POEMS UPON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.  
By S. P. Gent.  
LONDON, Printed by W. G. for Henry Marsh at the Prince's Arms in Chancery-lane, and Peter Dring at the Sun in the poultry near the Counter, 1660.   

A panegyric TO HIS EXCELLENCY General MONCK March 28. 1660.  
NOW almost twenty years have rolled about  
Since first the flames of our late Wars broke out;  
And Britain fainting with the loss of blood  
Under a lawless Yoke subjected stood,  
When now at last her groans by heaven are heard  
Her fainting Soul and dying Hopes upreared;  
Her sable night of sorrow done away  
By the new dawning of a royal day.  
As from the North her first distemper grew,  
Thence slowes the sovereign medicine, to renew  
Her joys again: She hopes secure to stand  
Upheld by her brave general's Warlike hand.  
Over the British Seas flies his great Name  
Born on the swift wings of no common fame,  
Our Enemies tremble, and our friends are glad,  
To these 'tis joyful news, to those 'tis sad  
The mighty shouts, and the Stentorian voice  
Of the glad multitude that now rejoice  
awakes the drowsy Genius of this I'll,  
Who wept so long o'er Charles' funeral pile  
Till his swollen eyes with a lethargic sleep  
Were sealed up, having no more tears to weep.  
He understands the cause of England's joy  
And least Ambition should their hopes destroy  
He boldly doth his mind to Monck express  
And shows how he may Britain's ills redress.   

The Genius Speech.  
GReat man by blood, by virtue greater made,  
Whose presence Banishes the gloomy shade  
Of Britain's night; the fair Aurora too  
The royal Phoebus ushered in by you:  
Thy Sword has cut our chains of slavery  
Thy hands the Gordian knots of Tyranny  
Untied; thy strenuous Arms unhinged our Gates  
To show thy strength, the greatest pride abates,  
To show what thou couldst do, that we thereby  
Might on thy more than Samson's strength rely:  
But what thou didst was at another's frown,  
Thou hungest them up, that kindness was thy own.  
Great Heronles of our isle at last thou've slain  
That Hydra never more to rise again,  
Though often crushed, that Monstrous tail, (which bit  
Her own head off) did resurrection get,  
But now she's dead, and never more shall rise,  
Triumphs, not tears attend her Obsequies.  
And now but one step more and thy great name  
Registered stand shall in the Book of Fame  
In so great Characters the world may read  
Thy marchlesse story when that thou art dead:  
The World too little for thy fame shall be  
And Prince's honour shall thy name and thee.  
See then great general, Britain's Genius now  
Before thee stands, and willing is to owe  
A happiness to thee, wherein thou mayst  
Raise honour to thyself; if thou delayest,  
Time and necessity will thee prevent  
And spoil the lustre of thy great intent.  
Now drooping Britain raises up her head,  
Inspired by thee she arises from the dead,  
Her War-made breaches now are cured again,  
And joys and ease succeed her grief and pain,  
Her spotless Virgin Chores begin to sing  
Io Paeans in honour to their King:  
Fail not her now-big hopes but be content  
To raise an everlasting Monument  
To thee and thy posterity; that bays  
May Crown thy Brows and Ages speak thy praise.  
Thou seeest our wants, and what it is we'd have  
It is a King of Charles' race we crave;  
Since all the people in one voice agree,  
God's Oracle, 'tis God that asks it thee,  
Who having scourged poor Britain for her sin,  
Returns her balm to cure her wounds again.  
We 'ave tried, and too too long, a Commonwealth,  
Such as it was, a Bane to England's Health,  
Where fifty Tyrants with one mouth agree,  
To eat up Law, Religion, Liberty▪  
Monsters that Kings and Bishops Lands devour,  
Kept by extorted sums the Nation poor;  
Philosophers that changed all to gold,  
And let go nothing that their gripes could hold;  
Yet these were they that needs would styled be  
The Keepers of our England's liberty;  
But by thy power great Monck we're freed again,  
And George most bravely has the Dragon slain.  
Ambitious Cromwell put the purple on,  
And having slamn the Father, robbed the Son  
O● right and title, to a royal Crown,  
To set himself up, pulled another down,  
And what he got by rapine, he made good,  
Though by Religion cloaked, by source and blood,  
All what our Heroes once contended for,  
With the sad tempest of a civil War  
Himself usurped; and gloried in his pride  
To have with peace what was to Kings denied;  
But yet you see the Nation scourged, that God  
Renews his mercy and has burned his rod,  
And Cromwell's name grows odious everywhere,  
Which was obeyed not out of Love, but fear.  
Let his example your ambition curb,  
Do not our growing happiness disturb,  
By mounting of a Throne is none of yours,  
For be assured that the sacred powers,  
Will blast the first fruits of thy tyranny,  
Fraud must preserve what's got by policy.  
And now our people used to subtleties,  
To be deceived by crafts are grown too wise,  
So that the faces deny thy Regiment,  
And people to obey no more are bent,  
Till he arises in the British sphere,  
Whom all desire the royal Crown to wear.  
Thou seest our griefs and know'st the ways to cure,  
Our Maladies, thy Faith we knows too pure  
For to be tempted to betray our hopes,  
Who doubts thy loyalty, to treason opes  
A way; no though tho sayst thou'lt us deceive,  
Such is our confidence we'll not believe,  
Since one so good and great as Monck must be,  
The only Man can give us liberty.  
Britain in sackcloth has mourned long enough,  
'Tis time to lay aside the Sword and Buff,  
'Tis time to pull those Puny-Nobles down,  
Who speak against, and yet affect a Crown,  
That those by blood and virtue truly great,  
May be installed in their long-lest seat  
These shining in their ermine gallantry,  
Beget a reverence due to Majesty.  
Now I have done, and you have this to do,  
To bring him in for whom the Nations sue,  
Great Charles, who more then by seven twelve months tried,  
And in afflictions Furnace purified,  
Must come forth brighter than tried gold, more bright  
Then lustrous Sol after a darksome night;  
Whose brighter beams of Love shall raise the slain,  
And make our Halcyon days to live again;  
England shall bless thy name when this is done,  
And style the Phosphor to the rising Sun,  
To thee shall Britain pay her annual vows,  
Whilst ducal diadems crown thy Princely brows.   

A panegyric ON HIS majesty's Entrance Into LONDON.  
THE Heaven's great Star since He saluted Earth  
With his diurnal Light, ne'er yet gave Birth  
To such a joyful Day, as that wherein  
Charles to his native England came ag'in.  
His loyal Subjects Hearts grown big with joy  
The best expressions of their Love employ,  
To give a cheerful welcome to their King,  
From whose arrival all our blessings Spring,  
Whilst Foes, and traitors to his royal Sire,  
Grown mad through envy, in their rage expire.  
Now Phoebus ushers in the happy day,  
Which for posterity recorded may  
In golden letters ever stand; and be  
A festival for regained liberty;  
And gilding all the Heavens with his rays,  
Dispenses smiles, Serenity displays.  
Revived Subjects throng to see their prize,  
Joy sparkles in their faces, and their eyes:  
Their tongues, and hands with powerful Eccohs sound  
And joyful shouts against the heavens rebound.  
The air is filled on every side with noise;  
The voice of war, and death now speaks their joys.  
The Bells have tongues, which sound our Joys aloud,  
And say that Charles is come: the Drums are proud  
To speak his march. The silver Trumpets say  
Charles o'er three Kingdoms doth triumph to day:  
Which conquest got by virtues has more charms  
To hold a lasting peace, than that by arms.  
London in all its gallantry doth shine,  
Conduits convert their water into wine.  
Adorned the female beauties of the Land  
To see their sovereign in Ballconies stand,  
The bravest Heroes of the British Isle  
Usher our Caesar through the streets the while;  
Whose sacred face with beams of Majesty  
Surrounded, far outvies the bravery  
Of his adornments: and the lustrous fire  
Of's eyes dismays those who denied his sire  
And him to reign; now they their folly see  
Converted by one look of Majesty.  
Ten thousand Hearts and knees do humbly bow,  
As he goes by; each heart a solemn vow  
Prepares, of praise, and of obedience too,  
For long and happy days to heau'en they sue.  
Long live great Charles, and may his sacred Name,  
Swell to that worth, not to be spoke by Fame,  
May Nestor's years his Happy reign attend!  
May heavens his breast with Solomon's choice befriend!  
The people cry. Loud shouts conclude the day,  
Phoebus to th' other world hasts to display  
The joyful news: Night now would take her turn,  
But flaming fires in every Corner burn,  
Which Night to Day change: Phoebus' place supply,  
And make a Day without the heaven's great eye.  
'Tis true whilst Charles possesses his own right,  
That loyal Britains can expect no night.  
Our regal Sun, since Charles the first was slain,  
Eclipsed has been, but now shines bright again.  
By heaven enthroned thus, in his people's hearts,  
He shall withstand all Machivilian Arts:  
Laurels of peace about his brows shall spread,  
And three great Crowns surround his royal Head.  
Ita Precatur S. P.   

SOME TEARS dropped o'er the hearse OF THE INCOMPARABLE PRINCE HENRY DUKE OF GLOUCESTER.  
FAtal September to the Royal Line,  
Has snatched one hero of our hopeful Trine  
From Earth; 'tis strange Heav n should not prae-  
A loss so grievous by some Blazin● Star, (declare  
Which might our Senses overjoyed, alarm,  
And time give to prepare for so great Harm.  
The springtide of our Joy was newly Flood,  
Paying our Thankful Vows for so much good  
We gather now, under a gracious KING;  
Inspired Bards began strong Lays to Sing,  
when (ôh sad Fate!) Ebbed are our Flowing Seas,  
And Epiques changed to Doleful Elegies.  
Cruel Extremes! thus robbed of joys the chief,  
Thrown down like lightning into Seas of Gries.  
'Tis past the reach of Mortals to divine,  
Why heaven so soon has broke our Threefold Line;  
We may not pry without a black offence  
Into th' Arcana's of his Providence,  
But may believe, since with a Bounteous Hand  
God has restored the Blessings of this Land,  
That he has flung us into Griefs extreme,  
Not out of wrath to Us, but Love to Him.  
He was Fair Fruit sprung from a Royal Bud,  
And grown as great by fair Renown as Blood;  
Ripe too too soon; for in a Youth so green  
An Harvest was of gray-haired wisdom seen.  
Minerva's Darling, Patron of the Gown,  
Lover of Learning, and Apollo's Crown  
He was; the Muses he began to nourish,  
Learned Men and Arts under his wings did flourish;  
But lest we should commit Idolatry,  
Heaven took him from our Sight, not Memory;  
For though he's carried to th' Immortal Sphere,  
Our Loves will make his Fame Immortal here.  
'Tis Autumn now: and Ceres to our hands  
Has poured the Annual Blessings of our Lands;  
We'ave robbed the reeming Trees of all their fruit,  
And left them naked till the Spring recruit  
Their store again; till than they hang their head,  
And stand like Mourners, leaves for tears they shed;  
So the high powers cropped from the Royal Stem,  
What was too good for us, and fit for them,  
Whilst we lament, till a new Spring arise,  
And CHARLES his First-born clear our weeping eyes.  
A general Sadness locks up every Tongue,  
Amazedness host struck the laureates dumb: (bears,  
And who would weep, through too much Grief for-  
Excess of Grie● gives yet no vent for Tears,  
But when the coming Springs begin to rise,  
Grief then will draw a deluge from our Eyes;  
Till then these Loyal Drops fallen into Verse,  
Shall wash the Cypress on his Royal hearse.   

POEMS ON Several Occasions.  

His Mistress.  

AS Phoebus doth excel the Moons dim light,  
Or as the Moon excels the dullest Star,  
Her Beauty, and Complexion in my sight  
Excels all others I have seen, so far:  
Her sunlike beams of beauty shine so bright,  
That others in her sight Eclipsed are  
The fairest faces are but foils, each one  
Wears but a borrowed lustre from her Sun.   

Her Shape in Wax it were most hard to frame,  
Nor Painters to express their rarest Skill  
Could ever counterfeit so near the same,  
But blemish theirs her better Beauty will;  
Though Venus who for Beauty had the Name  
Compare with her should, she'd be fairest still;  
Paris gave her the Ball as beauty's Queen,  
But she had missed it had he mine but Seen.   

Her Aubourn Hair in Crisped curls do dangle  
Upon her Ivory shoulders, where it spreads  
Sly nets, where Hearts themselves do soon entangle,  
And captive lie, enchained by those bright threads;  
Spreading soft chains, and snares in every angle,  
It takes all Hearts, whose eye those mazes treads:  
Hearts here imprisoned (never can get out)  
Those soft Meandres wander must about.   

Her Ivory polished Front with seemly cheer,  
Graced at the bottom with a double bow,  
Where all the Graces in their Throne appear,  
Where Love, and awful Majesty do grow,  
Expands itself, and shows a field more clear,  
Than Candid lilies, or the virgin snow;  
Her Eyes like Suns shoot rays more sharp than Darts,  
Which wound all Flinty, Love-despising Hearts.   

Those twinkling Stars, those sparkling Diamond stones,  
Those glorious Suns, where dwells the Eastern Light,  
Peirce with the vigour of their charms the bones  
Of daring Him, who gains of them a sight;  
Beholding Kills, yet he their loss bemoans,  
And ' d rather die, than they shut live in Night.  
Her Nose a comely Prominence, doth part  
Her Cheeks, the mirror of Dame nature's Art.   

Her cheeks are damask Roses blown in June,  
B'ing equally with Virgin lilies mixed;  
Or snowy milk with blushing strawberries strewn,  
Where equal strife the red, and white's betwixt;  
Or pure for million on white satin shown,  
By painter's rarest Skill, and pencil fixed:  
Those cheek no Colours livelest die can paint,  
Scarlet, and snow seem to their true ones faint.   

Her lips are snips of Scarlet, juliflowers,  
Spread with the tincture of Vermilion hew,  
Blessed in Self-kisses; past our human powers  
To touch; so high a bliss what Mortal knew?  
Between those ruby Gates slide spicy showers,  
Which, those slain by her eyes, with life imbue:  
Angellick sounds, and charming smiles, so nice,  
Thence flow which make her presence paradise.   

Within the portal of her Mouth's locked fast,  
(Which when she sings she is enforced to show)  
The Orient's Treasure in due order placed,  
Of more than precious pearls a double row;  
Which stand in Sea-born Coral borders chased,  
Like Crimson satin purled with silver snow.  
Her smooth, and dimpled Chin doth under lie,  
Where envies self cannot a fault espy.   

Her Neck's a graceful Tower of spotless snow,  
An alabaster prop to that fair head,  
Where wit, Arts, wisdom in perfection grow,  
Its Basis where are beauties also spread;  
For azure streams through milky fields do flow,  
Where blue, with white like heaven is married:  
Her Breasts like lillyed Globes, or Mounts appear,  
Whose summits crowned with Crimson cherries are.   

Her Arms due measure of proportion have,  
Her hands the types of snowy Excellence  
With Onyx tiped; her legs, and feet enslave  
Our eyes, and Captive hold from falling thence:  
Her whole frames equal symmetry is brave,  
And to spectators pays a recompense:  
Argus himself cannot discern the rest,  
But I presume the hidden beauties best.    

The Protestation.  

Before bright Phoebus had his beams displayed,  
Whilst yet Aurora ushered in the Day,  
The prat'ling echo to my ears betrayed,  
As I among the trees in ambush lay,  
The amorous whispers of Amyntas, who  
With protestation did his Cloris woo.   

What went before I cannot tell, but she  
Replied to something that Amyntas said,  
The murmuring echo by the Air to me  
These gentle sounds in whispering notes conveyed.  
Alas! Amyntas would that you could prove  
To my distrustful Heart that men can love.   

How oft are we poor silly maids beguiled  
By charms of flattering words? when we believe  
To break their oaths men will not be so vild,  
Being so poor a conquest to deceive  
Disarmed virgins? when we them reward  
With Love, they're cold, and us with scorn regard.   

'tis best to keep our own, for when we yield  
Our Hearts, men suppliants soon forget to be,  
And our affections caught, with scorn repelled  
We are subjected to their tyranny:  
That maid is more than mad who will be kind,  
To men, who waver oftener than the Wind.   

Blame not our Natures, but your follies blame,  
For we should sooner yield were Men more true,  
But since weak virgins to deceive no shame  
They think; denials Cruelty is due.  
But yet Amyntas would that you could prove  
To my distrustful Heart your constant love.   

Amyntas with a sigh replied. 'Tis true,  
Some men are faulty in what you accuse them,  
But let not all be blamed for a few,  
Nor women men despise, 'cause some abuse them.  
For if I went about it, I could prove,  
Men equal Woomen in a constant Love.   

Our sexe's cause I will not plead; my own  
With you, sweet Cloris, will I only plead,  
My constant Love must by Obedience shown  
Be; else I can't be truly scanned till dead:  
Constant obedience 'tis doth rightly prove,  
A Heart's possessor of a constant Love.   

Things that the least of drossy mixture hold,  
Last longest; my Hearts flames Aetherial be,  
More pure than seven times refined Gold,  
Than Cedar's flames: rays of a deity  
They are. It is the purity of Love  
Which best of all its constancy can prove.   

My love like Adamant endure the stroke  
Of strong repulses shall; full draughts of smiles,  
Nor worlds of beauties, shall my Heart provoke  
T' inconstant Change; nor all th' enticing guiles  
A proffered Love can give. The world shall be  
First changed, ere I yield to inconstancy.   

The twinkling tapers of the Night shall fall  
First from their azure lodging; Hecate  
Shall lose her light, and a perpetual  
Mask wear of pitch; And heavens' bright lamp shall be  
With darkness overcome: Night into Day  
Shall change; and cold November into May.   

The Sun shall backward course the world about,  
The fire shall cease combustibles to burn,  
Soft gales shall put the flinty Rocks to rout,  
And Neptune shall his fry to grazing turn,  
Mountains to veils; valleys to Hills shall rise,  
Plains shall be made of Craggs that touch the Skies.   

All beasts shall metamorphosed into stones  
Be, and all mortals shall their exit prove,  
Tormented Souls shall cease to fetch sad groans,  
The heaven's rent from their centre first shall move,  
Ere I to thee fair Cloris be unkind,  
Repent me of my love, or change my mind.   

My Tongue may't falter, may my lips ne'er move,  
If unto other but to thee they shall  
Make protestations of a Serious love!  
Cloris believe! I heavens' to witness call!  
The Maid converted joined her lips to his,  
Gathering the first fruits of a greater bliss.    

The Passionate Lover,  

HAd I but wind and Lungs enough to tell  
How much I Love; Had I a Stentor's voice,  
Had I ten thousand Tongues it would do well,  
To speak how much I Love my dearest choice,  
Since wholly filled, If I should not impart  
love's might, its energy would break my Heart.   

Say my five senses has not Love's delight  
Bound all your powers with its amorous chains,  
Disarmed your Subjects? Spoilt and robbed you quite?  
Can you ought relish but Love's pleasing pains?  
You now disgust all objects of this Ball,  
Phillis is the only object of you all.   

When that my eye has light on Phillis face,  
It tells my amorous Heart news good, or bad;  
By which or well th' alarmed pulses Pace,  
Or ill: my looks by it are light, or sad:  
Doth sorrow dim the Light of Phillis eye,  
Joys, and Contentment from my bosom fly.   

Does threatening Anger, or disdain appear  
Clothed in the Tyrian blushes in her Cheeks,  
No Poet's art in verse can paint my fear,  
Nor th' Horror and dismay my vitals strikes:  
I dumb, and movelesse like a statue show  
Struck with the Thunder of her Angry brow   

The fearful lightning, nor the dreadful voice  
Of roaring Thunder, nor the horrid Night,  
Nor Ghosts, nor Goblins, nor tempestuous noise  
Of winds, nor Earthquakes can my senses fright,  
So much as when Phyllis with anger glows,  
And from her quick Eyes scorn-tiped Arrows throws.   

If pleasing smiles sit on their ruby Throne,  
If Joy is painted on her smother brow,  
My senses wrapped beyond the spheres, are thrown  
On beds of pleasure; and forget all woe:  
With less Content the Miser doth behold  
His Stuffed Chests, and full-cramed bags of Gold.   

My Eyes devou're each smile; the more they gaze  
On Hers, the more Contentment still they draw;  
Her smiles the clue that leads me in that maze;  
Her eyes give my obsequious Heart a Law:  
For by her smiles, or frowns I meet delight  
Or Woe; or mirth or Grief; or Day or Night.   

Seek all the World for pleasing objects, and  
Dive to the bottom of the deepest see as,  
Fetch all the Treasures of the Indian strand,  
The world's best Beauties, none my fancy please  
Can, like the Heaven of a pleasing smile,  
Which kills me with excess of Joy the while.   

The sparkling Diamonds of the East I prize  
Below the value of her pretty stars,  
There comes far richer glances from her eyes,  
Her lips than Pogues, better Rubies wears;  
Who round the World for daintest Roses seeks,  
May find them growing in my Phyllis cheeks.   

The richest Treasures of the Earth seem poor;  
Pearls, Gold, and Diamonds nature's richest Gems,  
The World's great treasury, and Neptune's store,  
A Lover (such as I) far less esteems  
Than th' object of his Love: for more delight  
Than in all these I take in Phyllis sight.   

But when the sweeter music of her tongue,  
Like the blessed voice of Angels, strikes my cars,  
I harken us to Oracles; a strange  
Lute in the hands of Orpheus; the spheres  
Sweet Melody; the smooth tongued Orator,  
Seem but a duller harmony to Her.   

She charms me to a statue, and amazed  
With so much Eloquence, dumb I return  
No answers but by eyes; my soul is raised  
Beyond the sphere of Words: though joyed I mourn  
To hear her pause, or periodize her speech:  
I then her to begin ag'in beseech.   

When in the sweetest quavers of a song  
Her voice she raises, and with marchlesse strains  
Runs o'er division with her warbling Tongue;  
Hearts she (as stones Amphion's music) gains.  
Harps, Harpsicall, all viols, organs, Lute,  
Trumpets, and all noise else for shame be mute.   

Cease duller strains, all other voices cease,  
Sweet Philomel, I prithee hold thy tongue;  
You early larks, and Thrushes hold your peace;  
The best of music, and of Birds among  
The human, and the feathered Chores, your choice  
Lays, reverence do unto her sweeter voice.   

Though all the music in the World should be  
By Musick-masters of the rarest kind  
Fingered, my ears would taste no harmony,  
No joy my soul, nor no content my mind,  
(Nor the angelic Songs by me I fear  
So prized) like that when I her Sonnets hear.   

Had Sickness prisoned me in my Chamber long,  
Or bound with closer fetters to my Bed,  
As some by music cured, I by a Song  
Chanted by her divine mouth, should be fed  
With that ambrosiac Essence, that would give  
Ease to my pains, and dying make me live.   

My Ear then ravished equal with my eye,  
‛ Counts all sounds harsh, but her sweet music, and  
Commands all others to her melody  
To veil, and to her notes attentive stand;  
As high Apollo to the Muses, she  
(Or Philomela 'mong other Birds) must be.   

The fragrant blasts of spicy Arabia,  
Panchaean Myrrh, Musk, Civet, ambergris,  
All the perfumes of Indian spicery,  
Must to the Sweetness of her breath give place:  
Flora's sweet garlands in the Month of May,  
No such delicious gales of sweetness pay.   

My Soul, as if exhaled by her sweet breath,  
Flies to that membrane which receieves the sent,  
Raising the sluggish fantasy from Death,  
Revives the brain, and gives my Genius vent:  
The cherishing odours her sweet Hybla yields,  
Excel the Diapasma's of the fields.   

My soul upon no other food can feed,  
But the rich Banquet, and delicious fare  
Of her sweet presence, when before her spread;  
Then eased from trouble, free from duller care  
She feeds: the Stomach can no dainties taste,  
Nor hunger, whilst this better Banquet lasts.   

When that with ardent boldness I aspire  
To touch with my profaner lips, her hand,  
I think no blisses, in the World are higher,  
No joys to that in competition stand:  
My soul inflamed, into my lips doth fly,  
Whilst on that bed of lilies soft they lie.   

But when (a favour, seldom shown) I kiss  
The seat of smiles, her tender ruby lips,  
joy spirits dilates, and I expire in bliss;  
Called back again from Death by an eclipse  
Of so great ravishment, through a withdraw,  
As much as Joy did, grief now breaks the Law.   

Thus my five senses banquet at that feast  
Of beauty, which shines in my Phillis face;  
My passionate Heart swells high within my breast,  
And grows too tumid for its strict embrace,  
Oh! cloud my Phillis! hide her from my eye,  
Of too much pleasure I with surfeit die.    

Corydon's Complaint.  

THose joys that used to flatter me  
O Phyllis when I courted thee,  
Under yon shady beechen tree  
To cruel grief are changed   

Torments my pleasures; griefs my joy,  
Pains my quiet rest destroy,  
Since thou'rt to Corydon grown coy,  
And from my Love estranged   

Did ere I your commands neglect?  
That thus my suit you now reject,  
And pay my love with disrespect,  
My kindness with disdain?   

Say how I purchase may relief,  
Or murdered must I be by grief?  
Speak that my torments may be brief;  
Give death to ease my pain.   

If you are pleased to martyr me,  
Or bind me unto slavery,  
There is another tyranny  
That you may exercise;   

Those burning flames, your eyes can give:  
A Slave, bound by love's chains I live  
May, without Hope of a reprieve;  
Thus you may tyrannize.   

Since that my words are spent in vain,  
Whilst Cruel you laugh at my pain,  
I at the feet of your disdain  
Will fall, and prostrate lie.   

Henceforth I'll banish all my pleasure,  
Since you the chiefest of my Treasure,  
Have heaped my Griefs beyond all Measure,  
I'll yield to destiny.    

To SYLVIA Weeping.  

FAir Sylvia, you possess more Treasures than  
The ruby East; those weeping eyes more Gems  
Than the rich Store house of the Ocean,  
For you at pleasure can those crystal streams  
Which trickle from the fountains of your eyes  
Convert int' orient pearls; but richer prize.   

What taking charms lie in your sweeter Face,  
When freed from cloudy-weeping Griefs you smile  
With a clear brow! If tears with such a grace  
Become? if so much lustre has the foil  
To Beauty? what excess of Glory than  
Will bud from those sweet lights when fair again?   

Now the (like silvered Cynonthia's beauty, when  
The interposing Earth hides her bright face)  
Dost suffer an eclipse; thy tears restrain  
Thy beauties radiant beams; Tears fill the place  
Of bounteous Light; yet is that shadow fair;  
Others with which (at best) may not compare.   

Phoebus now hides behind a watery cloud  
His brighter head; by which we better may  
Gaze on his Light: thy suns (fair Sylvia) shroud  
Themselves behind a cloud of Tears to day;  
Our of like kindness, and suppress their bright  
And splendid beams, to favour my weak sight.   

Enough, fair Sylvia! clear those Cynthian Lights,  
From that eclipse of sorrow; wipe away  
That hanging cloud of Tears; which still excites  
Your stillborne Grief such pearly price to pay:  
Were you inflamed with scorching Love, as I,  
Its ardour soon those dewy pearls would dry.   

After Aurora with her silver showers  
Has washed her grandam Tellus chapped face,  
A pleasant Zephyrus the dark Heaven scours,  
And Sol steps out with a far greater Grace:  
After a Storm fair weather doth succeed;  
Let fable Grief your whiter Joys than breed.   

I long to see those fairer Suns to shine,  
Freed from the dewy moisture of a Tear,  
Now they would seem (after this) more divine,  
As Phoebus after an eclipse more clear:  
Let Day the Night succeed, and cease to mourn,  
Banish Grief's night, whilst Joy's day takes its turn.    

THYRSIS in despair.  
SAd night of sorrow! sable night of grief!  
For lover's torments is there no relief?  
Must still my bitter food be grief, and fears?  
My thirst quenched hourly with my briny tears?  
No glimmering of the Day of hope arise!  
Nothing but darkness mussle up the skies  
From my numbed sight? I in the Bed of care  
Do roll; distress behems me round; despair  
Like curtains shuts me up. Come pale faced Hag,  
And let not leaden plummets make thee lag:  
With open arms I do embrace thy Dart,  
Which can give physic to my wounded Heart.  
They say grief that descends to words is weak  
Mine is grown so I can no farther speak.  
But by my Death I to Corinna prove  
Will, that she triumphs o'er me and my Love.   

ABSENCE.  
SUch is the melancholy Earth, when light  
Flies thence, and leaves its room to sable night;  
When darkness, Cold and Shadows dwell upon  
Her Surface; some pale glimmerings of the Moon  
Is all she can expect; a mourner than  
She is till Phoebus brings his day again:  
Such is the matchless, mateless Turtle Dove,  
Sighing its murmurs for its absent Love:  
Such is the body when the Soul is fled:  
Such Pyramus supposing Thisbe dead:  
Such the male Palm the female broken down,  
As I am now, my fairest Sylvia's gone.  
My withered Head declines apace, my green  
And growing youth to sprout no more is seen.  
My blood's grown cold, and frozen; every limb  
As if it wanted heat, and life doth seem.  
My hoarse complaints the very rocks do move,  
Who echo the last accents of my Love.  
A silent night inhabits my sad breast,  
And now no cheerful thought will be my guest.  
Till her return, whose eyes will cause a day,  
Thus must I in my own unquiet stay;  
Wishing for the bright morning, which must rise  
From th' Luminaries of fair Sylvia's eyes.   

DAPHNIS Fled.  

I'll echo in the tell-tale groves  
Lycidas and Daphnis Loves  
Now she has left this place;  
Go grave names in the tender rind  
Whisper my trouble to the wind,  
He'll tell where Daphnis stays:   

Send kisses by the Soft lipped air,  
Beg charming Philomela to stay her  
With raptures of her voice:  
Bid Zephyrus gently hold her back;  
Smooth fronted sand to show her tract,  
That thus forsakes her choice.   

Not all the charms the spring affords,  
The pleasures of delicious gourds,  
Flora's enameled dress,  
Or what is beautiful and fair,  
Or what delights above compare,  
Can sorrow dispossess.   

For Nature now's unkind to me,  
And my request denies I see,  
For Daphnis will away,  
In vain I prattle out my plaints,  
She cannot hear my loud laments,  
Nor would they cause her stay.   

By yonder spring down will I lie,  
whilst one as great flows from my eye,  
To mingle with its stream  
Till her return, thence I'll not move  
But weep the absence of my Love,  
With waves as great as them   

If my soul flies out in a tear,  
And she returns, and that you hear  
Her call a loud for me,  
Good Nymph that answers him that speaks,  
Say if that Lycidas she seeks,  
he's joined to Niobe.    

To LUCIA playing on her LUTE.  
GReat Orpheus when he struck his Ivory Lyre,  
Drew all the Savage Creatures to admire  
The sweetness of his charming music; and  
Forgetting their fierce natures tamely stand.  
The wolf, Lamb, lion, and the Kid agree  
To Love, whilst charmed by his sweet harmony.  
Stones move themselves called by Amphion's Lute;  
And Thebes build, without man's hands to do't:  
Yet fairest Lucia when I heard you play,  
I soon confess you have more skill than they:  
Your fingers strike a far diviner strain,  
And men's Hearts harder than the stones you gain.  
Brute Beasts when Orpheus played stood still and gazed;  
When you, stiff-necked men are more amazed.  
He could unreasonable beasts control,  
But you command a reasonable Soul,  
For men more fierce than cruel Tigers, lay  
Their necks down, and like captives yoked obey.  
Who then to bondage powerfullest captives drew?  
Orpheus' tamed beasts, a harder task, Men you.   

ANOTHER.  
WHen last I heard your nimble fingers play  
Upon your Lute, nothing so sweet as they  
Seemed; all my soul fled ravished to my ear,  
That sweetly animating sound to hear.  
My ravished Heart with play Kept equal time,  
Fell down with you, with you did Ela climb,  
Grew sad or lighter, as the tunes you played,  
And with your Lute a perfect measure made:  
If all so much as I, your music Love,  
The whole world would at your devotion move,  
And at your speaking Lutes surpassing charms,  
Embrace a lasting peace, and fling by Arms.   

To CELIA on some verses sent her by another.  
DEar Fair if that some riper wit  
In rapt of some 〈…〉  
To ease the fan 〈…〉  
Writ of Love, and Love shall fain,  
Shall those lines acceptance have?  
Not those indicted by thy slave?  
Whose troubled brains no muses move,  
But the darling God of Love.  
If my lines you ' Count a toy  
You know Cupid is a boy,  
Yet his trifles often find  
Fair acceptance from the kind;  
Such are they whose search doth sift  
The giver's mind above the gift.  
Let others write to show their wit,  
When I; Love shall be Cause of it.   

On Love.  

LOve is a fire, Love is a flame  
Which darting came  
Th'orow the azure sky;  
And just like the rays, in Sol's hottest days  
Peireed me from on high.   

My heart before so chill, and cold,  
'gan to unfold  
Itself in those fair beams,  
But its mighty flame, soon it overcame  
Martyred twixt extremes.   

love's masterless, and cruel fire  
if it grow higher  
Will kill with martyrdoms,  
As heat forceth heat, to a gentle retreat  
Love, Love overcomes.    

Song.  
Ask me not why I am so sad, nor why I here  
The nymphs forbear,  
Do with my Arms a cross walk in this grove?  
Within the hollow concave of my troubled breast  
Which never rests  
Lies the true cause, and my tormentor Love.  
'Tis jealous fear, causes my care,  
And burdens thus my Love-sick Heart,  
I fear that she, my deity  
Delights to see my smart;  
For still she frowns, and Knitts her brows  
And doth abhor my Company,  
Whilst Lycon Courts her, with her sports,  
I dare not do't though by.  
O cruel fair! why dost thou thus delight to kill  
Thy slave who will  
Whilst he has life adore thee? and will be  
Courted by none for to neglect his duty, though  
you are his foe  
And with tormenting pains would murder me.  
And since that you, forbid me sue  
Or ask for mercy, I will ne'er  
With my complaints, and sad jaments  
In vain disturb your ear;  
No, death will do as much as Love hath done  
with's dart he'll pierce me through;  
Death will be found, to Cure that wound  
Which Celia would not do.   

DAMON to a foul Maid that courtedhim.  
WHat mean'st thou Bacca, Can my senses feast  
Upon the members of a parboiled Beast?  
What boarish appetite thinkst thou I have  
That thou shouldst court me, who'd first wed a grave,  
And death hug in my Arms, than such a hag,  
Whose hide pouched like a shriuled, pudding-bag,  
Reaks like another Aetna; thy soused face  
And hawkle nose has not so good a grace  
As Madam monkeys; few Hairs on thy scalp,  
Thy mouth is Taenarus, thy Teeth an alp,  
But that no snow, but soot lies always there,  
In other parts like a deformed Bear  
Not yet licked into fashion. Think'st thou Man  
Not turned Beast, forsake his reason can  
To fall int' such a sink: Thou stinking Trull  
Thou must like Pasiphae lie with a Bull,  
Or couple with a boar thy next of kin;  
For never hope you Man can tempt to sin,  
For he that do●st it, were I to judge his pain,  
Should be (and 'tis enough) to do't again.   

To LYDIA being retired privately into the Country.  
NOw to the secret Groves is Lydia gone  
Stolen from us all, meaning to live alone  
Among the silent woods, where she may be  
From busy servants entertainments free,  
And hear the pleasant songsters of the Groves,  
With whistling lays resound their growing Loves:  
With uncontrouling freedom view the trammels  
Of Flora which the fragrant meads enamels,  
With pleasure walk and see the crystal brooks,  
Catching the sportive fish, with silver hooks.  
Conversing with the flowery Napaeae,  
Making diversity of flowers agree  
Bound up together: 'mong the shady trees  
Dance in a Circle, with the dryads,  
Feeding on cleanly, though but homely food,  
Esteemed the only Goddess of the wood.  
O how I fear those rural pleasures may  
Entice her there to make a tedious stay,  
But I with vows will Frosty Hiems move,  
To haste the ruins of the leafy grove;  
Pray cold mout'h Boreas kiss her tender cheek,  
To make her shelter in the town to seek,  
Where conversation, and warm fires do bring  
Though frost without doors lies; within a spring.   

Poema Valedictorium Perdilecto intimoque Suo amico transfreturo.  

ALas! what fate (or rather providence)  
Is this (dear C) unthought of rapts thee hence?  
What makes thee leave this Isle, and seas pass o'er  
To seek the blessings of a foreign shore?  
Can't ours content thee? yea but thy free hand  
Transports the panneous blessings of our land,  
And (for exchange brings back what ours hath none  
Of,) by exotics to enrich our own.  
Since than it is for public good, and thine,  
That thou leavest us, it must needs be for mine.  
I'll not complain, since truly one friend should  
Suffer disasters for fewer good,  
And this is one (and that of no mean weight)  
That thee, and I, (dear C— must separate.)   

Vota Auspicata.  
Farewell! farewell! may fruitful Neptune please  
To sound retreat unto the surging seas,  
By Triton's voice! may his resounding shell,  
The threatnig rage of all the billows quell.  
May great Oceanus, and Tridentiser  
(Lest in th' envious liquid paths you err)  
Be your conductors; Let the Sea-Gods place,  
Themselves about your ship for greater grace,  
May Amphetrite and the nereids  
With all the Gods, and graces of the seas,  
Assembling sing jo-paeans to thy Honour,  
And may the sea for joy thou ride upon her  
Expressed with gentle leapings! May the twins  
Be never seen apart! The God of winds  
Great Aeolus, may he reflating gales  
Enchain within th' Hyperborean vales!  
And let none 'Scape but Aura's from his hand  
To drive you forward to your wished-for land!  
May glorious Titan pleasant make the days,  
And gild the Sea, with his projected rays!  
Serener nights attend you! may the bright  
Phoebe, at full, give you her borrowed light!  
May Mercury th' Negotiators God  
Attend you too, with his Cyllenian rod,  
And cause your gains ariseing from the fleece  
Of English Sheep, Surmount that brought to Greece  
By Jason's hand! May these on you therefore  
Attend and bring you safe to this blessed shore.   

Vero Panomphaeo.  
Thou thou true Neptune who the seas command'st,  
Without a Trident still the billows canst,  
And with one single word make all obey  
Whether in heaven, in Earth, Hell, Land, or Sea!  
Take thou my C— under thy safe protection,  
Guide him and favour ●im, with thy sure direction,  
And he'll not fear the threatening of the waves  
Anchoring his hope upon a God that saves.  
Be thou propitious to my prayers, and then  
I shall be sure to see him once again,   

Coronis.  
Fare well, dear C— I wish you well, adieu!  
My tears stop words, once more farewell to you.   
Sospitet Te Deus: Opt. max.   

Epigram.  
Stay Triton, hold your breath, and o'er the main  
Conduct my C— reduce him safe again  
To Albion's shore: then sound your shell, brave boy,  
And make the waves leap to the skies for joy.   

THE DEPART.  
ADieu sweet Chloris, for the Fates deny  
Me longer life and longer liberty.  
I'ave lost the one in gazing on that face,  
Which justly may o'th' Paphian Queen take place  
To thee my liberty's resigned the grave  
Tomb shall bespeak me Chloris constant slave.  
How can I longer think to live when I  
Ravished from the clear sunshine of thine eye  
Feel chilling colds; and winter frosts begirt  
Continually with fatal blasts my heart?  
No'tis those beams, which thy bright eyes display  
That must dispel, and chase these snows away,  
That killing absence brings: nought but thy breath  
May now redeem me from the dart of Death.  
But there's no hopes, no other hopes but I  
Banished your presence, must resolve to die:  
Cloris adieu! for ever now adieu,  
For die I must being forced to part with you.   

TYSTIRUS complaining.  

BReak sadded heart, burst thou with griefs complaint  
Let thy laments  
The hardest marble unto tears provoke:  
Make flints to weep  
Increase the deep  
With drops expressed from that cruel stroke.   

Wounded I lie, and suffer from that hand  
That gave the wound  
Unto my bleeding Soul. And from those eyes.  
Light'nings proceed  
Which strike me dead  
Nor w'thout she raise me can I ever rise.   

Torment of cruel silence breeds this woe  
I undergo;  
My tongue is fettered, and I dare not speak  
Although my heart  
Feels deadly smart  
And swelled with sorrow at the last must break.   

But here's a joy which feeds my sadded mind  
None hath divined  
The cause of my sadness and distress,  
First shall my Love  
My murder prove  
Before, to wrong her, I my Love confess.    

Damon on Amarillis dancing in a Ring  
SEE my fortune; See my fortune  
How she flies me  
And denies me  
Woe alas! woe alas too soon  
Still I follow! still I follow!  
But she flies me  
And denies me  
And cannot be won.  
Cruel sport; In this sort  
With woes to fill me  
Which will kill me  
Ah! from this pain release me.  
For whilst she flies, my eyes  
They discover  
I'm a lover  
And that it is herself must ease me.  
Round we go, round we go,  
But she flies me  
And denies me  
Still I follow wrapped in woe.  
She moves swiftly, and yet sweetly  
Don't forsake me  
I'll o'er take thee  
If thou wilt pity bestow.  
Cruel sport, in this sort!  
To increase my fires  
And desires  
And to exhibit my despair:  
She Shifts her place, apace  
I after move  
Being urged by Love  
But in vain still my endeavours are.   

Acrostic.  

FEar-killing Faith, Bold-zeal, declares thy name,  
Art picked it out but nature laid the frame.  
If ever name and nature did agree,  
'Tis thine which are in perfect harmony:  
Heau'n-blessed Faith, which shakes th' Aethereal towers   

Cold-burning zeal 'gainst heaven-opposing powers  
Offer themselves to view: Thy virgin breast  
Loves heaven alone, doth for did Loves detest.  
Death cannot shake thy Faith, nor ever may   

Zeal like to thine, a purer breast display.  
Eternal flames of heau'n-refined zeal  
And soar Faith, thou in thy breast dost feel,  
Live ever happy! Faith and zeal with thee  
Ere stay, t' effect this thy name's prophecy.    

Acrostic.  
AGe blessed I hope thou art: May many years  
Run their swift courses, and the rolling spheres  
Tire in their motions; May the circl'ing Sun  
About this round globe through the zodiac run  
Giving a hundered springs and Autumns ere  
Earth or the Silent grave entomb thee there.  
Blessed be thou here with Age: with virtues more,  
Let graces, with thy years increase; thy store  
Ere multiply: So as thou hast begun  
Shine thou in virtue till thy race be run:  
Death fear to touch this blooming blossom; Now  
In April stay until December bow  
Her head with age and make't the earth to kiss;  
Open then thy fatal arms; bear her to bliss.  
Pluck her from hence, 'fore Age doth call thee to her,  
Ere cursed be, for thou pulls the world's chief flower.   

The Recovery.  

HAil gentle virgin! now my joys renew  
Their plumes, for they were Sick as well as you,  
And had you died they had been buried too.   

How oft betwixt my hope, and fear I died;  
Each symptom that my watchful eyes espied,  
My heart with thousand Torments crucified.   

When scarlet seas ' did double die thy face,  
Mine paled to see how strong thy fever was,  
How great a Tyrant to usurp that place.   

When thou grew'st pale I even sunk for fear  
Lest Death's cold ashes had been strewed there,  
Or that, that Tyrant came to domineer.   

When thou didst sound, my heart was made a prize,  
To pallid fear, nor could it ever rise,  
Till hope to raise it sprouted from thine eyes.   

My heart yet trembles, now I think upon't,  
The thoughts oft with pale sadness paint my front:  
Thou liv'st: such mercies ere forget I won't.   

My Muse did languish by a Sympathy,  
As if her life depended had on thee,  
It seems thine was her numbers treasury.   

Distressed she sat in Mourning Liveries,  
Whilst the clear fountains of her crystal eyes,  
Wept in sotf Tears most doleful Elegies.   

As thy cheeks Hyacinths o'er come their snows,  
As vanquished are their lilies, by the Rose,  
So on my muse new heat and vigour grows.   

This Day mythought thy starry orbs were pressed  
With wonted lustre: and new beauties dressed  
Thy Face: which gave flames to my muse's breast.   

Inspired thus she now begins to sing,  
New ardours now her sprightly Numbers wing,  
And as thy health doth, so her raptures spring.   

Both consecrated are my Muse, and I,  
To sing the bliss of thy recovery,  
And chant Io Paeans until we die.   

May heaven as he has raised thee from the Dead,  
(Whose Name be blessed!) his mighty bucklar spread,  
From Death's fell arrows to defend thy Head.   

Deign but to cherish (with a gentle glance  
Of Favour shot from thy bright countenance)  
These lines, and it my Numbers will advance.   

Such mercies cannot but my spirits raise,  
In highest Notes to chant my sprightly lays,  
And for thy Health to heaven sing songs of praise.    

Innocentia & Politia. Veritas & Panurgia.  
WHen that Astrea took her flight from hence,  
To find in heaven a better residence,  
Dame Innocentia wanting her protection  
Was scorned of all: And Pollicy's infection  
Spreading through Cities, Courts, and such great places  
Exposed that Dame to thousands of disgraces.  
Sly Subtlety the Merchant entertains,  
Deceit the tradesman, to increase his gains,  
The Great man honour; that vain puffed-up Pride,  
With covetousness of every one; beside  
Protean Policy, whose great resort,  
Is in the City, and the Prince's Court,  
Wherein Deceit so often doth frequent,  
That dam's inseparable accident:  
But Innocence, of all men was discarded,  
Her nakedness laughed at and disregarded.  
At last a countryman, whose smother brow  
Ne'er entertained Deceit; nor's mouth knew how  
With flattering words to speak; with Court intent  
To utter that thing which his Heart ne'er meant,  
But being taught of Truth his words to spell,  
His Heart, and Tongue ran ever parallel:  
He ' Spies this naked dam's distress with ruth,  
Invites her with him to go dwell with Truth:  
She soon consenting, thanks him for his pity,  
And bids adieu both to the Court and City.  
The stately buildings of the Court she shuns,  
Thence swifter than the Eastern-wind she runs,  
Far from the City, and th' infection's Court  
She finds where Truth is wonted to resort:  
Met, they as Sisters join, delighting so  
That never since they would asunder go,  
Their cottage low (free from all Courtly state)  
Strong built on holy ground is Scituate:  
Two moats surrounding make't an Amnick Isle,  
The better to keep forth Deceit and Guile,  
A strong-built Wall doth it defend, whose Gate,  
Like that of heaven is made angust and strait,  
That every one who is admitted there  
Mayn't enter if deceitful clothes they were;  
For Truth gives entrance unto none, but those  
Who're naked like herself; or else whose clothes  
Prove tegments for to hide Truths parts divine,  
From the perverting Eyes of muzling Swine.  
Within the closure of Truth's cottage wall  
No high Ambition that aspires (a fall)  
No twi-faced Guile, no Discord, and no Pride,  
Are by these Dames permitted to reside:  
But Love and meekness, and such heavenly Graces  
Cohabit still in those serener places.  
The Shadowic Groves with a perpetual spring,  
Sweet Philomela making the woods to ring,  
With other birds peirched on the tender sprays,  
Whose notes from warbling Throats salute the Days  
Approach; whose trebles to the murmuring water  
According, make sweet music to their Maker,  
Maketh as if the Earth in heaven were placed  
Or heaven descended Earth with's Joys had graced,  
Such is the state, (and far more full of bliss)  
Where truth conjoined to Innocency is.  
Thus dwell these nymphs enriched with the Treasures  
Of rural joys, and of Celestial Pleasures,  
Useing to travel all the Country round,  
Till the strange echoes of the Trumpets sound,  
Till Mars with blood bedyed, and horror fell,  
Affrighted them back to their closer cell:  
Deceit, and Guile, and Policy than flew,  
With speedy feet about the Country too  
Where they increased so their progeny,  
That never Since the country could be free,  
So that pure Truth, and Innocentia fair,  
Unto some secret place, confined are.  
But now when Hyem's frosty snow-beard swelled  
With chilling cold; and neveous mantles held  
The World enwrapped; and Mountain tops did show  
Their lofty Heads encircled round with snow,  
Dame Innocentia clothed all in White,  
Her usual badge, Steals from her secret site;  
Leaving the country to the Court she goes,  
To view the Quarters of her bitter foes.  
B'ing thither come, the first she met was Guile,  
Whose clothing made that spotless Dame to smile,  
For like to her in every thing she seemed,  
So that most men her Innocentia deemed:  
Look what she wore Guile ever wore the same,  
And counterfeited still that purer dame.  
In pure White Garments was she deced, the snow  
Could not than she a colour purer show:  
But she whose eyes pierced her base covering,  
Saw her all bloached with foul spots within,  
And through her plastered White, and painted face  
Saw that with all men she usurped her place.  
The next she met with was Dame policy,  
Who with a thousand shapes deludes the eye,  
Her clothes were changeable, and her disguise  
To every colour would Camelionize,  
Her shapes so divers and her forms so many  
That none could truly say that she had any.  
Her handmaid Guile who still attends upon her  
Bowing her Head full low unto her honour  
Held up her train, when that she near was come  
She thus salutes her, Dame we have no room  
To lodge you here, our beds are all impletc,  
Nor may this court, for you become a seat,  
For your carbasious regment, which doth vie  
For whiteness with the snow, cannot come high  
Our sullied garments, but it shows our stains  
And Truths perspective shows to all our blains,  
Our albeous Garments seem as white as thine,  
Our Laws seem holy, our decrees divine,  
If thou art absent; but if thou art by  
Our white shows black, our seeming truth's a lie,  
Our Laws deceitful, and it doth appear,  
Our Kingdom falls if thou remainest here.  
My niece Ambition cannot be displaced,  
Her Sister flattery will think herself disgraced,  
Should I dislodge them for your sake, they'd snuff,  
And pride would think you were not fine enough:  
But adulation who her words can change  
T'as various shapes as there are humours strange  
Shall entertain you, and with Speeches fair  
Shall fill you full, if you'll be filled with air.  
We two are inconsonant; we can't agree,  
I you oppose, you're opposite to me,  
And 'tis as hard for us to join (it clear is)  
As pale faced Famine to conjoin with Ceres,  
I am not wont apertly thus to speak,  
However now my mind I truly break  
To you, and tell you, seeing we can't agree,  
That you must hence, and leave this place for me.  
Contraries can't conjoin, we here no room  
Have, therefore pray depart from whence you come.  
Dame Innocentia soon perceived, the place  
Nothing afforded to her but disgrace,  
And scorn, therefore lest thence she should be thrust  
And her white garments spoiled with the dust,  
And stains of sin, the court unto her foes  
She leaves with speed (while Guile dirt at her throws)  
And to truth's cottage, where she was before  
Returns; and vows to see the Court no more.  
Aula procul Innocentiâ.   

An Elegy on the matchless murder of Charles the First of Happy and Blessed Memory.  
SInce Britain's great Apollo left the land,  
Laurels are blasted, and dejected stand;  
Poets are dumb-struck, and amazed to see  
So strange, unutterable prodigy,  
Charles forced to swim in his own sacred Gore  
From this accursed, to an immortal Shore,  
So that none dares, all struck with silent dread,  
To say, Much less to sing that Charles is dead.  
For many months my Soul and Blood was froze,  
Till Anger thawed this Ice, and Zeal arose  
Through all my Veins, which gave me Liberty  
To weep out first, then write an Elegy.  
Lame, and unequal as the woeful times  
Painted with Sighs, and Tears, must 〈◊〉 my rhythms,  
For who can, struck with so much grief, erect  
A Verse, but in a faltering Dialect?  
He must forget the rugged times the 〈◊〉,  
That can indite aught in a polished stile  
Who will not blush, and fire his Face with Shame,  
That thinks by Verset ' immortalize that Name,  
Which charactrized in our rhythms, will give  
Life to our Lines, and make our Fumes to 〈◊〉,  
Whilst Charles shall flourish in man's memory,  
Which shall till times supped up be Eternity  
B●e? Royal Phoebus gains no ray of Light  
By mortals praises; he 'tis gives them Sight,  
So Britain's Son, shall never live by verse,  
But Men and rhythms, whilst they his Name rehearse  
Shall flourish; for the Theme these shall be read,  
And live souled by him, tho' himself be dead.  
Dead! ah more! murdered, and martyred too,  
By cursed hands (who once their deed shall rue)  
That by Pretext of guilt and crimes do draw  
To th' block of Death the Head of Church and Law;  
Both fell with thee great Monarch, when that Fate  
Made thee a Martyr of the Church and State.  
The Earth and all her mighty Monarchs stand  
Amazed, and drooping dare not now command,  
Benumbed their Fingers can't the sceptre sway,  
Kings cannot rule, nor people well obey,  
Since by thy Death the Soul of monarchy  
Has suffered, and the Head of majesty  
Chopped off; no King now thinks himself secure  
Since Laws (the Walls where Princes did immure  
Themselves from vulgar rage) are wrested so  
That murder's issue whence Justice used to flow.  
Ashamed and blushing Princes stand, to see  
Themselves, and regal acts outdone by thee,  
To see the Glory of thy setting Sun  
Damp all the lustre of their splendid Noon.  
Heaven, and the Lamp of day, night's tapers tell  
England, that they an Act to parallel  
Its bloody deed, ne'er yet beheld; thy Stage  
O raging Isles! the wonder of this Age,  
And thou shalt blush died with a Tyrian Stain,  
(Unless thou wash it quickly off again  
By some notorious Act, as great as good,  
And take away the stains of blood, with blood)  
And be the scorn of Nations, whilst the Sun  
Shall in the twelve roads of the zodiac Run.  
No Pen can reach to words sufficient  
To speak thy Death; no Elegy lament  
Thy fatal loss can in a strain that's fit,  
The more we strive the more fall short of it,  
For thou be a Theme too great for thoughts, much less  
Can weaker words speak thee; o'er unhappiness  
In floods of briny tears we'll ever tell,  
And loyal hearts shall make the Ocean swell  
With sighs; which will at last bring judgement down,  
And 'wake th' Almightie's Justice for his own.  
Rebels think not 'twas his o'er. weight of sin  
That pressed him down, alive he still had been,  
But for the Nations crimes; we first his life  
Took from him by our sins, than with the knife.  
God for a Notion's sins oft dealeth so,  
Takes off the Righteous, let's the wicked go,  
In mercy to the first, to set them free  
From following plagues, and sudden jeopardy.  
So our yet bleeding Monarch was a gem  
Too good for us, and we too bad for him.  
Although the murderers grant no monument  
Crowned hero! Fame his hasty missives sent  
To all Earth's Monarchs! who already have,  
Counting the world two little for thy grave,  
Reared up a pyramid of high renown,  
Which shall outlast the longest Monarchs crown,  
Where long-lived Fame upon its summit sings  
The fatal tragedy of the best of Kings:  
In vaulting thee so close, think let them not  
That e'er their Regicede shall be forgot,  
For though thou hidden under ground dost lie,  
Their Names above ground rot, and ne'er shall die.  
God turns hell's spiteful Arrows on his head,  
The world Salvation gained, Christ Crucified,  
And murdered Charles the Name of Martyr gains:  
Tho' Life and three Crowns lost: more now remains  
For him a Life immortal, and a Crown,  
Of Shining Glory, and of high Renown.  
Which spite of Rebels Acts, though he be Dead,  
Shall now for ever Crown His Royal Head.  
THE END.