Lè Horè di recreatione or The pleasant History of ALBINO and BELLAMA to which is annexed il insonio in: sonodado or the vindication of, Poesy by N: W: M: A:  
London Printed for Charles Greene 1637    

Le hore direcreatione: OR, THE PLEASANT HISTORY OF Albino and Bellama.  
Discovering the several changes of Fortune, in CUPIDS journey to HYMEN'S joys.  
To which is annexed, Il Insonio Insonadado, or a sleeping-waking Dream, vindicating the divine breath of Poesy from the tongue-lashes of some Cynical Poet-quippers, and Stoical Philo-prosers.  
By N. W. Master in Arts, of Queen's College in Cambridge.  
— Semel in anno ridet Apollo.  
Ergo,  
Nèmeametratibi Musâ composta jocosâ,  
Delibatapriùs quám sint contempta relinquas.  
LONDON, Printed by J. D. for C. G. and are to be sold at the Prince's Arms in Paul's churchyard.  
1637.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, RIGHT Worthy, and truly ennobled Hero, JOHN, Lord Loveliss, Baron of HURLEY, N. W. S. P. O.  
THE Law-enactors, whilst time feared the rod,  
Feigned in their laws, the presence of a god,  
Whose awful nod, & wisdom grave should b●  
As hand and signet unto their decree▪  
And such commanding awe that sacred name  
Struck in the vulgar breasts, it teened a flame  
Of Love and duty to their pious hefts.  
Thus Rhadamanthus in his laws invests  
Him, whom prophaner times styled Heavens King▪  
Minos and others strike the selfsame string.  
The Moral's mine: for in this quirking season  
When pride and envy steer the Helm of reason▪  
Itis, has with Presse-taskers been in use  
To press the issue of their prose and Muse  
Under the Ensigns of some worthy Peer,  
Whose very name unsatyr can a jeer,  
And lock detraction up in beds of clay  
To sleep their suns as Reare-mices do the day.  
Then do they bravely march with honour armed,  
Which, as the gods, the people, charmeth, charmed,  
On this known privilege feet I these lines,  
In which, though dimmer than your native, shines  
Your worth, enfired by my kneed quill,  
Which claims the scale not of deserts, but will,  
In your acceptance and the world's surmise  
Then Cynics bark and Critekes beam your eyes.  
My quill's no pencil to emblason forth  
Your stainless honour and your matchless worth,  
As dust-borne flies which 'bout the candle play  
Glide throughits arch, en-circle, fan, survey,  
Wink at the presence of days beamy blaze,  
Pur on the glass, or on hearb-pillowes laze,  
Just so my downy Muse in Distiques dare  
Feet the perfection of a silklesse fair  
Pumex each parr so trimly that her foe  
Swears her cheeks roses and her bosom snow,  
Nay has strewed flowers of desertless praise  
T' adorn the Tomb of good Sir worthy Crayse,  
Under this (ah me) stone is laid (alas!)  
A man,— a knight— the best that ever was  
His prowess war, his wisdom state did prove,  
His kindness kindred, and the world his love.  
But when she should with her weak feathers soar  
To court a star, or with her feeble oar  
Strike such a sea of worth, ride honours ring.  
She dares not touch, or snaffle, sail or wing,  
Only as he which limbed those tears and sighs,  
Which Iphigenias' death, from hearts and eyes  
Of kindred drew, but o'er her father's brow  
(Telling the world he mourud without an how,)  
He drew a veil spoke sorrow in excess,  
So with a— must my muse express  
Your sacred worth, concluding it to be  
Too high for any Bard, if not, for me,  
Beside, the world of late has nicknamed praise  
Calls it an elbow-claw and scraping bays,  
Then pardon (Sir) this dearth, and judge the why  
Is your worth soared above Parnasse's eye  
Let not your slights or nescio's (though most just)  
Condemn my muse to be en-seild with dust,  
Nor let presumption hoist to your embrace  
But rather let your honour bate its place  
And stoop unto my measures, since the name  
Of Patron awes oft times the breath of fame  
And by this honour shall you ere en-gage  
The knee, hand▪ duty, air and thriving age  
Of your honours ever humbly devoted, N. W.   

To the Reader.  
COurteous Reader: For to such I writ,  
With native candour view this chequered white,  
Be truly eandid to a candidate,  
Whom importunings force to ante-date  
The travails of his quill, and like a grap●  
Ere ripened, press it, yet if I escape  
The censure of these times, this Critic age,  
My Muse (like Parrots) in a wire cage  
Shall not do penance; but I'll not promise it,  
'Cause it doth too much o'th' lips of greatness s●●.  
And 'tis a fault for me to sympathise,  
I bring no antic mask in strange disguise,  
No sharp invective, nor no Comic mirth,  
Which may to laughter give an easy birth.  
Though 'tis in use with them that seek to please  
These humorous times (it being a disease  
●alfe Epidemical, to keep a phrase  
Or fancy at staff's end, nought merits praise,  
Unless with quibbels every staff does end,  
Conceited jests, which unto lightness tend)  
Though every page swells with ingenuous plots,  
Yet cry our carp, the Authors are but sots.  
An Elbow-pillow or a motley coat,  
With them are now the chiefest men of note,  
But I, nor am, nor hope that name to gain,  
Of Panto mimic yet did nature deign,  
The Optick-glasse of Humours to descry,  
Each man's rank humour only by the eye,  
I would have tuned my Muse, that every page,  
Might swell with humours suiting to this age,  
This leaf should talk of love, and that of stat●,  
This, of alarms, that of wonders prate,  
This of Knights Errante, of Enchantement that,  
This to the itching ears of novels chat,  
But— since my starved Fortune's mist that, I have drawn  
A picture shadowed over with double lawn,  
Lest some quick Lyncist with a piercing eye,  
Should the young footsteps of a truth espy,  
Yet something I confess was borne of late,  
(Which makes me age it with an ancient date,  
But let no antick-hunter post to Stow,  
To trace out truth upon his even snow,  
Annals are dumb of such and such a Lord,  
Nor of our amorous pair speak half a word,  
Monastic writs do not Bellama limb  
Nor Abbey-roules do teem a line of him,  
This story has no sires (as 'tis the use)  
But weak invention, and a feeble Muse,  
These are the parents, that abortive birth  
Give to this Embryo of desired mirth,  
Which in the author's name, does humbly crave  
A charitable censure or a grave,  
The purest-boulted flower that is, has bran.  
Venus' her Naeve, Helen her stain, nor can,  
I think these lines are censure-frec, empaled,  
By th' muses, and 'gainst envies javelins maled,  
Yet where the faults but whisper, use thy pen  
With the quodnon vis of the Heathen men.  
And if the crimes do in loud Echoes speak  
Thy sponge, but not with lashing Satyrs break  
That sacred bond of friendship, for it may be  
I may hereafter do as much for thee,  
Nor do thou think to trample on my Muse,  
Nor in thy lofty third-ayre braves accuse  
My breast of faintness or the ballad-whine,  
For know my heart is full as big as thine,  
And as pure fire heats my octavo bulk  
As the grand-fclio, or the Reamish bulk  
If but opposed with envye but unless  
I truly am what these few words express,  
Thy ready Friend, N. W.   

TO THE RIGHT virtuous and equally beautiful, Sra Inconstanza Bellarizza.  
FAIREST,  
WHEN by much gazing on those glittering beams,  
Which (if unmasked) from days bright Henchman streams,  
The Rascians eyes do gain the curse of years,  
The Loadstones swarthy hue their tapers clears.  
When Unicorns have gluts or surfeits ta'en  
By browsing Lycoras, they to regain  
Their stomaches, and a cure, crash bitter grass:  
I leave the application, 'tis a glass  
Wherein the dimmest eye may plainly see  
What's due to me from you, to you from me.  
But— I'll only tell the world, that for your sake  
My willing Muse this task did underrake  
At hours of recreation, when a thought  
Of your choice worth, this, and this fancy brought.  
Some to the bar will call the truth hereof,  
Some wonder why? some pass it by, some scoff,  
Because in this full harvest of your sex,  
●mongst such thousands glean your name t'annex  
Unto, and usher in these wanton verses,  
Some will be apt to think my pen rehearses  
Love passions 'twixt yourself and some choice he,  
(The world I know will not suspect 'tis me)  
And that I age it, lest quick eyes should see;  
But in this thought I'm silent, thoughts are free.  
Indeed your worth doth just proportion hold  
With this high worth which of Bellama's told,  
And well my knowledge can inform my pen  
To raise a spite in women, love in men.  
And if the Fates befriend me, that my thread  
Out-measures yours (your worth asleep, not dead,  
For such worth cannot dye) I then will say,  
You equalled her, and was— (but truth away)  
If these, dull melancholy, grief, or sleep,  
From any prone thereto, at distance keep,  
Let unto you their tribute thankes be paid,  
For my invention by your worth was raid,  
My fancy raised, enlivened and inspired,  
That my quick Muse my agile hand has tired,  
Nay more, me thinks I might unchidden call  
You, subject, object of this Poem all,  
And all in this acknowledgement may trim,  
You prosed this Poem, but 'twas versed by him  
Who styles himself your servant, N. W.   

THE AUTHORS' APOLOGY.  
SOme rigid Stoic will (I doubt not) shoot  
A quipping censure at this wanton fruit,  
And say, I better might have used my talons,  
Than t'humour Ladies, and perfumed gallants.  
Know such, that pamphlets writ in meeter, measure  
As much invention, judgement, wit, as pleasure,  
All learning's not locked up in sis and tums.  
Roses, Pinks, Violets, as well as gums,  
Some native fragour have to equal Civet,  
Minerva does not all her treasures rivet  
Into the screws of Obs and Sols: but we  
Are seaborn birds, and as our pedigree  
Came sailing over from Normandy and Troy,  
So we must have our pretty Ermine joy.  
One part Italian, and of French the other,  
Stout Belgia be her Sire, and Spain her mother.  
So our apparel is so strange and antic,  
That our great grandsires sure would call us frantic  
And should they see us on our knees for blessing,  
They'd scue aside, as frighted at our dressing.  
We pack so many Nations up, that we  
We are Spain in waste, and France below the knee.  
Thus are our backs affected, and indeed  
Our brains do travaie with the selfsame meed.  
we're Chaldees, Hebrews, Latins, Greeks, and yet  
But few pure Englishmen are laptin jet.  
We scorn our mother language, and had rather  
Say Pater noster twice, than once Our Father.  
This makes our Pulpits Linsy-wolsie stut,  
When buskined stages in stiff satin strut.  
Nay clowns can say, this Parson knows enough,  
But that his language does his knowledge blough:  
Is it not time to polish then our Welsh,  
When Hinds and Peasants such invectives belch?  
Then English bravely study, 'tis no shame  
For grave Divines to win an English fame.  
I've heard a worthy man approved for learning,  
Say, that in Plays and Rhythms we may be earning  
Both wit and knowledge, and that Sidney-prose  
Out-musickes' T●lly, if it scape the nose  
Then purged from gall (ingenuous friends) peruse,  
And though you chide the Author, spare the Muse.  
N. W.   

The Author to his Book.  
Go gall-less infant of my teeming Quill,  
Not yet bedewed in Syracusa's rill,  
And like a forward Plover gadst abroad,  
Ere shell-free, or before full age has strewed  
On thy smooth back a coat of feathers,  
To arm thee 'gainst the force of weathers,  
Doomed to the censure of all Ages,  
Ere maled against the youngest rages,  
Perchance some Nobles will thee view,  
Smile atthee, on thee, like thee new,  
But when white age has wrinkled thee,  
Will slight thy measures, laugh at me,  
At first view called pretty,  
And perchance styled witty  
By some Ladies, until thou  
Wearest furrows on thy brow.  
Some plumed Gallants may  
Unclasp thy leaves and say,  
Th'artmirthful, but er● long  
Give place unto a Song.  
Some courteous Scholar  
Purged from all choler,  
May like, but at last,  
Say thou spoylst his taste,  
First, Lawyers will  
Commend thy skill,  
Last, throw thy wit  
With Trin●ts writ  
Chamber she's  
On their knees  
will thee praise,  
and thy bays,  
At first,  
till thirst  
of new  
death you,  
than all  
men shall  
Flee  
thee  
Be  
me.   

THis is thy doom, I by prophetic spirit,  
Presage will be the guerdon of my merit:  
Yet be no Burr, no trencher-flye, nor hound,  
To fawn on them whose tongs thy measures wound.  
Nor beg those niggards eyes, who grudge to see  
A watch unwound in perusing thee.  
And if state-scratchers do condemn thy jests,  
For ruffling satins, and bespangled vests,  
Tell them they're cozened, and in vain they puff,  
Thou neither aim'st at halfe-ell band or ruff;  
And if thy lines perchance some Ermines gash,  
'tis not thy fault, 'twas no intended lash.  
Thy pencil limbs Don Fuco's portraiture,  
And only dost his native worth immure  
Within these tilick rinds: nor is thy rage  
Against the Cow lists of this youngest age.  
Thy rhythms cry Pax to all, nor dost thou scatter  
Abuses on their shrines, their Saints, or water;  
And if some civil satire lash thee back,  
Because he reads my title, sees my black,  
Answer i'th' Poet's phrase, and tell them more,  
My tale of years had scarce out-sumed a score  
When my young fancy these light measures meant  
The Press: but Fate since cancelled that intent,  
Nor claimed the Church as then a greater part  
In me than others, bate my title Art—  
But now the scene is changed? confessed it is  
Must we abjure all youth, borne, bury this?  
Such closet death's desertless, in this glass  
Read not what now I am, but then I was:  
In this reflection may the gravest see  
How true we suit, I, this, and this with me.  
These thorns picked out, whose venom might have bred  
A gangrene in thy Reader, struck thee dead.  
Thou mayst perhaps invited be to court,  
And have a brace of smiles t'approve thy sport.  
Those, whose grave wisdoms, Wise do them entitle▪  
(Whose learned nods low dignorance can stifle)  
Some of times numbers on thy lines will scatter,  
If not called from thee bv some higher matter,  
Laugh out a rubber, like, and say 'tis good  
For pleasure, youth and leisure, wholesome food.  
Some jigging Silk-canary, newly bloomed,  
When he is crisped, bathed, oiled, perfumed,  
(Which till the second chime, will scarce be done)  
Upon thy feet will make his crystals run,  
Commend the author, vow him service ever,  
But from such things his Genius him deliver.  
Some sleeked Nymphs, of country, city, court,  
Will, next their Dogs and Monkeys, like thy sport,  
Smile, and admire, and wearied will (perhaps)  
Lay thee to sleep encurtaind in their laps,  
Oh happy thou! who would not wish to be  
(To gain such dainty lodging) such, or thee?  
Say, to please them, the Poet undertook  
To make thee from a sheet thrive to a book,  
And if he has to beauty given a gem,  
He challengeth a deck of thankes from them:  
And if some winning creature smile on thee,  
She shall his L. and his Bellama be.  
Betwixt eleven and one, some pro and con  
Will snatch a fancy from thee, and put on  
A glove or ring of thine to court his lass,  
Twixt Term and Term, when they are turned to grass.  
Some Titius will lay by his wax and books,  
And nim a phrase to bait his amorous hooks.  
But stay, I shall be chid, me thinks I hear  
A censure spreadits wings to reach my ear,  
Tell me I am conceited: then no more,  
Go take thy chance, I turn thee out o'th' door.   


Mart. ad lib. suum. Epig 4.  
Aetherias lascive cupis volitare per aur as,  
I, fuge, sed poter as tutior esse domi.   

Mart. lib. 4.  
Sivis auribus Aulicis probari  
Exhortor, moneoque te libelle,  
 docto place as Apollinari,  
Nam si pectore te tenebit ore,  
Nec ronchos metues maligniorum  
Nec scombris tunic as dabis molest as  
Et cum carmina floridis Camoenis,  
Litesque, gloriam can as poetum  
Non est pollicem capitis ver áris.    

To his loving friend the Author.  
TO laud thy Muse, or thee, to crown with praise▪  
Is but to light my Tapers to the rays  
Of gold-lockt Phoebus, since the Scheame  
Of fabled truth, thy waking, seeming dream;  
Thyever-living-loving fame in Arts,  
Of Arts, to us in whole and part imparts.  
In Arts, thy judgement, phrase, invention,  
Of Arts, thy Poet's Vindication.  
In mourning Elegies I admied thy skill,  
In mirthful Lays we now admire thy quill.  
Let Albine, Bellame, by thee live in fame,  
Riv'lezzo, Beldame Pazza live in shame.  
Lash on and slash the vice of shaved crowns,  
In thy Bardino, Nuns, and Sylvane clowns.  
Give virtue beauty, beauty desert and praise,  
And that thy Monument of Brass shall raise.   

To the Reader.  
REader take heed, complain not of the sting,  
Lest others of thy galled sores do sing.  
No faulty person, party here is meant,  
Only the vice oth'age and place is shent.  
He that expounds it of himself, doth show  
Some guilty fault, or vice from him doth flow,  
If touched to th'quick, conceal and them amend,  
So 'gainst thee shall all scourging Satyrs end.  
William Purifey Rector Ecclesiae de Markefield.   

To his loving Kinsman the Author.  
WHen first I viewed the travails of thy quill,  
I liked, approved, admired thy nimble skill,  
In sudden raptures, fancies, judgement, phrase,  
Invention, quickness, life, detraction, praise,  
So that I favoured their conceit which faignd  
The soul to be an harmony, and reigned,  
Amongst the senses with accounts and measures▪  
All which thy lofty Poefie entreasures,  
That quaintest warblers cannot with delight  
Out-worth the Poet in his Lyric height,  
As those which with quick eyes where judgement sits,  
Thy Vindication of Poetic wits  
Do read, may see, whose swelling metres teach  
All Aliens such high English, that to reach  
Is harder than to like, or belch forth scandals,  
Witness thy journey, Somnus, Morpheus,, Sandals,  
The Orbs, Gods, Muses, Critics, accusation,  
The Poet's names, employments, vindication,  
These silenced my pen, it dared no more  
Till voiced by thy Bellame again, her store  
Of suitors, one approved by Friends, not her  
Rivelezzo's wrath (wherein most Parents err)  
Her grief, encloystring, entertainment high,  
Albino's heart and hers met in their eye,  
Their whispering, dalliance, Piazzella's care,  
Bardino's falsehood, their affections rare,  
Her dis-encloystring: and his Nunning plot,  
The Nuns thick bellies, his repentant grot,  
His freedom, flight, encountering with his Saint,  
His conjuration, prodigies, and plaint,  
The Shepherd lout, Bellama's second quest,  
His Ghosting, coming from th' Elysian rest.  
Their parles, his dis-enghosting, her denials,  
His rage, her kindnsse, both their loves and trials,  
Conrades immuring, Piazzlla's fury,  
His freedom, Foppo, and his Monkish jury,  
The Lover's Alehouse cheer, bed, course apparel,  
The Monks strict quest, their finding, mirth & quarrel,  
Their escape, fear, Raddle, kinsman, and at length  
Their nuptial Tede, when malice lost its strength.  
How thou hast shown (dear coz) thy Art in Arts,  
Let them express who brag of abler parts  
Than I, which have a bigger partin thee,  
Thy love, and blood, till Being cease to be.  
JOHN WHITEING▪ Master of Arts▪ Clarehall, Camb.   

Amicosuo charissimo N. W. hujus Poematis authori Collegii Regnalis Canta. in artibus magistro.  
PAN petat Arcadiam Druides effundite cantus,  
Et juvenes flores spargite, Bardus adest.  
Tu qui struxisti memoranda Trophaea Poes●,  
Dicere multatibi nescio, nolo nihil  
Vota, preces, calamus, cor, carmen, singula, laudes,  
Vltro perdignas, concelebrare student.  
An decus irgenium, tua laus, tua facta peribunt.  
Dignum laude virum musa perire vetat  
Corpore defuncto te ca●dida musa sequetur,  
Admiratur opus, primitiasque tuas  
Fata precor, faustae plectant tua slamina vitae,  
 scribas operâ plurima digna tuâ.  
JACOBUS BERNARD sacrosanctae & individuae Trinitatis Collegii in artibus magister.   

In Authorem, amicissimum suum, Encomiasticon.  
THE privilege that pen and paper find  
'Mongst men, falls short, reflecting to the mind.  
Virtue herself, no other worth displays,  
Than eankred censure, leaves behind, as rays.  
But mental Cabonets, are they, that yield  
No forfiture to battering Critics shield.  
If thoughts might character deserts, I dare  
Challenge my pencil for the largest share:  
But when the Vultures of our age must gnaw,  
I'll cease for modesty, and say, 'tis law.  
It's safer fare, to fail of debt, than t'be  
Soaringin terms that badge of flattery.  
I hate the name, and therefore freely give  
My verdict thus, as may have power to live  
'Gainst calumny. If wit and learning may  
Pass with applause, the author hath the day.  
Crowned be those brows with everlasting Bays,  
Whose worth a pattern is to future days.  
'tis not a Poem dropped from strength of grape,  
That's debtor to the wines inspiring sap,  
He to himself alone. Cease urging, earth,  
The father well deserve, so fair a birth.  
And if a witness may be lawful, then  
I'll undertake't shall fear no vote of men.  
But wherein Artis bold itself to glory  
Is that which crownes the verge of Whiting story.  
Io. Rosse.   

To his friend, a Panagericke upon his lovers Albino and Bellama.  
THough I have vowed a silence, and as yet  
Resolved not to travel out in jet,  
Chief in Print, yet your intending press  
Makes me, my thoughts with courage, language, dress  
With smooth-straind meeter, that the world may know  
My strict engagements, & how much I own  
To you, your worth, which may command a line,  
From him which swears 'gainst all, but what's divine,  
The highness of your style, the quickness, life,  
Will in judicious readers raise a strife,  
(More than the Ball amongst th'engoddest three)  
Which gains, the best, but all are best by me,  
Matchless in my conceit: add then to these  
The neatness of your plots, and swear a please  
To the grim Stoic, and the Satired brow  
Forceth delight, through strictness, neatness, vow,  
Grow abler still in fancy, imp thy quill,  
Writ any thing, if something, fear not ill,  
If poesy be thus revenged by thy dream,  
How will it flourish when'ts thy morning theme?  
Sleeping or waking, let us have thy quill,  
And sleep and Vigils shall admire thy skill.  
I. Pickerin.   

Imprimatur.  
Sa. Baker. june 22. 1637.   

THE PLEASING HISTORY OF ALBINO AND BELLAMA.  

WHen British I fles begirt with moistened sand,  
Neptune's blue palace, & the Tritons walk,  
Albania hight, her name who first did land  
Of all the Sisters, or from rocks of chalk;  
From sad oppression had unyoakt their necks,  
And paid obedience unto Ad●ll's becks.   

Then in those Halcyon days of peace and joy,  
A virtuous Lady most transcendent creature,  
Fairer than her whose beauty cyndared Troy;  
Grace decked her mind, her mind grace her feature,  
So that each part made Helen out of date,  
And every grace a goddess could create.   

Virtue and beauty both in her did strive  
Which should in worth and grace surpass the other,  
Nor age of consistency, both did thrive  
Till this Diana ' out-rayde, that Cupid's mother.  
Nay men by beams of her clear beauty might  
Scale Titan's Chariot, and out-ray his light.  
'Mongst Natures precious things we find a gem,  
Blushed and purpled over with Amathisles,  
Which fiery Carbuncles with sparkles him,  
And which the Emrauldes purest vert entwists,  
Meeting so well that Lapidaries witted,  
'Twas Emraulde, Carbuncle and Amathist.   

So in this precious Pair, pure Agathite,  
Aurora's purpling blush was clearly seen,  
Saba's bright Rose, and Leda's Swanlike white,  
The true proportion of Adonis' Queen.  
Blended so well, that in this curious frame,  
Aurora, Saba, Leda, Venus came.   

And as the hony-making waxed thigh'de  
Inhabitants of Hybla's fragrant veils,  
Whom only Nature's dim instinct does guide,  
Choose their commander with their tuneful hails▪  
Pay homage, honour him, and fear his frowns▪  
With same observance, as the people, Crowns.   

So by the same instinct the blushing Rose,  
Veiled bonnet to her cheeks admired red,  
The Lillies to her bosom, brow and nose,  
The Phoenix stripped herself to Crown her head:  
The chirping Choristers with willing choice,  
Sat silent to admire her warbling voice.   

Perfumed Arabia with her Spice and Gums,  
Paid homage to the odours of her lips;  
To her with fawning postures, licks and hums  
The yellow Lion and the Tiger skips:  
Fire dares not scorch her face, nor winter i'll he●  
And death himself looked pale when called to kill he●   

The amorous Sun if she walked out by day  
Would vein his jennets to behold her face,  
And wrapped in admiration, by his stay  
Had rather melt the Orbs than mend his pace;  
And if the middle Air in walls of jet  
Enjoyde his beams, he thawed into wet.   

If in the reign of silent night, abroad  
She ranged, the Empress of the lowest Sphere  
Amazed at her perfections, left her road,  
And ranged about, where she appeared t' appear.  
Nay mourned in darkness if denied her sight,  
As when days Hanchman does deny her light.   

The curled tapers of the Firmament  
Did cease to twink, but gazed with fixed eyes,  
In their own Orb refusing to be penned,  
And strove to leap upon the lower skies:  
Nay did o'th' second Air like Comets hang  
To dart their c●ispes at beauties only spang.   

The Sea-borne-Planet popped out her Lamp,  
And t' see herself outshined by her, did rage,  
The marching War-god did remove his camp,  
With fair Lady Curtain war to wage:  
Hermes by Jove being of an errand sent,  
Stayed on her face, in her embraces penned.   

Dull-aged Saturn (on whose sullen brow  
Near dwelled a Smile since jove usurped his Crown)  
To gaze on her his weighty head did bow,  
And with a smile un-plaiced every frown;  
Nay jove himself descended from his chair  
To take a full survey of this— this fair.   

And more, her winning looks dispersed such charms  
All eyes commanding, and all hearts surprising,  
That Venus bade her Son provide him arms,  
Fearing his setting by this bright Stars rising:  
For though men say loves eyes are more than dim  
Yet her fair beauty did enlighten him.   

But with entreaties he had beat the Air,  
And on the Tawney-moore his waters cast;  
For having power to conquer, being fair,  
she'd power not to be conquered, being chaste:  
So that his amorous sleights and winged arrow  
Can not have oped her breast o▪ pierced her marrow.   

This Phoenix was Bellama called (a word  
Well suiting her deserts) she daughter was  
And heir apparent to a wealthy Lord,  
Who had more acres, than an acre, grass:  
He loved his lands, and hugged his minted treasure,  
Yet his Bellama was his soul of pleasure.   

His place of residence was in a Chase  
Checkquerd with thick-grown thorns and sturdy oaks,  
Wherein majestic Stags and Bucks did pace  
That scorned the hounds, & dared th● barbed strokes;  
'Twas called Rivelount, not distant far  
From Starley, of that shire, the metro-Star.   

The neighbouring swains were pauld with coaches thunder,  
And loud curvaitings of their foaming Steeds,  
Whose irond hooves did crash the rocks in sunder,  
Happy was he, who (sheathed in costly weeds)  
Can win admission to this happy place,  
Where Natur●● wealth was locked up in a face.   

Each glance she sent the object did engem,  
And he that won a smile possessed a mine,  
A hair was prized at a Diadem,  
A ribbon made the tread the ecliptic line;  
A ring outface a thunder, but a kiss  
Was the elixir, heart and soul of bliss.   

Some, of their lands, some, of their valours spoke,  
Some, of their Falcons and their merry bells;  
Some, read the price of such a suit and cloak,  
And one of hounds and running horses tells;  
All speak of something, yet but few with wit,  
All aimed at wise, yet few could purchase it▪   

Some spoke in oaths, as if they thought the earth  
Was peopled over with faithless infidels,  
Another swore, because he feared a dearth  
Of other Language, yet in oaths excels:  
All swear enough, and he that did it lest  
Might be grand swearer at Ven-Bacchus feast.   

Others there were that could not bigly prate,  
Who did their evidences bring with them;  
One brought his halls to plead, one his estate,  
This brought a Watch to court and that a Gem;  
One brought a large descent white and black,  
Which derived from old Pergams Sack.   

One brought a reverend Sire, whom he called Father,  
To be the tongue of his reserved Son;  
Others with much expense of wax did gather  
Some printed Rhymes to speak when they were gone▪  
All had their speakers which unclasped their graces,  
Yet their court-language dwelled on plaits & places.   

One of these Suitors was approov'de to be  
A match whose thousands aequi-ballanced she,  
The parents oft would say, this shall be he,  
The mother then a bill of love prefers.  
But still Bellama faults, and vows, that gold  
Shall never force her love to have and hold.   

The testy Father with a surrowed brow  
Comes to Bellama with demanding why?  
Says mine own girl thou must be ruled now,  
Each tener pays duty to Don Fuco's eye:  
And age well knows Bean-mannours, lands and treasures  
Do cement lovers hearts, & enjoy their pleasures.   

Thou must not Wench be coy, alas! we find  
Beauty as easily bought when money bids,  
(Though't be i'th' Non-such of the female kind,  
As Horse or Cow, the Lamb, or frisking Kids▪  
If he be rich, we bear his witless brags,  
A wealthy fool's more worth than witty rags.   

Bellama with a look fraught with disdain,  
(Though hatred did not make her anger bold)  
Says Sir, I'm sorry you do entertain  
Such high conceits of folly hemmed with gold:  
Think you no marriage good if equal lands  
Be not matchmakers and do join their hands.   

Don Fuco has ten thousand pounds a year,  
With weighty titles would oreloade a Mule,  
A piece of Arras finely wrought and dear;  
But does he square his life to virtue's rule?  
With vice, as wealth to countless sums he thrives  
But is, in virtue, full as poor, as wives.   

He knows to steer an horse, and holloe hounds,  
But not to guide his actions, less his tongue:  
He speaks in state, but every sentence sounds  
Of Comic fragments, or some Tavern song.  
And shall I him, hailed by unworthy pelf,  
Take to rule me, who cannot rule himself?   

Shall I see other female vessels thrive  
With mine own Nectar, and they feed with money,  
Whilst I, like careful Bee, do keep my hive,  
And work the comb for them to suck the honey?  
No, I'll no sharers have in my delight,  
I'll have it one, and only, else good night.   

'Tis a fine thing to see a Satin paint  
That fears to lose her beauty in a press,  
That only cares to be precisely acquaint,  
And spends a twelvemonth's pleasure on a dress:  
To see this stroke his honour, and he clip her,  
Span every part, and unresisted lip her.   

But I do notin a rank humour rail  
'Gainst sober purples, and discreeter robes,  
Nor lock up virtues in the paper-jayle  
With Inkhorns, Pens, Spheres, Globes and Albo-globes,  
Religion on my heart does love en-neale  
To those bright Tapers of our Commonweal.   

Yet where, in stead of state, proud looks do dwell,  
Where wit and wisdom are unlocked with oaths,  
Courteship and comeliness are in the shell,  
And honour only sits▪ upon the .  
Pardon, if unto such I pl●it my brow,  
And steer my thought unto a virgine-v●w.   

Fie, says the father, you're a foolish girl,  
'Gainst Ermines with that heightened spleen to rail,  
Dost think there's vice and folly in an Earl?  
Then virtue sure does penance in the jail.  
To kiss and sport with us is held no sin,  
If that our dalliance do not pass the skin.   

Perchance 'tis not a point of state to have  
To large a stock of wisdom in this age,  
The Epithet to greatness is not grave;  
Those that the Muses in their celles incage,  
Let them speak oil and civet: but we are Lords  
Can speak by signs, and not expres'● by words.   

Wherefore do we to Sable give the room,  
And greater numbers fare of Adels stamps,  
Then to our Stewart, or our Lady's groom,  
'Cause with reproofs he our choice pleasures damps?  
No, cause indedications he should name us,  
And by some witty pamphlet make us famous.   

Our moral virtues are no guiding rule  
To high Nobility, or looking glass,  
No more than t'earth the ne plus ultras Thule,  
As 'fore America was found, it was.  
'tis fit for those, whose bosome-friends are lice,  
To know the pain, not sweet delights of vice.   

Dost see yon tender webs Arachne spins,  
Through which with ease the lusty Bumbles break,  
But to the feeble gnats that mesh their gins,  
So those sage precepts which our Sophies speak,  
Fetter the passions of each worthless slave;  
But over us no sovereign awe they have.   

My Lord, the name of Father strikes, quoth she,  
An awful dread, and makes my ear obey,  
Yet slip my duty down unto the knee,  
And in my silent thoughts, check, chide, and say,  
Can they that taste forbidden waters, thrive?  
My chaste demeanour I will ne'er survive.   

T'avoid the doom of— therefore I'll make choice▪  
Of one, whose virtue outs all love to vice,  
Not those s●eek skins which amorous are in voice,  
Lip-love, which as soon borne, dies in a trice.  
Our loves reciprocal shall be still dust,  
Whi●h into exile packs unlawful lust.   

As they discoursed, Don Fuco entered in,  
With stately garbs befitting such an one,  
His body shelled in a Satin skin  
Of a zure die, bestared with Topaz stone,  
A milk white Beaver, with an Ostrich plume,  
His very rowels spoke a loud perfume.   

Having composed his hinged looks, he glanced  
With piercing eyes upon her curious face,  
And steeping sighs in tears and sweat, advanced  
Himself to plead with courtly garb and grace.  
But Fu●●s lead by most mimetick Apes,  
Can not depinge Don Fucoes antic shapes.   

Such were the postures of his hands and eye,  
That had he treasured up his mirthful tones,  
They wereingredients for a Comedy,  
Would into laughter change a widow's groans:  
And since that time (Bellama smiled so then)  
Love in her dimpled cheeks has found a den.   

Madam, says he, be pleased to trutinate,  
And wisely weigh your servants graceful voice,  
Give due attendance to the airs of state,  
I have engraven you Don Fuco's choice.  
Give free assent, and let the scornful no  
Be quite expunged from the Christ-cross row.   

Alas, I'm not beholding unto letters,  
Wherewith our Rabbis stuff their swelling books,  
I have a way of complementing better,  
To win thy love with comely garbs and lo●kes.  
And if these fail, the name of Countess w●ll  
Speak with a power above the Sidney-skill.   

I hate long-winded sentences, which do  
Vnbreath a man, and hazard ●uch his bellowes,  
Or pocket-flashes, which instruct to woo,  
The only virtues of some Inkhorn fellows.  
I scorn their troths, indods, their ifs or and's.  
Or their O Lord sir, when their wit's o'th' sands.   

A fluent Rascal that can speak in oil,  
And  his words with silken eloquence,  
I know may give a virgin strength the foil.  
But a blunt Earl, that scarcely speaks in sense,  
Whom thousands honour with the cap and leg,  
Beats down a Fortress like a Roaring M●g.   

He needs no Roscian language, but does send  
His velvet-coated Herald to proclaim  
The noble Titles which his worth attend:  
For honour is th' ambitious Ladies aim.  
Feature and spiced words but lead the Van,  
Honour the Front, the Noble is the Man.   

My Lord, says she, your valour I approve,  
That with three Selves thus warranteth your suit,  
With Self▪ conceit, Selfe-confidence, Self-love,  
Such trees w●ll bear your Lordship glorious fruit,  
It well befits your greatness not to think,  
There can denials dwell in air or ink.   

Your trencher cloaks, and your Recognizance,  
Your coat of Arms with noble Ermines dight,  
Your Russian Satin, with the cut of Fra●ce,  
Your talking rowels, and your feathered white,  
Are battering rams & guns, that spe●kin thunder,  
To crack a breast, and split a heart in sunder.   

But my mind is, Diana's chastest seat,  
O'er which the breath of greatness hath no power,  
The quiver-bearing boy sounds a retreat,  
And love avails not with his yellow shower,  
The vestal fire outshines blind Cupid's flame,  
Which oft's eclipsed with sorrow, dampt with shame.   

And, troth, my Lord, had I but wit enough,  
T'assist your Lordship in your nuptial tede,  
Your Lordship should not pl●y a● blind man's blough,  
(Else heavens should renounce their Ganymede)  
For they that purblind are, may plainly se●,  
You grossly hood winked are in courting me.   

The faults of state I cannot Virtues name,  
And bear myself upon the wings of pride,  
Nor light my Taper at another's flame,  
Or use the Art at beauty's eventide.  
I brook not dalliance, or the Venus kiss,  
That way o● am'rousnesse, or that, or this.   

I cannot seal a welcome with an oath,  
To those whose absence I had rather have,  
Nor venture hundreds at that paper-sloath  
Of Mistress Isabel and the Pennell-knave.  
I know no masking postures, nor with grace,  
Can tread the Brawls, or true Currantoe pace.   

I cannot at the feast of riot sit,  
When sea, land, air, are served up in plate,  
Nor like Tripherus, with a carving wit,  
Read precepts this and this to dissecate,  
Nor in dear Murrain charged to the brim,  
Health it about until our mullets swim.   

I do not love to have my husband be  
Discreet by Pioxees, by his Chaplains wise,  
Nor do I like the too much cringing knee,  
Whose formal bends his black conceits disguise.  
Those fawning sharks I cannot call to table,  
Which into Ermines change your Lordship's sable.   

To have my usher press his master's saddle,  
In my opinion cannot pass for good,  
I do not love to have my pillow addle,  
Mean while my woman lets your Lordship blood.  
I am no Androgyne, nor do delight  
To diet Pages, or your Catamit.   

Madam, what passion does untune your mind?  
What fiend (says he) in you thus rails on greatness?  
Who viceth honour, lies, and he is blind  
That says Court-sattens are not trimmed with neatness.  
Speak then in Balms, forget the peevish, why?  
And to the Wilt thou have this?— answer I.   

No, no, says she, yet might I know your Saint,  
If my endeavours can advantage you,  
With your endowments I would her acquaint,  
And limb your rare perfections in her view.  
In this one act I may myself approve  
Moore loving, then in entertaining love.   

I'll say with what dexterity you can  
Run o'er the postures of the court-salute,  
How trimly you can kiss a Lady's Fan,  
And neatly manage an embroidered suit.  
How finely Spanish leg-shells you can plaite,  
And tune your rowels at the court retreat.   

I might say you are witty, if't be true,  
That jests and jingles are in brotherhood,  
I'll speak your skill in Hawks, at flight in mue,  
And at all hunting ceremonies good:  
How gracefully you wave your gallant plumes,  
And deeply are engaged to deep perfumes.   

How kind you are unto our chamber-shees,  
How to our Marmosets and trencher-pages,  
How oylie-fingerd unto supple knees,  
How fain to th'music of our wire cages.  
How quaintly you supply the Usher's room,  
How sweetly you can act the privy-groome.   

Much more in blazoning your matchless worth,  
And counting all your specials, might I say  
But nature ne'er a second did bring forth,  
Which to such known perfections can say nay.  
I'll cease to praise them, lest my praises make  
Your veins of pride with self-conceit to ache.   

I will perform what I have promised, Sir,  
Please you t'impart your Lady to my maid,  
I see my words your liver-wort does stir  
Into your face, which in your channels strayed.  
No more of trouble then, my Lord adieu.  
This courteous door divorceth me and you.   

Away flings she, and leaves my Lord alone,  
More pensive than a widow, which bedews  
Her husband's corpse with tears, a woman's moan,  
Or then the Lupa of diseased stews:  
So that who saw his jigging head would swear,  
Wisdom nor wit did ne'er inhabit there.   

Don Rivelezzo sent a smiling glance,  
That they might his consent read in his eye;  
But seeing Fuco in a stupid trance,  
He was possessed with equal phrentezy,  
The mother came to th' rescue, and well nigh  
Sent her own wit to boar theirs company.   

Feign would he tell the cause of his disasters,  
And eagerly her parents strove to know it,  
Yet strangely, them this passion over-masters,  
That neither they could ask, nor he could show it,  
As though an Incubus with vaprous throngs,  
Enclaspt their bosoms, and un-voyced their tongues.   

At length Don Fuco cried, Bellama cruel,  
What evil planet revelld at thy birth,  
Or what incensed god provided fuel  
To make me feel hell's tortures upon earth?  
Was there no way to punish me for sin,  
But by a maid? No, there our woes begin,   

When I with admiration viewed her face,  
I boldly durst give any tongue the lie,  
That dared to say, with such supernal grace  
There dwelled one Atom of this tyranny.  
But— if that virgins Hierogliphics be  
Of love and mildness, take them all for me.   

I'll make a casement with this steely blade,  
In my full breast, through which my soul shall peep,  
And make my heart in sanguine liquor wade,  
And intrals all in juice of liver steep.  
Nay, straightway give hell's Ferryman his pay,  
For wafting me o'er black Cocytus Bay.   

Or unto Proserpina I'll post a spirit,  
To fetch my a cup of moist oblivion,  
Wherewith the Fairy Queen exiled quite  
Fury from her stout knight, and Oberon,  
That I not only may forget disgrace,  
But quite forget I ever saw her face.   

Let not, says Rinelez, a peevish girl,  
Hang fetters on your heart, untune your soul:  
Dwells there not courage with a worthy Earl,  
Blind Cupid's bow and quiver to control.  
My Lord, take heed, the squinting boy works treason,  
By passions to divest your soul of reason,   

He by his sly insinuations oft  
A good opinion in the heart doth win▪  
The most obdurate are by him made soft,  
And homage pay to Love their sovereign sin,  
Fire's in, nor hurts the Flint, but Cupid can  
With flames to cinders waste the Flinty man.   

A wily sisher-man hath store of baits,  
Wherewith for Amourists he wisely angles,  
With glittering pomp he for th' ambitious waits,  
The greedy Carl with silver twists entangles:  
The silke-lascivious with a wanton eye,  
The austere Stoic with a modest Fie.   

The studious Templant he with Ergo calls,  
The grave precisian with a matron g●a●e,  
The virtuous mind with virtue he enthrailes,  
A landed heir with a blusht-lilly face.  
For Epicurean love he wisely trolls,  
With spiced rarities and frothing bowls.   

The crosse-adorers he with crossing catches,  
Yet strange it is that crossing should join hands,  
But to Sir Love-all, all are equal matches,  
Grace, beauty, feature, honour, virtue, lands,  
This has a dainty hand; that, lip, or eye,  
This chaste, that seeming, that will not deny.   

None are love-free, unless uncapable  
Of those choice blessings Venus' sole-sonne proffers,  
None, whom age, fortune, nature does enable  
With peevish no's, neglecteth Hymen's offers.  
All are inclined to love, and all must bow,  
If Cupid's arrow do but write, Love thou.   

Invest your noble thoughts with courage, Don,  
Let reason, maugre love, triumphant ride,  
Millions of Lady's breath in Albion,  
Have more Rose-lillies, and less store of pride.  
I'll warrant, though Bellama now say no,  
She I find ere long, denial was her foe.   

Ha! quoth Don Fuco, with a far-fetched sigh,  
Which all that time was drenched o're-head in grief,  
Am I to black Cocytus yet drawn nigh?  
Where are th' Elysian shades, thou totrred thief?  
Call Rhadamanthus forth, justice I'll have,  
Or in his breast my steel shall dig a grave.   

Call forth the Furies with their snaky hairs,  
Pale-cheekt Erynnis, and her sister Hags,  
Tell Nemesis I'll fetch her down the stairs,  
And try what truth dwells in her wrathful brags.  
Dispoyson Vipers, Toads, and crawling Adders,  
And with their venom stretch her spacious bladders.   

Bid Cerberus belch from his triple jaws,  
A barking thunder which the earth may shake:  
I'll fetch the Dragons and the Scorpions paws  
From the full Zodiaque, her face to rake.  
Come forth Demagoras, thy cunning try,  
To mask all beauty with a leprosy.   

We will no more our Lilly-stems transplant,  
And set our Roses on their cheeks and lips,  
Their fairness shall not hence surpass the Ant,  
Their crimson die, the brick or writh led hips.  
Beauty shall be exiled, despite shall end her,  
Or else we'll change her to another gender.   

The Thracian Harper was a silly Ass,  
That for his wife passed through the Stygian stench.  
The Club-mans' foolery did his surpass,  
That spun and carded for a Lydian wench.  
The Greeks' were fools, that for a light-skirt strumpet,  
Changed the still vial to a lowd-mouthd trumpet.   

joves' Blacksmith was no privy Counsellor,  
To many Venus for the sore-head flag,  
The jolly Huntsman sure did something err,  
To see a goddess, and become a stag.  
jove was no golden shower, sure 'twas a gull,  
Nor e'er transformed himself into a Bull.   

Peace good my Lord, Don Rivelezzo says,  
What uncoth passion doth your soul en-trance,  
Your words are like the Bacchinalian lays,  
Where with the Priests their god of wine enhance.  
What, man, though this fond she from you did start,  
Another'l say, My Lord, with all my heart.   

Observe the practice of Doves masculine,  
Which woe their females, with I come to woe,  
Not in a fit of woman cry and whine,  
Strait to another haste, if she says no.  
If to one face, our stock of love we open,  
We pinion Cupid's wings, and fetter hope.   

Bellama slights; what then? shall we conclude,  
All women will deny you their assent?  
A strange induction; Call all Ladies lewd:  
'Cause Flora and some few to Venice went  
Amongst a thousand maids, there's scarcely two,  
As coy Bellama now hath done, will do.   

Wherefore created were those glorious lights,  
Which in the azure firmament appear?  
Why was days Charioteer with lustre dight?  
Only to gu●ld with rays his proper Sphere?  
No, to lend bright nesse to the borrowing lamps,  
And clear the earth from nights obscuring damps.   

Why has Dame Nature so much brightness lent  
To Diamonds, Topazes, and other gems?  
Only t'enrich themselves? no, to augment  
The glory of our rings and Diadems,  
The Ostrich for himself wearesnot his plumes,  
Nor for's own nose the Civet Cat perfumes.   

So on our sprucest Ladies, matchless graces  
Were not bestowed, to delight themselves.  
Pandora was not treasured up in faces,  
To bring content unto possessing elves.  
But 'cause our Hero's should the comfort find  
Of winning beauty and a willing mind.   

The maid of Babylon, I know, was fair,  
And rich in all the lineaments of beauty;  
Yet was she kind, which did not them impair,  
But showed to Nature's hests her forward duty:  
For Nature's bounty best requited is,  
By yielding free assent to Hymen's bliss.   

The Queen of Carthage dear respects bestowed  
Upon the straggling Prince of ruined Troy.  
Choice love unto Leander, Hero showed:  
The Cyprian goddess wooed her sappey boy.  
All fraught with pity, but that peevish girl,  
'Bout whose sleek waste hell's vipers wind & twirl.   

Nor such examples wants our latest age,  
Of virgine-lovers these to parallel  
Who, every way, those former equipage,  
With whom records and modern pamphlets swell.  
Then courage Don, fear not to find a face,  
That hath more pity, and more lovely grace.   

Much ease (quoth Fuco) to my lovesick heart,  
My Lord, is by your sage advisement brought,  
For I supposed, th' Idalian younker's dart,  
Had festered so, no easement could be bought:  
I on her looked through such a pleasing glass,  
As though that sex in her contracted was.   

I thought t' have sent my Physic Doctor forth  
Unto his Herbal, to address my ill,  
T'ask Aesculapius for some earthborn worth,  
Which might accomplish my intended will.  
But that 'tis said, Apollo once complained,  
No herb to cure loves fevers could be gained.   

Whilst an opinion of her matchless grace,  
Scorched my bosom with affections gleams,  
Mine eyes ne'er straggled to another face,  
Nor could I bathe my thoughts in Lethe's streams;  
But now I'll sound retreat, reclaim my mind,  
Not catch a falling star, nor grasp the wind.   

This said, with sparkling sack he washed the lane,  
Which to the Limbeck of his body leads,  
Health to Bellama, and a health again,  
Till, where his feet, his winged Beaver treads,  
So well he took his sack without a toast,  
That ' stead of kissing her, he kissed the post.   

Dispassiond quite, as in a breathless calm,  
Don Rivelezzo bids Don Fuco diew,  
But hooted loudly like a shrill-toned shawm,  
When his swift stee● took farewell o● his view.  
Accursing Fate, and railing on his daughter,  
Which might beget in Heraclitus laughter.   

Have I (says he) such Crassian heaps of gold,  
Condemned to sleep in iron-ribbed chests?  
Did I delight in vestments course and old,  
Wherein Anthropoph●ges have dug them nests?  
Nay, wished there were no taverne-juyce, or sports,  
Or change of fashions, but in Prince's Courts?   

Have I sat brooding o'er my treasured plate,  
And summed the surplusage of each years rend,  
Confined my spend to a weekly rate,  
Enjoined a penance when th'allowance spent?  
And when an Earl tuned every grace to win her,  
She slights his vows, nor gales nor gold can pin her.   

But since she slights my matches, I will match her,  
She shall of peevishness the harvest reap,  
Since this Dons matchless fortunes could not catch her.  
I shall ere long make her affections cheap.  
Her love shall stoop to court a common Farm,  
A Lordship than shall scorn to fold an arm.   

My Lord, her mother Lady Arda said,  
A parent's ●re ought not to force assent,  
Wealth blend with vice can ne'er disheart a maid,  
To whom blessed virtue is the choice content.  
There's other things do maids affections stir,  
Beside a Manor, and a Please you Sir.   

Madam (quoth he) in vain you do excuse  
Your daughter's folly with your friendly air,  
The next I offer she shall not refuse.  
Sirrah, go harness strait my wheeling chair:  
I'll try if less content and pleasure dwells  
In Prince's courts, then in Monastic cells.   

When he was coached, the Lady Arda went  
To fair Bellam ', bedewed with streaming tears,  
The gods, said she, have raveled thy content,  
Sorrow's uncomfort will thy virgin years:  
For unto Darwey does thy father haste,  
Where he will vow thee everlasting chaste.   

Madam, says she, I feed on nought but gall,  
Aloes and Rue, 'cause of my father's wrath,  
Th' occasion though of his displeasure, shall  
With Bays, in stead of Cypress, strew my path.  
When virtue seals the contract, welcome Hymen,  
But till that, ever shall my heart deny men.   

Thus sat they parling: Lady Arda urged  
Producing reasons to enforce assent:  
Bellama answered, begged, excused, and purged  
Herself from blame, by urging love, content.  
But urging and excusing, let them sit,  
And see the father champing on the bit.   

Who coming to the cage of virgine-pride,  
Knocked at the wicket with the iron ctow,  
To whose small neck white philets ne'er were tied,  
Which in more ancient days did childbed show.  
He rapt so hard, the sound did fright the air,  
Yet still none came, none was not locked in prayer.   

At length the janitor, of stature large,  
With Crozier staff, girt in a haircloth Frock,  
Whose meager looks did call for Charon's Barge,  
And all whose body was a sapless stock,  
Came, and with churlish voice, demanded who  
With such shrill hoh's rejoiced their civil crow?   

Friend, says my Lord, my errand wings my speed,  
Speaks high importance with the Prioress:  
Thou in these Angell-lookes my haste mayst read;  
Help me to th' presence of the Abbatesse.  
The Porter's heart soon stepped into his eye,  
Tuning his language to a quick reply.   

My Lord, says he, obedience is my duty,  
Whilst your commands speak in so high a tone,  
Yet lest your smooth chinned youths lay siege to beauty,  
Your Lordship spite of state must walk alone.  
I am an Eunuch, else in vain I vowed,  
I had mistake my pillow in a crowd.   

Him he conducted to the Kitchen, where  
Store of Anatomies employed was;  
Some did the candlesticks, some lavers clear,  
Some scoured pewter, some reburnisht brass,  
Don asks the cause: the Porter him acquaints,  
'Twas 'gainst a Feast of high account, All-Saints▪   

Within the Hall, a younger sort of Girls,  
Yet course enough, did brush vermilion looks,  
Some, crosses rubbed; some, ropes of praying pearls:  
Some dusted vestments; some, their guilded books.  
Some kneaded wafers, and his effige stamped,  
Whose purple streams the Dragon's sulphur's dampt.   

All at Don Rivelezzo were amazed▪  
And, looking, one rubbed off a nose of wax,  
A second razed a cheek, another gazed,  
And plucked from Katherine ' her periwig of flax.  
One blinded Serrat, and did rend her silk,  
One broke the cruse, and spilt the virgine-milke.   

Don past through these into an inner room,  
Where was another rank of virgine-fry,  
Some weaving Arras on the nimble loom,  
And inter-twisting gold with tapestry,  
With silk of Naples twisted in small ropes,  
Some did the Cowls embroider, some the Copes.   

At last he came into an upper place,  
Climbing thereto by richly guilded stairs,  
Where sat another troop of nobler race,  
On quilted Cushions, and in Ivory Chairs.  
About the centre, in a robe of state,  
The matron Vesta of the Virgins sat.   

These were employed about fare nobler things:  
For some of Sainted hair did bracelets twine:  
Others strung Beads to stint the knees of Kings:  
Some trimmed with costly Gems the Lady's shrine.  
One tuned the music, and a witty other,  
Footed an Ave to the Virgine-mother.   

The grave old Matron crawling from her throne  
Of Indian teeth, arched o'er with cloth of gold,  
Upon her aged knees with zealous tone,  
Says, Heaven's messenger, what is't you would?  
Th'amazed Lord with wonder quarreled long,  
 he could unvoyce his silenced tongue.   

Madam, says he, why pay you reverence?  
Why are you guilty of th'adoring sin?  
'Tis a delusion of your weakened sense,  
I am no Cherub, Power, nor Seraphin:  
The Heralds style me Rivelezzo's Don,  
Your friend and servant with a cap and con—   

My Lord, quoth she, excuse my fond mistake,  
For o'er my sight I we are a duskish glass,  
My zeal in pious actions sure did make  
Me give you more respects then civil was.  
But take your seat, and if my power or skill,  
Can crown your wishes, be you sure I will.   

Madam, says he, I have a scornful Lass,  
Whom Nature has enriched with special grace,  
To whose perfections her reflecting glass  
Is parasite; adds pride unto her face:  
So that, though Earldoms court her, her disdains  
Nonsuits their service, and her brow un-plains,   

Into your number of chaste-zealous she's,  
Entrance unto this girl vouchsafe, I pray,  
Unto your order, I the constant fees  
Of gold and acres, and of vows will pay:  
Since she Don slighted, I have vowed to see  
How long she'll honour the religious knee.   

Quoth she, those virgins which my hallowd roof  
Does canopy, my prudence does protect:  
I make blind love and folly stand allofe,  
And all loves paper-plots I do detect.  
Great ones have oft assayed, but yet my care  
Has buried their entreaties in the air.   

With godly precepts I every their minds,  
And make them (which is rare) at eighteen good  
I'dmit no Roisters, only Maids and Hind●s  
To do them service, and prepare us food▪  
Please you to send your daughter, she 〈…〉  
Crowned with delights of most 〈…〉   

Heavens, says Don, crown your ensuing days  
With all delights which wait your holy orders:  
May the sad Cypress, and the Bridal Bays,  
ne'er sprig nor blossom in your quiet borders.  
I'll plume my swift endeavours, I'll make haste,  
T'invest Bellama with your habits chaste.   

When Dons farewell had ceased to move the air,  
Says Piazzella to her virgin train,  
We, with th'enjoyment of this Lady fair,  
Shall stuff our Carcanets with much gain.  
we'll frolic it, and taste the choicest pleasures,  
Nor shall our joys be listed in with measures.   

The credulous world we gull with silver shrines,  
Our grave behaviours, and retired lives,  
When we in naked truth are Libertines,  
And taste the pillow-joyes of sprightful wives,  
When through the vault our lusty shavelings pace,  
All the choice measures of delight to chase.   

Thus leave them with their haire-lacke crowns,  
And see Rivelezzo now arrived at home,  
Who by that time had plained his brow from frowns,  
And all becalmd with sugared words doth come:  
Then tells his Lady he had found a tower,  
Would guard Bellama from joves' yellow shower.   

Servants are posted to the old Exchange,  
Others to sellers of the silkworms spoils,  
Some to brisk Proteusses, smirk Tailors range.  
Some to the Stationers, some haste for oils.  
One carves the image of a martyred Saint,  
Another breathes a soul with gold or paints.   

None must be idle, till in marshalled ranks,  
All things be ordered for this virgine-vow.  
Farewell ye spongy teats, and puft-paste flanks,  
Bellama's bird all tede is lighted now.  
Her husband is Vlrginitie, yet look,  
Her beads for rings, for songs she'll change her book.   

The Coach is harnessed, Bellama come,  
The father says, Hence with that dew of grief,  
Give not a sad adieu unto our home,  
But in thy thoughts let comfort rule as chief.  
She craved a blessing on her globe-like joints,  
Then coached thither where her Sire appoints.   

As the sweet-voyced Philomele does sit  
I'th' piked Eglantine, with sorrow dressed,  
▪ Cause some rude Sylvane in a raging fit,  
Snatched her faint chickens from their downy nest.  
So did the Lady Arda dight with mourning,  
Deplore Bellama's loss with her returning.   

As when sly Reynald in his widened jaws,  
Is seizing on the nimbly-frisking lamb,  
Or when the Tiger with his sharpened paws,  
Hath caught the infant of the becking dam.  
And then the Shepherd's care prevents the sharks,  
One loudly howls, the other hoars●y barks▪   

So semblably, when as the waiting crew,  
Saw the departing of their golden age,  
One gives Bellama, with eye-dew, adieu,  
Another s●griefunlockt the frenzy cage  
Some tore their hair, some rent their shouldering bands▪  
Some thwacked their breasts, and wrung their oily hands▪   

But all in vain, their Indian Mine was gone,  
Their minting house deprived of the stamp,  
Their costly gems were changed to pebbell stone  
Their Hemisphere forsaken by their lamp,  
Saturne's exiled, Jove awes this massy Ball,  
And now the Iron age un-goldeth all.   

The wand'ring wheels be-stud with Iron knobs,  
Posted Bellama to the Virgin-tower,  
Which freed her from the noise of servile throbs;  
Is enntertained like a goddy power,  
Led by the seeming Saints, unto the place,  
Where sat Pazzella with a Matron grace.   

If Rivelezzo's presence frighted them,  
Much more they at Bellama were amazed:  
They called her Phoenix, beauty's only gem,  
And all with fixed tapers on her gazed:  
Some had a mean, some curious were before,  
But her first sight showed self-conceit the door.   

For as when Tithonus' bride breaks out a fare,  
And through th'expanse spreads forth her youngest light  
She by degrees, pops out each twinkling star,  
And dims at length the mistress of the night.  
As winter Chappel-clarks, when prayers are done  
Dis-light each flazing wax, or tallow Sun.   

So when Bellama brightly did appear,  
With mourning rays in the Monastic hall,  
She veiled each face that moved in that sphere:  
And further, by degrees un-faced all.  
Nay, at the last, the mistress of the train,  
Looked like pale Phoebe in her darkened wain.   

And as day's Prince, light lustres archy-beame,  
Lends to the Moon her silver midnight rays,  
As from the Ocean watery current stream,  
Though every cadent to that Chaos strays,  
As to a room befoged with mists of night,  
Th'incensed weeks do lend a midday light.   

So to each brow, Bellama's brow gives white,  
To every cheek, Bellama's cheek gave roses:  
To every eye, Bellama's eye gave sight:  
To every breath, Bellama's breath gave posies▪  
To every part, Bellama's part gave grace:  
To every face, Bellama gave a face.   

Some called her goddesle of the Cyprian I'll,  
Some said Troy's ruin was untombed again,  
Some her the selfe-enamourd boy did style,  
Some said the Boat-boy did delude their train.  
One named her thus, one said she was another,  
But all confessed sh'exceeded Cupid's mother.   

The aged Patroness with palsied lips,  
Muttred a welcome to her lovely guest,  
But at that time the Moon was in eclipse,  
Which with en-feebling fears did them arrest.  
Some shrilly screamd, some brazen pans did clang,  
To ease her travel, and abate her pang.   

And when the monthly-horned Queen had got▪  
Her face again with silver glitter raid,  
Save only what the Dragon's tail does spot,  
On their pale Lilies blushing Claret strayed:  
Then did the aged voice repeat again,  
Welcome fair Lady to my Mayden-●raine.   

Her instauration was some what strange,  
Led by nine vestals (for th'odd number was  
Highly esteemed in their sacred range,  
As by the Poet in his quaffing glass)  
Each of her jointed Lilies one did hold,  
Save only that which waits the wedding gold.   

Adorned with vestures, white as bleached snow,  
A Cypress mantel, over which was cast,  
So lightly hung, it would not abide a blow,  
A milk white Ribben locked unto her waste,  
Graced with a crucifix: her slender wrists,  
With praying beads were wreathed on sable twists.   

Grave Piazella usherd her along,  
Bravely attended with her choicest Nuns,  
Without Drum, Trumpet, or an armed throng,  
Or champing coursers, or the wide-mouthed Guns,  
Each held religion in some holy right,  
With holy water, which the devil's fright.   

Into the place of holy worship, they  
Entered, where gaudy superstition was,  
Saints, Altars, store of crucifixes gay.  
Whose stately worths my weak expression pass.  
Scarce was there known a canonised Saint,  
Which carving did not there beget, or paint.   

With strong devotion all the virgins prayed,  
At the direction of the praying Bead,  
Their Ave-maries', Santo, Salve's said,  
Invoking every Saint to intercede.  
Piezza then, Bellama kneeling down,  
Did wreathe her temple with the virgine-crowne.   

These rites performed, behind an iron grate  
Appeared breathing cowls, and walking copes,  
Whose writhed looks their births did ante-date,  
And change the cyphers girdled in with ropes.  
Their hair had purchased wings, and flew away.  
So did their brains as some did whispering say.   

Unto this Monastery in gloomy shades,  
From Cros●sull Priory those shavelings pace,  
Distant from hence not two Italian stades,  
Earth's bloodless womb was wimbled all the space▪  
Under the craggy rocks and champain did  
A roadway lie, from vulgar prying hid.   

This dark some path they usually did tread,  
To traffic with their she-sequestred zeal,  
With whom for curtaine-dalliance oft they plead,  
But their success my muse dares not en-neale.  
These loving sport are not faults, the sin  
Is, when our walls keep not the scanned all in.   

Amongst the holy men that hither came,  
To join their issue with the sisterhood,  
A votary, Albino called by name;  
Not Fortunes white-boy, yet of Abby-bloud:  
His great-grand-father some few ages since,  
Of Glastenbury Primate was, and Prince.   

His stature did not reach the tiptoe height,  
Nor with the long necked Cranes did conflicts wage,  
Something complete by nature, not by slight,  
Some twenty circled snakes summed up his age,  
Discreet as Tyro's are, had store of wit,  
In that he knew to use, and husband it.   

By civil carriage, and his modest look,  
He gained the love of his Lord Priorist,  
He bowled, coursed, angled in the brook,  
His pleasure was his joy and pleasures list.  
Oft would he rove (had his content a dearth)  
Through th'hollow belly of th'unboweled earth.   

Sometimes permitted, sometimes by command  
From his Lord Prior to the holy mother,  
Conveying voices, or the paper-hand  
Ofttimes alone, scarce sorted with another.  
The Matron did with courteous eye respect him,  
Knowing no ill of him, did not suspect him.   

She oft would praise his Monkship to her train,  
Calling his breast blessed virtues choyces shrine,  
And vowed she seldom saw such beauty reign  
Upon a face that's purely masculine.  
And 'twas not common at his years to find  
So neat a person with so pure a mind.   

he'd freedom of discourse, not privacy,  
Jests, sporting, laughter, and lip-dalliance;  
Oft on Bellama would he fix his eye,  
And she to him would answer glance for glance.  
They gazed so long and oft, till they did tie  
Their hearts together only by the eye.   

Love's fever at the casements of the soul  
Entering, inflamed every secret part,  
That passion now his reason doth control,  
And with the gyves of Love enchains his heart:  
And walking with Bardino, seeking pleasures,  
He did Bellama sing in lofty measures.   

To his Companion in praise of BELLAMA.  
Dost see you towering hills, you spreading trees,  
Which wrap their lofty heads in clouds? dost see:  
Yond house of little worth, and lesser height?  
Dost think a jewel of ten thousand weight  
Can dwell within that sooty Carcanet?  
Dost think the gaudy Sun each night does set  
And riseth from yond roof? Dost think the Moon  
With double horn, and glittering tapers, soon,  
Will issue thence? Didst ever see an eye  
Which checked the beams of awful Majesty?  
Dost think an earthborn beauty can be found,  
Which darts forth lustre from the sullen ground,  
To kiss the glorious skies? or canst thou think  
The Queen of beauty dwells in such a chink?  
Dost think? 'tis poor, why do I question so?  
Thou darest confirm all this by oath, I know,  
Since my Bellamas there, all life, all breath,  
Whose presence can enlive the soul of death,  
Despite of sickly Nature: she is all fair  
And truly meriteth Bellezza's chair.  
All those fair treasures which dispersed lie  
'Twixt Poles and Parallels pay to her eye  
And, with her span, contracted in her meet,  
As radiant, red, white, smooth, soft, rich, and sweet,  
She is the world's Epitome and soul,  
And with her inch of earth, out-worths the whole▪  
she's beauty's Archy-fount: as rivulets small  
Borrow from greater currents, and they all  
Pay tribute to the Ocean, just so  
The dimmer shafts of winged Cupid's Bow,  
Borrow from brighter, the brightest pay  
Homage unto Bellama, beauty's day.  
I tell thee, there's not one small worth of hers,  
But loudly says, that foppish nature errs  
In other beauties: nor is this all, for why?  
Her thoughts pluck stars, and dark th'imperial sky.  
Virtue and Beauty both: why 'tis as rare  
As frosts in june, or Comets in the air,  
As Crows in afric, Ae●lus want puffs,  
Or she-precisians want Geneva ruffs.  
Yet my Bellam ' alone, and one unites  
The beauteous colours, noble red and whites,  
With heaven's issue, Virtue: darest then deny,  
If not divine, her half a Deity?  
Tipto Cynthia's horns with wonder, wind aloud,  
And mount the saddle of a wi●ged cloud:  
Then circle earth, and see if thou canst find  
Half such a feature with so rare a mind.  
I know when thou returnest thou'lt say with me,  
Bellama's beauty is a A percee.   

Thus he to rocks and bushes did discover,  
The secret flames which scorched his heated breast,  
Though he as yet was not a vocal lover,  
But shrouded his close love in smiles and jest;  
Yet Fortune ftentimes does Venus' grace  
He got lip-freedome in an eyeless place.   

For there a Turks Elysium was the stage  
Whereon the Virgins acted parts of mirth,  
Which Nature did with nobler gifts engage,  
And decked more than other parts of earth:  
And Bellam's breath was such a powerful thing,  
It here did keep an everlasting spring.   

The angry puffings of congealing East,  
And sturdy North, cold Winter's stoutest roisters,  
Durst ne'er o● curled locks the trees divest,  
Nor e'er were heard to whistle in their cloisters.  
Such vernal blasts came from Bellama's mouth,  
Kept here Favonius, and the dropping south.   

And if sharp frosts did in her absence steal  
Into this place, and glazed the tattling streams,  
Then into crystal would the springs congeal,  
And every flower was raid with silver beams:  
Yet if Bellama did but glance her eye,  
The crystal and the silver thence did fly.   

Nay, strange it was to hear the purling wet,  
The saucy frost with angry murmurs chide,  
And with its constant jars and struggle fret,  
Then thaw to tears, and on the Venice slide.  
Yet oft Bellama would call in her rays,  
To view the silver purls, and crystal ways.   

Into this garden once Albino got;  
Yet ah, but once, and met his sovereign fair,  
Hoping their hearts should tie the Gordian knot,  
He found her beauty with such courting air:  
For though he was a Monk, love did instruct him;  
And to Love's palace Fortune did conduct him.   

He oftentimes with trembling thumb would press  
Her dancing vein, way to her heart to find,  
Whilst conscious she her looks with red would dress,  
Fearing her pulse was traitor to her mind:  
For 'tis entruthed by some, that by this vain  
We may the knowledge of affections gain.   

Such knowledge gained, he by her pulses touch,  
Which leapt to meet, not chide his busy thumbs,  
That he desired a kiss, and found it such,  
Whose sweetness far out-sweets Hybla's combs:  
Then cried, give for each lip a cherry-sweet,  
And then a third, in which they two may meet.   

Such quickening heat was from those kisses lent,  
That thawd his voice, and did unfreeze his tongue,  
Packed thence despair, exiled discontent,  
And made him vent what was concealed long:  
For though desire and love each minute bid him,  
Yet fear, his habit, and her beauty chid him.   

Madam, quoth he, vouchsafe a courteous ear  
Unto my words, sent from an amorous heart,  
Which hath long time been wracked with hope & fear▪  
Grisly despair, and Cupid's awful dart:  
And till this time (restrained by black disasters)  
Can ne'er apply lip-love, or vowell-plasters.   

Be pleased to know (yet sure you needs must know it  
A beauty so divine, must needs divine,  
Though I should want heart, hand, or voice to show (it)  
When first your beauty in mine eyes did shine,  
They slipped into my breast, and told my heart,  
The god of love by them had sent adart▪   

My heart made quick reply, (if hearts have voice)  
You ever have such faithful servants been,  
That what you like, I'll freely call my choice,  
For beauty brought by you, does fires teen;  
Carry this message back, tell her 'tis best  
That hers should heat my bosom, I her breast.   

Peace, peace, quoth she, speak not a word oflove,  
For fear my anger, scorns, and folly writes,  
Eagles love Eagles, and the Dove the Dove:  
Hankes brook not Buzzards; or the Pheasant Kites,  
Equals love equals: but unequal flame  
Is teened wi●hfolly, and expires with shame.   

True, quoth he, likeness does the heart incline,  
Greatness loves greatness, without farther search,  
Yet crawling Ivies' lofty Elms en-twine,  
And gall-less Turtles with the eagle's perch.  
I balk your greatness; for as good, not great,  
I homage pay, and loves alarms beat.   

Those airy titles, which ambition swell,  
And puff like bladders, or like bladders burst,  
The worldling's goddess, which in chests does dwell,  
Is gnawn with rust, and makes the chesters cursed,  
Honour is tied unto the Prince's eye,  
And wealth to Fortune's mutability.   

I have not wealth (nor do I want) what then▪  
Must Hymen stoop unto the nods ofgold?  
Must I veil Bonnet unto Ermine men?  
And Virtue by the Herald be controlled?  
No, love does blaze the noblest arms: and she,  
That can maintain herself, in love can me.   

Stay, stay, quoth she, you will be out of wind,  
Me thinks the voice of greatness speaks delight:  
Our Poets only then feign Cupid blind,  
When children of the Sun do dote on Night.  
Or folly mounted on Icarian wings,  
Courts Queen's affections, & does gaze on Kings.   

No, says Albino, 'tis the contrary,  
Love never is more purblind than when earth  
join house to house, and pedigrees do tie  
Scutcheons to Scutcheons in pure virtue's dearth,  
For Regal flames blessed goodness only teens,  
And virtue ought to court the love of Queens.   

We all are borne for public good: 'tis vain  
With torchlight to embellish Titan's rays,  
Or cast our stock of water in the main;  
Such love from laws of love and nature strays:  
But those that Fortune hath enriched with goods,  
Should darne up nature's wants, by mixing bloods   

Was I the Caesar of the Roman stems,  
(Once only darling to the King of skies)  
Did both the Indies pay me tribute-Gemmes,  
I'd not unite a double Majesty.  
For being no distinction in degree,  
She would assume that honour due to me.   

she'd chide me sooner than I durst check her,  
And as the proverb, quarrel for the breeches,  
On some choice mean that honour I'd confer,  
Should sue with humble Sirs, and low beseeches.  
Thus was she tied to payment of respects,  
I licenced with state-love to mix neglects.   

Where beauty does indite, and virtues seal,  
Greatness is not required to set his hand:  
Though greatness here may virtues acts repeal;  
Yet virtues acts in Cupid's courts must stand.  
Then where I find grace, feature, virtues dwell,  
I've greatness, wealth, and honour: toll the bell.   

Then with kind airs, life of my wishes speak,  
Bid honour know his distance, wealth depart,  
And let the day of true contentment break  
From thy clear lips, to cheer my misted heart.  
O with own circle, let my arms enfold  
The soul of honour, and the heart of gold.   

Sir, quoth Bellama, wealth is not my aim,  
Nor does the gales of honour heave my soul,  
I higher prize an action than a name,  
And value more a pamphlet than a roll.  
Where I with come linesse find virtue mixed,  
My love, eyes, thoughts, are on that object fixed:   

I speak not much of love, lest you presume;  
And speak a little, lest you should despair,  
I would not have my words your hopes deplume,  
Nor feather them to reach the highest air,  
I sum up all in this, when as I say,  
I will not with disdains thy service pay.   

Oh happy words! oh more than sacred breath!  
Albino live, Bellama says thou must:  
Confront dire Fate, and challenge meager death,  
'Tis not in them to moulder thee to dust:  
Yet be advised, let not proud folly in,  
The conquest is as great to hold as win.   

Our Anchorist with all the words that joy  
Hearting a lover, was acquainted with,  
Accosts his Saint, rewards the winged boy,  
And congees to the Queen of heat and pith,  
Smiled and glanced, paid thanks, desired a kiss,  
And prayed time give an age unto his bliss.   

But when days lamp had wan the western clime,  
And wrapped his head in Seagreen Thetis lap,  
Our lover must observe the chanting time,  
And bids his Saint adieu: oh hard mishap!  
Oh 'tis a hell to think what hellish pain  
True lovers by unkind divorcement gain!   

Yet by that time the hoary headed Sire  
Had summed twelve sixty minutes, he again  
Returned t'his Lady, when bright Titan's fire  
Was newly risen from the brackish maine,  
And common greetings passed amidst their pleasures,  
He, in his Lady's hands these lines entreasures.   

Upon Bellama's walking in the Garden, and with him.  

MY teeming fancy strives (choice fair) to chain  
Eternity to time, that ne'er shall wain;  
And make those garden minutes see the Sun  
Entombed in darkness, and the earth un-spun  
Ere they expire, that all succeeding times  
May know and tell the subject of these rhymes.   

Assist me Flora, that I may with grace  
Worthy its honour, shadow forth that place▪  
Of spreading trees, sweet herbs, and fragrant Flowers▪  
Enriched with pleasing walks, and shady Bowers.  
Each twig with amorous touch embraced his Mate,  
Like Bacchus' sacred tree his propping state;  
Or Ivy, Elm, that neither Sun nor Wind  
To his retired conclaves passage find.  
Within whose walls a halfe-nights darkness dwells,  
Which Satyrs growing palaces excels,  
Or Anchorets' secluding Hermitage.  
Here, like a common Theatre, or Stage,  
Each spiced child of earth in Summer robe,  
And Iris mantle, opes his closed globe,  
Knows his appearing cue, and freely plays  
Oth' wished-for presence of your quickening rays:  
Such perfect vivifying influence  
Dwells in your looks, Lights Chariot driven hence,  
That your sole presence can create a Spring,  
From Winter's frozen bands can lose each thing,  
From Earth's entombing Sepulchre can raise  
Each sleeping Flower to chant forth Maia's praise:  
This made amazement seize my mind to view  
Halfe-aged Winter bid so soon adieu  
To this Elysium of the Pagans joy,  
And Chloris with her new-brusht clothes so coy  
Before, and hardly to be won, come forth  
Crowned with the glory of her springing worth,  
To court our eyes: nay more, the barefaced Earth,  
Covered with Carpets green, befringed round  
With smiling Rosy trees, with glorious store  
Of Daisies, Suckles, Cowslips, studded over  
Like hunting Vestes of Satonisco green,  
Embossed with Gems, by Fawns and wood-nymphs Queen  
Worn, when the tushed Boar, Bear, panting Hart  
Th'unkennell, rouse, dis-franke with nimble art.  
And lest your spotless soles should suffer ill,  
Airs fleeting tuns Crystalline streams distil  
To wash the grassie-tufted tapestry,  
Which whistling winds with murmurings hazel to dry.  
Andev'ry tender branch whereon you tread,  
To make your tracing, pacing, moves its head.  
Alcinous Orchard, or that precious root,  
Which bore old Atlas' daughters golden fruit:  
Th' Idalian mount, where Cytherea strayed,  
Or that where Ceres luckless daughter played,  
When as the King of shades surprised her.  
Nor may the Romans pride with this confer,  
For here all Maia's treasures are united,  
Which do, which shall, or senses e'er delighted,  
Yet summered by your eye, each Flower does bud,  
Blossoms, sprouts, opens, blooms and chews the cud.  
Your presence hearts them all: O be as kind  
As unto them, to me! shoot through my rind.  
Shine through my heart with one, one smiling ray,  
So shall it open, blossom, sprout as they,  
Spiced with the choicest sweets  Venus' bad,  
In all the postures of true service clad,  
Trimmed with the beauties of the richest spring.  
All fertile too, all store of fruit shall bring:  
This, choice affection; that, chaste loyalty;  
This, vows; that, service; and that, constancy,  
Made up into a nosegay, circled in  
With twists of love, which youth and virtue spin.  
Then Breath and Ray, make and accept the Posy,  
And seal a contract 'twixt the Lil● ' and Rosy.    

Enspheared thus with virgins, oft he would  
Tell pretty tales, fraught with conceited mirth,  
Discourse of foreign states: sometimes unfold  
A sudden jest, may give to laughter birth:  
Thus to beguile the time he oft would do,  
And unsuspected did his Lady woo.   

Then privately sometimes with her would walk  
Along a paved way, where lofty trees  
Bore only witness of their amorous talk,  
Plaiting their branched pride, that none might see,  
And lest quick envy should their dalliance spy.  
Themselves about the trees the brambles tie.   

Here in soft whispers did he court her love,  
And strove by oath their loves to ratify.  
Madam, says he, this reason may you move,  
That day and malice have too many eyes,  
When my lips are sealed, and I attempt in vain,  
To send the children of my teeming brain.   

Not half so vigilant the Dragon was,  
Which Colchos treasure watched, as is your Dame,  
So that they must through Argus' head-piece pass,  
Which seek here to enkindle Cupid's flame.  
I know your jealous Matron does discover  
How my faint heart about your breast does hover.   

Sir, says Bellama, there is no such haste,  
Time will appoint our loves some fit seasons,  
My father must ungirdle first my waste,  
Love will not be repelled by force, but reasons▪  
And more, you know it is in vain to strive,  
Here's no escaping this Monastic hive.   

When as the third day's Sun, three hours or more,  
Our Zenith has behind him left, hither  
Return, and I will meet thee; not before:  
My thoughts (quoth he) do in your absence whither,  
Pinched with the sharpest blasts cold winter breathes  
But your, your looks my heart with blossoms wreathes   

That foolish glass which measures time with sand,  
Enough of gravel has to meet a year,  
With lesser trouble I could Hermes wand,  
Than the sad torture of your absence bear:  
Change then those hours to minutes; days, to day,  
If you say it shall be so, time must obey.   

Alas! quoth she, my faith is not so strong,  
To think reality with language dwells,  
Nor can I think you count those minutes long,  
When you're employed with your Beads and Bells.  
Ye● it has the face of truth, I'll therefore try  
If time will pay such duty to mine eye.   

These words have lent my body a new soul,  
And shot (quoth she) a fire through every vein,  
Doubt not, your voice times circle can control,  
And make the Sun his hasty gennets rein.  
Nay more, me thinks m'enlightned eyes, discover  
'Bout you the gods with veiled bonnets hover.   

I'm half persuaded, 'twas not blasphemy  
For me to say your nod can ravel Fate,  
Thaw into Chaos this firm globe of dry,  
Beckon the planets, and their towers un-slate.  
Me thinks I see the Sun nailed to his sky,  
Vn-nath his Car, and throw his whipstaffe by   

Peace, peace, quoth she, Albino, thou dost rave,  
Why dwells such language on thy wretching tongue?  
Wilt thou just vengeance force to dig thy grave?  
Thinkest thou stern Fate will suffer such a wrong?  
Opinion thy words, let them not soar so high,  
Lest they should gash the clouds, and open the sky.   

We must not play with sharps, nor kiss the flame,  
Dally with heaven, or upbraid the gods,  
Lest their just anger make their powers tame  
Such saucy scandals with their plagues and rods.  
Then wing no more Bellama's name, but let  
The Pearl be called Pearl, the jet but jet.   

Go home in clouds, lest Envy see thy face,  
And come not till those minute's task the watch.  
Madam, says he, I'll bid them mend their pace,  
'tis just with lovers every hair ro catch,  
That dights occasions brow▪ change date for date,  
Entrench sometimes upon the rights of Fate.   

Yet your command shall stand, I'll not transgress,  
But watch the hand until it joint the hour,  
And all my paths with gloomy shades will dress,  
That undiscovered I may win this bower:  
May all the blessings which a lover's voice  
Breathes on his Lady▪ wait on you my choice.   

Here did they meet to rivet fast their heart,  
Where not a breath their private joys disturb;  
They thought no eye a saucy ray durst dart,  
Or any voice had power their loves to curb.  
So credulous are lovers, and so fain  
To their conjectures would conclusums chain:   

But this bright Sun of joy eclipsed was,  
And pitchy clouds their glorious sky did smutch,  
Then Venus' joys were like to Venice glass,  
Poor glasse-like toys, that perish with a touch,  
A Guardians anger, or a parent's frown,  
Nips loves fresh blossoms, and a wish uncrown.   

The jealous matron from her to wring loft,  
O'erlook th' ambitious trees which hemmed them in  
Or'e-heard their vows, their sighs, & language soft,  
And saw how Cupid leapt from skin to skin.  
The traffic of their lips, and how thin balms,  
Did glue and cement fast their melting palms.   

When she perceived the progress of their love,  
Religious care impanneld strait a jury  
Of thoughts and plots, this stranger to remove,  
Soothed with profit, and inflamed with fury,  
Vsh'ring her language with a threatening frown,  
She asked her business with that shaved crown.   

Why was that sickly voice, whose feeble gales  
Can raise no echoes, hand, and elbow chat,  
Eye-dialogues discourse, and wanton tales  
That way of am'rousnesse, and this, and that?  
Speak truth Bellama, has thy heart, as voice,  
Decreed that youthful monk thine only choice?   

Bellama startled at this sudden news,  
Yet did her answers all consist of no's,  
But yet, alas! her hloud observed the cues,  
And called by guilt, her Lily banks o'erflows:  
So that though she with settled vows denied,  
Yet to the eye her blushes guilty cried.   

When as the matrons busy eyes had read  
Love on her cheeks in bloody letters writ,  
She asked her why blind folly thus had lead  
Her reason, 'gainst religion, state or wit?  
Or if she needs must love, why did she scowl  
Upon state-sattens, and embrace a cowl?   

Bellama to excuses tuned her air,  
Framing pretences for her amorous saith,  
But yet alas, such was Pazzella's care,  
From her excuses she withheld her faith.  
And with a voice shrill and as fierce as thunder,  
Swore she would knap their silly loves in sunder.   

Those scarlet gowns, which doom-offenders, death,  
Or the proscriptions of the Roman state,  
Had not the tithe of that affrighting breath,  
Although they weakened hell, and threatened Fate,  
As had these words which feeble love did shiver,  
Snap his weak strings, & crack his emptied quiver   

But all this while, Albino sat with pleasure,  
And on his trencher joy and mirth attend,  
Nor to delight will he allow a measure,  
As, at one sitting, he his stock would spend.  
Nay, if he slept, he dreamed of nought but rings,  
Gloves, fans, masks, monkeys, & such pretty things.   

And when the time of his approach, approached,  
His eye did travel with the Dial's hand,  
Then started up to see Don Phoebus coached,  
Bade him make haste, and at that minute stand,  
That this blessed day may count more moment's flight  
Than could the stout Alcides' genial night.   

But oft we see before a sudden dash,  
The Sunsalutes the earth with hottest gleams:  
So here before misfortunes harshest lash,  
joy on Albino shot his choicest beams.  
That evety thought was crowned with a star,  
And rid with Venus in her silver Car.   

Risen out oth'vault, with love and hope adust,  
And in conceit fed on his future sweet,  
Thinking what most may please, not what's most just.  
And with what phrase he should his Lady gree●  
Vowing in this full heat of lust and pride,  
To try how fast Bellama's girdle's tide.   

But as our Alchemists do study much,  
Spend all their wits and wealth to find that stone,  
Which base metals doth en-gold with touch,  
(As he which once did awe the Phrygian throne)  
And when they long have dreamt of a mass,  
Their silvers' turned to tin, their gold to brass.   

Just so our Amourist stuffed full with hope,  
Came to this walk for his expected treasure,  
The crystal casements of his soul did ,  
To letin th'object of his joy and pleasure;  
But when he thought t'have found hi● lovely lass,  
His love was Lady-smocks, his Lady grass.   

He searched with stricter care, each bush and bower,  
Then did the Fairy King, and Hob his man,  
Throwing his eyes into each branched tower,  
And midst the sharpened pikes of brambles ran.  
Pricked forward with desire, enraged with spite,  
And venteth here what love and hate indite.   

Upon his Bellama using and forsaking the Walk.  
WHen walking I sentforth my watchfulleyes▪  
To fetch in objects, like Bellona's spies,  
Along this swelling way, which chequered was  
With smooth-faced pebbles, not with piked grass,  
Bellama Paced, whose only pacing set  
Upon the paved walk a Coronet  
Of Flora's pride, Carnations, Tulips, Lilies,  
Pansies, Pinks, Roses, Daffi-down-dillies:  
Nay more, me thought I saw the rubbish way,  
Saphires, Pearls, Rubies, Onix-stones, out-ray  
The very channel proud of her blessed weight,  
Swelled up with pride unto the ridge's height  
To kiss her feet, and made the way an alley,  
With this choice Fair mine eyes (ah) once did dalle●▪  
Natures Epitome, whose curious brow  
Was like a smoothed mount of bleached snow,  
At whose clear foot Nature divine did place  
Two Diamonds, which did enlighten all her face:  
So that 'twas like those orbs wherein do stray  
The planet-lampes, or Cupid's sucking way,  
And from these gems such silver rays were sent▪  
Which hatched o'er her light accoutrement.  
So that dull fancies would have thought she had  
In Cambric, Holland, or pure Lawn been clad▪  
Nay I, at first, thought it had Cynthia been  
Decked in her brother's sunshine Ermilin.  
She shot such glorious beams: but now alas!  
she's gone, she's fled, and lo, the mournirg grass  
Is hayd already, and th'ungemd stone  
At feathers catch to fly where she is gone.  
The branched Beech, the Oak, and towering Ash,  
bend both their brows and boughs my face to lash:  
The angry thorns, my hands, though armed, scratch,  
And testy brambles at my vestures catch:  
(Which was before the curse of humane sin,  
But now, by her, out-smeld the Eglantine)  
I wonder-strucken, asked a holy Thistle  
Which with his sharpned-pikes began to bristle:  
(But know, at first 'twas but an homely weed,  
Her presence made it holy, not its seed)  
Why all with ireful looks thus threatened me?  
It is supposed Bellama fair (quoth he)  
The goddess of this walk, was for●'t by you  
To this benighted path to bid adieu.  
Alas! quoth I, (mean while the thistle paused)  
Their wrath is undeserved, I never caused  
By any ill demeans that Saint to leave  
This place, and widow every branch and greave,  
Unto your testates I myself refer▪  
How choicely I have ever honoured her,  
Have paid my tribute-complements, and gave  
Respects as much as due, or she would have.  
But people (worse than those that people slewes)  
Whose only joy consists in telling news,  
Or Pazzell else with her envenomdlips  
Your glory and my comfort do eclipse,  
'tis them they ought to chide,  only they  
Compel her to forsake this gloomy way.  
Yet spite of all disasters, Fate and Hell,  
Albino's heart shall with Bellama dwell,  
And though i'll winter nip both you and me,  
We shall ere long our Suns and Summers see.   

This said, he strait forsook his silent grove,  
Trimming his looks which passion did untrim,  
And hastes to find the object of his love,  
But such an eye the matron cast on him,  
That fury on her looks did seem to dwell  
And envy to her face transplanted hell.   

Heartless Albino with much pain did view  
How on her looks madness and anger ranged,  
And on Bellam he private glances threw,  
To bring him word if that she stood unchanged,  
If she continued square despite of them,  
Whose jealous eyes did all their actions hem▪   

Bellama knew the language os his eye,  
But could not give respect to Cupid's law,  
For Piazella to her eyes did tie  
A constant watch, which kept her eyes in awe,  
That she was forced to peep within her veil▪  
For there the matron did her eyes en-jayle.   

The ragged crew which are enwrapped in chains,  
Through grates more freedom have of sight than she,  
Which in them both produced such griefs and pains  
Too sharp and loud to be expressed by me.  
Albino now does judge his absence better,  
And chose a proxee to present a letter.   

One of his order, (deemed a trusty friend  
Endear to him by favours, oath and vow)  
Was his Talthibius, ordained to send  
To her, whose beauty makes stiff Atlas' bow.  
The Monk embraced the office, and did swore  
By all our scarlet oaths, faith, truth, and care.   

Albino now to every Santo prays,  
And for success his hands with zeal does rear,  
Courting his Lady in some Irish Lays,  
And robbed his finger of its golden sphere  
En-neald, (I live in hope) and sure griefs waves  
If Anchorlesse, had been 'tis wish's graves.   

To me's fair Metres, Vandebrad Islile of te fine town of Vaschester▪  

ICk predee metres be not coy,  
But intertaune me's love vit joy:  
For me be not a snottee boy.   

Vat tough me russell not in silk,  
And keep me's servaunts vit capes ilke,  
Yet me be not a sop of milk.   

Vat tough me vil not stautly street,  
And ilke de Peacock poudely jet;  
Yet me be vary pruce and neat.   

Vat tough me vil not lie vit pimps,  
And penned me's coin on light-teale shrimps,  
Yet me can hug, buss prettee nymphs.   

Vat tough me have Hawk ne Hound,  
And vil not suare begot, idzound,  
Yet faith me's frolic, plump and sound.   

Vat tough me cannot Maudam say,  
And vil ty Fan an Monkee play,  
Yet me con●latter vel as they.   

Vat tough me cannot honour tee  
Vit titles laudee C or D,  
Yet tou salt a good Metress be.   

Vat tough, vat tough, Ick say, vat tough,  
Ick say, udsnigs, in feck I trough,  
Yet Ick drive not te Caurt and Plough.   

Then pretee, pretee, Buxom fair,  
Let me not launguish in depaire,  
But say me's suits all gaunted are.   

Let ne me's Irish Borrell speech,  
In tyne affection mauke o breach,  
For me con better say so teach.   

And me can be as blithe and free  
As auny push or saunten he,  
Ten say, and ved, and bed vit me.   
Tyne faithful friend and good servaune, Patrick Applous, te fine, te ●ave, te gallaun Irish-mon▪   

Upon the Ring sent to his Bellama.  
GVpid ofttimes disdains to dwell  
In lofty palace, but does shell  
Himself in straw-thatcht roof; and choice  
For novel, a September rose  
Before a Diamond to present  
Or time in silver seiling penned▪  
Great gifts enforce, but small ones woo,  
And forced respects will never do.  
He questions his own worth, that fears  
To whisper in his mistress ears  
With smallest gifts, since true worth hates  
A boon which for him loudly prates,  
And female worths may justly slight  
Those that, but with guilt swords, dare fight.  
These make me send this little ring,  
(An Emblem of a greater thing)  
'Tis bruised, hence representeth true  
My heart bruised, bend and bowed for you▪  
Anatomists conclude by art,  
A vein is stretched to the heart  
Froth ' smallest finger of the left,  
From vein and finger comes this geft:  
Hence merits better, since we find  
Many send presents, few their mind.   

UPON THE POESY I live in hope▪  
'tIs hope that makes me live, and when  
My hope's transferred to other men,  
Divorced from me, health cannot give  
A strength to make my rend heart live,  
A rent heart 'tis truly called,  
For love of virtues you enthralled  
Tenant at will to you, and pays  
Large rents of sighs each hour and days,  
But to what number they amount,  
Puzzles Arithmetic to count.  
Then courteous Landlady be please  
To seal my heart a life-long lease.  
Else every slight and frown of yours,  
Will turn your tenant out of doors,  
Yet hope persuades me not to doubt  
My heart shall not be turned out:  
For you have promised to come  
An live with it, or exchange home,  
So I be Landlord unto thine,  
And you be Landlady to mine.  
Say I to this, and only Fate  
Shall change the tenor of our state.   

Bardino from the Coven posts with speed  
Unto Albino's only Polar star,  
Loaden with blessings, and beware, take heed,  
As the great grand-dames son prepared for war,  
Or as a widow's son, whose only joy  
Hangs on the nuptials of her lusty boy.   

Like as a Pilot to some floating keel,  
When as the bustlers from old Aeolus' cave,  
On Neptune's furrowed back make it to reel,  
And at his death shoot billow after wave:  
So tossed in seas of grief Albino tide,  
His love's choice pinnace to Bardino's guide.   

But Bishop Guts, tun-bellyed, all-pancht Friar,  
In sight of Lesbia's towers split his fair Galley,  
Proved a dissembling and perfidious liar,  
From his foul breast deceit and hate did sally.  
The seeds of every sin in him did bud,  
Nothing did whither but this one thing, Good.   

For to win credit with the Lady-mother,  
And raise a liking of himself in her,  
He proved a traitor to his Abbey-brother,  
With Abbatesse in private does confer,  
And unto her imparts his amorous news,  
She, not Bellam ' his vowed service views.   

But to Albino he returned with faith,  
(Yet 'twas an oath) I importuned thy Saint,  
Pressed her t'unlock thy secrets; but she saith,  
What purblind folly does thy heart attaint?  
Thou know'st what offers I refused, and thou'le  
Confine my love unto a starved cowl.   

Away flings she, and leaves me disconsolate,  
Nor after deigned to me a wont look:  
Now is Albino pinched with cruel Fate,  
Which is the better, Cupid, or thy book?  
Hadst viewed her beauty with a scornful eye,  
Thou hadst not tasted of her pride and fie.   

Hapless Albin ', and hapless so much more,  
Because Albin ', rest quiet with thy lot,  
If Nilus overflow his sandy floor  
Above twelve cubits, it procures a rot.  
When at too high a pitch affections tower,  
Fate with misfortunes oft their hopes doth sour.   

Wound not the harmless air with mournful hoots  
Steer not 'gainst Volgo's stream thy feeble keel,  
Be not like him who 'gainst a whirlwind shoots,  
Or like the Cockatrice in pecking steel,  
For acts 'gainst nature wrougt, despite do gain,  
And love o'relooking Fortune, reaps disdain.   

But let us see what strange effect this news  
Writes in his breast (disasters fatal book)  
What stronger plot his working fancy brews,  
If's lofty thoughts be at this answer shaken,  
Alas! they are, so weak a thing is man,  
Crasht into Atoms with a slighting fan.   

His blood retires unto his throbbing heart,  
His wanned cheeks with lawn were overspread▪  
An aspen trembling loosened every part,  
His spirits fainted, and his vitals fled,  
And his quick hart with such strong motions beate●▪  
That it, though chilled with fear, his body heated.   

Entering his chamber, strewed o'er with rue,  
He leaned his head upon his swelling pillow,  
And sighing, cried, Bellama is this true,  
Must I be doomed to the barren willow?  
I thought, exempted from my pedants art,  
I should no more have felt the willows smart.   

Thy eyes spoke love, and every glance you sent,  
Writ on my heart, Albino is approved,  
Whenso'ere my eyes unto thy feature went,  
And met with thine, they brought me word you loved  
Then can Bellama not Bellama be?  
She may Bellama be, but not to me.   

Blessed heavens! how have men deserved your ire,  
That made you frame this curse, this thing called Woman,  
So comely and so useful? giving fire  
To sear us men, and yet disdain to know man?  
Why on their faces have you placed such charms,  
To make us court with sighs the worst of harms?   

Pandora's box of woes was opened then,  
When first they took in hand to make a woman,  
And all the Furies joined to torture men;  
Yet women first were rare, but now grown common,  
And mischiefs high, when once they common grow.  
Entomb great states, and commons overthrow.   

Thou Love, (what should I call thee?) dost entice,  
Nay checkst rebellion in the awful gods,  
Women thy weapons are, of such high price,  
That beat with them, they humbly kiss the rods.  
No life, no joy, no sweet, without a lass,  
And yet no sweet nor joy since woman was.   

Our eyes do ne'er mistake the day for night,  
Nor can the pale-hewd pinks for roses pass,  
But when on women's colours they do light,  
Then (bribed) they look as through a painted glass,  
So that what women are we never see,  
But what we wish and fancy them to be.   

'Mongst thousand virgins which do suck this air,  
I never knew but one, but one— one good,  
Whom I supposed full as good as fair,  
And she was making  Deucalion's flood:  
But she alas! what should I say? but she  
Is woe to man, a woman unto me.   

Thus in his heightened fury he condemns,  
Both Fate and Fortune, honour, wealth and worth,  
Raileth on virgins and their beauteous gems,  
And curseth nature, that did bring herforth,  
But above all, his sharp incensed Muse,  
In wrathful Odes Don Cupid does accuse.   

An Invective against CUPID.  
THou love, if thou wilt suffer this, be blind,  
Deaf, dumb, and stupid, and unwisely kind,  
More unto slights than merits, and reward  
Respects and negligence with same regard.  
If Satins difference, and maids adorn,  
Then nature has with beauty, more with scorn,  
That they must fligger, scoff, deride and jeer,  
Appoint their servants certain hours t'appear,  
Afford by number, kisses, sights by tale,  
Command a certain distance, and impale  
Love's game from taste or touch, and if at all  
Men do transgress, steep all their words in gall:  
Check but the least presumption, and with frown●●  
Strike as much terror unto us, as crowns;  
Love, if thou'lt suffer this, and wink at them,  
Make us esteem a pebble for a gem,  
Stoop, cringe, adore, sue, flatter, and admire,  
And in our bosoms teenst thy amorous fire,  
May all the haggish Furies sound lash  
And with their snaky whips thy sinews gash:  
May all the tortures Hell encloseth, fall  
On thee, if not enough, and, more than all;  
But we— we men will be no more thy slaves,  
And women's too, we'll pack unto our graves:  
And in our silent beds of earth will court  
The slender-wasted worms, and with them sport,  
Dally, hug, toy, and vow their wimbling buss  
Is full as sweet as women's was to us.  
Enwalled with dust we'll lie, till nature shall  
Perceive thy malice (Cupid) and her fall,  
And woos with sighs and tears in loving guise,  
For a replantage of the world, to rise,  
Then shall our wills un-god thee, and thy mother,  
And Cupids be ourselves one to another.  
Then in thy Temples shall no voice be heard,  
But Scriechowles, Dor, and Daws, no Altarreard  
Whereon to sacrifice true lovers hearts,  
Scalded with sighs, and galled with thy darts.  
For we ourselves, ourselves will temples call,  
And make our bosom's Altars, whereon shall  
From fourteen to fourscore the females fairs  
Burn Frankincense of love with sighs and prayers,  
And change the custom so, that maidens than  
Shall court, admire, adore and woo us men.   

This said, he strove t'unbillow all with slumbers,  
But th'more he strove to rest, less rest he takes,  
His watchful thoughts each tattling minute numbers,  
Bellama's wakening beauty him awakes.  
And having purchased sleep, though they were dim,  
Bellama's beauty darted rays at him▪   

Than starting up, her substance fair to catch,  
He lost the shadow, and did rave again,  
Can grovelling Brambles lofty Cedars scratch?  
Or wadling Ducks overtop the towering Crane?  
Yet virtues imped with person, reach a sky,  
And to an higher pitch than Fortune fly.   

There is a tree, (as our Historians writ)  
Alpina hight, of fair and glorious gle●▪  
With branches fine, and glorious blossoms dight,  
But never tasted by the witty Bee,  
Fearing death lodgeth there, and this he fears,  
'Cause to the eye so glorious it appears.   

Not much unlike to these our women are  
Whom Nature has in dainty colours dressed,  
And of our women likest are the fair,  
For with much beauty virtues seldom rest.  
Would jove all women I had judged to be  
Alpina-like, or if not all, yet she.   

The Queen of beauty strumpet was to Mars,  
Officious Bawd unto lascivious jove,  
A patroness of those that ride in Carres,  
And in her Court nor virtue reigns, nor love,  
But lust and vanity with wily trains,  
That he repentance buys, which beauty gains.   

She as many trulls, like Menelaus' wife,  
And she such light-skirt things for chaste ones sells,  
With whom dissembling and deceits are rife,  
Smiles, tears, sighs, looks, with such enchanting spells.  
If they but bend their brows, & shoot out frowns,  
They crack a sceptre, and distemple crowns.   

Yet stay: but by the sour we know not sweet,  
White's silver hue adjoynd to black, shines best,  
How should we know our hands, but by our feet?  
Healths only prized, when sickness doth arrest.  
This principle perhaps Bellama holds,  
Summer is known by Winter's chilling colds.   

Perchance Bellama did not breathe that woe  
Which by Bardino was conveyed to me:  
Nor dwelled upon her lips that scornful No,  
'Twas only forged by her Dame and he.  
But— why should suspicion steal into my bre  
Suspect a friend, deceit with friendship rest?   

No: Phaeton base son to days bright blaze,  
Daring his Chariot felt joves' thunder fire.  
Astronomers, whilst on the stars they gaze,  
Ofttimes do sink into the dirty mire:  
Only the Eagle without purblind damps,  
Can fix his eyes upon the prince of lamps.   

The son of Daedalus soared up so high,  
That Phoebus plucked his waxed jointed wings;  
It was her pride checked my ambitious eye,  
True love to hatred changed by slights has stings.  
I'll write invectives: no, I'll only try  
What virtue dwells in slighting Poesy   

To his Bellama slighting him.  
I'll boar the heavens, pierce the clouds a vain,  
Make them full torrents weep of brackish rain,  
To second my laments, me thinks the Sun  
Knowing my clue is raveld and undone,  
That my Bellama slights, should vexed resign  
T'his sister's Chariot his Ecliptic line.  
Bid Phoebe run horn mad, and loudly cry,  
Froth, howl, as in a fit of lunacy,  
Nay, throw a poison on Endymion's lips,  
Threaten to drown the world, the Sun eclipse,  
Keep the stars order still? or can they stir,  
And not digress? Know they how not to err?  
Sure no: I saw bright Paphos snuff her lamp,  
Yet vowed to quench it with eternal damp,  
Hurl all away, if that her servants love  
Be had in no regard, and awful jove  
Hurry along the milky way to find  
That snifling deity, that winged, blind—  
And vowed to clip his wings as short as Munkes,  
Their stubbed beards more short than pained runkes▪  
Unless he shot a dart with more than speed,  
To make Bellama's heart affections bleed.  
Bold Ocean foams with spite, his neb-tides roar,  
His billow's top and topmast high do soar.  
Nature herself is sullen, keeps her bed,  
And will not rise so much as dress her head,  
Regardless of the seasons, will not see  
Loud winds deplume the bush and to wring tree.  
The Ploughman furrows earth, sows seedith'tides,  
But nature weeps for me, his pains derides  
Copernicus his t●net's verified,  
The massy Globe does 'bout its centre ride.  
All things disranked, nothing observes it state,  
Change time and tide, or post or ante-date  
But thou Bellam ' art deaf to me and blind,  
Steelst thine affections, flintst thy hardened mind,  
And strik'st fire thence t'inflame my tinder heart,  
Thou oyl'st the flame, but I endure the smart.  
How oft have I, when others eyes have slept,  
Like sentinels to armies, watchings kept?  
And when the thought oth'saints thrice blissful home  
(which ah! too seldom) 'mongst my thoughts did come  
Then spite of goodness blessed E was lost  
And you the haven of me tempest-tost:  
Have I made envious art admire thy worth,  
Touched the Ela of praise, t'emhlazoned forth?  
Bid sleep good night, quiet and rest adieu,  
Made myself no self to entitle you.  
And after this sad purgatory, must  
My hopes be laydith ' dust for want of dust?  
Then know Bellama, since thou aim'st at wealth,  
Where Fortune has bestowed her largest dealt,  
That wealth may puff a clod of earth like leaven,  
But virtuous want alone ensouleth heaven.  
Know more, I scorned thy fortune, 'twas thyself  
I courted, not thy slight adored pelf,  
And had not Mortals curse blessed thee and I  
Had swelled with honour and nobility.  
My love once fixed on virtue, parents hate  
In both, might shake, but ne'er everts love's state.  
I aim at virtue's bliss, and if I find  
The heart and bosom good, I slight the rind.  
But since Bellama, thou regardst not me,  
I scorn to cringe, adore, and flatter thee.  
For he that rules his thoughts, has a nobler soul,  
Than he that awes the world from Pole to Pole.  
Thus, Fair, adieu, with love these measures scan,  
And know my love was but a fit of man.   

we'll leave Albino in this frantic mood,  
And view Bellama parged over with fear,  
Ask a member of her sisterhood,  
(For love and vertves unto her most dear)  
Amongst their sport, and their chaste delights,  
Wherefore Albino did refrain their sights.   

Barraba (her the Font those letters gave)  
Said, I presume, I rightly guess the cause,  
Bellama urged (thankes to the purblind knave)  
'Twas thus, quoth she, yet made a two-dayes pause,  
At length with importunings overcome,  
She told her why Albino kept at home.   

Bardino did deceive his trust, quoth she,  
Told all, yet sung another song to him,  
His love came laptin paper unto thee,  
He with acquaint words did his affection's limb,  
Vowed service, but Bardino (ah though shame▪)  
Unclasped his secrets to our jealous dame.   

Am I an Infidel? or dare I tie,  
Quoth fair Bellama, unto this, belief?  
Shall just revenge in my soft bosom dye?  
And shall I melt my heart with secret grief?  
I'll scold with him, Says chaste Barraba, no:  
For by that, others will your wishes know.   

What she should do (plunged in this depth of woe)  
Bellama knew not, nor durst counsel ask,  
More dangers wait her, if she send or go,  
Than if she under went Alcides' task▪  
Distracted were her thoughts in silence tied,  
Till love and honour buzzled, than she cried,   

Ah false Bardino! shame of holy Orders!  
Whither, ah! whither didst thousend thy troth?  
To be grand factor in the frozen borders,  
For them whose decks do make old Ocean froth?  
And truthless thou, locktin this gloomy Cell,  
Plotst baseness to enlarge the crown of hell.   

 Bardin ', unworthy of a cope,  
Or (whose employments holy) other vest,  
Didst, oh didst thy conscience scour with soap?  
And washed all faith from off thy glazed breast?  
And faithless thou esteemest less of vow,  
Than clownish whistlers, which do steer the plough   

Where didst incage thine eyes? durst thou behold  
(Acting this crime) the castle of the stars?  
How stopst thine ears? didst hear the heaven's scold,  
And chide in wind and thunder, threatening wars?  
Dared touch the hallowd water, spittle, salt,  
The Cross or Pax, and yet attempt this fault?   

Those sacred Bagno's wherein Pagan's wash  
Their sullied limbs for their Moschea's door,  
The pottage-penance, and repentant lash,  
The haircloth shirt, skin-shooes, & thousand more,  
Th' Arch-vicars pardon, and the purging flame,  
Can ne'er absolve thy crime, or clear thy fame.   

Pack then from humane eyes, and shroud thy sin  
Under the curtains of eternal night;  
Perfidiousness does make thee near of kin  
To hell's black fiends, with robes of horror dight:  
Pack, pack, be gone, the Ferryman does stay,  
To waft thy paunch o'er th' Acherontic Bay.   

But peace Bellama, dost thou think it fit  
To value at so mean a price thy pearl?  
Applaud thyself ' count it a point of wit,  
To take a Cowlist, and refuse an Earl.  
The world shall be un-centerd, ere ' the said,  
Beauty takes lodging in an humble maid.   

What the●? shall every fashion fashion me?  
As in religion, by the Church's eye,  
So by the worlds, must I in loving see?  
No, I the world's supremacy deny.  
Hence with those loves, which profit only measures  
I hate that hea●t which only shoots at treasures.   

The Cyprian goddess is not fed with ploughs,  
Nor Cupid's arrow guided is with acres:  
Vulcan permitted was to shake the boughs;  
But Mars sucked in the sweets without partakers.  
Youth youth pursues, for with Autumnal looks  
Cupid does seldom bait his eighteen hooks.   

Who in pleuretick passions does deny  
To open veins, to shut death out o'th' doors?  
Who will notin sharp Fevers Galen try,  
To weaken humours, and unstop the pores?  
The quickest eye does want the quickening Sun,  
And to the Sea the drilling cadents run.   

Who, when Sir Cupid enters at the eye,  
With pride and coy disdain shuts comfort forth?  
I'll make ambition stoop, now love says I,  
And satin thoughts shall veil to Tammey worth:  
By lovely maids, the lovely loved are,  
And by the fair most favoured are the fair.   

Thus did she rage, her resolution love,  
Which spite of all disastets she will harbour,  
Hoping blessed fate will so propitious prove,  
T'enclose her Monk and her in Cupid's Arbour:  
But leave her surfeiting with hope, and view  
When to Monastic vows she'll bid adieu.   

Till Cynthia twice twelve times repaired had  
Her silver horns, she was in cloistered here,  
When some kind planet moved her loving Dad  
To fetch her thence, his frostyed age to cheer;  
Hence virgin vow, away black vestments hurled,  
Bellama's borne again into the world.   

He with his Lady mounted on his jen.  
Net, to the Nunnery, with haste does ride,  
Accompanied with troops of harness men,  
And vowed a siege, if Piazzell ' denied,  
To batter down the holy walls with guns,  
And fright the Hag with all her simpering Nuns.   

He in an ambush placed his iron crew,  
Bade them prepare when as the trump did call,  
Dismounting then, the janitor him knew,  
And lead the Lordly couple through the hall,  
Parlours and chambers, to the conclave, where  
The pious Nuns their branched Lilies rear.   

Bellama craved a blessing, they it gave:  
Then Rivelezzo he did softly ask  
If the Monastic roof should be her grave?  
If now she grieved for Don Fuco's task?  
If after two year's bondage now she would  
Answer more kindly to the voice of gold?   

My Lord, quoth she, with humble knee and voice,  
I am not tired with my nicer vow,  
Nor hate I Hymen, might my eyes make choice,  
Ask when I'll marry? and I'll answer now.  
A man (quoth he) for face and virtue choose,  
And on mine honour, I will not refuse.   

P●azzella fearing that their whispering would  
Presage no good unto her huffing waste,  
Broke off their parley, and Rivelezzo told  
That his fair daughter zealous was and chaste:  
And that her mind no evil did attaint,  
She almost has attained to be a Saint.   

Such high-prized comforts, joys, rewards and glory  
Our happy walls en-seele and curtain in,  
That we alone survive all praise and story,  
Are called Hell's tortures, and the whips of sin.  
The local motion of our souls in heaven,  
We hate blind Turkism, and the jewish leaven.   

Madam, quoth Don, you need no advocate,  
Since you yourself can plead your cause so well,  
But that my sex does interdict this state,  
What your words might effect, I cannot tell;  
But sure it does unscrue a virgins hart,  
To hear of love, and never fecle his dart.   

Madam, for sooth, quoth Lady Arda, I  
ne'er found such comfort ith'innupted life,  
Nor think the blessings of virginity  
Can equal the contentments of a wife.  
My voice should not assent unto her vow,  
To wreath with willow sprigs her melting brow.   

Quoth Piazzella, I am grieved sore  
To hear such scandals thrown upon our vow,  
To hear Diana, whom all aught t' adore,  
And her chaste votaries depraved now.  
I know not what contents attend a wife,  
But sure they equal not th'innupted life.   

Again, your honours you do much impeach,  
To force your daughter from this happy state;  
Twixt her and happiness you make a breach,  
And pull upon your heads a cursed Fate.  
Heaven's un-buckle will their clouds of rain,  
Death or diseases, if you part our train.   

The body's better than the sheathing skin,  
And aught with greater care to be maintained,  
The guest is fare more worthy than the Inn,  
And aught with greater study to be trained.  
The soul mounts heaven, when earrhs aged womb  
The Skeleton (her issue) does entomb.   

Away with arguments, in vain you plead,  
Our vow (quoth they) locked not her girdle ever,  
I (quoth Pazzella) do abjure the Tede,  
Hymen shall ne'er my holy orders sever:  
But spite of all the tricks the world does nurse,  
I'll keep my virgins from the bridal curse.   

Without demurs, Don Rivelezzo then  
With shrill-voyced trumpet made an echo speak,  
Strait was the house environed with men,  
Which with their leaden gloabes an entrance break▪  
The air was frighted with the powder-thunder,  
The bellowing noise did split the rocks in sunder   

Affrighted thus, the Matron bid them gang,  
And to Bellama gave a sad adieu:  
Yet in her heart she grypt with Envies fang,  
And o'er her looks a veil of sorrow drew.  
The joyful parents having got their daughter,  
Gave a farewell unto the house with laughter.   

Leaving the Coach and Cloister, we'll take part  
With poor Albino in his woe and grief,  
Who seeing Fortune his designs did thwart,  
And Neptune's grandchild brought him no relief:  
Did think to win her presence in disguise:  
He that but one way tries is hardly wise.   

He plotted to invest himself with robe  
Might speak him nobly borne, and gallant hair,  
To some  measures of this wealthy globe,  
Seated aloft in honours Oval chair:  
Procure him then some store of laced capes,  
To wait on him with servile garbs and shapes   

Pretending to be one o'th' Spanish court,  
Giving strange accents to our modern speech,  
And hither came, his wand'ring mind to sport,  
But that he faces lacked to tune each breech.  
Besides, he knew the Matrons care was such,  
She love untwisted in the eye or touch.   

Then a new project did he get on's brain,  
And sheard the downy moss from his smooth chin,  
Intending to be one o'th' Virgine-traine,,  
Like jupiter huskt in a female skin▪  
But that he feared religion could not bridle,  
His active heat 'twixt linen to be idle.   

He thought his breaking voice would him betray,  
Unless he said, he ever had a cold:  
He feared the curte fie and the female play,  
Or that his face would make him seem too old:  
But above all, he feared he should not lock  
His legs within the compass of a smock.   

In costly vestures he would be arrayed,  
Of high descent, and fearing lest his Sire  
Would force him to an hated pillow, strayed  
With them to teen the holy vestal fire.  
He would be nobly borne, not out of pride,  
But to be sheeted by Bellama's side.   

He had no treasure, but would promise fair,  
That settled there, he should be fed in state,  
Hoping to win the porter with kind air,  
That with Bellama he might thread the gate.  
He all would venture, and upon this plot,  
Would place his fortunes, and the Gordian knot.   

In such accoutrement he vailed was,  
That to himself Albino was not known,  
He looked for Albino's faceith ' glass,  
But nothing of himself t'himselfe was shown:  
Each way a maid enriched with special grace,  
As though he had unflowred Adonis' face.   

He styled himself Phaeliche, only child  
To him, who at that time was Folco's Duke,  
And was so like to her whom he was styled,  
That she could scarcely say 'twas not her look:  
For what's of Issa and her picture writ,  
Was found in them, they tasked the Poets wit.   

Unto this Virgine-cage she fast did pace,  
And knocking at the gate, the Porter came,  
Who seeing riches on her back and face,  
With humble voice desired to know her name.  
My name (good friend) quoth she, Phaeliche is,  
I come to taste your choice Monastic bliss.   

Madam, Avaro said, our rubbish stone  
With cement joined shall precious strait be made▪  
In that they shall enspheare so fair an one.  
Phaeliche smiling at the porter, said,  
Hath time with Iron jaws eat out this ,  
Which now these Masons do repair by Art▪   

And truth it was, Phoeliche (Folco's heir)  
Flying the disaster of an hated Tede,  
Couched in disguises at a cottage bare▪  
(But how? when? where? task not my amorous lead]  
So that Pazzella's faith writ on her brow,  
The noble treasures of Phoeliches' vow.   

Not time it was, but an unhappy hour,  
The porter said, we had a virtuous fair,  
Daughter unto a man of mighty power,  
Begird our holy walls with sulphur fire,  
And summoned harnessed men which close did lie▪  
They with their leaden worlds at us did play,  
And frighted (as you see) these stones away.   

Phaeliche knowing that her Adamant,  
Th'impulsive cause of this her virgin-vow,  
Was vanished thence, and gleams of joy did want,  
And wanning sorrow reveld on her brow▪  
Scarce could she speak, & every jointing trembled,  
Yet feared the Porter, and her fear dislembled.   

Pazzella and the virgins her esteemed,  
Seeing her feature, and unequalled grace,  
Before they knew his parentage, or deemed  
He was descended from high Folco's race;  
But knowing that, their joys did swell so high  
That grief for sorrow slinkt aside to cry.   

But ere the next day's Sun, to let out day  
Night's Ebon box unlocked, she did not brook  
To hear their private whispers, talk, and pray,  
Erect the host, and kiss a guilded book:  
For, her, Bellama has possessed solely,  
So that their water could not make her holy.   

Instead of Virgin-mother, she would say,  
My dearest Lady, hear my sad complaint,  
Nor to she-Saints would she devoutly pray,  
'Cause none but her Bellama was a Saint  
Unto Loretta, as Bellam ' she swears,  
And calls their holy water but her tears.   

She wondered oft how her Bellama did  
Two years continue in this hated cell;  
And in her thoughts she oftentimes her chid,  
For dwelling where but formal good does dwell,  
Since in her absence she could scarce abide  
To sojorne here a double eventide.   

Her brains acquainted was no whit with sloth,  
But plotted how she might escape that jail,  
And to this end she vowed her virgin-oath  
Should for her quick returning put in bail:  
She thought her breach of virgin-oath no sin,  
Because she only wore the formal skin.   

She missed, in ransacking her Cabinet,  
A precious jewel fare exceeding rare,  
Which on her brow the Lady Duchess set,  
As a true pledge of her indulgent care,  
Far richer than that pearl which Egypt's Queen,  
Quaffed to her mark dissolved in liquor keen.   

But for all this, a curious fit of man,  
Did force her, for assay, to enter in,  
To see if fasting did their Roses wan,  
Or folly led not in the Paphian sin,  
Thinking her wit could manumisse her straight,  
From that lank cloister, by some nimble sleight.   

This she pretended to have lost, as she  
(Fainted with fears, and with her travails tired)  
In the cool shade of a well-haired tree,  
Threw water on her joints with labour fired:  
For heavens parch the air with hotter rays,  
When with his flaming tongue the dog-star bays   

Madam, quoth she, with feigned tears and sigh,  
Grant me your licence to go seek my Gem,  
The place of my reposure is but nigh,  
Swore by those fires that did enlighten them.  
By her virginity and virgin-vow  
Return ere time could place a triple now.   

Quoth Piazzella, I will send a maid  
To seek your jewel out with studied care,  
Direct her to the shade, wherein you stayed,  
For you forbidden are the common air;  
Our gardens beautified with Maya's glee▪  
Your farthest journey must and aught to be.   

She urged again, but all in vain she asked,  
The Prioress remembered still the Earl,  
And feared Phoeliche his departure masked  
Under pretence of seeking for a pearl:  
And more suspicious thoughts unto her came,  
'Cause she so often kissed Bellama's name.   

She seeing that this plot did want a stamp  
To make it currant pass, like lawful coins,  
Feared her departure from this lanky came,  
And vowed to try the virgins skill at foins:  
Yet ere she would attempt that amorous play,  
She would attempt escapes some other way.   

She veiwd the casements, and did boldly wrench  
With courage masculine, the squared bars,  
But they did scorn the vigour of a wench,  
Like sturdy Oaks which slight the windy jars.  
Nay more, deep waters did begirt them round,  
That from the glass he could not see the ground   

Then on the porter did she kindly smile,  
And by full tale gave free respects to him,  
Thinking to gull Avaro by this wile,  
joined with language, oiled, perfumed and trim,  
Quoth she thy trust and skill I must employ,  
And for thy pains thou shalt have treasures boy.   

The greedy Porter like a goshawk seized  
With griping talons on this Pheasant Cock:  
Madam, says he, my skill ●s not diseased,  
Nor dwells dissembling with the honest frock▪  
Disclose your secrets, and be sure, if man  
Can do you service, then Avaro can.   

Phoeliche then, as prologue to her suit,  
Gave him a purse full fraught with pseudo-gold,  
Told him her bounty brought no worse fruit,  
If in th'achievement he'd be true and bold.  
Thou must some evening let me pass the gates,  
And straggle half a mile to gather dates.   

Madam, I'll do't, it is a small request,  
Since you do merit better at my hand;  
If fortune be propitious to my hest,  
You on the common shore this night I'll land:  
My hands have eyes, and only what they see  
Will they believe: give me my minted fee.   

Phoeliche then plucked out a silken purse,  
Great, and as musical as th'other was,  
Pretending it was stuffed with metal curse,  
When't only was with circled rags of glass;  
Which purposely she did with Dimonds' cut,  
To gull the Porter's hopes, and fill his gut.   

Heavens augment your store, Madam, quoth he,  
I'll wait you at the middle age of nighr;  
Come to my lodge, and softly cal● for me:  
This handsome cheat Phoeliche did delight.  
To cozen the deceivers is no fraud,  
To use a Pimp, and cheat a rusty Bawd:   

She scarcely knew what letters spelled grief,  
For all her thoughts with regal crowns were wreathed  
Yet 'mongst them all, Bellama ruled as chief:  
At time of rest her body she unsheathed,  
And housed within the linen walls her limbs,  
Till night and sleep did their quick tapers dim:   

Avaro (when days sisters misty fog  
Had popped out Apollo's searching eye,  
And general silence humane tongues did clog,  
Locking all senses up with Lethargy)  
Stepped to his purses, and began to think  
How he should order his beloved chink.   

he'd hang his lodge with Arras, weaved with gold,  
That his successor there might sleep in state,  
Or else, if some revenues would be sold,  
he'd give them Darwey bought at any rate,  
That all the Nuns with prayers and holy names,  
Might fetch his soul from out the purging flames.   

I'll mend highways, or hospitals repair,  
Else build a College, and endowed with mines.  
Thus did he build his castles in the air:  
For all's not cash that jingles, gold that shines,  
His glassy coin leap out of the mint,  
Ere on his brow the stamp did currant print.   

Thus was he gulled, as once a king of France  
Paid a French Mounsieur for a prancing steed,  
Gave him a purse whose richness did enhance  
Th'enclose gem, supposed a noble meed;  
But when for golden mountains he did gape,  
He oped the purse, and only found a rape.   

Oh what full anger redded o'er his looks!  
What tides of rage and fury swelled his spleen!  
He curseth her with candles, bells, and books,  
And vowed ere long on her to wreak his teen.  
Ah me! quoth he, such brittle things are lasses,  
Which one poor letter changeth unto glasses.   

Phaeliche now perceiving all was quiet,  
Hearing no noise, unless a belly-blast,  
Which might proceed from an un wholesome diet,  
Tide her apparel on with nimble haste;  
And coming to the lodge with knuckle knock,  
She strove to summon out the lazy frock.   

But the grim Tartar was so sound lulled  
Without a dram of Opium steeped in Ale,  
Tired with vexing that he was so gulled,  
That all Phaeliches' rappings nought avail,  
Till vexed with demurs she knocked so loud,  
It raised a thunder like a breaking cloud.   

Just at that instant did Pazz●ll awake  
From an affrighting dream, wherein she saw  
A dreadful Lion her Phaeliche take,  
And tear her body with his sharpened paw:  
And hearing this shrill noise, fear said 'twas true,  
Danger did threaten her Monastic crew.   

Her frostied limbs she heaved out of bed,  
And shield her body in her night apparel,  
Arming her hands with pistols stuffed with lead,  
Which anger firing, with the air did quarrel:  
And groping in the dark, her foot did slip,  
Which out o'th' barrels made the bullets skip.   

Phaeliche at that thunderclap amazed,  
With haste retired from the Porter's cell,  
And meeting her, on one another gazed,  
The Porter starting up, did ring the bell;  
The virgins shrieked, which all made murmurs shrill  
Like Irish hubbubs in pursuit of ill.   

When reason somewhat had becalmd their rage,  
The Abbatesse Phoeliche sharply checked:  
Madam, says she, I only came t'assuage  
Intestine heats, which all my body decked  
In scarlet die, and being much paid,  
With frisking Fairies I the Porter called.   

Go, go, you are a wanton girl quoth she,  
That fain would tempt my Porter unto folly,  
Madam, Phoeliche said, you injure me,  
Sure, if lascivious I had been so jolly,  
I might have met with many men more able,  
Before I did invest myself with sable.   

Oh madam, madam, mad Avaro cried,  
Why, do you think she could o'ercome your frock?  
I ne'er did yield, yet have been often tried,  
My courage hath withstood a greater shock.  
Yet sure she would— she would have passed the gates,  
Th● reason why? forsooth to gather dates.   

I am afraid your dukedom, girl does long,  
Not for the Porter, he is out of date;  
But for an oily Cavalier that's strong,  
May teach her virginship a mother's fate.  
Madam, look well, see if you miss no glass,  
I'm sure with brittle coin she gulled an Ass.   

Then told the story▪ Piazzella fretted,  
This is the jewel which you would have sought,  
When in all haste from hence you would have jetted  
What your intendments were, my wisdom thought,  
I'll have no gadders; and t'allay your heat,  
I have a diet will prevent a sweat.   

In a retired room she locked her up,  
Devoid of lustful mates with her to play;  
Allowed her pulse, and juice of clouds to sup,  
And bad her scores of Ave Maries say.  
Three artificial days she lodged there,  
Where every day to her did seem a year.   

When she had paid this penance for her crime,  
Which in her judgement was accounted bad,  
She was again amongst the virgins prime,  
On promise that she would not henceforth gad▪  
Ye● still she plotted, but where ere she went,  
The angry destinies thwarted her intent   

Then from Bellam ' since walls did her en-cell,  
She thought t'employ her talon to the best:  
One of the vitgines had some vogliarell,  
And earnestly desired with her to rest.  
Who ere the morn did Practico sing,  
And wore her blushes on her ruby'dring.   

Next night she chose another, than another;  
Her curious  so to novels stood.  
That every one had hope to be a mother,  
And near of kin, united in one blood▪  
But yet, alas! this pleasure lasted no●,  
Their virgin girdles could not keep 〈…〉▪   

Not many fortnight's after they had 〈◊〉  
These physic potions from their 〈…〉  
One told her folly by her meager 〈…〉  
Another had more blue than 〈…〉  
Others were qualmish, and 〈…〉  
All spoke their pleasures▪ 〈…〉   

One longed for Citrons, and another grapes  
That grew on Alps steep height, others for peaches▪  
One strangely did desire the tails of Apes  
Steeped in juice of Myrtles, holmes and beaches.  
Some palates must be fed with implumed Quails,  
And nothing must approach this tongue but rails.   

Some longed for Creevish, shrimps, Cod, Plaice and oysters,  
One for a Limmond that doth grow on thorns,  
Another longeth for some blood of Roisters,  
Spiced with the scrape of pale Cynthia's horns,  
One on the bosom of the Matron skips,  
And spite of her full nose did gnaw her lips.   

One bade them fill an Ork of Bacchus' water,  
Her thirsty soul she said would dreane a tun,  
One from her window bids a poor translater  
Cut her a cantle of the gaudy Sun:  
But above all, I like that witty gi●le,  
Which longed to feed upon a glorrah Earl.   

The jealous matron with suspicious eye,  
Did read their common ill in every face,  
Espied the breach of their virginity,  
And feared a plantage with an infant race.  
Yet still suppressed her knowledge, till at last  
Their heaving bellies kissed their thickened waste▪   

She then with friendly summonings did call  
The grave Lord Abbot, and his smooth-chin race,  
Who coached came unto the virgin-hall,  
But all the rabble through the vault did pace:  
Arrived here, she cooked dainty cates,  
To please the Abbot, and his Tempo-pates,   

So called a counsel 'bout her quondam maids,  
Each one admiring who durst be so bold,  
Since none had entrance, nor the virgins strayed,  
And for the Porter he was known too cold:  
The Prior feared lest one of his square caps  
Should guilty be of those upheaving laps.   

It was decreed that they all should be  
Shreeved, being sejoined from each others ken,  
But ere that time the teemers did decree,  
What answer to return the shreeving men:  
Phaeliche did instruct them to deny.  
That she gave birth unto their pregnancy.   

But they should say, and to that saying seal,  
With strong asseverations, that into  
Our fast-lockt room a youthful blade did steal,  
And with the best of wooing did us woo:  
Our cases are the same with Merlin's mother,  
W●e think our lover was his father's brother.   

'twas one man's act, or clothed with humane shape,  
He was Angelical, and this we thought,  
Because there was no semblance of a rape:  
We gave him our assent as soon as sought.  
We judged un-maiding better in the dark,  
Than Daphne-like, an husking ore with bark.   

The shreevers to their Lord● return with smiles,  
And on their looks a joy oval chhriots had,  
Said, they confessed them with zeal and wiles,  
And by a plain narration knew the dad:  
One of those ever-youthfuls came from heav●n,  
And in the virgin's wombs did lay a leaven.   

The Abbot at this news did much rejoice,  
Since with a kind aspect the virgin Ladee,  
Viewing this Nunnery, did ordain this choice,  
And for the issue did appoint this dadee,  
They shall be Prophets, Priests, of high renown,  
And Virgins which shall keep their bellies down.   

Provide them childbed linen, mantles, swadles,  
Rockers and Nurses, all officious she's,  
With Rattles, Corals, little Carres and Cradles,  
And give them beads to wait upon their knees,  
Rome's high Arch-vicar shall a testate be,  
To the first borne whom nature makes a he.   

Take pens, & smooth-strain Anthems writ in bays,  
Make new Orisons unto all the Saints,  
And to Lucina chant invoking lays,  
To move her pity these young mother's plaints  
Say, her fair temple need not fear the flame,  
Whilst here she wins her an eternal fame.   

Phoeliche smiled to see their studied care  
To foster whom she at her pleasure got▪  
But Piazz●lla starting from her chair,  
Called Phoeliche to survey her knot,  
And finding it as at the first 'twas tied,  
How scaped you this Goddy Sire she cried?   

Madam, quoth He-Phoeliche, I confess,  
I was a party in those spruce delights;  
But nature curseth some with barrenness,  
As I have heard Albertus Magnus writes.  
So that though my desires were full as big,  
I was not heaved with that curtain jig.   

Reason fortasse's on her words did stamp,  
Which did en-truth them (though they were but squibs)  
This done, the Prior did remove his camp,  
And all the Friars with hemp-girdled ribs,  
All great with expectation, and as fain  
Would be delivered as the full-flankt train.   

They sung Canzone's ere the Sun could rise,  
And Ave-maries' out of number said,  
Lucina wondered at this strange disguise,  
That Nuns and Monks to her devoutly prayed:  
All Beads were rattled, and all Saints invoked,  
Some squeald, some tenourd, and some hoarsly crooked.   

With this conceit Phoeliche frolic grew,  
And sported bravely in the silent hours,  
Her bed-mates called her Angel, yet none knew  
That 'twas Albino which had cropped their flowers:  
But though they reveld in the night, the day  
Threw hail-storms on their lust, to i'll their play.   

Yet had their pleasure not a grandsire life:  
For tattling slumbers did their joys untone,  
You vowed Phoeliche, I should be your wife,  
Says Cloe, ere you loosed my virgine-zone:  
But ah! so waked, and feared her vocal slumber,  
Would from her eyelids force a Trent & Humber▪   

Says Phill', Phoeliche, had I known at first,  
You only wore the name of Folco's daughter,  
I would have suffered an untamed thirst,  
Ere lust had brought mine honour unto slaughter:  
But oh! and starting up, she feared her dream,  
Would ere 'twas long, obscure joys mirthful gleam▪   

Well, well, says Floris, 'tis an happy change,  
To lose mine honour for an Angell-mate,  
But Angels will not house in such a grange,  
This is the offspring of Phaeliches' pate:  
But ah! so sighed, and sighing caused fears,  
Lest her plump Roses should be ploughed with tears   

Yet you must know the virgins did not use  
To blab their private actions in a dream,  
But that the cunning Matron did infuse  
Some atoms of the Quiris into cream,  
And ere they were enclosed in Somnus arms,  
She drenched their fancies in these liquid charms.   

Then with un-sealed eyes she made her ears  
Keep privy watch to intercept their talk,  
Yet would have washed her knowledge out with tears  
And wished it written in her mind with chalk:  
One while she thanked the God of slumber, then,  
Her curses threw him down to Pluto's den.   

But when Aurora in her Tissue veste,  
Mantled with blushes, rose from Tithonus' side,  
And through a casement of th'adored East,  
Sent Phosphorus to usher in her pride,  
Ere Phoebus our horizon did array,  
With silver glitter of the blooming day.   

She snatched her termers from the sweet embrace  
And golden fetters of deaths elder brother,  
Bidding them hence those deadding slumbers chase,  
T'implore the favour of the Virgin-mother.  
They starting up with more than common speed,  
Each shield her body in her modest weed.   

So called to chapel those whose pregnant wombs  
The Angels pills had heaved above their wastes,  
Like to a surfeit ta'en of Hybla's combs,  
When we are too indulgent to our tastes:  
But left Phoeliche out to cut or sue,  
Or to embroider with the lankee crew.   

Which made a sudden faintness lose each part,  
And every joint was like an Aspen leaf,  
Her rosy twins retired to her heart,  
Her looks were coloured like a Sunburnt sheaf,  
As the stiff bristles of an aged Boar,  
Were her smooth locks which o'er her cheeks she wore.   

And juster cause had none than she to fear,  
For as from quiet slumber s●e awoke,  
She heard the ptisick pick Pazzella's ear,  
That she had knowledge of what Floris spoke,  
And now she doubted all would come toth'scanning  
Their longing, swelling, and their sudden wanning.   

The Virgins wondered at Phaeliches' change,  
To see her eyes fixed in a white-limed wall,  
Each feared herself, and each conceived 'twas strange.  
Lest the disease was Epidemical,  
‛ That Merlin's uncle changed Phaeliches' hue,  
And streaked their temples with a purple blue.   

But leave her sighing with these sterile Dames,  
we'll crowd into the house of sacred vows,  
Where consciousness begetting female shames,  
Spread scarlet carpets on their cheeks and brows,  
They looked and blushed, & glanced on one another,  
Each cursed the minute which did dub her, Mother.   

The holy brethren through the mouldy pipe  
At that same time did unexpected come,  
To know if th'goddy issue yet was ripe,  
To give adieu unto their skin-seeld home.  
But viewing still their wombs wirh zealous hands,  
They prayed Lucina to untie their bands.   

Their chaunting dead, the Abbatesse began,  
Brethren, you see what sad misfortune haps  
Unto my virgins by the oil of man;  
Witness the heaving of their spongy paps:  
We of an Angel dreamed; but if he was,  
He shall hereafter for an evil pass.   

I made their slumbers vocal, so they told  
T was Folco's Dukes supposed daughters work,  
Larved with that name, it seems some Roister bold  
Them to un-virgin cunningly did lurk  
But since 'tis so, the proverb shall stand good,  
Tart sauces must be mixed with luscious food.   

I knew him to be wanton, and to i'll  
The raging heat of his unbridled lust,  
I doomed him three days penance, judged an ill▪  
Would make him sapless, as the Summer's dust.  
But since that failed, days shall be changed to years,  
Minutes to months, till paid his tribute tears.   

I'll try if grief will drean his melting reines,  
And hang a crutch upon his able back:  
If sorrow will unbloud his swelling veins,  
And make his sinews, shr●nke with famine, crack.  
I'll make a purgatory, where, with hunger,  
Frost, flame, & snow, I'll tame my virgin-monger.   

●●e give command, a dungeon shall be made,  
To whose close womb the Sun shall never pry,  
Nor Cynthia dare to peep: for gloomy shade  
Like cloudy night shall purblind every eye:  
Bare measure four-foot broad, and for the height  
'Tshall make him by constraint, not, court lie sleight.   

A bedstead hewn out of the craggy rock,  
Not arched with Cedar wainescoat, knobd with gold,  
His bed no shrinker, but a sturdy flock:  
Swans shall not be dplumed his limbs t'infold:  
Nor curtaind with the travails of the loom  
Of poor Arachne ere she had her doom.   

I will not spend the ransom of a crown  
For curious dainties to delight his taste:  
I'll fetch no fowls from off the Parthian down,  
Or Phaenicopter for luxurious waste.  
I will no Mullet from Corsica take,  
Oysters from Circe's, or the Lucrine lake.   

I will allow him pottage thickt with bran,  
Of barley meal a chenix every day:  
A sovereign diet for a frolic man  
That is affected with the Paphian play:  
And lest his stomach should too cholricke grow,  
I will afford him some congealed snow.   

The baldpate crew this penance well approved,  
And in a trice all things she ready got:  
So well she stirred her stumps (as it behooved)  
She being hatcher of this starving plot,  
This done, with friendly words and courteous air,  
She called Phoeliche to her house of prayer.   

It suits not with your greatness, Madam fair,  
Being sole daughter to so great a man,  
To lodge with those which your inferiors are,  
As much as is an inch unto a span,  
And I'm afraid the Duke will fume and swear,  
Should but your lodging step into his ear.   

Madam, quoth she, you harbour needless fears,  
Goodness, not greatness, differenceth maids,  
My father's no Tobacconist, and swears  
In point of honour, like our scarlet blades:  
And, by my faith, it more contenteth me,  
To sheet with maidens, though of mean degree.   

I am surcharged with the black-hewed choler,  
Which strikes my fancy with most ugly shapes,  
I durst not rest a darkness for a dollar,  
Without a pillow-friend to scare those Apes:  
Let Cloe with conceits my spirits wing,  
Or melancholy will my Requiem sing.   

You shall says she, have Sesamoidesse,  
For all entreats are of too dull a print,  
We must respect your father's worthiness,  
His honour must your love and passions stint.  
And your own worth must highly be regarded,  
How shall I else expect to be rewarded?   

Then did she take her by the tender hand,  
And led her to her grot in princely state,  
She feared not much, nor did her will withstand,  
judging divorcement was her harshest fate:  
But when she saw the entrance was so narrow,  
A sudden fear did eat up all her marrow.   

Pazzella viewing her supposed Lass,  
Repent her of her intended ills;  
But injuries engraven are on brass,  
And women's jointures are to have their wills.  
And lest remorse should i'll her angry mood,  
Fewell was added by the brotherhood.   

Then, says she, Madam you behold the cage  
Which I prepared for your honours good,  
Where you may spend the Autumn of your age,  
Till age and winter have congealed your blood.  
You may retire to ease, for envy can  
Nor dares to say, you're not an able man.   

When twice ten circled snakes are crawled away.  
You shall enjoy companions masculine,  
To give instructions in that youthful play  
Is fed with Ceres and the god of wine:  
And if my virgins shall hereafter be  
Lascivious given, I will send for thee.   

Into this Coven was Phoeliche thrust,  
With bars and locks the entrance sealed fast,  
Now must he pay a dear rate for his lust,  
His Curtain-vezzo, and the Coral taste.  
Sure, his repentance will be full as dear,  
As the Philosophers non tanti were.   

Ah foppish Monk! did not Bellama's no,  
Give thee a warning-piece, presaging danger,  
But thou must headlong rush upon thy woe?  
Happy's that man which is to lust a stranger:  
If this of dalliance is the constant fee,  
Let them d— dally that do lift for me.   

Here, when the barking star his sceptre waved,  
When in our clime we feel an Aethiope's heat,  
An under-vault the subtle matron paved,  
With fire and flame to force a constant sweat;  
That as from flowers, hot Limbecks water still,  
So by this stove from him sweat-currents drill.   

Then for the winter season she provided  
A melting cloud full fraught with feathered rain,  
(Whose curious art the aire-borne clouds derided)  
Which through some eyelet holes might passage gain▪  
His cabin should have been like Alps cold hight  
Mantled and strewed over with winter's white.   

And 'twas so dark I cannot see to write:  
Nay, at a nonplus it all pencils sets;  
'twas hells epitome, the cage of night,  
Walled in with pitch, and roofed over with jets.  
The Linx at midday here would wish for day,  
And Cats without a torch, must grope their way.   

But leave him labyrinthed, and thus distressed,  
And see Bellama, and examine how  
She brooks the absence of her bosome-guest;  
If discontent does revel on her brow;  
It does: for why she dreams, and never sleeps:  
She feeds, and fat's not; laughs, but ever weeps.   

Disaster hangs upon Albino gyves,  
Says she, else Envy keeps him prisoner,  
Or a new Bull does interdict them wives,  
So seals the lips of my petitioner;  
Else the smirk knave is so devout in prayer,  
He has no time to kiss the common air.   

But does he love? or is't a fit of mirth?  
Which like to children's fancies soon expire,  
Ere language or employment give them birth,  
Flashing affections, aged like thunder-fire:  
His eyes shot Cupid's at my yielding heart,  
But his firm breast repelled my feeble dart.   

Perchance he judged my forwardness to love,  
By too much curtsy and my frequent glances,  
So thought in jest my willingness to prove,  
Not with that sober passion which entrances:  
But with lip-love, which to the heart ne●e sinks,  
And paper-vowes which take their birth from inks.   

But stay: does greatness use to be denied?  
Beauty and bravery command a grant;  
Yet might my looks and carriage plumed with pride  
His humble and untowring Spirit daunt,  
Daunt? no● his soul's a temper most divine,  
Dares soar aloft to kiss the Suns near shine.   

Then love he does: but must this action, Woo,  
Be tied by patent only unto men?  
Some unsrequented paths of love I'll go,  
And in some riddles court him by my pen:  
Yet first to th' Abbey I'll dispatch a post,  
To make enquiry where my Monk doth host.   

The Merchant is not with desires so big▪  
When as he ploughs the Seas for Indian mines,  
With slower steps the sons of Bacchus' trig  
To Sack-shops for the French and Spanish wines.  
Then she to Tagus bids her servant go  
To Croftsull Abbey where her wishes grow,   

Gone is the messenger, but small success  
Waits on his travails, for he back returns,  
With Madam, where Albino's none can guess,  
They think his ashes are enclosed in urns:  
For time, say they, has counted forthnights' many,  
Since his choice feature object was to any.   

This answer shot an hail-storme at her heart,  
Whose sudden chillness jellyed all her blood,  
Sh'applyed Holco to unscrue the dart,  
But her assayments brought her little good:  
For but Albino none can cure ●er ill,  
Not Physic potions, or the druggards skill.   

Ah me! Has Fate my dear Albino ta'en?  
Then farewell Music, and you sprucing trade,  
Either my tears shall body him again,  
Or send my ghost to wait upon his shade:  
For she is judged a light unconstant lover,  
Whose flame the ashes of neglect can cover.   

Have you beheld how, when the moors and marsh  
Belch vapours to blemish bright Titan's eye,  
They with his rays wage conflicts long and harsh,  
Confining them unto their proper sky,  
(Bribed perchance by envious night to wrap  
Day and his champion in his sooty lap.)   

So that to us appears nor Sun nor day,  
And only faith persuades us there is both,  
Till day and Sun call in each straggling ray,  
And force a passage spite of fume and froth;  
Yet than the day but newly seems to dawn,  
And over i Sun a veil of Cypress drawn.   

Just so diseasing sorrow, armed with tears,  
Sighs and black melancholy veiled her face,  
So that no ray of loveliness appears,  
And only faith persuades us she has grace:  
Her eyes retired, her double blush was waned,  
Her locks dissevered, and her Lilies tanned.   

And as in her which arted looks does ware,  
Men look for nature's steps, and cannot trace her,  
Since she by nature nothing less than fair,  
Hath purchased from the shops such worth to grace her,  
Though foul, now fair & sleek, though age did blow  
And made long furrows in her cheek a●d brow.   

So knowledge here was in a maze, the eye,  
That knew Bellama, did Bellama seek,  
And looking on her, nothing could descry,  
Spoke her Bellama or in eye or cheek.  
To loves harsh laws she gave such constant duty,  
she'd only left an Anagram of beauty.   

She threw herself upon her couch of ease,  
And marshalled all her thoughts in just arrays,  
This brought small comfort, that did ha●dly please,  
And in that thought despair the sceptre sways,  
Yet thought she not death could a period set,  
Unless he did some strange advantage get.   

he's young and lusty, everv vein does swell  
With Aquavitae, coral juice of life,  
His skill in Magic else can frame a spell,  
To distance meager death and Atropos knife:  
Yet love gives birth to fear, I'll send to search  
The Lion's flinty bed, and Vultures perch.   

I and my woman will attend the quest,  
Veiled in disguises os some country Lasses▪  
No state-distinction, for my humble breast  
Shall leave all pride with silks, perfumes and glasses;  
And if with non inventus we return,  
I'll Venus witchcraft hate, and Cupid spurn.   

When as the sovereign of the day had drawn  
A veil of brightness o'er the twinkling lamps,  
And threw on Cynthia's brow a double lawn,  
Clearing the welkin from benighting damps,  
They in the habits of a milking maid,  
(All but skin-linnen) did their beauty's shade.   

And in these course attires they hasted out  
To seek Albino, through each wood and plain,  
Whom we will leave to place the world about,  
And see Phaeliche wet with eyelid rain,  
Whose bondage was the greater, since despair  
Blasted all hopes which promised her the air.   

The brazen Bull, Strappado, or the rack,  
The Faggot-torture, and the piked barrel,  
Balanced with his, degrees of sorrow lack,  
'tis with a bulrush to decide a quarrel:  
The famine where withal the Thracian knight  
Was sent to Pluto wants a little weight.   

He that stole sire fro th' Chariot of the Sun,  
Whose liver's vulture gnawn at Caucasus:  
He that the counsels of the gods un-spun,  
Like wantoness eyes stone-rowling Sy●phus,  
Hold best proportion with these sharpened woes,  
Which stern misfortune on Phoeliche throws.   

She that was glutted with most curious cates,  
Had every pleasure to content her lust,  
Who had command o'er Fortune, and the Fates,  
Now sups up pulse, and gnaws a fleeced crust.  
She that had many girls, is now alone,  
And of so many cannot compass one.   

Had I a fancy steeped in sorrow's brine,  
Invention witty in the threnes of woe,  
Can sad experience dictate every line,  
A dearth of words would to my muse say no.  
I may as well go fathom all the spheres,  
As measure her disasters, count her tears.   

Oft on remembrance of that harmless bliss,  
Which (coaped) she enjoyed, her thoughts would feed  
Of on Bellama's beauty, touch and kiss,  
Till strucken dead with thought of present need.  
Then would she raise her thoughts, & hope for day,  
And starting up from silence, boldly say,   

Despite of Envies vipers, tricks and wiles,  
My cradle-play-mate, Mirth, I'll ne'er forsake,  
But taste Sardinian herbs shall raise up smiles,  
Though I was wafting o'er the Stygian lake:  
Tortures shall ne'er unman me, but I'll be  
Albino, malice, spite of her and thee.   

Delays ofttimes from times secluded parts  
Bring help to helpless not expecting aid,  
Some of the gods will pity these my smarts,  
Not suffer them to whet the Sexton's Spade.  
Or if the gods midst flames then scorpion-like,  
I'll g●●e my breast, and fall on mine own pike.   

Yet had I suffered for a courteous one,  
These woes should ne'er had power t'have raised a sorrow  
But when mine eyes did in my breast enthronc  
Her— her of whom, hell cruelty may borrow.  
This is the height of woe, death and diseases,  
Nay, hell itself, to this compared, pleases▪   

Yet stay, say Neptune's palace shall be land,  
And this firm ball of earth a liquid brack:  
Say the North-pole with Phoebus shall be tanned,  
And to the South the Lilies shall be black.  
Say this, and more, before thou dare to say  
Bellama is Màboun or Mà bellà.   

No more of this, we'll for her freedom plot,  
A pious Monk perceiving well her smart,  
With diligence assayed to purge each spot,  
With holy Creusa from her diviner part.  
But still her answer was, nor man nor lover,  
Nor she, the virgins ankles did discover.   

Alas! my brother, I am not a male,  
But a weak Sience of the weaker sex  
The Ladies spoke the truth (might truth prevail)  
But me with torture Piazell doth vex;  
'Cause at my entrance I did promise fair,  
Yeted proves court-language, merely, purely, air.   

But all this time she would not licence deign  
That I three yards behind should leave the gates,  
And fumed when I would have left her train,  
T'have sought a jewel, and to gather Dates.  
So that the Duke my father ne'er had ken  
Of my encloystring in this hate-light den.   

But 'gainst it now resolving, I intent  
To turn the stream of his munificence  
On you dear brother, if you'll be my friend,  
And plot how I may be delivered hence:  
Lend your endeavours, and I'll lend my wit,  
Vow farthfulnesse, and I will warrantit.   

I'll woo my father for his free assent,  
If to your barren Cowle you'll bid farewell,  
That Hymen's rites may perfect our content  
By joyful echoes of the marriage bell.  
'Cause yovin person do resemble him  
Whom 'mongst all men I only judged trim.   

The Monk gave ear unto her winning prate,  
And gazed on her beauty masculine,  
Whose feature might delude a wiser pa●e,  
Assisted only by a tallow-shine:  
For by an unctuous salve, she kept her chin  
From the haire-mantle of an aged skin.   

Madam, says he, I judge your language true,  
And to your vows I dare my credence lace:  
Your virgin-blushesinnocence do show,  
And modesty is printed on your face.  
Faith, truth, and honesty reside with me,  
My best endeavours shall your servants be.   

Well, says Phoeliche, I have now decreed  
(Since Phoebus has forsaken our hemisphere)  
To sheathe my body in your holy weed,  
Then through the private walk my course will ste●●e.  
So from your holy walls I'll take my flight,  
Or by permission, or in silent night.   

And when I am arrived at Folco's towers,  
My Father shall your matchless kindness know,  
Who, I am sure, will summon all his powers  
To fetch thee from this house of flame and snow:  
And who with much contentment will not brook  
Some three days penance to be made a Duke.   

For by inheritance the Duke dome's mine,  
When death unbody shall my father's soul,  
Since no heire-males descended from our line,  
The Salic law cannot my right control.  
And to assure thee that I'm only thine,  
I swear by all the powers that are divine.   

Then did she circle with ensphearing arm,  
Conrado's neck, and amorously him lipped,  
Which did the amourist so strongly charm,  
That he with haste out os his vestments skipped,  
And bad Phoeliche change, for in good deed,  
He should full well become her virgin weed.   

Phoelich undressed, and dressed, and having made  
Herself a Monk, put on Conrado's face,  
And some few minutes with her Monkship played,  
Then gave a farewell to that hated place.  
But ere her quick dispateh could post her thence,  
Her beauty shot a fire through every sense▪   

Fear now exiled the confidence he tied  
Forced by affection to Phoeliche's words,  
Revoked his promise now, all aid denied,  
And with majestic looks and gestures lords,  
His flaming lust dissolved his pious snow,  
And now his jowd desires will have no No.   

But vows to dis-encloath her, and to break  
Her virgine-seale, despite of force or smiles,  
Till Folco strove, and made his noddle leak  
Sardonick liquor to new-paint the tiles,  
So hasted out, and to the Matron gave  
The Iron Porter of Conrado's grave.   

Imping his haste, he threads the vaulted lane,  
Not wounded by his soles, this many a day,  
Like those, which, when arraigned, a pardon gain,  
Dare neither at the gaol nor gallows stay.  
And coming to the postern gate, he knocked:  
Which at devotion time was always locked.   

But when the last Amen had silenced prayer,  
The Porter to Albino entrance gave,  
Who strait was brought unto the judgement chair,  
Where, furred with state, did sit the Abbot grave,  
Who said, Conrade, why was your stay so long?  
You missed the Manna of the Evensong.   

Pseudo-Conrado answered him, My Lord,  
I found Phaeliche so oppressed with grief,  
That charity commanded me t'afford,  
By learning, prayers and Anthems some reliefs.  
And truly on my faith, I am persuaded,  
A virgine-lady with these weeds is shaded.   

I moved to pity by her streaming tears,  
Her sighing gales, loud threnes, and sad laments,  
Won by her beauty, and her tender years,,  
Have promised aid, confirmed by your assents.  
And in all haste will tell her father's grace,  
What clouds of woe bemist Phaeliches' face.   

She promised me, when as her freedom's sealed,  
When she shall re enjoy the glorious light,  
When the sad sentence of her woe's repealed,  
She will be mine in spite of envies might.  
Nay more, she from the Duke doom will extract  
Some Lordships to perform a pious act.   

Forthwith a Synod of the holy men  
Was called to broach the wisdom of their pates,  
The questions were proposed, Who? what? and when?  
The who is Folco's daughter; what, estates▪  
The when, so soon as she by Folco's powers  
Shall shell her body in proud Gurby's towers.   

This answer smelled of profit, and did gain  
The Abbot's liking, and his griping crew,  
Says he, Conrado true content does reign  
And triumph in our thoughts, we yield to you,  
Success wait on thy voice, for to thy care  
Our wishes, hopes, desires, entrusted are.   

Fear not, quoth he, my faith dares warrant all,  
All things are real, as my words are true;  
Myself will place unto fair Gurby hall,  
And with emphatic language plead and sue:  
So that old Folco's lungs shall crack with laughter,  
To hear me chat the travails of his daughter.   

First, she mistrusting that she should be forced  
By his proud nod, unto a hated pillow,  
From folly, Folco, Folke herself divorced,  
To twist for scorned maids, some wreathes of willow,  
How zealously she prayed, and looked demurely,  
She is in thought, and word, a virgin surely.   

But the conceit is this, who bridles laughter?  
That virgins holy, p●re and Nuns to boot,  
Should thicken with the pills of Folco's daughter,  
Sing lullaby's, and to Lucina hoot,  
T'increase the wonder then, & imp his pleasures,  
To Folco I'll present these waggish measures.   

Behold, admire, and some contentment gather  
From Nuns that teem, manned by a virgin-father.   

WOnder and admiration cease to gaze  
On slashing meteor's, stars, and comets blaze,  
Let not Vitruvius, or th' ●●honian beast  
Putzol or Ae●na slide into your breast:  
Open not your ears unto those cracks of thunder,  
Whose Canon echoes split the orbs in sunder.  
Lend not your audience to those fond reports  
Of Obr'on, Mabell, and their Fairy sports,  
Nor tie your credence to the Poet's pen,  
Which writes the noble acts of warlike men,  
Of Monsters, Moon calves, merry games, & masks,  
Atlas' stiff shoulders, and Alcides' tasks,  
Amazement flies these babbles, and does pin  
Faith, eyes, and thoughts, unto this curtaine-sin.  
That a pure virgin should un virgin others,  
And though a virgin, yet make many mothers.  
Make them heave up, be qualmish, pale, and cry,  
A Midwife (hooh) a Midwife, else we die.  
It is an Afrique crow, a sable Swan,  
To have a vestal puffed up with man.  
But that so many Nuns un-maydend are,  
be a Nun without a man, is more than rare.  
The Syhils virgin is not worth a rush,  
And Merlin's mother may with envy blush.   

These, though they soared above the pitch of reason,  
Yet crossed not nature's order, course or season,  
For women teemd as women, but a woman  
As man, makes virgins teem, and yet is no man,  
This— this is object unto fame and wonder,  
Then make each clime with this Mirandum thunder.   

About this time, night summoned them to rest,  
And each repaired to his sturdy bed.  
Albino's fears his hopes and joys suppressed.  
But in the rest, content struck sorrow dead:  
They slept until the bright enlightened air  
With silver glitter called them up to prayer.   

But our Albin ' took earlier leave of sleep,  
And sheathed his body in his Monkish vests,  
Knocked at his lodge which did the entrance keep,  
Who, that he could not wake himself, protests,  
Thou art some Fury, Hag, or Hob, I trow,  
That boldly at my lodge dost thunder so.   

Albi●o says, what frenzy damps thy reason?  
Arise, my haste commands a frequent rap.  
Begun, quoth he, entreats are out of season,  
Worshipful Hob, I'll have another nap,  
'tis not mine hour to rise until I hear  
The clapper sound a surge in mine ear.   

When our young Monk had many minutes spent,  
And could not Foppo from his pillow rear,  
About that time lights charioteer had sent  
Days trusty Harbinger his Orb to clear.  
He searched the walls, and trafficked with the lock,  
But all in vain, he must implore the frock.   

The Chappell-clarke as constant to his hour,  
As is days Herald, which at breaking crows,  
Seeing Aurara did his windows scour,  
And leapt into his chamber, strait arose,  
Making the shrill-toned bell in echoes speak,  
Awake and rise to prayer, the day does break.   

Foppo was at that time in Morpheus court,  
Where he with apparitions was affrighted,  
The Scoene was changed, then came a dainty sport,  
Whose sudden neatness every sense delighted,  
Then dreamt Albine their runnigado Monk  
Was knocking at his lodge the other Nunc.   

Then dreamt he saw a table richly spread,  
With all the dainties riot ever felt:  
All birds of warrant which in woods are bred,  
With Salmon, Mullet, Turbot, Trout and Smelled.  
The Princely-pacing Decree entombed in paste,  
Enbalmd with spices to delight the taste.   

A sparkling wine-drawne newly from the cheek▪  
Of some chaste fair, which blushes coloured red,  
With brisk Canary, and enlivening Greek,  
Poetic Sherry, which can sharpen lead.  
This ravished Foppo with a taste-content,  
Till to his ear the Bell an errand sent.   

When starting up, he deemed the bell did call  
His able stomach to a Founder's feast,  
And with all speed was swogging to the hall,  
But that Albino stayed him by the crest,  
And lue-warme claret from his hogshead drew,  
To make his stomach give the Dear adieu.   

Quoth he, thou son of Somnus, drowsy slave,  
Why didst thou not at my loud summons rise?  
But in a fit of lunacy didst rave,  
As though thy wit had ta'en some new disguise?  
I'll be your Hob, your Hag, and though I'm loath,  
Will now chastise thee for thy feigned sloth.   

But whilst his passion took a breathing space,  
The wakened Portcr from his fists did creep,  
Fixed his goggles on his youthful face,  
And then remembered his prophetic sleep.  
Tells him he's not Conrado, for he knows  
That brow, those checks, lips, eyes, Albino owes.   

And though your wrath should grind me unto powder,  
Without a warrant, I will open no gate,  
This answer made Albino's anger louder,  
And vowed a passage bought at any rate:  
So leapt upon the slave with nimble strength,  
And measured on the earth his ugly length.   

Albino hastes to th'postern, having got  
The keys, but ' mon●st so many much was puzzled  
To find the right, Fo●po mean while did troth  
Unto some chambers where the shavelings nuzzled.  
And them with our-cryes rayfed to surprise  
Albino, ●arved ●n Courado's guise.   

Like penancers, with linen on their backs,  
The baldpates ran to seize upon their prey;  
But yet their haste a femi-momont lacks,  
Albino through the gate had found a way.  
And snatching ou● the keys, did them encage,  
R●ising a Bulw ark to withstand their rage.   

Then thanked his stars, that thus delivered him  
From dangers which did threaten nought but death,  
For he by th'verge of Mare mort did swim,  
And did expect his latest gale to breath.  
Nay, these late troubles had him so disharted,  
That every shadow 'lmost the union parted.   

You, whose disasters some proportion hold,  
Help my weak fancy to express his fears,  
Teach me my rhythms in Cypress to enfold:  
From thwarted lovers borrow me some tears,  
Fetch me some groans from the ascending thief,  
And from the inquisition fetch me grief.   

Without demurs Albino left the wicket,  
Fearing the Monks should bribe the faithless lock,  
And steered his course unto a well-grown thicket,  
Whose lofty hill was armed with many a rock,  
He envies sculls, that wait on spit and oven,  
And vows ne'er more to see that hated coven.   

Have you beheld the stately pacing stag  
Flying the echoes of some deepmouthed hounds,  
How first his brow does wear a ferny flaggc,  
And with curvaitings beats the quaking ground.  
Telling the Fawns & wood-nymphs that he scorns  
The hounds, horse, huntsmen, and their warbling horns.   

But when he is embossed in blood and sweat,  
When travail on his swifrnesse fetters hangs,  
He than is frighted with the shrill rechate  
And fears a pinking with the yellers fangs▪  
Seeks ev'ry where for shelter, and dares rush  
Maled with fear into the sharpest bush.   

So far'dit with Albino, whilst he had  
Fate at a beck, commanded fortunes wheel,  
Was called by his Donnes active lad,  
He thought his joys were walled in with steel,  
Slighted misfortune, envy set at nought.  
And braving malice dar'din every thought.   

But when his towering heart was taught to know  
Humiliation, and selfe-confidence,  
Was strucken dead with famine, flame and snow,  
Although his genial stars had freed him thence.  
He fears the Monkish rabble, and he shrouds  
Himself in caves, encurtaindround with clouds.   

In his dark house he heard a feeble voice,  
Breathed from the corrals of some weakened maid,  
At first concealment was his better choice,  
Till pitry set an edge upon his blade.  
Then guidcd by the cry, he saw a Roister  
Did in his arms perforce a Nymph encloyfter▪   

Yet seeing homespun russet, stopped his pace▪  
Saying by this, what honour shall I gain?  
But in his eye so curious was her face,  
Though masked and blubbered ore with brackish rain,  
That he forthwith unsheathd his trusty Turk,  
Called forth that blood which in his veins did lurk,   

So stepping forward, cries, Injurious slave,  
Unto what baseness does thy folly tempt her?  
Who answered him, Fond foole; thy foolish brave  
From my decreed end shall not exempt her.  
Befriend me Queen of Cypress, and in spite  
Of force or Fortune, I'll have my delight.   

Desist, Albino says, or olse I vow  
By all those tapers which every the night,  
I'll make pale death strew Cypress on thy brow,  
And to th' infernal shades thy soul will fright.  
Cease from thy brutish rape, or else prepare  
Thy cursed lungs to draw the Stygian ayte.   

Quoth the rude Sylvan, I'm past that age,  
Which with Bug-bears the foppish nurse does fright.  
Hence curtaine-squire, smock-groom, & nrine-page,  
I'll have no testates unto my delight.  
Pack hence with speed, or by Actaeon's head,  
My weighty falcheon shall pronounce thee dead.   

Well, says Albino, since thou'lt not dcsist,  
Prove the adventures of a bloody duel,  
One of our threads fell Atropos shall unt witted,  
For to my rage kind pity dareth fuel.  
To free a virgin from thy groping paws,  
I judge well pleasing unto natureslawes.   

They clasped their Helms, and buckled to their fight,  
Twixt whom no umpire was but meager death,  
The wooddards green with Tyrian die was dight,  
Who now desires a minute's space to breath,  
Albino gave the truce, yet but to breath,  
His valour scorned to crowd into the sheath.   

Then did his nimble slight and courage show  
Baining a stroke, but pointed at his breast,  
Which oped a door, whereat his spirits flew,  
And well nigh set his fainting soul at rest.  
With that th'enfeebled Sylvan weakly cries  
Hold, hold thy hand, or else Sylvanus dies.   

Dost call for mercy, says Albino, now,  
And all thy thoughts erstwhile triumphant rid?  
I seek not murder may I save my vow,  
That I should joy in blood my stars forbidden,  
I am content the virgins voice shall seal  
Thy death or pardon, if thou make appeal.   

Fair virgin, quoth Sylvanus, pity is  
The only grace that gives a virgin price.  
Remission crownes a heart with greater bliss,  
Then to hang iron on weak nature's vice.  
The rays of your bright beauty urged desire,  
Your feature kindled lust, love blowed the fire.   

The virgin answered, I did never suck,  
The Tiger's dugs, the Lioness and Bare.  
Nor from a reeking breast an heart did pluck  
Never will I in blood with vulture's share.  
But since submission speaks from voice and knee,  
Kind pity thins the fault, and pardons thee.   

Then to Albino says, Heroic youth,  
May all the blessings which attend on man,  
Felicitate thy life, and to buy truth  
To words, I dare do more than virgins can.  
But above all I wish, may nature's pride,  
Lilies and Roses inter-twine thy bride.   

But yet alas! to recompense by airs  
So large a bounty, and so free, is poor:  
Yet why may not a spotless virgins prayers,  
Winged with desire, unclasp high heavens door,  
Accept of this, and if the Fates befriend me,  
These blessings which I wish for, shall attend thee   

Nature's sole wonder, beauties only gem,  
Quoth he, my valour and my feeble arms,  
(If your perfections had not strengthened them)  
Can not have freed you from intended harms.  
Ascribe the honour to your matchless face,  
My courage merits not the meanest place.   

Yet had I swom through seas of steaming blood,  
And past through Nitre flames, that belch forth led,  
Had all the Furies armed with vipers stood  
T'have stopped my passage, or pronounced me dead,  
I would have thrown the die, my fortune tried  
T'have bought you freedom, though in crimson died.   

For when mine eyes sent forth the farthest glance,  
To fetch th'idea of your beauty in,  
That very sight my senses did entrance,  
And made my thoughts excuse Sylvanus sin:  
For sure your quickening rays can melt a snow,  
On which the winds of age and sorrow blow.   

But why do I upon the Ela raise  
Thy noble worth, and yet intent to woo,  
Since beauty oft displays her plumes at praise,  
Then by this doing, I myself undo.  
Yet where I virtues find refined as gold,  
Despair shall never make affections cold.   

Be pleased then to think the god of Love  
With guilded arrow has transfixed my heart,  
And let my purpled breast your pity move,  
With Balsam of regard, alloy my smart,  
Send thy quick eyes into my breast to see  
What tortures prick my heart to purchase thee.   

Sir, I am grieved, quoth she, you are allied  
To him, whose quiver crownes a lovers wish,  
Else at a twelve score distance mighty have spied  
You cast your net to mesh a simple flish.  
Your worth and feature does entitle you  
To Cytherea with her silver hue.   

When I, alas! am but an homely maid,  
Borne to a spindle, and to serve a plough  
To milk my spongie-●eated cows, I strayde,  
Which here amongst these tender hazels low.  
My starved fortunes cannot think of love,  
Nor does my envy wound the billing Dove:   

This answer silenced Albino's hopes,  
Which spoke as loud as though they kissed the sheets,  
He in his thoughts commends the quiet copes,  
Which taste no sour in hunting after sweets.  
Alcides' life, quoth he, compared to mine;  
Is trouble-free, spiced with contents divine.   

Fair maid, what hatred frosteth your desires?  
What steames of envy choke bright Venus' lamp?  
Give some kind fuel to maintain my fires,  
A frowie of yours will all my vitals damp.  
Oil oremy writhled heart, or let me know  
From what black heads these bitter cadents flow.   

Your favours Sir, have such commanding power,  
That 'tis unjust your wishes to deny,  
Accursed with all black tempests be that hour  
In which my heart gave credit to mine eye,  
Else would I not have been so much averse,  
T' a mind so noble, and a feature terse.   

But now alas! myself, myself am not,  
For heartless I, my heart have gi'en away,  
An Abbey-brother has that treasure got,  
Albino hight, he 's Phoebus of my day.  
Your habit speaks you a Monk, Sir, if you can,  
Tell me where I may find that (ah me) man.   

Be pleased, quoth she, to tell me where I may,  
Or go myself, or else a servant send.  
Fair maid, quoth he, it is a gloomy way  
Leads to the bed of your benighted friend.  
His ashes are in Darwey Abbey laid,  
But his faint Ghost walkesith ' Elysian shade.   

But is he dead, says she, and loudly shrieked,  
Which waked Narcissus hate to second her,  
Her rosyes dewed with melting crystal, recked,  
And sorrow did her trembling heart inter.  
Symptoms of sad deplorings ne'er were know ne,  
Which were not in her sharp lament shown.   

Choice maid (quoth he) do not destroy your rosyes,  
And blast your beauty with such scalding sighs,  
In nature's garden there are choicer posyes,  
More comely features, and more agile thighs,  
What though Albino's dead, another may  
Be trulier termed the Phoebus of your day.   

Oh, do hot stain, says she, his spotless name.  
Within his bosom every virtue ranged,  
Equals to him dull nature cannot frame,  
Though she should labour till herself be changed.  
It is a shame to ask more favours, yet  
Grant me this one, because my sun is set.   

My pity saved, when as your fury had  
The rough-pawd Sylvan minced with your skein,  
Oh with same courage let your mind be clad,  
With your sharp Cemeter my liver dreane,  
Why should I be a liver, since he's dead,  
Who was my hope, my health, my heart, my head.   

How am I changed, quoth he? my heart does beat,  
The fainting summons of the child of sin,  
My knees do quarrel, and a chilling sweat  
Cold as the dew of winter, oils my skin,  
Fear snatcheth from my roseate banks their blood,  
And drowns my siver in a sanguine flood.   

'tis strange a naked breast of bleached snow,  
And crystal mounts, enriched with coral heads,  
(On which the purple violets do grow)  
Should dare mine arm, and strike my courage dead.  
My steel a breast of iron has unhinged,  
And knees of brass have to my fury cringed.   

Had some  Gog, or he whom Tcllus brought,  
One got by Fury, or Gradivus mate;  
Who, but with monsters, ne'er conversed with aught,  
Dared with a look, mine arm had weakened Fate.  
But at this feeble voice my blood does start,  
And into pity melts my swelling heart.   

Then name no more those words: for they at once,  
Do both un-edge my valour and my steel,  
Too safely do your virtues keep the sconce,  
My steadiest thoughts, struck with these letters, reel:  
My sacrilegious hand shall never stain,  
Virtue's sole Temple, and the graces' fane.   

Dry up those furrowing cadents: will you give  
Your lovely self in marriage unto him,  
If I shall say Albino yours does live,  
And in your view his comely portrait limb.?  
Say, I to this, and I will t●y my skill,  
To make him place along yond craggy hill.   

'tis th'countenance which my wishes crave,  
Nought half so sweet, says she, as Hymen's tedes,  
Albino then the haired earth did shave,  
And hedged two circles in with ropes of beads:  
Then quartering them, did take the virgins hand,  
And bade her with unshaken courage stand.   

Thou must not be surprised with shivering fear,  
Though Cerberus the janitor o● Hell,  
Though sevenheaded Hydra, Panther, Bear,  
The Lion, Tiger, or the Dragon yell,  
Although a monster spits forth flashing powder,  
Though clouds & winds strive which should bellow louder.   

This said, with creuze of holy water he  
Besprinkled over himself, besprinkled her,  
And zealously did cross: the same did she,  
Like a devour Romezzo conjurer.  
This done: fair maid quoth he, if Fates be friend me,  
The servant of your beauty shall attend thee.   

Then 'gan to invoke, or seem t'invoke,  
With uncoth language, the infernal crew,  
Vitz, Allafoun, Trallasht, with elfish poke,  
Trollox and Chimchish, with your grisly hue,  
Gnarzell and Phrizoll, which in Styx do wade,  
Lê portè Albin● from the Stygian shade.   

When from his lips these words had ta'en their flight  
A shuffling whirle-puffe roared amongst the trees,  
Th' affrighted leaves took flight, the grass looked white,  
The quaking poplars fell upon their knees.  
joves' sacred tree stood cringing unto it,  
And bowed his head, else 'twas in sunder split.   

Then from a breaking cloud a sheet of fire  
Encircled them, and dashed against an Oak,  
Ushering a thunder, whose untamed ire,  
Like dreadful tyrants, nought but terror spoke.  
And as unwilling to departed from them,  
Hisirefull cracks the trembling grove did 'em.   

These suddenly succeeding so the first,  
And at that instant when he feigned a spell,  
Did make Albino judge himself accursed,  
Thinking his voice unhinged the gates of hell,  
Bellama's rosyes wore as white as snow,  
As though the Phyma did upon them blow.   

And justly, for though these but common were,  
Yet at that time, when faintness kept the wicket,  
Which at each shadow oped the gate to fear,  
In that dark place, that unfrequented thicket.  
I blame not, though her courage had been colder,  
And in Art Magic wish Albino bolder.   

But wheo the storm was past, his courage got  
The conquest of his fear, made his quick eyes  
Stand Sentinel, t'advantage more his plot,  
And looking, from the mountain he espies  
A man descending, as he told the maid,  
Which the loud tempest of his fears allayed.   

Then says, behold the object of your hope,  
Away springs she from off that gloomy place,  
Posts to the hill, forsakes her Magic cope,  
Mean while Albino doffes Conrado's face,  
And set upon his looks Albino's die,  
So imped with love, unto the mount did fly.   

Where he espied Bellama rove about,  
Crying, Albino, dost thou fly from me?  
The man was but a silly shepherd lout,  
That climbed the hill, his fleesie train to see.  
And when his eyes had healthed his wealthy flocks,  
Trudged to his cote, walled in with sturdy rocks.   

Albin ' encountering her, says, Lovely maid,  
Was't your small voice that did Albino call?  
'twas I▪ poor I, the fainting virgin said:  
Why was I forced from Rhadamanthus hall?  
Who was't quoth he, that with commanding air,  
Snatched me forth ' arms of Proserpina fair?   

It was a courteous Monk, quoth she, whom I  
Humbly entreated to deliver thee.  
Alas, sweet maid, quoth he, Fates do deny  
Freedom from thence, nor can I pay the fee.  
Fee, says she, fearc not, if an Earldo me can  
Purchase thy freedom, I will give it man.   

Thou canst not ransom one from Pluto's jail,  
Shouldst thou lay down the gaudy triple crown,  
With steely hearted Fate nought can prevail,  
On whose harsh brow there ever dwells a frown.  
Speak fair, thy business, for I must begun,  
Grim Charon waits  me at Acheron.   

Ah me, quoth she, and is it truth I hear?  
Then dear Albino, I will wait on thee:  
You're like to findc, quoth he, but homely cheer,  
If in my diet you partake with me.  
Famine's a favour unto me, says she,  
Bridewell a bridehouse, if I live with thee.   

But prithee, what is Radamanthus fell,  
And she whom thou didst Proserpina call?  
Sweetest, quoth he, he is the judge of hell  
That dooms us tortures, or does us enthrall.  
For if our innocence do plead for us,  
We▪ re led t' Elysium from dark Erebus.   

That other was the Thracian harper mate,  
Whom Pluto forced unto his gloomy house,  
His divelship with smiler to recreate,  
Full bowls of his Nepenthe to carouse.  
I'm glad I know, quoth she, for jealous fears  
Unto my heart did travel from my ears.   

Why, lovely maid, did ever I behold  
Before this time, quoth he, your comely face?  
How dear Albino, must you now be told.  
Who your Bellama is? 'tis high disgrace,  
Sure you of Lethe's streams have deeply drank,  
Which doth the powers of your mind disrank.   

Ha! quoth Albino, can my dulness think  
That homely russets my Bellama veil?  
I deeply of oblivion sure did drink,  
Did I not know her from a milking pail?  
Peace pretty fair, do not my Saints profane.  
Her beauty has not such course lodging ●ane.   

Well, quoth Bellama, will you me discard,  
When for yoursake I've run through all disasters?  
Must slights and ●escios now be my reward?  
Will you make ulcers, and apply no plasters?  
Clothed in this course arraay, I roved abroad,  
To finde the place of thy secure abode.   

Sweet, says Albino, let not anger dress  
Thy stainless lilies in distractions dye,  
Let ignorance plead pardon, for I guess,  
Some other beauties may Albino cry,  
Might now a ghost permitted be to kiss,  
My lips should suck from thine a cherry-blisse.   

Why, says Bellama, has a ghost no lips?  
Is there no pleasure dwells in spirits veins?  
This (might a ghost) does all my joys eclyys●,  
For now I have my labour for my pains.  
Pray, what was Merlin's father? is't not said,  
Spirits have power a damsel to unmayd?   

These words proceeding from Bellama's lips,  
Did make Albino Myrrine juice carouse,  
To raise an active heat, which nimbly skips  
In every vein, like Fayes in Oberon's house.  
But when he was no ghost, and hoped to merit  
Love for love, he found her of another spirit.   

Away, fond Monk, quoth she, dost think that I  
Into a sea of grief will wade with thee?  
And drown my fortunes, make an Earldom dye?  
Dost think humility resides with me?  
Canst think I'll choose a pebble, slight a pearl?  
Marry a threadbare cowl, and scorned an Earl?   

What door to thy presumption did I open?  
What symptoms of affections did I show?  
What actions gainful birth unto thy hope?  
Or from what vow did thy assurance grow?  
Cease then,  I take it in high disdain,  
To thy course worth my smallest ray to chain.   

Disdain? quoth young Albino, can this be  
The voice of my Bellame? Is there such odds?  
If not in birth, in worth I equal thee:  
Although my Muse shot love into the gods,  
Disdain's a pitch too high for maids to reach.  
Scarce will the queen of pride such doctrine teach.   

Presumption too? Does he deserve that brand,  
Who dallies with consent, invited to ' t?  
What firmer seal, than language, lip and hand?  
What better warrant, than desired to do't?  
Say, he is saucy that with crustyed fists,  
Paws a court-silke, and melts her balmy wrists.   

Who feeted that aenigma, whose kind air,  
Spoke me the only high in thy esteem?  
Was I not bosomd more than parents (Fair?  
Did not thine own voice that saint-secret seem?  
Who bribed your full face-gazings? and what she  
Judged none praise, lip, deserving of but me?   

Did not you in mysterious postures woo me?  
And 'gainst Bardino levied all your spite?  
Nay, by Barraba sent invitements to me?  
And dubbed me by your knot the Red-rose Knight?  
Did not your wish glue feathers on your feet,  
To thread a casement when I paced the street?   

And after these, ah, thousand more, and nearer  
Seals of thy love, must slights unseele your lips?  
A puny-mistres-hunter well may fear her,  
When pride at high noon can my sun eclipse.  
Fury lend me thy poison, rage thy breath,  
That I by pride doomed, may doom beauty death.   

You palefaced shadows of the gloomy Isles,  
Fill up my gall, and lend me all your powers,  
To torture women, who enriched with wiles,  
From their moist eyes send forth dissembling showers  
Would jove the mount had barren been of stones  
Whereof old Pyrrha ftamed the female bones.   

Would Sea's daughter that same Queen of faces,  
Her alabaster box would deign to me,  
Once Pnao's ferry pay, that gave such graces,  
Which till that time the Sun did never see.  
That I not only might, as others are,  
Be counted comely, but o'th' fairest, fair.   

Then would I slight those formal tricks of love,  
Those sighs, tears, vows, complaints, & folded arms,  
Caps, cringes, oaths, and compliments to move  
Th'affections of a Girl expecting charms.  
For wealth, wit, wisdom, eloquence & greatness  
Are less inducements unto love than neatness.   

How now Albino, is your doublet grown  
Too straight, says she, that you do puff and swell?  
Peace, peace, let not your choler thus be shown.  
A thing impossible, says he, you tell.  
In vain we call for peace, and calmness praise,  
When love and hate intestine wars do raise.   

Women have double pupils, so they can,  
Kill like the Basilisk, but with a glance,  
Their very praise does blast and whither man,  
Like frost and winter, or his soul entrance:  
They're all like Glaucus' wife whose filthy charms  
Won poor Ulysses to her lustsull arms.   

They're Holgoy, Africanes, and fiends they are—  
Words know not what they are, they're hell to me,  
Would Jove I had the Heliostrophio fair,  
To touch all maids, or if not all, yet thee.  
Or had been borne under the Scorpion's head,  
With Annulets t'have struck thy beauty dead.   

Ah faithless Polupists! that thus can change  
Into an hundred thousand shapes, your minds?  
Phoebe to you is constant, tides do range,  
Yet back return: more settled are the winds.  
Mere Pompholix, which with each breath does stray  
Your loves with catch-feathers too, and fly away.   

Sometimes a fit of sullens seals your jaws,  
In contemplation big, (of jove knows what)  
And then again, as if your tongues made laws,  
You weary time with your eternal chat.  
Ah Mantuan, Mantuan, thy pen is not a liar,  
Although thy habit says thou wert a Friar!   

Erst while a sober Nun Bellama was,  
Then a Lucretia, at another gale  
I know not what, a straggling country lass,  
A quinque-letterd, ' haps, which set to sale,  
Now none more willing unto love than she,  
And now more further off from love or me.   

Yet call that hasty language back a while,  
Bellama is not such, she's Cupid's dart,  
Teach me, great jove, to make Bellama smile,  
And with one ray sun her Albino's heart.  
Thou purblind boy, teach me to gain Bellama▪  
Strait Echoes voice returned him answer, Ama.   

Thanks gentle Echo; might thy voice divine  
Speak truth in this, that love commandeth love.  
I would through every mood and tense decline  
Amorett, and saint thee too, my joy, my Dove:  
Nay, thou shouldst be, what ere fond babblers prate,  
Albino's goddess, though Narcissus hate.   

Oh would to jove I were in courteous France,  
Or else that happy place in France with me,  
That with more tongs thou mightst make ama dance  
Within these silent woods, from tree to tree.  
Or would thou hadst imperial power from jove,  
In the impcrious mood to bid her love!   

Quoth she, unworthy of a conquest's he  
That for a Canons roar his ensigns veils,  
Unworthy of a Rose, or Rosy glee  
Is he, whose courage at her javelins fails,  
They're feeble amourists that for a fie,  
Run from their colours, and in silence lie.   

'tis our prerogative to have entreat,  
With every phrase that flattery does enhance,  
To win our loves, though every stroke they beat,  
Our hearts beat Cupid's march, tune Venus dance.  
In their desires they never yet did perish,  
Which feed our humours and our passions cherish.   

To prove the truth of thy affections, I  
Shot forth that language, headed with disdain,  
My heart is thine, which till death close mine eye  
With steely thumb, thy bosom shall retain,  
Caes●rs proud nod shall not command that bliss,  
Whose sweets are promised by this melting kiss.   

Ha quo h Albino, dare I trust mine ears  
With this blessed air? And am I sure I wake?  
Or is't a dream, which wakeneth into tears?  
'tis truth: then crawl hence Furies, toad and snake.  
The earth her mines, sea vomit shall their pearl,  
Ere I leave her, who for me left an Earl.   

Then sat they dallying in a shady bower,  
Where Maples, Ash, and Thorn did them embrace,  
Whilst her enliuning breath produced each flower  
In curious knots to damask o'er the place.,  
Oh! who would not his soul and substance tenter,  
To be circumference to such a centre?   

Now have our Amourists attained the height  
Of true content, and sat like billing Doves,  
She tells her quest, he his monastic flight,  
Whilst both recount their passions, fears and loves,  
Till Titan's hasting to moist Thetis arms,  
Bade them provide against his sister's harms.   

Then joining heart and hand, with easy pace,  
They travailed to a Pague adjoining near,  
Where in a straw-thatcht roof (an homely place  
For such a pair) they entertained were,  
And what fine cates old Kathrine, could afford,  
Was served in state unto an aged board.   

Their table with rich damask  was spread,  
Whose every twist out-vyde the double cable,  
The napkins Diaper, of equal thread,  
The mourning trenchers clothed were in sable:  
A curious salt; cut out o'th' bolder stone,  
And for their plate— sincerely there was none.   

The dropsied Host, like to a Sewer did strut  
To marshal every dish: and first did bring  
Aspatious bowl to scour the narrow gut  
of nutbrown Ale, a liquor for a King.  
And says, My Bona Roba, drink this bowl,  
'twill clear thy throat, and cheer thy drooping soul.   

Next came the mumping hostess, and set down  
A lusty dish of milk, sky coloured blue,  
Crumbed with the ludgets of the lusty brown,  
Which two months since was piping hot and new,  
Yet 'tis, says she, as savoury in goodlaw,  
As wheaten trash, which crams the Lady's maw.   

This good old Chtone was troubled so with wind,  
Her coats did dance toth' music of her belly:  
Next came a barley dumpling, whose harsh rind,  
Was oiled over with a fine tallow jelly,  
Brought by a mincing Margot, passing trim,  
Whose juicy nose did make the pudding swim.   

Next came some Glotrah (which the ploughman flanks,  
Joined with a pudding on a holy day)  
Brought by a jetting dame, on whom in ranks  
And discipline of state, whole troops did stray  
Of— I for bear to say, lest these rude feet,  
With queasy dames, and Lady readers meet.   

Last, a tough cheese must lock the stomaches door,  
Milked from a cow that fed on nought but Burrs,  
Hadlaine five winters on spongy floor,  
To gain an harness, and a coat of furs,  
So neatly peopled too, 'twas judged a court,  
Such herds of gentles did about it sport.   

Qualmish Bellama could not eat a bit,  
'Cause luscious meres a surfeit soon provoke  
Albino ventured, but was fain to spit,  
Lest those harsh viands should his Monkship choke.  
And whilst he hauked, and Bellama laughed,  
The trumping hostess stole a thumping draught   

Are you so dainty ●oothed, quoth mine host,  
That country victuals will not down with you?  
You shall be fed with Custards, pies and roast,  
Cannot your chaps a bonelesse pudding chew?  
I trow fare worse is than this your fare,  
Unless you kitchen skulls, and lick-spits are.   

Ma' gep, may faugh, the crabbed hostess said,  
Let'em e'en fast, if they'll not eat their soul,  
Is not my daughter Maudge as fine a maid,  
And yet by mack you see she trolls the bowl.  
I've dressed a supper sure, has pleased those,  
Had wider purses far, and better close.   

Pray mother, 'gainst the young mon do not rage,  
Says full-lipt Maudge, for he must be your son,  
We are alike in face, of equal age,  
Then hoh, the match is soon concluded on.  
Kiss me, my honest Dick, for we this night  
With crickle crackle will the Goblins fright.   

Mass, says mine Host, I like the fellow well,  
To suckle barns, I'll give him tidee Mull,  
And my brown Maure, as sound as any Bell,  
With ten good shear-hogs to afford him wool;  
And if they please me, after me they shall  
Sell nappy yale within this trusty wall.   

Feck, says mine hostess, they shall have a bed  
With good strong sheets, to pig together in,  
A brazen pot, a kettle and a led,  
Platte●s, bowls, pails and an old kilderkin,  
And if they please my, a brace of wheels to spin,  
Mantles and clouts to wrap their bantlins in.   

Our lovers at this pretty talk did smile;  
Then says Albino, there is no such haste,  
I like, but yet we'll respite it a while,  
Thou shalt be (duck) some three nights longer chaste  
Isle man my sister at days next attiring,  
Then back, and give my Maudge a curtain spring.   

When as his yielding had appeased the billows  
Of their loud passions, and their meat digested,  
Night's middle age invited to their pillows,  
But tell I dare not, how the lovers refted,  
Whether co-sheeting was allowed as fit,  
Monastic vows dispensing well with it.   

But this I say, there was but one guest-roome,  
Hanged with a pentice  spoke age enough,  
The spiders here had one continued loom,  
Here rats and mice did play at blind man's blough.  
Their bed had many tasters, but no taster,  
Their bedding usherd in thin-sided Easter.   

Repentant Mattress for chastising Lent,  
Stout as a face of steel, which ne'er will yield,  
Their sheets were tenants, weekly paid rent,  
The pillow was with juice of noddles steeled,  
And therefore fit to bolster any sin:  
Their coverlet was of a bullock's skin.   

Their urine-vessell was of Ticknell make,  
Whose inside was with unshorn vellet clad,  
Their bedstead floated in a springing lake,  
Where Frogs and Newts their randevouzes had.  
This was their guest-bed, and there was no other,  
Think you Bellama then lodged with her brother?   

No, such pure virtue's saint Bellama's breast,  
And such clear sparks of honour heat his soul,  
That such a thought would slain her virgin crest:  
And blur the sacreds of Albino's roll.  
Then die black thoughts, Bellama's chaste denials  
Repelled all charms of love, and Venice-trials.   

Nay, he ne'er tempted, nor attempted once  
To scale the fortress of her virgine-tower:  
For her chaste noah's, and vows did guard the sconce  
That 'twas impregnable, not forced by power.  
And though he did enspheare her naked waste,  
Yet durst my faith and oath conclude her chaste.   

This longing on Albino worked so strong,  
That when the god of slumbers did entreat  
Him to his court, into his thoughts did throng  
His house of penance, hunger, cold, and sweat.  
So powerful was his dream, ●ntruth'd with fear,  
That his strong faith concluded he was there.   

And in some sort he was: for when the East  
Was purpled with the blushes of the morn,  
When his benumbed senses were released  
By the shrill sound of Gallus bugle horn.  
He heard a sound of words, and looking out,  
He saw a legion of the Monkish rout.   

For you must know that when Albino's wit  
Had won him freedom, and Conrado thrall,  
The jealous matron somewhat feared it,  
And the next morning did Conrado call;  
Who (brooking ill his lodging) struck with fear,  
Made answer to the matrons question here.   

So when her eyes suspicion truth had made,  
She asked Conrado how that came to pass?  
Quoth he, credulity my fear oreswayd,  
I was deluded with the dukedom lass.  
She promised me a dukedom for my pains,  
And I, poor I, thought it sufficient gains.   

Ha, quoth the Matron, could thy falsehood serve  
Thus to dishonour me, and all my train?  
His penalty is thine, till every nerve  
Shrink up with famine, thou shalt here remain,  
Time will not measure years,  thou wilt say,  
A Dukedom for thy penance is no pay.   

Madam, quoth he, my senses were bewitched  
With that pure white which dwelled upon her brow,  
I scratched and pinched, but still my humours itched,  
I stood upright, but still my heart did bow.  
Who would not twice ten minutes in a brook,  
Chin high and thirsty stand, to be a Duke?   

Quoth she, I see that folly over-swayes,  
And Venus' sovereign is of every sect,  
To beauty every order homage pays,  
Whilst only age and blackness gain neglect.  
I'xcuse thy frailty, haste unto thy dell.  
The sentence of Phoeliches' flight repel.   

Conrado thanked her, and away did pack,  
(As one reprieved from the gallow tree,  
Still fearing that stern justice plucked him back)  
Lest janus-like her face should changed be:  
For well he knew, the monthly horned queen  
No oftener fills her orb, than she her spleen.   

He nature blamed, he could no faster run,  
But coming to the gate, the porter oped,  
Who much paid to see a youthful Nun,  
Says, Mistress, do you travel to be coaped?  
Give me my fee, for sure a plumpe-cheekt lass  
Shall not the Porters lodge unkissed pass.   

He could not quiet his impatient lust,  
Till he had shown the ensigns of his habit,  
His pared crown with Venus' rays adust:  
Then le●t the mongrel his supposed rabbit,  
And slinkt away from his monastic veil,  
Just like a dog that newly hurnt his tail.   

Wh●n he had cast his woman, and put on  
The habit of his order, he made haste  
Unto his Lord, told him Phoeliche's gone,  
And that his conscience did conclude her chaste.  
She Folco's large endowments must inherit,  
And promised me to recompense my merit.   

The Prior smiling at his folly, checked  
Him for Apella's faith, and said his lass  
Was young Albino in Nun-vestments decked,  
(If that our Porter had his double glass)  
And since thy coming cleareth every doubt,  
Harness yourselves to seek the younker out.   

As the attendants of an hunting Prince,  
Intending to disfrank an o'ergrown Boar,  
View the impressions of his f●et, which since  
Last eve were printed on the sandy shore,  
Beating each bush, and in each cabin searching  
To find his frank, & not the pheasants perching.   

And as when Reynald with his wily plot,  
Into the squadron of the geese is crept,  
And grandsire Gander on his back has got,  
Th' affrighted geese like them which watch-towres kept,  
With shrill-toned gabbling wake the slumbering towns▪  
By Phaebe's candle to go seek the downs.   

Some arm themselves with spits, one with a ladle,  
Some snatch up pickforkes, one a bill or knife.  
The ambling nurse runs out, and leaves the cradle,  
And the awd midwife flies the teeming wife,  
Old grandsire graybeard his tough elbow gets,  
And grandam Griselda with her distaff jets.   

Just so our hair-lack Monks pursued their quest,  
Searched for his view, and threaded every grove,  
With bells, beads, books, and holy water blessed,  
And armed with envies whips, about did rove.  
Their runnigado Reynald to surprise,  
And came to Stean ere the Sun could rise.   

Which sight unspirited Albino quite,  
That his invention could not teem a plot:  
For in his looks his fear was writ in white,  
And to his heart his frighted blood did troth.  
Yet calling courage to appear o'th' stage,  
He sheathed his body in his woven cage.   

Then hasting to the Host, bade him awake,  
Desired his counsel, and assisting hand,  
Says now his life and safety lay at stake,  
For at his door a troop of shave ling stand,  
I am their errand, I must bid adieu  
To lovely Maudge, mine hostess, and to you.   

Hoh, quoth mine host, and rubbed his gummy eyes,  
Hot says my son? Must thou be whurld away?  
I warrant, boy, my club shall still their cries,  
When 'bout their costards I shall make it play.  
I'll die their stark naked crowns with their own blood,  
Then let 'em come, if that they think it good.   

Good Sickerlin, says Maudge, ere they shall have  
My hony-sweeten Dick, I'll scratch and bite,  
With scalding water I'll their noddles shave:  
Then buss me Dick, thy Maudge will for ●hee fight.  
Thanks, quoth he, Duck, but yet it cannot be,  
That thy endeavours should advantage me▪   

But yet methinks I see some comfort dawn,  
Yond tinker's budget strengthens every joint,  
Lend me some , by times harsh grinders gnaw●  
And I will be a Tinker in each point,  
My sister must have rags, and be my trull:  
Thus veiled & clothed we will the shavelins gull▪   

Accoutred in thief robes of state, he made  
His face and hands in sooty vestures mourn,  
Then waked Bellama, who was sore afraid  
To see a Tinker, and away does turn.  
But grasping only air, she shrilly cried,  
Art fled Albino, from thy sweetheart's side?   

Which words so shrilly spoke, made echo babble,  
Who winged with envy, out o'th' window flies,  
Carries Albino to the Monkish rabble:  
They hearing that, Perduers made their eyes,  
And swelled with rage, against the door did knock,  
Whose aged breast could not endure the shock.   

This stroke Albino's heart did almost break,  
Yet bids Bellama sheathe her body in  
These homely dags, which only safety speak,  
Care not for coarseness, so they hide the skin,  
And at this Tinker's habit do not wonder,  
'tis but the curtain thy Albinos under.   

What tispyde fellows at my door do beat  
Thus early, quoth mine host, is this your manners?  
What must mine hostess wait upon th' entreat  
Of Tailors, Cobblers, Carpenters and tanner's?  
If drinking be your errand, where yey got  
Your last night's fudling-cap, this morning tro●▪   

Impatient they, did make the door unhinge,  
Which gave an entrance to enraged Bardino,  
He to the reverend host did lowly cringe,  
Told him his errand was to seek Albino.  
And as they did his homely cottage him,  
Albino's name came leaping unto them.   

Hoh, quoth mine host, unto mine house there came  
Last night for lodging, a stout Tinker knave,  
Who now is ticking with his ragged dame,  
Go, if with him yey any business have:  
But who Albino is, I cannot tell,  
Here's no sick mon dos penance in my cell.   

Into the Arras-sieled parlour then  
The coapsters went, in every corner snookt,  
The Tinker's visage none of them did ken,  
But for Albino, on Albino looked;  
Well might he cousin them, when as his saint  
Knew not his face under that mask of paint.   

Then as they searched every place, by chance  
Conrado did his Monkish vestments own  
He lent Phaeliche at their affiance.  
The host perceiving that the  were known,  
Said, yesterday about the after three  
A fellow came, and pawned those clothes to me.   

They asked Bellama then, why she did call  
Upon Albino? Why forsooth said she,  
I was a servant once in Darwey hall,  
Where that young Monk I oftentimes did see,  
Who oft in private would disport with me,  
And promised that I should his sweeting be.   

But by misfortune being turned away,  
This jovial Tinker took me unto wife,  
So as this morn by his warm side I lay,  
I of Albino dreamed, my joy, my life.  
he's not thy money, quoth Maudge, thou liest base drab,  
Peace huswife, says mine host, you tattling blab.   

Thus had the Scene been changed, had not the Sire  
Suppressed her babble with a check and grin.  
The Monks well satisfied, gang to the fire  
To taste the juice of Kate's old Kilderkin  
The Tinker and mine host would always cry,  
Fill hostess, fill, the Monks are still a-dry.   

Canzone.  
Drink full ones Tinker, me thinks the Monks are dry,  
Drink healths mine host, the Monks do fear a thirst:  
Are the Monks thirsty? the Monks will quickly try  
If they or the Tinker want a pillow first,  
Else will we jig and hay unto the black pots sound,  
Till to that music the house shall dance the round.   

Then fill a dozen hostess, we'll have a merry cup,  
And make the Tinker forfeit his budget & his brass.  
Faith, says the tinker, I'll make your monkships sup  
Till yey sing Requiems, in reading of the mass.  
Then fill a gallon hostess, we'll health it all about,  
Till all complain o'th' headache, the falling or the gout.   

Come on dropping shavelins, let's see you count your beads,  
I am half afraid you'll stutter in the mass.  
Gramercy lovely pots, and nimble Ganymedes,  
That brought more water than what holy was.  
Well saucy tinker, well, pray finger you your brass.  
And let the monks alonelone, they'll finger well the mass.   

Pray Gaffer Cowlists why are yey so bald  
To cool your Pia matters in a sweat?  
Or did the water your wise noddlcs scald,  
Which your devotions and hot zeal did heat?  
Or are yey given unto Venus' play?  
I am afraid there went the hair away.   

But base Bardino did this mirth eclipse,  
(In his monastic life Albino's friend)  
Viewing the travail of his hand, his lips.  
He by a secret mark Albino kend:  
For by some strange mishap, was set a brand,  
An azure spot upon his abler hand.   

Says he, me thinks you are too frolic Tinker,  
Your mirth I fear presageth your disgrace,  
You must no longer be mine hostess Skinker,  
For you will say, unless  brazed your face,  
That you both see, and do Albino know,  
If you deny't, I have your hand to show.   

During the time that you were cold and coaped,  
On your right hand there dwelled a coerule mark,  
Which ne'er would off, although 'twas often soapt.  
Well, quoth mine Host, but pray your worship hark,  
May not two men be like, may there not be  
The selfsame spot of him, and you, and me.   

This could not yet appease Bardino's hate,  
Still teeming mischief, and with envy big,  
So starting up, he fumed, and loud did prate,  
And snatched off Albino's periwig.  
Now 'gainst two witnesses he could not stand,  
When as his head bore witness with his hand.   

Albine excused, it was by nature so,  
Saying no razor ere did touch his scull:  
No, says Bardino? it again does grow,  
Thou canst not with this fop my wisdom gull.  
Keep him my brethren, and mean while I will  
Fetch the watch-beggar, and his rusty bill.   

Bellama did mean while what language can,  
With oiled words, and pitty-pleading tears,  
Beseeching these to free her wedded man;  
But to her voice they cottond had their ears,  
Until an Angel did appear unto them,  
And with his goldy looks and music woo them.   

Then did they yield to let them go away,  
And they mean time would feign a deadding sleep,  
They for a second licence would not stay,  
But hasting out, along the ditches creep.  
And as they went a Raddle-man they meet,  
Whom with kind airs, and highway phrase they greet.   

And greeting passed, Albino did require  
To change apparel with him, and his trade,  
Giving him cash to hasten his desi●e.  
With all my heart the Raddle-yonker said,  
(Near questioning the cause) yet by the mass,  
My Dames will say, I am a podging Ass.   

Thus changed they clothes & budgets; then with lead  
On the new Tinker's hand Albino made  
A mark like his, to gull his envious bead:  
With Raddle-crimson then fit for his trade,  
He clothed his face, and gave Bellama some,  
So trudgd away, for fear the Monk should come.   

Have you beheld a hound in sudden fright,  
Whom powder feared, or else the staff did beat,  
How oft he turns and looks, yet keeps on flight,  
So they with glancing eyes would oft retreat,  
Yet moved forward still, as in a ship,  
The Pilots backward look, yet forward skip.   

But our new Tinker swelled with content,  
Fearing no colours, to the town did p●sse,  
Crying, as he along the hamlet went,  
Hay ●ny need, hooh, of a Tinker's brass?  
Bardino now returned in a chafe,  
And asked the Tinker's name, who answered, Ralph.   

Where dwellest thou? any where? how long  
Hast tinkring used? I cannot tell.  
Then 'bout the Tinker all the Monks did throng,  
Whilst he, poor fellow thought h'had been in hell:  
For till that day, he never saw such creatures,  
And what they were, he knew not by their features   

Bardino feared this was but a gull,  
And says, good fellow, let me see thy hand.  
I'm not ashamed to show't, by cock and bull.  
Bardino viewinged well, espied the brand,  
And says, Sir youth, before you cozened me:  
But now in sooth, I will be meet with thee.   

Devil or Friar, whatsoever thou art,  
What taunting language dost thou give to me?  
Ha▪ quoth the Tinker. Quoth Bardino, Smart  
Shall give a comment of my words to thee.  
Smart, quoth the Tinker, swigge for Smart & you.  
I bid defiance unto all thy crew.   

Talk not to me of Smart: for if you prate,  
This knotty staff shall bastenado you,  
I'll set a scarlet cap upon thy pate,  
And lace thy shoulders with a purple blue.  
Peace, honest Tinker, say the other Monks▪  
I, I will peace it, if I catch the hunks,   

But let the Monks and Tinker take their chances,  
We'll view the travails of our Raddle-man,  
With faint Bellam ' whom every fear entrances,  
And every trance does make her roses wan.  
Thus fare their loves have Tragi-comick been,  
Thwarted by Fate, and the unconstant Queen.   

But every planet with kind aspect now  
Views their long travelled loves, and Venus' boy,  
Smiles on their wishes with auspicious brow:  
Now a full harvest must they have of joy,  
Though sowed with black disasters, dangers, fears,  
Despair, hope, doubtings, sad complaints & tears.   

For aged Starley's towers (that fatal stage,  
Where Danes did act their juries once in blood,  
When bellowing cannons belched out their rage)  
Within the kenning of our lovers stood:  
And the well-tuned bells did loud proclaim  
joy to the lovers in great Hymen's name.   

A near ally, Albino in this town  
(By order a devout Carthusian) had,  
Whose voice, he hoped, with joy their loves should crown.  
But he a slave in Raddle vestures clad,  
And a raged M●rget seeing, started back,  
Bidding his knaveship to some other pack.   

He would have no commerce with such as he,  
He had no Ewes, whose backs did want his raddle,  
And if he over-saucy needs would be,  
With a good bat he would his gaskins swaddle.  
The Provost Martial else, if this does fail,  
Shall show you lodging in the whipstock jail.   

This language sounded in B●llama's ears,  
Like the sad voice of death, yet fear no slaughter,  
To joy strait changed shall be this scene of tears,  
And stead of grief, the child of pleasure, laughter,  
My promise stands unshaked, for this short anger  
Brings not their loves nor safeties unto danger.   

Sir, quoth Albino, there was once a time,  
When you esteemed those winged minutes sainted  
You spent with me (when Fortune was in prime)  
For you and I have better been acquainted,  
Though some disasters, and stern Fate have made  
Me take this homely garb, and homelier trade.   

Some blood which in your azure channels glide,  
Dwells in my veins, I am Albino hight,  
And lest you think this smells too much of pride,  
View this triangle on my able right.  
That sight unto rejoicings beat alarms,  
His kinsman then ensphered him in his arms.   

So led them both under his arched roof,  
Breathing kind welcomes from his courteous lips,  
Excused his ignorance, and sharp reproof,  
Asked what misfortune did his worth eclipse?  
Demanding how coy Fortune dealt with him?  
And who she was, that was so passing trim?   

Unless high heavens do forbid the bane,  
This maid shall be my bride, though homely dressed,  
 oftentimes the purest beauty stain,  
And Venus most unclothed, is clothed best.  
Under this roof of rags Bellama dwells,  
Franght with diviner worth than nature spells.   

Hymen every your wishes with content,  
As benign heaven has enriched your face  
With nature's glory, beauties orient,  
Says the Carthusian with a comely grace,  
Thrice welcome, welcome, for your lovely grace  
Will add a lustre to my homely place,   

Sir, my endeavours shall be wholly spent  
Henceforth, quoth she, to recompense your air;  
This is no time (forsooth) to compliment,  
Prithee adjourn thy words of courtship (fair)  
For till our hands be joined as well as hearts,  
I fear (quoth he) supplanting envies darts.   

Good Cousin, ere the next day's sun be rolled  
Th' Apogaeum, our Meridian point,  
Favour our wishes with the have and hold,  
Tie us so fast, fate may not us disjoint.  
Forenvie like a snake does crawl about,  
And winds her tail in where she holes her snout   

Omit no nuptial rites, with holy oil  
Let her anoint the posts with virgin hand,  
To janus consecrate the weather's spoil,  
And to those gods which for our household stand,  
Procure horn torches to be borne along,  
And cry Thalassus with a bridal song.   

Provide me store of nuts to throw about,  
With a full hand unto the gaping boys,  
That from the tumults of the struggling rout,  
All voices may be dampt, that speak not joys,  
Over us two, let the same Flamine fall,  
And let the wheaten cake consummate all.   

Nor will we manumisse these robes of state,  
Within whose walls blessed safety only dwells,  
Lest our known faces and apparel prate  
In louder echoes than the marriage bells  
Than say (fair Lady) truth I do not jeer,  
Will you be wedded to a scarleteere?   

Quoth she (with blushes carpetting her cheek)  
And is that question (prithee) yet to ask?  
Your worth does merit the unequalled Greek,  
Without Nun-penance, or Alcides' task.  
Then pray you (in truth it is no gull)  
Will you be married to a Tinker's trull?   

Thus sleep and mirth did cut the night, and e'er  
The sovereignty was ta'en from Cynthia's horn,  
When at Easts casement newly did appear  
The orient brightness of the rising morn,  
Albino rose, and to the Church did haste,  
T'un-Nun Bellama, and un-gird her waste.   

When the Carthusians voice had crowned their amours  
With an assurance of Thalassian joys,  
The air was thinned with the joyful clamours  
(Not of state-sattens) but of Grammar boys,  
And our fresh sponsants in that height of mirth.  
To every pleasure gave an easy birth.   

Now are they landed on the I'll of bliss,  
Where every joy courts their desires with pleasure,  
Envy did then her snaky train dismiss:  
For their espousals did all sweet entreasure.  
Dead grief bequeathed her stings to thorn & thistle  
Nor durst a sigh within those borders whistle.   

Then, as Sea-merchants, when their reeling Galley,  
Drunk with salt Neptune, hazard●th their bteathes,  
To calm bold tempest, and the ●●i●ons val●ey,  
Hack on the quiet shore th●ir bracked sheaths.  
So did our Amourists, (h●l●e wracked with eye-men)  
Devote their raddle vestes to Love and Hymen.   

Some marrow-lancing eye perchance may quarrel,  
'Cause with the bridal torch my muse expires,  
And in loud jeers his to wring voice apparel,  
Taxing the faintness of my Metricke fires,  
Because my lines tread not the common path  
Of Fortune, issue, and appeasing wrath.   

Perhaps I dare not lengthen out my story  
With those events succeeding time begot,  
Lest some disaster should eclipse their glory,  
And the pure Ermines of their pleasures spot:  
For having screwed them into firm embraces,  
I will not waken hate, or rouse disgraces.   

Yet beauty (know) when virtue shines upon her,  
And virtues (know) skin-perfections gloss 'em,  
Awe Fortune's nath, and challenge heaven's honour,  
Hell cannor cancel them, nor envy dross 'em.  
Love, if to me the same content thou'lt yield,  
I'll limb thy mother on Minerva's Shield.    

TO THOSE WORTHY HERO'S OF OUR Age, whose noble Breasts are we● and watered with the dew of Helicon, N. W. wisheth ever-flourishing Laurels.  
YOu noble Laureates, whose able Quills  
In framing Odes, do drean the sacred rills  
Of Aganippe dry, within whose breasts  
The Sire of Aesculapius safely rests;  
And all the Muse's Temple, deign your rays  
To cheer the measures of an infant Bayes,  
Spread forth the Banners of your worths to shield  
His younger Muse, unable yet to wield  
Arms, 'gainst the Monsters of this Critic age,  
Envy, detraction, and Saturnine rage.  
I to myself assume not double worth,  
Or that my teeming fancy can bring forth  
Words to make wonderstand amazed, doetrye  
To vindicate the breath of Poesy.  
In such a thought I'm silent, but because  
I've heard invectives belched from the jaws  
Of Nil-scientes, whose audacious brags  
Have raised a thunder like a shoal of dags  
T' affright endeavours:  
In writing which, if my weak studies hit  
Of any fancy speaking worth or wit,  
If I have snatched any fainting Muse  
From the black jaws of envy and abuse,  
Shooting a soul into her, and new breath,  
Maugre those tongues that doomed her to death.  
Echo forth thanks unto coy Daphne's lover  
(About whose Fane the sacred Nine do hover)  
Whose kindness smiled on my uncrusht designs,  
And locked a Muse in my unworthy lines  
Able to blunt the dar●s of envy, pair  
The sharpest hoofed satire, and with air  
Shrill as the voice of thunder, chide those galls,  
That belch forth scandals and invective bawls:  
Nay, he, befriending me above my merit,  
Unseen of any, heaved my winged spirit  
TO a higher court than the Star-chamberis,  
Where souls may surfeit with immortal bliss.  
And taught my fancy in those quiet slumbers,  
What, waking, I have folded up in numbers,  
To tell the brood of Critics, that there are  
Some few, or if not some, yet one, that dare  
(Backed by your thrice-sacred worths) expose  
These lines and letters to the ken of prose.  
The humble admirer of your Muses N. W.   

Il in sonio insonnadado.  
WHhen (in the silent age of sable night)  
The silver way with Phaebes glimmering light,  
And her attendants was adorned, and when  
Fast slumbers scald the eyes of drowsy men,  
I entered Morpheus Court, that Ivory port,  
Whereat benighted fancies pass that sort  
With real good, sleep was the janitor,  
Who let me in without one crumb of Ore,  
Into the spacious hall, whose darksome flore,  
With downy beds and quilts was paved over,  
Instead of Marble stones: here nuzzled both  
The hated spawn of idleness and sloth,  
Icilone and Phantaso, the one  
Wrapped in a mantle set with stars and stones,  
Chequered with flowers, and trimmed with antic shape●  
Playing with children, feathets, flies and Apes,  
Blowing up hospital bladders: and the other  
Stretched on the bosom of his quiet mother,  
Folded in furs and feathers, would not stir  
To earn a penny, or to please you Sir  
With cap and curtsy: wondering much, to me  
The winged post came with an Embassee,  
I, frighted with his strange apparel, shrunk  
Away, and closely into feathers sunk.  
He smiling said, let not my strange arraying,  
Kind youth, beget amazement, or dismaying▪  
I'll show thee where in marshalled order stray  
Whole troops of Laureates ensphered with Bay,  
Then spread his winged sails, and caught my hair,  
Without a sense of motion through the air,  
Conducting me, through where the Salamander  
(If faith b'historlcall) does breath and wander,  
Then through those glorious orbs, enriched with gems,  
The palaces of seven Diadems.  
Then through the firmament, where glittering spangs,  
Like blazing Topazes, in Crystal hangs,  
Three stories higher was the Galupin  
Where jove was frolic with his goddy kin;  
Hither was I uplifted, than mine eye  
Besprinkled was by nimble Mercury,  
With liquor, which with strength did me endue  
T' abide the presence of th' immortal crew,  
The whispering vaults I opened of my brain,  
The counsels of the gods to entertain,  
And fearing memory, with short-lived chalk,  
(Wanting the tongue of paper) writ their talk;  
The Patron of Parnassus and the nine,  
To JOVE presented and the rest divine,  
Their suits with comely grace and majesty.  
But Phoebus was the Orator; Lo I,  
Thy daughters undertook to patronise,  
Great Emperor of the Crystal spangled skies,  
And shield their measures from the sullen rage  
Of envious ignorance this Critic age;  
(For none inveigh against Poetic measures,  
But those that never had Pandora's treasures)  
Yet such a shoal of ignorants I find,  
'Tis thought the greater part o'th' world is blind,  
That maugre all my scourges, in the dark  
Against the Muses they will snarl and bark.  
Let winged-sandald Hermes post to call  
And summon them unto thy judgement Hall,  
That you may know their rage is want of brains.  
Hermes took post, and brought the silly trains,  
jove waved his sceptre, and commanded hush,  
Then calls a gaudy piece of empty plush,  
And asked what he could say 'gainst Poetry?  
Ha, hah, quoth he, and fleered with blinking eye,  
I have a mistress (than gins a tale,  
Which made jove call for some Nectarean Ale,  
To arm his ears 'gainst nonsense, and his side  
'Gainst laughters fury) has too much of pride,  
she's fair, as is a wall new parged with lime,  
she's wise enough; for age, she's in her prime,  
I vow her service, but she slights me, why?  
Marry, I dave noveine in Poesy,  
But what I take on trust, o'th' second hand,  
She jeers and says, this cannot well be scanned,  
This has a foot too little, that too much,  
This is a borrowed line, she knowesed byth' touch,  
Tells me the double Indies shall not gain  
Her love, without the smirk, Poetic vain,  
Despairing I against the Muses rail,  
And wished my hands had crusted been with flail,  
Then should not I have needed Proxee-verse,  
T'have won a milkmaid, neither coy nor terse,  
Trush, say I, Madam, this sameragged crew  
Ofrithming dizzards, are not worthy you.  
Plato exiled them from his common-weal,  
Their tongues will flatter, and their fingers steal.  
M●resycophants, that for a trencher-bit,  
Will swear  beauty mixed with purest wit.  
And if you anger them, will in a rage  
Vnsayed, and rail 'gainst you, your sex, and age.  
Hundredinvectives more, I often use  
Against the Poet and his strumpet Muse;  
But I protest, 'tis to dissuade my Lady:  
For had I wit, Phoebus should be my Dady.  
Then sacred sisters I implore your Bays,  
Make me a Bard, and I'll descant your praise.  
No quoth the Muses Helicon ne'er brooks  
T●have servants which do wear such simple looks▪  
So sent him packing with a flea in's ear,  
Apollo called another to appear,  
A feeble brain, that at a general die  
Had got the sable hue of infamy:  
He buzzles like a bustard in a wind,  
And with his aios strikes the vulgar blind,  
In whom, if we believe Pythagoras,  
I think the soul of Battus housed was:  
He is demanded why he thus does bawl  
'Gainst soaring wits, not worms that earthly crawl?  
Clothing his face with impudence, his looks  
With pride; and with high self-conceit (his books,  
So are his words, he speaks in print) why, why,  
Have I not cause t'exclaime on Poetic?  
I'm a Divine, not a fond prattling Poet,  
I am a Preacher I would have you know it.  
Peace arrogant, says Hermes, else I'll drive  
Thee quick into the black infernal hive.  
There was a time when thou admir'dst with praise  
Each sprig of Laurel, slip of youthful Bays.  
But envy's master now, or th'cause of it  
Is, thou ne'er hop'st t'attain that height of wit.  
By'r say the truth, (yet truth will scarce abide thee)  
Are there not some that jeer and do deride thee  
In lofty measures, and thou wanting skill  
To vindicate thy credit by thy quill?  
Dost scold? Quoth he, I do acknowledge it,  
I blamed the Muses, 'cause I wanted wit,  
And darted scandals at Apollo's Lyre,  
Yet pardon, mighty Aesculapius' Sire,  
And ye blessed goddesses, my grand offence,  
And on your Altars I'll burn srankincense.  
Nay, buildrich Trophies unto Poetry.  
'tis good to see a convert mind, stand by  
Apollo said; says Vulcan by the Mass,  
I have espied a plumpe-cheekt bonny lass,  
She is a wrig I warrant, where's my wife?  
Oh! 'tis a hell to live a coupled life.  
Thus did the Blacksmith mutter, till Apollo  
Cited the damsel with a gentle hollo.  
Up comes the Margit with a mincing pace,  
A Citie-stride, Court-garbe, and smirking face,  
So curtsyed to the gods, yet 'twas but short.  
Then says Apollo, (meaning to make sport)  
What occupation use you, Art or Trade?  
Are you a Virgin? Yes, a chambermaid  
Forsooth I am, I have my virgin seal,  
To honest Vulcan I dare make m'appeale,  
he'll pawn his head, had I kept Venus' room,  
Mars had not dubbed him with Actaeon's doom.  
A merry wench in faith says jove: yet stay,  
To serious parley let's fall from wanton play,  
You are accused, as one that does condemn  
And boldly scoff the Laurel Diadem.  
I once, quoth she, admired them all, until  
I found my praise returned but traffic ill:  
For when I praised, they praised me again,  
So I had only praises for my pain.  
Then wittily I oftentimes would flout,  
And say the Poets was a needy rout:  
Of all professions sure it was the worst,  
Just like the Cockatrice, i'th' shell accursed,  
With many more, yet though our tongues did jar,  
Our quarrel ended in a lippy war.  
We kissed, to friendship like the nurse and child,  
And there she stopped: where at the heavens smiled.  
Then came a Servingman, a blunt old knave,  
That dared Parnassus with a saucy brave,  
In youth says he, I rhymed, and framed notes  
To Pan's choice music, & the shepherd's throats,  
And many a lusty bowl of cream have got  
For Kate's three brace of rhymes, which was God wots,  
But once removed from prose, and for a song  
The iron-hoofed Hobbs 'bout me did throng,  
But now old age my wit and fancy nips,  
I gaul the Muses with satyric quips,  
Yet might I with the Eagle cast my Bill,  
And gain my youth, I would regain my skill.  
This done, the Pursuivant Apollo posts  
T'Elizium, to call the Poet's ghosts,  
That paid th'infernal Ferryman his fee:  
There saw I Homer, but he saw not me,  
Lascivious Ovid, and Virgilius grave,  
Satyric juvenal, and Martial brave,  
Splay-footed Plautus, limping Ennius,  
Propertius, Horace, and Boethius.  
Amongst the Moderns came the Fairy Queen,  
Old Geffrey, Sidney, Drayton, Randolph, Greene,  
The double Beaumonde, Drummond, Browne,  
Each had his chaplet, and his Ivy crown.  
How rested ye amidst those gloomy shades?  
Says jupiter? see ye not other trades  
Learnings and Sciences have constant springs,  
Summers and Autumns without wintering?  
They'll have no hail-stormes, fleezie rain, nor frost,  
They're kin to rhymes: winter must not be lost:  
A pregnant witted Bard did silence break,  
Homer 'twas not, he could not see to speak.  
Virgil it was not, he had got a wrench,  
Nor B. nor M. for they had got a wench.  
Ennius was lame, and much did fear his shins,  
Horace was busy with the kilderkins.  
Ovid employed wirh his beloved Flea,  
Old Geffrey's language was not fit for plea:  
Draiton on's brains a new Moon Calf was getting,  
And testy Drummond could not speak for fretting▪  
I knew the Roscians feature, not his name,  
Yet 'tis engraven on the Shaulme of Fame;  
With settled grace he boldly did advance  
Father of gods, king of the large expanse.  
We oft have heard proud Envy belching forth  
Fogs, mists and fumes, t'cclipse the metrick worth,  
And know the teeming world did never nurse  
So great a mischief as the Griticke curse:  
Our souls one minute have not rested quiet,  
Since carp we know was Ignoramus diet.  
If Wisdom's Faecial call to the sand,  
We have revenge, our standish is at hand.  
That rights our wrongs, but 'gainst Don Sillies rails  
The fist is heaved, for paper nought avails:  
We sat in counsel, did intent to sue  
With a petition to this noble crew,  
The substance this, that ye would either give  
Wit and discretion unto all that live,  
Or make them Idiots, deprived of reason,  
Else but to speak, let it be counted treason.  
But we appeal, great gods, 'tis now my theme,  
To clear from mud pure Aganippa's stream:  
Assist Pierides, maintain your sires  
With greater care than can the Vestals theirs,  
'tis merely loss of time and papet both,  
By refutation to chastise their sloth.  
Then I the juice of Helicon will sup,  
Not in nutshell, but Colocassian cup,  
Shall make my fancy catch at nought but gems,  
And wreathe the Muse's brows with diadems.  
Me thinks this draught such virtue does infuse,  
As if in every sense there dwelled a Muse,  
A spirit of valour, to un-god great war,  
Should he but send a ram; but to the bar,  
Who knows not Vaticinium does imply  
In equal measures verse and prophecy.  
An inspiration, a celestial touch,  
Such is the Poet's raptures, Prophets such:  
Vates a Bard, and him that does presage  
Vaticinor possessed with either rage.  
Poema is a book in numbers framed,  
Fast cemented with sense, by working named,  
To which the choicest Orator stands bare,  
Poesies does in a sublimer air,  
Things humane and divine expose to view.  
The first Philosophy that Fame ere knew,  
Was honoured with the name of Poetry,  
Enriched with rules of pure morality.  
Reading instructions unto heathen men,  
With more contentment than the Stoics pen,  
The ancients unto Poets only gave  
The Epithets of wise, divine and grave,  
Because their metres taught the world to know  
To whom they did their holy worship owe.  
The Greek is free and kinder in her praise  
Which she bestows upon Poetic Lays,  
She calls all that which takes not essence by  
A matter pre-existent, Poesy.  
So makes the world a Poem, and by this  
The great creator a great Poet is.  
Nay more, that language on the Nine bestows,  
(As every callent of that Idiom knows)  
In her etimologues an higher grace,  
Calls them 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and whose measures trace▪  
The steps of Nature, humane and divine,  
The abstruse mysteries of both untwine,  
Unlock the exta of each Science, Art,  
By cunning search: again, not as a part  
Nor a grand column only, but entreasures  
The soul of learning in the Poet's measures.  
All other Arts (which use and learning gave)  
Precepts and rules, as sure foundations, have,  
When as the Poet's pen alone's inspired  
With high Enthusiasms, by heaven fired,  
Ennius them holy calls, and Plato says,  
Furies divine are in the Poet's lays;  
Nor wanted he himself the Poet's wit,  
He Dithyrambos and love passions writ.  
The Regal Prophet was a true borne Poet,  
As to the life his well-tuned metres show it,  
Composed to music by that holy man,  
Ere Hopkins and Sternhold knew how to scan.  
Hence Chicken-Augures with your crooked staves,  
Whose rash conjectures crown and dig us graves.  
A lofty fancy steeped in the fount  
Of Pegasus, an higher pitch can mount.  
Sibylline Oracles did speak in verse,  
Their scattered leaves in measures did rehearse  
The mysteries of man's redemption, by  
The incarnation of a deity.  
Grave Maro, I remember, in an Ode,  
An Eclogue, treads the same Prophetic road.  
Those famous Druids renowned of late,  
Treated at large o'th' souls immortal state.  
Man's spirit does not to the gloomy shade  
Of Erebus, o'er black Cocytus wade.  
Death sets no period, is the lesser part  
Of humane life, for the same breath does dart  
Vigour to every sinew in the bulk.  
Man lives as freely in another hulk,  
Who readeth Ovid's Metamorphosin,  
And thinks not Moses soul was sheathed in  
His body, by a transmigration?  
He from the chaos tells the world's plantation.  
Maro accords, and gives the world a soul,  
Which does this well-compacted lump control;  
And by illumination he discovered  
How then the spirit o'er the water hoverd.  
Th'inspired pen of old Pythagoras  
By Nasos guide, relates, how in this mass  
All things do alter shape, yet soon Dame Nature  
Of one form lost, informs another feature,  
No substance's nothinged in this large globe,  
But 'gainst some feast puts on a newer robe.  
The earth resolved to water, rarefies,  
Into pure air the thinner water flies,  
The purer air assumes a scorching heat:  
They back returning, orderly retreat,  
Those subtle sparks converted are to breath,  
The spissye air, being doomed unto death,  
Turns into sea, earth's made a thickened water.  
Thus wily Nature is a strange translater.  
My Lady Readers, I refer to sands,  
But the grave learned unto Ovid's hands.  
Nor Seneca divine wants prophecies,  
Near to the death of time an age shall rise,  
In which, says he, the Ocean shall untie  
The watery bands of things, and to the eye  
Of Typhis, anew world appear  
Unheard before, by the mostitching ear,  
In glory matching this▪ Then Thule no more  
Shall be th'earth's ne plus ultra, bound or door,  
Our eights ith'hundred would large heaps of treasures  
Set in their wills to buy Zorastus measures.  
Masspriests for Dirges than would lose their fee,  
These would the surest de profundis be.  
Shopsters and gallants to his house would hop,  
More than t'Exchanges, or Canary-shop.  
And Poets brisk would have a larger dealt  
Than holy Confessors, of dead men's wealth.  
I might be infinite, should I but show  
For what grave Arts the world to Poets owe.  
Apelles had not been without Parnasse,  
The pencils worth had only dwelled on glass,  
Or dusty tablets, guided by those Apes,  
In imitation of some antic shapes.  
Venus' a portrait had, Pygmalion missed  
That speechless female which he hugged and kissed,  
Had not th'enlivening breath of Poetry  
T'a higher pitch reared up dull fantasy.  
How quickly worthy acts of famous men,  
Died in the wain of our poetic pen?  
How rudely by the Monks (which only had  
The key of learning) were their actions clad,  
King Ethelbert's closed in his Poliander,  
To Christ for Church buildings, he's gone without Maeander  
Such stuff the tombs of Bede and Petrarch have,  
The razor from all Monkey pates did shave  
Wit with their hair, except in Mantuan  
Retained by Vida and Politian,  
And many others was this glorious Sun  
Which glitter shall till earth's last thread be spun,  
We raise shall Obelisks by Apollo's breath,  
Which own no homage to the rage of death.  
By pen Honterus creatures limbed to life,  
Better than could the Cynic with his knife.  
Pliny compared unto him, did err,  
He was a Chemic and Cosmographer.  
How bravely does the Scottish Bard depinge  
The planet's order, and the Sphericke hinge.  
Brave Petrarch, Latined by our learned clerk,  
Lights us a lamp to guide us in this dark  
And critic age, says, that stout Alexander,  
(Whose warlike steps o'er all this globe did wander)  
Fixing on brave Pelides tomb his eye,  
Wrapped with a noble envy, loud did cry,  
Happy, O happy thou, whose actions still  
Live, being enbreathed by the immortal quill,  
Of worthy Homer! nay, when his sword had gained  
Those wealthy realms, o'er which Darius reigned.  
He 'mongst his treasures found a casket fair,  
So set with gold and gems, it raid the air,  
And called in day despite of clouds or nights,  
Yet the best use (as grave Patricius writes)  
This cabinet could serve to, was t'entomb  
Homer's choice Iliads in his glorious womb.  
Of Zoaraflus now some wonders hear,  
And barrel his disciples in thine ear,  
Whose rhythms could charm foul Cerbers' bawling tongue,  
And pickhels lock with his enchanting song.  
From Stygian shade conducting whom they listed,  
And whom they pleased with hellish fogs bemisted.  
Oh golden metres, rhymes out-worthing gold,  
At what high prices would they now be sold  
If they were extant! Friend for friend would sell  
Lordships, books, banners, to redeem from hell  
How many ages has those Greeks' survived,  
(Than all their predecessors longer lived)  
Which showed their noblc worths at Ilium's grave?  
Yet thrice Nestorean age them Homer gave:  
How bravely Lucan tells succeeding ages  
The sevenhilled cities bloody rages.  
Moist clouds long since, have washed the purpled grass,  
Yet red as ever 'tis in Lucan's glass.  
To Carthage Queen the wand'ring Trojan Prince  
Pretended love, but dead it is long since,  
And dust are they, yet Virgil's lofty verse  
Makes him speak wars, she love, from under th' hearse.  
Long since did Hellespont gulp in Leander,  
When he presumed on naked breast to wander.  
Hero's watch-candle's out, they vanished quite,  
Yet Ovid fayes, all was but yesternight.  
A great while since the cheating Miller stole  
The Scholar's meal by a quadruple toll,  
They gave him th'horn-book, taught his daughter Greek  
Yet look in Chaucer, done the other week.  
I'rne-sinewd Talus with his steely flail,  
Long since i'th' right of justice did prevail  
Under the Sceptre of the Fairy Queen,  
Yet Spencer's lofty measures makes it green.  
Dun was a Poet, and a grave Divine,  
Highly esteemed for the sacred Nine,  
That after times shall say whilst there's a Sun,  
This Verse, this Sermon was composed by Dun.  
What by heroic acts to man accrues,  
When grisly Charon for his waftage sues,  
If his great grandchild, and his grandchildes' son,  
May not the honours, which his sword hath won.  
Read, graved on paper by a Poet's pen,  
When matble monuments are dust, and when  
Time has eat off his paint, and letterd gold,  
For verse alone keeps honour out oath▪ mould.  
The press successively gives birth to verse:  
Shall steely Tombs outlive the Buckram hearse?  
To otherthings the same proportion hold,  
Pure rhymes, which lofty volumes do enfold.  
Aut umnall frosts would nip the double Rose,  
If cherished only by the breath of Prose.  
Beauty of beauty's not the smallest part,  
Which is bestowed by our liberal Art.  
Orpheus, Arion, and the scraping crew,  
To wire and parched guts may bid adieu,  
Or audience beg, were't not for sprightful Bays,  
Which to the strings composeth merry Lays,  
But with the Muses I'm so fallen in love,  
That I forget thy presence, mighty jove,  
And through the spacious universe do walk,  
By'r this shall set a period to my talk.  
jove stretched his Sceptre then with frolic grace,  
And joy triumphed on the heaven's face,  
The Orbs made Music, and the Planets danced,  
The Muse's glory was by all enhanced:  
jove thenintended for to ratify  
Decrees in the behoof of Poesy,  
Giving the Bards his hand to kiss, and made  
Chaplets of Laurel, which should never fade.  
But Vulcan to Gradive placed in oppose,  
Was nodding fast, and bellowing through the nose,  
His armed brow fell down, and lighting right,  
His antlers did the marching god unsight.  
Mars fumed, the gods laughed out, the spheres did shake  
At which shrill noise I starting did awake,  
And looking up, (East having oped his doors)  
Amazed I beheld a troop of scores,  
And wondering, thought they'd been Ale-debts, but found  
I them had chalked in my dreaming swound.  
I trow not the decree, 'twas Vulcan's fault,  
Yet dreams are seldom sound, like him they halt.  
Take this, and if I can so happy be,  
I'll write in my next slumbers, the Decree.  
FINIS.   

GEntle Reader, hear with some faults, which through the obscurity of the copy, and the absence of the Author have escaped; as page 3. line 24. for vein read reign. p. 3. l. 6. for enjoyed read enjayld, p. 6. l. 10. for tener read knee. p. 12. l. 24. for Satamit read Catamite. Two staves there are misplaced, to the reforming whereof the sense will direct thee: what other errors thou findest, let thy pen amend, excusing the press, and un-staining the Author.