POEMS, AND FANCIES:  
WRITTEN By the Right HONOURABLE, the Lady MARGARET Countess of NEWCASTLE.  
LONDON, Printed by T. R. for J. Martin, and J. Allestrye at the Bell in Saint Paul's Church Yard, 1653.   

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY: TO SIR CHARLES CAVENDISH, MY Noble Brother-in-Law.  
SIR,  
I Do here dedicate this my Work unto you, not that I think my Book is worthy such a Patron, but that such a Patron may gain my Book a Respect, and Esteem in the World, by the favour of your Protection. True it is, Spinning with the Fingers is more proper to our Sex, then studying or writing Poetry, which is the Spinning with the brain: but I having no skill in the Art of the first (and if I had, I had no hopes of gaining so much as to make me a Garment to keep me from the cold) made me delight in the latter; since all brains work naturally, and incessantly, in some kind or other; which made me endeavour to Spin a Garment of Memory, to lap up my Name, that it might grow to after Ages: I cannot say the Web is strong, fine, or evenly Spun, for it is a Course piece; yet I had rather my Name should go meanly clad, then die with cold; but if the Suit be trimmed with your Favour, she may make such a show, and appear so lovely, as to wed to a Vulgar Fame. But certainly your Bounty hath been the Distaff, from whence Fate hath Spun the thread of this part of my Life, which Life I wish may be drawn forth in your Service. For your Noble mind is above petty Interest, and such a Courage, as you dare not only look Misfortunes in the 〈◊〉, but grapple with them in the defence of your Friend; and your kindness hath been such, as you have neglected yourself, even in ordinary Accoutrements, to maintain the distressed; which shows you to have such an Affection, as St. Paul expresses for his Brethren in Christ, who could be accursed for the sakes. And since your Charity is of that Length, and Generosity of that Height, that no Times, nor Fortunes can cut shorter, or pull down lower; I am very confident, the sweetness of your 〈◊〉, which I have always found in the delightful conversation of your Company, will never change, but be so humble, as to accept of this Book, which is the Work of,  
Your most Faithful Servant, M. N.   

TO ALL NOBLE, AND WORTHY LADIES.  
Noble, Worthy Ladies,  
Condemn not as a dishonour of your Sex, for setting forth this Work; for it is harmless and free from all dishonesty; I will not say from Vanity: for that is so natural to our Sex, as it were unnatural, not to be so. Besides, Poetry, which is built upon Fancy, Women may claim, as a work belonging most properly to themselves: for I have observed, that their Brains work usually in a Fantastical motion: 〈◊〉 in their several, and various 〈◊〉 in their many and singular choices of clothes, and Ribbons, and the like; in their curious shadowing, and mixing of Colours, in their Wrought works, and divers sorts of 〈◊〉 they employ their Needle, and many Curious things they make, as Flowers, Boxes, Baskets with Beads, Shells, Silk, 〈◊〉, or any thing else; besides all manner of Meats to 〈◊〉: and thus their Thoughts are employed perpetually with Fancies. For Fancy goeth not so much by Rule, & Method, as by Choice: and if I have chosen my 〈◊〉 with fresh colours, and 〈◊〉 them in good shadows, although the 〈◊〉 be not very true, yet it will please the Eye; so if my Writing please the Readers, though not the Learned, it will satisfy me; for I had rather be praised in this, by the most, although not the best. For all I desire, is Fame, and Fame is nothing but a great noise, and noise lives most in a 〈◊〉; wherefore I wish my Book may set a work every Tongue. But I imagine I shall be censured by my own Sex; and Men will cast a smile of scorn upon my Book, because they think thereby, Women encroach too much upon their Prerogatives; for they hold Books as their Crown, and the Sword as their Sceptre, by which they rule, and govern. And very like they will say to me, as to the Lady that wrote the Romancy,  

Work Lady, work, let writing Books alone,  
For surely wiser Women ne'er wrote one.   
But those that say so, shall give me leave to wish, that those of nearest Relation, as Wives, Sisters, & Daughters, may employ their time no worse then in honest, Innocent, and harmless Fancies; which if they do, Men shall have no cause to fear, that when they go abroad in their absence, they shall receive an 〈◊〉 by their loose Carriages. Neither will Women be desirous to Gossip abroad, when their Thoughts are well employed at home. But if they do throw scorn, I shall entreat you, (as the Woman did in the Play of the Wife, for a Month, which caused many of the Effeminate Sex) to help her, to keep their Right, and Privileges, making it their own Case. Therefore pray strengthen my Side, in defending my Book; for I know women's Tougns are as sharp, as two-edged Swords, and wound as much, when they are angered. And in this Battle may your Wit be quick, and your Speech ready, and your Arguments so strong, as to beat them out of the Field of Dispute. So shall I get Honour, and Reputation by your Favours; otherwise I may chance to be cast into the Fire. But if I burn, I desire to die your Martyr; if I live, to be  
Your humble Servant, M. N.   

AN EPISTLE TO MISTRESS TOP.  
SOME may think an Imperfection of wit may be a blemish to the Family from whence I sprung: But Solomon says, A wise man may get a Fool. Yet there are as few mere Fools, as wise men: for Understanding runs in a level course, that is, to know in general, as of the Effects but to know the Cause of any one thing of Nature's works, Nature never gave us a Capacity thereto. She hath given us Thoughts which run wildly about, and if by chance they light on Truth, they do not know it for a Truth. But among it many Errors, there are huge Mountains of Follies; and though I add to the Bulk of one of them yet I make not a Mountain alone, and am the more excusable, because I have an Opinion, which troubles me like a conscience, that 〈◊〉 a part of Honour to aspire towards a Fame. For it cannot be an Effeminacy to seek, or run after Glory, to love Perfection, to desire Praise; and though I want Merit to make me worthy of it, yet I make some satisfaction in desiring it. But had I broken the Chains of Modesty, or behaved myself in dishonourable and loose carriage, or had run the ways of Vice, as to Perjure myself, or 〈◊〉 my Friends, or denied a Truth, or had loved deceit: Then I might have proved a Grief to the Family I came from, and a dishonour to the Family I am linked to, raised Blushes in their cheeks being mentioned, or to turn Pale when I were published. But I hope, I shall neither grieve, nor shame them, or give them cause to wish I were not a Branch thereof. For though my Ambition's great, my designs are harmless, and my ways are plain Honesty: and if I stumble at Folly, yet will I never fall on Vice. 'tis true, the World may wonder at my Confidence, how I dare put out a Book, especially in these censorious times; but why should I be ashamed, or afraid, where no 〈◊〉 is, and not please myself in the satisfaction of innocent desires? For a smile of neglect cannot dishearten me, no more can a Frown of dislike affright me; not but I should be well pleased, and delight to have my Book commended. But the World's dispraises cannot make me a mourning garment: my mind's too big, and I had rather venture an indiscretion, then loose the hopes of a Fame. Neither am I ashamed of my 〈◊〉, for Nature tempers not every Brain alike; but 'tis a shame to deny the Principles of their Religion, to break the 〈◊〉 of a well-governed Kingdom, to disturb Peace, to be unnatural, to break the Union and Amity of honest Friends, for a Man to be a Coward, for a Woman to be a Whore, and by these Actions, they are not only to be cast out of all Civil society, but to be blotted out of the Roll of Mankind. And the reason why I summon up these Vices, is, to let my Friends know, or rather to remember them, that my Book is none of them: yet in this Action of setting out of a Book, I am not clear without 〈◊〉, because I have not asked leave of any Friend thereto; for the fear of being denied, made me silent: and there is an Old saying; That it is casier to ask Pardon, then Leave: for a fault will sooner be forgiven, than a suit granted: and as I have taken the One, so I am very confident they will give me the Other. For their Affection is such, as it doth as easily obscure all infirmity and blemishes, as it is fearful and quicksighted in spying the Vices of those they love; and they do with as much kindness pardon the One, as with grief reprove the Other. But I thought it an Honour to aim at Excellencies, and though I cannot attain thereto, yet an Endeavour shows a good will, and a good will ought not to be turned out of Noble minds, nor be whipped with dispraises, but to be cherished with Commendations. Besides, I Print this Book, to give an Account to my Friends, how I spend the idle Time of my life, and how I busy my Thoughts, when I think upon the Objects of the World. For the truth is, our Sex hath so much waste Time, having but little employments, which makes our Thoughts run wildly about, having nothing to fix them upon, which wild thoughts do not only produce unprofitable, but indiscreet Actions; winding up the Thread of our lives in snarls on unsound bottoms. And since all times must be spent either ill, or well, or indifferent; I thought this was the harmelessest Pastime: for lure this Work is better than to sit still, and censure my Neighbours actions, which nothing concerns 〈◊〉; or to condemn their Humours, because they do 〈◊〉 sympathise with mine, or their lawful Recreations, because they are not agreeable to my delight; or ridiculously to laugh at my Neighbour's clothes, if they are not of the Mode, Colour, or Cut, or the Ribbon tied with a Mode Knot, or to busy myself out 〈◊〉 the Sphere of our Sex, as in Politics of State, or to Preach false Doctrine in a Tub, or to entertain myself in 〈◊〉 to vain Flatteries, or to the incitements of evil persuasions; where all these Follies, and many more may be cut off by such innocent work as this. I write not this only to satisfy you, which my Love makes me desire so to do; but to defend my Book from spiteful Invaders, knowing Truth and Innocence are two good Champions against Malice and 〈◊〉: and which is my defence, I am very confident is a great satisfaction to you. For being bred with me, your Love is twisted to my Good, which shall never be undone by any unkind Action of Mine, but will always remain  
Your loving Friend, M. N.   

Madam,  
YOu are not only the first English 〈◊〉 of your Sex, but the first that ever wrote this way: therefore whosoever that writes afterwards, must own you for their Pattern, from whence they take their Sample; and a Line by which they measure their Conceits and Fancies. For whatsoever is written asterwards, it will be burr a Copy of your Original, which can be no more Honour to them, then to Labouring Men, that draw Water from another man's Spring, for their own use: neither can there be anything writ, that your Honour have not employed your Pen in: As there is Poetical Fictions, Moral instructions, Philosophical Opinions, Dialogues, Discourses, Poetical Romances. But truly, Madam, this Book is not the only occasion to Admire you; for having been brought up from my Childhood in your Honourable Family, and always in your Ladyship's company; seeing the course of your life, and honouring your Ladyship's disposition, I have admired Nature more, in your Ladyship, then in any other Works besides. First, in the course of your Life, you were always Circumspect, by Nature, not by Art; for naturally your Honour did hate to do any thing that was mean and unworthy, or anything that your Honour might not own to all the World with confidence; & yet your Ladyship is naturally bashful, & apt to be out of Countenance, that your Ladyship could not oblige all the World But truly, Madam, Fortune 〈◊〉 not so much in her power to give, as your Honour 〈◊〉 to bestow; which apparently shineth in all Places, especially where your Ladyship 〈◊〉 been, as France, Flanders, Holland, etc. to your everlasting Honour and Fame; which will manifest this Relation to be the Truth, as well as I, who am,  
Madam, Your Honour's most humble and obedient Servant, E. Top.   

To Natural Philosophers.  
IF any Philosophers have written of these Subjects ', as I make no question, or doubt, but they have, of all that Nature hath discovered, either in mere Thought, and Speculation, or other ways in Observation; yet it is more than I know of: for I never read, nor heard of any English Book to Instruct me: and truly I understand no other Language; not French, although I was in France five years: Neither do I understand my own Native Language very well; for there are many words, I know not what they signify; so as I have only the Vulgar part, I mean, that which is most usually spoke. I do not mean that which is used to be spoke by Clowns in every Shire, where in some Parts their Language is known to none, but those that are bred there. And not only every Shire hath a several Language, but every Family, giving Marks for things according to their Fancy. But my Ignorance of the Mother Tongues makes me ignorant of the Opinions, and Discourses in former times; wherefore I may be absurd, and crre grossly. I cannot say, I have not heard of Atoms, and Figures, and Motion, and Matter; but not throughly reasoned on: but if I do err, it is no great matter; for my Discourse of them is not to be accounted Authentic: so if there be any thing worthy of noting, it is a good Chance; if not, there is no harm done, nor time lost. For I had nothing to do when I wrote it, and I suppose those have nothing, or little else to do, that read it. And the Reason why I write it in Verse, is, because I thought Errors might better pass there, then in Prose; since Poets write most Fiction, and Fiction is not given for Truth, but Pastime; and I fear my Atoms will be as small Pastime, as themselves: for nothing can be less than an Atom. But my desire that they should please the Readers, is as big as the World they make; and my Fears are of the same bulk; yet my Hopes fall to a single Atom again: and so shall I remain an unsettled Atom, or a confused heap, till I hear my Censure. If I be praised, it fixes them; but if I am condemned, I shall be Annihilated to nothing: but my Ambition is such, as I would either be a World, or nothing.  
I desire all that are not quick in apprehending, or will not trouble themselves with such small things as Atoms, to skip this part of my Book, and view the other, for fear these may seem tedious: yet the Subject is light, and the Chapters short. Perchance the other may please better; if not the second, the third; if not the third, the fourth; if not the fourth, the sifth: and if they cannot please, for lack of Wit, they may please in Variety, for most Palates are greedy after Change. And though they are not of the choicest Meats, yet there is none dangerous; neither is there so much of particular Meat, as any can fear a Surfeit; but the better pleased you are, the better Welcome. I wish heartily my Brain had been Richer, to make you a fine Entertainment: truly I should have spared no Cost, neither have I spared any Pains: for my Thoughts have been very busily employed, these eight, or nine Months, when they have not been taken away by Worldly Cares, and Trouble, which I confess hath been a great hindrance to this Work. Yet have they at up late, and risen early, running about until they have been in a fiery heat, so as their Service hath not been wanton, nor their Industry slack. What is amiss, excuse it as a Fault of too much Care; for there may be 〈◊〉 committed with being overbusy, as soon as for want of Diligence. But those that are poor, have nothing but their labour to bestow; and though I cannot serve you on Agget Tables, and Persian Carpets, with Golden Dishes, and Crystal Glasses, nor feast you with Ambrosia, and Nectar, yet perchance my Rye Loaf, and new Butter may taste more savoury, than those that are sweet, and delicious.  

If you dislike, and rise to go away,  
Pray do not Scoff, and tell what I did say.  
But if you do, the matter is not great,  
For 'tis but foolish words you can repeat.   

Pray do not censure all you do not know,  
But let my Atoms to the Learned go.  
If you judge, and understand not, you may take  
For Nonsense that which learning Sense will make.  
But I may say, as Some have said before,  
I'm not bound to fetch you Wit from Nature's Store.    

TO THE READER.  
READER,  
IF any do read this Book of mine, pray be not too severe in your Censures. For first, I have no Children to employ my Care, and Attendance on; And my Lords Estate being taken away, had nothing for Housewifery, or thirsty Industry to employ myself in; having no Stock to work on. For Housewifery is a discreet Management, and ordering all in Private, and Household Affairs, seeing nothing spoiled, or Prosusely spent, that every thing has its proper Place, and every Servant his proper Work, and every Work to be done in its proper Time; to be Neat, and Cleanly, to have their House quiet from all disturbing Noise. But Thriftiness is something stricter; for good Housewifery may be used in great Expenses; but Thriftiness signifies a Saving, or a getting; as to increase their Stock, or Estate. For Thrift weighs, and measures out all Expense. It is just as in Poetry: for good Husbandry in Poetry, is, when there is great store of Fancy well ordered, not only in fine Language, but proper Phrases, and significant Words. And Thrift in Poetry, is, when there is but little Fancy, which is not only spun to the last Thread, but the Thread is drawn so 〈◊〉, as it is scarce perceived. But I have nothing to spin, or order, so as I become Idle; I cannot say, in mine own House, because I have none, but what my Mind is lodged in. Thirdly, you are to spare your severe Censures, I having not so many years of Experience, as will make me a Garland to Crown my Head; only I have had so much time, as to gather a little Posy to stick upon my Breast. Lastly, the time I have been writing them, hathnot been very long, but since I came into England, being eight Years out, and nine Months in; and of these nine Months, only some Hours in the Day, or rather in the Night. For my Rest being broke with discontented Thoughts, because I was from my Lord, and Husband, knowing him to be in great Wants, and myself in the same Condition; to divert them, I strove to turn the Stream, yet shunning the muddy, and foul ways of Vice, I went to the Well of Helicon, and by the Wells side, I have sat, and wrote this Worke. It is not Excellent, nor Rare, but plain; yet it is harmless, modest, and honest. True, it may tax my 〈◊〉, being so fond of my Book, as to make it as if it were my Child, and striving to show her to the World, in hopes Some may like her, although no Beauty to Admire, yet may praise her Behaviour, as not being wanton, nor rude. Wherefore I hope you will not put her out of Countenance, which she is very apt to, being of bashful Nature, and as ready to shed Repentant Tears, if she think she hath committed a Fault: wherefore pity her Youth, and tender Growth, and rather tax the Parent's Indiscretion, than the Child's Innocency. But my Book coming out in this Iron age, I fear I shall sinned hard Hearts; yet I had rather she should find Cruelty, then Scorn, and that my book should be torn, rather than laughed at; for there is no such regret in Nature as Contempt: but I am resolved to set it at all Hazards. If Fortune plays Aums Ace, I am gone; if size Cinque, I shall win a Reputation of Fancy, and if I lose, I lose but the Opinion of Wit: and where the Gain will be more than the Loss, who would not 〈◊〉: when there are many in the World, (which are accounted Wise) that will venture Life, and Honour, for a petty Interest, or out of Envy, or for Revenge sake. And why should not I venture, when nothing lies at Stake, but Wit? let it go; I shall nor cannot be much Poorer. If Fortune be my Friend, than Fame will be my Gain, which may build me a Pyramid, a Praise to my Memory. I shall have no cause to sear it will be so high as Babel's Tower, to fall in the midway; yet I am sorry it doth not touch at Heaven: but my Incapacity, Fear, Awe, and Reverence kept me from that Work. For it were too great a Presumption to venture to Discourse that in my Fancy, which is not describeable. For God, and his Heavenly Mansions, are to be admired, wondered, and astonished at, and not disputed on.  

But at all other things let Fancy fie,  
And, like a Towering Eagle, mount the Sky.  
Or like the Sun swiftly the World to round,  
Or like pure Gold, which in the Earth is found.  
But if a drossy Wit, let't buried be,  
Under the Ruins of all Memory.    

The Poetresses hasty Resolution.  

REading my Verses, I likeed them so well,  
Self-love did make my judgement to rebel.  
Thinking them so good, I thought more to write;  
Considering not how others would them like.  
I writ so fast, I thought, if I lived long,  
A Pyramid of Fame to build thereon.  
Reason observing which way I was bend,  
Did stay my hand, and asked me what I meant;  
Will you, said she, thus waste your time in vain,  
On that which in the World small praise shall gain?  
For shame leave off, said she, the Printer spare,  
he'll lose by your ill Poetry, I fear  
Besides the Worldhath already such a weight  
Of useless Books, as it is over fraught.  
Then pity take, do the World a good turn,  
And all you write cast in the fire, and burn.  
Angry I was, and Reason struck away,  
When I did he are, what she to me did say.  
Then all in haste I to the Presle it sent,  
Fearing Persuasion might my Book prevent:  
But now 'tis done, with grief repent do I,  
Hang down my head 〈◊〉 shame, blush sigh, and cry.  
Take pity, and my drooping Spirits raise,  
Wipe off my tears with Handkerchiefs of Praise.    

The Poetresses' Petition.  

LIke to a Fever's pulse my heart doth beat,  
For fear my Book some great repulse should meet.  
If it be naught, let her in silence lie,  
Disturb her not, let her in quiet dye;  
Let not the Bells of your dispraise ring loud,  
But wrap her up in silence as a shroud;  
Cause black oblivion on her Hearse to hang,  
Instead of Tapers, let dark night there stand;  
In stead of Flowers to the grave her strew  
Before her Hearse, sleepy, dull Poppy throw;  
In stead of Scutcheons, let my Tears be 〈◊〉,  
Which grief and sorrow from my eyes out wrung:  
Let those that bear her Corpse, no lesters be,  
But sad, and sober, grave Mortality:  
No satire Poets to her Funeral come;  
No Altars raised to write Inscriptions on:  
Let dust of all forgetfulness be cast  
Upon her Corpse, there let them lie and waste:  
Nor let her rise again; unless some know,  
At judgements, some good Merits she can show;  
Then she shall live in Heavens of high praise;  
And for her glory, Garlands of fresh Bays,    

An excuse for so much writ upon my Verses.  

Condemn me not for making such a coil  
About my Book, alas it is my Child.  
Just like a Bird, when her Young are in Nest,  
Goes in, and out, and hops and takes no Rest;  
But when their Young are fledged, their heads out peep,  
Lord what a chirping does the Old one keep.  
So I, for fear my Strengthless Child should fall  
Against a door, or stool, aloud I call,  
Bid have a care of such a dangerous place:  
Thus write I much, to hinder all disgrace.    

POEMS.  

Nature calls a Council, which was Motion, Figure, matter, and Life, to advise about making the World.  

WHen Nature first this World she did create,  
She called a Counsel how the same might make;  
Motion was first, who had a subtle wit,  
And then came Life, and Form, and Matter fit.  
First Nature spoke, my Friends if we agree,  
We can, and may do a sine work, said she,  
Make some things to adore us, worship give,  
Which now we only to ourselves do live.  
Besides it is my nature things to make,  
To give out work, and you directions take.  
And by this work, a pleasure take therein,  
And breed the Fates in housewifery to spin,  
And make strong Destiny to take some pains,  
Lest she grow idle, let her Link some Chains:  
Inconstancy, and Fortune turn a Wheel,  
Both ' are so wanton, cannot stand, but reel.  
And Moisture let her pour out Water forth,  
And Heat let her suck out, and raise up growth,  
And let sharp Cold stay things that run about,  
And Drought stop holes, to keep the water out.  
〈◊〉, and Darkness they will domineer,  
If Motions power make not Light appear;  
Produce a Light, that all the World may see,  
My only Child from all Eternity:  
Beauty my Love, my Joy, and dear delight,  
Else Darkness rude will cover her with spite.   

Alas, said Motion, all pains I can take,  
Will do no good, Matter a Brain must make;  
Figure must draw a Circle, round, and small,  
Where in the midst must stand a Glassy Ball, 
AN Eye.   
Without Convexe, the inside a Concave,  
And in the midst a round small hole must have,  
That Species may pass, and repass through,  
Life the Prospective every thing to view.   

Alas, said Life, what ever we do make,  
Death, my great Enemy, will from us take:  
And who can hinder his strong, mighty power?  
He with his cruelty doth all devour:  
And Time, his Agent, brings all to decay:  
Thus neither Death, nor Time will you obey:  
He cares for none of your commands, nor will  
Obey your Laws, but doth what likes him still;  
He knows his power far exceedeth ours;  
For whatsoever we make, he soon devours.  
Let me advise you never take such pains  
A World to make, since Death hath all the gains.   

Figures opinion did agree with Life,  
For Death, said she, will fill the World with strife;  
What Form soever I do turn into,  
Death finds me out, that Form he doth undo.  
Then Motion spoke, none hath such cause as I,  
For to complain, for Death makes Motion die.  
'Tis best to let alone this work, I think.  
Says Matter, Death corrupts, and makes me stink.  
Says Nature, I am of another mind,  
If we let Death alone, we soon shall find,  
He wars will make, and raise a mighty power,  
If we divert him not, may us devour.  
He is ambitious, will in triumph sit,  
Envies my works, and seeks my State to get.  
And Fates, though they upon great Life attend,  
Yet fear they Death, and dare not him offend.  
Though Two be true, and spin as Life them bids,  
The Third is false, and cuts short the long threads.  
Let us agree, for fear we should do worse,  
And make some work, for to imply his force.  
Then all rose up, we do submit, say, they,  
To Nature's will, in every thing obey.   

First Matter she brought the Materials in,  
And Motion cut, and carved out every thing.  
And Figure she did draw the Forms and Plots,  
And Life divided all out into Lots.  
And Nature she surveyed, directed all,  
With the four Elements built the Worlds Ball.  
The solid Earth, as the Foundation laid,  
The Waters round about as Walls were raised,  
Where every drop lies close, like Stone, or Brick,  
Whose moisture like as Morter made them stick.  
Aire, as the Ceiling, keeps all close within,  
Lest some Materials out of place might spring.  
Aire presses down the Seas, if they should rise,  
Would overflow the Earth, and drown the Skies.  
For as a Roof that's laid upon a Wall,  
To keep it steady, that no side might fall,  
So Nature Aire makes that place to take,  
And Fire highest lays, like Tyle, or Slat,  
To keep out rain, or wet, else it would rot:  
So would the World corrupt, if Fire were not.  
The Planets, like as Weather-fans, turn round,  
The Sun a Dial in the midst is found:  
Where he doth give so just account of time,  
He measures all, though round, by even Line.  
But when the Earth was made, and seed did sow,  
Plants on the Earth, and Minerals down grow,  
Then Creatures made, which Motion gave them sense,  
Yet reason none, to give intelligence.  
But Nature found when she was Man to make,  
More difficult than new Worlds to create:  
For she did strive to make him long to last,  
Into Eternity than he was cast.  
For in no other place could keep him long,  
But in Eternity, that Castle strong.  
There she was sure that Death she could keep out,  
Although he is a Warrior strong, and stout.  
Man she would make not like to other kind,  
Though not in Body, like a God in mind.  
Then she did call her Council once again,  
Told them the greatest work edid yet remain.  
For how, said she, can we ourselves new make?  
Yet Man we must like to ourselves create:  
Or else he can never escape Death's snare,  
To make this work belongs both skill, and care;  
But I a Mind will mix, as I think sit,  
With Knowledge, Understanding, and with Wit,  
And, Motion, you your Sergeants must employ:  
Which Passions are, to wait still in the Eye,  
To dress, and clothe this Mind in fashions new,  
Which none knows better how to do't than you.  
What though this Body die, this Mind shall live,  
And a freewill we must unto it give.  
But, Matter, you from Figure Form must take,  
Different from other Creatures, Man must make.  
For he shall go upright, the rest shall not,  
And, Motion, you in him must tie a knot  
Of several Motions there to meet in one:  
Thus Man like to himself shall be alone.  
You, Life, command the Fates a thread to spin,  
From which small thread the Body shall begin.  
And while the thread doth last, not cut in twain,  
The Body shall in Motion still remain.  
But when the thread is broke, then down shall fall,  
And for a time no Motion have at all.  
But yet the Mind shall live, and never die;  
We'll raise the Body too for company.  
Thus, like ourselves, we can make things to live  
Eternally, but no past times can give.    

Death's endeavour to hinder, and obstruct Nature.  

WHen Death did hear what Nature did intend,  
To hinder her he all his force did bend.  
But finding all his forces were too weak,  
He always strives the Thread of life to break:  
And strives to fill the Mind with black despair,  
Let's it not rest in peace, nor free from care;  
And since he cannot make it die, he will  
Send grief, and sorrow to torment it still.  
With grievous pains the Body he displeases,  
And binds it hard with chains of strong diseases.  
His Servants, Sloth, and Sleep, he doth employ,  
To get half of the time before they die:  
But Sleep, a friend to Life, oft disobeyes  
His Masters will, and softly down her lays  
Upon their weary limbs, like Birds in nest  
And gently locks their senses up in rest.    

A World made by Atoms.  

SMall Atoms of themselves a World may make,  
As being subtle, and of every shape:  
And as they dance about, fit places find,  
Such Forms as best agree, make every kind.  
For when we build a house of Brick, and Stone,  
We lay them even, every one by one:  
And when we find a gap that's big, or small,  
We seek out Stones, to fit that place withal.  
For when not fit, too big, or little be,  
They fall away, and cannot stay we see.  
So Atoms, as they dance, find places fit,  
They there remain, lie close, and fast will stick.  
Those that unfit, the rest that rove about,  
Do never leave, until they thrust them out.  
Thus by their several Motions, and their Forms,  
As several workmen serve each others turns.  
And thus, by chance, may a New World create:  
Or else predestinated to work my Fate.    

The four principal Figured Atoms make the four Elements. as Square, Round, Long, and Sharp.  

THE Square stat Atoms, as dull Earth appear,  
The Atoms Round do make the Water clear.  
The Long straight Atoms like to Arrows fly,  
Mount next the points, and make the Airy Sky;  
The Sharpest Atoms do into Fire turn,  
Which by their piercing quality they burn:  
That Figure makes them active, active, Light;  
Which makes them get above the rest in flight;  
And by this Figure they stick fast, and draw  
Up other Atoms which are Round and Raw:  
As Waters are round drops, though ne'er so small,  
Which show that water is all spherical.  
That Figure makes it spongy, spongy, wet,  
For being hollow, softness doth 〈◊〉.  
And being soft, that makes it run about;  
Moore solid Atoms thrust it in, or out;  
But sharpest Atoms have most power thereon,  
To nip it up with Cold, or Heat to run.  
But Atoms Flat, are heavy, dull, and slow,  
And sinking downward to the bottom go:  
Those Figured Atoms are not active, Light,  
Whereas the Long are like the Sharp in flight.  
For as the Sharp do pierce, and get on high,  
So do the long shoot straight, and evenly.  
The Round are next the Flat, the Long next Round,  
Those which are sharp, are still the highest found:  
The Flat turn all to Earth, which lie most low,  
The Round, to Water clear, which liquid flow.  
The Long to Aire turn, from whence Clouds grow,  
The Sharp to Fire turn, which hot doth glow.  
These Four Figures four Elements do make,  
And as their Figures do incline, they take.  
For those are perfect in themselves alone,  
Not taking any shape, but what's their own.  
What Form is else, must still take from each part,  
Either from Round, or Long, or Square, or Sharp;  
As those that are like to Triangulars cut,  
Part of three Figures in one Form is put.  
And those that bow and bend like to a Bow;  
Like to the Round, and jointed Atoms show.  
Those that are Branched, or those which crooked be,  
You may both the Long, and sharp Figures see.  
Thus several Figures, several tempers make,  
But what is mixed, doth of the Four partake.    

Of Airy Atoms.  

THE Atoms long, which streaming Air makes,  
Are hollow, from which Form Aire softness takes.  
This makes that Air, and water near agree,  
Because in hollowness alike they be.  
For Airy Atoms made are like a Pipe,  
And watery Atoms, Round, and Cymbal like.  
Although the one is Long, the other Round;  
Yet in the midst, a hollowness is found.  
This makes us think, water turns into Air,  
And Air often runs into water fair.  
And like two Twins, mistaken they are oft;  
Because their hollowness makes both them soft.    

Of Air.  

THE reason, why Air doth so equal spread,  
Is Atoms long, at each end balanced.  
For being long, and each end both alike,  
Are like to Weights, which keep it steady, right:  
For howe'er it moves, to what Form join,  
Yet still that Figure lies in every line.  
For Atoms long, their 〈◊〉 are like a Thread,  
Which interweaves like to a Spider's Web:  
And thus being thin, it so subtle grows,  
That into every empty place it goes.    

Of Earth.  

WHY Earth's not apt to move, but slow and dull,  
Is, Atoms flat no Vacuum hath ' butfull.  
That Form admits no empty place to bide,  
All parts are filled, having no hollow side. 
As Round, and Long have.   
And where no Vacuum is, Motion is slow,  
Having no empty places for to go.  
Though Atoms all are small, as small may be, 
As the numbers of Sharp Atoms do pierce and make way through greater numbers, as a Spark of fire will kindle, and burn up a house.   
Yet by their Forms, Motion doth disagree.  
For Atoms sharp do make themselves a Way,  
Cutting through other Atoms as they stray.  
But Atoms flat will dull, and lazy lay,  
Having no Edge, or point to make a Way.    

The weight of Atoms.  

IF Atoms are as small, as small can be,  
They must in quantity of Matter all agree:  
And if consisting Matter of the same (be right,)  
Then every Atom must weigh just alike.  
Thus Quantity, Quality and Weight, all  
Together meets in every Atom small.    

The bigness of Atoms:  

MHEN I say Atoms small, as small can be;  
I mean Quantity, quality, and Weight agree  
Not in the Figure, for some may show  
Much bigger, and some lesser: so  
Take Water fluid, and Ice that's firm,  
Though the Weight be just, the Bulk is not the same.  
So Atoms are some soft, others more knit,  
According as each Atome's Figured;  
Round and Long Atoms hollow are, more slack  
Then Flat, or Sharp, for they are more compact:  
And being hollow they are spread more thin,  
Then other Atoms which are close within:  
And Atoms which are thin more tender far,  
For those that are more close, they harder are.    

The joining of several Figured Atoms make other Figures.  

Several Figured Atoms well agreeing,  
When joined, do give another Figure being.  
For as those Figures joined, several ways,  
The Fabric of each several Creature raise.    

What Atoms make Change.  

'tIS several Figured Atoms that make Change,  
When several Bodies meet as they do range.  
For if they sympathize, and do agree,  
They join 〈◊〉, as one Body be.  
But if they join like to a Rabble-rout,  
Without all order running in and out;  
Then disproportionable things they make,  
Because they did not their right places take.    

All things last, or dissolve, according to the Composure of Atoms.  

THose Atoms loosely joined, do not remain  
So long as those, which Closeness do maintain.  
Those make all things i'th' 〈◊〉 ebb, and flow;  
According as the moving Atoms go.  
Others in Bodies, they do join so close,  
As in long time, they never stir, nor loose:  
And some will join so close, and knit so fast,  
As if unstired, they would for ever last.  
In smallest Vegetables, losest Atoms lie,  
Which is the reason, they so quickly die.  
In Animals, much closer they are laid,  
Which is the cause, Life is the longer stayed.  
Some Vegetables, and Animals do join  
In equal strength, if Atoms so combine.  
But Animals, where Atoms close lay in,  
Are stronger, than some Vegetables thin.  
But in Vegetables, where Atoms do stick fast,  
As in strong Trees, the longer they do last.  
In Minerals, they are so hard wedged in,  
No space they leave for Motion to get in:  
Being Pointed all, the closer they do lie,  
Which make them not like Vegetables die.  
Those Bodies, where loose Atoms most move in,  
Are Soft, and Porous, and many times thin.  
Those 〈◊〉 Bodies never do live long,  
For why, loose Atoms never can be strong.  
There Motion having power, tosses them about,  
Keeps them from their right places, so Life goes out.    

Of Loose Atoms.  

IN every Brain loose Atoms there do lie,  
Those which are Sharp, from them do Fancies fly.  
Those that are long, and Airy, nimble be.  
But Atoms Round, and Square, are dull, and sleepy.    

Change is made by several-figured Atoms, and Motion.  

IF Atoms all are of the self same Matter;  
As Fire, Aire, Earth, and Water:  
Then must their several Figures make all Change  
By Motions help, which orders, as they range.    

Of Sharp Atoms.  

THen Atoms Sharp Motion doth mount up high;  
Like Arrows sharp, Motion doth make them fly.  
And being sharp and swift, they pierce so deep,  
As they pass through all Atoms, as they meet:  
By their swift motion, they to bright Fire turn;  
And being Sharp, they pierce, which we call Burne.    

What Atoms make Flame.  

THose Atoms, which are Long, 
* These Atoms are 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Atoms, and half Fiery.  sharp at each end,  
Stream forth like Air, in Flame, which Light doth seem:  
For Flame doth flow, as if it fluid were,  
Which shows, part of that Figure is like Air.  
Thus Flame is joined, two Figures into one:  
But Fire without Flame, is sharp alone.    

Of Fire and Flame.  

ALthough we at a distance stand; if great  
The Fire be, the Body through will heat.  
Yet those sharp Atoms we do not perceive;  
How they fly out, nor how to us 〈◊〉 cleave.  
Nor do they flame, nor shine they clear and bright,  
When they 〈◊〉 out, and on our Bodies strike.  
The reason is, they lose, and scattered fly;  
And not in Troops, nor do they on 〈◊〉  
Like small dust 〈◊〉, which scattered all about;  
We see it not, nor doth it keep Light out:  
When gathered thick up to a Mountain high,  
We see them then in solid Earth to lie.  
Just so do Atoms sharp look, clear, and bright,  
When in heaps lie, or in a streaming flight.    

Of Fire in the Flint.  

THE reason, Fire lies in Flint unseen;  
Is, other Figured Atoms lie between:  
For being bound, and overpowred by  
A Multitude, they do in Prison lie.  
Unless that Motion doth release them out,  
With as strong power, which make them fly about  
But if that Flint be beat to powder small;  
To separate the grossest, released are all.  
But when they once are out, do not return,  
But seek about to make another Form.    

Of the Sympathy of Atoms.  

BY Sympathy, Atoms are fixed so,  
As past some Principles they do not go.  
For count the Principles of all their works,  
You'll find, there are not many several sorts.  
For when they do dissolve, and new Forms make,  
They still to their first Principles do take.  
As Animals, Vegetables, Minerals;  
So Air, Fire, Earth, Water falls.    

Of the Sympathy of their Figures.  

SUch Sympathy there is in every Figure, 
Long, Round, Sharpe, Flat.   
That every several sort do flock together.  
As Air, Water, Earth and Fine;  
Which make each Element to be entire:  
Not but loose 〈◊〉, like Sheep stray about,  
And in't o several places go in, andout:  
And some as Sheep and Kine do mix together;  
Which when they mix, 'tis several change of weather.  
But Motion, as their 〈◊〉 drives them so,  
As not to let them out of order go.    

What Atoms make Vegetables, Minerals, and Animals.  

THE Eranched Atoms Forms each 〈◊〉 thing,  
The hooked points pull out, and m aches them spring,  
The Atoms Round give Juice, the Sharp give heat;  
And those grow Herbs, and Fruits, and Flowers sweet.  
Those that are Square, and Flat, not rough withal,  
Make those which Stone; and Minerals we call.  
But in all Stones, and Minerals (no doubt,)  
Sharp points do lie, which Fire makes strike out.  
Thus Vegetables, Minerals do grow,  
According as the several Atoms go.  
In Animals, all Figures do agree;  
But in Mankind, the best of Atoms be.  
And thus, in Nature the whole World may be,  
For all we know, unto Eternity.    

What Atoms make Heat and Cold.  

SSuch kind of Atoms, which make Heat, make Cold:  
Like Pincers sharp, which nip, and do take hold.  
But Atoms that are pointed sharp, pierce through:  
And Atoms which are sharp, but Hooked, pull to.  
Yet, all must into pointed Figures turn;  
For Atoms blunt will never freeze, nor burn.  
'Cause 〈◊〉 Figures do to a soft Form bend;  
And Soft do unto 〈◊〉, or Liquid tend.    

What Atoms make Fire to burn, and what Flame.  

WHat makes a Sparks of Fire to burn more quick,  
Then a great Flame? because 'tis small to stick.  
For Fire of itself, it is so dry,  
Falls into parts, as crowds of Atoms lie.  
The Sharpest Atoms keep the Body hot,  
To give out Heat, some Atoms forth are shot.  
Sometimes for anger, the Sparks do fly about;  
Or want of room, the weakest are thrust out.  
They are so sharp, that whatsoe'er they meet,  
If not orepowred, by other Atoms, 
* This is, when some Atoms overpower others by their Numbers, for they cannot change their Forms.  eat:  
As Ants, which small, will eat up a dead Horse:  
So Atoms sharp, on Bodies of less force.  
Thus Atoms sharp, yet sharper by degrees;  
As Stings in Flies, are not so sharp as Bees.  
And when they meet a Body, solid, stat,  
The weakest Fly, the Sharpest work on that.  
Those that are not so sharp, do fly about,  
To seek some lighter matter, to eat out.  
So lighter Atoms do turn Air to Flame,  
Because more Thin, and 〈◊〉 is the same  
Thus Flame is not so hot as Burning Coal;  
The Atoms are too weak, to take fast hold.  
The sharpest into firmest Bodies fly,  
But if their strength be small, they quickly die.  
Or if their Number be not great, but small;  
The 〈◊〉 Atoms beat and quench out all.    

What Atoms make the Sun, and the Sea, go round.  

ALL pointed Atoms, they to Fire turn;  
Which by their dryness, they so light become:  
Above the rest do fly, and make a Sun.  
Which by consent of parts, a Wheel of Fire grows,  
Which being Spherical, in a round motion goes:  
And as it turns round, Atoms turn about;  
Which Atoms round, are Water, without doubt.  
This makes the Sea go round, like Water-Mill;  
For as the Sun turns round, so doth the water still.    

What Atoms make Life.  

ALL pointed Atoms to Life do tend,  
Whether pointed all, or at one end.  
Or whether Round, are set like to a Ring;  
Or whether Long, are roul'd as on a String.  
Those which are pointed, straight, quick Motion give;  
But those that bow and bend, more dull do live.  
For Life lives dull, or merrily,  
According as Sharp Atoms be.  
The Cause why things do live and die,  
Is, as the mixed Atoms lie.    

What Atoms make Death.  

LIfe is a Fire, and burns full hot,  
But when Round watery Atoms power have got:  
Then do they quench Life's Atoms out,  
Blunting their Points, and kill their courage stout.  
Thus they sometimes do quite thrust out each other, 
Over powered.   
When equal mixed, live quietly together.  
The cause why things do live and die,  
Is as the mixed Atoms lie.    


What Atoms cause Sickness.  
WHen sick the Body is, and well by fits,  
Atoms are fight, but none 〈◊〉 better gets.  
If they agree, than Health returns again,  
And so shall live as long as Peace remain    

What Atoms make a Dropsy.  

WHen Atoms round do meet, join in one Ball,  
Then they swell high, and grow Hydropical.  
Thus joining they ' come strong, so powerful grow,  
All other Atoms they do overflow.    

What Atoms make a Consumption.  

THE Atoms sharp, when they together meet,  
They grow so hot, all other Atoms beat.  
And being hot, becomes so very dry,  
They drink Life's moisture up, make motion die.    

What Atoms make the wind Colic.  

LOng airy Atoms, when they are combined,  
Do spread themselves abroad, and so make Wind:  
Making a Length and Breadth extend so far,  
That all the rest can neither go nor stir.  
And being forced, not in right places lie;  
Thus pressed too hard, Man in great pain doth lie.    

What Atoms make a Palsy, or Apoplexy.  

DUll Atoms flat, when they together join,  
And with each other in a heap combine;  
This Body thick doth stop all passage so,  
Keeps Motion out, so numbed the Body grow.  
Atoms that are sharp, in which Heat doth live,  
Being smothered close, no heat can give:  
But if those Atoms flat meet in the Brain,  
They choke the Spirits, can no heate obtain.    

In all other Diseases they are mixed, taking parts, and factions.  

BUT in all other Diseases they are mixed,  
And not in one consisting Body fixed.  
But do in factions part, then up do rise;  
Striving to beat each other out, Man dies.    

All things are governed by Atoms.  

THus Life and Death, and young and old,  
Are, as the several Atoms hold.  
So Wit, and Understanding in the Brain,  
Are as the several Atoms reign:  
And Dispositions good, or ill,  
Are as the several Atoms still.  
And every Passion which doth rise,  
Is as the several Atoms lies.  
Thus Sickness, Health, and Peace, and War;  
Are always as the several Atoms are.    

A war with Atoms:  

SOme factious Atoms will agree, combine,  
They strive some formed Body to unjoyne.  
The Round beat out the Sharp: the Long  
The Flat do fight withal, thus all go wrong.  
Those which make Motion General in their war,  
By his direction they much stronger are.    

Atoms and Motion fall out.  

WHen Motion, and all Atoms disagree,  
Thunder in Skies, and sickness in Men be.  
Earthquakes, and Winds which make disorder great,  
'tis when that Motion all the Atoms beat.  
In this confusion a horrid noise they make,  
For Motion will not let them their right places take.  
Like frighted Flocks of Sheep together run,  
Thus Motion like a Wolf doth worry them.    

The agreement of some kind of Motion, with some kind of Atoms.  

SOme Motion with some Atoms well agree;  
Fits them to places right, as just may be.  
By Motions help, they so strong join each to,  
That hardly Motion shall again undo.  
Motions inconstancy oft gives such power  
To Atoms, as they can Motion devour.    

Motion directs, while Atoms dance.  

Atoms will dance, and measures keep just time;  
And one by one will hold round circle line,  
Run in and out, as we do dance the Hay;  
Crossing about, yet keep just time and way:  
While Motion, as Music directs the Time:  
Thus by consent, they altogether join.  
This Harmony is Health, makes Life live long;  
But when they're out, 'tis death, so dancing's done.    

The difference of Atoms and Motion, in youth and age.  

IN all things which are young, Motion is swift:  
But moving long, is tired, and groweth stiff.  
So Atoms are, in youth, more nimble, strong,  
Then in old Age, but apt more to go wrong.  
Thus Youth by false Notes and wrong Steps doth die,  
In Age Atoms, and Motion, weary down do lie.  
Motions Ease is Change, weary soon doth grow,  
If in one Figure she doth often go.    

Motion makes Atoms a Bawd for Figure.  

DID not wild Motion with his subtle wit,  
Make Atoms as his Bawd, new Forms to get.  
They still would constant be in one Figure,  
And as they place themselves, would last for ever.  
But Motion she persuades new Forms to make,  
〈◊〉 Motion doth in Change great pleasure take.  
And makes all Atoms run from place to place;  
That Figures young he might have to embrace.  
For some short time, she will make much of one,  
But afterwards away from them will run.  
And thus are most things in the World undone,  
And by her Change, do young ones take old's room.  
But 'tis butt like unto a Batch of Bread,  
The Flower is the same of such a Seed.  
But Motion she a Figure new mould, baked,  
Because that She might have a new hot Cake.    

Motion and Figure.  

A Figure Sphoeericall, the Motion's so,  
Straight Figures in a darting Motion go:  
As several Figures in small Atoms be,  
So several Motions are, if we could see.  
If Atoms join, meet in another Form,  
Then Motion altars as the Figures turn.  
For if the Bodies weighty are, and great,  
Then Motion's slow, and goes upon less feet.  
Out of a Shuttlecock a feather pull,  
And flying strike it, as when it was full;  
The Motion altars which belongs to that,  
Although the Motion of the hand do not.  
Yet Motion, Matter, can new Figures find,  
And the Substantial Figures turn and wind.  
Thus several Figures, several Motions take,  
And several Motions, several Figures make.  
But Figure, Matter, Motion, all is one,  
Can never separate, nor be alone.    

Of the Subtlety of Motion.  

COuld we the several Motions of Life know,  
The Subtle windings, and the ways they go:  
We should adore God more, and not dispute,  
How they are done, but that great God can do't.  
But we with Ignorance about do run,  
To know the Ends, and how they first begun.  
Spending that Life, which Natures God did give  
Us to adore him, and his wonders with,  
With fruitless, vain, impossible pursuites,  
In Schools, Lectures, and quarrelling Disputes.  
But never give him thanks that did us make,  
Proudly, as petty Gods, ourselves do take.    

Motion is the Life of all things.  

AS Darkness a privation is 〈◊〉 Light;  
That's when the Optic Nerve is stopped from Light:  
So Death is even a cessation in  
Those Forms, and Bodies, wherein Motions spin.  
As Light can only shine but in the Eye,  
So Life doth only in a Motion lie.  
Thus Life is out, when Motion leaves to be,  
Like to an Eye that's shut, no Light can see.    

Of Vacuum.  

SOme think the World would fall, and not hang so,  
If it had any empty place to go.  
One cannot think that Vacuum is so vast,  
That the great World might in that Gulf be cast.  
But Vacuum like is to the Porous Skin,  
Where Vapour * 
〈◊〉 do so.  goeth out, and Air takes in:  
And though that Vapour fills those places small,  
We cannot think, but first were empty all:  
For were they all first full, they could not make  
Room for succession, their places for to take.  
But as those Atoms pass, and repass through,  
Yet still in empty places must they go.    

Of the Motion of the Sea.  

IF that the Sea the Earth doth run about,  
It leaves a Space, where first the Tide went out.  
For if the Water were as much as * 
In compass.  Land,  
The Water would not stir, but still would stand.  
Which shows, that though the Water still goes round,  
Yet is the Land more than the Water 
* In compass.  found.  
But say, the 〈◊〉 
* In compass.  that's movable without,  
Which being thin, gives leave to run about.  
Or like a Wheel, which Water 
* As water will make a wheel to go, so 〈◊〉 makes water go.  makes to go,  
So Aire may the Water make to flow.  
But if that Air hath not room to move,  
It cannot any other Body 〈◊〉.  
Besides what drives, must needs be stronger far,  
Than what it drives, or 〈◊〉 it would not stir.  
If so, then 〈◊〉 of strengths must be  
In Motions power, to move Eternally.  
But say, all things do run in Circles line,  
And every part doth altogether join.  
They cannot in each others places stir,  
Unless some places were 〈◊〉 empty bare.  
For take a Wheel, circumference 〈◊〉 without,  
And Centre too, it cannot 〈◊〉 about.  
If Breadth and Depth were full, leaving no 
* A cross Motion 〈◊〉 the Circular, if there be 〈◊〉 space between. The world turns 〈◊〉 two imaginary Poles, the Earth, upon one, the Heavens upon another; yet the Earth, nor the Heavens could not stir, 〈◊〉 no 〈◊〉. 〈◊〉 example, A wheel could not 〈◊〉 round, if the 〈◊〉 were pressed 〈◊〉 close, and the centre on either side.  space,  
Nothing can stir out of the self same place.    

Ebbing and Flowing of the Sea.  

THE Reason the Sea so constant Ebbs and Flows,  
Is like the 〈◊〉 of a Clock, which goes.  
For when it comes just to the Notch, doth strike,  
So water to that empty place doth like.  
For when it Flows, Water is cast out still,  
And when it Ebbs, runs back that place to fill.    

Vacuum in Atoms.  

IF all the 〈◊〉, Long, Sharpe, Flat, and 〈◊〉,  
Be only of one fort of Matter 〈◊〉:  
The Hollow Atoms must all empty be.  
For there is nought to fill Vacuity.  
Besides being several 〈◊〉, though but small,  
Betwixt those Bodies, there is nought at all.  
For as they range about from place to place,  
Betwixt their Bodies there is left a 〈◊〉.  
How should they move, having no space between?  
For joining close, they would as one Lump seem.  
Nor could they move into each others place,  
Unless there were somewhere an Empty space.  
For though their Matter's infinite, as Time,  
They must be fixed, if altogether join.  
And were all Matter fluid, as some say,  
It could not move, having no empty way.  
Like Water that is stopped close in a 〈◊〉,  
It cannot stir, having no way to pass.  
Nor could the 〈◊〉 swim in Water thin,  
Were there no 〈◊〉 to crowd those waters in.  
For as they Crowd, those waters on heaps high  
Must some ways rise to Place that empty lie.  
For though the water's thin, wherein they move,  
They could not stir, if water did not shove.    

Of Contracting and Dilating, whereby Vacuum must needs follow.  

COntracting, and Dilating of each part,  
It is the chiefest work of Motions Art.  
Yet Motion can't dilate, nor yet contract  
A Body, which at first is close compact:  
Unless at first an empty place was found,  
To spread those Compact Bodies round.  
Nor 〈◊〉 matter can contract up close,  
But by contracting it some place must lose.    

The Attraction of the Earth.  

THE reason Earth attracts much like the Sun,  
Is, Atoms sharp out from the Earth do come:  
From the Circumference, those like Bees arise,  
As from a Swarm, dispersed, sevr'ally flies.  
And as they wander, meet with duller Forms,  
Wherein they stick their point, than back returns.  
Yet like a Bee, which loaded is each Thigh,  
Their weight is great, they cannot nimbly fly.  
So when their points are loaded, heavy grow,  
Can pierce no further, backward must they go.  
And, as their Hives, to Earth return again:  
Thus by their travel they the Earth maintain.    

The Attraction of the Sun.  

WHen all those Atoms which in Rays do spread,  
And ranged long, like to a slender 
* I mean all Rays in general, of all sorts 〈◊〉 Atoms which move.  thread:  
They do not scatter'd fly, but join in length,  
And being joined, though small, add to their strength.  
The further forth they stream, more weak 〈◊〉,  
Although those Beams 
* The Sun's Rays.  are fastened to the 〈◊〉.  
For all those Rays which Motion sends down low,  
Are, loose, sharp Atoms, from the Sun do flow.  
And as they flow in several Streams, and Rays,  
They stick their points in all that stop their ways.  
Like Needle points, whereon doth something stick,  
No passage make, having no points to prick.  
Thus being stopped, straightways they back do run,  
Drawing those Bodies with them to the Sun.    

The cause of the breaking of the Sun's Beams.  

IF Porous Atoms by the Sharp are found,  
They're borne on points away, as Prisoners bound:  
But as they mount, Atoms of their own kind,  
If chance to meet, straight help them to unbind.  
For Porous Atoms being soft and wet,  
When Numbers meet, they close together get:  
And being glut, they join together all,  
By one consent they pull, so back do fall.  
If they be round, in showering Drops return,  
Like Beads that are upon a long thread strunge.  
But if their Figures different be from those,  
Then like a thick and foggy mist it shows.    

Of the Rays of the Sun.  

THE Rays are not so hot, as is the Sun,  
Because they are united strong to 〈◊〉.  
But with a Glass those scattered Beams draw in,  
When they're united, pierce through every 
* Concaves draw to a centre.  thing.  
But being separate, they weak become,  
And then like Cowards several ways they run.    

Of the Beams of the Sun.  

THose Splendent Beams which forth the Sun doth spread  
Are loose sharp Atoms, ranged long like Thread.  
And as they stream, if Porous bodies meet,  
Stick in their Points; to us that 〈◊〉 is heat.    

The Sun doth set the Air on a light, as some Opinions hold.  

IF that the Sun so like a Candle is,  
That all the Air doth take a Light from his;  
Not from Reflection, but by kindling all  
That part, which we our Hemisphere do call:  
Then should that Air whereon his Light takes place,  
Be never out, unless that Substance waste:  
Unless the Sun Extinguishers should throw,  
Upon the Air, so out the Light doth go.  
But sure the Sun's reflection gives the Light, 
* 〈◊〉 Atoms shine but sharp Atoms.   
For when he's gone, to us it is dark Night.  
For why, the Sun is Atoms sharp entire,  
Being close wedged round, 
* It seems like a burning coal.  is like a wheel of Fire.  
And round that Wheel continually do flow  
Sharp streaming Atoms, which like Flame do show.  
And in this Flame 
* Long Atoms sharp at each end.  the Earth its face doth see,  
As in a Glass, as clear, as clear may be.  
And when the Earth doth turn aside his face,  
It is not seen, but Darkness in that 
* That part of the Earth is dark which is from the Sun.  place.  
Or when the Moon doth come betwixt that Light,  
Then is the Earth shut up 
* To that part of the Earth the Moon hides.  as in dark Night.    

What Atoms the Sun is made of.  

THE Sun is of the sharpest Atoms made,  
Close knit together, and exactly laid.  
The Fabric like a Wheel is just made round,  
And in the midst of all, the Planets found.  
And as the Planets move about the Sun,  
Their Motions make the loose sharp Atoms run.    

Of Vapour.  

Lose Atoms sharp, which Motion shoots about,  
Stick on loose Porous Atoms, those draw out.  
From those more close, for these do highest lie,  
Thus Vapour's drawn toward the Region high.  
But being their weight is equal with their own,  
They let them fall to Earth, so back return.    

Of Dews, and Mists from the Earth.  

SOme Atoms sharp thrust from the Earth some Round,  
And then a Pearled dew lies on the ground.  
But if they bear them on their sharp points high,  
Those being raised, a Mist seems to the Eye.  
On the Circumference of the Earth there lies  
The losest Atoms, which are apt to rise;  
Yet not to mount so high as to the Sun,  
For being dull, they beck to Earth return:  
As water, which is shoved with force of strength,  
Is not so apt to move, as run at length.    

The Attraction of the Poles, and of Frost.  

THE North and South Attracts, Contracts, are like the Sun,  
They frieze as hard, as he with Heat doth burn.  
For Atoms there are like to Pincers small,  
By which they 
* At the Poles.  draw, and others pull withal.  
When Motion from the Poles shoots them about,  
Mixing with Porous bodies when they're out:  
And with those Pincers small those Body's nip,  
So close and hard, they cannot from them get;  
Unless that fiery Atoms sharp do pierce  
Betwixt those Pincers small, so do release.  
Those Porous Atoms, like an Awl that boreas;  
Or like a Picklock, which doth open doors.  
For when they're opened by those fiery Awls,  
Let go their holds, which Men a Thaw straight calls.  
If not, they pinch those Bodies close together,  
Then men do say, it is hard Frosty weather.    

Quenching out of Fire.  

THE Atoms round, 'tis not their Numbers great 
Round Atoms are water. Sharp Atoms.   
That put out Fire, quenching both Light and Heat.  
But being wet, they loosen, and unbind,  
Those sharp dry Atoms, which together joined.  
For when they are dispersed, their power's but small,  
Nor give they Light, nor Heat, if single all.  
Besides those Atoms sharp will smothered be,  
Having no vent, nor yet Vacuity.  
For if that Fire in a place lies close,  
Having no vent, but stopped, it straight out goes. 
By Gone, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Motion ceases.   
There is no better Argument, to prove  
That Vacuum is, then to see Fire move. 
Their Form doth not dissolve 〈◊〉 at their Death.   
For if that Fire had not Liberty  
To run about, how quickly would it die?    

Quenching, and Smothering out of Heat, and Light, doth not change the Property, nor Shape of sharp Atoms.  

'tIS not, that Atoms sharp do change their Form,  
When Heat and Flame is out, but Motion's gone:  
When Motion's gone, sharp Atoms cannot prick,  
Having no force 
* Life is such kind of Motion as sharp Atoms.  in any thing to stick.  
For if the Sun quick Motion moved it not,  
'Twould neither shine, nor be to us so hot.  
Just so, when Creatures die, change not their Form,  
That kind of Motion, which made Life, is gone. 
* That is, when they are separated, or their Motion 〈◊〉, and though every Figure hath 〈◊〉 Motions 〈◊〉 to their Shape, yet they do not move always alike, 〈◊〉 they have one kind of Motion singly, and another kind when they are united, but when they are mixed with other Figures, their Motion 〈◊〉 according to their several mixtures.   
For Animal Spirits, which we Life do call,  
Are only of the sharpest Atoms small.  
Thus Life is Atoms sharp, which we call Fire,  
When those are stopped, or quenched, Life doth expire.    

Of a Spark of Fire.  

A Spark of Fire, is like a Mouse, 
* The sharp Atoms are like the Teeth of Mice.  doth eat  
Into a Cheese, although both hard, and great.  
Just so a Spark, although it be but small,  
If once those Points can fasten, pierce through all.    

Of a Coal.  

WHY that a Coal should set an house on Fire,  
Is, Atoms sharp are in that Coal entire.  
Being strong armed with Points, do quite pierce through;  
Those flat dull Atoms, and their Forms 
* Not the form of the Atoms, but the form of their Settlement.  undo.  
And Atoms sharp, whose Form is made for 〈◊〉,  
If loose, do run to help the rest in fight.  
For like as Soldiers, 
* 〈◊〉, loose Atoms, which we perceive not, do run to those which are united in the Coal.  which are of one side,  
When they 〈◊〉 Friends engaged, to rescue ride.  
But Atoms flat where Motion is but slow,  
They cannot fight, but straight to Ashes go.    

Of Ashes.  

BUrnt wood is like unto an Army's rout, 
* Wood is made most of flat Atoms.   
Their Forms undone, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 all about.  
When Atoms sharp, fat Atoms unbind all,  
Those loose flat Atoms, we straight Ashes call. 
* For several Forms are according to the 〈◊〉 of Atoms, which Forms are undone still by the strongest party.     

The Increasing, and Decreasing of visible Fire.  

WHen Fuel's kindled, Fire seems but small,  
That Fuel afterward doth seem Fire all.  
Just like a Crow, that on a dead Horse lights;  
When other Crows perceiving in their flights,  
They straight invite themselves unto that Feast, 
When there is no Substance left for sharp Atoms to work upon, they disperse, for they seek to undo the composure of all other Atoms.   
And thus from one, to Numbers are increased.  
So Atoms sharp, which singly fly about,  
Join with the rest, to eat the Fuel out.  
And, as the Fuel doth increase, do they,  
And as it wastes, so do they fly away.    

The Power of Fire.  

FIre such power hath of every thing,  
As like to Needle points that pierce the Skin.  
So doth that Element pierce into all,  
Be't ne'er so hard, strong, thick, or Solid Ball.  
All things it doth dissolve, or bow, or break,  
Keeping its strength, by making others weak.    

Of Burning.  

THE cause why Fire doth burn, and burning smarts,  
The reason is of Numerous little parts.  
Which parts are Atoms sharp, that wound like Stings,  
If they so far do pierce into our skins;  
And like an angry Porcupine, doth shoot  
His fiery Quills, if nothing quench them out.  
Their Figure makes their Motion sudden, quick,  
And being sharp, they do like Needles prick.  
If they pierce deep, * 
When it 〈◊〉.  do make our flesh to ache,  
If only touch * 
Warmth.  the skin, we pleasure take.  
That kind of pain, do we a Burning call:  
For Atoms numerous, and very small,  
Do make from Needles point a different touch,  
Whose points are gross, and Numbers not so much;  
Which cannot lie so close, and spread so thin,  
All at one time our Pores to enter in.    

The Reason Water quenches Fire.  

THE Reason Water Fire quenches out,  
Is, Atoms 
* They separate the sharp Atoms.  round the sharp put to a rout.  
For when a House is on a Fire set,  
Is, Atoms sharp do in great Armies meet.  
And then they range themselves in Ranks and Files,  
And strive always 〈◊〉 havoc, and make spoils.  
Running about as nimble as may be, 
* When Water is thrown on Fire.   
From side to side, as in great Fire we see.  
But Atoms round do like a rescue 
* When Water is thrown on Fire.  come,  
And separate the sharp, which in heaps run,  
For being separate, they have no force;  
Like to a Troop, or Regiment of Horse:  
Which when great Canon bullets are shot through,  
They disunite, and quite their strength undo.  
So water, that is thrown on flaming Fire,  
Doth separate, and make that strength expire.    

Of the sound of Waters, Aire, Flame, more than Earth, or Air without Flame.  

WHen Crowds of Atoms meet, not joined close,  
By Motion quick do give 
* The encounters of Bodies make all Sound.  each other blows.  
So Atoms hollow which are Long, and Round,  
When they do strike, do make the greatest sound:  
Not that there's any thing that moves therein,  
To make Rebounds, but that their Formes more thin. 
* Long, and round Atoms are more thin then flat, or sharp, by reason they are more hollow : and their hollowness makes their Bulk blgger, though not their weight heavier.   
For being thin, they larger are, and wide,  
Which make them apt to strike each others side.  
In larger Bulks encounters are more fierce,  
When that they strike, though not so quick to pierce.  
This is the reason Water, Aire, and Flame,  
Do make most noise, when Motions move the same.  
For Atoms loose are like to people rude,  
Make horrid noise, when in a Multitude.    

The reason of the Roaring of the Sea.  

ALL Waters Spherical, when 〈◊〉 do flow,  
Beat all those spherical Drops as they do go.  
So 〈◊〉 do strike those watery drops together,  
Which we at Sea do call Tempestuòus weather:  
And being shpaericall, and Cymbal like,  
They make a sound, when each against other strike.    

The Agilenesse of Water.  

WAter is apt to move, being round like Balls,  
No points to fix, doth trundle as it falls.  
This makes the Sea, when like great Mountains high  
The waves do rise, it steady cannot lie.  
But falls again into a Liquid Plain,  
〈◊〉, Winds disturb them not, level remain.  
Thus watery Balls they do not 〈◊〉,  
But stick 
* Those Drops joining close and even.  so close, as nothing is betwixt.    

Of the Centre.  

IN Infinites no Center can be laid,  
But if the 
* 〈◊〉 there be Infinites of Worlds; then there may be insivites of Centres, although not a Centre in 〈◊〉.  World has Limits, centre's made.  
For whatsoe're's with Circumference faced,  
A Centre in the midst must needs be placed.  
This makes all Forms that Limit have; and Bound,  
To have a Centre, and Circumference round.  
This is the Cause; the World in circle runs,  
Because a Centre hath whereon it turns.  
The Centre small, Circumference big without,  
Which by the weight doth 〈◊〉 it turn about.    

All sharp Atoms do run to the Centre, and those that settle not, by reason of the straightness of the Place, fly out to the Circumference. Sharp Atoms to the Centre, make a Sun.  

ALL Atoms sharp to every Centre fly,  
In midst of Earth, and midst of Planets lie;  
And in 
* The Sun in the midst of the 〈◊〉, which are sharp Atoms.  those Planets there are Centres too,  
Where the sharp Atoms with quick Motion go.  
And to the Centre of the Earth they run,  
There gathering close, and so become a Sun.  
This is the Axe whereon the Earth turns round,  
And gives the heat which in the Earth is found;  
A World of Fire: thus may we guess the Sun;  
If all sharp Atoms to the Centre run.  
For why, the Sun amongst the Planets round,  
Just as a Centre, in the midst is found.  
And 〈◊〉 Stars, which give a twinkling Light,  
Are Centre Worlds of Fire, that shineth bright.    

In the Centre Atoms never Separate.  

JUst at the Centre is a point that's small,  
Those Atoms that are there are wedged in all;  
They lie so close, firm in one Body bind,  
No other 〈◊〉, or Motion can un Wind:  
For they are wreathed so hard about that point,  
As they become a Circle without joint. * 
As it were without partition, but it is but one.     

If Infinite World's, Infinite Centres.  

IF Infinites of Worlds, they must be placed  
At such a distance, as between lies waste.  
If they were joined close, moving about,  
By justling they would push each other out.  
And if they swim in Air, as Fishes do  
In Water, they would meet * 
They would beat against each other.  as they did go.  
But if the Air each World doth enclose  
Them all about, then like to Water flows;  
Keeping them equal, and in order right.  
That as they move, shall not each other strike.  
Or like to water wheels by water turned,  
So Air round about those Worlds do run:  
And by that Motion they do turn about,  
No further than that Motions strength runs out. 
They are 〈◊〉 according to the several strengths of their motion. They turn as they go.   
Like to a Bowl, which will no further go,  
But runs according as that strength do throw.  
Thus like as Bowls, the Worlds do turn, and run,  
But still the Jack, and Centre is the * Sun. 
A Jack Bowl is the mark.     

The Infinites of Matter.  

IF all the World were a confused heap,  
What was beyond? for this World is not great:  
We find it Limit hath, and Bound,  
And like a Ball in compass is made round:  
And if that Matter, with which the World's made,  
Be Infinite, then more Worlds may be said;  
Then Infinites of Worlds may we agree,  
As well, as Infinites of Matters be.    

A World made by four Atoms.  

Sharp Atoms Fire subtle, quick, and dry,  
The Long, like Shafts still into Aìre fly.  
The Round to Water moist, (a hollow Form,)  
The Figure square to heavy dull Earth turn.  
The Atoms sharp hard Minerals do make,  
The Atoms round soft Vegetables take.  
In Animals none singly lie alone,  
But the four Atoms meet, and join as one.  
And thus four Atoms the Substance is of all;  
With their four Figures make a worldly Ball.   
Thus the Fancy of my Atoms is, that the four Principal Figures, as Sharp, Long, Round, Square, make the four Elements; not that they are of several matters, but are all of * 
The several Elements are at but one matter.  one matter, only their several Figures do give them several Proprieties; so likewise do the mixed Figures give them mixed Proprieties, & their several composures do give them other Proprieties, according to their Forms they put themselves into, by their several Motions. This I do repeat, that the ground of my Opinion may be understood.   

Of Elements.  

SOme hold four perfect Elements there be,  
Which do surmount each other by degree.  
And some Opinions think that One is all,  
The rest from that, and to that One shall fall:  
This single Element itself to turn  
To several qualities, as Fire to burn.  
So water moist, that heat to quench, and then  
To subtle Air, and so to Earth again.  
Like 〈◊〉 water, which turns with the Cold,  
To Flakes of Snow, or in firm Ice to hold.  
But that Heat doth melt that Icy Chain,  
Then into water doth it turn again.  
So from the Earth a Vapour thick ascends,  
That Vapour thick itself to thin Air spends;  
Or else it will condense itself to Rain,  
And by its weight will fall to Earth again.  
And what is very thin, so subtle grows,  
As it turns Fire, and so a bright flame shows.  
And what is dull, or heavy, flow to move;  
Of a cold quality it oft doth prove.  
Thus by contracting, and dilating parts,  
Is all the skill of Nature's working Arts.    

Fire compared to Stings.  

NOthing is so like Fire, as a Flies Sting,  
If we compare th' effect which both do bring.  
For when they sting the flesh, they no blood draw,  
But blisters raise, the Skin made red, the Flesh raw.  
Were there as many Stings, as Fiery Atoms small,  
Would pierce into the Flesh, Bones turn to Ashes all.  
Thus we find Flies do carry every where  
Fire in their Tails, their Breech they do not fear.    

Comparing Flame to the Tide of the Sea.  

LIke 〈◊〉 ' jides, a Flame will ebb and flow,  
By sinking down, and then straight higher grow.  
And if suppressed, all in a rage breakeout,  
Streaming itself in several parts about.  
Some think the Salt doth make the Sea to move,  
If so, then Salt in Flame the like may prove.  
From that Example, Salt all Motions makes,  
Then Life the chief of Motion from Salt takes.    

What is Liquid  

WE cannot call all Liquid which doth flow,  
For then a Flame may turn to water so.  
But that is Liquid, which is moist, and wet,  
Fire that Propriety can never get.  
Then 'tis not Cold, that puts the Fire out,  
But 'tis the Wet that makes it die, no doubt.    

Fire and moisture.  

IF Hay be not quite dry, but stackt up wet,  
In time that Moisture will a Fire beget.  
This proves that Fire may from Moisture grow,  
We proof have none, Moisture from Fire flow.  
This shows that Fire in its self is free,  
No other Element in it can be.  
For Fire is pure still, and keeps the same,  
Where oily Moisture's not, no Fire can flame.    

Aire begot of Heat and Moisture.  

Heat, and Moisture joined with equal merit,  
Get a Body thin ' of Air, or Spirit;  
Which is a Sinoake, or Steam begot from both,  
If Mother Moisture rule, 'tis full of sloth.  
If the Father Fire predominates,  
Than it is active, quick, and Elevates.  
This Airy Child is sometimes good, or bad,  
According to the nourishment it had.    

The Temper of the Earth.  

THE Earth we find is very cold, and dry;  
And must therefore have Fire and water night,  
To wash and bath, then dry herself without,  
Else she would useless be without all doubt.    

Winds are made in the Air, not in the Earth.  

HOW can we think Winds come from Earth below,  
When they from Sky do down upon us blow?  
If they proceeded from the Earth, must run  
Straight up, and upon Earth again back come:  
They cannot freely blow, lest Earth were made  
Like to a Bowling-Greene, so level laid.  
But there are Rocks, and Hills, and Mountains great,  
Which stop their ways, and make them soon retreat.  
Then sure it is, the Sun draws Vapour out,  
And 〈◊〉 it thin, then blow'th 't about.  
If Heat condensed, that turns it into Rain,  
And by its weight falls to the Earth again.  
Thus Moisture and the Sun do cause the Winds,  
And not the Cradities in hollow Mines.    

Thunder is a Wind in the middle Region.  

WHO knows, but Thunders are great Winds, which lie  
Within the middle vault above the Sky:  
Which Wind the Sun on Moisture cold begot,  
When he is in his Region Cancer hot.  
This * 
The Wind.  Child is thin, and subtle, made by hear,  
It gets a voice, and makes a noise that's great:  
It's Thinness makes it agile, agile strong,  
Which by its force doth drive the Clouds along.  
And when the Clouds do meet, they each do strike,  
Flashing out Fire, as do Flints the like.  
Thus in the Summer Thunder's caused by Wind,  
Vapour drawn so high, no way out can find.  
But in the Winter, when the Clouds are loose,  
Then doth the Wind on Earth keep Rendezvous.    

Of cold Winds.  

AS rarified water makes Wind's blow,  
So rarified Winds do colder grow.  
For if they thin are rarified, than they  
Do further blow, and spread out every way.  
So cold they are, and sharp as Needle points,  
For by the thinness breaks, and disunites;  
Into such Atoms fall, Sharp Figures be,  
Which Porous Bodies pierce, if we could see.  
Yet some will think, if Aire were parted so,  
The Winds could not have such strong force to blow.  
'tis true, if Atoms all were 〈◊〉 and Flat,  
Or Round like Rings, they could not pierce, but pat;  
But by themselves they do so sharp become,  
That through all Porous Bodies they do run.  
But when the Winds are soft, they intermix,  
As water doth, and in one Body fix.  
More like they wave, then blow as Fans are spread,  
Which Ladies use to cool their Cheeks, when red.  
As water Drops feel harder when they 〈◊〉,  
Then when they're 〈◊〉, and on us light;  
Unless such streams upon our heads down run,  
As we a Shelter seek the Wet to shun.  
But when a Drop congealed is with Cold,  
As Hailstones are, more strength thereby doth hold.  
Then Flakes of Snow may have more quantity,  
Then Hailstones, yet not have more force thereby.  
They fall so soft, they scarce do strike our Touch,  
Hailstones we feel, and know their weight too much.  
But Figures that are Flat, are dull, and slow,  
Make weak Impression wheresoever they go.  
For let ten times the quantity of Steel  
Be beaten thin, no hurt by that you'll feel.  
But if that one will take a Needle small,  
The Point be Sharp, and press the Flesh withal;  
Straight it shall hurt, and put the Flesh to pain,  
Which with more strength that shall not do, that's plain.  
Although you press it hard against the Skin,  
May heavy feel, but shall not enter in.  
So may the Wind that's thinly rarified,  
Press us down, but it shall not pierce the side.  
Or take a Blade that's flat, though strong and great,  
And with great strength upon the Head that beat;  
The skull may break, seldom knock out the Brains,  
Which Arrows sharp soon do, and with less pains.  
Thus what is small, more subtle is, and quick,  
For all that's small in Porous Bodies stick.  
Then are the Winds more cold when they do blow,  
Broke into Atoms small, than streaming flow:  
For all which knit, and closely do compose,  
Much stronger are, and give the harder Blows.  
This shows what's nearest absolute to be,  
Although an 〈◊〉 to its small degree:  
Take quantity, for quantity alike.  
Union more than Mixture hard shall strike.    

Of Stars.  

WE find in the East-Indies Stars there be,  
Which we in our Horizon did ne'er fee;  
Yet we do take great pains in Glasses clear,  
To see what Stars do in the Sky appear;  
But yet the more we search, the less we know,  
Because we find our Work doth endless grow.  
For who doth know, but Stars we see by Night,  
Are Suns which to some other Worlds give Light?  
But could our outward Senses place the Sky,  
As well as can Imaginations high;  
If we were there, as little may we know,  
As those which stay, and never do up go.  
Then let not Man, in fruitless pains Life spend,  
The most we know, is, Nature Death will send.    

Of the Motion of the Sun.  

SOmetimes we find it Hot, and sometimes Cold,  
Yet equal in Degrees the Sun doth hold:  
And in a Winter's day more Heat have found,  
Then Summer, when the Sun should parch the Ground.  
For if this heat doth make him gallop fast,  
Must ever equal be, or stay his haste.  
If so, than Seas which send a Vapour high,  
May cool his Courage, so in the mid way lie.  
Besides, the middle Region which is cold,  
And full of Ice, will of his strength take hold.  
Then 'tis not heat that makes him run so fast,  
But running fast, doth heat upon Earth cast;  
And Earth sends Vapours cold, to quench his beat,  
Which break his strength, and make his Beams so weak.    

Of the Sun's weakness.  

THE Sun doth not unto the Centre go,  
He cannot shoot his Beams so deep and low.  
For, a thick Wall will break his Arrows small,  
So that his heat can do no hurt at all;  
And Earth hath Arms so thick, to keep out all  
His cry Darts, which he on her lets fall.    

A Fire in the Centre.  

AS Heat about the Heart always keeps nigh.  
So doth a Fire about the Centre lie.  
This heat disperses through the Body round,  
And when that heat is not, no Life is found.  
Which makes all things she sends, to bud, and bear,  
Although the Sun's hot Beams do ne'er come there.  
But yet the Sun doth nourish all without,  
But Fire within the Earth gives Life, no doubt.  
So heat within begets with Child the Earth,  
And heat without is Mid-wise to her Birth.    

The Sun is Nurse to all, the Earth bears.  

THough the Earth to all gives Form, and Feature,  
Yet the Sun is Nurse to every Creature.  
For long she could not live without his Heat,  
Which is the nourishing, and ripening Meat.  
Just as a Child is got, and born of Man,  
It must be fed, or't will soon die again.    

What makes Echo.  

THE same Motion, which from the Mouth doth move,  
Runs through the Air; which we by Echo prove.  
As several Letters do a word up-joyne,  
So several Figures through the Air combine.  
The Air is wax, words Seal, and give the Print,  
Those words an Echo in the Air do 〈◊〉!  
And while those Figures last, Life domaintaine;  
When Motion wears it out, is Echo slain.  
As Sugar in the Mouth doth melt, and taste,  
So Echo in the Air itself doth waste.    

Of Rebounds.  

REbounds resisting substance must work on,  
Both in its self, and what it beats upon.  
For yielding 〈◊〉, which do bow, or break,  
Can ne'er Rebound, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 like 〈◊〉 speak.  
Then every word of Air forms a Ball,  
And every Letter like a 〈◊〉 doth fall.  
Words are condensed Air, which heard, do grow  
As water, which by Cold doth turn to Snow.  
And as when Snow is pressed, hard Balls become,  
So words being pressed, as Balls do backward run.    

Of Sound:  

A Sound seems nothing, yet a while doth live,  
And like a wanton Lad, mock- Answers give.  
Not like to Souls, which from the Body go,  
For Echo hath a Body of Air we know.  
Yet strange it is, that Sound so strong and clear,  
Resisting Bodies have, yet not appear;  
But Air which subtle is, encounter may.  
Thus words a Sound may with self Echo play;  
Grow weary soon, and cannot hold out long,  
Seems out of breath, and falter with the Tongue.    

Of Shadow, and Echo.  

A Shadow fell in love with the bright Light,  
Which makes her walk perpetually in her sight;  
And when He's absent, then poor Soul she dies,  
But when He shows himself, her Life revives.  
She Sister is to Echo loud, and clear,  
Whose voice is heard, but no Body appear:  
She hates to see, or show herself to men,  
Unless Narcissus could live once again.  
But these two Souls, for they no Bodies have,  
Do wander in the Air to seek a Grave.  
Silence would bury on the other Night,  
Both are denied by Reflections spite;  
And each of these are subject to the Sense,  
One strikes the Ear, Shadow the Eye presents.    

Of Light.  

SOme think no Light would be without the Eye,  
'tis true, a Light our Brain could not descry;  
And if the Eye makes Light, and not the Sun,  
As well our Touch may make the Fire to burn.    

Of Light, and Sight.  

Philosopher's, which thought to reason well,  
Say, Light, and Colour, in the Brain do dwell;  
That Motion in the Brain doth Light beget,  
And if no Brain, the World in darkness Shut.  
Provided that the Brain hath Eyes to see,  
So Eyes, and Brain, do make the Light to 〈◊〉.  
If so, poor Donne was out, when he did say,  
If all the World were blind, 'twould still be day.  
Say they, Light would not in the Air reign,  
Unless (you'll grant) the World were one great Brain.  
Some Ages in Opinion all agree,  
The next doth strive to make them false to be.  
But what is, doth please so well the Sense,  
That Reasons old are though to be Nonsense  
But all Opinions are by Fancy fed,  
And Truth under Opinions lieth dead.    

The Objects of every Sense, are according to their Motions in the Brain.  

WE mad should think those Men, if they should tell  
That they did see a Sound, or taste a Smell.  
Yet Reason proves a Man doth not err much,  
When that we say his senses all are Touch.  
If Actions in a Table be lively told,  
The Brain straight thinks the Eye the same behold.  
The Stomach Hungry, the Nose good Meat doth smell,  
The Brain doth think that Smell the Tongue tastes well.  
If we a These do see, and him do fear,  
We straight do think that breaking Doors we hear.  
Imaginations just like Motions make,  
That every Sense doth strike with the mistake.    

According as the Notes in Music agree with the Motions of the Heart, or Brain, Such Passions are produced thereby.  

IN Music, if the Eighths tuned Equal are,  
If one be struck, the other seems to jar.  
So the Heartstrings, if equally be stretched,  
To those of Music, Love from thence is fetched.  
For when one's struck, the other moves just so,  
And with Delight as evenly doth go.    

The Motion of Thoughts.  

Musing alone, mine Eyes being fixed  
Upon the Crowned, my Sight with Gravel mixed:  
My Feet did walk without Directions Guide,  
My Thoughts did travel far, and wander wide;  
At last they chanced up to a Hill to climb,  
And being there, saw things that were Divine.  
First, what they saw, a glorious Light to blaze,  
Whose Splendour made it painful for the Gaze:  
No Separations, nor Shadows by stops made,  
No Darkness to obstruct this Light with Shade.  
This Light had no Dimension, nor Extent,  
But filled all places full, without Circumvent;  
Always in Motion, yet fixed did prove,  
Like to the Twinkling Stars which never move.  
This Motion working, running several ways,  
Did seem a Contradiction for to raise;  
As to it self, with it self disagree,  
Is like a Skein of Thread, if't knotted be.  
For some did go straight in an even Line,  
But some again did cross, and some did twine.  
Yet at the last, all several Motions run  
Into the first Prime Motion which begun.  
In various Forms and Shapes did Life run through,  
Life from Eternity, but Shapes still new;  
No sooner made, but quickly passed away,  
Yet while they were, desirous were to stay.  
But Motion to one 〈◊〉 can ne'er constant be,  
For Life, which Motion is, joys in variety.  
For the first Motion every thing can make,  
But cannot add unto itself, nor take.  
Indeed no other Matter could it frame,  
It self was all, and in it self the same.  
Perceiving now this fixed point of Light,  
To be a Union, Knowledge, Power, and Might;  
Wisdom, Justice, Truth, Providence, all one,  
No Attribute is with itself alone.  
Not like to several Lines drawn to one Point,  
For what doth meet, may separate, 〈◊〉.  
But this a Point, from whence all Lines do flow,  
Nought can diminish it, or make it grow.  
'tis its own Centre, and Circumference ro und.  
Yet neither has a Limit, or a Bound.  
A fixed Eternity, and so will last,  
All present is, nothing to come, or past.  
A fixed Persection nothing can add more,  
All things is It, and It self doth adore.  
My Thoughts then wondering at what they did see,  
Found at the last 
* All things come from God Almighty.  themselves the same to be;  
Yet was so small a Branch, perceive could not,  
From whence they Sprung, or which ways were begot.  
Some say, all that we know of Heaven above,  
Is that we joy, and that we love.  
Who can tell that? for all we know,  
Those Passions we call Joy, and Love below,  
May, by Excess, such other Passions grow,  
None in the World is capable to know.  
Just like our Bodies, though that they shall rise,  
And as St. Paul saies, see God with our Eyes;  
Yet may we in the Change such difference find,  
Both in our Bodies, and also in our Mind,  
As if that we were never of Mankind,  
And that these Eyes we see with now, were blind.  
Say we can measure all the Planets high,  
And number all the Stars be in the Sky;  
And Circle could we all the World about,  
And all th' Effects of Nature could find out:  
Yet cannot all tho Wise, and Learned tell,  
What's done in Heaven, or how we there shall dwell.    

The Reason why the Thoughts are only in the Head.  

THE Sinews are small, slender Strings,  
Which to the Body Senses brings;  
Yet like to Pipes, or Gutters, hollow be,  
Where Animal Spirits run continually.  
Though they are small, such Matter do contain,  
As in the Skull doth lie, which we call Brain.  
That makes, if any one doth strike the Heel,  
The Thought of that, Sense in the Brain doth feel.  
Yet 'tis not Sympathy, but 'tis the same  
Which makes us think, and feel the pain.  
For had the Heel such quantity of Brain,  
Which doth the Head, and Skull therein contain;  
Then would such Thoughts, which in the Brain dwell high,  
Descend down low, and in the Heel would lie.  
In Sinews small, Brain scatter'dlyes about,  
It wants both room, and quantity no doubt.  
For if a Sinew could so much Eraine hold,  
Or had a Skin so large for to enfold,  
As in the Skull, then might the Toe, or Knee,  
Had they an Optic Nerve, both hear and see.  
Had Sinews room, Fancy therein to breed,  
Copies of Verses might from the he'll proceed.    

The Motion of the Blood.  

Some by Industry of Learning found,  
That all the Blood like to the Sea runs round:  
From two great Arteries the Blood it runs  
Through all the Veins, to the same back comes.  
The Muscles like the Tides do ebb, and flow,  
According as the several Spirits go.  
The Sinews, as final Pipes, come from the Head,  
And all about the Body they are spread;  
Through which the Animal Spirits are conveyed,  
To every Member, as the Pipes are laid.  
And from those Sinews Pipes each Sense doth take  
Of those Pure Spirits, as they us do make.  
'tIs thought, an 〈◊〉 Matter comes from the Sun  
In streaming Beams, which Earth doth feed upon:  
And that the Earth by those Beams back doth send  
A Nourishment to the Sun, her good Friend.  
So every Beam the Sun doth make a Chain,  
To send to Earth, and to draw back again.  
But every Beam is like a blazing Ship,  
The Sun doth traffic to the Earth in it.  
Each Ship is fraught with heat, through Air it swims,  
As to the Earth warm Nourishment it brings:  
And Vapour moist, Earth for that warmth returns,  
And sends it in those Ships back to the Sun.  
Great danger is, if Ships 
* When the Sun draws up more Moisture than it can digest, it turns to Rain, or wind.  be overfraught,  
For many times they sink with their own weight;  
And those gilt Ships such Fate they often find,  
They sink with too much weight, or split with Wind.    

It is hard to believe, that there are other World's in this World.  

NOthing so hard in Nature, as Faith is,  
For to believe Impossibilities:  
As doth impossible to us appear,  
Not 'cause 
* As it seems to us.  'tis not, but to our Sense not 〈◊〉;  
But that we cannot in our Reason find,  
As being against Nature's Course, and Kind.  
For many things our Senses dull may scape,  
For Sense is gross, not every thing can Shape.  
So in this World another World may be,  
That we do neither touch, taste, smell, hear, see.  
What Eye so clear is, yet did ever see  
Those little Hooks, that in the Loadstone be,  
Which draw hard Iron? or give Reasons, why  
The Needles point still in the North will lie.  
As for Example, Atoms in the Air,  
We ne'er perceive, although the Light be fair.  
And whatsoever can a Body claim,  
Though ne'er so small, Life may be in the same.  
And what has Life, may Understanding have,  
Yet be to us as buried in the Grave.  
Then probably may Men, and 〈◊〉 small,  
Live in the World which we know not at all;  
May build them Houses, several things may make,  
Have Orchards, Gardens, where they pleasure take;  
And Birds which sing, and cattle in the Field,  
May plow, and sow, and there small Corn may yield;  
And Commonwealths may have, and Kings to 〈◊〉,  
Wars, Battles have, and one another slain:  
And all without our hearing, or our sight,  
Nor yet in any of our Senses light.  
And other Stars, and Moons, and Suns may be,  
Which our dull Eyes shall never come to see.  
But we are apt to laugh at Tales so told,  
Thus Senses gross do back our Reason hold.  
Things against Nature we do think are true,  
That Spirits change, and can take Bodies new;  
That Life may be, yet in no Body live,  
For which no Sense, 〈◊〉 Reason, we can give.  
As Incorporeal Spirits this Fancy feigns,  
Yet Fancy cannot be without some Brains.  
If Fancy without Substance cannot be,  
Then Souls are more, than Reason well can see.    

Of many World's in this World.  

JUST like unto a 〈◊〉 of Boxes round,  
Degrees of sizes within each Box are found.  
So in this World, may many Worlds more be,  
Thinner, and less, and less still by degree;  
Although they are not subject to our Sense,  
A World may be no bigger than twopences.  
Nature is curious, and such works may make,  
That our dull Sense can never find, but scape.  
For Creatures, small as Atoms, may be there,  
If every Atom a Creatures Figure bear.  
If four Atoms a World can make, 
* As I have before 〈◊〉 they do, it. 〈◊〉 Atoms.  then see,  
What several Worlds might in an Earring be.  
For Millions of these Atoms may be in  
The Head of one small, little, single Pin.  
And if thus small, than Ladies well may wear  
A World of Worlds, as Pendents in each Eare.    

A World in an Earring.  

AN Earring round may well a Zodiac be,  
Where in a Sun goeth round, and we not see.  
And Planets seven about that Stin may move,  
And He stand still, as some wise men would prove.  
And sixed Stars, like twinkling Diamonds, placed  
About this Earring, which a World is vast.  
That same which doth the Earring hold, the hole,  
Is that, which we do call the Pole.  
There nipping Frosts may be, and Winter cold,  
Yet never on the Lady's Ear take hold.  
And Lightnings, Thunder, and great Winds may blow  
Within this Earring, yet the Ear not know.  
There Seas may ebb, and 〈◊〉, where Fishes swim,  
And Islands be, where Spices grow therein.  
There Crystal Rocks hang dangling at each Ear,  
And Golden Mines as Jewels may they wear.  
There Earthquakes be, which Mountains vast down sling,  
And yet ne'er stir the Lady's Ear, nor Ring.  
There Meadows be, and 〈◊〉 fresh, and green,  
And cattle feed, and yet be never seen:  
And Gardens fresh, and Birds which sweetly sing,  
Although we hear them not in an Earring.  
There Night, and Day, and Heat, and Cold, and so  
May Life, and Death, and Tongue, and Old, still grow.  
Thus Touth may spring, and several Ages die,  
Great Plagues may be, and no Infections nigh.  
There Cities be, and stately Houses built,  
Their inside gay, and finely may be gilded.  
There Churches be, and Priests to teach therein,  
And Steeple too, yet hear the Bells not ring.  
From thence may Pious Tears to Heaven run,  
And yet the Ear not know which way they're gone.  
There Markets be, and things both bought, and sold,  
Know not the price, nor how the Markets hold.  
There 〈◊〉 do ruie, and Kings do Reign,  
And Battles fought, where many may be slain.  
And all within the Compass of this Ring,  
And yet not tidings to the Wearer bring.  
Within the Ring wise Counsellors may sit,  
And yet the Ear not one wise word may get.  
There may be dancing all Night at a Ball,  
And yet the Ear be not disturbed at all.  
There Rivals Duels sight, where some are slain;  
There Lovers mourn, yet hear them not complain.  
And Death may dig a Lovers Grave, thus were  
A Lover dead, in a fair Ladies Eare.  
But when the Ring is broke, the World is done,  
Then Lovers they in to 〈◊〉 run.    

Several World's in several Circles.  

THere may be many Worlds like Circles round,  
In after Ages more Worlds may be found.  
If we into each Circle can but slip,  
By Art of Navigatiou in a Ship;  
This World compared to some, may be but small:  
No doubt but Nature made degrees of all.  
If so, then Drake had never gone so quick  
About the Largest Circle in one Ship.  
For some may be so big, as none can swim,  
Had they the life of old 〈◊〉.  
Or had they lives to number with each day,  
They would want time to compass half the way.  
But if that Drake had lived in Venus' Star,  
His Journey shorter might have been by far.     

THE CLASP.  


WHEN I did write this Book, I took great pains,  
For I did walk, and think, and break my Brains.  
My 〈◊〉 run out of Breath, than down would lie,  
And panting with short wind, like those that die.  
When Time had given Ease, and lent them strength,  
Then up would get, and run another length.  
Sometimes I kept my Thoughts with a strict diet,  
And made them 〈◊〉 with Fase, and Rest, and Quiet;  
That they might run again with swifter speed,  
And by this course now Fancies they could breed.  
But I do fear they're not so Good to please,  
But now they're out, 〈◊〉 Brain is more at case.    

The Circle of the Brain cannot be Squared.  

A Circle Round diuìded in four Parts,  
Hath been a Study amongst Men of Arts;  
Ere since 〈◊〉, or 〈◊〉 time,  
Hath every Brain been stretched upon a Line.  
And every Thought hath been a Figure set,  
Doubts Ciphers are, Hopes as Triangulars meet.  
There is Division, and 〈◊〉 made,  
And Lines drawn out, and Points exactly laid.  
But yet None can demonstrate it plain,  
Of Circles round, a just 〈◊〉 square remain.  
Thus while the Brain is round, no Squares will be,  
While Thoughts are in Divisions, no Figures will agree.    

Another to the same Purpose.  

AND thus upon the same account,  
Doubling the Cube must mount;  
And the Triangular must be cut so small,  
Till into Equal Atoms it must fall.  
For such is Man's Curiosity, and mind,  
To seek for that, which hardest is to find.    

The Squaring of the Circle.  

WIthin the Head of Man's a Circle Round  
Of Honesty, no Ends in it is found.  
To Square this Circle many think it fit,  
But Sides to take without Ends, hard is it.  
Prudence and Temperance, as two Lines take;  
With Fortitude and Justice, four will make.  
If th' Line of Temperance doth prove too short,  
Then add a Figure of a discreet Thought;  
Let Wisdoms Point draw up Discretions Figure,  
That make two equal Lines joined both together.  
Betwixt the Line Temperance and Justice, Truth must point,  
Justice's Line draw down to Fortitude, that Corner joint;  
Then Fortitude must draw in equal length,  
To Prudence Line, Temperance must give the breadth.  
And Temperance with Justice Line must run, yet stand  
Betwixt Prudence and Fortitude, of either hand.  
At every corner must a Point be laid,  
Where every Line that meets, an Angles made;  
And when the Points too high, or low do fall,  
Then must the Lines be stretched, to make't even all.  
And thus the Circle Round you'll find,  
Is Squared with the four Virtues of the Mind.    

A Circle Squared in Prose.  
A Circle is a Line without Ends, and a Square is four equal 
Because my Lines are too long for my Rhimes, therefore I put them in Prose.  Sides, not one longer, or shorter than another. To square the Circle, is to make the Line of the Square Figure to be equal with the Round Figure. Honesty is the Circle without Ends, or By-respects, but is honest for Honesty's sake. But to square this Circle, it is very difficult, and hard it is for Honesty to take part with four sidès without Faction: for where there is siding there's Faction, and where Factions are, there is Partiality, and where Partiality is, there is Injustice, and where Injustice is, Wrong, and where Wrong is, Truth is not, and where Truth is not, Honesty cares not to live. But let us see how we can square this Circle of Honesty. First, draw four Lines, Prudence, Temperance, 〈◊〉, and Justice; these four Lines let them be Cross Parallels, that they may be Longitudes, and Latitudes to each other, and at each end of every Line make a Point. As at the Line of Justice a point of Severity at one end, and another of Facility at the other end. And at either end of Fortitude, one of Rashness, and another of Timorosity. And at the end of Temperance, Prodigality, and 〈◊〉: At each end of Prudence, Sloth, and Stupidity. Then draw out these Points, and make them Angles: As Severity, and Timorosity make one Angle; Rashness, and Stupidity another. Sloth, and Prodigality make a third Angle; Facility and Covetousness make the fourth. Then exactly in the midst of either Line, set of either side of the Line, a Figure: As Distributive on the outside of the Line of Justice, and Communicative within the Line. So on the side of Fortitude, Despair on the outside, and Love within. On Prudence Line, Experience on the outside, and Industry within. On Temperance Line, Observation on the outside, and Ease within. Then draw a Line of Charity from the point Distribution, and from the Point of Observation, a Line of Diseretion, and make an Angle with Hope. Then from Community, a Line of Clemency, and from the point of Ease, a Line of Comfort, which make an Angle of Peace. Then from Despair, a Line of Hope, and from Industry, a Line of Fruition, which make an Angle of Tranquillity. Then from the point of Love, a Line of Faith, and from the point of Ease, a Line of Pleasure; this makes an Angle of Joy. Then set a Point at every Angle, as Obedience, Humility, Respect, and Reverence; And thus the Square measured with Truth, the Line will be equal with the Circle of Honesty.   

The Trasection.  
CUT the Line of Wisdom into three parts; Prudence, Experience, and Judgement; Then draw a Line of Discretion, equal to the Line of Experience, and a Line of Industry, equal to the Line of Prudence, and a Line of Temperance, equal to the Line of Judgement, and to Temperance, an equal Line of Tranquillity, and to the Line Industry, a line of Ingenuity, and to the line of Discretion, draw an equal line of Obedience. Then all these lines measured with the Rule of Reason, and you'll find it equal to the line of Wisdom; join these lines together, Truth makes the Angle. This is the Trasection.   

The Arithmetic of Passions.  

WIth Numeration Moralists begin  
Upon the Passions, putting Quotients in,  
Numbers divide with Figures, and Subtract,  
And in their Difinitions are exact:  
And there Subtract, as taking One, from Three,  
That add to Four, 'twill make Five to be.  
Thus the Odd Numbers to the Even joined,  
Will make the Passions rise within the Mind.     

TO MORAL PHILOSOPHERS.  
Moral Philosophy is a severe School, for there is no Arithmetitian so exact in his Accounts, or doth Divide and Subtract his Numbers more subtly, than they the Passions; & as Arithmetic can multiply Numbers above all use, so Passions may be divided beyond all Practice. But Moralists live the happiest lives of Mankind, because most contented, for they do not only subdue the Passions, but can make the best use of them, to the Tranquillity of the mind: As Fear to make them Circumspect, Hate to Evil, Desire to Good, Love to Virtue, Hope makes Industry Jealous of Indiscretions, Angry at Follies, and so the like of all the rest. For they do not only subdue the feircest of them, making them Slaves to execute several works, in several places. But those Passions that are mild, & of gentle Nature, they make perfect Friendship with: for the Passions are like Privy Counsellors, where some Counsel for Peace, others for War, and some being bribed with the World, and Appetite, persuade to mutiny, which uses a Rebellion. But Moralists are like powerful Monarches, which can make their Passions obedient at their pleasure, condemning them at the Bar of Justice, cutting of their heads with the sword of Reason; or, like skilful Musicians, making the Passions Musical Instruments, which they can tune so exactly, and play so well, and sweetly, as every several Note shall strike the Ears of the Soul with delight: and when they play Concord's, the Mind dances in Measure, the Sarabrand of Tranquillity. Whereas when they are out of Tune, they do not only sound harsh and unpleasant, but when the Notes disagree eing, the Mind takes wrong Steps, and keeps false time, and the Soul is disquieted with the noise. But there is no Humour, or Passion so troublesome as Desire, because it yields no sound satisfaction; for all it is mixed most commonly with pleasing hopes: but hope is a greater pleasure than Enjoyment, just as Eating is a greater pleasure to the Hungry, then when the Stomach is fully satisfied. Yet Desire, and Curiosity make a Man to be above other Creatures: for by desiring Knowledge, Man is as much above a Beast, as want of perfect Knowledge makes him less than God; and Man, as he hath a transcending Soul to outlive the World to all Eternity; so he hath a transcending desire to live in the World's Memory, as long as the 〈◊〉 〈◊〉; that he might not die like a Beast, and be forgotten; but that his Works may beget another Soul, though of shorter life, which is Fame; and Fame is like a Soul, an Incorporeal Thing.   

DIALOGUES.  

Of Fame.  
A Dialogue between two Supernatural Opinions.  1. Op. 

WHO knows, but that Man's Soul in Fame delights  
After the Body and It disunites?  
If we allow the Soul shall live, not die,  
Although the Body in the Grave doth lie;  
And that some knowledge still It doth retain,  
Why may not then some love of Fame remain?   2. Op. 

There doth no Vanity in Souls than dwell,  
When separate, they go to Heaven, or Hell.   1. Op. 

Fame's Virtues Child, or aught to be;  
What comes not from her, is an Insamy.   2. Op. 

Souls of the World remember nought at all,  
All that is passed into Oblivion fall.   1. Op. 

Why may not Souls, as well as Angels, know,  
And hear and see, what's done i'th' World below?   2. Op. 

Souls neither have Ambition, nor desire,  
When once in Heaven, nor after Fame inquire.   1. Op. 

Who can tell that? since Heaven loves good Deeds,  
And Fame of Piety from Grace proceeds.    

Of Fame.  
A Dialogue between two Natural Opinions:  1. Op. 

TO desire Fame, it is a Noble thought,  
Which Nature in the best of Minds hath wrought.   2. Op. 

Alas, when Men do die, all Motion's gone,  
If no Motion, no thought of Fame hath one.   1. Op. 

What if the Motion of the Body die?  
The Motion of the Mind may live on high;  
And in the Airy Elements may lie,  
Although we know it not, about may fly,  
And thus by Nature may the Mind delight  
To hear its Fame, and see its Pyramid;  
Or grieve, and mourn, when it doth see, and know,  
Her Acts and Fame do to Oblivion go.    

A simple natural Opinion of the Mind.  

NAture a Talon gives to every one,  
As Heaven gives grace to work Salvation from.  
The Talon Nature gives a Noble Mind,  
Where Actions good are minted currant Coin.  
Where every Virtue stamps their Image so,  
That all the World each several Peice may know.  
If Men be lazy, let this Talon lie,  
Seek no occasion to improve it by:  
Who knows, but Nature's punishment may be,  
To make the Mind to grieve eternally?  
That when his Spirit's fled, and Body rot,  
To know himself of Friend's, and World's forgot.  
If men have used their best Industry,  
Yet cannot get a Fame to live thereby:  
Then may the Minds of Men rest satisfied,  
That they had left no Means, or ways untried.    

The Purchase of Poets, or a Dialogue betwixt the Poets, and Fame, and Homer's Marriage.  

A Company of Poets strove to buy  
Parnassus' Hill, where Fame thereon doth lie:  
And Helicon, a Well that runs below,  
Which those that drink thereof, straight Poets grow.  
But Money they had none, (for Poets all are poor,)  
And Fancy, which is Wit, is all their store.  
Thinking which way this Purchase they should get,  
They did agree in Council all to sit:  
Knowing that Fame was Honour to the Well,  
And that She always on the Hill did dwell:  
They did conclude to tell her their desire,  
And for to know what price she did require.  
Then up the Hill they got, the Journey long,  
Some nimbler feet 
* Numbers.  had, and their breath 
* Fancy.  more strong:  
Which made them get before, by going fast,  
But all did meet upon the Hill at last.  
And when 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 them all, what they could say,  
She asked them where their Money was to pay.  
They told her, Money they had none to give,  
But they had Wit, by which they All did live;  
And though they knew, sometimes She Bribes would take,  
Yet Wit, in Honour's Court, doth greatness make.  
Said she, this Hill I'll neither sell, nor give,  
But they that have 〈◊〉 Wit shall with Me live.  
Then go you down, and get what Friends you can,  
That will be bound, or plead for every man.  
〈◊〉 every Poet was 'twixt hope, and Doubt,  
And Envy strong to put each other out.   

Homer, the first of Poets, did begin;  
Brought Greece, and Troy for to be bound for him.  
Virgil brought Aeneas, he all Rome,  
For Horace all the Countrymen came soon.  
Juvenall, Catullus, all Satyrs joined,  
And in sirme Bonds they all themselves did bind.  
And for Tibullus, Venus, and her Son  
Would needs be bound, cause wanton verse he sung.  
Pythagoras' his Transmigration brings  
Ovid, who seals the Bond with several things.  
Lucan brought Pompey, Senate all in arms,  
And Caesar's Army with their hot Alarms:  
Mustering them all in the Emathian Fields,  
To Fame's Bond to set their bands, and Seals.  
Poets, which Epitaphei on the Dead had made,  
Their Ghosts did rise, fair Fame for to persuade  
To take their Bonds, that they might live, though dead,  
To after Ages when, their Names were read.  
The Muses nine came all at Bar to plead,  
Which partial were, according as th' were feed.  
At last all Poets were cast out, but three,  
Where Fame disputed long, which should her Husband be.  
Pythagoras for Ovid first did speak,  
And said, his numbers smooth, and words were sweet.  
Variety, said he, doth Ladies please,  
They change as oft, as he makes Beasts, Birds, Trees:  
As many several Shapes, and Forms they take,  
Some Goddesses, and some do Devils make.  
Then let fair Fame sweet Ovid's Lady be,  
Since Change doth please that Sex, none's fit but he.  
Then spoke Aeneas on brave Virgil's side,  
Declared, he was the glory, and the pride  
Of all the Romans, who from him did spring,  
And in his Verse his praises high did sing.  
Then let him speed, even for fair Venus' sake,  
And for your Husband no other may you take.  
Wise Ulysses in an Orator's Style  
Began his Speech, whose Tongue was smooth as Oil;  
Bowing his head down low, to Fame did speak,  
I come to plead, although my Wit is weak:  
But since my Cause is just, and Truth my Guide,  
The way is plain, I shall not 〈◊〉 aside.  
Homer's losty Verse doth reach the Heaven's high,  
And brings the Gods down from the Airy Sky:  
And makes them side in Factions, for Mankind,  
As now for Troy, than Greece, as pleased his mind.  
So walks he down into 〈◊〉 deep,  
And wakes the Furies out of their dead sleep:  
With Fancy's Candles seeks above all Hell,  
Where every Place, and Corner he knows well.  
Opening the Gates where sleepy Dreams do lie,  
Walking into the Elysium fields hard by:  
There tells you, how Lovers their time employ,  
And that pure Souls in one another joy.  
As Painter's shadows make, mixing Colours,  
So Souls do mix of Platonic Lovers:  
Shows how Heroic Spirits there do play  
At the Olympic Games, to pass the time away.  
As Wrestling, Running, Leaping, Swimming, Ride,  
And many other Exercises beside.  
What Poet, before him, did ever tell  
The Names of all the Gods, and Devils in Hell?  
Their Mansions, and their Pleasures He describes,  
Their Powers, and Authorities divides.  
Their Chronologies, which were before all time,  
And their Adulteries he puts in Rhyme:  
Besides, great Fame, thy Court he hath filled full  
Of Brave Reports 〈◊〉 which else an Empty Skull  
It would appear, and not like Heaven's Throne,  
Nor like the Firmament, with Stars thick strowne:  
Makes Hell appear with a Majestic Face,  
Because there are so many in that Place.  
Fame never could so great a Queen have been,  
If Wits Invention had not brought Arts in.  
Your Court by Poet's fire is made light:  
Quenched out, you dwell as in perpetual Night.  
It heats the Spirits of Men, inflames their blood,  
And makes them seek for Actions great, and good.  
Then be you just, since you the balance hold,  
Let not the Leaden weights weigh down the Gold.  
It were Injustice, Fame, for you to make  
A 
* Because 〈◊〉 Poets imitate Homer.:  Servant low, his Master's place to take.  
Or 〈◊〉, that pick the Purse, you should prefer  
Before the Owner, since condemned they were.  
His are not Servants Lines; but what He leaves,  
Thiefs 
* The Theft of Poets.  steal, and with the same the World deceives.  
If so, great Fame, the World will never care  
To worship you, unless you right prefer.  
Then let the best of Poets find such grace  
In your fair Eyes, to choose him first in place.  
Let all the rest come offer at thy Shrine,  
And show thyself a Goddess that's divine.  
ay, at your word, will Homer take, said Fame,  
And if he proves not good, be you to blame.  
Ulysses bowed, and Homer kissed her hands,  
Then were they joined in Matrimonial Bands:  
And Mercury from all the Gods was sent,  
To give her joy, and wish her much content.  
And all the Poets were invited round,  
All that were known, or in the World were found.  
Then did they dance with measure, and in time,  
Each in their turn took out the Muses nine.  
In Numbers smooth their Feet did run,  
Whilst Music played, and Songs were sung.  
The Bride, and Bridegroom went to bed,  
There Homer got Fame's Maidenhead.    

A Dialogue betwixt Man, and Nature.  Man. 

'tIs strange,  
How we do change.  
First to live, and then to die,  
Is a great misery.   

To give us sense, great pains to feel,  
To make our lives to be Death's wheel;  
To give us Sense, and Reason too,  
Yet know not what we're made to do.  
Whether to Atoms turn, or Heaven up fly,  
Or into new Forms change, and never die.  
Or else to Matter Prime to fall again,  
From thence to take new Forms, and so remain.  
Nature gives no such Knowledge to Mankind,  
But strong Desires to torment the Mind:  
And Senses, which like Hounds do run about,  
Yet never can the perfect Truth find out.  
O Nature! Nature! cruel to Mankind,  
Gives Knowledge none, but Misery to find.   Nature. 

Why doth Mankind complain, and make such Moan?  
May not I work my will with what's my own?  
But Men among themselves contract, and make  
A Bargain for my Tree; that Tree will take:  
Most cruelly do chop in pieces small,  
And forms it as he please, then builds withal.  
Although that Tree by me was made to stand,  
Just as it grows, not to be cut by Man.   Man. 

O Nature, Trees are dull, and have no Sense,  
And therefore feel not pain, nor take offence.  
But Beasts have life and Sense, and Passion strong,  
Yet cruel man doth kill, and doth them wrong.  
To take that life, I gave, before the time  
I did ordain, the injury is mine.  
What Ill man doth, Nature did make him do,  
For he by Nature is prompt thereunto.  
For it was in great Nature's power, and Will,  
To make him as she pleased, either good, or ill.  
Though Beast hath Sense, feels pain, yet whilst they live,  
They Reason want, for to dispute, or grieve.  
Beast hath no pain, but what in Sense doth lie,  
Nor troubled Thoughts, to think how they shall die.  
Reason doth stretch Man's mind upon the Rack,  
With Hopes, with Joys, pulled up, with Fear pulled back.  
Desire whips him forward, makes him run,  
Despair dothwound, and pulls him back again.  
For Nature, thou mad'st Man betwixt Extremes,  
Wants perfect Knowledge, yet thereof he dreams.  
For had he been like to a Stock, or Stone,  
Or like a Beast, to live with Sense alone.  
Then might he eat, or drink, or lie stone-still,  
Near troubled be, either for Heaven, or Hell.  
Man knowledge hath enough for to inquire,  
Ambition great enough for to aspire:  
And Knowledge hath, that yet he knows not all,  
And that himself he knoweth least of all:  
Which makes him wonder, and thinks there is mixed  
Two several Qualities in Nature fixed.  
The one like Love, the other like to Hate,  
By striving both hinders Predestinate.  
And then sometimes, Man thinks, as one they be,  
Which makes Contrariety so well agree;  
That though the World were made by Love and hate,  
Yet all is ruled, and governed by Fate.  
These are Man's fears; man's hopes run smooth, and high,  
Which thinks his Mind is some great Deity.  
For though the body is of low degree,  
In Sense like Beasts, their Souls like Gods shall be.  
Says Nature, why doth Man complain, and cry,  
If he believes his Soul shall never die?    

A Dialogue betwixt the Body, and the Mind:  Body. 

WHat Bodies else but Man's, did Nature make,  
To join with such a Mind, no rest can take;  
That Ebbs, and slows, with full, and falling Tide,  
As Minds dejected fall, or swell with Pride:  
In Waves of Passion roll to Billows high,  
Always in Motion, never quiet lie.  
Where Thoughts like Fishes swim the Mind about,  
Where the great Thoughts the smaller Thoughts eate out.  
My Body the Bark rows in Minds Ocean wide,  
Whose Waves of Passions beat on every side.  
When that dark Cloud of Ignorance hangs low,  
And Winds of vain Opinions strong do blow:  
Then Showers of doubts into the Mind rain down,  
In deep vast Studies my Bark of flesh is drowned.   Mind. 

Why doth the Body thus complain, when I  
Do help it forth of every Misery?  
For in the World your Bark is bound to swim,  
Nature hath rigged it out to traffic in.  
Against hard Rocks you break in 〈◊〉 small,  
If my Invention help you not in all.  
The Loadstone of Attraction I find out,  
The Card of Observation guides about.  
The Needle of Discretion points the way,  
Which makes your Bark get safe into each Bay.   Body. 

If I 'seape drowning in the Watery Maine,  
Yet in great mighty Battles I am slain.  
By your Ambition I am forced to fight,  
When many 〈◊〉 upon my Body light.  
For you care not, so you a Fame may have,  
To live, if I be buried in a Grave.   Mind. 

If Bodies fight, and Kingdoms win, than you  
Take all the pleasure that belongs thereto.  
You have a Crown, your Head for to adorn,  
Upon your Body Jewels are hung on.  
All things are sought, to please your Senses Five,  
No Drugge unpractised, to keep you alive.  
And I, to set you up in high Degree,  
Invent all Engines used in War to be.  
'tis I that make you in great triumph sit,  
Above all other Creatures high to get:  
By the Industrious Arts, which I do find,  
You other Creatures in Subjection bind:  
You eate their Flesh, and after with their Skin,  
When Winter comes, you lap your Bodies in.  
And so of every thing that Nature makes,  
By my direction you great pleasure takes.   Body. 

What though my Senses all do take delight,  
Yet you upon my Entrails always bite.  
My flesh eate up, that all my bones are bare,  
With the sharp Teeth of Sorrow, Grief, and Care.  
Draws out my Blood from Veins, with envious spite,  
Decays my Strength with shame, or extreme fright.  
With Love extremely sick I lie,  
With cruel hate you make me die.   Mind. 

Care keeps you from all hurt, or falling low,  
Sorrow, and Grief are Debts to Friends we owe.  
Fear makes man just, to give each one his own,  
Shame makes Civility, without there's none.  
Hate makes good Laws, that all may live in Peace,  
Love brings Society, and gets Increase.  
Besides, with Joy I make the Eyes look gay,  
With pleasing Smiles they dart forth every way.  
With Mirth the Cheeks are fat, smooth, Rosie-red,  
Your Speech flows Wit, when Fancies fill the Head.  
If I were gone, you'd miss my Company,  
Wish we were joined again, or you might die.    

A Complaint of Water, Earth, and Air, against the Sun, by way of Dialogue.  Moisture to Earth. 

THere's none hath such an Enemy as I,  
The Sun doth drink me up, when he's a dry,  
He sucks me out of every hole I lie:   

Draws me up high, from whence I down do fall,  
In Showers of Rain, am broke in pieces small,  
Where I am forced to Earth for help to call.  
Straight Earth her Porous doors sets open wide,  
And takes me in with haste on every side;  
Then joins my Limbs fast in a slowing Tide.   Earth to Moisture. 

Alas, Dear Friend, the Sun, my greatest Fee,  
My tender Buds he blast as they do grow:  
He burns my Face, and makes it 〈◊〉, and dry,  
He sucks my Breast, which starves my Young thereby.  
Thus I, and all my Young, for thirst were slain,  
But that with Wet you fill my 〈◊〉 again.   Air to Earth and Moisture. 

The Sun doth use me ill, as all the rest,  
For his hot Sultry heats do me molest:  
Melts me into a thin and slowing Flame,  
To make him light, when men it Day do name.  
Corrupts me, makes me full of 〈◊〉 soars,  
Which Putresaction on men's Bodies pours:  
Or else the subtle Flame into men's Spirits run,  
Which makes them raging, or stark mad become.  
Draws me into a length, and breadth, till I  
Become so thin, with windy wings do fly:  
Never can leave, till all my Spirits spent,  
And then I die, and leave no Monument.   The Sun to 〈◊〉. 

O most unkind, and most ungrateful Earth,  
I am thy Midwife, brings your Young to Birth:  
I with my heat do cause your Young to grow,  
And with my light I teach them how to go.  
My Sun-Bcames are Strings, whereon to hold,  
For fear they fall, and break their Limbs on Cold.  
All to Maturity I do bring, and give  
Youth, Beauty, Strength, and make Old Age to live.   The Sun to 〈◊〉 ' after 

Sluggish Moisture I active, and light make,  
All gross and corrupt I Humours away take.  
All Superfluity I dry up clean,  
That nothing but pure Crystal water's seen.  
The hard-bound Cold I loosen, and untie,  
When you in Icy Chains a Prisoner lie:  
With 〈◊〉 your Limbs are nipped, and bit with Cold,  
Your smooth, and glassy Face makes wrinkled, Old.  
I make you nimble, soft, and fair,  
And Liquid, Nourishing, and Debonair.   The Sun to Aire. 

Aire I purge, and make it clear, and bright,  
Black Clouds dissolve, which make the Day seem Night.  
The crude, raw Vapours, I digest and strain,  
The thicker part all into Showers of Raine.  
The thinnest part I turn all into Winds,  
Which, like a Broom, sweeps out all Dirt it finds.  
The clearest part turn into Azure Sky,  
Hanged all with Stars, and next the Gods you lie.    

A Dialogue between Earth, and Cold.  Earth. 

O Cruel Cold, to life an Enemy,  
A Misery to Man, and Posterity!  
Most envious Cold, to Stupefy men's Brain,  
Destroys that Monarchy, where Wit should reign.  
Tyrant thou art, to bind the Waters clear  
In Chains of Ice, lie fettered half the year.  
Imprisons every thing that dwells in me,  
Shutting my Porous doors, no Light can see:  
And smothered am almost up to death,  
Each hole is stopped so close, can take no breath.  
Congeals the Air to massy Clouds of Snow,  
Like Mountains great, they on my Body throw.  
And all my Plants, and strong great fruit 〈◊〉 Trees,  
You nip to death, or clothe them in course Frieze.  
My fresh green Robes, which 〈◊〉 me fine, and gay,  
You strip me of, or change to black, or grey.  
For fear of Cold, my Moisture shrinks so low,  
My Head wears bald, no 〈◊〉 thereon will grow:  
And breaks the Sun's bright: 〈◊〉, their heat destroy;  
Which takes away my comfort, and my joy:  
And makes my Body stiff, so deadly numbed,  
That in my Veins nothing will fluent run.   Cold. 

Why do you thus complain, poor Earth, and grieve?  
I give you strength and make you long to live.  
I do refresh you from the Scorching Sun,  
I give you breath, which makes you strong become.  
I cloth you from the Cold with Milk-white Snow,  
Send down your Sap to nourish you below.  
For if that heat should dwell, and long time stay,  
His Thirst would drink your Moisture all away.  
I take nought from you, nor do make you poor,  
But, like a Husband good, do keep your Store.  
My Ice are Locks, and Barrs, all safe to keep;  
From Busy Motion gives you quiet sleep.  
For heat is active, and doth you molest,  
Doth make you work, and never let you rest.  
Heat spends your Spirits, makes you cracked, and dry,  
Drinks all himself; with Thirst you almost die.  
With Sweeting Labour you grow weak, and faint,  
I wonder why you make such great complaint.   Earth. 

Both Heat, and Cold, in each extreme Degree,  
Two Hells they are, though contrary they be.  
Two Devils are, torment me with great pains,  
One shoots hot Arrows, th' other ties in Chains.    

A Dialogue betwixt Earth, and Darkness.  Earth. 

OHorrid Darkness, and you powers of Night,  
Melancholy Shades, made by obstructed Lights;  
Why so Cruel? what Evil have I done?  
To part me from my 
* There may be more Earth's then one, for all we know, and but one Sun.  Husband, the bright Sun?   Darkness. 

I do not part you, he me hither sends,  
Whilst He rides about, to visit all his Friends.  
Besides, 〈◊〉 hath more Wives to love, than you;  
He never constant is to one, nor true.   Earth. 

You do him wrong, for though he Journeys make  
For Exercise, he care for me doth take.  
He leaves his Stars, and's Sister in his place,  
To comfort me, whilst 〈◊〉 doth run his Race.  
But you do come, most wicked 〈◊〉 Night,  
And rob me of that fair, and Silver Light.   Darkness. 

The Moon, and Stars, they are but shadows thin,  
Small Cobweb Lawn they from his Light do spin:  
Which they in scorned do make, you to disgrace,  
As a thin Veil, to cover your Ill Face.  
For Moon, or Stars have no strong Lights to show  
A Colour true, nor how you bud, or grow.  
Only some Ghosts do rise, and take delight,  
To walk about, when that the Moon shines bright.   Earth. 

Your are deceived, they cast no such Disguise,  
Strive me to please, by twinkling in the Skies.  
And for the Ghosts my Children are, being weak,  
And tender Eyed, help of the Moon they seek.  
For why, her Light is gentle, moist, and Cold,  
Doth ease their Eyes, when they do it behold.  
But you with Shadows fright, delude the Sight,  
Like Ghost appear, with gloomy shades of Night.  
And you with Clouds do cast upon my Back  
A Mourning Mantle of the deepest black:  
That covers me with dark Obscurity,  
That none of my dear Children I can see.  
Their Lovely Faces mask'st thou from my Sight,  
Which show most beautiful in the day Light.  
They take delight to View, and to adorn,  
And fall in love with one another's Form.  
By which kind Sympathy they bring me store  
Of Children young: those, when grown up, brings more.  
But you are spiteful to those Lover's kind,  
〈◊〉 their Faces, makes their Eyes quite blind.   Darkness. 

Is this my thanks for all my Love, and Care,  
And for the great respect to you I bear?  
I am thy kind, true, and constant Lover,  
I all your Faults, and Imperfections cov  
I take you in my gentle Arms of rest,  
With cool fresh Dews I bathe your dry, hot Breast.  
The Children which you by the Sun did bear,  
I lay to sleep, and rest them from their Care.  
In Beds of silence soft I lay them in,  
And cover them, though black, with Blankets clean.  
Then shut them close from the Disturbing Light,  
And yet you rail against your Lover, Night.  
Besides if you had Light through all the year,  
Though Beauty great, 'twould not so well appear.  
For, what is Common, hath not such respect,  
Nor such regard: for 〈◊〉 doth bring neglect.  
Nought is admired, but what is seldom 〈◊〉,  
And black, for change, delights as well as green.  
Yet I should constant be, if I might stay,  
But the bright Sun doth beat me quite away.  
For he is active, and runs all about,  
Near dwells with one, but seeks new Lovers out.  
He spiteful is to other Lovers, 〈◊〉  
He by his Light doth give intelligence.  
But I Loves confident am made, I bring  
Them in my Shade, to meet and whisper in.  
Thus am I faithful, kind to Lovers true,  
And all is for the 〈◊〉, and Love to you.  
What though I am Melancholy, my Love's as strong,  
As the great Light which you so dote upon.  
Then slight me not, nor do 〈◊〉 Suit disdain,  
But when the Sun is gone, me entertain.  
Take me sweet Love with 〈◊〉 into your Bed,  
And on your fresh green Breast lay my black Head.    

A Dialogue between an Oak, and a Man cutting him down.  Oak. 

WHY cut you off my Bows, both large, and long,  
That keep you from the heat, and scorching Sun 〈◊〉  
And did refresh your 〈◊〉 Limbs from sweat?  
From thundering Rains I keep you free, from Wet;  
When on my Bark your weary head would lay,  
Where quiet sleep did take all Cares away.  
The whilst my Leaves a gentle noise did make,  
And blew cool Winds, that you 〈◊〉 Air night take.  
Besides, I did invite the Birds to sing,  
That their sweet voice might you some pleasure bring.  
Where every one did strive to do their best,  
Oft changed their Notes, and strained their tender Breast.  
In Winter time, my Shoulders broad did hold  
Off blustering Storms, that wounded with sharp Cold.  
And on my Head the 〈◊〉 of snow did fall,  
Whilst you under my Bows 〈◊〉 free from all.  
And will you thus requite my Love, Good Will,  
To take away my Life, and 〈◊〉 kill?  
For all my Care, and Service I have passed,  
Must I be cut, and laid on Fire at last?  
And thus true Love you cruelly have slain,  
Invent always to torture me with pain.  
First you do peel my Bark, and flay my Skin,  
Hue down my Boughs, so chaps off every Limb.  
With Wedges you do pierce my Sides to wound,  
And with your Hatchet knock me to the ground.  
I mined shall be in Chips and pieces small,  
And thus doth Man reward good Deeds withal.   Man. 

Why grumblest thou, old Oak, when thou hast stood  
This hundred years, as King of all the Wood  
Would you for ever live, and not resign  
Your Place to one that is of your own Line?  
Your Acorns young, when they grow big, and tall,  
Long for your Crown, and wish to see your fall;  
Think every minute lost, whilst you do live,  
And grumble at each Office you do give.  
Ambitien flieth high, and is above  
All sorts of Friendship strong, or Nature all Love.  
Besides, all Subjects they in Change delight,  
When Kings grow Old, their Government they slight:  
Although in ease, and peace, and wealth do live,  
Yet all those happy times for Change will give.  
Grows discontent, and Factions still do make;  
What Good so ere he doth, as Evil take.  
Were he as wise, as ever Nature made,  
As pious, good, as ever Heaven 〈◊〉:  
Yet when they die, such Joy is in their Face,  
As if the Devil had gone from that place.  
With Shouts of Joy they run a new to Crown,  
Although next day they strive to pull him down.   〈◊〉. 

Why, said the Oak, because that they are mad,  
Shall I rejoice, for my own Death be glad?  
Because my Subjects all ingrateful are,  
Shall I therefore my health, and life impair.  
Good Kings govern justly, as they ought,  
Examines not their Humours, but their Fault.  
For when their Crimes appear, 'tis time to strike,  
Not to examine Thoughts how they do like.  
If Kings are never loved, till they do die,  
Nor 〈◊〉 to live, till in the Grave they lie:  
Yet he that loves himself the less, because  
He cannot get every man's high applause:  
Shall by my Judgement be condemned to wear,  
The Ass' Ears, and burdens for to bear.  
But let me live the Life that Nature gave,  
And not to please my Subjects, dig my Grave.   Man. 

But here, Poor Oak, thou liv'st in Ignorance,  
And never seekest thy Knowledge to advance.  
I'll cut the down, 'cause Knowledge thou mayst gain,  
Shalt be a Ship, to traffic on the Main:  
There shalt thou swim, and cut the Seas in two,  
And trample down each Wave, as thou dost go.  
Though they rise high, and big are swelled with pride,  
Thou on their Shoulders broad, and Back, shalt ride:  
Their lofty Heads shalt bow, and make them stoop,  
And on their Necks shalt set thy steady Foot:  
And on their Breast thy Stately Ship shalt bear,  
Till thy Sharp Keel the watery Womb doth tear.  
Thus shalt thou round the World, new Land to find,  
That from the rest is of another kind.   Oak. 

O, said the Oak, I am contented well,  
Without that Knowledge, in my Wood to dwell.  
For I had rather live, and simple be,  
Then dangers run, some new strange Sight to see.  
Perchance my Ship against a Rack may hit;  
Then were I straight in sundry pieces split.  
Besides, no rest, nor quiet I should have,  
The Winds would toss me on each troubled Wave.  
The Billows rough will beat on every side,  
My Breast will ache to swim against the Tide.  
And greedy Merchants may me over-fraight,  
So should I drowned be with my own weight.  
Besides with Sails, and Rapes my Body tie,  
Just like a Prisoner, have no Liberty.  
And being always wet, shall take such Colds,  
My Ship may get a Pace, and leak through holes.  
Which they to mend, will put me to great pain,  
Besides, all patched, and pieced, I shall remain.  
I care not for that Wealth, wherein the pains,  
And trouble, is far greater than the Gains.  
I am contented with what Nature gave,  
I not Repine, but one poor wish would have,  
Which is, that you my aged Life would save.   Man. 

To build a Stately House I'll cut thee down,  
Wherein shall Princes live of great renown.  
There shalt thou live with the best Company,  
All their delight, and pastime thou shalt see.  
Where Plays, and Masques, and Beauties bright will shine,  
Thy Wood all oiled with Smoke of Meat, and Wine.  
There thou shalt hear both Men, and Women sing,  
far pleasanter than Nightingales in Spring.  
Like to a Ball, their Echoes shall rebound  
Against the Wall, yet can no Voice be found.   Oak. 

Alas, what Music shall I care to hear,  
When on my Shoulders I such burdens bear?  
Both Brick, and Tiles, upon my Head are laid,  
Of this Preferment I am sore afraid.  
And many times with Nails, and Hammers strong,  
They pierce my Sides, to hang their Pictures on.  
My Face is sinucht with Smoke of Candle Lights,  
In danger to be burnt in Winter Nights.  
No, let me here a poor Old Oak still grow;  
I care not for these vain Delights to know.  
For fruitless Promises I do not care,  
More Honour 'tis, my own green Leaves to bear.  
More Honour 'tis, to be in Nature's dress,  
Then any Shape, that Men by Art express.  
I am not like to Man, would Praises have,  
And for Opinion make myself a Slave.   Man. 

Why do you wish to live, and not to die,  
Since you no Pleasure have, but Misery?  
For here you stand against the scorching Sun:  
By's Fiery Beams, your fresh green Leaves become  
Withered; with Winter's cold you quake, and shake:  
Thus in no time, or season, rest can take.   Oak. 

Yet I am happier, said the Oak, than Man;  
With my condition I contented am.  
He nothing loves, but what he cannot get,  
And soon doth surfeit of one dish of meat:  
Dislikes all Company, displeased alone,  
Makes Grief himself, if Fortune gives him none.  
And as his Mind is restless, never pleased;  
So is his Body sick, and oft diseased.  
His Gouts, and Pains, do make him sigh, and cry,  
Yet in the midst of Pains would live, not die.   Man. 

Alas, poor Oak, thou understandest, nor can  
Imagine half the misery of Man.  
All other Creatures only in Sense join,  
But Man hath something more, which is divine.  
He hath a Mind, doth to the Heavens aspire,  
A Curiosity for to inquire:  
A Wit that nimble is, which runs about  
In every Corner, to seek Nature out.  
For She doth hide herself, as feared to show  
Man all her works, lest he too powerful grow.  
Like to a King, his Favourite makes so great,  
That at the last, he fears his Power he'll get.  
And what creates desire in Man's Breast,  
A Nature is divine, which seeks the best:  
And never can be satisfied, unt ill  
He, like a God, doth in Perfection dwell.  
If you, as Man, desire like Gods to be,  
I'll spare your Life, and not cut down your Tree.    

A Dialogue of Birds.  

AS I abroad in Fields, and Woods did walk,  
I heard the Birds of several things did talk:  
And on the Boughs would 〈◊〉, prate, and chat,  
And every one discourse of this, and that.  
ay, said the Lark, before the Sun do rise,  
And take my flight up to the highest Skies:  
There sing some Notes, to raise Apollo's head,  
For fear that he might lie too long a Bed.  
And as I mount, or if descend down low,  
Still do I sing, which way so ere I go.  
Winding my Body up, just like a Screw,  
So doth my Voice wind up a Trillo too.  
What Bird, besides myself, both flies and sings,  
Just tune my 〈◊〉 keeps to my 〈◊〉 Wings.   

ay, said the Nightingale, all night do watch,  
For fear a Serpent should my young Ones catch:  
To keep back sleep, I several Tunes do sing,  
Which Tunes so pleasant are, they Lovers bring  
Into the Woods; who listening sit, and mark:  
When I begin to sing, they cry, hark, hark.  
Stretching my Throat, to raise my Trills high,  
To gain their praises, makes me almost die.   

Then comes the Owl, which says, here's such a do  
With your sweet Voices; through spite cries Wit-a-woo.  
In Winter, said the Robin, I should die,  
But that I in a good warm house do fly:  
And there do pick up Crumbs, which make me fat,  
But oft am scared away with the Pussycat.  
If they molest me not, than I grow bold,  
And stay so long, whilst Winter 〈◊〉 are told.  
Man superstitiously dares not hurt me,  
For if I am killed, or hurt, ill Luck shall be.   

The Sparrow said, were our Condition such,  
But Men do strive with Nets us for to catch:  
With Guns, and Bows they shoot us from the Trees,  
And by small shot, we oft our Lives do lose,  
Because we pick a Cherry here, and there,  
When, God he knows, we eat them in great fear.  
But Men will eat, until their Belly burst,  
And surfeits take: if we eat, we are cursed.  
Yet we by Nature are revenged still,  
For eating overmuch themselves they kill.  
And if a Child do chance to cry, or brawl,  
They strive to catch us, to please that Child withal:  
With Threads they tie our legs almost to crack,  
That when we hop away, they pull us back:  
And when they cry Fip, Fip, straight we must come,  
And for our pains they'll give us one small Crum.   

I wonder, said Magpie, you grumble so,  
Dame Sparrow, we are used much worse I trow.  
For they our Tongues do slit, their words to learn,  
And with the pain, our food we dear came.   

Why, say the 〈◊〉, and the 〈◊〉 all,  
Do you so prate Magpie, and so much bawl?  
As if no Birds besides were wronged but you,  
When we by cruel Man are injured to.  
For we, to learn their 〈◊〉, are kept awake,  
That with their whistling we no rest can take.  
In darkness we are kept, no Light must see,  
Till we have learned their Tunes most perfectly.  
But Jackdaws, they may dwell their houses nigh,  
And build their Nests in Elms that do grow high:  
And there may prate, and fly from place to place;  
For why, they think they give their House a grace.   

Lord! said the Partridge, Cock, Peewit, Snite, and Quail,  
Pigeons, Larks, my Masters, why d'ye rail?  
You're kept from Winter's Cold, and Summer's heat,  
Are taught new Tunes, and have good store of meat.  
Having a Servant you to wait upon,  
To make your Cages clean from 〈◊〉, and Dung:  
When we poor Birds are by the dozen killed,  
And luxuriously us eat, till they be filled:  
And of our Flesh they make such cruel 〈◊〉,  
That but some of our Limbs will please their taste.  
In Woodcocks thighs they only take delight,  
And Partridge wings, which swift were in their flight.  
The smaller Lark they eat all at one by't,  
But every part is good of Quail, and Suit.  
The Murderous Hawk they keep, us for to catch,  
And learn their Dogs, to crouch, and creep, and watch:  
Until they have sprung us to Nets, and Toils,  
And thus poor Creatures we are made Man's spoils.  
Cruel Nature! to make us Gentle, Mildred:  
They happy are, which are more fierce, and wild.  
O would our flesh had been like Carrion, course,  
To eat us only Famine might enforce.  
But when they eat us, may they surfeits take,  
May they be poor, when they a 〈◊〉 us make.  
The more they eat, the leaner may they grow,  
Or else so fat, they cannot stir, nor go.   

O, said the 〈◊〉, let me mourn in black,  
For, of Man's cruelty I do not lack:  
I am the 〈◊〉 of Summer warm,  
Do neither pick their Fruit, nor eat their Corn;  
Yet they will take us, when alive we be,  
I shake to tell, O horrid Cruelty!  
Beat us alive, till we an Oil become.  
Can there to Birds be a worse Mortyrdome?  
〈◊〉, O Man, if we should serve you so,  
You would 〈◊〉 us your great Curses throw.  
But Nature, she is good, do not her blame:  
We ought to give her thanks, and not exclaim.  
For Love is Nature's chiefest Law in Mind,  
Hate but an Accident from Love we find.  
'tis true, Selfe-Preservation is the chief,  
But Luxury to Nature is a 〈◊〉.  
Corrupted manners always do breed Vioe,  
Which by 〈◊〉 doth the Mind entice.  
No Creature doth usurp so much as Man,  
Who thinks himself like God, because he can  
Rule other Creatures, makes them to obey:  
We Souls have, Nature never made, say they.  
What ever comes from Nature's Stock, and Treasure,  
Created is only to serve their pleasure.  
Although the Life of Bodies comes from Nature,  
Yet still the Souls come from the great Creator.  
And they shall live, though we to 〈◊〉 do turn,  
Either in Bliss, or in hot flames to burn.   

Then came the Parrot with her painted wing 〈◊〉  
Spoke like an Orator in every thing.  
Sister Jay, Neighbour 〈◊〉, Gossip Pie,  
We taken are, not like the rest, to die:  
Only to talk, and prate, the best we can,  
To Imitate to 〈◊〉 Life, the Speech of Man.  
And just like men, we 〈◊〉 our time away,  
With many words, not one wise Speech can say:  
And speak as gravely Nonsense as the best,  
As full of empty words as 〈◊〉 the rest.  
Then Nature we will praise, because she have  
Given us such Tongues, as Men our Lives to save.  
Mourn not my Friends, but sing in Sunshine gay,  
And while you'ave time, joy in yourselves you may.  
What though your lives be short, yet merry be,  
And not complain, but in delights agree.   

Straight came the 〈◊〉 with a frowning face,  
And hoped about, as in an angry pace.  
My Masters all, what are you mad,  
Is no regard unto the public had?  
Are private Home-Affaires cast all aside?  
Your young Ones cry for meat, 'tis time to chide.  
For shame disperse yourselves, and some pains take,  
Both for the Common good, and young Chickes sake:  
And not sit murmuring here against great Man,  
Unless for to revenge ourselves we can.  
Alas, alas, we want their Shape, which they  
By it have power to make all obey.  
For they can Lift, 〈◊〉, strike, turn, and wind,  
What ways they will, which makes them new Arts find.  
'tis not their Wit, which new Inventions make,  
But 'tis their Shapes, which height, breadth, depth, can take.  
Thus they can measure the great worldly Ball,  
And Numbers set, to prove the Truth of all.  
What Creature else hath Arms, or goeth upright,  
Or have all sorts of Motions so unite?  
Man by his Shape can Nature imitate,  
Can govern, rule, and new Arts can create.  
Then come away, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 no good can do,  
And what we cannot help, submit unto.  
Then some their 〈◊〉, others their Husbands call,  
To gather Sticks, to build their Nests withal.  
Some that were Shrews, did chide, and scold, and fret,  
The Wind blew down their Nest where they should sit:  
For all they gathered, with 〈◊〉, and care,  
Those Sticks, and Straws were blown they knew not where.  
But none did labour like the little Wren,  
To build her Nest, to hatch her young Ones in.  
She lays more Eggs than all the rest,  
And with much Art doth build her Nest.  
The younger sort made love, and kissed each others Bill,  
The Cock would catch some Flies to give his Mistress still,  
The Yellow hammer cried, 'tis wet, 'tis wet,  
For it will rain before the Sun doth set.  
Taking their Flight, as each Mind thought it best,  
Some flew abroad, and some home to their Nest.  
Some went to gather Corn from Sheaves out strewed,  
And some to pick up Seed that's newly sowed.  
Some had Courage a Cherry ripe to take,  
Others catch 't Flies, when they a Feast did make.  
And some did pick up Ants, and Eggs, though small,  
To carry home, to feed their young withal.  
When every Crap was filled, and Night came on,  
Then did they stretch their Wings to fly fast home.  
And as like Men, from Market home they come,  
Set out alone, but every Mile adds some:  
Until a Troop of Neighbours, get together,  
So do a flight of Birds in Sunshine weather.  
When to their Nests they get, Lord how they bawl,  
And every one doth to his Neighbour call:  
Ask each other if they weary were,  
Rejoicing at past dangers, and great fear.  
When they their wings had pruned, and young ones fed,  
Sat gossipping, before they went to Bed.  
Let us a Carol, said the Blackbird, sing,  
Before we go to Bed this fine Evening.  
The Thrushes, Linnets, Finches, all took parts,  
A Harmony by Nature, not by Arts.  
But all their Songs were Hymns to God on high,  
Praising his Name, blessing his Majesty.  
And when they asked for Gifts, to God did pray,  
He would be pleased to give them a fair day.  
At last they drowsy grew, and heavy were to sleep,  
And then instead of singing, cried, Peep, Peep.  
Just as the Eye, when Sense is locking up,  
Is neither open wide, nor yet quite shut:  
So doth a Voice still by degrees fall down,  
And as a Shadow, wast so doth a Sound.  
Thus went to rest each Head, under each wing,  
For Sleep brings Peace to every living thing.    

A Dialogue between Melancholy, and Mirth.  

AS I fate Musing, by myself alone,  
My Thoughts on several things did work upon.  
Some did large Houses build, and Stately Towers,  
Making Orchards, Gardens, and fine Bowers:  
And some in Arts, and Sciences delight,  
Some wars in Contradiction, Reason's fight.  
And some, as Kings, do govern, rule a State;  
Some as Republickes, which all Monarch's hate.  
Others, as Lawyers, plending at the Bar,  
Some privy Counsellors, and Judges are.  
Some Priests, which do preach Peace, and Godly life,  
Others Tumultuous are, and full of 〈◊〉.  
Some are debauched, do wench, swagger, and swear,  
And some poor Thoughts do tremble out of fear.  
Some jealous are, and all things do suspect,  
Others so Careless, every thing neglect.  
Some Nymphs, Shepherds, and Shepherdesses,  
Some so kind, as one another kisses.  
All sorts of Lovers, and their Passions,  
Several ways of Conrt- 〈◊〉, and fine Fashions.  
Some take strong Towns, and Buttels win,  
Few do loose, but all must yield to him.  
Some are Heroic, Generous, and Free,  
And some so base, do crouch with Flattery.  
Some dying are, and in the Grave half lie,  
And some Repenting, which for sorrow cry.  
The Mind oppressed with Grief, Thoughts Mourners be,  
All clothed in Black, no light of Joy can see.  
Some with Despair do rage, are almost mad,  
And some so merry, nothing makes thein sad.  
And many more, which were too long to tell,  
Thoughts several be, in several places dwell.  
At last came two, which were in various dress,  
One Melancholy, th' other did Mirth express.  
Melancholy was all in black Array,  
And Mirth was all in Colours fresh, and gay.   〈◊〉 

Mirth laughing came, running unto me, flung  
Her fat white Arms, about my Neck she hung:  
Embraced, and kissed me oft, and stroked my Cheek,  
Telling me, she would no other Lover seek.  
I'll sing you Songs, and please you every day,  
Invent new Sports, to pass the time away.  
I'll keep your Heart, and guard it from that Thief,  
Dull Melancholy Care, or sadder Grief:  
And make your Eyes with Mirth to overflow,  
With springing blood, your Cheeks they fat shall grow,  
Your Legs shall nimble be, your Body light,  
And all your Spirits, like to Birds in flight.  
Mirth shall digest your Meat, and make you strong,  
Shall give you Health, and your short days prolong.  
Refuse me not, but take me to your Wife,  
For I shall make you happy all your Life.  
If you take Melancholy, she'll make you lean,  
Your Cheeks shall hollow grow, your Jaws all seen:  
Your Eyes shall buried be within your Head,  
And look as Pale, as if you were quite dead.  
she'll make you start at every noise you hear,  
And Visions strange shall in your Eyes appear.  
Your Stomach cold, and raw, digesting nought,  
Your Liver dry, your Heart with sorrow fraught.  
Your shrivelled Skin, and Cloudy Brows, blood thick,  
Your long lank sides, and back to Belly stick.  
Thus would it be, if you to her were wed,  
But better far it were, that you were dead.  
Her Voice is low, and gives a hollow sound,  
She hates the Light, in darkness only found:  
Or set with blinking 〈◊〉, or Tapers small,  
Which various Shadows make against a Wall.  
She loves nought else but Noise, which discords make,  
As croaking Frogs which do dwell in the Lake.  
The Ravens hoarse, and so the Mandrake's groan,  
And shrieking Owls, which in Night fly alone.  
The Tolling Bell, which for the dead rings out,  
A Mill, where rushing waters run about.  
The roaring winds, which shake the Cedars tall,  
Blow up the Seas, and beat the Rocks withal.  
She loves to walk in the still Moon shine Night,  
Where in a thick dark Grove she takes delight.  
In hollow Caves, Houses thatched, or lowly Cell,  
She loves to live, and there alone to dwell.  
Her Ears are stopped with Thoughts, her Eyes purblind,  
For all she hears, or sees, is in the 〈◊〉.  
But in her Mind, luxuriously she lives,  
Imagination several pleasures gives.  
Then leave her to herself, alone to dwell,  
Let you and I in Mirth and pleasure swell:  
And drink long lusty Draughts from 〈◊〉 Boule,  
Until our Brains on vaporous Waves do roll.  
Le's joy ourselves in Amorous Delights.  
There's none so happy, as the Carpet Knights.   Melancholy. 

Melancholy with sad, and sober Face,  
Complexion pale, but of a comely grace:  
With modest Countenance, soft speech thus spoke.  
May I so happy be, your Love to take?  
True, I am dull, yet by me you shall know  
More of yourself, so wiser you shall grow.  
I 〈◊〉 the depth, and bottom of Mankind,  
Open the Eye of Ignorance that's blind.  
I travel far, and view the World about,  
I walk with Reason's Staff to find Truth out,  
I watchful am, all dangers for to shun,  
And do prepare 'gainst Evils that may come.  
I hang not on inconstant Fortune's wheel,  
Nor yet with unresolving doubts do reel.  
I shake not with the Terrors of vain fears,  
Nor is my Mind filled with unuseful Cares.  
I do not spend my time like idle Mirth,  
Which only happy is just at her Birth.  
Which seldom lives for to be old,  
But, if she doth, can no affections hold.  
For in short time she troublesome will grow,  
Though at the first she makes a pretty show.  
But yet she makes a noise, and keeps a rout,  
And with dislike most commonly goes out.  
Mirth good for nothing is, like Weeds do grow,  
Such Plants cause madness, Reason doth not know.  
Her face with Laughter crumples on a heap,  
Which ploughs deep Furroughes, making wrinkles great.  
Her Eyes do water, and her Skin turns red,  
Her mouth doth gape, Teeth bare, like one that's dead.  
Her sides do stretch, as set upon the Last,  
Her Stomach heaving up, as if she'd cast.  
Her Veins do swell, Joints seem to be unset;  
Her Pores are open, streaming out a sweat.  
She fulsome is, and gluts the Senses all;  
Offers herself, and comes before a Call:  
Seeks Company out, hates to be alone.  
Vnsent-for Guests Affronts are thrown upon.  
Her house is built upon the golden Sands;  
Yet no Foundation hath, whereon it stands.  
A Palace 'tis, where comes a great Resort,  
It makes a noise, and gives a loud report.  
Yet underneath the Roof, Disasters lie,  
Beats down the house, and many kills thereby.  
I dwell in Groves that gilt are with the Sun,  
Sat on the Banks, by which clear waters run.  
In Summer's hot, down in a Shade I lie;  
My Music is the buzzing of a Fly:  
Which in the Sunny Beams do dance all day,  
And harmlessly do pass their time away.  
I walk in Meadows, where grows fresh green Grass.  
Or Fields, where Corn is high, in which I pass:  
Walk up the Hills, where round I Prospects see;  
Some Brushy Woods, and some all Champion's 〈◊〉.  
Returning back, in the fresh Pasture go,  
To hear the bleating Sheep, and Cows to low.  
They gently feed, no Evil think upon,  
Have no designs to do another wrong.  
In Winter Cold, when nipping Frosts come on,  
Then do I live in a small House alone.  
The littleness doth make it warm, being close,  
No Wind, nor Wether cold, can there have force.  
Although 'tis plain, yet cleanly 'tis within,  
Like to a Soul that's pure, and clear from Sin.  
And there I dwell in quiet, and still Peace,  
Not filled with Cares, for Fiches to increase.  
I wish, nor seek for valne, and 〈◊〉 Pleasures,  
No Riches are, but what the Mind intreasures.  
Thus am I solitary, and live alone,  
Yet better loved, the more that I am known.  
And though my Face b'ill favoured at first sight,  
After Acquaintance it shall give delight.  
For I am like a Shade, who sits in me,  
Shall not come wet, nor yet Sun-burned be.  
I keep off blustering Storms, from doing hurt,  
When Mirth is often sinutched with dust, and dirt.  
Refuse menot, for I shall constant be,  
Maintain your Credit, keep up Dignity.    

A Dialogue betwixt Joy, and Discretion.  Joy. 

GIve me some Music, that my Spirits may  
Dance a free Galliard, whilst Delight doth play.  
Let every Voice sing out, both loud, and shrill,  
And every Tongue too run what way it will.  
For Fear is gone away with her Pale Face,  
And Pain is banished out from every place.   Discretion. 

O Joy, take Moderation by the hand,  
Or 〈◊〉 you'll fall so drunk, you cannot stand.  
Your Tongue doth run so fast, no time can keep,  
High as a Mountain, many words you heap.  
Your Thoughts in multitudes the Brain do throng,  
That Reason is cast down, and trod upon.   Joy. 

O wise Discretion, do not angry grow.  
Great dangers, fears, 〈◊〉, you do not know.  
But Fear being past, they suddenly are slacked,  
Fear, being a string, binds hard; when once 'tis cracked:  
Spirits find Liberty, 〈◊〉 run about:  
Hard being 〈◊〉, they suddenly burst out,  
And to recover what they had before,  
When once 〈◊〉, their liberty is more.  
Like Water, which was penned, than passage finds,  
Goeth in a Fury like the Northern winds.  
What gathers on a heap, so strong doth grow,  
That when they're loose, far swifter do they go.  
But dear Discretion with me do not scold,  
Whilst you do feel great Fears, your Tongue pray hold.  
For Joy cannot contain itself in rest:  
It never leaves till some way is expressed.    

A Dialogue betwixt Wit, and Beauty.  Wit. 

Mixed Rose, and Lily, why are you so proud,  
Since Fair is not in all Minds best allowed?  
Some like the Black, the Brown, as well as White,  
In all Complexions some Eyes take delight:  
Nor doth one Beauty in the World still reign.  
For Beauty is created in the Brain.  
But say there were a Body perfect made,  
Complexion pure, by Nature's pencil laid:  
A Countenance where all sweet Spirits meet,  
A Hair that's thick, or long curled to the Feet:  
Yet were it like a Statue made of stone,  
The Eye would weary grow to look thereon.  
Had it not Wit, the Mind still to delight,  
It soon would weary be, as well as Sight.  
For Wit is fresh, and new, doth sport, and play,  
And runs about the Humour every way.  
Withal the Passions Wit can well agree;  
Wit tempers them, and makes them pleased to be.  
Wit's ingenious, doth new Inventions find,  
To ease the Body, recreate the Mind.   Beauty. 

When I appear, I strike the Optic Nerve,  
I wound the Heart, I make the Passions serve.  
Souls are my Prisoners, yet love me so well,  
My Company is Heaven, my absence Hell.  
Each Knee doth bow to me, as to a Shrine,  
And all the World accounts me as Divine.   Wit. 

Beauty, you cannot long Devotion keep:  
The Mind grows weary, Senses fall a sleep.  
As those which in the House of God do go,  
Are very zealous in a Prayer, or two:  
But if they kneel an houre-long to pray,  
Their Zeal grows cold, nor know they what they say.  
So Admirations last not very long,  
After nine days the greatest wonder's gone.  
The Mind, as Senses all, delights in Change;  
They nothing love, but what is new, and strange.  
But subtle Wit can both please long, and well;  
For, to the Ear a new Tale Wit can tell.  
And, for the Taste, meat dresses several ways,  
To please the Eye, new Forms, and Fashions raise.  
And for the Touch, Wit spins both Silk, and Wool,  
Invents new ways to keep Touch warm, and cool.  
For Sent, Wit mixtures, and Compounds doth make,  
That still the Nose a fresh new smell may take.  
I by discourse can represent the Mind,  
With several Objects, though the Eyes be blind.  
I can create Ideas in the Brain,  
Which to the Mind seem real, though but feigned.  
The Mind like to a Shop of Toys I fill,  
With fine Concerts, all sorts of Humours sell.  
I can the work of Nature imitate;  
And change myself into each several Shape.  
I conquer all, am Master of the Field,  
I make fair Beauty in Love's Wars to yield.    

A Dialogue between Love, and Hate.  

BOth Love, and Hate fell in a great dispute;  
And hard it was each other to confute:  
Which did most Good, or Evil most did shun.  
Then Hate with frowning Brows this Speech begun.   Hate. 

I fly, said she, from wicked, and base Acts,  
And tear the Bonds unjust, or ill Contracts.  
I do abhor all Murder, War, and strife,  
Inhuman Actions, and disordered life.  
Ungrateful, and unthankful Minds, that eat  
All those, from whom they have received a Boon.  
From Discords harsh, and rude, my Ears I stop,  
And what is Bad, I from the Good do lop.  
I Perjured Lovers brand with foul disgrace,  
And from ill Objects do I hide my Face.  
Things, that are Bad, I hate; or what seems so:  
But Love is contrary to this, I know.  
Love loves Ambition, the Mind's hot Fire,  
And Worlds would ruin, for to rise up higher.  
You love to please your Appetite, and your Will,  
To glut your Gusto you delight in still.  
You love to Flatter, and be flattered too;  
And, for your Lust, poor Virgins would undo.  
You love the ruin of your Foes to see,  
And of your Friends, if they but Prosperous be.  
You nothing love besides yourself, though ill,  
And with vainglorious wind your Brain do fill.  
You love no ways, but where your Bias tends,  
And love the Gods only for your own Ends.   Love. 

But Love, in words as sweet, as Nature is,  
Said, Hate was false, and always did amiss.  
For she did Canker-fret, the Soul destroy,  
Disturb the pleasure, wherein Life takes joy;  
The World disorder, which in Peace would keep,  
Torment the Head, the Heart revenge to seek:  
And never rests, till she descends to Hell;  
And therefore ever amongst Devils dwell.  
For I, said Love, unite, and Concord's make,  
All Music was invented for my sake.  
I Men by Laws in commonwealth do join;  
Against a common Foe, as one combine.  
I am a Guard, to watch, defend, and keep,  
The Sick, the Lame, the Helpless, Aged, weak:  
I for Honour's sake high Courage raise;  
And bring to Beauty Shrine, Offerings of praise.  
I Pity, and Compassion the World throughout  
Do carry, and distribute all about.  
I to the Gods do reverence, bow, and pray,  
And in their Heavenly Mansions bear great sway.  
Thus Love, and Hate, in somethings equal be;  
Yet in Disputes will always disagree.    

A Dialogue betwixt Learning, and Ignorance.  Learning. 

THou Busy, Forrester, that searchest 'bout  
The Vvored, to find the Heart of Learning out.  
Or, Perseus like, foul Monsters thou dost kill;  
Rude Ignorance, which always doth ill,   Ignorance. 

O thou Proud Learning, that stand'st on Tiptoes high,  
Can never reach to know the Deity:  
Nor where the Cause of any one thing lies,  
But fill man full of Care, and Miseries.  
Learning inflames the Thoughts to take great pains,  
Doth nought but make an Almes-tub of the Brains.   Learning. 

Learning doth seek about, new things to find;  
In that Pursuit, doth recreate the Mind.  
It is a Perspective, Nature to espy,  
Can all her Curiosity descry.   Ignorance. 

Learning's an useless pain, unless it have  
Some ways, or means to keep us from the Grave.  
For, what is all the World, if understood,  
If we do use it not, nor taste the Good?  
Learning may come to know the use of things,  
Yet not receive the Good which from them springs.  
For Life is short, and Learning tedions, long:  
Before we come to use what's Learned, Life's gone.   Learning. 

O Ignorance, thou Beast, which 〈◊〉 and lazy liest,  
And only cat'st, and sleepest, till thou diest.   Ignorance. 

The Lesson Nature taught, is, most delight,  
To please the Sense, and eke the Appetite.  
I Ignorance am still the Heaven of Bliss:  
For in me lies the truest happiness.  
Give me still Ignorance, that Innocent Estate,  
That Paradise, that's free from Envious Hate.  
Learning a Tree was, whereon Knowledge grew,  
Tasting that Fruit, Man only Misery knew.  
Had Man but Knowledge, Ignorance to love,  
He happy would have been, as Gods above.   Learning. 

O Ignorance, how foolish thou dost talk!  
ist happiness in Ignorance to walk?  
Can there be Joy in Darkness, more than Light?  
Or Pleasure more in Blindness, then in Sight?    

A Dialogue betwixt Riches, and Poverty.  Riches. 

ay, Wealth, can make all Men of each degree,  
To crouch, and flatter, and to follow me.  
I many Cities build, high, thick, and large,  
And Armies raise, against each other charge:  
I make them lose their Lives, for my dear sake,  
Though when they're dead, they no Rewards can take.  
I trample Truth under my Golden Feet,  
And tread down Innocence, that Flower sweet.  
I gather Beauty, when 'tis newly blown,  
Reap Chastity, before 'tis overgrown.  
I root out Virtue with a Golden Spade,  
I cut of Justice with a Golden Blade.  
Pride, and Ambition are my Vassals low,  
And on their Heads I tread, as I do go:  
And by Mankind 〈◊〉 more adorned am I,  
Although but Earth, than the Bright Sun so high.   Poverty. 

Riches, thou art a Slave, and runnest about,  
On every Errand thou comest in, go'st out:  
And Men of Honour set on thee no price,  
Nor Honesty, nor Virtue can entice.  
Some foolish Gamesters, which do love to play  
At Cards, and Dice, corrupt perchance you may:  
A Silly 〈◊〉 gather here, and there,  
That doth gay clothes, and Jewels love to wear.  
Some Poor, which hate their Neighbour Brave to see,  
Perchance may seek, and love your Company.  
And those that strive to please their Senses all,  
If they want Health, if you pass by, will call.  
On Age, 'tis true: you have a great, strong power;  
For they embrace you, though they die next Hour.   Riches. 

You speak, poor Poverty, mere out of spite,  
Because there's none with you doth take delight:  
If you into Man's Company will thrust,  
They call that Fortune ill, and most accursed.  
Men are ashamed with them you should be seen,  
You are so ragged, torn, and so unclean.  
When I come in, much Welcome do I find,  
Great Joy there is, and Mirth in every Mind.  
And every door is open set, and wide,  
And all within is busily employed.  
There Neighbours all invited are to see,  
And proud they are in my dear Company.   Poverty. 

'tis Prodigality you brag so on,  
Which never lets you rest, till you are gone;  
Calls in for help to beat you out of doors,  
His dear Companions, Drunkards, Gamesters, Whores.  
What though you're Brave, and Gay in outward Show?  
Within you are foul, and beastly, as you know.  
Besides, Debauchery is like a Sink,  
And you are Father to that filthy stink.  
True, I am threadbare, and am very lean;  
Yet I am Decent, sweet, and very clean.  
I healthful am, my Diet being spare:  
You're full of Gouts, and Pains, and Surfeits fear.  
I am Industrious new Arts to find,  
To ease the Body, and to please the Mind.  
The World like to a Wilderness would be,  
If it were not for the Poors Industry.  
For Poverty doth set a-work the Brains,  
And all the Thoughts to labour, and take pains.  
The Mind ne'er idle sits, but is employed:  
Riches breed Sloth, and fill it full of Pride.  
Riches, like a Sow, in its own Mire lies;  
But Poverty's light, and like a Bird still flies.    

A Dialogue betwixt Anger, and Patience.  Patience. 

ANger, why are you so hot, and fiery red?  
Or else so 〈◊〉 as if you were quite dead?  
Joints seem unset, Flesh shakes, the Nerves grow Slack,  
Your Spirits all disturbed, your Senses lack.  
Your Tongue doth move, but not a plain word speak,  
Or else words flow so thick, like Torrents great.   Anger. 

Lord, what a 〈◊〉 of dislike you tell!  
If you were stung with wrong, your Mind would swell:  
Your Spirits would be set on flame with Fire,  
Or else grow i'll with Cold, and back retire.   Patience. 

Alas, it is for some supposed wrong:  
Sometimes you have no ground to build upon.  
Suspicion is deceitful, runs about,  
And, for a Truth, it oft takes wrong, no doubt.  
If you take Falsehood, up, ne'er search them through,  
You do a wrong to Truth, and yourself too.  
Besides, you're blind, and undiscerning fly  
On every Object, though Innocence is by.   Anger. 

O Patience, you are strict, and seem precise,  
And Counsels give, as if you were so wise.  
But you are cruel, and fit times will take  
For your Revenge, and yet no show do make.  
Your Brows 〈◊〉, your Heart seems not to burn,  
Yet on Suspicion will do a 〈◊〉 turn.  
But I am sudden, and do all in 〈◊〉,  
Yet in short time my 〈◊〉 all is 〈◊〉.  
Though Anger be not right, but sometimes wrong,  
The greatest Mischief lies but in the Tongue.  
But you do mischief, and your time you'll find  
To work Revenge, though quiet in your Mind.   〈◊〉. 

If I take time, I clearly then can see,  
To view the Cause, and seek for 〈◊〉.  
If I have wrong, myself I well may 〈◊〉,  
But I do wrong, if Innocence I strike.  
The Knot of Anger by degrees unties;  
Take of that Muffler from Discretions Eyes.  
My Thoughts run clear, and smooth, as Crystal Brooks,  
That every Face may see, that therein looks.  
Though I run low, yet wisely do I wind,  
And many times through Mountain's passage find:  
When you swell high, like to a flowing Sea,  
For windy Passions cannot in rest be.  
Where you are rolled in Waves, and tossed about,  
Tormented is, no passage can find out.   Angry. 

Patience, your mouth with good words you do fill,  
And preach Morality, but you act ill.  
Besides, you seem a Coward full of fear,  
Or like an Ass, which doth great Burdens bear.  
Le's every Poltroon at his will give blows,  
And every fool in scorn to wring your Nose.  
Most of the World do think you have no Sense,  
Because not angry, nor take no Offence.  
When I am thought right wise, and of great Merit,  
Heroick, Valorous, and of great Spirit;  
And every one doth fear me to offend,  
And for to please me, all their Forces bend:  
I flattered am, make Fear away to run:  
Thus I am Master wheresoever I come.  
A way you foolish Patience, give me rage,  
That I in Wars may this great World engage.   Patience. 

O Anger thou art mad, there's none will care  
For your great brags, but Fools and cowardly Fear.  
Which in weak Women, and small Children dwell;  
Wisdom knows you talk, more than fight, right well.  
Besides, great Courage takes me by the hand,  
That whilst he fights, I close by him may stand.  
I Patience want, not Sense, Misfortunes t'espie,  
Although I silent am, and do not cry.  
Ill Accidents, and Grief, I strive to cure,  
What cannot help, with Courage, I endure.  
Whilst you do vex yourself with grievous Pains,  
And nothing but Disturbance is your Gains.  
Let me give counsel, Anger, take't not ill,  
That I do offer you my Patience still.  
For you in danger live still all your life,  
And 〈◊〉 do, when you are hot in Strife.    

A Dialogue between a Bountiful Knight, and a Castle ruined in War.  Knight. 

ALas, poor Castle, how thou now art changed  
From thy first Form! to me thou dost seem strange.  
I left thee Comely, and in perfect health;  
Now thou art withered, and decayed in Wealth.   Castle. 

O Noble Sir, I from your Stock was raised,  
Flourished in plenty, and by all Men praised:  
For your Most Valiant Father did me build,  
Your Brother furnished me, my Neck did gild:  
And Towers on my Head like Crowns 
* The Crest in the Wainscot gilt.  were placed,  
Like to a Girdle, Walls went round my Waste.  
And on this pleasant Hill he set me high,  
Viewing the Vales below, as they did lie.  
Where every Field, like Gardens, is enclosed,  
Where fresh green Grass, and yellow Cowslips growed.  
There did I see fat Sheep in Pastures go,  
Hearing the Cows, whose bags were full, to low.  
By Wars am now destroyed, all Right's o'repowred,  
Beauty, and Innocency are devoured.  
Before these Wars I was in my full Prime,  
And thought the greatest Beauty in my time.  
But Noble Sir, since I did see you last,  
Within me hath a Garrison been placed.  
Their Guns, and Pistols all about me hung,  
And in despite their Bullets at me flung:  
Which through my Sides they passages made out,  
Flung down my Walls, that circled me about.  
And let my Rubbish on huge heaps to lie,  
With Dust am choked, for want of Water, dry.  
For those small Leaden Pipes, which winding lay,  
Under the ground, the water to convey:  
Were all cut off, the water murmuring,  
Run back with Grief to tell it to the Spring.  
My Windows all are broke, the wind blows in,  
With Cold I shake, with Agues shivering.  
O pity me, dear Sir, release my Band,  
Or let me die by your most Noble hand.   Knight. 

Alas, poor Castle, I small help can bring,  
Yet shall my Heart supply the former Spring:  
From whence the water of fresh tears shall rise,  
To quench thy Drought, will spout them from mine Eyes.  
That Wealth I have for to release thy woe,  
Will offer for a Rausome to thy Foe.  
Thy Health recover, and to build thy Wall,  
I have not Means enough to do't withal.  
Had I the Art, no pains that I would spare,  
For what is broken down, I would repair.   Castle. 

Most Noble Sir, you that me Freedom give,  
May your great Name in after Ages live.  
For this your Bounty may the Gods requite,  
And keep you from such Enemies of Spite.  
And may great Fame your Praises sound aloud:  
Gods give me life to show my Gratitude.    

A Dialogue betwixt Peace, and War.  Peace. 

WAR makes the Vulgar Multitude to drink  
In at the Ear the foul, and muddy Sink  
Of Factious Tales, by which they dizzy grow,  
That the clear sight of Truth they do not know.  
And reeling stand, know not what way to take,  
But when they choose, 'tis wrong, so a War make.   War. 

Thou Flattering Peace, and most unjust, which draws  
The Vulgar by thy empiric to hard Laws:  
Which makes them silly Ones, content to be,  
To take up Voluntary Slavery.  
And mak'st great Inequalities beside,  
Some like to Asses bear, others on Horseback ride.   Peace. 

O War, thou cruel Enemy to Life,  
Unquieted Neighbour, breeding always Strife.  
Tyrant thou art, to Rest will give no time,  
And Blessed Peace thou punishest as a Crime.  
Factions thou mak'st in every Publick-weale,  
From Bonds of Friendship tak'st off Wax, and Seal.  
On Natural Affections thou dost make  
A Massacre, that hardly one can 'scape.  
The Root of all Religion thou pullest up,  
And every Branch of Ceremony cut.  
Civil Society is turned to Manners base,  
No Laws, or Customs can by thee get place.  
Each Mind within itself cannot agree,  
But all do strive for Superiority:  
In the whole World dost such disturbance make,  
To save themselves none knows what ways to take.   War. 

O Peace, thou idle Drone, which lov'st to dwell,  
If it but keep the safe, in a poor Cell.  
Thy Life thou sleepest away, Thoughts lazy lie.  
Sloth buries Fame, makes all great Actions die.   Peace. 

I am the Bed of Rest, and Couch of Ease,  
My Conversation doth all Creatures please.  
I the Parent of Learning am, and Arts,  
Nurse to Religion, and Comfort to all Hearts.  
I am the Guardian, which keeps Virtue safe,  
Under my Roose security she hath.  
I am adorned with Pastimes, and with Sports,  
Each several Creature still to me resorts.   War. 

I a great School am, where all may grow wise:  
For Prudent Wisdom in Experience lies.  
And am a Theatre to all Noble Minds,  
A Mint of true Honour, that Valour still co ines.  
I am a high Throne for Valour to sit,  
And a great Court where all Fame may get.  
I am a large Field, where doth Ambition run,  
Courage still seeks me, though Cowards me shun.     

MORAL DISCOURSES.  

A Discourse of Love, the Parent of Passions.  

NO Mind can think, or Understanding know,  
To what a Height, and Vastness Love can grow.  
Love, as a God, all Passions doth create  
Besides itself, and those determinate.  
Bowing down low, devoutly prayeth Fear,  
Sadness, and Grief, Loves heavy burdens bear.  
Anger Rage makes, Envy, Spleen, and Spite,  
Like Thunder roars, and in Love's quarrels fight.  
Jealousy, Loves 〈◊〉 is t'espie,  
And Doubt its Guide, to search where'ts Foe doth lie.  
Pity, Loves Child, whose Eyes Tears overflow,  
On every Object Misery can show.  
Hate is Love's Champion, which opposeth all  
Love's Enemies, their Ruin, and their Fall.    

A Discourse of Love neglected, burnt up with Grief.  

LOve is the Cause, and Hate is the Effect,  
Which is produced, when Love doth find Neglect.  
For Love, as Fire, doth on Fuel burn,  
And Grief, as Coals, when quenched, to Blackness turn.  
Thence pale, and Melancholy Ashes grow,  
Which every Wind though weak dispersing blow.  
For Life, and Strength from it is gone, and past,  
With th' Species, which caused the Form to last.  
Which ne'er regain the Form it had at first:  
So Love is lost in Melancholy dust.    

A Discourse of Pride.  

WHat Creature in the World, besides Mankind,  
That can such Arts, and new Inventions find?  
Or hath such Fancy, as to Similize,  
Or that can rule, or govern as the Wise?  
And by his Wit he can his Mind indite,  
As Numbers set, and subtle Letters write.  
What Creature else, but 〈◊〉, can speak true sense?  
At distance give, and take Intelligence?  
What Creature else, by Reason can abate  
All Passions, raise Doubts, Hopes, Love, and Hate?  
And can so many Countenances show?  
They are the ground by which Affections grow.  
they're several Dresses, which the Mind puts on.  
Some serve as Veils, which over it is thrown.  
What Creature is there hath such piercing Eyes,  
That mingles Souls, and a fast Friendship ties?  
What Creature else, but Man, hath such Delights,  
So various, and such strong odd Appetites?  
Man can distil, and is a Chemist rare,  
Divides, and separates, Water, Fire, and Air.  
Thus can 〈◊〉 divide, and separate  
All Nature's work, what ere she made:  
Can take the Breadth, and Height of things,  
Or know the Virtue of all Plants that springs:  
Makes Creatures all submit unto his will,  
Makes Fame to live, though Death his Body kill.  
What else, but Man, can Nature imitate,  
With Pen, and Pencil can new Worlds create?  
There's none like Man, for like to Gods is he:  
Then let the World his Slave, and Vassal be.    

Of Ambition.  

TEN Thousand Pounds a year will make me live:  
A Kingdom, Fortune then to me must give.  
I'll conquer all, like Alexander Great,  
And, like to Caesar, my Opposers beat,  
Give me a Fame, that with the World may last,  
Let all Tongues tell of my great Actions past.  
Let every Child, when first 'tis taught to speak,  
Repeat my Name, my Memory for to keep.  
And then great Fortune give to me thy power,  
To ruin Man, and raise him in an Hour.  
Let me command the Fates, and spin their thread;  
And Death to stay his scythe, when I forbid.  
And, Destiny, give me your Chains to tie,  
Effects from Causes to produce thereby.  
And let me like the Gods on high become,  
That nothing can but by my will be done.    

Of Humility.  

WHen with returning Thoughts myself behold,  
I find all Creatures else made of that Mould.  
And for the Mind, which some say is like Gods,  
I do not find, 'twixt Man, and Beast such odds:  
Only the Shape of Men is fit for use,  
Which makes him seem much wiser than a Goose.  
For had a Goose (which seems of simple Kind)  
A Shape to form, and fit things to his Mind:  
To make such Creatures as himself obey,  
Could hunt and shoot those that would escape away;  
As wise would seem as Man, be as much feared,  
As when the Cousin comes near, the Man be feared.  
Who knows but Beasts may wiser than Men be?  
We no such Errors, or Mistakes can see.  
Like quiet Men besides they joy in rest,  
To eat, and drink in Peace, they think it best.  
Their Food is all they seek, the rest think vain,  
〈◊〉 not unto Eternity remain.  
Despise not Beast, nor yet be proud of Art,  
But Nature thank, for forming so each Part.  
And since your Knowledge is begot by form,  
Let not your Pride that Reason overcome.  
For if that Motion in your Brain works best,  
Despise not Beast, cause Motion is depressed.  
Nor proud of Speech, 'cause Reason you can show,  
For Beast hath Reason too, for all we know.  
But Shape the Mind informs with what doth find,  
Which being taught, is wiser than Beast-kind.    

Of Riches, or Covetousness.  

WHat will not 〈◊〉 in abundance do,  
Or make the Mind of Man submit unto?  
It bribe's out Virtue from her strongest hold,  
It makes the Coward valorous, and bold:  
It corrupts Chastity, meltes Thoughts of Ice,  
And bashful Modesty it doth entice.  
It makes the humble, proud, and Meek to swell,  
Destroys all Loyalty, makes Heart's rebel.  
It doth untie the Knots of Friendship fast,  
Natural Affections away to cast.  
It cuts th' Innocents' Throat, and Hearts divide;  
It buys out Conscience, doth each Cause decide.  
It makes Man venture Life, and Limb,  
So much is Wealth desired by him.  
It buys out Heaven, and casts Souls to Hell,  
For Man to get this Muck his God will sell.    

Of Poverty.  

I live in low Thatched House, Rooms small, my Cell  
Not big enough for Pride's great Heart to dwell.  
My Rooms are not with Stately Cedars built,  
No Marble Chimney-piece, nor Wainscot gilt.  
No Statues cut, or carved, nor cast in Brass,  
Which, had they Life, would Nature's Art surpass.  
Nor painted Pictures which Appelles drew,  
There's nought but Lime, and Hair homely to view;  
No Agate Table, with a Tortoise Frame,  
Nor Stools stuffed with Birds feathers, wild, or tame.  
But a Stump of an old decayed Tree,  
And Stools with three legs, which half lame they be,  
Cut with a Hatchet from some broken Boughs.  
And this is all which Poverty allows;  
Yet it is free from Cares, no Thiefs do fear,  
The Door stands open, all is welcome there.  
Not like the Rich, who Guests doth entertain,  
With cruelty to Birds, Beasts that are slain  
Who 〈◊〉 their Bodies with their melted Grease,  
And by their Flesh their Bodies fat increase.  
We need no Cook, nor Skill to dress our Meat;  
For Nature dresses most of what we eate:  
As Roots, and Herbs, not such as Art doth sow,  
But such in Fields which naturally grow.  
Our wooden Cups we from the Spring do fill,  
Which is the Winepress of great Nature still.  
When rich Men they, for to delight their taste,  
〈◊〉 out the Juice from Earth, her strength do waste:  
For, Bearing often, she will grow so lean,  
A 〈◊〉, for Bones bare Earth is seen.  
And for their Drink, the subtle Spirits take  
Both from the Barley, and the sull-ripe Grape.  
Thus by their Luxury, their life they wast,  
All the it delight is still to please their taste.  
This heats the Mind with an ambitious fire,  
None happy is; but in a low desire.  
Their desires run, they six themselves no where,  
What they have, or can have, they do not care.  
What they enjoy not, long for, and admire,  
Sick for that want; so restless is desire.  
When we from Labours come, blest with a quiet sleep:  
No 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 our Sense awake doth keep.  
All's still and silent, in our House, and Mind,  
Our Thoughts are cheerful, and our Hearts are kind.  
And though that life in Motion still doth dwell,  
Yet rest in life a poor Man loveth well.    

Of Tranquillity.  

THat Mind which would in Peace, and quiet be,  
Must cast off Cares, and foolish Vanity.  
With honest desires a house must build,  
Upon the ground of Honour, and be seld  
With constant Resolutions, to last long,  
Raised on the Pillars of Justice strong.  
Let nothing dwell there, but Thoughts right holy,  
Turn out Ignorance, and rude rash folly.  
There will the Mind enjoy itself in Pleasure,  
For, to it 〈◊〉, it is the greatest Treasure.  
For, they are poor, whose Mind is discontent,  
What Joy they have, it is but to them lent.  
The World is like unto a troubled Sea,  
Life as a Bark, made of a rotten Tree.  
Where every 〈◊〉 ave endangers it to split,  
And drowned it is, if against a Rock it hit.  
But if this Bark be made with Temperance strong,  
It mounts the Waves, and Voyages takes long.  
If Discretion doth, as the Pilot guide,  
It escapes all Rocks, still goes with Wind, and Tide.  
Where Love, as Merchant, trafficks up to Heaven,  
And, for his Prayers, he hath Mercies given.  
〈◊〉, as Factor, sets the price of things,  
Tranquillity, as Buyers, in the Money brings.    

Of the Shortness of Man's Life, and his foolish Ambition.  

IN Gardens sweet, each Flower mark did I,  
How they did spring, bud, blow, whither, and die.  
With that, contemplating of Man's short stay,  
Saw Man like to those Flowers pass away.  
Yet build they Houses, thick, and strong, and high,  
As if they should live to Eternity.  
Hoard up a Mass of Wealth, yet cannot fill  
His Empty Mind, but covet he will still.  
To gain, or keep such Falshhood Men do use,  
Wrong Right, and Truth, no base ways will refuse.  
I would not blame them, could they Death out keep,  
Or ease their Pains, or cause a quiet Sleep.  
Or buy Heavens Mansions, so like Gods become,  
And by it, rule the Stars, the Moon, and Sun.  
Command the Winds to blow, Seas to obey,  
To level all their Waves, to cause the Winds to stay.  
But they no power have, unless to die,  
And Care in Life is a great Misery.  
This Care is for a word, an empty sound,  
Which neither Soul nor Substance in is found.  
Yet as their Heir, they make it to inherit,  
And all they have, they leave unto this Spirit.  
To get this Child of Fame, and this Bareword,  
They fear no Dangers, neither Fire, nor Sword.  
All horrid Pains, and Death they will endure,  
Or any thing that can but Fame procure.  
O Man, O Man, what high Ambition grows,  
Within your Brain, and yet how low he goes!  
To be contented only in a Sound,  
Where neither Life, nor Body can be found.    

A Moral Discourse betwixt Man, and Beast.  

MAN is a Creature like himself alone,  
In him all qualities do join as one.  
When Man is injured, and his Honour stung,  
He seems a Lion, furious, fierce, and strong.  
With greedy Covetousness, like to Wolves, and Bears,  
Devours Right, and Truth in pieces tears.  
Or like as crafty Foxes lie in wait,  
To catch young Novice-Kids by their deceit;  
So subtle Knaves do watch, who Errors make,  
That they thereby Advantages might take.  
Not for Examples them to rectify,  
But that much Mischief they can make thereby.  
Others, like Crouching Spaniels, close will set,  
Creeping about the Partridge too in Net.  
Some humble seem, and lowly bend the Knee,  
To those which have Power, and Authority:  
Not out of Love to Honour, or Renown,  
But to ensnare, and so to pull them down.  
Or as a Mastiff flies at every 〈◊〉,  
So Spite will fly at all, that is of note.  
With Slanderous words, as Teeth, good Deeds out tear,  
Which neither Power, nor Strength, nor Greatness spare.  
And are so mischievous, love not to see  
Any to live without an Infamy.  
Most like to ravenous Beasts in blood delight,  
And only to do mischief, love to fight.  
But some are like to Horses, strong, and free,  
Will gallop over Wrong, and Injury.  
Who fear no Foe, nor Enemies do dread,  
Will fight in Battles till they fall down dead.  
Their Heart with noble rage so hot will grow,  
As from their 〈◊〉 Clouds of Smoke do blow.  
And with their Hoofs the firm hard ground will strike,  
In anger, that they cannot go to fight.  
Their Eyes (like Flints) will beat out Sparks of Fire,  
Will neigh out loud, when Combats they desire.  
So valiant Men their Foe aloud will call,  
To try their Strength, and grapple Arms withal.  
And in their Eyes such Courage doth appear,  
As if that Mars did rule that 〈◊〉.  
Some like to slow, dull Asses, full of Fear,  
Contented are great Burdens for to bear.  
And every Clown doth beat his Back, and Side,  
Because he's slow, when fast that he would ride.  
Then will he bray out loud, but dare not bite;  
For why, he hath not Courage for'to fight.  
Base Minds will yield their Heads under the Toake,  
Offer their Backs to every Tyrant's stroke.  
Like Fools will grumble, but they dare not speak,  
Nor strive for Liberty, their Bonds to break.  
Those that in Slavery live, so dull will grow,  
Dejected Spirits make the Body slow.  
Others as Swine lie grovelling in the Mire,  
Have no Heroic Thoughts to rise up higher:  
They from their Birth, do never sport, nor play,  
But eat, and drink, and grunting, run away:  
Of grumbling Natures, never doing good,  
And cruel are, as of a Boorish Brood.  
So Gluttons, Sluggards care for nought but ease,  
In Conversations will not any please:  
Ambition none, to make their Name to live;  
Nor have they Generosity to give:  
And are so Churlish, that if any pray  
To help their Wants, will cursing go away.  
So cruel are, so far from death to save,  
That they will take away the Life they have.  
Some like to fearful Hart, or frighted Hare,  
eat every noise, and their own Shadows fear.  
So Cowards, that are sent in Wars to fight,  
Think not to beat, but how to make their flight.  
When Trumpet sounds to charge the Foe, it 〈◊〉,  
And with that noise, the Heart 〈◊〉 Coward falls.  
Others as harmless Sheep in peace do live,  
Contented are, no Injury will give:  
But on the tender Grass they gently feed,  
Which do no Spite, nor rankled Malice breed.  
They never in the ways of mischief stood,  
To set their Teeth in flesh, or drink up blood.  
They grieve to walk alone, will pine away,  
Grow fat in Flocks, will with each other play.  
The naked they do cloth with their soft Wool,  
The 〈◊〉 do feed the hungry Stomach full.  
So gentle Nature's Disposition sweet  
Shuns foolish Quarrels, loves the Peace to keep.  
Full of Compassion, pitying the distressed,  
And with their Bounty help they the oppressed.  
They swell not with the Pride of self-conceit,  
Nor for their Neighbour's life do lie in wait.  
Nor Innocence by their Extortions tear,  
Nor fill the 〈◊〉 Heart with Grief, or Care:  
Nor Bribes will take with covetous hands,  
Nor set they back the Mark of th' Owners Lands.  
But with a grateful Heart do still return  
The Courtesies that have for them been done.  
And in their Conversation, meek, and mild,  
Without Lascivious words, or Actions wild.  
Those Men are Fathers to a Commonwealth,  
Where Justice lives, and Truth may show herself.  
Others as Apes do imitate the rest,  
And when they mischief do, seem but to jest.  
So are 〈◊〉, that seem for Mirth to sport,  
Whose liberty fills Factions in a Court.  
Those that delight in Fools, must in good part  
Take what they say, although the words are smart.  
But many times such rankled Thoughts beget  
In Hearts of Princes, and much Envy set,  
By praising Rivals; or else do reveal  
Those Faults, most fit for privacy to conceal,  
For though a Fool, if he an ill truth tells,  
Or be it false, if like a Truth it smells;  
It gets such hold though in a wise man's Brain,  
That hardly it will ever out again.  
And so like Worms, some will be troad to Earth,  
Others as venomous Vipers stung to death.  
Some like to subtle Serpent's wind about,  
To compass their designs craulein, and out:  
And never leave until some Nest they find,  
Suck out the Eggs, and leave the Shells behind.  
So Flatterers with Praises wind about  
A Noble Mind, to get a Secret out,  
For Flattery through every Ear will glide,  
Down to the Heart, and there some time abide;  
And in the Breast with feigned Friendship lie,  
Till to the Death he stings him cruelly.  
Thus some as Birds, and Beasts, and Flies, are such:  
To every Creature men resemble much.  
Some, like to soaring Eagle, mount up high:  
Wings of Ambition bear them to the Sky.  
Or, like to Hawks, fly 〈◊〉 to catch their Prey,  
Or like to 〈◊〉, bear the Chick away.  
Some like to Ravens, which on Carrion feed,  
And some their spite feed on, what slanders breed.  
Some like to Peacock proud, his tail to show:  
So men, that Followers have, will haughty grow.  
Some Melancholy Owls, that hate the Light,  
And as the Bat flies in the Shades of Night:  
So Envious Men their Neighbour hate to see,  
When that he Shines in great Prosperity:  
Keep home in discontent, repine at all,  
Until some Mischief on the Good do fall.  
Others, as cheerful Larks, sing as they fly.  
So men are merry, which have no Envy.  
And some as Nightingales do sweetly sing,  
As Messengers, when they good News do bring.  
Thus Men, Birds, Beasts, in Humours much agree,  
But several Properties in these there be.  
'tis proper for a lively Horse to neigh,  
And for a slow, dull foolish Ass to bray.  
For Dogs to bark, 〈◊〉 roar, Wolves howl, Pig's 〈◊〉,  
For Men to frown, to weep, to laugh, to speak.  
Proper for Flies to buzz, Birds sing, and chatter,  
Only for Men to promise, swear, and flatter:  
So Men these Properties can imitate,  
But not their Faculties that Nature made.  
Men have no Wings to fly up to the Sky,  
Nor can they like to Fish in waters lie.  
What Man like Roes can run so swift, and long?  
Nor are they like to Horse, or Lions strong.  
Nor have they Sent, like Dogs, a Hare to find,  
Or Sight like Swine to see the subtle wind.  
Thus several Creatures, by several Sense,  
Have better far (than Man) Intelligence.   

These several Creatures, several Arts do well,  
But Man in general, doth them far excel.  
For Arts in Men as well did Nature give,  
As other qualities in Beast to live.  
And from men's Brains such fine Inventions flow,  
As in his Head all other heads do grow.  
What Creature builds like Man such Stately Towers,  
And make such things, as Time cannot devour?  
What Creature makes such Engines as Man can?  
To traffic, and to use at Sea, and Land.  
To kill, to spoil, or clse alive to take,  
Destroying all that other Creatures make.  
This makes Man seem of all the World a King,  
Because he power hath of every thing.  
He'll teach Birds words, in measure Beast to go,  
Makes Passions in the Mind, to ebb, and flow.  
And though he cannot fly as Birds, with wings,  
Yet he can take the height, and breadth of things.  
He knows the course and number of the Stars,  
But Birds, and Beasts are no Astrologers.  
And though he cannot like to Fishes swim,  
Yet Nets Ho makes, to catch those Fishes in.  
And with his Ships he'll circled the World round.  
What Beast, or Bird that can do so, is found?  
he'll fallen down Woods, with Axes sharp will strike;  
Whole Herds of Beasts can never do the like.  
What Beast can plead, to save another's Life,  
Or by his Eloquence can end a Strife?  
Or Counsels give, great Dangers for to shun,  
Or tell the Cause, or how Eclipses come?  
he'll turn the Current of the Water clear,  
And make them like new Seas for to appear.  
Where Fishes only in old waters glide.  
Can cut new Rivers out on any side.  
He Mountains makes so high, the Clouds will touch,  
Mountains of Moles, or Ants, scarce do so much.  
What Creature like to Man can Reasons show,  
Which makes him know, that he thereby doth know?  
And who, but Man, makes use of every thing,  
As Goodness out of Poison He can bring?  
Thus 〈◊〉 is filled a with strong Desire,  
And by his empiric sets the Soul on Fire.  
Beasts no Ambition have to get a Fame,  
Nor build they Tombs, thereon to write their Name.  
They never war, high Honour for to get,  
But to secure themselves, or Meat to eat.  
But Men are like to Gods, they live for ever shall;  
And Beasts are like themselves, to Dust shall fall.    

Of the Ant.  

MArk but the little Ant, how she doth run,  
In what a busy motion 〈◊〉 goeth on:  
As if the ordered all the World's Affairs;  
When 'tis but only one small Straw she bearcs.  
But when they find a Fly, which on the ground lies dead,  
Lord, how they stir; so full is every Head.  
Some with their Feet, and Mouths, draw it along,  
Others their Tails, and Shoulders thrust it on.  
And if a Stranger Ant comes on that way,  
She helps them straight, ne'er asketh if she may.  
Nor stays to ask Rewards, but is well pleased:  
Thus pays herself with her own Pains, their Ease.  
They live as the Lacedæmonians did,  
All is in Common, nothing is forbid.  
No Private Feast, but altogether meet,  
Whole some, though Plain, in Public do they eat.  
They have no Envy, all Ambition's down,  
There is no Superiority, or Clown.  
No Stately Palaces for Pride to dwell,  
Their House is Common, called the 〈◊〉 Hill.  
All help to build, and keep it in repair,  
No no special workmen, all Labourers they are.  
No 〈◊〉 keep, no 〈◊〉 they have to sell,  
For what each one doth eat, all welcome is, and well.  
No Jealousy, each takes his Neighbour's Wife,  
Without Offence, which never breedeth 〈◊〉.  
Nor fight they Duels, nor do give the Lie,  
Their greatest Honour is to live, not die.  
For they, to keep in life, through Dangers run,  
To get Provisions in against Winter comes.  
But many loose their Life, as Chance doth fall,  
None is perpetual, Death devours all.    

A Moral Description of Corne.  

THE yellow Bearded Corn bows down each Head,  
Like Gluttons, when their stomach's overfed.  
Or like to those whose Wealth make heavy Cares,  
So doth the full-ripe Corn bow down their Ears.  
Thus Plenty, makes Oppression, given small 〈◊〉;  
And 〈◊〉 is a Disease.  
Yet all that Nature makes, aspiring runs  
Still for ward for to get, ne'er backward turns;  
Until the Sight of Death doth lay them low,  
Upon the Earth, from whence at first they grow.  
Then who would hoard up Wealth, and take such pains,  
Since nothing but the Earth hath all the Gains?  
No Riches are, but what the Mind doth keep:  
And they are poor, who from the Earth do seek.  
For Time, that feeds on Life, makes all things fall,  
Is never satisfied, yet eats up all.  
Then let the Minds of Men in peace to rest,  
And count a Moderation still the best:  
Nor grumble not, nor covet Nature's Store,  
For those that are content, can ne'er be poor.  
And bless the Gods, submit to their 〈◊〉,  
Think all things best, what they are pleased shall 〈◊〉.  
For he that murmurs at what cannot mend,  
Is one that takes a thing at the wrong End.    

A Discourse of Beasts.  

WHO knows; but Beasts, as they do lie,  
In Meadows low, or else on Mountains high?  
But that they do contemplate on the Sun,  
And how his daily, yearly Circles run.  
Whether the Sun about the Earth doth rove,  
Or else the Earth upon its own Poles move.  
And in the Night, when twinkling Stars we see,  
Like Man, imagines them all Suns to be.  
And may like Man, Stars, Planets number well,  
And could they speak, they might their Motions tell.  
And how the Planets in each Orb do move:  
Against their Astrology no Man can prove.  
For they may know the Stars, and their Aspects,  
What 〈◊〉 they cast, and their Effects.    

Of Fishes.  

WHO knows, but Fishes which swim in the Sea,  
Can give a Reason, why so Salt it be?  
And how it Ebbs and Flows, perchance they can  
Give 〈◊〉, for which never yet could Man.    

Of Birds.  

WHO knows; but Birds which in the Air flies,  
Do know from whence the Blustering Winds do rise?  
May know what Thunder is, which no Man knows,  
And what's a blazing Star, or where it goes.  
Whether it be a Chip, fallen from the Sun,  
And so goes out, when Aliment is done.  
Whether a Sulphurous Vapour drawn up high,  
And when the Sulphure's spent, the Flame doth die.  
Or whether it be a Jelly set on Fire,  
And wasting like a Candle doth expire.  
Or whether it be a Star wholly entire,  
Perchance might know of Birds, could we inquire.    

Earth's Complaint.  

O Nature, Nature, harken to my Cry,  
Each 〈◊〉 wounded am, but cannot die.  
My Children which I from my Womb did bear,  
Do dig my Sides, and all my 〈◊〉 tear:  
Do plough deep Furroughs in my very Face,  
From Torment, I have neither time, nor place.  
No other Element is 〈◊〉 abused,  
Nor by Mankind so 〈◊〉 is used.  
Man cannot reach the Skies to plow, and sow,  
Nor can they 〈◊〉, or mark the Stars to grow.  
But they are still as Nature first did plant,  
Neither Maturity, nor Growth they want.  
They never die, nor do they yield their place  
To younger Stars, but still run their own Race.  
The Sun doth never groan young Suns to bear,  
For he himself is his own Son, and Heir.  
The Sun just in the Centre sits, as King,  
The Planets round about encircle him.  
The slowest Orbs over his Head turn slow,  
And underneath, the 〈◊〉 Planets go.  
Each several Planet, several measures take,  
And with their Motions they sweet Music make.  
Thus all the Planets round about him move,  
And he returns them Light for their kind Love.    

A Discourse of a Knave.  

A Prosperous Knave, that Mischieses still doth plot,  
Swells big with Pride, since he hath power got.  
Whose Conscience, like a Purse, drawn open wide,  
False hands do 〈◊〉 in Bribes on every side.  
And as the Guts are stuffed with Excrement,  
So is his Head with Thoughts of ill intent,  
Compassions none, for them 〈◊〉 pressed with Grief,  
But yet is apt to pity much a Thief.  
He thinks them Fools, that wickedness do shun,  
Esteems them wise, which Evil ways do run.  
He scorns the Noble, if that they be poor,  
The Rich, though ne'er so base, he doth adore.  
He always 〈◊〉, as if he 〈◊〉 still meant,  
When all the while his 〈◊〉 is evil bent.  
A Seeming friendship, large Professions make,  
Where he doth think Advantages to take.  
Thus doth a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the World abuse,  
To work his End, the 〈◊〉 a Friend will choose.    

Of a Foole.  

I hate your Fools, for they my 〈◊〉 do crack,  
And when they speak, my Patience's on the Rack,  
Their Actions all from Reason quite do run,  
Their Ends prove bad, 'cause ill they first begun.  
They 〈◊〉 from Wisdom, do her Counsels fear,  
As if some Ruin ncere their 〈◊〉 there were.  
They seek the 〈◊〉, let the Substance go,  
And what is good, or best, they do not know.  
Yet stiff in their Opinions, Stubborn, strong,  
Although you bray them, sayeth Solomon.  
As Spider's Webs entangle little Flies,  
So Fools wrapped up in Webs of Errors lies.  
Then comes the Spider, Flies with Poison sills,  
So Mischief, after Errors, Fools oft kills.    

A Discourse of Melancholy.  

A Sad, and solemn Verse doth please the Mind,  
With Chains of Passions doth the Spirits bind.  
As Penciled Pictures drawn presents the Night,  
Whose Darker Shadows give the Eye delight;  
〈◊〉 Aspects invite the 〈◊〉,  
And always have a seeming Majesty.  
By its Converting Qualities, there grows  
A Perfect Likeness, when itself it shows.  
Then let the World in mourning sit, and weep,  
Since only Sadness we are apt to keep.  
In light and Toyish things we seek for Change,  
The Mind grows weary, and about doth range.  
What Serious is, there Constancies will dwell;  
Which shows that Sadness Mirth doth far excel.  
Why should Men grieve when they do think of Death,  
Since they no settlement can have in 〈◊〉?  
The Grave, though sad, in quiet still they keep,  
Without disturbing 〈◊〉 they lie a sleep.  
No rambling Thoughts to vex their restless Brains,  
Nor Labour hard, to scorch, and dry their Veins.  
No care to search for that, they cannot find,  
Which is an Appetite to every Mind.  
Then 〈◊〉, good Man, to die in quiet Peace,  
Since Death in Misery is a Release.    

A Discourse of the Power of Devils.  

WOmen, and Fools, fear in the Dark to be;  
They think the Devil in some Shape should see:  
As if like silly Owls, he takes delight,  
To sleep all Day, then goes abroad at Night.  
To beat the Pots, and Pans, Candles blow out,  
And all the Night to keep a 〈◊〉- rout.  
To make the Sow to grunt, the Pigs to squeak,  
The Dogs to bark, Cat's mew, as if they speak.  
Alas, poor Devil, whose Power is small,  
Only to make a Cat, or Dog to bawl:  
And with the 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉 to make a noise,  
To stew with fearful sweat 〈◊〉 Girls, and Boies.  
Why should we fear him, 〈◊〉 he doth no harm?  
For we may bind him fast within a Charm.  
Then what a Devil ails a Woman Old,  
To play such Tricks, to give away her Soul?  
Can he destroy Mankind, or new Worlds make,  
Or alter States for an Old Woman's sake?  
Or put Daylight out, or stop the Sun,  
Or change the Planets from their course to run?  
And yet methinks 'tis odd, and very strange,  
That since the Devils cannot Bodies change,  
Should have such power over Souls, to draw  
Them from their God, and from his holy Law.  
Persuading Conscience to do more ill,  
Then the sweet Grace of God to rule the Will:  
To cut of Faith, by which our Souls should climb,  
To make us leave our Folly, and our Crime:  
Destroying Honesty, disgracing Truth;  
Yet can He neither make Old Age, nor Youth.  
Nor can he add, or take a Minute short;  
Yet many Souls he keeps from Heavens Court.  
It seems, his Power shall for ever last,  
Because 'tis on the Soul, which never waist.  
And thus hath God the Devil Power lent,  
To punish Man, unless he doth repent.     

THE CLASP:  


GIVE Me the Free, and Noble Style,  
Which seems 〈◊〉, though it be wild:  
Though It runs wild about, It cares not where;  
It shows more Courage, than It doth of Fear.  
Give me a Style that Nature frames, not Art:  
〈◊〉 or Art doth seem to take the Pedants part.  
And that seems Noble, which is Easie, Free,  
Not to be bound with ore-nice Pedantry.    

The Hunting of the Hare.  

BEtwixt two Ridges of 〈◊〉- land, lay Wat,  
Pressing his Body close to Earth lay squat.  
His Nose upon his two Fore-feets close lies,  
Glaring obliquely with his great grey Fies.  
His Head he always sets against the Wind;  
If turn his Tail his Hairs blow up behind:  
Which he too cold will grow, but he is wise,  
And keeps his Coat still down, so warm he lies.  
Thus resting all the day, till Sun doth set,  
Then riseth up, his Relief for to get.  
Walking about until the Sun doth rise,  
Then back returns, down in his Form he lies.  
At last, Poor Wat was found, as he there lay,  
By Huntsmen, with their Dogs which came that way.  
Seeing, gets up, and fast begins to run,  
Hoping some ways the 〈◊〉 Dogs to shun.  
But they by Nature have so quick a Scent,  
That by their Nose they trace what way he went.  
And with their deep, wide Mouths set forth a Cry,  
Which answered was by Echoes in the Sky.  
Then Wat was struck with Terror, and with Fear,  
Thinks every Shadow still the Dogs they were.  
And running out some distance from the noise,  
To hide himself, his Thoughts he new imploys.  
Under a Clod of Earth in Sand-pit wide,  
Poor Wat fat close, hoping himself to hide.  
There long he 〈◊〉 not sat, but straight his Ears  
The Winding 〈◊〉, and crying Dogs he hears:  
Starting with Fear, up leaps, then doth he run,  
And with such speed, the Ground scarce treads upon.  
Into a great thick Wood 〈◊〉 straight way gets,  
Where underneath a broken Bough he sits.  
At every Lease that with the wind did shake,  
Did bring such 〈◊〉, made his Heart to ache.  
That Place he left, to Champion Plains he went,  
Winding about, for to deceive their Sent.  
And while they 〈◊〉 were, to find his Track,  
Poor Wat, being weary, his swift pace did slack.  
On his two hinder legs for ease did sit,  
His Fore-feets rubbed his Face from Dust, and Sweat.  
Licking his Feet, he wiped his Ears so clean,  
That none could tell that Wat had hunted been.  
But casting round about his fair great Eyes,  
The Hounds in full Career he 〈◊〉 him 'spies:  
To What it was so terrible a Sight,  
Fear gave him Wings, and made his Body light.  
Though weary was before, by running long,  
Yet now his Breath he never felt more strong.  
Like those that dying are, think Health returns,  
When 'tis but a faint Blast, which Life out burns.  
For Spirits seek to guard the Heart about,  
Striving with Death, but Death doth quench them out.  
Thus they so fast came on, with such loud Cries,  
That he no hopes hath left, nor help espies.  
With that the Winds did pity poor Wat's case,  
And with their Breath the Sent blue from the Place.  
Then every Nose is busily employed,  
And every Nostril is set open, wide:  
And every Head doth seek a several way,  
To find what 〈◊〉, or Track, the Sent on lay.  
Thus quick Industry, that is not slack,  
Is like to Witchery, brings lost things back.  
For though the Wind had 〈◊〉 the Sent up close,  
A Busy Dog thrust in his 〈◊〉 Nose:  
And drew it out, with it did foremost run,  
Then Horns blew loud, for th' rest to follow on.  
The great slow-Hounds, their throats did set a Base,  
The Fleet swift Hounds, as Tenours next in place;  
The little Beagles they a Treble sing,  
And through the Air their Voice a round did ring?  
Which made a Consort, as they ran along;  
If they but words could speak, might sing a Song,  
The Horns kept time, the Hunter's shout for Joy,  
And valiant seem, poor Wat for to destroy:  
Spurring their Horses to a full Career,  
Swim Rivers deep, leap Ditches without fear;  
Endanger Life, and Limbs, so fast will ride,  
Only to see how patiently Wat died.  
For why, the Dogs so near his Heels did get,  
That they their sharp Teeth in his Breech did set.  
Then tumbling down, did fall with weeping Eyes,  
Gives up his Ghost, and thus poor Wat he dies.  
Men hooping loud, such Acclamations make,  
As if the Devil they did Prisoner take.  
When they do but a shiftless Creature kill;  
To hunt, there needs no Valiant Soldier's skill.  
But Man doth think that Exercise, and Toil,  
To keep their Health, is best, which makes most spoil.  
Thinking that Food, and Nourishment so good,  
And Appetite, that feeds on Flesh, and Blood.  
When they do Lions, Wolves, Bears, Tigers see,  
To kill poor Sheep, straight say, they cruel be.  
But for themselves all Creatures think too few,  
For Luxury, wish God would make them new.  
As if that God made Creatures for Man's meat,  
To give them Life, and Sense, for Man to eat;  
Or else for Sport, or Recreations sake,  
Destroy those Lives that God saw good to make:  
Making their Stomaches, Graves, which full they fill  
With Murdered Bodios, that in sport they kill.  
Yet Man doth think himself so gentle, mild,  
When he of Creatures is most cruel wild.  
And is so Proud, thinks only he shall live,  
That God a Godlike Nature did him give.  
And that all Creatures for his sake alone,  
Was made for him, to Tyramize upon.    

The hunting of the Stag.  

THere was a Stag did in the Forest lie,  
Whose Neck was long, and Horns branched up high.  
His Haunch was broad, Sides large, and Back was long,  
His Legs were Nervous, and his Joints were strong.  
His Hair lay sleek, and smooth upon his Skin,  
None in the Forest might compare with him.  
In Summer's heat he in cool Brakes him lays,  
Which grew so high, kept of the Sun's hot Rays.  
In Evenings cool, or dewy Mornings new,  
Would he rise up, and all the Forest view.  
Then walking to some clear, and Crystal Brook,  
Not for to Drink, but on his Horns to look:  
Taking such Pleasure in his Stately Crown,  
His Pride forgets that Dogs might pull him down.  
From thence unto a Shady Wood did go,  
Where Straightest Pines, and tallest Cedars grow;  
And upright Olives, which th' loving Vine oft twines,  
And slender Birch bows head * 
Good Mines are found out by the Birches bowing.  to golden Mines.  
Small Aspen 〈◊〉 which shakes like Agues cold,  
That from perpetual Motion never hold.  
The sturdy Oak on Foamy Scas doth ride,  
Fir, which tall Masts doth make, where Sails are tied.  
The weeping Maple, and the Poplar green,  
Whose Cooling Buds in Salves have healing been.  
The Fatting Chestnut, and the Hast small,  
The Smooth-rind Eeech, which groweth large, and tall.  
The Loving Myrtle is for Amorous kind,  
The yielding Willow, as inconstant Mind.  
The Cypress sad, which makes the Funeral Hearse,  
And Sicomors, where Lovers write their Verse:  
And Juniper, which gives a pleasant smell,  
And many more, which were too long to tell.  
Round from their Sappy Roots sprout Branches small,  
Some call it Underwood, that's never tall.  
There walking through, the Stag was hindered much,  
The bending Twigs his Horns would often catch.  
While on the tender 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 did bronse,  
His Fies were troubled 〈◊〉 the broken 〈◊〉.  
Then straight He seaks this Labyrinth to unwind,  
But hard it was his first way out to find.  
Unto this Wood a rising 〈◊〉 did join,  
Where grew 〈◊〉 Margerom, and sweet wild Time:  
And Winter-savory which was never set,  
On which the Stag delighted much to eat.  
But looking down upon the 〈◊〉 low,  
He sees the Grass, and 〈◊〉 thick to grow;  
And Springs, which dig themselves a Passage out,  
Much like as Serpent's wind each Feild about.  
Rising in Winter high, do overflow,  
The Flowery Banks, but rich the Soil doth grow.  
So as he went, thinking therein to feed,  
He saw a Field, which sowed was with Wheat Seed.  
The Blades were grown a hand-full high, and more,  
Which Sight his Taste did soon invite him o'er.  
In haste goes on, feeds full, then down he lies,  
The Owner coming there, he soon espies:  
Straight called his Dogs to hunt him from that place,  
At last it came to be a Forest Chase.  
The Chase grew hot, the Stag apace did run,  
Dogs followed close, and Men for sport did come.  
At last a Troop of Men, Horse, Dogs did meet,  
Which made the Hart to try his Nimble Feet.  
Full swift he was, his Horns he bore up high,  
Then Men did shout, the Dogs ran yelping by:  
And Bugle Horns with several Notes did blow,  
Huntsmen to cross the Stag did sideways go.  
The Horses beat their Hooses against dry ground,  
Raising such Clouds of dust their ways searce found.  
Their Sides ran down with Sweat, as if they were  
New come from watering, dropping every Hair.  
The Dogs their Tongues out of their Months hung long,  
Their Sides did beat like Feverish Pulse so strong.  
Their Short Ribs heave up high, then fall down low,  
As bellows draw in wind the same to blow.  
Men tawny grew, the Sun their Skins did turn,  
Their Mouths were dry, their Bowels felt to 〈◊〉.  
The Stag so hot as Coals, when kindled through,  
Yet swiftly ran, when he the Dogs did view.  
Coming at length unto a River's side,  
Whose Current flowed, as with a falling Tide:  
Where he leaps in to quench his scorching heat,  
To wash his Sides, to cool his burning Feet.  
Hoping the Dogs in water could not swim,  
But he's deceived, the Dogs do enter in;  
Like Fishes, tried to swim in water low:  
But out alas, his Horns too high do show.  
When Dogs were covered over Head, and Ears,  
No part is seen, only their Nose appears.  
The Stag, and River, like a Race did show,  
He striving still the swift River to outgo.  
Whilst Men, and Horses ran the Banks along,  
Encouraging the Dogs to follow on:  
Where he on waters, like a Looking-glass,  
By a Reflection sees their Shadows pass.  
〈◊〉 cuts his Breath off short, his Limbs do shrink,  
Like those the Cramp doth take, to bottom sink.  
Thus out of Breath, no longer could he stay,  
But leaps on Land, and swiftly runs away.  
Change gave him ease, ease, strength, in strength hope lives,  
Hope joys the Heart, or light Hecle joy still gives.  
His Feet like to a Feathered Arrow flies,  
Or like a winged Bird, that mounts the Skies.  
The Dogs like Ships, that sail with Wind, and Tide,  
Which cut the Air, and waters deep divide.  
Or like a greedy 〈◊〉, seeks for Gain,  
Will venture Life, so trafficks on the Main.  
The Hunters, like to Boys, no dangers shun,  
To see a Sight, will venture Life, and Limb.  
Which sad become, when Mischief takes not place,  
Is out of Countenance, as with disgrace.  
But when they see a Ruin, and a fall,  
Return with Joy, as Conquerors they were all.  
Thus their several Passions their ways did meet,  
As Dogs desire to catch did make them Fleet.  
The Stag with fear did run, his life to save,  
Whilst Men for love of 〈◊〉 dig his Grave.  
The angry Dust in every Face up flies,  
As with Revenge, seeks to put out their Eyes.  
Yet they so fast went on with such loud Cries,  
The Stag no hope had left, nor help espies:  
His Heart so heavy grew, with Grief, and Care,  
That his small Feet his Body could not bear.  
Yet loath to die, or yield to Foes was he,  
But to the last would strive for Victory.  
'twas not for want of Courage he did run,  
But that an Army against One did come.  
Had he the Valour of bold Caear stout,  
Must yield himself to them, or die no doubt.  
Turning his Head, as if he dared their Spite,  
Prepared himself against them all to fight.  
Single he was, his Horns were all his helps,  
To guard him from a Multitude of Whelps.  
Besides, a company of Men were there,  
If Dogs should fail, to strike him every where.  
But to the last his 〈◊〉 he'll try out:  
Then Men, and Dogs do circle him about.  
Some bite, some bark, all ply him at the Bay,  
Where with his Horns he tosses some away.  
But Fate his thread had spun, so down did fall,  
Shedding some Tears at his own Funeral.    

Of an Island.  

THere was an Island rich by Nature's grace,  
In all the World it was the sweetest place:  
Surrounded with the Seas, whose Waves don't miss  
To do her Homage, and her Feet do kiss.  
Where every Wave by turn do bow down low,  
And proud to touch her, as they overflow.  
Armies of Waves in Troops high Tides bring on,  
Whose watery Arms do glister like the Sun:  
And on their backs burdens of Ships do bear,  
And in her Havens places them with care;  
Not Mercenary, They no pay will have,  
Yet as her Guard they watch to keep her safe;  
And in a Ring they circled her about,  
Strong as a Wall, to keep her Foes still out.  
So Winds do serve, and on the Clouds do ride,  
Blowing their Trumpets loud on every side;  
And serve as Scouts, do search in every Lane,  
And gallop in the Forest, Feilds, and Plain.  
And while she please the Gods, in safety lives,  
They to delight her, all fine Pleasures gives.  
For all this 〈◊〉 is fertile, rich, and fair.  
Both Woods, and Hills, and Dales, in Propsects are.  
Birds pleasure take, and with delight do sing,  
In Praises of this Isle the Woods do ring;  
Trees thrive with joy, this Isle their Roots do feed,  
Grow tall with Pride, their Tops they overspread;  
Dance with the Winds, when they do sing, and blow,  
Play like a wanton Kid, or the swift Roe.  
Their several Branches several Birds do bear,  
Which hop, and Skip, and always merry are.  
Their Leaves do wave, and rushing make a noise:  
Thus many ways do strive 〈◊〉 express their Joys.  
And Flowers there look fresh, and gay with Mirth,  
Whilst they are danced upon the lap of Earth:  
Their Mother the Island, they her Children sweet,  
Born from her Loins, got by Apollo great.  
Who takes great care to dress, and prune them oft,  
And with clear Dew he washes their Leaves soft.  
When he hath done, he wipes those drops away,  
With Webs 
* Sun Beams:  of heat, which he weaves every day.  
Paints 
* There would be no 〈◊〉, if no Light.  them with several Colours intermixed,  
〈◊〉 them with Shadows every leaf betwixt.  
Their Heads he dresses, spreads their hairy leaves,  
And round their Crowns his golden Beams he wreaths.  
For he this Isle esteems above the rest;  
Of all his Wives, we find he loves her best.  
Presents her daily with 〈◊〉 fine new Gift,  
Twelve els of Light, to make her Smocks * 
These Smocks are the days.  for shift.  
Which every time he comes, he puts on clean,  
And changes oft, that she may lovely seem.  
And when he goeth from her, the World to see,  
He leaves his Sister 
* The Moon.  for her company:  
Cynthia she is, though pale, yet 〈◊〉,  
Which makes her always in Dark Clouds appear.  
Besides, he leaves his Stars to wait, for fear  
His Isle too sad should be, when he's not there.  
And from his bounty clothes them all with Light,  
Which makes them twinkle in a Frosty Night.  
He never brings hot Reantes, to do her harm,  
Nor lets her take a Cold, but laps her warm;  
With Mantles rich of equal 〈◊〉 doth spread,  
And covers her with Colour Crimson red.  
He gives another o'er her head to lie,  
The Colour is a pure bright 〈◊〉 Sky:  
And with soft Air doth line them all within,  
As Furs in Winter, in Summer Satin thin.  
With silver Clouds he fringes them about,  
Where spangled Meteors glistering hang without.  
Thus gives her Change, lest she should weary grow,  
Or think them Old, and so away them throw.  
Nature adorns this Island all throughout,  
With Landscapes, Prospects, and Rills that run about.  
There Hills o'er top the Dales, which level be,  
Covered with cattle feeding Eagerly.  
Where Grass grows up even to the Belly high,  
Where Beasts, that chew their Cud, in Pleasure lie.  
Whisking their Tails about, the Flies to beat,  
Orelse to cool them from the Sultry heat.  
Nature, willing to th' Gods her Love to show,  
Sent plenty in, like Nile's great overflow;  
Gave temperate Seasons, and equal Lights,  
The Sunshine days, and Dewy Moonshine Nights.  
And in this pleasant Island, Peace did dwell,  
No noise of War, or sad Tale could it tell.    

The Ruin of the Island.  

THis Island lived in Peace full many a day,  
So long as She unto the Gods did pray.  
But She grew proud with Plenty, and with Ease,  
Adored herself, so did the Gods displease.  
She flung their Altars down, her own set up,  
And She alone would have divine Worship.  
The Gods grew angry, and commanded Fate,  
To alter, and to ruin quite the State.  
For they had changed their Mind of late; they said,  
And did repent 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 made:  
Fates wondered much, to hear what said the Gods,  
That Mortal Men, and 〈◊〉 were at great odds;  
And found them apt to Change, they thought it showed,  
As if poor Man the Gods had not foreknowed.  
For why, said they, if Men do evil grow,  
The Gods foreseeing all, Men's Hearts do know,  
Long, long, before they made, or were create;  
If so, what need they Change, or alter Fate?  
'twas in their power to make them good, or ill:  
If so, Men cannot do just what they will.  
Then why do Gods complain against them so,  
Since Men are made by them such ways to go?  
If Evil power hath Gods to oppose,  
To equal Deities it plainly shows;  
Having no Power to keep Obedience, long,  
If Disobedient Power be as strong:  
As being ignorant how Men will prove,  
Nor know how strong, or long will last their Love.  
But may not Gods decree on this Line run,  
To love Obedience whensoe'er it come?  
So from the first Variation creates,  
And for that work made Destiny, and Fates.  
Then 'tis the Mind of Men, that's apt to range,  
And not the Minds of Gods, subject to Change.  
Then did the Fates unto the Planets go,  
And told them they Malignity must throw  
Into this Island, for the Gods will take  
Even high Revenge, since she their Laws forsake.  
With that the Planets drew up with a Screw  
The Vapour bad from all the Earth, then view  
What Place, to squeeze that Poison, in which all  
The Venom was, that's got from the Worlds Ball.  
Which through men's Veins, like molten Led it came,  
And like to Oil, did all their Spirits flame.  
Where Malice boiled with rancour, Spleen, and Spite,  
In War, and Fraud, Injustice took delight.  
Studying which way might one another rob,  
In open sight do Ravish, boldly Stab.  
To Parent's Children unnat'rally grow,  
And former Friendship now's turned cruel Foe.  
For Innocency no Protection had,  
Religious Men were thought to be stark mad.  
In Witches Wizzards did they put their Trust,  
Extortions, Bribes, were thought to be most just.  
Like Titan's Race, all in a Tunsult rose,  
Blasphemous words against high Heaven throws.  
Gods in a Rage unbind the Winds and blow  
In foreign Nations, formerly their Foe.  
Where they did plant themselves, no Britons live,  
For why the Gods their Lives, and Land them give.  
Compassion wept, and Virtue wrung her hands,  
To see that Right was banished from their Lands.  
Thus Winds, and Seas, the Planets, Fates, and all,  
Conspired to work her Ruin, and her fall.  
But those that keep the Laws of God on high,  
Shall live in Peace, in Craves shall quiet lie.  
And ever after like the Gods shall be,  
Enjoy all Pleasure, know no Misery.     

TO POETS.  
THERE is no Spirit firghts me so much, as Poet's Satyrs, and their Fairy Wits: which are so subtle, airy, and nimble, as they pass through every small Crevise, and Cranny of Errors, and Mistakes, and dance upon every Line, and round every Fancy; which when they find to be dull, and sleepy, they pinch them black, and blue, with Robbin-hoods Jests. But I hope you will 〈◊〉 me: for the Hearth is swept clean, and a Basin of water with a clean Towel set by and the Ashes rakeed up; wherefore let my Book sleep quietly, and the Watch-light burning clearly, and not blue, and Blinkingly, nor the Pots, and Pans be disturbed; but let it be still from your noise, that the Effemenate Cat may not Mew, nor the Masculine Cur's bark, nor howl forth Rail to disturb my harmless Books rest. But if you will judge my Book severely, I doubt I shall be cast to the Bar of Folly, there forced to hold up my Hand of Indiscretion, and confess Ignorance to my Enemy's dislike. For I have no Eloquent Orator to plead for me, as to persuade a Severe Judge, nor Flattery to bribe a Corrupt One; which makes me afraid, I shall lose my Suit of Praise. Yet I have Truth to speak in my behalse for some favour; which saith sirst, that Women writing seldom, makes it seem strange, and what is unusual, seems Fantastical, and what is Fantastical, seems odd, and what seems odd, Ridiculous: But as Truth tells you, all is not Gold that glisters; so she tells you, all is not Poor, that hath not Golden clothes on, nor mad, which is out of Fashion; and if I be out of the Fashion, because Women do not generally write; yet, before you laugh at me, let your Reason view strictly, whether the Fashion be not useful, graceful, easy, comely, and modest: And if it be any of these, spare your Smiles of Scorn, for those that are wanton, careless, rude, or unbecoming: For though her Garments are plain, and unusual, yet they are clean, and decent. Next, Truth tells you, that Women have seldom, or never, (or at least in these latter Ages) written a Book of Poetry, unless it were in their Dress, which can be no longer read then Beauty lasts. Wherefore it hath seemed hitherto, as if Nature had compounded men's Brains with more of the Sharp Atoms, which make the hot, and dry Element, and women's with more of the round Atoms, which Figure makes the cold, and most Element: And though Water is a usesull Element, yet Fire is the Nobler, being of an Aspiring quality. But it is rather a Dishonour, not a Fault in Nature, for her Inferior Works to move towards Perfection; though the best of her Works can never be so Perfect as herself; yet she is pleased when they imitate her; and to imitate her, I hope you will be pleased, I Imitate you. 'tis true, my Verses came not out of Jupiter's Head, therefore they cannot prove a Pallas: yet they are like chaste Penelope's Work, for I wrote them in my Husband's absence, to delude Melancholy Thoughts, and avoid Idle Time. The last thing Truth tells you, is, my Verses were gathered too soon: wherefore they cannot be of a Mature growth; for the Sun of time was only at that height, as to draw them forth, but not heat enough to ripen them; which makes me fear they will taste harsh, and unpleasant; but if they were strewed with some Sugar of Praises, and Bakeed in the Oven of Applause, they may pass at a general Feast, though they do not relish with nice, and delicate Palates; yet the Vulgar may digest them: sor they care not what the Meat is, if the Crust be good, or indeed thick: for they judge according to the quantity, not the quality, or rarity: but they are oft persuaded by the senses of others, 〈◊〉 then their own. Wherefore if it be not worthy of Commendations, pray be silent, and cast not out severe Censures; And I shall give Thanks for what is Eaten.  
I desire all those which read this part of my Book, to consider, that it is thick of Fancies, and therefore requires the more Study: But if they understand not, I desire they would do as those, which have a troubled Conscience, and cannot resolve themselves of some Doubts; wherefore they are required by the Church to go to a Minister thereof, to have them explained, and not to Interpret according to their own Imaginations: So I entreat those that cannot find out the Conceit of my Fancies, to ask a Poet where the Conceit lies, before they Censure; and not to accuse my Book for Nonsense, condemning it with a false Construction, through an Ignorant zeal of Malice; nor do not mistake, nor ask a Rhimer instead of a Poet, lest I be condemned as a Traitor to Sense, through the blindness of the Judge's Understanding. But if the Judge be learned in the Laws of Poetry, and honesty from Bribes of Envy; I shall not need to fear, but that the Truth will be found out, and its Innocence will be freed at the Bar of Censure, and be sent home with the Acquittance of Applause. Yet pray do not think I am so Presumptuous, to compare myself in this Comparison to the Church: but I only here compare Truth to the Church, and Truth may be compared from the lowest Subject, or Object to the Highest.  
I must entreat my Noble Reader, to read this part of my Book very slow, and to observe very strictly every word they read; because in most of these Poems, every word is a Fancy. Wheresore if they lose, by not marking, or ship by too hasty reading, they will entangle the Sense of the whole Copy.   

Of Poets, and their Theft.  

AS Birds, to hatch their Young do sit in Spring,  
Some Ages several Brood's of Poets bring;  
Which to the World in Verse do sweetly sing.   

Their Notes great Nature set, not Art so taught:  
So Fancies, in the Brain that Nature wrought,  
Are best; what lmitation makes, are naught.   

For though they sing as well, as well may be,  
And make their Notes of what they learn, agree;  
Yet he that teaches still, hath Mastery:   

And aught to have the Crown of Praise, and Fame,  
In the long Role of Time to write his Name:  
And those that steal it out to blame.   

There's None should Places have in Fame's high Court,  
But those that first do win Inventions Fort:  
Not Messeugers, that only make Report.   

To Messengers Rewards of Thanks are due,  
For their great Pains, telling their Message true.  
But not the Honour to Invention new.   

Many there are, that Suits will make to wear,  
Of several Patches stole, both here, and there;  
That to the World they Gallants may appear.   

And the Poor Vulgar, which but little know,  
Do Reverence all, that makes a Glistering Show;  
Examines not, the same how they came to.   

Then do they call their Friends, and all their Kin,  
They Factions make, the Ignorant to bring:  
And with their help, into Fame's Court get in.   

Some take a Line, or two of Horace Wit,  
And here, and there they will a Fancy pick.  
And so of Homer, Virgil, Ovid sweet:  
Makes all those Poets in their Book to meet:  
Yet makes them not appear in their right shapes,  
But like to Ghosts do wander in 〈◊〉 Shades.  
But those that do so, are but Poet-Juglers,  
And like to Conjurers, are Spirit-troublers.  
By Sorcery the Ignorant delude,  
Showing false Glasses to the Multitude.  
And with a small, and undiscerning Hair,  
They pull Truth out the place wherein she were.  
But by the Poet's Laws they should be hanged,  
And in the Hell of Condemnation damned.   

MOst of our Modern Writers now a days,  
Consider not the Fancy, but the Phrase.  
As if sine words were Wit; or, One should say,  
A Woman's handsome, if her clothes be gay.  
Regarding not what Beauty's in the Face,  
Nor what Proportion doth the Body grace.  
As when her shoes be high, to say she's tall,  
And when She is straitlaced, to say she's small.  
When Painted, or her Hair is curled with Art,  
Though of itself 'tis Plain, and Skin is swart.  
We cannot say, from her a Thanks is due  
To Nature, nor those Arts in her we view.  
Unless she them invented, and so taught  
The World to set forth that which is stark naught.  
But Fancy is the Eye, giveth Life to all;  
Words, the Complexion, as a whited Wall.  
Fancy is the Form, Flesh, Blood, Bone, Skin;  
Words are but Shadows, have no Substance in.  
But Number is the Motion, gives the Grace,  
And is the Countenance to a well- formed Face.    

FANCIES.  
The several Keys of Nature, which unlock her several Cabinets.  


ABunch of Keys which hung by Nature's Side,  
Nature to unlock these her 
* The five Senses are Nature's Boxes, Cabinets: The Brain her chief Cabinet.  Boxes tried.  
The sirst was Wit, that Key unlocked the Ear,  
Opened the Brain, to see what things were there.  
The next was Beauties Key, unlocked the Eyes,  
Opened the Heart, to see what therein lies.  
The third was Appetite, that Key was quick,  
Opens the Stomach, meat to put in it.  
The Key of 〈◊〉 opens the Brain, though hard,  
For of a Stink the Nose is much afeard.  
The Key of Pain unlocked Touch, but slow,  
Nature is loath Diseases for to show.    


Nature's Cabinet.  
IN Nature's Cabinet, the Brain, you'll find  
Many a fine Knack, which doth delight the Mind.  
Several Coloured Ribbons of Fancies new, 
which are Love Verses.   
To tie in Hats, or Hair of Lovers true.  
Masques of Imaginations only show  
The Eyes of Knowledge, t'other part none know.  
Fans of Opinion, which wave the Wind,  
According as the Heat is in the Mind.  
Gloves of Remembrance, which draw off, and on,  
Thoughts in the Brain sometimes are there, then gone.  
Veils of Forgetsulnesse the Thoughts do hide,  
The Scarce turned up, then is their Face espied.  
Pendants of Understanding heavy were,  
But Nature hangs them not in every Eare.  
Black Patches of Ignorance, to stick on  
The Face of Fools: this Cabinet is shown.    

Nature's Dress.  

THE Sun crownes Nature's Head, Beams splendent are,  
And in her Hair, as Jewels, hang each Star.  
Her Garments made of pure Bright watchet sky,  
The Zodiac round her Waste those Garments tie.  
The Polar Circles are Bracelets for each Wrist,  
The Planets round about her Neck do twist.  
The Gold, and Silver Mines, Shoes for her Feet,  
And for her Garters, are soft Flowers sweet.  
Her Stockings are of Grass, that's fresh, and green,  
And Rainbow Ribbons many Colours in.  
The Powder for her Hair is Milk-white Snow,  
And when she combs her Locks, the Winds do blow.  
Light a thin Veil doth hang upon her Face,  
Through which her Creatures see in every place.    

Nature's Cook.  

DEath is the Cook of Nature; and we find  
Meat dressed several ways to please her Mind.  
Some Meats she roasts with Fevers, burning hot,  
And some she boiles with Dropsies in a Pot.  
Some for Jelly consuming by degrees,  
And some with Ulcers, Gravy out to squeeze.  
Some Flesh as Sage she stuffs with Gouts, and Pains,  
Others for tender Meat hangs up in Chains.  
Some in the Sea she pickles up to keep,  
Others, as Brawn is soused, those in Wine steep.  
Some with the Pox, chaps Flesh, and Bones so small,  
Of which She makes a French Fricasse withal.  
Some on Gridirons of Calentures is broiled  
And some is trodden on, and so quite spoiled.  
But those are baked, when smothered they do die,  
By Hectic Fevers some Meat She doth fry.  
In Sweat sometimes she stues with savoury smell,  
A Hodgepodge of Diseases tastcth well.  
Brains dreit with Apoplexy to Nature's wish,  
Or swims with Sauce of Megrimes in a Dish.  
And Tongues she dries with Smoke from Stomaches ill,  
Which as the second Course she sends up still.  
Then Death cuts Throats, for Blood-puddings to make,  
And puts them in the Guts, which colicks rack.  
Some hunted are by Death, for Deer that's red,  
Or Stal-fed Oxen, knocked on the Head.  
Some for Bacon by Death are Singed, or scaled,  
Then powdered up with Phlegm, and Rheum that's salted.    

Nature's Oven.  

THE Brain is like an Oven, hot, and dry,  
Which bakes all sorts of Fancies, low, and high.  
The Thoughts are Wood, which Motion sets on 〈◊〉,  
The Tongue a Peele, which draws forth the Desire.  
But thinking much, the Brain too hot will grow,  
And burns it up; if Cold, the Thoughts are Dough.    

A Posset for Nature's Breakfast.  

LIfe scummes the Cream of Beauty with Time's Spoon,  
And drawes the Claret Wine of Blushes soon.  
There boiles it in a Skillet clean of Youth,  
Then thicks it well with crumbled Bread of Truth.  
And sets it on the Fire of Life, which grows  
The clearer, if the bellows of Health blows.  
Then takes the Eggs of Fair, and Bashful Eyes,  
And puts them in a Countenance that's wise,  
And cuts a Lemon in of sharpest Wit,  
By Discretions Knife, as he thinks sit.  
A handful of chaste Thoughts double refined,  
Six Spoonfuls of a Noble, and Gentle Mind.  
A Grain of Mirth, to give't a little Taste,  
Then takes it off, for fear the Substance waist.  
And puts it in a Basin of Rich Wealth,  
And in this Meat doth Nature please herself.    

Mear dressed for Nature's Dinner; an Ollio for Nature.  

LIfe takes a young, and 〈◊〉 Lovers heart  
That hunted was, and wound by Cupid's Dart.  
Than sets it on the Fire of Love, and blows  
That Fire with Sighs, by which the Flame high grows.  
And boiles it with the water of fresh Tears,  
Flings in a bunch of Hope, Desires, and Fears.  
More Sprigs of Passion throws into the Pot,  
Then takes it up, when it is seething hot;  
And puts it in a clean Dish of Delight,  
That scoured was from Envy, and from Spite.  
Then doth she press, and squeeze in Juice of Youth,  
And cast therein some Sugar of sweet Truth.  
Sharp 〈◊〉 gives a quickening taste,  
And Temperance doth cause it long to last.  
Then doth she garnish it with Smiles, and Dress,  
And serves it up a Fair, and Beauteous Mess.  
But Nature's apt to surfeit of this Meat,  
Which makes her seldom of the same to eat.    

A Bisk for Nature's Table.  

AFore-head high, broad, smooth, and very sleek,  
A large great Eye, black, and very quick.  
A Brow that's Arched, or like a Bow that's bend,  
A Rosy Cheek, and in the midst a dent.  
Two Cherry Lips, whereon the Dew lies wet,  
A Nose between the Eyes that's even set.  
A Chin that's neither short, nor very long,  
A sharp, and quick, and ready, pleasing Tongue.  
A Breath of Musk, and Amber in do strew,  
Two soft round Breasts, that are as white as Snow.  
A body plump, white, of an even growth,  
Quick, active lives, that's void of Sloth:  
A sound firm Heart, a Liver good,  
A Speech that's plain, and easy understood.  
A Hand that's fat, smooth, and very white,  
The inside moist, and red, like Rubies bright.  
A Brawny Arm, a 〈◊〉 that's round, and small,  
And Fingers long, and Joints not big withal.  
A Stomach strong, and easy to digest,  
A Swanlike Neck, and an out-bearing Chest:  
These mixing all with Pleasure, and Delight,  
And strew upon them Eyes that's quick of Sight;  
Putting them in a Dish of Admiration,  
And serves them up with Praises of a Nation.    

A Hodgepodge for Nature's Table.  

A wanton Eye, that seeks for to allure;  
Dissembling Countenance, that looks demure.  
A griping hand that holds what's none of his,  
A jealous Mind, which thinks all is amiss.  
A Purple face, where Mattery Pimples stood,  
A Slandering Tongue that still dispraises Good.  
A frowning Brow, with Rage, and Anger bend:  
A Good that comes out from an ill Intent.  
Then took he Promises that ne'er were performed,  
And 〈◊〉 Gifts, that slighted were, and scorned.  
Affected words that signified no thing,  
Feigning Laughter, but no Mirth therein.  
Thoughts idle, unuseful, and very vain,  
Which are created from a Lover's Brain.  
Antic Postures, where no Coherence is,  
Well meaning Mind, yet all ways doth amiss.  
A Voice that's hoarse, where Notes cannot agree,  
And squintings Eyes, that no true Shape can see.  
Wrinkles, that Time hath set in every Face,  
Vainglory brave, that fall in full Disgrace.  
A Self-conceited Pride without a Cause,  
A painful desperate Art without Applause.  
Verses no Sense, nor Fancy have, but Rhyme.  
Ambitious fall, where highest Hopes do climb.  
All in the Pot of dislike boileth fast,  
Then stirs it with a Ladle of Distaste.  
The Fat of Gluttons in the Pot did flow,  
And Roots of several Vices in did throw;  
And several Herbs, as aged Time that's dry,  
Heartburning Parsley, Burial Rosemary.  
Then powers it out into Repentant Dishes,  
And sends it up by Shadows of vain Wishes.    

A Heart dressed.  

LIfe takes a Heart, and Passions puts therein,  
And covers it with a dissembling Skin.  
Then take some Anger, that like Pepper bite,  
And Vinegar that's sharp, and made of Spite.  
Hot Ginger of Revenge, grated in Flung,  
To which she adds a lying cloven Tongue.  
A lazy flake of Mace, that lies down flat,  
Some Salt of Slander put also to that.  
Then serves it up with Sauce of Jealousy,  
In Dishes of Careful Industry.    

Head, and Brains.  

ABraine that's washed with Reasons clear,  
From Gross Opinions, Dullness lying there;  
And Judgement hard, and sound is grated in,  
Whereto is squeezed Wit, and Fancies thin.  
A Bunch of Scent, Sounds, Colours, tied up fast,  
With Threads of Motion, and strong Nerves to last.  
In Memory then stew them with long Time,  
So take them up, and put in Spirits of Wine.  
Then pour it forth into a Dish of Touch,  
The Meat is good, although it is not much.    

A Tart.  

LIfe took some Flower made of Complexions white,  
Churnd Butter, by Nourishment; as clean as might:  
And kneads it well, then on a Board it lays,  
And rolls it oft, and so a Pie did raise.  
Then did she take some Cherry Lips that's red,  
And Sloe-black Eyes from a Fair Virgins Head.  
And Strawberry Teats from high Banks of white Breast,  
And Juice from Raspes Fingers ends did press.  
These put into a Pie, which soon did bake,  
Within a Heart, which she straight hot did make;  
Then drew it out with Reasons Peele, and sends  
It up to Nature, she it much commends.    

A Dissert.  

SWeet Marmalade of Kisses new gathered,  
Preserved Children that are not Fathered:  
Sugar of Beauty which melts away soon,  
Marchpane of Youth, and Childish Macaroon.  
Sugar Plum-words most sweet on the Lips,  
And wafer Promises, which waist into Chips.  
Biscuit of Love, which crumbles all away,  
Jelly of Fear, that quaking, quivering lay.  
Then came in a fresh Greensickness Cheese,  
And tempting Apples, like those eat by Eve;  
With Cream of Honour, thick, and good,  
Firm Nuts of Friendship by it stood.  
Grapes of delight, dull Spirits to revive,  
Whose Juice, 'tis said, doth Nature keep alive.  
Then Nature rose, when eat, and drank her fill,  
To rest herself in Ease, she's pleased with still.    

Nature's Officers.  

ETernity, as Usher, goeth before,  
Destiny, as Porter, keeps the Door  
Of the great World, who lets Life out, and in;  
The Fates, her Maids, this Thread of Life do spin.  
Mutability orders with great Care,  
Motion, her Footboy, runneth every where.  
Time, as her Page, doth carry up her Train,  
But in his Service little doth he gain.  
The days are the Surveyors, for to view,  
All Nature's works, which are both old, and new.  
The Seasons four their Circuits by turns take,  
Judges to order, and distribute, make.  
The Months their Pen-clerks, write down every thing,  
Make Deeds of Gifts, and Bonds of all that spring.  
Life's Office is to pay, and give out all  
To Death, which is Receiver, when he call.    

Nature's House.  

THE Ground, whereon this House was built upon,  
Was Honesty, that hates to do a Wrong.  
Foundations deep were laid, and very sure,  
By Love, which to all times will firm endure.  
The Walls, strong Friendship, Hearts for Brick, lay thick,  
And Conflancy, as Mortar, made them stick.  
Freestone of Obligations Pillars raise,  
To bear high Roofed thanks, seil'd with praise.  
Windows of Knowledge let in Light of Truth,  
Curtains of Joy, wh''re drawn by pleasant Youth.  
Chimneys with Touchstone of Affection made,  
Where Beauty, the Fuel of Love, is laid.  
The Hearth is innocent Marble white,  
Whereon the Fire of Love burns clear, and bright:  
The Doors are Cares, Misfortunes out to shut,  
That cold Poverty might not through them get.  
Besides, these Rooms of several Passions built,  
Some on the right hand, others on the left.  
This House, the outside's tiled with Noble Deeds,  
And high Ambition covers it with Leades.  
Turrets of Fame are built on every side,  
And in this Palace Nature takes great pride.  
This House is furnished best of Nature's Courts,  
For hung it is with Virtues of all sorts.  
As Moral Virtues, and with those of Art,  
The last from Acts, the first is from the Heart.    

Comparing the head to a Barrel of Wine.  

THE Head is like a Barrel, which will break, 
Nature's Cellar.   
If Liquors be too strong; but if they're weak,  
They will the riper grow by lying long:  
Close kept from Vent, the Spirits grow more strong.  
So Wit, which Nature in a Brain tuns up,  
Never leaves Working, if it close be shut:  
Will through Discretions burst, and run about,  
Unless a Pen, and Ink do tap it out.  
But if the Wit be small, then let it lie,  
If Broached to soon, the Spirits quickly die.    

Comparing of Wits to Wines.  

MAlaga Wits, when broached, which Pens do pierce, 
〈◊〉 wine.   
If strong, run straight into Heroic Verse.  
Sharp Claret Satyrs searching run about  
The Veins of Vice, before it passes out:  
And makes the Blood of Virtue fresh to spring  
In Noble Minds, Fair Truth's Complexions bring.  
But all high Fancy is in Brandy Wits, 
Strong-waters.   
A Fiery heat in Understanding sits.    

Nature's Wardrobe.  

IN Nature's Wardrobe there hangs up great store  
Of several Garments, some are rich, some poor.  
Some made on Beauty's Stuff, with Smiles are laced,  
With lovely Favour is the outside faced.  
Some fresh, and new, by Sicknesses are rend,  
Not having care the same for to prevent.  
Physic, and good Diet sows close again,  
That none could see where those slits did remain.  
Some worn so bare with Age, that none could see  
What Stuff it had been, or what it might be.  
Others were so ill-shaped, and Stuff so course,  
That none would wear, lest Nature did enforce.  
And several Mantles, Nature made, were there,  
To keep her Creatures warm from the Cold Air.  
As Sables, Martin, and the Fox that's black,  
The powdered Ermines, and the fierce wild Cat.  
Most of her Creatures She hath clad in Fur,  
Which needs no Fire, if they do but stir.  
And some in 〈◊〉 She clads, as well as Hair,  
And some in Scales, others do Feathers wear.  
But Man She made his Skin so smooth, and fair,  
It needs no Feathers, Scales, Wool, nor Hair.  
The outside of all things Nature keeps here,  
Several Creatures that She makes to wear.  
Death pulls them off, and Life doth put them on,  
Nature takes care that none puts on the wrong.  
Nature hath 
* Flesh, and Fish.  but two sorts of Stuffs, whereon  
All Garments which are made, that Life puts on.  
But yet such several Sorts there is to wear,  
That seldom any two alike appear.  
But Nature several Trim for those Garments makes,  
And several Colours for each Trimming takes.    

Soul, and Body.  

GReat Nature She doth clothe the Soul within,  
A Fleshly Garment which the Fates do spin.  
And when these Garments are grown old, and bare,  
With Sickness torn, Death takes them off with care.  
And folds them up in Peace, and quiet Rest,  
So lays them safe within an Earthly Chest  
Then scours them, and makes them sweet, and clean,  
Fit for the Soul to wear those clothes again.    

Nature's Grange.  

GRounds of loss was ploughed with Sorrow's deep,  
Wherein was sowed Cares, a Fertile Seed.  
Carts of Industry Horses of Hopes drew,  
Laden with Expectations in Barns of Brains they threw.  
Cows of Content, which gave the Milk of Ease,  
Curds pressed with Love, which made a Friendship Cheese.  
Cream of Delight was put in Pleasure's Churn,  
Wherein short time the Butter of Joys come.  
Sweet Whey of Tears from laughing Eyes did run:  
Thus Housewifery Nature herself hath done.  
Eggs of Revenge were laid by some design,  
Chickens of Mischief, hatched with Words divine:  
Nourishment the Poultry fat doth cram,  
And so She doth all Creatures else, and Man.  
And Nature makes the Fates to sit and spin,  
And Destiny lays out, and brings Flax in.  
For Nature in this Housewifry doth take  
Great pleasure, the Cloth of Life to make:  
And every Garment she herself cutsout,  
Disposing to her Creatures all about.  
Where some do wear them long, all threadbare torn,  
And some do cast them off before half worn.  
Thus Nature busily doth herself employ  
On every Creature small, till they do die.  
When any dies, that work is done,  
And then a new work is begun.    

Comparing the Tongue to a Wheel.  

THE Tongue's a Wheel, to spin words from the Mind, 
Nature's wheel.   
A Thread of Sense, doth Understanding twine.  
The Lips a Loom, to wove those words of Sense,  
Into a fine Discourse each Ear presents.  
This Cloth 〈◊〉 Chest of Memory's laid up,  
Until for Judgements Shirts it out be cut.    

Similising the Brain to a Garden.  

THE Brain a Garden seems, full of Delight, 
Nature's Garden.   
Whereon the Sun of Knowledge shineth bright,  
Where Fancy flows, and runs in Bubbling Streams,  
Where Flowers grows upon the Banks of Dreams.  
Whereon the Dew of sleepy Eyes doth fall,  
Bathing each Leaf, and every Flower small.  
There various Thoughts as several Flowers grow,  
Some Milk-white Innocence, as Lilies, show.  
Fancies, as painted Tulips colours sixth,  
By Nature's Pencils they are iatermixt.  
Some as sweet Roses, which are newly blown,  
Others as tender Buds, not full out grown.  
Some, as small Violets, yet much sweetness bring:  
Thus many Fancies from the Brain still spring.  
Their Wit, as Butterflies, hot love do make,  
On every Flower fine their pleasure take.  
Dancing about each Leaf in pleasant sort,  
Passing their time away in Amorous sport.  
Like Cupid's young, their painted Wings display,  
And with Apolloes golden Beams they play.  
Industry, as Bees suck out the sweet,  
Wax of Invention gather with their Feet.  
Then on their Wings of Fame fly to their Hive,  
From Winter of sad Death keeps them alive.  
There Birds of Poetry sweet Notes still sing,  
Which through the World, as through the Air ring.  
Where on the Branches of Delight do sit,  
Pruning their Wings, which are with Study wet.  
Then to the Cedars of High Honour fly,  
Yet rest not there, but mount up to the Sky.    

Similising the Heart to a Harp, the Head to an Organ, the Tongue to a Lute, to make a Consort of Music.  

THE Heart like to a Harp compare I may, 
Nature's Musical Instruments.   
The Passions, strings on which the Mind doth play;  
A Harmony, when they just time do keep,  
With Notes of Peace they bring the Soul to sleep.   

The Head, unto an Organ I compare,  
The 〈◊〉, as several Pipes make Music there.  
Imagination's Bag doth draw, then blow  
Windy Opinions, by which the Thoughts go.  
The small Virgin all Jacks which skip about,  
Are several Francies that run in, and out.   

The Tongue, a Lute, the Breath, are Strings strung strong,  
The Teeth are Pegs, Words, Fingers play thereon.  
These moving all, a sweet soft Music make,  
Wise Sentences, as grounds of Music take.  
Witty light Airs are pleasant to the Ear,  
Strains of Description all Delights to hear.  
In Quavers of Similising lies great Art,  
Flourishes of Eloquence a sweet part.  
Stops of Reproof, wherein there must be skill,  
Flattering Division delights the Mind still.  
All Thoughts, as several 〈◊〉 these just do play,  
And thus the Mind doth pass its time away.    

Similising the Winds to Music.  

NO better Music than the Winds can make, 
Nature's Music.   
If all their several Notes right places take:  
The Full, the Half, the Quarter-Note can set,  
The Base, the Tenor, and the Treble sit.  
The strong big Base the Northern wind doth sing,  
The East is the sweet, soft small Treble String.  
The South, and West as Tenors both applied,  
By East, by West, by South, and North divide.  
All that this Music meets, it moves to dance,  
If Bodies yielding be with a Compliance.  
The Clouds do dance in circle, hand in hand,  
Wherein the mids the Worldly Ball doth stand.  
The Seas do dance with Ships upon their back,  
Where Capering high, they many times do Wrack.  
As Men, which venture on the Ropes to dance,  
Oft tumble down, if they too high Advance.  
But Dust, like Country-clownes, no measure keep,  
But rudely run together on a Heap.  
Trees grave, and civilly, first bow their Head  
Towards the Earth, than every Leaf will spread;  
And every Twig each other will salute,  
Embracing oft, and kiss each others Root.  
And so each other Plant, and Flower gay,  
Will sweetly dance, when that the Winds do play.  
But when they're out of Tune, they Discord make,  
Disorder all, not one right place can take.  
But when Apollo with his Beams doth play,  
He places all again in the right way.    

Of a Picture hung in Nature's House.  

A Painter was to draw the Firmament,  
A round plump Face the same he did present;  
His Pencils were the Beams shot from fair Eyes,  
Where some of them he in red Blushes dies.  
Which, as the Morning, when the Clouds are clear,  
Shows just so red before the Sun appear.  
An Azure-blew from Veins he draws a Sky,  
And for the Sun, a fair, and great grey Eye.  
A Rainbow like a Brow doth pencil out,  
Which circles half a weeping Eye about.  
From pure pale Complexions takes a White,  
Mixed with a Countenance sad, he shades a Night.  
Thus Heaven as fair that doth a Face present,  
Which is adorned with Beauty excellent.    

Nature's Exercise, and Pastime.  

GReat Nature by Variations lives,  
For she no constant course to any gives.  
We find in Change she swiftly runs about,  
To keep her Health, and yet long Life, (no doubt.)  
And we are only Food for Nature Fine,  
Our Flesh her Meat, our Blood is her Strong Wine.  
The Trees, and Herbs, Fruits, Roots, and Flowers sweet,  
Are but her 〈◊〉, or such cooling Meat.  
The Sea's her Bath to wash, and cleanse her in,  
When She is weary, hot, or Journey been.  
The Sun's her Fire, he serves her many ways,  
His Lights her Looking-glass, and Beauty's praise.  
The Wind her Horses, paces as she please,  
The Clouds her Chariot soft to sit in ease.  
The Earth's her Ball, by which She trundles round,  
In this slow Exercise, much Good hath found.  
Night is her Bed her rest therein to take,  
Silence watches, lest Noise might her awake.  
The Spheres her Music, and the 〈◊〉 way  
Is, where She dances, whilst those Spheres do play.    

Nature's City.  

NAture of Mountains, Rocks, a City built,  
Where many several Creatures therein dwelled.  
The Citizens, are Worms, which seldom stir,  
But sit within their Shops and sell their Ware.  
The Moles are Magistrates, who undermine  
Each one's Estate, that they their Wealth may finde.  
With their Extortions, they high Houses builds,  
To take their Pleasure in, called Molehills.  
The lazy Dormouse 〈◊〉 doth keep  
Much in their Houses, eat, and drink, and sleep.  
Unless it be to hunt about for Nuts,  
Wherein the sport is still to fill their Guts.  
The Peasant Antinous inndustrious are to get  
Provisions store, hard Labours make them sweet.  
They dig, they draw, they plough, and reap with care,  
And what they get, they to their Barns do bear.  
But after all their Husbandry, and Pains,  
Extortion comes and eats up all their Gains.  
And Merchant Bugs of all sorts they  
Traffic on all things, travel every way.  
But Vapours they are Artisans with skill,  
And make strong Winds to send which way they will.  
They make them like a Ball of Wildfire to run,  
Which spreads itself about, when that round Formes undone.  
This is the City which great Nature makes,  
And in this City Nature pleasure takes.    

Nature's Market.  

IN Nature's Market you may all things find,  
Of several Sorts, and of each several Kind.  
Carts of Sickness bring Pains, and Weakness in,  
And Baskets full of Surfeits some do bring.  
Fruits of Greensickness there are to be sold,  
And Colic Herbs, which are both hot, and cold.  
Lemmon: of sharp Pain, sour Orange sores,  
Besides those things, within this Market store.    

Of two Hearts.  

THere were two Hearts an hundred Acres wide, 
Nature's Arable, and Meadow.   
Which hedged were round, and ditcht on every side.  
The one was very rich, and fertile Ground,  
The other Barren, where small good was found.  
In Pasture, Grass of Virtue grew up high,  
Where Noble Thoughts did feed continually.  
There they grew nimble, strong, and very large,  
Fit for the Manage, or in War to charge.  
Or like good Kine, that give the Milk of Wit,  
And Cream of Wisdom for grave Counsels fit.  
And Sheep of Patience, whose Wool is thick, and long,  
Upon their Backs, and Sides to keep out Wrong.  
Rich Meadows, where the Hay of Faith doth grow,  
Which with the Scythes of Reason down we mow.  
Devotions stackt it up on Haycocks high,  
For fear in Winter Death the Soul should die.   

On Barren Ground there nothing well will grow,  
Which is the cause I no good Seed will sow.  
First, sour Rye of crabbed Nature ill,  
Which gives the Colic of displeasure still.  
And cruel Hempseed, hanging Ropes to make,  
And treacherous Linseed, small Birds for to take.  
And many such like Seeds this Ground doth bear,  
As coal black Branck, and Melancholy Tare.  
The other parts so sipid, and so dry,  
That neither Furse, nor Ling will grow, but die.  
Rich Arable good Education ploughed,  
Deep Furroughs of Discretion well allowed.  
And several sorts of Seeds about did sow,  
Where Crops of Actions good in full Ears grow.   

First Wheat of Charity, a fruitful Seed,  
It makes the Bread of Life the Poor to feed.  
Ripe valiant Barley, which strong Courage make,  
Drinking the Spirits no Affront will take.  
And Hospitable Peas firm Friendship breeds,  
And grateful Oats, restoring still good Deeds.  
This Corn is reaped by Fame's sharp scythe, and cut,  
And into large great Barns of Honour put.  
Where Truth doth thresh it out from gross abuse,  
Then Honesty doth grind it fit for Use.    

Similising the Clouds to Horses.  

THe Airy Clouds do swistly run a Race, 
Nature's Horses.   
And one another follow in a Chase.  
Like Horses, some are sprightful, nimble, fleet,  
Others swelled big with watery Spavind Feet.  
Which lag behind, as tired in midway,  
Or else, like Resty Jades, stock-still will stay.  
They of all several Shapes, and Colours be,  
Of several Tempers, seldom well agree.  
As when we see Horses, which highly fed,  
Do proudly snort, their Eyes look fiery red:  
So Clouds exhaled, fed by the hot Sun,  
With Sulphur, and Salt-Peter fierce become,  
Flashing out Fire, when together strike,  
And with their Flames do th' World with Terror fright;  
Meeting each others they Encounters make,  
With strong Assaults they one another break;  
Falling upon each others Head, and Back,  
Near parted are, but by a Thunder Clap;  
Pouring down Showers of Rain upon the Earth,  
Blow out strong Gusts of Wind with their long Breath.  
Then Boreas whips them up, and makes them run,  
Till their Spirits are spent, and Breath is gone;  
Apollo breaks, and backs them fit to ride,  
Bridling with his hot Beams their strengths to guide;  
And gives them Heats, until they foam, and sweat,  
Then wipes them dry, lest they a Cold should get;  
Leads them into the middle Region Stable,  
Where are all sorts, dull, quick, weak, and able.  
But when they lose do get, having no fears,  
They fall together all out by the Ears.    

Similising Birds to a Ship.  

birds from the Cedars tall, which take a flight, 
Nature's Ship.   
On stretched Wings, to bear their Body's light.  
As Ships do sail over the Ocean wide,  
So Birds do sail, and through the Air glide.  
Their Bodies as the Keel, Feet Cable Rope,  
The Head the Steer-man is, which doth guide the Poop.  
Their Wines, as Sails, with Wind are stretched out wide,  
But hard it is to fly against the jide.  
For when the Clouds do flow against 
* In the Air Clouds move, or wave as water in the Sea, and Ebb, and Flow according to dry, or moist weather.  their Breast,  
Soon weary grow, and on a Bough 
* A bough is their Haven.  they rest.   

THose Verses still to me do seem the best,  
Where Lines run smooth, and Wit easily expressed.  
Where Fancies flow, as gentle Waters glide,  
Where Flowery banks of Fancies grow each side.  
That when they read, Delight may them invite  
To read again, and wish they could so write.  
For Verse must be like to a Beauteous Face,  
Both in the Eye, and in the Heart take place.  
Where Readers must, like Lovers, wish to be  
Always in their Dear Mistress Company.    

Similising the Mind.  

THE Mind's a Merchant, trafficking about  
The Ocean of the 〈◊〉, to find Opinions out.  
Remembrance is the Warehouse to lay in  
Goods, which Imaginations Ships do bring.  
Which several Tradesmen of belief still buys  
They only gain in Truth, but loose by Lies.  
Thoughts as the Journeymen, and 〈◊〉 Boies,  
Do help to 〈◊〉 the Wares, and sell the Toys.    

A Prospect of a Church in the Mind.  

STanding at Imagination's Window high,  
I saw a Prospect in the Mind to lie:  
Shutting the Ignorant Eye as close may be,  
Because the Eye of Knowledge clear might see:  
Drawing a Circle round of fine Conceits,  
Contracting Extravagant Speeches straight.  
The more I viewed, my Eye the farther went,  
Till Understandings Sight was almost spent.  
An Isle of Thoughts so long, could see no End,  
Filled full of Fancies Light 
* A Church.  to me there seemed.  
Pillars of Judgements thick stood on a row,  
And in this Isle Motion walked to, and fro.  
Fear, Love, Humility kneeled down to pray,  
Desires begged of all that passed that way.  
Poor Doubts did seem, as if they quaking stood,  
Yet were they leapt in Mantles of Hope good.  
Generous Faith seemed bountiful, and free,  
She gave to all that asked her Charity.  
All sorts of Opinions in Pulpits seemed to Preach,  
False Doctrine for Truth might many teach;  
Not that I heard what their Opinions were,  
For Prospects i'th' Eye do lie, not i'th' Eare.    

A Landscape.  

STanding upon a Hill of Fancies high,  
Viewing about with Curiosities Eye:  
Saw several Landscapes under my Thoughts to lie.   

Some Champions of Delights where there did feed,  
Pleasures, as Wether's fat, and Ewes to breed.  
And Pastures of green Hopes, wherein Cowes went,  
Of Probability give Milk of sweet content.  
Some Fields though ploughed with Care, unsowed did lie,  
Wanting the fruitful Seed, Industry.  
In other Fields full Crops of Joys there growed,  
Where some Ripe Joys Fruition down had moved.  
Some blasted with ill Accidents looked black,  
Others blown down with Sorrow strong * 
As ripe Corn will do with the wind.  lay flat.   

Then did I view Enclosures close to lie,  
Hearts hedged about with Thoughts of secrecy.  
Fresh Meadow of green Youth did pleasant seem,  
Innocency, as Cowslips, grew therein.  
Some ready with Old Age to cut for Hay,  
Some Hay cocked high for Death to take away.  
Clear 〈◊〉 of Health ran here, and there,  
No Mind of Sickness in them did appear.  
No Stones, or Gravel stopped their passage free,  
No Weeds of Pain, or Slimy Gouts could see.  
Woods did present my view on the left side,  
Where Trees of high Ambition grew great Pride.  
There Shades of Envy were made of dark Spite,  
Which did Eclipse the Fame of Honours Light.  
〈◊〉 stood so close, not many 〈◊〉 of Praise  
Could enter in, Spite stopped up all the ways.  
But Leaves of prattling Tongues, which ne'er lie still,  
Sometimes speak Truth, although most Lies they tell.   

Then did I a Garden of Beauty view,  
Where Complexions of Roses, and Lilies grew.  
And Violets of blue Veins there growed,  
Upon the Banks of Breasts most perfect showed.  
Lips of fresh Gillyflowers grew up high,  
Which oft the Sun did kiss as he passed by.  
Hands of Narcissus, perfect white were set,  
The Palms were curious Tulips, sinely streaked.   

And by this Garden a lovely Orchard stood,  
Wherein grew Fruit of Pleasure rare, and good.  
All coloured Eyes grew there, as Bullice grey,  
And Dampsons' black, which do taste best, some say.  
Others there were of the pure blewest Grape,  
And Peare-plum Faces, of an oval Shape.  
Cheeks of Apricots made red with Heat,  
And Cherry Lips, which most delight to eat.  
When I had viewed this Landscape round about,  
I fell from Fancies Hill, and so Wit's Sight went out.    

Similising Thoughts.  

Thought as a Pen do write upon the Brain;  
The Letters which wise Thoughts do write, are plain.  
Fool's Scribble, Scrabble, and make many a Blot,  
Which makes them Nonsense speak, they know not what.  
Or Thoughts like Pencils draw still to the Life,  
And 〈◊〉 mixed, as Colours give delight.  
Sad melancholy Thoughts are for Shadows placed,  
By which the lighter Fancies are more graced.  
As through a dark, and watery Cloud, more bright,  
The Sun breaks forth with his Resplendent Light.  
Or like to Night's black Mantle, where each 〈◊〉  
Doth clearer seem, so lighter Fancies are.  
Some like to Rainbows various Colours show,  
So round the Brain Fantastic Fancies grow.    

Of Thoughts.  

Imagination's high like Cedars show,  
Where Leaves of new Invention thick do grow.  
Which Thoughts, as gentle Winds, do blow about,  
And Contemplation makes those Leaves sprout out.  
And Pleasure with Delight, as Birds, do sing,  
On every Bough, to think what Fame they bring.    

Similising Navigation.  

THE Sea's like Deserts which are wide, and long,  
Where Ships as Horses run, whose Breath is strong.  
The Stern-man holds the Reins, thereby to guide  
The Sturdy Steed on foamy 〈◊〉 to ride.  
The Wind's his Whip, to beat it forward on;  
On either side, as Stirrups, serve each Gun.  
The Sails, as Saddles, spread upon the back;  
The Ropes as Girts, which in a Storm will crack.  
The Pump, the Breech, where 〈◊〉 come out,  
The Needle, as the Eye, guides it about.    

Similising the Sea to Meadows, and Pastures, the Mariners to Shepherds, the Mast to a Maypole, Fishes to Beasts.  

THE Waves like Ridges of Plow'd-land lies high,  
Whereat the 
* Here the Ship is taken for a Horse.  Ship doth stumble, down doth lie.  
But in a Calm, level as Meadows seem,  
And by its Saltness makes it look as green.  
When Ships thereon a slow, soft pace they walk,  
Then Mariners, as Shepherds sing, and talk.  
Some whistle, and some on their Pipes do play,  
Thus merrily will pass their time a way.  
And every Mast is like a Maypole high,  
Round which they dance, though not so merrily,  
As Shepherds do, when they their Lasses bring,  
Whereon are Garlands tied with Silken string.  
But on their Mast, instead of Garlands, hung  
Huge Sails, and Ropes to tie those Garlands on.  
Instead of Lasses they do dance with Death,  
And for their Music they have 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Instead of Wine, and Wassals, drink salt Tears,  
And for their Meat they feed on nought but Fears.  
For Flocks of Sheep great 〈◊〉 of Herrings swim,  
As ravenous Wolves the 〈◊〉 do feed on them.  
As sportful Kids skip over Hillocks green,  
So dancing Dolphines' on the Waves are seen.  
The Porpoyse, like their watchful Dog espies,  
And gives them warning when great Winds will rise.  
Instead of Barking, he his Head will show  
Above the waters, where they rough do flow.  
When showering Reins power down, and Winds do blow:  
Then fast Men run for Shelter to a Tree;  
So Ships at Anchor lie upon the Sea.    

Comparing Waves, & a Ship to Rebellion.  

THus the rough Seas, whom highly Winds enrage,  
Assault a Ship, and in fierce War engage.  
Or like rude Multitudes, whom Factions swell,  
With rankled Spleen, which makes them to rebel  
Against their Governors, thronging about,  
With 〈◊〉 Noise to throw their power out.  
And if their Power gets the upperhand,  
They'll make him sink, and then in Triumph stand.  
Foaming at Mouth, as if great Deeds th' had done,  
When they were Multitudes, and he but One.  
So Seas do foam, and 〈◊〉 about a Ship,  
And both do strive which shall the Better get.  
Or 〈◊〉, like skilled Mariners, will guide  
The Ship through 〈◊〉 of Death that do gape wide.  
And to a Haven safe will bring 〈◊〉 in,  
Although through many dangers she did swim.    

Similising the Head of Man to the World.  

THE Head of 〈◊〉 is like the World made round,  
Where all the Elements in it are found.  
The 〈◊〉, as Earth, from whence all Plants do spring,  
And from the Womb it doth all Creatures bring.  
The Forehead, Nose, like Hills, that do rise high,  
Which over-top the Dales that level lie.  
The Hair, as Trees, which long in length do grow,  
And like its Leaves with 〈◊〉 waves to, and fro.  
Wit, like to several Creatures, wildly runs  
On several Subjects, and each other shuns.  
The Blood, as Seas, doth through the Veins run round,  
The Sweat, as Springs, by which fresh water's found.  
As Winds, which from the hollow Caves do blow,  
So through the Mouth the wound Breath doth go.  
The Eyes, are like the Sun, do give in light,  
When Senses are asleep, it is dark Night.  
And after Sleep half open are the Eyes;  
Like dawning Light, when first the Sun doth rise.  
When they do drowsy grow, the Sun doth set;  
And when 'tis quite gone down, the Lids do shut.  
When they are dull, and heavy, like thick Mist seem,  
Or as a dark black Cloud hides the Sun's Beam.  
By which there shows, some Shower of Tears will fall,  
Where 〈◊〉, as Flowery Banks grow moist withal.  
As twinkling Stars show in dark Clouds, that's clear,  
So Fancies quick do in the Brain appear.  
Imaginations, like the Orbs move so,  
Some very quick, others do move more slow.  
And solid Thoughts, as the twelve Signs, are placed  
About the Zodiac, which is Wisdom vast.  
Where they as constantly in Wisdom run,  
As in the Line Ecliptic doth the Sun.   

To the Ecliptic Line the Head compare,  
The illustrious Wit, to the Sun's bright Sphere.  
The Brain, unto the Solid Earth,  
From whence all Wisdom hath its Birth.  
Just as the Earth, the Heads round Ball,  
Is crowned with Orbs 
* Five Senses.  Celestial.  
So Head, and World as one agree;  
Nature did make the Head a World to be.    

Similising the Head of Man to a Hive of Bees.  

THE Head of Man just like a Hive is made,  
The Brain, like as the Combe's exactly laid.  
Where every Thought just like a Bee doth dwell,  
Each by itself within a parted Cell.  
The Soul doth govern all, as doth their King,  
Each Thought imploys upon each several thing.  
Just as the Bees swarm in the hottest Wether,  
In great round heaps they do hang all together.  
As if for Counsel wise they all did meet;  
For when they fly away, new Hives they seek.  
So Men, when they have any great design,  
Their Thoughts do gather, all in Heaps do 〈◊〉.  
When they resolved are, each one takes Flight,  
And strives which sirst shall on Desire light.  
Thus Thoughts do meet, and fly about, till they  
For their Subsistence can find out a way.  
But Doubting Thoughts, like 〈◊〉, live on the rest,  
Hoping Thoughts, which Honey bring to Nest.  
For by their Stings Industry do they get,  
That Honey which the Stingless 〈◊〉 do 〈◊〉.  
So Men without 〈◊〉 Stings do live,  
Upon th' Industrious Stock their Fathers give.  
Or like to such that steals 〈◊〉 Poets Wit,  
And dress it up in his own Language 〈◊〉.  
But Fancy into every 〈◊〉 〈◊〉;  
And sucks the Flowers sweet, of Lips, and 〈◊〉.  
But if they light on those that are not fair,  
Like Bees on Herbs that are withered, dry, and sear.  
For purest Honey on sweet Flowers lies,  
So finest Fancies from young 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.    

The Prey of Thoughts.  

IF Thoughts be the Minds Creatures, as some say,  
Like other Creatures they on each do Prey.  
Ambitious Thoughts, like to a Hawk; fly high,  
In Circles of Desires mount the Sky.  
And when a Covey of young Hopes do spring,  
To catch them strive they with the swiftest Wing.  
Thus as the Hawk on Partridges do 〈◊〉,  
So Hopeful Thoughts are for Ambition's Meat.  
Thoughts of Self-love do swim in Self-conceit,  
Imaginary Thoughts of Praises bait.  
By which the Thoughts of Pride do catch to eat,  
And think it most high, and delicious 〈◊〉.  
Thoughts of Revenge are like to Lions strong,  
Which whet the Appetite with Thoughts of Wrong.  
With subtle Thoughts they couch to leap along,  
But Bloody Thoughts like Flesh they feed upon.  
And Spightfull Thoughts, like Cats, they Micc do catch,  
At every corner of Imperfections Watch.  
When Spigbt perceives detracting Thoughts to speak,  
It straight leaps on, no other Meat doth seek.  
Suspicious Thoughts like Hounds do hunt about,  
To find the Hare, to eat of Timorous Doubt.  
Observing Thoughts do swell which way to trace,  
And Hateful Thoughts do follow close the Chase.  
But Thoughts of Patience like to Dormice live,  
Eat little; Sleep most nourishment doth give.  
And when it feeds, a Thought of Sorrow cracks  
A Nut so hard, its Teeth against it knacks.  
But Grateful Thoughts do feed on Thoughts of thanks,  
And are industrious, as prudent Ants.  
But Thoughts of Love do live on several Meat,  
Of Fears, of Hopes, and of Suspicion eat.  
And like as Bees do flyeon several Flowers,  
To suck out Honey: so Thoughts do of Lovers.    

Similising Fancy to a Gnat.  

SOme Fancies, like small Gnats, buzz in the Brain,  
Which by the hand of Worldly Cares are slain.  
But they do sting so sore the Poet's Head,  
His Mind is blistered, and the Thoughts turned red.  
Nought can take out the burning heat, and pain,  
But Pen, and Ink, to write on Paper plain.  
But take the Oil of Fame, and 'noint the Mind,  
And this will be a perfect Cure you'll find.    

Of the Spider.  

THE Spider's Hensewifry no Webs doth spin,  
To make her Cloth, but Ropes to hang Flies in.  
Her Bowels are the Shop, where Flax is found,  
Her 〈◊〉 is the Wheel that goeth round.  
A Wall her Distaff, where she sticks thread on,  
The Fingers are the Feet that pull it long.  
And wheresoever she goes, ne'er idle sits,  
Nor wants a House, builds one with Ropes, and Nets.  
Though it be not so strong, as Brick, and Stone,  
Yet strong enough to bear light Bodies on.  
Within this House the Female Spider lies,  
The whilst the Male doth hunt abroad for Flies.  
Near leaves, till he the Flies gets in, and there  
Entangles him within his subtle Snare.  
Like Treacherous Host, which doth much welcome make,  
Yet watches how his Guests Life he may take.    

A Comparison between Gold, and the Sun.  

Jam the purest of all Nature's works,  
No Dross, nor sluggish Moiseure in me lurks.  
I am within the Bowels of the Earth,  
None knows of what, or whence I took my Birth.  
And as the Sun I shine in Glory bright,  
Only I want his Beams to make a Light.  
And as the Sun is chief of 〈◊〉 high,  
So on the Earth the chiefest thing am I.  
And as the Sun rules there, as Lord, and King,  
So on the Earth I govern every thing.  
And as the Sun doth run about the World,  
So I about from 〈◊〉 to Man about am hurled.    

Poets have most Pleasure in this Life.  

NAture most Pleasure doth to Poets give;  
If Pleasures in Variety do live.  
There every Sense by Fancy new is fed,  
Which Fancy in a Torrent Brain is bred.  
Contrary is to all that's borne on Earth,  
For Fancy is delighted most at's Birth.  
What ever else is borne, with Pain comes forth,  
But Fancy needs not time to make it grow,  
Hath neither Beauty, Strength, nor perfect Growth.  
Those Brain like Gods, from whence all things do flow.   

WHere Gardens are, them Paradise we call, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
For-bidden Fruits, which tempt young Lovers all,  
Grow on the Trees, which in the midst is placed  
Beauty, on the other Desire vast.  
The Devil self- 〈◊〉 full craftily  
Did take the Serpent's shape of Flattery,  
For to deceive the Female Sex thereby;  
Which made was only of Inconstancy.  
The Male high Credence, which doth relax  
To any thing, the Female Sex will ask.  
Two Rivers round this Garden run about,  
The one is Confidence, the other Doubt.  
Every Bank is set with Fancies Flowers,  
Wit raines upon them fine refreshing Showers.  
Truth was the Owner of this place,  
But Ignorance this Garden out did raze.   

Then from this Garden, to a Forest goes,  
Where many Cedars of high Knowledge grows;  
Oaks of strong Judgement, Hast Wits, which Tree  
Bears Nuts full of Conceits, when cracked they be.  
And smooth- Tougued Beech, kindhearted Willow bows,  
And yields to all that Honesty allows.  
Here Birds of Eloquence do fit, and sing,  
Build Nests, Logic to lay Reasons in.  
Some Birds of Sophistry till 〈◊〉 there lie,  
Winged with false Principles away they fly,  
Here doth the Poet hawk, hunt, run a Race,  
Until he weary grows, then leaves this Place.   

Then goes a Fishing to a River's side,  
Whose Water's clear, where Fancy flows high Tide:  
Angles with Wit, to catch the 〈◊〉 of Fame,  
To feed his Memory, and preserve his Name.  
And of Ambition builds Ships swift, and strong,  
Sales of Imaginations drive her on.  
With Winds of several Praises fills them full,  
Swims on the salt Sea Brain, round the World's Scull,  
〈◊〉 Thoughts labour both day, and night,  
For to avoid a Shipwreck of dislike.  
These Ships are often cast upon the Sands of Spite,  
And Rocks of Malice sometimes split them quite.  
But Merchant Poets, and Shipmaster Mind,  
Do compass take some unknown Land to find.    

Of the Head.  

THE Head of Man's a Church, where Reason preaches,  
Directs the Life, and every Thought it teaches.  
Persuades the Mind to live in Peace, and quiet,  
And not in fruitless Contemplation Riot.  
For why, says Reason, you shall damned be  
From all Content, for your Curiosity.  
To seek about for that you cannot find,  
Shall be a Torment to a restless Mind.    

The Mine of Wit..  

'tIS strange Men think so vain, and seem so sage,  
And act so foolish in this latter Age.  
Their Brains are always working some design;  
Which Plots they dig, as Miners in the Mine.  
Fancy the Mineral, the Mine's the Head,  
Some Gold are, Silver, Iron, Tin, and Led.  
The Furnace which 'tis melted in, is 〈◊〉,  
Quick Motion 'tis, which gives a glowing Heat.  
The Month's the 〈◊〉, where the Oar doth run:  
The Hammer which the 〈◊〉 do heats the Tongue.  
The ear's the Forge to shape, and 〈◊〉 it out,  
And several Merchants send it all about.  
And as the Mettle's worth, the price is set,  
And Scholars, which the Buyers are, do get,  
On Gold, and Silver, which are Fancies fine,  
Are Poets 〈◊〉, as Masters of that Coin.  
Strong Judgements Iron hard is fit for use,  
For Peace, or War to join up Errors loose.  
Though Lead is dull, yet often use is made,  
Like to Translators in every Language trade.  
But Tin is weak, and of small strength we see,  
Yet, joined with Silver Wits, makes 〈◊〉.  
Half-witted Men joined with strong Wits, might grow  
To be of use, and make a Glisering show.   

GIve me that Wit, whose Fancy's not consigned,  
That buildeth on itself, not two Brains joined.  
For that's like Oxen yoked, and forced to draw,  
Or like two Witnesses for one Deed in Law.  
But like the Sun, that needs no help to rise,  
Or like a Bird in Air which freely flies.  
Good Wits are Parallels, that run in length,  
Need no Triangular Points to give it strength.  
Or like the Sea, which runneth round without,  
And grasps the Earth with twining Arms about.  
Thus true Born Wits to others strength may give,  
Yet by its own, and not by others live.     

THE CLASP.  

Phantasms Masque.  
THE Scene is Poetry.  
The Stage is the Brain, whereon it is Acted. First is presented a Dumb Show, as a young Lady in a Ship, swimming over the Scene in various Wether. Afterwards this Ship came back again, having then a Commander of War, as the Owner; in various Wether this Ship being in great distress, Jupiter relieves it.  
Then appeared six Masquers in several Dresses, as dressed by Love, Valour, Honour, Youth, Age, Vanity. Vanity 〈◊〉 the World, and Age Mortality.  
Then there is presented in Show the Nine Muses, who dance a measure in four and twenty 
* Which are the 24. Letters of the Alphabet.  Figures, and nine Musical Instruments, made of Goose-quills, playing several Tunes as they dance.  
Then a Chorus speaks.  
The Bride, and Bridegroom going to the Temple; Fancy speaks the Prologue to Judgement as King. Vanity speaks an Epilogue to the Thoughts, which are Spectators: Honour speaks another.   

Fancies Prologue to Judgement.  

GReat King, we here present a Masque to Night,  
To Judgements view, and for the Minds delight.  
If it be good, 〈◊〉 Lights of Praise about.  
If it be bad than put those Torches out.    

Similising a young Lady to a Ship.  

A Ship of youth in the World's Sea was sent,  
Balanced with Self-conceit, and Pride it went.  
And large Sails of Ambition set thereon,  
Hung to a tall Mast of good Opinion.  
And on the Waves of Plenty did it ride,  
With Winds of Praise, and Beauties flowing Tide.  
Unto the Land of Riches it was bound,  
To see if Golden Fame might there be found;  
And in a Calm of Peace she swims along,  
No Storms of War at that time thought upon,  
But when that she had past nineteen Degrees,  
The Land of Happiness she no longer secs:  
For then Rebellious Clouds foul black did grow,  
And Showers of Blood into those Seas did throw.  
And Vapours of sad Sighs, full thick did rise  
From grieved Hearts, which in the bottom lies.  
Then Fears like to the Northern Winds blew high,  
And Stars of Hopes were clouded in the Sky.  
The Sun went down of all Prosperity,  
Reeled in the troubled Seas of Misery.  
On Sorrow's Billows high this Ship was tossed,  
The Card of Mirth, and Mark of Joy was lost.  
The Point of Comsort could not be found out,  
Her sides did beat upon the Sands of Doubt.  
Prudence was Pilot, she with much ado,  
A Haven of great France she got into.  
Glad was this Ship that she safe Harbour got,  
Then on the River of Loire she straight swum up.  
For on this River she no 〈◊〉 fears,  
Directly to fair Paris this Bark steers.  
And in that place she did some time remain,  
To mend her tottered, and torn Bark again.  
New Sails she made, and all her Tackle fit,  
Made herself Fine, and Gay, Respect to get.  
Where there a Noble Lord this Ship did buy,  
And with this Ship he means to live and die.    

The Ship.  

AFter this Ship another Voyage went,  
Balanced it was with Spice of sweet Content.  
The Mast was Merit, where Sails of Love tied on,  
By virtuous Zephyrus those Sails were blown.  
And on the Sea of Honour did it swim,  
And to the Land of Fame did Trafsick in.  
At last a storm of Poverty did rise,  
And Showers of Miseries fell from the Skies.  
And 〈◊〉 Creditors a Noise did make,  
With threatening Bills, as if the Ship would break.  
This Ship was forced towards the Northern Pole;  
There Icy Wants did on this Ship take hold.  
At last the Sun of Charity did melt  
Those Icy Wants, so Liberty she felt:  
And Oars of honest Industry did row,  
Till gentle Gales of Friendship made it go.  
But when the Storms of Dangers all were passed;  
Upon the Coast of— it was cast.  
Yet was this Ship so tottered, tome, and rend;  
That none but Gods the Ruin could prevent.    

A Lady dressed by Love.  

HER Hair with Lovers Hopes curled in long Rings, 
1 〈◊〉.   
Her Braides plaited hard with his Protesting.  
Yet often times those curled Hairs went out,  
With Lovers windy Fears, and 〈◊〉 of Doubt.  
Strings of threaded Tears about her Neck she wore,  
Dropped from her Lover's Eyes, whose Image bore.  
His Sighs as Pendants hung at either Ear,  
Sometime were troublesome, if heavy were.  
Of Admiration was her Gown made on,  
Where Praises high embroidered were upon.  
Ribbons of Verses Love hung here and there,  
〈◊〉 the several Fancies were.  
With some the tied her Lookingglass of Pride,  
And Fan of good Opinion by her side.  
Sometimes Love Pleasure took a Veil to place,  
Of Glances, which did cover all her Face.    

A Soldier armed by Mars.  

A Head- 〈◊〉 made of Prudence, where's his Eye 
2 S.   
Of Judgements Dangers, or Mistakes to ' spy.  
His breastplate made of Courage, to keep out  
Bullets of Fear, or Blows of timorous Doubt.  
And on his Hands Gauntlets of active Skill,  
Wherewith he held a Pole-axe of good Will.  
His Sword was a strong, and stiff-mettelled Blade;  
For it was all of pure bright Honour made.  
A 〈◊〉, which Fortune gave, his Wast did tie,  
〈◊〉 thick with Stars of Purple dye.  
A Plume of valiant Thoughts did on his Head-piece 〈◊〉,  
A 〈◊〉 Cloak of Merit about him was.  
His Spurs rowelled with Hope, which pierced the side  
Of strong Ambition, whereon he did ride.  
Thus he was armed, and for great Fame did fight,  
She was his 〈◊〉, he her Champion Knight.    

A Lady arrest by Youth.  

HER Hair was curls of Pleasures, and Delight, 
3 〈◊〉   
Which through her Skin did cast a glimmering Light.  
As Lace, her bashful Eyelids downwards hung,  
A Modest Countenance 
* As a 〈◊〉.  over her Face was flung.  
Blushes, as Coral 〈◊〉 she strung, to wear,  
About her Neck, and Pendants for each Eare.  
Her Gown was by Proportion cut, and made,  
With Veins Embroidered, with Complexion laid.  
Light words with Ribbons of chaste Thoughts up ties,  
And loose Behaviour, which through Errors 〈◊〉.  
Rich Jewels of bright Honour she did wear,  
By Noble Actions placed were every where.  
Thus dressed, to Fame's great Court straight ways she went,  
There danced a Brawl with Touth, Love, Mirth, Content.    

A Woman dressed by Age.  

A Milk-white Hairlace wound up all her Hairs,  
And a deaf Coif did cover both her Ears.  
A sober Countenance about her Face she ties,  
And a dim Sight doth cover half her Eyes.  
About her Neck a Kercher of course Skin,  
Which Time had crumpled, and worn Creases in.  
Her Gown was turned to Melancholy black,  
Which loose did hang upon her Sides, and Back.  
Her Stockings Cramps had knit, Red Worsted Gout,  
And Pains, as Garters, tied her Legs about.  
A pair of 〈◊〉 Gloves her Hands draw on,  
With 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 stitched, and 〈◊〉 trimmed upon.  
Her Shoes were Corns, and hard Skin sowed together,  
Hard Skin were Soles, and Corns the upper Leather.  
A Mantle of Diseases laps her round,  
And thus she's dressed till Death lays her in Ground.    

The Chorus.  

THus Love, and War, and Age, and Youth did meet  
In scenes of Poetry, and numbers sweet.  
War took out Love, and Age did take out Youth,  
And all did dance upon the Stage of Truth.    

The Bride.  

UPon her Head a Crown of Jewels put, 
5 S.   
And every Jewel like a Planet cut.  
The Diamond, Carbuncle, and Ruby Red,  
The Saphir, Topas, and Green Emerald.  
His Face was like the Sun that shined bright,  
And all those Jewels from her Face took Light.  
A Chain of Gold the Destinies had linked,  
And every Link a good Effect had in't.  
And as the Zodiac round the World doth bind,  
So doth the 〈◊〉 about her Body wind.  
A Cloth of Silver 〈◊〉 the Fates did spin,  
Where every Thread was twisted hard therein.  
Her Hair in curls hung loose, which Cupid blows,  
Betwixt those Curls, her Shoulders white he shows.  
Youth strewed green Rushes to the 〈◊〉 Gate,  
In 〈◊〉 Chariot she rid on in State.  
With great Applause her Charrioteer drove on,  
Eyes of Delight, as 〈◊〉, run along.  
And to the Altar this fair Bride was led,  
By Blushing Modesty in Crimson red.  
And Innocence dressed in Lily white,  
And Hymen bears the Torch that burned bright.  
Her Train was car tied up by Graces Three,  
As lovely Hope, and Faith, and Charity.    

The Bridegroom.  

THE Bridegroom all was dressed by Honours fine,  
And was attended by the Muses Nine.  
Virtue Flowers strewed of Dispositions sweet,  
In honest ways to walk on gentle Feet.  
A 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉 upon his Head,  
And both by Fortitude, and Justice lead.  
Over his Crown a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 did set,  
Which Fortune often strived away to get.  
And many 〈◊〉 of several Censures rung,  
And all the Streets was with Inquiry hung.  
And in a Chariot of good Deeds did ride,  
And many thankful Hearts run by his side.    

To the Temple.  

THus to the Temple the Bride, and Bridegroom went,  
Though 〈◊〉 strove the Marriage to prevent.  
Hymen did join their Hands, their Hearts did tie,  
Not to dislolve until their Bodies die.  
The Gods did join their Souls in Wedlock-Bands,  
In Heavens Record their Love for ever stands.    

A S dressed by Vanity, spoke the Epilogue; his Dress.  

HIs Presumed powder in's long curls of Hair,  
He made Lime-twigs to catch a Maid that's fair.  
His Glistering Suit, which every 〈◊〉 Pride laced,  
Is made a Bawd for to corrupt the Chast.  
A Cutwork Band which 〈◊〉 had wrought,  
A price by which his Mistress Love was brought.  
Silk Stockings, Garters, Roses, all of Gold,  
Are Bribes by which his Mistress Love doth hold.  
His several coloured Ribbons, which he wears,  
As Pages to his 〈◊〉 Letters bears.  
Feathers like Sails, which wave with every Wind,  
Yet by those Sails hesindes his 〈◊〉 kind  
His 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 deludes a simple Maid,  
Persuades her all is Truth, when all's False he said.    

Vanities Epilogue to the Thoughts.  

NOblest, you see how finely I am dressed,  
Yet all is Sergeant that's here expressed.  
Vanity doth cheat you all, and doth take Pride,  
For to allure you from 〈◊〉 Virtues Side.   

TO Silver Ribbens turned was every Hair, 
A S dressed with Honour, & Time.   
Knots of Experience every one tied there.  
Covered his Head was all with Wisdom's Hat,  
Good Managements as Hatband about that.  
His Garments lose, yet Manly did they sit,  
Though Time had crumpled them, no 〈◊〉 did get.  
His Cloak made of a free, and noble Mind,  
And all with Generosity was lined.  
And Gloves of Bounty his hands drew on,  
Stitched with Love, free Hearts were trimmed upon.  
A Sword of Valour hung close by his side,  
To cut of all base Fears, and haughty Pride.  
His Boots were Honesty, to walk upon,  
And Spurs of good Desires tied them on.  
Thus he was dressed by Honour, and by Time,  
The one did give him Wit, the other made him Fine.    

Honour's Epilogue.  

NOble Spectators, pray this learn by me,  
That nothing without Honour, Time, can perfect be.  
Honour doth dresle the Mind with Virtuous Weeds,  
And is the Parent to all Noble Deeds.  
Time doth the Body dress with Touth, and Age,  
And is great Nature's Chambermaid, and Page.  
If in Time's 
* Time's Cabinet is Opportunity.  Cabinet great Spoils you find,  
The Fault is Ignorance, who's Stupid, blind.  
Which Careless is, and tumbles all about,  
Misplacing all, taking the wrong things out.  
But Time's a Huswife good, and takes much pain  
To order all, as Nature did ordain.  
All several Ages on several Heaps she lays,  
And what she takes from Life, to Death she pays.  
But if Disordered Life doth run in Debt,  
Then Death his Sergeants doth Diseases 〈◊〉.  
Which causes Time to give a double Pay,  
Because Life spent so much before Rent-day.     

To all Writing Ladies.  
IT is to be observed, that there is a secret working by Nature, as to cast an influence upon the minds of men: like as in Contagions, when as the Air is corrupted, it produces several Diseases; so several distempers of the mind, by the inflammations of the spirits. And as in healthful Ages, bodies are purified, so wits are refined; yet it seems to me as if there were several invisible spirits, that have several, but visible powers, to work in several Ages upon the minds of men. For in many Age's men will be affected, and dis-affected alike: as in some Ages so strongly, and superstitiously devout, that they make many gods: and in another Age so Atheistical, as they believe in no God at all, and live to those Principles. Some Ages again have such strong faiths, that they will not only die in their several Opinions, but they will Massacre, and cut one another's throats, because their opinions are different. In some Ages all men seek absolute power, and every man would be Emperor of the World; which makes Civil Wars: for their ambition makes them restless, and their restlessness makes them seek change. Then in another Age all live peaceable, and so obedient, that the very Governors rule with obedient power. In some Ages again, all run after Imitation, like a company of Apes, as to imitate such a Poet, to be of such a Philosopher's opinion. Some Ages mixed, as Moralists, Poets, Philosophers, and the like: and in some Ages again, all affect singularity; and they are thought the wisest, that can have the most extravagant opinions. In some Age's Learning flourisheth in Arts, and Sciences; other Ages so dull, as they lose what former Ages had taught. And in some Ages it seems as if there were a Commonwealth of those governing spirits, where most rule at one time. Some Ages, as in Aristocracy, when some part did rule; and other Ages a pure Monarchy, when but one rules; and in some Ages, it seems as if all those spirits were at defiance, who should have most power, which makes them in confusion, and War; so confused are some Ages, and it seems as if there were spirits of the Feminine Gender, as also the Masculine. There will be many Heroic Women in some Ages, in others very Prophetical; in some Ages very pious, and devout: For our Sex is wonderfully addicted to the spirits. But this Age hath produced many effeminate Writers, as well as Preachers, and many effeminate Rulers, as well as Actors. And if it be an Age when the effeminate spirits rule, as most visible they do in every Kingdom, let us take the advantage, and make the best of our time, for fear their reign should not last long; whether it be in the Amazonian Government, or in the Politic Commonwealth, or in flourishing Monarchy, or in Schools of Divinity, or in Lectures of Philosophy, or in witty Poetry, or any thing that may bring honour to our Sex: for they are poor, dejected spirits, that are not ambitious of Fame. And though we be inferior to Men, let us show ourselves a degree above Beasts; and not eat, and drink, and sleep away our time as they do; and live only to the sense, not to the reason; and so turn into forgotten dust. But let us strive to build us Tombs while we live, of Noble, Honourable, and good Actions, at least harmless;  
That though our Bodies die,  
Our Names may live to after memory.   

I Wonder any should laugh, or think it ridiculous to hear of Fairies, and yet verily believe there are spirits: which spirits can have no description, because no dimension: And of Witches, which are said to change themselves into several forms, and then to return into their first form again ordinarily, which is altogether against nature: yet laugh at the report of Fairies, as impossible; which are only small bodies, not subject to our sense, although it be to our reason. For Nature can as well make small bodies, as great, and thin bodies as well as thick. We may as well think there is no Air, because we 〈◊〉 not see it; or to think there is no Air in an empty Barrel, or the like, because when we put our hands and arms into the same, we do not feel it. And why should not they get through doors or walls, as well as Air doth, if their bodies were as thin? And if we can grant there may be a substance, although not subject to our sense, than we must grant, that substance must have some form; And why not of man, as of any thing else? and why not rational souls live in a small body, as well as in a gross, and in a thin, as in a thick?  
Shall we say Dwarves have less souls, because less, or thinner bodies? And if rational souls, why not saving souls? So there is no reason in Nature, but that there may not only be such things as Fairies, but these be as dear to God as we.   

POEMS.  

Of the Theme of Love.  

O Love, how thou art tired out with Rblme!  
Thou art a Tree whereon all Poets climb;  
And from thy branches every one takes some  
Of thy sweet fruit, which 〈◊〉 feeds upon.  
But now thy Tree is left so bare, and poor,  
That they can hardly gather one Plumb more.    

The Elysium.  

THe Brain is the Elysian fields; and here  
All Ghosts and Spirits in strong dreams appear.  
In gloomy shades sleepy Lovers do walk,  
Where souls do entertain themselves with talk.  
And Heroes their great actions do relate,  
Telling their Fortune's good, and their sad Fate;  
What chanced to them when they awaked did live,  
Their World the light did great Apollo give;  
And what in life they could a pleasure call,  
Here in these Fields they pass their time withal.  
Where Memory, the Ferryman, doth bring  
New company, which through the Senses swim.  
The Boat Imagination's always full,  
Which Charon roweth in the Region 〈◊〉,  
And in that Region is that River 〈◊〉,  
There some are dipped, than all things soon forgets.  
But this Elysium Poets happy call,  
Where Poets as great Gods do record all.  
The souls of those that they will choose for bliss,  
And their sweet numbered verse their pastport is,  
But those that strive this happy place to seek,  
Is but to go to bed, and fall asleep.  
Yet what a stir do Poets make, when they  
By their wit Mercury those souls convey.  
But what, cannot the Godhead Wit create.  
Whose Fancies are both Destiny, and Fate,  
And Fame the thread which long and short they spin,  
The World as Flax unto their Distaff bring.  
This Distaff spins fine canvas of conceit,  
Wherein the Sense is woven even, and straight.  
But if in knots, and snarls entangled be,  
The thread of Fame doth run unevenly:  
Those that care not to live in Poet's verse,  
Let them lie dead upon Oblivion's Hearse.    

A Description of Shepherds, and Shepherdess's.  

THe Shepherdesses which great Flocks do keep,  
Are dabbled high with dew, following their Sheep,  
Milking their Ewes, their hands do dirty make;  
For being wet, dirt from their Duggs do take.  
The Sun doth scorch the skin, it yellow grows,  
Their eyes are red, lips dry with wind that blows.  
Their Shepherds sit on mountains top, that's high,  
Yet on their feeding sheep do cast an eye;  
Which to the mounts steep sides they hanging feed  
On short moist grass, not suffered to bear seed;  
Their feet though small, strong are their sinews string,  
Which make them fast to rocks & mountains cling:  
The while the Shepherd's legs hang dangling down,  
And sets his breech upon the hills high crown.  
Like to a tanned Hide, so was his skin,  
No melting heat, or numbing cold gets in,  
And with a voice that's harsh against his throat,  
He strains to sing, yet knows not any Note:  
And yawning, lazy lies upon his side,  
Or straight upon his back, with arms spread wide;  
Or snorting sleeps, and dreams of Joan their Maid,  
Or of Hobgoblin wakes, as being afraid.  
Motion in their dull brains doth plow, and sow,  
Not Plant, and set, as skilful Gardeners do.  
Or takes his Knife new ground, that half was broke,  
And whittles sticks to pin up his sheep-coat:  
Or cuts some holes in straw, to Pipe thereon  
Some tunes that pleaseth Joan his Love at home.  
Thus rustic Clowns are pleased to spend their times,  
And not as Poets fain, in Sonnets, Rhimes,  
Making great Kings and Princes Pastures keep,  
And beauteous Ladies driving flocks of sheep:  
Dancing 'bout Maypoles in a rustic sort,  
When Ladies scorn to dance without a Court.  
For they their Loves would hate, if they should come  
With leather Jerkins, breeches made of Thrum,  
And Buskins made of Frieze that's course, and strong,  
With clouted Shoes, tied with a leather thong.  
Those that are nicely bred, fine clothes still love,  
A white hand sluttish seems in dirty Glove.    

A Shepherd's employment is too mean an Allegory for Noble Ladies.  

TO cover Noble Lovers in Shepherds weeds,  
Of high descent, too humble thoughts it breeds:  
Like Gods, when they to Men descend down low,  
Take off the reverence, and respect we owe.  
Then make such persons like fair Nymphs to be,  
Who'd clothed with beauty, bred with modesty:  
Their tresses long hang on their shoulders white,  
Which when they move, do give the God's delight.  
Their Quiver, Hearts of men, which fast are tied,  
And 〈◊〉 of quick flying eyes beside.  
Buskins, that's buckled close with plates of gold,  
Which from base ways their legs with strength do hold.  
Men, Champions, Knights, which Honour high do prize,  
Above the tempting of alluring eyes,  
That seek to kill, or at the least to bind,  
All evil Passions in a wand'ring mind.  
To take those Castles kept by scandals strong,  
That have by errors been enchanted long,  
Destroying monstrous Vice, which Virtues eat,  
These Lovers worthy are of praises great.  
So will high Fame aloud those praises sing,  
Cupid those Lovers shall to Hymen bring,  
At Honour's Altar join both hearts and hands,  
The Gods will seal those Matrimonial bands.    

Between Shame and Dishonour.  

DIshonour in the house of Shame doth dwell,  
The way is broad, and open is as Hell:  
Yet Porter have, which Baseness some do call,  
And Idleness, as usher of the Hall.  
The house with dark forgetfulness is hung,  
And round about Ingratitude is flung:  
Boldness for Windows, which outface the Light,  
Dissembling as Curtains drawn with spite:  
With Covetousness all gilded are the roofs,  
The Weathercock Inconstancy still moves:  
Pillars of Obstinacies as firmly stands,  
Carved with Perjury by cunning hands.  
And Lust on beds of Luxury do lie,  
Where Chamberlains of Jealousies out-spy:  
Gardens of riot, where the wanton walks,  
Lascivious Arbours where obsceneness talks:  
Storehouses of Theft ill gotten goods lies in,  
A secret door bolted with a false pin:  
Bakehouse ill Consciences mould, and make  
False hearts as Oven hot, those hard do bake:  
Brew-houses, where ill designs are tunned up,  
With their light Grains, false Measures, and corrupt:  
Cellars of Drunkenness, barrels, stomaches made,  
And mouths for Taps, where spew for drink out-wades:  
Kitchens of slander, where good names they burn,  
Spits of revenge, on which ill deeds do turn:  
The Slaughter-roome of horrid Murder built,  
A Knife of Cruelty, by which blood is spilt:  
In Matrimonial bonds dishonour's linked  
With Infamy, which is as black as ink.    

The Temple of Honour.  

honours brave Temple is built both high and wide,  
Whose walls are of clear glass on every side;  
Where actions of all sorts are perfect seen,  
Where Truth as Priest approves, which worthy'st been;  
And on the Altar of the world them lays,  
And offers them with sacrificing praise.  
Which offerings are so clean without a speck, 
The Offerings.   
As Honour's Godhead cannot them reject.  
As pious Tears, with thoughts most chaste and pure,  
And patient minds afflictions to endure;  
Wisemen's brains, which bring things to good effect,  
A helping hand without a bribe suspect;  
A tongue, which Truth in Eloquence doth dress,  
And Lips, which worthy praises do express;  
Eyes that pry out, and spy examples good,  
Feet that in ways of mischief never stood;  
Hair from heads, that shaved for holy vow,  
Which as a witness, blessing gods allow.  
Breasts, from whence proceed all good desires,  
Which lock up secrets, if that need requires;  
And hearts, from whence clear springs of love do rise,  
Where loyal courage in the bottom lies.  
Besides here's spleen's, which never malice bore,  
And shoulders, with distressed burdens wore.  
An humble knee, that bows to ruling powers,  
And hands of Bounty, which on misery showers.  
King's Crowns, which ruled with Justice, Love, and Peace,  
Whose power served, from slavery to release.  
Here speculations from much Musing grow,  
Which Reasons proof, and Time's experience show.  
Witty inventions, which men profit bring,  
Inspiring verse, which Poets to gods sing;  
White innocence, as Girdles Virgins wear,  
That only Hymen from their waste doth tear:  
And Hymen's Torches, which burn bright and clear;  
Show, jealousy and falsehood ne'er came near.  
Garlands of Laureil, which keep ever green,  
Which for the best of Poet's Crowns have been:  
The Olive branch, which emblem is of peace,  
There offered is for the world's good increase:  
Myrtle for Lovers constant, which are true,  
Then for Misfortunes lay the bitter Rue:  
Sighs, which from deep compassion do flow out,  
And faiths, which never knew to make a doubt.  
Thus offered all, with grateful Hearts in ranks,  
Whereon was sprinkled the essence of thanks.  
Brought was the fire of Love, which burned all 〈◊〉  
Holywater, the penitential Tear:  
The Priests, which were the Cardinal Virtues four,  
Those Ceremonies executed o'er.  
In grave procession honour high 〈◊〉 raise,  
And with their Anthems sweet did sing her praise.    

Fame.  

THen on her wings doth Fame those Actions bear  
Which fly about, and carry'hem every where.  
Sometime she overloaded is with all,  
And then some down into Oblivion fall.  
But those that would to Fame's high Temple go,  
Must first great Honours Temple quite pass through.    

The Temple of Fame.  

THis Temple is divided in two parts,  
Some open lie, others obscure as hearts.  
Some light as day, others as dark as night,  
By times obscurity worn out of sight.  
The outward rooms all glorious to the eye,  
In which Fame's image placed is on high.  
Where all the windows are Triangulars cut,  
Where from one face a million of faces put:  
And builded is in squares, just like a Cube,  
Which way to double hard is in dispute.  
Wherein the Echoes do like balls rebound,  
From every corner, making a great sound.  
The walls are hung with chapiters all of gold,  
In Letters great all actions there are told.  
The Temple door is of prospective Glass,  
Through which a small beam of our eye can pass.  
That makes truth there so difficult to know,  
As for the bright Moon, a new world to show.  
The Steeple, or Pillars, of Goose-quills built,  
And plastered over with white paper guilt:  
The painting thereof with Ink black as jet,  
In several works and figures like a Net.  
This Steeple high is, and not very light,  
As a fair Evening is 'twixt day, and night.  
Five Tongues, the five Bells through the world do ring,  
And to each several ear much news do bring.  
The Philosopher's Tongue doth give a deep sound,  
But the Historians is no better found:  
The Orators Tongue doth make a great noise,  
Grammarians sound harsh, as if it had flaws:  
The small Bell, a Poet's tongue, changes oft,  
Whose motion is quick, smooth, even, and soft.  
The ropes they hung by, we could not well see,  
For they were long small threads of Vain-glory.  
But yet when they did ring, made a sweet chime,  
Especially when the Poet he did rhyme.  
The Belfry man, a Printer by his skill,  
That, if he pleases, may ring when he will.  
When Priest to Matins, or to Vespers go,  
To the High Altar they bow down low.  
This Altar, whereon they offer unto Fame,  
Is made of brains, arms, and hearts without blame:  
On which lies Wisdom, Wit, Strength, Courage, Love,  
Offered as sacrifices to Fame above:  
Virtues, Arts, Sciences, as Priest here stands,  
But Fortune Prioress all these commands.  
Incense of noble deeds to Fame she sends,  
Nothing is offered, but what she recommends.  
For Fortune brings more into Fame's high Court,  
Then all their virtues with their great 〈◊〉.    

Fame's Library within the Temples.  

Fame's Library, where old Records are placed,  
What acts not here unto oblivion cast.  
There stands the skelves of Time, where books do lie,  
Which books are tied by chains Of destiny.  
The Master of this place they Favour call,  
Where Care the doorkeeper, doth lock up all:  
Yet not so fast, but Bribery in steals,  
Partialities, cozenage truths not reveals.  
But Bribery through all the world takes place,  
And offerings as a bribe in heaven finds grace.  
Then let not men disdain a bribe to take,  
Since gods do blessing give for a bribes sake.    

The Fairy Queen.  

THe Fairy Queens large Kingdom got by birth,  
Is in the circled centre of the Earth,  
Where there are many springs, and running streams,  
Whose waves do glister by the Queen's bright beams.  
Which makes them murmur as they pass away,  
Because by running round they cannot stay.  
For they do evermore, 
* The waters run in circulations.  just like the Sun,  
As constantly in their long race they run:  
And as the Sun gives heat to make things spring,  
So water moyslure gives to every thing.  
Thus these two Elements give life to all,  
Creating every thing on Earth's round ball.  
And all along this liquid source that flows,  
Stand Myrtle trees, and banks where flowers grows.  
'Tis true, there are no Birds to sing sweet notes,  
But there are winds that whistle like birds throats;  
Whose sounds, and notes by variation oft,  
Make better Music than the Spheres aloft,  
Nor any beasts are there of cruel nature,  
But a slow, sost worm, a gentle creature,  
Who fears no hungry birds to pick them out,  
Safely they grasp the tender twigs about.  
There Mountains are of pure resined gold,  
And Rocks of Diamonds perfect to behold;  
Whose brightness is a Sun to all about,  
Which glory makes Apollo's beams keep out.  
Quarries of Rubles, Saphires there are store,  
Crystals, and 〈◊〉 many more.  
There polished pillars naturally appear,  
Where twining vines are clustered all the year.  
The Axletree whereon the Earth turns round,  
Is one great 〈◊〉, by opinion found.  
And the two ends, which called are the Poles,  
Are pointed Diamonds, the Antarctic holds,  
And Arctic; which about the world is rolled,  
Are rings of pure, refined, perfect gold.  
Which makes the Sun so seldom there appear,  
For fear those rings should melt, if he came near.  
And as a wheel the Elements are found  
In even Lays, and often turnings round.  
For first the sire in circle, as the spoke,  
And then the water, for air is the smoke  
Begot of both; for fire doth water boil,  
That causes clouds, or smoke which is the oil.  
This smoky child sometimes is good, then bad,  
According to the nourishment it had.  
The outward 〈◊〉, as the Earth suppose,  
Which is the surface where all plenty flows.  
Yet the Earth is not the cause of turning,  
But the fiery spoke; not fear of burning  
The Axletree, for that grows hard with heat,  
And by its quickness turns the wheel, though great,  
Unless by outward weight itself press down,  
Raising the bottom, bowing down the Crown.  
Yet why this while am I so long of proving,  
But to show how this Earth still is moving.  
And the heavens, as wheels, do turn likewise,  
As we do daily see before our eyes.  
To make the Proverb good in its due turn,  
That all the world on wheels doth yearly run.  
And by the turn such blasts of wind do blow,  
As we may think like Windmills they do go.  
But winds are made by Vulcan's bellows sure,  
Which makes the Earth such colics to endure.  
For he, a Smith set at the sorge below,  
Ordained is the Center-fire to blow.  
But Venus laughs to think what horns he wears,  
Though on his shoulders half the Earth he bears,  
Nature her metal makes him hammer out,  
All that she sends through Mines the world about.  
For he's th' old-man that doth i'th' Centre dwell,  
She Proserpina, that's thought the Queen of hell.  
Yet Venus is a Tinker's wife, we see,  
Not a goddess, as she was thought to be;  
When all the world to her did offerings bring,  
And her high praise in prose, and verse did sing:  
And Priests in orders, on her Altars tend,  
And to her Image all the wise heads bend.  
But to vain ways that men did go,  
To worship gods they do not know.  
'tis true, her son's a prettyLad,  
And is a Footboy to Queen Mab;  
Which makes fires, and sets up lights,  
And keeps the door for Carpet Knights.  
For when the Queen is gone to sleep,  
Then revel-rout the Court doth keep.  
Yet heretosore men strived to prove,  
That Cupid was the god of love.  
But if that men could to the Centre go,  
They soon would see that it were nothing so.   

Here Nature nurses, and sends them season,  
All things abroad, as she seeth reason.  
When she commands, all things do her obey,  
Unless her countermand some things do stay.  
For she stays life, when drugs are well applied,  
And healing balms to deadly wounds beside.  
There Mab is Queen of all, by Nature's will,  
And by her favour she doth govern still.  
Happy 〈◊〉, that is in Nature's grace;  
For young she's always, being in this place.  
But leaving here, let's see the sport,  
That's acted in the Fairy Court.    

The Pastime, and Recreation of the Queen of Fairies in Fairy-land, the Centre of the Earth.  

WHere this Queen Mab, and all her Fairy fry,  
Are dancing on a pleasant molebill high;  
With fine small stram-pipes sweet Music's pleasure,  
By which they do keep just time and measure.  
All hand in hand, a round, a round,  
They dance upon this Fairy ground.  
And when the Queen leaves off to dance,  
She calls for all her Attendants,  
Her to wait on unto a Bower,  
Where she doth sit under a flower,  
To shade her from the Moonshine bright,  
Where Gnats do sing for her delight.  
Some high, some low, some Tenor strain,  
Making a Consort very plain.  
The whilst the Bat doth fly about,  
To keep in order all the rout;  
And with her wings she strikes them hard,  
Because no noise there should be heard.  
She on a dewy leaf doth bathe,  
And as she sits, the lease doth wave.  
There, like a new-fallen flake of snow,  
Doth her white limbs in beauty show.  
Her garments fair her maid, put on,  
Made of the pure light from the Sun;  
From whence such colours she inshades,  
In every object she invades.  
Then to her dinner she goes stroight,  
Where every one in order wait;  
And on a Mushroom there is 〈◊〉  
A cover fine of Spider's web.  
And for her stood a Thistle-down,  
And for her cup an Acorns crown;  
Wherein strong Nectar there is filled,  
That from sweet flowers is distilled.  
Flies of all sorts both fat, and good,  
Partridge, Snipes, Quails, and Poult, her food.  
〈◊〉, Larks, Cocks, or any kind,  
Both wild, and tame, you may there find.  
Amelets made of Ants-egs new,  
Of these high meats she eats but few.  
Her milk comes from the Dormouse udder,  
Making fresh Cheese, Cream, and Butter.  
This milk doth make many a fine knack,  
When they fresh Ants-egs therein crack.  
Both Pudding, Custards, and Seed-cake,  
As her skilled Cook knows how to make.  
To sweeten them, the 〈◊〉 doth bring  
Pure honey, gathered by her sting:  
But for her guard serves grosser meat,  
On stall-fed Dormouse they do cat.  
When dined, she calls to take the air,  
In Coach, which is a Nutshell fair:  
Lined soft it is, and rich within,  
Made of a glistering Adders skin.  
And there six Crickets draw her fast,  
And she a journey takes in haste;  
Or else two serves to pace a round,  
And trample on the Fairy ground.  
To hawk sometimes she takes delight,  
Which is a Hornet swift for flight;  
Whose horns do serve for Talons strong,  
To gripe the Partridge Fly among.  
But if she will a hunting go,  
Then she the Lizzard makes the do.  
They are so swift, and fleet in chase,  
As her slow Coach can never pace.  
Then on Grasshopper doth she ride,  
Who gallops far in forest wide.  
Her Bow is of a willow branch,  
To shoot the Lizzard on the haunch.  
Her arrow sharp, much like a blade  
Of a Rosemary leaf is made.  
Then home she's called by the Cock,  
Who gives her warning what's a Clock.  
And when the Moon doth hide her head,  
Their day is done, so goeth to bed.  
Meteors do serve, when they are bright,  
As Torches do, to give her light.  
Glow-worm's for candles are light up,  
Set on her table, while she sup.  
And in her chamber they are placed,  
Not fearing how the Tallow waist.  
But women, that inconstant are by kind,  
Can never in one place content their mind.  
For she her Chariot calls, and will away,  
To upper Earth, impatient is of stay.    

The Pastime of the Queen of Fairies, when she comes upon the Earth out of the Centre.  

THis lovely sweet, and beauteous Fairy Queen,  
Begins to rise, when Vespers star is seen.  
For she is kin unto the god of Night,  
So to Diana, and the stars so bright.  
And so to all the rest in some degrees,  
Yet not so near relation as to these.  
As for Apollo, she disclaims him quite,  
And swears she ne'er will come within his light.  
For they fell out about some foolish toy,  
Where ever since in him she takes no joy.  
She faith, he always doth more harm then good,  
If that his malice were true understood.  
For he brings dearths by parching up the ground,  
And sucks up waters, that none can be found.  
He makes poor man in feverish plagues to lie,  
His arrows hot, both man and beast do die.  
So that to him she never will come near,  
But hates to see, when that his beams appear.  
This makes the Cock her notice give, they say,  
That when he rises, she may go her way.  
And makes the Owl her favourite to be,  
Because Apollo's face she hates to see.  
Owls sleep all day, yet hollow in the night,  
Make acclamations that they're out of sight.  
So doth the Glow-worm all day hide her head,  
But lights her taper-taile, when he's a bed,  
To wait upon the fairest Fairy Queen,  
Whilst she is sporting on the meady green.  
Her pastime only is when she's on earth,  
To pinch the Sluts, which make Hobgoblin mirth:  
Or changes children while the nurse's sleep,  
Making the father rich, whose child they keep.  
This Hobgoblin is the Queen of Fairy's fool,  
Turning himself to Horse, Cow, Tree, or Stool;  
Or any thing to cross by harmless play,  
As leading Travellers out of their way,  
Or kick down Payls of Milk, cause Cheese not turn,  
Or hinder Butter's coming in the Churn:  
Which makes the Farmer's wife to scold, and fret,  
That she the Cheese, and Butter cannot get.  
Then holds he up the Hen's Rumps, as they say,  
Because their Eggs too soon they should not lay.  
The good Wife sad, squats down upon a chair,  
Not at all thinking it was Hob the Fair:  
Where frowning sits; then Hob gives her the slip,  
And down she falls, whereby she hurts her hip.  
And many pranks, which Hob plays on our stage,  
With his companion Tom Thumb, the Queen's Page;  
Who doth like piece of fat in pudding lie,  
There almost chokes the Eater, going awry.  
And when he's down, the Guts, their wind blows out,  
Putting the standers by into a rout.  
Thus shames the Eater with a foul disgrace,  
That never after dare he show his face.  
Besides, in many places puts himself,  
As Bags, Budgets, being a little Elf,  
To make his bearers start away with fear,  
To think that any thing alive is there.  
In this, the Queen of Fairies takes delight,  
In summers even, and in winter's night;  
And when that She is weary of these plays,  
She takes her Coach, and goeth on her ways,  
Unto her Paradise, the Centre deep,  
Which is the Storehouse rich of Nature sweet.    

Her descending down.  

THe stately Palace in which the Queen dwells,  
Whose fabric is built of Hodmandod shells,  
The hangings thereof a Rainbow that's thin,  
Which seems wondrous fine, if one enter in,  
The Chambers are made of Amber that's clear,  
Which gives a sweet smell, if fire be near:  
Her Bed a Cherry-stone, carved throughout,  
And with a Butterflies wing hung about:  
Her Sheets are made of a Doves eyes skin,  
Her Pillow a Violet bud laid therein:  
The large doors are cut of transparent Glass,  
Where the Queen may be seen, as she doth pass.  
The doors are locked fast with silver pins,  
The Queen's asleep, and now our day begins.  
Her time in pleasure passes thus away,  
And shall do so, until the world's last day.    

The Windy Giants.  

THe four chief Winds are Giants, long in length,  
As broad are set, and wondrous great in strength.  
These Giants have Heads (as it doth appear)  
More than the Months, or Seasons of the year.  
And some say more than days, and all the nights,  
That they are numberless, and infinites.   

The first four Heads are largest of them all,  
The twelve are next, the thirty two but small;  
The rest so little, and their breath so weak,  
Their mouths so narrow, cannot hear them speak.  
These Giants are so lustful, and so wild,  
As they do force to get the Earth with child;  
And big she swells until the time of birth,  
Her bowels stretched, high bellied is the earth;  
Then doth she groan with grievous pains, and shake;  
Until she's brought a bed with her Earthquake.  
This Child of Wind doth 〈◊〉 all it meets,  
Rends Rocksand Mountains, like to Paper sheets:  
It swallows Cities, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
It threatens Jove, and makes the gods to fear.   

And the cold North wind, his 〈◊〉 dry, and strong,  
Pulling up Oaks, then lays them all along.  
In fetters of hard Ice binds Rivers fast,  
Imprisons Fishes in the Ocean vast:  
Ploughs up the Seas, and Hail for seed in flings,  
Where crops of overflows the Tide in brings.  
He drives the Clouds in troops, which makes them 〈◊〉,  
And blows, to put the 〈◊〉 out of the Sun.   

The Southern Wind, who is as 〈◊〉 as he,  
And to the Sun as great an 〈◊〉;  
Raising an Army of 〈◊〉 Clouds, and Mists,  
Which with them thinks 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 just as he lists,  
Throwing up waters to quench out his Light,  
Flings in his face black Clouds, to hide his sight.  
But the hot Sun cannot endure this scorn,  
And back in showers of rain doth them 〈◊〉.   

The Western wind, without ambitious ends,  
Doth what he can to join, and make them friends;  
For he is of a nature sweet, and mild,  
And not so headstrong, rough, nor rude, nor wide.  
He's soft to touch, and 〈◊〉 to each 〈◊〉,  
His voice sounds sweet, and small, and very clear;  
And makes hot love to young fresh buds that springs;  
They give him sweets, which he through Air them flings;  
Not from dislike, but to 〈◊〉 them 〈◊〉,  
As Pictures do, for 〈◊〉 that are fair.   

But O, the Eastern Wind is full of spite,  
Diseases brings, which 〈◊〉 doebite;  
He blasts young buds, and 〈◊〉 within the 〈◊〉,  
He rots the Sheep, to men he brings the Plague:  
He is an enemy, and of Nature ill,  
The world would poison, if he had his will.    

Witches of Lapland.  

LApland is the place from 〈◊〉 all Winds come,  
From Witches, not from Caves, as do think some.  
For they the Air do draw into high Hills,  
And beat them out again by certain Mills:  
Then sack it up, and sell it out for gain  
To Mariners, which traffic on the main.    

Of the Sun, and the Earth.  

THrough Earth's 〈◊〉 holes her sweat doth pass,  
Which is the Dew that lies upon the Grass:  
Where (like a Lover kind) the Sun wipes clean,  
That her fair face may to the Light be seen;  
And for her sake that water he esteems,  
Threading those drops upon his silver beams,  
Like ropes of Pearl; he draws them to his sphere,  
Turning those drops to Crystal when they're there.  
Yet, what he gathers, cannot he keep all,  
But down again some of those drops do fall:  
When turning back upon her head they run,  
He clouds his brows, as if he had ill done.  
But Lovers think they always do 〈◊〉,  
Although those showers her refreshment is.  
When she by sweat exhausted grows, and dry,  
The Sun the 〈◊〉 Clouds 〈◊〉 squeeze in sky;  
Or 〈◊〉 he takes some of his sharpest beams,  
To break the Clouds, from whence pour Crystal streams.  
Then Earth doth drink too much, yet doth not reel;  
She cannot dizzy be, though sickness feel.    

Of a Garden.  

AGarden is, some Paradise do call,  
The place is always th' 〈◊〉:  
Echoes there are most artificial made,  
And cooling Grottoes, from the heat to shade.  
The azure sky is always bright, and clear;  
No gross thick vapours in the Clouds appear.  
There many Stars do comfort the sad night,  
The fixed with twinkling, with the 〈◊〉 give light.  
No noise is heard, but what the 〈◊〉 delights;  
No fruits are there, but what the taste invites.  
Up through the Nose bruised Flowers fume the brain,  
As Honey-dew in balmy showers rain.  
Various colours, by Nature intermixed,  
Direct the eyes, as no one thing can fix.  
Here Atoms small on Sunbeams dance all day,  
While Zephyrus sweet doth on the air play:  
Which Music from Apollo bears the praise,  
And Orpheus at the sound his Harp down lays.  
Apollo yields, and not contends with spite,  
Presenting Zephyrus with twelve hours of light:  
And night, though sad, in quiet pleasure takes,  
With silence listens when he Music makes.  
And when day comes, with grief descends down low,  
That she no longer must hear Zephyrus' blow:  
And with her Mantle black herself inshrouds,  
Which is embroidered all of Stars in clouds.  
Here are intermixing walks of pleasure,  
Grass, Sand, short, broad, and all sorts of measure.  
Some shaded, fit for Lovers musing thought  
Of Love's Idea, when the mind's full fraught.  
The walks are firm, and hard, as Marble are,  
Yet soft as Down, by Grass that groweth there,  
Where Daisies grow as 〈◊〉, in a night,  
mixed white, and yellow, green, to please the sight.  
At Dawning day the dew all over-spreads,  
In little drops upon those Daisies heads:  
As thick as Stars are set in heaven high,  
So Daisies on the earth as close do lie.  
Here Emerald banks, from whence fine flowers spring,  
Whose scents and colours various pleasure bring.  
Primroses, Cowslips, Violets, 〈◊〉,  
Roses, Honey-suckles, and white 〈◊〉,  
〈◊〉- flowers, Pinks, and Marigolds besides,  
Sat on the bank, enriched with Nature's pride.  
On other banks grow Simples, which are good  
For Medicines, well applied, and understood.  
There Trees do grow, that proper are, and tall,  
Their 〈◊〉 is smooth, and bodies sound withal;  
Whose spreading tops are full, and ever green,  
As Nazarites heads, where Razor hath not been:  
And curled leaves, which bowing branches bear,  
By warmth are fed; for winter ne'er comes there.  
There Fruits delicious to the taste do grow,  
Where with delight the sense doth overflow:  
And Arched Arbours, where sweet Birds do sing,  
Whose bollow rooses do make each Echo ring.  
Prospects which Trees, and Clouds by mixing shows,  
Joined by the eye, one perfect piece it grows.  
Here Fountains are, where trilling drops down run,  
Which sparks do twinkle like fixed Stars, or Sun:  
And through each several spout such noise it makes,  
As Bird in spring, when he his pleasure takes.  
Some chirping Sparrow, and the singing Lark,  
Or 〈◊〉 Nightingale in evening dark;  
And whistling Black bird, with the pleasant Thrush,  
Linnet, Bulfinch, which sing in every bush.  
No weeds are here, nor withered leaves, and dry,  
But ever green, and pleasant to the eye.  
No Frost, to nip the tender buds in birth,  
Nor winter snow to fall on this sweet earth.  
For here the Spring is always in her prime,  
Because this place is underneath the Line:  
The Day, and Night, equal, by turns keep watch,  
That thievish time should nothing from them catch.  
And every Muse a several walk enjoys,  
The sad in shades, the light with sports employs.  
Censuring Satyrs, they in corners lurk;  
Yet, as their gardeners, they with Art do work,  
To cut and 〈◊〉, to sow, engraft, and fet,  
Gather fruits, flowers, what each Muse thinks fit:  
And Nymphs, as Handmaids, their attendance give;  
Which, for reward, their fames by Muses live.    

Of an Oak in a Grove.  

A Shady Grove, trees grew in equal space,  
Which seemed to be a consecrated place.  
Through spreading boughs, their quivering light broke in,  
Much like to Glass, or Crystal shivered thin:  
Those pieces small on a green Carpet strewed,  
So in this wood, the light all broken showed.  
But this disturbed light the Grove did grace,  
As sadness doth a fair and beauteous face.  
And in the midst an ancient Oak stood there, 
It was a custom in ancient time to hang their offerings on trees.   
Which heretofore did many Offerings bear;  
Where all the branches round with relics hung,  
To show what cures the Gods for men had done:  
And for rewards, long life the Gods did give  
Unto this Oak, that aged he must live.  
His younger years, when Acorns he did bear,  
No Dandruff, Moss, but fresh green leaves grew there.  
There curled hung his shoulders, broad they spread,  
His crown was thick, and bushy was his head,  
His stature tall, full breasted, broad, and big,  
His body round, and straight was every twig.  
But youth, and beauty, which are shadows thin,  
Do fade away, as if they ne'er had been.  
For all his fresh green leaves, and smooth moist rind,  
Are quite worn off, and now grown bald with time.  
His arms so strong, which grappled with the winds,  
His bark so thick, as skin, his body binds;  
Where he all times and seasons firm could stand,  
And many a blust'ring storm he over-came.  
Yet now so weak and feeble he doth grow,  
That every blast is apt him down to throw.  
His branches all are feared, his bark grown grey,  
Most of his rind with time is peeled away.  
The liquid sap, which from the root did rise,  
(Where every thirsty bough it did suffice)  
Is all drunk up, there is no moisture left,  
The root is rotten, and his body's cleft.  
Thus Time doth ruin, brings all to decay,  
Though to the Gods doth still devoutly pray:  
For this old Oak was sacred to high Jove,  
Which was the King of all the Gods above.  
But Gods, when they created all at first,  
They did ordain all should return to dust.    

Of a wrought Carpet, presented to the view of working Ladies.  

THe Spring doth spin fine grass green silk, of which  
To wove a Carpet (like the Persian rich)  
And all about the borders there are spread  
Clusters of Grapes mixed green, blue, white, and red;  
And in the midst the Gods in sundry shapes,  
Are curious wrought, divulging all their Rapes,  
And all the ground with Flowers there are strowed,  
As if by Nature they were set, so growed.  
Those Figures all like Sculpture do bear out,  
To lie on Flats many will make a doubt.  
The Dark and Light so intermixed are laid,  
For shady Groves that Priest devoutly prayed.  
The fruits so hung, as did invite the tasle,  
And small Birds picking seen to make a waste.  
The ground was wrought like threads drawn from the Sun,  
Which shined so blazing like to a fired Gun.  
This piece the pattern is of Artful skill,  
Art, Imitator is of Nature still.    

A Man to his Mistress.  

ODoe not grieve, Dear Heart, nor shed a tear,  
Since in your eyes my life doth still keep there  
And in your countenance my death I find,  
And buried in your melancholy mind.  
But in your smiles I'm glorified to rise,  
And in your love you me eternalise:  
Thus by your favour I a God become,  
And by your hate I do a Devil turn.     

The Clasp.  

Of small Creatures, such as we call Fairies.  

WHo knows, but in the Brain may dwell  
Little small Fairies; who can tell?  
And by their several actions they may make  
Those forms and figures, we for fancy take.  
And when we sleep, those Visions, dreams we call,  
By their industry may be raised all;  
And all the objects, which through sens'es get,  
Within the Brain they may in order set. 
All objects that the Senses bring in, are as Merchandises brought from foreign parts.   
And some pack up, as Merchants do each thing,  
Which out sometimes may to the Memory bring.  
Thus, besides our own imaginations,  
Fairies in our brain beget inventions.  
If so, the eye's the sea they traffic in,  
And on salt watery tears their ship doth swim.  
But if a tear doth break, as it doth fall,  
Or wiped away, they may a shipwrach call.  
When from the stomach vapours do arise,  
Fly up into the Head, (as to the skies)  
And as storms use, their houses down may blow,  
Which, by their fall, the Head may dizzy grow.  
And when those houses they build up again,  
With knocking hard they put the Head to pain.  
When they dig deep, perchance the Tooth may ache,  
And from a Tooth a Quarry-bone may take;  
Which like to stone, may build their house withal:  
If much took out, the tooth may rotten fall.  
Those that dwell near the ears, are very cool,  
For they are both the South, and Northern Pole.  
The eyes are Sun and Moon, which give them light,  
When open, day, when shut, it is dark night.    

The City of the Fairies.  

THe City is the Brain, encompassed in  
Double walls (Dura Mater, Pia Mater thin)  
It's trenched round about with a thick scull,  
And faced without with wondrous Art, and skill.  
The Forehead is the fort, that's builded high,  
And for the Sentinels is either Eye.  
And the place where Memory doth lie in,  
Is the great Magazine of Oberon King.  
The Marketplace the Mouth, when full, begun  
Is Market day, when empty, Markets done.  
The City Conduit where the water flows,  
Is through two spouts, the nostrils of the Nose.  
But when those watery spouls close stopped are not,  
Then we say straight a Cold, or Pose have got.  
The Gates are the two Ears, when deaf they are,  
It is when they those City Gates do bar.  
This City's governed as most Cities be,  
By Aldermen, and so by Mayoralty.  
And Oberon King dwells never any where,  
But in a Royal Head, whose Court is there:  
Which is the kernel of the Brain, if seen,  
We there might view him, and his beauteous Queen;  
Sure thats their Court, and there they sit in state,  
And Noble Lords, and Ladies on them wait.    

The Fairies in the Brain, may be the causes of many thoughts.  

When we have pious thoughts, and think of heaven,  
Yet go about, not ask to be forgiven,  
Perchance their preaching, or a Chapter saying,  
Or on their knees devoutly they are praying.  
When we are sad, and know no reason why,  
Perchance it is, because some there do die.  
And some place in the Head is hung with black,  
Which makes us dull, yet know not what we lack.  
Our fancies, which in verse, or prose we put,  
Are Pictures which they draw, or 〈◊〉 cut,  
And when those fancies are both fine, and thin,  
Then they engraven are in seal, or ring.  
When we have cross opinions in the mind,  
They in the Schools disputing we shall find.  
When we of childish toys do think upon,  
A Fair may be whereto those people throng,  
And in those stalls may all such knacks be sold;  
As Bells, and Rattles, or bracelets of Gold.  
Or Pins, Pipes, Whistles are to be bought there,  
And thus within the Head may be a Fair.  
When that our brain with amorous thoughts doth run,  
Are marrying there a Bride with her Bridegroom.  
And when our thoughts are merry, humours gay,  
Then they are dancing on their Wedding day.    

Of the Animal Spirits.  

THose Spirits which we Animal do call,  
May Men, and Women be, and Creatures small;  
And in the body Kingdoms may divide,  
As Nerves, Muscles, Veins, and Arteries wide.  
The head, and heart, East and West Indies be,  
Which through the veins may traffic, as the sea:  
In fevers great by shipwreck many dies;  
For when the blood is hot, and vapours rise  
On boiling pulse, as waves they toss, if hit  
Against hard rock of great obstructions, split.  
Head the East Indies, where spicy Fancy grows,  
From Oranges and Lemons sharp satire flows;  
The Heart the West, where heat the blood refines,  
Which blood is gold, and silver heart the mines.  
Those from the head in ships their Spice they fetch,  
And from the heart the gold and silver rich.    

The War of those Spirits.  

SOmetimes these Animal Creatures they do jar,  
And then those Kingdoms all are up in war,  
And when they fight we Cramps, Convulsions feel,  
〈◊〉 in our 〈◊〉, and Chilblains in our heel.    

Peace.  

WHen there is peace, and all do well agree,  
Then is Commerce in every Kingdom free,  
And through the Nerves they travel without fear,  
There are no Thiefs to rob them of their ware.  
Their wares are several touches which they bring  
Unto the Senses, they buy every thing.  
But to the Muscles they do much recourse,  
For in those Kingdom's trading hath great force.  
Those Kingdoms join by two, and two,  
So they with 〈◊〉 do pass, and repass through.    

The description of their world, which is the Body.  

THe Arteries are the Ocean deep, and wide,  
The Blood the Sea which ebbs, and flows in Tide:  
The Nerves great continent they travel through,  
Muscles are Cities, which they traffic to.    

Similising the Body to many Countries.  

THe Nerves are France, and Italy, and Spain,  
The Liver Britanny, the Narrow Seas, the veins,  
The Spleen is Aethiopia, which breeds in  
A People that are black, and tawny skin.  
The Stomach Egypt, the Chylus Nile, that flows  
Quite through the Body, by which it fruitful grows.  
The Heart, and Head, East, and West Indies are,  
The South, and Northern Pole is either Eare.  
The Lungs are Rocks, and Caverns, whence rise winds,  
And Life which passes through great danger finds.    
FINIS.   

An Epistle to Soldiers.  
GReat Heroics, you may justly laugh at me, if I went about to censure, instruct, or advise in the valiant Art, and Discipline of War. But I do but only take the name, having no knowledge in the Art, nor practise in the use; for I never saw an Army together, nor any Encounters in my life. I have seen a Troop, or a Regiment march on the High way by chance, or so; neither have I the courage to look on the cruel assaults, that Mankind (as I have heard) will make at each other; but according to the constitution of my Sex, I am as fearful as a Hare: for I shall start at the noise of a Potgun, and shut my eyes at the sight of a bloody Sword, and run away at the least Alarm. Only My courage is, I can hear asad relation, but not without grief, and chillness of spirits: but these Armies I mention, were raised in my brain, fought in my fancy, and registered in my closet.   

POEMS.  

The Fort, or Castle of Hope.  

HOpe hearing Doubt an Army great did bring,  
For to assault the Castle she was in;  
For her defence, her Castle she made strong,  
Placing great Ordnance on the wall along.  
Bulwarks she built at every corners end,  
A Curtain of twelve score was drawn between  
Two faces make a point, from whence the Cannon's play, 
When 〈◊〉 are shot from each corner, they make 〈◊〉 triangular point upon the 〈◊〉.   
Two points do make a third, to stop the enemi's way.  
The wings were not too short, nor curtains were too long,  
The points were not too sharp, but blunt to make them strong.  
Round the Castle, enemy's out to keep,  
A ditch was digged, which was both wide and deep;  
And bridges made to draw, or let at length,  
The gates had iron bars of wondrous strength:  
Soldiers upon the Curtains-line did stand,  
And every one a Musket in his hand.  
When Hope had ordered all about her Fort,  
Then she did call a council to her Court.  
I hear says Hope, that Doubt a war will make,  
And bring great force this Castle for to take;  
Wherefore my friends, provisions must be 〈◊〉,  
And first of all good store of victuals bought;  
Hunger doth lose more Forts, than force doth win,  
Then must we with the stomach first begin.  
The next is arms, the body for to guard,  
Those that unarmed are, are soonest afeared.  
But to small use, we make a ditch, or wall,  
If not men armed to keep this wall withal.  
Shall we neglect the lives, and strength of men,  
More than a wall, that may be broken in?  
For Ammunitions, that mighty power,  
Engines of death, which Armies, Towns devour,  
Yet are they of no use, unless mankind  
Hath strength, skill, will, to use them, as designed;  
The last for to advise, what ways are best,  
For to defend ourselves from being oppressed.  
Then Expectation being grey with age,  
Advises Hope by no means to engage  
Too 〈◊〉 her Castle, but let that be free,  
Draw 〈◊〉 a Line about the Town, said she:  
There make some works, Soldiers entrench therein,  
Let not the wars close at your gates begin.  
With that, Desire, although young, did speak,  
Alas, said she, Doubt will that small line take.  
So great a compass will your strength divide,  
A body weak may break through any side.  
Besides, the soldiers will more 〈◊〉 be,  
When they a rescue strong behind them see.  
But in the Castle, where lies all their good,  
There they will fight to the last drop of blood.    

Doubts Assault, and Hope's Defence.  

A Boutthe Fort of Hope, Doubt entrenched lay,  
Stopped all provisions that should 〈◊〉 that way;  
They dig forth earth, to raise up rampiers high,  
Against Hope's Curtains did their Cannon lie.  
The Line being long, it seemed the weakest place,  
Or else to batter down the frontiers face.  
There Pioniers did dig a Mine to spring,  
Balls and Granades in the Fort did 〈◊〉;  
Rams they did place, to beat their walls down flat,  
And many other Engines, as good as that.  
But as Doubt breaches made in any part,  
Straight Hopes industry soon 〈◊〉 with art;  
Yet Doubt did resolve fierce assaults to make,  
And setting Ladders up, the Fort to take.  
When Hope perceived, great stones and weights down flung,  
Which many killed, as they on Ladders hung:  
Many did fall, and in the ditch did lie,  
But then fresh men did straight their place supply.  
Upon the walls of Hope many lay dead,  
And those that fought, did on their bodies tread.  
Thus various Fortune on each side did fall,  
And Death was only Conqueror of all.    

A Battle between Courage, and Prudence.  

Courage against Prudence a War did make,  
For Rashness, her foe, his favourites sake.  
Rashness against Queen Prudence had a spite,  
And did persuade great Courage for to fight.  
Courage did raise an army vast and great,  
That for the numbers Tamburlaine might beat;  
Clothed all in 〈◊〉 coats, which made a show. 
Vanity.   
And tossing Feathers which their pride did blow; 
Pride.   
Such fiery horses men could hardly wield, 
Ambition.   
And in this Equipage they took the field.  
Loud noise of this great Army every where, 
Fame.   
Until at last it came to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
Prudence a Council called of all the wise,  
Aged Experience for her to advise;  
Industry was called, which close did wait,  
And orders had to raise an Army straight.  
But out alas, her Kingdom was so small,  
That scarce an Army could be raised of all.  
At last they did about ten thousand get,  
Then Care employed was, them arms to 〈◊〉;  
Discipline trained, and taught each several man,  
How they should move, and in what posture stand.  
Great store of victuals Prudence did provide,  
And Ammunition of all sorts beside.  
The Foot were clothed, though course, in warm array,  
Their wages small, yet had they constant pay.  
Well armed they were all Breast, Back, and Pot,  
Not for to tyre them, but to keep out shot.  
Each had their Muskets, Pikes, and Banners right,  
That nothing might be wanting when they fight.  
The Cavalry all armed as in a Frock  
Gauntlet and Pistols, and some Firelocks,  
Swords by their sides, and at their Saddle bow  
Hung Pole-axes to strike, and give a blow.  
Horses, e'en such, as pampered in a Stable,  
But from the Blow, which were both strong and able  
To make a long March, or endure a shock,  
That quietly will stand firm, as a rock;  
Nor start, although the Guns shoot in their face,  
But as they're guided, go from place to place.  
Prudence for man, and Horse she did provide,  
Physicians, Surgeons, Farriers, Smiths beside,  
Wagons, and Carts, all Luggages to bear,  
That none might want, when in the Field they were.  
Strict order she did give to every one,  
For fear that by mistake they should do wrong.  
And as they marched, Scouts every way did go,  
To bring Intelligence where lay the Foe.  
And when the Army stayed some rest to take,  
Prudence had care what Sentinels to make,  
Men that were watchful, full of industry,  
Not such as are debauched, or lazy, lie.  
For Armies oft by negligence are lost,  
Which had they fought, might of their valour boast.  
But Prudence, She with care still had an eye,  
That every one had Match, and Powder by.  
Besides through a wise care, though not afraid,  
She always lay entrenched where She stayed.  
At last the Armies both drew near in sight,  
Then both began to order for the fight.  
Courage his Army was so vast, and great,  
As they did scorn the others when they met.  
Courage did many a scornful message send,  
But Prudence still made Patience by her stand.  
Prudence called to Doubt, to ask his advice,  
But in his answers he was very nice;  
Hope, of that Army great, She made but light,  
Persuaded Prudence by any means to fight;  
For why, said Hope, they do us so despise,  
That they grow careless, error blinds their eyes.  
Whereby we may such great advantage make,  
As we may win, and many prisoners take.  
Then Prudence set her Army in array,  
Choosing their Roman custom, and their way.  
In bodies small her Army she did part,  
In Mollops, which was done with care and Art:  
Ten on a rank, and seven file deep they were,  
Between each part, a lane of ground lay bare,  
For single, and loose men, about to run,  
To skirmish first, before the fight begun.  
The Battle ordered, in three parts was set,  
The next supplies, when the first part is beat.  
Then Prudence road about, from rank to rank,  
Taking great care to strengthen well the flank.  
Prudence the Van did lead, Hope the right wing,  
Patience the left, and Doubt the rear did bring.  
The other Army fiercely up did ride,  
As thinking presently them to divide.  
But they were much deceived, for when they met,  
They saw an Army small, whose force was great;  
Then did they fight, where Courage bore up high,  
For though the worst he had, he scorned to fly.    

A Description of the Battle in Fight.  

SOme with Sharp Swords, to tell, O most accursed,  
Were above half into the bodies thrust:  
From whence frèsh streams of blood run all along  
Unto the Hilts, and there lay clodded on.  
Some, their Legs hang dangling by the Nervouse strings,  
And Shoulders cut, hung loose, like flying wings.  
Here heads are cleft in two parts, brains lie mashed,  
And all their faces into slices hasht.  
Brains only in the Pia Mater thin,  
Which quivering lies within that little skin:  
Their Sculls all broke, and into pieces burst,  
By Horse's hooves, and Chariot wheels, to dust.  
Others, their own heads lies on their own laps,  
And Some again, half cut, lies on their Paps;  
Whose Tongues out of their mouths are thrust at length;  
For why, the strings are cut that gave them strength.  
Their eyes do stare, the lids wide open set,  
The little Nerves being shrunk, they cannot shut.  
And Some again, those glassy balls hangs by,  
Small slender Strings, as Chains to tie the Eye.  
Those Strings, when broke, Eyes fall, which trundling room,  
Until the film is broke upon the ground.  
In death, their teeth strong Set, their lips left bare,  
Which grinning seems, as if they angry were.  
Their Hairs upon their Eyes in clodded gore,  
Or wildly Spreads, as not in life they wore;  
With frowns their Foreheads in deep furrows lie,  
As Graves their Foes to bury when they die;  
Heaving up Spongy lungs through pangs of death,  
With pain and difficulty fetched short breath.  
Some grasping hard, their hands through pain provoked,  
For why, the rattling phlegm their throats do choke.  
Their bodies bowing up, then down they fall,  
For want of strength to make them stand withal.  
Some Staggering on their legs do feebly stand,  
Or leaning on their Sword with either hand,  
Where on the Pummel doth their breast rely,  
More grieved they cannot fight, then for to die.  
Their hollow eyes sunk deep into their brains,  
And hard fetched groans from every heartstring strains.  
Their knees pulled up, to keep their bowels in;  
But all too little through their blood doth swim:  
And Guts like Sausages their bodies twine,  
Or like the Spreading plant, or wreathing vine.  
Their restlesseheads, not knowing how to lie,  
Through grievous pains do quickly wish to die.  
Rolling from off their back upon their belly,  
Tumbling in their blood as thick as jelly.  
And gasping lie with short breaths, and constraint,  
With cold Sweat drops upon their faces saint.  
Then heaving up their dull, pale eyeballs, look,  
As if through pain, not hate the world forsook.  
Some 〈◊〉 cold, as Shivering Agues are;  
Some burning hot, as in high Fevers were.  
Spewing of blood from Stomaches that are sick,  
Through parching heats their tongues to''th' roofs do stick.  
With loud groans, 〈◊〉 called their Souls back,  
While Smarting wounds did set them on the wrack;  
And on their Arms their faces lay a- cross,  
As if in death they were ashamed of loss.  
Some, dying like a flame, whose oil is spent,  
Or fire smothered out which wanteth vent.  
And Some do fall like Strong, and hardy Oaks,  
Which hewn down are with fierce and cruel Strokes;  
Their 〈◊〉 chopped small, as wood for fire to burn,  
Or carved, or chipped out for Joiner's turn.  
Some underneath their horses belltes flung,  
Some by the heels in their own Stirrups hung;  
Others their heads, and neck lay all awry,  
And on their horses manes, as pillows, lie.  
Some in a careless garb lie on the ground,  
As life despised, since Honour in death's found.  
Some for death do call, some life desire,  
Some care not, others burial require.  
Some beat their breasts, as evil they had done,  
Others in fiery hot revenge do burn.  
Some lay, as if to hear the Trumpet sound,  
And others lay, as sprawling on the ground.  
Some wished their death's revenge upon their foe,  
Others with dying eyes their friends not know.  
Some their parents, children cried, to see,  
Others wished life, some difference to agree.  
But Lovers with à soft and panting heart,  
Did wish their Mistress at their last depart,  
To shut their eyes, and wounds to close,  
Whose dying Spirits to their Mistress goes.  
Foes Hands into each others wounds thrust wide,  
As if their hearts would pull out from each side;  
Where friends in dear embracements are close twined  
By their affection strong, in death they are joined.  
Some wished to live, yet long for death through pain,  
Others die grieving that their foe's not slain.  
Or else repent, what they so rash have done,  
And wish the Battle were to be begun.  
Some gently Sinking, so by fainting fall,  
And quietly do yield, when Death them call.  
Some drunk with death, not able are to stand,  
And reeling fall, struck down by deaths cold hand.  
Some 〈◊〉 long, as lovers when part must,  
Others, as willing yield to Fate, their dust,  
And sweetly lies, as if asleep in night;  
Some stern, as if new battles were to fight.  
Some softly murmuring like a bubbling stream,  
Yet sweetly smile in death, as in a dream.  
Whose souls with soft-breathed sighs to heaven fly,  
To live with gods above the starry sky.  
Thus several noises through the air do ring,  
And several postures Death to men doth bring.  
Where some do die outrageous in despair,  
Others so gentle, as appears no fear.  
With heaps of bodies, hills up high are grown,  
Where hair as grass, and teeth, as seed are sown:  
Their head, and heels, horsemen together lay,  
Smothered to death which could not get away.  
Their arms lay hacked, and all were thrown about,  
And Targets full of holes, that kept death out;  
Their Flags flying, like moving woods did show,  
Various colours seemed on their tops to grow,  
As if flowers had sprouted from trees high,  
Or strewed about, did in the clouds so lie.  
Now all are fallen, and into 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
Their mottoes razed that did their sides adorn  
Yet some as winding sheets their bearers shroued,  
Which was an Honour fit to make Death proud.  
Some like Virgins, that cast their eyes down low  
Through shamefastness, although no fault they know,  
Nor guilty are, but overcome with strength,  
Though not consenting, yet is forced at length;  
As Chastity, so courage forced we finde,  
To lay down Arms though sore against their mind.  
Here 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉, 〈◊〉, Saddles thrown,  
Flags, Pikes, Drums, Guns, Bullets, all o'er strown;  
Plumes of Feathers, which waved with the wind,  
And proudly tossed, like to some haughty mind.  
Like to prosperity when overborn,  
Now humbly lies, where they are trodden on.  
Horses prance proudly, when they backed were,  
By men of courage, never knowing fear;  
If they are overpowered by strong assault,  
And lost by strength, was not their courage fault;  
For they on deaths dull face could boldly stare,  
Since life should hate, if not victorious were.  
Dead horses lie on backs, their heels up flung,  
Eyes sunk, their heads lie turned, their jaws down hung.  
Their thick curled Manes, which grew down to the ground,  
Or by their Master in fine Ribbans bound.  
Was torn half off, or singed by fire from Guns,  
Or snarled in knots, or clods that backward runs;  
Their nostrils wide, from whence thick smoke outwent  
Which from their hot slout hearts that vapour sent;  
Their sleek bright hair, on skin like coats of Mail,  
Their courage sierce, that nothing could them quail;  
All in death lay, by Fortune they were cast,  
And Nature to new forms goes on in haste;  
For neither beauty, strength, or nimble feet,  
Could serve in death, all beasts alike there meet,  
In several postures, horse and men thus lies,  
With several pains, in several places 〈◊〉  
When horses die, they know no reason why,  
Where men do venture life, for vainglory.  
Smoak from their bloods into red clouds did rise,  
Which flashed like lightning in the livings eyes,  
Their groans into the middle region went,  
Echoes in the Air like Thunder rend;  
Winds rarified, sighs such gusts did blow,  
As if ascended from the shades below.  
Men strives to die, to make their names to live,  
When gods, no certainty to Fame will give.    

A Battle between Honour and Dishonour.  

WIth grief and sorrow Honour did complain,  
How that her sons and servants all are slain:  
Now none are left, but those that do her sleight,  
Open rebellion doth against her fight.  
Besides, this Age doth dirt upon her throw,  
For fe are the next, she should her baseness show.  
Thus mourneth Honour, veiled in clouds of night,  
When heretofore her garments were of Light.  
Her Crown was Laurel wreathed with Fancies tyre,  
Her Sceptre Mars' sword made Foes retire.  
Pallas her head-piece as her footstool stands,  
By which support she rises, and commands;  
And thus did Honour live, with great applause,  
All did obey her, none did break her laws.  
But now Dishonour armed 'gainst her doth rise,  
And all her laws she utterly denics.  
Then Honour fearing she should be surprised,  
And by her counsel being well advised;  
Did raise an Army to maintain her right,  
Resolved she was, Dishonour for to fight.  
Courage the Van did lead, Fidelity the Rear,  
The Lest-wing, and the Right, Wisdom, and Wit they were,  
The Artillery, Invention doth command,  
Constancy and Patience, sentines stand.  
Sciences, are Pioniers of great skill,  
Which undermine Towns, Castles when they will;  
And Trenches make, Soldiers t'in safety sleep,  
There for a guard a watchful eye do keep.  
Arts, Dragoons, which serve on Foot, and Horse,  
To skirmish, or an Enemy enforce.  
Resolution, the Colours high doth bear,  
And with the Bag and Baggage standeth Care.  
Prutlence, Quartermaster, allots them place,  
Who disobeys, is punished with disgrace.  
Industry, Purveyor which provides the meat,  
And Temperance, proportions what they eat.  
Truth, Scout-master intelligence to give,  
By which the Army doth in safety live.  
The Drum is faith, with reasons braced are,  
The sticks that beat thereon, are Hope, and Fear.  
Trumpeters, Orators sound loud, and clear,  
Do call to Horse, when th' enemy is near.  
Gratitude, Treasurer, the Army to pay,  
Generosity, General, leads the way.  
When this Army was in Battalia set,  
Dishonour, with her Army near did get,  
Partiality did lead the Van awry,  
And Treachery the Rear, which came not nigh.  
Perjury the left wing ordered that day,  
unthankfulness the right, did bear the sway.  
Suspicion was the Scout, to search the way,  
And Envy close in Ambuscado lay.  
Revenge as Cannoneer, which took the Aimc,  
But missed the Mark, which made him high exclaime;  
Envy, and Malice, were two Engineers,  
Subtlety, had Practised many years,  
Their Drum is Ignorance, where they beat,  
Obstinacy, stupidity thereupon treat,  
And braced it is with Rudeness which is harsh,  
On strings of Wilfulness, which is ever rash.    

A Battle between King Oberon, and the Pigmies.  

KIng Oberon, and the Pigmees tall, and stout,  
Did go to War, the cause was just no doubt;  
For Pigmy King, out of his Kingdom brought  
His people all, another Kingdom sought.  
Like Goths and Vandals, they did range about,  
With force full strong, to find another out;  
At last into the Fairy Land they went,  
For to that at fettile place their hearts were bend.  
This is the place, said they, where pleasure 〈◊〉,  
And like to flowers on banks, where delight grows;  
Here let us pitch, and try if Fortune will  
Join with our Courage, that our Foes may kill.  
Then on they went, and plundered every where,  
The Fairies all ran crying in great fear;  
And fire on all their Beacons placed high,  
Which warning is to give, when dangers nigh.  
〈◊〉 King Oberon then a war prepared,  
Which made his Queen, and all his Court afraid;  
His Counsel grave and wise, did to him call,  
Which came with formal busy faces all:  
Where every one did speak their mind full free,  
Disputiug this, and that, at last agree.  
In War, said they, 'tis better that we die,  
Then to be slaves unto our enemy.  
Then said the King, an Army we must raise,  
In which 〈◊〉 die, said he, or win the Bays:  
Strait Officers of all degrees were made,  
To lead, and rule, in courage, and persuade.  
Thus did they muster, and arm all their stout,  
To meet their Enemy, and beat them out.  
Well armed they were, and put in good array,  
Which made them fight with courage all that day.  
Their Trumpets were made of small silver 〈◊〉,  
Calling the Horse to charge, or to retire:  
These Horses for War, were Grasshoppers large,  
On which they did ride, and bravely discharge,  
And Saddles were of a velvet Peach-skin,  
Their Bridles small strings, that Spiders do spin,  
And Stirrups, in which they put their feet in,  
Was made of a Rush, just round like a Ring.  
Of small Cockleshells their Targets were made,  
And for their long Swords a Rosemary blade.  
Their Flags coloured flowers, glorious to see,  
Give several sweet smells, when flying they be.  
And how they were armed, it well did appear,  
In a Beans 〈◊〉, just like a Curaseer.  
Their Guns were slender small Pipes of Glass,  
And Bullets round, of Seeds to shout, there was.  
Their Drums of Filbeard skins were very strong,  
And wheaten 〈◊〉, for sticks to beat thereon.  
Their Vans, their Rears, their left Wing, and their Right,  
Were placed so, as they saw good to fight.  
Their Colours flying, and their Drums did beat,  
Their Trumpets 〈◊〉, none sought a retreat.  
The files, and forms, the 〈◊〉 placed themselves  
Was like in figure, unto Muscle-shels,  
To pierce through 〈◊〉, give way to friends,  
The midst being broad, and sharp at the two ends.  
But Fairies like a half Moon 〈◊〉, which know,  
When each end meet, encircle all their 〈◊〉  
Where in the midst King 〈◊〉 rid full brave,  
And he the honour of this day shall have.  
Thus this Warrior in armour bright and strong,  
As foremost man, did lead his men along.  
Then spoke He to them in a temper meek,  
These enemies, said he, our 〈◊〉 seek;  
Go on all you brave borne, and Valiant bred,  
And fight your enemy, till they be dead;  
Let not your foes with scorn upbraid 〈◊〉 flight,  
But let them see, with courage you can fight,  
And teach them what their 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 hath brought  
Upon themselves, when they this Kingdom sought.  
But O Vain Princes, that for glory seek,  
Which will not let poor subjects in peace 〈◊〉:  
Foolish Ambition sets the world on 〈◊〉,  
Which ruins all to compass its desire:  
I only fight to keep what is my own,  
And not to rob another Kingly throme.  
But if this quarrel ill, decide I can't,  
I'll fight my enemy then hand to hand.  
With that he sent an Herald stout and bold,  
Which to King Pygmy he this message told:  
Who said, King Oberon him a challenge sent,  
To save their Men, and much blood to prevent;  
That only their two persons fight alone,  
And let the Armies both the while look on.  
Then laughs the Pygmy, what's your King, said he,  
That in a Duel hopes to conquer me?  
I came not here a single strength to try,  
A Kingdom for to win, or else to die.  
I prouder am, my Subject's strength to show,  
Where by direction they my skill may know.  
Herald, go back, and tell your King from me,  
He'll know my Strength, when Prisoner he shall be.  
Then spoke he to his Men in voice full high,  
Here's none said he, I hope, this day will fly;  
You know, my Soldiers, we came here to fight,  
Not from ambition, or of envies spite;  
For we by famine were with me agree face,  
Here sent about to seek a fertile place.  
Then here's a fold, which needs not be manured,  
And we a people, not to work inur'd:  
For we by Nature can no great pains take,  
Nor by our sweat a live-lihood out make:  
For who would live in pain, or grief, or care,  
And always of their goods to stand in fear?  
Who lives in trouble are not very wise,  
Since in the Grave no troubles there do 〈◊〉.  
Then let us fight, even for sweet pleasures sake,  
Or let us die, that we no care may take.  
Thus did the Kings their Soldier's courage raise,  
And in Orations did their Valour praise.  
Then did they both in order, rank, and file,  
Prepare themselves, each other for to spoil.  
Their Horses stout, whereon they ride in field,  
Will die under their burden, but not yield.  
In Caprioles those Grasshoppers do move,  
By which his Rider's skill he soon will prove.  
Some think for War, it is an Air unfit,  
With whose swift motion his Rider cannot fight,  
〈◊〉 take his turns, and vantages to have,  
Unless by leaping high themselves can save.  
Erroneous this, in some case it is good,  
Though not in all, if truly understood:  
What's in the world that's to all use employed,  
But at some times and seasons is denied?  
Fire, and Water, the life of all which are,  
Can only serve in their due time and call.  
Some may say in this Air of Horsemanship  
'Tis good, hills of dead men to overleap:  
For if that they go low upon the ground,  
Where dead men, horse, and arms are strewed round:  
Or else in heaps they lie, like to a wall,  
Whereat the Horse will 〈◊〉, Man down fall.  
Thus Horses of manage, taught in measure,  
Many do think are only fit for pleasure,  
And not for war; but no use of them is,  
As though their Rules did make them go amiss.  
They are mistaken, for like men they're taught,  
For to obey their Guider as they ought.  
To stop, to go, to leap, to run, and yet  
Obey the heel, the hand, the wand, the bit.  
Beside, they're taught their passion to abate,  
Not resty be, with fear, anger, or hate;  
And by applause, great courage they have got,  
That they dare go upon a Canon shot,  
Not that they senseless be, or dangers on run,  
For Horses cowardly, danger do shun,  
And are so full of fears as they will shake,  
And will not go, which proves their hearts do quake.  
Besides, all Airs in War are very fit,  
As Curvets, Dimivoltoes, and Perwieet:  
In going back, and forward, turning round,  
Sideways, both high and low upon the ground.  
Sometimes in a large circle, compass take,  
And then with Art, a lesser circle make.  
But Horses that 〈◊〉 are in this way,  
May march straight forth, or in one place may stay.  
So men, when they do fight, having no skill,  
May venture life, but few that they shall kill.  
For'tis not blows, and thrusts shall do the feat,  
Or going forward, or by a retreat:  
He must the centre be, his sword the line,  
His feet his compass, with his strength to join.  
These are the Arts for Horse, and Men of War,  
Unless with stratagems they think to scar:  
Which shows more wit than courage in the field,  
So 'tis to run away, or else to yield.  
But here the Bodies of each Army's knit  
So close, as skin unto the flesh do fit:  
No stratagems used to have men slain,  
But they did fight upon an open Plain.  
For those that use slight stratagems in wars,  
No sighters are, but cruel Murderers.  
Nor is it bravely done, as some think 'tis,  
For every petty Thief, has skill in this.  
Poor Thiefs, more courage in their acts do show,  
For if their plots do fail, must die they know.  
Warrior's designs found out, they do not care,  
Because no hanging for that act they fear;  
They'll say, 'tis different thus enemies to use,  
For Thiefs by their deceit their friends abuse.  
But 'tis not so, for cozenage is the theìf,  
And of that Order, Generals are the chief:  
Fightings the Soldier's trade, not to entrap,  
Nor foxing with craft, a prey for to inwrap,  
But kill, or pursue, with Swords in 〈◊〉 hands,  
Without any sraud, or treacherous bands.  
Just so fought these brave valiant Cavaliers,  
By the unhappy end, as it appears:  
For they did join, and fierce together fight,  
Which was to all, a lamentable sight.  
Some lay upon the ground, without a Head,  
Others that gasping lay, but not quite dead:  
Their groans were heard, and cries of several Notes,  
Some rutling lay, with thick blood in their throats:  
Here a Headpiece lay, there a Corslet thrown,  
Bodies so mangled, that none could be known.  
Rivers of blood like to a full high tide,  
Or like a Sea, where shipwrecked bodies died:  
And their laborious breath such mists did raise,  
Which made a cloud, as darkened the Sunsrays.  
With several noises that rebounded far,  
Armies of Echoes in the air were.  
Here bodies hid with smoke, smothered, lay dead,  
While formless sounds, were in the air spread.  
Thus were they active, and earnest in their fight,  
As if to kill, or die, were a delight.  
Here beasts and men, both in their blood lay mashed,  
As if that a French Cook had them 〈◊〉, so hasht,  
Or with their blood a Jelly boil,  
To make a Boullion of the spoil,  
For Nature's table several disbes ' brings,  
By her directions in transforming things:  
At last the Pigmees found themselves quite spent,  
And of their war begun now to repent,  
Which made their King, though little, yet at length,  
Did call to Oberon King to try his strength;  
Let's here, said he, our skill and fortunes try,  
In conquering one, or both in graves to lie.  
Content, said Oberon King, though most unjust  
You have yourself into my Kingdom thrust.  
Yet will I not refuse this offer bold,  
And if I live this day will sacred hold.  
Then like two Lions fallen out for prey,  
Encounter did, not yielding any way.  
Their bright sharp swords, so quick with motion fiyes,  
Like suhtle lightning in each others eyes.  
Pigmy King was strong, be two handfuls tall,  
But Oberon King was low, and very small.  
Yet was he dextrous in his skilful Art,  
And by that means struck Pigmy near the heart,  
Whose blood run warm, and trickling down his side,  
That where he stood, the grass was purple died.  
Then leaning on his sword, as out of breath,  
Said he to Oberon, I have got my death,  
Grew faint, then sinking on the ground did lie,  
Finding his soul from's body soon would fly;  
Saying to Oberon, do you mercy show,  
And let my Army freely from you go.  
And those that here lie slain, O let them have  
Just rights in burial, and their bones in grave;  
That their free souls in quiet peace may sleep,  
And for this Act the gods your Fame will 〈◊〉.  
I care, nor grieve not for my own sad 〈◊〉,  
But for my subjects that are ruined all.  
And in a deep-fetched sigh, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
His Soul went forth unto a 〈◊〉 unknown.  
When that his soldiers heard their King 〈◊〉 dead,  
Their hearts did fail, yet none of them there fled;  
But to him run like shuttles in a loom,  
And with their bodies did his Corpse entomb.  
For through their loyal breast did dig their grave,  
Because their King a 〈◊〉 should have;  
So all did die, no story yet 〈◊〉 shown,  
Was ever any Pigmies after known;  
Then did their wives with sighs 〈◊〉 their falls,  
And withtheir tears did strew their Funerals;  
Those Tears did mix with blood upon the ground,  
Where Rubies since hath in the Earth been found.  
Their Bodies moist to Vapour rarified,  
And now in Clouds do near the Sun reside.  
When they their grief unto remembrance call,  
Those sullen clouds in shouring tears do fall.  
Their sighs are winds that blow here and there,  
And all their bodies transmigrated are.  
unhappy battle to destroy a Race,  
That on the earth deserved the chiefest place;  
For they were valiant, and did love their King,  
Without dispute obeyed in every thing.  
Nature pitying to see their Fortune sad,  
Who by her favour a remembrance had;  
For she their bones did turn to Marble white,  
Of which are Statues carved for Man's delight;  
And in some places are as gods set up,  
Idols that superstition doth worship.  
There Oberon King a Temple builded high,  
In which great Fortune's name did magnify.    

The Temple of Fortune.  

THe Temple was built of Cornelian red,  
To signify that much blood there was shed.  
Her Altars were carved from an Agate stone,  
Where there were musk Flies sacrificed on:  
And Priest there is that sings her praises loud,  
Whereat the people 〈◊〉 all in a crowd.  
For though she be blind, and cannot well see,  
Yet she her hearing hath perfectly.  
The Steeple was built of 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉,  
And carved finely with many a 〈◊〉.  
The Bells of Nightingale's 〈◊〉 ve which did ring,  
As sweetly as in the Spring they do 〈◊〉.  
Their Holy fire is made of Sweet Spice,  
And kept by 〈◊〉 young, that know no Vice.  
Their 〈◊〉 sometimes they place in a Bower,  
Which made is of a Gesamin Flower;  
And all her sacred Groves, in which she walks,  
Are set with Roses that grows by the stalks.  
Thus in Procession her about they bear,  
〈◊〉 none, but in Devotion, cometh there.  
The King and Queen, do wait where e'er she go;  
And all about sweet incense they do strew.  
Nature frowned to see her so respected,  
And by these Honours done, she thought herself rejected.  
Wherefore saith Nature, let me take the place,  
And let not Fortune proud, me thus outface;  
When all that's good you do receive from me,  
For she my Vassal low, you soon shall see.  
For I with Virtues, do the Mind inspire,  
And clothes the Soul in beautiful attire.  
The body equal makes, and very strong,  
The Heart with Courage, to reucnge a wrong.  
In brains, Invention, Wit, and Judgement lies,  
Creating like a god, orders as wise.  
The Senses all, as perfectly are made,  
To hear, to see, to taste, to touch, 〈◊〉.  
And in the Soul, Affections, Passions live,  
There's, nothing done, but what my powers give,  
All which to mutability I throw.  
Who in perpetual motion always go.  
Thus all Invention from my power comes,  
For Arts in men, are but by scraps and crumbs.  
So Fate and Fortune, are my Handmaid's sure,  
For what they do, shall never long endure.  
For I throughout the World do make things range,  
And constant am in nothing, but in change.  
Then let your worship to blind Fortune fall,  
Or else shall my displeasure bury all.  
But false devotion unto men is sweet,  
Whilst Truth's kicked out, and trodden under feet.  
Their minds do ebb and flow, just like the Tide,  
And what is to be done, is cast aside.  
This makes that men are never in the way,  
But wander up and down like sheep astray;  
Oh wretched man that cannot in peace be,  
For with himself he cannot well agree.  
Sometimes he hates, what he before approves,  
But in a constant course he never moves.  
Nor to himself, nor God that's good, can stay,  
He ever seeking is some unknown way.  
No sad example he by warning takes,  
If none will do him hurt, some mischief makes;  
As if he feared in happiness to live;  
And to himself a deadly wound will give.  
But why do I complain, that Man is bad,  
Since what he hath, or is, from me he had?  
Not only Man, the World, but Gods also,  
And nothing greater than myself I know.  
Which made them take high Fortune down,  
And in her room, great Nature crown.    

A Battle between Life and Death.  

ACruel Battle is betwixt two Foes,  
When Nature will decide it, none yet knows;  
These two are Life and Death, the world divide,  
And whilst it lasts, the Cause will ne'er decide.  
First, Life is active, seeking to enjoy,  
And Death is envious, striving to destroy.  
When Life a curious piece of Work doth make,  
And thinks therein some pleasure for to take;  
Then in comes Death, with Rancour, and with spleen,  
Destroys it so, that nothing can be seen;  
For fear her ruins, Beauty might present,  
Leaves not so much, to makes Life's Monument.  
This makes Life mourn, to see her pains, and cost  
Destroyed, for what she doth, in Death is lost.  
Weeping, complains at Nature's cruelty,  
That only made her, for Death's 〈◊〉 to be.  
I am his food, his sharp teeth doth me tear,  
And when I 〈◊〉, no pity hath, nor care.  
The pain he puts me in, doth make me roar,  
And his pale face that's grim, affrights me sore.  
And when I think away from him to run,  
Falls straight into his jaws, no ways can shun.  
But why do I thus sigh, lament, and mourn?  
And try not means for to revenge my wrong.  
I will call all my friends their strength to try,  
Either I'll perish quite, or Death shall die.  
Then brings she motion, nimble at each turn,  
And Courages, that doth like Fire burn.  
Preventing, and inventing wits, to make  
Sconces and Forts, too strong for death to take.  
A Regiment of Arts, defending with their skill,  
And do assult her foes, and sometimes kill.  
A Brigade of clear strengths, stand firm and sure,  
Which can the assaults of Death endure.  
A Party of perfect healths, armed so well,  
As Death how to destroy them, cannot tell.  
A Troop of Growths, at first, small, weak, and low,  
Increasing every minute, numbers grow.  
And many more Companies hath 〈◊〉 there,  
As all the Passions, chiefly Hope and Fear.  
Love leads this Army, his motto a Heart,  
Their Arms are their Free-Wils, all bear a part.  
Death's Army are all to destruction bend,  
As Wars, and Famine, both these, Pestilent.  
Fury, and Rage, Despair, that run about,  
Seeking which way, that they may Life put out.  
Troops, Regiments, Brigades, in numbers are,  
As Sickness, Dullness, Grief, and Care;  
And feeble Age, but few, nor scarce can stand,  
Yet in Death's battle, fight will hand to hand.  
Hate leads the Army, in a dull slow pace,  
And for his Motto, has, a lean, pale fare.  
With several weapons, Death poor Life doth take  
Her as a prisoner, and his slave doth make.  
And on her Ashes doth in triumph ride,  
And by his Conquest; swells he big with pride.   

Life's force was strong enough, to keep her state,  
If Death, befriended had not been by Fate.  
She against Death could make her party good,  
Had not the Fates her happiness withstood.  
Who spins the thread of life, so small and weak,  
That of necessity it needs must break.  
If not, they cut it into pieces small,  
And give it Death, to make him nets withal;  
To catch in Life, when closely she would hide  
Herself from Death, but in this net is tied.  
Or in the Chains of Destiny is hung,  
The world from side, to side, about is flung;  
Having no rest, nor settlement, but flies  
About from Death, and yet it never dies;  
Runs into several forms, Death for to shun,  
But he destroys these Forms, that Life in comes.  
Death like a Snake, in Nature's bosom lies,  
Like slattering friends, but yet in heart envies.  
And Nature seems to Life an enemy,  
Because she still lets Death a Conqueror be.    

Of a Travelling Thought.  

AThought, for breeding, would a Traveller be,  
The several Countries in the brain to see.  
Spurred with Desires, and booted with Hope,  
Cap't with curiosity, a patient cloak.  
Thus suited, than a horse he did provide,  
Strong imagination he got to ride,  
Saddled with Ambition, and girted with pride.  
Bridled with doubt, resolving stirrups on each side,  
When he was mounted, fast away they went,  
In a full gallop of a good intent.  
Some ways in the brain, very ill, there were,  
Into deep errors, often tumbled theyare.  
High mountains of great fear, was forced to hide,  
Steep Precipices of Despair down slide.  
Woods of forgetfulness, they oft passed through,  
To find the right way out, had much ado.  
In troubles, he had travelled a long way,  
At last he came where Thiefs of spite close lay.  
Who coming forth, drew out reproachful words,  
Which wounded Reputation, as sharp swords;  
When he did feel the wound to imart, drew out  
From Time's Scabbard, Truth which fought full stout,  
With an innocent thrust he left spite dead,  
Wiped off the blood of slander purple red;  
Coming to a river of Temptation,  
Deep and dangerow of Tribulation.  
With Temperance he swum, got out at last,  
And with security all dangers past;  
At last got to the City of power,  
Whereon stood Tyranny, a great Tower.  
With discords populous, there 〈◊〉 rules,  
Great Colleges there was to breed up fools.  
Large houses of 〈◊〉 high were built,  
And all with prodigality were gilded;  
Their streets were pitched with dull and lazy stone,  
Which never hurts the feet when trodden on.  
Markets of plentiful circuits were there,  
Where all sorts did come, and buy without care,  
Herbs of repentance there were in great 〈◊〉,  
But roots of ignorance were many more.  
Carts of knowledge brought much provisions in,  
Some understanding bought, which truth did bring:  
Yet what is bought proves good, or bad by chance,  
For some were cozened by false ignorance.  
Then forthwith into shamble row he went,  
Where store of meat hung up, for 'twas not Lent;  
There lay head with wit, and Fancies filled,  
And hearts were there, which grief and sorrow killed;  
Tongues of Eloquence hung upon an Ear,  
Bladders blown with windy opinions there:  
Weak Livers of great fear, lay there to sell,  
And malice, spleens, which very big did swell.  
Tough lungs of wilsulnesse, hard and dry;  
Whole guts of self-conceit did hang thereby.  
Into a Poulterer's shop he 〈◊〉 to see  
What fowl there were, if any good there be.  
There lay wild Geese, though black and heavy meat,  
Yet some gross appetite liked them to eat.  
The choleric Turkey, and the Peacock's pride,  
The foolish dotterels lay there close beside.  
Capons of Expectation, crammed with hope,  
Swans of large desires, lay in the shop.  
Reproachful words were sold by dozen there,  
And ignorant Gulls lay every where.  
Poêtical Birds were many to sell,  
More Fowl, which he remembered not to tell;  
But being a Traveller, would see all there,  
So strait he went to Churches of great fear;  
Where every one kneeled upon the knee of pain,  
And prayers said with tongues that were profane,  
Petitioning tears dropped from coveting eyes,  
Deceitful hearts on Altars of disguise.  
Earnest they were to gods, that they would give  
Worldly request, not grace for souls to live;  
But travails of Experience he would see,  
Which made him go to the Court of Vanity.  
The Porter, Flattery sat at the Gate,  
Who civil was, and carried him in strait.  
First to the Presence-chamber of Beauty went,  
There stayed some time, with great, and sweet content.  
Next to the Privy-chamber of Discourse,  
Where Ignorance, and Nonsense had great force.  
Then to the Bedchamber 〈◊〉 Love's delights,  
The Grooms which served there, were Carpet Knights.  
From thence to Counsel of Direction went,  
Where great Disorder sat as Precedent.  
No sooner that poor stranger he did view,  
Reproachful words out of his mouth he threw;  
Commanding Poverty, a Sergeant poor,  
To take that stranger, cast him out of door.  
Straight Flattery for him entreated much,  
But he Disorders ear doth seldom touch.  
For cast he was into necessity,  
Which is a prison of great misery.  
But Patience got him an expedient Pass,  
So home he went, but 〈◊〉 upon an Ass.     

A REGISTER OF MOURNFUL VERSES.  

On a Melting Beauty.  

GOing into a Church my prayers to say,  
Close by a Tomb a mourning Beauty lay.  
Her knees on Marble cold were bowed down low,  
So firm were fixed, as if she there did grow.  
Her Elbow on the Tomb did steady stand,  
Her Head hung back, the hind-part in her hand,  
Turning her Eyes up to the Heavens high,  
Left nothing but the white of either eye.  
Upon the lower shut 
* The under lid.  did hang a tear,  
Like to a Diamond pendent in an ear.  
Her Breast did pant, as if Life meant  
To seek her Heart, which way it went.  
I standing there, observing what she did,  
At last she from her hand did raise her head:  
And casting down her eyes, ne'er looked about,  
Tears pull her eyelids down, as they gushed out,  
And with a gentle Groan at last did speak,  
Her words were soft, her voice sound low, and weak.  
O Heavens (said she) what do you mean,  
I dare not think you Gods can have a spleen,  
And yet I find great torments you do give,  
Creatures to make in misery to live.  
You show us Joys, but we possess not one,  
You give us Life, for Death to feed upon.  
O cruel Death, thy Dart hath made me poor,  
You struck that Heart my Life did most adore.  
You Gods, delight not thus me to torment,  
But strike me dead by this dear Monument:  
And let our Ashes mix both in this urn;  
So as one Phoenix shall we both become.  
Hearing her mourn, I went to give relief;  
But, Oh alas, her ears were stopped with grief.  
When I came near, her blood congealed to Ice,  
And all her Body changed in a trice;  
That Ice straight melted into tears, down run  
Through porous earth: so got into that urn.    

On a Furious Sorrow.  

Upon a Grave outrageous Sorrow set,  
Digging the Earth, as if she through would get.  
Her hair untied, loose on her shoulders hung,  
And every hair with tears, like Beads, was strung.  
And when those tears did fail with their own weight,  
With newborn tears supplied their places straight.  
She held a 〈◊〉, secmed with courage bold,  
Grief bid her strike, but Fear did bid her hold;  
Impatience raised her voice, and shricking shrill,  
Which sounded like a Trumpet on a hill.  
Her face was flick, like Marble streaked with red,  
Caused by Griefs vapours flying to her head.  
Her bosom bare, her garments lose, and wide,  
And in this posture lay by Death's cold side.  
By chance a man, who had a fluent tongue,  
Came walking by, seeing her lie along,  
Pitying her sad condition, and her grief,  
Did strain by Rhethorisks help to give relief.  
Why do you mourn, said he, and thus complain,  
Since grief will neither Death, nor Gods restrain?  
When they at first all Creatures did create,  
And gave them life, to death predestinate.  
Your sorrow cannot alter their 〈◊〉,  
Nor call back life by your impatiency.  
Nor can the dead from Love receive a beat,  
Nor hears the sound of lamentations great.  
For Death is stupid, being numbed and cold,  
No ears to hear, nor eyes for to behold.  
Then mourn no more, since you no help can give,  
Take pleasure in your Beauty, whiles you live,  
For, in the fairest, Nature pleasure takes.  
But if you die, than Death his triumph makes.  
At last his words like Keys unlocked her ears,  
And then she straight considers what she hears.  
Pardon, you Gods, (said she) my murmuring crime,  
My grief shall ne'er dispute your Will Divine:  
And in sweet life will I take most delight:  
And so went home with that fond Carpet-Knight.    

On a Mourning Beauty.  

Upon the Hill of Melancholy sat  
A Mourning Beauty; but no word she spoke.  
Silent as Night, where no Articulate noise  
Did once rise up, shut close from light of joys;  
Only a wind of Sighs, which doth arise  
From the deep Cave, the Heart, wherein those lies.  
Saa'nesse, as a Veil, over her face was flung;  
Sorrow a Mantle black about her hung.  
Her leaning Head upon her hand did rest,  
The other hand was laid upon the Breast.  
Her Eyes did humble bow towards the ground,  
The Earth the object in her Eyes quite drowned.  
From her soft Heart a spring of tears did rise,  
Which run from the two fountains of her eyes:  
And where those Showers fell, Flowers up sprung,  
No comfort give, their Heads, for grief down hung.  
Yet did the Stars shine bright, as Tapers by,  
Shadows of light did sit as Mourners nigh.  
At last the Gods did pity her sad Fate,  
Her to a shining Comet did translate.    

Of Sorrow's Tears.  

INto the Cup of Love pour Sorrow's tears,  
Where every drop a perfect Image bears:  
And trickling down the Hill of Beauty's check,  
Falls on the Breast, dives through, the Heart to meet.  
Which Heart, burnt up would be with fire of grief,  
Did not those tears with moisture give relief.    

An Elegy on a Widow.  

WIdow, which honour to her Husband gave!  
By virtuous life, and faithful to her Grave,  
Set Altars on this Hearse for memory,  
And let her Fame live here eternally.  
Here celebrate her Name, and bring  
Your Offerings, and all her praises sing.  
For she was one whom Nature strove to make  
A Pattern fit, Ensamples out to take.    

On a Mother, that died for grief of her only Daughter, which died.  

Unto this Grave let unkind Parents come,  
And touch these loving Ashes in this urn.  
All the dislike, Parents in Children find,  
Shall vanish quite, and be of Nature kind.  
For in this Tomb such pure Love buried lies,  
None perfect is, but what from hence doth rise.    

On a beautiful young Maid, that died Daughter to the grieved Mother.  

YOu Lovers all come mourn here, and lament  
Over this Grave, and build a Monument,  
For Beauties everlasting memory:  
The world shall never such another see.  
Her face did seem like to a Glory bright,  
And when the Sun did rise, from her took light:  
The Sun and Moon could ne'er eclipsed have been,  
If ere those Planets had her beauty seen.  
Nor had this Isle been subject to dark nights,  
Had not sleep shut her eyes, so stopped those lights.  
No Bodies could infection take, her breath  
Did cleanse the Air, restoring life from death.  
But Nature finding she had been too free,  
In making such a mighty Power as She,  
Used all Industry's powerful Art, and skill,  
Gave Death a greater power this body to kill.  
For if that Nature let this body live,  
She had no work for Death, nor Fates to give.    

The Funeral of Calamity.  

CAlamity was laid on Sorrows Hearse,  
And cover had of Melancholy verse.  
Compassion, as kind friends, doth mourning go,  
And tears about the Corpse as flowers strew.  
A Garland of deep sighs by pity made,  
On the sad Corpse of Calamity laid.  
Bells of complaints did ring it to the Grave,  
And History a monument of fame it gave.    

OF a Funeral.  

ALas, who shall condole my Funeral,  
Since none is near that doth my life concern?  
Or who shall drop a sacrificing tear,  
If none but enemies my hearse shall bear?   

For here's no mourner to lament my fall,  
But all rejoiced in my fate, though sad;  
And think my heavy ruin far too light,  
So cruel is their 〈◊〉, and their spite.   

For men no pity, nor compassion have,  
But all in savage wilderness do delight,  
To wash, and bathe themselves in my pure blood,  
As if they health received from that red flood.   

Yet will the Winds ring out my knell,  
And shouring rain fall on my hearse,  
And Birds as Mourners sit thereon,  
And Grass a covering grow upon.   

Rough stones, as Scutcheons, shall adorn my Tomb,  
And Glow worm burning Tapers stand thereby;  
Night sable covering shall me overspread,  
Elegies of Mandrakes groans shall write me dead.  
Then let no Spade, nor Pickax dig me up,  
But let my bones lie quietly in peace.  
For who the dead dislodges from their grave,  
Shall neither blessedness, nor honour have.    

An Elegy on my Brother, Lilled in these unhappy Wars.  

Dear Brother, thy Idea in my mind doth lie,  
And is entombed in my sad memory;  
Where every day I to thy Shrine do go,  
And offer tears, which from my eyes do flow.  
My heart the fire, whose flames are ever pure,  
Laid on Love's Altar last, till life endure.  
My sorrows incense strew, of sighs fetched deep,  
My thoughts do watch while they sweet spirit sleeps.  
Dear blessed soul, though thou art gone, yet lives  
Thy fame on earth, and 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 praises give.  
But all's too small, for thy Heroic mind  
Was above all the praises of Mankind.    

Of the death and burial of Truth.  

TRuth in the Golden Age was healthy, strong,  
But in the Silver Age grew lean, and wan;  
Ith' Brazen Age sore sick a-bed did lie,  
And in the last hard Iron Age did die.  
Measuring, and Reckoning, both being just,  
She as her two Executors did trust,  
Her goods for to distribute all about  
To her dear friends, as Legacies gave out.  
First, useful Arts, the life of men to ease;  
Then those of pleasure, which the mind do please.  
Distinguishments from that to this, to show  
What's best to take, or leave, which way to go;  
Experiments to shun, or to apply,  
Either for health, or peace, or what to fly:  
And Sympathies, which keep the world unite,  
Aversions otherwise would ruin quite.  
This Will and Testament she left behind,  
And as her Deed of Gift, left to Mankind.  
Mourning she gave to all her friends to wear,  
And did appoint that four her Hearse should bear;  
Love at the head did hold the Winding-sheet;  
On each side, Care and Fear, Sorrow the feet.  
This sheet at every corner fast was tied,  
Made of Oblivion strong, and very wide.  
Natural affections in mourning clad,  
Went next the Hearse, with grief distracted mad:  
Did tear their hair, scratched face, and hands did wring,  
And from their eyes fountains of tears did spring.  
For Truth, said they, did always with us live.  
But now she's dead, no Truth that we can give.  
After came Kings, which all good Laws did make,  
And power used for Truth, and Virtue's sake.  
Next them came Honour, in Garments black, and long,  
With blubbered face, and her head down hung:  
Who wished to die, for life was now a pain,  
Since Truth was dead, honour no more could gain.  
Next these, Lovers with faces pale as Death,  
With shame-fast eyes, quick Pulse, and shortened breath,  
And in each hand, a bleeding heart did bring,  
Which hearts within the grave of truth did fling.  
And ever since, Lovers inconstant prove,  
They more profession give, then real love.  
Next them came Counselors of all degrees,  
From Courts, and Countries, and chief Cities,  
Their wise heads were a guard, and a strong wall,  
So long as Truth did live amongst them all.  
All sorts of Tradesmen, using not to swear,  
So long as Truth, not Oaths, sold 〈◊〉 their ware.  
Physicians came, who try new ways for skill,  
And for Experience sake do many kill.  
But do use Simples good, which Nature sent,  
To strengthen man, and sickness to prevent.  
Some Judges were, no wrangling Lawyers base:  
For Truth alive did plead, decide each case.  
Widows, that to their Husband's kind had sworn,  
That when they died, would never marry more.  
At last the Clergy came, who taught Truth's way,  
And how men in devotion ought to pray:  
By Moral Laws the lives of men direct,  
Persuade to peace, and Governors respect;  
They wept for grief, as Prophets did foretell,  
That all the world with falsehood would rebel.  
Faction will come, say they, and bear great sway,  
And bribe's the Innocent shall all betray.  
Controversies within the Church shall rise,  
And Heresies shall bear away the prize.  
Instead of Peace, the Priests shall discords preach,  
And high Rebellion in their doctrines teach.  
Then shall men learn the Laws for to explain,  
Which learning only serves for Lawyer's gain.  
For they do make, and spread them in a Net,  
To catch in Clients, and their money get.  
The Laws, which Wisemen made to keep the peace,  
Serve only now for quarrels to increase.  
All those that sit in Honours stately throne,  
Are counterfeits, not any perfect known.  
They put on vizards of an honest face,  
But all their Acts unworthy are, and base.  
Friendship in words, and compliments will live,  
Not one nights lodging in the heart shall give.  
Lover's shall die for Lust, yet love not one;  
And Virtue unregarded sit alone.  
Now Truth is dead, no goodness here shall dwell,  
But with disorder make each place a Hell.  
With that they all shrieked out, lament, and cry  
To Nature, for to end their misery.  
And now this Iron Age's so rusty grown,  
That all the Hearts are turned to hard flintstone.    
FINIS.   

THE ANIMAL PARLIAMENT.  
THe Soul called a Parliament in his Animal Kingdom, which Parliament consisteth of three parts, the Soul, the Body, and the Thoughts; which are Will, Imaginations, and Passions. The Soul is the King, the Nobility are the Spirits, the Commonalty are the Humours and Appetites. The Head is the upper House of Parliament, where at the upper end of the said House sits the Soul King, in a Kernel of the Brain, like to a Chair of State by himself alone, and his Nobility round about him. The two Arch-Bishops, Admiration, and Adoration; the rest are, Apprehension, Resentment, and Astonishment. The Judges are the Five Senses, and the Wooll-sacks they sit on, are Sight, Sound, Sent, Taste, Touch. The Master of the Black Rod is Ignorance: understanding, the Lord Keeper, is always Speaker. The Clerk that writes down all, is Memory.  
The lower House of Parliament is the Heart, the Knights and Burgesses are Passions, and Affections. The Speaker is Love. The Clerk that writes down all, is Fear. The Sergeant is Dislike. The several Writs that are sent out by this Parliament, are sent out by the Nerves into every part of this Animal Kingdom, and the Muscles execute the power and Authority of those Writs upon the Members of the Commonwealth. The lower House presents their Grievances, or their desires, to the upper House the Brain, by the Arteries.  
When they were all set in order, and a dead silence through all the House, the King made a Speech to the Assembly after this manner following.  

The King's Speech.  
THe reason why I called this Parliament is, not only to rectify the riotous disorders made by Vanity, and to repeal the Laws of erroneous opinions made in the mind, and to cut off the entails of evil Consciences; but to raise Four Subsidies of Justice, Prudence, Fortitude, and Temperance, whereby I may be able to defend you from the allurements of the World, as Riehes, Honour, and Beauty, and to beat out encroaching falsehoods, which make inroads, and do carry away the innocency of Truth, and to quench the rebellion of superfluous words; but also to make and enact strict Laws to a good Life, in which I make no question, but every one which are in my Parliament will be willing to consent, and be industrious thereunto: the rest I leave to my Keeper understanding, to inform you further of.  
After the King had thus spoken, the Keeper made another Speech, as followeth.   

The Lord Keeper's Speech, who is Speaker.  
My Noble Lords:  
YOu may know by the calling of this Parliament, not only the wisdom of our gracious King, in desiring your aid and assistance, in the beginning of danger, before the fire grows too violent for your help to quench out; but his love, and tender regard of your safety. Besides, he hath showed the unwillingness he hath to oppress, and burden his good Subjects with heavy Taxes, before palpable necessity requires them: for he hath not called you upon suppositions and fears, but upon visible truths; neither was it Imprudence in staying so long, for it is as imprudent to disturb a peaceable Commonwealth with doubts of what may come, as to be so negligent to let a threatening ruin run without opposition. Thus is our gracious Sovereign wise in choosing his time, valiant in not fearing his enemies, careful in calling the help and advice of his Parliament, and most bountiful, in that he requires not these Subsidies to spend in his particular delights, but for the good and benefit of the Commonwealth, and safety of his Subjects. Wherefore if any be obstinate in opposing, or seems to murmur thereat, he is not worthy to be a Citizen thereof, and aught to be cast out as a corrupt member therein.  
After he had ended his speech, he sits down in his place, and then rose up the Lord of Objection, and thus spoke.   

The Lord of Objections Speech.  
My Lord:  
ALICE that your Lordship spoke is true, and therein you have showed yourself a Loyal Subject, and a faithful Servants and I make no question, but every Member in the House will not only give their Estates, but spend their Lives for their King, and Country. Yet let me tell your Lordship, that I do believe the Parliament will never be able to raise a Subsidy of Justice from the Commonalty: it is too strict a demand; as it is impossible for us to satisfy the King's desire, unless the Commons were richer in Equity. But if our gracious Sovereign will take a Subsidy of Faith in lieu of it, I dare say it may be easily got, raising it upon the Clergy, who are rich therein.  
After he had spoke, rose up the Bishop of Resentment, and said.   

The Bishop's Speech.  
My Lord:  
IT may be easily perceived, that this Lords desire is, that the King should lay the heaviest Subsidy upon the Church: not but that I dare say so much for the 〈◊〉 Body, as they would be as willing to assist the King in his Wars, as any of his Lay Subjects; yet what the Clergy have, belongs to the Gods; and what they take from us, they take from them.  
After him, spoke the Bishop of Adoration.   

The Bishop of Adoration's Speech.  
My Lord:  
OUr Brother hath told you the truth, that Faith is not to be given from the Gods; but, my Lord, to show our willingness and readiness to the King's service, we will give his Majesty a Subsidy of Prayers, which are the effects of Faith. The King, and the rest of the Lords approved of it, and sent a Writ of it, through the Arteries to the lower House the Heart for her approbation, which one of the Judges delivered to Master Speaker; then the Speaker taking the report said:  
Gentlemen,  
This Message is to let you know, That the Episcopal Body hath offered the King a Subsidy of Prayer, to help him in his Wars, if you agree to it.  
With that rose up a Gentleman, and said.   

The Gentleman's Speech.  
Master Speaker:  
THe Clergy are able to give the King more than one Subsidy, if they will, being so rich as they have engrossed all the Consciences in the Kingdom, building great Colleges of Factions therewith: and these Colleges do not only disturb the Commonwealth, but impoverish it very much: for all that are bred therein, employ all their time so in Speculations, as there is no time left for honest and industrious practice; besides, their Tithes are so great, which they have out of Then, as their poor Parishioners have almost none left (after their proportions are taken out) to serve their own use, and maintenance.  
Upon this Speech a Gentleman, one Master Zeal rose up, and thus spoke.  
Master Speaker:  
ALthough the Clergy are Masters, and Rulers of Consciences, or should be so, yet they are to employ them to no other use, but to the service of the Gods; But I fear, we of the Laity strivo to usurp that authority to our own worldly ends, or else we should never have those large Consciences, as to lay the Burden (from our own shoulders) on theirs, but to do as we should be done unto: let us take their charitable assistance with thanks.  
Most of the House were of this Gentleman's opinion, and voted an acceptance, and sending up to the upper House, that Subsidy was passed. After that was agreed, there was a Rational Lord, that thus 〈◊〉.  
My Lord:  
THere were some Opinions which were passed in former times, when the Parliament of Errors 〈◊〉, in the year of Ignorance one thousand eight hundred and two; That none must be thought Statesman, but those which were formal. That all that are bold must be thought wise. That those which have new and strange Phantasms, must be thought the only men of knowledge. That none must be thought Wits, but Buffoanes. 〈◊〉 none must be thought learned, but Sophisterian Disputants. That all that are not debauched, must be thought unsociable. That all that do not flutter, must be thought uncivil. That all which tell severe truths, must be thought rude, and ill-natured. That all that are not Fantastical, must be thought Clownish, and illbred. That all must be thought Cowards, that are not quarrelsome. That none must be thought valiant, but those that kill, or be killed. That none must be thought bountiful, but those that are prodigal. That none must be thought good Masters, but those that let their servants cousin them. That none must be esteemed, but those that are rich. That none must be beloved, but those that are powerful. That none must be respected, but those that have outward honour. That none must be thought religious, but those that are superstitious. That none must be thought constant, but those that are stubborn. That none are patient, but those that suffer affronts of scorn. That none are thirsty, but those that are sluttish. That none are chaste, but those that are not beautiful. That no man must be seen abroad with his own Wife, left he be thought jealous. That Blushing must be thought a Crime, proceeding from guiltiness. That none must be thought merry, but those that laugh. That none must be thought sad, but those that cry. That all poors men must be thought fools. That all Citizens must be thought 〈◊〉. That none must be thought good Lawyers, and Doctors, but those which will take great Fees. That all duty and submission belongs so power, not to virtue. That all must have ill back, after much mirth. That all those that marry on Tuesdays and Thursdays, shall be happy. That a man's Fortune can be told in the palm of his hand. That the falling of Salt portends misfortune. Those that begin journeys upon a Wednesday, shall 〈◊〉 through much danger. That all women that are poor, old, and ill-favoured, must be thought Witches, and be burnt for the same. That the bouling of a Dog, or the or oaking of Ravens, foretell a friends death.  
These aught to be repealed, and new ones enacted in their room; That all those that have got the power, though unjustly, aught to be obeyed, without reluctancy. That all light is in the Eye, not in the Sun. That all Colours are a Perturbed Light; and so are reflections, rather an inherent quality or substance. That all Sound, Sent, Sight, is created in the Brain. That no Beast hath remembrance, numeration, or curiosity. That all passions are made in the Head, not in the Heart. That the Soul is a Kernel in the Brain. That all the old Philosophers were fools, and knew little. That the Modern Philosophers have committed no Errors. That there are six primitive Passions. That the blood goeth in a Circulation. That all the fixed Stars are Suns. That all the Planets are other worlds. That Motion is the Creator of all things, at least of all forms. That Death is only a privation of Motion, as Darkness is a privation of Light. That the Soul is a thing, and nothing.  
This motion which this Noble Lord made, was enacted by the whole Parliament with much applause. When he was set down, my Lord Reason rose, and thus spoke.  
My Lord:  
I should think in my judgement, that it would be beneficial to the Commonwealth, that there should be a Statute made against all false Coin, as dissembling tears, and hollow sighs, flattering words, and feigning smiles.  
But upon this Speech rose up one of the Lords, and thus spoke.  
My Lord:  
THe Propositions of this Lord are very dangerous: for if this great Council of Parliament should go about to call in all false Coin which is minted, they must call in all which is in the Kingdom, to make a trial of the currantness; which would discontent most therein. For why, the stamp is so lively, and artificially imprinted therein, as it is impossible for the right to be known from the false. Further, my Lord, these Coins are so cunningly mixed with Alehemy, as the difference would hardly he known, if they were now melted.  
With that rose up one of the Judges, and said thus.  
My Lord:  
IT is an ancient Law belonging to this Kingdom, to make it death for any to clip currant Coin with Hypocrisy, or to mix falsehood with slander: and if this abuse should be winked at, there would be no commerce with this Kingdom and Truth.  
The Lord Reason rose up again, and said thus.  
My Lord:  
THere is another abuse in this Kingdom, which is, there are many Luxurious Palates, as they do destroy the strength of the Stomach, and quench out the natural heat therein, making it so weak by reason of ill digestion, never giving so much time as to make a good concoction, to breed new blood, as there is like (if speedy order be not taken to prevent it) may come a Dearth of Flesh over all the Kingdom of the Body.  
Upon this, Judge Taste rose up, and thus spoke.  
My Lord:  
THere was never any Laws made in all the former King's reign, that there should be a perpetual abstinency, but only in time of Lent, when the penance of Physic was taken. For if the stomach should eat sparingly, and not such things as the Appetite doth desire, the Body of the Kingdom would grow weak and faint; and all Industry would cease: for the Legs would never be able to go, nor the Hands to work, nor the Arms to 〈◊〉; the Complexion would grow pale, the Skin rough, the Liver dry, and all the parts of the Kingdom would grow unfit for use; that if a war of sickness should come, they would never be able to defend themselves.  
The same Lord Reason rose up, and said thus.  
My Lord:  
THere is another great abuse, which is in Articulate, and Vocal sounds, or tone of the Voices: for most when they read, do so whine, raising their Notes upon the Peg of the Tongue so high, as they crack the strings of Sense; or else the singers of words play so fast, as they keep no stops, or else so slow, as they make more stops than they should: which make it preposterous. Truly my Lord, if these be not rectified, all the Nobles of understanding will be ruinated, and affronted with a seeming Nonsense. This was disputed hard on, before it would be passed, but at last it was.  
After this Dispute, there was a Lord rose up, and said thus.  
My Lord:  
WE spend here our time to rectify the Errors that are committed in the Kingdom amongst ourselves, and not considering the danger we live in from foreign enemies abroad, which are Rhyming 〈◊〉, who make continual inroads, stealing all our Cattle of Fancies, and plunder us of our best, and richest conceits: which if we do not provide Arms of Rhetoric to exclaim against them, they may chance to usurp the Crown of Wit, and make themselves Heirs to that they were never borne to. Wherefore, my Lord, let us join, to set up Forts of Satyrs, and there plant Cannons of Scorn, from thence to shoot Bullets of Scoffs, to strike them dead with shame. To this all the House assented.  
In the mean time, the lower House were busily employed with affairs too, about Naturalising a Gentleman. For one of the Members said:  
Master Speaker:  
THere is a Gentleman, one Mr. Friendship, desires to be Naturalised by the Parliament.  
Another Member rose, and said thus.  
Master Speaker:  
IN my sense it is very prejudicial to Naturalise Strangers: for why should Strangers receive the same Privileges with the Natives, and to be made capable to inherit our Lands, unless we could cut off the entails of Affection, which are tied to their Native Country, the Kingdom of Parents, or the Islands of Children, or the Provinces of Brethren, and Kindred; otherwise it is likely they will turn Rebels, if a war chance to be with this Kingdom, and that, where they were borne.  
With that the former Gentleman rose up, and said.  
Master Speaker:  
I Would not prefer this Gentleman's suit, had he been borne in the Land of Obligation, Civilities, or Courtesies; but he was borne in the Land of Sympathy, whereunto this Kingdom hath a relation, by reason our King hath a right therein, and aught to have the power thereof, by the Laws of Justice; for his Mother, Queen 〈◊〉, was Daughter to the Sympathian King: so that this Gentleman, Master Friendship, in Justice is a natural Subject to our King, although not a Citizen in the Commonwealth. Hereupon the House was divided, some gave their Voices for Him, others against Him: but when they came to be numbered, he had most Voices on his side; for he had been so industrious in Petitioning every particular Member before hand; that he made himself many friends, some out of favour to himself, others for the good will to those that favoured him: so that one way, or other, it was sent up to the upper House, where my Lord Reason spoke so well in his behalf, as the Act passed for him.  
After this, there was a Member rose, and said.  
Master Speaker:  
THere are in the Kingdom some grievances, which ought to be reformed: which is, to make an Act, That all the High Ways, and common Rhodes should be mended, and kept in repair. For in some Mouths the Teeth are so foul, and rotten, and such deep holes, as great pieces of meat tumble down into the Saw-pits of the Maw without chewing.  
The next is, that many Nose-bridges are ready to fall down, by reason the great French Pox doth travel so often over them, as they crack the very foundation thereof.  
The third is, That the Stomach is so often over-flowed with Drink, by rea'on the Throat sluices are so wide, as the Kingdom is not only much impaired thereby, making obstructions, by reason there passes ofttimes much mud of Meat, with liquid Drink, but endangers the Kingdom of drowning; the more, for that slug which makes the liquor rise higher; besides, it breeds many thick vapours, which cause much Rain, and strong Winds, and unwholesome 〈◊〉, which breed dizzy Diseases, and bring Appoplexies of sleep.  
The fourth grievance is, that the Puritans, and Roman Priests cut down all the stately and thick woods of Hair, as there is almost none left grown to build ships of ornament with: this in time will decay the Navigation of Becoming, and leave the Islands of the Ears bare, to the ruin of Cold; besides the prodigal 〈◊〉 Sex burns it up with Iron works, or breaks it off at the roots, in making traps for Lovers.  
This grievance was resented much in the House, and a Committee ordained to make a strict inquiry, and to report back to the House; which was done with all speed.   

The Chairmans' Report back.  
Master Speaker:  
THe Committee hath found, that many of the Highways, and Common Rhodes are much impaired by negligence: for some are so bad, as nothing will mend them; others the Committee hath examined, & found out some helps: for the deep holes might be filled up with white Wax, and those that are broken and ragged, may be filled smooth, and even; and those that are black, and scaled, may be scraped with a steel instrument, and those that are dirty, and foul, may be rubbed with China, or Brick, or the like; those that are loose, may be washed with Allum-water, or Myrrhe-water, which will fasten them again. As for the Bridges, there are not many fallen down, but only sagged, and lose: which, if the Commonwealth will be at the charges, may keep them from falling with Silver pins, which will prop them up. But truly, Mr. Speaker, there are great spoils of the Woods of Hair; but in youth, Time will repair them again, but in Age, they will never grow again: for the ground is always dry, and barren, as it will always be bare, and bald. As for the great Overflows, there is no way to hinder, or stop that torrent, but by shutting the Water gates, the Lips.  
After this relation, the lower House sent the reports to the upper House, after which they made an Act of prevention; Their Statutes running thus.  
BE it known to all, and some in this Kingdom; That henceforth from this present of January, one thousand eight hundred and two, that no Sweetmeats shall travel through the mouth, nor no Nuts be cracked, nor no Pins lie in the highways of the mouth, to canker fret the Teeth; as also be it enacted, that all hands labourers shall be employed with Pick-teeth after meat had passed those ways, and let every particular Shire be at the charge thereof.  
Be it also enacted, to keep the bridges strong, lest they fall to ruin, that the flud-flush be given to all the amorous sort, with baths, and dry diets every spring and fall, for fear the soundation of the Nose should be rotten, by reason of much corruption which passes through; also let there be cut a passage upon each shoulder, making gutters of issues, that the Humour may be diverted by running those ways, that the Kingdom may be drained from superfluous moisture. Also be it enacted, that to the conserving of the woods of Hair, that no hairs be pulled up by the roots, but only pruned by the Husbandmen Barbers; also we forewarn the use of Curling-Irons, Crisping-Irons, or the like; but let the loose woods of hair be bound up with strings.  
Be it also enacted, That no great Draughts be drunk, unless great 〈◊〉 require it: also no Healths to be drank but upon Festival days. But upon going out of this Act, all the young women and men in the Kingdom made such a matiny, as the Parliament had much ado to pacify them; nor could not, until they had altered that clause of Sweetmeats, and Healths. After this there was a Member rose up, and said.  
Master Speaker:  
THere is in this Kingdom some foolish and unnecessary Castoms, which have been brought from foreign parts, which ought to be abolished. One is, to dig holes in the Ears, to set Pendants in, which puts the Kingdom to a charge of pain, and also is a heavy burden therein. The second is, to pull up the Hedges of the Eyebrows by the roots, leaving none but a narrow and thin row, that the Eyes can receive no shade therefrom. The third is, to peel the first skin off the face with Oil of Vitriol, that a new skin may come in the place, which is apt to shrivel the skin underneath. But for the abolishing of these customs few agreed to, fearing such another Mutiny as the former, amongst the effeminate sex.  
Whiles they were demurring upon this, there came Petitioners with a Petition to offer to the House, which when that was heard, they sent for their Petition in, and made the Clerk read it.  

The Petition of the Veins.  
WE, your Honour's humble and poor Petitioners, desire a redress from all ill Livers, or else we cannot furnish your Honours with such blood, as your Honours require from us. For by reason of dry, hot, corrupted, or obstructed Livers, we, your Honour's Pipe-veines, want filling, or else we are filled with such waterish, or else with such black and melancholy blood, as the Kingdom is either parched for want of moisture, or over-flowed with too much; being always in extremes: so as we are all undone, and our Trading utterly decayed thereby. Wherefore we beseech your Honours to take it into your Honour's considerations, and give us a reparation from the Liver, for which we shall be bound to pray for your Honours.  
Upon this Petition, the House ordained a Writ, to warn the Liver to appear before a Committee to be examined, where straight the Liver appeared; who excused himself, saying, the Appetite flung into the Stomach a great quantity of rubbish, and the Stomach being an i'll Neighbour, to disburden himself from that 〈◊〉, flung it upon him, stopping up all cross passages; insomuch that he had not room to discharge himself freely: but as for his own part, he was much poorer, and 〈◊〉 than they, and had more reason to complain.   
Whereupon the House made an Act, that the Stomach should be 〈◊〉 every spring and fall with Purges.  
Then rose up a Member, and 〈◊〉.  
Mr. Speaker, There are a people in this Kingdom ought to be banished, which are Jugglers, Mountebanks, and Gypsies; as juggling Lovers, which deceive all the 〈◊〉 Sex with false and deluding praises. The next are Mountebank 〈◊〉, who have gotten Privileges of freedom, to put off their bald Jests at an 〈◊〉 rate, selling upon the Stage of Mirth, taking 〈◊〉 for pay from the poor ignorant 〈◊〉. These Fellows take upon themselves the name of Doctors of Wit, professing their skill, whereby they do much harm, by reason their Drugs are naught, and their skill little, by which many times they kill, instead of 〈◊〉; for they do apply their poisonous jests on unprepared Bodies, and give their Medicines in unseasonable time; besides their Medicines, being most commonly bitter, gives a dislike to the Taste; and being not taken in fit time, bring the disease of 〈◊〉, and being wrong applied, cause death to a good fame. The next are Gypfies, which 〈◊〉 many; as Sympathy Powder, Viper Wines Love Powder, Cramp Rings, cross Knots, raking up the 〈◊〉 on St. Agnes Eve, laying Bridecake under their heads, and many the like.  
Another Member said; Mr. Speaker, There are light Wenches of 〈◊〉, and 〈◊〉 Bawds, aught to be whipped, Black patches, Sweet Powders, 〈◊〉, Bracelets made of their Lover's Hair, fancy-coloured Ribbons, to resemble the several Passions; Looking-glasses to hang by their sides; Love-Posies in Rings, Love-Letters wrought in Handkerchiefs, Valentine's worn on sleeves, and to 〈◊〉 by signs.  
Another Member said, next is Bawds, as Romancies, Balls, Collations, Questions and Commands, Riddles, Purposes, etc.  
There was another Member rose up, and said thus.  
Mr. Speaker, there are worse Creatures in the Kingdom, and more dangerous, which ought to be burnt; as Lovely 〈◊〉, exact Proportion, clear Complexion: when these spirits are raised in the circle of the face, who so comes 〈◊〉 that Face, although it be the Soul itself, is bewitched with a look; and such power is in that Magic, that nothing can undo it, but Sickness, and old Age.  
The other Witch, is elegant Eloquence: this Witch hath much power, raising up Sense, Funcy, Phrase, Number, in the circle of the Ear, and whosoever comes near them, although the Soul itself that spirit the Tongue bewitches them, and this is so strong a Magic, as nothing can undo, but forgetfulness. 'Tis true, there is a Law against them, which belongs to the Judge's care, as, Hearing and Sight; but when they come before them to be examined, and to be condemned, if they be found guilty; they are so 〈◊〉 from punishing them, as they set them at liberty, and those bonds that should bind them, they bind themselves with, and so become voluntary slaves to those Witches.  
Then did the King call both Houses together into a great Hall, and thus spoke.  
MY good and loving Subjects, I give you thanks for your care and industry, in rectifying the Errors of this Kingdom, and for your love to me, in giving me those Subsidies I 〈◊〉, although I called for them as well for your safety, as my own; such is my tender regard to my people, as their safety is my care, and their prosperity my happiness. For I desire to be King of Affection, ruling them with Clemency, rather than to be only King of Power, ruling them with Tyranny, binding my Subjects to slavery. The power I desire, is, to beat my enemies abroad, not to fright my Subjects at home; to defend them, not to ruin them; I covet not the riches of my Subjects, I hold not the Sword to cut their Purse-strings, but to decide truth from falsehood, to give Equity, and to do Justice. Yet let me 〈◊〉 them, my Sword is as ready to punish Offenders, as my Clemency is to reward the virtuous. But I have found, and I make no question I shall find them always as ready to obey, as I to command; and because every one may return to his own private affairs, since in public business there is little lest now to do, but what I can order myself, I dissolve my Parliament for this time, until there be an occasion to call them together again.  
Whereupon the Parliament all cried;  God save the King, God save the King.   

I Know, those that are strict and nice about Phrase, and the placing of words, will carp at my Book: for I have not set my words in such order, as those which write elegant Prose. But I must confess ingenuously, my shallow wit could not tell how to order it to the best advantage; besides, I found it difficult, to get so many Rhythmes, as to join the sense of the Subject: and by reason I could not attain to both, I rather chose to leave the Elegance of words, then to obstruct the sense of the matter. For my desire was to make my conceit easy to the understanding, though my 〈◊〉 were not so fluent to the ear. Again, they will find fault with the Numbers; for I was forced to fewer or more, to bring in the sense of my Fancies. All I can say for myself is, that Poetry consists not so much in Number, Words, and Phrase, as in Fancy. Thirdly, they will find fault at the Subject; saying, it is neither material, nor useful for the Soul, or Body. To this I answer, My intention was, not to teach Arts, nor Sciences, nor to instruct in Divinity, but to pass away idle Time; and thought Time might be better 〈◊〉: yet 'tis oft spent worse amongst many in the world.  

I Language want, to dress my Fancies in,  
The hair's uncurled, the Garments loose, and thin;  
Had they but Silver Lace to make them gay,  
Would be more courted then in poor array.  
Or had they Art, might make a better show;  
But they are plain, yet cleanly do they go.  
The world in Bravery doth take delight,  
And glistering Shows do more attract the sight;  
And every one doth honour a rich Hood,  
As if the outside made the inside good.  
And every one doth how, and give the place,  
Not for the Man's sake, but the Silver Lace.  
Let me entreat in my poor Books behalf,  
That all may not adore the Golden Calf.  
Consider pray, Gold hath no life therein,  
And Life in Nature is the richest thing.  
So Fancy is the Soul in Poetry,  
And if not good, a Poem ill must be.  
Be just, let Fancy have the upper place,  
And then my Verses may perchance find grace.  
If flattering Language all the Passions rule,  
Then Sense, I fear, will be a mere dull Foole.   

THe worst Fate Books have, when they are once read,  
They're laid aside, forgotten like the Dead:  
Under a heap of dust they buried lie,  
Within a vault of some small Library.  
But Spiders they, for honour of that Art  
Of Spinning, which by Nature they were taught;  
Since Men do spin their Writings from the Brain,  
Striving to make a lasting Web of Fame,  
Of 〈◊〉 thin, high Altars do they raise,  
There offer Flies, as sacrifice of praise.   

WHen that a Book doth from the Press come new,  
All buys, or borrows it, this Book to view:  
Not out of love of Learning, or of wit,  
But to find Faults, that they may censure it.  
Were there no Faults for to be found therein,  
As few there are, but do err in some thing;  
Yet Malice with her rankled Spleen, and spite,  
Will at the Time, or Print, or Binding bite.  
Like Devils, when they cannot good souls get,  
Then on their Bodies they their 〈◊〉 set.   

SIr Charles into my chamber coming in,  
When I was writing of my Fairy Queen;  
I pray, said he, when Queen Mab you do see,  
Present my service to her Majesty:  
And tell her, I have heard Fame's loud report,  
Both of her Beauty, and her stately Court.  
When I Queen Mab within my Fancy viewed,  
My Thoughts bowed low, fearing I should be rude;  
Kissing her Garment thin, which Fancy made,  
Kneeling upon a Thought, like one that prayed;  
In whispers soft I did present  
His humble service, which in mirth was sent.  
Thus by imagination I have been  
In Fairy Court, and seen the Fairy Queen.  
For why, imagination runs about  
In every place, yet none can trace it out.   

A Poet I am neither borne, nor bred,  
But to a witty Poet married:  
Whose Brain is Fresh, and Pleasant, as the Spring,  
Where Fancies grow, and where the Muses sing.  
There oft I lean my Head, and 〈◊〉 hark,  
To hear his words, and all his Fancies mark;  
And from that Garden Flowers of Fancies take,  
Whereof a Posy up in Verse I make.  
Thus I, that have no Garden of mine own,  
There gather Flowers that are newly blown.   
REader, I have a little Tract of Philosophical Fancies in Prose, which will not be long before it appear in the world.  
FINIS.