POEMS:  
BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND, of Hawthrone-denne.  
The second Impression.  
EDINBURGH,  
Printed by ANDRO HART. 1616.   

To the Author.  
WHile thou dost praise the Roses, Lilies, Gold,  
Which in a dangling Tress and Face appear,  
Still stands the Sun in Skies thy Songs to hear,  
A Silence sweet each Whispering Wind doth hold;  
Sleep in Pasitheas' Lap his Eyes doth fold,  
The Sword falls from the God of the fifth Sphere,  
The Herds to feed, the Birds to sing, forbear,  
Each Plant breathes Love, each Flood and Fountain cold:  
And hence it is, that that once Nymph, now Tree,  
Who did th' Amphrisian Shepherds Sighs disdain,  
And scorned his Lays, mo●…'d by a sweeter Vein,  
Is become pitiful, and follows Thee:  
Thee loves, and vaunteth that she hath the Grace,  
A Garland for thy Locks to interlace.  
PARTHENIUS.   

POEMS:  BY W. D. 

THE FIRST PART.  

SONNET.  
IN my first Years, and Prime yet not at height,  
When sweet Conceits my Wits did entertain,  
Ere Beauties Force I knew or false Delight,  
Or to what Oar she did her Captives chain;  
Led by a sacred Troop of Phoebus' Train,  
I first began to read, then Love to write,  
And so to praise a perfect Red and White,  
But (God wot) wist not what was in my Brain:  
Love smiled to see in what an awful Guise  
I turned those Antiques of the Age of Gold,  
And that I might more Mysteries behold,  
He set so fair a Volume to mine Eyes,  
That I [quires closed which (dead) dead Sighs but breath]  
joy on this living Book to read my Death.   

SON.  
I Know that all beneath the Moon decays,  
And what by Mortals in this World is brought,  
In Times great Periods shall return to nought,  
That fairest States have fatal Nights and Days:  
I know how all the Muses heavenly Lays,  
With Toil of sprite which are so dearly bought,  
As idle Sounds of few, or none are sought,  
And that nought lighter is than airy Praise.  
I know frail Beauty like the purple Flower,  
To which one Morn of Birth and Death affords,  
That Love a jarring is of Minds Accords,  
Where Sense and Will invassall Reason's Power:  
Know what I list, this all can not me move,  
But that (o me!) I both must write, and love.   

SON.  
Ye who so curiously do paint your Thoughts,  
Enlightening every Line in such a Guise,  
That they seem rather to have fallen from Skies,  
Than of a human Hand be mortal Draughts;  
In one Part Sorrow so tormented lies,  
As if his Life at every Sigh would part,  
Love here blindfolded stands with Bow and Dart,  
There Hope looks pale, Despair with rainy Eyes:  
Of my rude Pincell look not for such Art,  
My Wit I find now lessened to devise  
So high Conceptions to express my Smart,  
And some think Love but feigned, if too too wise:  
These troubled Words and Lines confused you find,  
Are like unto their Model my sick Mind.   

SON.  
Fair is my Yoke, though grievous be my Pains,  
Sweet are my Wounds, although they deeply smart,  
My Bit is Gold, though shortened be the Rains,  
My Bondage brave, though I may not depart:  
Although I burn, the Fire which doth impart  
Those Flames, so sweet reviving Force contains,  
That (like Arabia's Bird) my wasted Heart  
Made quick by Death, more lively still remains.  
I joy, though oft my waking Eyes spend Tears,  
I never want Delight, even when I groan,  
Best companied when most I am alone,  
A Heaven of Hopes I have midst Hells of Fears:  
Thus every Way Contentment strange I find,  
But most in Her rare Beauty, my rare Mind.   

SON.  
HOw that vast Heaven entitled First is rolled,  
If any other Worlds beyond it lie,  
And People living in Eternity,  
Or Essence pure that doth this All uphold:  
What Motion have those fixed Sparks of Gold,  
The wandering Carbuncles which shine from high,  
B●… Sprights, or Bodies, contrare-Wayes in Sky  
If they be turned, and mortal Things behold:  
How Sun posts Heaven about, how Nights pale Queen  
With borrowed Beams looks on this hanging Round,  
What Cause fair Iris hath, and Monsters seen  
In Airs la●…ge Fields of Light, and Seas profound,  
Did hold my wand●…ing Thoughts; when thy sweet Eye  
Bade me leave all, and only think on Thee.   

SON.  
VAunt not, fair Heavens, of your two glorious Lights,  
Which though most bright, yet see not when they shine,  
And shining, cannot show their Beams divine  
Both in one Place, but part by Days and Nights,  
Earth, vaunt not of those Treasures ye enshrine,  
Held only dear because hid from our Sights,  
Your pure and burnished Gold, your Diamonds fine,  
Snow-passing ivory that the Eye delights:  
Nor Seas of those dear Wares are in you found,  
Vaunt not, rich Pearl, red Coral, which do stir  
A fond Desire in Fools to plunge your Ground  
Those all (more fair) are to be had in Her:  
Pearl, ivory, Coral, Diamond, Suns, Gold,  
Teeth, Neck, Lips, Heart, Eyes, Hair, are to behold.   

SON.  
THat learned Grecian (who did so excel  
In Knowledge passing Sense, that he is named  
Of all the after-Worlds Divine) doth tell,  
That at the Time when first our Souls are framed,  
Ere in these Mansions blind they come to dwell,  
They live bright Rays of that Eternal Light,  
And others see, know, love, in heavens great height,  
Not toiled with aught to Reason doth rebel;  
Most true it is, for strait at the first Sight  
My Mind me told, that in some other Place  
It elsewhere saw the Idea of that Face,  
And loved a Love of heavenly pure Delight?  
No Wonder now I feel so fair a Flame,  
Sith I Her loved ere on this Earth she came.   

SON.  
NOw while the Night her sable vail hath spread,  
And silently her resty Coach doth roll,  
Rousing with Her from TETHIS azure Bed  
Those starry Nymphs which dance about the Pole,  
While CYNTHIA in purest Cypress clad,  
The Latmian Shepherd in a Trance descries,  
And whiles looks pale from height of all the Skies,  
Whiles dies her Beauties in a bashful Red,  
While Sleep (in Triumph) closed hath all Eyes,  
And Birds and Beasts a Silence sweet do keep,  
And PROTE us monstrous People in the Deep,  
The Winds and Waves (hushed up) to rest entice,  
I wake, muse, weep, and who my Heart hath slain  
See still before me to augment my Pain.   

SON.  
Sleep, Silence Child, sweet Father of soft Rest,  
Prince whose Approach Peace to all Mortals brings,  
Indifferent Host to Shepherds and to Kings,  
Sole Comforter of Minds with Grief oppressed.  
Lo, by thy charming Rod all breathing things  
Lie slumbering, with forgetfulness possessed,  
And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy Wings  
Thou spares (alas) who cannot be thy Guest.  
Since I am thine, O come, but with that Face  
To inward Light which thou art wont to show,  
With feigned Solace ease a true felt Woe,  
Or if deaf God thou do deny that Grace,  
Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath,  
I long to kiss the Image of my Death.   

SON.  
Fair Moon who with thy Cold and Silver Shine  
Makes sweet the Horror of the dreadful Night,  
Delighting the weak Eye with Smiles divine,  
Which PHOEBUS dazels with his too much Light.  
Bright Queen of the first Heaven, if in thy Shrine  
By turning oft, and Heavenseternall Might,  
Thou hast not yet that once sweet Fire of thine  
ENDEMION, forgot, and Lovers Plight?  
If Cause like thine may Pity breed in thee,  
And Pity somewhat else to it obtain,  
Since thou hast Power of Dreams as well as He  
Who paints strange Figures in the slumbering Brain:  
Now while She sleeps in doleful Guise her Show  
These Tears, and the black Map of all my Woe.   

SON.  
Lamp of heavens Crystal Hall that brings the Hours,  
Eye-dazaler who makes the ugly Night  
At thine Approach fly to her slumbrie Bowers,  
And fills the World with Wonder and Delight:  
Life of all Lives, Death▪ giver by thy Flight  
To Southern Pole from these six Signs of ours,  
Goldsmith of all the Stars, with Silver bright  
Who Moon enamels, Apelles of the Flowers.  
Ah, from those watery Plains thy golden Head  
Raise up, and bring the so long lingering Morn,  
A Grave, nay Hell, I find become this Bed,  
This Bed so grievously where I am torn:  
But (woe is me) though thou now brought the Day,  
Day shall but serve more Sorrow to display.   

SONG.  

IT was the time when to our Northern Pole  
The brightest Lamp of Heaven begins to roll,  
When Earth more wanton in new Robes appeareth,  
And scorning Skies her Flowers in Rainbows beareth,  
On which the Air moist sapphires doth bequeath,  
Which quake to feel the kissing Zephyr's breath:  
When Birds from shady Groves their Love forth warble,  
And Sea like Heaven, Heaven looks like smoothest Marble,  
When I, in simple Course, free from all Cares,  
far from the muddy Worlds captiving Snares,  
By Oras flowery Banks alone did wander,  
Ora that sport's her like to old Meander,  
A Flood more worthy Fame and lasting Praise  
Than that which Phaeton's Fall so high did raise:  
Into whose moving Glass the Milk-white Lilies  
Do dress their Tresses and the Daffodils.  
Where Ora with a Wood is crowned about  
And seems forget the Way how to come out,  
A Place there is, where a d●…licious Fountain  
Springs from the swelling Paps of a proud Mountain,  
Whose falling Streams the quiet Caves do wound,  
And make the Echoes shrill resound that Sound.  
The Laurel there the shining Channel graces,  
The Palm her Love with long-stretched Arms embraces,  
The Poplar spreads her Branches to the Sky,  
And hides from sight that azure canopy.  
The Streams the Trees, the Trees their leaves still nourish,  
That Place grave Winter finds not without Flourish.  
If living Eyes Elysian fields could see  
This little Arden might Elysium be.  
Here Diane often used to repose Her,  
And Acidalias' Queen with Mars rejoice her:  
The Nymphs oft here do bring their Mands with Flowers,  
And Anadeames weave for their Paramours,  
The satires in those Shades are heard to languish,  
And make the shepherds Partners of their Anguish,  
The Shepherds who in Barks of tender Trees  
Do grave their Loves, Disdains, and jealousies,  
Which Phillis when there by Her Flocks she feedeth  
With Pity whiles, sometime with laughter reedeth.   

Near to this place when Sun in midst of Day,  
In highest top of Heaven his Coach did stay,  
And (as advising) on his Carrier glanced  
The way did rest, the space he had advanced  
His panting Steeds along those Fields of light,  
Most princely looking from that ghastly height:  
When most the Grasshoppers are heard in Meadows,  
And lofty Pines have small, or else no Shadows,  
It was my hap, O woeful hap! to bide  
Where thick●…st Shades me from all Rays did hide  
Into a shut-up-place, some Syluans Chamber,  
Whose Ceiling spread was with the Locks of Amber  
Of new-bloomed Sycamores, Floor wrought with Flowers,  
More swe●…te and rich than those in Prince's Bowers▪  
Here Adonis blushed, and Clitia all amazed  
Looked pale, with Him who in the Fountain gazed,  
The Aramanthus smiled, and that sweet Boy  
Which sometime was the God of Delos joy:  
The brave Carnation, speckled pink here shined,  
The Violet her fainting Head declined  
Beneath a drowsy Chasbow, all of Gold  
The Marigo●…d her leaves did here unfold.   

Now ●…hile that ravished with delight and wonder,  
Half in a trance I lay those Archers under,  
The season, silence, place, did all entice  
Eyes heavy lids to bring Night on their Skies,  
Which softly having stolen themselves together  
(Like Evening Clouds) me placed I wot not whether.  
As Cowards leave the Fort which they should keep  
My senses one by one gave place to Sleep,  
Who followed with a Troop of golden Slumbers  
Thrust from my quiet Brain all base Encombers,  
And thrice me touching with his Rod of Gold,  
A Heaven of Visions in my Temples rolled,  
To countervail those Pleasures were bereft me,  
Thus in his silent Prison closed he left me.   

Me thought through all the Neighbour Woods a noise  
Of Choristers, more sweet than Lute or voice,  
(For those harmonious sounds to JOVE are given  
By the swift touches of the nyne-stringed Heaven,  
Such are, and nothing else) did wound mine Ear,  
No Soul, that then became all Ear to hear:  
And whilst I listening lay O ghastly wonder!  
I saw a pleasant Myrtle cleave asunder,  
A Myrtle great with birth, from whose rend womb  
Three naked Nymphs more white than snow forth come.  
For Nymphs they seemed, about their heavenly Faces  
In Waves of Gold did flow their curling Tresses,  
About each Arm, their Arms more white than milk,  
Each wear a blushing Armelet of silk,  
The Goddesses such were that by Scamander,  
Appeared to the Phrygian Alexander,  
Aglaia, and her Sisters such perchance  
Be, when about some sacred Spring they dance▪  
But scarce the Grove their naked Beauties graced,  
And on the amorous Verdure had not traced,  
When to the Flood they ran, the Flood in Robes  
Of curling Crystal to breasts Ivory Globes  
Who wrapped them all about, yet seemed take pleasure  
To show warm Snows throughout her liquid Azure.   

Look how Prometheus' Man when heavenly Fire  
First gave him Breath Days Brandon did admire,  
And wondered of this World's amphitheatre,  
So gazed I on those new guests of the Water.  
All three were fair, yet one excelled as far  
The rest, as Phoebus doth the Cyprian Star,  
Or Diamonds small Gems, or Gems do other,  
Or Pearls that shining shell is called their Mother.   

Her hair more bright than are the Morning's Beams  
Hang in a golden shower above the Streams,  
And (sweetly toused) her forehead sought to cover,  
Which seen did strait a Sky of Milk discover,  
With two fair Brows, loves Bows, which never bend  
But that a Golden Arrow forth they send.  
Beneath the which two burning Planets glancing  
Flashed Flames of Love, for Love there still is dancing.  
Her either Cheek resembled a blushing Morn,  
Or Roses Gueules in field of Lilies borne:  
Betwixt the which a Wall so fair is raised,  
That it is but abased even when praised.  
Her Lips like Rows of Coral soft did swell,  
And th'one like th'other only doth excel:  
The Tyrian Fish looks pale, pale look the Roses,  
The Rubies pale, when Mouths sweet Cherry closes.  
Her Chin like silver Phebe did appear  
Dark in the midst to make the rest more clear:  
Her Neck seemed framed by curious Phidias Master,  
Most smooth, most white, a piece of Alabaster.  
Two foaming Billows flowed upon her Breast,  
Which did their tops with Coral red encrest:  
There all about as Brooks them sport at leisure,  
With Circling Branches veins did swell in Azure:  
Within those crooks are only found those Isles  
Which Fortunate the dreaming old World Stiles.  
The rest the Streams did hide, but as a Lily  
Sunk in a Crystals fair transparent Belly.   

ay, who yet human weakness did not know  
(For yet I had not felt that Archers Bow,  
Ne could I think that from the coldest Water  
The winged Youngling burning Flames could scatter)  
On every part my vagabounding Sight  
Did cast, and drown mine Eyes in sweet Delight.  
What wondrous Thing is this that beauty's named  
(Said I) I find I heretofore have dreamt?  
And never known in all my flying Days  
Good unto this, that only merits Praise.  
My Pleasures have been Pains, my Comforts Crosses,  
My Treasure Poverty, my Gains but Losses.  
O precious Sight! which none doth else descry  
Except the burning Sun, and quivering I.  
And yet O dear bought Sight! O would for ever  
I might enjoy you, or had joyed you never!  
O happy Flood! if so ye might abide,  
Yet ever glory of this Moment's Pride,  
Adjure your Rillets all now to behold Her,  
And in their Crystal Arms to come and fold Her:  
And sith ye may not ay your Bliss embrace,  
Draw thousand Pourtraits of Her on your Face,  
Pourtraits which in my Heart be more apparent,  
If like to yours my Breast but were transparent.  
O that I were while she doth in you play,  
A Dauphin to transport Her to the Sea,  
To none of all those Gods I would Her render  
From Thule to Ind though I should with Her wander.  
Oh! what is this? the more I fix mine Eye,  
Mine Eye the more new Wonders doth espy,  
The more I spy, the more in uncouth fashion  
My Soul is ravished in a pleasant Passion.   

But look not Eyes, as more I would have said  
A Sound of whirling Wheels me all dismayed,  
And with the Sound forth from the timorous Bushes  
With stormlike Course a sumptuous Chariot rushes,  
A Chariot all of Gold, the Wheels were Gold,  
The Nails, and Axletree Gold on which it rolled:  
The upmost Part a Scarlet vail did cover,  
More rich than Danae's Lap spread with her Lover:  
In midst of it in a triumphing Chair,  
A Lady sat miraculously fair,  
Whose pensive Countenance, and Looks of Honour,  
Do more allure the Mind that thinketh on Her,  
Than the most wanton Face and amorous Eyes,  
That Amathus or flowery Paphos sees.  
A Crew of Virgins made a Ring about Her,  
The Diamond she, they seem the Gold without Her.  
Such Thetis is when to the Billows roar  
With Mcrmaids nice she danceth on the Shore:  
So in a sable Night the suns bright Sister  
Among the lesser twinkling Lights doth glister.  
Fair Yokes of Ermelines, whose Colour pass  
The whitest S●…owes on aged Grampius Face,  
More swift than Venus B●…rds this Chariot guided  
To the astonished Bank where as it bided.  
But long it did not bide, when poor those Streams  
Ay me! it made, transporting those rich Gems,  
And by that Burden lighter, swiftly drived  
Till (as me thought) it at a Tower arrived.   

Upon a Rock of Crystal shining clear  
Of Diamonds this Castle did appear,  
Whose rising Spires of Gold so high them reared  
That Atlas▪ like it seemed the Heaven they beared.  
Amidst which Heights on Arches did arise  
(Arches which guilt Flames brandish to the Skies)  
Of sparking Topaces, Proud, Gorgeous, Ample,  
(Like to a little Heaven) a sacred Temple:  
Whose Walls no Windows have, nay all the Wall  
Is but one Window, Night there doth not fall  
More when the Sun to Western World▪ declineth,  
Than in our Zenith when at Noon He shineth.  
Two flaming Hills the Passage straight defend  
Which to this radiant Building doth ascend,  
Upon whose Arching tops on a Pilastre  
A Port stands open, raised in loves Disaster,  
For none that narrow Bridge and Gate can pass,  
Who have their Faces seen in Venus' Glass.  
If those within, but to come forth do venture,  
That stately Place again they never enter.  
The Precinct strengthened with a Ditch appears,  
In which doth swell a Lake of Inky Tears  
Of madding Lovers, who abide there moaning,  
And thicken even the Air with piteous Groaning.  
This Hold (to brave the Skies) the Destinies framed,  
The World the Fort of Chastity it named.  
The Queen of the third Heaven once to appall it,  
The God of Thrace here brought who could not thrall it,  
For which he vowed ne'er Arms more to put on,  
And on Riphean Hills was heard to groan.  
Here Psyche's Lover hurls his Darts at random,  
Which all for nought him serve as doth his Brandon.   

What bitter Anguish did invade my Mind,  
When in that Place my Hope I saw confined,  
Where with high-towring Thoughts jonely reached Her,  
Which did burn up their Wings when they approached Her?  
Me thought I set me by a Cypress Shade,  
And Night and Day the Hyacinth there read:  
And that bewa●…ling Nightingales did borrow  
Plaints of my Plaint, and Sorrows of my Sorrow.  
My Food was W●…rmewood, mine own Tears my Drink,  
My Rest on Death, and sad Mishaps to think.  
And for such Thoughts to have my Heart enlarged,  
And ease mine Eyes ●…ith briny Tribute charged,  
Over a Brook (me thought) my pining Face  
I laid, which then (as grieved at my Disgrace)  
A Face Me show'd again so overclouded,  
That at the Sight mine Eyes afraid them shrouded.  
This is the guerdon Love, this is the Gain  
In end which to thy Servants doth remain,  
I would have said, when Fear made Sleep to leave me,  
And of those fatal Shadows did bereave me.  
But ah alas! in stead to dream of Love,  
And Woes, me made them in effect to prove,  
For what into my troubled Brain was painted,  
I waking found that Time, and Place presented.    

SON.  
AH burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest,  
And your tumultuous Broils a while appease,  
Is't not enough, Stars, Fortune, Love molest  
Me all at once, but ye must to displease?  
Let Hope (though false) yet lodge within my Breast,  
My high Attempt (though dangerous) yet praise,  
What though I trace not right Heavens steppie Ways?  
It doth suffice, my Fall shall make me blest.  
I do not dote on Days, nor fear not Death,  
So that my Life be brave, what though not long?  
Let me Renowned live from the vulgar Throng,  
And when ye list (Heavens) take this borrowed Breath.  
Men but like Visions are, Time all doth claim,  
He lives, who dies to win a lasting Name.   

MADRIGAL.  
ADEDALE of my Death,  
Now I resemble that subtle Worm on Earth  
Which prone to its own evil can take no rest.  
For with strange Thoughts possessed,  
I feed on fading Leaves  
Of Hope, which me deceives,  
And thousand Webs doth warp within my Breast▪  
And thus in end unto myself I weave  
A fast-shut Prison, no, but even a Grave.   

SEXTAIN.  

THe Heaven doth not contain so many Stars,  
So many Leaves not prostrate lie in Woods,  
When Autumne's old, and Boreas sounds his Wars,  
So many Waves have not the Ocean Floods,  
As my rend Mind hath Torments all the Night,  
And Heart spends Sighs, when PHE●…VS brings the Light.   

Why should I been a Partner of the Light?  
Who crossed in Birth by bad Aspects of Stars,  
Have never since had happy Day nor Night,  
Why was not I a Liver in the Woods,  
Or Citizen of THETIS Crystal Floods,  
Than made a Man, for Love and Fortune's Wars?   

I look each Day when Death should end the Wars,  
Uncivil Wars, twixt Sense and Reason's Light,  
My Pains I count to Mountains, Meads, and Floods,  
And of my Sorrow Partners makes the Stars,  
All desolate I haunt the fearful Woods  
When I should give myself to Rest at Night.   

With watchful Eyes I ne'er behold the Night,  
Mother of Peace, but ah to me of Wars,  
And CYNTHIA Queen like shining through the Woods,  
When strait those Lamp●… come in my Thought, whose Light  
My judgement dazzled, passing brightest Stars,  
And then mine Eyes en-isle themselves with Floods.   

Turn to their Springs again first shall the Floods,  
Clear shall the Sun the sad and gloomy Night,  
To dance about the Pole cease shall the Stars,  
The Elements renew their ancient Wars  
Shall first, and be deprived of Place and Light,  
Ere I find Rest in City, F●…elds, or Woods.   

End these my days Endwellers of the Woods,  
Take this my Life ye deep and raging Floods,  
Sun never rise to clear me with thy Light,  
Horror and Darkness keep a lasting Night,  
Consume me Care with thy intestine Wars,  
And stay your Influence o'er me bright Stars.   

In vain the Stars, Endwellers of the Woods,  
Care, Horror, Wars I call and raging Floods,  
For all have sworn no Night shall dim my Sight.    

SON.  
O Sacred Blush impurpling Cheeks pure Skies,  
With crimson Wings which spread thee like the Morn,  
O bashful Look sent from those shining Eyes,  
Which (though cast down on Earth) couldst Heaven adorn!  
O Tongue in which most luscious Nectar lies,  
That can at once both bless and make forlorn,  
Dear Coral Lip which Beauty beautifies,  
That trembling stood ere that her words were borne.  
And you her Words, Words no, but Golden Chains  
Which did captive mine Ears, ensnare my Soul,  
Wise Image of her Mind, Mind that contains  
A Power all Power of Senses to control:  
Ye all from Love dissuade so sweetly me,  
That I love more, if more my Love could be.   

SON.  
NOr Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,  
Sebethus, nor the Flood into whose Streams  
He fell who burned the World with borrowed Beams,  
Gold-rolling Tagus, Munda, famous Iber;  
Sorgue, Rosne, Loire, Garron, nor prowd-banked Seine,  
Peneus, Phasis, Xant●…us, humble Ladon,  
Nor She whose Nymphs excel her who loved Adonis  
Fair Tamesis, nor Ister large, nor R●…eine,  
Euphrates, Tigris, I●…dus, Hermus, Ganges,  
Pearlie Hydaspes, Serpentlike Meander,  
The golf bereft sweet Hero her Leander,  
Nile that far far his hidden Head doth range,  
Have ever had so rare a Cause of Praise,  
As Ora, where this Northern Phoenix stays.   

SON.  
TO hear my Plaints fair River Crystalline  
Thou in a silent Slumber seems to stay,  
Delicious Flowers, Lillie and Columbine,  
Ye bow your Heads when I my Woes display.  
Forests, in you the Myrtle, Palm, and Bay,  
Have had compassion listening to my Groans,  
The Winds with Sighs have solemnized my Moans  
'Mong Leaves, which whispered what they could not say.  
The Caves, the Rocks, the Hills the Syluans Thrones  
(As if even Pity did in them appear)  
Have at my Sorrows rend their ruethlesse Stones,  
Each thing I find hath sense except my Dear  
Who doth not think I love, or will not know  
My Grief, perchance delighting in my Woe.   

SON.  
SWeet Brook, in whose clear Crystal I mine Eyes  
Have oft seen great in Labour of their Tears,  
Enameled Bank, whose shining Gravel bears  
These sad Characters of my Miseries.  
High Woods, whose mounting Tops menace the Spheres,  
Wild Citizens, Amphion's of the Trees,  
You gloomy Groves at hottest Noons which frieze,  
Elysian Shades which Phoebus never clears,  
vast solitary Mountains, pleasant Plains,  
Embroidered Meads that Ocean-wayes you reach,  
Hills, Dales, Springs, all that my sad Cry constrains  
To take part of my Plaints, and learn Woes Speech,  
Will that remorseless Fair ere Pity show,  
Of Grace now answer if ye ought know? No.   

SON.  
WIth flaming Horns the Bull now brings the Year,  
Melt do the horrid mountains Helms of Snow,  
The silver Floods in pearly Channels flow,  
The late-bare Woods green Anadeams do wear.  
The Nightingale forgetting Winter's Woe,  
Calls up the lazy Morn her Notes to hear,  
Those Flowers are spread which Names of Princes bear,  
Some red, some azure, white, and golden grow.  
Here allows a Heifer, there bea-wailing st●…ayes  
A harmless Lamb, not far a Stag rebounds,  
The Shepherds sing to grazing Flocks sweet Lays,  
And all about the Echoing Air resounds.  
Hills, Dales, Woods, Floods, & every thing doth change,  
But She in Rigour, I in Love am strange.   

SON.  
WHen Nature now had wonderfully wrought  
All AURISTELLAS' Parts, except her Eyes,  
To make those Twins two Lamps in Beauties Skies,  
She Counsel of her starry Senate sought.  
Mars and Apollo first did Her advise  
In Colour Black to wrap those Comets bright,  
That Love him so might soberly disguise,  
And unperceived Wound at every Sight.  
Chaste PHEBE spoke for purest azure Dies,  
But JOVE and VENUS green about the Light  
To frame thought best, as bringing most Delight,  
That to pined Hearts Hope might ●…or ay arise:  
Nature (all said) a Paradise of green  
There placed, to make all love which have them seen.   

MAD.  
To the delightful green  
Of you fair radiant Eine,  
Let each Black yield beneath the starry Arch.  
Eyes, burnished Heavens of Love,  
Sinople Lamps of jove,  
Save that those Hearts which with your Flames ye parch  
Two burning Suns you prove,  
All other Eyes compared with you (dear Lights)  
Be Hells, or if not Hells yet dampish Nights.  
The Heavens (if we their Glass  
The Sea▪ believe) be green, not perfect blue.  
They all make fair what ever fair yet was,  
And they be fair because they look like you.   

SON.  
IN vain I haunt the cold and silver Springs,  
To quench the Fever burning in my Veins,  
In vain (loves Pilgrim) Mountains, Dales, and Plains,  
I overrun, vain Help long Absence brings▪  
In vain (my Friends) your Counsel me constrains  
To fly, and place my Thoughts on other Things,  
Ah! like the Bird that fired hath her Wings,  
The more I move, the greater are my Pains.  
Desire (alas) Desire a Zeuxis new,  
From Indies borrowing Gold from Western Skies  
Most bright Cynoper, sets before mine Eyes  
In every Place, her Hair, sweet Look and Hue:  
That fly, run, rest I, all doth prove but vain,  
My Life lies in those Looks which have me slain.   

SON.  
ALl other Beauties how so e'er they shine  
In Hairs more bright than is the golden Ore,  
Or Cheeks more fair than fairest Eglantine,  
Or Hands like Hers who comes the Sun before:  
Matched with that Heavenly Hue, and Shape divine,  
With those dear Stars which my weak Thoughts adore,  
Look but like Shadows, or if they be more,  
It is in that that they are like to thine.  
Who sees those Eyes, their Force and doth not prove,  
Who gazeth on the Dimple of that Chin,  
And finds not Venus' Son entrenched therein,  
Or hath not Sense, or knows not what is love.  
To see thee had Narcissus had the Grace,  
He sure had died with wondering on thy Face.   

SON.  
MY Tears may well Numidian Lions tame,  
And Pity breed into the hardest heart  
That ever Pirrha did to Maid impart,  
When She them first of blushing Rocks did frame.  
Ah Eyes which only serve to wail my Smart,  
How long will you mine inward Woes proclaim?  
Let it suffice you bear a weeping Part  
All Night, at Day though ye do not the same:  
Cease idle Sighs to spend your Storms in vain,  
And these calm secret Shades more to molest,  
Contain you in the Prison of my Breast,  
You not do ease but aggravate my Pain,  
Or (if burst forth you must?) that Tempest move  
In Sight of Her whom I so dearly love.   

SON.  
Nymphs, Sister Nymphs which haunt this crystal Brooke,  
And (happy) in these Floating Bowers abide,  
Where trembling Roofs of Trees from Sun you hide,  
Which make Ideal Woods in every Crook,  
Whether ye Garlands for your Locks provide,  
Or pearly Letters seek in sandy Book,  
Or count your Loves when Thetis was a Bride?  
Lift up your golden Heads and on me look.  
Read in mine Eyes mine agonizing Cares,  
And what ye read recount to Her again:  
Fair Nymph●…s, say all th●…se Streams are but my Tears,  
And if She ask you how they sweet remain,  
Tell that the bittrest Tears which Eyes can power,  
When shed for Her do cease more to be sour.   

MAD.  
LIke the Idalian Queen  
Her Hair about her Eyes,  
With Neck and Breasts ripe Apples to be seen,  
At first Glance of the Mo●…ne  
In Cyprus Gardens gathering those fair Flowers  
Which of her Blood were borne,  
I saw, but fainting saw, my Paramours.  
The Grace's naked danced about the Place,  
The Winds and Trees amazed  
With Silence on Her gazed,  
The Flowers did smile, like those upon her Face,  
And as their Aspen Stalks those Finger's band,  
(That She might read my Case)  
A Hyacinth I wished me in her Hand.   

SON.  
THen is She gone? O Fool and Coward ay!  
O good Occasion lost, ne'er to be found!  
What fatal Chains have my dull Senses bound  
When best they may that they not Fortune try?  
Here is the flowery Bed where She did lie,  
With Roses here She stellified the Ground,  
She fixed her Eyes on this (yet smile) Pond,  
Nor Time, nor courteous Place seemed aught deny.  
Too long, too long (Respect) I do embrace  
Your Counsel, full of Threats and sharp Disdain,  
Disdain in her sweet Heart can have no Place,  
And though come there, must strait retire again:  
Henceforth Respect farewell, I oft hear told  
Who lives in Love can never be too bold.   

SON.  
IN Minds pure Glass when I myself behold,  
And vively see how my best Days are spent,  
What Clouds of Care above my Head are rolled,  
What coming Harms, which I can not prevent:  
My begun Course I (wearied) do repent,  
And would embrace what Reason oft hath told,  
But scarce thus think I, when Love hath controlled  
All the best Reasons Reason could invent.  
Though sure I know my Labours End is Grief,  
The more I strive that I the more shall pine,  
That only Death can be my last Relief:  
Yet when I thi●…ke upon that Face divine,  
Like one with Arrow shot in Laughters Place,  
Malgre my Heart I joy in my Disgrace.   

SON.  
Dear Quirister, who from those Shadows sends  
(Ere that the blushing dawn dare show her Light)  
Such sad lamenting Strains, that Night attends  
Become all Ear, Stars stay to hear thy Plight.  
If one whose Grief even Reach of Thought transcends,  
Who ne'er (not in a Dream) did taste Delight,  
May thee importune who like Case pretends,  
And seems to joy in Woe, in Woes Despite?  
Tell me (so may thou Fortune milder try,  
And long long sing) for what thou thus complains?  
Sith (Winter gone) the Sun in dapled Sky  
Now smiles on Meadows, Mountains, Woods and Plains:  
The Bird, as if my questions did her move,  
With trembling Wings sobbed forth I love, I love.   

SON.  
TRust not sweet Soul those curled Wa●…s of Gold  
With gentle Tides which on your Temples flow,  
Nor Temples spread with Flackes of Virgin Snow,  
Nor Snow of Cheeks with Tyrian Grain enroled.  
Trust not those shining Lights which wrought my Woe,  
When first I did their burning Rays behold,  
Nor Voice, whose Sounds more strange Effects do show  
Than of the Thracian Harper have been told:  
Look to this dying Lill●…e, fading Rose,  
Dark Hyacinthe, of late whose blushing Beams  
Made all the neighbouring Herbs and Grass rejoice,  
And think how little is twixt Life's Extremes:  
The cruel Tyrant that did kill those Flowers,  
Shall once (ay me) not spare that Spring of yours.   

SON.  
THat I so slenderly set forth my Mind,  
Writing I wot not what in ragged Rhymes,  
And charged with Brass into these golden Times  
When others tower so high am left behind:  
I crave not PHOEBUS leave his sacred Cell  
To bind my Brows with fresh Aonian Bays,  
Let them have that who tuning sweetest Lays  
By Tempe sit, or Aganippe Well,  
Nor yet to Venus' Tree do I aspire,  
Sith She for whom I might affect that Praise,  
My best Attempts with cruel Words gainsays,  
And I seek not that Others me admire.  
Of weeping Myrrh the Crown is which I crave,  
With a sad Cypress to adorn my Grave.   

SON.  
SOund hoarse sad Lute, true Witness of my Woe,  
And strive no more to ease self▪ chosen Pain  
With Soule-enchanting Sounds, your Accents strain  
Unto these Tears uncessantly which flow.  
Shrill Treeble weep, and you dull Bases show  
Your Master's Sorrow in a deadly Vain,  
Let never joyful Hand upon you go,  
Nor Consort keep but when you do complain.  
Fly Phoebus Rays, nay, hate the irksome Light,  
Woods solitary Shades for thee are best,  
Or the black Horrors of the blackest Night,  
When all the World (save Thou and I) doth rest:  
Then sound sad Lute, and bear a mourning Part,  
Thou Hell mayst move, though not a Woman's Heart.   

SON.  
YOu restless Seas, appease your roaring Waves,  
And you who raise huge Mountains in that Plain  
Airs Trumpeters, your blustering Storms restrain,  
And listen to the Plaints my Grief doth cause.  
Eternal Lights, though adamantine Laws  
Of Destin●…es to move still you ordain,  
Turn hitherward your Eyes, your Axletree pause,  
And wonder at the Torments I sustain.  
Earth (if thou be not dulled by my Disgrace,  
And senseless made?) now ask those Powers above  
Why they so crossed a Wretch brought on thy Face?  
Framed for Mishap, th' Anachorite of Love,  
And bid them if they would more AETNA'S burn,  
In Rhodopee or Erimanthe me turn.   

SON.  
WHat cruel Star into this World me brought?  
What gloomy Day did dawn to give me Light?  
What unkind Hand to nurse me (Orphan) sought,  
And would not leave me in eternal Night?  
What thing so dear as I hath Essence bought?  
The Elements, dry, humid, heavy, light,  
The smallest living things by Nature wrought,  
Be freed of Woe if they have small Delight.  
Ah only I, abandoned to Despair,  
Nailed to my Torments, in pale Horrors Shade,  
Like wandering Clouds see all my Comforts fled,  
And Evil on Evil with Hours my Life impair:  
The Heaven and Fortune which were wont to turn,  
Fixed in one Mansion stay to cause me mourn.   

SON.  
Dear Eye which deign'st on this sad Monument  
The sable Scroll of my Mis-haps to view,  
Though with the mourning Muses Tears besprent,  
And darkly drawn, which is not feigned, but true,  
If thou not dazzled with a Heavenly Hue,  
And comely Feature, didst not yet lament?  
But happy liv'st unto thyself content,  
O let not Love thee to his Laws subdue.  
Look on the woeful Shipwreck of my Youth,  
And let my Ruins for a Phare thee serve  
To shun this Rock Capharean of Untruth,  
And serve no God who doth his Churchmen starve:  
His Kingdom is but Plaints, his Guerdon Tears,  
What he gives more are jealousies and Fears.   

SON.  
IF crossed with all Mil haps be my poor Life,  
If one short Day I never spent in Mirth,  
If my sprite with itself holds lasting Strife,  
If sorrows Death is but new sorrows Birth?  
If this vain World be but a sable Stage  
Where slave-borne Man plays to the scoffing Stars,  
If Youth be tossed with Love, with Weakness Age,  
If Knowledge serueto hold our Thoughts in Wars?  
If Time can close the hundredth Mouths of Fame,  
And make what long since past, like that to be,  
If Virtue only be an idle Name,  
If I when I was bome was borne to die?  
Why seek I to prolong these loathsome Days,  
The fairest Rose in shortest time decays?   

SON.  
LEt Fortune triumph now, and Io sing,  
Sith I must fall beneath this Load of Care,  
Let Her what most I prise of every Thing  
Now wicked Trophies in her Temple rear.  
She who high Palmie Empires doth not spare,  
And tramples in the Dust the proudest King,  
Let Her vaunt how my Bliss She did impair,  
To what low Ebb She now my Flow doth bring.  
Let Her count how (a new Ixion) Me  
She in her Wheel did turn, how high nor low  
I never stood, but more to tortured be:  
Weep Soul, weep plaintfull Soul, thy Sorrows know,  
Weep, of thy Tears till a black River swell,  
Which may C●…cytus be to this thy Hell.   

SON.  
O Cruel Beauty, Meekness inhuman,  
That Night and day contend with my Desire,  
And seek my Hope to kill, not quench my Fire,  
By Death, not Balm to ease my pleasant Pain.  
Though ye my Thoughts tread down which would aspire,  
And bound my Bliss, do not (alas) disdain  
That I your matchless Worth and Grace admire,  
And for their Cause these Torments sharp sustain.  
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his Death  
Found in the midst of those Sicilian Flames,  
And Phaethon that Heaven him r●…ft of Bre●…th,  
And Daedals Son He named the Samian Streams:  
Their Haps I envy not, my Praise shall be,  
The fairest She that lived gave Death to me.   

SON.  
THe Hyperborean Hills, Ceraunus Snow,  
Or 〈◊〉 (cruel) fi●…st thee bred,  
The Caspian Tigers with their Milk thee fed,  
And Fauns did human Blood on thee bestow.  
Fierce Orithyas Lo●…er in thy Bed  
Thee lulled asleep, where he enraged doth blow,  
Thou didst not drink the Floods which here do flow,  
But T●…ares, or those by icy Tanais Hed.  
Sith thou disdains my Love, neglects my Grief,  
Laughs at my Groans, and still affects my Death,  
Of thee, nor Heaven I'll seek no more Relief,  
Nor longer entertain this loathsome Breath,  
But yield unto my Star, that thou mayst prove,  
What Loss thou hadst in losing such a Love,   

SONG.  
PHoebus arise,  
And paint the sable Skies  
With azure, white, and Red:  
Rouse Memmons Mother from her Tython's Bed,  
That She thy Career may with Roses spread,  
The Nightingales thy Coming each where sing,  
Make an eternal Spring,  
Give L●…fe to this dark World which lieth dead.  
Spread forth thy golden Hair  
In larger Locks than thou wast wont before,  
And Emperour-like decore  
With Diadem of Pearl thy Temples fair:  
Chase hence the ugly Night  
Which serves but to make dear thy glorious Light.  
This is that happy Morn,  
That Day long wished Day,  
Of all my Life so dark,  
(If cruel Stars have not my Ruin sworn,  
And Fates not Hope betray?)  
Which (only white) deserves  
A Diamond for ever should it mark:  
This is the Morn should bring unto this Grove  
My Love, to hear, and recompense my love.  
Fair King who all preserves,  
But show thy blushing Beams,  
And thou two sweeter Eyes  
Shalt s●…e than those which by Peneus Streams  
Did once thy Heart surprise:  
Nay, Suns, which shine as clear  
As thou when two thou did to Rome appear.  
Now Flora deck thyself in fairest Guise,  
If that ye, Winds, would hear  
A Voice surpassing far Amphion's Lyre,  
Your stormy chiding stay,  
Let Zephyre only breath,  
And with her Tresses play,  
Kissing sometimes these purple Ports of Death.  
The Winds all silent are,  
And Phoebus in his Chair  
Ens●…ffroning Sea and air,  
Makes van●…sh every Star:  
Night like a Drunkard r●…eles  
Beyond the Hills to sh●…nne his flaming Wheels.  
The Fields with Flowers are decked in every Hue,  
The Clouds bespangle with bright Gold their Blue:  
Here is the pleasant Place  
And every thing, save Her, who all should grace.   

SON.  
WHo hath not seen into her saffron Bed  
The Morning's Goddess mildly Her repose,  
Or Her of whose pure Blood first sprang the Rose,  
Lulled in a Slumber by a Mi●…tle Shade.  
Who hath not seen that sleeping White and Red  
Makes Phoebe look so pale. which She did close  
In that Iönian Hill, to ease her Woes,  
Which only lives by Nectare Kisses fed:  
Come but and see my Lady sweetly sleep,  
The sighing Rubies of those heavenly Lips,  
The Cupids which Breasts golden Apples keep,  
Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Eclipse,  
And He them all shall see (perhaps) and prove  
She waking but persuades, now forceth love.   

SON.  
OF Citherea's Birds that milk-white pair  
On yonder levy Myrtle Tree which groan,  
And waken with their kisses in the Air  
Enamoured Zephyres murmuring one by one,  
If thou but Sense hadst like Pygmalion's Stone?  
Or hadst not seen Medusa's snaky hair,  
loves Lessons thou mightst learn? and learn sweet Fair,  
To Summers Heat ere that thy Spring be grown.  
And if those kissing Lovers seem but Cold,  
Look how that Elm this ivy doth embrace,  
And binds, and clasps with many a wanton Fold,  
And courting Sleep o'reshadowes all the Place:  
Nay seems to say, dear Tree we shall not part,  
In Sign whereof lo in each Leaf a Heart.   

SON.  
THe Sun is fair when he with crimson Crown,  
And flaming Rubies leaves his Eastern Bed,  
Fair is Thaumantias in her crystal Gown  
When Clouds engemmed hang azure, green, and Red.  
To Western Worlds when wearied Day goes down,  
And from heavens Windows each Star shows her Head,  
Earth's silent Daughter Night is fair, though brown,  
Fair is the Moon though in loves Livery clad.  
Fair Chloris is when She doth paint april,  
Fair are the Meads, the Woods, the Floods are fair,  
Fair looketh Ceres with her yellow Hair,  
And Apples Queen when Rose-cheeked She doth smile.  
That Heaven, and Earth, and Seas are fair is true,  
Yet true that all not please so much as you.   

MAD.  
WHen as she smiles I find  
More light before mine Eyes,  
Nor when the Sun from Ind  
Brings to our World a flowery Paradise:  
But when she gently weeps,  
And powers forth pearly Showers,  
On checks fair blushing Flowers,  
A sweet Melancholy my Senses keeps.  
Both feed so my Disease,  
So much both do me please,  
That oft I doubt, which more my Heart doth burn,  
Like Love to see her smile, or Pity mourn.   

SON.  
SLide soft fair FORTH, and make a crystal Plain,  
Cut your white Locks, and on your foamy Face  
Let not a Wrinkle be, when you embrace  
The Boat that Earth's Perfections doth contain.  
Wind's wonder, and through wondering hold your Peace,  
Or if that ye your Hearts cannot restrain  
From sending Sighs, moved by a lovers Case,  
Sigh, and in her fair Hair yourselves enchain:  
Or take these Sighs which Absence makes arise  
From mine oppressed Breast and wave the Sails,  
Or some sweet Breath new brought from Paradise:  
Floods seem to smile, Love o'er the Winds prevails,  
And yet huge Waves arise, the Cause is this,  
The Ocean strives with FORTH the Boat to kiss.   

SON.  
AH! who can see those Fruits of Paradise,  
Celestial Cherries which so sweetly swell  
That Sweetness self confined there seems to dwell,  
And all those sweetest Parts about despise?  
Ah! who can see and feel no Flame surprise  
His hardened Heart? for me (alas) too well  
I know their Force, and how they do excel,  
Now burn I through Desire, now do I freeze:  
I die (dear Life) unless to me be given  
As many Kisses as the Spring hath Flowers,  
Or as the silver Drops of Iris Showers,  
Or as the Stars in all▪ embracing Heaven,  
And if displeased ye of the Match complain,  
Ye shall have leave to take them back again.   

SON.  
IS't not enough (ay me) me thus to see  
Like some Heaven-banished Ghost still wailing go?  
A Shadow which your Rays do only show,  
To vex me more, unless ye bid me die?  
What could ye worse allot unto your Foe?  
But die will I, so ye will not deny  
That Grace to me which mortal Foes even try,  
To choose what sort of Death should end my Woe.  
One Time I found when as ye did me kiss,  
Ye gave my panting Soul so sweet a Touch,  
That half I sowed in midst of all my Bliss,  
I do but crave my Death's Wound may be such▪  
For though by Grief I die not and Annoy,  
Is't not enough to die through too much joy?   

MAD.  
Sweet Rose whence is this Hue  
Which doth all Hues excel?  
Whence this most fragrant Smell?  
And whence this Form and gracing Grace in you?  
In flowery Paestums Field (perhaps) ye grew,  
Or Hybla's Hills you bred,  
Or odoriferous Ennas' Plains you fed,  
Or Tmolus, or where Bore young Adonis slew,  
Or hath the Queen of Love you died of new  
In that dear Blood, which makes you look so red?  
No, none of those, but Cause more high you blessed,  
My Lady's Breast you bore, and Lips you kissed.   

SON.  
She whose fair flowers no Autumn makes decay,  
Whose Hue celestial, earthly Hues doth stain,  
Into a pleasant odoriferous Plain  
Did walk alone, to brave the P●…ide of may:  
And whilst through chekred Lists she made her Way,  
Which smiled about her Sight to entertain,  
Lo (unawares) where Love did hid remain  
She spied, and sought to make of him her Prey:  
For which of golden Locks a fairest Hair  
(To bind the Boy) she took, But he afraid  
At her Approach sprang swiftly in the Air,  
And mounting ●…arre from Reach looked back and said,  
Why shouldst thou (Sweet) me seek in Chains to bind,  
Sith in thine Eyes I daily am confined.   

MAD.  
ON this cold World of Ours,  
Flower of the Seasons, Season of the Flowers,  
Son of the Sun sweet Spring,  
Such hot and burning Days why dost th●…u bring?  
Is this for that those high Eternal Powers  
Flash down that Fire this All environing?  
Or that now Phoebus keeps his Sister's Sphere?  
Or doth some Phaenton  
Inflame the Sea and air?  
Or rather is it (Usher of the Year)  
For that last Day amongst thy Flowers alone  
Unmasked thou saw'st my Fair?  
And whilst thou on her gazed she did thee burn,  
And in thy Brother Summer doth thee turn.   

SON.  
Dear Wood, and you sweet solitary Place,  
Where from the vulgar I estranged live,  
Contented more with what your Shades me give,  
Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace:  
What snaky Eye grown jealous of my Peace,  
Now from your silent Horrors would me drive?  
When Sun progressing in his glorious Race  
Beyond the Twins, doth near our Pole arrive.  
What sweet Delight a quiet Life affords,  
And what it is to be of Bondage free,  
far from the madding Worldlings hoarse Discords,  
Sweet flowery Place I first did learn of thee:  
Ah! if I were mine own, your dear Resorts  
I would not change with Princes stately Courts.   

SEXTAIN.  

Sigh gone is my Delight and only Pleasure,  
The last of all my Hopes, the cheerful Sun  
That cleared my Life's dark Day, Nature's sweet Treasure,  
More dear to me than all beneath the Moon,  
What resteth now, but that upon this Mountain  
I weep, till Heaven transform me in a Fountain?   

Fresh, fair, delicious, crystal, pearly Fountain,  
On whose smooth Face to look she oft took Pleasure,  
Tell me (so may thy Streams long cheer this Mountain,  
So Serpent ne'er thee stain, nor scorch the Sun,  
So may with gentle Beams thee kiss the Moon)  
Dost thou not mourn to want so fair a Treasure?   

While she her glass'd in thee, rich TAGUS Treasure  
Thou envy needed not, nor yet the Fountain  
In which that Hunter saw the naked Moon,  
Absence hath robbed thee of thy Wealth and Pleasure,  
And I remain like Marigold of Sun  
Deprived, that dies by Shadow of some Mountain.   

Nymphs of the Forests, Nymphs who on this Mountain  
Are wont to dance, showing your Beauty's Treasure  
To Goate-feetes Syluans, and the wondering Sun,  
When as you gather Flowers about this Fountain,  
Bid Her Farewell who placed here her Pleasure,  
And sing her Praises to the Stars and Moon.   

Among the lesser Lights as is the Moon,  
Blushing through Scarf of Clouds on LATMOS Mountain,  
Or when her silver Locks she looks for Pleasure  
In Thetis Streams, proud of so gay a Treasure,  
Such was my Fair when She sat by this Fountain  
With other Nymphs, to shun the amorous Sun.   

As is our Earth in Absence of the Sun,  
Or when of Sun deprived is the Moon,  
As is without a verdant Shade a Fountain,  
Or wanting Grass, a Mead, a Vale, a Mountain,  
Such is my State, bereft of my dear Treasure,  
To know whose only Worth was all my Pleasure.   

ne'er think of Pleasure Heart, Eyes shun the Sun,  
Tears be your Treasure, which the wandering Moon  
Shall see you shed by Mountain, Vale, and Fountain.    

SON.  
THou Window, once which served for a Sphere  
To that dear Planet of my Heart, whose Light  
Made often blush the glorious Queen of Night,  
While She in thee more beauteous did appear,  
What mourning Weeds (alas) now dost thou wear?  
How loathsome to mine Eyes is thy sad Sight?  
How poorly look'st thou, with what heavy cheer,  
Since that Sun set, which made thee shine so bright?  
Unhappy now thee close, for as of late  
To wondering Eyes thou wast a Paradise,  
Bereft of Her who made thee fortunate,  
A Gulf thou art, whence Clouds of Sighs arise:  
But unto none so noisome as to me,  
Who hourly see my murth'red joys in thee.   

SON.  
ARe these the flowery Banks? is this the Mead  
Where She was wont to pass the pleasant hours?  
Did here her Eyes exhale mine Eyes salt Showers,  
When on her Lap I laid my weary Head?  
Is this the goodly Elm did us o'erspread,  
Whose tender Rind cut out in curious Flowers  
By that white Hand, contain●…s those Flames of Ours?  
Is this the rustling Spring us Music made?  
Deflourished Mead where is your heavenly Hue?  
Bank, where that Arras did you late adorn,  
How look ye Elm all withered and forlorn?  
Only sweet Spring nought altered seems in you:  
But while here changed each other thing appears,  
To sour your Streams take of mine Eyes these Tears.   

SON.  
ALexis, here she stayed among these Pines  
(Sweet Hermitress) she did alone repair,  
Here did she spread the Treasure of her Hair,  
More rich than that brought from the Colchian Mines.  
She set Her by these musket Eglantines,  
The happy Place the Print seems yet to bear,  
Her Voice did sweeten here thy sugared Lines,  
To which Winds, Trees, Beasts, Birds did lend their Eare.  
Me here she first perceived, and here a Morn  
Of bright Carnations did o'respreade her Face,  
Here did she sigh, here first my Hopes were borne,  
And I first got a Pledge of promised Grace:  
But (ah) what served it to be happy so?  
Sith passed Pleasures double but new Woe.   

SON.  
O Night, clear Night, O dark and gloomy Day!  
O woeful Waking! O Soule-pleasing Sleep!  
O sweet Conceits which in my Brains did creep!  
Yet sour Conceits which went so soon away.  
A Sleep I had more than poor Words can say,  
For closed in Arms (me thought) I did thee keep,  
A sorry Wretch plunged in Misfortunes deep  
Am I not waked? when Light doth Lies bewray.  
O that that Night had ever still been black!  
O that that Day had never yet begun!  
And you mine Eyes would ye no time saw Sun!  
To have your Sun in such a Zodiac:  
Lo, what is good of Life is but a Dream,  
When Sorrow is a never-ebbing Stream.   

SON.  
Hair, precious Hair which Midas Hand did strain,  
Part of the Wreath of▪ Gold that crowns those Brows  
Which Winter's whitest White in Whiteness stain,  
And Lily, by Eridians' Bank that grows.  
Hair (fatal Present) which first caused my Woes,  
When loose ye hang like Danaës golden Rain,  
Sweet Nets, which sweetly do all Hearts enchain,  
Strings, deadly Strings, with which Love bends his Bows.  
How are ye hither come? tell me, O Hair,  
Dear Armelet, for what thus were ye given▪  
I know a Badge of Bondage I you wear,  
Yet Hair for you, o that I were a Heaven!  
Like Berenice's Lock that ye might shine  
(But brighter far) about this Arm of mine.   

MAD.  
Unhappy Light,  
Do not approach to bring the woeful Day,  
When I must bid for ay  
Farewell to Her, and live in endless Plight.  
Fair Moon, with gentle Beams  
The Sight who never mars,  
Long clear Heavens sable Vault, and you bright Stars  
Your golden Locks long glass in Earth's pure Streams,  
Let Phoebus never rise  
To dim your watchful Eyes:  
Prolong (alas) prolong my short Delight,  
And if ye can, make an eternal Night.   

SON.  
WIth Grief in Heart, and Tears in swooning Eyes,  
When I to Her had given a sad Farewell,  
Close sealed with a Kiss, and Dew which fell  
On my else-moystned Face from Beauty's Skies.  
So strange Amazement did my Mind surprise,  
That at each Pace I fainting turned again,  
Like One whom a Torpedo stupefies,  
Not feeling Honour's Bit, nor Reason's Rain.  
But when fierce Stars to part me did constrain,  
With backe-cast Looks I envied both and blessed  
The happy Walls and Place did Her contain,  
Till that Sights Shafts their flying Object missed,  
So wailing parted Ganamede the fair,  
When Eagles Talents bore him through the Air.   

MAD.  
I Fear not henceforth Death,  
Sith after this Departure yet I breath,  
Let Rocks, and Seas, and Wind,  
Their highest Treasons show,  
Let Sky and Earth combined  
Strive (if they can) to end my Life and Woe:  
Sith Grief can not, me nothing can o'erthrow,  
Or if that aught can cause my fatal Lot,  
It will be when I hear I am forgot.   

SON.  
HOw many times Nights silent Queen her Face  
Hath hid, how oft with Stars in silver Mask  
In heavens great Hall she hath begun her Task,  
And cheered the waking Eye in lower Place▪  
How oft the Sun hath made by heavens swift Race  
The happy Lover to forsake the Breast  
Of his dear Lady, wishing in the West  
His golden Coach to run had larger Space:  
I ever count, and number, ●…ince alas  
I bade Farewell to my Hea●…ts dearest Guest,  
The Miles I compass, and in Mind I chase  
The Floods and Mountains hold me from my Rest:  
But (woe is me) long count and count may I,  
Ere I see Her whose Absence makes me die.   

SON.  
SO grievous is my Pain, so painful Life,  
That oft I find me in the Arms of Death,  
But (Breath half gone) that Tyrant called Death  
Who others kills, restoreth me to Life:  
For while I think how Woe shall end with Life,  
And that I quiet Peace shall joy by Death,  
That Thought even doth o'repowre the Pains of Death,  
And call me home again to loathed Life:  
Thus doth mine evil transcend both Life and Death,  
While no Death is so bad as is my Life,  
Nor no Life such which doth not end by Death,  
And Protean Changes turn my Death and Life:  
O happy those who in their Birth find Death,  
Sith but to languish Heaven affordeth Life.   

SON.  
FAme, who with golden Pens abroad dost range  
Where Phoebus leaves the Night, and brings the Day,  
Fame, in one Place who (restless) dost not stay  
Till thou hast flown from Atlas unto Ganges:  
Fame, Enemy to Time that still doth change,  
And in his changing Course would make decay  
What here below he findeth in his Way,  
Even making Virtue to herself look strange.  
Daughter of Heaven; Now all thy Trumpets sound,  
Raise up thy Head unto the highest Sky,  
With Wonder blaze the Gifts in Her are found,  
And when she from this mortal Globe shall fly,  
In thy wide Mouth, keep long long keep her Name,  
So thou by Her, she by thee live shall Fame.   

MAD.  
THe ivory, Coral, Gold,  
Of Breast, of Lips, of Hair,  
So lively Sleep doth show to inward Sight,  
That wake I think I hold  
No Shadow, but my Fair:  
Myself so to deceive  
With long-shut Eyes I shun the irksome Light.  
Such Pleasure thus I have  
Delighting in false Gleams,  
If Death Sleeps Brother be?  
And Souls relieved of Sense have so sweet Dreams?  
That I would wish me thus to dream and die.   

SON.  
I Curse the Night, yet doth from Day me hide,  
The Pandionian Birds I tire with Moans,  
The Echoes even are wearied with my Groans,  
Since Absence did me from my Bliss divide.  
Each Dream, each Toy, my Reason doth affright,  
And when Remembrance reads the curious Scroll  
Of pass▪ d Contentments caused by her Sight,  
Then bitter Anguish doth invade my Soul.  
While thus I live eclipsed of her Light  
(O me!) what better am I than the Mole?  
Or those whose Zenith is the only Pole,  
Whose Hemisphere is hid with so long Night?  
Save that in Earth he rests, they hope for Sun,  
I pine, and find mine endless Night begun.   

SON.  
OF Death some tell, some of the cruel Pain  
Which that bad craftsman in his Work did try,  
When (a new Monster) Flames once did constrain  
A human Corpse to yield a brutish Cry.  
Some tell of those in burning Beds who lie,  
For that they durst in the Phlegraean Plain  
The mighty Rulers of the Sky defy,  
And siege those crystal To●…res which all contain.  
An other counts of phlegethon's hot Floods  
The Souls which drink, Ixion's endless Smart,  
And his to whom a Vulture eats the Heart,  
One tells of Spectres in enchanted Woods:  
Of all those Pains he who the wo●…st would prove,  
Let him be absent, and but pine in love.   

MAD.  
Tritons', which bounding dive  
Through Neptune's liquid Plain,  
When as ye shall arrive  
With tilting Tides where silver Ora plays,  
And to your King his watery Tribute pays,  
Tell how I dying live,  
And burn in midst of all the coldest Main.   

SON.  
PLace me where angry Titan burns the More,  
And thirsty Afrique fir●…e Monsters brings,  
Or where the new-born Phoenix spreads her Wings,  
And Troops of wondering Birds her Flight adore.  
Place me by Ganges, or Indeses empampred Shore,  
Where smile Heavens on Earth cause double Springs,  
Place me where Neptune's Choir of Sirens sings,  
Or where (made hoarse through Cold) he leaves to roar.  
Me place where Fortune doth her Darlings crown,  
A Wonder, or a Spark in envies Eye,  
Or late outrageous Fates upon me frown,  
And Pity wailing see disastered Me,  
Affections Print my Mind so deep doth prove,  
I may forget myself▪ but not my love.    

POEMS: BY W. D.  
THE SECOND PART.  

SONNET.  
OF mortal Glory o soon darkened Ray!  
O posting joys of Man! more swift than Wind,  
O fond Desires! which winged with Fancies stray,  
O traitorous Hopes! which do our judgements blind:  
Lo, in a Flash that Light is gone away,  
Which dazzle did each Eye, Delight each Mind,  
And with that Sun (from whence it came) combined,  
Now makes more radiant heavens eternal Day.  
Let Beauty now be blubbered Cheeks with Tears,  
Let widowed Music only roar, and plain,  
Poor Virtue get thee Wings, and mount the Spheres,  
And let thine only Name on Earth remain.  
Death hath thy Temple razed, loves Empire foiled,  
The World of Honour, Worth, and Sweetness spoiled.   

SON.  
THose Eyes, those sparkling sapphires of Delight,  
Which thousand thousand Hearts did set on fire,  
Which made that Eye of Heaven that brings the Light  
(Oft jealous) stay amazed them to admire.  
That living Snow, those crimson Roses bright,  
Those Pearls, those Rubies, which did breed Desire,  
Those Locks of Gold, that Purple fair of tire,  
Are wrapped (ay me!) up in eternal Night.  
What hast thou more to vaunt of, wretched World?  
Sith she (who cursed thee made blest) is gone?  
Thine ever burning Lamps, Rounds ever whirled,  
Can unto thee not model such a one:  
For if they would such Beauty bring on Earth,  
They should be forced again to make Her breath.   

SON.  
O Fate! conspired to power your Worst on me,  
O rigorous Rigour, which doth all confound!  
With cruel Hands ye have cut down the Tree,  
And Fruit and Flower dispersed on the Ground.  
A little Space of Earth my Love doth bound,  
That Beauty which did raise it to the Sky,  
Turned in n●…glected Dust, now low doth lie,  
Deaf to my Plaints, and senseless of my Wound.  
Ah! did I live for this, ah! did I love?  
For this and was it sh●…e did so excel?  
That ●…re she well Lif●…s sweet-sour joys did prove,  
She should (too dear a Guest) with Horror dwell?  
Weak Influence of H●…auen! what fair ye frame,  
Falls in the Prime, and passeth like a Dream.   

SON.  
O Woeful Life! Life, no, but living Death,  
Frail Boat of Crystal in a rocky Sea,  
A Sport exposed to Fortune's stormy Breath,  
Which kept with Pain, with Terror doth decay:  
The false Delights, true Woes thou dost bequeath,  
Mine all-appalled Mind do so affray,  
That I those envy who are laid in Earth,  
And pity them that run thy dreadful Way.  
When did mine Eyes behold one cheerful Morn?  
When had my tossed Soul one Night of rest?  
When did not hateful Stars my Projects scorn?  
O! now I find for Mortals what is best:  
Even, sith our voyage shameful is, and short,  
Soon to strike Sail, and perish in the Port.   

SON.  
MIne Eyes, dissolve your Globes in briny Streams,  
And with a Cloud of Sorrow dim your Sight,  
The Sunn●…s bright Sun is set, of late whose Beams  
Gave Luster to your Day, Day to your Night.  
My Voice now deafen Earth with Anatheames,  
Roar foo●…th a Challenge in the World's Despite,  
Tell that disguised Grie●…e is her Delight,  
That Life a Slumber is of fearful Dreams.  
And woeful Mind abhor to think of joy,  
My Senses all now comfortless you hide,  
Accept no Object but of black Annoy,  
Tears, Plaints, Sighs, mourning Weeds, Graves gaping wide,  
I have nought left to wish, my Hopes are dead,  
And all with Her beneath a Marble laid.   

SON.  
SWeet Soul, which in the April of thy Years  
So to enrich the Heaven mad'st poor this Round,  
And now with golden Rays of Glory crowned  
Most blessed abid'st above the Sphere of Spheres▪  
If heavenly Laws (alas) have not thee bound  
From looking to this Globe that all upbeares?  
If Ruth and Pity there above be found?  
O deign to l●…nd a Look unto those Tears.  
Do not disdain (dear Ghost) this sacrifice,  
And though I raise not Pillars to thy Praise  
Mine Offerings take, let this for me suffice,  
My Heart a living Pyramid I raise:  
And whilst King's Tombs with Laurels flourish green,  
Thine shall with Myrtles, and these Flowers be seen.   

MADRIGAL.  
THis Life which seems so fair,  
Is like a Bubble blown up in the Air,  
By sporting children's Breath,  
Who chase it every where,  
And stri●…e who can most Motion it bequeath:  
And though it sometime seem of its own Might  
(Like to an Eye of gold) to be fixed there,  
And firm to hover in that empty height,  
That only is because it is so light,  
But in that Pomp it doth not long app●…are;  
For even when most admired, it in a Thought  
As swelled from nothing, doth dissolve in nought.   

SON.  
O! It is not to me bright Lamp of Day,  
That in the East thou show'st thy rosy Face,  
O! it is not to me thou leav'st that Sea,  
And in these azure Lists beginst thy Race.  
Thou shinest not to the Dead in any Place,  
And I (dead) from this World am gone away,  
Or if I seem (a Shadow) yet to stay,  
It is a while but to bemoan my Case.  
My Mirth is lost, my Comforts are dismayed,  
And unto sad Mis-haps their Place do yield;  
My Knowledge doth resemble a bloody field,  
Where I my Hopes, and Helps see prostrate laid:  
So painful is Life's Course which I have run,  
That I do wish it never had begun.   

SONG.  

SAd Damon being come  
To that for ever lamentable Tomb,  
Which those eternal Powers that all control,  
Unto his living Soul  
A melancholy Prison had prescrived:  
Of Hue, of Heat, of Motion quite deprived,  
In Arms wake, trembling, cold,  
A Marble, he the Marble did enfold:  
And having made it warm with many a Shower,  
Which dimmed Eyes did power,  
When Grief had given him leau●…, and Sighs them stayed,  
Thus with a sad alas at last he said.   

Who would have thought to me  
The Place where thou didst lie could grievous be?  
And that (dear Body) long thee having sought  
(O me!) who would have thought?  
Thee once to find it should my Soul confound,  
And give my Heart than Death a deeper Wound?  
Thou didst disdain my Tears,  
But grieve not that this ruthful Stone them bears,  
Mine Eyes serve only now for thee to weep,  
And let their Course them keep,  
Although thou never wouldst them Comfort show,  
Do not repine, they have Part of thy Woe.   

Ah Wretch! too late I find,  
How Virtues g●…ious Titles prove but Wind;  
For if she any could release from Death,  
Thou yet eni●…y'd hadst Breath;  
For if she ere appeared to mortal Eine,  
It was in thy fair Shape that she was seen.  
But o! if I was made  
For thee, with thee why too am I not dead?  
Why do outrageous Fates which dimmed thy Sight,  
Let me see hateful Light?  
They without me made Death thee to surprise  
Tyrants (perhaps) that they might kill me twice.   

O Grief! and could one Day  
Have Force such Excellence to take away?  
Could a swift flying Moment (ah) deface  
Those matchless Gifts, that Grace  
Which Art and Nature had in thee combined,  
To make thy Body paragon thy Mind?  
Have all past like a Cloud,  
And doth eternal Silence now them shroud?  
Is what so much admired was nought but Dust,  
Of which a Stone hath trust?  
O Change! o cruel Change! thou to our Sight  
Shows destinies Rigour equal doth their Might.   

When thou from Earth didst pass  
(Sweet Nymph) Perfections Mirror broken was,  
And this of late so glorious World of ours,  
Like Meadow without Flowers,  
Or Ring of a rich Gem made blind, appeared,  
Or Night, by Star nor Cynthia neither cleared.  
Love when he saw thee die,  
Entombed him in the Lid of either Eye,  
And left his Torch within thy sacred Urn,  
There for a Lamp to burn:  
Worth, Honour, Pleasure, with thy Life expired,  
Death since (grown sweet) begins to be desired.   

Whilst thou to us waste given,  
The Earth her Venus had as well as Heaven:  
Nay and her Sun, which burned as many Hearts,  
As he doth Eastern Parts;  
Bright Sun, which forced to leave these Hemispheres,  
Benighted set into a Sea of Tears.  
Ah Death! who shall thee fly?  
Sith the most worthy be o'erthrown by thee?  
Thou sparest the Ravens, and Nightingales dost kill,  
And triumphs at thy will:  
But give thou canst not such an other Blow,  
Because like Her Earth can none other show.   

O bitter-Sweets of Love!  
How better is't at all you not to prove?  
Than when we do your Pleasure most possess,  
To find them then made less?  
O! that the Cause which doth consume our joy,  
Remembrance of it too, would too destroy!  
What doth this Life bestow  
But Flowers on Th●…rnes which grow?  
Which though they sometime blandishing delight,  
Yet afterwards us smite?  
And if the rising Sun them fair doth see,  
That Planet setting, too beholds them die.   

This World is made a Hell,  
Deprived of all that in it did excel.  
O Pan, Pan, Winter is fallen in our May,  
Turned is in Night our Day:  
Forsake thy Pipe, a Sceptre take to thee,  
Thy Locks disgarland, thou black jove shalt be.  
The Flocks do leave the Meads,  
And loathing three-leafed Grass, hold up their Heads.  
The Streams not glide now with a gentle Roar,  
Nor Birds sing as before,  
Hills stand with Clouds like Mourners, veiled in Black,  
And Owls on Caban Roofs foretell o●…r Wrack.   

That Zephyre every Year  
So soon was heard to sigh in Forests here,  
It was for Her: that wrapped in Gowns of green,  
Meads were so early seen,  
That in the saddest Months oft s●…ng the Mearles,  
It was for Her: for h●…r Trees dropped forth Pearls.  
That proud, and stately Courts,  
Did envy those our Shades, and calm Resorts,  
It was for Her: and she is gone, o Woe!  
Woods cut, again do grow,  
Bud doth the Rose, and Daisy, Winter done,  
But we once dead no more do see the Sun.   

Whose Name shall now make ring  
The Echoes? of whom shall the Nymphettes sing?  
Whose heavenly Voice, whose Soule-inuading Strains,  
Shall fill with joy the Plains?  
What Hair, what Eyes, can make the Morn in East  
Weep, that a fairer riseth in the West?  
Fair Sun, post still away,  
No Music here is found thy Course to stay.  
Sweet Hybla Swarms with Wormwood fill your Bowers,  
Gone is the Flower of Flowers,  
Blush no more Rose, nor Lily pale remain,  
Dead is that Beauty which yours late did stain▪   

Ay me! to wail my Plight  
Why have not I as many Eyes as Night?  
Or as that Shepherd which joves Love did keep?  
That I still still may weep:  
But though I had, my Tears unto my Cross  
Were not yet equal, nor Grief to my Loss,  
Yet of you briny Showers,  
Which I here power, may spring as many Flowers,  
As came of those which fell from Helen's Eyes,  
And when ye do arise,  
May every Leaf in sable Letters bear  
The doleful Cause for which ye spring up here.    

MAD.  
Dear Night, the Ease of Care,  
Untroubled Seat of Peace,  
Time's eldest Child, which oft the Blind do see,  
On this our Hemisphere,  
What makes thee now so sadly dark to be?  
Com'st thou in funeral Pomp her Grave to grace?  
Or do those Stars which should thy Horror clear,  
In Ioues high Hall advise,  
In what Part of the Skies,  
With them, or Cynthia she shall appear?  
Or (ah alas!) because those matchless Eyes  
Which shone so fair, below thou dost not find,  
Strivest thou to make all other Eyes look blind?   

SON.  
MY Lute, be as thou wast when thou didst grow  
With thy green Mother in some shady Grove,  
When immelodious Winds but made thee move,  
And Birds on thee their Ramage did bestow.  
Sith that dear Voice which did thy Sounds approve,  
Which used in such harmonious Strains to flow,  
Is reft from Earth to tune those Spheres above,  
What art thou but a Harbinger of Woe?  
Thy pleasing Notes, be pleasing Notes no more,  
But orphan Wail to the fainting Ear,  
E●…ch Stop a Sigh, each Sound draws forth a Tear,  
Be therefore silent as in Woods before,  
Or if that any Hand to touch thee deign,  
Like widowed Turtle, still her Loss complain.   

SON.  
SWeet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly Train,  
Thy Head with Flames, thy Mantle bright with Flowers,  
The Zephyres curl the green Locks of the Plain,  
The Clouds for joy in Pearls weep down their Showers.  
Thou turn'st (sweet Youth) but ah my pleasant Hours,  
And happy Days, with thee come not again,  
The sad Memorials only of my Pain  
Do with thee turn, which turn my Sweets in Sowres.  
Thou art the same which still thou wast before,  
Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair,  
But she, whose Breath embalmed thy wholesome Air,  
Is gone: nor Gold, nor Gems Her can restore.  
Neglected Virtue, Seasons go and come,  
While thine forgot lie closed in a Tomb.   

SON.  
WHat doth it serve to see suns burning Face?  
And Skies enamell'd with both the Indies Gold?  
Or Moon at Night in jettie Chariot rolled?  
And all the Glory of that starry Place?  
What doth it serve Earth's Beauty to behold?  
The mountains Pride, the Meadows flowery Grace,  
The stately Comeliness of Forests old,  
The Sport of Floods which would themselves embrace?  
What doth it serve to hear the Syluans Songs,  
The wanton Mearle▪ the Nightingales sad Strains,  
Which in da●…ke Shades seem to d●…plore my W●…ongs?  
For what doth seru●… all that this World contains,  
Sith she for whom those once to me were dear,  
No Part of them can have now with me here?   

MAD.  
THe Beauty, and the Life,  
Of Lives, and Beauty's fairest Paragon,  
(O Tears! o Grief!) hang at a feeble Thread,  
To which pale Atropos had set her Knife,  
The Soul with many a Groan  
Had left each outward Part,  
And now did take his last Leave of the Heart,  
Nought else did want▪ sa●…e Death, ●…uen to be dead:  
When the afflicted Band about her Bed  
(Seeing so fair him come in Lips, Cheeks, Eyes)  
Cried, ah! and can Death enter Paradise?   

SON.  
AH Napkin, ominous Present of my Dear,  
Gift miserable, which doth now remain  
The only Guerdon of my helpless Pain,  
When I thee got thou show'd my State too clear:  
I ●…euer since have ceased to complain,  
Since, I the Badge of Grief did ever wear,  
joy on my Face durst never since appear,  
Care was the Food which did me entertain:  
Now (since made mine) dear Napkin do not grieve  
That I this Tribute pay thee from mine Eine,  
And that (these posting Hours I am to live)  
I laundre thy fair Figures in this Brine:  
No, I must yet even beg of thee the Grace,  
That thou wouldst deign in Grave to shrowdemy Face.   

MAD.  
Poor Turtle, thou bemoans  
The Loss of thy dear Love,  
And I for mine send forth these smoking Groans,  
Unhappy widowed Dove,  
While all about do sing,  
I at the Root, Thou on the Branch above,  
Even weary with our Moans the gaudy Spring.  
Yet these our Plaints we do not spend in vain,  
Sith sighing Zephyres answer us again.   

SON.  
AS in a dusky and tempestuous Night,  
A Star is wont to spread her Locks of Gold,  
And while her pleasant Rays abroad are rolled,  
Some spiteful Cloud doth rob us of her Sight:  
(Fair Soul) in this black Age so shined thou bright,  
And made all Eyes with Wonder thee behold,  
Till ugly Death depriving us of Light,  
In his grim misty Arms thee did enfold.  
Who more shall vaunt true Beauty here to see?  
What Hope doth more in any Heart remain,  
That such Perfections shall his Reason rain?  
If Beauty with thee borne too died with thee?  
World, plain no more of Love, nor count his Harms,  
With his pale Trophies Death hath hung his Arms.   

SON.  
Sigh it hath pleased that First and only Fair  
To take that Beauty to himself again,  
Which in this World of Sense not to remain,  
But to amaze, was sent, and home repair,  
The Love which to that Beauty I did bear  
(Made pure of mortal Spots which did it stain,  
And endless, which even Death cannot impair)  
I place on him who will it not disdain.  
No shining Eyes, no Locks of curling Gold,  
No blushing Ro●…es on a virgin Face,  
No outward Show, no, nor no inward Grace,  
Shall Force hereafter have my Thoughts to hold:  
Love here on Earth huge Storms of Care do toss,  
But placed above, exempted is from Loss.   

MAD.  
MY Thoughts hold mortal Strife,  
I do detest my Life,  
And with lamenting Cries  
(Peace to my Soul to bring)  
Oft calls that Prince which here doth Monarchise,  
But He grim grinning King,  
Wh●… Caitiffs scorns, and doth the Blessed surprise,  
Late having decked with Beauty's Rose his Tomb,  
D●…sdaines to crop a Weed, and will not come.   

SONG.  

IT Autumn was, and on our Hemisphere  
Fair Ericyne began bright to appear,  
Night Westward did her gemmie World decline,  
And hide her Lights, that greater Light might shine:  
The crested Bird had given Alarm twice  
To lazy Mortals, to unlock their Eyes,  
The Owl had left to plain, and from each Thorn  
The winged Musicians did salute the Morn,  
Who (while she glass'd her Locks in Ganges Streams)  
Set open wide the crystal Port of Dreams:  
When I, whose Eyes no drowsy Night could close,  
In Sleeps soft Arms did quietly repose,  
And, for that Heavens to die me did deny,  
Death's Image kissed, and as dead did lie.  
I lay as dead, but scarce charmed were my Cares,  
And slaked scarce my Sighs, scarce dried my Tears,  
Sleep scarce the ugly Figures of the Day  
Had with his sable Pincell put away,  
And left me in a still and calmy Mood,  
When by my Bed (me thought) a Virgin stood,  
A Virgin in the blooming of her Prime,  
If such rare Beauty measured be by Time?  
Her Head a Garland ware of Opalls bright,  
About Her flowed a Gown as pure as Light,  
Dear amber Locks gave umbrage to her Face,  
Where Modesty high Majesty did grace,  
Her Eyes such Beams sent foo●…th, that but with Pain  
Here, weaker Sights their sparkling could sustain:  
No Deity feigned which haunts the silent Woods  
Is like to Her, nor Siren of the Floods:  
Such is the golden Planet of the Year,  
When blushing in the East he doth appear.  
Her Grace did Beauty, Voice yet Grace did pass,  
Which thus through P●…arles and Rubies broken was.   

How long wilt thou (said she) estranged from joy,  
Paint Shadows to thyself of false Annoy?  
How long thy Mind with horrid Shapes affright,  
And in imaginary Evils delight?  
Esteem that Loss which (well when viewed) is Gain,  
Or if a Loss, yet not a Loss to plain?  
O leave thy tired Soul more to molest,  
And think that Woe when shortest then is best.  
If she for whom thou deafnest thus the Sky  
Be dead? what then? was she not borne to die?  
Was she not mortal borne? if thou dost grieve  
That Times should be, in which she should not live,  
Ere e'er she was, weep that days Wheel was rolled,  
Weep that she lived not in the Age of Gold:  
For that she was not then, thou mayst deplore  
As duly as that now she is no more.  
If only she had died, thou sure hadst 'Cause  
To blame the Destinies and heavens iron Laws:  
But look how many Millions Her advance,  
What numbers with Her enter ●…n this Dance,  
With those which are to come: shall Heavens them stay,  
And Alls fair Order break, thee to obey?  
Even as thy Birth, Death which thee doth appall,  
A Piece is of the Life of this great All.  
Strong Cities die, die do high palmie Reigns,  
And (weakling) thou thus to be handled plains.   

If she be dead? then she of loathsome Days  
Hath passed the Line, whose Length but Loss bewrays;  
Then she hath lef●… this filthy Stage of Care,  
Where Pleasure seldom, Woe doth still repair:  
For all the Pleasures which it doth contain,  
Not countervail the smallest Minutes Pain.  
And tell me, Thou who dost s●… much admire  
This little Vapour, Smoke, this Spark, or Fire,  
Which Life is called, what doth it thee bequeath,  
But some few Years which Birth draws out to Death?  
Which if thou paragon, with Lustres run,  
And them whose Career is but now begun,  
In days great vast they shall far less appear,  
Than with the Sea when matched is a Tear.  
But why wouldst thou Her longer wish to be?  
One Year doth serve all Nature's Pomp to see,  
Nay, even one Day, and Night: This Moon, that Sun,  
Those lesser Fires about this Round which run,  
Be but the same which under Saturn's Reign  
Did the serpenting Seasons enterchaine.  
How oft doth Life grow less by living long?  
And what excelleth but what di●…th young?  
For Age which all abhor (yet would embrace)  
Whiles makes the Mind as wrinkled as the Face:  
And when that Destinies conspire with Worth,  
That Years not glory Wrong, Life soon goes forth.  
Leave then laments, and think thou didst not live,  
Laws to that fi●…st eternal C●…use to give,  
But to obey those L●…wes which he hath given,  
And bow unto the just Decrees of Heaven,  
Which can not err, w●…at ever foggy Mists  
Do blind Men in these sublunary Lists.   

But what if she for whom thou spendest those Groans,  
And wastest Lives dear Torch in ruthful Moans,  
She for whose sake thou hat'st the joyful Light,  
Court'st solitary Shades, and irksome Night,  
Doth live? o! (if thou canst) through Tears a Space  
Lift thy dimmed Lights, and look upon this Face,  
Look if those Eyes which (fool) thou didst adore,  
Shine not more bright than they were wont before?  
Look if those Roses Death could aught impair,  
Those Roses to thee once which seemed so fair?  
And if these Locks have lost aught of that Gold,  
Which erst they had when thou them didst behold?  
I live, and happy live, but thou art dead,  
And still shalt be, till thou be like me made.  
Alas! whilst we are wrapped in Gowns of Earth,  
And blind, here suck the Air of Woe beneath,  
Each thing in Senses Balances we wie,  
And but with Toil, and Pain the Truth descry.   

Above this waste and admirable Frame,  
This Temple visible, which World we name,  
Within whose Walls so many Lamps do burn,  
So many Arches opposite do turn,  
Where Elemental Brethren nurse their Strife,  
And by intestine Wars maintain their Life,  
There is a World, a World of perfect Bliss,  
Pure, immaterial, bright, more far from this,  
Than that high Circle which the rest enspheares  
Is from this dull ignoble Vale of Tears,  
A World, where all is found, that here is found,  
But further discrepant than Heaven and Ground:  
It hath an Earth, as hath this World of yours,  
With Creatures peopled, stored with Trees, and Flowers,  
It hath a Sea, like sapphire Girdle cast,  
Which decketh of harmonious Shores the Waste,  
It hath pure Fire, it hath delicious Air,  
Moon, Sun, and Stars, Heavens wonderfully fair:  
But there Flowers do not fade, Trees grow not old,  
The Creatures do not die through Heat nor Cold,  
Sea there not tossed is, nor Air made black,  
Fire doth not nurse itself on others Wrack;  
There Heavens be not constrained about to range,  
For this World hath no need of any Change:  
The Minutes grow not Hours, Hours rise not Days,  
Days make no Months, but ever-blooming Mayes.   

here I remain, and hitherward do tend  
All who their Span of Days in Virtue spend:  
What ever Pleasure this low Place contains,  
It is a Glance but of what high remains.  
Those who (perchance) think there can nothing be  
Without this wide Expansion which they see,  
And that nought else mounts Stars Circumference,  
For that nought else is subject to their Sense,  
Feel●… such a Case, as one whom some Abysm  
Of the Deep Ocean kept had all his Time:  
Who borne and nourished there, can scarcely dream  
That aught can live without that briny Stream,  
Cannot believe that there be Temples, Towers,  
Which go beyond his Caves and dampish Bowers,  
Or there be other People, Manners, Laws,  
Than them he fi●…ds within the roaring Waves,  
That sweet●…r Flowers do spring than grow on Rocks,  
Or Beasts be which excel the scaly Flocks,  
That other Elements be to be found,  
Than is the Water, and this Ball of Ground.  
But think that Man from those Abysms were brought,  
And saw what curious Nature here hath wrought,  
Did see the Meads, the tall and shady Woods,  
The Hills did see, the clear and ambling Floods,  
The diverse Shapes of Beasts which Kind's forth bring,  
The feathered Troops, that fly and sweetly sing:  
Did see the Palaces, the City's fair,  
The Form of human Life, the Fire, the Air,  
The brightness of the Sun that dims his Sight,  
The Moon, the ghastly Splendours of the Night:  
What uncouth Rapture would his Mind surprise?  
How would he his (late-deare) Resort despise?  
How would he muse how foolish he had been  
To think nought be, but what he there had seen?  
Why did we get this high and vast Desire,  
Unto immortal things still to aspire?  
Why doth our Mind extend it beyond Time,  
And to that highest Happiness even climb?  
If we be nought but what to Sense we seem,  
And Dust, as most of Worldlings us esteem?  
We be not made for Earth, though here we come,  
More than the Embryon for the Mother's Womb:  
It weeps to be made free, and we complain  
To leave this loathsome jail of Care and Paine.   

But thou who vulgar Footsteps dost not trace,  
Learn to raise up thy Mind unto this Place,  
And what Earth-creeping Mortals most affect,  
If not at all to scorn, yet to neglect:  
O chase not Shadows vain, which when obtained,  
Were better lost, than with such Travel gained.  
Think that, on Earth which Humans Greatness call,  
Is but a glorious Title to live thrall:  
That Sceptres, Diadems, and Chairs of State,  
Not in themselves, but to small Minds are great:  
How those who loftiest mount, do hardest light,  
And deepest Falls be from the highest height;  
How Farne an Echo is, how all Renown  
Like to a blasted Rose, ere Night falls down:  
And though it something were, think how this Round  
Is but a little Point, which doth it bound.  
O leave that Love which reacheth but to Dust,  
And in that Love eternal only trust,  
And Beauty, which when once it is possessed,  
Can only fill the Soul, and make it blest.  
Pale Envy, jealous Emulations, Fears,  
Sighs, Plaints, Remorse, here have no Place, nor Tears,  
False joys, vain Hopes, here be not, Hate nor Wrath,  
What ends all Love, here most augments it, Death.  
If such Force had the dim Glance of an Eye,  
Which some few Days thereafter was to die,  
That it could make thee leave all other things,  
And like the Taper-slie there burn thy Wings?  
And if a Voice, of late which could but wail,  
Such Power had▪ as through Ears thy Soul to steal?  
If once thou on that only Fair couldst gaze,  
What Flames of Love would he within thee raise?  
In what a mazing Maze would it thee bring,  
To hear but once that Choir cel●…sliall sing?  
The fairest Shapes on which thy Love did seize,  
Which erst did breed Del●…ght, then would displease,  
Then 〈◊〉 hoarse were Earth's enticing Sounds,  
All Music but a Noise which Sense confounds.  
This great and burning Glass that clears all Eyes,  
And musters with such Glory in the Skies,  
That silver Star which with its sober Light,  
Makes Day o●…t envy the eye-pleasing Night,  
Those golden Letters which so brightly shine  
In heavens great Volume gorgeously divine,  
The Wonders all in Sea, in Earth, in Air,  
Be but dark Pictures of that Sovereign Fair,  
Be Tongues, which still thus cry into your Ear,  
(Could ye amidst World's Cataracts them hear)  
From fading things (fond Wights) lift your Desire,  
And in our Beauty, his us made admire,  
If we seem fair? o think how fair is He,  
Of whose fair Fairness, Shadows, Steps, we be.  
No Shadow can compare it with the Face,  
No Step with that dear Foot which did it trace;  
Your Souls immortal are, then place them hence,  
And do not drown them in the Must of Sense:  
Do not, o do not by false Pleasures Might  
Deprive them of that true, and sole Delight.  
That Happiness ye seek is not below,  
Earth's sweetest joy is but disguised Woe.   

here did she pause, and with a mild Aspect  
Did towards me those lamping Twins direct:  
The wont Rays I knew, and thrice essayed  
To answer make, thrice faltering Tongue it stayed.  
And while upon that Face I fed my Sight,  
Me thought she vanished up in Titan's Light,  
Who guilding with his Rays each Hill and plain,  
Seemed to have brought the goldsmiths World again.    

TEARS, ON THE DEATH of Moeliades.   

To the Author.  
IN Waves of Woe thy Sighs my Soul do toss,  
And do burst up the Conduits of my Tears,  
Whose rankling Wound no smoothing Balm long bears,  
But freshly bleeds when Ought upbraids my Loss.  
Then thou so sweetly Sorrow makes to sing,  
And troubled Passions dost so well accord,  
That more Delight thine Anguish doth afford,  
Than others joys can Satisfaction bring.  
What sacred Wits (when ravished) do affect,  
To force Affections, metamorphose Minds,  
Whilst numbrous Power the Soul in secret binds,  
Thou hast performed, transforming in Effect:  
For never Plaints did greater Pity move,  
The best Applause that can such Notes approve.  
Sr. W. Alexander.   

TEARS, ON THE DEATH of Moeliades.  


THE N●… which in thes●… Verses is given Prince HENRI●…, is that which he himself in the Challenges of his Martial Sports, & Mascarads, was wont to use, Moeliades Princ●… of the Isle●… which in 〈◊〉 maketh Miles A DEO.  O Heavens! then is it true that Thou art gone,  
And left this woeful I'll her Loss to moon,  
Moeliades? bright day-star of the West,  
A Comet, blazing Terror to the East:  
And neither that thy sprite so heavenly wise,  
Nor Body (though of Earth) more pure than Skies,  
Nor royal Stem, nor thy sweet tender Age,  
Of adamantine Fates could quench the Rage?  
O fading Hopes! O short-while-lasting joy!  
Of Earthborn Man, which one Hour can destroy!  
Then even of virtues Spoils Death Trophies rears,  
As if he gloried most in many Tears.  
Forced by grim Desti●…es, Heavens neglect our Cries,  
Stars seem set only to act tragedies:  
And let them do their Worst, since thou art gone,  
Raise whom they list to Thrones, enthroned dethrone,  
Stain Princely Bowers with Blood, and even to Ganges,  
In Cypress sad, glad Hymen's Torches change.  
Ah! thou hast left to live, and in the Time,  
When scarce thou blossomed in thy pleasant Prime,  
So falls by Northern Blast a virgin Rose,  
At half that doth her bashful Bosom close:  
So a sweet Flourish languishing decays,  
That late did blush when kissed by Phoebus' Rays:  
So Phoebus mounting the Meridian's height,  
Choacked by pale Phoebe, faints unto our Sight,  
Astonished Nature sullen stands to see  
The Life of all this All, so changed to be,  
In gloomy Gowns the Stars about deplore,  
The Sea with murmuring Mountains beats the Shore,  
Black Darkness reels o'er all, in thousand Showers  
The weeping Air, on Earth her Sorrow powers,  
That (in a Palsy) quakes to find so soon  
Her Lover set, and Night burst forth ere Noon.   

If Heaven (alas) ordained thee young to die,  
Why was it not where thou thy Might didst try?  
And to the hopeful World at least set forth  
Some little Spark of thine expected Worth?  
Moeliades, o that by Ister's Streams,  
Amongst shrill-sounding Trumpets, flaming Gleams  
Of warm encrimsoned Swords, and Cannons Roar,  
Balls thick as Rain poured by the Caspian Shore,  
Amongst crushed Lances, ringing Helms, and Shields,  
Dismembered Bodies ravishing the Fields,  
In Turkish Blood made red like Mars' Star,  
Thou end●…d hadst thy Life, and Christian War!  
Or as brave Bourbon thou hadst made old Rome,  
Queen of the World, thy Triumphs Place, and Tomb!  
So Heavens fair Face to the unborn which reads  
A Book had been of thine illustrious Deeds:  
So to their nephews aged Sires had told  
The high Exploits performed by thee of old,  
Towns razed, and raised, victorious, vanquished Bands,  
Fierce Tyrants flying, foiled, killed, by thy Hands.  
And in dear Arras, Virgin's fair had wrought  
The Bays and Trophies to thy Country brought:  
While some new Homer imping Pens to Fame,  
Deaf Nilus' Dwellers had made hear thy Name.  
That thou didst not attain those Honour's Spheres,  
It was not want of Worth, o no, but Years.  
A Youth more brave, pale Troy with trembling Walls  
Did never see, nor she whose Name apalles  
Both Titans golden Bowers, for bloody Fights  
Mustering on Mars' Field such Marse▪ like Knights.  
The Heavens had brought thee to the highest height,  
Of Wit, and Courage, showing all their Might  
When they thee framed: Ay me! that what is brave  
On Earth, they as their own so soon should crave.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,  
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearly Shore.   

When Forth thy Nurse, Forth where thou first didst pass  
Thy tender Days (who smiled oft on her Glass  
To see thee gaze) Meandring with her Streams,  
Herd thou hadst left this Round, from Phoebus' Beams  
She sought to fly, but forced to return  
By neighbour Brooks, She gave herself to mourn:  
And as she rushed her Cycladeses among,  
She seemed to plain, that Heaven had done her wrong.  
With a ho●…rse Plaint, Cleyd down her steepy Rocks,  
And Tweed through her green Mountains clad with Flocks,  
Did wound the Ocean, murmuring thy Death,  
The Ocean that roared about the Earth,  
And it to Mauritanian Atlas told,  
Who shrunk through Grief, and down his white Hairs rolled  
Huge Streams of Tears, that changed were in Floods,  
With which he drowned the neighbour Plains and Woods.  
The lesser Brooks as they did bubbling go,  
Did keep a Consort unto public Woe▪  
The Shepherds left their Flocks with downcast Eyes,  
Disdaining to look up to angry Skies:  
Some broke their Pipes, and some in sweet-sad Lays,  
Made senseless things amazed at thy Praise.  
His Reed Alexis hung upon a Tree,  
And with his Tears made Doven great to be.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,  
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearly Shore.   

Chaste Maids which haunt fair Aganippe Well,  
And you in Tempe's sacred Shade who dwell,  
Let fall your haps, cease Tunes of loy to sing,  
Dishevelled make all Parnassus ring  
With Anthems sad, thy Music Phoebus' turn  
In doleful Plaints, whilst joy itself doth mourn:  
Dead is thy Darling, who decored thy Bays,  
Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet Lays,  
And to a Trumpet raise thine amorous Style,  
That floating Delos envy might this I'll.  
You Acidalian Archers break your Bows,  
Your Brandon's quench, with Tears blot Beauties Snows,  
And bid your weeping Mother yet again  
A second Adon's Death, nay, Mars' plain:  
His Eyes once were your Darts, nay, even his Name  
Where ever heard, did every Heart inflame:  
Tagus did court his Love, with golden Streams,  
Rhein with his Towns, fair Seine, with all she claims.  
But ah (poor Lovers) Death did them betrey,  
And (not suspected) made their Hopes his Prey!  
Tagus bewails his Loss, with golden Streams,  
Rhein with his Towns, fair Seine with all she claims.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,  
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearly Shore.   

Delicious Meads, whose chequered Plain forth brings,  
White, golden, azure Flowers, which once were Kings,  
In mourning Black, their shining Colours die,  
Bow down their Heads, whilst sighing Zephyres fly.  
Queen of the Fields, whose Blush makes blush the Morn,  
Sweet Rose, a Prince's Death in Purple mourn.  
O hyacinths, for ay your AI keep still,  
Nay, with more Marks of Woe your Leaves now fill:  
And you, O Flower of Helen's Tears first borne,  
Into those liquid Pearls again you turn.  
Your green Locks, Forests, cut, in weeping Myrrhes,  
The deadly Cypress, and Inke-dropping Firres,  
Your Palms and Myrtles change; from Shadows dark  
Winged Siren's wail, and you sad Echoes mark  
The lamentable Accents of their Moon,  
And plain that brave Moeliades is gone.  
Stay Sky thy turning Course, and now become  
A stately Arch, unto the Earth his Tomb:  
Over which ay the watery Iris keep,  
And sad electra's Sisters which still weep.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,  
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearly Shore.   

Dear Ghost, forgive these our untimely Tears,  
By which our loving Mind, though weak, appears,  
Our Loss not Thine (when we complain) we weep,  
For thee the glistering Walls of Heaven do keep,  
Beyond the Planets Wheels, above that Source  
Of Spheres, that turns the lower in its Course,  
Where Sun doth never set, nor ugly Night  
Ever appears in mourning Garments dight:  
Where Boreas stormy Trumpet doth not sound,  
Nor Clouds in Lightnings bursting, Minds astounded.  
From Cares cold Climates far, and hot Desire,  
Where Time is banished, Ages ne'er expire:  
Amongst pure Sprights environed with Beams,  
Thou think'st all things below to be but Dreams,  
And joy'st to look down to the azur'd Bars  
Of Heaven, indented all with streaming Stars;  
And in their turning Temples to behold,  
In silver rob the Moon, the Sun in Gold,  
Like young Eye-speaking Lovers in a Dance,  
With Majesty by Turns retire, advance,  
Thou wonder'st Earth to see hang like a Ball,  
Closed in the ghastly Cloister of this All:  
And that poor Men should prove so madly fond,  
To toss themselves for a small Foot of Ground.  
Nay, that they even dare brave the Powers above,  
From this base Stage of Change, that cannot move.  
All worldly Pomp and Pride thou seest arise  
Like Smoke, that scattreth in the empty Skies.  
Other Hills and Forests, other sumptuous Towers,  
Amazed thou findest, excelling our poor Bowers,  
Courts void of Flattery, of Malice Minds,  
Pleasure which lasts, not such as Reason blinds:  
far sweeter Songs thou hearest and Carrolings,  
Whilst Heavens do dance, and Choir of Angels sings,  
Than mouldy Minds could feign, even our Annoy  
(If it approach that Place) is changed in joy..   

Rest blessed sprite, rest satiate with the Sight  
Of him, whose Beams both dazzle and delight,  
Life of all Lives, cause of each other Cause,  
The Sphere, and Centre, where the Mind doth pause:  
Narcissus of himself, himself the Well,  
Lover, and Beauty, that doth all excel.  
Rest happy Ghost, and wonder in that Glass,  
Where seen is all that shall be, is, or was,  
While shall be, is, o●… was do pass away,  
And nought remain but an Eternal Day.  
For ever rest, thy Praise Fame may enroll  
In golden Annalles, whilst about the Pole  
The slow Boötes turns, or Sun doth rise  
With scarlet Scarf, to cheer the mourning Skies:  
The Virgins to thy Tomb may Garlands bear  
Of Flowers, and on each Flower let fall a Tear.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,  
From Thuly to Hydaspes pearly Shore.    

SONNET.  
A Passing Glance, a Lightning long the Skies  
That vsh'ring Thunder dies strait to our Sight,  
A Spark, of Contraries which doth arise,  
Then drowns in the huge Depths of Day and Night:  
Is this small-Small called Life, held in such Price  
Of blinded Wights, who nothing judge aright,  
Of Parthian Shaft so swift is not the Flight  
As Life, that wastes itself, and living dies.  
O! what is human Greatness, Valour, Wit?  
What fading Beauty, Riches, Honour, Praise?  
To what doth serve in golden Thrones to sit,  
Thrall Earth's vast Round, triumphal Arches raise?  
All is a Dream, learn in this Princes Fall,  
In whom (save Death) nought mortal was at all.   

Of JET,  
Or Porphyry,  
Or that white Stone  
PAROS affords alone,  
Or those in Azure die,  
Which seem to scorn the Sky;  
Here MEMPHIS Wonders do not set,  
Nor ARTEMISIAS huge Frame,  
That keeps so long her LOVER'S Name.  
Make no great Marble Atlas tremble with Gold,  
To please a vulgar EYE that doth behold:  
The Muses, Phoebus, LOVE, have raised of their Tears  
A crystal Tomb to Him, through which his Worth appears.   

URANIA, OR Spiritual Poems.   

URANIA▪ OR Spiritual Poems.  
TRiumphing Chariots, Statues, Crowns of Bays,  
Sky threatening Arches, the Rewards of Worth,  
Works heavenly wise in sweet ●…armonious Lays,  
Which Sprights divine unto the World set forth:  
States, which ambitious Minds with Blood do raise  
From frozen Tanais to Sunne-gilded Ganges,  
Gigantic Frames held Wonders rarely strange,  
Like Spider's Webs, are made the Sport of Days.  
All on●…y constant is in constant Change,  
What done is, is undone, and when undone,  
Into some other Fashion doth it range▪  
Thus goes the floating World beneath the Moon,  
Where for (my Mind) above Time, Motion, Place,  
Thee raise, and Steps unknown to Nature Trace.   

TOo long I followed have my fond Desire,  
And too long painted on the Ocean Streams:  
Too long Refreshment sought amidst the Fire,  
And hunted joys, which to my Soul were Blames.  
Ah! when I had what most I did admire,  
And seen of Life's Delights the last Extremes,  
I found all but a Rose hedged with a Briar,  
A Nought, a Thought, a Show of mocking Dreams.  
Henceforth on thee mine only Good I'll think,  
For only thou canst grant what I do crave,  
Thy Nail my Pen shall be, thy Blood mine Ink,  
Thy Winding-sheet my Paper, Study Grave,  
And till that Soul forth of this Body fly,  
No Hope I'll have but only only Thee.   

TO spread the azure Canopy of Heaven,  
And make it twinkle all with Spangs of Gold,  
To place this ponderous Globe of Earth so even,  
That it should all, and nought should it uphold:  
To give strange Motions to the Planets seven,  
And jove to make so meek, and Mars so bold,  
To temper what is moist, dry, hot, and cold,  
Of all their jars that sweet Accords are given.  
LORD, to thy Wit is nought, nought to thy Might,  
But that thou shouldst (thy Glory laid aside)  
Come basely in Mortality to bide,  
And die for them deserved eternal Plight,  
A Wonder is, so far above our Wit,  
That Angels stand amazed to think on it.   

COme forth, come forth, ye blessed triumphing Bands,  
Fair Citizens of that immortal Town:  
Come see that King, who all this All commands,  
Now (overcharged with Love) die for his own.  
Look on those Nails which pierce his Feet and Hands,  
What a strange Diadem his Brows doth crown?  
Behold his pallid Face, his Eyes which sown,  
And what a Throng of thieves him mocking stands:  
Come forth ye Empyrean Troops, come forth,  
Preserve this sacred Blood, which Earth adorns,  
Gather those liquid Roses from his Thorns,  
O! to be lost they be of too much Worth:  
For Streams, ¹ juice, ² Balm, ³ they are, which quench, ¹ kills, ² charms, ³  
Of God, ¹ Death, ² Hell, ³ the Wrath, ¹ the Life, ² the Harms. ³   

Soul, which to Hell waste thrall,  
He, he for thine Offence  
Did suffer Death, who could not die at all:  
O sovereign Excellence,  
O Life of all that lives,  
Eternal Bounty, which all Goodness gives,  
How could Death mount so high?  
No Wit this Point can reach,  
Faith only doth us teach,  
For us he died, at all who could not die.   

IF with such passing Beauty, choice Delights,  
The Architect of this great Round did frame  
This Palace visible, which World we name?  
(Yet silly Mansion but of mortal Wights)  
How many Wonders? what amazing Lights,  
Must that triumphing Seat of Glory claim?  
Which doth transcend all this great Alls high Heights,  
Of whose bright Sun ours here is but a Beam?  
O blest Abode! o happy dwelling Place!  
Where visibly th'invisible doth reign,  
Blessed People, who do see true Beauty's Face,  
With whose dark Shadows He but Earth doth deign,  
All joy is but Annoy, all Concord Strife,  
Matched with your endless Bliss, and happy Life.   

Love which is here, a Care  
That Wit and Will doth mar,  
Uncertain Truce, and a most certain War,  
A shrill tempestuous Wind,  
Which doth disturb the Mind,  
And like wild Waves our designs all commove:  
Among those Sprights above  
Which see their Maker's Face,  
It a Contentment is, a quiet Peace,  
A Pleasure void of Grief, a constant Rest,  
Eternal joy, which nothing can molest.   

WHat hapless Hap had I now to be borne,  
In these unhappy Times, and dying Days,  
Of this else-doating World? when Good decays,  
Love is quenched forth, and Virtue held a Scorn.  
When such are only prized, by wretched Ways  
Who with a golden Fleece them can adorn,  
When Avarice, and Lust, are counted Praise,  
And noble Minds live Orphan▪ like forlorn.  
Why was not I into that golden Age,  
When Gold yet was not known? and those black Arts,  
By which base Mortals vildly play their Parts,  
And stain with horrid Acts Earth's stately Stage?  
Then to have been, Heaven, it had been my Bliss●…,  
But bless me now, and take me soon from this.   

Thrice happy he, who by some shady Grove  
far from the clamorous World doth live his own,  
Though solitare, yet who is not alone,  
But doth converse with that Eternal love.  
O how more sweet is Birds harmonious Moon,  
Or the soft Sobbing of the widowed Dove?  
Than those smooth Whisper near a Prince's Throne,  
Which Good make doubtful, do the Evil approve.  
O how more sweet is Zephyres wholesome Breath,  
And Sighs perfumed, which do the Flowers unfold,  
Than that Applause vain Honour doth bequeath?  
How sweet are Streams to Poison drunk in Gold?  
The World is full of Horrors, Falsehoods, Slights,  
Woods silent Shades have only true Delights.   

WHy (Worldlings) do ye trust frail Honour's Dreams?  
And lean to guilded Glories which decay?  
Why do ye toil to registrate your Names  
In icy Columns, which soon melt away?  
True Honour is not here, that Place it claims,  
Where black-browed Night doth not exile the Day,  
Nor no farre-shining Lamp dives in the Sea,  
But an eternal Sun spreads lasting Beams.  
There it attendeth you, where spotless Bands  
Of Sprights, stand gazing on their sovereign Bliss,  
Where Years not hold it in their cankering Hands,  
But who once noble ever noble is:  
Look home, lest he your weakened Wit make thrall,  
Who eden's foolish Gardener erst made fall.   

AStrea in this Time  
Now doth not live, but is fled up to Heaven;  
Or if she live, it is not without Crime  
That she doth use her Power,  
And she is no more Virgin, but a Whoure,  
Whoure prostitute for Gold:  
For she doth never hold her Balance even,  
And when her Sword is rolled,  
The Bad, Injurious, False, she not o'erthrows,  
But on the Innocent lets fall her Blows.   

WHat serves it to be good? Goodness by thee  
The Holy-wise is thought a Fool to be,  
For thee the Man to Temperance inclined,  
Is held but of a base and abject Mind,  
The Continent is thought for thee but cold,  
Who yet was good, that ever died old?  
The pitiful who others fears to kill,  
Is killed himself, and Goodness doth him ill:  
The meek and humble Man who cannot brave,  
By thee is to some Giant's Brood made Slave.  
Poor Goodness, thine thou to such Wrongs sett'st forth,  
That o! I fear me, thou art nothing worth:  
And when I look to Earth, and not to Heaven,  
Ere I were turned Dove, I would be Raven.   


GReat GOD, whom we with humble Thoughts adore,  
Eternal, infinite, almighty King,  
Whose Palace Heaven transcends, whose Throne before  
archangels serve, and Seraphins do sing:  
Of Nought who wrought all that with wondering Eyes  
We do behold within this spacious Round,  
Who mak'st the Rocks to rock, and stand the Skies,  
At whose Command the horrid Thunder's sound:  
Ah! spare us Worms, weigh not how we (alas)  
Evil to ourselves, against thy laws rebel,  
Wash off those Spots, which still in Conscience Glass  
(Though we be loath to look) we see too well.  
Deserved Revenge, o do not, do not take,  
If thou revenge▪ what shall abide thy Blow?  
Pass shall this World, this World which thou didst make,  
Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow.  
For who is he whom Parents Sin not stains?  
Or with his own Offence is not defiled?  
Though justice Ruin threaten, justice raineth  
Let Mercy hold, and be both just and mild.   

Less are our Faults far far tha●… is thy Love,  
O! what can better seem thy Power divine?  
Than those who Evil deserve thy Goodness prove?  
And where thou thunder shouldst there fair to shine?  
Then look, and pity, pitying forgive  
Us guilty Slaves, or Servants, at thy Will,  
Slaves, if (alas) thou look'st how we do live,  
●…r doing nought at all, or doing ill:  
Of an ungrateful Mind a foul Effect,  
But if thy Gifts, which largely heretofore  
Thou hast upon us poured, thou dost respect?  
We be thy Servants, nay, than Servants more,  
Thy Children, yes, and Children dearly bought,  
But what strange Chance us of this Lot bereaves?  
Vile Rebels, o! how basely are we brought?  
Whom Grace made Children, Sin hath now made Slaves:  
Sin Slaves hath made, but let thy Grace Sin thrall,  
That in our Wrongs thy mercy may appear▪  
Thy Wisdom not so weak is, Power so small,  
But thousand Ways they can make Men thee fear.   

O Wisdom boundless! admirable Grace!  
Grace, Wisdom, which do dazzle Reason's Eye,  
And could heavens King bring from his placelesse Place,  
On this infamous Stage of Woe, to die:  
To die our Death and with the sacred Stream  
Of Blood, and Water, gushing from his Side,  
To expiate that Sin, and deadly Blame,  
Contrived first by our First Parent's Pride.  
Thus thy great Love, and Pity, heavenly King,  
Love, Pity, which so well our Loss prevents,  
Could even of Evil it s●…lfe all Goodness bring,  
And sad Beginnings cheer with glad Events.  
O Love, and Pity! ill known of these Times,  
O Love and Pity! careful of our Bliss,  
O Goodness! with the heinous Acts and Crimes  
Of this black Age, that almost vanquished is:  
Make this excessive ardour of thy Love,  
So warm our Coldness, so our Lives renew,  
That we from Sin, Sin may from us remove,  
Wit may our Will, Faith may our Wit subdue▪  
Let thy p●…re Love burn up all mortal Lust,  
That Band of Ills which thralls our better Part,  
And fond makes us worship fleshly Dust,  
In stead of Thee in Temple of our Heart.   

Grant, when at last the sprite shall leave this Tomb,  
This loathsome Shop of Sin, and Mansion blind,  
And (call▪ d) before thy Royal Seat doth come,  
It may a Saviour, not a judge, thee find.    

To the Author.  
THe sister Nymphs who haunt the Thespian Springs,  
ne'er did their Gifts more liberally bequeath  
To them who on their Hills sucked sacred Breath,  
Than unto thee, by which thou sweetly sings.  
ne'er did Apollo raise on Pegase Wings  
A Muse more near himself, more far from Earth,  
Than thine; if She do weep thy Lady's Death,  
Or sing those sweet-sour Pangs which Passion brings.  
To write our Thoughts in Verse doth merit Praise,  
But those our Verse to gild in Fictions o'er,  
Bright, rich, delightful, doth deserve much more,  
As thou hast done these thy delicious Lays:  
Thy Muse's Morning (doubtless) doth bewray  
The near Approach of a more glistering Day.  
D. Murray.    


MADRIGALS, AND Epigrams.  
BY W. D.   

  

MADRIGALS, AND EPIGRAMS.  
The Statue of MEDUSA.  
OF that MEDUSA strange,  
Who those that did her see in Rocks did change,  
None Image carved is this;  
MEDUSA'S self it is,  
For whilst at Heat of Day,  
To quench her Thirst She by this Spring did stay,  
Her curling Snakes beholding in this Glass,  
Life did Her leave, and thus transformed She was.   

The Trojane Horse.  
AHorse I am, whom Bit,  
Rain, Rod, ●…or Spur, not fear;  
When I my Riders bear,  
Within my Womb, not on my Back they sit:  
No Streams I drink, nor care for Grass, nor Corn,  
Art me a Monster wrought,  
All Nature's Works to scorn:  
A Mother, I was without Mother borne,  
In End all armed my Father I forth brought:  
What thousand Ships, and Champions of Renown,  
Could not do free, I captive razed a Town.   

A lovers Heaven.  
THose Stars, nay Suns, which turn  
So stately in their Spheres,  
And dazzling do not burn,  
The beauty of the Morn  
Which on those Cheeks appears,  
The Harmony which to that Voice is given,  
Make me think ye are Heaven:  
If Heaven ye be? o that by powerful Charms  
I Atlas were, to hold you in mine Arms!   

Deep Impression of love.  
WHom raging Dog doth bite,  
He doth in Water still  
That Cerberus Image see;  
Love Mad (perhaps) when he my Heart did smite,  
(More to dissemble Ill)  
Transformed himself in thee,  
For ever since thou present art to me:  
No Spring there is, no Flood, nor other Place,  
Where I (alas) not see thy heavenly Face.   

The Portrait of MARS and VENUS.  
Fair PAPHOS wanton Queen,  
Not drawn in White and Red,  
Is truly here, as when in WLCANS' Bed  
She was of all Heavens laughing Senate seen:  
Gaze on her Hair, and Eine,  
Her Brows, the Bows of Love,  
Her back with Lilies spread:  
And ye should see her turn, and sweetly move,  
But that She neither so will do, nor dare,  
For fear to wake the angry God of War.   

IÖLAS Epitaph.  
HEre dear Iölas lies,  
Who whilst he lived in Beauty did surpass  
That Boy, whose heavenly Eyes  
Brought Cypris from above,  
Or him till Death who looked in watery Glass,  
Even judge the God of Love:  
And if the Nymph once held of him so dear,  
Dorine the fair, would here but shed one Tear,  
Thou shouldst (in Nature's Scorn)  
A purple Flower see of this Marble borne.   

Upon the Death of a LINNET.  
IF cruel Death had Ears,  
Or could be pleased by Songs?  
This winged Musician lived had many years,  
And Chloris mine had never wept these Wrongs:  
For when it first took Breath,  
The Heavens their Notes did unto it bequeath:  
And (if that Samians sentence be found true)  
Amphion in this Body lived of new:  
But Death, for that he nothing spares, nought hears,  
As he doth Kings, it killed, o Grief! o Tears!   

ALCONS Kiss.  
WHat others at their Ear  
Two Pearls Camilla at her Nose did wear,  
Which Alcon who nought saw  
(For Love is blind) robbed with a pretty Kiss,  
But having known his Miss,  
And felt what Ore he from that Mine did draw,  
When she to charge again him did desire,  
He fled, and said, foul Water quenched Fire.   

ICARUS.  
WHilst with audacious Wings  
I sprang those airy Ways,  
And filled (a Monster new) with Dread and Fears,  
The feathered People, and their Eagle Kings:  
Dazzled with Phoebus' Rays,  
And charmed with the Music of the Spheres,  
When Pens could move no more, and Force did fail,  
I measured by a Fall these lofty Bounds;  
Yet doth Renown my Losses countervail,  
For still the Shore my brave Attempt resounds:  
A Sea, an Element doth bear my Name,  
Who hath so vast a Tomb in Place, or Fame?   

Cherries.  
MY Wanton, weep no more  
The ●…osing of your Cherries,  
Those, and far sweeter Berries,  
Your Sister in good store  
Hath, spread on Lips, and Face:  
Be glad, kiss but with me, and hold your peace.   

Of THAUMANTIA, beholding herself in a Marble.  
WOrld, wonder not that I  
Engrave thus in my Breast  
This Angel Face, which me bereaves of Rest:  
Since things even wanting Sense, cannot deny  
To lodge so dear a Guest,  
And this hard Marble Stone  
Receives the same, and Ioues, but cannot groan.   

Love suffereth no Parasol.  
THose Eyes, dear Eyes, be Spheres,  
Where two bright Suns are rolled,  
That fair Hand to behold,  
Of whitest Snow appears:  
Then while ye coily stand,  
To hide from me those Eyes,  
Sweet, I would you advise  
To choose some other Fan than that white Hand:  
For if ye do, for Truth most true this know,  
That Suns ere long must needs consume warm Snow.   

Sleeping Beauty.  
O Sight! too dearly bought,  
She sleeps, and though those Eyes,  
Which lighten Cupid's Skies,  
Be closed, yet such a Grace  
environeth that Place,  
That I through Wonder to grow faint am brought:  
Suns, if eclipsed ye have such Power divine?  
O! how can I endure you when ye shine?   

The quality of a Kiss.  
THe Kiss with so much Strife,  
Which I late got (sweet Heart)  
Was it a Sign of Death, or was it Life?  
Of Life it could not be,  
For I by it did sigh my Soul in thee,  
Nor was it Death, Death doth no joy impart:  
Thou silent standest, ah! what thou didst bequeath,  
To me a dying Life was, living Death.   

Of PHILLIS.  
IN Petticoat of green,  
Her Hair about her Eine,  
Phillis beneath an Oak  
Sat milking her fair Flock:  
Among that strained Moisture (rare Delight!)  
Her Hand seemed Milk in Milk, it was so white.   

Kisses desired.  
THough I with strange Desire  
To kiss those rosy Lips am set on Fire,  
Yet will I cease to crave  
Sweet Touches in such store,  
As he who long before  
From Lesbian them in thousands did receive;  
Heart mine, but once me kiss,  
And I by that sweet Bliss  
Even swear to cease you to importune more,  
Poor one no Number is:  
Another Word of me ye shall not hear,  
After one Kiss, but still one Kiss, my Dear.   

Of DAMETAS.  
DAMETAS dreamed he saw his Wife at Sport,  
And found that sight was through the horny Port.   

The Canon.  
WHen first the Canon from her gaping Throat,  
Against the Heaven her roaring Sulphur shoot,  
jove wakened with the Noyce, and asked with Wonder,  
What mortal Wight had stolen from him his Thunder,  
His crystal Towers he feared, but Fire, and Air,  
So deep, did stay the Ball from mounting there.   

APELLES' enamoured of CAMPASPE, ALEXANDER'S Mistress.  
Poor Painter, whilst I sought  
To counterfeit by Art  
The fairest Frame that Nature ever wrought,  
And having limned each Part  
Except her matchless Eyes:  
Scarce on those Twins I gazed,  
As Lightning falls from Skies,  
When strait my Hand benumbed was, Mind amazed:  
And ere that Pincell half them had expressed,  
Love all had drawn, no, graven within my Breast.   

CAMPASPE.  
ON Stars shall I exclaim,  
Which thus my Fortune change?  
Or shall I else revenge  
Upon myself this shame?  
Unconstant Monarch, or shall I thee blame?  
Who lettest APELLES prove  
The sweet Delights of Alexander's Love;  
No, Stars, myself, and thee, I all forgive,  
And joy that thus I live:  
Kings know not Beauty, hence mine was despised,  
The Painter did, and me he dearly prized.   

Unpleasant Music.  
IN Fields Ribaldo strayed,  
May's Tapestry to see,  
And hearing on a Tree  
A Cuckoo sing, he sighed, and softly said,  
Lo, how (alas) even Birds sit mo●…king m●…e.   

A jest.  
IN a most holy Church▪ a holy Man,  
Unto a holy Saint, with Visage wan,  
And Eyes like Fountains, mumbled forth a Prayer,  
And with strange Words, and Sig●…es, made black the Air:  
And having long so stayed, and long long prayed,  
A thousand Crosses on himself he laid,  
Then with some sacred Beads hung on his Arm,  
His Eyes, his Mouth, Breast, Temples did he charm.  
Thus not content (strange Worship hath none End)  
To kiss the Earth at last he did pretend,  
And bowing down, besought with humble Grace  
An aged Woman near to give some Place:  
She turned, and turning up her Pole beneath,  
Said, Sir, kiss here, for it is all but Earth.   

NARCISSUS.  
Floods cannot quench my Flames, ah! in this Well  
I burn, not drown, for what I cannot tell.   

TO THAUMANTIA singing.  
IS it not too too much  
Thou late didst to me prove,  
A Basilisk of Love?  
And didst my Wits bewitch:  
Unless (to cause more Harm)  
Made Siren too thou with thy Voice me charm?  
Ah! though thou so my Reason didst control,  
That to thy Looks I could not prove a Mole:  
Yet do me not that Wrong,  
As not to let me turn Asp to thy Song.   

Of her Dog.  
WHen her dear Bosom eclipse  
That little Cur, which fauns to touch her Lips▪  
Or when it is his Hap  
To lie lapped in her Lap,  
O! it grows Noon with me,  
With hotter-pointed Beams  
My burning Planet streams,  
What Rays were erst, in Lightnings changed be:  
When oft I muse, how I to those Extremes  
Am brought, I find no Cause, except that she  
In loves bright Zodiac having traced each Room,  
To fatal Syrius now at last is come.   

A Kiss.  
Hark happy Lovers, hark,  
This first and last of joys,  
This Sweetner of Annoys,  
This Nectare of the Gods,  
Ye call a Kiss, is with itself at odds:  
And half so sweet is not  
In equal Measure got,  
At Light of Sun, as it is in the Dark,  
Hark, happy Lovers, hark.   

Cornucopia.  
IF for one only Horn  
Which Nature to him gave,  
So famous is the noble Unicorn?  
What Praise should that Man have,  
Whose Head a Lady brave  
Doth with a goodly Pair at once adorn?   

Of AMINTAS.  
OVer a crystal Source  
Amintas laid his Face,  
Of popling Streams to see the restless Course:  
But scarce he had o'reshadowed the Place,  
When (spying in the Ground a Child arise,  
Like to himself in Stature, Face, and Eyes)  
He rose o'erjoyed, and cried,  
Dear Mates approach, see whom I have descried,  
The Boy of whom strange Stories Shepherds tell  
(Oft-called Hylas) dwelleth in this Well.   

PAMPHILUS.  
SOme, Ladies wed, some love, and some adore them,  
I like their wanton Sport, then care not for them.   

Upon a Glass.  
IF thou wouldst see Threads purer than the Gold,  
Where Love his Wealth doth show?  
But take this Glass, and thy fair Hair behold:  
If Whiteness thou wouldst see more white than Snow,  
And read on Wonders Book?  
Take but this Glass, and on thy For●…head look:  
Wouldst thou in Winter see a crimson Rose,  
Whose Thorns do hurt each Heart?  
Look but in Glass how thy sweet Lips do close:  
Wouldst thou see Planets which all Good impart,  
Or Meteores divine?  
But take this Glass, and gaze upon thine Eine:  
No, Planets, Rose, Snow, Gold, cannot compare  
With you, dear Eyes, Lips, Brows, and amber Hair.   

Of a Bee.  
AS an audacious Knight  
Come with some Foe to fight,  
His Sword doth brandish, makes his Armour ring:  
So this proud Bee (at home (perhaps) a King)  
Did buzzing fly about,  
And (Tyrant) after thy fair Lip did sting:  
O Champion strange as stout!  
Who hast by Nature found,  
Sharp Arms, and Trumpet shrill, to sound, and wound.   

Of that same.  
O Do not kill that Bee  
That thus hath wounded thee,  
(Sweet) it was no Despite,  
But Hue did him deceive:  
For when thy Lips did close,  
He deemed them a Rose,  
What wouldst thou further crave?  
He wanting Wit, and blinded with Delight,  
Would fain have kissed▪ but Mad with joy did bite.   

Of a Kiss.  
AH! of that cruel Bee  
Thy Lips have sucked too much:  
For when they mine did touch,  
I found tha●… both they hurt, and sweetened, me:  
This by the Sting they have,  
And that they of the Honey do recea●…e:  
Dear Kiss, else by what Art  
Couldst thou at once both please and wound my Heart?   

IDMON to VENUS.  
IF (Acidalias Queen)  
Thou quench in me thy Torch,  
And with the same Thaumantias Heart shalt scorch;  
Each Year a Myrtle Tree  
here I do vow to consecr●…te to thee:  
And when the Meads grow green,  
I will of sweetest Flowers  
weave thousand Garlands, to adorn thy Bowers.   

A lovers Plaint.  
IN midst of silent Night,  
When Men, Birds, Beasts, do rest,  
With Love, and Fear possessed  
To Heaven, and Flore, I count my heavy Plight.  
Again with roseate Wings  
When Morn peeps forth, and Philomela sings,  
Then Void of all Relief,  
Do I renew my Grief:  
Day follows Night, Night Day, whilst still I prove,  
That Heaven is deaf, Flore careless of my love.   

His Firebrand.  
Leave Page that slender Torch,  
And in this gloomy Night  
Let only shine the Light  
Of loves hot Brandon, which my Heart doth scorch:  
A Sigh, or Blast of Wind,  
My Tears, or Drops of Rain,  
May that at once make blind;  
Whilst this like Aetna burning shall remain.   

DAPHNIS VOW.  
WHen Sun doth bring the Day  
From the Hesperian Sea,  
Or Moon her Coach doth roll  
Above the Northern Pole,  
When Serpents can not hiss,  
And Lovers shall not kiss:  
Then may it be, but in no time till then,  
That Daphnis can forget his Orienne.   

Of NISA.  
NIsa Palemons Wife him weeping told,  
He kept not Grammar Rules, now being old:  
For why (quoth she) Position false make ye,  
Putting a short thing where a long should be.   

Beauty's Idea.  
WHo would Perfections fair Idea see,  
Let him come look on Chloris sweet with me;  
White is her Hair, her Teeth white, white her Skin,  
Black be her Eyes, her Eyebrows, Cupid's Inn:  
Her Locks, her Body, Hands, do long appear,  
But Teeth short, Belly short, short either Ear;  
The Space twixt Shoulders, Eyes, is wide, Brows wide,  
strait Waste, the Mouth strait, and her virgin Pride:  
Thick are her Lips, Thighs, with Banks swelling there,  
Her Nose is small, small Fingers, and her Hair,  
Her sugared Mouth, her Cheeks, her Nails, be red,  
Little her Foot, Pap little, and her Hed.  
Such Venus was, such was the Flame of Troy,  
Such Chloris is, my Hope, and only joy..   

CRATONS Death.  
AMidst the Waves profound,  
far far from all Relief,  
The honest Fisher Craton, ah! is drowned  
Into his little Skife:  
The Boards of which did serve him for a Bear,  
So that to the black World when he came near,  
Of him no Waftage greedy Charon got,  
For he in his own Boat  
Did pass that Flood, by which the Gods dow swear.   

ARMELINS' Epitaph.  
Near to this Eglantine  
Enclosed lies the milk-white Armeline:  
Once Chloris only joy,  
Now only her annoy;  
Who envied was of the most happy Swains,  
That keep their Flocks in Mountains, Dales, or Plains:  
For oft she bore the wanton in her Arm,  
And oft her Bed, and Bosom did he warm:  
Now when unkindly Fates did him destroy,  
Blessed Dog he had the Grace,  
With Tears for him that Chloris wet her Face.   

The Statue of VENUS sleeping.  
Break not my sweet Repose  
Thou, whom free Will, or Chance, brings to this Place,  
Let Lids these Comets close,  
O do not seek to see their shining Grace:  
For when mine Eyes thou seest, they thine will blind,  
And thou shalt part, but leave thy Heart behind.   

LILLAS' Prayer.  
Love, if thou wilt once more  
That I to thee return,  
(Sweet God) make me not burn  
For quivering Age, that doth spent Days deplore:  
Nor do not wound my heart  
For some unconstant Boy,  
Who joys to love, yet makes of Love a Toy:  
But (ah) if I must prove thy golden Dart?  
Of grace O let me find  
A sweet young Lover with an aged Mind.  
Thus Lilla prayed, and Idas did reply  
(Who heard) Dear have thy wish, for such am I.   

The unkindness of RORA.  
WHilst sighing forth his Wrongs,  
In sweet, though doleful Songs,  
Alexis seeks to charm his Roras Ears,  
The Hills are heard to moan,  
To sigh each Spring appears,  
Trees, even heard Trees, through Rind distill their Tears,  
And soft grows every Stone:  
But Tears, Sighs, Songs, can not fair Rora move,  
Proud of his Plaints she glories in his love.   

ANTHEA Gift.  
THis virgin Lock of Hair  
To Idmon Anthea gives,  
Idmon for whom she lives,  
Though oft she mix his Hopes with cold Despair:  
This now, but absent if he constant prove,  
With Gift more dear she vows to meet his love.   

TO THAUMANTIA.  
Come, let us live, and love,  
And kiss, Thaumantia mine,  
I shall the Elm be, be to me the Vine,  
Come let us teach new Billing to the Dove:  
Nay, to augment our Bliss,  
Let Souls even other kiss,  
Let Love a Workman be,  
Undo, distemper, and his Cunning prove,  
Of Kisses three make one, of one make three:  
Though Moon, Sun, Stars, be Bodies far more bright,  
Let them not vaunt they match us in Delight.   

Epitaph.  
THis dear (though not respected) Earth doth hold  
One for his Worth, whose Tomb should be of Gold.   

Of LIDA.  
Such Lida is that who Her sees  
Through Envy, or through Love strait dies.   

A Wish.  
To forge to mighty jove  
The Thunderbolts above,  
Nor on this Round below  
Rich Midas Skill to know,  
And make all Gold I touch,  
I do not crave, nor other Cunning such:  
For all those Arts be underneath the Sky,  
I wish but Phillis Lapidare to be.   

A lovers Day and Night.  
BRight Meteore of Day,  
For me in Thetis Bowers for ever stay:  
Night, to this flowery Globe  
ne'er show for me thy starre-embrodred rob;  
My Night, my Day, do not proceed from you,  
But hang on Miras brow:  
For when she jowres, and hides from me her Eyes,  
Midst clearest Day I find black Night arise,  
When smile she again those Twins doth turn,  
In midst of Night I find Noons Torch to burn.   

The Statue of ADONIS.  
WHen Venus longest that Plain  
This Parian Adonis saw,  
She sighed, and said, What Power breaks destinies Law,  
World mourned Boy, and makes thee live again?  
Then with stretched Arms she ran him to enfold:  
But when she did behold  
The Boar, whose snowy Tusks did threaten Death,  
Fear closed up her Breath:  
Who can but grant then that these Stones do live,  
Sith this bred Love, and that a Wound did give?   

CLORUS to a Grove.  
OLd Oak, and you thick Grove,  
I ever shall you love,  
With these sweet-smelling briars,  
For briars, Oak, Grove, ye●… crowned my Desires,  
When underneath your Shade  
I left my Woe, and Flore her Maidenhead.   

A Couplet encomiasticke.  
Love ¹, Cypris ², Phoebus ³, will feed ¹, deck ², and crown ³,  
Thy Heart ¹, Brows ², Verse ³, with Flames ¹, with Flowers ², Renowne3.   

An other.  
THy Muse not-able, full, il-lustred Rhymes,  
Make thee the Poet●… Aster of our Times.   

The Rose.  
Flower, which of ADONIS' Blood  
Sprang, when of that clear Flood  
Which Venus wept, an other white was borne,  
The sweet Cynarean Youth thou right dost show:  
But this sharp-pointed thorn,  
Which doth (so proud) about thy Crimson grow,  
What doth it represent?  
Boars Tusks (perhaps) his snowy Flank which rent:  
O Show of Shows! of unesteemed Worth,  
Which both what killed, and what was killed sett'st forth.   

To a River.  
Sigh she will not that I  
Show to the World my joy,  
Thou who oft mine Annoy  
Hast heard (dear Flood) tell Thetis Nymphettes bright,  
That not a happier Wight  
Doth breath beneath the Sky:  
More sweet, more white, more fair,  
Lips, Hands, and amber Hair,  
Tell none did ever touch;  
A smaller, daintier Waste  
Tell never was embract:  
But Peace, sith she forbids thou tell'st too much.   

Thaïs' Metamorphose.  
IN Briareus huge  
Thaïs' wished she might change  
Her Man, and prayed him herefore not to grudge,  
Nor fond think it strange:  
For if (said she) I might the Parts dispose,  
I wish you not an hundredth Arms, nor Hands,  
But hundredth Things, like those,  
With which Priapus in our Garden stands.   

Upon a Bay Tree, not long since growing in the Ruins of VIRGIL'S Tomb.  
THose Stones which once had Trust  
Of Maros sacred Dust,  
Which now of their ●…irst Beauty spoiled are seen,  
That they due Praise not want,  
Inglorious and remain,  
A Delian Tree (fair Nature's only Plant)  
Now courts, and shadows with her Tresses green●…  
Sing Io Paean, ye of Phoebus' Train,  
Though Envy, Avarice, Time, your Tombs throw down,  
With Maiden Laurels Nature will them crown.   

Epitaph.  
THen Death thee hath beguiled  
Allecto's first borne Child?  
Thou who didst thrall all Laws  
Then against Worms canst not maintain thy Cause?  
Yet Worms (more just than thou) now do no Wrong,  
Sith all do wonder they thee spared so long,  
For though from Life but lately thou didst pass,  
Ten Springs are gone since thou corrupted was.   

FLORA'S Flower.  
Venus' doth love the Rose,  
Apollo those dear Flowers  
Which were his Paramours,  
The Queen of sable Skies,  
The subtle Lunaries,  
But Flore likes none of those,  
For fair to Her no Flower seems save the Lily:  
And why? because one Letter turns it P.   

MELAMPUS Epitaph.  
ALl that a Dog could have  
The good Melampus had:  
Nay, he had more than what in Beasts we cra●…e,  
For he could play the Brave,  
And often like a Thraso stern go Mad:  
And if ye had not seen, but heard him bark,  
Ye would have sworn he was your Parish Clarke.   

KALAS Complaint.  
KAla old Mopsus Wife,  
Kala with fairest Face,  
(For whom the Neighbour Swains oft were at Strife)  
As she to milk her milk-white Flock did tend,  
Sighed with a heavy Grace,  
And said, What Wretch like me doth lead her Life?  
I see not how my Task can have an End:  
All Day I draw these streaming Dugs in Fold,  
All Night mine empty Husbands soft and cold.   

The Happiness of a Flea.  
HOw Happier is that Flea  
Which in thy Breast doth play,  
Than that pied Butterfly  
Which courts the Flame, and in the same doth die?  
That hath a light Delight  
(Poor Fool) contented only with a Sight,  
When this doth sport, and swell with dearest Food,  
And if he die, he Knight-like dies in Blood.   

Of that same.  
Poor Flea, than thou didst die,  
Yet by so fair a Hand,  
That thus to die was Destiny to command:  
Thou die didst, yet didst try  
A Lovers last Delight,  
To vault on virgin Plains, Her kiss, and bite:  
Thou diedst, yet hast thy Tomb  
Between those Paps, o dear and stately Room!  
Flea, happier far, more blest,  
Than Phoenix burning in his spicy Nest.   

LINAS Virginity.  
WHo Lina weddeth, shall most happy be,  
For he a Maid shall find,  
Though Maiden none be she,  
A Girl, or Boy, beneath her Waste confined:  
And thought bright Ceres' Locks be never shorn,  
He shall be sure this Year to lack no Corne.   

LOVE naked.  
ANd would ye (Lovers) know  
Why Love doth naked go?  
Fond, waggish, changeling Lad,  
Late whilst Thaumantias Voice  
He wondering heard, it made him so rejoice,  
That he o'erjoyed ran Mad:  
And in a frantic Fit threw clothes away,  
And since from Lip, and Lap hers can not stray.   

NIOBE.  
WRetched Niobè I am,  
Let Wretches read my Case,  
Not such who with a Tear ne'er wet their Face;  
Seven Daughters of me came,  
And Sons as many, which one fatal Day  
(Orbed Mother!) took away:  
Thus reft by heavens unjust,  
Grief turned me Stone, Stone too me doth entomb,  
Which if thou dost mistrust,  
Of this hard Rock but open the flinty Womb,  
And here thou shalt find Marble, and no Dust.   

Change of love.  
ONce did I weep, and groan,  
Drink Tears, draw loathed Breath,  
And all for Love of one  
Who did affect my Death:  
But now (Thanks to Disdain)  
I live relieved of Pain,  
For Sighs, I singing go,  
I burn not as before, no, no, no, no.   

Wild Beauty.  
IF all but Ice thou be,  
How dost thou thus me burn?  
Or how at Fire which thou dost raise in me  
(Sith Ice) thyself in Streams dost thou not turn▪  
But rather (plaintfull Case!)  
Of Ice art Marble made to my Disgrace:  
O Miracle of Love! not heard till now,  
Cold Ice doth burn, and hard by Fire doth grow.   

Constant love.  
TIme makes great States decay,  
Time doth May's Pomp disgrace,  
Time draws d●…epe Furrows in the fairest Face,  
Time Wisdom, Force, Renown, doth take away,  
Time doth consume the Years,  
Time Changes works in Heavens eternal Spheres:  
Yet this fierce Tyrant which doth all devour,  
To lessen Love in me shall have no Power.   

TO CHLORIS.  
SEe Chloris, how the Clouds  
Tilt in the azure Lists,  
And how with Stygian Mists  
Each horned Hill his giant Forehead shrouds,  
jove thundereth in the Air,  
The Air grown great with Rain,  
Now seems to bring Deucalion's Days again:  
I see thee quake, come, let us home repair,  
Come hide thee in mine Arms,  
If not for Love, yet to shun greater Harms.   

UPON A PORTRAIT.  
THe Goddess that in Amathus doth reign,  
With silver Trammels, and Saphire-coloured Eyes,  
When naked fr●…m her Mother's crystal Plain  
She first appeared unto the wondering Skies;  
Or when (the golden Apple to obtain)  
Her blushing Snows amazed Ida's Trees,  
Did never look in half so fair a Guise  
As she here drawn, all other Ages Stain.  
O God what Beauties! to inflame the Soul,  
And hold the wildest Hearts in Chains of Gold,  
Fair Locks, sweet Face, loves stately capitol,  
Dear Neck, which dost that heavenly Frame up-hold:  
If Virtue would to mortal Eyes appear,  
To ravish Sense, she would your Beauty wear.   

Upon that same.  
IF Heaven, the Stars, and Nature, did her grace  
With all Perfections found the Moon above,  
And what excelleth in this lower Place,  
Did place in her, to breed a World of Love?  
If Angels Gleams shine on her fairest Face?  
Which make heavens joy on Earth the Gazer prove?  
And her bright Eyes (the Orbs which Beauty move)  
Do glance like Phoebus in his glorious Race?  
What Pincell paint? what Colour to the Sight  
So sweet a Shape can show? the blushing Morn  
The Red must lend, the milky- Way the White,  
And Night the Stars, which her rich Crown adorn,  
To draw her right: But then that all agree,  
The Heaven, the Table, Zeuxis jove must be.   

Upon that same, drawn with a Pansie.  
WHen with brave Art the curious Painter drew  
This heavenly Shape, the Hand why made he bear  
With golden Veins that Flower of purple Hue,  
Which follows on the Planet of the Year?  
Was it to show how in our Hemisphere  
Like him she shines? Nay, that Effects more true  
Of Power, and Wonder do in her appear,  
Whilst he but Flowers, she doth brave Minds subdue?  
Or would he else to virtues glorious Light  
Her constant Course make known? or is it he  
Doth parallel her Bliss with Clytias Plight?  
Right so, and thus, he reading in her Eye  
Some woeful lovers End, to grace his Grave,  
For Cypress Tree this mourning Flower her gave.   

Upon that same.  
IF Sight be not beguiled?  
And Eyes right play their Part?  
This Flower is not of Art,  
But is fair Nature's Child:  
And though when Phoebus from us is exiled,  
She doth not lock her Leaves, his Loss to moon,  
No Wonder, Earth hath now more Suns than one.   

THIRSIS in Dispraise of Beauty.  

THat which so much the doting World doth prize,  
Fond Ladies only Care, and sole Delight,  
Soone-fading Beauty, which of Hues doth rise,  
Is but an abject Let of Natures Might;  
Most woeful Wretch, whom shining Hair and Eyes,  
Lead to loves Dungeon, traitored by a Sight,  
Most woeful: for he might with greater Ease  
Hells Portals enter, and pale Death appease.   

As in delicious Meads beneath the Flowers,  
And the most wholesome Herbs that May can show,  
In crystal Curls the speckled Serpent lowers,  
As in the Apple (which most fair doth grow)  
The rotten Worm is closed, which it devours,  
As in gilt Cups with Gnossian Wine which flow,  
Oft Poison pompously doth hide its Sowres:  
So Lewdness, Falsehood, Mischief, them advance,  
Clad with the pleasant Rays of Beauties Glance.   

Good thence is chased, where Beauty doth appear,  
Mild Lowliness with Pity from it fly,  
Where Beauty reigns as in their proper Sphere,  
Ingratitude, Disdain, Pride, all des●…rie,  
The Flower, and Fruit which Virtues Tree should bear,  
With her bad Shadow Beauty maketh die:  
Beauty a Monster is, a Monster hurled  
From angry Hea●…en, to scourge this lower World.   

As Fruits which are unripe, and sour of Taste,  
To be confected more fit than sweet we prove,  
〈◊〉 Sweet in Spite of Care themselves will waste,  
When they long kept, the Appetite do move:  
So in the Sweetness of his Nectare, Love  
The foul confects, and seasons for his Feast:  
Sour is far better which we sweet may make,  
Than sweet which sweeter Sweetness will not ●…ake.   

Fowl may my Lady be, and may her Nose  
(A Tanarife) give umbrage to her Chin;  
May her gay Mouth (which she no Time may close)  
So wide be, that the Moon may turn therein,  
May Eyes, and Teeth, be made conform to those,  
Eyes set by Chance, and white, Teeth black and thin:  
May all what seen is, and is hid from Sight,  
Like unto these rare Parts be framed right.   

I shall not fear thus though she stray alone,  
That others Her pursue, entice, admire,  
And though she sometime counterfeit a Groan,  
I shall not think her Heart feels uncouth Fire,  
I shall not style Her ruethlesse to my Moon,  
Nor proud, disdainful, wayward to Desire:  
Her Thoughts with mine will hold an equal Line,  
I shall be hers, and she shall all be mine.    

EURYMEDONS' Praise of MIRA.  

Gem of the Mountains, Glory of our Plains,  
Rare Miracle of Nature, and of Love,  
Sweet Atlas, who all Beauty's Heavens sustains,  
No, Beauty's Heaven, where all her Wonders move,  
The Sun from East to West who all doth see,  
On this low Globe sees nothing like to thee.   

One Phoenix only lived ere thou wast borne,  
And Earth but did o●…e Queen of Love admire,  
Three Graces only did the World adorn,  
But thrice three Muses sung to Phoebus' Lyre,  
Two Phoenixes be now, loves Queens are two,  
Four Graces, Muses ten, all made by you.   

For those Perfections which the bounteous Heaven  
To diverse Worlds in diverse Times assigned,  
With thousands more, to thee at once were given,  
Thy Body fair, more fair they made thy Mind:  
And that thy like no Age should more behold,  
When thou wast framed they after broke the Mould.   

Sweet are the Blushes, on thy Face which shine,  
Sweet are the Flames, which sparkle from thine Eyes,  
Sweet are his Torments, who for thee doth pine,  
Most sweet his Death, for thee who sweetly dies,  
For if he die, he dies not by Annoy,  
But too much Sweetness and abundant joy..   

What are my slender Lays to show thy Worth?  
How can base Words a thing so high make known?  
So wooden Globes bright Stars to us set forth;  
So in a Crystal is suns Beauty shown:  
More of thy Praises if my Muse should write,  
More Love and Pity, must the same indite?    

THAUMANTIA at the departure of IDMON.  

Fair Diane, from the height  
Of heavens first Orb who chear'st this lower Place,  
Hide now from me thy Light,  
And pitying my Case,  
Spread with a Scarf of Clouds thy blushing Face.   

Come with your doleful Songs,  
Nights sable Birds, which plain when others sleep,  
Come, solemnize my Wrongs,  
And Consort to me keep,  
Sith Heaven, Earth, Hell, are set to cause me weep.   

This Grief yet I could bear,  
If now by Absence I were only pined,  
But ah! worse Evil I fear,  
Men absent prove unkind,  
And change (unconstant like the Moon) their Mind.   

If Thought had so much Power  
Of thy Departure, that it could me slay?  
How will that ugly Hour  
My feeble Sense dismay?  
Farewell sweet Heart, when I shall hear thee say.   

Dear Life, sith thou must go,  
Take all my joy and Comfort hence with thee,  
And leave with me thy Woe,  
Which until I thee see,  
Nor Time, nor Place, nor Change shall take from me.    

ERYCINA at the departure of ALEXIS.  
ANd wilt thou then, Alexis mine, depart?  
And leave these slowrie Meads, and crystal Streams?  
These Hills as green as great with Gold and Gems,  
Which court thee with rich Treasure in each Part?  
Shall nothing hold thee? not my loyal Heart,  
That bursts to lose the Comfort of thy Beams?  
Nor yet this Pipe which wildest satires tames?  
Nor Lambkins Wailing? nor old Dorus Smart?  
O ruethlesse Shepherd, Forests strange among  
What canst thou else but fearful Dangers find?  
But ah! not thou, but Honour doth me Wrong;  
O cruel Honour! Tyrant of the Mind,  
This said sad Erycine, and all the Flowers  
Empearled as she went, with Eyes salt Showers.   

ALEXIS to DAMON.  
THe Love Alexis did to Damon bear,  
Shall witnessed be to all the Woods, and Plains,  
As singular, renowned by neighbouring Swains,  
That to our Relics Time may Trophies rear:  
Those Madrigals we sung amidst our Flocks,  
With Garlands guarded from Apollo's Beams,  
On Ochells while, whiles near Bodotrias' Streams,  
Are registrate by Echoes in the Rocks.  
Of foreign Shepherds bend to try the States,  
Though I (World's Guest) a Vagabond do stray,  
Thou mayst that Store, which I esteem survey,  
As best acquainted with my Souls Conceits▪  
What ever Fate Heavens have for me designed,  
I trust thee with the Treasure of my Mind.    
FINIS.