Reader when first thou shalt behold this boy's  
Picture, perhaps thou'lt think his writings toys  
Wrong not our Cowley so will nothing pass  
But gravity with thee Apollo was  
Beardless himself and for aught I can see  
Cowley may youngest son of Phoebus be.    

POETICAL BLOSSOMS BY A. C.  
— fit surculus Arbour.  
LONDON, Printed by B.A. and T.F. for HENRY S●IL●, and are to be sold at his shop at the Sign of the Tygers-head in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1633▪   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, and right Reverend Father in God, JOHN Lord Bishop of LINCOLN. And Deane of Westminster.  
MY LORD:  
I Might well fear, lest these my rude and unpolisht lines, should offend your Honourable survey; but that I hope your Nobleness will rather smile at the faults committed by a Child, then censure them; Howsoever I desire your Lordship's pardon, for presenting things so unworthy to your view, and to accept the good will of him, who in all duty is bound to be  
Your Lordships, most humble servant, ABRA: COWLEY.   

To the Reader.  

I.  
I Called the bushined Muse MELPOMENE,  
And told her what sad Story I would write,  
She wept at hearing such a Tragedy:  
Though wont in mournful Ditties to delight.  
If thou dislike these sorrowful lines; Then know  
My Muse with tears not with Conceits did flow.   

II.  
And as she my unabler quill did guide,  
Her briny tears did on the paper fall,  
If then unequal numbers be espied,  
Oh Reader! do not that my error call,  
But think her tears defaced it, and blame then  
My Muse's grief, and not my missing Pen.   
ABRA: COWLEY.   

To his dear Friend and Schoolfellow ABRAHAM COWLEY, on his flourishing and hopeful BLOSSOMS.  
NAture we say decays, because our Age  
Is worse than were the Times of old: The Stage  
And Histories the former Times declare:  
In these our latter Days what defects are  
Experience teacheth. What then? Shall we blame  
Nature for this? Not so; let us declaim  
Rather against ourselves: 'tis we Decay,  
Not She: She is the same every way  
She was at first. COWLEY, thou provest this truth.  
Could ever former Age brag of a Youth  
So forward at these years? Could NASO write  
Thus young such witty Poems? TVLLI's mite  
Of Eloquence, at this Age was not seen.  
Nor yet was CATO'S judgement, at Thirteen  
So great is thine. Suppose it were so; yet  
He CIC'RO's Eloquence, TULLY the Wit  
Of OVID wanted: OVID too came far  
In judgement behind CATO. Therefore are  
None of all equal unto Thee, so pretty,  
So Eloquent, judicious, and Witty.  
Let the world's spring time but produce and show  
Such Blossoms as thy Writings are, and know  
Then (not till then) shall my opinion be  
That it is Nature faileth, and not we.  
BEN MAERS.   

To his Friend and Schoolfellow ABRAHAM COWLEY, on his Poetical Blossoms.  
MAny, when Youths of tender Age they see  
Expressing CATO, in their Gravity;  
judgement, and Wit, will oftentimes report  
They think their thread of Life exceeding short.  
But my opinion is, not so of Thee  
For thou shalt live, to all Posterity.  
These gifts will never let thee dye, for Death  
Can not bereave thee of thy fame, though breath.  
Let snarling Critics spend their brains to find  
A fault, though there be none; This is my mind  
Let him that carpeth with his vipers Tougne,  
Think with himself, what he could do as young.  
But if the Springing blossoms, thus rare be  
What ripened Fruit shall we hereafter see.  
ROB: MEADE, Condiscipulus.   
CONSTANTIA AND PHILETUS.  


I Sing two constant Lovers various fate,  
The hopes, and fears which equally attend  
Their loves: Their rivals envy, Parents hate;  
I sing their sorrowful life, and tragic end.  
Assist me this sad story to rehearse  
You Gods, and be propitious to my verse.   

In Florence for her stately buildings famed,  
And lofty roofs that emulate the sky;  
There dwelled a lovely Maid CONSTANTIA named,  
Renowned, (as mirror of all Italy,)  
Her, lavish nature did at first adorn,  
With PALEAS soul, in CYTHEREA's form.   

And framing her attractive eyes so bright,  
Spent all her wit in study, that they might  
Keep th'earth from Chaos, and eternal night,  
But envious Death destroyed their glorious light.  
Expect not beauty then, since she did part;  
For in her Nature wasted all her Art.   

Her hair was brighter than the beams which are  
A Crown to PHOEBUS, and her breath so sweet,  
It did transcend Arabian odours far,  
Or th'smelling Flowers, wherewith the Spring doth greet  
Approaching Summer, teeth like falling snow  
For white, were placed in a double row.   

Her wit excelled all praise, all admiration,  
And speech was so attractive it might be  
A means to cause great PALLAS indignation  
And raise an envy from that Deity,  
The maiden Lillies at her lovely sight  
Waxed pale with envy, and from thence grew white.   

She was in birth and Parentage as high  
As in her fortune great, or beauty rare,  
And to her virtuous mind's nobility  
The gifts of Fate and Nature doubled were;  
That in her spotless Soul, and lovely Face  
Thou mightst have seen, each Deity and grace.   

The scornful Boy ADONIS viewing her  
Would VENUS still despise, yet her desire;  
Each who but saw, was a Competitor  
And rival, scorched alike with CVPID'S fire  
The glorious beams of her fair Eyes did move  
And light beholders on their way to Love.   

Amongst her many Suitors a young Knight  
'Bove others wounded with the Majesty  
Of her fair presence, presseth most in sight;  
Yet seldom his desire can satisfy  
With that blessed object, or her rareness see;  
For Beauty's guard, is watchful jealousy.   

Ofttimes that he might see his Dearest-fayre  
Upon his stately jennet he in the way  
Rides by her house, who neighs as if he were  
Proud to be viewed by bright CONSTANTIA.  
But his poor Master though to see her move  
His joy, dares show no look betraying Love..   

Soon as the morn peeped from her rosy bed  
And all Heaven's smaller lights expulsed were;  
She by her friends and near acquaintance led  
Like other Maids, oft walked to take the air;  
AURORA blushed at such a sight unknown,  
To see those cheeks were redder than her own.   

Th' obsequious Lover always follows them  
And where they go, that way his journey feines,  
Should they turn back, he would turn back again;  
For where his Love, his business there remains.  
Nor is it strange he should be loath to part  
From her, since she had stolen away his heart.   

PHILETUS he was called, sprung from a race  
Of Noble ancestors; But destroying Time  
And envious Fate had laboured to deface  
The glory which in his great Stock did shine;  
His state but small, so Fortune did decree  
But Love being blind, he that could never see▪   

Yet he by chance had hit his heart aright,  
And on CONSTANTIA'S eye his Arrow whet  
Had blown the Fire, that would destroy him quite,  
Unless his flames might like in her beget:  
But yet he fears, because he blinded is  
Though he have shot him right, her heart he'll miss.   

Unto Love's Altar therefore he repairs,  
And offers there a pleasing Sacrifice;  
Entreating CUPID with inducing Prayers  
To look upon and ease his Miseries:  
Where having wept, recovering breath again  
Thus to immortal Love he did complain:   

Oh CUPID! thou, whose all commanding sway  
Hath ofttimes ruled the Olympian Thunderer,  
Whom all Celestial Deities obey,  
And Men and Gods both reverence and fear!  
Oh force CONSTANTIA'S heart to yield to Love,  
Of all thy Works, the Masterpiece 'twill prove.   

And let me not Affection vainly spend,  
But kindle flames in her like those in me;  
Yet if that gift my Fortune doth transcend,  
Grant that her charming Beauty I may see:  
And view those Eyes who with their ravishing light  
Do only give Contentment to my sight.   

Those who contemn thy sacred Deity  
And mock thy Power, let them thy anger know,  
I faultless am, nor can't an honour be  
To wound your slave alone, and spare your Foe.  
Here tears and sighs speak his imperfect moan  
In language far more dolorous than his own.   

Home he retired, his Soul he brought not home,  
Just like a Ship whilst every mounting wave  
Tossed by enraged BOREAS up and down,  
Threatens the Mariner with a gaping grave;  
Such did his cse, such did his state appear  
Alike distracted, between hope and fear.   

Thinking her love he never shall obtain,  
One morn he goes to the Woods and doth complain  
Of his unhappy Fate, but all in vain,  
And thus fond Echo, answers him again.  
So that it seems AURORA wept to hear,  
For the verdant grass was dewed with many a tear.    

THE ECHO.  

OH! what hath caused my kill miseries,  
Eyes, (Echo said) what hath detained my ease,  
Ease; strait the reasonable Nymph replies,  
That nothing can my troubled mind appease:  
Peace, Echo answers? What, is any nigh  
(Quoth she) at which, she quickly utters, I.   

Is't Eccho answers, tell me then thy will,  
I will, she said? What shall I get (quoth he)  
By loving still: to which she answers, ill,  
Ill: shall I void of wished for pleasure dye:  
I, shall not I who toil in ceaseless pain,  
Some pleasure know? no, she replies again.   

False and inconstant Nymph, thou liest (quoth he)  
Thou liest (she said) and I deserved her hate,  
If I should thee believe; believe, (saith she)  
For why thy idle words are of no weight.  
Weigh it, (she replies) I therefore will depart,  
To which, resounding Echo answers, part.   

Then from the Woods with sorrowful heart he goes,  
Filling with flowing thoughts his grieved mind,  
He seeks to ease his soul oppressing woes,  
But no refreshing comfort can he find:  
He weeps to quench the fires that burn in him,  
But tears do fall to the earth, flames are within.   

No morning banished darkness, nor black night  
By her alternate course expulsed the day.  
Been with PHILETUS by a constant rite  
And CUPIDS' Altars did not weep and pray;  
And yet had reaped nought for all his pain  
But Care and Sorrow that was all his gain.   

But now at last the pitying God o'ercome  
By his constant votes and tears, fixed in her heart  
A golden shaft, and she is now become  
A suppliant to Love that with like Dart  
he'd wound PHILETUS and doth now implore  
With tears aid from that power she scorned before.   

Little she thinks she kept PHILETUS heart  
In her scorched breast, because her own she gave  
To him. But either suffers, equal smart  
And alike measure in their torments have:  
His soul, his grief, his fires; now hers are grown  
Her heart, her mind, her love; is his alone.   

Whilst wand'ring thoughts thus guide her troubled Brain  
Seeing a Lute (being far from any ears)  
She tuned this song whose music did transcend  
The pleasant harmony of the rolling Spheres;  
Which ravishing Notes, if when her love was slain  
She had sung; from Styx 't'had called him back again.    

THE SONG.  

TO whom shall I my Sorrow's show?  
Not to Love for he is blind.  
And my PHILETUS doth not know,  
The inward sorrow of my mind.  
And all the senseless walls which are  
Now round about me, cannot hear.   

For if they could, they sure would weep,  
And with my griefs relent.  
Unless their willing tears they keep,  
Till I from the earth am sent.  
Then I believe they'll all deplore  
My fate, since I them taught before.   

I willingly would weep my store,  
If th'flood would land thy Love,  
My dear PHILETUS on the shore  
Of my heart; but shouldst thou prove  
A feared of the flames, know the fires are  
But bonfires for thy coming there.   

Then tears in envy of her speech did flow  
From her fair eyes, as if it seemed that there,  
Her burning flame had melted hills of snow,  
And so dissolved them into many a tear;  
W●ich Nilus like, did quickly overflow,  
And caused soon new serpent griefs to grow.   

here stay my Muse, for if I should recite,  
Her mournful Language, I should make you weep  
Like her a flood, and so not see to write,  
Such lines as I desire, that they may keep,  
Me from stern death, or when I leave my rhyme,  
They in my death's revenge may conquer time.   

By this time, chance and his own industry  
Had helped PHILETUS forward that he grew  
Acquainted with his Brother, so that he,  
Might by this means, his bright CONSTANTIA view:  
And as time served show her his misery,  
And this was the first act in's Tragedy.   

Thus to himself soothed by his flattering state  
He said; How shall I thank thee for this gain,  
O CUPID, or reward my helping Fate,  
Who sweetens all my sorrows, all my pain?  
What Husbandman would any sweat refuse,  
To reap at last such fruit, his labours use?   

But weighing strait his doubtful state aright,  
Seeing his griefs linked like an endless chain  
To following woes, he could despair delight,  
Quench his hot flames, and th' fondling love disdain.  
But CUPID when his heart was set on fire  
Had burnt his wings, and could not then retire.   

The wounded youth, and kind PHILOCRATES  
(So was her Brother called) grew soon so dear,  
So true, and constant, in their Amity's,  
And in that league so strictly joined were;  
That death itself could not their friendship sev●r.  
But as they lived in love, they died together.   

If one be melancholy, the other's sad;  
If one be sick, the other he is ill,  
And if PHILETUS any sorrow had,  
PHILOCRATES was partner in it still:  
As th'soul of PYLADES and ORESTES was  
In these, may we believe PYTHAGORAS.   

Oft in the Woods PHILETUS walks, and there  
Exclaims against his fate as too unkind.  
With speaking tears his griefs he doth declare,  
And with sad sighs teareth the angry wind,  
To sigh, and though it ne'er so cruel were,  
It roared to hear PHILETUS tell his care.   

The Crystal Brooks which gently run between  
The shadowing Trees, and as they through them pass  
Water the Earth, and keep the Meadows green,  
Giving a colour to the verdant grass:  
Hearing PHILETUS tell his woeful state,  
In show of grief run murmuring at his Fate.   

PHILOMELA answers him again and shows  
In her best language, her sad History.  
And in a mournful sweetness tells her woes,  
As if she strove to show her miseries  
Were greater far than his, and sweetly sings  
To outreach his Sorrows, by her sufferings.   

His sadness cannot from PHILOCRATES  
Be hid, who seeks all means his grief to know,  
Seeing all mirth PHILETUS doth displease  
And Passion still pursues his conquered Foe:  
He therefore of his grief did oft inquire,  
But Love with covering wings had hid the fire.   

But when his noble Friend perceived that he  
Yields to usurping Passion more and more,  
Desirous to partake his malady,  
He watches him in hope to cure his sore  
By counsel, and recall the poisonous Dart  
When it alas was fixed in his heart.   

When in the Woods, places best fit for care,  
He to himself did his past griefs recite,  
Th' obsequious friend strait follows him, and there  
Doth hide himself from sad PHILETUS sight.  
Who thus exclaims, for a swollen hart would break  
If it for vent of sorrow might not speak.   

Oh! I am lost, not in this desert Wood  
But in love's pathless Labyrinth, there I  
My health, each joy and pleasure counted good  
Have lost, and which is more my liberty.  
And now am forced to let him sacrifice  
My heart, for rash believing of my eyes.   

Long have I stayed, but yet have no relief,  
Long have I loved, yet have no favour shown,  
Because she knows not of my kill grief,  
And I have feared, to make my sorrows known.  
For why alas, if she should once but dart  
At me disdain, 'twould kill my subject hart.   

But how should she, ere I impart my Love,  
Reward my ardent flame with like desire,  
But when I speak, if she should angry prove,  
Laugh at my flowing tears, and scorn my fire?  
Why he who hath all sorrows borne before,  
Needeth not fear to be oppressed with more,   

PHILOCRATES no longer can forbear,  
But running to his loved Friend; Oh (said he)  
My dear PHILETUS be thyself, and swear  
To rule that Passion which now masters Thee  
And all thy faculties; but if't may not be,  
Give to thy Love but eyes that it may see.   

Amazement strikes him dumb what shall he do?  
Should he reveal his Love, he fears 'twould prove  
A hindrance, which should he deny to show,  
It might perhaps his dear friends anger move:  
These doubts like SCYLLA and CARIEDIS stand,  
Whilst CUPID a blind Pilot doth command.   

At last resolved, how shall I seek, said he  
To excuse myself, dearest PHILOCRATES;  
That I from thee have hid this secrecy?  
Yet censure not, give me first leave to ease  
My case with words, my grief you should have known  
E'er this, if that my heart had been my own.   

I am all Love, my heart was burnt with fire  
From two bright Suns which do all light disclose;  
First kindling in my breast the flame Desire,  
But like the rare Arabian Bird there rose  
From my hearts ashes, never quenched Love,  
Which now this torment in my soul doth move.   

Oh! let not then my Passion cause your hate,  
Nor let my choice offend you, or detain  
Your ancient Friendship; 'tis alas too late  
To call my firm affection back again:  
No Physic can recure my weakened state,  
The wound is grown too great, too desperate.   

But Counsel said his Friend, a remedy  
Which never fails the Patient, may at least  
If not quite heal your mind's infirmity,  
Assuage your torment, and procure some rest.  
But there is no Physician can apply  
A medicine, ere he know the Malady.   

Then hear me, said PHILETUS; but why? Stay,  
I will not toil thee with my history,  
For to remember Sorrows passed away,  
Is to renew an old Calamity.  
He who acquainteth others with his moan,  
Adds to his friend's grief, but not cures his own.   

But said PHILOCRATES, 'tis best in woe,  
To have a faithful partner of their care;  
That burden may be undergone by two,  
Which is perhaps too great for one to bear.  
I should mistrust your love to hide from me  
Your thoughts, and tax you of Inconstancy.   

What shall he do? Or with what language frame  
Excuse? He must resolve not to deny,  
But open his close thoughts, and inward flame,  
With that as prologue to his Tragedy  
He sight, as if they'd cool his torments ire  
When they alas, did blow the raging fire.   

When years first styled me Twenty, I began  
To sport with the catching snares that Love had set,  
Like Birds that flutter 'bout the begin till ta'en,  
Or the poor Fly caught in Arachne's net,  
Even so I sported with her Beauties light  
Till I at last, grew blind with too much sight.   

First it came stealing on me, whilst I thought,  
'Twas easy to expulse it, but as fire  
Though but a spark, soon into flames is brought,  
So mine grew great, and quickly mounted higher;  
Which so have scorched my love struck soul, that I  
Still live in torment, though each minute dye.   

Who is it said PHILOCRATES can move  
With charming eyes such deep affection,  
I may perhaps assist you in your love,  
Two can effect more than yourself alone.  
My council this thy error may reclaim  
Or my salt tears quench thy annoying flame.   

Nay said PHILETUS, oft my eyes do flow  
Like Egypt covering Nilus, nor yet can  
Assuage my heat, which still doth greater grow,  
As if my tears did but augment my flame.  
Like to the waters of th' Dodonean spring,  
That lights a torch the which is put therein.   

But being you desire to know her, she  
Is called (with that his eyes let fall a shower  
As if they fain would drown the memory  
Of his life keeper's name,) CONSTANTIA more;  
Grief would not let him utter; Tears the best  
Expressers of true sorrow, spoke the rest.   

To which his noble friend did thus reply.  
And was this all? What ere your grief would ease  
Though a far greater task, believe't for thee,  
It should be soon done by PHILOCRATES;  
Think all you wish performed but see the day  
Tired with its heat is hasting now away.   

Home from the silent Woods, night bids them go,  
But sad PHILETUS can no comfort find,  
What in the day he fears of future woe,  
At night in dreams, like truth affright his mind  
Why dost thou vex him love? Hadst eyes (I say)  
Thou wouldst thyself have loved CONSTANTIA.   

PHILOCRATES pitying his doleful moan,  
And wounded with the Sorrows of his friend,  
Brings him to fair CONSTANTIA; where alone  
He might impart his love, and either end  
His fruitless hopes, cropped by her coy disdain,  
Or By her liking, his wished joys attain.   

Fairest, (quoth he) whom the bright Heavens do cover,  
Do not these tears, these speaking tears, despise:  
And dolorous sighs, of a submissive Lover,  
Thus struck to the earth by your all dazzling Eyes.  
And do not you contemn that ardent flame,  
Which from yourself: Your own fair Beauty came.   

Trust me, I long have hid my love, but now  
Am forced to show't, such is my inward smart,  
And you alone (sweet fair) the means do know  
To heal the wound of my consuming heart.  
Then since it only in your power doth lie  
To kill, or save, Oh help! or else I die.   

His gently cruel Love, did thus reply;  
I for your pain am grieved, and would do  
Without impeachment to my Chastity  
And honour, any thing might pleasure you.  
But if beyond those limits you demand,  
I must not answer, (Sir) nor understand.   

Believe me virtuous maiden, my desire  
Is chaste and pious, as thy Virgin thought,  
No flash of lust, 'tis no dishonest fire  
Which goes as soon as it is quickly brought.  
But as thy beauty pure, which let not be  
Eclipsed by disdain, or cruelty.   

Oh! how shall I reply (quoth she) thou'st won  
My soul, and therefore take thy victory:  
Thy eyes and speeches have my heart o'ercome  
And if I should deny thee love, than I  
Myself should feel his torment for that fire  
Which is kept close, doth burn with greatest ire.   

Yet do not count my yielding, lightness in me,  
Impute it rather to my ardent love,  
Thy pleasing carriage long ago did win me  
And pleading beauty did my liking move.  
Thy eyes which draw like loadstones with their might  
The hardest hearts, won mine to leave me quite.   

Oh! I am rapt above the reach, said he  
Of thought, my soul already feels the bliss  
Of heaven, when (sweet) my thoughts once tax but thee  
With any crime, may I lose all happiness  
Is wished for: both your favour here, and dead,  
May the just God's power vengeance on my head.   

Whilst he was speaking this: behold their fate,  
CONSTANTIA'S father entered in the room,  
When glad PHILETUS ignorant of his state,  
Kisses her cheeks, more red than the setting Sun,  
Or else, the morn blushing through clouds of water  
To see ascending Sol congratulate her.   

Just as the guilty prisoner fearful stands  
Reading his fatal Theta in the brows  
Of him, who both his life and death commands,  
Ere from his mouth he the sad sentence knows,  
Such was his state to see her father come,  
Nor wished for, nor expected to the room.   

The enraged old man bids him no more to dare  
Such bold intrudance in that house, nor be  
At any time with his loved daughter there  
Till he had given him such authority,  
But to depart, since she her love did show him  
Was living death, with lingering torments to him.   

This being known to kind PHILOCRATES  
He cheers his friend, bidding him banish fear,  
And by some letter his grieved mind appease,  
And show her that which to her friendly ear,  
Time gave no leave to tell, and thus his quill  
Declares to her, her absent lovers will.    

THE LETTER.  

PHILETUS to CONSTANTIA.  
I Trust (dear Soul) my absence cannot move  
You to forget, or doubt my ardent love;  
For were there any means to see you; I  
Would run through Death and all the misery  
Fate could inflict, that so the world might say,  
In Life and Death I loved CONSTANTIA.  
Then let not (dearest Sweet) our absence sever  
Our loves, let them joined closely still together  
Give warmth to one another, till there rise  
From all our labours and our industries  
The long expected fruits; have patience (Sweet)  
There's no man whom the Summer pleasures greet  
Before he taste the Winter, none can say  
E'er night was gone, he saw the rising Day.  
So when we once have wasted Sorrow's night,  
The sun of Comfort then, shall give us light.  
PHILETUS.   

This when CONSTANTIA read, she thought her state  
Most happy by PHILETUS Constancy  
And perfect Love, she thanks her flattering Fate,  
And never missing CUPID, 'cause that he  
Had pierced his heart; and thus she writes again,  
Unfeigned affection guiding of her Pen.   

CONSTANTIA to PHILETUS.  
YOur absence (Sir) though it be long, yet I  
Neither forget, or doubt your Constancy:  
Nor need you fear, that I should yield unto  
Another, what to your true Love is due.  
My heart is yours, it is not in my claim,  
Nor have I power to give't away again.  
There's nought but Death can part our souls, no time  
Or angry Friends, shall make my Love decline:  
But for the harvest of our hopes I'll stay,  
Unless Death cut it, ere't be ripe, away.  
CONSTANTIA.   

Oh! how this Letter did exalt his pride,  
More proud was he of this, than PHAETON  
When PHOEBUS flaming Chariot he did guide,  
Before he knew the danger was to come.  
Or else then JASON, when from Colchos he  
Returned, with the Fleeces victory.   

But ere the Autumn which fair CERES crowned,  
Had paid the swetting Ploughman's greediest prayer;  
And by the Fall disrobed the gaudy ground  
Of all her Summer ornaments, they were  
By kind PHILOCRATES together brought  
Where they this means to 'nioy their freedom wrought.   

Sweet Mistress, said PHILETUS, since the time  
Propitious to our votes, now gives us leave  
To enjoy our loves, let us not dear resign  
His longed for favour, nor ourselves bereave  
Of opportunity, left it fly again  
Further than Love hath wings to follow him.   

For when your Father, as his custom is  
For pleasure, doth pursue the timorous Hare;  
If you'll resort but thither, I'll not miss  
To be in those Woods ready for you, where  
We may depart in safety, and no more  
With Dreams of pleasure only, heal our sore.   

This both the Lovers soon agreed upon,  
But ere they parted, he desires that she  
Would bless this greedy hearing, with a Song  
From her harmonious voice, she doth agree  
To his request, and doth this Ditty sing,  
Whose ravishing Notes new fires to's old doth bring.    

THE SONG.  

TIme fly with greater speed away  
Add feathers to thy wings,  
Till thy haste in flying brings  
That wished for and expected Day.   

Comforts sun, we then shall see,  
Though at first it darkened be  
With dangers, yet those Clouds being gone,  
Our Day will put his lustre on.   

Then though Death's sad night do come,  
And we in silence sleep,  
‛ Lasting Day again will greet  
Our ravished Souls, and then there's none   

Can part us more, no Death, nor Friends,  
Being dead, their power o'er us ends.  
Thus there's nothing can dissever,  
Hearts which Love have joined together.   

Fear of being seen, PHILETUS homeward drove  
But ere they part she willingly doth give  
As faithful pledges of her constant love  
Many a kiss, and then each other leave  
In grief, though rapt with joy that they have found  
A way to heal the torment of their wound.   

But ere the Sun through many days had run,  
CONSTANTIA'S charming beauty had o'ercome  
GVISCARDO'S heart, and's scorned affection won,  
Her eyes, that conquered all they shone upon  
Shot through his glutton eyes such hot desire  
As nothing but her love could quench the fire.   

In roofs which Gold and Parian stone adorn  
Proud as their Landlord's mind, he did abound  
In fields so fertile for their yearly corn  
As might contend with scorched Calabria's ground;  
But in his soul where should be the best store  
Of surest riches, he was base and poor.   

Him was CONSTANTIA urged continually  
By her friends to love, sometimes they did entreat  
With gentle speeches, and mild courtesy,  
Which when they see despised by her, they threat.  
But love too deep was seated in her heart  
To be worn out with thought of any smart.   

Her father shortly went unto the wood  
To hunt, his friend GVISCARDO being there  
With others who by friendship and by blood  
Unto CONSTANTIA'S aged father were  
Allied ne'er, there likewise were with these,  
His beauteous daughter, and PHILOCRATES.   

Being entered in the pathless woods, whilst they  
Pursue their game, PHILETUS being late  
Hid in a thicket, carries strait away  
His love, and hastens his own hasty fate.  
Which came to soon upon him, and his Sun  
Eclipsed was, before it fully shone.   

For when CONSTANTIA'S miss, in a maze,  
Each takes a several course, and by cursed fate  
GVISCARDO runs, with a love carried pace  
Towards them, who little knew their sorrowful state▪  
So he like bold Icarus soaring hie  
To Honour, fell to th'depth of misery.   

For when GVISCARDO sees his Rival there,  
Swelling with poisonous envy, comes behind  
PHILETUS, who such fortune did not fear,  
And with his flaming sword a way doth find  
To his heart, who ere that death possessed him quite,  
In these few words gasped out his flying spirit.   

O see CONSTANTIA my short race is run,  
See how my blood the thirsty ground doth die,  
But live thou happier than thy love hath done  
And when I'm dead think sometime upon me.  
More my short time permits me not to tell  
For now death seizeth me, oh my dear farewell.   

As soon as he had spoke these words life fled  
From's wounded body, whilst CONSTANTIA she  
Kisses his cheeks which lose there lively red;  
And become pale, and wan, and now each eye  
Which was so bright, (is like) when life was done  
A fallen star, or an eclipsed Sun.   

Thither PHILOCRATES by's fate being driven  
To accompany PHILETUS Tragedy,  
Seeing his friend was dead, and's sorrowful love  
Sat weeping o'er his bleeding body, I  
Will now revenge your death said he  
Or in your murder bear you company.   

I am by jove sent to revenge this fate,  
Nay, stay GVISCARDO think not heaven in jest,  
'tis vain to hope flight can secure thy state  
Then thrusting's sword into the Villain's breast.  
Here, said PHILOCRATES, thy life I send  
A sacrifice, t'appease my slaughtered friend.   

But as he falls here take reward said he  
For this thy victory, with that he flung  
His kill rapier at his enemy,  
Which hit his head, and in his brainpan hung.  
With that he falls, but lifting up his eyes  
Farewell CONSTANTIA, that word said, he dies.   

What shall she do, she to her brother runs  
And 's cold, and liveless body doth embrace,  
She calls to him, he cannot hear her moans:  
And with her kisses warms his clammy face.  
My Dear PHILOCRATES, she weeping cries,  
Speak to thy Sister: but no voice replies.   

Then running to her love, with many a tear,  
Thus her minds fervent passion she expressed,  
O stay (blessed Soul) stay but a little here  
And we will both haste to a lasting rest.  
Then to Elysium's Mansions both together  
we'll journey, and be married there for ever.   

But when she saw they both were dead, quoth she  
Oh my PHILETUS for thy sake will I  
Make up a full and perfect Tragedy  
Since 'twas for me (Dear love) that thou didst die;  
I'll follow thee, and not thy loss deplore,  
These eyes that saw thee killed, shall see no more.   

It shall not sure be said that you did dye  
And thy CONSTANTIA live since thou wast slain:  
No, no, dear Soul, I will not stay from thee,  
But constant be in act, as well as Name.  
Then piercing her sad breast, I come, she cries,  
And Death for ever closed her weeping eyes.   

Her Soul being fled to its Eternal rest,  
Her Father comes, who seeing this, he falls  
To th'earth, with grief too great to be expressed.  
Whose doleful words my tired Muse me calls  
T' o'repasse, which I might gladly do, for fear  
That I should toil too much, the Readers ear▪   
FINIS.   

THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF PYRAMUS AND THISBE. Written, By A. C.  
— fit surculus Arbour.  
LONDON, Printed by B.A. and T.F. for HENRY S●ILE, and are to be sold at his shop at the Sign of the Tygers-head in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1633.   

TO THE WORSHIPFUL, my very loving Master LAMBERT OSBOLSTON, chief Schoolmaster of Westminster-Schoole.  
SIR,  
MY childish Muse is in her Spring: and yet  
Can only show some budding of her Wit.  
One frown upon her Work, (Learned Sir) from you:  
Like some unkinder storm shot from your brow,  
Would turn her Spring, to withering Autumne's time,  
And make her Blossoms perish, ere their Prime.  
But if you Smile, if in your gracious Eye  
She an auspicious Alpha can descry.  
How soon will they grow Fruit? How will they flourish  
That had such beams their Infancy to nourish.  
Which being sprung to ripeness, expect then  
The best, and first fruits, of her grateful Pen.  
Yours, Abraham Cowley.   

THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF PYRAMUS and THISBE.  

WHere Babylon's high Walls erected were  
By mighty NINUS wife; two houses 〈◊〉▪  
One THISBE lived in, PYRAMUS the fai●●  
In th'other: Earth ne'er boasted such a pai●e  
The very senseless walls themselves combined  
And grew in one; Just like their Master's mind.   

THISBE all other women did excel,  
The Queen of Love, less lovely was than she.  
And PYRAMUS more sweet than tongue can tell,  
Nature grew proud in framing them so well.  
But VENUS envying they so fair should be,  
Bids her son CUPID show his cruelty.   

The all-subduing God his bow did bend,  
And doth prepare his most remorseless dart,  
Which he unseen unto their hearts did send  
And so was Love the cause of Beauty's end.  
But could he see, he had not wrought their smart  
For pity sure, would have o'ercome his heart.   

Like as a bird within a net is ta'en,  
By struggling more entangles in the gin,  
So they who in love's Labyrinth remain,  
With striving never can a freedom gain.  
The way to enters broad, but being in  
No art, no labour, can an exit win.   

These Lovers though their parents did reprove  
Their fires, and watched their deeds with jealousy,  
Though in these storms no comfort could remove  
The various doubts, and fears that cool hot love.  
Though he nor hers, nor she his face could see,  
Yet this did not abolish love's decree.   

For age had cracked the wall which did them part▪  
This the unanimate couple soon did spy,  
And here their inward sorrows did impart,  
Unlading the sad burden of their heart.  
Though love be blind, this shows he can descry  
A way to lessen his own misery.   

Oft to the friendly cranny they resort,  
And feed themselves with the celestial air,  
Of odoriferous breath; no other sport  
They could enjoy, yet think the time but short.  
And wish that it again renewed were  
To suck each others breath for ever there.   

Sometimes they did exclaim against their fate,  
And sometimes they accused imperial JOVE,  
Sometimes repent their flames, but all too late▪  
The arrow could not be recalled, their state  
Ordained was, by JUPITER above,  
And CUPID had appointed they should love.   

They cursed the wall which did their kisses part,  
And to the stones their dolorous words they sent,  
As if they saw the sorrow of their heart,  
And by their tears could understand their smart:  
But it was hard, and knew not what they meant,  
Nor with their siths (alas) would it relent.   

This in effect they said; Cursed wall, O why  
Wilt thou our bodies sever, whose true love  
Breaks thorough all thy flinty cruelty:  
For both our souls so closely joined lie,  
That nought but angry death can them remove,  
And though he part them yet they'll meet above.   

Abortive tears from their fair eyes strait flowed  
And dimmed the lovely splendour of their sight,  
Which seemed like TITAN, whilst some watery Cloud  
O'respreads his face, and his bright beams doth shroud.  
Till VESPER chased away the conquered light,  
And forceth them (though loath) to bid Goodnight.   

But e'er AURORA, Usher to the Day,  
Began with welcome lustre to appear,  
The Lovers rise, and at that cranny they  
Thus to each other, their thoughts open lay:  
With many a Sith, many a speaking Tear,  
Whose grief the pitying Morning blushed to hear.   

Dear love (quoth PYRAMUS) how long shall we  
Like fairest Flowers, not gathered in their Prime,  
Wast precious youth, and let advantage flee,  
Till we bewail (at last) our Cruelty  
Upon ourselves, for Beauty though it shine  
Like Day, will quickly find an Evening time.   

Therefore (sweet THISBE) let us meet this night  
At NINUS Tomb, without the City wall,  
Under the Mulberie-tree, with Berry's white  
Abounding, there t'enjoy our wished delight.  
For mounting Love stopped in his course doth fall,  
And longed for yet untested joy kills all.   

What though our cruel parents angry be?  
What though our friends (alas) are too unkind?  
Time now propitious, may anon deny,  
And soon hold back, fit opportunity.  
Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never find.  
Occasion once passed by, is bald behind.   

She soon agreed to that which he required,  
For little Wooing needs where both consent,  
What he so long had pleaded she desired,  
Which VENUS seeing, with blind Chance conspired,  
And many a charming accent to her sent,  
That she (at last) would frustrate their intent.   

Thus Beauty is by beauties means undone,  
Striving to close these eyes that make her bright;  
Just like the Moon, which seeks t'eclipse the Sun  
Whence all her splendour, all her beams, do come:  
So she, who fetcheth lustre from their sight  
Doth purpose to destroy their glorious light.   

Unto the Mulberie-tree, Sweet THISBE came,  
Where having rested long (at last) she 'gan,  
Against her PYRAMUS for to exclaim,  
Whilst various thoughts turmoil her troubled brain.  
And imitating thus the sylver Swan,  
A little while before her Death she sang.   

THE SONG.  

Come Love, why stayest thou? The night  
Will vanish, ere we taste delight:  
The Moon obscures herself from sight  
Thou absent, whose Eyes give her light.   

Come quickly Dear, be brief as time,  
Or we by Morn shall be o'er ta'en:  
Loves joy's thine own as well as mine,  
Spend not therefore, time in vain.    

here doubtful thoughts broke off her pleasant Song  
Against her love; for staying she 'gan cry,  
Her PYRAMUS she thought did tarry long,  
And that his absence did her too much wrong.  
Then betwixt longing hope, and jealousy,  
She fears, yet's loath, to tax his loyalty.   

Sometimes she thinks, that he hath her forsaken,  
Sometimes that danger hath befallen to him;  
She fears that he another love hath taken,  
Which being but imagined, soon doth waken:  
Numberless thoughts, which on her heart do fling  
Fears, that her future fate too truly sing.   

Whilst she thus musing sat, ran from the wood  
An angry Lion, to the crystal Springs;  
Near to that place, who coming from his food,  
His chaps were all besmeared with crimson blood.  
Swifter than thought, Sweet THISBE strait begins  
To fly from him, fear gave her Swallows wings.   

As she avoids the Lion, her desire  
Bids her to stay, lest PYRAMUS should come,  
And be devoured by the stern Lion's ire,  
So she for ever burn in unquenched fire.  
But fear expels all reasons she doth run  
Into a darksome Cave, near seen by Sun.   

With hast-shee let her loser Mantle fall,  
Which when th' enraged Lion did espy,  
With bloody teeth, he toreed in pieces small,  
Whilst THISBE ran and looked not back at all.  
For could the senseless beast, her face descry  
It had not done her such an injury.   

The night half wasted, PYRAMUS did come,  
Who seeing printed in the subtle sand  
The Lion's paw, and by the fountain some  
Of THISBE'S garment, sorrow struck him dumb:  
Just like a marble statue did he stand,  
Cut by some skilful gravers, cunning hand.   

Recovering breath, against Fate he 'gan t'exclayme,  
Washing with tears the torn and bloody weed.  
I may said he, myself for her death blame;  
Therefore my blood shall wash away that shame.  
Since she is dead, whose Beauty doth exceed  
All that frail man, can either hear or read.   

This speaking, he his sharp Sword drew, and said;  
Receive thou my red blood, as a due debt  
Unto thy constant Love, to which 'tis paid.  
I strait will meet thee in the pleasant shade  
Of cool Elysium, where we being met,  
Shall taste the joys, that here we could not yet.   

Then thorough his breast thrusting his sword: life hies  
From him, and he makes haste to seek his fair.  
And as upon the crimsoned ground he lies,  
His blood spirted up upon the Mulberries:  
With which th'unspotted berries stained were,  
And ever since with Red they coloured are.   

At last, came THISBE from the den for fear  
Of disappointing PYRAMUS, being she  
Was bound by promise, for to meet him there,  
But when she saw the berries changed were.  
From white to black, she knew not certainly  
It was the place where they agreed to be.   

With what delight from the dark cave she came  
Thinking to tell how she escaped the beast;  
But when she saw her PYRAMUS lie slain,  
In what perplexity she did remain.  
She tears her Golden hair, and beats her breast,  
All signs of raging sorrow she expressed.   

She cries against mighty JOVE, and then doth take  
His bleeding body from the moistened ground.  
She kisses his pale face till she doth make  
It red with kissing, and then seeks to wake  
His parting soul with mournful words, and's wound  
Washeth with tears which her sweet speech confound.   

But afterwards recovering breath, quoth she,  
(Alas) what chance hath parted thee and I.  
O tell what evil, hath befallen to thee;  
That of thy Death I may a Partner be.  
Tell THISBE, what hath caused this Tragedy.  
He hearing THISBE'S name, lift up his eye.   

And on his Love he raised his dying head,  
Where striving long for breath (at last) said he,  
O THISBE, I am hasting to the dead,  
And cannot heal that Wound my fear hath bred.  
Farewell, sweet THISBE, we must parted be,  
For angry Death will force me go from Thee.   

Life did from him, he from his Mistress part,  
Leaving his Love to languish here in woe.  
What shall she do? How shall she ease her heart?  
Or with what language speak her inward smart?  
Usurping passion, reason doth o'erflow,  
She swears, that with her PYRAMUS she'll go.   

Then takes the Sword, wherewith her Love was slain  
With PYRAMUS his crimson blood warm still.  
And said, Oh stay (blessed Soul) that so we twain  
May go together where we shall remain  
In endless joys, and never fear the ill  
Of grudging Friends: Then she herself did kill.   

To tell what grief their Parents did sustain,  
Were more than my rude Quill can overcome.  
Many a tear they spent but all in vain,  
For weeping calls not back the Dead again.  
They both were laid in one Grave, life done,  
And these few words were writ upon the Tomb.   

Epitaph.  

Underneath this Marble stone,  
Lie two Beauties joined in one.   

Two whose Loves Death could not sever,  
For both lived, both died together.   

Two whose Souls, being too divine  
For earth, in their own Sphere now shine.   

Who have left their loves to Fame,  
And their earth, to earth again.    
FINIS.   

AN ELEGY ON THE Death of the Right Honourable, DUDLEY Lord CARLETON, Viscount DORCHESTER, late Principal Secretary of State.  
THe infernal Sisters, did a Counsel call  
Of all the Fiends, to the black Stygian Hall;  
The dire Tartarean Monsters, hating light,  
Begot by dismal Erebus, and night.  
Wheresoever dispersed abroad, hearing the Fame  
Of their accursed meeting, thither came  
Revenge, whose greedy mind no Blood can fill,  
And Envy, never satisfied with ill.  
Thither blind Boldness, and impatient Rage,  
Resorted, with Death's neighbour envious Age,  
And Messengers diseases, wheresoever  
Then wand'ring, at that Senate present were:  
Whom to oppress the Earth, the Furies sent  
To spare the Guilty, vex the Innocent.  
The Counsel thus dissolved, an angry fever,  
Whose quenchless thirst, by Blood was sated never.  
Envying the Riches, Honour, Greatness, Love  
And Virtue (Loadstone, which all these did move)  
Of Noble CARLETON, him she took away,  
And like a greedy Vultur seized her prey:  
Weep with me each who either reads or hears,  
And know his loss, deserves his Country's tears:  
The Muses lost a Patron by his Fate,  
Virtue a Husband, and a Prop the State,  
SOL'S Chorus weeps, and to adorn his Hearse  
CALLIOPE would sing a Tragic verse.  
And had there been before no Spring of theirs,  
They would have made a Helicon with their tears.  
A. C.   

AN ELEGY ON THE Death of my loving Friend and Cousin, Mr. RICHARD CLERKE, late of LINCOLN'S- Inn Gentleman.  
IT was decreed by steadfast Destiny,  
(The World from Chaos turned) that all should Die.  
He who durst fearless pass black Acheron  
And dangers of th'infernal Region,  
Leading Hell's triple Porter captivate,  
Was overcome himself, by conquering Fate.  
The Roman TVLLIE'S pleasing Eloquence,  
Which in the Ears did lock up every Sense  
Of the rapt hearer, his Mellifluous breath  
Could not at all charm unremorseful Death.  
Nor SOLON so by Greece admired, could save  
Himself with all his Wisdom, from the Grave.  
Stern Fate brought MARO to his Funeral flame,  
And would have ended in that fire his Fame;  
Burning those lofty Lines, which now shall be  
Times conquerors, and outlast Eternity.  
Even so loved CLERKE from Death no escape could find,  
Though armed with great ALCIDES valiant mind.  
He was adorned in years though far more young,  
With learned CICERO'S, or a sweeter Tongue.  
And could dead VIRGIL hear his lofty strain,  
He would condemn his own to fire again.  
His youth a SOLON'S Wisdom did presage,  
Had envious Time but given him SOLON'S age.  
And all that in our Ancestors hath been  
Of any Virtue, earth now lost in him.  
Who would not therefore now if Learning's friend  
Bewail his fatal and untimely end:  
Who hath such hard, such unrelenting Eyes,  
As would not weeps when so much Virtue dies?  
The God of Poets doth in darkness shroud  
His glorious face, and weeps behind a Cloud.  
The doleful Muses thinking now to write  
Sad Elegies, their tears confound their sight:  
But him to Elysium's lasting joys they bring,  
Where winged Angels his sad Requiems sing.  
Abraham Cowley.   

A DREAM OF ELYSIUM.  
PHOEBUS' expulsed by the approaching Night  
Blushed, and for shame closed in his bashful light.  
Whilst I with leaden MORPHEUS overcome,  
The Muse whom I adore entered the room.  
Her hair with loser curiosity,  
Did on her comely back dishevelled lie.  
Her Eyes with such attractive beauty shone,  
As might have waked sleeping ENDYMION.  
She bid me rise, and promised I should see  
Those Fields, those mansions of Felicity  
We mortals so admire at: Speaking thus,  
She lifts me up upon winged Pegasus.  
On whom I rid: Knowing where ever sh●e  
Did go, that place must needs a Temple be.  
No sooner was my flying Courser come  
To the blessed dwellings of Elysium.  
When strait a thousand unknown joys resort,  
And hemmed me round: chaste loves, innocuous sport.  
A thousand sweets bought with no following Gall,  
joys not like ours, short, but perpetual.  
How many objects charm my wand'ring eye,  
And bid my soul gaze there eternally?  
here in full streams, BACCHUS thy liquor flows,  
Nor knows to ebb: here JOVE'S broad Tree bestows  
Distilling honey, here doth Nectar pass  
With copious current through the vardant grass.  
here HYACINTH, his fate writ in his looks.  
And thou NARCISSUS loving still the brooks,  
Once lovely boys; and Acis now a Flower,  
Are nourished, with that rarer herb, whose power  
Created the wars potent God, here grows  
The spotless Lily, and the blushing Rose.  
And all those diverse ornaments abound,  
That variously may paint the gaudy ground.  
No Willow, sorrow's garland, there hath room  
Nor Cypress, sad attendant of a Tomb.  
None but APOLLO'S tree, and th'Ivy twine  
Embracing the stout Oak, the fruitful Vine.  
And trees with golden Apples loaded down,  
On whose fair tops sweet PHILOMELA alone,  
Unmindful of her former misery,  
Tunes with her voice a ravishing Harmony.  
Whilst all the murmuring brooks that glide along  
Make up a burden to her pleasing song.  
No Screech-owl, sad companion of the night,  
Or hideous Raven with prodigious flight  
Presaging future ill. Nor Progne thee  
Yet spotted with young Ilis tragedy,  
Those Sacred bowers receive. There's nothing there,  
That is not pure, immaculate, and rare.  
Turning my greedy sight another way,  
Under a row of storme-contemning Bay  
I saw the Thracian singer with his lyre  
Teach the deaf stones to hear him, and admire.  
Him the whole Poet's Chorus compassed round,  
All whom the Oak, all whom the Laurel crowned.  
There banished OVID had a lasting home,  
Better than thou couldst give ingrateful Rome,  
And LUCAN (spite of Nero) in each vain  
Had every drop of his spilt blood again:  
HOMER, Sol's first borne, was not poor or blind,  
But saw as well in body, as in mind.  
TULLY, grave CATO, SOLON, and the rest  
Of Greece's admired Wisemen, hear possessed  
A large reward for their past deeds, and gain  
A life, as everlasting as their Fame.  
By these, the valiant Heroes take their place,  
All who stern Death and perils did embrace  
For Virtue's cause. Great ALEXANDER there  
Laughing at Earth's small Empire, did wear  
A nobler Crown, than the whole world could give.  
There did HORATIUS, COCLES, SCAEVA, live,  
And valiant DECIUS, who now freely cease  
From war, and purchase an Eternal peace.  
Next them, beneath a Myrtle bower, where Doves,  
And gall-less Pigeons build their nests, all Loves.  
Faithful perseverers, with amorous kisses,  
And soft embraces, taste their greediest wishes.  
LEANDER with his beauteous HERO plays,  
Nor are they parted with dividing Seas.  
PORCIA enjoys her BRUTUS, Death no more  
Can now divorce their wedding, as before.  
THISBE her PYRAMUS kissed, his THISBE he  
Embraced, each blessed with th'other's company.  
And every couple always dancing, sing  
Eternal Ditties to Elysium's King.  
But see how soon these pleasures fade away,  
How near to Evening is delights short Day?  
For th'watchful Bird, true Nuntius of the Light  
Strait crowed: and all these vanished from my sight.  
My very Muse herself forsook me too.  
Me grief and wonder waked: What should I do?  
Oh! let me follow thee (said I) and go  
From life, that I may Dream for ever so.  
With that my flying Muse I though to clasp  
Within my arm●s, but did a Shadow grasp.  
Thus chiefest joys glide with the swiftest stream,  
And all our greatest Pleasure's but a Dream.  
ABRA: COWLEY.  
FINIS.   

Some mistakes are passed in the Impression, which I beseech thee Gentle Reader to pardon.  
Vale. H. S.