; who's this? Corymbus? he.    

SCEN. 2.  

Pilumnus.  
Corymbus.   Pil. 
Corymbus— welcome!  Cor. 

Sacred Pilumnus— hail!  
And fruitful Sicily I kiss thy dust—   Pil. 

What news Corymbus? Is our country's Mischief  
Fettered in chains?   Cor. 

Thrice the sun hath passed  
Through the twelve Inns of heaven, since my diligence  
Has been employed in quest of him, whose death  
Must give poor lovers life, the hateful Claius;  
Yet could I ne'er hear of him:— The mean while  
How fare the poor Sicilians? Does awful Ceres  
Still bend her angry brow? Find the sad Lovers  
No rest, no quiet yet?   Pil. 

Corymbus none!  
The Goddess has not yet deigned to accept  
One sacrifice, no favourable Echo  
Resounded from her Omp●…a; All her answers  
Are full, and doubtful.   Cor. 

The true sign, Pilumnus,  
Her wrath is not appeased.   Pil. 

Appeased say you?  
Rather again incensed so far, Corymbus,  
As that myself am plagued; My poor Urania  
Dotes on Amyntas.   Cor. 

First shall our hives swarm in the venomous yew,  
And Goats shall browse upon our myrtle wands!  
— One of your blood, Pilumnus, (is it possible)  
Love Lalage and Claius brood?   Pil. 

The chain of fate  
Will have it so! And he loved her as much.   Cor. 
That makes it something better.  Pil. 

Ah, thou knowest not  
What sting this waspish fortune pricks me with!  
I seeing their loves so constant, so inflexible,  
Chid with dame Ceres if sheused me thus.  
My words were inconsiderate, and the heavens  
Punished my rough expostulations:  
Being Archiflamen of Trinacria  
I did demand a Dowry of that shepherd  
That asks my daughter:— Set the price said I,  
Thou Goddess, that dost cause such hateful loves;  
If that Amyntas be thy darling swain,  
Ask thou, and set a Dowry for Urania:  
With that the Altar groaned, my hair grew stiff,  
Amyntas looked aghast; Urania quivered,  
And the Ompha answered   Cor. 
With an Echo;  Pil. 
No.  Co. 
Then I presage some ill!  Pi. 

This dark demand,  
That which thou hast not, mayst not, canst not have,  
Amyntas, is the dowry that I crave:  
Rest hopeless in thy love, or else divine  
To give Urania this and she is thine.   

And so he did, but the perplexed sense  
Troubled his brains so far, he lost his wits;  
Yet still he loves, and she,— my grief Corymbus  
Will not permit me to relate rest!  
I'll in into the Temple, and express  
What's yet behind in tears.   Exit. Corym. 

Sad sad Pilumnus!  
And most distressed Sicilians! Other nations  
Are happy in their loves, you only are unfortunate!  
In all my travels ne'er a spring but had  
Her pair of lovers, singing to that music  
The gentle bubbling of her waters made.  
Never a walk unstored with amorous couples,  
Twinned with so close embraces, as if both  
Me ant to grow one together! every shade  
Sheltered some happy loves, that counting daisies  
Scored up the sums on one another lips,  
That met so oft and close, as if they had  
Changed souls at every kiss. The married sort  
As sweet and kind as they: at every evening  
The loving husband and full▪ breasted wife  
Walked on the Downs so friendly, as if that  
Had been their wedding day. The boys of five,  
And girls of four, ere that their lisping tongues  
Had learned to prattle plain, would prate of love,  
Court one another, and in wanton dalliance  
Return such innocent kisses, you'd have thought  
You had seen Tur les billing.    

SCEN. 3.  

Mopsus.  
Corymbus.   Mop. 

What air is that? The voice of— Turtles billing!  
Of Turtles! a good Omen! she is chaste—  
And billing, billing, o delicious billing!  
That word presages kissing.—   Co. 

Who is this?  
Mopsus, my learned Augur?   Mop. 

Stand aside,  
— The other side; I will not talk to thee  
Unless I have the wind.   Co. 
Why, what's the matter Mopsus?  Mop. 
thouart infected;  Co. 
What with the Plague?  Mop. 

Worse than the Plague, the Wisdom!  
You have been in travel, & that's dangerous  
For getting Wisdom.   Co. 

Then ne'er fear it, Mopsus,  
For I come home a fool just as I went.   Mop. 
By Ceres?  Co. 
Yes.  Mop. 
By Ceres' welcome then!  Co. 

But Mopsus, why do you walk here alone!  
That's— dangerous too!   Mop. 

I: but I come to meet  
The Citizens of the air; you have heard my skill  
In augury?   Co. 

Why I have heard your name  
Not mentioned any where in all my Travails.   Mop. 
How? not mentioned?  Co. 

— youare to hasty Mopsus,  
Not— without admiration.   Mop. 
I know that.  Co. 
How should you know it?  Mop. 

Why some birds or other,  
Fly from all countries hither, and they tell me.   Co. 
But how dare you converse with birds that travel?  Mop. 

With an antidote I may: but my Corymbus  
What strange birds have you seen beyond seas?   Cor. 

Brave ones:  
Ladies with fans and feathers! dainty Fowls!  
There were brave taking Augury.   Mop. 

But, Corymbus,  
Are those fine Ladybirds such pretty things?   Co. 
As tame as sparrows, and as sweet as Nightingales.  Mop. 

Is the Cocklady-bird, or the Henlady-bird  
The better?   Co. 
All are hens.  Mop. 

O admirable!  
Would you had brought me one! but what's the Fan?   Co. 
A fan's a— wing of one side.  Mop. 

Delicate!  
And what's their Feather?   Co. 

Like the copple-crowne  
The Lapwing has:   Mop. 
The Lapwing? then they ' l— lie.  Co. 
With men they will;  Mop. 

Delicious Ladybirds!  
But have they such brave trains, such curious tails  
As our birds have?   Co. 

Like Peacocks, there's the head  
Of all their pride.   Mop. 

Nay 'tis the tail, Corymbus,  
Surely these things you call the Ladybirds  
Are the true birds of Paradise!   Enter Corymbus' carriages. Co. 

Very right—  
Mopsus, I cannot stay, I must attend  
My carriage to the Temple: gentle Mopsus  
Farewell!   Exit. Mop. 

Farewell Corymbus! By my troth  
I never longed for any thing in my life  
So much as Ladybirds; dainty Ladybirds!  
I would fetch one of them; but I dare not travel  
For fear I catch the wisdom. O sweet Ladybirds!  
With copple crowns, and wings but on one side!  
And tails like Peacocks! curious Ladybirds!    

SCEN. 4.  

Amyntas.  
Urania.  
Amaryllis.  
manet Mopsus.   Amyn. 

That which I have not, may not, cannot have!—  
It is the moon! Urania, thou shalt wear  
The horned Goddess at thy beauteous ear.  
— Come hither Pegasus, I will mount thy back,  
And spur thee to her orb.   Mop. 
Oh good Amyntas!  Amyn. 

— Why, art thou foundered Pegasus? Amaryllis,  
Fetch him a peck of provender.   Vra. 
Sweet Amyntas!  Amy. 

What says my Cytherea? wouldst thou eat  
A golden Apple? if thou wilt, by Venus  
I'll rob th' Hesperian Orchard.   Mop. 
Ha ha he!  Amyn. 

Ha? dost thou laugh old Charon? firrah sculler,  
Prepare thy boat!   Ama. 
For what? dear brother speak!  Amyn. 

Art thou my sister Helen? were we hatched  
In the same eggshell?— Is your cockboat ready?   Mop. 
It is, an't please your Worship.  Amyn. 

Very well!  
Row me to hell!— no faster? I will have thee  
Chained unto Pluto's galleys!   Vra. 

Why to hell,  
My dear Amyntas?   Amy. 
Why? to borrow money!  Ama. 
Borrow there?  Amy. 

I there! they say there be more Usurers there  
Then all the world beside:— see how the winds  
Rise! Puff— puff Boreas.— what a cloud comes yonder?  
Take heed of that wave Charon! ha? give me  
The oars!— so so: the boat is overthrown,  
Now Charon's drowned: but I will swim to shore—   Vra. 

O Ceres, now behold him! canthy eyes  
Look on so sad an object, and not melt  
Them and thy heart to pity?   Ama. 

How this grief  
Racks my tormented soul? but the neglect  
Of Damon more afflicts me: the whole Senate  
Of heaven decrees my ruin.   Vra. 

And mine too.  
Come Amaryllis let's weep both together,  
Contending in our sorrows!   Ama. 

Would to Ceres  
That I were dead!   Vra. 
And I had ne'er been borne!  Ama. 
Then had not I been wretched!  Vra. 

Then Amyntas  
Might have been happy.   Mop. 

Nay if you begin  
Once to talk wisely, 'Tis above high time,  
That I were gone: farewell Bellerophon!  
I must go seek my Thestylis; she's not here.   Exit. Amy. 

My arms are weary;— now I sink I sink!  
Farewell Urania.—   Ama. 

Alas what strange distraction,  
Toss his distempered brain!   Vra. 

Yet still his love to me  
Lives constant.   Amy. 

Styx I thank thee! That curled wave  
Hath tossed me on the shore.— come Sisyphus.  
I'll roll thy stone a while: me thinks this labour  
Doth look like Love! does it not so, Tisiphone?   Ama. 
Mine is that restless toil.  Amy. 

ist so, Erynnis?  
You are an idle huswife, go and spin  
At poor Ixion's wheel!   Vra. 
Amyntas.  Amyn. 

Ha?  
Am I known here?   Vra. 
Amyntas, dear Amyntas—  Amyn. 

Who calls Amyntas? beauteous Proserpina?  
'tis she.— Fair Empress of th' Elysian shades,  
Ceres' bright daughter intercede for me,  
To thy incensed mother: prithee bid her  
Leave talking riddles, wilt thou?   Vra. 

How shall I  
Apply myself to his wild passions!   Ama. 

Seem to be  
What he conceives you.   Amy. 

Queen of darkness,  
Thousupreme Lady of eternal night,  
Grant my petitions! wilt thou beg of Ceres  
That I may have Urania?   Vra. 

'tis my prayer,  
And shall be ever, I will promise thee  
She shall have none but him.   Amyn. 
Thanks Proserpina!  Vra. 

Come sweet Amyntas, rest thy troubled head  
Here in my lap:— Now here I hold at once  
My sorrow and my comfort: Nay lie still.   Amyn. 
I will: but Proserpina—  Vra. 
Nay, good Amyntas.—  Amy. 

Should Pluto chance to spy me, would not he  
Be jealous of me?   Vran. 
No.  Amy. 

Tisiphone,  
Tell not Urania of it, lest she fear  
I am in love with Proserpina: do not Fury!   Ama. 
I will not.  Vra. 
Pray lie still!  Amy. 

You Proserpina,  
There is in Sicily the fairest Virgin  
That everblest the land, that ever breathed,  
Sweeter than Zephyrus! didst thou never hear  
Of one Urania?   Vr. 
Yes.  Amy. 

This poor Urania  
Loves an unfortunate shepherd, one that's mad, Tisiphone,  
Canst thou believe it? Elegant Urania  
(I cannot speak it without tears) still loves  
Amyntas, the distracted mad Amyntas.  
ist not a constant Nymph?— But I will go  
And carry all Elysium on my back,  
And that shall be her jointure.   Vra. 

Good Amyntas,  
Rest here a while!—   Amy. 
Why weep you Proserpina?  Vr. 

Because Urania weeps to see Amyntas  
So restless and unquiet.   Amy. 

Does she so?  
Then will I lie as calm as doth the sea,  
When all the winds are locked in Aeolus jail:  
I will not move a hair, not let a nerve  
Or Pulse to beat, lest I disturb her! Hush,—  
She sleeps!   Vra. 
And so do you.  Amy. 

You talk too loud,  
You'll waken my Urania:   Vra. 

If Amyntas,  
Her dear Amyntas would but take his rest,  
Urania could not want it.   Amy. 
Not so loud!  Ama. 
What a sad pair are we?  Vra. 

How miserable?  
He that I love is not!—   Ama. 

And he that I  
Do love, loves not; or, if he love, not me.   Vra. 
I have undone Amyntas!  Ama. 

And my Damon  
Has undone me.   Vr. 
My kindness ruined him.  Ama. 
But his unkindness, me; unhappy me!  Vra. 

More wretched I, for Damon has his reason,  
And he may love.   Ama. 

But does not: thy Amyntas  
Returns thee mutual love.   Vra. 

True, Amaryllis,  
But he has lost his reason; mine has love,  
No reason.   Ama. 

Mine has reason, but no love.  
O me!   Vra. 

My Amaryllis, how thy griefs  
Meet full with mine to make the truest story  
Of perfect sorrow that ere eye bedewed  
With tears of Pity!   Ama. 

Come Urania:  
Let's sit together like two marble monuments  
Of ever weeping misery—   Enter Damon. Da. 

Minds in love,  
Do count their days by minutes, measure hours  
By every sand that drops through the slow glass;  
And for each vie a tear.   Ama. 

If so, my Damon,  
How many times hath thy unkindness ruined  
Sad Amaryllis? every frown is mortal.   Dam. 
Ill luck, to seek my love and find my hate!  Ama. 

Be not so cruel to me! Gentle Damon,  
— Accept this witness of my love, it is  
The story of poor Ech●…, tha●… for love  
Of her Narcissus pined into a voice.   Da. 
Do thou so too!  Ama. 

Damon, suppose I should,  
And then the Gods for thy contempt of me  
Should plague thee like Narcissus.   Da. 

Amaryllis,  
They cannot do it: I have fixed my love  
So firm on my Laurinda, that for her  
I e'er shall hate myself?   Ama. 

—. Prithee love accept it,  
'Twas wrought by mine own hand   Da. 
For that I hate it!  Vra. 

Fie Brother, can you be of the same stock,  
Issue, and blood with me, and yet so cruel?   Da. 

Nor can I, sister, dote like you on any  
That is the cursed brat of Lalage.   Amy. 
Sayest thou so Centaur?—  Vra. 

Good Amyntas hold,  
This is the Sacred Valley: here 'tis death,  
For to shed human blood.   Da. 

Still idly you complain  
To cross me, Amaryllis, but in vain!   Exit. Ama. 
O, I am sick to death!  Amy. 

What a brave show  
The monsters brains would make?    

SCEN. 5.  

Thestylis.  
Mopsus.  
Amyntas.  
Amaryllis.  
Urania.   Ama. 
My grief o'er weighs me!  The. 
How fares my Amaryllis?  Ama. 

Like a Taper  
Almost burnt out: sometimes all a darkness,  
And now and then a flash or two of comfort,  
But soon blown out again. Ah Thestylis,  
I cannot long subsist. For thee vain's labour;  
Away! I hate thee cause my Damon does,  
And for that reason too I hate myself,  
And every thing but him!   Vra. 

Come my sad partner,  
Poor rival of my sorrows: Go with me  
Into the Temple; I'll entreat my Brother  
To use thee kindly: if in me it lie,  
I'll help thee.   Ama. 
Do Urania, or I die.  Exeunt Urania, Amaryl. 

Amyntas.  
Thestylis.  
Mopsus.   The. 
What a strange thing is Love!  Amy. 

It is a madness:  
See how it stairs?— Have at thee thou blind Archer!  
— O I have missed him!— now I'll stand thee Cupid!  
Look how the rascal winks a one eye, Thestylis!  
Nay draw your arrow home boy! just i'th' heart!  
— O I am slain!   Thest. 
Amyntas.  Amy. 

Dost not see?  
My blood runs round about me, I lie soaking  
In a red Sea, take heed! see Thestylis,  
Whata fine Crimson ' 'tis?   Mop. 
Where?  Amy. 

Here you puppet!  
Dost thou not see it?   Mop. 

Yes I see it plain,  
But I spy nothing.   Amy. 
Then thou art a mole.  Mop. 

Now I look better on't, I see it plain;  
Does it not not hurt you?   Amy. 

Strangely! Have at thee—  
How think you now?   The. 
Be quiet good Amyntas.  Mop. 

You'll fright away the birds else, and clean spoil  
My augury.   Amyn, 
Go about it, I am quiet!  Mop. 
Now for some happy Omen!  a Cuckoo Cries. Amy. 
Ha, ha, he!  Mop. 
Why laughs the madman?  Amy. 

Who can choose but laugh?  
The bird cried Horns!   The. 

What happiness portends it,  
Sweet Mopsus?   Mop. 

Constancy in Love, my Thestylis,  
This bird is always in a note.   The. 
Most excellent.  Mop. 
Bird of the spring I thank thee! Mopsus thanks thee.  Amy. 

This is a man of skill, an Oedipus,  
Apollo, Reverend Phoebus, Don of Delphos.   Mop. 
What a brave man am I?  Amy. 

Thou canst resolve  
By thy great Art all questions: What is that,  
That which I have not, may not, cannot have?   Mop. 

That which you have not, may not, cannot have?  
It is my skill, you cannot have my skill.   Amy. 
Where lies that skill?  Mop. 
Lies? here within this noddle.  Amy. 

Fetch me my woodknife I will cut it off,  
And send it to Urania for a dowry.   Mop. 
No, no I am deceived, it is not that.  Amy. 
You dolt, you ass, you cuckoo:  Mop. 
Good Amyntas.   

SCEN. 6.  Dorylas. 
Mopsus. jocastus. Thestylis. Amyntas.  Io. 

Is't not a brave sight Dorylas? can the mortals  
Caper so nimbly!   Dor. 
Verily they cannot!  Io. 

Does not King Oberon bear a stately presence?  
Mab is a beauteous Empress.   Do. 

Yet you kissed her  
With admirable courtship.   Io. 

I do think  
There will be of jocastus brood in Fairy.   Mop. 

You Cuckold-maker, I will tell King Oberon  
You lie with Mab his wife!   Io. 

Do not good brother,  
And I'll woo Thestylis for thee.   Mop. 
Do so then.  Io. 
Canst thou love Mopsus, mortal?  The. 

Why suppose  
I can sir, what of that?   Io. 

Why then be wise,  
And love him quickly!   Mop. 

Wise? then I'll have none of her, that's the way  
To get wise children, 'troth and I had rather  
They should be bastards.   Amy. 

No, the children may  
Be like the Father.   Io. 

True distracted Mortal:  
Thestylis, I say love him he's a fool.   Dor. 
But we will make him rich, then 'tis no matter.  The. 
But what estate shall he assure upon me?  Io. 
A Royal jointure all in Fairy land.  Amy. 
Such will I make Urania!  Io. 

Dorylas knows it,  
A curious Park.   Do. 
Paled round about with Pickteeths.  Io. 

Besides a house made all of mother of Pearl;  
An Ivory Teniscourt.   Dor. 
A nutmeg Parlour.  Io. 
A Sapphire dary-roome.  Do. 
A Ginger hall.  Io. 
Chambers of Agate.  Do. 
Kitchins all of Crystal.  Am. 
O admirable! This is it for certain!  Io. 
The jacks are gold.  Do. 
The spits are Spanish needles.  Io. 
Then there be walks  Do. 
Of Amber.  Io. 
Curious orchards.  Do. 
That bear as well in winter as in summer.  Io. 
'Bove all the fishponds! every pond is full,  Do. 

Of Nectar: will this please you? every grove  
Stored with delighfull birds.   Mop. 

But be there any  
Ladybirds there.   Io. 
Abundance.  Mop. 

And Cuckoos too  
To presage constancy?   Do. 
Yes.  The. 

Nay then le's in  
To seal the writings.   Amy. 
There boy, so, ho, ho.  Exeunt. Do. 

What pretty things are these both to be borne  
To Lands and Livings, we poor witty knaves,  
Have no inheritance but Brains:— who's this?   Enter Alexis. 
— One of my Mistress beagles.  Ale. 

Dorylas,  
I have had the bravest sport.   Do. 
In what, Alexis?  Al. 

In hunting, Dorylas: a brace of Grayhounds coursed a stag  
With equal swiftness till the wearied dear,  
Stood bay at both alike: the fearful dogs  
Durst neither fasten.   Do. 

So, and did not you  
Compare the stag to my fair mistress? ha!  
Pursued by you and Damon, caught by neither?   Ale. 
By Cupid thouart i'th' right.  Dor. 

Alas poor whelps,  
In troth I pity you! Why such a hunting  
Have we had here: Two puppies of a litter,  
Mopsus and wise jocastus hunting folly  
With a full mouth.   Alex. 

I much wonder, Dorylas,  
Amyntas can be sad, having such follies  
To provoke mirth.   Do. 

And to that end his sister  
Keeps them about him; but in vain, his Melancholy  
Has took so deep impression.   Enter Damon. Da. 

My Alexis  
Well met, I'ave been at your cottage to seek you.   Alex. 

But I am ne'er at home; Thou and I, Damon,  
Are absent from ourselves.   Do. 

Excellent application!  
To see the wit of love!   Da. 

Let us go seek her,  
To have a final judgement.   Alex. 

That may end  
One of our miseries, and the others life!   Do. 
O lamentable! who would be in love?  Da. 
Content.   

SCEN. 7.  

Laurinda.  
Dorylas.  
Alexis.  
Damon.   Da. 
Here comes my joy or death.  Do. 
O pitiful!  Al. 
My sweet affliction.  Do. 

Pitifully sweet!  
Near fear your father, Mistress, kiss securely,  
I'll be your Mercury, and charm a sleep  
Old Argus.   Lau. 
Do.  Do. 

But if he chance to spy  
You and your sweetheart's here, I know not of it.   Lau. 
You do not!  Do. 

Nay you know if I had seen them,  
I should have told him.   Lau. 
Y'are a trusty servant.  Do. 

Poor Dorylas is blind, he sees not here  
Damon, no nor Alexis.   Lau. 
No not he!  Do. 

Alack I am innocent: if the belly swell  
I did not fetch the poison.   Lau. 
No, begun.  Exit Dorylas. Da. 

Laurinda now for mercy sake give period  
To our long miseries.   Alex. 

Now you are like cruel  
To both, and play the tyrant equally,  
On him you hate as much as him you love.   Da. 
Depriving one the comfort of his joy.  Ale. 
The other the sure remedy of his death!  Lau. 

Damon you have a Love, fair Amaryllis,  
Content yourself with her.   Da. 

I'll rather kiss  
An Ethiopes crisped lip: embrace a Viper!  
Deformity itself to her is fair.   Al. 
Damon thou hast thy answer.  Lau. 

And Alexis,  
There be in Sicily many Virgins more  
Worthy your choice: why did you placed on me?  
Go seek some other.   Alex. 

O those words to me  
Are Poison.   Da. 
But to me an Antidote.  Al. 
Thus she gave life to me to take't away:  Da. 
And me she slew to raise me up again:  

You shall not slight us thus, what do you think  
Of me?   Lau. 
Thou art the glory of the woods.  Alex. 
And what am I?  Lau. 
The pride of all the Plains.  Ale. 

These your ambiguous terms have now too oft  
Deluded us.   Da. 

Show by some sign which of us  
You have designed for happiness.   Lau. 
So I will.  She takes Damon's Garland and wears it on her own head: and puts her own on Alexis. 

Damon, as I affect thee, so I vow  
To wear this Garland that adorns thy brow.  
This wreath of flowers, Alexis, which was mine  
Because thou lov'st me truly, shall be thine.  
This is plain dealing; let not Cupid's wars  
Drive your affections to uncivil jars!   Exit. 
Exit.  Da. 

Now happy Damon she thy Garland wears  
That holds thy heart chained in her golden hairs!   Alex. 

Most blessed I! this Garland once did twine  
About her head that now embraces mine.   Dam. 

Desist Alexis, for she deigns to have  
The Garland that was mine.   Alex. 

But me she gave  
That which was hers.   Da. 
'tis more to take then give.  Alex. 
I think 'tis greater kindness to receive.  Da. 
By this your share's the less, you but receive.  Al. 

And by your argument, yours you did but give▪  
Love is the Garland.   Da. 

Then she did approve  
Of my affection best, she took my love.   Ale. 

Fond Damon, she accepted love from thee,  
But what is more, she gave her love to me;  
In giving that to me, she proves my right.   Do. 
Why took she mine, but meaning to requite?  Alex. 
I will dispute no more.  Da. 

Then let our spears  
Plead for us,   Alex. 

And determine of our fears.  
Come Damon, by this argument let us prove,  
Which 'tis of us Laurinda best doth love.   Da. 
Yet 'tis, Alexis, clean against our oath.  Ale. 
True, Damon, and perchance may ruin both▪  Da. 
So neither shall enjoy her.  Ale. 

Cruel breath!  
Besides this is the Sacred Vale, 'tis death  
To stain the hallowed grass but with one drop  
Of humane blood.   Da. 
So both should lose their hope!  Ale. 
And which is more, 'tis against her commands.  Da. 
Whose every breath has power to stay our hands.  Ale. 
we'll have her answer make a certain end.  Da. 
Till then, Alexis, let me be thy friend.  Ale. 
Come Damon, le's together seek relief.  Da. 
'tis fit, being Rivals both in love and grief.   
Finis Actus secundi.   

ACTUS 3.  

SCENE 1.  

Damon.  
Alexis.  
Laurinda.   Dam. 

LAurinda, by thyself, the sweetest oath  
That can be sworn,   Ale. 

By those fair eyes, whose light  
Comfort my soul;   Dam. 
Whose heat inflameth mine;  Ale. 
Unless you deign at length to end our strife,  Da. 
We both have vowed to sacrifice our life,  Ale. 
On one another's spear.  Lau. 

What shall I do?  
I find an equal war within my soul,  
Myself divided; now I would say Damon,  
Another time Alexis, then again  
Damon, and then Alexis: like a shepherd  
That sees on either hand a ravenous wolf,  
One snatching from his ewe a tender Lamb,  
The other watching for a gentle Kid,  
Knows not poor soul which hand to turn to first.  
Now he would save his Lamb; but seeing his Kid  
Half in the jaw of death, turns back in haste  
To reseve that, where viewing then his Lamb  
In greater danger, runs to that again;  
As doubtful which to save as which to lose:  
So fares it now with me. But love instruct me!   Da. 
Resolve.  Ale. 
Or we'll resolve.  Lau. 
No trick left yet?  Enter Dorylas. Dor. 
If ever one was peppered look on me!  Lau. 
Why what's the matter?  Do. 

You talk of Love and Cupid,  
I have been plagued with a whole swarm of Cupids.   Ale. 
what should this mean?  Do. 

I know not, but I am sure  
I have a thousand natural rapiers  
Stick in my flesh!   Da. 
The meaning of the riddle?  Ale. 
The moral?  Do. 

In plain terms I have been driving  
One of your swarms of Bees, gentle Laurinda;   Lau. 

The purest wax give Damon: and, good swain,  
The honey to Alexis: This is plain.   Do. 
Now will the honey and the wax fall together by th'ears.  Da. 

Alexis, this plain sign confirms her grant,  
She gave me wax to seal the covenant.   Do. 
Well argued for the wax, now for the honey.  Ale. 

To me she gave the honey, that must be  
The sweetest, and the sweetest sweet is she.   Do. 
The honey is the sweeter argument.  Da. 

But by the wax she says that she from none  
But me will take true loves impression.   Do. 

The wax is very forward to the bargain;  
He would be sealing of her.   Ale. 

But plain the honey speaks, no other guest  
But I, shall taste in her a lovers feast.   Do. 
Delicious reason, my mouth waters at it▪  Dam. 

The wax must make the Taper that must light  
The wedded pair to bed on Hymen's night:  
Besides 'tis virgin's wax, by that you see  
To me she destinies her virginity.   Do. 
Two excellent twin-arguments borne at a birth.  Ale. 

And honey shows a wedding; that must knead  
A cake for Hymen ere we go to bed.  
Take you the wax; the honey is for me,  
There is no honey in the world but she.   Dor. 
His disputation still has some good relish in't.  Da. 

I see, Alexis, all Laurinda's bees  
Serve but to sting us both.   Dor. 

Now, what's the matter?  
The moral?   Lau. 

See what 'tis to live a maid!  
Now two at once do serve us and adore,  
She that weds one, serves him, served her before.   Da. 
Alexis come!  Al. 
Come Damon!  Da. 
Cure my fear.  Al. 
There's no help left but in a Pelian spear!  Lau. 
O stay your hands, for by my maidenhead;—  Dor. 
Happy the man shall quit her of that oath.  Ale. 
Most happy Dorylas!  Do. 
I knew that before!  Lau. 

I have protested never to disclose  
Which 'tis that best I love: But the first Nymph,  
As soon as Titan guilds the Eastern hills,  
And chirping birds, the Saints-bell of the day,  
Ring in our ears a warning to devotion.  
That lucky damsel what so e'er she be  
Shall be the Goddess to appoint my love,  
To say, Laurinda this shall be your choice:  
And both shall swear to stand to her award!   Both. 
By fair Laurinda's hand we swear.  Lau. 

Till then  
Be friends, and for this night it is my pleasure  
You sleep like friendly Rivals arm in arm.   Both. 
Thanks to the fair Laurinda!  Al. 
Come Damon, you this night with me shall rest.  Da. 
Wert thou but my Laurinda I were blessed.  Exeunt Damon. Alexis. Dor. 
Mistress, if they should dream now.—  Lau. 
And they should?   

SCEN. 2.  

Amaryllis.  
Urania.  
Doryllis.  
Laurinda.   Vra. 
Sweet Amaryllis!  Ama. 
Stay me not Urania!  Do. 
More Cupids, more bees, more stinging yet!  Ama. 

Dishevelled hair, poor ornament of the head  
I'll tear you from my crown! what dost thou here?  
Weak chains! my pride presumed you had a power  
To fetter Heroes! and in amorous Gives  
Led any shepherd captive!   Vra. 
Amaryllis.  Ama. 

But Damon breaks thee like a spider's loom!  
And thou poor face that were't so oft belied  
For fair and beauteous, by my flattering glass;  
I'll tear those crimson roses from my cheeks,  
That but myself ne'er yet enchanted any.  
My will is fixed!   Lau. 
Where go you, Amaryllis?  Ama. 

Since Damon hates my life I'll go and see  
If I can please him in my death: if he'll but deign  
To kiss me, and accept my latest breath,  
I shall salute the Gods a happy soul.  
— This dart I'll give him; and upon my knees▪  
Beg till I have obtained to dye by him:  
Death from that hand is welcome.   Lau. 

I will show you  
A way most probable to redeem his love.   Ama. 

I shall wrong you, Laurinda! No enjoy him,  
The treasure of the Earth: my latest words  
Shall be prayers for you: mild Urania,  
Sister in blood to Damon, not in affection,  
Nymph take this whistle, 'twas a Tritons once,  
With which I call my Lambkin's when they stray;  
'Tis Amaryllis last bequeathment to you.   Vra. 
Live happy sheapheardesse and wear it still!  Ama. 

Laurinda, my great legacy is yours,  
Gentle-ungentle Damon.   Lau. 

I re▪ bequeath him to my Amarylis:  
Come therefore amorous maid, be ruled by me;  
This night we'll sleep together.   Do. 

And she too  
Should dream of Damon.—   Lau. 

Dorylas, go to Thestylis  
●…▪ excuse her this night's absence, Amaryllis  
Wenches are ne'er so witty as a bed,  
And two together make a statesman's head.  
— Begun to Thestylis.   Do. 

So, I am sure  
Still Cupid's factor: well ere long I see  
There will be many an heir the more for me.   Vra. 

My Bellamore y'are under good protection;  
The Temple gates will close unless I hast.   Lau. 
Urania, a happy night unto you!  Vra. 
The like to her that ipitties' the distressed Amaryllis.  Exeunt Lau. Ama. Urania. Dor. 

So so, this honey with the very thought  
Has made my mouth so liquorish that I must  
Have something to appease the appetite.  
Have at jocastus orchard! dainty Apples,  
How lovely they look! Why these are Dorylas sweetheart's.  
Now must I be the Princely Oberon,  
And in a royal humour with the rest  
Of royal Fairies attendant go in state  
To rob an orchard: I have hid my robes  
On purpose in a hollow tree. Heaven bless me!  
What Pucke, what Goblins this?   

Claius.  
Dorylas.   Cla. 

Thrice Sacred Valley,  
I kiss thy hallowed Earth!   Do. 

Another lover,  
Enamoured of the Ground!   Cl. 

fain would I speak  
And ask for Amaryllis: but my fear  
Will not permit me.   Do. 

'Slid; I think he takes me  
For Oberon already.   Cl. 

Youth, can you tell me  
How I may speak to night with Amaryllis?   Da. 

Age, by no means to night: this night she lodges  
With fair Laurinda, old Medorus' daughter.   Cl. 
Can you instruct me then how I may meet Amyntas?  Do. 

Who, the madman? Every evening  
He walks abroad into the valley here  
With Thestylis. Farewell old walking Ivibush.   Exit Dor. Claius solus. Cla. 

I see the smoke steam from the Cottage tops,  
The fearful hus wife rakes the embers up.  
All hush to bed. Sure no man will disturb me.  
O blessed valley! I the wretched Claius  
Salute thy happy soil, I that have lived  
Pelted with angry curses in a place  
As horrid as my griefs, the Lylibaean mountains,  
These sixteen frozen winters, there have I  
Been with rude outlaws, living by such sins  
As run o'th' score with justice against my prayers & wishes.  
And when I would have tumbled down a rock,  
Some secret power restrained me: There I lately heard  
By a disconsolate Pilgrim that sought death,  
That my Amyntas wits (ah me!) were marred.  
'twas not a time to think to save myself  
When my poor boy was lost. Lost said I?— O Phoebus,  
If there be sovereign power in juice of herbs,  
And that the teeming earth yield medicinal flowers  
To cure all maladies, I have sought the skill;  
No leaf no root hath scaped me: I may boast it,  
I have been natures diligent Apothecary.  
Be lucky my emplaster! I have tempered  
The surest Recipe the world's garden yields;  
'Twould put Orestes in his wits again.  
I know I step upon my death: the Oracle  
Desires my blood for sacrifice, and Pilumnus  
For his old hate still seeks it: make long stay  
I dare not, only I desire t'apply  
My medicine and be gone. Who's this I spy?    

SCEN. 3.  

Thestylis.  
Amyntas.  
Mopsus.   

— I do remember now that countenance;  
It is my sister Thestylis, I'll stand close  
T'observe their actions.   The. 

Would to Ceres  
She would be pleased at length to end her anger,  
And pity poor Amyntas!   Cl. 
So pray I.  Amy. 

I have the bravest spaniel in the world,  
Of a sharp sent and quick. so ho ho, so ho ho!  
Ringwood, jowler, Whitefoot, so ho ho! so ho ho!   Mop. 
I shall be a whole kennel of dogs anon.  Amy. 
juno, Vulcan, Venus! so ho ho, so ho ho!  Mop. 
Lord what a heavenly puppy he makes me now!  Amy. 
There Lady there!  Mop. 
Ha? be their Lady-dogs as well as Ladybirds too!  Amy. 
Beauty, Beauty.  Mop. 

'Slid I was never called that name before:  
Thestylis, Amyntas calls me Beauty,  
I prithee come kiss me.   The. 

Thus I spend my life  
Laughing amidst my tears.   Amy. 
Now Virtue Virtue!  Mop. 

Is that a dog's name too? would I were hanged  
If I'll have any of it for that trick.   Amy. 

Dost thou not sent it yet? Close, close you rogue!  
By Pan the cur hunts counter.   Mop. 
Oh good master! Bow wow, bow wow wow—  Amyn. 

So now he hast again.  
What at a fault you mongrel? will you never  
Start me this Oracle?   Mop. 

Start an Oracle?  
As if an Oracle were a hare?   Amy. 

So 'tis,  
And skuds away so swift we cannot take it.  
Start me this Oracle.   Mop. 

Start it who's will for me,  
For I'll not start it.   Amy. 
Then unkennel it.  Mop. 
Unkennel it?  Amy. 

ay, 'tis a Fox a Fox,  
A cunning crafty rogue: no body knows  
Which way to find him. ha? what sent is this?  
Dost thou not smell?   Mop. 
What?  Amy. 

The meaning of the Oracle?  
Unkennel it, or I will lease thee.   Mop. 

Good sir,  
I have no skill in starting or unkennelling,  
But if you'll have me spring an Oracle.—   Amy. 
And wilt thou do it? spring me then this Oracle!  Mop. 

I that I will, my skill lies all in birds,  
Whose flight I fear I have observed so long  
That I am metamorphosed to a spaniel.   Amy. 

Look how my hawk of understanding soars  
About the Partridge Oracle!— ill luck!  
'tis at retreat again.   Mop. 

O shall I never  
Rid me of this misfortune! (thanks good omen)  
Cras, cras she says, tomorrow 'twill be better.  
Black bird I thank thee!   A Crow cawes. Claius to them. The. 

Little thinks the wretched Claius now  
How sad a life his poor Amyntas lives!   Cl. 

Too well unto his grief.— I'll go unto him  
And follow him in his humour:— You have got  
A dainty spaniel, sir.   Amy. 

I think the world  
Cannot afford his equal.   Cla. 
What breed is he?  Amy. 
True I'll assure you.  Cl. 

Was the sire  
Of the same Country?   Amy. 

No, as I remember  
He was an Irish Greyhound, but the dam  
Came of Actaeon's brood.   Cl. 
As how I pray?  Amy. 

Why thus; Melampus was the sire of Laelaps,  
Laelaps to Lagon, Lagon to Ichnobates,  
Ichnobates to Pamphagus, and Pamphagus  
To Dorceus, he to Labros, that was sire  
To Oresitrophus, Oresitrophus  
To fleet Theridamas, Theridamas  
To swift Nebrophonos, Nebrophonos  
To the quicknosed Aellus; he to Dromas,  
Dromas to Tigris, Tigris to Orybasus,  
Orybasus to Pterelas, he to Nape,  
The dam of Mopsus.   Mop. 

So then Orybasus  
Was my great grandfather. Though I be a Dog,  
I come of a good house. My Ancestors  
Were all of Noble names past understanding▪  
What a brave man's my Master! where learned he  
All this? ne'er stir now I could find in my heart  
To leave my Augury and study Heraldry;  
A man I think may learned as well as tother,  
Yet never fear of growing too wise upon't.  
And then will I record the pedigree  
Of all the dogs i'th' world. O that I had  
The Arms of all our house byth' Mother's side!   Cl. 

Sir I have brave things in a Basket for you.  
Give me your Dog, and you shall have 'em all.   Amy. 
Take him.  Mop. 

O heavens! and shall I change my master,  
One mad man for another?   Amy. 

Cur be quiet,  
I have said it, and my will shall be a law.   Mop. 

O good sir, for Melampus sake, and Dorceus  
Laelaps, Ichnobates, Lagon, Melanchetes,  
Labros, Nebrophonos, Oresitrophus,  
Tigris, Orybatus, Therydamas,  
Aellus, Drums, Nape, and the rest  
Of all my Noble ancestors deceased,  
Be merciful unto me! Pity pity  
The only hope of all our family.   Cl. 
Sir, can he fetch and carry?  Amy. 

You shall see him.  
Fetch sirrah:— there:— the cur is run away,  
Help me to catch my dog: you'll bring you mongrel?   Mop. 
Yes much! the birds will not advise me to it.  Exit. The. 

Sylvan why gaze you on us? would you frolic  
With poor Amynta's madness; 'twould ill beseem you  
To make our grief your pastime.   Cl. 

Not I by heaven!  
My joys are counterfeit, my sorrows real:  
(I cannot hold from weeping) ah you know not  
What grief lies here within, (tears you'll betray me!)  
Give me my eye full of this noble shepherd!  
Who hath not heard how he hath chased the boar!  
And how his spear hath torn the paunch of wolves.  
On th' bark of every tree his name's ing●…aven.  
Now Planet struck, and all that virtue vanished.   The. 
Thy looks are fierce, thy words bespeak thee Gentle.  Amy. 
Why wept he Thestylis!  The. 
I did not mark him.  Amy. 

It was a mote in's eye: I'll kiss it out;  
I'll curl thy shackled locks, and crispe thy hair  
Like the streight-growing Cypress. Come let's put  
Our heads together. Thou art more than mortal,  
And shalt expound to Ceres what she asks.  
It is a gallant Sylvan, Thestylis.   Cl. 

I am not skilled in riddles, no interpreter  
Of Divinations, but dare contend  
With any Empiric to do a cure,  
Whether the body or the mind be sick.  
That is my study, I but crave the leave  
To try the power of art upon this shepherd.  
If Aesculapius be propitious to him,  
After the dew of one nights softer slumbers,  
I dare be bold to say he shall recover.   Amy. 

My dog again? dost read it in the stars?  
What a strange man is this?   Cl. 

Thy wits, Amyntas,  
I mean; O cast thy arms in my embraces,  
Speak careful Nymph how came he thus distracted?   Amy. 

I do you mean? with a very-very-very mad▪ trick▪—  
By making verses.   Cl. 
Rest rest deluded fancy!  The. 

There was a time (alas that ere it was.)  
When my poor shepherd fell in love.   Cl. 
With whom?  The. 
The star of beauty, Pilumnu's much admired Urania.  Cl. 
O the cross darts of fate!  The. 

She sweet Nymph inlodged  
The casket of his love in her own bosom,  
But Ceres set a Dowry▪ Out alas!  
Would she had asked our flocks, our kids, our groves!  
Would she had bid us quench the flames of Aetna  
In Arethusa's streams, it had been easy.  
We fight with words and cannot conquer them;  
This her Imperious Ompha asked, and Thundered  
That which thou hast not, mayst not, canst not have  
Amyntas, is the Dowry that I crave.  
To find out her commands, he lost himself.   Cl. 

Your story's pitiful: 'tis my profession  
To wander through the Earth, and in my Travel,  
I am inquisitive after the sick to heal 'em;  
Their cure and kind acceptance is my pay.  
You will not fear to lodge me for a night?   The. 
We have but homely hospitality.  Amy. 
I'll feast thee with some Venison, brave Montano.  Cl. 

Thy restitution is my feast Amyntas;  
Your curds and chestnuts and your country fare  
Is bounteous for so mean a guest as I:  
But send for that Urania her sweet voice  
Must sing a Lullaby to drown his senses,  
And charm soft sleep upon his troubled fancy.  
And 'fore the grey-eyed morn do peep, be confident  
I'll put the music of his brains in tune.   Col. 
You'll call Urania.  The. 

Doubt not sir, I will.  
Or send my servant Mycon by the Vale.   Amy. 

Come Sylvan, if the dogs do bark I'll brain 'em;  
we'll sleep to night together, and to morrow,   Cl. 
Will end I hope thy madness, not my sorrow.  Amy. 
we'll go a hunting, so ho ho! so ho ho!  Exeunt. Mopsus from the Orchard. Mop. 

Are the mad dogs gone yet?  
A little more would have persuaded me  
Into a spaniel: and I may be one  
For any thing I know: yet sure I am not  
Because methinks I speak; but an this speaking  
Should be but barking now: If I be a dog  
Heaven send me a better Master than the former.  
Ceres defend me, what strange Elves are there!    

SCEN. 4.  Dorylas with a Bevy of Fairies. Dor. 

How like you now my Grace? is not my countenance  
Royal and full of Majesty? Walk not I  
Like the young Prince of Pigmies? Ha? my knaves,  
we'll fill our pockets. Look look yonder, Elves,  
Would not you apples tempt a better conscience  
Than any we have to rob an Orchard? ha!  
Fairies, like Nymphs with child, must have the things  
They long for. You sing here a Fairy catch  
In that strange tongue I taught you: while ourself  
Do climb the Trees. Thus Princely Oberon  
Ascends his throne of State.   Elves 

Nos beata Fauni Proles,  
Quibus non est magnamoles,  
Quamvis Lunam incolamus,  
Hortos saepe frequentamus.   

Furto cuncta magis bella,  
Furto dulctor Puella.  
Furto omnia decora.  
Fur to poma dulciora.   

Cum mortales lecto jacent,  
Nobis poma noctu placent,  
Illa tamen sunt ingrata,  
Nisi furto sint parata.   

jocastus.  
Bromius.   Io. 

What divine noise fraught with immortal harmony  
Salutes mine ear?   Bro. 

Why this immortal Harmony  
Rather salutes your Orchard: these young Rascals,  
These peascod▪ shalers do so cheat my Master:  
We cannot have an apple in the Orchard,  
But strait some Fairy longs for't: well if I  
Might have my will, a whip again should jerk h'em,  
Into their old mortality:   Io. 

Dar'st thou schreetch-owle  
With thy rude croaking interrupt their music;  
Whose melody hath made the spheres to lay  
Their heavenly lutes aside, only to listen  
To their more charming notes?   Bro. 

Say what you will,  
I say a cudgel now were excellent Music.   Elves. 

Oberon descend citus,  
Ne cogaris hinc invitus.  
Canes audio latrantes,  
Et mortales vigilantes.   Io. 
Prince Oberon? I heard his Grace's name.  Bro. 

O ho: I spy his Grace! Most noble Prince  
Come down, or I will pelt your Grace with stones,  
That I believe your Grace was ne'er so pelted  
Since 'twas a Grace.   Do. 
Bold mortal, hold thy hand.  Bro. 

Immortal Thief come down, or I will fetch you:  
Methinks it should impair his Grace's honour  
To steal poor mortals apples: Now have at you!   Dor. 

jocastus, we are Oberon, and we thought  
That one so near to us as you in favour,  
Would not have suffered this profane rude groom  
Thus to impair our royalty.   Io. 

Gracious Prince,  
The fellow is a fool, and not yet purged  
From his mortality.   Do. 

Did we out of love  
And our entire affection, of all Orchards  
Choose yours to make it happy by our dances,  
Light airy measures, and fantastic rings!  
And you ingrateful mortal thus requites us.  
All for one Apple!   Io. 

Villain thoust undone me:  
His Grace is much incensed.   Do. 

You know, jocastus,  
Our Grace have Orchards of our own more precious  
Than mortals can have any: And we sent you  
A Present of them t'other day.   Io. 

'Tis right,  
Your Grace's humble servant must acknowledge it.   Bro. 
Some of his own I am sure.  Do. 

I must confess  
Their outside looked something like yours indeed;  
But then the taste more relished of eternity,  
The same with Nectar.   Io. 

Your good Grace is welcome  
To any thing I have: Nay, Gentlemen  
Pray do not you spare neither:   Elve '. 
Ti-ti-ta-te.  Io. 
What say these mighty peers, great Oberon?  Do. 

They cannot speak this language, but in ours  
They thank you, and they say they will have none,   Elves. 
Ti-ti-ta-t●…-Tititatie  Io. 
What say they now?  Do. 

They do request you now  
To grant them leave to dance a Fairy ring  
About your servant, and for his offence  
Pinch him: do you the while command the traitor  
Not dareto stir, not once presume to mutter.   Io. 

Traitor, for so Prince Oberon deigns to call thee,  
Stir not, nor mutter.   Bro. 
To be thus abused!  Io. 
Ha? mutter'st thou?  Bro. 
I have deserved better.  Io. 
Still mutter'st thou?  Bro. 
I see I must endure it.  Io. 

Yet mutter'st thou? Now Noble Lords begi●…  
When it shall please your honours.   Do. 

Ti ti tatie.  
Our noble friend permits, Tititatie:  
Do you not sir?   Io. 
How should I say I do?  Do. 
Ti ti ta tie.  Io. 
Ti ti ta tie my Noble Lords.  Elves 

Quoniam per te violamur  
Vngues hic experiamur.  
Statim dices tibi datam  
Cutem valdè variatam.   They dance. Io. 
Tititatie to your Lordships for this excellent music  Bro. 
This 'tis to have a coxcomb to on's master.  Io. 
Still mutter'st thou?  Exit Bromius. Dorylas from the tree: jocastus falls on his knees. Do 

And rise up Sir jocastus, our dear Knight.  
Now hang the hallowed bell about his neck,  
We call it a mellisonant Tingle Tangle,  
(Indeed a sheep-bell stolen from's own fat wether.)  
The ensign of his knighthood. Sir jocastus,  
We call to mind we promised you long since  
The Precedent of our Dances place; we are now  
Pleased to confirm it on you: give him there  
His Staff of Dignity.   aside. Io. 

Your Grace is pleased  
To honour your poor leigeman.   Do. 
Now begun.  Io. 

Farewell unto your Grace and eke to you,  
Tititatie my Noble Lords farewell.   Exit. Dor. 

Tititatie my noble fool farewell:  
Now, my Nobility and honoured Lords,  
Our grace is pleased for to part stakes; here jocalo  
These are your share; these his, and these our Graces.  
Have we not gulled him bravely! see you Rascals,  
These are the fruits of witty knavery.   Mopsus enters barking. Dor. 

Heaven shield Prince Oberon, and his honoured Lords!  
We are betrayed.   Mop. 

Bow wow wow.  
Nay nay since you have made a sheep of my Brother  
I'll be a dog to keep him.   Do. 
O good Mopsus!  Mop. 
Does not your Grace, most low and mighty Dorylas,  

Fear whipping now?   Do. 

Good Mopsus but conceal us,  
And I will promise by to morrow night  
To get thee Thestylis.   Mop. 

I will ask leave  
Of the birds first. An owl? the bird of night; An owl  
That plainly shows that by to morrow night, shrieks.  
He may perform his promise.   Do. 
And I will.  Mop. 

Why then I will conceal you. But your Grace  
Must think your Grace beholding to me.   Do. 

Well:  
We do●….   Mop. 

And thank the owl, she stood your friend.  
And for this time my witty Grace farewell.   Do. 

Nay be not so discourteous; Stay and take  
An apple first: you jocalo give him one,  
And you another, and our Grace a third.   Mop. 

Your Grace is liberal: But now I fear  
I am not he that must interpret th' Oracle.  
My brother will prevent me, to my grief  
I much suspect it, for this Dorylas  
A scarecrow cozened him most shamefully,  
Which makes me fear he's a more fool than I.   Exit Mopsus. Dor. 

So, we are clean got off: come noble Peers  
Of Fairy, come, attend our Royal Grace.  
Let's go and share our fruit with our Queen Mab,  
And th'other Dary maids: where of this theme  
We will discourse amidst our Cakes and Cream.   Elves▪ 

Cum tot poma habeamus,  
Triumphos laeti iam canamus.  
Faunos' ego credam ortos  
Tantum ut frequentent hortos.   

I domum Oberon ad illas  
Quae nos manent nunc ancillas.  
Quarum osculemur sinum,  
Inter poma, lac, & vinum.    
Finis Actus tertii.   

ACTUS 4.  

SCENE 1.  

Mopsus,  
The stilis.   Mop. 

I would have you to know The stilis, so I would,  
I am no dog, but mortal flesh and blood  
As you are.   Thes. 
O be patient gentle Mopsus.  Mop. 
'Slid, fetch and carry!  Thes. 

Nay good sweet heart  
Be not so angry.   Mop. 

Angry? why 'twould anger  
A dog indeed to be so used, a dog!  
I would not use a dog so: bid a dog  
That comes of a good house to fetch and carry!  
Discourteous! ●…et him get dogs of his own,  
For I have got my neck out of the collar.  
Let him unkennell's Oracles himself  
For Mopsus, if I start or spring him one  
I'll dye the dog's death, and be hanged: mad fool!   Thes. 

But Mopsus, you may now securely visit  
Me and my house: Amyntas, heaven be praised,  
Is now recovered of his wits again.   Mop. 
How? and grown wise!  Thes. 
Ceres be praised as ever.  Mop. 

Shut up your doors then; Carduus Benedictus  
Or Dragon water may do good upon him.   Thes. 
What mean you Mopsus?  Mop. 

Mean I? what mean you  
To invite me to your house when 'tis infected?   Thes. 
Infected?  Mop. 

ay, Amyntas has the Wits.  
And do you think I'll keep him company?  
Though, as I told you still, I am suspicious  
jocastus is the man that must—   The. 
Do what?  Mop. 
It grieves me to think of it.  The. 
Out with't man.  Mop. 

That must interpret; I have cause to think  
(With sorrow be it spoken) he will prove  
The verier fool, but let him; yet now my Aug●…ry  
That never fails me, tells me certainly  
That I shall have thee, Thestylis, yet ere night;  
It was an owl—    

SCEN. 2.  

Claius.  
Amyntas.   

— And— see see, Thestylis,  
Here comes the Ivy bush. I'll stand aside,  
For I am still most bodily afraid.   Amy. 

What Deity lives here? the soul of Phoebus  
Breathes in this powerful man: sure Aeculapius  
Revisits earth again; and in this shape  
Deals health amongst us! I before was nothing  
But brui●… and beast: O tell me by what relics  
Of heavenly fire have you inspired me with  
This better soul of reason! worthy sir,  
If y'are some God (as less I cannot deem you)  
That pitying of my miseries, came down  
From heaven to cure me, tell me, that I may  
With sacrifice adore you.   Mop. 

Adore him?  
Are there such Ruffian Gods in heaven as he?  
Such beggarly Deities?   Amyn. 

If you will conceal it,  
And I by ignorance omit to pay  
Those sacred duties that I ought, be pleased  
To pardon me.   Mop. 

Heighday! well Thestylis,  
You may be glad your house is not infected;  
Hee'sten times madder now then ere he was,  
To deify this rude ill-favoured Sylvan,  
This fellow with the beard all over: Thestylis,  
I dare not stay; unless my heels maintain  
My safety I shall turn a dog again.   Exit Mopsus. Clai. 

I am as you are, mortal; 'tis my skill  
In Physic, and experience in the rare  
Virtue of herbs, that wrought this miracle;  
No Divinity, or power in me.   Thest. 
Amyntas, when shall we requite this kindness?  Amynt. 

Never, I would willingly  
Have sacrificed unto him, but his modesty  
Will not permit it: though he will not suffer us  
T'adore him as a God; yet we may pay  
A reverence to him as a father.   Claius. 
O those words do touch the quick!  Amyn. 

For if he be  
A father that begot this flesh, this clay,  
What's he to whom we owe our second birth  
Of soul and reason? Father, I must call you  
By that name, father.   Claius. 

Now the floudgates open,  
And the full stream of tears will issue out:  
Traitors, you will betray me!   (aside Thest. 
Sir, why weep you?  Claius. 

To think of this man's father— O I loved him  
As dear as myself (my words and all  
Break out suspicious!) has ●…e not a daughter?  
As I remember well, he said her name was—   The. 
Amaryllis.  Cla. 

Yes, I had almost  
Forgot it, I would fain have seen her too.   Thest. 

You cannot now, because to night she lodged  
With one Laurinda.    

SCEN. 3.  

Urania.   Amy. 

O my Urania, welcome,  
Amyntas bids thee so, I that till now  
Was not Amyntas: come my joy, and meet me  
Full of our happiness!   Vra. 

Grant Ceres now  
My hopes be faithful to me: my Amyntas,  
How come your thoughts so settled?   Amyn. 

O Urania,  
Here, here he stands, to whom I owe myself,  
And thou owest me: we reverence in our Temple's  
Marble, and brass, whose statues serve for nothing  
But to hang cobwebs on: oh! how much rather  
Should we adore this Deity, that bestowed  
Such happiness upon us!   Vra. 

Would we knew  
How to deserve it.   Cla. 

So you may Urania,  
If you will grant me one request.   Vra. 
Command it.  Cla. 

I would entreat you presently to vow  
Virginity to Ceres, that Amyntas  
No more may toil his brain in thinking what  
To give you for a Dowry.   Vra. 

Sir, I will  
Presently about it, I'll only first  
Get some unknown disguise.   Claius. 

I dare stay here  
No longer, for I must begun ereyet  
The light betrays me.   Vra. 
Happiness attend you!  Cla. 
Remember it Urania.  Amyn. 
Farewell father.  Exeunt Vran. Amynt. Thestyl. Claius Solus. Clai. 

Thus like a bat, or owl I spend my age  
In night or darkness, as ashamed of day,  
And fearful of the light: the sun and I  
Dare never be acquainted. O guilt, guilt,  
Thou and thy daughter fear are punishments  
Perpetual, every whistling of the wind  
Doth seem the noise of apprehenders▪ shadows  
Affright me more than men. Each step I tread  
Is danger. Life? why to live longer should we  
Not live at all: I hear a noise: false timorousness  
Deceive me not,— my eyes instruct me too,  
Heaven shield me—    

SCEN. 4.  

Alexis.  
Damon.   

Fain I would inquire of them  
For Amaryllis, but if one of these  
Bee Damon, I am lost.   Alex. 
How early, Damon, do lovers rise?  Cla. 
'tis he, I hear his name, good mole away.  Exit. Dam. 
No Larks so soon, Alexis.  Alex. 

He that of us shall have Laurinda, Damon,  
Will not be up so soon: ha! would you Damon?   Dam. 

Alexis, no▪ but if I miss Laurinda,  
My sleep shall be eternal.   Alex. 
I much wonder the Sun so soon can rise!  Da▪ 
Did he lay his head in fair Laurinda's lap,  Alexis. 
We should have but short days.  Alex. 
No summer, Damon.  Dam. 
Thetis to her is brown.  Alex. 

And he doth rise  
From her to gaze on fair Laurinda's eyes.   Dam. 
O now I long to meet our Arbitress.  Alex. 
On whom depends our only happiness.  Dam. 

It must be the first Virgin that we greet  
From Ceres' Temple.   Alex. 
Yes, the first we meet.  Dam. 
I hear no noise of any yet that move.  Alex. 
Devotion's not so early up as love.  Dam. 

See how Aurora blushes! we suppose  
Where Tithon lay to night.   Alex. 

That modest rose  
He grafted there.   Dam. 

O heaven, 'tis all I seek,  
To make that colour in Laurinda's cheek.   Alex. 
The virgins now come from the Temple.  Dam. 
Appeal unto the first.   

SCEN. 5.  The virgins pass over the stage with wax candles in their hands, Amaryllis goes the first, but she is stayed by Damon, as unknown to be Amaryllis, she being veiled and having on her head the garland that Laurinda took from Damon. 

chaste beauteous Nymph,  
Ceres so grant your prayers, as you determine  
justly our cause!   Amar. 

Ceres has heard my prayers,  
For all my morning orisons begged no more  
Than one kind word from Damon.   Dam. 
Amaryllis!  Alex. 
That name breathes life & soul to poor Alexis.  Amar. 

The same;— why startle you? you have not met  
A poison, Damon.   Dam. 

Yes, a thousand vipers  
Have stung my soul.   Alex. 

As many joys crown mine  
With happiness.   Dam. 

Would I had met this morning  
Infectious vapours nursing plagues, not thee;  
No curse but that had power to ruin me!   Alex. 
No other blessing hath preserved me.  Amar. 

What should this mean, my Damon? how have I  
Displeased you, sweet? heaven knows it is my prayer  
More than for heaven, to please you.   Da. 

O my torture!  
Fly hence as far as hell, and hide thy head  
Lower than darkness; would thou hadst been acting▪  
Incest or murder, when thou cam'st to pray:  
Thou hadst in any thing sinned less than this:  
Unseasonable devotion!   Amar. 

Can it be  
A sin to pray for Damon?   Dam. 

Thou hadst blessed me  
Hadst thou sat all this while in some dark cell  
Loading my head with curses.   Ama. 

Innocence  
Let me not understand you.   Da. 

I'll not stand  
To her award, she is a partial judge,  
And will decree unjustly.   Ama. 

How, to Damon?  
To him she loves so dearly?   Dam. 

That's the reason;  
She does confess, Alexis, that she loves me,  
That's argument enough against haet.   Amar. 
Ceres, these obscure passions move me.  Alex. 

I'll instruct you,  
Take here the paper, pen and ink.   Ama. 

Why yet sir  
I know no more.   Alex. 

You are to pass your censure,  
Being the first Nymph that we have met this morning,  
Which of us two must have the fair Laurinda.  
Write your award; our mutual oaths do bind us  
Not to deny't.   Da. 

'Tis a mere plot contrived  
Betwixt this cursed Nymph, and you▪ Alexis.   Alex. 
Damon you wrong us both.  Dam. 

Where did you steal  
This Garland? it was mine.   Amar. 

For that I love it,  
Because it once was thine.   Da. 

For that I hate it,  
'Cause it is thine, had it been true to me▪  
Me thinks as soon as it had touched thy head  
It should have withered.   Amar. 

So it would have done  
Had it not first touched yours. Laurinda gave me  
This Garland, but ne'er told me of this accident.   Da. 

Alexis, you deal false, 'tis a conspiracy  
'Twixt you and her.   Alex. 

How can it? you know, Damon,  
I have not been one minute from your presence.   Da. 
You took your time while I was sleeping.  Alex. 

Neither,  
Nor I nor you could sleep one wink this night,  
The expectation of this morning trial  
Did keep us both awake.   Da. 

I do not know,  
But there is some trick in't, and I'll appeal  
From her too partial se●…ence.   Ale. 

I'll the while go fetch Laurinda, she shall force you stand  
Unto her trial.   Exit. Amar. 

Damon, thy harsh language is more than death  
Unto me.   Da. 

I do charge you to tear the paper,  
And refuse to judge between us.   Amar. 
No, I am resolved to write what I determine.  Da. 

Now thou hast indeed a time wherein thou mayst  
Revenge my scorn. Take it, but I'll prevent thee.   he strikes her. Amar. 

Welcome death!  
From him all things are so. Damon, fly hence,  
Thou hast shed blood here in the Sacred Valley,  
Make haste away or thou art lost for ever.   Dam. 
Thy counsel's good, no matter whose the guilt.  Exit Damon. Ama. 

What was it he said last?— Thou hast indeed  
A time wherein thou mayst revenge my scorn.  
— With love, no otherwise: and there thou shalt not  
Prevent me, Damon. I will write— This ink  
Deserves not to record the name of Damon,  
'tis black and ugly; thou thyself hast furnished me  
With that of better colour. 'Tis my blood  
That's truly Cupid's ink: love aught to write  
Only with that;—. This paper is too course;  
O that I had my heart, to write it there!  
But so it is already. Would I had  
A Parchment made of my own skin, in that  
To write the truth of my affection,  
A wonder to posterity!— Hand make haste  
As my blood does, or I shall faint I fear  
Ere I have done my story.—    

SCEN. 6.  Enter Dorylas. Dor. 

These milkmaids are the daintiest rogues▪ they kiss  
As sweet as sillibubs, surely Oberon  
Lives a delicious life! Ha! who lies here?  
A Nymph? If't were but now in Oberon's power  
To steal away her maidenhead, as she sleeps:  
O 'twould be excellent sport, to see how she  
Would miss it when she wakes: what misery 'tis  
To be a boy; why could not my good father  
Have got me five years' sooner? here had been  
A purchase: well, 'tis but five years longer  
And I shall hope to see a merrier world.  
No body near too! 'Slid the very thought's  
Enough to make me man o'th' sudden, well  
I'll kiss her though.   Amar. 
Oh I faint.  Dor. 

She dreams;  
Now shall I know all secrets: These same women  
Are given so much to talk when they are awake  
That they prate sleeping too.   Ama. 

My blood congeals  
Within my quill, and I can write no more.   Dor. 

Love letters? she was troubled yester night  
About inditcing, and she dreams on't now.  
Poor sleepy secretary!   Ama. 

I will fold it up  
And send it; who's that's here? my eyes  
Are dim, ha, Dorylas!   Dor. 

Now she dreams she gives it me to carry;  
I half fear I use to carry letters in my sleep,  
Wearying myself all night, and that's the reason  
I am so loath to rise i'th' morning.   Ama. 
Dorylas, carry this letter for me.  Dor. 

I thought so,  
That's all that I can do, carry their letters,  
Or run of errands: well, come five years hence  
They may employ me better. Unto whom is it?   Amar. 
Unto Laurinda, take it.  Dor. 
How, a red letter?  Amar. 

Say I wish all health to her and Damon;  
And being not able for to bear my griefs,  
I sought a remedy from mine own spear and died.   Dor. 

How dead? oh me,  
See how her blood hath stained the holy Valley!  
Well you have done me wrong to kill yourself,  
Only to have me sacrificed on the Altar,  
I ne'er deserved it.   Amar. 
Fear not Dorylas.  Dor. 
Fear not, to dye so like a calf? oh Dorylas oh—  Ama. 

Good Dorylas be gone, whilst yet my breath  
Will give me leave to say it was not you.   Dor. 
See that you do, and so farewell.  Exit▪ Amar. 

Farewell!  
How fearful death is unto them; whose life  
Had any sweetness in it! my days have all  
Been so oreworne with sorrow, that this wound  
Is unto me rather a salve then fore,  
More physic than disease: whither my journey  
Shall lead me now; through what dark hideous place;  
Among what monsters, hags and snake-haired Furies,  
Am I to go, I know not: but my life  
Hath been so spotless, chaste, and innocent,  
My death so undeserved, I have no reason  
(If there be Gods) but to expect the best;  
Yet what doth most torment me, is the thought  
How long 'twill be ere I again enjoy  
My Damon's presence: until then, Elysium  
Will be no place of pleasure; and perchance  
When he comes thither too, he then may slight me  
As much as now.— That very fear doth make thee  
Die, wretched Amaryllis!    

SCEN. 7.  Enter Claius. Cla. 

How no fear  
Can make me lose the father! Death or danger  
Threat what you can; I have no heart to go  
Back to the mountains, till my eyes have seen  
My Amaryllis!   Amar. 

O was ever love  
So crossed as mine! was ever Nymph so wretched  
As Amaryllis?   Cla. 

Ha! I heard the sound  
Of Amarillis; where's that blessed creature,  
That owes the name? are you the Virgin?   Ama. 

Yes,  
That fatal name is mine. I shall anon  
Be nothing but the name.   Cla. 

O speak, what hand,  
What barbarous Tigers issue, what cursed whelp  
Of Bears or Lion, had the marble heart  
To wound so sweet a Nymph?   Amar. 

O sir, my blood  
Calls none but fortune guilty. I by chance  
Stumbled on mine own dart, and hurt myself.▪   Clai. 

Then I have herbs to cure it: heaven I thank thee  
That didst instruct me hither! still the blood  
Flows like a scarlet torrent, whose quick stream  
Will not be checked: speak Amarillis, quickly,  
What hand this sin hath stained, upon whose soul  
This blood writes murder; till you see the man  
Before your eyes, that gave the hurt, all hope  
In Physic is despair:— She will not speak,  
And now the cure grows to the last. Yet here  
I have a Recipe will revive her spirits, applieth a medicine and rubs her temples.  
And till the last drop of her blood be clean  
Exhausted from those azure veins, preserve her;  
But then she's lost for ever! Then, O Ceres,  
If there be any in these groves, men, virgins,  
Beast, bird, or trees, or any thing detesting  
This horrid fact, reveal it! Sacred grass  
Whose hallowed green this bloody deed hath stained,  
Ask nature for a tongue to name the murderer!  
I'll to the Temple:— If this place contain  
Any Divinity, Piety, or Religion,  
If there be any God at home, or Priest,  
Ompha, or Oracle, Shrine, or Altar, speak  
Who did it: who is guilty of this sin,  
That dies the earth with blood, & makes the heaven's  
Ashamed to stand a witness?    

SCEN. 8.  Enter Pilumnus. Corymbus, Pilum. 

What sad voice  
Disturbs our pious Orgies?   Cor. 

See, Pilumnus,  
A virgin all in gore.   Pil. 

Ceres defend us,  
The Sacred Valley is profaned.   Cor. 

The place  
So dear to Ceres, all defiled with blood.   Pil. 

By Ceres, and her holy Ompha, he  
That did it, with his blood shall satisfy  
The Goddess anger; who by blood offends  
By his own sacrificed, must make amends.   Cla. 

I durst presume upon the power of art,  
Did I but know the murderer.   Pil. 

How soever  
'Tis death to him that did it.   Cor. 

Speak his name  
Fair virgin.   Ama. 

O— if it be death to him  
That did it, I have not the power to live  
Behind him.   Cor. 
Why, who was it then?  Ama. 

Myself,  
And therefore in my death your law is satisfied,  
The blood and act both mine.   Cla. 

It is not so,  
For had it been by her own hand, my skill  
Could have preserved her life.   Amar. 

It was myself,  
Or one as dear.   Cla. 
Who's that?  Ama. 

I'll rather dye  
Then name him, though it be a name I use  
Oft to repeat, and every repetition  
Is a new soul unto me: 'tis a name  
I have taught the birds to carol, every  
Laurel and Cedar bears it registered  
Upon his tender bark; it is a name  
In which is all the life I yet have left;  
A name I long to speak; yet I had rather  
Die all the several sorts of death twice over  
Then speak it once.   Clai. 

I charge thee by that duty  
Thou ow'st to me, Amarillis, that thou owest to me  
Who gave thee life.—   Pil. 
What should this mean Corymbus!  Cl. 

And by the womb that bore thee, by the breasts  
Of thy dead mother, Lalage,   Cor. 
This is strange.  Cla. 

Conceal him not! in plain, I am thy father  
Thy father, Amarillis, that commands thee  
By these grey hairs to tell me. I am Claius.   Pilum. 
How, Claius! and so fortunatly found!  Claius. 

ay, glut your hate, Pilumnus; let your soul  
That has so long thirsted to drink my blood,  
Swill till my veins are empty; and carouse  
Deep in my heart, till you grow drunk, and reel,  
And vomit up the surfeit, that your cruelty  
Quaffed off with so much pleasure; I have stood  
Long like a fatal oak, at which great jove  
Levels his thunder; all my boughs long since  
Blasted and withered; now the trunk falls too.  
Heaven end thy wrath in me!   Pilum. 

Blessed be Ceres!  
What unexpected happiness is here?  
Rejoice Sicilians; miserable lovers,  
Crown all your brows with roses, and adore  
The Deity that sent him: he is come  
Whose blood must quench the fire of Ceres' wrath,  
And kindle more auspicious flames of love  
In every breast.   Cla. 

ay, do, I fear not death.  
Let every Virgin's hand when I am slain  
Ring me a knell of Plaudits: let my Dirges  
Be amorous Ditties, and in stead of weeping  
Dance at my funeral! 'tis no grief for me  
To dye to make my countrymen some sport.  
Here's one in whom I only wish to live  
Another age.   Amar. 

What joy have I to live,  
That ne'er lived yet: the time that I have spent  
Since first I wept, then, when I first had entrance  
Into this world, this cold and sorrowful world,  
Was but a scene of sorrow; wretched I!  
Fatal to both my parents! For my birth  
Ruined my mother, and my death my father.  
O Tragic life! I either should have been  
Near borne, or ne'er have died. When I began  
To be, my sin began, why should it then  
Out live me? for, though now I cease to be,  
That still continues: Eyes, flow forth a pace,  
And be ashamed to see my wound run blood  
Faster than you drop tears—   Enter Damon. 

See, here he comes.  
His absence never until now I wished.   Dam. 

My Conscience brings me back, the feet of guilt  
Go slow and dull, 'tis hard to run away  
From that we bear about us!   Cla. 

The Murderer  
Is in this place, the issue of her blood  
Is stopped o'th' sudden. Cruel man, 'tis thou  
Hast done this bloody act, that will disgrace  
The story of our nation, and imprint  
So deep a blemish in the age we live in  
For savage Barbarism, that eternity  
Shall ne'er wear out: Pilumnus, on my knees  
I beg the justice of Sicilian laws  
Against this monster.   Pilum. 

Claius, 'tis your hate,  
And old revenge instructs you to accuse  
My Son: you would have fellows in your death,  
And to that purpose you pretend, I know not  
What mysteries of art!   Cla. 

Speak Amaryllis  
ist not this wolf?   Pilum. 
Say, virgin, was it he?  Ama. 

O, I am angry with my blood for stopping!  
This coward ebb against my will betrays me;  
The stream is turned, my eyes run faster now.   Pilum. 
Can you accuse my son?  Amar. 

By Ceres, no;  
I have no heart to do it: does that face  
Look cruel? do those eyes sparkle with hate,  
Or malice? Tell me, Father, looks that brow  
As if it could but frown? Say, can you think  
'tis possible Damon could have the heart  
To wound a Virgin? surely barbarous cruelty  
Dwells not in such a breast: mercy, and mildness,  
Courtesy, love, and sweetness breath in him,  
Not Anger, wrath, or murder; Damon was not  
Fed at a Thracian teat, Venus did send  
Her Doves to nurse him, and can he be cruel?  
Whence should he learn so much of barbarism  
As thus to wrong a Virgin? if he wound me  
'tis only from his eyes, where loves blind God  
Whets his piled arrows; He beside, you know,  
Had never cause to wrong me, for he knows  
Always I loved him: Father, do not wrong  
An innocent; his soul is white, and pure,  
'tis sin to think there lives a sin in him;  
Impiety to accuse him.   Clai. 

In his looks  
He carries guilt, whose horror breeds this strange  
And obstinate silence: shame, and his conscience  
Will not permit him to deny it.   Amar. 

'tis, alas,  
His modest, bashful nature, and pure innocence,  
That makes him silent: think you that bright rose  
That buds within his cheeks, was planted there  
By guilt or shame? no, he has always been  
So unacquainted with all act of sin,  
That but to be suspected strikes him dumb  
With wonder and amazement. For by Ceres  
(I think my oath be lawful) I myself  
Was cause of this.   Cla. 

Still I am confident  
'Twas he.   Pilum. 
It is your envy makes you so.   

SCEN. 9  

Alexis.  
Laurinda.   Lau. 

— I will Alexis,  
And so he must if oaths be any tie.   Alex. 

To lovers they are none, we break those bonds  
As easily as threads of silk: A bracelet  
Made of your maiden's hair's a stronger chain  
Then twenty cobweb oaths, which while we break  
Venus but laughs: it must be your persuasion  
That works him to it.   Lau. 

Damon, you must stand  
To what you promised, how shall I believe  
Those other oaths you swear, if you respect  
This one no better: It was my device  
To have her judge, was it not, Amarillis?  
How, all in blood!   Cla. 

Yes, this unmerciful man  
(If he be man that can do such a crime)  
Has wounded her.   Amar. 
Indeed it was not he.  Pil. 
You see herself frees him.  Lau. 

When last we left her  
She was with Damon.   Ama. 

Pray believe her not,  
She speaks it out of anger, I ne'er saw  
Damon to day before.   Alex. 

And when we left 'em  
He was incensed.   Amar. 

You are no competent witness;  
You are his Rival in Laurinda's love,  
And speak not truth but malice, 'tis a plot  
To ruin innocence.   Lau. 

O ungrateful man!  
The wolf that does devour the breast that nursed it  
Is not so bad as thou: here, here, this Letter  
Th' eternal Chronicle of affection,  
That aught with golden characters to be writ  
In Cupid's Annals, will (false man) convince thee  
Of fowl ingratitude: you shall hear me read it.   

The Letter.  
Laurinda, you have put it unto me  
To choose a husband for you, I will be  
A judge impartial, upright, just and true,  
Yet not so much unto myself as you.   Alex. 
Now I expect to hear my blessed doom.  Lau. 

Alexis well deserves, but Damon more;  
I wish you him I wished myself before.   Alex. 

O, I am ruined in the height of hope.  
How like the herb Solstitial is a lover,  
Now borne, now dead again, he buds, sprouts forth,  
Flourishes, ripens, withers in a minute.   Lau. 

Take him, the best of men, that ever eye  
Beheld, and live with him for whom I die.  
Amarillis.  
Here look on't.—   Dam. 

Writ with blood? o let me kiss  
My bill of Accusation! here my name  
Looks like my soul, all crimson, every line,  
Word, syllable, and letter, wears the livery  
Of my unnatural action. Amarillis  
That name of all is black, which was alone  
Worthy so precious ink; as if disdaining  
The character of cruelty, which the rest  
Were clothed in: for as if that word alone  
Did wear this mourning colour, to bewail  
The funeral of my virtue, that lies buried  
Here in this living tomb, this moving sepulchre.   Lau. 

Know murderer I hate thy bed, and thee,  
Unkind, unthankful villain.   Ama. 

Nay, Laurinda,  
You have bound yourself to stand to my award;  
The sentence now is past, and you must love him,  
It cannot be reversed; you are deceived,  
He is not guilty of this sin, his love  
To me, for mine, makes him against his conscience  
Seem to confess it, but believe him not.   Lau. 
Nor will, he is all falsehood, and ingratitude.  Da. 

Laurinda, you may spare in this harsh language  
To utter your dislike: had you a beauty  
More than immortal, and a face whose glory  
far outshined Angels, I would make my choice  
Here, and no where but here; her virtue now  
Moves a more noble flame within my breast  
Then ere your beauty did; I am enamoured  
More of her soul, then ever yet I doted  
Upon your face: I do confess the fact;  
Pardon me virtuous maid, for though the action  
Be worthy death, the object most condemns me!  
Take me to death Corymbus; Amarillis,  
I go to write my story of repentance  
With the same ink, wherewith thou wrotes before  
The legend of thy love, farewell, farewell.   Exeunt Corymb. Dam. Pil. 

Laurinda, and Alexis, do you call  
The Shepherds, and the virgins of Sicilia  
To see him sacrificed, whose death must make  
There loves more fortunate; this day shall be  
Happy to all Sicilians, but to me.  
Yet come thou cursed Claius, the sweet comfort  
Which I shall take when my revenge is done,  
Will something ease the sorrow for my son.   Clai. 

Amarillis, prithee call Amyntas to me,  
And Thestylis: I fain would have mine eye  
Behold them once again before I die.   Ex. Pil. Cla. Ale. 

Come my Laurinda, through how many chances,  
Suspicions, errors, sorrows, doubts, and fears  
Love leads us to our pleasures; many storms  
Have we sailed through my Sweet, but who could fear  
A tempest, that had hope to harbour here.   Ex. Alex. Lau. Amarillis sola. Amar. 

All, all but the distressed Amarillis  
Are happy, or less wretched; fair Laurinda  
Is ready for a wedding, old Pilumnus  
Hath lost a son, yet mitigates his grief  
In Claius death, my father Claius dies  
Yet joys to have the son of his old enemy  
A partner of his sorrows; my father loses  
Only himself; and Damon too no more;  
Amyntas but a father, only I  
Have lost all these; I have lost Claius, Damon,  
And myself too; A father with Amyntas,  
And all the rest in Damon, and which more  
Affects me, I am cause of all; Pilumnus  
Had not else lost his son, nor had Amyntas  
Wept for a Father, nor poor Thestylis  
Bewailed a brother; Damon might have lived,  
And Claius but for me; all circumstances  
Concurreto make my miseries complete,  
And sorrows perfect: for I lost my father  
As soon as I had found him, and my Damon  
As soon as I had found he loved me: thus  
All I can find is loss; o too too wretched,  
Distressed virgin! when they both are dead  
Visit their Ashes, and first weep an hour  
On Claius Urn, then go, and spend another  
At Damon's; thence again go wet the tomb  
Of thy dead father, and from thence return  
Back to thy lover's grave; thus spend thy age  
In sorrows; and till death do end thy cares  
Betwixt these two equally share thy tears.    
Finis Actus quarti.   

ACTUS 5.  

SCEN. 1.  Dorylas, and a Chorus of Swains. Dor. 

COme neighbours, let's go see the sacrifice  
Must make you happy lovers: oh 'twill be  
A fortunate season! Father Coridon,  
You and old mother Baucis shall be friends.  
The sheephook and the distaff shall shake hands.  
You lovely freeze-coats, nothing now but kissing,  
Kissing and culling, culling and kissing, heighday!  
In hope it will be one day so with me  
I am content to live. Now let's ascend.    

SCEN. 2.  

Alexis.  
Laurinda.  
Medorus.   Alex. 

Now my Laurinda, now (o happy now!)  
All lets that stood between my joy and me  
Are gone and fled.   Lau. 

Long, o too long, Alexis,  
My doubtful fancy wavered whom to love,  
Damon, or you; in both was happiness,  
But double happiness was my single misery:  
So fared it once, Alexis, (for I well  
Remember it) with one of my poor ewes,  
Equally moved between two tufts of grass,  
This tempting one way, that enticing t' other,  
Now she would this, then that, than this again,  
Until poor fool (true emblem of her mistress)  
She almost starved in choosing which to feed on;  
At last (so heaven pitied the innocent fool)  
A western gale nipped one, which being blasted  
She fed upon the other.   Ale. 
Pretty fool! le's now no more defer our nuptial (joys.  Med. 

How sweet a folly is this love? But rash youth, Alexis,  
(As youth is rash) runs indiscreetly on  
While mature judgement ripened by experience  
Stays for love's season.   Alex. 

Season? why, can love  
Be ever out of season?   Med. 

Yes, Alexis,  
Nothing's borne ripe, all things at first are green,   Alex. 
Lau. And such shall our affection still be seen.  Med. 

You are to hasty reapers that do call  
For Sickles in the spring:   Alex. 

Loves, harvest shall;  
(Lovers you know) his harvest ought to be  
All the year long.   Lau. 

In Cupid's husbandry,  
Who reaps not in the spring, reaps not at all.   Med. 

Women indeed too soon begin their fall.  
Yet till cursed Claius dye, as now he must,  
Alexis, and Laurinda, let my counsel  
Assuage the heat of youth; pray be persuaded  
A while for to defer your nuptial bliss;  
'Tis but a while.   Alex. 
A while in love's an age.  Lau. 
Maids in a while grow old.  Med. 
Temper loves fire.  Alex. 
'Tis but cold love that's temperate in desire.  Med. 

Yet, loving pair, stay till a fairer gale;  
He deserves shipwreck, ('tis the Mariners flout)  
And justly too, that in a storm sets out.   Lau. 
I will suppress my flame, (ah still it glows.)  Alex. 
And I, but how unwilling Cupid knows!  Med. 

'tis well; now let's go take our place, to see  
For our sad griefs a sadder remedy.    

SCEN. 3.  

Amyntas.  
Amarillis.   Amar. 

— Yes, it was he: he's in the temple brother,  
A place wherein he doth deserve a shrine,  
Yet is to him a prison; can you Gods  
Suffer the place that's reared unto your honours  
Be made so vile a thing?   Amyn. 

Pray give me entrance:  
I am not mad, (and yet I would I were)  
Am I not mad to wish so? Let me come  
And see him, sure you had yourself a father.  
Did you not wish to see him ere he died?  
If he be dead: we'll only pray a while,  
And weep; will tears pollute the hallowed Ompha?  
For we must shed them, yes, we cannot choose:  
Come sister, he will let us, for though Lalage  
Was our sad mother, yet the Gods will let us  
Weep for her: come, come Amarillis, come.   Exit.  

SCEN. 4.  

Mopsus.  
jocastus.   jocast. 
Brother, aread, what means his grace's favour?  Mop. 

It signifies you bear the bell away,  
From all his Grace's nobles.   Io. 

Divinely Augured;  
For this I'll make thee Augur to his grace.   Mop. 
Belwether of Knighthood, you shall bind me to you.  Io. 

I'll have't no more a sheep-bell; I am Knight  
Of the Mellisonant Tingle tangle.   Mop. 

Sure one of my progeny; tell me gracious brother,  
Was this Mellisonant Tingle tangle none  
Of old Actaeon's hounds?   Io. 

Ignorant mortal,  
Thou dost not understand the terms of honour.   Mop. 
How should I sir, my trees bear no such apples:  Io. 

As mine, th'Hesperian fruit are crabs to mine,  
Hence came the Knighthood, hence.   Mop. 
The fame whereof rings loud.  Io. 
We know it.  Mop. 

Four such knighthoods more  
Would make an excellent peal.   Io. 
I'll have 'em so.  Mop. 
But you must get a squirrel too.  Io. 
For what?  Mop. 
To ring your Knighthood's.  Io. 

I'll have any thing,  
His grace will not deny me, o sweet orchard.   Mop. 
To see the fruit that came of such an orchard!  Io. 
But shall we not see Claius sacrificed?  Mop. 
Oh by all means.  Io. 
But how deserved he death?  Mop. 

No matter for deserving it or no;  
'tis fit he suffer for example sake.   Io. 
And not offend?  Mop. 
'tis fit he should offend.  They take their places.  

SCEN. 5.  Pilumnus with a sacrificing knife, fire laid on the Altar, a Priest holding a Taper ready to kindle it, another Priest pouring water on Claius head, who was bound: Corymbus leading out Damon bound. Pil. 

Sicilians, Nature and religion  
Are at contention in me: my sad soul  
Divided 'twixt my Goddess and my son,  
Would in her strange distractions, either have me  
Turn Parricide or Apostate: Awful Ceres,  
For whom I feed the fattest of my Lambs,  
To whom I send the holiest of my prayers  
Upon the smoky wings of sweetest myrrh,  
Instruct thy doubtful Flamen! As I cannot  
Forget I am thy priest: for sooner shall  
Our Lambs forget to feed, our swains to sing,  
Our Bees forget first, from the fruitful Thyme  
To cull them bags of Nectar: everything  
Forget his nature, ere I can forget  
I am thy Priest: Nor can I but remember  
That Damon is my son: yet take him Ceres!  
You need not pour water upon his head,  
I'll do it with my tears. Ceres, I hope  
Thy anger will not bind the Father's eye  
To look into the Bowels of his son,  
I'll therefore first spill on thy hallowed Altar  
This Captives blood; and then retire myself  
Not to be present at my Damon's death  
Lest nature might turn Rebel to devotion.   

Song.  
Ceres, to whom we owe that yet  
We do not Mast and Acorns eat:  
That didst provide us better meat,  
The purest flower of finest wheat.  
This blood we spill at thy desire,  
To kindle, and to quench a ire.  
O let it quench thy flame of fire,  
And kindle mercies more entire.  
O let this guilty blood atone  
For every poor unlucky one;  
Nymph, or Swain, who ere do groan  
Under sad Loves imperious throne.  
That Love a happier age may see  
In thy long tortured Sicily.  
That blood which must th' Atonement be  
Thus Goddess, thus, we pay to thee!   

Amyntas.  
Amarillis.   Amy. 

Stay, stay that impious hand, whose hasty zeal  
Thinks murder can appease the Goddess wrath!  
If it be murder must appease her wrath,  
What is't can move her anger? Do not then,  
Do not pollute her Altar, lest it keep  
The crimson stain of blood, and blush for ever,  
At this too cruel, ignorant devotion.   Pil. 
Avoid the mad man.  Amyn. 

Why Pilumnus, Why?  
By the dread Ompha, spare this guilty blood,  
And I'll expound the Oracle.   Amyn. 
What fire has yet his blood or quenched or kindled?  Pil. 

Why it hath quenched the sadder flames of love,  
And more auspicious fires begin to move.   Amyn. 

Where? in what breast? No love in all Trinacria  
But under Cupid's sceptre faints and groans  
More now then ever. Thy unfortunate Damon,  
And more unfortunate Amarillis stand  
A sad example; Thy Urania  
(O sad sweet name!) may with her poor Amintas  
Witness his tyrannous reign: here in Sicilia  
Turtles grow jealous, Doves are turned unchaste,  
The very Pellica●…s of Trinacria●… woods  
Are found unnatural, and thirst the blood  
Of their young brood, (alas who can believe it?)  
Whom they were wont to suckle with their own.  
O wretched season! Bitter fruits of love!  
The very Storks with us are Parricides.  
Nay even the senseless trees are sensible  
Of this imperious rage: the gentle Vine  
(The happy emblem once of happier Lovers)  
That with such amorous twines, and close embraces  
Did cling about the loved-loving elm,  
With slacker branches now falls down and withers:  
If then to add more fuel to the flame,  
To pour in oil and sulphur be to quench it,  
The flame is quenched. Nor are you he, Pilumnus,  
That must expound the Oracle, 'Tis a wit  
Such as mine is neglected, that must hit  
The Goddess meaning: you, the living Oracle  
Of Sicily, the breathing Ompha of the Kingdom  
Will misconceive the Goddess; you are wise  
Skilled in the virtues of all herbs, and flowers,  
What makes our Ewes ean best, what keeps them sound;  
Can tell us all the mysteries of heaven,  
The number, height, and motion of the stars;  
'tis a mad brain, an intellect, you scorn  
That must untie this riddle.   Pil. 

But I know  
The wrath of Ceres cannot be appeased  
But by the blood of Claius.   Amy. 
So it is.  Pil. 

How can that be? yet his accursed gore  
Hath not imbrued the Altar.   Amyn. 

But his blood  
Hath been already shed in Amarillis:  
She is his blood, so is Urania yours,  
And Damon is your blood; That is the blood  
The Goddess aims at, that must still her ire,  
For her blood hath both quenched and kindled fire.   Pil. 
What hath it quenched or kindled?  Amyn. 

Love, the fire  
That must be quenched and kindled. Damon's love  
To his Laurinda in that blood extinguished,  
Is by that powerful blood kindled anew  
To Amarillis, now grown his desire:  
Thus Claius blood hath quenched and kindled fire.   All. 
Amyntas, Amyntas, Amyntas, Amyntas.  Pil. 

And is the fire of my Damon kindled  
But to be quenched again: Ceres! a frost  
Dwell on thy Altars, ere my zeal renew  
Religious fires to warme'em.   Amyn. 

Spare these blasphemies,  
For Damon is acquitted & affoiled  
Of any trespass.   Pil. 

How Amyntas? speak!  
Thou that hast saved a Father, save a son.   Amyn. 

Thus, Amarillis is the Sacrifice  
The Goddess aimed at: and the blood of Sacrifice  
(As you all know) may lawfully be spilt  
Even in the Holy vale, and so it was;  
Besides your Damon is a Priest by birth,  
And therefore by that Title, he may spill  
The sacrificed Amarillis blood.  
If this interpretation be not true,  
Speak you Sicilians, I'll be judged by you.   All. 
Amyntas, Amyntas, Amyntas, Amyntas.  Pil. 

Amyntas, thou hast now made full amends  
For my Philebus' death; Claius all envy,  
Envy the viper of a venomous soul  
Shall quit my breast: This is the man, Sicilians,  
The man to whom you owe your liberties;  
Go Virgins, and with Roses strew his way,  
Crown him with violets, and lily wreathes;  
Cut off your golden tresses, and from them  
Wove him a robe of love: Damon, pay here  
The debt of duty that thou ow'st to me;  
Hence was thy second birth.   Da. 

Or hither rather:  
The Balsam of Sicilia flowed from hence,  
Hence from this scarlet torrent, whose each drop  
Might ransom Cupid were he captive ta'en.   Amaril. 

How much owe I my Damon, whose blessed hand  
Made me the public sacrifice! could I shed  
As many drops of blood, even from the heart,  
As Arethusa drops of water can,  
I would outvie her at the fullest tide,  
That other Virgin's loves might happy be,  
And mine my Damon be as blessed in thee.   Clai. 

O what a shower of joy falls from mine eyes!  
The now too fortunate Claius! my Amyntas,  
My Amarillis, how shall I divide  
My tears and joys betwixt you!   Pil. 

Lovers come,  
Come all with flowery chaplets on your brows,  
And singing Hymns to Ceres, walk around  
This happy village; to express our glee  
This day each year shall Cupid's triumphs be.   Amyn. 

Still my impossible Dowry for Urania  
Leaves me unfortunate in the midst of joy;  
Yet out of piety I will here a while  
(Though blessed I am not till she be my bride)  
In public joys lay private griefs aside.   Exeunt cum Choro cantantium▪ Io. 

And I'll go fetch the youngsters of the town,  
The mortal Fairies, and the lasses brown,  
To bring spiced cakes, and ale, to dance and play,  
Queen Mab herself shall keep it holiday.   Exit. Mop. 

Ah Dorilas that I could not have the wit  
To have been a mad man rather than a fool.  
I have lost the credit.   Dor. 

'tis no matter  
You shall have Thestylis,   Mop. 

Shall I, Dorylas,  
I had as live interpret her as Oracles.   Dor. 
And here she comes, give me your quail pipe, hark you.—  Exit. Enter Thestylis. Mop. 

Now, Thestylis, thou shalt mine Oracle be,  
Hence forth I will interpret none but thee.   Thes. 
Why have the birds (my Mopsus) counseled so?  Mop. 
They say I must, whether you will or Noah.  Thes. 
How know I that?  Mop. 

The birds do speak it plain. Dorilas with a quail pipe.  
Hark, Thestylis, the birds say so again.   Thes. 
I understand them not.  Mop. 

Will you be judged  
By th'next we meet?   Thes. 

Mopsus, I am content,  
So you will stand unto it as well as I.   Mop. 
By Ceres, Thestylis, most willingly.  Enter Dorylas. Mop. 
Ah Dorilus, heard you what the birds did say?  Dor. 
I Mopsus, you are a happy man to day.  Mop. 
What said they boy?  Dor. 
As if you did not know.  Mop. 
But Thestylis.  Dor. 

Why sure she understands it,  
Have you to her this language never read?   Mop. 
No, Dorylas, I can teach her best in bed.  Dor. 

The Birds said twice: (as you full well do know)  
You must have Thestylis whether she will or no.   Thes. 

And am I caught? 'tis no great matter though;  
For this time Mopsus I will marry thee;  
The next I wed, by Pan, shall wiser be!   Mop. 
And have I got thee? thanks my witty boy.  Do. 
Hark, Thestylis, the birds do bid you joy.  Thes. 
For fooling Mopsus, now 'tis time give over.  Mop. 
Mad man I may, but will be fool no more.  Thes. 

Mad after marriage as a fool before.  
For he's a fool that weds, all wives being bad;  
And she's a fool makes not her husband mad.    

SCEN. 6.  jocastus with a Morris, himself maid Marrian, Bromius the Clown. Dor. 

See, Mopsus, see, here comes your Fairy brother,  
Hark you, for one good turn deserves another.   Exeunt Dor. Mop. jocast. 

I did not think there had been such delight  
In any mortal Morris, they do caper  
Like quarter Fairies at the least: by my Knighthood,  
And by this sweet Mellisonant Tingle tangle,  
The ensign of my glory, you shall be  
Of Oberon's Revels.   Bro. 

What to do I pray?  
To dance away your Apples.   jocas. 

Surely mortal,  
Thou art not fit for any office there.   Enter Dorylas like the King of Fairies. Mopsus. Io. 

See, blind mortal, see,  
With what a port, what grace, what majesty  
This princely Oberon comes, your Grace is welcome.   Do. 

A beauteous Lady, bright, and rare,  
Queen Mab herself is not so fair.   Io. 
Does your grace take me for a woman then?  Do. 

Yes beauteous virgin; Thy each part  
Has shot an arrow through my heart;  
Thy blazing eye, thy lip so thin,  
Thy azure cheek, & crystal chin,  
Thy rainbow brow, with many a rose;  
Thy saphire ears, and ruby nose,  
All wound my soul, O gentle be  
Or Lady you will ruin me.   Io. 

Bromius, what shall I do? I am no woman!  
If geelding of me will preserve your grace,  
With all my heart.   Bro. 

No master, let him rather  
Steal away all your orchard Apples.   Io. 

I and shall,  
Beauteous Queen Mab may lose her longing else.   Do. 

How's this? are you no woman then?  
Can such bright beauty live with men?   Io. 
An't please your grace I am your Knight jocastus.  Do. 

Indeed I thought no man but he  
Could of such perfect beauty be.   Io. 
Cannot your Grace distil me to a woman.  Do. 

I have an herb, they Moly call,  
Can change thy shape (my sweet) and shall.  
To taste this Moly but agree,  
And thou shalt perfect woman be.   Io. 

With all my heart; ne'er let me move  
But I am up to th'ears in love.  
But what if I do marry thee?   Do. 
My Queen jocasta thou shalt be:  Io. 

Sweet Moly! pray let Bromius have some Moly too,  
he'll make a very pretty waiting maid.   Bro. 
No indeed forsooth, you have Ladies enough already.  Do. 

Half your estate then give to me,  
Else, you being gone, there none will be,  
Whose Orchard I dare here frequent.   Io. 
Sweet Oberon, I am content.  Do. 
The other half let Mopsus take.  Io. 
And Thestylis a jointure make.  Bro. 
Why master, are you mad?  Io. 

Your mistress sirrah.  
Our grace has said it, and it shall be so.   Bro. 
What, will you give away all your estate?  Io. 

We have enough beside in Fairy land.  
You Thestylis shall be our maid of honour.   Thes. 
I humbly thank your Grace.  Io. 

Come Princely Oberon,  
I long to taste this Moly: pray bestow  
The Knighthood of the Mellisonant Tingle tangle,  
Upon our brother Mopsus, we will raise  
All of our house to honours.   Mop. 
Gracious sister!  Io. 
I always thought I was borne to be a Queen.  Do. 

Come let us walk, majestic Queen,  
Of Fairy mortals to be seen.  
In chairs of Pearl thou placed shalt be,  
And Empresses shall envy thee,  
When they behold upon our throne  
jocasta with her— Dorilas.   All. 
Ha, ha, ha!  Io. 
Am I deceived and cheated, gulled and fooled?  Mop. 
Alas sir you were borne to be a Queen.  Io. 
My lands, my livings, and my orchard gone?  Dor. 
Your grace hath said it, and it must be so.  Bro. 
You have enough beside in Fairy land.  Thes. 
What would your Grace command your maid of honour?  Dor. 

Well I restore your lands: only the orchared  
I will reserve for fear Queen Mab should long.   Mop. 

Part I'll restore unto my liberal sister  
In lieu of my great Knighthood.   Thes. 
Part give I.  Io. 
I am beholding to your liberality.  Bro. 

I'll some thing give as well as do the rest,  
Take my fool's coat, for you deserve it best.   Io. 
I shall grow wiser.  Dor. 
Oberon will be glad on't  Thes. 

I must go call Urania that she may  
Come vow Virginity.   Exit.  

SCEN. 7.  

Pilumnus.  
Amyntas. etc.   Amyn. 

Ceres, I do thank thee,  
That I am author of this public joy:  
But is it justice (Goddess) I alone  
Should have no share in't? Every one I see  
Is happy but myself that made 'em so,  
And my Urania that should most be so.  
I thirst amidst the Bowls; when others sit  
Quaffing off Nectar, I but hold the cup;  
And stand a sadder Tantalus of love,  
Starving in all this plenty; Cere's Demand  
Feeds me with gall; stretching my doubtful thoughts  
On many thousand racks: I would my Dowry  
Was all the gold of Tagas, or the ore  
Of bright Pactolus' channel:— But, Urania,  
'tis hid, alas I know not what it is.    

SCEN. 8.  

Urania.  
Thestylis.   

My Thestylis, since first the Sea-gods Trident  
Did rule the small three pointed piece of earth  
Of this our conquering soil, it has not been  
A place of so much story as to day,  
So full of wonders: O 'twill serve (my Thestylis)  
For our discourse when we go foled our Ewes,  
Those Shepherds that another day shall keep  
Their Kids upon these mountains shall for ever  
Relate the miracle to their wondering Nymphs,  
Of my Urania; it will fill their ears  
With admiration.   Thes. 
Sir, Vrania's here.  Amyn. 

How! in this habit! This me thinks befits not  
A Lover, my Urania.   Vra. 

Yes, Amyntas.  
This habit well befits a Virgin's life.  
For since my Dowry never can be paid  
Thus for thy sake I'll live and dye a maid.   Amyn. 

O is it just, so fair a one as you  
Should vow Virginity? must the sacred womb  
Of my Urania fit to have brought forth  
A fruitful race of Gods, be ever barren?  
Never expect Lucina? shall this beauty  
Live but one age? how cursed is our posterity  
That shall have no Vrania's! can one Tomb  
Contain all goodness? Ceres rather blast  
The corn thou gav'st us: let the earth grow barren;  
These trees, and flowers whither eternally;  
Let our Ploughs toil in vain; and let there be  
No more a harvest: Every loss is small,  
Yea though the Phoenix self should burn to ashes  
And ne'er revive again! But let there be  
Some more Vrania's—   Pilum. 

'tis necessity,  
We must obey.   Amyn. 

But yet Urania,  
I hope we may sometimes come pray together;  
'Tis not profane, and midst our sacred Orisons  
Change a chaste kiss or two; or shall I too  
Turn Virgin with thee?— But I fool myself,  
The Gods intent to cross us, and in vain  
We strive (Urania) to cross them again.   Urania's kneeling before the Ompha. Vran. 

Great Ceres, for thy daughter Proserpina's sake  
Ravished by Pluto from Sicilian plains  
To reign with him Queen of Elysian shades,  
Accept the sacrifice of a Virgin, for  
It is thy Pleasure, thine, by whom the earth  
And every thing grows fruitful, to have me  
Be ever barren: Thy impossible Dowry,  
Makes me despair to be Amyntas' bride;  
Therefore that cold chaste snow that never should  
Have melted but betwixt his amorous arms  
I vow unto thy Cloister (Awful Goddess!)  
Almighty Ceres, is not this life holy   Echo. 
Folly.  

Better than live in an unhappy love?   Ec. 
Happy love▪  

Be judge ye woods, & let Amyntas speak.   Ec. 
Amyntas, speak.  Pil. 

The Goddess is well pleased, she deigns to answer  
By gracious Echoes; go Amyntas speak.   Amyn. 

Why, will she answer me before Urania?  
No, 'twas the music of her Angel's voice,  
Whose heavenly Accents with such charming notes  
Ravished the Goddess ears, she could not choose  
But bear a part in that harmonious song;  
Yet if she will after such melody  
Endure to hear the harsh Amyntas speak.   Ec. 
Amyntas, speak.  

When wilt thou think my torments are enough?   Ec. 
Now.  

Alas, how is it possible I should hope it?   Echo. 
Hope it.  

How shall I pay the Dowry that you ask me?   Echo. 
Ask me.  

I ask a Dowry to be made a Husband.   Echo. 
A Husband.  

Answer directly to what I said last.   Echo. 
What I said last.  

A Husband, Ceres? Why is that the guess?   Ec. 
Yes.  

That which I have not, may not, cannot have,—  
I have not, may not, cannot have a Husband.  
'tis true, I am a man, nor would I change  
My sex, to be the Empress of the world.  
Urania, take thy Dowry, 'tis myself;  
A Husband, take it.   Vran. 

'tis the richest Dowry  
That ere my most ambitious prayers could beg▪  
But I will bring a portion, my Amyntas,  
Shall equal it, if it can equalled be:  
That which I have not, may not, cannot have  
Shall be thy portion, 'tis a wife, Amyntas   Amyn. 

Should greater Queens woo me in all their Pride,  
And in their laps bring me the wealth of worlds,  
I should prefer this portion 'fore the best▪  
Thanks Ceres, that hast made us both be blessed.   Echo. 
Be blessed.  Clai. 

Pilumnus, let us now grow young again,  
And like two trees robbed of their leafy boughs  
By winter, age, and Boreas keener breath,  
Sprout forth and bud again: This spring of joy  
Cuts forty years away from the grey sum.  
Once more in triumph let us walk the Village!   Pilum. 

But first I will entreat this company  
To deign to take part in this public joy.   

Pilumnus Epilogizes.  
All Loves are happy, none with us there be,  
Now sick of coyness, or unconstancy.  
The wealthy sums of Kisses do amount  
To greater scores then curious art can count!  
Each eye is fixed upon his Mistress face,  
And every arm is locked in some embrace.  
Each cheek is dimpled; every lip doth smile:  
Such happiness I wish this blessed Isle,  
This little world of Lovers: and lest you  
Should think this bliss no real joys, nor true,  
Would every Lady in this orb might see  
Their Loves as happy as we say they be!  
And for you gentle youths, whose tender hearts  
Are not shot proof against love and Cupid's darts;  
These are my Prayers, (I would those prayers were charms)  
That each had here his Mistress in his arms.  
True Lovers, (for 'tis truth gives love delight)  
To you our Authors only means to wright.  
If he have pleased (as yet he doubtful stands)  
For his applause clap lips instead of Hands.  
He begs nor Bays, nor Ivy; only this,  
Seal his wished Plaudite with an amorous Kiss.   Exeunt Cantantes.   
FINIS.