ALCILIA.  
Philoparthens loving Folly.  
WHEREUNTO IS ADDED Pygmalion's Image.  
WITH The Love of AMOS and LAURA.  
And also EPIGRAMS BY Sir I. H. and others.  
Never before imprinted.  
LONDON: Printed for Richard Hawkins, dwelling in Chancery Lane, near Sarjeants-Inne. 1613.   

A LETTER, written by a Gentleman, to the Author his friend.  
FRiend Philoparthens, in perusing your Loving-folly, and your declining from it, I do behold Reason conquering Passion. The infirmity of loving argueth you are a man; the firmness thereof discovereth a good wit, and the best nature; and the falling from it, true virtue, Beauty was always of force to misled the wisest, and men of greatest perfection have had no power to resist love. The best are accompanied with Vices, to exercise their Virtues, whose glory shineth brightest in resisting motives of pleasure, and in subduing affections. And though I cannot altogether excuse your Loving-folly; yet I do the less blame you, in that you loved such a one as was more to be commended for her virtue then beauty; albeit even for that too, she was so well accomplished with the gifts of nature, as in mine own conceit (which, for good cause, I must submit as inferior to yours) there was nothing wanting, either in the one or the other, that might add more to her worth, except it were a more due and better regard of your love, which ●hee requited not according to your deserts, nor answerable to herself in her other parts of perfection: Yet herein it appeareth you have made good use of reason, that being heretofore lost in youthful vanity, have now by timely discretion found yourself. Let me entreat you to suffer these your passionate Sonnets to be published, which may peradventure make others, possessed with the like humour of Loving, to follow your example in leaving, and move other alcilia's (if there be any) to embrace deserving love while they may. Hereby also she shall know, and (it may be) inwardly repent the loss of your love, and see how much her perfections are blemished by ingratitude, which will make your happiness greater, by adding to your reputation, than your contentment could have been in enjoying her love: At the least wise the wiser sort, howsoever in censuring them, they may dislike of your errors; yet they cannot but commend and allow of your reformation; and all others that shall with indifferency read them, may reap thereby some benefit or contentment: Thus much I have written as a testimony of the good will I bear you, with whom I do suffer or rejoice, according to the quality of good hap, or misfortune, and so I take my leave, resting, as always,  
Yours most assured PHILARETES.   

Author ipse Philopartheos ad Libellum suum.  
PArue Liber Domini vanos dicture labores,  
Insomnes noctes, sollicitosque dies,  
Errores varios, sanguentis taedia vitae,  
Moerores certos, gaudia certa minus,  
Peruigi●es curas, suspiria, vota, querelas,  
Et quaecunque pati dura coegit amor.  
I precor intrepidus, duram comiterque salutans  
Haec me eius causa sustinuisse refer.  
Te grato excipiet vultu rubicundula, nomen  
Cum titulo inscriptum viderit esse suum.  
Forsitan & nostri miserebitur illa doloris,  
Dicet, & ah quantum deseruisse dolet:  
Seque nimis saevam, crudelemabque; ipsa vocabit,  
Cui non est fidei debita cura meae;  
Quod siquidem eveniet, Domino solaminis illud,  
Et t●bi surremi muneris instar erit.  
Si quis (ut est aequum) f●tuos damnaverit ignes,  
Pigritiae fructus ingnijque levis:  
Tu Dominum caecis tenchris errasse, sed ipsum  
Err●ris tandem pae 〈…〉 visse sui,  
Me quoque re v●ra nec tot, nec tauta tulisse,  
Se● ficta ad placitum multa fuisse refer.  
Ab quanto satius (nisi mens mihi vana) fuisset  
Illa meo penitùs delituisse sinu:  
Quam levia in lucem prodire, aut luce carentis  
Insanam Domini prodere stultitiam.  
Nil Amor est aliud, quam mentis morbus, & error.  
Nil sapienter agit, nil bene, quisquis amat.  
Sed non cuique datur sapere, aut melioribus uti,  
Forte erit alterius, qui meus error erat.  
Cautior incedat, quinanquam labitur, atqui  
jam proprio cuadam cautior ipse malo.  
Si cui dilicto granior mea poena videtur,  
Illius in laudes officiosus eris.  
Te si quis simili qui carpituri i● ne videbit,  
Ille suam sortem flebit, & ille meam.  
ALCILIAE obsequium supplex praestare memento,  
Non minima officij pars erit illa tui.  
Te fortasse sua secura recondet in a●ca,  
Et Solis posthaec luminis orbus eris.  
Nil referet, fateor me non prudenter amass;  
Vltima deceptae sors erit illa spei.  
Bis proprio Phoebus cursu lustrouer at orbem,  
Conscius erroris, stultitiaeque meae,  
A quo primus Amor coepit penetrare medullas,  
Et falsa accensos nutrijt arte focos.  
Desino iam nugas amplecti, seria posthaec  
(Vt Ratio monet) ac utiliora sequar.   

AMORIS PRAELUDIUM: VELURE, Epistola ad Amicam.  

TO thee Alcilia, solace of my youth,  
These rude and scattered rhymes I have addressed:  
The certain witness of my love and truth,  
That truly cannot be in words expressed;  
Which if I shall perceive thou tak'st in gree,  
I will from henceforth write of none but thee.   

Here may you find the wounds yourself have made  
The many sorrows I have long sustained:  
Here may you see that Love must be obeyed;  
How much I hoped, how little I have gained:  
That as for you the pains have been endured,  
Even so by you they may at length be cured.   

I will not call for aid to any Muse,  
It is for learned Poets so to do:  
Affection must my want of Art excuse,  
My works must have their patronage from you,  
Whose sweet assistance if obtain I might,  
I should be able both to speak and wright.   

Mean while vouchsafe to read this, as assigned  
To no man's censure, but to yours alone:  
Pardon the faults, that you therein shall find,  
And think the Writers heart was not his own.  
Experience of examples daily prove  
That no man can be well advised, and love.   

And though the work itself deserve it not,  
Such is your worth with my great wants compared:  
Yet may my Love unfeigned, without spot  
Challenge so much, (if more cannot be spared,)  
Then (lovely Virgin) take this in good part,  
The rest unseen is sealed up in the heart.   

judge not by this the depth of my Affection,  
Which far exceeds the measure of my skill:  
But rather note herein your own perfection,  
So shall appear my want of Art, not Will.  
Whereof, this now as part, in am of greater  
I offer as an insufficient debtor.    

Sic incipit stultorum Tragicomedia.  

IT was my chance (unhappy chance to me)  
As all alone I wandered on my way:  
Void of distrust, from doubt of dangers free,  
To pass a grove, where LOVE in Ambush lay.  
Who aiming at me with his feathered Dart,  
Conveyed it by mine Eye unto my Hart.   

Where (reckless Boy) he let the Arrow stick,  
Where I, as one amazed, senseless stood:  
The hurt was great, yet seemed but a prick,  
The wound was deep, and yet appeared no blood,  
" But inwardly it bleeds, Proof teacheth this,  
" When wounds do so the danger greater is.   

Pausing a while, and grieved with my wound,  
I looked about, expecting some relief:  
Small hope of help, no ease of pain I found,  
Like all at once to perish in my grief:  
When hastily I plucked forth the Dart.  
But left the head fast fixed in my Hart.   

Fast fixed in my heart I left the head;  
From whence I doubt it will not be removed:  
Ah what unlucky chance that way me lead?  
O Love, thy force thou mightst elsewhere have proved,  
And show'd thy power, where thou art not obeyed;  
" The Conquest's small, where no resist is made.   

But nought (alas) avails it to complain,  
I rest resolved with Patience to endure:  
The Fire being once dispersed through every vain,  
It is too late to hope for present cure.  
Now Philoparthen must new follies prove,  
And learn a little, what it is to love.    

These Sonnets following, were written by the Author, (who giveth himself this feigned name of Philoparthen, as his accidental attribute) at divers times, and upon divers occasions, and therefore in the form and matter they differ, and sometimes are quite contrary one to another, considering the nature and quality of LOVE, which is a Passion full of variety, and contrariety in itself.  

I.  
Unhappy Eyes that first my Heart betrayed,  
Had you not seen, my grief had not been such:  
And yet how may I justly you upbraid,  
Since what I saw delighted me so much?  
But hence, alas, proceedeth all my smart,  
Unhappy Eyes that first betrayed my Hart.   

II.  
To seek adventures, as Fate hath assigned,  
My slender Bark now floats upon the Main:  
Each troubled thought an Oar, each sigh a wind,  
Whose often puffs have rend my Sails in twain.  
LOVE steers the Boat, which, for that sight he lacks,  
Is still in danger of ten thousand wracks.   

III.  
What sudden chance hath changed my wont  
Which makes me other then I seem to be? (cheer,  
My days of joy, that once were bright and clear,  
Are turned to night, my mirth to misery.  
Ah, well I ween that somewhat is amiss,  
But sooth to say, I know not what it is.   

FOUR  
What, am I dead? Then could I feel no smart:  
But still in me the sense of grief reviveth.  
Am I alive? Ah no, I have no heart;  
For she that hath it, me of life depriveth.  
Oh that she would restore my heart again,  
Or give me hers, to countervail my pain.   

V.  
If it be LOVE, to waste long hours in grief;  
If it be LOVE, to wish, and not obtain;  
If it be LOVE, to pine without relief;  
If it be LOVE, to hope, and never gain:  
Then may you think that he hath truly loved,  
Who for your sake, all this and more have proved.   

VI  
If aught that in mine Eyes have done amiss,  
Let them receive deserved punishment:  
For so the perfect rule of justice is,  
Each for his own deeds should be praised or shent.  
Then doubtless it is both against Law and sense  
My Heart should suffer for mine Eyes offence.   

VII.  
I am not sick, and yet I am not sound;  
I eat and sleep, and yet me thinks I thrive not:  
I sport and laugh, and yet my griefs abound;  
I am not dead, and yet me thinks I live not.  
What uncouth cause hath these strange passions bred,  
To make at once, sick, sound, alive, and dead?   

VIII.  
Some thing I want, but what I cannot say;  
O now I know, it is myself I want:  
My Love with her hath ta'en my Heart away.  
Yea, Heart and all; and left me very scant.  
Such power hath LOVE, & nought but LOVE alone,  
To make divided Creatures live in one.   

IX.  
Philo. Come gentle Death, & strike me with thy dart  
Life is but loathsome to a man oppressed.  
Death. How can I kill thee when thou hast no heart?  
That which thou hadst is in another's breast.  
Philo. Then must I live, and languish still in pain?  
Death. Yea, till thy Love restore thy heart again.   

X.  
Were Love a fire, my tears might quench it lightly;  
Or were it water, my hot heart might dry it;  
If Air, then might it pass away more slightly,  
Or were it Earth, the world would soon descry it.  
If Fire, nor Water, Air nor Earth it be,  
What then is it that thus tormenteth me?   

XI.  
To paint her outward shape and gifts of mind  
It doth exceed my wit and cunning far:  
She hath no fault, but that she is unkind.  
All other parts in her so complete are  
That who to view them thoughly would devise,  
Must have his body nothing else but Eyes.   

XII.  
Fair is my Love, whose parts are so well framed  
By Nature's special order and direction:  
That she herself is more than half ashamed,  
In having made a work of such perfection.  
And well may Nature blush at such a feature,  
Seeing herself excelled in her creature.   

XIII.  
Her body is strait, slender, and upright;  
Her visage comely, and her looks demure,  
Mixed with a cheerful grace that yields delight;  
Her eyes like stars, bright shining, clear, and pure,  
Which I describing, Love bids stay my pen,  
And says it's not a work for mortal men.   

XIIII:  
The ancient Poets write of Graces three,  
Which meeting altogether in one Creature,  
In all points perfect make the same to be,  
For inward virtues, and for outward feature.  
But smile Alcilia, and the world shall see,  
That in thine eyes an hundred graces be.   

XV.  
As Love had drawn his Bow ready to shoot,  
Aiming at me with resolute intent:  
Strait Bow and Shaft he cast down at his foot,  
And said, why needless should one Shaft be spent?  
I'll spare it then, and now it shall suffice  
In stead of Shafts to use alcilia's eyes.   

XVI.  
Blush not my Love, for fear lest Phoebus' spy,  
Which if he do, then doubtless he will say  
Thou seekest to dim his clearness with thine eye,  
That clearness which from East brings gladsome day.  
But most of all, lest jove should see I dread,  
And take thee up to heaven like Ganymede.   

XVII.  
Philo. What is the cause Alcilia is displeased?  
Lo. Because she wants that which should most content her  
Phil. O did I know it, soon should she be eased.  
love. Perhaps thou dost, and that doth most torment her.  
Phil. Yet let her ask what she desires to have.  
love. Guess by thyself; for maidens must not crave.   

XVIII.  
My Love by chance her tender finger pricked,  
As in the dark I strived for a kiss:  
Whose blood I seeing, offered to have licked,  
But half in anger she refused this.  
O that she knew the difference of the smart,  
Twixt her pricked finger and my wounded heart.   

XIX.  
Philo. I pray the tell, what makes my heart to tremble  
When on a sudden I Alcilia spy?  
love. Because thy heart cannot thy joy dissemble,  
Thy life and death are both lodged in her eye.  
Phil. Dost thou not her with self-same passion strike?  
love. O no, her heart and thine are not alike.   

XX.  
Such are thy parts of body and of mind,  
That if I should not love thee as I do;  
I should too much degenerate from kind,  
And think the world would blame my weakness to.  
For he, whom such perfections cannot move,  
Is either senseless, or not borne to love.   

XXI.  
Alcilia's eyes have set my heart on fire,  
The pleasing object that my pain doth feed:  
Yet still to see those eyes I do desire,  
As if my help should from my hurt proceed.  
Happy were I, might there in her be found,  
A will to heal, as there was power to wound.   

XXII.  
Unwise was he that painted Love a Boy,  
Who for his strength a Giant should have been:  
It's strange a child should work so great annoy:  
Yet howsoever strange, too truly seen.  
" But what is he that dares at Love repine  
" Whose works are wonders, and himself divine?   

XXIII.  
My fair Alcilia, gladly would I know it,  
If ever loving passion pierced thy heart:  
Oh no; for than thy kindness soon would show it,  
And of my pains thyself would bear some part.  
Full little knoweth he that hath not proved,  
What hell it is to love, and not be loved.   

XXIIII.  
Love, art thou blind? nay, thou canst see too well;  
And they are blind that so report of thee:  
That thou dost see, myself by proof can tell,  
A hapless proof thereof is made by me:  
For sure I am, hadst thou not had thy sight,  
Thou never couldst have hit my heart so right.   

XXV.  
Long have I languished, and endured much smart,  
Since hapless I the cruel fair did love,  
And lodged her in the centre of my heart,  
Who there abiding, reason should her move,  
Though of my pains she no compassion take,  
Yet to respect me, for her own sweet sake.   

XXVI.  
In midst of Winter season, as the Snow,  
Whose milk-white mantle over-spreds the ground:  
In part the colour of my love is so,  
Yet their effects I have contrary found.  
For when the unneappeares, Snow melts anon,  
But I melt always when my Sun is gone.   

XXVII.  
The sweet content at first I seemed to prove,  
While yet Desire unfledged could scarcely fly:  
Did make me think there was no life to Love,  
Till all too late Time taught the contrary.  
For, like a Fly, I sported with the flame,  
Till, like a Fool, I perished in the same.   

XXVIII.  
After dark night, the cheerful day appeareth;  
After an ebb, the river flows again;  
After a storm, the cloudy heaven cleareth:  
All labours have their end, or ease of pain;  
Each creature hath relief and rest, save I,  
Who only dying live, and living dye.   

XXIX.  
Sometimes I seek for company to sport,  
Whereby I might my pensive thoughts beguile:  
Sometimes again I hide me from resort,  
And muse alone; but yet alas the while,  
In changing place I cannot change my mind,  
For where so e'er I fly, myself I find.   

XXX.  
feign would I speak, but strait my heart doth tremble  
And checks my tongue that should my griefs reveal:  
And so I strive my passion to dissemble,  
Which all the Art I have cannot conceal:  
Thus standing mute, my heart with longing starveth  
It grieves a man to ask what he deserveth.   

XXXI.  
Since you desire the cause of me to know,  
For which these divers passions I have proved:  
Look in your glass, which will not fail to show  
The shadowed portrait of my best beloved.  
If that suffice not, look into my heart,  
Where it's engraven in a newfound Art.   

XXXII.  
The painful Ploughman hath his heart's delight,  
Who through his daily toil his body tireth:  
Yet merrily comes whistling home at night,  
And sweetly takes the ease his pain requireth.  
But neither days nor nights can yield me rest,  
Borne to be wretched, and to live oppressed.   

XXIII.  
O well were it, if Nature would devise,  
That men with men together might engender:  
As Grafts from Trees, one from another rise,  
Then nought of due to women should we render,  
But vain conceit, that Nature should do this,  
Since well we know, herself a woman is.   

XXIIII.  
Upon the Altar where loves fire burned;  
My sighs and tears for sacrifice I offered:  
When Love in rage from me his countenance turned,  
And did reject, what I so humbly proffered.  
If he my heart expect, alas it's gone,  
How can a man give that is not his own?   

XXXV.  
Alcilia said, she did not know my mind,  
Because my words did not declare my love:  
Thus where I merit most, least help I find,  
And her unkindness all too late I prove.  
Grant Love, that she of whom thou art neglected,  
May one day love, and little be respected.   

XXXVI.  
The Cynic being asked when he would love, 
Diogenes.   
Made answer, when he nothing had to do:  
For Love was sloth; but he did never prove  
By his experience what belonged thereto.  
For had he tasted but as much as I,  
He would have soon reformed his heresy.   

XXXVII.  
O judge me not, sweet Love, by outward show,  
Though sometimes strange I seem, and to neglect thee:  
Yet didst thou but my inward passions know,  
Thou shouldst perceive how highly I respect thee.  
" When looks are fixed, the heart oft times doth tremble,  
Little loves he that cannot much dissemble.   

XXXVIII.  
Parting from thee, even from myself I part,  
Thou art the star by which my life is guided:  
I have the body, but thou hast the heart;  
The better part is from itself divided.  
Thus do I live, and this do I sustain,  
Till gracious fortune make us meet again.   

XXXIX.  
Open the sluices of my feeble eyes,  
And let my tears have passage from their fountain:  
Fill all the earth with plaints, the air with cries,  
Which may pierce rocks, & reach the highest mountain  
That so loves wrath by these extremes appeased,  
My griefs may cease, and my poor heart be eased.   

XL.  
" After long sickness, health brings more delight;  
" Seas seem more calm, by storms once overblown;  
" The day's more cheerful by the passed night;  
" Each thing is by his contrary best known;  
" Continual ease is pain; Change sometimes meeter;  
" Discords in Music, make the Music sweeter.   

XLI.  
Fear to offend, forbids my tongue to speak,  
And signs and sighs must tell my inward woe:  
But (aye the while) my heart with grief doth break,  
And she by signs my sorrows will not know,  
The stillest streams we see in deepest fords;  
And love is greatest when it wanteth words.   

XLII.  
" No pain so great, but may be eased by Art,  
" Though much we suffer, yet despair we should not  
" In midst of griefs Hope always hath some part,  
" And Time may heal, what Art & Reason could not.  
Oh what is then this passion I endure,  
Which neither Reason, Art, nor Time can cure?   

XLIII.  
" Pale jealousy, fiend of eternal night,  
" misshapen creature, borne before thy time,  
" The Imp of horror, foe to sweet delight,  
" Making each error seem a heinous crime:  
" Ah too great pity (were there remedy,)  
" That ever Love should keep thee company.   

XLIIII.  
The days are now come to their shortest date,  
And must in time by course increase again:  
But only I continue at one state,  
Void of all hope of help, or ease of pain.  
For days of joy must still be short with me,  
And nights of sorrow must prolonged be.   

XLV.  
Sleep now my Muse, and henceforth take thy rest,  
Which all too long thyself in vain haste wasted:  
Let it suffice I still must live oppressed,  
And of my pain the fruit must ne'er be tasted.  
" Then sleep my Muse: Fate cannot be withstood,  
" Its better sleep then wake and do no good.   

XLVI.  
Why should I love, since she doth prove ungrateful?  
Since for reward I reap nought but disdain:  
Love thus to be requited it is hateful,  
And Reason would I should not love in vain.  
Yet all in vain, when all is out of season,  
For Love hath no society with Reason.   

XLVII.  
heartsease and I have been at odds too long,  
I follow fast, but still he Hies from me:  
I sue for grace, and yet sustain the wrong,  
So gladly would I reconciled be.  
Love make us one: so shalt thou work a wonder,  
Uniting them, that were so far asunder.   

XLVIII.  
Uncouth, unkissed, our ancient 
* Chaucer  Poet said,  
And he that hides his wants, when he hath need:  
May after have his want of wit bewrayed,  
And fail of his desire, when others speed.  
Then boldly speak: the worst is at first entering;  
" Much good success men miss for lack of venturing.   

XLIX.  
Declare thy griefs wherewith thou art oppressed,  
And let the world be witness of thy woes:  
Let not thy thoughts lie buried in thy breast,  
But let thy tongue thy discontents disclose.  
" For who conceals his pain when he is grieved,  
" May well be pitied, but no way relieved.   

L.  
Wretched is he, that loving sets his heart  
On her, whose love from pure affection swerved:  
Who doth permit each one to have a part  
Of that which none but he alone deserveth.  
Give all or none: For once of this be sure,  
Lordship and Love no partners may endure.   

LI.  
Who spends the weary day in pensive thought,  
And night in dreams of horror, and affright:  
Whose wealth is want, whose hope is come to nought;  
Himself the mark for Love and Fortune's spite:  
Let him appear, if any such there be,  
His case and mine most fitly will agree.   

LII.  
Fair tree, but fruitless, sometimes full of sap,  
Which now yields nought at all that may delight me:  
Some cruel frost, or some untimely hap  
Hath made thee barren, only to despite me.  
Such Trees in vain with hope do feed desire,  
And serve for fuel to increase loves fire.   

LIII.  
In company, while sad and mute I sit,  
My thoughts elsewhere, then there I seem to be  
Possessed with some deep Melancholy fit,  
One of my friends observes the same in me,  
And says in jest, (which I in earnest prove)  
He looks like one, that had lost his first love.   

liv.  
Twixt Hope and Fear in doubtful balance peazed,  
My Fate, my Fortune, and my Love depends:  
Sometime my Hope is raised, when Love is pleased.  
Which fear weighs down, when ought his will offends  
The heavens are sometimes clear, and sometimes lower  
" And he that loves, must taste both sweet and sour.   

LV.  
Retire my wandering thoughts unto your rest,  
Do not henceforth consume yourselves in vain:  
No mortal man in all points can be blest,  
What now is mine, may be another's pain.  
The watery clouds are clear, when storms are past,  
And things in their extremes long cannot last.   

LVI.  
The fire of Love is first bred in the eye,  
And thence conveys his heat unto the heart:  
Where it lies hid, till Time his force descry:  
The tongue thereto adds fuel for his part.  
The touch of lips, which doth succeed the same,  
Kindles the rest, and so it proves a flame.   

LVII.  
The tender sprigs that sprowted in the field,  
And promised hope of fruit to him that planted:  
In stead of fruit doth nought but blossoms yield,  
Though care and pain to prune it never wanted,  
Even so my hopes do nought but blossoms prove,  
And yield no fruits to recompense my love.   

LVIII.  
Though little sign of love in show appear,  
Yet think true love of colours hath no need:  
It's not the glorious garments which men wear  
That make them others then they are indeed.  
" In meanest show the most affection dwells,  
And richest pearls are found in simplest shells.   

LIX.  
Let not thy tongue thy inward thoughts disclose,  
Or tell the sorrows that thy heart endures:  
Let no man's ear be witness of thy woes,  
Since pity neither help nor ease procures.  
And only he is truly said to moan,  
Whose griefs none knoweth but himself alone.   

LX.  
A thousand times I curse these idle rhymes,  
Which do their maker's follies vain set forth:  
Yet bless I them again as many times,  
For that in them I blaze Alcilia's worth.  
Mean while I fare as doth the Torch by night,  
Which wastes itself in giving others light.   

LXI.  
Enough of this: for all is nought regarded,  
And she not once with my complaints is moved:  
Dye hapless Love, since thou art not rewarded;  
Yet ere thou die, to witness that I loved,  
Report my truth, and tell the fair unkind,  
That she hath lost, what none but she shall find.   

LXII.  
lovers lament you that have truly loved;  
For Philoparthen now hath lost his love:  
The greatest loss that ever Lover proved;  
O let his hard hap some compassion move.  
Who had not rued the loss of her so much,  
But that he knows the world yields no more such.   

LXIII.  
Upon the Ocean of conceited error,  
My weary spirit many storms have past,  
Which now in harbour, free from wont terror,  
joy the possession of their rest at last:  
And henceforth safely they may lie at road;  
And never rove for had-I-wist abroad.    


loves Accusation at the judgement-seate of Reason, wherein the Authors whole success in his love is covertly described.  
IN Reason's Court, myself being Plaintiff there,  
Love was by process summoned to appear.  
That so the wrong which he had done to me  
Might be made known; and all the world might see,  
And seeing, rue, what to my cost I proved,  
While faithful, but unfortunate I loved.  
After I had obtained audience,  
I thus began to give in evidence.   

The Author's Evidence against love.  
MOst sacred Queen, and Sovereign of man's heart,  
Which of the mind dost rule the better part:  
First bred in Heaven, and from thence hither sent  
To guide men's actions by thy regiment;  
Vouchsafe a while to hear the sad complaint  
Of him that Love hath long kept in restraint:  
And as to you it properly belongs,  
Grant justice of my undeserved wrongs.  
I 〈◊〉 two years (as I remember well)  
Since first this wretch, sent from the neither hell,  
To plague the world with newfound cruelties,  
Under the shadow of two Crystal eyes,  
Betrayed my sense; and as I slumbering lay,  
Feloniously conveyed my heart away,  
Which most unjustly he detained from me,  
And exercised thereon strange tyranny.  
Sometime his manner was to sport and game;  
With Bry'rs and Thorns to raze and prick the same;  
Sometime with Nettles of desire to sting it;  
Sometime with pinson's of despair to wring it:  
Sometime again, he would anoint the sore,  
And heal the place that he had hurt before;  
But hurtful helps, and ministered in vain,  
Which served only to renew my pain:  
For after that more wounds he added still,  
Which pierced deep, but had no power to kill.  
Unhappy medicine, which in stead of cure,  
Gives strength to make the patient more endure!  
But that which was most strange of all the rest,  
Myself b●ing thus twixt life and death distressed,  
Oft times when as my pain exceeded measure,  
He would persuade me that the same was pleasure.  
My solemn sadness, but contentment meet;  
My travel, rest; and all my sower, sweet;  
My wounds, but gentle strokes: whereat he smiled,  
And by these sleights my careless youth beguiled.  
Thus did I far, as one that living died;  
(For greater pains I think hath no man tried,)  
Disquiet thoughts, like Furies, in my breast  
Nourished the poison that my spirits possessed.  
Now grief, than joy, now war, then peace unstable:  
Nought sure I had, but to be miserable.  
I cannot utter all, (I must confess,)  
Men may conceive more than they can express.  
But to be short, (which cannot be excused,)  
With vain illusions Love my hope abused,  
Persuading me I stood upon firm ground,  
When unawares myself on sands I found.  
This is the point which most I do enforce,  
That Love without all pity or remorse  
Did suffer me to languish still in grief,  
Void of contentment, succour, or relief:  
And when I looked my pains should be rewarded,  
I did perceive that they were nought regarded:  
For why (alas) these hapless eyes did see,  
Alcilia loved another more than me:  
So in the end, when I expected most;  
My Hope, my Love, and Fortune thus were crossed.  
Proceeding further, Reason bade me stay;  
For the defendant had something to say.  
Then to the judge, for justice loud I cried,  
And so I paused, and Love thus replied.   

loves Reply to the Author.  
SInce Reason ought to lend indifferent ears  
Unto both parts, and judge as truth appears:  
Most gracious Lady, give me leave to speak,  
And answer his complaint, that seeks to wreak  
His spite and malice on me without cause,  
In charging me to have transgressed thy Laws.  
Of all his Follies he imputes the blame  
To me poor Love, that nought deserves the same:  
Himself it is that hath abused me,  
As by mine answer shall well proved be.  
Fond youth, thou know'st what I for thee effected,  
(Though now I find it little be respected)  
I purged thy wit which was before but gross,  
The metal pure I severed from the dross:  
And did inspire thee with my sweetest fire.  
That kindled in thee courage and desire.  
Not like unto those servile Passions  
Which cumber men's imaginations  
With avarice, ambition, or vainglory,  
Desire of things fleeting and transitory.  
No base conceit, but such as Powers above  
Have known and felt, I mean th'instinct of Love:  
Which making men all earthly things despise,  
Transports them to a heavenly Paradise.  
Where thou complainest of sorrows in thy heart,  
Who lives on earth but therein hath his part?  
Are these thy fruits? Are these the best rewards  
For all the pleasing glances, sly regards,  
The sweet stolen kisses, amorous conceits,  
So many smiles, so many fair entreats,  
Such kindness as Alcilia did bestow  
All for my sake, as well thyself dost know?  
That Love should thus be used it is hateful,  
But all is lost that's done for one ungrateful.  
Where he allegeth that he was abused,  
In that he truly loving was refused:  
That's most untrue, and plainly may be tried:  
Who never asked, could never be denied.  
But he affected rather single life,  
Then yoke in Marriage, matching with a wife.  
And most men now make love to none but heirs:  
Poor love (God wot) that poverty impairs:  
Worldly respects Love little doth regard;  
Who loves, hath only love for his reward.  
He meriteth a lovers name indeed  
That casts no doubts, which vain suspicion breed,  
But desperately at hazard threwes the Dice,  
Neglecting due regard of friends advice;  
That wrestles with his Fortune and his Fate,  
Which had ordained to better his estate;  
That hath no care of wealth, no fear of jack,  
But venter's forward, though he see his wrack;  
That with Hope's wings, like Icarus, doth fly,  
Though for his rashness he like fortune try;  
That to his fame the world of him may tell,  
How, while he soared aloft, adown he fell.  
And so true Love awarded him this doom,  
In scaling heaven, to have the Sea his Tomb:  
That making shipwreck of his dearest fame,  
Betrays himself to poverty and shame:  
That hath no sense of sorrow, or repent;  
No dread of perils far, or imminent,  
But doth prefer before all pomp or pelf,  
The sweet of Love, as dearer than himself:  
Who were his passage stopped with sword or fire,  
Would make way through to compass his desire.  
For which he would (though heaven and earth forbade it,)  
Hazard to lose a Kingdom, if he had it.  
These be the things wherein I glory most,  
Whereof this mine accuser cannot boast:  
Who was indifferent in his loss or gain,  
And better pleased to fail then to obtain.  
All qualified Affection Love doth hate,  
And likes him best that's most intemperate.  
But hence proceeds his malice and despite,  
While he himself bars of his own delight:  
For when as he Alcilia first affected,  
Like one in show thou little love respected,  
He masqued disguised, and entertained his thought,  
With hope of that which he in secret sought:  
And still forbore to utter his desire,  
Till his delay received her worthy hire.  
And well we know what Maids themselves would have.  
Men must sue for, and by petitions crave.  
But he regarding more his wealth then will,  
Had little care his fancy to fulfil.  
Yet when he saw Alcilia loved another,  
The secret fire which in his breast did smother,  
Began to smoke, and soon had proved a flame  
If Temperance had not allayed the same:  
Which afterward so quenched he did not find  
But that some spark remained still behind.  
Thus when time served he did refuse to crave it,  
And yet envied another man should have it:  
As though fair Maids should wait at young men's pleasure,  
While they, twixt sport and earnest, love at leisure.  
Nay, at the first, when it is kindly proffered  
Maids must accept, lest twice it be not offered:  
Else though their beauty seem their good t'importune,  
Yet may they lose the better of their fortune.  
Thus as this fondling coldly went about it,  
So in the end he clearly went without it:  
For while he doubtful seemed to make a stay,  
A apparel stole the Maiden's heart away:  
For which though he lamented much in show;  
Yet was he inward glad it fell out so.  
Now Reason, you may plainly judge by this,  
Not I, but he the false dissembler is:  
Who while fond love his lukewarm blood did feed,  
Made sign of more than he sustained indeed:  
And filled his Rhymes with fables and with lies,  
Which without passion he did oft devise.  
So to delude the ignorance of such  
That pitied him, thinking he loved too much,  
And with conceit rather to show his wit,  
Then manifest his faithful love by it.  
Much more than this could I lay to his charge,  
But time would fail to open all at large.  
Let this suffice to show his bad intent,  
And prove that Love is clear and innocent.  
Thus at the length, though late, he made an end,  
And both of us did earnestly attend  
The final judgement Reason should award,  
When thus he 'gan to speak: With due regard  
The matter hath been heard on either side,  
For judgement you must longer time abide:  
The cause is weighty and of great import,  
And so she smiling did adjourn the Court:  
Little availed it then to argue more:  
So I returned in worse case than before.   

love deciphered.  

LOVE, and I, are now divided,  
Conceit by Error was misguided:  
Alcilia hath my love despised,  
" No man loves that is advised.  
Time at length hath Truth directed,  
Love hath missed what he expected:  
Yet missing that which long he sought,  
I have found that I little thought.  
Errors in time may be redressed;  
" The shortest follies are the best.   

Love and Youth are now asunder,  
Reason's glory, Nature's wonder.  
My thoughts long bound are now enlarged,  
My folly's penance is discharged.  
Thus Time hath altered my state,  
Repentance never comes too late.  
Ah well I find that Love is nought  
But folly, and an idle thought:  
The difference is twixt Love and me,  
That Love is blind, and I can see.   

Love is honey mixed with gall;  
A thraldom free, a freedom thrall;  
A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour,  
Got in a year, lost in an hour;  
A peaceful war, a warlike peace,  
Whose wealth brings want, whose want increase;  
Full long pursuit, and little gain;  
Uncertain pleasure, certain pain;  
Regard of neither right nor wrong;  
For short delights, repentance long.   

Love is a sickness of the thought,  
Conceit of pleasure dearly bought;  
A restless passion of the mind;  
A Labyrinth of errors blind;  
A sugared poison, fair deceit;  
A bait for fools, a furious heat;  
A chilling cold; a wondrous passion  
Exceeding man's imagination:  
Which none can tell in whole nor part,  
But only he that feels the smart.   

Love is sorrow mixed with gladness,  
Fear with hope, and hope with madness.  
Long did I love, but all in vain,  
I loving was not loved again;  
For which my heart sustained much woe,  
It fits not Maids to use men so.  
Just deserts are not regarded,  
Never love so ill rewarded:  
But all is lost that is not sought,  
Oft wit proves best that's dearest bought.   

Women were made for men's relief,  
To comfort, not to cause their grief.  
Where most I merit, lest I find,  
No marvel, since that Love is blind.  
Had she been kind as she was fair,  
My case had been more strange and rare:  
But women love not by desert,  
Reason in them hath weakest part.  
Then henceforth let them love that list,  
I will beware of had-I-wist,   

These faults had better been concealed,  
Then to my shame abroad revealed:  
Yet though my youth did thus miscarry,  
My harms may make others more wary.  
Love is but a youthful fit;  
And some men say its sign of wit;  
But he that loves as I have done,  
To pass the day and see no Sun,  
Must change his note, and sing, Erravi,  
Or else may chance to cry Peccavi.   

The longest day must have his night,  
Reason triumphs in loves despite,  
I follow now Discretions lore,  
Henceforth to like, but love no more.  
Then gently pardon what is past,  
For Love draws onward to his last.  
He walks (they say) with wary eye,  
Whose footsteps never tread awry.  
My Muse a better work intends,  
And here my Loving-folly ends.   

After long storms and tempests past,  
I see the Haven at the last,  
Where I must rest my weary Bark,  
And there unlade my care and cark:  
My pains and travels long endured,  
And all my wounds must there be cured:  
joys out of date shall be renewed,  
To think of perils passed eschewed:  
When I shall sit full blithe and jolly,  
And talk of Lovers and their folly.   

Then Love and Folly both adieu,  
Long have I been misled by you:  
Folly may new adventures try,  
But Reason says that Love must die:  
Yea, die indeed although it grieve him,  
For my cold heart cannot relieve him:  
Yet for her sake, whom I once loved,  
(Though all in vain, as Time have proved)  
I'll take the pains (if she consent)  
To write his Will and Testament.    

loves last Will and Testament.  

MY spirit I bequeath unto the air;  
My body shall unto the earth repair;  
My burning brand unto the Prince of hell,  
T'increase men's pains that there in darkness dwell:  
For well I ween, above nor underground,  
A greater pain than that may not be found:  
My sweet conceits of pleasure and delight  
To Erebus, and to eternal night:  
My sighs, my tears, my passions, and laments,  
Distrust, despair, all these my hourly rents,  
With other plagues that lovers minds enthrall,  
Unto Oblivion I bequeath them all.  
My broken Bow and Shafts I give to Reason;  
My cruelties, my sleights, and forged treason,  
To womenkind, and to their seed for aye,  
To wreak their spite, and work poor men's decay;  
Reserving only for Alcilia's part,  
Small kindness, and less care of lovers smart:  
For she is from the vulgar sort excepted,  
And had she Philoparthens love respected,  
Requiting it with like affection,  
She might have had the praise of all perfection.  
This done; if I have any faith or troth  
To Philoparthen I assign them both;  
For unto him of right they do belong,  
Who truly loving suffered too much wrong.  
Time shall be sole Executor of my Will,  
Who may these things in order due fulfil.  
To warrant this my Testament for good,  
I have subscribed it with my dying blood.   

And so he died that all this bale had bred,  
And yet my heart misdoubts he is not dead:  
For sure I fear should I Alcilia spy,  
She might eftsoons revive him with her eye.  
Such power divine remaineth in her sight,  
To make him live again in Death's despite.     

The Sonnets following were written by the Author, after he began to decline from his passionate affection, and in them he seemeth to please himself, with describing the vanity of LOVE, the frailty of Beauty, and the sour fruits of Repentance.  

I.  
NOw have I spun the web of my own woes,  
And laboured long to purchase my own loss:  
Too late I see, I was beguiled with shows,  
And that which once seemed gold, now proves but dross.  
Thus am I both of help and hope bereaved,  
He never tried that never was deceived.   

II.  
Once did I love, but more than once repent,  
When vintage came, my grapes were sour, or rotten  
Long time in grief and pensive thoughts I spent,  
And all for that which Time hath made forgotten.  
O strange effects of Time, which once being lost;  
Makes men secure of that they loved most.   

III.  
Thus have I long in th'air of error hovered,  
And run my ship upon Repentance shelf:  
Truth hath the vale of Ignorance uncovered,  
And made me see, and seeing, know myself.  
Of former follies now I must repent,  
And count this work part of my time ill spent.   

FOUR  
" What thing is Love? A Tyrant of the mind,  
" Begot by heat of youth, brought forth by sloth;  
" Nursed with vain thoughts, & changing as the wind  
" A deep dissembler, void of faith and troth:  
" Fraught with fond errors, doubts, despite, disdain,  
" And all the plagues that earth and hell contain.   

V.  
Like to a man that wanders all the day  
Through ways unknown, to seek a thing of worth  
And at the night sees he hath gone astray:  
As near his end as when he first set forth,  
Such is my case, whose hope untimely crossed,  
After long errors, proves my labour lost.   

VI  
Failed of that hap, whereto my hope aspired,  
Deprived of that which might have been mine own,  
Another now must have that I desired,  
And things too late by their events are known:  
Thus do we wish for that cannot be got,  
And when it may, than we regard it not.   

VII.  
Ingrateful Love, since thou hast played thy part,  
Enthralling him, whom Time hath since made free,  
It rests for me to use both wit and Art,  
That of my wrongs I may revenged be:  
And in those eyes where first thou took'st thy fire,  
Thyself shalt perish through my cold desire.   

VIII.  
Grieve not thyself for that can not be had,  
And things once cureless, let them careless rest:  
Blame not thy fortune, though thou deem it bad,  
What's past and gone, can never be redressed.  
" The only help for that can not be gained,  
" Is to forget it might have been obtained.   

IX.  
How happy once did I myself esteem,  
While Love with hope my fond desire did cherish?  
My state as blissful as a Kings did seem,  
Had I been sure my joys should never perish.  
The thoughts of men are fed with expectation,  
" Pleasures themselves are but imagination.   

X.  
Why should we hope for that which is to come,  
Where the event is doubtful and unknown?  
Such fond presumptions soon receive their doom,  
When things expected we count as our own.  
Whose issue oft times in the end proves nought  
But hope, a shadow, and an idle thought.   

XI.  
In vain do we complain our life is short,  
Which well disposed, great matters might effect:  
While we ourselves in toys and idle sport,  
Consume the better part, without respect:  
And careless, as though time should never end it,  
Twixt sleep and waking prodigally spend it.   

XII.  
Youthful desire is like the Summer season,  
That lasts not long, for winter must succeed:  
And so our passions must give place to reason,  
And riper years more ripe effects must breed.  
Of all the seed youth sowed in vain desires,  
I reaped nought but thistles, thorns, and briars.   

XIII.  
To err, and do amiss, is given to men by kind:  
Who walks so sure, but sometimes treads awry?  
But to continue still in errors blind,  
A bad and bestial nature doth descry.  
Who proves not, fails not, and brings nought to end;  
Who proves and fails, may afterward amend.   

XIIII.  
There was but one, and doubtless she the best,  
Whom I did more than all the world esteem:  
She having failed, I disavow the rest:  
For now I find things are not as they seem.  
" Default of that wherein our will is crossed,  
" Oft time's unto our good availeth most.   

XV.  
I fare like him, who now his land-hope spent,  
By unknown Seas sails to the Indian shore,  
Returning thence no richer than he went,  
Yet cannot much his fortune blame therefore,  
Since who so venter's forth upon the Main,  
Makes a good Mart, if he return again.   

XVI.  
lovers conceits are like a flattering Glass,  
That makes the lookers fairer than they are:  
Who pleased in their deceit, contented pass,  
Such one was mine, who thought there was none fair,  
None witty, modest, virtuous but she.  
Yet now I find the Glass abused me.   

XVII.  
Adieu fond Love, the mother of all error,  
Replete with hope and fear, with joy and pain:  
False fire of fancy, full of care and terror,  
Shadow of pleasures fleeting, short and vain,  
Dye loathed love, receive thy latest doom,  
Night be thy grave, Oblivion be thy tomb.   

XVIII.  
Who so would be rapt up into the heavens,  
To see a world of strange imaginations;  
Who careless would leave all at six and seven,  
To wander in a Labyrinth of passions;  
Who would at once all kinds of folly prove:  
When he hath nought to do, then let him love.   

XIX.  
" What thing is Beauty? Nature's dearest Minion,  
" The snare of youth; like the inconstant Moon,  
" Waxing and waning; error of opinion;  
" A morning's flower, that withereth ere noon;  
" A swelling fruit, no sooner ripe than rotten,  
" Which sickness makes forlorn, and time forgotten.   

XX.  
The Spring of youth which now is in his prime.  
Winter of age with hoary frosts shall nip:  
Beauty shall then be made the prey of Time,  
And sour remorse deceitful pleasures whip.  
Then henceforth let Discretion rule Desire,  
And Reason quench the flame of Cupid's fire.   

XXI.  
O what a life was that sometime I led,  
When Love with passions did my peace encumber  
While like a man neither alive nor dead,  
I was rapt from myself, as one in slumber?  
Whose idle senses charmed with fond illusion,  
Did nourish that which bred their own confusion   

XXII.  
The child for ever after dreads the fire  
That once therewith by chance his finger burned:  
Water of Time, distilled, doth cool desire,  
And far he ran (they say) that never turned.  
After long storms I see the Port at last,  
Folly farewell, for now my love is past.   

XXIII.  
Base servile thoughts of men too much dejected,  
That seek, and crouch, & kneel for women's grace,  
Of whom your pain and service is neglected,  
Yourselves despised: Rivals before your face:  
The more you sue, the less you shall obtain,  
The less you win, the more shall be your gain.   

XXIIII.  
In looking back unto my follies past,  
While I the present with times past compare:  
And think how many hours I then did waste,  
Painting on clouds, and building in the air:  
I sigh within myself, and say in sadness,  
This thing, which fools call Love, is nought but madness.   

XXV.  
" The things we have, we most of all neglect;  
" And that we have not greedily we crave;  
" The things we may have little we respect;  
" And still we covet that we cannot have:  
" Yet howsoever in our conceit we prize them,  
" No sooner gotten but we strait despise them.   

XXVI.  
Who seats his love upon a woman's will,  
And thinks thereon to build an happy state:  
Shall be deceived, when least he thinks of ill,  
And rue his folly when it is too late.  
He ploughs on sand, and sows upon the wind,  
That hopes for constant love in women kind.   

XXVII.  
I will no longer spend my time in toys,  
Seeing Love is error, folly, and offence:  
An idle fit for fond and reckless boys,  
Or else for men deprived of common sense,  
Twixt Lunacy and Love these odds appear,  
Th'one makes fools monthly, th'other all the year.   

XXVIII.  
While season served to sow, my plough lay still;  
My Grafts unset, when others Trees did bloom;  
I spent the Spring in sloth, and slept my fill:  
But never thought of Winter's cold to come,  
Till Spring was spent, and Summer well nigh gone,  
Then I awaked, and saw my Harvest none.   

XXIX.  
Now Love sits all alone in black attire,  
His broken Bow and Arrows lying by him;  
His fire extinct, that whilom fed desire,  
Himself the scorn of Lovers that pass by him:  
Who this day freely may disport and play,  
For it is Philoparthens Holiday.   

XXX.  
Nay, think not Love, with all thy cunning slight,  
To catch me once again: thou comest too late:  
Stern Industry puts Idleness to flight,  
And Time hath changed both my name and state:  
Then seek else where for Mates that may befriend thee;  
For I am busy, and cannot attend thee.   

XXXI.  
Loose Idleness, the nurse of fond Desire;  
Root of all ills that do our youth betide,  
That whilom didst through Love my wrack conspire,  
I banish thee, and rather wish t'abide  
All austere hardness, and continual pain,  
Then to revoke thee, or to love again.   

XXXII.  
The time will come, when looking in a Glass,  
Thy riveled face with sorrow thou shalt see:  
And sighing say, it is not as it was,  
These cheeks were wont more fair and fresh to be:  
But now what once made me so much admired,  
Is least regarded, and of none desired.   

XXXIII.  
Though thou be fair, think Beauty is a blast,  
A morning's dew, a shadow quickly gone,  
A painted flower, whose colour will not last:  
Time steals away when least we think thereon;  
Most precious Time, too wastefully expended,  
Of which alone the sparing is commended.   

XXXIIII.  
How vain is youth, that crossed in his desire,  
Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine,  
As though against heaven itself he would conspire,  
And with his frailty against his Fate combine:  
Who of itself continues constant still,  
And doth us good oft times against our will.   

XXXV.  
In prime of youth when years and wit was ripe,  
Unhappy Will to ruin led the way:  
Wit danced about, when Folly 'gan to pipe,  
And Will and he together went astray.  
Nought then but pleasure was the good they sought  
Which now Repentance proves too dearly bought.   

XXXVI.  
He that in matters of delight and pleasure  
Can bridle his outrageous affection:  
And temper it in some indifferent measure,  
Doth prove himself a man of good discretion.  
In conquering Will true courage most is shown,  
And sweet temptations make men's virtues known.   

XXXVII.  
Each natural thing by course of kind we see,  
In his perfection long continueth not:  
Fruits once full ripe will then fall from the Tree,  
Or in due time not gathered soon will rot.  
It is decreed by doom of Powers divine,  
Things at their height must thence again decline.   

XXXVIII.  
Thy large smooth forehead wrinkled shall appear  
Vermilion hue, to pale and wan shall turn;  
Time shall deface what Youth hath held most dear;  
Yea those clear eyes which once my heart did burn,  
Shall in their hollow circles lodged the night,  
And yield more cause of terror than delight.   

XXXIX.  
Lo here the record of my follies past,  
The fruits of wit unstaid, and hours misspent:  
Full wise is he that perils can forecast,  
And so by others harms his own prevent.  
All worldly pleasure that delights the sense,  
Is but a short sleep, and times vain expense.   

XL.  
The Sun hath twice his annual course performed,  
Since first unhappy I began to love:  
Whose errors now by Reasons rule reformed,  
Conceits of Love but smoke and errors prove.  
Who of his folly seeks more praise to win,  
Where I have made an end, let him begin.   
I. C.  
FINIS.   

THE METAMORPHOSIS OF Pygmalion's Image.  
LONDON: Printed for Richard Hawkins, dwelling in Chancery-Lane, near Sarjeants-Inne. 1613.   

THE ARGUMENT of the Poem.  
PIgmalion whose chaste mind all the beauties in Cyprus could not ensnare, yet at the length having carved in ivory an excellent proportion of a beauteous woman, was so deeply enamoured on his own workmanship, that he would oftentimes lay the Image in bed with him, and fond use such petitions and dalliance, as if it had been a breathing creature. But in the end, finding his fond dotage, and yet persevering in his ardent affection, made his devout prayers to Venus, that she would vouchsafe to inspire life into his Love, and then join them both together in marriage. Whereupon Venus graciously condescending to his earnest suit, the Maid (by the power of her Deity) was metamorphosed into a living woman. And after, Pygmalion (being in Cyprus) begat a Son of her, which was called Paphus▪ whe●eupon, that Island Cyprus, in honour of Venus, was after, and is now, called by the Inhabitants, Paphos.   

To his Mistress.  
MY wanton Muse lasciviously doth sing  
Of sportive love, of lovely dallying.  
O beauteous Angel, deign thou to infuse  
A sprightly wit into my dulled Muse.  
I invocate none other Saint but thee,  
To grace the first blooms of my Poesy.  
Thy favours, like Promethean sacred fire,  
In dead and dull conceit can life life inspire.  
O●, like that rare and rich Elixir stone,  
Can turn to Gold, Leaden invention:  
Be gracious then, and deign to show in me  
The mighty power of thy Deity.  
And as thou readest (Fair) take compassion,  
Force me not envy my Pygmalion.  
Then when thy kindness grants me such sweet bliss,  
I'll gladly write thy Matamorphosis.   

PYGMALION.  

I.  
PIgmalion, whose high Love-hating mind,  
Disdained to yield servile affection,  
Or amorous suit to any womankind,  
Knowing their wants and men's perfection.  
Yet Love at length forced him to know his Fate,  
And love the shade, whose substance he did hate.   

II.  
For having wrought in purest ivory  
So fair an Image of a woman's feature,  
That never yet proudest mortality  
Could show so rare and beauteous a Creature,  
(Unless my Mistress all-exceeding face,  
●hich gives to beauty beauties only grace.)   

III.  
He was amazed at the wondrous rareness  
Of his own workmanships' perfection:  
He thought that Nature ne'er produced such fairness  
In which all beauties have their mansion.  
And thus admiring was enamoured  
Of that fair Image himself portrayed.   

FOUR  
And naked as it stood before his eyes,  
Imperious Love declares his Deity:  
O what alluring beauties he descries  
In each part of his fair imagery!  
Her nakedness each beauteous shape contains,  
All beauty in her nakedness remains.   

V.  
He though he saw the blood run through the vain,  
And leap, and swell with all alluring means:  
Then fears he is deceived; and then again  
He thinks he sees the brightness of the beams  
Which shoot from out the fairness of her eye,  
At which he stands as in an ecstasy.   

VI  
Her Amber-coloured fair shining hair,  
Makes him protest, the Sun hath spread her head  
With golden beams and made her far more fair:  
But when her cheeks his amorous thoughts have fed  
Then he exclaims such red, and such pure white  
Did never bless the eye of mortal sight.   

VII.  
Then viewed her lips, no lips did seem so fair  
In his conceit, through which he thinks doth fly  
So sweet a breath, that doth perfume the air.  
Then next her dimpled chin he doth descry,  
And views and wonders, and yet views her still:  
" loves eyes in viewing never have their fill.   

VIII.  
Her breasts like polished ivory appear,  
Whose modest mount, do bless admiring eye,  
And makes him wish for such a Pillow bear.  
Thus fond Pygmalion striveth to descry  
Each beauteous part, not letting overslip  
One parcel of his curious workmanship.   

IX.  
Until his eye descended so far down,  
That it descried loves Pavilion;  
Where Cupid doth enjoy his only crown,  
And Venus hath her chiefest mansion:  
There would he wink, and winking look again,  
Both eyes and thoughts would gladly there remain.   

X.  
Who ever saw the subtle City Dame  
In sacred Church, when her pure thoughts should pray,  
Peire through her fingers, so to hide her shame,  
When that her eye her mind would feign bewray.  
So would he view and wink, and view again,  
A chaster thought could not his eyes retain.   

XI.  
He wondered that she blushed not when his eye  
Saluted those same parts of secrecy:  
Conceiting not it was imagery  
That kindly yielded that large liberty.  
Oh that my Mistress were an Image too,  
That I might blameless her perfections view.   

XII.  
But when the fair proportion of her thigh  
Began appear: O Ovid would he cry,  
Did ere Corinna show such ivory,  
When she appeared in Venus' livery?  
And thus enamoured dotes on his own Art,  
Which he did work to work his pleasing smart.   

XIII.  
And fond doting oft he kissed her lip,  
Oft would he dally with her ivory breasts:  
No wanton Love-trick would he overslip,  
But still observed all amorous behests,  
Whereby he thought he might procure the love  
Of his dull Image, which no plaints could move.   

XIIII.  
Look how the peevish Papists crouch and kneel  
To some dumb Idol, with their offering,  
As if a senseless carved stone could feel  
The ardour of his bootless chattering:  
So fond he was, and earnest in his suit  
To his remorseless Image, dumb, and mute.   

XV.  
He oft doth wish his soul might part asunder,  
So that one half in her had residence:  
Oft he exclaims, o beauties only wonder,  
Sweet model of delight, fair excellence,  
Be gracious unto him that form thee,  
Compassionate his true-love's ardency!   

XVI.  
She with her silence seems to grant his suit,  
Then he all jocund like a wanton Lover,  
With amorous embracements doth salute  
Her slender waste, presuming to discover  
The vale of Love, where Cupid doth delight  
To sport, and dally all the sable night.   

XVII.  
His eyes, her eyes, kindly encountered,  
His breast, her breast, oft joined close unto,  
His arms embracements oft she suffered:  
Hands, arms, eyes, tongue, lips, & all parts did woo;  
His thigh with hers, his knee played with her knee:  
" A happy consort when all parts agree.   

XVIII.  
But when he saw poor soul he was deceived,  
(Yet scarce he could believe his sense had failed,)  
Yet when he found all hope from him bereaved,  
And saw how fond all his thoughts had erred,  
Then did he like to poor Ixion seem,  
That clipped a cloud in stead of heavens Queen.   

XIX.  
I oft have smiled to see the foolery,  
Of some sweet Youths, who seriously protest  
That Love respects not actual luxury:  
But only joys to dally, sport, and jest,  
Love is a child contented with a toy,  
A Busk-point, or some favour stills the Boy   

XX.  
Mark my Pygmalion whose affections ardour  
May be a mirror to posterity:  
Yet viewing, touching, kissing, (common favour)  
Could never satiate his loves ardency.  
And therefore (Ladies) think that they ne'er love you  
Who do not unto more than kissing move you.   

XXI.  
For my Pygmalion kissed, viewed, and embraced,  
And yet exclaims; Why were these women made  
(O sacred Gods) and with such beauties graced?  
Have they not power as well to cool and shade,  
As for to heat men's hearts? Or is there none?  
Or are they all, like mine, relentless stone?   

XXII.  
With that he takes her in his loving arms,  
And down within a Downbed softly laid her:  
Then on his knees he all his senses charms,  
To invocate sweet Venus for to raise her  
To wished life, and to infuse some breath,  
To that which dead, yet gave a life to death.   

XXIII.  
Thou sacred Queen of sportive dallying,  
(Thus he begins) loves only Empress,  
Whose kingdom rests in wanton reveling,  
Let me beseech thee show thy powerfulness  
In changing stone to flesh; make her relent,  
And kindly yield to thy sweet blandishment.   

XXIIII.  
O gracious Gods, take compassion,  
Instill into her some celestial fire,  
That she may equalize affection,  
And have a mutual love, and loves desire.  
Thou knowst the force of Love, then pity me,  
Compassionate my true loves ardency.   

XXV.  
Thus having said, he riseth from the floor,  
As if his soul divined him good fortune,  
Hoping his prayers to pity moved some Power;  
For all his thoughts did all good luck importune:  
And therefore strait he strips him naked quite,  
That in the bed he might have more delight.   

XXVI.  
Then thus, Sweet sheets, he says, which now do cover  
The Idol of my soul, the fairest one  
That ever loved, or had an amorous Lover,  
Earth's only model of perfection:  
Sweet happy sheets deign for to take me in,  
That I my hopes and longing thoughts may win.   

XXVII.  
With that his nimble limbs do kiss the sheets,  
And now he bows him for to lay him down;  
And now each part with her fair parts do meet,  
Now doth he hope for to enjoy loves crown:  
Now do they dally, kiss, embrace together,  
Like Leda's Twins at sight of fairest weather.   

XXVIII.  
Yet all's conceit: but shadow of that bliss,  
Which now my Muse strives sweetly to display  
In this my wondrous Metamorphosis.  
Deign to believe me, now I sadly say;  
The stony substance of his Image feature,  
Was strait transformed into a living Creature.   

XXIX.  
For when his hands her fair formed limbs had felt,  
And that his arms her naked waist embraced,  
Each part like Wax before the Sun did melt:  
And now, oh now, he finds how he is graced  
By his own work. Tut, women will relent  
When as thy find such moving blandishment.   

XXX.  
Do but conceive a Mother's passing gladness,  
(After that Death her only son hath seized,  
And overwhelmed her soul with endless sadness)  
When that she sees him gin for to be raised  
From out his deadly sound to life again:  
Such joy Pygmalion feels in every vain.   

XXXI.  
And yet he fears he doth but dreaming find  
So rich content, and such celestial bliss:  
Yet when he proves, and finds her wondrous kind  
Yielding soft touch for touch, sweet kiss for kiss,  
he's well assured no fair Imagery  
Could yield such pleasing loves felicity.   

XXXII.  
O wonder not to hear me thus relate,  
And say to flesh transformed was a stone;  
Had I my Love in such a wished state  
As was afforded to Pygmalion,  
Though flinty hard, of her you soon should see  
As strange a transformation wrought by me.   

XXXIII.  
And now me thinks some wanton itching ear  
With lustful thoughts and ill attention,  
List's to my Muse, expecting for to hear  
The amorous description of that action  
Which Venus seeks, and ever doth require,  
When fitness grants a place to please desire.   

XXXIIII.  
Let him conceit but what himself would do  
When that he had obtained such a favour  
Of her to whom his thoughts were bound unto,  
If she, in recompense of his loves labour  
Would deign to let one pair of sheets contain  
The willing bodies of those loving twain.   

XXXV.  
Could he, oh could he, when that each to either  
Did yield kind kissing, and more kind embracing;  
Could he when that they felt, and clipped together,  
And might enjoy the life of dallying,  
Could he abstain, midst such a wanton sporting,  
From doing that which is not fit reporting?   

XXXVI.  
What would he do when that her softest skin  
Saluted his with a delightful kiss?  
When all things fit for loves sweet pleasuring,  
Invited him to reap a lovers bliss?  
What he would do, the self-same action  
Was not neglected by Pygmalion.   

XXXVII.  
For when he found that life had took his seat  
Within the breast of his kind beauteous Love,  
When that he found that warmth and wished heat,  
Which might a Saint and coldest spirit move,  
Then arms, eyes, hands, tongue, lips, and wanton thigh,  
Were willing agents in loves luxury.   

XXXVIII.  
Who knows not what ensues? O pardon me  
Ye gaping ears that swallow up my lines,  
Expect no more. Peace idle Poesy:  
Be not obscene, though wanton in thy rhymes.  
And chaster thoughts, pardon if I do trip,  
Or if some loose lines from my pen do slip.   

XXXIX.  
Let this suffice, that that same happy night  
So gracious were the Gods of Marriage,  
Midst all their pleasing and long wished delight,  
Paphus was got: of whom in after age  
Cyrus was Paphos called, and evermore  
Those Islanders do Venus' name adore.   
FINIS.   

THE LOVE OF AMOS AND LAURA.  
Written by S. P.  
VIRESCIT VULNERA VERITAS  
TC   printer's or publisher's device 
LONDON Printed for Richard Hawkins, dwelling in Chancery-Lane: near Sarieants-Inne, 1613.   

TO MY APPROVED AND MUCH RESPECTED FRIEND, 〈…〉: W▪  

TO thee thou more than thrice beloved friend,  
I too unworthy of so great a bliss:  
These harsh tuned lines I he●e to thee commend,  
Thou being cause it is now as it is:  
For hadst thou held thy tongue by silence might,  
These had been buried in oblivions night.   

If they were pleasing, I would call them thine,  
And disavow my title to the verse:  
But being bad, I needs must call them mine,  
No ill thing can be clothed in thy verse.  
Accept them then, and where I have offended,  
Raze thou it out, and let it be amended.   
S. P.   

THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK.  
GO little book into the largest world,  
And blaze the chasteness of thy maiden Muse:  
Regardless of all envy on thee hurled,  
By the unkindness that the reader's use:  
And those that envy thee by scruples letter,  
Bid them take pen in hand and make a better.   

THE LOVE OF Amos and Laura.  
IN the large confines of renowned France  
There lived a Lord, whom Fortune did advance,  
Who had a Daughter, Laura called the fair;  
So sweet, so proper, and so debonair,  
That strangers took her for to be none other,  
Then Venus' self, the God of Loves own Mother.  
Not far from thence was situate a Town,  
The Lord thereof a man of great renown;  
Whom likewise Fortune blessed with a Son,  
Amos by name, so modest, civil, young,  
And yet in fight so wondrous and so bold,  
As that therein he passed uncontrolled:  
So kind to strangers, and so meek to all;  
Of comely grace, and stature somewhat tall.  
As the wide world not two such Imps affords,  
As were the offsprings of these happy Lords.  
Hunting he loved, and therefore in a morn  
He shakes off sleep (for case he laughs to scorn)  
Before the sable Curtains of the East  
Proclaimed the suns approach unto the west;  
Or Titan, Lordly Ruler of the morn,  
Had in his Chariot, left the night forlorn;  

●he Antipodes.  Or sounded sleep to them, with whom (men say)  
It's dark some night when we enjoy the day:  
He braced his Hounds, and striding o'er his Steed,  
Hope with a conquest did the youngster feed:  
Which done, he hies him to a mighty wood,  
That joined where Laura's Father's Palace stood.  
Thither being come, a Boar he raised, whose pace  
Did make our huntsman lose his Hounds in chase:  
Ranging the woods, he light into a Grove,  
More pleasant far then that where Venus strove  
To win Adonis to her hearts desire,  
Moved by the burning zeal of sweet loves fire.  
In this sweet Grove God Pan did keep his Court,  
And summoned all the petty God's resort,  
As satires, Nymphs, and others, to the same,  
Where all sing praises unto Laura's name.  
Into this Grove (near to her chamber side)  
(To take the Air) she comes forth; soon espied  
Of the young Huntsman, who made haste unto her,  
And thus the Novice there begins to woo her:  
Paragon of beauty, divine, though earthly creature,  
And yet Celestial in thy heavenly feature.  
This sudden courting, and unwelcome sight,  
Made her add wings to fear, and to that, flight:  
He following after, caught her by the train,  
That in a rage the Maid turned back again,  
And did demand why he without remorse,  
Durst cause her stay, against her will, by force.  
Moved by the rosiate colour of thy face,  
(Wherein consists (quoth he) all heavenly grace)  
I was too bold, I must confess indeed,  
To touch the selvage of thy sacred weed:  
For which myself I'll punish as thou wilt,  
With any pain, for my deserved guilt.  
Do but pronounce the sentence of my death,  
These hands shall be the butchers of my breath:  
But since the merit of my fault's no deeper,  
Oh let me be thy Prisoner, thou my Keeper;  
So shall thine eyes be witness of the woe,  
Which for my bold offence I'll undergo.  
Pronounce thy sentence then. Wherewith she spoke,  
You are your craftsman Sir: and there she broke.  
Yet turning back, quoth she, o would 'twere true,  
Your love were firm to me, as mine to you!  
And here she ceased: for when he came near her,  
She was afraid that he would overhear her.  
And art thou so unwilling then, quoth he,  
To doom the sentence which I ask of thee?  
Persuade thyself it is thy purer mind  
That will not let thy heart prove so unkind:  
O would that mind were mine, to join thy heart  
Either to end my life, or ease my smart.  
Love is my suit. Nor hate is my reply,  
Quoth she. Quoth he, I cannot court it I;  
They which but view the error in my looks,  
May find I never learned in Cupid's books:  
But like a stone rough hewn from the rocks,  
And after polished by the Masons knocks,  
The former shows but base then in compare,  
So to my love my speech disgraces are:  
For were my speech true pattern of my mind,  
Not as it doth, shall't come, but far more kind.  
Like as the Merchant hearing of a loss,  
Is wondrous sorry for so great a cross;  
And after heareth by a true report,  
His goods are safely landed in the Fort,  
Cannot express the joy he doth conceive:  
For why? it doth his senses quite bereave;  
And yet with sign of sorrow blames th'event,  
Although it seem most plain and evident.  
Or like a Ship tossed by tempestuous weather,  
Now here, then there; now back again, then thither  
That whirlwinds meeting (roaring out aloud)  
Make watery mountains show the ship each cloud:  
Then with such fury they descend the deep,  
From top of triple-Cedar-mountaines steep,  
As of the Seas rich oriental show,  
Against their wills they take a counterview.  
So fares his mind, which tossed to and fro,  
Sometimes doth joy, and other times is woe:  
Sometimes from depth ascends into the air,  
And though he hope, he hides it with despair.  
So long with fervent zeal he moved his suit,  
Only for want of words his tongue was mute.  
" Where true affection rules in hottest fires,  
" Dumb signs and tokens than show men's desires▪  
For what he thought he show'd, he could not utter,  
Which made him oft when he should speak to mutter.  
She that was wounded with the self-same dart,  
Revealed with tongue that which she wished with heart  
And framed her answer, so muched't could not grieve him,  
For 'twas a salve to wound and to relieve him.  
Say I could love, quoth she, my milder mind,  
(Unless you further move) cannot unkind,  
Frame you an answer: for we are by nature  
So much addicted to man's heavenly feature,  
That though your faults are great by your abuse,  
To blind the same it is our woman's use.  
Then as thou found'st me, leave me, if thou wilt;  
That shall be all I render for thy guilt:  
Further I will not credit thy report:  
Farewell; be gone, for I am missed in Court.  
With that she flies, and in her flight she leaves  
A well wrought Scarf, which strait the wind up heaves;  
And proud of such a prize, they do infer  
With their embassage unto jupiter,  
And there presented it: who, as 'twas right,  
Did make the winds returneed with swiftest flight,  
Unto the place where Amos stood amazed  
At that which happed, who like a madman gazed,  
Wondering what she by this illusion meant,  
When to allure him was her whole intent:  
But led in admiration most of all,  
At the rich Scarf which from the Maid did fall.  
He views the work, where finding of Apollo  
Chase a Nymph, who swifter than a Swallow  
Flieth his arms, for fear did lend her wings  
To fly from him which after her soon flings.  
Himself a fool he calls, that wanting skill,  
Being allured, he had not known her will.  
Doubtful, he fears offence committed to her,  
That he so rashly, gainest her will, durst woo her.  
To clear himself of which offence he flies,  
Resolved to win the Maid, or lose the prize,  
With prosperous haste. Oh may thy haste well speed,  
Whose wondrous love did virtuously proceed:  
Not from the flames of filthy lusts desire,  
As was that Rome-borne Tarquin's lustful fire:  
But as unspotlesse from that filthy thought,  
From that most hell-deseruing thing of nought,  
As ever heart lodged in a loyal breast,  
Or tongue, untaught to lie, ever expressed.  
But why do I digress the path I tread,  
Cloying your ears with that your eyes do read?  
Pardon my boldness, and give ear a while  
To that, of him, which my inferior style  
Shall now express: thought not with honour stands,  
He thinks one pair of legs worth twice two hands.  
The arrow swift sent from the sturdy bow,  
May be accounted (to his flight) but slow:  
At last he gained the Court, to which being come,  
It show'd like to the Palace of the Sun  
Described in Ovid: for in length and fairness,  
None might surpass the workmanship and rareness.  
Through which his way lies, & he needs must pass,  
The pavement Marble was, the walls of Glass:  
Whereunder was so lively carved the Story  
Of great Ioues love, his wondrous works, & glory,  
With many others love: which to rehearse  
Would add a mighty volume to my Verse,  
Besides mine own weak wit: for I do know it,  
He was a better workman, than I Poet.  
Yet could not this abate the lovers pace:  
For he still holds the lovely Maid in chase.  
Passing the Court, he comes into a green,  
Which was in midst of the Palace seen:  
Through the midst there ran a pleasant Spring,  
On each side with a brickwall of Brick hemmed in,  
Only in midst, a Style; beyond, a Plank,  
Which for a Bridge did serve to either bank.  
Over this Style as Laura lightly skips,  
In her rend garment happily it slips,  
And held her there a while till he came to her,  
Where once again the Novice 'gins to woe her.  
Fly not thy friend, our Maker willeth so,  
Things reasonless approve and wish it to;  
If without sense and reason all things than  
Observe a better course then human men,  
How savage were we then offending so,  
Committing that which we offence do know?  
O were my tongue a second Orpheus Harp,  
That to my love I might allure thy hearr!  
Or were thy love but equal unto mine,  
Then would thou seek his favour who seeks thine!  
Me thinks unkindness cannot come from thence,  
Where beauty reigns with such magnificence,  
I mean from thee, whom nature hath endowed  
With more than Art would willingly allowed:  
And though by nature you are borne most fair,  
Yet Art would add a beauty to your share:  
But it being spotless doth disdain receipt  
Of all unpolished painting counterfeit.  
Your beauty is a snare unto our ways,  
Wherein once caught, we cannot brook delays;  
Which makes us oft through grief of mind grow sad,  
Grief follows grief, then malcontent & mad.  
Thus by denial do you cause our woe,  
And then do triumph in our overthrow.  
What is it to be fair? only a vanity,  
A fading blossom of no perpetuity.  
Consider this; for beauty is a flower,  
Subject to ill occasions every hour;  
It is a tenure holden as we lee  
durant Dei placito, not in fee.  
Measure my Love then, prove it by a trial:  
Let me not languish still by your denial.  
If in my suit I err, as by mischance,  
Blame not my Love but count it ignorance.  
The tongue is but an instrument of nought,  
And cannot speak the largeness of the thought:  
For when the mind abounds, and almost breaketh,  
Then through abundance of the heart it speaketh:  
No man can speak but what he hath in mind,  
Than what I speak I think, be not unkind  
Unto your servant, who obedience proffers,  
And makes firm love the object of his offers.  
I will not boast of Parentage, or Line,  
For all are base, respecting thee divine:  
Nor will I boast of wealth, or riches store,  
For in thy face consists all wealth, and more.  
Pure are my thoughts as skin between thy brows,  
And eke as chaste my speech, my oaths, & vows.  
Speak sweetest fair, but one kind word to me,  
How can alas that be offence in thee?  
There was a Dame a modern Poet sung,  
Hero by name, like thee, both fair and young:  
And both so fair, that you did others pass  
As far as rarest Diamonds common glass.  
Whom young Leander courted on a green,  
A Maid so fair (but thee) was never seen.  
She granted love, which he (alas) to gain,  
To reap those joys, did cross the brinish main.  
My love to thee, I now compare to his;  
Accounting danger, so requited, bliss.  
There are no Seas to separate our joy,  
No future danger can our Love annoy:  
Then grant to me what she denied not him;  
If good in her, in thee it is no sin.  
The Sun hath shined thus long, o let not now  
The Sun be darkened by thine angry brow.  
But rather let each look a Comet be  
That may presage my happy destiny.  
I could to you a short discourse impart,  
That would relent the direst stony heart,  
Were't not offence. It's no offence quoth she.  
Then thus the same I'll briefly tell, quoth he:  
A poor old man by chance did break his leg,  
And he was told where he was wont to beg,  
That such a Surgeon (telling of his name,)  
If that he pleased, could quickly cure the same.  
Which when he heard, to him for help he goes,  
And craves for God's sake he would ease his woes.  
The Surgeon greedy to have coin therefore,  
But finding none, he would not heal the sore:  
Which caused the poor old man to keep his bed,  
That he for want of help in time was dead.  
Alas poor soul; (quoth she) and did he die?  
Would I were judge, or he were such as I,  
I so would use the Surgeon, as that he  
Should feel the grief which he before did see.  
Thus you confess your wrong to me sweet Maid,  
If you perform (quoth he) the words you said.  
I am the man, who wounded, seek relief:  
And you, the causer of my endless grief;  
You are the Surgeon, whom I urge the more  
To cure the wound because you made the sore:  
Be not obdurate then, sith my disease  
Is quickly cured, if the Surgeon please.  
And this I vow water shall turn to fire,  
Huge massy mountains to the clouds aspire;  
The Sun shall leave his course, the Moon her brightness,  
Night turn to day, and day shall lose his lightness;  
Fishes shall fly, birds swim; and Hare shall hunt  
The Hound, which to pursue the Hare was wont:  
Air, Earth, Fire, Water, all things which you view  
Shall change their natures, ere I turn from you:  
And longer than I breath a loyal friend,  
Let me (o heavens) endure a wicked end.  
Silence (quoth she) and here let cease thy suit,  
cause of distrust in love did make me mute:  
Ask why I yielded in so short a season,  
Because I love, that is a woman's reason.  
Yet Maids are fearful; for by men's abuse,  
Courting is turned to a common use,  
How is he held, that cannot in these days  
Fashion his words to each fantastic phrase?  
Which makes us oft with one word to debase  
Him from our bosoms, whom our hearts embrace:  
And, as you men do for a Proverb make it,  
That which we love we oft say nay and take it.  
Delays breed danger, wherefore what I said,  
And what agrees with Honour, and a Maid,  
I yield to thee, but yet on this condition,  
Thou shalt not dare t'attempt the least fruition  
Of my chaste thoughts, by drawing them aside,  
Before in wedlock I am made thy Bride.  
This said; she to the Court, he to his Hounds,  
Where they had slain a Boar, whose blood abounds:  
Glad of his prey, he hasteneth home amain,  
With short return he comes to her again,  
And having joined themselves in Hymen's bands,  
The sacred Priest uniteth heart and hands:  
They reap those joys which elder lovers know,  
And thus my Tale doth end, thus ends their woe.  
FINIS.   

EPIGRAMS.  

Don Pedro's Debt.  
DON Pedro's out of debt, be bold to say it;  
For they are said to owe, that mean to pay it.   

Sextus Wit.  
TO have good wit is Sextus thought by many;  
But sure he hides it all, he shows not any.   

Of casting out Spirits by Prayer, without Fasting.  
A Virtuous Dame, who for her state and quality,  
Did ever love to keep great Hospitality;  
Her name I must not name in plain reciting,  
But thus, The chief Instrument of writing,  
Was by Duke Humphrey's Guests so boldly haunted,  
That her good mind therewith was sorely daunted:  
She sighing said, one day, to a careless lester,  
These ill-bred guests my board and house so pester,  
That I pray God oft times with all my heart,  
That they would leave their haunt, and hence depart.  
He that by his own humour haply guest,  
What manner Spirit these smell-feasts had possessed;  
Told her the surest way such Spirits out-casting,  
Was to leave Prayer a while, and fall to Fasting.   

Of wicked Prayers.  
A Husband and a Wife oft disagreeing,  
And either weary of the others being,  
In choler great either devoutly prays  
To God, that he would shorten th'others days:  
But more devout than both their Son and Heir  
Prays God that he would grant them both their prayer.   

The Author, of his Fortune.  
TAke Fortune as it falls, so one adviseth,  
But Heywood bids me take it as it riseth:  
And while I think to do as both do teach,  
It falls and riseth quite besides my reach.   

Of Misse-pointing.  
Dame's are endued with virtues excellent:  
What man is he can prove that? they offend  
Daily, they serve the Lord with good intent  
Seld, they displease their Husbands to the end  
Always, to please them well they do intend  
Never, in them one shall find shrewdness much,  
Such are their humours, and their grace is such.   

To his Wife.  
MY Mall, the former Verses this doth reach you,  
That some deceive, some are deceived by shows:  
For this that in your praise so firmly goes,  
With one false point and stop will over reach you,  
And turn the praise to scorn, the Verse to Prose,  
By which you may be slandered, all as shrews,  
And some perhaps may speak, and say no treason,  
The Verses had more time, the Prose more reason.   

Of a Precise Tailor.  
A Taylor thought a man of upright dealing,  
〈◊〉 but for lying, honest but for stealing:  
Di● fall one day extremely seek by chance,  
And on the sudden, was i● wondrous trance.  
The fiends of hell mustering in fearful manner,  
Of sundry coloured ●●lkes displayed a banner  
Which he had stol●e, and wished as they did tell,  
That he might find it all one day in hell.  
The man affrighted with this apparition,  
Upon recovery gre●● a great precision:  
He bought a Bible of the best translation,  
And in his life he showed great reformation.  
He walked mannerly, he talked meekly,  
He heard three lectures, and two sermons weekly.  
He vowed to shun all company unruly,  
And in his speech he used no oath but truly.  
And zealously to keep the Sabbath's rest,  
His meat for that day on the eve was dressed.  
And lest the custom which he had to steal,  
Might cause him sometime to forget his zeal,  
He gives his journyman a special charge,  
That if the stuff allowance being large,  
He found his fingers were to filch inclined,  
Bid him to have the banner in his mind.  
This done, I scant can tell the rest for laughter,  
A captain of a ship came three days after,  
And brought three yards of velvet, and three quarters,  
To make venetians down below the garters.  
He that precisely knew what was enough,  
Soon slipped aside three quarters of the stuff.  
His man espying it, said in derision,  
Master remember how you saw the vision.  
Peace knave quoth he, I did not see one rag,  
Of such a coloured silk in all the flag.   

Of a Citizen and his Son  
A Citizen that dwelled near Temple bar,  
By hap one day fell with his son at jar:  
Who for his evil life and lewd demerit,  
He oft affirmed he would quite disinherit.  
And vowed his goods and lands all to the poor:  
His son what with his play, what with his ()  
Was so consumed at last, that he did lack,  
Meat for his mouth, and clothing for his back.  
O crafty poverty, his father now,  
May give him all he hath, yet keep his vow.   

Mistaking a word.  
AN English Lad long wooed a lass of Wales,  
And entertained her with such pretty tales,  
As though she understood not, yet to try him,  
She gave consent at last to underlie him.  
Both having dallied to their full society,  
The wench to show some womanly sobriety,  
Told in her language she was well ypaide,  
And Diggon, Diggon once or twice she said.  
Dig on in welsh doth signify enough,  
Which he mistaking, answers thus in snuff:  
Diggon that can (quoth he) for I so sore  
Have diggde already, I can dig no more.   

Of his Cook, named Cornish.  
MY Cornish Cook in rage and fury great,  
Did chase, and chide, and curse & swear, and sweat.  
Because the turn-broach burned had the meat.  
And with the basting ladle did him beat.  
Was not my Cook a rash and angry Cullion,  
When he should baste the meat, to baste the Scullion   

Of his Writings.  
MY Writings oft displease you. What's the matter?  
You love not to hear truth, nor I to flatter.   

Of a ladies Cabinet.  
A Virtuous Lady sitting in a muse,  
As oftentimes fair virtuous ladies use,  
Did lean her elbow on her knee full hard,  
The other distant from it half a yard.  
Her Knight to taunt her with some privy token,  
Said, Wife, awake, your Cabinet stands open.  
She rose, and blushed, and smiled, and soft did say,  
Then look it if you list, you keep the key.   

Of wives ruling.  
COncerning Wives, hold this a certain rule,  
That if at first, you let them have the rule,  
Yourself at last, with them shall have no rule,  
Except you let them evermore to rule.   

Of Gella's Periwig.  
SEe you the goodly hair that Gella wears  
'Tis certain her own hair, one would have thought it.  
She swears it is her own, and true she swears:  
For hard by Temple-bar last day she bought it.  
So fair an hair upon so foul a forehead,  
Augments disgrace, and shows her grace was borrowed.   

Of a Prater, out of martial.  
WHo so is hoarse, yet still to prate doth press,  
Proves he can neither speak, nor hold his Peace.   

Of trusting to his Friend.  
IF you will shroud yourself from all mishaps,  
And shun the cause of many afterclaps;  
Put not in any one too much belief,  
Your joy will be the less, so will your grief.   

Of Faustus, a stealer of Verses.  
I Hear that Faustus oftentimes rehearses  
To his chaste Mistress certain of my Verses:  
In which, by use, so perfect he is grown;  
That she, poor fool, doth think they are his own.  
I would esteem it (trust me) grace, not shame,  
If Danyel, or if Davies did the same.  
Nor would I storm, or would I quarrels pick,  
I when I list, to them could do the like.  
But who can wish a man a fouler spite,  
Then have a blind man take away his sight?  
A begging thief is dangerous to my purse,  
A beggage Poet to my Verse is worse.   

An Epitaph by a man of his Father.  
GOD works wonders now and than,  
Here lies a Lawyer was an honest man.   

An Epitaph of Aretine.  
Here lies Aretine that poisonous Toad,  
Whose spiteful tongue and Pen, all Saints beshrew him,  
Did rail on Prince and Priest, and all but God,  
And said for his excuse he did not know them.   
FINIS.