Love and Honour: Or, The Lovers Farewell to Calista.  
Being sent from Sea in the late Enngagemet against the Dutch, to his Mistress, under the Name of Calista. With the Lady's deploring and ingenious Answer.  
To a New sad Air much in request; Or, Tune of, Now the Tyraut hath stolen.  
 


Farewel my Calista my joy and my grief,  
In vain have I loved thee, and found no relief;  
Undone by your Virtues so strict and severe,  
Your eyes gave me love, but you gave me despair.  
Now ca●d by my honour, I seek with content,  
That fate which in pity you would not prevent,   

To languish in love were to find by delay,  
A death that's more welcome the speediest way.   

In Seas, and in Battles, mongst bullets and fire  
The danger is les● then in hopeless desire.  
The death's wound you gave me, though far off, bear  
My fa●l from your sight's not to cost you a tear.  
But if ●he kind flood on a wave should convey,  
And under your window my body should lay,   

The wound on my breast, when you happen to see  
you would say with a sigh, It was given by me,   

When Suitors are wounded with stabs of disdain  
'tis happiness to be put out of their pain:  
The grave is a place to bid torment farewel,  
But Lovers are tortured 'twixt Heaven and Hell  
When frowns of a Mistress do turn a man o'er,  
'Tis safer on Ship, board then 'tis on the shore:   

I find by experience, though with loss of breath  
'Tis worse to encounter with Cupid then Death   

What strength hath a Lady with cast of her eye,  
To make a man live, or compel him to die:  
I Such power had Calista with smils and with frown  
She'd raise me to heaven, then tumble me down,  
Put dearest take care how you put faith in men,  
For I fear you will never be loved so ●●●…n.   

You needs must acknowledge, whilst I could draw  
I was your unchangeable servant till death, breathe   

ONce more my last farewell I breath in a blast  
The cloud on my vitals is much overcast:  
I faint, fail, I perish, and suddenly die,  
Yet sure should recover if thou wert but by:  
That I ne'er enjoyed thee I do not repine,  
Thou liv●st with thy honour, and I die with mine:   

For to after ages this story will prove,  
I died in the war for my King and my Love.    

The Lady's Answer.  

BLame not your Calista, nor call her your grief  
‛ I was Honour, not she, that denied you relief:  
Abuse not her virtues, nor term them severe,  
Who loves without honour, must look for despair.  
Fow prompted by pity I truly lament,  
The force of your fate, which I could not prevent:   

And languish to think that your blood should defray  
The expense of your love, though so noble a way.   

On Seas and in Battles that you did expire,  
Was caused by your Valour, not hopeless desire;  
Of your Fame, there acquired, I greedily hear,  
And grieve when I think that it cost you so dear:  
But when your sad friends shall your body convey  
By my window your funeral duties to pay,   

I'll sigh that your fate than I could not revers●  
And all my kind wishes I'll show on your Hearse   

When Suitors petition and run upon shelves,  
Or shot, if denied, they do murder themselves:  
The grave is a couch where the virtuous remain,  
Without expectation of sorrow or pain.  
If the frown● of a Mistrist can rule a man's fate,  
He values his life at a pitiful rate:   

Though now she look cloudy, when she draws the scene  
Who knows but the daylight may clear up again   

The looks of a Lady you falsely do scan,  
'Tis not strength in the woman, but weakness in Man  
When men set up Idols of flesh, blood, and bon●  
And bow down to worship, the fault is their own.  
I hope I shall ne'er be deceived by Men:  
For your sake I never shall trust them again:   

'Tis fatal when Lovers do suffer such strife,  
That one must lose honour, or th'other lose life   

My mind never can your last farewell forget,  
My tears shall confess I'll not die in your debt:  
I heartily wish I had been by your side,  
That you might recover, or I might have died  
Then both to Elezium we had been conveyed,  
Where Ladies by Lovers are never betrayed   

But in future ages in sonnets they'll sing,  
Twar long of your love that you died for your King     

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Goldenball, in West-smithfield, near the Hospital-gate.