AMOREA. The Lost Lover. OR The Idea of Love and Misfortune.  
BEING Poems, Sonnets, Songs, Odes, Pastoral, Elegies, Lyric Poems, and Epigrams. Never before Printed.  
WRITTEN by PATHERICKE JENKYN, Gent.  
LONDON, Printed for William Leake and are to be sold at the Sign of the Crown in Fleet street: between the two Temple Gates. 1661.   

To his ever Honoured friend Mr P. I. on his Amorea.  
SHould I commend thy Poems, that would be  
A needless compliment, for all do see:  
That do but read thy works, thou hast outgone,  
More than I'm able speak, or think upon?  
Yet this I dare afirme what thou hast writ  
Thou hast not borrowed from another's wit:  
Thy muse doth scorn that any one should say  
I`ve read those verses once before to day,  
No thus I`le pubblish (with a be it known  
To all the world) the Poems are thy own  
Thy Amorea hath no other plumes  
To set her out, no Baint, nor yet perfumes,  
No braded hair, no Peacook-couller gown?  
She`ss in a moddest dress, and 'tis her own  
In which i`le leave her to the pubblick view  
Of the Ingenious Readers: friend Adieu.  Jo. Frankelin  

To my dear friend Mr. P. J. on his Amorea.  
THou dost not writ of Armies, or of Fights,  
Of Monsters, Giants, nor of armed Knights,  
Nor how great Ladies did in Castles lie,  
By strange adventures, gaining liberty,  
No dreadful Battles thou discrib'st for fear,  
It should be harsh to any Lady's ear,  
Nor dost thou sing of Travels, that may bring  
Truth in suspicion: thou dost not sing  
Of strange prodigious Monsters, whose birth,  
Without production sprung from the earth,  
No, those poor Rabbles thou dost scorn too touch,  
Thy fancy flieth to a higher pitch.  
Thy passion being fired from above,  
Thou singest that noble, noble passion Love.  A. Mathews.  

To his Ingenious Friend Mr. P. I. on his Poems of the King's Return.  
Welcome sweet soul into the Company  
Of noble Poets, (welcome again say I)  
Where hast thou been? tell us, how conld thy worth  
Lie hid so long, why did it not break forth?  
Where wert thou when as half the world did sing  
The glorious welcomes of our Sacred King,  
Did Amorea so much hold thy mind  
In due observance? that thou couldst nor find  
One hour to express thy joys with us:  
No 'twas not so, the reason sure was thus.  
Thou went's into Arabia, to bring  
A Quill from off the Widow-Phenix's wing,  
With which thou'dst written, that thy Loyalty  
Is so apparent, as the world may see,  
If they but read thy Poems, thou'st out gone,  
Not only half, but most, that writ upon  
Our Kings Return; thy enemies do think  
Thou writ'st in gold, and not with vulgar Ink.  Io. Dancie.  

To his esteemed friend Mr. P. J. On his Poems.  
Aid me Ben Jonsons' Ghost, come cleaveland's Spirit  
Might I old Quarles his smoothness but inherit,  
Or were I metamorphized for a while  
Into some Lofty Poet, my poor stile:  
Must needs come very short of thine, yet I,  
Will pay my tribute to thy Poetry,  
Which if you do except, although a mite,  
I'm sure 'tis full of love? though it want weight  T. M.  

To his Dear Brother, on his Amorea.  
IS't true, I have a Poet-Brother, who  
Hath seen Mount Helicon at twenty two,  
Been bred up with the Muses, and hath quaffed  
Of the Pierian Fount a liberal draught,  
In Agganippe Well hath dipped his Quill,  
And fetched his paper from Parnassus' hill;  
'Tis true, I have; and had he been another,  
(But I'll forbear because he is my Brother)  
I'd speak his praiss, for thus much I do know,  
His Works will show it, more than I can do.  Io. jenkin.  

To my dear friend on his Amorea  
HOw many hours, nay days, I may say years  
How many sighs, and vows, how many tears  
Hast thou paid to the memory of one  
That (like the Phoenix) vows to live alone.  
Could I persuade thee, but i'm come to late  
I will not make thee more unfortunate,  
Suppose (Resuming of a second life)  
That Amorea were to be thy wife  
That's all could make thee blest, yet she must die  
And now she lives to perpetuity  R. M.  

To his Dear and ever honoured friend Mr P. I. on his Poems.  
I Shall not flatter I'm no Parasito,  
I'll not diminish, nor yet add a mite  
Unto thy praise; for what need Gold to be  
New gilded o'er that's vain curiosity,  
If wit be judge than thou art sure of praise,  
And Dunces must not read such lines as these,  
For if they should, they'll find an Epigram  
Will tell them to their face, thou art the man:  
I could speak much in praise, but to what end  
When all that Read thee do it, no dear friend,  
I'll wish thee happiness, but this i`le prove,  
Thy book will make the Dullest Soul to love.  G. M.  

To his dear and ever Honoured friend Mr. P. J. On his Poems.  
SHould I write any thing in praise of thee  
That were a nedless thing, i'll rather be  
One of the number: that do thee admire  
And then I have all that I do desire:  
For two be bound up with your book I know  
(Though you admit) my verse will useless show.  J. C.  

To my dear friend on his Amorea.  
What in the wars and yet a Poet, then  
Tell me the difference 'twixt the sword, and pen  
Canst thou with one hand grasp the tempered steel,  
And in the other hold thy loved quill,  
Be angry in a moment and yet prove  
Thy anger only doth proceed from love:  
This day be bravely mounted in the street,  
To morrow prostrate at thy Lady's feet?  
Write Sonnets in the morning; and ere night  
Be deep engaged in some cruel fight,  
Just now a going to a Nuptial  
And presently cal`d to the Funeral  
Of some new Slaughtered friend, how can this be  
Why thus, the question`s plain enough, for we.  
(That read thy Poems needs) must do thee right  
For thou canst fight, and love, and love, and fight.  R. H.  

To his ever friend Mr P. I. On his Poems.  
I Am as full of love as those that do  
Write better Verses in the praise of yond  
(And if it may not be disparagement  
To those have writ thy praise) 'tis my intent:  
To write a line or two, that all may know it  
Reading thy Poems, I am half a Poet  W. A.  

To Mr P. I. on his Amorea.  
HOw should I do my mind for to rehearse  
I can write love enough but not in verse  
Yet my dear friend do not refuse this mite  
For I declare unto the world I write:  
Not to win praise, for then I'm sure I shall  
Have very little, for you have gotten all,  
I am contented, it doth joy my heart  
When as I go abroad, in every part;  
For to hear this, and th' other Lady say  
Have you not Amorea read to day.  
One takes occasion for to praise this thing?  
Another will take up her Lute and Sing.  
One of thy Sonnets; this will drop a tear,  
For thy mifortune; some I`ve heard to swear  
Thy Pastroll Poems best, some think it Duty  
To praise that Poem thou hast writ on Beauty  
Should I give my opinion? truly I  
Compare thy book unto a Lottery  
Her`es Gold enough presented to our Eyes;  
Draw where we will, we cannot miss a prize.  W. C.  

TO AMOREA; The DEDICATION.  
TO the fairest and divine,  
Next unto the Sacred Nine,  
To the Queen of love and beauty,  
I do offer up my duty;  
To the sweetest disposition,  
That e'er Lover did petition,  
To the best and happ'est fortune,  
Ever man did yet importune,  
To the Lady of all hearts,  
That pretend to noble parts;  
To the altar of her eyes,  
I myself do sacrifice;  
To her ever winning glances,  
Here I do present my fancies;  
And to her all commanding look,  
I do dedicate my book.   


To the Muses.  

Muse's ay do invoke you to inspire,  
And grant to me your great and holy aid,  
That in my fancies so it may be said,  
I favour win, favoured by your Attire.   

Yet how, or what I shall insist upon,  
Or on what subject I should first begin,  
Against the Muses, sure it is a sin  
For me to speak, or think of Helicon.   

My barren Muse unfit to entertain,  
Or to assume the name of Poetry,  
Although I have presumed a liberty  
My tired mind from Prose a while to wean.   

But if the Muses grant their influence,  
And will my naked fancy but protect,  
All I shall do is wholly to project  
A way to make them a large recompense;  
And all the praise that comes (if any be)  
Is due unto them for inspiring me.    

Liberty lost.  
AS yet I had not known the rage, and force  
Of Love, and Passion, when I took my course  
Unto the Grove where I was used to go,  
And pass the time, (wish it had ne'er been so.)  
And being come unto the place where I  
Was wont sometimes to walk, sometimes to lie  
Upon the flowery banks of Violet,  
And Primrose, interwoven, as if set  
To counterfeit th' Elysium Tapestry;  
(Who could have thought danger should be so nigh  
So sweet a place) when forthwith I began  
To read a while, the story was of Pan,  
The God of Rural Sports; where Shepherds fell  
In love with Shapherdesses, and to tell  
How some one for his love renounced a Crown,  
And spent his time with Sheep upon a Down;  
At which I smiled, that man should be so vain,  
As from a Prince to turn a Shepherd Swain,  
But note what sudden chance befell, and see,  
I laughed 'tis true, ('twas a sad laugh to me,)  
For having scanned the vanity of love,  
I heard a fluttering noise come from above,  
When presently there lighted on a tree  
A winged-boy, (the fight was strange to me)  
And wondering at the sight, he forthwith took  
From underneath his wings a Table-book,  
And threw it at my feet, saying youngman  
Look well on this and read no more of Pan,  
And saying so he took in hand his bow,  
And shot at me. (ay since have felt the blow)  
At which he vanished from my sight, when I  
(One●y in love with curiosity)  
Unclasped the Book, I took it to be so,  
But 'twas a Picture-case, the which did show  
A face which I had never seen till then,  
Which made me to admire its grace, but when  
I'd viewed it o'er, and o'er, I took the case  
And threw it from me, but the new-seen face  
Had made so deep impression, that I said,  
Crying aloud, I am betrayed, betrayed,  
And rising from the place, I went away,  
Toward my habitation; but stay,  
And see my sudden change, I that before  
Could boast of freedom, presently I tore  
My Book in pieces, and began to cry  
Love, Tharldome, Madam, Passion, Liberty;  
And like a man distracted I began  
To curse the Winged-boy, and call on Pan,  
But as I called, I heard a silent noise  
Within the Wood, and after that a voice  
Which came unto my ear, I heard it say,  
What have I seen, what have I heard to day?  
And looking round about me I espied  
(A sight I have repent) by the side  
Of a small running Brook a Nymph to lie  
Discoursing to herself of destiny,  
I heard her say, wish I had never been  
Abroad to day, or wish I'd never seen  
The Grove, nor Picture, but since it is so  
I will forget it all, and so i'll go;  
And as she spoke that word I saw her face,  
The very same the newfound Picture case  
Presented me, when I cried out 'tis she,  
She fled and only said 'tis he, 'tis he.   

A Poem Lyric:  

AMorea why so Fair,  
Fairer than the clearest air,  
Brade no more that Auborn hair,  
If in love you do not share,  
Beauty doth beget despair:   

Amorea Why so wise,  
Far above a mortals prize,  
Drown no more our gloomy eyes,  
But accept the Sacrifice,  
Of a lovers dying cries:   

Amorea why so High:  
Why so full of Majesty,  
Ah shut up that kill eye  
Which by looking can deny,  
Only mind the marriage tie:   

Amorea why so Blest,  
How so happy in thy rest,  
Still denying to invest  
In thy chaste, but marble breast,  
Any lover's interest:   

Amorea cannot be,  
Fair but in her purity;  
Nor wise but in her Sanctity,  
Nor high to any but to me,  
Nor Blessed but in Eternity:    

Peace prattling Muse. A Song.  

PEace prattling Muse do, not declare  
Her great perfection;  
Now she doth not lend an ear  
To thy affection,  
No alas her thoughts are seated  
Too, too high to be repeated:   

Come wand'ring fancy come away  
Thou art neglected,  
Honour bids thee not to stay  
If disrespected,  
Never do her parts admire  
That thy ruin doth desire:   

End hopeless love, for ever end;  
She doth not hearken,  
Her resolutions all do bend  
Thy hopes to darken,  
Let her never more delight thee.  
If but once She seems to slight thee.   

Away, you vain and fond delights  
away, be gone,  
I ne'er intend on Hymen's Rites  
To think upon,  
Pardon me I cannot vow it,  
For my dear will not allow it:    

Love at a Stand.  

1.  
SHould we but ourselves confine  
To one settled habitation,  
Though the place were all divine  
We should long to change our station.   

2.  
So it was when first I loved.  
I resolved not to sever,  
But alas it hath so proved.  
It was force and, and not Endeavour.   

3.  
Should I say that I adore you  
You will hardly give me credit,  
You will say if I implore you  
In his own words I have read it.   

4.  
That he is unstable, harken  
Love hath bred a deep confusion,  
Your denials often darken  
But not change my resolution    

To Amorea on his going to Sea.  

1.  
SEnd not a sigh to follow me behind;  
That were unkind.  
My tottered Bark cannot eudure that wind,  
The force of such a gale  
Will overset my sail.   

2.  
Drop not a bootless tear into the Sea,  
That's not the way,  
Rather be still, and unto Neptune pray,  
For if you do but weep,  
Your tears provoke the deep.   

3.  
Yet when I see (too late) the threatening storms.  
Portending harms,  
I then shall wish myself within thine arms,  
Not only there to lie,  
But only there to die.    

His Inducement to Love.  

1.  
Do not think it is your beauty  
That hath so engaged me,  
Rather know it is my duty,  
Or the bonds that Love, and you tie,  
Which are only found in thee.   

2.  
Let not Amorea wonder  
At my too presumptuous aim,  
Be but pleased to look yonder  
On that Coupple, and but ponder,  
You will fi●d as high extreme.   

3.  
Entertain no thought my dearest,  
That your fortune did beget  
A liking, though you are the fairest,  
And do far transcend the rarest  
Nature hath composed yet.   

4.  
No, it is your education,  
And your virtues that do shine:  
But it is disconsolation  
To endure a separation  
From a virtue so divine.    

To Amorea from Prison.  

1.  
COme away and bless the Grate,  
With thy all commanding eye,  
Come away,  
Do not stay,  
We have conquered our fate  
By a suffering Loyalty.  
We know how to captivate,  
Chain, and bind captivity.   

2.  
Come my dearest come and see  
What it is to have a mind  
Nobly born,  
That can scorn,  
And disdain a Tyranny,  
Though the Fates do prove unkind  
And deny us liberty,  
Freedom in our chains we find.   

3.  
Come away unto the place,  
Where the Royal slaves do dwell,  
Stay a while,  
Send a smile  
From that ever blessed face,  
See, and hear, then go and tell,  
That our Shackles are a grace,  
And an honour so farewell.    

The Author's danger, and deliverance.  

Having left England's once admired Land,  
And reached the Ocean (Neptune's great command)  
The wind our friend, the sometime boistrious Sea.  
Lay smooth and calm, such another day  
Had scarce been seen a day as if it were  
Composed only of a silent air.  
The foul take pleasure on there flaging wing  
The Tritons sound, the subtle Sirens sing,  
The greater fish do leap the lesser Skip.  
The Princely Dolphins play about our ship.  
And thus be calmed one takes in hand his Lute  
To play a lesson, this man with a Flute  
Gives a Leavet, another sings a song,  
Of Cloris, and a fourth shows the wrong  
Of Philamela and her chance. But when  
It came unto my turn. I took a Pen  
With resolution for to dedicate  
A Poem of our calm, and quiet state  
Unto great Neptune but my Pen and hand,  
Were stopped by the voice, and known command  
Of our old Pilot, who a far of spies  
A Gloomy Cloud, which did begin to rise  
With pitchy colour, and anon doth cover,  
The surface of the heavens black all over:  
And now the wind which was before our friend  
No sooner rose, but forthwith did contend,  
Against the happiness which heretofore  
We did enjoy, the Sea began to roar,  
The clouds desolved into rain and we  
Could nothing but our present danger see,  
The storm rageth and the waves are cast  
With lofty force far higher than the Mast,  
The night came on, in which on shore in peace  
We use to rest, the tempest doth increase,  
The moon doth hide her head as loath to be  
A witness of our dismal tragiedy.  
The master will not trust unto the helm  
None but himself, for fear they overwhelm  
The tottered bark; gives his commands at large  
That every man stand fast unto his charge,  
The horror, and the darkness of the night,  
Concuring with the danger doth affright  
Our tired men; again he doth command,  
Down with the sails, be nimble now and stand  
Unto your labour try the pump, and see  
You lore the top mast, quickly let it be;  
Now do we wish for day, which now we have,  
Only in use to light us to our grave,  
For with the day the storm doth Angement  
Which made us see our dangers eminent.  
The helm is now no longer governed,  
But by the Sea, the Pilot shakes his head  
The glass doth cage, the compass standeth still  
And knows no North all signs of following ill,  
The waves do carry us as if we should  
Salute the clouds, and instantly it would  
Throw us down headlong, leaving us to see  
The dangers of the Seas Profundity;  
Our rigging shattered and our sails are torn  
The naked mast looks like a man forlorn  
Nothing but prayer is left, we all implore  
The God of mercy for a happy shore;  
One man forgiveness of his sins, doth crave,  
His prayer is stopped by a cruel wave,  
This man to heaven sends his dying cries,  
Till fear had dried the conduits of his eyes  
A third weeps for his Children; and another  
Cries for his Parents, Sister, and a Brother,  
The fifth doth make a vow, if God doth send  
Him safe to Land ●e ne'er more will offend,  
Thus all were fearing, praying, vowing. ay,  
After my prayers did Amorea cry,  
But still the Tempest doth stir up the Sea,  
Again we labour and again we pray,  
Then did we Sacrifice, unto the Main  
Part of our loading but 'twas all in vain  
For th' unapeased Sea filled all again,  
Thus like a second Babel did we fleet.  
Confounded in our language, skill and wit,  
The master called a loud and bid that man  
To hale a rope, he takes the Quarter-Can  
And thinks to drink, but to prevent his care  
In comes the Sea, and gives a double share  
Unto us all, the Master bideth some  
To shift the Ballest, they to Pump do come,  
Another he commandeth for to shut  
The hatches, he the Ruther-band did cut  
Thus all confounded, every one betakes  
Himself again to prayer, and each one makes  
Him ready for his death, now hopes are past,  
And every one doth fear he prays his last,  
But God whose mercy always doth extend  
Beyond his Judgements (mercy without end)  
In sparing Sinners, when we thought to die  
The storm abates, and we the land descry  
When presently a Boy to top is forced,  
Who makes the Land to be the Irish Coast,  
Whose swelling Seas so boisterous, fearful, rude,  
Do far exceed their Mountain's Altitude,  
A Coast but too well known for cruel wrack,  
The Master calls again, commands the Tack  
To be haled close Aboard, away he stears,  
And in conclusion, (but not void of fears,)  
We get our haven; where after prayers given  
Unto the God of Earth, the Sea, and Heaven,  
With bended knees, erected hands and eyes,  
We offer prayers, praise, vows, heart-sacrifice;  
We went ashore, where presently I sped  
Myself of paper, written, what you have read.   

Thus God to see where we'll repent or no,  
Hath saved our lives, Heavens grant we may do so.    

Hopeless Affection. A Song.  

1.  
HOpeless Affection, flatter me no more,  
Or else still flatter me,  
Take from me quickly, ah but first restore  
My loved destiny,  
But 'tis the cruel fair  
Augmenteth my despair,  
Yet my unhappy fates,  
Her love participates.   

2.  
'Tis Amorea, it is only she,  
My dying heart hath slain,  
Pardon me dear mine inhumanity,  
Come wound it once again,  
For where I die or live  
I freely do forgive  
Mine own betraying eyes  
Made me thy Sacrifice.   

3.  
Come, come away, and kill me with disdain,  
And then I am set free,  
When thou hast done, look on the guiltless stain,  
That then doth follow thee:  
For 'twas mine own desire  
To steal Celestial fire  
From off thy beauteous Heaven,  
Forgive, thou art forgiven.    

Under his Mistress' Picture.  

I.  
RAre Artesan, who ere thou art  
That drew this lively counterfeit,  
The work doth show thou art expert,  
Yet (give leave) 'tis not complete,  
The reason is when she is near,  
Thy workmanship doth not appear.   

II.  
Had great Apelles present been,  
Or Sir Vandike, but standing by,  
And the Original but seen,  
They both together would deny,  
And both refuse to take in hand  
A work that doth their Art command:    

On his departing.  

1.  
When I was forced to depart  
From Amorea ever dear,  
Think you how near  
A sadness than did touch my heart.   

2.  
An Adamantine Law hath forsed  
Me to depart and leave my bliss,  
Ah sure it is  
A law shall always be accursed.   

3.  
Yet go I must, and leave behind  
My happiness unto my grief,  
And no relief  
Is left unto my troubled mind.   

4.  
Thus should my Amorea know,  
Alas she doth, but will not give  
Any Reprieve,  
Unto my helpless overthrow.    

A Fancy on Courting.  

'tIs a sport to see our Youth  
How they do digress from truth,  
When they summon beauties Fort,  
And their Ladies first do court.   

One will to his Mistress swear,  
That she is the only fair,  
And where ever he hath been  
A sweeter soul he hath not seen.   

Another says his Madam is  
All his joy, his love, his bliss,  
And a third perchance will tell  
That his Lady doth excel.   

Should one of another Nation,  
Come and see our Antic fashion,  
How they wry and bow their bodies  
To a woman as a Goddess.   

He would think that they were paying,  
Vows, unto a Saint, or praying,  
And but see the Lady stand  
With her slaves at her command.   

He undoubtedly would say,  
That So humble Slaves as they  
In his travels hath not seen,  
Or a more adored Queen;  
Yet if their Ladies seem to yield  
They leave the garb and take the field.    

On the Curtain of his Mistress' Picture.  

1  
Wonder-hider tell me why,  
Thou deniest to our sight,  
And forbid'st our longing eye,  
from her most refulgent light.   

2.  
Grand-usurper let us see,  
Thy (too rich) concealed treasure,  
That our fancies all with thee,  
May perticipate in pleasure.   

3  
Cover-heaven, be but pleased,  
Thy dark shadows to unfold,  
Let our greedy sight be eased,  
With thy more than orient gold.   

4.  
No, we must not see what's under,  
Thou wilt still deny our suit,  
Lest our eyes be struck with wonder,  
And our wonder strike us mute.    

Writ on her Lute.  
TEll me Princely instrument,  
Whence proceedeth this content,  
Do those taking charms dwell  
In thee, or her, I prithee tell?  
Is there power in thy Sound,  
Not to captivate, but wound?  
Doth the efficacy live  
In thee, or else she doth it give?  
Tell me is it only air,  
Can our hearts so much ensnare?  
No, it is her heavenly touch,  
That concerneth us so much,  
When her hands do bless thy strings,  
See the pretty little things  
How they tremble, yet express  
Their gratitude with cheerfulness,  
Who is he that would not stand,  
Trembling if that blessed hand  
Should but touch him, who is he  
Would not shake unless a tree;  
Who is he his joy can smother,  
Hearing th'one, or feeling th'other.   

To his Dream.  
SPeak lovely Dream, how couldst thou find  
Phantesies to show her mind,  
Wast not enough to let us see  
Her face alone, but must we be  
Always in a such a taking,  
Quiet neither asleep nor waking.  
It was but this very night  
She appeared in my sight,  
Morpheus having thither sent her,  
I began to compliment her,  
But the cursed destinies  
Looking on with jealous eyes,  
Envious at our happy meeting,  
Attropus cut off my sleeping,  
Yet he had gi'n me the leisure  
To describe the joy, and pleasure.  
Of this lovely-loving Dream,  
Had not waking lost my Theme.   

Commanded to conceal his Love.  

1.  
LOve me, but how, not that it may be known,  
Love me, and yet take care no love be shown:  
Love me, but that you love me, still disown.   

2.  
Look not with eyes, that may suspicion give,  
Live still in hope, yet always hope to live,  
Grieve not at, all but ever seem to grieve.   

3.  
Think not a thought of Love, but yet retain  
Me in your mind, remember, but refrain,  
Blot out affection, yet let love remain.   

4.  
Seem still to change, but changes disapprove.  
Remove your passion, yet in passion move,  
Do not as much as whisper out your love.   

5.  
Let fall no word, no thought, no sigh, no tear,  
Be joyful, but let joy be mixed with fear,  
Deny to tell a secret to your ear.   

6.  
For know in love, there is a such an Art,  
He loseth all, a council will impart,  
Let me be only lodged in thy heart.    

The Phoenix.  

1.  
OFten have I wished to know  
Why the Phoenix hath her nest  
far removed in the East,  
Now the reason I can show.   

2.  
'Tis because that in the West  
We have another of her race,  
But we do not know the place  
Where she will take up her rest.   

3.  
Amorea, it is she,  
Yet alas, it is not known,  
And I doubt will ne'er be shown,  
Whence that happy fire must be:  
Shall this blessed Phoenix burn,  
And raise young out of her Urn.    

Love's Elegy.  

RIng mournful Bells, for ever Ring,  
Now Love is dead,  
Let Quiristers forget to Sing  
Love being fled.   

Musicians all your warbling Art,  
You may set by  
And Learn now to take to heart  
Loves Elegy.   

Great Hymen's Court is at an end  
Th' Elysium Grove,  
Containeth nothing but a Fiend,  
That hateth Love.   

Mourn youth, and Poets, Muses, mourn,  
In Sad attire,  
Your fancies never more shall burn  
With Love's chaste fire.   

May young and old, and all lament  
This dismal day,  
And all erect a Monnument  
On Love's dead clay.   

No, Ring, Sing, Play, hark what is told,  
Forbear to weep,  
Youth, Poets,, Muses, Young, and old,  
Love doth but sleep.    

On his Quondum Mistress.  
GRace ¹, Virtue ², Love ³, did take ¹, enforce ², constrain ³,  
Sight ¹, Mind ² & Heart ³, with Wonder ¹, Fancy ², Charms ³,  
First ¹, Second ², Third ³, did View ¹, Possess ², Contain ³,  
Delight ¹, Love ², Joy ³, was then ¹, embraced ², in Arms ³,  
Till Hope ¹, Desire ², Trust ³, failed ¹, lost ², betrayed ³,  
Thought ¹, Love ², and Faith ³, is free ¹, gone ², and unsaid ³:  
Yet Time ¹, Repentance ², Grief ³, show ¹, prove ², declare ³,  
Her Fault ¹, Loss ², Sorrow ³; past ², too late ³, not heard ³,  
My thought ¹, turns ², heart ³, found out ¹, saw ², break ³ the snare,  
Wrong ¹, Hate ², Deceit ³, intended ¹, kept ², prepared ³,  
But Hope ¹, Joy ², Freedom's ³, seen ¹, possessed ², in part ³,  
Thought ¹, Love ², Desire ³, is true ¹, fixed ², in the heart ³:  
Not virtue ¹, grace ², heart ³, mind ⁴, love ⁵, joys ⁶, delight ⁷,  
Take ¹, force ², contain ³, possess ⁴, view ⁵, charm ⁶ the sight ⁷,  
For Hope ¹, desire ², trust ³, thought ⁴, love ⁵, and faith ⁶,  
Fail ², loss ², betray ³, free ⁴, gone ⁵, she all unsaith6.   

Hespelon, and Amorea. A Dialogue.  

Amorea.  
Who is it that cometh here,  
To remove my settled fancies,   

Hespelon.  
It is one my only dear,  
That hath known all the chances  
Of a Lovers careful fear.   

Amorea.  
Why alas, is't you my friend!  
Have not yet those follies left thee?   

Hespelon.  
Dear, I never do intend,  
Though my fortunes have bereft me  
Of thy presence, for to end.   

Amorea.  
But perchance you will forget me  
When the Object is removed.   

Hespelon.  
Thy opinion sure will fret me,  
But too dearly I have loved  
And my passion will not let me.   

Amorea.  
Yet I hope these toys will leave you  
When you see a fairer creature.   

Hespelon.  
No your Author did deceive you  
It was virtue, and not feature,  
Which Induced me to crave you.   

Amorea.  
When you riper years aspire,  
May be then your mind will falter.   

Hespelon.  
Who is he can quench the fire  
Or his resolution alter  
Being taken with desire   

Amorea.  
Yet in time and absence you  
Will forget me, youth is fickle   

Hespelon.  
Which if time and absence do  
Let the all destroying Sickle  
Cut me from the world too:   

Amorea.  
Ah begun my dear I say,  
Do not longer me Importune   

Hespelon.  
(Cursed be that cursed day  
But more cursed my cursed fortune)  
Saying So, she went away.    

On the five Senses.  

Seeing.  
If the treasure on the Po,  
Ganges, Nile, or Mexicoe,  
With the Beauty of the world,  
All at once upon me hurled  
If I cannot see my fair,  
Wealth is wind, and beauty's air   

Hearing.  
If the music from above,  
Such as all the Gods do love,  
Or the subtle Sirens voice,  
Were presented to our choice,  
If my Mistress do not hearken  
Ears are deaf, and eyes do darken   

Tasting  
If Ambrosia here were given  
Or Nepenthe drunk in Heaven,  
With the most delicious Salads,  
That ere pleas`d Ambitious pallets,  
If my Lady be not pleased,  
Eyes, Ears, and Taste, are all diseased   

Smelling.  
If the Spices of the East,  
Were ours, that please the Smell, and Taste;  
All the flowers of Thessaly  
And perfumes of Italy,  
If my dearest do not love it,  
Eyes, Eears, Taste, Smell, disaprove it.   

Feeling.  
Now the last (but best) I handle,  
But for this I need no Candle,  
If my Mistress do deceive me,  
And of Feeling should bereave me,  
If her Pulse I cannot charm,  
All my Senses do me harm.    

Love's Liberty.  

1  
When Cupid had possessed my heart  
With Amoreas' Love,  
And that my more diviner part  
My meaner fancies prove,  
When my affections all were crossed  
And she did me deny,  
The fallen Angel only lost  
So great a Liberty.   

2  
When not obtaining deep despair  
Had conquered my mind  
And that a kind of hopeless fear  
Did all my wishes blind  
When I shall call to mind the day  
That first I did her see,  
With captived souls I then may say  
I had a Liberty.   

3  
When with a Swanlike Song I sang  
My Amoreas' grace,  
My Muse must then in changes ring  
The wonders of her face,  
When with her all commanding Love  
My passions are set free,  
The Spirits of the Elysium grove  
Have no such Liberty.   

4.  
When as I hear her heavenly name  
My Sadness is suppressed,  
And nothing but a Loyal flame  
Doth harbour in my breast,  
When with a look my grief is hurled  
By the charms of her eye,  
Only the Sun that Rules the world,  
Doth know Such liberty.    

A Dream.  

When Morpheus had possessed mine eyes  
With sleep, and unconfined thought  
Did stray, it to my fancy brought  
The Image I so highly prize.   

Sometimes I seem to see my dear  
Tempted with a golden shower,  
And yet so constant that their power,  
Cannot change the mind of her.   

Another time unto my grief  
I think I see her for to yield,  
And almost give up the field  
Destitute of my Relief.   

Then do I see (but grieve to see)  
A Rival doth my place possess  
And hath all the happiness  
Which was only due to me.   

Yet at last if not deceived,  
Amorea is unmoved,  
No one but myself she loved,  
Waking then my joys bereft.    

His complaint to the Groves.  

GRoves-inhabitants draw near,  
Afford your aid,  
Let it no more be said  
That I do live;  
Ah come and drop a tear,  
Your sorrow give,  
But no reprieve.   

Yet grant (oh grant) that I may dwell  
Within your bowers,  
My few remaining hours,  
Whilst I relate,  
And shall in dying tell,  
I'm made by fate  
Unfortunate.   

But witness how I loyal die,  
And that I take  
My death for her sweet sake,  
For when I found  
That she did me deny,  
Death gave the wound,  
Adieu, I sound.    

To his Ingenuous Friend, J. P. Esq on Limbing.  

SPeak ingenuous Friend of mine,  
Be but pleased for ●o show,  
In what Regent or what Clime  
Do those heavenly colours grow.   

We admire the mystery,  
Of thy hidden secret Art,  
Which not only fills the eye,  
But doth captivate the heart.   

Here the heedless Lover views,  
The well known adored face  
Of his Mistress, strait renews  
Hopes, and symptoms of new grace.   

Here a piece like Beauty's Queen,  
That a winning modesty,  
Then an humble pride is seen,  
Thus a stately Majesty.   

Here a Countenance is sad,  
Ready to dissolve in tears,  
There a face that looks half glad,  
Intermixed with joy and fears.   

Whence are thy rare pencils brought,  
Whence thy Art, and in what place,  
Colours are, paint love and thought,  
And declare it in the face.   

Surely thou hast gotten wings,  
For to fetch this heavenly dye,  
For they are not Terrene things,  
Can so wound both heart and eye.    

A Fancy.  

FRom whence  
Unthought of fancy, comest thou now from whence,  
Is thy pretence,  
To disengage me of a fixed friend;  
From whence,  
Hast thou the power to overthrow the sense,  
Which cannot end,  
But in the love of her to whom,  
I do pretend.   

Away,  
Heart-wounding Cupid, now be gone, away  
Ah do not slay,  
My bleeding fancies with thy cruel dart,  
But stay,  
And let me think upon that happy day,  
In which thy Art,  
Did first oblige me to that glorious Ray,  
Else quickly strike my heart.    

A Contention between a Poet and a Limner.  Poet. 
I'm noble Poetry, and what are you?  Limbner. 
I am the nobler Science of the two.  Poet. 
The nobler Science, tell me how? I can  
Write any thing of men.  Limb. 
I make the man.  Poet. 
I write of Courts, of Princes, and high things.  Limbner. 
I draw the lively Portraiture of Kings.  Poet. 
I show the very mind of men in books.  Limbner. 
'Tis true, but I do show their mind in looks.  Poet. 
I am wit's Highpriest for I can inspire.  
All those that read my works with sacred fire.  Limbner. 
And I can boast my skill is from above,  
For thousands seeing of my Pieces, love.  Poet. 
I'm always read with wonder and delight.  Limbner. 
I know you charm the ear; I charm the sight.  Poet. 
Your Art is to be learned, many do it;  
There's none can be Apprentice to a Poet.  Limbner. 
I must confess you are ingenuous:  
But what are Poets, if compared to us.  Poet. 
That you are noble souls, all say as much,  
But you are poor.  Limb. 
Were ever Poets rich?  Poet. 
I treat of souls of men, you but of faces.  
I'm kin unto the Muses.  Limb. 
I to th'Graces.  Poet. 
I make men live to perpetuity.  Limbner. 
I make them live as long by simile.  Poet. 
Well, when your dead I'll write an Elegy,  
And set it on your Hearse; thus it shall be,  

Here lies Arts-master, whose lov'd-name shall stand,  
Writ in gold Letters by a Poet's hand,  
In Great Apollo's Temple, there to be  
In the next place to lofty Poetry.   Limbner. 
And if you die before me, to be sure  
Your name shall always live by Portraiture.   

A Pastoral Poem.  
PHylacona having early  
(In a morning that had fairly  
Promised the ensuing day  
All the glory of the May)  
With a melancholy pace  
Come at Length unto the place,  
That for Phylaconas' love,  
Called was the Goddess grove,  
Here she used still and wholly,  
For to treat her Mellancolly;  
Here she entertained her sadness,  
Though the place did promise gladness,  
For there was the loving Vine,  
With the stately growing Pine,  
Ranks of Cedars there were seen,  
And the Laurel, Forest's Queen,  
Next the Cypress, and the Yew  
Did present themselves to view,  
There a Bower of Kear is made,  
Here a lovely Myrtle shade,  
With the Ivy and the Bays  
That do crown the Poets Lays  
Here the Poplar, there the Thorn  
Which hath Phylamela born  
And in every tree there stood,  
The Musicians of the wood,  
Scarlin, Lennet, and the Thrush,  
Crowned the top of every bush;  
Underneath was to be seen,  
(Ru●ning through) a spangled green  
Well composed into Bowers  
All enameled with flowers;  
As if Nature meant to show  
What her art was able do;  
Was a brook or little River,  
Which did seem for to deliver  
In its Language all the story,  
Of that Nymphs Eternal glory,  
Who (as Poets have Inserted)  
Was into a stream converted.  
Here She used to retire,  
And the very same desire.  
To be private in his Sorrow  
Made her shepherd bid good-morrow  
To his sleeping, and to rise,  
Shaking Slumber from his eyes,  
" Sorrow would not let him stay  
" For to entertain the day,  
" But commanded him away  
And to the grove did fortune hurry  
Him, as she began her story:  
When she thither was arrived  
Being of all joys deprived,  
Only taken up with care.  
This sad voice did reach his ear,  
Which at first he had neglected,  
Being with his grief affected,  
Yet because he would not be  
Taxed for discourtesy;  
Round about him as he pried,  
The sad Nymph he had espied  
Who her tender limbs had laid  
On a mantle that was spread,  
" On the painted Tapestry,  
" Of the flower-paved walks and nigh  
" To the River did she lie.  
And because he thought her fate  
To his sadness did relate,  
He supposing that her care  
In his Sorrows had a share,  
Out of Curiosity  
Hid himself behind a tree;  
Thus the Nymph being on the ground  
After she had looked round,  
Thinking on her present fears  
Thus began her tail with tears;  
Who can better tell than I,  
To deplor the destiny  
Of a sad forsaken Maid,  
Only by myself betrayed,  
I that in the height of life  
When the Graces were at strife  
Which should have the greatest prize  
Language, carriage, voice, or eyes,  
I who ever have been Courted  
With the noblest, and consorted  
With the most Gentieler sort,  
And knew nothing but the Court  
Nothing then could please me better  
Than to read an humble Letter,  
Such as Lovers do present  
All composed of Compliment,  
Thus when I shall call to mind  
What is past I then do find  
All the happy hours are spent  
Which to youth are incident,  
And can see nothing of truth  
Harbour in unsettled youth,  
Yet when I shall think upon  
The forsaken Espilon  
(Who by his disloyalty  
Hath so disobleiged me)  
Needs I must declare his worth:  
With which words he steeped forth,  
Knowing this the first time  
For to vindecate his crime,  
With heavy pace and look  
Being come unto the brook  
After he himself had seated,  
His excuse he thus repeated,  
Madam if your very Servant  
Have not still with wishes servant  
Prosecuted your affection,  
Never give my love protection,  
Only you to have enjoyed  
Be both wish and love destroyed  
Or if ever I have loved  
More than you yourself Approved,  
May my Love be still neglected,  
And my falseness be dedected,  
May my heart be ever grieved,  
May my vows be not believed,  
If I do not thee desire,  
Then let heart and vows expire;  
Therefore dearest—  
Here his hands would fain have brooken  
Truce, if that she had not spoken  
And her angry commands  
Did forbid his longing hands,  
Espelon, quoth she, my dear,  
Leave me, lest I justly fear,  
That your carriage will deceive me;  
Yet for this I do forgive thee,  
But be sure you are not quitted,  
For the punishment is fitted,  
You forever shall be banished;  
Saying so, away she vanished,  
Like an airy broken bubble,  
Leaving ●im unto his trouble,  
Whereunto this Pastoral tended,  
No man knows, for here it ended.   

To Amorea on his going to Travel.  

1.  
IF that my Travel were to be so far,  
(My only star)  
To come again no more,  
Then well I might implore,  
Pardon from Cupid, and loves deity,  
For the offence I've done to Love, and thee.   

2.  
Yet Amorea be but pleased now  
To take this vow,  
If Fortune be my friend,  
To grant a happy end  
Unto my journey; offer up I shall,  
To thy blessed shrine, my vows, myself, and all.   

3.  
But if I never do return,  
Alas I mourn,  
For her I left behind,  
Yet dearest be so kind,  
Only to think, I only for your sake,  
This journey with my death did undertake.    

Writ at Sea.  
NOw had I bid farewell unto the Land,  
And left behind that ever blessed shore  
Blessed because it Amorea bore.  
Yet could not leave to look upon the sand;  
For now my grief began I took in hand  
My Pen, in which my fancies heretofore  
Did once delight, for why, it did restore  
My hopes; but hark, the voice I do adore,  
Commandeth back, who can that voice withstand,  
'tis Amorea, it is her command.   

To Cloris, imploring a revenge.  

CLoris stay, and do not fly,  
Give an ear to my Petition,  
Which I offer up and make,  
With submission,  
And contrition,  
That when you do vengeance take,  
For dispensed loyalty,  
Take it only of her eye.   

For to captivate a lover,  
Let it never more have power,  
Take away it's former grace,  
May a shower  
Spoil the flower,  
Of her once admired face,  
Where she loveth, ah remove her,  
Let her love, but still above her.   

Cloris, hark to my desire,  
And behold my Sacrifice,  
Do not pass too hard a sentence,  
Drown her eyes,  
With her cries,  
Let her know a sad repentance,  
But take mercy in thine ire,  
'Cause I once did her admire.    

In praise of Sack.  
FRom where, or whence, at first this Liquor came,  
Or how it had its being none can tell,  
Where the Pierian Fount did give it name,  
Or where it flowed from Agganippe-Well,  
Is now the question, truly I am one  
That do believe the thing which we call Sherry,  
Was planted first in sacred Helicon,  
Produced of some strange Celestial Berry;  
One of the reasons, that doth move me to it,  
A reason I prefer before the best,  
I never yet could meet a piece of Poet  
But loved to take a glass beyond the rest,  
And there is reason for't; 'twill make his pen  
Run faster than his Muse is able think,  
It sets him far above the reach of men,  
Such is the virtue of this versing drink,  
'Twill raife a drooping spirit to the height  
'Twill send a known Coward unto the wars,  
The taste so heavenly, and the look so bleigh,  
That some do hold it is dissolved Stars,  
But be it what it will, I never yet  
Have found his equal, not in any thing,  
It makes a man his sorrow to forget,  
Equall's the lowest, with the greatest King,  
What is it 'twill not do; yet there are some  
That from my praises far enough do vary,  
Who by their carriage show from whence they come  
And ne'er were so well bred to drink Canary,  
And this I know, they are no Gentleman,  
That (in that very thought) such drink deny,  
Which is the Scholars Study, Poet's pen,  
The Lawyer's guide, the Lover's deity,  
All that the Poets feign, of Nectar is,  
Composed in this little Sea of bliss,  
Then Drawer bring it in, the hurt I'll do 'em,  
Is drink to all, that do believe this Poem.   

A SONG.  

I Cannot say you are forsworn,  
Since you have proved true,  
And yet I think myself forlorn,  
When by your actions still I view,  
Your fancy's ranging for a new.   

'Tis true, you loved me a while,  
But soon your love was cold,  
Then think no more on Beauty's guile,  
For your embraces are grown old,  
And have no force my heart to hold.   

I see the Treasures of that face,  
Which once I doted on  
Is to be found in every place,  
And all the fleeting graces gone,  
There's nothing left to look upon.   

Yet when you'ave seen the world's store,  
And where the Beauties be,  
Reclaim yourself, I'll ask no more,  
But am content the spoils to see  
Alone devoted unto me.    

On loving of two.  

LAdies that you both may know,  
What you to your Servant owe,  
I have both of you adored,  
And have both your loves implored.   

If I did but set mine eye,  
On the one, and th'other by;  
I could nothing but admire,  
Being scorched with double fire.   

Should I on Clariana look,  
I do open Beauty's book,  
Where such lessons I do find,  
As they captivate my mind.   

If I look upon the first,  
Though she have been too too cursed,  
Yet I think new hopes of grace  
Are in Amorea's face.   

But that hope is soon defaced,  
If Clariana will be pleased  
To allow me in her sight,  
Counting it my chief delight,   

Amorea's love engageth,  
And a war within me wageth,  
Clariana's sweet affection,  
Then must serve for my protection.   

If Clariana should be ill,  
I do all her sickness feel,  
But for Amorea's trouble,  
I consume into a bubble.   

Should Clariana be but pleased,  
All my sorrows are appeased;  
Yet if Amorea mourn.  
All my joys to sorrow turn.   

Those who Amorea've seen,  
Say she is the Elysium Queen,  
And that Clariana's face,  
Only came from Phenix-race.   

Scarce can I suppress the flames,  
Sent by those adored Dames;  
Were it not their haughty scorn,  
Was to heavy to be born.   

But now all is past and ended,  
Had not Hymen me befriended,  
I would never more have loved,  
Had he not my mind disposed.   

Saying if I chance to find  
One that parallels the mind  
Of these Ladies I have named,  
She it is for me is framed.    

The Shadow.  

1.  
YEsterday as I was seated,  
And lay sleeping in an Arbour,  
See my hopes were all defeated,  
And were shipwrecked in their Harbour,  
For I thought I had been taking  
All my treasure in mine arms,  
But it proved when I was waking,  
Nothing else but false alarms,  
Yet it troubles me the less,  
For the Gods had like success.   

2.  
One of them as doth appear  
In their Tale, for anger burned  
When he saw his only dear,  
To a shining Cloud was turned,  
A second made his labour vain;  
And another we do see,  
For his Nymph embraced a stream,  
And the third a Lawrell-Tree;  
Thus the Gods themselves were used,  
And with shadows are abused.   

3  
So it was with me alas,  
When I thought I had my fair,  
Like a shadow she did pass  
And nothing left but fleeting air;  
Then I waked discontented,  
In a posture nigh despairing,  
But my sadness was prevented,  
By her personal appearing,  
But nothing I of substance write  
Whilst of shadows I Indite.    

To Amorea walking in her Garden.  
SEe how all things do conspire,  
And agree with her desire,  
For when she doth bless the walks  
On each side the Verdure stalks  
As if waiting her commands,  
Bow themselves to kiss her hands,  
And the early growing bush,  
Whose rare flowers now do blush,  
Joying that they're in the way,  
To her lap their Tribute pay  
And as she herself disposeth  
So the Marigold discloseth  
And her Inward parts discover  
As to the Sun her constant lover,  
Then when she her body shadeth  
Strait the Heliotropian fadeth,  
Other flowers take new birth;  
From her presence, scorn the earth,  
By imploring a divorce,  
From their mother, and their nurse,  
" See the Tulips how they bow  
" Down their golden heads, and how  
" In dumb eloquence they woo  
Hoping that, that Blessed hand,  
Will confine them for to stand,  
In some window there to be  
In her presence till they die,  
Lily, Juliflower and Pancy,  
All submit unto her fancy  
And her pretty fingers do  
pray t'accept their offering too,  
Hundreds more as good as they  
Do come thronging in her way,  
To exchange their liberty  
For a sweet captivity,  
Thus being sated with delight  
She begins for to unite  
Them into a Garland, and  
With her sweet composing hand:  
Crowned her sleeping shepherd, whom  
Little thought it was his doom,  
Then with humble grace she bowed,  
To the rest, who being proud  
Of their happiness to meet,  
In the Allies with her feet;  
Thus she being gone away,  
(Ah that dismal fatal day)  
The poor youth as soon as he  
Waked, found his destiny,  
And with that began to tear  
All the favours which he beware  
In her honour, and his cry  
Was disloyalty I die.  
So the Garland which she gave  
Served to adron his grave.   

To Mr. James Shirley on his plays.  
Mirror of Comedies, and of our age,  
That hast re-edified the falling Stage  
And once more built the Theatre with thy pen,  
In Spite of foes, hast made it live again;  
What can we render, thy Admired Plays,  
Already have sequestered the Bays  
From of the head of those who writ before,  
Which were but shadows to thy works, no more.  
Who is not joyed when he seeth the fall,  
And punishment of vice, thy Cardinal  
And taught by thy Imposture for to shun  
Lascivious courses, or else be undone:  
Thy Brothers teach us love; thy Sisters do;  
In courtly terms, show us how to woe.  
Or if we will be read in points of State,  
Then thy Court Secret make us up complete,  
What shall we offer then, or what Present,  
we'll add this Trophy to thy Monument  
That ages yet to come shall hear and see,  
When dead, thy Works a living Elegy.   

On the perfection of Beauty.  

GAze not on star's whose twinkling light  
The spangled glory of the night:  
Nor on the Sun's refulgent eye  
Darting Silver from the sky:  
Look not on Spotless Ermines tho`  
For whitness they excel the Snow,  
Nor pretty Turtle-Doves who be.  
The emblimes of loved amity:  
Think not on Muses, graces, now,  
Nor the Seven wonders we allow,  
Nor would I have you think upon  
The Poet-nursing Helicon  
Wonder not why, Pearls valued are,  
Or Rubies why accounted rare,  
or Diamonds who sparkleforth  
At once their lustre and their worth.  
For If Clariana come in sight,  
Stars do fall and lose their light,  
The Sun Eclipsed doth post away,  
And sets an end unto the day.  
Ermines run into disgrace,  
Baffled when they see her face.  
Turtles dying leave the Grove  
To see themselves outgone in love:  
The Muses, Graces, Wonders seven,  
Are vexed that now they are made even.  
Mount Helicon herself doth fear  
All Poesy doth flow from her:  
Pearls are mad that now they must  
Be look`t upon as glittering dust.  
Rubies ashamed, away did skip,  
And vowed a vengeance on her lip;  
Diamonds for grief have sworn,  
That they'll never more be worn.   

Thus stars are fallen, the Sun is fled,  
Ermines baffled, Turtles dead,  
The Muses, Graces, Helicon,  
The Wonders, vex, fear, as undone,  
Pearls, Rubies, Diamonds, are mad, shame, swore,  
And all because Clariana is so fair.    

To his unconstant Mistress.  

What, only constant in unconstancy?  
And true alone to mutability?  
Like the still changing wind  
That moves the curls of thy hair,  
Kill, or be kind,  
Dissolve or bind  
The double knot of my despair,  
Speak life, or let me die.   

For winged with hope, and baffled by disdain,  
I think I am not safe, nor am I slain,  
Yet puffed up with desire,  
To reach my earthly happiness,  
My hopes exspire,  
In the fire  
Of dull flaming heaviness,  
Burnt up, yet live again.   

So in the balance of hope, love, and fear,  
Secured by confidence ye● drowned in care,  
I once more come to try,  
And once again implore,  
If you deny,  
Although I die,  
I vow ne'er to affect thee more,  
Believe me when I swear.    

An Elegy on the Death of the Princess Royal.  
Go, Ladies, stay, ah go, no stay and mourn  
A while, lay down your Lutes, ah come & turn  
Your deep concerned eyes upon this Tomb,  
Read, and lament, as if you read your doom  
Alas make haste, come pay your Obsequies  
Unto her memory with drowned eyes,  
Attend this Monument, forget to see  
Yourselves carrassed, may you ever be,  
In mourning habits, and where ere you walk,  
May death and Funerals be all your talk,  
And if you sleep, may your dreams be of Bells,  
Of Hearses, Coffins, Monuments, and Knells,  
May all your days of pleasure and delight,  
Be Metamorphosed to dismal night,  
For virtue's dead, and in her all is gone  
That virtue's very self can think upon;  
Now certainly a wrack is to be feared,  
For gon's the Star, and North, by which you steered,  
Gone is the Touchstone, which was wont to try  
Whither was richer love, or constancy;  
Gone is your Torch, and gone away your Sun;  
Your Lights extinguished ere it was begun,  
Nothing is left but mourning, but you'll say  
Who it should concern or dismay,  
Or so oblige us HER to think upon;  
Is't not enough to tell you virtue's gone:  
It is the Princess whom I'd named, but when  
I name Her once, grief drowns my tongue and pen.   

To Phyla.  
PHyla I will not inquire,  
What hath been thy past desire,  
Nor is't sitting you should know  
Unto whom I've made a vow,  
Prithee Phyla tell me now  
What has made thee to retire,  
Is it 'cause I do admire  
Other beauties, is it so?  
Tell me Phila, I think no,  
For I still retain the fire  
Which was kindled long ago  
In my mind, and flameth higher,  
If I chance to come but nigh her;  
Phyla wilt thou know who 'tis,  
Speak (thy self) thou canst not miss,   

The difference between a Lute, and a Via  
IT fell out the other day,  
Two Ladies busy at their play,  
Th'one a Vial with her voice,  
Did accord a Heavenly noise,  
Th'other a Theorboe held,  
Which when they the Room had filled,  
With their Music then it was,  
Striving which of them could pass  
Each the other, (than say I,)  
Music was Divinity;  
Madam, quoth the first, I think,  
If Napenthe be a drink  
That doth reconcile the Gods  
When they chance to fall at odds,  
Certainly without denial,  
'Tis distilled through a Vial;  
Quoth the other to confute  
Your argument, why not a Lute,  
And I coming in the while,  
They began to blush and smile,  
Saying both, you that so well  
Of Love do undertake to tell,  
And have ventured to set forth  
In a Poem the rare worth,  
That in Music's charms lie,  
Speak without partiality,  
Which is fitter for Love's Choir,  
Amphion's Lute, or Orpheus' Lyre;  
Thus betwixt a Scila I,  
And Charybdis then did lie,  
Should I dare to say a Lute,  
Farewell my intended suit;  
Or if I a Vial praise,  
Then my Mistress I displease,  
Will you take a Poet's oath,  
Then by Sack I pleased them both,  
Amphion's Lute I did advance,  
Because it made the stones to dance,  
And when they had found the trial,  
Which was sweeter Lute or Vial,  
With the reason both were mute,  
Both concluding 'twas a Lute.   

The Change.  

1.  
CHloe, I wondering in my mind,  
Why men do such changelings prove,  
Now the very cause I find,  
'Tis occasioned by love,  
And no judgement from above.   

2.  
First I found it in myself,  
For I was not born so,  
Yet alas the peevish Elf  
Needs must have a Mistress too;  
Pardon Chloe, 'tis not you.   

3.  
Which when I had gotten, I  
Lost within a day or two  
Though I told her I could die  
For her love; there came a new,  
Made me bid the old adieu.   

4.  
Thus I changed for Chloes sake,  
After I had made a vow,  
Which I changed and did make  
Others that are broken now,  
Which my Chloe must allow.   

5.  
For I'm changed from hope to fears,  
See what Chloes love can do,  
Changed even in my prayers,  
Believe me Chloe it is true,  
Changed to all, but King, and you.    

To Amorea. A Song.  

AMorea, when that you  
Honour with your sweet repeating,  
My poor fancies, than I do  
Think the Heavens are completing,  
All my joys, and pleasures too.   

Yet the cause I cannot show,  
Unless it be for this reason,  
That you know it is your due,  
When in Verse I mean to praise one,  
All the glory's meant to you.   

For when I begin to vow  
Clariana is my fairest,  
Or do Chloes' love allow,  
Or say Phyla is my dearest,  
All do end in you you know.   

What say, can you then deny;  
But the reason I have found,  
'Tis because that they and I  
Swear your Beauty is the ground,  
Make us call you deity.    

On the Inequalletie of Marraige.  
'tIs strange to see the unavoided fate  
Of many in this humour when to late  
They find their error, one perchance will cry  
What should I do against my destiny,  
Antoher half distracted will persuade  
He`ss happier in the maid than if he had,  
Obtain`d the Mistress, think fond youth if wise  
Is`t better draw a blank, or have a prize,  
Yet if thou`lt Marry and their be no friend  
Can disengage thee of thy Madness, lend  
And ear to reason, first be sure you see  
Where she do correspond in quality,  
Not that i`de have you fly too high, and so  
Like Iccarus you drown yourself, no, no,  
I'm not for such a Marriage, for I've read  
Of Eagles feathers, if put in a bed  
All other feathers instantly consume  
Devouring those that are not of their plume  
Yet on the contrary, I`de have you show,  
Yourself from whence you came go not so low:  
To draw a scorn u●on Posterity  
For that`s a blemish that will never be  
Extinquish`d but by time and perchance you.  
Stooping too low will be Extinguish`d too,  
Is it not pity that it should be said  
The Son and heir will have a Chambermaid,  
And who can help it, when it is their doom  
The only daughter dotes upon a groom:  
And so destroy all that their father got  
By wit, or valour, Industry, or lot,  
But harken youth, if not infatuate  
To all misfortunes, let's expostulate,  
Why should a Goss-hawke fly at Titmice, or  
What need a Falcon stoop unto a Dor  
Are not there Princely fowls enough, but they  
Must be content on Butterflies to prey,  
What follies this, are there not mediums left  
To be embraced, but just like men bereft  
Of sense and reason, we must headlong run  
We know not where, before we are undone,  
Can we not be content to change our name  
By transmutation to the very same  
It was before, when suffering Loyalty  
Shall still be loved by noble Honesty  
What would you have, would you join Land to Land  
Do it, provided you go hand in hand,  
In age, birth, fortune, Love, if not take care  
What you do think is good may prove a snare,  
And if these reasons will not serve the turn,  
Fly like, play with the candle, till you burn  
And then you'll let the world for to see  
Marraige, and Hanging goes by destiny.   

Clariana's Dream.  

1.  
CLariana slept, and as she slept,  
The God of Night stood by;  
The God of Love for anger wept,  
That he could not be nigh.   

2.  
Clariana wept, and weeping cried,  
(Overwhelmed with her care,)  
What hast thou asked, that I denied,  
Speak Hespelon my dear.   

3.  
Clariana waked, and waking found  
That all was but a Dream,  
She sigh't, and fell into a sound,  
But ne'er revived again.    

Love and Respect.  

1.  
IT is not that I love the fairest,  
Less than when my love I tendered,  
But 'twas hopeless love, my dearest,  
That my deep affection hindered.   

2.  
Yet 'tis not hopeless love shall fear me,  
Or command my love to end,  
'Tis the high respect I bear thee,  
Will not leave me to offend.   

3.  
Were I confident to carry,  
Thy affection it would be  
No content at all to marry,  
If the conquest were not free.   

4.  
But if you vouchsafe to pardon  
My presumption, do but prove,  
I will render thee the geurdon  
Of a never-dying love.    

The Author's dream.  
NOt long agone being thrown upon my bed  
replete with Sorrow, my unsettled head  
With Perturbation of a troubled mind  
Turned giddy with its cares, no rest could find,  
It was about the hour that the clock  
Had strucken two, the early waking Cock,  
Had gi'n his first Alarm to the day,  
Sleep seized my drowned eyes, and grief gave way  
To nature to (exact her tribute) when  
Somnious who doth command the eyes of men:  
Did charm me first asleep, then sent a dream  
The which disturbed my late settled brain,  
And thus it was, me thought I had set forth,  
A little Pinnace, which towards the North  
Was bound with swelling sails: a lofty wind  
Yet not to high encountered me behind:  
The Symptoms of a happy voyage and all  
Good fortune on our side did seem to fall  
For having past the Isles of th` Orcades  
Norvegia, Thule, (next the frozen Seas)  
And having more than hopes to reach our Port  
Neptune as if he meant himself to sport,  
With our mishapes, bid the winds blow and they  
No sooner were commanded but obey  
And every thing conforming to his will  
Made us to soon to see our cause was ill  
When after all our Masts and rigging spent  
With all misfortunes that are Incident.  
To Sailors in storm: we descried  
Two other Vessels driven with the Tide?  
And labouring for their Haven but they found  
To soon unto their loss, themselves a ground  
The Climate where we were, and the degree  
Was known to them, and not unknown to me  
The Northern Amazons possessed the Land  
Their Queen Clarianna, under whose command  
The Country flourished, and the very place  
Where the Ships stood, night to her Palace was  
Yet could not I so happy be as they,  
For when I had recovered the Bay  
A second storm did assail us and  
Neptune to Aeolus had given his hand  
To make us only wretched as if both  
Had past their pledges by a mutual Oath  
To Thunder down their vengeance for the most  
That each of them could do, we felt the worst  
But that I may not Vary from my Theme  
Because 'tis pertinent unto my Dream,  
Know the two Ships were driven to the Land  
And stuck half buried on a Bar of Sand.  
On the Ports Starboard side the one was fast  
Th' other a little to the Larboard cast.  
Betwixt them was the River wherein we  
Must thrust our torn vessel or else be  
Ingulfd in sudden ruin; at which I  
Spoke to the Master with a hasty cry:  
Demanding his advice, and what to do:  
Quoth he our evils now are more than two;  
For if to windward of that ship we stand  
Then ours will be involved in the Sand  
To Leeward of the other should we fall,  
Undoubtedly we lose ship, men and all:  
For every side there's danger, should we steer  
Betwixt them both, on every hand ther`s fear;  
Of falling soul, again, if we should trust  
Unto our Anchors, that`s the very worst.  
Well this is to be done (and what de`e think)  
We`le in betwixt them, if we sink, we sink:  
These were his words, and in this very Fashion  
He brought them out, but hold the Situation  
Of Clarianna's Palace shall be shown,  
For such a graceful object must be know.  
The house was seated on a rising hill,  
Inshrin`d with Cyprus trees but here my quill  
Will prove deficient, should I but talk:  
Or set the graces forth of every walk.  
If on the buildings I should write or look  
My pen would run itself into a book.  
But I'll decline the hill again for fear  
I should forget my Dream and end it there,  
Which must not be before I let you see  
What happened in my Dream and unto me,  
For being Sad and pensive in my mind  
'Cause I could not th' interpretation find:  
I grew more troubled, but this accident  
My grief and sorrows quickly did prevent;  
It seemed to me I saw before mine eyes  
The ground to open, and a man to rise?  
Whose venerable age had showered  
A Snowy benediction on his head,  
And in one hand (me thought) he held a Globe,  
And in the other was an Astrolabe  
The moon upon his head, a glittering Coat  
Spangled with stars he beware which did denote  
What he had been in his foregoing years  
` 'tis like he knew the motion of the Spheres:  
The heaven's Influence which doth infer  
The man had been a great Astronomer.  
And thus he spoke: Come hither musing youth  
Know that thy Dream hath something in`t of truth  
Sat down, observe, remember what is told,  
And thus he did begin my Dream t`unfold.  
The Pinnace thou wert in doth Signify,  
Thy very self; the Swelling sails thy high  
Ambitious aim; the wind that followed thee  
Portendeth all good hap undoubtedly;  
The countries thou did`st pass by and the Seas  
Show thou hast missed some fortunes in thy days:  
But nothing lost, next did I list to show  
Who Neptune is but will not for I know  
To soon thou`lt find it out: for it is he  
Will cross thy hopes, and then remember me:  
The falling of thy mast denoteth plain  
Obstructions will impede and intervean  
Betwixt thee and thy wish; the other two  
That seemed ships are men as well as you:  
And that I may not speak misteriously  
They are thy Rivals who most certainly,  
Will do their utmost and the haven is  
No other but your virtuous Mistress:  
Their going a ground their want of Judgement and  
Doth show they were to young to take in hand.  
So great a voyage; the Climate and degree,  
Her name and quality I'm sure must be?  
That they were Amazons, it doth dilate  
A sprightly Lady; the Queen's name, her state:  
That the ships Struck, so nigh her palace sure  
Shows the unhappiness they must endure  
And that the bay thou reachest it doth tell  
After the storm is passed it may go well,  
That Aeolus and Neptune did combine,  
Doth say two crossing Councillors will join  
To blow up thy designs, but they'll be crossed,  
For be contented they are like to lost  
Their thankless labours; that the ships struck I'm bold  
To let thee know, by sand is meant her Gold;  
Betwixt them did the River run; that doth  
The Lady's equal couldness show to both,  
Thy hasty cry be sure doth intimate,  
Thou make dispatch, or else 'twill be too late.  
The man of whom thou didst implore advice,  
Is thy best friend in Council; if thou'rt wise  
Observe his words, be sure thou understand  
The dangers threatened on every hand,  
The Master's last advice doth show to thee  
That resolution must not wanting be;  
The Graceful Palace, and its situation,  
It shows the Ladies virtuous education,  
That it was seated on a rising hill,  
Declares her Birth and Beauty, which thy Quill  
Can never praise enough, the Trees set fourth  
Her noble parts, the Walks her grace and worth.  
Thus have I showed thee all, and lastly I,  
Am called by the name of Ptollomy,  
At which I wondered when I thought upon  
He died many hundred years agone:  
And then I answered, saying, Reverend Sage,  
Thou hast not let me know her name nor age,  
But what I said was spoken to the wind,  
For he was vanished, yet left behind,  
A role of Paper, which I greedily  
Snatched from the ground, and read as hastily,  
And thus it did contain, If any do  
For curiosity, desire to know  
What course the Pinnace took, and what became  
Of the two ships, or what the Lady's name,  
With the conclusion? let thy answer be,  
'Tis wholly left unto Astronomy,  
To give a happy period to the thing,  
And reading here, sleep with a hasty wing  
Began to fly me, yet the time was given  
To read these following words, 'Tis only Heaven  
Can give a blessing, and compose thy cares,  
'Tis Heaven must be propitious to thy prayers,  
Commit thy ways to Heaven, and Heaven will  
Direct thee what to do, protect thee still,  
And Heaven will bless thee sleeping, keep thee waking:  
And thus I waked when these words were speaking.   

To the Sun.  

1.  
Go Glorious Sun,  
Set in perpetual night,  
I eat thy light,  
Now she is gone  
In whom all joys did shine,  
My darkened sight  
Can see nothing that is divine.   

2.  
Go glorious Sun,  
And tell her brighter Ray  
I come away,  
Tell her I run,  
My coming is not far,  
The message can be done  
By none but thee unto a Star.    

On the Death of his Mistress.  

1.  
ASk me not why the Rose doth fade,  
Lilies look pale, and Flowers die,  
Question not why the Myrtle shade,  
Her wont shadows doth deny.   

2.  
Seek not to know from whence begun  
The sadness of the Nightingale,  
Nor why the Helletrope and Sun,  
Their constant Amity do fail.   

3.  
The Turtle's grief look not upon,  
Nor why the Palmtree doth mourn,  
When Widow-like they're left alone,  
Nor Phoenix, why herself doth burn.   

4.  
For she is dead which life did give  
Unto those things that here I name,  
They fade, change, whither, cease to live,  
Pine, and consume into a flame.    

On His Sacred MAJESTY'S haypy Restauration.  
HAve you not seen after some boisterous night  
The Sun's approach, when he salutes our sight,  
Have you not viewed the lusttre that it yields,  
In gilding every thing, the very Fields  
As yet bedewed with tears, and couldst annoy,  
Do weep and smile together both for joy;  
Just so it is with us: hark what a noise  
Runs through the Land, all to express our joys:  
Our Sun's returned unto his longing Land,  
And brought Amnistia with him in his hand,  
Never did Persians rejoice to see  
The Sun they worship, half so much as we;  
Nor Greenland that hath darkness half the year,  
Is not so joyed when the Sun doth appear,  
To stay six months within that Hemisphere.  
Our King hath brought Religion home, & peace,  
Attended on with with plenty and increase;  
We know no war, no sword, no fierce Alarms,  
But from Arm, Arm, we now go arm in arm;  
A blessed change, a such a change as this  
Surpasseth any Metamorphosis,  
Where men are turned to Monsters, here we see  
Monsters put off their inhumanity,  
Here is the golden age returned again,  
The Lamb takes up his rest in th' Lion's den,  
The very Pirates they turn Merchantmen;  
And those who but a while ago would slay,  
Any of those they thought stood in their way:  
And nothing heard of discord one with th'other,  
There's no name known, unless the name of Brother;  
And of our wrongs there's no reiteration,  
A happy turn, a blessed Restauration,  
See but the carrying on this mighty thing;  
When we'd tried all, there's nothing but a King  
Could heal our breaches, and when he was come,  
All interests had their satisfaction,  
And note the carriage of the work, and then  
You'll see the hand of God, 'twas not of men,  
The difference was composed, for we find  
So many thousands to be of one mind,  
And all agree in one, observe but this,  
Both Land, and Sea, concurred in our bliss,  
It is observable, the Month of May,  
Did post unto her Nine and twentieth Day,  
That day which first gave life unto our KING,  
Was double blessed by his Coming In:  
Should we abuse this mercy, (but 'tis fin  
To think a thought to let Rebellion in)  
By breaking of this happy Union,  
When all is buried in Oblivion,  
'Twould be a means such curses for to bring,  
As Heaven defend us from.  God save the KING.  

To the most Honoured Sir James Smith Knight, On his many favours received.  SIR, 
I Fear my boldness may impute me rude,  
And to say nothing were ingratitude;  
Can I for favours had of such a one,  
Bury my thanks in dark oblivion,  
And where I ought to pay all thankfulness.  
Render myself base, by forgetfulness;  
Should I which have received from your hand,  
Of bounty, so much kindness; should I stand,  
Without acknowledgement, as if that I  
Were quite devested of civility;  
No, no, such Boons as those, must needs require  
Returns, which (in some measure of desire)  
Should testify, a grateful mind, in part  
He pays such debts, which has a thankful heart,  
And such my payment for these loves, must be  
Paid by good wishes, to eternity.   

To Celinda.  

1.  
COme Celinda, come away,  
Sweet Celinda do not stay,  
Bless our longing longing-eyes,  
Hearken to your Shepherd's cries,  
That doth vow,  
To allow  
Every year unto that day  
Such a thankful Sacrifice,  
As he ' th' sworn for to slay  
Half his Flock: come, come away.   

2.  
And when my Celinda shall  
Make me happy by a call,  
Saying Shepherd now I come,  
See Alexis be at home;  
Then I'll make,  
For her sake  
A Holiday throughout the Valerius  
Giving all my Flock to some  
Shepherd, that hath known all  
My love. I hear Celinda call.     

EPIGRAMS.  

On a simple Gentleman which spoke in dispraise of Poetry.  
A Gentleman, for want of education,  
Said Epigrams, and Poems, were but toys.  
And in his judgement and small estimation,  
Are only fit for Girls, and for Boys:  
Another standing by that wished well  
To Poetry, and loved a witty Rhyme,  
Your judgement Sir, alas what can you tell?  
Thus 'tis to cast a Pearl before a Swine,  
Pray hold your peace, for Poets hold it fit,  
That Ignorance must not be Judge of Wit.   

On my want of Money.  
What though I want Pecunia, what of it,  
I never passed such a merry age,  
As when I did employ my little wit,  
To free myself of this sad Pilgrimage,  
But by experience I find Poetry,  
'Tis sad to tell, shakes hands with poverty.   

On a Vintner  
A Vintner on a time did me persuade  
To make an Epigram upon his Trade,  
Only the love of Sack did make me write.  
They're glad to see men drop, but will not fight,  
And yet are always Drawing, which implies,  
When others fall, such Knaves as they do rise.   

On a Lawyer's Wife.  
A Lawyer did complain unto his Wife,  
He ne'er had such a Term in all his life;  
Content yourself (quoth she) but this Vacation,  
And the next Term I'll use my Occupation,  
For with my Little Common Law I've found  
A trick in Plea, to get me many a pound.   

On a Tailor.  
A Tailor that for me had made a Suit,  
'Twas Allamode, and all things fitting to't,  
But when I put it on, I was in wrath,  
Telling the Rascal he had stole my Cloth,  
It is too short said I, thou'st made it ill,  
Be pleased (quoth he) I'll length'nt with my Bill.   

On a Poetaster.  
A Poetaster of our latter times  
Began to versesy upon the Vine  
He asked me my opinion of his rhimes:  
I told him they were very like our wine  
What do you mean quoth he are they not good:  
Yes Passing good said I, if understood.   

On Frenetta.  
FRenetta is a gamester most men know,  
Yet she will venture all on a good cast:  
And though her fortune be but bad at throw  
She hopes to keep an open point at last,  
Then be as fortunate, as e`re you can,  
Frenetta`s sure to carry the first Man.   

On a Deboist Scholar.  
SCollasticus with much Phillosophy,  
Began to praise the University?  
And after three years' study now he see's  
That he is able for to take degrees  
All men that know him, see that he is able  
At Tavern, Tenness, Dice, and Biliard-table  
For by degrees, he'ath learned a way of late,  
To spend a very fair, and large estate.   

On a Coukold.  
OLd Curno, and his young new married Wife  
Had ne'er a quiet hour in all their life  
For in their Jarring, this is still his note  
Telling his wife, she was not worth a groat  
Thou liest quoth she, for thou hast more with me  
Then ever I am like to have by thee,  
Why, what, you base confounded Whore quoth he  
●ornes, Coukold, Knave, if I a Whore must be.   

On a Duble Marraige  
SIr Seldom-Sober, and his eldest Son;  
Came to Sir. Idle-Spend thrifts dwelling place  
After the Cerremonies all were done,  
Young Sober asked to see his Daughter Grace.  
Is that your errand Sir (quoth Spendthrift) here  
She hath not been with me I know not when,  
Nor yet with us quoth Sober for I swear,  
I've seen her not this twenty years and ten:  
Pardon me then quoth Spendthrif, you must tarry  
For Cousin jerman's are forbid to Marry.   

On a Zealous Brother.  
ROtundus prayeth much and singeth Psalms  
Gives to the poor, but will not have it known  
And when that he dist●ibuteth his Alms:  
No Trumpet shall within his gate be blown  
By this the world may plainly Judge and see  
Rotundus is not what he seems to be.   

On a Lawyer.  
A Lawyer is a man, I know not how  
For to describe him right as I should do,  
For if a man another chance to sue,  
He`s for the plaintiff and Defendant too?  
And though I'm cheated yet unto his face  
God bless your worship, how goes on my cause  
Why well quoth he, povided that this Bill  
Be sattisfyed, or else it may go ill;  
They are the painful`st men in all the nation  
And why, they ca`nt abide a long Vacation:  
Yet if my cause be spoilt, he must be prais`d  
Give them good Terms and then the Knaves are pleas`d   

On a Shoemaker.  
CRispianus with another would contend  
His trade, and Calling ne`re should ●ave an End  
` 'tis strange that Crispianus So will strive,  
For why without his Ends he cannot live,  
Yet though he Waxeth poor it is confessed  
His trade will hold unto the very Last,   

On Mistress Florella.  
MIstress Florella had a Plate of Land  
Entailed to her so long as she did live,  
An honest fellow that did understand  
She would dispose it, asked what he should give,  
Florella understood the Fellow had,  
A Pole of Ground would fit her to a hair,  
Why Sir quoth she, I shall be very glad  
T'exchange, if that your evidence be fair,  
The woman showed a trial on record,  
And would join Issue with him i● he please,  
The Fellow could not stand unto his word,  
And yet he found it was an o en Case,  
Your title's lame said she, you cannot seal,  
For you yourself are Tenant but in Tail.   

On a Holy Sister.  
A Holy Sister that did seldom err,  
Walking abroad upon a Lecture-day,  
Did meet a very zealous Presbyter,  
Who swore to try her, ere he went away;  
Nay, fie, ah sad, ver'ly indeed forsooth,  
I would not do it, but to save your oath.   

On a Puny Scholar.  
A Puny Scholar that had got degree,  
Would take a journey for his recreations,  
Into the Country, took the liberty  
To preach, his Text was in the Lamentations;  
The Fellow never from his Text did fall,  
For the whole work was Lamentable all.   

On Hunters.  
Hunter's are men of a strange constitution,  
For most lo●e peace, they bawling and confusion:  
It is not possible Hunters can thrive,  
That make themselves such prisoners while they live,  
For why, the Hunters doth himself confine  
Unto a cursed Kennel all his time,  
And in the end perchance Acteon's fate  
Falls on his head, and eats up his Estate.   

On Falconers.  
FAl'kners for whooping, hollowing, whistling, I  
Do think they're born mad, and so will die.  
Yet I confess it is a Noble fight;  
To see a Hawk to make a gallant flight,  
Were't not that in the end unhappily,  
The Hawk, and fortunes both away do fly.   

On a Poet.  
SHould I forbear to write an Epigram  
Upon a Poet, this, or th'other man  
Might pick a quarrel, ask what are you  
That write these Epigrams, a Poet too,  
Peace Buzzard, peace for fear I do pronounce  
Another Epigram upon a Dunce,  
The worst that Blockheads dare to speak of it,  
Poets are (poor in person) rich in wit.   

The Unfortunate Lover.  

I.  
I That Amorea loved,  
I who in her love delighted,  
I, poor I, am disapproved,  
I, and only I, am slighted.   

2.  
I which in her love did glory,  
I am he that once was blessed,  
I can speak the saddest story  
I in Love have found expressed.   

3.  
I that thought the time was wasted,  
I mispended from her presence,  
I a sad farewell have tasted,  
I alas have lost my Essence.   

4.  
I the Wretch whom Love hath smitten,  
I by love was ne'er befriended,  
I that sometime Love have written,  
I have done for Love is ended.    

The Conclusion.  
LIke to a Ship that now involved must be  
In th'abyss of all profundity,  
When a Charibdiss sends a cruel Billow  
To intimate his thundering neighbur Scylla,  
To entertain the Wrack, or like a man  
That just before his death, sings with the Swan:  
So it is now with me; I Versefy,  
And Carol out my dying Tragedy.  
'Twas Amorea, it was only she,  
The sole effect of my loved destiny:  
'Twas she alone that could the sentence give,  
And after judgement grant a sweet reprieve;  
'Twas she at first, that stole my liberty,  
Making it captive, which was born free,  
'Twas she that did command me for to prove,  
And write the best of passions, which is Love:  
'Twas she that set my senses all at strife,  
'Tis she that can, but will not save a life,  
'Tis she my thoughts have put in a confusion,  
'Tis she presented me with this conclusion,  
'Twas she that scorned such a love as mine is,  
'Tis she hath gi`n my Love and Book a   
FINIS.   

To his little Book.  
Go little Book, let Amorea know  
What she doth owe  
Unto thy Author, and her dying Swain  
Show her disdain;  
No, stay and take thy errand, let her see  
'Tis cruel she  
Hath brought her servant to a deep despair,  
By being fair.  
But go and do not fear to tell her, go and show  
That lovely foe,  
By disoblieging him, and slighting thee,  
Both are set free;  
And if in reading thee, that killing Saine  
Doth once relent;  
Tell her it was her scornful Tyranny,  
Hath set an end unto my love and thee.   

On the Contents of his Book, to the Readers.  
I Need no Index to my Book, for 'tis  
So little, that I'm sure you cannot miss;  
Yet 'cause 'tis usual, I will imitate  
The Major Poets: do not be angry at  
My bold presumption, if thou're such a one,  
My Book shall have Contents, tho' thou hast none.   

THE CONTENTS.  
TO the Muses. 
Page 1  Liberty Lost. 
2  A Poem Lyric. 
4  Peace prattling Muse. A Song. 
5  Love at a stand. 
6  To Amorea on his going to Sea. 
7  His Inducement to Love. 
8  To Amorea from prison. 
9  The Author's danger and deliverance. 
10  Hopeless Affection. A Song. 
14  Under his Mistress' Picture. 
15  On his Departing. 
16  A Fancy on Courting. 
17  On the Curtain of his Mistress' Picture. 
18  Writ on her Lute. 
19  To his Dream. 
20  Commanded to conceal his Love. 
21  The Phoenix. 
22  Love's Elegy. 
23  On his Quondum Mistress. 
24  Hespelon, and Amorea. A Dialogue. 
25  On the Five Senses. 
27  Love's Liberty. 
29  A Dream. 
30  His complaint to the Groves. 
31  To his ingenious friend I.P. Esq on Limbning. 
32  A Fancy. 
33  A Contention between a Poet and a Limbner. 
34  A Pastoral Poem. 
36  To Amorea, on his going to Travel. 
40  To Cloris, imploring a revenge. 
42  In praise of Sack. 
43  Writ at Sea. 
43  A Song. 
44  On Loving of two 
45  The Shadow. 
47  To Amorea walking in her Garden. 
48  To Mr. James Shirley, on his Plays. 
50  On the perfection of Beauty. 
51  To his unconstant Mistress. 
52  An Elegy on the Death of the Princess Royal. 
53  To Phyla. 
54  The difference between a Lute and a Vial. 
55  The Change. 
56  To Amorea. A Song. 
58  On the inequality of Marriage. 
59  Clariana's Dream. 
61  Love and Respect. 
62  The Author's Dream. 
63  To the Sun. 
70  On the Death of his Mistress. 
71  On His Sacred Majesty's happy Restauration. 
72  To the most Honoured Sir James Smith Knight, on his many favours received. 
74  To Celinda. 
75  On a Simple Gentleman which spoke in dispraises of Poetry. 
76  On my want of money. 
ibid.  On a Vintner. 
77  On a Lawyer's Wife. 
ibid.  On a Tailor. 
ibid.  On a Poetaster. 
78  On Frenetta. 
ibid.  On a deboist Scholar. 
79  On a Coukold. 
ibid.  On a Double Marriage. 
80  On a Zealous Brother. 
ibid.  On a Lawyer. 
81  On a Shoemaker. 
ibid.  On Mistress Florella. 
82  On a Holy Sister. 
ibid.  On a puny Scholar. 
83  On Hunters. 
ibid.  On Falconers. 
84  On a Poet. 
ibid.  The Unfortunate Lover. 
85  The Conclusion. 
86  To his little Book. 
87    

ERATA.  
BEsides the errors in each leaf, and line  
In every word, and every Character,  
The greatest error I confess is mine  
In writing, for in silence none can err,  
Who er`e the Reader be I him Implore  
That shall vouchsafe to Read this little book  
Pardon the errors I will ask no more,  
Or pass them over with a candid look:  
And if thou hast not so much Charity  
I care not for the Errors nor for thee.