A SELECT SECOND HUSBAND FOR SIR THOMAS OVERBURIES▪ WIFE, NOW A MATCHLESS WIDOW.  

No Muse can make high flight,  
Whose Lustre lacks Nó Light.   
LONDON, Printed by Thomas Creed and Barnard Allsopp, for john Marriott: and are to be sold at his shop at the white Flower-de-luce, near Fetter Lane end in Fleetstreet. 1616.   

To the Reader.  
NO Rest is in Motion. The Circle of Opinion is without Centre: yet, past that Compass, no lines have allowance. One singular Wit (affecting singularity, in matter and manner of verse) lately put foot into that Circle, and there so arrests the World's judgement, that it finds no coming forth; but, lies there forthcoming to be justified, or condemned, as Reason, in Time shall find Evidence. An Opinion without learning, cannot be good, say the learned. Therefore, in this, to spend mine, were a sinful prodigality; because it may be much to little purpose. But I will not long detain thee, Reader. Fools-bolts are soon shot. Then take mine with thee: it is but light, & shall cost thee nothing. In few; if all Poets, in their Poems, are said to sing; then, they make harsh music, who, to please judgement with the Ditty, offend the Ear with the accent: and, he that sings much, out of tune, though he sing well, out of cry, may, haply, sing to please himself, and few; but shall be sure to displease many. In well-doing, it is well done to follow; but, in ill, the imitation is worse than the example. Tomarre the music of the Line for the reason of Sense, is against sense and reason: seeing words may be found as well to fit the tune, as the sense in what line soever. But, to affect harshness in fashion with some, should be an affectation out of fashion with all: for canst thou not sing sharp in sense but thou must sing flat in sound? Thou mayst: else (peradventure) thou canst SAY; but (without peradventure) thou canst not SING. Farewell; and sing in tune; else fast for me.  
I. D.   

To the right right Noble, for all that is in Nobility, Art, or Nature, William Earl of Pembroke, etc.  

WIT, and my Will (dear Lord) were late at strife  
To whom this Bridegroom I for grace might send.  
Whose Bride was erst the happiest husbands wife,  
That ere was hapless in his Friend, and End.  
Wit, with itself, and with my Will, did war:  
For, Will (good- Will) desired it might be YOU:  
But, Wit found fault with each particular  
Itself had made; sith YOU were It to view.  
Alleging YOU had all his Virtue got,  
And left him graceless: so, was loath t'appear  
To your clear eyes: wherewith good. Will grew hot,  
And said her love, to YOU, was all as clear:  
Then, both agreed YOU should, for lasting-life,  
Sith best YOU could, make this man match that Wife.   
Your honours now as ever most humbly devoted, john Davies.   

A SELECT SECOND HUSBAND FOR SIR THOMAS OVERBVRIE'S WIFE, NOW A WIDOW.  

MAn is, of men the varied same and sum,  
As rivers run the same, and not the same:  
In Unity, the Odds do Odds overcome;  
Differing in Time, Place, Person, Face, and Name:  
Yet, all's but Man; and Man is all: that he  
Should all the World of Men, t'a Woman be.   

But Man, made like, alike did mar his making;  
So, must remade be, to be like his Maker:  
Which cannot be without a selfe-forsaking:  
For, Sin of Grace can never be partaker.  
Sin made him like Gods most unlike: then, he  
To be like him that made him, graced must be.   

He must be graced with Grace and Glory too;  
For, God hath both, who made him to his mood:  
If Men have both, they win still what they woe:  
For, nought they woe that is not passing good:  
" Love lives in likeness; then, it dies when it  
" Meets with Unlikeness, both in Will, and Wit.   

In Beauty, I had rather Virtue find,  
Than seek it in Deformity; for, Grace  
The graceful guides: and Nature makes the Mind  
The Body like; the jewel fits the Case.  
BeautiesBeauties a beam of heavens DIVINITY:  
But, ugliness (like Hell) but plagues the Eye.   

Beauty is good; for, Goodness made it so:  
Which is loves object: yet must goodmen be  
Haters of loving women, if they show  
Less grace than beauty, in their goodness: he  
Is no good husband that a wife will choose  
For face, but grace; and grace, but grace to use.   

Shape, is but Nature's grace to Naturals  
As well as wisemen: nought then therein lies  
Worthy those Lady's precious Pectorals  
That are as good, as great; and kind, as wise:  
Yet where both in, and outward Beauty's rife,  
There is an husband worth a Monarch's wife.   

For, such rare Beauties ravish both the sense  
Of soul and Body; such an heavenly spark  
Doth feast the eye of the Intelligence,  
As well as that which sees by light more dark:  
Queans have more choice than queens, that are as king●…  
Then seldom wive they such celestial things.   

Where Fortune plays the Prodigal, there can  
Beseldome found but what Love still doth hate▪  
A Rig the wife, a Rakehell (oft) the man,  
Although a pair of Princes in their state:  
Abundance clogs the soul, and so she stics  
No more than swollen voluptuousness can rise.   

Wouldst thou (wise Virgin) wive no man thy foe?  
Then taste, before thou touch him: store of salt  
Eaten with him, doth make him relish so  
As he both seems and is: Nay, 'tis a fault  
To trust thy touch, or taste; unless he be  
By Time, on Trials touch, found right for thee.   

Right, take not wrong: for, no right golden-back,  
Right shape, state, birth, nor breeding, I intent:  
If all these Rights, a right good-mind do lack,  
They cannot make right Husband, or right Friend.  
" He's most-most-bad, although an Angel still,  
" That is so bad but merely in his Will.   

Form, is not matter: shape, no substance is:  
And either neither is to be beloved  
Or loathed, but as its meet, or most amiss:  
As it with Vice, or Virtue still is moved:  
Then, she that weds for forms sake, wives a shade  
Or nought; or marred with nothing that is made.   

Form, in an Image, gives no Essence to it:  
Or, gave it Essence; if deformed it were,  
It could but move to hate; which might undo it:  
Then, wouldst thou love aright? aright, then, fear  
Ill-motions; whereto, worst ill-will is best,  
Sith therewith nought, that is not worse, can rest.   

BeautiesBeauties but skin-deep; nay, it is not so;  
It floares but on the skin beneath the skin,  
That (like pure Air) scarce hides her fullest flow;  
It is so subtle, vading, frail, and thin:  
Were she skin-deep, she could not be so shallow,  
To win but fools her purity to hollow.   

Say, that a Pair were matched without a Peer  
For Beauty's grace; yet, if they should but sin,  
Their grace were more in crime, than beauty, clear:  
And frailer than her Tiffany, the skin:  
Their interchanged rays would then reflect,  
Either to each, but dullness and neglect.   

heaven's outward beauty, love, and wonder would  
In all procure, were it but seldom seen;  
But, but to Copper, Custom turns their gold:  
So, graiest love of Grace, is ever green  
In beauty seld enjoyed; but, with it cloyed,  
Both soul and sense thereby is still annoyed.   

If beauty then, be not fair virtues Inn,  
Nay, not her Heaven, wherein she resteth still,  
She's loathed of sense, if she do lodge but sin:  
Though sin and sense be friends; Sense loves no ill  
It hath found ill: for ill can near be loved;  
Sith nought can love that good that ill is proved   

A man, in print, or made in wax, the so words  
Transfer to our conceit the highest worth  
Of outward-shape; which (dead) more life affords  
Than quickest flesh, as nature sets it forth:  
" Yet, if a man in print, be dull, or dead,  
" He's a fair body, but a soul of lead.   

Nay, though that Body could be made to move  
In measures, most immeasurably in grace;  
Such measures, yet, but, sinke-apace her love  
That is not lewd, if he dance not with GRACE.:  
" A lofty Cap●…oll, is but high to rise  
" Shaking, like one, nor great, nor good, nor wise.   

Yet this mad-mean the mean mounts, now, & then;  
In marriage oft: the goodness of the back  
Is all that is beloved in such men;  
Not well to back them; sith no such they lack  
Whose bells are all back, to undergo  
The bellies charges, that the back undo.   

To flatter Beauty is to raise it hie  
(As fowls do shellfish) so, to fall, and braced,  
To prey, at pleasure, on it inwardly;  
Than, keep off such: for they'll come on too fast;  
Such clawers will be scratchers from thy state,  
And make the bed of love, the lodge of hate.   

These, like bemired Dogs, with fawning, file,  
As Wit itself, hath erst observed: then, look  
She near be tempted with such gawdy-guile:  
Lest, with the Bait, she swallow down the Hook.  
The best man's praises sound, his heart doth joy,  
Then, what wilt do a Woman? make her toy.   

Such gauds will make thee grieve, & grief go round  
In her own Circle: issuing at her mouth,  
To enter at her Ears: the secret wound,  
Sharp Praise doth give, though but for real Truth,  
Proves oft more mortal than the wounds of death  
That kill but flesh. Then, keep her from such breath.   

I would she should be modest, but not sad:  
Yet modest sadness doth fair looks decore:  
As Shadows do more life to Pictures add;  
So, sober-lookes, make bright ones beam the more.  
Beauty and Boldness oft together go,  
But still as Foes, themselves to overthrow.   

The praised, will to their own Music dance:  
For, nought is more melodious in the Ear,  
Than our high praises that our hearts advance,  
And make us (joyed) too wanton them to hear.  
" The more Ambition in our Mind is nursed,  
" The more our praise will swell it, till we burst.   

The greatest good that bad Wives can disclose,  
Is Beauty: but, in good Wives 'tis the least:  
Yet Beauty is, to Sense, a Damaske-Rose,  
That doth for sweetness better Nature's best:  
But yet 'tis but the Sign where Beauty lies  
More worth by grace; the minds good qualities.   

chaste Eyes give Eyes▪ to Cupid: then, thou must  
(If she be fairly Modest) have a care,  
And help her Love to shun adulterer's Lust,  
That by her grace, grows more irregular:  
For, innocency is not always free  
Fron causeless shame: then, help her eyes to see.   

Her looks (if well she look) may frolic hope;  
And bind it to the good-behaviour too:  
Yet, this more fires close hearts (that dare not open  
To give it vent) which then, by looks do woe:  
And though they move not yet, the overt thought  
Makes modesty to blush as she were nought?   

And blushing so, makes observations eyes  
Mis-looke into the cause of that effect:  
Whence rumours run, while Slanders do arise  
Against the 〈◊〉 of virtue in affect:  
Then, sith good-name's (like glass) as frail, as clear,  
All care should keep it cracklesses in thy Deer.   

And if the husband live as free from thought  
As act of falsehood to the marriage-bed,  
Much more the wife should, sith much more she ought:  
For, she may stain his blood, and pain his Head:  
As lief had I she should b'in deed untrue,  
As wrong my right in thought, if it I knew.   

joins she with me, for issue; and disjoines  
Herself from me therein, in her best part?  
Then, for my share, she lends me but her loins,  
While she to one, less worthy, gives her heart:  
What patience can endure my base foes base  
Should with my land run quite beyond my race.   

Then, if her heart be gone; farewell my wife:  
Nay, farewell I; perhaps she'll me undo:  
Or cast about, to cast away my life  
Backward, and forward, till I cast It too:  
Then, if a peerless Peer the husband grow,  
The wife will matchless be, to mate him so.   

The devil is a matchless Alchemist;  
He can transmute the richest mettl'd-man  
To Led, in her conceit, that is so blessed;  
And, make her, so, her own good-fortune ban:  
But, banned be all, that but assist herein,  
To make the swollen with grace, to burst with sin.   

To burst with Sin! O, that that damndeffect  
Had never Devil, to occasion it!  
Then, Love might have what it should best affect  
Without the Sin of such a baneful fit:  
" But when the heavens, to wrack us, are decreed,  
" They blind our judgements: so, we fall with speed.   

O Damned Desire, what wouldst? or what is it  
That should to Change so much thy soul dispose?  
No Bliss nor Beauty 'tis, conceived by Wit:  
For, Wit the truth of Nature's secrets knows.  
Though Beauty then seem Sol, at least as rich,  
It will be found but Lune, on Trials touch.   

O! whither wilt, proud Flesh? To fall in state?  
Think'st, there secure in spite of Spite to stand?  
No: soon thou wilt be thrown through publike-hate  
To Ermines? nay: to Uermines netherlands;  
Whre thou bemyred with Clay, still scor'nd shalt lie  
A Slava to Spades and Spites just tyranny.   

Good-wit still wins goodwill; & makes them glad  
That have goodwit, yet have not all goodwill:  
But yet goodwit, without goodwill, is bad,  
Being Armed-vice, that wounds, unwounded still:  
" That head is headstrong, that is full of Brains;  
" And, runs awry if Grace hold not the Rains.   

Learning and Wisdom are but seldome-when  
joined in one Sconce; sith divers in their power.  
" The greatest Clarks are not the wisest men;  
And wisemen oft (like fools) for nought do lower.  
Then, as a Wife too witty, is too vain;  
So, is a husband, bad, with too much Brain.   

The search of Wisdom, sith so close it lies  
Obscured from sight, is full of pains that kill:  
Then, sith Ire burns (like Fire) in Agonies,  
A good wiseman, makes no good Husband still:  
For, he is wayward, and his Wife must woe  
For kindness; yet not be too forward too.   

Sacred Religion best they love and know  
That run no Base beyond her ghostly Geale  
Such make good husbands, paying what they owe  
To their kind other Half; not when the whole  
Is willing, but the Half; though, but for Lust,  
If she would what he could, then needs he must.   

A Man with Woman never can be said  
To sin, when sin, by some just circumstance  
Is ta'en away, or justly so allayed,  
That Grace itself the same doth countenance:  
" No deed's unjust, how ere unjust it be,  
" If it be so, but in so just degree.   

But Wit and Knowledge so the mind inflate  
As make it most imperious: then, the Wife  
That's matched to him that is so stiff in state,  
Must live a supple Slave, else die in strife:  
Books better can the mind; but what they can  
They do not, if they meet with such a man.   

Then let him be divinely wise (like GOD)  
Glad without joy, and Sad, without Offence;  
That's all alike, to bear the Staff and Rod;  
With Temperance, so, to feast his soul and sense:  
Kind, and not Wanton; sober, yet not sour,  
Still having all his Passions in his power.   

flow Numbers on deep streams of Helicon,  
Which in a world of Art, are scarce found rife,  
Till you have made one Husband- Paragon,  
To fit one rare, but Ouer-buried Wife:  
Hold Colours to the life, while I, by Art.  
line out a Husband fit to line her Hart.   

Platonical Ideas, stand aloof,  
And let my purest Pen delineate  
No Husband mere supposed; but, one of proof:  
Without a check, to give a Queen the mate:  
Which may be found in earnest, yet Art can  
Scarce with Arts colours, paint so rare a man..   

He is a Lamb, whose All is all so dear  
That nought of him is useless, love to get:  
He is a Lion, making Beasts to fear  
His virtues: so, is mild, stern, small, and great:  
He is, What not, if good? and yet to God  
He is not e'en: yet with him never odd.   

His Birth and Breeding, (like his Body) right;  
His Mind, with witty Flashes (fired above)  
Doth lighten oft, to give his wife some light  
To mend her miss; and all in mirth and love:  
For, sour Reproofs, and jests, how ever sweet,  
That come too-sharply, wound when they do greet.   

For she (if truly Noble) rather had  
In private dye, then publicly be checked:  
For, public shame makes reason, in Greatness, mad:  
And GRACES face itself will (so) be fleckt  
With virtues Rosy- rays. Then, closely move  
To check thy mate in Game, to win her love.   

God left his Son, and he his Sire forewent  
But for his wife, the Church: then, for his wife  
Man should himself forsake, ere himself rend  
From her that is his (honour) life of life:  
But, bitter taunts and checks, in public, be  
A rending her, thy honours life, from thee.   

God chargeth man to love (his bone) his wife,  
As his own flesh; nay, as himself: that is,  
Both soul, and body: then, decline such strife  
As may incline thy whole to do amiss.  
Who hates his wife, his own shame loves: for she  
His honour is; or (honoured) would be.   

Are wives made helps, and comforts too, by God?  
Then, should they such be made by husbands too.  
Be man and wife made even; yet, be odd?  
O! shame for one; that so, of One makes Two;  
Yet cannot make Two, even! Shall a Third  
Be brought to make Two, even? That were hard.   

Then, at her errors wink with open sight,  
As sacred Love requires thee: thou must be  
The Atlas of her frailties; thou must right  
What is amiss, in love, that faults doth see  
To hide them; yet, to mend them: so shalt thou  
But bear thine own heartsease, & never Rue.   

Of outward cares thou must the Camel be,  
And bear them sound for your Commonwealth  
o'er highest Lets; as Cares-domesticke, she  
Must bear, though sickly, for thy ease and health:  
Thou canst not press her more to make her fall,  
Than still to make her bear the weight of all.   

Marriage contracted is (ere it be knit)  
For strongth, (sith two are stronger far than one)  
Yet must the m●…n, with manly strength and wit,  
Bear all the heautest loads himself alone:  
" The weaker by the stronger must be eased;  
" As by the weak, the stronger must be pleased.   

And, so heavens queen, ere knit, contracted was;  
To show (though heaven holp) she help must have  
But of a feeble husband, and an Ass,  
The Lord of strength, made feeble, so to save:  
Then, must the husband of the happy wife  
Be strong, to bear her Bale; and guard her life.   

For, what an abject weakness is't to see  
Her wronged by brutish force, defamed by spite,  
Yet have no strength or heart, in no degree  
Of age, or state, her so great wrong to right:  
" There is no Woman, though most full of fear▪  
But hates (as hell) a cowherd to her fere.   

Fear, is to cowardice more painful far  
Then death to the courageous: a faintheart  
Is heartless but to hear a Trumpeter:  
Nor is his fear by Nature cured, or Art.  
Then is a woman's honour poor in plight,  
That's guarded by a man so poor in spirit.   

Marriage, that is most noble, should have nought  
But what is noble in it; noble-moods  
To scorn that frailiy, and despise that thought  
That is not truly noble: mariage-goods  
Are Ills, if good they be not made by these,  
Else to have much, is much, but to displease.   

It is of knots the surest: for, two in one  
So fast it knits, that death can scarce divide:  
Nay, many kindreds it doth so atone,  
That, to Posterity, they one abide.  
The husband, then, for this strong unity,  
Should strongly prop this long Posterity.   


* (Sm: Serm: 1.)  For Time, it's noble; sith at first the God  
Of th' Uni●…rse, did institute it, when  
Man lacked an helper (sith he was but odd)  
To fill the world with worlds of other men.  
He, was an husband called ere he had wife:  
So, next to God, an husband's Lord of life.   

In Paradise it was ordained; and so,  
For place it's noble: and, if innocence  
May make that noble, which from thence doth flow  
Nobility therein hath residence:  
" The Lord of love, who hatred most doth hate,  
" Is matched to those that love in married state.   

Then, Time, Place, Person, that did it effect,  
Being so noble, noble it must be  
Above all Friendships, which we should affect;  
Sith it is so transcendent in degree:  
Woman, was made for man; and (for his aid)  
Made of that holp: that holp, then, must be stayed.   

With Miracles 'twas honoured; but none such  
Are done but for God's glory, and men's love  
To make a Man a God; lest God might grudge  
That Man (his Image) should not be above  
The Angels: so, lest they his Grace should dim,  
He made himself a Man, to grace but him.   

Then, to his Prototype, if man will be  
Like, he must like but what that Type doth please  
Who loves the married Pairs that well agree:  
But sith men to their wives are winds and seas,  
Who move as men do move, it them behoves  
With breath and motion sweet, to win their loves.   

For, of their Arch-type they this lore do learn;  
The Church, his floating Spouse, he moveth so:  
His blessed wind blows ever in her stern,  
And makes his mercy's seas to ebb and flow  
As best behoves her, till she hath attained  
The haven, for which she was both pleased & pained   

The rib of man, whereof his wife was made  
Was crooked: so, though wives be such by kind;  
Yet man, of God, in wisdom, learned, the trade  
To bow them straight: then, gently them to bind  
With cords of love from starting back again,  
Till, without stubbornness, they straight remain.   

Of Earth, his Maker made man: but of bone  
God made his wife: then, wives still harder are  
Than men, for bent: yet, hu●…bands must turn stone,  
When, through their softness, they their wives do mar  
" Men may be hard, and good: but harldy can  
" A husband soft, ere make a good wiseman.   

While Eve was made, her Make did sound sleep  
But, oft, while husband's sleep, their wives are marred  
The housewife, than the house doth hardly keep:  
When, in soft-sleepe, she sees he sleepeth hard:  
Then wakeful be, to keep thy wife from sin,  
And running out, that mars thy comings in.   

She made was of the Rib, not of the Head:  
Then, keep thy headship, for thine honours sake:  
And for her grace, and good: and, keep thy bed  
(But sleep not much) from that which keeps thee wake  
For, if they touch thy Brow, 'twill swell unseen,  
Which ranking inward, outward shows thy teen.   

The fertile- seed-plot of the world should be  
Free from pollution; marriage should be clean:  
Pure seed, well sown, from cockle should be free;  
That so the crop, or fruit, might be a mean  
Whereby the t●…ibe, maintained, might still endure  
In name as right, as in fame firm, and pure.   

And so to keep it, it behooves thee much  
To make thy wife no wanton; for, thou mayst  
Make her thy whore, with many a wanton-touch:  
Be prudent then, when e'er thou with her play'st:  
And, set strait limits to thy lust; for, she  
Will prove a libertine, if so thou be.   

It's thy fault; though thy right she wrong therein:  
Art thou her stay, yet mak'st her fall the more?  
Yea, fall into adulterous threefold sin?  
For, so she is thy widow, wife, and whore.  
Then, let no lawless lust the bed pollute,  
That may make sacred marriage dissolute.   

Wouldst have the body chaste, and not the head?  
That cannot be: but, she the body is,  
Whose head thou art: by thee she's bred or led  
To good or ill: then, do not thou amiss.  
" As good the head were empty, as not full  
" Of brains to govern all beneath the skull.   

The duties of the bed may, but may not  
Be well, performed without some secret stain:  
For, each least wandering thought incurs a blot:  
From which, what love could ever thought restrain?  
So, we are all too sinful, ere we sin,  
Sith we by this are all conceived therein.   

Can the desire but think upon the deed  
As 'tis an Act of Generation,  
And never let the thought, on fancies breed  
(Through heat of lust) some loathed corruption?  
Lust mixed with love, begets the race of men:  
Then, who knows lusts just size; or keeps it then?   

Say, it's but so much as but warms Desire  
To get our like; yet who doth meet so much,  
But in the measure may be found, a layer,  
Sith justice scales are turned but with a touch:  
Whose eye still waits, so, on their turning right  
That each least trick of lust is found too light.   

Then, let thy lust thy pure love never let:  
For, love lusts not: or, if it do, it is  
But complemental, or our likes to get,  
While love is kept afoot the more for this:  
Yet love may be so pure and so entire,  
That it will hate least heat of soraigne-fire.   

O! to a soul that's simply pure, it is  
Irksome to do pure marriage duest rights:  
Whose spirit suspects frail flesh doth still amiss  
In all her works: so, with it, still she fights:  
But women, weakest of flesh, are yet so strong,  
As if thou wrong'st thyself, thy right they'll wrong   

From sense of ill then keep her: for, she's wax  
To take impressions apt, and hold them too:  
She'll lack no time nor place, nor wit she lacks  
To do what her will, marred by thee, would do:  
No marvel then, though Fame the bugle winds  
Thou seekest thyself: and follow what she finds   

Teach not thy wife to speak facundiously;  
Much less affectedly: but still to speak  
Her native dialect with purity  
(Yet short as seld) when e'er she silence breaks:  
To make thy wife a Parrot, she'll give thee  
A Daw (perhaps) or Cuckoo for thy fee.   

Do thou thyself what thou wouldst have her do  
(Examples more than Precepts lead the way)  
And, of her sex, rehearse Examples too  
Mellow and modern: these will run away  
With her Affections; so to emulate  
Their Virtues that all worlds so celebrate.   

To keep Love green, forbear the Custom grey  
Of lying wholly, with thy Half each Night:  
Yet not sans- leave, lest the Half fall away  
But, with consent, it breeds the more delight  
In loves delight: for, that doth but annoy  
Which loathed Society doth still enjoy.   

If she be fair, it's fowl to bring her to  
Mad merry-meetings, Revels, or to Court:  
Kinde-natures', as their like, there needs must do;  
So there thy Brows may battered be in sport:  
" That's hardly kept that many do desire.  
Then, not t'inflame her, keep her out of Fire.   

If her 
* (Sir Tho: Ouerb:)  Behaviour be a surer Bar,  
Then is her No: then, tempt not That too much:  
She is a Woman; so, too weak to war  
With Compleat-men, that take but with a Touch:  
" Many that have resisted long, with strength,  
" Yet striving still, grow weak, & fall at length.   

The force of women's love in virtuous course,  
Is Lion-like, not first to be withstood:  
But sooner tamed by following than by force:  
For Bloods made hottest oft, in coldest blood,  
Like Wells in Winter; so, the Lecher can  
Be first a good, and then a Beastly man..   

Is she but young? Then 'tis but young, to bring  
Thine Olde-acquaintance to her. Is she old?  
Olde-doing yet may rise from Communing:  
Then old and young from such Occasions hold:  
Yet not so strait her, as she may espy,  
Through pure Restriction, thy gross jealausie.   

There's none extremely good, or passing bad  
Upon the sudden; but by slow degrees.  
No sober soul is at an Instant mad,  
But falls to't piece-meal in her Faculties:  
First Fantasy, and then Intelligence:  
Then judgement, with each other Inward-sense.   

So must thou look thy Wife untired may run  
In virtues progress, right, from grace to grace:  
Sith running back, she may be overrun  
By Vice: and so be ruined in the Race.  
Custom, is Nature's second-selfe: and so,  
By Custom she'll run right, and upright go.   

The higher Powers do second Causes make,  
As Accessaries to their just Decrees:  
And that unwittingly; then, make thy Make  
Unwares to do what with thee best agrees,  
Who art the second Cause, of what she is;  
Then, thou hast chiefest Cause to look to this.   

" Its good to keep a Hatch before the Door;  
And yet that Hatch, to hatch no evil will  
In Wife nor Friend; nor yet in rich, nor poor;  
But, to do good, let it but keep out iii.  
An Husband should be careful of his Wife:  
Then, can not be too careful of her life.   

It's no mistrust of thy wives truth, to keep  
Thy Chest fast locked, wherein thy Treasure lies;  
But, for she may be either Shrew, or Sheep,  
Thou lettest her keep it, while thou keep'st the keys:  
And so both keep it safe, and both enjoy  
That which false-Friends by stealth would but destroy.   

Care's no Distrust, the wittiest 
* (Sir Tho: Ouerb: wife.)  Wife hath said,  
That ere was made for wisest Husbands use:  
Care of her Honour, is her honours aid:  
Neglect may be her honours deaths excuse:  
love's Lord himself is jealous of his Honour,  
And loves those that with care do wait upon her.   

Nay, he is jealous likewise of our Love;  
Yet he is God of Order, love, and right:  
Then, what he doth in Wisdom, we may prove  
In Prudence, without jealousy, or spite.  
If thou do love thy Wife, thou lov'st her Fame  
More than her life, sith longer lives the same.   

Yet look upon her frailties with more Love  
Than judgement, so to hide them; for, thou must  
(So she be true to thee) as often prove  
As she desires the Sport, though but of Lust:  
All have not Continence, their Fame to crown:  
Then must she be contained with her own.   

And though it be a torment to a Man,  
(Cold in this kind) to force Fire out of Ice:  
Yet if she would, he should, though ill he can;  
Sith sin it is not then to pleasure Vice.  
Grace makes sin Grace, in this necessity;  
Sith Grace, this wrong to Grace doth rectify.   

Then, love her not the worse for this, sith that  
It is (perhaps) Complexions sin: and so  
Some other may be thine as depravate.  
She matched to know no more than she might know.  
Then, if what well she may, she use at need,  
Love her for that the more, sith don with heed.   

Man, Wife, and Children are Correlatives.  
Then must the Man, his Wife and Children use  
As uessels (not as Uassalls, chiefly Wives)  
Of Honour, which he should no way abuse.  
Gods, and thy grace, must make thy Children good;  
And not the grace, nor glory of thy Blood.   

A Bloody grace, is but a Beastly glory.  
For, all the grace of Blood from Blood proceeds:  
The bravest Victor hath the brightest Story.  
Made of his Acts; That is, his Bloudy-deedes.  
Then, from thy Spirit, into thy son infuse  
More than thy Flesh in him could ere effuse.   

Children are Blessings, if they blessed be;  
Or else, with Cham, accursed. One going wrong  
More grieves than ten right running: O! ay me!  
This is the Burden of my heaviest Song:  
Nature's more apt to grieve, than joy in all;  
Sith sold ro Sorrow, by the First Man's fall.   

It is an unknown Good then, to have none;  
If none be had without such cause to mourn,  
What need we for but Heirs to make such moan,  
Sith when we part, we never more return?  
Have we no Kin, nor Poor? if either, than  
We, have Heirs: for, all are our dear Brethren.   

O! but our House, & Name, (two nameless Things,  
For decrenesse) then (say we) must be extinct;  
" But sith Kings come of Slaves, and slaves of Kings,  
As good its Common, as to be distinct  
In Reason: and in Nature, all is one;  
If odds there be, it is in grace alone.   

What have we here to do, when we are hence  
As far as Heaven or Hell, and ever there?  
Can the sons weal, the Sires woes recompense  
That's dampened? or's future hopes, his present fear?  
Or, can heavens bliss, b'increasd by the sons mirth  
In Earth? If neither, leave thy House to Earth.   

The World and We do at one Instant end:  
And, either's Relics, senseless are to each.  
Then, from my Son, sith I cannot ascend,  
It skills not though my House receive a Breach  
To let in others: ay my Centre keep  
When well I wake in GOD, and in Earth sleep.   

Children, and Comforts, are Correlatives;  
The first being good: or, if but dissolute,  
How ere we may be blessed in our Wives,  
Yet are we most accursed in their Fruit:  
And nought there is, that can this Curse prevent,  
But GOD, by grace; and thou, by Government.   

Our Husband then must know the Rules of RULE:  
And when to use them too; and use them then:  
Else, if an Ass be taught but by a Mule,  
he'll still be brutish. Old must teach Young men;  
As wise, the fond; And so, our Petty-god,  
In his Homes- heaven, must use the staff, & rod.   

With which these three must be or cheered or checked:  
Wife, Children, Servants, in their kinds: but, so  
As thou mayst both thy good, and theirs effect.  
The Lamb and Lion must united go  
To this great Work; & with them, still the Fox,  
To work on These, with Kindness, craft, & knocks.   

But, must thyself be subject to thy Red?  
Thy Wife's thy Self; or half thyself, at least.  
Why? must not Man (made like) be like his God  
In justice? Did not God, when Man transgressed,  
Correct himself as Man, for Man? Then must  
A Man correct his Wife, when it is just.   

Christ, and his Church are Two; yet make but One:  
As Man and Wife do: yet, though she do err,  
He died t'appease his Ire for That, alone;  
And yet, for That, he oft chastiseth her:  
So double beats himself for Single-sinne;  
Himself the Shell of his Sweete-selfe within.   

So, teach thy wife, by ruling, to obey;  
And, by obedience, rule with greater might:  
Thou rul'st aright, when she no worse doth sway,  
As Kings do when their judges judge aright:  
Good judges make ill Kings rule graciously,  
But, thou must make hers, thy rule glorify.   

Yet Blows are brutish, if thy Wife they touch,  
Unless she mankind turn, in furious mood:  
Then, mayst thou give her more, at least as much  
As she bestows; and all but for her good:  
" The pain of One that pleasure brings to Two  
" Made One, makes love more free & faster too.   

A man-kind-woman, is a monstrous man:  
That's, a she-man, or loathed Hermaphrodite,  
Taking the name, of what most in her can  
Do in each sex: then, if she love to smite,  
She is a monstrous woman, of man-made,  
But man to mar; or, making, to invade.   

Look howth ' Angel stayed great Abraham's stroke  
At point to fall: so should the sacred Name  
O Wife, alone, the falling Blow revoke  
Yet fall ●…her sorrow, and the strikers shame:  
The God of Peace dwells not in Tents of war;  
Much less with man and wife that so do jar.   

Contention is resembled to a fire;  
And fire leaves nought, but worse than nought behind;  
That's, Dust or smoke; and so, such hate and ire  
Wastes all, save (worst of all) foul Rumours wind:  
Which doth pursue their cinders, till they lie  
In Lethe, or in rotten memory.   

The voice of Nature (which near sounds amiss)  
Still cries, that Peace, is Heaven; and war, is Hell:  
Is thy wife good? then great thy Fortune is.  
If ill; she is thy cross: yet bear it well:  
And how so ere, let nought thy mind offend,  
But what thou canst, & yet thou wilt not, mend.   

The parcels of thy self (thy children) strike  
When they misdo; yet, not so oft as then:  
Sometimes to wink at what we do mislike,  
Is well to see to do like prudent men:  
That is, when sweetness, more than sharpness, will  
Their proper good, keep from improper ill.   

And such an hand still bear thou on the rains,  
As bridle may, with ease, their Coltish will;  
With ease to either; for, to neither, pains  
Are pleasing; so that kindness do not kill.  
As fond Apes do their young: Thy children, so,  
Thy will, with ease, shall still both do & know.   

Yet, to their carriage, ever have an Eye;  
And check when least they trip, lest much they fall:  
Nay, bear not with them even the light est lie;  
The burden's more than may be borne withal:  
So, with strict use of going-well, they will,  
With pleasure, bear themselves most upright still.   

Thy Servants (Portions of thy goods) if ill,  
Mend with sound strokes; but yet remembered be  
Thou hast a Master too, and thwartst his will;  
Then, strike, for that, as he, for this, should thee:  
Do as thou wouldst be done to, is his Heast.  
Than, do no more; but, so to do, is best.   

Those of her Sex, set under her command,  
Leave to her chastisement when they mis-do:  
The Seruant-maide waits on her Mistress hand;  
Then, by that hand she should be punished too:  
It's far more low, then man's worth should aspire,  
To hurt a maid in sport; much more in ire.   

Hirelings, that are not yet as menial,  
More freely use then thy bondservants still;  
Yet not, as to one good, give grace to all:  
But, let thy front distinguish good, from ill:  
From whose squint-eyes, hide well thy il-usd power.  
For, it they'll vent with breath as soft as sour.   

Provision (soul of hospitality)  
To Inn it well, must be the husband's care.  
Magnificence lives by Frugality;  
Be sparing, then, to spend; and, spending, spare.  
Bear, and Forbear: forbear least vain expense  
Of wealth, to bear up thy Magnificence.   

Labour, to Be: but, idle be, to Seem:  
(Sith but to seem is idle) so, shalt thou  
Be held more dear, the less thou dost esteem  
Of thine own worth. To rise, then, is to bow:  
But, in thy house thou must retain that state.  
That there is fittest to predominate.   

Thou must b'a King, a Prophet, and a Priest,  
To govern, teach and pray: so Masters ought.  
To be less good than wise, doth ill resist:  
To be more good than wise, is evil thought  
For government: for, such will fall at length  
By the strong power of their own weakness strength.   

When thou dost feast, (so that the poor fast not)  
Feast thou as oft, as well thy state may bear.  
Have Guests that have no pleasure in the pot,  
But, sadly game some; witty, as austere:  
So, shalt thou bind to thee (in love, at least)  
Men worth thy meat; in earnest, and in jest.   

Life, and Society do so accord,  
As, if they be divided, die they will:  
And, frolic Fate doth (lightly) load that Board  
That seeds the honest and the hungry, still:  
Yet, board no Buffoons, that are borders broad;  
Their Love is light; and yet, a heavy load.   

They are but Baskets of the devils alms,  
Which keep his scraps of wit for wicked wills:  
These wound with will, & then give witty balms;  
With laughter seed; than, bring in saddest Bills.  
Mere moths of great-men; goodmen's eyesores: O!  
I would, nor good, nor great men, such did know.   

Then, such to shun, and with them, other Pests,  
Pray ever to be taught in wisdoms schools;  
And crave the Master of thy soul's requests  
To bless thee from the sacrifice of fools:  
Be thou not Bell, whose guileful Priests did eat  
(While, senseless, he looked on) his means & meat   

Let Morn's, and Eu'nings' never pass their prime:  
But, with the little Church, or petty state  
In thy home's signiory pray out that Time,  
To be preserved from Sense so reprobate:  
Then, Wisdom, Fear, and loves devotion shall  
Be as Triumvirate, to rule thine All.   

And, when thy life, thus spent, draws near her date  
Let Prudence, and Compassion pen thy Will;  
For, they'll make Love and Right so part thy state,  
As All shall like; and, for it, love thee still:  
So, Thine, and th' other Thine (the poor) shallbe  
Still joyed, in grief; and, grieved, in joy, for thee.   

Now sleeps this husband, in his latest home,  
While heavenly glory watcheth when he wakes,  
To take him to her temple, from his tomb;  
Sith Fame, herself, of him, an Idol makes:  
But, Heavenly glory, enuy'ng his Fame's praise,  
Swallows Fames beams into her brighter rays.   

Which will but more discover (by their light)  
The best of husband's stains, that scarce appear:  
By which their own clear rays become most bright  
Yet all too brown for her that is more clear.  
Then, shine fair Pair, tilsom more heavenly spirits  
Do make your glory like the light of lights.   

And let her Fame fly ever in the Air  
Of the sweetest Muses breath, that ere shall breathe  
The Air of Art and Nature: till Despair  
Damn Envy, looking still but for her death:  
But self-life cannot die. Then this dear Wife  
Shall live till death be endless- Glories life.   
Finis.   

DIVERS ELEGIES TOUCHING THE DEATH OF THE NEVER TOO MUCH PRAISED AND PITIED, SIR THOMAS OVERBURY.  

T'Insult upon the wretched, is a Crime  
That harsh and hateful makes the smoothest Rhyme.  
If One all Ills, in one should perpetrate,  
His Person should be privileged from hate  
In love, that makes men Godlike: for, if God  
Be grieved, where he hath cause to use his Rod,  
The grief is for the Person, not the pain,  
Which partly he, in love, doth (so) sustain.  
He made not Death: nor, doth he take delight  
To damn, for doing wrong; but, for his right:  
Nor, for his right grieves souls to ruinate  
But died, in love, to save them from his hate.  
The judge that would be lik'st him, when he gives  
His Doom on the Delinquent most that grieves,  
Powders his words in Eye-brine, so to taste  
Of grace, to them, that (so condemned) are graced.  
Then, let no fault, however capital,  
The faulty Person make so loathed of all,  
That he, for it, should so be'rest of heart,  
As, in despair, to wrack his better part.  
Though one should ruin all the world, yet he  
(If we could help it) should not damned be:  
For, for but temporal faults, eternal Tartar's  
We cannot wish t'our killers, and be Martyrs.   

But, yet, (O yet!) To let the goodman die  
For goodness shown, without our loudest cry  
For justice, for so damned, so devilish Crime,  
Were just damnation to the Place and Time  
Wherein we live; and Priests might sermon thus;  
" 'twere better to be ill than good, with us.   

Enough, for that: but, ne'er enough of Him  
That so was wracked: Then, flow my Tears, & swim  
Sad Muse therein, till thou attain the Port  
Of his Arts-fame, beneath his Good-report.  
And yet that fame above our sight doth fly,  
For rich composure in sweet Poesy;  
And, perched so high above our cunnings sphere,  
That All may follow still; but, None come near.  
No Line in his rich- Number's confluence  
But more than bounds a boundless Sea of sense.  
Through all the Caverns of a Brain as pure  
As ever did the Queen of Art immure  
They glided still, with unconceived sleight,  
Yer they to view, transported his conceit.  
Nor only so; but, held the best things vain  
That easily fall into a world of Brain:  
But only that he took, that hardly falls  
Into the Brains of Arts best Generals?  
That ere his Theughts objected were to sight,  
Our Sense might well perceive his thoughts to fight  
For place and grace, and all to grace his Wife  
(Now matchless widow) were they thus in strife.  
His Commonsense, and fantasy conveyed,  
Their Objects to his judgement, to be weighed  
But for heruse; yet so, as he is thought  
To be the Best that ever Art hath wrought.   

His Minds clear Eye pried narrowly, to spy  
What well would grace her, ere it come to Eye.  
Not like some idle Poets of our Time,  
That oversee great Reason, for small Rhyme:  
And from Invention, take what comes unweighed  
(By judgement, with the Understandings aid)  
To farce great Books, with Ignorance far greater:  
Which neretheless, oft better sell than better.  
Minerva, mend this Miss: or take them hence,  
That strangle innocent Intelligence,  
With lines too rude for Mules: But our Apollo  
Made none, that made not all his Priests to follow  
Drawn by the Ears, to the Similitude  
Of his Art's beauty, and Beatitude.   

But, envious FATE (unable to abide  
A Man, that was, like God, so glorified  
For fair Desert) with Venom did invent  
A way to bane the wittiest Innocent  
That ever died to live: for, live he must,  
And shall, in fame, a Martyr, in his dust.  
For, wrackthe was for his Integrity,  
By the high hand of Power, and Injury:  
Who, for but leading blinded Love aright,  
Was (ah!) misdone by that loves baneful spite.   

O pity, past compare! O dire Event  
Of truest loves so laudable intent!  
Words cannot utter it; and Wit's too weak  
To show the ruth of it. Swell heart, and break.   

Then, sith nor words nor wit can ere suffice  
To show the ruth that from less falls doth rise;  
And t'vndergoe the blaze of this distress,  
Makes my Pen straddle with the heaviness,  
Rest here sad Pen; sith all thy sable Tears  
Are lighter than this Cause of cares and fears:  
For, if from thee but one Tear should descend  
So black as It, that Tear would fear a Fiend;  
Or if, through thee, one Tear should fall in Print  
So sad as it, that Tear would tear a Flint.   
I. D.   

An Epitaph.  

WIt, Art, and Nature made a threefold war  
To reign, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 peace, in him which here doth lie:  
Wit strove with Art; and both (though regular)  
With Nature, joining, strove for Sovereignty.  
But, Prudence, with her power's, (still bend to peace  
Keeping the Sconce, that did his whole command)  
The war surceased for his Worthiness;  
That only It had then the upperhand.  
Yet selfe-divided-honesty beheld  
That peace, in war with her own Charity.  
Then, bend her power's to make their power's to yield  
So, all subdu'd to selfe-Integrity.  
But, Fate (best friend but to the most profane,)  
Stirred up the hand of Hate, in heart of Power,  
(And all in show of Love) to work his bane;  
So, from minerva's crown soon cropped this flower:  
Yet ere it went, it left such Air, (though dim)  
As makes all sweet that savours but of him.    

Mirum in Modum.  

Ifever Time or Fate produced such Crimes  
As may shake hell with horror but to near,  
The instant NOW may flow to Aftertimes  
To drowned them with amazement, grief, and fear:  
For, if the fluxion of this instant NOW  
Effect not That, nought will that Time doth know.   

Yet Time, as yet, but shows (as through a glass)  
Part of the whole; but, by that parts extent  
judgement may guess, in evil, it doth pass  
As far beyond belief, as precedent:  
Love fain would hide it; yet heavens justest hate  
Deems that grace damned, that it would palliate.   

Yet justice nought reveals, but for the day  
Wherein her trials be; and, that's no more  
Than the Offender doth himself bewray;  
Which is but part of treacheries greater store:  
This poyson-plague is so contagious, that  
'tis feared it spreads, to inwards of more state.   

Should I my self, at whom Love first doth aim,  
(And yet not self-love) so offend, I should  
In Conscience damn myself t'an hell of shame;  
Sith neither Time nor Place such sin do hold:  
" For, greatest Crimes but to extenuate,  
" Is but the Doers crime to aggravate.   

To cloak a fault so fowl, and yet so clear,  
Is, in the Sun, the ugliest Toad to hide  
With baneful air; through which it doth appear  
More ugly far, and by it more espied.  
" Then, Penitence, not Impudence, doth win  
" The greatest grace t'acquit the greatest Sin.   

None otherwise then as the Lion's said  
To spare to spoil his humble yielding prey:  
So, by highest grace is highest justice stayed  
At point to strike, when yielders mercy pray:  
But her t'affront with pride, or stubbornness,  
Makes her more horrid; and grace, merciless.   

Say, Greatness; What account wilt make to heaven  
For making those that tend thee, to attend  
On nought but mischief not to be forgiven?  
Standest thou not charged with both their crime &  
If so; a world of Penitence must clear end?  
A sin so base, performed at rate so dear.   

And (O!) suppose you hear your captiue's calls,  
Deep groans, and outcries while in's bowels raged  
An hell of heat; yet moand but by the walls  
Resounding but his grief's cries unassuaged:  
In whom the force of Nature (being young)  
Wrestled with pain, his torments to prolong.   

As Life, and Nature had, with Bane, and Death  
Conspired, to make him feel more Deaths than one;  
So groaned he still, as Death would seize each breath  
He fetched for life; yet lived but still to groan:  
" Yea, groan alone: and that, in hells of pain,  
" Augments the grief: nay, makes it more than  
reign.   

He took no meat: but in it Poison took;  
Nor Drink he drank, but brewed was with Bane:  
Yet, as if poison had itself for sook,  
It ceased to kill, but yet grew more immane:  
For, so it raged within him, that it made  
His Heartstrings crack; yet did their breach evade.   

justice (great Arbitress of all that's done  
In Time or Place) though outwardly but blind  
(Because she knows no persons) needs must run  
Upon thee blind-old, led thereto by Kind:  
For, nought stands in her way, but down it goes  
(Though high as heaven) to hellish overthrows.   

Then deem I MERCY well provides for such  
As so offend, by justice, so to fall:  
For, so, though for their crime, their souls do grudge  
Yet have they Time, and helps more special:  
Then others further off the stroke of DEATH,  
To save their souls, with losing well their breath.   

That happie-haplesse Soul (the last of Three  
That First were Well-misdone, for this misdeed)  
Being bound to Death, yet spoke as being free;  
And praised the justice that his death decreed:  
So seemed, to glory in his death of shame,  
Sith it did glorify high justice Name.   

Had Grace met Art and Nature, in his Head,  
As Courage in his Heart, with Cunning met:  
He might have ruled those that have governed:  
But rising with the Sommer-Sunne now set:  
Did set with him, by whom he did ascend:  
Whence brightly falling, graced a gloomy end.   

A Friend of Faith, or Heavens most faithful Friend  
Still prayed to know the number of his Days:  
To be prepared the better for his End:  
Then, he that knows his latest moment, stays  
On ●…rer Ground, though near Death's horrid house,  
Than they that stand on Rocks more dangerous.   

A press of People (priest to pray for grace  
For him that dies) at heavens bright gates do beat:  
And wings make of their Words to fan the Face  
Of Highest justice, so to cool her heat:  
This was His privilege, that so did die,  
Heaved up to Heaven, past reach of Infamy.   

A violent-death, then, to the soul is mild;  
But, on the BED of Death, most stern is He:  
Where oft he makes our Minds & Manners wild;  
Then, Grace nor Nature with it doth agree:  
But He (Al-wise, reposed in Passions strife)  
Held this straight Death, the easiest door of LIFE.   

The force of fear those succours (oft) betray  
Which Reason offers; but this ill-good Man  
No council held with fear in Death's affray;  
But, in his Trial, tried what Reason can  
Afford for fence, without distracted mood;  
So, made his worst of Ill, his best of Good.   

To fall from Fortune, sitting on her Knee,  
From Wife and Children, and what else is dear,  
Yet from the helps of reason not once to flee,  
Is complete Virtue; making Vice to clear  
Her way to GLORY through shames neither hell:  
This Cast was ill; but, thus, he played it well.   

So well, a Cast so ill is seldom played,  
Scarce in a world of Time we meet with such:  
whose worth (too cheap employed) in judgement weighed  
Was found more dear than clear on trials Touch:  
Abstracting from his fault, worth makes his fame  
To fly to heaven, to glorify his shame.   

If those in this sad Plays Catastrophe,  
Play their dire Parts, no worse: all Dignity  
Is less than is their Bliss, and gloryes-Sea,  
Wherein, ore-wholmed they shall still living dye:  
" But Courage comes from Heaven; & it must give  
" That Worth, in Death, on which Fame still shall  
live.   

But 'tis an Hell to all voluptuous hearts,  
To leave Youth, Beauty, Honours, Wealth, and all  
That's dear to Sense, to play such dismal parts;  
And from the height of State, with shame to fall:  
" But, what of pure necessity must be,  
" Must well be borne, to honour high-Degree.   

For, publike-hate, though for the hatefull'st Cause,  
Will soon be turned to Love, by playing well  
Unpitied parts: Nay, it makes justice pause  
E'er doom them death, who (near it) so excel.  
Though Common-hate the great'st Offenders tears,  
Yet it bewails their wel-born death with Tears.   

For, though it burn, as quenchless: yet it is  
Extinguished quite, by seeing loathed ones play  
Beloved Parts, in Death, or Miseries:  
Their Eyes (that hold their hearts) their hearts do sway.  
" A ruthful Object, though most loathed before,  
" Is pitied, when fell Spite can do no more.   

O devil, how canst thou, (being, as thou wast  
In thy Creation most Angelical;  
And but in Will, for one proud Thought, disgraced)  
How canst thou joy in so much grief of all?  
Why art so priest, but on mere Frailties Spells,  
For Mankind's plague, to leave the neither Hells?   

What Charms and Incantations have such strength  
As from those Holls to hale thee, there being bound  
With Chains of Darkness, of the shortest length?  
Lies it in their words Sense, or in their sound?  
No; 'tis no word of Reprobation can  
Command thy Service, but to cousin man..   

Thou art a Spirit: and therefore canst thou look  
Into the Breast of NATURE: and thence take  
Her chiefest Secrets (from the darkest Nook)  
Or Love, or Lust, t'inflame, enrage, or slake:  
Thou canst by such make Puppets, though of lead,  
To strike Desire, in liuely'st Bodies, dead.   

Thou on the Bodies oft of blessed Souls,  
Hast leave to use thy power in various kinds;  
But, for their Good: else He thy power controls  
That guards their souls from harm: tron ill, their minds;  
Yet waking and asleep, thou canst to fight  
Produce but Shades, to make the Mind too light.   

And Minds so light, will lightly nothing weigh  
Of Shame and heaviest Death, that lie between  
Them, and their Ends: who make it but a Play  
To drown a Comedy (through hate and teen)  
In Blood and Bane: such Turner's were of late,  
Asturnd, upon these Poles, such Spheres of Fate.   

Can Witchcraft, in the Abstract, so bewitch  
The Minds of those of Mind and Means, to be  
So base for Lucre, so to touch Shames Pitch  
As still will cleave to their Posterity?  
But Charms can make no souls to sin so sore,  
But such as GRACE. had less, for sin, before.   

Now (prostrate) let me, dear Liege, turn my speech  
To thee, who in thy justice look'st ' like God:  
No such Crime spat'st thou; yet, standest in the Breach  
Thy justice makes, to stay heavens justest rod:  
So thou (like God) dost grieve, when thou hast cause  
To cut off those, whom thou hast made, by laws.   

And though thou lose their Bodies with just grief,  
To please thy juster justice; yet, thy Care  
(Dear Care!) to give their fainting souls relief,  
Yer Death, gives leisure: so, dost spoil and spare,  
In just Ires grace: that (though thou them forego)  
The HEAD, doth with the Members suffer so.   

Dread Lord, I would, thy patience were not proved  
So much with crimes of so immense extent;  
And, that thou, sphere of all our State, wert moved  
Upon no adverse Poles of discontent:  
So, should thy lower spheres of rule, obey  
But thine; and move, as thine, their different sway.   

The CaresCares a Canker to thy sacred life  
Thou hast to keep thy compound people, one.  
Twixt worlds of adverse powers are worlds of strife,  
Which humane-powre can scarce in show atone.  
O, then, who weighs a Burden of such stress,  
But is oppressed with weight past Heaviness!   

But we, (that lie as far from wealth as wars)  
In low obscurity of state, do see  
(With sight the more contracted) all the stars  
That light to see thy cause of jealousy:  
Whose oppositions, in thy sphere of Power,  
Oft give, for which we grieve, thee cause to lower   

But, as an Arch, of many stones composed,  
Would fall but that they one another let:  
So, may their odds, in thy state's Arch enclosed,  
Make it more even; so, more strength to get:  
Though one Stone fall to ruin, let his place  
Be soon supplied by one of greater grace.   

Then, the more weight of power they do sustain,  
The firmer will the ARCH be, to uphold  
Thine HONOURS burden, folded in thy TRAIN,  
And make thy state and stay more manifold.  
So shall thy stay, when states re-chaosd lie,  
Make thee great Steward to ETERNITY.   
Finis.   

SPECULUM PRODITORI.  

This takes the vulgar Ear  
That loves the plain and clear:  
But, neither mine, nor those  
That hug proud Verse in Prose.   

KIngs, Gods on Earth, so called by Him of Heaven,  
How dismal is your Deities estate!  
Who while you life do give, are life bereau'n;  
And oft, for too much lone, get too much hate:  
Whose surest Forecasts, stand on six and seven;  
Which, with you (Sovereigns) subject are to Fate.  
What Diu'lls can envy, then, such Dcities,  
Whose Heavens are hells, of short-sweet- miseries?   

Toil ye to shield their lives, that shoot at yours;  
And make yourselves, of Sovereigns, sou'rain slaves?  
Spending your Brains, & strengths, & precious hours  
As if your selves digged, for yourselves, your graves  
For, th'hollow subject (grave- like) you devours;  
Whom ye make hollow, oft with welfare's waves,  
For, if ye fill Ambition, Spite, or Fear,  
Ye fill the Sails will quite you overbear.   

Men-beasts, borne subject, yet can never bear  
Your birth's allotment! What? O what is it  
That makes ye, like vile timber-wormes to wear  
The Posts sustaining you? What grace, or Wit,  
Appears in facts, where your own falls appear?  
Will ye needs rise, to fall? not (sure) still sit?  
If needs ye will, foul be your fairest fall;  
Sith ye would rise, by overthrowing All.   

Cannot the ten times worse than ill success  
Of graceless Gowries worse, far worse assay,  
With heaps of horrors so your thoughts oppress,  
That these should freeze your souls w cold dismay.  
Danger & Death (ye heard) could not distress  
Our heaven holp King; who through both made his way.  
For, kings are Gods, who with a frown can make  
The Arm of flesh, for fear, all force forsake.   

Or know you not a crown is of such weight,  
That no disloyal hand can it transfer,  
But crushed it is to nothing with it strait?  
Cannot this thought your hands from this deter?  
On Treason doth an hell of horrors wait;  
Which, in itself, against itself doth war.  
Then, that which in itself is at this stay,  
Must fall (else Truth doth lie) and soon decay.   

Conspirators have nought but pale mistrust,  
Sad thoughts and terrors ever them attending:  
B●…, Princes, on their sides, have subjects just,  
T●…r Guards, their Majesties, their Laws defending  
(What heart dare, maugre all these, be unjust)  
All these their powers against the traitor bending:  
Then how can Traitors be so overbold,  
When such great fears their hearts do underhold?   

Their tired wits (though beaten night and day)  
Can make no shift a traitorous life to save:  
The guilty conscience doth itself bewray;  
And thoughts turmoild, no stayed advisement have:  
Fear strikes them so, that (tossed) they cannot stay,  
But judgement makes uncertain as a wave:  
The flowing streams of honeyed Eloquence  
Can near sustain the weight of great offence.   

Pure Innocents' with undefiled tongue,  
By instinct of Nature, have persuasive power:  
But guilty ones, defiled with blood and wrong,  
Their faltering tongues, are ever most unsure;  
So full of Discords is Rebellions Song,  
That it no ear in tune can aught allure:  
Though Art aid falsehood, with her powers, yet shall  
Truth, naked, trip them; so they needs must fall.   

The bended brow of justice, sore dismays  
The guilty, though their wits in glory shine;  
And sickle Fear their judgement still betrays,  
Presenting strange Chimaeras to their eyen;  
Which so the soul with horror over-layes  
And Reasons right discourse so wrists in fine,  
That all that from the Mind or Mouth proceeds  
Within itself, then, disagree must needs.   

The passions of annoy more strongly work  
Within the mind then those from joy proceeding:  
Now, if sweet joys, in merry minds that lurk,  
Do hinder Reason, strange distraction breeding,  
Much more will fear of pains, all pains exceeding  
Reason must then, of force, forsake the Helm,  
When waves of woe the body's bark o'erwhelm.   

Who enter Treason's maze, are like the men  
That run too desperately into the Sea;  
If they escape, it will be judged then  
That they were fortunate the wrack to flee,  
And out of Dangers mouth to come again:  
But if they perish, than it said will be,  
They cast themselves in, to be cast away,  
By desperate forecast, cause of their decay.   

For, as an Arrow glanceth on a stone  
For want of softness in the stone to stay it:  
So treason lightly will be overthrown,  
Though for fit time, Wit willeth to delay it,  
And keep the same the while from all unknown,  
That likely God nor man can well bewray it;  
Yet out it will, and like an Arrow glance  
Upon the foiling Flint, of hard mischance.   

A blessed death, a cursed life excuseth;  
(For, no man's truly blest before his end)  
So, a cursed death, a blessed life accuseth:  
But, when that life and death, to death doth tend,  
It seems the soul, life wilfully refuseth;  
For, she in life, and death, doth but offend:  
From such a life and death, grace keeps all those  
That to Pride's Naturals are mortal foes.   

The more that Empire doth enlarge her bounds,  
The more is Fortune's empire over it;  
Who scorns to thrust at slaves, but kings she wounds  
And on their Seats doth oft make slaves to sit:  
And sitting there, in sport, she them confounds;  
So, bandies kings, and slaves, as she thinks fit:  
But, slaves are racket, kings are her hand- balls;  
Which being greater, have the harder falls.   

Senec.  
These seldom meet with siluer-hairs, though care  
Doth (for that tincture) Time anticipate;  
The Liege that lies on beds, that sumptuous are,  
Sleeps more in fear than beggars at his gate:  
Whom the grey morn hath seen high, past compare,  
The blushing even hath seen in abject state.  
A world of mouths they feed, & courts they keep  
Whose stabbing dreams do make them start in sleep.   

The purple rob is oft re-purpelled  
With royal blood, that from the heart doth stream;  
When homely rags (though rend) are near made red  
With th'owners blood, sith they do range a ream  
And yet not rule it, as the Sceptered.  
These sleep secure, in many a golden dream,  
While Princes lie on thorns of pricking fears,  
That make their days to interdict their years.   

In tooth som'st disb the baneful bait doth lie;  
And Treason dives into the sweetest wine;  
At every bit they fear her treachery,  
And doubt, each draft they drink, they drink their fine.  
O! if as through a glass we might espy  
The swarms of fears, and cares, their hearts confine  
We would not stoop to gather up a crown,  
If as the crown, the cares must be our own.   

The princely Ports no sooner open are set,  
But devilish Envy glides through all unseen:  
But hates as hell, the Neat-heards Cabinet  
Whilst (Princely Peasant, with his summers queen)  
He frolics it, as free from dread as debt:  
And living so, a King himself doth ween:  
But, if he err, it is an error sweet,  
To meet Kings thoughts, and not their cares to meet.   

In Maple Mazer, or Beach-bowle he quaffs,  
And lifts it not to mouth with shaking hands:  
His Love and He, eats, drinks, and sleeps, & laffs,  
And she obeys, and he in love commands:  
Twixt them are neither jealousies nor Chases,  
For breaking Wedlock, or Subjections Bands:  
But, they enjoy Love, peace, and merriment,  
And therewithal, the Kingdom of Content.   

They fear not Fortunes frowns, nor way her fawns;  
Their great'st ambition is to live to love:  
Much Coin they need not, much less precious pawns  
That by a Cow can live, and pleasures prove,  
Yea, feed with her, on Salads in the Lands,  
In Weeds yelad, as homely spun as wove;  
Milk being their best meat, & sour whey their wine,  
And when they hunger, than they sup & dine.   

They can no skill of States deep policies,  
Not will they wade in deeps so dangerous:  
This makes them live so free from Tragedies  
That are to Heaven and Earth so odious:  
They Actors are in pastoral Comedies,  
That tend to Love, and Mirth harmonious.  
O heavenly-earthly life, life for a King:  
That lives with nothing, as with every- thing.   

They seldom pass the unreturned ways  
That lead t'infernall Ioues Dominions.  
Their silly Soul (with hopes assurance) stays  
On CHRIST his Cross, & Faith's Conclusions:  
They do distaste the delicate Assays  
Of Schoolman's Craft, and nice distinctions:  
Nature and Grace in silence guides them well,  
Whilst Doctors deep, dispute themselves too Hell.   

Grace hates all sin, with hate most exquisite;  
But none, so much (though more, then much, the least)  
As she doth pride; for, that distracts the wit,  
Contracts the Soul to sin, makes Man a Beast,  
Confines Society, alone to sit;  
Makes will a Law, and wrongs the Worst and Best.  
This is Ambition, this is damned Pride,  
Which God, nor Man, have patience to abide.   

The steps of Man's ascent, on Fortunes-wheele,  
Must needs be slippery, sith it is so steep:  
The Topp's most wavering, ready still to reel;  
The going down, is like as in the Deep  
A Ship goes down, with overturned Keel;  
When o'er a mounting Billow she doth sweep:  
And if the fall from High-estate be such,  
How dreadful is it then, to mount too much?   

For, Dignity on Virtue, grounded is.  
Then, if the ground do fail, and false become,  
The more is built thereon, the sooner 'tis  
Sinking to ground, and ruin'd all or some:  
The more our Power, the more of Peace we miss,  
If Virtue adverse powers do not o'ercome:  
That Envy, which high pride did life-inspire,  
Humility must kill, or make retire.   

I knew a Man, unworthy as I am,  
And yet too worthy for a counterfeit  
Made once a King; who though it were in game,  
Yet was it there where Lords and Ladies met;  
Who honoured him, as he had been the same,  
And no subjective duty did forget;  
When to himself he smiled, and said, lo here  
I have for nought, what Kings do buy so dear.   

No odds there was in show (and but in show,  
Kings are too often honoured) save that he  
Was but twelve gamesome days to king it so;  
And kings, more years of sovereign misery.  
His reign was short and sweet, theirs long in wo.  
He after lived: they, with or for theirs, die.  
He had a taste of reign, with power to leave;  
They cannot taste, but life must take or give.   

Kings for the treasons to them offered  
Must offer them that offer it, whereby  
The body still may hold up high the head,  
Lest otherwise they both too low might lie:  
Yet by this means, blood, oft, with hate, is shed,  
If blood so shed, do fall or much, or high;  
But he without blood did be ●…e●…ead his foes,  
So made him friends indeed, of foes in shows.   

He sat in state, that mirth, and love did stay;  
They sit in state that hate oft undermines;  
He, without fear, had some to take assay;  
But they have such, for fear of sudden fines:  
He poisoned some (to play as kings might play)  
But 'twas with Sugar and perfumed wines:  
He went with guards, yet stabbing feared not:  
They go with guards, yet fear the stab or shot.   

He could devise with Ladies, if he could  
devise with Ladies, without all suspect;  
If they do so they do not as they should,  
For 'twill be said their h●…nors they neglect:  
He could command, and have all as he would;  
But their commands oft have not that effect.  
Then who had better Reigns, judge all of sense,  
Either a king indeed, or in pretence.   

A conscience clear outdares Death to the face,  
Laughing to scorn his greatest tyranny;  
And with unconquerd patience doth disgrace  
His utmost malice, spite, and villainy:  
She winneth place of Death, by giving place,  
And by her yielding, getteth victory:  
Yea, triumphs over Death, through virtues might:  
For Virtue lives, when Death hath spit his spite.   

Never did Fear attend on Innocence:  
She Waiters scorns, that with her dare not die.  
Though she from wrong and danger seek defence,  
And may (if well she may) from either fly:  
Yet is her Courage of that excellence,  
That if she meet them she dares both defy.  
Then to be Innocent, is still to dare  
Death, Hell, and Vengeance, yea all Deaths that are.   

This makes the Prince his person to expose  
To Pistol, Poison, Dagger, and the like;  
Among them all (so armed) he freely goes,  
And starts not (as dismayed) when they do strike.  
This make them deem (dear hearts) they have no foes  
Because they ween they rule without mislike;  
And if some hellish hand them overbear,  
They die, as live they did, without all fear.   

Within their Countenance, Mirth, with Gravity  
(Grave for their place & mirth, their grace to show)  
In peace do strive for the precedency:  
Both which so sweetly grace them as they go;  
As makes the public love, on them to pry:  
With Eyes, which tears of joy (unfeigned) o'erflow,  
While Princely kindness doth itself employ,  
To open like flood-gates, into Seas of joy..   

When the stern Tyrant (with a folded Front,  
And Eyes disturbed, through suspicious fear)  
Doth starting stalk, as if Death did confront  
His steps, and to his Eyes did still appear;  
His Hand on Hilt he bears, Death to affront:  
Yet ghastly looks, as he still flying were;  
And when a Mouse doth cry, or Leaf doth shake,  
Out goes the Dagger, yet with fear doth quake.   

He fears his life, but more the second- death;  
Which death, he doubts, will second death of life:  
This makes him straight the dagger so unsheath  
T'in counter the first deaths approaching knife;  
Lest, being overthrown, he should beneath  
Still live in strife, as he hath lived in strife;  
The loss of Kingdom, life, and fear of that,  
Makes him (as mad) to do he knows not what.   

Who would a Sceptre hold, in such an hell,  
Like a commanding Fiend in horror still,  
Where subjects, like his passions aye rebel  
So live as Sovereign of a world of ill?  
And in nought, but in nought so to excel  
Is God (as much as in man lies) to kill:  
Which is the cause (as proof hath often told)  
It's hard to see an hellish Tyrant old.   

Imbrued with blood, or else in poison drenched,  
Away wends he the way the others sent;  
For with his blood, his thirst of blood is quenched;  
So, with a plague, repaid what he hath lent:  
Nor shall his blood, that flows amain be staunched,  
Sith Heaven and Earth against him still are bend.  
" For, when both heaven & earth, pursues the spoil;  
" No place but Hell is left then, to recoil.   

God's Armies march, some seen, but most unseen;  
Those seen, may be looked to, but not looked over;  
And how ere vile, Pride some of them may ween,  
Yet men most high, are oft foiled by the lower:  
But th'unseen Armies have such Weapons keen  
And power to use them, that all Flesh they gore:  
Who are so fly, that no man's wisdom may  
Their Ambushments avoid, or them bewray.   

For, can an Heart be wise that is profane?  
(Nay, fleshly wise? we will dismiss the Spirit?)  
It cannot be; for, Wisdom's in the wane  
When 'tis forsaken of the Heavenly light:  
A crazed Soul, must needs be wisdoms bane,  
whose powers want power to use their native might:  
For, when the Soul's unquiet through offence,  
Her fumes blind judgement, and Intelligence.   

We may not do ill, that thence good may springs  
Nor cease to do good, though ill thence may grow;  
The Ill that grows from good, is no ill thing:  
And to reap such, we still much good should sow,  
It's ill to have God's hate, with love of King;  
And worse, that hate to have for love more low.  
Then to be good, in Death's to be secure:  
And to be ill, in life's to be unsure.   

The Sun sees not a more detested thing  
Than is a Traitor, whose fowl Crime is such  
That they which love the Craft, the craftsman sting  
With deadly hate, and words that wound as much:  
And he that would of other Crimes be King,  
Abhor, but once this loathed Crime to touch.  
That Hand that can behead a Commonweal,  
Must have an heart, to help, of Flint or Steel.   

And they that would transform a Monarchy  
(Confirmed by many fair descents of Kings)  
T'an headless misproporrioned Anarchy  
(That Rule and Order to Confusion brings,  
To th'end to give Misrule more liberty)  
Are most condemned, if not most damned things.  
For, what Man can (though half a Devil) see  
All drowned in Gore, to purple his Degree?   

Traitor! o word, of force to make a Man  
Tear out his Eyes, that they see not the light!  
Which All, with bitter Execrations, ban,  
And at the very name, do spit in spite.  
Traitor! o gall! which no Gall suffer can,  
Odious to Heaven and Earth. to Day and Night;  
The very Air of such a loathed name,  
The joints of strongest Patience can unframe.   

What can the heart of Man excogitate  
More odious, or in nature, or in name,  
Than Treason? which e'en Hell itself doth hate,  
Although it be advantaged by the same.  
For Hell holds Traitors more degenerate  
From Nature, than her Fiends; so, more to blame:  
For Fiends, by nature, are most impious;  
But Men most impious, are most monstrous.   

A Sou'raigns' blood is sacred, and of power  
To draw down Angels, from their glorious spheres,  
With Vials, full of plagues, on Realms to power,  
(If it be spilled by spite) Nay Princes hairs  
Are numbered, and who makes but one unsure,  
shall feel that wrath, whose heat the mountains meres:  
O 'tis a dreadful thing but once to dream,  
In Physic, to make Royal blood to stream.   

'tis Blood of bloods; for, while it is bloud-warme:  
And carries life with it through all the Veins.  
It doth preserve the subjects blood from harm,  
That cold of fears to freeze else straight constrains:  
Then 'tis the lifeblood of a Kingdoms Arm,  
Which, while it's lively, her whole state sustains:  
O then how precious ought (in all men's eyes)  
Such blood to be wherein such virtue lies?   

Words, but in Wormwood steeped, ate too too weak  
To blazon Treasons bitter tyranny;  
None but soule-wounding words for it are meet,  
Because it wounds the Soul of Sovereignty:  
Then Treason, thus, my Muse, thy guilt doth grcete,  
(Which is the quintessence of villainy)  
Cursed be Thought, that thinks but on that Thought,  
That thinks thou art not ten times worse than nought.  
The Conclusion to Sir. Thomas Ouerbury.  
Thou findest more honour in th'untimely Grave  
Dear Ouerbury, than a King can have  
With all king's power: for, they can give no grace  
Beyond the span of life; Poor spacelesse-space!  
Then, blessed was thy death, how ever bannd  
It might be deemed by thee, for being baned:  
Sith Death, by poison, did but reave thy breath;  
But with That poison, thou hast poisoned Death.  
So, from his hand his weapon thou did wrest;  
And, for thy safety, sheathed it in his Breast.  
Yet comes thine honour, though it reach thus high,  
Short of thy merit for loves-puritie;  
And, for as much beside, as Wit and Art  
Can value give to any Head or Heart.  
Thou wast a Pythias to an Anti-Damon,  
Who, for thy true love, proved to thee a Demon.  
Had he been Damon in integrity,  
A King (perhaps) had made a Trinity  
Of friends with you; for, your love- Angellike  
Had made him make that Body-politicke;  
As whilom-did a Kaiser in like case:  
But three can near make one, if one be base,  
And two be dear; sith Dissimilitude  
Dissolves the knot of loves beatitude.   

Fortune on thee, in him, did smile and lower;  
Smile in his fortunes, in thy wisdoms power:  
But loured on thee, when he (false ladder) rose  
For thee to climb, to both your overthrows.  
He rose and fell from thee; and thou by him  
Didst rise and fall: but thou, in bane didst swim  
Past Lethe; and in blood and blame he tides  
(As far beyond, as shame, past shame, abides)  
With winds of his own sighs, without one tear  
Of any ruthful Eye, though near so near.  
But, sith nought stayed him to thee, but the air  
Of words; who would ascend by such a stair?  
Thou being on his breast, through want of stay  
For thy worths-weight, from thee he fell away:  
But, thou camest first to ground; and, with the fall,  
Thy bowels broke, all-pickled with thy gall:  
Thy Ghost, yet (if she know what mortals do)  
Must needs exult; and have compassion too,  
To hear thy praises peald-out as they be;  
And see such justice done, on earth, for thee.  
Yea, as thy Ghost had leave, in wrathful mood;  
To surfeit with thy foes delicious- blood,  
Which from the high in place, still headlong, streams  
Through thy late Sovereigns dearst of Diadems,  
To fresh the flowers thereof, and her so cloy,  
That she, as sick therewith, is grieved with joy.  
So as thy shrill Uindicate's now do ring  
With groans about the Palace of the King;  
As if thy Soul, in bliss, in some degree  
Did Suffer pain with sufferers for thee.  
And if she (plagued) in life did hell endure,  
Through their close hate who did thy death procure,  
'tis openly revenged, so home, that all  
The world may see thy worth's-weight in their fall.  
For, as pure gold best known is by the TEST  
In fire: so, that dear virtue of thy Breast,  
In flames of Love, and fi'ry-tryals tried,  
Doth make thy Worth, in greatness, far more wide  
Than Time: for, when he (stretched out) is laid forth  
Thy glory shall entomb him in thy WORTH.   
FINIS.