POEMS, BY That most Famous Wit, WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN.  
Aetes' prima canit  
Veneris postrema Triumphos.  
LONDON, Printed for Richard Tomlins, at the Sun and Bible near Pie-corner, 1656.   


Guilelmus Drummond de Hauthornden▪    

To the Right Honourable, Sir John Scot of Scots-Tarvet, Knight, Late Director of his Majesty's Chancellary, and one of the Lords of His Majesty's most Honourable Prvy Council, Sessions, and Exchequer.  
Sir,  
HAving received these ingenious Poems from your Honour, I could not more fitly have presented them to any than to yourself, it being most just that the noblest Wit of Scotland should fly to the patronage of the greatest Maecenas of Wit and Learning that the Nation affords, be pleased therefore to accept the humble endeavours to serve you of  
T. R.   

To the Reader.  
Ingenious Reader,  
TO say that these Poems are the effects of a Genius, the most polite and verdant that ever the Scottish Nation produced, although it be a commendation not to be rejected, (for it is well known, that that Country hath afforded many rare and admirable wits) yet it is not the highest that may be given him; for should I affirm that neither Tasso, nor Guarini, nor any of the most neat and refined spirits of Italy, nor even the choicest of our English Poets, can challenge to themselves any advantages above him, it could not be judged any attribute superior to what he deserves; nor shall I think it any arrogance to maintain, that among all the several fancies, that in these times have exercised the most nice and curious judgements, there hath not come forth any thing that deserves to be welcomed into the world with greater estimation and applause: And though he hath not had the fortune to be so generally famed abroad, as many others, perhaps, of less esteem, yet this is a consideration that cannot at all diminish, but rather advance his credit; For by breaking forth of obscurity he will attract the higher admiration, and like the Sun emerging from a Cloud appear at length with so much the more forcible Rays. Had there been nothing extant of him but his History of Scotland, consider but the Language, how florid and ornate it is; consider the order, and the prudent conduct of his Story, and you will rank him in the number of the best writers, and compare him even with Thuanus himself. Neither is he less happy in his Verse than Prose: for here ar● all those graces met together that conduce any thing toward the making up of a complete and perfect Poet, a decent and becoming Majesty, a brave and admirable height, and a wit so flowing, that Jove himself never drank Nectar that sparkled with a more spritely lustre; should I dwell any longer (ingenuous Reader) upon the commendation of this incomparable Author, I should injure, thee by forestall the freedom of thy own judgement, and him by attempting a vain design, since there is nothing can so well set him forth as his own works; besides the loss of time which is but trifled away so long as thou art detained from perusing the Poems themselves.  
E. P.   

Upon the incomparable Poems of Mr William Drummond.  
TO praise these Poems well, there doth require  
The selfsame spirit, and that sacred fire  
That first inspired them; yet I cannot choose  
But pay an admiration to a Muse  
That sings such handsome things; never broke forth,  
From Climes so near the Bear, so bright a worth;  
And I believe the Caledonian Bowers  
Are full as pleasant, and as rich in flowers  
As Tempe e'er was famed, since they have nourished  
A wit the most sublime that ever flourished;  
There's nothing cold, or frozen, here contained,  
Nothing that's harsh, unpolished, or constrained,  
But such an ardour as creates the spring,  
And throws a cheerfulness on every thing;  
Such a sweet calmness runs through every verse  
As shows how he delighted to converse  
With silence, and his Muse, among those shades  
Which care, nor busy tumult, e'er invades;  
There would he oft, the adventures of his loves  
Relate unto the Fountains, and the groves,  
In such a strain as Laura had admired  
Her Petrarch more, had he been so inspired.  
Some, Phoebus gives, a smooth and streaming vein,  
A great and happy fancy some attain,  
Others unto a soaring height he lifts;  
But here he hath so crowded all his gifts,  
As if he had designed in one to try,  
To what a pitch he could bring Poetry;  
For every grace should he receive a Crown,  
There were not Bays enough in Helicon:  
Fame courts his Verse, and with immortal wings  
Hovers about his Monument, and brings  
A deathless trophy to his memory;  
Who, for such honour, would not wish to die?  
Never could any times afford a Story  
Of one so matched unto great Sidney's glory;  
Or Fame so well divided, as between  
Penshurst's renowned shades, and Hawthornden.  
Edw:. Phillip's.   

Joanni Scoto, Scoto-Tarvatio Equiti praelustri de Literatura optimè merito.  

TArvati immensos recolens labores  
Jure queis partes potiore primas  
Asseram; haud vanis dubiè Laborant  
Pectora cu●is;   

Sive quod divae Cathedra renidens  
Ultimae, terras habitantis annos,  
Ter quater ternos veluti sacer fons  
Juris, & aequi;   

Sive quod Caecos patriae recessus  
Ut stilo pingat mage qui polito  
Tesqua & incultas salebras recenti  
Inserat Orbi?   

Sive quod vates patriae minores  
(Forte noscendi serius nec ipsis  
Civibus) toto celebrentur Orbe  
Vindice Scoto?   

Blandiores qu●d memorem Camaenas,  
Oris antiquâ prope sede pulsas,  
Sedibus priscis prope restitutas,  
Auspice Scoto?   

Orphanos sanis quod & instruendos  
Artibus curae tibi, censibus, quos  
Ambitu pravo repulere Musis  
Gymnasiarchae.   

Sit licet rarum putatis horum  
Quodlibet curae specimen, fatiscunt  
Dum frui postliminio recordor,  
Te duce fratrem;   

Nempe sic olim studio & Labore  
Torvus Alcides stygiis ab undis  
Reddidit terris domito Trifauci  
Thesea monstro.   

Sic eat; clari haec monumenta vatis,  
Nesciant aevi imperium severi  
Regia; ast spernant Phlege●onta, & Orci  
Jura superbi.   
D. F.   

De Gulielmo Drummondo.  
QUaesivit Latio Buchananus carmine Laudem,  
Et patriòs dura respuit aure modos  
Cum possit Latiis Buchananum vincere Musis  
Drummondus, patrio maluit ore loqui,  
Major ut est, primas hinc defert Scotia, vates,  
Vix inter Latios, ille secundus erat.   

To W. D.  
SOme will not leave that Trust to Friend, nor Heir,  
But their own winding-Sheet themselves prepare;  
Fearing, perhaps some courser Cloth might shroud  
The worms descended from their noble Blood:  
And shalt not thou (that justlier mayst suspect  
Far courser stuff, in such a dull neglect  
Of all the Arts, and dearth of Poetry)  
Compose before hand thine own Elegy?  
Who but thyself is capable to write  
A Verse, or, if they can, to fashion it  
Unto thy Praises? None can draw a Line  
Of thy perfections, but a hand divine.  
If thou wilt needs impose this Task on us,  
(A greater Work than best Wits can discuss)  
We will but only so far Emblem Thee,  
As in a circle, men, the Deity.  
A wreath of Bays we'll lay upon thy Hearse;  
For that shall speak Thee better than our Verse:  
That art in number of those Things, whose end,  
Nor whose beginning we can comprehend.  
A Star, which did the other Day appear,  
T'enlighten up our darkened Hemisphere:  
Nor can we tell nor how, nor whence it came,  
Yet feel the heat of thy admired flame.  
'Twas thou that thawed our North, 'twas thou didst clear  
The eternal mists which had beset us here,  
Till by thy golden Beams and powerful Ray  
Thou chased hence Darkness, and brought out the Day.  
But as the Sun, though he bestow all Light  
On us, yet hinders by the same our sight  
To gaze on him; So thou, though thou dispense  
Far more on us by thy bright influence,  
Yet such is thy transcendent brightness, we  
Thereby are dazzled, and cannot reach thee;  
Then art thou lessened, should we bound thy Praise  
TO our narrow dull conceit, which cannot raise  
Themselves beyond a vulgar Theme, nor fly  
A pitch like unto thine in Poesy;  
Yet (as the greatest Kings have sometimes deigned  
The smallest Presents from a poor man's hand;  
When pure devotion gave them) it may be  
Your Genius will accept a mite from me:  
It speaks my Love, although it reach not you;  
And you are praised, when I would so do.  
John Spotswood.   

To William Drummond of Hawthornden.  

I Never rested on the Muse's bed,  
Nor dipped my Quill in the Thessalian Fountain,  
My rustic Muse was rudely fostered,  
And flies too low to reach the double mountain.   

Then do not sparks with your bright Sun's compare,  
Perfection in a Woman's work is rare;  
From an untroubled mind should Verses flow;  
My discontents makes mine too muddy show;  
And hoarse encumbrances of household care  
Where these remain, the Muses ne'er repair.   

If thou dost extol her Hair,  
Or her Ivory Forehead fair,  
Or those Stars whose bright reflection  
Thrals thy heart in sweet subjection:  
Or when to display thou seeks  
The snow-mixt Roses on her Cheeks,  
Or those Rubies soft and sweet,  
Over those pretty Rows that meet.  
The Chian Painter as ashamed  
Hides his Picture so far famed;  
And the Queen he carved it by.  
With a blush her face doth die,  
Since those Lines do limne a Creature  
That so far surpassed her Feature.   

When thou show'st how fairest Flora  
Pranked with pride the banks of Ora,  
So thy Verse her streams doth honour,  
Strangers grow enamoured on her,  
All the Swans that swim in Po  
Would their native brooks forgo,  
And as loathing Phoebus' beams,  
Long to bathe in cooler streamos.  
Tree-turned Daphne would be seen  
In her Groves to flourish green,  
And her Boughs would gladly spare  
To frame a garland for thy hair,  
That fairest Nymphs with finest fingers  
May thee crown the best of singers.   

But when thy Muse dissolved in showers,  
Wails that peerless Prince of ours,  
Cropped by too untimely Fate,  
Her mourning doth exasperate  
Senseless things to see thee moan,  
Stones do weep, and Trees do groan,  
Birds in air, Fishes in flood,  
Beasts in field forsake their food;  
The Nymphs foregoing all their Bowers  
Tear their Chaplets decked with Flowers;  
Sol himself with misty vapour  
Hides from earth his glorious Tapor,  
And as moved to hear thee plain  
Shows his grief in showers of rain.   
Marry Oxlie of Morpet.   

POEMS.  
The First Part.  

IN my first Prime, when childish Humours fed  
My wanton Wit, ere I did know the Bliss  
Lies in a loving Eye, or amorous Kiss,  
Or with what Sighs a Lover warms his Bed;  
By the sweet Thespian Sister's Error led,  
I had more mind to read, than loved to write,  
And so to praise a perfect Red and White;  
But [God wot] known not what was in my Head,  
Love smiled to see me take so great Delight,  
To turn those Antiques of the Age of Gold,  
And that I might more Mysteries behold,  
He set so fair a Volume to my Sight,  
That I Ephemerideses laid aside,  
Glad on this blushing Book my Death to read▪   

SON.  
I Know that all beneath the Moon decays,  
And what by Mortals in this World is brought,  
In Times great Periods shall return to nought;  
That fairest States have fatal Nights and Days.  
I know that all the Muses heavenly Lays,  
With Toil of Spirit, which are so dear bought,  
As idle sounds, of few, or none are sought,  
That there is nothing lighter than vain Praise.  
I know frail Beauty like the purple Flower,  
To which one Morn oft Birth and Death affords,  
That Love a jarring is of Minds Accords,  
Where Sense and Will bring under Reason's Power:  
Know what I list, this all can not me move,  
But that (alas) I both must write, and love.   

SON.  
YE who so curiously do paint your Thoughts,  
Enlightening every Line in such a guise,  
That they seem rather to have fallen from Skies,  
Than of a humane Hand by mortal Draughts.  
In one Part Sorrow so tormented lies,  
As if his Life at every Sigh would part;  
Love Here blindfolded stands with Bow and Dart,  
●here Hope looks pale, Despair with flaming Eyes:  
Of my rude Pencil look not for such Art,  
My Wit I find too little to devise  
So high Conceptions to express my smart,  
And some say Love is feigned that's too too wise.  
These troubled Words and Lines-confused you find,  
Are like unto their Model, my sick Mind.   

SON.  
Ay me, and I am now the Man whose M●se  
In happier Times was wont to laugh at Love,  
And those who suffered that blind Boy abuse  
The noble Gifts were given them from above.  
What Metamorphose strange is this I prove?  
Myself now scarce I find myself to be,  
And think no Fable Circe's Tyranny,  
And all the Tales are told of changed Jove;  
Virtue hath taught with her Philosophy  
My mind unto a better Course to move;  
Reason may chide her full, and oft reprove  
Affections Power, but what is that to me?  
Who ever think, and never think on Aught  
But that bright Cherubin which thralls my Thought.   

SON.  
HOw that vast Heaven entitled First is rolled,  
If any glancing Towers beyond it be,  
And People living in Eternity,  
Or Essence pure that doth this All uphold:  
What motion have those fixed Sparks of Gold,  
The wand'ring Carbuncles which shine from high,  
By Sprights, or Bodies crosse-ways in the Sky,  
If they be turned, and mortal Things behold.  
How Sun posts Heaven about, how Nights pale Queen▪  
With borrowed Beams looks on this hanging Round,  
What cause fair Iris hath, and Monsters seen  
In Airs large Fields of light, and Seas profound,  
Did hold my wand'ring Thoughts; when thy sweet Eye  
Bade me leave all, and only think on Thee.   

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

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

SON.  
WHen Nature now had wonderfully wrought  
All Auristellas' Parts, except her Eyes,  
To make those Twins two Lamps in Beauties Skies,  
She Counsel of her Starry Se●a●e sought.  
Mars and Apollo first did her advise,  
To wrap in Colour Black, those Comets bright,  
Th●t Love him so might soberly disguise,  
And unperceived Wound at every Sight.  
Chaste Phoebe spoke for purest azure dies;  
But Jove and Venus green about the Light,  
To frame thought best, as bringing most Delight,  
That to pined Hearts Hope might for aye arise:  
Nature [all said] a Paradise of green  
There placed, to make all love which have them seen.   

SON.  
NOw while the Night her ●able Veil hath spread,  
And silently her resty Coach doth roll,  
Rousing with Her from Tethis azure Bed,  
Those starry Nymphs which dance about the Pole,  
While Cynthia in purest Cypress clad,  
The La●mian Shepherd in a ●rance descries,  
And looking pale from height of all the Skies,  
She dies her Beauties in a blushing Red,  
While Sleep (in Triumph) closed hath all Eyes,  
And Birds, and Beasts a Silence sweet do keep,  
And Proteus monstrous People in the Deep,  
The Winds and Waves (hushed up) to rest entice,  
I wake, I turn, I weep oppressed with Pain,  
Perplexed in the Meanders of my Brain.   

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

SON.  
Fair Moon who with thy cold and silver Shine,  
Makes sweet the Horror of the dreadful Night,  
Delighting the weak Eye with smiles divine,  
Which Phoebus dazzles with his too much Light,  
Bright Queen of the first Heaven, if in thy Shrine  
By turning oft, and Heavens eternal Might,  
Thou hast not yet that once sweet Fire of thine  
Endemion, forgot, and Lovers Plight:  
If Cause like thine may Pity breed in thee,  
And Pity somewhat else to it obtain,  
Since thou hast Power of Dreams as well as He  
That holds the golden Rod, and Moral Chain:  
Now while She sleeps in doleful Guise her Show,  
These Tears, and the black Map of all my Woe.   

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

SONG.  
IT was the time when to our Northern Pole  
The brightest Lamp of Heaven begins to roll,  
When Earth more wanton in new Robes appeareth,  
And scorning Skies her Flowers in Rain-bows beareth,  
On which the Air moist Diamonds doth bequeath,  
Which quake to feel the kissing Zephyr's breath:  
When Birds from shady Groves their Love forth warble,  
And Sealike Heaven, Heaven looks like smoothest Marble,  
When I in simple course free from all Cares,  
Far from the muddy Worlds enslaving snares.  
By Oras flowery Banks alone did wander:  
Ora that sport's her like to old Meander,  
A Flood more worthy Fame and lasting praise  
Then that so high which Phaëtons fall did raise:  
By whose pure moving Glass the Milk-white Lilies  
Do dress their tresses and the Daffodils.  
Where Ora with a Wood is crowned about  
And (seems) forgets the way how to come out,  
A place there is, where a delicious Fountain  
Springs fr●m the swelling breast of a proud Mountain,  
Whose falling Streams the quiet Caverns wound,  
And make the Echoes shrill resound that sound.  
The Laurel there the shing Channel graces,  
The Palm h●r Love with long-stretched Arms embraces,  
The Poplar spreads her Branches to the Sky,  
And hides from sight that azure Canopy.  
The Streams the Trees, the Trees their leaves still nourish,  
That Place grave Winter finds ●ot without flourish.  
If living Eyes Elysian fields could see  
This little Arden might Elysium be.  
Oft did Diana there herself repose,  
And Ma●s the Acidalia● Queen enclose.  
The Nymphs oft here their baskets bring with Flowers,  
And Anadems wove for their Paramours,  
The Satyrs in those shades are heard to languish,  
And make the Shepherd's partners of their anguish,  
The Shepherds who in Barks of tender Trees  
Do grave their Loves, Disdains, and Jealousies:  
Which Phillis when there by Her Flocks she feedeth,  
With Pity now, anon, with laughter readeth.  
Near to this place when Sun in midst of Day  
In highest top of Heaven his Coach did stay,  
And (as advising) on his Career glanced  
As all along, that morn he had advanced  
His panting Steeds along those Fields of light,  
Most princely looking from that glorious height:  
When most the Grasshoppers are heard in Meadows,  
And loftiest Pines or small, or have no shadows:  
It was my hap, O woeful hap! to bide  
Where thickest shades me from all Rays did hide,  
In a fair Arbour, 'twas some Sylvans Chamber,  
Whose Ceiling spread was with the Locks of Amber  
Of new bloomed Sycamores, Floor wrought with Flowers,  
More sweet and rich than those in Prince's Bowers.  
Here Adonis blushed, and Clitia all amazed  
Looked pale, with Him who in the Fountain gazed,  
The Amaranthus smiled, and that sweet Boy  
Which sometime was the God of Delos joy:  
The brave Carnation, speckled Pinke here shined,  
The Violet her fainting Head declined  
Beneath a sleepy Chasbow, all of Gold  
The Marigold her leaves did here unfold.  
Now while that ravished with delight and wonder,  
Half in a trance I lay those Arches under,  
The season, silence, place, began t' entice,  
Eyes drowsy lids to bring Night on their Skies,  
Which softly having stolen themselves together  
(Like evening Clouds) me placed I wot not whether.  
As Cowards leave the Fort which they should keep,  
My senses one by one gave place to Sleep,  
Who followed with a troop of golden Slumbers  
Thrust from my quiet Brain all base encumbers,  
And thrice me touching with his Rod of Gold,  
A Heaven of Visions in my Temples rolled,  
To countervail those Pleasures were bereft me,  
Thus in his silent Prison closed he left me.  
Me thought through all the neighbour Woods a noise  
Of Choristers, more sweet than Lute or voice,  
(For those harmonious sounds to Jove are given  
By the swift touches of the nine-stringed Heaven,  
Such airs, and nothing else) did wound mine Ear,  
No Soul but would become all Ear to hear:  
And whilst I listening lay, O lovely wonder!  
I saw a pleasant Myrtle cleave asunder;  
A Myrtle great with birth, from whose rend womb  
Three naked Nymphs more white than Snow forth come.  
For Nymphs they seemed, about their heavenly faces  
In Waves of Gold floated their curling Tresses,  
About their arms, their Arms more white than milk,  
They blushing Armlets wore of crimson Silk.  
The Goddesses were such that by Scamander,  
Appeared to the Phrygian Alexander:  
Aglaia and her Sisters such perchance  
Be when about some sacred Spring they dance.  
But scarce the Grove their naked Beauties graced,  
And on the Verdure had each other traced,  
When to the Flood they ran, the Flood in Robes  
Of curling Crystal their breasts Ivory Globes  
Did all about encircle, yet took pleasure  
To show white Snows throughout her liquid Azure.  
Look how Prometheus' Man when heavenly fire  
First gave him Breath, Days Brandon did admire,  
And wondered at this World's Amphitheatre:  
So gazed I on those new guests of the Water.  
All three were fair, yet one excelled as far  
The rest as Phoebus doth the Cyprian Star,  
Or Diamonds, small Gems, or Gems do other,  
Or Pearls that shining shell is called their Mother.  
Her Hair more bright than are the Morning's Beams  
Hung in a golden shower above the Streams,  
And dangling sought her forehead for to cover,  
Which seen did strait a Sky of Milk discover,  
With two fair Brows, Loves Bows which never bend  
But that a golden Arrow forth they send.  
Beneath the which two burning Planets glancing  
Flashed flames of Love, for Love there still is dancing.  
Her either Cheek resembled blushing Morn,  
Or Roses Gueles in field of Lilies borne▪  
'Twixt which an Ivory Wall so fair is raised,  
That it is but abased when it's praised.  
Her Lips like Rows of Coral soft did swell,  
And th' one like th' other only doth excel:  
The Tyrian Fish looks pale, pale look the Roses,  
The Rubies pale, when mouth sweet Cherry closes.  
Her Chin like silver Phoebe did appear  
Dark in the midst to make the rest more clear:  
Her Neck seemed framed by curious Phidias Master,  
Most smooth, most white, a piece of Alabaster.  
Two foaming Billows flowed upon her breast,  
Which did their tops with Coral red encrest:  
There all about as Brooks them sport at leisure,  
With Circling Branches veins did swell in azure:  
Within those crooks are only found those Isles  
Which Fortunate the dreaming old World styles.  
The rest the Streams did hide, but as a Lily  
Sunk in a Crystals fair transparent Belly.  
I who yet humane weakness did not know,  
(For yet I had not felt that Archers Bow,  
Nor could I think that from the coldest Water  
The winged Youngling burning Flames could scatter)  
On every part my vagabonding sight  
Did cast, and drown mine Eyes in sweet Delight,  
O wondrous thing (said I) that Beauty is named!  
Now I perceive I heretofore have dreamt,  
And never found in all my flying Days  
Joy unto this, which only merits praise.  
My pleasures have been pains, my comforts crosses,  
My treasure poverty, my gains but losses.  
O precious sight! which none doth else descry  
Except the burning Sun, and quivering I.  
And yet O dear-bought Sight! O would for ever  
I might enjoy you, or had joyed you never!  
O happy Flood! if so ye might abide,  
Yet ever glory of this Moment's Pride,  
Adjure your Rillets all for to behold Her,  
And in their Crystal Arms to come and fold Her;  
And sith ye may not long this Bless embrace,  
Draw thousand Pourtraits of Her on your Face,  
Pourtraits which in my Heart be more apparent,  
If like to yours my Breast but were transparent.  
O that I were while She doth in you play,  
A Dauphin to transport Her to the Sea!  
To none of all those Gods I would Her render,  
From Thule to Ind though I should with Her wander.  
Oh! what is this? the more I fix mine Eye,  
Mine Eye the more new Wonders doth espy,  
The more I spy, the more in uncouth fashion  
My Soul is ravished in a pleasant passion.  
But look not Eyes, (as more I would have said)  
A sound of rattling Wheels me all dismayed,  
And with the sound forth from the trembling Bushes,  
With stormlike course a sumptuous Chariot rushes,  
A Chariot all of Gold, the Wheels were Gold,  
The Nails and Axel Gold on which it rolled:  
The upmost part a Scarlet Veil did cover,  
More rich than Danae's Lap spread with her Lover.  
In midst of it in a triumphing Chair,  
A Lady sat miraculously fair,  
Whose pensive Countenance, and looks of Honour,  
Do more allure the mind that thinketh on Her,  
Than the most wanton Face, and amorous Eyes,  
That Amathus or flowery Paphos sees,  
A Crew of Virgins made a Ring about Her,  
The Diamond she they seem the Gold without Her.  
Such Thetis is when to the Billows roar  
With Mermaids nice she danceth on the Shore:  
So in a sable Night the Sun's bright Sister  
Among the lesser twinkling Lights doth glister  
Fair Yokes of Ermelines whose Colour pass  
The whitest Snows on aged Grampius Face,  
More swift than Venus' Birds this Chariot guided  
To the astonished Bank, where as it bided:  
But long it did not bide, when poor those Streams  
Ay me it made, transporting those rich Gems,  
And by that Burden lighter, swiftly drived  
Till (as me thought) it at a Tower arrived:  
Upon a Rock of Crystal shining clear  
With Diamonds wrought this Castle did appear,  
Who rising spires of Gold so high them reared  
That Atlas like it seemed the Heaven they beared.  
Amidst which Heights on Arches did arise  
(Arches which guilt Flames brandish to the Skies)  
Of sparking Topaces, Proud, Gorgeous, Ample,  
(Like to a little Heaven) a sacred Temple.  
The Walls no Windows have, nay all the Wall  
Is but one Window, Night there doth not fall  
More when the Sun to Western Worlds declineth,  
Than in our Zenith when at Noon He shineth.  
Two flaming Hills the passage straight defend  
Which to this radiant Building doth ascend,  
Upon whose Arching tops on a Pilastre  
A Port stands open, raised in Love's Disaster  
For none that narrow Bridge and gate can pass,  
Who have their Faces seen in Venus' Glass.  
If those within, but to come forth do venture,  
That stately Place again they never enter.  
The Precinct's strengthened with a Ditch of Fears,  
In which doth swell a Lake of Inky Tears  
Of madding Lovers, who abide their moaning,  
And thicken even the Air with piteous groaning.  
This Hold to brave the Skies the Destinies framed,  
And then the Fort of Chastity is named.  
The Queen of the third Heaven once to appall it,  
The God of Thrace Here brought who could not thrall it;  
For which he vowed ne'er Arms more to put on,  
And on Riphean Hills was heard to groan.  
Here Psyche's Lover hurls his Darts at random,  
Which all for nought him serve, as doth his Brandon.  
What grievous Agony did invade my Mind?  
When in that Place my Hope I saw confined,  
Where with high-towring Thoughts I only reached her,  
Which did burn up their Wings when they approached her.  
Me thought I set me by a Cypress shade,  
And Night and Day the Hyacinth there read:  
And that bewailing Nightingales did borrow  
Plaints of my Plaint, and sorrows of my Sorrow.  
My food was Wormwood, mine own Tears my drink,  
My rest, on Death and sad Mishaps to think.  
And for such Thoughts to have my Heart enlarged,  
And ease mine Eyes with briny Tribute charged,  
Over a Brook I laid my pining Face:  
But then the Brook as grieved at my Disgrace,  
A Face Me showed so pined, sad, overclouded,  
That at the Sight afraid mine Eyes them shrouded.  
This is the guerdon Love, this is the Game,  
In end which to thy Servants doth remain.  
More would I say; when Fear made Sleep to leave me,  
And of those fatal Shadows did bereave me.  
But ah alas! instead to dream of Love,  
And Woes, I now them in effect did prove:  
For what into my troubled Brain was painted,  
Awaked I found that Time and Place presented.   

SONNETS.  
AH burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest,  
And your tumultuous Broils a while appease:  
Is't not enough, Stars, Fortune, Love molest  
Me all at once, but ye must too displease?  
Let Hope (though false) yet lodge within my breast,  
My high Attempt (though dangerous) yet praise:  
What though I trace not right Heavens steppy ways,  
It doth suffice my Fall shall make me blest.  
I do not dote on Days, I fear not Death,  
So that my Life be good, I wished not long;  
Let me Renowned live from the Worldly Throng,  
And when Heaven lists, recall this borrowed Breath.  
Men but like Visions are, Time all doth claim,  
He lives who dies to win a lasting Name.   

SON.  
THat learned Grecian who did so excel  
In Knowledge passing Sense, that he is named  
Of all the after World's Divine, doth tell  
That all the Time when first our Souls are framed,  
Ere in these Mansions blind they come to dwell,  
They live bright Rays of that Eternal light,  
And others see, know, love, in Heavens great height,  
Not toiled with aught to Reason do rebel.  
It is most true, for strait at the first sight  
My Mind me told that in some other place  
It elsewhere saw th' Idea of that face,  
And loved a love of Heavenly pure delight.  
What wonder now I feel so fair a flame,  
Sith I her loved ere on this Earth She came?   

SON.  
NOr Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber,  
Sebethus, nor the Flood into whose streams  
He fell who burned the world with borrowed beams,  
Gold-rolling Tagus, Munda, famous Iber,  
Sorgue, Rosne, Loire, Garron, nor proud-banked Sein●,  
Peneus, Phasis Xanthus, humble Ladon,  
Nor She whose Nymphs excel her loved Adonis  
Fair Tamesis, nor Ister large, nor Rhine,  
Euphrates, Tigr●s, Indus, Hermus, Gange,  
Pearly Hydaspes, Serpent-like Meander,  
The Flood which rob Hero of Leander,  
Nile that far far his hidden Head doth range,  
Have ever had so rare a cause of praise,  
As Ora where this Northern Phoenix stays.   

SON.  
TO hear my plaints fair River Crystalline  
Thou in a silent slumber seems to stay,  
Delicious Flowers Lily and Columbine,  
Ye bow your Heads when I my Woes display.  
Forests in you the Myrtle, Palm and Bay,  
Have had compassion listening to my groans,  
The Winds with sighs have solemnised my moans  
'Mong leaves, which whispered what they could not say,  
The Caves, the Rocks, the Hills, the Sylvans Thrones,  
(As if even pity did in them appear,)  
Have at my sorrow rend their ruthless stones,  
Each thing I find hath sense except my Dear,  
Who doth not think I love, or will not know  
My Grief, perchance delighting in my woe.   

SON.  
SWeet Brook, in whose clear Crystal I my eyes  
Have oft seen great in labour of their tears,  
Enameled Bank whose shining gravel bears  
These sad Characters of my miseries;  
High Woods, whose mounting tops menace the Spheres,  
Wild Citizens, Amphion's of the Trees,  
You gloomy Groves at hottest Noons which frieze,  
Elysian shades which Phoebus never clears;  
vast solitary Mountains, pleasant Plains,  
Embroidered Meads that Ocean-ways you reach;  
Hills, Dales, Springs, All whom my sad cry constrains  
To take part of my plaints, and learn woes speech,  
Will that remorseless fair ere pity show?  
Of grace now answer if ye ought know: No.   

SON.  
WIth flaming Horns the Bull now brings the year,  
Melt do the Mountains rolling floods of Snow,  
The silver Rivers in smooth Channels flow,  
The Late-bare Woods green Anadeams do wear.  
The Nightingale forgetting Winter's woe,  
Calls up the lazy Morn her notes to hear,  
Spread are those Flowers which names of Princes bear,  
Some red, some azure, white, and golden grow.  
Here allows a Heifer, there be-wailing strays  
A harmless Lamb, not far a Stag rebounds;  
The Shepherds sing to grazing flocks sweet Lays,  
And all about the Echoing Air resounds.  
Hills, Dales, Woods, Floods, & every thing doth change,  
But She in rigour, I in Love am strange.   

SON.  
THat I so slenderly set forth my Mind,  
Writing I wot not what in ragged Rhymes,  
O'ercharged with brass in these so golden Times  
When other● tower so high, am left behind:  
I crave not Phoebus leave his sacred Cell  
To bind my Brows with fresh Aonian Bayss;  
But leave't to those who tuning Sweetest Lays  
By Tempe sit, or Aganippe's Well;  
Nor yet to Venus' Tree do I aspire,  
Sith She for whom I might affect that praise,  
My best attempts with cruel words gainsays,  
And I seek not that others me admire.  
Of weeping Myrrh the Crown is which I crave,  
With a sad Cypress to adorn my Grave.   

MADRIGAL.  
WHen as She smiles I find  
More light before mine Eyes,  
Than when the Sun from Ind  
Brings to our World a flowery Paradise:  
But when She gently weeps,  
And pours forth pearly showers,  
On cheeks fair blushing flowers,  
A sweet melancholy my senses keeps.  
Both feed so my disease,  
So much both do me please,  
That oft I doubt, which more my heart doth burn,  
Love to behold her smile, or Pity mourn.   

SON.  
MY Tears may well Numidian Lions tame,  
And Pity breed into the hardest heart  
That ever Pyrrha did to Maid impart,  
When She them first of blushing Rocks did frame.  
Ah Eyes which only serve to wail my smart,  
How long will you my inward Woes proclaim,  
May 't not suffice you bear a weeping Part  
All Night, at day but you must do the same?  
Cease idle Sighs to spend your Storms in vain,  
And these sweet silent thickets to molest,  
Contain you in the Prison of my Breast,  
You do not ease but aggravate my Pain;  
Or if burst forth you must, that Tempest move  
In sight of her whom I so dear love.   

SON.  
YOu restless Seas appease your roaring Waves,  
And you who raise huge Mountains in that Plain  
Airs Trumpeters, your hideous sounds contain,  
And listen to the plaints my grief doth cause.  
Eternal Lights! though adamantine Laws  
Of Destinies to move still you ordain,  
Turn hither all your Eyes, your Axels pause,  
And wonder at the Torments I sustain.  
●ad Earth, if thou made dull by my disgrace  
Be not as senseless, ask those Powers above  
Why they so crossed a Wretch brought on thy Face,  
Framed for mishap, th' Anachorit of Love,  
And bid them (that no more Etnaes' may burn)  
To Erimanth ' or Rhod●pe me turn.   

SON.  
IF crossed with all mishaps be my poor Life,  
If one short day I never spent in mirth,  
If my Spirit with itself holds lasting strife,  
If sorrows death is but new sorrows birth;  
If this vain World be but a mournful Stage,  
Where slave-borne Man plays to the laughing Stars,  
If Youth be tossed with Love, with Weakness Age,  
If Knowledge serves to hold our Thoughts in Wars,  
If Time can close the hundred Mouths of Fame,  
And make what's long since past, like that's to be,  
If Virtue only be an Idle Name,  
If being borne I was but borne to die;  
Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days?  
The fairest Rose in shortest time decays.   

SON.  
ALl other Beauties howsoe'er they shine  
In Hairs more bright than is the golden Ore,  
Or cheeks more fair than fairest Eglantine,  
Or hands like hers that comes the Sun before:  
Matched with that Heavenly Hue, and shape divine,  
With those dear Stars which my weak thoughts adore,  
Look but as shadows, or if they be more,  
It is in this, that they are like to thine.  
Who sees those Eyes, their force that doth not prove?  
Who gazeth on the dimple of that chin,  
And finds not Venus' Son entrenched therein,  
Or hath not sense, or knows not what is Love?  
To see thee had Narcissus had the grace,  
He would have died with wondering on thy Face.   

SEXTAIN.  

THe Heaven doth not contain so many Stars,  
Nor levelled lie so many leaves in Woods,  
When Autumn and cold Boreas sound their Wars,  
So many Waves have not the Ocean Floods,  
As my torn Mind hath torments all the Night,  
And Heart spends Sighs, when Phoebus brings the Light▪   

Why was I made a Partner of the Light,  
Who crossed in birth, by bad aspect of Stars,  
Have never since had happy Day nor Night?  
Why was not I a liver in the Woods,  
Or Citizen of Thetis crystal Floods,  
But framed a Man for Love and Fortune's Wars?   

I look each Day when Death should end the Wars,  
Uncivil Wars 'twixt Sense and Reason's Light:  
My Pains I count to Mountains, Meads and Floods,  
And of my sorrow Partners make the Stars,  
All Desolate I haunt the fearful Woods,  
When I should give myself to rest at Night▪   

With watchful Eyes I ne'er behold the Night  
Mother of Peace, but ah to me of Wars,  
And Cynthia Queen-like shining through the Woods,  
But strait those Lamps come in my thought whose Light  
My Judgement dazzled, passing brightest Stars,  
And then my Eyes in-isle themselves with Floods.   

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

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

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

SON.  
O Sacred Blush enpurpling Cheeks, pure skies  
With crimson Wings which spread thee like the Morn,  
O bashful look sent from those shining eyes,  
Which though slid down on Earth doth Heaven adorn.  
O Tongue in which most luscious Nectar lies,  
That can at once both bless and make forlorn,  
Dear coral Lip which Beauty beautifies,  
That trembling stood before her words were borne.  
And you her Words, Words no, but golden Chains  
Which did enslave my ears, ensnare my soul,  
Wise Image of her Mind, Mind that contains  
A power all Power of Senses for to control:  
So sweetly you from Love dissuade do me,  
That I love more, if more my Love can be.   

SON.  
SOund hoarse sad Lute, true witness of my woe,  
And strive no more to ease self chosen pain  
With soule-enchanting sounds, your accents strain  
Unto these tears incessantly which flow.  
Sad Treeble weep, and you dull Bases show  
Your Master's sorrow in a doleful strain;  
Let never joyful Hand upon you go,  
Nor Consort keep but when you do complain.  
Fly Phoebus Rays, abhor the irksome Light,  
Woods solitary shades for thee are best,  
Or the black horrors of the blackest Night,  
When all the World save Thou and I do rest:  
Then sound sad Lute and bear a mourning part,  
Thou Hell canst move, though not a Woman's Heart.   

SON.  
IN vain I haunt the cold and Silver Springs,  
To quench the Fever burning in my veins,  
In vain (Love's pilgrim) Mountains, Da●es and Plains  
I overrun, vain help long absence brings.  
In vain my Friends your Counsel me constrains  
To fly, and place my Thoughts on other things;  
Ah like the Bird that fired hath her Wings,  
The more I move the greater are my pains.  
Desire (alas) Desire a Zeuxis new,  
From th' Orient borrowing Gold, from Western skies  
Heavenly Cinabre, sets before my Eyes  
In every place, her Hair, sweet look, and Hue:  
That fly, run, rest I, all doth prove but vain,  
My life lies in those Eyes which have me slain.   

SON.  
SLide soft fair Forth, and make a Crystal Plain,  
Cut your white Locks, and on your foamy Face  
Let not a wrinkle be, when you embrace  
The Boat that Earth's Perfections doth contain.  
Winds wonder, and through wondering hold your pace;  
Or if that ye your hearts cannot restrain  
From sending sighs, feeling a Lover's Case,  
Sigh, and in her fair hair yourselves enchain,  
Or take these sighs which absence makes arise  
From my oppressed breast, and fill the sails,  
Or some sweet breath new brought from Paradise:  
The floods do smile, Love o'er the winds prevails;  
And yet huge Waves arise, the cause is this,  
The Ocean strives with Forth the Boat to kiss.   

SON.  
TRust not sweet soul those curled waves of Gold  
With gentle Tides that on your Temples flow,  
Nor Temples spread with Flakes of Virgin snow,  
Nor snow of Cheeks with Tyrian grain enrolled.  
Trust not those shining Lights which wrought my woe,  
When first I did their azure Rays behold,  
Nor voice, whose sounds more strange effects do show  
Than of the Thracian Harper have been told:  
Look to this dying Lily, fading Rose,  
Dark Hyacinthe, of late whose blushing Beams  
Made all the neighbouring herbs and grass rejoice,  
And think how little is 'twixt Life's extremes;  
The cruel Tyrant that did kill those Flowers  
Shall once, ay me, not spare that Spring of yours.   

SON.  
IN Minds pure Glass when I myself behold,  
And lively see how my best days are spent,  
What clouds of care above my head are rolled,  
What coming ill, which I cannot prevent:  
My course begun I wearied do repent,  
And would embrace what Reason oft hath told,  
But scarce thus think I, when Love hath controlled  
All the best reasons Reason could invent.  
Though sure I know my labours end is grief,  
The more I strive that I the more shall pine,  
That only death shall be my last relief:  
Yet when I think upon that face divine,  
Like one with Arrow shot, in laughters place,  
Maugre my Heart, I joy in my disgrace.   

SON.  
Dear Quirister, who from those shadows sends  
Ere that the blushing Morn dare show her Light,  
Such sad lamenting strains, that Night attends  
(Become all Ear) Stars stay to hear thy plight.  
If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends,  
Who ne'er [not in a Dream] did taste Delight,  
May thee importune who like case pretends,  
And seems to joy in woe, in Woes despite.  
Tell me (so may thou Fortune milder try,  
And long long sing) for what thou thus complains,  
Since Winter's gone, and Sun in dapled sky  
Enamoured smiles on Woods and flowery Plains?  
The Bird, as if my questions did her move,  
With trembling wings sighed forth I love, I love.   

SON.  
O Cruel Beauty, sweetness inhuman,  
That night and day contends with my desire,  
And seeks my hope to kill, not quench my fire,  
By Death, not Balm to ease my pleasant pain.  
Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire  
And bond my bliss, do not alas disdain  
That I your matchless worth and grace admire,  
And for their cause these torments sharp sustain.  
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death  
Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames,  
And Phaethon that Heaven him rest of breath,  
And Daedals Son who named the Samian streams:  
Their haps I not envy, my praise shall be  
That the most fair that lives moved me to ●ye.   

SON.  
THe Hyperborean Hills, Ceraunus Snow,  
Or Arimaspus (cruel) first thee bred,  
The Caspian Tigers with their milk thee fed.  
And Fauns did humane blood on thee bestow.  
Fierce Orithyas lover in thy bed  
Thee lulled asleep, where he enraged doth blow,  
Thou didst not drink the Floods which here do flow,  
But tears, or those by icy Tanais Head.  
Sith thou disdains my love, neglects my grief,  
Laughs at my groans, and still affects my death:  
Of thee, nor Heaven I'll seek no more relief,  
Nor longer entertain this loathsome breath;  
But yield unto my Stars, that thou mayest prove,  
What loss thou hadst in losing such a Love,   

SONG.  
PHOEBUS arise,  
And paint the sable Skies  
With azure, white, and red:  
Rouse Memmons Mother from her Tython's bed,  
That she thy Career may with Roses spread,  
The Nightingales thy coming each where sing,  
Make an eternal spring.  
Give life to this dark World which l●eth dead.  
Spread forth thy golden hair  
In larger locks than thou wast wont before,  
And Emperour-like decore  
With Diadem of Pearl thy Temples fair:  
Chase hence the ugly Night  
Which serves but to make dear thy glorious Light.  
This is that happy Morn,  
That day, long-wished day,  
Of all my life so dark,  
(If cruel Stars have not my ruin sworn,  
And Fates my hopes betray)  
Which (purely white) deserves  
An everlasting Diamond should it mark.  
This is the Morn should bring unto this Grove  
My Love, to hear, and recompense my love.  
Fair King, who all preserves,  
But show thy blushing Beams,  
And thou two sweeter Eyes  
Shall see then those which by Peneus Streams  
Did once thy heart surprise:  
Nay, Suns which shine as clear  
As thou when two thou didst to Rome appear.  
Now Flora deck thyself in fairest guise,  
If that ye Winds would hear  
A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre,  
Your furious chiding stay,  
Let Zephir only breathe,  
And with her Tresses play,  
Kissing sometimes those purple ports of Death,  
The Winds all silent are,  
And Phoebus in his chair  
Ensaffraning Sea and Aire,  
Makes vanish every Star:  
Night like a drunkard reels  
Beyond the Hills to shun his flaming Wheels.  
The Fields with flowers are decked in every hue,  
The Clouds with Orient Gold spangle their blue:  
Here is the pleasant place,  
And nothing wanting is save She alas.   

SON.  
WHo hath not seen into her saffran Bed  
The Morning's Goddess mildly her repose,  
Or her of whose pure blood first sprang the Rose  
Lulled in a slumber by a Myrtle shade?  
Who hath not seen that sleeping white and red  
Makes Phoebe look so pale, which she did close  
In that Ionian Hill, to ease her woes,  
Which only lives by her dear kisses fed?  
Come but and see my Lady sweetly sleep,  
The sighing Rubies of those heavenly lips,  
The Cupids which breasts golden Apples keep,  
Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Eclipse:  
And he them all shall see, perhaps and prove  
She waking but persuades, now forceth Love.   

SON.  
SEe Citherea's Birds, that milk-white pair  
On yonder leavy Myrtle Tree which groan,  
And waken with their kisses in the Air  
Th' enamoured Zephyr's murmuring one by one;  
If thou but sense hadst like Pygmalion's Stone,  
Or hadst not seen Medusa's snaky hair,  
Loves lessons thou mightst learn: and learn sweet fair,  
To Summer's heat ere that thy Spring be grown.  
And if those kissing lovers seem but Cold,  
Look how that Elm this Ivy doth embrace,  
And binds, and clasps with many a wanton fold,  
And courting Sleep, o'reshadows all the place;  
Nay, seems to say, dear Tree we shall not part,  
In sign whereof lo in each leaf a Heart.   

SON.  
THe Sun is fair when he with crimson Crown,  
And flaming Rubies leaves his Eastern bed,  
Fair is Thaumantias in her Crystal gown  
When clouds engemmed show azure, green, and red.  
To Western Worlds when wearied Day goes down,  
And from heaven's windows each Star shows her head,  
Earth's silent daughter, Night, is fair though brown,  
Fair is the Moon though in Love's livery clad.  
The Spring is fair when it doth paint April,  
Fair are the Meads, the Woods, the Floods are fair,  
Fair looketh Ceres with her yellow hair,  
And Apples-Queene when Rose-cheeked she doth smile.  
That Heaven and Earth, and Seas are fair is true,  
Yet true that all not please so much as you.   

MADRIGAL.  
LIke the Idalian Queen  
Her hair about her Eyes,  
And neck, on breasts ripe Apples to be seen,  
At first glance of the Morn  
In Cyprus Gardens gathering those fairy flowers  
Which of her blood were borne,  
I saw, but fainting saw my Paramours.  
The Grace's naked danced about the place,  
The Winds and Trees amazed  
With silence on her gazed,  
The flowers did smile like those upon her face,  
And as their Aspen stalks those fingers bind,  
That she might read my case  
I wished to be a Hyacinth in her hand.   

SON.  
THen is she gone? O fool and coward ay!  
O good occasion lost, ne'er to be found!  
What fatal chains have my dull senses bound,  
When best they might, that did not Fortune try?  
Here is the fainting Grass where she did lie,  
With Roses here she stellified the Ground,  
She fixed her eyes on this yet smiling Pond,  
Nor time, nor place seemed aught for to deny.  
Too long, too long Respect I do embrace,  
Your Counsel full of threats and sharp disdain.  
Disdain in her sweet Heart can have no place,  
And though come there, must strait retire again:  
Henceforth Respect farewell, I've heard it told  
Who lives in love can never be too bold.   

SON.  
WHat cruel Star into this World me brought?  
What gloomy day did down to give me light?  
What unkind hand to nurse me (Orphan) sought,  
And would not leave me in eternal night?  
What thing so dear as I hath essence bought?  
The Elements dry, humid, heavy, light,  
The smallest living things which Nature wrought  
Be freed of woe if they have small delight.  
Ah only I abandoned to Despair,  
Nailed to my torments in pale Horrors shade,  
Like wand'ring Clouds see all my comforts fled,  
And Ill on Ill with Hours my life impair:  
The Heavens and Fortune which were wont to turn,  
Stay in one Mansion fixed to cause me mourn.   

SON.  
Dear Eye which deign'st on this sad Monument,  
The sable Scroll of my mishaps to view,  
Though it with mourning Muses tears be spent,  
And darkly drawn, which is not feigned, but true;  
If thou not dazzled with a Heavenly Hue,  
And comely Feature, didst not yet lament,  
But happy lives unto thyself content,  
O let not Love thee to his Laws subdue.  
Look on the woeful shipwreck of my Youth,  
And let my ruins thee for Beacon serve,  
To shun this Rock Capharean of untruth,  
And serve no God which doth his Churchmen starve:  
His Kingdom's but of plaints, his guerdon tears,  
What he gives more is Jealousies and Fears.   

MAD.  
TO the delightful Greene  
Of you, fair radiant Eine,  
Let each black yield beneath the starry Arch.  
Eyes burnished Heavens of Love,  
Sinople Lamps of Jove,  
Save all those hearts which with your flames you parch  
Two burning Suns you prove;  
All other Eyes compared with you dear lights  
Are Hells, or if not Hells, yet dumpish Nights.  
The Heavens [if we their Glass  
The Sea believe] are green not perfect blue,  
They all make fair what ever fair yet was,  
And they are fair because they look like you.   

SON.  
NYmphs, Sister Nymphs which haunt this crystal Brook,  
And happy in these floating Bowers abide,  
Where trembling Roofs of Trees from Sun you hide,  
Which make Idaean woods in every Crook;  
Whether ye garlands for your locks provide,  
Or pearly letters seek in sandy Book,  
Or count your Loves when Thetis was a Bride,  
Lift up your golden heads and on me look.  
Read in mine Eyes my agonizing Cares,  
And what ye read, recount to her again:  
Fair Nymphs say all these streams are but my Tears,  
And if she ask you how they sweet remain,  
Tell that the bitterest tears which Eyes can pour,  
When shed for her can be no longer sour.   

SON.  
SHe whose fair flowers no Autumn makes decay,  
Whose Hue Celestial, earthly hues doth stain,  
Into a pleasant odoriferous Plain  
Did walk alone, to brave the pride of May.  
And whilst through flowery Lists she made her way,  
That proudly smiled her sight to entertain,  
Lo, unawares where Love did hid remain  
She spied, and sought to make of him her prey:  
For which of golden locks a fairest hair  
To bind the Boy she took, but he afraid  
At her approach sprang swiftly in the Air,  
And mounting far from reach, looked back and said,  
Why shouldst thou [sweet] me seek in chains to bind,  
Sith in thy eyes I daily am confined?   

MAD.  
SWeet Rose whence is this hue  
Which doth all hues excel?  
Whence this most fragrant smell?  
And whence this form and gracing grace in you?  
In fair Paestanas' fields perhaps you grew,  
Or Hybla's Hills you bred,  
Or odoriferous Ennas' Plains you fed,  
Or Tmolus, or where Bore young Adonis slew;  
Or hath the Queen of Love you died of new  
In that dear Blood, which makes you look so red?  
No, none of those, but Cause more high you blessed,  
My Lady's Breast you bore, her Lips you Kist.   

MADRIGAL.  
ON this cold World of ours,  
Flower of the Seasons, Season of the Flowers,  
Sun of the Sun, sweet Spring,  
Such hot and burning days why dost thou bring?  
Is it because those high Eternal Powers  
Flash down that Fire this World environing?  
Or that now Phoebus keeps his Sister's sphere?  
Or doth some Phaethon  
Inflame the Sea and Aire?  
Or rather is't not usher of the Year,  
Or that last day among the Flowers alone  
Unmasked thou saw'st my Fair?  
And whilst thou on her gazed she did thee burn,  
And to thy Brother Summer doth thee turn.   

SON.  
Dear Wood, and you sweet solitary Place,  
Where I estranged from the vulgar live,  
Contented more with what your shades me give,  
Than if I had what Thetis doth embrace:  
What snaky Eye grown jealous of my pace,  
Now from your silent Horrors would me drive?  
When Sun advancing in his glorious race  
Beyond the Twins, doth near our Pole arrive.  
What sweet delight a quiet life affords,  
And what it is to be from bondage free,  
Far from the madding Worldlings hoarse discords,  
Sweet flowery place I first did learn of thee:  
Ah if I were mine own, your dear resorts  
I would not change with Princes stateliest Courts.   

SON.  
AH who can see those fruits of Paradise,  
Celestial Cherries which so sweetly swell,  
That Sweetness self confined there seems to dwell,  
And all those sweetest Parts about despise?  
Ah who can see and feel no Flame surprise  
His hardened heart? For me alas too well  
I know their Force, and how they do excel,  
Now through desire I burn, and now I frieze,  
I die (dear Life) unless to me be given  
As many kisses as the Spring hath Flowers,  
Or there be silver drops in Iris Showers,  
Or stars there be in all-embracing 〈◊〉;  
And if displeased ye of the 〈◊〉 complain,  
Ye shall have leave to take them back again.   

SON.  
IS't not enough (ay me) me thus to see  
Like some Heaven-banished Ghost still wailing go,  
A Shadow which your Rays do only show;  
To vex me more, unless ye bid me die;  
What could ye worse allot unto your Foe?  
But die will I, so ye will not deny  
That grace to me which mortal Foes even try,  
To choose what sort of Death shall end my woe.  
Once did I find that whiles you did me kiss,  
Ye gave my panting soul so sweet a touch,  
That half I sound in midst of all my Bl●sse▪  
I do but crave my Deaths-wound may be such:  
For though by Grief I die not and annoy,  
Is't not enough to die through too much joy?   

MAD.  
Unhappy Light  
Do not approach to bring the woeful Day,  
When I must bid for aye  
Farewell to her, and live in endless plight.  
Fair Moon with gentle Beams  
The sight who never mars,  
Clear long-Heavens sable Vault, and you bright Stars  
Your golden Locks long view in Earth's pure streams;  
Let Phoebus never rise  
To dim your watchful Eyes.  
Prolong (alas) 〈◊〉 my short delight,  
And if ye can 〈…〉 Eternal Night.   

SON.  
WIth grief in Heart, and tears in swelling Eyes,  
When I to her had given a sad Farewell,  
Close sealed with a Kiss, and Dew which fell  
On my else-moistned Face from Beauty's Skies;  
So strange Amazement did my Mind surprise,  
That at each Pace I fainting turned again,  
Like one whom a Torpedo stupifies,  
Not feeling Honour's Bit, nor Reason's Rain:  
But when fierce Stars to part me did constrain,  
With back-cast Looks, I both envied and blessed  
The happy Walls and Place did her contain,  
Until my eyes that flying Object missed;  
So Wailing▪ parted ganymed the fair,  
When Eagles Talents bore him through the Air.   

SEXTAIN.  

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

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

While she here gazed on thee, rich Tagus' Treasure,  
Thou neededst not envy, nor yet the Fountain,  
In which that Hunter saw the naked Moon,  
Absence hath robbed thee of thy Wealth and Pleasure,  
And I remain like Marigold of Sun  
Deprived, that dies by shadow of some Mountain.   

Nymphs of the Forests, Nymphs who on this Mountain  
Are wont to dance, showing your Beauty's Treasure  
To Goat-feets Sylvans, and the wondering Sun,  
When as you gather flowers about this Fountain,  
Bid her farewell who placed here her Pleasure,  
And sing her praises to the Stars and Moon.   

Among the lesser lights as is the Moon,  
Blushing through muffling clouds on Latmos Mountain,  
Or when she views her silver Locks for Pleasure  
In Thetis streams, proud of so gay a Treasure,  
Such was my Fair when She sat by this Fountain  
With other Nymphs to shun the amorous Sun.   

As is our Earth in absence of the Sun,  
Or when of Sun deprived is the Moon,  
As is without a verdant shade a Fountain,  
Or wanting grass, a Mead, a Vale, a Mountain;  
Such is my state, bereft of my dear Treasure,  
To know whose only worth was all my Pleasure.   

ne'er think of Pleasure Heart, Eyes eat the Sun,  
Tears be your Treasure, which the wand'ring Moon  
Shall see you shed by Mountain, Veil, and Fountain.    

SON.  
WIndow sometime which served for a Sphere  
To that dear Planet of my heart, whose light  
Made often blush the glorious Queen of Night,  
While She in thee more beauteous did appear,  
What mourning weeds (alas) dost thou now wear?  
How loathsome to my eyes is thy sad sight?  
How poorly look'st thou, with what heavy cheer,  
Since sets that Sun which made thee shine so bright?  
Unhappy now thee close, for as of late  
To wondering Eyes thou wert a Paradise,  
Bereft of her who made thee fortunate,  
A gulf thou art whence clouds of sighs arise:  
But unto none so noisome as to me,  
Who hourly sees my murdered joys in thee.   

SON.  
HOw many times Nights silent Queen her face  
Hath hid, how oft with Stars in silver Mask,  
In Heaven's great Hall, she hath begun her Task,  
And cheered the waking Eye in lower Place?  
How oft the Sun hath made by Heavens swift race  
The happy Lover to forsake the Breast  
Of his dear Lady, wishing in the West  
His Golden Coach to run had larger space?  
I ever count and tell since I alas  
Did bid Farewell to my Heart's dearest Guest,  
The Miles I number, and in mind I chase,  
The floods and Mountains hold me from my rest.  
But woe is me, long count and count may I,  
Ere I see her whose absence makes me die.   

SON.  
OF Death some tell, some of the cruel Pain  
Which that bad Crafts-man in his Work did try,  
When [a new Monster] flames once did constrain  
A humane Corpse to yield a bellowing Cry.  
Some tell of those in burning Beds who lie,  
Because they durst in the Phlegraean Plain  
The mighty Ruler of the Skies defy,  
And siege those crystal towers which all contain,  
An other counts of Phlegethons' hot floods,  
The Souls which drink Ixion's endless smart,  
And his who feeds a Vulture with his heart,  
One tells of Spectars' in enchanted Woods:  
Of all those Pains th' extremest who would prove,  
Let him be absent and but burn in Love.   

SON.  
Hair, precious hair, which Midas hand did strain,  
Part of the Wreath of gold that crowns those brows  
Which Winter's whitest white in whiteness stain,  
And lily by Eridans bank that grows.  
Hair [fatal present] which first caused my woes,  
When loose ye hang like Danae's golden rain,  
Sweet Nets which sweetly do all hearts enchain,  
Strings, deadly strings, with which Love bends his bows.  
How are ye hither come, tell me O hair?  
Dear Armelet, for what thus were ye given?  
I know, a badge of bondage I you wear,  
Yet hair for you O that I were a Heaven!  
Like Bereni●●s Locks, that ye might shine,  
(But brighter far) about this Arm of mine.   

SON.  
ARe these the flowery banks? Is this the Mead  
Where she was wont to pass the pleasant hours?  
Was't here her Eyes exhaled mine eyes salt showers,  
And on her lap did lay my wearied Head?  
Is this the goodly Elm did us o'erspread,  
Whose tender Rind, cut forth in curious flowers  
By that white hand, contains those flames of Ours?  
Is this the murmuring Spring us music made?  
Deflourisht Mead, where is your heavenly hue?  
And Bank, that Arras did you late adorn?  
How look'st thou Elm all withered and forlorn?  
Only sweet Spring nought altered seems in you.  
But while here changed each other thing appears,  
To salt your streams take of mine Eyes these tears.   

SON.  
ALexis here she stayed, among these Pines▪  
Sweet Hermitress she did all alone repair;  
Here did she spread the Treasure of her Hair,  
More rich than that brought from the Colchian Mines.  
Here sat she by these musket Eglantines,  
The happy flowers seem yet the print to bear,  
Her voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines,  
To which Winds, Trees, Beasts, Birds, did lend an Eare.  
She hear me first perceived, and here a Morn  
Of bright Carnations did o'erspread her Face;  
Here did she sigh, here first my Hopes were borne,  
Here first I got a Pledge of promised Grace:  
But ah what servesed t' have been made happy so?  
Sith passed Pleasures double but new woe.   

SON.  
PLace me where angry Titan burns the More,  
And thirsty afric fiery Monsters brings,  
Or where the newborn Phoenix spreads her Wings,  
And troops of wondering Birds her flight adore.  
Place me by Gange or Indeses enammelled shore,  
Where smiling Heavens on Earth cause double Springs▪  
Place me where Neptune's Choir of Sirens sings,  
Or where made hoarse through Cold he leaves to roar:  
Place me where Fortune doth her Darlings crown,  
A Wonder or a spark in Envies Eye,  
Or you outrageous Fates upon me frown,  
Till Pity wailing fee disastered Me;  
Affections print my mind so deep doth prove,  
I may forget myself; but not my Love.   

MADRIGAL.  
THe Ivory, Coral, Gold,  
Of breast, of lip, of hair,  
So lively Sleep doth show to inward sight,  
That wake I think I hold  
No Shadow, but my Fair:  
Myself so to deceive  
With long-shut Eyes I eat the irksome Light.  
Such pleasure here I have  
Delighting in false gleams,  
If Death Sleeps Brother be,  
And Souls bereft of sense have so sweet Dreams,  
How could I wish thus still to dream and die.   

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

POEMS.  
The Second Part.  

OF mortal Glory O soon darkened Ray!  
O winged Joys of Man, more swift than Wind!  
O fond Desires which in our Fancies stray!  
O traitorous Hopes which do our Judgements blind!  
Lo, in a Flash that Light is gone away,  
Which dazzle did each Eye, delight each Mind,  
And with that Sun, from whence it came, combined,  
Now makes more radiant Heavens eternal Day.  
Let Beauty now bedew her Cheeks with Tears,  
Let widowed Music only roar and groan,  
Poor Virtue get thee Wings and mount the Spheres,  
For dwelling place on Earth for thee is none:  
Death hath thy Temple razed, Loves Empire foiled,  
The World of Honour, Worth, and Sweetness spoiled.   

SON.  
THose Eyes, those sparkling Saphires of Delight,  
Which thousand thousand Hearts did set on Fire,  
Of which that Eye of Heaven which brings the light  
Oft Jealous, stayed amazed them to admire.  
That living Snow, those crimson Roses bright,  
Those Pearls, those Rubies which inflamed Desire,  
Those Locks of Gold, that Purple fair of Tyre,  
Are wrapped [aye me!] up in eternal Night.  
What hast thou more to vaunt of wretched World,  
Sith she who caused all thy bliss is gone?  
Thy ever-burning Lamps, Rounds ever-whorld  
Can not unto thee model such a One:  
Or if they would such Beauty bring on Earth,  
They should be forced again to give her birth.   

SON.  
O Fate, conjured to pour your worst on me!  
O rigorous Rigour which doth all confound!  
With cruel Hands ye have cut down the Tree,  
And fruit with leaves have scattered on the Ground.  
A little space of Earth my Love doth bound,  
That Beauty which did raise it to the Sky,  
Turned in disdained Dust, now low doth lie,  
Deaf to my plaints, and senseless of my wound.  
Ah! did I live for this? ah! did I love?  
And was't for this (fierce powers) she did excel,  
That ere she well the Sweets of life did prove,  
She should (too dear a guest) with Darkness dwell?  
Weak influence of Heaven! what fair is wrought,  
Falls in the prime, and passeth like a Thought.   

SON.  
O Woeful life! life, no, but living Death,  
Frail Boat of Crystal in a rocky Sea,  
A Gem exposed to Fortune's stormy breath,  
Which kept with pain with Terror doth decay:  
The false Delights, true Woes thou dost bequeath  
My all-appalled Mind so do affray,  
That I those envy who are laid in Earth,  
And pity those who run thy dreadful way.  
When did mine Eyes behold one cheerful Morn?  
When had my tossed Soul one night of Rest?  
When did not angry Stars my Designs scorn?  
O! now I find what is for Mortals best:  
Even, since our voyage shameful is, and short,  
Soon to strike Sail, and perish in the Port.   

SON.  
DIssolve my Eyes your Globes in briny Streams,  
And with a cloud of Sorrow dim your sight,  
The Sun's bright Sun is set, of late whose Beams  
Gave lustre to your Day, Day to your Night.  
My Voice now cleave the Earth with Anathemes,  
Roar forth a challenge in the World's despite,  
Till that disguised Grief is her delight,  
That Life a Slumber is of fearful Dreams;  
And woeful Mind abhor to think of Joy,  
My Senses all from comforts all you hide,  
Accept no object but of black Annoy,  
Tears, Plaints, Sighs, mourning Weeds, Graves gaping wide:  
I have nought left to wish; My Hopes are dead,  
And all with her beneath a Marble laid,   

SON.  
SWeet Soul, which in the April of thy years,  
For to enrich the Heaven mad'st poor this Round,  
And now with flaming Rays of Glory crowned  
Most blest abides above the Sphere of Spheres;  
If Heavenly Laws alas have not thee bound  
From looking to this Globe that all upbeares,  
If ruth and pity there-above be found,  
O deign to lend a look unto these Tears.  
Do not disdain (dear Ghost) this sacrifice,  
And though I raise not pillars to thy Praise,  
My offerings take, let this for me suffice,  
My Heart a living Pyramid I'll raise:  
And whilst King's Tombs with Laurels flourish green,  
Thine shall with Myrtles and these flowers be seen.   

SON.  
SWeet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train,  
Thy head with flames, thy Mantle bright with flowers,  
The Zephyr's curl the green Locks of the Plain,  
The Clouds for joy in Pearls weep down their showers.  
Dost return sweet Youth? but ah my pleasant hours,  
And happy days with thee come not again,  
The sad Memorials only of my pain  
Do with thee turn, which turn my Sweets to Sow'r●  
Thou art the same which still thou wert before,  
Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair,  
But she whose Breath embalmed thy wholesome Air  
Is gone; Nor Gold, nor Gems can her restore.  
Neglected Virtue, Seasons go and come,  
When thine forgot lie closed in a Tomb.   

SON.  
WHat doth it serve to see the Sun's bright Face?  
And Skies enamell'd with the Indian Gold?  
Or the Moon in a fierce Chariot rolled,  
And all the Glory of that starry Place?  
What doth it serve Earth's Beauty to behold?  
The Mountain's pride, the Meadows flowery grace,  
The stately comeliness of Forests old,  
The Sport of Floods which would themselves embrace?  
What doth it serve to hear the Sylvans Songs,  
The cheerful Thrush, the Nightingales sad strains,  
Which in dark shades seems to deplore my Wrongs?  
For what doth serve all that this World contains?  
Since she, for whom those once to me were dear,  
Can have no part of them now with me here.   

MAD.  
THis Life, which seems so fair.  
Is like a Bubble blown up in the Air,  
By sporting children's Breath,  
Who chase it every where,  
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.  
And though it sometime seem of its own might  
Like to an Eye of gold to be fixed there,  
And firm to hover in that empty height,  
That only is because it is so Light.  
But in that Pomp it doth not long appear▪  
For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,  
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.   

SON.  
MY Lute, be as thou wert when thou did grow  
With thy green Mother in some shady Grove,  
When immelodious Winds but made thee move,  
And Birds their ramage did on thee bestow.  
Since that dear voice which did thy sounds approve,  
Which want in such harmonious Strains to ●low,  
Is re●t from Earth to tune those spheres above,  
What art thou but a Harbinger of woe?  
Thy pleasing Notes he pleasing Notes no more,  
But Orphans wail to the fainting Ear,  
Each Struck a sigh, each Sound draws forth a Tear,  
For which be silent as in woods before:  
Or if that any hand to touch thee deign,  
Like widowed Turtle still her loss complain.   

SON.  
AH Handkerchief, sad present of my Dear,  
Gift miserable, which doth now remain  
The only Guerdon of my helpless Pain,  
When I thee got thou showst my state too clear.  
I never since have ceased to complain,  
I since the Badge of Grief did ever wear,  
Joy in my Face durst never since appear,  
Care was the Food which did me entertain.  
But since that thou art mine, O do not grieve,  
That I this Tribute pay thee for mine Eine,  
And that I (this short Time I am to live)  
Laundre thy silken Figures in this Brine:  
No, I must yet even beg of thee the Grace,  
That in my Grave thou deign to shroud my Face.   

MAD.  
TRees happier far than I,  
Which have the grace to heave your Heads so high,  
And overlook those Plains:  
Grow till your Branches kiss that lofty Sky  
Which her (sweet self) contains.  
There make her know mine endless Love, and Pains,  
And how these Tears which from mine Eyes do fall,  
Helped you to rise so Tall:  
Tell her, as once I for her sake loved Breath,  
So for her sake I now court lingering Death.   

SONG.  
SAd Damon being come,  
To that forever Lamentable Tomb,  
Which those eternal Powers that all control,  
Unto his living Soul  
A melancholy prison had prescribed:  
Of Colour, Heat, and motion deprived,  
In Arms weak, Fainting, Cold,  
A Marble, he the Marble did enfold:  
And having warm it made with many a shower  
Which dimmed Eyes did pour,  
When Grief had given him leave, and sighs them stayed,  
Thus with a sad alas at last he said.  
Who would have thought to me  
The place where thou didst lie could grievous be?  
And that (dear body) long thee having sought,  
(O me!) who would have thought  
Thee once to find it should my Soul confound,  
And give my Heart then death a deeper wound?  
Thou didst disdain my Tears,  
But grieve not that this ruthful Stone them bears,  
Mine Eyes for nothing serve, but thee to weep,  
And let that course them keep,  
Although thou never wouldst them comfort show,  
Do not repine, they have part of thy woe.  
Ah wretch! too late I find  
How Virtues glorious Titles prove but wind;  
For if that Virtue could release from Death,  
Thou yet enjoyed hadst Breath:  
For if she ere appeared to mortal Eine,  
It was in thy fair shape that she was seen.  
But O! if I was made  
For thee, with thee why too am I not dead?  
Why do outrageous Fates which dimmed thy sight,  
Let me see hateful light?  
They without me made Death thee surprise,  
Tyrants (no doubt) that they might kill me twice.  
O Grief! And could one Day  
Have force such excellence to take away?  
Could a swift-flying Moment ah deface,  
Those matchless gifts, that Grace,  
Which Art, and Nature had in thee combined  
To make thy Body paragon thy Mind?  
Hath all passed like a cloud,  
And doth eternal silence now them shroud?  
Is that, so much admired, now nought but Dust,  
Of which a Stone hath Trust?  
O change! O cruel change thou to our sight  
Showest the Fates Rigour equal to their Might!  
When thou from earth di●'st pass  
(Sweet Nymph) Perfections Mirror broken was,  
And this of late so glorious World of ours,  
L●ke Meadows without Flowers,  
Or Ring of a rich Gem which blind appear▪ d,  
Or Starless night, or Cynthia nothing cleared.  
Love when he saw thee die  
Entombed him in the lid of either Eye,  
And left his Torch within thy sacred Urn  
There for a Lamp to burn:  
Worth, Honour, Pleasure, with thy life expired,  
Death since grown sweet begins to be desired.  
Whilst thou to us wert given,  
The Earth her Venus had as well as Heaven:  
Nay, and her Suns which burned as many Hearts,  
As he the eastern parts;  
Bright Suns which forced to leave these Hemispheres,  
Benighted set into a Sea of Tears.  
Ah Death, who shall thee fly,  
Since the most mighty are o'erthrown by thee?  
Thou sparest the Crow, and Nightingale dost kill,  
And triumphest at thy will▪  
But give thou cannot such another Blow,  
Because Earth cannot such another show.  
O bitter sweets of Love!  
How better is't at all you not to prove,  
Nor when we do your pleasures must possess,  
To find them thus made less?  
O! That the cause which doth consume our joy  
Would the remembrance of it too destroy!  
What doth this life bestow,  
But Flowers on Thorns which grow?  
Which though they sometime blandish soft delight,  
Yet afterwards us smite:  
And if the rising Sun them fair doth see,  
That Planet setting, doth behold them die.  
This world is made a Hell,  
Deprived of all that in it did excel.  
O Pan, Pan, Winter is fallen in May,  
Turned is to night our Day.  
Forsake thy Pipe, a Sceptre take to thee,  
Thy locks disgarland, thou black Jove shall be.  
The Flocks do leave the Meads,  
And, loathing three leaved Grass, hold up their Heads,  
The Streams not glide now with a glentle Roar,  
Nor Birds sing as before,  
Hills stands with clouds like Mourners veiled in black,  
And Owls upon our Roofs foretell our wrack.  
That Zephir every year  
So soon was heard to sigh in Forests here,  
It was for her that wrapped in Gowns of Greene,  
Meads were so early seen;  
That in the saddest Months oft sang the Mearles,  
It was for Her: for her Trees dropped forth pearls.  
That proud, and stately Courts  
Did envy these our Shades and calm Resorts,  
It was for Her: and she is gone, O woe!  
Woods cut again do grow,  
But doth the Rose, and Dazy, winter done,  
But we once dead do no more see the Sun.  
Whose Name shall now make ring  
The Echoes? of whom shall the Nymphets sing?  
Whose heavenly voice, whose Soule-invading Strains,  
Shall fill with Joy the plains?  
What Hair, what Eyes, can make the Morn in East,  
Weep that a fairer riseth in the West?  
Fair Sun post still away,  
No Music here is left thy Course to stay.  
Sweet Hybla Swarms, with Wormwood fill your Bowers.  
Gone is the flower of Flowers:  
Blush no more Rose, nor Lily pale remain,  
Dead is that Beauty which yours late did stain.  
Ay me to wail my Plight  
Why have not I as many Eyes as Night?  
Or as that Shepherds which Jove's love did keep,  
That I still, still may weep?  
But though I had, my Tears unto my cross  
W●re not yet equal, nor grief to my loss.  
Yet of you briny Showers,  
Which I ●ere pour, may spring as many flowers,  
As come of those which fell from Helen's Eyes;  
And when ye do arise,  
May every Leaf in sable letters bear  
The Dolefull Cause for which ye spring up here.   

MAD.  
THe Beauty and the Life  
Of Lives, and Beauty's fairest Paragon,  
(O Tears! O Grief!) hung at a feeble Thread,  
To which pale Atropos had set her Knife.  
The Soul with many a groan  
Had left each outward Part,  
And now did take his last Leave of the Heart;  
Nought else did want save Death for to be dead:  
When the sad company about her Bed  
Seeing Death invade her lips, her cheeks, her eyes,  
Cried ah! and can Death enter Paradise?   

SON.  
O! It is not to me bright Lamp of Day,  
That in the East thou show'sts thy golden Face,  
O! it is not to me thou leav'st that sea,  
And in those azure Lists began'st thy Race.  
Thou shinest not to the Dead in any Place,  
And I dead from this World am passed away▪  
Or if I seem (a Shadow) yet to stay,  
It is a while but to bewail my Case.  
My Mirth is lost, my Comforts are dismayed,  
And unto sad Mishaps their Place do yield;  
My Knowledge represents a bloody Field,  
Where I my Hopes and helps see prostrate laid.  
So plaintfull is Life's Course which I have run,  
That I do wish it never had begun.   

MADRIGAL.  
Dear Night, the ease of Care,  
Untroubled Seat of Peace,  
Time's eldest Child, which oft the blind do see,  
On this our Hemisphere  
What makes thee now so sadly dark to be?  
Comest thou in funeral Pomp Her Grave to grace?  
Or do those Stars which should thy horror clear,  
In Jove's high Hall advise,  
In what Part of the skies,  
With them, or Cynthia she shall appear?  
Or (ah alas) because those matchless eyes,  
Which shone so fair, below thou dost not find,  
Strivest thou to make all others Eyes look blind?   

SON.  
SInce it hath pleased that First and supreme Fair  
To take that Beauty to himself again,  
Which in this world of Sense not to remain,  
But to amaze was sent, and home repair;  
The Love which to that Beauty I did bear,  
Made Pure of mortal spots which did it stain,  
And endless, which even Death cannot impair,  
I place on him who will it not disdain.  
No shining Eyes, no Locks of curling gold,  
No blushing Roses on a virgin Face,  
No outward show, no, nor no inward Grace,  
Shall power have my thoughts henceforth to hold:  
Love here on Earth huge storms of care doth toss,  
But placed above exempted is from loss   

SONG.  
IT Autumn was, and on our Hemisphere  
Fair Ericine began bright to appear,  
Night Westward did her gemmy World decline,  
And hide her Lights, that greater Light might shine:  
The crested Bird hath given Alarm twice  
To lazy Mortals to unlock their Eyes,  
The Owl had left to plain, and from each Throne  
The winged Musicians did salute the Morn,  
Who (while she dressed her Locks in Ganges streams)  
Set open wide the crystal Port of Dreams:  
When I, whose Eyes no drowsy Night could close,  
In Sleeps soft arms did quietly repose,  
And, for that Heavens to die did me deny,  
Death's Image kissed, and as dead did lie.  
I lay as dead, but scarce cha●m'd were my Cares,  
And slaked scarce my Sighs, scarce dried my Tears,  
Sleep scarce the ugly Figures of the Day  
Had with his sable Pencil put away,  
And left me in a still and calmy Mood,  
When by my Bed (me thought) a Virgin stood,  
A Virgin in the blooming of her Prime,  
If such rare Beauty measured be by Time.  
Her Head a Garland wore of Opalls bright▪  
About her flowed a Gown like purest Light,  
Pure Amber Locks gave Umbrage to her Face,  
Where Modesty high Majesty did grace;  
Her Eyes such Beams sent forth, that but with pain  
Her weaker Sights their sparklings could sustain.  
No feigned D●ity which haunts the Woods  
Is like to Her, nor Siren of the Floods:  
Such is the Golden Planet of the Year,  
When bl●shing in the East he doth appear.  
Her Grace did beauty, Voice yet Grace did pass,  
Which thus through Pearls and Rubies broken was.  
How long wilt thou (said she) estranged from Joy,  
Paint Shadows to thyself of false Annoy?  
How long thy Mind with horrid Shapes affright,  
And in imaginary Evils delight?  
Esteem that Loss which (well when viewed) is Gain,  
Or if a Loss, yet not a Loss too plain?  
O leave thy plain●full Soul more to molest,  
And think that woe when shortest then is best.  
If She for whom thou thus dost deaf the Sky  
Be dead? What then? Was she not borne to die?  
Was She not mortal borne? If thou dost grieve  
That Times should be in which She should not live,  
Ere e'er she was weep that Days wheel was rolled,  
Weep that she lived not in the Age of Gold.  
For that she was not then thou mayest deplore,  
As well as that she now can be no more.  
If only she had died, thou sure hadst 'Cause  
To blame the Fates, and their too iron Laws.  
But look how many Millions her advance,  
What numbers with her enter in this Dance,  
With those which are to come: shall Heavens them stay,  
And th' Universe dissolve thee to obey?  
As Birth, Death, which so much thee doth appall,  
A Piece is of the Life of this great All.  
Strong Cities die, die do high palmy Reigns,  
And fondling thou thus to be used complaines.  
If she be dead, than she of loathsome Days  
Hath passed the Line▪ whose Length but Loss bewrays,  
Then she hath left this filthy Stage of Care,  
Where Pleasure seldom, Woe doth still repair.  
For all the Pleasures which it doth contain  
Not countervail the smallest Minutes pain.  
And tell me, thou who dost so much admire  
This little Vapour, this poor Spark of F●re,  
Which Life is called, what doth it thee bequeath  
But some few years which Birth draws out to Death?  
Which if thou parallel with Lustres run,  
Or those whose courses are but now begun,  
In da●es great Numbers they shall less appear,  
Than with the Sea when matched is a Tear.  
But why shouldst thou here longer wish to be?  
One Year doth serve all Nature's Pomp to see,  
Nay, even one Day, and Night: this Moon, that Sun,  
Those lesser Fires about this Round which Run,  
Be but the same which under Saturn's Reign.  
Did the serpenting Seasons interchaine.  
How oft doth Life grow less by living long?  
And what excelleth but what dieth young?  
For Age which all abhor (yet would embrace)  
Doth make the Mind as wrinkled as the Face.  
Then leave Laments, and think thou didst not live  
Laws to that first eternal Cause to give,  
But to obey those Laws which he hath given,  
And bow unto the just decrees of Heaven,  
Which cannot ●r●e, whatever foggy Mists  
Do blind men in these sublunary Lists.  
But what if she for whom thou spendest those Groans,  
And wastes thy Life's dear Torch in ruthful Moans,  
She for whose sake thou hat'st the joyful Light,  
Courts solitary Shades and irksome Night,  
Doth live? ah! (if thou canst) through Tears, a space,  
Lift thy dimmed Lights, and look upon this Face,  
Look if those Eyes which (fool) thou didst adore,  
Shine not more bright than they were wont before.  
Look if those Roses Death could aught impair  
Those Roses which thou once saidst were so fair;  
And if these Locks have lost aught of that Gol●,  
Which once they had when thou them didst behold▪  
I live, and happy live, but thou art dead,  
And still shalt be, t●ll t●ou be l●ke me ma●e.  
Alas while we are wrapped in Gowns of Earth,  
And blind here suck the Air of Woe beneath,  
Each thing in Senses Balances we weigh,  
And but with toil, and Pain the truth descry.  
Above this vast and admirable Frame,  
This Temple visible, which World we name,  
Within whose Walls so many Lamps do burn,  
So many Arches with cross motions turn,  
Where the Elemental Brother's nurse their strife,  
And by intestine Wars maintain their Life:  
There is a World, a World of perfect Bliss,  
Pure, immaterial, as brighter far from this,  
As that high Circle which the rest enspheares  
Is from this dull, ignoble Vale of Tears.  
A World where all is found, that here is found,  
But further discrepant than Heaven and Ground:  
It hath an Earth, as hath this World of yours,  
With Creatures peopled, and adorned with Flowrs;  
It hath a Sea, like Saphire Girdle cast  
Which decks of the harmonious Shores the Waste;  
It hath pure Fire, it hath delicious Air,  
Moon, Sun, and Stars, Heavens wonderfully fair:  
Flowers never there do fade, Trees grow not old,  
No Creature dieth there through heat or cold;  
Sea there not tossed is, nor Air made black,  
F●re doth not greedy feed on others Wrack:  
There Heavens be not constrained about to range,  
For this World hath no need of any Change:  
Minutes mount not to Hours, nor Hours to Days,  
Days make no Months, but ever-blooming Maies.  
Here I remain, and hitherward do tend,  
All who their Span of Days in Virtue spend;  
What ever Pleasant this low Place contains,  
Is but a Glance of what above remains.  
Those who (perchance) there can nothing be  
Beyond this wide Expansion which they see,  
And that nought else mounts Stars Circumference,  
For that nought else is subject to their sense,  
Feel such a Case, as one whom some Abysm  
In the deep Ocean kept had all his Time:  
Who borne, and nourished there, cannot believe  
That elsewhere ought without those waves can live:  
Cannot believe that there be Temples, towers,  
Which go beyond his Caves and dampish Bowrs:  
Or there be other People, Manners, Laws,  
Than what he finds within the churlish Waves:  
That sweeter Flowers do spring than grow on Rocks,  
Or Beasts there are excel the skaly Flocks,  
That other Elements are to be found,  
Than is the Water and this Ball of Ground.  
But think that man from this Abysm being brought,  
Did see what curious Nature here hath wrought,  
Did view the Meads, the tall and shady Woods,  
And marked the hills, and the clear rolling floods;  
And all the Beasts which Nature forth doth bring,  
The feathered Troops that fly, and sweetly sing:  
Observed the Palaces, and Cities fair,  
men's Fashion of Life, the Fire, the Air,  
The brightness of the Sun that dims his Sight,  
The Moon, and splendours of the painted Night:  
What sudden rapture would his mind surprise?  
How would he his late-deare Resort despise?  
How would he muse how foolish he had been,  
To think all nothing but what there was seen?  
Why do we get this high and vast Desire,  
Unto immortal things still to aspire?  
Why doth our Mind extend it beyond Time,  
And to that highest happiness even climb?  
For we are more than what to Sense we seem,  
And more than Dust us Worldlings do esteem?  
We be not made for Earth, though here we come,  
More than the Em●ryon for the Mother's Womb:  
It weeps to be made free, and we complain  
To leave this loathsome Jail of Care and Paine.  
But thou who vulgar footsteps dost not trace,  
Learn to rouse up thy mind to view this place,  
And what Earth-creeping Mortals most affect,  
If not at all to scorn, yet not to neglect:  
Seek not vain shadows, which when once obtained  
Are better loosed than with such travel gained.  
Think that on Earth what worldlings Greatness call,  
Is but a glorious title to live thrall:  
That Sceptres, Diadems, and Chairs of State,  
Not in themselves, but to small Minds are great:  
That those who loftiest mount do hardest light,  
And deepest Falls be from the highest Height:  
That Fame an Echo is, and all Renown  
Like to a blasted Rose, ere Night falls down:  
And though it something were, think how this Round  
Is but a little Point, which doth it bound.  
O leave that Love which reacheth but to Dust,  
And in that Love Eternal only trust,  
And Beauty, which when once it is possessed  
Can only fill the Soul and make it blest.  
Pale Envy, jealous Emulations, Fears,  
Sighs, Plaints, Remorse, here have no place nor Tears,  
False Joys, vain Hopes, here be not, Hate nor Wrath,  
What ends all Love here most augments it Death.  
If such force had the dim Glance of an Eye,  
Which but some few days afterwards did die,  
That it could make thee leave all other things,  
And like a Taper-fly there burn thy Wings?  
And if a voice, of late which could but wail,  
Such Power had as through Ears thy Soul to steal?  
If once thou on that poorly Fair couldst gaze,  
What Flames of Love would this within thee raise?  
In what amusing Maze would it thee bring,  
To ●eare but once that Choir celestial sing?  
The fairest shapes on which thy Love did seize,  
Which erst didst breed Delight, than would displease;  
But Discords hoarse were Earth's enticing Sounds,  
All Music but a Noise, which Sense confounds.  
This great and burning Glass which clears all Eyes,  
And musters with such Glory in the Skies,  
That silver Star which with her purer Light  
Makes Day oft-Envy the eye pleasing Night,  
Those golden letters which so brightly shine  
In Heavens great Volume gorgeously divine;  
All wonders in the Sea, the Earth, the Air,  
Be but dark Pictures of that Sovereign Fair,  
And Tongues, which still thus cry into your Ear  
(Could ye amidst World's Cataracts them hear)  
From fading things (fond Men) lift your Desire,  
And in our Beauty his us made admire:  
If we seem fair? O think how fair is he,  
Of whose great Fairness, Shadows, Steps we be.  
No Shadow can compare unto the Face,  
No Step with that dear foot which did it trace,  
Your Souls immortal are, then place them hence,  
And do not drown them in the Mist of Sense:  
Do not, O do not by false Pleasures Might  
Deprive them of that true and sole Delight.  
That Happiness ye seek is not below,  
Earth's sweetest Joy is but disguised Woe.  
Here did she pause, and with a mild Aspect▪  
Did towards me those lamping Twins direct.  
The wont Rays I knew, and thrice essayed  
To Answer make▪ thrice faltering Tongue it stayed.  
And while upon that Face I fed my Sight,  
Me thought she vanished up to Titan's Light;  
Who guilding with his Rays each Hill, and Plain,  
Seemed to have brought the Golden World again.   

URANIA.  

TRiumphing, Chariots, Statues, Crowns of Bays,  
Skie-threatning Arches, the rewards of worth,  
Books heavenly-wise in sweet harmonious lays,  
Which men divine unto the World set forth:  
States which Ambitious Minds, in blood, do raise,  
From frozen Tanais unto sunburnt Gange,  
Gigantall Frames held wonders rarely strange,  
Like Spider's webs are made the sport of Days.  
Nothing is constant but in constant change,  
What's done still is undone, and when undone  
Into some other Fashion doth it range;  
Thus goes the floating World beneath the Moon:  
Wherefore my Mind above Time, Motion, Place,  
Rise up, and steps unknown to Nature trace.   

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

TO spread the Azure Canopy of Heaven,  
And spangle it all with Sparks of burning Gold,  
To place this ponderous Globe of Earth so even,  
That it should all and nought should it uphold;  
With motions strange t' endue the Planets seven,  
And Jove to make so mild, and Mars so bold,  
To temper what is moist, dry, hot, and cold,  
Of all their Jars that sweet Accords are given.  
Lord to thy Wisdome's nought, nought to thy Might,  
But that thou shouldst, thy Glory laid aside,  
Come basely in Mortality to bide,  
And die for those deserved an endless night;  
A Wonder is so far above our wit,  
That Angels stand amazed to think on it.   

WHat hapless Hap had I for to be borne  
In these unhappy Times, and dying Days  
Of this now doting World, when Good decays,  
Love's quite extinct, and virtue's held a scorn!  
When such are only prized by wretched ways,  
Who with a golden Fleece them can adorn;  
When Avarice and Lust are counted praise,  
And bravest Minds live Orphane-like forlorn!  
Why was not I borne in that golden Age,  
When Gold yet was not known? and those black Arts  
By which Base Worldlings vilely play their parts,  
With Horrid Acts staining Earth's stately Stage?  
To have been then, O heaven, 't had been my bliss,  
But bless me now, and take me soon from this.    

On the Portrait of the Countess of Perthe.  

SON.  
THe Goddess that in Amathus doth reign,  
With silver Trammels, and Saphir-coloured Eyes,  
When naked from her Mother's Crystal Plain,  
She first appeared unto the wondering Skies:  
Or when the golden-Apple to obtain,  
Her blushing Snow amazed Ida's Trees,  
Did never look in half so fair a guise,  
As She here drawn all other Ages Stain.  
O God what Beauties to inflame the Soul,  
And hold the hardest Hearts in Chains of Gold!  
Fair Locks, sweet Face, Loves stately Capitole,  
Pure Neck which doth that heavenly Frame uphold,  
If Virtue would to mortal Eyes appear,  
To ravish sense She would your Beauty wear.   

SON.  
IF Heaven, the Stars, and Nature did her grace  
With all Perfections found the Moon above,  
And what excelleth in this lower Place,  
Found place in her to breed a World of Love:  
If Angels Gleams shine on her fairest Face,  
Which makes Heaven's Joy, on Earth, the gazer prove,  
And her bright Eyes (the Orbs which Beauty move)  
As Phoebus' dazzle in his glorious Race.  
What Pencil paint what Colour to the sight  
So sweet a Shape can show? the blushing Morn,  
The red must lend, the Milkie-way the white,  
And Night the Stars which her rich Crown adorn;  
To draw her right then, and make all agree,  
The Heaven the Table, Zeuxis Jove must be.    

On that same drawn with a Pencil.  

SON.  
WHen with brave Art the curious Painter drew  
This Heavenly Shape, the hand why made he bear  
With golden Veins that Flower of purple hue,  
Which follows on the Planet of the year?  
Was it to show how in our Hemisphere,  
Like him She shines, nay that effects more true  
Of Power, and Wonder do in her appear,  
While He but Flowers, and She doth Minds subdue.  
Or would he else to Virtue's glorious light  
Her constant Course make known, or is't that He  
Doth parallel her bliss with Clitias plight:  
Right so, and thus, He reading in Her Eye  
Some Lover's end, to grace what he did grave,  
For Cypress Tree, this mourning Flower her gave.   

MADRIGAL.  
IF sight be not beguiled,  
And eyes right play their part,  
This Flower is not of Art,  
But's fairest Nature's Child,  
And though when Titan●s from our World exiled,  
She doth not lock her leaves his loss to moan,  
No wonder, Earth finds now more Suns than one.    

To the Author.  

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

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

Clorus.  
SWan which so sweetly sings,  
By Aska's Banks, and pitifully plains,  
That old Meander never heard such Strains,  
Eternal Fame, thou to thy Country brings:  
And now our Calydon  
Is by thy Songs made a new Helicon.  
Her Mountains, Woods, and Springs,  
While Mountains, Woods, Springs be, shall sound thy praise,  
And though fierce Boreas oft make pale her Bays,  
And kill those Mirtills with enraged Breath,  
Which should thy Brows enwreath;  
Her Floods have Pearls, Seas Amber do send forth,  
Her Heaven hath golden Stars to crown thy Worth.   

Moeris.  
THe sister Nymphs which haunt the Thespian springs,  
More liberally their Gifts ne'er did bequeath  
To them who on their Hills sucked sacred Breath,  
Then unto thee, by which thou sweetly sings.  
ne'er did Apollo raise on Pegase Wings  
A Muse more near Himself, more far from Earth,  
Than thine; whether thou weep thy Lady's Death,  
Or sing those sweet-sour Pangs that Passion brings.  
To write our Thoughts in Verse doth merit Praise,  
But thus the Verse to gild in Fictions o'er,  
Bright, rich, delightful, doth deserve much more,  
As thou hast done these thy melodious Lays:  
No doubt thy Muses fair Morn doth bewray  
The swift Approach of a more glistering Day.     

TEARS ON THE DEATH OF MOELIADES. BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNEDEN.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year 1656.   

To the Author.  
IN Waves of Woe thy Sighs my Soul do toss,  
And make run out the floodgates of my tears,  
Whose rankling Wound no smoothing Baume long bears,  
But freely bleeds when ought upbraids my Loss.  
'Tis thou so sweetly Sorrow makest to sing,  
And troubled Passions dost so well accord,  
That more Delight Thy Anguish doth afford,  
Than others Joys can Satisfaction bring.  
What sacred Wits (when ravished) do affect,  
To force Affections, Metamorphose Minds,  
Whilst numbrous Power the Soul in secret binds,  
Thou hast performed, transforming in Effect.  
For never Plaints did greater Pity move,  
The best Applause that can such Notes approve.  
Sir W. ALEXANDER.   

Tears on the Death of MOELIADES.  
O Heavens! then is it true that Thou art gone,  
And left this woeful Isle her Loss to moan,  
Moeliades, bright Daystar of the West,  
A 〈◊〉 blazing Terror to the East:  
And neither that thy Spirit so heavenly wise,  
Nor Body (though of Earth) more pure than Skies,  
Nor royal S●em, nor thy sweet tender Age,  
Of cruel Destinies could quench the Rage?  
O fading Hopes! O short-while lasting Joy,  
Of Earthborn man, that one Hour can destroy!  
Then even of Virtue's Spoils Death Trophies rears,  
As if he gloried most in many Tears.  
Forced by hard Fates, do Heavens neglect our Cries?  
Are Stars set only to act Tragedies?  
Then let them do their Worst since thou art gone,  
Raise whom thou list to Thrones, enthroned dethrone,  
Stain Princely Bowers with Blood and even to Gange,  
In Cypress sad, glad Hymen's Torches change.  
Ah thou hast left to live, and in the Time,  
When scarce thou blossom'd'st in thy pleasant Prime,  
So falls by Northern Blast a virgin Rose,  
At half that doth her bashful Bosom close:  
So a sweet Flower languishing decays,  
That late did blush when kissed by Phoebus' Rays.  
So Phoebus mounting the Meridian's height,  
Choked by pale Phoebe, faints unto our sight,  
Astonished Nature sullen stands to see,  
The Life of all this All so changed to be,  
In gloomy Gowns the Stars this loss deplore,  
The Sea with murmuring Mountains beats the Shore,  
Black Darkness reels o'er all, in thousand Showers  
The weeping Air on Earth her sorrow pours,  
That, in a Palsy, quakes to see so soon  
Her Lover set, and Night burst forth ere Noon.  
If Heaven (alas) ordained thee young to die,  
Why was't not where thou mightst thy Valour try?  
And to the wondering World at least set forth  
Some little Spark of thy expected Worth?  
Moeliades, O that by Ister● Streams,  
'Mong sounding Trumpets, fiery twinkling Gleams  
Of warm vermilion Swords, and Cannons Roar,  
Balls thick as Rain poured on the Caspian Shore,  
Amongst broken Spears, amongst ringing Helms & shields,  
Huge heaps of slaughtered Bodies long the Fields,  
In Turkish blood made red like Mars' Star,  
Thou endedst had thy Life, and Christian War:  
Or as brave Bourbon thou hadst made old Rome,  
Queen of the World, thy Triumph, and thy Tomb.  
So Heavens fair Face, to th'unborn World, which reads,  
A Book had been of thy illustrious Deeds.  
So to their Nephew's aged Sires had told  
The high Exploits performed by thee of old;  
Towns razed, and raised, victorious, vanquished Bands,  
Fierce Tyrants flying, foiled, killed by thy Hands.  
And in rich Arras, Virgins fair had wrought  
The Bays and Trophies to thy Country brought:  
While some New Homer imping Wings to Fame,  
Deaf Nilus' dwellers had made hear thy Name.  
That thou didst not attain these Honour's Spheres,  
Through want of Worth it was not, but of Years.  
A Youth more brave pale Troy with trembling Walls  
D●d never see, nor She whose Name appalls  
Both Titan's golden Bowers, in bloody Fights,  
Mustering on Mars his Field, such Mars-like Knights.  
The Heavens had brought thee to the highest Hight  
Of Wit and Courage, showing all their Might  
When they thee framed. Ay me that what is brave  
On Earth, they as their own so soon should crave.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,  
From Thale to Hydaspes' pearly shore.  
When Forth thy Nurse, Forth where thou first didst pass  
Thy tender Days (who smiled oft on her Glass;  
To see thee gaze) Meandring with her Streams,  
Herd thou hadst left this Round, from Phoebus' Beams,  
She sought to fly, but forced to return  
By Neighbouring Brooks, She set herself to mourn:  
And as she rushed her Cycladeses among.  
She seemed too plain, that Heaven had done her wrong.  
With a hoarse plaint, Cleyd down her steepy rocks,  
And Tweid through her green Mountains clad with flocks,  
Did wound the Ocean murmuring thy death,  
The Ocean it roared about the Earth,  
And to the Mauritanian Atlas told,  
Who shrunk through grief, and down his white hairs rolled  
Huge Streams of tears, which changed were to floods,  
Wherewith he drowned the neighbour plains & woods.  
The lesser Brooks as they did bubbling go,  
Did keep a Consort to the public Woe.  
The Shepherds left their Flocks with downcast eyes,  
'Sdaining to look up to the angry Skies:  
Some broke their Pipes, and some in sweet-sad Lays,  
Made senseless things amazed at thy Praise.  
His Reed Alexis hung upon a Tree,  
And with his Tears made Doven great to be.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore  
From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore.  
Chaste Maids which haunt fair Aganippe's Well,  
And you in Tempe's sacred Shade who dwell,  
Let fall your Harps, cease Tunes of Joy to sing,  
Dissheveled make all Parnassus ring  
With Anth●ames●ad ●ad, thy Music Phoebus' turn  
To doleful plaints, whilst Joy itself doth mourn▪  
Dead is thy Darling who adorned thy Bays,  
Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet Lays,  
And to a Trumpet raise thy amorous Style,  
That floating Delos envy might this Isle.  
You Acidalian Archers break your Bows,  
Your Torches quench, with tears blot Beauties Snows,  
And bid your weeping Mother yet again  
A second Ado●s death, nay Mars his plain.  
His Eyes once were your Darts, nay, even his Name,  
Where ever heard, did every Heart inflame.  
Tagus did court his Love with Golden Streams,  
Rhein with his Towns, fair Seine with all she claims.  
But ah (poor Lovers) Death them did betray,  
And not suspected made their Hopes his Prey!  
Tagus bewails his Loss in Golden Streams,  
Rhein with his Towns, fair Seine with all she claims.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,  
From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore.  
Eye-pleasing Meads, whose painted Plain forth brings  
White, golden, azure Flowers, which once were Kings,  
To mourning Black, their shining▪ Colours die,  
Bow down their Heads, while sighing Zephyr's fly.  
Queen of the fields, whose Blush makes blush the Morn,  
Sweet Rose, a Prince's Death in Purple mourn.  
O Hyacinths for aye your aye keep still,  
Nay, with more marks of Woe your Leaves now fill.  
And you O Flower of Helen's tears that's borne,  
Into these liquid Pearls again you turn.  
Your green Locks, Forests cut, to weeping Mirres,  
To deadly Cypress, and Inke-dropping Firres,  
Your Palms and Myrtles change, from shadows dark  
Wing'd Siren's wa●le, and you sad Echoes mark  
The lamentable Accents of their Moan,  
And plain that brave Moeliades is gone.  
Stay Sky thy turning Course, and now become  
A stately Arch, unto the Earth his Tomb:  
And over it still watery Iris keep,  
And sad Electras' Sisters which still weep:  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore,  
From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore.  
Dear Ghost forgive these our untimely Tears,  
By which our loving Mind, though weak appears,  
Our Loss not Thine (when we complain) we weep,  
For, Thee the glistering Walls of Heaven do keep,  
Beyond the Planets Wheels, 'bove highest Source  
Of Spheres; that turns the lower in his Course.  
Where Sun doth never set, nor ugly Night  
Ever appears in mourning Garments dight:  
Where Boreas stormy Trumpet doth not sound,  
Nor Clouds, in Lightnings bursting, Minds astounded.  
From Cares cold Climates far, and hot Desire,  
Where Time's exiled, and Ages ne'er expire:  
'Mong purest Spirits environed with Beams,  
Thou think'st all things below, t' have been but dreams;  
And joy'st to look down to the azur'd Bars  
Of Heaven powd'red with Troops of streaming Stars:  
And in their turning Temples to behold,  
In silver Robe the Moon, the Sun in Gold;  
Like young Eye-speaking Lovers in a Dance,  
With Majesty by Turns, retire, advance.  
Thou wonder'st Earth to see hang like a Ball,  
Closed in the mighty Cloister of this All:  
And that poor Men should prove so madly fond,  
To toss themselves for a small spot of Ground.  
Nay, that they even dare brave the Powers above▪  
From this base Stage of Change, that cannot move.  
All worldly Pomp, and Pride thou seest arise  
Like Smoke that's scattered in the empty Skies.  
Other high Hills and Forests other towers,  
Amazed thou findest excelling our poor Bowers,  
Courts void of Flattery, of Malice Minds,  
Pleasure which lasts, not such as Reason blinds.  
Thou sweeter Songs dost hear, and Carrollings▪  
Whilst Heavens do dance, and Quires of Angels sings,  
Then muddy Minds could feign, even our Annoy  
(If it approach that Place) is changed to Joy.  
Rest blessed soul, rest satiate with the sight  
Of him whose Beams (though dazzling) do delight,  
Life of all lives, 'Cause of each other cause,  
The Sphere and Centre where the Mind doth pause:  
Narcissus of himself, himself the Well,  
Lover, and Beauty that doth all excel.  
Rest happy Soul, and wonder in that Glass,  
Where seen is all that shall be, is, or was,  
While shall be, is, or was, do pass away,  
And nothing be, but an Eternal Day.  
For ever rest, thy Praise Fame will enrol  
In golden Annals, while about the Pole  
The slow Boötes turns, or Sun doth rise  
With scarlet Scarce to cheer the mourning Skies.  
The Virgins to thy Tomb will Garlands bear  
Of Flowers, and with each Flower let fall a Tear.  
Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore  
From Thule to Hydaspes pearly shore.  
William Drummond.   

OF JET,  
Or PORPHYRY,  
Or that white Stone  
PAROS affords alone,  
Or these in AZURE dye,  
Which seem to scorn the SKY;  
Here Memphis Wonders do not set,  
Nor ARTEMISIA'S huge Frame,  
That keeps so long her Lover's Name:  
Make no great marble Atlas stoop with Gold  
To please the Vulgar EYE shall it behold.  
The Muses, Phoebus, Love, have raised of their tears  
A Crystal Tomb to him, through which his worth appears.   

STay Passenger, see where enclosed lies,  
The Paragon of Princes, fairest Frame,  
Time, Nature, Place, could show to mortal Eyes  
In Worth, Wit, Virtue, Miracle of Fame:  
At least that Part the Earth of him could claim,  
This Marble holds (hard like the Destinies)  
For as to his brave Spirit, and glorious Name,  
The One the World, the other fills the Skies.  
Th'immortal Amaranthus, princely Rose,  
Sad Violet, and that sweet Flower that bears,  
In Sanguine Spots the Tenor of our Woes,  
Spread on this Stone, and wash it with your Tears  
Then go and tell from Gades unto Ind,  
You saw where Earth's Perfections were confined.   

SON.  
A Passing Glance, a Lightning long the skies  
Which ushering Thunder, dies strait to our sight,  
A Spark that doth from jarring mixtures rise,  
Thus drowned is in th' huge Depths of Day and Night:  
Is this small trifle, Life, held in such Price,  
Of blinded Wights, who ne'er judge Ought aright?  
Of Parthian shaft so swift is not the Flight,  
As Life, that wastes itself, and living dies.  
Ah, what is humane Greatness, Valour, Wit?  
What fading Beauty, Riches, Honour, Praise?  
To what doth serve in golden Thrones to sit,  
Thrall Earth's vast Round, triumphal Arches raise?  
That's all a Dream learn in this Princes Fall,  
In whom save Death, nought mortal was at all.  
William Drummond.   

To the Reader.  
THe Name, which in these Verses is given unto Prince Henry, is that which he Himself in the Challenges of his Martial Sports, and Mascarads, was wont to use, MOELIADES Prince of the Isles: which in Anagram maketh a Word most worthy of such a Knight as He was, a Knight (if Time had suffered his Actions answer the World's expectation) only worthy of such a Word, Miles A Deo.   

MADRIGALS AND EPIGRAMS.  
Madrigals and Epigrams▪  

The Statue of Medusa.  
OF that Medusa strange,  
Who those that did her see in Rocks did change,  
No Image carved is this;  
Medusa's self it is:  
For while at heat of Day  
To quench her Thirst She by this Spring did stay,  
Her hideous Head beholding in this Glass,  
Her Senses failed, and thus transformed she was.   

The Portrait of Mars and Venus.  
Fair Paphos wanton Queen  
(Not drawn in White and Red)  
Is truly here, as when in Vulcan's Bed  
She was of all Heavens laughing Senate seen.  
Gaze on her Hair, and Eine,  
Her Brows, the Bows of Love,  
Her back with Lilies spread:  
Ye also might perceive her turn and move,  
But that She neither so will do, nor dare,  
For fear to wake the angry God of War.   

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

Dameta's Dream.  
Dametas' dreamed he saw his Wife at Sport,  
And found that sight was through the horny Port.   

Cherries.  
MY Wanton weep no more  
The losing of your Cherries,  
Those, and far sweeter Berries,  
Your Sister in good store  
Hath in her Lips and Face,  
Be glad, kiss her with me, and hold your peace.   

Icarus.  
WHile with audacious Wings  
I cleaved th●se airy Ways,  
And filled (a Monster new) with Dread and Fears,  
The feathered People and their Eagle Kings:  
Dazzled with Phoebus' Rays,  
And charmed with the Music of the Spheres,  
When Quills could move no more and force did fail,  
Though down I fell from Heavens high azure bounds:  
Yet doth Renown my Losses countervail,  
For still the Shore my brave attempt resounds.  
A Sea an Element doth bear my Name,  
What Mortals Tombe's so great in Place or Fame.   

On his Lady, beholding herself in a Marble.  
WOrld wonder not, that I  
Keep in my breast engraven  
That Angel's face hath me of Rest bereaven.  
See Dead and Senseless things cannot deny  
To lodge so dear a Guest:  
Even this hard Marble Stone  
Receives the same, and loves, but cannot groan.   

To sleep.  
HOw comes it Sleep, that thou  
Even kisses me affords  
Of her (dear her) so far who's absent now?  
How did I hear those Words,  
Which Rocks might move, and move the Pines to Bow?  
Ay me, before half day  
Why didst thou steal away?  
Return, I thine for ever will remain,  
If thou wilt bring with thee that Guest again.   

A pleasant deceit.  
OVer a crystal Source  
jolas' laid his face,  
Of purling Streams to see the restless Course.  
But scarce he had o'reshadowed the Place,  
When in the water he a Child espies,  
So like himself in stature, Face, and Eyes,  
That glad he rose, and cried,  
Dear Mates approach, see whom I have descried,  
The Boy of whom strange stories Shepherds tell,  
Oft-called Hylas, dwelleth in this Well.   

The Canon.  
WHen first the Canon from her gaping Throat  
Against the Heaven her roaring Sulphur shot,  
Jove wakened with the noise did ask with wonder,  
What Mortal Wight had stolen from him his Thunder:  
His crystal towers he feared, but Fire and Aire  
So high did stay the Ball from mounting there.   

Thais Metamorphosis.  
INto Briareus huge  
Thais wished she might change  
Her Man, and prayed him not thereat to grudge,  
Nor fond think it strange;  
For if (said she) I might the parts dispose,  
I wish you not a hundred Arms nor Hands,  
But hundred things like those  
With which Priapus in our Garden stands.   

The quality of a Kiss.  
THe kiss with so much strife  
Which I late got (sweet Heart)  
Was it a sign of Death, or was it Life?  
Of Life it could not be,  
For I by it did sigh my Soul in thee:  
Ne was it Death, Death doth no joy impart.  
Thou silent standest, ah! what didst thou bequeath,  
A dying Life to me, or living Death?   

His Ladies Dog.  
WHen Her dear Bosom eclipse  
That little Cur, which fawns to touch her Lips,  
Or when it is his hap  
To lie lapped in her Lap,  
O it grows Noon with me,  
With hotter-pointed Beams  
I burn, than those are which the Sun forth streams,  
When piercing lightning his Rays called may be:  
And as I muse how I to shose extremes  
Am brought, I find no Cause, except that She  
In Love's bright Zodiac having traced each Room,  
To the hot Dog-star now at last is come.   

An Almanac.  
THis strange Eclipse one says  
Strange Wonders doth foretell;  
But you whose Wives excel,  
And love to count their Praise,  
Shut all your gates, your Hedges plant with Thorns,  
The Sun did threat the World this time with Horns.   

The Silkworm of Love.  
A Daedale of my Death  
Now I resemble that sly worm on Earth▪  
Which prone to its own harm doth take no rest:  
For Day and Night oppressed,  
I feed on fading Leaves  
Of Hope which me deceives,  
And thousand Webs do warp within my Breast,  
And thus in end unto myself I wove  
A fast-shut Prison, or a closer Grave.   

Deep impression of Love to his Mistress.  
WHom a mad Dog doth bite,  
He doth in Water still  
That mad Dog's Image see:  
Love mad (perhaps) when he my Heart did smite  
(More to dissemble his Ill)  
Transformed himself to thee:  
For thou art present ever since to me.  
No Spring there is, no Flood, nor other Place,  
Where I (alas) not see thy Heavenly Face.   

A Chain of Gold.  
ARe not those Locks of Gold  
Sufficient Chains the wildest Hearts to hold?  
Is not that Ivory Hand  
A Diamantine Band,  
Most sure to keep the most untamed Mind,  
But ye must others find?  
O yes▪ why is that Golden One then worn?  
Thus free in Chains (perhaps) Loves Chains to scorn.   

On the Death of a Linnet.  
IF cruel Death had Ears,  
Or could be pleased by Songs,  
This winged Musician had l●v'd many years,  
And Nisa mine had never wept these Wrongs:  
For when it first took Breath,  
The Heavens their Notes did unto it bequeath:  
And if that Samians sentences be true,  
Amphion in this Body lived anew.  
But Death, who nothing spares, and nothing hears,  
As he doth Kings, killed it, O Grief! O Tears!   

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

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

Epitaph.  
THe Bawd of Justice, he who Laws controlled,  
And made them fawn, and frown as he got gold,  
That Proteus of our State, whose Heart and Mouth  
Were farther distant than is North from South,  
That Cormorant who made himself so gross  
On People's Ruin, and the Prince's Loss,  
Is gone to Hell, and though he here did evil,  
He there perchance may prove an honest Devil.   

A Translation.  
FIerce Robbers were of old  
Exiled the Champion Ground,  
From Hamlets chased, in Cities killed, or bound▪  
And only Woods, Caves, Mountains, did them hold:  
But now (when all is sold)  
Woods, Mountains, Caves, to good Men be refuge,  
And do the Guiltless lodge,  
And clad in Purple Gowns  
The greatest Thiefs command within the Towns.   

Epitaph.  

THen Death thee hath beguiled  
Allecto's first borne Child;  
Then thou who thralled all Laws  
Now against Worms cannot maintain thy Cause:  
Yet Worms (more just than thou) now do no Wrong,  
Since all do wonder they thee spared so long;  
For though from Life thou didst but lately pass,  
Twelve Springs are gone since thou corrupted was.   

Come Citizens, erect to death an Altar,  
Who keeps you from Axe, Fuel Timber, Halter.    

A Jest.  
IN a most holy Church, a holy man,  
Unto a holy Saint with Visage wan,  
And Eyes like Fountains, mumbled forth a Prayer,  
And with strange Words and Sighs made black the Air.  
And having long so stayed, and long long prayed,  
A thousand crosses on himself he laid,  
And with some sacred Beads hung on his Arm●  
His Eyes, his Mouth, his Temples, Breast did charm.  
Thus not content (strange Worship hath no end)  
To kiss the Earth at last he did pretend,  
And bowing down besought with humble grace,  
An aged Woman near to give some place:  
She turned, and turning up her Hole beneath,  
Said, Sir kiss here, for it is all but Earth.   

Proteus' of Marble.  
THis is no work of Stone,  
Though it seems breathless, cold, and sense hath non●;  
But that 〈◊〉 God which keeps  
The monstrous people of the raging Deeps:  
Now that he doth not change his shape this while,  
It is thus constant more you to beguile.   

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

Apelles' enamoured of Campaspe, Alexander's Mistress.  
Poor Painter while I sought  
To counterfeit by Art  
The fairest Frame which Nature ever wrought,  
And having limned each Part  
Except her matchless Eyes:  
Scarce on those Suns I gazed,  
As Lightning falls from Skies,  
When strait my Hand grew weak, my Mind amazed,  
And ere that Pencil half them had expressed▪  
Love had them drawn, no, graved them in my Breast.   

Campaspe.  
ON Stars shall I exclaim,  
Which thus my Fortune change,  
Or shall I else revenge  
Upon myself this shame,  
Inconstant Monarch, or shall I thee blame  
Who lets Apelles prove  
The sweet Delights of Alexander's Love?  
No, Stars, myself, and thee, I all forgive,  
And Joys, that thus I live;  
Of thee, blind King, my Beauty was despised,  
Thou didst not know it, now being known 'tis prized.   

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

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

Unpleasant Music.  
IN fields Ribaldo strayed  
May's Tapestry to see,  
And hearing on a Tree  
A Cuckoo sing, sighed to himself and said,  
Lo how alas even Birds sit mocking me.   

Sleeping Beauty.  
O Sight too dear bought!  
She sleeps, and though those Eyes  
Which lighten Cupid's Skies  
Be closed, yet such a grace  
Environeth that Place,  
That I through Wonder to grow faint am brought:  
Suns if eclipsed you have such power divine,  
What power have I t' endure you when you shine?   

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

The Statue of Venus sleeping.  
PAssenger vex not thy Mind  
To make me mine Eyes unfold;  
For if thou shouldst them behold,  
Thine perhaps they will make blind.   

Laura to Petrarch.  
I Rather love a Youth and childish Rhyme,  
Than thee whose Verse and Head are wise through Time.   

The Rose.  
Flower which of Adonis' Blood  
Sprang, when of that clear Flood  
Which Venus wept, another white was borne:  
The sweet Cynarean Youth thou lively shows,  
But this sharpe-pointed thorn  
So proud about thy Crimson Folds that grows,  
What doth it represent?  
Boars Teeth (perhaps) his milk-white Flank which rent.  
O show in one of unesteemed Worth  
That both the killed, and killer setteth forth!   

A Lover's Prayer.  
Near to a Crystal Spring,  
With Thirst and Heat oppressed,  
Narcissa fair doth rest,  
Trees, pleasant Trees which those green plains forth bring  
Now interlace your trembling Tops above,  
And make a Canopy unto my Love;  
So in Heaven's highest House when Sun appears,  
Aurora may you cherish with her Tears.   

jolas' Epitaph.  
HEre dear jolas' lies,  
Who whilst he lived in Beauty did surpass  
That Boy, whose heavenly Eyes  
Brought Cypris from above,  
Or him to death who looked in watery Glass,  
Even Judge the God of Love.  
And if the Nymph once held of him so dear  
Dorine the fair, would here but shed one Tear,  
Thou shouldst in Natures scorn  
A Purple Flower see of this Marble borne.   

The Trojan Horse.  
A Horse I am, who bit,  
Rhine, rod, Spur do not fear,  
When I my Riders bear,  
Within my Womb, not on my Back they sit.  
No streams I drink, nor care for Grass or Corn;  
Art me a Monster wrought  
All Nature's works to scorn;  
A Mother I was without Mother borne,  
In end all armed my Father I forth brought:  
What thousand Ships, and Champions of renown  
Could not do free, captived I razed Troy's Town.   

For Dorus.  
WHy Nais stand ye nice  
Like to a well wrought Stone,  
When Dorus would you kiss?  
Deny him not that bliss,  
He's but a Child (old Men be Children twice)  
And even a Toothless one:  
And when his Lips yours touch in that delight  
Ye need not fear he will those Cherries bite.   

Love vagabonding.  
SWeet Nymphs, if as ye stray  
Ye find the froth-borne Goddess of the Sea,  
All blubb'red, pale, undone,  
Who seeks her giddy Son,  
That little God of Love,  
Whose golden shafts your chastests Bosoms prove;  
Who leaving all the Heavens hath run away:  
If aught to him that finds him she'll impart  
Tell her he nightly lodgeth in my Heart.   

To a River.  
Sigh She will not that I  
She to the World my Joy,  
Thou who oft mine annoy  
Hast heard dear Flood, tell Thetis if thou can  
That not a happier Man  
Doth breathe beneath the Sky.  
More sweet, more white, more fair,  
Lips, Hands, and Amber Hair,  
Tell none did ever touch,  
A smaller daintier Waste  
Tell never was embraced  
But peace, since she forbids thee tell too much.   

Lida.  
Such Lida is, that who her sees,  
Through Envy, or through Love, strait dies.   

Phraene.  
A Onian Sisters help my Phraenes Praise to tell,  
Phraene heart of my heart, with whom the Graces dwell,  
For I surcharged am so sore that I not know  
What first to praise of 〈…〉 Breast, or Neck of Snow,  
Her Cheeks with Roses spread, or her two Sunlike Eyes,  
Her teeth of brightest pearl, her lips where Sweetness lies:  
But those so praise themselves, being to all Eyes set forth,  
That Muses ye need not to say aught of their Worth,  
Then her white swelling Paps essay for to make known,  
But her white swelling paps through smallest vail are shown;  
Yet She hath something else more worthy than the rest  
Not seen go sing of that which lies beneath her breast,  
And mounts like fair Parnasse, where Pegasse well doth run;  
Here Phraene stayed my Muse ere she had well begun.   

Kisses desired.  
THough I with strange Desire  
To kiss those rosy Lips am set on fire,  
Yet will I cease to crave  
Sweet kisses in such store,  
As he who long before  
In thousands them from Lesbian did receive:  
Sweet heart but once me kiss,  
And I by that sweet bliss  
Even swear to cease you to importune more;  
Poor one no number is.  
Another Word of me ye shall not hear  
After one Kiss but still one Kiss my Deer▪   

Desired Death.  
Dear Life while I do touch  
These Coral Ports of bliss,  
Which still themselves do kiss,  
And sweetly me invite to do as much.  
All panting in my Lips,  
My Heart my life doth leave,  
No sense my Senses have,  
And inward Powers do find a 〈◊〉 Eclipse:  
This Death so heavenly well  
Doth so me please, that I  
Would never longer seek in sense to dwell,  
If that even thus I only could but die.   

Phoebe.  
IF for to be alone, and all the Night to wander,  
Maids can prove chaste, then chaste is Phoebe without slander.   

Answer.  
Fool, still to be alone, all Night in Heaven to wander,  
Would make the wanton chaste, then she's chaste without slander.   

The cruelty of Rora.  
WHilst sighing forth his Wrongs,  
In sweet, though doleful Songs,  
Alexis sought to charm his Roras Ears,  
The Hills were heard to moan,  
To sigh each Spring appeared,  
Trees, hardest Trees through Rind distilled their Tears,  
And soft grew every Stone:  
But Tears, nor Sighs, nor Songs could Rora move,  
For she rejoiced at his plaint and love.   

A Kiss.  
Hark, happy Lovers, hark,  
This first and last of Joys,  
This sweetner of Annoys,  
This Nectar of the Gods,  
You call a Kiss, is with itself at odds:  
And half so sweet is not  
In equal Measure got,  
At light of Sun, as it is in the dark,  
Hark, happy Lovers, hark.   

Kalas Complaint.  
KAla old Mopsus Wife,  
Kala with fairest Face,  
For whom the Neighbour Swains oft were at strife,  
As she to milk her snowy Flock did tend,  
Sighed with a heavy Grace,  
And said: What wretch like me doth lead her life?  
I see not how my Task shall have an end:  
All Day I draw these streaming Dugs in Fold,  
All Night mine empty Husband soft and cold.   

Phillis.  
IN Petticoat of green,  
Her Hair about her Eine,  
Phillis beneath an Oak  
Sat milking her fair flock:  
Amongst that sweet-strained moisture (rare delight)  
Her hand seemed milk, in milk it was so white.   

A Wish.  
TO forge to mighty Jove  
The thunderbolts above,  
Nor on this Round below  
Rich Midas skill to know,  
And make all Gold I touch,  
Do I desire, it is for me too much;  
Of all the Arts practised beneath the Sky,  
I would but Phillis Lapidary be.   

Nisa.  
NIsa, Palemons Wife, him weeping told  
He kept not Grammar rules now being old;  
For why (quoth she) position false make ye,  
Putting a short thing where a long should be.   

A Lover's Heaven.  
THose Stars, nay Suns, which turn  
So stately in their Spheres,  
And dazzling do not burn,  
The Beauty of the Morn  
Which on these cheek● appears,  
The Harmony which to that voice is given,  
Makes me think you are Heaven.  
If Heaven you be, O that by powerful Charms,  
I A●las were enfolded in your arms?   

Epitaph.  
THis dear, though not-respected Earth, doth hold  
One for his worth whose Tomb should be of gold.   

Beauty's Idea.  
WHo would Perfections fair Idea see,  
On pretty Cloris let him look with me;  
White is her hair, her Teeth white, white her Skin,  
Black be her Eyes, her Eyebrows Cupid's Inn:  
Her Locks, her Body, hands do long appear,  
But Teeth short, short her Womb, and either Ear;  
The space 'twixt Shoulders, Eyes are wide, Brow wide,  
Straight Waste, the Mouth straight, and her virgin Pride.  
Thick are her Lips, Thighs, with Banks swelling there,  
Her Nose is small, small Fingers, and her Hair:  
Her sugared Mouth, her Cheeks, her Nails be red,  
Little her Foot, Breast little, and her Head.  
Such Venus was, such was that Flame of Troy,  
Such Cloris is, mine Hope, and only Joy.   

Lalus Death.  
AMidst the Waves profound,  
Far, far from all Relief,  
The honest Fisher Lalus, ah! is drowned,  
Shut this little Skiffe:  
The Board's of which did serve him for a Bier,  
So that when he to the black World came near  
Of him no Silver greedy Charon got,  
For he in his own Boat  
Did pass that Flood, by which the Gods do swear.    

FLOWERS of ZION: OR SPIRITUAL POEMS,  By W. D. 

TRiumphant Arches, Statues crowned with Bays,  
Proud Obelisks, Tombs of the vastest Frame,  
Brazen Colossuses Atlases of Fame,  
And Temples builded to vain Deities praise:  
States which unsatiate Minds in blood do raise,  
From Southern Pole unto the Arctic Team,  
And even what we write to keep our Name,  
Like Spider's Cawls are made the sport of Days;  
All only constant is in constant Change:  
What done is, is undone, and when undone,  
Into some other figure doth it range,  
Thus rolls the restless World beneath the Moon:  
Wherefore (my Mind) above Time, Motion, Place,  
Aspire, and Steps, not reached by Nature, trace.   

A Good that never satisfies the Mind,  
A Beauty fading like the April flowers,  
A Sweet with floods of Gall that runs combined,  
A Pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,  
A Honour that more fickle is than wind,  
A Glory at Opinions frown that lowers,  
A Treasury which bankrupt Time devours,  
A Knowledge than grave Ignorance more blind:  
A vain Delight our equals to command,  
A Style of greatness, in effect a Dream,  
A swelling Thought of holding Sea and Land,  
A servile Lot, decked with a pompous Name:  
Are the strange Ends we toil for here below,  
Till wisest Death make us our errors know,   

LIfe a right shadow is,  
For if it long appear,  
Then is it spent, and Death's long Night draws near;  
Shadows are moving, light,  
And is there ought so moving as is this?  
When it is most in Sight,  
It steals away, and none knows how or where,  
So near our Cradles to our Coffins are.   

LOok as the Flower which lingeringly doth fade,  
The Morning's Darling late, the Summer's Queen,  
Spoilt of that Juice which kept it fresh and green,  
As high as it did raise, bows low the head:  
Right so the pleasures of my Life being dead,  
Or in their Contraries but only seen,  
With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,  
And (blasted) scarce now shows what it hath been.  
Therefore, as doth the Pilgrim, whom the Night  
Hast darkly to imprison on his way,  
Think on thy Home (my Soul) and think aright,  
Of what's yet left thee of Life's wasting Day;  
Thy Sun posts Westward, passed is thy Morn,  
And twice it is not given thee to be borne.   

THe weary Mariner so far not flies  
An howling Tempest, Harbour to attain,  
Nor Shepherd hasts (when frays of Wolves arise  
So fast to Fold to save his bleating train,  
As I (winged with Contempt and just Disdain)  
Now fly the World, and what it most doth prize,  
And Sanctuary seek free to remain  
From wounds of abject Times, and Envies eyes;  
To me this World did once seem sweet and fair,  
While Senses light, Minds Perspective kept blind;  
Now like imagined Landscape in the Air,  
And weeping Raine-bows her best Joys I find:  
Or if ought here is had that praise should have,  
It is an obscure Life, and silent Grave.   

OF this fair Volume which we World do name,  
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,  
Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,  
We clear might read the Art and Wisdom rare,  
Find out his Power which wildest Powers doth tame,  
His Providence extending everywhere,  
His Justice which proud Rebels doth not spare,  
In every Page, no, Period of the same:  
But silly we like foolish Children rest,  
Well pleased with coloured Velum, Leaves of Gold,  
Fair dangling Ribbons, leaving what is best,  
On the great Writers sense ne'er taking hold;  
Or if by chance we stay our Minds on aught,  
It is some Picture on the Margin wrought.   

THe Grief was common, common were the cries,  
Tears, Sobs, and Groans of that afflicted Train,  
Which of Gods chosen did the Sum contain,  
And Earth rebounded with them, pierced were Skies;  
All good had left the World, each Vice did reign  
In the most monstrous sorts Hell could devise,  
And all Degrees, and each Estate did stain,  
Nor further had to go whom to surprise;  
The World beneath, the Prince of Darkness lay,  
And in each Temple had himself installed,  
Was sacrificed unto, by Prayers called,  
Responses gave, which (fools) they did obey:  
When (pitying Man) God of a Virgin's womb  
Was borne, and those false Deities struck dumb.   

RUn (Shepherds) run, where Bethlem blest appears,  
We bring the best of News, be not dismayed,  
A Saviour there is borne, more old than years,  
Amidst the rolling Heaven this Earth who stayed;  
In a poor Cottage Inned, a Virgin Maid,  
A weakling did him bear who all upbeares,  
There he in clothes is wrapped, in Manger laid,  
To whom too narrow Swadlings are our Spheres.  
Run (Shepherds) run, and solemnize his Birth,  
This is that Night, no, Day grown great with Bliss,  
In which the Power of Satan broken is,  
In Heaven be Glory, Peace unto the Earth;  
Thus singing through the Air the Angel's swame,  
And all the Stars re-ecchoed the same.   


O Than the fairest day, thrice fairer night,  
Night to best Days, in which a Sun doth rise,  
Of which the golden Eye which clears the Skies,  
Is but a sparkling Ray, a Shadow light;  
And blessed ye (in silly Pastor's sight)  
Mild Creatures in whose warm Crib now lies,  
That Heaven-sent Youngling, holy-Maid-born Wight,  
'Midst, end, beginning of our Prophecies:  
Blessed Cottage that hath Flowers in Winter spread,  
Though withered blessed Grass, that hath the grace  
To deck and be a Carpet to that Place.   

Thus singing to the sounds of oaten Reed  
Before the Babe, the Shepherds bowed their knees,  
And Springs ran Nectar, Honey dropped from Trees.    

TO spread the azure Canopy of Heaven,  
And make it twinkle with those spangs of Gold,  
To stay the ponderous Globe of Earth so even,  
That it should all, and nought should it uphold;  
To give strange motions to the Planets seven,  
Or Jove to make so meek, or Mars so bold,  
To temper what is moist, dry, hot, and cold,  
Of all their Jars that sweet accords are given:  
Lord, to thy Wisdom's nought; nought to thy Might,  
But that thou shouldst (thy Glory laid aside)  
Come meanly in mortality to 'bide,  
And die for those deserved eternal plight,  
A wonder is so far above our wit,  
That Angels stand amazed to muse on it.   


THe last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King,  
Girt with rough Skins, hies to the Deserts wild,  
Among that savage brood the Woods forth bring,  
Which he more harmless found than man, and mild;  
His food was Locusts, and what there doth spring,  
With Honey that from Virgin Hives distilled,  
Parched Body, hollow Eyes, some uncouth thing  
Made him appear, long since from Earth exiled,  
There burst he forth, all ye whose Hopes rely  
On God, with me amidst these Deserts mourn,  
Repent, repent, and from old errors turn.   

Who listened to his voice, obeyed his cry;  
Only the Echoes, which he made relent,  
Rung from their flinty Caves, repent, repent.    

THese Eyes (dear Lord) once Tapers of Desire,  
Frail Scouts betraying what they had to keep,  
Which their own heart, than others set on fire,  
Their traitorous black before thee here out-weep;  
These Locks of blushing deeds, the gilt attire,  
Waves curling, wrackful shelves to shadow deep,  
Rings wedding Souls to Sins lethargic sleep,  
To touch thy sacred Feet do now aspire.  
In Seas of care behold a sinking Bark,  
By winds of sharp remorse unto thee driven,  
O let me not be Ruins aimed at mark,  
My faults confessed (Lord) say they are forgiven.  
Thus sighed to Jesus the Bethanian fair,  
His teare-wet Feet still drying with her Hair.   


I changed Countries new delights to find,  
But ah! for pleasure I did find new pain,  
Enchanting Pleasure so did Reason blind,  
That Father's love and words I scorned as vain:  
For Tables rich, for bed, for following train  
Of careful servants to observe my Mind,  
These Herds I keep my fellows are assigned,  
My Bed's a Rock, and Herbs my Life sustain.  
Now while I famine feel, fear worse harms,  
Father and Lord I turn, thy Love (yet great)  
My faults will pardon, pity mine estate,   

This where an aged Oak had spread its Arms  
Thought the lost Child, while as the Herds he led,  
And pined with hunger on wild Acorns fed.    

IF that the World doth in amaze remain,  
To hear in what a sad deploring mood,  
The Pelican pours from her breast her Blood,  
To bring to life her younglings back again?  
How should we wonder at that sovereign Good,  
Who from that Serpent's sting (that had us slain)  
To save our lives, shed his Life's purple flood,  
And turned to endless Joy our endless Pain?  
Ungrateful Soul, that charmed with false Delight,  
Hast long long wandered in Sins flowery Path,  
And didst not think at all, or thoughtst not right  
On this thy Pelican's great Love and Death,  
Here pause, and let (though Earth it scorn) heaven se●  
Thee pour forth tears to him poured Blood for thee.   

IF in the East when you do there behold  
Forth from his Crystal Bed the Sun to rise,  
With rosy Robes and Crown of flaming Gold;  
If gazing on that Empress of the Skies  
That takes so many forms, and those fair Brands  
Which blaze in Heavens high Vault, Night's watchful eyes;  
If seeing how the Seas tumultuous Bands  
Of bellowing Billows have their course confined,  
How unsustained the Earth still steadfast stands;  
Poor mortal Wights, you e'er found in your Mind  
A thought, that some great King did sit above,  
Who had such Laws and Rites to them assigned?  
A King who fixed the Poles, made Spheres to move,  
All Wisdom, Pureness, Excellency, Might,  
All Goodness, Greatness, Justice, Beauty, Love;  
With fear and wonder hither turn your Sight,  
See, see (alas) him now, not in that State  
Thought could forecast Him into Reason's light.  
Now Eyes with tears, now Hearts with grief make great,  
Bemoan this cruel Death and ruthful case,  
If ever Plaints just Woe could aggravate?  
From Sin and Hell to save us humane Race,  
See this great King nailed to an abject Tree,  
An object of reproach and sad disgrace.  
O unheard Pity! Love in strange degree!  
He his own Life doth give, his Blood doth shed,  
For Wormelings base such Worthiness to see.  
Poor Wights, behold his Visage pale as Led,  
His Head bowed to His Breast, Locks sadly rend,  
Like a cropped Rose that languishing doth fade.  
Weak Nature weep, astonished World lament,  
Lament, you Winds, you Heaven that all contains,  
And thou (my Soul) let nought thy Griefs relent.  
Those Hands, those sacred Hands which hold the reins  
Of this great All, and kept from mutual wars  
The Elements, bear rend for thee their Veins:  
Those Feet which once must trade on golden Stars,  
For thee with Nails would be pierced through and torn,  
For thee Heavens King from Heaven himself debars:  
This great heart-quaking Dolour wail and mourn▪  
Ye that long since Him saw by might of Faith,  
Ye now that are, and ye yet to be borne.  
Not to behold his great Creator's Death,  
The Sun from sinful eyes hath veiled his light,  
And faintly journeys up Heaven's saphire Path:  
And cutting from her Brows her Tresses bright,  
The Moon doth keep her Lords sad Obsequys,  
Impearling with her Tears her Robe of Night.  
All staggering and lazy lower the Skies,  
The Earth and elemental Stages quake,  
The long-since dead from bursted Graves arise.  
And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take,  
And bear a part with him who all them wrought?  
And Man (though borne with cries) shall pity lack?  
Think what had been your state, had he not brought  
To these sharp Pangs himself, and prized so high  
Your souls, that with his Life them life he bought▪  
What woes do you attend? if still ye lie  
Plunged in your wont ordures? wretched Brood,  
Shall for your sake again God ever die?  
O leave deluding shows, embrace true good,  
He on you calls, forgo Sins shameful trade,  
With Prayers now seek Heaven, and not with Blood.  
Let not the Lambs more from their Dams be had,  
Nor Altars blush for sin, live every thing,  
That long time longed for sacrifice is made.  
All that is from you craved by this great King  
Is to believe, a pure Heart Incense is,  
What gift (alas) can we him meaner bring?  
Haste sinsick Souls, this season do not miss,  
Now while remorseless Time doth grant you space,  
And God invites you to your only Bliss:  
He who you calls will not deny you Grace,  
But low-deep bury faults, so ye repent,  
His Arms (lo) stretched are you to embrace.  
When Days are done, and Life's small spark is spent,  
So you accept what freely here is given,  
Like brood of Angels deathless, all-content,  
Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven.   

COme forth, come forth, ye blessed triumphing Bands,  
Fair Citizens of that immortal Town,  
Come see that King which all this All commands,  
Now (overcharged with Love) die for his own;  
Look on those Nails which pierce his Feet and Hands,  
What a sharp Diadem his Brows doth crown?  
Behold his pallid Face, his heavy frown,  
And what a throng of Thiefs him mocking stands,  
Come forth ye Empyrean Troops, come forth,  
Preserve this sacred Blood that Earth adorns,  
Gather those liquid Roses off his Thorns,  
O! to be lost they be of too much worth:  
For Streams ¹, Juice ², Balm ³ they are, which quench ¹, kills ², charms ³  
Of God ¹, Death ², Hell ³, the wrath ¹, the life ², the harmes3.   

Soul, whom Hell did once enthral,  
He, He for thine offence,  
Did suffer Death, who could not die at all.  
O sovereign Excellence,  
O life of all that lives,  
Eternal Bounty which each good thing gives,  
How could Death mount so high?  
No wit this Point can reach,  
Faith only doth us teach,  
He died for us at all who could not die.   

LIfe to give life, deprived is of Life,  
And Death displayed hath Ensign against Death;  
So violent the Rigour was of Death,  
That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life:  
No Power had Power to thrall Life's Powers to Death,  
But willingly Life down hath laid Life,  
Love gave the wound which wrought this work of Death,  
His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life.  
Now quakes the Author of eternal Death,  
To find that they whom late he rest of Life,  
Shall fill his Room above the lists of Death,  
Now all rejoice in Death who hope for Life.  
Dead Jesus lies, who Death hath killed by Death,  
No Tomb his Tomb is, but new Source of Life.   

RIse from those fragrant Climes, thee now embrace,  
Unto this World of Ours O haste thy Race,  
Fair Sun, and though contrary ways all year  
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest Shears,  
Join thy blue Wheels to hasten Time that lowers,  
And lazy Minutes turn to perfect Hours;  
The Night and Death too long a league have made,  
To stow the World in Horrors ugly shade:  
Shake from thy Locks a Day with Safron rays  
So fair, that it outshine all other days,  
And yet do not presume (great Eye of Light)▪  
To be that which this Day must make so bright,  
See, an Eternal Sun hasts to arise,  
Not from the Eastern blushing Seas or Skies▪  
Or any stranger World's Heavens Concaves have,  
But from the Darkness of an hollow Grave▪  
And this is that all-powerfull Sun above,  
That crowned thy Brows with Rays, first made thee mo●  
Lights Trumpeters, ye need not from your Bowers  
Proclaim this Day, this the angelic Powers  
Have done for you; But now an opal hue  
Bepaints Heaven's Crystal, to the longing view  
Earth's late hid Colours shine, Light doth adorn  
The World, and (weeping Joy) forth comes the Morn;  
And with her, as from a Lethargic Trance  
The breath returned that Bodies doth advance,  
Which two sad Nights in Rock lay coffined dead,  
And with an iron Guard environed:  
Life out of Death, Light out of Darkness springs,  
From a base Jail forth comes the King of Kings;  
What late was mortal, thralled to every woe,  
That lackeys life, or upon sense doth grow,  
Immortal is, of an eternal Stamp,  
Far brighter beaming than the morning Lamp.  
So from a black Eclipse out-peares the Sun:  
Such [when her course of Days have on her run,  
In a far Forest in the pearly East,  
And she herself hath burnt and spicy Nest]  
The lovely Bird with youthful Pens and Comb,  
Doth sore from out her Cradle and her Tomb:  
So a small seed that in the Earth lies hid  
And dies, reviving bursts her cloddy Side,  
Adorned with yellow Locks, of new is borne,  
And doth become a Mother great with Corn,  
Of Grains brings hundreds with it, which when old,  
every the Furrows which do float with Gold.  
Hail holy Victor; greatest Victor hail,  
That Hell doth ransack, against Death prevail,  
O how thou longed for comest! with joyful cries,  
The all-triumphing Palatines of Skies  
Salute thy rising, Earth would Joys no more  
Bear, if thou rising didst them not restore:  
A silly Tomb should not his Flesh enclose▪  
Who did Heavens trembling Tarasses dispose;  
No Monument should such a Jewel hold,  
No Rock, though Ruby, Diamond, and Gold.  
Thou didst lament and pity humane Race,  
Bestowing on us of thy free-given Grace  
More than we forfeited and loosed first,  
In Eden Rebels when we were accursed.  
Then Earth our portion was, Earth's Joys but given,  
Earth and Earth's Bliss thou hast exchanged with heaven.  
O what a height of good upon us streams  
From the great splendour of thy Bounty's Beams?  
When we deserved shame, horror, flames of wrath,  
Thou bledst our wounds, and suffer didst our Death,  
But Father's Justice pleased, Hell, Death o'ercome,  
In triumph now thou risest from thy Tomb,  
With Glories which past Sorrows countervail,  
Hail holy Victor, greatest Victor hail.  
Hence humble sense, and hence ye Guides of sense,  
We now reach Heaven, your weak intelligence  
And searching Powers were in a flash made 〈◊〉,  
To learn from all Eternity, that him  
The Father bred, then that he here did come  
(His Bearers Parent) in a Virgin's Womb;  
But then when sold, betrayed, crowned, scourged with Thorn,  
Nailed to a Tree, all breathless, bloodless, torn,  
Entombed, him risen from a Grave to find,  
Confounds your Cunning, turns, like Moles, you blind.  
Death, thou that heretofore still barren waist,  
Nay, didst each other B●rth eat up and waste,  
Imperious, hateful, pitiless, unjust,  
Unpartial equaller of all with dust▪  
Stern Executioner of heavenly doom,  
Made fruitful, now Life's Mother art become,  
A sweet relief of Cares the Soul molest,  
An Harbinger to Glory, Peace and Rest,  
Put off thy mourning Weeds, yield all thy Gall  
To daily sinning Life, proud of thy fall,  
Assemble all thy Captives, haste to rise,  
And every Coarse in Earthquakes where it lies,  
Sound from each flowery Grave, and rocky Jail,  
Hail holy Victor, greatest Victor hail.  
The World that wanning late and faint did lie,  
Applauding to our Joys, thy Victory,  
To a young Prime Essays to turn again,  
And as ere soiled with Sin yet to remain,  
Her chilling Agues she begins to miss,  
All Bliss returning with the Lord of Bliss.  
With greater light Heavens Temples opened shine,  
Morn's smiling rise, Evens blushing do decline,  
Clouds dappled glister, boisterous Winds are calm,  
Soft Zephyrs do the Fields with sighs embalm,  
In silent calms the Sea hath hushed his Roars,  
And with enamoured Curls doth kiss the Shores:  
All-bearing Earth like a new-married Queen,  
Her Beauties heightens, in a Gown of Greene  
Perfumes the Air, her Meads are wrought with flowers,  
In colours various▪ figures, smelling, powers,  
Trees wanton in the Groves with levy Locks,  
Her H●lls enamell'd stand, the Vales, the Rocks  
Ring peals of Joy, her Floods and prattling Brooks,  
(Stars liquid Mirrors) with serpenting Crooks,  
And whispering murmurs, sound unto the Main,  
The Golden Age returned is again.  
The honey People leave their golden Bowers,  
And innocently prey on budding Flowers,  
In gloomy Shades perched on the tender Sprays  
The painted Singers fill the Air with Lays:  
Seas, Floods, Earth, Aire, all diversely do sound,  
Yet all their divers Notes hath but one ground,  
Re-echoed here-down from Heavens azure Veil,  
Hail holy Victor, greatest Victor hail.  
O Day on which Deaths Adamantine Chain  
The Lord did break, did ransack Satan's Reign,  
And in triumphing Pomp his Trophies reared,  
Be thou blest ever, henceforth still endeared  
With Name of his own Day, the Law to Grace,  
Types to their substance yield, to thee give place  
The old New-Moons, with all festival Days,  
And what above the rest deserveth praise  
The reverend Sabaoth, what could else they be  
Than golden Heralds, telling what by thee  
We should enjoy? Shades past, now shine thou clear,  
And henceforth be thou Empress of the year,  
This Glory of thy Sister's Sex to win,  
From work on thee, as other Days from Sin,  
That Mankind shall forbear, in every place  
The Prince of Planets warmeth in his race;  
And far beyond his paths in frozen Climes;  
And may thou be so blest to out-date Times,  
That when Heavens Choir shall blaze in Accents loud  
The many Mercies of their sovereign Good,  
How he on thee did Sin, Death, Hell destroy,  
It may be still the Burden of their Joy.   

BEneath a sable veil, and Shadows deep,  
Of unaccessible and dimming light,  
In silence Ebon clouds more black than Night,  
The World's great Mind his secrets hid doth keep:  
Through those thick Mists when any mortal Wight  
Aspires, with halting pace, and Eyes that weep  
To pry, and in his Mysteries to creep,  
With Thunders he and Lightnings blasts their Sight.  
O Sun invisible, that dost abide  
Within thy bright abysmes, most fair, most dark,  
Where with thy proper Rays thou dost thee hide,  
O evershining, never full-seene mark,  
To guide me in Life's Night, thy light me show,  
The more I search of thee, the less I know.   

IF with such passing Beauty, choice Delights,  
The Architect of this great Round did frame,  
This Palace visible, short lists of Fame,  
And silly Mansion but of dying Wights;  
How many Wonders, what amazing lights  
Must that triumphing Seat of Glory claim,  
That doth transcend all this Alls vast heights,  
Of whose bright Sun ours here is but a beam?  
O blessed abode! O happy dwelling-place!  
Where visibly th' Invisible doth reign,  
Blessed People which do see true Beauty's Face,  
With whose far Shadows scarce he Earth doth deign:  
All Joy is but Annoy, all Concord Strife,  
Ma●ch'd with your endless Bliss and happy life.   

LOve which is here a care,  
That Wit and Will doth mar,  
Uncertain Truce, and a most certain War,  
A shrill tempestuous Wind,  
Which doth disturb the Mind,  
And like wild Waves all our designs commove;  
Among those Powers above,  
Which see their Maker's Face,  
It a contentment is, a quiet Peace,  
A Pleasure void of Grief, a constant rest,  
Eternal Joy, which nothing can molest.   

THat space where curled Waves do now divide  
From the great Continent our happy Isle,  
Was sometime Land, and now where Ships do glide,  
Once with laborious Art the Plough did toil:  
Once those fair Bounds stretched out so far and wide,  
Where Towns, no Shires enwalled, endear each mile,  
Were all ignoble Sea and marish vile,  
Where Proteus Flocks danced measures to the Tide  
So Age transforming all still forward runs,  
No wonder though the Earth doth change her Face,  
New Manners, Pleasures new, turn with new Suns,  
Locks now like Gold grow to an hoary grace;  
Nay, Minds rare shape doth change, that lies despised  
Which was so dear of late and highly prized.   

THis World a Hunting is,  
The Prey poor Man, the Nimrod fierce is Death,  
His speedy Grayhounds are,  
Lust, Sickness, Envy, Care,  
Strife that ne'er falls amiss,  
With all those ills which haunt us while we breath.  
Now, if by chance we fly  
Of these the eager chase,  
Old Age with stealing pace  
Casts on his Nets, and there we panting die.   

WHy (Worldlings) do ye trust frail Honour's dreams?  
And lean to guilted Glories which decay?  
Why do ye toil to registrate your Names  
On Icy Pillars, which soon melt away?  
True Honour is not here, that place it claims  
Where black-browed Night doth not exile the Day,  
Nor no far-shining lamp dives in the Sea,  
But an eternal Sun spreads lasting Beams;  
There, it attendeth you, where spotless Bands  
Of Spirits stand gazing on their sovereign Bliss,  
Where years not hold it in their cank'ring hands,  
But who once noble, ever noble is.  
Look home, lest he your weakened Wit make thrall,  
Who eden's foolish Gardener erst made fall.   

AS are those Apples, pleasant to the Eye,  
But full of smoke within, which use to grow  
Near that strange Lake where God poured from the Sky  
Huge showers of flames, worse flames to overthrow:  
Such are their works that with a glaring Show  
Of humble holiness, in Virtues die  
Would colour mischief, while within they glow  
With coals of Sin▪ though none the Smoke descry.  
Bad is that Angel that erst fell from Heaven,  
But not so bad as he, nor in worse case  
Who hides a traitorous mind with smiling face,  
And with a Doves white feathers clothes a Raven:  
Each Sin some colour hath it to adorn,  
Hypocrisy Almighty God doth scorn.   

NEw doth the Sun appear,  
The Mountain's Snows decay,  
Crowned with frail flowers forth comes the Infant year;  
My Soul, Time posts away,  
And thou yet in that frost  
Which Flower and fruit hath lost,  
As if all here immortal were dost stay:  
For shame thy Powers awake,  
Look to that Heaven which never Night makes black,  
And there at that immortal Suns bright Rays,  
Deck thee with Flowers which fear not rage of Days.   

THrice happy he who by some shady Grove,  
Far from the clamorous World, doth live his own,  
Though solitary, who is not alone,  
But doth converse with that eternal Love:  
O how more sweet is Birds harmonious Moan,  
Or the hoarse Sobbing of the widowed Dove,  
Than those smooth whisper near a Prince's Throne,  
Which Good make doubtful do the evil approve?  
O how more sweet is Zephyres wholesome Breath,  
And Sighs embalmed, which newborn Flowers unfold,  
Than that applause vain Honour doth bequeath?  
How sweet are Streams to poison drank in Gold?  
The World is full of Horrors, Troubles, Slights,  
Woods harmless Shades have only true Delights▪   

SWeet Bird, that singest away the early Hours,  
Of Winter's past, or coming void of Care,  
Well pleased with Delights which present are,  
Fair Seasons, budding Sprays, sweet-smelling Flowers:  
To Rocks, to Springs, to Rills, from levy Bowers  
Thou thy Creator's Goodness dost declare,  
And what dear Gifts on thee he did not spare,  
A stain to humane sense in Sin that lowers.  
What Soul can be so sick, which by thy Songs  
(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven  
Quite to forget Earth's turmoils, spites, and Wrongs,  
And lift a reverend Eye and Thought to Heaven?  
Sweet Artless Songster, thou my Mind dost raise  
To Airs of Spheres, yes, and to Angels Lays.   

AS when it happeneth that some lovely Town  
Unto a barbarous Besieger falls,  
Who both by Sword and Flame himself enstalls,  
And (shameless) it in Tears and Blood doth drown;  
Her Beauty spoiled, her Citizens made Thralls,  
His spite yet cannot so her all throw down,  
But that some Statue, Pillar of renown,  
Yet lurks unmaimed within her weeping walls:  
So after all the Spoil, Disgrace and Wrack,  
That Time, the World, and Death could bring combined,  
Amidst that Mass of Ruins they did make,  
Safe and all scarlesse yet remains my Mind:  
From this so high transcendent Rapture springs,  
That I, all else defaced, not envy Kings.   

LEt us each day enure ourselves to die,  
If this (and not our fears) be truly Death,  
Above the Circles both of Hope and Faith  
With fair immortal Pinnions to fly;  
If this be Death, our best Part to untie  
(By ruining the Jail) from Lust and Wrath,  
And every drowsy languor here beneath,  
To be made denized Citizen of Sky:  
To have more knowledge than all Books contain,  
All Pleasures even surmounting wishing Power,  
The fellowship of God's immortal Train,  
And these that Time nor force shall e'er devour?  
If this be Death, What Joy, what golden care  
Of Life, can with Death's ugliness compare?   

AMidst the azure clear  
Of Jordan's sacred Streams,  
Jordan of Libanon the offspring dear,  
When Zephyr's flowers unclose,  
And Sun shines with new Bea●es,  
With grave and stately grace a Nymph arose.  
Upon her Head she beware  
Of Amaranthes a Crown,  
Her left hand Palms, her right a Torch did bear,  
Unveiled Skins whiteness lay,  
Gold hairs in Curls hang down,  
Eyes sparkled Joy, more bright than Star of Day.  
The Flood a Throne her reared  
Of Waves most like that Heaven  
Where beaming Stars in Glory turn ensphered:  
The Air stood calm and clear,  
No Sigh by Winds was given,  
Birds left to sing, Herds feed, her voice to hear.  
World-wandring sorry Wights,  
Whom nothing can content  
Within these varying lists of Days and Nights,  
Whose life (ere known amiss)  
In glittering Griefs is spent,  
Come learn (said she) what is your choicest Bliss.  
From Toil and pressing Cares  
How ye may respite find,  
A Sanctuary from Soule-thralling Snares,  
A Port to harbour sure  
In spite of waves and wind,  
Which shall when Times swift Glass is run endure.  
Not happy is that Life  
Which you as happy hold,  
No, but a Sea of fears, a Field of strife,  
Charged on a Throne to sit  
With Diadems of Gold,  
Preserved by Force, and still observed by Wit;  
Huge Treasures to enjoy,  
Of all her Gems spoil Ind,  
All Seres silk in Garments to employ,  
Deliciously to feed,  
The Phoenix plumes to find  
To rest upon, or deck your purple Bed.  
Frail Beauty to abuse,  
And (wanton Sybarites)  
On past or present touch of sense to muse;  
Never to hear of Noise  
But what the Ear delights,  
Sweet Music's charms, or charming flatterers voice.  
Nor can it Bliss you bring,  
Hid Natures Depths to know,  
Why matter changeth, whence each form doth spring,  
Nor that your Fame should range,  
And after-worlds' it blow  
From Tanais to Nile, from Nile to Gange.  
All these have not the Power  
To free the Mind from fears,  
Nor hideous horror can allay one hour,  
When Death in stealth doth glance;  
In Sickness lurks or years,  
And wakes the Soul from out her mortal Tran●e.  
No, but blessed life is this,  
With chaste and pure Desire  
To turn unto the load-star of all Bliss,  
On God the Mind to rest,  
Burnt up with sacred Fire,  
Possessing him to be by him possessed.  
When to the balmy East  
Sun doth his light impart,  
Or when he diveth in the lowly West,  
And ravisheth the Day,  
With spotless Hands and Heart,  
Him cheerfully to praise and to him pray.  
To heed each action so,  
As ever in his sight,  
More fearing doing Ill than passive woe;  
Not to seem other thing  
Than what ye are aright,  
Never to do what may Repentance bring:  
Not to be blown with Pride,  
Nor moved at Glories breath,  
Which Shadowlike on wings of Time doth glide;  
So Malice to disarm,  
And conquer hasty Wrath,  
As to do good to those that work your harm:  
To hatch no base Desires,  
Or Gold or Land to gain,  
Well pleased with that which Virtue fair acquires,  
To have the Wit and Will  
Consorting in one Strain,  
Than what is good to have no higher skill.  
Never on Neighbour's Goods,  
With Cockatrices Eye  
To look, nor make another's Heaven your Hell;  
Nor to be Beauty's Thrall,  
All fruitless Love to fly,  
Yet loving still a Love transcendent all:  
A Love which while it burns  
The Soul with fairest Beams,  
To that increa●ed Sun the Soul it turns,  
And makes such Beauty prove,  
That (if Sense saw her Gleams,)  
All lookers on would pine and die for love.  
Who such a life doth live,  
You happy even may call  
E'er ruthless Death a wished end him give,  
And after then when given,  
More happy by his fall,  
For humans, Earth, enjoying Angels, Heaven.  
Swift is your mortal Race,  
And glassy is the Field,  
vast are Desires not limited by Grace,  
Life a weak Taper is,  
Then while it light doth yield  
Leave flying Joys, embrace this lasting Bliss.  
This when the Nymph had said,  
Sh●e dived within the Flood,  
Whose Face with smiling Curls long after stayed,  
Then Sighs did Zephyrs press,  
Birds sang from every Wood,  
And Echoes rang, this was true Happiness.   

An Hymn on the Fairest Fair.  
I Feel my Bosom glow with wontlesse Fires,  
Raised from the vulgar press my Mind aspires  
(Winged with high Thoughts) unto his praise to climb,  
From deep Eternity who called forth Time,  
That Essence which not moved makes each thing move,  
Uncreate Beauty all-creating Love;  
But by so great an object, radiant light,  
My Heart appalled, enfeebled rests my Sight,  
Thick Clouds benight my labouring Engine▪  
And at my high attempts my Wits repine:  
If thou in me this sacred heat hast wrought,  
My Knowledge sharpen, Sarcells lend my Thought:  
Grant me (Times Father, world-containing King)  
A Power of thee in powerful Lays to sing,  
That as thy Beauty in Earth lives, Heaven shines,  
It dawning may or shadow in my Lines.  
As far beyond the starry walls of Heaven,  
As is the loftiest of the Planets seven  
Sequestered from this Earth, in purest light  
Outshining ours, as ours doth sable Night,  
Thou all-sufficient, Omnipotent,  
Thou ever-glorious, most excellent,  
God various in Names, in Essence one,  
High art installed on a golden Throne,  
Outstretching Heavens, wide bespangled vault,  
Transcending all the Circles of our Thought,  
With diamantine Sceptre in thy Hand,  
There thou giv'st Laws, and dost this World command,  
This World of Concord's raised unlikely sweet,  
Which like a Ball lies prostrate at thy Feet.  
If so we may well say (and what we say  
Here wrapped in flesh, led by dim Reason's ray,  
To show by earthly Beauties which we see  
That spiritual Excellence that shines in thee,  
Good Lord forgive) not far from thy right Side,  
With curled Locks Youth ever doth abide,  
Rose-cheeked Youth who garlanded with Flowers,  
Still blooming, ceaselessely unto thee powers  
Immortal Nectar in a cup of Gold,  
That by no darts of Ages thou grow old;  
And as ends and beginnings thee not claim,  
Successionlesse that thou be still the same.  
Near to thy other side resistless Might,  
From Head to Foot in burnished Armour dight,  
That rings about him, with a waving Brand,  
And watchful Eye, great Sentinel doth stand;  
That neither Time nor force in aught impair  
Thy Workmanship, nor harm thine Empire fair,  
Soon to give Death to all again that would  
Stern Discord raise which thou destroyed of old,  
Discord that foe to order, Nurse of War,  
By which the noblest things demolished are,  
But (caitiff) she no Treason doth devise,  
When Might to nought doth bring her enterprise;  
Thy all-upholding Might her Malice raines,  
And her to Hell throws bound in iron Chains.  
With Locks in waves of Gold that ebb and flow  
On Ivory neck, in Robes more white than Snow,  
Truth steadfastly before thee holds a Glass,  
Indented with Gems, where shineth all that was,  
That is, or shall be, here ere aught was wrought.  
Thou knew all that thy Power with time forth brought,  
And more, things numberless which thou couldst make,  
That actually shall never being take,  
Here thou beholdest thyself, and (strange) dost prove  
At once the Beauty, Lover and the Love.  
With Faces two (like Sisters) sweetly fair;  
Whose Blossoms no rough Autumn can impair,  
Stands Providence, and doth her looks disperse,  
Through every Corner of this Universe,  
Thy Providence, at once which general things  
And singular doth rule, as Empire's Kings,  
Without whose care this world (lost) would remain,  
As Ship without a Master in the Main,  
As Chariot alone, as Bodies prove  
Deprived of Souls, whereby they be▪ live, move.  
But who are they which shine thy Throne so near?  
With sacred countenance, and look sever●,  
This in one hand a ponderous Sword doth hold,  
Her left stays charged with Balances of Gold,  
That with, Brows girt with ●ays, sweet-smiling Face,  
Doth bear a Brandon, with a babish grace  
Two milk-white Wings him easily do move,  
O she thy Justice is, and this thy Love!  
By this thou brought'st this Engine great to light,  
By that it framed in Number, Measure, Weight,  
That destiny doth reward to ill and good;  
But Sway of Justice is by Love withstood,  
Which did it not relent and mildly stay,  
This World ere now had found its funeral Day.  
What Bands (en●●●ctred) near to th●se abide,  
Which into vast Infinity them hide?  
Infinity that neither doth admi●,  
Place, Time, nor Number to 〈◊〉 on it:  
Here Bounty sparkleth, here doth Beauty shine,  
Simplicity, more white than Gelsomine,  
Mercy with open wings, aye-varied Bliss,  
Glory, and Joy, that Blisses darling is.  
Ineffable, all-pow'rfull God, all free,  
Thou only liv'st, and each thing lives by thee,  
No Joy, no, nor Perfection to thee came  
By the contriving of this World's great Frame,  
Ere Sun, Moon, Stars began their restless race,  
Ere painted was with light Heavens p●re Face,  
Ere Aire had Cl●u●s, ere Clouds wept down their showers;  
Ere Sea embraced Earth, ere Earth bare Flowers,  
Thou happy liv'dst; World nought to thee supplied,  
All in thyself thy self thou satisfied:  
Of Good no slender Shadow doth appear,  
No age-worn tyacke, which shined in thee not clear,  
Perfections Sum, prime-cause of every Cause,  
Midst, end, beginning where all good doth pause:  
Hence of thy Substance, differing in nought  
Thou in Eternity thy Son forth brought,  
The only Birth of thy unchanging Mind▪  
Thine Image, Pattern-like that ever shined,  
Light out of Light begotten not by Will  
But Nature, all and that same Essence still  
Which thou thyself, for thou dost nought possess  
Which he hath not, in ought nor is he less  
Th●● Thee his great Beg●tt●●; of this Light,  
Eternal, Double kindled was thy Spirit  
Eternally, who is with Thee the same▪  
All-holy Gift, Ambassador, Knot, Flame:  
Most sacred Triad, O most holy One,  
Unprocreate Father, ●ver-procreate Son,  
Ghost breathed from both, you were, are still, shall be,  
(Most blessed) Three in One, and One in Three,  
Uncomprehensible by reckless Hight,  
And unperceived by excessive Light.  
So in our Souls three and yet one are still,  
The Understanding, Memory, and Will;  
So (though unlike) the Planet of the Days  
So soon as he was made begat his Rays,  
Which are his Offspring, and from both was hurled,  
The rosy Light which consolates the World,  
And none forwent another: so the spring,  
The Wellhead, and the Stream which they forth bring,  
Are but one selfe-same Essence, not in aught  
Do differ, save in order, and our Thought  
No chime of Time discerns in them to fall,  
But Three distinctly, ●ide one Essence all.  
But these express not Thee, who can declare  
Thy being? Men and Angels dazzled are.  
Who would this Eden force with wit or sense,  
A Cherubin shall find to bar him thence.  
Great Architect, Lord of this Universe,  
That light is blinded would thy Greatness pierce,  
Ah! as a Pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,  
Or Atlas' Temples crowned with winter glass,  
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,  
Pyrenes cliffs where Sun doth never shine,  
When he some craggy Hills hath everwent,  
Begins to think ●n rest, his Journey spent,  
Till mounting some tall Mountain● he do find,  
More heights before him than he left behind:  
With halting pace so while I would me raise  
To the unbounded limits of thy Praise,  
Some part of way I thought to have o'errun,  
But now I see how scarce I have begun,  
With Wonders new my Spirits range possessed,  
And wand'ring wayless in a maze them rest.  
In these vast Fields of Light, etherial Plains,  
Thou art attended by immortal Trains  
Of Intellectual Powers, which thou brought'st forth  
To praise thy Goodness, and admire thy Worth,  
In numbers passing others Creatures far,  
Since Creatures most noble maniest are▪  
Which do in knowledge us not less outrun:  
Than Moon in light doth Stars, or Moon the Sun,  
Unlike, in Orders ranged and many a Band,  
(If Beauty in Disparity doth stand)  
Archangels, Angels, Cherubs, Seraphines',  
And what with name of Thrones amongst them shines,  
Large-ruling Princes▪ Dominations, Powers,  
All-acting Virtues of those flaming towers;  
These freed of Umbrage, these of Labour free,  
Rest ravished with still beholding Thee,  
Inflamed with Beams which sparkle from thy Face,  
They can no more desire, far less embrace.  
Low under them, with slow and staggering pace  
Thy Handmaid Nature thy great Steps doth trace,  
The Source of second Causes golden Chain  
That links this Frame as thou it doth ordain;  
Nature gazed on with such a curious Eye,  
That Earthlings oft her deemed a Deity.  
By Nature led those Bodies fair and great,  
Which faint not in their Course, nor change their State,  
Unintermixt, which no disorder prove,  
Though aye and contrary they always move,  
The Organs of thy Providence divine.  
Books ever open, Sign●s that clearly shine,  
Time's purpled Maskers, then do them advance,  
As by sweet Music in a measured dance,  
Stars, Host of Heaven, ye Firmaments bright Flowers,  
Clear Lamps which overhang this Stage of ours,  
Ye turn not there to deck the Weeds of Night,  
Nor Pageant-like to please the vulgar Sight;  
Great Causes sure ye must bring great Effects,  
But who can descant right your grave Aspects?  
He only who Yo● made decipher can  
Your Notes, Heavens Eyes ye blind the Eyes of Man.  
Amidst these Saphir far-extending Heights,  
The never-twinkling, ever-wandring Lights  
Their fixed Motions keep, one dry and cold,  
Deep-Leaden coloured, slowly there is rolled,  
With Rule and Line for Times steps meeting even  
In twice three Lustres he but turns his Heaven.  
With temperate qualities and Countenance fair,  
Still mildly smiling sweetly debonair,  
Another cheers the World, and way doth make  
In twice six Autumns through the Zodiac.  
But hot and dry with flaming Locks and Brows  
Enraged, this in his red Pavilion glows:  
Together running with like speed, ●f space,  
Two equally in hands achieve their race,  
With blushing Face this oft doth bring the Day,  
And ushers oft to stately Stars the way,  
That various in virtue, changing, light,  
With his small flame impearles the veil of Night.  
Prince of this Court, the Sun in triumph rides,  
With the Year Snake-like in herself that glides,  
Times Dispensator, fair lifegiving Source,  
Through Skies twelve Posts as he doth run his course,  
Heart of this All, of what is known to sense,  
The likest to his Maker's excellence,  
In whose diurnal motion doth appear  
A Shadow, no true portrait of the Year.  
The Moon moves lowest, silver Sun of Night,  
Dispersing through the World her borrowed light,  
Who in three forms her head abroad doth range,  
And only constant is in constant Change.  
Sad Queen of Silence, I ne'er see thy Face,  
To wax, or wain, or shine with a full grace,  
But strait (amazed) on Man I think, each Day  
His state who changeth, or if he find Stay,  
It is in doleful anguish, cares, and pains,  
And of his Labours Death is all the Gains?  
Immortal Monarch can so fond a Thought  
Lodge in my Breast? as to trust thou first brought  
Here in Earth's shady Cloister wretched Man,  
To suck the Air of Woe, to spend Life's span  
'Midst Sighs and Plaints, a Stranger unto Mirth,  
To give himself his Death rebucking Birth?  
By sense and wit of Creatures made King,  
By sense and wit to live their Underling?  
And what is worst, have Eaglets eyes to see  
His own disgrace, and know an high degree  
Of Bl●sse, the Place, if he might thereto climb,  
And not live thralled to imperious Time?  
Or (dotard) shall I so from Reason swerve,  
To dim those Lights which to our use do serve,  
(For thou dost not them need) more nobly framed  
Than us, that know their course, and have them named?  
No, I ne'er think but we did them surpass  
As far as they do Asterisms of Glass,  
When thou us made, by Treason high defiled,  
Thrust from our first estate we live exiled,  
Wand'ring this Earth, which is of Death the Lot,  
Where he doth use the Power which he hath got,  
Indifferent Umpire unto Clowns and Kings,  
The supreme Monarch of all mortal things▪  
When fi●st this flowery Obbe was to us given,  
I but in place disvalue was to Heaven;  
These Creatures which now our Sovereigns are,  
And as to Rebels do denounce us war,  
Then were our Vassals, no tumultuous Storm,  
No Thunders, Earthquakes, did her Form deform,  
The Seas in tumbling Mountains did not roar,  
But like moist Crystal whispered on the Shore,  
No Snake did trace her Meads, nor ambushed lower  
In azure Curls beneath the sweet-Spring Flower;  
The Night shade, Henbane, Napell, Aconite,  
Her Bowels then not bare, with Death to smite  
Her guiltless Brood; thy Messengers of Grace,  
As their high Rounds did haunt this lower Place;  
O Joy of Joys! with our first Parents Thou  
To commune then didst daig●e, as Friends do now:  
Against thee we rebelled, and justly thus  
Each Creature rebelled against us,  
Earth, rest of what did chief in her excel,  
To all became a Jail, to most a Hell  
In Times full Term until thy Son was given,  
Who Man with Thee, Earth reconciled with Heaven.  
Whole and entire all in thyself thou art,  
All-where diffused, yet of this All no part,  
For infinite, in making this fair Frame  
(Great without Quantity) in all thou came,  
And filling all, how can thy State admit,  
Or Place or Substance to be void of it?  
Were Worlds as many, as the Rays which stream  
From Days bright lamp, on madding Wits do dream,  
They would not reel in aught, nor wand'ring stray,  
But draw to Thee, who could their Centre's stay;  
Were but one hours this World disjoined from thee,  
It in one hour to nought reduced should be,  
For it thy Shadow is, and can they last  
If severed from the Substances them cast?  
O only blest, and Author of all Bliss,  
No, Bliss itself, that all where wished is,  
Efficient, exemplary final Good,  
Of thine own Self but only understood;  
Light is thy Curtain, thou art Light of Light,  
An everwaking Eye still shining bright,  
In-looking all, exempt of passive Power,  
And change, in change since Death's pale shade doth lower:  
All Times to thee are one, that which hath run,  
And that which is not brought yet by the Sun,  
To thee are present, who dost always see  
In present act, what past is, or to be;  
Day-livers we remembrance do lose  
Of Ages worn, so Miseries us toss  
(Blind and lethargic of thy heavenly Grace,  
Which Sin in our first Parents did deface,  
And even while Embryos cursed by justest doom)  
That we neglect what gone is, or to come,  
But thou in thy great Archives scrolled haste  
In parts and whole, what ever yet hath past,  
Since first the marble Wheels of Time were rolled,  
As ever living, never waxing old,  
Still is the same thy Day and Yesterday,  
An undivided Now, a constant Ay.  
O King whose Greatness none can comprehend,  
Whose boundless Goodness doth to all extend,  
Light of all Beauty Ocean without ground,  
That standing flowest, giving dost abound,  
Rich Palace, and Endweller ever blest,  
Never not working ever yet in Rest;  
What wit cannot conceive, words say of Thee,  
Here where we as but in a Mirror see,  
Shadows of shadows, Atoms of thy Might,  
Still owly-eyed when staring on thy Light;  
Grant that released from this earthly Jail,  
And freed from Clouds which here our Knowledge veil,  
In Heaven's high Temples where thy Praises ring,  
In sweeter Notes I may hear Angels sing.   

GReat God, whom we with humbled Thoughts adore,  
Eternal, Infinite, Almighty King,  
Whose Dwellings Heaven transcend, whose Throne before  
Archangels serve, and Seraphines' do sing;  
Of nought who wrought all that with wondering Eyes  
We do behold within this various Round,  
Who makes the Rocks to rock, to stand the Skies,  
At whose command Clouds peals of Thunder sound▪  
Ah! spare us Worms, weigh not how we alas  
(Evil to ourselves) against thy Laws rebel,  
Wash off those spots which still in Conscience Glass  
(Though we be loath to look) we see too well.  
Deserved Revenge, oh do not do not take,  
If thou revenge who shall abide thy Blow?  
Pass shall this World, this World which thou didst make,  
Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow:  
What Soul is found whom Parents Crime not stains?  
Or what with its own Sins defiled is not?  
Though justice Rigour threaten, yet her Rains  
Let Mercy guide, and never be forgot.  
Less are our Faults far far than is thy Love,  
O what can better seem thy Grace divine,  
Than they who plagues deserve, thy Bounty prove,  
And where thou shower master Vengeance, there to shine?  
Then look and pity, pitying forgive  
Us guilty Slaves, or Servants now in thrall;  
Slaves, if alas thou look how we do live,  
Or doing ill, or doing nought at all?  
Of an ungrateful Mind a foul Effect;  
But if thy Gifts which largely heretofore  
Thou hast upon us poured thou dost respect,  
We are thy Servants nay, than Servants more,  
Thy Children, yes, and Children dear bought,  
But what strange Chance us of this Lot bereaves?  
Poor worthless Wights how lowly are we brought,  
Whom Grace once Children made, Sin hath made Slaves?  
Sin hath made Slaves, but let those Bands Grace break,  
That in our Wrongs thy Mercies may appear,  
Thy Wisdom not so mean is, Power so weak,  
But thousand ways they can make Worlds thee fear.  
O Wisdom boundless! O miraculous Grace!  
Grace, Wisdom which make wink dim Reason's Eye,  
And could Heaven's King bring from his placeless Place,  
On this ignoble Stage of Care to die:  
To die our Death, and with the sacred Stream  
Of Blood and Water gushing from his Side,  
To make us clean of that contagious Blame,  
First on us brought by our first Parent's Pride.  
Thus thy great Love and Pity (heavenly King)  
Love, Pity which so well our Loss prevent,  
Of Evil itself (lo) could all Goodness bring,  
And sad beginning cheer with glad event.  
O Love and Pity! ill known of these Times,  
O Love and Pity! careful of our need,  
O Bounties! which our horrid Acts and Crimes  
(Grown numberless) contend near to exceed.  
Make this excessive ardour of thy love,  
So warm our Coldness, so our Lives renew,  
That we from Sin, Sin may from us remove.  
Wisdom our Will, Faith may our Wit subdue.  
Let thy pure Love burn up all worldly Lust,  
Hell's candid Poison killing our best part,  
Which makes us joy in Toys, adore frail Dust  
Instead of Thee, in Temple of our Heart.  
Grant when at last our Souls these Bodies leave,  
Their loathsome Shops of sin and Mansions blind,  
And Doom before thy Royal Seat receive▪  
A Saviour more than Judge they thee may find.    

THE WAND'RING MUSES: OR, The River of FORTH FEASTING: IT BEING A Panegyric to the High and Mighty Prince, James, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland. BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND Of HAWTHORNDEN.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1656.   

To His Sacred Majesty.  
IF in this Storm of joy and pompous Throng,  
This Nymph (great King) doth come to Thee so near  
That thy harmonious Ears Her accents hear,  
Give Pardon to Her hoarse and lowly Song:  
Feign would she Trophies to Thy Virtue's rear;  
But for this stately task She is not strong,  
And her Defects Her high Attempts do wrong,  
Yet as she could She makes thy Worth appear.  
So in a Map is shown this flowery Place;  
So wrought in Arras by a Virgin's Hand  
With Heaven and blazing Stars doth Atlas stand,  
So drawn by Charcoal is Narcissus Face:  
She like the Morn may be to some bright Sun,  
The Day to perfect that's by her begun.   

The River of FORTH FEASTING: A Panegyric to the High and Mighty Prince, James, King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland.  
WHat blustering Noise now interrups my Sleeps?  
What echoing Shouts thus cleave my crystal Deeps?  
And seems to call me from my watery Court?  
What Melody, what sounds of Joy and Sport,  
Are conveyed hither from each Night-borne Spring?  
With what loud Rumours do the Mountain's ring?  
Which in unusual Pomp on tiptoes stand,  
And (full of Wonder) overlook the Land?  
Whence come these glittering Throngs, these Meteors bright,  
This golden People glancing in my sight?  
Whence doth this Praise, Applause, and Love, arise?  
What Load-star Eastward draweth thus all Eyes?  
Am I awake? Or have some Dreams conspired  
To mock my Sense with what I most desired?  
View I that living Face, see I those Looks,  
Which with Delight were wont t'amaze my Brooks?  
Do I behold that Worth, that Man divine,  
This Age's Glory, by these Banks of mine?  
Then find I true what long I wished in vain;  
My much beloved Prince is come again;  
So unto them whose Zenith is the Pole,  
When six black Months are past, the Sun doth roll:  
So after Tempest to Sea-tossed Wights  
Fair Helen's Brothers show their clearing Lights:  
So comes Arabia's wonder from her Woods,  
And far far off is seen by Memphis Floods,  
The feathered Sylvans; Cloudlike by her fly,  
And with triumphing plaudits beat the Sky,  
Nile marvels, Scraps Priests (entranced) rave,  
And in Mygdonian stone her Shape engrave;  
In lasting Cedars they do mark the Time  
In which Apollo's Bird came to their Clime.  
Let Mother Earth now decked with Flowers be seen,  
And sweet-breathed Zephyrs curl the Meadows green:  
Let Heaven weep Rubies in a Crimson shower,  
Such as on Indies Shores they use to pour:  
Or with that golden Storm the Fields adorn,  
Which Jove reigned when his Blue-eyed Maid was born.  
May never Hours the Web of Day out-weave,  
May never Night rise from her sable Cave.  
Swell proud my Billows, faint not to declare  
Your Joys as ample as their Causes are:  
For Murmurs hoarse, sound like Arion's Harp,  
Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp;  
And you my Nymphs, rise from your moist Repair,  
Strew all your Springs and Grots with Lilies fair:  
Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray  
Our Floods and Lakes come keep this Holiday;  
What e'er beneath Albanias' Hills do run,  
Which see the rising, or the setting Sun,  
Which drink stern Grampius Mists, or Ochels' Snows:  
Stone-rowling Tay, Tine Tortoise-like that flows,  
The pearly Don, the Deas, the fertile Spay,  
Wild Neve●ne, which doth see our longest Day;  
Nesse smoaking-Sulphur, Leave with Mountains crowned▪  
Strange Loumond for his floating Isles renowned:  
The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Aire,  
The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy Hair,  
The christall-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde,  
Tweed which no more our Kingdoms shall divide:  
Ranke-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams,  
The Eskes, the Solway where they lose their Names,  
To every one proclaim our Joys, and Feasts,  
Our Triumphs; bid all come and be our Guests:  
And as they meet in Neptune's azure Hall,  
Bid them bid Sea-Gods keep this Festival;  
This Day shall by our Currents be renowned,  
Our Hills about shall still this Day resound:  
Nay, that our Love more to this Day appear,  
Let us with it henceforth begin our year.  
To Virgins, Flowers, to Sunburnt Earth, the Rain,  
To Mariners, fair Winds amidst the Main,  
Cool Shades to Pilgrims, which hot Glances burn,  
Are not so pleasing as thy blessed Return.  
That Day (dear Prince) which robbed us of thy sight,  
[Day, no, but Darkness, and a dusky Night]  
Did fill our Breasts with Sighs, our Eyes with Tears,  
Turned Minutes to sad Months, sad Months to Years:  
Trees left to flourish, Meadows to bear Flowers,  
Brooks hid their Heads within their sedgy Bowers,  
Fair Ceres cursed our Fields with barren Frost,  
As if again she had her Daughter lost:  
The Muses left our Groves, and for sweet Songs  
Sat sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs;  
You know it Meads, you murmuring Woods it know,  
Hills, Dales, and Caves, Copartners of their Woe;  
And you it know, my Streams, which from their Eine  
Oft on your Glass received their pearly Brine;  
O Naïds dear (said they) Napaeas' fair,  
O Nymphs of Trees, Nymphs which on Hills repair,  
Gone are those maiden Glories, gone that State,  
Which made all Eyes admire our Bliss of late.  
As looks the Heaven when never Star appears,  
But slow and weary shroud them in their Spheres,  
While Tithonus' wife embosom'd by Him lies,  
And World doth languish in a mournful Guise:  
As looks a Garden of its Beauty spoiled,  
As Woods in Winter by rough Bore'as foiled,  
As Pourtraits razed of Colours use to be:  
So looked these abject Bounds deprived of Thee.  
While as my Rills enjoyed Thy royal Gleams,  
They did not envy Tiber's haughty Streams,  
Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden Ore,  
Nor clear Hydaspes which on Pearls doth roar,  
Nor golden Gange that sees the Sun new borne,  
Nor Achelous with his flowery Horn,  
Nor Floods which near elysian Fields do fall:  
For why? Thy sight did serve to them for all.  
No Place there is so desert, so alone,  
Even from the frozen to the Torrid Zone,  
From flaming Hecla to great Quinceys Lake,  
Which Thy abode could not most happy make;  
All those Perfections which by bounteous Heaven  
To divers Worlds in divers Times were given,  
The starry Senate poured at once on Thee,  
That thou Exemplar mightst to others be.  
Thy Life was kept till the three Sisters spun  
Their threads of Gold, and then it was begun.  
With chequered Clouds when Skies do look most fair,  
And no disordered Blasts disturb the Air,  
When Lilies do them deck in azure Gowns;  
And newborn Roses blush with golden Crowns,  
To prove how calm we under Thee should live,  
What Halcyonean Days Thy Reign should give,  
And to two flowery Diadems Thy right;  
The Heavens Thee made a Partner of the Light.  
Scarce wast Thou borne, when joined in friendly Bands  
Two mortal Foes with other clasped Hands,  
With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grace  
Thy Place for Thee, Thee for so high a Place,  
One vowed Thy sacred Breast not to forsake,  
The other on Thee not to turn her Back;  
And that thou more her love's Effects mightst feel,  
For Thee she left her Globe, and broke her Wheel.  
When years Thee Vigour gave, O then how clear  
Did smothered Sparkles in bright Flames appear!  
Amongst the Woods to force the flying Hart,  
To pierce the Mountaine-Wolfe with feathered Dart;  
See Falcons climb the Clouds, the Fox ensnare,  
Outrun the wind-out-running Daedale Hare  
To breathe thy fiery Steed on every Plain,  
And in meandring ●yres him bring again,  
The Press Thee making Place, and vulgar Things,  
In Admirations Air, on Glories Wings;  
O! Thou far from the common Pitch didst rise,  
With thy designs to dazzle Envies Eyes:  
Thou soughtst to know this Alls eternal Source,  
Of ever-turning Heavens the restless Course,  
Their fixed Lamps, their Lights which wand'ring run,  
Whence Moon her Silver hath, his Gold the Sun,  
If Fate there be or no, if Planets can  
By fierce Aspects force the freewill of Man:  
The light aspiring Fire, the liquid Air,  
The flaming Dragons, Comets with red Hair,  
Heavens tilting Lances, Artillery, and Bow,  
Loud-sounding Trumpets, Darts of Hail, and Snow,  
The roaring Element, with People dumb,  
The Earth with what conceived is in her Womb,  
What on her moves, were set unto thy Sight,  
Till Thou didst find their Causes, Essence, Might:  
But unto nought Thou so thy Mind didst strain,  
As to be read in Man, and learn to reign;  
To know the Weight and Atlas of a Crown,  
To spare the Humble, Proud ones tumble down.  
When from those piercing Cares which Thrones invest,  
As Thorns the Rose, thou wearied wouldst thee rest,  
With Lute in Hand, full of Celestial Fire,  
To the Pierian Groves thou didst retire:  
There, garlanded with all Uranias' Flowers,  
In sweeter Lays than builded Thebes towers,  
Or them which charmed the Dolphines' in the Main,  
Or which did call Eurydice again,  
Thou sung'st away the Hours, till from their Sphere  
Stars seemed to shoot, thy Melody to hear.  
The God with golden Hair, the Sister Maids,  
Did leave their Helicon, and Temp's shades,  
To see thine Isle, here lost their native Tongue,  
And in thy world-divided Language sung.  
Who of thine af●●r-age can count the Deeds,  
With all that Fame in Times huge Annals reads,  
How by Example more than any Law,  
This People fierce thou didst to goodness draw;  
How while the Neighbour Worlds (tossed by the Fates)  
So many Phaëtons had in their States,  
Which turned to heedless Flames their burnished Thrones,  
Thou (as ensphered) keptst temperate thy Zones;  
In Africa Shore's the Sands that ebb and flow,  
The shady Leaves on Arden's Trees that grow,  
He sure may cou●●, with all ●he waves that meet  
To wash the Mauritanian Atlas feet.  
Though crowned thou we●t not, nor a King by Birth,  
Thy Worth deserves the richest Crown on Earth.  
Search this half-sphere, and the Antarctic Ground,  
Where is such Wit and Bounty to be found?  
As into silent Night, when near the Bear  
The Virgin Hunt●esse skins at full most clear,  
And strives to match her Brothers golden Light,  
The Host of stars doth vanish in her sight,  
Arcturus dies; cooled is the Lion's ire,  
Po burns no more with Phaëtontall Fire;  
Orion faints to see his Arms grow black,  
And that his flaming Sword he now doth lack:  
So Europe's Lights, all bright in their Degree,  
Lose all their Lustre paralleled with Thee.  
By just Descent Thou from more Kings dost shine,  
Than many can name Men in all their Line:  
What most they toil to find, and finding hold,  
Thou scornest, orient Gems, and flattering Gold?  
Esteeming Treasure surer in men's Breasts,  
Than when immured with Marble, closed in Chests;  
No stormy Passions do disturb thy Mind,  
No mists of Greatness ever could thee blind:  
Who yet hath been so meek? Thou life didst give  
To them who did repine to see Thee live;  
What Prince by Goodness hath such Kingdoms gained?  
Who hath so long his People's Peace maintained?  
Their Swords are turned to Sythes, to Culters' Spears,  
Some Giant Post their antic Armour bears:  
Now, where the wounded Knight his Life did bleed,  
The wanton Swain sits piping on a Reed.  
And where the Canon did Jove's Thunder scorn,  
The gaudy Huntsman winds his shrill-tuned Horn:  
Her green Locks Ceres doth to yellow die,  
The Pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie,  
Both Pan and Pales (careless keep their Flocks,  
Seas have no Dangers save the Winds and Rocks:  
Thou art this Isles Palladium, neither can  
[Whiles thou dost live] it be overthrown by Man.  
Let others boast of Blood and Spoils of Foes,  
Fierce Rapines, Murders, Iliads of Woes,  
Of hated Pomp, and Trophies reared fair,  
Gore-spangled Ensigns streaming in the Air,  
Count how they make the Scythian them adore,  
The Gaditan, and Soldier of Aurore,  
Unhappy Boasting! to enlarge their Bounds,  
That charge themselves with cares, their friends with Wounds,  
Who have no Law to their ambitious Will,  
But (Man-plagues) borne are humane Blood to spill:  
Thou a true Victor art, sent from above  
What others strain by Force, to gain by Love,  
World-wandring Fame this Praise to thee imparts,  
To be the only Monarch of all Hearts,  
They many fear, who are of many feared,  
And Kingdoms got by Wrongs, by Wrongs are teared,  
Such Thrones as Blood doth raise, Blood throweth down,  
No Guard so sure as Love unto a Crown.  
Eye of our western World, Mars-daunting King,  
With whose Renown the Earth's seven Climates ring,  
Thy Deeds not only claim these Diadems,  
To which Thame, Litty, Taye, subject their Streams:  
But to thy Virtue's rare, and Gifts, is due  
All that the Planet of the Year doth view;  
Sure if the world above did want a Prince  
The world above to it would take Thee hence.  
That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to Hell,  
And in their Rooms with us the Graces dwell,  
That Honour more than Riches Men respect,  
That Worthiness than Gold doth more effect,  
That Piety unmasked shows her Face,  
That Innocency keeps with Power her Place,  
That long-exiled Astrea leaves the Heaven,  
And turneth right her Sword, her Weights holds even;  
That the Saturnian world is come again,  
Are wished effects of Thy most happy Reign.  
That daily Peace, Love, Truth, Delights increase,  
And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Incumbers, cease,  
That Men use strength not to shed others Blood,  
But use their strength now to do others Good;  
That Fury is enchained, disarmed Wrath,  
That (save by Nature's Hand) there is no Death,  
That late grim Foes, like Brothers, other love,  
That Vultures pray not on the harmless Dove,  
That Wolves with Lambs do friendship entertain,  
Are wished effects of thy most happy Reign.  
That Towns increase, That ruin'd Temples rise,  
That their wind-moving Vanes do kiss the Skies,  
That Ignorance and Sloth hence run away,  
That buried Arts now rouse them to the Day,  
That Hyperion far beyond his Bed,  
Doth see, our Lions ramp, our Roses spread,  
That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms;  
That Rhein with hence-brought Beams his bosom warms;  
That Ill doth fear, and Good doth us maintain,  
Are wished Effects of thy most happy Reign.  
O Virtues Pattern, Glory of our Times,  
Sent of past Days to expiate the Crimes,  
Great King, but better far than thou art great,  
Whom State not honours, but who honours State,  
By Wonder borne, by Wonder first installed,  
By Wonder after to new Kingdoms called;  
Young kept by Wonder from homebred Alarms,  
Old saved by Wonder from pale Traitors Harms,  
To be for this Thy Reign which Wonders brings,  
A King of Wonder, Wonder unto Kings.  
If Pict, Dane, Normane, Thy smooth Yoke had seen,  
Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy Subjects been:  
If Brutus knew the Bliss Thy Rule doth give,  
Even Brutus' joy would under Thee to live:  
For Thou Thy People dost so dear love,  
That they a Father, more than Prince, Thee prove.  
O Days to be desired! Age happy thrice!  
If you your Heaven-sent-Good could duly prise,  
But we (halfe-palsie-sick) think never right  
Of what we hold, till it be from our sight,  
Prise only Summer's sweet and musked Breath,  
When armed Winter's threaten us with Death,  
In pallid Sickness do esteem of Health,  
And by sad Poverty discern of Wealth:  
I see an Age when after some few years,  
And Revolutions of the slow-paced Spheres,  
These days shall be 'bove other far esteemed,  
And like Augustus palmy Reign be deemed.  
The Names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines,  
graven in Times surly Brows in wrinkled Lines,  
Of Henry's, Edward's, famous for their Fights,  
Their Neighbour Conquests, Orders new of Knights,  
Shall by this Princes Name be passed as far  
As Meteors are by the Idalian Star.  
If Gray-haired Proteüs' Songs the Truth not miss,  
There is a Land hence-distant many Miles,  
Out-reaching Fiction and Atlantic Isles,  
Which (Homelings) from this little World we name,  
That shall emblazon with strange Rites his Fame,  
Shall rear him Statues all of purest Gold,  
Such as Men gave unto the Gods of old,  
Name by him Temples, Palaces, and Towns,  
With some great River, which their Fields renowns.  
This is that King who should make right each wrong,  
Of whom the Bards and mystic Sibyls sung,  
The Man long promised, by whose glorious Reign,  
This Isle should yet her ancient Name regain,  
And more of Fortunate deserve the Style,  
Than those where Heavens with double Summer's smile.  
Run on (Great Prince) Thy Course in Glories way,  
The end the Life, the Evening crowns the Day;  
Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above  
Those heights which made the World Thee first to love;  
Surmount thyself, and make thine Actions past  
Be but as Gleams or Lightnings of thy last,  
Let them exceed those of thy younger Time,  
As far as Autumn doth the flowery Prime.  
Through this thy Empire range, like world's bright Eye,  
That once each year surveys all Earth, and sky,  
Now glances on the slow and resty Bears,  
Then turns to dry the weeping Austers tears,  
Hurries to both the Poles, and moveth even  
In the infigured Circle of the Heaven.  
O long long haunt these Bounds, which by thy sight  
Have now regained their former Heat and Light.  
Here grow green Woods, here silver Brooks do glide,  
Here Meadows stretch them out with painted Pride,  
Embroyd'ring all the Banks, here Hills aspire  
To crown their Heads with the aethereal Fire:  
Hills, Bulwarks of our Freedom, giant walls,  
Which never friends did slight nor Sword made thralls;  
Each circling Flood to Thetis Tribute pays,  
Men here (in Health) outlive old Nestor's days:  
Grim Saturn yet amongst our Rocks remains,  
Bound in our Caves, with many Metalled Chains:  
Bulls haunt our shades like Leda's Lover white,  
Which yet might breed Pasiphae delight,  
Our Flocks fair Fleeces bear, with which for sport  
Endymion of old the Moon did court,  
High-palmed Hearts amidst our Forests run,  
And, not impaled, the deepmouthed Hounds do shun;  
The rough-foot Hare safe in our Bushes shrowds,  
And long-winged Hawks do perch amidst our clouds.  
The wanton wood-Nymphs of the verdant Spring,  
Blue, Golden, Purple Flowers shall to thee bring,  
Pomonas' Fruits the Panisks, Thetis Girls,  
Thy Thulies Amber, with the Ocean Pearls;  
The Tritons, Herdsmen of the glassy Field,  
Shall give thee what far-distant shores can yield,  
The Serean Fleeces, Erythraean Gems,  
Waste Platas Silver, Gold of Peru Streams,  
Antarctic Parrots, Aethiopian Plumes,  
Sabaean Odours, Myrrh, and sweet Perfumes:  
And I myself, wrapped in a watchet Gown  
Of Reeds and Lilies, on mine Head a Crown,  
Shall Incense to thee Burn, green Altars raise,  
And yearly sing due Paeans to Thy Praise.  
Ah why should Isis only see Thee shine?  
Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis Thine?  
Though Isis vaunt she hath more Wealth in store,  
Let it suffice Thy Forth doth love Thee more:  
Though she for Beauty may compare with Seine,  
For Swans and Sea-Nymphs with imperial Rhine,  
Yet for the Title may be claimed in Thee,  
Nor She, nor all the World can match with me.  
Now when (by Honour drawn) Thou shalt away  
To Her already jealous of Thy Stay,  
When in Her amorous Arms She doth Thee fold,  
And dries thy Dewy Hairs with Hers of Gold,  
Much ask of Thy Fare, much of Thy Sport,  
Much of Thine Absence, Long, how e'er so short,  
And chides (perhaps) Thy coming to the North,  
Loath not to think on Thy much-loving Forth:  
O love these Bounds, whereof Thy Royal Stem  
More than an hundred wore a Diadem.  
So ever Gold and Bayss Thy Brows adorn,  
So never Time may see Thy Race outworn,  
So of Thine Own still mayst Thou be desired,  
Of Strangers feared, redoubted, and admired;  
So Memory Thee Praise, so precious Hours  
May character Thy Name in starry Flowers;  
So may Thy high Exploits at last make even,  
With Earth Thy Empire, Glory with the Heaven.   

SPEECHES TO THE HIGH AND EXCELLENT PRINCE, CHARLES', King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, at His Entering His City of EDINBURGH: Delivered from the Pageants the 15th of June, 1633.  
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1656.   

An intended Speech at the West Gate.  
SIR, if Nature could suffer Rocks to move, and abandon their natural places, this Town founded on the strength of Rocks (now by the all-cheering Rays of Your Majesty's Presence, taking not only Motion, but Life) had with her Castle, Temples, and Houses moved toward you, and besought you to acknowledge Her yours, and Her Inhabitants your most humble and affectionate Subjects, and to believe how ●any souls are within Her Circuits, so many Lives are devoted to your sacred Person and Crown; And here, Sir, She offers by me, to the Altar of your Glory, whole Hecatombs of most happy desires, praying all things may prove prosperous unto you, that every Virtue and Heroic Grace, which make a Prince eminent, may with a long and ●lessed Government attend you; Your Kingdoms flourishing abroad with Bays, at home with Olives. Presenting you Sir, (who are the Strong Key of this little World of Great Britain) with these Keys, which cast up the Gates of Her affection, and design you Power to open all the Springs of the Hearts of these Her most loyal Citizens. Yet this almost not necessary; for as the Rose at the far appearing of the Morning Sun displayeth and spreadeth her purples, so at the very Report of your happy return to this your native Country, their Hearts (as might be apparent, if they could have shined through their Breasts) were with joy and fair hopes made spacious, nor did they ever in all parts feel a more comfortable heat, than the Glory of your Presence at this time darteth upon them.  
The Old forget their Age, and look fresh and young at the sight of so gracious a Prince: The Young bear a Part in your Welcome, desiring many years of Life, that they may serve you long, all have more joys than Tongues; for as the words of other Nations far go beyond and surpass the affection of their hearts: So in this Nation the affection of their hearts is far above all they can express by words. Deign then, Sir, from the highest of Majesty, to look down on their lowness, and embrace it, accept the homage of their humble minds, accept their grateful zeal, and for deeds, accept that great goodwill which they have ever carried to the high deserts of your Ancestors, and shall ever to your Own, and your Royal Race, whilst these Rocks shall be overshadowed with Buildings, these Buildings inhabited by men, and while men shall be endued either with counsel or courage, or enjoy any piece of Reason, Sense, or Life.   

The Speech of Caledonia, representing the Kingdom.  
THe Heavens have heard our vows, our just desires  
Obtained are, no higher now aspires  
Our wishing thought, since to his native Clime  
The Flower of Princes, honour of his Time,  
Encheering all our Dales, Hills, Forests, Streams,  
(As Phoebus doth the Summer with his beams)  
Is come, and radiant to us in his train  
The golden Age and virtues brings again;  
Prince so much longed for, how thou becalm'st  
Minds easeless anguish, every care embalm'st  
With the sweet odours of thy Presence: Now  
In swelling Tides Joys every where do flow  
By thine approach, and that the World may see  
What unthought wonders do attend on Thee,  
This Kingdom's Angel I, who since that day  
That ruthless Fate thy Parent rest away,  
And made a Star, appeared not any where  
To gratulate thy coming, come am here.  
Hail Princes Phoenix, Monarch of all Hearts,  
Sovereign of Love and Justice, who imparts  
More than thou canst receive; To thee this Crown  
Is due by birth; but more, it is thine own  
By just desert; and ere another brow  
Than thine should reach the same, my floods should flow  
With hot Vermillion gore, and every Plain  
Level the hills with Carcases of slain,  
This Isle become a red Sea: Now how sweet  
Is it to me, when Love and Laws thus meet  
To gird thy Temples with this Diadem,  
My Nurselings sacred fear, and dearest Gem,  
Nor Roman, Saxon, Pict, by sad alarms  
Could this acquire and keep; the Heavens in arms  
From us repel all perils, nor by wars  
Ought here was won or gaping wounds and scars,  
Our Lions Clymacterick now is past,  
And crowned with Bays, he rampeth free at last.  
Here are no Serean Fleeces, Peru Gold,  
Aurora's Gems, nor Wares by Tyrians sold;  
Towns swell not here with Babylonian Walls,  
Nor Nero's sky-resembling gold-seeled Halls,  
Nor Memphis Spires, nor Quinzayes arched Frames,  
Captiving Seas, and giving Lands their names:  
Faith (milk-white Faith) of old beloved so well,  
Yet in this corner of the world doth dwell  
With her pure Sisters, Truth, Simplicity;  
Here banished Honour bears them company,  
A Mars-adoring Brood is here, their wealth,  
Sound minds, and bodies of as sound a health;  
Walls here are Men, who fence their Cities more  
Than Neptune when he doth in Mountains roar,  
Doth guard this Isle, or all those Forts and towers  
Amphion's Harp raised about Thebes bowers,  
Heaven's Arch is oft their roof, the pleasant shed  
Of Oak and Plaine oft serves them for a Bed.  
To suffer want, soft pleasure to despise,  
Run over panting Mountains crowned with Ice,  
R●vers o'ercome, the wastest Lakes appall,  
(Being to themselves, Oars, Steerers, Ship and all)  
Is their renown; a brave all-doring Race,  
Courageous, prudent, doth this Climate grace;  
Yet the firm Base on which their glory stands,  
In peace true hearts, in wars is valiant hands,  
Which here (great King) they offer up to thee,  
Thy worth respecting as thy pedigree:  
Though it be much to come of Princely stem,  
More is it to deserve a Diadem.  
Vouchsafe blessed People, ravished here with me,  
To think my thoughts, and see what I do see,  
A Prince all gracious, affable, divine,  
Meek, wise, just, valiant, whose radiant shine,  
Of Virtues (like the Stars about the Pole  
Guilding the Night) enlighteneth every Soul  
Your Sceptre sways; a Prince borne in this Age  
To guard the Innocents' from Tyrant's rage,  
To make Peace prosper, Justice to reflow'r,  
In desert hamlet, as in Lordly Bower;  
A Prince, that though of none he stands in awe,  
Yet first subjects himself to his own Law,  
Who joys in good, and still as right directs▪  
His greatness measures by his good effects,  
His People's pedestal, who rising high,  
To grace this Throne, makes Scotland's name to fly  
On Halcyons wings (her glory which restores)  
Beyond the Ocean to Columbus shores:  
Gods sacred Picture in this man adore,  
Honour his Valour, Zeal, his Piety more,  
High value what you hold, him deep engrave  
In your heart's Heart, from whom all good ye have:  
For as Moon's splendour from her Brother springs,  
The People's welfare streameth from their Kings.  
Since your love's Object doth immortal prove,  
O love this Prince with an eternal love.  
Pray that those Crowns his Ancestors did wear,  
His temples long (more orient) may bear,  
That good he reach by sweetness of his sway,  
That even his shadow may the bad affray;  
That Heaven on him what he desires bestow,  
That still the glory of his greatness grow,  
That your begun felicities may last,  
That no Orion do with storms them blast,  
That Victory his brave exploits attend,  
East, West, or South, where he his Force shall bend,  
Till his great Deeds all former Deeds surmount,  
And quail the Nimrod of the Hellespont;  
That when his well-spent care all care becalms,  
He may in Peace sleep in a shade of Palms;  
And rearing up fair Trophies, that heavens may  
Extend his life to world's extremest day.   

The Song of the Muses at Parnassus.  

AT length we see those Eyes,  
Which cheer both Earth and Skies;  
Now, ancient Caledon,  
Thy Beauties heighten, richest Robes put on,  
And let young joys to all thy parts arise.   

Here could thy Prince still stay,  
Each Month should turn to May;  
We need nor Star, nor Sun,  
Save him, to lengthen Days and Joys begun:  
Sorrow and Night to far Climes haste away.   

Now Majesty and Love  
Combined are from above,  
Prince never Sceptre swayed,  
Loved Subjects more, of Subjects more obeyed,  
Which may endure whilst Heaven's great Orbs do move:   

Joys did you always last,  
Life's spark you soon would waste;  
Grief follows sweet Delight,  
As Day is shadowed by sable Night,  
Yet shall Remembrance keep you still▪ when past.    

The Speeches at the Horoscopall Pageant by the Planets.  

Endymion.  
Roused from the Latmian Cave, where many years  
That Empress of the lowest of the Spheres,  
Who cheers the Night, did keep me hid, apart  
From mortal Wights, to ease her lovesick heart,  
As young as when she did me first enclose,  
As fresh in beauty as the morning Rose,  
Endymion; that whilom kept my Flocks  
Upon jonias' flowery Hills and Rocks,  
And sweet Lays warbling to my Cynthia's beams,  
Out-sang the Cignets of Meander's streams:  
To whom (for Guerdon) she Heavens secret bars  
Made open, taught the Paths and Powers of Stars;  
By this dear Ladies strict commandment  
To celebrate this day I here am sent.  
But whether is this heaven, which stars do crown,  
Or are heavens flaming splendours here come down  
To beautify this nether World with me?  
Such state and glory did e'er Shepherd see?  
My wits my sense mistrust, and stay amazed,  
No eye on fairer Objects ever gazed;  
Sure this is Heaven, for every wand'ring star,  
Forsaking those great Orbs where whirled they are,  
All dismal sad aspects abandoning,  
Are here met to salute some gracious King;  
Nor is it strange if they Heaven's height neglect,  
It of undoubted worth is the effect:  
Then this it is, thy presence (royal Youth)  
Hath brought them here within an Azymuth,  
To tell by me (their Herald) coming things,  
And what each Fate to her stern Dista●●e sings:  
Heaven's Volume to unclasp, vast Pages spread,  
Mysterious golden Ciphers clear to read:  
Hear then the Augur of thy future days,  
And what the starry Senate of thee says;  
For, what is firm decreed in heaven above,  
In vain on earth strive Mortals to improve.   

Saturn.  
TO fair hopes to give reins now is it time,  
And soar as high as just desires may climb;  
O Haltionian, clear, and happy Day,  
From sorry Wights let sorrow fly away,  
And vex Antarctic Climes, great Britain's woes  
Vanish, for joy now in her Zenith glows;  
The old Lucadian Syth-bearing Sire  
(Though cold) for thee feels flames of sweet desire;  
And many lustres at a perfect height,  
Shall keep thy Sceptres Majesty as bright  
And strong in power and glory every way,  
As when thy peerless Parent did it sway,  
ne'er turning wrinkled in times endless length,  
But one in her first beauty, youthful strength,  
Like thy rare mind, which steadfast as the Pole  
Still fixed stands, however Spheres do role;  
More, to enhance with favours this thy Reign,  
His age of gold he shall restore again,  
Love, Justice, Honour, Innocence renew,  
men's sprights with white simplicity endue,  
Make all to live in plenty's ceaseless store  
With equal shares, none wishing to have more;  
No more shall cold the Plough-mens' hopes beguile,  
Skies shall on Earth with lovely glances smile;  
Which shall untilled each flower and herb bring forth,  
And Lands to Gardens turn of equal worth,  
Life (long) shall not be thralled to mortal dates,  
Thus heavens decree, so have ordained the Fates.   

Jove.  
DElight of heaven, sole honour of the earth,  
Jove (courting thine Ascendant) at thy birth  
Proclaimed thee a King, and made it true,  
That to thy worth great Monarchies are due;  
He gave thee what was good, and what was great,  
What did belong to love, and what to state,  
Rare gifts whose ardours burn the hearts of all,  
Like tinder when flints atoms on it fall.  
The Tramontane which thy fair course directs,  
Thy Counsels shall approve by their effects;  
Justice kept low by Giants, wrongs, and jars,  
Thou shalt relieve, and crown with glistering stars,  
Whom nought save Law of force could keep in awe,  
Thou shalt turn Clients to the force of Law,  
Thou Arms shalt brandish for thine own defence,  
Wrongs to repel, and guard weak innocence,  
Which to thy last effort thou shalt uphold,  
As Oak the Ivy which it doth enfold;  
All overcome, at last thyself o'ercome,  
Thou shalt make passion yield to reason's doom:  
For smiles of fortune shall not raise thy mind,  
Nor shall disasters make it ere declined,  
True shonour shall reside within thy Court,  
Sobriety and Truth there still resort;  
Keep promised faith, thou shalt all treacheries  
Detest, and fawning Parasites despise,  
Thou, others to make rich, shalt not make poor  
Thyself, but give, that thou mayst still give more;  
Thou shalt no Paranymph raise to high Place,  
For frizzled locks, acquaint pace, or painted face;  
On gorgeous raiments, womanizing toys,  
The works of worms, and what a Moth destroys.  
The Maze of fools, thou shalt no treasure spend,  
Thy charge to immortality shall tend,  
Raise Palaces, and Temples vaulted high,  
Rivers o'er arch, of Hospitality  
And Sciences the ruin'd Inns restore,  
With Walls and Ports encircle Neptune's shore,  
To newfound worlds thy Fleets make hold their course,  
And find of Canada the unknown Source,  
People those Lands which pass Arabian fields  
In fragrant Woods and Musk which Zephir yields;  
Thou feared of none, shalt not thy People fear,  
Thy People's love thy Greatness shall up-reare,  
Still rigour shall not shine, and mercy lower,  
What Love can do thou shalt not do by Power;  
New and vast Taxes thou shalt not extort,  
Load heavy those thy bounty should support,  
Thou shalt not strike the Hinge nor Master Beam  
Of thine Estate, but errors in the same  
By harmless Justice graciously reform,  
Delighting more in calm than roaring storm;  
Thou shalt govern in Peace as did thy Sire,  
Keep, save thine own, and Kingdoms new acquire,  
Beyond Alcides' Pillars, and those bounds  
Where Alexander gained the Eastern Crowns,  
Till thou the greatest be amongst the Greats;  
Thus Heavens ordain, so have decreed the Fates.   

Mars.  
SOn of the Lion, thou of loathsome Bands  
Shalt free the Earth, and what ere thee withstands  
Thy noble paws shall tear, the God of Thrace  
Shall be thy second, and before thy face,  
To Truth and Justice, whilst thou Trophies rears,  
Armies shall fall dismayed with Panic fears.  
As when Aurora in skies azure-lists  
Makes shadows vanish, doth disperse the mists,  
And in a twinkling with her opal light,  
Night's horrors checketh, putting stars to flight;  
Moore to inflame thee to this noble task,  
To thee he here resigns his Sword and Cask,  
A Wall of flying Castles, armed Pines  
Shall bridge thy Sea, like heaven with steel that shines,  
To aid earth's tenants by foul yokes oppressed,  
And fill with fears the great King of the West:  
To thee already Victory displays  
Her garlands twined, with Olive, Oak, and Bays,  
Thy triumphs finish shall all old debates;  
Thus Heavens decree, so have ordained the Fates.   

Sun.  
WEalth, Wisdom, Glory, Pleasure, stoutest hearts  
Religion, Laws, Hyperion imparts  
To thy just Reign, which shall far, far surpass  
Of Emperors, Kings, the best that ever was;  
Look how he dims the stars; thy Glories rays  
So darken shall the lustre of these days:  
For, in fair Virtue's Zodiac thou shalt run,  
And in the Heaven of Worthies be the Sun.  
No more contemned shall hapless Learning lie;  
The maids of Pindus shall be raised high;  
For Bay and Ivy which their brows enroled  
Thou shalt them deck with Gems and shining gold;  
Thou open shalt Parnassus Crystal gates:  
Thus Heavens ordain, so do decree the Fates.   

Venus.  
THe Acidalian Queen amidst thy Bays  
Shall twine her Myrtles, grant thee pleasant days;  
She did make clear thy house, and with her light  
Of churlish stars put back the dismal spite;  
The Hymenaean bed fair brood shall grace,  
Which on the earth continue shall their race,  
While Flora's treasure shall the Meads endear,  
While sweet Pomona Rose-cheeked fruits shall bear,  
While Phaebes beams her brothers emulates:  
Thus Heavens decree, so have ordained the Fates.   

Mercury.  
GReat Atlas' Nephew, shall the works of Peace,  
(The Springs of plenty) Tillage, Trade's increase,  
And Arts in times gulfs lost again restore,  
To their Perfection; nay, find many more,  
More perfect Artists, Cyclops in their forge  
Shall mould those brazen Typhons, which disgorge  
From their hard Bowels metal, flame and smoke,  
Mufling the air up in a sable cloak.  
Geryons, Harpies, Dragons, Sphinxes strange  
Wheel, where in spacious gires the Fume doth range,  
The Sea shrinks at the blow, shake doth the ground,  
The World's vast Chambers doth the sound rebound;  
The Stygian Porter leaveth off to bark,  
Black Jove appalled doth shroud him in the dark;  
Many a Typhis in adventures tossed  
By newfound skill shall many a maiden coast,  
With thy sayle-winged Argosies find out,  
Which like the Sun shall run the Earth about;  
And far beyond his paths score wavy ways,  
To Cathaies Lands by Hyperborean Seas;  
He shall endue thee both in peace and war,  
With wisdom, which than Strength is better far,  
Wealth, Honour, Arms, and Arts shall grace thy States;  
Thus Heavens ordain, so do decree the Fates.   

The Moon.  
O How the fair Queen with the golden maids,  
The Sun of Night, thy happy fortunes aids;  
Though turbaned Princes for a Badge her wear,  
To them she wain, to thee would full appear;  
Her Handmaid Thetis daily walks the round  
About thy Delos that no force it wound,  
Than when thou leftest it, and abroad didst stray,  
(Dear Pilgrim) she did straw with flowers thy way,  
And turning foreign force and counsel vain,  
Thy Guard and Guide returned thee home again;  
To thee she Kingdoms, Years, Bliss did divine,  
Quailing Medusa's grim Snakes with her shine,  
Beneath thy reign Discord, (fell mischiefs forge,  
The bane of Peoples, State, and Kingdom Scourge)  
Pale Envy (with the Cockatrices eye,  
Which seeing kills, but seen doth forthwith die:)  
Malice, Deceit, Rebellion, Impudence,  
Beyond the Garamants shall pack them hence,  
With every Monster that thy Glory hates,  
Thus Heaven's decree, so have ordained the Fates.   

Endymion.  
THat heretofore to thy heroic mind  
Hopes did not answer as they were designed:  
O do not think it strange, Times were not come,  
And these fair stars had not pronounced their doom:  
The Destinies did on that day attend,  
When to this Northern Region thou should lend  
Thy cheerful presence, and charged with Renown,  
Set on thy brows the Caledonian Crown;  
Thy virtues now thy just desire shall grace,  
Stern Chance shall change, and to Desert give place;  
Let this be known to all the Fates, admit  
To their grave Counsel, and to every wit  
That courts Heaven's inside; this let sibils know,  
And those mad Corybants who dance and glow  
On Dindimus high tops with frantic fire:  
Let this be known to all Apollo's Choir,  
And People let it not be hid from you,  
What Mountains noise, and floods proclaim as true:  
Wherever Fame abroad his praise shall ring,  
All shall observe, and serve this blessed King.   
The End of King Charles his Entertainment at Edinburgh, 1633.   

A Pastoral Elegy on the Death of S. W. A.  
IN sweetest prime, and blooming of his Age,  
Dear Alcon ravished from this mortal Stage,  
The Shepherds mourned, as they him loved before;  
Among the Rout him Edmon did deplore.  
Idmon, who whether Sun in East did rise,  
Or dive in West, poured Torrents from his Eyes  
Of liquid Crystal, under Hawthorne shade,  
At last to Trees and Rocks this plaint he made.  
Alcon, delight of Heaven, desire of Earth,  
Offspring of Phoebus, and the Muse's birth,  
The Grace's Darling, Adonis of our Plains,  
Flame of the fairest Nymphs the Earth sustains,  
What Power of thee hath us bereft? What Fate  
By thy untimely fall would ruinate  
Our hopes? O Death! what treasure in one hour  
Hast thou dispersed? How dost thou devour  
What we on earth hold dearest? All things good,  
Too envious Heavens, how blast ye in the Bud?  
The Corn the greedy Reapers cut not down  
Before the Fields with golden Ears it crown;  
Nor doth the verdant Fruits the Gardener pull:  
But thou art cropped before thy years were full.  
With thee (sweet youth) the Glories of our Fields  
Vanish away, and what contentments yields.  
The Lakes their silver look, the woods their shades,  
The Springs their Crystal want, their Verdure Meads,  
The years their early seasons, cheerful Days,  
Hills gloomy stand now desolate of Rays:  
Their amorous whispers Zephyr's not us bring,  
Nor do Airs Choristers salute the Spring;  
The freezing winds our Gardens do deflower.  
Ah Destinies! and you whom Skies embow'r,  
To his fair Spoils his Spirit again yet give,  
And like another Phoenix make him live.  
The Herbs, though cut, sprout fragrant from their stems,  
And make with Crimson blush our Anadem●:  
The Sun when in the West he doth decline,  
Heaven's brightest Tapers at his Funerals shine;  
His Face, when washed in the Atlantic Seas,  
Revives, and cheers the Welkin with new Rays:  
Why should not he, since of more pure a Frame,  
Return to us again, and be the same?  
But wretch what wish I? To the winds I send  
These Plaints and Prayers, Destinies cannot lend  
Thee more of Time, nor Heaven's consent will thus,  
Thou leave their starry World to dwell with us;  
Yet shall they not thee keep amidst their Spheres  
Without these lamentations and Tears.  
Thou wast all Virtue, Courtesy, and Worth,  
And as Sun's light is in the Moon set forth;  
Worlds supreme Excellence in thee did shine:  
Nor, though eclipsed now, shalt thou decline,  
But in our Memories live, while Dolphin's streams  
Shall haunt, whilst Eaglets stare on Titan's beams,  
Whilst Swans upon their Crystal Tombs shall sing,  
Whilst Violets with Purple paint the Spring.  
A gentler Shepherd Flocks did never feed  
On Albion's Hills, nor sung to oaten Reed:  
While what she found in Thee my Muse would blaze,  
Grief doth distract Her, and cut short thy Praise.  
How oft have we, environed by the Throng  
Of tedious Swains, the cooler shades among,  
Contemned Earth's glowworm Greatness, and the Chase  
Of Fortune scorned, deeming it disgrace  
To court unconstancy? How oft have we  
Some Chloris Name graven in each Virgin Tree,  
And, finding Favours fading, the next Day  
What we had carved we did deface away?  
Woeful Remembrance! Nor Time nor Place  
Of thy abodement shadows any Trace,  
But there to me Thou shinest: late glad Desires,  
And ye once Roses, how are ye turned Briers?  
Contentments passed, and of Pleasures Chief,  
Now are ye frightful Horrors, Hells of Grief?  
When from thy native Soil Love had Thee driven,  
(Thy safe return Prefigurating) a Heaven  
Of flattering Hopes did in my Fancy move,  
Then little dreaming it should Atoms prove.  
These Groves preserve will I, these loved Woods,  
These Orchards rich with Fruits, with Fish these floods▪  
My Alcon will return, and once again  
His chosen Exiles he will entertain;  
The populous City holds him, amongst Harms  
Of some fierce Cyclops, Circe's stronger Charms.  
These Banks (said I) he visit will and Streams,  
These silent shades ne'er kissed by courting Beams.  
Far, far off I will meet him, and I first  
Shall him approaching know, and first be blest  
With his Aspect, I first shall hear his voice,  
Him find the same he parted, and rejoice  
To learn his passed Perils, know the Sports  
Of foreign Shepherds, Fawns, and Fairy Courts.  
No pleasure to the Fields, an happy State  
The Swains enjoy, secure from what they hate:  
Free of proud Cares they innocently spend  
The Day, nor do black Thoughts their ease offend;  
Wise Nature's Darlings they live in the World,  
Perplexing not themselves how it is hurled.  
These Hillocks Phoebus loves, Ceres these Plains,  
Th●se Shades the Sylvans, and here Pales strains  
Milk in the Pails; the Maids which haunt the Springs  
Dance on these Pastures, here Amintas sings:  
Hesperian Gardens, Tempe's shades are here,  
Or what the Eastern Ind and West hold dear.  
Come then, dear Youth, the Wood-nymphs twine thee Boughs  
With Rose and Lily, to impale thy Brows.  
Thus ignorant, I mused, not conscious yet  
Of what by Death was done, and ruthless Fate:  
Amidst these Trances Fame thy loss doth sound,  
And through my Ears gives to my Heart a wound;  
With stretched-out Arms I sought thee to embrace,  
But clasped (amazed) a Coffin in thy Place.  
A Coffin! of our Joys which had the Trust,  
Which told that thou wert come; but changed to Dust:  
Scarce, even when felt, could I believe this wrack,  
Nor that thy Time and Glory Heavens would break.  
Now since I cannot see my Alcons' Face,  
And find nor Vows, nor Prayers to have place  
With guilty Stars, this Mountain shall become  
To me a sacred Altar, and a Tomb  
To famous Alcon: here, as Days, Months', Years  
Do circling glide, I sacrifice will tears:  
Here spend my remnant Time, exiled from Mirth,  
Till Death at last turn Monarch of my Earth.  
Shepherds on Forth, and you by Doven Rocks,  
Which use to sing and sport, and keep your Flocks,  
Pay Tribute here of Tears, ye never had  
To aggravate your Moans a cause more sad;  
And to their sorrows hither bring your Mands,  
Charged with sweetest flowers, and with pure Hands;  
(Fair Nymphs) the blushing Hyacinth and Rose  
Spread on the Place his Relics do enclose,  
Wove Garlands to his Memory, and put  
Over his Hearse a Verse in Cypress cut:  
Virtue did die, Goodness but harm did give,  
After the noble Alcon ceased to live,  
Friendship an Earthquake suffered; losing Him;  
Loves brightest Constellation turned Dim.   

Hymn.  
SAviour of Mankind, Man Emanuel,  
Who sinless died for Sin, who vanquished Hell,  
The first fruits of the Grave, whose life did give  
Light to our Darkness, in whose death we live.  
O strengthen thou my faith, correct my will,  
That mine may thine obey: protect me still,  
So that the latter death may not devour  
My soul sealed with thy Seal; so in the hour  
When thou whose body sanctified thy Tomb  
(Unjustly judged) a glorious Judge shalt come  
To judge the World with Justice; by that sign  
I may be known and entertained for thine.   

A Translation Of S. John Scot his verses, beginning Quod vite sectabor iter.  
WHat course of life should wretched Mortals take?  
In Books hard Questions large contention make;  
Care dwells in Houses, Labour in the Field,  
Tumultuous Seas affrighting dangers yield.  
In Foreign Lands thou never canst be blest;  
If rich, thou art in fear; if poor, distressed.  
In Wedlock frequent discontentments swell;  
Unmarried persons as in Deserts dwell.  
How many troubles are with Children borne?  
Yet he that wants them, counts himself Forlorn.  
Young men are wanton, and of wisdom void:  
Grey hairs are cold, unfit to be employed.  
Who would not one of those two offers try,  
Not to be borne: or, being borne, to die?   

MISCELLANIES.  

ALL good hath left this Age, all tracks of sh●me,  
Mercy is banished, and pity dead,  
Justice, from whence it came, to heaven is fled;  
Religion maimed, it thought an idle Name.  
Faith to distrust▪ and Malice hath given place,  
Envy with poisoned Teeth hath friendship torn,  
Renowned Knowledge is a despised scorn,  
Now evil 'tis, all evil not to embrace.  
There is no life save under servile Bands,  
To make Desert a Vassal to their crimes,  
Ambition with Avarice join hands;  
O ever-shamefull, O most shameless Times!  
Save that Sun's light we see, of good here tell,  
This Earth we court so much, were very Hell.   

DOth then the world go thus, doth all thus move?  
Is this the Justice which on Earth we find?  
Is this that firm Decree which all doth bind?  
Are these your Influences Powers above?  
Those Souls which vices moody Mists most blind,  
Blind Fortune blindly most their friend doth prove:  
And they who thee (poor Idol) Virtue love  
Ply like a feather tossed by storm and wind.  
Ah! (if a Providence doth sway this All.)  
Why should best Minds groan under most distress,  
Or why should Pride Humility make thrall,  
And injuries the Innocent oppress?  
Heaven's ●inder, stop this Fate, or grant a Time  
When Good may have as well as Bad their Prime.   

A Reply.  

WHo do in Good delight  
That sovereign Justice ever doth reward,  
And though sometime it smite,  
Yet it doth them regard;  
For even amidst their Grief  
They find a strong relief▪  
And Death itself can work them no despite.  
Again, in evil who joy,  
And do in it grow old,  
In midst of Mirth are charged with sins annoy,  
Which is in Conscience scroled,  
And when their Lifes frail thread is cut by Time,  
They punishment find equal to each Crime.   

LOok how in May the Rose  
At Sulphur's azure fumes,  
In a short space her crimson blush doth lose▪  
And all amazed a pallid white assumes.  
So time our best consumes,  
Makes Youth and Beauty pass,  
And what was pride turns horror in our Glass.     

To a Swallow building near the Statue of Medea.  
FOnd Progne, chattering wretch,  
That is Medea, there,  
Wilt thou thy Younglings hatch?  
Will she keep thine, her own who could not spare?  
Learn from her frantic face  
To seek some fitter place.  
What other may'st thou hope for, what desire,  
Save Stygian spells, wounds, poison, iron, fire?   

Venus' armed.  
TO practice new alarms  
In Jove's great Court above,  
The wanton Queen of Love  
Of sleeping Mars put on the horrid Arms;  
Where gazing in a Glass  
To see what thing she was,  
To mock and scoff the blew-eyed Maid did move;  
Who said, sweet Queen, thus should you have been ●ight  
When Vulcan took you napping with your Knight.   

The Boars Head.  
AMidst a pleasant Green  
Which Sun did seldom see,  
Where played Anchises with the Cyprian Queen,  
The head of a wild Boar hung on a Tree:  
And driven by Zephyrs breath  
Did fall, and wound the lovely Youth beneath,  
On whom yet scarce appears  
So much of blood as Venus' eyes shed tears.  
But ever as she wept her Anthem was,  
Change, cruel, change, alas,  
My Ado● whilst thou lived was by thee slain,  
Now dead, this Lover must thou kill again!   

To an Owl.  
AScalaphus tell me,  
So may Night's Curtain long Time cover Thee,  
So Ivy ever may  
From irksome light keep thy Chamber and Bed,  
And in Moon's Liv'ry clad;  
So may'st thou scorn the Choristers of Day,  
When plaining thou dost stay  
Near to the sacred window of my dear,  
Dost ever thou her hear  
To wake, and steal swift hours from drowsy sleep?  
And when she wakes, doth ere a stolen sigh creep  
Into thy listening ear?  
If that deaf God doth yet her careless keep,  
In louder notes my Grief with thine express,  
Till by thy shrieks she think on my distress.   

Daphnis.  
NOw Daphnis arms did grow  
In slender branches, and her braided Hair,  
Which like gold wa●●s did flow,  
In levy Twigs were stretched in the Air,  
The grace of either foot  
Transformed was to a root,  
A tender Bark enwraps her Body fair.  
He who did cause her ill  
Sore-wailing stood, and from his blubbered ey●e  
Did showers of tears upon the rind distil,  
Which watered thus did bud and turn more green.  
O deep despaire● O Heart-appalling Grief,  
When that doth woe increase should bring relief.   

The Bear of Love.  
IN woods and desert Bounds  
A Beast abroad doth Roam,  
So loving Sweetness and the honey Combe,  
It doth despise the arms of Bees and wounds▪  
I by like pleasure led▪  
To prove what Heavens did place  
Of sweet on you● fair face,  
Whilst there with I am fed,  
Rest careless (Bear of Love) of hellish smart,  
And how those Eyes afflict and wound my Heart.   

Five Sonnets for Galatea.  

STrephone in vain thou brings thy rhymes and songs▪  
Decked with grave Pindars old and withered flowers  
In vain thou countest the fair 〈◊〉 wrongs,  
And her whom Jove deceived in golden showers.  
Thou hast slept never under Myrtles shed,  
Or if that passion hath thy soul oppressed,  
It is but for some Grecian Mistress dead.  
Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy breast▪  
How can true Love with ●ables hold a place?  
Thou who with ●ables dost set forth thy love,  
Thy love a pretty ●able needs must prove,  
Thou suest for grace, in scorn more to disgrace;  
I cannot think thou wert charmed by my looks,  
O no, thou learned thy love in Lovers books.   

II.  
NO more with Candid words infect mine ears,  
Tell me no more how that ye pine in anguish  
When ●ound ye sleep: no more say that ye languish,  
No more in sweet despite say you spend tears.  
Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see;  
How those that are hare-brained boast of Apollo,  
And bold give out the Mu●es do them follow,  
Though in love's Library yet no Lover's he.  
If we poor souls lest favour but them show,  
That strait in wanton Lines abroad is blazed,  
Their names doth soar on our fame's overthrow,  
Marked is our lightness whilst their wits are praised;  
In silent thoughts who can no secret cover,  
He may, say we, but not well, be a Lover.   

III.  
YE▪ who with curious numbers, sweetest art,  
Frame Dedall Nets our beauty to surprise,  
Telling strange Castles builded in the Skies,  
And tales of C●pids●ow ●ow, and Cupid's Dart;  
Well, howsoever ye act your feigned smart,  
Molesting quiet ears with tragic cries,  
When you accuse our chastity's best part,  
named cruelty, ye seem not half too wise,  
Yea, ye yourselves it deem most worthy praise;  
Beauties best guard; that Dragon which doth keep  
Hesperian fruit, the spur in you does raise;  
That Delion wit that other ways▪ may sleep,  
To cruel Nymphs your Lines do fame afford,  
Oft many pitiful, not one poor word.   

IV.  
IF it be love to wake out all the night,  
And watchful eyes drive out in dewy moans▪  
And when the Sun brings to the world his light  
To waste the Day in tears, and bitter groans.  
If it be love to dim weak reasons beam  
With clouds of strange desire, and make the mind  
In hellish agonies a heaven to dream,  
Still seeking Comforts where but griefs we find;  
If it be love to stain with wanton thought  
A spotless chastity, and make it try  
More furious flames than his whose cunning wrought  
That brazen Bull, where he entombed did fry.  
Then sure is Love the causer of such woes,  
Be ye our Lovers, or our mortal foes.   

V.  

ANd would you then shake off Loves golden chain,  
With which it is best freedom to be bound?  
And Cruel do ye seek to heal the Wound  
Of Love, which hath such sweet and pleasant pain?  
All that is subject unto nature's reign  
In Skies above, or on this lower round,  
When it is long and far sought, and hath found▪  
Doth in D●cade●s fall and slack remain;  
Behold the Moon how gay her face doth grow  
Till she kiss all the Sun, then doth decay;  
See how the Seas tumultuously do flow  
Till they embrace loved banks, then ●ost away:  
So is't with love, unless you love me still;  
O, do not think I'll yield unto your will.   

CAres charming sleep, son of the ●able night,  
Brother to death, in silent darkness borne,  
Destroy my languish e'er the day be light,  
With dark forgetting of my cares return▪  
And let the day be long enough to mourn  
The shipwreck of my ill adventured Youth;  
Let watery eyes suffice to wail their scorn  
Without the troubles of the night's untruth;  
Cease dreams, fond image of my fond desir●●  
To model forth the passions of to morrow;  
Let never rising Sun approve your tears  
To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow:  
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain,  
And never wake to feel the day's disdain.     

An Epitaph of one named Margaret.  
IN shells, and gold, Pearls are not kept alone,  
A Margaret here lies beneath a stone;  
A Margaret that did excel in worth  
All those rich Gems the Indies both send forth▪  
Who had she lived when good was loved of men,  
Had made the Grace's four, the Muses ten,  
And forced those happy times her days that claimed  
From her to be the age of Pearl still named;  
She was the richest Jewel of her kind,  
Graced with more lustre than she left behind,  
All Goodness, virtue, Bounty, and could cheer  
The saddest minds, now Nature knowing here  
How things but shown, then hidden are loved best,  
This Margaret' shrined in this marble Chest   

Another Epitaph on a Lady.  
THis Beauty fair which death in dust did turn,  
And closed so soon within a Coffin sad,  
Did pass like Lightning, like the thunder burn,  
So little like so much true virtue had;  
Heavens but to show their might here made it shine,  
And when admired then in the world's disdain,  
(O tears, O grief!) did call it back again,  
Lest earth should vaunt she kept what was divine,   

On a Drunkard.  
NOr Aramanthes, nor Roses do 〈◊〉  
Unto this Hearse, but 〈◊〉 and Wine,  
For that same thirst, though dead, y●● doth him pi●e,  
Which made him so carouse while he drew breath.   

Aretinus Epitaph.  
HEre Aretine lies most bitter gall▪  
Who whilst he lived spoke evil of all,  
Only of God the Arran● Scot  
Naught said, ●ut that he knew him not.   

Comparison of his thoughts to Pearls.  
WIth open shells in seas, on heavenly dew,  
A shining Oyster lusciously doth feed,  
And then the birth of that aethereal seed  
Shows when conceived if Skies look dark or blue:  
So do my thoughts (Celestial twins) of you,  
At whose aspect they first begin and breed,  
When they came forth to light, demonstrate true  
If ye then smiled: or loured in mourning weed  
Pearls than are orient framed, and fair in form  
If heavens in their conceptions do look clear:  
But if they thunder, or do threat a storm.  
They sadly dark and cloudy do appear;  
Right so my thoughts, and so my notes do change,  
Sweet if ye smile, and hoarse if ye look strange.   

All changeth.  
THe angry Winds not aye  
Do cuff the roaring Deep;  
And though heavens often weep,  
Yet do they smile for joy when comes dismay;  
Frosts do not ever kill the pleasant flowers,  
And Love hath sweets when gone are all the sours.  
This said, a shepherd closing in his arms  
His dear; who blushed to feel Loves new alarms.   

Sile●●s to King Midas.  
THe greatest gift that from their lofty thrones  
The all-governing powers to man can give,  
Is, that he never breathe, or breathing once  
A suckling end his days, and leave to live,  
For than he neither knows the woe nor joy  
Of life, nor fears the Stygian Lakes annoy.   

To his amorous thought.  
SWeet wanton thought, who art of beauty borne,  
And who on beauty feedest, and sweet desire,  
Like Taper flee, still circling, and still turn  
About that flame; that all so much admire  
That heavenly fair, which doth out-blush the morn,  
Those Ivory hands, those threads of golden wire  
Thou still surroundest yet dar'st not aspire;  
Sure thou dost well that place not to come near,  
Nor see the Majesty of that fair Court;  
For if thou saw'st what wonders there resort,  
The poor intelligence that moves that sphere  
Like souls ascending to those Joys above;  
Back never wouldst thou turn, nor thence remove.  
What can we hope for more? what more enjoy?  
Since fairest things thus soon have their end,  
And as on bodies shadows do attend,  
Soon all our bliss is followed with annoy,  
Yet she's not dead, she lives where she did love,  
Her memory on earth, her soul above.   

Verses on the late William Earl of Pembroke.  

I.  
THe doubtful fears of Change so fright my Mind,  
Though raised to the highest joy in Love,  
As in this slippery state more grief I find,  
Than they who never such a bliss did prove;  
But fed with lingering hopes of ●uture Gain,  
Dream not what 'tis to doubt a Losers Pain.   

II.  
Desire a safer Harbour is than Fear,  
And not to rise less danger than to fall;  
The want of Jewels we far better bear,  
Than so possessed at once to lose them all:  
Unsatisfied Hope's Time may repair,  
When ruin'd Faith must finish in despair.   

III.  
Alas! Ye look but up the Hill on me,  
Which shows to you a fair and smooth ascent,  
The Precipice behind ye cannot see,  
On which high Fortunes are too prone bend:  
If there I slip, what former joy or bliss  
Can heal the bruise of such a fall as this?    

A Reply.  

I.  
WHo love enjoys, and placed hath his Mind  
Where fairer Virtues fairest beauties grace,  
Than in himself such store of worth doth find,  
That he deserves to hold so good a Place;  
To chilling fears how can he be set forth,  
Whose fears condemn his own, doubts others worth?   

II.  
Desire, as flames of Zeal, Fear, Horrors meets,  
They rise who fall o● falling never proved.  
Who is so dainty satiate with swee●s  
To murmur when the Banquet is removed?  
The fairest hopes Time in the Bud destroys,  
When sweet are memories of ruin'd Joys.   

III.  
It is no Hill but Heaven where you remain,  
And whom Desert advanced hath so high  
To reach the Guerdon of his burning Pain,  
Must not repine to fall, and falling dye,  
His Hopes are crowned; what years of tedious breath  
Can them compare with such a happy Death?  
W. D.    

A Translation.  

AH! silly Soul, what wilt thou ●ay  
When he whom earth and Heavens obey  
Comes Man to judge in the last Day▪   

II.  
When He a reason asks, why Grace  
And Goodness thou wouldst not embrace,  
But steps of Vanity didst trace?   

III.  
That Day of Terror, Vengeance, Ire,  
Now to prevent thou shouldst desire,  
And to thy God in haste retire.   

IV.  
With watery Eyes, and Sigh-swollen Heart,  
O beg, beg in his Love a part▪  
Whilst Conscience with remorse doth smart.   

V.  
That dreaded Day of wrath and shame  
In flames shall turn this World's huge Frame,  
As sacred Prophets do proclaim.   

VI  
O! with what Grief shall Earthlings groan  
When that great Judge set on his Throne  
Examines strictly every One.   

VII.  
Shrill-sounding Trumpets through the Air  
Shall from dark Sepulchers each where  
Force wretched Mortals to appear.   

VIII.  
Nature and Death amazed remain  
To find their dead arise again,  
And Process with their Judge maintain.   

IX.  
Displayed then open Books shall lie  
Which all those secret crimes descry,  
For which the guilty World must die.   

X.  
The Judge enthroned (whom Bribes not gain)  
The closest crimes appear shall plain,  
And none unpunished remain.   

XI.  
O who then pity shall poor me!  
Or who mi●e Advocate shall be?  
When scarce the justest pass shall free▪   

XII.  
All wholly holy dreadful King,  
Who freely life to thine dost bring,  
Of Mercy save me Mercies spring.   

XIII.  
Then (sweet Jesus) call to mind  
How of thy Pains I was the End,  
And favour let me that day find.   

XIV.  
In search of me Thou full of pain  
Didst sweat blood, Death on Cross sustain,  
Let not these suff'rages be in vain.   

XV.  
Thou supreme Judge, most just and wise,  
Purge me from guilt which on me lies  
Before that day of thine Assize.   

XVI.  
Charged with remorse (lo) here I groan,  
Sin makes my face a blush take on;  
Ah! spare me prostrate at thy Throne.   

XVII.  
Who Mary Magdalen didst spare,  
And lendest the Thief on Cross thine Ear,  
Showest me fair hopes I should not fear.   

XVIII.  
My prayers imperfect are and weak,  
But worthy of thy grace them make,  
And save me from Hell's burning Lake.   

XIX.  
On that great Day at thy right hand  
Grant I amongst thy Sheep may stand,  
Sequestered from the Goatish Band.   

XX.  
When that the Reprobates are all  
To everlasting flames made thrall,  
O to thy Chosen (Lord) me call;   

XXI.  
That I one of thy Company,  
With those whom thou dost justify,  
May live blest in Eternity.    

Upon John Earl of Laderdale his Death.  

OF those rare Worthies, who adorned our North  
And shined like Constellations, Thou alone  
Remaindst last (great Maitland) charged with worth,  
Second in Virtue's Theatre to none.  
But finding all eccentrick in our times,  
Religion into superstition turned,  
Justice silenced, exiled, or inurned;  
Truth, Faith, and Charity reputed Crimes.  
The young man destinate by sword to fall,  
And Trophies of their Country's spoils to rear;  
Strange Laws the Aged, and prudent to appall,  
And forced sad yokes of Tyranny to bear▪  
And for nor great, nor virtue's minds a room,  
Disdaining life, thou shouldst into thy Tomb.   

II.  
WHen misdevotion every where shall take place,  
And lofty Orators in thundering terms  
Shall move you (people) to arise in arms,  
And Churches hallowed policy deface;  
When you shall but one general sepulchre  
(As Averro did one general Soul)  
On high, on low, on good, on bad confer,  
And your dull Predecessors rites control▪  
Ah spare this Monument, great Guests it keeps,  
Three grave Justiciars, whom true worth did raise,  
The Muse's Darlings, whose loss Phoebus weeps:  
Best men's delight, the glory of their days.  
More we would say, but fear, and stand in awe  
To turn Idolaters, and break your Law.   

III.  
DO not repine (blessed soul) that humble wits  
Do make thy worth the matter of their Verse:  
No high strained Muse our times and sorrows fits:  
And we do sigh, not sing, to crown thy Hearse.  
Thy wisest Prince, e'er managed Britain's State  
Did not disdain in numbers clear and brave,  
The virtues of thy Sire to celebrate,  
And fix a rich memorial on his Grave.  
Thou didst deserve no less; and here in Jet,  
Gold, Touch, Brass, Porphyry, or Parian Stone,  
That by a Prince's hand no lines are set  
For thee: the cause is now this Land hath none.  
Such Giant Moods our parity forth brings,  
We all will nothing be, or all be Kings.    

EPITAPHS. TO The Obsequies of the blessed Prince, JAMES, King of Great Britain.  
LEt holy David, Solomon the Wise,  
That King, whose Breast Aegeria did inflame;  
Augustus, Helen's Son, Great in all Eyes,  
Do Homage low to thy Mausolean Frame;  
And bow before thy Laurels Anadem.  
Let all those sacred Swans, which to the Skies  
By never-dying Lays have raised their Name,  
From North to South, where Sun doth set and rise.  
Religion, Orphaned, waileth o'er thy Urn,  
Justice weeps out her Eyes, now truly blind,  
To Niobes the remnant Virtues turn:  
Fame, but to blaze thy Glories, stays behind  
I'th' World, which late was golden by thy Breath,  
Is Iron turned, and horrid by thy Death.   

On the Death of a young Lady.  

THis Beauty which pale Death in Dust did turn,  
And closed so soon within a Coffin sad,  
Did pass like Lightning, like to Thunder burn;  
So little Life, so much of Worth it had!  
Heavens but to show their Might here made it shine,  
And when admired, then in the World's disdain  
(O Tears, O Grief!) did call it back again,  
Lest Earth should vaunt she kept what was Divine,  
What can we hope for more? what more enjoy?  
Sith fairest things thus soon have their End;  
And, as on Bodies shadows do attend,  
Sith all our Bliss is followed with Annoy?  
She is not dead, she lives where she did love,  
Her Memory on Earth, her sou●e above.   

FOnd Wight, who dreamest of Greatness, Glory, State,  
And Worlds of Pleasures, Honours dost devise,  
Awake, Learn how that here thou art not Great,  
Nor glorious, By this Monument turn wise.   

One it enshrineth sprung of ancient stem,  
And (if that Blood Nobility can make,)  
From which some Kings have not disdained to take  
Their proud Descent, a rare and matchless Gemm.   

A Beauty here it holds by full assurance,  
Than which no blooming Rose was more refined,  
Nor Mornings Blush more radiant ever shined,  
Ah! too too like to Morn and Rose at last.   

It holds her who in Wit's ascendant far  
Did Years and Sex transcend, To whom the Heaven  
More Virtue than to all this Age had given,  
For Virtue Meteor turned, when she a star.   

Fair Mirth, sweet Conversation, Modesty,  
And what those Kings of Numbers did conceive  
By Muses Nine, and Graces moe than Three,  
Lie closed within the Compass of this Grave.   

Thus Death all Earthly glories doth confound,  
Lo! how much Worth a little Dust doth bound.   

FAr from these Banks exiled be all Joys,  
Contentments, Pleasures, Music (cares relief)  
Tears, Sighs, Plaints, Horrors, Frightments, sad Annoys  
Invest these Mountains, fill all Hearts with Grief.   

Here Nightingales and Turtles vent your moans;  
Amphrisian Shepherd here come feed thy Flock,  
And read thy Hyacinth amidst our Groans,  
Plain Echo thy Narcissus from our Rocks.   

Lost have our Meads their Beauty, Hills their Gems,  
Our Brooks their Crystal, Groves their pleasant shade,  
The fairest Flower of all our Anademms  
Death cropped hath, the Lesbian chased is dead.   

Thus sighed the Tyne then shrunk beneath his Urn,  
And Meads, Brooks, Rivers, Hills about did mourn.   

THe Flower of Virgins in her Prime of years  
By ruthless Destinies is ta'en away,  
And raped from Earth, poor Earth, before this Day,  
Which ne'er was rightly named a Vale of Tears.   

Beauty to Heaven is fled, sweet Modesty  
No more appears; She whose harmonious sounds  
Did ravish Sense, and charm Minds deepest wounds,  
Embalmed with many a Tear now low doth lie.   

Fair Hopes now vanished are; She should have graced  
A Prince's Marriagebed; but (lo!) in Heaven  
Blessed Paramours to her were to be given!  
She lived an Angel, now is with them placed.   

Virtue is but a Name abstractly trimmed,  
Interpreting what she was in effect,  
A shadow from her Frame which did reflect,  
A Portrait by her Excellencies limned.   

Thou whom freewill or chance hath hither brought,  
And readest; Here lies a Branch of Maitlands' stem,  
And S●ytons Offspring; know that either Name  
Designs all worth yet reached by humane Thought.   

Tombs (elsewhere) use Life to their Guests to give,  
These Ashes can frail Monuments make live.    

Another on the same subject.  

LIke to the Gardens Eye, the Flower of Flowers  
With purple Pomp that dazzle doth the Sight;  
Or as among the lesser Gems of Night,  
The Usher of the Planet of the Hours:  
Sweet Maid, thou shinedst on this World of ours,  
Of all Perfecti●ns having traced the height,  
Thine outward frame was fair, fair inward Powers,  
A Saphire Lantern, and an incense light.  
Hence, the enamoured Heaven as too too good  
On Earth's all-thorny soil long to abide,  
Transplanted to their Fields so rare a Bud,  
Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide.  
Earth moaned her loss, and wished she had the grace  
Not to have known, or known thee longer space.   

Heard Laws of mortal Life!  
To which made Thrales we come without consent,  
Like Tapers, lighted to be early spent,  
Our Griefs are always rife,  
When joys but halting march, and swiftly fly  
Like shadows in the Eye:  
The shadow doth not yield unto the Sun,  
But Joys and Life do waste even when begun.    

On the Death of a Nobleman in Scotland, buried at Aithen.  

AIthen, thy Pearly Coronet let fall,  
Clad in sad Robes upon thy Temples set,  
The weeping Cypress, or the sable Jet.   

Mourn this thy Nurslings loss, a loss which all  
Apollo's Choir bemoanes, which many years  
Cannot repair, nor Influence of Spheres.   

Ah! when shalt thou find Shepherd like to him,  
Who made thy Banks more famous by his worth,  
Then all those Gems thy Rocks and Streams send forth.   

His splendour others Glow-worm light did dim,  
Sprung of an ancient and a virtuous Race,  
He Virtue more than many did embrace.   

He framed to mildness thy halfe-barbarous swains,  
The Goodman's Refuge, of the bad the fright,  
Unparaleld in friendship, world's Delight.   

For Hospitality along thy Plains  
Far-famed, a Patron, and a Pattern fair,  
Of Piety, the Muse's chief repair.   

Most debonair in Courtesy supreme,  
Loved of the mean, and honoured by the Great,  
ne'er dashed by Fortune, nor cast down by Fate,  
To present, and to after Times a Theme.   

Aithen, thy Tears pour on this silent Grave,  
And drop them in thy Alabaster cave,  
And Ni●bes Imagery become;  
And when thou hast distilled here a Tomb,  
Enchase in it thy Pearls, and let it bear,  
Aithens best Gem and honour shrined lies here.   

FAme Register of Time  
Write in thy Scroll, that I  
Of Wisdom Lover, and sweet Poesy,  
Was cropped in my Prime:  
And ripe in worth, though green in years, did die.   

Justice, Truth, Peace, and Hospitality,  
Friendship, and Love, being resolved to die  
In these lewd Times, have chosen here to have  
With just true pious— their Grave;  
Them cherished he so much, so much did grace,  
That they on Earth would choose none other Place.   

WHen Death to deck his Trophies stop thy breath,  
Rare Ornament and Glory of these Parts:  
All with moist Eyes might say, and ruthful hearts,  
That things immortal vassaled were to Death.   

What Good in Parts on many shared we see  
From Nature, gracious Heaven, or Fortune flow,  
To make a Masterpiece of worth below,  
Heaven, Nature, Fortune gave in gross to Thee.   

In Honour, Bounty, Rich, in Valour, Wit,  
In Courtesy, Borne of an ancient Race,  
With Bays in war, with Olives crowned in Peace,  
Matched great, with Offspring for great Actions fit.   

No Rust of Times, nor Change, thy Virtue won  
With Times to change, when Truth, Faith, Love decayed,  
In this new Age (like Fate) thou fixed stayed  
Of the first World an all-substantiall Man.   

As erst this Kingdom given was to thy Sire,  
The Prince his Daughter trusted to thy Care,  
And well the credit of a Gem so rare  
Thy loyalty and merit did require.   

Years cannot wrong thy Worth, that now appears  
By others set as Diamonds among Pearls,  
A Queen's dear Foster, Father to three Earls,  
Enough on Earth to triumph are o'er years.   

Life a Sea is, Death is the Haven,  
And fraught with honour there thou hast arrived,  
Which Thousands seeking have on Rocks been driven,  
That Good adorns thy Grave which with thee lived:   

For a frail Life which here thou didst enjoy,  
Thou now a lasting hast ●reed of Annoy.   

WIthin the Closure of thi● Narrow Grave  
Lie all those Graces a Goodwife could have:  
But on this Marble they shall not be read,  
For then the Living envy would the Dead.   

THe Daughter of a King of Princely Parts,  
In Beauty eminent, in Virtue's chief,  
Lodestar of Love, and Loadstone of all hearts,  
Her Friends, and Husbands only Joy, now Grief▪  
Is here penned up within a Marble Frame,  
Whose Parallel no Times, no Climates claim.   

VErses frail Records are to keep a Name,  
Or raise from Dust Men to a Life of Fame,  
The sport and spoil of Ignorance; but far  
More frail the Frames of Touch and Marble are,  
Which envy, Avarice, Time e'er long confound,  
Or mis-devotion equals with the Ground.  
Virtue alone doth last, frees man from Death,  
And, though despised and scorned here beneath,  
Stands graven in Angels Diamantine Rolls,  
And blazed in the Courts above the Poles.  
Thou wast fair Virtue's Temple, they did dwell,  
And live adored in thee, nought did excel  
But what thou either didst possess or love,  
The Oraces' Darling, and the maids of Jove,  
Courted by Fame for Bounties which the Heaven  
Gave thee in great, which if in Parcels given  
Too many, such we happy sure might call,  
How happy then wast thou who enjoyedst them all?  
A whiter Soul ne'er body did invest,  
And now (sequestered) cannot be but blest,  
Inro●●'d in Glory, 'midst those Hierarchies  
Of that immortal People of the Skies,  
Bright Saints and Angels, there from cares made free  
Nought doth becloud thy sovereign Good from Thee.  
Thou smil'st at Earth's Confusions and Jars,  
And how for Centaur's Children we wage wars:  
Like honey Flies, whose rage whole swarms consumes  
Till D●st thrown on them makes them veil their plumes.  
Thy friends to thee a Monument would raise,  
And ●imne thy Virtues; but dull grief thy Praise  
Breaks in the Entrance, and our Task proves vain,  
What duty writes that woe blot● out again:  
Yet Love a Pyramid of Sighs thee rears,  
And doth embaulme thee with Fare-wells and Tears.    

Rose.  

THough Marble Porphyry, and mourning Touch—  
May praise these spoils, yet can they not too much▪  
For Beauty last, and this Stone doth close,  
Once Earth's Delight, Heaven's care, a purest Rose.  
And (Reader) shouldst thou but let fall a Tear  
Upon it, other flowers shall here appear,  
Sad Violets and Hyacinths which grow  
With marks of grief: a public loss to show.   

II.  
Relenting Eye, which d●ignest to this Stone  
To lend a look, behold, here he laid one.  
The Living and the Dead interred, for Dead  
The Turtle in its Mate is; and she fled  
From Earth, her choosed this Place of Grief  
To bound Thoughts, a small and sad Relief.  
His is this Monument, for hers no Art  
Could frame, a Pyramid raised of his Heart.   

III.  
Instead of Epitaphs and airy praise  
This Monument a Lady chaste did raise  
To her Lords living fame, and after Death  
Her Body doth unto this Place bequeath,  
To rest with his, till Gods shrill Trumpet sound,  
Though time her Life, no time her lo●● could bond.    

To Sir W. A.  

THough I have twice been at the Doors of Death,  
And twice found shut those Gates which ever mourn,  
This but a Lightning is, Truce ta'en to Breath,  
For late borne sorrows augure fleet return.   

Amidst thy sacred Cares, and Courtly Toils,  
Alexis, when thou shalt hear wand'ring Fame  
Tell, Death hath triumphed o'er my mortal Spoils,  
And that on Earth I am but a sad Name;   

If thou e'er held me dear, by all our Love,  
By all that Bliss, those Joys Heaven here us gave,  
I conjure thee, and by the Maids of Jove,  
To grave this short remembrance on my Grave▪   

Here Damon lies, whose Songs did sometime grace  
The murmuring Esk, may Roses shade the place.   
FINIS.