The Frontispiece.  
SCulptures are useless here, or Lines in praise,  
The Soul of Poetry slights all weaker bays;  
As Sol invested in his best Array,  
Takes not, but gives more glory to the day,  
With's livening Beams gladding the teeming Earth,  
To buds, to Blossoms, and to flowers gives Birth:  
So do these three times three in Harmony  
Give Birth to Arts, new life to Poetry.  
Love offers here his Quiver, and his Bow,  
Vowing henceforth he will a Pigrim go  
Unto the muse's Temple, there to join  
In Diapasons with these Sacred Nine.  
Apollo here new-strings his golden Lyre,  
And wise Minerva sings unto this choir:  
Venus slights Mars, not deigning once to look  
On any other Object, but this Book.   

THE HARMONY OF THE MUSES: OR, The gentleman's and Ladies choicest Recreation; Full of various, pure, and transcendent Wit.  
Containing several excellent Poems; Some, Fancies of Love, some of Disdain, and all the subjects incident to the passionate Affections either of men or women.  
Heretofore written by those unimitable Masters of Learning and Invention, 

Dr. Joh. Donn  
Dr. Hen. King  
Dr. W. Stroad  
Sr. Kenelm Digby  
Mr. Ben. Johnson,  
Mr. Fra. Beaumont  
J. Cleveland  
T. Randolph  
T. Carew.    
And others of the most refined Wits of those TIMES.  
Never before Published.  
London, Printed by T. W. for William Gilbertson at the sign of the Bible in Giltspur-street without Newgate. 1654.   

TO THE READERS.  
THere needs no Commendatory Epistle to persuade you to the entertaining of this Book; The only Names of the authors are eloquent enough: It were unnecessary Art and labour to endeavour to present unto you the Transcendent height of their meritorious Pens, and with what delight beauty they have crowned Poetry, which is the Beauty and Delight of Learning. Poetry in their days flourished, and they flourished with it, and gave a Crown unto that which hath crowned them with honour, and perpetual Fame. The Genius of those times produced many incomparable wits, who being excellent in themselves, in a noble emulation, contended who should 〈◊〉 each other. From hence it is we have so many admirable Pi●ces of Perfection derived to us, every Subject, in every particular, being so choicely handled, that what room is left unto Posterity, is rather to admire and imitate, then to equal them. There were never in one Age so many contemporary Patterns of Invention, or ever wit that wrought higher or clearer. For though our homely Progenitors, with too vain admiration were accustomed to prosecute the Issues of outlandish wits, and believed nothing to be exquisite, but what came from France or Italy; yet this Age by Experience hath found, that without the least Imitation, we have given them Examples of our own, and excelled them as much in soundness as in Beauty. If any shall object, that here and there the Fancy seems some time too loose for such Reverend Names, let him impute it to the lightness of the Subject, and to the heat and vigour of their early wits, when first those airs were breathed forth. The fancies of so many lettered and unequalled men are here united into one Piece, and do challenge as much your applause, as entertainment; And being never before made public, you may be the more obliged to take notice of them, and to gratulate the friendly hand that traveled in this Collection, which was only but to please you.  
Farewell, Yours devoted, R. C. Esq   

THE HARMONY OF THE MUSES.  

On the Choice of a Mistress.  
WHen I do love, my Mistress must be fair,  
Yet not extremely, so shall I despair:  
When I do Love, my Mistress must be wise,  
Yet not all Wit, I'll not be so precise:  
When I do love, my Mistress chaste must be,  
Not obstinate, for then she's not for me;  
For when I love, my Mistress must be kind,  
Yet not before I her with Merit bind;  
She whom I love, needs not for to be rich,  
For virtue, and not wealth, doth me bewitch;  
She whom I love, must once have loved before,  
For meeting equal, we may love the more:  
And to conclude, my Mistress must be young,  
And last, what's hardest, not have too much tongue.   

An elegy made by I. D.  
COme madam come, all stay my powers deny,  
Until I labour, I in labour lie  
The foe ofttimes having the foe in sight,  
Is tired with standing, though he never fight:  
Off with your girdle, like heaven's Zone glistering  
But a far fairer World incompasing.  
Un●in that spangled breastplate which you wear,  
That eyes of busy fools may be stopped there.  
Unlace yourself, for that Harmonious chime  
Tell's me from you, that now it is bedtime.  
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,  
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.  
Your gown going off, such beauteous state reveals,  
As when from flowery meads hills shadows steals.  
Off with that wiry coronet, and show  
The happier diadem, which on you doth grow.  
Off with those shoo●, that thou mayst safely tread  
In this (Loves hallowed Temple) this soft bed.  
In such white robes, heavens Angels use to be  
Received by men; thou Angels bringst with thee.  
A heavenly Mahomet● paradise▪ and though  
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know  
By this, these Angels from an evil spirit,  
They set our hairs, b●● these our flesh upright.  
Licence my roving hands, and let them go  
Behind, before, above, between, below.  
O my Americka! my Newfoundland!  
The Kingdom's safest, when by one man manned:  
My Mine of precious stones! my empery!  
How bl●st am I in this discovering thee.  
To enter into these bonds, is to be free,  
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be;  
As souls in bodies, body's unclothed must be  
To taste these joys; Those gems you Women use  
Are as Atlanta's Balls cast in men's views,  
That when a fools eye lighteth on a gem,  
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them:  
Like Pictures, or like Books gay covering made  
For laymen, are all Women thus arrayed:  
Themselves are Mistick bodies, which hourly we  
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)  
Must see revealed: then since that I may know  
(As liberally) as to a midwife show  
Thyself; Cast you all this white linen hence,  
There is no penance due to Innocence;  
To teach thee, I am naked first; Why then  
Needst thou to have more covering then a man.   

The Rapture, by J. D.  
IS she not wondrous fair? but yet I see  
She is so much too fair, too sweet for me:  
That I forget myself, and a new fire  
Hath taught me not to love, but to admire!  
Just as the Sun, methinks I see her face,  
Which I may gaze upon, but not embrace:  
For 'tis heaven's pleasure sure she should be sent  
As pure to heaven again, as she was lent  
To us; And bids us, as we hope for bliss,  
Not to profane her with one mortal kiss;  
Then how cold grows my love, and oh how lot!  
O how I love her, how I love her not:  
Thus doth my Ague-love torment by turns,  
Now well-nigh freezeth, now again it burns.   

The extremes, by T. C.  
I'll gaze no more on her bewitching face,  
Sure ruin harbours there in every place:  
I'll view no more those cruel eyes of hers,  
Which pleased or angry, still are murderers:  
For my enchanted soul, alas she drowns,  
With Calms and Tempests of her smiles & frowns.  
If she but dart (as lightning) through the air  
Her beams of warmth, they'll kill me with despair  
If she behold me with a pleasant eye,  
I surfeit with excess of joy, and die.   

A Sonnet.  
THe World is nothing but inconstancy,  
How can it be aught else; when 'bove the sky  
Adultery is committed: mark these twins,  
Earth, air, and Water are heavens Concubines:  
The lustful Sun engendereth with the earth,  
And she, as fruitful, yields a happy birth  
Of plants, of herbs, of flowers: the labouring skies  
Hurl hailstones in the sea, the surges rise,  
Swell, toss and wallow, like the throws of pain,  
And monthly are delivered in the Maine.  
The false Moon hath her changes; why should men  
Weak-tempered Women then so much contemn:  
If that the essential Powers congeminate,  
How can this Earthly but incorporate?   

Man's misery, by Dr. K.  
ILl busied man! why dost thou take such care  
To lengthen out thy life's short calendar?  
When every spectacle thou look'st upon  
Presents and acts thine execution:  
Each dropping Season, and each flower doth cry  
Fool, as I fade and wither, thou must die.  
The beating of the pulse, when thou art well,  
Is just the tolling of thy passing-bell.  
Night is the Hearse, whose sable canopy  
Covers alike diseased day and thee.  
And all those weeping dews that nightly fall,  
Are but as tears shed at thy funeral.   

The Surfeit.  

DIsdain me still, that I may ever love,  
For who his Love enjoys, can love no more;  
War but now past, with ease men cowards prove,  
And ships returned do rot upon the shore.  
Then though thou frown, I'll say thou art most fair,  
And still I'll love, though still I must despair.   

As heat to life, so is desire to love;  
And those once gone, both love▪ and life are done,  
Let not my sighs and tears thy virtue move;  
Like baser metals, do not melt so soon.  
Laugh at my woes, although I ever mourn,  
Love sufeits if enjoyed, and turns to scorn.    

To his Mistress.  
HEre let me War, in these arms let me lie,  
●ere let me parley, better, bleed and die;  
Thy Arms imprison me, and my arms thee,  
Thy heart my ransom is, take mine for thee:  
Other men war, that they their rest may gain,  
And we will rest, that we may fight again;  
Those wars the Ignorant, these the experienced prove,  
There we are always under, here above.  
There engines a far off move a just fear,  
But Thrusts, Pricks, Stabs; nay, bullets hurt not here:  
There lies are wrong; here we'll uprightly lie;  
There men kill men; we'll make one by and by:  
There nothing; I not half so much can do  
In these wars, as they which from us two  
Shall spring; thousands we see which travel not  
To wars, but stay at home, swords, guns and shot  
D● make for others; Shall not I do then  
More glorious service, staying to make men.   

An encouragement for young Lovers.  
LOve's like a game at Tables, where the dy  
Of womens' minds doth by affection fly:  
If once you catch their fancy at a blot,  
'Tis ten to one if that you enter not:  
However, like a gamester boldly venture,  
And where you see the Point lie open, enter:  
But mark it well, for by false play then,  
Do what you can, they will be bearing men.   

The choice of a Mistress.  
HEr for a Mistress, fain would I enjoy,  
That hangs the lip, and pouts at every toy,  
Speaks like a wag, is fair, dare boldly stand,  
And rear love's Standard with a wanton hand,  
Who in love's fight, for one blow gives me three,  
And being stabbed, falls straight to kissing me;  
For if she wants the Tricks of venery,  
Were't Venus self, I would not love her, I,  
If she be modest, wise, and chaste of life,  
Hang her; she's good for nothing, but a wife.   

To Mr. J. W. a Parson in Devon. Inviting him to come up to London. By Joh. Myns.  
HOw now John, what is't the care  
Of thy small Flock that keeps thee there?  
Or hath the Bishop in a rage  
Forbid thy coming on our Stage?  
Or want'st thou coin, or want'st thou steed;  
These are Impediments indeed:  
Now for thy Flock, the Sexton may  
In due time ring, and let them pray:  
The Bishop with an offering,  
Will be brought to any thing.  
For two Sermons by the way,  
Will Host and Hostis, Tapster pay:  
A willing mind pawn's Wedding ring,  
Books, Wife, Children, Gown, any thing,  
Nought unattempted, nought too dear  
To see such friends as thou hast here:  
For want of coin, I oft see Vick  
Trudge up the Town with hazzel stick.  
I met a Priest upon th' way,  
Rid in a wagon the other day,  
Who told me that the ventured forth  
With one tithe-pig of little worth,  
With which, and saying grace at food,  
And praying for Lord Carriers good,  
He had arrived at's journeys end,  
Without a penny, or a Friend;  
And what great business dost thou think,  
Only to see a friend and drink:  
One friend, why thou hast hundreds here,  
That can make thee far greater cheer.  
Ships lately from the island came,  
With Wine thou never knewst the name.  
Montefiasco, Frantiniack,  
Leaticum, and that Old Sack  
Young Herrick took to entertain  
The Muses to his sprightly vein.  
Come, come, and leave thy Muddy Ale,  
That serves but for an old wife's tale,  
And now and then to break a jest  
At some poor silly neighbour's feast.  
Come quickly then, and learn to see  
Thy friends expect thy wit and thee:  
And though thou canst not come in state  
On camels back, like Coriate,  
Imagine that the packhorse be  
The camel in his book you see;  
I know thou hast a fancy can  
Conceive thy guide a Caravan:  
Rather than stay, speak Treason there,  
And come at Charges of the shire;  
A London goal, with friends and chink  
Is worth your Viccaridge John I think.  
But if besotted with that One  
Thou hast of Ten, stay there alone,  
And too too late repent and cry  
Thou hast lost thy friends, and 'mongst them I.   

A Farewell to the World by Sir K. D.  
FArewell you gilded follies, pleasing troubles,  
Farewell ye honoured rags, we crystal bubbles;  
Fame is but hollow echo, Gold but clay,  
Honour the darling but of one short day,  
Beauty's chief Idol but a Damask skin,  
State but a golden prison to keep in,  
And torture freeborn minds; embroidered trains  
Merely but Pageants; proudly swelling veins,  
And blood allied to greatness, is but loan,  
Inherited, and purchased, not her own;  
Fame, Riches, honour, Beauty, State, Trains, Birth,  
Are but the fading blessings of the earth:  
I would be great, but see the Sun doth still,  
Level his beams against the rising hill:  
I would be rich, but see man too unkind,  
Digs in the bowels of the richest Mine:  
I would be fair, but see the Champion proud,  
The world's fair eye, oft setting in a cloud:  
I would be wise, but that the Fox I see  
Suspected guilty, when the ass goes free:  
I would be poor, but see the humble grass,  
Trampled upon by each unworthy ass:  
Rich hated, wise suspected, scorned if poor,  
Great feared, fair tempted, high envied more.  
Would the world now adopt me for her heir,  
Would Beauties Queen entitle me the fair,  
Fame speak me honour's Minion, could I vie  
Angels with India, with a speaking eye,  
Command bare heads, bowed knees, strike Justice dumb  
As well as blind and lame, to give a tongue  
To stones by Epitaphs, to be called great Master  
In the loose Lines of every Po●taster;  
Could I be more than any man that lives,  
Great, wise, rich, fair, in all suparlatives,  
I count one minute of my holy treasure  
Beyond so much of all this empty pleasure;  
Welcome pure thoughts, welcome ye careless grove  
These are my guests, this is my cour●age love;  
The winged people of the sky shall sing  
My anthems, by my servants, gentle Springs;  
A Prayer-book shall be my looking-glass,  
Wherein I will adore sweet virtue's face;  
Here dwells no heatfull loves, no palsy fears,  
No short joys purchased with eternal tears:  
Here will I sigh, and sing my hot youth's folly,  
An learn to affect an holy Melancholy;  
And if contentment be a stranger, then  
I'll never look for't but in Heaven again.   

An Elgie by Dr. K. occasioned by his own sickness.  
WEll did the Prophet a●k, Lord what is man?  
Implying by the question, that none can  
But God resolve the doubt, much less define,  
What Elements this child of dust combine.  
Man is a stranger to himself, and knows  
Nothing so natural, as his own woes;  
He loves to travel countries, and confer  
The signs of vast heaven's Diameter;  
Delights to sit in Niles or Betis lap,  
Before he saileth over his own Map;  
By which means he returns, his Travels spent,  
Less knowing of himself then when he went,  
Who knowledge hunts, kept under foreign locks  
May bring home wit to hold a Paradox,  
Yet be●ools still: Therefore might I advise,  
I would inform the Soul before the eyes.  
Make man into his proper optics look,  
And so become the Student, and the Book:  
With his conception his first leaf begin,  
What is he there, but complicated sin?  
When Viper time, and the approaching birth  
Ranks him among the creatures of the earth;  
His wailing Mother sends him forth to greet  
The World, wrapped in a bloody winding-sheet,  
As if he came into the world to crave  
No place to dwell in, but bespeak a Grave;  
Thus like a red or tempest boding morn,  
His dawning is, for being newly born,  
He hails the evening tempest with shriek cries,  
And fines for his admission with wet eyes.  
How should that plant whose leaf is bathed in tears,  
Bare but a bitter fruit in elder years?  
Just such is his; and his maturer age,  
Teems with the event more sad than the presage;  
For view him higher than his childhoods span,  
Is raised up to Youths Miridian,  
When he goes proudly laden with the fruit,  
Which health, or strength, or beauty contribute;  
That as the mounted Canon batters down  
The Towers and goodly structures of a Town;  
So one short sickness will his force defeat,  
And his frail citadel to Rubbish beat.  
How doth a dropsy melt him to a flood,  
Making each vein run water more than blood?  
A colic racks him like a Northern gust,  
And raging fevers crumble him to dust.  
In which unhappy he is made worse  
By his diseases, than his maker's curse.  
God said, with toils & sweat he should earn bread,  
And without labour not be nourished:  
Here (though like ropes of falling dew) his sweat  
Hangs on his labouring brow, he cannot eat:  
Thus are his sins scourged in opposing themes,  
And Luxuries revenged in the extremes:  
He who in health could never be content  
With varieties fetched from each element,  
Is now much more afflicted to delight  
His tasteless pallet, and lost appetite:  
Besides, though God ordained, that with the light  
Man should begin his work, yet he made night  
For his repose, in which the weary sense,  
Repairs itself by rests soft recompense;  
But now his watchful nights and troubled days,  
Confused heaps of fear and fancies raise:  
His chamber seems a loose and trembling Mine,  
His pillow quilted with a Porcupine;  
Pain makes his downy Couch, sharp thorns appear  
And every feather pricks him like a spear;  
Thus when all storms of death about him keep,  
He copies death in any form but sleep;  
Poor walking Clay, hast thou a mind to know,  
To what unblessed beginnings thou dost owe  
Thy wretched self; fall sick a while, and then  
Thou wilt conceive the Pedigree of men;  
Learn shalt thou then from thine Anatomy,  
That earth thy Mother, worms thy sisters be;  
That he is a short-lived vapour upward wrought,  
And by corruption into nothing brought;  
A staggering meteor by cross Planets beat,  
Which often reels, and falls before his seat;  
A Tree that withers faster than it grows,  
A Torch put out by every wind that blows,  
A web of forty weeks, spun out in pain,  
And in a moment raveled out again;  
This is the model of frail man, then say,  
That his duration's only for a day,  
And in that day more fits of changes pass,  
Than atoms run in the turned Hower-glass,  
So that the incessant cares which life invade,  
Might for strange truth their Heresies persuade,  
Who did maintain that human souls were sent,  
Into the body for their punishment;  
At least with that Greek sage still make us cry,  
Not to be born, or being born, to die.   

Of Love and Death.  
AS Love and Death once travelled on the way,  
They met together, and together lay  
Both in a bed; when Love for all his heat,  
Found in the night Death's coldness was so great,  
That all his flames could hardly keep him warm,  
Betimes he rose, and speedily did arm  
His naked body, but through too much haste,  
Some of death's shafts he took, near his being placed  
Leaving behind him many of his own,  
Which change to him, being blind, is still unknown  
Through which mistaking, and his want of eyes,  
A double wrong to Nature did arise;  
For when Love thinks to inflame a youthful heart  
With his own shafts, he kills with deaths cold dart;  
So Death intending to strike old Age dead,  
Shoots one of Love's Darts with a golden head;  
And this appears to me the reason why,  
Old men do fall in love, and young men die.  Waltham Pool.  

In praise of black Women; by T. R.  
IF shadows be a Pictures excellence,  
And makes the show more glorious to the sense;  
If Stars in the bright day be hid from sight,  
And shine more glorious in Masque of night,  
Why should you think rare creatures that you lack  
Perfections, cause your hair and eyes be black;  
Or that your Beauty, which so far exceeds,  
The new sprung lilies in their Maidenheads,  
The cherry colour of your cheeks and lips,  
Should by that darkness suffer an eclipse;  
Nay, 'tis not fit that Nature should have made  
So bright a Sun to shine without some shade;  
It seems that Nature when she first did fancy  
Your rare Composure, studied Negromancy,  
And when to you those things she did impart,  
She used altogether the Black Art;  
She drew the magic Circle in your eyes,  
And made your hair the chains wherein she ties  
Rebellious hearts: those blue veins which appear  
Turned in Meanders like to either sphere,  
Mysterious figures are; and when you list,  
Your voice commandeth like an Exorcist;  
O! if in magic you have power so far,  
Vouchsafe me to be your Familiar.  
Nor hath kind Nature her black Art revealed  
On outward parts above, some lie concealed,  
As by the Spring head men oft times may know  
The nature of the streams that run below,  
So your black hair and eyes do give direction,  
To make me think the rest of like complexion,  
The rest where all rest lies that blesseth man,  
That Indian Mine, that straight of Magollan,  
That world-dividing gulf, which who so ventures  
With swelling sails and ravished senses, enters  
Into a world of bliss, pardon I pray,  
If my rude Muse presumes for to display  
Secrets unknown, or hath her bounds o'erpast,  
In praising sweetness which she ne'er shall taste;  
Starved men know there is food, & blind men may  
Though hid from them, yet know there is a day.  
A Rover in the mark his Arrow sticks  
Sometimes as well as he that shoots at pricks;  
But if I might direct my shaft aright,  
The black mark would I hit, and not the white.   

Loves Elysium.  
I Will enjoy thee now, my Caelia, come,  
And fly with me to Loves Elysium,  
The Giant honour that keeps Cowards out,  
Is but a Masker, and the servile Rout  
Of baser subjects, only bend in vain,  
To the vast I doll, whilst the Nobler strain  
Of valiant Lovers daily sail between  
Thy huge Colossus legs, and pass unseen  
Unto the blissful shore, be bold and wise,  
And we shall enter; the grim Switz denies  
Only tame fools a passage, who not know  
He is but form, and only frights in show;  
The duller eyes which look from far draw near,  
And thou shalt scorn what we were wont to fear;  
We shall see how the stalking Pageant goes  
With borrowed legs, a heavy load to those  
That made and bear him, not ere we our thought,  
The seed of gods, but a weak model wrought  
By greedy men, that seek to enclose the Common,  
And within private arms empale free woman;  
Come then, and mounted on the wings of Love,  
we'll cut the fleeting air, and soar above  
The monster's head, and in the Noblest seat  
Of those blessed shades, quench and renew our heat:  
There shall the Ce●een of Love and innocence,  
Beauty and Nature banish all offence  
From our close twines, there I'll behold  
Thy bared snow, and thy unbreaded Gold,  
There my unfranchised hand on every side,  
Shall o'er thy naked polished body slide,  
No curtaln there (though) of transparent Lawn,  
Before thy Virgin treasure shall be drawn,  
But the rich Mine to the enquiring eye  
Exposed, shall ready still for Mintage lie,  
And we will coin young Cupid's, there a-bed  
Of Roses and fresh Mirtils shall be spread,  
Under the cooling shady cypress Groves,  
Our pillow of the Down of Venus Doves,  
Whereon our panting limbs we'll gently lay,  
In the faint respite of our active play,  
That so our slumbers may in dreams have leisure,  
To tell the nimble fancy of past pleasure,  
And so our souls that cannot be embraced,  
Shall the embraces of our bodies taste;  
Mean time the bubbling stream shall court the shore,  
The enamoured cherping wood-quire shall adore,  
In varied tunes the Deity of Love,  
Gentle blasts of Western winds shall move  
The trembling leaves, & through their close bows breath  
Still music, whilst we restore ourselves beneath,  
Their dancing shades, till a soft murmur sent  
From souls entranced in amorous languishment,  
Rouse us, and shoot into our souls new fire,  
Till we in their sweet ecstasy expire;  
Then as the empty Bee, that late●● bore,  
Into the common treasure all her ●tore,  
Flyes'bout the painted fields with nimble wings,  
Deflowering the fresh Virgins of the Springs;  
So will I rifle all the sweets that dwell  
In thy delicious paradise, and swell  
In ruggs of Honey, drawn forth by the power  
Of servant kisses, from each spicy Bower;  
I'll seize the rosebuds in the perfumed bed,  
The Violet knots like curious Mazes spread,  
Through all the Gardens taste the ripened Cherries  
The warm firm Apples tipped with crimson berries,  
Then will I visit with a wandering kiss,  
The veil of lilies, and the bower of bliss,  
And where the beauteous Region doth divide,  
Into two milky ways my lips shall slide  
Down those smooth Allies, wearing as I go,  
A Track for Lovers in the printed snow;  
Then climbing o'er the swelling Apennine,  
Retire into the Grove of Egliantine,  
Where I will all those ravished sweets distil, (Skill,  
Through love's moist Limbeck, & with chemic  
From the mixed mass of our sovereign Balm derive  
And bring the great elixir to the Hive;  
Now in more subtler wreaths I will intwine  
My sinewy thighs, my legs and arms with thine,  
Thou like a sea of Milk shall lie displayed,  
Whilst I the smooth calm Ocean do invade  
With such a tempest, as when Jove of old,  
Set down with Danae in a shower of Gold;  
Yet my tall Pine shall in thy Cyprian strait,  
Ride safe at Anchor, and unlade his freight,  
My Rudder with thy bold hand, like a tried  
And skilful pilot, thou shalt steer, and guide  
My Bark into love's channel, where it shall  
Dance, as the bounding waves do rise and fall,  
Then shall thy twining arms embrace and clip  
My naked body, and thy balmed lip  
Bathe me in juice of kisses, whose perfume,  
Like a Religious Incense shall consume,  
And send up holy vapours to those powers,  
That bless our Loves, & crown our happy hours,  
That with such Halcian joys do fix our souls,  
In stead fast peace, that no annoy controls;  
There no rude sounds frights us with sudden starts,  
No jealous echoes there shall gripe our hearts,  
Suck our discourse in, nor are we betrayed  
To Rivals, by the bribed Chamber maid;  
No wedlock's bond untwist our unreacht loves,  
We seek no midnight Arbours, no dark groves,  
To hide our kisses; There the hated name  
Of husband, wife, lust, modest, chaste, or shame,  
Are vain and empty words, whose very sound,  
Was never heard in the Elysian ground;  
All things are lawful there that may delight  
Nature, or unrestrained Appetite,  
Like, and enjoy, to will, and not his own,  
We only sin when Loves Rights are undone;  
The Roman Lucrece there heard the divine  
Lectures of Love, Great Master Aratine,  
And knows as well as Lais how to move,  
Her pliant body in the act of Love,  
To quench the burning Ravisher, she hurls  
Her limbs into a thousand winding curls,  
And studies artful policies, such as be  
Carved on the bark of every neighbouring tree,  
By learned hands, that so adorn the rind  
Of those fair plants, which as they lie in twine,  
Have flamed their glowing fires, the Grecian Dame,  
That in her endless well sought for a name,  
As fruitless as her work, doth now display,  
Herself before the Youth of Ithaca,  
And the amorous Games of sportful nights prefer  
Before dull dreams of the lost traveller;  
Daphne hath broke her bark, and that swift foot,  
Which the angry God had fastened to the root,  
To the fixed earth, doth now unfettered run,  
To meet the embraces of the youthful Sun,  
She hangs upon him like the Delphic Lyre,  
Her kisses blow the old, and breath new fire;  
Full of her God, she sings inspired lays,  
Soft Odes of Love, such as deserve the bays,  
Which she herself was next her Lawrellies,  
In Petrarch's learned arms, drying those eyes,  
Which did in such smooth sweet numbers flow,  
Which made the world enamoured of his woe;  
These, and ten thousand beauties more that died  
Slaves to the Tyrant; now enlarged deride  
His canselled laws, and for their time misspent,  
Paying to Love's Exchequer double rent:  
Come then my Caelia, we'll no more forbear  
To taste our joys struck with a panic fear,  
But will depose from his terrestrial sway,  
This proud usurper, and walk free as they  
With necks unyoaked; Nor is it just that he  
Should fetter your soft sex with chastity,  
Whom nature made unapt for abstinence,  
When yet the false imposture can dispense  
With human Justice, and with sacred right,  
And maugre both their laws command me fight  
With rivals, or with emulous Loves, that dare  
Equal with thine, his Mistress eyes or hair:  
If thou complain of wrong, and call my sword  
To carve but thy revenge; upon that word,  
He bids me fight, and kill, or else he brands  
With mark of infamy my coward hands:  
And yet Religion bids from bloodshed fly,  
And damns me for the act; then tell me why  
This Goblin honour, the World so adores,  
Should make men atheists, & not women whores.   

T●a Wench desiring Money.  
AS fair as she that made two husband's jar,  
Raising twixt Troy & Greece a ten years' war  
As white as feathered Leda, great Jove's rape,  
She that was changed into a swanlike shape:  
As red as is the Emony, even so bright  
Were't thou my Love, that which the Poets write  
Of metamo●●hos'd Jove, how oft love changed him,  
And from his own celestial shape estranged him  
Into an Eagle, or Bull, I fear lest he,  
Should fr● high Heaven likewise descend on thee.  
I am not jealous now, my thoughts are vanished,  
And the hot ardour of affection banished;  
My fire is cooled, reason assumes the place,  
And now methinks thou hast not thine own face;  
Dost thou demand why I am changed, behold,  
The cause, I'll tell thee, thou dost ask me gold,  
Thou look'st that for my pleasure I should pay,  
And that alone still frighteth me away;  
Whilst thou wert simple, and in all things kind,  
I with thy sweet content did like thy mind,  
Now thou art cunning grown, what has that gained?  
Thy body's beauty by thy mind is stained:  
Look on the beasts that in the meadows play,  
Shall women bear more savage minds than they?  
What gifts do Kine from the rude Bull enforce?  
What rate demands the Mare fro the proud horse?  
Or from the Ram the Ewe? they couple twice,  
Ere once they do debate upon a price;  
Women have learned alone to bargain well,  
Their pleasures born with them alone they sell,  
Alone they prize the night, and at a rate  
Chaffer themselves with strangers; O vild state!  
Alone for mutual pastime, coin they crave,  
And e'er they sport, ask first, What shall I have?  
That which delighteth both, to which both run,  
And (but by joint assistance) is not done,  
The pleasures which on even terms we try,  
Why should one party sell, the other buy?  
Why should the sweets which we alike sustain,  
To me be double loss, thee double gain?  
That which comes freely, much by that we set,  
Thou giv'st it me, and I am still in debt;  
Love that is hired, is plainly sold and bought,  
Thou hast thy price, and then I owe thee nought:  
Then O ye fair ones, all such thoughts expel,  
What Nature freely gives you, spare to sell;  
Let not your bodies to base lust be lent,  
Goods lewdly got, are ever loosely spent.   

A Sonnet.  

WHy do we love these things which we call women,  
Which are like feathers, blown in every wind?  
Regarding lest those men do most esteem them;  
And most deceitful when they seem most kind,  
And all their virtue, that their beauty graces,  
It is but painted, like unto their faces.   

Their greatest glory is in rich attire,  
Which is extracted from some hopeful heirs,  
Whose wits and wealth are lent to their desire,  
When they regard the gifts, more than the givers:  
And to increase their hopes of future bliss,  
They'll sometimes rack their Conscience for a kiss.   

Some love the winds, that bring in golden showers,  
And some are merely won with commendations,  
Some love and hat●, and all within two hours,  
And that's a fault amongst them most in fashion,  
But put them all within a scale together,  
Their worth in weight will scarce pull down a feather.   

And yet I would not discommend them all,  
If I did know some worth to be in any,  
'Tis strange, that since the time of Adam's fall,  
That God did make none good, yet made so many:  
And if he did, for these I truly mourn,  
Because they died before that I was borne.    

A Health.  
TO her whose beauty doth excel  
Story, we toss these cups, and sell  
Sobriety a Sacrifice  
To the bright Lustre of her eyes;  
Each soul that sips here is divine,  
Her Beauty Deifies the Wine.   

Upon his Mistress cut finger.  

Sweetheart, to see thy blood fall down,  
What mortal can forbear?  
But as thou droppe'st thy blood oath ground,  
So he must drop a tear:  
Good counsel to such wounded Maids,  
God Cupid thus alleges,  
Hereafter use such harmless tools,  
that have no cutting edges.   

You force the ground you stand on blush,  
But blushing we permit,  
Our cheeks could wear a Scarlet Plush,  
saw we as much as it:  
Hereafter love those better parts,  
Nay best of all indeed,  
Which though they take a thousand wounds,  
yet scorn they e'er to bleed.   

The Rubies soft in Diamond,  
Are glorious for to see,  
But if congealed what rarest gems,  
Those Ruby drops would be:  
This wish I to my Mistress bring.  
And that is all I bring her,  
Would I had fingered her fine Cut,  
When she cut her fine finger.    

LOVE'S Hue and Cry.  
IN Love's Name you are charged hereby,  
To make a speedy Hue and Cry  
After a face which th' other day,  
Came and stole my heart away;  
For your proceeding, these in brief,  
Are some few marks to know the Thief;  
Her hair was gold, a field of snow,  
Smooth and unfurrowed was her brow,  
A sparkling eye, so pure and grey,  
As when it smiles, there needs noday;  
Ivory dwelleth on her nose,  
Lily married to the Rose,  
Have made her cheek their Nuptial bed,  
Lips dyed a vermillion red  
Make Crimson blush, beside the rest,  
You shall know this felon best  
By the tongue, for if your ear,  
Do once a heavenly music hear,  
Such as neither gods nor men,  
But from that mouth shall hear again,  
That, that is she, O take her to ye,  
None can rock Heaven asleep but she;  
I hear have apprehended one,  
Confederate in the action,  
And that's my eye, which did let in,  
The cunning thief to do the sin,  
At his window, but for her,  
My eye shall be a prisoner,  
Till it the first offender see,  
That lured it to the felony;  
Your diligence herein I crave,  
That I again my heart may have;  
O take Loves wings, fly, search, or I  
Shall have no heart to live, but die.   

love's Progress by Dr. Don.  
WHo ever loved, if he do not propose  
The right end, love, he is as one that goes  
To Sea for nothing but to make him sick,  
And loves a Bear-whelp born, if we o'er-lick  
Our love, and force it strange new shapes to take,  
We err, and of a lump a Monster make.  
Were not a Calf a monster if't were grown,  
Faced like a man, though better than his own;  
Perfection is in unity, prefer  
One woman first, and then one thing in her:  
Or when I value gold, I think upon  
The ductilness, the application,  
The whole sums, the ingenuity,  
From rust, from soil, from fire ever free;  
But if I love, it is because 'tis made  
By our new nature's use, the soul of Trade;  
All this in women we might think upon,  
If women have them, and yet love but one:  
Can men more injure women then to say, (they  
They love them for that by which they are not  
Make virtue woman, must I cool my blood,  
Till I both be and find one wise and good?  
May barren Angels love so, but if we  
Make love to woman, virtue is not she,  
As beauty is not, he then that strays thus,  
From her to hers, is more adulterous  
Than he that takes her maid, search every sphere,  
And Fi●mam●nt, our Cupid is not there,  
He's an infernal god, and under ground  
With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound,  
Men to such gods their sacrificing coals  
Did not on Altars lay, but pits and holes;  
Although we see celestial bodies move  
Above the earth, the earth we till and love;  
So we his heirs contemplate, wounds and heart,  
And virtues, but we love the rendering part;  
Nor is the soul more swarthy, nor more fit  
For love then this, as infinite as it,  
But in attaining this desired place,  
How much they stray that set out at the face,  
The hair a forest is of Ambushes,  
Of springs, snares, fetters, and of manacles:  
The brov becalms us when 'tis smooth & plain  
And when it wrinkles, shipwrecks us again,  
Smooth, 'tis a Paradise, where we would have  
Immortal stay, and wrinkled 'tis our grave.  
The nose like to the first Meridian runs,  
Not'twixt the East & West, but'twixt two Suns:  
Her swelling lips, to which when we are come,  
We Anchor there, and think we are at home,  
For they seem all the Sirens songs, and there  
The Delphian Oracles do fill the ear:  
Then in a creek where chosen pearls do swell,  
The Remora her charming tongue doth dwell;  
These and the glorious promontory her chi●  
O'erpast, and the straight Hellespont between  
The Cestos and Abydos of her breasts,  
Not of two Lovers, but two loves the nests,  
Succeeds a boundless Sea, but that thine eye  
Some island Moles may scattered there descry,  
And sailing towards her India, in the way,  
Shall at her fair Atlantic navel stay;  
Though thence the current be thy Pilot made,  
Yet er● thou come where thou wouldst be in-laid  
Thou shalt upon another forest set,  
Where some do shipwreck and no further get,  
When thou art there, consider in this Chase,  
What time they lose that set out at the face;  
Rather set out below, practise my Art,  
Some symitry the foot hath with that part,  
Which thou dost seek, and is a Map for that,  
Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at;  
lest subject to disguise and change it is,  
Men say the Devil never can change his;  
It is the emblem that hath figured  
Firmness, 'tis the first part that comes to bed;  
Civility we see refined the kiss,  
Which at the foot began, transplanted is  
Since to the hand, then to the imperial knee,  
Now at the Papal foot delights to be;  
If Kings think it the nearest way, and do  
Rise from the foot, Lovers may do so too,  
And as free spheres move faster far than can  
Birds whom the air resists, so may that man  
Which goes this empty and aetherial way,  
Then if at beauty's Elements h● stay:  
Rich Nature hath in women wisely made  
Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid,  
They then that to the lower tribute owe,  
That way which that Exchequer looks must go,  
He which doth not, his error is as great,  
As who by Clysters gives the stomach meat.   

On Black eyes by J. D:  
NO marvel if the sun's bright eye,  
Shower down hot flames, that quality  
Still waits on light, but when I see  
The sparkling Balls of ebony,  
Distil such heat, the gazer straight  
Stands so amazed at the sight,  
As when the Lightning makes a breach  
Through pitchy clouds; can Lightning reach  
The Marrow, and not hurt the skin?  
Your eyes the same to me have been:  
Can Jet invite the loving straw  
With secret fire? so can they draw,  
And can when e'er they glance a Dart,  
Make stubble of the strongest heart:  
Oft when I look, I may descry  
A little face peep through thine eye;  
Sure that's the boy, that wisely chose,  
●is rays amongst such rays as those,  
Which (if his Quiver chance to fail)  
May serve for Darts to kill withal;  
If at so strong a charge I yield,  
If ●ounded so, I quit the Field;  
Think me not Coward, when I lie,  
Thus prostrate with your charming eye;  
Did I but say your eye, I swear  
Death's in your Beauty everywhere,  
Your eye night spare itself, my own,  
(Wh● n all your parts are truly known)  
From ●ny one may filch a Dart,  
To wound myself, and then my heart,  
One with a thousand arrows filled,  
Cannot say this or that this killed,  
No more can I, yet sure I am,  
That you are she that wrought the same,  
Wound me again, yea more and more,  
So you again will me restore.   

The Spring.  
NOw that the winters gone, the earth hath lost  
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost,  
Candy's the grass, or casts an icy cream,  
Upon the silver Lake or crystal stream,  
But the warm Sun thaws the benumbed earth,  
And makes it tender, gives a second birth  
To the dead Swallow, wakes in hollow Tree  
The drowsy cuckoo, and the Humble Bee;  
Now do a choir of chirping Minstrels sing  
In triumph to the world, the youthful Spring,  
The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array,  
Welcome the coming of the longed for May;  
Now all things smile, only my Love doth lower,  
Nor hath the scalding noon-day-sun the power,  
To melt the Marble yet, which still doth hold  
Her heart congealed, and makes her pity cold;  
The ox which lately did for shelter fly  
Into the stall, doth now securely lie  
In open field, and Love no more is made  
By the fire side, but in the cooler shade;  
A●intas now doth by his Cl●r●● sleep,  
Under a Sycamore, and all things keep  
Time with the season, only she doth carry  
June in her eyes, in her heart January.   

His Mistress commanding the return of Letters.  
SO grieves the adventurous Merchant when he throws,  
All the long-toiled-for treasure, his ship Stow's  
Into the angry main, to save from wrack  
Himself and men, as I grieve to give back  
These Letters, yet so powerful is your sway,  
As if you bid me die, I must obey;  
Go then blessed Papers, you shall kiss those hands,  
That gave you freedom, but held me in bands,  
Which with a touch did give you life, but I  
Because I may not touch those hands, must die;  
Methinks as if they knew they should be sent  
Home, to their native soil, from banishment;  
I see them smile, like dying Saints that know,  
They are to leave the earth & towards heaven go,  
When you return, pray tell your sovereign,  
And mine, I gave you courteous entertain,  
Each line received a tear, and then a kiss,  
First bathed in that, it scaped unscorcht in this,  
I kissed it 'cause your fair hand had been there,  
Because it was not, than I shed a tear;  
Tell her, no length of time, nor change of air,  
No cruelty, disdain, absence, despair,  
No, nor her steadfast constancy can deter,  
My vassal heart from ever honouring her;  
Though these be powerful arguments to prove  
I love in vain, yet I must ever love;  
Say if she frown when you that word rehearse,  
(Service) in Prose is oft called Love in Verse;  
Then pray her since I send back on my part  
Her Papers, she would send me back my heart,  
If she refuse, warn her to come before  
The God of Love, whom thus I will implore,  
Trauling in thy Countries rode, great god, I spied  
By chance this Lady, and walked by her side,  
From place to place, f●aring no violence,  
For I was well armed, and had made defence  
In former fights, 'gainst fiercer foes than she,  
Did at our first encounter seem to be,  
But going further, every step revealed  
Some hidden weapon, till that time concealed,  
Seeing those outward arms, I did begin,  
To fear some greater strength was lodged within,  
Looking into her mind, I might survey  
An host of beauties that in Ambush lay,  
And won the day before they fought the field,  
For I unable to refist, did yield;  
But the insulting Tyrant foe destroys,  
My conquer●d mind, my ease, my peace, my joys,  
Breaks my sweet sleeps, invades my harmless rest,  
Robs me of all the treasure of my breast,  
Spares not my heart, nor yet (a greater wrong)  
For having stolen my heart, she binds my tongue;  
But at the last her melting eyes unsealed  
My lips, enlarged my tongue, than I revealed  
To her own ears the story of my harms,  
Wrought by her virtues and her beauty's charms;  
Now hear just judge an act of savageness,  
When I complain in hope to have redress,  
She bends her angry brow, and from her eye,  
Shoots thousand darts, I then well hope't to die,  
But in such sovereign Balm Love dips his shot,  
That though they wound a heart, they kill it not;  
She saw the blood guish forth from many a wound,  
Yet fled and left me bleeding on the ground,  
Nor sought my cure, nor saw me since, 'tis true,  
Absence and time two cunning leeches drew  
The flesh together, yet sure though the skin  
●e closed without, the wound festers within;  
Thus hath this cruel Lady used a true  
Servant and subject to herself and you;  
Nor know I, great love, if my life be lent,  
To show thy mercy or my punishment,  
Since by the only magic of thine Art,  
A Lover still may live that wants an heart;  
If this indictment fright her so as she,  
Seem willing to return my heart to me,  
But cannot find it, for perhaps it may,  
'Mongst other trifling hearts be out o'th' way;  
If she repent, and will make me amends,  
Bid her but send me hers, and we are friends.   

To his coy Mistress.  
THink not, 'cause men flattering say,  
You●r fair as Helen, fresh as May,  
Bright as is the morning Star,  
That you are so, though you are,  
Be not therefore proud, or deem  
All men unworthy your esteem,  
For being so you lose the pleasure  
Of being fair, for that rich treasure,  
Of more beauty and sweet feature,  
Was bestowed on you by Nature  
To be enjoyed, and 'twere a sin,  
There to be scarce where she hath been,  
So prodigal of her best graces;  
Thus common beauties and mean faces,  
Shall have more pastime and enjoy  
The sport you lose by being coy;  
Did the thing for which I sue,  
Only concern myself, not you?  
Were men so framed as they alone  
Reaped all the pleasure, women none,  
Then had you reason to be scant,  
But 'twere a madness not to grant,  
That which affords, if you consent,  
To you the giver more content  
Than me the beggar, O then be  
Kind to yourself, if not to me;  
Starve not yourself, because you may  
Thereby make me to pine away,  
Nor let fading beauty make,  
You your wiser thoughts forsake,  
For that lovely face will fail,  
Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail,  
'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done,  
Then summer's rain, or winter's Sun,  
Mo●● fleeting, when it is most dear,  
'tis gone while we say (but) 'tis here;  
Those curious locks so aptly twined,  
Whose every hair a soul doth bind,  
Will change their Aburn hue, and grow,  
White and cold as winter's snow;  
That eye which now is Cupid's nest,  
Will prove his grave, and all the rest  
Will follow, in the cheek, chin, nose,  
Nor lily shall be found, nor Rose,  
And what will then become of all,  
Those whom you now your servants call,  
Like Swallows when the Summer's done,  
They'll fly and seek some warmer Sun,  
Then wisely choose one for your friend,  
Whose love may (when your beauty's end)  
Remain still firm, be provident,  
And think before the Summer's spent,  
Of following Winter, like the Ant,  
In plenty horod for time of scant,  
Cull out amongst the multitude  
Of Lovers that seek to intrude  
Into your favour, one that may,  
Love for an age, not for a day,  
One that will quench your youthful fires,  
And feed in age your hot desires,  
For when the storms of time have moved  
Waves on that cheek which was beloved;  
When a fair Lady's face is pined,  
And yellow spread where red once shined  
When beauty, youth, and all sweets leave her,  
Love may return, but Lover never;  
And old folks say there is no pains,  
Like itch of Love in aged veins;  
O love me then, and now begin it,  
Let's not lose this present minute,  
For time and age will work that wrack,  
Which time or age shall ne'er call back;  
The Snake each year fresh skin resumes,  
And Eagles change their aged plumes;  
The faded Rose each Spring receives,  
A fresh red tincture on her leaves;  
But if your beauty once decay,  
You'll never know a second May;  
O then be wise, and whilst your season,  
Affords you days for sport, do reason,  
Spend not in vain your lives short hour,  
But crop in time your beauty's flower,  
Which will away, and doth together,  
Both bud, and fade, and blow, and wither.   

On age, or an old Face.  
NO Spring or Summer beauty hath such grace  
As I have seen in an autumnal Face;  
Young beauties force your love, and to a rape,  
This doth but council, yet you cannot scape;  
If't were a shame to love, here 'twere no shame,  
Affection here takes reverences name;  
Were her first years the golden Age, that true,  
But now she's gold oft tried and ever new;  
That was her fore-Ides and inflaming time,  
This is her habitable tropic clime;  
Fair eyes, who asks more heat than comes from thence,  
He in a fever wishes Pestilence;  
Then call not wrinkles graves, if graves they are,  
They are love's graves, or else he lies nowhere,  
Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit,  
Vowed to this trench like as an Anchorite,  
And here till hers which must be his death come,  
He doth not dig a Grave, but build a tomb;  
Here dwells he, though he sojourn everywhere  
In brief, yet still his standing house is here;  
Here where still evening is, not noon, or ●ight,  
Where no voluptuousness, yet all delight  
In all her words; unto all hearers fit,  
You may at Revels, you at council sit;  
This is love's Timber, youth her under-wood,  
Wine fires in May, in August comforts blood,  
Which then comes seasonablest, whe● your taste  
And appetite to other things are past;  
Xerxes strange Lydian love, the Platane Tree  
Was loved for age, none being so old as she,  
Or else because being young, Nature did bless  
Her Youth with Ages glory barrenness;  
If we love things long sought, Age is a thing,  
Which we are fifty years in compassing;  
If transitory things (which soon decay)  
Age must be loveliest at the latest day,  
But name not Winter faces, whose skin slack,  
Lank, like an unthrifts purse, or a soul's sack,  
Whose eyes seek light within, for all here's shade,  
Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out then made  
Whos every tooth t'his several place is gone,  
To vex their souls at the Resurrection;  
Name not those living Deaths-Heads unto me, such I abhor;  
I hate extremes, yet I had rather stay  
With Tombs than Cradles, to wear out a day;  
Since such love's natural action is, may still  
My love descend, not journey up the hill,  
Not panting after growing beauties, so  
I shall be one of those that homewards go.   

A maid's denial.  
NAy pish, nay pew, nay faith, and will you, fie,  
A Gentleman and use me thus, i'faith I'll cry,  
God's body what means this? nay fie for shame,  
Nay faith away, nay fie away, introth you are to blame,  
Hark, somebody comes, leave off I pray,  
I'll pinch, I'll scratch, I'll spurn, I'll go away;  
Infaith you strive in vain, you shall not speed,  
You mar my ruff, you hurt my back, my nose will bleed  
Look, look, the door is open, somebody sees  
What will they say, nay fie you hurt my knees;  
Your buttons scratch (O God) what a coil is here  
You make me sweat, infaith here's goodly gear,  
Nay faith let me entreat you if you list;  
You mar my head, you tear my smock, but had I wist  
So much before, I would have kept you out,  
Is't not a pretty thing you went about;  
I did not think you would have served me thus,  
But now I see I took my mark amiss;  
A little thing would make me not be friends,  
You have used me well I hope you'll make amends  
Hold still, I'll wipe your face, you sweat amain,  
You have got a goodly thing with all your pain;  
O God how hot am, what will you drink?  
If you go swetting down what will they think;  
Remember this how you have used me now,  
Doubt not ere long but I will meet with you;  
If any man but you had used me so,  
Would I have put it up, in faith Sir no;  
Nay go not yet, stay here and sup with me,  
After at Cards we better will agree.   

A Blush.  
STay lusty blood, where canst thou se●k,  
So blessed a place as in her cheek;  
How canst thou from that place retire,  
Where beauty doth command desire;  
But if thou canst not stay, then flow  
Down to her panting pap● below▪  
Flow like a Deluge from her breast,  
Where Venus Swans hath built her n●st,  
And so take glory to disdain,  
With azure blue each swelling vain,  
Then run boiling through each part,  
Till thou hast warmed her frozen heart;  
If from love it would retire,  
Martyr it with gentle Fire;  
And having searched each secret place,  
Fly thou back into her face,  
Where live blessed in changing those  
White lilies to a Ruddy Rose.   

To one that was like his Mistress.  

FAir Copy of my Celia's Face,  
Twin of my soul, thy perfect grace,  
Claims in my soul an equal place.   

Disdain not a divided heart,  
Though all be hers you shall have part,  
Love is not tied to Rules of Art:   

For as my soul first to her flew,  
Yet stayed with me, so now 'tis true,  
It 〈…〉 her, though fled to you.   

Then entertain this wandering guest,  
And if not love, allow it rest;  
It left not, but mistook the nest.   

Nor think my love, or your fair eyes  
Cheaper, 'cause from th' sympathize  
You hold with her the flames that rise.   

To Lead, or Brass, or some such bad  
Mettle, a Prince's stamp may add  
The value that it never had.   

But to the pure refined Ore,  
The stamp of Kings imparts no more  
Worth, than it had before.   

Only the Image gives the rate,  
To Subjects of a foreign State,  
'Tis prized as much for its own weight.   

So though all other hearts resign  
To your pure worth, yet you have mine,  
Only because you are her coin.    

On a Fly that flew into Celia's Eye.  
WHen this Fly lived, she used to play,  
In the sunshine all the day;  
Till coming my in Coelia's sight,  
She found a new and unknown light,  
So full of Glory, as it made  
The noonday Sun a gloomy shade:  
Then this amorous Fly became  
My rival, and did court this Flame;  
She did from hand to bosom● skip,  
And from her breath, her cheek and lip,  
Sucked all the Incense and the Spice,  
And grew a Bird of paradise.  
At last into her eye she flew,  
There scorched in Flames, and drowned in Dew;  
Like Phaeton from the sun's bright Sphere  
She fell, and from her dropped a tear;  
Of which a Pearl was straight composed,  
Wherein her Ashes lie enclosed:  
Thus she receives from Caelia's eye,  
Funeral, Flame, Tomb, Obsequye.   

On the Snow falling on his Mistress breast.  
I Saw fair Cloris walk alone,  
When feathered Rain came softly down;  
And Jove descended from his Tower,  
To court her in a Silver shower:  
The wanton Snow flew to her breast,  
Like little Birds unto their Nest;  
But overcome with whiteness there,  
For grief it thawed into a tear:  
Thence fal●●ng to her vestures hem,  
To deck her froze into a gem.   

On the drawing his Mistress Picture.  
SItting, and ready to be drawn,  
What mean these Velvets, silk, & Lawn,  
Embroideries, Feathers, Fringes, Lace?  
When every limb takes like a face;  
Send these suspected helps to aid,  
Some form defective, or decayed;  
Thy beauty without falsehood fair,  
Need● nought to clothe it but the air;  
Yet som●thing for the painter's qew,  
Were fitly enterposed for new;  
He shall if he can understand,  
Work mine own fancy with his hand,  
Draw first a cloud all save her neck,  
And out of that make day to break,  
Till like her face it doth appear,  
That men might think all light rose there  
Then let the beams thereof disperse  
The cloud and show the universe;  
But at such distance that the eye,  
May rather (yet) ad●re than spy;  
The heaven d●fin●d, draw then a Spring,  
With all that youth and it can b●ing,  
Four Rivers branching (out) like Seas,  
And Paradise confining these:  
Last draw the circle of this Globe,  
And let there be a starry Robe  
Of Constellations ●bout it harled,  
And thou hast painted beautise world;  
But Painter see thou dost not sell  
A Copy of this Piece, nor tell  
Whose 'tis, but if it favour find,  
Next fitting we will draw her mind.   

A pastoral, by T. R.  
BEhold these Woods, and mark my Sweet  
How all the boughs together meet!  
The Cedar his fair arms displays,  
And mixes branches with the bays.  
The lofty Pine deigns to descend,  
And sturdy Oaks do gently bend;  
One with another subtly weaves  
Into one Loom their various leaves,  
As all ambitious were to be  
Mine and my Phi●●is canopy!  
Let's enter, and discourse our Loves;  
These are my dear, no tell-tale Groves!  
There dwells no pies, nor parrots there,  
To prate again the words they hear:  
Nor babbling echo, that will tell  
The neighbouring hills one syllable.  
Being entered, let's together lie,  
Twined like the zodiacs Gemini!  
How soon the Flowers sweeter smell?  
And all with emulation swell  
To be thy pillow? These for thee  
Were meant a bed, and thou for me;  
And I may with as just esteem  
Press thee, as thou mayst lie on them.  
And why so coy? what dost thou fear?  
There lurks no speckled Serpent here:  
No venomous Snake makes this his road,  
No Canker, nor the loathsome Toad:  
And yond poor Spider on the Tree,  
Thy Spinster will, no poisoner be:  
There is no Frog to leap, and fright  
Thee from my arms, and break delight:  
Nor Snail that o'er thy coat shall trace,  
And leave behind a slimy Lace:  
This is the hallowed Shrine of Love,  
No Wasp nor Hornet haunts this Grove;  
Nor Pismire to make pimples rise,  
Upon thy smooth and Ivory thighs:  
No danger in these shades doth lie,  
Nothing that wears a sting, but I;  
And in it doth no venom dwell,  
Although perchance it make thee swell.  
Being set, let's sport a while my Fair,  
I will tie Love-knots in thy hair:  
See Zephyrus through the leaves doth stray,  
And has free liberty to play;  
And braid thy locks: And shall I find  
Less favour than a saucy wind?  
Now let me sit, and fix my eyes,  
On thee that art my Paradise:  
Thou art my all, the Spring remains,  
In the fair Violets in thy veins:  
And that it is a summer's day,  
Ripe Cherries in thy lips display:  
And when for Autumn I would seek,  
'Tis in the Apples of thy cheek:  
But that which only moves my smart,  
Is to see Winter in thy heart:  
Strange, when at once in one appear,  
All the four seasons of the year!  
I'll clasp that neck where should be set  
A rich and Orient carcanet:  
But Swains are poor, admit of then  
More natural chains, the arms of men.  
Come let me touch those breasts that swell  
Like two fair Mountains, and may well  
Be styled the alps, but that I fear  
The Snow has less of whiteness there.  
But stay (my Love) a fault I spy,  
Why are these two fair Fountains dry?  
Which if they run, no Muse would please  
To taste of any Spring but these;  
And Ganymede employed should be,  
To fetch his Jove Nectar from thee:  
Thou shalt be Nurse fair Venus swears,  
To the next Cupid that she bears.  
Were it not then discreetly done  
To ope one spring to let woe run?  
Fie, fie, this Belly, Beauty's mint,  
Blushes to see no coin stamped in't,  
Employ it then, for though it be  
Our Wealth, it is your royalty;  
And beauty well have cnrrant grace,  
Lhat bears the Image of your face,  
How to the touch the Ivory things,  
Veil gently, and again do rise,  
As pliable to impression,  
As virgin's wax, or parian stone,  
Dissolved to softness; plump, and full,  
More whire and soft then cotsall wool,  
Or Cotten from from the indian Tree,  
or prdty silk worms huspifery,  
These on two marbledellars raised,  
Make me in donpt which should be praised;  
They, or their columns must; but when  
I view those feet w●ic● ay have seen  
So nimbly trip it o'er the lawns  
Thrt all the Srtyrs and the fawns  
Have stood amazed, when they would pass  
Over the lays, and not a grass  
Would feel the weight, nor rush, nor bent  
Drooping betray which way you went,  
O than I felt my hot desires,  
Burn more, and flame with double fires,  
Come let those thighs, those legs, those feet  
With mine in thousand windings meet;  
And woven in more subtle twiens  
Then woodbine, Ivy, or the vines,  
For when Love sees us csrcling thus  
He'll like no Arbour more than us.  
Now let us kiss, would you be gone?  
Manners at least allows me one.  
Blush you at this? pretty one stay,  
And I will take that kiss away.  
Thus with a second, and that too  
A third wipes off; so will we go  
To numbers that the stars outrun,  
And all the atoms in the Sun:  
For though we kiss till Phoebus' ray  
Sink in the Seas, and kissing stay,  
Till his bright beams return again,  
There can of all but one remain:  
And if for one good manners call,  
In one, good manners, grant me all.  
Are kisses all? they but forerun  
Another duty to be done.  
What would ●ou of that minstrel say  
That tunes his pipes and will not play?  
Say what are blossoms in their prime,  
That ripen not in harvest time?  
Or what are buds that ne'er disclose  
The longed for sweetness of the rose?  
So kisses to a Lover; s guest  
Are invitatiohs; ●ot the feast,  
See every thing that we espy  
Is fruitful saving you and I:  
View all the Fields, survey the Bowers,  
The buds, the blossoms, and the Flowers,  
And say if they so rich could be  
In barren base Virginity:  
Earth's not so coy as you are now,  
But willingly admits the Plow;  
For how had man or beast been fed,  
If she had kept her maidenhead?  
Celia once coy, as are the rest,  
Hangs now a Babe on either breast:  
And Cloris since a man she took,  
Has less of greenness in her look:  
Our Ewes have eaned, and every Dam,  
Gives suck unto her tender Lamb:  
As by these Groves we walked along,  
Some Birds were feeding of their young;  
Some on their Eggs did brooding sit,  
Sad that they had not hatched them yet;  
Those that were slower than the rest,  
Were busy building of their Nest:  
You will not only pay the fine,  
You vowed and owed to Valentine.  
As you were angling in the Brook,  
With silken Line and silver Hook,  
Through crystal streams you might descry  
How vast and numberless a Fry  
The Fish had spawned, that all along  
The banks were crowded with the throng;  
And shall fair Venus more command  
By water, than she doth by Land?  
The Phoenix chaste, yet when she dies,  
Herself with her own Ashes lies:  
But let thy love more wisely thrive,  
To do the act while th' art alive:  
'Tis time we left our childish love,  
That trades for toys, and now approve  
Our abler skill; they are not wise,  
Look Babies only in the eyes.  
That smothered smile shows what you meant  
And modest silence gives consent.  
That which we now prepare, will be  
Best done in silent secrecy:  
Come do not weep, what is't you fear?  
Lest some should know what we did here.  
See not a flower you pressed is dead,  
But re-erects his bended head;  
That whosoe'er shall pass this way,  
Knows not by these where Phillis lay;  
And in your forehead there is none,  
Can read the act that we have done.   

Phillis.  
Poor ridiculous and simple Maid!  
By what strange wiles art thou betrayed!  
A treasure thou hast lost to day,  
For which thou canst no ransom pay:  
How black art thou transformed with sin?  
How strange a guilt gnaws me within?  
Grief will convert this red to pale,  
When every Wake and Whitsun-A●e,  
Shall talk my shame; break, break sad heart  
There is no Medicine for my smart,  
No herb nor balm can cure my sorrow,  
Unlsse you meet again to morrow.   

Two Gentlemen inviting each other to sing.  

COme with our voices let us war,  
and challenge all the spheres,  
Till each of us be made a star,  
and all the world turn deer.   

Mix then our Notes that we may prove,  
to stay the walking floods,  
To make the Mountain Quaries move,  
and call walking the Woods.   

What need of me, do you but sing,  
Sleep and the Graves shall wake;  
No voice hath sound, no voice hath string,  
but what your lips do make.   

They say the Angels view each deed,  
who exercise below,  
And out of inward passion feed,  
in what they see or know.   

Sing we no more then, lest the best  
of Angels should be driven,  
To fall again at such a feast,  
Mistakes Earth for Heaven.   

Nay, rather let our Notes be strained,  
to meet their high desire;  
So they in state of Grace retained,  
shall wish us of their choir.    

A Sonnet in praise of music.  
HAil, sacred music! Queen of Souls! strike high  
Inspire me with poetic rhapsody,  
Else words can't praise thee.  
Thy virtue tunes the discord of the spheres,  
Charming to it divine and human ears,  
Nor can breath raise thee!  
Whose airs breathe a more harmonious wind,  
Mounting above itself, the heaviest mind,  
In spite of Nature.  
Thy ravishing Accents, with holy force,  
Can twixt our souls and bodies cause divorce,  
Cheer sullenest creature!  
Strike but thy Lute with thy more gentle hand,  
The Nightingale will mute, with listening stand,  
Charmed to thy pleasure.  
And when thy Note but runs division,  
The very Tree shall dance she sits upon,  
keep mean and measure▪  
The Palm will dance, the Bay her root forgo  
The Cedar, myrtle, Vine will foot it too:  
When in the midst of all their frolic train,  
Thou strik'st sad note, they're fixed trees again.   

On jealousy.  
WHen you sit musing Lady all alone,  
Casting up all your cares with private moan  
When your heart bleeds with grief, you are no more  
Nearer comfort, than you were before;  
You cannot mend your state with sighs or cares,  
Sorrow's no balsam for distrustful fears:  
Have you a foe you hate? wish him no worse  
A plague or torment then the Yellow curse;  
Observe your Lord with ne'er so strict an eye,  
You cannot go to piss without a spy;  
If but a Mouse do stir about your bed,  
He startles, and fears he is dishonoured,  
And when a jealous dream doth cross his pate,  
Straight he resolves he will be separate;  
Tell me right worthy Cuckolds if you can,  
What good this folly doth reflect on man?  
Are women made more loyal? Have ye power  
To guard the tree, that none can pluck the flower  
Is it within the brain of jealous heads,  
To banish Lust from Court or Courtly beds:  
I never knew that base and foul distrust,  
Made any chaste that had a mind to lust;  
Nor will it make her honest, who by kind,  
To lose and vild affections is inclined;  
Debar her Lord, she to supply his room,  
Will take a horse-boy, or a Stable-Groom;  
Keep her from men of lower rank and place▪  
She'll kiss the Scullion, & with knaves embrace,  
Suspect her faith withal, and all distrust,  
She'll buy a Monkey to supply her lust;  
Lock her from man and beast, from all content,  
She'll make thee Cuckold with an Instrument;  
For women are like angry Mastiffs chained,  
They bite at all, when they are all restrained;  
We may set locks & guards to watch their fire,  
But have no means to quench their hot desire,  
Man may as well with cunning go about  
To quench the Gun his motion, as by doubt  
To keep a mettled woman, if that she  
Strongly dispose herself to Venery.  
How many thousand women that were Saints,  
Are now made sinful by unjust restraints?  
How many do commit for very spite,  
That take small pleasure in that sweet delight?  
Some are for malice, some are for mirth unjust,  
Some kiss for love, and some do love for lust,  
But if that Fates intend to make me blessed,  
And Hymen bind me to a female breast,  
(As yet I thank my stars I am not tied;  
In servile Bonds to any wanton Bride)  
Let Cynthia be my Crest, yea let me wear  
The cuckold's Badge, if I distrust or fear:  
It's told me oft, a smooth and gentle hand,  
Keeps women more in awe of due command,  
Then if we put a Quinsel on their Dock,  
Ride them with bits, set on their gear a Lock,  
For then like furious Colts they strike & fling,  
But if we slack our Reins, to pleas their will,  
Kindness will keep them from committing ill:  
You blessed Creatures hold your female right,  
Conquer by day, as you o'ercome by night,  
And tell the jealous World this from me,  
Bondage may make you bad, whose minds are free:  
Had Collatine been jealous, say this more,  
Without a Rape, Lucrece had been a Whore.   

A Caveat to his Mistress.  
BEware fair Maid of Musky Courtiers oaths;  
Take heed what gifts & favours you receive,  
Let not the fading gloss of silken clothes,  
Dazzel your virtues, or your fame bereave;  
For lose but once the hold you have of grace  
Who will respect your fortune or your face.  
Each greedy hand doth strive to catch the flour  
When none regards the stock it grew upon,  
Each nature loves the fruit still to devour,  
And leaves the Tree to grow, or fade alone;  
Then this advice fair creature take from me,  
Let none taste fruit, unless he take the Tree.  
Take heed lest Caesar doth corrupt thy heart,  
Or fond Amibition scale thy modesty,  
Say to a King, thou only courteth Art;  
He cannot pardon thy impurity;  
For do with one, with a thousand thou'lt turn Whore,  
Break Ice in one place, and it cracks in more.  
Do but with King, to Subject thou wilt fall,  
From Lord to Lackey, and at last to all.   

An emblem of Youth, Age, and Death, expressed in a Cherry-stone, on the one side is cut a young Damsel, on the other an old beldame, The stone Hyeroglifically expresseth Death.  
FAir Mistress be not over-coy,  
In entertaining of this toy,  
The moral of its pretty Art,  
D●serves a lodging next your heart,  
●or 'tis an Emblem (fairest trust me)  
Of what you are now, and what you must be,  
Except that envious Death prevent,  
Rich Natures first benign intent,  
Then doth the gospel of the Stone,  
Prove life and death to dwell in one;  
For this poor Moddel which you view,  
Did sometimes wear as rich a hew,  
As nature gives to any fair,  
Whilst it grew blushing in the Air,  
Whose tempting colour, and whose taste,  
Brought it to what you see at last;  
Nay had it hung still on the Tree,  
It would have proved the same you see,  
Save that the Artists hand alone,  
For your sake hath his cunning shown;  
Than rarest object of my sight,  
Unfold this threefold Riddle right,  
And learn from it, your April years,  
Blooms not more fruit of joy than fears,  
And that your beauty is a treasure  
By Nature lent you, at whose pleasure  
You must restore it when she'll call,  
And give account for use and all,  
And that your winter fro●ty days,  
Brings Almond-buds instead of bays  
To crown your temples, and with glory  
To close the period of your story.  
If those rich gems which should have lasted,  
Have not in your youth been wasted,  
But (Prodigal-like) if thou have spent  
Nature's bo●●ies being but lent,  
A●d t●en your last of days is come,  
To give you summons to your home,  
You must with grief return to dust,  
She will no longer lend on trust,  
Your beauty's relics as this Stone,  
Will be a dry contemned bone;  
Perhaps like it some friend vouchsafe,  
To grave thereon your Epitaph,  
Which may be read if not neglected,  
This is the most can be expected.  Sir S. Steward.  

To his Lady.  
SO may my Verses pleasing be,  
So may you laugh at them; and not at me,  
'Tis something to you I would gladly say,  
But how to do it, cannot find the way;  
I would avoid the common trodden ways,  
To Ladies used, which be of Love or praise,  
As for the first, that little wit I have,  
Is not yet grown so near unto the ●rave,  
But that I can by that dim fading light,  
Perceive of what, and unto whom I write,  
Let such as in a hopeless, witless rage,  
Can sigh a choir, and read it to a Page;  
Such as can make ten Sonnets ere they rest,  
When each is but a great blot at the best,  
Such as can backs of books and windows fill,  
With their too furious Diamond or Quill,  
Such as are well resolved to end their days,  
With a loud laughter blown beyond the Seas;  
Such as are mortified, that they can live,  
Laughed at by all the world, and yet forgive:  
Wright love to you I would not willingly,  
Be pointed at in every company,  
As was the little tailor, who till death,  
Was great in love with Queen Elizabeth;  
And for the last in all my idle days,  
● never yet did living woman praise,  
●n Verse or Prose, And when I do begin,  
●le pick some woman out as full of sin,  
●s you are full of virtue, with a soul,  
●s black as yours is white, a face as foul  
●s yours is beautiful; for it shall be  
●ut of the Rules of physiognomy;  
●o far, that I do fear I must displace  
the Art a little, to let in the face;  
● shall at least four faces be below  
the Devils; and her parched corpse shall show,  
●n her loose skin, as if some spirit she were,  
K●pt in a bag by some great Conjurer;  
Her breath shall be so horrible and vild,  
As every word you speak is meet and mild,  
It shall be such a one as will not be,  
Covered with any Art or policy,  
But let her take all waters, fumes, and drink,  
She shall make nothing but a dearer stink,  
She shall have such a foot, and such a nose,  
As will not stand in any thing but Prose;  
If I bestow my praises upon such,  
'Tis Charity, and I shall merit much;  
My praise will come to her like a full bowl,  
Bestowed at most need on a thirsty soul;  
Where if I sing your praises in my rhyme,  
I lose my Ink, my paper, and my ti●●,  
Add nothing to your overflowing store,  
And tell you nought but what you knew before  
Nor do the virtuous minded (which I swear  
Madam I think you are) endure to hear  
Their own perfections into question brought,  
But stop their ears at them, for if I thought,  
You took a pride to have your virtues known,  
Pardon me Madam, I should think them none▪  
But if you brave thoughts (which I must respect  
Above your glorious Titles) shall accept  
These harsh disordered Lines, I shall ere long,  
Dress up your virtues new in a new Song,  
Yet far from all base praise or flattery,  
Although I know what ere my Verses be,  
They will like the most servile flattery show,  
If I write truth, and make my subject you.   

A Description of a wished Mistress.  
NOt that I wish my Mistress,  
Or more or less than what she is  
Write I ●●ese Lines, for 'tis too late,  
●ules to prescribe unto my Fate:  
●ut as those tender stomachs call,  
●or some choice meats that like not all;  
●o queafie Lovers do impart,  
What Mistress 'tis must take their heart:  
First I would have her richly sped,  
With nature's blossoms white and red,  
For flaming hearts will quickly die,  
That have no fuel from the eye;  
Yet this alone will never win,  
Unless some treasure lie within;  
For where the spoil's not worthy stay,  
Men raise the Siege and march away:  
She should be wise enough to know,  
When, and to whom a grace to show,  
For she that doth at random choose,  
Will sure her choice as well refuse;  
And yet methinks I'd have her mind,  
To loving courtesy inclined,  
And tender-hearted as a Maid,  
And pity only when I prayed:  
And I would wish her true to be,  
Mistake me not, I mean to me,  
She that loves one, and loves one more,  
Will love the kingdom, o'er and o'er▪  
I could wish her full of wit,  
So she knew how to huswife it;  
But she whose insolence makes her dare  
To try her wit, will sell her Ware.  
Some other things delight will bring,  
As if she dance, or play, or sing;  
If hers be safe, what though her parts,  
Catch then a thousand foreign hearts?  
But let me see, should she be proud,  
A little pride must be allowed?  
Each amorous boy will sport & prate  
Too freely, if she find no state?  
I care not much though I set down,  
Sometime a chiding, or a frown:  
Eut if she wholly quench desire,  
'Tis hard to kindle a new fire:  
To smile, to toy, is not amiss,  
Sometimes to interpose a kiss,  
But not cloy, sweet things are good,  
And pleasant, but are nought for food▪  
But stay, Nature hath overcaught my Art  
In her, to whom I offer up my heart,  
And evening-passengers shall sooner trace,  
The wanton beams that dance on Thames smooth face  
Or find the tract where once the fowl did stray  
Or the moist sands which tides have washed away  
Then ere my heart be sound with taint or spot,  
So a revolt of hers procure it not.   

Ad Amicum.  
THou art the Spring, & I the leaveless Tree,  
Thou art the flower, and I the toiling Bee;  
Thou art the Flax, and I the kindling fire,  
I your disdain, but you my heart's desire:  
You are the Bride which doth engage my breast,  
My thoughts in yours, though yours elsewhere do rest:  
Say that I rest my lips upon thy cheek,  
A wearied love some place of rest must seek,  
No pillow softer than those cheeks of thine,  
No wearied love more wearied is then mine:  
Then be not coy to answer what I require,  
You need not blush at what I do desire,  
Say that your love doth some way else incline,  
Yet I am yours, though you will not be mine.   

The Question of a Lady that was newly wedded.  
A Lady that of late did wed,  
Not knowing sports of Marriage bed,  
Asked of her Husband which he thought most right  
For Marriage sports, the morning or the night,  
He answered as he did think most meet,  
The day more wholesome but the night most sweet  
If it be so, quoth she, and we have leisure,  
We'll to't i'th' day for health, all night for pleasure   

Dr. Dun's Answer to a Lady.  
Lady.  
SAy not you love unless you do,  
For lying will not honour you.  
Answer of the Doctors.  
Lady I love, and love to do,  
And will not love unless be you.  
You say I lie, I say you lie, choose whether,  
But if we both lie, let us lie together.   

Of his estate with Love.  
THe more I seek to find the depth of Love,  
The more I find myself to sec therein;  
For when I thought the fruit thereof to prove,  
I was methought, as when I did begin;  
In Love and virtue wise men wisely say,  
The more a man doth go, the more he may.  
For as it comes at first, I know not how,  
So doth it bring at length I know not what;  
And when we stand as tho we would not bow,  
Then doth it break our force, and ●ast us flat;  
And making us to run an endless course,  
Oft seems to mend, but waxeth worse & worse.  
Some lay the fault in Love, and some again  
In them that love, I mean the women kind,  
I have just cause with others to complain,  
But to complain I never had the mind;  
For what doth it avail me to complain,  
If my complaint may not release my pain.  
When I complain aright, she takes it ill,  
And for amends she answers me no force,  
When I complain amiss, she rageth still,  
And for amends, she makes it ever worse,  
I find no fault in her I may excuse,  
'Tis my ill luck that she doth ●e refuse.  
Which maketh me uncertain what, or how,  
To say or think of me, or of my Love,  
I saw before, with grief I see it now,  
'Tis labour lo●t, her settled mind to move;  
Though she make more of me, then of the most  
I count but ill, that count without my ●lost.  
Then I deserve, she doth a great deal more,  
And yet a great deal less than I desire,  
Would God she kept her courteous deeds in store  
So that herself with love were set on fire:  
Her deeds are such, as I may not complain,  
It is her heart that puts my heart to pain.  
She doth to me that which to all she must,  
And yet as though it were to me alone,  
Her best she lays up for her best betrust,  
Who is her all in all, and yet but one:  
In love and virtue wise men wisely say,  
The more we spend, still spend the more we may  
Thus do I feed on leaves instead of fruit,  
Instead of bodies, shadows me content,  
In my account, ciphers for Numbers go,  
My feasting Christmas is a fasting Lent:  
And yet no wrong, for my desert is small,  
And all the world is subject to her call.   

When he had written this, she read it, and said, that he writ it more to show his wit, then for any good will, whereupon he thus replied.  
BUt what do I in vain my paper spend,  
without all hope against the stream to move  
Needs must I end, although I know no end,  
If not to love, yet for to speak of Love,  
She says that this, she says that all I writ,  
was nothing else but for to show my wit.  
And would to God my wit did show no more,  
Than I delight to show my wit therein,  
It were more wit to keep my love in store,  
Then utter all, when none of hers is seen;  
Mine is so much, she keeps her own in store,  
If mine were less, her own would be the more   

To his Love upon complaint of the uncertainty of his estate: She answered him, that he should never have cause to repent.  
MY heart the Ship, that was tossed to & fro,  
By winds of fear, by waves of deep despair  
In certain course, uncertain what to do,  
Or how to find the weather ever fair,  
At length is got into the Port of rest,  
To wit, his only best beloved breast.  
And knit with faith, as with a Cable Rope,  
Which will not shrink, though all the world do fail,  
Unto the Anchor of undoubted hope,  
In hope at length with wind and tide to sail;  
He careth not though winds do blow abroad  
So he may find his harbour in the road.  
A small assurance more contents the mind,  
The greater hope of greater hope to come,  
That which is loose, you may with ease unwind  
The way to all, is to be sure of some,  
Which sith you grant, I hold myself content,  
With that you say, I never shall repent.  
He that hopes you said of him ●s you meant,  
That he never should have cause to repent.   

To his Love when she said that her love was a burden unto him.  
MY Love, why dost thou think thy love  
a burden unto me,  
I never felt a thing so light,  
as it doth seem to be,  
Or if thy love a bu●then be,  
as thou dost say my dear,  
Why thinkst thou me unable, or  
unwilling it to bear,  
It is no burden for to have,  
but for to want thy love,  
From which I do not, cannot, ought  
not, will not me remove:  
The love is light, and doth delight,  
that hath the greatest part:  
The love is heavy that is least,  
and makes a heavy heart;  
Then if thy love a burden be,  
as thou dost seem to say,  
Think that it never troubles me,  
but when it goes away.   

To his Mistress on New-years-day.  
TO give a Gift, where all the Gifts  
of God so much abound,  
What is it else but even to add,  
a penny to a pound?  
To wish you years, though they be New,  
which yet may make you old,  
What is it, but to wish you years  
of silver for your Gold?  
Yet do I send a simple Gift,  
to show my great good will,  
And wish withal that all your years  
be new and happy still.   

To a Friend, on the word Wife.  
THe W. is double woe, the I. nought else bu● jealousy,  
The F. is fawning flattery, the E. what else bu● enmity:  
If in the Name there be such strife,  
Then God defend me from a Wife.   

Upon a Merchant.  
THere was a man, and he was semper idem,  
And to be brief he was mercator quidem,  
He had a wife was neither tall nor brevis,  
Yet in her carriage was accounted levis,  
He to content her gave her all things satis,  
She to requite him made him Cuckold gratis.   

Ti his Love upon new-year's Even, when they were upon parting.  

IF you will leave me, leave me, dear,  
Or now or never with the Year,  
For now the Year is at an end,  
And now each friend renews his friend,  
And now the date of love expires,  
And now the time truth requires,  
And now your friends envy at me,  
And now it must or never be.   

If you do mean to love me, dear,  
Begin to morrow with the year,  
For then doth love itself renew,  
And every friend perform his due,  
Then to and fro the Gifts are sent,  
And paid as if it were for rent,  
And then of friends the most we make,  
Another Lease of Love to take.   

If you will neither leave, nor love,  
As by conjecture I can prove;  
You do me wrong to hold me on,  
You wrong yourself to care for none;  
You wrong the face that God you gave,  
You wrong the other gifts you have,  
And in revenge of this your wrong,  
Shall love I hope, and lack as long:  
Wherefore or love, or leave me, dear,  
Or now, or never, with the Year,    

To his Heart.  
MY Heart why dost thou bodily fear,  
that thou dost love in vain?  
Why dost thou fear that gentle means,  
will make thee live in pain?  
What though thy Love did never care,  
for wearing of a man?  
What though more craft lurk in her breast,  
Than she dissemble can?  
Thy choice is good, thy love is great,  
thy faith is true as steel:  
She's wise, what wilt thou more? why dost  
thou fear before thou feel?   

The heart's Answer.  
ALas, what should I do but fear,  
how I may be secure?  
Of that which none could yet come near▪  
how may poor I be sure?  
What though I have the name to be,  
the greatest in her books?  
What though she feed me once a day,  
even with her kindest looks?  
Her choice is past, her love bestowed,  
hear faith no faith can move,  
● most unworthy; shall I hope  
to gain so good a love?   

A Reply to his Heart.  
MY heart why dost thou reason thus,  
According to thy sense?  
Why dost thou make an evil cause,  
the worse be thy defence?  
What though her choice be past? her love  
bestowed, her faith too true,  
What though thou most unworthy be,  
to such a one to sue?  
In choice is change, in love mislike,  
faith used ill may fail.  
Full many speed unworthily,  
why shouldst thou strike the sail.   

The heart's Answer.  
ALas, to reason for myself,  
is but to breed my bane,  
And to be proud of mine estate,  
when I am in the wane.  
What though in choice, in love, in faith,  
we many changes see?  
What though in my unworthiness,  
she may esteem of me?  
Such choice is chance, such love is light,  
such faith is also frail,  
And they that speed unworthily,  
unworthily may fail.   

Of Love.  
WHat thing is love? the worst & yet the be●●,  
A world of cares, and yet a mart of toys,  
A sea of dangers, yet the Haven of rest,  
A hell of torments, yet a Heaven of joys,  
A world, a sea, a hell to tender hearts,  
A Mart, a Haven, a heaven to ease their smarts  
How doth it come? that way it seemeth least,  
It fisheth here, and hangeth there a bait,  
It hoisteth say I when it doth Anchor cast,  
And strikes Alarm when it sounds retreat,  
And when we think we have it at the bay,  
We may be sure it steals another way.  
What are the works of love? more neat than fit  
For any use, and more in skill then proof,  
The fine conceits of every finest wit,  
Of greater ca●● and ●●bour then behoof,  
Much lik● 〈◊〉 sh●t Spiders weave on hie  
Which have no use but even to catch a flie..  
W●at is the end of Love? still to begin,  
And not to have or sight, or hope of end,  
About a little to be long, and in  
An endless suit, a thankless time to spend;  
Much like the wheel that turning ever round  
Doth run apace, and yet can get no ground.   

When he was to go into the country.  

ANd must I go, from whom? what shall I say?  
From hope, from health, from love, from life, from all,  
Tha● was, or is, or may be any way,  
My greatest comfort in each kind of thrall,  
And that beyond the Seas into an I'll,  
Where from my joys I must myself exile.   

What though my native Country be the place?  
What though it be to see my Father dear?  
What though it be my Mother to embrace?  
And take her blessing for this whole two year?  
What though it were 10000 friends to see,  
●0000. times this one more pleaseth me.    

To his only one when he was in the Country.  

LEt fools believe that absence cureth love▪  
Or cools the heart, that eye hath set on fire,  
I see, I see, the farther I remove,  
The farther off I am from my desire;  
And find too well the wound I took by sigh●  
Is nothing less, but rather more by flight▪   

For though mine eye did daily wound my hear●  
Yet did I see withal thy lovely face,  
No● every thought gives cause of greater smar●  
Because I want the hope of wonted grace,  
The only thing wherein I now delight,  
Is that thou dost to me so kindly write.   

If thou didst know what pleasure I do take▪  
In every line that thou dost write to me,  
How I do scan each letter for thy sake,  
To pick what kindness I may out of thee:  
I know that thou wouldst write once a week to me▪  
In reading thine, methinks I talk with thee.    

To her again.  

HOw far? how long am I, and shall I be  
From that sweet soul, whose looks do feed mine eye?  
How far? how long shall she be kept from me,  
In whom, with whom, to whom I live and die?  
For place, I take each step a mile to be,  
For time each hour doth seem a year to me.   

Methinks the Sun doth greater leisure take,  
Than he was wont, to linger out the day,  
Methinks he goes, as if his legs did ache,  
And time itself doth make no haste away,  
If I might rule the Chariot of the Sun,  
I would be bound to make it night at noon.   

But be I far; or be I long from thee,  
I am thine own, and thine alone my dear,  
No ●ime, no place shall change or alter me,  
Though steps were miles, & every hour a year;  
Persuade thyself that I am with thee still,  
Though I be here, in part, against my will▪    

When she told him she loved as well as he.  

AS well as I? too good for to be true,  
As well as I? too sweet for to be sure,  
As well as I? a speech too kind for you,  
As well as I? too sudden to endure:  
As well as I? As well as I, I say;  
I ask no more, I wish no fairer play.   

As well as I? then must you change your vain,  
And watch your times to make your love be seen,  
As well as I? then must you leave disdain,  
And show yourself more kind than you have been:  
As well as I? As well as I, I say,  
I ask no more▪ I wish no fairer play.   

As well as I? then will I strive to do  
More than I can, to make you do as much,  
As well as I? then will I be to you,  
More than I am, to make you to be such:  
As well as I? As well as I, I say,  
I ask no more, I wish no fairer play.    

To his Love.  

IF any be content with words, 'tis I,  
If any not content with deeds, 'tis you;  
If any fear your tongues like swords, 'tis I,  
If any vex the heart that bleeds, 'tis you:  
'tis you an I that make these sayings true,  
Disdained I, and most disdainful you.   

If any man do live by looks, 'tis I,  
If any woman loves by fits, 'tis you;  
If any leave for love his books, 'tis I,  
If any bats the edge of wits, 'tis you:  
'Tis you an I that make these sayings true,  
Unhappy I, and more than happy you.   

If any strive against the stream, 'tis I,  
With wind and tide, if any go, 'tis you  
If any be more than they seem, 'tis I,  
If any think less than they know, 'tis you:  
'Tis you an I that make these sayings true,  
Unfeigning I, and deep dissembling you.   

If any pluck for prime, and miss, 'tis I,  
If any pluck for flush, and hit, 'tis you,  
When colour holds, if any loose, 'tis I,  
By contraries, if any get, 'tis you.  
'Tis you, to whom all gains prove for the best  
'Tis I that on all gains do lose my rest.    

A fancy of Love.  
THe Sun had run his race, and now began  
His Steeds to water in the Western Seas,  
When suddenly the sky waxed pale and wan,  
And night drew on the time of rest and ease:  
I lay me down to take my sleep in bed,  
And lo what fancies came into my head.  
Fast by my side there seemed one to stand,  
I know not how possessed on every part,  
Possessed on either foot, on either hand,  
Possessed on head, but most possessed on heart;  
Ladies they seemed, that did divide him so,  
And still at odds both draw him to and fro.  
I sigh to think, how I did sigh in sleep,  
And full of pity, pitied his estate,  
I scarce can hold to think how he did weep,  
And make complaint of his unhappy fate;  
Yet went I on to see what Dames they were,  
That did the silly soul in pieces tear.  
Upon his heart, his tender heart I saw,  
Love like a Prince sit in a Chair of State,  
Under her feet lay all his thoughts in awe,  
Not daring once their case for to debate;  
The reason was, reason itself was fled,  
And scarce did hold a corner of the head.  
Upon this head did foolish fancy sit,  
Devising toys his Mistress mind to move,  
I never saw the like conceits of wit,  
As thence were sent to get his Mistress love:  
And though he sent unto her more and more  
He never sent the same he sent before.  
On either hand did sit a modest Dame,  
One on the left, another on the right,  
One called Hope, the other Faith by name,  
Too constant both for love that was but light;  
Yet winged both, as if they would aspire,  
Faith with desert, and Hope with hot desire.  
Upon his feet two spiteful ones did sit,  
To weigh him down, & nail him to the ground  
To clog his hope, his faith, his love his wit,  
From getting her to whom he would be bound  
To wit, distrust, that hindered faith to fly,  
Despair, that hindered hope to mount on high.  
While I stood musing at his woeful case,  
She passed by that puts him to this pain,  
It grieved me to see so sweet a face,  
To bear a hand so armed with disdain,  
And as his faith began to plead desert,  
With her disdain, she thrust him through the heart.  
Do I say him? I feel myself her hand,  
This very wound doth drive my dream away,  
Well may I dream that others by me stand,  
But when I wake, I must the person play:  
Well may I dream this deed by others true,  
But when I wake, it can be none but you.   

When he knew not how to please her.  
IF any man an endless maze do tread,  
Where neither in nor out he finds the way,  
If any's fancy be by reason lead,  
To one that doth both dally and delay,  
If any Anchor cast in careless Cost,  
'Tis only I that study to be lost.  
My wit is snared within a serpent's head,  
Where there are many turnings to and fro,  
My foolish heart is yet with reason led,  
To think it reason that it should be so:  
And I myself, I grant, do study most  
Conceits of wit, by which I may be lost.  
What will you have me do? what will you not?  
Shall I be yours? not so, mine own? nor so?  
Go I away, I have a new love got,  
Stay I, what get I, but but in faith Sir no?  
Wish I your love, you say I wish no reason,  
Touch I you breast, you say I offer treason.  
How will you have me to behave me then?  
Not yours, and yet but yours I may not be,  
As touching, so not touching doth offend,  
Go I, or stay I, there is fault in me,  
Yet must I still in this or that offend,  
Until you tell how I may both amend.   

In truth.  
INn truth sometime it was a sweet conceit,  
To think how Truth & Love did live together  
But now in truth there is so much deceit,  
That truth indeed is gone I know not whither;  
Yet liveth truth, and hath its secret Love,  
And Love in Truth deserves to be regarded;  
And Love regard in conscience doth approve,  
Approved truth can never be discarded:  
Then try me first, and if that true you prove me▪  
In truth you wrong me, if you do not love me.   

Upon a discourtesy.  
CLose up thy lids mine eye, thy leaves mine ear,  
Put up thy pipes my tongue, thy stripes my heart  
Head hide thyself, wit leave thy fancies dear,  
Hand, let thy pen no more itself impart;  
For when eye sees, ear hears, heart feels disdain  
How may I speak, or write, or think but pain.  
Head aches with casting fancies in his mould,  
Hand shakes with setting of these fancies down  
Hart quakes to think that love should wax so cold  
And each part takes my wrong to be his own;  
But yet since you in them do me forsake,  
'Tis I, not they that ache, that shake, that quake.  
My aching head can dream of nothing now,  
But Agonies of a perplexed mind,  
My shaking hand can write down nothing now  
But fits of Agues, shaking in their kind.  
My quaking heart doth pant within my breast  
That so great love should find so little rest.   

Upon mayday.  
THis morning did I dream of merry May,  
How I did rise, and forth a Maying go,  
To take the pleasure of the pleasant day,  
In which we may without all fear of no;  
Methought into a Park of Dear I came,  
A pleasant place, and full of pleasing game.  
A goodly pale it had about it round,  
As even as Art could make, or Nature bear,  
Which did set forth the goodness of the ground  
And compass in the hasty flying Dear,  
The Gate was made with clasp of silver fast,  
Where few or none without great favour past.  
The froward Keeper did deny me way,  
And asked me, how I durst to come so near?  
Since it is May said I, I trust I may  
Come in and out, so that I steal no Dear:  
No, no, said he, go May it other where,  
Though it be May, you may not May it here▪  
With that I stood aloof the Park to view,  
And over pale the pleasures to behold,  
Where I perceived a Lawn of perfect hew,  
Which did abound in pleasures manifold,  
Above the which a goodly hill there stood,  
Upon the which, there grew a goodly wood.  
Within the Gate I did a Cave espy,  
Whence of sweet breath there blew a pleasant wind,  
Happy were he that at the mouth might lie,  
To cool his heart, when hot he doth it find:  
Yet farther in methought there did appear;  
Two lively Springs, as any crystal clear.  
What kind of Dear it held, I need not tell,  
It nothing held, that is not holden dear,  
Each thing it held, became the Park so well,  
It grieved me that I could not come near:  
But woe is me that in this pleasant ground,  
Beauty should be the Dear, & love the Hound.   

Of his Love, upon his purpose to travel.  
AS virtuous men pass mild away,  
And whisper to their souls to go,  
While some of their sad friends do say,  
Now his breath goes, and some say no:  
So let us melt, and make no noise,  
Nor tear floods, nor sigh tempests move,  
'Twere profanation of our joys,  
To tell the Laity of our Love;  
Movings of th'earth cause harms and fear,  
Men reck on what they did, and meant,  
But trepidations of the Sphere,  
Though greater far, are innocent:  
Dull sublunary lover's love,  
Whose soul is sense, cannot admit  
Absence, because it doth remove  
Those things, which elemented it.  
But we, by love so much refined,  
That our souls know not what it is,  
Enter assured of the mind,  
Careless, eyes, lips, and hands do miss:  
Our two souls therefore which are one,  
Though I must go● endure not yet  
A breach, but an expansion,  
As gold to airy thinness beat.  
If they be two, they are two so,  
as stiff-●wind Compasses are two.  
Thy soul, the fixed foot makes no shoo●  
to move, yet doth, if th'other do:  
And though it in the Centre sit,  
yet while the other far doth room,  
It leans and hearkens after it,  
and grows erect, as that comes home.  
Such than be thou to me, who must,  
like th'other foot obliquely run:  
Thy firmness draws my circle just,  
and makes me End where I begun.  J. Dun.  

To his Mistress of Love and Hate.  

TAke heed of loving me,  
at least remember I forbade it thee;  
Not that I shall repair m●unthrifty waste  
of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears,  
And so recover my lost soul at last:  
for so great joy my life at once out-weares,  
Then lest thy love by my death frustate be,  
If thou love me, take heed of loving me.   

Take heed of Hating me.  
Or too much triumph in thy victory;  
Not that I shall be mine own Officer,  
and Hate with Hate again Retaliate:  
But thou wilt looose the name of conqueror,  
if I thy conquest perish by thy hate.  
Then lest my being nothing, lessen thee,  
if thou hate me, take heed of hating me.   

Yet Love and Hate me ●oo;  
So these extremes shall neither's Office do  
Love me that I may die the gentle way:  
Hate me, because thy Love's too great for me,  
Or let these two themselves, not me decay:  
So shall I live thy Stage, not triumph be:  
Then lest thy Love, hate, and me thou undo,  
O let me live, O Love, and Hate me too.    

His diet.  

TO what a cumbersome unwealdiness,  
And burd●nous corpulence my love had grown  
But that I did to make it less,  
And keep it in proportion,  
Give it a diet, made it feed upon,  
That, which love worst endures, discretion.   

Above one sigh a day I allowed him not,  
Of which my fortune, and my faults had part,  
And if sometimes by stealth hegot,  
A she-sigh from my Mistress heart;  
And though to feast on that, I let him see▪  
'Twas neither very sound, nor want to me,   

If he wrung from me a tear, I burned it so  
With scorn or shame, that him it nourished not,  
If he sucked hers, I let him know,  
'Twas not a tear which he had got,  
His drink was counterfeit, as was his meat,  
For eyes that roll towards all, weep not, but sweat.   

What ever he would distaste, I wrote that,  
But burned my Letters, if she writ to me,  
and that favour that made him fat,  
I said, if any little be  
Conveyed by this, ah, what doth it avail,  
To be the fortieth name in an entail.   

Thus I reclaimed my Buzzard love to fly,  
At what, and when, and how, & where I choose,  
Now negligent of sport I lie,  
And now as other falconer's use,  
I spring a Mistress, swear, write, sigh, and weep,  
And the game killed, or lost, go talk, or sleep.    

Against Marriage.  
THere never lived that married woman yet,  
〈◊〉 truly could commend the wife's estate  
Though some perhaps in modsty and wit,  
Will rather praised, then show their grief too late  
This Marriage is a field of discontents,  
All overgrown with a confused h●ap  
Of wrongs, cares, and many ill events,  
Which Husbands sow, but Wives are forced to reap.  
Or like a prison with a painted door,  
Which passengers suppose a Princely place;  
But entered in, they do repent full sore,  
Their former error, and their present case:  
O Maids beware of this Tolossa gold,  
'Tis fair in show, but ruin doth enfold.   

Against Melancholy.  
GO damned Melancholy, get thee hence,  
Thou hell-bred fury, torment of the mind,  
Weakner of wit, abuser of the sense,  
Within whose bounds all mischiefs are confined  
Thou sullen sin, souls torture day and night,  
Health-killing humour, Harbinger of Death,  
Grave to content, darkner of beauty's light,  
Unto all good thou art the flood of Leath;  
A waking dream, a spur to jealousy;  
A fond conveyer of a thousand toys;  
The ready path which leads to lunacy,  
Is this bereaver of our earthly joys:  
The Gods, I think, when we deserve their curse,  
Inflict this plague, because there is no worse.   

Dr. John Dun's Will.  

BEfore I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe  
(Greet Love) some Legacies. Here I bequeathe  
Mine Eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see;  
If they be blind, then Love I give them thee;  
My tongue to Fame; t' Ambassadores mine ears;  
to Women, or the Sea, my tears;  
Thou Love hast taught me heretofore,  
By making me serve her wh'ad twenty more,  
That I should give to none but such, as had too much before.   

My Constancy I to the planets give,  
My truth to them, who at the Court do live,  
Mine ingenuity and openness  
To Jesuites, to Buffocns my pensiveness;  
My silence t' any, who abroad have been;  
my Money to a Capuchin.  
Thou, Love, taughts me, be appointing me,  
To love there, where no Love received could be,  
Only to give to such as have an incapa●●●   

I give my R●putation to those  
That were my Friends; my 〈…〉  
To schoolmen I be queath my 〈…〉  
My Sickness to physicians, 〈◊〉 Excti●●  
To Nature all that I in rhyme have writ,  
and to my company, my wit.  
Thou, Love, by making me adore  
Her, who begot this love in me before,  
Taughts me to make, as though I gave, when I did but restore.   

To him, for whom the Passing Bell next tolls,  
I give my physic Books; my written rolls,  
Of moral counsels, I to Bedlam give:  
My brazen medals unto them, which live  
In want of bread; to them which pass among  
all foreigners, mine English tongue.  
Thou Love, by making me Love one,  
Who thinks her friendship a fit portion  
For younger Loves, dost all my gifts thus disproportion.   

Therefore I'll give no more, but I'll undo  
The world by dying, because Love dies too:  
Then all your beauties will be no more worth  
Than gold in Mynes, where none doth draw it forth.  
And all your graces no more use shall have,  
than a sundial in a Grave,  
Thou Love taughtst me, by making me  
Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee.  
T'intent and Practise this one way t'annihilate all three.   J. D.   

Elegies by Mr. W. M.  

An elegy on a Sexton.  
I Many Grave have made, but enjoyed none,  
This which I made not, I possessed alone;  
Each corpse without embalming it did serve,  
My life like precious Mummy to preserve;  
Death, which then kind, now cruel found I have  
Robbed me of life, which me my living gave;  
No, Death is still more kind, for in the Grave  
Where once I labour had, now rest I have;  
I made good use of time, and night and day,  
Had ear and heed how the hour did rass away;  
I still was ready for a Grave, nor shall  
Grieve at what most I joyed, a funeral:  
As I was wont, though not so soon as then,  
Out of the Grave I shall come forth again.   

On a Scrivener.  
HEre to a period is the Scrivener come,  
This is his last sheet, his full point, his Tomb  
Of all Aspersions I excuse him not,  
'Tis plain he lived not without many a blot,  
Yet he no ill example showed to any,  
But rather gave good Copies unto many;  
He in good Letters had been always bred,  
And hath writ more than many men have read;  
He Rulers had at his command by Law,  
Although he could not hang, yet he could draw  
His force more bondmen had & made then any,  
A dash alone of his Pen ruined many,  
That not without great reason we may call,  
His Letter great, or little capital,  
Yet 'tis the scrivener's fault, as sure as just,  
When he hath all done, than he turns to dust.   

An elegy on a Barber.  
HEre's a mad' Shaver laid, a cutting Lad,  
That many trim feats, and some bald ones had;  
His actions were but barbarous, and he  
More poling was then Pettifoggers be,  
And if his fingers looked unto were not,  
Twenty to one, but he would cut your throat,  
But he that is not hair-brained needs not fear,  
Maugre bald luck by him to lose an hair:  
I wonder than he died that lived alone,  
By excrements, hair, which can nourish none.  
Such an hard workman we might hardly spar▪  
This accident fell out against the hair,  
Since in death's Empire, of a barbar's trade,  
(For dead men's hair doth grow) might use be made  
Death takes and soundly pays him, how soe'er,  
Here yet is left his equals to an hair.   

An elegy on a Mason.  
SO long the Mason wrought on others walls,  
That his own house of clay to ruin falls,  
Which shall be new built and repaired alone,  
When heaven and earth have dissolution;  
He always kept his actions within square,  
None of his doings but were regular;  
He had a Trull, and that was vicious,  
And climbing high, he seemed ambitious;  
Though much of him, yet truly said might be,  
No layman did more edify than he;  
By laying Lime, he caught much foul, and none  
Took with a hook more pain than he had done  
No marvel spiteful death wrought his annoy,  
He sought to build, and death seeks to destroy.   

On a Trumpeter.  
IF that fame's Trumpet shall not speak thy worth,  
Yet thou a Trumpet hadst to set it forth,  
I thought at last thou wuldst fall dead to ground  
Having been long accustomed to sound;  
Thou were't too much puffed up long time to last,  
Needs must he die whose life is but a blast;  
Thee a sound fellow we did always find,  
Or thou like him that's with the colic pined  
Preserudest thy life by letting forth of wind;  
Camelian-like of air thou hadst thy food,  
And 'twas a bad wind did blow thee no good;  
Robbed of thy windpipes once by cruel Death,  
For want of breath thou didst that liv'st by breath.  
Pack up thy Pipes, here silent rest, till when,  
A Trumpets sound make thee to live again.   

An elegy on a Sailour.  
NOw on dry land the Sailor he doth rest  
Aborad, here seeming cabined in a Chest,  
The frail bark of's life, which strange did sound  
For want of wind, not water, here's aground.  
'Tis known some time a Landed man he was,  
But had of late gone down the wind apace:  
His life was fleeting and unstaid; but Death  
Made him a Grave-man, and him settled hath.  
He could not but remember he must die,  
That had his shroud each day before his eye,  
Needs must his corpse long incorrupt abide,  
Which seemed inbalmed with Pitch before he died.   

An elegy on a Hunter.  
HEre lies a dogged fellow, who hath run  
Out all his time, & now his course is done;  
A running head he had, and did not scorn,  
Though it did sound abroad, to wear the horn.  
His course so open was, that whosoe'er  
Observed it, soon might have him at a Hare.  
He could not hunt thrift, yet his trace shall stand  
He kept his Leases, though he sold his Land.  
He cannot leave his lying, though he die,  
For he being dead, yet in his grave doth lie.  
Lament his loss, that like a Hunter, he  
Brought to his Grave, with a great cry might be.   

An elegy on a Tinker.  
SIx foot at last, the wandering Tinker bound,  
He silent rests, whose acts once loud did sound  
At handy-stroakes he did no Valour lack,  
Stout fellow that was mettled at the back.  
It seems a perfect alchemist he was,  
For into Silver he did turn his Brass.  
'Tis like he spoke to purpose what he said,  
For he still struck the Nail upon the head.  
He made two holes, while he did mend one hole,  
And did his work by piece, and not the whole;  
Often in Latin he would men beguile,  
And yet speak nought but English all the while.  
His Nose and Forehead, each a brazen one,  
Carried the badge of his Occupation:  
Yet had he not so soon come to an end,  
T''ve better been, for he each day did mend.   

An elegy on a Smith.  
FArewell stout Iron-side, not all thy Art  
Could make a shield against death's envious dart.  
Without a fault, no man his life doth pass,  
And to his Vice the Smith addicted was.  
He oft (as choler is en crest by fire)  
Was in his fumes, and much inclined to ire,  
He had been long so used to forge, that he  
Was with a black Cole marked for Forgery;  
But he for whiteness needed not to care,  
H''ve but a blacksmith been, though ne'er so fair.  
Pragmatical he seemed by his desire,  
Still to have many Irons in the fire;  
And opportunities he lacked not,  
That knew to strike then when the Irons hot;  
As the door nails ho made he's now as dead,  
He them, & him hath Death knocked in the head   

An elegy on Squire Bug a shoemaker.  
HE that hath made so many souls of late,  
Now wants a soul himself to animate,  
That he so wrung them, many did compalin,  
But at the last he gave them ease again:  
He sometimes did work booty for his frieads,  
And whom soe'er he served, wrought his own ends;  
But if to take the length of others foot  
Show cunning, none knew better how to do't:  
He kept the old world's custom, by his trade  
Revived, for he of Leather Money made;  
The Leather lessened him to drink, which ne'er  
Approved was, till it well liquored were;  
He well observed how he his life did spend,  
Who saw each day that he was near his end;  
His death might welcome be to those that use,  
(Being bare themselves) to gape for dead men's shoes.   

An elegy on a Tapster.  
HEre lies a man of reckoning, often seen  
t' have born much drink, & not distempered been.  
He seemed a lusty swordman, for he would  
Draw upon small occasion, and none should  
Scot-free escape, that through his fingers past,  
But they were sure to pay for it at last.  
Of his hard measure many have complained,  
He cared not while he out of measure gained;  
Such was his pot-luck, that to high place when,  
He had been called, soon he came down again;  
Now this draw-drink being dead by fatal hap,  
Soon you shall have a fresh one at the Tap.    
FINIS.