THE POETICAL ESSAYS OF Alexander Craige SCOTOBRITANE. printer's device of William White, featuring a chariot drawn by dragons driven by a male figure or Triptolemus or Demeter (McKerrow 188β) Seen and allowed. Imprinted at London by Wllliam White, dwelling in Cow-lane near Holborn Conduit. 1604. THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK. WHen Dedal taught his tender Son to flee, Out through the subtle watery vaults of air: Go not too high, nor yet too low, said he: Of Floods beneath, of Fire above beware: So homebred Rhymes you Icare-like must rise, Midway betwixt the Vulgar and the Wise. For you shall be unto the vulgar sort No fit propine, because not understood: And with the Wise you must have small resort, Since they can reap in reading you no good: Like Dedalus I then direct, thus fly, Go neither low, nor yet I pray too high. And though you be directed to a King, By any means approach not Court I pray, For some will say my precepts prick and sting, And some shall scorn, some carp, some cast away: But (as you must) if toward Court you go, Since friends are few, I pray you breed no foe. Aerij montes et mollia prata, nemusque et vos carminibus flumina not a meis, Quod me tam gracilem voluistis ferre Poetam indignor, magnae laudis amore calens. TO MY DREAD SOVEREIGN JAMES, by the grace of God, of Britain, France and Ireland, King. CAtulus Lactatius having done the utmost of his endeavours to stay his Soldiers that fled before their enemies, put himself among the Runaways, and dissembled to be a Coward, to bear them company; That so they might rather seem to follow their Captain, then run away from the Enemy: This was a neglecting of his reputation, to conceal the shame and reproach of others. I have (accomplished Archi-Monarch) with the rest of these Boreo-Britan Poets, been ingrately silent; and with the cold ashes of Fear, have covered the coals of my Love: Because (as Archileonida said to the Thracian Legates, There were many more more valiant Citizens in Sparta, than her Son Brasidas,) I found myself but a doltish Cheril, among so many delicate Homers: And thus, neither durst I praise thy Fortunes, nor congratulate thy Greatness; But now am bold to present to your most sacred eyes these lovely litures, both to encourage others, & make satisfaction for my (seeming ingratitude) long silence. I intent not with those Macedonian Parasites to call Alexander, the Son of jupiter: nor with Hermodorus to make Antigonus the son of Phoebus. I writ not to enlarge thy fame, which is boundless; nor to beg reward, which I merit not; nor to purchase praise, which I crave not; but in few lines to show the infinity of my Love to your Grace. When Vitellius, at the Battle of Cremona was slain, the Parthian King Vologesus sent Ambassadors to Vespasian, offering him forty thousand Parthian Horsemen to aid him, (This was a glorious and joyful thing to be sought unto with offers of so great assistance, and yet not to need them): So thanks were given to Vologesus, and he at perpetual peace from thenceforth with the Romans. I have sent (dread Liege) those Papers congratulatory, and Paroenetic, to your Majesty, not that your Highness needs them, but with Vologesus, to show my Love to Vespasian, and purchase his thanks. If you like my labours, they come not too late: if you loathe them, they come too soon to light. Thus, bold as a true and loving Subject, fearful as a blushing and onmanumitted Apprentice in Poesy, I remain your Majesty's, Born Subject, and bound beadman, Alexander Craige. TO THE READER. THE famous Grecians had a Law, (though after mitigated by Charondas) that who soever for fear did run away from Battle, should be punished with death. So, lest I should come in the reverence of that Law, or be called a Cowward, I have presumed to publish these my long conceited Poems to common light: And like that valiant Bayard (who feeling himself deadly wounded, and unable to sit on his Horse, commanded his Soldiers to lay him against a tree, but in such sort, as he might die with his face to the Enemy) I resolve, since I have already from wisest censors, received my death shot, by printing my papers, to die with my face to the Foe. And since (loving Lector) Non omnibus datur adire Corinthum, I am contented to be pointed at for a foolish Poet, so I may be reputed a faithful Subject. Mauricius forewarned by Dreams, and sundry Prognostications, that Phocas should kill him, demanded of Philip his son in law who this Phocas was? Who answered, he was a faint and cowardly fellow. The Emperor thereby concluded, he was both cruel, and a murderer. I fear no foe () save fainting Phocas, who cowardly concealing his own, will cruelly murder my Verses. Thus humbly submitting my homely labours to thy charitable casligation, I rest. Thine as thou decerns and deserves, Alexander Craige. 1. SONNET. TO HIS MAJESTY. WHen others cease, now I begin to sing; And now when others hold their peace, I shout: (The Lord preserve sweet Leonatus King, That he may rule great Britain round about:) But if perhaps your Majesty shall doubt, what makes me sing when others hold their peace: My rustic Muse when as each one cried out, Can not be heard from so remote a place, Dumb Wonder then my Sense did so confound, The greater stroke astonisheth the more, When as I heard thy name so much renowned, I felt as lying in a sound no sore: But now reviv'd, I sing, when others cease, (In wont mercy Lord preserve thy Grace.) 2 WIth mutual loss, with none or little gain, When Ilium fair was fully set on fire, Proud Paris by his hoary rival slain, And Tyndaris brought back to her Empire: I know not if the Phrygians did require Melitides, but lo when Troy was wracked, Kind fool he came (some say at their desire) Yet said he nought, but sighed to see them sacked: He than was kind, I hinder now great Prince: He wept, I smiled, to see thy Troy but blood: He sent for, I unsought, and had long since Been here, if that my coming could done good: Yet in this point our kindness I conione, We come kind fools to help when all is done. 3 GReat Pompey caused his Heralds to proclaim A public Feast to nations far and near, The young, the old, the rich and poor, all came, As welcome guistes unto that Princely cheer: One blind man at a lame began to spear, What shall we do? go said the lame, take way, I shall be guide, thou on thy back shall bear My lamed limbs; and thus they keep the day. Look peerless Pompey on my Lines and me, They lame, and I without thy sight am blind: We come from farthest Scotish coasts to thee, Some portion of thy royal Feast to find: It rests in thee to welcome us therefore, And make me rich, that I may beg no more. TO THE kings MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY. Epistle congratulatory & Peraenetic. Scarce had my Muse respired the smallest space, From painting praises of our civil Pace, Packed up by thee most gracious King of late In Calidons disturbed unquiet state, When lo the kalends of this pleasant Spring, Unto my ears did joyful tidings bring, That blessed Eliza had resigned her breath, And paid the last and hindmost debt to death: (O fearful death! the fatal end of all, With equal Mace thou chaps both great and small) And thou designed her Diadems to weyre, Of royal blood her nighest agnat heir. Thou like a Noah long has kept thy Ark, Thoyld many storm by day, and gloomy dark: Yet would not break thy ward till time thy God, Hath lent thee leave, and bids thee walk abroad: But his command since thou would nothing do, Lo he hath joined his blessings thereunto. Come forth with Wife and Children, sweet command, The blessing breok and multiply the land. Thus am I solved of all my wont doubt, Nor wits nor weirdes thy fortunes brings about, But that eternal providence above: Which thou art bound to serve, with fear and love. Those news of new, have waked my sleeping vain, And makes me write unto your Grace again Most hearty greetings of thy happy chance, Since thou art King of England, Ireland, France, Besides that famous and unmatched renown Of thy unconquered old and Scottish Crown. Long desuetude hath rusted so my quill, My wits are weak, but great is my good will. Though scoffing Idiots will my pains deprave, And Aristarchus all the credit have. I am to thee (dread Leigt) thy aery Elf: I borrow but thy words to praise thyself. Let Muse-foe Mars elsewhere abroad go dwell, Of wars and wounds let foreign Fachions smell: Peace dwells with thee, where it hath dwelled so long. Prone to propel, and to permit no wrong. Wise Periander wreates that Crowns of Kings, On many fearful fluctuations hangs: And that a Monarch's surety no way stood In victories, in warrie broils, and blood: But in the love of subjects trust and true, Thence said the saige did settling sure ensue. Grave Xenophon thy registers records, That deeing Cyrus spoke those self same words. Aratus rare, said so to Philip great, That love and peace confirms a King's estate: In speculation Schoolmen been diume, But thou exceeds them Sovereign Sire sensine: For thou has put their sacred gnom's in ure, Perfection in thy practic makes thee sure. Let foreign lands now look with envies eye, And who would rule, let him come learn at thee: When ather Momus or Rhamnusia barks, Thy wits are wondrous both in wreats and work. Oft times said Otho in a rage, that he Had rather choose nor be a King to die. And Diocletian said, to be a King, And well to rule, was most difficile thing. When Dionise at Siracusa swear That Damocles some while his Crown should wear: But being crowned, he plainly did protest He never could-be blithe to be so blest. Were those on life for to behold thee now. They could not reign, nor could they rule as thou. Thy match on mould nor was, nor yet shall be: Thus might they learn for to be Kings at thee. Ariston's praise is thine, as I suppose, Thou keeps thy friends, and reconciles thy foes: Vespasian-like, whom Rome obeyed with love, A Shepherd both, and careful King you prove: Thy fold been broke, and lo thou has ta'en pain: To recollect thy erring flocks again. Thy Sceptre and thy Sheephook both are one, Thou under heaven, their Herd and Lord alone. And now as Homer painted Priam forth, Thou has beside thee men of wit and worth: Can any harm or strange thing now betide thee, Vcalegon Antenor are beside thee. Like Macedo the wondering world may doubt thee, Parmenio and Philotas are about thee. For all these Kingdoms which thou dost command, A part by hop's, a happy part in hand, Thou has a Kingdom to thyself unknown, Look rightly too, and Cecil is thine own. Were Plato now on life, then would he say That thy republics blessed are this day: For thou art wise, and now wise counsel haunts, And with thy wisdom thou supplies their wants. Yet this much more I plainly must impart, A friendly counsel from a faithful heart: Though far from jove and thunderclaps I dwell, My Lines of love, of truth, and zeal shall smell, Read then my Rhymes most wise and prudent Prience, And let a Hog, teach minerve, but offence. Not that I think your Grace has any need, Or knows not else what's here before you reed. No, I attest great sacred jove above, I only writ to manifest my love: While in my tugure (such is my estate) I take repast of poor unpeppered Kate. I thank my God for such as he doth give, And prays withal, that well, and long thou live: And in seces at solitary times, Thou art remembered in my rustic Rhymes. Sinetas poor unto the Persian King, Cold water in his hollow palm did bring: Which Artaxerxes lovingly out-dranke, And gave Sinetas both reward and thank. Right so those rivols of my poor Engine, I here present, from out this palm of mine. Read then (dread Liege) those travails of my love. Elaborate, and done for thy behove. 1 Thus I begin, since adulations vain, In Courts wid Kings and Monarch must remain: To assentators thou must give some ear, But be no prouder of their praise a hair: For Macedo would needs be called a God, And to this end his Edicts blew abroad: Which on his head did heap disgrace the rather Sith he ashamed that Philip was his father. 2 Give Parasites enough, but not too much, And be not lavish, lest thy luck be such As Timon Coliteus, who outspent On Demeas and Gnatonides his rent; Of that unthankful number live a new, To promise much, and to perform but few: Be thou the stone (precellent Prince) of such, For to secerne the honest minds from such. 3 The faithful man that once hath done thee good, And for thy life hath ventured life and blood; Be thankful still to him, do not despite him, But with thyself think thou can ne'er acquit him: Prove not unkind to cause true Photion die, That thus hath fought, and won the field for thee, But when such frieuds so nigh thy sides are seen, Remember then but them thou had not been. 4 Serapion who is not taught to speike, Let him not want, suppose he shame to seike: He is thine own, and loves thee as the leave, His speaking looks will tell when he would have: Be (prudent Prince) a Pompey in this case, A benefit unsought hath double grace. 5 Change not too oft the Rulers of thy state, For that may breed intestive strange debate: The Fleeis else full, from sucking more will slake, But hungry Gnats will make thy wounds to ache: I pray for them as did Hymera old, For Dionise, the tigtish tyrant bold, (Lord save said she, our King from death, disgrace, For were he gone, a worse would get his place) Since in this point th'apodosis is plain, I turn my style unto your Grace again. 6 If any friend in loving form reveal Twixt you and him your o'ursights, love him well: (Since Plato says, the bravest minds bring forth Both hateful vice, and virtue of most worth. Wise Plutarch writes, in fertile Egypt grew With medicable, enuenomd herbs anew.) Do no rebuke, nor public shame approve, But friendly counsel, which proceeds from love: Be not a drunk Cambyses in despair, For counsel kind to kill Prexaspes heir. 7 Take Turinus, and smoke him to the death, Who falsely sells for bribes thy royal breath. 8 Though Alexander in a raging ire, For praising Philip his renowned Sire, Kind Clitus killed, be thou more meek in mind, And to the praisers of thy Parents kind. 9 Within thy heart let no injustice haunt, Let not the wronged man weep for justice want: Pansanias plaints proud Philip did disdain, And cruelly for his contempt was slain. 10 A Woman old fell down upon her knee, And cried Demetr. us, hear my plaints and me? I have no leisure answered he again. He takes no leisure said the wife to reign. Do not thine ears Demetrius-like obdure, With patience hear the sad and plaintive poor. 11 Proud Leo spoiled justinian his crown, Deformed his face, and cut his nose quite down: But when he got his Diadems again, He punished those that erst procured his pain. Each gut of rheum that from his nose did flow, Gave argument for to cut off a foe. O do not thou great Prince delight in blood! Of cruelty thou knows can come no good; Be thou Lycurgus, though thou lacks one ee. Forgive Alcander, make him man to thee. 13 Vitellius-like have not a facile will, Now to grant grace, and strait command to kill. 13 Great are thy fortunes, far beyond belief. Thou needs no Realms, nor foreign rents by reif. Thy mind may well luxuriat in thy wealth, Thy Crown's are thine but blood or strife or stealth: And since thy fortunes are so rare: O then! Each day with Philip, think thou art a man. 14 Though Agathocles Sicil did enjoy, Yet was he sometime but a Potter's Boy: And that his pride should not become too great, In vessels but of loam he took his meat. Thy wit's the weird's with great promotion tries, For wonder few are happy both and wise: Though thou be free from blasts of any storm, Be humil still, and keep thy wont form. 15 Wreat not thy Law's with blood as Draco did, The God of heaven such cruelty forbidden: A happy Life, makes ay a happy end, Be thou a Solon, Dracois Law's to mend. 16 Herodotus the Histor, and right so The Poet Pindars wreats, with many more, That Monarch's great, examples good should give, Since from their Lords the Laiks learn to live. Kinkes be the glass, the very fcoole, the book, Where private men do learn, and read, and look: Be thou th'attractive Adamant to all, And let no wicked wrist thy wits to fall. Go not to Delphos where Apolio stands, Licurgus-like with offerings in thy hands, By hellish votes and oracles to see What to thy Law should paired or eiked be: From great jehovah counsel seek, and he Shall give both Gnom's and Oracle's to thee, And shall thy spirit with prudence so inspire, As all the world shall wonder and admire. 17 From Countries far great King behold and see, With rich Oblations Legates come to thee: With Vexores, and Tanais be glaide, Of fame and honour let it not be said, Thou art a greedy Ninus; fie for shame, That were a stain unto thy Noble name. 18 Last, since thou art the child of Peace, I see Thy works, and writes, are witness both with me: (Thy works I have no leisure to unfold; And though I had, are tedious to be told: Thy Writes are wondrous both in prose and rhyme) Let Virtue wax and flourish in thy time: Though thou be best, and greatest both of Kings, 'mongst Poets all, is none so sweetly singes. Thou art the sweet Musaeus of our days; And I thy Apprentice, and must give thee praise: Some other Writer must thy Worth proclaim, Thou shalt not sing upon thyself for shame: Thou hast transalpine Poets of thine own, Whose tragic Cothurus through the world are known: Thou has likewise of homebred Homer's store, Poor Craige shall be thy Cheryl, and no more, Since all my life suppose I Poetze, I see seavin Philippeans must suffice: Not that thou art not liberal at will; No, no, wise Prince, but cause my Verse are ill. Yet since this fury is but lent to few, Let us not want, thou shalt have Verse anew: If these seem pleasant, I shall sing again; If not, I will from being bold abstain, And cease to write; but never cease to pray, The God of heaven preserve thee night and day. THE MOST VIRTUOUS and accomplished Prince ANNA, Queen of Britain, France, and Ireland; Complaineth the absence of her Lord and Spous JAMES, King of the foresaid Realms. WHere habit was, dwells sad Privation now, And I am made an Orphan from delight: To want the sweet fruition of thy sight, In baleful bed my body when I bow, Yea neither can I tell, nor can ye trow, How black alas and noisome is each night, Nor yet how loathsome is this common light, Since absence made divorce twixt me and you. I am thy Phaebae, thou my Phoebus fair: I have no light nor life, but lent from thee, Cursed then be absence, causer of my care, Which makes so long this loathed eclipse to be. What wonder I through lake of presence pine? Worm's have alas their Sun, and I want mine. Scotland's Tears. WHen fabling Aesop was at fatal Delphos ta'en, And there by doom condemned to be precipitat & slain He like a woman weeped, and took delight in teaires, 'Cause they alleviat and made less the conscience of his caires. But Solon when he spied his dearest son was dead, He weepd the more, because his teaires to grief gave no remead: Yet neither he nor he by teaires could salve his ill, Though of those salt and fruitless floods impetuus spaits they spill Then maimed Scotland thou made Orphan from delight, Whom all the hosts of heavens abhor with undeserved despite. With deeing Aesop mourn, or woeful Solon weep: And though as they, thou weep in vain let not thy sorrow sleep: With frustrate Aesau shout, curse life and wish to dye, Since jacob with his mothers help thy blessing steals from thee: Now rival England brag, for now, and not till now Thou has compelled unconquered hearts & sturdy necks to bow. What neither wits, nor wars, nor force afore could frame, Is now accomplished by the death of thy Imperial Dame. Eliza fair is gone, into the land of rest, To that Elysium predecried and promised to the blessed: And England for her sake now weaires the sabill weed, But Scotland if thou rightly look thou has more cause indeed. They for a Diana dead, Apollo's beams enjoy, And all their straying steps alas, our Titan doth tonnoy Now dawn's their glorius day with Phoebus' rays bespread, And we are but Cymmerian slaves with gloomy clouds ou'reled. Rich neighbour nation then, from thy complaining cease: Not thou, but we should sigh, & so to our complaints give place. Our Garland lacks the Rose, our chatton tins the stone, Our Volier wants the Philomela, we left alas alone. What art thou Scotland then? no Monarchy alas, A oligarchy desolate, with straying and onkow face, A maimed body now, but shaip some monstrous thing, A reconfused chaos now, a country, but a King. When Paris fed his flocks among the Phrygian plains, Aenone's love was his delights, his death were her disdains. But when alas he knew that Priam was his Sire, He left Aenone sweet, and sign for H●lene would aspire. Proud Pellex England so thou art the adulterate bird, Who for Aenone thinks no shame to lie by Paris sid. Who knows ere it be long, but our your happy King, With Belgic, Celtic, Aquitan, to his Empire may bring? And he (why should he not) your Troynavant shall leave, And unto Parise spur the post, his right for to receive? Then, then shall England weep, and shed abounding teaires, And we shall to our comfort find companions in our caires. And till it so befall, with pity, not with scorn, Upon this confined Kingdom look, as on a land forlorn: Wise Plato would not once admit it in his mind, He loved Xenocrates so well, he could become unkind, And no more can we think dread Liege, though thou be gone, Thou will ungratly leave us thus disconsolat alone, By Contrars Contrars placed, no doubt most clearly kith, And now thy absence breeds our bale, whose biding made us blithe. O were thou not both wise and good, we should not mourn, We would not for thy absence weep, nor wish for thy return. Long sleep made Rufus lose the use of both his e'en. O do not thou sweet Prince make stay, lest thou forget us clean Like Epimenides when thou returns again: The shapp of all things shall be chaing ':, thine own sheep shallbe slain, Democrit rather choose no King at all to be, Then over wicked men to rule, and such alas are we: Our jewel England joys, & yet no way doth wrong us; The world may see we were not worth, that thou should be among us: But since it must be thus, and thou art forced to flit, Now like a Heart in to the mids of thy great body sit: And from thy Troynavant, which pleasures store impairts, Behold thy Kingdom's round about thy hand in all the Airts; Examples old thou takes, and layis before thy face, The famous Numids thought the midst to be most honoured place Thus by Hyempsals side Adherbal Sallust sets, And so jugurtha in the midst we read no intrance gets. Grave Maro makes likway, the Queen of Cartage brave, Betwixt Ascanius and the wise Aeneas, place to have, Doth not Apollo too in proudest pomp appear, With bright and day-adorning beams in his meridian sphere? So thou has choosed the midst, of all thy Kingdom's known; For look about thee where thou list, thou looks but on thine own And since the God's decree (Great King) that so shall be, Since Peace must flourish in thy time, & Wars must cease & die, But competition too, since thou has England's Crown, Which was a Heptarchy of old, of uncontrolled renown, Let Us and Al-bi-on, that we with one consent, One God, one King, one Law, may be t'adore, serve, keep, content. In Rome the Sabins grew, with Tyrians Troyans' mixed, And juda joined with Israel, but lest we seem prolixt, And that our loving plaints, and tears may now take end, Thee to thy Crowns, thy Crowns to thee, the great good God defend. CALIDONS' COMPLAINT At the apparent Voyage to her England, of ANNA Queen of Great Britain, France, and Ireland: with HENRY Prince of Wales, her most gracious Son. AND shall no light at all to len us light be left? Shall Sun, Moon, fixed & those small erratic stars be reft? And was it not enough that Titan took the flight? Might not sweet Cynthia yet made stay for to have lent us light? Since Sun and Moon must go, & that bright Harry star, Let Pluto now compare with us in darkness if he darr, From darkness was alas our derivation old The fatal name MKOTIA nought but darkness doth unfold, Shall our estate alas from state be thus downthrowne, Shall Scotland henceforth have again no crowned K. of their own? Shall we from King, Queen, Prince, & all their brood dissever? And shall not Scotland be again inhabited for ever? Shall ghastly Ziim cry, and Oim make there sport, Within the Palaces where once but Monarch's made resort? At liberty alas shall Fauns and Satyrs lope, And to a hellish cold despair convert our former hope: And dare not Orpheus look but once again aback? Or shall we find nothing at all, but fundamental wrack? Would God that umquhyle Dame (the wisest Dame in deed, That ever Britain erst hath borne, or yet again shall breed) Would God as yet she were to brook her trident Mace, Then should we not been pointed at for wreck, scorn, & disgrace Thou sailed the glassy salt and conquered endless fame, In prime of love Heroic Prince, to see thy Danish Dame, In sl●eing towers of tree thou croced the bounded Roars, And brought our Queen, thy sacred Spous to Caledonian shores wind, O let not love wax cold! nor be not now unkind, Thou need not fear for foamy floods, nor pray for prosperous Since she sweet Dame is seik, thy son but young in years, With Cancer Leo burns above into their torrid Spheres: Make then a blessed return to see them both again, But o alas! we ware those words unto the winds in vain: For they must go to thee; more to increase our cares, And leave no thing behind them here, but sorrow, sighs, & teairs. Then whereto serve those plaints? who thinks what is appointed, Or what the Destanies decrees to do with their Anointed. Nor Dou●ir, nor those Alps, nor Tiber's volted Arch, Unto that Archunonarche great King james must be a March: The heavins of the great Prince hade care in to thy Coode, And kept thee when thou no thing knew of ather bad or good. How many treasons strange, and conspirations great, Have been contrived against thy crown, & standing of thy state? Before thou was, and since thou has eskaiped huge snares. Be blithe Tued marched thy kingdoms once, & now must march thy cares Thy name shall be enough to conquer seas & lands, And manumit afflicted Grece from Turks and tyrants hands. When Rome shall be subdued, may thou no go abroad, And make Byzantium old obey the great alguiding God. But if thou greyus great King our grieved hearts to glade, Of thy triennall visiting, perform thy promeiss made. Fair gracious Dame, whose match nor was, nor shall be seen, Though fortune smile, remember yet that thou was first our Queen Accompleisd peerless Prince in body both and mind, Think on thy native soil with love, and be not called unkind: And so since King, Queen, Prince, and all our all must go, The Trinity above preserve this Trinity below. ELIAZABETH, LATE QUEEN OF ENGLAND, HER GHOST. CEase loving Subjects, cease my death for to deplore, And do no more with dreary cries my doleful hearse decore Though like Cynegirus, when both the hands are gone, Ye would detain me with your teeth in my Imperial throne. Be Thracians now I pray, and henceforth cease to moon, Ere it be long in quiet peace ye shall find five for one: For if you can believe my prophetizing ghost, Aeneas gave Anchises trust, you shall not think me lost. The death of one (some say) the birth of one should be: Three nails & femels two you have, most famous five for me: For as I sealed my Will, my Designation dew, And did concredit by the rest to my Achates true: So now my ghost is glad, that by my care his pain, My countries have their lawful King, the King his crowns again, Then bransh imbellised soil, most pleasant, most perfit: The only earthly Eden now for pleasure and delight. Rich England now rejoice, heave up to heaven thy hands. The blessed Lord hath blest thy bounds beyond all other lands. Since no Sardanapal is now become thy King, No Dionise nor Nero proud, my death to thee doth bring. A King unwoont to give, or yet to take offence: A godly David ruleth now, a Prophet and a Prince. The Pupil now is blithe, the Widow weeps not now, No depredations in thy bounds, the Rushbush keeps the Kow, The Lions now agree, and do in Peace delight: The Thirsel now defends & guards the red Rose & the white. The british Saints shake hands with crosses joined and spread, Whose colours on the glassy salt no terror small have bred: Those now conjoined in one through Neptune's bounded roars, Shall make the venturing mercheand sail secure to forane shores: Flee swift-wingd Fame & tell the best & rarest news That time hath yet brought forth by night or days delightful hews, For Ships & Swans most rich, most fair, & famous Thamis, Tell Neptune, Thetis, Triton too the haps of great king JAMES. Thou murdering Galliglas, who long my Laws withstood, Learn to obey, and bathe no more thy blade in british blood: All you my subjects deire, do homage dew to him, And that shall make my blessed ghost in boundless joys to swim. SONNET, To his Majesty of the Union of the two famous Realms Scotland and England. SCilurus had twice forty Children male, And teaching them in peace to pass their days, And that no foe should 'gainst their force prevail, His loving mind he wisely thus bewrays: A bundle of Darts before their eyes he lays, And prayed each Son to break the same: at length, When he and he to crush those Darts assays, But all in vain; he told them Unions strength. You are a Father, and a famous Prence, Great are the bounds which are great King thine own, And like a sacred Scilure in this sense, Keeps Britain whole, lest it should be overthrown. The God of heaven effect what thou intends, And bring thy projects to their happy ends. To the Queen's most Excellent Majesty. 1. SONNET. IN Pallas Church did wretched Irus stand, And saw her painted on the Chalk-whit wall, With Book in one, and Sword in other hand: And on his face (poor soul) did flatlings fall. Sign said aloud, since I alas am thrall To poverty, that I may not propine Thy Godhead great, with gift nor great nor small, Yet while I live, my service shall be thine. So all the powers of this my poor Engine, Shall be (Fair Dame) employed to pen thy praise. Thou in Cymmerian gloomy dark shall shine, And on thy Virtues, worlds to come shall gaize. Thus Irus-like wise Pallas I adore, And honour thee, since I can do no more. 2. SONNET. Of her highness natal; being the shortest day. GReat mighty JOVE from his imperial place, And all the GOD'S for blitheness of Thy Birth, Came down from Heaven to see thy fairest face, Glad to Be guarded by thy beauty's girth. And Neptune fet his Flocks out through the Firth, With all the Nymphs in Floods and Seaiss that dwell: On Balens backs they mounted, made their mirth, To see thy shapp, all leiving leids excel: And Phoebus' father to the fool that fell, In lowest state his yocked Horse did stay; But fearing lest thy beams should burn him sell, He stole aback, and upward went away. And for thy saik thy natal day each year, He visits yet into his lowest spheir. 3. SONNET. New year Gift. THis Apill round I send, o matchless fare! As children do for thrice als good again, Not such as that by which th' Enbean rare, The love of his Atlanta suift did gane: Nor that by which Acontius did beguile Cydippe sweet in sacred Diana's Fane. My mind abhors all such invention vile, No secre it slight doth in my gift remane: It more resembleth that which Ate threw 'mongst Pallas, juno, Venus, Dames divine. To thee great Queen of all this courtly crew, I do present this painted A pill mine. Were it of Gold, or Paris I, fair Dame, It should be thine, thou best deserves the same. 4. SONNET. THose famous old Gymnosophists of Ind, Which Alexander did so much admire, And counted but as churlish and unkind, 'Cause they refused his offered Gold and geir. Their greatest care and study was we heir, To view and mark the motions of the Sun, To know his courses in his Zodiac Spheir. From Phospor's rising till the night begun. Such is my state, O sacred Saint by thee, I am a poor Gymnosophist of thine, Thou art that Sun which I delight to see, No wealth I wish but that on me thou shine. They longed for night, so longsome was their day, Blithe would I be for to behold thee ay. TO THE VIRTUOUS AND ACCOMPLISHED Sir JAMES HAY Knight, one of his highness most royal bedchamber. WHen a bad Wrestler became a knavish Physician, Courage (said Diogenes to him) thou has reason so to do; for now shalt thou help to put them in the ground, who heretofore have laid thee on it. I am from a luckless lover, become an infortunate Poet, and have determined with Courage, to write Ditties against my rival, that breeds my disgraces, and with Archilochus, jambics, I mind to make Lycambes hang himself. Agrippina foretold by Astrologues, that her Son Nero should kill her: answered. Let him kill me, so he may be Emperor, and succeed to Claudius: all my senses in woeful lingage (which makes me beg thy patrociny) like facidic Astrologs tell me my Pamphlet of the Cuckoo and Philomela, shallbe unwelcome to many, and receive strange Commentartes: but if you be content, I care not; my greatest ambition is to breed your content: my pleasure to please you, whose Adamantive virtues have drawn the Iron of my love. In public or private, in peaceable negotiations, or occupations to live, or die greatly, or gloriously, I know no form or fortune of man, I can admire or regard with so much honour, with so much love; yea, at all adventures of life & death, thou mayest command. Thine own poor friend and servant, CRAIGE. THE CUCKOO, AND PHILOMELA. CRAIGE to his Rival. THE Cuckoo once (some say) would Philomela assail, Arachne-like, if she or she in singing should prevail: The garrient Goke would needs with Progne's sister strive, And proudly press poor Philomela of due praise to deprive Then was the long eared Ass made judge unto their Song, Who with the Cuckoo sentence gave, & wrought the other wrong. O Arbiter unfit to such discording tunes, Yet jarring notes from Layis divine rude Nature still seiuns. This makes poor Philomela repent, and oft repeit, In thorny braiks by sabill night th' Arcadian beasts decreet. Such is my careful case, my rival foe I see, For all these charming Songs of mine is far preferred to me: For all the Sonnets sweet that I can sing or say, Or send to her, I come no speid, the Cuckoo is my stay: And she whom still I serve, most like that long eared beast, Makes me by her decreet to leave inglorious and disgraced. But what remeid I rest, content to want reward, Since Cuckoos are in such account, and Philomela debarred. Since Phoebus' stcops to Pan, and minerve glad to yield Unto th'envenomed Spider's web, I gladly lose the field, Yet shall I still complain, nay shall she heir me ery, The Philomela sings to herself, and henceforth so shall I. APOLOGY FOR HIS RIVAL. THE Cuckoo once ('tis true) in singing, did compare With Progne's sister Philomela, pandion's daughter fair: And then the Asine grave, pronounced a sentence true, For many arguments, of which fond Rival read those few. The Cuckoo with sweet songs salutes the yearly Spring, Poor Philomela in tragic tunes of Terens wrongs doth sing. Through tops of tallest trees the soaring Cuckoo flies, While Philomela in lowest shrubs complains, despairs, & dies. The Cuckoos not's declare of human life the date, While hart-broke Philomela must still her painful plaints repeat. The Cuckoo sings her name, no borrowed note nor strange, While Philomela for Itis blood, a thousand tunes must change. The Titling doth attend the Cuckoo late and air, And of her eggs and Plumeles birds she takes continual care, None tends poor Philomela, for all her charms and chrils, Yea if she fleip, the pointed thorn out-through her breist-bone thrills The Cuckoo spends the Spring in mirth both eve and morn, And to the ielus heirar still portends the forked Horn. At juno's suit great jove became a Cuckoo fair: Why should the brood of Grecian Kings, with Gods above compare? Then Phoebus stoop to Pan, be minerve glad to yeeild Unto th'envenomed Spider's web, for thou must lose the field: And thou must be content to weep, and want reward, Since Cuckoos are in such account, and Philomela debarred. Thou to thyself complains, alone thou weeps and murns, Do so poor soul till fortune change, whose favour goes by turns. APPELLATION TO THE LION. THe Lion some time went abroad to spy his prey, And with the Fox he made the Ass companions of his way, Through wildsome wails ways, & foreign fells they far, To find some food, which found, the Ass would needs divide & share, And thus triparts the pray, and sets his terce aside: Yet died therefore; just punishment of ignorance and pride. But lo the fraudful Fox did greeid and grief disgyse, And by the Asins misery with wealth of wills was wise, Now neither perils past, nor no examples new, Can move the Asins of this age; O damned iudocil crew: That long eaird beast my judge hath made my rival sleep, Fools concolor in favours lap, while I poor wretch must weep. Then Lion great of Kings, and King of Lions all, To thee my Sovereign and my judge, I do appeal and call: Thou hears and sees my wrongs, thou must dread Liege alone Correct the Cuckoo, and detrude the Asine from his throne. I like Xantippus Dog, have faund and followed thee, And will thou suffer me in sight of Salamin to die. It grieves my heart to see those Cuckoos of the Spring, Those tamed beasts, whom Bion haits, what flattering tunes they sing. I burst when I behold brave Homer's Cloak so bare, When cu'ry fool & simple sheep the golden fleece doth wear To thee alone I fly, in hope to find refuge: Why should the lewd and lazy Ass to numered lyus be judge? My Fortune and my Fate do both depend on thee, My Spring expireth, shall I sing, or shall I silent be? Set down thy sentence heir, and quickly cure my care, Or let my wretched life take end twixt silence and despair. EPISTLE TO HIS FRIEND. I Am fully persuaded, that no man living hath a more forgetful mind of benefits received, than myself; and none more maliciously mindful of smallest injuries, then miserable I: In the first a Melitides, who could not number five: In the last, a vindictive Darius, who lest he should forget the wrongs he received from the Athenians, caused his Paige when soever he sat down to his Table, sing to him, Sir remember the Athenians. Thy courtasies, thy loving kindness, thy hospitality, patrociny in perils, and thy omnerited munificence are all forgotten, and thy least escapes (Anonym friend) are here too much remembered, which both condems thy inconstancy, and my unkindness: thy wavering, and my weakness. The Pythagorians make good to be finite, and evil infinite: so is human waikenes readier to repay in greatest measure the smallest evil, then to repay in smallest measure the greatest good received: read then () thy faults, and my follies: and while thou reads, mend the first in thyself, and pity the last in Thine old, and if thou will, yet loving Friend, CRAIGE. TO HIS ANONIM FRIEND and Mistress PALINODE. IN Annals old we read jove had but daughters two, The one with Ceres he begat, Proserpina hight, and so Her for her beauties saik, proud Pluto Prince of hell, Amid the flowery meadows spoiled, and keeps unto him sell: The other Helen fair in likeness of a Swan, He got with Leda, and beguiled poor Tyndarus her man, Her Theseus took away, and had to Athens home, And made her Hymen's rapture long ere Menelaus come. Thus jove no daughter had unspoyld at all you see, Yet must Pirithous have one to keep his oath, or dye. Brave Theseus was his friend, his love he would not have: Then must Proserpina be spoiled from Pluto's pitchy cave: (For who can be content bright beauty should be chained, Or in Cymmerian gloomy dark with Dis should be detained?) Thus to the hells he haists, and is by Cerber slain: And Theseus till Alcides came, in fetters did remain: O monument most rare of true and perfect love, Which neither beauty nor the hells could any way remove. Though Tyndaris was blazed the brightest that hath been, Pirithous would from her love for Theseus love absteene: And when Pirithous took journey towards hell, Brave Theseus would accompany his friend, as stories tell: But faith, nor truth on earth, nor friendship now is none, And Pythias now will lose his life, or Damon come again. There is no love alas upon this mournful mould, Lest Mydas-like a man may turn each thing by tuch in gold. False Eriphile now regards but greeid of gain, And will betray Amphiaraus to get a golden chain. The Belidean Dames in number five times ten, (There is no Hypermnestra now) will kill their married men. False proud Polynices will Theban crown possess, And banish poor Eteocles 'gainst parents will express: And proud Plexirtus too Leonats' bastard brother, Makes Tydeus strive with Tolenor, and one to kill the other. Urania Klaius stirs with Strephen still to strive. Nor can the Prince of Macedon find Musidor online. Thus look from sex to sex, no faith nor truth remains, Crows flee but where the Carrion lies, & worldlings go for gains, I speak not now alas, by speculation vain, A practic in my person past procurs my peerless pain: For why, I sometime had a Mistress and a Friend, She falls fault frequent to that sex: he les worth nor I weened; She limping Vulcan still admits in Mavors' bed, He like a subtle Sinon goes in Damon's livery clad: She Pluto black for me doth in her bed embrace, He but a cause hath cast me off: O carecontryving case. Was thou not once to me Pandora deir and sweit, Till thou untied the baleful box with painful plagues repleit.? And was thou not again a Kallias unto me? But foolish Alcibiad I, to trust so much in thee. Then, Sometime Friend, farewell; farewell my late lost Love: A Lais light, a Sinon falls, thus makes me to remove. Betwixt this doleful deuce, how can my days endure, Sense he hath played the hypocrite, and she the hateful hoore? And yet for kindness old, I will conceyl your names, And make your conscience black, a judge to both your secret shames: And sense both thou, and thou, have thus contrived my fall, Dis keeps my Dame, Dis catch my friend, & make me free of all. SONNET. I Some time had a Mistress, and a Friend; She fair, he good; and lovely both to me: But both are waxed unworthier nor I weened: Deceitful she, and most unconstant he: Thus for each line, I give myself a lie, That heretofore in to their praise I penned, He, she, and I, are always chaynged all three: They first, I last; and thus our Loves must end. True Friends alas, like blackest Swans are rare, And fairest faices full of most deceat. This causes me alone for to regreat, And from each eye to wring a bloody tear: And since no sex beneath the Sun is true, False friend fareweell, fair facile Dame adieu. To his Caledonian MISTRESS. THemistocles after a great Victory by naval Battle, came to visit the slaughtered bodies of his Enemies, and found by the Sea side many jewels and Chains scattered. Then said he to his friend who then by chance followed him, Gather these spoils, for thou art not Themistocles. This worthless Epistle like a lose or neglected jewel, though the wise and worthy Themistocles overpay, I pray thee sweet Mists peruse and preserve, lest it perish; sense too, and for thee, it is done: when I am absent, or dead, it may breed thy delight, and make thee haply remember thou once had A loving and kind man, CRAIGE. TO HIS CALEDONIAN MISTRESS. WHEN I remember on that time, that place, Where first I fixed my fancy on thy face, The circumstances how, why, where, and when My Mistress thou, and I became thy Man: Whilst I repeat that process full of pain, How first we met, and how we twinned again, Our sweet acquaintance, and our sad depart, It breeds a sea of sorrows at my heart: And yet for all these sorrows I sustain, With sigh swollen heart, and tears bedewed eyen, As I have loved, so shall I love thee still Unto the death, hap either good or ill. And now I swear by that true love I own thee, By all the sighs which day by day I blow thee: By all the verse and charming words I told thee, By all the hopes I have for to behold thee: By all the kisses sweet which I have reft thee, And all the tears I spent since last I left thee: That absence helps (not hinders my desire) And sets new force and Faggots to my fire: Each thing that chance presents and lets me see, Brings arguments and bids me think on thee. For when they told me of that wrathful flame, Which from the high and holy heaven down came On Paul's fair Church, and that cloud-threatning Steeple, And how it flamed in presence of the people. Then with myself thought I, this fire was quenched, But mine endures, and by no tears is drensht: And were not hope accrestis with desire, I had long since consumed amid this fire. And when I viewed those walls of Farnhame fair, Where Lamuel with his Lady made repair: I laid me down beside the ditch profound, Where Guinever despairing Dame was drowned, And fell on sleep upon that fatal brink, And still on thee sweet heart I dream, I think. And were it not, that by the tract of time The well was full with earth, with stone, and lime, There had I drowned, and by my fatal fall Made end with her of love, and life, and all: Yet half ashamed least curious eyes should find me, I went away, and left huge teaires behind me. And when I spied those stones on Sarum plain, Which Merlin by his Magic brought, some feign, By night from far I-erne to this land, Where yet as oldest Monuments they stand: And though they be but few for to behold, Yet can they not (it is well known) be told. Those I compared unto my plaints and cries, Whose total sum no numers can comprise. Old Woodstocks wracks to view I was disposed, Where Rosamond by Henry was enclosed: The circuits all and wildesome ways I view, The Labyrinth, and Clifford's fatal Clew. And where those time-worne monuments had been, Where nought remains but ruins to be seen: Yet in my heart more wracks, more ways I found, Then can be made by any human hand. And all these wondrous wonders which I see, Makes me but wonder more and more on thee. That thou be well both day and night I pray, And for thy health once I carouse each day: From pipe of loam and for thy saike I souke, The flegm-attractive far-fett Indian smouke: Which with my brain and stomach bears debate, And like the lethal Aconite I hate, That poisoning potion pleasant seems to me, When I determe it must be drunk for thee. From Venus' sports I do indeed abstain, Nor am I now as I was wont so vain: chaste Diane's laws I do adore for good, Who killed her love Orion in the flood. Drunk Bacchus maits I hold for none of mine, I taste no Celtic nor Iberian Wine: Look on my Lyns Lyoeuns, none they smell, But Helicons poor streams, where Muses dwell. For all those rare delights which England yields, Of faces fair, of brave and fertile fields: For all the pleasures which our Court frequent, Such as man's heart would wish, or wit invent: Yet I protest, I rather beg with thee, Then be sole King, where seven were wont to be. But when my Friend thy berar spurred with pane, The Poist to see this Chalky shore again, And brought thy symbol discolour of new, With commendations kind, but not anew, I asked him how thou was? he shook his head. What man (quoth I) and is my Mistress dead? No (answered he) but seik deir friend: Quoth I, Thou knows I love; I pray thee make no lie. In faith but seik, and is no doubt ere now, As well (said he) as ather I or you. This he affirmed with oaths anew: And yet alas I doubt if they be true Here where the Pest approacheth us so narr, To smother breath before we be aware: For at the gates of our most royll King, Corrupted Carrions lie; O fearful thing: Yet fear I still for thee, my love is such, And for myself I fear not half so much: And now I fear these fears ere it be long. Will turn to Agues, and to Fevers strong. Long are my nights, and doleful are my days: Shott sleeps, long wakes; and wildsom are my ways: Sad are my thoughts, sour sighs; and salt my tearis: My body thus else waik both wains and wearis. For loss of Calais, Marie England's Queen, Had sighs at heart, and teai●● about her eyen, When I am dead, cause r●● my heart said she; And in the same shall ●●●●ce written be, Die when I will, thy name shall well be knawne, Within my 〈◊〉 ●oods characters drawn. But if (fair Dame) as yet on liff thou be, This Papyre than commends my love to thee: And if thy life by wrathful weirds be lost, chaste Laura then thy Petrarch loves thy ghost: And yet any hopes assures me thou art well, And in these hopes a comfort hid I feel. This for the time sweet heart, that thou may know, I leave thy man, and love but thee; and so, Till by thy wreat I know thy further will, I say no more, but sigh, and seals my Bill. SONNET. FRom this Abydos where I duyne and die, And sore God know I against my heart remain, I wreat with woe sweet Sestian Saint to thee, And black this Paper with the Ink of pain, No weltering waves of Neptune moon-moved main: Nor Hellesponts impetuous contrary tide, No Sea nor Flood, no stormy Wind nor Rain, Are lets or batrs that from thy boun●● I bide, My ways alas doth jealous Argus keep, And I am not acquent with Mercur's skill, To lull and bring his watching eyes asleep, That I may wish, and thou may have thy will: Yet till we meet, a constant Hero prove, And while I live thou art Leander's love. CRAIGE. To the Kings most Royal Majesty. 1. SONNET. KInd Attalus in Annals old we reid, Was King of Pe●●ame by the Romans aid, He long time brooked the same, but foreign feid, Which made those noble Romans to be glad: And yet because he had no heirs, 'tis said He to those foresaid Romans did resign, His Diadem and Crown, and what he had He gave to them, that erst made him a King. Hade I been made no Poet S. but Prince Of fertile bounds for Parnase bore and dry, Your Grace had got my Crown and all long since, For I laik heirs, and none more kind than I. To use thee sweet enchanting Poets vain, You gave me Revels, I give you Ryms again. 2. SONNET. ANACREON two days two nights did watch, Till he returned Polycrates again; These Talents two which he received, fond wratch, To wake for wealth, and pinch himself with pain. But contrary ways, I saikes soul am slain: I wake for want, and not for wealth alas: My voice is hoatses with cries; dry is my brain, Yet get I not the smallest grain of grace. A Cythared though poor, did sweetly sing, Caus Dionise did promise him reward. And thus to thee I wreat most gracious King, In hope thy Grace will once my greiffs' regard: And by my Penthy praises shall be spread, From rising Sun to his Hespereanbed. Non omnis moriar. CRAIGE. To the Author. WHY thought fond Grece to build a solid fame, On fleeing shades of fables passing vain? Why did herself-deceaving fancy dream, That none but she, the Muses did maintain? She said, these sacred Sisters did remain Confined within a Craig which there did lie, That great Apollo self did not disdain, For that rough Palace, to renounce the sky: That there a Well still drawn, but never dry, Made Lay-men Poet's eir they left the place: But all were ta'ls, which Fame doth now belly, And builds up Albion's glore, to their disgrace. Lo here the CRAIGE, whence flows that sacred Well, Where Phoebus reigns, where all the Muses dwell. Ro Aytone.