OCCASIONAL VERSES OF EDWARD Lord HERBERT, BARON OF CHERBERY AND CASTLE-ISLAND. Deceased in August, 1648.  
LONDON, Printed by T. R. for Thomas Dring, at the George in Fleetstreet, near Cliffords-Inn. 1665.   

To the Right Honourable EDWARD Lord HERBERT, Baron of Cherbery in England, and Castle-Island in Ireland.  
My Lord,  
THIS Collection of some of the scattered Copies of Verses, composed in various and perplexed times, by Edward Lord Herbert your late Grandfather, belongs of double right to your Lordship, as Heir and Executor: And had it been in his power t' have bequeathed his Learning by Will, as his Library and personal Estate, it may be presumed, he would have given it to you, as the best Legacy: But Learning being not of our Gift, though of our Acquisition, nor of the Parapharnalia of a Lady's Chamber, nor of the casual and fortunate Goods of the World; it must be acknowledged of a transcendency beyond natural things, and a beam of the Divinity: For by the powers of Knowledge Men are not only distinguished from Men, but carried above the reach of ordinary Persons, to give Reasons even of their Belief; not that Men believe because they know, but know because they believe; Faith must precede Knowledge; and yet Men are not bound t' accept matters of Religion (though Religion be th' object and employment of Faith, not of reasoning) merely without Reason and probable Inducements.  
That the learned Centuries are past, and Learning in declension, is too great a truth, which may introduce Atheism with Ignorance; for as Ignorance is the Mother of Devotion amongst the Papists, so 'tis the Mother of Atheism amongst th' Ignorant; The great and most dangerous design of our Church and National Enemies, is to make us out of love with Learning, as a Mechanic thing, and beneath the Spirits of the Nobility and of Princes: Whereas nothing improves and enlightens th' understandings of great Persons, but Learning, and not only innobles them far above their birth, but enables them t' impose on others, and to give, rather than take advice: The Learned, Generous, and Virtuous Person needs no Ancestors; And what can so properly be called ours, as what is of our purchase? Gentiles agunt sub nomine Christiano, was an old Reproach upon the Primitive Christians, and now Men outact the Gentiles.  
The Goods of this life are all Hydropic, Quo plus bibuntur, plus sitiuntur, Men are the dryer for drinking, and the poorer for covetousness; no satiety, no fullness, but in spiritual things: The way of Virtue appeared to th' Heathen to be th' only way to Happiness, and yet they knew not many Virtues which are the Glory of Christianity, as Humility, Denying of ourselves, Taking up the Cross, Forgiving and loving our Enemies, which th' Heathen took for follies rather than Virtues.  
As for Poetry it bears date before Prose, and was of so great authority with the common People and the wiser sort of Antiquity, that it was in veneration with their sacred Writ, and Records, from which they derived their Divinity and belief concerning their Gods, and that their Poets, as Orpheus, Linus, and Musaeus were descended of the Gods, and divinely inspired, from th' extraordinary Motions of their Minds, and from the Relations of strange Visions, Raptures and Apparitions.  
My Lord, Excuse the liberty of this Dedication, and believe me,  
Your Lordship's Uncle and Humble Servant, HENRY HERBERT. March 18. 1664/ 5.   

TO HIS WATCH, When he could not sleep.  

UNcessant Minutes, whilst you move you tell  
The time that tells our life, which though it run  
Never so fast or far, you're new begun  
Short steps shall overtake; for though life well   

May scape his own Account, it shall not yours,  
You are Death's Auditors, that both divide  
And sum what ere that life inspired endures  
Past a beginning, and through you we bide   

The doom of Fate, whose unrecalled Decree  
You date, bring, execute; making what's new  
Ill and good, old, for as we die in you,  
You die in Time, Time in Eternity.    

Ditty.  

DEep Sighs, Records of my unpitied Grief,  
Memorials of my true, though hopeless Love,  
Keep time with my sad thoughts, till wished Relief  
My long despairs for vain and caussess prove.   

Yet if such hap never to you befall,  
I give you leave, break time, break heart and all.   

Lord, thus I sin, repent, and sin again,  
As if Repentance only were, in me,  
Leave for new Sin; thus do I entertain  
My short time, and thy Grace, abusing thee,  
And thy long-suffering; which though it be  
Ne'er overcome by Sin, yet were in vain,  
If tempted oft: thus we our Errors see   

Before our Punishment, and so remain  
Without Excuse; and, Lord, in them 'tis true,  
Thy Laws are just, but why dost thou distrain  
Aught else for life, save life? that is thy due:  
The rest thou mak'st us owe, and mayst to us  
As well forgive; But oh! my sins renew,  
Whilst I do talk with my Creator thus.    

A Description.  
I Sing her worth and praises, Ay,  
Of whom a Poet cannot lie,  

* 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  The little World the Great shall blaze;  
Sea, Earth, her Body; Heaven, her Face;  
Her Hair, Sunbeams; whose every part  
Lightens, inflames, each Lover's Heart:  
That thus you prove the 
* Sol et homo generant hominem.  Axiom true,  
Whilst the Sun helped Nature in you.  
Her Front, the White and Azure Sky,  
In Light and Glory raised, Ay,  
Being overcast by a Cloudy frown,  
All Hearts and Eyes dejecteth down.  
Her each Brow a Celestial Bow,  
Which through this Sky her Light doth show,  
Which doubled, if it strange appear,  
The Sun's likewise is doubled there.  
Her either Cheek a Blushing Morn,  
Which, on the Wings of Beauty born,  
Doth never set, but only fair  
Shineth, exalted in her hair.  
Within her Mouth, Heaven's Heaven reside,  
Her Words the Soul's there Glorified.  
Her Nose th' Aequator of this Globe,  
Where Nakedness, Beauty's best Robe,  
Presents a form all Hearts to win.  
Last Nature made that dainty Chin;  
Which that it might in every fashion  
Answer the rest▪ a Constellation,  
Like to a Desk, she there did place,  
To write the Wonders of her Face.  
In this Celestial Frontispiece,  
Where Happiness eternal lies;  
First aranged stand three Senses,  
This Heaven's Intelligences.  
Whose several Motions, sweet combined,  
Come from the first Mover, her Mind.  
The weight of this harmonique Sphere,  
The Atlas of her Neck doth bear;  
Whose Favours Day to Us imparts,  
When Frowns make Night in Lovers Hearts.  
Two foaming Billows are her Breasts,  
That carry, raised upon their Crests,  
The Tyrian Fish: More white's their Foam,  
Then that, whence Venus once did come:  
Here take her by the Hand, my Muse,  
With that sweet Foe, to make my Truce,  
To compact Manna, best compared,  
Whose dewy inside's not full hard.  
Her Waste's an enversed Pyramid,  
Upon whose Cone Love's Trophy is:  
Her Belly is that Magazine,  
At whose peep Nature did resign  
That precious Mould, by which alone,  
There can be framed such a One:  
At th' entrance of which hidden Treasure,  
Happy making above measure,  
Two Alabaster pillars stand,  
To warn all passage from that Land;  
At foot whereof engraved is,  
The sad Non Vltra of Man's Bliss:  
The Back of this most precious Frame  
Holds up in Majesty the same:  
Where, to make Music to all Hearts,  
Love bound the descant of her parts:  
Though all this Beauty's Temple be,  
There's known within no Deity  
Save Virtues, shrined within her Will:  
As I began, so say I still,  
I sing her Worth and Praises, Ay,  
Of whom a Poet cannot lie.   

To her Face.  
FAtal Aspect! that hast an Influence  
More powerful far than those Immortal Fires  
That but incline the Will and move the Sense,  
Which thou alone constrain'st, kindling Desires  
Of such an holy force, as more inspires  
The Soul with Knowledge, than Experience  
Or Revelation can do with all  
Their borrowed helps: Sacred Astonishment  
Sits on thy Brow, threatening a sudden fall  
To all those Thoughts that are not lowly sent,  
In wonder and amaze, dazzling that Eye  
Which on those Mysteries doth rudely gaze,  
Vowed only unto Love's Divinity:  
Sure Adam sinned not in that spotless Face.   

To her Body.  
REgardful Presence! whose fixed Majesty  
Darts Admiration on the gazing Look,  
That brings it not: State sits enthroned in thee,  
Divulging forth her Laws in the fair Book  
Of thy Commandments, which none mistook,  
That ever humbly came therein to see  
Their own unworthiness: Oh! how can I  
Enough admire that Symmetry, expressed  
In new proportions, which doth give the lie  
To that Arithmetic which hath professed  
All Numbers to be Hers? thy Harmony  
Comes from the Spheres, and there doth prove  
Strange measures so well graced, as Majesty  
Itself, like thee would rest, like thee would move.   

To her Mind.  

EXalted Mind! whose Character doth bear  
The first Idea of Perfection, whence  
Adam's came, and stands so, how canst appear  
In words? that only tell what here-Tofore hath been; thou needest as deep a sense  
As prophecy, since there's no difference  
In telling what thou art, and what shall be:  
Then pardon me that Rapture do profess,  
At thy outside, that want, for what I see,  
Description, if here amazed I cease  
Thus—  
Yet grant one Question, and no more, craved under  
Thy gracious leave, How, if thou wouldst express  
Thyself to us, thou shouldst be still a wonder?   

Thus ends my Love, but this doth grieve me most,  
That so it ends, but that ends too, this yet,  
Besides the Wishes, hopes and time I lost,  
Troubles my mind awhile, that I am set  
Free, worse then denied: I can neither boast  
Choice nor success, as my Case is, nor get  
Pardon from myself, that I loved not  
A better Mistress, or her worse; this Debt  
Only's her due, still, that she be forgot  
Ere changed, lest I love none; this done, the taint  
Of soul Inconstancy is cleared at least  
In me, there only rests but to unpaint  
Her form in my mind, that so dispossessed  
It be a Temple, but without a Saint.    

Upon Combing her Hair.  

BReaking from under that thy cloudy Veil,  
Open and shine yet more, shine out more clear  
Thou glorious golden-beam-darting hair,  
Even till my wonderstrucken Senses fail.   

Shoot out in light, and shine those Rays on far,  
Thou much more fair than is the Queen of Love,  
When she doth comb her in her Sphere above,  
And from a Planet turns a Blazing-Star.   

Nay, thou art greater too, more destiny  
Depends on thee, then on her influence,  
No hair thy fatal hand doth now dispense,  
But to some one a thread of life must be.   

While gracious unto me, thou both dost sunder  
Those Glories which, if they united were,  
Might have amazed sense, and show'st each hair,  
Which if alone had been too great a wonder.   

And now spread in their goodly length, sh' appears  
No Creature which the earth might call her own,  
But rather one, that in her gliding down,  
heavens beams did crown, to show us she was theirs.   

And come from thence, how can they fear times rage  
Which in his power else on earth most strange  
Such Golden treasure doth to Silver change  
By that improper Alchemy of Age.   

But stay, methinks, new Beauties do arise,  
While she withdraws these Glories which were spread,  
Wonder of Beauties, set thy radiant head,  
And strike out day from thy yet fairer eyes.    

Ditty in imitation of the Spanish Entre tantoque L' Auril.  

NOw that the April of your youth adorns  
The Garden of your face,  
Now that for you each knowing Lover mourns,  
And all seek to your Grace:  
Do not repay affection with Scorns.   

What though you may a matchless Beauty vaunt,  
And that all Hearts can move,  
By such a power, as seemeth to inchant?  
Yet without help of Love  
Beauty no pleasure to itself can grant.   

Then think each minute that you lose, a day,  
The longest Youth is short,  
The shortest Age is long; time flies away,  
And makes us but his sport;  
And that which is not Youth's is Age's prey.   

See but the bravest Horse, that prideth most,  
Though he escape the War,  
Either from master to the man is lost,  
Or turned unto the Carr,  
Or else must die with being ridden Post.   

Then lose not beauty, Lovers, time, and all,  
Too late your fault you see,  
When that in vain you would these days recall;  
Nor can you virtuous be,  
When without these you have not wherewithal.    

The State-progress of iii.  

I Say, 'tis hard to write Satyrs. Though Ill  
Great'ned in his long course, and swelling still,  
Be now like to a Deluge, yet, as Nile,  
'Tis doubtful in his original; this while  
We may thus much on either part presume,  
That what so universal are, must come  
From causes great and far. Now in this state  
Of things, what is least like Good, men hate,  
Since 'twill be the less sin. I do see  
Some Ill required, that one poison might free  
The other; so States, to their Greatness, find  
No faults required but their own, and bind  
The rest. And though this be mysterious still,  
Why should we not examine how this Ill  
Did come at first, how't keeps his greatness here,  
When 'tis disguised, and when it doth appear.  
This Ill having some Atttibutes of God,  
As to have made itself, and bear the rod  
Of all our punishments, as it seems, came  
Into the world, to rule it, and to tame  
The pride of Goodness, and though his Reign  
Great in the hearts of men he doth maintain  
By love, not right, he yet the tyrant here  
(Though it be him we love, and God we fear)  
Pretence yet wants not, that it was before  
Some part of Godhead, as Mercy, that store  
For Souls grown Bankrupt, their first stock of Grace,  
And that which the sinner of the last place  
Shall number out, unless th' Highest will show  
Some power, not yet revealed to Man below.   

But that I may proceed, and so go on  
To trace Ill in his first progression,  
And through his secretest ways, and where that he  
Had left his nakedness as well as we,  
And did appear himself, I note, that in Gradus melisunt quo Peccamus nobis.  
The yet infant-world, how mischief and sin, Gradus melisunt quo Nocemus aliis.  
His Agents here on earth, & easy known,  
Are now concealed Intelligencers grown:  
For since that as a Guard th' Highest at once  
Put Fear t' attend their private actions,  
And Shame, their public, other means being failed:  
Mischief, under doing of Good was veiled,  
And Sin, of Pleasure; though in this disguise  
They only hide themselves from mortal eyes.  
Sins, those that both command o-mitted be,  
Once hot and cold, but in a third degree,  
Are now such poisons, that though they may lurk  
In secret parts awhile, yet they will work,  
Though after death: Nor ever come alone,  
But sudden fruitful multiply e'er done.  
While in this monstrous birth they only die  
Whom we confess, those live which we deny.  
Mischiefs like fatal Constellations  
Appear unto the ignorant at once,  
In glory and in hurt, whil th' unseen part  
Of the great Cause may be perchance, the Art  
Of th' Ill, and hiding it, which that I may  
Even in his first original display,  
And best example, sure, amongst Kings, he  
Who first wanted succession to be  
A Tyrant, was wise enough to have chose  
An honest man for King, which should dispose  
Those beasts, which being so tame, yet otherwise,  
As it seems, could not heard: And with advise  
Somewhat indifferent for both, he might  
Yet have provided for their children's right.  
If they grew wiser, not his own, that so  
They might repent, yet under treason, who  
Ne'er promised faith: though now we cannot spare,  
(And not be worse) Kings, on those terms they are  
No more than we could spare (and have been saved)  
Original sin. So then those Priests that raved  
And prophesied, they did a kind of good  
They knew not of, by whom the choice first stood.  
Since then, we may consider now, as fit,  
State-government, and all the Arts of it,  
That we may know them yet, let us see how  
They were derived, done, and are maintained now,  
That Princes may by this yet understand  
Why we obey, as well as they command.  
State, a proportioned coloured table, is,  
Nobility the masterpiece, in this  
Serves to show distances, while being put  
'Twixt sight and vastness they seem higher, but  
As they're further off, yet as those blue hills,  
Which th' utmost border of a Region fills  
They are great and worse parts, while in the steep  
Of this great Prospective, they seem to keep  
Further absent from those below, though this  
Exalted Spirit that's sure a free Soul, is  
A greater privilege, than to be born  
At Venice, although he seek not rule, doth scorn  
Subjection, but as he is flesh, and so  
He is to dulness, shame, and many moe  
Such properties, knows, but the Painter's Art,  
All in the frame is equal: that desert  
Is a more living thing, and doth obey,  
As he gives poor, for God's sake, (though they  
And Kings ask it not so) thinks Honours are  
Figures composed of lines irregular  
And happy-high, knows no election  
Raiseth man to true Greatness, but his own.  
Mean while, sugared Divines, next place to this,  
Tells us, Humility and Patience is▪  
The way to Heaven, and that we must there  
Look for our Kingdom, that the great'st rule here  
Is for to rule ourselves; and that they might  
Say this the better, they to no place have right  
B' inheritance, while whom Ambition sways,  
Their office it to turn it other ways.  
Those yet, whose harder minds Religion  
Cannot invade, nor turn from thinking on  
A present greatness, that Combined curse of Law,  
Of officers, and neighbour's spite, doth draw  
Within such whirlpools, that till they be drowned,  
They ne'er get out, but only swim them round.  
Thus brief, since that the infinite of Ill  
Is neither easy told, nor safe, I will  
But only note, how freeborn man subdued  
By his own choice, that was at first endued  
With equal power over all, doth now submit  
That infinite of Number, Spirit, Wit,  
To some eight Monarches, then why wonder men  
Their rule of Horses?  
The World, as in the Ark of Noah, rests,  
Composed as then, few Men, and many Beasts.   
Aug. 1668. At Merlow in France.   

Satyra Secunda.  
Of Travellers from Paris.  

Been Johnson, Travel is a second birth,  
Unto the Children of another earth,  
Only as our King Richard was, so they appear,  
New born to another World, with teeth and hair,  
While got by English Parents▪ carried in  
Some Womb of thirty tun, and lightly twin,  
They are delivered at Calais, or at Diep,  
And strangely stand, go, feed themselves, nay keep  
Their own money straightways; but that is all,  
For none can understand them, when they call  
For any thing. No more than Badger,  
That called the Queen Monsieur, laid a wager  
With the King of his Dogs, who understood  
Them all alike, which, Badger thought, was good.  
But that I may proceed, since their birth is  
Only a kind of Metempsy hosis;  
Such Knowledge, as their memory could give,  
They have for help, what time these Souls do live  
In English Clothes, a body which again  
They never rise unto: but as you see,  
When they come home, like Children yet that be  
Of their own bringing up; all they learn, is  
Toys, and the Language: but to attain this,  
You must conceive, they're cozened, mocked & come  
To Fauxbourgs, St, Germans, there take a Room  
Lightly about th' Ambassadors, and where,  
Having no Church, they come, Sundays, to hear  
An invitation, which they have most part,  
If their outside but promise a desert,  
To sit above the Secretary's place,  
Although it be almost as rare a case,  
To see English well clothed here, as with you  
At London, Indians: But that your view  
May comprehend at once them gone for Bloys,  
Or Orleans; learned French, now no more Boys,  
But perfect Men at Paris, putting on  
Some forced disguise, or laboured fashion,  
To appear strange at home, besides their stay,  
Laugh and look on with me, to see what they  
Are now become; but that the poorer sort,  
A subject not fit for my Muse nor sport,  
May pass untouched; let's but consider, what  
Elpus is now become, once young, handsome, and that  
Was such a Wit, as very well with four  
Of the six might have made one, and no more,  
Had he been at their Valentine, and could  
Agree, Tom Rus should use the stock, who would  
Carefully, in that, even as 'twere his own,  
Put out their jests, briefly, one that was grown  
Ripe to another taste, than that wherein  
He is now seasoned and dried, as in  
His face, by this you see, which would perplex  
A stranger to define his years, or sex;  
To which his wrinkles, when he speaks, doth give  
That Age, his words should have, while he doth strive  
As if such births had never come from brain,  
To show, he's not delivered without pain,  
Nor without After-throws. Sometimes, as Grace  
Did overflow in circles o'er his face,  
Even to the brim, which he thinks Sure;  
If this posture do but so long endure▪  
That it be fixed by Age, he'll look as like  
A speaking sign, as our St. George, to strike.  
That, where he is, none but will hold their peace,  
If th' have but th' least good manners, or confess,  
If he should speak, he did presume too far  
In speaking then, when others readier are.  
Now, that he speaks, are complimental speeches,  
That never go off but below the breeches  
Of him he doth salute, while he doth wring,  
And with some loose French words, which he doth string,  
Windeth about the arms, the legs, and sides,  
Most serpent-like, of any man that bides  
His indirect approach, which being done  
Almost without an introduction,  
If he have heard but any bragging French  
Boast of the favour of some noble Wench,  
He'll swear, 'twas he did her Graces possess,  
And damn his own soul for the wickedness  
Of other men, strangest of all in that,  
But I am weary to describe you what,  
ere this, you can As for the little fry  
That all along the street turn up the eye  
At every thing they meet, that have not yet  
Seen that swollen vicious Queen, Margaret,  
Who were a monster even without her sin;  
Nor the Italian Comedies, wherein  
Women play Boys— I cease to write.  
To end this Satire, and bid thee good night.  
Sept. 1608.   

I must depart, but like to his last breath  
That leaves the seat of life, for liberty  
I go, but dying, and in this our death,  
Where soul and soul is parted, it is I  
The deader part yet fly away,  
While she alas, in whom before  
I lived, dies her own death and more,  
I feeling mine too much, and her own stay.   

But since I must depart, and that our love  
Springing at first but in an earthly mould,  
Transplanted to our souls, now doth remove  
Earthly effects, what time and distance would,  
Nothing now can our loves allay  
Though as the better Spirits will  
That both love us and know our ill,  
We do not either all the good we may.   

Thus when our souls that must immortal be,  
For our loves cannot die, nor we, (unless  
We die not both together) shall be free  
Unto their open and eternal peace,  
Sleep, Death's Ambassador, and best  
Image, doth yours often so show,  
That I thereby must plainly know  
Death unto us must be freedom and rest.   
May 1608.   

Madrigal.  

HOw should I love my best?  
What though my love unto that height be grown,  
That taking joy in you alone  
I utterly this world detest,  
Should I not love it yet as th' only place  
Where Beauty hath his perfect grace,  
And is possessed?   

But I beauties despise,  
You, universal beauty seem to me,  
Giving and showing form and degree  
To all the rest, in your fair eyes,  
Yet should I not lo●● them as parts whereon  
Your beauty, their perfection  
And top, doth rise.   

But, even myself I hate  
So far my love is from the least delight  
That at my very self I spite,  
Senseless of any happy state,  
Yet may I not wi●h justest reason fear  
How hating hers, ● truly her  
Can celebrate?   

Thus unresolved still  
Although world, life, nay what is fair beside  
I cannot for your sake abide,  
Methinks I love not to my fill,  
Yet if a greater love you can devise,  
In loving you some otherwise,  
Bel, I will.    

Another.  
DEar, when I did from you remove,  
I left my Joy, but not my Love,  
That never can depart,  
It neither higher can ascend  
Nor lower bend  
Fixed in the centre of my heart  
As in his place,  
And lodged so, how can it change,  
Or you grow strange?  
Those are earth's properties, and base  
Each where, as the bodies divine  
heavens lights and you to me will shine.   

To his Friend Ben Johnson, of his Horace made English.  
'TWas not enough, Ben Johnson, to be thought  
Of English Poets best, but to have brought  
In greater state, to their acquaintance, one  
So equal to himself and thee, that none  
Might be thy second, while thy Glory is,  
To be the Horace of our times and his.   

Epitaph. Caecil. Boulser quae post languescentem morbum non sine inquietudine spiritus & conscientiae obiit.  


Intelligitur de figura mortis praefigenda.  MEthinks Death like one laughing lies,  
Showing his teeth, shutting his eyes,  
Only thus to have found her here  
He did with so much reason fear,  
And she despise.   

For barring all the gates of sin,  
Death's open ways to enter in,  
She was with a strict siege beset,  
To what by force he could not get,  
By time to win.   

This mighty Warrior was deceived yet,  
For what he, muting in her powers, thought  
Was but their zeal,  
And what by their excess might have been wrought,  
Her fasts did heal.   

Till that her noble soul, by these, as wings,  
Transcending the low pitch of earthly things,  
As b'ing relieved by God, and set at large,  
And grown by this worthy a higher charge,  
Triumphing over Death, to Heaven fled,  
And did not die, but left her body dead.   
July 1609.   

Epitaph. Guli. Herbert de Swansey qui sine prole obiit Aug. 1609.  

GReat Spirit, that in new ambition,  
Stooped not below his merit,  
But with his proper worth being carried on,  
Stooped at no second place, till now in one  
He doth all place inherit:   

Live endless here in such brave memory,  
The best tongue cannot spot it,  
While they which knew, or but have heard of thee,  
Must never hope thy like again can be,  
Since thou hast not begot it.    

In a Glass-Window for Inconstancy.  
LOve, of this clearest, frailest Glass,  
Divide the properties, so as  
In the division may appear  
Clearness for me, frailty for her.   

Elegy for the Prince.  
MUst he be ever dead? Cannot we add  
Another life unto that Prince that had  
Our souls laid up in him? Could not our love,  
Now when he left us, make that body move,  
After his death one Age? And keep unite  
That frame wherein our souls did so delight?  
For what are souls but love? Since they do know  
Only for it, and can no further go.  
Sense is the Soul of Beasts, because none can  
Proceed so far as t' understand like Man:  
And if souls be more where they love, then where  
They animate, why did it not appear  
In keeping him alive: Or how is fate  
Equal to us, when one man's private hate  
May ruin Kingdoms, when he will expose  
Himself to certain death, and yet all those  
Not keep alive this Prince, who now is gone,  
Whose loves would give thousands of lives for one:  
Do we then die in him, only as we  
May in the world's harmonique body see  
An universally diffused soul  
Move in the parts which moves not in the whole?  
So though we rest with him, we do appear  
To live and stir a while, as if he were  
Still quick'ning us? Or do (perchance) we live  
And know it not? See we not Autumn give  
Back to the earth again what it received  
In th' early Spring? And may not we deceived  
Think that those powers are dead, which do but sleep,  
And the world's soul doth reunited keep?  
And though this Autumn gave, what never more  
Any Spring can unto the world restore,  
May we not be deceived, and think we know  
Ourselves for dead? Because that we are so  
Unto each other, when as yet we live  
A life his love and memory doth give,  
Who was our world's soul, and to whom we are  
So reunite, that in him we repair  
All other our affections ill bestowed:  
Since by this love we now have such abode  
With him in Heaven as we had here, before  
He left us dead. Nor shall we question more,  
Whether the Soul of man be memory,  
As Plato thought: We and posterity  
Shall celebrate his name, and virtuous grow,  
Only in memory that he was so;  
And on those terms we may seem yet to live,  
Because he lived once, though we shall strive  
To sigh away this seeming life so fast,  
As if with us 'twere not already past.  
We then are dead, for what doth now remain  
To please us more, or what can we call pain,  
Now we have lost him? And what else doth make  
Difference in life and death, but to partake  
Nor joy, nor pain? Oh death, couldst not fulfil  
Thy rage against us no way, but to kill  
This Prince, in whom we lived? that so we all  
Might perish by thy hand at once, and fall  
Under his ruin, thenceforth though we should  
Do all the actions that the living would,  
Yet we shall not remember that we live,  
No more than when our Mother's womb did give  
That life we felt not: Or should we proceed  
To such a wonder, that the dead should breed,  
It should be wrought to keep that memory,  
Which being his, can, therefore, never die.  
Novemb. 9 1612.   

Epitaph of King James.  
HEre lies King James, who did so propagate  
Unto the World that blessed and quiet state  
Wherein his Subjects lived, he seemed to give  
That peace which Christ did leave, and so did live,  
As once that King and Shepherd of his Sheep,  
That whom God saved, here he seemed to keep,  
Till with that innocent and single heart  
With which he first was crowned, he did depart  
To better life: Great Britain so lament,  
That Strangers more than thou may yet resent  
The sad effects, and while they feel the harm  
They must endure from the victorious arm  
Of our King Charles, may they so long complain,  
That tears in them force thee to weep again.   

A Vision. 
A Lady combing her hair.   

WIthin an open curled Sea of Gold 
The hair   
A Bark of Ivory, one day, I saw, 
The Comb   
Which striking with his Oars did seem to draw 
The teeth of the Comb.   
towered a fair Coast, which I then did behold. 
Her side   
A Lady held the Stern, while her white hand  
Whiter than either Ivory or Sail, 
The Cuff or smock sleeve,   
Over the surging Waves did so prevail,  
That she had now approached near the Land. 
Her ●●●●der.    

When suddenly, as if she feared some wrack,  
And yet the Sky was fair, and Air was clear,  
And neither Rock, nor Monster did appear, 
Wart Lice.   
Doubting the Point, which spied, she turned back.   

Then with a Second course I saw her steer 
Combing in another place.   
As if she meant to reach some other Bay,  
Where being approached, she likewise turned away,  
Though in the Bark some Waves now entered were. 
Hairs in the Comb.    

Thus varying oft her course, at last I found,  
While I in quest of the Adventure go,  
The Sail took down, 
She had given over combing.  and Oars had ceased to row,  
And that the Bark itself was run aground.   

Wherewith Earth's fairest Creature I beheld, 
Her face.   
For which both Bark and Sea I gladly lost. 
Her hair put up, and Comb cast away.   
Let no Philosopher of Knowledge boast,  
Unless that he my Vision can unfold.   

Tears, flow no more, or if you needs must flow,  
Fall yet more slow,  
Do not the world invade,  
From smaller springs than yours rivers have grown,  
And they again a Sea have made,  
Brackish like you, and which like you hath flown.   

Ebb to my heart, and on the burning fires  
Of my desires,  
Let your torrents fall,  
From smaller sparks than theirs such sparks arise  
As into flame converting all,  
This world might be but my love's sacrifice.   

Yet if the tempests of my sighs so slow  
You both must flow,  
And my desires still burn,  
Since that in vain all help my love requires.  
Why may not yet their rages turn  
To dry those tears, and to blow out those fires.   
Italy 1614   

Ditty  
to the tune of A che del Quantomio of Pesarino.  

WHere now shall these Accents go?  
At which Creatures silent grow  
While Woods and Rocks do speak?  
And seem to break  
Complaints too long for them to hear,  
Saying, I call in vain: Echo- All in vain.  
: =:: =:: =:  
Where there is no relief; Ec. Here is no relief.   

Ah why then should I fear  
Unto her rocky heart to speak that grief,  
In whose laments these bear a part?  
Then cruel heart  
Do but some answer give,  
I do but crave = Do you forbid to live, or bid to live.  
Echo Live.    

Ditty.  

CAn I then live to draw that breath  
Which must bid farewell to thee?  
Yet how should death not seize on me?  
Since absence from the life I hold so dear must needs be death,  
While I do feel in parting  
Such a living dying,  
As in this my most fatal hour  
Grief such a life doth lend  
As quickened by his power,  
Even death cannot end.   

I am the first that ever loved,  
He yet that for the place contends  
Against true love so much offends,  
That even this way it is proved.   

For whose affection once is shown,  
No longer can the World beguile,  
Who see his penance all the while,  
He holds a Torch to make her known.   

You are the first were ever loved,  
And who may think this not so true,  
So little knows of love or you,  
It need not otherwise be proved   

For though the more judicious eyes  
May know when Diamonds are right,  
There is required a greater light  
Their estimate and worth to prize.   

While they who most for beauty strives,  
Can with no Art so lovely grow  
As she who doth but only owe  
So much as true affection gives.   

Thus first of Lovers I appear,  
For more appearance makes me none;  
And thus are you beloved alone,  
That are prized infinitely dear.   

Yet as in our Northern Clime  
Rare fruits, though late, appear at last;  
As we may see, some years b'ing passed,  
Our Orenge-trees grow ripe with time.   

So think not strange, if Love to break  
His wont silence now make bold,  
For a Love is seven years old,  
Is it not time to learn to speak?   

Then gather in that which doth grow  
And ripen to that fairest hand;  
'Tis not enough that trees do stand,  
If their fruit fall and perish too.    

Epitaph of a stinking Poet.  
HEre stinks a Poet, I confess,  
Yet wanting breath stinks so much less.   

A Ditty  
to the tune of Coseferite, made by Lorenzo Allegre to one sleeping to be sung.  

Ah wonder.  
SO fair a Heaven  
So fair, etc.  
And no Star shining,  
Ay me, and no Star, etc.  
'Tis past my divining.   

Yet stay.  
May not perchance this be some rising Morn?  
Which in the scorn  
Of our World's light discloses,  
This Air of Violets, that Sky of Roses?  
'tis so.  
An Oriental Sphere  
Doth open and appear,  
Ascending bright.  
Then since thy hymen I chant  
May'st thou new pleasures grant.  
Admired light.    

Epitaph on Sir Edward Saquevile's Child, who died in his Birth.  
REader, here lies a Child that never cried,  
And therefore never died,  
'Twas neither old nor young,  
Born to this and the other world in one:  
Let us then cease to moon,  
Nothing that ever died hath lived so long.   

Kissing.  
COme hither Womankind, and all their worth,  
Give me thy Kisses as I call them forth.  
Give me the billing-Kiss, that of the Dove,  
A Kiss of love;  
The melting-Kiss, a Kiss that doth consume  
To a perfume;  
The extract-Kiss, of every sweet a part,  
A Kiss of Art;  
The Kiss which ever stirs some new delight,  
A Kiss of Might;  
The twaching smacking Kiss, and when you cease  
A Kiss of Peace;  
The Musick-Kiss, crotchet and quaver time,  
The Kiss of Rhyme,  
The Kiss of Eloquence, which doth belong  
Unto the tongue;  
The Kiss of all the Sciences in one,  
The Kiss alone.  
So 'tis enough.   

Ditty.  

IF you refuse me once, and think again,  
I will complain,  
You are deceived: Love is no work of Art,  
It must be got and born,  
Not made and worn,  
Or such wherein you have no part.   

Or do you think they more than once can die  
Whom you deny?  
Who tell you of a thousand deaths a day,  
Like the old Poets fain,  
And tell the pain  
They met but in the common way.   

Or do you think it is too soon to yield,  
And quit the Field?  
You are deceived, they yield who first entreat;  
Once one may crave for love,  
But more would prove  
This heart too little, that too great.   

Give me then so much love, that we may burn  
Past all return,  
Who midst your beauties, flames, and spirit lives,  
So great a light must find  
As to be blind  
To all but what their fire gives.   

Then give me so much love, as in one point  
Fixed and conjoynt  
May make us equal in our flames arise,  
As we shall never start  
Until we dart  
Lightning upon the envious eyes.   

Then give me so much love, that we may move  
Like stars of love,  
And glad and happy times to Lovers bring;  
While glorious in one sphere  
We still appear,  
And keep an everlasting Spring.    

Elegy over a Tomb.  

MUst I then see, alas! eternal night  
Sitting upon those fairest eyes,  
And closing all those beams, which once did rise  
So radiant and bright,  
That light and heat in them to us did prove  
Knowledge and Love?   

Oh, if you did delight no more to stay  
Upon this low and earthly stage,  
But rather chose an endless heritage,  
Tell us at least, we pray,  
Where all the beauties that those ashes owed  
Are now bestowed?   

Doth the Sun now his light with yours renew?  
Have Waves the curling of your hair?  
Did you restore unto the Sky and Air,  
The red, and white, and blue?  
Have you vouchsafed to flowers since your death  
That sweetest breath?   

Had not heavens Lights else in their houses slept,  
Or to some private life retired?  
Must not the Sky and Air have else conspired,  
And in their Regions wept?  
Must not each flower else the earth could breed  
Have been a weed?   

But thus enriched may we not yield some cause  
Why they themselves lament no more?  
That must have changed course they held before,  
And broke their proper Laws,  
Had not your beauties given this second birth  
To Heaven and Earth?   

Tell us, for Oracles must still ascend,  
For those that crave them at your tomb:  
Tell us, where are those beauties now become,  
And what they now intend;  
Tell us, alas, that cannot tell our grief,  
Or hope relief.   
1617.   

Epitaph on Sir Francis Vere.  
Reader,  

IF thou appear  
Before this tomb, attention give,  
And do not fear,  
Unless it be to live,  
For dead is great Sir Francis Vere.   

Of whom this might be said, should God ordain  
One to destroy all sinners, whom that one  
Redeemed not there, that so he might atone  
His chosen flock, and take from earth that stain,  
That spots it still, he worthy were alone  
To finish it, and have, when they were gone,  
This World for him made Paradise again.    

To Mrs. Diana Cecyll.  

DIana Cecyll, that rare beauty thou dost show  
Is not of Milk, or Snow,  
Or such as pale and whitely things do ow.  
But an illustrious Oriental Bright,  
Like to the Diamonds refracted light,  
Or early Morning breaking from the Night.  
Nor is thy hair and eyes made of that ruddy beam,  
Or golden-sanded stream,  
Which we find still the vulgar Poet's theme,  
But reverend black, and such as you would say,  
Light did but serve it, and did show the way,  
By which at first night did precede the day.   

Nor is that symmetry of parts and force divine  
Made of one vulgar line,  
Or such as any know how to define,  
But of proportions new▪ so well expressed,  
That the perfections in each part confessed,  
Are beauties to themselves, and to the rest.   

Wonder of all thy Sex! let none henceforth inquire  
Why they so much admire,  
Since they that know thee best ascend no higher;  
Only be not with common praises wooed  
Since admiration were no longer good,  
When men might hope more than they understood.    

To her Eyes.  

BLack eyes, if you seem dark,  
It is because your beams are deep,  
And with your soul united keep▪  
Who could discern  
Enough into them, there might learn,  
Whence they derive that mark;  
And how their power is such,  
That all the wonders which proceed from thence,  
Affecting more the mind then sense,  
Are not so much  
The works of light, as influence.   

As you then joined are  
Unto the Soul, so it again  
By its connexion doth pertain  
To that first cause,  
Who giving all their proper Laws,  
By you doth best declare  
How he at first b'ing hid  
Within the veil of an eternal night,  
Did frame for us a second light,  
And after bid  
It serve for ordinary sight.   

His Image than you are,  
If there be any yet who doubt  
What power it is that doth look out  
Through that your black.  
He will not an example lack,  
If he suppose that there  
Were grey, or hazel Glass,  
And that through them, though sight or soul might shine,  
He must yet at the last define,  
That beams which pass  
Through black, cannot but be divine.    

To her Hair.  

BLack beamy hairs, which so seem to arise  
From the extraction of those eyes,  
That into you she destin-like doth spin  
The beams she spares, what time her soul retires,  
And by those hallowed fires,  
Keeps house all night within.   

Since from within her awful front you shine,  
As threads of life which she doth twine,  
And thence ascending with the fatal rays,  
Do crown those temples, where Love's wonders wrought  
We afterwards see brought  
To vulgar light and praise.   

Lighten through all your regions, till we find  
The causes why we are grown blind,  
That when we should your Glories comprehend  
Our sight recoils, and turneth back again,  
And doth, as 'twere in vain,  
Itself to you extend.   

Is it, because past black, there is not found  
A fixed or horizontal bound?  
And so as it doth terminate the white,  
It may be said all colours to enfold,  
And in that hand to hold  
Somewhat of infinite?   

Or is it, that the centre of our sight  
Being vailed in its proper night  
Discerns your blackness by some other sense,  
Then that by which it doth pied colours see,  
Which only therefore be  
Known by their difference?   

Tell us, when on her front in curls you lie  
So diapered from that black eye,  
That your reflected forms may make us know  
That shining light in darkness all would find,  
Were they not upward blind  
With the Sun beams below.    

Sonnet of Black Beauty.  

BLack beauty, which above that common light,  
Whose Power can no colours here renew,  
But those which darkness can again subdue,  
Dost still remain unvaryed to the sight.   

And like an object equal to the view,  
And neither changed with day, nor hid with night,  
When all these colours which the world call bright,  
And which old Poetry doth so pursue,   

Are with the night so perished and gone,  
That of their being there remains no mark,  
Thou still abidest so entirely one,  
That we may know thy blackness is a spark  
Of light inaccessible, and alone  
Our darkness which can make us think it dark.    

Another Sonnet to Black itself.  
THou Black, wherein all colours are composed,  
And unto which they all at last return,  
Thou colour of the Sun where it doth burn,  
And shadow, where it cools, in thee is closed  
Whatever nature can, or hath disposed  
In any other here: from thee do rise  
Those tempers and complexions, which disclosed,  
As parts of thee, do work as mysteries,  
Of that thy hidden power, when thou dost reign  
The characters of fate shine in the Skies,  
And tell us what the Heavens do ordain,  
But when Earth's common light shines to our eyes,  
Thou so retir'st thyself, that thy disdain  
All revelation unto Man denys.   

The first Meeting.  

AS sometimes with a sable Cloud  
We see the heavens bowed,  
And darkening all the fire,  
Until the labouring fires they do contain  
Break forth again,  
Even so from under your black hair  
I saw such an unusual blaze  
lightning and sparkling from your eyes,  
And with unused prodigies  
Forcing such amaze,  
That I did judge your Empire here  
Was not of love alone, but fear.   

But as all that is violent  
Doth by degrees relent,  
So when that sweetest face,  
Growing at last to be serene and clear,  
Did now appear  
With all its wont heavenly Grace,  
And your appeased eyes did send  
A beam from them so soft and mild,  
That former terrors were exiled,  
And all that could amaze did end;  
Darkness in me was changed to light,  
Wonder to love, love to delight.   

Nor here yet did your goodness cease  
My heart and eyes to bless,  
For being past all hope,  
That I could now enjoy a better state,  
An orient gate  
(As if the heavens themselves did open)  
First found in thee, and then disclosed  
So gracious and sweet a smile,  
That my soul ravished the while,  
And wholly from itself unloosed,  
Seemed hovering in your breath to rise,  
To feel an air of Paradise.   

Nor here yet did your favours end,  
For whilst I down did bend,  
As one who now did miss  
A soul, which grown much happier than before,  
Would turn no more,  
You did bestow on me a Kiss,  
And in that Kiss a soul infuse,  
Which was so fashioned by your mind,  
And which was so much more refined,  
Then that I formerly did use,  
That if one soul found joys in thee,  
The other framed them new in me.   

But as those bodies which dispense  
Their beams, imparting hence  
Those beams do recollect,  
Until they in themselves resumed have  
The forms they gave,  
So when your gracious aspect  
From me was turned once away,  
Neither could I thy soul retain,  
Nor you gave mine leave to remain,  
To make with you a longer stay,  
Or suffered aught else to appear  
But your hair, night's hemisphere,   

Only as we in Lodestones find  
Virtue of such a kind,  
That what they once do give,  
B'ing neither to be changed by any Clime,  
Or forced by time,  
Doth ever in its subjects live;   

So though I be from you retired,  
The power you gave yet still abides,  
And my soul ever so guides,  
By your magnetic touch inspired,  
That all it moves, or is inclined,  
Comes from the motions of your mind.    

A merry Rhyme sent to the Lady Wroth upon the Birth of my L. of Pembroke's Child, born in the Spring.  
MAdam, though I am one of those  
That every Spring use to compose,  
That is, add feet unto round Prose:  
Yet you a further art disclose,  
And can, as every body knows.  
Add to those feet fine dainty toes.  
Satyrs add nails, but they are shrews,  
My Muse therefore no further goes,  
But for her feet craves shoes and hose.  
Let a fair season add a Rose,  
While thus attired we'll oppose  
The tragic buskins of our foes.  
And herewith, Madam, I will close,  
And 'tis no matter how it shows,  
All I care is, if the child grows.   

The Thought.  

1.  
IF you do love, as well as I,  
Then every minute from your heart  
A thought doth part:  
And winged with desire doth fly  
Till it hath met in a straight line,  
A thought of mine  
So like to yours, we cannot know  
Whether of both doth come or go,  
Till we define  
Which of us two that thought doth ow.   

2.  
I say then, that your thoughts which pass,  
Are not so much the thoughts you meant,  
As those I sent:  
For as my image in a Glass  
Belongs not to the Glass you see,  
But unto me.  
So when your fancy is so clear,  
That you would think you saw me there,  
It needs must be,  
That it was I did first appear.   

3.  
Likewise when I send forth a thought,  
My reason tells me, 'tis the same,  
Which from you came,  
And which your beauteous Image wrought;  
Thus while our thoughts by turns do lead  
None can precede;  
And thus while in each others mind  
Such interchanged forms we find,  
Our loves may plead  
To be of more than vulgar kind.   

4.  
May you then often think on me,  
And by that thinking know 'tis true  
I thought on you:  
I in the same belief will be,  
While by this mutual address  
We will possess  
A love must live, when we do die,  
Which rare and secret property  
You will confess,  
If you do love as well as I.    

To a Lady who did sing excellently.  

1.  
WHen our rude & unfashioned words, that long  
A being in their elements enjoyed,  
Senseless and void,  
Come at last to be form by thy tongue,  
And from thy breath receive that life and place,  
And perfect grace,  
That now thy power diffused through all their parts  
Are able to remove  
All the obstructions of the hardest hearts,  
And teach the most unwilling how to love.   

2.  
When they again, exalted by thy voice,  
Tuned by thy soul, dimiss'd into the air,  
To us repair,  
A living, moving, and harmonious noise,  
Able to give the love they do create  
A second state,  
And charm not only all his griefs away,  
And his defects restore,  
But make him perfect, who, the Poets say,  
Made all was ever yet made heretofore.   

3.  
When again all these rare perfections meet,  
Composed in the circle of thy face,  
As in their place,  
So to make up of all one perfect sweet,  
Who is not then so ravished with delight  
Even of thy sight,  
That he can be assured his sense is true,  
Or that he die, or live,  
Or that he do enjoy himself or you,  
Or only the delights, which you did give?   
1618.   

Melander supposed to love Susan, but did love Ann.  

WHo doth presume my Mistress' name to scan,  
Goes about more than any way he can,  
Since all men think that it is Susan. Echo Ann.   

What sayest? Then tell who is as white as Swan,  
While others set by her are pale and wan,  
Then, Echo, speak, Is it not Susan? Ec. Ann.   

Tell, Echo, yet, whose middle's but a span,  
Some being gross as bucket, round as pan;  
Say, Echo, then, Is it not Susan? Ec. Ann.   

Say, is she not soft as meal without bran,  
Though yet in great haste once from me she ran,  
Must I not however love Susan? Ec. Ann.    

Echo to a Rock.  

THou heaven-threat'ning Rock, gentler than she!  
Since of my pain  
Thou still more sensible wilt be,  
Only when thou giv'st leave but to complain.  
Echo Complain.  
But thou dost answer too, although in vain  
Thou answerest when thou canst no pity show.  
Echo Oh.  
What canst thou speak and pity too?  
Then yet a further favour do,  
And tell if of my griefs I any end shall know.  
Echo No.   

Since she will pity him that loves her so truly.  
Echo You lie.  
Vile Rock, thou now growest so unruly,  
That hadst thou life as thou hast voice,  
Thou shouldst die at my foot.  
Echo Dye at my foot.  
Thou canst not make me do't,  
Unless thou leave it to my choice,  
Who thy hard sentence shall fulfil,  
When thou shalt say, I die to please her only will.  
Echo I will,  
When she comes hither, then, I pray thee, tell,  
Thou art my Monument, and this my last farewell.  
Echo Well    

Echo in a Church.  

WHen shall my troubled soul, at large  
Discharge  
The burden of her sins, oh where?  
Echo Here.  
Whence comes this voice I hear?  
Who doth this grace afford?  
If it be thou, O Lord,   

Say, if thou hear my prayers when I call.  
Echo All.  
And wilt thou pity grant when I do cry.  
Echo I.  
Then though I fall,  
Thy Grace will my defects supply,  
But who will keep my soul from ill,  
Quench bad desires, reform my Will?  
Echo I will.   

O may that will and voice be blest,  
Which yields such comforts unto one distressed,  
More blessed yet, wouldst thou thyself unmask,  
Or tell, at least, who undertakes this task.  
Echo Ask.   

Since now with crying I am grown so weak,  
I shall want force even to crave thy name,  
O speak before I wholly weary am.  
Echo I am    

To his Mistress for her true Picture.  

DEath, my life's Mistress, and the sovereign Queen  
Of all that ever breathed, though yet unseen,  
My heart doth love you best▪ yet I confess,  
Your picture I beheld, which doth express  
No such eye-taking beauty, you seem lean,  
Unless you're mended since. Sure he did mean  
No honour to you, that did draw you so;  
Therefore I think it false: Besides, I know  
The picture, Nature drew, (which sure's the best)  
Doth figure you by sleep and sweetest rest:  
Sleep, nurse of our life, cares best reposer,  
Nature's highest rapture, and the vision giver:  
Sleep, which when it doth seize us, souls go play,  
And make Man equal as he was first day.  
Yet some will say, Can pictures have more life  
Then the original? To end this strife,  
Sweet Mistress come, and show yourself to me,  
In your true form, while then I think to see  
Some beauty Angelic, that comes t' unlock  
My body's prison, and from life unyoke  
My well divorced soul, and set it free,  
To liberty eternal: Thus you see,  
I find the Painter's error, and protect  
Your absent beauties, ill drawn, by th' effect:  
For grant it were your work, and not the Graves,  
Draw Love by Madness then, Tyrants by Slaves,  
Because they make men such. Dear Mistress, then  
If you would not be seen by owl-eyed Men,  
Appear at noon i'th' Air, with so much light,  
The Sun may be a Moon▪ the Day a Night.  
Clear to my Soul, but darkening the weak sense  
Of those, the other World's Cimmeriens.  
And in your fatal Robe, embroidered  
With Starr-characters, teaching me to read  
The destiny of Mortals, while your clear brow  
Presents a Majesty, to instruct me how  
To love or dread nought else: May your bright hair,  
Which are the threads of life, fair crowned appear  
With that your Crown of Immortality:  
In your right hand the Keys of Heaven be;  
In th' other those of the Infernal Pit,  
Whence none retires, if once he enter it.  
And here let me complain, how few are those  
Whose souls you shall from earth's vast dungeon lose  
To endless happiness? few that attend  
You, the true Guide, unto their journey's end:  
And if old virtue's way narrow were,  
'Tis rugged now, having no passenger.  
Our life is but a dark and stormy night,  
To which sense yields a weak and glimmering light;  
While wand'ring Man thinks he discerneth all,  
By that which makes him but mistake and fall:  
He sees enough, who doth his darkness see;  
These are great lights, by which less darkened be.  
Shine then Sun-bright, or through my senses veil,  
A daystar of the light doth never fail;  
Show me that Goodness which compounds the strife  
'Twixt a long sickness and a weary life.  
Set forth that Justice which keeps all in awe,  
Certain and equal more than any Law.  
Figure that happy and eternal Rest,  
Which till Man do enjoy, he is not blest.  
Come and appear then, dear Soul-ravisher,  
heavens lightest Usher, Man's deliverer,  
And do not think, when I new beauties see,  
They can withdraw my settled love from thee.  
Flesh-beauty strikes me not at all, I know,  
When thou dost leave them to the grave, they show  
Worse, than they now show thee: they shall not move  
In me the least part of delight, or love,  
But as they teach your power: Be the nut brown  
The loveliest colour which the flesh doth crown:  
I'll think it like a Nut, a fair outside,  
Within which Worms and rottenness abide:  
If fair, then like the Worm itself to be;  
If painted, like their slime and sluttery.  
If any yet will think their beauties best,  
And will, against you, spite of all, contest,  
Seize them with Age: so in themselves they'll hate  
What they scorned in your picture, and too late  
See their fault, and the Painters: Yet if this,  
Which their great'st plague and wrinkled torture is,  
Please not, you may to the more wicked sort,  
Or such as of your praises make a sport,  
Denounce an open war, send chosen bands  
Of Worms, your soldiers, to their fairest hands,  
And make them lep'rous-scabbed: upon their face  
Let those your Pioners, Ringworms take their place,  
And safely near with strong approaches got  
Entrench it round, while their teeth rampire rot  
With other Worms, may with a damp inbred  
Sink to their senses, which they shall not dead:  
And thus may all that e'er they prided in,  
Confound them now: As for the parts within,  
Send Gut-worms, which may undermine a way  
Unto their vital parts, and so display  
That your pale Ensign on the walls: then let  
Those Worms, your Veteranes, which never yet  
Did fail, enter Pel mel, and ransack all,  
Just as they see the well-raised building fall:  
While they do this, your Foragers command,  
The Caterpillars, to devour their land;  
And with them Wasps, your wing'd-worm-horsmen, bring,  
To charge, in troop, those Rebels, with their sting:  
All this, unless your beauty they confess.   

And now, sweet Mistress, let my a while digress,  
T' admire these noble Worms, whom I invoke,  
And not the Muses: You that eat through Oak  
And bark, will you spare Paper, and my Verse,  
Because your praises they do here rehearse?   

Brave Legions then, sprung from the mighty race  
Of Man corrupted, and which hold the place  
Of his undoubted Issue; you that are  
Brain-born, Minerva-like, and like her war,  
Well-armed compleat-mail'd-jointed Soldiers,  
Whose force Herculean links in pieces tears;  
To you the vengeance of all spill-bloods falls,  
Beast-eating Men, Men-eating Cannibals.  
Death privileged, were you in sunder smit  
You do not lose your life, but double it:  
Best framed types of the immortal Soul,  
Which in yourselves, and in each part are whole:  
Last-living Creatures, heirs of all the earth,  
For when all men are dead, it is your birth:  
When you die, your brave self-killed General  
(For nothing else can kill him) doth end all.  
What vermin breeding body then thinks scorn,  
His flesh should be by your brave fury torn.   

Willing, to you, this Carcase I submit,  
A gift so free, I do not care for it:  
Which yet you shall not take, until I see  
My Mistress first reveal herself to me.   

Mean while, Great Mistress, whom my soul admires,  
Grant me your true picture, who it desires,  
That he your matchiefs beauty might maintain  
'Gainst all men that will quarrels entertain  
For a Flesh-Mistress, the worst I can do,  
Is but to keep the way that leads to you,  
And howsoever the event doth prove,  
To have Revenge below, Reward above;  
Hear, from my body's prison, this my Call,  
Who from my mouth-grate, and eye-window bawl.    

Epitaph on Sir Philip Sidney lying in St. Paul's without a Monument, to be fastened upon the Church door.  
Reader,  
WIthin this Church Sir Philip Sidney lies,  
Nor is it fit that I should more acquaint,  
Lest superstition rise,  
And Men adore,  
Soldiers, their Martyr; Lovers, their Saint.   

Epitaph for himself.  
Reader,  
THe Monument which thou beholdest here,  
Presents Edward Lord Herbert, to thy sight,  
A man, who was so free from either hope or fear,  
To have or lose this ordinary light,  
That when to elements his body turned were,  
He knew that as those elements would fight,  
So his Immortal Soul should find above,  
With his Creator, Peace, Joy, Truth, and Love.   

Sonnet.  

YOu well compacted Groves, whose light & shade  
Mixed equally, produce nor heat, nor cold,  
Either to burn the young, or freeze the old,  
But to one even temper being made,  
Upon a Grave embroidering through each Glade  
An Airy Silver, and a Sunny Gold,  
So cloth the poorest that they do behold  
Themselves, in riches which can never fade,  
While the wind whistles, and the birds do sing▪  
While your twigs clip, and while the leaves do friss,  
While the fruit ripens which those trunks do bring,  
Senseless to all but love, do you not spring  
Pleasure of such a kind, as truly is  
A self-renewing vegetable bliss.   

Made upon the Groves near Merlow Castle.    

To the C. of D.  

1.  
SInce in your face, as in a beauteous sphere,  
Delight and state so sweetly mixed appear,  
That Love's not light, nor Gravity severe,  
All your attractive Graces seem to draw,  
A modest rigour keepeth so in awe,  
That in their turns each of them gives the law.   

2.  
Therefore though chaste and virtuous desire  
Through that your native mildness may aspire,  
Until a just regard it doth acquire;  
Yet if Love thence a forward hope project,  
You can, by virtue of a sweet neglect,  
Convert it straight to reverend respect.   

3.  
Thus, as in your rare temper, we may find  
An excellence so perfect in each kind,  
That a fair body hath a fairer mind;  
So all the beams you diversely do dart,  
As well on th' understanding as the heart,  
Of love and honour equal cause impart.    

Ditty.  

1.  
WHy dost thou hate return instead of love?  
And with such merciless despite,  
My faith and hope requite?  
Oh! if th' affection cannot move,  
Learn Innocence yet of the Dove,  
And thy disdain to juster bounds confine;  
Or if towards Man thou equally decline  
The rules of Justice and of Mercy too,  
Thou may'st thy love to such a point refine,  
As it will kill more than thy hate can do.   

2.  
Love, love, Melania, then, though death ensue,  
Yet it is a greater fate,  
To die through love then hate,  
Rather a victory pursue,  
To Beauties lawful conquest due,  
Then tyrant eyes invenom with disdain:  
Or if thy power thou wouldst so maintain,  
As equally to be both loved and dread,  
Let timely Kisses call to life again,  
Him whom thy eyes have Planet-strucken dead.   

3.  
Kiss, kiss, Melania, then, and do not stay  
Until these sad effects appear,  
Which now draw on so near,  
That didst thou longer help delay,  
My soul must fly so fast away,  
As would at once both life and love divorce:  
Or if I needs must die without remorse,  
Kiss and embalm me so with that sweet breath,  
That while thou triumphest o'er Love and his force,  
I may triumph yet over Fate and Death.    

Elegy for Doctor Dunn.  
WHat though the vulgar and received praise,  
With which each common Poet strives to raise  
His worthless Patron, seem to give the height  
Of a true Excellence; yet as the weight  
Forced from his Centre, must again recoil,  
So every praise, as if it took some foil,  
Only because it was not well employed,  
Turns to those senseless principles and void,  
Which in some broken syllables being couched,  
Cannot above an Alphabet be vouched,  
In which dissolved state, they use to rest,  
Until some other in new forms invest  
Their easy matter, striving so to fix  
Glory with words, and make the parts to mix.  
But since praise that wants truth, like words that want  
Their proper meaning, doth itself recant;  
Such terms, however elevate and high,  
Are but like Meteors, which the pregnant Sky  
Varies in divers figures, till at last  
They either be by some dark Cloud o'rcast,  
Or wanting inward sustenance do devolve,  
And into their first Elements resolve.  
Praises, like Garments, then, if loose and wide,  
Are subject to fall off; if gay and pied,  
Make men ridiculous; the just and grave  
Are those alone, which men may wear and have.  
How fitting were it then, each had that part  
Which is their due: And that no fraudulent art  
Could so disguise the truth, but they might own  
Their rights, and by that property be known,  
For since praise is public inheritance,  
If any Inter-Commoner do chance  
To give or take more praise than doth belong  
Unto his part, he doth so great a wrong,  
That all who claim an equal interest,  
May him implead until he do divest  
His usurpations, and again restore  
Unto the public what was theirs before.  
Praises should then like definitions be  
Round, neat, convertible, such as agree  
To persons so, that, were their names concealed,  
Must make them known as well as if revealed:  
Such as contain the kind and difference,  
And all the properties arising thence.  
All praises else, as more or less than due,  
Will prove, or strongly false, or weakly true.  
Having delivered now, what praises are,  
It rests that I should to the world declare  
Thy praises, DUNN, whom I so loved alive.  
That with my witty Carew I should strive  
To celebrate the dead, did I not need  
A language by itself, which should exceed  
All those which are in use: For while I take  
Those common words, which men may even rake  
From Dunghil-wits, I find them so defiled,  
Slubbered and false, as if they had exiled  
Truth and propriety, such as do tell  
So little other things, they hardly spell  
Their proper meaning, and therefore unfit  
To blazon forth thy merits, or thy wit.  
Nor will it serve, that thou didst so refine  
Matter with words, that both did seem divine,  
When thy breath uttered them: for thou b'ing gone,  
They straight did follow thee: Let therefore none  
Hope to find out an Idiom and sense,  
Equal to thee, and to thy Eminence,  
Unless our Gracious King give words their bound,  
Call in false titles, which each where are found,  
In Prose and Verse, and as bad Coin and light  
Suppress them and their values, till the right  
Take place, and do appear, and then in lieu  
Of those forged Attributes stamp some anew,  
Which being currant, and by all allowed,  
In Epitaphs and Tombs might be avowed  
More than their Escocheons. Mean while, because  
Nor praise is yet confined to its Laws,  
Nor railing wants his proper dialect,  
Let thy detraction thy late life detect;  
And though they term all thy heat, frowardness;  
Thy solitude, self-pride; fasts, niggardness,  
And on this false supposal would infer,  
They teach not others right, themselves who err;  
Yet as men to the adverse part do ply  
Those crooked things which they would rectify,  
So would perchance, to lose and wanton Man  
Such vice avail more than their virtues can.   

The Brown Beauty.  

1.  
WHile the two contraries of Black and White,  
In the Brown Phaie are so well unite,  
That they no longer now seem opposite,  
Who doubts but love, hath this his colour chose,  
Since he therein doth both th' extremes compose,  
And as within their proper Centre close.   

2.  
Therefore as it presents not to the view  
That whitely raw and unconcocted hue.  
Which Beauty Northern Nations think the true;  
So neither hath it that adust aspect,  
The Moor and Indian so much affect,  
That for it they all other do reject.   

3.  
Thus while the White well shadowed doth appear,  
And black doth through his lustre grow so clear,  
That each in other equal part doth bear;  
All in so rare proportion is combined,  
That the fair temper, which adorns her mind,  
Is even to her outward form confined.   

4.  
Phaie, your Sex's honour, then so live,  
That when the World shall with contention strive  
To whom they would a chief perfection give,  
They might the controversy so decide,  
As quitting all extremes on either side,  
You more than any may be dignifyed.    

An Ode upon a Question moved, Whether Love should continue for ever?  

HAving interred her Infant-birth,  
The watery ground that late did mourn,  
Was strewed with flowers for the return  
Of the wished Bridegroom of the earth.   

The well accorded Birds did sing  
Their hymns unto the pleasant time,  
And in a sweet consorted chime  
Did welcome in the cheerful Spring.   

To which, soft whistels of the Wind,  
And warbling murmurs of a Brook,  
And varied notes of leaves that shook,  
An harmony of parts did bind.   

While doubling joy unto each other,  
All in so rare consent was shown,  
No happiness that came alone,  
Nor pleasure that was not another.   

When with a love none can express,  
That mutually happy pair,  
Melander and Celinda fair,  
The season with their loves did bless.   

Walking thus towards a pleasant Grove,  
Which did, it seemed, in new delight  
The pleasures of the time unite,  
To give a triumph to their love.   

They stayed at last, and on the Grass  
Reposed so, as o'er his breast  
She bowed her gracious head to rest,  
Such a weight as no burden was.   

While over either's compassed waste  
Their folded arms were so composed,  
As if in straitest bonds enclosed,  
They suffered for joys they did taste.   

Long their fixed eyes to Heaven bend,  
Unchanged, they did never move,  
As if so great and pure a love  
No Glass but it could represent.   

When with a sweet, though troubled look▪  
She first broke silence, saying, Dear friend,  
O that our love might take no end,  
Or never had beginning took!   

I speak not this with a false heart,  
(Wherewith his hand she gently strained)  
Or that would change a love maintained  
With so much love on either part.   

Nay▪ I protest, though Death with his  
Worst Counsel should divide us here,  
His terrors could not make me fear,  
To come where your loved presence is.   

Only if loves fire with the breath  
Of life be kindled, I doubt,  
With our last air 'twill be breathed out,  
And quenched with the cold of death.   

That if affection be a line,  
Which is closed up in our last hour;  
Oh how 'twould grieve me, any power  
Could force so dear a love as mine!   

She scarce had done, when his shut eyes  
An inward joy did represent,  
To hear Celinda thus intent  
To a love he so much did prize.   

Then with a look, it seemed, denied  
All earthly power but hers, yet so,  
As if to her breath he did owe  
This borrowed life, he thus replied;   

O you, wherein, they say, Souls rest,  
Till they descend pure heavenly fires,  
Shall lustful and corrupt desires  
With your immortal seed be blest?   

And shall our Love, so far beyond  
That low and dying appetite,  
And which so chaste desires unite,  
Not hold in an eternal bond?   

Is it, because we should decline,  
And wholly from our thoughts exclude  
Objects that may the sense delude,  
And study only the Divine?   

No sure, for if none can ascend  
Even to the visible degree  
Of things created, how should we  
The invisible comprehend?   

Or rather since that Power expressed  
His greatness in his works alone,  
B'ing here best in's Creatures known,  
Why is he not loved in them best?   

But is't not true, which you pretend,  
That since our love and knowledge here,  
Only as parts of life appear,  
So they with it should take their end?   

O no, Beloved, I am most sure,  
Those virtuous habits we acquire,  
As being with the Soul entire,  
Must with it evermore endure.   

For if where sins and vice reside,  
We find so foul a guilt remain,  
As never dying in his stain,  
Still punished in the Soul doth bide.   

Much more that true and real joy,  
Which in a virtuous love is found,  
Must be more solid in its ground,  
Then Fate or Death can e'er destroy.   

Else should our Souls in vain elect,  
And vainer yet were Heaven's laws,  
When to an everlasting Cause  
They gave a perishing Effect.   

Nor here on earth then, nor above,  
Our good affection can impair,  
For where God doth admit the fair,  
Think you that he excludeth Love?   

These eyes again then, eyes shall see,  
And hands again these hands enfold,  
And all chaste pleasures can be told  
Shall with us everlasting be.   

For if no use of sense remain  
When bodies once this life forsake,  
Or they could no delight partake,  
Why should they ever rise again?   

And if every imperfect mind  
Make love the end of knowledge here,  
How perfect will our love be, where  
All imperfection is refined?   

Let then no doubt, Celinda, touch,  
Much less your fairest mind invade,  
Were not our souls immortal made,  
Our equal loves can make them such.   

So when one wing can make no way,  
Two joined can themselves dilate,  
So can two persons propagate,  
When singly either would decay.   

So when from hence we shall be gone,  
And be no more, nor you, nor I,  
As one another's mystery,  
Each shall be both, yet both but one.   

This said, in her up-lifted face,  
Her eyes which did that beauty crown,  
Were like two stars, that having fallen down,  
Look up again to find their place:   

While such a moveless silent peace  
Did seize on their becalmed sense,  
One would have thought some Influence  
Their ravished spirits did possess.    

The Green-Sickness Beauty.  

1.  
THough the pale white within your cheeks composed,  
And doubtful light unto your eye confined,  
Though your short breath not from itself unloosed,  
And careless motions of your equal mind,  
Argue, your beauties are not all disclosed.   

2.  
Yet as a rising beam, when first 'tis shown,  
Points fairer, than when it ascends more red,  
Or as a budding Rose, when first 'tis blown,  
Smells sweeter far, then when it is more spread,  
As all things best by principles are known:   

3.  
So in your green and flourishing estate  
A beauty is discerned more worthy love,  
Then that which further doth itself dilate,  
And those degrees of variation prove,  
Our vulgar wits so much do celebrate.   

4.  
Thus though your eyes dart not that piercing blaze,  
Which doth in busy Lovers looks appear,  
It is, because you do not need to gaze,  
On other object then your proper sphere,  
Nor wander further then to run that maze.   

5.  
So, if you want that blood which must succeed,  
And give at last a tincture to your skin,  
It is, because neither in outward deed,  
Nor inward thought, you yet admit that sin,  
For which your Cheeks a guilty blush should need.   

6.  
So, if your breath do not so freely flow,  
It is because you love not to consume  
That vital treasure, which you do bestow  
As well to vegetate as to perfume  
Your Virgin leaves, as fast as they do grow.   

7.  
Yet stay not here, Love for his right will call,  
You were not born to serve your only will,  
Nor can your beauty be perpetual,  
'Tis your perfection for to ripen still,  
And to be gathered rathen then to fall.    

The Green-Sickness Beauty.  
FRom thy pale look, while angry Love doth seem  
With more imperiousness to give his Law,  
Then where he blushingly doth beg esteem,  
We may observe pied beauty in such awe;  
That the bravest Colour under her command  
Affrighted, oft before you doth retire,  
While, like a Statue, of yourself you stand  
In such symmetrique form, as doth require  
No lustre but his own: As then in vain  
One should flesh-colouring to Statues add,  
So were it to your native White a Stain,  
If it in other ornaments were clad,  
Than what your rich proportions do give,  
Which in a boundless fair being unconfined  
Exalted in your soul, so seem to live,  
That they become an emblem of your mind,  
That so, who to your Orient White should join  
Those fading qualities most eyes adore,  
Were but like one, who gilding Silver Coin,  
Gave but occasion to suspect it more.   

La Gralletta Gallant, OR, The Sunburned Exotique Beauty.  

1.  
CHild of the Sun, in whom his Rays appear,  
Hatched to that lustre, as doth make, thee wear  
heavens livery in thy skin, What needest thou fear  
The injury of Air, and change of Clime,  
When thy exalted form is so sublime,  
As to transcend all power of change or time?   

2.  
How proud are they that in their hair but show  
Some part of thee, thinking therein they owe  
The greatest beauty Nature can bestow?  
When thou art so much fairer to the sight,  
As beams each where diffused are more bright  
Than their derived and secondary light.   

3.  
But thou art cordial both to sight and taste,  
While each rare fruit seems in his time to haste  
To ripen in thee, till at length they waste  
Themselves to inward sweets, from whence again,  
They, like Elixirs, passing through each vein,  
An endless circulation do maintain.   

4.  
How poor are they then, whom if we but greet,  
Think that raw juice, which in their lips we meet,  
Enough, to make us hold their Kisses sweet:  
When that rich odour, which in thee is smelled,  
Can itself to a balmy liquor melt,  
And make it to our inward senses felt.   

5.  
Leave then thy Country, Soil, and Mother's home,  
Wander a Planet this way, till thou come  
To give our Lovers here their fatal doom;  
While if our beauties scorn to enjoy thine,  
It will be just they to a Jaundice pine,  
And by thy Gold show like some Copper-mine.    

Platonic Love.  

1.  
MAdam, your beauty and your lovely parts  
Would scarce admit poetic praise and Arts  
As they are Loves most sharp and piercing darts;  
Though, as again they only wound and kill  
The more depraved affections of our will,  
You claim a right to commendation still.   

2.  
For as you can unto that height refine  
All Love's delights, as while they do incline  
Unto no vice, they so become divine;  
We may as well attain your excellence,  
As without help of any outward sense  
Would make us grow a pure Intelligence.   

3.  
And as a Soul, thus being quite abstract,  
Complies not properly with any act,  
Which from its better Being may detract:  
So through the virtuous habits you infuse,  
It is enough that we may like and choose,  
Without presuming yet to take or use.   

4.  
Thus Angels in their starry Orbs proceed  
Unto affection, without other need  
Then that they still on contemplation feed:  
Though as they may unto this Orb descend,  
You can, when you would so much lower bend,  
Give joys beyond what man can comprehend.   

5.  
Do not refuse then, Madam, to appear,  
Since every radiant Beam comes from your Sphere,  
Can so much more than any else endear,  
As while through them we do discern each Grace,  
The multiplied lights from every place,  
Will turn and Circle, with their rays, your face.    

Platonic Love.  

1.  
MAdam, believe't, Love is not such a toy,  
As it is sport but for the Idle Boy,  
Or wanton Youth, since it can entertain  
Our serious thoughts, and make us know how vain  
All time is spent we do not thus employ.   

2.  
For though strong passion oft on youth doth seize,  
It is not yet affection, but disease,  
'Cause from repletion, which their blood doth vex,  
So that they love not Woman, but the Sex,  
And care no more than how themselves to please.   

3.  
Whereas true Lovers check that appetite,  
Which would presume further then to invite  
The Soul unto that part it ought to take,  
When that from this address it would but make  
Some introduction only to delight.   

4.  
For while they from the outward sense transplant  
The love grew there in earthly mould, and scant,  
To the Souls spacious and immortal field,  
They spring a love eternal, which will yield  
All that a pure affection can grant.   

5.  
Besides, what time or distance might effect  
Is thus removed, while they themselves connect  
So far above all change, as to exclude  
Not only all which might their sense delude,  
But mind to any object else affect.   

6.  
Nor will the proof of Constancy be hard,  
When they have placed upon their mind that guard,  
As no ignoble thought can enter there,  
And Love doth such a virtue persevere,  
And in itself so find a just reward.   

7.  
And thus a love, made from a worthy choice,  
Will to that union come, as but one voice  
Shall speak, one thought but think the others will,  
And while, but frailty, they can know no ill,  
Their souls more than their bodies must rejoice.   

8.  
In which estate nothing can so fulfil  
Those heights of pleasure, which their souls instill  
Into each other, but that love thence draws  
New Arguments of joy, while the same cause  
That makes them happy, makes them greater still.   

9  
So that however multiplied and vast  
Their love increase, they will not think it past  
The bounds of growth, till their exalted fire  
B'ing equally enlarged with their desire,  
Transform and fix them to one Star at last.   

10.  
Or when that otherwise they were inclined  
Unto those public joys, which are assigned  
To blessed souls when they depart from hence  
They would, besides what Heaven doth dispense,  
Have their contents they in each other find.    

The IDEA, Made of Alnwick in his Expedition to Scotland with the Army, 1639.  

ALL Beauties vulgar eyes on earth do see,  
At best but some imperfect Copies be,  
Of those the Heavens did at first decree.   

For though th' Ideas of each several kind,  
Conceived above by the Eternal Mind,  
Are such, as none can error in them find.   

Since from his thoughts and presence he doth bear,  
And shut out all deformity so far,  
That the least beauty near him is a Star.   

As Nature yet from far th' Ideas views,  
And doth besides but vile materials choose,  
We in her works observe no small abuse:   

Some of her figures therefore, foiled and blurred,  
Show as if Heaven had no way concurred  
In shapes so disproportioned and absurd.   

Which being again vexed with some hate and spite,  
That doth in them vengeance and rage excite,  
Seem to be tortured and deformed quite.   

While so being fixed, they yet in them contain  
Another sort of ugliness and stain,  
B'ing with old wrinkles interlined again.   

Lastly, as if Nature even did not know  
What Colour every several part should owe,  
They look as if their Galls did overflow.   

Fair is the mark of Good, soul of Ill,  
Although not so infallibly, but still  
The proof depends most on the mind and will:   

As Good yet rarely in the Foul is met,  
So 'twould as little by its union get,  
As a rich Jewel that were poorly set.   

For since Good first did at the Fair begin,  
Foul being but a punishment for sin,  
Fair's the true outside to the Good within.   

In these the supreme Power then so doth guide  
Nature's weak hand, as he doth add beside  
All by which Creatures can be dignified.   

While you in them see so exact a line,  
That through each several part a glimpse doth shine  
Of their original and form divine.   

Therefore the characters of fair and good  
Are so set forth, and printed in their blood,  
As each in other may be understood.   

That Beauty so accompanied with Grace,  
And equally conspicuous in the face,  
In a fair Woman's outside takes the place.   

Thus while in her all rare perfection meets,  
Each, as with joy, its fellow beauty greets,  
And varies so into a thousand sweets.   

Or if some tempting thought do so assault,  
As doubtful she 'twixt two opinions halt,  
A gentle blush corrects and mends the fault,   

That so she still fairer and better grows,  
Without that thus she more to passion owes,  
Then what fresh colour on her cheeks bestows.   

To which again her lips such helps can add,  
As both will chase all grievous thoughts and sad:  
And give what else can make her good or glad.   

As Statuaries yet having framed in Clay  
An hollow Image, afterwards convey  
The molten mettle through each several way;   

But when it once unto its place hath past,  
And th' inward Statue perfectly is cast,  
Do throw away the outward Clay at last.   

So when that form the heavens at first decreed  
Is finished within, Souls do not need  
Their Bodies more, but would from them be freed.   

For who still covered with their earth would lie?  
Who would not shake their fetters off, and fly,  
And be, at least, next to, a Deity?   

However than you be most lovely here,  
Yet when you from all Elements are clear,  
You far more pure and glorious shall appear.   

Thus from above I doubt not to behold  
You second self renewed in your own mould,  
And rising thence fairer then can be told.   

From whence ascending to the Elect and Blessed  
In your true joys you will not find it least,  
That! in Heaven shall know and love you best.   

For while I do your coming there attend,  
I shall much time on your idea spend.  
And note how far all others you transcend.   

And thus, though you more than an Angel be,  
Since being here to sin and mischief free,  
You will have raised yourself to their degree:   

That so victorious over Death and I ate,  
And happy in your everlasting state,  
You shall triumphant enter Heaven gate.   

Hasten not thither yet, for as you are  
A Beauty upon Earth without compare,  
You will show best still where you are most rare.   

Live all our lives then: If the picture can  
Here entertain a loving absent man,  
Much more th' Idea where you first began.    

Platonic Love.  

DIsconsolate and sad,  
So little hope of remedy I find,  
That when my matchless Mistress were inclined  
To pity me, 'twould scarcely make me glad,  
The discomposing of so fair a Mind  
B'ing that which would to my Afflictions add.   

For when she should repent,  
This Act of Charity had made her part  
With such a precious Jewel as her Heart,  
Might she not grieve that e'er she did relent?  
And then were it fit I felt the smart  
Until I grew the greater Penitent.   

Nor were't a good excuse,  
When she pleased to call for her Heart again,  
To tell her of my suffering and pain,  
Since that I should her Clemency abuse,  
While she did see what wrong she did sustain,  
In giving what she justly might refuse.   

Vexed thus with me at last,  
When from her kind restraint she now were gone,  
And I left to the Manacles alone,  
Should I not on another Rock be cast?  
Since they who have not yet content, do moan  
Far less than they whose hope thereof is past.   

Besides I would deserve,  
And not live poorly on the alms of Love,  
Or claim a favour did not singly move  
From my regard: If she her joys reserve  
Unto some other, she at length should prove,  
Rather than beg her pity I would starve.   

Let her then be serene,  
Alike exempt from pity and from hate:  
Let her still keep her dignity and state;  
Yet from her glories something I shall glean,  
For when she doth them every where dilate,  
A beam or two to me must intervene.   

And this shall me sustain,  
For though due merit I cannot express,  
Yet she shall know none ever loved for less,  
Or easier reward: Let her remain  
Still Great and Good▪ and from her happiness  
My chief contentment I will entertain.   

Restrained hopes, though you dare not aspire,  
To fly an even pitch with my desire,  
Yet fall no lower, and at least take heed,  
That you no way unto despair proceed,  
Since in what form soe'er you keep entire,  
I shall the less all other comforts need.   

I know how much presumption did transcend,  
When that affection could at most pretend  
To be believed, would needs yet higher soar,  
And love a Beauty which I should adore,  
Though yet therein I had no other end,  
But to assure that none could love her more.   

Only may she not think her beauty less,  
That on low Objects it doth still express  
An equal force, while it doth rule all hearts  
Alike in the remot'st as nearest parts;  
Since if it did at any distance cease,  
It wanted of that power it should impart.   

Small earthly lights but to some space extend,  
And then unto the dim and dark do tend,  
And common heat doth at some length so stop,  
That it cannot so much as warm one drop,  
While light and heat that doth from Heaven descend  
Warms the low Valley more than Mountains top.   

Nor do they always best of the heavens deserve,  
Who gaze on't most, but they who do reserve  
Themselves to know it, since not all that will  
Climb up into a Steeple or a Hill,  
So well its power and influence observe,  
As they who study and remark it still.   

Would she then in full glory on me shine,  
An Image of that Light which is divine,  
I then should see more clear, while she did draw  
Me upwards, and the vapours 'twixt us awe:  
To open her eyes were to open mine,  
And teach me wonders which I never saw.   

Nor would there thus be any cause to fear,  
That while her power attractive drew me near,  
The odds betwixt us would the lesser show,  
Since the most common Understandings know,  
That inequalities still most appear,  
When brought together and composed so.   

As there is nothing yet doth so excel,  
But there is found, if not its parallel,  
Yet something so conform, as though far lest  
May yet obtain therein an Interest,  
Why may not faith and truth then join so well,  
As they may suit her rare perfections best?   

Then hope, sustain thyself, though thou art hid  
Thou livest still, and must till she forbid;  
For when she would my vows and love reject,  
They would a Being in themselves project,  
Since infinites as they, yet never did,  
Nor could conclude without some good effect.    

A Meditation upon his Wax-Candle burning out.  

WHile thy ambitious flame doth strive for height,  
Yet burneth down, as clogged with the weight  
Of earthly parts, to which thou art combined,  
Thou still dost grow more short of thy desire,  
And dost in vain unto that place aspire,  
To which thy native powers seem inclined.   

Yet when at last thou comest to be dissolved,  
And to thy proper principles resolved,  
And all that made thee now is discomposed,  
Though thy terrestrial part in ashes lies,  
Thy more sublime to higher Regions flies,  
The rest b'ing to the middle ways exposed.   

And while thou dost thyself each where disperse,  
Some parts of thee make up this Universe,  
Others a kind of dignity obtain,  
Since thy pure Wax in its own flame consumed,  
Volumes of incense sends, in which perfumed,  
Thy smoke mounts where this fire could not attain.   

Much more our Souls then, when they go from hence,  
And back unto the Elements dispense,  
All that built up our frail and earthly frame  
Shall through each poor & passage make their breach,  
Till they with all their faculties do reach  
Unto that place from whence at first they came.   

Nor need they fear thus to be thought unkind  
To those poor Carcases they leave behind,  
Since being in unequal parts commixed  
Each in his Element their place will get,  
And who thought Elements unhappy yet,  
As long as they were in their stations fixed?   

Or if they sallied forth, is there not light  
And heat in some, and spirit prone to fight?  
Keep they not, in the Earth and Air, the field?  
Besides, have they not power to generate  
When, more than Meteors, they 
* In the Constellation of Cassiepeia, 1572.  Stars create,  
Which while they last scarce to the brightest yield.   

That so in them we more than once may live,  
While these materials which here did give  
Our body's essence, and are most of use,  
Quickened again by the world's common soul,  
Which in itself and in each part is whole,  
Can various forms in divers kinds produce.   

If then, at worst, this our condition be,  
When to themselves our Elements are free,  
And each doth to its proper place revert,  
What may we not hope from our part divine,  
Which can this dross of Elements refine,  
And them unto a better state assert?   

Or if as cloyed upon this earthly stage,  
Which represents nothing but change or age,  
Our Souls would all their burdens here divest,  
They singly may that glorious state acquire,  
Which fills alone their infinite desire  
To be of perfect happiness possessed.   

And therefore I, who do not live and move,  
By outward sense so much as faith and love,  
Which is not in inferior Creatures found,  
May unto some immortal state pretend,  
Since by these wings I thither may ascend,  
Where faithful loving Souls with joys are crowned.    

October 14. 1664.  

ENraging Griefs, though you most divers be,  
In your first Causes, you may yet agree  
To take an equal share within my heart,  
Since if each grief strive for the greatest part,  
You needs must vex yourselves as well as me.   

For your own sakes and mine then make an end,  
In vain you do about a Heart contend,  
Which though it seem in greatness to dilate,  
Is but a tumour, which in this its state  
The choicest remedies would but offend.   

Then stormed at once, I neither feel constraint  
Scorning your worst, nor suffer any taint  
Dying by multitudes, though if you strive,  
I fear my heart may thus be kept alive,  
Until it under its own burden faint.   

What is't not done? Why then, my God, I find,  
Would have me use you to reform my mind:  
Since through his help I may from you extract  
An essence pure, so spriteful and compact,  
As it will be from grosser parts refined.   

Which b'ing again converted by his Grace  
To godly sorrow, I may both efface  
Those sins first caused you, and together have  
Your power to kill turned to a power to save,  
And bring my Soul to its desired place.    

In statuam ligneam Overburii.  
CErnis Overburi, non aere aut marmore, vultum;  
Sed Ligno Hiberno, dic, age, nonne placet?   

De C. de S.  
HAec anima, ut fuerit terrena libera mole,  
Venerit & summo conspicienda Deo,  
Talibus & tantis vitiis spurcata, trahetur,  
Haud dubium, ad poenam suppliciumque grave.  
Viderit: at pulchrum dabitur cum sumere corpus,  
Eximium, credo, perdere nollet opus.   

Epitaphium in Anagramma nominis sui, Reddor ut herbae.  
QUas turgens flos mane decet, quas aruit omnes  
Una dies, quas morte cita, nova vita sequetur;  
Nonnunquam moritura tamen, sic Reddor ut herbae.   

Epitaph. in se Romae factum, 1615.  
VEros seu vanos populi ridere timores  
Expertus, vitae melioris conscius, intus  
Plaudebam, expectans faceret dum fabula finem.   

In tumulum Domini Francisci Vere.  
ANgustus nimis est lapis pusillus,  
Vel, totum, soret ipsa terra, marmor;  
Angusta & spolia & Trophaea ficta,  
Haec Belgae tulerant, vel illa Iberi.  
Cuncta angusta nimis videntur illi,  
Qui victor toties mori volebat,  
In se, post alios, agens triumphum,  
Ut dignum tumulum Trophaea digna  
Uni nil poterit referre vero:  
Ni sorte, ut maneat perenne nomen  
Cui mundus spolia, & caro triumphus,  
Coelum sit Tumulus, Trophaea stellae.   

In diem Natalitium, viz. 3. Mar.  
VEre novo lux usque redit qua nascor, at una  
Dum tempus redit, & fit numerosa dies,  
Ver olim vires renovans, roburque recondens  
Aetas fit tandem, tristis hyemsque mihi.   

For a Dyal.  
DIscurrens dubiae placidus, compendia vitae,  
Excipiens tacito gaudia tuta sinu,  
Praeteritis laetare bonis, nec saeva futuri  
Exagitet miseros cura prematve dies:  
Omnis in adversum ruit hora volatque retrorsum  
Et velut exhorrens jam peritura fugit.  
Dum numerans delet, dumque addens subtrahit, illa▪  
Quae vitae ratio, calculus atque tuae.   

In Answer to the Verses of Guiet for the Pucelle d' Orleans, quasi extempore.  

QUod nequiere viri, potuit si faemina, quid ni  
Galle, fores tandem tu muliere minor?   

Desine, Galle, tuam tandem jactare Bubulcam,  
Seu Medaea fuit, sive Medusa fuit.  
Si canit ad Bellum, tamen est Medaea vocanda,  
Carmina dum rauco concinit illa sono.  
Hostes si caesi, tamen est dicenda Medusa,  
Dum nimis ad dirae virginis ora rigent.  
Virgo sit tandem, sed qualem nollet adulter,  
Seu Medaea fuit sive Medusa fuit.  
Definat ergo suam Galbus jactare Johannam▪  
Saltem plena suo non erit illa Deo.  
Plena suo vel nulla datur, vel Papa Johanna,  
Numine: sit virgo quamlicet illa minus.    

In Answer to Tilenus, when I had that fatal Defluxion in my Hand.  
QUi possim Phoebum succensum credere? Laudes  
Quam facit ut scribas, docte Tilene, meas.  
Providus atque manum consulto surripit istam,  
Ut melius possem nunc superesse tua.   

De Hugone Grotio Arca incluso & a Carcere liberato.  
CArcere dum Carcer victus, Tenebrisque Tenebrae,  
Vinclis cum demum vincla soluta tibi,  
Prosiliens media tandem de mole, videris,  
Quicquid mortale est, deposuisse simul.   

Pro Laureato Poeta.  
AT quorsum Juvenis, si nullo limine clausus  
Immistus canibus, saltuque vagatus in omni  
Praecipites crebris damas latratibus urgens  
Excurrit, secumque nihil non perdere tentat?  
An mage grata viri tandem maturior aetas?  
Qui furiis agitatus atrox atque omine tristi  
Horrida funestis meditatur praelia campis?  
In propriam speciemque ruens ita sanguine gaudet  
Confessus satis, ut nullus sibi concidat hostis:  
Is potiorne domi qui futilis ambit honorem  
Inque leves populi gyros proclivis & auram▪  
Mercatur voces, falsaque cupidine tractus  
Incertam dubii sectatur nominis umbram?  
Heu fugias qui te fugiunt & ferre recusant,  
Imperium fascesque tuos, quibus undique faustis  
Candida supremos designant colla triumphos.  
Sed ne nulla tibi demum victoria constet,  
En praedam, formosa, tuam, quam porrigit herba,  
Et genua amplectens sese ultro dedere victam  
Testatur lauroque sua tua tempora cingit.  
Nec canos causere meos, (qui symbola certae  
Sunt fidei) tanta solitum flammave tremorem,  
Immo nec errones tanquam sed lumina fixa  
Contemplare oculos, tandem neque Basia spernas  
Floridus ut desit color ori, servat odorem,  
Aemula pastillis spirabunt labra rosatis  
Basia, mellito & se lingua madore resolvet.  
Denique seu nostro latitet nova pruna colore  
Nictet & implexus torvo sub lumine cautus  
Arcitenens, mortis tandem seu scena futurae  
Prodierim, vitam nobis cum dura negaris;  
Ah reddas saltem, nondum satis arsit, Amorem,  
Cui senium tempusve fidem cui praeripit ullum.   

Ad Sereniss. Regem Gustavum A.D. 1631.  
PEr varios terrae tractus & dissita Regna,  
Inclyte Suecorum princeps, dum castra movere  
Constituis, pacemque pio decernere bello,  
Quae te securum probitas, prudentia fortem,  
Faelicem virtus praestat, non omine vano  
Fecit, ut antiquum Germania libera nomen  
Accipiens rursus, se justo vindice tandem  
Gaudeat, inque tuos succedat sponte triumphos.  
Scilicet, hoc potuit tua, dextera fortis & ultrix  
Igneus atque vigor, bello samiatus & ensis,  
Quo stricto late rutilanteque fulgidus hostes  
Irruis in medios, densam passimque catervam  
Discutis, & longe percellis quaeque timore,  
Ut tibi nec fumi nubes glomerata, nec imo  
Excussus pulvis, pila nec confertior instans  
Obscurare tuos, validos, vel flectere gressus  
Possint, è multo quin numine flamma coruscans  
Perstringensque oculos, insultus reddat inanes  
Militis, innocuosque ictus, ac irrita tela,  
Dum tibi lustratae caecae patuere tenebrae,  
Inque tuam lucem caligo cedere visa est.  
Ind citata tuum sequitur victoria cursum  
Inque gradus haeret certos figitque trophaea,  
Auspic●isque tuos illustrior explicat alas,  
Queis sursum vecto superas invisere sedes  
Inque novum tandem liceat tibi sidus abire,  
Clarius Arcturi & fuscae jubar addere luci.   

Euryale Moerens.  
DEpressae valles piceis irriguae fontibus  
Herbae marcidae, caeca praetexentes Barathra,  
Maligni colles hirsutis vepribus obsiti,  
Aspera montium juga, exesis, hiulca specubus,  
Defrugatarum segetum late patentia aequora,  
Invisa soli antra, confragosa praecipitia,  
Abruptarum cautium nutantia undique cacumina,  
Pendulae taxi, cupressi succrescentes feralibus,  
Spelaeorum inferna ducentium horrores sacri,  
Infaustae stryges, bubulantia stygiae avis omina,  
Rauci stridores, torvorum colla anguium sibila,  
Prodigialium monstrorum exerta passim capita,  
Aspectus truces syderum, diri portenta aetheris  
Vosque gementes umbrae, hic testari liceat,  
Nihil uspiam fuisse Euryale tristius.  
1632.   

Mensa Lusoria, or a Shovelboard-table to Mr. Master.  
ROboris excelsi tabulatum sternitur ingens,  
Aequore productum laevi, quod tramite recto  
Procurrens, tandem qua se subducit in imum  
Dissecat exilis transversim linea, scena  
Unde patet ludi, commisso margine clausa,  
Qui bini ternive notam certantibus aptat  
Figitur extremo, seu pressus limit jactus,  
Seu tremulus nutat, sibi nec constare videtur.  
Heic ubi conveniunt lusores, quisque monetam  
Argento cusam, disci formaque Nitentem  
Librat in adversam qua ducitur orbita, partem  
Perpetuo jactu, sed quae, si forte feratur  
Plus justo, cadit in foveam, quae limine summo  
Cernitur, at citra septum si tarda fatiscit,  
Rejicitur jactus, totus fit & irritus inde.  
Ast intra justam datur ut consistere metam  
Promovet hic jactum, promotum dimovet ille.  
Ad jicit hic alium, sed quem depellere tentat  
Nonnullus; Nummos hic obsidet, impetit ille,  
Obliquo cursu: Multa cadit iste ruina,  
Dum complexa suo funduntur singula nexu,  
Et variata vices rerum sors undique versat.  
Ludere sic liceat manibus, sic ludere musa,  
A studiis fessi quum jam decessimus ambo.   

Charissimo, Doctissimo, Jucundissimoque juxtim Amico Thomae Master. Hoc Epitaph. moerens P. C. E. B. Herbert de Cherbury. 1643.  
QUi sis vel fueras, Amate Master,  
Lectorem satis haec docere possunt  
Quod terris fuit ut molesta vita,  
Te dempto, mage sit molesta longe,  
Quod Coelum fuit ut beata sedes,  
Auctum te, mage sit beata sedes.  
In terris quid agis fide vacillans?  
Si vita probus es, fruere, Lector,  
Coelo jam solito beatiore,  
Master jam reliquis alacriore.  
Vivat in aeternum virtus ac dissita terrae  
Lustret, ubique gravi sub Religione refurgens.  
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
Pag. 13. lin: penult. for 1668, read 1608. p. 20. l. 18. f. muting r. mutin: p. 35. l. 7. f. force, r. form: p. 37. l. penult. f. hand r kind: p 39 l. ult. f. terror r. terrors: p. 41. l. 12. f. imparting r. in parting▪ p. 47. l. 8. f. since r. sure: p. 50. l. 11. & 21. f. Melania r. Melaina: p. 62. l. ult. f. love r. faith: p. 70. l. 22. f. enjoy r. envy: p. 72. l. 18. f. cause r. caused: p. 76. l. 7. f. foul r. and foul: p. 83. l. 20. f. this r. thy: p. 87. l. ult. f. nonnunquam r. non unquam: p. 90. l. 1. f. Galbus r. Gallus: p. ibid. l. 7. f. qui r. quî: p. ibid. l. 8. f. quam r. quum.